12355	----	JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERSITY STUDIES IN HISTORICAL AND POLITICAL SCIENCE HERBERT B. ADAMS, Editor History is past Politics and Politics present History.--_Freeman_ NINTH SERIES IX THE CONSTITUTIONAL DEVELOPMENT OF JAPAN, 1853-1881 BY TOYOKICHI IYENAGA, PH. D. Professor of Political Science in Tokio Senmon-Gakko September, 1891 CONTENTS. INTRODUCTORY CHAP. I. (1853-1868). BEGINNING OF THE CONSTITUTIONAL MOVEMENT THE CIRCUMSTANCES THAT GAVE RISE TO THE MOVEMENT THE ACCOUNT OF COMMODORE PERRY'S ARRIVAL BY THE AUTHOR OF GENJE YUME MONOGATARI DISCUSSION BETWEEN THE PRINCE OF MITO AND THE TOKUGAWA OFFICIALS AT THE COURT OF YEDO CONCLUSION OF TREATY BETWEEN THE UNITED STATES AND JAPAN THE OLD PRINCE OF MITO, NARIAKI II KAMON NO KAMI BOMBARDMENTS OF KAGOSHIMA AND SHIMONOSHEKI THE EFFECTS OF THE BOMBARDMENT 1. Showed the Weakness of the Daimios and the Strength of foreigners 2. Showed the Necessity of National Union, and of the Reconstruction of the Administrative Machinery of the Empire GREAT COUNCILS OF KUGES AND DAIMIOS. 1. Their Nature and Organization 2. How they originated 3. In them lay the Germ of the future Constitutional Parliament of Japan CHAP. II. (1868-1869). THE RESTORATION CAUSES OF THE DOWNFALL OF THE SHOGUNATE 1. Revival of Learning 2. Revival of Shintoism 3. Jealousy and Cupidity of the Southern Daimios THE RESIGNATION OF THE SHOGUN THE MOTIVE OF HIS RESIGNATION THE GOVERNMENT OF THE RESTORATION 1. Its Organization 2. Its Departments FOREIGN POLICY OF THE NEW GOVERNMENT REMOVAL OF THE CAPITAL TO TOKIO THE CHARTER OATH OF THE EMPEROR, APRIL 17, 1869 THE KOGISHO 1. Its Origin 2. Its Composition 3. Its Nature CHAP. III. (1869-1871). THE ABOLITION OF FEUDALISM. MEMORIAL OF PRESIDENT OF THE KOGISHO ABOLITION SCHEME OF SCHOLARS IS BACKED BY THE SOUTHERN DAIMIOS MEMORIAL OF THE SOUTHERN DAIMIOS IMPERIAL DECREE OF 1871, ABOLISHING FEUDALISM CAUSES OF THE OVERTHROW OF FEUDALISM CHAP. IV. INFLUENCES THAT SHAPED THE GROWTH OF THE REPRESENTATIVE IDEA OF GOVERNMENT JOHN STEWART MILL'S ENUMERATION OF THE SOCIAL CONDITIONS NECESSARY FOR THE SUCCESS OF REPRESENTATIVE GOVERNMENT JAPAN OF 1871 NOT YET READY FOR THE ADOPTION OF REPRESENTATIVE GOVERNMENT POLITICAL ACTIVITY OF A NATION NOT ISOLATED FROM OTHER SPHERES OF ITS ACTIVITIES JAPAN'S POLITICAL DEVELOPMENT GREATLY AIDED BY HER SOCIAL, EDUCATIONAL, INDUSTRIAL AND RELIGIOUS CHANGES SKETCH OF THE DEVELOPMENT OF THESE NON-POLITICAL INSTITUTIONS FROM 1868 TO 1881 1. Means of Communication a. Telegraph b. Postal System c. Railroad d. Steamers and the Coasting Trade 2. Educational Institutions 3. Newspapers CHANGES IN LAW AND RELIGION CHAP. V. (1871-1881). PROGRESS OF THE CONSTITUTIONAL MOVEMENT FROM THE ABOLITION OF FEUDALISM TO THE PROCLAMATION OF OCTOBER 12, 1881 LEADERS OF THE RESTORATION EFFECT OF THE OVERTHROW OF FEUDALISM THE IWAKURA EMBASSY IWAKURA, ITO, INOUYE FUKUZAWA THE PRESS AND ITS INFLUENCES RI-SHI-SHA AND COUNT ITAGAKI MEMORIALS OF RI-SHI-SHA TO THE EMPEROR ESTABLISHMENT OF LOCAL ASSEMBLIES THE PROCLAMATION OF OCTOBER 12, 1881, TO ESTABLISH A PARLIAMENT IN 1890 INTRODUCTORY. The power which destroyed Japanese feudalism and changed in that country an absolute into a constitutional monarchy was a resultant of manifold forces. The most apparent of these forces is the foreign influence. Forces less visible but more potent, tending in this direction, are those influences resulting from the growth of commerce and trade, from the diffusion of western science and knowledge among the people, and from the changes in social habits and religious beliefs. The truth of the solidarity of the varied interests of a social organism is nowhere so well exemplified as in the history of modern Japan. Her remarkable political development would have been impossible had there been no corresponding social, educational, religious, economic and industrial changes. In order to trace the constitutional development of New Japan, it is therefore necessary: 1. To ascertain the political condition of the country at and after the advent of foreigners in 1853. 2. To describe the form of government of the Restoration. 3. To examine the state of commerce, industry, education and social life of Japan at each stage of her political transformations. 4. To recount the constitutional changes from the Restoration to the Promulgation of the New Constitution. As a novice in travel marks the broad outlines, the general features and more important products of the country he visits for the first time, so I shall dwell upon the historic landmarks of Japanese constitutional development. This development no writer, native or foreign, has yet attempted to trace. I shall withstand as much as possible the temptation to refer to the multitude of events which are more or less associated with the constitutional movement. I shall endeavor to ascertain from the edicts, decrees, and proclamations of the Emperor, from the orders and manifestos of the Shogun, from the native authors and journals, from the memorials and correspondence of prominent men, both native and foreign, the trend of our constitutional development. I shall also endeavor to note the leading ideas and principles which, after manifesting themselves in various forms, have at last crystallized into the New Constitution of Japan. CHAPTER I. BEGINNING OF THE CONSTITUTIONAL MOVEMENT. The constitutional movement of Japan began in a spontaneous agitation of the whole body politic when the nation was irritated by the sudden contact with foreigners. The sense of national weakness added a force to this agitation. Had not the foreigners come, the Restoration might have been effected, feudalism might have been abolished, but the new Japanese constitution would hardly have seen the day. Had the government of Japan at the time of the advent of foreigners been in the strong hand of a Taiko or an Iyeyasu, the rulers might have been greatly exercised by the extraordinary event, but public opinion for reform would hardly have been called forth, and the birth of constitutional liberty would long have been delayed. As the vices of King John and the indifference and ignorance of the first two Georges of England begat the strength and hope of the English Parliament, so the public opinion of Japan sprouted out of the ruins of the Shogunate régime. We must therefore seek for the beginning of the Constitutional Movement of Japan in the peculiar circumstances in which she found herself between 1853 and 1868. The advent of Commodore Perry in 1853 was to Japan like the intrusion of a foreign queen into a beehive. The country was stirred to its depth. Let us note what a native chronicler[1] says about the condition of Japan at the arrival of Perry: "It was in the summer of 1853 that an individual named Perry, who called himself the envoy of the United States of America, suddenly arrived at Uraga, in the Province of Sagami, with four ships of war, declaring that he brought a letter from his country to Japan and that he wished to deliver it to the sovereign. The governor of the place, Toda Idzu No Kami, much alarmed by this extraordinary event, hastened to the spot to inform himself of its meaning. The envoy stated, in reply to questions, that he desired to see a chief minister in order to explain the object of his visit and to hand over to him the letter with which he was charged. The governor then despatched a messenger on horseback with all haste to carry this information to the castle of Yedo, where a great scene of confusion ensued on his arrival. Fresh messengers followed, and the Shogun Iyeyoshi, on receiving them, was exceedingly troubled, and summoned all the officials[2] to a council. At first the affair seemed so sudden and so formidable that they were too alarmed to open their mouths, but in the end orders were issued to the great clans to keep strict watch at various points on the shore, as it was possible that the 'barbarian' vessels might proceed to commit acts of violence. Presently a learned Chinese scholar was sent to Uraga, had an interview with the American envoy, and returned with the letter, which expressed the desire of the United States to establish friendship and intercourse with Japan, and said, according to this account, that if they met with a refusal they should commence hostilities. Thereupon the Shogun was greatly distressed, and again summoned a council. He also asked the opinion of the Daimios. The assembled officials were exceedingly disturbed, and nearly broke their hearts over consultations which lasted all day and all night. The nobles and retired nobles in Yedo were informed that they were at liberty to state any ideas they might have on the subject, and, although they all gave their opinions, the diversity of propositions was so great that no decision was arrived at. The military class had, during a long peace, neglected military arts; they had given themselves up to pleasure and luxury, and there were very few who had put on armor for many years, so that they were greatly alarmed at the prospect that war might break out at a moment's notice, and began to run hither and thither in search of arms. The city of Yedo and the surrounding villages were in a great tumult. And there was such a state of confusion among all classes that the governors of the city were compelled to issue a notification to the people, and this in the end had the effect of quieting the general anxiety. But in the castle never was a decision further from being arrived at, and, whilst time was being thus idly wasted, the envoy was constantly demanding an answer. So at last they decided that it would be best to arrange the affair quietly, to give the foreigners the articles they wanted, and to put off sending an answer to the letter--to tell the envoy that in an affair of such importance to the state no decision could be arrived at without mature consideration, and that he had better go away; that in a short time he should get a definite answer. The envoy agreed, and after sending a message to say that he should return in the following spring for his answer, set sail from Uraga with his four ships."[3] Thus was the renowned commander kept away for awhile. He went, however, of his own accord. Perry was an astute diplomatist. He knew that time was needed for the impressions which he and his magnificent fleet had made upon the country to produce their natural effect. The news of Perry's visit and demands spread far and wide with remarkable rapidity. The government and the people were deeply stirred. Soon the song of the "red-bearded barbarians" and of the black ships was in everybody's mouth. The question "What shall Japan do when the barbarians come next spring?" became the absorbing theme of the day. There was now but one of two policies which Japan could pursue, either to shut up the country or to admit the foreigners' demand. There was no middle course left. The American envoy would no longer listen to the dilatory policy with which the Japanese had just bought a few months' respite from anxiety. The majority of the ruling class, the Samurai, were in favor of the exclusion policy. So was the court of Kioto. But the views of the court of Yedo were different. The court of Yedo had many men of intelligence, common sense and experience--men who had seen the American envoy and his squadron, equipped with all the contrivances for killing men and devastating the country. These men knew too well that resistance to the foreigners was futile and perilous. Thus was the country early divided into two clearly defined parties, the Jo-i[4] party and the Kai-Koku party. Meanwhile, the autumn and winter of 1853 passed. The spring of 1854 soon came, and with it the intractable "barbarians." Let us hear the author of Genje Yume Monogatari relate the return of Perry and the great discussion that ensued at the court of Yedo: "Early in 1854 Commodore Perry returned, and the question of acceding to his demands was again hotly debated. The old prince of Mito was opposed to it, and contended that the admission of foreigners into Japan would ruin it. 'At first,' said he, 'they will give us philosophical instruments, machinery and other curiosities; will take ignorant people in, and, trade being their chief object, they will manage bit by bit to impoverish the country, after which they will treat us just as they like--perhaps behave with the greatest rudeness and insult us, and end by swallowing up Japan. If we do not drive them away now we shall never have another opportunity. If we now resort to a dilatory method of proceeding we shall regret it afterwards when it will be of no use.' "The officials (of the Shogun), however, argued otherwise and said: 'If we try to drive them away they will immediately commence hostilities, and then we shall be obliged to fight. If we once get into a dispute we shall have an enemy to fight who will not be easily disposed of. He does not care how long a time he must spend over it, but he will come with myriads of men-of-war and surround our shores completely; he will capture our junks and blockade our ports, and deprive us of all hope of protecting our coasts. However large a number of ships we might destroy, he is so accustomed to that sort of thing that he would not care in the least. Even supposing that our troops were animated by patriotic zeal in the commencement of the war, after they had been fighting for several years their patriotic zeal would naturally become relaxed, the soldiers would become fatigued, and for this we should have to thank ourselves. Soldiers who have distinguished themselves are rewarded by grants of land, or else you attack and seize the enemy's territory and that becomes your own property; so every man is encouraged to fight his best. But in a war with foreign countries a man may undergo hardships for years, may fight as if his life were worth nothing, and, as all the land in this country already has owners, there will be none to be given away as rewards; so we shall have to give rewards in words or money. In time the country would be put to an immense expense and the people be plunged into misery. Rather than allow this, as we are not the equals of foreigners in the mechanical arts, let us have intercourse with foreign countries, learn their drill and tactics, and when we have made the nation as united as one family, we shall be able to go abroad and give lands in foreign countries to those who have distinguished themselves in battle. The soldiers will vie with one another in displaying their intrepidity, and it will not be too late then to declare war. Now we shall have to defend ourselves against these foreign enemies, skilled in the use of mechanical appliances, with our soldiers whose military skill has considerably diminished during a long peace of three hundred years, and we certainly could not feel sure of victory, especially in a naval war.'"[5] The Kai-Koku party, the party in favor of opening the country, triumphed, and the treaty was finally concluded between the United States and Japan on the 31st of March, 1854. After the return of Commodore Perry to America, Townsend Harris was sent by the United States Government as Consul-General to Japan. He negotiated the commercial treaty between the United States and Japan on July 29, 1858. At the heels of the Americans followed the English, French, Russians, Dutch, and other nations. Japan's foreign relations became more and more complicated and therefore difficult to manage. The discussion quoted above is a type of the arguments used by the Jo-i party and the Kai-Koku party. The history of Japanese politics from 1853 to 1868 is the history of the struggle between these two parties, each of which soon changed its name. As the Jo-i party allied itself with the court of Kioto, it became the O-sei or Restoration party. As the Kai-Koku party was associated with the court of Shogun, it became the Bakufu party. The struggle ended in the triumph of the Restoration party. But by that time the Jo-i party, from a cause which I shall soon mention, had been completely transformed and converted to the Western ideas. Among the leaders of the Jo-i party was Nariaki, the old prince of Mito. He belonged to one of the San Kay (three families), out of which Iyeyasu ordered the Shogun to be chosen. He was connected by marriage with the families of the Emperor and the highest Kuges in Miako, and with the wealthiest Daimios. In power the Mito family thus ranked high among the Daimios. Among the scholars the Prince of Mito was popular. The prestige of his great ancestor, the compiler of Dai-Nihon-Shi, had not yet died out. The Prince of Mito was thus naturally looked up to by the scholars as the man of right principles and of noble ideas. A shrewd, clever, and scheming old man, the Prince of Mito now became the defender of the cause of the Emperor and the mouthpiece of the conservative party. At the head of the Bakufu party was a man of iron and fertile resources, Ii Kamon No Kami. He was the Daimio of Hikone, a castled town and fief on Lake Biwa, in Mino. His revenue was small, being only three hundred and fifty thousand koku. But in position and power none in the empire could rival him. He was the head of the Fudai Daimios. His family was called the Dodai or foundation-stone of the power of the Tokugawa dynasty. His ancestor, Ii Nawo Massa, had been lieutenant-general and right-hand man of Iyeyas. Ii Kamon No Kami, owing to the mental infirmity of the reigning Shogun, had lately become his regent. Bold, ambitious, able, and unscrupulous, Ii was the Richelieu of Japan. From this time on till his assassination on March 23, 1860, he virtually ruled the empire, and, in direct contravention to the imperial will, negotiated with foreign nations, as we have seen, for the opening of ports for trade with them. He was styled the "swaggering prime minister," and his name was long pronounced with contempt and odium. Lately, however, his good name has been rescued and his fame restored by the noble effort of an able writer, Mr. Saburo Shimada.[6] But this able prime minister fell on March 23, 1860, by the sword of Mito ronins, who alleged, as the pretext of their crime, that "Ii Kamon No Kami had insulted the imperial decree and, careless of the misery of the people, but making foreign intercourse his chief aim, had opened ports." "The position of the government upon the death of the regent was that of helpless inactivity. The sudden removal of the foremost man of the empire was as the removal of the fly-wheel from a piece of complicated machinery. The whole empire stood aghast, expecting and fearing some great political convulsion."[7] The Shogun began to make a compromise to unite the Emperor's power and the Shogun's, by taking the sister of the Emperor for his wife. Meanwhile great events were taking place in the southern corner of Kiushiu and on the promontory of Shikoku, events which were to effect great changes in men's ideas. These were the bombardments of Kagoshima and of Shimonosheki, the first on August 11, 1863, the second on September 5, 1864. I shall not dwell here on the injustice of these barbarous and heathenish acts of the so-called civilized and Christian nations; for I am not writing a political pamphlet. But impartially let us note the great effects of these bombardments. I. These conflicts showed on a grand but sad scale the weakness of the Daimios, even the most powerful of them, and, on the other hand, the power of the foreigners and their rifled cannon and steamers. The following Japanese memorandum expresses this point: "Satsuma's eyes were opened since the fight of Kagoshima, and affairs appeared to him in a new light; he changed in favor of foreigners, and thought now of making his country powerful and completing his armaments."[8] The Emperor also wrote in a rather pathetic tone to the Shogun touching the relative strength of the Japanese and the foreigners: "I held a council the other day with my military nobility (Daimios and nobles), but unfortunately inured to the habits of peace, which for more than two hundred years has existed in our country, we are unable to exclude and subdue our foreign enemies by the forcible means of war.... "If we compare our Japanese ships of war and cannon to those of the barbarians, we feel certain that they are not sufficient to inflict terror upon the foreign barbarians, and are also insufficient to make the splendor of Japan shine in foreign countries. I should think that we only should make ourselves ridiculous in the eyes of the barbarians."[9] From the time of the bombardment, Satsuma and Choshiu began to introduce European machinery and inventions, to employ skilled Europeans to teach them, and to send their young men to Europe and America. II. These bombardments showed the necessity of national union. Whether she would repel or receive the foreigner, Japan must present a united front. To this end, great change in the internal constitution of the empire was needed; the internal resources of the nation had to be gathered into a common treasury; the police and the taxes had to be recognized as national, not as belonging to petty local chieftains; the power of the feudal lords had to be broken in order to reconstitute Japan as a single strong state under a single head. These are the ideas which led the way to the Restoration of 1868. Thus the bombardments of Kagoshima and Shimonosheki may be said to have helped indirectly in the Restoration of that year. But before we proceed to the history of the Restoration, let us examine what were the great Councils of Kuges and Daimios, which were sometimes convened during the period from 1857 to 1868. The Council of Kuges was occasionally convened by the order of the Emperor. It was composed of the princes of the blood, nobles, and courtiers. The Council of Daimios was now and then summoned either by the Emperor or by the Shogun. It was composed mostly of the Daimios. These councils were like the Witenagemot of England, formed of the wise and influential men of the kingdom. As the Daimios had far more weight in the political scale of the realm than the Kuges, so the council of the Daimios was of far more importance than that of the Kuges. But it must not be understood that these councils were regular meetings held in the modern parliamentary way; nor that they had anything like the powers of the British Parliament or of the American Congress. These councils of Japan were called into spasmodic life simply by the necessity of the time. They were held either at the court of Kioto or that of Yedo, or at other places appointed for the purpose. The Kuges or Daimios assembled rather in an informal way, measured by modern parliamentary procedure, but in accordance with the court etiquette of the time, whose most minute regulations and rules have often embarrassed and plagued the modern ministers accredited to the court of the Emperor. Then these councils proceeded to discuss the burning questions of the day, among which the most prominent was, of course, the foreign policy. The earliest instance of the meeting of the Council of Kuges was immediately after the news of Perry's arrival had reached the court of Kioto. "Upon this," says the author of Genje Yume Monogatari, "the Emperor was much disturbed, and called a council, which was attended by a number of princes of the blood and Kuges, and much violent language was uttered." From this time on we meet often with the record of these councils.[10] A native chronicler records that on the 29th day of the 12th month of 1857 "a meeting of all Daimios (present in Yedo) was held in the Haku-sho-in, a large hall in the castle of Yedo. The deliberations were not over till two o'clock on the morning of the 30th." Soon after this the Emperor ordered the Shogun to come to Kioto with all the Daimios and ascertain the opinion of the country. But the Shogun did not come, so the Emperor sent his envoy, Ohara Sammi, and called the meeting of the Daimios at Yedo in 1862, in which the noted Shimadzu Saburo was also present. In 1864 the council of Daimios was again held, and Minister Pruyn, in his letter to Mr. Seward, bears witness of the proceeding: "It is understood the great council of Daimios is again in session; that the question of the foreign policy of the government is again under consideration, and that the opposite parties are pretty evenly balanced."[11] From this time the council of Daimios was held every year, sometimes many times in the year, till the Revolution of 1868. These examples will suffice to show the nature and purpose of these councils of Kuges and Daimios. Let us next consider how these councils originated. The political development of Japan gives another illustration of one of the truths which Mr. Herbert Spencer unfolds in his Principles of Sociology. "Everywhere the wars between societies," says he, "originate governmental structures, and are causes of all such improvements in those structures as increase the efficiency of corporate action against environing societies."[12] Experience has shown that representative government is the most efficient in securing the corporate action of the various members of the body politic against foreign enemies. When a country is threatened with foreign invasion, when the corporate action of its citizens against their enemy is needed, it becomes an imperative necessity to consult public opinion. In such a time centralization is needed. Hence the first move of Japan after the advent of foreigners was to bring the scattered parts of the country together and unite them under one head. Japan had hitherto no formidable foreign enemy on her shores. So her governmental system--the regulating system of the social organism--received no impetus for self-development. But as soon as a formidable people, either as allies or foes, appeared on the scene in 1853, we immediately see the remarkable change in the state system of regulation in Japan. It became necessary to consult public opinion. Councils of Kuges and Daimios and meetings of Samurai sprung forth spontaneously. I believe, with Guizot, that the germ of representative government was not necessarily "in the woods of Germany," as Montesquieu asserts, or in the Witenagemot of England; that the glory of having a free government is not necessarily confined to the Aryan family or to its more favored branch, the Anglo-Saxons. I believe that the seed of representative government is implanted in the very nature of human society and of the human mind. When the human mind and the social organism reach a certain stage of development, when they are placed in such an environment as to call forth a united and harmonious action of the body politic, when education is diffused among the masses and every member of the community attains a certain degree of his individuality and importance, when the military form of society transforms itself into the industrial, then the representative idea of government springs forth naturally and irresistibly. And no tyrant, no despot, can obstruct the triumphal march of liberty. Whatever may be said about the soundness of the above speculation, it is certain that in the great councils of Kuges and Daimios and in the discussions of the Samurai, which the advent of the foreigners called into being, lay the germ of the future constitutional parliament of Japan. [Footnote 1: Genje Yume Monogatari. Translated by Mr. Ernest Satow, and published in the columns of the _Japan Mail_.] [Footnote 2: The original gives names of some prominent officials thus summoned.] [Footnote 3: This is also quoted in F.O. Adams's History of Japan, Vol. I., p. 109. I have compared the passage with the original and quote here with some modifications in the translation.] [Footnote 4: Jo-i means to expel the barbarians; Kai-Koku means to open the country.] [Footnote 5: Given also in Kai-Koku Simatsu, p. 166; Ansei-Kiji, pp. 219, 220.] [Footnote 6: Life of Ii Nawosuke Tokyo, 1888.] [Footnote 7: Dickson's Japan, p. 454.] [Footnote 8: American Executive Document, Diplomatic Correspondence, Part 3, 1865-66, p. 233, 1st Sess. 39th Cong.] [Footnote 9: American Executive Document, Diplomatic Correspondence, Part 3, 1864-65, p. 502, 2d Sess. 38th Cong.] [Footnote 10: See Ansei-Kiji, pages 1, 3, 57, 59, 61, 174, 192, 352; Bosin-Simatsu, Vol. II., pp. 4, 69; Vol. III., pp. 379, 414; Vol. IV., pp. 121, 152.] [Footnote 11: American Executive Document, Diplomatic Correspondence, Part 3, 1864-65, p. 486, 3d Sess. 38th Cong.] [Footnote 12: Principles of Sociology, p. 540.] CHAPTER II. THE RESTORATION. In the last chapter we have noticed what a commotion had been caused in Japan by the sudden advent of Commodore Perry, how the councils of Kuges and Daimios were called into spontaneous life by the dread of foreigners and by the sense of national weakness, and how the bombardments of Kagoshima and Shimonosheki tested these fears and taught the necessity of national union. I have remarked that free government is not necessarily the sole heritage of the Aryan race, but that the presence of foreigners, the change of the military form of society into the industrial form, the increase in importance of the individual in the community, are sure to breed a free and representative system of government. In the following chapter we shall see the downfall of the Shogunate, the restoration of the imperial power to its pristine vigor, and the destruction of feudalism. "The study of constitutional history is essentially a tracing of causes and consequences," says Bishop Stubbs, "not the collection of a multitude of facts and views, but the piecing of links of a perfect chain." I shall therefore not dwell upon the details of the events which led to the downfall of the Shogunate, but immediately enter into an inquiry concerning the causes. Three causes led to the final overthrow of the Shogunate: I. The Revival of Learning. The last half of the eighteenth and the first half of the present century witnessed in Japan an unusual intellectual activity. The long peace and prosperity of the country under the rule of the Tokugawa dynasties had fostered in every way the growth of literature and art. The Shoguns, from policy or from taste, either to find a harmless vent for the restless spirit of the Samura or from pure love of learning, have been constant patrons of literature. The Daimios, too, as a means of spending their leisure hours when they were not out hawking or revelling with their mistresses, gave no inattentive ear to the readings and lectures of learned men. Each Daimioate took pride in the number and fame of her own learned sons. Thus throughout the country eminent scholars arose. With them a new era of literature dawned upon the land. The new literature changed its tone. Instead of the servility, faint suggestiveness, and restrained politeness characteristic of the literature from the Gen-hei period to the first half of the Tokugawa period, that of the Revival Era began to wear a bolder and freer aspect. History came to be recorded with more truthfulness and boldness than ever before. But as the ancient histories were studied and the old constitution was brought into light, the real nature of the Shogunate began to reveal itself. To the eyes of the historians it became clear that the Shogunate was nothing but a military usurpation, sustained by fraud and corruption; that the Emperor, who was at that time, in plain words, imprisoned at the court of Kioto, was the real source of power and honor. "If this be the case, what ought we do?" was the natural question of these loyal subjects of the Emperor. The natural conclusion followed: the military usurper must be overthrown and the rightful ruler recognized. This was the sum and substance of the political programme of the Imperialists. The first sound of the trumpet against the Shogunate rose from the learned hall of the Prince of Mito, Komon. He, with the assistance of a host of scholars, finished his great work, the Dai Nihon Shi, or History of Japan, in 1715. It was not printed till 1851, but was copied from hand to hand by eager students, like the Bible by the medieval monks, or the works of Plato and Aristotle by the Humanists. The Dai Nihon Shi soon became a classic, and had such an influence in restoring the power of the Emperor that Mr. Ernest Satow justly calls its composer "the real author of the movement which culminated in the revolution of 1868." The voice of the Prince of Mito was soon caught up by the more celebrated scholar Rai Sanyo (1780-1833). A poet, an historian, and a zealous patriot, Rai Sanyo was the Arndt of Japan. He outlined in his Nihon Guai Shi the rise and fall of the Minister of State and the Shoguns, and with satire, invective, and the enthusiasm of a patriot, urged the unlawfulness of the usurpation of the imperial power by these mayors of the palace. In his Sei-Ki, or political history of Japan, he traced the history of the imperial family, and mourned with characteristic pathos the decadence of the imperial power. The labors of these historians and scholars bore in time abundant fruit. Some of their disciples became men of will and action: Sakuma Shozan, Yoshida Toraziro, Gesho, Yokoi Heishiro, and later Saigo, Okubo, Kido, and hosts of others, who ultimately realized the dreams of their masters. Out of the literary seed which scholars like Rai Sanyo spread broadcast over the country thus grew hands of iron and hearts of steel. This process shows how closely related are history and politics, and affords another illustration of the significance of the epigrammatic expression of Professor Freeman: "History is past politics, and politics present history." II. Another tributary stream which helped to swell the tide flowing toward the Emperor was the revival of Shintoism. The revival of learning is sure to be followed by the revival of religion. This is shown in the history of the Reformation in Europe, which was preceded by the revival of learning. Since the expulsion of Christianity from Japan in the sixteenth century, which was effected more from political than religious motives, laissez-faire was the steadfast policy of the Japanese rulers toward religious matters. The founder of the Tokugawa dynasty had laid down in his "Legacy" the policy to be pursued by his descendants. "Now any one of the people," says Iyeyasu, "can adhere to which (religion) he pleases (except the Christian); and there must be no wrangling among sects to the disturbance of the peace of the Empire." Thus while the people in the West, who worshipped the Prince of Peace, in his abused name were cutting each other's throat, destroying each other's property, torturing and proselyting by rack and flames, the islanders on the West Pacific coast were enjoying complete religious toleration. Three religions--Shintoism, Buddhism, and Confucianism--lived together in peace. In such a state of unrestricted competition among various religions, the universal law of the survival of the fittest acts freely. Buddhism was the fittest and became the predominant religion. Shintoism was the weakest and sank into helpless desuetude. But with the revival of learning, as Kojiki and other ancient literature were studied with assiduity, Shintoism began to revive. Its cause found worthy defenders in Motoori and Hirata. They are among the greatest Shintoists Japan has ever seen. Now, according to Shintoism, Japan is a holy land. It was made by the gods, whose lineal descendant is the Emperor. Hence he must be revered and worshipped as a god. This is the substance of Shintoism. The political bearing of such a doctrine upon the then existing status of the country is apparent. The Emperor, who is a god, the fountain of all virtue, honor, and authority, is now a prisoner at the court of Kioto, under the iron hand of the Tokugawa Shoguns. This state of impiety and irreverence can never be tolerated by the devout Shintoists. The Shogun must be dethroned and the Emperor raised to power. Here the line of arguments of the Shintoists meets with that of the scholars we have noted above. Thus both scholars and Shintoists have converted themselves into politicians who have at heart the restoration of the Emperor. III. Another cause which led to the overthrow of the Shogunate was the jealousy and cupidity of the Southern Daimios. Notably among them were the Daimios of Satsuma, Choshiu, Tosa, and Hizen. Their ancestors "had of old held equal rank and power with Iyeyasu, until the fortunes of war turned against them. They had been overcome by force, or had sullenly surrendered in face of overwhelming odds. Their adherence to the Tokugawas was but nominal, and only the strong pressure of superior power was able to wring from them a haughty semblance of obedience. They chafed perpetually under the rule of one who was in reality a vassal like themselves."[1] They now saw in the rising tide of public sentiment against the Tokugawa Shogunate a rare opportunity of accomplishing their cherished aim. They lent their arms and money for the support of the patriots in carrying out their plan. Satsuma and Choshiu became the rendezvous of eminent scholars and zealous patriots. And in the council-halls of Satsuma and Choshiu were hatched the plots which were soon to overthrow the effete Shogunate. Thus everything was ready for the revolution of 1868 before Perry came. We saw the Shogun, under the bombastic title of Tycoon, in spite of the remonstrance of the Emperor and his court, conclude a treaty with Perry at Kanagawa in 1854. Here at last was found a pretext for the Imperialists to raise arms against the Shogun. The Shogun or his ministers had no right to make treaties with foreigners. Such an act was, in the eyes of the patriots, heinous treason. The cry of "Destroy the Shogunate and raise the Emperor to his proper throne!" rang from one end of the empire to the other. The constant disturbance of the country, the difficulty of foreign intercourse, the sense of necessity of a single and undoubted authority over the land, and the outcry of the Samurai thus raised against the Shogun, finally led to his resignation on November 19, 1867. His letter of resignation, in the form of a manifesto to the Daimios, runs thus: "A retrospect of the various changes through which the empire has passed shows us that after the decadence of the monarchical authority, power passed into the hands of the Minister of State; that by the wars of 1156 to 1159 the governmental power came into the hands of the military class. My ancestor received greater marks of confidence than any before him, and his descendants have succeeded him for more than two hundred years. Though I perform the same duties, the objects of government and the penal laws have not been attained, and it is with feelings of greatest humiliation that I find myself obliged to ackowledge my own want of virtue as the cause of the present state of things. Moreover, our intercourse with foreign powers becomes daily more extensive, and our foreign policy cannot be pursued unless directed by the whole power of the country. "If, therefore, the old régime be changed and the governmental authority be restored to the imperial court, if the councils of the whole empire be collected and the wise decisions received, and if we unite with all our heart and with all our strength to protect and maintain the empire, it will be able to range itself with the nations of the earth. This comprises our whole duty towards our country. "However, if you (the Daimios) have any particular ideas on the subject, you may state them without reserve."[2] The resignation of the Shogun was accepted by the Emperor by the following imperial order, issued on the 10th day of the 12th month: "It has pleased the Emperor to dismiss the present Shogun, at his request, from the office of Shogun." As to the full intent and motive of the Shogun in resigning his power, let him further speak himself. In the interview of the British minister, Sir Harry S. Parkes, and the French minister, M. Leon Koches, with the Shogun, it is stated that he said: "I became convinced last autumn that the country would no longer be successfully governed while the power was divided between the Emperor and myself. The country had two centres, from which orders of an opposite nature proceeded. Thus, in the matter of the opening of Hiogo and Osako, which I quote as an example of this conflict of authority, I was myself convinced that the stipulations of the treaties must be observed, but the assent of the Emperor to my representations on this subject was given reluctantly. I therefore, for the good of my country, informed the Emperor that I resigned the governing power, with the understanding that an assembly of Daimios was convened for the purpose of deciding in what manner, and by whom, the government in future should be carried on. In acting thus, I sunk my own interests and power handed down to me by my ancestors, in the more important interests of the country.[3].... "My policy, from the commencement, has been to determine this question of the future form of government in a peaceful manner, and it is in pursuance of the same object that, instead of opposing force by force, I have retired from the scene of dispute..... "As to who is the sovereign of Japan, it is a question on which no one in Japan can entertain a doubt. The Emperor is the sovereign. My object from the first has been to take the will of the nation as to the future government. If the nation should decide that I ought to resign my powers, I am prepared to resign them for the good of my country..... "I have no other motive but the following: With an honest love for my country and the people, I resigned the governing power which I inherited from my ancestors, and with the mutual understanding that I should assemble all the nobles of the empire to discuss the question disinterestedly, and adopting the opinion of the majority, decide upon the reformation of the national constitution, I left the matter in the hands of the imperial court."[4] Thus was the Shogunate overthrown and the Restoration effected. The civil war which soon followed need not detain us, for the war itself had no great consequence as regards the constitutional development of the country. Let us now consider the form of the new government. It is essentially that which prevailed in Japan before the development of feudalism. It is modelled on the form of government of the Osei era. The new government was composed of: 1. Sosai ("Supreme Administrator"). He was assisted by Fuku, or Vice-Sosai. The Sosai resembled the British Premier, was the head of the chief council of the government. 2. Gijio, or "Supreme Council," whose function was to discuss all questions and suggest the method of their settlement to the Sosai. It was composed of ten members, five of whom were selected from the list of Kuges and five from the great Daimios. 3. Sanyo, or "Associate Council." They were subordinate officers, and were selected from the Daimios as well as from the retainers. This council finally came to have great influence, and ultimately transformed itself into the present cabinet. The government was divided into eight departments: 1. The Sosai Department. This soon changed into Dai-jo-Kuan. 2. Jingi-Jimu-Kioku, or Department of the Shinto Religion. This department had charge of the Shinto temples, priests, and festivals. 3. Naikoku-Jimu-Kioku, or Department of Home Affairs. This department had charge of the capital and the five home provinces, of land and water transport in all the provinces, of post-towns and post-roads, of barriers and fairs, and of the governors of castles, towns, ports, etc. 4. Guaikoku-Jimu-Kioku, or Department of Foreign Affairs. This department had charge of foreign relations, treaties, trade, recovery of lands, and sustenance of the people. 5. Gumbu-Jimu-Kioku, or War Department. This department had charge of the naval and military forces, drilling, protection of the Emperor, and military defences in general. 6. Kuaikei-Jimu-Kioku, or Department of Finance. This department had charge of the registers of houses and population, of tariff and taxes, money, corn, accounts, tribute, building and repairs, salaries, public storehouses, and internal trade. 7. Keiho-Jimu-Kioku, or Judicial Department. This department had charge of the censorate, of inquisitions, arrests, trials, and the penal laws in general. 8. Seido-Jimu-Kioku, or Legislative Department. This department had charge of the superintendence of offices, enactments, sumptuary regulations, appointments, and all other laws and regulations, "It is easy to destroy, but difficult to construct," is an old adage of statesmen. The truth of this utterance was soon realized by the leaders of the new government. The first thing which the new government had to settle was its attitude toward foreign nations. The leaders of the government who had once opposed with such vehemence, as we have seen, the foreign policy of the Tokugawa Shogun, now that he had been overthrown, urged the necessity of amicable relations with foreign powers in the following memorable memorial[5] to the Dai-jo-Kuan (Government): "The undersigned, servants of the Crown, respectfully believe that from ancient times decisions upon important questions concerning the welfare of the empire were arrived at after consideration of the actual political condition and its necessities, and that thus results were obtained, not of mere temporary brilliancy, but which bore good fruits in all time.... "Among other pressing duties of the present moment we venture to believe it to be pre-eminently important to set the question of foreign intercourse in a clear light. "His Majesty's object in creating the office of administrator of foreign affairs, and selecting persons to fill it, and otherwise exerting himself in that direction, has been to show the people of his empire in what light to look on this matter, and we have felt the greatest pleasure in thinking that the imperial glory would now be made to shine forth before all nations. An ancient proverb says that 'Men's minds resemble each other as little as their faces,' nor have the upper and lower classes been able, up to the present, to hold with confidence a uniform opinion. It gives us some anxiety to feel that perhaps we may be following the bad example of the Chinese, who, fancying themselves alone great and worthy of respect, and despising foreigners as little better than beasts, have come to suffer defeats at their hands and to have it lorded over themselves by those foreigners. "It appears to us, therefore, after mature reflection, that the most important duty we have at present is for high and low to unite harmoniously in understanding the condition of the age, in effecting a national reformation and commencing a great work, and that for this reason it is of the greatest necessity that we determine upon the attitude to be observed towards this question. "Hitherto the empire has held itself aloof from other countries and is ignorant of the affairs of the world; the only object sought has been to give ourselves the least trouble, and by daily retrogression we are in danger of falling under foreign rule. "By travelling to foreign countries and observing what good there is in them, by comparing their daily progress, the universality of enlightened government, of a sufficiency of military defences, and of abundant food for the people among them, with our present condition, the causes of prosperity and degeneracy may be plainly traced.... "Of late years the question of expelling the barbarians has been constantly agitated, and one or two Daimios have tried to expel them, but it is unnecessary to prove that this was more than the strength of a single clan could accomplish.... "How ever, in order to restore the fallen fortunes of the empire and to make the imperial dignity respected abroad, it is necessary to make a firm resolution, and to get rid of the narrow-minded ideas which have prevailed hitherto. We pray that the important personages of the court will open their eyes and unite with those below them in establishing relations of amity in a single-minded manner, and that our deficiencies being supplied with what foreigners are superior in, an enduring government be established for future ages. Assist the Emperor in forming his decision wisely and in understanding the condition of the empire; let the foolish argument which has hitherto styled foreigners dogs and goats and barbarians be abandoned; let the court ceremonies, hitherto imitated from the Chinese, be reformed, and the foreign representatives be bidden to court in the manner prescribed by the rules current amongst all nations; and let this be publicly notified throughout the country, so that the countless people may be taught what is the light in which they are to regard this subject. This is our most earnest prayer, presented with all reverence and humility. "ECHIZEN SAISHO, TOSA SAKIO NO SHOSHO, NAGATO SHOSHO, SATSUMA SHOSHO, AKI SHOSHO, HOSO KAWA UKIO DAIBU." The advice of these notables was well received. A formal invitation to an audience with the Emperor was extended to the foreign ambassadors. They soon accepted the invitation. Their appearance in the old anti-foreign city of Kioto, before the personage who was considered by the masses as divine, was significant. It put an end to the all-absorbing, all-perplexing theme of the day. The question of foreign policy was settled. The next act of the statesmen of the Restoration was to sweep away the abuses of the court, and to establish the basis of a firm internal administration. The most effectual means of accomplishing this, it seemed to the sagacious statesmen, was to move the court from the place where those abuses had their roots. Ichizo Okubo,[6] a guiding spirit of the Restoration, presented the following memorial to the Emperor: "The most pressing of your Majesty's pressing duties at the present moment is not to look at the empire alone and judge carelessly by appearances, but to consider carefully the actual state of the whole world; to reform the inveterate and slothful habits induced during several hundred years, and to give union to the nation.... "Hitherto the person whom we designate the sovereign has lived behind a screen, and, as if he were different from other human beings, has not been seen by more than a very limited number of Kuge; and as his heaven-conferred office of father to his people has been thereby unfulfilled, it is necessary that his office should be ascertained in accordance with this fundamental principle, and then the laws governing internal affairs may be established.... "In the present period of reformation and restoration of the government to its ancient monarchical form, the way to carry out the resolution of imitating the example of Japanese sages, and of surpassing the excellent governments of foreign nations, is to change the site of the capital.... "Osako is the fittest place for the capital ... For the conduct of foreign relations, for enriching the country and strengthening its military power, for adopting successful means of offense and defense, for establishing an army and navy, the place is peculiarly fitted by its position ... I most humbly pray your Majesty to open your eyes and make this reform.... "OKUBO ICHIZO."[7] The result of the memorial was the ultimate removal of the seat of government from Kioto to Yedo, which afterwards changed its name to Tokio, meaning eastern capital. But the most important event of the Restoration, from the constitutional point of view, was the charter oath of five articles, taken by the present Emperor on the 17th of April, 1869, before the court and the assembly of Daimios. These articles were in substance as follows: 1. A deliberative assembly should be formed, and all measures be decided by public opinion. 2. The principles of social and political economics should be diligently studied by both the superior and inferior classes of our people. 3. Every one in the community shall be assisted to persevere in carrying out his will for all good purposes. 4. All the old absurd usages of former times should be disregarded, and the impartiality and justice displayed in the workings of nature be adopted as a basis of action. 5. Wisdom and ability should be sought after in all quarters of the world for the purpose of firmly establishing the foundations of the empire. The Emperor's promise henceforth became the watchword of the nation. And this resolution to form a deliberative assembly was soon put into practice. In 1869 was convened the Kogisho or "Parliament," as Sir Harry Parkes translates it in his despatch to the Earl of Clarendon. But before we proceed to the description of the nature and working of the Kogisho it is necessary to state that this plan had been already suggested by the Shogunate. A proclamation of the Shogun Keiki, issued on February 20, 1868, says: "As it is proper to determine the principle of the constitution of Japan with due regard to the wishes of the majority, I have resigned the supreme power to the Emperor's court, and advised that the opinions of all the Daimios should be taken.... On examination of my household affairs (the administration of Shogun's territories), many irregularities may exist which may dissatisfy the people, and which I therefore greatly deplore. Hence I intend to establish a Kogijio and to accept the opinion of the majority. Any one, therefore, who has an opinion to express may do so at that place and be free of apprehension."[8] But this attempt of the Shogun to establish a sort of Parliament came to an end with his fall. This idea, however, was transmitted through the Shogunate officials to the government of the Restoration. In fact, this idea of consulting public opinion was, as I have repeatedly said, in the air. The leaders of the new government all felt, as one of them said to Messrs. F.O. Adams and Ernest Satow, that "the only way to allay the jealousies hitherto existing between several of the most powerful clans, and to ensure a solid and lasting union of conflicting interests, was to search for the nearest approach to an ideal constitution among those of Western countries ... that the opinion of the majority was the only criterion of a public measure."[9] Sir Harry Parkes was right when he told the Earl of Clarendon that "the establishment of such an institution (the Kogisho) formed one of the first objects of the promoters of the recent revolution."[10] The Kogisho was opened on the 18th of April, 1869,[11] and the following message[12] from the throne was then delivered: "Being on the point of visiting our eastern capital, we have convened the nobles of our court and the various princes in order to consult them upon the means of establishing the foundations of peaceful government. The laws and institutions are the basis of government. The petitions of the people at large cannot be lightly decided. It has been reported to us that brief rules and regulations have been fixed upon for the Parliament, and it seems good to us that the House should be opened at once. We exhort you to respect the laws of the House, to lay aside all private and selfish considerations, to conduct your debates with minuteness and firmness; above all things, to take the laws of our ancestors as 'basis,' and adapt yourselves to the feelings of men and to the spirit of the times. Distinguish clearly between those matters which are of immediate importance and those which may be delayed; between things which are less urgent and those which are pressing. In your several capacities argue with careful attention. When the results of your debate are communicated to us it shall be our duty to confirm them." The Kogisho was composed mostly of the retainers of the Daimios, for the latter, having no experience of the earnest business of life, "were not eager to devote themselves to the labors of an onerous and voluntary office." Akidzuki Ukio No Suke was appointed President of the Kogisho. The object of the Kogisho was to enable the government to sound public opinion on the various topics of the day, and to obtain the assistance of the country in the work of legislation by ascertaining whether the projects of the government were likely to be favorably received. The Kogisho, like the Councils of Kuges and Daimios, was nothing but an experiment, a mere germ of a deliberative assembly, which only time and experience could bring to maturity. Still Kogisho was an advance over the council of Daimios. It had passed the stage resembling a mere deliberative meeting or quiet Quaker conference, where, for hours perhaps, nobody opens his mouth. It now bore an aspect of a political club meeting. But it was a quiet, peaceful, obedient debating society. It has left the record of its abortive undertakings in the "Kogisho Nishi" or journal of "Parliament." The Kogisho was dissolved in the year of its birth. And the indifference of the public about its dissolution proves how small an influence it really had. But a greater event than the dissolution of the Kogisho was pending before the public gaze. This was the abolition of feudalism, which we shall consider in the next chapter. [Footnote 1: The Mikado's Empire. Griffis, p. 301.] [Footnote 2: American Executive Document, Diplomatic Correspondence, 1867, Part II., p. 78, 2d Sess. 40th Cong. See also Bosin-Simatsu, Vol. I., p. 2.] [Footnote 3: American Executive Document, Diplomatic Correspondence, Vol. I., 1868-69, p. 620, 3d Sess. 40th Cong.] [Footnote 4: American Executive Document, Diplomatic Correspondence, Vol. I., 1868-69, 3d Sess. 40th Cong.] [Footnote 5: Translation from the Kioto Government Gazette of March, 1868. It is given in Diplomatic Correspondence of the U.S.A., 3d Sess. 40th Cong., Vol. I, 1868-69, p. 725.] [Footnote 6: He afterwards changed his name into Toshimitsu Okubo.] [Footnote 7: Translation is given in American Executive Document, Diplomatic Correspondence, Vol. I, 1868-69, p. 728, 3d Sess. 40th Cong.] [Footnote 8: American Executive Document, Diplomatic Correspondence, Vol. I., 1868-69, p. 687, 3d Sess. 40th Cong.] [Footnote 9: F.O. Adams' History of Japan, Vol. II., p. 128.] [Footnote 10: English State Papers, Vol. LXX., 1870, p. 9.] [Footnote 11: 29th of the 2d month in the second year of Meiji, according to the old calendar.] [Footnote 12: Translation is given in English State Papers, Vol. LXX., 1871, p. 12.] CHAPTER III. THE ABOLITION OF FEUDALISM. The measure to abolish feudalism was much discussed in the Kogisho before its dissolution. Prince Akidzuki, President of the Kogisho, had sent in the following memorial: "After the government had been returned by the Tokugawa family into the hands of the Emperor, the calamity of war ensued, and the excellence of the newly established administration has not yet been able to perfect itself; if this continues, I am grieved to think how the people will give up their allegiance. Happily, the eastern and northern provinces have already been pacified and the country at large has at last recovered from its troubles. The government of the Emperor is taking new steps every day; this is truly a noble thing for the country. And yet when I reflect, I see that although there are many who profess loyalty, none have yet shown proof of it. The various princes have used their lands and their people for their own purposes; different laws have obtained in different places; the civil and criminal codes have been various in the various provinces. The clans have been called the screen of the country, but in truth they have caused its division. The internal relations having been confused, the strength of the country has been disunited and severed. How can our small country of Japan enter into fellowship with the countries beyond the sea? How can she hold up an example of a flourishing country? Let those who wish to show their faith and loyalty act in the following manner, that they may firmly establish the foundations of the Imperial Government: "1. Let them restore the territories which they have received from the Emperor and return to a constitutional and undivided nation. "2. Let them abandon their titles, and under the name of Kuazoku (persons of honor) receive such small properties as may suffice for their wants. "3. Let the officers of the clans abandoning that title call themselves officers of the Emperor, receiving property equal to that which they have hitherto held. "Let these three important measures be adopted forthwith, that the empire may be raised on a basis imperishable for ages ... 2nd year of Meiji (1869). (Signed) "AKIDZUKI UKIO NO SUKE."[1] But politics is not an easy game--a game which a pedant or a sentimental scholar or an orator can leisurely play. It has to deal with passions, ambitions, and selfish interests of men, as well as with the moral and intellectual consciousness of the people. Tongue and pen wield, undoubtedly, a great influence in shaping the thought of the nation and impressing them with the importance of any political measure. But the tongue is as sounding brass and the pen as useless steel unless they are backed by force and money. Even in such a country as England, where tongue and pen seem to reign supreme, a prime minister before he forms his cabinet has to be closeted for hours with Mr. Rothschild. Fortunately this important measure of abolishing feudalism, which a few patriots had secretly plotted and which the scholars had noised abroad, was taken up first by the most powerful and wealthy Daimios of the country. In the following noted memorial, after reviewing the political history of Japan during the past few hundred years, these Daimios said: "Now the great Government has been newly restored and the Emperor himself undertakes the direction of affairs. This is, indeed, a rare and mighty event. We have the name (of an Imperial Government), we must also have the fact. Our first duty is to illustrate our faithfulness and to prove our loyalty. When the line of Tokugawa arose it divided the country amongst its kinsfolk, and there were many who founded the fortunes of their families upon it. They waited not to ask whether the lands and men that they received were the gift of the Emperor; for ages they continued to inherit these lands until this day. Others said that their possessions were the prize of their spears and bows, as if they had entered storehouses and stolen the treasure therein, boasting to the soldiers by whom they were surrounded that they had done this regardless of their lives. Those who enter storehouses are known by all men to be thieves, but those who rob lands and steal men are not looked upon with suspicion. How are loyalty and faith confused and destroyed! "The place where we live is the Emperor's land and the food which we eat is grown by the Emperor's men. How can we make it our own? We now reverently offer up the list of our possessions and men, with the prayer that the Emperor will take good measures for rewarding those to whom reward is due and for taking from those to whom punishment is due. Let the imperial orders be issued for altering and remodelling the territories of the various clans. Let the civil and penal codes, the military laws down to the rules for uniform and the construction of engines of war, all proceed from the Emperor; let all the affairs of the empire, great and small, be referred to him." This memorial was signed by the Daimios of Kago, Hizen, Satsuma, Choshiu, Tosa, and some other Daimios of the west. But the real author of the memorial is believed to have been Kido, the brain of the Restoration. Thus were the fiefs of the most powerful and most wealthy Daimios voluntarily offered to the Emperor. The other Daimios soon followed the example of their colleagues. And the feudalism which had existed in Japan for over eight centuries was abolished by the following laconic imperial decree of August, 1871: "The clans are abolished, and prefectures are established in their places." This rather off-hand way of destroying an institution, whose overthrow in Europe required the combined efforts of ambitious kings and emperors, of free cities, of zealous religious sects, and cost centuries of bloodshed, has been made a matter of much comment in the West. One writer exclaims, "History does not record another instance where changes of such magnitude ever occurred within so short a time, and it is astonishing that it only required eleven words to destroy the ambition and power of a proud nobility that had with imperious will directed the destiny of Japan for more than five hundred years."[2] But when we examine closely the circumstances which led to the overthrow of feudalism and the influences which acted upon it, we cannot but regard it as the natural terminus of the political flood which was sweeping over the country. When such a revolution of thought as that expressed in the proclamation of 1868 had taken place in the minds of the leaders of society, when contact with foreigners had fostered the necessity of national union, when the spirit of loyalty of the Samurai had changed to loyalty to his Emperor, when his patriotic devotion to his province had changed to patriotic devotion to his country, then it became apparent that the petty social organization, which was antagonistic to these national principles, would soon be crushed. If there is any form of society which is diametrically opposed to the spirit of national union, of liberal thought, of free intercourse, it is feudal society. A monarchical or a democratic society encourages the spirit of union, but feudal society must, from its very nature, smother it. Seclusion is the parent of feudalism. In our enlightened and progressive century seclusion is no longer possible. Steam and electricity alone would have been sufficient to destroy our Japanese feudalism. But long before its fall our Japanese feudalism "was an empty shell." Its leaders, the Daimios of provinces, were, with a few exceptions, men of no commanding importance. "The real power in each clan lay in the hands of able men of inferior rank, who ruled their masters." From these men came the present advisers of the Emperor. Their chief object at that time was the thorough unification of Japan. Why, then, should they longer trouble themselves to uphold feudalism, this mother of sectionalism, this colossal sham? [Footnote 1: Translation given in the English State Papers.] [Footnote 2: Consular Report of the U.S.A., No. 75, p. 626.] CHAPTER IV. INFLUENCES THAT SHAPED THE GROWTH OF THE REPRESENTATIVE IDEA OF GOVERNMENT. We have seen in the last two chapters how the Shogunate and feudalism fell, and how the Meiji government was inaugurated. We have also observed in the memorials of leading statesmen abundant proof of their willingness and zeal to introduce a representative system of government. We have also seen the Kogisho convened and dissolved. John Stuart Mill has pointed out, in his Representative Government, several social conditions when representative government is inapplicable or unsuitable: 1. When the people are not willing to receive it. 2. When the people are not willing and able to do what is necessary for its preservation. "Representative institutions necessarily depend for permanence upon the readiness of the people to fight for them in case of their being endangered." 3. When the people are not willing and able to fulfil the duties and discharge the functions which it imposes on them. 4. When the people have not learned the first lesson of obedience. 5. When the people are too passive; when they are ready to submit to tyranny. Now when we look at the Japan of 1871, even her greatest admirers must admit that she was far from being able to fulfil the social conditions necessary for the success of representative government. Japan was obedient, but too submissive. She had not yet learned the first lesson of freedom, that is, when and how to resist, in the faith that resistance to tyrants is obedience to truth; that the irrepressible kicker against tyranny, as Dr. Wilson observes, is the only true freeman. In her conservative, almost abject submission, Japan was yet unfit for free government. The Japanese people were willing to do almost anything suggested by their Emperor, but they had first to learn what was meant by representative government, "to understand its processes and requirements." The Japanese had to discard many old habits and prejudices, reform many defects of national character, and undergo many stages of moral and mental discipline before they could acclimatize themselves to the free atmosphere of representative institutions. This preparation required a period of little over two decades, and was effected not only through political discipline, but by corresponding development in the moral, intellectual, social, and industrial life of the nation. I remarked in the beginning that the political activity of a nation is not isolated from other spheres of its activities, but that there is a mutual interchange of action and reaction among the different factors of social life, so that to trace the political life of a nation it is not only necessary to describe the organ through which it acts, the governmental machinery, and the methods by which it is worked, but to know "the forces which move it and direct its course." Now these forces are political as well as non-political. This truth is now generally acknowledged by constitutional writers. Thus, the English author of "The American Commonwealth" devotes over one-third of his second volume to the account of non-political institutions, and says "there are certain non-political institutions, certain aspects of society, certain intellectual or spiritual forces which count for so much in the total life of the country, in the total impression it makes and the hopes for the future which it raises, that they cannot be left unnoticed."[1] If this be the case in the study of the American commonwealth, it is more so in that of Japanese politics. For nowhere else in the history of nations do we see "non-political institutions" exerting such a powerful influence upon the body politic as in New Japan. In this chapter we shall therefore note briefly the growth of so-called "non-political institutions" during a period of about a decade and a half, between 1868 and 1881, and mark their influence upon the development of representative ideas. I.--MEANS OF COMMUNICATION. 1. Telegraph. At the time of the Restoration there was no telegraph in operation, and "for expresses the only available means were men and horses." In 1868 the government began to construct telegraphs, and the report of the Bureau of Statistics in 1881 shows the following increase in each successive year: Telegraph Number Year. Offices. Miles. of Telegrams. Ri Cho. 1869-1871 8 26.04 19,448 1872 29 33.11 80,639 1873 40 1,099.00 186,448 1874 57 1,333.20 356,539 1875 94 1,904.32 611,866 1876 100 2,214.07 680,939 1877 122 2,827.08 1,045,442 1878 147 3,380.05 1,272,756 1879 195 3,842.31 1,935,320 1880 195 4,484.30 2,168,201 All the more important towns in the country were thus made able to communicate with one another as early as 1880. In 1879 Japan joined the International Telegraph Convention, and since then she can communicate easily with the great powers of the world through the great submarine cable system. "Compared with the state of ten years ago, when the ignorant people cut down the telegraph poles and severed the wires," exclaims Count Okuma, "we seem rather to have made a century's advance." 2. Postal System. "Previous to the Restoration," to quote further from Count Okuma, "with the exception of the posts sent by the Daimios from their residences at the capital to their territories, there was no regularly established post for the general public and private convenience. Letters had to be sent by any opportunity that occurred, and a single letter cost over 25 sen for a distance of 150 ri. But since the Restoration the government for the first time established a general postal service, and in 1879 the length of postal lines was 15,700 ri (nearly 40,000 English miles), and a letter can at any time be sent for two sen to any part of the country. In 1874 we entered the International Postal Convention, and have thus obtained great facilities for communicating with foreign countries."[2] 3. Railroad. The first railway Japan ever saw was the model railway constructed by Commodore Perry to excite the curiosity of the people. But it was not until 1870 that the railroad was really introduced into Japan. The first rail was laid on the road between Tokio and Yokohama. This road was opened in 1872. It is 18 miles long. The second line was constructed in 1876, and runs between Hiogo and Kioto via Osako. And the year 1880 saw the opening of the railroad between Kioto and Otsu. This line between Hiogo and Otsu is 58 miles long. So at the end of the period which we are surveying Japan had a railway system of 31 ri and 5 cho (about 78 English miles). This was nothing but a child-play compared with the railroad activity which the later years brought forth, for now we have a railway system extending over one thousand two hundred miles. But this concerns the later period, so we shall not dwell upon it at present. 4. Steamers and the coasting trade. In 1871 the number of ships of foreign build was only 74, but by 1878 they had reached 377. The number of vessels of native build in 1876 was 450,000, and in 1878 had reached 460,000.[3] "Since the Restoration the use of steamers has daily increased, and the inland sea, the lakes and large rivers are now constantly navigated by small steamers employed in the carrying trade." With the increased facility of communication, commerce and trade were stimulated. In 1869 the total amount of imports and exports was 33,680,000 yen, and in 1879 64,120,000 yen. Imports had grown from 20,780,000 yen to 36,290,000 yen, and exports from 12,909,000 yen to 27,830,000 yen; in the one case showing an advance from 2 to 3-1/2, in the other from 2 to 5.[4] II.--EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS. Previous to the Restoration, the schools supported by Daimios and the private schools were few in number; but since that epoch the educational system has been vastly improved, with a resulting increase in the number of schools and pupils. In 1878, of high, middle, and primary schools there were altogether 27,600, with 68,000 teachers and 2,319,000 pupils.[5] The following table shows the comparative history of educational institutions within three years, 1878-1880 (inclusive): Teachers. Pupils. Year. Institutions. Male. Female. Male. Female. 1878 27,672 66,309 2,374 1,715,425 610,214 1879 29,362 71,757 2,803 1,771,641 608,205 1880 30,799 74,747 2,923 1,844,564 605,781 Furthermore, hundreds of students went abroad yearly, and returning, powerfully influenced the destiny of their country. III.--NEWSPAPERS. It was in 1869 that the Emperor sanctioned the publication of newspapers. Magazines, journals, periodicals and newspapers sprung up in a night. The number of newspapers published in 1882 was about 113, and of miscellaneous publications about 133. It is to be noted that the newspapers defied the old censorship of prohibition under very sanguinary pains and penalties. Their circulation increased every year. The total newspaper circulation in 1874 was but 8,470,269, while in 1877 it was 33,449,529. In his consular report of 1882, Consul-General Van Buren makes an approximate estimate of the annual aggregate circulation of a dozen noted papers of Tokio to be not less than 29,000,000 copies.[6] The publication of books and translations kept pace with the growth of newspapers. Observing the effects of these literary activities, Mr. Griffis well says: "It is the writer's firm belief, after nearly four years of life in Japan, mingling among the progressive men of the empire, that the reading and study of books printed in the Japanese language have done more to transform the Japanese mind and to develop an impulse in the direction of modern civilization than any other cause or series of causes." Meanwhile, great changes were affecting law and religion. Here it is sufficient to observe that the old law which had been hitherto altogether arbitrary--either the will of the Emperor or of the Shogun--was revised on the model of the Napoleonic code and soon published throughout the land. The use of torture to obtain testimony was wholly and forever abolished. With the incoming of Western science and Christianity, old faiths began to lose their hold upon the people. The new religion spread yearly. Missionary schools were instituted in several parts of the country. Christian churches were built in almost all of the large cities and towns, and their number increased constantly. Missionaries and Christian schools had no inconsiderable influence in changing the ideas of the people. Such, in brief, have been the changes in the industrial, social and religious condition of Japan from 1868 to 1881. After this study we shall not much wonder at the remarkable political change of Japan during the same period, which I shall endeavor to describe in the next chapter. [Footnote 1: The American Commonwealth, Bryce, Vol. I., p. 7.] [Footnote 2: A Survey of Financial Policy during Thirteen Years (1868-1880), by Count Okuma.] [Footnotes 3, 4, 5: Count Okuma's pamphlet.] [Footnote 6: Consular Report of the U.S., No. 25, p. 182.] CHAPTER V. PROGRESS OF THE CONSTITUTIONAL MOVEMENT FROM THE ABOLITION OF FEUDALISM TO THE PROCLAMATION OF OCTOBER 12, 1881. The leaders of the Restoration were of an entirely different type from the court nobles of former days. They were, with a few exceptions, men of humble origin. They had raised themselves from obscurity to the highest places of the state by sheer force of native ability. They had studied much and travelled far. Their experiences were diverse; they had seen almost every phase of society. If they were now drinking the cup of glory, most of them had also tasted the bitterness of exile, imprisonment, and fear of death. Patriotic, sagacious, and daring, they combined the rare qualities of magnanimity and urbanity. If they looked with indifference upon private morality, they were keenly sensitive to the feeling of honor and to public morals. If they made mistakes and did not escape the charge of inconsistency in their policy, these venial faults were, for the most part, due to the rapidly changing conditions of the country. No other set of statesmen of Japan or of any other country, ancient or modern, have witnessed within their lifetime so many social and political transformations. They saw the days when feudalism flourished--the grandeur of its rulers, its antique chivalry, its stately etiquette, its ceremonial costumes, its codes of honor, its rigid social order, formal politeness, and measured courtesies. They also saw the days when all these were swept away and replaced by the simplicity and stir of modern life. They accordingly "have had to cast away every tradition, every habit, and every principle and mode of action with which even the youngest of them had to begin official life." The ranks of this noble body of statesmen and reformers are now gradually diminishing. Saigo and Gesho are no more. Kido and Iwakura have been borne to their graves. Okubo and Mori have fallen under the sword of fanatics. But, thanks be to God, many of them yet remain and bear the burdens of the day. I have mentioned in Chapter III. the overthrow of feudalism and its causes. Its immediate effect on the nation, in unifying their thoughts, customs, and habits, was most remarkable. From this time we see the marked growth of common sentiment, common manners, common interest among the people, together with a love of peace and order. While the government at home was thus tearing down the old framework of state, the Iwakura Embassy in foreign lands was gathering materials for the new. This was significant, inasmuch as five of the best statesmen of the time, with their staff of forty-four able men, came into association for over a year with western peoples, and beheld in operation their social, political and religious institutions. These men became fully convinced that "the wealth, the power, and the happiness of a people," as President Grant told them, "are advanced by the encouragement of trade and commercial intercourse with other powers, by the elevation and dignity of labor, by the practical adaptation of science to the manufactures and the arts, by increased facilities of frequent and rapid communication between different parts of the country, by the encouragement of immigration, which brings with it the varied habits and diverse genius and industry of other lands, by a free press, by freedom of thought and of conscience, and a liberal toleration in matters of religion."[1] The impressions and opinions of these men on the importance of a free and liberal policy can be gleaned from the speeches they made during the western tour, and some of their writings and utterances on other occasions. The chief ambassador, Iwakura, in reply to a toast made to him in England, said: "Having now become more intimately acquainted with her (England's) many institutions, we have discovered that their success is due to the _liberal_ and energetic spirit by which they are animated."[2] Count Ito, the present President of the Privy Council, in his speech at San Francisco, said: "While held in absolute obedience by despotic sovereigns through many thousand years, our people knew no freedom or liberty of thought. With our material improvement they learned to understand their rightful privileges, which for ages have been denied them."[3] Count Inouye, the ex-Minister of State for Agriculture and Commerce, in his memorial to the government in 1873, said: "The people of European and American countries are for the most part rich in intelligence and knowledge, and they preserve the spirit of independence. And owing to the nature of their polity they share in the counsels of their government. Government and people thus mutually aid and support each other, as hand and foot protect the head and eye. The merits of each question that arises are distinctly comprehended by the nation at home, and the government is merely its outward representative. But our people are different. Accustomed for ages to despotic rule, they have remained content with their prejudices and ignorance. Their knowledge and intelligence are undeveloped and their spirit is feeble. In every movement of their being they submit to the will of the government, and have not the shadow of an idea of what 'a right' is. If the government makes an order, the whole country obeys it as one man. If the government takes a certain view, the whole nation adopts it unanimously.... The people must be recalled to life, and the Empire be made to comprehend with clearness that the objects which the government has in view are widely different from those of former times."[4] If the passages quoted illustrate statesmen's zeal to introduce western civilization, and to educate the people gradually to political freedom and privileges, their actions speak more eloquently than their words. In order to crush that social evil, the class system, which for ages had been a curse, the government declared all classes of men equal before the law, delivered the _eta_--the class of outcasts--from its position of contempt, abolished the marriage limitations existing between different classes of society, prohibited the wearing of swords, which was the peculiar privilege of the nobles and the Samurai; while to facilitate means of communication and to open the eyes of the people to the wonders of mechanical art, they incessantly applied themselves to the construction of railroads, docks, lighthouses, mining, iron, and copper factories, and to the establishment of telegraphic and postal systems. They also codified the laws, abolished the use of torture in obtaining testimony, revoked the edict against Christianity, sanctioned the publication of newspapers, established by the decree of 1875 the "Genro-in (a kind of Senate) to enact laws for the Empire, and the Daishin-in to consolidate the judicial authority of the courts,"[5] and called an assembly of the prefects, which, however, held but one session in Tokio. While the current of thought among the official circles was thus flowing, there was also a stream, in the lower region of the social life, soon to swell into a mighty river. Social inequality, that barrier which prevents the flow of popular feeling, being already levelled, merchants, agriculturists, tradesmen, artisans and laborers were now set at liberty to assert their rights and to use their talents. They were no longer debarred from places of high honor. The great colleges and schools, both public and private, which were hitherto established and carried on exclusively for the benefit of the nobles and the Samurai, were now open to all. And in this democracy of letters, where there is no rank or honor but that of talent and industry, a sentiment was fast growing that the son of a Daimio is not necessarily wiser than the son of a peasant. Teachers of these institutions were not slow to infuse the spirit of independence and liberty into their pupils and to instruct the people in their natural and political rights. Mr. Fukuzawa, a schoolmaster, an author, and a lecturer, the man who exercised an immense influence in shaping the mind of young Japan, gave a deathblow to the old ideas of despotic government, and of the blind obedience of the people, when he declared that _government exists for the people and not the people for the government_, that the government officials are the servants of the people, and the people their employer. He also struck a heavy blow at the arrogance and extreme love of military glory of the Samurai class, with whom to die for the cause of his sovereign, whatever that cause might be, was the highest act of patriotism, by advocating that "Death is a democrat, and that the Samurai who died fighting for his country, and the servant who was slain while caught stealing from his master, were alike dead and useless." In a letter to one of his disciples, Mr. Fukuzawa said: "The liberty of which I have spoken is of such great importance that everything should be done to secure its blessings in the family and in the nation, without any respect to persons. When every individual, every family and every province shall obtain this liberty, then, and not till then, can we expect to witness the true independence of the nation; then the military, the farming, the mechanical, and mercantile classes will not live in hostility to each other; then peace will reign throughout the land, and all men will be respected according to their conduct and real character."[6] The extent of the influence exercised with pen and tongue by these teachers upon the nation showed that the reign of sword and brutal force was over and the day of peace and reason had dawned. The press has at last become a power. The increase during that period of publications, both original and translations, and of newspapers, both in their number and circulation, is marvellous. To give an illustration, the number of newspapers transmitted in the mails increased from 514,610 in the year 1873 to 2,629,648 in the year 1874--an increase of 411 per cent in one year--"a fact which speaks volumes for the progress of civilization."[7] These newspapers were soon to become the organs of political parties which were in the process of formation. The most prominent among these political societies was the _Ri-shi-sha_, which finally developed into the present Liberal party. At the head of this party was Count Itagaki, a man of noble character and of marked ability, who had rendered many useful services to the country in the time of the Restoration and had for some years been a member of the cabinet, but who in 1875 resigned his office and became "the man of the people." He and his party contributed greatly to the development of constitutional ideas. Whatever may be said as to the extreme radicalism and childish freaks of the rude elements of this party, the presence of its sober members, who sincerely longed to see the adoption of a constitutional form of government and used only proper and peaceful means for the furtherance of their aim, and boldly and frankly told what they deemed the defects of the government; the presence of such a party in the country, whose masses knew nothing but slavish obedience to every act of the government, was certainly a source of great benefit to the nation at large. In 1873, Count Itagaki with his friends had sent in a memorial to the government praying for the establishment of a representative assembly, but they had not been heeded by the government. In July, 1877, Count Itagaki with his Ri-shi-sha again addressed a memorial to the Emperor, "praying for a change in the form of government, and setting forth the reasons which, in the opinion of the members of the society, rendered such a change necessary." These reasons were nine in number and were developed at great length. Eight of them formed a direct impeachment of the present government, and the ninth was a reminder that the solemn promise of 1868 had never been fulfilled. "Nothing," they conclude, "could more tend to the well-being of the country than for your Majesty to put an end to all despotic and oppressive measures, and to consult public opinion in the conduct of the government. To this end a representative assembly should be established, so that the government may become constitutional in form. The people would then become more interested and zealous in looking after the affairs of the country; public opinion would find expression, and despotism and confusion cease. The nation would advance in civilization; wealth would accumulate in the country; troubles from within and contempt from without would cease, and the happiness of your Imperial Majesty and of your Majesty's subjects would be secured." But again the government heeded not, its attention at the time being fully occupied with the suppression of the Satsuma Rebellion. The civil war being ended, in 1878, the year which marked a decade from the establishment of the new regime, the government, persuaded that the time for popular institutions was fast approaching, not alone through representations of the Tosa memorialists, but through many other signs of the times, decided to take a step in the direction of establishing a national assembly. But the government acted cautiously. Thinking that to bring together hundreds of members unaccustomed to parliamentary debate and its excitement, and to allow them a hand in the administration of affairs of the state, might be attended with serious dangers, as a preparation for the national assembly the government established first local assemblies. Certainly this was a wise course. These local assemblies have not only been good training schools for popular government, but also proved reasonably successful. They hold their sessions every year, in the month of March, in their respective electoral districts, and there discuss all questions of local taxation. They may also petition the central government on other matters of local interest. The members must be males of the full age of twenty-five years, who have been resident for three years in the district and pay the sum of $10 as a land tax within their district. The qualifications for electors (males only) are: an age of twenty years, registration, and payment of a land tax of $5. Voting is by ballot, but the names of the voters are to be written by themselves on the voting papers. There are now 2172 members who sit in these local assemblies, and it was from the more experienced members of these assemblies that the majority of the members of the House of Representatives of the Imperial Diet, convened for the first time last year, were chosen. The gulf between absolute government and popular government was thus widened more and more by the institution of local government. The popular tide raised by these local assemblies was swelling in volume year by year. New waves were set in motion by the younger generation of thinkers. Toward the close of the year 1881 the flood rose so high that the government thought it wise not to resist longer. His Imperial Majesty hearing the petitions of the people, graciously confirmed and expanded his promise of 1868 by the famous proclamation of October 12, 1881: "We have long had it in view to gradually establish a constitutional form of government.... It was with this object in view that in the eighth year of Meiji (1875) we established the Senate, and in the eleventh year of Meiji (1878) authorized the formation of local assemblies.... We therefore hereby declare that we shall, in the twenty-third year of Meiji (1890) establish a parliament, in order to carry into full effect the determination we have announced; and we charge our faithful subjects bearing our commissions to make, in the meantime, all necessary preparations to that end." [Footnote 1: C. Lanman, The Japanese in America, p. 38.] [Footnote 2: Mossman's New Japan, p. 442.] [Footnote 3: C. Lanman, The Japanese in America, p. 14.] [Footnote 4: The translation of the whole memorial is given in C. Lanman's Leading Men of Japan, p. 87.] [Footnote 5: The Imperial decree of 1875.] [Footnote 6: The translation given in C. Lanman, Leading Men of Japan. p. 47.] [Footnote 7: See the Appendix of Griffis' The Mikado's Empire.] 
12240	----	The Lady and Sada San A Sequel to The Lady of the Decoration By Frances Little New York The Century Co. 1912 Copyright, 1912, by THE CENTURY CO. Published, October, 1912 TO ELLEN CHURCHILL SEMPLE AND CHARLOTTE SMITH MY FELLOW WANDERERS THROUGH THE ORIENT The Lady and Sada San ON THE HIGH SEAS. June, 1911. _Mate_: You once told me, before you went to Italy, that after having been my intimate relative all these years, you had drawn a red line through the word surprise. Restore the abused thing to its own at once. You will need it when the end of this letter is reached. I have left Kentucky after nine years of stay-at-home happiness, and once again I am on my way to Japan--this time in wifely disobedience to Jack's wishes. What do you think that same Jack has "gone and done"! Of course he is right. That is the provoking part of Jack; it always turns out that he is in the right. Two months ago he went to some place in China which, from its ungodly name, should be in the furthermost parts of a wilderness. Perhaps you have snatched enough time from guarding the kiddies from a premature end in Como to read a headline or so in the home papers. If by some wonderful chance, between baby prattle, bumps and measles, they have given you a moment's respite, then you know that the Government has grown decidedly restless for fear the energetic and enterprising bubonic or pneumonic germ might take passage on some of the ships from the Orient. So it is fortifying against invasion. The Government, knowing Jack's indomitable determination to learn everything knowable about the private life and character of a given germ, asked him to join several other men it is sending out to get information, provided of course the germ doesn't get them first. Jack read me the official-looking document one night between puffs of his after-dinner pipe. Another surprise awaits you. For once in my life I had nothing to say. Possibly it is just as well for the good of the cause that the honorable writer of the letter could not see how my thoughts looked. I glanced about our little den, aglow with soft lights; everything in it seemed to smile. Well, as you know it, Mate, I do not believe even you realize the blissfulness of the hours of quiet comradeship we have spent there. With the great know-it-all old world shut out, for joyful years we have dwelt together in a home-made paradise. And yet it seemed just then as if I were dwelling in a home-made Other Place. The difference in the speed of time depends on whether love is your guest or not. The thought of the briefest interruption to my content made me feel like cold storage. A break in happiness is sometimes hard to mend. The blossom does not return to the tree after the storm, no matter how beautiful the sunshine; and the awful fear of the faintest echo of past sorrow made my heart as numb as a snowball. To the old terror of loneliness was added fear for Jack's safety. But I did not do what you naturally would prophesy. After seeing the look on Jack's face I changed my mind, and my protest was the silent kind that says so much. It was lost! Already Jack had gone into one of his trances, as he does whenever there is a possibility of bearding a brand-new microbe in its den, whether it is in his own country or one beyond the seas. In body he was in a padded chair with all the comforts of home and a charming wife within speaking distance. In spirit he was in dust-laden China, joyfully following the trail of the wandering germ. Later on, when Jack came to, we talked it over. I truly remembered your warnings on the danger of impetuosity; for I choked off every hasty word and gave my consent for Jack to go. Then I cried half the night because I had. We both know that long ago Jack headed for the topmost rung of a very tall scientific ladder. Sometimes my enthusiasm as chief booster and encourager has failed, as when it meant absence and risk. Though I have known women who specialized in renunciation, till they were the only happy people in the neighborhood, its charms have never lured me into any violent sacrifice. Here was my chance and I firmly refused to be the millstone to ornament Jack's neck. You might know, Mate? I was hoping all the time that he would find it quite impossible to leave such a nice biddable wife at home. But I learn something new about Jack every day. After rather heated discussion it was decided that I should stay in the little home. That is, the heat and the discussion was all on my side. The decision lay in the set of Jack's mouth, despite the tenderness in his eyes. He thought the risks of the journey too great for me; the hardships of the rough life too much. Dear me! Will men never learn that hardship and risk are double cousins to loneliness, and not even related to love by marriage? But just as well paint on water as to argue with a scientist when he has reached a conclusion. Besides, said Jack, the fatherly Government has no intention that petticoats, even hobbled ones, should be flitting around while the habits and the methods of the busy insect were being examined through a microscope or a telescope. The choice of instrument depending, of course, upon the activity of the bug. Black Charity was to be my chief-of-police and comforter-in-general. Parties--house, card and otherwise--were to be my diversion, and I was to make any little trips I cared for. Well, that 's just what I am doing. Of course, there might be a difference of opinion as to whether a journey from Kentucky to Japan is a _little_ trip. I am held by a vague uneasiness today. Possibly it 's because I am not certain as to Jack's attitude, when he learns through my letter, which is sailing along with me, that I am going to Japan to be as near him as possible. I hope he will appreciate my thoughtfulness in saving him all the bother of saying no. Or it might be that my slightly dampened spirits come from the discussion I am still having with myself whether it 's the part of a dutiful wife to present herself a wiggling sacrifice to science, or whether science should attend to its own business and lead not into temptation the scientifically inclined heads of peaceful households. You 'll say the decision of what was best lay with Jack. Honey, there 's the error of your mortal mind! In a question like that my spouse is as one-sided as a Civil War veteran. Say germ-hunt to Jack and it 's like dangling a gaudy fly before a hungry carp. I saw Jack off at the station, and went hack to the little house. Charity had sent the cook home and with her own hands served all the beloved dainties of my long-ago childhood, trying to coax me into forgetfulness. As you remember, Mate, dinner has always been the happiest hour of the day in our small domain. Now? Well, everything was just the same. The only difference was Jack. And the half circle of bare tablecloth opposite me was about as cheerful as a snowy afternoon at the North Pole. I wandered around the house for awhile, but every time I turned a corner there was a memory waiting to greet me. Now the merriest of them seemed to be covered with a chilly shadow, and every one was pale and ghostly. All night I lay awake, playing at the old game of mental solitaire and keeping tryst with the wind which seemed to tap with unseen fingers at my window and sigh, "Then let come what come may . . . . . . I shall have had my day." Is it possible, Mate, that my glorious day, which I thought had barely tipped the hour of noon, is already lengthening into the still shadows of evening? It was foolish but, for the small comfort I got out of it, I turned on the light and looked inside my wedding-ring. Time has worn it a bit but the letters which spell "My Lady of the Decoration," spelled again the old-time thrill into my heart. What 's the use of tying your heartstrings around a man, and then have ambition slip the knot and leave you all a-quiver? Far be it from me to stand in Jack's way if germ-stalking is necessary to his success. Just the same, I could have spent profitable moments reading the burial service over every microbe, home-grown and foreign. Really, Mate, I 've conscientiously tried every plan Jack proposed and a few of my own. It was no use. That day-after-Christmas feeling promptly suppressed any effort towards contentment. At first there was a certain exhilaration in catching pace with the gay whirl which for so long had been passed by for homier things. You will remember there was a time when the pace of that same whirl was never swift enough for me; but my taste for it now was gone, and it was like trying to do a two-step to a funeral march. For once in my life I knew the real meaning of that poor old worn-to-a-frazzle call of the East, for now the' dominant note was the call of love. I heard it above the clink of the teacups. It was in the swish of every silk petticoat. If I went to the theater, church or concert, the call of that germ-ridden spot of the unholy name beat into my brain with the persistency of a tom-tom on a Chinese holiday. Say what you will, Mate, it once took all my courage to leave those I loved best and go to far-away Japan. Now it required more than I could dig up to _stay_--with the best on the other side of the Pacific. The struggle was easy and swift. The tom-tom won and I am on my way to be next-door neighbor to Jack. Those whom it concerned here were away from home, so I told no one good-by, thus saving everybody so much wasted advice. If there were a tax on advice the necessities of life would not come so high. Charity followed me to the train, protesting to the last that "Marse Jack gwine doubt her velocity when she tell him de truf bout her lady going a-gaddin' off by herse'f and payin' no mind to her ole mammy's prosterations." I asked her to come with me as maid. She refused; said her church was to have an ice-cream sociable and she had "to fry de fish." This letter will find you joyfully busy with the babies and the "only man." Blest woman that you are. But I know you. I have a feeling that you have a few remarks to make. So hurry up. Let us get it off our minds. Then I can better tell you what I am doing. Something is going to happen. It usually does when I am around. I have been asked to chaperone a young girl whose face and name spell romance. If I were seeking occupation here is the opportunity knocking my door into splinters. STILL AT SEA. June, 1911. Any time you are out of a job and want to overwork all your faculties and a few emotions, try chaperoning a young room-mate answering to the name of Sada San, who is one-half American dash, and the other half the unnamable witchery of a Japanese woman; a girl with the notes of a lark in her voice when she sings to the soft twang of an old guitar. If, too, you are seeking to study psychological effect of such a combination on people, good, middlin' and otherwise, I would suggest a Pacific liner as offering fifty-seven varieties, and then some. The last twinge of conscience I had over coming, died a cheerful death. I 'd do it again. For not only is romance surcharging the air, but fate gives promise of weaving an intricate pattern in the story of this maid whose life is just fairly begun and whom the luck of the road has given me as traveling mate. Now, remembering a few biffs fate has given me, I have no burning desire to meddle with her business. Neither am I hungering for responsibility. But what are you going to say to yourself, when a young girl with a look in her eyes you would wish your daughter to have, unhesitatingly gives you a letter addressed at large to some "Christian Sister"! You read it to find it's from her home pastor, requesting just a little companionship for "a tender young soul who is trying her wings for the first time in the big and beautiful world"! I have a very private opinion about reading my title clear to the Christian Sister business, but no woman with a heart as big as a pinch of snuff could resist giving her very best and much more to the slip of a winsome maid, who confidingly asks it--especially if the sister has any knowledge of the shadows lurking in the beautiful world. Mate, these steamers as they sail from shore to shore are like giant theaters. Every trip is an impromptu drama where comedy, farce, and often startling tragedy offer large speaking parts. The revelation of human nature in the original package is funny and pathetic. Amusement is always on tap and life stories are just hanging out of the port-hole waiting to attack your sympathy or tickle your funny bone. But you 'd have to travel far to find the beginning of a story so heaped up with romantic interest as that of Sada San as she told it to me, one long, lazy afternoon as I lay on the couch in my cabin, thanking my stars I was getting the best of the bare tablecloth and the empty house at home. Some twenty years ago Sada's father, an American, grew tired of the slow life in a slow town and lent ear to the fairy stories told of the Far East, where fortunes were made by looking wise for a few moments every morning and devoting the rest of the day to samisens and flutes. He found the glorious country of Japan. The beguiling tea-houses, and softly swinging sampans were all too distracting. They sang ambition to sleep and the fortune escaped. He drifted, and at last sought a mean existence as teacher of English in a school of a remote seaside village. His spirit broke when the message came of the death of the girl in America who was waiting for him. Isolation from his kind and bitter hours left for thought made life alone too ghastly. He tried to make it more endurable by taking the pretty daughter of the head man of the village as his wife. My temperature took a tumble when I saw proofs of a hard and fast marriage ceremony, signed and counter-signed by a missionary brother who meant business. You say it is a sordid tale? Mate, I know a certain spot in this Land of Blossoms, where only foreigners are laid to rest, which bears testimony to a hundred of its kind--strange and pitiful destinies begun with high and brilliant hopes in their native land; and when illusions have faded, the end has borne the stamp of tragedy, because suicide proved the open door out of a life of failure and exile. Sada's father was saved suicide and long unhappiness by a timely tidal-wave, which swept the village nearly bare, and carried the man and his wife out to sea and to eternity. The child was found by Susan West who came from a neighboring town to care for the sick and hungry. Susan was a teacher-missionary. Not much to look at, if her picture told the truth, but from bits of her history that I 've picked up her life was a brighter jewel than most of us will ever find in a heavenly crown. Instead of holding the unbeliever by the nape of the neck and thrusting a not-understood doctrine down his unwilling throat, she lived the simple creed of loving her neighbor better than herself. And the old pair of goggles she wore made little halos around the least speck of good she found in any transgressor, no matter how warped with evil. When she was n't helping some helpless sinner to see the rainbow of promise at the end of the straight and narrow way, Susan spent her time and all her salary, giving sick babies a fighting chance for life. She took the half-drowned little Sada home with her, and searched for any kinsman left the child. There was only one, her mother's brother. He was very poor and gladly gave his consent that Miss West should keep the child--as long as it was a girl! Susan had taught the man English once in the long ago and this was his chance to repay her. Later on when the teacher found her health failing and headed for home in America, Uncle Mura was still more generous and raised no objections to her taking the baby with her. Together they lived in a small Western town. The missionary reared the child by rule of love only and went on short rations to educate her. Sada's eager mind absorbed everything offered her like a young sponge, and when a few months ago Susanna folded her hands and joined her foremothers, there was let loose on the world this exquisite girl with her solitary legacy of untried ideals and a blind enthusiasm for her mother's people. Right here, Mate, was when I had a prolonged attack of cold shivers. Just before Miss West passed along, knowing that the Valley was near, she wrote to Uncle in Japan and told him that his niece would soon he alone. Can't you imagine the picture she drew of her foster child who had satisfied every craving of her big mother heart? Fascinating and charming and so weighted with possibilities, that Mura, who had prospered, leaped for his chance and sent Sada San money for the passage over. Not a mite of anxiety shadowed her eyes when she told me that Uncle kept a wonderful tea-house in Kioto. He must be very rich, she thought, because he wrote her of the beautiful things she was to have. About this time the room seemed suffocating. I got up and turned on the electric fan. The only thing required of her, she continued, was to use her voice to entertain Uncle's friends. But she hoped to do much more. Through Miss West she knew how many of her mother's dear people needed help. How glorious that she was young and strong and could give so much. Susan had also talked to her of the flowers, the lovely scenery, the poetry of the people and their splendid spirit--making a dreamland where even man was perfect. How she loved it! How proud she was to feel that in part it was her country. Faithfully would she serve it. Oh, Susanna West! I 'd like to shake you till your harp snapped a string. It 's like sending a baby to pick flowers on the edge of a bottomless pit. What could I say! The missionary-teacher had told the truth. She simply failed to mention that in the fairy-land there are cherry-blossom lanes down which no human can wander without being torn by the brier patches. The path usually starts from a wonderful tea-house where Uncles have grown rich. Miss West didn't mean to shirk her duty. In most things the begoggled lady was a visionary with a theory that if you don't talk about a thing it does not exist; and like most of her kind she swept the disagreeables into a dust heap and made for the high places where all was lovely. And yet she had toiled with the girl through all the difficulties of the Japanese language; and, to give her a musical education, had pinched to the point of buying one hat in eight years! Now it is all done and Sada is launched on the high seas of life with a pleasure-house for a home and an unscrupulous Uncle with unlimited authority for a chaperon. Shades of Susan! but I am hoping guardian angels are "really truly," even if invisible. Good night, Mate. This game of playing tag with jarring thoughts, new and old, has made six extra wrinkles. I am glad I came and you and Jack will have to be, for to quote Charity, "I 'se done resoluted on my word of honah" to keep my hands, if possible, on Sada whose eyes are as blue as her hair is black. PACIFIC OCEAN. Since morning the sea has been a sheet of blue, streaked with the silver of flying fish. That is all the scenery there is; not a sail nor a bird nor an insect. Either the unchanging view or something in the air has stimulated everybody into being their nicest. It is surprising how quickly graciousness possesses some people when there is a witching girl around. Vivacious young men and benevolent officers have suddenly appeared out of nowhere, spick and span in white duck and their winningest smiles. Entertainments dovetail till there is barely time for change of costume between acts. But let me tell you, Mate, living up to being a mother is no idle pastime, particularly if it means reviving the lost art of managing love-smitten youths and elderly male coquettes. There is a specimen of each opposite Sada and me at table who are so generous with their company on deck, before and after meals, I have almost run out of excuses and am short on plans to avoid the heavy obligations of their eager attentions. The youth is a To-Be-Ruler of many people, a Maharajah of India. But the name is bigger than the man. Two years ago his father started the boy around the world with a sack full of rubles and a head full of ancient Indian lore. With these assets he paused at Oxford that he might skim through the classics. He had been told this was where all the going-to-be-great men stopped to acquire just the proper tone of superiority so necessary in ruling a country. Of course he picked up a bit on electricity, mechanics, etc. This accomplished to his satisfaction he ran over to America to view the barbarians' god of money and take a glance at their houses which touched the sky. But his whole purpose in living, he told me, was to yield himself to certain meditations, so that in his final reincarnation, which was only a few centuries off, he would return to the real thing in Buddha. In the meantime he was to be a lion, a tiger and a little white bird. At present he is plain human, with the world-old malady gnawing at his heart, a pain which threatens to send his cogitations whooping down a thornier and rosier lane than any Buddha ever knew. Besides I am thinking a few worldly vanities have crept in and set him hack an eon or so. He wears purple socks, pink ties and a dainty watch strapped around his childish wrist. When I asked him what impressed him most in America, he promptly answered with his eyes on Sada, "Them girls. They are rapturous!" Farewell Nirvana! With a camp stool in one hand and a rosary in the other, he follows Sada San like the shadow on a sun dial. Wherever she is seated, there is the stool and the royal youth, his mournful eyes feasting on the curves and dimples of her face, her lightest jest far sweeter than any prayer, the beads in his hand forgotten. The other would-be swain calls himself a Seeker of Truth. Incidentally he is hunting a wife. His general attitude is a constant reminder of the uncertainty of life. His presence makes you glad that nothing lasts. He says his days are heavy with the problems of the universe, but you can see for yourself that this very commercial traveler carries a light side line in an assortment of flirtations that surely must be like dancing little sunbeams on a life of gloom. Goodness knows how much of a nuisance he would be if it were not for a little lady named Dolly, who sits beside him, gray in color, dress and experience. At no uncertain age she has found a belated youthfulness and is starting on the first pleasure trip of her life. Coming across the country to San Francisco, her train was wrecked. In the smash-up a rude chair struck her just south of the belt line and she fears brain fever from the blow. The alarm is not general, for though just freed by kind death from an unhappy life sentence of matrimony she is ready to try another jailer. Whether he spied Dolly first and hoped that the gleam from her many jewels would light up the path in his search for Truth and a few other things, or whether the Seeker was sought, I do not know. However the flirtation which seems to have no age limit has flourished like a bamboo tree. For once the man was too earnest. Dolly gave heed and promptly attached herself with the persistency of a barnacle to a weather-beaten junk. By devices worthy a finished fisher of men, she holds him to his job of suitor, and if in a moment of abstraction his would-be ardor for Sada grows too perceptible, the little lady reels in a yard or so of line to make sure her prize is still dangling on the hook. To-day at tiffin the griefless widow unconsciously scored at the expense of the Seeker, to the delight of the whole table. For Sada's benefit this man quoted a long passage from some German philosopher. At least it sounded like that. It was far above the little gray head he was trying to ignore and so weighty I feared for her mentality. But I did not know Dolly. She rose like a doughnut. Looking like a child who delights in the rhythm of meaningless sounds, she heard him through, then exclaimed with breathless delight, "Oh, ain't he fluid!" The man fled, but not before he had asked Sada for two dances at night. It is like a funny little curtain-raiser, with jealousy as a gray-haired Cupid. So far as Sada is concerned, it is admiration gone to waste. Even if she were not gaily indifferent, she is too absorbed in the happy days she thinks are awaiting her. Poor child! Little she knows of the limited possibilities of a Japanese girl's life; and what the effect of the painful restrictions will be on one of her rearing, I dare not think. Once she is under the authority of Uncle, the Prince, the Seeker, and all mankind will be swept into oblivion; and, until such time as she can be married profitably and to her master's liking, she will know no man. The cruelest awakening she will face is the attitude of the Orient toward the innocent offspring in whose veins runs the blood of two races, separated by differences which never have been and never will be overcome. In America the girl's way would not have been so hard because her novel charm would have carried her far. But _hear me_: in Japan, the very wave in her hair and the color of her eyes will prove a barrier to the highest and best in the land. Even with youth and beauty and intelligence, unqualified recognition for the Eurasian is as rare as a square egg. Another thought hits me in the face as if suddenly meeting a cross bumblebee. Will the teachings of the woman, who lived with her head in the clouds, hold hard and fast when Uncle puts on the screws? The Seeker says it is the fellow who thinks first that wins. He speaks feelingly on the subject. Right now I am going to begin cultivating first thought, and try to be near if danger, whose name is Uncle, threatens the girl who has walked into my affections and made herself at home. Later. All the very good people are in bed. The very worldly minded and the young are on deck reluctantly finishing the last dance under a canopy of make-believe cherry blossoms and wistaria. I am on the deck between, closing this letter to you which I will mail in Yokohama in a few hours. In a way I shall be glad to see a quiet room in a hotel and hie me back to simple living, free from the responsibilities of a temporary parent. I am not promising myself any gay thrills in the meantime. What 's the use, with Jack on the borderland of a sulphurous country and you in the Garden of Eden? His letters and yours will be my greatest excitement. So write and keep on writing and never fear that I will not do the same. You are the safety-valve for my speaking emotions, Mate; so let that help you bear it. Please mark with red ink one small detail of Sada's story. When I was fastening her simple white gown for the dance her chatter was like that of a sunny-hearted child. Indeed, she liked to dance. Susan did not think it harmful. She said if your heart was right your feet would follow. When Miss West could spare her she always went to parties with _Billy_, and oh, how he could dance if he was so big and had red hair. So! there was a Billy? I looked in her face for signs. The way was clear but there was a soft little quiver in her voice that caused me carefully to label the unknown William, and lay him on a shelf for future reference. Whatever the coming days hold for her, mine has been the privilege of giving the girl three weeks of unclouded happiness. Outside I hear the little Prince pacing up and down, yielding up his soul to holy meditations. I 'd be willing to wager my best piece of jade his contemplations are something like a cycle from Nirvana, and closer far to a pair of heavily fringed eyes. Poor little imitation Buddha! He is grasping at the moon's reflection on the water. Somewhere near I hear Dolly's soft coo and deep-voiced replies. But unfinished packing, a bath and coffee are awaiting me. Dawn is coming, and already through the port hole I see a dot of earth curled against the horizon. Above floats Fuji, the base wrapped in mists, the peak eternally white, a giant snowdrop swinging in a dome of perfect blue. The vision is a call to prayer, a wooing of the soul to the heights of undimmed splendor. After all, Mate, I may give you and Jack a glad surprise and justify Sada handing me that letter addressed to a Christian Sister. YOKOHAMA, July, 1911. Now that I am here, I am trying to decide what to do with myself. At home each day was so full of happy things and the happiest of all was listening for Jack's merry whistle as he opened the street door every night. At home there are always demands, big and little, popping in on me which I sometimes resent and yet being free from makes me feel as dismal as a long vacant house with the For Rent sign up, looks. In this Lotus land there is no _must_ of any kind for the alien, and the only whistles I hear belong to the fierce little tugs that buzz around in the harbor, in and out among the white sails of the fishing fleet like big black beetles in a field of lilies. But you must not think life dull for me. Fate and I have cried a truce, and she is showing me a few hands she is dealing other people. But first listen to the tale I have to tell of the bruise she gave my pride this morning, that will show black for many a day. I joined a crowd on the water 's edge in front of the hotel to watch a funeral procession in boats. Recently a hundred and eighty fishermen were sent to the bottom by a big typhoon, and the wives and the sweethearts were being towed out to sea to pay a last tribute to them, by strewing the fatal spot with flowers and paper prayers. White-robed priests stood up in the front of the boats and chanted some mournful ritual, keeping time to the dull thumping of a drum. The air was heavy with incense. A dreamy melancholy filled the air and I thought how hallowed and beautiful a thing is memory. From out that silent watching crowd came a voice that sent my thoughts flying to starry nights of long ago and my first trip across the Pacific; soft south winds; vows of eternal devotion that kept time with the distant throbbing of a ship's engine. I fumed. I was facing little Germany and five littler Germanys strung out behind. You surely remember him? and how when I could n't see things his way he swore to a wrecked heart and a never-to-be-forgotten constancy. Mate! There was no more of a flicker of memory in the stare of his round blue eyes than there would have been in a newly baked pretzel. I stood still, waiting for some glimmer of recognition. Instead, he turned to the pincushion on his arm, whom I took to be Ma O., and I heard him say "Herzallorliebsten." I went straight to the hotel and had it translated. Thought it had a familiar sound. Would n't it be interesting to know how many "only ones" any man's life history records? To think of my imagining him eating his heart out with hopeless longing in some far away Tibetan Monastery. And here he was, pudgy and content, with his fat little brood waddling along behind him. If our vision could penetrate the future, verily Romance would have to close up shop. Oh, no! I did n't want him to pine entirely away, but he needn't have been in such an everlasting hurry to get fat and prosperous over it. Would n't Jack howl? I took good care to see that he was not stopping at this hotel. Then I went back to my own thoughts of the happy years that had been mine since Little Germany bade me a tearful good-by. And, too, I wanted to think out some plan whereby I can keep in touch with Sada and be friendly with her relative. Before I left the steamer, I had a surprise in the way of Uncles. Next time I will pause before I prophesy. But if Uncle was a blow to my preconceived ideas, I will venture Sada startled a few of his traditions as to nieces. Quarantine inspection was short, and when at last we cast anchor, the harbor was as blue as if a patch of the summer sky had dropped into it. The thatched roofs shone russet brown against the dark foliage of the hills. The temple roofs curved gracefully above the pink mist of the crepe myrtle. Sada was standing by me on the upper deck, fascinated by the picture. As she realized the long dreamed-of fairy-land was unfolding before her, tears of joy filled her eyes and tears of another kind filled mine. Sampans, launches and lighters clustered around the steamer as birds of prey gather to a feast: captains in gilt braid; coolies in blue and white, with their calling-cards stamped in large letters on their backs, and the story of their trade written around the tail of their coats in fantastic Japanese characters. Gentlemen in divided skirts and ladies in kimono and clogs swarmed up the gangway. In the smiling, pushing crowd I looked for the low-browed relative I expected to see. Imagine the shock, Mate, when a man with manners as beautiful as his silk kimono presented his card and announced that he was Uncle Mura. I had been pointed out as Sada's friend. A week afterwards I could have thought of something brilliant to say. Taken unawares, I stammered out a hope that his honorable teeth were well and his health poor. You see I am all right in Japanese if I do the talking. For I know what I want to say and what they ought to say. But when they come at me with a flank movement, as it were, I am lost. Uncle passed over my blunder without a smile and went on to say many remarkable things, if sound means anything. However, trust even a deaf woman to prick up her ears when a compliment is headed her way, whether it is in Sanskrit or Polynesian. In acknowledgment I stuck to my flag, and the man's command of quaint but correct English convinced me that I would have to specialize in something more than first thought if I was to cope with this tea-house proprietor whose armor is the subtle manners of the courtier. Blessed Sada! Only the cocksureness of youth made her blind to the check her enthusiasm was meant to receive in the first encounter of the new life. She had always met people on equal terms, most men falling easy victims. She was blissfully ignorant that Mura, by directing his conversation to me, meant to convey to her that well-bred girls in this enchanted land lowered their eyes and folded their hands when they talked in the presence of a MAN, if they dared to talk at all. Not so this half-child of the West. She fairly palpitated with joy and babbled away with the freedom of a sunny brook in the shadow of a grim forest. From the man's standpoint, he was not unkind; unrestraint was to him an incomprehensible factor in a young girl's make-up; and whatever was to follow, the first characters he meant her to learn must spell reverence and repression. They hurried ashore to catch a train to Kioto. I must look harmless, for I was invited to call. I shall accept, for I have a feeling in spite of manners and silken robes that the day is not distant when the distress signals will be flying. I waved good-by to the girl as the little launch made its way to land. She made a trumpet of her hands and called a merry "sayonara." The master of her future folded his arms and looked out to sea. The next day I had a lonely lunch at the hotel. When I saw two lovery young things at the table where Jack and I had our wedding breakfast, so long ago, I made for the other end of the room and persistently turned my back. But I saw out of the corner of my eye they were far away above food, and, Mate, believe me, they did n't even know it was hot, though a rain barrel couldn't have measured the humidity. Of course Jack and I were much more sensible, but that whole blessed time is wrapped in rosy mists with streaks of moonlight to the tune of heavenly music, so it 's futile to try to recall just what did happen. I ought to have gone to another hotel, but the chain of memory was too strong for me. I was hesitating between the luxury of a sentimental spell and a fit of loneliness, when a happy interruption came in a message from Countess Otani, naming the next day at two for luncheon with her at the Arsenal Gardens at Tokio. How I wished for you, Mate! It was a fairy-story come true, dragons and all. The Arsenal Garden means just what it says. Only when the dove of peace is on duty are its gates opened, and then to but a few, high in command. For across the white-blossomed hedge that encloses the grounds, armies of men toil ceaselessly molding black bullets for pale people and they work so silently that the birds keep house in the long fringed willows and the goldfish splash in the sunned spots of the tiny lake. After passing the dragons in the shape of sentries and soldiers, to each of whom I gave a brief life-history, I wisely followed my nose and a guard down the devious path. The Countess received her guests in a banquet-hall all ebony and gold, and was not seated permanently on a throne with a diamond crown screwed into her head as we used so fondly to imagine. The simplicity of her hospitality was charming. She and most of her ladies-in-waiting had been educated abroad. But despite the lure of the Western freedom, they had returned to their country with their heads level and their traditions intact. But you guess wrong, honey, if you imagine custom and formality of official life have so overcome these high-born ladies as to make them lay figures who dare not raise their eyes except by rule. There were three American guests, and only by being as nimble as grasshoppers did we hold our own in the table talk which was as exhilarating as a game of snowball on a frosty day. We scampered all around war and settled a few important political questions. Poetry, books and the new Cabinet vied with the merriment over comparisons in styles of dress. One delightful woman told how gloves and shoes had choked her when she first wore them in America. Another gave her experience in getting fatally twisted in her court train when she was making her bow before the German Empress. A soft-voiced matron made us laugh over her story of how, when she was a young girl at a mission school, she unintentionally joined in a Christian prayer, and nearly took the skin off her tongue afterwards scrubbing it with strong soap and water to wash away the stain. There wasn't even a smile as she quietly spoke of the many times later when with that same prayer she had tried to make less hard the after-horrors of war. The possibilities of Japanese women are amazing even to one who thinks he knows them. They look as if made for decoration only, and with a flirt of their sleeves they bring out a surprise that turns your ideas a double somersault. Here they were, laughing and chatting like a bunch of fresh schoolgirls for whom life was one long holiday. Yet ten out of the number had recently packed away their gorgeous clothes, and laid on a high shelf all royal ranks and rights, for a nurse's dress and kit. Apparently delicate and shy they can be, if emergency demands, as grim as war or as tender as heaven. It was a blithesome day and if it had n't been for that "all gone" sort of a feeling, that possesses me when evening draws near and Jack is far away, content might have marked me as her own. As it was I put off playing a single at dinner as long as possible by calling on a month-old bride whom I had known as a girl. With glee I accepted the offer of an automobile to take me for the visit, and repented later. Two small chauffeurs and a diminutive footman raced me through the narrow, crowded streets, scattering the populace to any shelter it could find. The only reason we didn't take the fronts out of the shops is that Japanese shops are frontless. I looked back to see the countless victims of our speed. I saw only a crowd coming from cover, smiling with curiosity and interest. We hit the top of the hill with a flourish, and when I asked what was the hurry my attendants looked hurt and reproachfully asked if that wasn't the way Americans liked to ride. Mate, this is a land of contrasts and contradictions. At the garden all had been life and color. At this home, where the wrinkled old servitor opened the heavily carved gates for me, it was as if I had stepped into a bit of ancient Japan, jealously guarded from any encroachment of new conditions or change of custom. Like a curious package, contents unknown, I was passed from one automatic servant to another till I finally reached the _Torishihimari_ or mistress of ceremonies. By clock-work she offered me a seat on the floor, a fan and congratulations. This last simply because I was me. The house was ancient and beautiful. The room in which I sat had nothing in it but matting as fine as silk, a rare old vase with two flowers and a leaf in formal arrangement, and an atmosphere of aloofness that lulled mind and body to restful revery. After my capacity for tea and sugared dough was tested, the little serving maid fanning me, bowing every time I blinked, the paper doors near by divided noiselessly and, framed by the dim light, sat the young bride, quaint and oriental as if she had stepped out of some century-old kakemono. In contrast to my recent hostesses it was like coming from a garden of brilliant flowers into the soft, quiet shadows of a bamboo grove. No modern touch about this lady. She had been reduced by rule from a romping girl to a selfless creature fit for a Japanese gentleman's wife and no questions asked. Her hair, her dress, and even her speech were strictly by the laws laid down in a book for the thirty-first day of the first month after marriage. But I would like to see the convention with a crust thick enough to entirely obliterate one woman's interest in another whose clothes and life belong to a distant land. When I told her I had come to Japan against Jack's wishes and was going to follow him to China if I could, she paled at my rashness. How could a woman dare disobey? Would not my husband send me home, take my name off the house register and put somebody in my place? Well now, wouldn't you like to see the scientist play any such tricks with me--that blessed old Jack who smiles at my follies, asks my advice, and does as he pleases, and for whom there has never been but the one woman in the world! I struggled to make plain to her the attitude of American men and women and the semi-independence of the latter. As well explain theology to a child. To her mind the undeviating path of absolute obedience was the only possible way. Anything outside of a complete renunciation of self-interest and thought meant ruin and was not even to be whispered about. I gave it up and came back to her sphere of poetry and mothers-in-law. When I said good-by there was a gentle pity in her eyes, for she was certain her long-time friend was headed for the highroad of destruction. But instead I turned into the dim solitude of Shiba Park. I had something to think about. To-day's experiences had painted anew in naming colors the difference in husbands. How prone a woman is, who is free and dearly beloved, to fall into the habit of taking things for granted, forgetting how one drop of the full measure of happiness, that a good husband gives her, would turn to rosy tints the gray lives of hundreds of her kind who are wives in name only. Her appreciation may be abundant but it is the silent kind. Her bugaboo is fear of sentiment and when it is too late, she remembers with a heart-break. I can think of a thousand things right now I want to say to Jack and while storing them away for some future happy hour, I walked further into the deep shadows of twilight. Instantly the spell of the East was over me. Real life was not. In the soft green silences of mystery and fancy, I found a seat by an ancient moss-covered tomb. Dreamily I watched a great red dragon-fly frivol with the fairy blue wreaths of incense-smoke that hovered above the leaf shadows trembling on the sand. The deep melody of a bell, sifted through a cloud of blossom, caught up my willing soul and floated out to sea and Jack far from this lovely land, where stalks unrestrained the ugly skeleton of easy divorce for men. The subject always irritates me like prickly heat. NIKKO, July, 1911. Summer in Japan is no joke, especially if you are waiting for letters. I know perfectly well I can't hear from you and Jack for an age, and yet I watch for the postman three times a day, as a hungry man waits for the dinner-bell. The days in Yokohama were too much like a continuous Turkish bath, and I fled to Nikko, the ever moist and mossy. Two things you can always expect in this village of "roaring, wind-swept mountains,"--rain and courtesy. One is as inevitable as the other, and both are served in quantities. I am staying in a semi-foreign hotel which is tucked away in a pocket in the side of a mountain as comfy as a fat old lady in a big rocker who glories in dispensing hospitality with both hands. Just let me put my head out of my room door and the hall fairly blossoms with little maids eager to serve. A step toward the entrance brings to life a small army of attendants bending as they come like animated jack-knives on a live wire. One struggles with the mystery of my overshoes, while the Master stands by and begs me to take care of my honorable spirit. As it is the only spirit I possess I heed his advice and bring it back to the hotel to find the entire force standing at attention, ready to receive me. I pass on to my room with a procession of bearers and bearesses strung out behind me like the tail of a kite, anything from a tea-tray to the sugar tongs being sufficient excuse for joining the parade. When dressing for dinner, if I press the button, no less than six little, picture maids flutter to my door, each begging for the honor of fastening me up the back. How delighted Jack would be to assign them this particular honor for life. Such whispers over the wonders of a foreign-made dress as they struggle with the curious fastenings! (They should hear my lord's fierce language!) Each one takes a turn till some sort of connection is made between hook and eye. All is so earnestly done I dare not laugh or wiggle with impatience. I may sail into dinner with the upper hook in the lower eye and the middle all askew, but the service is so graciously given, I would rather have my dress upside down than to grumble. Certainly I pay for it. I tip everything from the proprietor to the water-pitcher. But the sum is so disproportionate to the pleasure and the comfort returned that I smile to think of the triple price I have paid elsewhere and the high-nosed condescension I got in return for my money. Japanese courtesy may be on the surface, but the polish does not easily wear off and it soothes the nerves just as the rain cools the air. It goes without saying that I did not arrive in Nikko without a variety of experiences along the way. Two hours out from Yokohama, the train boy came into the coach, and with a smile as cheerful as if he were saying, "Happy New Year," announced that there was a washout in front of us and a landslide at the back of us. Would everybody please rest their honorable bones in the village while a bridge was built and a river filled in. The passengers trailed into a settlement of straw roofs, bamboo poles and acres of white and yellow lilies. I went to a quaint little inn--that was mostly out!--built over a fussy brook; and a pine tree grew right out of the side of the house. My room was furnished with four mats and a poem hung on the wall. When the policeman came in to apologize for the rudeness of the storm in delaying me, the boy who brought my bags had to step outside so that the official would have room to bow properly. I ate my supper of fish-omelet and turnip pickle served in red lacquer bowls, and drank tea out of cups as big as thimbles. Jack says Japanese teacups ought to be forbidden; in a moment of forgetfulness they could so easily slip down with the tea. It had been many a year since I was so separated from my kind and each hour of isolation makes clearer a thing I 've never doubted, but sometimes forget, that the happiest woman is she whose every moment is taken up in being necessary to somebody; and to such, unoccupied minutes are like so many drops of lead. That, with a telegram I read telling of the increasing dangers of the plague in Manchuria, threatened to send me headlong into a spell of anxiety and the old terrible loneliness. Happily the proprietor and his wife headed it off by asking me if I would be their guest for this evening to see the Bon Matsuri, the beautiful Festival of the Dead. On the thirteenth day of the seventh month, all the departed spirits take a holiday from Nirvana or any other seaport they happen to be in and come on a visit to their former homes to see how it fares with the living. Poor homesick spirits! Not even Heaven can compensate for the separation from beloved country and friends. As we passed along, the streets were alight with burning rushes placed at many doors to guide the spiritual excursionists. Inside, the people were praying, shrines were decorated and children in holiday dress merrily romped. Why, Mate, it was worth being a ghost just to come back and see how happy everybody was. For on this night of nights, cares and sorrows are doubly locked in a secret place and the key put carefully away. You couldn't find a coolie so heartless as to show a shadow of trouble to his ghostly relatives when they return for so brief a time to hold happy communion with the living. He may be hungry, he may be sick, but there is a brave smile of welcome on his lips for the spirits. The crazy old temple at the foot of the mountain, glorified by a thousand lights and fluttering flags, reaped a harvest of _rins_ and _rens_ paid to the priests for paper prayers and bamboo flower-holders with which to decorate the graves. The cemetery was on the side of the hill, and every step of the way somebody stopped at a stone marker to fasten a lantern to a small fishing-pole and pin a prayer near by. This was to guide the spirit to his own particular spot. A breeze as soft as a happy sigh came through the pines and gently rocked the lanterns. The dim figures of the worshipers moved swiftly about, as delighted as children in the shadow-pictures made by the twinkling lights, eagerly seeking out remote spots that no grave might be without its welcoming gleam. A long line of white-robed dancing girls came swaying by with clapping hands to soft-voiced chanting. I, too, though an alien, was moved with the good-will and kindness that sung through the very air and fearlessly I would have decorated any festive ghost that happened along. I looked to see where I might lay the offering I held in my hand. My hostess plucked my sleeve and pointed to a tiny tombstone under a camellia tree. I went closer and read the English inscription, "Dorothy Dale. Aged 2 years." There was a tradition that once in the long ago a missionary and his wife lived in the village. Through an awful epidemic of cholera they stuck to their posts, nursed and cared for the people. Their only child was the price they paid for their constancy. To each generation the story had been told, and through all the years faithful watch had been kept over the little enclosure. Now it was all a-glimmer with lanterns shaped like birds and butterflies. I added my small offering and turned hotelwards reluctantly. My ancient host and hostess trotted along near by, eager to share all their pathetic little gaieties with me. Their lives together had about as much real comradeship as a small brown hen and a big gray owl, and they had been married sixty years! They had toiled and grown old together, but that did not mean that wifey was to walk anywhere but three feet to the rear, nor to speak except when her lord and ruler stopped talking to take a whiff of his pipe. I tried to walk behind with the old lady but she threatened to stand in one spot for the rest of the night. Then I vainly coaxed her to walk with me at her husband's side. But her face was so full of genuine horror at such disrespect that I desisted. Think, Mate, of trying to puzzle out the make-up of a nation which for the sake of a long-ago kindness will for years keep a strange baby's grave green and yet whose laws will divorce a woman for disobedience to her husband's mother and where the ancient custom of "women to heel" still holds good. And this is the land where the Seeker came for the truth! Sada thinks it paradise and I, as before, am sending to Jack A heart of love for thee Blown by the summer breezes Ten thousand miles of sea. July, 1911. _Mate_: There ought to be some kind of capital punishment for the woman who has nothing to do but kill time. It's an occupation that puts crimps in the soul and offers the supreme moment in which the devil may work his rabbit foot. No, I cannot settle down or hustle up to anything until I hear from Jack or you. Very soon I will be reduced to doing the one desperate thing lurking in this corner of the woods, flirting with the solitary male guest, who has a strong halt in his voice and whose knees are not on speaking terms. Of course it is raining. If the sun gets gay and tries the bluff of being friendly, a heavy giant of a cloud rises promptly up from behind a mountain and puts him out of business. Still, why moan over the dampness? It makes the hills look like great green plush sofa-cushions and the avenues like mossy caves. I have read till my eyes are crossed and I have written to every human I know. I have watched the giggling little maids patter up to a two-inch shrine and, flinging a word or two to Buddha, use the rest of their time to gossip. And the old lady who washes her vegetables and her clothes in the same baby-lake just outside my window amuses me for at least ten minutes. Then, Mate, for real satisfaction, I must turn to you, whose patience is elastic and enduring. It is one of my big joys that your interest and love are just the same, as in those other days when you packed me off to Japan for the good of my country and myself; and then sent Jack after me. Guess I should have stayed at home, as Jack told me, but I am glad I did not. Though it has poured every minute I have been here, there have been bursts of sunshine inside, if not out. The other day my table boy brought me the menu and asked for an explanation of _assorted_ fruits. I told him very carefully it meant _mixed, different kinds_. He is a smart lad. He understands my Japanese! He grasped my meaning immediately, and wrote it down in a little book. This morning he came to my room and announced: "Please, Lady, some assorted guests await you in the audience chamber; one Japanese and two American persons." I have had my first letter from Sada too, simply spilling over with youth and enthusiasm. The girl is stark mad over the fairy-landness of it all. Says her rooms are in Uncle's private house, which is in quite a different part of the garden from the tea-house. (Thank the Lord for small mercies!) She says Uncle has given her some beautiful clothes and is so good to her. I dare say. He has taken her to see a lovely old castle and wonderful temple. The streets are all pictures and the scenery is glorious! That is true, but the girl cannot live off scenery any more than a nightingale can thrive on the scent of roses. What is coming when the glamour of the scenery wears off and Uncle puts on the pressure of his will? I have not dared to give her any suggestion of warning. She is deadly sure of her duty, so enthralled is she with the thought of service to her mother's people. If I am to help her, the shock of disillusionment must come from some other direction. The _disillusioner_ is seldom forgiven. I do not know what plans are being worked out behind Uncle's lowered eyelids. But I _do_ know his idea of duty does not include keeping such a valuable asset as a bright and beautiful niece hid away for his solitary joy. In fact, he would consider himself a neglectful and altogether unkind relative if he did not marry Sada off to the very best advantage to himself. In the name of all the Orient, what else is there to do with a _girl_, and especially one whose blood is tainted with that of the West? Well, Mate, my thoughts grew so thick on the subject I nearly suffocated. I went for a walk and ran right into a cavalcade of donkeys, jinrickshas and chairs, headed by the Seeker and Dolly, who has also annexed the little Maharajah. They had been up to Chuzenji--and Chuzenji I would have you know is lovely enough, with its emerald lake and rainbow mists, to start a man's tongue to love-making whether he will or not. And so surely as it is raining, something has happened. Dolly was as gay as a day-old butterfly and smiled as if a curly-headed Cupid had tickled her with a wing-feather. The Seeker was deadly solemn. Possibly the aftermath of his impetuosity. Oh, well! there is no telling what wonders can be worked by incurable youthfulness and treasures laid up in a trust company. The little Prince, with every pocket and his handkerchief full of small images of Buddha which he was collecting, asked at once for Sada. His heart was in his eyes, but there is no use tampering with a to-be-incarnation by encouraging worldly thoughts. So I said I had not seen her since we landed. They were due on board the _Siberia_ in Yokohama to-night on their way to China. I waved them good wishes and went on, amused and not a little troubled. Worried over Sada, hungry for Jack, lonesome for you. I passed one of the gorgeous blue, green and yellow gates, at the entrance of a temple. On one side is carved a distorted figure, that looks like a cross between an elephant and a buzzard. It is called "Baku, the eater of evil dreams." My word! but I could furnish him a feast that would give him the fanciest case of indigestion he ever knew! Mate, you would have to see Nikko, with its majestic cryptomarias, sheltering the red and gold lacquer temples; you would have to feel the mystery of the gray-green avenues, and have its holy silences fall like a benediction upon a restless spirit, to realize what healing for soul and body is in the very air, to understand why I joyfully loitered for two hours and came back sane and hungry, but wet as a fish. Write me about the only man, the kiddies and your own blessed happy self. I agree with Charity. "Ef you want to spile a valuable wife, tu'n her loose in a patch of idlesomeness." STILL AT NIKKO, August, 1911. You beloved girl, I have heard from Jack and my heart is singing a ragtime tune of joy and thanksgiving. How he laughed at me for being too foolishly lonesome to stay in America without him. Oh, these, men! Does he forget he raged once upon a time, when he was in America without me? As long as I am here though, he wants me to have as good a time as possible. Do anything I want, and--blessed trusting man!--buy anything I see that will fit in the little house at home. Can you believe it? After a fierce battle the sun won out this morning, and even the blind would know by the dancing feel of the air that it was a glorious day. At eight o'clock, when the little maids went up to the shrine, happy as kittens let out for a romp, they forgot even to look Buddha-ward and took up their worship time in playing tag. The old woman who uses the five-foot lake as the family wash-tub, brought out all her clothes, the grand-baby, and the snub-nosed poodle that wears a red bib, to celebrate the sunshine by a carnival of washing. I could not stand four walls a minute longer. I am down in the garden writing you, in a tea-house made with three fishing-poles and a bunch of straw. It is covered with pink morning-glories as big as coffee cups. It has been three weeks since my last letter and I know your interest in Jack and germs is almost as great as mine. Jack has been in Peking. He thinks the revolution of the Chinese against the Manchu Government is going to be something far more serious this time than a flutter of fans and a sputter of shooting-crackers. The long-suffering worm with the head of a dragon is going to turn, and when it does, there will not be a Manchu left to tell the pig tale. Jack is in Mukden now, where he is about to lose his mind with joy over the prospect of looking straight in the eye--if it has one--this wicked old germ with a new label, and telling it what he thinks. The technical terms he gives are as paralyzing as a Russian name spelled backwards. In a day's time this fearful thing wipes out entire families and villages. It has simply ravaged northern Manchuria and the country about. Jack says so deadly are the effects of these germs in the air that if a man walking along the street happens to breathe in one, he is a corpse on the spot before he is through swallowing. The remains are gathered up by men wearing shrouds and net masks, and the peaceful Oriental who was not doing a thing hut attending strictly to his own business, is soon reduced to ashes. All because of a pesky microbe with a surplus of energy. You know perfectly well, Mate, Jack does not speak in this frivolous manner of his beloved work. The interpretation is wholly mine. But I dare not be serious over it. I must push any thought of his danger to the further ends of nowhere. Jack thinks the native doctors have put up a brave fight, but so far the laugh has been all on the side of the frisky germ. It blasts everything it touches and is most fastidious. Nobody can blame it for choosing as its nesting-place the little soft furred Siberian marmots, which the Chinese hunt for their skin. If only the hunters could be given a dip in a sulphur vat before they lay them down to sleep in the unspeakable inns with their spoils wrapped around them, the chance for infection would not be so great. Of course the bare suggestion of a bath might prove more fatal than the plague, for oftener than not the hunters are used only as a method of travel by the merry microbe and are immune from the effects. Of course Jack has all sorts of theories as to why this is so. But did you ever see a scientist who didn't have a workable theory for everything from the wrong end of a carpet-tack to the evolution of a June bug? From the hunters and their spoils the disease spreads and their path southwards can be traced by desolated villages and piles of bones. Jack tells me he is garbed in a long white robe effect (I hope he won't grow wings), with a good-sized mosquito net on a frame over his head and face. He works in heavy gloves. Mouth and nose being the favorite point of attack, everybody who ventures out wears over this part of the face a curiously shaped shield, whose firm look says, "No admittance here." But all the same, that germ from Siberia is a wily thief and steals lives by the thousands, in spite of all precautions. Jack is as enthusiastic over the fight against the scourge as a college boy over football. His letter has so many big technical words in it, I had to pay excess postage. I 've read his letter twice, but to save me I cannot find any suggestion of the remotest possibility of my coming nearer. Yes, I know I said Japan only. But way down in the cellar of my heart I _hoped_ he would say nearer. What a happy day it has been. Here is your letter, just come. The priests up at the temple have asked me to see the ceremony of offering food to the spirits, in the holy of holies. There is not time for me to add another word to this letter. What a dear you are, to love while you lecture me. What you say is all true. A woman's place _is_ in her home. But just now out of the East, I 've had a call to play silent partner to science and while it 's a lonesome sport, at least it 's far more entertaining than caring for a husbandless house. Anyhow I am sending you a hug and a thousand kisses for the babies. SHOJI LAKE, August, 1911. Mate, think of the loveliest landscape picture you ever saw, put me in it and you will know where I am. With some friends from Honolulu and a darling old man--observe I say _old_!--from Colorado, we started two days ago, to walk around the base of Fuji. Everything went splendidly till a typhoon hit us amidships and sent us careening, blind, battered and soaked into this red and white refuge of a hotel, that clings to the side of a mountain like a woodpecker to a telephone pole. I have seen storms, but the worst I ever saw was a playful summer breeze compared with the magnificent fury of this wind that snapped great trees in two as if they had been young bean-poles, and whipped the usually peaceful lake into raging waves that swept through a gorge and greedily licked up a whole village. Our path was high up, but right over the water. Sometimes we were crawling on all fours. Mostly we were flying just where the wind listed. If a tree got in our way as we flew, so much the worse for us. It is funny now, but it was not at the time! Seriously, I was in immediate peril of being blown to glory _via_ the fierce green foam below. My Colorado Irishman is not only a darling, but a hero. Once I slipped, and stopped rolling only when some faithful pines were too stubborn to let go. I wag many feet below the reach of any arm. In a twinkling, my friend had stripped the kimono off the baggage coolie's back, and made a lasso with which he pulled me up. Then shocked to a standstill by the shortcomings of the coolie's birthday suit, he snatched off his coat and gave it to him, with a dollar. Such a procession of bedraggled and exhausted pleasure-seekers as we were, when three men stood behind our hotel door and opened it just wide enough to haul us in. But hot baths and boiling tea revived us and soon we were as merry as any people can be who have just escaped annihilation. The typhoon passed as suddenly as it came, and now the world--or at least this part of it--is as glowing and beautiful as if freshly tinted by the Master Hand. A moment ago I looked up to see my rescuer gazing out of the window. I asked, "How do you feel, Mr. Carson?" His voice trembled when he answered: "Lady, I feel glorified, satisfied and nigh about petrified. Look at that!" Below lay Shoji, its shimmering waters rimmed with velvety green. Every raindrop on the pines was a prism; the mountain a brocade of blossom. To the right Fuji, the graceful, ever lovely Fuji; capricious as a coquette and bewitching in her mystery, with a thumbnail moon over her peak, like a silver tiara on the head of a proud beauty; at her base the last fleecy clouds of the day, gathered like worshipers at the feet of some holy saint. The man's face shone. For forty years he had worked at harness-making, always with the vision before him that some day he might take this trip around the world. He has the soul of an artist, which has been half starved in the narrow environment of his small town life. Cannot you imagine the mad revel of his soul in this pictureland? He is going to Mukden. Of course I told him all about Jack's work. The old fellow, he must be all of seventy, was thrilled. I am going to give him a letter to Jack. Also to some friends in Peking; they will be good to him. If anybody deserves a merry-go-round sort of a holiday, he does. Think of sewing on saddles and bridles all these years, when his heart was withering for beauty! I am glad of your eager interest in Sada. How like you! Never too absorbed in your own life to share other people's joys and sorrows and festivities. If your wise head evolves a plan of action, send by wireless, for if I read aright her message received to-day, the time is fast coming when the red lights of danger will be flashing. I will quote: "Last night Uncle asked me to sing to some people who were giving a dinner at the tea-house. I put on my loveliest kimono and a hair-dresser did my hair in the old Japanese style and stuck a red rose at the side. For the first time I went into that beautiful, _beautiful_ place my Uncle calls "the Flower Blooming" tea-house. It was more like a fairy palace. How the girls, who live there, laughed at my guitar. They had never seen one before. How they whispered over the color of my eyes. Said they matched my kimono, and they tittered over my clumsiness in sitting on the floor. But I forgot everything when the door slid open and I looked into the most wonderful dream-garden that ever was, and people everywhere. I finished singing, there was clapping and loud _banzais_. I looked up and realized there were only men at this dinner and I never saw so many bottles in all my life. I felt very strange and so far away from dear Susan West. After I had sung once more I started back to my home. Uncle met me. I told him I was going to bed. For the first time he was cross and ordered me back to the play place, where I was to stay until he came for me. There never was anything so lovely as the green and pink garden and the lily-shaped lights, and the flowers; and such _pretty_ girls who knew just what to do. But I cannot understand the men who come here. When dear old Billy"--thank heaven she says _dear_ Billy!--"talks I know just what he means. But these men use so many words Susan never taught me, and laugh so loud when they say them. "There was one man named Hara whose clothes were simply gorgeous. The girls say he is very rich, and a great friend of Uncle's! He may have money, but he is not over-burdened with manners. He can out-stare an owl." There was more. But that is enough to show me Uncle's hand as plainly as if I were a palmist. If nothing happens to prevent, the man promises to do what thousands of his kind have done before: regardless of obstacles and consequences marry the girl off to the highest bidder; rid himself of all responsibility and make a profit at the same time. From his point of view it is the only thing to do. He would be the most astonished uncle in Mikado-land if anybody suggested to him that Sada had any rights or feelings in the matter. He would tell you that as Sada's only male relative, custom gave him the right to dispose of her as he saw fit, and custom is law and there is nothing back of _that_! So far I have played only a thinking part in the drama. But I will not stand by and see the girl, whose very loneliness is a plea, sacrificed without some kind of a struggle to help her. At the present writing I feel about as effective as a February lamb, and every move calls for tact. Wish I had been born with a needle wit instead of a Roman nose! For if Uncle has a glimmer of a suspicion that I would befriend Sada at the cost of his plans, so surely as the river is lost in the sea, Sada would disappear from my world until it was too late for me to lend a hand. Good-by, Mate. At eventide, as of old, look my way and send me strength from your vast store of calm courage and common sense. The odds are against me, but the god of luck has never yet failed to laugh with me. September, 1911. I am in a monastery, Mate, but only temporarily, thank you. It is a blessing to the cause that Fate did not turn me into a monk or a sister or any of those inconvenient things with a restless religion, that wakes you up about 3 A.M. on a wintry dawn to pray shiveringly to a piece of wood, to the tune of a thumping drum. Some morning when the frost was on the cypress that carven image would disappear! For one time at least I would have a nice fire, and my prayers would not be decorated with icicles. For two weeks my friends and I have been tramping through picture-book villages and silk-worm country, and over mountain winding ways, sleeping on the floor, sitting on our feet and giving our stomachs surprise parties with hot, cold and lukewarm rice, seaweed and devil-fish. It has been one hilarious lark of outdoor life, with nothing to pin us to earth but the joy of being a part of so beautiful a world. The road led us through superb forests, over the Bridge of Paradise to Koyo San, whose peak is so far above the mist-wreathed valleys that it scrapes the clouds as they float by. But I want to say right here; Kobo Daishi, who founded this monastery in the distant ages and built a temple to his own virtues, may have been a saint, but he was not much of a gentleman! Else he would not have been so reckless of the legs and necks of the coming generations, as to blaze the trail to his shrine over mountains so steep that our pack-mule coming up could easily have bitten off his own tail if he had so minded. Later. This afternoon I must hustle down. I suppose the only way to get down is to roll. Well; anyway I am in a hurry. My mail beat me up the trail and a letter from Sada San begs me to come to Kioto to see her as soon as I can. She only says she needs help and does not know what to do. And blessed be the telegram that winds up from Hiroshima; the school is in urgent need of an assistant at the Kindergarten and they ask me to come. The principal, Miss Look, has gone to America on business, for three months. Hooray! Here is my chance to resign from the "Folded Hands' Society" and do something that is really worth while, as long as I cannot go to my man. How good it will seem once again to be in that dear old mission school, where in the long ago I toiled and laughed and suffered while I waited for Jack. The prospect of being with the girls and the kiddies again makes me want to do a Highland Fling, even if I am in a monastery with a sad-faced young priest serving me tea and mournful sighs between prayers. What a flirtatious old world it is after all. It smites you and bruises you, then binds up the hurts by giving you a desire or so of your heart. Just now the desire of my heart is to catch that train for Kioto. So here goes a prayer, pinned to a shrine, for a body intact as I tread the path that drops straight down the mountain, through the crimson glory of the maples and the blazing yellow of the gingko tree, to the tiny little station far away that looks like a decorated hen-coop. KIOTO, September, 1911. _Dearest Mate_: I cannot spend a drop of ink in telling you how I got here. How the baggage beast ran away and decorated the mountain shrubbery with my belongings. And how after all my hurry of dropping down from Koyo San, the brakesman forgot to hook our car to the train and started off on a picnic while the engine went merrily on and left us out in the rice-fields. Suffice it to say I landed in a whirl that spun me down to Uncle's house and back to the hotel. And by the way my thoughts are going, for all I know I may be booked to spin on through eternity. My visit to Sada was so full of things that did not happen. When I reached the house, I sent in my card to Sada. Uncle came gliding in like a soft-footed panther. He did it so quietly that I jumped when I saw him. We took up valuable time repeating polite greetings, as set down on page ten of the Book of Etiquette, in the chapter on Calls Made by Inconvenient Foreigners. When our countless bows were finished, I asked in my coaxingest voice if I might see Sada. Presently she came in, dressed in Japanese clothes and beautiful even in her pallor. She was changed--sad, and a little drooping. The conflict of her ideals of duty to her mother's people and the real facts in the case, had marked her face with something far deeper than girlish innocence. It was inevitable. But above the evidences of struggle there was a something which said the dead and gone Susan West had left more than a mere memory. Silently I blessed all her kind. Sada was unfeignedly glad to see me, and I longed to take her in my arms and kiss her. But such a display would have marked me in Uncle's eyes as a dangerous woman with unsuppressed emotions, and unfit for companionship with Sada. I had hoped his Book of Etiquette said, "After this, bow and depart." But my hopes had not a pin-feather to rest on. He stayed right where he was. All right, old Uncle, thought I, if stay you will, then I shall use all a woman's power to beguile you and a woman's wit to out-trick you, so I can make you show your hand. It is going to be a game with the girl as the prize. It is also going to be like playing leap-frog with a porcupine. He has cunning and authority to back him, and I have only my love for Sada. For a time I talked at random, directing my whole conversation to him as the law demands. By accident, or luck, I learned that the weak point in his armor of polite reserve was color prints. Just talk color prints to a collector and you can pick his pocket with perfect ease. My knowledge of color prints could be written on my thumb nail. But I made a long and dangerous shot, by looking wise and asking if he thought Matahei compared favorably with Moronobo as painters of the same era. I choked off a gasp when I said it, for I would have you know that for all I knew, Matahei might have lived in the time of Jacob and Rebecca, and Moronobo a thousand years afterwards. But I guessed right the very first time and Mura San, with a flash of appreciation at my interest, said that my learning was remarkable. It was an untruth and he knew that I knew it, but it was courteous and I looked easy. Then he talked long and delightfully as only lovers of such things can. At least, it would have been delightful had I not been so anxious to see Sada alone. But it was not to be. At least, not then. But mark one for me, Mate: Uncle was so pleased with my keen and hungry interest in color prints and my desire to see his collection, that he invited me to a feast and a dance at the house the next night. The following evening I could have hugged the person, male or otherwise, who called my dear host away for a few minutes just before the feast began. Sada told me hurriedly that Uncle had insisted on her singing every night at the tea-house. She had first rebelled, and then flatly refused, for she did not like the girls. She hated what she saw and was afraid of the men. Her master was furiously angry; said he would teach her what obedience meant in this country. He would marry her off right away and be rid of a girl who thought her foreign religion gave her a right to disobey her relatives. She was afraid he would do it, for he had not asked her to go to the tea-house again. Neither had he permitted her to go out of the house. Once she was sick with fear, for she knew Uncle had been in a long consultation with the rich man Hara and he was in such good humor afterwards. But Hara, she learned, had gone away. She would _not_ sing at these dinners again, not if Uncle choked her and what must she do! I saw the man returning but I quickly whispered, "What about Billy?" Ah, I knew I was right. The rose in her hair was no pinker than her cheeks. If Billy could only have seen her then, I would wager my shoes--and shoes are precious in this country--that her duty to her mother's people would have to take a back seat. Before Uncle reached us I whispered, "Keep Billy in your heart, Sada. Write him. Tell him." And in the same breath I heartily thanked Uncle for inviting me. It was a feast, Mate--the most picturesque, uneatable feast I ever sat on my doubly honorable feet to consume. There were opal-eyed fish with shaded pink scales, served whole; soft brown eels split up the back and laid on a bed of green moss; soups, thin and thick; lotus root and mountain lily, and raw fish. Each course--and their name was many--was served on a little two-inch-high lacquer table, with everything to match. Sometimes it was gold lacquer, then again green, once red and another black. But it was all a dream of color that shaded in with the little maids who served it; and they, swift, noiseless and pretty, were trained to graceful perfection. The few furnishings of the room were priceless. Uncle sat by in his silken robes, gracious and courteous, surprising me with his knowledge of current events. In the guise of host, he is charming. That is, if only he would not always talk with dropped eyelids, giving the impression that he is half dreaming and is only partly conscious of the world and its follies. And all the time I know perfectly well that he sees everything around him and clean on to the city limits. Again and again in his talks he referred to his color prints and the years of patience required to collect them. Right then, Mate, I made a vow to study the pesky things as they have seldom been attacked before--even though I never had much use for pictures in which you cannot tell the top side from the bottom, without a label. But then, Jack says, my artistic temperament will never keep me awake at night. Now I decided all at once to make a collection. Heaven knows what I will do with it. But Uncle grew so enthusiastic he included his niece in the conversation, and while his humor was at high tide I coaxed him into a promise that Sada might come down to Hiroshima very soon, and help me look for prints. Yes, indeed there was a dance afterwards, and everything was deadly, hysterically solemn--so rigidly proper, so stiffly conventional that it palled. It was the most maleless house of revelry I ever saw. Why, even the kakemono were pictures of perfect ladies and the gate-man was a withered old woman. There was absolutely nothing wrong I could name. It was all exquisitely, daintily, lawfully Japanese. But I sat by my window till early morning. There was a very ghost of a summer moon. Out of the night came the velvety tones of a mighty bell; the sing-song prayers of many priests; the rippling laugh of a little child and the tinkling of a samisen. Every sound made for simple joy and peace. But I thought of the girl somewhere beyond the twinkling street lights, who, with mixed races in her blood and a strange religion in her heart, had dreamed dreams of this as a perfect land, and was now paying the price of disillusionment with bitter tears. Eight o 'clock the next morning. I cabled Jack, "Hiroshima for winter." He answered, "Thank the Lord you are nailed down at last." P.S.--I have bought all the books on color prints I could find. October, 1911. Hiroshima! Get up and salute, Mate! Is not that name like the face of an old familiar friend? I have to shake myself to realize that it is not the long ago, but now. A recent picture of Jack and one of you and the babies is about the only touch of the present. Everything is just as it was in the old days, when the difficulties of teaching in a foreign kindergarten in a _foreigner_ language was the least of the battle that faced me. Well, I thought I 'd finished with battles, but there 's a feeling of fight in the air. Same little room, in the same old mission school. Same wall paper, so blue it turned green. And, Lord love us, from the music-rooms still come the sounds like all the harmonies of a baby organ-factory gone on a strike. But bless you, honey, there is an eternity of difference in having to stand a thing and doing it of your own free will. As Black Charity would remark, "I don't pay 'em no mind," and let them wheeze out their mournful complaints to the same old hymns. Had you been here the night my dinky little train pulled into the station, you would have guessed that it was a big Fourth of July celebration or the Emperor's birthday. I would not dare guess how many girls there were to meet me. It seemed like half a mile of them lined up on the platform, and each carried a round red lantern. Until they had made the proper bow with deadly precision, there was not a smile or a sound. That ceremony over, they charged down upon me in an avalanche of gaiety. They waved their lanterns, they called _banzai_, they laughed and sung some of the old time foolish songs we used to sing. They promptly put to rout all legends of their excessive modesty and shyness. They were just young and girlish. Plain happy. Eager and sweet in their generous welcome. It warmed every fiber of my being. When they thinned out a little, I saw at the other end of the platform a figure flying towards me, with the sleeves of her kimono out-stretched like the wings of a gray bird, and a great red rose for a top-knot. It was Miss First River, a little late, but more than happy, as she sobbed out her welcome on the front of my clean shirt-waist. It was she, you remember, who in all those other years was my faithful secretary and general comforter. The one who slept across my door when I was ill and who never forgot the hot water bag on a cold night. For years she has supported a drunken father and a crazy mother; has sent one brother to America and made a preacher of another. Now she is to be married, she told me in a little note she slipped into my hand as we walked up the Street of the Upper Flowing River to the school, adding, "Please guess my heart." And miracle of the East! She has known the man a long time and they are in love! I am so glad I am going to be here for the wedding. It comes off in a few weeks. I started work in the kindergarten this morning. It has been said that when the Lord ran out of mothers he made kindergartners. Surely he never did a better job--for the kindergartners. Mate, when I stepped into that room, it was like going into an enchanted garden of morning-glories and dahlias. What a greeting the regiment of young Japlings gave me! I just drank in all the fragrance of joy in the eager comradeship and sweet friendliness of the small Mikados and Mikadoesses with a keen delight that made the hours spin like minutes. And would you believe it? The first sound that greeted my ears after their whole duty had been accomplished in the very formal bow, was--"Oh--it is the _skitten Sensei_ (skipping teacher) A skit! A skit! We want to skit!" Of course, they were not the same children by many years. But things die slowly in Hiroshima. Even good reputations. Everything was pushed aside, and work or no work, teachers and children celebrated by one mad revel of skipping. There are many things to do, and getting into the old harness of steady routine work and living on the tap of a bell, is not so easy as it sounds, after years of live-as-you-please. But it is good for the constitution and is satisfying to the soul. I once asked my friend Carson from Colorado if he could choose but one gift in all the world, what would it be? "The contintment of stidy work," answered the wise old philosopher from out of the West; and my heart echoes his wisdom. Had a big fat letter from Jack, and the reputation he gives those germs he is associating with, is simply disgraceful. He gives me statistics also. Wish he wouldn't. It takes so much time and I always have to count on my fingers. He tells me, too, of an English woman who has joined the insect expedition. Says she is the most brilliant woman he ever met. Thanks awfully. And he has to sit up nights studying, to keep up with her. I dare say. I 'll wager she 's high of color and mighty of muscle and with equal vehemence says a thing is "strawdn'ry" whether it 's a dewdrop or a spouting volcano. I can't help feeling a little bit envious of her--out there with my Jack! Well! I will not get agitated till I have to. A note from Sada says Uncle has had another outburst. He still consents for her to come down here. Her beautiful ideals have been smashed to smithereens, and the fact that nothing has ever been invented that will stick them together, adds no comfort to the situation. Her disappointment is heart-breaking. I cannot make a move till I get her to myself and have a life-and-death talk with her. I am playing for time. I wrote her a cheerfully foolish letter. Told her I was making all kinds of plans for her visit. I also looked up some doubtful dates--at least, my textbook on color prints said they were doubtful--and referred them to Uncle for confirmation, asking that he give instructions to Sada about a certain dealer in Hiroshima who has some pictures so violent, positively I would not hang them in the cow-shed. That is, if I cared for Suky. But it is anything for conversation now. I almost forgot to tell you that we have the same _chef_ as when I was kindergarten teacher here in the school years ago. He 's prosperous as a pawnbroker. He gave me a radiant greeting. "How are you, _Tanaka_?" quoth I. "All same like damn monkey, _Sensei_," he replied. But he is unfailingly cheerful and the cleverest grafter in the universe, with an artistic temperament highly developed; he sometimes sends in the unchewable roast smothered in cherry blossoms. How wise you were, Mate, to choose home and husband instead of a career. I love you for it. HIROSHIMA, October, 1911. For springing surprises, all full of kindness and delicate courtesies, Japanese girls would be difficult to equal. Before a whisper of it reached me, they made arrangements the other day for a re-union of all my graduates of the kindergarten normal class. It is hard to imagine when they found the time for the elaborate decorations they put up in the big kindergarten room, and the hundred and one little things they had done to show their love and warmth of welcome. It was a part of their play to blindfold me and lead me in. When I opened my eyes, there they stood. Twenty-five happy faces smiling into mine, and twenty babies to match. It was the kiddies that saved the day. I was not a little bewildered, and tears stung my eyes. But with one accord the babies set up a howl at anything so inconceivable as a queer foreign thing with a tan head appearing in their midst. When peace was restored by natural methods, the fun began. The girls fairly bombarded me with questions. Could I come to see every one of them? Where was Jack? Could they see his picture? Did he say I could come? How "glad" it was to be together again. Did I remember how we used to play? Then everybody giggled. One thought had touched them all. Why not play now! The baby question was quickly settled. Soon there was a roaring fire in my study. We raided the classroom for rugs and cushions and with the collection made down beds in a half ring around the crackling flames. On each we put a baby, feet fireward. We called in the _Obasan_ (old woman) to play nurse, and on the table near we placed a row of bottles marked "First aid to the hungry." As I closed the door of the emergency nursery, I looked back to see a semi-circle of pink heels waving hilariously. Surely the fire goddess never had lovelier devotees than the Oriental cherubs that lay cooing and kicking before it that day. How we played! In all the flowery kingdom so many foolish people could not have been found in one place. What chaff and banter! What laying aside of cares, responsibilities, and heavy hearts, if there were any, and just being free and young! For a time at least the years fell away from us and we relived all the games and folk-dances we ever knew. True, time had stiffened joints and some of the movements were about as graceful as a pair of fire tongs and I may be dismissed for some of the fancy steps I showed the girls, but they were happy, and far more supple than when we began. When we were breathless we hauled in our old friend the big _hibachi_, with a peck of glowing charcoal right in the middle. We sat on our folded feet and made a big circle all around, with only the glimmer of the coals for a light. Then we talked. Each girl had a story to tell, either of herself or some one we had known together. Over many we laughed. For others the tears started. Warmed by companionship and moved by unwonted freedom, how much the usually reserved women revealed of themselves, their lives, their trials and desires! But whatever the story, the dominant note was acceptance of what was, without protest. It may be fatalism, Mate, but it is indisputable that looking finality in the face had brought to all of them a quietness of spirit that no longing for wider fields or personal ambition can disturb. None of them had known their husbands before marriage. Few had ever seen them. Many were compelled to live with the difficulties of an exacting mother-in-law, who had forgotten that she was ever a young wife. But above it all there was a cheerful peacefulness; a willingness of service to the husband and all his demands, a joy in children and home, that was convincing as to the depth and dignity of character which can so efface itself for the happiness of others. One girl, Miss Deserted Lobster Field, was missing. I asked about her and this is her story. She was quite pretty; when she left school there was no difficulty in marrying her off. Two months afterward the young husband left to serve his time in the army. For some reason the mother-in-law did not "enter into the spirit of the girl," and without consulting those most concerned, she divorced her son and sent the girl home. When the soldier-husband returned, a new wife, whom he had never seen, was waiting for him at the cottage door. The sent-home wife was terribly in the way in her father's house, for by law she belonged neither there nor in any other place. It is difficult to re-marry these offcasts. Something, however, had to be done. So dear father took a stroll out into the village, and being sonless adopted a young boy as the head of his house. A _yoshi_ this boy is called. Father married the adopted son to the soldier's wife that was, securely and permanently. A yoshi has no voice in any family matter and is powerless to get a divorce. Moral: If in Japan you want to make sure of keeping a husband when you get him, take a boy to raise, then marry him. But the wedding of weddings is the one which took place last summer, by suggestion. The great unseen has lived in America for two years. The maid makes her home in the school. The groom-to-be wrote to a friend in Hiroshima: "Find me a wife." The friend wrote back: "Here she is." Miss Chestnut Tree, the maid, fluttered down to the court-house, had her name put on the house register of the far-away groom, did up her hair as a married woman should and went back to work. To-morrow she sails for America, and we are all going down to wave her good-by and good luck. She is married all right. There will be no further ceremony. I would not dare tell you all the stories they told me. For I would never stop writing and you would never stop laughing or crying. The end of all things comes sometimes. The beautiful afternoon ended too soon. But for the rest of time, this day will be crowned with halos made with the mightiness of the love and the dearness of the girls who were once my students, always my friends. It took some time to assort the babies and make sure of tying the right one on the right mother's back. Not by one shaved head could I see the slightest difference in any of them, but mothers have the knack of knowing. Out of the big gate they went and down the street all aglow with the early evening lights twinkling in the purple shadows. Their _geta_ click-clacked against the hard street, to the music of their voices as they called back to me, "Oyasumi, Oyasumi, Go kigen yoro shiku" (Honorably rest. Be happy always to yourself). My gratitude to this little country is great, Mate. It has given me much. It was here life taught me her sternest lessons. And here I found the heart's-ease of Jack's love. But for nothing am I more thankful than for the love and friendship of the young girl-mothers who were my pupils, but from whom I have learned more of the sweetness and patience of life than I could ever teach. November, 1911. Mate, there is a man in Hiroshima for whom I long and watch as I do for no other inhabitant. It is the postman. You should see him grin as he trots around the corner and finds me waiting at the gate, just as I used to do in the old teaching days. I doubly blest him this morning. Thank you for your letter. It fairly sings content. Homeyness is in every pen stroke. Please say to your small son David that I will give his love to the "king's little boy" _if_ I see him. My last glimpse of him was in Nikko. Poor little chap. He was permitted to walk for a moment. In that moment he spied a bantam hen, the anxious mother of half a dozen puff-ball chickens. Royalty knew no denial and went in pursuit. The bantam knew no royalty, pursued also. The four men and six women attendants were in a panic. The baby was rescued from a storm of feathers and taken back to the palace with an extra guard of three policemen. I have been very busy, at play and at work. We have just had a wedding tea. My former secretary, Miss First River, as she expressed it, "married with" Mr. East Village. The wedding took place at the ugly little mission church, which was transformed into a beautiful garden, with weeping willows, chrysanthemums, and mountain ferns. Also we had a wedding-bell. In a wild moment of enthusiasm I proposed it. It is always a guess where your enthusiasm will land you out here. I coaxed a cross old tinner to make the frame for me. He expostulated the while that the thing was impossible, because it had never been done before in this part of the country. It was rather a weird shape, but I left the girls to trim it and went to the church to help decorate. The bell was to follow upon completion. It failed to follow and after waiting an hour or so I sent for it. The girls came carrying one trimmed bell and one half covered. I asked, "Why are you making two wedding-bells?" My answer was, "Why Sensei! must not the groom have one for his head too?" Everybody wanted to do something for the little maid, for she had so bravely struggled with adversity of fortune and perversity of family. So there were four flower girls, and the music teacher played at the wedding march! In spite of her efforts, Lohengrin seemed suffering as it came from the complaining organ. Miss First River was a lovely enough picture, in her bridal robes of crepe, to cause the guests to draw in long breaths of admiration, till the room sounded like the coming of a young cyclone. They were not accustomed to such prominence given a bride, nor to weddings served in Western style. Oh, yes, the groom was there, a secondary consideration for the first time in the history of Hiroshima, but so in love he did not seem to mind the obscurity. The ceremony over, the newly-wed seated themselves on a bench facing the guests. An elder of the church arose and with a solemnity befitting a burial, read a sermon on domestic happiness and some forty or fifty congratulatory telegrams. After an hour or so of this and several speeches, cake was passed around, and it was over. At the maid's request I gave her an "American watch with a good engine in it" and my blessing with much love in it, and went back to work. Do not for a minute imagine that because I am not a regularly ordained missionary-sister, that I am not working. The fact is, Mate, the missionaries are still afflicted with the work habit, and so subtle is its cheerful influence, it weaves a spell over all who come near. No matter what your private belief is, you roll up your sleeves and pitch right in when you see them at it, and you put all your heart in it and thank the Lord for the opportunity to help. The fun begins at 5:30 in the morning, to the merry clang of a brazen bell, and it keeps right on till 6 P.M. For fear of getting rusty before sunrise, some of the teachers have classes at night. I would rather have rest. I am too tired, then, to think. I have put away all my vanity clothes. No need for them in Hiroshima and in an icy room on a winter's morning, I do not stop to think whether my dress has an in-curve or an out-sweep. I fall into the first thing I find and finish buttoning it when the family fire in the dining-room is reached. A solitary warming-spot to a big house is one of the luxuries of missionary life. In between times I 've been cheering up the home sickest young Swede that ever got loose from his native heath. So firmly did he believe that Japan was a land where necessity for work doth not corrupt nor the thief of pleasure break through and steal, he gave up a good position at home and signed a three-years' contract with an oil firm. Now he is so sorry, all the pink has gone out of his cheeks. Until he grows used to the thought that living where the Sun flag floats is not a continuous holiday, the teachers here at school take turns in making life livable for him. His entertainment means tramps of miles into the country, sails on the lovely Ujina Bay and climbs over the mountains. In the afternoon the boy is so in evidence, we almost fall over him if we step. Yesterday in desperation I tied an apron on him and let him help me make a cake. Even at that, with a dab of chocolate on his cheek and flour on his nose, his summer sky eyes were weepy whenever he spoke of his "Mutter." I have done everything for him except lend him my shoulder to weep on. It may come to that. There is hope, however. One of our teachers is young and pretty. Jack, in a much delayed epistle, tells me thrilling and awful things about the plague; says he walks through what was once a prosperous village, and now there is not a live dog to wag a friendly tail. Every house and hovel tenantless. Often unfinished meals on the table and beds just as the occupants left them. A great pit near by full of ashes and bones tells the story of the plague come to town, leaving silent, empty houses, and the dust-laden winds as the only mourners. The native doctors gave a splendid banquet the other night. With the visiting doctors in full array of evening dress and decorations. Jack says it looked like a big international flag draped around the table. Everybody made a speech and Jack has not stopped yet shooting off fireworks in honor of that Englishwoman. Well, maybe _I_ should have studied science. It is too late now. Besides, I have Uncle on my hands, and I have to commit to memory pages on color printing that run like this: "Fine as a single hair or swelling imperceptibly till it becomes a broken play of light and shade or a mass of solid black, it still flows, unworried and without hesitation on its appointed course." Sada San is coining down nest week. I am looking forward to it with great delight and hunting for a plan whereby I can help her. Suppose Uncle should give me a glad surprise and come too! HIROSHIMA. _My dear Best Girl_: If ever a sailor needed a compass, I need the level head that tops your loving heart. I am worried hollow-eyed and as useless as a brass turtle. It has been days since I heard from Jack. When he last wrote, he was going to some remote district out from Mukden. I dare not think what might happen to him. Says he must travel to the very source of the trouble. If Jack really wanted trouble he could find it nearer home. Is n't it like him, though, with his German education, to hunt a thing to its lair? I suppose when next I hear from him, he will have disappeared into some marmot hole at the foot of a tree in a Siberian forest. Sada is here. A pale shadow of her former radiant self. She is in deadly fear of what Uncle has written he expects of her when she returns. For the first few days of her visit, she was like an escaped prisoner. She played and sang with the girls. The joy of her laughter was contagious. Everybody fell a victim to her gaiety. We have been on picnics up the river in a sampan where we waded and fished, then landed on an island of bamboo and fern and cooked our dinner over a _hibachi_. We have had concerts, tableaux and charades, here at the school, with a big table for the stage and a silver moon and a green mosquito-net for the scenery. In every pastime or pleasure, Sada San has been the moving spirit. Adorably girlish and winning in her innocent joy, I grow faint to think of the rude awakening. She has talked much of Miss West and their life together; their work and simple pleasures. To the older woman she poured out unmeasured affection, fresh and sweet. Susan made a flower garden of the girl's heart, where, if even a tiny weed sprouted it was coaxed into a blossom. But she gave no warning of the savage storms that might come and lay the garden waste. Well, I 'm holding a prayer-meeting a minute that the rosy ideals of the visionary teacher will hold fast when the wind begins to blow. I found Sada one day on the bed, a crumpled heap of woe; white and shaking with tearless sobs. Anxious to shield her from the persistent friendliness of the girls, I persuaded her to come with me to the old Prince's garden, just back of the school. She had heard from Uncle. For the first time he definitely stated his plans. Hara, the rich man, had sent to him a proposal of marriage for Sada! Of course, said Uncle, such an offer from so prosperous and prominent a man must be accepted without hesitation. It was wonderful luck for any girl, said dear Mura, especially one of her birth. Nothing further would be done until she returned, and he wished that to be at once. Not a suggestion of feeling or sentiment; not a word as to Sada's wishes or rights. If these were mentioned to him, he would undoubtedly reply that the rights in the matter were all his. As to feelings, a young girl had no business with such things. His voice would be courteous, his manner of saying it would fairly puncture the air. His letter was simply a cold business statement for the sale of the girl. When I looked at the misery in her young eyes, I could joyfully have throttled him and stamped upon him. I wished for a dentist's grinding machine and the chance to bore a nice big hole into each one of his white, even teeth. She knows nothing of the man Hara except that he is coarse and drinks heavily. The girls in the tea-house always seemed afraid when he came. Vague whispers of his awful life had come to her. What was she to do? She had no money, no place to go, and Uncle was the only relative she had in the world. Mate, I heard a missionary speak a profound truth, when he said that no Japanese would ever be worth while till all his relatives were dead. Their power is a chain forged around individual freedom. She had such loving thoughts of Uncle, Sada sobbed, before she came. She longed to make his home happy and be one of his people. She loved the beautiful country of her mother and craved its friendship. Miss West had drilled it into her conscience that marriage was holy, and impossible without love. (Bless you, Susan!) She wanted to do her duty, but she _could not_ marry this man whom she had never seen but once, and had never spoken to. She knew the absolute power the law of the land gave Uncle over her. She knew the uselessness of a Japanese girl struggling against the rigid rules laid down by her elders. She knew resistance might bring punishment. Well, Mate, I do not care ever to see again such a look as was in Sada's eyes as she turned her set face to me and forced through her stiff lips a stony, "I won't!" But I thanked God for all the Susan Wests and their teachings. In spite of the girl's unhappiness, there was a thrill in the region of my heart. Of her own free will Sada San had decided. Now there was something definite to work upon. In the back of my brain a plan was beginning to form. Hope glimmered like a Jack-o'-lantern. It was late evening. A flaming sunset flushed the sky and bathed the ancient garden of arched bridges and twisted trees in a pinkish haze. The very shadows spelled romance and poetry. It was wise to use the charm of the hour for the beginning of my plan. I drew Sada down beside me, as we sat in a queer little play-house by the garden lake. In olden times it had been the rest place of the Prince Asano, when he was specially moved to write poetry to the moon as it floated up, a silver ball in a navy-blue sky over "Three Umbrella Mountain." Had his ghost been strolling along then, it would have found deeper things than, "in the sadness of the moon night beholds the fading blossom of the heart," to fill his thoughts. I led the girl to tell me much of her life in Nebraska; of her friends and their amusements. Hers had been the usual story of any fresh wholesome girl. The social life in a small town had limited her experiences, but had kept her deliciously naive and sweet. For the first time in our talks, she avoided Billy's name. I hailed it as a beautiful sign. I mentioned William myself and delighted in her red-cheeked confusion. I gently asked her to tell me of him. She and Billy had gone to school together, played together and he always seemed like a big brother to her. Once a boy had called her a half-breed and Billy promptly knocked him down and sat on his head while he manipulated a shingle. Another time when they were quite small, the desire of her heart was to ride on the tricycle of a rich little boy who lived across the street. But the pampered youth jeered at her pleadings and exultingly rode up and down before her. Billy saw and bided his time till the small Croesus was alone. He nabbed him, chucked him in a chicken-coop and stood guard for an hour while Sada rode gloriously. Through college they were comrades and rivals. Billy had to work his way, for he was the poor son of an invalid mother. From college he had gone straight to a firm of rich manufacturers and was now one of the big buyers. He had pleaded with her not to come to Japan. He loved her. He wanted her. When she had persisted, he was furious and they had quarreled. But she had thought she was right, then; she did not know how dear Billy was, how big and splendid. She had written to him but seldom, nothing of her disappointment. Maybe he had married. She could not write now. It would be too much like begging, when she was at bay, for the love she had refused when all was well. No, she _could not_ tell him. We talked long and earnestly in that old garden, and the wind that sifted through the pine-needles and the waxy leaves was as gentle as if the spirit of Susan West had come to watch and to bless. I gained a half promise from her that she would write to Billy at once, but I didn't stop there. Unsuspected by Sada I learned his full address, and Mate, I wrote a letter to the auburn-haired lover in Nebraska, in which I painted a picture that is going to cause something to happen, else I am mistaken in my estimate of the spirit of the West in general and William Weston Milton in particular. I told him if he loved the girl to come as fast as steam would bring him; that I would help him at the risk of anything, though I have no idea how. I have just returned from a solitary promenade to the post-office through the dark and lonely streets, so that letter will catch to-morrow's American mail. Sada told me that for some reason she had never mentioned Billy's name to Uncle. Now isn't that a full hand nestling up my half-sleeve? Uncle thinks the way clear as an empty race-track, and all he has to do is to saunter down the home stretch and gather in the prize-money. Any scruple on the girl's part will be relentlessly and carelessly brushed aside as a bothersome insect. If she persists, there is always force. He fears nothing from me. I am a foreigner--from his standpoint too crudely frank to be clever. He doubtless argues, if he gives it any thought, that if I could I would not dare interfere. And then I am so absorbed in color-prints! So I am, and, I pray Heaven, in some way to his undoing. The child has no other friend. Shrinkingly she told me of her one attempt to make friends with some high-class people, and the uncompromising rebuff she had received upon their discovering she was an Eurasian. The pure aristocrats seldom lower the social bars to those of mixed blood. I wonder, Mate, if the ghost of failure, who was her father, could see the inheritance of inevitable suffering he has left his child, what his message would be to those who would recklessly dare a like marriage? Sada goes to Kioto in the morning. She promises not to show resistance, but to keep quiet and alert, writing me at every opportunity. I am sure Uncle's delight in securing so rich a prize as Hara will burst forth in a big wedding-feast and many rich clothes for the trousseau. I hope so. Preparation will take time. I would rather gain time than treasure. I put Sada to bed. Tucked her in and cuddled her to sleep as if she had been my own daughter. There she lies now. Her face startlingly white against the mass of black hair. The only sign of her troubled day is a frequent half-sob and the sadness of her mouth, which is constantly reading the riot act to her laughing eyes in the waking hours. Poor girl! She is only one of many whose hopes wither like rose-leaves in a hot sun when met by authority in the form of tyrannical relatives. The arched sky over the mountain of "Two Leaves" is all a-shimmer with the coming day. Thatched roof and bamboo grove are daintily etched against the amber dawn. Lights begin to twinkle and thrifty tradesmen cheerfully call their wares. It is a land of peace, a country and people of wondrous charm, but incomprehensible is the spirit of some of the laws that rule its daughters. _Mate dear_: One of my girls, when attached with the blues, invariably says in her written apology for a poor lesson, "Please excuse my frivolous with your imagination, for my heart is warmly." So say I. I am sending you the crepes and the kimono you asked for. Write for something else. I want an excuse to spend another afternoon in the two-by-four shop, with a play-garden attached, that should be under a glass case in a jewelry store. The proprietor gives me a tea-party and tells me a few of his troubles every time I go to his store. Formerly he kept two shops exclusively for hair ornaments and ribbons. He did a thriving trade with schoolgirls. Recently an order went out from the mighty maker of school laws to the effect that lassies, high and low, must not indulge in such foolish extravagances as head ornaments. The ribbon market went to smash. The old man could not give his stock away. He stored his goods and went to selling high-priced crepes, which everybody was permitted to wear. Make another request quickly. I would rather shop than think. Also, if you need any information as to how to run a cooking-school, I will enclose it with the next package. Since the war, scores of Japanese women are wild to learn foreign cooking. On inquiry as to the reason of such enthusiasm, we found it was because their husbands, while away from home, had acquired a taste for Occidental dainties. Now their wives want to know all about them so they can set up opposition in their homes to the many tea-houses which offer European food as an extra attraction. And depend upon it, if the women start to learn, they stick to it till there is nothing more to know on the subject. I was to furnish the knowledge and the ladies the necessary utensils, but I guess I forgot to mention everything we might need. The first thing we tried was biscuit. All went well until the time came for baking. I asked for a pan. A pan? What kind of a pan? Would a wash pan do? No, if it was all the same I would rather have a flat pan with a rim. Certainly! Here it was with a rim and a handle! A shiny dust-pan greeted my eyes. Well, there was not very much difference in the taste of the biscuit. The prize accomplishment so far has been pies. Our skill has not only brought us fame, but the city is in the throes of a pie epidemic. A few days ago when the old Prince of the Ken came to visit his Hiroshima home, the cooking-ladies, after a few days' consultation, decided that in no better way could royalty be welcomed than by sending him a lemon pie. They sent two creamy affairs elaborately decorated with meringued Fujis. They were the hit of the season. The old gentleman wrote a poem about them saying he ate one and was keeping the other to take back to his country home when he returned a month hence. Then he sent us all a present. We have had only one catastrophe. In a moment of reckless adventure my pupils tried a pound cake without a recipe. A pound cake can be nothing else but what it says. That meant a pound of everything and Japanese soda is doubly strong. That was a week ago and we have not been able to stay in the room since. Good-by! The tailless pink cat and the purple fish with the pale blue eyes are for the kiddies. I am inclosing an original recipe sent in by Miss Turtle Swamp of Clear Water Village: Cake. 1 cup of _Desecrated_ coconut 5 cup flowers 1 small spoon and barmilla [vanilla] 3 eggs skinned and whipped 1 cup sugar Stir and pat in pan to cook. HIROSHIMA, December, 1911. _Mate_: I would be ashamed to tell you how long it is between Jack's letters. He says the activity of the revolutionists in China is seriously interfering with traffic of every kind. All right, let it go at that! Now he has gone way up north of Harbin. In the name of anything why cannot he be satisfied? England is with him. I do not know who also is in the party. Neither do I care. I do not like it a little bit. Jealous? The idea. Just plain furious. I am no more afraid of Jack falling in love with another woman than I am of Saturn making Venus a birthday present of one of his rings. The trouble is she may fall in love with him, and it is altogether unnecessary for any other woman to get her feelings disturbed over Jack. I fail to see the force of his argument that it is not safe nor wise for any woman in that country, and yet for him to show wild enthusiasm over the presence of the Britisher. No, Jack has lost his head over intellect. It may take a good sharp blow for him to realize that intellect, pure and simple, is an icy substitute for love. Like most men he is so deadly sure of one, he is taking a holiday with the other. Of course you are laughing at me. So would Jack. And both would say it is unworthy. That's just it. It is the measly little unworthies that nag one to desperation. Besides, Mate, I shrink from any more trouble, any more heart-aches as I would from names. The terror of the by-gone years creeps over me and covers the present like a pall. There is only one thing left to do. Work. Work and dig, till there is not an ounce of strength left for worry. I stay in the kindergarten every available minute. The unstinted friendship of the kiddies over there, is the heart's-ease for so many of life's hurts. There are always the long walks, when healing and uplift of spirit can be found in the beauty of the country. I tramp away all alone. The little Swede begs often to go. At first I rather enjoyed him. But he is growing far too affectionate. I am not equal to caring for two young things; a broken-hearted girl and a homesick fat boy are too much for me. He is improving so rapidly I think it better for him to talk love stories and poetry to some one more appreciative. I am not in a very poetical mood. He might just as well talk to the pretty young teacher as to talk about her all the time. I have scores of friends up and down the many country roads I travel. The boatmen on the silvery river, who always wave their head rags in salute, the women hoeing in the fields with babies on their backs, stop long enough to say good day and good luck. The laughing red-cheeked coolie girls pause in their work of driving piles for the new bridge to have a little talk about the wonders of a foreigner's head. With bated breath they watch while I give them proof that my long hatpins do not go straight through my skull. The sunny greetings of multitudes of children lift the shadows from the darkest day, and always there is the glorious scenery; the shadowed mystery of the mountains, a turquoise sky, the blossoms and bamboo. The brooding spirit of serenity soon envelops me, and in its irresistible charm is found a tender peace. On my way home, in the river close to shore, is a crazy little tea-house. It is furnished with three mats and a paper lantern. The pretty hostess, fresh and sweet from her out-of-door life, brings me rice, tea and fresh eel. She serves it with such gracious hospitality it makes my heart warm. While I eat, she tells me stories of the river life. I am learning about the social life of families of fish and their numerous relatives that sport in the "Thing of Substance River"; the habits of the red-headed wild ducks which nest near; of the god and goddesses who rule the river life, the pranks they play, the revenge they take. And, too, I am learning a lesson in patience through the lives of the humble fishermen. In season seven cents a day is the total of their earnings. At other times, two cents is the limit. On this they manage to live and laugh and raise a family. It is all so simple and childlike, so free from pretension, hurry and rush. Sometimes I wonder if it is not we, with our myriad interests, who have strayed from the real things of life. On my road homeward, too, there is a crudely carved Buddha. He is so altogether hideous, they have put him in a cage of wooden slats. On certain days it is quite possible to try your fortune, by buying a paper prayer from the priest at the temple, chewing it up and throwing it through the cage at the image. If it sticks you will be lucky. My aim was not straight or luck was against me to-day. My prayers are all on the floor at the feet of the grinning Buddha. Jack is in Siberia and Uncle has Sada. I have not heard from her since she left. I am growing truly anxious. January, 1912. _Dearest Mate_: At last I have a letter from Jack. Strange to say I am about as full of enthusiasm over the news he gives me as a thorn-tree is of pond-lilies. He says he has something like a ton of notes and things on the various stunts of the bubonic germ in Manchuria when it is feeling fit and spry. But he is seized with a conviction that he must go somewhere in northwest China where he thinks there is happy hunting-ground of evidence which will verify his report to the Government. Suppose the next thing I hear he will be chasing around the outer rim of the old world hunting for somebody to verify the Government. There is absolutely no use of my trying to say the name of the place he has started for. Even when written it looks too wicked to pronounce. It is near the Pass that leads into the Gobi Desert. Jack wrote me to go to Shanghai and he would join me later. I am writing him that I can't start till the fate of Sada San is settled for better or for worse. NANKOW, CHINA. February, 1912. _Mate_: News of Jack's desperate illness came to me ten days ago and has laid waste my heart as the desert wind blasts life. I have been flying to him as fast as boat and train and cart will take me. The second wire reached me in Peking last night. Jack has typhus fever and the disease is nearing the crisis. I have read the message over and over, trying to read between the lines some faint glimmer of hope; but I can get no comfort from the noncommittal words except the fact that Jack is still alive. I am on my way to the terminus of the railroad, from where the message was sent. I came this far by train, only to find all regular traffic stopped by order of the Government. The line may be needed for the escape of the Imperial Family from Peking if the Palace is threatened by the revolutionists. Orders had been given that no foreigner should leave the Legation enclosure. I bribed the room boy to slip me through the side streets and dark alleys to an outside station. I must go the rest of the distance by cart when the road is possible, by camel or donkey when not. Nothing seems possible now. Everything within sight looks as if it had been dead for centuries, and the people walking around have just forgotten to be buried. I am wild with impatience to be gone but neither bribes nor threats will hurry the coolies who take their time harnessing the donkeys and the camels. A ring of ossified men, women and children have formed about me, staring with unblinking eyes, till I feel as if I was full of peep holes. It is not life, for neither youth nor love nor sorrow has ever passed this way. The tiniest emotion would shrivel if it dared begin to live. Maybe they are better so. But then, they have never known Jack. How true it is that one big heart-ache withers up all the little ones and the joy of years as well. With this terror upon me, even Sada's desperate trouble has faded and grown pale as the memory of a dream. Jack is ill and I must get to him, though my body is racked with the rough travel, and the ancient road holds the end of love and life for me. Around the sad old world I am stretching out my arms to you, Mate, for the courage to face whatever comes, and your love which has never failed me. KALGAN. Such wild unbelievable things have happened! After twenty miles of intolerable shaking on the back of a camel, my battered body fell off at the last stopping-place, which happened to be here. There is no hotel. But three blessed European hoys living at this place--agents for a big tobacco firm--took me into their little home. From that time--ten days ago--till now, they have served and cared for me as only sons who have not forgotten their mothers could do. On that awful night I came, while forcing food on me, they said that Jack had stopped with them on his way out to the desert, where he was to complete his work for the Government. He was to go part of the distance with the English woman, who, with her camels and her guides, was traveling to the Siberian railroad. The next day they heard the whole caravan had returned. Four days out Jack had been taken ill. The only available shelter was an old monastery about a mile from the village. To this he had been moved. My hosts opened a window and pointed to a far-away, high-up light. It was like the flicker of a match in a vast cave of darkness. They told me wonderful things of the rooms in the monastery, which were cut in the solid rock of the mountain-side, and the strange dwarf priest who kept it. They lied beautifully and cheerfully as to Jack's condition, and all the time in their hearts they knew that he had the barest chance to live through the night. The woman doctor had nursed him straight through, permitting no one else near. The dwarf priest brought her supplies. Her last message for the day had been, "The crisis will soon be passed." Even now something grips my throat when I remember how those dear boys worked to divert me, until my strength revived. They rigged up a battered steamer-chair with furs and bath robes, put me in it, promising that as soon as I was rested they would see what could be done to get me up to the monastery. But I was not to worry. All of them set about seeing I had no time to think. Each took his turn in telling me marvelous tales of the life in that wild country. One boy brought in the new litter of puppies, begging me to carefully choose a name for each. The two ponies were trotted out and put through their pranks before the door in the half light of a dim lantern. They showed me the treasures of their bachelor life, the family photographs and the various little nothings which link isolated lives to home and love. They even assured me they had had _the_ table-cloth and napkins washed for my coming. Household interests exhausted, they began to talk of boyhood days. Their quiet voices soothed me. Prom exhaustion I slept. When I woke, my watch said one o'clock. The house was heavy with sleeping-stillness. Through my window, far away the dim light wavered. It seemed to be signaling me. My decision was quick. I would go, and alone. If I called, my hosts would try to dissuade me, and I would not listen. For life or for death, I was going to Jack. The very thought lent me strength and gave my feet cunning stealthiness. A high wall was around the house but, thank Heaven, they had forgotten to lock the gate. Soon I was in the deserted, deep-rutted street shut in on either side by mud hovels, low and crouching close together in their pitiful poverty. There was nothing to guide me, save that distant speck of flame. Further on, I heard the rush of water and made out the dim line of an ancient bridge. Half way across I stumbled. From the heap of rags my foot had struck, came moans, and, by the sound of it, awful curses. It was a handless leper. I saw the stumps as they flew at me. Sick with horror, I fled and found an open place. The light still beckoned. The way was heavy with high, drifted sand. The courage of despair goaded me to the utmost effort. Forced to pause for breath, I found and leaned against a post. It was a telegraph pole. In all the blackness and immeasurable loneliness, it was the solitary sign of an inhabited world. And the only sound was the wind, as it sang through the taut wires in the unspeakable sadness of minor chords. A camel caravan came by, soft-footed, silent and inscrutable. I waited till it passed out to the mysteries of the desert beyond the range of hills. I began again to climb the path. It was lighter when I crept through a broken wall and found myself in a stone courtyard, with gilded shrines and grinning Buddhas. One image more hideous than the rest, with eyes like glow-worms, untangled its legs and came towards me. I shook with fright. But it was only the dwarf priest--a monstrosity of flesh and blood, who kept the temple. I pointed to the light which seemed to be hanging to the side of the rocks above. He slowly shook his head, then rested it on his hands and closed his eyes. I pushed him aside and painfully crawled up the shallow stone stairs, and found a door at the top. I opened it. Lying on a stone bed was Jack, white and still. A woman leaned over him with her hand on his wrist. Her face was heavily lined with a long life of sorrow. On her head was a crown of snow-white hair. She raised her hand for silence. I fell at her feet a shaking lump of misery. I could not live through it again, Mate--those remaining hours of agony, when every second seemed the last for Jack. But morning dawned, and with the miracle of a new-born day came the magic gift of life. When Jack opened his eyes and feebly stretched out his hand to me, my singing heart gave thanks to God. And so the crisis was safely passed. And the hateful science I believed was taking Jack from me, in the skilful hands of a good woman, gave him back to me. The one comfort left me in the humiliation of my petty, unreasoning jealousy--yes, I had been jealous--was to tell her. And she, whose name was Edith Bowden, opened to me the door of her secret garden, wherein lay the sweet and holy memories of her lover, dead in the long ago. For forty long and lonesome years she had unfalteringly held before her the vision of her young sweetheart and his work, and through them she had toiled to make real his ideals. I take it all back, Mate. A career that makes such women as this is a beautiful and awesome thing. In spite of all my pleadings to come with us, Miss Bowden started once again on her lonely way across the wind-swept plains, back to Europe and her work, leaving me with a never-to-be-forgotten humility of spirit and an homage in my heart that never before have I paid a woman. I am too polite to say it, but I have had a taste of the place you spell with four letters. Also of Heaven. Just now, with Jack's thin hand safely in mine, I am hovering around the doors of Paradise in the house of the boys in Kalgan. If you could see the dusty little Chinese-Mongolian village, hanging on the upper lip of the mouth of the Gobi Desert, you would think it a strange place to find bliss. But joy can beautify sand and Sodom. Yesterday my hosts made me take a ride out into the Desert. Oh, Mate, in spots these glittering golden sands are sublime. My heart was so light and the air so rare, it was like flying through sunlit space on a legless horse. Life, or what answers to it, has been going on in the same way since thousands of years before Pharaoh went on that wild lark to the Red Sea. Every minute I expected to see Abraham and Sarah trailing along with their flocks and their families, hunting a place to stake out a claim, and Noah somewhere on a near-by sand-hill, taking in tickets for the Ark Museum, while the "two by two's" fed below. I never heard of these friends being in this part of the country, but you can never tell what a wandering spirit will do. Jack is getting fat laughing at me. But Jack never was a lady and does not know what havoc imagination and the spell of the East can play with a loving but lonesome wife. And take it from me, beloved, he never will. Nothing gained in exposing all your follies. He sends love to you. So do I--from the joyful heart of a woman whose most terrible troubles never happened. PEKING, February, 1912. _Mate_: I do not know whether I can write you sanely or not. But write you I must. It is my one outlet in these days of anxious waiting. I have just cabled Billy Milton, in Nebraska, to come by the first steamer. I have not an idea what he will do when he gets to Japan, or how I will help him; but he is my one hope. Yesterday, on our arrival here, I found a desperate letter from Sada San, written hurriedly and sent secretly. She finds that the man Hara, whom her uncle has promised she shall marry, has a wife and three children! The man, on the flimsiest pretest, has sent the woman home to clear his establishment for the new wife. And, Mate, can you believe it, he has kept the children--the youngest a nursing baby, just three months old! One of the geisha girls in the tea-house slipped in one night and told Sada. She went at once to Uncle and asked him if it was true. He said that it was, and that Sada should consider herself very lucky to be wanted by such a man. Upon Sada telling him she would die before she would marry the man, he laughed at her. Since then she has not been permitted to leave her room. The lucky day for marriage has been found and set. Thank goodness, it is seventeen days from now, and if Billy races across by Vancouver he can make it. In the meantime Nebraska seems a million miles away. I know the heartbeats of the fellow who is riding to the place of execution, with a reprieve. But seventeen days is a deadly slow nag. I had already told Jack of my anxiety for Sada San and of the fate that was hanging over her, but now that the blow has suddenly fallen I dare not tell him. In a situation like this I know what Jack would want to do; and in his present weakened condition it might be fatal. It is useless for me to appeal to anybody out here. Those in Japan who would help are powerless. Those who could help would smile serenely and tell me it was the law. And law and custom supersede any lesser question of right or wrong. By it the smallest act of every inhabitant is regulated, from the quantity of air he breathes to the proper official place for him to die. But, imagine the _majesty_ of any law which makes it a ghastly immorality to mildly sass your mother-in-law, and a right, lawful and moral act for a man, with any trumped-up excuse, to throw his legal wife out of the house, that room may be made for another woman who has appealed to his fancy. Japan may not need missionaries, but, by all the Mikados that ever were or will be, her divorce laws need a few revisions more than the nation needs battleships. You might run a country without gunboats, but never without women. This case of Hara is neither extreme nor unusual. I have been face to face in this flowery kingdom with tragedies of this kind when a woman was the blameless victim of a man's caprice, and he was upheld by a law that would shame any country the sun shines on. By a single stroke of a pen through her name, on the records at the courthouse, the woman is divorced--sometimes before she knows it. Then she goes away to hide her disgrace and her broken heart--not broken because of her love for the man who has cast her off, but because, from the time she is invited to go home on a visit and her clothes are sent after her, on through life, she is marked. If she has children, the chances are that the husband retains possession of them, and she is seldom, if ever, permitted to see them. I know your words of caution would be, Mate, not to be rash in my condemnations, to remember the defects of my own land. I am neither forgetful nor rash. I do not expect to reform the country, neither am I arguing. I am simply telling you facts. I know, too, that some Fountain Head of knowledge will rise from the back seat and beg to state that the new civil code contains many revisions and regulates divorce. The only trouble with the new civil code is that it keeps on containing the revisions and only in theory do they get beyond the books in which they are written. Next to my own, in my affections, stands this sunlit, flower-covered land which has given the world men and women unselfishly brave and noble. But there are a few deformities in the country's law system that need the knife of a skilled surgeon, amputating right up to the last joint; among these the divorce laws made in ancient times by the gone-to-dust but still sacred and revered ancestors. Who would give a hang for any old ancestor so cut on the bias? I cannot write any more. I am too agitated to be entertaining. I wrote Sada a revised version of Blue Beard that would turn that venerable gentleman gray, could he read it. Uncle will be sure to. I dare him to solve the puzzle of my fancy writing. But I made Sada San know the Prince Red Head was coming to her rescue, if the engine did not break down. Now there is nothing to do but wait and pray there are no weak spots in Billy's backbone. Cable just received. William is on the wing! PEKING, CHINA, February, 1912. Well, here we still are, my convalescent Jack and I, bottled up in the middle of a revolution, and poor, helpless little Sada San calling to me across the waters. Verily, these are strenuous days for this perplexed woman. It is a tremendous sight to look out upon the incomprehensible saffron-hued masses that crowd the streets. I no longer wonder at the color of the Yellow Sea. But, Oh, Mate, if I could only make you see the gilded walled city, in which history of the ages is being laid in dust and ashes, while the power that made it is hastening down the back alley to a mountain nunnery for safety! Peking is like a beautiful golden witch clothed in priceless garments of dusty yellow, girded with ropes of pearls. Her eyes are of jade, and so fine is the powdered sand she sifts from her tapering fingers it turns the air to an amber haze; so potent its magic spell, it fascinates and enthralls, while it repels. For all the centuries the witch has held the silken threads, which bound her millions of subjects, she has been deaf--deaf to the cries of starvation, injustice and cruelty; heedless to devastation of life by her servants; smiling at piles of headless men; gloating over torture when it filled her treasure-house. Ever cruel and heartless, now she is all a-tremble and sick with fear of the increasing power of the mighty young giant--Revolution. She sees from afar her numbered days. She is crying for the mercy she never showed, begging for time she never granted. She is a tottering despot, a dying tyrant, but still a beautiful golden witch. We have not been here long but my soul has been sickened by the sights of the pitiless consequences of even the rumors of war all over the country and particularly in Peking. If only the responsible ones could suffer. But it is the poor, the innocent and the old who pay the price for the greed of the others. In this, how akin the East is to the West! The night we came there was a run on the banks caused by the report that Peking was to be looted and burned. Crowds of men, women and even children, hollow-eyed and haggard, jammed the streets before the doors of the banks, pleading for their little all. Some of them had as much as two dollars stored away! But it was the twenty dimes that deferred slow starvation. Banks kept open through the night. Officials and clerks worked to exhaustion, satisfying demands, hoping to placate the mob and avert the unthinkable results of a riot. Countless soldiers swarmed the streets with fixed bayonets. But the bloodless witch has no claim to one single heart-beat of loyalty from the unpaid wretches who wear the Imperial uniform; and when by simply tying a white handkerchief on their arms they go over in groups of hundreds to the Revolutionists, they are only repaying treachery in its own foul coin. Though I hate to leave Jack even for an hour, I have to get out each day for some fresh air. To-day it seemed to me, as I walked among the crowds, fantastic in the flickering flames of bonfires and incandescent light, that life had done its cruel worst to these people--had written her bitterest tokens of suffering and woe in the deeply furrowed faces and sullenly hopeless eyes. Earlier in the year thousands of farmers and small tradesmen had come in from the country to escape floods, famine and robber-bands. Hundreds had sold their children for a dollar or so and for days lived on barks and leaves, as they staggered toward Peking for relief. Now thousands more are rushing from the city to the hills or to the desert, fleeing from riot and war, the strong carrying the sick, the young the old--each with a little bundle of household goods, all camping near the towering gates in the great city wall, ready to dash through when the keeper flings them open in the early morning. And through it all the merciless execution of any suspect or undesirable goes merrily on. Close by my carriage a cart passed. In it were four wretched creatures with hands and feet bound and pigtails tied together. They were on their way to a plot of crimson ground where hundreds part with their heads. By the side of the cart ran a ten-year-old boy, his uplifted face distorted with agony of grief. One of the prisoners was his father. I watched the terrified masses till a man and woman of the respectable farmer class came by, with not enough rags on to hide their half-starved bodies. Between them they carried on their shoulders a bamboo pole, from which was swung a square of matting. On this, in rags, but clean, lay a mere skeleton of a baby with beseeching eyes turned to its mother; and from its lips came piteous little whines like a hunger-tortured kitten. Tears streamed down the woman's cheeks as she crooned and babbled to the child in a language only a tender mother knows, but in her eyes was the look of a soul crucified with helpless suffering. I slipped all the money I had into the straw cradle and fled to our room. Jack was asleep. I got into my bed and covered up my head to shut out the horrors of the multitude that are hurting my own heart like an eternal toothache. But, honey, bury me deep when there isn't a smile lurking around the darkest corner. Neither war nor famine can wholly eliminate the comical. Yesterday afternoon some audacious youngsters asked me to chaperon a tea-party up the river. We went in a gaily decorated house-boat, made tea on a Chinese stove of impossible shape, and ate cakes and sandwiches innumerable. Aglow with youth and its joys, reckless of danger, courting adventure, the promoters of the enterprise failed to remember that we were outside the city walls, that the gates were closed at sunset and nothing but a written order from an official could open them. We had no such order. When it was quite dark, we faced entrances doubly locked and barred. The guardian inside might have been dead for all he heeded our importunities and bribes. At night outside the huge pile of brick and stone, inclosing and guarding the city from lawless bandits, life is not worth a whistle. A dismayed little giggle went round the crowd of late tea revelers as we looked up the twenty-five feet of smooth wall topped by heavy battlements. Just when we had about decided that our only chance was to stand on each other's shoulders and try to hack out footholds with a bread knife, some one suggested that we try the effect of college yells on the gentlemen within. Imagine the absurdity of a dozen terrified Americans standing there in the heart of China yelling in unison for Old Eli, and Nassau, and the Harvard Blue! The effect was magical. Curiosity is one of the strongest of Oriental traits, and before long the gates creaked on their hinges and a crowd of slant-eyed, pig-tailed heads peered wonderingly out. The rest was easy, and I heard a great sigh of relief as I marshaled my little group into safety. Jack's many friends here in Peking are determined that I shall have as good a time as possible. Worried by disorganized business, harassed with care, they always find opportunity not only to plan for my pleasure but see that I have it, properly attended--for of course Jack is not yet able to leave his room. Beyond the power of any man is the prophecy of what may happen to official-ridden Peking. The air is surcharged with mutterings. The brutally oppressed people may turn at last, rise, and, in their fury, rend to bits all flesh their skeleton fingers grasp. The Legations grouped around the hotel are triply guarded. The shift, shift, shift of soldiers' feet as they march the streets rubs my nerves like sandpaper. Rest and sleep are impossible. We seem constantly on the edge of a precipice, over which, were we to go, the fate awaiting us would reduce the tortures of Hades to pin-pricks. The Revolutionists have the railroads, the bandits the rivers. Yet, if I don't reach Japan in twelve days now, I will be too late. Poor Sada San! Please say to your small son David that his request to send him an Emperor's crown to wear when he plays king, is not difficult to grant. At the present writing crowns in the Orient are not fashionable. As I look out of my window, the salmon-pink walls of the Forbidden City rise in the dusty distance. Under the flaming yellow roof of the Palace is a frail and frightened little six-year-old boy--the ruler of millions--who, if he knew and could, would gladly exchange his priceless crown for freedom and a bag of marbles. Good night. PEKING, Next day. It is Sunday afternoon and pouring rain. Outside it is so drearily mournful, I keep my back turned. At least, the dripping wet will secure me a quiet hour or so. My Chinese room-boy reasons that only a sure-enough somebody would have so many callers and attend so many functions--not knowing that it is only because Jack's wife will never lack where he has friends. Hence the boy haunts my door ready to serve and reap his reward. But I am sure it was only kindness that prompted him on this dreary day to set the fire in the grate to blazing and arrange the tea-table, the steaming kettle close by, and turn on all the lights. How cozy it is! How homelike! Jack grows stronger each day, and crosser, which is a good sign. At last I have told him of Sada San's plight; and he is for starting for Kioto to-morrow to "wipe the floor with Uncle Mura," as he elegantly expresses it. But of course he 's still too weak to even think of such a journey. He makes me join in the gaieties that still go on despite the turmoil and unrest. I must tell you of one dinner which, of the many brilliant functions, was certainly unique. It was a sumptuous affair given by one of the Legation officials. I wore my glory dress--the color Jack loves best. I went in a carriage guarded on the outside by soldiers. Beside me sat a strapping European with his pockets bulging suspiciously. I was not in the least afraid of the threatening mob which stopped us twice. I could almost have welcomed an attack, just to get behind my big escort and see him clear the way. Merciful powers! Hate is a sweet and friendly word for what the masses feel for the foreigners, whom most believe to be in league with the Government. Happily, nothing more serious happened than breaking all the carriage windows; and, in the surprise that awaited me in the drawing-room of the gorgeously appointed mansion, I quite forgot that. Who should be almost the first to greet me but Dolly and Mr. Dolly, otherwise the Seeker, married and on their honeymoon! She was radiant. And oh, Mate, if you could only see the change in him! As revolutions seem to be in order, Dolly has worked a prize one on him, I think. He was positively gentle and showed signs of the making of a near gentleman. I was glad to see them, and more than glad to see Dolly's unfeigned happiness. The mournful little prince has gone on his way to lonely, isolated Sikkam to take up his task of endless reincarnation. Very soon I found another surprise--my friend Mr. Carson of the Rockies. It seemed a little incongruous that the simple, unlettered Irishman should have found his way into the brilliant, many-countried company, where were men who made history and held the fate of nations in their hands and built or crumbled empires, and women to match, regally gowned, keen of wit and wisdom. But, bless you, he was neither troubled nor out of place. He was the essence of democracy and mixed with the guests with the same innocent simplicity that he would have shown at his village church social. He greeted me cordially, asked after Jack and spoke enthusiastically of his work. I smiled when I saw that in the curious shuffling of cards he had been chosen as the dinner escort of a tall and stately Russian beauty. I watched them walk across the waxen floor and heard him say to her, "Sure if I had time I would telegraph for me roller skates to guide ye safely over the slickness of the boards." Her answering laugh, sweet and friendly, was reassuring. For a while it was a deadly solemn feast. The difficulty was to find topics of common interest without stumbling upon forbidden subjects. You see, Mate, times are critical; and the only way to keep out of trouble is not to get in by being too wordy. By my side sat a stern-visaged leader of the Revolution. Across the way, a Manchu Prince. Mr. Carson and the beauty were just opposite. I became absorbed in watching her exquisite tact in guiding the awkward hands of her partner through the silver puzzle on each side of his plate to the right eating utensils at the proper time. I saw her pleased interest in all his talk, whether it was crops, cider or pigtails. And for her gentle courtesy and kindness to my old friend I blessed her and wiped out a big score I had against her country. How glad Russia will be! But the Irishman was not happy. Course after course had been served. With every rich course came a rare wine. Colorado shook a shaggy gray head at every bottle, though he was choking with thirst. He was a teetotaler. Whenever boy No. 1, who served the wine, approached, he whispered, "Water." It got to be "Water, please, _water_!" Then threateningly, "Water, blame ye! Fetch me water." It was vain pleading. At best a Chinaman is no friend to water; and when the word is flung at him with an Emerald accent it fails to arrive. But ten courses without moisture bred desperation; and all at once, down the length of that banquet board, went a hoarsely whispered plea, in the richest imaginable brogue, "Hostess, _where 's_ the pump?" It was like a sky-rocket scattering showers of sparks on a lowering cloud. In a twinkling the heaviness of the feast was dispersed by shouts of laughter. Everybody found something delightful to tell that was not dangerous. We wound up by going to a Chinese theater. When we left, after two hours of death and devastation, the demands of the drama for gore were still so great, assistants had to be called from out the audience to change the scenery and dead men brought to life to go on with the play. When I got back Jack was, of course, asleep; but he had been busy in my absence. I found a note on my pin-cushion saying he had sent a wire to meet Billy's steamer on its arrival at Yokohama and that I 'm to start alone for Japan in a day or two--as soon as it seems safe to travel. Next day. Honey, there is a thrill a minute. I may not live to see the finish, for the soldiers have mutinied and joined the mob, maddened with lust for blood and loot. I must tell you about it while I can; for it is not every day one has the chance of seeing a fresh and daring young Republic sally up to an all-powerful dynasty, centuries old with tyranny and treasure, and say, "Now, you vamoose the Golden Throne. It matters not where you go, but hustle; and I don't want any back talk while you are doing it." If I was n't so excited I might be nervous. But, Mate, when you see a cruelly oppressed people winning their freedom with almost nothing to back them hut plain grit, you want to sing, dance, pray and shout all at the same time, and there is no mistake about young China having a mortgage on all the surplus nerve of the country. Of course, the mob, awful as it is, is simply an unavoidable attachment of war. All day there has been terrible fighting, and I am told the streets are blocked with headless bodies and plunder that could not be carried off. The way the mob and the soldier-bandits got into the city is a story that makes any tale of the Arabian Nights fade away into dull myth. Some years ago a Manchu official, high in command, espied a beautiful flower-girl on the street and forthwith attached her as his private property. So great was her fascination, the tables were turned and he became the slave--till he grew tired. He not only scorned her, but he deserted her. Though a Manchu maid, the Revolution played into her tapering fingers the opportunity for the sweetest revenge that ever tempted an almond-eyed beauty. It had been the proud boast of her officer master that he could resist any attacking party and hold the City Royal for the Manchus. Alas! he reckoned without a woman. She knew a man outside the city walls--a leader of an organization--half soldiery, half bandits--who thirsted for the chance to pay off countless scores against officers and private citizens inside. After a vain effort to win back her lover, the flower-girl communicated with the captain of the rebel band, who had only been deterred from entering the city by a high wall twenty feet thick. She told him to be ready to come in on a certain night--the gates would be open. The night came. She slipped from doorway to doorway through the guarded streets till she reached the appointed place. Even the sentries unconsciously lent a hand to her plan, in leaving their posts and seeking a tea-house fire by which to warm their half-frozen bodies. The one-time jewel of the harem, who had seldom lifted her own teacup, tugged at the mighty gates with her small hands till the bars were raised and in rushed the mob. She raced to her home, decked herself in all the splendid jewels he had given her, stuck red roses in her black hair, and stood on a high roof and jeered her lover as he fled for his life through the narrow streets. The city is bright with the fires started by the rabble. The yellow roofs, the pink walls and the towering marble pagodas catch the reflection of the flames, making a scene of barbaric splendor that would reduce the burning of Rome to a feeble little bonfire. The pitiful, the awful and the very funny are so intermixed, my face is fatally twisted trying to laugh and cry at the same time. Right across from my window, on the street curbing, a Chinaman is getting a hair-cut. In the midst of all the turmoil, hissing bullets and roaring mobs, he sits with folded hands and closed eyes as calm as a Joss, while a strolling barber manipulates a pair of foreign shears. For him blessed freedom lies not in the change of Monarchy to Republic, but in the shearing close to the scalp the hated badge of bondage--his pigtail. And, Mate, the first thing the looters do when they enter a house is to snatch down the telephones and take them out to burn; for, as one rakish bandit explained, they were the talking-machines of the foreign devils and, if left, might reveal the names of the looters! High-born ladies with two-inch feet stumble by, their calcimined faces streaked with tears and fright. Gray-haired old men shiver with terror and try to hide in any small corner. Lost children and deserted ones, frantic with fear, cling to any passer-by, only to be shoved into the street and often trampled underfoot. And through it all, the mob runs and pitilessly mows down with sword and knife as it goes, and plunders and sacks till there is nothing left. As I stood watching only a part of this horror, I heard a long-haired brother near me say, as he kept well under cover, "Inscrutable Providence!" But (my word!) I don't think it fair to lay it all on Providence. So far the foreign Legations have been well guarded. But there is no telling how long the overworked soldiers can hold out. When they cannot, the Lord help the least one of us. Jack's friends are working day and night, guarding their property. I guess the Seeker found more of the plain unvarnished Truth in the East than he bargained for. He and Dolly have disappeared from Peking. Nobody undresses these nights and few go to bed. Our bodyguard is the room-boy. I asked him which side he was on, and without a change of feature he answered, "Manchu Chinaman. Allee samee bimeby, Missy, I make you tea." I have a suspicion that he sleeps across our door, for his own or our protection, I am not sure which; but sometimes, when the terrible howls of fighters reach me, as I doze in a chair, I turn on the light and sit by my fire to shake off a few shivers, trying to make believe I 'm home in Kentucky, while Jack sleeps the sleep of the convalescent. Then a soft tap comes at my door and a very gentle voice says, "Missy, I make you tea." Shades of Pekoe! I 'll drown if this keeps up much longer. He comes in, brews the leaves, then drops on his haunches and looks into the fire. Not by the quiver of an eyelash does he give any sign, no matter how close the shots and shouts. Inscrutable and immovable, he seems a thing utterly apart from the tremendous upheaval of his country. And yet, for all anybody knows, he may be chief plotter of the whole movement. His unmoved serenity is about the most soothing thing in all this Hades. I am not really and truly afraid. Jack is with me, and just over there, above the crimson glare of the burning city, gently but surely float the Stars and Stripes. Good night, beloved Mate. I will not believe we are dead till it happens. Besides, I simply could not die till Jack and I have saved Sada San. By the way, I start for Japan tomorrow. The prayers of the congregation are requested! KIOTO HOTEL, KIOTO, March, 1912. _Beloved Mate_: Rejoice with me! Sing psalms and give thanks. Something has happened. I do not know just what it is, but little thrills of happiness are playing hop-scotch up and down my back, and my bead is lighter than usual. Be calm and I will tell you about it. In the first place, I got here this morning, more dead than alive, after days of travel that are now a mere blur of yelling crowds, rattling trains and heaving seas. A wire from Yokohama was waiting. Billy had beat me here by a few hours. At noon, to-day, a big broad-shouldered youth met me, whom I made no mistake in greeting as Mr. Milton. Billy's eyes are beautifully brown. William's chin looks as if it was modeled for the purpose of dealing with tea-house Uncles. Not far from the station is a black-and-tan temple--ancient and restful. To that we strolled and sat on the edge of the Fountain of Purification, which faces the quiet monastery garden, while we talked things over. That is, Billy did the questioning; I did the talking to the mystic chanting of the priests. I quickly related all that I knew of what had happened to Sada, and what was about to happen. There was no reason for me to adorn the story with any fringes for it to be effective. Billy's face was grim. He said little; put a few more questions, then left me saying he would join me at dinner in the hotel. I passed an impatient, tedious afternoon. Went shopping, bought things I can never use, wondering all the time what was going to be the outcome. Got a reassuring cable from Jack in answer to mine, saying all was well with him. Mr. Milton returned promptly this evening. He ordered dinner, then forgot to eat. He did not refer to the afternoon; and long intimacy with science has taught me when not to ask questions. There was only a fragment of a plan in my mind; I had no further communication from Sada, and knew nothing more than that the wedding was only a day off. We decided to go to Uncle's house together. I was to get in the house and see Sada if possible, taking, as the excuse for calling, a print on which, in an absent-minded moment, I had squandered thirty yen. Billy was to stay outside, and, if I could find the faintest reason for so doing, I was to call him in. This was his suggestion. I found Uncle scintillating with good humor and hospitality. Evidently his plans were going smoothly; but not once did he refer to them. I asked for Sada. Uncle smiled sweetly and said she was not in. Ananias died for less! He was quite capable of locking her up in some very quiet spot. I was externally indifferent and internally dismayed. I showed him my print. At once he was the eager, interested artist and he went into a long history of the picture. Though I looked at him and knew he was talking, his words conveyed no meaning. I was faint with despair. It was my last chance. I could have wagered Uncle's best picture that Billy was tearing up gravel outside. I had been in the house an hour, and had accomplished nothing. Surely if I stayed long enough something had to happen. Suddenly out of my hopelessness came a blessed thought. Uncle had. once promised to show me a priceless original of Hokusai. I asked if I might see it then. He was so elated that without calling a servant to do it for him he disappeared into a deep cupboard to find his treasure. For a moment, helpless and desperate, I was swayed with a mad impulse to lock him up in the cupboard; but there was no lock. It was so deadly still it hurt. Then, coming from the outside, I heard a low whistle with an unmistakable American twist to it, followed by a soft scraping sound. My heart missed two beats. I did not know what was happening; nor was I sure that Sada was within the house; but something told me that my cue was to keep Uncle busy. I obeyed with a heavy accent. When he appeared with his print, I began to talk. I recklessly repeated pages of text-books, whether they fitted or not; I fired technical terms at him till he was dizzy with mental gymnastics. He smoothed out his precious picture. I fell upon it. I raved over the straight-front mountains and the marceled waves in that foolish old woodcut as I had never gushed over any piece of paper before, and I hope I never will again. Not once did he relinquish his hold of that faded deformity in art, and neither did I. Surely I surprised myself with the new joys I constantly found in the pigeon-toed ladies and slant-eyed warriors. Uncle needed absorption, concentration and occupation. Mine was the privilege to give him what he required. No further sound from the garden and the silence drilled holes into my nerves. I was so fearful that the man would see my trembling excitement, I soon made my adieux. Uncle seemed a little surprised and graciously mentioned that tea was being prepared for me. I never wanted tea less and solitude more. I said I must take the night train for Hiroshima. It was a sudden decision; but to stay would be useless. I said, "Sayonara," and smiled my sweetest. I had a feeling I would never see dear Uncle Mura on earth again and doubtless our environment will differ in the Beyond. I went to the gate. It faced two streets. Both were empty. Not a sign of Billy nor the jinrickshas in which we had come. I trod on air as I tramped back to the hotel. HIROSHIMA, Five Days Later, 1912. _Mate dear_: I am back in my old quarters--safe. Why should n't I be! A detective has been my constant companion since I left Kioto, sitting by my berth all night on the train, and following me to the gates of the School! I had planned to start back to Peking as soon as Sada and Billy were clear and away. But this detective business has made me very wary--not to say weary--and I 've had to postpone my return to Jack to await the Emperor's pleasure and lest I bring more trouble on Sada's head, by following too closely on her heels; for I suspect the blessed elopers are themselves on the way to China. When I took my walk into the country the afternoon after I got here, I saw the detective out of the back of my head, and a merry chase I led him--up the steepest paths I knew, down the rocky sides, across the ferry, and into the remote village, where I let him rest his body in the stinging cold while I made an unexpected call. For once he earned his salary and his supper. That night I was in the sitting-room alone. A glass door leads out to an open porch. Conscious of a presence, I looked up to find two penetrating eyes fixed on me. It made me creepy and cold, yet I was amused. I sat long and late, but a quiet shadow near the door told me I was not alone. Even when in bed I could hear soft steps under my window. I have just come from an interview that was deliciously illuminating. Sada San has disappeared; and, so goes their acute reasoning, as I was the last person in Uncle's house, before her absence was discovered, the logical conclusion is that I have kidnapped her. Two hours ago the scared housemaid came to announce that "two Mr. Soldiers with swords wanted to speak to me." I went at once, to find my guardian angel and the Chief of Police for this district in the waiting-room. We wasted precious minutes making inquiries about one another's health, accentuating every other word with a bow and a loud indrawn breath. We were tuning up for the business in hand. The chief began by assuring me that I was a teacher of great learning. I had not heard it but bowed. It was poison to his spirit to question so honorable, august, and altogether wise a person, but I was suspected of a grave offense, and I must answer his questions. Where was my home? Easy. How did I live? Easier. Who was my grandfather? Fortunately I remembered. Was I married? Muchly. Where was my master? Did not have any. My husband was in China. Was I in Japan by his permission? I was. Had I been sent home for disobedience? Please explain. No explanation. I was just here. Did I know the penalty for kidnaping? No, color-prints interested me more. Had any of my people ever been in the penitentiary? No, only the Legislature. At this both men looked puzzled. Then the Chief made a discovery. "Ah-h," he sighed, "American word for crazysylum!" Would Madame positively state that she knew nothing of the girl's whereabouts. Madame positively and truthfully so stated. I did not know. I only knew what I thought; but, Mate, you cannot arrest a man for thinking. After a grilling of an hour or so they left me, looking worried and perplexed. They had never heard of Billy, and I saw no use adding to their troubles. Nobody seems to have noticed him at dinner with me; and now that I think of it, he had men strange to the hotel pulling the jinrickshas. It was dear of Billy not to implicate me. I am ignorant of what really happened, but wherever they are I am sure Sada is in the keeping of an honorable man. Last night, after I closed this letter, I had a cable. It said: "Married in heaven, "BILLY AND SADA." But the cables must have been crossed, for it was dated Shanghai; or else the operator was so excited over repeating such a message he forgot to put in the period. March 15. Just received a letter from Billy and Sada. It is a gladsome tale they tell. Young Lochinvar, though pale with envy, would how to Billy's direct method. I can see you, blessed Mate that you are, smiling delightedly at the grand finale of the true love story I have been writing you these months. Billy says on the night it all happened he tramped up and down, waiting for me to call him, till he wore "gullies in the measly little old cow-path they call a street." The passing moments only made him more furious. Finally he decided to walk right into the house, unannounced, and find Sada if he had to knock Uncle down and make kindling wood of the bamboo doll-house. But as he came into the side garden he saw in the second story a picture silhouetted on the white paper doors. It was Sada and her face was buried in her hands. That settled Billy. He would save Uncle all the worry of an argument by simply removing the cause. There in the dusk, he whistled the old college call, then swung himself up on a fat stone lantern, and in a few minutes he swung down a suitcase and Sada in American clothes. They caught a train to Kobe, which is only a short distance, and sailed out to the same steamer he had left in Yokohama and which arrived in Kobe that day. Billy says, for a quick and safe wedding ceremony commend him to an enthusiastic, newly-arrived young missionary; and for rapid handling of red tape connected with a license, pin your faith to a fat and jolly American consul. So that was what the blessed rascal was doing all that afternoon he left me in Kioto to myself. Cannot you see success in life branded on William's freckled brow right now? The story soon spread over the ship. Passengers and crew packed the music-room to witness the ceremony, and joyously drank the health of the lovers at the supper the Captain hastily ordered. Without hindrance, but half delirious with joy, they headed for Shanghai. Billy found that he could transact a little business in China for the firm at home and with Western enterprise decided to make his honeymoon pay for itself. And now that my task is finished I shall follow them as fast as the next steamer can carry me. PEKING, APRIL, 1912. Back once again, Mate, in the City of Golden Dusts. Glorious spring sunshine, and the whole world wrapped in a tender haze. Everything has little rainbows around it and the very air is studded with jewels. Soldiers are still marching; flags are flying; drums are thumping and it is all to the tune of Victory for the Revolutionists. But best of all Jack is well! To me Peking is like that first morning of Eve's in the Garden of Eden. What crowded, happy weeks these last have been. Waiting for Jack; amusing him when time hangs heavy--even unto reading pages of scientific books with words so big the spine of my tongue is threatened with fracture. And in between times? Well, I am thanking my stars for the chance to doubly make up for any little tenderness I may have passed by. Put it in your daily thought book, honey, forevermore I am going to remember that if at the time we'd use the strength in doing, that we consume afterwards being sorry we didn't do, life would run on an easy trolley. Billy and Sada are with us, still with the first glow of the enchanted garden over them. Bless their happy hearts! I am going to give them my collection of color prints to start housekeeping with. How I'd _love_ to see Uncle--through a telescope. To-night we are having our last dinner here. To-morrow the four of us turn our faces toward the most beautiful spot this side of Heaven, home. The happy runaways to Nebraska, Jack and I to the little roost we left behind in Kentucky. There goes the music for dinner. It 's something about "dreamy love." Love is n't a dream, Mate--not the kind I know; it's all of life and beyond. I know what they are playing! Breathe but one breath Rose beauty above And all that was death Grows life, grows love, Grows love! THE END 
13051	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original lovely illustrations. See 13051-h.htm or 13051-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/1/3/0/5/13051/13051-h/13051-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/1/3/0/5/13051/13051-h.zip) SKETCHES OF JAPANESE MANNERS AND CUSTOMS by J. M. W. SILVER Lieutenant Royal Marines, Light Infantry (Late of the Royal Marine Battalion for Service in Japan) Illustrated by Native Drawings, Reproduced in Fac-Simile by Means of Chromo-Lithography. LONDON 1867 [Illustration: Sketches of Japanese Manners and Customs] TO COLONEL SIR EDMUND SAUNDERSON PRIDEAUX, BART. DEAR SIR EDMUND, These few 'Sketches of Japanese Manners and Customs' were collected during the years 1864-5, at which time I was attached to the Battalion of Royal Marines for service in Japan, and it is now very pleasing to have the privilege of dedicating them to one who was the friend and companion-in-arms of my late Father. In memory of this bond of friendship, and in grateful acknowledgment of the many kindnesses you have shown me, this Dedication of my humble efforts to assist in the elucidation of the social condition of a distant and comparatively unknown race, affords me deep gratification. With much respect and esteem, I am, Dear Sir Edmund, Very faithfully yours, J. M. W. SILVER. Royal Marine Barracks, Forton, January 29th, 1867. CONTENTS. I. FESTIVALS AND HOLIDAYS II. FIRES AND FIRE-BRIGADES III. DOMESTIC LIFE IV. THE TYCOON, DAIMIOS, AND ARISTOCRACY V. THE COURT OF THE MIKADO VI. THE 'HARA KIRU' VII. NATIONAL GAMES AND AMUSEMENTS VIII. CRIMES AND PUNISHMENTS IX. SUPERSTITIONS AND RELIGIOUS OBSERVANCES X. ON THE TOKAIDO AND IN THE TEA-HOUSES XI. THE SPY SYSTEM--THE BATH-HOUSE XII. LOVE OF FLOWERS LIST OF PLATES. TITLE. FESTIVAL IN HONOUR OF THE BIRTH OF CHILDREN. MERCHANTS' GREAT FESTIVAL. OTINTA LAMA. A FIRE-BRIGADE ON ITS WAY TO A FIRE. A JAPANESE WEDDING. A DAIMIO PAYING A STATE VISIT. A DAIMIO AND FAMILY WITNESSING FIREWORKS. A MINISTER OF THE MIKADO ON A RELIGIOUS EXPEDITION. THEATRICAL PERFORMANCE IN FRONT OF THE MIKADO'S PALACE. LADIES OF THE MIKADO'S COURT PERFORMING THE BUTTERFLY DANCE. THE TYCOON'S MESSENGERS READING THE SENTENCE. THE SACRIFICE. A DAIMIO'S FUNERAL. CREMATION OF THE BODY. RELATIVES COLLECTING ASHES. PUBLIC WRESTLING IN THE GREAT AMPHITHEATRE AT VEDDO. INTERIOR OF A THEATRE. MODE OF CONDUCTING A CRIMINAL TO EXECUTION. LONINS, OR OUTLAWS, ROBBING A RICH MERCHANT'S HOUSE. EXPOSURE FOR INFIDELITY. SELLING INDULGENCES BY PUBLIC AUCTION. PRAYING A SOUL OUT OF PURGATORY. SUDANGEE, OR LAST OFFICES. A BAKER'S SHOP. A TEA-HOUSE MERRY-MAKING. UYA, OR BATH-HOUSE. A FLOWER SHOW. [Illustration: FESTIVAL IN HONOUR OF THE BIRTH OF CHILDREN.] [Illustration: MERCHANTS' GREAT FESTIVAL.] CHAPTER I. FESTIVALS AND HOLIDAYS. The first feature of Japanese life that prominently presents itself to the notice of the stranger, is the number of festivals and holidays held in honour of the various deities, warriors, and sages, or in accordance with some ancient custom of the county, which is as paramount an authority as the most stringent of its laws. Of these festivals, the 'Oki-don-tako,' or 'Great Holiday,' which takes place about Christmas, and lasts a fortnight, is the most important. Previous to its celebration, it is customary with the people to settle accounts, and amicably adjust any quarrels or estrangements that may happen to exist; and they evince the same spirit that actuates Christian nations at this season, by a general interchange of presents and complimentary visits with their friends and acquaintance. So anxious are the merchants to take this opportunity of settling with their creditors, that, when the dealers have deficiencies to make up, articles are frequently pressed on foreign residents at the Treaty Ports at prices previously refused. The 'Gogata Seku,' the emblems of which form the first subject of illustration, is also a festival of great importance: it takes place about the middle of June, which is the fifth month of the Japanese calendar, from which it derives its designation, and is kept up with more than ordinary spirit during the three days of its continuance. It is held in commemoration of Gongen Sama, the great general to whom the present dynasty owes its existence; and the Japanese date their births from this festival, even if born the day after its last celebration. It has several curious symbols, the most striking being huge aerial fishes, in imitation of the 'koi,' or 'carp;' large crimson streamers, representations of Gongen Sama crushing a demon; and the heads and tails of crayfish, with which they decorate their dishes and the entrances of their houses. The floating fish flag is hoisted over every house in which a boy has been born during the preceding twelve months, and is emblematical of his future career. As the 'koi,' or 'carp,' which is very plentiful in Japan, finds its way up streams and rivers, surmounting all obstacles in its way, and rendering itself by its fecundity and edible qualities useful to the whole country, so the child is to make his way through life, boldly fulfilling his destiny, and proving himself a useful and beneficial member of the community. In the same way, the scarlet streamer indicates the birth of a female child, and the domestic nature of her duties. The crayfish are used to remind the people of their humble origin (it being traditionary that the empire originated from a race of poor fishermen), and the consequent necessity of humility, temperance, and frugality, in their different stations in life.[1] [Footnote 1: The slice of salt-fish which accompanies Japanese letters is an exhortation to the same effect.] Various qualities are ascribed to the hero of this festival: he is considered the especial champion of women, for whose protection he instituted several laws and regulations; among others, making it obligatory on them to blacken their teeth on entering into the married state. He is believed to be able to charm away fevers, to alleviate suffering, and to prevent the lives of his _protégées_ from being embittered by jealousy. During the celebration of this festival the whole country presents an extraordinary appearance; aerial fishes, streamers, and bamboo decorations, meet the eye in every direction; and the people in gala costume which is always worn on holidays, greatly enhance the brilliancy of the scene. The gala dress is much gayer than that ordinarily worn, but there is little difference in the material, the dress of every class being regulated by stringent sumptuary laws. Blues and purples predominate in winter, the lighter and more varied colours being generally confined to materials only adapted for summer use. The ladies have a great partiality for crimson crape, which is generally worn as an under-robe, and peeps daintily out at the bottom of the dress, and at the wide open sleeves; it is also entwined in the hair, and with the girdle, at the back of which it is allowed to droop in full, graceful folds. The men do not affect such bright colours as the women and children, although their robes are often fantastically embroidered with various strange devices, such as shell-fish, frogs, flowers and landscapes, some of which are beautifully worked. [Illustration: Mother and Child.(From Photograph.)] The whole populace on these occasions seem determined to enjoy themselves; the air of good-natured contentment, which characterises them at all times, taking a more exuberant tone as they stroll about the streets, visit in family parties, or make excursions to the neighbouring tea-houses. Thoroughly domestic in their tastes and habits, it is a pleasing sight to watch the family groups. Here a grand-dame is carefully assisted along by her son and daughter-in-law, preceded by chattering grandchildren in the gayest of dresses, tugging at extraordinary kites; or a father, in the doorway of his house, nurses one child, while the mother exhibits for the admiration of sympathizing friends another infant--probably one of the unconscious objects of all this rejoicing. Though the men frequently exceed the bounds of sobriety on these festivals and holidays, they rarely become quarrelsome. It is, however, by no means unusual for them to keep in a state of intoxication for days; alleging this, with perfect _sang froid_, as an excuse for any neglected promise or unfinished job. The 'Omatsurie,' or 'Merchants' Great Festival,' which is only celebrated in the principal towns, takes place about the middle of July, and may be considered to be an exhibition of the different trades, as the merchants and craftsmen of the country show the choicest specimens of their wares and handicraft in a kind of trades' procession. Like all the rest of their festivals it has a religious signification, the people believing that misfortunes in business are warded off by it. Upwards of five hundred trade trophies figure in one of these processions, the imposing nature of which may be imagined from the gorgeous materials and fantastic dresses depicted in the illustration. The car in the foreground bears the trophy of the wax-figure makers, whose trade is one of the most lucrative in Japan, as the Japanese not only perpetuate their celebrities by wax-work effigies, but the majority of the people, being professors of the Sintoo religion, have Lares and Penates of the same material, called 'Kamis,' which are supposed to intercede on their behalf with the Supreme Being. And this is in addition to regular wax-work exhibitions, which are very popular, and the sale of toys which are hawked about the country by travelling dealers. [Illustration: Travelling Merchant (Native Drawing.)] [Illustration: OTINTA LAMA.] The merchants have a general right of _entrée_ to all parts of the town on these occasions. In the illustration, the procession is passing through the official quarter of Yeddo, the Tycoon's palace forming the subject of the background. They halt from time to time in their progress, which is enlivened by songs descriptive of their various callings, and the beating of huge drums, and blowing of strange discordant instruments. There is a kind of analogy between our industrial exhibitions and these festivals; and, whatever the purpose may be for which they were originated, it is plain that they admirably represent the industry, wealth, and resources of the country. 'Otinta Sama' is a comical divinity, who is laughed at by some, and believed by others to inhabit certain miniature temples, which are crowned with cocks with outspread wings, as that bird is supposed to be his favourite incarnation. On holidays and festivals, his temples are frequently carried about on the shoulders of his votaries, who are generally the most ignorant and superstitious of the people. This is always a subject of merriment with the unbelievers, who crowd round the temples and oppose their progress, and indulge in witticisms at the expense of the divinity and his bearers. This sometimes leads to a disturbance, but only when the parties concerned have been indulging too freely in their favourite saki. [Illustration: Saki-drunk. (Native drawing.)] The intercession of Otinta Sama is principally sought in times of drought or of heavy rains; the temple in the one case being brought out and exposed to the sun, and in the other sprinkled with water, by way of intimating the immediate necessity for his good offices. CHAPTER II. FIRES AND FIRE-BRIGADES Fires are necessarily frequent, as the majority of the houses are constructed of wood; and such dangerous articles as paper-lanterns, small charcoal fire-boxes, and movable open stoves, for household purposes, are in common use. The candles burnt in the paper-lanterns render them extremely dangerous, as they are fixed by a socket inside the lower end of the candle, which fits on a peg in the lantern--generally very loosely; and as they flare a great deal, very little wind or motion will cause a conflagration. Fires are, mostly attributed, however, to the 'chebache,' or small charcoal fire-box, which is used for smoking purposes. It is placed on a small stand in the middle of the thickly-matted rooms, the smokers sitting round drinking saki, and occasionally filling their small pipes. Their method of smoking, like all the rest of their habits, is remarkably peculiar; for, after inhaling a few whiffs, the smoker invariably knocks out the half-consumed remnant on the 'chebache,' and, presently refilling, commences another pipe, and so on, two or three times in succession, rarely troubling himself about the ashes of the last, which the slightest current of air may carry unperceived to smoulder in the combustible flooring. [Illustration: A FIRE BRIGADE ON ITS WAY TO A FIRE.] Fires occur frequently, notwithstanding the great precautions which are taken for their prevention. Town and country are divided into districts, for which certain of the inhabitants are responsible. Each of these has its alarum, with observatory and regular watchers; while every guard-house is provided with a supply of ladders, buckets, and other necessary implements. Whenever a gale is coming on, the 'Yoshongyee and Kanabo,' or 'watch and fire look-outs,' who on ordinary occasions only go their rounds by night, parade the towns with rattles and clanking iron instruments, as a warning to the people to keep their fires low. They have numerous fire-brigades, which are well organized, and remarkably efficient. In the illustration one of them is seen hurrying along the street to the place of action. On the right, a watchman is striking an alarum, and another may be noticed, half-way up an observatory in the distance, pointing out the direction of the fire. The white building on the other side of the street is a fire-proof storehouse, in which the public documents and valuables of the district are deposited whenever a fire breaks out in it. [Illustration: Yoshongyee and Kanabo. (Native drawing.)] A Japanese 'Shecase,' or fire-brigade, passing silently along the streets, lighted by its weird red-and-black distinguishing lanterns, is a strange sight. Some of its members wear armour, with helmets and black-lacquered iron visors, and carry 'martoe,' or 'fire-charms,' and various necessary implements; others are clad in head-and-shoulder pieces and gauntlets of light chain-armour, to protect them while pulling down and unroofing houses, which is their especial duty. All have a regular fire costume, from the 'Oki Yaconin,' or 'head man,' to the bare-legged coolie, who carries the badge of the brigade in large red characters on his back. On arriving at a fire, a _point de tête_ is selected--generally a house, on the roof of which the fire-charms are immediately fixed, as if to forbid its further advance. These charms (the circular white objects with black mouldings) have, of course, as little effect on one element as Canute's celebrated command had on another; but the people put such faith in their virtue that their presence is a powerful auxiliary in prescribing the limits of fires, which are rarely allowed to pass the bounds marked out by them. The firemen fight with the flames as they close on the charms, like men determined to stand by their colours to the last, rushing into the burning houses, pulling them down, and drenching the blazing thatch, with great courage and endurance. When, by thus putting their shoulder to the wheel, the fire is fairly subdued, they turn round and point exultingly to the martoe as the Hercules that has procured the result. On one occasion, at a fire in the village of Omura, adjoining Yokahama, the charms and their supporters were actually licked by the flames from the house opposite to that on which they were fixed, whose thatched roof was pulled off while in a state of rampant ignition by fire-coolies, who with bare hands, and no other protection than their saturated clothing, fought with the actual fire. One plucky fellow fell through the roof while thus employed, and, as the spectators still shuddered at his anticipated fate, rushed out apparently uninjured, and, re-ascending, resumed his fiery task with unabated vigour. Although the fire-charms were triumphant on this occasion, they did not escape unscorched, and several engines had to be kept in constant play upon them and their supporters, to prevent the one from ignition, and the other from being baked in their armour like crabs in their shells. The engines in present use are made of wood, and, though simple, are efficient in damping the roofs of houses (which, being tiled with thin squares of wood, are very inflammable), putting out embers, and playing upon the firemen, who, as already indicated, prefer being stewed to being roasted. The Japanese, however, are thoroughly aware of the superiority of our engines, which will probably soon take the place of their own, as the people are singularly quick in availing themselves of anything useful. The townspeople generally calculate on being burnt out once in every seven years, and whenever this calamity falls upon them, no time is lost in rebuilding. For instance, in December, 1864, a fragment of blazing wood, from a fire which destroyed the United Service Club at Yokohama, was blown across to the village of Omura before alluded to, which was half burnt down, greatly endangering the General Small-Pox Hospital and the huts of the Royal Marine Battalion in its rear. But early next morning, while the embers of the old houses were still smoking, new ones were in course of erection, and before night some of the industrious occupants were fairly roofed in afresh.[2] [Footnote 2: As an illustration of the spirit which characterises British merchants in their intercourse with the Japanese, it may be mentioned that a liberal subscription was promptly got up for the re-establishment of these burnt-out villagers; but, although the Japanese Government seemed thoroughly to appreciate the kindly spirit in which it was offered, national pride came in the way of its acceptance, and the people were only induced to waive their objection on its being urgently pressed upon them that the fire which destroyed the Foreigners' Club was the cause of the calamity.] CHAPTER III. DOMESTIC LIFE. It is impossible to mark the even and peaceable tenor of Japanese life, the politeness, industry, respect for superiors, and general air of cheerfulness and content, that pervades all classes, without admiration of the wise regulations which preserve such order amongst them as a people. Quarrels and blows are almost unknown in families; the husband is gentle, the wife exemplary and affectionate, and the children singularly obedient and reverent to their parents: yet 'Spare the rod and spoil the child' is a precept totally disregarded. The children are never beaten, nor do the parents allow themselves to lose their tempers in rebuking them, however great the provocation may be--one remarkable result of the complete self-abnegation inculcated by their social system. [Illustration: A JAPANESE WEDDING.] The relative position of father and son is very striking. From an early age the latter enjoys the entire confidence of the former, who not only treats him as a grown-up person, but frequently refers disputed matters to his arbitration, invariably abiding by his decision. Again, on a son's arriving at manhood, the parents often resign their property in his favour, relying on him, with a confidence rarely misplaced, for maintenance during the remainder of their lives; and so sacred is this trust considered, that in case of the son's demise it devolves indisputably on his wife and children. So far, what could be more promising? But, alas! like everything else, Japanese life has a dark side, and in this case it consists of a repulsive custom, which permits indigent parents to sell their daughters for a term of years into a state of bondage, for purposes of the most degrading nature. This possibility more than counterbalances all the brighter features of their domestic economy. Generally speaking, when young girls find themselves a burden to their parents, they seek employment in the tea-houses, where they are well looked after and instructed in various accomplishments, for which they serve a certain apprenticeship, and at its expiration generally marry, as girls so educated are eagerly sought after. There are two forms of marriage, either of which is legally binding. One is a religious, and the other a civil contract, not very dissimilar from our marriage by the registrar, saving that the bride's parents sign for her. Whichever form is used, the parents receive a sum of money from the bridegroom; but in neither case is the husband supposed to see the face of his bride until all due formalities have been performed. The religious ceremony takes place in a temple: the pair, after listening to a lengthy harangue from one of the attendant priests, approach the altar, where large tapers are presented to them; the bride, instructed by the priest, lights her taper at the sacred censer on the altar, and the bridegroom, igniting his from hers, allows the two flames to combine, and burn steadily together, thus symbolizing the perfect unity of the marriage state; and this completes the ceremonial. The illustration represents the private ratification of the civil contract, which is a simple form, by which the parties take upon themselves the respective duties of husband and wife. The veiled figure in white is the 'hanna-yomie,' or 'bride,' in the act of acknowledging the 'hanna-moko,' or 'bridegroom' (who sits opposite to her in an official dress), by partaking of the nuptial saki. This 'saki,' or 'wine,' is prepared by two intimate female friends of the bride, who first pour it into the gold and silver lacquer vessels on the stand, which respectively represent the husband and wife, and then, taking the vessels in hand, mix the contents in a cup, and deliver it to the 'shewarin,' or 'master of the ceremonies,' who hands it to the bride, and then to the bridegroom, and both partake of the contents, which act constitutes the marriage. Although young ladies are employed to mix the nuptial saki they do not attend on the bride. Such offices as are required are performed by a married couple, the shewarin and his wife. It is they who make the necessary arrangements, and provide the pheasants that appear in the recess; which signify that the hanna-moko, like the cock-pheasant, will always jealously guard his charmer, who, like the shy hen-bird, will readily respond to the call of her mate. [Illustration: A Dose of Moxa. (Native drawing.)] A more practical idea of the requirements of married life may be deduced from the annexed woodcut, representing the application of moxa, which is very commonly used as a remedy for rheumatism, and to promote circulation. Japanese women make excellent wives: they are never idle in their houses; and when other occupations fail them, the spinning-wheel, or loom, is brought out, and materials for clothing their families are prepared. In the country, the women share equally with their husbands and children in agricultural labours; early and late whole families may be seen in the paddy-fields transplanting rice, or superintending its irrigation, for which the undulating nature of the country affords great facility. [Illustration: Transplanting Rice. (Native drawing.)] Notwithstanding the laborious nature of their tasks they have always a cheerful greeting for the passer-by, even under extremely irritating circumstances, as they are greatly plagued by leeches, which swarm in the paddy-fields. The result of the constant attention paid to the cultivation of the soil is astonishing. Our farmers would gaze with surprise on the luxuriant crops of cereals, roots, and vegetables; and this is solely owing to the care taken in preparing the soil, which is not naturally productive. Weeds are never to be met with in the fields, which, however, from the constant manuring bestowed upon them, lack the sweet fresh smell of our own. With regard to education, it is rare to meet with a Japanese who cannot read, write, and cipher; and in buying and selling they use computing slides like the Chinese, by the aid of which they quickly settle the amount to be paid. They do not, except in the higher classes, receive what we understand by a general or scientific education, the members of each trade or profession being only instructed in what pertains to their own affairs--a fact the inquiring stranger soon discovers. CHAPTER IV. THE TYCOON, DAIMIOS, AND ARISTOCRACY. The Government of Japan consists of an oligarchy of feudal princes, called Daimios, wielding absolute authority in their respective provinces, but subject to the general control of one of their number, (selected from one of three great families), called the 'Tycoon,' who, assisted by a 'Gorogio,' or 'Great Council,' presides over the affairs of the state in the name of the 'Mikado,' or 'Spiritual Emperor,' its supreme head. The office of Mikado is apparently the cause of most of the disturbances which agitate the country. Its temporal importance lies in possessing the power of issuing decrees, bestowing titles, and delegating authority to others; and princes discontented with the Tycoon are constantly intriguing against his legitimate influence with the Mikado. For instance: an attempt was made in 1864 by a powerful coalition, headed by Choisiu, prince of Nangato, to obtain possession of the Mikado's person. This was only prevented after a severe struggle by the bravery of the Tycoon's guard, to whose care the palace and its inmates were entrusted. During the conflict a large portion of the sacred city of Miako was burnt. [Illustration: A DAIMIO PAYING A STATE VISIT.] The Tycoon only leaves Yeddo when affairs of state require his presence elsewhere. His palace is situated in the heart of the city, and is surrounded by grounds several miles in circumference, and enclosed by a deep moat. It is there that he receives the compulsory visits of the grandees of the empire, one of whom, on the point of being ushered into the audience-chamber, is shown opposite, in his robes of ceremony, and attended by a sword-bearer, in token of his high rank. The bonze, or priest, who precedes him, does not impart any religious signification to the visit, as priests commonly act in the double capacity of spy and master of the ceremonies. The screen, which forms the background of the illustration is worthy of attention, as its subject is taken from the Japanese mythology, and represents the great sun-god from whom Ten-zio-dai-zin, the patron goddess of the empire, sprang. In public, these oligarchical princes are invariably surrounded by all the pomp of feudal state, and when they travel are escorted by large bodies of retainers. At Kanagawa, which adjoins the settlement of Yokohama, the foreigner has frequent opportunities of witnessing their processions as they pass to and fro along the 'tokaido,' or 'great public road,' when they are going on their compulsory visits to Yeddo from their own country palaces. Nor is much danger attached to this, as the passing of Daimios whom it would be dangerous to meet on the tokaido, is always notified by the authorities to the consul. On witnessing a Daimio's procession for the first time, it is hard to realise that it is not a scene from some gorgeous pantomime, ao brilliant and varied are the costumes of the retainers, and so totally different is it from anything which European eyes are accustomed to gaze upon. But should anything excite the risible faculties of the observer, his hallucinations are likely to be quickly scattered by the scowls of the resolute-looking fellows passing by with 'hand on sword,' needing but little encouragement to 'set a glory' to it, 'by giving it the worship of revenge,' as they are extremely jealous of the honour of their prince, and regard the presence of foreigners on the tokaido at such times as an insult. This circumstance is also rendered more galling by foreigners sitting coolly on their horses by the road-side as the great man passes, generally in a low norimon, on which they must necessarily look down--in contradiction to Japanese etiquette, which permits no inferior to look down upon a superior--while the people of the country are either abjectly kowtowing to him or patiently waiting in their closed houses until his passing shall set them once more at liberty. A review given the by two ministers for foreign affairs to Sir Rutherford Alcock, shortly before his departure, was a very imposing spectacle. The approach of the ministers was announced by the beating of drums (which are sometimes carried on the shoulder and struck by the palm of the hand) and the blowing of conch-shells, each instrument being sounded three times in succession, at short intervals. Men in armour carrying banners, bearing the Tycoon's crest, headed the procession. They were followed by a large drum in a square case, carried by two men, and the conch-blowers; then came a number of spearmen in armour; officers on horseback immediately preceding the ministers. On arriving at the ground they dismounted, and were received by Sir Rutherford Alcock, the remainder of their retinue passing on and forming in rear of the others, to the left of the English garrison, consisting of the second battalion of the 20th Regiment, the Royal Marine battalion, and detachments of Royal Artillery, of the 67th Regiment, and Beloochees, who were drawn up in brigade in honour of the occasion. At the request of the ministers the garrison marched past and performed a few manoeuvres, concluding with discharging blank cartridge in squares and in skirmishing order. The rapidity of the fire appeared to make a great impression on them. This over, the Japanese performance commenced; which was a representation of their ancient order of battle, the retainers dividing and forming in lines opposite one another, and about one hundred yards apart. The proceedings were conducted by two marshals on foot; they began by forming the spearmen in line, with emphatic guttural commands, stamping of the feet, and flourishing of gilt batons, to the end of which wisps of paper were attached. All were habited in magnificent armour: some wore complete suits of mail; others chain armour, lined with gorgeous silks. Broad lacquered hats were here and there substituted for helmets; or both were dispensed with, and the temples of the combatants bound with linen cloth, which is their usual headdress in action. Presently a signal was given, on which the opposing lines commenced simultaneously to 'mark line double.' At a second signal they faced into Indian file, and the marshals, placing themselves at their head, led them off at a swinging trot, the whole party flinging up their heels like boys playing at 'follow my leader,' until startling guttural shouts from the marshals caused the glittering lines to halt and face each other. The horsemen, who had hitherto taken no part in the pageant, were now stationed in rear of the centre of the respective lines, and added greatly to the effect by their crested helmets, their richly gilt armour, and the heraldic banners, which were attached to the back of the cuirass and floated about two feet over their heads. As soon as the horsemen were stationed the exciting part of the sham-fight began, by the lines being wheeled backwards and forwards in wings from the centre, and into zigzag formations from central points, with a slow 'stamp-and-go' march, the spears being flourished with each motion and pointed high and low, and right and left, as in our bayonet exercise. The marshals regulated the movements of their respective lines with great accuracy, the one being retired directly the other advanced, so that the relative distance was never altered. After a time both parties suddenly assumed a sitting posture and exchanged howls of defiance, which grew fiercer and fiercer, until a simultaneous rush, as if to engage, finished the performance from which the representatives of barbaric warfare retired amid the hearty cheers of the representatives of the bayonet and rifle. [Illustration: A Daimio Retainer. (Native Drawing.)] Though most of the Daimios have enormous revenues, and are surrounded by men devotedly attached to them, the policy of the country so trammels their actions with formalities and espionage as to keep them in considerable subjection to the Tycoon; nor is even the privacy of their houses respected, for their families are retained in Yeddo, as hostages for their good behaviour, while they are absent in their principalities. As an occasional relaxation from the cares attendant on their high position, they avail themselves of a privilege called 'naiboen,' which enables them to share incognito in the pleasures and amusements of their countrymen. Those drawings and coloured representations of scenes connected with the higher classes which so largely engross the attention of Japanese artists, generally depict naiboen intrigues and adventures: these convey, however, a very exaggerated idea of the manner in which the Daimios conduct themselves on these occasions. [Illustration: Coolies carrying Norimon. (From Native Drawing.)] The family in the house-boat witnessing a pyrotechnic display in the bay of Yeddo, may be regarded as a faithful representation of a Daimio's party enjoying the naiboen. The great man in his light summer robe has apparently cast aside the cares of office, and seems thoroughly to enjoy the cool evening breeze and the society of his wives, only one of whom has a legal claim to that title, by right of which she takes precedence of the others. Of the two bonzes, or priests, in the stem of the boat, one, probably, is a member of the family, and the other its spy, for even naiboen excursions are not exempted from espionage: indeed the Japanese are so habituated to this custom that they generally regard it as a necessary check upon themselves. Naiboen excursions to the tea-houses are very frequent, notice being sent previously in order to insure proper accommodation and privacy: the latter precaution being principally taken on account of the ladies of the family, who never go beyond the palace except in a norimon guarded by armed retainers. [Illustration: A DAIMIO AND FAMILY WITNESSING FIREWORKS.] In their homes, the aristocracy are as simple in their habits as the rest of the people. They are much given to study, the favourite subjects being poetry,[3] history, astronomy, and logic. The children are usually taught the rudiments of education by their mothers, and as they advance in years, are either privately instructed by masters or sent to the great schools at Miako, which are said to be attended by upwards of four thousand scholars. [Footnote 3: A very interesting volume of translations of Japanese Lyrical Odes has lately been published by F.V. Dickins, Esq. M.B.: Smith, Elder, & Co.] CHAPTER V. THE COURT OF THE MIKADO. The spiritual Emperor of Japan is supposed to be a direct descendant of the gods, and as such enjoys the adoration, as well as the fealty of his subjects. Unfortunately, his divine attributes deprive him of the free exercise of his human functions, as his feet are never permitted to touch the ground out of doors; nor is he allowed to cut his hair, beard, or nails, or to expose himself to the rays of the sun, which, would detract from the excellency of his person. His principal titles are, 'Zen Zi'--'Son of Heaven;' 'Mikado,'--'Emperor;' and 'Dairi,' or 'Kinrai,'--'Grand Interior:' the latter denoting the perpetual seclusion of his person. It is said that his ancestry can be traced in an unbroken line from nearly 700 years before the Christian era. The Mikado never goes beyond the precincts of the Imperial residence, which occupies a large portion of the city of Miako, comprising numerous palaces and gardens; and connected with it are the schools alluded to in the last chapter, which are established on the plan of a university, and are much resorted to by the children of the nobility. [Illustration: A MINISTER OF THE MIKADO ON A RELIGIOUS EXPEDITION.] Whenever this great personage wishes to take an airing, he is carried by fourteen men in a large norimon with latticed windows, through which he is able to see without being seen; and even when granting an audience he is said to be concealed from view by bamboo screen-work. His court consists of the members of his own family and certain great officers of State appointed by the Tycoon, who nominally receive and promulgate his commands; but, in ordinary times, he has no real power in the temporal affairs of the empire, and only refuses to confer legality on the acts of his lieutenant under the pressure of intrigue, or of undue family influence. To relieve the wearisome monotony of his life, as well as to prevent the possibility of the sacred race becoming extinct, he is allowed twelve wives, who are chosen from the most beautiful daughters of the chief princes of the empire. These ladies occupy separate palaces in the immediate vicinity of his, where they are attended by their own retainers; but only one of them enjoys the rank of empress, although they are all treated with the deference due to royalty. He is also said to have an unlimited number of concubines, who reside within the bounds of the Imperial establishment. The distinctive mark of the members of the Mikado's court and of the ladies of his family consists of two black patches placed on the forehead, and in the arrangement of the hair, which is gathered up in a long cue and curved over the head by one sex, and worn dishevelled and without any kind of ornament by the other. Though the Mikado has little influence in the secular affairs of state, his authority in religious questions is supreme; but it is doubtful if he personally takes any part in the solemnities which are constantly occurring at Miako. The subject of illustration represents one of these sacred observances: the procession is coming from the Mikado's palace, which, properly speaking, is a temple, being full of idols and effigies of the 'Kamis,' or 'canonised saints.' The principal figure is the third minister of state, and from this circumstance the white dresses worn by the 'Kargardhee,' or 'fire-bearers,' and the presence of some of the Imperial children, it is probably a midnight pilgrimage to some neighbouring shrine, in honour of the manes of a departed member of the family. The early education of the Mikado's children is entrusted to the ladies of the court: the sons, while still young, are sent to different religious fraternities; and the daughters, on attaining a suitable age, are bestowed in marriage on the nobles of the country, except the eldest, who is appointed chief priestess of the temple of the Sun at Issie, which contains the shrine of Ten-zio-dai-zin, to which all Japanese are supposed to make a pilgrimage once in their lifetime. The Mikado is said to spend the greatest portion of his time in the society of his wives, who contribute to his amusement by singing, dancing, and theatrical entertainments. The latter sometimes take place in the open air, as in the scene depicted opposite; on which the 'Grand Interior' and a select party are supposed to be looking down through the jalousies of the palace. The vocal, instrumental, and theatrical talents of the performers, are here called into play, the arena for the latter being the 'Mekoshee,' or movable stage, in which a female figure may be noticed declaiming her part. The long-handled, fantastically-coloured umbrellas, belong to the Imperial attendants taking part in the theatricals, whose hair, it will be noticed, is arranged according to court etiquette. [Illustration: A Begging Criminal. (Native Drawing.)] The men whose features are concealed by their broad hats are 'Ninsokee,' or 'public singers.' Generally speaking they belong to the aristocratic class, and are reduced to earn their livelihood in this manner in consequence of some misdemeanour, on account of which their property has been forfeited to the state. Their occupation is in itself a punishment, as Japanese gentlemen never sing, regarding that accomplishment as derogatory to their dignity. A certain class of criminals also wear a disguise of this nature, as shown in the woodcut. [Illustration: THEATRICAL PERFORMANCE IN FRONT OF THE MIKADO'S PALACE.] [Illustration: LADIES OF THE MIKADO'S COURT PERFORMING THE BUTTERFLY DANCE.] The band here represented is much stronger than those that generally figure in Japanese orchestral and theatrical entertainments. Music is not used, as with us, to fill the interval between the pieces, but accompanies the performers throughout; the louder instruments being energetically struck as the singing becomes impassioned or the actors declamatory. The butterfly dance is another specimen of the amusements with which the ladies of the Mikado's court while away their monotonous existence. As here shown, it is a private performance, of which the Empress and her principal attendants are the only spectators. The insects are personated by two of her ladies, who mimic their motions and sing praises of the different flowers they pretend to alight upon, to the accompaniment of a band of fair musicians. But the most interesting part of the affair is a spirited dialogue, in which they cleverly criticise, under floral appellations, the different ladies of the court, in a manner equally gratifying and flattering to their royal mistress. [Illustration: Lady waiting on the Mikado. (from Photograph.)] The Mikado is always waited upon by the ladies of his court, and is said never to eat twice from the same vessels, which are broken to pieces as they are removed. An intelligent yaconin, however, on being questioned about this point, was much amused; and, though he professed ignorance of the subject, was evidently very sceptical on the matter of the dishes. CHAPTER VI. The 'HARA KIRU.' Although we have long been aware of the existence of this peculiar mode of suicide, the exclusive policy of the Japanese has placed insuperable difficulties in the way of obtaining accurate information concerning it. A more enlightened policy is now gaining ground in the country. The chromo-lithographs that illustrate these 'Sketches' are fac-similes of paintings by native artists, selected from a series lately published at Yeddo, and sold to foreigners with the connivance, if not by permission, of the authorities; for the spy system in Japan is so perfect, that illicit dealings are next to impossible. As Japanese punishments entail disgrace on every member of the culprit's family, the 'Hara Kiru,' or 'happy dispatch,' which is the only exception, is regarded as a great privilege by the classes entitled to avail themselves of it These consist of the nobility, military, and official of a certain rank holding civil appointments. It seems to be a prevalent idea that this sacrifice is reserved for political offences; but this is not the case, as crimes of all descriptions are condoned by it. A simple act of suicide does not constitute the 'Hara Kiru.' To render the act legal, and to ensure the heir and family of the person performing it against disgrace and loss of property, an order for its performance must be issued by the Tycoon, or by the suzerain prince of the culprit. [Illustration: THE TYCOON'S MESSENGERS READING THE SENTENCE.] The Japanese, being a high-spirited and patriotic people, consider that death under any circumstances is preferable to dishonour; and the privileged classes always carry about with them when they travel the paraphernalia used at the performance of the 'Hara Kiru,' in token of their readiness to prove their patriotism, or to die rather than disgrace their family. The dress consists of a robe and 'harakama,' or 'winged official dress,' of coarse white cloth--white being the funeral colour of the country--which is undistinguished by the crest or any sign of the rank of the owner. There is also the disembowelling knife, the blade of which is about eight inches long, and very sharp. When the sentence of the 'Hara Kiru' is awarded, or the humble request of a defeated politician to perform it is acceded to, a formal document is made out and duly signed by the competent authorities. It is then delivered to two commissioners, by whom it is conveyed to the culprit. Should the proposed victim be a Daimio of importance, and sufficiently powerful to set the Tycoon at defiance, the delivery of the imperial mandate is likely to be attended with unpleasant results, as the bearers are sometimes waylaid and murdered by retainers of the doomed prince, and have frequently to resort to stratagem to accomplish their task. But when once the mandate is delivered, the prince must submit, or he would lose caste even with his own followers, so strongly are the Japanese imbued with respect for the ancient customs of their country. The accompanying illustrations represent the different formalities that are observed at the performance of the 'Hara Kiru' by a Daimio. On receiving the official intimation of his sentence, he orders the necessary preparations to be made, and informs his friends and relatives of it, inviting them to share in a parting carouse with him. On the appointed day, after taking a private farewell of his family, he receives his friends. He is habited in his white robes, and supported by two of his relatives or ministers, similarly attired. When the time arrives (which is previously arranged with the commissioners) he takes leave of the guests, as on any ordinary occasion, and enters the screened enclosure, accompanied by his supporters. It will be noticed, that the retainers guarding the exterior and entrance are barefooted, which is a mark of respect in honour of the rank of the culprit, and of the solemnity of the occasion. The Tycoon's messengers then read the imperial mandate, which proclaims that, in accordance with the ancient custom of the country, the Daimio is permitted honourably to sacrifice himself for its benefit, and thus to expiate in his own person the crime or offence he has committed against the welfare of the state. In the illustration, the two officials charged with this disagreeable office are sitting opposite the Daimio and his friends, reading the fatal document, their suite surrounding them in respectful attitudes. The whole party wear the official dress, which intimates at once the respect due to the victim and the official nature of the ceremony. The second scene shows the Daimio on the point of performing the sacrificial ceremony. His forelock is reversed, as a sign of submission to his fate, and to assist the executioner, who, as soon as his master goes through the form of disembowelling himself with the knife on the stand, will, with one blow of his razor-edged sword, complete the sacrifice by decapitation. Only the two chief commissioners appointed by the Tycoon, and the sorely-tasked supporters of the victim, remain to witness the last act of the drama. The rest of the party await its completion in the adjoining compartment of the enclosure, which is expressly constructed for that purpose. The funeral procession, which is the subject of the next scene, is accompanied by all the pomp indicative of the high position of the deceased. The mourners wear robes of white cloth, and all the feudal paraphernalia are draped with the same material; which, as before mentioned, is used in Japanese mourning. The coffin is carried near the head of the procession; it is a square box of resinous wood, covered over with white, and the body is placed in it in a sitting posture. [Illustration: THE SACRIFICE.] [Illustration: A DAIMIO'S FUNERAL.] [Illustration: CREMATION OF THE BODY.] [Illustration: RELATIVES COLLECTING ASHES.] All the members of the family attend the funeral, either on foot or in norimons. If the wife and the heir be absent in Yeddo, they are represented by the nearest relations. In this instance both are present, from which it may be inferred that the sacrificial act has taken place in the neighbourhood of Yeddo. Although the Japanese sometimes bury their dead, they generally practise cremation. Repulsive as this custom is to European ideas, it must be remembered that the Japanese are not singular in preferring it, as several of the most civilised nations of antiquity considered it the most honourable mode of disposing of the bodies of the dead. While the body is being reduced to ashes the priests tell their beads and chant prayers for the soul of the departed, as the followers of almost every religious sect in Japan believe in a state of purgatory. The last scene shows the wife and son of the victim of the 'Hara Kiru' collecting his ashes and depositing them in an earthenware jar. This is afterwards sealed down and conveyed to the cemetery, or temple, which contains the remains of his ancestors. Some of the Japanese cemeteries are very extensive; and they are generally situated in secluded, picturesque spots, in the neighbourhood of the towns and villages. The graves are small, round, cemented receptacles; just large enough to receive the jar containing the ashes. If the body is buried (which only happens when the deceased is friendless, or too poor to pay the expenses of cremation), the head is always placed pointing to the north. The tombstones are ordinarily about three feet high; and are either square or circular in shape, resting on square pedestals, in which small holes are cut to contain rice and water. The supplies of these are replenished from time to time, generally by the women of the family, lest the spirit of the deceased should revisit its grave and imagine itself neglected. Sometimes flowers are placed before the graves, and flowering sprigs of peach and plum are stuck in the ground about them. Like the Chinese, the Japanese burn joss-sticks to propitiate the deities in favour of their departed relatives; and the neighbourhood of a graveyard may generally he detected by the peculiar aromatic odour emitted during the burning of these. For some time after a funeral the relatives daily visit the tomb and intercede for the dead, holding their hands up in the attitude of prayer, and rubbing the palms together as they mutter their monotonous orisons. CHAPTER VII. NATIONAL GAMES AND AMUSEMENTS. Notwithstanding the industrious habits of the Japanese, they are great lovers of pleasure, and much addicted to sight-seeing; theatres and wax-work exhibitions are very numerous, and jugglers, top-spinners, and tumblers, are regular _habitués_ of the streets. Though they do not allow pleasure to come before business, they do not hesitate to associate it with religious observances; and on solemn festival occasions, the vicinity of even the most sacred temples is occupied by a variety of shows and common stalls, for the sale of sweetmeats, toys, and coloured pictures. Their principal athletic amusement is wrestling, which may he regarded as the national game of the country. It is very generally practised, and pairs of 'brawny fellows' are to be frequently met with of an evening in the outskirts of towns and villages, either crouched down in the preliminary attitude, which resembles that of angry fighting-cocks, or dragging one another to and fro like frogs struggling over a choice morsel. The game is necessarily a dragging and pulling one, its grand object being to force the opponent beyond a certain boundary. So popular is it, that in addition to public performers, who travel about the country exhibiting their prowess, the Daimios keep private bands: each district has some especial champion; and every Japanese a favourite '_smoo_' as they term the wrestlers, whose exploits are canvassed with an enthusiasm totally at variance with the stolid indifference which usually characterises the people, when any subject is broached that does not directly concern their ordinary vocations. The professional wrestlers are generally men of herculean proportions. From constant practice they attain a muscular development that would eclipse that of our prize-ring champions; but their paunchy figures and sluggish movements render any further comparison impossible, as they neither practise nor appreciate what we call training. Size and weight are prized more than activity in the limited arena to which their performances are confined: so, instead of walking down superabundant flesh, they endeavour to increase it, dieting themselves on rice and fish, which is far from productive of any Bantingite result. The illustration of the Great Wrestling Amphitheatre at Yeddo conveys a fair idea of the estimation in which athletic games are held by the Japanese. The enclosure is capable of containing several thousand spectators, and is always filled when a match of importance takes place. In the centre is the '_docho_,' or 'boundary-ring,' which is about eighteen feet in diameter. The game is generally decided by one or other of the combatants being forced against this boundary; for, although a fair throw counts, it rarely decides the mastery, as the great weight and the crouching position of the wrestlers necessitate dragging, pushing, and even carrying; and the tenacity of their grasp is such, that any other results are almost impossible. The price of admission to these exhibitions is very low; and, like everything else of a public nature, is regulated by the government Officials are appointed to superintend the arrangements, and to see that no accidents arise from overcrowding. For this purpose they are provided with a box that overlooks the whole building. The lofty scaffolding outside the enclosure is a time stage, from which the commencement and duration of each match are intimated to the audience by a certain number of strokes on the drum that surmounts it. [Illustration: PUBLIC WRESTLING IN THE GREAT AMPHITHEATRE AT VEDDO.] Before each wrestling-match commences, the 'geogee,' or 'judge,' who superintends it, shouts out the names and exploits of the contenders, who, after kowtowing very ceremoniously to one another, rise to the preliminary attitude. At a signal from the judge the combatants commence. At first they move cautiously about the centre of the ring, watching a favourable opportunity to close, which they presently do with deep guttural exclamations. Then great working of muscle and tugging and straining follow, the spectators cheering on their respective favourites, until the fall of the geogee's fan--which is the moment depicted by the artist--proclaims the victor. Thundering plaudits greet the hero of the occasion, who presently strolls about among the assembled multitude, attended by his 'coegi,' or 'servant,' who collects the offerings with which they liberally reward his exertions. When money fails, articles of clothing are frequently bestowed--and sometimes too freely, as it is by no means unusual for both sexes to half denude themselves at these exhibitions; and it is a favourite joke with the women to send their male friends to redeem the articles from the wrestler. Although fencing is a military exercise, it is so commonly practised by the Japanese 'yaconinierie,' or 'soldiery,' who comprise a large portion of the population, and is entered into by them in so spirited a manner, that it deserves to be classed as an amusement. [Illustration: Yaconins fencing.] The woodcut is a very faithful representation of yaconins fencing. The masks cover the whole of the head; and the arms, breast, and hips, are protected by cuirass, petticoat, &c. of leather ribbed with bamboo. The fencing sticks are of the same length as the 'obi-todee-auf-catana,' or 'great fighting-sword.' They are made of split canes, bound tightly together, and are used with both hands. The Japanese fence well, and deliver their points with great precision, especially an awkward downward thrust at the breast. They deliver their cuts and points with fierce guttural exclamations, which are peculiarly disagreeable to European ears; especially when the listener is located in the vicinity of a guard-house, whose occupants notify their employment at daybreak with such cries as 'Hie-e! Ah-h! Atturah-h!' ('That's at! that's into you!') and continue this information, accompanied by the clashing of their sticks, and occasional chuckles, until late in the afternoon. The Japanese are great frequenters of the theatres, of the interior of one of which the illustration is a very good representation--the exterior is generally very like that of the temples; and in some, the ground-floor is laid out with miniature lakes and bridges, the audience looking down on the performance from lateral and opposite galleries. The stage is a little smaller than ours, but sometimes has a promenade through the centre of the theatre, which facilitates by-play, to which the Japanese attach great importance. The body of the house is divided into boxes, which are generally taken by family parties, who bring their provisions with them and remain all day, as the performances begin about 10 A.M. and last until late in the evening. Their plays are very tedious, although enlivened by a good deal of smart _repartée_ and telling jokes, but the morality even of the most correct is very questionable. Love, of course, is the prevailing feature; and the adventures of the principal heroes contain enough bloodshed and murder to satisfy the most ardent admirer of sensation dramas. In their hand-to-hand encounters they cut and slash at one another with naked swords, which they manage very skilfully, never permitting the blades to come into contact. The female parts are performed by boys and young men, who, with the assistance of paint and powder, make admirable substitutes for women, though singing and dancing-girls are frequently introduced as divertissements. [Illustration: INTERIOR OF A THEATRE.] [Illustration: Getting ready to go to the Theatre.] Kite-flying is also a favourite amusement; and old age and childhood may frequently be seen side-by-side, tugging at soaring monsters, in the construction of which great ingenuity is displayed. The Japanese often play with cards, which are about a quarter of the size of ours; and they are much given to gambling, although it is strictly prohibited, and, when detected, severely punished. But the most popular in-door game is & sort of combination of draughts and chess, which frequently engrosses the players for hours at a time. CHAPTER VIII. CRIMES AND PUNISHMENTS. Crimes against property are rare in Japan, which is owing to the high-spirited and honourable feelings that actuate all classes of the community; but from the feudal nature of the government, the small value attached to life, and the deadly weapons constantly carried, by the military classes, who are notoriously proud and revengeful, crimes against the person are very frequent. A great check upon criminal offences is the severity of the punishments inflicted, and the disgrace entailed upon the culprit's family. Although the laws are extremely severe, and in their administration there is neither jury nor counsel, justice is delivered with great impartiality; and the judge, who is generally the governor of the town or district in which the offence has been committed, is entrusted with considerable discretionary power. When a prisoner is being examined his arms are bound to his sides by a rope, which also passes round his neck, the end of which is held by an official, who, if his charge prove unruly, manages him by pulls and jerks. 'Thrashemono,' or 'public exposure,' is associated with all Japanese punishments, and is said to be in itself a great preventive of crime, as the spirited Japanese dread being held up to the reprobation of their acquaintance more than they fear the extreme penalty of the law. [Illustration: MODE OF CONDUCTING A CRIMINAL TO EXECUTION.] The illustration, showing the mode of conducting a criminal to execution, is an instance of 'thrashemono.' The culprit is bound on a horse, and is preceded by a placard, borne by his relatives or neighbours, and indicating his crime. In this manner he is conducted through the town to the place of execution, where his sentence is read to him. He is then placed (with his limbs still bound) over a freshly-dug hole, where he is supported by his relatives till the executioner's sword performs its task. After execution, the heads of malefactors are generally exposed: that of Simono Sedgi (the lonin who was decapitated in the presence of the British garrison of Yokohama, for being the organizer of the assassination of Major Baldwin and Lieutenant Bird of Her Majesty's 20th Regiment) was exhibited on the public stand at the guard-house at the entrance of the town. This man was a fair specimen of the lonin type, and was a most determined ruffian, whose whole life had been a career of crime. When exposed in the streets of Yokohama the day preceding his execution, he conducted himself with great bravado, remarking on the improvements in the town since he last visited it, and expressing his regret that he had not killed a consul. At the place of execution he made an impassioned speech, in which he declared that he was a gentleman by birth, and had studied the arts and sciences, and never believed the government would sacrifice a Japanese for the death of a foreigner. He said that the days would come when they would repent the encouragement they were now giving to strangers; and ended by complimenting the executioner on his well-known skill. The lonin differs from the ordinary criminal, and is thus ably described by the highest authority on Japanese matters:[4]-- 'As a noble or head of a house is responsible for all who are of his family, or claim his protection, when any of his people are resolved upon a desperate enterprise they formally renounce the protection and declare themselves "lonins;"--in other words, outlaws, or friendless men: after which no one is responsible for their acts, and this is considered a highly honourable and proper thing to do. [Footnote 4: Sir Rutherford Alcock. See 'Capital of the Tycoon.'] The worst of this system is, that any one harbouring or assisting a lonin endangers his head; and such men are, therefore, compelled to resort to robbery and extortion as means of supporting themselves. It generally happens that this legalised method of taking the law into their own hands drives those who avail themselves of it into a series of crimes, and frequently they become the associates of common thieves. Of the gang represented in the illustration as robbing a rich merchant's house, one or two probably are lonins, the rest being thieves in disguise. The servants, kowtowing before two men, whose naked swords plainly intimate the consequences of any attempt to give alarm, or to offer resistance to their demands, have apparently been collecting all the money in the house and are laying it before the thieves. The oblong boxes are iron safes, in which the Japanese keep their money. From the position of the other members of the gang, it is evident that they have not got all they require, and are watching something going on in the interior of the house. They have probably learnt that the merchant has to forward some money for the purchase of goods by a certain date, and know exactly how much to expect. In the spring of 1865 the Tycoon, in levying a tax on the Yeddo merchants, congratulated them on the fact that the portion of the country under his immediate control was exempt from the depredations of lonins; but notwithstanding this statement, a robbery of the nature described took place in the capital immediately after the issue of the Tycoon's manifesto, and a lonin concerned in it gave as an excuse for his conduct, that he had learnt that the money was intended for foreigners, who were settled in the country in opposition to the laws of Gongen Sama, which had never been revoked. With such dread are these men regarded by the non-combatant classes, that it frequently happens that one or two will go into a village and extort what they require without the slightest resistance being offered. [Illustration: LONINS, OR OUTLAWS, ROBBING A RICH MERCHANT'S HOUSE.] [Illustration: EXPOSURE FOR INFIDELITY.] As a rule, Japanese punishments resemble those inflicted by the Chinese, and seem to be based on the Mosaic principle of 'an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.' Arson, for instance, is punished at the stake; and a thief who endeavours to conceal the results of his robberies by burying them, has the disadvantages of that mode of concealment impressed upon him, by being himself embedded for a day or two in the ground, with only his head out--a mode of instruction that rarely requires a repetition of the lesson. _Apropos_ of this punishment is the testimony of an eye-witness, who, in passing the public execution place at Yeddo, noticed a head on the ground, which he supposed to have been recently struck off. He had turned away with a shudder, when a laugh from the bystanders caused him to look again, when, to his great astonishment, the head was vigorously puffing at a pipe which the facetious executioner had a few moments before been smoking himself. The last illustration shows a man and woman undergoing public exposure for adultery--a crime which is rare in Japan and which is punished with great severity. With such detestation is it regarded, that, in addition to all legal cognizance, the husband is permitted, in certain instances, to avenge himself by taking the lives of the offenders upon the spot. The board on the right contains the official intimation of the crime. The curious instruments depicted in the woodcut are Japanese emblems of justice and are to be seen at all the guard-houses; they are used to catch runaway offenders or to pin a drunken yaconin against a wall or house, and so facilitate the task of disarming him without danger to the captors. [Illustration: Sodingarami, Satsumata, and Squobo.] Although the Japanese use torture to extract information from obstinate criminals, they employ all necessary caution to preserve life; and a doctor and responsible officer are always present when it is employed, as representatives of the respective claims of humanity and justice. A singular punishment, to which only the nobles of the country are liable, is secret banishment to the island of Fatzisiu, which is situated on the northern coast of the empire. It is small and barren, rising perpendicularly from the sea. The only communication with it is by means of a basket, which is lowered from an overhanging tree to the water, a distance of about fifty feet.[5] From this island there is no return, and the unhappy, incarcerated nobles, are compelled to support themselves by weaving silks, which are the most beautiful the country produces. A junk visits the island once a-year, when the silks are exchanged for provisions. [Footnote 5: In 1853 an English man-of-war visited this island, and two of the officers were hoisted up in the basket for the purpose of taking sights. One of them, who was my informant, describes it as a walled-in barren island, with no other mode of ingress or egress than that described.] CHAPTER IX. SUPERSTITIONS AND RELIGIOUS OBSERVANCES. The Sintoo faith and Buddhism are the prevalent religions of the Japanese. The teaching of the other sects is modelled more or less on the tenets inculcated by these two. Some, however, hold a philosophic doctrine, which recognises a Supreme Being but denies a future state, holding that happiness is only to be insured by a virtuous life. Sintooism may be regarded as the national religion of the country. It inculcates a high moral standard; and its chief personage is the Mikado, or spiritual emperor, who is considered to be a mediator between his subjects and the inhabitants of the other world. Every Sintoo has the image of a patron 'kami,' or 'saint,' enshrined in his house, to which he lays open his necessities and confesses his shortcomings, and by whose intercession with the Supreme Being he trusts at his death to be translated to the regions of the 'kamis,' as they designate their heaven. The wicked are supposed to be consigned to the abodes of the disembodied spirits, who are punished according to the nature of their crimes. For instance, saki merchants who have sold bad spirit are believed to be confined in stagnant pools; and murderers are supposed to haunt the graves of their victims, until the prayers of their relatives release them. Purity of life and body is the leading feature of the Sintoo faith. As an emblem of the natural purity of the soul, mirrors are hung up in the temples; and the more ignorant people (who in Japan, like every other country, are most influenced by superstitions) believe, as they look into the mirror, that the Supreme Being sees their past lives as easily as they do their own faces. The value attached to indulgences and charms is very great, and the sale of them contributes largely to the revenues of the Mikado. Charms are eagerly purchased by the lower orders, who carry them about their persons, and never let anybody touch them except themselves. At a tea-house at Kamakura, one of these charms was accidentally dropped by a lively little 'moosmie,' or 'girl,' who was waiting on a party of foreigners. One of them picked it up, and was on the point of opening the small box in which it is placed for safety when she discovered the loss, and made a desperate rush for its recovery. On finding the importance attached to it, the 'friske,' as she called it, was handed round the group as she eagerly darted after it; and on one of the party pretending to light a cigar with it she burst into tears, and was not to be pacified until it was restored. A religious observance of great importance with the Japanese is 'Osurasma,' or 'praying a soul out of purgatory,' as they wisely consider that even the most holy must have some small peccadilloes to answer for. This ceremony takes place in the seventh month after death: a white lamp is its emblem. This is hung up at the entrance of the mourners' houses, while they offer oblations and burn joss-sticks. Food is also prepared and laid out, in case the spirit of the departed, finding the journey to the regions of the 'kamis' a long and wearisome one, should need refreshment. No Japanese dreams of entering a friend's house while the white lamp is hung up, or of disturbing in any way the privacy of a family engaged in these solemn duties, as the spirits of the departed are firmly believed to revisit their former dwellings at such times, if they have not already entered into a state of bliss. [Illustration: SELLING INDULGENCES BY PUBLIC AUCTION.] [Illustration: PRAYING A SOUL OUT OF PURGATORY.] In one of their festivals they make pilgrimages at night to the graves of their friends, on which they place food and hang lamps. It is said they believe their ancestors to come from heaven to them on these occasions, and imagine that they return again in small boats, to which they attach lanterns, and which they place on the water at ebb-tide, on the evening of the last day of the festival, and eagerly watch, out of sight. An old fisherman, however, who was observed intently watching his frail bark floating out to sea, explained, on being questioned, that he whose lamp burnt longest caught most fish; and judging from the old man's solemn manner there was no doubt he had perfect faith in the truth of his statement. However gross their superstitions may he, there is no doubt that they affectionately revere the memory of their dead, and treat them with quite as much respect as the most civilised nation in Christendom. In battle the Japanese always carry off the fallen. At the bombardment of the Simono-seki forts, at the entrance of the Suwo-Nada, or 'Inland Sea,' in September 1864, Prince Choisiu's loss, according to one of his own officers, amounted to upwards of 500 killed and wounded; but all had been removed when the brigade of English, French, and Dutch, under the command of Colonel Suther, C.B., Royal Marines, took possession of the forts early next day. At the storming of a stockade (which was pluckily defended) by two battalions of Royal Marines and the light-armed companies of the British squadron, the Japanese were noticed carrying away their dead and wounded, and several were unfortunately shot while thus employed.[6] A few nights afterwards large fires were noticed in the interior, which were said to be the funeral pyres of those who had fallen in the defence of the forts and stockade. [Footnote 6: The whole of the operations, with the exception of the storming of the stockade, which took place late in the day after the French and Dutch had embarked, were under the personal superintendence of the English and French admirals.] The illustration representing the last offices, depicts a custom of Buddhist origin which is generally adopted by the Japanese. They believe that shaving the head of the dead propitiates the deities in their favour. It is also considered to be an emblem of sanctity, and the bonzes, or priests, always keep their heads clean-shaved. Even children intended for the priesthood, as well as certain religious societies of both sexes, are similarly distinguished. Odder-looking creatures than these bald-headed specimens of humanity can hardly be imagined. [Illustration: Itinerant Sweetmeat Vendor. (Native drawing.)] The itinerant sweetmeat vendor shown in the woodcut is a specimen of the class of Japanese most prone to superstition. The lantern he carries serves not only to light his way but to advertise his wares: it also bears his name, no Japanese of the lower orders being allowed to stroll about at night without a lantern so distinguished. [Illustration: SUDANGEE, OR LAST OFFICES.] CHAPTER X. ON THE TOKAIDO AND IN THE TEA-HOUSES. Extending over the whole empire of Japan, regular ferries connecting it with the different islands, is the 'Tokaido,' or 'Imperial High Road,' to which occasional reference has been made. Originally constructed at the instigation of a Tycoon of more than ordinary abilities, it has, from the constant care bestowed upon it for centuries (each Daimio being compelled to keep that portion of it which passes through his dominions in repair), become a broad and well-graduated highway. It is frequently sheltered by avenues of colossal pines, cryptomerias, and other lofty trees; and small plantations of the graceful bamboo are generally to be seen in the neighbourhood of the roadside houses. The scenery is sometimes very lovely: mountain-ranges are to be observed rising one above another, in that wild conglomeration peculiar to volcanic countries; and in the Island of Nipon the snowy cone of Fusiyama is almost always visible from the higher ground. The hilly country is thickly wooded; but terraces of fields are sometimes cut in the sides, where the formation of the ground permits. The lowlands and valleys are mostly covered with rich crops of cereals, which are watered by natural or artificial streams. As the Tokaido winds along the hill-tops, occasional glimpses of the sea meet the eye, often with a series of headlands jutting one beyond another into it, and distant islands dotting the horizon. By the wayside many rare and beautiful ferns are to be seen; and in their seasons, the large white lilies of the country, hydrangeas, violets, orchids, and an endless variety of wild flowers. [Illustration: Carpenters at work. (Native drawing.)] Along this beautiful road are constantly passing Daimios and their hosts of retainers, trains of travellers and pilgrims, and a large portion of the island traffic of the empire. As the Tokaido passes through most of the principal towns, the traveller has frequent opportunities of observing the various avocations of the people; for mechanics commonly work in front of their doors, as shown in the woodcut; and in fine weather, the sliding windows through which the Japanese enter their houses are always drawn back, leaving the interior and its occupants open to the road. The baker's shop opposite affords a good specimen of the wayside scenes, and conveys a fair idea of an ordinary Japanese house. It will be noticed that the puppies in the foreground, as well as the cat in the girl's arms, are very differently delineated; but such animals are the especial stumbling-blocks of the native artists, although they faithfully represent birds, fishes, and reptiles. With the exception of the Daimios on their state journeys (who, by the way, have regular halting-places at tea-houses officially set apart for their use), for the mass of the people to be seen on the Tokaido belong to the lower classes--the aristocracy considering it beneath their dignity to travel for pleasure, or to make pilgrimages. [Illustration: A BAKER'S SHOP.] [Illustration: A TEA-HOUSE MERRY-MAKING.] Naturally hardy and energetic, the Japanese seem thoroughly to enjoy travelling, which in fine weather has few drawbacks. It is true that the peremptory order, 'Chetanerio,' or 'Down upon your knees,' at the approach of one of their oligarchical rulers, would be objectionable to Europeans; but the Japanese are accustomed to this, and proceed with their journey after half-an-hour's detention without being in any way put out by it. [Illustration: Tea-house Girl waiting. (Native drawing.)] The numerous and pleasant tea-houses that skirt the Tokaido have a great deal to do with rendering travelling popular, A smiling welcome from the pretty waitresses employed at these places may always be anticipated by the weary wayfarers; and, however slight their requirements may be, they are certain to be promptly and courteously attended to. If the means of travellers do not permit them to resort to the tea-houses, there are sheds and stalls at intervals along the road, where they can obtain fruit or refreshments at a trifling cost. Some of the tea-houses in the vicinity of large towns are much frequented in the spring-time by pleasure-parties, on account of the beauty of their gardens. The chromo-lithograph opposite represents one of these parties, some of whom appear to have been indulging too freely in saki. The fellow dancing and waving the fan about is apparently addressing a love-song to the lady opposite, whose husband is evidently desirous of putting a stop to the flirtation. CHAPTER XI. THE SPY SYSTEM--THE BATH-HOUSE. There are two Japanese customs so diametrically opposed to English ideas, and so materially affecting the national character, that it is necessary to call special attention to them. The espionage system is perhaps the strangest, as every one in the country is subjected to it, from the Mikado and Tycoon, or spiritual and temporal emperors, to the humblest of the people. All offices of importance are double; that is to say, every governor of a town or district is associated with a vice-governor, who is an 'ometsky,' or 'spy,' upon him, and is in turn spied upon by others. In this way a constant check is kept upon the executive of the empire. In addition to this acknowledged system, government officials are frequently watched by secret spies, who, for aught they know, may be some apparently trusty friend: so that, even in the absence of their double, they can never be certain that they are free from supervision. In private life families spy on each other, for which purpose they are divided into coteries of five households, the heads of which are not only responsible for themselves, their families and servants, but also for the other members of the coterie; and any wrong-doing in one household must be immediately reported to the proper authorities, to secure the rest from sharing in the punishment of the offence. To such an extent is this system of responsibility carried, that a whole district sometimes suffers for the offence of one of its residents. In the towns where the streets are intersected with barriers a few hundred yards apart, which are always closed at night, the people living within these enclosures are often under the ban of the officials for some irregularity which has occurred within the limits. This constant espionage has, of course a very pernicious effect upon the character of the people, as it necessarily instils feelings of distrust and suspicion among near neighbours. Yet it is marvellous how well their social system works, and still more marvellous that the officials, who in public life practise every kind of deception and artifice, should be, and from all accounts deservedly so, distinguished in private life for their truthfulness, candour, and hospitality. The other notable peculiarity is the indiscriminate manner in which the sexes mingle in the public bath-houses. All Japanese perform their ablutions once or twice a-day; for which purpose the poorer classes resort to the bath-houses, which are generally open to the road or street. [Illustration: UYA, OR BATH-HOUSE.] Some bath-houses have the women's lavatory separate; and one of these is the subject of the illustration. This arrangement, however, is more for convenience than in compliance with the demands of modesty as is evidenced by the fact that a male attendant is supplying water; and that his presence is plainly a matter of perfect indifference to the women bathing, with their children, in his immediate vicinity. But it is in the common bath-room where this extraordinary feature of Japanese life unmistakeably presents itself. There men, women and children, perform their ablutions together, with all the apparent innocency of our first parents. The proceedings are conducted with perfect order and good-nature. The steaming occupants make way for one another with ball-room politeness; they laugh and chat over their tubs, discuss the public notices on the walls, or, maybe, saunter occasionally to the open door or window, to look at something which has attracted their attention, or to exchange greetings with a passing friend. All this is done with a freedom that speaks for itself of their utter unconsciousness of any impropriety in their conduct. Frequently a lady is assisted by her husband in the cleansing process; and this is not necessarily a matrimonial compliment, as regular bathing-men are employed for the convenience of those who require such attention. The favourite times for bathing are the middle of the day and the evening; but in the summer the bath-houses are always full. [Illustration: Going home from the Bath-house. (Native drawing.)] The _modus operandi_ is very simple. The bather, after duly depositing his straw shoes at the door and paying a few cash for admittance, at once proceeds to disrobe himself, placing his garments in an allotted compartment. He then secures a tub, which is filled with lukewarm water, and, squatting down before it, lathers himself with a vegetable, soapy material, which is sewn up in a small bag. At this stage of the proceeding he will probably enter into conversation with his neighbours, complacently rejoicing in his soapiness until the remonstrances of the bathing-house man, or of some would-be possessor of his tub, compel him to finish his ablutions. It would seem natural to conclude that such a system must have immoral effects, but the Japanese attribute no evil consequences to it. They say that, being accustomed to it from childhood, it only enables them to carry out those habits of cleanliness which distinguish alike their persons and their homes. It is amusing to notice the care taken by the Japanese to protect themselves from a second bath on returning from the bath-houses to their homes in rainy weather. The artisan with the umbrella (which bears his name and direction, by the way) is an instance of this. CHAPTER XII. LOVE OF FLOWERS. One of the many traits of the refinement which characterises all classes of Japanese is their passion for flowers, which the singularly rich and varied nature of the flora of the country, aided by the magnificent climate, enables them to cultivate with great success. Every Japanese has some knowledge of the art of gardening; and, however humble a house may be, it generally has a potted flower or dwarf tree about it: or, in the absence of that, a flowering branch of peach or cherry, placed in water. Regular professors teach the art of dwarfing, training, and grafting trees and plants, and of laying out miniature landscapes, into which artificial mountains and valleys are introduced, and very frequently lakes, studded with lilliputian fern-covered islands, around which gold and silver fish may be seen darting about; or, if the sun is hot, taking refuge under curious Japanese bridges, or the broad leaves of the lotus, which usually cover a portion of the surface--the only thing out of proportion, probably, in the details of the miniature landscape. The sitting-apartments in Japanese houses are generally situated at the sides or back; and either open upon flower-beds, grounds of the above description, or some kind of enclosure, shaded by peach or pear-trees, trained trellis-fashion overhead; or by cedars, with one solitary bough twisting fantastically over the ground, showing, in its unnatural contortions, the skill of the artist, the other branches having been lopped off, or stunted, to facilitate the growth and training of this one. Gardens for the sale of dwarf trees and flowers are also very common. Some are perfect _bijoux_. As a rule the varied collections of flowers, planted in coloured china pots, are arranged, with very agreeable effect, in tiers of shelves round the sides, and on stands about the gardens. Many of the dwarf trees, especially the maples, have great variety of foliage, the result of constant grafting. To such an extent is this practised, that it is rare to find pure botanical specimens in a Japanese garden. Plants are sometimes cultivated for their berries as well as for their variegated foliage. One very beautiful specimen, producing at the same time bright scarlet and yellow berries, is believed by many to have been obtained from cuttings of an exquisite shrub, which is said to be the principal ornament of the regions of the 'Kamis,' or Japanese heaven. Even the fern family undergoes a strange metamorphosis at the hands of Japanese gardeners. Some of the fronds are artificially variegated; and others, on reaching maturity, have a curious crumpled appearance. Again, the roots of certain small species are frequently twisted into curious devices, and hung up in grottoes, or shady corners. The effect of these, when the roots are partly concealed by the fresh young fronds, is very pretty. Nearly every fortnight a fresh flower comes into season, and is in great demand for the time; heavy prices being readily paid for fine specimens. The poorer classes commonly buy flowers from men who gain their livelihood by hawking them about the streets. They buy them not only to gratify their tastes, but as offerings to their Lares and Penates--patron 'Kamis;' or to decorate the tombs of departed relatives--a religious ceremony which is strictly observed. Flower-shows are often held in the large towns, and are much frequented by the people. [Illustration: A FLOWER SHOW.] The illustration represents a chrysanthemum show. These flowers are much esteemed by the Japanese, who pay more attention to size and brilliancy of colour than to perfume. The stone in the centre is called a 'skakeshe.' On it, poetry in praise of flowers is inscribed. This is a custom of very ancient origin, and poetical inscriptions on stones and rocks are to be often seen in public places. The piece of ornamental stonework is an 'ishedoro,' or 'stone lamp,' which is very common in gardens, and is much prized on account of the historical associations connected with it. The Japanese have many floral compliments. A very pretty one is intimated by a present of seeds (especially if presented to a foreigner returning to his own country), the purport being--'Plant these seeds about your home, and, when you see them growing, think of me.' [Illustration: Girl with Flowers.] As an instance of the influence which flowers have upon the Japanese character, the word 'hanna,' or flower, is commonly used as a term of endearment: it is usually applied by parents to a favourite daughter, or by a lover to his mistress; it is also used to distinguish the bride and the bridegroom, as 'hanna-yomie,' 'hanna-moko.' Floral love-tokens (although they only consist of a single sprig) are as much prized among the Japanese as among ourselves; and are, no doubt, sometimes "Treasured in their fading," as the Japanese are not only poetical, but much given to sentimental reflections. 
17387	----	images generously made available by The Kentuckiana Digital Library). Mr. Bamboo _and the_ Honorable Little God A Christmas Story _Fannie C. Macaulay_ _Author of "The Lady of The Decoration"_ _By Courtesy of_ _The Century Publishing Company_ _to_ _Louisville Kindergarten Alumnae Club_ MR. BAMBOO AND THE HONORABLE LITTLE GOD During sundry long and lonely evenings in a Japanese mission school, a young native teacher sought to while away the hours for a homesick exile. She was girlish and fair, with the soft voice and gentle, indescribable charm characteristic of the women of her race. Her tales were of the kindergarten, happenings in her life and the lives of others, and I have sought to set them down as she told them to me in her quaint, broken English. But they miss the earnest eyes and dramatic gestures of the little story-teller as she sat in the glow of the hibachi fire, with a background of paper doors, with shadow pictures of pine-trees and bamboo etched by the moonlight, the far-off song of a nightingale, and the air sweet with incense from nearby shrines. He wear name of Tãke Nishimura, which in English say' Mr. Bamboo of the West Village. He most funny little boy in my kindergarten class. But he have such sweet heart. It all time speaking out nice thoughtfuls through his big round eyes, which no seem like Japanese eyes of long and narrow. His so much slim of body make him look like baby. But his mama say' he been here four years. She nice lady and loving mother. One more thing why that child's most funny small enfant. He have papa who is great general of war, with big spirit. Tãke Chan fixed idea in his head he's just same kind big warrior man. He use same walk and the same command of speak. This time I relate you about was most Christmas-time. I tell story to children of long time ago, when big star say to all worlds Christ baby lay in manger, and I say soon we celebrate joyful day in kindergarten. That little Tãke Chan never hear 'bout it before, and he get look in his face same as John boy in picture what always have crooked stick in his hand, and he speak this word: "A new God? Will He be our guest on feast-day?" We learn song 'bout star and cradle and 'gain he speak his thought. He say: "What is cradle, Sensei? I know 'bout star. Every night at my honorable home I open shoji to see old priest strike bell and make him sing. Then I see big star hang out light over topmost of mountain." One more time he say, like thinking to himself: "Cradle. Maybe him shrine for new God of foreign country." I know English for long time, but Japanese childs never know cradle. It have not come to this land. Christmas-story was telled many times, for children like to hear about it. When I say this time, on that day we get pine-tree and dress him up with many gifts, Tãke Chan clap his hands and say: "Banzai! We make offering of tree to new God." Sometimes many troubles press my mind how I make childs know much difference of real God, which he never see, and those wooden-stones we see all time with burning of lights before them and leaves of bamboo and pine. We work very hard all days before morning of Christmas-tree, but not one child in whole class could make things such fast as Tãke Chan. His hands so small they look 'most like bird-foots hopping round quick in flower garden when he construct ornaments of bright color. Sometimes he have look of tired in his face, and bad coughs take his throat. For which, if I did not know 'bout Christmas-story and all other many things like that, I would have a thought that fox spirit was industrious to enter his body. Then I mention, "Go play in garden", for I know well how he have like of play in lovely garden of his home, where, with body of bare, he race big dragon-flies what paint the summer air all gold and blue. But Tãke Chan makes the laughs for me when looks so firmly and say: "No. I have the busy to make ready for honorable guest coming on feast-day of Christman." All times he not singing he talk 'bout what big welcome we give to new God. Ah, that little boy! I can no' make him have the right understand'; but he walk right into my heart, and give me the joyful of love and much sad. No, I never forget that Christmas day. It makes of my mind a canvas and paints pictures on it what will never wash away nor burn. In morning, sun 'most so slow climbing over mountain as snail creeping up Fuji. He get big surprise when his eye come into kindergarten window and find me very busy for a long time. All teachers have many works, and very soon they turn their playroom into lovely feast-place. Paper flowers and ornaments which childrens build with hands, and red berries they bring from forest, have expression same as growing from walls and windows. Same thought as all teachers to give the happy to glad Christmas-day. Many Japanese childs is just getting news of this birthday. Quick we put piano where it can sing best, chairs all in circle. Big spot in middle for tree, which comes at very last from that other room. While I work postman bring long box from foreign country, which one teacher open. It had gift for kindergarten. It was such beautiful thing. Many childrens never see same as this before. All teachers give quick decide to make secret of present, and put on Christmas-tree as big surprise. In very middle of most happy time by opening box, idea arrive in my mind. Wonder if those coughs permission Tãke Chan to come kindergarten that day? One desire knock very loud at my heart for that little Bamboo boy to know rightly 'bout Christ-child. I know for surely. Once I go to foreign country, and my life have experience of seventeen. But Japanese child of now must see God and everything. Then glad thought come. If Tãke Chan do not make absence this day, his own eye will tell him trulier than stiff speech of tongue that cradle is not shrine, and Christ child not blazon image of wooden stone, but great spirit of invisible which have much love for childrens. I learn those words out of book, but meaning come out my own heart, which I have the difficult to give childs. Beginning time for morning march grow very near. Him not come, and the anxious so restless my body I run to big gate and view round and up. Narrow street which walk by kindergarten house most lovely picture than all other countries of universe. It have many trimmings of flags and banners for greeting soon coming of New-Year. Even old plum-trees have happy to break pink flowers out full, and lay on gray roof to look at bright sun. The big love of my heart for this Japanese country make me so delightful I have little forget 'bout late of Tãke Chan till I hear spank of many feet on hard earth. I look, and see one of those pictures which never melt off my mind. That sound of feet belong' to soldiers company, and so quick they stop in long line and hold all hands to hat for salute, I think maybe Oyama San coming. I give piercing look, and my eyes see marching straight by those big mens a speck of blue all trimmed with gold braid. It was Tãke Chan. Same war clothes as his papa, even same number stripes on his sleeve, and twelve inch' of sword on his side, which make song on heel of shoe when they walk. Father's two soldiers servants walk close behind Tãke Chan, and in smiles. Everybody know that little boy, and everybody love his earnest. I have several feelings when he walk up to me and say: "New guest have he come? I make ready to welcome with new clothes." Ah, me! I have the yearn to convey the right understand'; but he look so glad to give the welcome, and his war clothes so grand, the feeble fell on my heart. I not give correction. One servant say: "Last night Tãke Chan very sick with evil spirit cough. Mama say rest at home, but he say this great feast-day for new God. He must for certain come and offer pine-tree and have song and march." I hurry away with Tãke Chan, and take seat on circle of kindergarten room. A feel of anxious press' hard. First we have grand parade, and that little soldier boy in blue in front of all children have atmosphere same he was marching before emperor. My keen of eye see all time he have fight with swallow in his throat. After march come song 'bout cradle and star, but big cough catch Tãke Chan in middle, and when the strangle had left and tears of hot had wipe way, he heard childrens saying amen to prayer. His red lip have little shake, for he have great pride to say that prayer faster than any childs. He have hospitable of soul, too. But Tãke Chan son of great general of war, and he never cry, even though much disappoint' come to his mind. I was hunting speech to give him the comfort of heart when children give sound with mouth like storm breeze hurrying through leaves. I look. Where door of other room always lived was most beautiful Christmas-tree of any world, all light with flaming candles and gold and silver balls. On very tip-most top the lovely big surprise from foreign country. It wore dress of spangly stars and white. Big brown eyes and hair like rice-straw when sun shines through it. It held out welcome arms. Every move of tree give sway to body. I know trulier, but surely, it have look of real life. Teacher rolled tree to middle of room in bare spot, which made glad to have it. Children laughed and clapped hands happy of that day, and call' many funny sayings. I forget the anxious in my happy of that day, and turn with glad eye on Tãke Chan. Bamboo boy. Never I see such wonderful thing as the glory. First he see only it, and give low tight whisper, "The Offering." His eye fly to tip of top. He lean' way over like his body break with eager. Joyful speech come with long sigh, "Ah--the guest he is come!" For one minute room very still, and just same as fairy give him enchantment Tãke Chan rose from floor till he come right under tree. Other childrens make such merries. They have thought it play. But all sounds and peoples passes away from my vision. Nothing left but picture of one small blue soldier looking up through blazon flames of Christmas-tree to shining thing above. His cheeks so full of red with fighting cough, eyes so bright with wet of tears, he fold his hands for prayer, and soft like pigeon talking with mate he speak: "O most Honorable Little God! How splendid! You are real; come live with me. In my garden I am a soldier; I'll show you the dragon-flies and the river. Please will you come?" My heart have pause of beat. I think fever give Tãke Chan's mind delirious. Quick I uncement my feet from floor to go to him. "Tahke Chan," I say with lovely voice, "that is not a God nor even image. Listen: it's only a big foreign doll which postman bring this morning as great surprise from America. Teacher put it up high so all childs could see it. Look what kindergarten give you--most beautiful kite, like dragon-fly you love more better. Come rest in your chair. We sing." Ah, that little play soldier! Door of his ear all shut to my every speak of love. He just stand with eyes uplift' and plead: "Please come play with me. I know your song 'bout cradle and star. And I can march. See." But his body rock from each side to other. Then I press my arms round and whisper with much tender: "I bring doll home with you." He look 'way up high on Christmas-tree, then he leave his conscious in kindergarten room. Me and two soldier servants convey Tãke Chan and foreign doll to his home. I stay in honorable house with them. One day go by, and 'nother night come. Sick boy's mama have look of ivory lady as she rest her tired, and maid girl make tea. I watch by side of bed on floor. Big ache in heart clutch' me when I look round room and see blue soldier's suit hang' near. It have look of empty and lonely, dragon-fly kite in corner have broken wing. But when I bring gaze back Tãke Chan, loveliest sight of all visit me. That little child reach out and find hand of foreign doll. He hold very tight, and give it look of love. Such heaven light come on his face! I suspend my breath and listen to his low speech which come in broken pieces: "You are my Tomidachi. Do not go; I soon be well I come play in your garden. Dragon-flies--cradle--star--Ah, Little God--you grow so big!" Something made me open shoji quick. Old priest make bell sing. Lovely star hangs its light over mountain. All things have great stillness. Not even leaf tremble in white moonlight. Strange feel hold me. Then I know Tãke Chan have gone to play in Christ-child's garden. Ah, me! Tears of my heart are many for that little Bamboo. But I have the joyful too; Now he have the right understand'. 
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15320	----	Proofreading Team. Transcriber's Note: Phonetic characters are represented by the following symbols: [=x] = any letter "x" with superior macron SHORT STORY THE ROMANCE OF THE MILKY WAY AND OTHER STUDIES & STORIES BY LAFCADIO HEARN HOUGHTON MIFFLIN AND COMPANY BOSTON AND NEW YORK 1905 COPYRIGHT 1905 BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN & COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED PUBLISHED OCTOBER 1905 CONTENTS THE ROMANCE OF THE MILKY WAY 1 GOBLIN POETRY 51 "ULTIMATE QUESTIONS" 103 THE MIRROR MAIDEN 125 THE STORY OF IT[=O] NORISUKÉ 139 STRANGER THAN FICTION 167 A LETTER FROM JAPAN 179 INTRODUCTION Lafcadio Hearn, known to Nippon as Yakumo Koizumi, was born in Leucadia in the Ionian Islands, June 27, 1850. His father was an Irish surgeon in the British Army; his mother was a Greek. Both parents died while Hearn was still a child, and he was adopted by a great-aunt, and educated for the priesthood. To this training he owed his Latin scholarship and, doubtless, something of the subtlety of his intelligence. He soon found, however, that the prospect of an ecclesiastical career was alien from his inquiring mind and vivid temperament, and at the age of nineteen he came to America to seek his fortune. After working for a time as a proof-reader, he obtained employment as a newspaper reporter in Cincinnati. Soon he rose to be an editorial writer, and went in the course of a few years to New Orleans to join the editorial staff of the "Times-Democrat." Here he lived until 1887, writing odd fantasies and arabesques for his paper, contributing articles and sketches to the magazines, and publishing several curious little books, among them his "Stray Leaves from Strange Literature," and his translations from Gautier. In the winter of 1887 he began his pilgrimages to exotic countries, being, as he wrote to a friend, "a small literary bee in search of inspiring honey." After a couple of years, spent chiefly in the French West Indies, with periods of literary work in New York, he went in 1890 to Japan to prepare a series of articles for a magazine. Here through some deep affinity of mood with the marvelous people of that country he seems suddenly to have felt himself at last at home. He married a Japanese woman; he acquired Japanese citizenship in order to preserve the succession of his property to his family there; he became a lecturer in the Imperial University at T[=o]ky[=o]; and in a series of remarkable books he made himself the interpreter to the Western World of the very spirit of Japanese life and art. He died there of paralysis of the heart on the 26th of September, 1904. * * * * * With the exception of a body of familiar letters now in process of collection, the present volume contains all of Hearn's writing that he left uncollected in the magazines or in manuscript of a sufficient ripeness for publication. It is worth noting, however, that perfect as is the writing of "Ultimate Questions," and complete as the essay is in itself, the author regarded it as unfinished, and, had he lived, would have revised and amplified some portions of it. But if this volume lacks the incomparably exquisite touch of its author in its arrangement and revision, it does, nevertheless, present him in all of his most characteristic veins, and it is in respect both to style and to substance perhaps the most mature and significant of his works. In his first days as a writer Hearn had conceived an ideal of his art as specific as it was ambitious. Early in the eighties he wrote from New Orleans in an unpublished letter to the Rev. Wayland D. Ball of Washington: "The lovers of antique loveliness are proving to me the future possibilities of a long cherished dream,--the English realization of a Latin style, modeled upon foreign masters, and rendered even more forcible by that element of _strength_ which is the characteristic of Northern tongues. This no man can hope to accomplish, but even a translator may carry his stones to the master-masons of a new architecture of language." In the realization of his ideal Hearn took unremitting pains. He gave a minute and analytical study to the writings of such masters of style as Flaubert and Gautier, and he chose his miscellaneous reading with a peculiar care. He wrote again to the same friend: "I never read a book which does not powerfully impress the imagination; but whatever contains novel, curious, potent imagery I always read, no matter what the subject. When the soil of fancy is really well enriched with innumerable fallen leaves, the flowers of language grow spontaneously." Finally, to the hard study of technique, to vast but judicious reading, he added a long, creative brooding time. To a Japanese friend, Nobushige Amenomori, he wrote in a passage which contains by implication a deep theory not only of literary composition, but of all art:-- "Now with regard to your own sketch or story. If you are quite dissatisfied with it, I think this is probably due _not_ to what you suppose,--imperfection of expression,--but rather to the fact that some _latent_ thought or emotion has not yet defined itself in your mind with sufficient sharpness. You feel something and have not been able to express the feeling--only because you do not yet quite know what it is. We feel without understanding feeling; and our most powerful emotions are the most undefinable. This must be so, because they are inherited accumulations of feeling, and the multiplicity of them--superimposed one over another--blurs them, and makes them dim, even though enormously increasing their strength.... _Unconscious_ brain work is the best to develop such latent feeling or thought. By quietly writing the thing over and over again, I find that the emotion or idea often _develops itself_ in the process,--unconsciously. Again, it is often worth while to _try_ to analyze the feeling that remains dim. The effort of trying to understand exactly what it is that moves us sometimes proves successful.... If you have any feeling--no matter what--strongly latent in the mind (even only a haunting sadness or a mysterious joy), you may be sure that it is expressible. Some feelings are, of course, very difficult to develop. I shall show you one of these days, when we see each other, a page that I worked at for _months_ before the idea came clearly.... When the best result comes, it ought to surprise you, for our best work is out of the Unconscious." Through this study, reading, and brooding Lafcadio Hearn's prose ripened and mellowed consistently to the end. In mere workmanship the present volume is one of his most admirable, while in its heightened passages, like the final paragraph of "The Romance of the Milky Way," the rich, melancholy music, the profound suggestion, are not easily matched from any but the very greatest English prose. In substance the volume is equally significant. In 1884 he wrote to one of the closest of his friends that he had at last found his feet intellectually through the reading of Herbert Spencer which had dispelled all "isms" from his mind and left him "the vague but omnipotent consolation of the Great Doubt." And in "Ultimate Questions," which strikes, so to say, the dominant chord of this volume, we have an almost lyrical expression of the meaning for him of the Spencerian philosophy and psychology. In it is his characteristic mingling of Buddhist and Shinto thought with English and French psychology, strains which in his work "do not simply mix well," as he says in one of his letters, but "absolutely unite, like chemical elements--rush together with a shock;"--and in it he strikes his deepest note. In his steady envisagement of the horror that envelops the stupendous universe of science, in his power to evoke and revive old myths and superstitions, and by their glamour to cast a ghostly light of vanished suns over the darkness of the abyss, he was the most Lucretian of modern writers. * * * * * In outward appearance Hearn, the man, was in no way prepossessing. In the sharply lined picture of him drawn by one of his Japanese comrades in the "Atlantic" for October, 1905, he appears, "slightly corpulent in later years, short in stature, hardly five feet high, of somewhat stooping gait. A little brownish in complexion, and of rather hairy skin. A thin, sharp, aquiline nose, large protruding eyes, of which the left was blind and the right very near-sighted." The same writer, Nobushige Amenomori, has set down a reminiscence, not of Hearn the man, but of Hearn the genius, wherewith this introduction to the last of his writings may fitly conclude: "I shall ever retain the vivid remembrance of the sight I had when I stayed over night at his house for the first time. Being used myself also to sit up late, I read in bed that night. The clock struck one in the morning, but there was a light in Hearn's study. I heard some low, hoarse coughing. I was afraid my friend might be ill; so I stepped out of my room and went to his study. Not wanting, however, to disturb him, if he was at work, I cautiously opened the door just a little, and peeped in. I saw my friend intent in writing at his high desk, with his nose almost touching the paper. Leaf after leaf he wrote on. In a while he held up his head, and what did I see! It was not the Hearn I was familiar with; it was another Hearn. His face was mysteriously white; his large eye gleamed. He appeared like one in touch with some unearthly presence. "Within that homely looking man there burned something pure as the vestal fire, and in that flame dwelt a mind that called forth life and poetry out of dust, and grasped the highest themes of human thought." F.G. September, 1905. THE ROMANCE, OF THE MILKY WAY Of old it was said: 'The River of Heaven is the Ghost of Waters.' We behold it shifting its bed in the course of the year as an earthly river sometimes does. _Ancient Scholar_ Among the many charming festivals celebrated by Old Japan, the most romantic was the festival of Tanabata-Sama, the Weaving-Lady of the Milky Way. In the chief cities her holiday is now little observed; and in T[=o]ky[=o] it is almost forgotten. But in many country districts, and even in villages, near the capital, it is still celebrated in a small way. If you happen to visit an old-fashioned country town or village, on the seventh day of the seventh month (by the ancient calendar), you will probably notice many freshly-cut bamboos fixed upon the roofs of the houses, or planted in the ground beside them, every bamboo having attached to it a number of strips of colored paper. In some very poor villages you might find that these papers are white, or of one color only; but the general rule is that the papers should be of five or seven different colors. Blue, green, red, yellow, and white are the tints commonly displayed. All these papers are inscribed with short poems written in praise of Tanabata and her husband Hikoboshi. After the festival the bamboos are taken down and thrown into the nearest stream, together with the poems attached to them. * * * * * To understand the romance of this old festival, you must know the legend of those astral divinities to whom offerings used to be made, even by, the Imperial Household, on the seventh day of the seventh month. The legend is Chinese. This is the Japanese popular version of it:-- The great god of the firmament had a lovely daughter, Tanabata-tsumé, who passed her days in weaving garments for her august parent. She rejoiced in her work, and thought that there was no greater pleasure than the pleasure of weaving. But one day, as she sat before her loom at the door of her heavenly dwelling, she saw a handsome peasant lad pass by, leading an ox, and she fell in love with him. Her august father, divining her secret wish, gave her the youth for a husband. But the wedded lovers became too fond of each other, and neglected their duty to the god of the firmament; the sound of the shuttle was no longer heard, and the ox wandered, unheeded, over the plains of heaven. Therefore the great god was displeased, and he separated the pair. They were sentenced to live thereafter apart, with the Celestial River between them; but it was permitted them to see each other once a year, on the seventh night of the seventh moon. On that night--providing the skies be clear--the birds of heaven make, with their bodies and wings, a bridge over the stream; and by means of that bridge the lovers can meet. But if there be rain, the River of Heaven rises, and becomes so wide that the bridge cannot be formed. So the husband and wife cannot always meet, even on the seventh night of the seventh month; it may happen, by reason of bad weather, that they cannot meet for three or four years at a time. But their love remains immortally young and eternally patient; and they continue to fulfill their respective duties each day without fault,--happy in their hope of being able to meet on the seventh night of the next seventh month. * * * * * To ancient Chinese fancy, the Milky Way was a luminous river,--the River of Heaven,--the Silver Stream. It has been stated by Western writers that Tanabata, the Weaving-Lady, is a star in Lyra; and the Herdsman, her beloved, a star in Aquila, on the opposite side of the galaxy. But it were more correct to say that both are represented, to Far-Eastern imagination, by groups of stars. An old Japanese book puts the matter thus plainly: "Kengy[=u] (the Ox-Leader) is on the west side of the Heavenly River, and is represented by three stars in a row, and looks like a man leading an ox. Shokujo (the Weaving-Lady) is on the east side of the Heavenly River: three stars so placed as to appear like the figure of a woman seated at her loom.... The former presides over all things relating to agriculture; the latter, over all that relates to women's work." * * * * * In an old book called Zatsuwa-Shin, it is said that these deities were of earthly origin. Once in this world they were man and wife, and lived in China; and the husband was called Ishi, and the wife Hakuy[=o]. They especially and most devoutly reverenced the Moon. Every clear evening, after sundown, they waited with eagerness to see her rise. And when she began to sink towards the horizon, they would climb to the top of a hill near their house, so that they might be able to gaze upon her face as long as possible. Then, when she at last disappeared from view, they would mourn together. At the age of ninety and nine, the wife died; and her spirit rode up to heaven on a magpie, and there became a star. The husband, who was then one hundred and three years old, sought consolation for his bereavement in looking at the Moon and when he welcomed her rising and mourned her setting, it seemed to him as if his wife were still beside him. One summer night, Hakuy[=o]--now immortally beautiful and young--descended from heaven upon her magpie, to visit her husband; and he was made very happy by that visit. But from that time he could think of nothing but the bliss of becoming a star, and joining Hakuy[=o] beyond the River of Heaven. At last he also ascended to the sky, riding upon a crow; and there he became a star-god. But he could not join Hakuy[=o] at once, as he had hoped;--for between his allotted place and hers flowed the River of Heaven; and it was not permitted for either star to cross the stream, because the Master of Heaven (_Ten-Tei_) daily bathed in its waters. Moreover, there was no bridge. But on one day every year--the seventh day of the seventh month--they were allowed to see each other. The Master of Heaven goes always on that day to the Zenh[=o]do, to hear the preaching of the law of Buddha; and then the magpies and the crows make, with their hovering bodies and outspread wings, a bridge over the Celestial Stream; and Hakuy[=o] crosses that bridge to meet her husband. There can be little doubt that the Japanese festival called Tanabata was originally identical with the festival of the Chinese Weaving-Goddess, Tchi-Niu; the Japanese holiday seems to have been especially a woman's holiday, from the earliest times; and the characters with which the word Tanabata is written signify a weaving-girl. But as both of the star-deities were worshiped on the seventh of the seventh month, some Japanese scholars have not been satisfied with the common explanation of the name, and have stated that it was originally composed with the word _tané_ (seed, or grain), and the word _hata_ (loom). Those who accept this etymology make the appellation, Tanabata-Sama, plural instead of singular, and render it as "the deities of grain and of the loom,"--that is to say, those presiding over agriculture and weaving. In old Japanese pictures the star-gods are represented according to this conception of their respective attributes;--Hikoboshi being figured as a peasant lad leading an ox to drink of the Heavenly River, on the farther side of which Orihimé (Tanabata) appears, weaving at her loom. The garb of both is Chinese; and the first Japanese pictures of these divinities were probably copied from some Chinese original. In the oldest collection of Japanese poetry extant,--the Many[=o]sh[=u], dating from 760 A.D.,--the male divinity is usually called Hikoboshi, and the female Tanabata-tsumé; but in later times both have been called Tanabata. In Izumo the male deity is popularly termed O-Tanabata Sama, and the female Mé-Tanabata Sama. Both are still known by many names. The male is called Kaiboshi as well as Hikoboshi and Kengy[=u]; while the female is called Asagao-himé ("Morning Glory Princess")[1], Ito-ori-himé ("Thread-Weaving Princess"), Momoko-himé ("Peach-Child Princess"), Takimono-himé ("Incense Princess"), and Sasagani-himé ("Spider Princess"). Some of these names are difficult to explain,--especially the last, which reminds us of the Greek legend of Arachne. Probably the Greek myth and the Chinese story have nothing whatever in common; but in old Chinese books there is recorded a curious fact which might well suggest a relationship. In the time of the Chinese Emperor Ming Hwang (whom the Japanese call Gens[=o]), it was customary for the ladies of the court, on the seventh day of the seventh month, to catch spiders and put them into an incense-box for purposes of divination. On the morning of the eighth day the box was opened; and if the spiders had spun thick webs during the night the omen was good. But if they had remained idle the omen was bad. [Footnote 1: Asagao (lit., "morning-face") is the Japanese name for the beautiful climbing plant which we call "morning glory."] * * * * * There is a story that, many ages ago, a beautiful woman visited the dwelling of a farmer in the mountains of Izumo, and taught to the only daughter of the household an art of weaving never before known. One evening the beautiful stranger vanished away; and the people knew that they had seen the Weaving-Lady of Heaven. The daughter of the farmer became renowned for her skill in weaving. But she would never marry,--because she had been the companion of Tanabata-Sama. * * * * * Then there is a Chinese story--delightfully vague--about a man who once made a visit, unawares, to the Heavenly Land. He had observed that every year, during the eighth month, a raft of precious wood came floating to the shore on which he lived; and he wanted to know where that wood grew. So he loaded a boat with provisions for a two years' voyage, and sailed away in the direction from which the rafts used to drift. For months and months he sailed on, over an always placid sea; and at last he arrived at a pleasant shore, where wonderful trees were growing. He moored his boat, and proceeded alone into the unknown land, until he came to the bank of a river whose waters were bright as silver. On the opposite shore he saw a pavilion; and in the pavilion a beautiful woman sat weaving; she was white like moonshine, and made a radiance all about her. Presently he saw a handsome young peasant approaching, leading an ox to the water; and he asked the young peasant to tell him the name of the place and the country. But the youth seemed to be displeased by the question, and answered in a severe tone: "If you want to know the name of this place, go back to where you came from, and ask Gen-Kum-Pei."[2] So the voyager, feeling afraid, hastened to his boat, and returned to China. There he sought out the sage Gen-Kum-Pei, to whom he related the adventure. Gen-Kum-Pei clapped his hands for wonder, and exclaimed, "So it was you!... On the seventh day of the seventh month I was gazing at the heavens, and I saw that the Herdsman and the Weaver were about to meet;--but between them was a new Star, which I took to be a Guest-Star. Fortunate man! you have been to the River of Heaven, and have looked upon the face of the Weaving-Lady!..." [Footnote 2: This is the Japanese reading of the Chinese name.] * * * * * --It is said that the meeting of the Herdsman and the Weaver can be observed by any one with good eyes; for whenever it occurs those stars burn with five different colors. That is why offerings of five colors are made to the Tanabata divinities, and why the poems composed in their praise are written upon paper of five different tints. But, as I have said before, the pair can meet only in fair weather. If there be the least rain upon the seventh night, the River of Heaven will rise, and the lovers must wait another whole year. Therefore the rain that happens to fall on Tanabata night is called _Namida no Amé_, "The Rain of Tears." When the sky is clear on the seventh night, the lovers are fortunate; and their stars can be seen to sparkle with delight. If the star Kengy[=u] then shines very brightly, there will be great rice crops in the autumn. If the star Shokujo looks brighter than usual, there will be a prosperous time for weavers, and for every kind of female industry. * * * * * In old Japan it was generally supposed that the meeting of the pair signified good fortune to mortals. Even to-day, in many parts of the country, children sing a little song on the evening of the Tanabata festival,--_Tenki ni nari!_ ("O weather, be clear!") In the province of Iga the young folks also sing a jesting song at the supposed hour of the lovers' meeting:-- Tanabata ya! Amari isogaba, Korobubéshi![3] But in the province of Izumo, which is a very rainy district, the contrary belief prevails; and it is thought that if the sky be clear on the seventh day of the seventh month, misfortune will follow. The local explanation of this belief is that if the stars can meet, there will be born from their union many evil deities who will afflict the country with drought and other calamities. [Footnote 3: "Ho! Tanabata! if you hurry too much, you will tumble down!"] * * * * * The festival of Tanabata was first celebrated in Japan on the seventh day of the seventh month of Tomby[=o] Sh[=o]h[=o] (A.D. 755). Perhaps the Chinese origin of the Tanabata divinities accounts for the fact that their public worship was at no time represented by many temples. I have been able to find record of only one temple to them, called Tanabata-jinja, which was situated at a village called Hoshiaimura, in the province of Owari, and surrounded by a grove called Tanabata-mori.[4] [Footnote 4: There is no mention, however, of any such village in any modern directory.] Even before Temby[=o] Sh[=o]h[=o], however, the legend of the Weaving-Maiden seems to have been well known in Japan; for it is recorded that on the seventh night of the seventh year of Y[=o]r[=o] (A.D. 723) the poet Yamagami no Okura composed the song:-- Amanogawa, Ai-muki tachité, Waga koïshi Kimi kimasu nari-- Himo-toki makina![5] It would seem that the Tanabata festival was first established in Japan eleven hundred and fifty years ago, as an Imperial Court festival only, in accordance with Chinese precedent. Subsequently the nobility and the military classes everywhere followed imperial example; and the custom of celebrating the Hoshi-mat-suri, or Star-Festival,--as it was popularly called,--spread gradually downwards, until at last the seventh day of the seventh month became, in the full sense of the term, a national holiday. But the fashion of its observance varied considerably at different eras and in different provinces. [Footnote 5: For a translation and explanation of this song, see _infra_, page 30.] The ceremonies at the Imperial Court were of the most elaborate character: a full account of them is given in the _K[=o]ji Kongen_,--with explanatory illustrations. On the evening of the seventh day of the seventh month, mattings were laid down on the east side of that portion of the Imperial Palace called the Seir-y[=o]den; and upon these mattings were placed four tables of offerings to the Star-deities. Besides the customary food-offerings, there were placed upon these tables rice-wine, incense, vases of red lacquer containing flowers, a harp and flute, and a needle with five eyes, threaded with threads of five different colors. Black-lacquered oil-lamps were placed beside the tables, to illuminate the feast. In another part of the grounds a tub of water was so placed as to reflect the light of the Tanabata-stars; and the ladies of the Imperial Household attempted to thread a needle by the reflection. She who succeeded was to be fortunate during the following year. The court-nobility (_Kugé_) were obliged to make certain offerings to the Imperial House on the day of the festival. The character of these offerings, and the manner of their presentation, were fixed by decree. They were conveyed to the palace upon a tray, by a veiled lady of rank, in ceremonial dress. Above her, as she walked, a great red umbrella was borne by an attendant. On the tray were placed seven _tanzaku_ (longilateral slips of fine tinted paper for the writing of poems); seven _kudzu_-leaves;[6] seven inkstones; seven strings of _s[=o]men_ (a kind of vermicelli); fourteen writing-brushes; and a bunch of yam-leaves gathered at night, and thickly sprinkled with dew. In the palace grounds the ceremony began at the Hour of the Tiger,--4 A.M. Then the inkstones were carefully washed,--prior to preparing the ink for the writing of poems in praise of the Star-deities,--and each one set upon a _kudzu_-leaf. One bunch of bedewed yam-leaves was then laid upon every inkstone; and with this dew, instead of water, the writing-ink was prepared. All the ceremonies appear to have been copied from those in vogue at the Chinese court in the time of the Emperor Ming-Hwang. [Footnote 6: _Pueraria Thunbergiana._] * * * * * It was not until the time of the Tokugawa Sh[=o]gunate that the Tanabata festival became really a national holiday; and the popular custom of attaching _tansaku_ of different colors to freshly-cut bamboos, in celebration of the occasion, dates only from the era of Bunser (1818). Previously the _tanzaku_ had been made of a very costly quality of paper; and the old aristocratic ceremonies had been not less expensive than elaborate. But in the time of the Tokugawa Sh[=o]gunate a very cheap paper of various colors was manufactured; and the holiday ceremonies were suffered to assume an inexpensive form, in which even the poorest classes could indulge. The popular customs relating to the festival differed according to locality. Those of Izumo--where all classes of society, _samurai_ or common folk, celebrated the holiday in much the same way--used to be particularly interesting; and a brief account of them will suggest something of the happy aspects of life in feudal times. At the Hour of the Tiger, on the seventh night of the seventh month, everybody was up; and the work of washing the inkstones and writing-brushes was performed. Then, in the household garden, dew was collected upon yam-leaves. This dew was called _Amanogawa no suzuki_ ("drops from the River of Heaven"); and it was used to make fresh ink for writing the poems which were to be suspended to bamboos planted in the garden. It was usual for friends to present each other with new inkstones at the time of the Tanabata festival; and if there were any new inkstones in the house, the fresh ink was prepared in these. Each member of the family then wrote poems. The adults composed verses, according to their ability, in praise of the Star-deities; and the children either wrote dictation or tried to improvise. Little folk too young to use the writing-brush without help had their small hands guided, by parent or elder sister or elder brother, so as to shape on a _tanzaku_ the character of some single word or phrase relating to the festival,--such as "Amanogawa," or "Tanabata," or "Kasasagi no Hashi" (the Bridge of Magpies). In the garden were planted two freshly-cut bamboos, with branches and leaves entire,--a male bamboo (_otoko-daké_) and a female bamboo (_onna-daké_). They were set up about six feet apart, and to a cord extended between them were suspended paper-cuttings of five colors, and skeins of dyed thread of five colors. The paper-cuttings represented upper-robes,--_kimono_. To the leaves and branches of the bamboos were tied the _tanzaku_ on which poems had been written by the members of the family. And upon a table, set between the bamboos, or immediately before them, were placed vessels containing various offerings to the Star-deities,--fruits, _s[=o]men_, rice-wine, and vegetables of different kinds, such as cucumbers and watermelons. But the most curious Izumo custom relating to the festival was the _Nému-nagashi_, or "Sleep-wash-away" ceremony. Before day-break the young folks used to go to some stream, carrying with them bunches composed of _némuri_-leaves and bean-leaves mixed together. On reaching the stream, they would fling their bunches of leaves into the current, and sing a little song:-- Nému wa, nagaré yo! Mamé no ha wa, tomaré! These verses might be rendered in two ways; because the word _nému_ can be taken in the meaning either of _némuri_ (sleep), or of _nemuri-gi_ or _némunoki_, the "sleep-plant" (mimosa),--while the syllables _mamé_, as written in _kana_, can signify either "bean," or "activity," or "strength," "vigor," "health," etc. But the ceremony was symbolical, and the intended meaning of the song was:-- Drowsiness, drift away! Leaves of vigor, remain! After this, all the young folk would jump into the water, to bathe or swim, in token of their resolve to shed all laziness for the coming year, and to maintain a vigorous spirit of endeavor. * * * * * Yet it was probably in Yédo (now T[=o]ky[=o]) that the Tanabata festival assumed its most picturesque aspects. During the two days that the celebration lasted,--the sixth and seventh of the seventh month,--the city used to present the appearance of one vast bamboo grove; fresh bamboos, with poems attached to them, being erected upon the roofs of the houses. Peasants were in those days able to do a great business in bamboos, which were brought into town by hundreds of wagonloads for holiday use. Another feature of the Yédo festival was the children's procession, in which bamboos, with poems attached to them, were carried about the city. To each such bamboo there was also fastened a red plaque on which were painted, in Chinese characters, the names of the Tanabata stars. But almost everywhere, under the Tokugawa régime, the Tanabata festival used to be a merry holiday for the young people of all classes,--a holiday beginning with lantern displays before sunrise, and lasting well into the following night. Boys and girls on that day were dressed in their best, and paid visits of ceremony to friends and neighbors. * * * * * --The moon of the seventh month used to be called _Tanabata-tsuki_, or "The Moon of Tanabata." And it was also called _Fumi-tsuki_, or "The Literary Moon," because during the seventh month poems were everywhere composed in praise of the Celestial Lovers. * * * * * I think that my readers ought to be interested in the following selection of ancient Japanese poems, treating of the Tanabata legend. All are from the _Many[=o]sh[=u]_. The _Many[=o]sh[=u]_, or "Gathering of a Myriad Leaves," is a vast collection of poems composed before the middle of the eighth century. It was compiled by Imperial order, and completed early in the ninth century. The number of the poems which it contains is upwards of four thousand; some being "long poems" (_naga-uta_), but the great majority _tanka_, or compositions limited to thirty-one syllables; and the authors were courtiers or high officials. The first eleven _tanka_ hereafter translated were composed by Yamagami no Okura, Governor of the province of Chikuzen more than eleven hundred years ago. His fame as a poet is well deserved; for not a little of his work will bear comparison with some of the finer epigrams of the Greek Anthology. The following verses, upon the death of his little son Furubi, will serve as an example:-- Wakakeréba Nichi-yuki shiraji: Mahi wa sému, Shitabé no tsukahi Ohité-tohorasé. --[_As he is so young, he cannot know the way.... To the messenger of the Underworld I will give a bribe, and entreat him, saying: "Do thou kindly take the little one upon thy back along the road."_] Eight hundred years earlier, the Greek poet Diodorus Zonas of Sardis had written:-- "_Do thou, who rowest the boat of the dead in the water of this reedy lake, for Hades, stretch out thy hand, dark Charon, to the son of Kinyras, as he mounts the ladder by the gang-way, and receive him. For his sandals will cause the lad to slip, and he fears to set his feet naked on the sand of the shore._" But the charming epigram of Diodorus was inspired only by a myth,--for the "son of Kinyras" was no other than Adonis,--whereas the verses of Okura express for us the yearning of a father's heart. * * * * * --Though the legend of Tanabata was indeed borrowed from China, the reader will find nothing Chinese in the following compositions. They represent the old classic poetry at its purest, free from alien influence; and they offer us many suggestions as to the condition of Japanese life and thought twelve hundred years ago. Remembering that they were written before any modern European literature had yet taken form, one is startled to find how little the Japanese written language has changed in the course of so many centuries. Allowing for a few obsolete words, and sundry slight changes of pronunciation, the ordinary Japanese reader to-day can enjoy these early productions of his native muse with about as little difficulty as the English reader finds in studying the poets of the Elizabethan era. Moreover, the refinement and the simple charm of the _Many[=o]sh[=u]_ compositions have never been surpassed, and seldom equaled, by later Japanese poets. As for the forty-odd _tanka_ which I have translated, their chief attraction lies, I think, in what they reveal to us of the human nature of their authors. Tanabata-tsumé still represents for us the Japanese wife, worshipfully loving;--Hikoboshi appears to us with none of the luminosity of the god, but as the young Japanese husband of the sixth or seventh century, before Chinese ethical convention had begun to exercise its restraint upon life and literature. Also these poems interest us by their expression of the early feeling for natural beauty. In them we find the scenery and the seasons of Japan transported to the Blue Plain of High Heaven;--the Celestial Stream with its rapids and shallows, its sudden risings and clamourings within its stony bed, and its water-grasses bending in the autumn wind, might well be the Kamogawa;--and the mists that haunt its shores are the very mists of Arashiyama. The boat of Hikoboshi, impelled by a single oar working upon a wooden peg, is not yet obsolete; and at many a country ferry you may still see the _hiki-funé_ in which Tanabata-tsumé prayed her husband to cross in a night of storm,--a flat broad barge pulled over the river by cables. And maids and wives still sit at their doors in country villages, on pleasant autumn days, to weave as Tanabata-tsumé wove for the sake of her lord and lover. * * * * * --It will be observed that, in most of these verses, it is not the wife who dutifully crosses the Celestial River to meet her husband, but the husband who rows over the stream to meet the wife; and there is no reference to the Bridge of Birds.... As for my renderings, those readers who know by experience the difficulty of translating Japanese verse will be the most indulgent, I fancy. The Romaji system of spelling has been followed (except in one or two cases where I thought it better to indicate the ancient syllabication after the method adopted by Aston); and words or phrases necessarily supplied have been inclosed in parentheses. Amanogawa Ai-muki tachité, Waga koïshi Kimi kimasu nari Himo-toki makéna! [_He is coming, my long-desired lord, whom I have been waiting to meet here, on the banks of the River of Heaven.... The moment of loosening my girdle is nigh!_[7]] [Footnote 7: The last line alludes to a charming custom of which mention is made in the most ancient Japanese literature. Lovers, ere parting, were wont to tie each other's inner girdle (_himo_) and pledge themselves to leave the knot untouched until the time of their next meeting. This poem is said to have been composed in the seventh year of Y[=o]r[=o],--A.D. 723,--eleven hundred and eighty-two years ago.] Hisakata no[8] Ama no kawasé ni, Funé ukété, Koyoï ka kimi ga Agari kimasan? [Footnote 8: _Hisakata-no_ is a "pillow-word" used by the old poets in relation to celestial objects; and it is often difficult to translate. Mr. Aston thinks that the literal meaning of _hisakata_ is simply "long-hard," in the sense of long-enduring,--_hisa_ (long), _katai_ (hard, or firm),--so that _hisakata-no_ would have the meaning of "firmamental." Japanese commentators, however, say that the term is composed with the three words, _hi_ (sun), _sasu_ (shine), and _kata_ (side);--and this etymology would justify the rendering of _hisakata-no_ by some such expression as "light-shedding," "radiance-giving." On the subject of pillow-words, see Aston's _Grammar of the Japanese Written Language_.] [_Over the Rapids of the Everlasting Heaven, floating in his boat, my lord will doubtless deign to come to me this very night._] Kazé kumo wa Futatsu no kishi ni Kayoëdomo, Waga toho-tsuma no Koto zo kayowanu! [_Though winds and clouds to either bank may freely come or go, between myself and my faraway spouse no message whatever may pass._] Tsubuté[9] ni mo Nagé koshitsu-béki, Amanogawa Hédatéréba ka mo, Amata subé-naki! [_To the opposite bank one might easily fling a pebble; yet, being separated from him by the River of Heaven, alas! to hope for a meeting (except in autumn) is utterly useless._] [Footnote 9: The old text has _tabuté_.] Aki-kazé no Fukinishi hi yori "Itsushika" to--; Waga machi koîshi Kimi zo kimaséru. [_From the day that the autumn wind began to blow (I kept saying to myself), "Ah! when shall we meet?"--but now my beloved, for whom I waited and longed, has come indeed!_] Amanogawa Ito kawa-nami wa Tatanédomo, Samorai gatashi-- Chikaki kono sé wo. [_Though the waters of the River of Heaven have not greatly risen, (yet to cross) this near stream and to wait upon (my lord and lover) remains impossible._] Sodé furaba Mi mo kawashitsu-béku Chika-kerédo, Wataru subé nashi, Aki nishi aranéba. [_Though she is so near that the waving of her (long) sleeves can be distinctly seen, yet there is no way to cross the stream before the season of autumn._] Kagéroï no Honoka ni miété Wakarénaba;-- Motonaya koïn Aü-toki madé wa! [_When we were separated, I had seen her for a moment only,--and dimly as one sees a flying midge;[10] now I must vainly long for her as before, until time of our next meeting!_] Hikoboshi no Tsuma mukaë-buné Kogizurashi,-- Ama-no-Kawara ni Kiri no tatéru wa. [Footnote 10: _Kagéroï_ is an obsolete form of _kagér[=o]_, meaning an ephemera.] [_Methinks that Hikoboshi must be rowing his boat to meet his wife,--for a mist (as of oar-spray) is rising over the course of the Heavenly Stream._] Kasumi tatsu Ama-no-Kawara ni, Kimi matsu to,-- Ikay[=o] hodo ni Mono-suso nurenu. [_While awaiting my lord on the misty shore of the River of Heaven, the skirts of my robe have somehow become wet._] Amanogawa, Mi-tsu no nami oto Sawagu-nari: Waga matsu-kimi no Funadé-surashi mo. [_On the River of Heaven, at the place of the august ferry, the sound of the water has become loud: perhaps my long-awaited lord will soon be coming in his boat._] Tanabata no Sodé maku yoï no Akatoki wa, Kawasé no tazu wa Nakazu to mo yoshi. [_As Tanabata (slumbers) with her long sleeves rolled up, until the reddening of the dawn, do not, O storks of the river-shallows, awaken her by your cries._[11]] [Footnote 11: Lit., "not to cry out (will be) good"--but a literal translation of the poem is scarcely possible.] Amanogawa Kiri-tachi-wataru: Ky[=o], ky[=o], to-- Waga matsu-koïshi Funadé-surashi! [_(She sees that) a mist is spreading across the River of Heaven.... "To-day, to-day," she thinks, "my long-awaited lord will probably come over in his boat."_] Amanogawa, Yasu no watari ni, Funé ukété;-- Waga tachi-matsu to Imo ni tsugé koso. [_By the ferry of Yasu, on the River of Heaven, the boat is floating: I pray you tell my younger sister[12] that I stand here and wait._] [Footnote 12: That is to say, "wife." In archaic Japanese the word _imo_ signified both "wife" and "younger sister." The term might also be rendered "darling" or "beloved."] [=O]-sora yo Kay[=o] waré sura, Na ga yué ni, Amanokawa-ji no Nazumité zo koshi. [_Though I (being a Star-god) can pass freely to and fro, through the great sky,--yet to cross over the River of Heaven, for your sake, was weary work indeed!_] Yachihoko no Kami no mi-yo yori Tomoshi-zuma;-- Hito-shiri ni keri Tsugitéshi omoëba. [_From the august Age of the God-of-Eight-Thousand-Spears_,[13] _she had been my spouse in secret_[14] _only; yet now, because of my constant longing for her, our relation has become known to men._] [Footnote 13: Yachihoko-no-Kami, who has many other names, is the Great God of Izumo, and is commonly known by his appellation Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami, or the "Deity-Master-of-the Great-Land." He is locally worshiped also as the god of marriage,--for which reason, perhaps, the poet thus refers to him.] [Footnote 14: Or, "my seldom-visited spouse." The word _tsuma_ (_zuma_), in ancient Japanese, signified either wife or husband; and this poem might be rendered so as to express either the wife's or the husband's thoughts.] Amé tsuchi to Wakaréshi toki yo Onoga tsuma; Shika zo té ni aru Aki matsu aré wa. [_From the time when heaven and earth were parted, she has been my own wife;--yet, to be with her, I must always wait till autumn._[15]] [Footnote 15: By the ancient calendar, the seventh day of the seventh month would fall in the autumn season.] Waga k[=o]ru Niho no omo wa Koyoï mo ka Ama-no-kawara ni Ishi-makura makan. [_With my beloved, of the ruddy-tinted cheeks_,[16] _this night indeed will I descend into the bed of the River of Heaven, to sleep on a pillow of stone._] [Footnote 16: The literal meaning is "_béni_-tinted face,"--that is to say, a face of which the cheeks and lips have been tinted with _béni_, a kind of rouge.] Amanogawa. Mikomori-gusa no Aki-kazé ni Nabikafu miréba, Toki kitarurashi. [_When I see the water-grasses of the River of Heaven bend in the autumn wind (I think to myself): "The time (for our meeting) seems to have come."_] Waga séko ni Ura-koi oréba, Amanogawa Yo-funé kogi-toyomu Kaji no 'to kikoyu. [_When I feel in my heart a sudden longing for my husband_,[17] _then on the River of Heaven the sound of the rowing of the night-boat is heard, and the plash of the oar resounds._] [Footnote 17: In ancient Japanese the word _séko_ signified either husband or elder brother. The beginning of the poem might also be rendered thus:--"When I feel a secret longing for my husband," etc.] T[=o]-zuma to Tamakura kawashi Nétaru yo wa, Tori-gané na naki Akéba aku to mo! [_In the night when I am reposing with my (now) far-away spouse, having exchanged jewel-pillows_[18] _with her, let not the cock crow, even though the day should dawn._] [Footnote 18: "To exchange jewel-pillows" signifies to use each other's arms for pillows. This poetical phrase is often used in the earliest Japanese literature. The word for jewel, _tama_, often appears in compounds as an equivalent of "precious," "dear," etc.] Yorozu-yo ni Tazusawari ité Ai mi-domo, Omoi-sugu-béki Koi naranaku ni. [_Though for a myriad ages we should remain hand-in-hand and face to face, our exceeding love could never come to an end. (Why then should Heaven deem it necessary to part us?)_] Waga tamé to, Tanabata-tsumé no, Sono yado ni, Oreru shirotai Nuït ken kamo? [_The white cloth which Tanabata has woven for my sake, in that dwelling of hers, is now, I think, being made into a robe for me._] Shirakumo no I-ho é kakurité T[=o]-kédomo, Yoï-sarazu min Imo ga atari wa. [_Though she be far-away, and hidden from me by five hundred layers of white cloud, still shall I turn my gaze each night toward the dwelling-place of my younger sister (wife)._] Aki saréba Kawagiri tatéru Amanogawa, Kawa ni muki-ité Kru[19] yo zo [=o]ki! [Footnote 19: For _kofuru_.] [_When autumn comes, and the river-mists spread over the Heavenly Stream, I turn toward the river, (and long); and the nights of my longing are many!_] Hito-tosé ni Nanuka no yo nomi Aü-hito no-- Koï mo tsuki-néba Sayo zo aké ni keru! [_But once in the whole year, and only upon the seventh night (of the seventh month), to meet the beloved person--and lo! The day has dawned before our mutual love could express itself!_[20]] [Footnote 20: Or "satisfy itself." A literal rendering is difficult.] Toshi no koï Koyoï tsukushíté, Asu yori wa, Tsuné no gotoku ya Waga koï oran. [_The love-longing of one whole year having ended to-night, every day from to-morrow I must again pine for him as before!_] Hikoboshi to Tanabata-tsumé to Koyoï aü;-- Ama-no-Kawa to ni Nami tatsu-na yumé! [_Hikoboshi and Tanabata-tsumé are to meet each other to-night;--ye waves of the River of Heaven, take heed that ye do not rise!_] Aki-kazé no Fuki tadayowasu Shirakumo wa, Tanabata-tsumé no Amatsu hiré kamo? [_Oh! that white cloud driven by the autumn-wind--can it be the heavenly hiré[21] of Tana-bata-tsumé?_] [Footnote 21: At different times, in the history of Japanese female costume, different articles of dress were called by this name. In the present instance, the _hiré_ referred to was probably a white scarf, worn about the neck and carried over the shoulders to the breast, where its ends were either allowed to hang loose, or were tied into an ornamental knot. The _hiré_ was often used to make signals with, much as handkerchiefs are waved to-day for the same purpose;--and the question uttered in the poem seems to signify: "Can that be Tanabata waving her scarf--to call me?" In very early times, the ordinary costumes worn were white.] Shiba-shiba mo Ai minu kimi wo, Amanogawa Funa-dé haya séyo Yo no fukénu ma ni. [_Because he is my not-often-to-be-met beloved, hasten to row the boat across the River of Heaven ere the night be advanced._] Amanogawa Kiri tachi-watari Hikoboshi no Kaji no 'to kikoyu Yo no fuké-yukéba. [_Late in the night, a mist spreads over_] _the River of Heaven; and the sound of the oar[22] of Hikoboshi is heard._] [Footnote 22: Or, "the creaking of the oar." (The word _kaji_ to-day means "helm";--the single oar, or scull, working upon a pivot, and serving at once for rudder and oar, being now called _ro_.) The mist passing across the Amanogawa is, according to commentators, the spray from the Star-god's oar.] Amanogawa Kawa 'to sayakéshi: Hikoboshi no Haya kogu funé no Nami no sawagi ka? [_On the River of Heaven a sound of plashing can be distinctly heard: is it the sound of the rippling made by Hikoboshi quickly rowing his boat?_] Kono y[=u]bé, Furikuru amé wa, Hikoboshi no Haya kogu funé no Kaï no chiri ka mo. [_Perhaps this evening shower is but the spray (flung down) from the oar of Hikoboshi, rowing his boat in haste._] Waga tama-doko wo Asu yori wa Uchi haraï, Kimi to inézuté Hitori ka mo nen! [_From to-morrow, alas! after having put my jewel-bed in order, no longer reposing with my lord, I must sleep alone!_] Kazé fukité, Kawa-nami tachinu;-- Hiki-funé ni Watari mo kimasé Yo no fukénu ma ni. [_The wind having risen, the waves of the river have become high;--this night cross over in a towboat,[23] I pray thee, before the hour be late!_] [Footnote 23: Lit. "pull-boat" (_hiki-funé_),--a barge or boat pulled by a rope.] Amanogawa Nami wa tatsutomo, Waga funé wa Iza kogi iden Yo no fukénu ma ni. [_Even though the waves of the River of_ _Heaven run high, I must row over quickly, before it becomes late in the night._] Inishié ni Oritéshi hata wo; Kono y[=u]bé Koromo ni nuïté-- Kimi matsu aré wo! [_Long ago I finished weaving the material; and, this evening, having finished sewing the garment for him--(why must) I still wait for my lord?_] Amanogawa Sé wo hayami ka mo? Nubatama no Yo wa fuké ni tsutsu, Awanu Hikoboshi! [_Is it that the current of the River of_ _Heaven (has become too) rapid? The jet-black night[24] advances--and Hikoboshi has not come!_] [Footnote 24: _Nubatama no yo_ might better be rendered by some such phrase as "the berry-black night,"--but the intended effect would be thus lost in translation. _Nubatama-no_ (a "pillow-word") is written with characters signifying "like the black fruits of _Karasu-[=O]gi_;" and the ancient phrase "_nubatama no yo_" therefore may be said to have the same meaning as our expressions "jet-black night," or "pitch-dark night."] Watashi-mori, Funé haya watasé;-- Hito-tosé ni Futatabi kay[=o] Kimi naranaku ni! [_Oh, ferryman, make speed across the stream!--my lord is not one who can come and go twice in a year!_] Aki kazé no Fukinishi hi yori, Amanogawa Kawasé ni dédachi;-- Matsu to tsugé koso! [_On the very day that the autumn-wind began to blow, I set out for the shallows of the River of Heaven;--I pray you, tell my lord that I am waiting here still!_] Tanabata no Funanori surashi,-- Maso-kagami, Kiyoki tsuki-yo ni Kumo tachi-wataru. [_Methinks Tanabata must be coming in her boat; for a cloud is even now passing across the clear face of the moon._[25]] [Footnote 25: Composed by the famous poet [=O]tomo no Sukuné Yakamochi, while gazing at the Milky Way, on the seventh night of the seventh month of the tenth year of Tampy[=o] (A.D. 738). The pillow-word in the third line (_maso-kagami_) is untranslatable.] --And yet it has been gravely asserted that the old Japanese poets could find no beauty in starry skies!... Perhaps the legend of Tanabata, as it was understood by those old poets, can make but a faint appeal to Western minds. Nevertheless, in the silence of transparent nights, before the rising of the moon, the charm of the ancient tale sometimes descends upon me, out of the scintillant sky,--to make me forget the monstrous facts of science, and the stupendous horror of Space. Then I no longer behold the Milky Way as that awful Ring of the Cosmos, whose hundred million suns are powerless to lighten the Abyss, but as the very Amanogawa itself,--the River Celestial. I see the thrill of its shining stream, and the mists that hover along its verge, and the water-grasses that bend in the winds of autumn. White Orihimé I see at her starry loom, and the Ox that grazes on the farther shore;--and I know that the falling dew is the spray from the Herdsman's oar. And the heaven seems very near and warm and human; and the silence about me is filled with the dream of a love unchanging, immortal,--forever yearning and forever young, and forever left unsatisfied by the paternal wisdom of the gods. GOBLIN POETRY Recently, while groping about an old book shop, I found a collection of Goblin Poetry in three volumes, containing many pictures of goblins. The title of the collection is _Ky[=o]ka Hyaku-Monogatari_, or "The Mad Poetry of the _Hyaku-Monogatari_." The _Hyaku-Monogatari_, or "Hundred Tales," is a famous book of ghost stories. On the subject of each of the stories, poems were composed at different times by various persons,--poems of the sort called _Ky[=o]ka_, or Mad Poetry,--and these were collected and edited to form the three volumes of which I became the fortunate possessor. The collecting was done by a certain Takumi Jingor[=o], who wrote under the literary pseudonym "Temmér Ré[=o]jin" (Ancient of the Temmér Era). Takumi died in the first year of Bunky[=u] (1861), at the good age of eighty; and his collection seems to have been published in the sixth year of Kaéï (1853). The pictures were made by an artist called Masazumi, who worked under the pseudonym "Ry[=o]sai Kanjin." From a prefatory note it appears that Takumi Jingor[=o] published his collection with the hope of reviving interest in a once popular kind of poetry which had fallen into neglect before the middle of the century. The word _ky[=o]ka_ is written with a Chinese character signifying "insane" or "crazy;" and it means a particular and extraordinary variety of comic poetry. The form is that of the classic _tanka_ of thirty-one syllables (arranged 57577);--but the subjects are always the extreme reverse of classical; and the artistic effects depend upon methods of verbal jugglery which cannot be explained without the help of numerous examples. The collection published by Takumi includes a good deal of matter in which a Western reader can discover no merit; but the best of it has a distinctly grotesque quality that reminds one of Hood's weird cleverness in playing with grim subjects. This quality, and the peculiar Japanese method of mingling the playful with the terrific, can be suggested and explained only by reproducing in Romaji the texts of various _ky[=o]ka_, with translations and notes. The selection which I have made should prove interesting, not merely because it will introduce the reader to a class of Japanese poetry about which little or nothing has yet been written in English, but much more because it will afford some glimpses of a supernatural world which still remains for the most part unexplored. Without knowledge of Far Eastern superstitions and folk-tales, no real understanding of Japanese fiction or drama or poetry will ever become possible. * * * * * There are many hundreds of poems in the three volumes of the _Ky[=o]ka Hyaku-Monogatari_; but the number of the ghosts and goblins falls short of the one hundred suggested by the title. There are just ninety-five. I could not expect to interest my readers in the whole of this goblinry, and my selection includes less than one seventh of the subjects. The Faceless Babe, The Long-Tongued Maiden, The Three-Eyed Monk, The Pillow-Mover, The Thousand Heads, The Acolyte-with-the-Lantern, The Stone-that-Cries-in-the-Night, The Goblin-Heron, The Goblin-Wind, The Dragon-Lights, and The Mountain-Nurse, did not much impress me. I omitted _ky[=o]ka_ dealing with fancies too gruesome for Western nerves,--such as that of the _Obumédori_,--also those treating of merely local tradition. The subjects chosen represent national rather than provincial folklore,--old beliefs (mostly of Chinese origin) once prevalent throughout the country, and often referred to in its popular literature. I. KITSUNÉ-BI The Will-o'-the-wisp is called _kitsuné-bi_ ("fox-fire"), because the goblin-fox was formerly supposed to create it. In old Japanese pictures it is represented as a tongue of pale red flame, hovering in darkness, and shedding no radiance upon the surfaces over which it glides. To understand some of the following _ky[=o]ka_ on the subject, the reader should know that certain superstitions about the magical power of the fox have given rise to several queer folk-sayings,--one of which relates to marrying a stranger. Formerly a good citizen was expected to marry within his own community, not outside of it; and the man who dared to ignore traditional custom in this regard would have found it difficult to appease the communal indignation. Even to-day the villager who, after a long absence from his birthplace, returns with a strange bride, is likely to hear unpleasant things said,--such as: "_Wakaranai-mono we hippaté-kita!... Doko no uma no honé da ka?_" ("Goodness knows what kind of a thing he has dragged here after him! Where did he pick up that old horse-bone?") The expression _uma no honé_, "old horse-bone," requires explanation. A goblin-fox has the power to assume many shapes; but, for the purpose of deceiving _men_, he usually takes the form of a pretty woman. When he wants to create a charming phantom of this kind, he picks up an old horse-bone or cow-bone, and holds it in his mouth. Presently the bone becomes luminous; and the figure of a woman defines about it,--the figure of a courtesan or singing-girl.... So the village query about the man who marries a strange wife, "What old horse-bone has he picked up?" signifies really, "What wanton has bewitched him?" It further implies the suspicion that the stranger may be of outcast blood: a certain class of women of pleasure having been chiefly recruited, from ancient time, among the daughters of Éta and other pariah-people. Hi tomoshité Kitsuné no kwaséshi, Asobimé[26] wa-- Izuka no uma no Honé ni ya aruran! [Footnote 26: _Asobimé_, a courtesan: lit., "sporting-woman." The Éta and other pariah classes furnished a large proportion of these women. The whole meaning of the poem is as follows: "See that young wanton with her lantern! It is a pretty sight--but so is the sight of a fox, when the creature kindles his goblin-fire and assumes the shape of a girl. And just as your fox-woman will prove to be no more than an old horse-bone, so that young courtesan, whose beauty deludes men to folly, may be nothing better than an Éta."] [_--Ah the wanton (lighting her lantern)!--so a fox-fire is kindled in the time of fox-transformation!... Perhaps she is really nothing more than an old horse-bone from somewhere or other...._] Kitsuné-bi no Moyuru ni tsukété, Waga tama no Kiyuru y[=o] nari Kokoro-hoso-michi! [_Because of that Fox-fire burning there, the very soul of me is like to be extinguished in this narrow path (or, in this heart-depressing solitude)._[27]] [Footnote 27: The supposed utterance of a belated traveler frightened by a will-o'-the-wisp. The last line allows of two readings. _Kokoro-hosoi_ means "timid;" and _hosoi michi_ (_hoso-michi_) means a "narrow path," and, by implication, a "lonesome path."] II. RIKOMBY[=O] The term _Rikomby[=o]_ is composed with the word _rikon_, signifying a "shade," "ghost," or "spectre," and the word _by[=o]_, signifying "sickness," "disease." An almost literal rendering would be "ghost-sickness." In Japanese-English dictionaries you will find the meaning of _Rikomby[=o]_ given as "hypochondria;" and doctors really use the term in this modern sense. But the ancient meaning was _a disorder of the mind which produced a Double_; and there is a whole strange literature about this weird disease. It used to be supposed, both in China and Japan, that under the influence of intense grief or longing, caused by love, the spirit of the suffering person would create a Double. Thus the victim of _Rikomby[=o]_ would appear to have two bodies, exactly alike; and one of these bodies would go to join the absent beloved, while the other remained at home. (In my "Exotics and Retrospectives," under the title "A Question in the Zen Texts," the reader will find a typical Chinese story on the subject,--the story of the girl Ts'ing.) Some form of the primitive belief in doubles and wraiths probably exists in every part of the world; but this Far Eastern variety is of peculiar interest because the double is supposed to be caused by love, and the subjects of the affliction to belong to the gentler sex.... The term _Rikomby[=o]_ seems to be applied to the apparition as well as to the mental disorder supposed to produce the apparition: it signifies "doppelgänger" as well as "ghost-disease." * * * * * --With these necessary explanations, the quality of the following _ky[=o]ka_ can be understood. A picture which appears in the _Ky[=o]ka Hyaku-Monogatari_ shows a maid-servant anxious to offer a cup of tea to her mistress,--a victim of the "ghost-sickness." The servant cannot distinguish between the original and the apparitional shapes before her; and the difficulties of the situation are suggested in the first of the _ky[=o]ka_ which I have translated:-- Ko-ya, soré to? Ayamé mo wakanu Rikomby[=o]: Izuré we tsuma to Hiku zo wazuraü! [_Which one is this?--which one is that? Between the two shapes of the Rikomby[=o] it is not possible to distinguish. To find out which is the real wife--that will be an affliction of spirit indeed!_] Futatsu naki Inochi nagara mo Kakégaë no Karada no miyuru-- Kage no wazurai! [_Two lives there certainly are not;--nevertheless an extra body is visible, by reason of the Shadow-Sickness._] Naga-tabi no Oto we shitaïté Mi futatsu ni Naru wa onna no S[=a]ru rikomby[=o]. [_Yearning after her far-journeying husband, the woman has thus become two bodies, by reason of her ghostly sickness._] Miru kagé mo Naki wazurai no Rikomby[=o],-- Omoi no hoka ni Futatsu miru kagé! [_Though (it was said that), because of her ghostly sickness, there was not even a shadow of her left to be seen,--yet, contrary to expectation, there are two shadows of her to be seen!_[28]] [Footnote 28: The Japanese say of a person greatly emaciated by sickness, _miru-kagé mo naki_: "Even a visible shadow of him is not!"--Another rendering is made possible by the fact that the same expression is used in the sense of "unfit to be seen,"--"though the face of the person afflicted with this ghostly sickness is unfit to be seen, yet by reason of her secret longing [for another man] there are now two of her faces to be seen." The phrase _omoi no hoka_, in the fourth line, means "contrary to expectation;" but it is ingeniously made to suggest also the idea of secret longing.] Rikomby[=o] Hito ni kakushité Oku-zashiki, Omoté y dëasanu Kagé no wazurai. [_Afflicted with the Rikomby[=o], she hides away from people in the back room, and never approaches the front of the house,--because of her Shadow-disease._[29]] [Footnote 29: There is a curious play on words in the fourth line. The word _omoté_, meaning "the front," might, in reading, be sounded as _omotté_, "thinking." The verses therefore might also be thus translated:--"She keeps her real thoughts hidden in the back part of the house, and never allows them to be seen in the front part of the house,--because she is suffering from the 'Shadow-Sickness' [of love]."] Mi wa koko ni; Tama wa otoko ni Soïné suru;-- Kokoro mo shiraga Haha ga kaih[=o]. [_Here her body lies; but her soul is far away, asleep in the arms of a man;--and the white-haired mother, little knowing her daughter's heart, is nursing (only the body)._[30]] [Footnote 30: There is a double meaning, suggested rather than expressed, in the fourth line. The word _shiraga_, "white-hair," suggests _shirazu_, "not knowing."] Tamakushigé Futatsu no sugata Misénuru wa, Awasé-kagami no Kagé no wazurai. [_If, when seated before her toilet-stand, she sees two faces reflected in her mirror,--that might be caused by the mirror doubling itself under the influence of the Shadow-Sickness._[31]] [Footnote 31: There is in this poem a multiplicity of suggestion impossible to render in translation. While making her toilet, the Japanese woman uses two mirrors (_awasé-kagami_)--one of which, a hand-mirror, serves to show her the appearance of the back part of her coiffure, by reflecting it into the larger stationary mirror. But in this case of Rikomby[=o], the woman sees more than her face and the back of her head in the larger mirror: she sees her own double. The verses indicate that one of the mirrors may have caught the Shadow-Sickness, and doubled itself. And there is a further suggestion of the ghostly sympathy said to exist between a mirror and the soul of its possessor.] III. [=O]-GAMA In the old Chinese and Japanese literature the toad is credited with supernatural capacities,--such as the power to call down clouds, the power to make rain, the power to exhale from its mouth a magical mist which creates the most beautiful illusions. Some toads are good spirits,--friends of holy men; and in Japanese art a famous Rishi called "Gama-Sennin" (Toad Rishi) is usually represented with a white toad resting upon his shoulder, or squatting beside him. Some toads are evil goblins, and create phantasms for the purpose of luring men to destruction. A typical story about a creature of this class will be found in my "Kott[=o]," entitled "The Story of Chug[=o]r[=o]." Mé wa kagami, Kuchi wa tarai no Hodo ni aku: Gama mo késh[=o] no Mono to kos[=o] shiré. [_The eye of it, widely open, like a (round) mirror; the mouth of it opening like a wash-basin--by these things you may know that the Toad is a goblin-thing (or, that the Toad is a toilet article)._[32]] [Footnote 32: There are two Japanese words, _kesh[=o]_, which in _kana_ are written alike and pronounced alike, though represented by very different Chinese characters. As written in _kana_, the term _kesh[=o]-no-mono_ may signify either "toilet articles" or "a monstrous being," "a goblin."] IV. SHINKIR[=O] The term _Shinkir[=o]_ is used in the meaning of "mirage," and also as another name for H[=o]rai, the Elf-land of Far Eastern fable. Various beings in Japanese myth are credited with power to delude mortals by creating a mirage of H[=o]rai. In old pictures one may see a toad represented in the act of exhaling from its mouth a vapor that shapes the apparition of H[=o]rai. But the creature especially wont to produce this illusion is the _Hamaguri_,--a Japanese mollusk much resembling a clam. Opening its shell, it sends into the air a purplish misty breath; and that mist takes form and defines, in tints of mother-of-pearl, the luminous vision of H[=o]rai and the palace of the Dragon-King. Hamaguri no Kuchi aku toki ya, Shinkir[=o]! Yo ni shiraré ken Tatsu-no-miya-himé! [_When the hamaguri opens its mouth--lo! Shinkir[=o] appears!... Then all can clearly see the Maiden-Princess of the Dragon-Palace._] Shinkir[=o]-- Tatsu no miyako no Hinagata[33] wo Shio-hi no oki ni Misuru hamaguri! [_Lo! in the offing at ebb-tide, the hamaguri makes visible the miniature image of Shinkir[=o]--the Dragon-Capital!_] [Footnote 33: _Hinagata_ means especially "a model," "a miniature copy," "a drawn plan," etc.] V. ROKURO-KUBI The etymological meaning of _Rokuro-Kubi_ can scarcely be indicated by any English rendering. The term _rokuro_ is indifferently used to designate many revolving objects--objects as dissimilar as a pulley, a capstan, a windlass, a turning lathe, and a potter's wheel. Such renderings of Rokuro-Kubi as "Whirling-Neck" and "Rotating-Neck" are unsatisfactory;--for the idea which the term suggests to Japanese fancy is that of a neck which revolves, _and lengthens or retracts according to the direction of the revolution_.... As for the ghostly meaning of the expression, a Rokuro-Kubi is either (1) a person whose neck lengthens prodigiously during sleep, so that the head can wander about in all directions, seeking what it may devour, or (2) a person able to detach his or her head completely from the body, and to rejoin it to the neck afterwards. (About this last mentioned variety of _Rokuro-Kubi_ there is a curious story in my "Kwaidan," translated from the Japanese.) In Chinese mythology the being whose neck is so constructed as to allow of the head being completely detached belongs to a special class; but in Japanese folk-tale this distinction is not always maintained. One of the bad habits attributed to the Rokuro-Kubi is that of drinking the oil in night-lamps. In Japanese pictures the Rokuro-Kubi is usually depicted as a woman; and old books tell us that a woman might become a Rokuro-Kubi without knowing it,--much as a somnambulist walks about while asleep, without being aware of the fact.... The following verses about the Rokuro-Kubi have been selected from a group of twenty in the _Ky[=o]ka Hyaku-Monogatari_:-- Nemidaré no Nagaki kami woba Furi-wakété, Chi hiro ni nobasu Rokuro-Kubi kana! [_Oh!... Shaking loose her long hair disheveled by sleep, the Rokuro-Kubi stretches her neck to the length of a thousand fathoms!_] "Atama naki Bakémono nari"--to Rokuro-Kubi, Mité odorokan Onoga karada we. [_Will not the Rokuro-Kubi, viewing with_ _astonishment her own body (left behind) cry out, "Oh, what a headless goblin have you become!_"] Tsuka-no-ma ni Hari we tsutawaru, Rokuro-Kubi Kéta-kéta warau-- Kao no kowasa yo! [_Swiftly gliding along the roof-beam (and among the props of the roof), the Rokuro-Kubi laughs with the sound of "kéta-kéta"--oh! the fearfulness of her face!_[34]] [Footnote 34: It is not possible to render all the double meanings in this composition. _Tsuka-no-ma_ signifies "in a moment" or "quickly"; but it may also mean "in the space [_ma_] between the roof-props" [_tsuka_]. "_Kéta_" means a cross-beam, but _kéta-kéta warau_ means to chuckle or laugh in a mocking way. Ghosts are said to laugh with the sound of kéta-kéta.] Roku shaku no By[=o]bu ni nobiru Rokuro-Kubi Mité wa, go shaku no Mi wo chijimi-kéri! [_Beholding the Rokuro-Kubi rise up above the six-foot screen, any five-foot person would have become shortened by fear (or, "the stature of any person five feet high would have been diminished")._[35]] [Footnote 35: The ordinary height of a full screen is six Japanese feet.] VI. YUKI-ONNA The Snow-Woman, or Snow-Spectre, assumes various forms; but in most of the old folk-tales she appears as a beautiful phantom, whose embrace is death. (A very curious story about her can be found in my "Kwaidan.") Yuki-Onna-- Yos[=o] kushi mo Atsu k[=o]ri; Sasu-k[=o]gai ya K[=o]ri naruran. [_As for the Snow-Woman,--even her best comb, if I mistake not, is made of thick ice; and her hair-pin[36], too, is probably made of ice._] [Footnote 36: _K[=o]gai_ is the name now given to a quadrangular bar of tortoise-shell passed under the coiffure, which leaves only the ends of the bar exposed. The true hair-pin is called _kanzashi_.] Honrai wa K[=u] naru mono ka, Yuki-Onna? Yoku-yoku mireba Ichi-butsu mo nashi! [_Was she, then, a delusion from the very first, that Snow-Woman,--a thing that vanishes into empty space? When I look carefully all about me, not one trace of her is to be seen!_] Yo-akéréba Kiété yuku é wa Shirayuki[37] no Onna to mishi mo Yanagi nari-keri! [_Having vanished at daybreak (that Snow-Woman), none could say whither she had gone. But what had seemed to be a snow-white woman became indeed a willow-tree!_] [Footnote 37: The term _shirayuki_, as here used, offers an example of what Japanese poets call _Keny[=o]gen_, or "double-purpose words." Joined to the words immediately following, it makes the phrase "white-snow woman" (_shirayuki no onna_);--united with the words immediately preceding, it suggests the reading, "whither-gone not-knowing" (_yuku é wa shira[zu]_).] Yuki-Onna Mité wa yasathiku, Matsu wo ori Nama-daké hishigu Chikara ari-keri! [_Though the Snow-Woman appears to sight slender and gentle, yet, to snap the pine-trees asunder and to crush the live bamboos, she must have had strength._] Samukésa ni Zotto[38] wa surédo Yuki-Onna,-- Yuki oré no naki Yanagi-goshi ka mo! [_Though the Snow-Woman makes one shiver by her coldness,--ah, the willowy grace of her form cannot be broken by the snow (i.e. charms us in spite of the cold)._] [Footnote 38: _Zotto_ is a difficult word to render literally: perhaps the nearest English equivalent is "thrilling." _Zotto suru_ signifies "to cause a thrill" or "to give a shock," or "to make shiver;" and of a very beautiful person it is said "_Zotto-suru hodo no bijin_,"--meaning! "She is so pretty that it gives one a shock merely to look at her." The term _yanagi-goshi_ ("willow-loins") in the last line is a common expression designating a slender and graceful figure; and the reader should observe that the first half of the term is ingeniously made to do double duty here,--suggesting, with the context, not only the grace of willow branches weighed down by snow, but also the grace of a human figure that one must stop to admire, in spite of the cold.] VII. FUNA-Y[=U]RÉÏ The spirits of the drowned are said to follow after ships, calling for a bucket or a water-dipper (_hishaku_). To refuse the bucket or the dipper is dangerous; but the bottom of the utensil should be knocked out before the request is complied with, and the spectres must not be allowed to see this operation performed. If an undamaged bucket or dipper be thrown to the ghosts, it will be used to fill and to sink the ship. These phantoms are commonly called _Funa-Y[=u]réï_ ("Ship-Ghosts"). The spirits of those warriors of the Héïké clan who perished in the great sea-fight at Dan-no-ura, in the year 1185, are famous among Funa-Y[=u]réï. Taïra no Tomomori, one of the chiefs of the clan, is celebrated in this weird rôle: old pictures represent him, followed by the ghosts of his warriors, running over the waves to attack passing ships. Once he menaced a vessel in which Benkéï, the celebrated retainer of Yoshitsuné, was voyaging; and Benkéï was able to save the ship only by means of his Buddhist rosary, which frightened the spectres away.... Tomomori is frequently pictured as walking upon the sea, carrying a ship's anchor on his back. He and his fellow-ghosts are said to have been in the habit of uprooting and making off with the anchors of vessels imprudently moored in their particular domain,--the neighborhood of Shimonoséki. Erimoto yé Mizu kakéraruru Kokochi seri, "Hishaku kasé" ch[=o] Funé no kowané ni. [_As if the nape of our necks had been sprinkled with cold water,--so we felt while listening_ _to the voice of the ship-ghost, saying:--"Lend me a dipper!"_[39]] [Footnote 39: _Hishaku_, a wooden dipper with a long handle, used to transfer water from a bucket to smaller vessels.] Y[=u]rei ni Kasu-hishaku yori Ichi-hayaku Onoré ga koshi mo Nukéru sench[=o]. [_The loins of the captain himself were knocked out very much more quickly than the bottom of the dipper that was to be given to the ghost._[40]] [Footnote 40: The common expression _Koshi ga nukéru_ (to have one's loins taken out) means to be unable to stand up by reason of fear. The suggestion is that while the captain was trying to knock out the bottom of a dipper, before giving it to the ghost, he fell senseless from fright.] Benkéï no Zuzu no kuriki ni Tomomori no Sugata mo ukamu-- Funé no y[=u]réï. [_By the virtue of Benkéï's rosary, even_ _the ship-following ghost--even the apparition of Tomomori--is saved._] Y[=u]réï wa Ki naru Izumi no Hito nagara, Aö-umibara ni Nadoté itsuran? [_Since any ghost must be an inhabitant of the Yellow Springs, how should a ghost appear on the Blue Sea-Plain?_[41]] [Footnote 41: The Underworld of the Dead--_Yomi_ or K[=o]sen--is called "The Yellow Springs;" these names being written with two Chinese characters respectively signifying "yellow" and "fountain." A very ancient term for the ocean, frequently used in the old Shint[=o] rituals, is "The Blue Sea-Plain."] Sono sugata, Ikari wo [=o]té, Tsuki-matoü Funé no hésaki ya Tomomori no réï! [_That Shape, carrying the anchor on its back, and following after the ship--now at the bow and now at the stern--ah, the ghost of Tomomori._[42]] [Footnote 42: There is an untranslatable play upon words in the last two lines. The above rendering includes two possible readings.] Tsumi fukaki Umi ni shidzumishi, Y[=u]réï no "Ukaman" toté ya! Funé ni sugaréru. [_Crying, "Now perchance I shall be saved!" The ghost that sank into the deep Sea of Sin clings to the passing ship!_[43]] [Footnote 43: There is more weirdness in this poem than the above rendering suggests. The word _ukaman_ in the fourth line can be rendered as "shall perhaps float," or as "shall perhaps be saved" (in the Buddhist sense of salvation),--as there are two verbs _ukami_. According to an old superstition, the spirits of the drowned must continue to dwell in the waters _until such time as they can lure the living to destruction_. When the ghost of any drowned person succeeds in drowning somebody, it may be able to obtain rebirth, and to leave the sea forever. The exclamation of the ghost in this poem really means, "Now perhaps I shall be able to drown somebody." (A very similar superstition is said to exist on the Breton coast.) A common Japanese saying about a child or any person who follows another too closely and persistently is: _Kawa de shinda-y[=u]réï no yona tsuré-hoshigaru!_--"Wants to follow you everywhere like the ghost of a drowned person."] Ukaman to Funé we shitaëru Yuréï wa, Shidzumishi híto no Omoï naruran. [_The ghosts following after our ship in their efforts to rise again (or, "to be saved") might perhaps be the (last vengeful) thoughts of drowned men.[44]] [Footnote 44: Here I cannot attempt to render the various plays upon words; but the term "_omoï_" needs explanation. It means "thought" or "thoughts;" but in colloquial phraseology it is often used as a euphemism for a dying person's last desire of vengeance. In various dramas it has been used in the signification of "avenging ghost." Thus the exclamation, "His _thought_ has come back!"--in reference to a dead man--really means: "His angry ghost appears!"] Uraméshiki Sugata wa sugoki Yuréï no, Kaji we jama suru Funé no Tomomori. [_With vengeful aspect, the grisly ghost of Tomomori (rises) at the stern of the ship to hinder the play of her rudder._[45]] [Footnote 45: There is a double meaning given by the use of the name _Tomomori_ in the last line. _Tomo_ means "the stern" of a ship; _mori_ means "to leak." So the poem suggests that the ghost of Tomomori not only interferes with the ship's rudder, but causes her to leak.] Ochi-irité, Uwo no éjiki to Nari ni ken;-- Funa-y[=u]réï mo Nama-kusaki kazé. [_Having perished in the sea, (those Héïké) would probably have become food for fishes. (Anyhow, whenever) the ship-following ghosts (appear), the wind has a smell of raw fish!_[46]] [Footnote 46: _Namakusaki-kaze_ really means a wind having a "raw stench;" but the smell of bait is suggested by the second line of the poem. A literal rendering is not possible in this case; the art of the composition being altogether suggestive.] VIII. HÉÏKÉGANÌ Readers can find in my "Kott[=o]" a paper about the Héïké-Crabs, which have on their upper shells various wrinklings that resemble the outlines of an angry face. At Shimono-séki dried specimens of these curious creatures are offered for sale.... The Héïké-Crabs are said to be the transformed angry spirits of the Héïké warriors who perished at Dan-no-ura. Shiwo-hi ni wa Séïzoroë shité, Héïkégani Ukiyo no sama we Yoko ni niramitsu. [_Marshaled (on the beach) at the ebb of the tide, the Héïké-crabs obliquely glare at the apparition of this miserable world._[47]] [Footnote 47: _Hi_, the third syllable of the first line of the poem, does duty for _hi_, signifying "ebb," and for _hikata_, "dry beach." _Séïzoroë_ is a noun signifying "battle-array"--in the sense of the Roman term _acies_;--and _séïzoroé shité_ means "drawn up in battle-array."] Saikai ni Shizumi-nurédomo, Héïkégani K[=o]ra no iro mo Yahari aka-hata. [_Though (the Héïké) long ago sank and perished in the Western Sea, the Héïké-crabs still display_ _upon their upper shells the color of the Red Standard._[48]] [Footnote 48: The ensign of the Héïké, or Taïra clan was red; while that of their rivals, the Genji or Minamot[=o], was white.] Maké-ikusa Munen to muné ni Hasami ken;-- Kao mo makka ni Naru Héïkégani. [_Because of the pain of defeat, claws have grown on their breasts, I think;--even the faces of the Héïké-crabs have become crimson (with anger and shame)._] Mikata mina Oshi-tsubusaréshi Héïkégani Ikon we muné ni Hasami mochikéri. [_All the (Héïké) party having been utterly crushed, claws have grown upon the breasts of the Héïké-crabs because of the resentment in their hearts._[49]] [Footnote 49: The use of the word _hasami_ in the fifth line is a very good example of _keny[=o]gen_. There is a noun _hasami_, meaning the nippers of a crab, or a pair of scissors; and there is a verb _hasami_, meaning to harbor, to cherish, or to entertain. (_Ikon wo hasamu_ means "to harbor resentment against.") Reading the word only in connection with those which follow it, we have the phrase _hasami mochikéri_, "got claws;" but, reading it with the words preceding, we have the expression _ikon wo muné ni hasami_, "resentment in their breasts nourishing."] IX. YANARI Modern dictionaries ignore the uncanny significations of the word _Yanari_,--only telling us that it means the sound of the shaking of a house during an earthquake. But the word used to mean the noise of the shaking of a house moved by a goblin; and the invisible shaker was also called _Yanari_. When, without apparent cause, some house would shudder and creak and groan in the night, folk used to suppose that it was being shaken from without by supernatural malevolence. Tokonoma ni Ikéshi tachiki mo Taoré-keri; Yanari ni yama no Ugoku kakémono! [_Even the live tree set in the alcove has fallen down; and the mountains in the hanging picture tremble to the quaking made by the Yanari!_[50]] [Footnote 50: The _tokonoma_ in a Japanese room is a sort of ornamental recess or alcove, in which a picture is usually hung, and vases of flowers, or a dwarf tree, are placed.] X. SAKASA-BASHIRA The term _Sakasa-bashira_ (in these _ky[=o]ka_ often shortened into _saka-bashira_) literally means "upside-down post." A wooden post or pillar, especially a house-post, should be set up according to the original position of the tree from which it was hewn,--that is to say, with the part nearest to the roots downward. To erect a house-post in the contrary way is thought to be unlucky;--formerly such a blunder was believed to involve unpleasant consequences of a ghostly kind, because an "upside-down" pillar would do malignant things. It would moan and groan in the night, and move all its cracks like mouths, and open all its knots like eyes. Moreover, the spirit of it (for every house-post has a spirit) would detach its long body from the timber, and wander about the rooms, head-downwards, making faces at people. Nor was this all. A _Sakasa-bashira_ knew how to make all the affairs of a household go wrong,--how to foment domestic quarrels,--how to contrive misfortune for each of the family and the servants,--how to render existence almost insupportable until such time as the carpenter's blunder should be discovered and remedied. Saka-bashira Tatéshi wa tazo ya? Kokoro ni mo Fushi aru hito no Shiwaza naruran. [_Who set the house-pillar upside-down? Surely that must have been the work of a man with a knot in his heart._] Hidayama we Kiri-kité tatéshi Saka-bashira-- Nanno takumi[51] no Shiwaza naruran? [_That house-pillar hewn in the mountains of Hida, and thence brought here and erected upside-down--what carpenter's work can it be? (or, "for what evil design can this deed have been done?")_] [Footnote 51: The word _takumi_, as written in _kana_, may signify either "carpenter" or "intrigue," "evil plot," "wicked device." Thus two readings are possible. According to one reading, the post was fixed upside-down through inadvertence; according to the other, it was so fixed with malice prepense.] Uë shita wo Chigaëté tatéshi Hashira ni wa Sakasama-goto no Uréï aranan. [_As for that house-pillar mistakenly planted upside-down, it will certainly cause adversity and sorrow._[52]] [Footnote 52: Lit., "upside-down-matter-sorrow." _Sakasama-goto_, "up-side-down affair," is a common expression for calamity, contrariety, adversity, vexation.] Kabé ni mimi Arité, kiké to ka? Sakashima ni Tateshi hashira ni Yanari suru oto! [_O Ears that be in the wall![53] listen, will ye? to the groaning and the creaking of the house-post that was planted upside-down!_] [Footnote 53: Alluding to the proverb, _Kabé ni mimi ari_ ("There are ears in the wall"), which signifies: "Be careful how you talk about other people, even in private."] Uri-iyé no Aruji we toëba, Oto arité: Waré mé ga kuchi wo Aku saka-bashira. [_When I inquired for the master of the house that was for sale, there came to me only a strange sound by way of reply,--the sound of the upside-down house-post opening its eyes and mouth![54] (i.e. its cracks)._] [Footnote 54: There is a pun in the fourth line which suggests more than even a free translation can express. _Waré_ means "I," or "mine," or "one's own," etc., according to circumstances; and _waré mé_ (written separately) might be rendered "its own eyes." But _warémé_ (one word) means a crack, rent, split, or fissure. The reader should remember that the term _saka-bashira_ means not only "upside-down post," but also the goblin or spectre of the upside-down post.] Omoïkiya! Sakasa-bashira no Hashira-kaké Kakinishit uta mo Yamai ari to wa! [_Who could have thought it!--even the poem inscribed upon the pillar-tablet, attached to the pillar which was planted upside-down, has taken the same (ghostly) sickness._[55]] [Footnote 55: That is to say, "Even the poem on the tablet is up-side-down,"--all wrong. _Hashira-kaké_ ("pillar-suspended thing") is the name given to a thin tablet of fine wood, inscribed or painted, which is hung to a post by way of ornament.] XI. BAKÉ-JIZÖ The figure of the Bodhi-sattva Jizö, the savior of children's ghosts, is one of the most beautiful and humane in Japanese Buddhism. Statues of this divinity may be seen in almost every village and by every roadside. But some statues of Jizö are said to do uncanny things--such as to walk about at night in various disguises. A statue of this kind is called a _Baké-Jiz[=o]_[56],--meaning a Jiz[=o]; that undergoes transformation. A conventional picture shows a little boy about to place the customary child's-offering of rice-cakes before the stone image of Jiz[=o],--not suspecting that the statue moves, and is slowly bending down towards him. [Footnote 56: Perhaps the term might be rendered "Shape-changing Jiz[=o]." The verb _bakéru_ means to change shape, to undergo metamorphosis, to haunt, and many other supernatural things.] Nanigé naki Ishi no Jiz[=o] no Sugata saë, Yo wa osoroshiki Mikagé to zo naki. [_Though the stone Jiz[=o] looks as if nothing were the matter with it, they say that at night it assumes an awful aspect (or, "Though this image appears to be a common stone Jiz[=o], they say that at night it becomes an awful Jiz[=o]; of granite."_[57])] [Footnote 57: The Japanese word for granite is _mikagé_; and there is also an honorific term _mikagé_, applied to divinities and emperors, which signifies "august aspect," "sacred presence," etc.... No literal rendering can suggest the effect, in the fifth line, of the latter reading. _Kagé_ signifies "shadow," "aspect," and "power"--especially occult power; the honorific prefix _mi_, attached to names and attributes of divinities, may be rendered "august."] XII. UMI-B[=O]ZU Place a large cuttlefish on a table, body upwards and tentacles downwards--and you will have before you the grotesque reality that first suggested the fancy of the _Umi-B[=o]zu_, or Priest of the Sea. For the great bald body in this position, with the staring eyes below, bears a distorted resemblance to the shaven head of a priest; while the crawling tentacles underneath (which are in some species united by a dark web) suggests the wavering motion of the priest's upper robe.... The Umi-B[=o]zu figures a good deal in the literature of Japanese goblinry, and in the old-fashioned picture-books. He rises from the deep in foul weather to seize his prey. Ita hitoë Shita wa Jigoku ni, Sumizomé no B[=o]zu no umi ni Déru mo ayashina! [_Since there is but the thickness of a single plank (between the voyager and the sea), and underneath is Hell, 'tis indeed a weird thing that a black-robed priest should rise from the sea (or, "'tis surely a marvelous happening that," etc.!_[58])] [Footnote 58: The puns are too much for me.... _Ayashii_ means "suspicious," "marvelous," "supernatural," "weird," "doubtful."--In the first two lines there is a reference to the Buddhist proverb: _Funa-ita ichi-mai shita wa Jigoku_ ("under the thickness of a single ship's-plank is Hell"). (See my _Gleanings in Buddha-Fields_, p. 206, for another reference to this saying.)] XIII. FUDA-HÉGASHI[59] Homes are protected from evil spirits by holy texts and charms. In any Japanese village, or any city by-street, you can see these texts when the sliding-doors are closed at night: they are not visible by day, when the sliding-doors have been pushed back into the _tobukuro_. Such texts are called _o-fuda_ (august scripts): they are written in Chinese characters upon strips of white paper, which are attached to the door with rice-paste; and there are many kinds of them. Some are texts selected from sutras--such as the Sûtra of Transcendent Wisdom (Pragña-Pâramitâ-Hridaya-Sûtra), or the Sûtra of the Lotos of the Good Law (Saddharma-Pundarikâ-Sûtra). Some are texts from the dhâranîs,--which are magical. Some are invocations only, indicating the Buddhist sect of the household.... Besides these you may see various smaller texts, or little prints, pasted above or beside windows or apertures,--some being names of Shinto gods; others, symbolical pictures only, or pictures of Buddhas and Bodhi-sattvas. All are holy charms,--_o-fuda_: they protect the houses; and no goblin or ghost can enter by night into a dwelling so protected, unless the _o-fuda_ be removed. [Footnote 59: _Hégashi_ is the causative form of the verb _hégu_, "to pull off," "peel off," "strip off," "split off." The term _Fuda-hégashi_ signifies "Make-peel-off-august-charm Ghost." In my _Ghostly Japan_ the reader can find a good Japanese story about a _Fuda-hégashi_.] Vengeful ghosts cannot themselves remove an _o-fuda_; but they will endeavor by threats or promises or bribes to make some person remove it for them. A ghost that wants to have the _o-fuda_ pulled off a door is called a _Fuda-hégashi_. Hégasan to Rokuji-no-fuda wo, Yuréï mo Nam'mai d[=a] to Kazoëté zo mini. [_Even the ghost that would remove the charms written with six characters actually tries to count them, repeating: "How many sheets are there?" (or, repeating, "Hail to thee, O Buddha Amitábha!"[60])_] [Footnote 60: The fourth line gives these two readings:-- _Nam'mai da?_--"How many sheets are there?" _Nam[u] A[m]ida!_--"Hail, O Amitâbha!" The invocation, _Namu Amida Butsu_, is chiefly used by members of the great Shin sect; but it is also used by other sects, and especially in praying for the dead. While repeating it, the person praying numbers the utterances upon his Buddhist rosary; and this custom is suggested by the use of the word _kazoëté_, "counting."] Tada ichi no Kami no o-fuda wa Sasuga ni mo Noriké naku to mo Hégashi kanékéri. [_Of the august written-charms of the god (which were pasted upon the walls of the house), not even one could by any effort be pulled off, though the rice-paste with which they had been fastened was all gone._] XIV. FURU-TSUBAKI The old Japanese, like the old Greeks, had their flower-spirits and their hamadryads, concerning whom some charming stories are told. They also believed in trees inhabited by malevolent beings,--goblin trees. Among other weird trees, the beautiful _tsubaki_ (_Camellia Japonica_) was said to be an unlucky tree;--this was said, at least, of the red-flowering variety, the white-flowering kind having a better reputation and being prized as a rarity. The large fleshy crimson flowers have this curious habit: they detach themselves bodily from the stem, when they begin to fade; and they fall with an audible thud. To old Japanese fancy the falling of these heavy red flowers was like the falling of human heads under the sword; and the dull sound of their dropping was said to be like the thud made by a severed head striking the ground. Nevertheless the tsubaki seems to have been a favorite in Japanese gardens because of the beauty of its glossy foliage; and its flowers were used for the decoration of alcoves. But in samurai homes it was a rule never to place tsubaki-flowers in an alcove _during war-time_. The reader will notice that in the following _ky[=o]ka_--which, as grotesques, seem to me the best in the collection--the goblin-tsubaki is called _furu-tsubaki_, "old tsubaki." The young tree was not supposed to have goblin-propensities,--these being developed only after many years. Other uncanny trees--such as the willow and the _énoki_--were likewise said to become dangerous only as they became old; and a similar belief prevailed on the subject of uncanny animals, such as the cat--innocent in kittenhood, but devilish in age. Yo-arashi ni Chishiho itadaku Furu tsubaki, Hota-hota ochiru Hana no nama-kubi. [_When by the night-storm is shaken the blood-crowned and ancient tsubaki-tree, then one by one fall the gory heads of the flowers, (with the sound of) hota-hota!_[61]] [Footnote 61: The word _furu_ in the third line is made to do double duty,--as the adjective, _furu[i]_, "ancient"; and as the verb _furu_, "to shake." The old term _nama-kuhi_ (lit., "raw head") means a human head, freshly-severed, from which the blood is still oozing.] Kusa mo ki mo Némuréru koro no Sayo kazé ni, Méhana no ugoku Furu-tsubaki kana! [_When even the grass and the trees are sleeping under the faint wind of the night,--then do the eyes and the noses of the old tsubaki-tree (or "the buds and the flowers of the old tsubaki-tree") move!_[62]] [Footnote 62: Two Japanese words are written, in _kana_, as "mé"--one meaning "a bud;" the other "eye." The syllables "hana" in like fashion, may signify either "flower" or "nose." As a grotesque, this little poem is decidedly successful.] Tomoshibi no Kagé ayashigé ni Miyénuru wa Abura shiborishi Furu-tsubaki ka-mo? [_As for (the reason why) the light of that lamp appears to be a Weirdness,[63]--perhaps the oil was expressed from (the nuts of) the ancient tsu-baki?_] [Footnote 63: _Ayashigé_ is a noun formed from the adjective _ayashi_, "suspicious," "strange," "supernatural," "doubtful." The word _kagé_ signifies both "light" and "shadow,"--and is here used with double suggestiveness. The vegetable oil used in the old Japanese lamps used to be obtained from the nuts of the _tsubaki_. The reader should remember that the expression "ancient tsubaki" is equivalent to the expression "goblin-tsubaki,"--the tsubaki being supposed to turn into a goblin-tree only when it becomes old.] * * * * * --Nearly all the stories and folk-beliefs about which these _ky[=o]ka_ were written seem to have come from China; and most of the Japanese tales of tree-spirits appear to have had a Chinese origin. As the flower-spirits and hamadryads of the Far East are as yet little known to Western readers, the following Chinese story may be found interesting. * * * * * There was a Chinese scholar--called, in Japanese books, T[=o] no Busanshi--who was famous for his love of flowers. He was particularly fond of peonies, and cultivated them with great skill and patience.[64] [Footnote 64: The tree-peony (_botan_) is here referred to,--a flower much esteemed in Japan. It is said to have been introduced from China during the eighth century; and no less than five hundred varieties of it are now cultivated by Japanese gardeners.] One day a very comely girl came to the house of Busanshi, and begged to be taken into his service. She said that circumstances obliged her to seek humble employment, but that she had received a literary education, and therefore wished to enter, if possible, into the service of a scholar. Busanshi was charmed by her beauty, and took her into his household without further questioning. She proved to be much more than a good domestic: indeed, the nature of her accomplishments made Busanshi suspect that she had been brought up in the court of some prince, or in the palace of some great lord. She displayed a perfect knowledge of the etiquette and the polite arts which are taught only to ladies of the highest rank; and she possessed astonishing skill in calligraphy, in painting, and in every kind of poetical composition. Busanshi presently fell in love with her, and thought only of how to please her. When scholar-friends or other visitors of importance came to the house, he would send for the new maid that she might entertain and wait upon his guests; and all who saw her were amazed by her grace and charm. One day Busanshi received a visit from the great Teki-Shin-Ketsu, a famous teacher of moral doctrine; and the maid did not respond to her master's call. Busanshi went himself to seek her, being desirous that Teki-Shin-Ketsu should see her and admire her; but she was nowhere to be found. After having searched the whole house in vain, Busanshi was returning to the guest-room when he suddenly caught sight of the maid, gliding soundlessly before him along a corridor. He called to her, and hurried after her. Then she turned half-round, and flattened herself against the wall like a spider; and as he reached her she sank backwards into the wall, so that there remained of her nothing visible but a colored shadow,--level like a picture painted on the plaster. But the shadow moved its lips and eyes, and spoke to him in a whisper, saying:-- "Pardon me that I did not obey your august call!... I am not a mankind-person;--I am only the Soul of a Peony. Because you loved peonies so much, I was able to take human shape, and to serve you. But now this Teki-Shin-Ketsu has come,--and he is a person of dreadful propriety,--and I dare not keep this form any longer.... I must return to the place from which I came." Then she sank back into the wall, and vanished altogether: there was nothing where she had been except the naked plaster. And Busanshi never saw her again. This story is written in a Chinese book which the Japanese call "Kai-ten-i-ji." "ULTIMATE QUESTIONS" A memory of long ago.... I am walking upon a granite pavement that rings like iron, between buildings of granite bathed in the light of a cloudless noon. Shadows are short and sharp: there is no stir in the hot bright air; and the sound of my footsteps, strangely loud, is the only sound in the street.... Suddenly an odd feeling comes to me, with a sort of tingling shock,--a feeling, or suspicion, of universal illusion. The pavement, the bulks of hewn stone, the iron rails, and all things visible, are dreams! Light, color, form, weight, solidity--all sensed existences--are but phantoms of being, manifestations only of one infinite ghostliness for which the language of man has not any word.... This experience had been produced by study of the first volume of the Synthetic Philosophy, which an American friend had taught me how to read. I did not find it easy reading; partly because I am a slow thinker, but chiefly because my mind had never been trained to sustained effort in such directions. To learn the "First Principles" occupied me many months: no other volume of the series gave me equal trouble. I would read one section at a time,--rarely two,--never venturing upon a fresh section until I thought that I had made sure of the preceding. Very cautious and slow my progress was, like that of a man mounting, for the first time, a long series of ladders in darkness. Reaching the light at last, I caught a sudden new vision of things,--a momentary perception of the illusion of surfaces,--and from that time the world never again appeared to me quite the same as it had appeared before. * * * * * --This memory of more than twenty years ago, and the extraordinary thrill of the moment, were recently revived for me by the reading of the essay "Ultimate Questions," in the last and not least precious volume bequeathed us by the world's greatest thinker. The essay contains his final utterance about the riddle of life and death, as that riddle presented itself to his vast mind in the dusk of a lifetime of intellectual toil. Certainly the substance of what he had to tell us might have been inferred from the Synthetic Philosophy; but the particular interest of this last essay is made by the writer's expression of personal sentiment regarding the problem that troubles all deep thinkers. Perhaps few of us could have remained satisfied with his purely scientific position. Even while fully accepting his declaration of the identity of the power that "wells up in us under the form of consciousness" with that Power Unknowable which shapes all things, most disciples of the master must have longed for some chance to ask him directly, "But how do _you_ feel in regard to the prospect of personal dissolution?" And this merely emotional question he has answered as frankly and as fully as any of us could have desired,--perhaps even more frankly. "Old people," he remarks apologetically, "must have many reflections in common. Doubtless one which I have now in mind is very familiar. For years past, when watching the unfolding buds in the spring, there has arisen the thought, 'Shall I ever again see the buds unfold? Shall I ever again be awakened at dawn by the song of the thrush?' Now that the end is not likely to be long postponed, there results an increasing tendency to meditate upon ultimate questions."... Then he tells us that these ultimate questions--"of the How and the Why, of the Whence and the Whither"--occupy much more space in the minds of those who cannot accept the creed of Christendom, than the current conception fills in the minds of the majority of men. The enormity of the problem of existence becomes manifest only to those who have permitted themselves to think freely and widely and deeply, with all such aids to thought as exact science can furnish; and the larger the knowledge of the thinker, the more pressing and tremendous the problem appears, and the more hopelessly unanswerable. To Herbert Spencer himself it must have assumed a vastness beyond the apprehension of the average mind; and it weighed upon him more and more inexorably the nearer he approached to death. He could not avoid the conviction--plainly suggested in his magnificent Psychology and in other volumes of his great work--that there exists no rational evidence for any belief in the continuance of conscious personality after death:-- "After studying primitive beliefs, and finding that there is no origin for the idea of an after-life, save the conclusion which the savage draws, from the notion suggested by dreams, of a wandering double which comes back on awaking, and which goes away for an indefinite time at death;--and after contemplating the inscrutable relation between brain and consciousness, and finding that we can get no evidence of the existence of the last without the activity of the first,--we seem obliged to relinquish the thought that consciousness continues after physical organization has become inactive." In this measured utterance there is no word of hope; but there is at least a carefully stated doubt, which those who will may try to develop into the germ of a hope. The guarded phrase, "we _seem_ obliged to relinquish," certainly suggests that, although in the present state of human knowledge we have no reason to believe in the perpetuity of consciousness, some larger future knowledge might help us to a less forlorn prospect. From the prospect as it now appears even this mightiest of thinkers recoiled:-- ... "But it seems a strange and repugnant conclusion that with the cessation of consciousness at death there ceases to be any knowledge of having existed. With his last breath it becomes to each the same thing as though he had never lived. "And then the consciousness itself--what is it during the time that it continues? And what becomes of it when it ends? We can only infer that it is a specialized and individualized form of that Infinite and Eternal Energy which transcends both our knowledge and our imagination; and that at death its elements lapse into that Infinite and Eternal Energy whence they were derived." * * * * * --_With his last breath it becomes to each the same thing as though he had never lived?_ To the individual, perhaps--surely not to the humanity made wiser and better by his labors.... But the world must pass away: will it thereafter be the same for the universe as if humanity had never existed? That might depend upon the possibilities of future inter-planetary communication.... But the whole universe of suns and planets must also perish: thereafter will it be the same as if no intelligent life had ever toiled and suffered upon those countless worlds? We have at least the certainty that the energies of life cannot be destroyed, and the strong probability that they will help to form another life and thought in universes yet to be evolved.... Nevertheless, allowing for all imagined possibilities,--granting even the likelihood of some inapprehensible relation between all past and all future conditioned-being,--the tremendous question remains: What signifies the whole of apparitional existence to the Unconditioned? As flickers of sheet-lightning leave no record in the night, so in that Darkness a million billion trillion universes might come and go, and leave no trace of their having been. * * * * * To every aspect of the problem Herbert Spencer must have given thought; but he has plainly declared that the human intellect, as at present constituted, can offer no solution. The greatest mind that this world has yet produced--the mind that systematized all human knowledge, that revolutionized modern science, that dissipated materialism forever, that revealed to us the ghostly unity of all existence, that reestablished all ethics upon an immutable and eternal foundation,--the mind that could expound with equal lucidity, and by the same universal formula, the history of a gnat or the history of a sun--confessed itself, before the Riddle of Existence, scarcely less helpless than the mind of a child. But for me the supreme value of this last essay is made by the fact that in its pathetic statement of uncertainties and probabilities one can discern something very much resembling a declaration of faith. Though assured that we have yet no foundation for any belief in the persistence of consciousness after the death of the brain, we are bidden to remember that the ultimate nature of consciousness remains inscrutable. Though we cannot surmise the relation of consciousness to the unseen, we are reminded that it must be considered as a manifestation of the Infinite Energy, and that its elements, if dissociated by death, will return to the timeless and measureless Source of Life.... Science to-day also assures us that whatever existence has been--all individual life that ever moved in animal or plant,--all feeling and thought that ever stirred in human consciousness--must have flashed self-record beyond the sphere of sentiency; and though we cannot know, we cannot help imagining that the best of such registration may be destined to perpetuity. On this latter subject, for obvious reasons, Herbert Spencer has remained silent; but the reader may ponder a remarkable paragraph in the final sixth edition of the "First Principles,"--a paragraph dealing with the hypothesis that consciousness may belong to the cosmic ether. This hypothesis has not been lightly dismissed by him; and even while proving its inadequacy, he seems to intimate that it may represent imperfectly some truth yet inapprehensible by the human mind:-- "The only supposition having consistency is that that in which consciousness inheres is the all-pervading ether. This we know can be affected by molecules of matter in motion, and conversely can affect the motions of molecules;--as witness the action of light on the retina. In pursuance of this supposition we may assume that the ether, which pervades not only all space but all matter, is, under special conditions in certain parts of the nervous system, capable of being affected by the nervous changes in such way as to result in feeling, and is reciprocally capable under these conditions of affecting the nervous changes. But if we accept this explanation, we must assume that the potentiality of feeling is universal, and that the evolution of feeling in the ether takes place only under the extremely complex conditions occurring in certain nervous centres. This, however, is but a semblance of an explanation, since we know not what the ether is, and since, by confession of those most capable of judging, no hypothesis that has been framed accounts for all its powers. Such an explanation may be said to do no more than symbolize the phenomena by symbols of unknown natures."--["First Principles," § 71 _c_, definitive edition of 1900.] --"Inscrutable is this complex consciousness which has slowly evolved out of infantine vacuity--consciousness which, in other shapes, is manifested by animate beings at large--consciousness which, during the development of every creature, makes its appearance out of what seems unconscious matter; _suggesting the thought that consciousness, in some rudimentary form, is omnipresent._"[65] [Footnote 65: _Autobiography_, vol. ii, p. 470.] --Of all modern thinkers, Spencer was perhaps the most careful to avoid giving encouragement to any hypothesis unsupported by powerful evidence. Even the simple sum of his own creed is uttered only, with due reservation, as a statement of three probabilities: that consciousness represents a specialized and individualized form of the infinite Energy; that it is dissolved by death; and that its elements then return to the source of all being. As for our mental attitude toward the infinite Mystery, his advice is plain. We must resign ourselves to the eternal law, and endeavor to vanquish our ancient inheritance of superstitious terrors, remembering that, "merciless as is the Cosmic process worked out by an Unknown Power, yet vengeance is nowhere to be found in it."[66] [Footnote 66: _Facts and Comments_, p. 201.] * * * * * In the same brief essay there is another confession of singular interest,--an acknowledgment of the terror of Space. To even the ordinary mind, the notion of infinite Space, as forced upon us by those monstrous facts of astronomy which require no serious study to apprehend, is terrifying;--I mean the mere vague idea of that everlasting Night into which the blazing of millions of suns can bring neither light nor warmth. But to the intellect of Herbert Spencer the idea of Space must have presented itself after a manner incomparably more mysterious and stupendous. The mathematician alone will comprehend the full significance of the paragraph dealing with the Geometry of Position and the mystery of space-relations,--or the startling declaration that "even could we penetrate the mysteries of existence, there would remain still more transcendent mysteries." But Herbert Spencer tells us that, apart from the conception of these geometrical mysteries, the problem of naked Space itself became for him, in the twilight of his age, an obsession and a dismay:-- ... "And then comes the thought of this universal matrix itself, anteceding alike creation or evolution, whichever be assumed, and infinitely transcending both, alike in extent and duration; since both, if conceived at all, must be conceived as having had beginnings, while Space had no beginning. The thought of this blank form of existence which, explored in all directions as far as imagination can reach, has, beyond that, an unexplored region compared with which the part which imagination has traversed is but infinitesimal,--the thought of a Space compared with which our immeasurable sidereal system dwindles to a point is a thought too overwhelming to be dwelt upon. Of late years the consciousness that without origin or cause infinite Space has ever existed and must ever exist, produces in me a feeling from which I shrink." * * * * * How the idea of infinite Space may affect a mind incomparably more powerful than my own, I cannot know;--neither can I divine the nature of certain problems which the laws of space-relation present to the geometrician. But when I try to determine the cause of the horror which that idea evokes within my own feeble imagination, I am able to distinguish different elements of the emotion,--particular forms of terror responding to particular ideas (rational and irrational) suggested by the revelations of science. One feeling--perhaps the main element of the horror--is made by the thought of being _prisoned_ forever and ever within that unutterable Viewlessness which occupies infinite Space. Behind this feeling there is more than the thought of eternal circumscription;--there is also the idea of being perpetually penetrated, traversed, thrilled by the Nameless;--there is likewise the certainty that no least particle of innermost secret Self could shun the eternal touch of It;--there is furthermore the tremendous conviction that could the Self of me rush with the swiftness of light,--with more than the swiftness of light,--beyond all galaxies, beyond durations of time so vast that Science knows no sign by which their magnitudes might be indicated,--and still flee onward, onward, downward, upward,--always, always,--never could that Self of me reach nearer to any verge, never speed farther from any centre. For, in that Silence, all vastitude and height and depth and time and direction are swallowed up: relation therein could have no meaning but for the speck of my fleeting consciousness,--atom of terror pulsating alone through atomless, soundless, nameless, illimitable potentiality. And the idea of that potentiality awakens another quality of horror,--the horror of infinite Possibility. For this Inscrutable that pulses through substance as if substance were not at all,--so subtly that none can feel the flowing of its tides, yet so swiftly that no life-time would suffice to count the number of the oscillations which it makes within the fraction of one second,--thrills to us out of endlessness;--and the force of infinity dwells in its lightest tremor; the weight of eternity presses behind its faintest shudder. To that phantom-Touch, the tinting of a blossom or the dissipation of a universe were equally facile: here it caresses the eye with the charm and illusion of color; there it bestirs into being a cluster of giant suns. All that human mind is capable of conceiving as possible (and how much also that human mind must forever remain incapable of conceiving?) may be wrought anywhere, everywhere, by a single tremor of that Abyss.... * * * * * Is it true, as some would have us believe, that the fear of the extinction of self is the terror supreme?... For the thought of personal perpetuity in the infinite vortex is enough to evoke sudden trepidations that no tongue can utter,--fugitive instants of a horror too vast to enter wholly into consciousness: a horror that can be endured in swift black glimpsings only. And the trust that we are one with the Absolute--dim points of thrilling in the abyss of It--can prove a consoling faith only to those who find themselves obliged to think that consciousness dissolves with the crumbling of the brain.... It seems to me that few (or none) dare to utter frankly those stupendous doubts and fears which force mortal intelligence to recoil upon itself at every fresh attempt to pass the barrier of the Knowable. Were that barrier unexpectedly pushed back,--were knowledge to be suddenly and vastly expanded beyond its present limits,--perhaps we should find ourselves unable to endure the revelation.... * * * * * Mr. Percival Lowell's astonishing book, "Mars," sets one to thinking about the results of being able to hold communication with the habitants of an older and a wiser world,--some race of beings more highly evolved than we, both intellectually and morally, and able to interpret a thousand mysteries that still baffle our science. Perhaps, in such event, we should not find ourselves able to comprehend the methods, even could we borrow the results, of wisdom older than all our civilization by myriads or hundreds of myriads of years. But would not the sudden advent of larger knowledge from some elder planet prove for us, by reason, of the present moral condition of mankind, nothing less than a catastrophe?--might it not even result in the extinction of the human species?... The rule seems to be that the dissemination of dangerous higher knowledge, before the masses of a people are ethically prepared to receive it, will always be prevented by the conservative instinct; and we have reason to suppose (allowing for individual exceptions) that the power to gain higher knowledge is developed only as the moral ability to profit by such knowledge is evolved. I fancy that if the power of holding intellectual converse with other worlds could now serve us, we should presently obtain it. But if, by some astonishing chance,--as by the discovery, let us suppose, of some method of ether-telegraphy,--this power were prematurely acquired, its exercise would in all probability be prohibited.... Imagine, for example, what would have happened during the Middle Ages to the person guilty of discovering means to communicate with the people of a neighboring planet! Assuredly that inventor and his apparatus and his records would have been burned; every trace and memory of his labors would have been extirpated. Even to-day the sudden discovery of truths unsupported by human experience, the sudden revelation of facts totally opposed to existing convictions, might evoke some frantic revival of superstitious terrors,--some religious panic-fury that would strangle science, and replunge the world in mental darkness for a thousand years. THE MIRROR MAIDEN In the period of the Ashikaga Sh[=o]gunate the shrine of Ogawachi-My[=o]jin, at Minami-Isé, fell into decay; and the daimy[=o] of the district, the Lord Kitahataké, found himself unable, by reason of war and other circumstances, to provide for the reparation of the building. Then the Shint[=o] priest in charge, Matsumura Hy[=o]go, sought help at Ky[=o]to from the great daimy[=o] Hosokawa, who was known to have influence with the Sh[=o]gun. The Lord Hosokawa received the priest kindly, and promised to speak to the Sh[=o]gun about the condition of Ogawachi-My[=o]jin. But he said that, in any event, a grant for the restoration of the temple could not be made without due investigation and considerable delay; and he advised Matsumura to remain in the capital while the matter was being arranged. Matsumura therefore brought his family to Ky[=o]to, and rented a house in the old Ky[=o]goku quarter. This house, although handsome and spacious, had been long unoccupied. It was said to be an unlucky house. On the northeast side of it there was a well; and several former tenants had drowned themselves in that well, without any known cause. But Matsumura, being a Shint[=o] priest, had no fear of evil spirits; and he soon made himself very comfortable in his new home. * * * * * In the summer of that year there was a great drought. For months no rain had fallen in the Five Home-Provinces; the river-beds dried up, the wells failed; and even in the capital there was a dearth of water. But the well in Matsumura's garden remained nearly full; and the water--which was very cold and clear, with a faint bluish tinge--seemed to be supplied by a spring. During the hot season many people came from all parts of the city to beg for water; and Matsumura allowed them to draw as much as they pleased. Nevertheless the supply did not appear to be diminished. But one morning the dead body of a young servant, who had been sent from a neighboring residence to fetch water, was found floating in the well. No cause for a suicide could be imagined; and Matsumura, remembering many unpleasant stories about the well, began to suspect some invisible malevolence. He went to examine the well, with the intention of having a fence built around it; and while standing there alone he was startled by a sudden motion in the water, as of something alive. The motion soon ceased; and then he perceived, clearly reflected in the still surface, the figure of a young woman, apparently about nineteen or twenty years of age. She seemed to be occupied with her toilet: he distinctly saw her touching her lips with _béni_[67] At first her face was visible in profile only; but presently she turned towards him and smiled. Immediately he felt a strange shock at his heart, and a dizziness came upon him like the dizziness of wine, and everything became dark, except that smiling face,--white and beautiful as moonlight, and always seeming to grow more beautiful, and to be drawing him down--down--down into the darkness. But with a desperate effort he recovered his will and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the face was gone, and the light had returned; and he found himself leaning down over the curb of the well. A moment more of that dizziness,--a moment more of that dazzling lure,--and he would never again have looked upon the sun... [Footnote 67: A kind of rouge, now used only to color the lips.] Returning to the house, he gave orders to his people not to approach the well under any circumstances, or allow any person to draw water from it. And the next day he had a strong fence built round the well. * * * * * About a week after the fence had been built, the long drought was broken by a great rain-storm, accompanied by wind and lightning and thunder,--thunder so tremendous that the whole city shook to the rolling of it, as if shaken by an earthquake. For three days and three nights the downpour and the lightnings and the thunder continued; and the Kamogawa rose as it had never risen before, carrying away many bridges. During the third night of the storm, at the Hour of the Ox, there was heard a knocking at the door of the priest's dwelling, and the voice of a woman pleading for admittance. But Matsumura, warned by his experience at the well, forbade his servants to answer the appeal. He went himself to the entrance, and asked,-- "Who calls?" A feminine voice responded:-- "Pardon! it is I,--Yayoi![68]... I have something to say to Matsumura Sama,--something of great moment. Please open!"... [Footnote 68: This name, though uncommon, is still in use.] Matsumura half opened the door, very cautiously; and he saw the same beautiful face that had smiled upon him from the well. But it was not smiling now: it had a very sad look. "Into my house you shall not come," the priest exclaimed. "You are not a human being, but a Well-Person.... Why do you thus wickedly try to delude and destroy people?" The Well-Person made answer in a voice musical as a tinkling of jewels (_tama-wo-korogasu-koë_.):-- "It is of that very matter that I want to speak.... I have never wished to injure human beings. But from ancient time a Poison-Dragon dwelt in that well. He was the Master of the Well; and because of him the well was always full. Long ago I fell into the water there, and so became subject to him; and he had power to make me lure people to death, in order that he might drink their blood. But now the Heavenly Ruler has commanded the Dragon to dwell hereafter in the lake called Torii-no-Iké, in the Province of Shinsh[=u]; and the gods have decided that he shall never be allowed to return to this city. So to-night, after he had gone away, I was able to come out, to beg for your kindly help. There is now very little water in the well, because of the Dragon's departure; and if you will order search to be made, my body will be found there. I pray you to save my body from the well without delay; and I shall certainly return your benevolence."... So saying, she vanished into the night. * * * * * Before dawn the tempest had passed; and when the sun arose there was no trace of cloud in the pure blue sky. Matsumura sent at an early hour for well-cleaners to search the well. Then, to everybody's surprise, the well proved to be almost dry. It was easily cleaned; and at the bottom of it were found some hair-ornaments of a very ancient fashion, and a metal mirror of curious form--but no trace of any body, animal or human. Matusmura imagined, however, that the mirror might yield some explanation of the mystery; for every such mirror is a weird thing, having a soul of its own,--and the soul of a mirror is feminine. This mirror, which seemed to be very old, was deeply crusted with scurf. But when it had been carefully cleaned, by the priest's order, it proved to be of rare and costly workmanship; and there were wonderful designs upon the back of it,--also several characters. Some of the characters had become indistinguishable; but there could still be discerned part of a date, and ideographs signifying, "_third month, the third day_." Now the third month used to be termed _Yayoi_ (meaning, the Month of Increase); and the third day of the third month, which is a festival day, is still called _Yayoi-no-sekku_. Remembering that the Well-Person called herself "Yayoi," Matsumura felt almost sure that his ghostly visitant had been none other than the Soul of the Mirror. He therefore resolved to treat the mirror with all the consideration due to a Spirit. After having caused it to be carefully repolished and resilvered, he had a case of precious wood made for it, and a particular room in the house prepared to receive it. On the evening of the same day that it had been respectfully deposited in that room, Yayoi herself unexpectedly appeared before the priest as he sat alone in his study. She looked even more lovely than before; but the light of her beauty was now soft as the light of a summer moon shining through pure white clouds. After having humbly saluted Matsumura, she said in her sweetly tinkling voice:-- "Now that you have saved me from solitude and sorrow, I have come to thank you.... I am indeed, as you supposed, the Spirit of the Mirror. It was in the time of the Emperor Saimei that I was first brought here from Kudara; and I dwelt in the august residence until the time of the Emperor Saga, when I was augustly bestowed upon the Lady Kamo, Naishinn[=o] of the Imperial Court.[69] Thereafter I became an heirloom in the House of Fuji-wara, and so remained until the period of H[=o]gen, when I was dropped into the well. There I was left and forgotten during the years of the great war.[70] The Master of the Well[71] was a venomous Dragon, who used to live in a lake that once covered a great part of this district. After the lake had been filled in, by government order, in order that houses might be built upon the place of it, the Dragon took possession of the well; and when I fell into the well I became subject to him; and he compelled me to lure many people to their deaths. But the gods have banished him forever.... Now I have one more favor to beseech: I entreat that you will cause me to be offered up to the Sh[=o]gun, the Lord Yoshimasa, who by descent is related to my former possessors. Do me but this last great kindness, and it will bring you good-fortune.... But I have also to warn you of a danger. In this house, after to-morrow, you must not stay, because it will be destroyed."... And with these words of warning Yayoi disappeared. [Footnote 69: The Emperor Saimei reigned from 655 to 662 (A.D.); the Emperor Saga from 810 to 842.--Kudara was an ancient kingdom in southwestern Korea, frequently mentioned in early Japanese history.--A _Naishinn[=o]_ was of Imperial blood. In the ancient court-hierarchy there were twenty-five ranks or grades of noble ladies;--that of _Naishinno_ was seventh in order of precedence.] [Footnote 70: For centuries the wives of the emperors and the ladies of the Imperial Court were chosen from the Fujiwara clan--The period called H[=o]gen lasted from 1156 to 1159: the war referred to is the famous war between the Taira and Minamoto clans.] [Footnote 71: In old-time belief every lake or spring had its invisible guardian, supposed to sometimes take the form of a serpent or dragon. The spirit of a lake or pond was commonly spoken of as _Iké-no-Mushi_, the Master of the Lake. Here we find the title "Master" given to a dragon living in a well; but the guardian of wells is really the god Suijin.] * * * * * Matsumura was able to profit by this premonition. He removed his people and his belongings to another district the next day; and almost immediately afterwards another storm arose, even more violent than the first, causing a flood which swept away the house in which he had been residing. Some time later, by favor of the Lord Hosokawa, Matsumura was enabled to obtain an audience of the Sh[=o]gun Yoshimasa, to whom he presented the mirror, together with a written account of its wonderful history. Then the prediction of the Spirit of the Mirror was fulfilled; for the Sh[=o]gun, greatly pleased with this strange gift, not only bestowed costly presents upon Matsumura, but also made an ample grant of money for the rebuilding of the Temple of Ogawachi-My[=o]jin. THE STORY OF IT[=O] NORISUKÉ In the town of Uji, in the province of Yamashiro, there lived, about six hundred years ago, a young samurai named It[=o] Tatéwaki Norisuké, whose ancestors were of the Héïké clan. It[=o] was of handsome person and amiable character, a good scholar and apt at arms. But his family were poor; and he had no patron among the military nobility,--so that his prospects were small. He lived in a very quiet way, devoting himself to the study of literature, and having (says the Japanese story-teller) "only the Moon and the Wind for friends." One autumn evening, as he was taking a solitary walk in the neighborhood of the hill called Kotobikiyama, he happened to overtake a young girl who was following the same path. She was richly dressed, and seemed to be about eleven or twelve years old. It[=o] greeted her, and said, "The sun will soon be setting, damsel, and this is rather a lonesome place. May I ask if you have lost your way?" She looked up at him with a bright smile, and answered deprecatingly: "Nay! I am a _miya-dzukai_,[72] serving in this neighborhood; and I have only a little way to go." [Footnote 72: August-residence servant.] By her use of the term _miya-dzukai_, It[=o] knew that the girl must be in the service of persons of rank; and her statement surprised him, because he had never heard of any family of distinction residing in that vicinity. But he only said: "I am returning to Uji, where my home is. Perhaps you will allow me to accompany you on the way, as this is a very lonesome place." She thanked him gracefully, seeming pleased by his offer; and they walked on together, chatting as they went. She talked about the weather, the flowers, the butterflies, and the birds; about a visit that she had once made to Uji, about the famous sights of the capital, where she had been born;--and the moments passed pleasantly for It[=o], as he listened to her fresh prattle. Presently, at a turn in the road, they entered a hamlet, densely shadowed by a grove of young trees. * * * * * [Here I must interrupt the story to tell you that, without having actually seen them, you cannot imagine how dark some Japanese country villages remain even in the brightest and hottest weather. In the neighborhood of T[=o]ky[=o] itself there are many villages of this kind. At a short distance from such a settlement you see no houses: nothing is visible but a dense grove of evergreen trees. The grove, which is usually composed of young cedars and bamboos, serves to shelter the village from storms, and also to supply timber for various purposes. So closely are the trees planted that there is no room to pass between the trunks of them: they stand straight as masts, and mingle their crests so as to form a roof that excludes the sun. Each thatched cottage occupies a clear space in the plantation, the trees forming a fence about it, double the height of the building. Under the trees it is always twilight, even at high noon; and the houses, morning or evening, are half in shadow. What makes the first impression of such a village almost disquieting is, not the transparent gloom, which has a certain weird charm of its own, but the stillness. There may be fifty or a hundred dwellings; but you see nobody; and you hear no sound but the twitter of invisible birds, the occasional crowing of cocks, and the shrilling of cicadæ. Even the cicadæ, however, find these groves too dim, and sing faintly; being sun-lovers, they prefer the trees outside the village. I forgot to say that you may sometimes hear a viewless shuttle--_chaka-ton, chaka-ton_;--but that familiar sound, in the great green silence, seems an elfish happening. The reason of the hush is simply that the people are not at home. All the adults, excepting some feeble elders, have gone to the neighboring fields, the women carrying their babies on their backs; and most of the children have gone to the nearest school, perhaps not less than a mile away. Verily, in these dim hushed villages, one seems to behold the mysterious perpetuation of conditions recorded in the texts of Kwang-Tze:-- "_The ancients who had the nourishment of the world wished for nothing, and the world had enough:--they did nothing, and all things were transformed:--their stillness was abysmal, and the people were all composed._"] * * * * * ... The village was very dark when It[=o] reached it; for the sun had set, and the after-glow made no twilight in the shadowing of the trees. "Now, kind sir," the child said, pointing to a narrow lane opening upon the main road, "I have to go this way." "Permit me, then, to see you home," It[=o] responded; and he turned into the lane with her, feeling rather than seeing his way. But the girl soon stopped before a small gate, dimly visible in the gloom,--a gate of trelliswork, beyond which the lights of a dwelling could be seen. "Here," she said, "is the honorable residence in which I serve. As you have come thus far out of your way, kind sir, will you not deign to enter and to rest a while?" It[=o] assented. He was pleased by the informal invitation; and he wished to learn what persons of superior condition had chosen to reside in so lonesome a village. He knew that sometimes a family of rank would retire in this manner from public life, by reason of government displeasure or political trouble; and he imagined that such might be the history of the occupants of the dwelling before him. Passing the gate, which his young guide opened for him, he found himself in a large quaint garden. A miniature landscape, traversed by a winding stream, was faintly distinguishable. "Deign for one little moment to wait," the child said; "I go to announce the honorable coming;" and hurried toward the house. It was a spacious house, but seemed very old, and built in the fashion of another time. The sliding doors were not closed; but the lighted interior was concealed by a beautiful bamboo curtain extending along the gallery front. Behind it shadows were moving--shadows of women;--and suddenly the music of a _koto_ rippled into the night. So light and sweet was the playing that It[=o] could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses. A slumbrous feeling of delight stole over him as he listened,--a delight strangely mingled with sadness. He wondered how any woman could have learned to play thus,--wondered whether the player could be a woman,--wondered even whether he was hearing earthly music; for enchantment seemed to have entered into his blood with the sound of it. * * * * * The soft music ceased; and almost at the same moment It[=o] found the little _miya-dzukai_ beside him. "Sir," she said, "it is requested that you will honorably enter." She conducted him to the entrance, where he removed his sandals; and an aged woman, whom he thought to be the _R[=o]jo_, or matron of the household, came to welcome him at the threshold. The old woman then led him through many apartments to a large and well-lighted room in the rear of the house, and with many respectful salutations requested him to take the place of honor accorded to guests of distinction. He was surprised by the stateliness of the chamber, and the curious beauty of its decorations. Presently some maid-servants brought refreshments; and he noticed that the cups and other vessels set before him were of rare and costly workmanship, and ornamented with a design indicating the high rank of the possessor. More and more he wondered what noble person had chosen this lonely retreat, and what happening could have inspired the wish for such solitude. But the aged attendant suddenly interrupted his reflections with the question: "Am I wrong in supposing that you are It[=o] Sama, of Uji,--It[=o] Tatéwaki Norisuké?" It[=o] bowed in assent. He had not told his name to the little _miya-dzukai_, and the manner of the inquiry startled him. "Please do not think my question rude," continued the attendant. "An old woman like myself may ask questions without improper curiosity. When you came to the house, I thought that I knew your face; and I asked your name only to clear away all doubt, before speaking of other matters. I have some thing of moment to tell you. You often pass through this village, and our young Himégimi-Sama[73] happened one morning to see you going by; and ever since that moment she has been thinking about you, day and night. Indeed, she thought so much that she became ill; and we have been very uneasy about her. For that reason I took means to find out your name and residence; and I was on the point of sending you a letter when--so unexpectedly!--you came to our gate with the little attendant. Now, to say how happy I am to see you is not possible; it seems almost too fortunate a happening to be true! Really I think that this meeting must have been brought about by the favor of Enmusubi-no-Kami,--that great God of Izumo who ties the knots of fortunate union. And now that so lucky a destiny has led you hither, perhaps you will not refuse--if there be no obstacle in the way of such a union--to make happy the heart of our Himégimi-Sama?" [Footnote 73: A scarcely translatable honorific title compounded of the word _himé_ (princess) and _kimi_ (sovereign, master or mistress, lord or lady, etc.).] For the moment It[=o] did not know how to reply. If the old woman had spoken the truth, an extraordinary chance was being offered to him. Only a great passion could impel the daughter of a noble house to seek, of her own will, the affection of an obscure and masterless samurai, possessing neither wealth nor any sort of prospects. On the other hand, it was not in the honorable nature of the man to further his own interests by taking advantage of a feminine weakness. Moreover, the circumstances were disquietingly mysterious. Yet how to decline the proposal, so unexpectedly made, troubled him not a little. After a short silence, he replied:-- "There would be no obstacle, as I have no wife, and no betrothed, and no relation with any woman. Until now I have lived with my parents; and the matter of my marriage was never discussed by them. You must know that I am a poor samurai, without any patron among persons of rank; and I did not wish to marry until I could find some chance to improve my condition. As to the proposal which you have done me the very great honor to make, I can only say that I know myself yet unworthy of the notice of any noble maiden." The old woman smiled as if pleased by these words, and responded:-- "Until you have seen our Himégimi-Sama, it were better that you make no decision. Perhaps you will feel no hesitation after you have seen her. Deign now to come with me, that I may present you to her." She conducted him to another larger guest-room, where preparations for a feast had been made, and having shown him the place of honor, left him for a moment alone. She returned accompanied by the Himégimi-Sama; and, at the first sight of the young mistress, It[=o] felt again the strange thrill of wonder and delight that had come to him in the garden, as he listened to the music of the _koto_. Never had he dreamed of so beautiful a being. Light seemed to radiate from her presence, and to shine through her garments, as the light of the moon through flossy clouds; her loosely flowing hair swayed about her as she moved, like the boughs of the drooping willow bestirred by the breezes of spring; her lips were like flowers of the peach besprinkled with morning dew. It[=o] was bewildered by the vision. He asked himself whether he was not looking upon the person of Amano-kawara-no-Ori-Himé herself,--the Weaving-Maiden who dwells by the shining River of Heaven. Smiling, the aged woman turned to the fair one, who remained speechless, with downcast eyes and flushing cheeks, and said to her:-- "See, my child!--at the moment when we could least have hoped for such a thing, the very person whom you wished to meet has come of his own accord. So fortunate a happening could have been brought about only by the will of the high gods. To think of it makes me weep for joy." And she sobbed aloud. "But now," she continued, wiping away her tears with her sleeve, "it only remains for you both--unless either prove unwilling, which I doubt--to pledge yourselves to each other, and to partake of your wedding feast." * * * * * It[=o] answered by no word: the incomparable vision before him had numbed his will and tied his tongue. Maid-servants entered, bearing dishes and wine: the wedding feast was spread before the pair; and the pledges were given. It[=o] nevertheless remained as in a trance: the marvel of the adventure, and the wonder of the beauty of the bride, still bewildered him. A gladness, beyond aught that he had ever known before, filled his heart--like a great silence. But gradually he recovered his wonted calm; and thereafter he found himself able to converse without embarrassment. Of the wine he partook freely; and he ventured to speak, in a self-depreciating but merry way, about the doubts and fears that had oppressed him. Meanwhile the bride remained still as moonlight, never lifting her eyes, and replying only by a blush or a smile when he addressed her. It[=o] said to the aged attendant:-- "Many times, in my solitary walks, I have passed through this village without knowing of the existence of this honorable dwelling. And ever since entering here, I have been wondering why this noble household should have chosen so lonesome a place of sojourn.... Now that your Himégimi-Sama and I have become pledged to each other, it seems to me a strange thing that I do not yet know the name of her august family." At this utterance, a shadow passed over the kindly face of the old woman; and the bride, who had yet hardly spoken, turned pale, and appeared to become painfully anxious. After some moments of silence, the aged woman responded:-- "To keep our secret from you much longer would be difficult; and I think that, under any circumstances, you should be made aware of the facts, now that you are one of us. Know then, Sir It[=o], that your bride is the daughter of Shigéhira-Ky[=o], the great and unfortunate San-mi Chüj[=o]." At those words--"Shigéhira-Ky[=o], San-mi Chüj[=o]"--the young samurai felt a chill, as of ice, strike through all his veins. Shigéhira-Ky[=o], the great Héïké general and statesman, had been dust for centuries. And It[=o] suddenly understood that everything around him--the chamber and the lights and the banquet--was a dream of the past; that the forms before him were not people, but shadows of people dead. But in another instant the icy chill had passed; and the charm returned, and seemed to deepen about him; and he felt no fear. Though his bride had come to him out of Yomi,--out of the place of the Yellow Springs of death,--his heart had been wholly won. Who weds a ghost must become a ghost;--yet he knew himself ready to die, not once, but many times, rather than betray by word or look one thought that might bring a shadow of pain to the brow of the beautiful illusion before him. Of the affection proffered he had no misgiving: the truth had been told him when any unloving purpose might better have been served by deception. But these thoughts and emotions passed in a flash, leaving him resolved to accept the strange situation as it had presented itself, and to act just as he would have done if chosen, in the years of Jü-ei, by Shigéhira's daughter. "Ah, the pity of it!" he exclaimed; "I have heard of the cruel fate of the august Lord Shigéhira." "Ay," responded the aged woman, sobbing as she spoke;--"it was indeed a cruel fate. His horse, you know, was killed by an arrow, and fell upon him; and when he called for help, those who had lived upon his bounty deserted him in his need. Then he was taken prisoner, and sent to Kamakura, where they treated him shamefully, and at last put him to death.[74] His wife and child--this dear maid here--were then in hiding; for everywhere the Héïké were being sought out and killed. When the news of the Lord Shigéhira's death reached us, the pain proved too great for the mother to bear, so the child was left with no one to care for her but me,--since her kindred had all perished or disappeared. She was only five years old. I had been her milk-nurse, and I did what I could for her. Year after year we wandered from place to place, traveling in pilgrim-garb.... But these tales of grief are ill-timed," exclaimed the nurse, wiping away her tears;--"pardon the foolish heart of an old woman who cannot forget the past. See! the little maid whom I fostered has now become a Himégimi-Sama indeed!--were we living in the good days of the Emperor Takakura, what a destiny might be reserved for her! However, she has obtained the husband whom she desired; that is the greatest happiness.... But the hour is late. The bridal-chamber has been prepared; and I must now leave you to care for each other until morning." [Footnote 74: Shigéhira, after a brave fight in defense of the capital,--then held by the Taïra (or Héïké) party,--was surprised and routed by Yoshitsuné, leader of the Minamoto forces. A soldier named Iyénaga, who was a skilled archer, shot down Shigéhira's horse; and Shigéhira fell under the struggling animal. He cried to an attendant to bring another horse; but the man fled. Shigéhira was then captured by Iyénaga, and eventually given up to Yoritomo, head of the Minamoto clan, who caused him to be sent in a cage to Kamakura. There, after sundry humiliations, he was treated for a time with consideration,--having been able, by a Chinese poem, to touch even the cruel heart of Yoritomo. But in the following year he was executed by request of the Buddhist priests of Nanto, against whom he had formerly waged war by order of Kiyomori.] She rose, and sliding back the screens parting the guest-room from the adjoining chamber, ushered them to their sleeping apartment. Then, with many words of joy and congratulation, she withdrew; and It[=o] was left alone with his bride. As they reposed together, It[=o] said:-- "Tell me, my loved one, when was it that you first wished to have me for your husband." (For everything appeared so real that he had almost ceased to think of the illusion woven around him.) She answered, in a voice like a dove's voice:-- "My august lord and husband, it was at the temple of Ishiyama, where I went with my foster-mother, that I saw you for the first time. And because of seeing you, the world became changed to me from that hour and moment. But you do not remember, because our meeting was not in this, your present life: it was very, very long ago. Since that time you have passed through many deaths and births, and have had many comely bodies. But I have remained always that which you see me now: I could not obtain another body, nor enter into another state of existence, because of my great wish for you. My dear lord and husband, I have waited for you through many ages of men." And the bridegroom felt nowise afraid at hearing these strange words, but desired nothing more in life, or in all his lives to come, than to feel her arms about him, and to hear the caress of her voice. * * * * * But the pealing of a temple-bell proclaimed the coming of dawn. Birds began to twitter; a morning breeze set all the trees a-whispering. Suddenly the old nurse pushed apart the sliding screens of the bridal-chamber, and exclaimed:-- "My children, it is time to separate! By daylight you must not be together, even for an instant: that were fatal! You must bid each other good-by." Without a word, It[=o] made ready to depart. He vaguely understood the warning uttered, and resigned himself wholly to destiny. His will belonged to him no more; he desired only to please his shadowy bride. She placed in his hands a little _suzuri_, or ink-stone, curiously carved, and said:-- "My young lord and husband is a scholar; therefore this small gift will probably not be despised by him. It is of strange fashion because it is old, having been augustly bestowed upon my father by the favor of the Emperor Takakura. For that reason only, I thought it to be a precious thing." It[=o], in return, besought her to accept for a remembrance the _k[=o]gai_[75] of his sword, which were decorated with inlaid work of silver and gold, representing plum-flowers and nightingales. [Footnote 75: This was the name given to a pair of metal rods attached to a sword-sheath, and used like chop-sticks. They were sometimes exquisitely ornamented.] Then the little _miya-dzukai_ came to guide him through the garden, and his bride with her foster-mother accompanied him to the threshold. As he turned at the foot of the steps to make his parting salute, the old woman said:-- "We shall meet again the next Year of the Boar, at the same hour of the same day of the same month that you came here. This being the Year of the Tiger, you will have to wait ten years. But, for reasons which I must not say, we shall not be able to meet again in this place; we are going to the neighborhood of Ky[=o]to, where the good Emperor Takakura and our fathers and many of our people are dwelling. All the Héïké will be rejoiced by your coming. We shall send a _kago_[76] for you on the appointed day." [Footnote 76: A kind of palanquin.] * * * * * Above the village the stars were burning as It[=o] passed the gate; but on reaching the open road he saw the dawn brightening beyond leagues of silent fields. In his bosom he carried the gift of his bride. The charm of her voice lingered in his ears,--and nevertheless, had it not been for the memento which he touched with questioning fingers, he could have persuaded himself that the memories of the night were memories of sleep, and that his life still belonged to him. But the certainty that he had doomed himself evoked no least regret: he was troubled only by the pain of separation, and the thought of the seasons that would have to pass before the illusion could be renewed for him. Ten years!--and every day of those years would seem how long! The mystery of the delay he could not hope to solve; the secret ways of the dead are known to the gods alone. * * * * * Often and often, in his solitary walks, It[=o] revisited the village at Kotobikiyama, vaguely hoping to obtain another glimpse of the past. But never again, by night or by day, was he able to find the rustic gate in the shadowed lane; never again could he perceive the figure of the little _miya-dzukai_, walking alone in the sunset-glow. The village people, whom he questioned carefully, thought him bewitched. No person of rank, they said, had ever dwelt in the settlement; and there had never been, in the neighborhood, any such garden as he described. But there had once been a great Buddhist temple near the place of which he spoke; and some gravestones of the temple-cemetery were still to be seen. It[=o] discovered the monuments in the middle of a dense thicket. They were of an ancient Chinese form, and were covered with moss and lichens. The characters that had been cut upon them could no longer be deciphered. * * * * * Of his adventure It[=o] spoke to no one. But friends and kindred soon perceived a great change in his appearance and manner. Day by day he seemed to become more pale and thin, though physicians declared that he had no bodily ailment; he looked like a ghost, and moved like a shadow. Thoughtful and solitary he had always been, but now he appeared indifferent to everything which had formerly given him pleasure,--even to those literary studies by means of which he might have hoped to win distinction. To his mother--who thought that marriage might quicken his former ambition, and revive his interest in life--he said that he had made a vow to marry no living woman. And the months dragged by. At last came the Year of the Boar, and the season of autumn; but I to could no longer take the solitary walks that he loved. He could not even rise from his bed. His life was ebbing, though none could divine the cause; and he slept so deeply and so long that his sleep was often mistaken for death. Out of such a sleep he was startled, one bright evening, by the voice of a child; and he saw at his bedside the little _miya-dsukai_ who had guided him, ten years before, to the gate of the vanished garden. She saluted him, and smiled, and said: "I am bidden to tell you that you will be received to-night at Öhara, near Ky[=o]to, where the new home is, and that a _kago_ has been sent for you." Then she disappeared. It[=o] knew that he was being summoned away from the light of the sun; but the message so rejoiced him that he found strength to sit up and call his mother. To her he then for the first time related the story of his bridal, and he showed her the ink-stone which had been given him. He asked that it should be placed in his coffin,--and then he died. * * * * * The ink-stone was buried with him. But before the funeral ceremonies it was examined by experts, who said that it had been made in the period of _J[=o]-an_(1169 A.D.), and that it bore the seal-mark of an artist who had lived in the time of the Emperor Takakura. STRANGER THAN FICTION It was a perfect West Indian day. My friend the notary and I were crossing the island by a wonderful road which wound up through tropic forest to the clouds, and thence looped down again, through gold-green slopes of cane, and scenery amazing of violet and blue and ghost-gray peaks, to the roaring coast of the trade winds. All the morning we had been ascending,--walking after our carriage, most of the time, for the sake of the brave little mule;--and the sea had been climbing behind us till it looked like a monstrous wall of blue, pansy-blue, under the ever heightening horizon. The heat was like the heat of a vapor-bath, but the air was good to breathe with its tropical odor,--an odor made up of smells of strange saps, queer spicy scents of mould, exhalations of aromatic decay. Moreover, the views were glimpses of Paradise; and it was a joy to watch the torrents roaring down their gorges under shadows of tree-fern and bamboo. My friend stopped the carriage before a gateway set into a hedge full of flowers that looked like pink-and-white butterflies. "I have to make a call here," he said;--"come in with me." We dismounted, and he knocked on the gate with the butt of his whip. Within, at the end of a shady garden, I could see the porch of a planter's house; beyond were rows of cocoa palms, and glimpses of yellowing cane. Presently a negro, wearing only a pair of canvas trousers and a great straw hat, came hobbling to open the gate,--followed by a multitude, an astonishing multitude, of chippering chickens. Under the shadow of that huge straw hat I could not see the negro's face; but I noticed that his limbs and body were strangely shrunken,--looked as if withered to the bone. A weirder creature I had never beheld; and I wondered at his following of chickens. "Eh!" exclaimed the notary, "your chickens are as lively as ever!... I want to see Madame Floran." "_Moin ké di_," the goblin responded huskily, in his patois; and he limped on before us, all the chickens hopping and cheeping at his withered heels. "That fellow," my friend observed, "was bitten by a _fer-de-lance_ about eight or nine years ago. He got cured, or at least half-cured, in some extraordinary way; but ever since then he has been a skeleton. See how he limps!" The skeleton passed out of sight behind the house, and we waited a while at the front porch. Then a métisse--turbaned in wasp colors, and robed in iris colors, and wonderful to behold--came to tell us that Madame hoped we would rest ourselves in the garden, as the house was very warm. Chairs and a little table were then set for us in a shady place, and the métisse brought out lemons, sugar-syrup, a bottle of the clear plantation rum that smells like apple juice, and ice-cold water in a _dobanne_ of thick red clay. My friend prepared the refreshments; and then our hostess came to greet us, and to sit with us,--a nice old lady with hair like newly minted silver. I had never seen a smile sweeter than that with which she bade us welcome; and I wondered whether she could ever have been more charming in her Creole girlhood than she now appeared,--with her kindly wrinkles, and argent hair, and frank, black, sparkling eyes.... * * * * * In the conversation that followed I was not able to take part, as it related only to some question of title. The notary soon arranged whatever there was to arrange; and, after some charmingly spoken words of farewell from the gentle lady, we took our departure. Again the mummified negro hobbled before us, to open the gate,--followed by all his callow rabble of chickens. As we resumed our places in the carriage we could still hear the chippering of the creatures, pursuing after that ancient scarecrow. "Is it African sorcery?" I queried.... "How does he bewitch those chickens?" "Queer--is it not?" the notary responded as we drove away. "That negro must now be at least eighty years old; and he may live for twenty years more,--the wretch!" The tone in which my friend uttered this epithet--_le miserable!_--somewhat surprised me, as I knew him to be one of the kindliest men in the world, and singularly free from prejudice. I suspected that a story was coming, and I waited for it in silence. "Listen," said the notary, after a pause, during which we left the plantation well behind us; "that old sorcerer, as you call him, was born upon the estate, a slave. The estate belonged to M. Floran,--the husband of the lady whom we visited; and she was a cousin, and the marriage was a love-match. They had been married about two years when the revolt occurred (fortunately there were no children),--the black revolt of eighteen hundred and forty-eight. Several planters were murdered; and M. Floran was one of the first to be killed. And the old negro whom we saw to-day--the old sorcerer, as you call him--left the plantation, and joined the rising: do you understand?" "Yes," I said; "but he might have done that through fear of the mob." "Certainly: the other hands did the same. But it was he that killed M. Floran,--for no reason whatever,--cut him up with a cutlass. M. Floran was riding home when the attack was made,--about a mile below the plantation.... Sober, that negro would not have dared to face M. Floran: the scoundrel was drunk, of course,--raving drunk. Most of the blacks had been drinking tafia, with dead wasps in it, to give themselves courage." "But," I interrupted, "how does it happen that the fellow is still on the Floran plantation?" "Wait a moment!... When the military got control of the mob, search was made everywhere for the murderer of M. Floran; but he could not be found. He was lying out in the cane,--in M. Floran's cane!--like a field-rat, like a snake. One morning, while the gendarmes were still looking for him, he rushed into the house, and threw himself down in front of Madame, weeping and screaming, '_Aïe-yaïe-yaïe-yaïe!--moin té tchoué y! moin té tchoué y!--aïe-yaïe-yaïe!_' Those were his very words:--'I killed him! I killed him!' And he begged for mercy. When he was asked why he killed M. Floran, he cried out that it was the devil--_diabe-à_--that had made him do it!... Well, Madame forgave him!" "But how could she?" I queried. "Oh, she had always been very religious," my friend responded,--"sincerely religious. She only said, 'May God pardon me as I now pardon you!' She made her servants hide the creature and feed him; and they kept him hidden until the excitement was over. Then she sent him back to work; and he has been working for her ever since. Of course he is now too old to be of any use in the field;--he only takes care of the chickens." "But how," I persisted, "could the relatives allow Madame to forgive him?" "Well, Madame insisted that he was not mentally responsible,--that he was only a poor fool who had killed without knowing what he was doing; and she argued that if _she_ could forgive him, others could more easily do the same. There was a consultation; and the relatives decided so to arrange matters that Madame could have her own way." "But why?" "Because they knew that she found a sort of religious consolation--a kind of religious comfort--in forgiving the wretch. She imagined that it was her duty as a Christian, not only to forgive him, but to take care of him. We thought that she was mistaken,--but we could understand.... Well, there is an example of what religion can do."... * * * * * The surprise of a new fact, or the sudden perception of something never before imagined, may cause an involuntary smile. Unconsciously I smiled, while my friend was yet speaking; and the good notary's brow darkened. "Ah, you laugh!" he exclaimed,--"you laugh! That is wrong!--that is a mistake!... But you do not believe: you do not know what it is,--the true religion,--the real Christianity!" Earnestly I made answer:-- "Pardon me! I do believe every word of what you have told me. If I laughed unthinkingly, it was only because I could not help wondering" ... "At what?" he questioned gravely. "At the marvelous instinct of that negro." "Ah, yes!" he returned approvingly. "Yes, the cunning of the animal it was,--the instinct of the brute!... She was the only person in the world who could have saved him." "And he knew it," I ventured to add. "No--no--no!" my friend emphatically dissented,--"he never could have known it! He only _felt_ it!... Find me an instinct like that, and I will show you a brain incapable of any knowledge, any thinking, any understanding: not the mind of a man, but the brain of a beast!" A LETTER FROM JAPAN Tokyo, August 1, 1904. Here, in this quiet suburb, where the green peace is broken only by the voices of children at play and the shrilling of cicadæ, it is difficult to imagine that, a few hundred miles away, there is being carried on one of the most tremendous wars of modern times, between armies aggregating more than half a million of men, or that, on the intervening sea, a hundred ships of war have been battling. This contest, between the mightiest of Western powers and a people that began to study Western science only within the recollection of many persons still in vigorous life, is, on one side at least, a struggle for national existence. It was inevitable, this struggle,--might perhaps have been delayed, but certainly not averted. Japan has boldly challenged an empire capable of threatening simultaneously the civilizations of the East and the West,--a mediæval power that, unless vigorously checked, seems destined to absorb Scandinavia and to dominate China. For all industrial civilization the contest is one of vast moment;--for Japan it is probably the supreme crisis in her national life. As to what her fleets and her armies have been doing, the world is fully informed; but as to what her people are doing at home, little has been written. To inexperienced observation they would appear to be doing nothing unusual; and this strange calm is worthy of record. At the beginning of hostilities an Imperial mandate was issued, bidding all non-combatants to pursue their avocations as usual, and to trouble themselves as little as possible about exterior events;--and this command has been obeyed to the letter. It would be natural to suppose that all the sacrifices, tragedies, and uncertainties of the contest had thrown their gloom over the life of the capital in especial; but there is really nothing whatever to indicate a condition of anxiety or depression. On the contrary, one is astonished by the joyous tone of public confidence, and the admirably restrained pride of the nation in its victories. Western tides have strewn the coast with Japanese corpses; regiments have been blown out of existence in the storming of positions defended by wire-entanglements; battleships have been lost: yet at no moment has there been the least public excitement. The people are following their daily occupations just as they did before the war; the cheery aspect of things is just the same; the theatres and flower displays are not less well patronized. The life of T[=o]ky[=o] has been, to outward seeming, hardly more affected by the events of the war than the life of nature beyond it, where the flowers are blooming and the butterflies hovering as in other summers. Except after the news of some great victory,--celebrated with fireworks and lantern processions,--there are no signs of public emotion; and but for the frequent distribution of newspaper extras, by runners ringing bells, you could almost persuade yourself that the whole story of the war is an evil dream. Yet there has been, of necessity, a vast amount of suffering--viewless and voiceless suffering--repressed by that sense of social and patriotic duty which is Japanese religion. As a seventeen-syllable poem of the hour tells us, the news of every victory must bring pain as well as joy:-- G[=o]gwai no Tabi teki mikata Goké ga fuè. [_Each time that an extra is circulated the widows of foes and friends have increased in multitude._] The great quiet and the smiling tearlessness testify to the more than Spartan discipline of the race. Anciently the people were trained, not only to conceal their emotions, but to speak in a cheerful voice and to show a pleasant face under any stress of moral suffering; and they are obedient to that teaching to-day. It would still be thought a shame to betray personal sorrow for the loss of those who die for Emperor and fatherland. The public seem to view the events of the war as they would watch the scenes of a popular play. They are interested without being excited; and their extraordinary self-control is particularly shown in various manifestations of the "Play-impulse." Everywhere the theatres are producing war dramas (based upon actual fact); the newspapers and magazines are publishing war stories and novels; the cinematograph exhibits the monstrous methods of modern warfare; and numberless industries are turning out objects of art or utility designed to commemorate the Japanese triumphs. But the present psychological condition, the cheerful and even playful tone of public feeling, can be indicated less by any general statement than by the mention of ordinary facts,--every-day matters recorded in the writer's diary. * * * * * Never before were the photographers so busy; it is said that they have not been able to fulfill half of the demands made upon them. The hundreds of thousands of men sent to the war wished to leave photographs with their families, and also to take with them portraits of parents, children, and other beloved persons. The nation was being photographed during the past six months. A fact of sociological interest is that photography has added something new to the poetry of the domestic faith. From the time of its first introduction, photography became popular in Japan; and none of those superstitions, which inspire fear of the camera among less civilized races, offered any obstacle to the rapid development of a new industry. It is true that there exists some queer-folk beliefs about photographs,--ideas of mysterious relation between the sun-picture and the person imaged. For example: if, in the photograph of a group, one figure appear indistinct or blurred, that is thought to be an omen of sickness or death. But this superstition has its industrial value: it has compelled photographers to be careful about their work,--especially in these days of war, when everybody wants to have a good clear portrait, because the portrait might be needed for another purpose than preservation in an album. During the last twenty years there has gradually come into existence the custom of placing the photograph of a dead parent, brother, husband, or child, beside the mortuary tablet kept in the Buddhist household shrine. For this reason, also, the departing soldier wishes to leave at home a good likeness of himself. The rites of domestic affection, in old samurai families, are not confined to the cult of the dead. On certain occasions, the picture of the absent parent, husband, brother, or betrothed, is placed in the alcove of the guest-room, and a feast laid out before it. The photograph, in such cases, is fixed upon a little stand (_dai_); and the feast is served as if the person were present. This pretty custom of preparing a meal for the absent is probably more ancient than any art of portraiture; but the modern photograph adds to the human poetry of the rite. In feudal time it was the rule to set the repast facing the direction in which the absent person had gone--north, south, east, or west. After a brief interval the covers of the vessels containing the cooked food were lifted and examined. If the lacquered inner surface was thickly beaded with vapor, all was well; but if the surface was dry, that was an omen of death, a sign that the disembodied spirit had returned to absorb the essence of the offerings. * * * * * As might have been expected, in a country where the "play-impulse" is stronger, perhaps, than in any other part of the world, the Zeitgeist found manifestation in the flower displays of the year. I visited those in my neighborhood, which is the Quarter of the Gardeners. This quarter is famous for its azaleas (_tsutsuji_); and every spring the azalea gardens attract thousands of visitors,--not only by the wonderful exhibition then made of shrubs which look like solid masses of blossom (ranging up from snowy white, through all shades of pink, to a flamboyant purple) but also by displays of effigies: groups of figures ingeniously formed with living leaves and flowers. These figures, life-size, usually represent famous incidents of history or drama. In many cases--though not in all--the bodies and the costumes are composed of foliage and flowers trained to grow about a framework; while the faces, feet, and hands are represented by some kind of flesh-colored composition. This year, however, a majority of the displays represented scenes of the war,--such as an engagement between Japanese infantry and mounted Cossacks, a night attack by torpedo boats, the sinking of a battleship. In the last-mentioned display, Russian bluejackets appeared, swimming for their lives in a rough sea;--the pasteboard waves and the swimming figures being made to rise and fall by the pulling of a string; while the crackling of quick-firing guns was imitated by a mechanism contrived with sheets of zinc. It is said that Admiral T[=o]g[=o] sent to T[=o]ky[=o] for some flowering-trees in pots--inasmuch as his responsibilities allowed him no chance of seeing the cherry-flowers and the plum-blossoms in their season,--and that the gardeners responded even too generously. * * * * * Almost immediately after the beginning of hostilities, thousands of "war pictures"--mostly cheap lithographs--were published. The drawing and coloring were better than those of the prints issued at the time of the war with China; but the details were to a great extent imaginary,--altogether imaginary as to the appearance of Russian troops. Pictures of the engagements with the Russian fleet were effective, despite some lurid exaggeration. The most startling things were pictures of Russian defeats in Korea, published before a single military engagement had taken place;--the artist had "flushed to anticipate the scene." In these prints the Russians were depicted as fleeing in utter rout, leaving their officers--very fine-looking officers--dead upon the field; while the Japanese infantry, with dreadfully determined faces, were coming up at a double. The propriety and the wisdom of thus pictorially predicting victory, and easy victory to boot, may be questioned. But I am told that the custom of so doing is an old one; and it is thought that to realize the common hope thus imaginatively is lucky. At all events, there is no attempt at deception in these pictorial undertakings;--they help to keep up the public courage, and they ought to be pleasing to the gods. Some of the earlier pictures have now been realized in grim fact. The victories in China had been similarly foreshadowed: they amply justified the faith of the artist.... To-day the war pictures continue to multiply; but they have changed character. The inexorable truth of the photograph, and the sketches of the war correspondent, now bring all the vividness and violence of fact to help the artist's imagination. There was something naïve and theatrical in the drawings of anticipation; but the pictures of the hour represent the most tragic reality,--always becoming more terrible. At this writing, Japan has yet lost no single battle; but not a few of her victories have been dearly won. To enumerate even a tenth of the various articles ornamented with designs inspired by the war--articles such as combs, clasps, fans, brooches, card-cases, purses--would require a volume. Even cakes and confectionery are stamped with naval or military designs; and the glass or paper windows of shops--not to mention the signboards--have pictures of Japanese victories painted upon them. At night the shop lanterns proclaim the pride of the nation in its fleets and armies; and a whole chapter might easily be written about the new designs in transparencies and toy lanterns. A new revolving lantern--turned by the air-current which its own flame creates--has become very popular. It represents a charge of Japanese infantry upon Russian defenses; and holes pierced in the colored paper, so as to produce a continuous vivid flashing while the transparency revolves, suggest the exploding of shells and the volleying of machine guns. Some displays of the art-impulse, as inspired by the war, have been made in directions entirely unfamiliar to Western experience,--in the manufacture, for example, of women's hair ornaments and dress materials. Dress goods decorated with war pictures have actually become a fashion,--especially crêpe silks for underwear, and figured silk linings for cloaks and sleeves. More remarkable than these are the new hairpins;--by hairpins I mean those long double-pronged ornaments of flexible metal which are called _kanzashi_, and are more or less ornamented according to the age of the wearer. (The _kanzashi_ made for young girls are highly decorative; those worn by older folk are plain, or adorned only with a ball of coral or polished stone.) The new hairpins might be called commemorative: one, of which the decoration represents a British and a Japanese flag intercrossed, celebrates the Anglo-Japanese alliance; another represents an officer's cap and sword; and the best of all is surmounted by a tiny metal model of a battleship. The battleship-pin is not merely fantastic: it is actually pretty! As might have been expected, military and naval subjects occupy a large place among the year's designs for toweling. The towel designs celebrating naval victories have been particularly successful: they are mostly in white, on a blue ground; or in black, on a white ground. One of the best--blue and white--represented only a flock of gulls wheeling about the masthead of a sunken iron-clad, and, far away, the silhouettes of Japanese battleships passing to the horizon.... What especially struck me in this, and in several other designs, was the original manner in which the Japanese artist had seized upon the traits of the modern battleship,--the powerful and sinister lines of its shape,--just as he would have caught for us the typical character of a beetle or a lobster. The lines have been just enough exaggerated to convey, at one glance, the real impression made by the aspect of these iron monsters,--vague impression of bulk and force and menace, very difficult to express by ordinary methods of drawing. Besides towels decorated with artistic sketches of this sort, there have been placed upon the market many kinds of towels bearing comic war pictures,--caricatures or cartoons which are amusing without being malignant. It will be remembered that at the time of the first attack made upon the Port Arthur squadron, several of the Russian officers were in the Dalny theatre,--never dreaming that the Japanese would dare to strike the first blow. This incident has been made the subject of a towel design. At one end of the towel is a comic study of the faces of the Russians, delightedly watching the gyrations of a ballet dancer. At the other end is a study of the faces of the same commanders when they find, on returning to the port, only the masts of their battleships above water. Another towel shows a procession of fish in front of a surgeon's office--waiting their turns to be relieved of sundry bayonets, swords, revolvers, and rifles, which have stuck in their throats. A third towel picture represents a Russian diver examining, with a prodigious magnifying-glass, the holes made by torpedoes in the hull of a sunken cruiser. Comic verses or legends, in cursive text, are printed beside these pictures. The great house of Mitsui, which placed the best of these designs on the market, also produced some beautiful souvenirs of the war, in the shape of _fukusa_. (A _fukusa_ is an ornamental silk covering, or wrapper, put over presents sent to friends on certain occasions, and returned after the present has been received.) These are made of the heaviest and costliest silk, and inclosed within appropriately decorated covers. Upon one _fukusa_ is a colored picture of the cruisers Nisshin and Kasuga, under full steam; and upon another has been printed, in beautiful Chinese characters, the full text of the Imperial Declaration of war. But the strangest things that I have seen in this line of production were silk dresses for baby girls,--figured stuffs which, when looked at from a little distance, appeared incomparably pretty, owing to the masterly juxtaposition of tints and colors. On closer inspection the charming design proved to be composed entirely of war pictures,--or, rather, fragments of pictures, blended into one astonishing combination: naval battles; burning warships; submarine mines exploding; torpedo boats attacking; charges of Cossacks repulsed by Japanese infantry; artillery rushing into position; storming of forts; long lines of soldiery advancing through mist. Here were colors of blood and fire, tints of morning haze and evening glow, noon-blue and starred night-purple, sea-gray and field-green,--most wonderful thing!... I suppose that the child of a military or naval officer might, without impropriety, be clad in such a robe. But then--the unspeakable pity of things! * * * * * The war toys are innumerable: I can attempt to mention only a few of the more remarkable kinds. Japanese children play many sorts of card games, some of which are old, others quite new. There are poetical card games, for example, played with a pack of which each card bears the text of a poem, or part of a poem; and the player should be able to remember the name of the author of any quotation in the set. Then there are geographical card games, in which each of the cards used bears the name, and perhaps a little picture, of some famous site, town, or temple; and the player should be able to remember the district and province in which the mentioned place is situated. The latest novelty in this line is a pack of cards with pictures upon them of the Russian war vessels; and the player should be able to state what has become of every vessel named,--whether sunk, disabled, or confined in Port Arthur. There is another card game in which the battleships, cruisers, and torpedo craft of both Japan and Russia are represented. The winner in this game destroys his "captures" by tearing the cards taken. But the shops keep packages of each class of warship cards in stock; and when all the destroyers or cruisers of one country have been put _hors de combat_, the defeated party can purchase new vessels abroad. One torpedo boat costs about one farthing; but five torpedo boats can be bought for a penny. The toy-shops are crammed with models of battleships,--in wood, clay, porcelain, lead, and tin,--of many sizes and prices. Some of the larger ones, moved by clockwork, are named after Japanese battleships: Shikishima, Fuji, Mikasa. One mechanical toy represents the sinking of a Russian vessel by a Japanese torpedo boat. Among cheaper things of this class is a box of colored sand, for the representation of naval engagements. Children arrange the sand so as to resemble waves; and with each box of sand are sold two fleets of tiny leaden vessels. The Japanese ships are white, and the Russian black; and explosions of torpedoes are to be figured by small cuttings of vermilion paper, planted in the sand. * * * * * The children of the poorest classes make their own war toys; and I have been wondering whether those ancient feudal laws (translated by Professor Wigmore), which fixed the cost and quality of toys to be given to children, did not help to develop that ingenuity which the little folk display. Recently I saw a group of children in our neighborhood playing at the siege of Port Arthur, with fleets improvised out of scraps of wood and some rusty nails. A tub of water represented Port Arthur. Battleships were figured by bits of plank, into which chop-sticks had been fixed to represent masts, and rolls of paper to represent funnels. Little flags, appropriately colored, were fastened to the masts with rice paste. Torpedo boats were imaged by splinters, into each of which a short thick nail had been planted to indicate a smokestack. Stationary submarine mines were represented by small squares of wood, each having one long nail driven into it; and these little things, when dropped into water with the nail-head downwards, would keep up a curious bobbing motion for a long time. Other squares of wood, having clusters of short nails driven into them, represented floating mines: and the mimic battleships were made to drag for these, with lines of thread. The pictures in the Japanese papers had doubtless helped the children to imagine the events of the war with tolerable accuracy. Naval caps for children have become, of course, more in vogue than ever before. Some of the caps bear, in Chinese characters of burnished metal, the name of a battleship, or the words _Nippon Teikoku_ (Empire of Japan),--disposed like the characters upon the cap of a blue-jacket. On some caps, however, the ship's name appears in English letters,--Yashima, Fuji, etc. * * * * * The play-impulse, I had almost forgotten to say, is shared by the soldiers themselves,--though most of those called to the front do not expect to return in the body. They ask only to be remembered at the Spirit-Invoking Shrine (_Sh[=o]konsha_), where the shades of all who die for Emperor and country are believed to gather. The men of the regiments temporarily quartered in our suburb, on their way to the war, found time to play at mimic war with the small folk of the neighborhood. (At all times Japanese soldiers are very kind to children; and the children here march with them, join in their military songs, and correctly salute their officers, feeling sure that the gravest officer will return the salute of a little child.) When the last regiment went away, the men distributed toys among the children assembled at the station to give them a parting cheer,--hairpins, with military symbols for ornament, to the girls; wooden infantry and tin cavalry to the boys. The oddest present was a small clay model of a Russian soldier's head, presented with the jocose promise: "If we come back, we shall bring you some real ones." In the top of the head there is a small wire loop, to which a rubber string can be attached. At the time of the war with China, little clay models of Chinese heads, with very long queues, were favorite toys. * * * * * The war has also suggested a variety of new designs for that charming object, the _toko-niwa_. Few of my readers know what a _toko-niwa_, or "alcove-garden," is. It is a miniature garden--perhaps less than two feet square--contrived within an ornamental shallow basin of porcelain or other material, and placed in the alcove of a guest-room by way of decoration. You may see there a tiny pond; a streamlet crossed by humped bridges of Chinese pattern; dwarf trees forming a grove, and shading the model of a Shinto temple; imitations in baked clay of stone lanterns,--perhaps even the appearance of a hamlet of thatched cottages. If the _toko-niwa_ be not too small, you may see real fish swimming in the pond, or a pet tortoise crawling among the rockwork. Sometimes the miniature garden represents H[=o]rai, and the palace of the Dragon-King. Two new varieties have come into fashion. One is a model of Port Arthur, showing the harbor and the forts; and with the materials for the display there is sold a little map, showing how to place certain tiny battle-ships, representing the imprisoned and the investing fleets. The other _toko-niwa_ represents a Korean or Chinese landscape, with hill ranges and rivers and woods; and the appearance of a battle is created by masses of toy soldiers--cavalry, infantry, and artillery--in all positions of attack and defense. Minute forts of baked clay, bristling with cannon about the size of small pins, occupy elevated positions. When properly arranged the effect is panoramic. The soldiers in the foreground are about an inch long; those a little farther away about half as long; and those upon the hills are no larger than flies. But the most remarkable novelty of this sort yet produced is a kind of _toko-niwa_ recently on display at a famous shop in Ginza. A label bearing the inscription, _Kaï-téï no Ikken_ (View of the Ocean-Bed) sufficiently explained the design. The _suïbon_, or "water-tray," containing the display was half filled with rocks and sand so as to resemble a sea-bottom; and little fishes appeared swarming in the fore-ground. A little farther back, upon an elevation, stood Otohimé, the Dragon-King's daughter, surrounded by her maiden attendants, and gazing, with just the shadow of a smile, at two men in naval uniform who were shaking hands,--dead heroes of the war: Admiral Makaroff and Commander Hirosé!... These had esteemed each other in life; and it was a happy thought thus to represent their friendly meeting in the world of Spirits. * * * * * Though his name is perhaps unfamiliar to English readers, Commander Takeo Hirosé has become, deservedly, one of Japan's national heroes. On the 27th of March, during the second attempt made to block the entrance to Port Arthur, he was killed while endeavoring to help a comrade,--a comrade who had formerly saved him from death. For five years Hirosé had been a naval attaché at St. Petersburg, and had made many friends in Russian naval and military circles. From boyhood his life had been devoted to study and duty; and it was commonly said of him that he had no particle of selfishness in his nature. Unlike most of his brother officers, he remained unmarried,--holding that no man who might be called on at any moment to lay down his life for his country had a moral right to marry. The only amusements in which he was ever known to indulge were physical exercises; and he was acknowledged one of the best _j[=u]jutsu_ (wrestlers) in the empire. The heroism of his death, at the age of thirty-six, had much less to do with the honors paid to his memory than the self-denying heroism of his life. Now his picture is in thousands of homes, and his name is celebrated in every village. It is celebrated also by the manufacture of various souvenirs, which are sold by myriads. For example, there is a new fashion in sleeve-buttons, called _Kinen-botan_, or "Commemoration-buttons." Each button bears a miniature portrait of the commander, with the inscription, _Shichi-sh[=o] h[=o]koku_, "Even in seven successive lives--for love of country." It is recorded that Hirosé often cited, to friends who criticised his ascetic devotion to duty, the famous utterance of Kusunoki Masashigé, who declared, ere laying down his life for the Emperor Go-Daigo, that he desired to die for his sovereign in seven successive existences. But the highest honor paid to the memory of Hirosé is of a sort now possible only in the East, though once possible also in the West, when the Greek or Roman patriot-hero might be raised, by the common love of his people, to the place of the Immortals.... Wine-cups of porcelain have been made, decorated with his portrait; and beneath the portrait appears, in ideographs of gold, the inscription, _Gunshin Hirosé Ch[=u]sa_. The character "gun" signifies war; the character "_shin_" a god,--either in the sense of _divus_ or _deus_, according to circumstances; and the Chinese text, read in the Japanese way, is _Ikusa no Kami_. Whether that stern and valiant spirit is really invoked by the millions who believe that no brave soul is doomed to extinction, no well-spent life laid down in vain, no heroism cast away, I do not know. But, in any event, human affection and gratitude can go no farther than this; and it must be confessed that Old Japan is still able to confer honors worth dying for. * * * * * Boys and girls in all the children's schools are now singing the Song of Hirosé Ch[=u]sa, which is a marching song. The words and the music are published in a little booklet, with a portrait of the late commander upon the cover. Everywhere, and at all hours of the day, one hears this song being sung:-- _He whose every word and deed gave to men an example of what the war-folk of the_ _Empire of Nippon should be,--Commander Hirosé: is he really dead?_ _Though the body die, the spirit dies not. He who wished to be reborn seven times into this world, for the sake of serving his country, for the sake of requiting the Imperial favor,--Commander Hirosé: has he really died?_ _"Since I am a son of the Country of the Gods, the fire of the evil-hearted Russians cannot touch me!"--The sturdy Takeo who spoke thus: can he really be dead?..._ _Nay! that glorious war-death meant undying fame;--beyond a thousand years the valiant heart shall live;--as to a god of war shall reverence be paid to him...._ * * * * * Observing the playful confidence of this wonderful people in their struggle for existence against the mightiest power of the West,--their perfect trust in the wisdom of their leaders and the valor of their armies,--the good humor of their irony when mocking the enemy's blunders,--their strange capacity to find, in the world-stirring events of the hour, the same amusement that they would find in watching a melodrama,--one is tempted to ask: "What would be the moral consequence of a national defeat?"... It would depend, I think, upon circumstances. Were Kuropatkin able to fulfill his rash threat of invading Japan, the nation would probably rise as one man. But otherwise the knowledge of any great disaster would be bravely borne. From time unknown Japan has been a land of cataclysms,--earth-quakes that ruin cities in the space of a moment; tidal waves, two hundred miles long, sweeping whole coast populations out of existence; floods submerging hundreds of leagues of well-tilled fields; eruptions burying provinces. Calamities like this have disciplined the race in resignation and in patience; and it has been well trained also to bear with courage all the misfortunes of war. Even by the foreign peoples that have been most closely in contact with her, the capacities of Japan remained unguessed. Perhaps her power to resist aggression is far surpassed by her power to endure. 
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2510	----	THE INVENTION OF A NEW RELIGION By B. H. Chamberlain EMERITUS PROFESSOR OF JAPANESE AND PHILOLOGY AT THE IMPERIAL UNIVERSITY OF TOKYO, JAPAN 1912 Transcriber's Notes: A few diacritical marks have had to be removed, but Chamberlain did not use macrons to represent lengthened vowels. What were footnotes are numbered and moved to the end of the relevant paragraphs. THE INVENTION OF A NEW RELIGION (1) (Note 1) The writer of this pamphlet could but skim over a wide subject. For full information see Volume I. of Mr. J. Murdoch's recently-published "History of Japan," the only critical work on that subject existing in the English language. Voltaire and the other eighteenth-century philosophers, who held religions to be the invention of priests, have been scorned as superficial by later investigators. But was there not something in their view, after all? Have not we, of a later and more critical day, got into so inveterate a habit of digging deep that we sometimes fail to see what lies before our very noses? Modern Japan is there to furnish an example. The Japanese are, it is true, commonly said to be an irreligious people. They say so themselves. Writes one of them, the celebrated Fukuzawa, teacher and type of the modern educated Japanese man: "I lack a religious nature, and have never believed in any religion." A score of like pronouncements might be quoted from other leading men. The average, even educated, European strikes the average educated Japanese as strangely superstitious, unaccountably occupied with supra-mundane matters. The Japanese simply cannot be brought to comprehend how a "mere parson" such as the Pope, or even the Archbishop of Canterbury, occupies the place he does in politics and society. Yet this same agnostic Japan is teaching us at this very hour how religions are sometimes manufactured for a special end--to subserve practical worldly purposes. Mikado-worship and Japan-worship--for that is the new Japanese religion--is, of course, no spontaneously generated phenomenon. Every manufacture presupposes a material out of which it is made, every present a past on which it rests. But the twentieth-century Japanese religion of loyalty and patriotism is quite new, for in it pre-existing ideas have been sifted, altered, freshly compounded, turned to new uses, and have found a new centre of gravity. Not only is it new, it is not yet completed; it is still in process of being consciously or semi-consciously put together by the official class, in order to serve the interests of that class, and, incidentally, the interests of the nation at large. The Japanese bureaucracy is a body greatly to be admired. It includes most of the foremost men of the nation. Like the priesthood in later Judaea, to some extent like the Egyptian and Indian priesthoods, it not only governs, but aspires to lead in intellectual matters. It has before it a complex task. On the one hand, it must make good to the outer world the new claim that Japan differs in no essential way from the nations of the West, unless, indeed, it be by way of superiority. On the other hand, it has to manage restive steeds at home, where ancestral ideas and habits clash with new dangers arising from an alien material civilisation hastily absorbed. Down to the year 1888, the line of cleavage between governors and governed was obscured by the joyful ardour with which all classes alike devoted themselves to the acquisition of European, not to say American, ideas. Everything foreign was then hailed as perfect--everything old and national was contemned. Sentiment grew democratic, in so far (perhaps it was not very far) as American democratic ideals were understood. Love of country seemed likely to yield to a humble bowing down before foreign models. Officialdom not unnaturally took fright at this abdication of national individualism. Evidently something must be done to turn the tide. Accordingly, patriotic sentiment was appealed to through the throne, whose hoary antiquity had ever been a source of pride to Japanese literati, who loved to dwell on the contrast between Japan's unique line of absolute monarchs and the short-lived dynasties of China. Shinto, a primitive nature cult, which had fallen into discredit, was taken out of its cupboard and dusted. The common people, it is true, continued to place their affections on Buddhism, the popular festivals were Buddhist, Buddhist also the temples where they buried their dead. The governing class determined to change all this. They insisted on the Shinto doctrine that the Mikado descends in direct succession from the native Goddess of the Sun, and that He himself is a living God on earth who justly claims the absolute fealty of his subjects. Such things as laws and constitutions are but free gifts on His part, not in any sense popular rights. Of course, the ministers and officials, high and low, who carry on His government, are to be regarded not as public servants, but rather as executants of supreme--one might say supernatural--authority. Shinto, because connected with the Imperial Family, is to be alone honoured. Therefore, the important right of burial, never before possessed by it, was granted to its priests. Later on, the right of marriage was granted likewise--an entirely novel departure in a land where marriage had never been more than a civil contract. Thus the Shinto priesthood was encouraged to penetrate into the intimacy of family life, while in another direction it encroached on the field of ethics by borrowing bits here and there from Confucian and even from Christian sources. Under a regime of ostensible religious toleration, the attendance of officials at certain Shinto services was required, and the practice was established in all schools of bowing down several times yearly before the Emperor's picture. Meanwhile Japanese polities had prospered; her warriors had gained great victories. Enormous was the prestige thus accruing to Imperialism and to the rejuvenated Shinto cult. All military successes were ascribed to the miraculous influence of the Emperor's virtue, and to the virtues of His Imperial and divine ancestors--that is, of former Emperors and of Shinto deities. Imperial envoys were regularly sent after each great victory to carry the good tidings to the Sun Goddess at her great shrine at Ise. Not there alone, but at the other principal Shinto shrines throughout the land, the cannon captured from Chinese or Russian foes were officially installed, with a view to identifying Imperialism, Shinto, and national glory in the popular mind. The new legend is enforced wherever feasible--for instance, by means of a new set of festivals celebrating Imperial official events. But the schools are the great strongholds of the new propaganda. History is so taught to the young as to focus everything upon Imperialism, and to diminish as far as possible the contrast between ancient and modern conditions. The same is true of the instruction given to army and navy recruits. Thus, though Shinto is put in the forefront, little stress is laid on its mythology, which would be apt to shock even the Japanese mind at the present day. To this extent, where a purpose useful to the ruling class is to be served, criticism is practised, though not avowedly. Far different is the case with so-called "historical facts," such as the alleged foundation of the Monarchy in 660 B.C. and similar statements paralleled only for absurdity by what passed for history in mediaeval Europe, when King Lear, Brute, King of Britain, etc., etc., were accepted as authentic personages. For the truth, known to all critical investigators, is that, instead of going back to a remote antiquity, the origins of Japanese history are recent as compared with that of European countries. The first glimmer of genuine Japanese history dates from the fifth century AFTER Christ, and even the accounts of what happened in the sixth century must be received with caution. Japanese scholars know this as well as we do; it is one of the certain results of investigation. But the Japanese bureaucracy does not desire to have the light let in on this inconvenient circumstance. While granting a dispensation re the national mythology, properly so called, it exacts belief in every iota of the national historic legends. Woe to the native professor who strays from the path of orthodoxy. His wife and children (and in Japan every man, however young, has a wife and children) will starve. From the late Prince Ito's grossly misleading "Commentary on the Japanese Constitution" down to school compendiums, the absurd dates are everywhere insisted upon. This despite the fact that the mythology and the so-called early history are recorded in the same works, and are characterised by like miraculous impossibilities; that the chronology is palpably fraudulent; that the speeches put into the mouths of ancient Mikados are centos culled from the Chinese classics; that their names are in some cases derived from Chinese sources; and that the earliest Japanese historical narratives, the earliest known social usages, and even the centralised Imperial form of Government itself, are all stained through and through with a Chinese dye, so much so that it is no longer possible to determine what percentage of old native thought may still linger on in fragments here and there. In the face of all this, moral ideals, which were of common knowledge derived from the teaching of the Chinese sages, are now arbitrarily referred to the "Imperial Ancestors." Such, in particular, are loyalty and filial piety--the two virtues on which, in the Far-Eastern world, all the others rest. It is, furthermore, officially taught that, from the earliest ages, perfect concord has always subsisted in Japan between beneficent sovereigns on the one hand, and a gratefully loyal people on the other. Never, it is alleged, has Japan been soiled by the disobedient and rebellious acts common in other countries; while at the same time the Japanese nation, sharing to some extent in the supernatural virtues of its rulers, has been distinguished by a high-minded chivalry called Bushido, unknown in inferior lands. Such is the fabric of ideas which the official class is busy building up by every means in its power, including the punishment of those who presume to stickle for historic truth. ***** The sober fact is that no nation probably has ever treated its sovereigns more cavalierly than the Japanese have done, from the beginning of authentic history down to within the memory of living men. Emperors have been deposed, emperors have been assassinated; for centuries every succession to the throne was the signal for intrigues and sanguinary broils. Emperors have been exiled; some have been murdered in exile. From the remote island to which he had been relegated one managed to escape, hidden under a load of dried fish. In the fourteenth century, things came to such a pass that two rival Imperial lines defied each other for the space of fifty-eight years--the so-called Northern and Southern Courts; and it was the Northern Court, branded by later historians as usurping and illegitimate, that ultimately won the day, and handed on the Imperial regalia to its successors. After that, as indeed before that, for long centuries the government was in the hands of Mayors of the Palace, who substituted one infant Sovereign for another, generally forcing each to abdicate as soon as he approached man's estate. At one period, these Mayors of the Palace left the Descendant of the Sun in such distress that His Imperial Majesty and the Imperial Princes were obliged to gain a livelihood by selling their autographs! Nor did any great party in the State protest against this condition of affairs. Even in the present reign--the most glorious in Japanese history--there have been two rebellions, during one of which a rival Emperor was set up in one part of the country, and a republic proclaimed in another. As for Bushido, so modern a thing is it that neither Kaempfer, Siebold, Satow, nor Rein--all men knowing their Japan by heart--ever once allude to it in their voluminous writings. The cause of their silence is not far to seek: Bushido was unknown until a decade or two ago! THE VERY WORD APPEARS IN NO DICTIONARY, NATIVE OR FOREIGN, BEFORE THE YEAR 1900. Chivalrous individuals of course existed in Japan, as in all countries at every period; but Bushido, as an institution or a code of rules, has never existed. The accounts given of it have been fabricated out of whole cloth, chiefly for foreign consumption. An analysis of medieval Japanese history shows that the great feudal houses, so far from displaying an excessive idealism in the matter of fealty to one emperor, one lord, or one party, had evolved the eminently practical plan of letting their different members take different sides, so that the family as a whole might come out as winner in any event, and thus avoid the confiscation of its lands. Cases, no doubt, occurred of devotion to losing causes--for example, to Mikados in disgrace; but they were less common than in the more romantic West. Thus, within the space of a short lifetime, the new Japanese religion of loyalty and patriotism has emerged into the light of day. The feats accomplished during the late war with Russia show that the simple ideal which it offers is capable of inspiring great deeds. From a certain point of view the nation may be congratulated on its new possession. ***** The new Japanese religion consists, in its present early stage, of worship of the sacrosanct Imperial Person and of His Divine Ancestors, of implicit obedience to Him as head of the army (a position, by the way, opposed to all former Japanese ideas, according to which the Court was essentially civilian); furthermore, of a corresponding belief that Japan is as far superior to the common ruck of nations as the Mikado is divinely superior to the common ruck of kings and emperors. Do not the early history-books record the fact that Japan was created first, while all other countries resulted merely from the drops that fell from the creator's spear when he had finished his main work? And do not the later annals prove that true valour belongs to the Japanese knight alone, whereas foreign countries--China and Europe alike--are sunk in a degrading commercialism? For the inhabitants of "the Land of the Gods" to take any notice of such creatures by adopting a few of their trifling mechanical inventions is an act of gracious condescension. To quote but one official utterance out of a hundred, Baron Oura, minister of agriculture and commerce, writes thus in February of last year:-- That the majesty of our Imperial House towers high above everything to be found in the world, and that it is as durable as heaven and earth, is too well known to need dwelling on here...... If it is considered that our country needs a religious faith, then, I say, let it be converted to a belief in the religion of patriotism and loyalty, the religion of Imperialism--in other words, to Emperor-worship. The Rev. Dr. Ebina,(2) one of the leading lights of the Protestant pastorate in Japan, plunges more deeply still into this doctrine, according to which, as already noted, the whole Japanese nation is, in a manner, apotheosised. Says he:-- Though the encouragement of ancestor-worship cannot be regarded as part of the essential teaching of Christianity (!), it (3) is not opposed to the notion that, when the Japanese Empire was founded, its early rulers were in communication with the Great Spirit that rules the universe. Christians, according to this theory, without doing violence to their creed, may acknowledge that the Japanese nation has a divine origin. It is only when we realise that the Imperial Ancestors were in close communion with God (or the Gods), that we understand how sacred is the country in which we live. (Dr. Ebina ends by recommending the Imperial Rescript on Education as a text for Christian sermons.) (Note 2) We quote from the translation given by Mr. Walter Dening in one of the invaluable "Summaries of Current Japanese Literature," contributed by him from time to time to the columns of the "Japan Mail," Yokohama. (Note 3) "It" means Christianity. It needs no comment of ours to point out how thoroughly the nation must be saturated by the doctrines under discussion for such amazing utterances to be possible. If so-called Christians can think thus, the non-Christian majority must indeed be devout Emperor-worshippers and Japan-worshippers. Such the go-ahead portion of the nation undoubtedly is--the students, the army, the navy, the emigrants to Japan's new foreign possessions, all the more ardent spirits. The peasantry, as before noted, occupy themselves little with new thoughts, clinging rather to the Buddhist beliefs of their forefathers. But nothing could be further removed from even their minds than the idea of offering any organised resistance to the propaganda going on around them. As a matter of fact, the spread of the new ideas has been easy, because a large class derives power from their diffusion, while to oppose them is the business of no one in particular. Moreover, the disinterested love of truth for its own sake is rare; the patience to unearth it is rarer still, especially in the East. Patriotism, too, is a mighty engine working in the interests of credulity. How should men not believe in a system that produces such excellent practical results, a system which has united all the scattered elements of national feeling into one focus, and has thus created a powerful instrument for the attainment of national aims? Meanwhile a generation is growing up which does not so much as suspect that its cherished beliefs are inventions of yesterday. The new religion, in its present stage, still lacks one important item--a sacred book. Certain indications show that this lacuna will be filled by the elevation of the more important Imperial Rescripts to that rank, accompanied doubtless by an authoritative commentary, as their style is too abstruse to be understanded of the people. To these Imperial Rescripts some of the poems composed by his present Majesty may be added. In fact, a volume on the whole duty of Japanese man, with selected Imperial poems as texts, has already appeared. (4) (Note 4) For over a thousand years the composition of Japanese and Chinese verse has formed part of a liberal education, like the composition of Latin verse among ourselves. The Court has always devoted much time to the practice of this art. But the poems of former Emperors were little known, because the monarchs themselves remained shut up in their palace, and exercised no influence beyond its walls. With his present Majesty the case is entirely different. Moreover, some of his compositions breathe a patriotism formerly undreamt of. ***** One might have imagined that Japan's new religionists would have experienced some difficulty in persuading foreign nations of the truth of their dogmas. Things have fallen out otherwise. Europe and America evince a singular taste for the marvellous, and find a zest in self-depreciation. Our eighteenth-century ancestors imagined all perfections to be realised in China, thanks to the glowing descriptions then given of that country by the Jesuits. Twentieth-century Europe finds its moral and political Eldorado in distant Japan, a land of fabulous antiquity and incredible virtues. There is no lack of pleasant-mannered persons ready to guide trustful admirers in the right path. Official and semi-official Japanese, whether ambassadors and ministers-resident or peripatetic counts and barons, make it their business to spread a legend so pleasing to the national vanity, so useful as a diplomatic engine. Lectures are delivered, books are written in English, important periodicals are bought up, minute care is lavished on the concealment, the patching-up, and glossing-over of the deep gulf that nevertheless is fixed between East and West. The foreigner cannot refuse the bolus thus artfully forced down his throat. He is not suspicious by nature. How should he imagine that people who make such positive statements about their own country are merely exploiting his credulity? HE has reached a stage of culture where such mythopoeia has become impossible. On the other hand, to control information by consulting original sources lies beyond his capacity. For consider this peculiar circumstance: the position of European investigators vis-a-vis Japan differs entirely from that of Japanese vis-a-vis Europe. The Japanese possess every facility for studying and understanding Europe. Europeans are warded off by well-nigh insuperable obstacles from understanding Japan. Europe stands on a hill-top, in the sunlight, glittering afar. Her people court inspection. "Come and see how we live"--such was a typical invitation which the present writer recently received. A thousand English homes are open to any Japanese student or traveller who visits our shores. An alphabet of but six-and-twenty simple letters throws equally wide open to him a literature clearly revealing our thoughts, so that he who runs may read. Japan lies in the shadow, away on the rim of the world. Her houses are far more effectually closed to the stranger by their paper shutters than are ours by walls of brick or stone. What we call "society" does not exist there. Her people, though smiling and courteous, surround themselves by an atmosphere of reserve, centuries of despotic government having rendered them suspicious and reticent. True, when a foreigner of importance visits Japan--some British M.P., perhaps, whose name figures often in the newspapers, or an American editor, or the president of a great American college--this personage is charmingly received. But he is never left free to form his own opinion of things, even were he capable of so doing. Circumstances spin an invisible web around him, his hosts being keenly intent on making him a speaking-trumpet for the proclamation of their own views. Again, Japan's non-Aryan speech, marvellously intricate, almost defies acquisition. Suppose this difficult vernacular mastered; the would-be student discovers that literary works, even newspapers and ordinary correspondence, are not composed in it, but in another dialect, partly antiquated, partly artificial, differing as widely from the colloquial speech as Latin does from Italian. Make a second hazardous supposition. Assume that the grammar and vocabulary of this second indispensable Japanese language have been learnt, in addition to the first. You are still but at the threshold of your task, Japanese thought having barricaded itself behind the fortress walls of an extraordinarily complicated system of writing, compared with which Egyptian hieroglyphics are child's play. Yet next to nothing can be found out by a foreigner unless he have this, too, at his fingers' ends. As a matter of fact, scarcely anyone acquires it--only a missionary here and there, or a consular official with a life appointment. The result of all this is that, whereas the Japanese know everything that it imports them to know about us, Europeans cannot know much about them, such information as they receive being always belated, necessarily meagre, and mostly adulterated to serve Japanese interests. International relations placed--and, we repeat it, inevitably placed--on this footing resemble a boxing match in which one of the contestants should have his hands tied. But the metaphor fails in an essential point, as metaphors are apt to do--the hand-tied man does not realise the disadvantage under which he labours. He thinks himself as free as his opponent. Thus does it come about that the neo-Japanese myths concerning dates, and Emperors, and heroes, and astonishing national virtues already begin to find their way into popular English text-books, current literature, and even grave books of reference. The Japanese governing class has willed it so, and in such matters the Japanese governing class can enforce its will abroad as well as at home. The statement may sound paradoxical. Study the question carefully, and you will find that it is simply true. ***** What is happening in Japan to-day is evidently exceptional. Normal religious and political change does not proceed in that manner; it proceeds by imperceptible degrees. But exceptions to general rules occur from time to time in every field of activity. Are they really exceptions, using that term in its current sense--to denote something arbitrary, and therefore unaccountable? Surely these so-called exceptions are but examples of rules of rarer application. The classic instance of the invention of a new national religion is furnished by the Jews of the post-exilic period. The piecing together, then, of a brand-new system under an ancient name is now so well understood, and has produced consequences of such world-wide importance, that the briefest reference to it may suffice. Works which every critic can now see to be relatively modern were ascribed to Moses, David, or Daniel; intricate laws and ordinances that had never been practised--could never be practised--were represented as ancient institutions; a whole new way of thinking and acting was set in motion on the assumption that it was old. Yet, so far as is known, no one in or out of Palestine ever saw through the illusion for over two thousand years. It was reserved for nineteenth-century scholars to draw aside the veil hiding the real facts of the case. Modern times supply another instance, less important than the first, but remarkable enough. Rousseau came in the middle of the eighteenth century, and preached a doctrine that took the world by storm, and soon precipitated that world in ruins. How did he discover his gospel? He tells us quite naively:-- All the rest of the day, buried in the forest, I sought, I found there the image of primitive ages, whose history I boldly traced. I made havoc of men's petty lies; I dared to unveil and strip naked man's true nature, to follow up the course of time and of the circumstances that have disfigured it, and, comparing man as men have made him with man as nature made him, to demonstrate that the so-called improvements (of civilisation) have been the source of all his woes, etc. (5) (Note 5) "Confessions," Book VIII., year 1753. In other words, he spun a pseudo-history from his own brain. What is stranger, he fanatically believed in this his pure invention, and, most extraordinary of all, persuaded other people to believe in it as fanatically. It was taken up as a religion, it inspired heroes, and enabled a barefoot rabble to beat the finest regular armies in the world. Even now, at a distance of a century and a half, its embers still glow. Of course, it is not pretended that these various systems of thought were ARBITRARY inventions. No more were they so than the cloud palaces that we sometimes see swiftly form in the sky and as swiftly dissolve. The germ of Rousseau's ideas can be traced back to Fenelon and other seventeenth-century thinkers, weary of the pomp and periwigs around them. Rousseau himself did but fulfil the aspiration of a whole society for something simpler, juster, more true to nature, more logical. He gave exactly what was needed at that moment of history--what appeared self-evident; wherefore no one so much as thought of asking for detailed proofs. His deism, his statements concerning the "state of nature" and the "social contract," etc., were at once recognised by the people of his day as eternal verities. What need for discussion or investigation? The case of Judaea is obscure; but it would seem that something analogous must have happened there, when the continuity of national life had been snapped by the exile. A revolutionised and most unhappy present involved a changed attitude towards the past. Oral tradition and the scraps of written records that had survived the shipwreck of the kingdom fell, as it were, naturally into another order. The kaleidoscope having been turned, the pattern changed of itself. A few gifted individuals voiced the enthusiasm of a whole community, when they adopted literary methods which would now, in our comparatively stable days, be branded as fraudulent. They simply could not help themselves. The pressing need of constructing a national polity for the present on the only basis then possible--Yahwe worship--FORCED them into falsifying the past. The question was one of life and death for the Jewish nationality. ***** Europeans there are in Japan--Europeanised Japanese likewise--who feel outraged by the action of the Japanese bureaucracy in the matter of the new cult, with all the illiberal and obscurantist measures which it entails. That is natural. We modern Westerners love individual liberty, and the educated among us love to let the sunlight of criticism into every nook and cranny of every subject. Freedom and scientific accuracy are our gods. But Japanese officialdom acts quite naturally, after its kind, in not allowing the light to be let in, because the roots of the faith it has planted need darkness in which to grow and spread. No religion can live which is subjected to critical scrutiny. Thus also are explained the rigours of the Japanese bureaucracy against the native liberals, who, in its eyes, appear, not simply as political opponents, but as traitors to the chosen people--sacrilegious heretics defying the authority of the One and Only True Church. "But," you will say, "this indignation must be mere pretence. Not even officials can be so stupid as to believe in things which they have themselves invented." We venture to think that you are wrong here. People can always believe that which it is greatly to their interest to believe. Thousands of excellent persons in our own society cling to the doctrine of a future life on no stronger evidence. It is enormously important to the Japanese ruling class that the mental attitude sketched above should become universal among their countrymen. Accordingly, they achieve the apparently impossible. "We believe in it," said one of them to us recently--"we believe in it, although we know that it is not true." Tertullian said nearly the same thing, and no one has ever doubted HIS sincerity. 
13450	----	THE MOTOR MAIDS IN FAIR JAPAN BY KATHERINE STOKES AUTHOR OF "THE MOTOR MAIDS' SCHOOL DAYS," "THE MOTOR MAIDS BY PALM AND PINE," "THE MOTOR MAIDS ACROSS THE CONTINENT," "THE MOTOR MAIDS BY ROSE, SHAMROCK AND THISTLE" ETC. 1913 CONTENTS CHAPTER I. OFF FOR JAPAN II. TEA IN THE GARDEN III. SHOPPING IN JINRIKSHAS IV. THE GARDEN IN THE RAIN V. IN THE LIBRARY VI. CHERRY BLOSSOMS VII. A BAD QUARTER OF AN HOUR VIII. THE COMPASSIONATE GOD, JIZU IX. A BIRTHDAY PARTY X. IN THE DARK XI. THE COMET DISGUISED XII. A THEATER PARTY XIII. A FALLING OUT XIV. A LETTER THAT CAME, THOUGH IT WAS NEVER SENT XV. THE ANCIENT CITY OF SLEEP XVI. THE STORM KING XVII. A VISIT OF CEREMONY XVIII. THE MAGNET AND THE SILVER CHURN XIX. FATHER AND DAUGHTER XX. THE TYPHOON XXI. CONUNDRUMS AND ANSWERS XXII. GOOD BYE, SUMMER CHAPTER I. OFF FOR JAPAN. "The Motor Maids are off again," announced the West Haven Courier one morning, as if every citizen in the gray old town on the coast was not already well aware of it. The four famous travelers and their chaperone, Miss Helen Campbell, were always off somewhere in the red motor car. If they were not making a voyage to England with the "Comet" stored in the hold of the ship for immediate use on arrival, or taking perilous journeys across the American continent in the faithful car, they were making excursions to Shell Island or Seven League Island, or down the coast to the Sailors' Inn. "Where is it to be this time, Nancy-Bell?" Captain Brown had asked his daughter when she had broken the news to him that she must give up the spring term at High School for something far more educational than mere books. Perhaps the sea captain had intended to be stern when he asked that question; but Nancy had her own peculiar methods of dispelling sternness. A beaming anticipatory smile irradiated her face and scattered parental disapproval even as the warm rays of the sun scatter the morning mists. "Japan!" she announced solemnly; and Captain Brown, who himself had made voyages to Japan in his youth, pricked up his ears like an old hunting dog when he hears the call of the pack. The name of High School faded from his memory. It was the high seas he was thinking of--the great desert of waters, the fresh salt breeze and the foam track left by the little ship as it cut through the waves. Without a word, he opened an old sea chest and drew out an atlas and chart. Nancy blinked her eyes and smiled happily. She wondered if the other girls were having as easy a time in breaking the amazing news to their parents. Would Elinor Butler's father and mother consent to her taking this long journey? Would Mrs. Price be willing to part with Mary for many, many months while that young person journeyed to the other side of the world? Captain Brown settled himself on a settee in front of the crackling driftwood fire and Nancy seated herself beside him. "You see, it's this way, father," she began, while Captain Brown turned the leaves of the atlas with reverent fingers. "Billie Campbell's father is a great engineer--" "I've known him since he was a boy, child," interrupted the Captain. "He's been invited by the Japanese government to go to Japan on some consulting work, and he says he can't live without Billie another summer, and Billie says she can't exist without us; so Mr. Campbell is to take a house in Tokyo and we are all to go. Mr. Ignatius Donahue is going to take us across to San Francisco in his private car. He says it's a very small return for something we did for him once, and the end of the story is that we are to sail for Japan in two weeks. Isn't that delightful, Captain Brown?" she added, giving her father a tight hug and kissing him on the end of his nose. "And aren't you overjoyed for your little daughter to have such an opportunity to see the other side of the world?" The Captain returned the kiss with good measure and resumed his study of the maps and charts. "You'll be a member of the Royal Geographical Society next," he observed. "It's all happened because Billie Campbell has a mole on the sole of her left foot and a Gypsy once told her that was the mark of the wanderer." "But you and Elinor and Mary haven't any moles on the soles of your feet, have you?" "No, and neither has Miss Campbell." "It's just as well," commented the Captain. "One is enough in the party if it's going to take my little daughter away from her home most of the time." "Not most of the time, father," protested Nancy. "Only to Palm Beach and across the Continent and to England--" At this dangerous turn in the conversation, the door was pushed open and Billie Campbell rushed in, followed by Elinor Butler and Mary Price. "It's all settled, Nancy-Bell," she cried. "Cousin Helen has consented and the girls can go. Everything depends on you, now--" "We are just studying the map," answered Nancy quickly, with a demure smile. Immediately the other girls seated themselves in a circle about the sea captain and his charts, and Mrs. Brown, whose consent had already been gained, presently appeared with a large platter of cookies. So it was that the Motor Maids and Miss Campbell sailed through the Golden Gate of San Francisco harbor one morning en route for the island empire of Japan. On the long and sometimes tedious voyage we will not dwell; nor shall we pause until we have left them on the piazza of their new home in Tokyo, while seven Japanese servants are making profound obeisances at the entrance and their attendant families, including three grandmothers and five funny little children, bob and bow in the rear of this formidable company. Billie, who had scarcely left her father's side since the joyful moment of their reunion, hung on his arm and smiled up into his face inquiringly; while Miss Helen Campbell, his cousin, exclaimed: "Dear me, Duncan; I thought we were to stay at a private house--not a hotel." Mr. Campbell, from his mysterious dwelling places in far distant lands, had made so many things possible for the Motor Maids that Billie's three friends had come to regard him as a kind of powerful spirit who had only to will things to happen and they happened. At first they were rather shy of the real Mr. Campbell, big and strong and splendid, the very image of his daughter, Billie, if she had grown half a foot and cropped her light brown hair closely all over her head. "But, Cousin Helen, this is a private house," answered this human presentment of the good spirit, a subdued humor lighting his gray eyes, exactly as they had seen Billie's eyes kindle hundreds of times. "This is your very own villa and this is your staff of domestics," he added, indicating the regiment of servants who again bowed low like the chorus in a comic opera. "You are to regard yourself as queen of this little realm," he went on, pointing to the charming grounds and garden surrounding the house, "and you are to be in absolute command. Nellie and Nannie and Mollie and Billie are to be your maids of honor and I'll be general factotum and protector. As for the staff," he continued in a whisper, "their combined wages for one month amount to about one good servant's hire at home." The maid in the front of the cohort now stepped forth. She was much older than the others; her hair was short and her blue cotton robe seemed severe and plain in comparison to the gay colored kimonos of the younger maids. "This is our housekeeper and cook, O'Haru San," announced Mr. Campbell. "I shall leave you in her charge now and keep an appointment." So saying, Mr. Duncan Campbell kissed his daughter, smiled delightfully on the company in general and hastened down the walk to the road, for the villa was in the suburbs of Tokyo. "Will honorable ladies enter humble, small house," said O'Haru making an obeisance. But before they could move an inch, the maids were at their feet deftly unfastening their shoes. "What in the world are they doing?" demanded Miss Campbell. "One never wears shoes in the house, Cousin, don't you remember? Papa told us so this morning," answered Billie slipping her feet into the straw sandals provided. "Perfect nonsense!" exclaimed Miss Campbell, shuffling into the hall in her loose footgear. "I suppose I shall be expected to sit on the floor and eat my meals on a door mat," she complained, "and that I positively will not do. My old joints are far too stiff to be doubled up like a pair of nut crackers." The girls giggled and the four little Japanese maids giggled, too; not that they understood a word of the language, but good humor is the keynote of the Japanese character and strangers are treated with a sympathetic courtesy and hospitality unequaled in any other country. However, Miss Campbell's fears were immediately set at rest, for the long, low-ceiled drawing-room of the villa was furnished in European fashion with plenty of comfortable arm-chairs and sofas made of bamboo. The floors were covered with thick soft mats and the front walls facing the piazza were really sliding panels covered with opaque paper through which the light cast a soft mellow luster. As a matter of fact, Dr. and Mrs. Spears, the owners of the villa, had kept it as Japanese as possible without interfering with their foreign ideas of comfort. The only ornaments were several beautiful scrolls and screens and a few vases. Instead of sitting down quietly and being served to tea, which was evidently the next duty expected of them by these formal domestics, Billie and her friends rushed from one room to another in a state of eager curiosity. They poked their inquisitive little noses into the charming bedrooms and even peeped into the mysterious kitchen quarters where O'Haru reigned supreme, "It's Japanese enough to be pretty and American enough to be comfortable," observed Nancy, arranging her curls at one of the bedroom mirrors. "I don't know why you call it 'American,'" objected Billie. "I think you should say 'international,' since beds may be imported from Turkey, Russia, Prussia, England, or France, to say nothing of Germany and Italy." "Well, no matter what nationality it is, I'm glad I'm going to sleep on a bed instead of on the floor as Japanese girls do, with a little bench for a pillow to keep from rumpling my hair." Just then a Japanese girl appeared in the doorway. She was quite young, perhaps seventeen, perhaps older, and enchantingly pretty. "Her eyes are like stewed prunes," wrote Nancy to her mother that night, "rich and black and luscious. Her hair is as black as father's ebony box and quite as shiny; her skin smooth and creamy. She has a little rosebud mouth and a small straight nose and she wore the most beautiful kimono, all blue with a cerise sash or _obi_, as it is called. Her name is 'Onoye' and she's the daughter of the cook, O'Haru. She is just one of the maids in the house, I suppose, but she seems better class and she speaks a little English. Her mother adores her and I suppose Onoye is being spoiled Japanese fashion, which is very different from American fashion. Japanese girls are the most unselfish, uncomplaining, considerate, everything-that-I'm-not little souls I ever saw." Nancy's description of O'Haru's daughter was not exaggerated in the least. Little Onoye, pausing timidly at the entrance to their bedroom, was a vision to charm the eye. She blushed, smiled deprecatingly and hung her head. "Will honorable ladies be pleased to employ humble refreshment?" she announced in a funny high voice with a prim, precise accent. The girls would have laughed if it had not been impolite. All their impulsive actions must be checked in this land of perfect manners, or they would certainly appear rude and rough. "We should be most pleased and happy, I am sure," answered Billie, feeling that she must not be outdone in lofty expression, "But what excellent English you speak. Do you live here, too?" Onoye looked up and her face brightened. "I make studying of American language one time," she said. "And are we to have tea now?" asked Nancy as the Japanese girl backed out of the room. "If pleasingly to gracious ladies," she answered. With bobs and bows, she led the way to a summer house in the garden where the others were already installed in comfortable chairs. "These are certainly the most hospitable servants I ever saw," Miss Campbell was saying to Mary and Elinor. "They make one feel like a guest in one's own house. I am sure if I lived here long, I should learn to meet myself at the front door and invite myself to take refreshments in the garden." The girls smiled lazily. They seemed somehow to have entered into a land of unrealities and dream pictures. The bamboo and rice paper villa was a doll's house, the lovely garden, a stage setting and the picturesque band of Japanese servants gliding noiselessly about, the chorus. And while they talked and sipped their tea, a fat, decrepit pug dog came slowly toward them down the walk on spindle legs. As the aged creature approached, O'Haru paused and made it a profound bow. The girls choked and sputtered in their tea and Miss Campbell laughed outright. They learned afterwards that this venerable animal was "Nedda," the Spears' pet pug, eighteen years old, and that every servant attached to the household regarded her with great respect because they believed that she was really Mr. Spears' grandmother. Old Nedda was very pleased to meet with a little human company of her own social status. She wagged her twisted tail cordially and when she heard American voices speaking the language of her youth, she gave a little expressive whine of pleasure. "You poor old lonesome thing," exclaimed the compassionate Billie. Just then a maid hurried up with a cushion. She had evidently been detailed to look after Nedda in the absence of the mistress of the house; to feed and bathe her; to see that she was covered up at night; to guard against her sleeping in damp places. Nedda stepped gingerly on the mat, moved round and round in a circle several times, even as the most primitive dog might do, and settled herself in a round heap for her late afternoon siesta. Then O'Sudzu, the little maid, spread a wadded silk cover over the pampered old Nedda and departed, bowing again. They were still laughing over this absurd incident when Mr. Campbell appeared on the walk with two companions. One was a good looking young man about twenty-one and the other a Japanese in European clothes, and very handsome, the girls thought him, in spite of his Oriental features and dark complexion. CHAPTER II. TEA IN THE GARDEN. Nancy Brown instinctively put her hand to her curls when she saw the three approach. Elinor patted her coronet braids. Mary blushed and shrank timidly into the depths of her chair, for she was very shy; and Billie, whose candid nature had no coquetry, looked calmly interested and remarked: "Dear old Papa, there he is with two visitors." "I'm not at all surprised," said Miss Campbell smiling, "your Papa is one of the most general inviters I ever knew. He always loved to entertain." "How do my five beautiful American ladies feel?" called her jovial relation as he entered the summer house. "Rested with humble refreshment in poor modest little house?" "Yes, indeed, honorable father," answered Billie laughing. "I want you to meet my two friends, Nicholas Grimm and Yoritomo Ito," went on Mr. Campbell. Nicholas Grimm was apparently a young Dutchman. His figure was well set up and stocky, his features regular, his mouth firm with a good square chin, and his clear dark eyes under bushy brows gazed on the world with a frank, good-humored expression. Yoritomo Ito was the best type of Japanese, lithe and straight, rather tall, with shrewd brown eyes and a smile that always hovered about his shapely mouth. He was immaculately neat and his skin looked as if it might have been scrubbed and then polished. Not a speck of dust marred his spotless linen or his dark blue suit. "Mr. Ito, will you sit on a mat on the floor or in a chair?" asked Miss Campbell when the introductions were over. "Oh, he can be Japanese or American, whichever suits him," interrupted Mr. Campbell, "though I'll wager you didn't do much floor sitting when you went to Harvard, did you, Yoritomo?" The Japanese's smile broadened somewhat when he answered with a slight accent: "American floors are not intended to be used as chairs." "Meaning, Mr. Ito, that the American floors are not as entirely free from dust as the Japanese floors?" inquired Miss Campbell. "Oh, no, Madam," protested the Japanese, horrified at this implication of rudeness but unable to dispel the impression nevertheless. "I grant you that our houses are not as clean as yours," went on Miss Campbell, "but you see we haven't time to remove our shoes whenever we enter the house, and then we have so much furniture and so many hangings to catch the dust. I don't see how you Japanese can resist the collecting habit in a country where there are so many beautiful things to collect." "My dear Cousin, they are as great collectors as anybody, only they keep their valuables stored in a fire-proof house--what is it you call it, Yoritomo?" asked Mr. Campbell. "It is called in English language a 'go-down.'" "So it is, a 'go-down.' It always reminds me of a steep grade down the side of a mountain. Here they keep all their best clothes and vases and ornaments and only bring out one vase and one scroll at a time. When they grow tired of those things, they are stored and something else is brought out, so that there is perpetual variety in the Japanese home." "I should hate to have my best clothes locked in a fire-proof house," announced Nancy. "Suppose one wanted to make a quick change and the key was mislaid." "Ah, Miss Nancy," laughed Mr. Campbell, "it is not difficult to see where your heart lies." Yoritomo looked at Nancy with polite though evident interest which gradually developed into a cautiously veiled admiration. He was about to speak, when he was interrupted by the troop of little maids headed by Onoye with tea and refreshments. It was Onoye who served the young Japanese. First she bowed before him until her forehead almost touched the ground. Then she placed a mat for him to sit upon and a low lacquer tray containing tea and rice cakes. But Yoritomo, ignoring these humble services, sat himself in a chair next to Nancy and little Onoye hastened to rectify her mistake. In the meantime, Nicholas Grimm was talking to Billie and Elinor. "Are you from Holland?" they asked him. "Several hundreds of years ago I was. Kinterhook, New York, has been my home for the last generation." "Good," exclaimed Billie, "I thought you were a Dutchman and it's lots nicer to be an American, don't you think so?" "I wouldn't care to change," answered Nicholas solemnly. "America's good enough for me." "Are you one of the engineers on the new railroad they are building?" asked Billie. "I'm going to lay a few ties," he answered. "Are you going to build those little funny openwork bridges over all the streams?" demanded Elinor. "Something like it. Everything is picturesque in this country from beggars to railroad bridges, and, speaking of bridges, have you explored the garden yet? There's a ripping little bridge down there. When Mrs. Spears gave garden parties that was one of the strolling places." "Why, we didn't know we had such a pretentious garden!" exclaimed Billie. "Papa wrote that he had sublet a suburban villa near Tokyo with an acre or so of ground around it." "An acre or so?" repeated Nicholas. "That's an estate to them. They can put as much into an acre without crowding it as other people put into ten. Perhaps you would like to explore the garden if you have had enough honorable refreshment?" "Oh, yes," they answered eagerly, and drawing shy little Mary from the depths of her chair, Billie followed Elinor and the new friend down the garden path. "Would you be interested in seeing the garden?" asked Yoritomo of Nancy. "I might be induced," she answered drooping her long eyelashes, to the great amusement of Mr. Campbell, and they also wandered off, leaving the two older people for a cousinly chat. The girls were amazed at the beauty of the garden back of the house. Against the high wall surrounding the small estate clustered masses of flowers. Everywhere were little winding paths and an occasional grove of stunted pines that gave the impression of great age. It was in exquisite order, the green turf clipped to the smoothness of a velvet carpet. In all the garden there was not a leaf nor twig out of place. Back of the house the land sloped slightly and at the foot of this gentle depression trickled a musical little stream. Here was a stone lantern five feet high, also the miniature curved bridge; and to make the picture complete in every Japanese detail, leaning pensively on the railing of the bridge, stood Onoye. She herself might have been a bright colored flower in her gay kimono and sash. Only Mary noticed that the little Japanese was weeping softly. When she saw the Americans coming, she hastily withdrew down one of the paths and in another moment had disappeared entirely. "Poor little thing," thought Mary, "perhaps her mother has been scolding her." Perhaps she had, indeed, for O'Haru, the housekeeper, presently appeared looking for her daughter. Shading her eyes with one hand, she scanned the vistas of the garden. Mary left the group of friends and hastened down the path. "Are you looking for Onoye?" she asked the old woman. "Yes, honorable lady," answered O'Haru, trying to replace her uneasy and troubled expression with a pleasant smile. "She was on the bridge a moment ago. Is she unhappy? I think she was crying." "Have greatly kindness to forgive humble Japanese girl," answered O'Haru in a low voice. Mary thought the housekeeper was going to say more and no doubt, if she had poured out her confidences at that time, many later misunderstandings might have been averted. As it was, they were interrupted by Nancy and her Japanese cavalier who turned the curve of the path and came full upon them quite suddenly. Instead of hastening away as quietly as possible, O'Haru immediately fell on her knees and began speaking in a low voice in her own language. There was nothing unusual in this. All the servants seemed to be in a continual state of "nervous prostration," as Billie expressed it, and Nancy, smiling and dimpling, followed Yoritomo down the path without thinking any more about O'Haru. "What was she saying, Mr. Ito?" she asked. "You might accuse me of being a flatterer if I told you," he answered. "But I don't understand." "I mean she was speaking of you. 'The honorable young American lady,'" she said, "'is very beautiful.'" Nancy was flattered, as who would not have been over this frank compliment. A rosy flush spread over her face and the dimple deepened in her cheek. "You see, you are an unusual type in this country, Miss Brown," continued the Japanese. "You must expect to arouse comment wherever you go. Hair with so much color to it, like polished copper and curling, too, causes much admiration. You are very different from the Japanese." Again Nancy felt flattered. "I really believe I am rather pretty," she thought. What she said was: "You are very kind, Mr. Ito, but I am sure I think the Japanese girls are just as pretty as American girls. Little Onoye, our maid, is charming. She is a perfect picture." For the rest of the day, however, vain Nancy was enveloped in a rosy cloud of self-satisfaction. It was pleasing to be admired and still more pleasing to feel that the admiration was justified. The truth is, that admiration was quite as stimulating to Nancy as it is to the rest of us, and when she realized that the young Japanese had fallen an instant victim to her charms, she felt some pardonable pride in the power of her blue eyes and bright curls. By this time the others had returned to the pagoda-like summer house. "Come, Nancy, dear," floated Miss Campbell's voice across the garden. She was too careful a chaperone to permit one of her girls to wander at dusk with a strange young Japanese. Nancy quickened her pace. Nevertheless, she felt a little impatient with all these restrictions. "I am almost eighteen. I suppose I might be trusted to look after myself occasionally," she thought with some irritation. "May I not see you again to-morrow, Miss Brown?" Yoritomo was asking. "I am afraid you'll have to ask Miss Campbell." "It is now almost the American dinner hour," he went on thoughtfully, looking at his watch. "If I should be strolling to-morrow at this time down by the bridge, it would be very pleasant. We could have a few words together." "But--" began Nancy, and the voices of her friends interrupted her. They had paused near a great bush of azaleas in full bloom. Almost over their heads the silver crescent of the new moon hung poised like a fairy scimitar. It was exquisite and unreal. Nancy felt somehow out of place in the lovely picture, while the young Japanese, standing intense and rigid beside her, was as much a part of the Oriental garden as the stone lantern and the fragrant spice bush near the path. Even his blue serge European suit seemed to have lost its values in the deepening shadows. "If I come every day to see you, there would be great comment," he said in a low voice. "But often I shall wait on the bridge about this time." It was only a little time ago that Nancy's mother had lengthened her little daughter's skirts from shoe tops to ankles. The line of the old hem was still noticeable in some of her summer frocks. Just six months since, Nancy had tucked up the bunch of curls into a Psyche knot and transformed the ribbon bow into a velvet bandeau. Since she had been old enough to go to parties she had had boy admirers who had said sweet things to her. But this was quite different, and Nancy, almost eighteen, and capable of looking after herself, felt suddenly frightened. "I--I must hurry," she said, and turning she ran as fast as she could up the garden path nearly colliding with Billie and Mary who had come to look for her. "Why, Nancy, you are chasing along like a scared rabbit," cried Billie. "Has anything happened to you?" "Oh, no. I thought we had better run because it was so late," she answered breathlessly, while Yoritomo, following close behind, calm and collected, bade them a formal good night and hurried over to the summer house to pay his respects to Miss Campbell and her cousin. Nancy decided that night not to tell Billie, her intimate confidante, what the Japanese had said to her. The walls were too thin, she thought. Besides, she was curious to know if Yoritomo would be on the bridge the next afternoon. Just how she intended to find this out, she had not then decided. CHAPTER III. SHOPPING IN JINRIKSHAS. "I feel very much like a baby in a baby carriage," observed Miss Helen Campbell as Mr. Campbell almost lifted her into the graceful little two-wheeled vehicle. "And is that poor soul going to turn into a horse and pull me?" she demanded. "You aren't such a heavy load," replied her cousin. "I doubt if the S. P. C. A. would get excited over it. I am only sorry you have to be alone, but I suppose those four inseparables are paired off as usual. Billie with Nancy and Mary with Elinor." "Indeed, I much prefer to be alone," said Miss Campbell. "Then I can hold on with both hands in case I am upset backwards." "You never will be. They will treat you like spun glass. You will take good care of the ladies, Komatsu," he said to the 'riksha man who, leaning against the garden wall, resembled a bronze figure, brown and muscular. "Gracious lady of fearing not need," answered Komatsu with an ingratiating smile as he stepped between the shafts of the 'riksha. "It is impossible to tell how much English they know and how much they don't know," Mr. Campbell confided to his relative in a low voice. "They never ask twice and they always make some kind of an out at a reply. But I think, until I can go with you, it is safer for you to go in the 'rikshas. The common people here aren't used to motor cars and there are still some fanatics in Japan, you know, who are opposed to every sort of progress and the invasion of foreign customs." "Good-by, Papa," called Billie, "I do wish you were not a working man so that you could go with us." "I am sorry I must be a laborer in the vineyards, Miss Wilhelmina," he answered, "but it's only that you may ride in a fine carriage and wear a silk robe." "Silk robe?" repeated Miss Campbell. "That's just what I want. Komatsu, we wish to go to a silk shop," she ordered the man-servant, speaking very loud and distinctly as if she were addressing a deaf person. Komatsu grinned amiably. "I bring honorable lady to fine shop with quickness." The next moment the three vehicles were flying along the road drawn by three tireless individuals, whose good nature, like the widow's cruse, knew no diminishing. It would be difficult to find in all the world a more beautiful city than Tokyo at this season of the year. It is really a city of gardens and everywhere are palms and pines and waving willow trees, magnificent arbors of wisteria not yet in bloom and splendid azalea bushes bursting into masses of white and pink blossoms. Even the humblest brown cottage has its bit of garden, for the love of flowers is innate in every Japanese nature: it is a national trait. "There is no prospect that isn't graceful and picturesque," thought Mary watching an old fruit and vegetable man in front of them. He wore a dull blue cotton tunic much faded but still a heavenly color, and on either end of a pole resting on his shoulders was a flat brown basket filled with small oranges and vegetables of an unknown variety. Behind him walked an old woman in a dull brown and purple dress with an orange sash around her waist. Her back was burdened with a great bundle of bark. The sun was hot and many of the wayfarers carried paper umbrellas. Most of the women had babies swung on their backs and sometimes shiny little black eyes peeped out from the front of a kimono, the mother's arms being engaged in supporting another burden on her back. "It seems to me the women work very hard in this country," remarked Elinor severely, pointing to a cart filled with charcoal propelled by two women and a man. One of the women had a baby on her back and another child holding to her skirts. "They do," said Mary. "Even the women in the upper classes have to work hard. Don't you remember what the missionary on the steamer told us? The wife is always the first one up in the household no matter how many servants she has. She has to bring her mean old mother-in-law a cup of tea and get out her husband's clothes. The mother-in-law has had to work so hard when she was a daughter-in-law that she takes it out on her son's wife later." "I'd like to see an American wife ridden by her mother-in-law that way," broke in Elinor indignantly. "But then the Japanese daughter-in-law's turn comes later," said Mary laughing, "when she gets to be a mother-in-law. So it's all nicely balanced." But the streets were too interesting to pursue the subject of mother-in-law any further. They were passing a row of open-fronted shops on the edges of which customers were squatted looking at materials while the proprietor bobbed and smiled and dickered over his bargains. Red and yellow banners hung in a row from the roof of the shop, the gay colored hieroglyphics on them indicating what manner of goods were displayed within. "Here's a nice little silk shop, Komatsu. Let us stop here," called Miss Campbell. But Komatsu only grinned over his shoulder and called: "Too littleness for gracious big lady." "But I like the looks of this place, Komatsu," said the gracious big lady helplessly. However Komatsu had his own ideas of obedience and he trotted on, never pausing until he reached a large silk store thronged with clerks and customers. Here all the 'rikshas drew up and the girls alighted with Miss Campbell, who was a little red in the face but determined to overlook the annoyance of orders disregarded. The front of the store was screened from the street by dark blue cotton curtains behind which was a roofed platform carpeted with matting. Here sat a group of clerks, each with his _soroban_ or adding machine at his side. Little Japanese boys, their shoulders loaded with bales of rich materials, staggered about, and through the open doors of the fire-proof warehouse they caught glimpses of costly stuffs stored away. An obsequious clerk who spoke excellent English came forward and presently, when their eyes became accustomed to the busy, brilliantly colored scene, they began to examine silk materials on their own account. Miss Campbell made each of her charges a present of _crêpe de chine_ and still was not very much out of pocket. As they were about to leave, they were followed by a chorus of shouts. "What in the world is the matter?" demanded Miss Campbell uneasily. "Has the place caught fire, or didn't we give the right amount of change?" "No, madam," answered the polite English-speaking clerk, who had accompanied her to the sidewalk. "They are saying farewell. In English it would mean, 'Thanks for your continued favors.'" "Don't mention it," said Miss Campbell. "We'll come again." The clerk smiled and bowed formally and once more they whirled away in their 'rikshas. They visited many shops in Tokyo that morning. It was like a fascinating bazaar and it seemed impossible to tear themselves away, although Komatsu kept always close to their elbows and several times observed: "Muchly more time. Come again." At last, just as an ominous mass of black clouds had spread itself over the heavens, against which the brilliant colors of the signs and the people's clothes stood out in bold relief, they started for home. But on the outskirts of the city great drops of rain pelted them in the face, the advance scouts of a tremendous downpour. "Oh, Komatsu, we will ruin our clothes," cried Miss Campbell in alarm. "You must take us somewhere until the rain is over." They were passing the high walls of a garden, the gate of which stood open. Without an instant's hesitation Komatsu turned in and the three 'rikshas raced up a broad walk toward a Japanese house at the end. Several smiling hospitable persons whom they took to be servants ran out with large umbrellas made of oiled paper and protected the five ladies, who hurried unceremoniously into the house just as the heavens opened and the rain came down in bucketfuls. Three Japanese ladies, seated on the floor drinking tea, rose quickly and made low formal bows. The five refugees from the storm returned the bows with some bewilderment. "I do hope you will pardon this intrusion," Miss Campbell found herself saying. "The storm was so sudden and terrible, we fled to the nearest house." One of the little Japanese ladies bowed. She was evidently the mistress of the house, but she spoke no English. Miss Campbell pointed outside to the rain and made expressive signs indicative of haste. It was really like being in a deaf and dumb asylum. Then the little lady smiled again and bowed again, and the others bowed. "Good heavens, Billie, what am I to do? Must I continue to smile and bob and bow forever? Do come to my rescue!" But the hospitable hostess now hurried from the room and presently reappeared followed by her maids, each of whom carried a little lacquered table. It was indicated that the American guests would confer a favor if they would seat themselves. "I've never sat on the floor in my life," complained Miss Campbell in a low voice. "It will kill me. I am certain it will displace a ligament." "You'll just have to, Cousin. Try sitting on your feet. That's the way they do." "I think tailor-fashion would be easier," answered the poor lady. "Don't help me. They might take it for rudeness. Everything is bad manners in this country." Crossing her feet, she slid slowly to the floor. The visitors were promptly served with delicious tea, rice cakes, candied fruits and other confections molded and colored like the flowers in season. Certainly that was one of the most silent and ceremonious tea parties ever given. It was all dumb show, but the manners of the three Japanese ladies were exquisite. While this excruciatingly polite scene transpired, there raged such a storm of wind and rain that at each moment they feared the fragile bamboo and rice paper abode would be blown from its slight foundations. "They won't lose much if it's blown away," thought Billie. "There's not a stick of furniture to be seen except a screen." In one corner of the room was a splendid vase almost as tall as she was, and on the wall hung a scroll showing two women gathering cherry blossoms. On the floor were soft mats fitted closely together. Suddenly Billie blushed scarlet. "Oh, Cousin Helen," she exclaimed. "We forgot to take off our shoes." "Don't speak to me," answered her relation. "My legs have gone to sleep and I have lost the power to move them. I am in an agony of pain." At this moment a figure darkened the doorway. The three Japanese women rose and bowed low and the servants made obeisances. The five Americans were amazed to recognize their friend of yesterday, Yoritomo Ito. He was quite as amazed as they were, although he did not show it except by the flick of an eyelash, because no well-bred Japanese ever shows surprise. "How do you do, Mr. Ito?" cried Miss Campbell. "Is it possible that this is your house we have broken into so rudely?" It was indeed Mr. Ito's home, and, the three ladies were his mother, his aunt and his sister. "It is a great pleasure, I am sure, that you have found refuge in my home. I trust they have served you well." Then he spoke rapidly in Japanese to his mother, who smiled and clasped her hands with joy, as if heaven could not have bestowed a greater gift than the privilege to entertain these delightful foreigners. "And are you the head of the family, Mr. Ito?" asked Miss Campbell. "No, my father takes first place. He is a tea merchant in Tokyo. I have also a younger brother who works with him. He did not wish to go to America with me." At this moment a human doll baby toddled into the room. His round little head was bald except for a thick mat of hair on top. His beady black eyes gleamed like polished glass. He wore a dark red kimono and his feet and legs were bare. "Oh, the darling," cried Mary whose love of children overcame any shyness she might feel before strangers. The three Japanese were pleased at the attention the little person created. The girls gathered around him in a circle while he stood perfectly still regarding them curiously, as if they were some new strange birds which had dropped into his room from the skies. Yoritomo also was pleased. He took the little fellow's hand in his and led him from one to another while his relatives stood in a beaming row. Children are called "treasure-flowers" in Japan, and are petted and spoiled quite as much as American children. "What a cunning little baby brother, Mr. Ito," said Nancy. "What is his name?" "Kenkyo," answered Yoritomo. Suddenly he turned and spoke to one of the women and the "treasure-flower" was led from the room. "Oh, don't send him away," objected Miss Campbell. "I haven't had half a chance to see him yet." "He is not dressed to see distinguished visitors," answered Yoritomo, quickly. "My mother would like to show you some of her embroidery if you would care to see it." So the subject of little Kenkyo was dropped and Madame Ito, hurrying away, returned in a moment with an armful of linen and silk on which she had worked the most wonderful floral designs. In the meantime, the faithful 'riksha man, Komatsu, had trotted all the way through floods of rain to the Campbell villa half a mile distant, and now returned in company with O'Haru. Between them they carried a covered basket containing five mackintoshes, five pairs of overshoes and five umbrellas. Komatsu was very angry with O'Haru. He explained to Miss Campbell: "I not wish, but she coming without not wish." He pointed accusingly at the sad old face. O'Haru, dripping and imperturbable, stood on the piazza near the entrance to the villa. "That was very good of you, O'Haru; we appreciate your devotion," said Miss Campbell, but the housekeeper did not appear to grasp all this fine English. She seemed to be taking in every detail of the room and its occupants. Nobody took any notice of her. All the ladies and the servants were engaged in helping the guests on with their rain coats and overshoes. Mme. Ito insisted on doing up their hats in paper bundles. In the midst of a great deal of leave-taking and much smiling and bowing, Yoritomo found time to say to Nancy: "You see, chance has favored me to-day. The rain which kept me away from the bridge has brought you to my home." Nancy blushed in spite of her efforts not to. She felt half pleased and half frightened at the earnest manner of the young Japanese. He was undeniably handsome and graceful, with a self-possession she had never seen equaled. Just then a dark figure darted across the floor so swiftly that it was like a flash of brown wings in the air. There was a low exclamation from the ladies, a bird-like chatter from the servants, and for one brief moment the surprised Americans beheld old O'Haru on her knees before little Kenkyo in the act of touching her forehead to the floor. She drew a beautiful, bright-colored toy from her bosom and gave it to the solemn-eyed little boy. Then, bowing again with extreme reverence, she rose and left the house. When they next saw her she was swinging along in the rain on her wooden clogs. Miss Campbell made Komatsu stop the 'riksha and invited her to climb in, but she refused politely but firmly. "Extraordinary creature," exclaimed Miss Campbell, but Komatsu could offer no explanation. CHAPTER IV. THE GARDEN IN THE RAIN. For three interminable days the rain poured down uninterruptedly. The floodgates of heaven had opened and it seemed as though they would never close again. The all-pervading dampness and chill brought illness to the Campbell household of a kind not to be healed by medicine. Homesickness it was, and it spread rapidly like a contagious disease. Only one member of the party of Americans was not afflicted and that was Mr. Campbell, who had lived in many climates and countries and was accustomed to seasons of rain and wet. Moreover, as he himself had said, he had no home to be sick for. He felt a supreme content in the thought of having his daughter with him and no amount of rain could chill his enthusiasm. Miss Campbell took to her bed with an attack of rheumatism, brought on, she insisted, from having sat on the floor at the home of Mme. Ito. Mary began a diary of her experiences in Japan and had several private weeping spells entirely due to the unsurpassed dismalness of the weather. Billie endeavored to throw off her depression by giving Onoye lessons in English in exchange for lessons in Japanese, and in the course of these lessons she learned a little of Onoye's history. O'Haru had been obliged to go to work after the death of her husband who had lost all his property in a fire. Onoye's only brother had been killed in great "bat-tel." The family had had "muchly unfortune. All money gone--nothing." At the conclusion of this sad story told mostly by expressive gestures and queerly chosen words, Onoye smiled sweetly. That is the only polite thing for a well brought up Japanese girl to do even when her own misfortunes are the subject of the conversation. "What a shame," Billie exclaimed sympathetically. "I should think you would learn something, some trade, I mean, Onoye. You are much too clever to be a housemaid. But I suppose you will marry. I hear there are no old maids in Japan." Onoye shook her head and smiled sadly. Perhaps she did not understand Billie's remark because she did not reply. "Old maid, Onoye, is one who never marries," explained Nancy at the dressing table arranging her hair. "Ah, Komatsu old maid. He not marry." "No, no, Komatsu is a man," said Billie trying not to laugh. "Old maid is a woman who has no husband, like Miss Campbell." "Old maid," repeated Onoye, and because of what happened that very evening, it was evident that the retentive Japanese memory had not lost the words. In the afternoon there came a characteristic note from Mr. Campbell to his cousin. "Tell O'Haru to put on the big pot and the little," it ran, "and to kill the fatted calf. I am going to cheer up my gloomy household by bringing four men home to dinner. If it were not for these flimsy little card houses, I would suggest a dance afterwards, but I couldn't answer for the walls and roof if two young Americans danced a two-step in the parlor." "I am sure a two-step is no rougher than one of these storms of wind and rain," observed Miss Campbell, feeling a sudden loyalty toward everything American, including dances. O'Haru was informed of the party and the house became at once a beehive of activity. Several of the little maids, without being told, took down all the dresses in the wardrobes and began drying them out with square boxes of red embers. "I'd like to be done the same way," remarked Miss Campbell. "I think I am just as mildewed as my clothes." The kitchen quarters of the house fairly vibrated with the stir of preparation. In the living rooms the air was dried with small charcoal stoves. The gardener was seen bringing in armfuls of flowers; and with all the activity and preparation, there was no noise, not a sound. It was positively uncanny. Late in the afternoon Nancy slipped away from this noiseless busy scene and tripped demurely down a garden path toward the bridge. She was not exactly bent on mischief but she wanted to satisfy her curiosity about something. The rain had lessened considerably but it was still necessary for her to protect her recently arranged curls with her small blue silk umbrella. In her mackintosh of changeable silk in two shades of blue, she made a charming picture coming down the rain-soaked path. The garden itself was a thing of beauty. On the end of every pine needle hung a crystal drop, and through the thin veil of mist clinging to the shrubbery a clump of azaleas glowed like a crimson flame. Taking a path to the left, Nancy began the gentle and almost imperceptible descent to the little bridge. The air was filled with the perfume of wild roses and late plum blossoms. It was really a fairy land, this Japan; a place too exquisite and unreal for human beings to live in. She began to sing softly to herself Elinor's favorite song: "'Know'st thou the land of the citron bloom?'" As she approached the bridge she felt a little frightened for some reason. It was rather reckless of her to come down to this lonely place in the late afternoon even if it was their own premises. It was the first time she had done it and she decided it would be the last. But as long as she had come, she would see it through. Nancy could hardly explain to herself what she meant by "seeing it through." She would stroll carelessly down the path, walk across the bridge, pause a moment and walk back again, not looking behind her of course, as, if she were observed, and she was sure she was not, she would pretend she was out for a walk and had not expected to meet anyone. Thus Nancy reasoned with herself, but by the time she had reached the bridge she had changed her mind and was about to turn and hasten back, when she noticed a beautiful tea rose that had been laid conspicuously on the hand rail of the bridge. "He has been here," she thought. "He must have just gone. The rose is quite fresh." Sticking its long stem through the buttonhole of her raincoat, she glanced about her curiously. Somehow, behind every clump of shrubs and every branching pine tree she felt black eyes staring at her and yet she was sure she was alone. Again she started for the house, feeling profoundly relieved that Yoritomo had not waited, if, indeed, it was he who had left the rose. Suddenly Nancy's heart jumped into her throat and she felt a cold chill down her spinal column,--and for no reason, except that standing in front of her was not a man, but a woman. The stranger was too tall to be a Japanese and she was dressed, moreover, in European clothes,--a beautifully fitting tailor-made suit and English traveling hat of stitched cloth. But there was something faintly suggestive of the Japanese about her face. Perhaps it was the slightly slanting eyes and the smooth olive skin. Her hair was much lighter than her eyes and quite fluffy; her features were regular and there was a graceful dignity in the poise of her head on her shoulders. Nancy concluded after a swift examination that she was, if peculiar looking, still strangely fascinating. "May I ask your pardon for intruding on your beautiful gardens?" began the woman, speaking with a slightly English accent. "I did not expect to meet any one on this rainy afternoon." Nancy wondered how she had got into the garden and where she had come from. These things the stranger did not explain. However, Nancy answered politely: "It isn't my garden, but I am sure Mr. Campbell would be delighted to have other people enjoy it." "You are a sweet child," said the woman, deliberately taking Nancy's chin in her hand and looking down at her, "a sweet, exquisite child." After all, Nancy decided, this mysterious lady was both fascinating and beautiful. "And who is Mr. Campbell?" Nancy explained. In fact, after a few leading questions, she disclosed the entire history of the household; who they were, how long they expected to stay, and how they happened to be spending the summer in Japan. "Is it possible that you are the Motor Maids who have ridden so many thousands of miles in a red car?" asked the stranger. Nancy opened her eyes. "Yes," she answered. "But we never dreamed we were so famous as that." "Ah, you will find that Tokyo is not so far removed from the world," answered the woman, smiling gravely. "And Mr. Campbell is building a railroad, you say?" "No, I didn't say so," replied Nancy, a little surprised. "He's not building anything that I know of. He is being consulted, or something." But the stranger did not seem to have heard her. "I must be going," she said absently. "You are an adorably pretty child. It's been a pleasure to see you. I only wandered in here because I was unhappy and wanted to be alone, but you have cheered me up. Run along, now, and don't walk in Japanese gardens at dusk unattended too often." Her glance fell on the tea rose. "And remember that the Japanese do not understand the meaning of the word 'flirtation.' Good-by, _ma cherie, belle et charmante_. You won't tell your Mr. Campbell that I trespassed on his garden, will you? Promise?" "I promise," answered Nancy, quite bewildered and fascinated. Then the mysterious lady disappeared down a dripping path and Nancy was left standing alone in the rain. "I am sorry I promised," was her first thought. "It would have been such fun to tell Billie." But her second thought was: "Billie would have asked me why I had gone walking at dusk in the rain, and what a teasing I should have got." It was late and she hurried back to dress for dinner. No one had missed her because Billie had been helping Miss Campbell into her best evening frock, and the others were all engaged in their own toilets. That evening at half past seven a very jolly party gathered around the dinner table, which was a miracle of beauty with its decorations of apple blossoms. Besides Nicholas Grimm and Yoritomo Ito, there were two Englishmen, Reginald Carlton, a young man who was taking a trip around the world by way of finishing his education, and Mr. Buxton, an older man who lived in Tokyo. All the men wore evening clothes, although Mr. Campbell had sighed when Billie made him appear in his. He was a man of camps and open air and seldom appeared in society. Nancy watched his rugged, handsome face admiringly. "What a splendid looking man he is," she was thinking, when Yoritomo at her right said in a low voice: "You did go to the bridge." "How do you know?" she asked. "Because I saw the rose. It was fastened on your rain coat, which you left on a hook in the passage with your wet umbrella." "I only went for the air," said Nancy hastily. "I shall not go again alone." Yoritomo's face darkened, and he turned his attention to his dinner. In the meantime the others were all amusing themselves in various ways, and there was a great deal of talk and laughter. Miss Campbell felt rejuvenated and her rheumatic twinges had entirely disappeared. "There is nothing like a little pleasure for driving acidity out of the system," she thought, as she finished the last spoonful of her dessert of beautifully preserved fruits. Onoye had entered, carrying a small lacquered tray on which lay a square, foreign-looking visiting card. "A lady calling to the honorable old maid," she announced calmly at Miss Campbell's elbow. "The what?" cried Mr. Campbell. "The honorable old maid," repeated poor Onoye, with her precise accent, smiling innocently. There was a perfect shout of laughter. Only Yoritomo's face remained impassive, but who could tell what angry thoughts were hidden behind that mask-like face? Billie tried to explain how the mistake had occurred, and Onoye rushed from the room in an agony of embarrassment and shame. "Don't scold her, Cousin. She thought she had learned a new English word," Billie besought Miss Campbell. "Scold her? I should think not. I don't mind being called an 'honorable old maid,' I am sure. But who is this caller, I wonder?" she added, in a lower voice. Mr. Campbell examined the card with some curiosity. "Mme. Marie Fontaine," it read. Miss Campbell hastened into the drawing-room, and Nancy, peeping through the doors a few minutes later, was surprised to find that Mme. Fontame was her recent companion in the garden. The visit was very brief, and Miss Campbell presently returned looking somewhat amused and a little annoyed. "Mme. Fontaine wished to know if she might have an interview with the Motor Maids on the subject of their motor trip across the American continent and through the British Isles." "And what did you tell her?" demanded the four girls in one voice, it must be confessed somewhat eagerly. "I told her that while we appreciated the compliment, it would be impossible." "Quite right," said Mr. Campbell. "Publicity is the thing of all others I wish to avoid, and if an article like that appeared in a Tokyo paper, either in Japanese or English, you would probably be the object of the most disagreeable curiosity. Am I not right, Yoritomo?" "Oh, yes. It would not be agreeable to the young ladies. Many people would come to look at them." "I am very glad my action is approved, then," said Miss Campbell. "I have an old-fashioned horror of notoriety like that, and I am sure none of my girls would care to see herself in a newspaper. Would she?" "No, indeed," they answered promptly in a chorus. In a secret place in Nancy's mind, however, she saw a picture of her own pretty face occupying at least one-third of a newspaper page and underneath, blazoned in large letters: "The Beautiful Miss Anne Starbuck Brown, One of the Famous Motor Maids." CHAPTER V. IN THE LIBRARY. The house Mr. Campbell had sub-let for the summer was somewhat labyrinthian in design, since it was only one story high and contained many rooms for living and sleeping, besides the servants' quarters in the rear. Mr. Spears had engaged a Japanese architect to build the house and Japanese and European ideas were curiously combined in its construction. Down the middle ran a broad hall, intersected at the back by another hall running across the house. This was known as "the passage," and it was in a manner a social boundary line, dividing the quarters of master and servants. Only one opening broke the monotony of the uninterrupted partition on the far side of the passage. This was the door into the library which had been placed in a quiet and out-of-the-way corner overlooking the garden. This library was decidedly the most attractive and home-like room in the villa. There was a large open fireplace at one end where a pile of blazing logs now crackled cheerfully. It would have taken an immense "go-down" to accommodate all the books which lined the walls. But Mr. Spears was evidently not afraid of fire, for they stood in serried ranks, rows and rows of them, and between each group of shelves was a panel of carved and polished wood. Over the mantel hung a beautiful Japanese print. Curtains of some heavy material, old rose in color, hung at the windows, and instead of the usual three by six mats, the floor was covered with an Oriental rug in soft warm colors. There were many low, comfortable chairs about and several tables on which stood shaded lamps. Later in the evening after Mr. Campbell's dinner party, the three older members of the company sat down in the drawing-room for a quiet game, while the young people repaired to the library where they might talk and laugh freely without fear of disturbing the players. "Oh, I say, what a jolly room," exclaimed Reginald Carlton, looking about him with interest. "Isn't it?" agreed Billie. "Papa says that if people would only stick to Japanese notions of decoration and add a few comfortable chairs to sit in, they would never make any mistakes. You see, there's only one picture in this room, but that's considered very fine. It's by a famous Japanese artist." "I like that one-picture idea," put in Nicholas Grimm, "especially if it is at a comfortable elevation. Just pull up an easy chair and raise your eyes and you have seen all there is to see. There's a delightful simplicity about that to me. But I suppose Yoritomo would call this room crowded, nevertheless. How about it, old man? It wouldn't take you fifteen minutes to pull down the curtains and roll up the rug and store them in the 'go-down.' Would it, now, honor bright?" "No, no. I like the European furnishings," protested the Japanese. "You must remember that I lived in America for many years. There is only one thing I would store in the 'go-down,' and that is the little safe." He pointed to a small American fire-proof safe in a corner of the room. "But that is our 'go-down,'" laughed Billie. "We haven't any other. When Papa first came here he discovered that there was no place to lock up anything except some desk drawers, and he rented this little safe for his papers. A Japanese gentleman advised him to do it. He told Papa there was a great deal of curiosity here about the private business of foreigners." A dark flush overspread Yoritomo's face and gradually faded out. The others did not notice it, however. They had followed Nicholas across the room and were standing in a circle around the safe, while the young American touched it with a caressing hand. "Made in Newark, N.J., U.S.A.," he exclaimed. "Think of that. It's like meeting an old friend from home." "A very proper kind of friend," observed Reginald. "The kind that keeps a secret behind a combination lock." "I don't call it being a real friend to have any combination at all," put in Elinor, "because anybody who learns the combination can get the secret." Nicholas laughed. "You don't understand the Japanese, Miss Butler," he exclaimed. "They regard all persons with important secrets as combination safes. Sooner or later they believe they can learn any combination if they only persist." "Why don't you stand up for your country, Mr. Ito?" asked Nancy. "What Nicholas says is true," answered Yoritomo. "If the secret concerns his country, the Japanese will learn it if he must give up his life. What you call 'spy' in your language should be changed to patriot, or one who risks all for his country. Every Japanese is a spy, because every Japanese will suffer for Japan." "Perfectly good logic," said Nicholas. "Are you a spy?" asked Mary, so innocently that even the imperturbable Yoritomo laughed. "I am, in the sense of being a patriot," he answered. "There is nothing I would not do for Japan." "Are you a Samurai?" asked Billie, hardly understanding the meaning of the word. "My grandfather was. There are no real samurai now. Only descendants." "But what were they?" Yoritomo's face became strangely animated. "A samurai was a soldier," he said. "He was brave and feared neither death nor suffering in any form. He carried two swords, a long one for fighting and a short one for defense. The sword was the emblem of the samurai spirit. He took pride in keeping it sharp and bright." "Aren't some of the descendants of the old warrior samurai rather fanatical?" asked Reginald. "That is, I mean--" he hesitated, seeing a peculiar gleam in Yoritomo's eyes, "aren't some opposed to the entrance of foreigners into Japan, and the invasion of foreign ideas--perhaps that feeling has died out now?" "The old samurai defended his country against the foreigner and no descendant of a samurai, either now or ever, would endure for a foreigner to learn the secrets of his country. But that is not fanaticism. That is patriotism. He is very jealous of his country's honor, you understand. You will look at the history of other countries. First it is only a few foreigners; then more and more. They slip into the government. They spread their ideas and customs--they get a foot-hold--then--all of a sudden, what is it? Not Japan any longer--but--America--England." "Oh, come off, Yoritomo," cried Nicholas, laughing. "What in the name of all the powers are you driving at? There are about forty millions of people on this island and I guess a few foreigners won't make much headway in such a bunch as that." "At least, you are not afraid of being Americanized, Mr. Ito," broke in Nancy, "since you were educated in America." "I am not afraid of the invasion of beautiful American young ladies," answered Yoritomo gallantly, and the others laughed and felt somewhat relieved that the conversation had drifted into a less serious vein. They drew their chairs into a circle about the fire and talked pleasantly for some time, when they were summoned back to the drawing-room by Mr. Campbell, who reminded Elinor of a promise she had made to him to sing for them with her guitar. This performance was a subject of wondering curiosity to the servants of the household. Through the door to the dining-room Elinor caught a glimpse of a multitude of natives crouched on the floor behind the screen, including Komatsu and O'Haru, all the little maids, the numerous grandmothers, and the 'riksha men who had brought the guests out from Tokyo. If the music seemed strange to the Japanese ear trained for centuries to a curious uneven scale, at least they admired Elinor's lovely voice, clear and sweet as a bell. She had a large repertoire and knew all the favorites of everybody. While she was singing "Oh, that we two were Maying," at the request of Miss Campbell, Nancy, seated on the couch beside Billie, near the door, whispered into her friend's ear: "I left my handkerchief in the library," and slipped into the hall. Hardly a moment later Billie, glancing through the door, saw Nancy in the distance, beckoning violently. She rose and followed, much against her will, thinking perhaps Nancy wished to bestow a confidence which might just as well be kept until later. "What on earth do you want?" she asked, with the irritability intimate friends use toward each other without meaning really to be cross. "The queerest thing has happened. The library is perfectly black dark." "I don't think there is anything specially remarkable about that. The fire had burned low before we left and I suppose one of the maids put out the lamps. The Japs are nothing if not economical." "They are nothing if not polite, too," argued Nancy. "And I am sure they wouldn't put out the lights before the company left. Besides, they are all listening to Elinor sing." "Well, the lights are out and I don't see that it matters much, Nancy-Bell. Let's go back and hear the rest of the song." "Won't you come with me first to get my handkerchief?" pleaded Nancy. "I know exactly where I left it, and I am afraid to go alone, if you want to know the real truth." "Oh, you little coward," laughed Billie good-naturedly, taking her arm. "Come along, then." The two young girls hastened down the long hall until they reached the passage. "Billie," whispered Nancy, pausing at the door. "You won't think me silly if I tell you this? Of course it may have been imagination, but I was awfully frightened when I came in here just now. I opened the door suddenly and ran into the room before I realized it was dark. Then, of course, I stopped short. The door had closed behind me and it seemed to me that some one else was in the room. I remembered that as I opened the door I heard some one move or collide with a chair. I stood perfectly still for an instant. I was really frightened. Then I just flew." "Perhaps it was one of the servants who had put out the lights and was afraid to acknowledge it," suggested Billie. "The little maids are as timid as wild things." "But every servant in the house is in the dining room, I tell you. I saw them as I went down the hall, and I counted them just for fun. There were the four little maids and Onoye and O'Haru and Komatsu and the three jinriksha men and the three old grandmothers and the gardener. There aren't any others." The door leading into the library was not a sliding panel of thick opaque paper, like the usual Japanese door, but a real European door of heavy wood with a brass handle. "Don't you think we had better get your father, Billie, or one of the boys?" whispered Nancy, placing a detaining hand on her friend's arm. "But that would be a needless alarm. Everybody would want to know what was the matter. There would have to be explanations and Cousin Helen would be frightened. Besides, I am sure it was just your vivid imagination, Nancy." She opened the door very softly and peeped in. The room was flooded with the radiance of two shaded lamps, both burning brightly; in fact, one had been turned up too high, as if lighted in haste. "Oh," gasped Nancy, in amazement. But Billie was determined not to be surprised. "Take my word for it, Nancy; one of the servants put out the lights by mistake, thinking we had finished in here for the night, and when you returned he or she was frightened and lit them again, thinking that honorable American young lady might be displeased." Nancy found her handkerchief. "Very well," she said. "If that is your expert opinion I am willing to abide by it, but I was fright--" Before she could finish one of the long French windows blew open and a gust of wet wind extinguished the lamp on a table near the window. Billie marched boldly over and closed and bolted the window. "Whoever it was," she said, "must have got out this way." The girls exchanged a long glance of uneasy speculation. In the dim light of the remaining lamp the room seemed filled with shadows. Billie drew the heavy curtains across the casement. Those at the other window were already drawn. "Come along, Nancy-Bell," she exclaimed. "Thieves don't blow out lights and then come back and relight them. It would be extremely unprofessional if they did and very reckless besides. It's certain to be one of those timid little persons in a kimono. We had better be getting back to the drawing-room or Papa will be wondering what has become of us." Hardly had they closed the door after them, when a figure, wrapped from head to foot in a long brown garment something like a cape, emerged from behind the other curtains. Whoever it was, whether man or woman, it was impossible to judge, opened the door, peeped cautiously into the passage and, finding it quite empty, marched boldly out. In another moment the intruder had disappeared into the garden. As the girls passed along the hall they paused to notice the picturesque group of servants gathered near the door. There was a smile on every face, not a smile of ridicule, but of courteous enjoyment. "Is there any rude person in the length and breadth of Japan?" thought Billie, while Nancy once more counted heads and then shook her own thoughtfully. "I don't understand," she pondered, "but Billie is usually right, so I'll just cease to worry." CHAPTER VI. CHERRY BLOSSOMS. A few hours of brilliant sunshine and all the dampness had been sucked up from the earth; the air was warmed and dried and the mists rolled back from the garden, revealing a fairy-land too exquisite to be real. Something especially wonderful had happened that morning. The faces of the little maids had been filled with a joyous expectancy as they hurried from room to room on their household duties. A mysterious smile hovered on the lips of Komatsu when he appeared to receive his orders. Even old O'Haru was secretly immensely pleased about something, but they all had evidently agreed among themselves to keep the great news secret until the psychological moment had arrived when the ladies of the house and Mr. Campbell had assembled on the piazza just before breakfast. When this occurred word was swiftly and silently conveyed over the household and all persons belonging to the domestic staff instantly gathered in the hall and doorway. "Why, what on earth is the matter with them?" Miss Campbell asked uneasily. "Will you please look: the entire household collected in the front hall." Mr. Campbell was as much at a loss as his cousin. "They look as if they were going to play a joke on us," observed Billie, "Did you ever see anything so guileless and simple-hearted as they are?" "Oh, I know what it is," cried Mary, clasping her hands with delight. "There," she said, pointing to the old gardener, who was approaching by way of one of the paths. There was an inimitable smile on his face, and he carried tenderly and gingerly a double handful of brown branches on which clustered delicate pink blossoms. "It's the cherry blossoms! They are in bloom!" Mary shouted in her enthusiasm. "That's why they are all so delighted. The dears! They are just like a lot of children." The crown of the year for the Japanese had indeed arrived, the season when every cherry tree becomes a magnificent nosegay which has caught the sunset's glow, and all the world goes forth to view the splendid sight. The love of these people, young and old and of all classes, for flowers, and particularly for cherry blossoms, is touching in its simplicity and sincerity. The old gardener was himself a delightful picture in his blue cotton, tunic-like coat, queer, tight-fitting trousers and an enormous hat that resembled an inverted flower basket. Against the coarse blue of his tunic rested the delicate rosy cloud of blossoms. With an elaborate bow he presented Mr. Campbell and each of the ladies with a branch. "Him muchly more big soon all same," he said. "Thank you, Saiki. They are very beautiful," said Miss Campbell, speaking in the distinct, loud tone she used for persons not understanding her own language. The girls exclaimed and admired and Mr. Campbell was delighted. He felt a kind of reverence for the old man's simple unaffected love of beauty. In the meantime, the regiment of servants who had witnessed and enjoyed the ceremony of presenting the first cherry blossoms to the master and mistress of the house retired to their various occupations. The pleasure and surprise of the foreigners over the beauty of the cherry blossoms would be a memory for these humble people to cherish all their lives. Perhaps they had never seen the like before, these honorable barbarians; certainly nothing so perfect as the double blossom, of a delicacy and shade not to be surpassed. Later at the breakfast table Billie concocted a scheme. "Papa," she began, "can't we take the 'Comet' and go sight-seeing? It would be such fun, and while the 'rikshas are very nice, we are so separated, we can't all sympathize together as we usually do." "A kind of sympathy in detachments, is it?" asked Mr. Campbell. "But I wanted to go with you on your first ride in the 'Comet.' I don't know just how the people will take to a girl's driving a red 'devil-wagon,' as they call it." "Why not let Komatsu go along?" "What do you think, Cousin?" asked Mr. Campbell. Up to this time Miss Campbell had kept out of the discussion. The truth is, she yearned to relieve the tedium of life by taking a trip in the red motor car. "Couldn't you get away and go with us?" "Impossible this afternoon, because I have an appointment to meet some very distinguished persons to discuss various plans. One can hardly be polite enough as it is in this good-mannered country, and it would never do to break an engagement. In another week or so I shall be free to take the ladies on excursions." "What is it all about, Papa?" asked Billie. "Oh, government improvements, child. Things that are too important to be talked about." He pinched her cheek. "Well, beautiful American ladies, if you take Komatsu with you as interpreter and protector, guide and friend, I think you might be trusted to make a little cherry-blossom excursion in the 'Comet.' Only don't go too far or too fast and on your life don't run over anything, even a chicken, or there'll be trouble for all concerned." So it was settled, and after breakfast Billie rushed to the mysterious back premises of the place on the other side of the house, where various hitherto unsuspected industries seemed to be in progress. There was a kitchen garden hidden by a hedge of althea bushes, a chicken yard, and in a most picturesque building, used by the Spears for a carriage house, the "Comet." So far they had been unable to find a chauffeur, and Mr. Campbell himself had gone over all the machinery and put it in order. Billie cranked up, and, jumping into her old accustomed place, guided the motor car into the open. Komatsu came at a run from around the side of the house. He was so amazed at sight of Billie in the chauffeur's seat that he could not conceal his feelings. "Komatsu, we want you to go with us to-day. We want you to show us the cherry trees in Tokyo and Uyeno Park. I suppose we couldn't get to all the famous cherry blossom places in one afternoon?" "Him fast runner. No sakura all same see." "No, no. We shall go quite slowly. We want to see everything." In less than an hour the _hanami_, signifying in Japanese a picnic to a famous place to view certain flowers in season, conducted on the most modern lines in a red motor car, proceeded on its way. Komatsu, a strangely incongruous figure, sat on the front seat beside Billie. On the way to Tokyo the "Comet" created a sensation. All the varied wayfarers on that picturesque highway paused and stared, pointing and gesticulating. The city was a vision of beauty. Most of its broad avenues are lined with close set rows of cherry trees which were now bursting into blossom in all the most delicate and exquisite shades of pink known to nature. Komatsu guided them about the city with a kind of pleased and gratified delight as if he were showing his own property. Sometimes he stood up and pointed to the feathery tops of carefully nurtured cherry trees, glimpses of which could be seen over the high walls surrounding private gardens. The motorists were fairly bewildered by the beauty of it all. It was like a vast conservatory with the roof taken off. Nothing could have been more exotic or more lovely than the vista through the park with the white peak of Fujiyama, queen of mountains, glistening in the distance. Moreover, this little jaunt in the car had stirred their blood into action. They felt once more the call of the road, the fever to be going. The old accustomed sensation that they must make a certain place by such and such a time had returned. They were of one opinion, this party of Motor-Gypsies: to go back home until sunset would be a foolish waste of golden hours. Their five wishes accorded like the notes of an harmonious chord and presently Billie, influenced by the force of this silent opinion, exclaimed: "Suppose we take a country road and eat lunch later at some wayside tea house?" "Splendid!" cried the others almost before she had finished. Miss Campbell raised one feeble objection--something about the weather--but it was promptly overridden by her relative at the wheel, and presently she settled down in her seat and abandoned herself to the joy of motion. "In all the ten thousands of miles we have covered in this car," she remarked, "I never was happier than I am at this moment." "Why can't we go to the Arakawa Ridge?" suggested Mary, consulting a guide book. "It's only seven miles from here on the Sumida River and there are miles and miles of road bordered by double-flowering cherry trees." This was agreeable to all concerned, and, accordingly, Komatsu guided them to this famous spot, the pride of Tokyo. On the way they passed hundreds of people in jinrikshas or on foot. Many of the pedestrians carried paper parasols and fans, exactly like the chorus in the "Mikado." Those who rode in the graceful little two-wheeled buggies looked out upon the world with expressions of calm enjoyment. The "Comet" was a conspicuous object as it progressed slowly along the road, but so far all things worked together for good and there was no cause for uneasiness. At a little roadside tea house they paused for lunch. The building was nothing more than a shed with a low-hanging thatched roof and sides made of coarse strips of matting joined together with bamboo sticks. Humble as it was it possessed a peculiar charm, all its own. They were presently to find that the rear of the tea house facing a little garden was glorified into something rich and strange by a magnificent azalea bush in full bloom. It reached to the roof of the house and was a mass of deep red blossoms. The ear was left in a pine grove near the house, and following Komatsu along a rocky path they presently found themselves in this delectable little garden. Here they were met by an old man and his wife, a very aged couple whose gentle deprecating expressions almost moved Miss Campbell to tears. "The adorable old things," she exclaimed. "They remind me of two old turtle doves." Close at their heels came two little maids who conducted the ladies into the tea house and brought tea for temporary refreshment, while Komatsu consulted with the proprietor regarding lunch. Presently one of the little maids hurried in and placed a menu in front of Miss Campbell. "Me speak little honorable American language," she said. "You like all same American food? Will gracious lady make eyes to look?" Miss Campbell raised her lorgnette and examined the menu while the small maid backed away and disappeared, in the throes of extreme shyness over her endeavors. "Girls," said Miss Campbell, in a curious, strained voice, "don't any of you dare to laugh because of course they are all peeping at us from somewhere, but I want you all to make eyes to look at this amazing production." They crowded about her and over her shoulder read the following menu: _Soup by egge Eels to rice Seaweed Podadoe Sweete Sponge boiled Doormats a la U. S._ There were tears of laughter in Miss Campbell's eyes and her voice was so shaky she could hardly trust herself to speak, even when she saw the little maid returning around the corner of the azalea bush. The faces of the four girls were crimson with suppressed laughter. "Very nice, my dear," said Miss Campbell, "you may bring in luncheon as soon as you can." After she had gone there was a brief but eloquent silence. "Do, some one, make a joke," whispered Elinor. At that moment a strange looking bob-tailed cat walked by. "There," cried Nancy, and they all instantly burst into hysterical laughter. "In the name of good health and excellent digestion, tell me what are doormats?" asked Billie. "Dear knows," answered her cousin, "but I think if they must be eaten it would be best to take boiled sponges afterward." The luncheon was purely Japanese, in spite of the English menu, and it was really excellent. "I never thought to come to eels," Miss Campbell observed, but she enjoyed her portion, nevertheless. "Doormats a la U. S." turned out to be a sweet cake with a sugary icing. "I believe they were intended for doughnuts," observed that astute little person, Mary Price, and no doubt she was quite right. When the feast was over Miss Campbell paid the bill, which was pathetically small, since there was no charge for tea and sweetmeats. "How do we give the tip?" she asked. "I know," answered Billie, "Papa taught me about that the other day." She consulted her note book. Tearing out a leaf, she wrapped up what would amount to about a dollar in American money, then with her little silver pencil she wrote on the package "On chadai." "That means 'honorable money for tea,'" she explained. Next she clapped her hands. All through the house voices could be heard calling "Hai! Hai!" Presently the maid appeared hanging her head humbly. Billie motioned to her that she wished the proprietor, who, indeed, was close at hand. With an expression of much surprise he received the chadai and bowing to the ground murmured something which Komatsu explained meant honorable thanks for poor insignificant service. Each guest on departing received a fan as a souvenir; because, as they were to learn before they left Japan, no Japanese ever receives a present without giving another in return. Every person attached to the tea house went out to see the departure of the car, and the old woman clutched her husband's arm fearfully when she heard the vibrations of the machinery and saw Billie turn the "Comet" down the hillside to the main road. At last, fortified by strange if not unpalatable food and thoroughly enjoying themselves, they arrived at the entrance to the magnificent avenue called Arakawa Ridge, along each side of which, as far as the eye could see, ran two rows of cherry trees in full bloom. The avenue was lined with 'rikshas, and hundreds of pedestrians paced slowly along. They were in holiday attire and the bright colors of the kimonos and obis made a bewildering and brilliant picture. At intervals booths had been erected, decorated with lanterns, where refreshments were sold, and nearby a roving band of musicians and dancers were entertaining the crowd. The mistake Billie made was to attempt to take the car through the crowded road where apparently there were only pedestrians and jinrikshas. But Komatsu had not objected and since they had been accustomed to take the "Comet" wherever there was a navigable road, they pushed innocently on. As for the populace celebrating the cherry blossom festival, they evidently regarded the sight of a young woman driving a red devil-wagon as something just short of miraculous. Slowly and at a dignified pace the motor car moved along the avenue, and suddenly like a bolt from the blue two things happened. A little boy escaped from his sister's hand and ran across the road. Billie reversed the lever just as the child fell under the wheels. At the same instant a tire on a rear wheel exploded with a loud report. Miss Campbell groaned and hid her face in her hands. Instantly they were surrounded by a mob of angry people. CHAPTER VII. A BAD QUARTER OF AN HOUR. In the uncertainty of that terrible moment everything turned black before Billie's eyes. "I am a murderer," was all she could think. "I've killed a little child." When the mists had cleared away she saw a weird scene about her: hundreds of Japanese men and women, speaking in low angry voices which somehow reminded her of the breaking of the surf on the beach--perhaps because the Japanese language has a sing-song rhythm. The little boy, apparently limp and lifeless, lay in his sister's arms. Komatsu had leapt clear over the front of the car and pushed his way through the people gathered about them. With a hand as skillful as a doctor's he felt the child's pulse and placed his ear over his heart. "Baby only make believe dead," he said. "Honorable heart beating all same like steam engine." At these hopeful words Miss Campbell came to herself with a start. For a moment she had been faint and sick with the notion of what had happened. Never before in all their thousands of miles of touring in the "Comet" had they injured so much as a fly; and now to run down a little child! It was too dreadful to contemplate. "Komatsu," she ordered, in an unsteady voice, "tell the girl to get in and we will take her brother to the nearest doctor." Komatsu conveyed this message to the stricken sister, who shook her head violently. "Honorable devil-wagon shoot pistol. Japanese no likee," he said. Closer and closer pressed the tense mob about the party. These courteous and gentle Japanese had suddenly been transformed into a fierce, savage people. From one end of Japan to the other a child is considered a sacred thing. If Billie had injured a grown person the public sentiment would not have been so strong, but to harm one of these little "treasure flowers" was to strike at the very heart of the nation. "Can't you understand that we are sorry and anxious to help you?" cried Miss Campbell, addressing the mob, but her voice was lost in the subdued threatening murmur which sounded like distant thunder heralding the approach of a storm. "Good heavens, Komatsu, what are we to do? The child might be saved if they would only listen to reason." "People no likee honorable devil-wagon. Going breaking little pieces all same like sticks." "No, no, they must not," ejaculated Billie. "We are sorry," she cried, stretching out her hands appealingly to the circle of Japanese pressed around the car. "We didn't mean to do it." In the meantime Miss Campbell had produced her bottle of smelling salts, the same that had accompanied her on all her trips, and climbed out of the car. With a motion imperious and compelling she pushed aside the men and women in the circle. The sister had laid the child on the ground and was kneeling beside him. Komatsu knelt on the other side, feeling the little legs and body. "No break bones," he said briefly. Miss Campbell sat on the ground by the unconscious child, wondering vaguely if she would ever rise again. "They may tear us to pieces before we get back. They are like an angry, silent pack of wolves," she thought to herself. "Komatsu," she said aloud, "I believe he has fainted from fright," She put the smelling bottle to the baby's funny snub nose. Presently the boy opened his eyes. At this moment from the midst of the crowd there came a strange shrill cry and a distracted looking woman began beating and fighting her way toward the group. "Honorable mother come in big hurry," said Komatsu, in a low voice. "Gracious lady, take jinriksha. Honorable quickness best now." "But the child isn't injured, Komatsu. Look, he's opened his eyes and he's going to sit up. It was simply fright." "No like honorable devil-wagon," went on Komatsu steadily. While this low, rapid dialogue was taking place Billie, standing on the front seat of the "Comet" on the lookout for help, saw something that made her blood turn cold. A band of fierce looking young men in Japanese costume was approaching on the run. The leader was brandishing a short knife with a two-edged glittering blade and the others flourished sword canes. Billie was thankful that Miss Campbell was too much occupied at that moment in assuring the poor mother that her child was not injured to notice this murderous looking company. Komatsu had quietly placed himself beside the car, faithful soul, ready to die in the service of his ladies. Were they all going to be cut to pieces or was only the "Comet" to be sacrificed in revenge for the accident? The Motor Maids exchanged frightened glances. "If I only knew six words in Japanese," thought Billie. "Make honorable quickness to descend, gracious lady. Come, come," Komatsu urged. "To jinriksha. Leave red devil-wagon. This place no good for staying in." "Oh, Komatsu, try and reason with them," pleaded Billie. "We don't want to lose the 'Comet,' It wasn't his fault. He was going quite slowly. He didn't mean to hurt the little boy. He's the kindest hearted old thing. It wasn't anybody's fault. Can't you tell them that?" Billie was too distracted and unhappy to realize how absurd her words might have sounded to any English-speaking person. It had always seemed to her that a real heart beat somewhere in the mechanical organism of the red motor. Gasoline was his life's blood and his pulse-beats were only the throb of the engine, but, to Billie, he was a faithful and devoted soul and she was not quite prepared to say what she would do in order to save him from destruction. However, at the moment that the band of young men, scarcely more than boys any of them, reached the car, some one sprang into the machine from the other side. Turning quickly, Billie was confronted by a tall, slender young woman in a white serge suit and a big black hat. She had a dark, creamy complexion, dark eyes that slanted slightly and hair of a queer mousy shade of brown. "Wait," said the stranger, "I will speak to them," and mounting the seat, she addressed the crowd in their own tongue with extraordinary fluency, the girls thought, remembering what they had heard concerning the difficulties of that language. There was an elegance and fascination indescribable about the stranger. Nancy recognized her instantly as the lady in the garden. Miss Campbell knew her as Mme. Fontaine, newspaper correspondent. The others in the party imagined her to be almost anything romantic and interesting; perhaps a foreign princess; a great actress; something remarkable, surely. In a beautiful, cultured voice, far reaching in spite of its soft tones, she harangued the multitude which little by little fell back. The group of fierce young men put away their weapons and disappeared in the mob. The little boy, the cause of all the trouble, was now standing on his feet blinking his eyes at Miss Campbell. How the picture was stamped on their minds like a vividly colored print! Miss Campbell took out her purse and gave the mother of the boy some money. Being still quite ignorant of Japanese coinage she did not pause to make any laborious calculations, but poured all the money in the purse into the woman's outstretched hand. It must have been an undreamed-of sum, for the mother's face was wreathed in delighted smiles. She bowed until her forehead almost touched the ground, as did the witnesses of this princely generosity. "It's all over now," said Mme. Fontaine, stepping down from the seat and smiling at Billie. "You had a bad quarter of an hour, though, I fear." "I don't know how we can ever thank you," exclaimed Billie. "You not only saved the car from destruction, but you may have saved us, too. There's no telling how far they would have gone once they got started." "No, no, they would not have harmed you, but they might have injured the car. They are a good deal like children, but they are not butchers. I think they admired your courage, too, for not deserting the sinking ship." Miss Campbell now approached and held out her hand gratefully. "You are heaping coals of fire on my head, Mme. Fontaine," she said. "Yesterday I refused to grant you a favor and to-day you are placing us everlastingly in your debt." "No, no, you must not put it that way," said the other woman, with a graceful movement of protest. "You were quite right not to be interviewed if you did not wish it. Some Americans do not object to publicity, you know. One can never tell. But what I did just now any other person who spoke both languages would have been glad to do." The end of the episode was that Mme. Fontaine waited with Miss Campbell and the three girls, while Billie, in the center of a curious circle of onlookers and with the help of Komatsu, put on a new tire. "Are you in a 'riksha?" asked Miss Campbell of their deliverer. "We would be glad if you would let us take you back to Tokyo in the car. My young cousin is a careful and experienced chauffeur. This is the only accident of the sort we have ever had and I think it was entirely the fault of the child." "Oh, I am not in the least timid in motor cars and I accept with pleasure," answered Mme. Fontaine quickly. Some twenty minutes later, with Komatsu running ahead to clear the road, the "Comet" threaded his way at a snail's pace along the Arakawa Ridge. No doubt his mechanical organism, which Billie had endowed with a soul, heaved a sigh of relief when they took the road home. "Who were the young men with the knives and sword canes, Mme. Fontaine?" asked Mary on the way back. "Oh, they are a group of fanatical young persons opposed to foreigners. Most of them are descendants of the samurai. They believe in old Japan. They talk the wildest kind of nonsense, and while their beliefs are opposed to progress, they represent in Japan what the Nihilists represent in Russia and the Anarchists and such people in other countries. They will outgrow it in time. Some of the finest men in Japan once belonged to these clubs of _soshi_, as they are called. In another generation there will be very few of them left. In the meantime they are quite dangerous occasionally. About fifty years ago a band of them attacked the English Legation at Takanawa and there was a fierce fight. But I feel perfectly sure that they wouldn't attack people now. Only motor cars and the like." "That would have been bad enough," remarked Billie, patting the wheel of the "Comet." Mme. Fontaine smiled pleasantly. "After the great excitement may I not have the pleasure of offering you a reviving cup of tea at my house? It would make me very happy." Miss Campbell would have much preferred to go straight home, but to decline the invitation would have seemed ungracious and she accepted promptly. Along the broad streets of Tokyo, under out-stretched boughs heavy with blossoms, they rolled, and at last Billie paused as directed at a gate in a wall behind which was a charming little house, set in the usual beautiful garden. If Mme. Fontaine was fascinating and elegant, so also was her home. The drawing-room, which seemed to occupy most of the second floor, was furnished in European fashion with deep chairs and couches, Oriental rugs and rich hangings. There was a grand piano near the windows, and on the walls were the rarest and most beautiful Japanese prints. It was a blending of the East and West and was one of the most artistic and delightful apartments the girls had ever seen. In the dim shadowy confines they caught glimpses of teakwood cabinets in which were carved ivories and pieces of fine porcelain. The girls would have liked well to linger another hour among all these interesting and strange objects, but Miss Campbell, for some reason, was in her most conventional mood. While her manner toward Mme. Fontaine left nothing to be desired and she was graciousness personified, she cut the call to twenty-five minutes by the French clock on the mantel, and then go she would. As they were leaving Mary noticed on a table near the door two splendid swords, one very large and heavy and one with a double-edged blade of much smaller size. "Oh, are these the swords of a samurai warrior?" she demanded, with excited interest. "Yes," answered Mme. Fontaine. "They belonged to my great grandfather." Not until they were back in the "Comet" and well on the way home did they realize the meaning of her words. "Then," exclaimed Nancy, "she is half Japanese." "And I've invited her to dine the day after tomorrow," Miss Campbell remarked irrelevantly. The adventure on Arakawa Ridge was far-reaching in its results as a matter of fact, but the most immediate one was a severe punishment administered by that usually kind and gentle person, Mr. Campbell, on no less a victim than the "Comet." Just what the punishment was you will find out when the Motor Maids themselves discover it. CHAPTER VIII. THE COMPASSIONATE GOD, JIZU. Miss Campbell was very dubious about having invited Mme. Fontaine to dine. "Of course she was very kind," she remarked, "and we owe her a great deal, but I wish we could show our appreciation in some other way. We don't know anything about her: who she is; where she came from; whether she has any family." "But, my dear cousin," said Mr. Campbell, who had wandered about the world so much that he was accustomed to taking people without any questions, "what difference does it make? You say she is refined and well-bred. We know she is kind because of what she did for us. But I will make some inquiries about her if you like--" "I never liked mixed bloods," interrupted Miss Campbell, not listening to her relation. "Everybody has some mixture of bloods," laughed Billie. "Look at Mary--French and English; look at Elinor--Scotch and Irish." "No, no," protested Miss Campbell "Those aren't the kinds of mixtures I referred to. It's those queer Oriental bloods--yellow people and white people." The others all smiled indulgently. Miss Campbell was just a little old-fashioned lady with old-fashioned restricted views, they thought. She was the only one of the motor party who had not fallen under the spell of Mme. Fontaine, and apparently the only cause for her objection was because this charming stranger was part Japanese and wrote for the newspapers. That evening Mr. Campbell endeavored to set her fears at rest. "I have inquired about your mysterious Mme. Fontaine," he said. "She is a widow. Her husband was editor of a paper in Shanghai. She herself is a writer and a newspaper correspondent. She has written several novels published in Shanghai, and she is generally considered to be a very bright person. She has been living in Tokyo not quite a year and goes out very little." This fragment of her history only seemed to deepen the atmosphere of romance which enveloped the "Widow of Shanghai," as Mr. Campbell would call her, and the Motor Maids rather eagerly awaited the evening when she was to dine with them. In the meantime, they were to receive a ceremonious call from the family of Yoritomo Ito, and he himself was to act as interpreter for the three Japanese ladies, his mother, his aunt and his sister. They appeared one afternoon in two jinrikshas and such a bowing and smiling was never seen before. The day had been sultry and hot and tea was served in the summer-house in the garden by the little maids attached to the household. Miss Campbell was sorry that the pretty Onoye, flower of the staff, did not appear. However, these things were all left to O'Haru, and she said nothing. Yoritomo's sister, O'Kami San (that is to say: the honorable Miss Kami), spoke a very little English. This fact she had bashfully hidden from the girls on the occasion of their first meeting. But when Billie, through Yoritomo, asked his sister to walk in the garden, she answered herself: "Receive thanks. Honorable walk will confer pleasure." Assuredly the Japanese-English dictionaries and phrase books must all use the most stilted and ceremonious English words, so Billie thought. "'Receive thanks and confer pleasure!' How absurd!" But then Billie did not realize that the Japanese language abounds in such ceremonious words and high-sounding phrases and, in order to keep the spirit of the original, translations are generally literal. Off they trooped down a garden path, followed by the reproachful eyes of Miss Helen Campbell, who found it a decided strain on the nerves to keep a second-hand conversation going. Nancy lingered behind and helped her out by giving Yoritomo an account of their accident on Arakawa Ridge. This he immediately passed on to his mother and aunt. In the meantime, O'Kami San, trotting along beside Billie, with Mary and Elinor following behind, might have just stepped out of a Japanese fan. She was so entirely unreal and cunning that the girls had no eyes for the rosy rain of cherry blossoms dropping from the trees, nor the lovely vista of garden with its flaming bushes of azaleas and cool green clumps of ferns. Out of compliment to the season O'Kami San wore a robe of delicate pink embroidered all over with sprays of cherry blossoms in deeper shades. Her obi, or sash, was of pale green silk. Her hair was elaborately pompadoured and drawn up in the back into a large glossy roll held in place with tortoise shell pins. No doubt it had taken hours to arrange; two, at the very least. Billie patted her own smooth rolls serenely. "Suppose I had to sleep with my neck on a little wooden bench every night to preserve my _coiffure_," she thought. "I think I'd just lay my head on the executioner's block and say, 'Strike it off. It's not worth the trouble.'" "Think garden pretty, O'Kami San?" began Mary, whose method of talking with the Japanese was to preserve only the framework of a sentence and drop all articles and small words. "Much pretty. Me--like honorable garden and beautiful American ladee," answered O'Kami, speaking slowly and distinctly. English pronunciation never seemed to trouble the Japanese. It was only choice of words and construction. "What do you do all day, O'Kami San?" asked Elinor. "Much honorable work," answered the Japanese girl. "Cook-ing; sew-ing"; she pointed to her kimono; "mu-seek; book-stu-dee. Ah, much work to become wife." "You are not thinking of marrying, surely? Your brother says you are only sixteen," protested Mary. O'Kami nodded her head and smiled. "Arrange all the day before to this." "Do you love him?" asked Mary, in an awed tone of voice. O'Kami looked puzzled. The word "love" she had not learned. "O'Kami much happy. Honorable mother of husband not any more. Gone." She pointed up. "Goodness!" broke in Elinor. "She means that there will be no mother-in-law, so the marriage is sure to be a happy one. What a mother-in-law ridden place this country is!" She spoke too rapidly for the Japanese girl to grasp the meaning of any word except "mother-in-law." "Mother-in-law," she repeated slowly. "Little Japanese girl much afraid to great mother-in-law." The girls laughed and O'Kami's silvery note mingled with theirs. "I found something quite new and interesting in the garden the other day," observed Mary. "Or rather not quite new, but quite old. Who wants to see it?" "Lead on, Macduff," ordered Billie. "It's an old shrine," continued Mary. "Komatsu says it's to the Compassionate God, Jizu. He's sitting cross-legged in a little niche in the hillside below the bridge and he has a beautiful frame of clematis vines around him. I think he's delightful." O'Kami San was unable to grasp the meaning of this rapid fire of words, at least it seemed to her to be a rapid fire. Most people are under the impression that a foreign language is spoken faster than their own. But she trotted along beside the others, always with the same polite, intelligent smile, as if she understood every word. Having crossed the bridge, they followed a narrow path through a grove of pine trees. The path took an unexpected curve to the right and led them around the side of a grassy embankment under which sat the stone image of the Compassionate God, Jizu. The inscrutable smile of the nation hovered on the lips of the ancient idol, and his compassionate stone eyes looked out upon the green little world around him with a gentle tolerance. Time and tempests had worn away his arms and softened the outlines of his stone countenance. He was indeed a graven image of kindly mien and of a certain majesty of expression. But there was, another visitor at the shrine of the Compassionate God. She lay flat on her face in a tumbled, many-colored little heap before the gray old image at whose feet was her offering: a pitiful little bunch of wild roses. She had been sobbing. It was easy to tell. The storm of weeping had passed now and she lay quite still, but at intervals there was that catch in the breath which follows a period of bitter crying. The three American girls paused at the edge of the miniature lawn about the shrine and exchanged embarrassed glances. O'Kami Sail drew back a step or two. It was their intention to creep away as noiselessly as possible and leave the unhappy worshiper at the shrine none the wiser that she had been observed by profane, foreign eyes. But at this moment a temple bell not far off sent out a clear silver note in the stillness. The bright-colored heap stirred into life and the sorrowful worshiper rose and looked about her bewildered. It was Onoye, as they had suspected, and Mary recalled that it was the second time she had seen the Japanese girl crying miserably when she thought she was alone. Onoye tried to smile when she saw the three young ladies of the house looking at her with great concern. She ran to Billie and fell on her knees. "Forgive, gracious lady," she said, endeavoring to compose her expression to its usual tranquility. "Why, you poor dear, what have I to forgive?" exclaimed Billie, trying to raise Onoye to her feet. "Why are you so unhappy, Onoye? Is there anything we can do for you?" asked Elinor. "Do tell us and let us help you," put in Mary. But Onoye was silent. "O'Kami San, will you not ask her?" said Billie. "Perhaps she would tell you in Japanese when she can't in English." At the words "O'Kami San," Onoye jumped to her feet in subdued excitement. "O'Kami San," she repeated. The two Japanese girls confronted each other. They spoke in low, rapid voices and their faces were so calm and unemotional they might have been two Japanese dolls wound tip to move the lips and occasionally make a slight gesture with one hand. Presently Onoye slipped from her _obi_ a small package done up in crêpe paper and gave it to O'Kami, who concealed it in the voluminous folds of her own kimono. They exchanged low, ceremonious bows and Onoye hurried away, while O'Kami turned to the mystified young-Americans with an apologetic smile. "Receive excuses and pardon grant," she said. Billie made a superhuman effort not to laugh, while Mary stooped to break off a spray of azaleas and Elinor examined intently a stunted pine tree planted in a big green jar near the path. Japanese gardeners are very fond of cultivating these dwarf trees. Some of the tiniest are said to be of great age. The arrested development contorts the venerable branches into strange twisted forms but they put forth blossoms and foliage with systematic dignity. "What is the matter with our little maid? Were you able to find out?" Billie asked the visitor. But O'Kami San was not inclined to be communicative, and they were obliged to return to the summer-house with their curiosity entirely unsatisfied. In the meantime, Miss Campbell and Nancy were in a painful state of embarrassment about what to say next. The conversation had come to a dead stop, while Miss Campbell, with a flushed face, raised her eyes to heaven with a prayerful look and Nancy endeavored to say a few words about the weather. Yoritomo was inclined to be silent, too. He kept his eyes on the floor and only raised them to transmit Miss Campbell's remarks to his mother and aunt. "Will you ask your mother, Mr. Ito, if--she suffers from rheumatism from sitting on the floor so much?" asked Miss Campbell, groaning mentally and sending up a prayer that the visitors would see fit to bring the visit to an immediate end. There was a short colloquy between mother and son, during which Mme. Ito smiled blandly and waved her fan to and fro. "No, Madam, my mother does not have that complaint," answered her son in precise English. Miss Campbell flashed a glance of black reproach at Nancy, as much as to say: "It's your turn now, ungrateful girl. Speak, for heaven's sake." Nancy exchanged a hopeless glance with the distracted lady. Then she remarked: "Mr. Ito, is your aunt married?" Yoritomo smiled broadly. "She is a widow," he replied. "In Japan all widows cut their hair short." "But what a strange custom," objected Nancy. "That would keep them from ever marrying a second time. I'm sure I should never cut my hair if my husband died. I should use hair tonic to make it grow longer and thicker." Yoritomo laughed outright and communicated Nancy's views to his relatives. They laughed, too, and contemplated her knot of chestnut curls with much admiration. There came another uncomfortable pause. Two simultaneous winged prayers went up into the ether and relief was granted in an unexpected and startling guise. Billie and her friends had just returned and tea and refreshments of a light volatile nature were being passed for the fourth time, by order of Miss Campbell. The visitors were elaborately declining all further nourishment when Nancy saw an arm raised from behind a thick clump of shrubbery near the summer-house. It was clothed in nondescript brown and long fingers clutched a stone. The arm gave a swift circular movement, as if to gain impetus. Then it went backward with a movement of a pitcher about to throw a ball. "Yoritomo," shrieked Nancy, for the stone seemed to be aimed straight at his head. In the fraction of an instant the young Japanese had ducked and the stone had crashed into the summer-house and fallen at his feet, making a dent in the floor. Undoubtedly Nancy had saved his life. "Oh, oh, oh!" cried Miss Campbell, but Mme. Ito and her sister and daughter were perfectly calm and silent, as were also the Japanese maids, gathered in a frightened group behind them. "I never saw people take on so little," Miss Campbell observed later, describing the incident to her cousin. Nancy wept softly. It was never very difficult for her to weep and she emerged from one of these gentle paroxysms--even as the flowers after a summer rain--a little dewy but refreshed. Yoritomo vaulted over the rail of the summer-house and ran in the direction of the group of shrubbery. But, of course, no one was there. Who could expect an assassin to wait and be caught? "I think we had better get into the house at once," ordered Miss Campbell, and taking Mme. Ito's arm, she hurried the little lady up the path, calling to the others to follow. Once in the drawing-room, all the windows were ordered closed and the doors locked, while Komatsu was sent to search the premises. "What is your opinion, Mr. Ito?" asked Billie. "Was it an enemy of yours or some one who wanted to exterminate us because we are foreigners?" But Yoritomo could not enlighten her. "I cannot say," was all they could get out of him. He was only deeply chagrined, as was his mother, that the American ladies should have been subjected to such treatment in Japan. The Campbell party finally arrived at the conclusion that it was an insane person, and Mr. Campbell immediately engaged a day and night watchman and reported the matter to the police. CHAPTER IX. A BIRTHDAY PARTY. It so happened that the dinner to Mme. Fontaine became a triple celebration. Billie recalled that it was her father's birthday, for one thing. "He's forgotten it himself," she said. "He never did remember that he was entitled to a birthday." Furthermore, it was the occasion always of great rejoicing in Japan, being the fifth day of the fifth month on which the Boys' Festival--_O Sekku_, as it is called there--is celebrated. "Think of my sweet old boy being born on this lucky day!" cried Billie. "Why can't we give him a real Japanese surprise party, Cousin Helen, and invite those nice men to come? Mr. Ito will tell us what to do." When Mr. Campbell departed for Tokyo that lovely morning on the fifth of May he had no idea of the plans that were hatching in his home. Scarcely had his 'riksha disappeared down the road, when the entire household became actively busy. Komatsu made a hurried visit to town, bearing notes of invitation to the few acquaintances of the Campbells and returned later in the day accompanied by two men carrying large bales on their backs. That evening when the master of the house returned in time to dress for dinner he scarcely recognized his abode, which had been decorated in a most extraordinary manner. Across the front of the house on long poles were at least six enormous paper carp, which rose and fell and became realistically inflated with every passing breeze. Very fantastic they appeared with their gaping mouths, their enormous bulging eyes and fins and their scales shining in the sunlight. The carp, it must be known, is the sacred emblem of the male child in Japan. It also signifies courage, endurance and other admirable though not exclusively masculine qualities. This valiant fish can accomplish the difficult feat of swimming up the rapids, even as a brave youth must conquer difficulties and surmount obstacles. His name is synonymous with perseverance and fortitude. The fifth of May is every boy's birthday in Japan, no matter what his real birthday is, and on that day a feast is kept in every home, rich or poor, where there is a son. "I suppose, because we have only one son in our house, we are entitled to only one carp," observed Billie, "but I think our nice old boy is good enough for us to string up twenty carp." This statement was unanimously acceded to by all persons connected with the feast. All the afternoon the girls had worked over the decorations. The garden was strung with lanterns much more beautiful and artistic in design than any that ever reach America; and the house, under the supervision of Onoye and her mother, was made beautiful with the splendid iris in all its varying shades from deep purple to pale mauve. Among their long, slender, delicate leaves the flowers seemed to be growing in the shallow dishes in which devices of soft lead held them in place. "Are we entertaining a family of sons this evening or have we just decided to celebrate whether we have sons or not?" asked Mr. Campbell, greeting his daughter on the piazza. "We are entertaining for our only son, the most promising and delightful young man in the entire universe," answered Billie, kissing him. "I always thought you were a singularly fortunate young man, Duncan," remarked Miss Campbell, "but I shall no longer attribute it entirely to industry, intelligence and good looks." "What's the reason, then, Cousin Helen?" asked Mr. Campbell, laughing. "Why, have you forgotten, boy, that this is your birthday? Forty-five years old, and you don't remember it!" "I did forget it," said Mr. Campbell, "but I don't see where the luck comes in." They explained the meaning of the Boys' Festival and the lucky coincidence that had brought him into the world on that auspicious day. "Go in now and get dressed, for the Widow of Shanghai will be arriving pretty soon and other company besides," ordered Billie. The girls had dressed early and their pretty summer frocks gleamed softly against the green of the shrubbery as they flitted about the garden and the lawn in the twilight. Nancy was wearing her first train that night; it was only a wee bit of a train, nothing regal and sweeping; but it gave her a secret thrill to throw it over one arm, displaying her lace trimmed petticoat underneath, while she tripped along the garden path. The dress was of pink batiste and delicate lace, and from the round neck her throat rose soft and white like a column. She was the first of the four friends to wear a train. Even Elinor, tall and slender in her white lingerie frock, had not aspired to that dignity. Billie was wearing her best blue mulle that became her mightily because it was near the shade of her blue-gray eyes, and little Mary was dressed in one of the dainty muslin frocks that her mother excelled in making. "They are no longer little girls," thought Miss Campbell, rather sadly, it must be confessed. She was sitting in a long-chair on the piazza watching her four charges flit about the lawn. "They are almost young ladies now, and how pretty they are, too; each is so different from the other and each charming in her own way. Billie, I think, is too much of a tomboy to worry about yet. Elinor is far too dignified; Mary is too shy. But I feel I shall have to keep a sharp eye on Nancy. Those blue eyes of hers are simply wells of coquetry. I believe the child would flirt with a stone. I doubt if half the time she realizes herself how eloquent she can make them. Little mischief!" The little lady smiled indulgently, recalling her own blue eyes and the mischief they had been known to stir up. "And now this Widow from Shanghai comes and breaks in on us," her thoughts proceeded irrelevantly. "I don't in the least wish to cultivate her friendship, but I know her kind. Once she gets her foot in the door there'll be no shaking her off." As a matter of fact, Miss Helen Campbell, spinster, was never very enthusiastic about widows. "I don't care for them," she used to say. "They are a knowing, designing lot." Once when she was asked by a missionary society in West Haven to contribute to a fund for the widows in India, to induce them not to mount their husbands' funeral pyres and permit themselves to be consumed by mortuary flames, Miss Campbell indignantly refused. "I am sure, if they are so foolish, that's much the best place for them," she announced. "I prefer to give my money for more worthy causes." And now a widow, who, far from having mounted any funeral pyre, appeared to enjoy life immensely, had placed them under obligations. "She is a slant-eyed widow with a yellow skin," Miss Campbell thought uncharitably, "and her hair that ought to be dark is light. Of course that isn't her fault and neither is her peculiar complexion nor her slant eyes, but I do wish she were one thing or the other and not half and half." Of course all these inhospitable and unfriendly notions the little lady was careful to keep to herself. When presently the Widow of Shanghai rode up in a 'riksha and was helped to alight by three maids at once, Miss Campbell was all graciousness and affability. Mme. Fontaine wore a beautiful white embroidered crêpe dinner dress. Her figure was so slender Miss Campbell feared it might sway and bend with the least breath of wind. Her curious fluffy hair was arranged on top of her head and her only ornament was a string of small pearls wound twice around her throat. They were very beautiful pearls, each one perfect to the casual eye. "But then, who can tell the real from the unreal nowadays," thought Miss Campbell, regarding the jewels critically. "They might be imitation, every one of them." "Reggie" Carlton, as he came to be known to the girls, and Nicholas Grimm soon followed the widow, and after them came Mr. Buxton. Yoritomo could not appear that evening, because of the celebration in his own home where he must remain and share in the family feast. Mme. Fontaine was reserved almost to the point of shyness with the four men of the party, whom she now met for the first time. But she drew the girls around her by a kind of irresistible attraction. Billie found herself talking as freely as she talked with her three friends. The widow had a curiously sympathetic way of listening that provoked confidences. There was a good deal of friendly rivalry among the Motor Maids for her society. They took turns sitting by her side during the half hour before dinner was announced; but Nancy felt a certain superiority over the others. Was she not bound by a secret tie to this fascinating person because of their chance meeting in the garden in the rain? "These four girls of mine seem to have acquired a monopoly over you, Mme. Fontaine," observed Mr. Campbell, just returned from a short conference with Mr. Buxton in the library. "They don't give the rest of us half a chance. They have fenced you around as if you were a sacred image of Buddha." "I feel that they have paid me a great compliment," answered the widow, smiling, "To a lonely woman the friendship of four charming young girls is very sweet." Mr. Campbell somehow felt extremely sorry for this lonely lady. Mr. Buxton also was touched with commiseration, and the younger men, too, were moved to cast glances of sympathy in her direction. For the first time in her life Miss Campbell experienced the same sensation a young girl feels when she is left sitting against the wall at a dance while her friends are being whirled about. At first she thought the sensation was a touch of indigestion which frequently brings with it, its near relative, depression. But when the circle closed in around the Widow of Shanghai, and Helen Campbell, spinster, of America, was left sitting quite alone to contemplate the view, she decided that it was not indigestion nor any of its ramifications that ailed her. What the sensation was she could not name, but she felt a profound and entirely human irritation with the Widow of Shanghai and her ingratiating methods. Fortunately dinner was announced and on the arm of Mr. Buxton she led the way to the dining room with the air of an exiled queen. Billie was very anxious about the success of her father's birthday dinner. She had herself assisted in decorating the table, and had insisted on placing a crystal bowl of goldfish in the center, although O'Haru had told her that goldfish were not carp, and therefore had no significance whatever with the day. However, Onoye had caught the idea at once and had carried it out charmingly. Hiding behind the screen, where she could see without being seen, her heart warmed with joy when she heard the exclamations of the guests. The center of the table was arranged to resemble a little lake. The shallow bowl of goldfish was placed on a flat round mirror, on the edge of which nodded groups of iris and their sword-like leaves planted in shallow green dishes; pebbles and water grasses hid the perforations which held them in place. Two little boats sailed on the lake, and at one side was a miniature grotto formed of rocks and moss, and spanned by a little bridge. "Isn't it cunning?" asked Billie proudly, "and isn't Onoye clever to have carried out the scheme so perfectly?" "She is, indeed," assented Miss Campbell, feeling suddenly glad to praise some one to counteract the unusual sensations that had possessed her a moment before. "It is a part of every Japanese girl's education to learn the art of arranging flowers," said Mme. Fontaine. "She is taught that, just as girls in other countries are taught music and languages. It often takes several hours to arrange a group of flowers. The object is, you see, to make them look as natural as possible in the vase." "It is a pretty accomplishment," said Miss Campbell, "but I doubt if any American girl would have the patience to learn it. Can you imagine, Billie, spending two hours arranging three lilies in a bowl to make them look as if they had grown there?" "No, I can't," laughed Billie, "but I have spent two hours many times on my back under the 'Comet' trying to find a loose screw." "If I had a wife--" here Nicholas remarked and paused because everybody laughed. "Well, if you had one, what would you do with her? Beat her?" asked Mr. Buxton. "Do I look like a wife beater?" demanded Nicholas indignantly. "No. I was going to say I'd rather she would know about loose screws in machinery than how to arrange flowers." "You speak as if marriage was one long motor trip, my boy," observed Mr. Campbell. "And, surely," put in Miss Campbell, "if the machinery broke down, you wouldn't compel your wife to repair it?" "I am afraid very few girls would be eligible for your wife, Mr. Grimm," remarked Mme. Fontaine. As for Billie, she said nothing at all, but glanced down at her plate, because Nicholas looked straight at her and then burst out with: "Don't jump on me, everybody, with both feet. I only meant that it's a jolly fine girl who can--er--who--knows--" He broke down in confusion. "You mean that a young lady chauffeur would make an excellent wife?" laughed Mr. Campbell. "Spare his blushes," put in Reggie, and then the talk shifted to other subjects. It is customary in Japan on the day of the Boys' Festival to tell stories of the heroes of the country, and after dinner when they had gathered in the lantern-hung summer-house for coffee, Mme. Fontaine, urged by the girls, recounted an incident in the life of Yamato, or O'Osu, as he was then known. He was the son of the Emperor Keiko, and when a mere slip of a boy was sent by his father to slay two fierce robbers who had been spreading terror through the country. O'Osu gladly undertook the affair and since the outlaws were giants and he just a boy, he devised a cunning scheme to outwit the terrible brigands. He was slender and small and his hair still long, so that in the gorgeous clothes of a dancing girl no one would ever have guessed he was a brave and reckless young prince. One night when the robbers were feasting in their cave after pillaging the country for miles around, the beautiful dancing girl appeared before them like a vision. She charmed them with her songs and dances and then suddenly she whipped out a sharp sword and slew the nearest robber. As the other fled terror-stricken to the entrance of the cave, she thrust him in the back and he fell to the ground. "'Pause, oh Prince, for prince thou surely art,' he gasped. 'But why hast thou done this deed?' "And the prince, standing over him with the dripping sword, said: "'I am O'Osu, messenger of the Emperor and avenger of evil.' "'Then,' said the dying robber, 'thou shalt have a new name. Until this hour my brother and I have been called the bravest men in the West. To thee, august boy, I bequeath the title. Let men call thee the bravest in Yamato.' "From that day O'Osu was called 'Yamato Take,' and never did he wrong the name." Mary sighed when Mme. Fontaine had finished the story. She yearned for the gift of language and the power to chain the attention of a circle of people. How had she done it, this mysterious foreigner who could handle the English language even better than English people? Her words were simple and gestures she used almost none. It was her voice, Mary thought. There was an undercurrent of dramatic power in it, like a subterranean river. It could only be guessed at, but it was there, powerful and deep. Even Miss Campbell, unreasonably prejudiced, felt the undercurrent. "That is a charming story," she observed. "I suppose Japan is filled with many romantic stories of that sort." "Hundreds of them," answered the widow. "Volumes and volumes could be written about them and still the half not be told." "And you know many of them, I suppose?" asked Billie. "Oh, yes. One could not live in Japan without studying her history, so filled with romances and legends of heroic deeds. It is fascinating, I assure you, and furnishes no end of subjects for decorations from a picture on a fan to the masterpiece of a great artist." There was a moment's silence in the company of which Mme. Fontaine certainly seemed the center. She looked suddenly very Japanese. Against the white of her dress her soft skin gleamed like polished old ivory. Her eyes were darker and more noticeably slanting than ever before. If she only had had dark hair! What country had given her those strangely incongruous locks? And now it was proposed that they should wander in the garden, and off they started by various paths and bypaths all leading eventually to the little curved bridge at the far end, where Nancy had hung two large yellow lanterns on the ends of supple willow wands. The Widow of Shanghai walked between Billie and Mr. Campbell, but she had little to say. The moon, swinging over them like another yellow lantern, had glorified the garden into a little earthly paradise. It seemed somehow inappropriate to speak above a whisper in the midst of so much exquisite beauty. The wisteria had opened up during the day and now hung in magnificent purple clusters from an arbor across the main walk. From the servants' quarters came the tinkle of the samisen, and a breeze laden with the scent of flowers brought with it also the distant sound of voices and laughter. Nicholas Grimm had joined Billie, and the two young people now lingered in the arbor. In the curve of a path they caught an occasional glimpse of a white dress. The music of Nancy's laugh came to them mingled with Mary's high, sweet note. Gradually the voices died away. The garden seemed to be under a spell. Billie, sitting beside Nicholas in the arbor, waited breathlessly. Then at last in the stillness there burst forth such a stream of full-throated singing as had never been heard. "It's a nightingale," whispered Nicholas. Billie felt that she would like very much to cry. Nothing had ever stirred her as this flood of melody which seemed to have been turned on for their especial benefit. While they listened, there came the sound of three pistol shots in quick succession and a cry. Was it an English cry for help? Instantly Nicholas was on his feet. "You had better stay here," he said. "I'll run and see what has happened." Before Billie could reply, Nancy dashed up. "We are all to go into the house," she said. "Someone has shot a pistol in the far end of the garden. The men have gone down there." Billie considered the situation for a moment. Certainly neither her father nor his three guests were armed. Would it not be a good precaution to go to the library and get her father's pistol? It was merely an impulse, and she could hardly explain it later, but she obeyed it. "It's nothing serious, Mr. Buxton says. Probably someone who has been celebrating has wandered into the garden, but we had better wait for them in the house," Billie heard Miss Campbell remark, as she ran along the path to the side entrance. CHAPTER X. IN THE DARK. The impulse that had moved Billie to run ahead of her friends and dash into the library for her father's pistol carried her so fast, indeed, that she was in the room with the door closed behind her before she realized what she was doing. It was perfectly dark there. Not even the brilliant moonlight outside penetrated through the heavy curtains drawn for the night. "There are always matches on the desk," she thought, remembering that her father usually smoked while he worked over his papers. With her hand still on the doorknob she turned and faced the desk without moving a step. Why was she so frightened? It was absurd. Her father would be ashamed of her for being afraid of the dark. Giving herself a little impatient shake, she took two steps in front of her, groping with her hands like a blind person for obstacles in the way. She stopped short and listened. Every nerve in her body was tingling and she felt she was trembling. For half a minute she hardly breathed. Then she resolutely began her march in the dark. At last the desk was reached and her hand was on the green china match holder. She stood for a moment irresolute. The pistol was in the lower left-hand desk drawer. She knew exactly where it was. Her father had shown it to her only the other day. "I think you had better know where I keep it," he had said, "not that you will ever need to use it, I hope, because either Komatsu or I shall always be here to protect you, but just as a matter of precaution." Again she reached for the match holder, but it was empty. Softly opening the drawer, she felt in the back until her fingers grasped the pistol. Carefully she drew it out and transferred it from her right hand to her left. There was an unacknowledged relief in Billie's heart that there were no matches. She felt she would rather get out of the library in the dark than make any investigations with a match. Once in the hall she would decide what to do. She was morally certain now that someone else was in the room. She could see nothing, hear nothing, but in the dark she felt the presence of another human being. She recalled Nancy's experience. "Perhaps it wasn't her imagination, after all," she thought. The thing was to get back to the door and out of it. Billie wished with all her soul she had never come in at all. It had been a reckless, silly notion. Why should her father need a pistol? After all, it was just some roisterer on his way home from the festival. She had heard that _sake_, the Japanese brandy, made the men who drank it wild, no doubt wild enough to shoot off a pistol in the suburbs where there were no policemen about to interfere. And all because she had heard this pistol shot, she had obeyed a foolish impulse to find her father's pistol. How reckless! How foolhardy! How stupid! Because, to come right down to a fine point, here she was shut up in a perfectly huge room, as black as the pit, with--someone else! Never in all her experience had Billie been so frightened. Her knees knocked together and her head was quite giddy as she made her way unsteadily toward the door, still with the pistol in her left hand. But she seemed to have lost all sense of direction. Groping with her right hand, she encountered a chair. There had been no chairs in the way before,--was it an hour ago or only a minute? It would be better to get to the wall and feel her way along the shelves until she reached the door. Why was she so panic-stricken? After all was she so sure about that other person crouching somewhere--anywhere? Then the thing happened that she had known was going to happen all the time. Reaching out in the dark, she encountered an arm. Instantly her right hand was seized in a grip of steel. There was a struggle. She was thrown to the floor; a shot; a cry--was it her own or another person's voice? Then absolute silence. When Billie came back to consciousness, she was lying on a couch in the library. Miss Helen was kneeling beside her with the smelling salts. Mary was bathing her forehead with cold water and her father was chafing her wrists and saying in a low voice: "You are not hurt, are you, Billie-girl? There, speak to father. Are you all right?" There seemed to be a great many other people scattered about the room, the guests and the servants and her own particular friends leaning over her anxiously. "I hope I didn't kill him?" she said weakly. Mr. Campbell could not refrain from smiling. "You are just a little girl after all, Billie," he said. "No, you didn't kill him, but you hit him. Look at that." He pointed to some blood spots on the rug. "You certainly winged him, whoever he was. In some way, he escaped. I don't know how, because we were in the hall when the shot was fired and the windows are still locked. He may have got out through the servants' quarters but that would have been difficult, too, without being seen." Billie sat up. "I'm all right now," she said. "It was only fright because I lost my way in the dark and couldn't find the door, and it was so ghastly running into another person in the blackness like that. Father, I wish you would tell them not to put out the lights in this room so early. It's the second time it's happened now." "O'Haru, you hear what the lady says," said Mr. Campbell half humorously. Billie, knowing her father as she did, was suddenly aware that he was trying to make light of the affair for the benefit of the others in the room. That the episode was far more serious than he cared to admit, she knew perfectly well. O'Haru left the doorway where she had been standing and came over to the group by the couch. "What was the honorable wish of the young lady?" "Not to have the lights in the library put out so early in the evening. To wait until bedtime at least." O'Haru disliked to contradict, but the august young lady was honorably mistaken. The lights had never been put out by any servant attached to the household. She herself, or her daughter, attended to that after the honorable family had retired for the night. "Never mind," said Mr. Campbell in a soothing voice, indicating to Billie by a slight shake of the head that he would be glad if she would let the matter drop. Billie nodded. There was perfect understanding between the father and the daughter. "How do you feel now, Miss Billie?" asked Nicholas Grimm coming to the foot of the couch. "I'm all right again. I am ashamed of having been such a coward. If it had been daylight I shouldn't have been half so frightened." "I feel that it was all my fault for running off and leaving you alone. I should have seen you to the house at least." "Nonsense," said Billie. "That wouldn't have altered matters in the least. I would have come back here just the same for the pistol. You see I had a feeling that Papa might need it. Besides, we were all alone here. There were no men--" "I am only glad it was someone else that was shot and not you, my darling child," broke in Miss Campbell tremulously. "Duncan, I do wish you wouldn't keep pistols lying around the house. They are so dangerous." "But I don't, Cousin. It was carefully stored in the back compartment of a bottom desk drawer. If this reckless young relative of ours would go and dig it out, I'm sure it's not my fault." "I'm sure I can't imagine why you treat the matter as such a joke," Miss Campbell was saying, when Mme. Fontaine swept into the room. Her face was whiter than the long white wrap that enveloped her. "I am so glad you were not injured," she said standing beside Billie. "You must thank Mme. Fontaine, Billie. It was she who found you first. The rest of us were not certain in which room the shot was fired. I thought it was in the kitchen." "Oh," said Billie, turning to the widow. "Were you the first person on the scene? You couldn't have seen much, it was so dark. How did you know I was here? I don't suppose the robber made any noise." "It was very dark. I should not have known, if--if I had not smelt the smoke of the powder." "I thought perhaps you were going to say you heard the robber groan," went on Billie. "You see I hit him. I think I must have a pretty good natural aim to shoot with the left hand in the dark and not fire wide of the mark. But I don't think he was very badly hurt. He got away so fast. I just winged him, I suppose." "How do you know you shot him?" asked Mme. Fontaine. Miss Helen pointed dramatically to the blood stains on the floor. Suddenly the widow's lips turned quite white and a blue line appeared around her mouth. She swayed slightly and Mr. Campbell caught her. Billie was on her feet in a moment and they laid her on the couch. "Unfasten her wrap," ordered Miss Campbell. "No, no," said Mme. Fontaine in a very weak, thin voice. "The sight of blood--" she closed her eyes. "I shall be all right in a moment." Beads of perspiration appeared on her forehead and she shivered with a chill. "I think Mme. Fontaine had better stay here to-night. She's too ill to get back to town," said Mr. Campbell. "Oh, do," echoed the girls, and Miss Campbell added hospitably: "We shall be so glad." "I am quite well now," said the widow rising unsteadily to her feet. "You will forgive me, I hope. It is a faintness that comes to me at the sight of blood. Will you call my 'riksha now, Mr. Campbell? I must be going. I won't try to shake hands," she added, reaching the door. "I am still so light in the head, I am afraid of the effort. But I want to thank you for a delightful evening. I am only sorry it ended so disastrously." Making a ceremonious Oriental bow to Miss Campbell and smiling and nodding to the others, she left the room followed by Mr. Campbell and the four girls. "No one has told me yet what the shots were in the garden," announced Billie after the widow had departed. "There was nothing to tell. We never found anything at all," answered Nicholas. The next morning Mr. Campbell engaged another night watchman. His duty was to patrol the inside of the house, making his rounds every hour through the halls and living rooms. Between times he sat in the library. CHAPTER XL THE COMET DISGUISED. "Where is Onoye, O'Haru?" Miss Campbell asked, a few days after the excitement in the library. "Honorable Madam, Onoye much business." To Miss Campbell, a seasoned housekeeper, this reply seemed a little irregular. "What kind of business, O'Haru?" she demanded rather severely. O'Haru looked amiably sad. It is true that Onoye was on the pay roll of the household servants, but then, did not her mother do work for two when Onoye was not actively engaged? The Japanese reasons thus: if the work is done properly, it is of no consequence who does it. Certainly the machinery of the household moved on without a hitch. There was no cause for complaint, but it seemed to Miss Campbell that if Onoye received wages she should appear about the house. Her position, which was practically that of ladies' maid, had been filled by one of the other small maids while O'Haru had covered up that vacancy by her own redoubled labors. "Will you send Onoye to me, please," ordered Miss Campbell. "I have some sewing for her to do." Poor O'Haru bowed. Her face looked wan and sad and it seemed to the Motor Maids that Miss Campbell might not have been so severe; but as a housekeeper, that small, gentle lady was a disciplinarian. They waited with some curiosity for Onoye to appear. In five minutes O'Sudzu, one of the other maids, stood framed in the doorway like a Japanese souvenir post card life size. She bowed low and entered the room timidly. "But I sent for Onoye," exclaimed Miss Campbell. O'Sudzu only smiled. She spoke no English. "Onoye. Wish Onoye," repeated Miss Campbell. She pointed to the door. O'Sudzu departed. O'Matsu appeared next, and after O'Matsu came O'Kiku, who was followed presently by Masako, until these successive apparitions of Japanese maids became positively bewildering. The girls were consumed with the giggles and Miss Campbell was scarcely able to maintain a serious expression. "No, no!" she would say each time, "Onoye! Wish Onoye!" At last O'Haru appeared once more. "August one, much kindness bestow. O'Haru make sewing." "Where is Onoye? Where is your daughter?" demanded Miss Campbell. O'Haru on her knees hung her head humbly. "I think I know what's the matter," put in Mary. "Onoye is ill. I am sure it must be that." "Is there anything the matter with Onoye?" asked Miss Campbell, but apparently O'Haru's English did not extend so far. "Much sickness?" asked Billie. O'Haru's head sank lower and lower. "Poor thing," exclaimed Mary. "Onoye is ill, Miss Campbell, and O'Haru is afraid to say so." "You must not be afraid, O'Haru. If little daughter ill, we take care of her. Bring doctor. See?" "No, no, Onoye better. Onoye soon well," said the woman in a low voice. "Ask much pardons, gracious lady." "Can't we see her?" asked Billie. "Onoye see no one. Onoye only humble servant" "Nonsense, she might be very ill," put in Miss Campbell. "I'll go with you now, O'Haru. Lead the way." The housekeeper gave a sigh of patient resignation and rose to her feet. Miss Campbell and the girls followed her down the long hall and across the passage to the servants' quarters. At last they came to a small room at the end of the house. The floor was covered with the usual wicker mats. The _shoji_, or sliding partitions, were drawn together, and in the dim mellow light which filtered through these opaque walls they saw Onoye. She was stretched on the mat which is the usual Japanese bed, her neck on the uncomfortable little pillow bench. With a murmur of surprise and apology, she pulled herself weakly to her knees and touched her forehead to the floor. "Pardon, gracious lady," she said, drawing her kimono closely about her. "But, child, we didn't know you were so ill," said Miss Campbell, gently forcing the girl to lie down on her bed. "Has the doctor seen you?" "Yes, gracious lady" "What is the matter with you?" Onoye shook her head. "Not say it in English." She touched her forehead. "Muchly fire." "It's fever, of course," said Miss Campbell, kneeling beside the sick girl and feeling her forehead. "I think you had better not stay here, children. It might be something contagious." "Nonsense," thought Billie; but Miss Campbell was in one of her compelling humors and they retreated obediently, leaving her to hold a conference with O'Haru and to see that everything was done that could be done to alleviate Onoye's sufferings. She finally departed, after satisfying herself that Onoye was in the toils of a bilious attack. But she did not administer calomel as she would have done in ordinary cases of torpid liver. "I suppose the doctor knows what he is about," she said, "and there must be a Japanese equivalent to calomel in a country where it rains eternally." It was decided that they should take the "Comet" out after lunch. Miss Campbell wished to visit an apothecary shop and there were other plans for sight-seeing,--perhaps the magnificent Shiba Temple and the wisteria in the park. But before they were to go, there were two surprises in store, one for Billie alone and one for all of them. Just after luncheon while the others were dressing for the trip, Billie, who needed about two minutes for pinning on her hat and slipping on her coat, went back to the stable to take the "Comet" from his garage. On the way, she passed the room occupied by O'Haru and her daughter. Not having the least fear of contagion, she entered a back passage of the intricate house, which reminded her of the houses she used to build with cards as a child. Pushing back the partition she marched into Onoye's room without announcing herself. "There's nothing to knock on, so why knock?" she thought. Billie surprised the little Japanese girl sitting up examining her arm, which was wrapped in bandages. "Why, Onoye, I didn't know you had been injured," she exclaimed, running over and kneeling beside the sick girl. Onoye was speechless. She tried to cover her arm with the sleeve of her kimono and to apologize and bow all at the same time. "Not muchly badly," she said at last in a low voice. "But how did it happen?" "Not nothing. Pardon grant," murmured Onoye. "Of course, you poor dear, but how did you injure yourself?" She laid the bandaged wrist gently on the palm of her hand and looked at it. "Poor small accident," said Onoye. "But why was it?" The two girls looked at each other silently. "Was it in the library that night?" asked Billie after a long pause. Onoye's head drooped more and more. "Poor little thing. Poor child," exclaimed Billie, consumed with pity and remorse, since it had been her own carelessness that had caused the poor small accident. Onoye had doubtless put out the lights and when she, Billie, had crept into the room like a thief, the Japanese girl was frightened and hid herself behind a chair. Then when they had collided, they had both lost their heads and the pistol had gone off. In spite of her remorse, Billie was immensely relieved. "Papa will be, too," she thought. "It had much better be Onoye than a robber." And Mr. Campbell was decidedly relieved when he heard the story from his daughter that night. "I'll keep it a secret, Onoye, dear," said Billie, moved by compassion. "I'll only tell Papa. I am so sorry I shot you. It must have hurt terribly." Onoye tried to smile. "Forgiveness grant," she murmured again. "I think I'd better say 'forgiveness grant,'" said Billie. "But I must be going now." She patted Onoye on the cheek and then tiptoed out of the room. "It is a relief," she thought, turning her footsteps toward the garage. Some minutes later, Billie ran into her cousin's room breathlessly. "Ready in one moment," called Miss Campbell, who had heard the whir of the motor at the door. "I want to prepare you for a surprise," said Billie solemnly. "I don't mind telling you that I have had the shock of my life." "But what is it?" they all demanded in one voice. "I'll only say this much. Papa has punished the 'Comet' for running over the child that day." "How?" "You'll see. I thought I had better prepare you. The shock might have killed you if I hadn't." "Goodness gracious me, what is it?" cried Miss Campbell, seizing her reticule and gloves and rushing into the hall, followed by the others. When she reached the piazza, she sat down flat in a chair and gasped. There was the "Comet," to be sure. His outlines were as familiar as the profile of a beloved brother, but his beautiful scarlet coat had been taken from him and he wore instead a quiet covering of dark blue. The luxurious red cushions were covered with buff linen. One small decoration had been conceded by Mr. Campbell. The dark, quietly colored coat was relieved on each side by the buff-colored initials, "M-M" lovingly intertwined. "I suppose Papa thought the red coat was too gaudy," said Billie, who was indeed just a little tearful over the loss of that cheerful and familiar scarlet dress which would never again flash along the highways like a scarlet bird. "But he's the same old 'Comet' inside," she added hastily. "You couldn't change his noble disposition if you painted him sea green." "I think he looks beautiful," put in Elinor. "He's so neat and elegant in buff and blue. It's like a livery." The other girls laughed because Elinor's speech was so characteristic. "Oh, you regal young person," exclaimed Nancy. "Your imagination doesn't stop at anything short of liveried retinues of servants. There is no doubt you were a royal princess in a previous existence. And suppose you are a fat old pug in another life, like Nedda!" "I am sure Nedda is waited on hand and foot," cried Elinor. "She has a maid who follows her around with a cushion and a silk cover." Komatsu, standing at the side of the motor, grinned with amusement. "They are foolish children, aren't they, Komatsu?" observed Miss Campbell, climbing into her accustomed seat. Nedda, hearing her name mentioned, wobbled on her uncertain old legs to the edge of the piazza and whined piteously. "Go back to your mat, you pathetic, pampered old great grandmother," called Nancy. The aged animal turned obediently and curled herself on her cushion. Then she lifted her wrinkled, snub-nosed face to watch the departing motorists. "She does look like our Irish cook's grandmother," said Nancy. Everybody laughed gaily and the feelings regarding the "Comet's" new blue coat were dispelled. Nedda had been a welcome interruption. "Papa always does the right thing," Billie announced presently. "I'm glad he did it now. I was a little hurt at first, of course. But I understand perfectly what his reasons were. Everybody will be looking out for a red motor car that runs over people and they'll never recognize the 'Comet' It's just as if he wore a disguise." The dark blue car was, as a matter of fact, not nearly so conspicuous as he skimmed along over the road, and it was the very wisest thing Billie's father could have done to change the color. Probably every man, woman and child in the multitude that had clustered around the car that day on Arakawa Ridge would be constantly on the look-out for the red machine, and never glance twice at the blue one. "I do feel so inconspicuous and quiet and lady-like," remarked Billie when some time later they left the motor car in charge of Komatsu and went in to visit Shiba Temple in Shiba Park. These chapels are mostly the tombs of the Shoguns who for many years were powerful nobles and who really ruled Japan in place of the Emperor, a mere figurehead in those days. The magnificent tombs they built for themselves are now the very pride of Tokyo. Within the great red gates of the main temple, upheld with scarlet columns, wheeled flights of pigeons quite tame. The girls bought packages of grain from little booths and fed them and presently one of the pretty creatures perched on Mary's wrist and ate from her hand. "Don't frighten him," she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears of pleasure. All the afternoon the tourists wandered through the wide courts where were armies of stone lanterns placed in exactly the right spots. They passed softly flowing fountains wherein the worshippers washed themselves and climbed stately stairs by fern-set walls. Court within court they entered adorned with magnificent paintings and carvings of marvelous workmanship. They walked through the great hall of books where scrolls of immense value are kept, each swathed in silk and lying in its own lacquer box. At last dazzled and silenced by the succession of magic courts, they returned to the outer world of the living, and climbed into the motor car. "Before we go home, don't you think we had better inquire for Mme. Fontaine?" Billie suggested. Miss Campbell assented. So long as they did not go in, she was quite willing. They found the gate of the Widow of Shanghai's garden stretched wide open; a jinriksha was about to pass into the street. A Japanese lady in a rich costume was the occupant. She exchanged one swift glance with Billie and quickly looked the other way. Billie started slightly. She felt uncomfortable. It seemed to her that she had been looking straight into the eyes of Mme. Fontaine. "Did you notice," said Mary, "that the Japanese lady in the 'riksha wore her arm in a sling?" No, they had not noticed it, but there was nothing remarkable in that. No one even commented on the fact, while they waited for Komatsu to inquire and leave their cards. "Mme. Fontaine was still very much indisposed," the message came back, "but she would be glad if the ladies would enter and have some refreshment. She regretted she would not be able to see them herself." The ladies would not enter, however, as it was nearing the hour when Mr. Campbell would return and expect to find them in the garden waiting tea, and the "Comet" bore them swiftly home. CHAPTER XII. A THEATER PARTY. "It's very easy for a bachelor to entertain in Japan," remarked Mr. Buxton one afternoon in the Campbells' summer house. "A busy man is saved all bother and inconvenience if he wants to give a theater party, say, with a dinner to follow, by putting the affair in the hands of an 'elder sister,'" "Suppose he hasn't any elder sister," put in Miss Campbell feeling slightly offended. Perhaps she was older than Mr. Buxton, but she was sure she didn't look it and she had no intention of being designated as his "elder sister." "Oh, but he always has," replied Mr. Buxton. "A Japanese providence always provides a _Nesan_, or elder sister, for persons desiring to entertain. All she requires of you is to leave her alone and pay the bill." Miss Campbell felt somewhat mollified. "But what does she do?" asked Mary. "She does all the work, makes all the arrangements, engages the boxes and the 'rikshas, orders the dinner, tells you how to act; in fact, does everything any good elder sister would do to oblige a little brother." The others smiled at this droll notion but there was something rather touching, too, about the simple title of elder sister or _Nesan_ for this efficient and reliable individual who took all the burdens on her own shoulders. As a matter of fact a _Nesan_ is the proprietor of a tea house and her business is to get up entertainments. "And it is for this reason," continued Mr. Buxton, "that I am able to ask all of you for the honor of your company to the theater to-morrow at three and later to dinner. I could never have undertaken it alone, but having been provided with an efficient relative older and wiser than I am, although she looks to be under thirty, I feel no uneasiness whatever." "I am inclined to accept your reluctant invitation on the spot, Buxton," laughed Mr. Campbell, "for self and family." "I didn't intend it to appear reluctant," answered the Englishman. "I only wanted to assure you that if you would do me the honor of coming to the entertainment, all things would be correctly carried out according to Japanese etiquette and there would not be a hitch in the whole affair. Will you come?" "We shall be delighted, Mr. Buxton," answered Miss Campbell. "I thought you would," he added. "Indeed, I was so certain of it that the little _Nesan_ has already got a list of the guests and the whole thing has been arranged." "And to make assurance doubly sure, you thought you would just mention the matter to us?" asked Mr. Campbell, who enjoyed teasing this rather odd and amusing old bachelor. "How do we dress?" asked Nancy. "I never thought to ask the _Nesan_ how the ladies should dress. But if you take my advice, I should say comfortably. That is, if you can. I believe a woman's clothes are never really comfortable." "Mine are," broke in Billie, poised on the railing of the summer house swinging her feet carelessly. "Would you have us dress like men?" demanded Miss Campbell indignantly. "No indeed, Madam," answered the bachelor, "but in your present costume, you must admit that it would be difficult to sit on the floor." "But I don't wish to sit on the floor," exclaimed the spinster. "It's a perfectly absurd custom. Besides, you are edging away from the main point--trying to draw out of the--" "There will be no chairs to-morrow," interrupted the other, blinking his eyes like a wise old bird. "And," he continued as he took his departure, "neither will there be any knives and forks." "I shall take mine along, then," called Miss Campbell, whose discussions with the bachelor kept them in a constant state of amusement. "It would be an unpardonable breach of etiquette," he called over his shoulder. Presently he turned back and added, "You are not to use that infernal machine for my party. The _Nesan_ provided 'rikshas for all guests." "But that's just an additional expense to you, Buxton," cried Mr. Campbell. "I know it perfectly well and I so suggested to my elder sister, but she didn't seem to understand, and I decided I would rather hire a gross of 'rikshas than try and make her. So you may expect three of 'em to-morrow at a quarter past two. The performance begins at three." "Dear old 'Comet,' he's always getting slighted nowadays," remarked Billie. "He never gets to go anywhere." "He's probably glad enough to sit in his cell and meditate on the mutability of human events," answered Mr. Buxton, and this time he really did go. It happened therefore that the "Comet" was once more left in humiliating retirement while his young mistresses rode off in jinrikshas which appeared at the door exactly at the hour mentioned by the host of the afternoon. Indeed the motor car had good reason to be a disgruntled machine. He never did seem to be a part of the Japanese landscape like the graceful 'riksha. As a matter of fact he was a blot on the scene and entirely out of place against a background of an ancient temple or a group of picturesque individuals in clothes more brilliant in hue than his own boyhood coat. Converging from various points in Tokyo but all timed to meet at the theater door exactly at five minutes to three, came the other guests of the party in 'rikshas provided by the _Nesan_. Mme. Fontaine was one of these. "What a picture she is," exclaimed Nancy, noticing at once the widow's beautiful costume of embroidered pongee over which she wore a kimono-shaped mantle of the same embroidered silk, the sleeves of which covered her arms and hands completely. Nodding and smiling at the girls brightly, she followed Miss Campbell into the theater where they were met by the plump, hospitable little _Nesan_, who prostrated herself before each guest and removed shoes at the same time. Miss Campbell groaned. "Oh, dear," she complained. "Even at the theater! I shall never get accustomed to walking flat-footed. I shall be wearing bifurcated stockings next, I suppose." "Etiquette, Madam, etiquette," said Mr. Buxton. "You must do as the Romans do, remember, or else be thought extremely rude." But there was no time for argument and the party hastily distributed themselves in the two boxes. Yoritomo Ito kept close beside Nancy while Nicholas Grimm and Reggie Carlton sat tailor fashion in the back of the box. The theater was a strange place to the Western eye. There was not a chair in the entire house and Mr. Buxton chuckled aloud over Miss Campbell's complaints when she was obliged to sit on a mat on the floor. Below the two tiers of boxes, the pit appeared like a gigantic checker-board divided into square compartments by partitions about a foot high. In each compartment squatted six people. Running from the rear of the house to the stage was a slightly raised walk three feet broad to be used by the actors as an exit. The stalls were crowded with men and women and children. Here and there were groups of geishas or dancing girls. Their rich apparel made bright spots of color in the scene. The children ran about with perfect freedom, up and down the aisles at the sides and in and out of the stalls, eating sweetmeats and visiting their friends. And there was scarcely a grown person in the entire audience of Japanese who was not smoking, for women as well as men smoke in Japan: one pinch of tobacco in a short pipe, one puff, a little whiff of smoke inhaled and the operation is over. Before the curtain rose, the _Nesan_ flew busily from one box to the other with cushions and sweetmeats, baskets of oranges and boxes of sweet pickled black beans. Presently came the sound of two blocks of wood striking together. Then the curtain rose and the audience settled itself for three hours of the most intense enjoyment. The play was a Japanese legend and the actors picturesque and dramatic, but if all the greatest actors in the world had combined to give the performance, Miss Campbell could not have maintained her cramped position a minute longer than two hours. "I am sure my limbs will refuse their office, Duncan," she whispered. "If this goes on much longer, I shall have to be carried from the theater like a helpless paralytic." "Buxton, don't you think we've had enough?" suggested Mr. Campbell, and the bachelor, glad to stretch his own cramped legs, took the hint and gave the signal for departure. Once more they were in the 'rikshas, only this time Nancy found herself seated by Yoritomo and Billie and Nicholas had paired off in the same way. Miss Campbell was not sure that she approved of this change. "In my day," she remarked to her cousin, "young ladies never rode alone in buggies with young men." "But they aren't buggies, Cousin," he answered good-naturedly. "They are, all but the horse," said Miss Campbell. But they had arrived at the gate of the tea house before the argument could proceed and were presently rolling through a garden enclosed by high walls. It was a fairyland of a place, even more beautiful than the Campbells' own garden, filled with brilliant beds of flowers and here and there a small grove of stunted pine trees. Through the door of a tea house, low roofed and brown (houses are not painted in Japan), rushed a score of _musumes_ (maids), pink-cheeked and bare-footed, who greeted the guests with low bows and removed their shoes. There also was their own particular _Nesan_, owner of that particular tea house, who bowed gracefully and said in Japanese: "Be honorably pleased to enter." Inside, the tea house was scrupulously clean. The bare boards in the hall seemed worn thin by scrubbing and nowhere were any furniture or ornaments except the hanging scroll. The floors were covered with soft wicker mats and presently they were all seated in a semicircle at one end of the room. The younger members of the party were in a perfect gale of subdued laughter by this time. Elinor, too dignified to look where she was going, had stubbed her august toe and for at least half a minute had hopped on one foot in an agony of pain. Nicholas had privately circulated a rumor that live carp would be one of the courses, and not to eat a small piece would give grievous offense to the _Nesan_ and her _musumes_. After a little table about a foot high had been placed before each guest, a procession of miniature waitresses entered with the dinner. In quick succession were served fish soup, crushed birds with sugared walnuts and oranges, broiled fish with tiny balls of sweetened potatoes, and numerous other strange but not unpalatable dishes, and all the while streams of _hors d'ouvres_: horseradish, spinach and seaweed. But they were not obliged to eat with chop sticks. Mr. Buxton had provided knives and forks. At last with the greatest ceremony, the little proprietor herself appeared bearing a large silver tray. "Here it comes," whispered Nicholas. "What did I tell you?" There, sure enough, was the carp, taken from the water a moment before and sliced into delicate pink steaks. He lay on a bed of fresh water grasses and leaves, and each portion was served in a dainty mat of twisted grass. Nobody refused a sacrificial morsel, but only Yoritomo and Mr. Buxton had the courage to eat it. Mr. Buxton swallowed his at a gulp and Miss Campbell shivered all over at the sight. "How could you?" she exclaimed in a whisper. "Etiquette," he answered. "I would swallow a mouse for the sake of etiquette in this polite country." During the dinner there had been a sound of suppressed laughter and the tinkle of music behind the partitions, and now, after the last round of the innumerable courses had been served, the partitions were shoved aside and four samisen players entered followed by eight dancing girls. Nothing could equal the grace of their bows as they glided softly in. Their smiles of welcome were inimitable. Then their faces became grave and serious and the dance began. The oldest was hardly more than fifteen and the youngest about ten. They were like sober-faced little dolls in gorgeous brocaded robes as they paraded, stamped their white-stockinged feet and postured with elaborate fans. Mme. Fontaine, who had eaten no dinner and talked very little, watched the dancers with intense interest. "Are they not charming little creatures?" she asked Mr. Campbell. "They are trained to be so,--to sing, dance and amuse and to look pretty. But I assure you some of them develop into splendid women. Many of them marry well. The geisha girl is not always a butterfly." There was a subdued fire in her eyes as she spoke. Mr. Campbell looked at her curiously. "You have a special tenderness for them, I see," he remarked. "I was one," she said. While this little colloquy was going on, Yoritomo was whispering into Nancy's ear: "You think they are pretty? But they are not so beautiful as you. There are no blue eyes in Japan." And Nicholas was saying to Billie: "By Jove, it's terrible sitting in this position for three hours at a stretch. Do you think we could slip into the garden? I have something I want to tell you." Being on the end of the semi-circle, they crept behind one of the sliding partitions and rose stiffly to their feet. Two steps more and they were in the garden, now flooded with moonlight. "It's romantic," observed Billie, "but what will Cousin Helen say? She's a very strict chaperone." "Tell her you couldn't endure it another moment; or tell her I couldn't, which would be perfectly true. I feel as if I had shrunk a few inches. I can't stand up straight." Turning down a walk leading to the little gold fish pond, they presently paused on the miniature bridge and looked down at the reflections of the stars mirrored in the pool beneath. They were quite silent for a moment. Then Nicholas cleared his throat and began in an embarrassed and hesitating way: "Miss Billie, can you keep a secret?" "Don't you think that is rather an uncomplimentary question?" answered Billie. "I must have made a poor impression on you." "Indeed you haven't. You have made just the other kind," he replied with boyish candor. "That's why I wanted to tell you something, but it was a stupid way to begin. Please forgive me. Of course you can keep a secret. Any girl who is cool-headed enough to run a motor car and--and keep machinery in order and--" "Well--and what?" "I think you are just great, Miss Billie. I never met a girl like you before," he mumbled half audibly. "That's why I wanted to tell you something--that is--confide something to you." Billie looked uncomfortable. She was only a month younger than Nancy, but she Was far less experienced in the ways of the world, her tastes being more boyish and simple than those of that gay little coquette. "In the first place, you knew I was a civil engineer. That's how I happened to meet your father. Every engineer in the country wanted to meet him, because he is a very famous one himself, as you probably know." Billie was pleased at this compliment. Her father was too modest to tell such things about himself, and she had no way of knowing his reputation unless other people told her. "It was through Yoritomo that I came to Japan. We were friends in New York; and it was through his uncle, who is high up in public affairs here, that I got an appointment almost immediately. It's been interesting work, most of the time around Tokyo, and I have enjoyed the experience. But, you see, I came here with just a little money and fell on my feet and feel that I am under obligations to Yoritomo and his family for a good many favors." "Of course," answered Billie. "But what of it?" "Well," began Nicholas slowly, "Yoritomo has been a good friend to me. I have always liked him and looked up to him because he's a deal cleverer than I am and a wonderful student,--but lately,--it's hard to explain to you, Miss Bille, but I--" "Don't you like him any more?" "No, no, it isn't that." Nicholas paused again and wiped beads of perspiration from his face. He shifted his position and dug his hands into his pockets. "I don't think I can say it," he said. "I thought I could, but it's too deuced hard." "Go on, you silly boy." "Well, to tell you the truth, I don't trust him," he blurted out. "But Papa likes him," said Billie, simply, feeling that her father's sanction was as good as a royal stamp of approval. "Oh, yes, of course. Everybody likes him. It isn't that." "Then what are you driving at?" "Good heavens, I don't know what I am driving at. Only, you see, I introduced Yoritomo to the family and something happened the other day that made me uneasy. It seemed to me that I ought to warn you not to get too thick with him--that is--not you but Miss Brown. You see, Japanese are different--they take things more seriously--" Nicholas plunged deeper and deeper in. "Can't you tell me what happened?" "That's the queer part. There's nothing really to tell. It was one of those little incidents that mean everything or nothing. I couldn't tell Mr. Campbell because it was too insignificant, but I thought I might make a clean breast of it to you and you could warn Miss Brown--well--not to talk too much to Yoritomo. She might tell him something--" "But Nancy hasn't any secrets to tell, Mr. Grimm." "I thought you promised to call me Nicholas? I didn't say she had, but these Japanese are the wiliest people. They will use you without your knowing you are being used. Couldn't you just tell Miss Nancy to be careful without explaining why? Don't girls ever do that? Just say that Yoritomo's a Jap, and Japs are deep people and she had better not tell him all she knows." Billie laughed. "Why, yes, I could, I suppose, but I'm sure it's not necessary. She doesn't know anything to tell." "Whew!" ejaculated Nicholas, fanning himself with his hat. "I'd rather dig a tunnel through a mountain than have to do that again. I decided I had to do it and I have been working it over in my mind for days. First I thought of Miss Campbell, but she would have gone off her head about it. Miss Brown wouldn't have understood, either. She would have been angry, I suppose. So I decided to come to you. I felt sure you would understand and know exactly what to do." Billie smiled. She was beginning to be very fond of this boyish, honest young man whose nature was not unlike her own. Just at that moment they saw Yoritomo and Nancy strolling along a moonlit path. He was talking to her in a low intense voice and she was smiling and dimpling as usual. It occurred to Billie that Nancy was getting very grown up all of a sudden and for her part, she couldn't see any fun in it at all. She had noticed lately that Nancy did not enjoy their old-time girlish fun half so much as she used to. She would rather stroll in the garden with a young man than with her four devoted friends, and "hen parties" as she called them, did not amuse her any longer. Billie began to feel quite serious about the benighted state of her best friend. Her nature was deeply tinged with sympathy and sweetness, but she was not yet old enough to feel tolerant with Nancy for growing up and craving beaux and flattery. "I will speak to Nancy Brown," she thought, and that night going home in the 'riksha by Nancy's side she turned the matter over in her mind. "But not to-night," she decided, for Nancy had never seemed more adorable than on that ride, chatting with her friend about the evening's pleasures. CHAPTER XIII. A FAILING OUT. Several days went swiftly by and still Billie had not delivered the warning to her beloved Nancy. After all, was it really necessary to warn Nancy not to talk too much and tell all she knew? That was a man's idea of a girl's conversation: to tell all she knew. How absurd! Besides, Nancy was not much of a conversationalist and it's only people who talk all the time who tell secrets. After they exhaust every other subject, they begin to draw on their confidential stock. The more Billie turned the question over in her mind, the more far-fetched it seemed, and at last she determined not to mention it at all. "Who am I to be scolding anybody?" she said to herself. "I am sure I am far from perfect and it would look rather presumptuous to criticize Nancy who hasn't done anything to be criticized for." But these noble and modest sentiments were not destined to remain unchanged in Billie's mind. By a curious chain of circumstances, the very thing she had concluded to avoid was brought about. The circumstances began in the morning before breakfast and led up, one after another, to the first real quarrel the two friends had ever had since their friendship began. It had been raining all night, a hot sticky downpour, and nobody in the house had slept well. The atmosphere was oppressive, and breathing became a conscious effort; so that the American members of the household were fretful and out of humor after a disagreeable and restless night. Even the most even-tempered and well-balanced natures are upset by a steaming, humid temperature which seems to creep into the soul and enshroud the brighter self with mist. Billie felt the general depression and after breakfast she followed her friends in a disconsolate procession to the library. "There are as many different kinds of rain as there are people," she observed. "The rain in Scotland was like a brisk scolding person. At least there was nothing monotonous and tiring about it. It had plenty of vigor and energy. But this Japanese summer rain is like a great, fat, stupid, lazy creature who never lifts a little finger to do anything but just rain and rain and turn into misty steam!" "One hasn't even the energy to read a book," sighed Mary. "As Reggie Carlton says, 'it's so infernally damp,'" put in Elinor, and the others smiled languidly. Elinor was indeed feeling the humidity to quote a semi-profane expression. Nancy was really the most cheerful member of the party. She had an air of expecting something which appeared to give her a reason for existing. After the outbursts of her three friends, there was a long and heavy silence broken only by the steady patter of the rain on the roof. At last Nancy rose and smiling mysteriously, said: "Excuse me, ladies. While your company is highly exciting, I must leave you to write letters." "I can't imagine to whom," exclaimed Billie. "I mailed four for you yesterday to your mother and father and 'Merry' and Percy St. Clair." Billie knew Nancy's affairs quite as well as she knew her own; two sisters could hardly have been more intimately associated. "Guess again, Miss Inquisitive," said Nancy. "And guess fifty times more if you like. You'll never guess the right person and I shan't tell you for punishment. So there!" For some reason--of course it was the weather--Billie felt teased and hurt. Not for anything would she have kept Nancy in ignorance of any of her correspondence. "I didn't mean to be inquisitive." she called, half apologetically. "I was merely surprised at your being so mysterious." "When you get to be as old as I am," said Nancy in a lofty tone, "you'll know better than to tell all you know." "I'll never get to be as old as you are, Miss Nancy-Bell," retorted Billie. "It's a physical impossibility, since you are two months older than I am." Nancy departed from the room, calling out laughingly: "Smarty! Smarty!" Billie kicked off her slipper after her, and so the quarrel started with good natured raillery. But the memory of the letter lingered in Billie's mind all the morning, although why it should have connected itself with Onoye, who, an hour later, stepped out into the garden on high wooden clogs with an oiled paper umbrella, she could not say. Standing idly by the window, Billie watched the little figure disappear down the path. "I suppose she's going to visit the Compassionate God again," Billie thought to herself absently. "I hope he'll be compassionate enough to clear the weather by to-morrow." The next link in the chain of circumstances was forged when Onoye returned from her pilgrimage. Billie, who had drawn a stool to the window and was sitting with her face pressed against the glass, saw her walking slowly along the dripping path to the house. The Japanese girl was looking at something she held in her free hand, an envelope undoubtedly. Just as she reached the piazza, Onoye slipped the letter into the folds of her sash and hurried in. Billie's mind gave a sudden leap of conjecture but she continued to sit quietly, her face against the window, peering into the mist-hung garden. "Funny," she said to herself. "It couldn't have been a Japanese letter because those are rolled up on little sticks." Not long afterwards, she encountered Onoye in the passage. The Japanese girl smiled lovingly into her face. Little by little her feeling for Billie was growing and expanding into a real devotion, "And I'm sure I don't know why she should caress the hand that smote her," Billie had thought. "She's a dear, faithful little soul." "Are you quite well again, Onoye?" she asked, pausing and slipping her arm around the Japanese girl's shoulders. "Yes, honorable lady. Not any sickly arm no more." "And have you been writing a letter to thank the Compassionate God Jizu for your recovery?" went on Billie. A frightened look came into Onoye's eyes. The English had been too much for her comprehension, but the word "letter" she had understood perfectly. "No understand," she said, bowing ceremoniously. And she hastened away, leaving Billie much puzzled and rather curious, too. The day dragged slowly on, and still the rain poured and the mist steamed and there was no relief from the circumstances of the weather. Miss Campbell had been feeling rheumatic twinges in her "old joints," as she called them, and remained in bed reading an agreeable novel. Once more the four friends retired to the library where Mary read aloud and the others engaged in various characteristic pursuits. Elinor was embroidering a royal coat-of-arms in colored silks on a cushion cover; Nancy was darning a rent in a lace flounce and Billie was darning her father's socks. This task she undertook each week with extraordinary cheerfulness, although Onoye had offered to do it for her, and O'Haru had almost taken the darning needle and egg from her by force. As the hands of the clock neared four, Nancy rose. "Go on with your reading, Mary," she said. "I need some more thread and I shall have to look for it. So don't wait." "What number do you want?" asked Elinor. Nancy looked annoyed. "Oh, something quite fine. I know you haven't it, Elinor." "Will a hundred do?" asked Elinor, extracting the spool from her neat sewing bag. "That's too fine." "I have all sizes here." "Never mind," exclaimed Nancy impatiently, and hastened from the room, taking her lace-flounced skirt with her. "Stubborn person," observed Elinor and once more plunged into her aristocratic labors. Billie grew more and more restless. The book Mary was reading aloud was a detective story, lately arrived from America. It had reached a thrilling point, but Billie could not fasten her attention. "I think I'll just be obliged to get out and walk," she burst out unexpectedly. "I can't stand this life of inaction a minute longer. Don't stop reading on my account, Mary, dear. I don't suppose I could tempt either of you two hot-house plants to come with me, could I?" "Since it's just as hot outside as inside, I don't think you could," answered Elinor. "Perhaps Nancy will go," thought Billie, hastening down the long hall to their joint apartment. But Nancy was not in the room. Her lace petticoat had been thrown hastily on the bed with her sewing box. Billie searched over the entire house for her friend without success. "Funny," she thought, slipping on her over-shoes and raincoat and seizing an umbrella from the stand in the passage. Presently she found herself in the mist-hung garden, and instinctively her steps turned toward the little bridge and the shrine to the Compassionate God. All the way, she kept thinking: "What is Nancy-Bell up to? Not that,--surely. Why should she write letters that way? Nobody would object to their coming by mail. It's just her romantic notions," her thoughts continued as she reached the bridge. Taking the curved path to the foot of the small embankment, the next moment Billie came full upon Nancy and Yoritomo Ito talking earnestly together. There was something rather amusing in their appearance, because down the ribs of their two umbrellas rivulets of water dripped and poured in streams about them. "Oh, I beg your pardon," exclaimed Billie, the prey to varying emotions: embarrassment, hurt feelings, surprise and, it must be confessed, a dash of anger. "Oh, Billie," said Nancy, starting violently, "how you frightened me." "How do you do, Mr. Ito," said Billie stiffly. "How do you do, Miss Campbell. We seem to be having several unexpected encounters this afternoon. Here was Miss Brown out for a wet stroll on a day when ladies usually remain indoors, and now you come, too. American young ladies are very athletic." "It isn't a case of exercise with me, Mr. Ito. I came out really to find Nancy," said Billie coldly. "I shall bid you good afternoon," answered Yoritomo in his most formal manner. "I was just taking a short cut. Pardon my trespassing on your grounds." Billie detested untruths and she knew quite well that Yoritomo was not speaking the real truth. She looked at Nancy reproachfully. "Good-bye," she said and turned her back. Yoritomo made an elaborate bow and departed and Nancy followed Billie slowly up the dripping path. Half way back, Billie stopped short and wheeled around. "I should think you'd be ashamed of yourself, Nancy Brown," she exclaimed. Nancy had never seen Billie really angry before and she was frightened at the new hard look that had come into the frank gray eyes. But Nancy was in no mood to be scolded. The truth is, she had reached a difficult age and it was not going to be easy to manage her by lecturing and argument. She had an enormous appetite for flattery and the power of her prettiness had intoxicated her. "Oh, I don't suppose you would understand, Billie, even if I tried to explain," she answered hotly. "I haven't done anything to be ashamed of." "Meeting people in the garden secretly isn't anything to be proud of," pursued Billie. "And exchanging letters by a servant," she burst out suddenly recalling Onoye's unaccountable trip that morning an the rain. "I have been told to warn you not to talk too much to Mr. Ito. He's not to be trusted, and I think this a very good time to do it." Nancy flushed. She was angrier than Billie now. The two girls had turned and were facing each other furiously. Billie felt the pulse leap in her temples and something gripped her throat. The sensation was so new to her that she scarcely knew how to handle it. It was like trying to rein in a runaway horse. "He's just as nice as Nicholas Grimm," cried Nancy. "I should think you'd be ashamed to spy on anyone. I never thought it of you." This statement was so unjust that Billie's rage leaped out of all bounds and got beyond her control entirely. "That is untrue. I did not spy on you. I merely put two and two together and guessed the rest. Can you deny it? And do you call it lady-like and honorable? I don't. I call it common and horrid." Billie's voice in her extreme anger was very stern. She carefully avoided calling Nancy by name. She felt if she spoke the name of her friend, she must cry and not for anything did she want to humble herself just then. "I tell you I won't explain," ejaculated Nancy. "I've done nothing wrong and I think you are very hard and unjust. It's because you are still a child about some things, Billie. When you are older and have had more experience, you will learn not to be a prig." Older and more experienced! Now all the saints defend us! Billie laughed bitterly. Both girls were on the point of weeping and perhaps, if their anger had changed to tears at that moment, much bitterness might have been saved them. But they were interrupted by Mr. Campbell, who now appeared, walking at a leisurely gait up the path. "Well, well, children! Here is devotion indeed," he exclaimed when he espied his daughter and her friend standing stock still in the pouring rain. "So intimate and absorbed in each other's society that you are oblivious to the weather! That's the right kind of friendship. I would not have it any other way. How are you, little daughter?" he asked, kissing Billie and shaking hands with Nancy at the same time. "And how's little daughter's friend?" Not for worlds would they have disclosed the real truth to Mr. Campbell. Billie drew her arm through her father's and Nancy followed them to the house. "Do you think the rain will ever let up, Papa?" asked Billie, resting her cheek against her father's shoulder. Nancy felt suddenly frightfully homesick for her own bluff good-natured parent. "Well, it once rained forty days and forty nights, you know," said Mr. Campbell. "And what's happened before may happen again." Habitual wranglers regard quarrels as mere ripples on the surface and soon forget about them, but the two girls were unaccustomed to such scenes and their feelings were deeply lacerated. "Let not the sun go down upon your wrath," Billie thought, as she lay beside Nancy that night, but she remembered that Nancy had called her a spy and her soul was filled with bitterness. CHAPTER XIV. A LETTER THAT CAME THOUGH IT WAS NEVER SENT. The two girls put the width of the bed between them that night. Each lay stiffly on the very edge of the mattress and silently pondered over the situation. Anger was not a self-indulgence with either of them and the attack was so unusual that it left them both unnerved and shaken. Nancy had only played with her food at dinner and Billie, who had eaten without an appetite, now felt the discomfort of a burning indigestion. At last, as the hours dragged on, they fell asleep, each profoundly unhappy. Long ago the two friends had dropped the formality which usually exists between guest and hostess, no matter how intimate. Their relations were as those of two sisters. For the Motor Maids had become as one family in their wanderings together. But next morning, Nancy, still feeling the sting of fancied wrongs, suddenly recalled the fact that she was accepting hospitality from one who no longer liked her. It was all very absurd, but so does the young person at the awkward age between girlhood and womanhood often exaggerate trivial things and enlarge on fancied injustice. Foolish, pretty Nancy permitted herself to slip into the most extreme state of wretchedness. She imagined that her friend, whom in her heart she loved devotedly, had treated her with unnecessary cruelty and sternness. She got it into her silly little head that Billie had confided the meeting in the garden to the others. She was ashamed and mortified and she felt indeed that the whole world had turned against her. Mr. Campbell was cold to her. Miss Helen Campbell hardly civil Mary and Elinor looked at her askance. There was not a word of truth in it, of course; it was just a figment of Nancy's morbid imaginings. Miss Campbell was bored to extinction with the continued rain. Mr. Campbell was preoccupied because of business engagements of great importance, and Mary and Elinor, if the truth must be told, were intensely homesick; and who would not have been with home on the other side of the world and rain pouring ceaselessly on this side? As for Billie, she tried to be exactly the same as usual, but the cloud of an unsettled disagreement hovered between them. Therefore after a week of steady rain and black depression which did not seem more profound in Nancy than in anyone else, silly little Nancy took a bold step. Putting on her overshoes and mackintosh late one afternoon, she slipped out of the house and hastened down the avenue. On the road, she hailed an empty 'riksha returning from some suburban home and gave Mme. Fontaine's address in Tokyo. Nancy was in search of sympathy and of someone who would tell her she had done right when she knew she had done wrong. Mme. Fontaine was in and would be delighted to see Miss Brown, so she was informed at the widow's front door, and Nancy, a little frightened, now that the deed was done, was ushered into the beautiful drawing-room. "Why, you sweet child, this is a great pleasure," exclaimed that lady herself, entering at the same moment by another door. "Where are your friends? Are you alone?" she added looking around for the others. "Oh, yes," answered Nancy, embarrassed and agitated. "Not even the austere old lady who chaperones you?" asked the other drawing the young girl down beside her on the couch and looking into the blue eyes which suddenly welled up with tears and overflowed, "Why, my dear, are you unhappy? What is the matter? Tell me all about it," ejaculated Mme. Fontaine, unpinning Nancy's hat and drawing the curly head down on her shoulder. So it happened that Nancy Brown unburdened herself to the sympathetic Widow of Shanghai, and gave an entirely biased and favorable-to-herself account of the incident in the garden. Mme. Fontaine sat silent for a while after the story was finished, and Nancy wondered if the charming new friend had heard what she had been saying. "Do you think Miss Campbell would consent to let you make a visit, Nancy?" she asked presently, calling her Nainsi, as if it were a French name. Nancy drooped her long lashes. "I don't know," she answered. Mme. Fontaine gave one of her inscrutable Mona Lisa smiles and rose from the couch. "We will try her and see. Does she know you were out walking?" "No," answered Nancy struggling to keep back her tears. "Does anyone in the house know?" She shook her head. The widow sat down at a carved desk inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and wrote the following note: "My dear Miss Campbell: "I trust you will not think I have been unpardonably presumptuous in keeping one of your girls over night with me. She had evidently set out for a long walk and chance brought us together. The child was wet and tired and I have kept her for tea. As the rain is still pouring, she has consented to remain over night with your permission which I cannot but feel sure will be granted under the circumstances. With the very kindest regards for you and your household, I am, "Faithfully yours, "ANIELA FONTAINE." Never was cordial and polite note couched in more non-committal language. It was sent out by a messenger and Miss Campbell sat painfully up in bed to read it. Both knees and one wrist were swathed in bandages of wintergreen liniment and a hot water bottle lay against one hip, "Why, I didn't know the child had left the house," she exclaimed, when she had finished reading the letter and passed it on to the three remaining Motor Maids. "How did she happen to go alone on a tramp like that? What am I to do? I can't order her to return without being exceedingly rude, but I do wish Nancy hadn't been so reckless. She ought never to have left the grounds alone. Surely the garden is quite large enough for exercising in, if anyone wanted to make the effort." The little spinster groaned and slipped down among her pillows again. The girls were silent. Mary secretly sympathized with Nancy. It would be rather fascinating to spend a night in the widow's interesting home. Elinor disapproved slightly at this unconventional visit, but it is doubtful if she would have declined the invitation if she had been in Nancy's place. As for Billie, she was puzzled and unhappy. She felt sure that there was something back of the departure of her friend. She wished with all her heart they had made up their differences. She yearned for Nancy and her soul was filled with forebodings. She felt somehow as if Nancy had died. That night, with the sheet over her head, she indulged in a fit of weeping and resolved to settle all differences the first moment they could get alone. Why should Nancy Brown have unexpectedly grown up like this and become so independent and secretive? Elinor, the eldest of the four girls, had never shown a disposition to have affairs and write notes. For her part, Billie would have liked to go on in the same jolly old way forever, with or without beaux. It was all one to her. But Nancy was different. The society of her friends was no longer an unmixed pleasure and she was beginning to crave more excitement and admiration than was good for her. The next day was like a dozen of its fellows, wet and muggy. The roads were too slippery for the "Comet," and as Miss Campbell still kept her bed with rheumatism, it was decided that Billie should go alone for Nancy in a 'riksha. She was so eager to make up with her friend, that she felt as if the reconciliation had already taken place and her faithful heart was filled with happiness. She had made up her mind to humble herself by offering Nancy an apology. After all, was it the act of true friendship to pick out all the defects and flaws in a friend's nature? "A real friend is blind to everything but the best in another friend," reasoned Billie, as her 'riksha splashed along the road, drawn by Komatsu. So, prepared to embrace Nancy tenderly and let bygones be bygones, Billie could scarcely wait to leap down from the 'riksha and ring the widow's bell. The house had a shut-up appearance, but all Japanese houses look thus in rainy weather. Somehow, Billie's inflated enthusiasm received a prick when the bell echoed through the rooms with a hollow, empty sound. She waited impatiently but no one came to answer it. Usually Mme. Fontaine's well-trained maid was bowing and smiling almost before the vibrations of the bell had ceased. Billie rang again and again, and still there was no answer. She walked around the side of the house and peered through the slats of the Venetian blinds but all was dark within. What could it mean? Where was Nancy? Where was Mme. Fontaine? "Oh, dear; oh, dear," ejaculated Billie, wiping away the tears that would trickle down her cheeks. But of course they had gone shopping, and the maid was at market, perhaps. That was the only explanation. There was a bench on the piazza and Billie sat down to wait. Komatsu stood patiently under his oiled paper umbrella which he always placed in the bottom of the 'riksha in bad weather. Exactly one hour they waited and at last Billie, disconsolate and disappointed, returned to the 'riksha and ordered Komatsu to take her to some of the shops. Everywhere she watched for the familiar gleam of Nancy's blue mackintosh, but there was no sign of it anywhere. Finally they returned to Mme. Fontaine's house, to find it still closed. "Komatsu, where are they?" asked Billie desperately. "Not know, but honorable young lady not look inside?" "I can't get inside. The doors are locked. Besides, I don't like to break in on a private house like a burglar." But to the Japanese the end justifies the means, and being on a search for Nancy, Komatsu was willing to go to any strategic lengths to find her. "All same look and see," he said and together they followed the gallery around the entire house. "Komatsu make to go up," he said after a fruitless search for an entrance. He pointed to one of the slender pillars which upheld the roof of the lower gallery forming the floor of the upper one. The next moment he had shinned up the pole and Billie could hear him walking softly on the wooden floor above. Presently he returned and placed in Billie's lap the fragments of a letter which had been pieced together and pasted on a sheet of paper. "Top muchly more easy than bottom," he said smiling. "Empty house but all same muchly inside." Billie glanced hastily at the scraps of paper and saw her own name in one corner. "Why, it's to me," she exclaimed, and sitting on the bench, she began to decipher the pieced letter. "Dear Billie: "Since you all hate and disapprove of me, I do not wish to stay with you any longer. You have been anything but a friend to me, but I will not say anything more about that. I will only say that I can never forgive what you said to me the other day. I think I have outgrown you. You are just a child still and it will be a long time before you understand the ways of the world, or sympathize with me when I say that I want to broaden my life. Now, Mme. Fontaine, who knows everything, has promised--" Here the letter broke off. On the other side of the sheet were some more fragments of paper carefully pieced together. "--do not wish to stay because--father's work--he should not--Mme. Fontaine thinks--" Billie folded the paper and slipped it into her pocket. Tears were rolling down her cheeks and she felt suddenly stiff and tired. Komatsu regarded her from a distance with respectful sympathy. "Back home," she ordered, and all the way she indulged in the bitterest weeping she had ever known in her life. "Nancy, Nancy, how could you?" she kept repeating to herself. Before she reached the house she dried her eyes and leaning out of the 'riksha let the rain beat against her face. "I must think of something to tell them," she said to herself. "What did she mean about Papa's work?" Again Billie read the last part of the note. "I believe it's that woman who made her do this," she cried out suddenly. "She worked her up to the point--'broaden her life'--'papa's work,' and all that. How could Nancy have thought of such things? And then after Nancy wrote the letter she repented--or perhaps the widow wouldn't let her send it--but how did it happen to be pieced together like this?" It was all very puzzling and strange. Billie wanted time to think about it and work it out in her own mind, and she was sorry when at last Komatsu came to a full stop at their own front door. Slowly she descended and walked into the house. Suddenly there was a cry of joy from the back. It was the other girls rushing to meet Nancy who had not come, Billie thought miserably. And, lo, it was Nancy herself, laughing and crying at once and embracing her beloved Billie, as if they had been separated for a year and a day. "Where did you come from?" Billie managed to gasp in a bewildered voice. "I got back a little while ago and oh, I've been so homesick. Are you glad to see me, Billie, dearest?" "I should think I was," said Billie, kissing Nancy's soft round cheek. "It seems an age instead of just one night." "Mme. Fontaine invited me to make her a visit," went on Nancy, "but--but I was too lonesome--I never slept a wink last night." "We are all of us quite jealous of you, Nancy," put in Mary, who, with Elinor, had come upon the scene a moment before. Billie put her hand in her pocket and felt the pieced-together letter. It almost seemed like a bad dream now. "So you decided to come back to us, Nancy?" she asked, trying to smile naturally. "If I almost passed away from homesickness in one night, how should I have borne it for--for longer?" answered Nancy, flushing. "We missed you terribly," was all Billie could trust herself to say as she hurried to her room to take off her wet things. Just then Onoye sounded the Japanese chimes to announce that luncheon was served and presently they were all assembled around the table. But never a word did Nancy say about the torn letter which some one had so carefully pieced together. CHAPTER XV. THE ANCIENT CITY OF SLEEP. "How would four young parties and another younger party, who claims to be old and rheumatic, but isn't, like to take a trip?" asked Mr. Campbell one evening at dinner. Through the inky curtain of blackness that had for days overcast the skies the sun had at last burst with a radiance that seemed twice as great to unaccustomed eyes. From somewhere a life-giving breeze had sprung up and driven away the vapors. Back rolled the walls of mist and fog, and in a few hours the world became a smiling paradise of flowers and of grass and foliage of intensest green. Immediately the aspect of life changed. Four young parties and a party who claimed to be old but wasn't were eager for anything that would furnish variety after the late monotony of existence. "I feel," said Mr. Campbell, "that we have all been suffering from certain states of mind that about match the 'Comet's' disguise, and it occurred to me that a change of air would be beneficial." "And will the 'Cornet' go, too?" asked Billie. "I'm afraid the 'Comet' is not built for mountain roads in Japan, little daughter," answered her father. "We'll go by train and then by jinrikshas, much as I regret to leave your gasoline pet behind." "But where are we going?" asked Miss Campbell, in a tone of noble resignation, so chastened were her high spirits by the pains of rheumatism. "I am going to take you to Nikko to spend a few days, and in order to liven up things a bit the boys are coming, too, even old Mr. Buxton." "Is--" began Nancy, and checked herself. "Well, Miss Nancy, 'is' what?" asked Mr. Campbell, smiling. Billie knew perfectly well that Nancy was going to say: "Is Yoritomo going?" but had changed her mind, when she asked instead: "Is Nikko a town?" "It's a number of things. It's considered by some people to be the most beautiful place in the world, for one thing. It's a small town; it's a magnificent forest of cryptomerias; and it's a sacred mountain, and a collection of marvelous old temples and tombs and statues of Buddha. But first and foremost it is a cool, green, lovely spot with good, dry, pine-scented air for certain persons feeling in need of such." If Mr. Campbell had a fault it was that when he decided to do a thing he wanted to do it at once. Having been a man of camps and considerable lonely wanderings about the world, he had been able to gratify this tendency to decide and act quickly. But it was not so simple with a party of women, and when he announced that they were to start next morning early there was some silent consternation among them. However, such was the force of Mr. Campbell's personality when he announced a decision that not even that fearless and redoubtable woman, Helen Campbell, had the courage to raise any objections. It was true she had engaged a masseuse at eleven o'clock; the laundry had not been finished; certain persons had planned to shampoo heads, and Mme. Fontaine had asked permission to call in the afternoon. "All of which things must be postponed and overlooked," thought Miss Campbell. Mr. Campbell had hired a villa for their short stay. Komatsu was to go along as cook and to carry excess luggage. And they were to take a train at the unearthly hour of eight o'clock a.m., which meant rising at an even more unearthly hour; all of which to a great engineer was a mere trifle. But who could be in a bad humor on such a glorious morning? Moreover, several funny things happened which set them all laughing as they started off. Komatsu appeared, strung with cooking utensils like a tin man. "Not muchly good in a renting-house. Komatsu take honorable saucepan," he explained. In his arms, beside the luncheon hamper, he bore also a beautiful bunch of lilies. As they climbed into their 'rikshas they were aware of the sound of clipping, and glancing toward the summer-house, beheld twelve old women cutting the grass with large shears. Most of them were widows, as could readily be seen by their short hair. Their worn old faces were wreathed in smiles, when they presently touched their foreheads to the grass in profound obeisances. "The dear old things," cried Miss Campbell. "O'Haru, do see that they have a good lunch." No need to give such a command to O'Haru. Refreshments are always given to persons who come in for a day's work in a private place in Japan. The next amusing incident was the appearance of the old gardener, Saiki, who came running around the house grasping a bunch of roses. Giving Mr. Campbell the largest and most beautiful, he divided the others among the ladies. "Honorable flower for looking on train," he said, with his inimitable smile. And so, at last they started. All the servants lined up to bid them a respectful farewell. Billie, turning around, saw them gathered in a group on the piazza, fading into spots of bright color in the distance, with the old grass-cutters' robes making a splash of sky blue on the lawn. "Oh, Nancy," she exclaimed, "there never were such people as the Japanese, so simple and adorable." Nancy, engaged in pinning a rose on the lapel of her coat and looking at the effect with her pocket mirror, made no reply. At the railroad station they were met by Reggie, Nicholas and Mr. Buxton. Everybody was in the wildest spirits because of the change in the weather, and as they crowded, laughing and jostling each other, into the train, the Japanese travelers smiled good-naturedly. They liked to see Americans enjoying the country. Scarcely had they settled themselves in the train when they became aware that two Japanese women were smiling and bowing repeatedly in the most cordial manner. "Why, it's Mme. Ito," exclaimed Miss Campbell. "And O'Kami San," finished Mary, who remembered names for everybody. "Are you going to Nikko, too, O'Kami San?" asked Billie, sitting beside the pretty little Japanese. O'Kami San looked much embarrassed and hung her head. "Make honorable journey to husband's home," she said in a low voice. "Have you been getting married?" demanded Billie, astonished. "Yesterdays passing four," answered O'Kami San. "You mean four days ago?" "Yes, honorable Mees Cam-el." Both Japanese women were beautifully dressed and it came out during the conversation that the young bride was wearing no less than five elaborate kimonos. "But why?" demanded Billie. O'Kami San explained that it was to avoid the inconveniences of luggage. They were going to a little town in the hills and it would be difficult to carry trunks. Around her head the bride wore a broad band of pink silk, almost covering her hair, to keep the horns of jealousy from growing. Billie looked at her pityingly. "Poor little thing," she thought. "Why doesn't that good-for-nothing brother teach her something? It doesn't seem to me that his schooling did him any good. He's so fanatical and bigoted." "I hope you will be very happy, O'Kami San," said Mary. "I believe you said there was no mother-in-law." "Not no mother-in-law," answered the bride, in the tone of one describing a great blessing. "Honorable husband of age like mother-in-law." "You mean your husband is not young?" O'Kami San nodded. "Verily old," she said, with just the faintest quiver at the corners of her mouth. Mary and Billie regarded her with compassion. How little romance there was in a Japanese girl's life! O'Kami San, so young and pretty and charming, too, was about to enter into years of drudgery perhaps; the wife of a cranky old man, and here she was accepting her fate as calmly as a novitiate about to take the vows for life and enter a convent. "New husband much rich," she said. "Much old. Need attentionly young wife." Only once did O'Kami San glance at the two handsome young men who belonged to the Campbell party. But Nicholas, always gallant and thoughtful, helped Mme. Ito and her daughter to alight at the way-station where they were to change cars, while Reggie carried their small belongings and placed them on the platform. "God bless you, O'Kami San," called Billie, leaning far out of the window. And if the little Japanese girl did not understand the meaning of the salutation she comprehended the spirit of it. "Receive thanks," she said formally, her eyes glistening suspiciously. Then she gave the Japanese farewell, "Sayonara" (since it must be), and waved her little hands until the train was out of sight. Billie watched her sadly. The lines of the five kimonos, which could be distinctly counted where they crossed at her neck, seemed to symbolize the heavy marriage yoke the little bride had slipped so uncomplainingly over her head, and as for that pink silk head band to keep down the horns of jealousy, it might just as well have been an iron band with spikes in it, for all the sentiment and romance it represented. But little O'Kami San had gone up into the hills to her aged husband, and if she guessed that there was anything brighter and happier than just being an "attentionly wife" to an old man, she never murmured. No one has ever plumbed the depths of unselfishness and self-sacrifice of the little Japanese wife. During the last few miles of the journey they left the train and took to jinrikshas. Along a magnificent avenue they rode, built through a forest of cryptomerias towering one hundred and eighty feet high, some of them with trunks thirty feet in diameter. They were like the columns of a gigantic cathedral of which the sky was the dome. After refreshing themselves with tea at their little villa and removing the grime of the journey, the travelers wandered off into the ancient forest, cool and gray and very still, except for the sound of the wind whispering through the pine trees. Terraced stairways of gray stone climb up the mountainside from temple to temple and court to court. Over a busy little river hung the scarlet bridge of beauty which no profane foot may ever touch, only the Emperor's consecrated feet. No human hand has mended the sacred bridge for nearly three centuries, but it is said to be in perfect repair. Passing along the temples and shrines that crowded one another on the hillside, they came at last to a row of images of Buddha, innumerable stone statues of the god, his kindly, gentle face almost obliterated by spray from the river and a soft mantle of moss. There is a tradition which says that no two people have ever counted these images with the same results, and while the others wandered up the next terraced flight of steps, Billie and Mary remained to count the Buddhas. The loud song of the little river rushing by them dazed their senses and when they reached the end Billie had counted eighty and Mary only seventy-five. "Let's try again," said Billie; once more they followed the interminable line and once more there was a wide discrepancy between the results. For the third time they started the count, and finally came as near as seventy-eight and seventy-nine; but the act of counting and recounting had a curious effect on their senses. It seemed to make them very sleepy, or perhaps it was the magic of that ancient place, the monotonous song of the torrent and the cool gray shadows in the depths of the forest where the sun never penetrated. "Do you know, Billie, I think I'll have to rest a moment before we join the others," said Mary, leading the way up the hillside and sitting down under a giant pine tree. "I'm almost paralyzed with sleep." "I feel the same way," answered Billie drowsily. "We can catch up with them later. Suppose we take a little repose, as a French lady I knew used to say." The two girls removed their hats, and making pillows of their jackets they stretched themselves on the soft carpet of pine needles. Presently, lulled by the monotonous water song and the murmur of the wind through the trees, they dropped off into a sleep so profound and deep that they did not hear the voices of their friends returning to search for them. The enchantment of centuries had woven its net about their feet and stilled their senses; for Nikko is called the "City of Rest," and an endless number of saints and holy men who once lived and prayed among its groves now sleep there. The two young girls sank deeper and deeper into the peaceful sleep which the atmosphere of Nikko breathes. Their souls seemed to have entered the region of the most profound rest that may come to a living person. And while they slept the sun sank and the twilight of the forest faded into night. But the searchers had taken the wrong path and their cries grew fainter and fainter as they ranged the mountainside for the lost girls. Among the trees their paper lanterns glowed like fireflies and occasionally there was a long cry: "A-hai!" But Buddha himself must have placed the seal of sleep on the young girls' eyes. CHAPTER XVI. THE STORM KING. While two of the Motor Maids slept in the sacred wood on the mountain two others rested in one of the bedrooms of the villa straining their ears for sounds of the returning search party. It was only eight o'clock, but Miss Campbell, worn out with excitement and fatigue, had already dropped off to sleep in the next room. Nancy was quietly and softly weeping, her face buried in her pillow, and Elinor lay staring into the darkness. Mr. Campbell had assured them that the girls could not be lost for long, and that the only mishap that could possibly come to them in that holy place was sleeping under the pine trees; but he could not conceal the anxiety he really felt, the anxiety of a father for his only daughter, the being he loved best in all the world. Nancy had felt the anxiety, too, and remorse had entered into her soul; not because she had met Yoritomo in the garden and exchanged notes with him in a romantic manner, the notes having been hidden under a stone near the old shrine, for she was beginning dimly to realize that such things were only silly and common. Her remorse was caused by something else more remote in her consciousness but looming bigger all the time. The cruel letter she had written to Billie in anger and then torn into pieces and thrown into a brass vase in Mme. Fontaine's drawing-room! Why had she been so angry? She could not understand it now. She only knew that the longer she poured her troubles into Mme. Fontaine's ears the more sympathetic the widow became until Nancy was worked into a perfect rage. As for the widow, she had said very little indeed, only a few words now and then, vague, suggestive remarks, but they had set Nancy thinking; had stirred her up so violently, indeed, that she had written that foolish letter. There had been no waste basket by the desk and Nancy, after a wretched sleepless night, had torn up the letter and dropped it in the nearest vase. Why had she not torn it into smaller bits? Why had she not burned it in a charcoal brazier? Why had she ever written it at all? Why--why--? A dozen whys flashed through her troubled mind. She would never rest again until she knew the letter had been entirely destroyed, reduced to ashes. Out of this long train of unhappy thought a resolution came to Nancy to write to Mme. Fontame and ask her to find the letter and burn it up. This she accordingly did a few days after the visit to Nikko, and of what came of it more will be told later. In the meantime, while Nancy, goaded by a troubled conscience was weeping abundantly into her pillow, Billie and little Mary Price lay sleeping peacefully in the great cathedral forest. Precisely at the moment that Nancy's disturbed fancies had taken the form of a resolution Billie and Mary opened their eyes on a world of velvety blackness. Straight overhead through the lacework of intertwined boughs gleamed an occasional tiny star, like the light shining through a pin prick in a black curtain. Scarcely two hours had passed since they had slipped into the unknown, and now sitting up and rubbing their eyes, they wondered where in the world they were. Hearing Mary stirring beside her in the dark, Billie put out a hand and grasped Mary's groping to meet it. The two friends sat silently for a few minutes. At last Billie said softly: "What are we going to do, Mary, dear?" "I am thinking of what they are going to do," answered Mary. "How frightened they will be about us, Billie! As for me, I can't help feeling happy out in this dark peaceful place. I should like to lie here all night and watch the dawn come through the trees." All of which was extremely poetic, but Billie had become suddenly prosaic at the thought of her father, wild with anxiety she was certain, searching the terraced mountainside for them at the risk of falling off a precipice or tumbling into the river. Besides, at that moment, she felt a puff of hot wind in her face, and immediately was conscious that she was very thirsty and that the palms of her hands were dry and burning. "Don't you think it's very hot, Mary?" she whispered. "I feel as if I had been baked brown in an oven." "The wind has changed," answered Mary. "It was cool and sweet when we dropped off, and now it's like a wind that's blown over a desert." Through the forest came a murmur like thousands of voices gathering in strength and volume all the time. The gigantic pillars of the cathedral began swaying and tossing their arched boughs and the whole mountain seemed to resound with strange sounds, cries and calls, grindings and poundings. The pin prick stars disappeared and the place was as black as the pit. The two girls rose quickly and clasped hands again. "I think we'd better go straight down," said Billie. "We're obliged to strike a path somewhere and perhaps we may find a temple or a tomb or a pagoda or something. Anything to get away from that awful thing that's coming, whatever it is." Fortunately the act of descending gave them a sense of direction. Many times they fell, skinning their shins and their foreheads against trees, but they picked themselves up again, entirely unconscious of bruises, and ran on as fast as they could go with the hot devastating wind behind them. Suddenly the whole mountainside was illuminated by a flash of lightning, like a jagged stream of fire stretching from heaven to earth. A deafening roar of thunder followed. Then all the forest seemed to be perfectly quiet. Such a stillness settled over the place that the girls stopped and held their breath. "Look," whispered Billie, pointing to a strange looking light coming rapidly nearer, wobbling and undulating like the light on the bow of a ship in a rough ocean. Then came another terrifying flash of lightning, and thunder that seemed to rock the whole world. The two girls rushed toward the friendly light with one accord, and collided with the bearer with such force that three persons were precipitated with unintentionally devotional attitudes at the foot of a shrine of Buddha. "By Jove, but this is luck," called a familiar voice. It was Nicholas Grimm, who calmly picked up himself and then his oil-paper lantern attached to the end of a slender wand; next he helped the girls to their feet. "Take an arm, each one of you. There's no time to lose. The thing that's coming, whatever it is, will get here in a minute now." Running like mad, on the very wings of the wind, the three young people followed the windings of the path and presently came up short on a small temple, the tomb of some holy personage. Into this they rushed without ceremony just as the storm burst with all its fury, and crouching in a corner just out of reach of the rain, they listened to the howls and shrieks of the wind. "It's just like some live thing," remarked Mary after a while. "I feel as if some terrible demon lived up in a cave in the mountain, and when he is angry he comes down and lashes the earth and shakes the mountain." Mary's poetic notion of storms in that region was not so far removed from the Japanese legends. "You struck the nail on the head that time, Miss Price," said Nicholas. "There is an extinct volcano over here in the northeast and in its side is a huge cavern. People around here used to believe that all these frightful storms issued from the cavern. Every spring and every fall there was a perfectly corking one that tore up the whole place, and they called the mountain 'Ni-Ko San,' or Two-Storm Mountain. Then an old party who was a saint, I believe, and very wise, placed a curse on the storm demon and named the place 'Nikko San,' Mountain of the Sun's Brightness." "The demon seems to have returned," remarked Billie. "Oh, he did. That was the point. The magic curse had to be repeated every year, and the saint gave the receipt to a priest and it was handed down from one generation to another in the priest's family for nearly nine hundred years, but the demon still pursued, as you have probably observed." They were all silent for a while. Mary was making a picture in her mind of the aged priest in his white robes standing like a midget on the side of the vast mountain exorcising the storm king. That personage, she imagined, was a gigantic figure formed principally of black clouds with a terrifying human countenance. Every breath was a whirlwind or a hailstorm and when he struck the side of the mountain with his staff the lightning flashed-- Here Mary's thoughts were interrupted by just such a flash uncomfortably near. Billie leaped to her feet. "Oh, Nicholas," she cried, "do you think Papa could still be looking for me? Suppose he should be out now in all this frightful wind! I hadn't thought of it until this moment." "He'll be all right, Miss Billie," answered Nicholas soothingly. "Don't you worry." "Don't you tell me not to worry," cried Billie, almost angrily. "Do you think Papa would look after himself if he thought I was lost on the mountain? Oh, heavens, why did we count those old broken statues?" Nicholas laughed. "Excuse me," he said, choking back his amusement at sight of Billie's reproachful eyes which even the dim lantern light could not hide. "What are you going to do?" he added, as Billie seized the lantern from his hand. "I'm going to wave this at the door and yell with all my strength until I haven't any voice left. If Papa is anywhere near he may see it and come straight here." Nicholas, who, having also had much training in camps and outdoor life, had not felt the least uneasiness about Mr. Campbell's safety, now quietly took the lantern from Billie and began waving it to and fro at the door, while they both shouted again and again. But their voices were lost in the roar of the tempest. Billie stifled a sob. "Papa!" she whispered to herself. "Dearest, dearest Papa!" While she spoke a flash of lightning lit up the side of the mountain, and in that momentary illumination Billie saw her father toiling up the path against the wind and rain. "Papa, Papa!" she shrieked, seizing the lantern and waving it wildly back and forth. "Halloo!" yelled Nicholas, and then there came an answering shout, a really human cry this time, and after several breathless moments of waiting Mr. Campbell staggered into the temple. Nicholas and Mary turned their faces away at sight of his emotion when he found his daughter in his arms. He actually buried his face on her shoulder and wept like a child. "I was beginning to think I was never going to see you again, sweetheart," he said brokenly. It gave Mary a lonesome, remote feeling. She drew away from the others into a corner of the temple and rested her chin on her hands. "I wonder how it would feel to have some one big and strong and--and handsome to love and protect one like that," she thought contemplatively. Just then a figure staggered into the circle of light cast by the lantern. It was Mr. Buxton. "Good evening," he said. "Delightful weather, isn't it? Suppose we shed a little light on Carlton's path," he added calmly, holding the light to the door. Reggie was close behind his friend, however, and with feelings of enormous relief, the little company proceeded to sit down on the floor and relate their experiences. "It all really happened," remarked Mary, after Billie had confessed the cause of all the trouble, "because we tried to count the four hundred statues of Buddha and never got the same answer twice, and he naturally didn't like it, and I suppose he put us to sleep and summoned the Storm King--" "No, child," interrupted Mr. Buxton, "I am sorry to disabuse your romantic young mind, but it really happened because the pressure of the coming storm had a stupefying effect. Buddha was a very high-minded gentleman. He would never have taken offence over such a trivial matter." "Don't contradict her, Buxton," said Mr. Campbell. "You have no imagination to comprehend the supernatural, anyhow." "It would be supernatural for two women to count alike," answered the incorrigible bachelor, who would have the last word. Gradually the storm spent its fury, and by midnight they were able to return to the little villa. Except for a few scratches and bruises, the only important result of the Storm King's visit was Nancy's determination to write a letter to Mme. Fontaine. CHAPTER XVII. A VISIT OF CEREMONY. The most unhappy person in the whole of fair Japan was Miss Nancy Brown one lovely morning in July. At least she thought she was; which is very near to being the same thing. She had dispatched a letter to Mme. Fontaine and received an answer that the brass vase by the writing desk was now empty--a curious way to put it, Nancy thought, and one which did not quiet her uneasiness in the least. In return for this bit of information the Widow of Shanghai asked a strange favor of Nancy, one which puzzled and troubled her considerably. But it was a simple request and Nancy could not see any reason for declining to grant it. So, Mistress Nancy was the prey to indefinable anxieties and vague forebodings. Everybody had noticed her sadness. Mr. Campbell had spoken of it with concern and had promised to take them all on another trip to the mountains. "The heat is too much for the child," he had remarked to his cousin. "I didn't realize she was such a fragile little thing. Even Mary Price seems more robust." "She never was a fragile little thing before, Duncan," answered Miss Campbell. "I always thought that Billie and Nancy had unlimited endurance. The other girls are much more delicate. Do you suppose Nancy has anything on her mind?" Mr. Campbell shook his head. It was impossible for him to think that any of those light-hearted creatures could have troubles. They had nothing to think about but their own pleasures; nothing to do but enjoy the house and the garden, the tea parties and excursions. Their happy laughter and gay chatter, floating to him through the open window of his library did not carry a single note of sadness; for Nancy had tried to cover her unhappiness under a cloak of forced gaiety; but she could not hide her tragic little face, nor the pathetic droop of her lips and the circles under her eyes. "I can never look Billie in the face again," she had said to herself a hundred times. "I almost feel as if I had murdered somebody and hidden the body away. Nobody knows about the letter but it's just as bad as if they did. I believe I couldn't be more miserable if I had sent it to Billie. Thinking is just as bad as saying things out loud, and writing them seems to make it even worse." Furthermore, Onoye had been acting very strangely toward Nancy lately. Twice she had come and stood before the American girl with downcast eyes and twice tried to say something, failed and slipped quietly away. On this wonderful Sunday morning, when the world seemed indescribably fresh and fair after the recent rains, only Nancy was sad. Mary, who had blossomed into a flower herself in the soft warm air of Japan, was fairly dancing along the walk. "There is so much to do," she cried. "I haven't a moment to spare. The red lilies are in bloom. They all live together in a place near the old shrine. Saiki says if the weather keeps on like this the lotus flowers in the pond will open. Over against the old south wall there is a climbing rose bush that is a perfect marvel. You see, Saiki tells me all the secrets of the garden. He and I are the most devoted friends." The girls smiled indulgently at Mary, who seemed to them to have developed in a few weeks from a timid, shrinking little soul with a tinge of sadness in her nature into the most joyous being. "Go on and tell us some more," put in Elinor. "I like to hear all this garden gossip. You'll be hearing the secret the white rose whispered to the red next; and how the sensitive plant shrank when she heard the news, and the lilies shut up--" "And the flags waved and the grasses drew their blades, and the trees barked and the cow slips and the bull rushes--" cried Billie. And they all burst into absurd laughter, that is, all except Nancy, who felt immensely remote from this foolish, pleasant talk. "It will never do for you to be a teacher, Mary, dearest," said Elinor. "You'd simply fade and droop in a schoolroom. We'll just have to look up some other occupation for you. If I had my way with Providence you should do nothing but play in a garden all your days in a land of perpetual summer." "I am afraid I should have to pass into another world to accomplish anything so wonderful," laughed Mary. "It sounds a good deal like Paradise to me, and I haven't learned to play my harp yet. I would never be admitted into such a beautiful garden until I had learned to play real music on the harp, and not discords." Mary often spoke in metaphors like this, which half puzzled, half amused her friends. "I never heard you strike a discord, Mary, dear," Nancy observed sadly, when Billie interrupted: "Canst tell me who that grand personage is riding up the avenue?" In a jinriksha drawn by one man, while two others ran in front to clear the way of imaginary obstacles, since there were no real ones, sat a magnificent person clad in full Japanese regalia. He wore a robe of dark rich colors, but the girls could not see his face, which was hidden by a parasol. "I think Nankipooh has come to call," whispered Billie, as the vehicle drew near. The girls hid themselves behind a clump of shrubbery and peeped through the branches. "He's bringing gifts," whispered Elinor. The 'riksha had drawn up at the piazza and the two runners, after the personage in fancy dress had descended, lifted out a very aged and no doubt extremely costly dwarfed apple tree growing in a green vase, and a lacquered box. One of the ever-watchful domestics opened the door and into the hall stalked the visitor, followed by his retainers. "I think he must be a messenger from the Emperor, nothing less," said Billie. "He's so awfully grand." "Perhaps he's the Mikado himself," said Mary. The others laughed again and even Nancy forgot her troubles and joined in. "I declare I feel as if I had settled down to live on a Japanese fan," continued Billie. "Everything is like a decoration. I can't imagine anything really serious ever happening, it's all so gay and pretty and the people are like dolls." "Here comes one of your live dolls," observed Mary, pointing to Onoye, who was hastening toward them down the path, the skirts of her flowered kimono blowing about her ankles as she walked. She made straight for the group of girls and falling on her knees before Nancy, touched her forehead to the ground. "What is it, Onoye?" asked Nancy, blushing and paling and blushing again with some hidden emotion. "Gracious lady, warn-ings," she began slowly, as if she had just learned the words from a book. "What on earth?" Nancy asked. "Gracious lady, warn-ings," repeated Onoye, in a monotonous voice. "What do you mean, Onoye?" demanded Billie. "Don't kneel. Stand up and tell us all about it." "No explaining words to make understanding. Make prayer to honorable Mees Nancee." "But what about?" asked Nancy, puzzled and troubled at the same time. "Dee-vorce," answered Onoye, and then touching her forehead to the ground, she rose quickly and glided away. It was so absurd that they were obliged to laugh, and yet they felt that the Japanese girl was entirely serious in what she was trying to tell. "Can't we call her back and ask her some more questions?" suggested Elinor. "We might, but I doubt if she would say another word," answered Billie. "They never will tell more than they have to, you know, and I daresay she thinks she's told all that is necessary." "I think she's got hold of the wrong words," put in Mary. "Do you remember how she called Miss Campbell 'the honorable old maid'?" "She has had something on her mind a long time," said Billie thoughtfully. "She's a queer little soul. You don't think she could be a bit daffy, do you?" "I never saw any signs of it," said Nancy. "But I do wish she had explained why I was to be warned. Perhaps she's got that word wrong, too." "The truth is, the Japanese use synonyms instead of the words themselves. That's why their English is so queer," remarked Mary, better trained in English than any of the others and with a remarkably good vocabulary when she could be persuaded to talk. "Now a synonym of 'to warn' is 'to summon.' Maybe Onoye wanted to tell you that some one wished to see you." Nancy was silent. She vaguely connected Onoye's visit with Mme. Fontaine and the note, because her thoughts constantly dwelt on those disquieting subjects. The girls lingered for some time in the garden until they saw the Japanese gentleman in fancy dress riding away in his 'riksha, preceded by his two runners. Once more Onoye approached them down one of the shady garden walks. Once more she paused in front of Nancy and prostrating herself, announced: "The honorable master in libraree to Mees Brown." Nancy turned as white as a sheet. "Why, Nancy, don't be frightened. I am sure it's nothing serious," said Billie, putting her arm around her friend's waist. Except for that first greeting when Billie had returned after her search for Nancy, it was the first time the two girls had stood thus since the letter episode, and it was too much for poor, contrite Nancy, who burst into tears. "She thinks it's bad news from home," said Mary, leaning a cheek sympathetically against Nancy's shoulder, while Elinor pressed her hand and exclaimed: "Dearest, dearest Nancy, I'm sure it's nothing sad. Don't cry." If anything could have made Nancy more wretched, it was the sympathy of her three friends. "I don't deserve it, I don't deserve it!" she sobbed, and except for Billie, they had not the remotest idea what she meant. And now in the midst of this highly emotional scene appeared Miss Helen Campbell accompanied by Messrs. Campbell, Buxton, Carlton and Grimm. There was an arch and knowing smile on Miss Campbell's face as she tripped along the walk holding a lavender parasol over her head, and the four men were grinning broadly. Nancy dried her tears quickly. They never left any traces on her face nor red rims around her eyelids as with most people, and except that she was unusually pale, no one would have guessed that her lachrymal ducts had been overflowing only a moment before. "Well, well, Miss Nancy, I am afraid we shall have to put smoked glasses over those pretty blue eyes of yours before they cause any more mischief in Japan," exclaimed Mr. Campbell. "Oh, you little witch," cried Miss Campbell, pinching Nancy's cheek, "what shall I do with you, making eyes at these Orientals who don't understand?" "But what--" began Nancy. "I know," cried Mary, the gleam of romance in her eyes, "I know now. She's gone and got proposed to by a Japanese gentleman!" "But who?" cried all the girls together, brimming over with curiosity. "Why, Mr. Yoritomo Ito, of course," replied Miss Campbell. "He dressed up in his best Japanese fancy costume and brought presents and servants and came to ask formally for the hand of Mistress Anne Starbuck Brown." "Why, the impudent thing," exclaimed Nancy. "Did he think--could he imagine for a moment--" She broke off, too indignant to express herself. Then her eyes encountered Billie's and she dropped them in embarrassment. They were both thinking of the same thing; the two notes left under a stone at the shrine and the rainy meeting in the garden. After all, perhaps Yoritomo might have thought she liked him--but the idea was intolerable and Nancy thrust it aside. "How would you like to be mother-in-lawed by Mme. Ito, Nancy?" asked Elinor. "And sleep with your head on a bench and eat with chop sticks?" continued Mary. "You would probably have to do all those things if you married Mr. Yoritomo Ito," said Mr. Campbell. "It's very evident that he belongs to the most conservative Japanese class and clings to the old notions about wives and fancy dress costumes and such things." "What did you say to him, Papa?" asked Billie. "Oh, I was very polite, of course. I declined his offer, but that didn't surprise him, because in Japan they never stop to consult a young lady about her choice. They make it for her and then inform her afterward. Was I right in my method of dismissing your suitor, Miss Nancy?" he asked, turning to the young girl with a certain charming manner that was peculiarly his own, half humorous and half deferential. "Oh, yes, Mr. Campbell," exclaimed Nancy, a flush spreading over her face. "I am ashamed that it ever happened. I'm sure I never meant him to think--I'm sure I can't understand his presuming--" "Never mind, child. Men propose the world over without any more grounds than that. They are all alike, yellow skins and white ones, and red ones, too," said Miss Campbell. "Don't be so hard on us, Madam," put in Mr. Buxton, seizing the lady's parasol by force and holding it firmly over her head. "It's not our fault if we fall victims to a pair of blue eyes. You notice I say 'victims.' One pair has many, I presume." Billie and Nicholas brought up the procession which was now moving slowly toward the pavilion. "It's queer that I just learned something about Yoritomo last night," said Nicholas, "and I was going to tell you to-day." "What is it?" asked Billie. "He's divorced. You know they get them here on the slightest provocation--just change their minds after a few months or years and go to court, and one morning a wife finds herself without a husband, or children either, if he wants to take them." "How perfectly outrageous for him to propose to Nancy!" cried Billie. "You don't know who his first wife was, do you, Nicholas?" "No, I didn't hear." "I think I do," said Billie, after a moment's pause. CHAPTER XVIII. THE MAGNET AND THE SILVER CHURN. "Is it your head, dear? Are you sure nothing else is involved? No indigestion or pains at the neck or burning at the pit of the stomach?" "Perfectly certain, Miss Campbell," answered Nancy, with a wan smile. "It's just one of those sick headaches like the one I had when I ate crab salad and peach ice cream that time. You mustn't stay at home on my account. O'Haru will look after me." "But you haven't eaten crab salad and peach ice cream this time, child. You haven't eaten anything, in fact. Your appetite is getting smaller all the time." "It's just the heat," said Nancy meekly. "I only want to stay in a darkened room and keep as cool as I can. I am sure I shall be all right by this evening and I wouldn't for anything interfere with the picnic to-day. It would make my head much worse. Really it would." Each of the Motor Maids offered to stay home with Nancy, but she objected and protested so strongly that it looked as if she would work herself into a fever if they persisted. O'Haru was therefore left in charge of Nancy for the day, while the others, attired for an all-day picnic, gathered on the front piazza. On the driveway stood the "Comet" and behind him at a respectful distance, like a servant behind his master, stood another car of an undistinguished character, hired in Tokyo. Into this last climbed Miss Campbell and Mr. Buxton, while Mr. Campbell took the front seat to run the car. "Won't some little maid keep a lonely man company?" he called, and Mary Price responded promptly to this appeal. "I am the most honored man in the whole party," he said, gallantly jumping out and helping her in as if she were a small queen. Mary smiled happily, but she felt in her heart that she was the most honored of all. No one had ever treated her with such deference and courtesy as this splendid big man who gazed down at her with a protecting air and listened to her rather timid conversation with absorbed interest. It was a wonderful thing, Mary thought, almost too wonderful to be believed that a distinguished engineer who had been sent for by governments to build railroads and give advice about public improvements, would condescend even to notice a quiet little person like her. But the famous engineer was really a very simple man, as modest as she herself was and quite as gentle. On the front seat beside Billie sat Nicholas, and Reginald was in the back with Elinor. Every laddie had a lassie that morning, and Billie, who was a bit skeptical over Nancy's headache, wondered vaguely if this could have been the reason for her staying at home. But she put the thought away from her at once as being unworthy. Billie sighed and gave herself an impatient little shake. Her heart yearned for the old Nancy of the early days who seemed so changed now. She was determined never to mention the letter, but somehow it seemed always to stand between them. Both girls thought of it constantly, Nancy with remorse and bitterness for her own disloyalty, and Billie with a kind of puzzled sadness. After all, the two friends had much to learn about each other's natures. Nancy on her bed in the darkened room was saying: "If I only could prove to Billie and to all of them that I am not disloyal!" Billie, guiding the "Comet" along the country road, was thinking: "If Nancy would only be frank and tell me what's on her mind! How can we go on like this when we are drifting farther and farther away?" The excursion to-day was of special interest to Mr. Campbell and his guests. They were riding forth to see Fujiyama (or "Fuji San," as the Japanese call it, "yama," meaning simply "mountain"), the sacred mountain of perfect beauty and shining whiteness. Once Saiki, their old gardener, had conducted them to a small elevation in the garden, and in a manner both reverential and proud, had pointed to a vista in the trees carefully made by lopping off certain branches. There, in the background of a long, narrow perspective loomed the great mountain, exactly as it does in thousands of Japanese scrolls. Here, many a time, Mary had sat and watched the white cone shining in the sunlight. She understood why it was called the "Peak of the White Lotus," The low green hills at its feet were the leaves of the flower and the eight sided crater, perfect in symmetry, formed the petals. The beautiful Fuji San, the most precious and revered object in all Japan, is dedicated to a goddess, "the Princess who makes the blossoms of the trees to bear"; but pilgrims of every religious sect crowd its paths in warm weather and on its sides dwell holy men or "mountain worshippers," who practice great austerities. It seemed a little unfeeling to be so gay and light-hearted with Nancy unhappy and ill at home, but there was gaiety in the warm dry air, and it bubbled into happy laughter and chatter as they flew along the road. "Have we brought everything?" called Billie over her shoulder. "The guitar and the tea basket and the luncheon hamper--" "And the mackintoshes?" finished Nicholas. Billie frowned and her face darkened. "Everything but your raincoat, Billie," said Elinor, counting packages in the bottom of the car with the toe of her boot. "Did you forget it?" "No, it had a torn place in it," answered Billie, still frowning. An incident too trivial to mention, but too unusual to put lightly aside had caused her some annoyance that morning. She had closed the bureau drawer on a corner of her raincoat, hanging over her arm, and had torn the hem off one side. "How stupid," she had exclaimed impatiently, tossing it into a chair. "You'll have to lend me your blue raincoat, Nancy-Bell. I've just done for mine completely." Nancy, lying on the bed with her face turned to the wall, did not reply. Billie tiptoed to the foot of the bed to see if she was asleep, but the blue eyes were wide open staring at the wall paper. "Will you lend me your raincoat, Miss Nancy?" repeated Billie, trying to be jocular to overcome the peculiar sensation of annoyance that had crept into her thoughts. "I'm sorry, but I can't," answered Nancy, in a low voice. "Why not?" "I just can't. That's all." Billie felt as if a rough hand had seized her by her collar and given her a good shaking. "Oh, very well, Nancy" she said, and went softly out of the room. "I am sure she must be really ill," she thought, trying to put a charitable interpretation on this act of selfishness, but even illness could hardly account for anything so entirely remote from their usual relations. And, apparently, Nancy had no fever and was only a little under the weather with a headache. Therefore, when the subject of her raincoat had come under discussion, Billie quickly changed it. "Do look at that queer-looking crowd," she ejaculated, pointing to a group of people walking in couples along the roadside. Their white kirtles were girded high about their waists and they carried staffs. As the company marched along, always facing Fuji, they began singing a weird chant. When the motors drew nearer the tourists saw that each man wore a huge mushroom hat made of lightest pith and from his neck hung a piece of matting suspended by a cord. "That must be one of the Pilgrim Clubs," announced Nicholas. "There are hundreds of them in Japan and they are fearfully expensive to join. The dues are from eight to fifteen cents a year. Every summer a club selects a delegate to take a nice little walking trip to a shrine and bring back blessings for the other members. His expenses are paid and lots of the other members go on their own hook. All the inns make special rates and it's come to be a jolly way to spend one's vacation, combining pleasure and religion. You see they've got the costume down to the finest point," he continued. "They wear umbrellas on their heads, and the matting hanging around their necks serves as a raincoat, seat and bed. It's the coolest, lightest and most complete walking equipment I ever saw." "They make me feel terribly worldly-minded and luxurious," exclaimed Billie. "I never thought of bringing back a holy blessing to a friend." "We can take back a blessing for Miss Nancy, if you like," said Nicholas, smiling. "A flask of water from a spring on the sacred mountain would do, wouldn't it?" "But we haven't any flask." "We have the thermos bottle," put in Elinor. "That would keep it cool enough for her to drink." "She shouldn't drink it. She should sprinkle herself with it, or bathe in it," said Nicholas, amused at this ultra-modern way of carrying back a heavenly blessing. But Billie recalled the suggestion later and actually did fill the thermos bottle from a little spring that bubbled at the foot of Fuji and trickled down a green slope where the company had stopped for luncheon. "I do wish Nancy had come," she found herself saying while she spread the white cloth on the grass and opened the treasures of the luncheon hamper, which consisted of cold chicken and sandwiches and eggs prepared in a peculiar pickly way, as some one had described it. "It was a shame for her to miss this lovely trip. I am sure Fuji would have cured anybody's headache. It's so beautiful and so majestic." "It's cured mine," remarked Mr. Buxton, "either Fuji or something even more potent." Here he cast a languishing and eloquent glance toward Miss Campbell who flicked the grass with the end of her parasol and pretended not to have heard a word. Nicholas and Reggie grinned openly. Mr. Campbell stifled a smile behind a large sandwich and the girls carefully avoided each other's eyes. "He's got it bad, Miss Billie," whispered Nicholas. "Is this a common occurrence with Miss Campbell?" "It is, indeed," answered Billie. "There is always one and sometimes several wherever we go. Once, in Salt Lake City, it saved us no end of trouble and brought two lovers together, because a horrid old Mormon gentleman caught the fever. He had it so badly that we thought he would just carry Cousin Helen off by force, but he was deathly afraid of her." "Remember your promise, Miss Elinor," called Mr. Campbell presently. "Where's your guitar?" Some one fetched the guitar from the car and Elinor, leaning against a tree, struck several chords and smiled mischievously. "Shall it be a love song?" she asked. "Something religious would be more appropriate in this sacred spot," observed Miss Campbell severely. But Elinor, ignoring the suggestion, began to sing: "'O, My Luve's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June. My Luve's like the melodie That's sweetly played in tune. "'As fair thou art, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I, And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. "'Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And rocks melt wi' the sun, I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands of life shall run. "'And fare thee weel, my only Luve, And fare thee weel a while, And I will come again My Luve, Tho' it were ten thousand mile.'" While Elinor sang this charming song Mr. Buxton regarded Miss Helen Campbell with an expression so abjectly adoring that Mr. Campbell gave a roar of boyish laughter and laid himself flat on the ground in the ecstasy of his amusement. They all laughed, indeed. Even Miss Campbell joined in, in spite of her annoyance. "I should think you might sing your own songs, Buxton, instead of letting a young lady do it for you," said Mr. Campbell at last. "Allow me," answered the bachelor calmly. He seized the guitar, re-tuned it with great care, and began strumming lightly on the strings. Suddenly he lifted up his voice in song and nobody attempted to keep a serious countenance because he seemed entirely oblivious to all jests at his expense. Here is the song he sang: "A Magnet hung in a hardware shop, And all around was a loving crop Of scissors and needles, nails and knives, Offering love for all their lives; But for iron the Magnet felt no whim; Though he charmed iron, it charmed not him; From needles and nails and knives he'd turn, For he'd set his heart on a Silver Churn! "A Silver Churn! A Silver Churn! His most esthetic Very magnetic Fancy took this turn: If I can wheedle A knife or a needle, Why not a Silver Churn? "And Iron and Steel expressed surprise; The needles opened their well-drilled eyes, The penknives felt shut up, no doubt; The scissors declared themselves cut out. The kettles, they boiled with rage, 'tis said; While every nail went off its head And hither and thither began to roam, Till a hammer came up and drove them home. "It drove them home! It drove them home! While this magnetic, Peripatetic Lover, he lived to learn, By no endeavor Can a Magnet ever Attract a Silver Churn!" "Well, really," cried Mr. Campbell, at the end of the song when the laughter had somewhat died down, "really, I think Buxton, you are the most shameless old soul I ever met in my life. Come along and start home. A shower is coming up, and we'd better get the cars into the valley before it catches us and wets the Silver Churn, and the scissors, and needles, and nails, and knives." A shower did come up, a big one that lasted most of the way home, and Billie's gray linen suit was wet through, but the weather was warm and except that she looked extremely bedraggled, she was none the worse and refused to accept the loan of Nicholas' coat. They left the three guests in Tokyo with the hired motor car, and Mr. Campbell with Miss Helen and Mary joined the others in the "Comet." So it was that the subject of the raincoat came up again. Miss Campbell, seeing her young cousin's wet suit, exclaimed: "Child! Where is your raincoat? How often have I told you never to leave it behind, especially in this country where it rains more than it shines." "It's torn, Cousin Helen," answered Billie meekly. "But why, pray, didn't you take Nancy's?" Billie considered a moment what she should say and ended by saying nothing at all. "Why didn't you borrow Nancy's, Billie?" asked Elinor. "Nancy didn't seem willing to lend it," answered Billie at last, slowly. There was a strained silence. Then Miss Campbell remarked: "I believe the child must be seriously ill. It sounds like typhoid fever. I think we'd better send for the doctor as soon as we reach home." However, this was not necessary. There was Nancy waiting for them on the piazza. Her headache had gone, she said, and she looked quite well and much more cheerful than usual. She did not notice the faintest tinge of coldness in their greetings. Even Mr. Campbell was not so cordial as usual. "You must have been caught in the worst of the rain," she said, looking at Billie's dripping clothes. "We were," put in Mary quickly, trying to cover the silence of the others. Somehow Billie felt just a bit savage at the moment. "I've brought you some sacred water from Fujiyama, Nancy," she said presently, in order to hide her hurt feelings. "Oh, thanks. What am I to do with it? Drink it down?" "Oh, no. Anoint yourself with it. Sprinkle it over the top of your head for luck." "Better put on your mackintosh first, Nancy," broke in Elinor coldly. "You'll be wetter than Billie if you don't." Nancy's face flushed scarlet and she turned and walked into the house without a word. "Oh, Elinor, I wish you hadn't said that," said Billie. "See how you hurt her." "She needed to be hurt," replied Elinor. "She needs to be brought to her senses." All the world was topsy turvy. The Motor Maids were quarreling among themselves and there was mystery in the air. Their happy little kingdom was being destroyed by internecine wars, and for what reason, Billie could not understand. It was inevitable that Mary and Elinor would come over to her side, now, that is, if Nancy persisted in this strange behavior. That night, lying beside Nancy in the dark, Billie's hand crept out to meet her unhappy friend's. But Nancy's hands were clasped in front of her and she lay quite still, staring at the wall, the most miserable young person in all the universe. CHAPTER XIX. FATHER AND DAUGHTER. The first thing Billie saw next morning when she opened her eyes on a beautiful but heated world, was Nancy seated by the window reading a book, and at a second glance, she recognized it as her own prayer book. If it had been Mary or Elinor who had risen at dawn to read the prayer book, Billie would not have been in the least surprised, for one was deeply religious, and the other also, though she never talked much about it. Nancy, however, little frivolous butterfly, was not given to reading her testament or prayer book either, except at very infrequent intervals, certainly never early in the morning when other people were asleep. Billie wondered and wondered what more could have happened to turn Nancy's thought into this unusual channel. "She must be unhappy," she decided, "or she never would have got up at this time of day," and there was a kind of sad humor in the thought which Billie did not appreciate at the moment. When Nancy heard Billie stir, she closed the book hastily and crept back to bed and Billie pretended not to be awake. She was sure Nancy would rather not have been caught at this act of unusual devotion, and she disliked the idea of being an eavesdropper, as it were, to Nancy's innermost thoughts. Nevertheless, when some time later, Nancy had dressed and gone out of the room, Billie could not resist the temptation to open the prayer book at the purple ribbon; it had been placed at "Prayers for Fair Weather," which begins: "Almighty and most merciful Father, we humbly beseech thee of thy great goodness to restrain those immoderate rains wherewith for our sins thou hast afflicted us." Billie could scarcely keep from smiling when she followed Nancy into the dining-room. "It's about the queerest state of affairs that ever existed," she thought, casting a covert glance at her unhappy friend who was munching dry toast. Mr. Campbell came in late. He looked flustered and disturbed about something. "What is the matter with this household?" Billie's thoughts continued. "One would think an earthquake had shaken us out of our senses. Even Papa is out of sorts. I don't think I ever saw him quite this way before. As for me, I can't seem to pull out of the general depression. It's just closing in on us and drawing us down. Papa," she exclaimed out loud, "I believe we need a trip. When are you going to take us to the mountains? Nancy is terribly run down, and Cousin Helen is feeling the heat, and Elinor and Mary and I are going to be run down, too, if you don't hustle us off somewhere." "Very soon now, daughter. Just one more piece of business to transact and--er--a question to settle, and I'll pack you all off to a cool, dry place." "It will be the very opposite to this one, then," announced Billie. "Hot and damp are the words to use about Tokyo, and they do say the long rains are coming on--" she stopped short and looked at Nancy. Everybody was looking at Nancy, in fact. Mary and Elinor were wondering why Nancy looked so conscious. Miss Campbell was thinking how pale the girl looked, and Mr. Campbell was thinking of something quite different, but very important, concerning Nancy Brown. Billie tried to cover the uncomfortable silence by adding with a forced cordiality: "Nancy-Bell needs the change more than any of us." "Very well, if agreeable to your Royal Highness, I will let you know tonight when we shall break up camp and march for the hills." "Good," cried Billie. "The Court is prepared to move on a moment's notice." Mr. Campbell beckoned to his daughter to follow him to his library after breakfast. Billie had already had a foreboding that something was the matter, and she was sure of it as soon as she had entered the room and closed the door. Her father was standing at his desk frowning as he looked thoughtfully into space, and Mr. Campbell never frowned unless he had something to frown about. "What's the matter, Papa?" "Where are the others?" "Gone to their rooms, I suppose, or in the garden. I didn't notice." He drew an easy chair up by the open window and Billie took her seat on the arm and rested her cheek against his. "Papa, is there any trouble brewing in this house?" she asked presently. Mr. Campbell blew out a long column of smoke from his morning cigar. "What makes you think so, sweetheart?" he asked. "I can feel it. It's in the air--it's all about us. It's like a sort of plague. Nancy's got it, and now you are getting it, and I have a feeling I shall catch it, too." "Has Nancy got it?" "She got it first and she's giving it to all the rest of us. Oh, Papa, it's the very first time anything like this has ever happened on any of our trips. It's making me quite wretched." "But what is it, little girl?" "I don't know, at least, not exactly." "Not exactly? Then you do know something?" Billie did not wish to tell her father about the letter Nancy had written. She felt that her father might not take such a charitable view of it as she had, and she had a feeling she must protect poor Nancy, wounded as she had been by her strange behavior. "Then you do know something?" repeated Mr. Campbell. "Oh, just the littlest something, but I don't want to tell you, Papa." Mr. Campbell settled himself into the depths of his chair and drew his arm around his daughter's waist. "That's right, little daughter. I'd rather you'd be loyal than anything else in the world," he said, stroking her hand. "But I'm going to tell you a little bit of something. I want to ask your advice. I don't know what to do. You must help your old father decide." "Fire away, Papa." "Yesterday a very strange thing happened in this house while we were away--a very serious thing, I may say, and one which gives me considerable uneasiness. Last night I came into the library to work, just after dinner. I opened the safe and found that some one had been rummaging among the papers in there." "Oh, Papa," ejaculated Billie anxiously, knowing the value of those documents. "They were all there, but they had been disturbed. There had been an attempt made to trace off some of the drawings. The specifications and descriptions had been tampered with, too. I never dreamed such a thing could be managed in the daytime with the house full of servants. The two watchmen would prevent even a possibility of it at night. Whoever did it must have laid his plans well, or else--" Mr. Campbell paused and looked at his daughter very hard. "Nancy has been greatly troubled about something lately, hasn't she, little daughter?" "Yes, Papa, she has, but it's nothing serious," said Billie stoutly. "Just the heat and that absurd business about Yoritomo. You know she did really make eyes at him a good deal." "Where was she yesterday?" "In her room, I suppose?" "Billie, I called several of the servants in last night and questioned them about this business here," he pointed to the safe in the corner. "I called them in separately and each one made the same statement. Nancy spent most of the day in this room." Billie started. "I can't believe it. I won't believe it," she cried, rising to her feet in her excitement. "They told a pretty straight story and they had no reason, as far as I can see, for telling any other kind." "But what does Nancy know about opening a safe, Papa? It's absurd. And besides what would she want with plans for government improvements or whatever they are?" "I'm just as much in the dark as you are, Billie. I'm only telling you what O'Haru and Onoye and Komatsu told me. She went into the library twice during the day; once for a little while in the morning, and after lunch when the servants were in the back of the house, Onoye saw her come out of the garden in a pouring rain. She marched straight to this room and locked the door behind her and here she remained until not long before we returned." "Papa, I'll never go back on Nancy," cried Billie. "I'll never believe she did it--even--well, even if she were to tell me so herself! I know her as well as I know myself. I know all her ins and outs, you might say. She's simply incapable of doing a dishonest thing. Besides, what earthly use could she have with those papers?" "Do you think she could be doing it for some one else?" asked Mr. Campbell. "No," burst out Billie, almost angrily. "Why, Papa, I'm ashamed of you," Mr. Campbell drew his daughter to him and kissed her. "You are a good friend, Billie, and I'm going to give your friend the benefit of every doubt in her favor. I'm going to assume that she is innocent and that there is some big mistake somewhere. But I want you to help me because it will be necessary to get at the bottom of the business immediately. Now, Yoritomo Ito is one great big fanatic. I discovered that the other day when he called here in his foolish garb and demanded the hand of Miss Nancy. He was very angry over being turned down and just a bit threatening in his manner. Of course he resents outside people being called in for the work I am doing. He resents my presence in his country, in fact." "I don't like him, Papa," broke in Billie, "and--you didn't know that he has been married and divorced?" Mr. Campbell looked surprised. "No, indeed, I did not know it. He has colossal nerve, I must say. But divorce is pretty common over here. Most anybody can get one who wants to." "And, Papa," went on Billie, "I believe that our little maid, Onoye, was his wife, and when her father lost his money, Yoritomo got a divorce, and she and her mother were so poor they had to go to work." Mr. Campbell was even more shocked at this disclosure. "And, Papa, I believe she would do most any favor for Yoritomo in order to get to see her little boy who lives with Mme. Ito. Onoye and her mother are mad about him, and--and--" went on Billie, slowly working out the complication in her mind--"they were the ones who laid the blame on Nancy, weren't they?" "I didn't know I had a detective for a daughter," said Mr. Campbell, smiling. "I'm just putting two and two together," said Billie. "You see it works out like a jigsaw puzzle." "So I see," said Mr. Campbell gravely. "There is only one bright spot in the whole business," he added, with something very like a chuckle. "For once in my life I've out-tricked a trickster and I've really enjoyed doing it. Buxton informed me the very night you shot somebody here--" "There you are," interrupted Billie. "That was Onoye, remember." "Yes, there is no doubt about that. Well, Buxton informed me that they were after my papers and the safe would be the place they would look for them. So that very night I substituted some old drawings and put the important ones in another place. Now a Japanese, when he's after something, is as crafty and shrewd as a fox. That's why I'm patting myself on my back for having outwitted one." "Where do you keep the real papers, Papa?" "Down where the pistol is under some stationery in the back of the desk drawer, and in the big vase in the corner." Billie went straight to the desk and opened the drawer. She drew out the pistol as she had done that dark night, removed several layers of envelopes and paper, and came at last to a layer of drawings. "Are these the ones?" she asked, placing them on the desk and then shoving the drawer back with her knee. Something stuck and she pulled it all the way out in her effort to discover what the trouble was. In the very back, caught between the drawer and the framework was a handkerchief. It was small and sheer and in one corner was an embroidered butterfly. Mr. Campbell jumped up in much excitement. "By Jove," he exclaimed, "did you find that among my papers?" Billie nodded her head sadly. "It's Nancy's, too," she said. Mr. Campbell began looking over the papers. "She may have dropped her handkerchief," he said, "but I don't think she got down to these. They are exactly as I left them. I suppose she rummaged around with her handkerchief in her lap and it fell in and was shoved back when I took out my papers later." The papers in a leather portfolio in the vase were safe, also. For some time the father and daughter sat together, turning over the events of the morning in their minds. "Papa," said Billie, after a while, "let's send Cousin Helen and Nancy and Elinor to the mountains, because they need the trip more than the rest of us, and suppose you and Mary Price and I stay here and ferret out the whole thing. Of course the person who did it, and I know Nancy had nothing to do with it," she added almost fiercely, "but the real person will be coming back for the rest of the drawings, and that will be our chance. A detective in the house would give the alarm, but Mary and I might turn watchmen without arousing any suspicion, especially if some of the servants are mixed in it." Mr. Campbell ended by taking his daughter's advice. The very next morning Miss Campbell and two of the Motor Maids were packed off to Myanoshita, a summer resort in the mountains, with Komatsu to look after them, while the other two Motor Maids remained with Mr. Campbell. "We'll follow you by the end of the week," he said. "I hope you don't begrudge a lonely man his daughter for that short time, Cousin." "I hope you won't keep her in this awful heat any longer than you can help," was his cousin's reply. For Miss Campbell had grown to regard Billie as her especial property. CHAPTER XX. THE TYPHOON. The three conspirators had formed no particular plan for a campaign. Mr. Campbell was certain of only one thing: if poor Nancy Brown had foolishly got herself involved in this business, it would be better to keep the secret in the family, as it were. "We'll just give the child a good lecture and take her home," he said to himself, biting off the end of his cigar and frowning at the disquieting thought. "Whatever she did was through innocence, I am certain of that. She may have been flattered or cajoled into it. Who knows? The little thing is miserable enough without being made more unhappy. I suppose I should have sent for her and asked for a confession, but I hadn't the nerve and that's the truth." Several uneventful days passed after the departure of the others. It was very hot and the girls kept indoors until after sunset. But it was a dull, dispiriting time, and one morning they decided to take a spin in the "Comet," leaving Mr. Campbell at home to look after things. They had hardly gone when he was summoned to Tokyo by a messenger, and there was no one but the servants left in the house. The girls motored into town and spent the morning shopping. From one curio shop to another they wandered in the quest of nothing except diversion. "There is no end to the beautiful things here," sighed Mary, wishing in her heart that she could carry the most beautiful and priceless thing in Tokyo home to her mother. "Yes, everything is beautiful except the weather," remarked Billie, pointing to the black clouds which had gathered while they were in a shop. "We are going to have one of those red-letter storms, Mary. I think we'd better hurry home as fast as we can." But the "Comet," who never had any luck all the time he was in Japan, proceeded to burst one of his tires and the explosion mingled threateningly with a low roll of thunder in the distance. "We'd better take him to a garage and go back in a 'riksha," announced Billie, much annoyed. "Poor old 'Comet,' it wasn't his fault, but the prologues of these storms do put one in a bad temper." "They frighten me," said Mary. "They give me evil forebodings." The "Comet" was accordingly left at the garage to be repaired, and the girls were well on their way home in a jinriksha before anything worse had happened than rumblings and strange mutterings at what seemed a great distance away. It sometimes takes hours for a great storm in Japan to reach a head; which, in a way, is rather fortunate, because it gives people a chance to prepare for the struggle. A house is usually completely closed with storm shutters. Not even the smallest opening is left, through which the demon wind can find its way and so carry off the roof, or even the house itself. Every detachable object out of doors is taken inside. The gardener is seen hurrying about protecting his most valuable plants, and by the time the storm bursts upon the scene, filled with demoniacal shrieks and howls like an army of barbarians pursuing the enemy, it finds its victims prepared for the attack. When the 'riksha turned in at the Campbell gate, it had grown so dark that only the dim outlines of the house were visible at the end of the driveway. No one saw them arrive. The servants were probably at the back putting on the storm shutters, which were all in place at the front. Billie invited the 'riksha man to go around to the servants' quarters and wait until the storm had passed, but he nodded cheerfully and took his way down the road. "Let's go in by the passage door," suggested Mary. "Everything is closed up here." Billie followed her wearily. The heat and oppression were almost beyond endurance. She felt she might be suffocated at any moment. It was like trying to breathe under a feather mattress or in a total vacuum, for that matter. "Shall we put on our kimonos and lie on the floor in the library?" she suggested as they slipped into the passage. And this they accordingly did without another word or a moment's delay. It was too hot to think or sleep or eat or speak. All they desired was to stretch out on the rug in a cool dark room and keep perfectly still. There was a deadly quiet in the house when presently two little kimonoed forms stole through the halls and crept to the library door. Billie felt for the knob in the darkness and turned it. The door was locked. In the dense atmosphere it was difficult for them to realize what this meant at first. "Mary, it's--it's the-what-do-you-call-'em," said Billie incoherently. Mary nodded silently. She might have shrieked her answer aloud, for the storm had arrived with a great howling of wind and rain, and with flashes of lightning followed by repeated and deafening cannonades of thunder. The rain rattled on the roof like iron and all the demons in bedlam seemed to be besieging the house. Then a most sickening thing happened. The floor appeared to be heaving under their feet. Doors all over the house banged to with loud reports like revolvers shooting off. There was a crash in the library, a loud cry from within, the door flew open and a figure rushed past. Mary, kneeling on the floor at the threshold, involuntarily reached out her hands and seized the flying skirts of the apparition, or whatever it was, which disappeared like a shadow through the passage door, leaving Mary still holding the substance of the shadow which seemed to be the skirt she had grasped. A second shock followed almost immediately, less violent than the first but quite as sickening. For one instant the house tossed and pitched like a ship on a choppy sea. Then it settled down on its foundations. Most Japanese houses are built on wooden supports, stout square pillars rounded off at the base and resting in a round socket of stone. This gives a certain elasticity for resisting shocks which a firmly built house would not endure. The girls lay side by side on the floor of the passage, too frightened to speak. There is a horror about an earthquake that is indescribable to those who have never felt it; a feeling of sickening inefficiency and helplessness. After a while they plucked up courage to rise and totter weakly into the library, where Billie, her hand shaking with nervous excitement, struck a match and lit a candle. The room was in dire confusion. Chairs were upset, books had fallen off the shelves and lay scattered about the floor, and the iron safe had crashed over on its face. On the desk and the floor about it were numbers of loose sheets of paper and a narrow roll of tracing paper, which had uncoiled itself and lay half on the desk, half on the floor like a long white serpent. Mechanically they began to put things to rights. Mary gathered up the books and set them back on the shelves and Billie stood the chairs on their legs and collected the papers. They were not important ones, she knew, only decoys, as her father had called them. In the mean time the house rocked in the clutches of the storm. "I don't know why we bother to do this," said Billie laughing hysterically. "We may be flying through the air any minute ourselves along with the chairs and papers and everything else." "The storm at Nikko was mere child's play to this; just an infant babe in arms," answered Mary, weeping softly while she worked. It seemed better to be doing something than to sit still and listen to the terrifying fury of the tempest, as again and again it hurled itself against the house. "It wouldn't have done any good even if we had caught the thief or spy or whatever he is," observed Billie after a while. "There would have been no one to help us." Suddenly Mary's perturbed mind harked back to what had happened in the hall. "Billie," she cried, "it wasn't a man; it was a woman. That skirt I caught--that--that something--where is it?" "What are you talking about, Mary?" "I tell you I caught hold of something. It came off in my hands." She ran into the hall and, groping about on the floor, presently found what seemed to be a long coat. Rushing back she spread it on the desk. Billie held the candle high and the two girls stood gazing at it for some moments without speaking. Then Billie slowly placed the candle on the desk and sat down. "I don't understand, Billie," said Mary, clasping and unclasping her hands in her excitement and surprise, "it's Nancy's blue raincoat, but--but I don't understand." Billie covered her eyes with one hand as if she would like to hide from Mary what they might tell of her feelings and thoughts. There was nothing to say. It _was_ Nancy's blue raincoat, but she refused to think what the explanation might be. After a long time, it seemed, O'Haru came into the room. She was amazed to find the girls in the library until they explained how they had just escaped the storm. "Oh, much terrible," ejaculated the housekeeper. "Much terrible more worse than since," from which they gathered that it was one of the worst storms ever seen in Tokyo. O'Haru brought in lights and presently returned at the head of a procession of maids with trays of food; though whether it was luncheon or supper time it was impossible to tell. The clocks had all stopped in the earthquake and it was still as black as night. It might have been midnight or midday for all they knew. The girls preferred to remain in the library, which seemed to them more protection than the other rooms, and O'Haru drew up three tables and arranged the trays with great deftness and celerity. "Papa didn't come?" asked Billie, noticing the third table. "No, honorable lady." "For whom is the other tray, then?" "Mees Brown," answered O'Haru, rather surprised. "But she is in the mountains," said Billie, growing very red and uneasy. "Oh, Nancy, Nancy," she groaned inwardly, "could it have really been you and are you out there in the typhoon?" "Pardon grant," said O'Haru. "Mees Brown arriving at morning. Mees Brown within." "I think not, O'Haru," said Billie. "Her honorable rainy coat," said Onoye, pointing to the fated blue mackintosh. "Mary, what shall I say?" asked Billie in a low voice. "I don't know what to do." "Ask them questions," said Mary. From Onoye they gathered that Miss Brown had arrived soon after Mr. Campbell had left the house, and had gone straight to her room. She was very tired, she said, and would lie down until lunch time. Then she had gone to the library. Just before the storm they had tried to go in and close the shutters, but had found the door locked. Billie formed a resolution to protect Nancy no matter what was to pay. "It wasn't the real Miss Brown," she announced firmly. "It was some one dressed like her. The real Miss Brown is far away from here in the mountains." The two Japanese women withdrew presently, and if they felt any curiosity about Nancy's strange appearance at the villa, they were careful to hide it. The storm lasted all night and many times the two girls lying side by side on Billie's bed were prepared for the house to fall on top of them or to be carried away on the wind like chips of wood. But toward morning the wind died down and while the rain continued to flood the earth, they knew the worst was over. Billie drew back the bolts of their storm shutters and the fresh air came pouring in to revive their drooping spirits. "Mary," she said, creeping back to bed, "I'll never believe it was Nancy. No, never, never." At last they went to sleep, and when they waked the rain had ceased altogether. The lawn in front of the house was a muddy lake and many trees lay prone on the ground. It was a scene of devastation that greeted Mr. Campbell as he hurried home at daylight in a 'riksha. He had dispatched a messenger in the night, paying a large fee, to see if the girls were safe at home and had spent the night in Tokyo with Mr. Buxton. It was not until much later in the day that Billie plucked up courage to inform her father of what had happened. "Why on earth didn't you tell me about it immediately?" he exclaimed. "The best way to settle that, is to telegraph to Cousin Helen right off." But with the "Comet" in town and Komatsu in the mountains this was not so easy to manage, and it looked as if Mr. Campbell would have to walk back to Tokyo. He had got half way down the drive, in fact, when a messenger appeared running at full speed as fast as a horse; such is the endurance of a Japanese runner. He had been sent with a telegram from Mr. Campbell's office, but it had been written in Japanese and had to be translated. Mr. Campbell hurried back to the house and called Onoye: "Read this for me if you can," he ordered. Onoye looked at the strange script a long time. Then she read slowly: "'O'Nainci San gone Tokyo. No honorable telling before for why she make those journey--'" There were a few more words, but Onoye had reached the limit of her knowledge of the English language. Mr. Campbell sighed. Billie was the only girl in the world who wasn't any trouble, he thought. CHAPTER XXI. CONUNDRUMS AND ANSWERS. "I tell you Nancy is on her way, now, Papa," said Billie emphatically. "She would never have had time to get here as soon as yesterday. The storm would have delayed her. She couldn't have reached here." Mr. Campbell shook his head anxiously as he paced up and down the piazza waiting for the 'riksha the messenger was to send back from Tokyo. Billie's faith in her friend was wonderful. He admired it, but he was obliged to say he felt rather skeptical himself, all things considered. "There comes the 'riksha," announced Mary at last. Mr. Campbell went into the house for his hat and cane and Billie followed him. She looked so pale and miserable that he stooped to kiss her and then led her into the library. "Come in here a moment, little daughter," he said, "and we'll talk things over a bit." "How are you going to find her, Papa?" Billie asked, wiping away the tears that would well in her eyes every few minutes and trickle down her cheeks. "I'll do everything within human power. The police are excellent and so are the detectives." "Why do you think she ran away?" sobbed Billie, breaking down entirely. "I don't know, my child. I can't make out what the reason was and we'd never get anywhere by guessing." "Papa, do you think she could have gone to that widow? I never told you, but she did once before when we had a quarrel. She was awfully sorry after the first night and came back." Mr. Campbell gave a low whistle. He had forgotten the Widow of Shanghai's very existence until that moment. "I hope she's there. That will make it much simpler. But you mustn't take on so, little daughter. Nancy is like lots of headstrong girls. She resents criticism. Probably she had a falling out with Cousin Helen and ran away--" "I did run away," said a voice at the door, "but that wasn't the reason." "Nancy!" cried Billie and the two girls rushed into each other's arms and embraced like sisters long separated. In the doorway stood Mary and Mr. Buxton. Mary's face was beaming with joy and Mr. Buxton wore his old expression of humorous tolerance. "Where did you find her, Buxton?" asked Mr. Campbell gravely. "I didn't find her. She found me this morning at an unconscionably early hour, too, and a fine time we've had of it, I can tell you. We've chased a widow back to Shanghai and we've placed a fanatic under bond for good behavior." Nancy laughed her old natural laugh with a ripple of gaiety in it. Her eyes were sparkling and the color flooded her cheeks. She was prettier than ever, it seemed, and all because she was so happy! Her jaunty little traveling hat was over one eye and her dress was crushed and wrinkled, but her charming face was radiant. "The morning we left for the mountains," she began, "two letters came for me by mail but I didn't read them until I got on the train. One of them was from that awful woman and it frightened me terribly. It seemed cordial enough on the surface but my eyes have been opened to her. I don't know just what she is, but she is dangerous I am certain,--like a cat ready to spring. She said she had taken such a fancy to me that she must see me again and she thought it would be advisable for me to come to her home at once. The other letter was from that horrid Yoritomo and he simply threatened in so many words to blow up the house and everybody in it unless I listened to him. I didn't think much about the letters until we were settled in the hotel. Then I began to get more and more uneasy and I thought the best thing for me to do was to come back to Tokyo and see Mr. Campbell. I knew, of course, that Miss Helen would never let me go alone, so I just ran away." "And very glad we are to see you, Miss Nancy," broke in Mr. Campbell in the tone of one who felt enormously relieved. "We were all night on the train," continued Nancy. "The storm had washed the track away in places and we had to wait many times while it was repaired. As soon as I arrived, I took a 'riksha to Mr. Buxton's lodgings and then we went to see Mme. Fontaine and Yoritomo--" "Oh, that widow woman," interrupted Mr. Buxton. "She's a sly one, I can tell you. As we entered the front door, she departed at the back. We left several policemen waiting for her to return but I wouldn't be surprised if she were well on her way to Shanghai by now." "I don't understand," said Billie. "The time we quarreled, Billie, and I behaved like such a silly little goose," Nancy explained, "you remember I went to see her. I don't know what made me do it, except that I wanted to air my troubles. I've been so unhappy since, that I feel years older now. I was only a child then, but I'm quite an old person now. She talked to me a long time that night and got me all stirred up and believing that I had been badly treated. It was not what she really said but what she hinted. She seemed to know a good deal about Mr. Campbell's work. She implied that what he was doing for the Japanese government was disloyal to America. I was so fascinated with the way she put things and the way she looked at me, too, that I didn't seem to have any power over myself any more. It was like being hypnotized, I suppose. It came into my head to write you a terrible letter, Billie,--" Nancy's eyes filled with tears and her voice choked--"I can hardly think of it now without crying. She knew I was writing it but she didn't ask what was in it, only occasionally, while I wrote, she would look over at me and say 'Poor darling! Poor pretty darling!' After I got to bed, I came to my senses and began to realize what I had done. I was terribly frightened and unhappy and in the middle of the night I crept into the drawing-room, tore up the letter and threw the pieces into a vase. Next morning, you remember, I came home. But the letter was so heavy on my conscience, I couldn't be happy. I had a feeling it had never been destroyed and would somehow get to you, Billie. I wrote to the widow and asked her to send me back the pieces if she could find them, so that I could burn them myself. In her reply, she simply said the vase was empty and I gradually began to understand that she had got the letter and intended to keep it. There was a threatening sound to the note, and she ended by asking to borrow my blue raincoat. I had to let her have it, but I knew she didn't want it for any good reason and I was more and more miserable. I began to pray that it wouldn't rain. People don't wear raincoats in good weather. I tried to argue with myself about her reasons for wanting my raincoat and even now I don't know what they were unless it was to involve me in something. But we've frightened her away, anyhow, and she can have the raincoat if she'll only stay." "She certainly did want to get you into a peck of trouble, Miss Nancy," said Mr. Campbell bringing the famous raincoat from the passage where it hung on the hat rack. "Here's your coat. She left it behind as a souvenir yesterday when she broke into the house to steal my drawings. I fooled her, though," he added, smiling sweetly. "If she thinks she can ever make anything out of those papers, she'll soon find she has been losing time." "It's the third time she's been here masquerading as you, Nancy." broke in Billie. "She must have managed the disguise perfectly because the servants were fooled each time." "She did," said Mary. "I asked Onoye exactly what she looked like. She evidently had on a brown curly wig and a hat like Nancy's with a blue veil around her head." At this juncture in the conversation, Onoye announced a visitor who proved to be a detective. He was a quiet, self-contained young Japanese who spoke excellent English. He had been sent out in a motor car by the Chief of Police to find out all he could from the Americans regarding Mme. Fontaine. The Widow of Shanghai, he informed them, was the child of a Russian father and a Japanese mother. She was considered to be one of the most accomplished and brilliant spies in the Orient and could assume almost any disguise and speak most languages. It was a pity a woman of such wonderful talents should stoop to work like that, and the strange part of it was that she was sometimes treacherous to Russia and in favor of Japan: so that it was difficult to tell for which side she worked. Just now her sympathies were with Russia, since she was trying to get plans for harbor defenses in Japan. The Chief of Police wished to thank Miss Brown in behalf of the City of Tokyo for driving the so-called Mme. Fontaine out of town. She had entered it so quietly that until that very morning it was not known that Mme. Fontaine and the famous Russian spy were one and the same person. "Of course it was she who was in here the night of your birthday party. Papa," said Billie. "I must have shot two people instead of one." This was actually the case, as Onoye explained to her later. Onoye had hidden herself behind the curtain that night to watch the couples strolling about in the moonlight. Mme. Fontaine came very swiftly into the room and blew out the lights. She carried a little electric dark lantern. Onoye was too frightened to make her presence known, and had crept along the edge of the room hoping to reach the door. Then Billie had come in and somehow they had all drifted together in the dark and the pistol had gone off. The bullet must have pierced Mme. Fontaine's arm and lodged in Onoye's wrist. How she managed to hide the wound with a scarf until she got her long wrap from one of the bedrooms was a marvel to them all. "Anyhow the mystery is all cleared away now," cried Nancy joyfully. "I suppose you must have thought strange things about me, Mr. Campbell?" "We had every reason to think them, Miss Nancy, but this loyal young person here wouldn't let us. It looked like some pretty convincing evidence for a while, but she wouldn't budge from the stand she had taken." Once again the two friends embraced. They were radiantly happy. It was just as if Nancy had died and come to life again. "I think I've learned a good lesson," she admitted at last. "It all happened because I wanted to be silly and romantic and meet people in the garden and write notes." "People?" asked Mary. Nancy laughed and dimpled in her old charming way and everybody laughed, even the reserved young detective. Old Nedda, who had followed them into the room, carne tottering over to where Nancy sat beside Billie. The aged animal whined and wagged her tail, as if she, too, wished to take part in the general thanksgiving. "Dearest old great-grandmama," cried Nancy, kneeling beside the aged pug and hiding her face in the tawny coat, "are you really glad to see me, too?" CHAPTER XXII. GOOD-BYE, SUMMER. A string of glowing lanterns festooned the piazza of the Campbell villa, while within the warm reflection of wood fires and shaded lamps made each window a square of hospitable brightness. The house inside was a blaze of color. Splendid bunches of scarlet maple leaves and chrysanthemums of amazing size and beauty filled the vases and jars. The Motor Maids, dressed in their very best party frocks, had gathered in the drawing-room early before the arrival of the three guests. Each maid sat in a large chair and gazed about her from side to side. The riot of color, the scarlets and oranges, the tawny browns, pale pinks and delicate yellows seemed to bewilder them. "I suppose it wasn't truly Japanese to decorate a room with all these masses of flowers and leaves," said Billie. "But I don't care. It's the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen and since this is our last night here we want to make it a festive one." Their last night! Was it possible that time had slipped by so fast? Here it was already November, the season of greatest beauty in Japan, when Nature has dipped her brush into the most brilliant colors on the palette and touched the foliage with red and gold, the skies with deepest blue, and the chrysanthemums, favorite flower of the Emperor, with every gorgeous shade. After a good rest in the mountains broken by excursions to various interesting places about the country, the Campbell party had returned to Tokyo in time to marvel at the wonders of the chrysanthemum festival, which is a national affair. Away off at the other side of the world a certain High School was now in full swing. But even Mary Price had lost all scruples concerning her education. "I don't care," she remarked recklessly. "I think all this beauty is just as good for the mind as bare plastered walls and plain geometry." "It's better," exclaimed Nancy, "because it makes one so much happier to look at chrysanthemums and red maples than to try and understand why the sum of the three angles of a triangle of any old size must always equal two right angles. What makes one happy is far more educational than what makes one aggravated." Here was a Pagan theory that Elinor felt inclined to doubt. "We shall have to study double time all during the Christmas holidays," she said. "It will be rather fun, I think," put in Billie, always the optimist of the quartette. "We'll all just have a small private school of four and jump in and work together. To me, working together is almost as nice as playing together. I suppose I appreciate it more than the rest of you because I had to work and play alone for so many years." "Billie, you are a perfect dear," ejaculated Nancy. "You furnish all the amusement and fun and thank us for sharing it with you." Billie looked as pleased and happy as if she had never had a compliment before in her life. The joy of having regained Nancy after that brief eclipse into shadow was still too recent to be forgotten. The two girls exchanged one of those telegraphic glances of intimate friends who need no words to express their meaning. "We've had a wonderful time," broke in Mary. "There is something about the land that makes one forget the realities. If poor little Kenkyo hadn't died--" "Be careful! Onoye is in the next room," interrupted Billie, lifting a warning finger. Onoye had indeed been the wife of Yoritomo as Billie had guessed. No doubt it was poor old O'Haru who had thrown the stone into the summer house that day. Billie had mercifully never inquired. And now the little son, for whom the two women had yearned with a passion that is extraordinarily deep in Japanese women, had been gathered to his forefathers. Onoye was dumb and silent with misery during his brief illness. When he died, she had disappeared for a few days and returned at last calm and still. No one had seen her shed a tear. Yoritomo, it was said, was stricken with the wildest grief. But sorrow had cleared his brain and brought him to his senses. He had made a really manly apology to Mr. Campbell and had even asked that Onoye might be restored to him. But this was not to be. Miss Campbell had taken Onoye under her wing. "I want you to go back to America with me and be educated, child," said the kind little lady, "and after a few years, you may return to Japan and teach the women here how to be independent." Onoye had joyfully and gratefully consented to this arrangement, providing she might act as Miss Campbell's maid in the meantime. O'Haru had made an heroic effort to be glad, also. She would continue to be the Spears' housekeeper, she said, and wait for her daughter to return to Japan with "muchly honorable learning." During the hot weeks when Miss Campbell and the Motor Maids were sojourning in the mountains, old "great grandmama Nedda" had also passed into another sphere. Her ending was peaceful, they said; she had slipped quietly away one day at sunset. The faithful servants buried the gentle creature in the garden not far from the shrine of the Compassionate God. When the girls returned they set up a little wooden monument in her memory on which Mary printed in India ink the following inscription: "NEDDA" Died August 27, 19-- Aged 21. "Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting And cometh from afar." "Here comes someone," announced Billie, peering from the window of the drawing-room. "It's Mr. Buxton, I think, and he's heavily laden with parcels, apparently." In another moment, the bachelor himself stood in the doorway regarding the charming picture with his half-humorous, half-grave expression. "There were only three Graces, were there not?" he asked. "I've forgotten. It's been so long since I met them. But there should have been four." "And why not five, since you are adding to the number," asked Mary. "Meaning for the fifth the beauteous lady who lingers in her room?" he demanded. "She out-graces us all," exclaimed Billie. "But what did you bring with you? Do tell us. We are dying of curiosity." The bachelor's lips twitched with a crafty smile and he shook one finger at them like the sly old comedian he was. "Walt!" he said, disappearing into the hall and reappearing in a moment with an aged, gnarled dwarf apple tree growing in a green vase, and a lacquered box beautifully inlaid with mother-of-pearl. "Do you think I have the ghost of a chance?" he asked them in a whisper. The girls were consumed with giggles. "Not the ghost," laughed Billie. "She wouldn't stay in Japan, not if you brought her all the Emperor's chrysanthemums in a single bunch." "But what's in the box, Mr. Buxton?" demanded Nancy. "You shall see," he answered. "Wait until the Fifth Grace appears." "Here she is," they cried in a chorus, as Miss Campbell swept into the room, resplendent in mauve satin covered with billows of fine lace. "Madame, you blind me with your magnificence," exclaimed the bachelor, making a low bow. "I'm glad you like my dress," said the elegant little lady. "It's not the dress but the eyes," he corrected her, just as Mr. Campbell, followed by Reggie Carlton and Nicholas Grimm, appeared. "We meet to meet again," cried Nicholas, joyfully. The two young men were sailing for America on the same ship with the Campbells, and many a long happy day they were all to have together. "And I am to be the only figure left on the Japanese screen," said Mr. Buxton sadly. "I shall have to walk across the curved bridges alone and consume tea for two under the flowering cherry tree." "I am afraid you will, sir," said Miss Campbell. "Madam, permit me," he said solemnly, placing the apple tree at her feet. "Is this any inducement?" "Not the slightest," answered Miss Helen with a laugh. Mr. Buxton gazed sadly from one smiling face to another. Then he opened the lacquered box and presented each of the Motor Maids with a beautiful embroidered silk robe. "Have an empty box, then, Madam," he announced, placing the casket in her lap, and because of the riotous and unseemly laughter, no one heard her reply. So ended the last day of the Motor Maids in their pretty Japanese villa. It was as happy and beautiful an evening as that land of flowers and hospitality could make it. We should not be sorry ourselves to linger with them on those lovely shores, but the winter is at land and the season of dreams has passed. Komatsu and O'Haru and old Saiki, the gardener, the four little maids, the grandmothers and the children remain picturesque figures in a picturesque land; and behind them, glistening In the sunlight, looms Fujiyama, sacred mountain of dazzling whiteness and perfect beauty. For the Motor Maids this memory will live as the type of all the experiences and scenes of fair Japan. Above the remembrance of stormy crises--within and without--of their sojourn there, rises the happy consciousness of a firmer, larger friendship which they may take with them as the choicest souvenir of the summer. And in their homeland, if we wish, we may join them again to find what another year of life has revealed to them. In the meantime, let us anticipate the pleasure in store for us with "The Motor Maids at Sunrise Camp." END 
17108	----	file was produced from images generously made available by The Kentuckiana Digital Library) The House of the Misty Star [Illustration: She quickly walked across the burning coal] The House of the Misty Star A ROMANCE OF YOUTH AND HOPE AND LOVE IN OLD JAPAN By Frances Little (Fannie Caldwell Macaulay) Author of "The Lady of the Decoration," etc. [Illustration] New York The Century Co. 1915 Copyright, 1915, by THE CENTURY CO. Copyright, 1914, 1915, by THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY _Published, April, 1915_ TO A FAITHFUL FRIEND NUI SHIOME OF TOKIO. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I ENTER JANE GRAY 3 II KISHIMOTO SAN CALLS 16 III ZURA 32 IV JANE GRAY BRINGS HOME A MAN 55 V A CALL AND AN INVITATION 70 VI ZURA WINGATE'S VISIT 85 VII AN INTERRUPTED DINNER 95 VIII MR. CHALMERS SEES THE GARDEN AND HEARS THE TRUTH 108 IX JANE HOPES; KISHIMOTO DESPAIRS 125 X ZURA GOES TO THE FESTIVAL 138 XI A BROKEN SHRINE 147 XII A DREAM COMES TRUE 158 XIII A THANKSGIVING DINNER 174 XIV WHAT THE SETTING SUN REVEALED 190 XV PINKEY CHALMERS CALLS AGAIN 203 XVI ENTER KOBU, THE DETECTIVE 218 XVII A VISIT TO THE KENCHO 235 XVIII A VISITOR FROM AMERICA 243 XIX "THE END OF THE PERFECT DAY" 260 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS She quickly walked across the burning coal _Frontispiece_ PAGE Through the sinister shadows of Flying Sparrow Street 13 Zura Wingate advanced to my lowly seat on the floor, and listlessly put out one hand to greet me 39 The bowing, bending, and indrawing of breath 75 Page started forward. A sound stopped him 113 "God in Heaven. How can I tell her!" 187 "Oh, God! A thief! It's over!" 245 Oh! boy, boy, I thought I'd lost you 263 The House of the Misty Star [Illustration] The House of the Misty Star I ENTER JANE GRAY It must have been the name that made me take that little house on the hilltop. It was mostly view, but the title--supplemented by the very low rent--suggested the first line of a beautiful poem. Nobody knows who began the custom or when, but for unknown years a night-light had been kept burning in a battered old bronze lantern swung just over my front door. Through the early morning mists the low white building itself seemed made of dreams; but the tiny flame, slipping beyond the low curving eaves, shone far at sea and by its light the Japanese sailors, coming around the rocky Tongue of Dragons point in their old junks, steered for home and rest. To them it was a welcome beacon. They called the place "The House of the Misty Star." In it for thirty years I have toiled and taught and dreamed. From it I have watched the ships of mighty nations pass--some on errands of peace; some to change the map of the world. Through its casements I have seen God's glory in the sunsets and the tenderness of His love in the dawns. The pink hills of the spring and the crimson of the autumn have come and gone, and through the carved portals that mark the entrance to my home have drifted the flotsam and jetsam of the world. They have come for shelter, for food, for curiosity and sometimes because they must, till I have earned my title clear as step-mother-in-law to half the waifs and strays of the Orient. Once it was a Chinese general, seeking safety from a mob. Then it was a fierce-looking Russian suspected as a spy and, when searched, found to be a frightened girl, seeking her sweetheart among the prisoners of war. The high, the low, the meek, and the impertinent, lost babies, begging pilgrims and tailless cats--all sooner or later have found their way through my gates and out again, barely touching the outer edges of my home life. But things never really began to happen to me, I mean things that actually counted, until Jane Gray came. After that it looked as if they were never going to stop. You see I'd lived about fifty-eight years of solid monotony, broken only by the novelty of coming to Japan as a school teacher thirty years before and, although my soul yearned for the chance to indulge in the frills of romance, opportunity to do so was about the only thing that failed to knock at my door. From the time I heard the name of Ursula Priscilla Jenkins and knew it belonged to me, I can recall but one beautiful memory of my childhood. It is the face of my mother in its frame of poke bonnet and pink roses, as she leaned over to kiss me good-by. I never saw her again, nor my father. Yellow fever laid heavy tribute upon our southern United States. I was the only one left in the big house on the plantation, and my old black nurse was the sole survivor in the servants' quarters. She took me to an orphan asylum in a straggly little southern town where everything from river banks to complexions was mud color. Bareness and spareness were the rule, and when the tall, bony, woman manager stood near the yellow-brown partition, it took keen eyes to tell just where her face left off and the plaster began. She did not believe in education. But I was born with ideas of my own and a goodly share of ambition. I learned to read by secretly borrowing from the wharf master a newspaper or an occasional magazine which sometimes strayed off a river packet. Then I paid for a four years' course at a neighboring semi-college by working and by serving the other students. I did everything--from polishing their shoes to studying their lessons for them; it earned me many a penny and a varied knowledge of human nature. But nothing ever happened to me as it did to the other girls. I never had a holiday; I was never sick; I never went to a circus; and I never even had a proposal. One night I went to church and heard a missionary from Japan speak. My goodness! how that man could say words! His appeal for workers to go to the Flowery Kingdom was as convincing as the hump on his nose, as irresistible as the fire in his eyes. The combination ended in my coming as a teacher to the eager Nipponese, who were all athirst for English. Japan I knew was a country all by itself, and not a slice off of China; that it raised rice, kimonos and heathen. Otherwise it was only a place on the map. Whatever the new country might hold, at least, I thought, it would open a door that would lead me far away from the drab world in which I lived. My appointment led me to the little city of Hijiyama, overlooking the magical Inland Sea. It is swung in the cleft of a mountain like a clustered jewel tucked in the folds of a giant velvet robe. It is a place of crumbling castles and lotus-filled moats. Here progress hesitated before the defiant breath of the ancient gods. For centuries a city of content, whispers of greater things finally reached the listening ears of eager youth, fired ambition, demanded things foreign, especially the English language, and I came in on this great wave. I found near contentment and sober joy in my work and my beautiful old garden. But deep down in my heart I was waiting, ever waiting, for something to happen--something big, stirring, and tremendous, something romantic and poetical; but it never did. Year after year I wore the groove of my life deeper, but never slipped out of it, and one day was so like another it was hard to believe that even a night separated them. Then without the slightest warning the change came. One day in my mail I found a letter from a student which read as follows: O! Most Respected Teacher. How it was our great pleasure to write your noble personage. When I triumphed to my native home after speaking last lesson before your honorable face, my knowledge was informed by rumors of gossip that in most hateful place in city of Hijiyama was American lady. She wear name of Miss Jaygray. Who have affliction of kind heart and very bad health. Also she have white hair and no medicine. Street she live in have also Japanese gentlemans what kill and steal and even lie. Very bad for lady who have nice thought for gentlemans, and speak many words about Christians God. Now not one word can she speak. Her sicker too great. Your great country say "Unions is strong and we stand together till divided by falling out." Please union with lady countryman and also divide. She very tired. I think little hungry too. Yours verily TAKATA. (Some little more.) Go down House of Flying-Sparrow Street and discover Tube-Rose Lane. There maybe you see policeman. He whistle his two partner. Hand in hand they show you bad gentlemens street where lives sick ladys mansion. I hastened at once to the succor of my sick countrywoman. The way led through streets obscure and ill-kept, the inhabitants covertly seeking shelter as the policemen and I approached. It was a section I knew to be the rendezvous of outcasts of this and neighboring cities. It was a place where the bravest officer never went alone. For making a last stand for the right to their pitiful sordid lives, the criminals herded together in one desperate band when danger threatened any of the brotherhood. The very stillness of the streets bespoke hidden iniquity. Every house presented a closed front. Surely, I thought, ignorance of conditions could be the only excuse for any woman of any creed choosing to live in such surroundings as these. In the cleanest of the hovels I found Miss Gray, her middle-aged figure shrunken to the proportions of a child. There was no difficulty in finding the cause of her illness. She was half-starved. Her reason for being in that section was as senseless as it was mistaken, except to one whose heart had been fired by a passion for saving souls. After being revived by a stimulant from my emergency kit, she told me her name, which I already knew, that she was an American and her calling that of a missionary. I thought I knew every type of the profession and I was proud to call many of them my friends, but Miss Gray was an original model, peculiar in quality and indefinite in pattern. "Does your Mission Board give you permission to live in a place or fashion like this?" I asked sternly. "Haven't any Board," she answered weakly. "I'm an Independent." "Independent what?" I demanded. "Independent Daughter of Hope." Her appearance was a libel on any variety of independence and a joke on hope, but I waited for the rest of the story. She said that the Order to which she belonged was not large. She was one of a small band of women bound by a solemn oath to go where they could and seek to help and uplift fallen humanity by living the life of the native poor. She had chosen Japan because it was "so pretty and poetical." She had worked her way across the Pacific as stewardess on a large steamer, and had landed in Hijiyama a few months before with enough cash to keep a canary bird in delicate health for a month. Her enthusiasm was high, her zeal blazed. If only her faith were strong enough to stand the test, her need for food and clothing would be supplied from somewhere. "Now," she moaned, "something has happened. Maybe my want of absolute trust brought me to it. I'm sick and hungry and I've failed. Oh! I wanted to help these sweet people; I wanted to save their dear souls." I was skeptical as to this special brand of philanthropy, but I was touched by the grief of her disappointed hopes. I knew the particular sting. At the same time my hand twitched to shake her for going into this thing in so impractical a way. Teaching and preaching in a foreign land may include romance, but I've yet to hear where the most enthusiastic or fanatical found nourishment or inspiration on a diet of visions pure and simple. While there must be something worth while in a woman who could starve for her belief, yet in the eyes of the one before me was the look of a trusting child who would never know the practical side of life any more than she would believe in its ugliness. It was not faith she needed. It was a guardian. "Maybe I had better die," she wailed. "Dead missionaries are far too few to prove the glory of the cause." I suggested that live ones could glorify far more than dead ones, and told her that I was going to take her home with me and put strength into her body and a little judgment into her head, if I could. She broke out again. "Oh, I cannot go! I must stay here! If work is denied me, maybe it is my part to starve and prove my faith by selling my soul for the highest price." Although I was to learn that this was a favorite expression of Miss Gray's, the meaning of which she never made quite clear to me, that day it sounded like the melancholy mutterings of hunger. For scattering vapors of pessimism, and stirring up symptoms of hope, I'd pin my faith to a bowl of thick hot soup before I would a book full of sermons. Without further argument I called to some coolies to come with a "kago," a kind of lie-down-sit-up basket swung from a pole, and in it we laid the weak, protesting woman. The men lifted it to their shoulders and the little procession, guarded fore and aft by a policeman, moved through the sinister shadows of Flying Sparrow street to the clearer heights of "The House of the Misty Star." Long training had strengthened, and association had verified my unshakable belief that the most essential quality of the very high calling of a missionary, is an unlimited supply of consecrated commonsense. So far, not a vestige of it had I discovered in the devotee I was taking to my home, but Jane Gray was as full of surprises as she was of sentiment. [Illustration: Through the sinister shadows of Flying Sparrow Street] She not only stayed in my house, but with her coming the spell of changeless days was broken. It was as if her thin hand held the charm by which my door of opportunity was flung wide, and through it I saw my garden of dreams bursting into flower. II KISHIMOTO SAN CALLS I had always been dead set against taking a companion permanently into my home. For one reason I heeded the warning of the man who made the Japanese language. To denote "peace" he drew a picture of a roof with a woman under it. Evidently being a gentleman of experience, he expressed the word "trouble" by adding another person of the same sex to the picture without changing the size of the roof. Then, too, there was my cash account to settle with. Ever since I'd been drawing a salary from the National Education Board of Missions, I felt like apologizing to the few feeble figures that stared accusingly at me from my small ledger, for the demands I made upon them for charity, for sickness, and for entertainment of all who knocked at my door. My classes were always crowded, but there were times when the purses of my students were more lean than their bodies. Frequently such an one looked at me and said, "Moneys have all flewed away from my pockets. Only have vast consuming fire for learning." It being against my principle to see anybody consumed while I had a rin, there was nothing to do but make up to the Board what I had failed to collect. These circumstances caused me to hesitate risking the peace of my household, or putting one more responsibility on my purse. Then sweet potatoes decided me. It was a matter of history that famine, neither wide-spread nor local, ever gained a foothold where "Satsuma Emo" flourished. This year they were fatter and cheaper than ever before. I knew dozens of ways to fix them, natural and disguised; so I bought an extra supply and made up my mind to keep Jane Gray. The little missionary thrived in her new environment as would a drooping plant freshly potted. As she grew stronger, she hinted at trying once again to live in her old quarters, that she might fast and work and pray for her sinners. I promptly suppressed any plans in that direction. After all, I had been a lonelier woman than I realized, and Jane was like a kitten with a bell around its neck--one grows used to its playing about the house and misses it when gone. She also resembled a fixed star in her belief that she had been divinely appointed to carry a message of hope to the vilest of earth, and I felt that the same power had charged me with the responsibility of impressing her with a measure of commonsense. So we compromised for a while at least. She would stay with me, and I would not interfere with her work in the crime section, nor give way to remarks on the subject. I was sure the conditions in the Quarter would prove impossible, but as some people cannot be convinced unless permitted to draw their own diagram of failure, it was best for her to try when she was able to make the effort. The making of an extra room in a Japanese house is only a matter of shifting a paper screen or so into a ready-made groove. It took me some time to decide whether I should screen off Jane in the corner that commanded a full view of the wonderful sea, or at the end where by sliding open the paper doors she could step at once into the fairy land of my garden. Jane decided it herself. I discovered her stretched in an old wheel-chair before the open doors, looking into the sun-flooded greenery of the garden, and heard her softly repeating, "Fair as plumes of dreams In a land Where only dreams come true, And flutes of memory waken Longings forgotten." Any one who felt that way about my garden had a right to live close to it. In half an hour Jane was established. My enthusiasm waned a bit the next day when I found all the pigeons in the neighborhood fluttering about the open door, fearlessly perching on the invalid's lap and shoulders while she fed them high-priced rice and dainty bits of dearly-bought chicken. I dispersed the pigeons with a flap of my apron and with forced mildness protested. "I'm obliged to ask you to be less generous. The price of rice is higher than those pigeons can fly and, as for chicken, it's about ten sen a feather. There's abundant food for you; but we cannot afford to feed all the fowls of the air." "Oh! dear Miss Jenkins, I couldn't drive them away. The cunning things! Every coo they uttered sounded like a love word." I hoped it was the patient's physical weakness, and not a part of her nature. I could not possibly survive a steady diet of emotion so tender that it bubbled over at the flutter of a pigeon's wing. I'd brought it on myself, however, and I was determined to share my home and my life with Jane Gray. Sentimental and visionary as she was, with the funny little twist in her tongue, the poor excuse of a body seemed the last place power of any kind would choose for a habitation. I was not disposed to attribute the supernatural to my companion, but from the day of her arrival unusual events popped up to speak for themselves. A nearby volcano, asleep for half a century, blew off its cap, covering land and sea with ashes and fiery lava. All my pink roses bloomed weeks earlier than they had any business to, and for the first time in years my old gardener got drunk. Between dashes of cold water on his head he tearfully wailed my unexpressed sentiments, in part: "Too many damfooly things happen all same time. Evil spirit get loose. Sake help me fight. Me nice boy. Me ve'y good boy but I no like foreign devil what is." Then one day, about a month after my family had been enlarged, I had just wheeled my newly acquired responsibility out in the garden to sun when Kishimoto San called. He often came for consultation. While his chief interest in life was to keep Hijiyama strictly Japanese and rigidly Buddhist, he was also superintendent of schools for his district and educational matters gave us a common interest. However, the late afternoon was an unusual hour for him to appear and one glance at his face showed trouble of a personal nature had drawn heavy lines in his mask of calmness. I had known Kishimoto San for twenty years. Part of him I could read like a primer; the other part was a sealed volume to which I doubt if even Buddha had the key. Sometimes when he was calling I wished Gabriel would appear in my doorway and announce the end of the world to see, if without omitting a syllable, Kishimoto would keep on to the end of the last phrase in the greeting prescribed for the occasion. The ceremony off his mind, he sat silent, unresponsive to the openings I tried to make for a beginning. Not till I had exhausted small talk of current events and asked after his family in particular instead of his ancestors in general, did his tongue loosen. Then the floodgates of his pent-up emotion opened and forth poured a torrent of anger, disappointment, and outraged pride. I had never before seen a man so shaken, but then I hadn't seen many, much less one with the red blood of Daimyos in his veins. He was a man whose soul dwelt in the innermost place of a citadel built of ancient beliefs and traditions. Out of the unchecked flood of denunciation, I learned that he held Christianity responsible for his woes. I, as a believer and an American, must hear what he thought; as his friend I must advise him if I could. In the twenty years that I had known the school superintendent, he had always been reserved regarding his personal and family life. To me his home was a vague, blurred background in which possible members of his family moved. He surprised me this day by referring in detail to the bitter grief which had come to him in years gone by through his only child. I had heard the story outside, but not even remotely had Kishimoto San ever before hinted that he possessed a child. I knew his need for help must be imperative, that the wound was torn afresh, else he was too good a Buddhist to make "heavy the ears of a friend" with a recital of his own sorrows. He said he had been most ambitious for his daughter. Years ago he had sent her to Yokohama to study English and music. While there the girl lived with his sister who had absorbed many new ideas regarding liberty for women. Once he was absent from Japan and without his knowledge the girl married an American artist, Harold Wingate by name, and went with him to his country to live. Kishimoto San had not seen her since her marriage until lately. He had honorably prayed that he never would. Some weeks before she had returned to Hijiyama practically penniless, which was bad, and a widow, which made it very difficult to marry her off again; but worse still was the half-breed child she had brought with her, a daughter of about seventeen. This girl, whose name was Zura, I soon found was the sore spot in Kishimoto San's grievance, the center around which his storm of trouble brewed. It was like pouring oil on flames when I asked particularly about the girl. Though he could speak English that was quite understandable, he broke loose in Japanese hardly translatable. "She is a wild, untamed barbarian. She has neither manners nor modesty, and not only dares openly to scorn the customs of my country and religion, but defies my commands, my authority." Knowing him as I did, I thought it must indeed be a free, wild spirit to meet the blow of Kishimoto San's will and not be crushed by the impact. My interest in the girl increased in proportion to his vehemence. I ventured to ask for details. They came in a torrent. "It is not our custom for young girls to go on the street unattended. I forbade her going. Deaf to my orders, she strays about the streets alone and dares to sail her own sampan. She handles it as deftly as a common fisherman. She goes to out-of-the-way places and there remains till it suits her impudence to return to my house. In the hours of the night she disturbs my meditations by sobbing for her home and her father. She romps on the highways with street children, who follow her as they would a performing monkey." "But surely," I mildly interposed, "it is no great breach of custom to play with children. Your granddaughter is doubtless lonely and it may give her pleasure." The face of my visitor stiffened. "Pleasure!" he repeated. "Does she not know that a woman's only pleasure is obedience? Is there not enough of my blood in her to make her bow to the law? Twice she has told me to attend to my own affairs! Told me! Her ancestor! Her Master!" This last word he always pronounced with a capital M. Kishimoto San was not cruel. Unlike many of his countrymen, who are educated by modern methods as regarding laws governing women, he was still an old-time Oriental in the raw. It was at this uncomfortable moment that the little maid brought in tea. I instructed her to serve it on the balcony which overlooked sea and mountain. The appealing beauty of the scene always soothed me as a lullaby would a restless child. I hoped as much for my disturbed visitor. I gave him his second cup of tea, and asked him whether the mother could not control her daughter. It set him going. "Her mother!" he scoffed. "Madam, if her mother had been blest with the backbone of a jellyfish she would never have married a man whose people were not her people, whose customs are as far removed from hers as the East is from the West. My daughter was young. Had she married one of her own country, all would have been well. Her will would have been directed by her mother-in-law. She was trained to obedience. See what the teachings of your country do to our women! In a letter she wrote telling me she had gone, she thanked me for teaching her the laws of submission. It helped her to bow to the commands of this man when he bade her marry him, and she loved him! Love! as if that had anything to do with marriage. Now comes the result of this accursed union--a troublesome girl who is neither one thing nor the other, who laughs at the customs of my country and upsets the peace of my house, who boldly declares she is an American. She need not herald it. In dress and manners she wears the marks of her training." I offered no comment, but every moment served to deepen my interest in this girl who could defy a will which had ruled a whole island for half a century. My silence seemed to irritate him. He turned fiercely upon me. "Tell me, what kind of girls does America produce? What is your boasted freedom for women but license? Is their place never taught them? Have they no understanding of the one great law for women?" I had been absent from my country many long years, and while neither the best nor the worst had come my way, America was my country, her people my people, and they stood to me for all that was great and honorable and righteous. The implication of Kishimoto's question annoyed me all the more, because I knew him to be a keen observer and not hasty in his conclusions. "Softly, Kishimoto San. You answered your own question a few moments ago. The customs of the two countries are as wide apart as the East is from the West. Tastes differ in manners as well as religion. If there are things in America that do not please you, so there are many laws in Japan that are repugnant to Americans. You are unjust to hold my country responsible for your woes." "But I do hold it responsible. My granddaughter comes of its teaching. I meditate what kind of religion it is that permits a girl to question her elder's authority and to defy the greatest of laws, filial piety. What manner of a country is it where custom grants liberty to a girl that she may roam the streets and sit in a public garden alone with a man!" This last was indeed serious. In my day and in my town it could be done if the girl were so fortunate as to have something that stood for a male cousin. But neither then nor now was it permissible in a land of man-made laws for men. Unless it was between husband and wife, private conversation, or a promenade just for two branded the participants as bold, possibly evil. I asked for further details. Kishimoto San said the young man was a minor officer on the steamer by which his granddaughter and her mother had crossed the Pacific. He thought he was an American. Whenever the ship coaled in a nearby port, the young chap communicated with the girl and together they walked and talked. The plain facts after all sounded harmless and innocent. What more natural than for a lonely girl to seek for pastime the company of a youth of her own kind? But it could not be--not in Japan; though as innocent as two baby kittens playing on the green, it would bring shame upon the girl and the family, which no deed of heroism would ever erase from local history. Something must be done; I asked Kishimoto San how I could be of assistance. "I have been consulting with myself," he replied in English. "Would you grant me permission to send her to you daily as a student? Besides her strange ways, she talks in strange English. I cannot find the same in any conversation book. Her whole being has need of reconstruction." I was not in the reconstructing business, but a young girl in the house meant youth and diversion and a private pupil meant extra pay. What a little extra money wouldn't do in my house wasn't worth adding up. In thought I repaired the roof and bought new legs for the kitchen stove. My visitor, mistaking my silence for hesitation, suggested, "First come and see her. Analyze her conduct and grant me decision whether she is a natural, free-born American citizen, as she boasts, or if the gods have cursed her with a bold spirit. She is of your country, your religion, if any, and perhaps you can understand her. I fail to comprehend." He folded his arms for emphasis. The gleam of the western sun caught the sheen of his silk kimono and covered him with a glow. From under bent brows he gazed at the scene before him. Earth and sky and sea breathed beauty. The evening song of the birds was of love. The spirit of the fading day whispered peace, but unheeding he sat in troubled silence. Then from the street far below came the shout of a boy at play. It was a voice full of the gladness of youth. In it was a challenge of daring and courage. Loudly he called to his troop of play soldiers to charge splendidly, to fight with the glorious _Yamato Damashi_ (spirit of Japan). Kishimoto San heard and with a quick movement raised his head as though he had felt a blow. "Ah," he murmured to himself, "if it had only been a boy!" There was the secret wound that was ever sore and bleeding. There was no son to perpetuate the name. His most vital hope was dead, his greatest desire crushed, and by a creature out of the West, who not only stole his daughter but fathered this girl whom no true Japanese would want as a wife. To a man of Kishimoto San's traditions the hurt was deep and cruel. I well understood his sorrow and disappointment. Pity put all my annoyance to flight. I promised to go to his house and see if I could help in any way. I did not tell him that I was about as familiar with young girls from my home land as I was with young eagles, for the undaunted spirit of that child had aroused all my love of adventure; and I wanted to see her. Then, too, I was haunted by the picture of a lonely girl in a strange land, crying out in the night for her dead father. I was trembling with new emotion that evening when I brought my invalid in from the garden, and tucked her into bed. Kishimoto San had not only offered me a tremendous experience, but all unwittingly he made it easily possible for me to defy the tradition of his picture language, and risk Jane Gray as a permanent fireside companion. III ZURA Just below "The House of the Misty Star," in an old temple, a priest played a merry tattoo on a mighty gong early every morning. First one stroke and a pause, then two strokes and a pause, followed by so many strokes without pause that the sounds merged into one deep mellow tone reaching from temple to distant hills. It was, so to speak, the rising bell for the deities in that district and announced to them the beginning of their day of business. In years gone by the echo of the music had stirred me only to a drowsy thankfulness that I was no goddess, happy as I turned for a longer sleep. The morning after Kishimoto San's visit, long before any sound disturbed the sleeping gods, from my window I watched the Great Dipper drop behind the crookedest old pine in the garden and heard the story of the night-wind as it whispered its secret to the leaves. Usually my patience was short with people who went mooning around the house at all hours of the night when they should have been sleeping. Somehow though, things seemed changed and changing. Coming events were not casting shadows before them in my home, but thrills. Formerly I had not even a passing acquaintance with thrills. Now, half a century behind-time, they were beginning to burst in upon me all at once, as would a troop of merry friends bent on giving me a surprise party, and the things they seemed to promise kept me awake half the night. My restlessness must have penetrated the thin partition of my Japanese house, for when I went out to breakfast there sat Jane Gray, very small and pale, but as bright-eyed and perky as a sparrow. It was her first appearance at the morning meal. Before I could ask why she had not rested as usual, she put a question to me. "Well, what is it?" "What's what?" I returned. "Why," she exclaimed, "you have been up most of the night. I wanted to ask if you were ill, but I was counting sheep jumping over the fence, and it made me so sleepy I mixed you up with them. I hope it isn't the precious cod-liver babies that are keeping you awake." It was at Jane's suggestion that we had eliminated meat from our menu and established a kind of liquid food station for the ill-nourished offspring of the quarry women near us. I assured Miss Gray that babies had been far from my thoughts. Then I told her of my interview with Kishimoto San; of how Zura Wingate had come to her grandfather's house; of her rebellion against things that were; and that she was to come to me for private study. Had I not been so excited over the elements of romance in my story, I would have omitted telling Jane of the incident of the girl and the youth in the park, for it had a wonderful effect on her. Jane's sentiment was like a full molasses pitcher that continues to drip in spite of all the lickings you give it. At once I saw I was in for an overflow. It was the only part of the story she took in, and as she listened, passed into some kind of a spell. She cuddled down into her chair and shut her eyes like a child in the ecstasies of a fairy story. She barely breathed enough to say, "The darlings! and in that lovely old park! I hope it was moonlight. Do you suppose they sat under the wistaria?" Not for a copper mine would I have hinted that through the night there had come before my mind a picture very like that. Such a picture in the Orient could only be labeled tragedy; the more quickly it was blotted out from mind and reality the better for all concerned. I spoke positively to my companion. "Look here, Jane Gray, if it wasn't for breaking a commandment I would call you foolish with one syllable. Don't you know that in this country a young man and woman walking and talking together cannot be permitted? Neither love nor romance is free or permissible, but they are governed by laws which, if transgressed, will break heart and spirit." "So I have heard," cooed Miss Gray, unimpressed by my statements. "Wouldn't it be sweet, though, for you and me to go about teaching these dear Japanese people that young love will have its freedom and make a custom of its own?" "Yes, indeed! Wouldn't it be a sweet spectacle to see two middle-aged women, one fat and one lean, stumping the country on a campaign for young love--subjects in which we are versed only by hearsay and a stray novel or so!" I said all this and a little more. Jane went on unheeding, "That's it. We must preach love and live it till we have made convicts of every inhabitant." Of course she meant "converts," but the kinks in Miss Gray's tongue were as startling as the peculiar twists in her religion. Upon her asking for more particulars I repeated what Kishimoto San had told me. The girl's father was an artist by profession and, as nearly as I could judge, a rover by habit. Of late the family had lived in a western city. I was not familiar with the name Kishimoto San gave; he called it "Shaal." "Oh," cried my companion, "I know. I lived there once. It's Seattle." Occasionally there shot through Jane's mind a real thought, as luminous as a shaft of light through a jar of honey. I would have never guessed the name of that city. "Then what else happened?" she continued, as eagerly as a young girl hearing a love story. I told her it had not happened yet, and before it did I was going to call at the house and see the girl as I had promised and settle upon the hour she was to come for daily lessons. Meantime Jane was to take her nap, her milk, and her tonic without my standing over her. In her devotion to her profession she was apt to forget the small details of eating and resting. My craving for things to happen was being fed as fast as a rapid-firing gun in full action. I found waiting very irksome but there was a cooking class, a mother's meeting, two sets of composition papers to be corrected and various household duties that stubbornly refused to adjust themselves to my limited time. At last, however, I was free to go and delayed not a minute in starting on my visit. * * * * * Kishimoto's home was lower down in the city than mine and very near the sea. The house was ancient and honorable. Its air of antiquity was undisturbed by the great changes which had swept the land in the ages it had stood. The masters had changed from father to son, but the house was as it had been in the beginning, and with it lived unbroken and unshifting, the traditions and beliefs of its founders. It was only a matter of a few minutes after passing the lodge gates until I was ushered into the general living-room and the center of the family life. The master being absent, the ceremony of welcoming to his house a strange guest was performed by his wife. One could see at a glance that she belonged to the old order of things when the seed of a woman's soul seldom had a chance to sprout. She performed her duties with the precision of a clock, with the soft alarm wound to strike at a certain hour, then to be set aside to tick unobtrusively on till needed again. The seat of honor in a Japanese home is a small alcove designated as "the Tokonoma." In this ancient house simple decorations of a priceless scroll and a flowering plum graced the recess. Before it on a cushion of rich brocade I was asked to be seated. Etiquette demanded that I hesitate and apologize for my unworthiness as I bowed low and long. Custom insisted that my hostess urge my acceptance as she abased herself by touching her forehead to her hands folded upon the floor. Of course it ended by my occupying the cushion, and I was glad for the interruption of tea and cake. [Illustration: Zura Wingate advanced to my lowly seat on the floor, and listlessly put out one hand to greet me] Then equal in length and formality followed the ceremony of being introduced to Kishimoto San's mother and widowed daughter, Mrs. Wingate. The mother, old and withered, was made strong by her power as mother-in-law and her faith in her country and her gods. The daughter was weak and negative by reason of no particular faith and no definite gods. The system by which she had been trained did not include self-reliance nor foster individuality. Under it many of the country's daughters grow to beautiful womanhood because of their gift of living their own inner lives entirely apart, while submitting to the external one imposed by custom. By the same system other women are made the playthings of circumstance and the soul is ever like a frosted flower bud. Years ago a man, attracted by the soft girlishness and touched by the adoring deference to his sex, bade this girl marry him without the authority of her father. Nothing had been developed in her to resist outside conditions. It was an unanswered query, whether it was because of ignorance or courage, she braved displeasure, and followed the strange man to a strange country. Sometimes the weakness of Japanese women is their greatest strength. This woman knew how to obey. In her way she had learned to love, but her limited capacity for affection was consumed by wifehood. Having married and borne a child to the man who required nothing of her, duty in life so far as she saw it was canceled. Further effort on her part was unnecessary until the time for her to assert her power as mother-in-law. Even the contemplation of that happy state failed to enthuse. Languid and a bit sad, her hold on life was gone. The blight had come. On her frail beauty was stamped the sign of the white plague. She greeted me in very broken English, then left the chief duty of entertaining to the mother. The stilted conversation was after the prescribed form and my eagerness to see Zura, whom custom forbade my asking for, was, I dare say, ill concealed. When I first entered, the farther parts of the large room were veiled in the shadow of the late afternoon. But when Mrs. Kishimoto called, "Zura, come!" a stream of sunlight, as though waiting for the proper time, danced into one corner and rested on the figure of a young girl, sitting awkwardly on her feet, reading. Her response to her grandmother's command was none too eager; but as she came forward the brilliant light revealed in coloring of hair and dress as many shades of brown as could be found in a pile of autumn leaves. In the round eyes, deep set in a face sprinkled with freckles, in the impertinent tilt of the nose, there was no trace of the Orient; but the high arch of the dark brows betrayed her Japanese origin. The girl's costume was more remarkable than the girl herself; it was like a velvet pillow slip with neither beginning nor end. It was low in the neck and had no sleeves worth mentioning. How she got into it or out of it was a problem that distracted me half the night, when I was trying to plan for her soul's salvation. I could not hide my amazement at her appearance. She as closely resembled my idea of an American girl as a cartoon does a miniature; but I had seen so very few girls of my country since my coming to Japan. I remembered hearing Jane say that the styles now change there every two or three years. My new skirt, I've had only five years, has seven pleats and as many more gores. Zura Wingate advanced to my lowly seat on the floor and listlessly put out one hand to greet me. The other she held behind her. It had been years since I had shaken hands with any one. I was ill at ease, and made more so by realizing that I did not know what to say to this self-contained child of my own beloved land. I made a brilliant start, however. "Howdy. Do you like Japan?" The answer came with the sudden energy of a popgun: "No." Then she sat down close to a hibachi, her back against the wall. I went on, determined to be friendly. "I am sure you will find much of interest here. All the beauties of Japan are not on the surface. The loveliness of the scenery and the picturesqueness of the people will appeal to you." The phrase was about as new as "Mary had a little lamb," but it was all I could think to say. My conversational powers seemed off duty. The girl scented my confusion and a half-smile crept around her lips. "Country's all right," she answered. "But the natives are like punk imitations of a vaudeville poster; they're the extension of the limit." Her words, although English, were as incomprehensible to me as if I had never heard the language, but her scorn was unmistakable. As if to emphasize it, the hand she had persistently held behind her was thrust forward toward the burning coals in the hibachi. Her fingers held a half burnt cigarette. This she lighted, and without embarrassment or enjoyment began to smoke. An American girl smoking! I was shocked, but I held tight. "Do you smoke much?" I asked, for the want of something better to say. "Never smoked before. But my august, heaven-born grandfather, who to my mind is descended direct from the devil, wishes me to adopt the customs of his country. Thought I'd start with this." "But," I reminded her, "it is not the custom in this country for young girls to smoke." "Oh, isn't it?"--indifferently--"it doesn't matter. Had to begin on something or--die." The spasm of pain which swept the girl's face stirred within me a memory long forgotten. Once, when my own starved youth had wearied and clamored anew for an outlet, I had determined on a reckless adventure. From corn-shucks and dried grass I made a cigar which I tried to smoke. It gave me the most miserable penitent hour I have ever known. The picture of the child of long ago hiding in the corn crib until recovery was possible caused me now to shake with laughter. The fire in Zura's eyes began to burn. "Think it's funny? I don't. Have one." She flung a package of cigarettes in my lap. Ignoring the impertinence of her speech and act I hastened to explain the cause of my amusement. I told her of my desolate childhood, of the quiet village in which my uneventful girlhood was passed, where the most exciting thing that ever happened was a funeral about once in four years. When I finished she showed the first signs of friendliness as she exclaimed, "Heavens! Didn't you have any 'movies,' any chums, any boys to treat you now and then to a sundae?" Kishimoto San certainly stated a fact. Her English was strange. I was sure the words were not in my dictionary. But I would not appear stupid before this child who had no business to know more than I did. So I looked a little stern and said that my Sundays never seemed a treat; they were no different from week-days. If the other things she talked about were in a circus, I had never been to one to hear them. At this such a peal of laughter went up from the girl as I dare say at no time had ever played about the ancient beams. The maid, just entering with hot tea, stood as if stunned. The old grandmother sat like a statue of age with hand uplifted, protesting against any expression of youth and its joys. Mrs. Wingate pushed aside the paper doors, gently chiding, "Zura, yo' naughty ve'y bad." But the reproof was as meaningless as the babbling of a baby. Neither disapproval nor black looks availed; unchecked the merriment went on until exhausted by its own violence. I knew she was laughing at me, but what mattered? To her I was a comical old figure in a strange museum. To me she stood for all I had lost of girlhood rights and I wanted her for my friend. Her laughter went through me like a draft of wine. The echo swept a long silent chord, and the tune it played was the jig-time of youth. When Zura caught her breath and explained the meaning of her words, it disclosed to me a phase of life of which I had never dreamed. Pictures that moved and talked while you looked, public halls for dancing, and boys meeting young girls alone after dark to "treat" them! The child spoke of it all easily and as a matter of course. I knew more than I wanted of the dark side of Oriental life, but I had been so long accustomed to idealizing my own country and all its ways that her talk was to me like an unkind story about a dear friend. But happy to find a listener who was interested in things familiar to her--Zura chattered away, of her friends and her pleasures, and though many of her words were in an unknown tongue, the picture she unconsciously drew of herself was as clear as transparency. It was an unguided, undisciplined life, big with possibilities for love or hate that even now was wavering in the balance for good or bad. Once again the afternoon sun fell upon the girl. It touched her face, tender of contour and coloring. It found her hair and made of it a crown of bronze and gold. For a moment it lingered, then climbing, lighted up a yellow parchment hanging on the wall just above. Through its aged dim characters I read an edict issued in the days of long ago, banishing from the land of fair Nippon all Christians and Christianity. It threatened with relentless torture any attempt to promulgate the faith, and contained an order for all citizens to appear in the public place on a certain day for adherents of the new religion to recant, by stamping on the Cross. As the girl talked on, she revealed a life strangely inconsistent in a land which to me stood for all that was highest and most beautiful. A curious thought came to me. I wondered if the man who framed that edict had a vision of what foreign teachings might bring in its trail? Possibly some presentiment haunted him of the great danger that would come to his people through contact with a country leagues removed in customs and beliefs. Neither crucifixion nor torture had availed to keep out the new religion. With it came wisdom and great reforms. Misinterpretation too, had followed. Old laws were shattered, and this girl, Zura Wingate was a product of a new order of things, the result of broken traditions, a daughter of two countries, a representative of neither. Zura's conversation was mainly of her amusements and diversions. "But how did you manage so many pleasures while you were attending school?" I inquired. "School?" she echoed. "Oh! that never bothered me. I had a system at school; it worked fine. The days I felt like going, I crammed hard and broke the average record. I also accumulated a beautiful headache. This earned me a holiday and an excursion for my health." It was hard for me to understand a girl who deliberately planned to miss school, but I was taking a whole course in one afternoon. Carefully I approached the object of my visit. "Well, of course you desire to further pursue your studies in English, even though your home is to be in Japan. I came this afternoon to ask--do you not think it would be pleasant if you came to my house every day for a little study--just to keep in practice?" The girl's lips framed a red circle as she drew out a long "Oh-h-h! I see! The mighty honorable Boss has been laying plans, has he? Well, I think it would be perfectly grand--N-I-T--which in plain American spells 'I will not do it.'" Imagine a young girl telling one of her elders right to her face, she would not do it. I never heard of such a thing. For a moment I was torn between a desire to administer a stern reproof and leave her, and a great yearning to stand by and with love and sympathy to try to soften the only fate which could be in store for such as she. We took each other's measure and she, pretty and saucy as a gay young robin, went on fearlessly: "I'm an American to the backbone; I'm not going to be Japanese, or any kin to them. As long as I have to stay I'm going to pursue the heavenly scenery around here and put it on paper. Between pictures I'm going to have a good time--all I want to. Thank you for your invitation, but I have other engagements." A wilful girl in a Japanese home! My disapproval fled. Soon enough life would administer reproof and stretch out a rough hand to stay her eagerness. I need add nothing. A little depressed at losing her as a pupil and knowing that her defiance could only bring sorrow, I asked her gently, "Do you love good times?" "Do I? Well, just wait till I get started. See if the slant eyes of the inhabitants will not have another angle before I get through. They need a few lessons on the rights of girls." Neither Zura's home nor her parents seemed to have any part in her life. She told of a prank played at midnight one Hallowe'en. "But," I asked, "did your mother permit you to be out at such an hour?" "My mother!" she repeated with a light laugh. "My mother is nothing but a baby. She neither cared nor knew where I was or what I did." "What about your father?" I ventured. "I understand you and he were great friends." If I had struck the girl, the effect could not have been more certain. She arose quickly, her face aquiver with pain; she threw her hands forward as if in appeal to some unseen figure; then she moaned, "Oh! Daddy!" and she was gone. Like the stupid old meddler I was, I tore the wound afresh. I exposed the bruised place in the girl's life, but my blunder brought to light unsuspected depths. It was all so sudden that I was speechless and stared blankly at the mother, who looked helpless and bewildered. The two grandmothers had taken no part nor interest in the scene. Their faces expressed nothing. To them the girl was as incomprehensible as any jungle savage. To me she was like some wild, free bird, caught in a net, old, but very strong, for its meshes were made from a relentless law. I made my adieu with what grace I could and left. * * * * * On my way home I met Kishimoto San. Omitting details, I told him Zura declined to come to my house for lessons. "So! My granddaughter announced she will not? I shall give her a command to obey." I suggested that the girl needed time for adjustment and that he needed much patience. "Patience! With a girl?" he replied. "Ah. madam, you utter great demands of my dignity! It is like requesting me to smile sweetly when grasping the fruit of a chestnut tree which wears a prickly overcoat. But I thank your great kindness for honoring my house and my family. _Sayonara_." Deep thought held me fast as I passed through the cheerful, busy streets and up the long flight of steps that led from the highway to my home. I was too occupied mentally to pay much attention to Jane's unnumbered questions regarding my visit. Anyhow, my association with Jane had led me to discover she could talk for a very long while, and never get anywhere, not even to an end. That night she talked herself to sleep about girls and poetry and beaux, which as far as I could see had nothing to do with the matter. Had Jane been a mind reader, long ere the night had gone, she could have found strange things in my brain. Hours afterwards I sat on my balcony that overhung the soft lapping waters below, still deeply thinking. Often at the end of the day's toil I sought this retreat and refreshed my soul in the incomparable beauty of the view. In that hour the tender spirit of night folded me about. Out of the mystery of the vast blue I heard faintly a new message, potent with promise, charged with possibilities. The earth was wrapped in a robe of gray, made of mist and illusion, and its every sound was hushed by the lullaby of the night-wind. Dim, silent mountains clustered about the silver waters, as great watchmen guarding a precious jewel. Toward me across the moon-misted sea came a procession of ghostly sails. Every ship seemed to bear troops of white-robed maidens and, as they floated past, they gaily waved their hands to me, calling for comradeship and understanding, a wide-open heart, freedom to love. IV JANE GRAY BRINGS HOME A MAN During the weeks following my visit I had good reason to believe that Kishimoto San's power to command was not in working order. Zura failed to put in an appearance for her lessons, nor did any message come from the ancient house by the sea to explain the delay. I could only guess how things stood between the grandfather and the alien child. Every minute of my day was filled with classes, demands and sick babies, but between duties and when Jane was elsewhere I snatched time to inspect eagerly every visitor who clicked a sandal or shoe-heel on the rough stones of my crooked front path. I kept up the vigil for my desired pupil until I heard one of my adoring housemaids confide to the other that she had "the great grief to relate Jenkins Sensie was getting little illness in her head. She condescended to respond to the honorable knock at her door--and she a great teacher lady!" After this I transferred my observations to the crescent-shaped window at one end of my study. This ornamental opening in the wall commanded a full view of the main highway of Hijiyama. Through it I could look down far below upon the street life which was a panorama quietly intense, but gay and hopeful. The moving throng resembled a great bouquet swayed by a friendly breeze, so bright in coloring with the flower-sellers, white-garbed jinricksha men, vegetable vendors, and troops of butterfly children that any tone of softer hue attracted immediate attention. This led me to a discovery one day when I caught sight of a dark-brown velvet dress, and I knew that my promised pupil was inside it. Her shining hair made me sure, and I guessed that the young man with whom she walked was the ship's officer. The sight troubled me; but interference except by invitation was not my part. I could do nothing but wait. However, so unusual a creature as Zura Wingate could neither escape notice nor outspoken comment in a conservative, etiquette-bound old town like Hijiyama. Through my pupils, most of them boys and eager to practise their English, I heard of many startling things she did. They talked of her fearlessness; with what skill she could trim a sail; how she had raced with the crack oarsman of the Naval College; and how the aforesaid cadet was now in disgrace because he had condescended to compete with a girl. Much of the talk was of the girl's wonderful talent in putting on paper Japanese women and babies in a way so true that Chinda, a withered old man in whom the love of art was the only sign of life, said, "Except for her foreign blood the child would be a gift of the gods." I had dwelt too long in the Orient, though, to hear with much peace of mind the girl's name so freely used and I discouraged the talk. Even if I had thought it best to do so, there was no chance for a repetition of my visit to Kishimoto San's house. The demands upon my time and my resources were heavier than ever before. The winter had been bitterly cold. As the thermometer went down and somebody cornered the supply of sweet potatoes, the price of rice soared till there seemed nothing left to sustain the working people except the scent of the early plum flowers that flourished in the poorer districts. Sheltered by a great mountain from the keen winds, they thrust their pink blossoms through the covering of snow and cheered the beauty-loving people to much silent endurance. The plum tree was almost an object of worship in this part of the Empire. It stood for bravery and loyalty in the face of disaster, but as one tottering old woman put it, as she went down on her knees begging food for her grandbabies, "The Ume Ke makes me suffer great shame for my weakness. It gives joy to weary eyes, courage to fainting heart, but no food for babies." In the outlying districts many children on their way to school fainted for want of food; hospitals were full of the half-starved; police stations were crowded with the desperate; and temples were packed with petitioners beseeching the gods. It was near the holidays. My pupil teachers and helpers worked extra hours and pinched from their scant savings that those they could reach might not have a hungry Christmas. They put together the price of their gifts to each other and bought rice. In gay little groups they went from door to door and gathered up twenty feeble old women, brought them to my house and feasted them to the utmost. Hardly a day passed without some new and unusual demand, until learning to stand up and sit down at the same time was almost a necessity. Had my own life lacked absorbing interest, Jane Gray's activities would have furnished an inexhaustible supply. As she grew stronger and could come and go at her pleasure, her unexpectedness upset my systematic household to the point of confusion. She supplied untold excitement to Pine Tree and Maple Leaf, the two serving maids earning an education by service, and drove old Ishi the gardener to tearful protest. "Miss Jaygray dangerful girl. She boldly confisteal a dimension of flower house and request strange demons to roost on premises." This all came about because my fireside companion was a born collector. Not of any reasonable thing like stamps or butterflies, but of stray animals and wandering humans. Her affections embraced every created thing that came out of the ark, including all the descendants of Mr. and Mrs. Noah. A choice spot in my beloved garden, which was also Ishi's heaven, housed a family of weather-beaten world-weary cats, three chattering monkeys, that made love to Jane and hideous faces at everybody else, a parrakeet and a blind pup. If the collection fell short in quality, it abounded in variety. On one occasion she brought home two ragged and hungry American sailors, and it required military tactics to piece out the "left-over" lunch for them. Another time she shared her room with a poor creature who had been a pretty woman, now seeking shelter till her transportation could be secured. Late one snowy night Jane came stumbling in weighted with an extra bundle. Tenderly unwrapping the covering she disclosed a half-starved baby. That day she had gone to a distant part of the city to assist in organizing a soup kitchen, and a Bible class. On her way home she heard a feeble cry coming from a ditch. She located a bundle of rags, and found a bit of discarded humanity. "Isn't it sweet?" murmured the little missionary as she laid the weakling before the fire and fed it barley water with an ink dropper. "I'm going to keep it for my very own. I've always wanted one," she announced joyfully. "Well, you just won't do anything of the kind," was my firm conclusion. I had no wish to be unkind, but repression was the only course left. I loved children, as I loved flowers, but it was impossible to inflate another figure for expense. "It's all we can do to support that menagerie in the garden without starting an orphan asylum. Babies, as well as cats and dogs, cost money." "Yes, yes, I know, Miss Jenkins," replied my companion eagerly, her face bright with some inner sunbeam of hope, "but wait till I tell you of a darling plan. The other day I saw the nicest sign over a door. It said 'Moderated and modified milk for babies and small animals.' It's tin, the milk I mean, and that is what I am going to feed them on. It's so filling." "Beautifully simple, and tin milk must be so nourishing, is it not?" I snapped, ruffled by Miss Gray's never-defeated hopefulness. "Of course the kind gentleman who keeps this magic food, stands at the door and hands it out by the bucketful." That was before I learned that sarcasm could no more pierce Jane's optimism, than a hair would cut a diamond. "No," she answered sweetly, "he sits on the floor, and takes cans from a box. He gets money for it, but I am going to make a grand bargain with him. I am going to trade him a package of tracts and that cunning parrakeet for milk." "How do you know he wants parrots or tracts?" I said. "Oh, yes, he does. I talked to him. He showed me a faded old tract he had been reading every day for twenty years. Now his eyes are failing. He can get his customers to read a new one to him. He wants the bird for a spot of color as it grows darker. Please, dear Miss Jenkins, let me keep the baby!" Of course I was weak enough to give in. Jane made her bargain and for a month the little stray stayed with us. Then one glorious dawn the tiny creature smiled as only a baby can, and gave up the struggle. In a corner of the garden, where the pigeons are ever cooing, we made a small mound. To this good day Ishi declares the children's god Jizo comes every night to take the child away, but cannot because it lies in a Christian grave, and that is why he keeps the spot smothered in flowers. Not in the least discouraged by death or desertion of her protégés, Jane Gray continued to bring things home, and one day she burst into the room calling, "Oh, Jenkins San! Come quick! See what I have found." Her find proved to be a youthful American about twenty-four, whom she introduced as Page Hanaford. From the moment the tall young man stood before me, hat in hand, a wistful something in his gray eyes, I had to crush a sudden desire to lay my hand on his shoulder and call him son. It would have been against my principles to be so outspokenly sentimental, but his light hair waved back from a boyish face pallid with illness and the playful curve of his mouth touched me. If I had been Jane Gray I should have cried over him. From the forced smile to the button hanging loose on his vest there was a silent appeal. All the mother in me was aroused and mentally I had to give myself a good slap to meet the situation with dignity. I asked the young man to come into the sitting-room and we soon heard the story he had to tell. He said his home had been in Texas. His father, an oil operator and supposed to be very rich, died a bankrupt. He was the only member of the family left, and he had recently started to the Far East to begin making his fortune. By chance he had drifted into Hijiyama. He understood there was a demand for teachers here. He was quite sure he could teach; but he would have to go slow at first, for he was just recovering from a slight illness. "Have you been ill a long time?" I asked, striving to keep my fast rising sympathy in hand. "Y-es; no," was the uncertain reply. "You see, I don't quite remember. Time seems to have run away from me." "Were you ill before you left America, or after you sailed?" I inquired with increasing interest. The boy paled, flushed, then stammered out his answer. "I--I--I'm sorry, but really I can't tell you. The beastly thing seems to have left me a bit hazy." A bit hazy indeed! It was as plain as the marks of his severe illness that he was evading my question. His hands trembled so he could hardly hold the cup of tea I gave him, so I pursued my inquiries no further. As I was hostess to my guests, whoever they might be, I asked neither for credentials nor the right to judge them, for their temptations had not been mine. After a long pause he slowly tried again to tell his story. "I was seeking employment when Miss Gray found me. My! but I was glad to see some one who seemed like home. The way she walked right up to me and said, 'Why, howdy do. I'm glad to see you. Now come right up to the "Misty Star" with me,' I tell you it made my heart thump. Didn't know whether the Misty Star was a balloon or a planet; didn't care much. Miss Gray was so kind and I was tired. Hunting a job in an unknown language is rather discouraging." "Discouraged!" laughed Jane, poking up the fire and arranging a big chair in which she put Mr. Hanaford, at the same time stuffing a pillow behind his back. "The idea of being discouraged when the world is full of poetry and love staring you right in the face! Besides, there is always hope blooming everywhere like a dield full of faisies." Our visitor's face crinkled with suppressed amusement at the little lady's funny mixture of words and he asked, "Are you never discouraged?" "Goodness me, no! Not now. Every time I see a blue thought sticking its head around the corner, I begin to sing the long meter doxology. My music sends it flying. I can't afford to be discouraged. You see, I'm pledged to help a lot of unfortunate friends. I haven't a cent of money and every time I let the teeniest little discouragement show its face, it would surely knock a plank out of the hospital I'm going to build for them." "Build a hospital without money?" said he. "If you are that kind of a magician, perhaps you can tell me where I can find so many students that riches will pour in upon me?" "Yes, indeed, I can," assented Miss Gray generously. "The pupils are sure, if the pay isn't. Miss Jenkins can find you a barrelful." The young man turned to me. "A baker's dozen would do to start with. Would you be so kind? I need them very much. I must have work." His manner was so earnest and appealing, his need so evident that I was ready to turn over to him every student on my list, if that were the thing necessary to enable him to earn a living and get a new grip on life. There were more than enough pupils to go around, and I was glad to put away my work and give the afternoon to planning for a place in which to house Mr. Hanaford and his going-to-be-pupils. Our guest entered into all our suggestions eagerly. The environment of our simple home, the ministrations of motherly hands touched hidden chords. He did not hide his enjoyment, but talked well and entertainingly of everything--except himself. At times he was boyishly gay; then, seemingly without cause, the expectant look of his eyes would fade into one of bewildered confusion and he would sit in silence. I hoped it was the effect of his illness. Jane was happier over this last addition to her collection than any previous specimen. When at last he rose reluctantly and said he must be going, she anxiously inquired if he would be sure to come back to-morrow and the day after. "Why, dear lady, you are very kind! Sure there will be no risk of wearing out a welcome? And I have no letter of introduction." "You can't even dent the welcome at Miss Jenkins's house. It has been forged with kindness and polished with love, and we wouldn't have time to read a letter of introduction if you had one. Please come right away." Our visitor stood voicing his thanks and bidding us adieu when the tuneful gong at the front door was struck by no uncertain hand. The setting sun wrapped "The House of the Misty Star" in a veil of purple, shot with pink. The subdued radiance crept into the room and covered its shabbiness with a soft glory, the paper door slid open and, framed in the tender twilight, stood Zura Wingate. "I've come--" she began, then stopped. The unfinished speech still parting her lips, with hair wind-blown and face aglow, she gazed in surprise at Page Hanaford, and he, bending slightly forward, gazed back at the girl, who radiated youth and all its glorious freedom in every movement. The silence was brief, but intense. Then Jane Gray gave vent to a long ecstatic "Oh-h-h-h!" I made haste to welcome and introduce Zura. "I can't stop," she said when I offered her a chair and refreshment; and she added rather breathlessly: "I started for this house at noon; side-tracked and went sailing. Just come to say thank you very much, but I don't care for any lessons in English or manners, and I won't have any kind old grandpa interfering with my affairs. Now I must hustle. If I don't, there'll be an uprising of my ancestors. Good-by." She went as suddenly as she had come. It was as though a wild sea-bird had swept through the room, leaving us startled, but refreshed. From the shadows near the door came Page Hanaford's half-humorous query, "Do these visions have a habit of appearing in your doorway, Miss Jenkins, or how much of what I saw was real?" "Zura Wingate is the realest girl I know, Mr. Hanaford." He listened intently to the short history of the girl I gave him, made no comment, asked no questions, but said good-night very gently and went out into the dusk. Jane stood looking into the fire. Tightly clasping her hands across her thin chest and closing her eyes, she murmured delightedly, "Oh, the sweet darlings!" I did not ask whether she referred to our late visitors or something in her menagerie. I was in a whirl of thought myself. I had lost a pupil; my purse was leaner than ever, my responsibilities heavier; yet intangible joys were storming my old heart, and it was athrill with visions of youth and hope and love, although I saw them through windows doubly barred and locked. V A CALL AND AN INVITATION The weeks that followed were happy ones in "The House of the Misty Star." Page Hanaford dropped in frequently after supper, and my liking for the boy grew stronger with each visit. His good breeding and gentle rearing were as innate as the brightness of his eyes; and no less evident was his sore need of companionship, though when he talked it was on diversified subjects, never personal ones. If the time between visits were longer than I thought it should be, I invented excuses and sent for him. I asked little favors of him which necessitated his coming to my house; then I asked more, which kept him. Thus it was that many delightful hours were spent in the cozy, cheerful living-room of the little house perched high upon the hill. In one shadowy corner Jane Gray usually sat, busy with her endless knitting of bibs for babies. Close beside her the maids, Pine Tree and Maple Leaf, looked up from their seats upon the floor, intent on every movement of her flying fingers that they too might quickly learn and help to "bib" the small citizens of their country. From my place on one side of the reading lamp I could look, unobserved, at Page Hanaford on the other side, as he sat in the deep chair and stretched his long limbs toward the glowing grate stove, while he read to us tales of travel and fiction. Jane said they were as delightful as his voice. I was often too busy studying the boy to give much heed to his reading, but when he spoke it was a different matter. His familiarity with the remote places of the world, centers of commerce, and the names of men high in affairs, made me wonder and wonder again what had led him to choose for advance in fortune this Buddhist stronghold of moats and medieval castles, so limited in possibilities, so far from contact with foreign things. The teaching of English, as I had good reason to know, yielded many a hearty laugh, but a scant living. There was no other opening here for Europeans. Every time I saw Page, the more certain I was, not only of his ability, but of his past experience in bigger things. The inconsistencies of his story began to irritate me like the pricking of a pin which the presence of company forbade my removing. However, I did not question him openly; I tried not to do so in my heart. I found for him more students as well as excuses to mend his clothes and have him with us. I scolded him for taking cold, filled him up with stews, brews, and tonics, and with Jane as chief enthusiast--she had fallen an easy victim--we managed to make something of a home life for him. The boy could not hide his pleasure in our little parties; but it was with protest that he accepted so much waiting on and coddling. He was always deferential, but delighted in gently laughing at Jane and telling me stories that could not happen out of a book. Sometimes his spirits ran high and found expression in song or a whistled tune. When there was a sudden knock or when he was definitely questioned, there was something in his attitude which I would have named fear, had not every line in his lean, muscular body contradicted the suggestion. It had not happened very often, but when it did, a nameless something seemed to cover us, and in passing, left a shadow which turned our happy evenings cold and bleak. It was the custom for every member of my household to assemble in the living-room after supper for evening prayer. Jane and I, the cook, and the two little maids were there because we found comfort and joy. Old Ishi, the gardener, attended because he hoped to discover the witch that made the music inside the baby organ. At the same time he propitiated the foreigner's god, though he kept on the good side of his own deities by going immediately afterwards to offer apology and incense at the temple. Often Page Hanaford came in at this hour and quietly joined us. It was an incongruous group, but touching with one accord the border of holier things, banished differences of creed and race and cemented a bond of friendship. One evening after the service Jane--taking the maids and a heaped-up basket--went to answer a prayer for daily bread she had overheard coming from a hut that day. Page and I settled down for a long, pleasant evening, he with his pipe and book, I with a pile of English compositions to be corrected. "Change" was the subject of the first one I picked up, and I read the opening paragraph aloud: "The seasons change from one to the other without fuss or feather and obey the laws of nature. All mens change from one thing to other by spontaneous combustion and obey the universal laws of God." My companion was still laughing at this remarkable statement and I puzzling over its meaning when Kishimoto San was announced. I found a possible translation of the sentence in his appearance. "Spontaneous combustion" nearly fitted the state of mind he disclosed to me. The change in him was startling. I had only seen the school superintendent outside his home. In times of difficulty when his will could not prevail, which was seldom, he dismissed the matter at once, and found refuge in that fatalistic word "Shikataganai" (it can't be helped). But now his fort of stoicism was being besieged, and the walls breached by a girl-child in his home, who was proving a redoubtable foe to his will and his calm, for of course the trouble was Zura. I learned this after he had finished acknowledging his introduction to Page. The bowing, bending, and indrawing of breath, demanded by this ceremony, took time. But it had to be. Then I asked after the general prosperity of his ancestors, the health of his relatives, finally working my way down to Zura. [Illustration: The bowing, bending, and indrawing of breath] Ordinarily Kishimoto San would have scorned to mention his affairs before a stranger, but his world of tradition was upside down. In his haste to right it he broke other laws of convention. Page had withdrawn into the shadow of the window seat after the introduction, but listened intently to the conversation and soon caught the drift of it. From accounts the situation between Kishimoto San and his granddaughter was not a happy one. The passing weeks had not brought reconciliation to them nor to the conditions. It had come almost to open warfare. "And," declared the troubled man, "if she does not render obedience I will reduce her to bread and water, and subject her to a lonely place, till she comprehends who is the master and acknowledges filial piety." I protested that such a measure would only urge to desperation a girl of Zura's temperament and that, to my mind, people could not be made good by law, but by love. The master of many women looked at me pityingly. "Madam, would you condescend to inform my ignorance how love is joined to obedience? Speaks the one great book of this land written for the guidance of women, 'The lifelong duty of women is obedience. Seeing that it is a girl's destiny on reaching womanhood to go to a new home and live in submission to her mother-in-law, it is incumbent upon her to reverence her parents' and elders' instruction at the peril of her life.'" "But," I remarked, "there is something like two centuries between your granddaughter and this unreasonable book. Its antiquated laws are as withered as the dead needles of a pine tree. Any one reading it would know that when old man Kaibara wrote it he was not feeling well or had quarreled with his cook." In most things Kishimoto San was just; in many things he was kind. But he was as utterly devoid of humor as a pumpkin is of champagne. Without a flicker he went on. "Dead these sacred laws may be in practice, but the great spirit of them must live, else man in this land will cease to be master in his own house; the peace of our homes will pass. Also, does not your own holy book write plainly on this subject of obedience of women and children?" Kishimoto San was a good fighter for what he believed was right, and as a warrior for his cause he had armed himself in every possible way. He had a passable knowledge of English and an amazing familiarity with the Scriptures. He also possessed a knack of interpreting any phase of it to strengthen the argument from his standpoint. But I, too, could fight for ideals; love of freedom and the divine right of the individual were themes as dear to me as they were hateful to Kishimoto San. It had occurred many times before, and we always argued in a circular process. Neither of us had ever given in. But this night Kishimoto San gave me as a last shot: "The confusion of your religion is, it boasts only one God and numberless creeds. Each creed claims superiority. This brings inharmony and causes Christians to snap at each other like a pack of wolves. We have many gods and only one creed. We have knowledge and enlightenment which finally lead to Nirvana." I could always let my friend have the last word but one. I now asked him if he could deny the enlightenment of which he boasted led as often to despair as it did to Nirvana. If his knowledge were so all-inclusive, why had it failed to suggest some path up or down which he could peacefully lead Zura Wingate? Before he could answer I offered him a cup of tea, hoping it would cool him off, and asked him to tell me his special grievance. He said it was the custom in his house for each member of the family to go before the house-shrine and, kneeling, bow the head to the floor three times. Zura had refused to approach the spot and, when he insisted, instead of bowing she had looked straight at the god and contorted her face till it looked like an Oni (a demon). It was most dangerous. The gods would surely avenge such disrespect. It seemed incredible that keen intelligence and silly superstition could be such close neighbors in the same brain, for I knew Kishimoto San to be an honest man. He not only lived what he believed, he insisted on others believing all that he lived. He continued his story--the girl not only refused to come to me for English lessons, but declined to go for her lessons in Japanese etiquette, necessary to fit her for her destiny as a wife. She absented herself from the house a whole day at a time. When she returned she said, without the slightest shame, that she had been racing with the naval cadets, or else had been for a picnic with the young officer from the ship. Like a chattering monkey she would relate what had been done or said. At least, thought I, the girl makes no secret of her reckless doings. She is open and honest about it. I said as much to my visitor. He was quietly savage. "Honest! Open you name it! There is but one definition for it. Immodesty! In a young girl that is deadlier than impiety. It is the wild blood of her father," he ended sadly. I could have added, "Dashed with a full measure of grandpa's stubbornness." But I was truly sorry for Kishimoto San. His trouble was genuine. It was no small thing to be compelled to shoulder a problem begun in a foreign land, complicated by influences far removed from his understanding, then thrust upon him for solution. He was a faithful adherent of the old system where individuality counted for nothing and a woman for less. To his idea the salvation of a girl depended on her submission to the rules laid down by his ancestors for the women of his house. He was an ardent Buddhist and under old conditions its teachings had answered to his every need. But both law and religion failed him when it came to dealing with this child who had come to him from a free land across the sea and whose will had the same adamant quality as his own. While I was turning over in my mind how I should help either the girl or the man, I ventured to change the subject by consulting Kishimoto San upon important school matters. The effort was useless. His mind stuck as fast to his worries as a wooden shoe in spring mud. Not least among his vexations was the difficulty he would have in marrying Zura off. If she failed in filial piety and obedience to him, how could she ever learn that most needful lesson of abandoning herself to the direction of her mother-in-law? The picture of Zura Wingate, whose early training had been free and unrestrained, being brought to order by a Japanese mother-in-law was almost too much for my gravity. It would be like a big black beetle ordering the life of a butterfly. Not without a struggle the conservative grandfather acknowledged that his system had failed. For the first time since I had known him Kishimoto San, with genuine humility, appealed for help. "Madam, my granddaughter is like new machineries. The complexities of her conduct causes my mind to suffer confusion of many strange thought. Condescend to extend to me the help of your great knowledge relating to girls reared with your flag of freedom." I had always thought my ignorance on the subject as deep as a cave. I would begin at once to excavate my soul in search of that "great knowledge." I proceeded a little loftily: "Oh, Kishimoto San, I am sure there is a way to right things. The fault lies in the fact that Zura and you do not understand each other. Suppose you permit her to come to me for a little visit without study. It would give us great pleasure and I could learn to know her better." Pushing aside all hesitation and the apologies that etiquette required on such occasions, greatly relieved, he quickly accepted my invitation. "You do my house great honor to assume the mystery of Zura's conduct. I give you most honorable thanks." When he said good-night the look on his face suggested that a smile might penetrate the gloom, if he lived long enough. * * * * * "By Jove! is that what the women of this country have to go up against?" Page asked when the door had closed behind Kishimoto San. "A very small part of them must do so, Mr. Hanaford. It is not so hard for the women born to it, as they know their fate and can accept it from babyhood. The suffering falls upon the alien, who runs afoul of their customs, especially one who has known the delight of liberty." "Liberty!" repeated Page, gazing out of the window on the thousands of lights below, which were fluttering in the velvety darkness like a vast army of fireflies. "Without it, what is life to the smallest--moth!" VI ZURA WINGATE'S VISIT These were the days I kept an eagle eye on Jane Gray. She grew steadily stronger and her activities resembled a hive of bees. Unless she was carefully observed and brought to order, her allowance of milk and part of her food went to some child or stray beggar, waiting outside the lodge gates. She talked incessantly and confidently of the hospital she intended to build in the Quarters. She had not a sen and I had less. With the grocery bill unpaid, her cheerful assurance sometimes provoked me. "Goodness, Jane, you haven't enough to buy even one shingle for a hospital! To hear you talk one would think the National Bank was at your command." "But, Miss Jenkins," she said, smiling, "we are not going to use shingles for the roof, but straw; and I have something stronger than a national bank. You see, I was just born hoping. I know some of the sweetest people at home. I've written nearly one thousand letters, telling them all about my dear friends in the Quarters." So that's where all the stamps went that she bought with the money I gave her for winter clothes! I was taking Jane to task for this when a note arrived from Zura. I had been almost sure that my invitation would meet the same fate as the English lessons. My fears disappeared when I opened the missive. It read as follows: Dear Miss Jenkins: Thank you. Never did like to study in vacation, but if it is plain visiting I'll be delighted, for I'm starving. Have lived so long on rice and raw fish I feel like an Irish stew. You'll surely be shocked at what I can do to ham and eggs and hot biscuit! I'll float in about Thursday. Hungrily yours, ZURA WINGATE. When I told my companion that Zura was coming to make us a little visit, she was preparing to start for her work. She had just tied a bright green veil over her hat. Failing in its mission as trimming, the chiffon dropped forward in reckless folds almost covering her face; it gave her a dissipated look as she hurried about, gathering up her things, eager to be gone. But I was seeking information and detained her. "Jane," I asked, "what do young girls in our country like best?" "Boys and tolu," was the astonishing reply. The twinkle in her one visible eye increased to enough for two when I said with quite a good deal of dignity that, while I had some idea what boys were, I knew nothing of the other article she mentioned. "Oh, don't you really know what tolu is? It's a kind of rubber and girls like to chew it." "American girls chew! Why, the thing is impossible," I cried, pained to have an ideal shattered. "Keep calm, Miss Jenkins, this is a different kind of chew from the one you are thinking about. It isn't pretty, but it won't hurt them, any more than a peck of chocolates and, tolu or no tolu, in all the world there isn't anything dearer than young American girls. They are so fluffy and bossy and sweet, and they do make the darlingest mamas." Jane waited for some comment from me. Seeing I had none to make, she said, "Well, there aren't any boys for Zura to play with, and no tolu this side of San Francisco." Then, brightening with sudden inspiration, she exclaimed, "But I tell you what: wait till I take this basket down to Omoto's home and I'll run right back and make some bear and tiger cookies and gingerbread Johnnies. Children adore them." "What is the matter now down at Omoto's house?" "Oh, nothing much. He's in jail and his wife simply cannot work out in the field to-day. She has a brand-new pair of the sweetest twins, and a headache besides." Even after Jane departed I did some hard thinking how I was to entertain so youthful a visitor as Zura. Inside our simple home there was nothing especially beautiful, and my companion had never mentioned that she ever found me amusing. Outside fore and aft there was a view which brought rapture to all beholders and peace to many troubled souls. I was not sure how a wild young maid would thrive on views. From the moment Zura entered the house and I caught sight of her face as she looked at my garden through the glassed-in end of the sitting-room, my fears disappeared like mist before a breeze. A bit of her soul was in her eyes and, when she asked for a nearer view, I put down my work and led her through the carved gates into the ancient glory which was not only the garden of my house, but the garden of my soul. We passed a moss-grown shrine where a quaint old image looked out across the lake rimmed with flaming azaleas, and on its waters a family of long-legged cranes consulted with each other. Our way led over a bridge with a humped-up back and along a little path for one, then across a bank of ferns and into the tangle of bamboo all silvery with the sunshine. At the beginning of our walk my guest's conversation was of the many happy nothings I suppose most girls indulge in, but as we went farther she had less to say. Her eyes grew wider and darker as the beauty of the place pressed in upon her. We found a seat arched over with a blossoming vine and sat down for rest. Zura was quiet and, finding she avoided every allusion to home, I drifted into telling her a bit of the garden's history--its unknown age, the real princes and princesses who in the long ago had trodden its crooked paths. Legend said that so great was their love for it their spirits refused to abide in Nirvana and came to dwell in the depths of the dim old garden. I told her the spot had been my play place, my haven of rest for thirty years, and how for want of company I had peopled it with lords and ladies of my fancy. Armored knights and dark-haired dames of my imagination had lived and laughed and loved in the shadows of its soft beauty. Anxious to entertain and pleased to have an audience, I opened wider the doors to my sentimental self than I really intended. I went from story to story till the air was filled with the sweetness of romance and poetry. In the midst of a wondrous love legend a noise, sudden but suppressed, stopped me short. I looked at the girl. She was shaking with laughter. When I asked why, she managed to gasp, "Oh, but you're an old softy!" It was disrespectful, but it was also true and, though I felt as if a hot wind had been blowing on my face, there was such a note of comradeship in her voice that it cheered me to the point of joining in her merriment. Our laugh seemed to sweep away many of the years that stood between us and the old thrill of anticipation passed through me. We found many other things to talk about, for I searched every crook and cranny of my old brain for bits of any sort with which to interest her. The last turn in the path leading back to the house found us friendly and with a taste or two in common. Once, seeing something near by she wanted to sketch, she whispered to me as familiarly as if I were the same age, "For the love of Mike! hold my hat while I put that on paper." I had no acquaintance with "Mike" and she was bareheaded, but so infectious was her eagerness that I felt about twenty. What she wanted to sketch was only a small girl in a gay kimono and a big red umbrella, but the tiny mite made a vivid spot of color as she stood motionless to watch a great brown moth hovering over a bed of iris. Before I could explain that the child was a waif temporarily housed with me, shy and easily frightened, Zura whipped from somewhere out of the mysteries of a tight dress a pad and pencil and, with something like magic, the lines of the little maid's figure and face were transferred to the white sheet. "How Daddy would have loved her," said Zura, softly, as she covered her work. I was silent. Later my guest and I went into the house and I showed her my treasures. They were few, but precious in their way: Some rare old prints, a piece of ivory, and an old jewelry box of gold lacquer, all from grateful pupils. Zura's appreciation of the artistic side of her mother's country was keen. In connection with it she spoke of her father's great gift and how he had begun teaching her to paint when he had to tie her to a chair to steady her and almost before her hand was big enough to hold a brush. She referred to their close companionship. Mother wanted to rest very often and seldom joined them. Father and daughter would prepare their own lunch and go for a long day's tramping and sketching. Once they were gone for a week and slept out under the trees. Daddy was the jolliest chum and always let her do as she pleased. He trusted her and never had corrected her. Her voice was low and sweet as she dwelt upon the memories of her father, and when I saw her round white throat contract with the effort for control, I found something else to talk about. Altogether it was a smooth day and to me a very happy one. Jane had been absent since noon. Her occupations were unquestioned, but when she joined us at the evening dinner it was good to see how her tired face brightened at Zura's girlish way of telling things. Our guest thanked Jane for the cakes. Said she simply adored bear and tiger cookies, and as for gingerbread Johnnies she couldn't live without them. "It was so good of you to think of me," she told Jane. "Not at all," replied Miss Gray. "I was as glad to make them as I am to have you with us. Two lone women in one house are bound to get stale. We need young sweet things about to keep us enthusiastic and poetical." At this Zura's eyes sparkled, but the sincerity of Jane's welcome appealed to her better part and she suppressed a laugh. * * * * * My house possesses one small guest-room. Without mentioning it, I disposed of a few curios and with the proceeds I ransacked the shops for things suitable for girls. My morning had been spent in arranging my purchases. It was a very sweet moment to me when, after I had ushered in my guest, she stood for a second taking it all in; then putting out her hand she said, "It's like a picture and you are very kind." Afterwards Jane Gray, looking like a trousered ghost in her outdoor sleeping garments, crept into my study and interrupted the work I was trying to make up. "Oh, Miss Jenkins," she whispered mysteriously, "I've just thought it all out--a way to make everybody happy, I mean. Wouldn't it be truly splendid if dear Page Hanaford and Zura were to fall in love? It's a grand idea. She has the mares and anners of a duchess and so has he." Excitement invariably twisted Jane's tongue. "For Heaven's sake, Jane, do you mean airs and manners?" "Yes, that's what I said," went on Jane undisturbed. "And oh! can you think of anything more sweetly romantic?" I laid down my pen and asked Miss Gray to look me straight in the eyes. Then I put the question to her: "Will you tell me what on earth romance, sweet or otherwise, has to do with a young fellow struggling not only with poverty, but with something that looks like mystery, and a wild, untamed, wilful girl?" To which my companion replied: "But just think what love would do to them both!" I guess the difference in Jane's sentiment and mine is the same as between a soft-shell crab and a hard-shell one. VII AN INTERRUPTED DINNER The next two days passed happily, if a little giddily, and Jane and I commanded every resource to entertain our guest. Zura saw and responded like a watch-spring suddenly released. She found in two simple old women perfect subjects on which to vent her long-suppressed spirits. She entered into the activities of the household with such amazing zest, it seemed as if we were playing kitchen furniture. While it surprised me how one young girl could so disturb regular working hours and get things generally a-flutter, I could easily see that all she needed was a chance to be herself. That was the point that Kishimoto had to understand and would not. "Please let me be Santa Claus this time, and give out the cod liver oil and the milk and the bibs to the babies," Zura begged one day when these articles were to be distributed; "and mayn't I keep the kiddies for just a little while to play with?" An hour later, attracted by much noise, I walked out into the garden and saw Zura with a clean, but much-patched baby on her back, one in each arm, and a half-dozen trailing behind. The game was "Here we go 'round the mulberry bush," sung in English and played in Japanese. "Oh, Miss Jenkins," cried the merry leader, "come quick. We need a bush and you will make such a nice fat one." Before I knew what was happening I was drawn into the mad frolic, reckless of all the work piled up on my desk in the study. I thought maybe I was growing feeble-minded, but the way to it was delightful, if foolish. * * * * * Strangely enough, during this time Page Hanaford did not appear. We explained to Zura that he was present the day she made her brief call. "Oh! do you mean the day I flew into the 'Misty Star' and right out again? Yes, I remember his outlines. Where did you find him? Looked more like a sure-enough man than anything I've seen in Japan." Jane monopolized the talk at breakfast that morning, describing to Zura the good looks of Page Hanaford and the charm of his romantic story. Zura seemed more amused by Jane's manner and the funny twist in her tongue than impressed by her description. Miss Gray finally turned to me and urged once again, "Do let's have him to-night. I'll get the dinner." Zura clapped her hands and said eagerly, "Oh, let's do! I haven't been to a party in a century. If Miss Gray will be the 'chefess,' I'll be assistant potato peeler. I can make the best salad. It's called 'Salade de la Marquise de Chateaubriand'; but it won't hurt you. It is only peanuts and cabbage. Daddy and I used to feast on it once a week." There was no resisting her enthusiasm, and I sent a note to Page Hanaford asking him to come that evening for dinner. After all there was nothing I could label a reason why he and Zura should not meet. Domesticity was the last thing anybody would suspect a characteristic of either Jane or Zura. Not knowing what the result would be, I gave the cook a holiday and turned the incongruous pair loose to do as they pleased in kitchen and dining-room. All the afternoon I was busy with my writing, but from time to time there penetrated through the closed doors of my study sounds of swift-moving feet and gay laughter. The old house seemed infected with youth. Contact with it was sweet. Some of my dreams were coming true. I found myself repeating a long-forgotten poem as I took up another stupid report. I even hummed a tune, something I had not done in twenty years. Just before the dinner hour Jane and Zura came into the living-room. Evidently their work in a common cause put them on the friendliest terms. They were arm in arm, and I knew by the set of Jane's collar and the rose in her hair that young and skilful hands had been at work. Zura's white dress was dainty enough, but it seemed to melt into nothing about the neck and sleeves. It must have been brought from America, as I had seen none like it. Nobody could deny, however, that with her face, all aglow beneath her lustrous hair, she was a goodly sight for young and old. "Isn't she the very sweetest thing?" asked Jane as they approached, adding wistfully, "But I truly wish her dear nose didn't tilt up!" Zura with stern, forbidding brows, but laughing eyes, rebuked the wisher. "See here, Miss Jinny Gray, that is the only nose I have, if it is sudden. I've worked hard to coax it in the straight and narrow path. I've even slept on my face for a week at a time." Then with swift, dramatic gestures as the gong sounded at the entrance-door, she whispered, "Hush! The man of mystery doth appear!" Page Hanaford came in. All our tempting tonics and special dishes had failed to curve the angles in the boy's face and body. He still looked ill. The brooding sadness that frequently overshadowed his lighter moods troubled me. When he caught sight of Zura, his alertness of manner was pleasing and the kind of joy-look in his eyes did me good. I guessed he was downright glad to see something youthful hovering around the "Misty Star." I was glad too, but the situation did not seem to call for hurrahs and fireworks. Two young American people meeting, shaking hands, and courteously greeting each other was an unusual sight to me, but after all a natural one. Page said he had been obliged to forego the pleasure of seeing us, as he had been very busy organizing his new classes. He was glad to come again. We went at once to dinner. I wondered from where the new "chefess" and her assistant "potato peeler" had procured the materials necessary to so pretentious a meal. Though surprised, I soon learned that Jane Gray was mistress of the art of making something beautiful out of nothing. We sat down to the softly-lighted table. The china was old and somewhat chipped, but on its white background a design in tender blue just matched the fresh larkspur used for table decorations. With the bringing in of each dish prepared by the new cooks the little party grew gayer and friendlier. The quaint old dining-room had never witnessed festivities like these. In the long ago it served as the audience chamber of a Daimyo's 'Besso' or play place. It was here that the feudal lord had held council of war and state. The walls had never before echoed the laughter of joyous youth. Now even the grotesque figures on the carved beams seemed to awaken from a long sleep and give back smile for smile. Pine Tree and Maple Leaf, gay in holiday dress, usually so precise and formal, fluttered about like distracted butterflies as they served the dinner, often stopping to hide their faces in the long sleeves when Zura honored them with side remarks for, of course, she was the source of all the merriment, the life of the party. She also reduced Jane to a state of helpless laughter. I felt the years dropping away from me, and the face of the boy whom I had learned to love was less strained and brighter than I had ever seen it. He said little at first, but his eyes smiled, and he listened eagerly to all Zura's chatter and seemed to be hearing once again of joys dreamed of and a world lost to him. I knew myself growing happier every minute. The after-dinner coffee was not necessary to make, somewhere near my heart, little thrills jump up and down, like corn in a hot popper. I was getting what my soul craved--companionship, contact with life, and a glimpse into the doings of youth's magic years. We soon returned to the living-room. Page prepared to smoke, and we settled down to a friendly, intimate time. The talk turned to school. Jane had been telling of a Japanese woman, who, handicapped by the loss of an arm, and no longer being useful in field work, trudged every morning eight miles to school where she could learn sewing so as to help husband and babies. "Well!" remarked Zura doubtingly. "I can't sew with two hands, and my tongue thrown in. I do not see how she manipulates anything so contrary as a needle, single-fisted." "Oh! my dear," said Jane, "you can believe with one hand just as hard as you can with two. It's hoping with all your might, while one is doing, that makes our dreams come true. I'm afraid you never really loved school." "Oh, yes, I did in spots," she said. "Especially if there were a fight on--I mean--a contest. I could bear with cheerful resignation all the V.P's., the B.B's., and chilly zeros they tagged on to my deportment, but I would have worked myself into a family skeleton, before I would permit another girl to outclass me in a test exam! I could forgive the intellectual her sunset hair, but her Grecian nose--never!" The methods employed by the two contestants as related by Zura had called forth my unqualified sympathy for the teacher when once again the gong on my front-door rang out and a voice was heard asking for Miss Wingate. Zura jumped up from her seat and greeted the visitor with frank delight. "Oh!" she said, "it's Pinkey Chalmers! Who'd believe it! Hello, Pinkey! My! but it is good to see somebody from home." There was ushered into the room a well nourished looking chap, who greeted Zura by her first name familiarly. I did not need to be told that he was the young man with whom she had been seen on the highway. He was introduced to me as Mr. Tom Chalmers; I was told he had earned his nickname, "Pinkey," by contracting the pink-shirt habit. The youth was carelessly courteous and very sure of himself. My impression was that he had seen too much of the world and not enough of his mother. He declined my invitation to dine, saying he had had late tea before he left the ship which was coaling in a nearby port. "I started early," he went on, "but maybe you think I didn't have a great old time finding this place. You said in your note, Zura, it was the 'Misty Star' at the top of the hill. Before I reached here I thought it must be the last stopping-place in the Milky Way. Climbing up those steps was something awful." Mr. Chalmers mopped his rosy brow, but later conversation proved his sensitiveness to feminine beauty quite overbalanced his physical exhaustion, as on the way many pretty girls peeped out from behind paper doors. Page kept in the background, plainly arranging a mode of escape. He soon excused himself on the plea of work, saying as he left, "I'll drop in some time to-morrow for the book. You'll find it by then." With the look of a disappointed child on her face, Jane called to her little attendants, went to her room and resumed her knitting. The unbidden guest was gaiety itself, and there was no denying the genuine pleasure of the girl. As the night was warm and glorious, I suggested that Zura and her guest sit on the balcony. I picked up a book and sat by my reading lamp, but my eyes saw no printed words. My mind was busy with other thoughts. I was a woman without experience and had never lived in the world of these two. But intuition is stronger than custom and longer than fashion. The standards I held for the boys and girls of my country were high and noble. Frankly I did not like the man's attention to Zura, the intimate companionship suggested by his actions, nor his unreserved manner. The girl had told us of their chance meeting on the steamer coming from Seattle. Any mention of his name on her part was so open, she spoke of him as just a good playfellow to help her to pass away the time, I could not believe her feelings involved. But, fearful tragedies can be fostered by loneliness and in Mr. Chalmers's easy familiarity with the lonely girl, there was something wanting; I could only name it chivalry. Yet, as their voices came to me, glad, happy, vibrant with the joys of youth and its interests, I thought perhaps I did not understand the ways of the young and their customs, because I had never known their delights. On and on the boy and girl talked, unheeding my presence and the fact that I could hear. From out the open window I caught a glimpse of the radiant blue between the distant hills and the light of the great evening star as it flashed its eternal message to the sparkling waters below. Zura saw it and called softly to her companion, "Hush, Pinkey! Look! Isn't that a bit of heaven?" And he of the earth replied, "I am looking at you. That is all the heaven I want just now." "You silly!" was the unvexed reproof. After a pause they began to talk of queer and, to me, far-off things--something about the "average" of "Giants" and "Cubs," of "quarter-backs," "full-backs" and a kind of "great rush," though what it was after I never knew. I supposed he was telling her of some wild tribe festival when he spoke of dances bearing the names of animals and fowls. It was all as incomprehensible to me as Hindustanee. At last he said to her, "Well, girlie, I'm about due to leave now. I am sorry, but I must be moving." Then more softly, "Remember to-morrow night. You take a wrap and I'll see to the lunch. Boat will be ready at eight. By Jove! with a night like this what a lark it will be!" The meaning of this was as clear as my crystal paper weight, and between the door where Mr. Chalmers bade Zura good-night and the lodge where I aroused the sleeping Ishi to his duty of custodian my thoughts went around like a fly-wheel on full duty. The reflected flame of the old bronze lantern, swayed by the night-wind, fell on the great gate and transformed the carved dragons and attendant demons into living, moving things. The departing guest saw it and remarked with a mock fear, "That dragonette seems alive; hope he and his angels will not follow me. Some carving that!" "Are you interested in curious things, Mr. Chalmers?" "I should say. Everything from jiujitsu to eels and chopsticks catches me." "Have you ever seen a garden in this country which boasts some three or four centuries of birthdays?" "No; but I should like to gaze on the spectacle." Here was my opportunity to get in serious conference with the young man, and as it seemed one of the few sights Mr. Chalmers had missed, I was charmed to make my offer. "My garden is very famous," I said, "and just now it is in its full beauty. I wonder if you would come to-morrow morning and permit me to show it to you?" "Sure. Thanks," was the answer as he swung down the street and into the sleeping town below. VIII MR. CHALMERS SEES THE GARDEN AND HEARS THE TRUTH Early next day I cornered Jane privately and told her of the conversation I had overheard the night before and the visitor I was expecting, adding, "This is Orphan Asylum day. I can't go, but take Zura with you. I don't want her to see that Chalmers boy again. He's too friendly, too highly colored to suit my ideas." If my tones were sharper than the occasion demanded, it was because of the combination of a shriveled cash account, and an undesirable male around. The general disturbance of mind made me say, not quite honestly: "He may be all right, but so far I can see not one good quality in Mr. Chalmers's make-up." "Oh! yes, there is, Miss Jenkins," said Jane, quick to defend. "He can whistle beautifully. Last night as he went down the street you should have heard, 'Oh! Promise Me!' It was so pretty I almost cried." "Spare your tears, Jane; the prettiest whistle that ever grew never made a real man. Mr. Chalmers will have to shine in another direction before I am convinced. Now get Zura and clear out, and don't you dare to take more than one basket of gingerbread Johnnies to the orphans." * * * * * When Mr. Tom Chalmers walked in at ten o'clock he barely concealed his regret at there being only an elderly hostess to receive him. The garden where I conducted my visitor, might have added joy to its symbol of peace on this perfect day of early spring. In each flower, in every leaf a glad spirit seemed to dwell. The feathered tribe that made its home among the branches madly rejoiced in a melody of song and twitterings. A white mother pigeon sheltered her young in a gnarled old plum tree, full-blossomed and crimson, while in a lofty pine old man crow scolded all birdkind as he swayed on the topmost branch, a bit of ebony against the matchless sky of blue. There is only one effectual way of dealing with things one does not want to do--make past history of them as fast as possible. Very soon after entering the garden I asked Mr. Chalmers, who was mildly interested in the beauties before him, to sit down with me. Without further dallying, I went straight to the point of the interview. I told him I had heard him make the appointment with Zura the night before and he seemed to have forgotten to mention the matter to me, though I was close by. For a time at least I was responsible for Zura, and I thought it best to call his attention to a few facts which could not be overlooked. "I wonder, Mr. Chalmers, if you realize that in this country it is impossible for a boy and a girl to associate together alone. It is barely permissible for you to see her in the company of others. Already your attentions have caused Zura to be talked about and there is very serious trouble with her grandfather. Further than that, the excursion you are planning for to-night is not only improper in any country, but it means actual disgrace here." "It does? Well, I'll be hanged! Can't take a girl out and give her a good time! I knew these Japs were fools, but their laws are plain rot." "Possibly, from your standpoint, Mr. Chalmers; but you see these laws and customs were in good working order in Japan long before Columbus had a grandfather. They can't be changed on the spur of the moment." "That's all right," he responded hotly. "What you can't change you can sometimes break; I'm good at that kind of game." Something in the boy's resentful face said that I was an impudent old meddler, an officious interloper. It made my voice as sharp as pins. "Very well, young man," I said, "there will be just one time in your life's history when you have encountered both an old law and an old woman that you will neither break nor change. Your attentions to Zura Wingate have got to be stopped and at once." "Stopped!" he retorted. "Who's going to make me? I come from a free country where every fellow is his own boss. I'll do as I please. What do I care about the laws of these little brown monkeys! Where would they be anyhow if it wasn't for America? Didn't we yank 'em out of their hermits' nest and make them play the game whether they wanted to or not? They had better lay low! Don't they know there are ninety millions of us? Why, with one hand tied behind we could lick the Rising Sun clean off their little old flag!" If it ever happened, I wondered about what point in the battle I could locate Mr. Pinkey Chalmers. The more he talked, the less I was sure of my pet belief in the divine right of the individual. Then my heart jumped; I saw Page Hanaford coming. "The maid was unable to find the book I came for. She directed me here. Do I interrupt?" he asked on reaching us, bowing slightly and looking inquiringly from my frowning face to Pinkey Chalmers's wrathful one. "Interrupt? No," said that youth. "Welcome to our prayer-meeting! I've planned a picnic and a sail for Zura and me to-night. This lady says it shall not be and I'm speculating who's going to stop it." Page stepped quietly up to the defiant Pinkey. "I will, Mr. Chalmers, if necessary. I know nothing of your plans, but in this place Miss Jenkins's word is law. You and I are here to obey it as gentlemen." Tommy blazed. "Gentlemen! Who are you, I'd like to know, pushing in and meddling with my affairs," he said. At the challenge the old look of confusion momentarily clouded Page's eyes. Then with an effort he found himself. "My ancestry would not appeal to you, sir. But"--half good-humoredly--"the punch of my fist might." [Illustration: Page started forward. A sound stopped him] "Oh h--h--ho!" stuttered Pinkey, angry and game. "You want to fight, do you! Light in! I'm ready." Page started forward. A sound stopped him. It was voices singing an age-old nursery tune: "Skip to my loobyloo, Skip to my loobyloo, Skip to my loobyloo All of a Saturday morning." It was a strange and curious sight in that wonderful old garden. Down the sandy path under the overhanging blossoms came Jane and Zura, skipping and bowing in time to the game's demands. The last line brought them to us. Hand in hand they stopped, Zura dishevelled, Jane's hat looking as if it grew out of her ear, but old maid and young were laughing and happy as children. "We were practising games for the 'Sylumites,'" explained Zura. "I'm premier danseuse to the Nipponese kiddies and Lady Jenny is my understudy. What's the argument?" she asked, observing first one face, then the other, keenly alive to some inharmony. Mr. Chalmers started to speak. I cut him short. "Zura, take Mr. Hanaford with you and give him the book he wants. You'll find it on my desk. You go too, Jane, and help; Mr. Hanaford is in a hurry. I'll bring Mr. Chalmers later." "Lovely!" exclaimed Jane; "and everybody will stay to lunch. Come on, let's have a feast." A feast! Jane knew well enough it was bean soup and salad day, and not even a sweet potato in the pantry. Miss Gray and Zura started house-ward, slowly followed by Page. He had looked very straight at Mr. Chalmers, who returned the gaze, adding compound interest, and a contemptuous shrug. They were barely out of hearing when he began, "Brave soldier of fortune, that! Where did he come from?" Without waiting for me to answer he went on: "I didn't know you were a missionary, else you couldn't have tied me with a rope and made me listen to a sermon and a peck of golden texts 'à la Japanese.'" "Unfortunately, Mr. Chalmers, I'm not a missionary. If I were, I would leave off teaching the so-called heathen at once and be head chaplain to some of the ninety millions you were talking about. Speaking of golden texts, I know my Bible too well to cast pearls. Now, young man, once for all let me say, this thing simply cannot be. Zura is a lonely girl in a strange land. She must live under her grandfather's roof. Your slightest attention will make mountains of difficulty for her, and she is not going with you to-night even if you mean to marry her to-morrow." Pinkey turned nearly white. "Marry her!" he exclaimed, "Why, I'm engaged to a girl back home." "Why, I never intended to marry her," he went on, more concerned than at any time before. "I was just having a little flirtation." A little flirtation! By the powers that be! My country had progressed if it had come to the place where a man could swear allegiance to one woman, then blithely sail the seas to find heaven in another woman's eyes! My few days' experience with a girl had set me more problems than I ever found in arithmetic. This boy was a whole algebra, and they both belonged to my country where I thought rearing children was like growing flowers. Not only were things happening, I was learning new lessons faster than I really cared for. I asked him if Zura knew of his engagement. "No," he replied as he walked restlessly about, "I just met her coming over. She isn't in love with me and I don't trouble others with my private affairs." "Really! I am afraid your manly self-control will cause Zura many a heart ache. I know of nothing more contemptible than being engaged to one girl and flirting with another." "Most men do it," he answered sullenly. "I don't believe you, boy, and it will take more proof than you can furnish to convince me that the men of my country have so low a standard of honor." I put a heavy accent on "men." My guest flushed. "Well, I like that! What do you call me?" "A thoughtless boy," I said. "But if you want to be a man, here's your chance. You go right back to your ship; write to Zura; tell her of your engagement and why you cannot see her any more; then stay away." I knew as little about men as I did about fashion, but I plunged on. "What do you think the girl back home would think? Suppose somebody treated her as you have treated Zura? Shame on you, boy! Be a man and help an old woman as well as a young one." The desire to have his own way died hard, but something conquered. "I'll do it! Just watch me," he said at last, a certain bravado accompanying his words. I could see that he was much disturbed by our interview. He rose and moved towards the gate. His effort to live up to his newly-awakened manhood was boyish, but sincere. He whirled about suddenly and said, "Miss Jenkins, I apologize to you and Zura. I--I'm awfully sorry. Zura is such a jolly chum, and she was very lonely; I wasn't any too gay myself at leaving home. But, honestly, I didn't mean to make it hard for her. I--I didn't think. Please tell her." Impulsively he took my hand and lightly kissed it. But for his earnestness I would have thought it impudent. He was soon gone. * * * * * "Where's Pink Tommy?" cried Zura, as I entered the living-room. "Where's Mr. Hanaford?" I questioned back. "Why, he took his book and left. Didn't you say he was in a hurry?" "Yes, I did; so was Mr. Chalmers. He left good-by!" "Good-by?" In Zura's question there was much annoyance and some anger. Jane chimed in. "Both the boys gone? What a pity! I've just made a relly joll." Whether intentional or not, Jane's twisted words sent a little breeze of laughter before the coming storm. For the rest of the afternoon Zura had little to say. Book in hand she sat in the windowseat overlooking the water, watching the snow-white sails skim the opal sea. I made no further explanation of Mr. Chalmers or his call, thinking it best to await the arrival of his note. It came just before night. The reading of it left Zura white. She looked at me stonily, "I suppose," she began, stiff with anger, "that you did this." "I did," I answered, looking into her blazing eyes. "And I suppose too," she continued with withering scorn, "that was why the gay cavalier kissed your hand. I saw him through the window. So touching! That's what you were plotting when I found you in the garden. Page Hanaford was in it too; I saw it in his face. I hate him! I hate everything! Oh!" she cried, with a sudden outburst of passion, "the lot of you are a pack of withered mummies. Not one of you know what it means to be homesick; how I'm aching for a good time! Yes, I was going with Pinkey to have a picnic on the island. Yes, I was going to slip off without telling you. How could you understand? What was the harm in my having a little pleasure? Do you think I intend to bend to the rules of this law-cursed country? No, I will not! I'll go where I please. I'll have my own friends!" As gently as I could I forced her to go to her room and listen to what I had to say. I related what had passed between Mr. Chalmers and me, of the fatal thing she was contemplating and how her grandfather had appealed to me for help. Never had I dreamed of such passion, such grief in a young girl. She was like some wild thing, trying to beat its way to freedom through prison bars. No word of mine, however tender, seemed to touch her. I began to feel useless, miserable, and a joy killer in general. I almost wished for the dull days of old; at least I knew how to deal with them. I could give points to the Minister of Education, talk volubly at Mothers' Meetings and translate Confucius from the original, but I was helpless before this girl in her conflict with conditions to which she could never yield and which she fought with all the fierceness of undisciplined strength. I could think of no word to comfort her. I sought to divert her. "Zura, listen! Do you remember the hat I wore the first day I came to see you? You do remember, for I saw you smiling at it. Well, I've worn it for eight years. Don't cry, Dearie; please don't; and I'll let you send to Yokohama and select me another one." Sending to Yokohama for anything had always been an event to me. It was the only excitement I could think of. But Zura flung herself around at me. "Hang your old hat! What is a hat to a man, and he the only friend I have out here. I don't care if there was another girl! She can have him. He was somebody to play with. It was something to do, a touch of home. Oh! it's cruel! cruel!" Though another ideal was gone to smash, I was almost ready to cry myself with relief that it was only a playmate Zura wanted in Pinkey and not a sweetheart. Even at that I was at my wit's ends again to know what to say next when the door opened. Jane had heard the commotion, and there she stood in her sleeping garments and cap, a kimono floating behind her. In one hand was her candle, in the other the only ornament she possessed--a stuffed parrot! She came in and, as if talking to soothe a three-year-old child, she coaxed, "Zury, Zury, don't cry! Look what Jane has to show you. This is Willie. For a long time he was my only friend; then he died. I missed him terribly at first; but don't you cry about Mr. Pinkey. There are plenty more men in this world, just as there are plenty more parrots and as easy to get." "Oh, I wish everybody had died!" the girl sobbed on, heedless of Jane's attempt at comfort. Suddenly, turning away from us, she stretched her arms to the starlit space beyond the windows and cried, "I want my home! I want my friends! I want life!" * * * * * Hours later the great golden moon rose from out the velvety shadows of the mountains. It looked in the window, found a sleeping girl, and kissed the heavy lashes still wet with passionate tears. Veering still farther around to the balcony, it rested on two silent old women. From the city there floated up to us the tinkling of the samisens in the tea-houses; the high, sweet voice of a dancing girl as she sang the story of an old, old love; the sad notes of the blind masseur as he sought for trade by the pathos of his bamboo flute; the night-taps from the far-away barracks. Off to the west we could see the fast-disappearing lights of a Pacific steamer. Neither sounds nor sights seemed to touch Miss Gray nor ruffle her serenity. For a long time she had been looking steadily into space, as if held by a mental vision of some spiritual glory. "Jane," I asked at last, "what shall we do?" Maybe it was the moon, but something had smoothed out every wrinkle in her face. She looked young and wise, as she leaned over and put her hand on mine. Here was a Jane I had never known before. In a voice low and sweet, she repeated the ancient hymn: "God holds the key of all unknown And I am glad. If other hands should hold the key, Or if He trusted it to me, I might be sad." From that night my feeling of superiority to Jane diminished. Some of her strong sweetness, penetrating what seemed the crusty exterior of my heart, entered in to abide with me always. IX JANE HOPES; KISHIMOTO DESPAIRS When Zura appeared the following morning no reference was made to the events of the night before. She was pale and coldly courteous. In her sharp brightness there was no hint of an olive branch being hid about her to be offered to me or presented to her grandfather when she returned to his house that day, as previously arranged. Once only did the girl's manner soften, and then neither to Jane nor to me. Outside, from every glint of the sun on the new green of the pines to the joyous call of the white sea birds, was the glad message of spring, and spring in this lovely Island is no mere promise of things to come, but an everlasting fulfilment of the glorious promises made in the hour the great Artist dreamed it. Zura looked through the window at the sea, gaily breaking its silvered crests against the gray old rocks and, just above, the great patches of rose-pink cherries streaking the blue haze of the mountains. As the girl took in the tender beauty of the scene some memory seemed to touch her. Her eyes filled, her lips trembled; but she quickly recovered herself and soon after made her adieus. I walked with her to the gate and watched her go down the long flight of steps. Everything about her, from the poise of her head to the swing of her body, courted conflict and prophesied disaster. I felt as if I had snatched a bag of candy from a hungry child. A week later Kishimoto San came to make the call customary on occasions when any kindness had been done to him or his family. His gratitude for my efforts to make some headway with Zura was very sincere. He supplemented his thanks by a large box of cake. The gift was decorated with a red string and a good-luck emblem and wrapped in a bright yellow cloth. From the atmosphere, all concerned needed not only good luck, but something the color of sunshine; one look into Kishimoto San's face assured me it was neither springtime nor rosetime in the path he was treading. My visitor was a busy man of many affairs, and I a woman much occupied; but custom said that a ceremonial visit must be just so long, and Kishimoto would rather break his neck once a week than a rule of etiquette once a life-time. So we fell to talking of a recent trip he had made to Yokohama. He said a great foreign fleet was visiting the port. The festivities and the gaieties were unending. He had been only a looker-on, but a deeply-interested observer. He spoke of how his country had strained its every resource to give welcome to this fleet, making a neighborly call, though armed to the ship's last rail. He continued: "The whole scene give me reminder of one very small boy who had grand record of good fight, also he has the great exhaustion of strength from last battle with tall giant. Small boy has poverty too, but he draw forth his many ancient toy for guest to play. Makes big debt of money to give him feast. He very much desire to keep face of big boy all covered with smiles." Then from the way my visitor half shut his eyes and looked at me, I knew something more was coming. "Americans are a great people, but disagree with their wonderfulness." "You mean they are inconsistent?" I suggested. Kishimoto San, being too much in earnest to search for the proper English, dropped into Japanese-- "Yes, the old proverb fits them, 'A physician breaking the rules of health.'" "Why do you say that of my people?" I asked in a moment on the defensive. "Because you literally strain your bodies to hold very high a moral standard for other nations, that you, yourselves fail to follow." "What do you mean?" He went on slowly: "I was wondering if it is the custom in your country for ladies to smoke and drink liquor in public places?" "Ladies!" I repeated amazed. "American women smoke and drink in public or other places! Certainly not," I declared emphatically. "Why do you hint at such a thing?" Thirty years' absence from my country had glorified my ideal of its womanhood. "Only this," said Kishimoto San, "several times while in Yokohama I had occasion to visit the Ocean Hotel. On the broad veranda facing the sea were seated numbers of great men and ladies together, many of them were smoking and I could not count the number of cocktails they consumed." "They were not American women," was my vigorous protest. "Yes, madam, they were. First they were beautiful and sparkle with eyes and tongue. All men bow down to them same as we bow to our Empress. Then afterwards I examine register and clerk of hotel confirm my thought." "Possibly what you say is true, Kishimoto San, but hasn't it a flavor of littleness to label as a national habit the acts of a few exhilarated travelers? What have you to say of the vast army of American women who could not be forced into doing the things you mention?" "Nothing. Except I was just wondering how America could spare so many missionaries. You know we do not beg for their company." "It is not well for you to forget what your country of all others owes to the missionaries," I reminded him. "Though your beliefs are as far apart as the Poles, your sense of justice can but acknowledge that the unselfish service of the missionaries has led your people to heights they never could have reached without them." "True," he responded, "it was not of their work in this country I was speaking, but the need of more work in their own. You have very good story in your big book about the 'beam and mote.' Do not the morals of your own country need uplifting before you insist on sending emissaries to turn my people from the teachings of many centuries? Has your religion and system of education proved so infallible for yourselves that you must force it upon others? Ah, madam, America has led us far and high, but the West is for the West and the East is for the East. So far, on the road to progress they can march side by side. Further than that, the paths divide and are separated by insurmountable differences, because your country is ruled by the teachings of freedom which you cannot practise. We are governed by the will of our divine Emperor, and the spirit of our ancestors. And I pray the great Amida before my country is stripped of her love and reverence for these, my poor spirit will be annihilated. For if they are taken away, what can we put in their places save the liberty of the Occident, which means license in the Orient." I heard him in silence, for while there was much truth in what he said, many times we had argued ourselves into a fever over these questions and never got anywhere. We could no more agree than we could worship the same God. For my part, whatever might be the erratic actions of a few of its freakish individuals, my faith in my country and its people is my faith in my God. I was old fashioned enough to believe every man his brother's keeper. There was nothing more for me to say. For him, intense loyal patriot that he was, his devotion to crumbling old standards was making his fight against the new a bitter and hopeless struggle. But I had never seen the man so stirred as he was this day. He went on: "What of the teachings for your young? They may do for your country, but not for mine! So far as I can see, your boys and girls are left to grow as weeds. They are as free as the foxes and learn their cunning without their wisdom. They are without filial piety. They reverence neither ancestors, the law, nor the great gods. Neither do they fear their own devil, nor the evil spirits." "How do you know this?" I inquired. "I know because I have seen their comings and goings. I have heard their free speech before the face of their parents and mothers-in-law. And I have seen them as visitors in the temples. Because"--the man's voice shook with feeling--"I have in my house a girl with the blood of the East in her veins and the influence of the West in her life. She is rebellious, rude and irreverent. Only this morning, when I gave warning what vengeance the great Buddha would send upon her for impiety, did she not toss her red head and laughingly scoff in my face." At this point I arose and rang for tea and my visitor continued: "Ah, I tremble at her daring. It is her foreign blood, her training. It will curse us yet." I cheerfully assured him that I thought it would unless he could bring himself to see that the girl was entitled to a few rights as well as himself. I inquired how things had gone since Zura's visit to me. He said she had not often referred to her visit; when she did it was in pleasant terms. But her attitude to him and his household was as disrespectful as ever and, he thought, more defiant. He then spoke of a great Buddhist festival that had begun that week and was to continue for several days. It was very important that each member of his family should attend and take part in every service. So far Zura had refused to go. With sketch-book in hand she disappeared from the house every morning. While he had not seen or heard of her being with the young officer man, he had no doubt she spent her time in his company. In as few words as possible I told Kishimoto of my interview with Mr. Chalmers, and his promise not to come again nor to further complicate matters. My listener was more than pleased. "I thank you," he said impressively. "You are a strong-minded woman." When I remarked that Japan was no place for a weak-minded one he seemed to think again about smiling, but changed his mind and asked me solemnly if I would not honor him by coming to his house the following evening and, with his family, attending the great festival on the last night. I accepted the invitation and he left. * * * * * In the evening Page Hanaford came to dinner. When I told him Zura had returned to her home, the smile on his face faded. It spread to his lips and eyes as I rehearsed the close of my interview with Mr. Chalmers. "I sincerely hope that danger is passed," I said earnestly. "I would not consider Mr. Chalmers dangerous by nature, only by thoughtlessness," remarked Page; "his bravado needs seasoning like his youth. Will you not let me help you, Miss Gray?" he exclaimed as that lady came in almost smothered in the packages her frail arms held. "Oh! it's just grand--how many nice people there are in the world," the little missionary said enthusiastically, when relieved of her burdens and seated. "That druggist gentleman was lovely. I bought a jar of vaseline, and he found out I could talk English. Then I found out he was trying to talk it; I told him about my hospital, and he gave me all these splendid medicines I brought in. There's court-plaster and corn-salve and quinine and tooth-powder and a dozen milk bottles for the babies, and plenty of cans to put things in. That's a good start for my drug store." "The drug store and the patients, but the building!" I exclaimed. "Only a dream! I don't want to be a cold-water dasher but, Jane Gray, where will your visions lead you?" "To Heaven, Miss Jenkins; that's where they were meant to lead. My hospital is a dream now because it is not built. But it's going to be soon; I know it. Didn't that splendid Japanese man clothe and educate hundreds of orphans for years on faith, pure and simple? Of course my little hospital is on the way! What better proof does anybody want than the story of Mr. Hoda's Orphan Asylum?" "Give us the story," urged Page, sinking into a big chair, after he had made Jane comfortable. "Indeed I will. I love to tell it for Mr. Hoda certainly sold his soul for the highest price." "When he was a very young and ambitious man, doing without food to get his medical education, three homeless babies fell into his hands. He and his mother lived on a little less and made room for the children. Soon more waifs drifted in. Mr. Hoda couldn't turn them away, but he wondered where he was to get the food for them. Then he had a vision and a dream. In it a great famine was sweeping the land. He saw a Man beautiful, but sorrowful, toiling up a steep mountain, with His arms full of helpless children and more clinging to His white garments. This wonderful Being turned and saw the great pity in Mr. Hoda's eyes, then called back, 'Help me care for the many that are left. I will never forsake you nor them.' After that, Mr. Hoda knew what his work was. He fought so hard to follow his vision he burned all his doctor's books for fear he might be tempted. He had gone hungry to buy those books. A long time after, Mr. Hoda didn't care about them, for his vision brought him the beautifulest faith. He knew food and clothing for the children would come, and often there hasn't been a bite nor a penny in the house and almost time for the dinner bell to ring, when from somewhere food or the way to buy it, would come pouring in as though that Orphan Asylum was built in a land filled with manna and flowing with honey. Mr. Hoda and his flock of orphans have waited but never wanted. I'm waiting; but I am just as sure of my dream as I am of my friends." "Of course you are," encouraged Page. "Talk of removing mountains! Why, a faith like that would set a whole Himalayan range to dancing. You are a great little missionary, Miss Gray." "Thank you, Mr. Page; missionaries are not great. We can't help living what we believe. Wouldn't you be very happy if you were as certain and sure of all your dreams as we are?" "Happy!" cried the boy, getting up and walking about. "I'd give a life-time to know--never mind. Your hospital will come true. When it does we will ask the city to decorate as it is doing to-day for some big festival. My! the streets look like bargain day in Christmas trees," he ended, recovering some of his light spirits. "That's so. There is a festival. What is it, Miss Jenkins?" I explained the meaning of the festival, which was more strictly observant of ritual and old customs than any other of the year, and I told of Kishimoto San's invitation to me. Miss Gray exclaimed anxiously, "But you are not going?" Jane was slow in shaking off the limitations of the doctrine that branded all religions in a foreign country as idolatrous and contaminating. I said I intended going. "Oh, Miss Jenkins," Jane cried, "do be careful! They might ask you to bow down before one of those heathen idols, and maybe they might make you offer at its feet a stick of something smelly in one of those insect burners." For the first time since I had known Page Hanaford, he shouted with laughter. "Sweet aroma of incense, that's a blow for you!" he said. "Come to think of it, I believe I'll happen along and see how it's done." X ZURA GOES TO THE FESTIVAL On my way to join the festival party at the appointed time I passed through the streets of the city, brilliant with decorations of flags and lanterns. Gay crowds sauntered beneath graceful arches of pine and lacey bamboo. For the time worry and work were laid aside with every-day dress, and like smiling, happy children on a picnic, the vast throngs moved toward the temple where the great "Matsuri" was in progress. A man deaf and blind would have known it was a holiday by the feel in the air. He would also have felt as I did the change in the atmosphere as he neared Kishimoto's house. The maid, who answered my summons, said the family would soon be ready to start; the hairdresser had finished; the ceremonial obis were being tied for the madams; the Dana San had about completed his devotions before the household shrine. Would I bring my most august body into the living-room and hang my honorable self upon the floor? I complied with the request and found Zura alone. Considering the strained relations at our last parting and the solemnity of the present occasion, she greeted me with a flippancy that was laughable. "Oh, here's Miss Jenkins! Welcome to our happy home, and I certainly wish you joy on this jaunt." "Are you not going with us?" I asked, observing that she carried in her hand a paint-box as well as her hat. "Not I," she laughed. "I'd picnic with Mrs. Satan and her family first. But do come in. The ogre awaits you. One of the two witches has just had a spell." "Which one?" I inquired, putting into my question every inviting tone at my command. I was determined to get on terms of friendliness with this girl. Had not I in the long ago longed for liberty and for life as I had never craved orthodox salvation? Not even to myself had I acknowledged how strong an appeal to my love of fair play, was Zura's frank rebellion against being reduced to an emotionless creature guaranteed to move at the command of her Masters. All her warfare had been in the open. At no time in her visit to me, did she mention the unhappy conditions at her home nor voice complaints of its inmates. Undisciplined, untrained as she was, there was in her nature a certain reserve which compelled admiration. When not on the defensive for what she considered her rights, she had a decided sweetness that drew me irresistibly. I did not approve of her methods, but my sympathy was deep for this child of freedom forced to live in the painful restrictions of a conservative Japanese family. I was beginning to see that Zura would break long before she would bend. To break at all meant disaster. To break alone meant ruin. She was of my country, my people. Without further ado I arrayed myself on the side of the one who had four against her. Before she answered my question, she looked at me as a chained creature might eye a strange hand to see if it were outstretched for a caress or a blow. Having decided, she went on, "The ancientest one. Some red lilies I carried brought on the fit. An hour ago I gathered a few from the rice fields and took them to my room. When the old dame saw their crimson petals she began to foam at the mouth and splutter a lot of nonsense about the flowers being tongues of flame; she said they would set the house on fire and burn us all to a cinder. If I thought that I'd bring a cartload, and then run. She took them away and threw them in the hot bath. The lovely things shriveled like scalded baby hands. About then, my august grandfather arrived on the scene. He ordered me to put on Japanese dress and come to their old festival. I've planned otherwise, and I won't do it." She put on her hat and stabbed it with a long pin. "Look here, Zura," I ventured, "you'll miss a joyfully good time if you don't go. The country people swarm to these festivals, and babies are as thick as ants. You'll see more pictures than you can paint in a life-time. There are queer things to buy and funny things to eat. The fire-walking ceremony is wonderful." This caught her attention. "What do they do at this ceremony?" "It has been a long time since I saw it, but I remember it was thrilling to watch the worshipers walk barefoot over the hot coals. Come along with me, Zura. Come on," I urged, seeking in my mind for a more persuasive word and finding a memory of Mr. Pinkey Chalmers to help me out, "and we'll make a night of it." I saw nothing humorous in what I had said, but it had a curious effect on Zura. She changed her mind so swiftly, her manner grew so gleeful, I thought maybe I had made a promise I could not keep. "All right, old sport," she laughed with reckless gaiety, "I'll go; you stick to me and I'll give you the time of your young life. But make it clear to the devotees in this house that I won't tie myself up in a kimono; neither will I bend an inch before any of those dropsical-looking images." Soon we heard the rustle of the Master's silken garments. He entered, closely followed by his mother, wife and daughter, their kimonos and obis in colors soft and mellow as befitted older women, and each covered with an overcoat thin of texture and rich in quality. This outer garment was the insignia not only of rank, but of the grave importance of the occasion. Their greetings to me were soon over, and Zura announced that she was going with us. Without a glimmer of pleasure in her seeming willingness to obey, her grandfather said, "It is well." Had he glanced at the girl when he voiced it, he would have chosen other words. In her very bright eyes there was a look which boded no spirit of good will. Kishimoto San, with his mother, led the way on our pilgrimage. We followed behind; and bringing up the rear was an army of servants loaded with blankets, cushions and hampers of food. It was to be a long session of worship and festivities, and the family would need all the comforts of home before their return. The festival was called "Tanjo Shaka" (Buddha's Birthday), and as our little party passed through the great gates the crowds of holiday-makers, which thronged the enclosure, testified to the popularity of the day. The broad avenue leading to the steps of the old temple was lined on each side by temporary booths, from which one could purchase anything from a hot sweet potato to a much-decorated prayer, from false teeth to a charm to ward off the chicken-pox. There was a man who made a dainty fan while you waited; the cook who made a cake while you prayed; the handkerchief man and the sock man; and ah me! the funny old codger, bald of head and shriveled of body, but with a bit of heaven in his weary old eyes. It was the reflection of the baby faces about him. His was the privilege of fashioning from sticky, sweet dough wonderful flowers of brilliant hue and the children flocked about him like birds of Paradise to a field of grain. On every side were set up images of the infant Buddha. Around these, worshipers crowded that they might purchase some portion of the licorice tea poured over the image and supposed to guard against many evils. Groups of white-garbed pilgrims from distant cities passed on to worship, their tinkling bells keeping time to the soft pad of their sandaled feet. Under the overhanging boughs of the ancient trees were placed low platforms spread with bright red blankets, and thereon sat the family groups. In these throngs very few were well off in worldly possessions. For the masses this day meant curtailment of necessities for many other days. It was a willing sacrifice, for, having done duty at the temple and cheerfully contributed their hard-earned "rin," they yielded themselves up to the enjoyment of being set free, in a space where neither worry nor want were permitted to enter, where their poor lives touched something higher or less sordid than themselves. The day was a gift of the gods and they would be merry, for to-morrow was toil and poverty. It was neither satisfying nor permanent but all so simple and happy. Only a heartless stickler for creed and dogma would have labeled it idolatry or banished from the garden of the temple the participants who were childlike in their enjoyment. It took us some time to make our way to the building where Kishimoto guided us that he with his family might first offer their devotions. Once there, the ceremony began. I was not expected to participate and stood aside. It was not without anxiety that I heard the grandfather give a stern command to Zura to approach and kneel with him before the great bronze image, and her equally rigid refusal to do so. With difficulty the proud old Buddhist refrained from creating a scene before the other worshipers, but it was plain that he was stung to the quick for the honor of his religion. From the look in his face he only bided his time. The girl moved nearer to me and none too quietly mocked priest and worshiper gaily. Both maid and man seemed determined once for all to settle the supremacy of will. They were like two warriors measuring their strength before the final contest. The slip of a dark-eyed girl seemed an adversary easily disposed of. Though justly angered, her opponent had learned that if from him she had inherited tenacity of will, the legacy from her father had been an invincible belief in her individual right and courage to assert it. After this clash we walked about till it was time for the evening meal. It was served in an open tea-house. Hospitable and kind to the last degree, both host and hostesses pressed upon me every dainty eatable, and tried by all they knew to dispel the gathering clouds. I was touched by their efforts and did my best to smooth the way to peace, but my endeavors were vain. It was a conflict of conditions in which were both wrong and right, but which not to the end of time would ever be reconciled. At last the family sat apart and talked in low tones. Zura moved closer to me and, though white-lipped and restless after the many encounters with her grandfather, her spirit was undaunted. XI A BROKEN SHRINE The feast over, we moved on. The servants were left to pack up, and instructed to join the family at a certain shrine some distance away; devotions at that place would end the festival. The closing down of night was like the working of some magic. From every point of temple, shrine, and tree sprang a light. Fireworks shaped like huge peonies, lilies, and lesser flowers spluttered in the air. Myriad lights turned the garden into a place of enchantment. In the hand of every feaster swung a paper lantern, gay in color, daring in design, its soft glow reflected on the happy face above. The whole enclosure seemed to be a bit of fairy land, where workaday people were transformed into beings made only for the pleasures of life. I kept close to Zura regardless of where she led, for all she saw seemed not only to increase her interest, but to intensify her reckless mood. On our way we paused at a Pagoda. A group of priests were marching around it chanting some ritual. They were very solemn and their voices most weird. "What are they doing with their throats, Miss Jenkins?" asked Zura. "Singing." "Singing! Well, they know as much about singing as tit-willows do about grand opera. But the colors of those gorgeous robes are fascinating. Aren't the curves of that roof lovely? See how the corners turn up. Exactly like the mustache of the little band master at home. Oh, look at those darling kiddies!" she suddenly exclaimed, going swiftly to the nearby stand of a cake man. A dozen children or so, wistful-eyed and a bit sad, stood around. These were the city rats and street waifs, who only came from their holes after dark. Too poor to buy, they could only gaze and wish. The old man, for the sake of the hungry birdlings at home, could give no further of his store. Zura stopped before the little heaps of sweet dough. The children closed about her. None were afraid, and all instinctively felt her friendship. Her bargain was quickly made. Soon each child had a large share not only of cake, but also of tiny flags and paper cherry blossoms which had adorned the owner's booth. Zura emptied a small knitted purse of "rins" and "sens." She had told me earlier that she had sold a picture to a postcard man. The cake dealer got it all. We left the children open-mouthed, gazing at the "Ojosan" (honorable elder sister) who had proved nothing less than a goddess; but the girl heeded neither their looks nor their thanks, for we had come upon the ancient rite of firewalking, once a holy ceremony for the driving out of demons, now used for the purpose of proving the protection of the gods for the devout. On a mat of straw, overspread by a thick layer of sand, was a bed of charcoal kept glowing by attendants armed with fans attached to long poles. Priests were intoning a prayer to the god of water, who lived in the moon, to descend with vengeance upon the god of fire. With much twisting of fingers and cabalistic waving of hands, a worshiper would draw something from a bag purchased from the priest. This he told the onlookers was spirit powder. Sprinkling a part of it on the fire and rubbing his feet with what was left he would cross the live coals, arriving at the other end unharmed. His swaggering air, indicating "I am divinely protected," deeply impressed the wondering crowd. Absorbed in watching the fantastic scene, I failed for some time to notice Zura's absence from my side. Neither was she with her family, who were near by. Anxiously turning to search for her, I saw her opposite in a cleared space and, through the background of an eager, curious crowd, Page Hanaford hurriedly pushing his way to the front. At the edge of the fire stood Zura without shoes or stockings. Page saw. His voice rang out, "Miss Wingate! I beg of you!" For a moment she poised as light as a bird; then, lifting her dress, she quickly walked across the burning coals. The sparks flew upward, lighting the bronze and gold in her hair, showing too her face, a study in scornful daring. The lookers-on cheered, some crying, "Skilful, skilful!" and others, "Brave as an empress!" "She is protected by her foreign god." Heedless of the crowds, as if they were not, Zura took her hat, shoes, and stockings from the adoring small boy who held them and rejoined me. I glanced around at the family. The women's faces said nothing. To at least two of them, Zura was a strange being not of their kind and with whom they had nothing to do. But the look in Kishimoto San's eyes made me shrink for the fate of the girl. Laying my hand upon her arm I asked, "Oh, Zura, why did you do it? Aren't your feet burned?" "Burned! Nonsense! They are not even overheated. I used some of their spirit powder, which is plain salt. I did it to prove to myself that all they teach and do is fakery." Page joined us, inquiring anxiously, "You are not hurt? I call it plucky, but very foolish. Didn't you hear me call to you?" Zura, looking up from fastening her shoe, replied stiffly, "Mr. Hanaford, once is quite enough for you to interfere with my affairs." The boy flushed, then smiled, and dropped to the rear. As she spoke I could but notice her voice was a little less joyous. It sounded a note of weariness as if her high spirit, though unconquered, was a bit tired of the game. In depressed silence our party mingled with the throng on its way to the shrine where the last tribute was to be paid. The place of devotion was in a dense grove, isolated and weird. A single upright post held a frail, box-like contrivance. The inner recess of this was supposed to hold a relic of Buddha--some whispered a finger, some a piece of the great teacher's robe; but whatever the holy emblem, both place and shrine were surrounded with a veil of superstitious mystery and held in awe. A lonely taper burned before the shrine, dimly lighting a small opening covered with ground glass and disclosed above a written warning to all passers-by to stop and offer prayer or else be cursed. The crowd of worshipers paid tribute, but rather than pass on, lingered in the shadow, their curious eyes fixed upon the half-foreign girl. It was splendid for her to brave the fire-god, but no living soul dared face the Holy Shrine with the scorn Zura's face and manner so plainly showed. Admiration melted into distrust. They would wait and see the end. One by one my host, his mother, wife and daughter passed before the relic and reverently bowed. Then they stood aside in a silent group, slightly apart from Page and me. It was Zura's turn. In the face of Kishimoto San, as he looked at his granddaughter, was concentrated the power of his will and all the intolerant passion of his religion. He looked and he waited--in vain. The girl did not move. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, but his words fairly stabbed the air. "Obey me! Approach and bow!" Zura seemed to be turned to stone. But her words were as clear and as measured as his own. "I will not! Now or ever!" Past all endurance of the girl's disrespect, the man made one step forward, grasped Zura by the shoulders, and pushed her towards the shrine. The force sent her forward. As she stumbled she seized a bamboo pole. With it she gave one swift blow. At our feet the little shrine lay shattered, and out of its secret recess rolled a pasteboard box, mildewed and empty. Then, like the hissing wind, rose the quick anger of the people. At the same instant Page and the crowd rushed toward Zura, who, with bamboo stick in her raised hand, stood white and defiant. A coolie made a lunge at her. With closed fist Page Hanaford struck him full in the face; the other arm shielded Zura. Another man spat at her, and met the fate of his brother from Page's well-directed blow. There is nothing so savage as a Japanese mob when roused to anger. Knowing them to be cruel and revengeful, my heart stood still as I watched the throng close about Page and Zura. I knew the boy single-handed could not hold out long before the outraged worshipers. Then above the noise and curses and threats Kishimoto San's voice rang out. "Stop! you crawling vipers of the swamp! How dare you brawl before this sacred place? How dare you touch one of my blood! My granddaughter accounts to me, not to the spawn of the earth--such as you! Disperse your dishonorable bodies to your dishonored homes! Go!" Blind to reason, they cowered before a masterful mind. They knew the unbending quality of Kishimoto's will, his power to command, to punish. The number grew steadily less, leaving Page and Zura and her grandfather alone. Kishimoto San turned to the girl and with words cold as icicles, cutting as a whiplash, dismissed the child of his only daughter from his house and home. He cared neither where she went, nor what she did. She no longer belonged to him or his kind. He disowned her. Her foreign blood would be curse enough. Bidding his family follow, he turned and left. As Mrs. Wingate passed her disgraced offspring, with troubled voice and bewildered looks she repeated once more her set formula of reproof, "Oh, Zura! I no understand yo' naughty; I no like yo' bad." The homeless girl, Page, and I were left in the darkness. "Come with me, Zura," I said, not knowing what else to do; and the three of us made our way toward the high twinkling light that marked the House of the Misty Star. As the boy walked beside her, hatless, tie and collar disarranged, I could but see what his defense of Zura had cost him in physical strength. His face twitched with the effort to control his shaking limbs; that strange illness had robbed him of so much. "Please, Mr. Hanaford, do not trouble to climb the steps with us," I urged. "There is no danger. By now the crowd is doubtless laughing over the whole thing." "No, Miss Jenkins," he said, "I cannot leave you till you are safely shut in the house. Rather interesting, wasn't it?" "Interesting! Well, I guess I know now what making a night of it means." It was my one attempt to lighten conversation. We went on in silence. Wordless my other companion walked beside me. She gave no sign. Only once, when I stumbled, the hand she outstretched in quick support was shaking and cold. On reaching the house Page declined to come in; but, seeing the knuckles of his right hand torn and bleeding, I would take no refusal. "Boy, your hand is bleeding. Come right in and let me dress it," said I. "Don't trouble. It's nothing; only a bit of knocked-up skin. That coolie must have sharpened his teeth for the occasion." Zura spoke for the first time as I made the room light. "Oh! I didn't know you were hurt, Mr. Hanaford. I am sorry. Let me see." She took his hand in both of hers and held it closer under the lamp. Still holding it, she lifted her eyes with sympathy to his. "I'm not worth it," she said softly. I did not hear Page's answer; but I thought he was almost gruff when he quickly drew away and walked to the window. He had nothing to say when I bandaged his hand, and he soon left. It was only a matter of a few minutes to light the lamp and arrange the bed in the guest-room I had taken such pleasure in preparing before for Zura's visit. I went through these small duties without speaking. I bore no ill will to the girl who had been thrust upon me. My thoughts were too deep for anger against the wayward child whose start in life had been neither fair nor just. But in separating herself from her family she had done the most serious thing a girl can do in whose veins runs the blood of a Japanese. Everything ready, I said good-night as kindly as circumstances would permit. Zura put out her hand and thanked me. A smile twitched her lips as she said, "Never mind, Miss Jenkins. Don't be troubled. No use fighting against fate and freckles." The tears in her voice belied her frivolous words. Anxious for what might happen, I sat for the rest of the night in the room adjoining the one occupied by my unexpected guest. Twice before the coming of the dawn there reached me from the farther chamber sounds of a soul in conflict--the first battle of a young girl in a strange land, facing the future penniless and heavily handicapped. It was a lonely vigil and a weary one. XII A DREAM COMES TRUE If becoming a member of my household was a turning-point in Zura's life, in mine it was nothing less than a small-sized revolution, moving with the speed of a typhoon. The days piled into weeks; the weeks plunged head-foremost into eternity, and before we could say "how d'y' do" to lovely summer, autumn had put on her splendid robes of red and yellow and soft, dull brown. If once I yearned for things to happen, I now sometimes pined for a chance, as one of my students put it, "to shut the door of think and rest my tired by suspended animation." For I had as much idea about rearing girls as I had on the subject of training young kangaroos. But it grew plainer to me every day my nearly ossified habits would have to disintegrate. Also I must learn to manipulate the rôle of mother without being one. Soon after the girl's break with her family the ineffective child-woman who had given Zura life passed quietly into the great Silence before the daughter could be summoned. Though Zura was included among the mourners at the stately funeral, she had no communication with her grandfather. Afterwards the separation was final. Once only I visited Kishimoto San's house and had an interview with him. He was courteous, and his formality more sad than cold. He would never again take Zura into his house; neither would he interfere with her. Her name had been stricken from his family register. As long as I was kind enough to give her shelter, he would provide for her. Further than that he would not go, "for his memory had long ears and he could never forget." It was a painful hour which I did not care to repeat. * * * * * I acquainted Zura with her grandfather's decision. Her only comment was, "His memory has long ears, has it? So has mine, and they'll grow longer, for I have longer to live." In the first intimate talk I had with my protégée, her one idea was to earn the money to return to America, where there was "more chance to make a living." So far as she knew her father was without relatives. There was no one to look to for help. But she could work; she knew many girls who worked; and there was always "something to do" in Seattle. "How good it will be to get back to it. Wish I could get a whiff of the air right now. Yes, indeed! I am American to the ends of my fingers, and hallelujah to the day when I sail back." I entered into her plans with enthusiasm, reserving my determination never to lose sight of her till she was in safer hands than mine. She was very eager to begin earning money for her passage home, offering to teach, to scrub, and even to learn to cook, if we'd learn to eat it. I pointed out that, with her ability to sketch and her natural fascination for young girls, the forming of classes would be a simple matter. She was only to teach them drawing at first. To this she demurred; the pay was so poor that she pleaded to be allowed to have one little class in English. I was dubious; but, as it was only a beginner's class, I consented--upon her solemn promise to "cut out all ragtime classics and teach plain cats and dogs, rats and mice." The process of readjustment in life is sometimes as painful as skin grafting. The passing of each day under the new conditions which Zura's coming had brought about marked for both of us either a decided growth or a complete backset. With earnestness I endeavored to make my old eyes see the world and all its allurements from the windows of Zura's uncontrolled youth. Earnestly I then appealed to her to try to understand that life was a school and not a playground and to look without prejudice at the reasonableness of conventions which life in any country demanded, if happiness was to come. For the first time since I had known her the girl seemed fully to realize that regulated law was a force, and no bogey man which crabbed old grandfathers dangled before pleasure-loving girls, and for her running loose in the green pasture of life was at an end. The bit she must learn to wear would teach her to be bridle wise. However stupid, the process was an unavoidable necessity. Zura was really serious when we finished our long conference. She leaned over and put her hand on mine. "Nobody but father was ever so kind to me. I'll truly do my best." As if afraid of growing too serious she added: "But, Miss Jenkins,"--her voice was low and her eyes sparkled, proving how hard the old Zura was dying--"I just bet I kick over the traces some time. I feel it in my system." "You what?" I reminded. "Madam, I have a premonition that this process of eliminating the gay and the festive will be something of a herculean task. In other words, keeping in the middle of the road is a dull, tough job." "Oh, Zura!" I cried despairingly. "Yes'm. But from this minute I am starting down the track on the race for reformation. Give me time. Even a colt can't get a new character and a sweet disposition in a week." * * * * * As the days passed it proved not a race, but a hard, up-hill battle, where in gaining one fight she sometimes lost two, and while still aching with the last defeat had to begin all over again. The vision, though, of the home-going to America lured and beckoned her to the utmost effort to conquer not only circumstances, but herself. Jane and I helped whenever we could, but there were places so dark through which the girl must pass alone, that not even our fast increasing love could light the shadows of the struggles. I realized that a young girl should have young company of her own kind; but there was none for her. In Hijiyama, and especially in our neighborhood, were many high-class families. Even members of the royal line claimed it as residence. With these the taint of foreign blood in any Japanese marked that person impossible. I dreaded to tell Zura this. She saved me the trouble by finding it out for herself. Ever afterward, when by chance she encountered the elect, her attitude caused me no end of delight and amusement. In courteous snubbing she outclassed the highest and most conservative to them. In absenting herself from their presence Zura's queenly dignity would have been matchless, had she been a little taller. As much as possible, I made of myself a companion for her and the most of our days were spent together. It was a curious pact between young and old. One learning to keep the law, the other to break it, for in my efforts to be a gay comrade as well as a wise mother I came as near to breaking my neck as my well-seasoned habits. Zura had a passion for out-of-door sketching, as violent as the whooping cough and lasting longer and the particular view she craved proved always most difficult of access, It severely tested my durability and mettle. I wondered if Zura had this in mind, but I stuck grimly to my task and though often with aching muscles and panting lungs, scrambled by dangerous paths to the edge of some precipice where I dared neither to stand up nor to sit down, but I had longed for excitement and happenings and dared not complain when my wish was fulfilled. I could always count upon it that, whatever place Zura chose, from there one could obtain the most splendid view of vast stretches of sea, the curve of a temple roof, a crooked pine, or a mass of blossom. She was as irresistibly drawn to the beautiful as love is to youth. Her passion for the lovely scenery of Japan amounted almost to worship. I had never been a model for anything. Now I was used as such by my companion indiscriminately, in the background, in the foreground and once as a grayhaired witch. I was commanded to sit still, to not wink an eyelash, though the mosquitoes feasted and the hornets buzzed. Fortunately the summer holiday gave me some leisure. I absorbed every moment seeking comprehension of youthful ways of looking at things, and in Zura's effort to reduce her wild gallop to a sober pace, the way was as rough for the girl, as the climb up the mountain side was for me. Often she stumbled and was bruised in the fall. Brushing aside the tears of discouragement she pluckily faced about and tried again. There were many battles of tongue and spirit but when the smoke had been swept away, the vision was clearer, the purpose firmer. That monotony might not work disaster or routine grow irksome our workdays were interspersed with picnics, journeys to famous spots and, for the nights, moonlight sails on the Inland Sea. Page Hanaford was our frequent guest. To Jane and me his attitude was one of kindly deference and attention. Towards Zura it was the mighty call of youth to youth. She answered with ready friendship. It was easy to see that the boy was buoyant by nature, but the moods that sometimes overtook him were strange. Often at a moment when the merriment was at its height, the hand of some invisible enemy seemed to reach out and clutch him in a dumb horror, confused the frankness of his eyes, left him with bloodless lips. From light-hearted happiness he plunged to silent gloom. Twice it had occurred when the day was heavy with moisture, thick and superheated by the summer's sun. The last time it happened, to the heat was added the excitement of a police launch stopping our little pleasure craft and demanding our names and business. When it left Page grew silent and, until we landed, lay in the prow his face hidden by his hat. Mental or physical I could not say. I wished I knew for it subtracted the joy from the day as surely as dampness takes the kink out of unnatural curls. When I mentioned the incident to Jane, she only looked wise and smiled. I could almost believe she was glad, for it gave her unlimited opportunity for coddling. Zura made no comment. So great was the rebound partial freedom induced, her spirits refused to descend from the exhilarating heights of "having a good time and doing things." She blandly ignored any suggestion of hidden trouble, or the possibility of it daring to come in the future. Untiring in her preparations for our festivities, the hour of their happening found her so gracious a hostess, naturally she was the pivot around which the other three of us swung. I wondered if, in our many festivities we were not forming habits of useless dissipation. Jane said our parties were much livelier than church socials at home. Our experienced leader assured me, however, these picnics were as slow as a gathering of turtles in a coral cave, but they continued, ceasing only when the nights grew too chill for comfort. Our pleasures were then transferred to the homeyness of the little living-room in "The House of the Misty Star." * * * * * In my adoption of Zura the humor was incidental; in Zura's adoption of Jane it was uppermost. From the first the girl assumed proprietorship and authority that kept the little gray missionary see-sawing between pleasure and trouble. By Zura's merry teasing Jane's naturally stammering tongue was fatally twisted. She joked till tears were near; then with swift compunction Jane was caught in arms tender and strong and loved back to happiness. Like a mother guarding a busy careless child, Zura watched Miss Gray's comings and goings. Overshoes and wraps became a special subject of argument. There was no denying that in the arrangement of Jane's clothes there was a startling transformation. My attention was called to this one morning when I heard a merry, audacious voice cry out, "See here, Lady Jinny, do you think it a hallmark of piety to have that hefty safety-pin showing in your waistband? Walk right back and get your belt." "Oh, Zury," pleaded the harassed woman, "what's the use of putting it on? I'll just have to take it off to-night and, my dear, people are waiting for me." "Let 'em whistle, Sweetheart," was the unmoved response. "Even though the heathen roar, I cannot turn aside from my purpose of making you a Parisian fashion-plate." "Yes, child! It is good of you to want to dress me up. But," with a half-laugh, "don't try to make me resemble one of those foreign fashion ladies. I saw one picture in a style paper that looked almost immoral. The placket of the dress was at the foot and showed two inches of the ankle." "Trust your mother, innocent child," Zura advised, "those picture ladies don't wear dresses, just symptoms and I'd slap anybody that would ask you to wear a symptom. Now, tell me where to search for your belt." Jane, ever weak in certain resistances, yielded and adored the more while submitting. Under Zura's care Jane's person grew neater and trimmer. In her face, now filled out with proper food and rest, there was a look of happiness as if some great hope foreshadowed fulfilment. The self-appointed missionary in her talks with me seldom referred to her work in detail. I respected her reserve and asked no questions, for I gravely doubted any good results from her labor. But to Zura she confided her plans and her dreams, and Zura having many dreams of her own, listened and sympathized. In all the Empire there was no collection of humanity that could surpass in degradation and sordid evil the inhabitants of the quarter that Jane Gray had chosen to uplift. Time and again the best-trained workers had experimented in this place. Men and women with splendid theories, and the courage to try them had given it up as hopeless, for fear of their lives. Once only I remonstrated with Miss Gray and that when there had been in that section an unprovoked murder of particular horror. The answer of the frail woman was: "I don't want to make you anxious, Miss Jenkins, but I must go back. The people are my friends. I've been charged with a message for them and I must deliver it. My poor life would be small forfeit, could I but make them fully understand." I said no more for I thought if Jane was set on dying that way she'd just as well get all the pleasure out of it possible. To my surprise, unmolested and unafraid, she made her way through streets where no one officer went alone. Haunts of criminals and gamblers, murderers in hiding followed by their unspeakable womenkind. This dream of Miss Gray's scorned to limit itself to a hospital for diseased bodies of the wretched inhabitants, but included a chapel for sick souls. These days it was difficult enough to get money for real things, the unreal stood no chance. Without resources of her own, backed by no organization, it seemed to me, like a child planning a palace. To the little missionary the dawn of each glorious day brought new enthusiasm, fresh confidence and the vision was an ever beckoning fire, which might consume her body if it would accomplish her desire. At present she rented a tiny house in the Quarters and called it her preaching place. I was told that to it flocked the outcasts of life who listened in silent curiosity to the strange foreign woman delivering a message from a stranger foreign God. As the days went by the members of my household were deeply absorbed in dreams of a hospital, pursuit of passage money to America, and wisdom in guiding girls. In all the years in my adopted country I'd never seen so lovely an autumn. Colors were brighter, the haze bluer, and far more tender the smile of the heavens on the face of the waters. The song of the North wind through the top of the ancient pines was no melancholy dirge of the dying summer, but a hymn of peace and restful joy to the coming winter. One lovely day melted into another. The year was sinking softly to its close when one evening found Zura, Jane and me quietly at work in the living-room of the House of the Misty Star. Jane was knitting on the eternal bibs, Zura adding figures in a little book. Our quiet was broken by a knock at the door. Maple Leaf appeared bearing on a tray a pink folded paper. "It's a cable; I know its color," exclaimed Zura, "and it's for Miss Jane Gray." With shaking fingers Jane tore open the message. She read, then dropped her face in her hands. "What is it?" I asked anxiously. "It's the hospital." "In a cable?" cried Zura. "Think of that and break into tears." "No, the money for it." "Money! Where did you get it?" I demanded, thinking that Jane had suddenly gone crazy. "I prayed and wrote letters," she answered. "Read." Still doubting I took the paper and read aloud: Build hospital. Draft for four thousand dollars on way. FRIENDS OF THE CAUSE. For minutes the ticking of the clock sounded like the dropping of pebbles in a still pool. I could not speak, for the wonder of a miracle was upon me. By faith the impossible had come to pass. Finally Jane looked up and asked wistfully, "Oh! Zury, aren't you glad for me?" "Glad!" echoed the girl, leaning over and caressing the faded cheek. "I'm as happy as if I were pinning on my own orange blossoms this minute. Dear, dear little Jinny with her beautiful dream coming true!" I had never thought Zura beautiful. Now, as she bent over Jane, flushed with excitement, her eyes deep glowing, her shining hair flashing back the red of the firelight, she was as brilliant as a golden pheasant hovering above a little gray sparrow. With some sudden memory the girl stood erect and reached for a calendar. "Hurrah!" she cried, "It's true! To-morrow is Thanksgiving at home. We are going to celebrate too, if I have to sell my shoes." Seeing Jane still shaken with emotion and the glad tears so close to hand, Zura jumped up on a chair and began to read from the calendar as if it were a proclamation: "Know all ye! Wherever you be up above or down below, far or near on the to-morrow, by my command, every citizen of these United States is to assemble all by himself, or with his best girl and give thanks. Thanks for living and for giving. Thanks for hospitals and people to build them. Sermons to preach and sinners to hear. Then give thanks and still more thanks, that to you and to me, the beautifulest land the good God ever made spells home, and friends, and America! Amen." XIII A THANKSGIVING DINNER More and more Zura had assumed the duties of our housekeeping. The generous sum Kishimoto San promptly forwarded each month for her maintenance so relieved the financial pressure that I was able to relax somewhat my vigilance over the treasury. So I stepped aside that her ambition and energy might have full expression. I knew that absorbing work erases restlessness in mind and heart as effectively as a hot iron smooths out a rough-dried cloth. I urged her to further experiments and made a joke of her many mistakes, ofttimes when it was sheer waste of material. But what mattered that? Better to die softheaded, than hardhearted. I wanted the girl to be happy. Rather than be separated, I would let her make a bonfire of every bean, potato and barrel of flour in the house. As even the sun has specks on it, I saw no reason to be too critical of my understudy, whose shortcomings grew less as she grew prettier. With all the cocksureness of youth, Zura seized the domestic steering gear. Sometimes the weather was very fair and we sailed along. Often it was squally, but the crew was merry, and I was happy. I had something of my very own to love. To Pine Tree and Maple Leaf and the ancient cook the young housekeeper was a gifted being from a wonderful country where every woman was a princess. Unquestioningly they obeyed and adored her, but Ishi to whom no woman was a princess and all of them nuisances--stood proof against Zura's every smile and coaxing word. Love of flowers amounted to a passion with the old gardener. To him they were living, breathing beings to be adored and jealously protected. His forefathers had ever been keepers of this place. He inherited all their garden skill and his equal could not be found in the Empire. For that reason, I forgave his backsliding seventy times one hundred and seventy, and kept him. Often Zura took the children she used as models for her pictures into the garden and loaded them with flowers. On the mossy banks they romped and indulged in feasts of tea and crackers. Ishi would stand near and invoke the vengeance of eighty thousand deities to descend and annihilate this forward girl from a land of barbarians. Finding his deities failed to respond, he threatened to cast his unworthy body upon the point of a sword, if Zura cut another bud. But I knew, if Ishi's love of flowers failed to prevent so tragic an end, his love of sake would do so. For years the garden had been his undisturbed kingdom, and now that it should be invaded and the flowers cut without his permission and frequently without his knowledge enraged him to the bursting point. His habits were as set as the wart on his nose and he proposed to change neither one nor the other. "Most very bad," he wailed to me. "All blossoms soul have got. Bad girl cut off head of same; peaceful makes absence from their hearts. Their weep strikes my ear." So on the day we were to celebrate Thanksgiving and Jane's happiness, and Zura had declared her intention of decorating every spot in the house, I was not surprised to hear coming from the garden sounds of an overheated argument. "Ishi, if it weren't for hurting the feelings of the august pig I would say you were it. Stand aside and let me cut those roses. There's a thousand of them, if there's one." The protest came high and shrill. "Decapitate heads! You sha'n't not! All of ones convey soul of great ancestors." "Do they?"--in high glee--"all right, I'll make the souls of your blessed ancestors serve as a decoration for America's glorious festival day." The outraged Ishi fairly shrieked. "Ishi's ancestors! America! You have blasphemeness. I perish to recover!" Hostilities were suspended for a minute. Then Zura's fresh young voice called out from below my window: "Ursula, please instruct this bow-legged image of an honorable monkey to let me cut the roses. Hurry, else my hand may get loose and 'swat' him." What the child meant by "swat" I had no idea; neither did I care. She had called me "Ursula!" Since childhood I had not heard the name. Coming from her lips it went through me like a sharp, sweet pain. Had she beheaded every rose and old Ishi in the bargain I would have smiled, for something in me was being satisfied. I gave orders to Ishi, to which Zura added, "You are to take your dishonorable old body to the furthermost shrine, and repent of your rudeness to your young mistress." As he turned his angry back upon her, she inquired in honeyed tones, "Mercy, Ishi! How did you ever teach your face to look that way? Take it to a circus! It will make a fortune!" Very soon after she came into the room so laden with roses that I could just see her face. "Aren't they darlings?" she exclaimed. "Poor old Ishi, I can't blame him much!" Then to me, "Say, beautifulest, tell you what: I'll arrange these flowers and I promise, if I find a sign of an ancestor, I'll go at once and apologize to his mighty madness--if you will write a note to Mr. Hanaford and bid him to the Thanksgiving feast." I agreed, and she went her busy way. In addressing the note to Page, I was reminded that a few days before his servant had called for a package of his master's clothing which Jane and I kept in repair. To my surprise the servant said that Hanaford San had gone away on business. Possibly my look of astonishment at the news invited confidence. After glancing around to make sure we were alone, he approached and in mixed Japanese and broken English told me how his heart was weighed "with anxious" for his employer. He said his master was very kind. Therefore, Master's trouble was his. Sometimes the young man was happy and sang tunes through whistle of lips; but one day he walked the floor all night. Lately he sat by the windows long hours and look fast into picture scenery. He feared illness for master. Often he forget to sing, whistle, and eat foods; just sit with hand on head. "One time I say 'Master, have got painful in brain spot? Or have fox spirit got brain?' He give big laugh; then myself makes many fools to see happy stay with master." He wished Hanaford San had some people, but in his room was not one picture of ancestor. He never had a happy time with many guests, and samisens and feast drinks, like other young American Dana Sans in Yokohama. When not teaching he sat alone with only his pipe and heart for company, sometimes a book. It was not polite for him to speak of Master's affairs but he hoped the foreign Sensies could advise him how to make Hanaford San have more happy thoughts all of time. I told the boy that Mr. Hanaford had lost his money and all his people, and probably it was thoughts of these losses that caused his sad hours; he would be all right in time. "Time," murmured the unsatisfied man, "time very long for troubled heart of young." Then, as if trying to forget that he was powerless to help, he began to recite the events of a recent visit to the city of a group of Tokio's famous detectives. They were searching for special fugitives and making the rounds of all suspicious quarters. It was most exciting and because of master's absence he had been able to see much. Though he wished Page had been at home. It might have entertained him. With many thanks for my "listening ear" the servant left. Everywhere I looked I seemed to see this question written: Was Page Hanaford's absence at the time of the detectives' visit accidental or planned? Try as I would to put the hateful thought away from me, it came back again and again. The boy's slow return to health had troubled me more than I could well say. It was so unnatural. Jane and I did everything that sincere affection could suggest to ward off the hours of strange dejection, and he never failed in appreciation; yet we made no headway to a permanent sunny spot in his life, where he could be always happy and healthy, as was the right of youth. I gave him every opportunity to tell me what caused his moods. I showed him by my interest and sympathy that I wanted to believe in him and would stand by him at any cost. There were times when he seemed on the verge of making a confidant of me, but his lips refused to utter the words. Usually he responded eagerly to Zura's gay coaxings to friendship and gladly shared her blithesome fun; but sometimes there was a look in his eyes such as a youthful prisoner might have when he knew that for life he is barred from blue skies. As time went on less often appeared the playful curve of his lips, the crinkly smile in the corners of his eyes. Once in the moonlight I saw him stretch out his hand as if to touch Zura's glistening hair. Some memory smote him. He drew back sharply. At times I was sure that he was purposely avoiding her. Yet the thought seemed foolish. If ever there was a goodly sight for eyes glad or sad it was the incarnation of joyous girlhood whose name was Zura Wingate. Unable to solve the puzzle, I could only give my unstinted attention to the boy and girl. If only our armor of love could shield the beloved! I sent the invitation for the Thanksgiving celebration, and was much relieved by the answer that Mr. Hanaford would join us that evening. The dinner was a great success. For all of us it was full of good cheer. Jane in her happiness looked years younger. She was in high glee. "Do you know, my friends in the Quarters are so happy over the hospital," she exclaimed. "I was obliged to ask the Sake Ya to sell only one little bottle of wine to each man. He promised and said he would dilute it at that. Wasn't it good of him to do it? Oh! it's beautiful how big difficulties are melting away--just like fax in the wire!" She joined in the laugh at her expense. Zura urged, "Lady Jinny, please get you a pair of crutches for that limp in your tongue." "Better than that, child. First operation in the hospital will be to take the kinks out of my foolish, twisted words." Afterwards in the sitting-room Zura went through her pretty little ceremony of making after-dinner coffee and serving it in some rare old Kutani cups. The wonderful decoration of the frail china led her to talk of the many phases of Japan and its life that appealed to the artist. Of the lights and shadows on land and sea the effects of the mists and the combination of color that defied mere paint. I'd never heard Zura talk so well nor so enthusiastically on a sensible subject. For a moment I had a hope that her love for the beauty of the country would overcome her antagonism to her mother's people. I was quickly undeceived. Then, as if fearful that praise for the glories of old Nippon might make her seem forgetful of the festal day of her own land, she flashed out, "But please don't anybody forget that I am an American to the marrow-bone." She turned to Page. "Did you come direct from America to Japan?" The usual miserable flush of confusion covered the boy's face. "Well--you see, I never keep track of dates; guess I'm too--maybe I've traveled a bit too much to count days--" Either ignoring Page's evasion or not seeing it, Zura continued, "But you love the blessed old country, don't you?" "With all my heart," he answered fervently. "Then why do you stay out here? A man can go where he pleases." "I have my work on hand and riches in mind. You know the old saw about a rolling stone?" "Indeed I do. It gathers no moss. Neither does it collect burrs in gray whiskers and hayseed in long hair. I tell you," she half-whispered, leaning towards him confidentially, "Let's you and I kidnap Jane and Ursula and emigrate to 'Dixie Land, the land of cotton, where fun and life are easily gotten.' Are you with me?" she audaciously challenged. Page's face matched the white flowers near him. With a lightness, all assumed, he answered, "All right; but wait till I make a fortune--teaching." He arose, saying he would go out on the balcony for a smoke. Soon after that Jane left, saying she must write many letters of thanks. I was alone with Zura. The night being mild for the time of year, she proposed that we stroll in the garden. To her this lovely spot was something new and beautiful. To me it was something old and tender, but the charm, the spell it wove around us both was the same. It lay in perfect peace, kissed to silence and tender mystery by the splendor of the great, red, autumn moon. More beautiful now, the legend said, because the gods gathered all the brilliant coloring from the dying foliage and gave it to the pale moon lady for safe keeping. "And look," exclaimed Zura, as we walked beside the waters which gave back the unclouded glory, "if the shining dame isn't using our lake for a looking-glass. You know, Ursula, this is the only night in the year the moon wears a hat. It's made from the scent of the flowers. Doesn't that halo around her look like a chapeau?" We strolled along, and to Zura's pleadings I answered with ghost legends and myths from a full store gathered through long, lonely years. Charmed by the magic of the night and the wonder of the garden, we lingered long. We paused in the ghostly half-light of the tall bamboo where the moonlight trickled through, to listen to the song of the Mysterious Bird of the Spirit Land. The bird is seldom seen alive, but if separated from its mate, at once it begins the search by a soft appealing call. If absence is prolonged the call increases to heart-breaking moaning, till from exhaustion the bird droops head downward and dies from grief. That night the mate was surely lost. The lonely feathered thing made us shiver with the weirdness of its sad notes. Suddenly we remembered the lateness of the hour and our guest. We took a short cut across the soft grass toward the house. We turned sharply around a clump of bamboo and halted. A few steps before us was Page Hanaford. Seated on the edge of an old stone lantern, head in hands, out of the bitterness of some agony we heard him cry, "God in Heaven! _How_ can I tell her!" Zura and I clutched hands and crept away to the house. Even then we did not dare to look each other in the face. Soon after Page came in. He gave no sign of his recent storm, but said good-night to me and, looking down at Zura, he held out his hand without speaking. Now that I could see the girl's face I could hardly believe she was the same being. With flushed cheeks and downcast eyes she stood in wondering silence, as if in stumbling upon a secret place in a man's soul, she had fallen upon undiscovered regions in her own. When I returned from locking the door after Page, Zura had gone to her room. In the night I remembered that not once had Page referred to his absence from the city. Zura, Jane and I had not often discussed young Hanaford. When we did, it was how we could give him pleasure rather than the probable cause of his spells of dejection. But when I found Jane alone the next day and told her what we had seen in the gardens, omitting what we'd heard, she had an explanation for the whole affair. [Illustration: "God in Heaven. How can I tell her!"] "It is perfectly plain, Miss Jenkins. Page has been disappointed in love. I know the signs," Jane said with a little sigh, brightening as she went on, "but that doesn't kill, just hurts, and makes people moody. I am going to tell Page I know his secret. I know, too, a recipe that will soon heal wounds like his. We have it right here in the house." "Oh! Jane Gray," I said, exasperated, "do cultivate a little common sense. Now you run along and make us some beaten biscuit for supper by that recipe that you know is infallible, and do not add to Page's burden whatever it is, by trying your sentimental remedies on him." XIV WHAT THE SETTING SUN REVEALED I heard Zura softly singing as she went about her work. She sang more and talked less in the two weeks that followed our Thanksgiving celebration than ever before since I had known her. In that time we had not seen Page. In our one talk of what we had seen in the garden Zura simply remarked that she supposed what we heard Page say meant he dreaded to tell somebody of the loss of his fortune and family. She lightly scoffed at my suggestion of anything more serious. I prayed that might be true, but why his confusion and evasion? Thoughts of the boy and his secret would have weighed heavily upon me had it not been for my joy in seeing day by day the increasing sweetness and graciousness of my adopted child. Her gentleness of manner and speech often caused me to wonder if she could be the same untamed hoyden of some months ago. Every day I prided myself on my quick understanding of girls, also of the way to rear them. It made me more than happy to see what I was accomplishing with Jane's help. While it was no royal road to peace and happiness which we traveled, for Zura's impatience with the Orient and its ways, her rebellion against the stigma laid upon Eurasians, brought the shadows upon many a day's sunshine, yet, as the time slipped by, there seemed to be a growing contentment. There were fewer references made to a definite return to America. In the prospect of her permanent stay with me, I found great joy. Her high spirits found expression in her work. Her love of excitement fed on encounters with Ishi and in teasing Jane. One afternoon she locked the old gardener up in a tea-house till he apologized for some disrespect. She detained him till intense fear of the coming darkness induced him to submit. One night Jane brought home a long bundle. "A new dress, Saint Jinny?" asked Zura. "No, honey, I haven't had a store dress in ten years. One somebody is through with becomes me quite well. These are the models for my hospital." "You mean plans, don't you? You wouldn't be caught bringing home a model. Models are ladies who would be overcome by the superfluous drapery of a dress. My daddy used them for pictures in his studio. Sit right down here by the fire, Miss Jaygray, and while you dissipate in hot beef tea, I'll give you a lesson on models." Zura painted so graphically a word picture of her father's studio it made me laugh, for I knew well enough that such clotheless creatures would not be permitted outside the Cannibal islands. The sheriff would take them up. As Zura continued her wild exaggerations a look of horror covered Miss Gray's face. "Oh! Zury!" she cried. "Surely those ladies had on part of a dress." "No! angel child, not even a symptom. Daddy didn't want to paint their clothes. He wanted to copy the curves that grew on the people." Jane covered her eyes and spoke in a voice filled with trouble. "Dearie! I've lived in America a long time but I didn't know there were people like that! I'm really afraid they aren't selling their souls for the highest price." "Daddy wasn't dealing in souls, but he did pay a pretty high price for lines." Jane, unsatisfied, asked why her father couldn't use statues for his model and Zura seeing how troubled her friend was for the souls of the undressed, asked with eager sympathy to be allowed to see the plans for the soon-to-be built hospital. The ground for the building had been purchased and work was well on the way. Shortly the roof-raising ceremony would take place. In this part of the country it is the most important event in building. Jane said that we were all expected to attend these exercises, even if we were so afraid of the criminal quarters that we had to take our hearts in our hands to enter. Brown head and gray were bent together over blueprints and long columns of figures. Both maid and woman were frail and delicate tools to be used in the up-building of wrecked lives. Yet by the skill of the Master Mechanic these instruments were not only working wonders in other lives, but also something very beautiful in their own. Zura took untiring interest in all Jane's plans for the after-festivities of the occasion. Most of their evenings were spent in arranging programs. I took no part. My hands were full of my own work and, while they talked, I paused to listen and was delighted not only in the transformation of Zura, but also in my own enlarged understanding of her. I loved all young things, and youth itself, but I had never been near them before. With tender interest I watched every mood of Zura's, passing from an untamed child to a lovely girl. Sometimes her bounding spirits seemed overlaid by a soft enchantment. She would sit chin in palm, dark, luminous eyes gazing out into space as if she saw some wonderful picture. I suppose most girls do this. I never had time, but I made it possible for Zura to have her dreams. She should have all that I had missed, if I could give it to her--even a lover in years to come. I did not share these thoughts with Jane, for it is plain human to be irritated when we see our weaknesses reflected in another, and encouragement was the last thing Jane's sentimental soul needed. I failed to make out what had come over my companion these days; she would fasten her eyes on Zura and smile knowingly, as if telling herself a happy secret, sighing softly the while. And poetry! We ate, lived and slept to the swing of some love ditty. Once I found Zura in a mood of gentle brooding. I suggested to her that, as the year was drawing to a close, it would be wise to start the new one with a clean bill of conscience. Did she not think it would be well for her to write to her grandfather and tell him she could see now that she had made it most difficult for him? That while she didn't want to be taken back she would like to be friends with him? At once she was alert, but not aggressively so as in the past. "Ursula, I'll do it if you insist; but it wouldn't be honest and I couldn't be polite. I do not want to be friends with that old man who labels everybody evil that doesn't think as he does. We'd never think alike in a thousand years. What's the use of poking up a tiger when he's quiet?" I persuaded. She evaded by saying at last: "Well, some time--maybe. I have too much on my mind now." "What, Zura?" "Oh, my future--and a few other things." * * * * * Kishimoto San had never honored me with a visit since his granddaughter had been an inmate of my house. Whenever a business conference was necessary, I was requested, by mail, to "assemble" in the audience chamber of the Normal School. The man was beginning to look old and broken but he still faithfully carried out his many duties of office and religion. He never retreated one inch in his fight against all innovations that would make the country the less Japanese or his faith less Buddhistic. More often than not he stood alone and faced the bitter opposition of the progressives. In no one thing did he so prove his unconquerable spirit and his great ideals for his country as the patience with which he endured the ridicule of his opponents. For to a man of the proud and sensitive East, shot and shell are far easier to face than ridicule. On a certain afternoon I had gone to meet with a committee to discuss a question pertaining to a school regulation, by which the girl students of the city schools would be granted liberty in dress and conduct more equal with the boys. Of course Kishimoto San stood firm against so radical a measure. Another member of the committee asked him if he did not believe in progress. The unbending old man answered sternly: "Progress--yes. But a progress based on the traditions of our august ancestors, not a progress founded on Western principle, which, if adopted by us unmodified, means that we, with our legions of years behind us, our forefathers descended from the gods, as they were, will be neither wholly East nor West but a something as distorted as a dragon's body with the heads and wings of an eagle. Progress! Have not our misconceptions of progress cost us countless lives and sickening humiliations? Has not the breaking of traditions threatened the very foundations of our homes? Small wonder the foreign nations offer careless insult when we stoop to make monkeys of ourselves and adopt customs and assume a civilization that can no more be grafted on to our nation than cabbage can be grown on plum trees. Take what is needful to strengthen and uplift. Make the highest and best of any land your own standard and live thereby. But remember, in long years ago the divine gods created you Japanese, and to the end of eternity, struggle as you may, as such you cannot escape your destiny!" As he finished his impassioned speech, a ray of sun fell upon his face, lifted in stern warning to his opponents. He was like a figure of the Past demanding reverence and a hearing from the Present. For the time he won his point and I was glad, for it was Kishimoto San's last public speech. Soon after he was stricken with a lingering illness. In previous talks he had neither asked after his granddaughter nor referred to her. But this afternoon, taking advantage of his look of half-pleasure caused by the victory he had won single handed, I took occasion, when offering congratulations, to give him every opportunity to inquire as to Zura and her progress. I was very proud of what I had done with the girl, of the change her affection for Jane and me had accomplished. Naturally I was anxious to exhibit my handiwork. As well tempt a mountain lion to inspect a piece of beautiful tapestry in the process of weaving. However tactfully I led up to the subject he walked around it without touching it. To him she was not. Reconciliation was afar off. I said good-by and left. It was this and the speech I had heard in the afternoon that occupied my mind as I wended my way home. Of course the country must go forward; but it was a pity that, even if progress were not compatible with tradition, it could not be tempered with beauty. Why must the youth of the land adopt those hideous imitations of foreign clothes? The flower-like children wear on their heads the grotesque combinations of muslin and chicken feathers they called hats? There are miles of ancient moats around the city, filled with lotus, the great pink-and-white blossoms giving joy to the eye as its roots gave food for the body. Slowly these stretches of loveliness were being turned into dreary levels of sand for the roadbed of a trolley. Even now the quiet of the city was broken by the clang of the street-car gong. I was taking my first ride that day. With Kishimoto San's plea for progress of the right kind still ringing in my ears, my eyes fell upon some of the rules for the conduct of the passengers, printed in large type, and hung upon the front door of the car: "Please do not stick your knees or your elbows out of the windows." "Fat people must ride on the platform." "Soiled coolies must take a bath before entering." An advertisement in English emphasized the talk of the afternoon: "Invaluable most fragrant and nice pills, especially for sudden illness. For refreshing drooping minds and regulating disordered spirits, whooping cough and helping reconvalescents to progress." The force of Kishimoto's appeal was strong upon me. I alighted at my street and began the climb that led to my house. Halfway up a picture-book tea-house offered hospitality; in its miniature garden I paused to rest and faced the sea in all its evening beauty. Happily the glory of the skies and the tender loveliness of the hills still belonged to their Maker, untouched by commercialism. The golden track of the setting sun streamed across the mountain tops and turned to fiery red a feathery shock of distant clouds. High and clear came the note of a wild goose as he called to his mate on their homeward flight. In the city below a thousand lights danced and beckoned through the soft velvet shadows of coming night. There fluttered up to me many sounds--a temple bell, the happy call of children at play, cheerful echoes of home-like content, the gentle gaiety of simple life. It was for these, the foundations of the Empire, that Kishimoto San feared ruin, with the coming of too sudden a transition. But I forgot the man and his woes. The spell of heavenly peace that spread upon land and sea fell like a benediction. It crept into my heart and filled me with thankfulness that I had known this land and its people and for all the blessings that had fallen to me in the coming of Zura Wingate. Gratitude for my full understanding of her was deep. If only the shadows could be cleared away from the boy I loved, life would be complete. Exalted by the beauty of the evening, and by my spiritual communings, I entered my house and faced the door of the study. It was ajar. Silhouetted against the golden light, which had so filled me with joy and peace, stood two figures. And the man held the hands of the girl against his breast, and looked down into her glad eyes as a soul in the balance must look into Paradise. It was Page Hanaford and Zura Wingate! As quietly as possible I went around another way and dropped into the first handy chair. The truth was as bare as a model. The force of it came to me like a blow between the eyes. Long ago, because of chilblains, I had adopted felt shoes. In that second of time I stood at the door the noiseless footgear cured me of all the egotism I ever possessed. Now I knew by what magic the transformation had been wrought in Zura. And the castle of dreams, built on my supposed understanding of youth and the way it grew, was swept away by a single breath from the young god of love. What a silly old jay bird I had been! Was that what Jane Gray had been smiling to herself about? I felt like shaking her for seeing it before I did. * * * * * At dinner Jane was the only one of the three of us without an impediment in her silence. I was glad when the meal was over and we went to the study. Zura buried herself in a deep windowseat, to watch the lights on the water, she said. When there was not another glimmer to be seen, from the shadows came a voice with a soft little tremble in it, or possibly I had grown suddenly sensitive to trembles: "Ursula, Mr. Hanaford was here this afternoon." Now, thought I, it's coming. Steadying myself I asked: "Was he? What did he have to say?" "Oh-h!"--indifferently--"nothing much. He brought back an armful of books." An armful of books--aye, and his heart full of love! How dared he speak of it with his life wrapped in the dark shadows of some secret? Talk to me of progress! That day I could have raced neck-and-neck with a shooting star! XV PINKEY CHALMERS CALLS AGAIN Never having been within hailing distance before of the processes of love and proceedings of courtship there were no signposts in my experience to guide me as to what should be my next step, if it were mine to take. I had been too busy a woman to indulge in many novels, but in the few I had read the hero lost no time in saying, "Will you?" and at once somebody began to practise the wedding march. I suppose the fashion in lovemaking changes as much as the styles; nothing I ever thought or dreamed on the subject seemed to fit the case in hand. I waited for Zura to tell me, but she didn't. She only sang the more as she went about her work, doubling her efforts in making sweet the home and herself. She seemed to find fresh joy in every hour. Any thoughts I'd cherished that young Hanaford would come at once, clear up all the confusion about himself, frankly declare his love for Zura and be happy forever afterward died from lack of nourishment. Only my deep affection for the boy restrained my anger at his silence. The love and sympathy which bolstered up my faith in him were reinforced by his gentle breeding and high mental quality; but circumstances forced me reluctantly to admit that the story he told when he first came was not true. Page Hanaford was not only under a shadow, but also was undoubtedly seeking to conceal his whereabouts. And why? The question sat on the foot of my bed at night and made faces at me, scrawled itself all over my work and met me around every corner. It was next to impossible to connect him with dishonesty or baseness when looking into his face, or hearing him talk. But why didn't he speak out, and why hide his talents in this obscure place? He was gifted. His classes had increased to large numbers, and so excellent were his methods his fame had gone abroad. The Department of Education had offered him a lucrative position as teacher in the Higher Normal College in a neighboring city. But, instead of snatching at this good fortune, he asked for time to consider. He came frequently to talk it over with me; at least that's what he said he came for. The law required the applicant for such a position to answer questions concerning himself and all his ancestors. In my talks with Page about this law I emphasized every detail of the intimate questions that would be put to him. I tried to impress upon him the necessity of having either a clean record, or a very clever tongue when he went before the judgment seat of the Japanese authorities. I hoped my seriousness would bring about a speedy explanation, denial, declaration--anything, so it came quickly. The truth is I don't believe he ever heard a word of what I said on the subject. If Zura was out of the room, his eyes were glued to the door watching for it to open. If she were present, his eyes would be fixed on her face. If I made an excuse to leave the room, Page made another to keep me, as if he feared the thing he most desired. What did it all mean? If Page Hanaford could not explain himself honorably, what right had he to look at the girl with his heart in his eyes? If no explanation could be given, what right had Zura Wingate to grow prettier and happier every day? I had always believed that love was as simple and straightforward as finding the end of a blind alley. There was good reason for me to change my belief as the days passed and nothing was said on the subject. Of course, I could have hauled the two up before me, like children, and told them what I had seen and was still seeing; but I dreaded to force the man's secret and I had to acknowledge that, for the time, I was no more equal to guiding this thing called "love" than I was to instructing birds to build a nest. Jane was not a bit of help to me. Refusing to discuss anything except the sentimental side of the affair, she repeated verse till I was almost persuaded this poetical streak was a disease rather than a habit. Between stanzas she proffered food and drink to Page, in quantities sufficient to end quickly both man and mystery, had he accepted. Her attitude to Zura was one of perfect understanding and entire sympathy. Every time she looked at the girl, she sighed and went off into more poetry. Troubled thoughts stormed my brain as hailstones pelt a tin roof. I prayed for wisdom as I had never prayed for happiness. The announcement one day that Mr. Tom Chalmers had called caused no sudden rise in my spirits, but a second card, bearing the name of Mrs. Tom, somewhat relieved my mind. Their coming offered a diversion and proved Pinkey of a forgiving spirit. They were on their wedding journey, he told us after I had summoned Zura. Greetings and congratulations were soon over. While the steamer was coaling in a near-by port he thought he would just run over in jinrikishas to say "Hello!" and show Mrs. Chalmers to us. Yankee Doodle with a hat full of feathers could not have been more proud. What there was of Mrs. Pinkey to exhibit was indeed a show. Her youthful prettiness belonged more to the schoolroom period than wifehood; and Heaven forbid that the clothes she wore should be typical of my country; there was not enough material in her skirt to make me a comfortable pair of sleeves! I marveled how, in so limited a space, she advanced one limb before the other. Later Zura explained the process to me: "It's a matter of politeness, Ursula. One knee says to the other, 'You let me pass this time, and I'll step aside when your turn comes.'" Even this courtesy had failed to prevent a catastrophe; one seam of her dress was ripped for a foot above the ankle. The coat of this remarkable costume was all back and no front, and from the rear edge of her hat floated a wonderful feather like a flag from the stern of a gunboat. I could see by her face how funny she thought my clothes. I hoped she did not realize how near to scandalous her outfit seemed to me. Usually the point of view depends on which side of the ocean one is when delivering judgment. Pinkey was as eloquent on the subject of his wedding as if he had been the only Adam who ever marched down a church aisle. He was most joyful at the prospect of showing to his bride all the curiosities and shortcomings of the East. He felt he had encompassed wide and intimate knowledge of it in his two or three trips. I asked Mrs. Chalmers how she liked Japan. She took her adoring eyes off her newly-acquired husband long enough to answer: "It is lovely. Wonderful little people--so progressive and clean. It's too bad they are so dishonest; of course you must have lost a lot of money." "No, I can't say that I have. I've been in the country thirty years and never lost a 'rin' except when my pocket was torn. Come to think of it, if histories, travelers and police records state facts, dishonesty is not peculiar to the Orient." The little bride answered: "I don't know about that; but the Japanese must be awfully tricky, for Pinkey says so and the captain of the ship, who hates every inhabitant of the Empire, said the banks had to employ Chinese clerks." Why waste words? What were real facts, or the experience of a lifetime against such unimpeachable authority as Mr. Pinkey Chalmers and the captain of a Pacific steamer! Why condemn the little bride, for after all she was human. Nationally and individually, the tighter we hug our own sins and hide their faces, the more clearly we can see the distorted features of our neighbor's weakness. There was more of pity than anger due a person who, ignoring all the beauty in the treasure house before her, chose as a souvenir a warped and very ancient skeleton of a truth and found the same pleasure in dangling it, that a child would in exhibiting a newly-extracted tooth. Mr. Chalmers had been talking to Zura, but when he caught the word "bank" he included the entire company in his conversation. "Talking banks, are you? Well that is a pretty sore subject with me. Just lost my whole fortune in a bank. Had it happened before the wedding I'd have been obliged to put the soft pedals on the merry marriage bells. Guess you heard about the million-dollar robbery of the Chicago Bank; biggest pile any one fellow ever got away with. And that's the wonder: he got clean away, simply faded into nothing. It happened months ago and not a trace of him since. Detectives everywhere are on the keen jump; big reward hung up. He's being gay somewhere with seventy-five dollars of my good money." Tea was served and we indulged in much small talk, but I was not sorry when Pinkey said he "must be moving along" to the steamer. He charged us to wireless him, if we saw a strange man standing around with a bushel of gold concealed about his person. It was sure to be the missing cashier. "By-the-way," he asked, pausing at the door, "where is that chap I met when I was here before, who took such an interest in my business? Maybe he is among those absent wanted ones. What was he doing here anyhow?" Zura answered with what I thought unnecessary color that Mr. Hanaford was in the city, and was soon to be promoted to a very high position in the educational world. Pinkey looked into her face and, turning, gave me a violent wink. "Oho! Now I'm getting wise." At the same time humming a strain supposed to be from a wedding march. Oh, but I wished I could slap him! Think of his seeing in a wink what I hadn't seen in months! My visitors said good-by and went their happy way, but in the story of the missing cashier Mr. Chalmers left behind a suggestion that was as hateful as it was painful and haunting. * * * * * Page spent that evening with us. He was lighter of heart than I had ever seen him, more at ease and entertaining, and as far removed from crime as courage is from cowardice. My heart ached as I looked at him, for I longed for his happiness as I yearned to know he was clean of soul. If some cruel mistake had darkened his life, why did he not say so and let us, his friends, help him forget? Why not start anew with love as a guide? It was another Page we were seeing that night. Was it the magic of love that made him hopeful, almost gay? Or was it for the moment he was permitted one more joyous flight in the blue skies of freedom before he was finally caught in the snare of the shadow? For the time he sunned his soul in the garden of friendship and love and gave us, not only glimpses of other worlds, but disclosed another side of himself. If the new man I was seeing in Page Hanaford captivated me the revelation of the undiscovered woman in Zura mystified and amazed me. Till now her every characteristic was so distinctly of her father's race, everything about her so essentially Western, that I was beginning to think she had tricked a favorite law of Nature and defied maternal influence. As much as she loved pretty clothes, and regardless of the pressure brought to bear by her grandfather, she had refused to wear the native garb, preferring the shabby garments she brought with her from America. I had never thought of her being Japanese; but that evening, when Page was announced and Zura walked into the room clothed in kimono and obi, my eyes were astonished with as fair a daughter of old Nippon as ever pompadoured her hair or wore sandals on her feet. She was like a new creature to me. Her daring and sparkling vivacity were tempered by a tranquil charm, as if a slumbering something, wholly of the East had suddenly awakened and claimed her. With eyes half lowered she responded with easy familiarity to Page's talk of other lands. She said her father had traveled far and had spent many of their long winter evenings in spinning yarns of foreign countries for her enjoyment. She'd been brought up more regularly on pictures than she had food. Once they had copies of all the great paintings. Mother sold the last one to get money to pay the passage to come to Japan. And so they talked. Jane, snug in her chair, was content to listen, and I, who had been blind, was now dumb with the startling surprises that the game of life being played before me revealed. The girl glowed as softly bright as a firefly and the light lured the man to happy forgetfulness. For once he let love have full sway. He neither sought to conceal what he felt, nor to stem the tide which was fast sweeping him--he knew not nor cared not whither so long as his eyes might rest upon the dearness of Zura's face, as with folded feet and hands she sat on a low cushion, the dull red fire reflecting its glory in the gold embroidery of her gown. There had been a long silence. Then Zura recalled the event of the day: "Oh, Mr. Hanaford, by the way. You remember Pinkey Chalmers, don't you--the nice boy you and Ursula entertained so beautifully in the garden when he called the last time? He was here again to-day; had his bride with him. Ursula will tell you what she looked like. I do wish you had been here. Mr. Chalmers told us the most exciting news about a Chicago cashier who skipped away with a million dollars and hid both himself and the money--nobody knows where. They think he is out this way and I think I am going to find him." In the passing of one second the happiness in Page Hanaford's face withered. Like a mask fear covered it. He thrust his strained body forward and with shaking hand grasped the shoulder of the girl. "Hid it! Tell me, in heaven's name, tell me where could a man hide a million dollars?" His voice was tense to the breaking point. He searched the girl's face as if all eternity depended upon her reply. Before she could make it he sank back in his chair, pitifully white and limp. He begged for air. We opened the window. Zura ran for water. While I bathed his face he said, looking at Zura: "I beg your pardon. I'm not at all well, but I didn't mean to startle you." "I'm not startled," she answered, and lightly added: "but I was just wondering why anybody would care so much where a million old dollars were hid. I know a hundred things I'd rather find." The man laid his hand on that of the girl as it rested on the arm of the chair. "Name one, Zura." "Love." And on her face the high lights were softened to compassion and tenderness. Page took his hand from hers and covered his eyes. * * * * * There I stood waiting to put another cold cloth on the boy's head. Neither one of them knew I was on earth. I hardly knew it myself. For the first time in my life I was seeing the real thing and the wonder of it almost petrified me. What else might have happened is an untold tale. Jane saved the situation. I had not noticed her absence. She now entered, carrying a tray well filled with crackers and a beverage which she placed before Page. "Honey, I don't believe in any of those spirit-rising liquors even when you faint, but I made this jape gruice right off our own vine and fig tree and I know it's pure and innocent. Yes, Zura, grape juice is what I said. Page can drink every gallon I have if he wants it, and I'll toast cheese and crackers for him all night." The twist in Jane Gray's tongue might lead to laughter, but her heart never missed the road to thoughtful kindness. Very soon Page said he felt much better and would get home and to bed. When he took his coat and hat from the hall he looked so weak, so near to illness, I begged him to stay and let us care for him. He gently refused, saying he would be all right in the morning. I followed him to the gate. He turned to say good-night. I put my hands on his shoulders and with all the affection at my command I invited his confidence. "What is it, son? I'm an old woman, but maybe I can help you. Let me try." He lifted his hands to mine and his grasp was painful. The dim light from the old bronze lantern reflected the tears in his eyes as he answered: "Help me? You have in a thousand ways. I'll soon be all right. I'm just a little over-worked. Haven't slept much lately. Need rest." Then leaning near with sudden tenderness: "Heaven bless you, dear woman. You have been as good to me as my own mother. Some day--perhaps. Good-night. Don't worry, Miss Jenkins." Why didn't he throw me over into a bramble patch and tell me not to get scratched? I just leaned my old head up against the gate and cried. I returned to the house by a rear door, for Jane was in the living-room. XVI ENTER KOBU, THE DETECTIVE The compensation of the morning's belated brightness came in the golden glory with which it flooded the world, so warm it melted the hoar frost jewels on tree and shrub, so tender the drooping roses lifted their pink heads and blushed anew. It was the kind of a morning one knew that something was waiting just ahead. It required no feat of intellect for me to know that a great many somethings awaited my little household. Whenever I arose in the morning feeling sentimental, something was sure to happen. The afternoon of this day was the appointed time for the "roof-raising festival" of Jane's hospital. Three o'clock was the hour set to begin the ceremonies, but early morning found Jane and Zura as busy collecting books, bundles and a folding baby-organ, as if moving day had fallen upon the household. Neither one of my companions seemed depressed by the happenings of the night before, or else they were determined that every other thought should be put aside till the roof was safely over the dream of Jane's life. Jinrickishas piled high with baskets of refreshments and decorations moved gaily down the street. Jane and Zura, laughing like two schoolgirls and as irrepressible, headed the little procession. I waved them good luck and went back to my work and my thoughts. I was interrupted by a note that came from Page in answer to one of mine, saying a slight fever would prevent his accepting the invitation to go with me to the exercises in the afternoon, but he hoped to see us at the house later in the evening. Of course he meant us in general, Zura particularly, and it might be fever or it might be other things that kept him away from Jane's tea party. I was going to know in either case as soon as I could get Page Hanaford by himself. Right or wrong I would help him all I could, but know I must and would. I simply could not live through another day of anxiety. If Page told me his trouble, there was no reason why it would fade away, and my anxiety cease to be, but having made up my mind to act definitely, my spirits rose like a clay pigeon released by a spring. That afternoon, at the time appointed for the ceremony, when I turned from Flying Sparrow Street into Tube Rose Lane a strange sight met my eyes. It was clean. For once in the history of the Quarter poverty and crime had taken a bath and were indulging in an open holiday. It had gone still farther. From the lowliest hut of straw and plaster to the little better house of the chief criminal, cheap, but very gay decorations fluttered in honor of the coming hospital. The people stood about in small groups. The many kimonos, well patched in varied colors, lent a touch of brilliancy to the sordid alleyway, haunted with ghosts of men and women, dead to all things spiritual. Here and there policemen strolled, always in pairs. Whenever they drew near, and until they were past, the talking groups fell silent, and before an open door, or window a blank white screen was softly shifted. This coming from cover by the inhabitants and premeditatedly giving a visible sign of their existence was a supreme tribute to the woman who had lived among them successfully, because hers was the courage of the sanctified, her bravery that of love. The day sparkled with winter's bright beauty. The sun had wooed an ancient plum tree into blossoming long before its time. It spread its dainty flowers on the soft straw bed of an old gray roof. A playful wind caught up the petals, sending the white blossoms flying across the heads of the unjust into the unclean ditches where they covered stagnation with a frail loveliness. For the time at least degradation hid its face. Though poverty and sin were abroad, peace and good will might have been their next-door neighbors had it not been for a certain quality in the atmosphere, invisible but powerful, which caused a feeling that behind it all, there was an evil something that sneered alike at life and beauty; that had for its motto lust and greed, and mercilessly demanded as tribute the soul of every inhabitant. Collected crime at bay was an unyielding force not easily reckoned with. The fact that one small woman, with only faith to back her, was battling against it single-handed, sent Jane Gray so high up in my estimation that I could barely see her as she floated in the clouds. I saw my companion in an entirely new light as I joined the throngs gathered about the space where the raising of the roof was taking place. The ceremony here was brief. With countless ropes tied to the joined roof as it lay on the ground, the eager coolies stood ready for the signal to pull aloft the structure and guide it to the posts placed ready to receive it. Jane walked to the cleared center and stood waiting to speak. There was instant silence when the crowd saw her. With simple words she thanked the workmen for their interest and the many half-days' labor they had contributed, then she raised her hand, and with great shouting and cheering the roof of Jane's long-dreamed-of refuge for sinners, sick and hopeless, was safely hoisted to its place. After this everybody was entitled to a holiday and went quickly to the tea and cake which Zura and her helpers had prepared and served from small booths. The rest of the exercises were to take place in the near-by house that Miss Gray had been using temporarily. By removing all the paper partitions the lower part of the house had been thrown into one large room. Circling the crowd of waiting people seated on the floor a row of cots held the sick and afflicted, worsted by sin and disease. Before them stood Jane, who, in the custom of the country, bade them welcome. A small sea of faces was lifted to her. Such faces!--none beautiful; all stamped with crime; some scarcely human, only physical apparitions of debased Nature. With shifting glances they listened to an official who made Jane an offer from the city to contribute to the support of the hospital, the pledge of two doctors to give their services so many hours a week, a contribution of milk from a rich merchant, and an offer from a friendly barber to give so many free shaves. Their eyes widened with wonder and suspicion. What could people mean by giving things and taking away the excitement of stealing them? But when the man spoke of how the officials had watched Jane and her work, at first with skeptical unbelief because they thought she would not endure a month, now with warmest sympathy because she had succeeded in keeping the Quarters freer of crime and disease than ever before, they forgot their fear and voiced their approval in much hand-clapping, and wise shaking of heads. They called for Miss Gray. Jane arose and very shyly thanked the city's representative. Then as gently and as simply as if talking to wayward children, she spoke to the men and women before her, who bent forward with respectful attention while the sick ones fastened their weary eyes upon her. "My people, the building of this little hospital means not only the healing of your bodies, but also the way to cleansing your souls. Dear friends, let me say in this world there is nothing worth while but your souls. Make them clean and white. Sell them for the highest price. What do I mean by that? I mean that if it is for the sake of your souls, it is nothing to go hungry, cold and in rags. What matters the outside so long as you make your hearts sweet and shiny and true? All of you before me have gone astray. So many of you have wandered like lost children from the homeward path, and darkness came and you could not find the way back. Each of you was once a happy little child, with some place to call home and some one there to care when you were lost. I do not know why the darkness overtook you, but I know it did, and to-day, as before, I am a messenger to show you the way back. I have come to tell you that there is still Somebody who cares whether you are lost or not. There is still Some One who waits to guide you home. He asks you as a little child to take hold of His hand and He will lead you out of the fearful darkness. I do not ask what nameless deeds have made you fear the light of day and the eyes of men. I only know you are my friends, to whom I so gladly bring this message, and to whom I so willingly give my strength and my life to help you find the way back to the greatest Friend, who, understanding all, forgives." A look resembling a shadow of hope came into their faces as she finished, and when, at a sign, Zura haltingly played, "I Need Thee Every Hour," and the people stumbled along with the music in an attempt to sing, the burden of the sound as well as the song was a cry for help. The song finished, one part of the crowd seemed to fade away, the others stayed and gathered about Jane as if only to touch her meant something better than their own sin-stained lives. She moved among them speaking gently to this one, earnestly to that one. Tenderly she smoothed the covers over the sick bodies, leaving a smile and word of cheer wherever she stopped. Sentimentalism dropped from her like a garment worn for play. It was the spiritual woman only I was seeing, one who faced these real and awful facts of life with the calm, blissful assurance of knowing the truth, of giving her life for humanity because of love. Jane Gray was indeed a "Daughter of Hope." * * * * * A little later, Zura--here, there, everywhere, like a bright autumn leaf dancing among dead twigs--found me conversing with a man who all the afternoon had kept very near to me and evidenced every desire to be friendly. "Belovedest," exclaimed the girl gaily, her face glowing as she approached, "come with me quick or you will miss the sight of your young life. You may come, too, sir, if you wish," addressing my persistent companion, who apparently had decided to spend the rest of his natural life in my presence. Zura led us toward the rear of the house. As we approached a closed room there came to us sounds of splashing water and happy squeals. She slid open the paper doors. Before us were two big tubs full of small children. The baths were wide enough for six and so deep only the cropped heads showed above the rims as they stood neck high. The lower ranks of young Japan were engaged in a fierce water battle of ducking and splashing and a trial of endurance, as to who could stay under longest. Their thin yellow bodies gleamed in the sun of the late afternoon as they romped and shouted. The fun growing so boisterous, and a miniature war threatening, the one attendant, a very old woman, was outclassed. Without invitation Zura rolled up her sleeves and took part in the fray. Instantly there was quiet. A bath was strange enough to those waifs, but to be touched by a foreigner who looked like a princess made them half fear while they wondered. They soon found she knew their games as well as their talk; then everybody claimed attention at once. She scrubbed them one by one playfully but firmly. She stood them in a row and put them through a funny little drill, commanding them to salute, and when they finished they were clothed ready to march out to the street in perfect order. While this was going on the man who had attached himself to me stood close by, seemingly much interested. In a detached sort of way he began talking in broken English. "Miss Jaygray most wonderful of persons," he observed. "She come to this place of hell and make clean spot. She like gray owl too. She have see of all bad things. But learning of such stop right in her eye; it never get to her memory place. All time she talk 'bout one, two very little good thing what are in this street. Low womans in here give much works also rin and sen for to buy water tubs for babies. Bad mens give work of hands, for Miss Jaygray. She most wonderful of females. Maybe because she 'Merican. Hijiyama much honored by skilful 'Mericans: Jenkins San, Wingate San, Hanaford San too. He most skilful of all. You know Hanaford San?" Something in his voice made me look in the man's face. It was as expressive as biscuit dough. I acknowledged my acquaintance with Page. The man resumed: "Hanaford San nice gentleman. I give wonder why he stay this far-away place. I hear some time he have much sadful. Too bad. Maybe he have the yearn for his country. If this be truthful why he not give quick return to 'Merica?" I answered that Mr. Hanaford had lost all his money and his father and had come to Japan to begin anew. His success in teaching was reason enough for his remaining. Apparently indifferent my questioner mused as if to himself: "Him papa have gone dead. Badful news. And moneys have got lost. Most big troublesome for young man." I did not think it strange this queer person knew Page. The boy had all kinds and conditions in his classes, as Jane had in her Quarters. Neither was it unusual for a stranger to follow me around. When I went to a new part of the city, I was accustomed to being followed as if I were a part of a circus. But my self-attached friend's interest in Page's history caused me to observe him more closely. Except that his patched clothes were cleaner and he spoke English I could discover little difference between him and Jane's other guests. Criminal or not his carelessly put but persistent questions regarding Page, his habits, how long I had known him, how often he came to my house and many other things, so annoyed me that I arose to find Jane and suggest going home. Failing in my quest I returned to find my inquisitor gone and Zura putting on her coat and hat. "Zura," I said, "who was that man who stuck to me all afternoon like furniture varnish? He made me talk whether I wanted to or not. Such questions as he asked!" "Do you mean that clean, raggy little man who looked through you, but not at you?" she questioned. "Star of my Sapphire, you have made a hit. That was Kobu, the keenest detective the flag of the Rising Sun ever waved over. I thought you knew. He has been here a week trying to pry information out of Lady Jinny. You should hear their interviews. He asks the subtlest questions, and Jane Gray doesn't do a thing but let her tongue get locomotor ataxia, and Kobu can make nothing of her answers. It's as good as vaudeville to hear them. He'd just as well leave her alone. Torture wouldn't make her tell what she knows, and she doesn't have to either! Did he ask you about Page? He did me too. What does it matter? I told him all I knew. That is most all. Why shouldn't I? There's nothing wrong about Page. He just can't get over the loss of his father, and there is something about old money that worries him." She threw her arms around my waist. "What a happy day! Isn't Jane the realest saint you ever knew? You're a saint, too, Ursula, the nice sinnery kind that I love to play with. I am tired and hungry. Come on, let's find Lady Jinny and go home. Isn't the blessedest thing in the world to have one to go to? I dare you to race me to the corner." I was far from feeling playful, so declined. More than ever I felt the necessity of an interview with Page. I must know the truth. He must know the happenings of the afternoon. * * * * * That evening, after dinner, while sitting with Zura in the living-room, I eagerly listened for Page's step in the hall. Soon it came, and as we arose to greet him I was made more anxious by his fever-bright eyes. I was reassured, however, when he replied to my inquiries by saying: "Quite all right, thank you. Head gets a bit rocky at times, but that does not matter. Awfully sorry I was unable to be among those present at Miss Jane's tea party. Tell me all about it--the guests and the costumes." Though he walked about the room, picking up books and small objects only to lay them quickly down, he gave the closest attention to Zura as she eagerly gave her account of the afternoon. I was about to interrupt with a request to Page to come with me for a private conference in the dining-room, when a summons came for me to go at once to the house in the garden where Ishi lived. The messenger thought Ishi was very ill, or gone crazy. I found him very drunk. Standing in the middle of the room, with rows of rare orchids ranged around the walls, he was waving a sharp-bladed weapon while executing a sword dance. In between steps he made speeches to the plants, telling them how their blessed brothers and sisters had had their heads cut off by a silly girl on whom he would have vengeance. He had sworn by his blood at the temple. It required me a good hour to reduce him to submission and to sleep. When I returned to the house Page Hanaford was gone. I was disappointed enough to cry. Zura said that the next morning was the time for him to go to the Government office to fill out the papers required for his position at the Normal College, and that he must make his last preparation for this. He asked her to say to me that he would accept the offer I had made to go with him as interpreter and would call for me on his way down. "But," I asked almost peevishly, "what made him go so soon?" "I am not sure. Maybe he wanted to study. Or, it may be, I made his head ache. I did talk a lot. I told him everything--about the babies in the bath and Jane's sermon and your detective." "Oh, Zura!" I said helplessly. "Yes, I did. Why not?" She leaned 'way over and looked at me steadily. Then with something of her old passion she cried: "Listen to me, Ursula! Don't you dare think Page Hanaford guilty of crime! There isn't anything wrong with him. I know it. I know it." "How do you know it, my child? Has he told you the real reason for his being in Japan? Has he told you why fear suddenly overtakes and confuses him? Or has he only dared to tell you other things?" A joyous little sob caught in her throat. "His lips have told me nothing, Ursula. His eyes and my heart have told me all." "And without knowing these things you love him, Zura?" "Love him," she echoed softly. "Right or wrong, I love him absolutely!" I looked at the girl in amazed wonder. There seemed to be an inner radiance as if her soul had been steeped in some luminous medium. She came nearer, her young face held close to mine. "Oh, I am so happy, so blissfully happy! For good or not, it's love for eternity. Dear, kind old friend!"--inclosing my face with her hands, she kissed me on the lips. In that faraway time of my babyhood my mother's good-by kiss was the last I had known. The rapture of the girl's caress repaid long, empty years. For a moment I was as happy as she. Then I remembered. All day I had seen love perform miracles, and, like some invisible power, regulate the workings of life as some deft hand might guide a piece of delicate machinery; but that anybody could be happy, radiantly happy, with shadows and detectives closing around the main cause of happiness was farther than I could stretch my belief in the transforming power of joy. Surely this thing called "love" was either farseeing wisdom or shortsighted foolishness. XVII A VISIT TO THE KENCHO The North Wind began a wild song through the trees in the night. It tore at the mountains with the fury of an attacking army. It lashed the waters of the sea into a frenzy. With the dawn came the snow. Softly and tenderly it wrapped the earth in a great white coverlet, hushing the troubled notes of the savage storm music into plaintive echoes of a lullaby. As it grew light a world of magic beauty greeted my eyes. Winter was King, but withal a tender monarch wooing as his handmaidens the beauties of early spring. The great Camellia trees gave lavishly of their waxen flowers, brocading the snow in crimson. Young bamboo swinging low under the burden, edged its covering of white down with a lacy fringe of delicate green. The scene should have called forth a hymn of praise; but the feelings which gripped me more nearly matched the clouds rolled in heavy gray masses over land and sea. Page was to call for me at ten. Long before that time I was sitting on the edge of the chair, ready and waiting, trying to coax into my over-soul an ounce or so of poise, a measure of serenity. It needed no fortune teller to forecast that this visit to the Kencho would be productive of results, whether good or bad the coming hours alone could tell. Knowing the searching questions that would be put to Page Hanaford, I was beginning to wonder if the offer of this position was not part of the game Kobu was playing. I had never seen Japan's famous manhunter till the day before, but by reputation I knew him to be relentless in pursuit of victims to be offered as tribute to his genius. Thoughts of Page Hanaford in prison garb behind barred doors made me shiver. I was depressed in spirits and was trying to plan what I could possibly do, when the sound of Zura's voice came to me as she moved about in the upper story attending to her household duties. It was a foolish old negro melody she sang, and one of its verses ran: Ole Cap'n Noah a-feelin' mighty blue, Kep' a sayin' to hisself, "Oh, what shall I do?" 'Long come a sparrow bird, spic 'n spin, 'N _he_ say, "Brer Noah, do de bes' you kin. Yo' joy 'n yo' trouble is sho' gwine to bide 'N las' jes' as long as yo' own tough hide. So say, Cap'n Noah, better laugh 'n grin; Perk up yo' speerits 'n do de bes' yo kin. The insistent note of happiness in the girl's voice and the humble philosophy of the song so cheered me that, when my escort appeared on the stroke of ten, hope came riding down on the streaks of sunshine that were battling through the clouds. While my companion had about him every mark of nervous restlessness that so often precedes a crisis or an illness he also had the air of a man at last determined to turn and face a pursuing enemy and stand, or fall by the clash. Fear was absent from face and manner. He even lightly jested as Jane, while greeting him, slipped into his pocket a tempting-looking package. "Page, dear," she twittered, "it is only cookies and sandwiches and pickles and cake. But talking always makes people hungry. Those nice gentlemen down at the Kencho are never in a hurry. They may keep you till after lunchtime. You and Miss Jenkins can have a tea party." Page laid a kindly hand on Jane's shoulder. "You dear little saint of a woman! How good all of you are to me, and how I thank you. Well good-by. When you see me again I'll be--" With hand outstretched to open the door for me to pass, he paused. Once again the sound of a song reached us: "Before I slept, I thought of thee; Then fell asleep and sought for thee And found thee. Had I but known 'twas only seeming, I had not waked, but lay forever dreaming." There was enough sweetness in Zura's voice to woo a man to Heaven or lure him to the other place. Page listened till the last note, then softly closed the door and walked beside me. The look on his face held me speechless. It was a glorious something he had gained, yet never to be his; a glimpse into paradise, then the falling of the shadows between; but the vision was his reward. Usually it takes endless time in Japan to unwind the huge ball of red tape that is wrapped about the smallest official act. That morning, when Page and I presented ourselves at the Government office, the end of the tape seemed to have a pin stuck in it, so easily and swiftly was it found. Promptly announced, we were ushered without delay into a small inner office. The walls of this room were lined with numberless shelves filled with files and papers. Any remaining space was covered by pictures of famous persons, people wanted or wanting, and a geisha girl or two. I noticed two other things in the room. Adorning the center of the table, before which we were seated, was a large cuspidor. The fresh flowers inside matched the painted ones outside. To Japanese eyes the only possible use for such an ornament was to hold blossoms. It was neither beautiful nor artistic, but being foreign was the very thing with which to welcome American guests. Anxious as I was I felt myself smiling, if rather palely, at the many ways in which Kishimoto's prophecy was being fulfilled. The other thing was not amusing, only significant. Page sat opposite me and I faced a heavily curtained recess, and some one was behind the drapery. I had seen the folds move. I had no way of warning the boy. Had we been alone, I doubt if I would have made the effort. Concealment for Page, unendurable suspense for those who loved him, must end. I spoke only when necessary to interpret an unusual word. A small official with a big manner began by eulogizing Mr. Hanaford's skill in teaching and his success in imparting English. He felt it a great rudeness of manner to the honorable teacher gentleman, but the law compelled applicant for the position of Professor of English in the Normal College to answer many personal questions. For a moment he dallied with a few preliminary statements; then, throwing aside all reserve, the man began his probe as a skilled surgeon might search a victim's body for hidden bullets. Page, outwardly calm, answered steadily at first, but his knotted fingers and swelling veins showed the strain. Once his lips trembled. I had never seen a man's lips tremble before. It's no wonder mothers can die for sons. Inquiries as to quantity and quality of ancestors, place of birth, age, calling now and formerly came with the precision of a marksman hunting the center of the target. "How long have you been in this country?" "About a year." "From where did you come to Japan?" Page hesitated, then stammered: "Don't remember." The high-lifted brows of the official were eloquent, his voice increasingly sarcastic: "So! Your memory makes absence. Repeat your name once again." "Page Hanaford." "Hanaford? So! Now your other name?" "I have no other name." "Your other name!" was the sharp demand. "My name is Page Hanaford, I tell you." He spoke with quick anger as he arose from the chair. "Your other name!" sternly reiterated his inquisitor. A wave of confusion seemed to cover the boy. Desperate and at bay, he rather feebly steadied himself for a last defense. "What do you mean? Can't you hear me? I tell you for the last time my name is--" "Ford Page Hamilton," supplied the voice of Kobu, cool, suave and sure as he came from behind the curtain. "I arrest you as fugitive. See what paper says? You take moneys from bank." He exposed a circular printed in large type. It read: "$5,000 reward for information of one Ford Page Hamilton, dead or alive. Last seen in Singapore, summer of 1912," followed by a detailed description and signed by a Chicago banking firm. "It's a lie!" shouted Page as he read. "No lie. See? Page Hanaford San, Ford Hamilton San all same." Kobu held close to the pitiful white face a photograph which undoubtedly could have been Page Hanaford in happier days. The boy looked, then laid his shaking arm across his eyes. With a moan as if his soul had yielded to despair he hoarsely whispered: "Oh, God! A thief! It's over!" He sank to the floor. XVIII A VISITOR FROM AMERICA In old Nippon the flower of kindness reaches full perfection when friend or foe suffers defeat. Page Hanaford might be a long-hunted prize in the police world, but to the group around him as he lay on the floor, his head upon my lap, he was a stranger far from home and very ill. Justice could wait while mercy served. Pity urged willing messengers to bring restoratives, to summon doctors who pronounced the sick man in the clutches of fever. Hospitals in Hijiyama are built for the emergencies of war, and solicitude for Page's comfort was uppermost when, after a short consultation among the officials, permission was granted to remove him to my house with an officer in charge. A policeman headed the little procession that moved slowly up the steps to The House of the Misty Star, and one followed to keep at a distance the sympathetic, but curious crowd. Four men carried a stretcher beside which I walked holding the limp hand of Page, who was still claimed by a merciful unconsciousness. The news spread rapidly. As we reached the upper road I saw Zura at the entrance, waiting our coming, so rigid she seemed a part of the carving on the old lodge gates. Her face matched the snow beneath her feet. "Is he dead?" she demanded, as we came closer. "No. But he's desperately ill--and under arrest," I hurriedly added. "Oh, but he's alive; nothing else matters. Come on; my room is ready." Before I could protest, she had given orders to the men, and Zura's bedroom was soon converted from a girlish habitation into a dwelling place where life and death waged contest. Later the two physicians asked for an audience with me and delivered their opinion: "Hanaford San's illness is the result of a severe mental shock, received before recovery from previous illness; cause unknown; outcome doubtful." From the sick-room orders had been issued for absolute quiet. Every member of the house crept about, keenly aware of the grim foe that lurked in every corner. When night came down the darkness seemed to enter the house and wrap itself about us as well. [Illustration: "Oh, God! A thief! It's over!"] As Red Cross nurse on battlefields in the aftermath, I had helped put together the remnants of splendid men and promising youth; in sorrowing homes I had seen hope die with the going-out of such as these. But for me, no past moment of life held gloom so impenetrable as that first night when Page Hanaford lay in my house, helpless. The dreaded thing had come. The boy who had walked into our hearts to stay was a fugitive with only a small chance to live that he might prove he was not a criminal. The evening household dinner remained untouched. The servants hung about the doors, eager to be of service, refusing to believe the sick man was anything but a prince of whom the gods were jealous. Only old Ishi was happy. In festal robes he was stationed at the lodge gates with a small table before him ready to do the honors of the house in the ancient custom of receiving cards. Up the steps came a long procession of students, officials and civilians, my friends and Page's, every caller in best kimono. From one hand dangled a lighted lantern with the caller's name and calling shining boldly out through the thin paper, in the other he held a calling-card which was laid upon the table in passing. The long line testified to their liking and sympathy for the sick man. To each caller Ishi had a wonderful tale to tell. The marvel of it grew as his cups of saké increased. At a late hour I found him entertaining a crowd with the story of how the silly foreign girl had cut off the heads of his ancestors which were in the flowers. Now the gods were taking their vengeance upon the one she loved best. Of course only an American girl would be so brazen as to show her liking for any special man. I took him by the shoulder. "Ishi, you are drunk. And at such a time." "No, Jenkins San, I triumph for Hanaford San. He die to escape Zura San. 'T is special 'casion. All Japanese gentlemens drink special 'casions. I assist honorable gods celebrate downfall of 'Merca and women." Having locked up the gates and Ishi, I went back to the living-room, where I found Jane and Zura. It was my first opportunity to tell them in detail what had happened at the Kencho--of Kobu's charge, the arrest and Page's collapse. Zura was called from the room by some household duty. Jane and I were left alone. Though my companion looked tired and a little anxious, she seemed buoyed up by some mental vision to which she hopefully clung. "Miss Jenkins, please tell me just what the poster said," asked Jane. The printed words I had read that morning seemed burned into my brain. I repeated them exactly. "Well, it didn't even give a hint that Page was that nice cashier gentleman from Chicago, did it?" she inquired. "No, Jane, it didn't; only it was signed by the Chicago Bank. But Kobu told me he was sure Page was the man. He has cabled the authorities to come." "He has cabled, has he? He knows, does he? Kobu has himself going to another thought. Isn't that what Zura says? Page Hanaford is no more the man wanted for borrowing that bank's money than I am a fashion plate wanted in Paris." Her words were light, but very sure. Her apparent levity irritated me. "How do you know? What are you saying, Jane?" I asked sharply. "Oh, I just have a feeling that way. Page is too good-looking," answered my companion. "For the love of heaven, Jane Gray, that's no reason. Good looks don't keep a man from sin." "Maybe not, but they help; and Page loves poetry too," she ended with quiet stubbornness. Then after a pause: "That program did not say what particular thing our boy was wanted for, did it?" Neither in joy nor sorrow did Jane's talent desert her for misusing words. "No, the circular did not state the details. But if you think there is any mistake about the whole thing go to the room and look at that policeman pacing up and down before the door. And if you think the boy's not desperately ill, look inside and see those two doctors and that speck of a trained nurse watching his every breath. You can read the paper yourself, if you don't believe me." "Miss Jenkins, don't pin your faith to a program; they tell awful fibs. Once I wrote one myself for a meeting and I said, 'The audience will remain standing while collection is taken,' and it made me say: 'The remains of the audience will be collected while standing.'" "How can you?" I asked. Hot tears stung my eyes. Instantly Jane was by my side. "How can I? Because it's best never to believe anything you hear and only half of what you see. I know the dear boy is ill. But he's not guilty. The idea of that sweet boy, with such a nice mouth and teeth, doing anything dishonorable! It's all a mistake. I know guilt when I see it, and Page hasn't a feature of it." Jane Gray exasperated me to the verge of hysteria, but her sure, simple faith had built a hospital and changed the criminal record of a city. The thought that she might be right, in spite of the circular and Kobu, gave me so much comfort that the tears flowed unchecked. My companion looked at me critically for a moment, then left the room. She returned shortly bearing a heaped-up tray, which she arranged before me. "Honey, you can't be hopeful when you are hungry. You told me so yourself. I don't believe you've eaten since morning. Here's just a little bite of turkey and mince pie and chicken salad. Eat it. There's plenty more, for nobody's touched that big dinner we were going to celebrate Page's new position with. Now turn around to the lamp so you can see. What a funny fat shadow you make! But how sweet it is to know if we keep our faces to the light the shadows are always behind us! Now I must run and get a little sleep. Zura says I am to go on watch at three." I thought her gone, when the door opened again and I could see only her gray head and bright, though tired face. "Miss Jenkins, please don't let that layer cake fool you. It is not tough. I just forgot to take the brown papers from the bottom of the layers when I iced them. Do as I tell you, eat and sleep." "What if to-morrow's care were here Without its rest? I'd rather He'd unlock the day And, as the hours swing open, say, 'Thy will be best.'" "Good-night, dear friend." Then she was gone. The tables were turned in more ways than one. Jane was counselor and I the counseled, she the comforter and I to be comforted. * * * * * In the daughters of Japan lies a hidden quality ever dormant unless aroused by a rough shake from the hand of necessity; it is the power to respond calmly and skilfully to emergencies. In this, as never before, Zura Wingate declared her Oriental heritage. On the tragic morning when I had gone with Page to the Kencho I had left her a singing, joyous girl, her feet touching the borderland of earth's paradise. I returned and found her a woman, white lipped and tense, but full of quiet command. The path to love's domain had been blocked by a sorrow which threatened desolation to happiness and life. Not with tears and vain rebellion did she protest against fate or circumstances, nor waste a grain of energy in useless re-pinings. With the lofty bearing her lordly forefathers wore when going forth to defeat or victory this girl stood ready, and served so efficiently that both nurse and doctors bestowed their highest praise when they told her she was truly a Japanese woman. So frequent were the demands from household and sick-room that I feared for her strength. I knew she suffered. Rigid face muscles and dark-rimmed eyes so testified; but aside from these some tireless spirit held her far above weariness. Alert to see and quick to perform, under her hand, after a few days, the house settled down into a routine where each member had a special duty. In turn we watched or waited while the heavy, anxious days dragged themselves along until they numbered ten. In the last half of each night Zura and I watched by Page and wrestled with the cruel thing that held him captive. They were painful, but revealing hours. I was very close to the great secrets of life, and the eternal miracle of coming dawn was only matched in tender beauty by the wonder of a woman's love. It was Zura's cool, soft hand that held the burning lids and shut out the hideous specters Page's fevered eyes saw closing down upon him. It was her voice that soothed him into slumber after the frenzy of delirium. "Ah," he'd pant, weary of the struggle with a fancied foe, "you've come, my lovely princess. No! You're my goddess!" Then with tones piteous and beseeching he would begin anew the prayer ever present on his lips since his illness. "Beloved goddess, tell me--what did I do with them? You are divine; you know. Help me to find them quick. Quick; they are shutting the door; it has bars. I cannot see your face." "I am here, Page," Zura would answer. "If the door shuts, I'll be right by your side." In love for the boy each member of the house was ready day or night for instant service, but vain were our combined efforts to help the fevered brain to lay hold of definite thought long enough for him to name the thing that was breaking his heart. From pleading for time to search for something, he would wander into scenes of his boyhood. Once he appealed to me as his mother and asked me to sing him to sleep. Before I could steady my lips he had drifted into talk of the sea and tried to sing a sailor's song. Often he fancied himself on a pirate ship and begged not to be put off on some lonely island. He fiercely resisted. But his feebleness was no match for Zura's young strength, and as she held him she would begin to sing: "Before I slept I thought of thee; Then fell asleep and sought for thee And found thee: Had I but known 'twas only seeming, I had not waked, but lay forever dreaming." "Dreaming, dreaming," the boy would repeat. "Sweetheart, you are my dearest dream." Inch by inch we fought and held at bay the enemy. We lost all contact with the outside. To us the center of the world was the pink-and-white room, and on the stricken boy that lay on the bed was staked all our hope. The long delayed crisis flashed upon us early one morning when the doctors found in what we had feared was the end only a healing sleep from which Page awakened and called Zura by name. Even then it was a toss-up whether he could win out against despair. Uppermost in his mind was ever the torturing thought of the thing that had made him a fugitive. An icy hand was laid upon our joy at the signs of returning health when we remembered a certain ship that was right then cutting the blue waters of the Pacific nearing the shores of Japan, bearing authority to make a prisoner of Page if he lived. They were not happy days, and it was with undefined emotions that I saw life and strength come slowly to the sick man. By daily visits Kobu kept himself advised of the patient's condition, and kept us informed of the swift approach of the Vancouver steamer and its dreaded passenger. One day, when Page was sleeping and our anxiety as to what was coming had reached the breaking point, the detective came. He announced that he had received information that the steamer had docked at Yokohama that morning. In the afternoon the Chicago Bank representative would arrive at Otsu, our nearest railroad station. Kobu said he would bring the guest to our house at once and his kind wish that Page San's "sicker would soon be healthy" did not wholly hide the triumph of his professional pride. He went his way to the station, leaving behind him thoughts sadder than death can bring. When I told Jane what we were to expect her pale eyes were almost drowned. She looked frail and tired, but from somewhere a smile made rainbows of her tears. "Don't give up, Miss Jenkins. No use crying over cherry blossoms before they wither. Kobu's human enough to be mistaken. Detectives aren't so smart. Sometimes they tree a chipmunk and think it's a bear." It was the nearest I'd ever heard Jane come to a criticism, and I knew she felt deeply to go this far. Zura listened quietly to what I had to tell. But her eyes darkened and widened. "You mean they are coming to take Page away?" "Yes; as soon as he is strong enough." "Then I am going with him." "Go with him? You, a young girl, go with a man who is in charge of an officer? It's impossible. I pray God it's not true, but if the law can prove that Page has sinned, he will have to pay the penalty in prison. You can't go there." "No, but I can wait outside, and be ready to stand by him when he is released. No matter how guilty the law declares him, he is still the same Page to me. He's mine. I belong to him. Did not my own mother think home and country well lost for love? She knew her fate and smiled while she blindly followed. I know mine, and there is no other path for me but by the side of Page. Whatever comes I've known his love." It was not the raving of a hysterical girl; it was the calm utterance of a woman--one of the East, who in recognizing the call of her destiny unshrinkingly accepts its decrees of sorrow as well as of joy. By training, environment and inclination Zura Wingate might be of the West; but her Occidental blood was diluted with that of the East, and wherever is found even one small drop, though it sleep long, in the end it arises and claims its own as surely as death claims life. It was only a little while since Kobu had left us to go to the station to bring the unwelcome visitor from America. The hills had scarcely ceased the echo of the shrieking engine, it seemed to me, when I heard the tap of the gong at the entrance. I started at once for Page's room where Zura and Jane were on watch. Kobu and his companion were ahead of me. The brilliant light of a sunny afternoon softened as it sifted through the paper shoji, suffusing room and occupants in a tender glow. Through it, as I reached the door, I saw Zura half bending over the bed, shielding the face of the sick boy, Jane at the foot with lifted, detaining hand, Kobu's face as he pointed to the bed, saying, "There, sir, is the thief--I mean prisoner," and his startled look as the tall, gray-headed stranger went swiftly to the bed and gathered Page into his outstretched arms. "A thief!" he cried. "Somebody's going to get hurt in a minute. He's my son. Oh! boy, boy, I thought I'd lost you!" XIX "THE END OF THE PERFECT DAY" Jane was the first in that astonished group to recover, and her voice was as sweet and clear as a trumpet-call of victory, singing her gladness and trust: "I knew it! I knew it! But who are you, sir? Page said his father was dead." "I? My name is Ford Page Hamilton, and this is my boy. I've been looking for him for months." Page's eyes intently searched his father's face, as alternate fear and joy possessed him. The moment was tense; we waited breathlessly; at last Page asked: "But, Father, what did I do with them?" "With what, son?" "The bags of money--the collection I was to turn over to the firm." "You delivered them sealed and labeled, then you disappeared off the map, just as if you had melted." The word "melted" seemed to open in the brain of the invalid a door long closed. A sleeping memory stirred. "Wait! It is all coming back! Give me time!" he pleaded. It was no place for a crowd. I took Zura by the hand, pulled Jane's sleeve, motioned Kobu toward the door, and together we went softly away. * * * * * An hour later, when Mr. Hamilton came in, the happiest spot in all the Flowery Kingdom was the little living-room of "The House of the Misty Star." Page was asleep through sheer exhaustion, and the father, with lowered voice and dimmed eyes, told the story. The explanation was all so simple I felt as if I should be sentenced for not thinking of it before. For had I not seen what tricks the heat of the Orient could play with the brain cells of a white man? Had I not seen men and women go down to despair under some fixed hallucination, conjured from the combination of overwork and a steamed atmosphere--transforming happy, normal humans into fear-haunted creatures, ever pursued by an unseen foe? In such a fever-racked mind lay all Page's troubles. For the last four years he had held a place of heavy responsibility with a large oil concern in Singapore. His duties led him into isolated districts. Danger was ever present, but a Malay robber was no more treacherous an enemy than the heat, and far less subtle. One day, after some unusually hard work, Page turned in his money and reports, and went his way under the blistering sun. It was then that the fever played its favorite game by confusing his brain and tangling his thoughts. He wandered down to the docks and aboard a tramp steamer about to lift anchor. When the vessel was far away the fateful disease released its grip on his body. But in the many months of cruising among unnamed islands in southern seas, it cruelly mocked him with a belief he had purloined the money and taunted him with forgetfulness as to the hiding place. When Page left the ship at a Japanese port memory cleared enough to give him back a part of his name, but tricked him into hiding from a crime he had not committed. My remorse was unmeasurable as I realized the whole truth, but my heart out-caroled any lark that ever grew a feather. The boy's soul was as clean as our love for him was deep. [Illustration: "Oh! boy, boy, I thought I'd lost you"] "You see," continued Mr. Hamilton, "Page's mother died when he was only a lad, and my responsibility was doubled. When his regular letters ceased I cabled his firm for information. They were unable to find any trace of him. He had always been such a strong, sturdy youth I could not connect him with illness. Fearing he had been waylaid or was held for ransom I offered the reward through my Chicago bankers. The months at sea of course blocked us. The suspense was growing intolerable when the information came from Mr. Kobu; that brought me here." All this time the detective had been silent. But no word or look of the others escaped him. At last the thing was forced upon him. He had missed the much-wanted cashier whose capture meant a triumph over the whole detective world. And he had been so very sure Page was the man! Descriptions and measurements were so alike. Both from the same city, one with the name of Hamilton, the other with that of Hammerton. As Page's father remarked when he heard the story: "Mr. Kobu, those names are enough alike to be brothers, though I'm glad they are not." But Kobu was not to be coaxed into any excuse for himself. Any one who knew him could but know the humiliation he would suffer at mistaking the prize. Even a big reward was slight balm to the blow at his pride. Intently he watched and listened until the details were clear to him. He could not understand all this emotion and indulgence in tears which were good only to wash the dust from eyes. But Kobu was truly Japanese in his comprehension of a father's love. He masked his chagrin with a smile and paid unstinted praise to the man who had tirelessly searched for his only son. With many bows and indrawings of breath the detective made a profound adieu to each of us and took his leave. As the sound of the closing lodge gates reached us something in Jane's attitude caught my attention. In her eye was the look of a mischievous child who had foiled its playmate. "Jane, what is the matter with you?" I asked. "I was just feeling so sorry for Mr. Kobu. He is awfully nice, but I could not tell him. I knew!" "What?" I demanded. "Oh, I knew dear Page was not the gentleman who borrowed the bank's money." "Knew it! How did you know?" "Because a little while ago that nice cashier gentleman from Chicago sought shelter in the Quarters. I heard his story. He was the hungriest man for home cooking I ever saw. I gave him plenty of it, too, and a little Testament besides, before he left." "Why, Jane Gray! you knew this and did not tell?" "Yes, Miss Jenkins; that is what I did. You see I am a sort of father confessor. I simply cannot furnish information about the dear people who confide in me. I would have saved Page, but when I came home and found him ill something told me to give both men a chance. I knew Page was not guilty. The same thing that made me sure of my hospital made me certain he would get well. The other man--well, you know, I am only a messenger of hope. I wanted to give him time to read that little book!" I was dumb with astonishment. "Upon my word," remarked Mr. Hamilton after an eloquent pause, "as a soul diplomat you give me a new light on missionaries! Everything is all right now. I have found my son, and, if I know the signs, a daughter as well. She is a picture in her nurse's dress. Tell me about her." I turned to look for Zura, but she was no longer in the room. Leaving the delighted Jane in a full swing of talk about Zura, I withdrew and crossed the passageway. The paper doors of the sick chamber were wide apart, and once again I saw outlined against the glow of the evening sky two figures. The girl held the hands of the man against her heart, and through the soft shadows came low, happy voices: "Ah, Zura, 'I sought for thee and found thee!'" "Belovedest," joyously whispered the girl, bending low. Darkness, tender as love itself, folded about them, and I went my peaceful way. * * * * * Two long-to-be-remembered months passed swiftly. On the wings of each succeeding hour was borne to Page the joy of returning health, to the other members of my household the gladness of life we had never before known. Mr. Hamilton remained, waiting to take back with him, as one, Page and Zura. In the fullness of her joy Zura was quite ready to forgive and be forgiven, and said so very sincerely to her grandfather. Kishimoto San replied in a way characteristic. He said the whole tragedy was the inevitable result of broken traditions and the mixing of two races which to the end of eternity would never assimilate. He had washed his heart clean of all anger against her, but his days were nearing a close. He had lost the fight and for him life was done. Oblivion would be welcome, for after all "What of our life! 'T is imaged by a boat: The wide dawn sees it on the sea afloat; Swiftly it rows away, And on the dancing waves no trace is seen That it has ever been!" Jane's hospital was soon completed, and I could no longer resist the sincere pleadings for her to be allowed to live in the quarters once again. "My people are calling, and, though I am a frail and feeble leader, I must give all my time to them and help them to find the way back home and sell their souls for the highest price." Without protest I let her go. I had no word of criticism for Jane. Every soul is born for a purpose--some to teach, others to preach, and all to serve. Miss "Jaygray" more than justified her calling and her kind. Her simple faith had made many whole. * * * * * Once again the Spirit of Spring held the old garden in a radiance of color. Once again the bird from the spirit land called to its mate and heard the soft thrill of the answer. The singing breeze swayed the cloud of cherry bloom, sending showers of petals to earth, covering the grim old stone image, making giant pink mushrooms of the low lanterns. How lonely a thing would have been the Spirit of Spring had it not walked hand in hand with the Spirit of Love! In the white moonlight sifting through the pines I saw Page and Zura in my garden on their last night in old Japan--destinies, begun afar, fulfilled beneath the shadows of the smiling gods. "But think what love will do to them both," had once said the foolishly wise little missionary. And now it has all come to pass. Once again I am alone, yet never lonely, for my blessings are unmeasured. I have my work. I have love, and The House of the Misty Star holds the precious jewel of memory. THE END Transcriber's notes: Quotation marks normalised. 
2605	----	None 
27456	----	[The original book had illustrations on almost all pages. Their location has not been individually marked. The inconsistent hyphenization of "cuttle-fish" is in the original.] JAPANESE FAIRY TALE SERIES NO. 6 THE MOUSE'S WEDDING. Griffith Farran & Co., London & Sydney, N.S.W. Kobunsha : Tokyo THE MOUSE'S WEDDING. A long time ago there was a white mouse called Kanemochi, servant of Daikoku, the God of Wealth. His wife's name was Onaga. Both Kanemochi and his wife were very discreet. Never in the day time nor even at night did they venture into the parlor or kitchen, and so they lived in tranquility free from danger of meeting the cat. Their only son Fukutaro also was of a gentle disposition. When he was old enough to take a wife, his parents concluded to get him one, transfer their property to him, and seek retirement. Fortunately, one of their relatives named Chudayu had a lovely daughter called Hatsuka. Accordingly a go-between was employed to enter into negotiations with Chudayu respecting the marriage. When the young folks were allowed to see each other, neither party objected, and so presents were exchanged. The bridegroom sent the bride the usual articles: an obi or belt, silk cotton, dried bonito, dried cuttle fish, white flax, sea-weed, and _sake_ or rice wine. The bride sent the bridegroom in like manner: a linen _kami-shimo_, dried bonito, dried cuttle-fish, white flax, sea-weed, fish, and _sake_; thus confirming the marriage promise. A lucky day was then chosen, and every thing prepared for the bride's removal to her new home, her clothes were cut out and made, and needed articles purchased. So Chudayu was kept busy preparing for the wedding. The parents made their daughter Hatsuka blacken her teeth as a sign that she would not marry a second husband; they also carefully taught her that she must obey her husband, be dutiful to her father-in-law, and love her mother-in-law. Kanemochi on his part cleaned up his house inside and out, made preparation for the marriage ceremony and feast, assembled his relatives and friends, and sent out many of his servants to meet the bride on her way, and to give notice of her approach, that all might be prepared for her reception. Soon the bride came in her palanquin with her boxes carried before her, and a long train of attendants following her. Kanemochi went out as far as the gate to meet her, and ushered her into the parlor. At a signal from the go-between the bride and bridegroom, to confirm the marriage bond, exchanged between themselves three cups of _sake_, drinking three times from each cup in turns. When this ceremony, the "three times three" was ended, the guests exchanged cups with the bride in token of good will, and thus the union was consummated. Shortly afterwards the bride, her husband, and his parents visited her home. In the evening the bride returned home with her husband and his parents with whom she lived in harmony, contented, prosperous and happy, and much to be congratulated. Printed by the Kobunsha in Tokyo, Japan The Kobunsha's Japanese Fairy Tale Series. 1. Momotaro or Little Peachling. 2. The Tongue Cut Sparrow. 3. The Battle of the Monkey and the Crab. 4. The Old Man who made the Dead Trees Blossom. 5. Kachi-Kachi Mountain. 6. The Mouse's Wedding. 7. The Old Man and the Devils. 8. Urashima, the Fisher-Boy. 9. The Eight-Headed Serpent. 10. The Matsuyama Mirror. 11. The Hare of Inaba. 12. The Cub's Triumph. 13. The Silly Jelly-Fish. 14. The Princes, Fire-flash and Fire-fade. 15. My Lord Bag-O'-Rice. 16. The Wooden Bowl. _Copyright reserved_ 
30020	----	Japanese Fairy Tale Series, No 10. #The Matsuyama Mirror.# TOLD IN ENGLISH BY MRS. T. H. JAMES. [Illustration] Published by T. HASEGAWA, 17 Kami Negishi, TOKYO. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. [Illustration] THE MATSUYAMA MIRROR. A long long time ago, there lived in a quiet spot, a young man and his wife. They had one child, a little daughter, whom they both loved with all their hearts. I cannot tell you their names, for they have been long since forgotten, but the name of the place where they lived was Matsuyama, in the province of Echigo. It happened once, while the little girl was still a baby, that the father was obliged to go to the great city, the capital of Japan, upon some business. It was too far for the mother and her little baby to go, so he set out alone, after bidding them good bye, and promising to bring them home some pretty present. [Illustration] The mother had never been further from home than the next village, and she could not help being a little frightened at the thought of her husband taking such a long journey, and yet she was a little proud too, for he was the first man in all that country side who had been to the big town where the King and his great lords lived, and where there were so many beautiful and curious things to be seen. At last the time came when she might expect her husband back, so she dressed the baby in its best clothes, and herself put on a pretty blue dress which she knew her husband liked. [Illustration] You may fancy how glad this good wife was to see him come home safe and sound, and how the little girl clapped her hands, and laughed with delight, when she saw the pretty toys her father had brought for her. He had much to tell of all the wonderful things he had seen upon the journey, and in the town itself. [Illustration] "I have brought you a very pretty thing," said he to his wife: "it is called a mirror. Look and tell me what you see inside." He gave to her a plain, white wooden box, in which, when she had opened it, she found a round piece of metal. One side was white like frosted silver, and ornamented with raised figures of birds and flowers, the other was bright as the clearest crystal. Into it the young mother looked with delight and astonishment, for, from its depths was looking at her with parted lips and bright eyes, a smiling happy face. [Illustration] "What do you see?" again asked the husband, pleased at her astonishment, and glad to show that he had learned something while he had been away. "I see a pretty woman looking at me, and she moves her lips as if she was speaking, and--dear me, how odd, she has on a blue dress just like mine!" "Why, you silly woman, it is your own face that you see," said the husband, proud of knowing something that his wife didn't know. That round piece of metal is called a mirror, in the town every body has one, although we have not seen them in this country place before. [Illustration] The wife was charmed with her present, and, for a few days could not look into the mirror often enough, for you must remember, that, as this was the first time she had seen a mirror, so, of course, it was the first time she had ever seen the reflection of her own pretty face. But she considered such a wonderful thing far too precious for every day use, and soon shut it up in its box again, and put it away carefully among her most valued treasures. Years past on, and the husband and wife still lived happily. The joy of their life was their little daughter, who grew up the very image of her mother, and who was so dutiful and affectionate that every body loved her. Mindful of her own little passing vanity on finding herself so lovely, the mother kept the mirror carefully hidden away, fearing that the use of it might breed a spirit of pride in her little girl. She never spoke of it, and as for the father, he had forgotten all about it. So it happened that the daughter grew up as simple as the mother had been, and knew nothing of her own good looks, or of the mirror which would have reflected them. But bye and bye a terrible misfortune happened to this happy little family. The good, kind mother fell sick; and, although her daughter waited upon her day and night, with loving care, she got worse and worse, until at last there was no hope but that she must die. When she found that she must so soon leave her husband and child, the poor woman felt very sorrowful, grieving for those she was going to leave behind, and most of all for her little daughter. She called the girl to her and said; "My darling child, you know that I am very sick: soon I must die, and leave your dear father and you alone. When I am gone, promise me that you will look into this mirror every night and every morning: there you will see me, and know that I am still watching over you." With these words she took the mirror from its hiding place and gave it to her daughter. The child promised, with many tears, and so the mother, seeming now calm and resigned, died a short time after. [Illustration] Now this obedient and dutiful daughter, never forgot her mother's last request, but each morning and evening took the mirror from its hiding place, and looked in it long and earnestly. There she saw the bright and smiling vision of her lost mother. Not pale and sickly as in her last days, but the beautiful young mother of long ago. To her at night she told the story of the trials and difficulties of the day, to her in the morning she looked for sympathy and encouragement in whatever might be in store for her. So day by day she lived as in her mother's sight, striving still to please her as she had done in her life time, and careful always to avoid whatever might pain or grieve her. Her greatest joy was to be able to look in the mirror and say; "Mother, I have been today what you would have me to be." [Illustration] Seeing her every night and morning, without fail, look into the mirror, and seem to hold converse with it, her father at length asked her the reason of her strange behaviour. "Father," she said, "I look in the mirror every day to see my dear mother and to talk with her." Then she told him of her mother's dying wish, and how she had never failed to fulfil it. Touched by so much simplicity, and such faithful, loving obedience, the father shed tears of pity and affection. Nor could he find it in his heart to tell the child, that the image she saw in the mirror, was but the reflection of her own sweet face, by constant sympathy and association, becoming more and more like her dead mother's day by day. [Illustration] [Illustration] 
22884	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 22884-h.htm or 22884-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/2/8/8/22884/22884-h/22884-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/2/8/8/22884/22884-h.zip) [Illustration: Cover artwork] THE DRAGON PAINTER by MARY McNEIL FENOLLOSA Author of "Truth Dexter," "The Breath of the Gods," "Out of the Nest: A Flight of Verses," etc. Illustrated by Gertrude McDaniel [Frontispiece: "Another step, and she was in the room."] Boston Little, Brown, and Company 1906 Copyright, 1905, By P. F. Collier & Son. Copyright, 1906, By Little, Brown, and Company. All rights reserved Published October, 1906 The story of "The Dragon Painter," in a shorter form, was originally published in "Collier's." It has since been practically rewritten. TO KANO YEITAN LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "Another step, and she was in the room" . . . _Frontispiece_ "With the soft tuft of camel hair he blurred against the peak pale, luminous vapor of new cloud "He walked up and down, sometimes in the narrow room, sometimes in the garden" "'Come, Dragon Wife,' he said, 'come back to our little home'" "Umè-ko leaned over instantly, staring down into the stream" "Then a little hand, stealing from a nun's gray sleeve, slipped into his" THE DRAGON PAINTER I The old folks call it Yeddo. To the young, "Tokyo" has a pleasant, modern sound, and comes glibly. But whether young or old, those whose home it is know that the great flat city, troubled with green hills, cleft by a shining river, and veined in living canals, is the central spot of all the world. Storms visit Tokyo,--with fury often, sometimes with destruction. Earthquakes cow it; snow falls upon its temple roofs, swings in wet, dazzling masses from the bamboo plumes, or balances in white strata along green-black pine branches. The summer sun scorches the face of Yeddo, and summer rain comes down in wide bands of light. With evening the mist creeps up, thrown over it like a covering, casting a spell of silence through which the yellow lanterns of the hurrying jinrikishas dance an elfish dance, and the voices of the singing-girls pierce like fine blades of sound. But to know the full charm of the great city, one must wake with it at some rebirth of dawn. This hour gives to the imaginative in every land a thrill, a yearning, and a pang of visual regeneration. In no place is this wonder more deeply touched with mystery than in modern Tokyo. Far off to the east the Sumida River lies in sleep. Beyond it, temple roofs--black keels of sunken vessels--cut a sky still powdered thick with stars. Nothing moves, and yet a something changes! The darkness shivers as to a cold touch. A pallid haze breathes wanly on the surface of the impassive sky. The gold deepens swiftly and turns to a faint rose flush. The stars scamper away like mice. Across the moor of gray house eaves the mist wavers. Day troubles it. A pink light rises to the zenith, and the mist shifts and slips away in layers, pink and gold and white. Now far beyond the grayness, to the west, the cone of Fuji flashes into splendor. It, too, is pink. Its shape is of a lotos bud, and the long fissures that plough a mountain side are now but delicate gold veining on a petal. Slowly it seems to open. It is the chalice of a new day, the signal and the pledge of consecration. Husky crows awake in the pine trees, and doves under the temple eaves. The east is red beyond the river, and the round, red sun, insignia of this land, soars up like a cry of triumph. On the glittering road of the Sumida, loaded barges, covered for the night with huge squares of fringed straw mats, begin to nod and preen themselves like a covey of gigantic river birds. Sounds of prayer and of silver matin bells come from the temples, where priest and acolyte greet the Lord Buddha of a new day. From tiny chimneyless kitchens of a thousand homes thin blue feathers of smoke make slow upward progress, to be lost in the last echoes of the vanishing mist. Sparrows begin to chirp, first one, then ten, then thousands. Their voices have the clash and chime of a myriad small triangles. The wooden outer panels (amado) of countless dwellings are thrust noisily aside and stacked into a shallow closet. The noise reverberates from district to district in a sharp musketry of sound. Maid servants call cheerily across bamboo fences. Shoji next are opened, disclosing often the dull green mosquito net hung from corner to corner of the low-ceiled sleeping rooms. Children, in brilliant night robes, run to the verandas to see the early sun; cocks strut in pigmy gardens. Now, from along the streets rise the calls of flower peddlers, of venders of fish, bean-curd, vegetables, and milk. Thus the day comes to modern Tokyo, which the old folks still call Yeddo. On such a midsummer dawn, not many years ago, old Kano Indara, sleeping in his darkened chamber, felt the summons of an approaching joy. Beauty tugged at his dreams. Smiling, as a child that is led by love, he rose, drew aside softly the shoji, then the amado of his room, and then, with face uplifted, stepped down into his garden. The beauty of the ebbing night caught at his sleeve, but the dawn held him back. It was the moment just before the great Sun took place upon his throne. Kano still felt himself lord of the green space round about him. On their pretty bamboo trellises the potted morning-glory vines held out flowers as yet unopened. They were fragile, as if of tissue, and were beaded at the crinkled tips with dew. Kano's eyelids, too, had dew of tears upon them. He crouched close to the flowers. Something in him, too, some new ecstacy was to unfurl. His lean body began to tremble. He seated himself at the edge of the narrow, railless veranda along which the growing plants were ranged. One trembling bud reached out as if it wished to touch him. The old man shook with the beating of his own heart. He was an artist. Could he endure another revelation of joy? Yes, his soul, renewed ever as the gods themselves renew their youth, was to be given the inner vision. Now, to him, this was the first morning. Creation bore down upon him. The flower, too, had begun to tremble. Kano turned directly to it. The filmy, azure angles at the tip were straining to part, held together by just one drop of light. Even as Kano stared the drop fell heavily, plashing on his hand. The flower, with a little sob, opened to him, and questioned him of life, of art, of immortality. The old man covered his face, weeping. The last of his race was Kano Indara; the last of a mighty line of artists. Even in this material age his fame spread as the mists of his own land, and his name was known in barbarian countries far across the sea. Tokyo might fall under the blight of progress, but Kano would hold to the traditions of his race. To live as a true artist,--to die as one,--this was his care. He might have claimed high position in the great Art Museum recently inaugurated by the new government, and housed in an abomination of pink stucco with Moorish towers at the four corners. He might even have been elected president of the new Academy, and have presided over the Italian sculptors and degenerate French painters imported to instruct and "civilize" modern Japan. Stiff graphite pencils, making lines as hard and sharp as those in the faces of foreigners themselves, were to take the place of the soft charcoal flake whose stroke was of satin and young leaves. Horrible brushes, fashioned of the hair of swine, pinched in by metal bands, and wielded with a hard tapering stick of varnished wood, were to be thrust into the hands of artists,--yes,--artists--men who, from childhood, had known the soft pliant Japanese brush almost as a spirit hand;--had felt the joy of the long stroke down fibrous paper where the very thickening and thinning of the line, the turn of the brush here, the easing of it there, made visual music,--men who had realized the brush as part not only of the body but of the soul,--such men, indeed,--such artists, were to be offered a bunch of hog bristles, set in foreign tin. Why, even in the annals of Kano's own family more than one faithful brush had acquired a soul of its own, and after the master's death had gone on lamenting in his written name. But the foreigners' brushes, and their little tubes of ill-smelling gum colored with dead hues! Kano shuddered anew at the thought. Naturally he hated all new forms of government. He regretted and deplored the magnanimity of his Emperor in giving to his people, so soon, a modern constitution. What need had Art of a constitution? Across the northern end of Yeddo runs the green welt of a table-land. Midway, at the base of this, tucked away from northern winds, hidden in green bamboo hedges, Kano lived, a mute protest against the new. Beside himself, of the household were Umè-ko, his only child, and an old family servant, Mata. Kano's garden, always the most important part of a Japanese dwelling place, ran out in one continuous, shallow terrace to the south. A stone wall upheld its front edge from the narrow street; and on top of this wall stiff hedges grew. In one corner, however, a hillock had been raised, a "Moon Viewing Place," such as poets and artists have always found necessary. From its flat top old Kano had watched through many years the rising of the moon; had seen, as now, a new dawn possess a new-created earth,--had traced the outlines of the stars. By day he sometimes loved to watch the little street below, delighting in the motion and color of passing groups. For the garden, itself, it was fashioned chiefly of sand, pebbles, stones, and many varieties of pine, the old artist's favorite plant. A small rock-bound pond curved about the inner base of the moon-viewing hill, duplicating in its clear surface the beauties near. A few splendid carp, the color themselves of dawn, swam lazily about with noses in the direction of the house whence came, they well knew, liberal offerings of rice and cake. Kano had his plum trees, too; the classic "umè," loved of all artists, poets, and decent-minded people generally. One tree, a superb specimen of the kind called "Crouching-Dragon-Plum," writhed and twisted near the veranda of the chamber of its name-child, Umè-ko, thrusting one leafy arm almost to the paper shoji of her wall. Kano's transient flowers were grown, for the most part in pots, and these his daughter Umè-ko loved to tend. There were morning-glories for the mid-summer season, peonies and iris for the spring, and chrysanthemums for autumn. One foreign rose-plant, pink of bloom, in a blue-gray jar, had been pruned and trained into a beauty that no western rose-bush ever knew. Behind the Kano cottage the rise of ground for twenty yards was of a grade scarcely perceptible to the eye. Here Mata did the family washing; dried daikon in winter, and sweet-potato slices in the summer sun. This small space she considered her special domain, and was at no pains to conceal the fact. Beyond, the hill went upward suddenly with the curve of a cresting wave. Higher it rose and higher, bearing a tangled growth of vines and ferns and bamboo grass; higher and higher, until it broke, in sheer mid-air, with a coarse foam of rock, thick shrubs, and stony ledges. Almost at the zenith of the cottage garden it poised, and a great camphor tree, centuries old, soared out into the blue like a green balloon. Behind the camphor tree, again, and not visible from the garden below, stood a temple of the "Shingon" sect, the most mystic of the old esoteric Buddhist forms. To the rear of this the broad, low, rectangular buildings of a nunnery, gray and old as the temple itself brooded among high hedges of the sacred mochi tree. This retreat had been famous for centuries throughout Japan. More than once a Lady Abbess had been yielded from the Imperial family. Formerly the temple had owned many koku of rich land; had held feudal sway over rice fields and whole villages, deriving princely revenue. With the restoration of the Emperor to temporal power, some thirty years before the beginning of this story, most of the land had been confiscated; and now, shrunken like the papal power at Rome, the temple claimed, in land, only those acres bounded by its own hedges and stone temple walls. There were the main building itself, silent, impressive in towering majesty; subordinate chapels and dwellings for priests, a huge smoke-stained refectory, the low nunnery in its spreading gardens and, down the northern slope of the hill, the cemetery, a lichen-growth, as it were, of bristling, close-set tombs in gray stone, the splintered regularity broken in places by the tall rounded column of a priest's grave, set in a ring of wooden sotoba. At irregular intervals clusters of giant bamboo trees sprang like green flame from the fissures of gray rock. Even in humiliation, in comparative poverty, the temple dominated, for miles around, the imagination of the people, and was the great central note of the landscape. The immediate neighborhood was jealously proud of it. Country folk, journeying by the street below, looked up with lips that whispered invocation. Children climbed the long stone steps to play in the temple courtyard, and feed the beautiful tame doves that lived among the carved dragons of the temple eaves. In that gray cemetery on the further slope Kano's wife, the young mother who died so long ago that Umè-ko could not remember her at all, slept beneath a granite shaft which said, "A Flower having blossomed in the Night, the Halls of the Gods are fragrant." This was the Buddhist kaimyo, or priestly invocation to the spirit of the dead. Of the more personal part of the young mother, her name, age, and the date of her "divine retirement," these were recorded in the household shrine of the Kano cottage, where her "ihai" stood, just behind a little lamp of pure vegetable oil whose light had never yet been suffered to die. Through this shrine, and the daily loving offices required by it, she had never ceased to be a presence in the house. Even in his passionate desire for a son to inherit the name and traditions of his race, old Kano had not been able to endure the thought of a second wife who might wish the shrine removed. Umè-ko and her father were well known at the temple, and worshipped often before its golden altars. But Mata scorned the ceremony of the older creed. She was a Shinshu, a Protestant. Her sect discarded mysticism as useless, believed in the marriage of priests, and in the abolition of the monastic life, and relied for salvation only on the love and mercy of Amida, the Buddha of Light. Sometimes at twilight a group of shadowy human figures, gray as the doves themselves, crept out from the nunnery gate, crossed the wide, pebbled courtyard of the temple and stood, for long moments, by the gnarled roots of the camphor tree, staring out across the beauty of the plain of Yeddo; its shining bay a great mirror to the south, and off, on the western horizon, where the last light hung, Fuji, a cone of porphyry, massive against the gold. For a full hour, now, Kano had delighted in the morning-glories. At intervals he strolled about the garden to touch separately, as if in greeting, each beloved plant. Except for the deepening fervor of the sun he would have kept no note of time. The last shred of mist had vanished. Crows and sparrows were busy with breakfast for their nestlings. It was, perhaps, the clamor of these feathered parents that, at last, awoke old Mata in her sleeping closet near the kitchen. She turned drowsily. The presence of an unusual light under the shoji brought her to her knees. The amado in the further part of the house were undoubtedly open. Could robbers have come in the night? And were her master and Miss Umè weltering in gore? She was on her feet now, pushing with shaking fingers at the sliding walls. She peered at first into Umè's room for there, indeed, lay the core of old Mata's heart. A slender figure on the floor stirred slightly and a sound of soft breathing filled the silence. All was well in Umè's room. She knocked then on Kano's fusuma. There was no response. Cautiously she parted them, and met an incoming flood of morning light. The walls were opened. Through the small square pillars of the veranda she could see, as in a frame, old Kano standing in the garden beside the fish-pond. Even as she gazed, incredulous at her own stupidity in sleeping so late, the temple bell above boomed out six slow strokes. Six! Such a thing had never been known. Well, she must be growing old and worthless. She had better fill her sleeve with pebbles and cast herself into the nearest stream. She hurried back, a tempestuous protest in every step. "Miss Umè,--Umè-ko!" she called. "Ma-a-a! What has come to us both? The Danna San walks about as if he had been awake for hours. And not a cup of tea for him! The honorable fire does not exist. Surely a demon of sleep has bewitched us." She had entered the girl's room, and now, while speaking, crossed the narrow space to fling wide, first the shoji, and then the outer amado. Umè moved lazily. Her lacquered pillow, with its bright cushion, rocked as she stirred. "No demon has found me, Mata San," she murmured, smiling. "No demon unless it be you, cruel nurse, who have dragged me back from a heavenly dream." "Baku devour your dream!" cried Mata. "I say there is no fire beneath the pot!" Umè sat up now, and smoothed slowly the loops of her shining hair. The yellow morning sun danced into the corners of her room, rioted among the hues of her silken bed coverings, and paused, abashed, as it were, before the delicate beauty of her face. As Mata scolded, the girl nestled back among her quilts, smiling mischievously. She loved to tease the old dame. "No, nurse," she protested, "that cannot be. The baku feeds on evil dreams alone, and this was not evil. Ah, nurse, it was so sweet a dream----" "I can give no time to your honorable fooling," cried Mata, in pretended anger. "Have I the arms of a Hundred-Handed Kwannon that I can do all the household work at once? Attire yourself promptly, I entreat: prepare one of the small trays for your august parent, and get out two of the pickled plums from the blue jar." Umè, with an exaggerated sigh of regret, rose to her feet. Quilt and cushions were pushed into a corner for later airing. Her toilet was swift and simple. To slip the bright-colored sleeping robe from her and toss it to the heaped-up coverlids, don an undergarment of thin white linen and a scant petticoat of blue crepe, draw over them a day robe of blue and white cotton, and tie all in with a sash of brocaded blue and gold,--that was the sum of it. For washing she had a shallow wooden basin on the kitchen veranda, where cold water splashed incessantly from bamboo tubes thrust into the hillside. Hurriedly drying her face and hands on a small towel that hung from a swinging bamboo hoop, she ran into the kitchen to assist the still grumbling Mata. By this time old Kano had again seated himself at the edge of his veranda. The summer sun grew unpleasantly warm. The morning-glories on their trellises had begun to droop. A little later they would hang, wretched and limp, mere faded scraps of dissolution. Overhead the temple bell struck seven. Kano shuddered at this foreign marking out of hours. A melancholy, intense as had been his former ecstacy, began to enfold his spirit. Perhaps he had waited too long for the simple breakfast; perhaps the recent glory had drained him of vital force. A hopelessness, alike of life and death, rose about him in a tide. Umè prostrated herself upon the veranda near him. "Good morning, august father. Will you deign to enter now and partake of food?" Her voice and the morning face she lifted might have won a smile from a stone image. Kano turned sourly. "Why," he thought, "in Shaka's name, could n't she have been a son?" He rose, however, shaking off his wooden clogs so that they remained upon the path below, and followed Umè to the zashiki, or main room of the house, with the best view of the garden. The tea was delicious in its first delicate infusion; the pickled plums most stimulating to a morning appetite. "Rice and fish will soon honorably eventuate," Umè assured him as she went back, smiling, into the kitchen. Kano pensively lifted a plum upon the point of a toothpick and began nibbling at its wrinkled skin. Yes, why could she not have been a son? As it was, the girl could paint,--paint far better than most women even the famous ones of old. But, after all, no woman painter could be supreme. Love comes first with women! They have not the strong heart, the cruelty, the fierce imagination that go to the making of a great artist. Even among the men of the day, corrupted and distracted as they are by foreign innovations, could real strength be found? Alas! Art was surely doomed, and his own life,--the life of the last great Kano, futile and perishable as the withering flowers on their stems. He ate of his fish and rice in gloomy silence. Umè's gentle words failed to bring a reply. When the breakfast dishes were removed the old man continued listlessly in his place, staring out with unseeing eyes into his garden. A loud knock came to the wooden entrance gate near the kitchen. Kano heard a man's deep tones, Mata's thin voice answering an enquiry, and then the soft murmur of Umè's words. An instant later, heavy footsteps, belonging evidently to a wearer of foreign shoes, came around by the side of the house toward the garden. Kano looked up, frowning with annoyance. A fine-looking man of middle age appeared. Kano's irritation vanished. "Ando Uchida!" he cried aloud, springing to his feet, and hurrying to the edge of the veranda. "Ando Uchida, is it indeed you? How stout and strong and prosperous you seem! Welcome!" "A little too stout for warm weather," laughed Ando, as laboriously he removed his foreign shoes and accepted his host's assistance up the one stone step to the veranda. "Welcome, Ando Uchida," said Kano again, when they had taken seats. "It is quite five years since my eyes last hung upon your honorable face." "Is it indeed so long?" said the other. "Time has the wings of a dragon-fly!" Ando had brought with him a roll, apparently of papers, tied up in yellow cloth. This parcel he put carefully behind him on the matted floor. He then drew from his kimono sleeve a pink-bordered foreign pocket-handkerchief, and began to mop his damp forehead. Kano's politeness could not hide, entirely, a shudder of antipathy. He hurried into new speech. "And where, if it is not rude to ask, has my friend Ando sojourned during the long absence?" "Chiefly among the mountains of Kiu Shiu," answered the other. "Kiu Shiu," murmured the artist. "I wandered there in youth and have thought always to return. The rocks and cliffs are of great beauty. I remember well one white, thin waterfall that flung itself out like a laugh, but never reached a thing so dull as earth. Midway it was splintered upon a sunbeam, and changed into rainbows, pearls, and swallows!" "I know it excellently well," said Uchida. "Indeed I have been zealous to preserve it, chiefly for your sake." "Preserve it? What can you mean?" "I have become a government inspector of mines," explained Uchida, in some embarrassment. "I thought you knew. There is a rich coal deposit near that waterfall." "Ando! Ando!" groaned the old man, "you were once an artist! The foreigners are tainting us all." "I love art still," said Ando, "but I make a better engineer. And--I beseech you to overlook my vulgarity--I am getting rich." Kano groaned again. "Oh, this foreign influence! It is the curse of modern Japan! Love of money is starting a dry rot in the land of the gods. Success, material power, money,--all of them illusions, miasma of the soul, blinding men to reality! Surely my karma was evil that I needed to be reborn into this age of death!" Ando looked sympathetic and a little contrite. "Since we are indeed hopelessly of the present," ventured he, "may it not be as well to let the foreigners teach us their methods of success?" "Success?" cried Kano, almost angrily. "What do they succeed in except the grossest material gains? There is no humanity in them. Love of beauty dies in the womb. Shall we strive to become as dead things?" "The love of beauty will never perish in this land," said Ando more earnestly than he had yet spoken. "A Japanese loves Art as he loves life. Our rich merchants become the best patrons of the artists." "Patrons of the artists," echoed Kano, wearily. "You voice your own degradation, friend Ando. In the great days, who dared to speak of patronage to us. Emperors were artists and artists Emperors! It was to us that all men bowed." "Yes, yes, that is honorably true," Ando hastened to admit. "And so would they in this age bow to you, if you would but allow it." "I am not worthy of homage," said Kano, his head falling forward on his breast. "None knows this better than I,--and yet I am the greatest among them. Show me one of our young artists who can stand like Fudo in the flame of his own creative thought! There is none!" "What you say is unfortunately true of the present Tokyo painters,--perhaps equally of Kioto and other large cities,--but----" Here Ando paused as if to arouse expectancy. Kano did not look up. "But," insisted the other, "may it not be possible that in some place far from the clamor of modern progress,--in some remote mountain pass,--maybe----" Kano looked up now sharply enough. Apathy and indifference flared up like straws in a sudden flame of passion. He made a fierce gesture. "Not that, not that!" he cried. "I cannot bear it! Do not seek to give false life to a hope already dead. I am an old man. I have hoped and prayed too long. I must go down to my grave without an heir,--even an adopted heir,--for there is no disciple worthy to succeed!" "Dear friend, believe that I would not willingly add to a grief like this. I assure you----" Ando was beginning, when his words were cut short by the entrance of Umè-ko. She bore a tray with cups, a tiny steaming tea-pot, and a dish heaped with cakes in the forms and tints of morning-glories. This offering she placed near Uchida; and then, retiring a few steps, bowed to the floor, drawing her breath inaudibly as a token of welcome and respect. Being merely a woman, old Kano did not think of presenting her. She left the room noiselessly as she had come. Ando watched every movement with admiration and a certain weighing of possibilities in his shrewd face. He nodded as if to himself, and leaned toward Kano. "Was that not Kano Umè-ko, your daughter?" "Yes," said the old man, gruffly; "but she is not a son." "Fortunately for the eyes of men she is not," smiled Ando. "That is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and I have seen many. She welcomed me at the gate." Kano, engaged in pouring tea, made no reply. "Also, if current speech be true, she has great talent," persisted the visitor. "One can see genius burning like a soft light behind her face. I hear everywhere of her beauty and her fame." "Oh, she does well,--even remarkably well for a woman," admitted Kano. "But, as I said before, she is a woman, and nothing alters that. I tell you, Ando!" he cried, in a small new gust of irritation, "sometimes I have wished that she had been left utterly untouched by art. She paints well now, because my influence is never lifted. She knows nothing else. I have allowed no lover to approach. Yet, some day love will find her, as one finds a blossoming plum tree in the night. In every rock and tree she paints I can see the hint of that coming lover; in her flowers, exquisitely drawn, nestle the faces of her children. She knows it not, but I know,--I know! She thinks she cares only for her father and her art. When I die she will marry, and then how many pictures will she paint? Bah!" "Poor child!" murmured Ando, under his breath. "Poor child," mocked the artist, whose quick ears had caught the whisper. "Poor Nippon, rather, and poor old Kano, who has no better heir than this frail girl. Oh, Ando, I have clamored to the gods! I have made pilgrimages and given gifts,--but there is no one to inherit my name and the traditions of my race. Nowhere can I find a Dragon Painter!" Ando put his hand out quickly behind him, seized the long roll tied in yellow cloth, and began to unfasten it. Kano was panting with the vehemence of his own speech. He poured another little cup of tea and drained it. He began now to watch Ando, and found himself annoyed by the deliberation of his friend's motions. "Strange, strange----" Ando was murmuring. An instant later came the whisper, "very, very strange!" "Why do you repeat it?" cried Kano, irritably. "There was nothing strange in what I said." The parcel was now untied. Ando held a roll of papers outward. "Examine these, Kano Indara," he said impressively. "If I do not greatly mistake, the gods, at last, have heard your prayer." Kano went backward as if from fire. "No! I cannot,--I must not hope! Too long have I searched. Not a schoolboy who thought he could draw an outline in the sand with his toe but I have fawned on him. I dare not look. Ando, to-day I am shaken as if with an ague of the soul. I--I--could not bear another disappointment." He did indeed seem piteously weak and old. He hid his face in long, lean, twitching fingers. Ando was sincerely affected. "This is to be no disappointment," said he, gently. "I pray you, listen patiently to my clumsy speech." "I will strive to listen calmly," said Kano, in a broken voice. "But first honorably secrete the papers once again. They tantalize my sight." Uchida put them down on the floor beside him and threw the cloth carelessly above. He was more moved than he cared to show. He strove now to speak simply, directly, and with convincing earnestness. Kano had settled into his old attitude of dejection. "One morning, not more than six weeks ago," began Uchida, "the engineering party which I command had climbed some splintered peaks of the Kiu Shiu range to a spot quite close, indeed, to that thin waterfall which you remember----" "One might forget his friends and relatives, but not a waterfall like that!" interrupted Kano. "Suddenly a storm, blown down apparently from a clear sky, caught up the mountain and our little group of men in a great blackness." "The mountain deities were angered at your presumption," nodded Kano, well pleased. "It may be," admitted the other. "At any rate, the winds now hurried in from the sea. Round cloud vapors split sidewise on the wedges of the rocks. Voices screamed in the fissures. We clung to the scrub-pines and the sa-sa grass for safety." "I can see it all. I can feel it," whispered old Kano. "We wished to descend, but knew no way. I shouted for aid. The others shouted many times. Then from the very midst of tumult came a youth,--half god, half beast, with wild eyes peering at us, and hair that tossed like the angry clouds." "Yes, yes," urged Kano, straining forward. "We scrambled toward him, and he shrank back into the mist. We called, beseeching help. The workmen thought him a young sennin, and falling on their knees, began to pray. Then the youth approached us more deliberately, and, when we asked for guidance, led us by a secluded path down into a mountain village." "And you think,--you think that this marvellous youth," began Kano, eagerly; then broke off with a gesture of despair. "I must not believe, I must not believe," he muttered. Ando's hand was once more on the roll of papers. He went on smoothly. "We questioned of him in the village. He is a foundling. None knows his parentage. From childhood he has made pictures upon rocks, and sand beds, and the inner bark of trees. He wanders for days together among the peaks, and declares that he is searching for his mate, a Dragon Princess, withheld from him by enchantment. Naturally the village people think him mad. But they are kind to him. They give him food and clothing, and sometimes sheets of paper, like these here." With affected unconcern he raised the long roll. "Yes, they give him paper, with real ink and brushes. Then he leaps up the mountain side and paints and paints for hours, like a demon. But as soon as he has eased his soul of a sketch he lets the first gust of wind blow it away." Kano was now shivering in his place. On his wrinkled face a light dawned. "Shall I believe? Oh, Ando, indeed I could not bear it now! Unroll those drawings before I go mad!" Uchida deliberately spread out the first. It was a scene of mountain storm, painted as in an elemental fury. Inky pine branches slashed and hurled upward, downward, and across a tortured gray sky. A cloud-rack tore the void like a Valkyrie's cry made visible. One huge talon of lightning clutched at the flying scud. Kano gave a glance, covered his face, and began to sob. Uchida blew his nose on the pink-bordered foreign handkerchief. After a long while the old man whispered, "What name shall I use in my prayer?" "He is called," said Ando, "by the name of 'Tatsu.' 'Tatsu, the Dragon Painter.'" II The sounds and sights of the great capital were dear to Ando Uchida. In five years of busy exile among remote mountains he felt that he had earned, as it were, indulgence for an interval of leisurely enjoyment. His initial visit to old Kano had been made not so much to renew an illustrious acquaintance, as to relieve his own mind of its exciting news, and his hands of a parcel which, at every stage of the journey, had been an incubus. Ando knew the paintings to be unusual. He had hoped for and received from Kano the highest confirmation of this belief. At that time, now a week ago, he had been pleased, and Kano irradiated. Already he was cursing himself for his pains, and crying aloud that, had he dreamed the consequences, never had the name of Tatsu crossed his lips! Ando's anticipated joys in Yeddo lay, as yet, before him. Hourly was he tormented by visits from the impatient Kano. Neither midnight nor dawn were safe from intrusion. Always the same questions were asked, the same fears spoken, the same glorious future prophesied; until finally, in despair, one night Ando arose between the hours of two and three, betaking himself to a small suburban hotel. Here he lived, for a time, in peace, under the protection of an assumed name. A letter had been dispatched that first day, to Tatsu of Kiu Shiu, with a sum of money for the defraying of travelling expenses, and the petition that the youth should come as quickly as possible for a visit to Kano Indara, since the old man could not, of himself, attempt so long a journey. After what seemed to the impatient writer (and in equal degree to the harassed Uchida) an endless cycle of existence, an answer came, not, indeed from Tatsu, but from the "Mura osa," or head of the village, saying that the Mad Painter had started at once upon his journey, taking not even a change of clothes. By what route he would travel or on what date arrive, only the gods could tell. Kano's rapture in these tidings was assailed, at once, by a swarm of black conjectures. Might the boy not lose himself by the way? If he attempted to ride upon the hideous foreign trains he was certain to be injured; if on the other hand, he did not come by train, weeks, even months, might be consumed in the journey. Again, should he essay to come by boat! Then there were dangers of wind and storm. Visions of Tatsu drowned; of Tatsu heaped under a wreck of burning cars; starved to death in a solitary forest; set upon, robbed, and slain by footpads, all spun--black silhouettes in a revolving lantern--through Kano's frenzied imagination. It was at this point that Uchida had hid himself, and assumed a false name. In another week the gentle Umè began to grow pale and silent under the small tyrannies of her father. Mata openly declared her belief that it was a demon now on the way to them, since he had power to change the place into a cave of torment even before arrival. After Uchida's defection old Kano remained constantly at home. Many hours at a time he stood upon the moon-viewing hillock of his garden, staring up, then down the street, up and down, up and down, until it was weariness to watch him. Within the rooms he was merely one curved ear, bent in the direction of the entrance gate. His nervousness communicated itself to the women of the house. They, too, were listening. More than one innocent visitor had been thrown into panic by the sight of three strained faces at the gate, and three pairs of shining eyes set instantly upon them. One twilight hour, late in August, Tatsu came. After an eager day of watching, old Kano had just begun to tell himself that hope was over. Tatsu had certainly been killed. The ihai might as well be set up, and prayers offered for the dead man's soul. Umè-ko, wearied by the heat, and the incessant strain, lay prone upon her matted floor, listening to the chirp of a bell cricket that hung in a tiny bamboo cage near by. The clear notes of the refrain, struck regularly with the sound of a fairy bell, had begun to help and soothe her. Mata sat dozing on the kitchen step. A loud, sudden knock shattered in an instant this precarious calm. Kano went through the house like a storm. Mata, being nearest, flung the panel of the gate aside. There stood a creature with tattered blue robe just to the knees, bare feet, bare head, with wild, tossing locks of hair, and eyes that gleamed with a panther's light. "Is it--is it--Tatsu?" screamed the old man, hurling his voice before him. "It is a madman," declared the servant, and flattened herself against the hedge. Umè said nothing at all. After one look into the stranger's face she had withdrawn, herself unseen, into the shadowy rooms. "I am Tatsu of Kiu Shiu," announced the apparition, in a voice of strange depth and sweetness. "Is this the home of Kano Indara?" "Yes, yes, I am Kano Indara," said the artist, almost grovelling on the stones. "Enter, dear sir, I beseech. You must be weary. Accompany me in this direction, august youth. Mata, bring tea to the guest-room." Tatsu followed his tempestuous host in silence. As they gained the room Kano motioned him to a cushion, and prepared to take a seat opposite. Tatsu suddenly sank to his knees, bowing again and again, stiffly, in a manner long forgotten in fashionable Yeddo. "Discard the ceremony of bowing, I entreat," said Kano. "Why? Is it not a custom here?" "Yes,--to a lesser extent. But between us, dear youth, it is unnecessary." "Why should it be unnecessary between us?" persisted the unsmiling guest. "Because we are artists, therefore brothers," explained Kano, in an encouraging voice. Tatsu frowned. "Who are you, and why have you sent for me?" "Do you inquire who I am?" said Kano, scarcely believing his ears. "It is what I asked." "I am Kano Indara." The old man folded his arms proudly, waiting for the effect. Tatsu moved impatiently upon his velvet cushion. "Of course I knew that. It was the name on the scrap of paper that guided me here." "Is it possible that you do not yet know the meaning of the name of Kano?" asked the artist, incredulously. A thin red tingled to his cheek,--the hurt of childish vanity. "There is one of that name in my village," said Tatsu. "He is a scavenger, and often gives me fine large sheets of paper." Old Kano's lip trembled. "I am not of his sort. Men call me an artist." "Oh, an artist! Does that mean a painter of dragons, like me?" "Among other things of earth and air I have attempted to paint dragons," said Kano. "I paint nothing else," declared Tatsu, and seemed to lose interest in the conversation. Kano looked hard into his face. "You say that you paint nothing else?" he challenged. "Are not these--all of them--your work, the creations of your fancy?" He reached out for the roll that Uchida had brought. His hands trembled. In his nervous excitement the papers fell, scattering broadcast over the floor. Tatsu's dark face flashed into light. "My pictures! My pictures!" he cried aloud, like a child. "They always blow off down the mountain!" Kano picked up a study at random. It was of a mountain tarn lying quiet in the sun. Trees in a windless silence sprang straight upward from the brink. Beyond and above these a few tall peaks stood thin and pale, cutting a sky that was empty of all but light. "Where is the dragon here?" challenged the old man. "Asleep under the lake." "And where here?" he asked quickly, in order to hide his discomfiture. The second picture was a scene of heavy rain descending upon a village. "Oh, I perceive for myself," he hurried on before Tatsu could reply. "The dragon lies full length, half sleeping, on the soaking cloud." Tatsu's lip curled, but he remained silent. The old man's hands rattled among the edges of the papers. "Ah, here, Master Painter, are you overthrown!" he cried triumphantly, lifting the painting of a tall girl who swayed against a cloudy background. The lines of the thin gray robe blew lightly to one side. The whole figure had the poise and lightness of a vision; yet in the face an exquisite human tenderness smiled out. "Show me a dragon here," repeated Kano. Tatsu looked troubled and, for the first time, studied intently the countenance of his host. "Surely, honored sir, if you are a painter, as you say you are, its meaning must be plain. Look more closely. Do you not see on what the maiden stands?" "Of course I see," snapped Kano. "She stands among rocks and weeds, and looks marvellously like----" He broke off, thinking it better not to mention his daughter's name. "But I repeat, no dragon-thought is here." Tatsu reached out, took the picture, and tore it into shreds. Then he rose to his feet. "Good-by," he said. "I shall now make a quick returning. You are of the blind among men. My painting was the Dragon Maid, standing on the peaks of earth. All my life I have sought her. The people of my village think me mad because of her. By reason that I cannot find, I paint. Good-by!" "Good-by!" echoed the other. "What do you mean? What are you saying?" The face of a horrible possibility jeered at him. His heart pounded the lean ribs and stood still. Tatsu was upon his feet. In an instant more he would be gone forever. "Tatsu, wait!" almost screamed the old man. "Surely you cannot mean to return when you have but now arrived! Be seated. I insist! There is much to talk about." "I have nothing to talk about. When a thing is to be done, then it is best to do it quickly. Good-by!" He wheeled toward the deepening night, the torn and soiled blue robe clinging to him as to the figure of a primeval god. "Tatsu! Tatsu!" cried the other in an agony of fear. "Stop! I command!" Tatsu turned, scowling. Then he laughed. "No, no, I did not mean the word 'command.' I entreat you, Tatsu, because you are young and I am old; because I need you. Dear youth, you must be hungered and very weary. Remain at least until our meal is served." "I desire no food of yours," said Tatsu. "Why did you summon me when you had nothing to reveal? You are no artist! And I pine, already, for the mountains!" "Then, Tatsu, if I am no artist, stay and teach me how to paint. Yes, yes, you shall honorably teach me. I shall receive reproof thankfully. I need you, Tatsu. I have no son. Stay and be my son." The short, scornful laugh came again. "Your son! What could you do with a son like me? You love to dwell in square cages, and wear smooth shiny clothes. You eat tasteless foods and sleep like a cocoon that is rolled. My life is upon the mountains; my food the wild grapes and the berries that grow upon them. The pheasants and the mountain lions are my friends. I stifle in these lowlands. I cannot stay. I must breathe the mountains, and there among the peaks some day--some day--I shall touch her sleeve, the sleeve of the Dragon Maiden whom I seek. Let me go, old man! I have no business in this place!" In extremes of desperation one clutches at the semblance of a straw. A last, wild hope had flashed to Kano's mind. "Come nearer, Tatsu San," he whispered, forcing his face into the distortion of a smile. "Lean nearer. The real motive of my summons has not been spoken." Compelled by the strange look and manner of his host, Tatsu retraced a few steps. The old voice wheedled through the dusk. "In this very house, under my mortal control, the Dragon Maiden whom you seek is hidden." Tatsu staggered back, then threw himself to the floor, searching the speaker's face for truth. "Could you lie to me of such a thing as this?" he asked. "No, Tatsu, by the spirits of my ancestors, I have such a maiden here. Soon I shall show you. Only you must be patient and very quiet, that she may manifest herself." "I shall be quiet, Kano Indara." Kano, shivering now with excitement and relief, clapped hands loudly and called on Mata's name. The old dame entered, skirting warily the vicinity of the "madman." "Mata, fix your eyes on me only while I am speaking," began her master. "Say to the Dragon Maid whom we keep in the chamber by the great plum tree that I, Kano Indara, command her to appear. The costume must be worn; and let her enter, singing. These are my instructions. Assist the maiden to obey them. Go!" His piercing look froze the questions on her tongue. "And Mata," he called again, stopping her at the threshold, "bring at once some heated sakè,--the best,--and follow it closely with the evening meal." "Kashikomarimashita," murmured the servant, dutifully. But within the safety of her kitchen she exploded into execrations, muttering prophecies of evil, with lamentations that a Mad Thing from the mountains had broken into the serenity of their lives. Tatsu, who had listened eagerly to the commands, now flung back his head and drew a long breath. "My life being spent among wild creatures," he murmured as if to himself, "little skill have I in judging the ways of men. How shall I believe that in this desert of houses a true Dragon Maiden can be found?" Again he turned flashing eyes upon his host. "I mistrust you, Kano Indara! Your thin face peers like a fox from its hole. If you deceive me,--yet must I remain,--for should she come----" "You shall soon perceive for yourself, dear Dragon Youth." Mata entered with hot sakè. "Go! We shall serve ourselves," said Kano, much to her relief. "I seldom drink," observed Tatsu, as the old man filled his cup. "Once it made of me a fool. But I will take a little now, for I am very weary with the long day." "Indeed, it must be so; but good wine refreshes the body and the mind alike," replied the other. It was hard to pour the sakè with such shaking hands, harder still to keep his eyes from the beautiful sullen face so near him, and yet he forced the wrinkled eyelids to conceal his dawning joy. In Tatsu's strange submission, the artist felt that the new glory of the Kano name was being born. III For a long interval the two men sat in silence. Kano leaned forward from time to time, filling the small cup which Tatsu--half in revery it seemed--had once more drained. The old servant now and again crept in on soundless feet to replace with a freshly heated bottle of sakè the one grown cold. So still was the place that the caged cricket hanging from the eaves of Umè's distant room beat time like an elfin metronome. Two of the four walls of the guest-room were of shoji, a lattice covered with translucent rice-paper. These opened directly upon the garden. The third wall, a solid one of smoke-blue plaster, held the niche called "tokonoma," where pictures are hung and flower vases set. The remaining wall, opening toward the suite of chambers, was fashioned of four great sliding doors called fusuma, dull silver of background, with paintings of shadowy mountain landscape done centuries before by one of the greatest of the Kanos. It was in front of these doors that Mata now placed two lighted candles in tall bronze holders. Outside, the garden became a blur of soft darkness. Within, the flickering yellow light of the candles danced through the room, touching now the old face, now the young, each set hard in its own lines of concentrated thought. Weird shadows played about the mountains on the silver doors, and hid in far corners of the matted floor. All at once the two central fusuma were apart. No slightest sound had been made, yet there, in the narrow rectangle, stood a figure,--surely not of earth,--a slim form in misty gray robes, wearing a crown of intertwisted dragons, with long filigree chains that fell straight to the shoulders. In one hand was held an opened fan of silver. Tatsu gave a convulsive start, then checked himself. He could not believe the vision real. Not even in his despairing dreams had the Dragon Maid appeared so exquisite. As he gazed, one white-clad foot slid a few inches toward him on the shining floor. Another step, and she was in the room. The fusuma behind her closed as noiselessly as they had opened. Tatsu shivered a little, and stared on. With equal intensity the old man watched the face of Tatsu. The figure had begun to sway, slightly, at full length, like long bands of perpendicular rain across the face of a mountain. A singing voice began, rich, passionate, and low, matching with varying intonation the marvellous postures of fan and throat and body. At first low in sound, almost husky, it flowered to a note long held and gradually deepening in power. It gathered up shadows from the heart and turned them into light. Umè-ko danced (or so she would have told you) only to fulfil her father's command; yet, before she had reached the room, she knew that it would be such a dance as neither she nor the old artist had dreamed of. That first glimpse of Tatsu's face at the gate had registered for her a notch upon the Revolving Wheel of Life. His first spoken word had aroused in her strange mystic memories from stranger hiding places. Karma entered with her into the little guest-room where she was to dance and charged the very air with revelation. The words of the old classic poem she had in her ignorance believed familiar, she knew that she was now for the first time really to sing. "Not for one life but for the blossoming of a thousand lives, shall I seek my lover, shall I regain his love," she sang. No longer was it Umè-ko at all, but in actual truth the Dragon Maid, held from her lover by a jealous god, seeking him through fire and storm and sea, peering for him into the courts of emperors, the shrines of the astonished gods, the very portals of the under-world. And Tatsu listened without sound or motion; only his eyes burned like beacons in a windless night. Kano wriggled himself backward on the matting that the triumph of his face might not be seen. Now and again he leaned forward stealthily and filled Tatsu's cup. The unaccustomed fluid was already pouring in a fiery torrent through the boy's vivid brain. His hands, slipped within the tattered blue sleeves, grasped tightly each the elbow of the other arm. His ecstacy was a drug, enveloping his senses; again it was a fire that threatened the very altar of his soul. Through it all he, as Umè-ko, realized fulfilment. Here in this desert of men's huts he had gained what all the towering mountains had not been able to bestow. Here was his bride, made manifest, his mate, the Dragon Maid, found at last through centuries of barren searching! Surely, if he should spring now to his feet, catch her to him and call upon his mountain gods for aid, they would be hurled together to some paradise of love where only he and she and love would be alive! He trembled and caught in his breath with a sob. Kano glided a few feet nearer, and struck the matting sharply with his hand. Suddenly the dance was over. Umè-ko, quivering now in every limb, sank to the floor. She bowed first to the guest of honor, then to her father. Touching her wet eyes with a silken sleeve she moved backward to the rear of the room where she seated herself upright, motionless as the wall itself, between the two tall candles. Tatsu's eyes never left her face. Old Kano, in the background, rocked to and fro, and, after a short pause of waiting, clapped his hands for Mata. "Hai-ie-ie-ie-ie!" came the thin voice, long drawn out, from the kitchen. She entered with a tray of steaming food, placing it before Tatsu. A second tray was brought for the master, and a fresh bottle of wine. Umè-ko sat motionless against the silver fusuma, an ivory image, crowned and robed in shimmering gray. The odor of good food attracted Tatsu's senses if not his eyes. He ate greedily, hastily, not seeing what he ate. His manners were those of an untutored mountain peasant. "Dragon Maid," purred Kano, "weariness has come upon you. Retire, I pray, and deign to rest." "No!" said Tatsu, loudly. "She shall not leave this room." "My concern is for the august maiden who has found favor in your sight," replied Kano, with a deprecating gesture. "Here, Tatsu, let me fill your cup." Tatsu threw his cup face down to the floor, and put his lean, brown hand upon it. "I drink no more until my cup of troth with the maiden yonder." Umè-ko's startled eyes flew to his. She trembled, and the blood slowly ebbed from her face, leaving it pale and luminous with a sort of wonder. "Go!" said Kano again, and, in a daze, the girl rose and vanished from the room. Tatsu had hurled himself toward her, but it was too late. He turned angrily to his host. "She is mine! Why did you send her away?" "Gently, gently," cooed the other. "In this incarnation she is called my daughter." "I believe it not!" cried Tatsu. "How came she under bondage to you? Have I not sought her through a thousand lives? She is mine!" "Even so, in this life I am her father, and it is my command that she will obey." Tatsu rocked and writhed in his place. "She is a good daughter," pursued the other, amiably. "She has never yet failed in docility and respect. Without my consent you shall not touch her,--not even her sleeve." "I have sought her through a thousand lives. I will slay him who tries to keep her from me!" raved the boy. "To kill her father would scarcely be a fortunate beginning," said Kano, tranquilly. "Your hope lies in safer paths, dear youth. There are certain social conventions attached even to a Dragon Maid. Now if you will calm yourself and listen to reason----" Tatsu sprang to his feet and struck himself violently upon the brow. The hot wine was making a whirlpool of his brain. "Reason! convention! safety! I hate them all! Oh, you little men of cities! Farmyard fowls and swine, running always to one sty, following always one lead,--doing things in the one way that other base creatures have marked out----" Kano laughed aloud. His whole life had been a protest against conventionality, and this impassioned denunciation came from a new world. The sound maddened Tatsu. He leaped to the veranda, now a mere ledge thrust out over darkness, threw an arm about the slender corner-post, and strained far out, gasping, into the night. Kano filled his pipe with leisurely deliberation. The time was past for fear. In a few moments the boy returned, his face ugly, black, and sullen. "I will be your son if you give me the maiden," he muttered. "Come now, this is much better," said Kano, with a genial smile. "We shall discuss the matter like rational men." Tatsu ground his teeth so that the other heard him. "Have a pipe," said Kano. "I want no pipe." "At least make yourself at ease upon the cushion while I speak." "I am more at ease without it," said the boy, flinging the velvet square angrily across the room. "Ugh! It is like sitting on a dead cat. Kindly speak without further care for me. I am at ease!" Kano glanced at the burning eyes, the quivering face and twitching muscles with a smile. The intensity of ardor touched him. He drew a short sigh, the look of complacency left his for an instant, and he began, deliberately, "As you may have gathered from my letter, I am without a son." Tatsu nodded shortly. "Worse than this, among all my disciples here in Yeddo there has appeared none worthy to inherit the name and traditions of my race. Now, dear youth, when I first saw these paintings of yours, the hope stirred in me that you might be that one." "Do you mean that I should paint things as paltry as your own?" "No, not exactly, though even from my poor work you might gain some valuable lessons of technique." "I know not that word," said Tatsu. "When I must paint, I paint. What has all this to do with the Dragon Maiden?" "Softly, softly; we are coming to that now," said Kano. "If, after trial, I should find you really worthy of adoption, nothing could be more appropriate than for you to become the husband of my daughter." Tatsu dug his nails into the matting of the floor. "Suitable--appropriate--husband!" he groaned aloud. "Farmyard cackle,--all of it. Oh, to be joined in the manner of such earthlings to a Dragon Maid like this! Old man, cannot even you feel the horror of it? No, your eyes blink like a pig that has eaten. You cannot see. She should be made mine among storm and wind and mist on some high mountain peak, where the gods would lean to us, and great straining forests roar out our marriage hymn!" "There is indeed something about it that appeals to me. It would make a fine subject for a painting." "Oh, oh," gasped Tatsu, and clutched at his throat. "When will you give her to me, Kano Indara? Shall it be to-night?" "To-night? Are you raving!" cried the astonished Kano. "It would be at the very least a month." Tatsu rose and staggered to the veranda. "A month!" he whispered to the stars. "Shall I live at all? Good-night, old man of clay," he called suddenly, and with a light step was down upon the garden path. Kano hurried to him. "Stop, stop, young sir," he called half clicked, now, with laughter. "Do not go in this rude way. You are my guest. The women are even now preparing your bed." "I lie not on beds," jeered Tatsu through the darkness. "Vile things they are, like the ooze that smears the bottom of a lake. I climb this hillside for my couch. To-morrow, with the sun, I shall return!" The voice, trailing away through silence and the night, had a tone of supernatural sweetness. When it had quite faded Kano stared on, for a long time, into the fragrant solitude. Stars were out now by thousands, a gold mosaic set into a high purple dome. Off to the south a wide blur of artificial light hung above the city, the visible expression, as it were, of the low, human roar of life, audible even in this sheltered nook. To the north, almost it seemed within touch of his hands, the temple cliff rose black, formidable, and impressive, a gigantic wall of silence. The camphor tree overhead was thrown out darkly against the stars, like its own shadow. The velvety boom of the temple bell, striking nine, held in its echoes the color and the softness of the hour. Kano, turning at last from the veranda, slowly re-entered the guest-room, and seated himself upon one of the cushions that had aroused Tatsu's scorn. A dead cat,--forsooth! Well to old bones a dead cat might be better than no cushion! Mata had come in very softly. "I prayed the gods for him," Kano was muttering aloud, "and I thank them that he is here. To-morrow I shall make offering at the temple. Yet I have thanks, too, that there is but one of him. Ah, Mata,--you? My hot bath, is it ready? And, friend Mata, do you recall a soothing draught you once prepared for me at a time of great mental strain,--there was, I think, something I wished to do with a picture, and the picture would not allow it. I should like a draught like that to-night." "Kashikomarimashita. I recall it," said old Mata, grimly, "and I shall make it strong, for you have something worse than pictures to deal with now." "Thanks. I was sure you would remember," smiled the old man, and Mata, disarmed of her cynicism, could say no more. Umè remained in her chamber. She had not been seen since the dance. All her fusuma and shoji were closed. Mata, in leaving her master, looked tentatively toward this room, but after an imperceptible pause kept on down the central passageway of the house to the bathroom, at the far end. The place smelled of steam, of charcoal fumes, and cedar wood. With two long, thin iron "fire-sticks," Mata poked, from the top, the heap of darkening coals in the cylindrical furnace that was built into one end of the tub. For the protection of the bather this was surrounded with a wooden lattice which, being always wet when the furnace was in use, never charred. The tub itself was of sugi-wood. After years of service it still gave out unfailingly its aromatic breath, and felt soft to the touch, like young leaves. Sighing heavily, the old servant bared her arm and leaned over to stir the water, to draw down by long, elliptical swirls of motion the heated upper layers into cold strata at the bottom. She then wiped her arm on her apron and went to the threshold of the guest-room to inform the waiting occupant. "In ten minutes more, without fail, the water will be at right heat for your augustness." Now, in the kitchen, a great searching among jars and boxes on high shelves told of preparation for the occasional brew. Again she thought of calling Umè. Umè could reach the highest shelf without standing on an inverted rice-pot, or the even more precarious fish-cleaning bench. And again, for a reason not quite plain to herself, Mata decided not to call. She threw a fresh handful of twigs and dried ferns to the sleeping ashes of the brazier, set a copper skillet deep into the answering flame, and began dropping dried bits of herbs into the simmering water. Instantly the air was changed,--was tinged and interpenetrated with hurrying, spicy fumes, with hints of a bitter bark, of jellied gums, of resin, and a compelling odor which should have been sweet, but was only nauseating. The steam assumed new colors as it rose. Each sprite of aromatic perfume when released plunged into noiseless tumult with opposing fumes. The kitchen was a crucible, and the old dame a mediaeval alchemist. The flames and smoke striving upward, as if to reach her bending face, made it glow with the hue of the copper kettle, a wrinkled copper, etched deep with lines of life, of merriment, perplexity, of shrewd and practical experience. As she stirred, testing by nose and eye the rapid completion of her work, she was determining to put aside for her own use a goodly share of the beneficent fluid. The coming of the wild man had unnerved her terribly. In the threatening family change she could perceive nothing but menace. Apprehension even now weighed down upon her, a foreshadowing of evil that had, somehow, a present hostage in the deep silence of Umè's room. Of what was her nursling thinking? How had it seemed to her, so guarded, and so delicately reared, this being summoned like a hired geisha to dance before a stranger,--a ragged, unkempt, hungry stranger! Even her father's well-known madness for things of art could scarcely atone to his child for this indignity. Kano had gone promptly to his bath. He was now emerging. His bare feet grazed the wooden corridor. Mata ran to him. "Good! Ah, that was good!" he said heartily. "Five years of aches have I left in the tub!" Within his chamber the andon was already lighted, and the long, silken bed-cushions spread. Mata assisted him to slip down carefully between the mattress and the thin coverlid. She patted and arranged him as she would a child, and then went to fetch the draught. "Mata, thou art a treasure," he said, as she knelt beside him, the bowl outstretched. He drained the last drop, and the old friends exchanged smiles of answering satisfaction. Before leaving him she trimmed and lowered the andon so that its yellow light would be a mere glimmer in the darkness. She moved now deliberately to Umè's fusuma, tapping lightly on the lacquered frame. "Miss Umè! O Jo San!" she called. Nothing answered. Mata parted the fusuma an inch. The Japanese matted floor, even in darkness, gives out a sort of ghostly, phosphorescent glow. Thus, in the unlit space Mata could perceive that the girl lay at full length, her Dragon Robe changed to an ordinary house dress, her long hair unbound, her face turned downward and hidden on an outstretched arm. It was not a pose of grief, neither did it hint of slumber. "Honorable Young Lady of the House," said Mata, now more severely, "I came to announce your bath. The august father having already entered and withdrawn, it is your turn." This time Umè answered her, not, however, changing her position. "I do not care to take the bath to-night. You enter, I pray, without further waiting. I--I--should like to be left alone, nurse. I myself will unroll the bed and light the andon." Mata leaned nearer. Her voice was a theatrical whisper. "Is it that you are outraged, my Umè-ko, at your father's strange demand upon you? I was myself angered. He would scarcely have done so much for a Prince of the Blood,--and to make you appear before so crude and ignorant a thing as that--" Umè sat upright. "No, I am angered at nothing. I only wish to be alone. Ah, nurse, you have always spoiled me,--give me my way." Mata went off grumbling. She wished that Umè had shown a more natural indignation. The hot bath, however, notwithstanding Kano's five lost years of pain presumably in solution, brought her ease of body, as did the soothing potion, ease of mind. All night long the old folks heavily slept; and all night long little Umè-ko drifted in a soft, slow rising flood of consciousness that was neither sleep nor waking, though wrought of the intertwining strands of each. Again she saw the dark face in the gateway. It was a mere picture in a frame, set for an artist's joy. Then it seemed a summons, calling her to unfamiliar paths,--a prophecy, a clew. Again she heard his voice,--an echo made of all these things, and more. She tried to force herself to think of him merely as an artist would think; how the lines of the shoulders and the throat flowed upward, like dark flame, to the altar of his face. How the hair grew in flame upon his brow, how the dark eyes, fearless and innocent with the look of primeval youth, indeed, held a strange human pain of searching. The mere remembered pictures of him rose and fell with her as sea-flowers, or long river grass; but when there came remembered shiver of his words, "I drink no more until my cup of troth with the maiden yonder!" then all drifting ceased; illusion was at an end. With a gasp she felt herself falling straight down through a swirling vortex of sensation, to the very sand-bed of the stream. Now she was sitting upright (the sand-bed had suddenly become the floor of her little room), her hands pressing a heart that was trying to escape, her young eyes straining through the darkness to see,--ah!--she could see nothing at all for the shining! She listened now with bated breath, thinking that by some unconscious cry she might have aroused the others. No, Kano breathed on softly, regularly, in the next room; while from the kitchen wing came unfaltering the beat of Mata's nasal metronome. In one such startled interval of waking her caged cricket had given out its plaintive cry. All at once it seemed to Umè-ko an unbearable thing for any spark of life to be so prisoned. She longed to set him free, but even though she opened wide her shoji, the outer night-doors, the amado stretched, a relentless opaque wall, along the four sides of the house. She lay quiet now for a long time. "I will return with the sun," he had said. She wished that the cricket were indeed outside, and could tell her of the first dawn-stirring. It was very close and dark in the little room. She had not lighted the andon after all. It could not be so dark outside. With very cautious fingers she began now to separate the shoji that opened on the garden side. A breath of exquisite night air rushed in to her from the lattices above the amado. It would be a difficult matter to push even one of these aside without waking the house. Yet, there were two things in her favor; the unusually heavy sleep of her companions and the fact that the amado had a starting point in their long grooves from a shallow closet very near her room. So instead of having to remove the whole chain, each clasping by a metal hand, its neighbor, she had but to unbar the initial panel, coax it noiselessly apart just far enough to emit a not too bulky form, and then the night would be hers. There had been in the girl's life so little need of cunning or of strategy that her innocent adventure now brought a disturbing sense of crime. She had unlatched the first amado in safety, and had her white arms braced to push it to one side, when, suddenly she thought, "I am acting like a thief! Perhaps I am feeling like a thief! This is a terrible thing and must displease the gods." Her hands dropped limply, she must not continue with this deed. Somewhere near her feet the cricket gave out an importunate chirp. She stooped to him, feeling about for the little residence with tender, groping hands. She must give him freedom, though she dared not take it for herself. Yet it would be sweet to breathe the world for its own sake once more before he--and the sun--returned. The amado went back as if of itself. In an instant Umè's face was among the dew-wet leaves of the plum tree. Oh, it was sweet! The night smelled of silence and the stars. She threw back her head to drink it like a liquid. She lifted the insect in its cage. By holding it high, against a star of special brightness, she could see the tiny bit of life gazing at her through its bars. She opened the door of the cage, and set it among the twigs of the plum. Then barefooted, ungirdled, with hair unbound, she stepped down upon the stone beneath the tree, and then to the garden path. IV The pebbles of the garden were slippery and cold under the feet that pressed them. Also they hurt a little. Umè longed to return for her straw sandals, but this freedom of the night was already far too precious for jeopardy. She caught her robe about her throat and was glad of the silken shawl of her long hair. How thickly shone the stars! It must be close upon the hour of their waning, yet how big and soft; and how companionable! She stretched her arms up to them, moving as if they drew her down the path. They were more real, indeed, than the dim and preternatural space in which she walked. She looked slowly about upon that which should have been commonplace and found the outlines alone to be unaltered. There were the hillock, the house, the thick hedge-lines square at the corners with black bars hard as wood against the purple night; there were the winding paths and little courts of open gravel. She could have put her hand out, saying, "Here, on this point, should be the tall stone lantern; here, in this sheltered curve, a fern." Both lantern and fern would have been in place; and yet, despite these evidences of the usual, all that once made the sunlit garden space an individual spot, was, in this dim, ghostly air, transformed. The spirit of the whole had taken on weird meaning. It was as if Mata's face looked suddenly upon her with the old abbot's eyes. Fantastic possibilities crouched, ready to spring from every shadow. The low shrubs held themselves in attitudes of flight. This was a world in which she had no part. She knew herself a paradox, the violator of a mood; but the enchantment held her. She had reached now the edge of the pond. It was a surface of polished lacquer, darker than the night, and powdered thick with the gold of reflected stars. Leaning over, she marvelled at the silhouette of her own slim figure. It did not seem to have an actual place among these frail phantasmagoria. As she stared on she noticed that the end of the pond farthest from her, to the west, quivered and turned gray. She looked quickly upward and around. Yes, there to the east was the answering blur of light. Dawn had begun. She ran now to the top of the moon-viewing hill. The earth was wider here; the dawn more at home. Below her where the city used to be was no city, only a white fog-sea, without an island. The cliff, black at the base, rising gradually into thinner gray, drove through the air like the edge of a coming world. A chill breeze swept out from the hollow, breathing of waking grasses and of dew. The girl shivered, but it was with ecstacy. "I climb this hillside for my couch, to-night!" Was he too waking, watching, feeling himself intruder upon a soundless ritual? There was a hissing noise as of a fawn hurrying down a tangled slope. The hedge near the cliff end of the garden dipped and squeaked and shook indignant plumes after a figure that had desecrated its green guardianship, and was now striding ruthlessly across the enclosure. Umè heard and saw; then wrung her hands in terror. It was he, of course,--the Dragon Painter; and he would speak with her. What could she do? Family honor must be maintained, and so she could not cry for help. Why had her heart tormented her to go into the night? Why had she not thought of this possibility? Because of it, life, happiness, everything might be wrecked, even before they had dared to think of happiness by name! Tatsu had reached her. Leaning close he set his eyes to her face as one who drinks deep and silently. "I must not remain. Oh, sir, let me pass!" she whispered. He did not speak or try to touch her. A second gust of wind came from the cliff, blowing against his hand a long tress of her hair. It was warm and perfumed, and had the clinging tenderness of youth. He shivered now, as she was doing, and stood looking down at his hand. Umè made a swift motion as if to pass him; but he threw out the barrier of an arm. "I have been calling you all the night. Now, at last, you have come. Why did you never answer me upon the mountains?" "Indeed, I could not. I was not permitted. As you must see for yourself, lord, in this incarnation I am but a mortal maiden." "I do not see it for myself," said Tatsu, with a low, triumphant laugh. "I see something different!" Suddenly he reached forward, caught the long ends of her hair and held them out to left and right, the full width of his arms. They stood for a moment in intense silence, gazing each into the face of the other. The rim of the dawn behind them cut, with its flat, gold disc, straight down to the heart of the world. "You a mortal!" said the boy again, exultantly. "Why, even now, your face is the white breast of a great sea-bird, your hair, its shining wings, and your soul a message that the gods have sent to me! Oh, I know you for what you are,--my Dragon Maid, my bride! Have I not sought you all these years, tracing your face on rocks and sand-beds of my hills, hanging my prayers to every blossoming tree? Come, you are mine at last; here is your master! We will escape together while the stupid old ones sleep! Come, soul of my soul, to our mountains!" He would have seized her, but a quick, passionate gesture of repulsion kept him back. "I am the child of Kano Indara," she said. "He, too, has power of the gods, and I obey him. Oh, sir, believe that you, as I, are subject to his will, for if you set yourself against him--" "Kano Indara concerns me not at all," cried Tatsu, half angrily. "It is with you,--with you alone, I speak!" Umè poised at the very tip of the hill. "Look, sir,--the plum tree," she whispered, pointing. So sudden was the change in voice and manner that the other tripped and was caught by it. "That longest, leafy branch touches the very wall of my room," she went on, creeping always a little down the hill. "If you again will write such things to me, trusting your missive to that branch, I shall receive it, and--will answer. Oh, it is a bold, unheard-of thing for a girl to do, but I shall answer." "I should like better that you meet me here each morning at this hour," said Tatsu. The girl looked about her swiftly, gave a little cry, and clasped her hands together. "See, lord, the day comes fast. Mata, my old nurse, may already be astir. I saw a flock of sparrows fly down suddenly to the kitchen door. And there, above us, on the great camphor tree, the sun has smitten with a fist of gold!" Tatsu gazed up, and when his eyes returned to earth he found himself companionless. He threw himself down, a miserable heap, clasping his knees upon the hill. No longer was the rosy dawn for him. He found no timid beauty in the encroaching day. His sullen look fastened itself upon the amado beneath the plum tree. The panels were now tightly closed. The house itself, soundless and gray in the fast brightening space, mocked him with impassivity. A little later, when the neighborhood reverberated to the slamming of amado and the sharp rattle of paper dusters against taut shoji panes; when fragrant faggot smoke went up from every cottage, and the street cries of itinerant venders signalled domestic buying for the day, Mata discovered the wild man in the garden, and roused her sleeping master with the news. She went, too, to Umè's room, and was reassured to see the girl apparently in slumber within a neat bed, the andon burning temperately in its corner, and the whole place eloquent of innocence and peace, Kano shivered himself into his day clothes (the process was not long), and hurried out to meet his guest. "O Haiyo gozaimasu!" he called. "You have found a good spot from which to view the dawn." "Good morning!" said Tatsu, looking about as if to escape. "Come, enter my humble house with me, young sir. Breakfast will soon be served." Tatsu rose instantly, though the gesture was far from giving an effect of acquiescence. He shook his cramped limbs with as little ceremony as if Kano were a shrub, and then turned, with the evident intention of flight. Suddenly the instinct of hunger claimed him. Breakfast! That had a pleasant sound. And where else was he to go for food! He wheeled around to his waiting host. "I thank you. I will enter!" he said, and attempted an archaic bow. Mata brought in to them, immediately, hot tea and a small dish of pickled plums. Kano drew a sigh of relief as he saw Tatsu take up a plum, and then accept, from the servant's hands, a cup of steaming tea. These things promised well for future docility. It could not be said that the meal was convivial. Umè-ko had received orders from her father not to appear. Tatsu's eyes, even as he ate, roamed ever along the corridors of the house, out to the garden, and pried at the closed edges of the fusuma. This restlessness brought to the host new apprehension. Such tension could not last. Tatsu must be enticed from the house. After some hesitation and a spasmodic clearing of the throat, the old man asked, "Will you accompany me, young sir, upon a short walk to the city?" "Why should I go to the city?" "Ah--er--domo! it is, as you know, the centre of the universe, and has many wonderful sights,--great temples, theatres, wide shops for selling clothes--" "I care nothing for these things." "There are gardens, too; and a broad, shining river. Shall we not go to the autumn flowering garden of the Hundred Corners?" "To such a place as that I would go alone,--or with her," said the boy, his disconcerting gaze fixed on the other's face. "When is the Dragon Maiden to appear?" Kano looked down upon the matting. He cleared his throat again, drained a fresh cup of tea, and answered slowly, "Since she and I are of the city,--not the mountains,--and must abide in some degree by the city's social laws, you will not see her any more at all, unless it be arranged that you become her husband." "And then,--if I become what you say,--how soon?" the other panted. "I shall need to speak with the women of my house concerning this," said Kano in a troubled voice. He too, though Tatsu must not dream it, chafed at convention. He longed to set the marriage for next week,--next day, indeed,--and have the waiting over. Kano hated, of all things, to wait. Something might befall this untrained citizen at any hour,--then where would the future of the Kano name be found? He had scarcely noted how the boy crouched and quivered in his place, as an animal about to spring. This indecision was a goad, a barb. Yet he was helpless! The memory of Umè's whispered words came back: "He, too, has power of the gods. . . . Believe, sir, that you, as I, are subject to his will." How could it be permitted of the gods that two beings like themselves,--fledged of divinity, touched with ethereal fire,--were under bondage to this wrinkled fox! Tatsu flung himself sidewise upon the floor, and made as if to rise; then, in a dull reaction, settled back into his place. "You say she is not to come before me in this house to-day?" "No, nor on other days, until your marriage." "Then I go forth into the city,--alone," said the boy. He rose, but Kano stopped him. "Wait! I shall accompany you, if but a little way. You do not know the roads. You will be lost!" "I could return to this place from the under-rim of the world," said Tatsu. "Bound, crippled, blindfold,--I should come straight to it." "Maybe, maybe," said Kano, "nevertheless I will go." Tatsu would have defied him, outright, but Umè's words remained with him. Nothing mattered, after all, if he was some day to gain her. He must be patient, put a curb upon his moods! This was a fearful task for one like him, but he would strive for self-control just as one throws down a tree to bridge a torrent. After the Dragon Maid was won,--well then,--this halting insect man need not trouble them. They left the house together, Tatsu in scowling silence at the unwelcomed comradeship, Kano hard put to it to match his steps with the boy's long, swinging mountain stride. "What am I to do with this wild falcon for a month?" thought Kano, half in despair, yet smiling, also, at the humor. "He must be clothed,--but how? I would sooner sheathe a mountain cat in silks! The one hope of existence during this interval is to get him engrossed in painting; but where is he to paint? I dare not keep him in the house with Umè, nor with old Mata, neither, for she might poison him. If only Ando Uchida had not gone away, leaving no address!" Meantime, in the Kano home, Mata and Umè moved about in different planes of consciousness. The elder was still irritated by the morning's event. She considered it a personal indignity, a family outrage, that her master should walk the streets of Yeddo with a vagabond possessing neither hat nor shoes, and only half a kimono. Each tended, as usual, her allotted household tasks. There was no change in the outer performance of the hours, but Mata remained alert, disturbed, and the girl tranquilly oblivious. The old face searching with keen eyes the young noted with troubled frown the frequent smile, the intervals of listless dreaming, the sudden starts, as by the prick of memory still new, and dipped in honey. There seemed to be in Umè-ko a gentle yearning for a human presence, though, to speak truly, Mata could not be certain that she was either heard or seen for fully one half of the time. The hour had almost reached the shadowless one of noon. Umè-ko's work was done. She had taken up her painting, only to put it listlessly to one side. The pretty embroidery frame met the same indignity. She sat now on the kitchen ledge, while Mata made the fire and washed the rice, toying idly with a white pebble chosen for its beauty from thousands on the garden path. Something in the childlike attitude, the placid, irresponsible face, brought the old servant's impatience to a climax. She deliberately hurled a dart. "I suppose you know, Miss Umè, that your father may actually adopt this goblin from Kiu Shiu!" "Ah, do you mean Sir Tatsu? Yes, I know. He, my father, has always longed to have a son." "A son is desirable when the price is not too great," said the old dame, nodding sagely. "You are old enough to realize also, Miss Kano Umè-ko, what is the meaning of adoption into a family where there is a daughter of marriageable age." Umè's face drooped over until the pebble caught a rosy glow. The old servant chuckled. "Eh, young mistress, you know what I mean? You are thinking of it?" "I am trying very hard not to think of it," said Umè. "Ma-a-a! And I have little wonder for that fact! Your father will sacrifice you without a tear,--he cares but for pictures. And Mata is helpless,--Mata cannot help her babe! Arà! It is a world of dust!" "How old was my mother when she came here, Mata?" "Just eighteen. Younger than you are now, my treasure." "She was both beautiful and happy, you have said." "Yes, both, both! Ah, how time speeds for the old. It seems but a short year or more that we two entered here together, she and I. From childhood I had nursed her. I thought your father old for her, in spite of his young heart and increasing fame. But he loved her truly, and has mourned for her. Even now he prays thrice daily before her ihai on the shrine. And she loved him,--almost too deeply for a woman of her class. She loved him, and was happy!" "Only one year!" sighed Umè. "But it must be a great thing to be happy even for one year. Some people are not happy ever at all." "One must not think of personal happiness,--it is wicked. Does not even your old mumbling abbot on the hill tell you so much? And now, of all times, do not start the dreaming. You will be sacrificed to art," said Mata, gloomily. "Do I look like my mother, Mata San?" The old dame wiped her eyes on her sleeve that she might see more clearly. Something in the girl's pure, upraised face caught at her heart, and the tears came afresh. "Wait," she whispered; "stay where you are, and you shall see your mother's face." She went into her tiny chamber, and from her treasures brought out a metal mirror given her by the young wife, Uta-ko. "Look,--close," she said, placing it in Umè's hand. "That is the bride of nineteen years ago. Never have you looked so like her as at this hour!" Kano came back alone,--tired, dusty, and discouraged. Tatsu had escaped him, he said, at the first glimpse of the Sumida River. There was no telling when he might return,--whether he would ever return. To attempt control of Tatsu was like caging a storm in bamboo bars. Mata's eyes narrowed at this recital. "Yet I fervently thank the gods for him," said the speaker, sharply, in defiance of her look. Restored to comparative serenity, Kano, later in the afternoon, sent for his daughter, and condescended to unfold to her those plans in which she played a vital part. "Umè-ko, my child, you have always been a good and obedient daughter. I shall expect no opposition from you now," he began, in the manner of a patriarch. Umè bowed respectfully. "Thank you, dear father. What has arisen that you think I may wish to oppose?" "I did not say that I expected you to oppose anything. I said, on the contrary, it was something I expected you not to oppose." "I await respectfully the words which shall tell me what it is I am not to oppose," said Umè-ko, quite innocently, with another bow. Kano put on his horn-rimmed spectacles. There was something about his daughter not altogether reassuring. His prearranged sentences began to slip away, like sand. "I will speak briefly. I wish you to become the wife of the Dragon Painter, that we may secure him to the race of Kano. He has no name of his own. He is the greatest painter since Sesshu!" The speaker waved his hands. All had been said. In the deep, following silence each knew that old Mata's ear felt, like a hand, at the crevice of the shoji. "Father, are you sure,--have you yet spoken to--to--him," Umè-ko faltered at last. "Would he augustly condescend?" "Condescend!" echoed the old man with a laugh. "Why, he demanded it last night, even in the first hour of meeting. He was angered that I did not give you up at once. He says you are his already. Oh, he is strange and wild, this youth. There are no reins to hold him, but--he is a painter!" A grunt of derision came from the kitchen wall. Umè sat motionless, but her face was growing very pale. "Well," said her father with impatience, "do you agree? And what is the earliest possible date?" "I must consult with Mata," whispered the girl. "She listens at the crack. Consult her now," said Kano. The old dame threw aside the shoji like an armor, and walked in. "Yes, ask me what I think! Ask the old servant who has nursed Miss Umè from her birth, managed the house, scrubbed, haggled, washed, and broken her old bones for you! This is my advice,--freely given,--make of the youth her jinrikisha man, but not her husband!" "Impertinent old witch!" cried Kano. "You are asked for nothing but the earliest possible date for the marriage!" "Do you give yourself so tamely to a dangerous wild creature from the hills?" Mata demanded of the girl. "Yes, yes, she'll marry him," said Kano, before her words could come. "The date,--the earliest possible hour! Will two weeks be too soon?" "Two weeks!" shrieked the old dame, and staggered backward. "Is it of the scavenger's daughter that you speak?" "Four weeks, then,--a month. It cannot be more. I tell you, woman, for a longer time than this I cannot keep the youth at bay. Is a month decent in convention's eyes?" Mata began to sob loudly in her upraised sleeve. "I see that it is at least permissible," said Kano, grimly. "What a weak set of social idiots we are, after all. Tatsu is right to scorn us! Well, well, a month from this date, deep in the golden heart of autumn, will the wedding be." "If the day be propitious and the stars in harmony," supplemented Mata. "She shall not be married in the teeth of evil fortune, if I have to murder the Dragon Painter with my fish-knife!" "Oh, go; have the stars arranged to suit you. Here's money for it!" He fumbled in his belt for a purse of coin, threw it to the mats, and, over the old dame's stooping back, motioned Umè-ko permission to withdraw. The girl went swiftly, thankful for the release. "A good child,--a daughter to thank the gods for," chuckled Kano, as she left. Mata looked sharply about, then leaned to her master's ear. "You are blind; you are an earth-rat, Kano Indara. This is not the usual submission of a silly girl. Umè is thinking things we know nothing of. Did you not see that her face was as a bean-curd in its whiteness? She kept so still, only because she was shaking in all directions at once. There, look at her now! She is fleeing to the garden with the uncertain step of one drunk with deep foreboding!" "Bah! you are an old raven croaking in a fog! Go back to your pots. I can manage my own child!" "You have never yet managed her or yourself either," was the spoiled old servant's parting shaft. Kano sat watching the slender, errant figure in the garden. Yes, she had taken it calmly,--more calmly than he could have hoped. How beautiful was the poise, even at this distance, of the delicate throat, and the head, with its wide crown of inky hair! Each motion of the slow-strolling form in its clinging robes was a separate loveliness. Kano drew a long sigh. He could not blind himself to Tatsu's savagery. This was not the sort of husband that Umè had a right to expect from her father's choice,--a youth not only penniless, and without family name, but in himself unusual, strange, with look, voice, gesture, coloring each a clear contrast to the men that Umè-ko had seen. He could not bear the thought of her unhappiness, and yet, at any sacrifice, Tatsu must be kept an inmate of their home. The girl had stopped beside the sunlit pond, leaning far over. She did not seem to note the clustering carp at all, but rather dwell upon her own image, twisted and shot through with the gold of their darting bodies. Now, with dragging feet she went to the moon-viewing hill, remaining in the shadow of it, and pausing for long thought. Her eyes were on the cliff, now raised to the camphor tree. Suddenly she shivered and hid her face. What was the tumult of that ignorant young breast? The old man rose and went to an inner room where hung the Butsudan, the shrine. He stood gazing upon the ihai of his wife. His lips moved, but the breath so lightly issued that the flame on the altar did not stir. "She, our one child, has come now to the borders of that woman-land where I cannot go with her," he was saying. "Thou art the soul to guide, and give her happiness, thou, the dear one of my life,--the dead young mother who has never really died!" He folded his hands now, and bowed his head. The small flame leaned to him. "Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amid a Butsu," murmured the old man. Out by the hill, a butterfly, snow white, rested a moment on the young girl's hair. She was again looking at the cliff, and did not notice it. V Ando Uchida, from his green seclusion among the bamboo groves of Meguro, sent, from time to time, a scout into the city. First an ordinary hotel kotsukai or man-servant was employed. This experiment proved costly as well as futile. The kotsukai demanded large payment; and then the creature's questions to Mata were of a nature so crude and undiplomatic that they aroused instant suspicion, causing, indeed, the threat of a dipper of scalding water. The next messenger was an insect peddler, Katsuo Takanaka by name. It was the part of this youth to search daily among the bamboo stems and hillside grasses of Meguro for the musical suzu-mushi, the hataori, and the kirigirisu. These he incarcerated in fairy cages of plaited straw, threaded the cages into great hornets' nests that dangled from the two ends of his creaking shoulder-pole, and started toward the city in a perfect storm of insect music. The noise moved with him like a cloud. It formed, as it were, a penumbra of fine shrilling, and could be heard for many streets in advance. This itinerant merchant was commissioned to haunt the Kano gate until impatience or curiosity should fling it wide for him. Then, after having coaxed old Mata into making a purchase, he was to engage her in conversation, and extract all the domestic information he could. Unfortunately for the acquisition of paltry news, it was Umè-ko, not Mata, who came out to purchase. The seller, watching those slim, white fingers as they fluttered among his cages, the delicate ear bent to mark some special chime, forgot the words of Ando Uchida, otherwise, Mr. S. Yetan, of Chikuzen, forgot everything, indeed, but the beauty of the girlish face near him. He left the house in a dream more dense than the multitudinous clamor of his burden. "Alas!" thought Katsuo, as he stumbled along, unheeding the beckoning hands of mothers, or the arresting cries of children in many gateways, "Had I been born a samurai of old, and she an humble maiden! Even as an Eta, an outcast, would I have loved and sought her. Now in this life I am doomed to catch insects and to sell them. Perhaps in my coming rebirth, if I am honest and do not tell to the ignorant that a common mimi is a silver-voiced hataorimushi,--perhaps----" Ando's third envoy was chosen with more thoughtful care. This time it was none other than a young priest from the temple of Fudo-Bosatsu in Meguro. He was an acolyte sent forth with bowl and staff to beg for aid in certain temple repairs. Ando promised a generous donation in return for information concerning the Kano family. Being assured that the motive for this curiosity was benevolent rather than mischievous, the priest consented to make the attempt. He reached the Kano gate at noon, within a few days after Tatsu's arrival. Mata opened to his call. Being herself a Protestant, opposed to the ancient orders and their methods, she gave him but a chilly welcome. Her interest was aroused, however, in spite of herself, by the fact that he neither chanted his refrain of supplication nor extended the round wooden bowl. "I shall not entreat alms of money in this place," he said, as if in answer to her look of surprise, "I am weary, and ask but to rest for a while in the pleasant shade of your roof." Without waiting for Mata's rejoinder, Umè-ko, who had heard the words of the priest, now came swiftly to the veranda. "Our home is honored, holy youth, by your coming," she said to him. "Enter now, I pray, into the main guest-room, where I and my father may serve you." The priest refused this homage (much to Mata's inward satisfaction), saying that he desired only the stone ledge of the kitchen entrance and a cup of cold water. After his first swift upward look he dared not raise his eyes again. The sweetness of her young voice thrilled and troubled him. But for his promise to Uchida he would have fled at once, as from temptation. Umè-ko, seeing his embarrassment, withdrew, but not until she had made an imperious gesture to old Mata, commanding her to serve him with rice and tea. After a short struggle with himself the priest decided to accept the offer of food. Old Mata, he knew, was to be his source of information. The old dame served him in conscious silence. Her lips were compressed to wrinkled metal. The visitor, more accustomed to old women than to young, smiled at the rigid countenance, knowing that a loquacity requiring so obvious a latch is the more easily freed. He planned his first question with some care. "Is this not the home of an artist, Kano by name?" Mata tossed her gray hair. "Of the only Kano," she replied, and shut her lips with a snap. "The only Kano, the only Kano," mused the acolyte over his tea. "So I said, young sir. Is it that your hearing is honorably non-existent?" "Then I presume he is without a son," said the priest as if to himself, and stirred the surmise into his rice with the two long wooden chopsticks Mata had provided. The old dame's muscles worked, but she kept silence. Umè-ko, now in her little chamber across the narrow passage, with a bit of bright-colored sewing on her knees, could hear each word of the dialogue. Mata's shrill voice and the priest's deep tones each carried well. The girl smiled to herself, realizing as she did the conflict between love of gossip and disapproval of Shingon priests that now made a paltry battlefield of the old dame's mind. The former was almost sure to win. The priest must have thought this, too, for he finished his rice in maddening tranquillity, and then stirred slightly as if to go. Mata's speech flowed forth in a torrent. "My poor master has no son indeed, no true son of his house; but lately,--within this very week----" She caught herself back as with a rein, snatched up the empty tea-pot, hurried to the kitchen and returned partly self-conquered, if not content. She told herself that she must not gossip about the master's affairs with a beggarly priest. Determination hardened the wrinkles of her face. If the priest perceived these new signs of taciturnity, he ignored them. "Your master being verily the great artist that you say, it is a thing doubly to be regretted that he is without an heir," persisted the visitor, with kind, boyish eyes upon old Mata's face. The old woman blinked nervously and began to examine her fingernails. "Alas!" sighed he, "I fear it is because this Mr. Kano is no true believer, that he has not prayed or made offerings to the gods." Mata had a momentary convulsion upon the kitchen floor, and was still. The priest kept gravity upon his mouth, but needed lowered lids to hide the twinkles in his eyes. "True religion is the greatest boon," he droned sententiously. "Would that your poor master had reached enlightenment!" Umè-ko in her room forgot her sewing, and leaned a delicate ear closer to the shoji. Old Mata's wall of reserve went down with a crash. "He believes as you believe!" she cried out shrilly. "All your Shingon chants and invocations and miracles he has faith in. Is that not what you call enlightenment? He and Miss Umè worship together almost daily at the great temple above us on the hill. The two finest stone lanterns there are given in the name of my master's dead young wife. Her ihai is in this house, and an altar, and they are well tended, I assure you! My master is a true believer, poor man, and what has his belief brought him? Ma-a-a! all this mummery and service and what has come of it?" "I perceive with regret that you are not of the Shingon sect," remarked the priest. "Me? I should say not!" snorted Mata. "I am a Protestant, a good Shinshu woman,--that's what I am, and I tell you so to your face! When I pray, I know what I am praying for. I trust to my own good deeds and the intercession of Amida Butsu. No muttering and mummery for me!" "Ah!" said the priest, a most alluring note of interest now audible in his voice, "your master has so zealously importuned the gods, and, you say, with no result?" "Ay, a result has come," answered the old dame, sullenly. "Within this week the gods--or the demons--have heard my master, for a wild thing from the hills is with us!" "Wild thing? Do you mean a man?" "A semblance of a man, though none such will you see in the streets of a respectable town." "But does your master----" began the priest, in some perplexity. Mata cut him short. "Because he can smear ink on paper with a brush, my master dotes on him and says he will adopt him!" The woman's fierce sincerity transmitted vague alarm. Slipping his hands within his gray sleeves, the acolyte began fingering his short rosary as he asked, "Is the--wild man now under this very roof?" "Not under a roof when he can escape it, you may be sure! He comes to us only when driven by hunger of the stomach or the eyes. Doubtless at this moment he wallows among the ferns and sa-sa grass of the mountain side, or lies face down in the cemetery near my mistress' grave. He is mad, my master is mad, and Miss Umè, if she really gives herself in marriage to the mountain lion, madder than all the rest!" "That beautiful maiden whom I saw will be given to such a one?" asked the priest, in a startled way. "Such are the present plans," said the other in deep despair, and huddled herself together on the floor. Umè-ko, in her room across the hallway, had half risen. It really was time to check the old servant's vulgar garrulity. But the silence that followed the last remark checked her impulse. After all, what did it matter? No one could understand or needed to understand. Meanwhile Mata, at first unconscious of anything but her own dark thoughts, became gradually aware of a strange look in the face of the priest. He, on his part, was wondering whether, indeed, the beauty of Umè-ko were not the sole cause of his patron's interest in the Kano family. After watching him intently for a few moments the old woman wriggled nearer and whispered in a tone so low that Umè could not catch the words, "Perhaps, after all, Sir Priest, you, being of their belief, perceive this to be a case where charms and spells are advisable. I am convinced that this house is bewitched, that the Dragon Painter has a train of elementals in attendance. Now, if we could only drive him forever from the place. Have you, by any chance, a powder, or an amulet, or a magic invocation you could give me?" "No, no! I dare not!" said the other, in an agitated voice. He reached out for his bowl and, with a single leap, was down upon the earth. Mata caught him by his flying skirts. "See here," she entreated, "I will make it worth your while, young sir, I will give donations to your temple----" "I dare not. I have no instructions to meddle with such things. Let me now give the house a blessing, and withdraw. But I can tell you for your comfort," he added, seeing the disappointment in her wrinkled face, "if, as you assure me, this is a house of faith, no presence entirely evil could dwell within it." He got away before she could repeat her importunities; and the old dame returned to the kitchen, muttering anathemas against the mystic powers she had just attempted to invoke. On the priest's return, Ando questioned him eagerly. He gained, almost with the first words, certainty of his own freedom. With Tatsu safely arrived, and the betrothal to Kano Umè-ko an outspoken affair, then had the time come for him--Ando Uchida--to reassume the pleasant role of friend and benefactor. He moved into Yeddo before nightfall. His first visit was, of course, to Kano. Elaborately he explained to the sympathetic old man how he had been summoned by telegram into a distant province to attend the supposed death-bed of a relative, how that relative had, by a miracle, recovered. "So now," he remarked in conclusion, "I am again at your service, and shall take the part not only of nakodo in the coming marriage, but of temporary father and social sponsor to our unsophisticated bridegroom." Certainly nothing could have been more opportune than Uchida's reappearance, or more welcome than his proposed assistance. Mata, indeed, hastened to give a whole koku of rice to the poor in thank-offering that one sensible person besides herself was now implicated in the wedding preparations. Uchida justified, many times over, her belief in him. In the district near the Kano home he rented, in Tatsu's name, a small cottage, paying for it by the month, in advance. With Mata's assistance, not to mention a small colony of hirelings, the floors were fitted with new mats, the woodwork of the walls, the posts, and veranda floors polished to a mirror-like brightness, and even the tiny garden set with new turf and flowering plants. Tatsu was lured down from the mountain side and persuaded to remain at night and part, at least, of each day, in this little haven of coming joy. A secluded room was fitted up as a studio, for his sole use. Here were great rectangles of paper, rolls of thin silk, stretching frames, water holders, multitudinous brushes, and all the exquisite pigment that Japanese love of beauty has drawn from water, earth, and air; delicate infusions of sea-moss, roots, and leaves, saucers of warm earth ground to a paste, precious vessels of powdered malachite, porphyry, and lapis lazuli. But the boy looked askance upon the expensive outlay. His wild nature resented so obvious a lure. It seemed unworthy of a Dragon Painter to accept this multitude of material devices. He had painted on flakes of inner bark, still quivering with the life from which he had rudely torn them. Visions limned on rock and sand had been the more precious for their impermanence. Here, every stroke was to be recorded, each passing whim and mood registered, as in a book of fate. For days the little workroom remained immaculate. Kano began to fret. Ando Uchida, the wise, said, "Wait." It was Mata who finally precipitated the crisis. One rainy morning, being already in an ill humor over some trifling household affair, she was startled and annoyed by the sudden vision of Tatsu's head thrust noiselessly into her kitchen. Rudely she had slammed the shoji together, calling out to him that he had better be off doing the one thing he was fit to do, rather than to be skulking around her special domain. Tatsu had, as rudely, reopened the shoji panels, tearing a large hole in the translucent paper. "He had come merely for a glimpse of the Dragon Maid," he told the angry dame. "In a few days more she was to be his wife, and this maddening convention of keeping him always from her was eating out his vitals with red fire," so declared Tatsu, and let the consuming passion blaze in his sunken eyes. But Mata, undismayed, stood up in scornful silence. She was gathering herself together like a storm, and in an instant more had hurled upon him the full terror of her vocabulary. She called him a barbarian, a mountain goat,--a Tengu,--better mated to a fox spirit or a she-demon than to a decent girl like her young mistress. She denounced her erstwhile beloved master as a blind old dotard, and the idolized Umè, she declared a weak and yielding idiot. Tatsu's attempts at retort were swept away with a hiss. For a while he raged like a flame upon the doorstep, but he was no match for his vigorous opponent. It was something to realize his own defeat. Gasping, he turned to the friendly rain and would have darted from the gate when, with a swoop like a falcon, Mata was bodily upon him. He threw his right arm upward as if to escape a blow, but the old dame did not belabor him. She was trying to thrust something hard and strange into his other hand. He glanced toward it. The last indignity of an umbrella! "Open it, madman!" she cried shrilly after him, "and hold your robe up; it is one of your new silk ones!" Tatsu had never used an umbrella in his life. Now he opened it eagerly. Anything to escape that frightful voice! In the windy street he clutched at his fluttering skirts as he had seen other men do, and, with a last terrified backward glance, ran breathlessly toward the haven of his temporary home. The little house was empty. Tatsu was thankful for so much. The rooms were already pre-haunted by dreams of Umè-ko. Tatsu felt the peace of it sink deep into his soul. Instinctively his wandering feet led him into the little painting room. As usual, the elaborate display of artist materials chilled him. After his recent exasperation he longed to ease his heart of a sketch, but obstinacy held him back. He sat down in the centre of the space. A bevy of small, squeaking sounds seemed to enclose him. It took him some moments to recognize them as the irritating rustling of his silken dress. He sprang to his feet, tore off the new and expensive girdle of brocade, flung it into one corner and the offending robe into another, and remained standing in the centre of the small space clad only in his short white linen under-robe. He looked about, now, for a more congenial sheathing. If he could but find the tattered blue kimono worn during that upward journey from Kiu Shiu! Stained by berries and green leaves, torn by a thousand graceful vines,--for laundering only a few vigorous swirls in a running stream with a quick sun-drying on the river stones,--yet how comfortable, how companionable it was! There had been a blue something folded on the shelf of his closet. He found it, opened it wide in the air and would have uttered a cry of joy but for the changed look of it. Even this had not escaped Mata's desecrating hands! It was mended everywhere. The white darning threads grinned at him like teeth. Also it was washed and ironed, and smelled of foreign soap. For an instant he tore at it angrily, and was minded to destroy it, but the sense of familiarity held him. He wrapped it about him slowly and, with bent head, again seated himself upon the floor. The rain now fell in quivering wires of dull light. The world was strung with them like a harp, and upon them the wind played a monotonous refrain. Against the wall near Tatsu stood a light framework of wood with the silk already stretched and dried for painting. At his other hand a brush slanted sidewise from a bowl of liquid ink. The boy's pulses leaped toward these things even while his lips curled in disdain at the shallow decoy. "So they expect to trap me, these geese and jailers who have temporary dominance over my life," thought he, in scorn. No, even though he now desired it of himself, he would not paint! Let him but gain his bride--then nothing should have power to sting or fret him. But, oh, these endless days and hours of waiting! They corroded his very thought as acid corrodes new metal. He felt the eating of it now. A spasm of pain and anger distorted his face. He gave a cry, caught up suddenly the thick hake brush, and hurled it across the room toward the upright frame of silk. It struck the surface midway, a little to the left; pressed and worked against it as though held by a ghost, and then, falling, dragged lessening echoes of stain. Tatsu's mirthless laugh rang out against the sound of dripping rain. The childish outburst had been of some relief. He looked defiantly toward the white rectangle he had just defaced. Defaced? The boy caught in his breath. He thrust his head forward, leaning on one hand to stare. That bold and unpremeditated stroke had become a shadowed peak; the trailing marks of ink a splendid slope. Had he not seen just such a one in Kiu Shiu,--had he not scaled it, crying aloud upon its summit to the gods to yield him there his bride? Trembling now, and weak, he crawled on hands and knees toward the frame. He had forgotten Kano, Uchida, Mata,--forgotten even Umè-ko. Fingers not his own lifted the fallen brush. The wonderful cold wind of a dawning frenzy swept clean his soul. He shivered; then a sirocco of fire followed the void of the wind. The spot where his random blow had struck still gleamed transparent jet. He dragged the blackened brush through a vessel of clear water, then brandished it like the madman Mata thought him. With the soft tuft of camel hair he blurred against the peak pale, luminous vapor of new cloud. Turning, twisting sidewise, this way, then that, the yielding implement, he seemed to carve upon the silk broad silver planes of rock, until there rose up a self-revealing vision, the granite cliff from which a thin, white waterfall leaps out. [Illustration: "With the soft tuft of camel hair he blurred against the peak pale, luminous vapor of new cloud."] But this one swift achievement only whetted the famished appetite to more creative ardor. Sketch after sketch he made, some to tear at once into strips, others to fling carelessly aside to any corner where they might chance to fall, others, again, to be stored cunningly upon some remote shelf to which old Kano and Uchida and Mata could not reach, but whence he, Tatsu, the Dragon Painter, should, in a few days more, withdraw them and show them to his bride. The purple dusk brimmed his tiny garden, and yet he could not stop. Art had seized him by the throat, and shook him, as a prey. Uchida, peering at him from between the fusuma, perceived the glory and turned away in silence; nor for that day nor the next would he allow any one to approach the frenzied boy. The elder man had, himself in youth, fared along the valleys of art, and knew the signals on the peaks. Tatsu, unconscious that the house was not still empty, painted on. Sometimes he sobbed. Again an ague of beauty caught him, and he needed to hurl himself full length upon the mats until the ecstacy was past. Just as the daylight went he saw, upon the one great glimmering square of silk as yet immaculate, a dream of Umè-ko, the Dragon Maiden, who had danced before him. This was an apparition too holy to be limned in artificial light. When the sun came, next day, he knew well what there was for him to do. He placed the frame upright, where the first pink beam would find it. Brushes, water vessels, and paints were placed in readiness, with such neatness and precision that old Kano's heart would have laughed in pleasure. That night the shoji and amado were not closed. Tatsu did not sleep. It was a night of consecration. He walked up and down, sometimes in the narrow room, sometimes in the garden. Often he prayed. Again he sat in the soft darkness, before the ghostly glimmer of the silk, tracing upon it visions of ethereal light. When, at last, the dawn came in, Tatsu bowed to the east, with his usual prayer of thankful piety, then, with the exaltation still upon him, lifted the silver thread of a brush and drew his first conscious outline of the woman soon to be his wife. [Illustration: "He walked up and down, sometimes in the narrow room, sometimes in the garden."] VI Through all these busy days Umè-ko moved as one but little interested. Kano and Uchida noticed nothing unusual. To them she was merely the conventional nonenity of maidenhood that Japanese etiquette demanded. It never entered their heads that she would not have agreed with equal readiness to any other husband of their choosing. Mata knew her idol and nursling better. Hints of character and of deep-sea passion had risen now and again to the surface of the girl's placid life. There were currents underneath that the father did not suspect. Once, during her childhood, a pet bird had been injured in a fit of anger by old Kano. Umè-ko, with her ashen face under perfect control, had killed the suffering creature and carried it, wrapped in white paper, to her own room. The father, ashamed now, and filled with genuine remorse, had stormed up and down the garden paths, reviling himself for an impatient ogre, and promising more restraint in future. Mata, silent for once, had crept to her child-mistress' close-shut walls, heard the last sobbing words of a Buddhist prayer for the dead, and burst through the shoji in scant time to catch back the stroke of a dagger from the girl's slim, upraised throat. Her terrified screams summoned Kano and the neighbors as well. A priest hurried down from the temple on the hill. In time the culprit was reduced to a condition of tearful penitence, and gave her promise never again to attempt so cowardly and wicked a thing as self-destruction, unless it were for some noble and impersonal end. The good old priest, to comfort her, chanted a sutra over the bier of her lost playmate, and bestowed upon it a high-sounding Buddhist kaimyo which Kano carved, in his finest manner, upon a wooden grave post. In time, the artist forgot the episode. Mata never forgot. Often in the long hours she thought of it now as she watched the girl's face bent always so silently above the bridal sewing. No impatience or regret were visible in her. Yet, thought Mata, surely no maiden in her senses could really wish to become the wife of an ill-mannered, untamed mountain sprite! Could Death be the secret of this pale tranquillity? Was Umè-ko to cheat them all, at the last, by self-destruction? In such wise did the old servant fret and ponder, but no assurance came. A true insight into art might have opened many doors to her. Yet, through a life devoted to the externals of it, Mata had been tolerant of beauty, rather than at one with it. The impractical view of life which art seemed to demand of its devotees was enough to arouse suspicion, if not her actual dislike. Uchida was a hero because he had been bold enough to shake himself free from lethargic influences, and achieve a shining and substantial success. But even had the key of art been thrust into the old dame's groping hand, and even had her master guided her, there was an inner chamber of Umè's heart which they could not have found. Umè herself had not known of it until that first instant when, now three weeks ago, a strange young face, hung about with shadows, had peered into her father's gate. With the first sound of his voice, she had entered in, had knelt before a shrine whereon, wrapped in fire, a Secret lay. Ever since she had needed to guard that shrine, not, indeed, for fear that the light would falter, but rather that it might not leap up, and lay waste her being. As one guards a flame, so Umè-ko, with silence and prayer and self-enforced tranquillity, guarded the sacred spark from winds of passion. Each day at dawn, and again at twilight of each day, it flamed high and was hard to conquer, for with dawn a letter was hers--held in the night-wet branches of her dragon-plum, and each night when Mata and her father thought her sleeping, an answer was written, and committed to the keeping of the tree. When Tatsu did not paint, or rest from sheer exhaustion, he was writing. Umè, bending above his words, shivering at times, or weeping, marvelled that the tissue had not charred beneath the thoughts burned into it. Tatsu's phrases were like his paintings, unusual, vital, almost demoniac in force, shot through and through at times with the bolt of an almost unbearable beauty. Her own words answered his, as the tree-tops answer storm, with music. Verse alone could ease the girl of her ecstacy, and each recorded and triumphed in the demolition of yet another day. "Another stone, beloved, thrust down from the dungeon wall that severs us!" Swiftly the heap of wedding garments grew. There were delicate kimonos, as thin and gray as mist, with sunset-colored inner robes of silk; gowns of linen and cotton for indoor wear; bath and sleeping robes with great designs of flowers, birds, or landscapes; silken bed-quilts and bright floor cushions; great sashes crusted like bark with patternings of gold; dainty toilet accessories of hairpins, girdles, collarettes, shopping-bags, purses, jewel-cases,--and new sandals of various sorts, each with velvet thongs of some delicate hue. The sewing was, of course, done at home. Mata would have trusted this sacred rite to no domination but her own. She worked incessantly, planning, cutting, scolding,--hurrying off to the shopping district for some forgotten item, conferring with Ando Uchida about the details of Tatsu's outfit, then returning, flushed with success and importance, to new home triumphs. Umè sewed steadily all day. Her painting materials had been put meekly aside, and, as a further precaution at old Mata's hands, hidden under the kitchen flooring. Toward the last it was found necessary to employ an assistant, a seamstress, known of old to Mata. Her companionship, as well as her sewing, proved a boon. Seated upon the springy matting, with waves of shimmering silk tumultuous about them, the old dames chatted incessantly of other brides and other wedding outfits they had known. Marvellous were their tales of married life, some of them designed to cheer, others to warn the silent little third figure, that of the bride-to-be. As a matter of fact, Umè never listened. The noise and buzz of incessant conversation affected her pleasantly, but remotely, as the chatter of distant sparrows. The girl had too much within herself to think of. "May Kwannon have mercy upon my young mistress," sighed the nurse, one day, as Umè left the room. "Does she require mercy? I thought--she appears to me honorably--er--undisturbed," ventured the seamstress, with one swift upward look of interest. "Yes, she appears,--many of us appear,--but can she be happy? That is what I wish to know. The creature she is being forced to marry is more like a mountain-lion than a man!" "Ma-a-a! Is he dangerous? Will he bite her?" questioned the other, hopefully. "Amida alone knows what he will do with her," croaked Mata, in a sepulchral voice. The subject was one not to be readily relinquished. "The facts being honorably as you relate," began the hired seamstress, her needle held carefully against the light for threading, "how is it that the august father of the illustrious young lady permits such a marriage?" Mata's eyes gleamed sharp and bright as the needle. "Because he is as mad as the wild man, and all for pictures! They would strip their own skins off if that made better parchment. Miss Umè has been influenced by them, and now is to be sacrificed. Alas! the evil day!" and Mata wiped away some genuine tears on the hem of a night-robe she had finished. "O kinodoku Sama, my spirit is poisoned by your grief," murmured the other, sympathetically. "Yet, in your place, I should find great comfort in the outfit of your mistress. Never, even in the sewing halls of princes, could more beautiful silks be gathered." She looked about slowly, with the air of a professional who sees something really worthy of regard. Mata's face cleared. "Since the gods allow it, I should not complain," she admitted. "Indeed, Mr. Uchida and I are doing well by the young couple in the matter of silks and house furnishings. And--whisper this not--no one but he and I dream from what source these splendid fabrics come!" Mata had thrust a poisoned arrow of curiosity into her listener, and knew it. Some day, perhaps the very day before the wedding, she might reveal it. For the present, as she said, no one but herself and Uchida knew. More than once during sewing hours, Umè-ko herself had wondered how her father was able to give her silks of such beauty and variety. With the unthrift of the true artist, Kano was always poor. The old man would have been as surprised and far angrier than his daughter, had he known that Tatsu's pictures, stolen craftily by the confederates, Uchida and Mata, and sold in Yokohama for about a tenth of their true value, were the source of this sudden affluence. Tatsu remained ignorant, also. But, provided they took no image of Umè's face, he would not have cared at all. New garments, new mats, dainty household furnishings, were showered upon him, too; but they might have been autumn leaves, for all the interest he showed. To gain his Dragon Maid,--to know that in this life she was irrevocably his,--that was Tatsu's one conscious thought. The wedding day came at last. Umè-ko had written no letter on the eve of it, but all night long she felt that he was near her, leaning on the breast of the plum tree, scaling the steeps above her, wandering, a restless ghost of joy, about the moon-silvered cemetery, speaking perhaps, as equal, to his primeval gods. So close, already were these two, that even in absence, each felt always something of the other's mood. It was a sleepless night to the girl, also. She cowered close about the Secret, until its fierce light scorched her. She pressed down her lids with strong, white fingers, but the glory streamed through. So, tortured by intolerable bliss, she suffered, until the dawn came in. Quite early in the day the bride's trousseau and gifts were sent to Tatsu's home. They made a train that filled the neighbors' eyes with wonder and Mata's swelling heart with pride. There were lacquered chests and cases of drawers, all filled with clothing. Each great square package was covered with a decorated cloth, and swung from a gilded staff borne on the shoulders of two stout coolies. There were boxes of cakes, fruit, and eggs; and jinrikishas piled with a medley of gifts. Even Kano was impressed. Uchida rubbed his two fat hands together and laughed at everything. Umè-ko, watching the moving shadows pass under her father's gate-roof, closed her eyes quickly and caught her breath. The next gift from the Kano home was to be herself. By this time autumn was upon the year. A few early chrysanthemums opened small golden suns in the garden. Dodan bushes and maples hinted at a crimson splendor soon to follow. The icho trees stood like pyramids of gold; and suzuki grass upon the hillsides brushed a cloudless blue sky with silken fingers. In the garden, autumn insects sang. Umè-ko's kirigirisu which, some weeks before, she had released from its cage, had, as if in gratitude made a home among the lichens of the big plum tree. Umè believed that she always knew its voice from among the rest, no matter how full the chorus of silver chiming. She had gone back to her room, and sat now, in the centre of it, staring toward the garden. Noon had crept upon it, devouring all shadow. Her eyes saw little but the golden blur. A fusuma opened softly, and two women, Mata and the attendant seamstress, came mincing and smirking toward her, each with an armful of white silk. Umè rose like an automaton. They began her toilet, talking the while in low voices. They robed her in white with a thin lining-edge of crimson, and threw over her shining hair a veil of tissue. Some one outside called that the bride's kuruma was at the gate. Old Kano entered the room, smiling. His steps creaked and rustled with new silk. Umè turned for one fleeting glimpse of her plum tree. It seemed to stir and wave green leaves toward her. With head down-bent, the girl followed her father through the house. Mata helped them into the two new, shining jinrikishas, a dragon-crest blazoned on the one for Umè's use. She scolded the kuruma men in her shrill voice, giving a dozen instructions in one sentence, and pretending anger at their answering jests. On the doorstep stood the little seamstress ready to cast a handful of dried peas. When Kano and Umè-ko were off, Mata scrambled excitedly into her own vehicle. Her human steed, turning round for an impudent and good-natured stare, drawled out an unprintable remark. The seamstress shrieked "sayonara" and pelted space with the peas. Afterward she ran on foot down the slope of the hill and joined the smiling crowd of lookers-on. Soon it was over. The peddler picked up his pack, and the children their toys. Gates opened or slid aside in panels to receive their owners. The jangling of small gate-bells made the hillside merry for an instant, then busy silence again took possession. No one at all was left in the Kano home. The little cottage of Umè's birth, of her short, happy life and dawning fame, drew itself together in the unusual silence. Sunshine fell thick upon the garden, and warmed even the lazy gold-fish in their pigmy lake. In the plum-tree branch that touched Umè-ko's abandoned chamber, the cricket chirped softly to himself. He knew the Secret! VII Six days were gone. The marriage was a thing accomplished, yet old Kano sat, lean, dispirited, drowned apparently in depths of fathomless despair, in the centre of his corner room. Mata, busy about her household tasks, sometimes passed across the matting, or flaunted a dusting-cloth within a partly opened shoji. At such moments her look and gesture were eloquent of disdain. Her patience, long tried by the kindly irritable master, was about at an end. Surely a spoiled old man-child like the crouching figure yonder would exhaust the forbearance of Jizo Sama himself! Six days ago he had been happy,--indeed, too happy! for he and Uchida had drunk themselves into a condition of giggling bliss, and had needed to be taken away bodily from the bridal bower, hoisted into a double jinrikisha, and driven off ignominiously, still embracing, still pledging with tears an eternity of brotherhood. Yes, on that day Kano had hailed the earth as one broad, enamelled sakè-cup, the air, a new infusion of heavenly brew. But now---- "Mata!" the thin voice came, "are you certain that this is but the sixth day of my son's wedding?" "It is but the sixth day, indeed, since your daughter's sacrifice to a barbarian, if that is what you mean," returned Mata, with a belligerent flourish of her paper duster. "That is what I meant," said the other, passively. "Then the week is not to be finished until to-morrow at noon. Twenty-four hours of torture to me! I suppose that the ingrates will count time to the last shadow! Oh, Mata, Mata, you once were a faithful servant! Why did you let me make that foolish promise of giving them an entire week? A day would have been ample, then Tatsu and I could have begun to paint." "Ara!" said Mata, uttering a sound more forcible than respectful. "Had it been a decent person thus married to my young mistress, instead of a mountain sprite, they should have had a month together!" Kano groaned under the suggestion. "Then, heartless woman, at the end of the month you would have been without a master; for surely my sufferings would, in a month, have shrunk me to an insect gaki chirping from a tree." "It is to me a matter of honorable amazement that in one week you are not already a gaki, with your incessant complaints," retorted the old dame, still unrelenting. "If I could be sure he is painting all this interminable time," said Kano to himself, wringing the nervous hands together. "You may be augustly sure he is not," chuckled the cruel Mata. The old man got hastily to his feet. "Mata, Mata, your tongue is that of a viper,--a green viper, with stripes. I will go from its reach into the highway. Of course my son is painting. What else could he be doing?" The old dame's laugh fell like salt upon a wound. Kano caught up a bamboo cane and, hatless, went into the street. It was odd, how often during this week he found need of walking; still stranger, how often his wanderings led him to the dodan hedge enclosing Tatsu's cottage. He paused at the gate now, tormented by the reflection that he himself had drawn the bolt. How still it was in there! Not even a sparrow chirped. Could something be wrong? Suddenly a laugh rang out,--the low spontaneous laugh of a happy girl. Kano clutched the gate-post. It was not the sort of laugh that one gives at sight of a splendid painting. It had too intimate, too personal, a ring. But surely Tatsu was painting! What else did he live for, if not to paint? The old man bore a heavy homeward heart. Next day, exactly at the hour of noon, the culprits tapped upon Kano's wooden gate. During the morning the old man had been in a condition of feverish excitement, but now that the agony of waiting had forever ceased, he assumed a pose of indifference. Tatsu entered first, as a husband should. In mounting the stone which served as step to the railless veranda, he shook off, carelessly, his wooden shoes. Umè-ko lifted them, dusted the velvet thongs, and placed them with mathematical precision side by side upon the flat stone. She then entered, placing her small lacquered clogs beside those of her husband. Kano, from the tail of his eye, marked with approval these tokens of wifely submission. From a small aperture in the kitchen shoji, however (a peephole commanding a full view of the house), dour mutterings might have been heard, and a whispered lament that "she should have lived to see her young mistress wipe a Tengu's shoes!" When the various genuflections and phrases of ceremonial greeting were at last accomplished, the old artist broke forth, "Well, well, son Tatsu, how many paintings in all this time?" Tatsu looked up startled, first at the questioner, then at his wife. She gave a little, convulsive giggle, and bent her shining eyes to the floor. "I have not painted," said Tatsu, bluntly. "Not painted? Impossible! What then have you done with all the golden hours of these interminable days?" A sullen look crept into the boy's face. Again he turned questioning eyes upon his wife. From the troubled silence her sweet voice reached like a caress: "Dear father, the autumn days, though golden, have held unusual heat." "Heat! What are cold and heat to a true artist? Did he not paint in August? I am old, yet I have been painting!" Again fell the silence. "I said that I had been painting," repeated the old man, angrily. Umè-ko recovered herself with a start. "I am--er--we are truly overjoyed to hear it. Shall you deign to honor us with a sight of your illustrious work?" "No, I shall not deign!" snapped the old man. "It is his work that you now are concerned with." Here he pointed to the scowling Tatsu. "Why have you not influenced him as you should? He must paint! It is what you married him for." Umè-ko caught her breath. A flush of embarrassment dyed her face, and she threw a half-frightened look towards Tatsu. Answering her father's unrelenting frown, she murmured, timidly, "To-morrow, if the gods will, my dear husband shall paint." Tatsu's steady gaze drew her. "Your eyes, Umè-ko. Is it true that for this--to make me paint--you consented to become my wife?" Umè tried in vain to resist the look he gave her. Close at her other hand, she knew, her father hung upon her face and listened, trembling, for her words. To him, art was all. But to her and Tatsu, who had found each other,--ah! She tried to speak but words refused to form themselves. She tried to turn a docile face toward old Kano; but the deepening glory of her husband's look drew her as light draws a flower. Sullenness and anger fell from him like a cloth. His countenance gave out the fire of an inward passion; his eyes--deep, strange, strong, magnetic--mastered and compelled her. "No, no, beloved," she whispered. "I cannot say,--you alone know the soul of me." A fierce triumph flared into his look. He leaned nearer, with a smile that was almost cruel in its consciousness of power. Under it her eyes drooped, her head fell forward in a sudden faintness, her whole lithe body huddled into one gracious, yielding outline. Even while Kano gasped, doubting his eyes and his hearing, Tatsu sprang to his feet, went to his wife, caught her up rudely by one arm, and crushed her against his side, while he blazed defiant scorn upon Kano. "Come Dragon Wife," he said, in a voice that echoed through the space; "come back to our little home. No stupid old ones there, no prattle about painting. Only you and I and love." [Illustration: "'Come, Dragon Wife,' he said, 'come back to our little home.'"] Now in Japan nothing is more indelicate, more unpardonable, or more insulting to the listener than any reference to the personal love between man and wife. At Tatsu's terrible speech, Umè-ko, unconscious of further cause of offense, hid her face against his sleeve, and clung to him, that her trembling might not cast her to the floor. Kano, at first, was unable to speak. He grew slowly the hue of death. His brief words, when at last they came, were in convulsive spasms of sound. "Go to your rooms,--both. Are you mad, indeed,--this immodesty, this disrespect to me. Mata was right,--a Tengu, a barbarian. Go, go, ere I rise to slay you both!" The utterance choked him, and died away in a gasping silence. He clutched at his lean chest. Umè would have sped to him, but Tatsu held her fast. His young face flamed with an answering rage. "Do you use that tone to me--old man--to me, and this, my wife," he was beginning, but Umè put frantic hands upon his lips. "Master, beloved!" she sobbed. "You shall not speak thus to our father,--you do not understand. For love of me, then, be patient. Even the crows on the hilltops revere their parents. Come there, to the hills, with me, now, now--oh, my soul's beloved--before you speak again. Wait there, in the inner room, while I kneel a moment before our father. Oh, Tatsu, if you love me----" The agony of her face and voice swept from Tatsu's mind all other feeling. He stood in the doorway, silent, as she threw herself before old Kano, praying to him as to an offended god: "Father, father, do not hold hatred against us! Tatsu has been without kindred,--he knows not yet the sacred duties of filial love. We will go from your presence now until your just anger against us shall have cooled. With the night we shall return and plead for mercy and forgiveness. No, no, do not speak again, just yet. We are going, now, now. Oh, my dear father, the agony and the shame of it! Sayonara, until the twilight." She hurried back to Tatsu, seized his clenched hand with her small, icy fingers, and almost dragged him from the room. Kano sat as she had left him, motionless, now, as the white jade vase within the tokonoma. His anger, crimson, blinding at the first possession, had heated by now into a slow, white rage. All at once he began to tremble. He struck himself violently upon one knee, crying aloud, "So thus love influences him! Ara! My Dragon Painter! Other methods may be tried. Such words and looks before me, me,--Kano Indara! And Umè's eyes set upon him as in blinding worship. Could I have seen aright? He caught my child up like a common street wench, a thing of sale and barter. And she,--she did not scorn, but trembled and clung to him. Is the whole world on its head? I will teach them, I will teach them." "Have my young mistress and her august spouse already taken leave?" asked Mata at a crack of the door. "Either they or some demon changelings," answered the old man, rocking to and fro upon the mats. The old servant had, of course, heard everything. Feigning now, for her own purposes, a soothing air of ignorance, she glided into the room, lifted the tiny tea-pot, shook it from side to side, and then cocked her bright eyes upon her master. "The tea-pot. It is honorably empty. Shall I fill it?" "Yes, yes; replenish it at once. I need hot tea. Shameless, incredible; he has, indeed, the manners of a wild boar." "Ma-a-a!" exclaimed the old woman. "Now of whom can my master be speaking?" "You know very well of whom I am speaking, goblin! Do you not always listen at the shoji? Go, fill the pot!" Mata glided from the room with the quickness of light and in an instant had returned. Replacing the smoking vessel and maintaining a face of decorous interest, she asked, hypocritically, "And was my poor Miss Umè mortified?" "Mortified?" echoed the artist with an angry laugh; "she admired him! She clung to him as a creature tamed by enchantment. My daughter! Never did I expect to look upon so gross a sight! Why, Mata----" "Yes, dear master," purred the old dame encouragingly as she seated herself on the floor near the tea-pot. "One moment, while I brew you a cup of fresh, sweet tea. It is good to quiet the honorable nerves. I can scarcely believe what you tell me of our Umè-ko, so modest a young lady, so well brought up!" "I tell you what these old eyes saw," repeated Kano. Once more he described the harrowing sight, adding more details. Mata, well used to his outbursts of anger, though indeed she had seldom seen him in his present condition of indignant excitement, drew him on by degrees. She well knew that an anger put into lucid words soon begins to cool. Some of her remarks were in the nature of small, kindly goads. "Remember, master, the poor creatures are married but a week to-day." "Had I dreamed of such low conduct, they should never have been married at all!" "Of course he is n't worthy of her," sighed the other, one eye on Kano's face. "Nonsense! He is more than worthy of any woman upon earth if he could but learn to conduct himself like a human being." "That would take a long schooling." "He is the greatest artist since Sesshu!" cried the old man, vehemently. Mata bowed over to the tea-pot. "You recognize artists, master; I recognize fools." "Do you call my son a fool?" "If that wild man is still to be considered your son, then have I called your son a fool," answered Mata, imperturbably. The new flush left the old man's face as quickly as it had come. "Mata, Mata," he groaned, too spent now for further vehemence, "you are an old cat,--an old she-cat. You cannot dream what it is to be an artist! What one will endure for art; what one will sacrifice, and joy in the giving! Why, woman, if with one's shed blood, with the barter of one's soul, a single supreme vision could be realized, no true artist would hesitate. Yes, if even wife, child, and kindred were to be joined in a common destruction for art's sake, the artist must not hesitate. At the thought of one's parents, the ancestors of one's house, it might be admissible to pause, but at nothing else, nothing else, whatever! Life is a mere bubble on the stream of art, fame is a bubble--riches, happiness, Death itself! Would that I could tear these old limbs into a bleeding frenzy as I paint, if by doing so one little line may swerve the nearer to perfection! Often have I thought of this and prayed for the opportunity, but such madness does not benefit. Only the torn anguish of a soul may sometimes help. And with old souls, like old trees, they do not bleed, but are snapped to earth, and lie there rotting. He, Tatsu, the son of my adoption, could with one strong sweep of his arm make the gods stare, and he spends his hours fondling the perishable object of a woman, while I, who would give all, all,--give my own child that he loves,--I remain impotent! Alas! So topsy-turvy a world are we born in!" He bowed his head in a misery so abject that Mata forbore to jibe. She tried to speak again, to comfort him, but he motioned her away, and sat, scarcely moving in his place, until the night brought Tatsu and his young wife home again. VIII Thus under, as it were, a double ban of displeasure, did the new generation of Kano, Tatsu and Umè-ko, begin life in the little cottage beneath the hill. They were given Umè's chamber near which the plum tree grew, an adjoining room having been previously fitted up for Tatsu's painting. As in the other cottage, inviting rectangles of silk, already stretched and sized, stood in blank rows against the walls. Even the fusuma were of new paper, offering, it would seem, to any inspired young artist, a surface of alluring possibilities. Paints, brushes, and vessels without number made an array to tempt, if only the tempting were not so obvious. Umè-ko, watching closely the expression of her husband's face as he was first led into this room, drew old Kano aside, and urged that more tact and delicacy be used in leading Tatsu back to a desire for creative work. She herself, she hinted with deprecating sweetness, might do much if only allowed to follow her own loving instincts. But Kano had lost confidence in his daughter and bluntly told her so. Tatsu had been adopted and married in order to make him paint, and paint he should! Also it was Umè-ko's duty to influence him in whatever way and method her father thought best. Let her succeed,--that was her sole responsibility. So blustered Kano to himself and Mata, and not even the malicious twinkle of the old servant's eye pointed the way to wisdom. Naturally Umè-ko did not succeed. Tatsu merely laughed at her flagrant efforts at duplicity. He felt no need of painting, no desire to paint. He had won the Dragon Maiden. Life could give him no more! There was no anger or resentment in his feeling toward Kano, or even the old scourge Mata. No, he was too happy! To lie dreaming on the fragrant, matted floor near Umè, where he could listen to her soft breathing and at times pull her closer by a silken sleeve,--this was enough for Tatsu. Nothing had power to arouse in him a sense of duty, of obligation to himself, or to his adopted father. He would not argue about it, and could scarcely be said to listen. He lived and moved and breathed in love as in a fourth dimension. To the old man's frequent remonstrances he would turn a gentle, deprecating face. He had promised Umè-ko never again to speak rudely to their father. Besides, why should he? The outer world was all so beautiful and sad and unimportant. A sunset cloud, or a bird swinging from a hagi spray could bring sharp, swift tears to his eyes. Beauty could move him, but not old Kano's genuine sufferings. Yet, the old man, bleating from the arid rocks of age, was doubtless a pathetic spectacle, and must be listened to kindly. Finding the boy thus obdurate, Kano turned the full force of his discontent on Umè-ko. She endured in silence the incessant railing. Each new device urged by the distracted Kano she carried out with scrupulous care, though even with the performance of it she knew hopelessness to be involved. For hours she remained away from home, hidden in a neighbor's house or in the temple on the hill, it being Kano's thought that perhaps, in this temporary loss of his idol, Tatsu might seek solace in the paint room. But Tatsu, raging against the conditions which made such tyranny possible, stormed, on such occasions, through the little house, and up and down the garden, pelting the terrified gold-fish in their caves, stripping leaves and tips from Kano's favorite pine-shrubs, or standing, long intervals of time, on the crest of the moon-viewing hillock, from which he could command vistas of the street below. "There 's your jewel of a painter," old Mata, indoors, would say. "Look at him, master,--a noble figure, indeed, standing on one leg like a love-sick stork!" And Kano, helpless before his own misery and the old dame's acrid triumph, would keep silence, only muttering invocations to the gods for self-control. Often the young wife pretended a sudden desire for her own artistic work. She would go hurriedly to the little painting chamber, gather complex paraphernalia, and assume the pose of eager effort. Tatsu always followed her but, once within the room, bent such laughing eyes of comprehension that she dared not look into his face. Nevertheless she would paint; tracing, mechanically, the bird and flower studies in which she had once taken delight. Just in the midst of some specially delicate stroke, Tatsu would snatch her hands away, press them against his lips, his eyes, his throat, hurl the painting things to the four corners of the room, drag her down to his strong embrace, and triumph openly in the victory of love. The young wife, longing from the first to yield, attempted always to repel him, protesting in the words her father had bade her use, and urging him to rouse himself and paint, as she was doing. Then the young god would laugh magnificent music, drowning the last pathetic echo of old Kano's remembered voice. Catching her anew he would crush her against his breast, fondling her with that tempestuous gentleness that surely no mere man of earth could know, would drag up her faint soul to him through eyes and lips until she felt herself but a shred of ecstacy caught in a whirlwind of immortal love. "So that we be together, Even the Hell of the Blood Lake, Even the Mountain of Swords, Mean nothing to us at all!" He would sing, in the words of an old Buddhist folk-song. At such supreme heights of emotion she knew, consciously, that Kano's grief and disappointment were nothing. She did not really care whether Tatsu ever touched a brush again,--whether, indeed, the whole visible world fretted itself into dust. She and Tatsu had found each other! The rest meant nothing at all! Such moments were, however, the isolated and the exceptional. As the days went by they became less frequent, and, by a strange law of contrasts, with diminution exacted a heavier toll. The strain of antagonisms within the little home became almost unbearable. Neither Kano nor Tatsu would yield an inch, and between them, like a white flower between stones, little Umè-ko was crushed. A new and threatening trouble was that of poverty. Tatsu would not paint; Kano, in his wretchedness could not. The young wife went often now to the temple on the hill. Tatsu generally went with her, remaining outside in the courtyard or at the edge of the cliff, under the camphor tree, while she was praying within. Her entreaties were all for divine guidance. She implored of the gods a deeper insight into the cause of this strange trouble now upon them, and besought, too, that in her husband, Tatsu, should be awakened a recognition of his duties, and of the household needs. Kano visited the temple, also, and spent long hours in conference with his personal friend, the abbot. Even old Mata, abandoning for the moment her Protestantism and reverting to the yearning (never entirely stifled) for mystic practises, went to an old charlatan of a fortune-teller, and purchased various charms and powders for driving the demons from the unconscious Tatsu. Umè-ko soon discovered this, and the fear that Tatsu would be poisoned added to a load of anxiety already formidable. By the end of October, Yeddo's most golden and most perfect month, no hours brought happiness to the little bride but those stolen ones in which she and her husband were wont to take long walks together, sometimes into the country, again through the mazes of the great capital. Even at these times of respite she was only too well aware how Kano and the old nurse sat together at home, lamenting the gross selfishness of the young,--deciding, perhaps, upon the next loved painting or household treasure to be sold for buying rice. Tatsu, now as unreasonable and obstinate as Kano himself, still refused to admit unhappiness or threatened destitution. He and Umè-ko could go to the mountains, he said. "The mountains were, after all, their true home. Once there the Sennin and the deities of cloud would see that they did not suffer." On an afternoon very near the end of the month the young couple took such a walk together. Their course lay eastward, crossing at right angles the main streets of the great city, until they reached the shores of the Sumida River, winding down like a road of glass. They had emerged into the famous district of Asakusa, where the great temple of Kwannon the Merciful attracts daily its thousands of worshippers. Here the water course is bounded by fashionable tea-houses, many stories high, and here the great arched bridges are always crowded. Leaving this busy heart of things, they sauntered northward, finding lonelier shores, and soon wide fields of green, until they reached a bank whereon grew a single leaning willow. The body of this tree, bending outward, sent its long, nerveless leaves in a perpetual green rain to the surface of the stream, where sudden swarms of minnows, like shivers in a glass, assailed the deceptive bait. The roots of the tree--great yellowish, twisted ropes of roots--clutched air, earth, and water in their convolutions. Among them the current, swifter here than in mid-stream, uttered at times a guttural, uncanny sound as of spectral laughter. Umè-ko stood, one slender arm about the trunk, looking out, with mournful eyes, upon the passing river show. On the farther bank grew a continuous wall of cherry trees in yellowing leaf, and above them glowed the first hint of the coming sunset. Rising against the sky a temple roof, tilted like the keel of a sunken vessel, cut sharp lines into the crimson light. Tatsu flung himself full length upon the bank. He patted the soil with its springing grasses, and felt his heart flow out in love to it. Then he reached up, caught at the drifting gauze of Umè's sleeve, and made as if to pull her down. Umè clasped the tree more tightly. "Tatsu," she said, "I implore you not to think always of me. Look, beloved, the thin white sails of the rice-boats pass, and, over yonder, children in scarlet petticoats dance beneath the trees." "I have eyes but for my wife," said wilful Tatsu. Umè-ko drew the sleeve away. She would not meet his smile. "Alas, shall I forever obscure beauty!" "There is no beauty now but in you! You are the sacred mirror which reflects for me all loveliness." "Dear lord, those words are almost blasphemy," said Umè, in a frightened whisper. "Look, now, beloved, the light of the sun sinks down. Soon the great moon will come to us." "What care I for a distant moon, oh, Dragon Maid," laughed Tatsu. Umè's outstretched arm fell heavily to her side. "Alas!" she said again. "From deepest happiness may come the deepest pain. You dream not of the hurt you give." "I give no hurt at all that I cannot more than heal," cried Tatsu, in his masterful way. But Umè's lips still quivered, and she turned her face from him. In the silence that followed, the water among the willow roots gave out a rush and gurgle, a sound of liquid merriment,--perhaps the laugh of a "Kappa" or river sprite, mocking the perplexities of men. Umè-ko leaned over instantly, staring down into the stream. [Illustration: "Umè-ko leaned over instantly, staring down into the stream."] "How deep it is, and strong," she whispered, as if to her own thought "That which fell in here would be carried very swiftly out to sea." Tatsu smiled dreamily upon her. In his delight at her beauty, the delicate poise of body with its long, gray drifting sleeves, he did not realize the meaning of her words. One little foot in its lacquered shoe and rose-velvet thong, crushed the grasses at the very edge of the bank. Suddenly the earth beneath her shivered. It parted in a long black fissure, and then sank, with sob and splash, into the hurrying water. Umè tottered and clung to the tree. Tatsu, springing up at a single bound, caught her back into safety. The very branches above them shook as if in sentient fear. Umè felt herself pressed,--welded against her husband's side in such an agony of strength that his beating heart seemed to be in her own body. She heard the breath rasp upward in his throat and catch there, inarticulate. He began dragging her backward, foot by foot. At a safe distance he suddenly sank--rather fell--to earth bearing her with him, and began moaning over her, caressing and fondling her as a tiger might a rescued cub. "Never go near that stream again!" he said hoarsely, as soon as he could speak at all. "Hear me, Umè-ko, it is my command! Never again approach that tree. It is a goblin tree. Some dead, unhappy woman, drowned here in the self-death, must inhabit it and would entice you to destruction. Oh, Umè, my wife,--my wife! I saw the black earth grinning beneath your feet. I cannot bear it! Come away from this place at once,--at once! The river itself may reach out snares to us." "Yes, lord, I will come," she panted, trying to loosen the rigid arms, "but I am faint. This high bank is safe, now. And, lord, when you so embrace and crush me my strength does not return." Tatsu grudgingly relaxed his hold. "Rest here then, close beside me," he said. "I shall not trust you, even an inch from me." The river current in the tree roots laughed aloud. Across and beyond the road of glass, the sky grew cold now and blue, like the side of a dead fish. A glow subtle and unmistakable as perfume tingled up through the dusk. "The Lady Moon," whispered Umè, softly. Freeing her little hands she joined them, bent her head, and gave the prayer of welcome to O Tsuki Sama. Tatsu watched her gloomily. "I pray to no moon," he said. "I pray to nothing in this place." A huge coal barge on its way to the Yokohama harbor glided close to them along the dark surface of the tide. At the far end of the barge a fire was burning, and above it, from a round black cauldron, boiling rice sent up puffs of white, fragrant steam. The red light fell upon a ring of faces, evidently a mother and her children; and on the broad, naked back of the father who leaned far outward on his guiding pole. Umè turned her eyes away. "I think I can walk now," she said. Tatsu rose instantly, and drew her upward by the hands. A shudder of remembered horror caught him. He pressed her once more tightly to his heart. "Umè-ko, Umè-ko, my wife,--my Dragon Wife!" he cried aloud in a voice of love and anguish. "I have sought you through the torments of a thousand lives. Shall anything have power to separate us now?" "Nothing can part us now, but--death," said Umè-ko, and glanced, for an instant, backward to the river. Tatsu winced. "Use not the word! It attracts evil." "It is a word that all must some day use," persisted the young wife, gently. "Tell me, beloved, if death indeed should come--?" "It would be for both. It could not be for one alone." "No, no!" she cried aloud, lifting her white face as if in appeal to heaven. "Do not say that, lord! Do not think it! If I, the lesser one, should be chosen of death, surely you would live for our father,--for the sake of art!" "I would kill myself just as quickly as I could!" said Tatsu, doggedly. "What comfort would painting be? I painted because I had you not." "Because--you--had--me--not," mused little Umè-ko, her eyes fixed strangely upon the river. "Come," said Tatsu, rudely, "did I not forbid you to speak of death? Too much has been said. Besides, the fate of ordinary mortals should have no potency for such as we. When our time comes for pause before rebirth we shall climb together some high mountain peak, lifting our arms and voices to our true parents, the gods of storm and wind. They will lean to us, beloved,--they will rush downward in a great passion of joy, catching us and straining us to immortality!" By this they were from sight and hearing of the river, and had begun to thread the maze of narrow city streets in which now lamps and tiny electric bulbs and the bobbing lanterns of hurrying jinrikisha men had begun to twinkle. In the darker alleys the couple walked side by side. Umè, at times, even rested a small hand on her husband's sleeve. In the broad, well-lighted thoroughfares he strode on some paces in advance while Umè followed, in decorous humility, as a good wife should. Few words passed between them. The incident at the willow tree had left a gloomy aftermath of thought. In the Kano home the simple night meal of rice, tea, soup, and pickled vegetables was already prepared. Mata motioned them to their places in the main room where old Kano was already seated, and served them in the gloomy silence which was part of the general strain. Throughout the whole place reproach hung like a miasma. This evening, almost for the first time, Tatsu reflected, in full measure, the despondency of his companions. The elder man, glancing now and again toward him, evidently restrained with difficulty a flow of bitter words. Once he spoke to his daughter, fixing sunken eyes upon her. "The crimson lacquered wedding-chest that was your mother's, to-day has been sold to buy us food." Umè clenched her little hands together, then bowed far over, in token that she had heard. There were no words to say. For weeks now they had lived upon such money as this,--namida-kane,--"tear-money" the Japanese call it. Tatsu, helpless in his place, scowled and muttered for a moment, then rose and hurried out, leaving the meal unfinished. Umè watched him sadly, but did not follow. This was so unusual a thing that Tatsu, alone in their chamber, was at first astonished, then alarmed. For ten minutes or more he paced up and down the narrow space, pride urging him to await his wife's dutiful appearance. In a short while more he felt the tension to be unbearable. A sinister silence flooded the house. He hurried back to the main room to find that Umè and old Kano were not there. He began searching the house, all but the kitchen. Instinctively he avoided old Mata's domain, knowing it to be the lair of an enemy. At last necessity drove him to it also. Her face leered at him through a parted shoji. He gave a bound in her direction. Instantly she had slammed the panels together; and before he could reopen them had armed herself with a huge, glittering fish-knife. "None of your mountain wild-cat ways for me!" she screamed. In spite of wretchedness and alarm the boy laughed aloud. "I wish not to hurt you, old fool," he said. "I desire nothing but to know where my wife is." "With her father," snapped the other. "Yes, but where,--where? And why did she go without telling me? Where did he take her? Answer quickly. I must follow them." "I have no answers for you," said Mata. "And even if I had you would not get them. Go, go, out of my sight, you Bearer of Discord!" she railed, feeling that at last an opportunity for plain speaking had arrived. "This was a happy house until your evil presence sought it. Don't glare at me, and take postures. I care neither for your tall figure nor your flashing eyes. You may bewitch the others, but not old Mata! Oh, Dragon Painter! Oh, Dragon Painter! The greatest since Sesshu!" she mimicked, "show me a few of the wonderful things you were to paint us when once you were Kano's son! Bah! you were given my nursling, as a wolf is given a young fawn,--that was all you wanted. You will never paint!" "Tell me where she is or I'll--" began the boy, raving. "No you won't," jeered Mata, now in a transport of fury. "Back, back, out of my kitchen and my presence or this knife will plunge its way into you as into a devil-fish. Oh, it would be a sight! I have no love for you!" "I care not for your love, old Baba, old fiend, nor for your knife. Where did my Umè go? You grin like an old she-ape! Never, upon my mountains did I see so vicious a beast." "Then go back to your mountains! You are useless here. You will not even paint. Go where you belong!" "The mountains,--the mountains!" sobbed the boy, under his breath. "Yes, I must go to them or my soul will go without me! Perhaps the kindlier spirits of the air will tell me where she is!" With a last distracted gesture he fled from the house and out into the street. Mata listened with satisfaction as she heard him racing up the slope toward the hillside. "I wish it were indeed a Kiu Shiu peak he climbed, instead of a decent Yeddo cliff," she muttered to herself, as she tied on her apron and began to wash the supper dishes. "But, alas, he will be back all too soon, perhaps before my master and Miss Umè come down from the temple." In this surmise the old dame was, for once, at fault. Tatsu did not return until full daylight of the next morning. He had been wandering, evidently, all night long among the chill and dew-wet branches of the mountain shrubs. His silken robe was torn and stained as had been the blue cotton dress, that first day of his coming. At sight of his sunken eyes and haggard look Umè-ko's heart cried out to him, and it was with difficulty that she restrained her tears. But she still had a last appeal to make, and this was to be the hour. In response to his angry questions, she would answer nothing but that she and her father had business at the temple. More than this, she would not say. As he persisted, pleading for her motives in so leaving him, and heaping her with the reproaches of tortured love, she suddenly threw herself on the mat before him, in a passion of grief such as he had not believed possible to her. She clasped his knees, his feet, and besought him, with all the strength and pathos of her soul, to make at least one more attempt to paint. He, now in equal torment, with tears running along his bronzed face, confessed to her that the power seemed to have gone from him. Some demon, he said, must have stolen it from him while he slept, for now the very touch of a brush, the look of paint, frenzied him. Umè-ko went again to her father, saying that she again had failed. The strain was now, indeed, past all human endurance. The little home became a charged battery of tragic possibilities. Each moment was a separate menace, and the hours heaped up a structure already tottering. At dawn of the next day, Tatsu, who after a restless and unhappy night had fallen into heavy slumber, awoke, with a start, alone. A pink light glowed upon his paper shoji; the plum tree, now entirely leafless, threw a splendid shadow-silhouette. At the eaves, sparrows chattered merrily. It was to be a fair day: yet instantly, even before he had sprung, cruelly awake, to his knees, he knew that the dreaded Something was upon him. On the silken head-rest of Umè's pillow was fastened a long, slender envelope, such as Japanese women use for letters. Tatsu recoiled from it as from a venomous reptile. Throwing himself face down upon the floor he groaned aloud, praying his mountain gods to sweep away from his soul the black mist of despair that now crawled, cold, toward it. Why should Umè-ko have left him again, and at such an hour? Why should she have pinned to her pillow a slip of written paper? He would not read it! Yes, yes,--he must,--he must read instantly. Perhaps the Something was still to be prevented! He caught the letter up, held it as best he could in quivering hands, and read: Because of my unworthiness, O master, my heart's beloved, I have been allowed to come between you and the work you were given of the gods to do. The fault is all mine, and must come from my evil deeds in a previous life. By sacrifice of joy and life I now attempt to expiate it. I go to the leaning willow where the water speaks. One thing only I shall ask of you,--that you admit to your mind no thought of self-destruction, for this would heavily burden my poor soul, far off in the Meido-land. Oh, live, my beloved, that I, in spirit, may still be near you. I will come. You shall know that I am near,--only, as the petals of the plum tree fall in the wind of spring, so must my earthly joy depart from me. Farewell, O thou who art loved as no mortal was ever loved before thee. Your erring wife, Umè-ko. * * * * * * In his fantastic night-robe with its design of a huge fish, ungirdled and wild of eyes, Tatsu rushed through the drowsy streets of Yeddo. The few pedestrians, catching sight of him, withdrew, with cries of fear, into gateways and alleys. At the leaning willow he paused, threw an arm about it, and swayed far over like a drunkard, his eyes blinking down upon the stream. Umè-ko's words, at the time of their utterance scarcely noted, came now as an echo, hideously clear. "That which fell here would be carried very swiftly out to sea." His nails broke against the bark. She,--his wife,--must have been thinking of it even then, while he,--he,--blind brute and dotard--sprawled upon the earth feeding his eyes of flesh upon the sight of her. But, after all, could she have really done it? Surely the gods, by miracle, must have checked so disproportionate a sacrifice! Suddenly his wandering gaze was caught and held by a little shoe among the willow roots. It was of black lacquer, with a thong of rose-colored velvet. With one cry, that seemed to tear asunder the physical walls of his body, he loosed his arm and fell. IX His body was found some moments later by old Kano and a bridge keeper. It was caught among the pilings of a boat-landing several hundred feet farther down the tide. A thin, sluggish stream of blood followed it like a clue, and, when he was dragged up upon the bank, gushed out terribly from a wound near his temple. He had seized, in falling, Umè-ko's lacquered geta, and his fingers could not be unclasped. In spite of the early hour (across the river the sun still peered through folds of shimmering mist) quite a crowd of people gathered. "It is the newly adopted son of Kano Indara," they whispered, one to another. "He is but a few weeks married to Kano's daughter, and is called 'The Dragon Painter.'" The efficient river-police summoned an ambulance, and had him taken to the nearest hospital. Here, during an entire day, every art was employed to restore him to consciousness, but without success. Life, indeed, remained. The flow of blood was stopped, and the wound bandaged, but no sign of intelligence awoke. "It is to be an illness of many weeks, and of great peril," answered the chief physician that night to Kano's whispered question. The old man turned sorrowfully away and crept home, wondering whether now, at this extremity, the gods would utterly desert him. Mata, prostrated at first by the loss of her nursling, soon rallied her practical old wits. She went, in secret, to the hospital, demanded audience of the house physician, and gave to him all details of the strange situation which had culminated in Umè's desperate act of self-renunciation, and induced Tatsu's subsequent madness. She did not ask for a glimpse of the sick man. Indeed she made no pretence of kindly feeling toward him, for, in conclusion, she said, "Now, August Sir, if, with your great skill in such matters, you succeed in giving back to this young wild man the small amount of intelligence he was born with, I caution you, above all things, keep from his reach such implements of self-destruction as ropes, knives, and poisons. Oh, he is an untamed beast, Doctor San. His love for my poor young mistress was that of a lion and a demon in one. He will certainly slay himself when he has the strength. Not that I care! His death would bring relief to me, for in our little home he is like the spirit of storm caged in a flower. Would I had never seen him, or felt the influence of his evil karma! But my poor old master still dotes on him, and, with Miss Umé vanished, if this Dragon Painter, too, should die at once, Kano could not endure the double blow!" The old woman began to sob in her upraised sleeve, apologizing through her tears for the discourtesy. The physician comforted her with kind words, and thanked her very sincerely for the visit. Her disclosures did, indeed, throw light upon a difficult situation. From the hospital the old servant made her way to Uchida's hotel, to learn that he had gone the day before to Kiu Shiu. With this tower of strength removed Mata felt, more than ever, that Kano's sole friend was herself. The loss of Umè was still to her a horror and a shock. The eating loneliness of long, empty days at home had not yet begun; but Mata was to know them, also. Kano, during the first precarious days of his son's illness, practically deserted the cottage, and lived, day and night, in the hospital. His pathetic old figure became habitual to the halls and gardens near his son. The physicians and nurses treated him with delicate kindness, forcing food and drink upon him, and urging him to rest himself in one of the untenanted rooms. They believed the deepening lines of grief to be traced by the loss of an only daughter, rather than by this illness of a newly adopted son. In truth the old man seldom thought of Umè-ko. He was watching the life that flickered in Tatsu's prostrate body as a lost, starving traveller watches a lantern approaching over the moor. "The gods preserve him,--the gods grant his life to the Kano name, to art, and the glory of Nippon," so prayed the old man's shrivelled lips a hundred times each day. After a stupor of a week, fever laid hold of Tatsu, bringing delirium, delusion, and mad raving. At times he believed himself already dead, and in the heavenly isle of Ho-rai with Umè. His gestures, his whispered words of tenderness, brought tears to the eyes of those who listened. Again he lived through that terrible dawn when first he had read her letter of farewell. Each word was bitten with acid into his mind. Again and again he repeated the phrases, now dully, as a wearied beast goes round a treadmill, now with weeping, and in convulsions of a grief so fierce that the merciful opiate alone could still it. The fever slowly began to ebb. For him the shores of conscious thought lay scorched and blackened by memory. More unwillingly than he had been dragged up from the river's cold embrace was he now held back from death. His first lucid words were a petition. "Do not keep me alive. In the name of Kwannon the Merciful, to whom my Umè used to pray, do not bind me again upon the wheel of life!" Although he fought against it with all the will power left to him, strength brightened in his veins. Stung into new anguish he prayed more fervently, "Let me pass now! I cannot bear more pain. I 'll die in spite of you. Oh, icy men of science, you but give me the means with which to slay myself! I warn you, at the first chance I shall escape you all!" "Mad youth, it is my duty to give you back your life even though you are to use it as a coward," said the chief physician. Once when his suffering had passed beyond the power of all earthly alleviation, and it seemed as if each moment would fling the shuddering victim into the dark land of perpetual madness, Kano urged that the venerable abbot from the Shingon temple on the hill be summoned. He came in full regalia of office,--splendid in crimson and gold. With him were two acolytes, young and slender figures, also in brocade, but with hoods of a sort of golden gauze drawn forward so as to conceal the faces within. They bore incense burners, sets of the mystic vagra, and other implements of esoteric ceremony. The high priest carried only his tall staff of polished wood, tipped with brass, and surmounted by a glittering, symbolic design, the "Wheel of the Law," the hub of which is a lotos flower. Tatsu, at sight of them, tossed angrily on his bed, railing aloud, in his thin, querulous voice, and scoffing at any power of theirs to comfort, until, in spite of himself, a strange calm seemed to move about him and encircle him. He listened to the chanted words, and the splendid invocations, spoken in a tongue older than the very gods of his own land, wondering, the while, at his own acquiescence. Surely there was a sweet presence in the room that held him as a smile of love might hold. He was sorry when the ceremony came to an end. The abbot, whispering to the others, sent all from the room but himself, Tatsu, and the smaller of the acolytes, who still knelt motionless at the head of the sick man's couch, holding upward an incense burner in the shape of a lotos seed-pod. The blue incense smoke breathed upward, sank again as if heavy with its own delight, encircling, almost as if with conscious intention, the kneeling figure, and then moved outward to Tatsu and the enclosing walls. "My son," began the abbot, leaning gently over the bed, "I have a message from--her--" "No, no," moaned the boy, his wound opening anew. "Do not speak it. I was beginning to feel a little peace from pain. Do not speak of her. You can have no message." "I have known Kano Umè-ko her whole life long," persisted the holy man. "She is worthy of a nobler love than this you are giving her." "There may be love more noble, but none--none--more terrible than mine," wailed out the sick man. "I cannot even die. I am quickened by the flames that burn me; fed by the viper, Life, that feeds on my despair. My flesh cankers with a self-renewing sore! Could I but bathe my wounds in death!" "Poor suffering one, this flesh is only the petal fallen from a perfected bloom! Whether her tender body, or this racked and twitching frame upon your bed, all flesh is illusion. Think of your soul and its immortal lives! Think of your wife's pure soul, and for its sake make effort to defy and vanquish this demon of self-destruction." "Was not her own deed that of self-destruction?" challenged Tatsu, his sunken eyes set in bitter triumph upon the abbot. "I shall but go upon the road she went." "To compare your present motives with your wife's is blasphemy," cried the other. "Her deed held the glory of self-sacrifice, that you might gain enlightenment; while you, railing impotently here, giving out affront against the gods, are as the wild beast on the mountain that cannot bear the arrow in its side." "And it is true," said Tatsu, "I cannot bear the arrow,--I cannot endure this pain. Show me the way to death, if you have true pity. Let me go to her who waits me in the Meido-land." "She does not wait you there, oh, grief deluded boy," then said the priest. "The message that I brought is this: bound still to earth by her great love for you her soul is near you,--in this room,--now, as I speak, seeking an entrance to your heart, and these wild railings hold her from you." Tatsu half started from his pillow, and sank back. "I believe you not. You trick me as you would a child," he moaned. The priest knelt slowly by the bed. "In the name of Shaka,--whom I worship,--these words of mine are true. Here, in this room, at this moment, your Umè-ko is waiting." "But I want her too," whispered the piteous lips. "Not only her aerial spirit! I want her smile,--her little hands to touch me, the golden echo of her laughter,--I want my wife, I say! Oh, you gods, demons, preta of a thousand hells!" he shrieked, springing to a sitting posture in his bed, and beating the air about him with distracted hands. "These are the memories that whir down and close about me in a cloud of stinging wasps! I cannot endure! In the name of Shaka, whom you worship, strike me dead with the staff you hold,--then will I bless you and believe!" In a transport of madness, he leaned out, clutching at the staff, clawing down the stiff robes from the abbot's throat, snarling, praying, menacing with a vehemence so terrible, that the little acolyte, flinging down the still-burning koro, screamed aloud for help. It was many hours before the nurses and physicians could quiet this last paroxysm. Exhaustion and a relapse followed. The long, dull waiting on hope began anew. After this no visitor but Kano was allowed. He entered the sick chamber only at certain hours, placing himself near the head of the bed where Tatsu need not see him. He never spoke except in answer to questions addressed him directly by his son, and these came infrequently enough. With this second slow return to vitality, Tatsu's most definite emotion seemed to be hatred of his adopted father. He writhed at the sound of that timid, approaching step, and dreaded the first note of the deprecating voice. Kano was fully aware of this aversion. He realized that, perhaps, it would be better for Tatsu if he did not come at all; yet in this one issue the selfishness of love prevailed. Age and despair were to be kept at bay. He had no weapons but the hours of comparative peace he spent at Tatsu's bedside. Full twenty years seemed added to the old man's burden of life. His back was stooped far over; his feet shuffled along the wooden corridors with the sound of the steps of one too heavily burdened. He never walked now without the aid of his friendly bamboo cane. The threat of Tatsu's self-destruction echoed always in his ears. Away from the actual presence of his idol it gnawed him like a famished wolf, and his mind tormented itself with fantastic and dreadful possibilities. Once Tatsu had hidden under his foreign pillow the china bowl in which broth was served. Kano whispered his discovery to the nurse, and when she wondered, explained to her with shivering earnestness that it was undoubtedly the boy's intention to break it against the iron bedstead the first moment he was left alone, and with a shard sever one of his veins. Tatsu grinned like a trapped badger when it was wrested from him, and said that he would find a way in spite of them all. After this not even a medicine bottle was left in the room, and the watch over the invalid was strengthened. "But," as old Kano remonstrated, "even though we prevent him for a few weeks more, how will it be when he can stand and walk,--when he is stronger than I?" To these questions came no answer. The second convalescence, so eagerly prayed for, became now a source of increasing dread. Something must be done,--some way to turn his morbid thoughts away from self-destruction. The old man climbed often, now, to the temple on the hill. The hospital room, in an upper story, was small, with matted floors, and a single square window to the east. The narrow white iron bed was set close to this window, so that the invalid might gaze out freely. Tatsu did not ask that it be changed though, indeed, each recurrent dawn brought martyrdom to him. The sound of sparrows at the eaves, the smell of dew, the look of the morning mist as it spread great wings above the city, hovering for an instant before its flight, the glow of the first pink light upon his coverlid, each was an iron of memory searing a soul already faint with pain. The attendant often marvelled why, at this hour, Tatsu buried his face from sight, and, emerging into clearer day, bore the look of one who had met death in a narrow pass. At noon, when the window showed a square of turquoise blue, he grew to watch with some faint pulse of interest the changing hues of light, and the clouds that shifted lazily aside, or heaped themselves up into rounded battlements of snow. Quite close to the window a single cherry branch, sweeping downward, cut space with a thick, diagonal line. Silvery lichens frilled the upper surface of the bark, and at the tip of each leafless twig, brown buds--small armored magazines of beauty--hinted already of the spring's rebirth. Life was all about him, and he hated life. Why should cherry blooms and sparrows dare to come again,--why should that old man near him wheeze and palpitate with life, why--why--should he, Tatsu, be held from his one friend, Death, when she, the essence of all life and beauty,--she who should have been immortal,--drifted alone, helpless, a broken white sea-flower, on some black, awful tide? In the midst of such dreary imaginings, old Kano, late in the last month of the year, crept in upon his son. He was an hour earlier than his custom. Also there was something unusual,--a new energy, perhaps a new fear, noticeable in face and voice. But Tatsu, still bleeding with his visions of the dawn, saw nothing of this. The premature visit irritated him. "Go, go," he cried, turning his face sharply away. "This is a full hour early. Am I to have no moments to myself?" "My son, my son," pleaded the old man, "I have come a little before time, because I have brought--" "Do not call me son," interrupted the petulant boy. "It is wretchedness to look upon you. She would be here now, but for you. You killed her! You drove her to it!" "No, Tatsu, you wrong me! As I have assured you, and as her own words say,--she made the sacrifice from her own heart. It was that her presence obscured your genius, my son. She was unselfish and noble beyond all other women. She--went--for your sake--" "For my sake!" jeered the other. "You mean, for the sake of the things you want me to paint! Well, I tell you again, I will neither live _nor_ paint! Yes, that touches you. Human agony is nothing to your heart of jade. You would catch these tears I shed to mix a new pigment! You do not regret her. You would think the price cheap, if only I will paint. I hate all pictures! I curse the things I have done! Would that, indeed, I had the tongue of a dragon, that I might lick them from the silk!" "Tatsu, my poor son, be less violent. I urge nothing! The gods must do with you as they will, but here is something--a letter--" Fumbling, with shaking fingers, in his long, black sleeve, he drew out a filmy, white rectangle. The look of it, so like to one pinned to a certain pillow in the dawn, sent a new thrill of misery through the boy. "A letter! Who would write me a letter,--unless souls in the Meido-land can write! Back, back,--do not touch me, or ere I kill myself I will find strength to slay you first. I will drag you with me to the underworld, as I journey in searching for my wife, and fling your craven soul to devils, as one would fling offal to a dog! Speak not to me of painting, nor of her!" At the sight of extra attendants hurrying in, Tatsu waved them to leave him, threw himself back, stark, upon the pillow, and closed his eyes so tightly that the wrinkles radiated in black lines from the corners. He panted heavily, as from a long race. His forehead twitched and throbbed with purple veins. Flung down cruelly from the exhilaration which a moment before had been his, old Kano seated himself on a chair directly in sight of Tatsu's bed. The nurses stole away, leaving the two men together. Each remained motionless, except for hurried breathing, and the pulsing of distended veins. A crow, perched on the cherry branch outside the window, tilted a cold, inquisitive eye into the room. Tatsu was the first to move. The reaction of excitement was creeping upon him, drawing the sting from pain. He turned toward his visitor and began to study, with an impersonal curiosity, the aspect of the pathetic figure. Kano was sitting, utterly relaxed, at the edge of the cane-bottomed foreign chair His head hung forward, and his lids were closed. For the first time Tatsu noted how scanty and how white his hair had grown; how thin and wrinkled the fine old face. Something akin to compassion rose warm and human in the looker's throat. He had opened his lips to speak kindly (it would have been the first gentle word since Umè's loss) when the sight of his name, in handwriting, on the letter, froze the very air about him, and held him for an instant a prisoner of fear. The envelope dangled loosely from Kano's fingers. On it was traced, in Umè-ko's beautiful, unmistakable hand, "For my beloved husband, Kano Tatsu." "The letter, the letter," he cried hoarsely, pointing downward. "It is mine,--give it!" Kano raised his head. The reaction of excitement was on him too, and it had brought for him a patient hopelessness. It did not seem to matter a great deal just now what Tatsu did or thought. He would never paint. That alone was enough blackness to fill a hell of everlasting night. "Give it to me," insisted the boy, leaning far out over the bed. "Did you bring it only to torture me? Quick, quick,--it is mine!" "I brought it to give, and you repulsed me. I had found it but this morning, in your painting room, pinned to a silken frame on which you had begun her picture! She must have put it there before--before--" "If you have a shred of pity or of love for me, give it and go," gasped the boy. Kano rose with slow dignity. "Yes, it is for you, and I will give it and leave, as you ask, if I can have your promise--" "Yes, yes, I promise everything,--anything,--I will not strive to slay myself,--at least until after your return--" "That is enough," said the old man, and with a sigh held the missive out. Tatsu snatched it through the air. The perfume of plum blossoms was stealing from it. Once alone he crushed the delicate tissue against eyes and lips and throat. He rolled upon the bed in agony, only to press again to his heart this balm of her written words. It seemed to him, then, that the letter might really have come from the Meido-land. Could it be true, as the old priest said, that her soul continually hovered near, waiting only for him to give it recognition? "Umè, Umè,--my wife! Come back to me!" he cried aloud in an agony so great that it should drag her backward through that dark shadow-world,--not only the phantom of what she was, but Umè-ko herself, with the flower-like body, and the smile of light. He opened the missive slowly, that not a shred should be torn, and spread the thin tissue smoothly on his foreign pillow. "This, beloved, being the forty-ninth day,--the seven-times-seventh-day after my passing,--when souls of those departed are given special privilege to return to earth, I speak thus, dumbly, to my lord. Although the fingers tracing now these timid lines are not permitted to touch you, oh, believe that, as you read, I wait at the door of your heart. O thou who art so dear, give to me, I pray, a shelter and a habitation. Then, because of my great love, I shall be one with you, bringing you comfort and myself great blessedness. O thou, who art still my husband, I beseech you to realize that any act on your part of violence and self-destruction will hurl our lives apart to the full width of the ten existences; so that, through another thousand years of unfulfilment we shall be groping in the dark, like children who have lost their way, calling ever, each on the name of the other. "The birds of the air know, when storms arise, where to find their nests. Even the fox has shelter in the hill. Shall the soul of Umè-ko seek and find no shelter? Send me not forth again in lonely travail! Open your heart to me, O thou who art loved as no man was ever loved before thee! Umè-ko." Kano, listening at the door, thought that the boy had fainted. One nurse, then another, crept near. At last the old man, unable to endure the strain, peered through a crevice. He fell back instantly, pressing both hands upon his mouth to stifle the cry of joy. Tatsu alive, awake, with eyes opened wide, gazed upward smiling, as into the face of Buddha. X The New Year festival, Shogatsu, had come and gone: white-flower buds gleamed like pearls on the lichen-covered, twisted limbs of the old "dragon-plum" by Umè's chamber ledge, when Tatsu and his adopted father entered once more together the little Kano home. If the young husband had realized, all along, what this coming ordeal might mean, he had given no sign of it. Kano and the physicians feared for him. The last test, it was to be, of sanity and of endurance. The actual hour of departure from the hospital fell late in January. More than once before a day had been decreed, only to be postponed because of a sudden physical weakening--mysterious and apparently without cause--on the part of the patient. "I will return with you as soon as I may," Tatsu had assured his father on the day of reading Umè's letter. "I will try to live, and even to paint. Only, I pray you, speak not the name of--her I have lost." This promise was given willingly enough. Kano's chief difficulty now was to hide his growing happiness. It was much to his interest that the subject of Umè be avoided. Even a dragon painter from the mountains must know something of certain primitive obligations to the dead, and for Umè not even an ihai had been set up by that of her mother in the family shrine. When Tatsu learned this he would marvel, and probably be angry. If by his own condition of silence he were debarred from attacking Kano, so much the better for Kano. It was this disgraceful and unheard-of negligence--a matter already of common gossip in the neighborhood--that added the last measure of bitterness to old Mata's grief. Was her master demented through sorrow that he so challenged public censure, and was willing to cast dishonor upon the name of his only child? Hour after hour in the lonely house did the old dame seek to piece together the broken edges of her shattered faith. The master had always been a religious man, over-zealous, she had thought, in minute observances. Yet now he was willing to neglect, to ignore, the very fundamental principles of social decency. Personally he had seemed wretched enough after Umè's loss. The kindly neighbors had at first marvelled aloud at his whitening hair and heavily burdened frame. Mata, pleased at the sympathy, did nothing to distract it; but in her heart she knew that it was Tatsu's illness, not his daughter's death, that bore upon old Kano like the winter snow upon his pines. On that most sacred period of mourning, the seven-times-seventh day after "divine retirement," when the spirit is privileged to enter most closely into the hearts of those that pray, Mata had believed that, beyond doubt, the full ceremony would be held. Surely the sweet, wandering soul was now to be given its kaimyo, was to be soothed by prayer, and be refreshed by the ghostly essence of tea and rice and fruit, placed before its ihai upon the shrine! What must the dead girl's mother have been thinking all this time? Mata woke before the dawn to pray. Kano, too, was awake early. She hurried to him, her first words a petition. But, no, he had no thought, even on this day of all days, for his child. He was off without his breakfast, an hour earlier than usual, to the hospital, a letter in his hand. Mata literally fell upon her knees before him, importuning him for the honor of the family name, if not in love for Umè-ko, to give orders at the temple for the holding of religious ceremonies. But Kano, himself almost in tears, eager, excited, though obviously in quite another whirlpool of emotions, urged her to be patient just a little longer. "I think all will yet be well," he assured her. "I have some hope to-day!" "All will yet be well!" mocked the old dame through clenched teeth, watching the bent old figure hurrying from her. "As if anything could ever again be well, with my young mistress dead, and not even her body recovered for burial!" In spite of her dislike for Tatsu, the lonely woman found herself watching, with some impatience, for the day of his actual return. Successive postponements had fretted her, and sharpened curiosity. She had not seen him since his illness. Upon that January noon when his kuruma rolled slowly in under the gate-roof, followed by anxious Kano and one of the male nurses from the hospital, she had turned toward him the old look of resentment: but, instead of the brief and chilling glance she had thought to use, found herself staring, gaping, in amazement and incredulity. She did not believe, for the first moment, that the wreck she saw was Tatsu. This bowed and shrunken ghost of suffering,--this loose, pallid semblance of a man, the beautiful, defiant, compelling demigod of the mountains that had swept down upon them! No! sorrow could wreak miracles of the soul, but no such physical transformation as this! She continued to watch furtively, in a sort of terror, the tall figure as it was assisted from the kuruma and led, shambling, through the house. The three moved on to the wing containing Umè's chamber, and the painting room. Mata heard the fusuma close gently, the nurse's voice give admonition to "keep his spirit strong for this last stress," heard old Kano falter, "Farewell, my son, no one shall disturb you in these rooms," and had barely time to regain her presence of mind as the two men, Kano and the nurse, entered her kitchen. The former spoke: "Mata, your young master is to remain, unmolested, in that part of the house. Do not offer him rice, or tea, or anything whatever. When he needs and desires it he will himself emerge and ask for food. Above all things, do not knock upon his fusuma or call his name. These are the physician's orders." "Exactly!" corroborated the nurse, with a professional air. "Kashikomarimashita!" muttered the old dame in sullen acquiescence. "You need not have feared that I should intrude upon him!" For three days and nights Tatsu remained to himself. The anxious listeners heard at times the sound of restless pacing up and down,--the thin, sibilant noise of stockinged feet sliding on padded straw. Again there would be a thud, as of a body fallen, or sunken heavily to the floor. Kano, on the second day, pale with apprehension, went early to the hospital for a revocation, or at least a modification of the instructions. The doctor's mandate was the same, "Do not go near him. Life, as well as reason, may depend upon this battle with his own despair. Only the gods can help him." To the gods, then, Kano went as well; climbing the long, steep road to the temple, where he made offerings and poured out from his anxious heart the very essence of loving prayer. On the third day, Kano being thus absent, and old Mata alone in her kitchen as nervous, she would have told you, as a fish with half its scales off, she heard the fusuma of the distant room shudder, and then, with a sound of feeble jerks, begin to separate. She knew that it was Tatsu, and rallied herself for the approach. Through the shaded corridor came a figure scarcely animate, moving it would seem in answer to a soundless call. It entered the kitchen halting, and looking about as one in an unfamiliar place. On a square stone brasier, fed with glowing coals, the rice-pot steamed. The delicate vapor, tinged with aroma of the cooking food, made a fine mist in the air. Suddenly he thrust an arm out toward the fire. "Rice!--I am faint with hunger," he whispered. As if the few words had taken his last store of strength, he sank to the floor. Mata sprang to him. He had swooned. His face, young and beautiful in spite of the centuries of pain upon it, lay back, helpless, on her arm. She stared strangely down upon him, wondering where the old antipathy had gone, and striving (for she was an obstinate old soul, was Mata) consciously to recall it,--but the core of her hate was gone. Like a true woman she began to make self-excuses for the change. "It may have been because of this poor boy and his unhappy karma that my nursling had to die," said she. "But, look what love has done to him! Death is only another name for paradise compared with the agony sunken deep into this young face!" She placed him gently, at full length, upon the padded floor. She chafed the flaccid wrists, the temples, the veins about his ears, and then, leaning over, blew on the heavy lids. "Umè-ko, my wife, my wife," he whispered, and tried to smile. A wave of pity swept from the old dame's mind the last barrier of mistrust. "Yes, Master, here is Umè's nurse," she said in soothing tones. "Not Umè-ko,--she has gone away from us,--but the poor old nurse who loves her. I will serve you for her sake. Here, put your head upon this pillow,--she has often used it,--and now lie still until old Mata brings you rice and tea." She bustled off, her hands clattering busily among the cups and trays. As she worked, thankful, through her great agitation, for the familiar offices, she fought down, one by one, those great, distending sobs that push so hard a way upward through wrinkled throats. Tatsu was still a little dazed. His eyes followed her about the room with a plaintive regard, as if not entirely sure that she was real. "Did you say that you were--Umè's--nurse," he asked. "Yes. Don't you remember me, Master Tatsu? I am Mata, the old servant, and your Umè's nurse. I--I--was not always kind to you, I fear. I opposed your marriage, fearing for her some such sorrow as that which came. But it is past. The gods allowed it. I will now, for her sake, love and serve you,--my true master you shall be from this day, because I can see that your heart is gnawed forever by that black moth, grief, as mine is. Old Kano does not grieve,--he is a man of stone, of mud!" she cried. "But I must not speak of his sins, yet; here is the good tea, Master, and the rice." She fed him like a child, allowing, at first, but a single sip of tea, a grain or two of rice. He, in his weakness, was gentle and obedient, like a good child, eating all she bade him, and refraining when she told him that he had enough. It was a new Tatsu that sorrow had given to the Kano home. But more wonderful than the transformation in him was, in Mata's thought, the complete reversal of her own emotions. Even in the midst of service she stopped to wonder how, so soon, it could be sweet to serve him,--to minister thus to the man she had called the evil genius of the house. In some mysterious way it seemed that through him the dead young wife was being served. In the smile he bent upon her, the old nurse fancied that she caught a tenderness as of Umè's smile. Perhaps, indeed, the homeless soul, denied its usual shelter in the shrine, made sanctuary of the husband's earthly frame. Perhaps, too, Kano had hoped for this, and so refused the ihai. However these high things might be, Mata knew she had gained strange comfort in the very fact of Tatsu's presence, in the companionship of his suffering. When, being nourished, Tatsu insisted on sitting upright, and had recalled the scene about him, his first question was of Umè's shrine, where the ihai had been set, and what the kaimyo. This loosened Mata's tongue, and, with a sensation of deep relief, she began to empty her heart of its pent-up acrimony. Tatsu listened now, attentively; not as would have been his way three months before with gesticulations and frequent interruptions, but gravely, with consideration, as one intent to learn the whole before forming an opinion. Even at the end he would say nothing but the words, "Strange, strange; there must be a reason that you have not guessed." "But we will get the ihai, will we not, Master? Together, when you are strong, we will climb the long road to the temple?" she questioned tremulously. "Indeed we shall," said Tatsu, with his heartrending smile; "for at best, the thoughts of Kano Indara cannot be our thoughts. He let her die." At this the other burst into such a passion of tears that she could not speak, but rocked, sobbing, to and fro, on the mats beside him. He wondered, with a feeling not far from envy, at this open demonstration of distress. "I cannot weep at all," he said. Then, a little later, when she had become more calm, "Are your tears for me or for Umè-ko?" "For both, for both," was the sobbing answer. "For her, that she had to die,--for you, that you must live." "Both are things to weep for," said the boy, and stared out straight before him, as one seeing a long road. Kano, returning later and finding the two together, marking as he did, at once, with the quick eye of love, how health already cast faint premonitions of a flush upon the boy's thin face, had much ado to keep from crying aloud his joy and gratitude. By strong effort only did he succeed in making his greeting calm. He used stilted, old-fashioned phrases of ceremony to one recently recovered from dangerous illness, and bowed as to a mere acquaintance. Tatsu, returning the bows and phrases, escaped in a few moments to his room, and emerged no more that day. Kano sighed a little, for the young face had been cold and stern. No love was to be looked for,--not yet, not yet. For a few days Tatsu did nothing but lie on the mats; or wander, aimlessly, over the house and garden. He came whenever Mata summoned him to meals, and ate them with old Kano, observing all outer semblances of respect. But it seemed an automaton who sat there, eating, drinking, and then, at the last, bowing over to the exact fraction of an inch, each time, and moving away to its own rooms. The old artist, mindful of certain professional warnings from the hospital physicians, never spoke in Tatsu's presence of paintings, or of anything connected with art. Within a few days it seemed to him that Tatsu had begun to watch him keenly, as if expecting, every instant, the broaching of that subject which he knew was always uppermost in the other's mind. But the old man, for the first time in his whole life, had begun to use tact. He never followed Tatsu to his rooms, never intruded into those long conversations now held, many times a day, between Mata and her young master; never even commented to Mata upon her change of attitude. About five days after his first appearance in the kitchen, Tatsu and the old servant left the house together, giving Kano no hint of their destination. He watched them with a curious expression on his face. He knew that they were to climb together to the temple, and that it was a pilgrimage from which he was contemptuously debarred. They returned, some hours later, and were busied all the afternoon with the placing and decorations of an exquisite "butsu-dan," or Buddhist shelf, on which the ihai of the dead are placed. At the abbot's advice (and yet against all precedent) this was put, not beside the butsu-dan, where Kano's young wife had for so many years been honored, but in Tatsu's own bed-chamber, thus making of it a "mita-yama," or spirit room. Kano, visiting it, unperceived, next day, noted with the same curious, half-quizzical, half-pathetic look that no Buddhist kaimyo or after-name had been given to his daughter. It was the earth-name, Kano Umè-ko, which the old abbot had written upon the lacquered tablet of wood. Added to it, as a sort of title, was the phrase, "To her who loves much." "That is true enough," thought old Kano, and touched his eyes an instant with his sleeve. During the following week Tatsu, of himself, drew out his painting materials and tried to work. An instant later he had hurled the things from him with a cry, had slammed together the walls of his chamber, and lay in silence and darkness for many hours. At the time of the night-meal he came forth. Kano, to whom sorrow was teaching many things, made no comment upon his exclusion; and even old Mata refrained from searching his face with her keen eyes. The next day he made the second attempt. His fusuma were opened, and Mata could see how his face blanched to yellow wax, how the lips writhed until they were caught back by strong, cruel teeth, and how the thin hands wavered. Notwithstanding this inward torture, he persisted. At first the lines of his brush were feeble. His work looked like that of a child. Through subsequent days of discouragement and brave effort his power of painting grew with a slow but normal splendor of achievement. His fame began to spread. The "New Kano" and "The Dragon Painter of Kiu Shiu" the people of the city called him. Not only his work but his romantic, miserable story drew sympathy to him, and bade fair to make of him a popular idol. Older artists wished to paint his portrait. Print-makers hung about his house striving to catch at least a glimpse of him, which being elaborated, might serve as his likeness in the weekly supplement of some up-to-date newspaper. Sentimental maidens wrote poems to him, tied them with long, shining filaments of hair, and suspended them to the gate, or upon the bamboo hedges of the Kano home. But against all these petty, personal annoyances Tatsu had the double guard of Kano and old Mata San. The pride of the latter in this "Son of our house" was unbounded. One would have thought that she discovered him, had rescued him from death and that it was now through her sole influence his reputation as an artist grew. Noble patrons came to the little cottage bearing rolls of white silk, upon which they entreated humbly, "That the illustrious and honorable young painter, Kano Tatsu, would some day, when he might not be augustly inconvenienced by so doing, trace a leaf or a cloud,--anything, in fact, that fancy could suggest, so that it was the work of his own inimitable hand. For the condescension they trusted that he would allow them to give a present of money,--as large a sum as he was willing to name." "A second Sesshu! A second Sesshu!" old Kano would murmur to himself, in subdued ecstacy. "So did they load his ship with silk, four centuries ago!" Of most of these commissions, Tatsu never heard. Kano did not wish the boy's work to be blown wide over the great city as it had been blown along the mountain slopes of Kiu Shiu. Nor did he wish the thought of gain or of personal ambition to creep into Tatsu's heart. Now he spent most of the day-lit hours secluded in his little study, painting those scenes and motives suggested by the keynote of his mood. Of late he had begun to read, with deep interest, the various essays on art, gathered in Kano's small, choice library. He would sometimes talk with his father about art, and let the eager old man demonstrate to him the different brush-strokes of different masters. The widely diversified schools of painting as they had flourished throughout the centuries of his country's social and religious life aroused in him an impersonal curiosity. He began to try experiments, realizing, perhaps, that to a genius strong and sane as his even fantastic ventures in technique were little more than bright images flecking, for an instant, the immutable surface of a mirror. All methods were essayed,--the liquid, flowing line of the Chinese classics, Tosa's nervous, shattered lightning-strokes of painted motion, the soft, gray reveries of the great Kano school of three centuries before, when, to the contemplative mind all forms of nature, whether of the outer universe or in the soul of man, were but reflecting mirrors of a single faith; the heaped-up gold and malachite of Korin's decoration, sweet realistic studies of the Shijo school, even down to the horrors of "abura-yè," oil-painting, as it is practised in the Yeddo of to-day, each had for him its special interest and its inspiration. He leaned above the treasure-chests of time, choosing from one and then another, as a wise old jewel-setter chooses gems. Because ambition, art, existence had come to be, for him, gray webs spun thin across the emptiness of his days, because all hope of earthly joy was gone, he had now the power to trace, with almost superhuman mimicry and skill, the shadow-pictures of his shadow-world. Yet gradually it became not merely a dull necessity to paint, the one barrier that held from him a devastating grief, but also something of a solace. The room where Umè's ever-lighted shrine was kept came more and more to seem the expression of herself. This the old priest had promised; Umè's letter had assured him that thus she would be near. In the blurred, purple hour of dusk when paints must be laid aside, and the heart given over to dreaming, the little room became her very earthly entity, the soft, smoke-tinted walls her breathing, the elastic matted floor but the remembered echoes of her feet, the sliding sliver fusuma her sleeves, the butsudan, with its small, clear lamp, its white wood, and its flowers, her face. Now always he kept the walls that used to separate their chamber and his painting room removed; so that a single essence filled both rooms. And here, as he worked silently day after day, it seemed to him that she had learned to come. At first shy, undecided, in some far corner of the space she watched him; then, taking courage, would drift near. She leaned now by his shoulder, as he worked. Always it was the left shoulder. He could feel her breath--colder indeed than from a living woman--upon his bared throat. Sometimes a little hand, light as the dust upon a moth's wing, rested the ghost of a moment on his robe. Once, he could have sworn her cheek had touched his hair. So strong was this impression that an ague shivered through him, and his heart stopped, only to beat again with violent strokes. When the physical tremor was over he arose, took up her round metal mirror, and went to the veranda to see by strong light whether any trace of the spirit touch remained. No, there was only, as usual, the tossed, black locks of hair through which sorrow had begun to weave her silver strands. January, with its snows, had passed. The plum-tree buds had opened, one by one, in the chill, early winds of spring, giving at times unwilling hospitality to flakes of snow whiter than themselves. In February, under warmer sunshine, the blossoms showed in constellations, a myriad on a single branch. Then, all too soon, the falling of wan petals made a perfumed tragedy of snow upon the garden paths. Tatsu grew to love the old dragon plum as Umè-ko had loved it. She was its name-child, Umè, and he felt its sweetness to be one with her. At night the perfume crept in to him through crannies of the close-shut amado and shoji, revivifying, to keen agony, his longing for his wife. There were moonlit nights he could not rest for it, but would rise, pacing the cold, wet pebbles of the garden, or wandering, like a distracted spirit that had lost its way, through the thoroughfares of the sleeping town. His whole life now, since he had cheated death, was blurred and vague. To himself he seemed an unreal thing projected, like a phantom light, upon the wavering umbra of two contrasting worlds. The halves of him, body and animating thought, fitted each other loosely, and had a strange desire to drift apart. The quiet, obedient Tatsu, regaining day by day the strength and beauty that his clean youth owed him, was to the inner Tatsu but a painted shell. The real self, clouded in eternal grief, knew clarity and purpose only before a certain flower-set shrine. He believed now, implicitly, that Umè's soul dwelt near him, was often with him in this room. A resolve half formed, and but partially admitted to himself,--for things of the other world are not well to meddle with,--grew slowly in him, to compel, by worship and never-relaxing prayer, the presence of her self,--her insubstantiate body, outlined upon the ether in pale light, or formed in planes of ghostly mist. Others had thus drawn visions from the under-world, and why not he? Even now she was, for him, the one fact of the ten existences. She knew it and he knew it. Why should not sight be added to the unchallenged datum of the mind. Living, they had often read each other's thoughts. They held, he knew, as yet, their separate intelligences,--still they could bridge a blessed duality by love. Even now it would have surprised him little to hear the very sound of her voice echo from the inner shrine, to feel a little white hand pass like a cloud across his upraised brow. At such moments he told himself that he was satisfied, she was his until death and beyond. No one could separate them now! These were, alas, the higher peaks of love. There waited for him, as he knew too well, steep hillsides set with swords, and valleys terrible with fire. "So that we be together, Even the Hell of the Blood Lake, Even the Mountain of Swords, Mean nothing to us at all!" So they had sung. So that we be together! Ah, together,--that was the essence of it, that the key! "And this is what I want!" groaned the suffering man. "This ghostly resignation is a self-numbing of the heart. I care not for the ghost, the spirit, however pure. I want the wife I have lost,--her smile, her voice, her little hands to touch me! Oh, Umè-ko, my wife, my wife!" If, as the abbot said, this phase of grief were bestial, were unworthy of the woman who had died for him, then why did not the listening soul of her shrink? He knew that it was not repelled, whatever the frenzy of his grief. Indeed, at such times of agony she leaned down closer, longing to comfort him. If it were given her to speak she would have cried, "My husband!" Wherever she might drift,--in the black ocean, in the Meido-land, yes, even in the smile of Buddha on his throne,--she yearned for her lover as he for her, with a human love; she stretched out arms of mist to him, and tinged the pale ether of the spirit world with love's rosy flame. One such night, during the time of plum-tree falling, when the boy, tortured by the almost human sweetness of the flowers, had risen from his bed to flee memory across the wide, cold plains of night, he had left, in his hurried going, the doors and shutters of his room spread wide. Mata and old Kano, accustomed to these midnight sounds, merely turned on their lacquered pillows, murmured "Poor tormented Tatsu," and went to sleep again. It had been a day of power for the young artist, but not a day of peace. The picture he had worked on he would have called one of his "nightmare fancies." It showed a slender form in gray with one arm about a willow. She and the tree both leaned above swift, flowing water, and her eyes were fixed in sombre brooding. On the bank, in abrupt foreshortening, lay the figure of a man. He looked at her. From the river, unmarked as yet by either, rose the gray face and long, red hair of a Kappa, or malicious river sprite. This sketch, unfinished, for the Kappa was a mere indication of red locks and a tall, thin form, stood against a pillar of the tokonoma at just the angle where the soft light of the butsu-dan shed a pale glow across it. Brushes, paints, and various small saucers littered the floor. Tatsu had stopped his work abruptly, overcome by the very power of his own delineation. He was absent from the house for several hours. The long walk through unseen streets and over unnoticed bridges had given the boon, at least, of physical fatigue. Now, perhaps, he could get to sleep before the black ants of thought had rediscovered him. Entering the room quietly he closed the shoji, smoothed the bed-clothes with an impatient hand, and knelt, for an instant, before the shrine. Perhaps, after all, rest was not to come. The air was sweet and heavy with Umè-ko. The faint perfume of sandalwood which, living, always hung about her garments, flowed in with the odor of the plum. She must be near,--Umè herself, in mortal garments. In the next room, the veranda, hiding in the closet to spring out merrily upon him! He groaned and strove to plunge his mind into prayer. The unfinished picture stood close at hand. Suddenly he noticed it, and, with a gasp, stooped to it. Something had changed; the whole vibration of its lines were subtly new. There was the girl's figure, the leaning willow, the man,--content, insensate, sprawling upon the bank,--but the Kappa! Buddha the Merciful, could it be true? Where he had left a Kappa, waiting until to-morrow to give the triumph, the leering satisfaction at the human grief it fed on, rose the white form and pitying face of Kwannon Sama,--she to whom his Umè loved to pray. The eyes, soft, humid with compassion, looked directly out to his. They were Umè's eyes! He caught up one brush after the other. All had been used, and Umè's touch was upon them. Her aura permeated them. He rushed now to the veranda. In leaving the rooms, three hours before, he had not taken the usual stone step which led into the garden under the branches of the plum, but had leaped directly from the low flooring, not caring where he trod. He remembered now that the stone had been white in the moonlight. It was now swept clean of petals, as though by the hurried trailing of a woman's dress. Was this the way in which she was to manifest herself? And would a spirit-robe brush surfaces so vehemently? And would a ghostly hand use brushes and pigments of ground-earth? Unable to endure the room, he went again into the night, no further this time than the little garden. In the neighborhood dogs were barking fiercely, as though in the wake of a presence. By sound he followed it, and it moved up the hill. The very garden now was tinged with sandalwood. Until the dawn, and after, he walked the pebbled paths, not thinking, indeed not fearing, hoping, or giving conscious form to speculation. He was dazed. But the young blood in his veins ran alternate currents of fire and ice. With the first sun-ray he perceived a companion in the dewy solitude. He had noticed the figure before, but always, until this hour, at twilight. It was the form of a nun standing, high above him on the temple cliff, with one arm about a tree. After this nothing mysterious broke the quiet routine of his life. The presence of Umè in the chamber seemed to fade a little, but, for some reason inexplicable to himself, this brought now no poignant grief. He did not tell the wonderful thing to Mata or old Kano, but hid the still unfinished picture where no one but himself could see it. So February passed, and March. XI With April came the cherry-flowers, wistaria, and peonies; with iris in the bud, and shy hedge-violets; wonder of yama buki shrubs that played gold fountains on the hills, and the swift, bright contagion of young grass. Even from old Kano's moon-viewing hillock one might see, in looking out across the desert of gray city roofs, round tops of cherry trees rising like puffs of rosy smoke. From out the face of the temple cliff long, supple fronds of ferns unrolled, bending uncertain arms toward the garden. The tangled sasa-grass rustled new sleeves of silk; and the great camphor tree, air-hung in blue, seemed caught in a jewelled mesh of chrysoprase and gold. Down in the lower level of the garden, too, springtime busied itself with beauty. The potted plants, once Umè-ko's loved charges, had become now, quite mysteriously to himself, Tatsu's companions and his special care. Among the more familiar growths a few foreign bushes had been given place, a rose, a heliotrope, and a small, frightened cyclamen. Slips of chrysanthemum needed already to be set for the autumn yield. Tatsu, watering and tending them, thought with wistful sadness upon these plans for future enjoyment. "We are all bound upon the wheel of life," he said to them. "Would that with me, as you, the turning were but for a single season!" "My son," the elder man began abruptly, at a certain noonday meal about the middle of the month, "how is it that you never go with me to the temple on the hill?" Tatsu looked up from his rice-bowl in some surprise. The relations between these two, though externally kind, had never approached intimacy. Kano indeed idolized his adopted son with pathetic and undisguised fervor; but with Tatsu, though other things might have been forgiven, the old man's continued disrespect to his daughter's memory, his refusal to join even in the simplest ceremony of devotion, kept both him and old Mata chilled and distant. The one possible explanation,--aside from that of wanton cruelty,--was a thing so marvellous, so terrible in implied suggestion, that the boy's faint soul could make for it no present home; let it drift, a great luminous nebula of hope, a little longer on the rim of nothingness. The answer now to Kano's question betrayed a hint of the more rational animosity. "You had never seemed to desire it. And I have my place of worship here." "Yes, I know. Of course I knew that!" the other hurried on in some agitation. Then he paused, as if uncertain how to word the following thought. "I do wish it!" he broke forth, with an effort. "I make request now that you go with me, this very day, at twilight." "If it is your honorable desire," said Tatsu, bowing in indifferent acquiescence. A moment later he had finished his meal, and rose to go. Kano moved restlessly on the mats. He drew out the solace of a little pipe, but his nervous fingers fumbled and shook so, that the slim rod of bamboo tipped with silver escaped him, and went clattering down among the empty dishes of the tray. Mata's apprehensive face showed instantly at a parting of the kitchen fusuma. She sighed aloud, as she noted a great triangle chipped from the edge of an Imari bowl. Only two of those bowls had remained; now there was but one. "Tatsu, my son, may I depend upon you? This day, as soon as the light begins to fail?" Tatsu, in the doorway, paused to look. Evidently the speaker struggled with a strong excitement. Something in the twitching face, the eager, shifting eyes, brought back a vision of that meal on the evening that preceded Umè's death, when she and her father had leaned together, whispering, ignoring him, and afterward had left the house, giving him no hint of their errand. He felt with dread a premonition of new bitterness. "I shall be ready at the twilight hour," he said, and went to his room. That afternoon Tatsu did little painting. Silent and motionless as one of the frames against the wall, he sat staring for long intervals out upon the garden. The sunshine gave no pleasure, only a blurring of his sight. Beauty was not there for him, this day. He was thinking of those hours of October sunlight, when the whole earth reeled with joy, for Umè-ko was of it! Where was she now? And what had there been in Kano's look and voice to rouse those sleeping demons of despair? Could any new sorrow await him at the temple? No, his present condition had at least the negative value of absolute void. From nothing, nothing could be taken; and to it, nothing be supplied! In spite of this colorless assurance it was with something of reluctance, of shrinking, that he prepared to leave the house. Few words were spoken between the two. Catching up the skirts of narrow, silken robes a little higher, they tucked the folds into their belts, and side by side began the long, slow climbing of the road. The city roofs beneath them hurried off to the edge of the world like ripples left in the gray sand-bed of a stream. Above the plain the mist drew in its long, horizontal lines of gray. About half the distance up the steep the temple bell above them sounded six slow, deliberate strokes. First came the sonorous impact of the swinging beam against curved metal, then the "boom," the echo,--the echoes of that echo to endless repetition, sifting in layers through the thinner air upon them, sweeping like vapor low along the hillside with a presence and reality so intense that it should have had color, or, at least, perfume; settling in a fine dew of sound on quivering ferns and grasses, permeating, it would seem, with its melodious vibration the very wood of the houses and the trunks of living trees. Reaching at last the temple court, old Kano took the lead, crossed the wide-pebbled space, and halted with his companion at the edge of the cliff. A cry of wonder came from Tatsu's lips; that low, inimitable cry of the true artist at some new stab of beauty. Delicately the old man withdrew, and hid himself in the shadow of the temple. Tatsu stared out, alone. He saw the round bay like a mirror,--like Umè's mirror; and to the west the peak of Fuji, a porphyry cone against the sunset splendor. No wonder that the gray nuns came here at this hour, or that she, the slender, isolated one, lingered to drain the last bright drop of beauty! He looked about now to discover her tree. Yes, there it was, quite close; not a willow as he had sometimes thought, but a young maple, unusually upright of growth. It had been leafless, but now the touch of spring had lighted every twig with a pale flame-point of red. He recalled that in the autumn it had made a crimson heart against the sky; and later had sent down into the Kano garden frail alms of ruby films. Umè had loved to catch them in her hands, wondering at their brightness, and trying to make him wonder, too. Love-letters of the passing year, she called them; songs dyed with the autumn's heart's-blood of regret that he must yield the sweet, warm earth to his gray rival, winter. She had pretended that the small, crossed veinlets of the leaves were Chinese ideographs which it was given her to decipher. Holding him off with one outstretched arm she would have read to him,--fantastic, exquisite interpreter of love,--but he, mad brute, had caught the little hands, the autumn leaves, and crushed them to one hot glow, crying aloud that nature, beauty, love were all made one in her. Such grief he must have given many times. He threw his head hack as in sudden hurt, a gesture becoming habitual to him, and drew a long, impatient, tremulous sigh. As if to cast aside black thought, he strode over quickly to the maple tree, flung an arm around it, and leaned over to stare down into his garden with the gray nun's eyes. There it was, complete, though in miniature;--rocks, pines, the pigmy pool, the hillock squatting in one corner like an old, gray garden toad, and in another corner, scarcely of larger size, the cottage. Kano plucked nervously at his sleeve. "You lean too far. Come, Tatsu, I have a--a--place to show you." Tatsu wheeled with a start. Try as he would he shivered and grew faint, even yet, at the sound of Kano's voice breaking abruptly in upon a silence. He gave a nod of acquiescence and, with downbent head, followed his guide diagonally across the temple court, past the wide portico where sparrows and pigeons fought for night-quarters in the carved, open mouths of dragons, along the side of the main building until, to Tatsu's wonder, they stopped before a little gate in the nunnery wall. "I thought it was almost death for a man to enter here!" exclaimed the boy. "For most men it is," said Kano, producing a key of hammered brass about nine inches long. "But I desired to go the short path to the cemetery, and it lies this way. As I have told you, the abbot was my boyhood's friend." Within the convent yard,--a sandy space enclosed in long, low buildings of unpainted wood,--Tatsu saw a few gray figures hurrying to cover; and noticed that more than one bright pair of eyes peered out at them through bamboo lattices. Over the whole place brooded the spirit of unearthly peace and sweetness which had been within the gift of the holy bishop and his acolytes even at that time of torment in the hospital cell. The same faint Presence, like a plum tree blossoming in the dark, stole through the young man's senses, luring and distressing him with its infinite suggestions of lost peace. At the farther wall of the court they came to an answering door. This was already unlocked and partially ajar. It opened directly upon the highest terrace of the cemetery which led down steeply in great, curved, irregular steps to a plain. The crimson light in the west had almost gone. Here to the north, where rice-fields and small huddled villages stretched out as far as the eye could see, a band of hard, white light still rested on the horizon, throwing back among the hillside graves a pale, metallic sheen. Each shaft of granite was thus divided, one upright half, blue shadow, the other a gray-green gleam. All looked of equal height. A gray stone Buddha on his lotos pedestal, or the long graceful lines of a standing Jizo, only served to emphasize the uniformity. This was a place most dear to Kano, and had been made so to his child. He even loved the look of the tombs. "Gray, splintered stalagmites of memory," he had called them, and when the child Umé had learned the meaning of the simile she had put her little finger to a spot of lichen and asked, "Then are these silver spots our tears?" The old man stepped down very softly to the second tier. A nightingale was calling low its liquid invocation, "Ho-ren-k-y-y-o-o-o!" Perhaps old Kano moved so softly that he might not lose the echoes of this cry. The two men seemed alone in the silent scene. Once Tatsu thought his eye caught a swift flicker, as of a gray sleeve, but he was not sure. At any rate he would not think of it, or speculate, or marvel! He was beginning to tremble before the unknown. The sense of shrinking, of miracle, of being, perhaps, too small to contain the thing decreed, bore hard upon him. With it came a keen impression of the unreality of the material universe,--of Buddhist illusion. Even these adamantine records of death, rising on every side to challenge him,--even these might recombine their particles before his very eyes,--might shiver into mist and float down to the plain to mingle with the smoke of cooking as it rose from the peasant huts. Anything might happen, or nothing! Kano had stopped short before a grave. For once Tatsu was glad to hear his voice. "Here lie the clean ashes of my young wife, Kano Uta-ko," said the old man, without preface or explanation. "In former days, before--before my illness, I came here often," said the other. His eyes hung on the written words of the kaimyo. "If you grieved deeply, it must have been great solace that you could come thus to her grave," he added wistfully. Then, as Kano still remained silent, he read aloud the beautiful daishi, "A flower having blossomed in the night, the Halls of the Gods are Fragrant." Kano drew a long sigh. "For nineteen years I have mourned her," he went on slowly. "As you know, a son was not given to us. She died at Umè's birth. I could not bring myself to replace her, even in the dear longing for a son." "A son!" Tatsu knew well what the old man meant. He lifted his eyes and stared out, mute, into the narrowing band of light. The old man drew his thin form very straight, moved a few feet that he might look squarely into the other's face, and said deliberately. "So did I mourn the young wife whom I loved, and so, if I know men, will you mourn, Kano Tatsu. Of such enduring stuff will be your grief for Umè-ko." It was said. The old man's promise had been torn like a leaf,--not to be mended or recalled,--torn and flung at his listener's feet. Yet such was the simplicity of utterance, such the nobility of poise, the beauty of the old face set like a silver wedge into the deepening mist, that Tatsu could only give him look for look, with no resentment. The young voice had taken on strangely the timbre of the old as, in equal soberness, he answered, "Such, Kano Indara, though I be burdened with years as many as your own,--will be the never-ceasing longing for my lost wife, Umè-ko." A little sob, loosed suddenly upon the night, sped past them. "What was it? Who is there?" cried Tatsu, sharply, wheeling round. Kano began to shake. "Perhaps--perhaps a night-bird," he stammered out. "A bird!" echoed Tatsu. "That sound was human. It is a woman, the Presence that has hung about me! Put down your arms,--you cannot keep me back!" "Be still!" cried out old Kano in the voice of angry kings. "Nothing will happen,--nothing, I say, if you act thus like the untamed creature that you were! Your fate is still in my hands, Kano Tatsu!" Tatsu fell down upon his knees, pulling at the old man's sleeves. "Father, father, have pity! I will be self-controlled and docile as I have been these long, long months. But now there is a thing so great that would possess me, my soul faints and sickens. Father, I ask your help, your tenderness. I think I have wronged you from the first,--my father!" Suddenly the old man hurled his staff away and sank weeping into the stronger arms. "I fear, I fear!" he wailed. "It may be still too early. But she said not,--the abbot counselled it! O gods of the Kano home!" "Father," asked Tatsu, rising slowly to his feet, his arms still close about the other, "can it be joy that is to find me, even in this life?" "Wait, you shall see," cried the old man, now laughing aloud, now weeping, like a hysterical girl. "You shall see in a moment! My dead wife takes me by the hand and leads me from you,--just a little way, dear Tatsu, just here among the shadows. No longer are the shadows for you,--joy is for you. Yes, Uta-ko, I 'm coming. The young love springs like new lilies from the old. Stand still, my son; be hushed, that joy may find you." He faltered backward and was lost. Upon the hillside came a stillness deeper than any previous interval of pause. From it the nightingale's low note thrust out a wavering clew. The day had gone, and a few stars dotted the vault of the sky. Tatsu threw back his head. There was no pain in the gesture now; he was trying to make room in his soul for an unspeakable visitor. The arch of heaven had grown trivial. Eternity was his one boundary. The stars twinkled in his blood. He heard the small human sob again, just at his elbow. All at once he was frozen in his place; he could not turn or move. His arms hung to his sides, his throat stiffened in its upward lines. And then a little hand, stealing from a nun's gray sleeve, slipped into his, and in a pause, a hush, it was before the full splendor of love's cry, he turned and saw that it was Umè-ko, his wife. [Illustration: "Then a little hand, stealing from a nun's gray sleeve, slipped into his."] * * * * * * Yeddo and modern Tokyo alike give entertainment to the traditional nine days' wonder. Sometimes the wonder does not fade at all, and so it was with the case of Tatsu and his wife. If he had been an idol, he was now a demigod, Umè-ko sharing the sweet divinity of human tenderness with him. Had it all happened a century before, the people would have built for them a yashiro, with altar and a shrine. Here they would have been worshipped as gods still in the flesh, and lovers would have prayed to them for aid and written verses and burned sweet incense. Being of modern Tokyo, most of this adulation went into newspaper articles. Old men envied Kano his dutiful daughter, young men envied Tatsu his beautiful and loving wife. The print-makers, indeed, perpetrated a series of representations that put old Kano's artistic teeth on edge. First there was Umè at the willow; then Tatsu, in the same place, taking his mad plunge for death's oblivion; Umè, the hooded acolyte, kneeling in the sick chamber at the head of her husband's bed; Umè, the nun, standing each day at twilight on the edge of the temple cliff to catch a glimpse of him she loved; and, at the last, Tatsu and Umè rejoined beside the tomb of Kano Uta-ko. Fortunately these pictures were never seen by the two most concerned. They went away on a second bridal journey, this time to Tatsu's native mountains in Kiu Shiu. While there, the good friend Ando Uchida was to be sought, and made acquainted with the strange history of the previous months. Mata and her old master remained placidly at home. They had no fears. At the appointed date--only a week more now--the two would come back, as they had promised, to begin the long, tranquil life of art and happiness. There were to be great pictures! Kano chuckled and rubbed his lean hands together, as he sat in his lonely room. Then the thought faded, for a tenderer thought had come. In a year or more, if the gods willed, another and a keener blessedness might be theirs. To dream quite delicately enough of this, the old man shut his eyes. Oh, it was a dream to make the springtime of the world stir at the roots of being! A tear crept down from the blue-veined lids, making its way through wrinkles, those "dry river-beds of smiles." If the baby fingers came,--those small, fearless fingers that were one's own youth reborn,--they would press out all fretful lines of age, leaving only tender traceries. He leaned forward, listening. Already he could hear the tiny feet echo along the rooms, could see small, shaven heads bowing their first good morning to the O Ji San,--revered, beloved patriarch of the home! How old Mata would idolize and scold and pet them! A queer old soul was Mata, with faults, as all women have, but in the main, a treasure! Good times were coming for the old folks in that house! So sat Kano, dreaming, in his empty chamber; and unless we have eternity to spare, nodding beside him on the mats, we must bow, murmuring, "Sayo-nara!" 
30024	----	Transcriber's Note: Text is heavily illustrated, so the illustration tags within have been removed to avoid congestion. * * * * * JAPANESE FAIRY TALES, Nº. 8. THE FISHER-BOY URASHIMA BY B. H. CHAMBERLAIN GRIFFITH FARRAN & CO., LONDON & SYDNEY, N.S.W. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. #THE FISHER-BOY URASHIMA.# Long, long ago there lived on the coast of the sea of Japan a young fisherman named Urashima, a kindly lad and clever with his rod and line. Well, one day he went out in his boat to fish. But instead of catching any fish, what do you think he caught? Why! a great big tortoise, with a hard shell and such a funny wrinkled old face and a tiny tail. Now I must tell you something which very likely you don't know; and that is that tortoises always live a thousand years,--at least Japanese tortoises do. So Urashima thought to himself: "A fish would do for my dinner just as well as this tortoise,--in fact better. Why should I go and kill the poor thing, and prevent it from enjoying itself for another nine hundred and ninety-nine years? No, no! I won't be so cruel. I am sure mother wouldn't like me to." And with these words, he threw the tortoise back into the sea. The next thing that happened was that Urashima went to sleep in his boat; for it was one of those hot summer days when almost everybody enjoys a nap of an afternoon. And as he slept, there came up from beneath the waves a beautiful girl, who got into the boat and said: "I am the daughter of the Sea-God, and I live with my father in the Dragon Palace beyond the waves. It was not a tortoise that you caught just now, and so kindly threw back into the water instead of killing it. It was myself. My father the Sea-God had sent me to see whether you were good or bad. "We now know that you are a good, kind boy who doesn't like to do cruel things; and so I have come to fetch you. You shall marry me, if you like; and we will live happily together for a thousand years in the Dragon Palace beyond the deep blue sea." So Urashima took one oar, and the Sea-God's daughter took the other; and they rowed, and they rowed, and they rowed till at last they came to the Dragon Palace where the Sea-God lived and ruled as King over all the dragons and the tortoises and the fishes. Oh dear! what a lovely place it was! The walls of the Palace were of coral, the trees had emeralds for leaves and rubies for berries, the fishes' scales were of silver, and the dragons' tails of solid gold. Just think of the very most beautiful, glittering things that you have ever seen, and put them all together, and then you will know what this Palace looked like. And it all belonged to Urashima; for was he not the son-in-law of the Sea-God, the husband of the lovely Dragon Princess? Well, they lived on happily for three years, wandering about every day among the beautiful trees with emerald leaves and ruby berries. But one morning Urashima said to his wife: "I am very happy here. Still I want to go home and see my father and mother and brothers and sisters. Just let me go for a short time, and I'll soon be back again." "I don't like you to go," said she; "I am very much afraid that something dreadful will happen. However, if you will go, there is no help for it. Only you must take this box, and be very careful not to open it. If you open it, you will never be able to come back here." So Urashima promised to take great care of the box, and not to open it on any account; and then, getting into his boat, he rowed off, and at last landed on the shore of his own country. But what had happened while he had been away? Where had his father's cottage gone to? What had become of the village where he used to live? The mountains indeed were there as before; but the trees on them had been cut down. The little brook that ran close by his father's cottage was still running; but there were no women washing clothes in it any more. It seemed very strange that everything should have changed so much in three short years. So as two men chanced to pass along the beach, Urashima went up to them and said: "Can you tell me please where Urashima's cottage, that used to stand here, has been moved to?"--"Urashima?" said they; "why! it was four hundred years ago that he was drowned out fishing. His parents, and his brothers, and their grandchildren are all dead long ago. It is an old, old story. How can you be so foolish as to ask after his cottage? It fell to pieces hundreds of years ago." Then it suddenly flashed across Urashima's mind that the Sea-God's Palace beyond the waves, with its coral walls and its ruby fruits and its dragons with tails of solid gold, must be part of fairy-land, and that one day there was probably as long as a year in this world, so that his three years in the Sea-God's Palace had really been hundreds of years. Of course there was no use in staying at home, now that all his friends were dead and buried, and even the village had passed away. So Urashima was in a great hurry to get back to his wife, the Dragon Princess beyond the sea. But which was the way? He couldn't find it with no one to show it to him. "Perhaps," thought he, "if I open the box which she gave me, I shall be able to find the way." So he disobeyed her orders not to open the box,--or perhaps he forgot them, foolish boy that he was. Anyhow he opened the box; and what do you think came out of it? Nothing but a white cloud which floated away over the sea. Urashima shouted to the cloud to stop, rushed about and screamed with sorrow; for he remembered now what his wife had told him, and how, after opening the box, he should never be able to go to the Sea-God's Palace again. But soon he could neither run nor shout any more. Suddenly his hair grew as white as snow, his face got wrinkled, and his back bent like that of a very old man. Then his breath stopped short, and he fell down dead on the beach. Poor Urashima! He died because he had been foolish and disobedient. If only he had done as he was told, he might have lived another thousand years. Wouldn't you like to go and see the Dragon Palace beyond the waves, where the Sea-God lives and rules as King over the Dragons and the tortoises and the fishes, where the trees have emeralds for leaves and rubies for berries, where the fishes' tails are of silver and the dragons' tails all of solid gold? _Printed by the Kobunsha in Tokyo, Japan._ 
28979	----	Transcriber's note: A few typographical and punctuation errors have been corrected. A complete list follows the text. Variations in spelling and hyphenation have been retained as in the original. Words italicized in the original are surrounded by _underscores_. Words with bold emphasis in the original are surrounded by =equals signs=. [Illustration: The Lion of Korea.] CHILD-LIFE IN JAPAN AND JAPANESE CHILD STORIES BY MRS. M. CHAPLIN AYRTON EDITED WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY WILLIAM ELLIOT GRIFFIS, L.H.D. Author of "The Mikado's Empire" and "Japanese Fairy World" _WITH MANY ILLUSTRATIONS, INCLUDING SEVEN FULL-PAGE PICTURES DRAWN AND ENGRAVED BY JAPANESE ARTISTS_ BOSTON, U.S.A. D. C. HEATH & CO., PUBLISHERS 1909 COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY D. C. HEATH & CO. PREFACE. Over a quarter of a century ago, while engaged in introducing the American public school system into Japan, I became acquainted in Tokio with Mrs. Matilda Chaplin Ayrton, the author of "Child-Life in Japan." This highly accomplished lady was a graduate of Edinburgh University, and had obtained the degrees of Bachelor of Letters and Bachelor of Sciences, besides studying medicine in Paris. She had married Professor William Edward Ayrton, the electric engineer and inventor, then connected with the Imperial College of Engineering of Japan, and since president of the Institute of Electric Engineers in London. She took a keen interest in the Japanese people and never wearied of studying them and their beautiful country. With my sister, she made excursions to some of the many famous places in the wonderful city of Tokio. When her own little daughter, born among the camellias and chrysanthemums, grew up under her Japanese nurse, Mrs. Ayrton became more and more interested in the home life of the Japanese and in the pictures and stories which delighted the children of the Mikado's Empire. After her return to England, in 1879, she wrote this book. In the original work, the money and distances, the comparisons and illustrations, were naturally English, and not American. For this reason, I have ventured to alter the text slightly here and there, that the American child reader may more clearly catch the drift of the thought, have given to each Japanese word the standard spelling now preferred by scholars and omitted statements of fact which were once, but are no longer, true. I have also translated or omitted hard Japanese words, shortened long sentences, rearranged the illustrations, and added notes which will make the subject clearer. Although railways, telegraphs, and steamships, clothes and architecture, schools and customs, patterned more or less closely after those in fashion in America and Europe, have altered many things in Japan and caused others to disappear, yet the children's world of toys and games and stories does not change very fast. In the main, it may be said, we have here a true picture of the old Japan which we all delighted in seeing, when, in those sunny days, we lived in sight of Yedo Bay and Fuji Yama, with Japanese boys and girls all around us. The best portions and all the pictures of Mrs. Ayrton's big and costly book have been retained and reproduced, including her own preface or introduction, and the book is again set forth with a hearty "ohio" (good morning) of salutation and sincere "omédéto" (congratulations) that the nations of the world are rapidly becoming one family. May every reader of "Child-Life in Japan" see, sometime during the twentieth century, the country and the people of whom Mrs. Ayrton has written with such lively spirit and such warm appreciation. WM. ELLIOT GRIFFIS. ITHACA, N.Y. CONTENTS Page Preface by William Elliot Griffis v Introduction by the Author xi Seven Scenes of Child-Life in Japan 1 First Month 16 The Chrysanthemum Show 30 Fishsave 34 The Filial Girl 37 The Parsley Queen 38 The Two Daughters 40 Second Sight 44 Games 46 The Games and Sports of Japanese Children, by William Elliot Griffis 50 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. The Lion of Korea _Frontispiece_ PAGE A Ride on a Bamboo Rail 1 A Game of Snowball 3 Boys' Concert--Flute, Drum, and Song 5 Lion Play 6 Ironclad Top Game 7 Playing with Doggy 9 Heron-Legs, or Stilts 11 The Young Wrestlers 13 Playing with the Turtle 15 Presenting the Tide-Jewels to Hachiman 18 "Bronze fishes sitting on their throats" 19 The Treasure-Ship 23 Girls' Ball and Counting Game 26 Firemen's Gymnastics 28 Street Tumblers 29 Eating Stand for the Children 31 Fishsave riding the Dolphin 35 Bowing before her Mother's Mirror 37 Imitating the Procession 39 The Two White Birds 41 Eye-Hiding, or Blindman's Buff 47 Stilts and Clog-Throwing 48 Playing at Batter-Cakes 49 Hoisting the Rice-Beer Keg 51 Getting ready to raise the Big Humming Kite 60 Daruma, the Snow-Image 62 INTRODUCTION In almost every home are Japanese fans, in our shops Japanese dolls and balls and other knick-knacks, on our writing-tables bronze crabs or lacquered pen-tray with outlined on it the extinct volcano [Fuji San][1] that is the most striking mountain seen from the capital of Japan. At many places of amusement Japanese houses of real size have been exhibited, and the jargon of fashion for "Japanese Art" even reaches our children's ears. [1] _Fuji San_, or Fuji no Yama, the highest mountain in the Japanese archipelago, is in the province of Suruga, sixty miles west of Tokio. Its crest is covered with snow most of the year. Twenty thousand pilgrims visit it annually. Its name may mean Not Two (such), or Peerless. Yet all these things seem dull and lifeless when thus severed from the quaint cheeriness of their true home. To those familiar with Japan, that bamboo fan-handle recalls its graceful grassy tree, the thousand and one daily purposes for which bamboo wood serves. We see the open shop where squat the brown-faced artisans cleverly dividing into those slender divisions the fan-handle, the wood-block engraver's where some dozen men sit patiently chipping at their cherry-wood blocks, and the printer's where the coloring arrangements seem so simple to those used to western machinery, but where the colors are so rich and true. We see the picture stuck on the fan frame with starch paste, and drying in the brilliant summer sunlight. The designs recall vividly the life around, whether that life be the stage, the home, insects, birds, or flowers. We think of halts at wayside inns, when bowing tea-house girls at once proffer these fans to hot and tired guests. The tonsured oblique-eyed doll suggests the festival of similarly oblique-eyed little girls on the 3rd of March. Then dolls of every degree obtain for a day "Dolls' Rights." In every Japanese household all the dolls of the present and previous generations are, on that festival, set out to best advantage. Beside them are sweets, green-speckled rice cake, and daintily gilt and lacquered dolls' utensils. For some time previous, to meet the increased demand, the doll shopman has been very busy. He sits before a straw-holder into which he can readily stick, to dry, the wooden supports of the plaster dolls' heads he is painting, as he takes first one and then another to give artistic touches to their glowing cheeks or little tongue. That dolly that seems but "so odd" to Polly or Maggie is there the cherished darling of its little owner. It passes half its day tied on to her back, peeping companionably its head over her shoulder. At night it is lovingly sheltered under the green mosquito curtains, and provided with a toy wooden pillow. The expression "Japanese Art" seems but a created word expressing either the imitations of it, or the artificial transplanting of Japanese things to our houses. The whole glory of art in Japan is, that it is not Art, but Nature simply rendered, by a people with a fancy and love of fun quite Irish in character. Just as Greek sculptures were good, because in those days artists modelled the corsetless life around them, so the Japanese artist does not draw well his lightly draped figures, cranes, and insects because these things strike him as beautiful, but because he is familiar with their every action. The Japanese house out of Japan seems but a dull and listless affair. We miss the idle, easy-going life and chatter, the tea, the sweetmeats, the pipes and charcoal brazier, the clogs awaiting their wearers on the large flat stone at the entry, the grotesquely trained ferns, the glass balls and ornaments tinkling in the breeze, that hang, as well as lanterns, from the eaves, the garden with tiny pond and goldfish, bridge and miniature hill, the bright sunshine beyond the sharp shadow of the upward curving angles of the tiled roof, the gay, scarlet folds of the women's under-dress peeping out, their little litter of embroidery or mending, and the babies, brown and half naked, scrambling about so happily. For, what has a baby to be miserable about in a land where it is scarcely ever slapped, where its clothing, always loose, is yet warm in winter, where it basks freely in air and sunshine? It lives in a house, that from its thick grass mats, its absence of furniture, and therefore of commands "not to touch," is the very beau-ideal of an infant's playground. The object with which the following pages were written, was that young folks who see and handle so often Japanese objects, but who find books of travels thither too long and dull for their reading, might catch a glimpse of the spirit that pervades life in the "Land of the Rising Sun." A portion of the book is derived from translations from Japanese tales, kindly given to the author by Mr. Basil H. Chamberlain, whilst the rest was written at idle moments during graver studies. The games and sports of Japanese children have been so well described by Professor Griffis, that we give, as an Appendix, his account of their doings. Child-Life in Japan. SEVEN SCENES OF CHILD-LIFE IN JAPAN. [Illustration: A Ride on a Bamboo Rail.] These little boys all live a long way off in islands called "Japan." They have all rather brown chubby faces, and they are very merry. Unless they give themselves a really hard knock they seldom get cross or cry. In the second large picture two of the little boys are playing at snowball. Although it may be hotter in the summer in their country than it is here, the winter is as cold as you feel it. Like our own boys, these lads enjoy a fall of snow, and still better than snowballing they like making a snowman with a charcoal ball for each eye and a streak of charcoal for his mouth. The shoes which they usually wear out of doors are better for a snowy day than your boots, for their feet do not sink into the snow, unless it is deep. These shoes are of wood, and make a boy seem to be about three inches taller than he really is. The shoe, you see, has not laces or buttons, but is kept on the foot by that thong which passes between the first and second toe. The thong is made of grass, and covered with strong paper, or with white or colored calico. The boy in the check dress wears his shoes without socks, but you see the other boy has socks on. His socks are made of dark blue calico, with a thickly woven sole, and a place, like one finger of a glove, for his big toe. If you were to wear Japanese shoes, you would think the thong between your toes very uncomfortable. Yet from their habit of wearing this sort of shoe, the big toe grows more separate from the other toes, and the skin between this and the next toe becomes as hard as the skin of a dog's or a cat's paw. [Illustration: A Game of Snowball.] The boys are not cold, for their cotton clothes, being wadded, are warm and snug. One boy has a rounded pouch fastened to his sash. It is red and prettily embroidered with flowers or birds, and is his purse, in which he keeps some little toys and some money. The other boy very likely has not a pouch, but he has two famous big pockets. Like all Japanese, he uses the part of his large sleeve which hangs down as his pocket. Thus when a group of little children are disturbed at play you see each little hand seize a treasured toy and disappear into its sleeve, like mice running into their holes with bits of cheese. In the next large picture are two boys who are fond of music. One has a flute, which is made of bamboo wood. These flutes are easy to make, as bamboo wood grows hollow, with cross divisions at intervals. If you cut a piece with a division forming one end you need only make the outside holes in order to finish your flute. [Illustration] The child sitting down has a drum. His drum and the paper lanterns hanging up have painted on them an ornament which is also the crest of the house of "Arima."[2] If these boys belong to this family they wear the same crest embroidered on the centre of the backs of their coats. [2] _Arima_ was one of the daimios or landed nobleman, nearly three hundred in number, out of whom has been formed the new nobility of Japan, a certain number of which are in the Upper House of the Imperial Diet. [Illustration: Boys' Concert--Flute, Drum, and Song.] [Illustration: Kangura, or Korean Lion Play] Korean Lion is the title of the picture which forms the frontispiece; it represents a game that children in Japan are very fond of playing. They are probably trying to act as well as the maskers did whom they saw on New Year's Day, just as our children try and imitate things they see in a pantomime. The masker goes from house to house accompanied by one or two men who play on cymbals, flute, and drum. He steps into a shop where the people of the house and their friends sit drinking tea, and passers-by pause in front of the open shop to see the fun. He takes a mask, like the one in the picture, off his back and puts it over his head. This boar's-head mask is painted scarlet and black, and gilt. It has a green cloth hanging down behind, in order that you may not perceive where the mask ends and the mans body begins. Then the masker imitates an animal. He goes up to a young lady and lays down his ugly head beside her to be patted, as "Beast" may have coaxed "Beauty" in the fairy tale. He grunts, and rolls, and scratches himself. The children almost forget he is a man, and roar with laughter at the funny animal. When they begin to tire of this fun he exchanges this mask for some of the two or three others he carries with him. He puts on a mask of an old woman over his face, and at the back of his head a very different second mask, a cloth tied over the centre of the head, making the two faces yet more distinct from each other. He has quickly arranged the back of his dress to look like the front of a person, and he acts, first presenting the one person to his spectators, then the other. He makes you even imagine he has four arms, so cleverly can he twist round his arm and gracefully fan what is in reality the back of his head. [Illustration: Ironclad Top Game.] The tops the lads are playing with in this picture[3] are not quite the same shape as our tops, but they spin very well. Some men are so clever at making spinning-tops run along strings, throwing them up into the air and catching them with a tobacco-pipe, that they earn a living by exhibiting their skill. [3] See page 7. Some of the tops are formed of short pieces of bamboo with a wooden peg put through them, and the hole cut in the side makes them have a fine hum as the air rushes in whilst they spin. The boys in the next large picture (p. 9) must be playing with the puppies of a large dog, to judge from their big paws. There are a great many large dogs in the streets of Tokio; some are very tame, and will let children comb their hair and ornament them and pull them about. These dogs do not wear collars, as do our pet dogs, but a wooden label bearing the owner's name is hung round their necks. Other big dogs are almost wild.[4] [4] _Wild-dogs:_ ownerless dogs have now been exterminated, and every dog in Japan is owned, licensed, taxed, or else liable to go the way of the old wolfish-looking curs. The pet spaniel-like dogs are called _chin_. Half-a-dozen of these dogs will lie in one place, stretched drowsily on the grassy city walls under the trees, during the daytime. Towards evening they rouse themselves and run off to yards and rubbish-heaps to pick up what they can. They will eat fish, but two or three dogs soon get to know where the meat-eating Englishmen live. They come trotting in regularly with a business-like air to search among the day's refuse for bones. Should any interloping dog try to establish a right to share the feast he can only gain his footing after a victorious battle. All these dogs are very wolfish-looking, with straight hair, which is usually white or tan-colored. There are other pet dogs kept in houses. These look something like spaniels. They are small, with their black noses so much turned up that it seems as if, when they were puppies, they had tumbled down and broken the bridge of their nose. They are often ornamented like dog Toby in "Punch and Judy," with a ruff made of some scarlet stuff round their necks. [Illustration: Playing with Doggy.] After the heavy autumn rains have filled the roads with big puddles, it is great fun, this boy thinks, to walk about on stilts. You see him on page 11. His stilts are of bamboo wood, and he calls them "Heron-legs," after the long-legged snowy herons that strut about in the wet rice-fields. When he struts about on them, he wedges the upright between his big and second toe as if the stilt was like his shoes. He has a good view of his two friends who are wrestling, and probably making hideous noises like wild animals as they try to throw one another. They have seen fat public wrestlers stand on opposite sides of a sanded ring, stoop, rubbing their thighs, and in a crouching attitude and growling, slowly advance upon one another. Then when near to one another, the spring is made and the men close. If after some time the round is not decided by a throw, the umpire, who struts about like a turkey-cock, fanning himself, approaches. He plucks the girdle of the weaker combatant, when the wrestlers at once retire to the sides of the arena to rest, and to sprinkle a little water over themselves. [Illustration: Heron-legs, or Stilts.] [Illustration: The Young Wrestlers.] In the neighborhood in which the children shown in the picture live, there is a temple (p. 11). In honor of the god a feast-day is held on the tenth of every month. The tenth day of the tenth month is a yet greater feast-day. On these days they go the first thing in the morning to the barber's, have their heads shaved and dressed, and their faces powdered with white, and their lips and cheeks painted pink. They wear their best clothes and smartest sashes. Then they clatter off on their wooden clogs to the temple and buy two little rice-cakes at the gates. Next they come to two large, comical bronze dogs sitting on stands, one on each side of the path. They reach up and gently rub the dog's nose, then rub their own noses, rub the dog's eyes, and then their own, and so on, until they have touched the dog's and their own body all over. This is their way of praying for good health. They also add another to the number of little rags that have been hung by each visitor about the dog's neck. Then they go to the altar and give their cakes to a boy belonging to the temple. In exchange he presents them with one rice-cake which has been blessed. They ring a round brass bell to call their god's attention, and throw him some money into a grated box as big as a child's crib. Then they squat down and pray to be good little boys. Now they go out and amuse themselves by looking at all the stalls of toys and cakes, and flowers and fish. The man who sells the gold-fish, with fan-like tails as long as their bodies, has also turtles. These boys at last settle that of all the pretty things they have seen they would best like to spend their money on a young turtle. For their pet rabbits and mice died, but turtles, they say, are painted on fans and screens and boxes because turtles live for ten thousand years. Even the noble white crane is said to live no more than a thousand years. In this picture they have carried home the turtle and are much amused at the funny way it walks and peeps its head in and out from under its shell. [Illustration: Playing with the Turtle.] FIRST MONTH. Little Good Boy had just finished eating the last of five rice cakes called "dango," that had been strung on a skewer of bamboo and dipped in soy sauce, when he said to his little sister, called Chrysanthemum:-- "O-Kiku, it is soon the great festival of the New Year." "What shall we do then?" asked little O-Kiku, not clearly remembering the festival of the previous year. Thus questioned, Yoshi-san[5] had his desired opening to hold forth on the coming delights, and he replied:-- "Men will come the evening before the great feast-day and help Plum-blossom, our maid, to clean all the house with brush and broom. Others will set up the decoration in front of our honored gateway. They will dig two small holes and plant a gnarled, black-barked father-pine branch on the left, and the slighter reddish mother-pine branch on the right. They will then put with these the tall knotted stem of a bamboo, with its smooth, hard green leaves that chatter when the wind blows. Next they will take a grass rope, about as long as a tall man, fringed with grass, and decorated with zigzag strips of white paper. These, our noble father says, are meant for rude images of men offering themselves in homage to the august gods." [5] _Yoshi-san. Yoshi_ means good, excellent, and _san_ is like our "Mr.," but is applied to any one from big man to baby. The girls are named after flowers, stars, or other pretty or useful objects. "Oh, yes! I have not forgotten," interrupts Chrysanthemum, "this cord is stretched from bamboo to bamboo; and Plum-blossom says the rope is to bar out the nasty two-toed, red, gray, and black demons, the badgers, the foxes, and other evil spirits from crossing our threshold. But I think it is the next part of the arch which is the prettiest, the whole bunch of things they tie in the middle of the rope. There is the crooked-back lobster, like a bowed old man, with all around the camellia branches, whose young leaves bud before the old leaves fall. There are pretty fern leaves shooting forth in pairs, and deep down between them the little baby fern-leaf. There is the bitter yellow orange, whose name, you know, means 'many parents and children.' The name of the black piece of charcoal is a pun on our homestead." "But best of all," says Yoshi-san, "I like the seaweed hontawara, for it tells me of our brave Queen Jingu Kogo, who, lest the troops should be discouraged, concealed from the army that her husband the king had died, put on armor, and led the great campaign against Korea.[6] Her troops, stationed at the margin of the sea, were in danger of defeat on account of the lack of fodder for their horses; when she ordered this hontawara to be plucked from the shore, and the horses, freshened by their meal of seaweed, rushed victoriously to battle. On the bronzed clasp of our worthy father's tobacco-pouch is, our noble father says, the Queen with her sword and the dear little baby prince,[7] Hachiman, who was born after the campaign, and who is now our Warrior God,[8] guiding our troops to victory, and that spirit on whose head squats a dragon has risen partly from the deep, to present an offering to the Queen and the Prince." [6] _The campaign against Korea_: 200 A.D. [7] _The Queen and the Prince_: See the story of "The Jewels of the Ebbing and the Flowing Tide" in the book of "Japanese Fairy Tales" in this series. [8] Ojin, son of Jingu Kogo, was, much later, deified as the god of war, Hachiman. See "The Religions of Japan," p. 204. [Illustration: Presenting the Tide-jewels to Hachiman.] "Then there is another seaweed, whose name is a pun on 'rejoicing.' There is the lucky bag that I made, for last year, of a square piece of paper into which we put chestnuts and the roe of a herring and dried persimmon fruit. Then I tied up the paper with red and white paper-string, that the sainted gods might know it was an offering." [Illustration: "Bronze fishes sitting on their throats."] Yoshi-san and his little sister had now reached the great gate ornamented with huge bronze fishes[9] sitting on their throats and twisting aloft their forked tails, that was near their home. He told his sister she must wait to know more about the great festival till the time arrived. They shuffled off their shoes, bowed, till their foreheads touched the ground, to their parents, ate their evening bowl of rice and salt fish, said a prayer and burnt a stick of incense to many-armed Buddha at the family altar. They spread their cotton-wadded quilts, rested their dear little shaved heads, with quaint circlet of hair, on the roll of cotton covered with white paper that formed the cushion of their hard wooden pillows. Soon they fell asleep to their mother's monotonously chanted lullaby of "Nenné ko." "Sleep, my child, sleep, my child, Where is thy nurse gone? She is gone to the mountains To buy thee sweetmeats. What shall she buy thee? The thundering drum, the bamboo pipe, The trundling man, or the paper kite." [9] The _bronze fishes_, called shachi-hoko, are huge metal figures, like dolphins, from four to twelve feet high, which were set on the pinnacles of the old castle towers in the days of feudalism. That from Nagoya, exhibited at the Vienna Exposition, had scales of solid gold. The great festival drew still nearer, to the children's delight, as they watched the previously described graceful bamboo arch rise before their gateposts. Then came a party of three with an oven, a bottomless tub, and some matting to replace the bottom. They shifted the pole that carried these utensils from their shoulders, and commenced to make the Japanese cake that may be viewed as the equivalent of a Christmas pudding. They mixed a paste of rice and put the sticky mass, to prevent rebounding, on the soft mat in the tub. The third man then beat for a long time the rice cake with a heavy mallet. Yoshi-san liked to watch the strong man swing down his mallet with dull resounding thuds. The well-beaten dough was then made up into flattish rounds of varying size on a pastry board one of the men had brought. Three cakes of graduated size formed a pyramid that was placed conspicuously on a lacquered stand, and the cakes were only to be eaten on the 11th of January. The mother told Plum-blossom and the children to get their clogs and overcoats and hoods, for she was going to get the New Year's decorations. The party shuffled off till they came to a stall where were big grass ropes and fringes and quaint grass boats filled with supposed bales of merchandise in straw coverings, a sun in red paper, and at bow and stern sprigs of fir. The whole was brightened by bits of gold leaf, lightly stuck on, that quivered here and there. When the children had chosen the harvest ship that seemed most besprinkled with gold, Plum-blossom bargained about the price. The mother, as a matter of form and rank, had pretended to take no interest in the purchase. She took her purse out of her sash, handed it to her servant, who opened it, paid the shopman, and then returned the purse to her mistress. This she did with the usual civility of first raising it to her forehead. The decorations they hung up in their sitting-room. Then they sent presents, such as large dried carp, tea, eggs, shoes, kerchiefs, fruits, sweets, or toys to various friends and dependants. On the 1st of January all were early astir, for the father, dressed at dawn in full European evening dress,[10] as is customary on such occasions, had to pay his respects at the levee of the Emperor. When this duty was over, he returned home and received visitors of rank inferior to himself. Later in the day and on the following day he paid visits of New Year greeting to all his friends. He took a present to those to whom he had sent no gift. Sometimes he had his little boy with him. For these visits Yoshi-san, in place of his usual flowing robe, loose trousers, and sash, wore a funny little knickerbocker suit, felt hat, and boots. These latter, though he thought them grand, felt very uncomfortable after his straw sandals. They were more troublesome to take off before stepping on the straw mats, that, being used as chairs as well as carpets, it would be a rudeness to soil. The maids, always kneeling, presented them with tiny cups of tea on oval saucers, which, remaining in the maid's hand, served rather as waiters. Sweetmeats, too, usually of a soft, sticky nature, but sometimes hard like sugar-plums, and called "fire-sweets," were offered on carved lotus-leaf or lacquered trays. [10] _First of January_: The old Chinese or lunar calendar ended in Japan, and the solar or Gregorian calendar began, January 1, 1872, when European dress was adopted by the official class. For the 2nd of January Plum-blossom bought some pictures of the treasure-ship or ship of riches, in which were seated the seven Gods of Wealth.[11] It has been sung thus about this Ship of Luck:-- "Nagaki yo no, It is a long night. To no numuri no. The gods of luck sleep. Mina mé samé. They all open their eyes. Nami nori funé no. They ride in a boat on the waves. Oto no yoki kana." The sound is pleasing! [11] _The seven Gods of Wealth_: Concerning the origin of these popular deities, see "The Religions of Japan," p. 218. [Illustration: The Treasure-ship and the Seven Gods of Happiness.] These pictures they each tied on their pillow to bring lucky dreams. Great was the laughter in the morning when they related their dreams. Yoshi-san said he had dreamt he had a beautiful portmanteau full of nice foreign things, such as comforters, note-books, pencils, india-rubber, condensed milk, lama, wide-awakes, boots, and brass jewelry. Just as he opened it, everything vanished and he found only a torn fan, an odd chop-stick, a horse's cast straw shoe, and a live crow. When at home, the children, for the first few days of the New Year, dressed in their best crepe, made up in three silken-wadded layers. Their crest was embroidered on the centre of the back and on the sleeves of the quaintly flowered long upper skirt. Beneath its wadded hem peeped the scarlet rolls of the hems of their under-dresses, and then the white-stockinged feet, with, passing between the toes, the scarlet thong of the black-lacquered clog. The little girl's sash was of many-flowered brocade, with scarlet broidered pouch hanging at her right side. A scarlet over-sash kept the large sash-knot in its place. Her hair was gay with knot of scarlet crinkled crepe, lacquered comb, and hairpin of tiny golden battledore. Resting thereon were a shuttlecock of coral, another pin of a tiny red lobster and a green pine sprig made of silk. In her belt was coquettishly stuck the butterfly-broidered case that held her quire of paper pocket-handkerchiefs. The brother's dress was of a simpler style and soberer coloring. His pouch of purple had a dragon worked on it, and the hair of his partly shaven head was tied into a little gummed tail with white paper-string. They spent most of the day playing with their pretty new battledores, striking with its plain side the airy little shuttlecock whose head is made of a black seed. All the while they sang a rhyme on the numbers up to ten:-- "Hitogo ni futa-go--mi-watashi yo me-go, Itsu yoni musashi nan no yakushi, Kokono-ya ja--to yo." When tired of this fun, they would play with a ball made of paper and wadding evenly wound about with thread or silk of various colors. They sang to the throws a song which seems abrupt because some portions have probably fallen into disuse; it runs thus:-- "See opposite--see Shin-kawa! A very beautiful lady who is one of the daughters of a chief magistrate of Odawara-cho. She was married to a salt merchant. He was a man fond of display, and he thought how he would dress her this year. He said to the dyer, 'Please dye this brocade and the brocade for the middle dress into seven-or eight-fold dresses;' and the dyer said, 'I am a dyer, and therefore I will dye and stretch it. What pattern do you wish?' The merchant replied, 'The pattern of falling snow and broken twigs, and in the centre the curved bridge of Gojo.'" [Illustration: Girls' Ball and Counting Game.] Then to fill up the rhyme come the words, "Chokin, chokera, kokin, kokera," and the tale goes on: "Crossing this bridge the girl was struck here and there, and the tea-house girls laughed. Put out of countenance by this ridicule, she drowned herself in the river Karas, the body sunk, the hair floated. How full of grief the husband's heart--now the ball counts a hundred." This they varied with another song:-- "One, two, three, four, Grate hard charcoal, shave kiri wood; Put in the pocket, the pocket is wet, Kiyomadzu, on three yenoki trees Were three sparrows, chased by a pigeon. The sparrows said, 'Chiu, chiu,' The pigeon said, 'po, po,'--now the Ball counts a hundred." The pocket referred to means the bottom of the long sleeve, which is apt to trail and get wet when a child stoops at play. Kiyomadzu may mean a famous temple that bears that name. Sometimes they would simply count the turns and make a sort of game of forfeiting and returning the number of rebounds kept up by each. Yoshi-san had begun to think battledore and balls too girlish an amusement. He preferred flying his eagle or mask-like kite, or playing at cards, verses, or lotteries. Sometimes he played a lively game with his father, in which the board is divided into squares and diagonals. On these move sixteen men held by one player and one large piece held by the second player. The point of the game is either that the holder of the sixteen pieces hedges the large piece so it that can make no move, or that the big piece takes all its adversaries. A take can only be made by the large piece when it finds a piece immediately on each side of it and a blank point beyond. Or he watched a party of several, with the pictured sheet of Japanese backgammon before them, write their names on slips of paper or wood, and throw in turn a die. The slips are placed on the pictures whose numbers correspond with the throw. At the next round, if the number thrown by the particular player is written on the picture, he finds directions as to which picture to move his slip backward or forward to. He may, however, find his throw a blank and have to remain at his place. The winning consists in reaching a certain picture. When tired of these quieter games, the strolling woman player on a guitar-like instrument, would be called in. Or, a party of Kangura boy performers afforded pastime by the quaint animal-like movements of the draped figure. He wears a huge grotesque scarlet mask on his head, and at times makes this monster appear to stretch out and draw in its neck by an unseen change in position of the mask from the head to the gradually extended and draped hand of the actor. The beat of a drum and the whistle of a bamboo flute formed the accompaniment to the dumb-show acting. [Illustration: Firemen's Gymnastics at New Year's Time.] Yoshi-san thought the 4th and 5th days of January great fun, because loud shoutings were heard. Running in the direction of the sound, he found the men of a fire-brigade who had formed a procession to carry their new paper standard, bamboo ladders, paper lanterns, etc. This procession paused at intervals. Then the men steadied the ladder with their long fire-hooks, whilst an agile member of the band mounted the erect ladder and performed gymnastics at the top. His performance concluded, he dismounted, and the march continued, the men as before yelling joyously, at the highest pitch of their voices. [Illustration: Street Tumblers playing Kangura in Tokio.] After about a week of fun, life at the villa, gradually resumed its usual course, the father returned to his office, the mother to her domestic employments, and the children to school, all having said for that new year their last joy-wishing greeting--omédéto (congratulations). THE CHRYSANTHEMUM SHOW. Yoshi-san and his Grandmother go to visit the great temple at Shiba. They walk up its steep stairs, and arrive at the lacquered threshold. Here they place aside their wooden clogs, throw a few coins into a huge box standing on the floor. It is covered with a wooden grating so constructed as to prevent pilfering hands afterward removing the coin. Then they pull a thick rope attached to a big brass bell like an exaggerated sheep-bell, hanging from the ceiling, but which gives forth but a feeble, tinkling sound. To insure the god's attention, this is supplemented with three distinct claps of the hands, which are afterward clasped in prayer for a short interval; two more claps mark the conclusion. Then, resuming their clogs, they clatter down the steep, copper-bound temple steps into the grounds. Here are stalls innumerable of toys, fruit, fish-cakes, birds, tobacco-pipes, ironmongery, and rice, and scattered amidst the stalls are tea-houses, peep-shows, and other places of amusement. Of these the greatest attraction is a newly-opened chrysanthemum show. The chrysanthemums are trained to represent figures. Here is a celebrated warrior, Kato Kiyomasa by name, who lived about the year 1600, when the eminent Hashiba (Hidéyoshi) ruled Japan. Near the end of his reign Hashiba, wishing to invade China, but being himself unable to command the expedition, intrusted the leadership of the fleet and army to Kiyomasa. They embarked, reached Korea, where a fierce battle was fought and victory gained by Kiyomasa. When, however, he returned to Japan, he found Hidéyoshi had died, and the expedition was therefore recalled. Tales of the liberality and generosity of the Chief, and how he, single-handed, had slain a large and wild tiger with the spear that he is represented as holding, led to his being at length addressed as a god. His face is modelled in plaster and painted, and the yellow chrysanthemum blossoms may be supposed to be gold bosses on the verdant armor. [Illustration: Eating Stand for the Children.] Next they looked at eccentric varieties of this autumn flower, such as those having the petals longer and more curly than usual. To show off the flowers every branch was tied to a stick, which caused Yoshi-san to think the bushes looked a little stiff and ugly. Near the warrior was a chrysanthemum-robed lady, Benten, standing in a flowery sailing-boat that is supposed to contain a cargo of jewels. Three rabbits farther on appeared to be chatting together. Perhaps the best group of all was old Fukurokujin, with white beard and bald head. He was conversing with two of the graceful waterfowl so constantly seen in Japanese decorations. He is the god of luck, and has a reputation for liking good cheer. This is suggested by a gourd, a usual form of wine-bottle, that is suspended to his cane, whilst another gourd contains homilies. He was said to be so tender-hearted that even timid wild fowl were not afraid of him. Not the least amusing part of the show was the figure before which Yoshi's Grandmother exclaimed, "Why, truly, that is clever! Behold, I pray thee, a barbarian lady, and even her child!" In truth it was an unconscious caricature of Europeans, although the lady's face had not escaped being made to look slightly Japanese. The child held a toy, and had a regular shock head of hair. The frizzed hair of many foreign children appeared very odd to Yoshi-san. He thought their mothers must be very unkind not to take the little "western men" more often to the barber's. He complacently compared the neatness of his own shaven crown and tidily-clipped and gummed side-locks. Being tired of standing, the old Grandmother told her grandson they would go and listen to a recital at the story-teller's. Leaving their wooden shoes in a pigeon-hole for that purpose, they joined an attentive throng of some twenty listeners seated on mats in a dimly-lighted room. Yoshi could not make out all the tale-teller said, but he liked to watch him toy with his fan as he introduced his listeners to the characters of his story. Then the story-teller would hold his fan like a rod of command, whilst he kept his audience in rapt attention, then sometimes, amidst the laughter of those present, he would raise his voice to a shrill whine, and would emphasize a joke by a sharp tap on the table with his fan. After they had listened to one tale Yoshi-san was sleepy. So they went and bargained with a man outside who had a carriage like a small gig with shafts called a "jin-riki-sha."[12] He ran after them to say he consented to wheel them home the two and a half miles for five cents. [12] The _jin-riki-sha_, man-power-carriage, invented in Japan in 1871, is now used all over the East. FISHSAVE. [Illustration] There was once upon a time a little baby whose father was Japanese ambassador to the court of China, and whose mother was a Chinese lady. While this child was still in its infancy the ambassador had to return to Japan. So he said to his wife, "I swear to remember you and to send you letters by the ambassador that shall succeed me; and as for our baby, I will despatch some one to fetch it as soon as it is weaned." Thus saying he departed. Well, embassy after embassy came (and there was generally at least a year between each), but never a letter from the Japanese husband to the Chinese wife. At last, tired of waiting and of grieving, she took her boy by the hand, and sorrowfully leading him to the seashore, fastened round his neck a label bearing the words, "The Japanese ambassador's child." Then she flung him into the sea in the direction of the Japanese Archipelago, confident that the paternal tie was one which it was not possible to break, and that therefore father and child were sure to meet again. One day, when the former ambassador, the father, was riding by the beach of Naniwa (where afterward was built the city of Osaka), he saw something white floating out at sea, looking like a small island. It floated nearer, and he looked more attentively. There was no doubt about its being a child. Quite astonished, he stopped his horse and gazed again. The floating object drew nearer and nearer still. At last with perfect distinctness it was perceived to be a fair, pretty little boy, of about four years old, impelled onward by the waves. [Illustration: Fishsave riding the Dolphin to Japan.] Still closer inspection showed that the boy rode bravely on the back of an enormous fish. When the strange rider had dismounted on the strand, the ambassador ordered his attendants to take the manly little fellow in their arms, when lo, and behold! there was the label round his neck, on which was written, "The Japanese ambassador's child." "Oh, yes," he exclaimed, "it must be my child and no other, whom its mother, angry at having received no letters from me, must have thrown into the sea. Now, owing to the indissoluble bond tying together parents and children, he has reached me safely, riding upon a fish's back." The air of the little creature went to his heart, and he took and tended him most lovingly. To the care of the next embassy that went to the court of China, he intrusted a letter for his wife, in which he informed her of all the particulars; and she, who had quite believed the child to be dead, rejoiced at its marvellous escape. The child grew up to be a man, whose handwriting was beautiful.[13] Having been saved by a fish, he was given the name of "Fishsave." [13] _Beautiful handwriting_ was considered one of the most admirable of accomplishments in old Japan. THE FILIAL GIRL. [Illustration: Bowing before her Mother's Mirror.] A girl once lived in the province of Echigo,[14] who from her earliest years tended her parents with all filial piety. Her mother, when, after a long illness she lay at the point of death, took out a mirror that she had for many years concealed, and giving it to her daughter, spoke thus, "when I have ceased to exist, take this mirror in thy hand night and morning, and looking at it, fancy that 'tis I thou seest." [14] A _Echigo:_ the province on the west coast, now famous for its petroleum wells. With these last words she expired, and the girl, full of grief, and faithful to her mother's commands, used to take out the mirror night and morning, and gazing in it, saw there in a face like to the face of her mother. Delighted thereat (for the village was situated in a remote country district among the mountains, and a mirror was a thing the girl had never heard of), she daily worshipped her reflected face. She bowed before it till her forehead touched the mat, as if this image had been in very truth her mother's own self. Her father one day, astonished to see her thus occupied, inquired the reason, which she directly told him. But he burst out laughing, and exclaimed, "Why! 'tis only thine own face, so like to thy mother's, that is reflected. It is not thy mother's at all!" This revelation distressed the girl. Yet she replied: "Even if the face be not my mother's, it is the face of one who belonged to my mother, and therefore my respectfully saluting it twice every day is the same as respectfully saluting her very self." And so she continued to worship the mirror more and more while tending her father with all filial piety--at least so the story goes, for even to-day, as great poverty and ignorance prevail in some parts of Echigo, the peasantry know as little of mirrors as did this little girl. THE PARSLEY QUEEN.[15] How curious that the daughter of a peasant dwelling in a obscure country village near Aska, in the province of Yamato,[16] should become a Queen! Yet such was the case. Her father died while she was yet in her infancy, and the girl applied herself to the tending of her mother with all filial piety. One day when she had gone out in the fields to gather some parsley, of which her mother was very fond, it chanced that Prince Shotoku, the great Buddhist teacher,[17] was making a progress to his palace, and all the inhabitants of the country-side flocked to the road along which the procession was passing, in order to behold the gorgeous spectacle, and to show their respect for the Mikado's son. The filial girl, alone, paying no heed to what was going on around her, continued picking her parsley. She was observed from his carriage by the Prince, who, astonished at the circumstance, sent one of his retainers to inquire into its cause. [15] A story much like that of "The Parsley Queen" is told in the province of Echizen. [16] Yamato is the old classic centre of ancient life and history. [17] _Prince Shotoku Taishi_, a great patron of Buddhism, who, though a layman, is canonized (see "The Religions of Japan," p. 180). [Illustration: Imitating the Procession to the Temple.] The girl replied, "My mother bade me pick parsley, and I am following her instructions--that is the reason why I have not turned round to pay my respects to the Prince." The latter being informed of her answer, was filled with admiration at the strictness of her filial piety. Alighting at her mother's cottage on the way back, he told her of the occurrence, and placing the girl in the next carriage to his own, took her home with him to the Imperial Palace, and ended by making her his wife, upon which the people, knowing her story, gave her the name of the "Parsley Queen." THE TWO DAUGHTERS. At Akita, in the province of Inaba, lived an independent gentleman,[18] who had two daughters, by whom he was ministered to with all filial piety. He was fond of shooting with a gun, and thus very often committed the sin (according to the teaching of holy Buddha) of taking life.[19] He would never hearken to the admonitions of his daughters. These, mindful of the future, and aghast at the prospect in store for him in the world to come, frequently endeavored to convert him. Many were the tears they shed. At last one day, after they had pleaded with him more earnestly still than before, the father, touched by their supplications, promised to shoot no more. But, after a while, some of his neighbors came round to request him to shoot for them two storks.[20] He was easily led to consent by the strength of his natural liking for the sport. Still he would not allow a word to be breathed to his daughters. He slipped out at night, gun in hand, after they were, as he imagined, fast asleep. [18] _An independent gentleman_, a _ronin_ or "wave man," one who had left the service of his feudal lord and was independent,--sometimes a gentleman and a scholar, oftener a ruffian or vagabond. [19] Buddhism, on account of the doctrine of the transmigration of souls, forbids the taking of life. [20] There are very few storks in Japan, but white heron are quite common. [Illustration: The Two White Birds.] They, however, had heard everything, and the elder sister said to the younger: "Do what we may, our father will not condescend to follow our words of counsel, and nothing now remains but to bring him to a knowledge of the truth by the sacrifice of one of our own lives. To-night is fortunately moonless; and if I put on white garments and go to the neighborhood of the bay, he will take me for a stork and shoot me dead. Do you continue to live and tend our father with all the services of filial piety." Thus she spake, her eyes dimmed with the rolling tears. But the younger sister, with many sobs, exclaimed: "For you, my sister, for you is it to receive the inheritance of this house. So do you condescend to be the one to live, and to practise filial devotion to our father, while I will offer up my life." Thus did each strive for death. The elder one, without more words, seizing a white garment rushed out of the house. The younger one, unwilling to cede to her the place of honor, putting on a white gown also, followed in her track to the shore of the bay. There, making her way to her among the rushes, she continued the dispute as to which of the two should be the one to die. Meanwhile the father, peering around him in the darkness, saw something white. Taking it for the storks, he aimed at the spot with his gun, and did not miss his shot, for it pierced through the ribs of the elder of the two girls. The younger, helpless in her grief, bent over her sister's body. The father, not dreaming of what he was about, and astonished to find that his having shot one of the storks did not make the other fly away, discharged another shot at the remaining white figure. Lamentable to relate, he hit his second daughter as he had the first. She fell, pierced through the chest, and was laid on the same grassy pillow as her sister. The father, pleased with his success, came up to the rushes to look for his game. But what! no storks, alas! alas! No, only his two daughters! Filled with consternation, he asked what it all meant. The girls, breathing with difficulty, told him that their resolve had been to show him the crime of taking life, and thus respectfully to cause him to desist therefrom. They expired before they had time to say more. The father was filled with sorrow and remorse. He took the two corpses home on his back. As there was now no help for what was done, he placed them reverently on a wood stack, and there they burnt, making smoke to the blowing wind. From that hour he was a converted man. He built himself a small cell of branches of trees, near the village bridge. Placing therein the memorial tablets of his two daughters, he performed before them the due religious rites, and became the most pious follower of Buddha. Ah! that was filial piety in very truth! a marvel, that these girls should throw away their own lives, so that, by exterminating the evil seed in their father's conduct in this world, they might guard him from its awful fruit in the world to come! SECOND SIGHT. A traveller arrived at a village, and looking about for an inn, he found one that, although rather shabby, would, he thought, suit him. So he asked whether he could pass the night there, and the mistress said certainly. No one lived at the inn except the mistress, so that the traveller was quite undisturbed. The next morning, after he had finished break-fast, the traveller went out of the house to make arrangements for continuing his journey. To his surprise, his hostess asked him to stop a moment. She said that he owed her a thousand pounds, solemnly declaring that he had borrowed that sum from her inn long years ago. The traveller was astonished greatly at this, as it seemed to him a preposterous demand. So fetching his trunk, he soon hid himself by drawing a curtain all round him. After thus secluding himself for some time, he called the woman and asked, "Was your father an adept in the art of second sight?" The woman replied, "Yes; my father secluded himself just as you have done." Said the traveller, "Explain fully to me why you say I owe you so large a sum." The mistress then related that when her father was going to die, he bequeathed her all his possessions except his money. He said, that on a certain day, ten years later, a traveller would lodge at her house, and that, as the said traveller owed him a thousand pounds, she could reclaim at that time this sum from his debtor. She must subsist in the meanwhile by the gradual sale of her father's goods. Hitherto, being unable to earn as much money as she spent, she had been disposing of the inherited valuables, but had now exhausted nearly all of them. In the meantime, the predicted date had arrived, and a traveller had lodged at her house, just as her father had foretold. Hence she concluded he was the man from whom she should recover the thousand pounds. On hearing this the traveller said that all that the woman had related was perfectly true. Taking her to one side of the room, he told her to tap gently with her knuckles all over a wooden pillar. At one part the pillar gave forth a hollow sound. The traveller said that the money spoken about by the poor woman lay hidden in this part of the pillar. Then advising her to spend it only gradually, he went on his way. The father of this woman had been extremely skilful in the art of second sight or clairvoyance. By its means he had discovered that his daughter would pass through ten years of extreme poverty and that on a certain future day a diviner would come and lodge in the house. The father was also aware that if he bequeathed his daughter his money at once, she would spend it extravagantly. Upon consideration, therefore, he hid the money in the pillar, and instructed his daughter as related. In accordance with the father's prophecy, the man came and lodged in the house on the predicted day, and by the art of divination discovered the thousand pounds. GAMES. [Illustration] The games we are daily playing at in our nurseries, or some of them, have been also played at for centuries by Japanese boys and girls. Such are blindman's buff (eye-hiding), puss-in-the-corner, catching, racing, scrambling, a variety of "here we go round the mulberry bush." The game of knuckle-bones is played with five little stuffed bags instead of sheep bones, which the children cannot get, as sheep are not used by the Japanese. Also performances such as honey-pots, heads in chancery, turning round back to back, or hand to hand, are popular among that long-sleeved, shaven-pated small fry. Still better than snow-balling, the lads like to make a snow-man, with a round charcoal ball for each eye, and a streak of charcoal for his mouth. This they call Buddha's squat follower "Daruma," whose legs rotted off through his stillness over his lengthy prayers. [Illustration: Eye-Hiding, or Blindman's Buff.] [Illustration: Stilts and Clog-Throwing.] As might be expected, some of the Japanese games differ slightly from ours, or else are altogether peculiar to that country. The facility with which a Japanese child slips its shoes on and off, and the absence on the part of the parents of conventional or health scruples regarding bare feet, lead to a sort of game of ball in which the shoes take the part of the ball, and to hiding pranks with the sandal, something like our hunt the slipper and hide-and-seek. On the other hand, kago play is entirely Japanese. In this game, two children carry a bamboo pole on their shoulders, on to which clings a third child, in imitation of a usual mode of travelling in Japan. In this the passenger is seated in a light bamboo palanquin borne on men's shoulders. A miniature festival is thought great fun, when a few bits of rough wood mounted on wheels are decorated with cut paper and evergreens, and drawn slowly along amidst the shouts of the exultant contrivers, in mimicry of the real festival cars. Games of soldiers are of two types. When copied from the historical fights, one boy, with his kerchief bound round his temples, makes a supposed marvelous and heroic defence. He slashes with his bamboo sword, as a harlequin waves his baton, to deal magical destruction all around on the attacking party. When the late insurrection commenced in Satsuma, the Tokio boys, hearing of the campaign on modern tactics, would form attack and defence parties. A little company armed with bamboo breech-loaders would march to the assault of the roguish battalion lurking round the corner. [Illustration: Playing at Batter-Cakes.] Wrestling, again, is popular with children, not so much on account of the actual throwing, as from the love of imitating the curious growling an animal-like springing, with which the professional wrestlers encounter one another. Swimming, fishing, and general puddling about are congenial occupation for hot summer days; whilst some with a toy bamboo pump, like a Japanese feeble fire-engine, manage to send a squirt of water at a friend, as the firemen souse their comrades standing on the burning housetops. Itinerant street sellers have, on stalls of a height suited to their little customers, an array of what looks like pickles. This is made of bright seaweed pods that the children buy to make a "clup!" sort of noise with between their lips, so that they go about apparently hiccoughing all day long. The smooth glossy leaves of the camellia, as common as hedge roses are in England, make very fair little trumpets when blown after having been expertly rolled up, or in spring their fallen blossoms are strung into gay chains. On a border-land between games and sweets are the stalls of the itinerant batter-sellers. At these the tiny purchaser enjoys the evidently much appreciated privilege of himself arranging his little measure of batter in fantastic forms, and drying them upon a hot metal plate. A turtle is a favorite design, as the first blotch of batter makes its body, and six judiciously arranged smaller dabs soon suggest its head, tail, and feet. THE GAMES AND SPORTS OF JAPANESE CHILDREN[21] How often in Japan one sees that the children of a larger growth enjoy with equal zest games which are the same, or nearly the same, as those of lesser size and fewer years! Certain it is that the adults do all in their power to provide for the children their full quota of play and harmless sports. We frequently see full-grown and able-bodied natives indulging in amusements which the men of the West lay aside with their pinafores, or when their curls are cut. If we, in the conceited pride of our superior civilization, look down upon this as childish, we must remember that the Oriental, from the pinnacle of his lofty, and to him immeasurably elevated, civilization, looks down upon our manly sports with contempt, thinking it a condescension even to notice them. [21] From the paper read before The Asiatic Society of Japan. [Illustration: Hoisting the Rice-beer Keg On Festival-day.] A very noticeable change has passed over the Japanese people since the modern advent of foreigners in respect to their love of amusement. Their sports are by no means as numerous or elaborate as formerly, and they do not enter into them with the enthusiasm that formerly characterized them. The children's festivals and sports are rapidly losing their importance, and some now are rarely seen. Formerly the holidays were almost as numerous as saints' days in the calendar. Apprentice-boys had a liberal quota of holidays stipulated in their indentures; and as the children counted the days before each great holiday on their fingers, we may believe that a great deal of digital arithmetic was being continually done. We do not know of any country in the world in which there are so many toy-shops or so many fairs for the sale of things which delight children. Not only are the streets of every city abundantly supplied with shops, filled as full as a Christmas stocking with gaudy toys, but in small towns and villages one or more children's bazaars may be found. The most gorgeous display of all things pleasing to the eye of a Japanese child is found in the courts or streets leading to celebrated temples. On a festival day, the toy-sellers and itinerant showmen throng with their most attractive wares or sights in front of the shrine or temple. On the walls and in conspicuous places near the churches and cathedrals in Europe and America, the visitor is usually regaled with the sight of undertakers' signs and gravediggers' advertisements. How differently the Japanese act in these respects let any one see, by visiting one or all of the three greatest temples in Tokio, or one of the numerous smaller shrines on some renowned festival day. We have not space in this paper to name or describe the numerous street shows and showmen who are supposed to be interested mainly in entertaining children; though in reality adults form a part, often the major part, of their audiences. Any one desirous of seeing these in full glory must ramble down some of the side streets in Tokio, on some fair day, and especially on a general holiday. Among the most common are the street theatricals, in which two, three, or four trained boys and girls do some very creditable acting, chiefly in comedy. Raree shows, in which the looker-on sees the inside splendors of the nobles' homes, or the heroic acts of Japanese warriors, or some famous natural scenery, are very common. The showman, as he pulls the wires that change the scenes, entertains the spectators with songs. The outside of his box is usually adorned with pictures of famous actors, nine-tailed foxes, demons of all colors, people committing hari-kiri or stomach cutting, bloody massacres, or some such staple horror in which the normal Japanese so delights. Story-tellers, posturers, dancers, actors of charades, conjurers, flute-players, song-singers are found on these streets, but those who specially delight the children are the men who, by dint of fingers and breath, work a paste made of wheat-gluten into all sorts of curious and gayly-smeared toys, such as flowers, trees, noblemen, fair ladies, various utensils, the foreigner, the jin-riki-sha, etc. Nearly every itinerant seller of candy, starch-cakes, sugared peas, and sweetened beans, has several methods of lottery by which he adds to the attractions on his stall. A disk having a revolving arrow, whirled round by the hand of a child, or a number of strings which are connected with the faces of imps, goddesses, devils, or heroes, lends the excitement of chance, and, when a lucky pull or whirl occurs, occasions the subsequent addition to the small fraction of a sen's worth to be bought. Men or women walk about, carrying a small charcoal brazier under a copper griddle, with batter, spoons, cups, and shoyu[22] sauce to hire out for the price of a jumon[23] each to the little urchins who spend an afternoon of bliss, making their own griddle-cakes and eating them. The seller of sugar-jelly exhibits a devil, taps a drum, and dances for the benefit of his baby-customers. The seller of nice pastry does the same, with the addition of gymnastics and skilful tricks with balls of dough. In every Japanese city there are scores, if not hundreds of men and women who obtain a livelihood by amusing the children. [22] _Shoyu_: the origin of the English soy. [23] _A jumon_: the tenth part of a sen or cent. Some of the games of Japanese children are of a national character, and are indulged in by all classes. Others are purely local or exclusive. Among the former are those which belong to the great festival days, which in the old calendar (before 1872) enjoyed vastly more importance than under the new one. Beginning with the first of the year, there are a number of games and sports peculiar to this time. The girls, dressed in their best robes and girdles, with their faces powdered and their lips painted, until they resemble the peculiar colors seen on a beetle's wings, and their hair arranged in the most attractive coiffure, are out upon the street playing battledore and shuttlecock. They play not only in twos and threes, but also in circles. The shuttlecock is a small seed, often gilded, stuck round with feathers arranged like the petals of a flower. The battledore is a wooden bat; one side of which is of bare wood, while the other has the raised effigy of some popular actor, hero of romance, or singing girl in the most ultra-Japanese style of beauty. The girls evidently highly appreciate this game, as it gives abundant opportunity for the display of personal beauty, figure, and dress. Those who fail in the game often have their faces marked with ink, or a circle drawn round the eyes. The boys sing a song that the wind will blow, the girls sing that it may be calm so that their shuttlecocks may fly straight. The little girls at this time play with a ball made of cotton cord, covered elaborately with many strands of bright vari-colored silk. Inside the house they have games suited not only for the daytime, but for the evenings. Many foreigners have wondered what the Japanese do at night, and how the long winter evenings are spent. On fair, and especially moonlight nights, most of the people are out of doors, and many of the children with them. Markets and fairs are held regularly at night in Tokio, and in other large cities. The foreigner living in a Japanese city, even if he were blind, could tell by stepping out of doors, whether the weather were clear and fine, or disagreeable. On dark and stormy nights the stillness of a great city like Tokio is unbroken and very impressive; but on a fair and moonlight night the hum and bustle tell one that the people are out in throngs, and make one feel that it is a city that he lives in. In most of the castle towns in Japan, it was formerly the custom of the people, especially of the younger, to assemble on moonlight nights in the streets or open spaces near the castle gates, and dance a sort of subdued dance, moving round in circles and clapping their hands. These dances often continued during the entire night, the following day being largely consumed in sleep. In the winter evenings in Japanese households the Japanese children amuse themselves with their sports, or are amused by their elders, who tell them entertaining stories. The Samurai father relates to his son Japanese history and heroic lore, to fire him with enthusiasm and a love of those achievements which every Samurai youth hopes at some day to perform. Then there are numerous social entertainments, at which the children above a certain age are allowed to be present. But the games relied on as standard means of amusement, and seen especially about New Year, are those of cards. In one of these, a large, square sheet of paper is laid on the floor. On this card are the names and pictures of the fifty-three post-stations between old Yedo and Kioto. At the place Kioto are put a few coins, or a pile of cakes, or some such prizes, and the game is played with dice. Each throw advances the player toward the goal, and the one arriving first obtains the prize. At this time of the year, also, the games of what we may call literary cards are played a great deal. The Iroha Garuta[24] are small cards each containing a proverb. The proverb is printed on one card, and the picture illustrating it upon another. Each proverb begins with a certain one of the fifty Japanese letters, i, ro, ha, etc., and so through the syllabary. The children range themselves in a circle, and the cards are shuffled and dealt. One is appointed to be reader. Looking at his cards he reads the proverb. The player who has the picture corresponding to the proverb calls out, and the match is made. Those who are rid of their cards first, win the game. The one holding the last card is the loser. If he be a boy, he has his face marked curiously with ink. If a girl, she has a paper or wisp of straw stuck in her hair. [24] _Garuta_, or karuta, our word "card," as spoken on Japanese lips. The One Verse (from each of the) Hundred Poets game consists of two hundred cards, on which are inscribed the one hundred stanzas or poems so celebrated and known in every household. A stanza of Japanese poetry usually consists of two parts, a first and second, or upper and lower clause. The manner of playing the game is as follows: The reader reads half the stanza on his card, and the player, having the card on which the other half is written, calls out, and makes a match. Some children become so familiar with these poems that they do not need to hear the entire half of the stanza read, but frequently only the first word. The game of Ancient Odes, that named after the celebrated Genji (Minamoto) family of the Middle Ages, and the Shi Garuta are all card-games of a similar nature, but can be thoroughly enjoyed only by well-educated Chinese scholars, as the references and quotations are written in Chinese and require a good knowledge of the Chinese and Japanese classics to play them well. To boys who are eager to become proficient in Chinese it often acts as an incentive to be told that they will enjoy these games after certain attainments in scholarship have been made. Having made these attainments, they play the game frequently, especially during vacation, to impress on their minds what they have already learned. Two other games are played which may be said to have an educational value. They are the "Wisdom Boards" and the "Ring of Wisdom." The former consists of a number of flat thin pieces of wood, cut in many geometrical shapes. Certain possible figures are printed on paper as models, and the boy tries to form them out of the pieces given him. In some cases much time and thinking are required to form the figure. The ring-puzzle is made of rings of bamboo or iron, on a bar. Boys having a talent for mathematics, or those who have a natural capacity to distinguish size and form, succeed very well at these games and enjoy them. The game of Checkers is played on a raised stand or table about six inches in height. The number of "go" or checkers, including black and white, is 360. In the Sho-gi, or game of Chess, the pieces number 40 in all. Backgammon is also a favorite play, and there are several forms of it. [Illustration: Getting Ready to Raise the big Humming Kite with the Sun Emblem.] About the time of old style New Year's Day, when the winds of February and March are favorable to the sport, kites are flown, and there are few games in which Japanese boys, from the infant on the back to the full-grown and the over-grown boy, take more delight. I have never observed, however, as foreign books so often tell us, old men flying kites and boys merely looking on. The Japanese kites are made of tough paper pasted on a frame of bamboo sticks, and are usually of a rectangular shape. Some of them, however, are made to represent children or men, several kinds of birds and animals, fans, etc. On the rectangular kites are pictures of ancient heroes or beautiful women, dragons, horses, monsters of various kinds, the symbol of the sun, or huge Chinese characters. Among the faces most frequently seen on these kites are those of the national heroes or heroines. Some of the kites are six feet square. Many of them have a thin tense ribbon of whalebone at the top of the kite which vibrates in the wind, making a loud humming noise. The boys frequently name their kites Genji or Héiki, and each contestant endeavors to destroy that of his rival. For this purpose the string for ten or twenty feet near the kite end is first covered with glue, and then dipped into pounded glass, by which the string becomes covered with tiny blades, each able to cut quickly and deeply. By getting the kite in proper position and suddenly sawing the string of his antagonist, the severed kite falls, to be reclaimed by the victor. The Japanese tops are of several kinds, some are made of univalve shells, filled with wax. Those intended for contests are made of hard wood, and are iron-clad by having a heavy iron ring round as a sort of tire. The boys wind and throw them in a manner somewhat different from ours. The object of the player is to damage his adversary's top, or to make it cease spinning. The whipping top is also known and used. Besides the athletic sports of leaping, running, wrestling, slinging, the Japanese boys play at blindman's buff, hiding-whoop, and with stilts, pop-guns, and blow-guns. On stilts they play various games and run races. In the northern and western coast provinces, where the snow falls to the depth of many feet and remains long on the ground, it forms the material of the children's playthings, and the theatre of many of their sports. Besides sliding on the ice, coasting with sleds, building snow-forts and fighting mimic battles with snow-balls, they make many kinds of images and imitations of what they see and know. In America the boy's snow-man is a Paddy with a damaged hat, clay pipe in mouth, and the shillelah in his hand. In Japan the snow-man is an image of Daruma. Daruma was one of the followers of Shaka (Buddha) who, by long meditation in a squatting position, lost his legs from paralysis and sheer decay. The images of Daruma are found by the hundreds in toy-shops, as tobacconists' signs, and as the snow-men of the boys. Occasionally the figure of Géiho, the sage with a forehead and skull so high that a ladder was required to reach his pate, or huge cats and the peculiar-shaped dogs seen in the toy-shops, take the place of Daruma. [Illustration: Daruma, the Snow-Image.] Many of the amusements of the children in-doors are mere imitations of the serious affairs of adult life. Boys who have been to the theatre come home to imitate the celebrated actors, and to extemporize mimic theatricals for themselves. Feigned sickness and "playing the doctor," imitating with ludicrous exactness the pomp and solemnity of the real man of pills and powders, and the misery of the patient, are the diversions of very young children. Dinners, tea-parties, and even weddings and funerals, are imitated in Japanese children's plays. Among the ghostly games intended to test the courage of, or perhaps to frighten children, are two plays called respectively, the "One Hundred Stories" and "Soul-Examination." In the former play, a company of boys and girls assemble round the hibachi, while they or an adult, an aged person or a servant, usually relate ghost stories, or tales calculated to straighten the hair and make the blood crawl. In a distant dark room, a lamp (the usual dish of oil) with a wick of one hundred strands or piths, is set. At the conclusion of each story, the children in turn must go to the dark room and remove a strand of the wick. As the lamp burns down low the room becomes gloomy and dark, and the last boy, it is said, always sees a demon, a huge face, or something terrible. In "Soul-Examination," a number of boys during the day plant some flags in different parts of a graveyard, under a lonely tree, or by a haunted hill-side. At night they meet together and tell stories about ghosts, goblins, devils, etc., and at the conclusion of each tale, when the imagination is wrought up, the boys, one at a time, must go out in the dark and bring back the flags, until all are brought in. On the third day of the third month is held the Doll Festival. This is the day especially devoted to the girls, and to them it is the greatest day in the year. It has been called in some foreign works on Japan, the "Feast of Dolls." Several days before the Matsuri the shops are gay with the images bought for this occasion, and which are on sale only at this time of year. Every respectable family has a number of these splendidly-dressed images, which are from four inches to a foot in height, and which accumulate from generation to generation. When a daughter is born in the house during the previous year, a pair of hina or images are purchased for the little girl, which she plays with until grown up. When she is married her hina are taken with her to her husband's house, and she gives them to her children, adding to the stock as her family increases. The images are made of wood or enamelled clay. They represent the Mikado and his wife; the kugé or old Kioto nobles, their wives and daughters, the court minstrels, and various personages in Japanese mythology and history. A great many other toys, representing all the articles in use in a Japanese lady's chamber, the service of the eating table, the utensils of the kitchen, travelling apparatus, etc., some of them very elaborate and costly, are also exhibited and played with on this day. The girls make offerings of saké and dried rice, etc., to the effigies of the emperor and empress, and then spend the day with toys, mimicking the whole round of Japanese female life, as that of child, maiden, wife, mother, and grand-mother. In some old Japanese families in which I have visited, the display of dolls and images was very large and extremely beautiful. The greatest day in the year for the boys is on the fifth day of the fifth month. On this day is celebrated what has been called the "Feast of Flags." Previous to the coming of the day, the shops display for sale the toys and tokens proper to the occasion. These are all of a kind suited to young Japanese masculinity. They consist of effigies of heroes and warriors, generals and commanders, soldiers on foot and horse, the genii of strength and valor, wrestlers, etc. The toys represent the equipments and regalia of a daimio's procession, all kinds of things used in war, the contents of an arsenal, flags, streamers, banners, etc. A set of these toys is bought for every son born in the family. Hence in old Japanese families the display on the fifth day of the fifth month is extensive and brilliant. Besides the display in-doors, on a bamboo pole erected outside is hung, by a string to the top of the pole, a representation of a large fish in paper. The paper being hollow, the breeze easily fills out the body of the fish, which flaps its tail and fins in a natural manner. One may count hundreds of these floating in the air over the city. The nobori, as the paper fish is called, is intended to show that a son has been born during the year, or at least that there are sons in the family. The fish represented is the carp, which is able to swim swiftly against the current and to leap over waterfalls. This act of the carp is a favorite subject with native artists, and is also typical of the young man, especially the young Samurai, mounting over all difficulties to success and quiet prosperity. One favorite game, which has now gone out of fashion, was that in which the boys formed themselves into a daimio's procession, having forerunners, officers, etc., and imitating as far as possible the pomp and circumstance of the old daimio's train. Another game which was very popular represented, in mimic war, the struggles of two great noble families (like the red and white roses of England). The boys of a town, district, or school, ranged themselves into two parties, each with flags. Those of the Héiki were white, those of the Genji red. Sometimes every boy had a flag, and the object of the contest, which was begun at the tap of a gun, was to seize the flags of the enemy. The party securing the greatest number of flags won the victory. In other cases the flags were fastened on the back of each contestant, who was armed with a bamboo for a sword, and who had fastened on a pad over his head a flat round piece of earthenware, so that a party of them looked not unlike the faculty of a college. Often these parties of boys numbered several hundred, and were marshalled in squadrons as in a battle. At a given signal the battle commenced, the object being to break the earthen disk on the head of the enemy. The contest was usually very exciting. Whoever had his earthen disk demolished had to retire from the field. The party having the greatest number of broken disks, indicative of cloven skulls, were declared the losers. This game has been forbidden by the Government as being too severe and cruel. Boys were often injured in it. There are many other games which we simply mention without describing. There are three games played by the hands, which every observant foreigner long resident in Japan must have seen played, as men and women seem to enjoy them as much as children. In the Stone game, a stone, a pair of scissors, and a wrapping-cloth are represented. The stone signifies the clenched fist, the parted fore and middle fingers the scissors, and the curved forefinger and thumb the cloth. The scissors can cut the cloth, but not the stone, but the cloth can wrap the stone. The two players sit opposite each other at play, throwing out their hands so as to represent either of the three things, and win, lose, or draw, as the case may be. In the Fox game, the fox, man, and gun are the figures. The gun kills the fox, but the fox deceives the man, and the gun is useless without the man. In the third game, five or six boys represent the various grades of rank, from the peasant up to the great daimios or shogun. By superior address and skill in the game the peasant rises to the highest rank, or the man of highest rank is degraded. From the nature of the Japanese language, in which a single word or sound may have a great many significations, riddles and puns are of extraordinary frequency. I do not know of any published collection of riddles, but every Japanese boy has a good stock of them on hand. There are few Japanese works of light, and perhaps of serious, literature, in which puns do not continually recur. The popular songs and poems are largely plays on words. There are also several puzzles played with sticks, founded upon the shape of certain Chinese characters. As for the short and simple story-books, song-books, nursery rhymes, lullabys, and what for want of a better name may be styled Mother Goose Literature, they are as plentiful as with us, but they have a very strongly characteristic Japanese flavor, both in style and matter. It is curious that the game of foot-ball seems to have been confined to the courtiers of the Mikado's court, where there were regular instructors of the game. In the games of Pussy wants a Corner and Prisoner's Base, the Oni, or devil, takes the place of Puss or the officer. I have not mentioned all the games and sports of Japanese children, but enough has been said to show their general character. In general they seem to be natural, sensible, and in every sense beneficial. Their immediate or remote effects, next to that of amusement, are either educational, or hygienic. Some teach history, some geography, some excellent sentiments or good language. Others inculcate reverence and obedience to the elder brother or sister, to parents or to the emperor, or stimulate the manly virtues of courage and contempt for pain. The study of the subject leads one to respect more highly, rather than otherwise, the Japanese people for being such affectionate fathers and mothers, and for having such natural and docile children. The character of the children's plays and their encouragement by the parents has, I think, much to do with that frankness, affection, and obedience on the side of the children, and that kindness and sympathy on the side of the parents, which are so noticeable in Japan, and which is one of the many good points of Japanese life and character. ADVERTISEMENTS |______________________________________________________________| _REVISED AND ILLUSTRATED_ THE HEART OF OAK BOOKS A Collection of Traditional Rhymes and Stories for Children, and of Masterpieces of Poetry and Prose for Use at Home and at School, chosen with special reference to the cultivation of the imagination and the development of a taste for good reading. EDITED BY CHARLES ELIOT NORTON =Book I. 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HEATH & CO., Publishers, Boston, New York, Chicago |______________________________________________________________| Transcriber's notes: The following corrections have been made to the text: Page 18, last line: Queen and the Prince."[added missing close quotes] Page 20, line 1: at the family altar.[added missing period] Page 25, fourth line from bottom: [added missing singlequote]I am a dyer, Page 39, line 1: the great Buddhist[original has Buddist] teacher 
12527	----	Distributed Proofreaders KIMONO by JOHN PARIS 1922 CONTENTS CHAPTER I AN ANGLO-JAPANESE MARRIAGE II HONEYMOON III EASTWARDS IV NAGASAKI V CHONKINA VI ACROSS JAPAN VII THE EMBASSY VIII THE HALF-CASTE GIRL IX ITO SAN X THE YOSHIWARA WOMEN XI A GEISHA DINNER XII FALLEN CHERRY-BLOSSOMS XIII THE FAMILY ALTAR XIV THE DWARF TREES XV EURASIA XVI THE GREAT BUDDHA XVII THE RAINY SEASON XVIII AMONG THE NIKKO MOUNTAINS XIX YAÉ SMITH XX THE KIMONO XXI SAYONARA (GOOD-BYE) XXII FUJINAMI ASAKO XXIII THE REAL SHINTO XXIV THE AUTUMN FESTIVAL XXV JAPANESE COURTSHIP XXVI ALONE IN TOKYO XXVII LADY BRANDAN _Utsutsu wo mo Utsutsu to sara ni Omowaneba, Yume wo mo yume to Nani ka omowamu? Since I am convinced That Reality is in no way Real, How am I to admit That dreams are dreams?_ The verses and translation above are taken from A. Waley's "JAPANESE POETRY: THE UTA" (Clarendon Press), as are many of the classical poems placed at the head of the chapters. CHAPTER I AN ANGLO-JAPANESE MARRIAGE _Shibukaro ka Shiranedo kaki no Hatsu-chigiri_. Whether the fruit be bitter Or whether it be sweet, The first bite tells. The marriage of Captain the Honourable Geoffrey Barrington and Miss Asako Fujinami was an outstanding event in the season of 1913. It was bizarre, it was picturesque, it was charming, it was socially and politically important, it was everything that could appeal to the taste of London society, which, as the season advances, is apt to become jaded by the monotonous process of Hymen in High Life and by the continued demand for costly wedding presents. Once again Society paid for its seat at St. George's and for its glass of champagne and crumb of cake with gifts of gold and silver and precious stones enough to smother the tiny bride; but for once in a way it paid with a good heart, not merely in obedience to convention, but for the sake of participating in a unique and delightful scene, a touching ceremony, the plighting of East and West. Would the Japanese heiress be married in a kimono with flowers and fans fixed in an elaborate _coiffure_? Thus the ladies were wondering as they craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the bride's procession up the aisle; but, though some even stood on hassocks and pew seats, few were able to distinguish for certain. She was so very tiny. At any rate, her six tall bridesmaids were arrayed in Japanese dress, lovely white creations embroidered with birds and foliage. It is hard to distinguish anything in the perennial twilight of St. George's; a twilight symbolic of the new lives which emerge from its Corinthian portico into that married world about which so much has been guessed and so little is known. One thing, however, was visible to all as the pair moved together up to the altar rails, and that was the size of the bridegroom as contrasted with the smallness of his bride. He looked like a great rough bear and she like a silver fairy. There was something intensely pathetic in the curve of his broad shoulders as he bent over the little hand to place in its proud position the diminutive golden circlet which was to unite their two lives. As they left the church, the organ was playing _Kimi-ga-ya_, the Japanese national hymn. Nobody recognized it, except the few Japanese who were present; but Lady Everington, with that exaggeration of the suitable which is so typical of her, had insisted on its choice as a voluntary. Those who had heard the tune before and half remembered it decided that it must come from the "Mikado"; and one stern dowager went so far as to protest to the rector for permitting such a tune to desecrate the sacred edifice. Outside the church stood the bridegroom's brother officers. Through the gleaming passage of sword-blades, smiling and happy, the strangely assorted couple entered upon the way of wedlock, as Mr. and Mrs. Geoffrey Barrington--the shoot of the Fujinami grafted on to one of the oldest of our noble families. "Are her parents here?" one lady was asking her neighbour. "Oh, no; they are both dead, I believe." "What kind of people are they, do you know? Do Japs have an aristocracy and society and all that kind of thing?" "I'm sure I don't know. I shouldn't think so. They don't look real enough." "She is very rich, anyhow," a third lady intervened, "I've heard they are big landowners in Tokyo, and cousins of Admiral Togo's." * * * * * The opportunity for closer inspection of this curiosity was afforded by the reception given at Lady Everington's mansion in Carlton House Terrace. Of course, everybody was there. The great ballroom was draped with hangings of red and white, the national colours of Japan. Favours of the same bright hues were distributed among the guests. Trophies of Union Jacks and Rising Suns were grouped in corners and festooned above windows and doorways. Lady Everington was bent upon giving an international importance to her protégée's marriage. Her original plan had been to invite the whole Japanese community in London, and so to promote the popularity of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance by making the most of this opportunity for social fraternising. But where was the Japanese community in London? Nobody knew. Perhaps there was none. There was the Embassy, of course, which arrived smiling, fluent, and almost too well-mannered. But Lady Everington had been unable to push very far her programme for international amenities. There were strange little yellow men from the City, who had charge of ships and banking interests; there were strange little yellow men from beyond the West End, who studied the Fine Arts, and lived, it appeared, on nothing. But the hostess could find no ladies at all, except Countess Saito and the Embassy dames. Monsieur and Madame Murata from Paris, the bride's guardians, were also present. But the Orient was submerged beneath the flood of our rank and fashion, which, as one lady put it, had to take care how it stepped for fear of crushing the little creatures. "Why _did_ you let him do it?" said Mrs. Markham to her sister. "It was a mistake, my dear," whispered Lady Everington, "I meant her for somebody quite different." "And you're sorry now?" "No, I have no time to be sorry--ever," replied that eternally graceful and youthful Egeria, who is one of London's most powerful social influences. "It will be interesting to see what becomes of them." Lady Everington has been criticised for stony-heartedness, for opportunism, and for selfish abuse of her husband's vast wealth. She has been likened to an experimental chemist, who mixes discordant elements together in order to watch the results, chilling them in ice or heating them over the fire, until the lives burst in fragments or the colour slowly fades out of them. She has been called an artist in _mésalliances_, a mismatch-maker of dangerous cunning, a dangler of picturesque beggar-maids before romantic-eyed Cophetuas, a daring promoter of ambitious American girls and a champion of musical comedy peeresses. Her house has been named the Junior Bachelors Club. The charming young men who seem to be bound to its hospitable board by invisible chains are the material for her dashing improvisations and the _dramatis personae_ of the scores of little domestic comedies which she likes to keep floating around her in different stages of development. Geoffrey Barrington had been the secretary of this club, and a favourite with the divinity who presided over it. We had all supposed that he would remain a bachelor; and the advent of Asako Fujinami into London society gave us at first no reason to change our opinion. But she was certainly attractive. * * * * * She ought to have been married in a kimono. There was no doubt about it now, when there was more liberty to inspect her, as she stood there shaking hands with hundreds of guests and murmuring her "Thank you very much" to the reiterated congratulations. The white gown was perfectly cut and of a shade to give its full value to her complexion, a waxen complexion like old ivory or like a magnolia petal, in which the Mongolian yellow was ever so faintly discernible. It was a sweet little face, oval and smooth; but it might have been called expressionless if it had not been for a dimple which peeped and vanished around a corner of the small compressed mouth, and for the great deep brown eyes, like the eyes of deer or like pools of forest water, eyes full of warmth and affection. This was the feature which struck most of us as we took the opportunity to watch her in European dress with the glamour of her kimono stripped from her. They were the eyes of the Oriental girl, a creature closer to the animals than we are, lit by instinct more often than by reason, and hiding a soul in its infancy, a repressed, timorous, uncertain thing, spasmodically violent and habitually secretive and aloof. Sir Ralph Cairns, the famous diplomat, was talking on this subject to Professor Ironside. "The Japanese are extraordinarily quick," he was saying, "the most adaptable people since the ancient Greeks, whom they resemble in some ways. But they are more superficial. The intellect races on ahead, but the heart lingers in the Dark Ages." "Perhaps intermarriage is the solution of the great racial problem," suggested the Professor. "Never," said the old administrator. "Keep the breed pure, be it white, black, or yellow. Bastard races cannot flourish. They are waste of Nature." The Professor glanced towards the bridal pair. "And these also?" he asked. "Perhaps," said Sir Ralph, "but in her case her education has been so entirely European." Hereupon, Lady Everington approaching, Sir Ralph turned to her and said,-- "Dear lady, let me congratulate you: this is your masterpiece." "Sir Ralph," said the hostess, already looking to see which of her guests she would next pounce upon, "You know the East so well. Give me one little piece of advice to hand over to the children before they start on their honeymoon." Sir Ralph smiled benignly. "Where are they going?" he asked. "Everywhere," replied Lady Everington, "they are going to travel." "Then let them travel all over the world," he answered, "only not to Japan. That is their Bluebeard's cupboard; and into that they must not look." There was more discussion of bridegroom and bride than is usual at society weddings, which are apt to become mere reunions of fashionable people, only vaguely conscious of the identity of those in whose honour they have been gathered together. "Geoffrey Barrington is such a healthy barbarian," said a pale young man with a monocle; "if it had been a high-browed child of culture like you, Reggie, with a taste for exotic sensations, I should hardly have been surprised." "And if it had been you, Arthur," replied Reggie Forsyth of the Foreign Office, who was Barrington's best man, "I should have known at once that it was the twenty thousand a year which was the supreme attraction." There was a certain amount of Anglo-Indian sentiment afloat among the company, which condemned the marriage entirely as an outrage on decency. "What was Brandan dreaming of," snorted General Haslam, "to allow his son to marry a yellow native?" "Dreaming of the mortgage on the Brandan property, I expect, General," answered Lady Rushworth. "It's scandalous," foamed the General, "a fine young fellow, a fine officer, too! His career ruined for an undersized _geisha_!" "But think of the millions of _yens_ or _sens_ or whatever they are, with which she is going to re-gild the Brandan coronet!" "That wouldn't console me for a yellow baby with slit eyes," continued the General, his voice rising in debate as his custom was at the Senior. "Hush, General!" said his interlocutor, "we don't discuss such possibilities." "But everybody here must be thinking of them, except that unfortunate young man." "We never say what we are thinking, General; it would be too upsetting." "And we are to have a Japanese Lord Brandan, sitting in the House of Lords?" the General went on. "Yes, among the Jews, Turks, and Armenians, who are there already," Lady Rushworth answered, "an extra Oriental will never be noticed. It will only be another instance of the course of Empire taking its way Eastward." * * * * * In the Everington dining-room the wedding presents were displayed. It looked more like the interior of a Bond Street shop where every kind of _article de luxe_, useful and useless, was heaped in plenty. Perhaps the only gift which had cost less than twenty pounds was Lady Everington's own offering, a photograph of herself in a plain silver frame, her customary present when one of her protégées was married under her immediate auspices. "My dear," she would say, "I have enriched you by several thousands of pounds. I have introduced you to the right people for present-giving at precisely the right moment previous to your wedding, when they know you neither too little nor too much. By long experience I have learnt to fix it to a day. But I am not going to compete with this undistinguished lavishness. I give you my picture to stand in your drawing-room as an artist puts his signature to a completed masterpiece, so that when you look around upon the furniture, the silver, the cut glass, the clocks, the engagement tablets, and the tantalus stands, the offerings of the rich whose names you have long ago forgotten, then you will confess to yourself in a burst of thankfulness to your fairy godmother that all this would never have been yours if it had not been for her!" In a corner of the room and apart from the more ostentatious homage, stood on a small table a large market-basket, in which was lying a huge red fish, a roguish, rollicking mullet with a roving eye, all made out of a soft crinkly silk. In the basket beneath it were rolls and rolls of plain silk, red and white. This was an offering from the Japanese community in London, the conventional wedding present of every Japanese home from the richest to the poorest, varying only in size and splendour. On another small table lay a bundle of brown objects like prehistoric axe heads, bound round with red and white string, and vaguely odorous of bloater-paste. These were dried flesh of the fish called _katsuobushi_ by the Japanese, whose absence also would have brought misfortune to the newly married. Behind them, on a little tray, stood a miniature landscape representing an aged pine-tree by the sea-shore and a little cottage with a couple of old, old people standing at its door, two exquisite little dolls dressed in rough, poor kimonos, brown and white. The old man holds a rake, and the old woman holds a broom. They have very kindly faces and white silken hair. Any Japanese would recognise them at once as the Old People of Takasago, the personification of the Perfect Marriage. They are staring with wonder and alarm at the Brandan sapphires, a monumental _parure_ designed for the massive state of some Early-Victorian Lady Brandan. Asako Fujinami had spent days rejoicing over the arrival of her presents, little interested in the identity of the givers but fascinated by the things themselves. She had taken hours to arrange them in harmonious groups. Then a new gift would arrive which would upset the balance, and she would have to begin all over again. Besides this treasury in the dining-room, there were all her clothes, packed now for the honeymoon, a whole wardrobe of fairy-like disguises, wonderful gowns of all colours and shapes and materials. These, it is true, she had bought herself. She had always been surrounded by money; but it was only since she had lived with Lady Everington that she had begun to learn something about the thousand different ways of spending it, and all the lovely things for which it can be exchanged. So all her new things, whatever their source, seemed to her like presents, like unexpected enrichments. She had basked among her new acquisitions, silent as was her wont when she was happy, sunning herself in the warmth of her prosperity. Best of all, she never need wear kimonos again in public. Her fiancé had acceded to this, her most immediate wish. She could dress now like the girls around her. She would no longer be stared at like a curio in a shop window. Inquisitive fingers would no longer clutch at the long sleeves of, crinkled silk, or try to probe the secret of the huge butterfly bow on her back. She could step out fearlessly now like English women. She could give up the mincing walk and the timid manner which she felt was somehow inseparable from her native dress. When she told her protectress that Geoffrey had consented to its abandonment, Lady Everington had heaved a sigh. "Poor Kimono!" she said, "it has served you well. But I suppose a soldier is glad to put his uniform away when the fighting is over. Only, never forget the mysterious power of the uniform over the other sex." Another day when her Ladyship had been in a bad mood, she had snapped,-- "Put those things away, child, and keep to your kimono. It is your natural plumage. In those borrowed plumes you look undistinguished and underfed." * * * * * The Japanese Ambassador to the Court of St. James proposed the health of the bride and bridegroom. Count Saito was a small, wise man, whom long sojourn in European countries had to some extent de-orientalised. His hair was grizzled, his face was seamed, and he had a peering way of gazing through his gold-rimmed spectacles with head thrust forward like a man half blind, which he certainly was not. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "it is a great pleasure for me to be present on this occasion, for I think this wedding is a personal compliment to myself and to my work in this splendid country. Mr. and Mrs. Geoffrey Barrington are the living symbols of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance; and I hope they will always remember the responsibility resting on their shoulders. The bride and bridegroom of to-day must feel that the relations of Great Britain and Japan depend upon the perfect harmony of their married life. Ladies and gentlemen, let us drink long life and happiness to Mr. and Mrs. Geoffrey Barrington, to the Union Jack and to the Rising Sun!" The toast, was drunk and three cheers were given, with an extra cheer for Mrs. Geoffrey. The husband, who was no hand at speechmaking, replied--and his good-natured voice was quite thick with emotion--that it was awfully good of them all to give his wife and himself such a ripping send-off, and awfully good of Sir George and Lady Everington especially, and awfully good of Count Saito; and that he was the happiest man in the world and the luckiest, and that his wife had told him to tell them all that she was the happiest woman, though he really did not see why she should be. Anyhow, he would do his best to give her a jolly good time. He thanked his friends for their good wishes and for their beautiful presents. They had had jolly good times together, and, in return for all their kindness, he and his wife wanted to wish them all a jolly good time. So spoke Geoffrey Barrington; and at that moment many people present must have felt a pang of regret that this fine specimen of England's young manhood should marry an oriental. He was over six feet high. His broad shoulders seemed to stoop a little with the lazy strength of a good-tempered carnivore, of Una's lion, and his face, which was almost round, was set off by a mane of the real lion colour. He wore his moustache rather longer than was the fashion. It was a face which seemed ready to laugh at any moment--or else to yawn. For there was about the man's character and appearance something indolent and half-awakened and much of the schoolboy. Yet he was over thirty. But there is always a tendency for Army life to be merely a continuation of public-school existence. Eton merges into Sandhurst, and Sandhurst merges into the regiment. One's companions are all the time men of the same class and of the same ideas. The discipline is the same, the conventionality and the presiding fetish of Good and Bad Form. So many, generals are perennial school boys. They lose their freshness, that is all. But Geoffrey Barrington had not lost his freshness. This was his great charm, for he certainly was not quick or witty. Lady Everington said that she kept him as a disinfectant to purify the atmosphere. "This house," she declared, "sometimes gets over-scented with tuberoses. Then I open the window and let Geoffrey Barrington in!" He was the only son of Lord Brandan and heir to that ancient but impoverished title. He had been brought up to the idea that he must marry a rich wife. He neither jibbed foolishly at the proposal, nor did he surrender lightly to any of the willing heiresses who threw themselves at his head. He accepted his destiny with the fatalism which every soldier must carry in his knapsack, and took up his post as Mars in attendance in Lady Everington's drawing-room, recognising that there lay the strategic point for achieving his purpose. He was not without hope, too, that besides obtaining the moneybags he might be so fortunate as to fall in love with the possessor of them. Asako Fujinami, whom he had first met at dinner, at Lady Everington's, had crossed his mind just like an exquisite bar of melody. He made no comments at the time, but he could not forget her. The haunting tune came back to him again and again. By the time that she had floated in his arms through three or four dances, the spell had worked. _La belle dame sans merci_, the enchantress who lurks in every woman, had him in thrall. Her simplest observations seemed to him to be pearls of wisdom, her every movement a triumph of grace. "Reggie," he said to his friend Forsyth, "what do you think of that little Japanese girl?" Reggie, who was a diplomat by profession and a musician by the grace of God, and whose intuition was almost feminine especially where Geoffrey was concerned, answered,-- "Why, Geoffrey, are you thinking of marrying her?" "By Jove!" exclaimed his friend, starting at the thought as at a discovery; "but I, don't think she'd have me. I'm not her sort." "You never can tell," suggested Reggie mischievously; "She is quite unspoilt, and she has twenty thousand a year. She is unique. You could not possibly get her confused with somebody else's wife, as so many people seem to do when they get married. Why not try?" Reggie thought that such a mating was impossible, but it amused him to play with the idea. As for Lady Everington, who knew every one so well, and who thought that she knew them perfectly, she never guessed. "I think, Geoffrey, that you like to be seen with Asako," she said, "just to point the contrast." Her confession to her sister, Mrs. Markham, was the truth. She had made a mistake; she had destined Asako for somebody quite different. It was the girl herself who had been the first to enlighten her. She came to her hostess's boudoir one evening before the labours of the night began. "Lady Georgie," she had said--Lady Everington is Lady Georgie to all who know her even a little. "_Il faut que je vous dise quelque chose_." The girl's face glanced downward and sideways, as her habit was when embarrassed. When Asako spoke in French it meant that something grave was afoot. She was afraid that her unsteady English might muddle what she intended to say. Lady Everington knew that it must be another proposal; she had already dealt with three. "_Eh bien, cette fois qui est-il?_" she asked. "_Le capitaine Geoffroi_" answered Asako. Then her friend knew that it was serious. "What did you say to him?" she demanded. "I tell him he must ask you." "But why drag me into it? It's your own affair." "In France and in Japan," said Asako, "a girl do not say Yes and No herself. It is her father and her mother who decide. I have no father or mother; so I think he must ask you." "And what do you want me to say?" For answer Asako gently squeezed the elder woman's hand, but Lady Georgie was in no mood to return the pressure. The girl at once felt the absence of the response, and said,-- "What, you do not like the _capitaine Geoffroi_?" But her fairy godmother answered bitterly,-- "On the contrary, I have a considerable affection for Geoffrey." "Then," cried Asako, starting up, "you think I am not good enough for him. It's because I'm--not English." She began to cry. In spite of her superficial hardness, Lady Everington has a very tender heart. She took the girl in her arms. "Dearest child," she said, raising the little, moist face to hers, "don't cry. In England we answer this great question ourselves. Our fathers and mothers and fairy godmothers have to concur. If Geoffrey Barrington has asked you to marry him, it is because he loves you. He does not scatter proposals like calling-cards, as some young men do. In fact, I have never heard of him proposing to anyone before. He does not want you to say 'No', of course. But are you quite ready to say 'Yes'? Very well, wait a fortnight, and don't see more of him than you can help in the meantime. Now, let them send for my _masseuse_. There is nothing so exhausting to the aged as the emotions of young people." That evening, when Lady Everington met Geoffrey at the theatre, she took him severely to task for treachery, secrecy and decadence. He, was very humble and admitted all his faults except the last, pleading as his excuse that he could not get Asako out of his head. "Yes, that is a symptom," said her Ladyship; "you are clearly stricken. So I fear I am too late to effect a rescue. All I can do is to congratulate you both. But, remember, a wife is not nearly so fugitive as a melody, unless she is the wrong kind of wife." It was a wrench for the little lady to part with the oldest of her friendships, and to give up her Geoffrey to the care of this decorative stranger whose qualities were unknown, and undeveloped. But she knew what the answer would be at the end of the fortnight. So she steeled her nerves to laugh at her friends commiserations and to make the marriage of her godchildren one of the season's successes. It would certainly be an interesting addition to her museum of domestic dramas. * * * * * There was one person whom Lady Everington was determined to pump for information on that wedding-day, and had drawn into the net of her invitations for this very purpose. It was Count Saito, the Japanese Ambassador. She cornered him as he was admiring the presents, and whisked him away to the silence and twilight of her husband's study. "I am so glad you were able to come, Count Saito," she began. "I suppose you know the Fujinamis, Asako's relatives in Tokyo?" "No, I do not know them." His Excellency answered, but his tone conveyed to the lady's instinct that he personally would not wish to know them. "But you know the name, do you not?" "Yes, I have heard the name; there are many families called Fujinami in Japan." "Are they very rich?" "Yes, I believe there are some who are very rich," said the little diplomat, who clearly was ill at ease. "Where does their money come from?" his inquisitor went on remorselessly, "You are keeping something from me, Count Saito. Please be frank, if there is any mystery." "Oh no, Lady Everington, there is no mystery, I am sure. There is one family of Fujinami who have many houses and lands in Tokyo and other towns. I will be quite open with you. They are rather what you in England call _nouveaux riches_." "Really!" Her Ladyship was taken aback for a moment. "But you would never notice it with Asako, would you? I mean, she does not drop her Japanese aitches, and that sort of thing, does she?" "Oh no," Count Saito reassured her, "I do not think Mademoiselle Asako talks Japanese language, so she cannot drop her aitches." "I never thought of that," his hostess continued, "I thought that if a Japanese had money, he must be a _daimyo_, or something." The Ambassador smiled. "English people," he said, "do not know very well the true condition of Japan. Of course we have our rich new families and our poor old families just as you have in England. In some aspects our society is just the same as yours. In others, it is so, different, that you would lose your way at once in a maze of ideas which would seem to you quite upside down." Lady Everington interrupted his reflections in a desperate attempt to get something out of him by a surprise attack. "How interesting," she said, "it will be for Geoffrey Harrington and his wife to visit Japan and find out all about it." The Ambassador's manner changed. "No, I do not think," he said, "I do not think that is a good thing at all. They must not do that. You must not let them." "But why not?" "I say to all Japanese men and women who live a long time in foreign countries or who marry foreign people, 'Do not go back to Japan,' Japan is like a little pot and the foreign world is like a big garden. If you plant a tree from the pot into the garden and let it grow, you cannot put it back into the pot again." "But, in this case, that is not the only reason," objected Lady Everington. "No, there are many other reasons too," the Ambassador admitted; and he rose from his sofa, indicating that the interview was at an end. * * * * * The bridal pair left in a motor-car for Folkestone tinder a hailstorm of rice, and with the propitious white slipper dangling from the number-plate behind. When all her guests were gone, Lady Everington fled to her boudoir and collapsed in a little heap of sobbing finery on the broad divan. She was overtired, no doubt; but the sense of her mistake lay heavy upon her, and the feeling that she had sacrificed to it her best friend, the most humanly valuable of all the people who resorted to her house. An evil cloud of mystery hung over the young marriage, one of those sinister unfamiliar forces which travellers bring home from the East, the curse of a god or a secret poison or a hideous disease. It would be so natural for those two to want to visit Japan and to know their second home. Yet both Sir Ralph Cairns and Count Saito, the only two men that day who knew anything about the real conditions, had insisted that such a visit would be fatal. And who were these Fujinamis whom Count Saito knew, but did not know? Why had she, who was so socially careful, taken so much for granted just because Asako was a Japanese? CHAPTER II HONEYMOON _Asa no kami Ware wa kezuraji Utsukushiki Kimi ga ta-makura Fureteshi mono wo._ (My) morning sleep hair I will not comb; For it has been in contact with The pillowing hand of My beautiful Lord! The Barringtons left England for a prolonged honeymoon, for Geoffrey was now free to realise his favourite project of travelling abroad. So they became numbered among that shoal of English people out of England, who move restless leisure between Paris and the Nile. Geoffrey had resigned his commission in the army. His friends thought that this was a mistake. For the loss of a man's career, even when it is uncongenial to him, is a serious amputation, and entails a lesion of spiritual blood. He had refused his father's suggestion of settling down in a house on the Brandan estate, for Lord Brandan was an unpleasing old gentleman, a frequenter of country bars and country barmaids. His son wished to keep his young bride as far away as possible from a spectacle of which he was heartily ashamed. First of all they went to Paris, which Asako adored; for was it not her home? But this time she made the acquaintance of a Paris unknown to her, save by rumour, in the convent days or within the discreet precincts of Monsieur Murata's villa. She was enchanted by the theatres, the shops, the restaurants, the music, and the life which danced around her. She wanted to rent an _appartement_, and to live there for the rest of her existence. "But the season is almost over," said her husband; "everybody will be leaving." Unaccustomed as yet to his freedom, he still felt constrained to do the same as Everybody. Before leaving Paris, they paid a visit to the Auteuil villa, which had been Asako's home for so many years. Murata was the manager of a big Japanese firm in Paris. He had spent almost all his life abroad and the last twenty years of it in the French capital, so that even in appearance, except for his short stature and his tilted eyes, he had come to look like a Frenchman with his beard _à l'impériale_, and his quick bird-like gestures. His wife was a Japanese, but she too had lost almost all traces of her native mannerisms. Asako Fujinami had been brought to Paris by her father, who had died there while still a young man. He had entrusted his only child to the care of the Muratas with instructions that she should be educated in European ways and ideas, that she should hold no communication with her relatives in Japan, and that eventually a white husband should be provided for her. He had left his whole fortune in trust for her, and the interest was forwarded regularly to M. Murata by a Tokyo lawyer, to be used for her benefit as her guardian might deem best. This money was to be the only tie between Asako and her native land. To cut off a child from its family, of which by virtue of vested interests it must still be an important member, was a proceeding so revolutionary to all respectable Japanese ideas that even the enlightened Murata demurred. In Japan the individual counts for so little, the family for so much. But Fujinami had insisted, and disobedience to a man's dying wish brings the curse of a "rough ghost" upon the recalcitrant, and all kinds of evil consequences. So the Muratas took Asako and cherished her as much as their hearts, withered by exile and by unnatural living, were capable of cherishing anything. She became a daughter of the well-to-do French _bourgeoisie_, strictly but affectionately disciplined with the proper restraints on the natural growth of her brain and individuality. Geoffrey Barrington was not very favourably impressed by the Murata household. He wondered how so bright a little flower as Asako could have been reared in such gloomy surroundings. The spirits dominant in the villa were respectable economy and slavish imitation of the tastes and habits of Parisian friends. The living-rooms were as impersonal as the rooms of a boarding-house. Neutral tints abounded, ugly browns and nightmare vegetable patterns on carpets, furniture and wallpapers. There was a marked tendency towards covers, covers for the chairs and sofas, tablecloths and covers for the tablecloths, covers for cushion-covers, antimacassars, lamp-stands, vase-stands and every kind of decorative duster. Everywhere the thick smell of concealed grime told of insufficient servants and ineffective sweeping. There was not one ornament or picture which recalled Japan, or gave a clue to the personal tastes of the owners. Geoffrey had expected to be the nervous witness of an affecting scene between his wife and her adopted parents. But no, the greetings were polite and formal. Asako's frock and jewellery were admired, but without that note of angry envy which often brightens the dullest talk between ladies in England. Then, they sat down to an atrocious lunch eaten in complete silence. When the meal was over, Murata drew Geoffrey aside into his shingly garden. "I think that you will be content with our Asa San," he said; "the character is still plastic. In England it is different; but in France and in Japan we say it is the husband who must make the character of his wife. She is the plain white paper; let him take his brush and write on it what he will. Asa San is a very sweet girl. She is very easy to manage. She has a beautiful disposition. She does not tell lies without reason. She does not wish to make strange friends. I do not think you will have trouble with her." "He talks about her rather as if she were a horse," thought Geoffrey. Murata went on,-- "The Japanese woman is the ivy which clings to the tree. She does not wish to disobey." "You think Asako is still very Japanese, then?" asked Geoffrey. "Not her manners, or her looks, or even her thoughts," replied Murata, "but nothing can change the heart." "Then do you think she is homesick sometimes for Japan?" said her husband. "Oh no," smiled Murata. The little wizened man was full of smiles. "She left Japan when she was not two years old. She remembers nothing at all." "I think one day we shall go to Japan," said Geoffrey, "when we get tired of Europe, you know. It is a wonderful country, I am told; and it does not seem right that Asako should know nothing about it. Besides, I should like to look into her affairs and find out about her investments." Murata was staring at his yellow boots with an embarrassed air. It suddenly struck the Englishman that he, Geoffrey Harrington, was related to people who looked like that, and who now had the right to call him cousin. He shivered. "You can trust her lawyers," said the Japanese, "Mr. Ito is an old friend of mine. You may be quite certain that Asako's money is safe." "Oh yes, of course," assented Geoffrey, "but what exactly are her investments? I think I ought to know." Murata began to laugh nervously, as all Japanese do when embarrassed. "_Mon Dieu_!" he exclaimed, "but I do not know myself. The money has been paid regularly for nearly twenty years; and I know the Fujinami are very rich. Indeed, Captain Barrington, I do not think Asako would like Japan. It was her father's last wish that she should never return there." "But why?" asked Geoffrey. He felt that Murata was keeping something from him. The little man answered,-- "He thought that for a woman the life is more happy in Europe; he wished Asako to forget altogether that she was Japanese." "Yes, but now she is married and her future is fixed. She is not going back permanently to Japan, but just to see the country. I think we would both of us like to. People say it is a magnificent country." "You are very kind," said Murata, "to speak so of my country. But the foreign people who marry Japanese are happy if they stay in their own country, and Japanese who marry foreigners are happy if they go away from Japan. But if they stay in Japan they are not happy. The national atmosphere in Japan is too strong for those people who are not Japanese or are only half Japanese. They fade. Besides life in Japan is very poor and rough. I do not like it myself." Somehow Geoffrey could not accept these as being the real reasons. He had never had a long talk with a Japanese man before; but he felt that if they were all like that, so formal, so unnatural, so secretive, then he had better keep out of the range of Asako's relatives. He wondered what his wife really thought of the Muratas, and during the return to their hotel, he asked,-- "Well, little girl, do you want to go back again and live at Auteuil?" She shook her head. "But it is nice to think you have always got an extra home in Paris, isn't it?" he went on, fishing for an avowal that home was in his arms only, a kind of conversation which was the wine of life to him at that period. "No," she answered with a little shudder, "I don't call that home." Geoffrey's conventionality was a little bit shocked at this lack of affection; he was also disappointed at not getting exactly the expected answer. "Why, what was wrong with it?" he asked. "Oh, it was not pretty or comfortable," she said, "they were so afraid to spend money. When I wash my hands, they say, 'Do not use too much soap; it is waste.'" * * * * * Asako was like a little prisoner released into the sunlight. She dreaded the idea of being thrust back into darkness again. In this new life of hers anything would have made her happy, that is to say, anything new, anything given to her, anything good to eat or drink, anything soft and shimmery to wear, anything--so long as her big husband was with her. He was the most fascinating of all her novelties. He was much nicer than Lady Everington; for he was not always saying, "Don't," or making clever remarks, which she could not understand. He gave her absolutely her own way, and everything that she admired. He reminded her of an old Newfoundland dog who had been her slave when she was a little girl. He used to play with her as he would have played with a child, watching her as she tried on her finery, hiding things for her to find, holding them over her head and making her jump for them like a puppy, arranging her ornaments for her in those continual private exhibitions which took up so much of her time. Then she would ring the bell and summon all the chambermaids within call to come and admire; and Geoffrey would stand among all these womenfolk, listening to the chorus of "_Mon Dieu!_" and "_Ah, que c'est beau!_" and "_Ah, qu'elle est gentille!_" like some Hector who had strayed into the _gynaeceum_ of Priam's palace. He felt a little foolish, perhaps, but very happy, happy in his wife's naive happiness and affection, which did not require any mental effort to understand, nor that panting pursuit on which he had embarked more than once in order to keep up with the witty flirtatiousness of some of the beauties of Lady Everington's _salon_. Happiness shone out of Asako like light. But would she always be happy? There were the possibilities of the future to be reckoned with, sickness, childbirth, and the rearing of children, the hidden development of the character which so often grows away from what it once cherished, the baleful currents of outside influences, the attraction and repulsion of so-called friends and enemies all of which complicate the primitive simplicity of married life and forfeit the honeymoon Eden. Adam and Eve in the garden of the Creation can hear the voice of God whispering in the evening breeze; they can live without jars and ambitions, without suspicion and without reproaches. They have no parents, no parents-in-law, no brothers, sisters, aunts, or guardians, no friends to lay the train of scandal or to be continually pulling them from each other's arms. But the first influence which crosses the walls of their paradise, the first being to whom they speak, which possesses the semblance of a human voice, is most certainly Satan and that Old Serpent, who was a liar and a slanderer from the beginning, and whose counsels will lead inevitably to the withdrawal of God's presence and to the doom of a life of pain and labor. There was one cloud in the heaven of their happiness. Geoffrey was inclined to tease Asako about her native country. His ideas about Japan were gleaned chiefly from musical comedies. He would call his wife Yum Yum and Pitti Sing. He would fix the end of one of her black veils under his hat, and would ask her whether she liked him better with a pigtail. "Captain Geoffrey," she would complain, "it is the Chinese who wear the pigtail; they are a very savage people." Then he would call her his little _geisha_, and this she resented; for she knew from the Muratas that _geisha_ were bad women who took husbands away from their wives, and that was no joking matter. "What nonsense!" exclaimed Geoffrey, taken aback by this sudden reproof: "they are dear little things like you, darling, and they bring you tea and wave fans behind your head, and I would like to have twenty of them--to wait upon you!" He would tease her about a supposed fondness for rice, for chop-sticks, for paper umbrellas and _jiujitsu._ She liked him to tease her, just as a child likes to be teased, while all the time on the verge of tears. With Asako, tears and laughter were never far apart. "Why do you tease me because I am Japanese?" she would sob; "besides, I'm not really. I can't help it. I can't help it!" "But, sweetheart," her Captain Geoffrey would say, suddenly ashamed of his elephantine humour, "there's nothing to cry about. I would be proud to be a Japanese. They are jolly brave people. They gave the Russians a jolly good hiding." It made her feel well to hear him praise her people, but she would say: "No, no, they're not. I don't want to be a Jap. I don't like them. They're ugly and spiteful. Why can't we choose what we are? I would be an English girl--or perhaps French," she added, thinking of the Rue de la Paix. * * * * * They left Paris and went to Deauville; and here it was that the serpent first crawled into Eden, whispering of forbidden fruit. These serpents were charming people, amusing men and smart women, all anxious to make the acquaintance of the latest sensation, the Japanese millionairess and her good-looking husband. Asako lunched with them and dined with them and sat with them near the sea in wonderful bathing costumes which it would be a shame to wet. Conscious of the shortcomings of her figure as compared with those of the lissom mermaids who surrounded her, Asako returned to kimonos, much to her husband's surprise; and the mermaids had to confess themselves beaten. She listened to their talk and learned a hundred things, but another hundred at least remained hidden from her. Geoffrey left his wife to amuse herself in the cosmopolitan society of the French watering-place. He wanted this. All the wives whom he had ever known seemed to enjoy themselves best when away from their husbands' company. He did not quite trust the spirit of mutual adoration, which the gods had given to him and his bride. Perhaps it was an unhealthy symptom. Worse still, it might be Bad Form. He wanted Asako to be natural and to enjoy herself, and not to make their love into a prison house. But he felt a bit lonely when he was away from her. Occupation did not seem to come easily to him as it did when she was there to suggest it. Sometimes he would loaf up and down on the esplanade; and sometimes he would take strenuous swims in the sea. He became the prey of the bores who haunt every seaside place at home and abroad, lurking for lonely and polite people upon whom they may unload their conversation. All these people seemed either to have been in Japan themselves or to have friends and relations who knew the country thoroughly. A wonderful land, they assured him. The nation of the future, the Garden of the East, but of course Captain Barrington knew Japan well. No, he had never been there? Ah, but Mrs. Barrington must have described it all to him. Impossible! Really? Not since she was a baby? How very extraordinary! A charming country, so quaint, so original, so picturesque, such a place to relax in; and then the Japanese girls, the little _mousmés_, in their bright kimonos, who came fluttering round like little butterflies, who were so gentle and soft and grateful; but there! Captain Barrington was a married man, that was no affair of his. Ha! Ha! The elderly _roués_, who buzzed like February flies in the sunshine of Deauville, seemed to have particularly fruity memories of tea-house sprees and oriental philanderings under the cherry-blossoms of Yokohama. Evidently, Japan was just like the musical comedies. Geoffrey began to be ashamed of his ignorance concerning his wife's native country. Somebody had asked him, what exactly _bushido_ was. He had answered at random that it was made of rice and curry powder. By the hilarious reception given to this explanation he knew that he must have made a _gaffe_. So he asked one of the more erudite bores to give him the names of the best books about Japan. He would "mug it up," and get some answers off pat to the leading questions. The erudite one promptly lent him some volumes by Lafcadio Hearn and Pierre Loti's _Madame Chrysanthème_. He read the novel first of all. Rather spicy, wasn't it? Asako found the book. It was an illustrated edition; and the little drawings of Japanese scenes pleased her immensely, so that she began to read the letter press. "It is the story of a bad man and a bad woman," she said; "Geoffrey, why do you read bad things? They bring bad conditions." Geoffrey smiled. He was wondering whether the company of the fictitious _Chrysanthème_ was more demoralizing than that of the actual Mme. Laroche Meyerbeer, with whom his wife had been that day for a picnic lunch. "Besides, it isn't fair," his wife continued. "People read that book and then they think that all Japanese girls are bad like that." "Why, darling, I didn't think you had read it," Geoffrey expostulated, "who has been telling you about it?" "The Vicomte de Brie," Asako answered. "He called me _Chrysanthème_ and I asked him why." "Oh, did he?" said Geoffrey. Really it was time to put an end to lunch picnics and mermaidism. But Asako was so happy and so shiningly innocent. She returned to her circle of admirers, and Geoffrey to his studies of the Far East. He read the Lafcadio Hearn books, and did not perceive that he was taking opium. The wonderful sentences of that master of prose poetry rise before the eyes in whorls of narcotic smoke. They lull the brain as in a dream, and form themselves gradually into visions of a land more beautiful than any land that has ever existed anywhere, a country of vivid rice plains and sudden hills, of gracious forests and red temple gateways, of wise priests and folk-lore imagery, of a simple-hearted smiling people with children bright as flowers laughing and playing in unfailing sunlight, a country where everything is kind, gentle, small, neat, artistic, and spotlessly clean, where men become gods not by sudden apotheosis but by the easy processes of nature, a country, in short, which is the reverse of our own poor vexed continent where the monstrous and the hideous multiply daily. One afternoon Geoffrey was lounging on the terrace of the hotel reading _Kokoro_, when his attention was attracted by the arrival of Mme. Laroche Meyerbeer's motor-car with Asako, her hostess and another woman embedded in its depths. Asako was the first to leap out. She went up to her apartment without looking to right or left, and before her husband had time to reach her. Mme. Meyerbeer watched this arrow flight and shrugged her shoulders before lazily alighting. "Is all well?" asked Geoffrey. "No serious damage," smiled the lady, who is known in Deauville as _Madame Cythère_, "but you had better go and console her. I think she has seen the devil for the first time." He opened the door of their sunny bedroom, and found Asako packing feverishly, and sobbing in spasms. "My poor little darling," he said, lifting her in his arms, "whatever is the matter?" He laid her on the sofa, took off her hat, and loosened her dress, until gradually she became coherent. "He tried to kiss me," she sobbed. "Who did?" her husband asked. "The Vicomte de Brie." "Damned little monkey," cried Geoffrey, "I'll break every miserable bone in his pretence of a body." "Oh, no, no," protested Asako, "let us go away from here at once. Let us go to Switzerland, anywhere." The serpent had got into the garden, but he had not been a very adroit reptile. He had shown his fangs; and the woman had promptly bruised his head and had given him an eye like an Impressionist sunset, which for several days he had to hide from the ridicule of his friends. But Asako too had been grievously injured in the innocence of her heart; and it took all the snow winds of the Engadine to blow away from her face the hot defilement of the man's breath. She clung closely to her husband's protection. She, who had hitherto abandoned herself to excessive amiability, barbed the walls of their violated paradise with the broken glass of bare civility. Every man became suspect, the German professors culling Alpine plants, the mountain maniacs with their eyes fixed on peaks to conquer. She had no word for any of them. Even the manlike womenfolk, who golfed and rowed and clambered, were to her indignant eyes dangerous panders to the lusts of men, disguised allies of _Madame Cythère_. "Are they all bad?" she asked Geoffrey. "No, little girl, I don't suppose so. They look too dismal to be bad." Geoffrey was grateful for the turn of events which had delivered up his wife again into his sole company. He had missed her society more than he dared confess; for uxoriousness is a pitiful attitude. In fact, it is Bad Form. At this period he wanted her as a kind of mirror for his own mind and for his own person. She saw to it that his clothes were spotless and that his tie was straight. Of course, he always dressed for dinner even when they dined in their room. She too would dress herself up in her new finery for his eyes alone. She would listen to him laying down the law on subjects which he would not dare broach were he talking to any one else. She flattered him in that silent way which is so soothing to a man of his character. Her mind seemed to absorb his thoughts with the readiness of blotting paper; and he did not pause to observe whether the impression had come out backwards or forwards. He who had been so mute among Lady Everington's geniuses fell all of a sudden into a loquaciousness which was merely the reaction of his love for his wife, the instinct which makes the male bird sing. He just went on talking; and every day he became in his own estimation and in that of Asako, a more intelligent, a more original and a more eloquent man. CHAPTER III EASTWARDS _Nagaki yo no To no nemuri no Miname-zame, Nami nori fune no Oto no yoki kana_. From the deep sleep Of a long night Waking, Sweet is the sound Of the ship as it rides the waves. When August snow fell upon St. Moritz, the Barringtons descended to Milan, Florence, Venice and Rome. Towards Christmas they found their way to the Riviera, where they met Lady Everington at Monte Carlo, very indignant, or pretending to be so, at the neglect with which she had been treated. "Fairy godmothers are important people," she said, "and very easily offended. Then, they turn you into wild animals, or send you to sleep for a hundred years. Why didn't you write to me, child?" They were sitting on the terrace with the Casino behind them, overlooking the blue Mediterranean. A few yards farther on, a tall, young Englishman was chatting and laughing with a couple of girls too elaborately beautiful and too dazzlingly gowned for any world but the half-world. Suddenly he turned, and noticed Lady Everington. With a courteous farewell to his companions, he advanced to greet her. "Aubrey Laking," she exclaimed, "you never answered the letter I wrote to you at Tokyo." "Dear Lady Georgie, I left Tokyo ages ago. It followed me back to England; and I am now second secretary at Christiania. That is why I am in Monte Carlo!" "Then let me introduce you to Asako Fujinami, who is now Mrs. Barrington. You must tell her all about Tokyo. It is her native city; but she has not seen it since she was in long clothes, if Japanese babies wear such things." Aubrey Laking and Barrington had been at Eton together. They were old friends, and were delighted to meet once more. Barrington, especially, was pleased to have this opportunity to hear about Japan from one who had but lately left the country, and who was moreover a fluent and agreeable talker. Laking had not resided in Japan long enough to get tired of orientalism. He described the quaint, the picturesque, the amusing side of life in the East. He was full of enthusiasm for the land of soft voices and smiling faces, where countless little shops spread their wares under the light of the evening lanterns, where the twang of the _samisen_ and the _geisha's_ song are heard coming from the lighted tea-house, and the shadow of her helmet-like _coiffure_ is seen appearing and disappearing in silhouette against the paper _shoji_. * * * * * The East was drawing the Barringtons towards its perilous coasts. Laking's position at the Tokyo Embassy had been taken by Reggie Forsyth, one of Geoffrey's oldest friends, his best man at his wedding and a light of Lady Everington's circle. Already, Geoffrey had sent him a post-card, saying, "Warm up the _saké_ bottle," (Geoffrey was becoming quite learned in things Japanese), "and expect friends shortly." However, when the Barringtons did at last tear themselves from the Riviera, they announced rather disingenuously that they were going to Egypt. "They are too happy," Lady Everington said to Laking a few days later, "and they know nothing. I am afraid there will be trouble." "Oh, Lady Georgie," he replied, "I have never known you to be a prophetess of gloom. I would have thought the auspices were most fortunate." "They ought to quarrel more than they do," Lady Everington complained. "She ought to contradict him more than she does. There must be a volcanic element in marriage. It is a sign of trouble coming when the fires are quiet." "But they have got plenty of money," expostulated Aubrey, whose troubles were invariably connected with his banking account, "and they are very fond of each other. Where is the trouble to come from?" "Trouble is on the lookout for all of us, Aubrey," said his companion, "it is no good flying from it, even. The only thing to do is to look it in the face and laugh at it; then it gets annoyed sometimes, and goes away. But those two poor dears are sailing into the middle of it, and they don't even know how to laugh yet." "You think that Egypt is hopelessly demoralising. Thousands of people go there and come safely home, almost all, in fact, except Robert Hichens's heroines." "Oh no, not in Egypt," said Lady Everington; "Egypt is only a stepping-stone. They are going to Japan." "Well, certainly Japan is harmless enough. There is nobody there worth flirting with except us at the Embassies, and we generally have our hands full. As for the visitors, they are always under the influence of Cook's tickets and Japanese guides." "Aubrey dear, you think that trouble can only come from flirting or money." "I know that those two preoccupations are an abundant source of trouble." "What do you think of Mrs. Barrington?" asked her Ladyship, appearing to change the subject. "Oh, a very sweet little thing." "Like your lady friends in Tokyo, the Japanese ones, I mean?" "Not in the least. Japanese ladies look very picturesque, but they are as dull as dolls. They sidle along in the wake of their husbands, and don't expect to be spoken to." "And have you no more intimate experience?" asked Lady Everington. "Really, Aubrey, you have not been living up to your reputation." "Well, Lady Georgie," the young man proceeded, gazing at his polished boots with a well-assumed air of embarrassment, "since I know that you are one of the enlightened ones, I will confess to you that I did keep a little establishment _à la_ Pierre Loti. My Japanese teacher thought it would be a good way of improving my knowledge of the local idiom; and this knowledge meant an extra hundred pounds to me for interpreter's allowance, as it is called. I thought, too, that it would be a relief after diplomatic dinner parties to be able to swear for an hour or so, big round oaths in the company of a dear beloved one who would not understand me. So my teacher undertook to provide me with a suitable female companion. He did. In fact, he introduced me to his sister; and the suitability was based on the fact that she held the same position under my predecessor, a man whom I dislike exceedingly. But this I only found out later on. She was dull, deadly dull. I couldn't even make her jealous. She was as dull as my Japanese grammar; and when I had passed my examination and burnt my books, I dismissed her." "Aubrey, what a very wicked story!" "No, Lady Georgie, it was not even wicked. She was not real enough to sin with. The affair had not even the excitement of badness to keep it going." "Do you know the Japanese well?" Lady Everington returned to the highroad of her inquiry. "No, nobody does; they are a most secretive people." "Do you think that, if the Barringtons go to Japan, there is any danger of Asako being drawn back into the bosom of her family?" "No, I shouldn't think so," Laking replied, "Japanese life is so very uncomfortable, you know, even to the Japs themselves, when once they have got used to living in Europe or America. They sleep on the floor, their clothes are inconvenient, and their food is nasty, even in the houses of the rich ones." "Yes, it must be a peculiar country. What do you think is the greatest shock for the average traveller who goes there?" "Lady Georgie, you are asking me very searching questions to-day. I don't think I will answer any more." "Just this one," she pleaded. He considered his boots again for a moment, and then, raising his face to hers with that humorous challenging look which he assumes when on the verge of some indiscretion, he replied,-- "The _Yoshiwara_." "Yes," said her Ladyship, "I have heard of such a place. It is a kind of Vanity Fair, isn't it, for all the _cocottes_ Of Tokyo?" "It's more than that," Laking answered; "it is a market of human flesh, with nothing to disguise the crude fact except the picturesqueness of the place. It is a square enclosure as large as a small town. In this enclosure are shops, and in the shop windows women are displayed just like goods, or like animals in cages; for the windows have wooden bars. Some of the girls sit there stolidly like stuffed images, some of them come to the bars and try to catch hold of the passers-by, just like monkeys, and joke with them and shout after them. But I could not understand what they said--fortunately, perhaps. The girls,--there must be several thousands--are all dressed up in bright kimonos. It really is a very pretty sight, until one begins to think. They have their price tickets hung up in the shop windows, one shilling up to one pound. That is the greatest shock which Japan has in store for the ordinary tourist." Lady Everington was silent for a moment; her flippant companion had become quite serious. "After all," she said, "is it any worse than Piccadilly Circus at night?" "It is not a question of better or worse," argued Laking. "Such a purely mercenary system is a terrible offence to our most cherished belief. We may be hypocrites, but our hypocrisy itself is an admission of guilt and an act of worship. To us, even to the readiest sinners among us, woman is always something divine. The lowest assignation of the streets has at least a disguise of romance. It symbolises the words and the ways of Love, even if it parodies them. But to the Japanese, woman must be merely animal. You buy a girl as you buy a cow." Lady Everington shivered, but she tried to live up to her reputation of being shocked by nothing. "Well, that is true, after all, whether in Piccadilly or in the Yoshiwara. All prostitution is just a commercial transaction." "Perhaps," said the young diplomat, "but what about the Ideal at the back of our minds? Passion is often a grotesque incarnation of the Ideal, like a savage's rude image of his god. A glimpse of the ideal is possible in Piccadilly, and impossible in the Yoshiwara. The divine something was visible in Marguérite Gautier; little Hugh saw it even in Nana. For one thing, here in London, in the dirtiest of sordid dramas, it is still the woman who gives, but in Japan it is always the man who takes." "Aubrey," said his friend, "I had no idea that you were a poet, or in other words that you ever talked nonsense without laughing. You think such a shock is strong enough to upset the Barrington _ménage_?" "It will give furiously to think," he answered, "to poor old Geoffrey, who is a very straight, clean and honest fellow, not overused to furious thinking. I suppose if one married a monkey, one might persuade oneself of her humanity, until one saw her kindred in cages." "Poor little Asako, my latest god-daughter!" cried Lady Everington. "Really, Aubrey, you are very rude!" "I did not mean to be," said Laking penitently. "She is a most ingratiating little creature, like a lazy kitten; but I think it is unwise for him to take her to Japan. All kinds of latent orientalisms may develop." * * * * * The spring was at hand, the season of impulse, when we obey most readily the sudden stirrings of our hearts. Even in the torrid climate of Egypt, squalls of rain passed over like stray birds of passage. Asako Barrington felt the fresh influence and the desire to do new things in new places. Hitherto she had evinced very little inclination to revisit the home of her ancestors. But on their return from the temples of Luxor, she said quite unexpectedly to Geoffrey,-- "If we go to Japan now, we shall be in time to see the cherry-blossoms." "Why, little Yum Yum," cried her husband, delighted, "are you tired of Pharaohs?" "Egypt is very interesting," said Asako, correctly; "it is wonderful to think of these great places standing here for thousands and thousands of years. But it makes one sad, don't you think? Everybody here seems to have died long, long ago. It would be nice to see green fields again, wouldn't it, Geoffrey dearest?" The voice of the Spring was speaking clearly. "And you really want to go to Japan, sweetheart? It's the first time I've heard you say you want to go." "Uncle and Aunt Murata in Paris used always to say about now, 'If we go back to Japan we shall be in time to see the cherry-blossoms.'" "Why," asked Geoffrey, "do the Japanese make such a fuss about their cherry-blossoms?" "They must be very pretty," answered his wife, "like great clouds of snow. Besides, the cherry-flowers are supposed to be like the Japanese spirit." "So you are my little cherry-blossom--is that right?" "Oh no, not the women," she replied, "the men are the cherry-blossoms." Geoffrey laughed. It seemed absurd to him to compare a man to the frail and transient beauty of a flower. "Then what about the Japanese ladies," he asked, "if the men are blossoms?" Asako did not think they had any special flower to symbolise their charms. She suggested,-- "The bamboo, they say, because the wives have to bend under the storms when their husbands are angry. But, Geoffrey, you are never angry. You do not give me a chance to be like the bamboo." Next day, he boldly booked their tickets for Tokyo. The long sea voyage was a pleasant experience, broken by fleeting visits to startled friends in Ceylon and at Singapore, and enlivened by the close ephemeral intimacies of life on board ship. There was a motley company on board _S.S. Sumatra_; a company whose most obvious elements, the noisy and bibulous pests in the smoking-room and the ladies of mysterious destination with whom they dallied, were dismissed by Geoffrey at once as being terrible bounders. Beneath this scum more congenial spirits came to light, officers and Government officials returning to their posts, and a few globe-trotters of leisure. Everybody seemed anxious to pay attention to the charming Japanese lady; and from such incessant attention it is difficult to escape within the narrow bounds of ship life. The only way to keep off the impossibles was to form a bodyguard of the possibles. The seclusion of the honeymoon paradise had to be opened up for once in a way. Of course, there was much talk about the East; but it was a different point of view, from that of the enthusiasts of Deauville and the Riviera. These men and women had many of them lived in India, the Malay States, Japan, or the open ports of China, lived there to earn their bread and butter, not to dream about the Magic of the Orient. For such as these the romance had faded. The pages of their busy lives were written within a mourning border of discontent, of longing for that home land, to which on the occasion of their rare holidays they returned so readily, and which seemed to have no particular place or use for them when they did return. They were members of the British Dispersion; but their Zion was of more comfort to them as a sweet memory than as an actual home. "Yes," they would say about the land of their exile, "it is very picturesque." But their faces, lined or pale, their bitterness and their reticence, told of years of strain, laboriously money-earning, in lands where relaxations are few and forced, where climatic conditions are adverse, where fevers lurk, and where the white minority are posted like soldiers in a lonely fort, ever suspicious, ever on the watch. * * * * * The most faithful of Asako's bodyguard was a countryman of her own, Viscount Kamimura, the son of a celebrated Japanese statesman and diplomat, who, after completing his course at Cambridge, was returning to his own country for the first time after many years. He was a shy gentle youth, very quiet and refined, a little effeminate, even, in his exaggerated gracefulness and in his meticulous care for his clothes and his person. He avoided all company except that of the Barringtons, probably because a similarity in circumstances formed a bond between him and his country-woman. He had a high, intellectual forehead, the beautiful deep brown eyes of Asako, curling, sarcastic lips, a nose almost aquiline but starting a fraction of an inch too low between his eyes. He had read everything, he remembered everything, and he had played lawn tennis for his university. He was returning to Japan to be married. When Geoffrey asked him who his fiancée was, he replied that he did not know yet, but that his relatives would tell him as soon as ever he arrived in Japan. "Haven't you got any say in the matter?" asked the Englishman. "Oh yes," he answered, "If I actually dislike her, I need not marry her; but, of course, the choice is limited, so I must try not to be too hard to please." Geoffrey thought that it must be because of his extreme aristocracy that so few maidens in Japan were worthy of his hand. But Asako asked the question,-- "Why is the choice so small?" "You see," he said, "there are not many girls in Japan who can speak both English and French, and as I am going into the Diplomatic Service and shall leave Japan again shortly, that is an absolute necessity; besides, she must have a very good degree from her school." Geoffrey could hardly restrain himself from laughing. This idea of choosing a wife like a governess for her linguistic accomplishments seemed to him exceedingly comic. "You don't mind trusting other people," he said, "to arrange your marriage for you?" "Certainly not," said the young Japanese, "they are my own relatives, and they will do their best for me. They are all older than I am, and they have had the experience of their own marriages." "But," said Geoffrey, "when you saw your friends in England choosing for themselves, and falling in love and marrying for love's sake--?" "Some of them chose for themselves and married barmaids and divorced persons, just for the reason that they were in love and uncontrolled. So they brought shame on their families, and are probably now very unhappy. I think they would have done better if they had let their relatives choose for them." "Yes; but the others who marry girls of their own set?" "I think their choice is not really free at all. I do not think it is so much the girl who attracts them. It is the plans and intentions of those around them which urge them on. It is a kind of mesmerism. The parents of the young man and the parents of the young girl make the marriage by force of will. That also is a good way. It is not so very different from our system in Japan." "Don't you think that people in England marry because they love each other?" asked Asako. "Perhaps so," replied Kamimura, "but in our Japanese language we have no word which is quite the same as your word Love. So they say we do not know what this Love is. It may be so, perhaps. Anyhow Mr. Barrington will not wish to learn Japanese, I think." Geoffrey liked the young man. He was a good athlete, he was unassuming and well-bred, he clearly knew the difference between Good and Bad Form. Geoffrey's chief misgiving with regard to Japan had been a doubt as to the wisdom of making the acquaintance of his wife's kindred. How dreadful if they turned out to be a collection of oriental curios with whom he would not have one idea in common! The company of this young aristocrat, in no way distinguishable from an Englishman except for a certain grace and maturity, reassured him. No doubt his wife would have cousins like this; clean, manly fellows who would take him shooting and with whom he could enjoy a game of golf. He thought that Kamimura must be typical of the young Japanese of the upper classes. He did not realize that he was an official product, chosen by his Government and carefully moulded and polished, not to be a Japanese at home, but to be a Japanese abroad, the qualified representative of a First Class Power. Kamimura left the boat with them at Colombo and joined them in their visit to some tea-planting relatives. He was ready to do the same at Singapore, but he received an urgent cable from Japan recalling him at once. "I must not be too late for my own wedding," he said, during their last lunch together at Raffles's Hotel. "It would be a terrible sin against the laws of Filial Piety." "Whatever is that?" asked Asako. "Dear Mrs. Barrington, are you a daughter of Japan, and have never heard of the Twenty-four Children?" "No; who are they?" "They are model children, the paragons of goodness, celebrated because of their love for their fathers and mothers. One of them walked miles and miles every day to get water from a certain spring for his sick mother; another, when a tiger was going to eat his father, rushed to the animal and cried, 'No, eat me instead!' Little boys and girls in Japan are always being told to be like the Twenty-four Children." "Oh, how I'd hate them!" cried Asako. "That is because you are a rebellious, individualistic Englishwoman. You have lost that sense of family union, which makes good Japanese, brothers and cousins and uncles and aunts, all love each other publicly, however much they may hate each other in private." "That is very hypocritical!" "It is the social law," replied Kamimura. "In Japan the family is the important thing. You and I are nothing. If you want to get on in the world you must always be subject to your family. Then you are sure to get on however stupid you may be. In England you seem to use your families chiefly to quarrel with." "I think our relatives ought to be just our best friends," said Asako. "They are that too in a way," the young man answered. "In Japan it would be better to be born without hands and feet than to be born without relatives." CHAPTER IV NAGASAKI _Hono-bono to Akashi no ura no Asa-giri ni Shima-kakure-yuku Fune wo shi zo omou._ My thoughts are with a boat Which travels island-hid In the morning-mist Of the shore of Akashi Dim, dim! After Hongkong, they let the zone of eternal summer behind them. The crossing from Shanghai to Japan was rough, and the wind bitter. But on the first morning in Japanese waters Geoffrey was on deck betimes to enjoy to the full the excitement of arrival. They were approaching Nagasaki. It was a misty dawn. The sky was like mother-of-pearl, and the sea like mica. Abrupt grey islands appeared and disappeared, phantasmal, like guardian spirits of Japan, representatives of those myriads of Shinto deities who have the Empire in their keeping. Then, suddenly from behind the cliff of one of the islands a fishing boat came gliding with the silent stateliness of a swan. The body of the boat was low and slender, built of some white, shining wood; from the middle rose the high sail like a silver tower. It looked like the soul of that sleeping island setting out upon a dream journey. The mist was dissolving, slowly revealing more islands and more boats. Some of them passed quite close to the steamer; and Geoffrey could see the fishermen, dwarfish figures straining at the oar or squatting at the bottom of the boat, looking like Nibelungen on the quest for the Rhinegold. He could hear their strange cries to each other and to the steamer, harsh like the voice of sea-gulls. Asako came on deck to join her husband. The thrill of returning to Japan had scattered her partiality for late sleeping. She was dressed in a tailor-made coat and skirt of navy-blue serge. Her shoulders were wrapped in a broad stole of sable. Her head was bare. Perhaps it was the inherited instinct of generations of Japanese women, who never cover their heads, which made her dislike hats and avoid wearing them if possible. The sun was still covered, but the view was clear as far as the high mountains on the horizon towards which the ship was ploughing her way. "Look, Asako, Japan!" She was not looking at the distance. Her eyes were fixed on an emerald islet half a mile or less from the steamer's course, a jewel of the seas. It rose to the height of two hundred feet or so, a conical knoll, densely wooded. On the summit appeared a scar of rock like a ruined castle, and, rising from the rock's crest, a single pine-tree. Its trunk was twisted by all the winds of Heaven. Its long, lean branches groped the air like the arms of a blinded demon. It seemed to have an almost human personality an expression of fruitless striving, pathetic yet somehow sinister--a Prometheus among trees. Geoffrey followed his wife's gaze to the base of the island where a shoal of brown rocks trailed out to seawards. In a miniature bay he saw a tiny beach of golden sand, and, planted in the sand, a red gateway, two uprights and two lintels, the lower one held between the posts, the upper one laid across them and protruding on either side. It is the simplest of architectural designs, but strangely suggestive. It transformed that wooded island into a dwelling-place. It cast an enchantment over it, and seemed to explain the meaning of the pine-tree. The place was holy, an abode of spirits. Geoffrey had read enough by now to recognize the gateway as a "_torii_"; a religious symbol in Japan which always announces the neighbourhood of a shrine. It is a common feature of the country-side, as familiar as the crucifix in Catholic lands. But Asako, seeing the beauty of her country for the first time, and unaware of the dimming cloud of archaeological explanations, clapped her hands together three times in sheer delight; or was it in unconscious obedience to the custom of her race which in this way calls upon its gods? Then with a movement entirely occidental she threw her arms round her husband's neck, kissing him with all the devotion of her being. "Dear old Geoffrey, I love you so," she murmured. Her brown eyes were full of tears. * * * * * The steamer passed into a narrow channel, a kind of fiord, with wooded hills on both sides. The forests were green with spring foliage. Never had Geoffrey seen such a variety or such density of verdure. Every tree seemed to be different from its neighbour; and the hillsides were packed with trees like a crowded audience. Here and there a spray of mountain cherry-blossom rose among the green like a jet of snow. At the foot of the woods, by the edge of the calm water, the villages nestled. Only roofs could be seen, high, brown, thatched roofs with a line of sword-leaved irises growing along the roof-ridge like a crown. These native cottages looked like timid animals, cowering in their forms under the protecting trees. One felt that at any time an indiscreet hoot of the steamer might send them scuttering back to the forest depths. There were no signs of life in these submerged villages, where the fight between the forester's axe and primal vegetation seemed still undecided. Life was there; but it was hidden under the luxuriance of the overgrowth, hidden to casual passers-by like the life of insects. Only by the seaside, where the houses were clustered together above a seawall of cyclopean stones, and on the beach, where the long narrow boats, sharp-prowed and piratical, were drawn up to the shore, the same gnome-like little men, with a generous display of naked brown limbs, were sawing and hammering and mending their nets. The steamer glided up the fiord towards a cloud of black smoke ahead. Unknown to Geoffrey, it passed the grey Italianate Catholic cathedral, the shrine of the old Christian faith of Japan planted there by Saint Francis Xavier four hundred years ago. Anchor was cast off the island of Deshima, now moored to the mainland, where during the locked centuries the Dutch merchants had been permitted to remain in profitable servitude. Deshima has now been swallowed up by the Japanese town, and its significance has shifted across the bay to where the smoke and din of the Mitsubishi Dockyard prepare romantic visitors for the modern industrial life of the new Japan. Night and day, the furnace fires are roaring; and ten thousand workmen are busy building ships of war and ships of peace for the Britain of the Pacific. The quarantine officers came on board, little, brown men in uniform, absurdly self-important. Then the ship was besieged by a swarm of those narrow, primitive boats called _sampan_, which Loti has described as a kind of barbaric gondola, all jostling each other to bring merchants of local wares, damascene, tortoise-shell, pottery and picture post cards aboard the vessel, and to take visitors ashore. Geoffrey and Asako were among the first to land. The moment of arrival on Japanese soil brought a pang of disappointment. The sea-front at Nagasaki seemed very like a street in any starveling European town. It presented a line of offices and consulates built in Western style, without distinction and without charm. Customs' officers and policemen squinted suspiciously at the strangers. A few women, in charge of children or market-baskets, stared blankly. "Why, they are wearing kimonos!" exclaimed Asako, "but how dirty and dusty they are. They look as though they had been sleeping in them!" The Japanese women, indeed, cling to their national dress. But to the Barringtons, landing at Nagasaki, they seemed ugly, shapeless and dingy. Their hair was greasy and unkempt. Their faces were stupid and staring. Their figures were hidden in the muffle of their dirty garments. Geoffrey had been told they have baths at least once a day, but he was inclined to doubt it. Or else, it was because they all bathed in the same bath and their ablutions were merely an exchange of grime. But where were those butterfly girls, who dance with fan and battledore on our cups and saucers? The rickshaws were a pleasant experience, the one-man perambulators; and the costume of the rickshaw-runners was delightful, and their gnarled, indefatigable legs. With their tight trunk-hose of a coarse dark-blue material and short coat to match like an Eton jacket and with their large, round mushroom hats, they were like figures from the crowd of a Flemish Crucifixion. Behind the Barrington's _sampan_, a large lighter came alongside the wharf. It was black with coal-dust, and in one corner was heaped a pile of shallow baskets, such as are used in coaling vessels at Japanese ports, being slipped from hand to hand in unbroken chain up the ship's side and down again to the coal barge. The work was finished. The lighter was empty except for a crowd of coal-stained coolies which it was bringing back to Nagasaki. These were dressed like the rickshaw-men. They wore tight trousers, short jackets and straw sandals. They were sitting, wearied, on the sides of the barge, wiping black faces with black towels. Their hair was long, lank and matted. Their hands were bruised and shapeless with the rough toil. "Poor men," sighed Asako, "they've had hard work!" The crowd of them passed, peering at the English people and chattering in high voices. Geoffrey had never seen such queer-looking fellows, with their long hair, clean-shaven faces, and stumpy bow-legs. One more disheveled than the others was standing near him with tunic half-open. It exposed a woman's breast, black, loose and hard like leather. "They are women!" he exclaimed, "what an extraordinary thing!" But the children of Nagasaki--surely there could be no such disillusionment. They are laughing, happy, many-coloured and ubiquitous. They roll under the rickshaw wheels. They peep from behind the goods piled on the floors of the shops, a perpetual menace to shopkeepers, especially in the china stores, where their bird-like presence is more dangerous than that of the dreaded bull. They are blown up and down the temple-steps like fallen petals. They gather like humming-birds round the itinerant venders of the streets, the old men who balance on their bare shoulders their whole stock in trade of sweetmeats, syrups, toys or singing grasshoppers. They are the dolls of our own childhood, endowed with disconcerting life. Around their little bodies flames the love of colour of an oriental people, whose adult taste has been disciplined to sombre browns and greys. Wonderful motley kimonos they make for their children with flower patterns, butterfly patterns, toy and fairy-story patterns, printed on flannelette--or on silk for the little plutocrats--in all colors, among which reds, oranges, yellows, mauves, blues and greens predominate. They invaded the depressing atmosphere of the European-style hotel, where Geoffrey and Asako were trying to enjoy a tasteless lunch--their grubby, bare feet pattering on the worn lino. It pleased him to watch them, playing their game of _Jonkenpan_ with much show of pudgy fingers, and with restrained and fitful scamperings. He even made a tentative bid for popularity by throwing copper coins. There was no scramble for this largesse. Gravely and in turn each child pocketed his penny; but they all regarded Geoffrey with a wary and suspicious eye. He, too, on closer inspection found them less angelic than at first sight. The slimy horror of unwiped noses distressed him, and the significant prevalence of scabby scalps. * * * * * After their dull lunch in this drab hotel, Geoffrey and his wife started once more on their voyage of discovery. Nagasaki is a hidden city; it flows through its narrow valleys like water, and follows their serpentine meanderings far inland. They soon left behind the foreign settlement and its nondescript ugliness to plunge into the labyrinth of little native streets, wayward and wandering like sheep-tracks, with sudden abrupt hills and flights of steps which checked the rickshaws' progress. Here, the houses of the rich people were closely fenced and cunningly hidden; but the life of poverty and the shopkeepers' domesticity were flowing over into the street out of the too narrow confines of the boxes which they called their homes. With an extra man to push behind, the rickshaws had brought them up a zigzag hill to a cautious wooden gateway half open in a close fence of bamboo. "Tea-house!" said the rickshaw man, stopping and grinning. It was clearly expected of the foreigners that they should descend and enter. "Shall we get out and explore, sweetheart?" suggested Geoffrey. They passed under the low gate, up a pebbled pathway through the sweetest fairy garden to the entrance of the tea-house, a stage of brown boards highly polished and never defiled by the contamination of muddy boots. On the steps of approach a collection of _geta_ (native wooden clogs) and abominable side-spring shoes told that guests had already arrived. Within the dark corridors of the house there was an immediate fluttering as of pigeons. Four or five little women prostrated themselves before the visitors with a hissing murmur of "_Irasshai_! (Condescend to come!)." The Barringtons removed their boots and followed one of these ladies down a gleaming corridor with another miniature garden in an enclosed courtyard on one side, and paper _shoji_ and peeping faces on the other, out across a further garden by a kind of oriental Bridge of Sighs to a small separate pavilion, which floated on a lake of green shrubs and pure air, as though moored by the wooden gangway to the main block of the building. This summer-house contained a single small room like a very clean box with wooden frame, opaque paper walls, and pale golden matting. The only wall which seemed at all substantial presented the appearance of an alcove. In this niche there hung a long picture of cherry-blossoms on a mountain side, below which, on a stand of dark sandalwood, squatted a bronze monkey holding a crystal ball. This was the only ornament in the room. Geoffrey and his wife sat down or sprawled on square silk cushions called _zabuton_. Then the _shoji_ were thrown open; and they looked down upon Nagasaki. It was a scene of sheer enchantment. The tea-house was perched on a cliff which overhung the city. The light pavilion seemed like the car of some pullman aeroplane hovering over the bay. It was the brief half-hour of evening, the time of day when the magic of Japan is at its most powerful. All that was cheap and sordid was shut out by the bamboo fence and wrapped away in the twilight mists. It was a half-hour of luminous greyness. The skies were grey and the waters of the bay and the roofs of the houses. A grey vapour rose from the town; and a black-grey trail of smoke drifted from the dockyards and from the steamers in the harbour. The cries and activities of the city below rose clear and distinct but infinitely remote, as sound of the world might reach the Gods in Heaven. It was a half-hour of fairyland when anything might happen. Two little maids brought tea and sugary cakes, green tea like bitter hot water, insipid and unsatisfying. It was a shock to see the girls' faces as they raised the tiny china teacups. Under the glaze of their powder they were old and wise. They observed Asako's nationality, and began to speak to her in Japanese. "Their politeness is put on to order," thought Geoffrey, "they seem forward and inquisitive minxes." But Asako only knew a few set phrases of her native tongue. This baffled the ladies, one of whom after a whispered consultation and some giggling behind sleeves, went off to find a friend who would solve the mystery. "_Nésan, Nésan_ (elder sister)" she called across the garden. Strange little dishes were produced on trays of red lacquer, fish and vegetables of different kinds artistically arranged, but most unpalatable. A third _nésan_ appeared. She could speak some English. "Is _Okusama_ (lady) Japanese?" she began, after she had placed the tiny square table before Geoffrey, and had performed a prostration. Geoffrey assented. Renewed prostration before _okusama_, and murmured greetings in Japanese. "But I can't speak Japanese," said Asako laughing. This perplexed the girl, but her curiosity prompted her. "_Danna San_ (master) Ingiris'?" she asked, looking at Geoffrey. "Yes," said Asako. "Do many Englishmen have Japanese wives?" "Yes, very many," was the unexpected answer. "O Fuji San," she continued, indicating one of the other maids, "have Ingiris' _danna San_ very many years ago; very kind _danna san_; give O Fuji plenty nice kimono; he say, O Fuji very good girl, go to Ingiris' wit him; O Fuji say, No, cannot go, mother very sick; so _danna san_ go away. Give O Fuji San very nice finger ring." She lapsed into vernacular. The other girl showed with feigned embarrassment a little ring set with glassy sapphires. "Oh!" said Asako, dimly comprehending. "All Ingiris' _danna san_ come Nagasaki," the talkative maid went on, "want Japanese girl. Ingiris' _danna san_ kind man, but too plenty drink. Japanese _danna san_ not kind, not good. Ingiris' _danna san_ plenty money, plenty. Nagasaki girl very many foreign _danna san. Rashamen wa Nagasaki meibutsu_ (foreigners' mistresses famous product of Nagasaki). Ingiris' _danna san_ go away all the time. One year, two year--then go away to Ingiris' country." "Then what does the Japanese girl do?" asked Asako. "Other _danna san_ come," was the laconic reply. "Ingiris' _danna san_ live in Japan, Japanese girl very nice. Ingiris' _danna san_ go away, no want Japanese girl. Japanese girl no want go away Japan. Japanese girl go to other country, she feel very sick; heart very lonely, very sad!" A weird, unpleasant feeling had stolen into the little room, the presence of unfamiliar thoughts and of foreign moralities, birds of unhealth. The two other girls who could not speak English were posing for Geoffrey's benefit; one of them reclining against the framework of the open window with her long kimono sleeves crossed in front of her like wings, her painted oval face fixed on him in spite of the semblance of downcast eyes; the other squatting on her heels in a corner of the room with the same demure expression and with her hands folded in her lap. Despite the quietness of the poses they were as challenging in their way as the swinging hips of Piccadilly. It is as true to-day as it was in Kaempffer's time, the old Dutch traveler of two hundred and fifty years ago, that every hotel in Japan is a brothel, and every tea-house and restaurant a house of assignation. From a wing of the building near by came the twanging of a string, like a banjo string being tuned in fantastic quarter tones. A few sharp notes were struck, at random it seemed, followed by a few bars of a quavering song and then a burst of clownish laughter. Young bloods of Nagasaki had called in _geisha_ to amuse them at their meal. "Japanese _geisha_," said the tea-house girl, "if _danna san_ wish to see _geisha_ dance--?" "No thank you," said Geoffrey, hurriedly, "Asako darling, it is time we went home: we want our dinners." CHAPTER V CHONKINA _Modashi-ite Sakashira suru wa Sake nomite Yei-naki suru ni Nao shikazu keri._ To sit silent And look wise Is not to be compared with Drinking _saké_ And making a riotous shouting. As soon as the meal was over, Asako went to bed. She was tired out by an orgy of sight-seeing and new impressions. Geoffrey said that he would have a short walk and a smoke before turning in. He took the road which led towards the harbour of Nagasaki. _Chonkina, Chonkina, Chon, Chon, Kina, Kina, Yokohama, Nagasaki, Hakodate--Hoi!_ The refrain of an old song was awakened in his mind by the melodious name of the place. He descended the hill from the hotel, and crossed a bridge over a narrow river. The town was full of beauty. The warm light in the little wooden houses, the creamy light of the paper walls, illuminated from within, with the black silhouettes of the home groups traced upon them, the lanterns dancing on the boats in the harbour, the lights on the larger vessels in stiff patterns like propositions of Euclid, the lanterns on carts and rickshaws, lanterns like fruit, red, golden and glowing, and round bubble lamps over each house entrance with Chinese characters written upon them giving the name of the occupant. _Chonkina! Chonkina!_ As though in answer to his incantation, Geoffrey suddenly came upon Wigram. Wigram had been a fellow-passenger on board the steamer. He was an old Etonian; and this was really the only bond between the two men. For Wigram was short, fat and flabby, dull-eyed and pasty-faced. He spoke with a drawl; he had literary pretensions and he was travelling for pleasure. "Hello, Barrington," he said, "you all alone?" "Yes," answered Geoffrey, "my wife is a bit overtired; she has turned in." "So you are making the most of your opportunity, studying night-life, eh, naughty boy?" "Not much about, is there?" said Geoffrey, who considered that a "pi fellow" was Bad Form, and would not be regarded as such even by a creature whose point of view was as contemptible as that of Wigram. "Doesn't walk the streets, old man; but it's there all the same. The men at the club here tell me that Nagasaki is one of the hottest spots on the face of the globe." "Seems sleepy enough," answered Geoffrey. "Oh, here! these are just English warehouses and consulates. They're always asleep. But you come with me and see them dance the _Chonkina_." Geoffrey started at this echo of his own thoughts, but he said,-- "I must be getting back; my wife will be anxious." "Not yet, not yet. It will be all over in half an hour, and it's worth seeing. I am just going to the club to find a fellow who said he'd show me the ropes." Geoffrey allowed himself to be persuaded. After all he was not expected home so immediately. It was many years since he had visited low and disreputable places. They were Bad Form, and had no appeal for him. But the strangeness of the place attracted him, and a longing for the first glimpse behind the scenes in this inexplicable new country. _Chonkina! Chonkina!_ Why shouldn't he go? He was introduced to Wigram's friend, Mr. Patterson, a Scotch merchant of Nagasaki, who lurched out of the club in his habitual Saturday evening state of mellow inebriation. They called for three rickshaws, whose runners seemed to know without instructions whither they had to go. "Is it far from here?" asked Geoffrey. "It is not so far," said the Scotchman; "it is most conveniently situated." Noiselessly they sped down narrow twisting streets with the same unfamiliar lights and shadows, the glowing paper walls, and the luminous globes of the gate lamps. From the distance came the beat of a drum. Geoffrey had heard a drum sounded like that before in the Somali village at Aden, a savage primitive sound with a kind of marching rhythm, suggestive of the swing of hundreds of black bodies moving to some obscene festival. But here, in Japan, such music sounded remote from the civilisation of the country, from the old as from the new. "_Chonkina, Chonkina_," it seemed to be beating. The rickshaws turned into a broader street with houses taller and more commanding than any seen hitherto. They were built of brown wood like big Swiss chalets, and were hung with red paper lanterns like huge ripe cherries. Another stage-like entrance, more fluttering of women and low prostrations, a procession along shining corridors and up steep stairways like companion-ladders, everywhere a heavy smell of cheap scent and powder, the reek of the brothel. The three guests were installed, squatting or lounging around a low table with beer and cakes. There was a chorus of tittering and squeaking voices in the corridor. The partition slid open, and six little women came running into the room. "Patasan San! Patasan San!" they cried, clapping their hands. Here at last were the butterfly women of the traveller's imagination. They wore bright kimonos, red and blue, embroidered with gold thread. Their faces were pale like porcelain with the enamelling effect of the liquid powder which they use. Their black shiny hair, like liquorice, was arranged in fantastic volutes, which were adorned with silver bell-like ornaments and paper flowers. Choking down Geoffrey's admiration, a cloud of heavy perfume hung around them. "Good day to you," they squeaked in comical English, "How do you do? I love you. Please kiss me. Dam! dam!" Patterson introduced them by name as O Hana San (Miss Flower), O Yuki San (Miss Snow), O En San (Miss Affinity), O Toshi San (Miss Year), O Taka San (Miss Tall) and O Koma San (Miss Pony). One of them, Miss Pony, put her arm around Geoffrey's neck--the little fingers felt like the touch of insects--and said,-- "My darling, you love me?" The big Englishman disengaged himself gently. It is Bad Form to be rough to women, even to Japanese courtesans. He began to be sorry that he had come. "I have brought two very dear friends of mine," said Patterson to all the world, "for pleasure artistic rather than carnal; though perhaps I can safely prophesy that the pleasure of the senses is the end of all true art. We have come to see the national dance of Japan, the Nagasaki reel, the famous _Chonkina_. I myself am familiar with the dance. On two or three occasions I have performed with credit in these very halls. But these two gentlemen have come all the way from England on purpose to see the dance. I therefore request that you will dance it to-night with care and attention, with force of imagination, with a sense of pleasurable anticipation, and with humble respect to the naked truth." He spoke with the precise eloquence of intoxication, and as he flopped to the ground again Wigram clapped him on the shoulder with a "Bravo, old man!" Geoffrey felt very silent and rather sick. _Chonkina! Chonkina!_ The little women made a show of modesty, hiding their faces behind their long kimono sleeves. A servant girl pushed open the walls which communicated with the next room, an exact replica of the one in which they were sitting. An elderly woman in a sea-grey kimono was squatting there silent, rigid and dignified. For a moment Geoffrey thought that a mistake had been made, that this was another guest disturbed in quiet reflection and about to be justly indignant. But no, this Roman matron held in her lap the white disc of a _samisen_, the native banjo, upon which she strummed with a flat white bone. She was the evening's orchestra, an old _geisha_. The six little butterflies lined up in front of her and began to dance, not our Western dance of free limbs, but an Oriental dance from the hips with posturings of hands and feet. They sang a harsh faltering song without any apparent relation to the accompaniment played by that austere dame. _Chonkina! Chonkina!_ The six little figures swayed to and fro. _Chonkina! Chonkina! Hoi!_ With a sharp cry the song and dance stopped abruptly. The six dancers stood rigid with hands held out in different attitudes. One of them had lost the first round and must pay forfeit. Off came the broad embroidered sash. It was thrown aside, and the raucous singing began afresh. _Chonkina! Chonkina! Hoi!_ The same girl lost again; and amid shrill titterings the gorgeous scarlet kimono fell to the ground. She was left standing in a pretty blue under-kimono of light silk with a pale pink design of cherry-blossoms starred all over it. _Chonkina! Chonkina!_ Round after round the game was played; and first one girl lost and then another. Two of them were standing now with the upper part of their bodies bare. One of them was wearing a kind of white lace petticoat, stained and sour-looking, wrapped about her hips; the other wore short flannel drawers, like a man's bathing-pants, coloured in a Union Jack pattern, some sailor's offering to his _inamorata_. They were both of them young girls. Their breasts were flat and shapeless. The yellow skin ended abruptly at the throat and neck with the powder line. For the neck and face were a glaze of white. The effect of this break was to make the body look as if it had lost its real head under the guillotine, and had received an ill-matched substitute from the surgeon's hands. _Chonkina! Chonkina!_ Patterson had drawn nearer to the performers. His red face and his grim smile were tokens of what he would have described as pleasurable anticipation. Wigram, too, his flabby visage paler than ever, his large eyes bulging, and his mouth hanging open, gazed as in a trance. He had whispered to Geoffrey,-- "I've seen the _danse du ventre_ at Algiers, but this beats anything." Geoffrey from behind the fumes of the pipe-smoke watched the unreal phantasmagoria as he might have watched a dream. _Chonkina! Chonkina!_ The dance was more expressive now, not of art but of mere animalism. The bodies shook and squirmed. The faces were screwed up to express an ecstacy of sensual delight. The little fingers twitched into immodest gestures. _Chonkina! Chonkina! Hoi!_ Geoffrey had never gazed on a naked woman except idealised in marble or on canvas. The secret of Venus had been for him, as for many men, an inviolate Mecca towards which he worshipped. Glimpses he had seen, visions of soft curves, mica glistenings of creamy skin, but never the crude anatomical fact. An overgrown embryo she seemed, a gawkish ill-moulded thing. Woman, thought Geoffrey, should be supple and pliant, with a suggestion of swiftness galvanising the delicacy of the lines. Atalanta was his ideal woman. But this creature had apparently no bones or sinews. She looked like a sawdust dummy. She seemed to have been poured into a bag of brown tissue. There was no waist line. The chest appeared to fit down upon the thighs like a lid. The legs hung from the hips like trouser-legs, and seemed to fit into the feet like poles into their sockets. The turned-in toes were ridiculous and exasperating. There was no shaping of breasts, stomach, knees and ankles. There was nothing in this image of clay to show the loving caress of the Creator's hand. It had been modelled by a wretched bungler in a moment of inattention. Yet it stood there, erect and challenging, this miserable human tadpole, usurping the throne of Lais and crowned with the worship of such devotees as Patterson and Wigram. Are all women ugly? The query flashed through Geoffrey's brain. Is the vision of Aphrodite Anadyomene an artist's lie? Then he thought of Asako. Stripped of her gauzy nightdresses, was she like this? A shame on such imagining! Patterson was hugging a girl on his knee. Wigram had caught hold of another. Geoffrey said--but nobody heard him,-- "It's getting too hot for me here. I'm going." So he went. His little wife was awake, and disposed to be tearful. "Where have you been?" she asked, "You said you would only be half an hour." "I met Wigram," said Geoffrey, "and I went with him to see some _geisha_ dancing." "You might have taken me. Was it very pretty?" "No, it was very ugly; you would not have cared for it at all." He had a hot bath, before he lay down by her side. CHAPTER VI ACROSS JAPAN _Momo-shiki no Omiya-bito wa Okaredo Kokoro ni norite Omoyuru imo!_ Though the people of the Great City With its hundred towers Be many, Riding on my heart-- (Only) my beloved Sister! The traveller in Japan is restricted to a hard-worn road, dictated to him by Messrs. Thos. Cook and Son, and by the Tourists' Information Bureau. This _via sacra_ is marked by European-style hotels of varying quality, by insidious curio-shops, and by native guides, serious and profane, who classify foreigners under the two headings of Temples and Tea-houses. The lonely men-travellers are naturally supposed to have a _penchant_ for the spurious _geisha_, who haunt the native restaurants; the married couples are taken to the temples, and to those merchants of antiquities, who offer the highest commission to the guides. There is always an air of petty conspiracy in the wake of every foreigner who visits the country. If he is a Japan enthusiast, he is amused by the naive ways, and accepts the conventional smile as the reflection of the heart of "the happy, little Japs." If he hates the country, he takes it for granted that extortion and villainy will accompany his steps. Geoffrey and Asako enjoyed immensely their introduction to Japan. The unpleasant experiences of Nagasaki were soon forgotten after their arrival at Kyoto, the ancient capital of the Mikado, where the charm of old Japan still lingers. They were happy, innocent people, devoted to each other, easily pleased, and having heaps of money to spend. They were amused with everything, with the people, with the houses, with the shops, with being stared at, with being cheated, with being dragged to the ends of the vast city only to see flowerless gardens and temples in decay. Asako especially was entranced. The feel of the Japanese silk and the sight of bright colours and pretty patterns awoke in her a kind of ancestral memory, the craving of generations of Japanese women. She bought kimonos by the dozen, and spent hours trying them on amid a chorus of admiring chambermaids and waitresses, a chorus specially trained by the hotel management in the difficult art of admiring foreigners' purchases. Then to the curio-shops! The antique shops of Kyoto give to the simple foreigner the impression that he is being received in a private home by a Japanese gentleman of leisure whose hobby is collecting. The unsuspecting prey is welcomed with cigarettes and specially honourable tea, the thick green kind like pea-soup. An autograph book is produced in which are written the names of rich and distinguished people who have visited the collection. You are asked to add your own insignificant signature. A few glazed earthenware pots appear, Tibetan temple pottery of the Han Period. They are on their way to the Winckler collection in New York, a trifle of a hundred thousand dollars. Having pulverised the will-power of his guest, the merchant of antiquities hands him over to his myrmidons who conduct him round the shop--for it is only a shop after all. Taking accurate measurement of his purse and tastes, they force him to buy what pleases them, just as a conjurer can force a card upon his audience. The Barringtons' rooms at the Miyako Hotel soon became like an annex to the show-rooms in Messrs. Yamanaka's store. Brocades and kimonos were draped over chairs and bedsteads. Tables were crowded with porcelain, _cloisonné_ and statues of gods. Lanterns hung from the roof; and in a corner of the room stood an enormous bowl-shaped bell as big as a bath, resting on a tripod of red lacquer. When struck with a thick leather baton like a drum-stick it uttered a deep sob, a wonderful, round, perfect sound, full of the melancholy of the wind and the pine-forests, of the austere dignity of a vanishing civilisation, and the loneliness of the Buddhist Law. There was a temple on the hill behind the hotel whence such a note reached the visitors at dawn and again at sunset. The spirit of everything lovely in the country sang in its tones; and Asako and Geoffrey had agreed, that, whatever else they might buy or not buy, they must take an echo of that imprisoned music home with them to England. So they bought the cyclopean voice, engraved with cabalistic writing, which might be, as it professed to be, a temple bell of Yamato over five hundred years old, or else the last year's product of an Osaka foundry for antique brass ware. Geoffrey called it "Big Ben." "What are you going to do with all these things?" he asked his wife. "Oh, for our home in London," she answered, clapping her hands and gazing with ecstatic pride at all her treasures. "It will be wonderful. Oh, Geoffrey, Geoffrey, you are so good to give all this to me!" "But it is your own money, little sweetheart!" * * * * * Never did Asako seem further from her parents' race than during the first weeks of her sojourn in her native country. She was so unconscious of her relationship that she liked to play at imitating native life, as something utterly peculiar and absurd. Meals in Japanese eating-houses amused her immensely. The squatting on bare floors, the exaggerated obeisance of the waiting-girls, the queer food, the clumsy use of chop-sticks, the numbness of her feet after being sat upon for half an hour, all would set her off in peals of unchecked laughter, so as to astonish her compatriots who naturally enough mistook her for one of themselves. Once, with the aid of the girls of the hotel, she arrayed herself in the garments of a Japanese lady of position with her hair dressed in the shiny black helmet-shape, and her waist encased in the broad, tight _obi_ or sash, which after all was no more uncomfortable than a corset. Thus attired she came down to dinner one evening, trotting behind her husband as a well-trained Japanese wife should do. In foreign dress she appeared _petite_ and exotic, but one would have hesitated to name the land of her birth. It was a shock to Geoffrey to see her again in her native costume. In Europe, it had been a distinction, but here, in Japan, it was like a sudden fading into the landscape. He had never realised quite how entirely his wife was one of these people. The short stature and the shuffling gait, the tiny delicate hands, the grooved slit of the eyelids, and the oval of the face were pure Japanese. The only incongruous elements were the white ivory skin which, however, is a beauty not unknown among home-reared Japanese women also, and, above all, the expression which looked out of the dancing eyes and the red mouth ripe for kisses, an expression of freedom, happiness, and natural high spirits, which is not to be seen in a land where the women are hardly free, never natural, and seldom happy. The Japanese woman's face develops a compressed look which leaves the features a mere mask, and acquires very often a furtive glance, as of a sharp-fanged animal half-tamed by fear, something weasel-like or vixenish. Flaunting her native costume, Asako came down to dinner at the Miyako Hotel, laughing, chattering, and imitating the mincing steps of her country-women and their exaggerated politeness. Geoffrey tried to play his part in the little comedy; but his good spirits were forced and gradually silence fell between them, the silence which falls on masqueraders in fancy dress, who have tried to play up to the spirit of their costume, but whose imagination flags. Had Geoffrey been able to think a little more deeply he would have realized that this play-acting was a very visible sign of the gulf which yawned between his wife and the yellow women of Japan. She was acting as a white woman might have done, certain of the impossibility of confusion. But Geoffrey for the first time felt his wife's exoticism, not from the romantic and charming side, but from the ugly, sinister, and--horrible word--inferior side of it. Had he married a coloured woman? Was he a squaw's man? A sickening vision of _chonkina_ at Nagasaki rose before his imagination. When dinner was over, and after Asako had received the congratulations of the other guests, she retired upstairs to put on her _négligé_. Geoffrey liked a cigar after dinner, but Asako objected to the heavy aroma hanging about her bedroom. They therefore parted generally for this brief half hour; and afterwards they would read and talk together in their sitting-room. Like other people, they soon got into the habit of going to bed early in a country where there were no theatres playing in a comprehensible tongue, and no supper restaurants to turn night into day. Geoffrey lit his cigar and made his way to the smoking-room. Two elderly men, merchants from Kobe, were already sitting there over whiskies and sodas, discussing a mutual acquaintance. "No, I don't see much of him," one of them, an American, was saying, "nobody does nowadays. But take my word, when he came out here as a young man he was one of the smartest young fellows in the East." "Yes, I can quite believe you," said the other, a stolid Englishman with a briar pipe, "he struck me as an exceptionally well-educated man." "He was more than that, I tell you. He was a financial genius. He was a man with a great future." "Poor fellow!" said the other. "Well, he has only got himself to thank." Geoffrey was not an eavesdropper by nature, but he found himself getting interested in the fate of this anonymous failure, and wondered if he was going to hear the cause of the man's downfall. "When these Japanese women get hold of a man," the American went on, "they seem to drain the brightness out of him. Why, you have only got to stroll around to the Kobe Club and look at the faces. You can tell the ones that have Japanese wives or housekeepers right away. Something seems to have gone right out of their expression." "It's worry," said the Englishman. "A fellow marries a Japanese girl, and he finds he has to keep all her lazy relatives as well; and then a crowd of half-caste brats come along, and he doesn't know whether they are his own or not." "It is more than that," was the emphatic answer. "Men with white wives have worry enough; and a man can go gay in the tea-houses, and none the worse. But when once they marry them it is like signing a bond with the devil. That man's damned." Geoffrey rose and left the room. He thought on the whole it was better to withdraw than to hit that harsh-voiced Yankee hard in the eye. He felt that his wife had been insulted. But the speaker could not have known by whom he had been overheard. He had merely expressed an opinion which, as a sudden instinct told Geoffrey, must be generally prevalent among the white people living in this yellow country. Now that he came to think of it, he remembered curious glances cast at him and Asako by foreigners and also, strange to say, by Japanese, glances half contemptuous. Had he acquired it already, that expression which marked the faces of the unfortunates at the Kobe Club? He remembered also tactless remarks on board ship, such as, "Mrs. Barrington has lived all her life in England; of course, that makes all the difference." Geoffrey looked at his reflection in the long mirror in the hall. There were no signs as yet of premature damnation on the honest, healthy British face. There were signs, perhaps, of ripened thought and experience, of less superficial appreciation. The eyes seemed to have withdrawn deeper into their sockets, like the figurines in toy barometers when they feel wet weather coming. He was beginning to appreciate the force of the advice which had urged him to beware of Japan. Here, in the hotbed of race prejudice, evil spirits were abroad. It was so different in broad-hearted tolerant London. Asako was charming and rich. She was received everywhere. To marry her was no more strange than to marry a French girl or a Russian. They could have lived peaceably in Europe; and her distant fatherland would have added a pathetic charm to her personality. But here in Japan, where between the handful of whites and the myriads of yellow men stretches a No Man's Land, serrated and desolate, marked with bloody fights, with suspicions and treacheries, Asako's position as the wife of a white man and Geoffrey's position as the husband of a yellow wife were entirely different. The stranger's phrases had summed up the situation. They were no good, these white men who had pawned their lives to yellow girls. They were the failures, the _ratés_. Geoffrey had heard of promising young officers in India who had married native women and who had had to leave the service. He had done the same. Better go gay in the tea-houses with Wigram. He was the husband of a coloured woman. And then the crowd of half-caste brats? In England one hardly ever thinks of the progeny of mixed races. That bitter word "half-caste" is a distant echo of sensational novels. Geoffrey had not as yet noticed the pale handsome children of Eurasia, Nature's latest and most half-hearted experiment, whose seed, they say, is lost in the third generation. But he had heard the tone of scorn which flung out the term; and it suddenly occurred to him that his own children would be half-castes. He was walking on the garden terrace overlooking the starry city. He was thinking with an intensity unfamiliar to him and terrifying, like a machine which is developing its fullest power, and is shaking a framework unused to such a strain. He wanted a friend's presence, a desultory chat with an old pal about people and things which they shared in common. Thank God, Reggie Forsyth was in Tokyo. He would leave to-morrow. He must see Reggie, laugh at his queer clever talk again, relax himself, and feel sane. He was nervous of meeting his wife, lest her instinct might guess his thoughts. Yet he must not leave her any longer or his absence would make her anxious. Not that his love for Asako had been damaged; but he felt that they were traveling along a narrow path over a bottomless gulf in an unexplored country. He returned to the rooms and found her lying disconsolate on a sofa, wrapped in a flimsy champagne-coloured dressing-gown, one of the spoils of Paris. Her hair had been rapidly combed out of its formal native arrangement. It looked draggled and hard as though she had been bathing. Titine, the French maid, was removing the rejected débris of kimono and sash. "Sweetheart, you've been crying," said Geoffrey, kissing her. "You didn't like me as a Jap, and you've been thinking terrible things about me. Look at me, and tell me what you have been thinking." "Little Yum Yum talks great nonsense sometimes. As a matter of fact, I was thinking of going on to Tokyo to-morrow. I think we've seen about all there is to be seen here, don't you?" "Geoffrey, you want to see Reggie Forsyth. You're getting bored and homesick already." "No, I'm not. I think it is a ripping country; in fact, I want to see more of it. What I am wondering is whether we should take Tanaka." * * * * * This made Asako laugh. Any mention of Tanaka's name acted as a talisman of mirth. Tanaka was the Japanese guide who had fixed himself on to their company remora-like, with a fine flair for docile and profitable travelers. He was a very small man, small even for a Japanese, but plump withal. His back view looked like that of a little boy, an illusion accentuated by the shortness of his coat and his small straw boater with its colored ribbon. Even when he turned the illusion was not quite dispelled; for his was a round, ruddy, chubby face with dimples, a face with big cheeks ripe for smacking, and little sunken pig-like eyes. He had stalked the Barringtons during their first excursion on foot through the ancient city, knowing that sooner or later they would lose their way. When the opportunity offered itself and he saw them gazing vaguely round at cross-roads, he bore down upon them, raising his hat and saying: "Can I assist you, sir?" "Yes; would you kindly tell me the way to the Miyako Hotel?" asked Geoffrey. "I am myself _en route_," answered Tanaka. "Indeed we meet very _à propos_." On the way he had discoursed about all there was to be seen in Kyoto. Only, visitors must know their way about, or must have the service of an experienced guide who was _au fait_ and who knew the "open sesames." He pronounced this phrase "open sessums," and it was not until late that night that its meaning dawned upon Geoffrey. Tanaka had a rich collection of foreign and idiomatic phrases, which he must have learned by heart from a book and with which he adorned his conversation. On his own initiative he had appeared next morning to conduct the two visitors to the Emperor's palace, which he gave them to understand was open for that day only, and as a special privilege due to Tanaka's influence. While expatiating on the wonders to be seen, he brushed Geoffrey's clothes and arranged them with the care of a trained valet. In the evening, when they returned to the hotel and Asako complained of pains in her shoulder, Tanaka showed himself to be an adept at massage. Next morning he was again at his post; and Geoffrey realized that another member had been added to his household. He acted as their _cicerone_ or "siseroan," as he pronounced it, to temple treasuries and old palace gardens, to curio-shops and to little native eating-houses. The Barringtons submitted, not because they liked Tanaka, but because they were good-natured, and rather lost in this new country. Besides, Tanaka clung like a leech and was useful in many ways. Only on Sunday morning it was the hotel boy who brought their early morning tea. Tanaka was absent. When he made his appearance he wore a grave expression which hardly suited his round face; and he carried a large black prayer-book. He explained that he had been to church. He was a Christian, Greek Orthodox. At least so he said, but afterwards Geoffrey was inclined to think that this was only one of his mystifications to gain the sympathy of his victims and to create a bond between him and them. His method was one of observation, imitation and concealed interrogation. The long visits to the Barringtons' rooms, the time spent in clothes-brushing and in massage, were so much opportunity gained for inspecting the room and its inhabitants, for gauging their habits and their income, and for scheming out how to derive the greatest possible advantage for himself. The first results of this process were almost unconscious. The wide collar, in which his face had wobbled Micawber-like, disappeared; and a small double collar, like the kind Geoffrey wore, took its place. The garish neck-tie and hatband were replaced by discreet black. He acquired the attitudes and gestures of his employer in a few days. As for the cross-examination, it took place in the evening, when Geoffrey was tired, and Tanaka was taking off his boots. "Previous to the _fiancée_," Tanaka began, "did Lady Barrington live long time in Japan?" He was lavish with titles, considering that money and nobility in such people must be inseparable; besides, experience had taught him that the use of such honorifics never came amiss. "No; she left when she was quite a little baby." "Ladyship has Japanese name?" "Asako Fujinami. Do you know the name, Tanaka?" The Japanese set his head on one side to indicate an attitude of reflection. "Tokyo?" he suggested. "Yes, from Tokyo." "Does Lordship pay his _devoir_ to relatives of Ladyship?" "Yes, I suppose so, when we go to Tokyo." "Ladyship's relatives have noble residence?" asked Tanaka; it was his way of inquiring if they were rich. "I really don't know at all," answered Geoffrey. "Then I will detect for Lordship. It will be better. A man can do great foolishness if he does not detect." After this Geoffrey discouraged Tanaka. But Asako thought him a huge joke. He made himself very useful and agreeable, fetching and carrying for her, and amusing her with his wonderful English. He almost succeeded in dislodging Titine from her cares for her mistress's person. Geoffrey had once objected, on being expelled from his wife's bedroom during a change of raiment: "But Tanaka was there. You don't mind him seeing you apparently." Asako had burst out laughing. "Oh, he isn't a man. He isn't real at all. He says that I am like a flower, and that I am very beautiful in '_deshabeel_.'" "That sounds real enough," grunted Geoffrey, "and very like a man." Perhaps, innocent as she was, Asako enjoyed playing off Tanaka against her husband, just as it certainly amused her to watch the jealousy between Titine and the Japanese. It gave her a pleasant sense of power to see her big husband look so indignant. "How old do you think Tanaka is?" he asked her one day. "Oh, about eighteen or nineteen," she answered. She was not yet used to the deceptiveness of Japanese appearances. "He does not look more sometimes," said her husband; "but he has the ways and the experience of a very old hand. I wouldn't mind betting you that he is thirty." "All right," said Asako, "give me the jade Buddha if you are wrong." "And what will you give me if I am right?" said Geoffrey. "Kisses," replied his wife. Geoffrey went out to look for Tanaka. In a quarter of an hour he came back, triumphant. "My kisses, sweetheart," he demanded. "Wait," said Asako; "how old is he?" "I went out of the front door and there was Master Tanaka, telling the rickshaw-men the latest gossip about us. I said to him, 'Tanaka, are you married?' 'Yes, Lordship,' he answered, 'I am widower.' 'Any children?' I asked again. 'I have two progenies,' he said; 'they are soldiers of His Majesty the Emperor.' 'Why, how old are you?' I asked. 'Forty-three years,' he answered. 'You are very well preserved for a man of your age,' I said, and I have come back for my kisses." After this monstrous deception Geoffrey had declared that he would dismiss Tanaka. "A man who goes about like that," he said, "is a living lie." * * * * * Two days later, early in the morning, they left Kyoto by the great metal high road of Japan, which has replaced the famous way known as the _Tokaido_, sacred in history, legend and art. Every stone has its message for Japanese eyes, every tree its association with poetry or romance. Even among Western connoisseurs of Japanese wood engraving, its fifty-two resting places are as familiar as the Stations of the Cross. Such is the _Tokaido_, the road between the two capitals of Kyoto and Tokyo, still haunted by the ghosts of the Emperor's ox-drawn wagons, the _Shoguns'_ lacquered palanquins, by feudal warriors in their death-like armour, and by the swinging strides of the _samurai_. "Look, look, Fujiyama!" There was a movement in the observation-car, where Geoffrey and his wife were watching the unfolding of their new country. The sea was away to the right beyond the tea-fields and the pine-woods. To the left was the base of a mountain. Its summit was wrapped in cloud. From the fragment visible, it was possible to appreciate the architecture of the whole--_ex pede Herculem_. It took the train quite one hour to travel over that arc of the circuit of Fuji, which it must pass on its way to Tokyo. During this time, the curtained presence of the great mountain dominated the landscape. Everything seemed to lead up to that mantle of cloud. The terraced rice fields rose towards it, the trees slanted towards it, the moorland seemed to be pulled upwards, and the skin of the earth was stretched taut over some giant limb which had pushed itself up from below, the calm sea was waiting for its reflection, and even the microscopic train seemed to swing in its orbit round the mountain like an unwilling satellite. "It's a pity we can't see it," said Geoffrey. "Yes; it's the only big thing in the whole darned country," said a saturnine American, sitting opposite; "and then, when you get on to it, it's just a heap of cinders." Asako was not worrying about the landscape. Her thoughts were directed to a family of well-to-do Japanese, first-class passengers, who had settled in the observation car for half an hour or so, and had then withdrawn. There was a father, his wife and two daughters, wax-like figures who did not utter a word but glided shadow-like in and out of the compartment. Were they relations of hers? Then, when she and her husband passed down the corridor train to lunch, and through the swarming second-class carriages, she wondered once more, as she saw male Japan sprawling its length over the seats in the ugliest attitudes of repose, and female Japan squatting monkey-like and cleaning ears and nostrils with scraps of paper or wiping stolid babies. The carriages swarmed with children, with luggage and litter. The floors were a mess of spilled tea, broken earthenware cups and splintered wooden boxes. Cheap baggage was piled up everywhere, with wicker baskets, paper parcels, bundles of drab-coloured wraps, and cases of imitation leather. Among this débris children were playing unchecked, smearing their faces with rice cakes, and squashing the flies on the window pane. Were any of these her relatives? Asako shuddered. How much did she actually know about these far-away cousins? She could just remember her father. She could recall great brown shining eyes, and a thin face wasted by the consumption which killed him, and a tenderness of voice and manner quite apart from anything which she had ever experienced since. This soon came to an end. After that she had known only the conscientiously chilly care of the Muratas. They had told her that her mother had died when she was born, and that her father was so unhappy that he had left Japan forever. Her father was a very clever man. He had read all the English and French and German books. He had left special word when he was dying that Asako was not to go back to Japan, that Japanese men were bad to women, that she was to be brought up among French girls and was to marry a European or an American. But the Muratas could not tell her any intimate details about her father, whom they had not known very well. Again, although they were aware that she had rich cousins living in Tokyo, they did not know them personally and could tell her nothing. Her father had left no papers, only his photograph, the picture of a delicate, good-looking, sad-faced man in black cloak and kimono, and a little French book called _Pensées de Pascal_, at the end of which was written the address of Mr. Ito, the lawyer in Tokyo through whom the dividends were paid, and that of "my cousin Fujinami Gentaro." CHAPTER VII THE EMBASSY _Tsuyu no yo no Tsuyu no yo nagara Sari nagara!_ While this dewdrop world Is but a dewdrop world, Yet--all the same!-- The fabric of our lives is like a piece of knitting, terribly botched and bungled in most cases. There are stitches which are dropped, sometimes to be swallowed up and forgotten in the superstructure, sometimes to be picked up again after a lapse of years. These stitches are old friendships. The first stitch from Geoffrey's bachelor days to be worked back into the scheme of his married life was his friendship for Reggie Forsyth, who had been best man at his wedding and who had since then been appointed Secretary to the Embassy at Tokyo. Reggie had received a telegram saying that Geoffrey was coming. He was very pleased. He had reached that stage in the progress of exile where one is inordinately happy to see any old friend. In fact, he was beginning to be "fed up" with Japan, with its very limited distractions, and with the monotony of his diplomatic colleagues. Instead of going to the tennis court, which was his usual afternoon occupation, he had spent the time in arranging his rooms, shifting the furniture, rehanging the pictures, paying especial care to the disposition of his Oriental curios, his recent purchases, his last enthusiasms in this land of languor. Reggie collected Buddhas, Chinese snuff-bottles and lacquered medicine cases--called _inro_ in Japanese. "Caviare to the general!" murmured Reggie, as he gloated over a chaste design of fishes in mother-of-pearl, a pseudo-Korin. "Poor old Geoffrey! He's only a barbarian; but perhaps she will be interested. Here, T[=o]!" he called out to an impassive Japanese man-servant, "have the flowers come yet, and the little trees?" T[=o] produced from the back regions of the house a quantity of dwarf trees, planted as miniature landscapes in shallow porcelain dishes, and big fronds of budding cherry blossom. Reggie arranged the blossom in a triumphal arch over the corner table, where stood the silent company of the Buddhas. From among the trees he chose his favourite, a kind of dwarf cedar, to place between the window, opening on to a sunny veranda, and an old gold screen, across whose tender glory wound the variegated comicality of an Emperor's traveling procession, painted by a Kano artist of three centuries ago. He removed the books which were lying about the room--grim Japanese grammars, and forbidding works on International Law; and in their place he left volumes of poetry and memoirs, and English picture-papers strewn about in artistic disorder. Then he gave the silver frames of his photographs to To to be polished, the photographs of fair women signed with Christian names, of diplomats in grand uniforms, and of handsome foreigners. Having reduced the serious atmosphere of his study so as to give an impression of amiable indolence, Reggie Forsyth lit a cigarette and strolled out into the garden, amused at his own impatience. In London he would never have bestirred himself for old Geoffrey Barrington, who was only a Philistine, after all, with no sense of the inwardness of things. Reggie was a slim and graceful young man, with thin fair hair brushed flat back from his forehead. A certain projection of bones under the face gave him an almost haggard look; and his dancing blue eyes seemed to be never still. He wore a suit of navy serge fitting close to his figure, black tie, and grey spats. In fact, he was as immaculate as a young diplomat should always be. Outside his broad veranda was a gravel path, and beyond that a Japanese garden, the hobby of one of his predecessors, a miniature domain of hillocks and shrubs, with the inevitable pebbly water course, in which a bronze crane was perpetually fishing. Over the red-brick wall which encircles the Embassy compound the reddish buds of a cherry avenue were bursting in white stars. The compound of the Embassy is a fragment of British soil. The British flag floats over it; and the Japanese authorities have no power within its walls. Its large population of Japanese servants, about one hundred and fifty in all, are free from the burden of Japanese taxes; and, since the police may not enter, gambling, forbidden throughout the Empire, flourishes there; and the rambling servants' quarters behind the Ambassador's house are the Monte Carlo of the Tokyo _betto_ (coachman) and _kurumaya_ (rickshaw runner). However, since the alarming discovery that a professional burglar had, Diogenes-like, been occupying an old tub in a corner of the wide grounds, a policeman has been allowed to patrol the garden; but he has to drop that omnipotent swagger which marks his presence outside the walls. Except for Reggie Forsyth's exotic shrubbery, there is nothing Japanese within the solid red walls. The Embassy itself is the house of a prosperous city gentleman and might be transplanted to Bromley or Wimbledon. The smaller houses of the secretaries and the interpreters also wear a smug, suburban appearance, with their red brick and their black-and-white gabling. Only the broad verandas betray the intrusion of a warmer sun than ours. The lawns were laid out as a miniature golf-links, the thick masses of Japanese shrubs forming deadly bunkers, and Reggie was trying some mashie shots when one of the rare Tokyo taxi-cabs, carrying Geoffrey Barrington inside it, came slowly round a corner of the drive, as though it were feeling its way for its destination among such a cluster of houses. Geoffrey was alone. "Hello, old chap!" cried Reggie, running up and shaking his friend's big paw in his small nervous grip, "I'm so awfully glad to see you; but where's Mrs. Barrington?" Geoffrey had not brought his wife. He explained that they had been to pay their first call on Japanese relations, and that they had been honourably out; but even so the strain had been a severe one, and Asako had retired to rest at the hotel. "But why not come and stay here with me?" suggested Reggie. "I have got plenty of spare rooms; and there is such a gulf fixed between people who inhabit hotels and people with houses of their own. They see life from an entirely different point of view; their spirits hardly ever meet." "Have you room for eight large boxes of dresses and kimonos, several cases of curios, a French maid, a Japanese guide, two Japanese dogs and a monkey from Singapore?" Reggie whistled. "No really, is it as bad as all that? I was thinking that marriage meant just one extra person. It would have been fun having you both here, and this is the only place in Tokyo fit to live in." "It looks a comfortable little place," agreed Geoffrey. They had reached the secretary's house, and the newcomer was admiring its artistic arrangement. "Just like your rooms in London!" Reggie prided himself on the exclusively oriental character of his habitation, and its distinction from any other dwelling place which he had ever possessed. But then Geoffrey was only a Philistine, after all. "I suppose it's the photographs which look like old times," Geoffrey went on. "How's little Véronique?" "Veronica married an Argentine beef magnate, a German Jew, the nastiest person I have ever avoided meeting." "Poor old Reggie! Was that why you came to Japan?" "Partly; and partly because I had a chief in the Foreign Office who dared to say that I was lacking in practical experience of diplomacy. He sent me to this comic country to find it." "And you have found it right enough," said Geoffrey, inspecting a photograph of a Japanese girl in her dark silk kimono with a dainty flower pattern round the skirts and at the fall of the long sleeves. She was not unlike Asako; only there was a fraction of an inch more of bridge to her nose, and in that fraction lay the secret of her birth. "That is my latest inspiration," said Reggie. "Listen!" He sat down at the piano and played a plaintive little air, small and sweet and shivering. "_Japonaiserie d'hiver_," he explained. Then he changed the burden of his song into a melody rapid and winding, with curious tricklings among the bass notes. "Lamia," said Reggie, "or Lilith." "There's no tune in that last one; you can't whistle it," said Geoffrey, who exaggerated his Philistinism to throw Reggie's artistic nature into stronger relief. "But what has that got to do with the lady?" "Her name is Smith," said Reggie. "I know it is almost impossible and terribly sad; but her other name is Yaé. Rather wild and savage--isn't it? Like the cry of a bird in the night-time, or of a cannibal tribe on the warpath." "And is this your oriental version of Véronique?" asked his friend. "No," said Reggie, "it is a different chapter of experience altogether. Perhaps old Hardwick was right. I still have much to learn, thank God. Véronique was personal; Yaé is symbolic. She is my model, just like a painter's model, only more platonic. She is the East to me; for I cannot understand the East pure and undiluted. She is a country-woman of mine on her father's side, and therefore easier to understand. Impersonality and fatalism, the Eastern Proteus, in the grip of self-insistence and idealism, the British Hercules. A butterfly body with this cosmic war shaking it incessantly. Poor child! no wonder she seems always tired." "She is a half-caste?" asked Geoffrey. "Bad word, bad word. She isn't half-anything; and caste suggests India and suttees. She is a Eurasian, a denizen of a dream country which has a melodious name and no geographical existence. Have you ever heard anybody ask where Eurasia was? I have. A traveling Member of Parliament's wife at the Embassy here only a few months ago. I said that it was a large undiscovered country lying between the Equator and Tierra del Fuego. She seemed quite satisfied, and wondered whether it was very hot there; she remembered having heard a missionary once complain that the Eurasians wore so very few clothes! But to return to Yaé, you must meet her. This evening? No? To-morrow then. You will like her because, she looks something like Asako; and she will adore you because you are utterly unlike me. She comes here to inspire me once or twice a week. She says she likes me because everything in my house smells so sweet. That is the beginning of love, I sometimes think. Love enters the soul through the nostrils. If you doubt me, observe the animals. But foreign houses in Japan are haunted by a smell of dust and mildew. You cannot love in them. She likes to lie on my sofa, and smoke cigarettes, and do nothing, and listen to my playing tunes about her." "You are very impressionable," said his friend. "If it were anybody else I should say you were in love with this girl." "I am still the same, Geoffrey; always in love--and never." "But what about the other people here?" Barrington asked. "There are none, none who count. I am not impressionable. I am just short-sighted. I have to focus my weak vision on one person and neglect the rest." * * * * * A rickshaw was waiting to take Geoffrey back to the hotel. Under the saffron light of an uncanny sunset, which barred the western heavens with three broad streaks of orange and inky-blue like a gypsy girl's kerchief, the odd little vehicle rolled down the hill of Miyakezaka which overhangs the moat of the Imperial Palace. The latent soul of Tokyo, the mystery of Japan, lies within the confines of that moat, which is the only great majestic thing in an untidy rambling village of more than two million living beings. The Palace of the Mikado--a title by the way which is never used among Japanese--is hidden from sight. That is the first remarkable thing about it. The gesture of Versailles, the challenge of "_l'etat c'est moi_," the majestic vulgarity which the millionaire of the moment can mimic with a vulgarity less majestic, are here entirely absent; and one cannot mimic the invisible. Hardly, on bare winter days, when the sheltering groves are stripped, and the saddened heart is in need of reassurance, appears a green lustre of copper roofs. The _Goshö_ at Tokyo is not a sovereign's palace; it is the abode of a God. The surrounding woods and gardens occupy a space larger than Hyde Park in the very centre of the city. One well-groomed road crosses an extreme corner of this estate. Elsewhere only privileged feet may tread. This is a vast encumbrance in a modern commercial metropolis, but a striking tribute to the unseen. The most noticeable feature of the Palace is its moats. These lie in three or four concentric circles, the defences of ancient Yedo, whose outer lines have now been filled up by modern progress and an electric railway. They are broad sheets of water as wide as the Thames at Oxford, where ducks are floating and fishing. Beyond is a _glacis_ of vivid grass, a hundred feet high at some points, topped by vast iron-grey walls of cyclopean boulder-work, with the sudden angles of a Vauban fortress. Above these walls the weird pine-trees of Japan extend their lean tormented boughs. Within is the Emperor's domain. Geoffrey was hurrying homeward along the banks of the moat. The stagnant, viscous water was yellow under the sunset, and a yellow light hung over the green slopes, the grey walls and the dark tree tops. An echelon of geese passed high overhead in the region of the pale moon. Within the mysterious _enclave_ of the "Son of Heaven" the crows were uttering their harsh sarcastic croak. Witchery is abroad in Tokyo during this brief sunset hour. The mongrel nature of the city is less evident. The pretentious Government buildings of the New Japan assume dignity with the deep shadows and the heightening effect of the darkness. The untidy network of tangled wires fades into the coming obscurity. The rickety trams, packed to overflowing with the city crowds returning homeward, become creeping caterpillars of light. Lights spring up along the banks of the moat. More lights are reflected from its depth. Dark shadows gather like a frown round the Gate of the Cherry Field, where Ii Kamon no Kami's blood stained the winter snow-drifts some sixty years ago, because he dared to open the Country of the Gods to the contemptible foreigners; and in the cry of the _tofu_-seller echoes the voice of old Japan, a long-drawn wail, drowned at last by the grinding of the tram wheels and the lash and crackle of the connecting-rods against the overhead lines. Geoffrey, sitting back in his rickshaw, turned up his coat-collar, and watched the gathering pall of cloud extinguishing the sunset. "Looks like snow," he said to himself; "but it is impossible!" At the entrance to the Imperial Hotel--a Government institution, as almost everything in Japan ultimately turns out to be--Tanaka was standing in his characteristic attitude of a dog who waits for his master's return. Characteristically also, he was talking to a man, a Japanese, a showy person with spectacles and oily buffalo-horn moustaches, dressed in a vivid pea-green suit. However, at Geoffrey's approach, this individual raised his bowler-hat, bobbed and vanished; and Tanaka assisted his patron to descend from his rickshaw. As he approached the door of his suite, a little cloud of hotel _boys_ scattered like sparrows. This phenomenon did not as yet mean anything to Geoffrey. The native servants were not very real to him. But he was soon to realize that the _boy san_--Mister Boy, as his dignity now insists on being called--is more than an amusing contribution to the local atmosphere. When his smiles, his bows, and his peculiar English begin to pall, he reveals himself in his true light as a constant annoyance and a possible danger. Hell knows no fury like the untipped "_boy san_" He refuses to answer the bell. He suddenly understands no English at all. He bangs all the doors. He spends his spare moments in devising all kinds of petty annoyances, damp and dirty sheets, accidental damage to property, surreptitious draughts. And to vex one _boy san_ is to antagonize the whole caste; it is a boycott. At last the tip is given. Sudden sunshine, obsequious manners, attention of all kinds--for ever dwindling periods, until at last the _boy san_ attains his end, a fat retaining fee, extorted at regular intervals. But even more exasperating, since no largesse can cure it, is his national bent towards espionage. What does he do with his spare time, of which he has so much? He spends it in watching and listening to the hotel guests. He has heard legends of large sums paid for silence or for speech. There may be money in it, therefore, and there is always amusement. So the only housework which the _boy san_ does really willingly, is to dust the door, polish the handle, wipe the threshold;--anything in fact which brings him into the propinquity of the keyhole. What he observes or overhears, he exchanges with another _boy san_; and the hall porter or the head waiter generally serves as Chief Intelligence Bureau, and is always in touch with the Police. The arrival of guests so remarkable as the Barringtons became, therefore, at once a focus for the curiosity the ambition of the _boy sans_. And a rickshaw-man had told the lodgekeeper, whose wife told the wife of one of the cooks, who told the head waiter, that there was some connection between these visitors and the rich Fujinami. All the _boy sans_ knew what the Fujinami meant; so here was a cornucopia of unwholesome secrets. It was the most likely game which had arrived at the Imperial Hotel for years, ever since the American millionaire's wife who ran away with a San Francisco Chinaman. But to Geoffrey, when he broke up the gathering, the _boy sans_ were just a lot of queer little Japs. Asako was lying on her sofa, reading. Titine was brushing her hair. Asako, when she read, which was not often, preferred literature of the sentimental school, books like _The Rosary_, with stained glass in them, and tragedy overcome by nobleness of character. "I've been lonely without you and nervous," she said, "and I've had a visitor already." She pointed to a card lying on a small round table, a flimsy card printed--not engraved--on cream-coloured pasteboard. Geoffrey picked it up with a smile. "Curio dealers?" he asked. Japanese letters were printed on one side and English on the other. [Illustration: _S. ITO_ _Attorney of Law_] "Ito, that's the lawyer fellow, who pays the dividends. Did you see him." "Oh, no, I was much too weary. But he has only just gone. You probably passed him on the stairs." Geoffrey could only think of the vivid gentleman, who had been talking with Tanaka. The guide was sent for and questioned, but he knew nothing. The gentleman in green had merely stopped to ask him the time. CHAPTER VIII THE HALF-CASTE GIRL _Tomarite mo Tsubasa wa ugoku Kocho kana!_ Little butterfly! Even when it settles Its wings are moving. Next morning it was snowing and bitterly cold. Snow in Japan, snow in April, snow upon the cherry trees, what hospitality was this? The snow fell all day, muffling the silent city. Silence is at all times one of Tokyo's characteristics. For so large and important a metropolis it is strangely silent always. The only continuous street noise is the grating and crackling of the trams. The lumbering of horse vehicles and the pulsation of motor traffic are absent; for as beasts of burden horses are more costly than men, and in 1914 motor cars were still a novelty. Since the war boom, of course, every _narikin (nouveau riche)_ has rushed to buy his car; but even so, the state of the roads, which alternate between boulders and slush, do not encourage the motorist, and are impassable for heavy lorries. So incredible weights and bundles are moved on hand-barrows; and bales of goods and stacks of produce are punted down the dark waterways which give to parts of Tokyo a Venetian picturesqueness. Passengers, too proud to walk, flit past noiselessly in rubber-tyred rickshaws--which are not, as many believe, an ancient and typical Oriental conveyance, but the modern invention of an English missionary called Robinson. The hum of the city is dominated by the screech of the tramcars in the principal streets and by the patter of the wooden clogs, an incessant, irritating sound like rain. But these were now hushed by the snow. Neither the snow nor the other of Nature's discouragements can keep the Japanese for long indoors. Perhaps it is because their own houses are so draughty and uncomfortable. This day they were out in their thousands, men and women, drifting aimlessly along the pavements, as is their wont, wrapped in grey ulsters, their necks protected by ragged furs, pathetic spoils of domestic tabbies, and their heads sheltered under those wide oil-paper umbrellas, which have become a symbol of Japan in foreign eyes, the gigantic sunflowers of rainy weather, huge blooms of dark blue or black or orange, inscribed with the name and address of the owner in cursive Japanese script. Most of these people are wearing _ashida_, high wooden clogs perilous to the balance, which raise them as on stilts above the street level and add to the fantastical appearance of these silent shuffling multitudes. The snow falls, covering the city's meannesses, its vulgar apings of Americanisms, its crude advertisements. On the other hand, the true native architecture asserts itself, and becomes more than ever attractive. The white purity seems to gather all this miniature perfection, these irregular roofs, these chalet balconies, these broad walls and studies in rock and tree under a close-fitting cape, its natural winter garment. * * * * * The first chill of the rough weather kept Geoffrey and Asako by their fireside. But the indoor amenities of Japanese hotel life are few. There is a staleness in the public rooms and an angular discord in the private sitting-rooms, which condemn the idea of a comfortable day of reading, or of writing to friends at home about the Spirit of the East. So at the end of the first half of a desolate afternoon, a visit to the Embassy suggested itself. They left the hotel, ushered on their way by bowing _boy sans_; and in a few minutes an unsteady motor-car, careless of obstacles and side-slips, had whirled them through the slushy streets into the British compound, which only wanted a robin to look like the conventional Christmas card. It was a pleasant shock, after long traveling through countries modernized in a hurry, to be received by an English butler against a background of thick Turkey carpet, mahogany hall table and Buhl clock. It was like a bar of music long-forgotten to see the fall of snowy white cards accumulating in their silver bowl. Lady Cynthia Cairns's drawing-room was not an artistic apartment; it was too comfortable for that. There were too many chairs and sofas; and they were designed on broad lines for the stolid, permanent sitting of stout, comfortable bodies. There were too many photographs on view of persons distinguished for their solidity rather than for their good looks, the portraits of the guests whom one would expect to find installed in those chairs. A grand piano was there; but the absence of any music in its neighbourhood indicated that its purpose was chiefly to symbolize harmony in the home life, and to provide a spacious crush-room for the knick-knacks overflowing from many tables. These were dominated by a large signed photograph of Queen Victoria. In front of an open fireplace, where bright logs were crackling, slept an enormous black cat on a leopard's skin hearthrug. Out of this sea of easy circumstances rose Lady Cynthia. A daughter of the famous Earl of Cheviot, hers was a short but not unmajestic figure, encased in black silks which rustled and showed flashes of beads and jet in the dancing light of the fire. She had the firm pose of a man, and a face entirely masculine with strong lips and chin and humourous grey eyes, the face of a judge. Miss Gwendolen Cairns, who had apparently been reading to her mother when the visitors arrived, was a tall girl with fair _cendré_ hair. The simplicity of the cut of her dress and its pale green color showed artistic sympathies of the old aesthetic kind. The maintained amiability of her expression and manner indicated her life's task of smoothing down feelings ruffled by her mother's asperities, and of oiling the track of her father's career. "How are you, my dears?" Lady Cynthia was saying. "I'm so glad you've come in spite of the tempest. Gwendolen was just reading me to sleep. Do you ever read to your husband, Mrs. Barrington? It is a good idea, if only your voice is sufficiently monotonous." "I hope we haven't interrupted you," murmured Asako, who was rather alarmed at the great lady's manner. "It was a shock when I heard the bell ring. I cried out in my sleep--didn't I, Gwendolen?--and said, 'It's the Beebees!'" "I'm glad it wasn't as bad as all that," said Geoffrey, coming to his wife's rescue; "would that have been the worst that could possibly happen?" "The very worst," Lady Cynthia answered. "Professor Beebee teaches something or other to the Japanese, and he and Mrs. Beebee have lived in Japan for the last forty years. They remind me of that old tortoise at the Zoo, who has lived at the bottom of the sea for so many centuries that he is quite covered with seaweed and barnacles. But they are very sorry for me, because I only came here yesterday. They arrive almost every day to instruct me in the path in which I should go, and to eat my cakes by the dozen. They don't have any dinner the days they come here for tea. Mrs. Beebee is the Queen of the Goonies." "Who are the Goonies?" asked Geoffrey. "The rest of the old tortoises. They are missionaries and professors and their wives and daughters. The sons, of course, run away and go to the bad. There are quite a lot of the Goonies, and I see much more of them than I do of the _geishas_ and the _samurais_ and the _harakiris_ and all the Eastern things, which Gwendolen will talk about when she gets home. She is going to write a book, poor girl. There's nothing else to do in this country except to write about what is not here. It's very easy, you know. You copy it all out of some one else's book, only you illustrate it with your own snapshots. The publishers say that there is a small but steady demand, chiefly for circulating libraries in America. You see, I have been approached already on the subject, and I have not been here many months. So you've seen Reggie Forsyth already, he tells me. What do you think of him?" "Much the same as usual; he seemed rather bored." Lady Cynthia had led her guest away from the fireside, where Gwendolen Cairns was burbling to Asako. Geoffrey could feel the searchlight of her judicial eye upon him, and a sensation like the pause when a great man enters a room. Something essential was going to invade the commonplace talk. "Captain Barrington, your coming here just now is most providential. Reggie Forsyth is not bored at all, far from it." "I thought he would like the country," said Geoffrey guardedly. "He doesn't like the country. Why should he? But he likes somebody in the country. Now do you understand?" "Yes," agreed Geoffrey, "he showed me the photograph of a half Japanese girl. He said that she was his inspiration for local colour." "Exactly, and she's turning his brain yellow," snapped Lady Cynthia, forgetting, as everybody else did, including Geoffrey himself, that the same criticism might apply to Asako. However, Geoffrey was becoming more sensitive of late. He blushed a little and fidgeted, but he answered,-- "Reggie has always been easily inflammable." "Oh, in England, perhaps, it's good for a boy's education; but out here, Captain Barrington, it is different. I have lived for a long time East of Suez; and I know the danger of these love episodes in countries where there is nothing else to do, nothing else to talk about. I am a gossip myself; so I know the harm gossip can do." "But is it so serious, Lady Cynthia? Reggie rather laughed about it to me. He said, 'I am in love always--and never!'" "She is a dangerous young lady," said the Ambassadress. "Two years ago a young business man out here was engaged to be married to her. In the autumn his body was washed ashore near Yokohama. He had been bathing imprudently, and yet he was a good swimmer Last year two officers attached to the Embassy fought a duel, and one was badly wounded. It was turned into an accident of course; but they were both admirers of hers. This year it is Reggie's turn. And Reggie is a man with a great future. It would be a shame to lose him." "Lady Cynthia, aren't you being rather pessimistic? Besides, what can I do?" "Anything, everything! Eat with him, drink with him, play cards with him, go to the dogs with him--no, what a pity you are married! But, even so, it's better than nothing. Play tennis with him; take him to the top of Fujiyama. I can do nothing with him. He flouts me publicly. The old man can give him an official scolding; and Reginald will just mimic him for the benefit of the Chancery. I can hear them laughing all the way from here when Reggie is doing what he calls one of his 'stunts'. But you--why, he can see in your face the whole of London, the London which he respects and appreciates in spite of his cosmopolitan airs. He can see himself introducing Miss Yaé Smith in Lady Everington's drawing-room as Mrs. Forsyth." "Is there a great objection?" asked Geoffrey. "It is impossible," said Lady Cynthia. A sudden weariness came over Geoffrey. Did that ruthless "Impossible" apply to his case also? Would Lady Everington's door be closed to him on his return? Was he guilty of that worst offence against Good Form, a _mésalliance_? Or was Asako saved--by her money? Something unfair was impending. He looked at the two girls seated by the fireside, sipping their tea and laughing together. He must have shown signs of his embarrassment, for Lady Cynthia said,-- "Don't be absurd, Captain Barrington. The case is entirely different. A lady is always a lady, whether she is born in England or Japan. Miss Smith is not a lady; still worse, she is a half-caste, the daughter of an adventurer journalist and a tea-house woman. What can one expect? It is bad blood." * * * * * After taking leave of the Cairns, Geoffrey and Asako crossed the garden compound, white and Christmas-like under its covering of snow. They found their way down the by-path which led to the discreet seclusion of Reggie Forsyth's domain. The leaping of fire shadows against the lowered blinds gave a warm and welcoming impression of shelter and comfort; and still more welcoming were the sounds of the piano. It was a pleasure for the travellers to hear, for they had long been unaccustomed to the sound of music. Music should be the voice of the soul of the house; in the discord of hotels it is lost and scattered, but the home which is without music is dumb and imperfect. Reggie must have heard them coming, for he changed the dreamy melody which he was playing into the chorus of a popular song which had been rife in London a year ago. Geoffrey laughed. "Father's home again! Father's home again!" he hummed, fitting the words to the tune, as he waited for the door to open. They were greeted in the passage by Reggie. He was dressed in all respects like a Japanese gentleman, in black silk _haori_ (cloak), brown wadded kimono and fluted _hakama_ (skirt). He wore white _tabi_ (socks) and straw _zori_ (slippers). It is a becoming and sensible dress for any man. "I thought it must be you," he laughed, "so I played the watchword. Fancy you're being so homesick already. Please come in, Mrs. Harrington. I have often longed to see you in Japan, but I never thought you would come; and let me take your coat off. You will find it quite warm indoors." It was warm indeed. There was the heat of a green-house in Reggie's artistically ordered room. It was larger too than on the occasion of Geoffrey's visit; for the folding doors which led into a further apartment were thrown open. Two big fires were blazing; and old gold screens, glittering like Midas's treasury, warded off the draught from the windows. The air was heavy with fumes of incense still rising from a huge brass brazier, full of glowing charcoal and grey sand, placed in the middle of the floor. In one corner stood the Buddha table twinkling in the firelight. The miniature trees were disposed along the inner wall. There was no other furniture except an enormous black cushion lying between the brazier and the fireplace; and in the middle of the cushion--a little Japanese girl. She was squatting on her white-gloved toes in native fashion. Her kimono was sapphire blue, and it was fastened by a huge silver sash with a blue and green peacock embroidered on the fold of the bow, which looked like great wings and was almost as big as the rest of the little person put together. Her back was turned to the guests; and she was gazing into the flames in an attitude of reverie. She seemed unconscious of everything, as though still listening to the echo of the silent music. Reggie in his haste to greet his visitors had not noticed the hurried solicitude to arrange the set of the kimono to a nicety in order to indicate exactly the right pose. She looked like a jeweled butterfly on a great black leaf. "Yaé--Miss Smith," said Reggie, "these are my old friends whom I was telling you about." The small creature rose slowly with a dreamy grace, and stepped off her cushion as a fairy might alight from her walnut-shell carriage. "I am very pleased to meet you," she purred. It was the stock American phrase which has crossed the Pacific westwards; but the citizen's brusqueness was replaced by the condescension of a queen. Her face was a delicate oval of the same creamy smoothness as Asako's But the chin, which in Asako's case receded a trifle in obedience to Japanese canons of beauty, was thrust vigorously forward; and the curved lips in their Cupid's bow seemed moulded for kissing by generations of European passions, whereas about Japanese mouths there is always something sullen and pinched and colourless. The bridge of her nose and her eyes of deep olive green, the eyes of a wildcat, gave the lie to her mother's race. Reggie's artistry could not help watching the two women together with appreciative satisfaction. Yaé was even smaller and finer-fingered than the pure-bred Japanese. Ever since he had first met Yaé Smith he had compared and contrasted her in his mind with Asako Barrington. He had used both as models for his dainty music. His harmonies, he was wont to explain, came to him in woman's shape. To express Japan he must see a Japanese woman. Not that he had any interest in Japanese women, physically. They are too different from our women, he used to think; and the difference repelled and fascinated him. It is so wide that it can only be crossed by frank sensuality or by blind imagination. But the artist needs his flesh-and-blood interpreter if he is to get even as far as a misunderstanding. So in figuring to himself the East, Reggie had at first made use of his memory of Asako, with her European education built up over the inheritance of Japan. Later he met Yaé Smith, through the paper walls of whose Japanese existence the instincts of her Scottish forefathers kept forcing their unruly way. Geoffrey could not define his thoughts so precisely; but something unruly stirred in his consciousness, when he saw the ghost of his days of courtship rise before him in the deep blue kimono. His wife had certainly made a great abdication when she abandoned her native dress for plain blue serges. Of course he could not have Asako looking like a doll; but still--had he fallen in love with a few yards of silk? Yaé Smith seemed most anxious to please in spite of the affectation of her poses, which perhaps were necessary to her, lest, looking so much like a plaything, she might be greeted as such. She always wanted to be liked by people. This was her leading characteristic. It was at the root of her frailties--a soil overfertilized from which weeds spring apace. She was voluble in a gentle cat-like way, praising the rings on Asako's fingers, and the cut and material of her dress. But her eyes were forever glancing towards Geoffrey. He was so very tall and broad, standing in the framework of the folding doors beside the slim figure of Reggie, more girlish than ever in the skirts of his kimono. Captain Barrington, the son of a lord! How fine he must look in uniform, in that cavalry uniform, with the silver cuirass and the plumed helmet like the English soldiers in her father's books at home! "Your husband is very big," she said to Asako. "Yes, he is," said Asako; "much too big for Japan." "Oh, I should like that," said the little Eurasian, "it must be nice." There was a warmth, a sincerity in the tone which made Asako stare at her companion. But the childish face was innocent and smiling. The languid curve of the smile and the opalescence of the green eyes betrayed none of their secrets to Asako's inexperience. Reggie sat down at the piano, and, still watching the two women, he began to play. "This is the Yaé Sonata," he explained to Geoffrey. It began with some bars from an old Scottish song: "Had we never loved so sadly, Had we never loved so madly, Never loved and never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted." Insensibly the pathetic melody faded away into the _staccato_ beat of a _geisha's_ song, with more rhythm than tune, which doubled and redoubled its pace, stumbling and leaping up again over strange syncopations. All of a sudden the musician stopped. "I can't describe your wife, now that I see her," he said. "I don't know any dignified old Japanese music, something like the _gavottes_ of Couperin only in a setting of Kyoto and gold screens; and then there must be a dash of something very English which she has acquired from you--'Home, Sweet Home' or 'Sally in our Alley.'" "Never mind, old chap!" said Geoffrey; "play 'Father's home again!'" Reggie shook himself; and then struck up the rolling chorus; but, as he interpreted it, his mood turned pensive again. The tone was hushed, the time slower. The vulgar tune expressed itself suddenly in deep melancholy, It brought back to the two young men more forcibly than the most inspired _concerto_, the memory of England, the sparkle of the theatres, the street din of London, and the warmth of good company--all that had seemed sweet to them in a time which was distant now. Reggie ceased playing. The two girls were sitting together now on the big black cushion in front of the fire. They were looking at a portfolio of Japanese prints, Reggie's embryo collection. The young diplomat said to his friend: "Geoffrey, you've not been in the East long enough to be exasperated by it. I have. So our ideas will not be in sympathy." "It's not what I thought it was going to be, I must admit. Everything is so much of a muchness. If you've seen one temple you've seen the lot, and the same with everything here." "That is the first stage, Disappointment. We have heard so much of the East and its splendours, the gorgeous East and the rest of it. The reality is small and sordid, and like so much that is ugly in our own country." "Yes, they wear shocking bad clothes, don't they, directly they get out of kimonos; and even the kimonos look dingy and dirty." "They are." said Reggie. "Yours would be, if you had to keep a wife and eight children on thirty shillings a month." Then he added: "The second stage in the observer's progress is Discovery. Have you read Lafcadio Hearn's books about Japan?" "Yes. some of them," answered Geoffrey. "It strikes me that he was a thorough-paced liar." "No, he was a poet, a poet; and he jumped over the first stage to dwell for some time in the second, probably because he was by nature short-sighted. That is a great advantage for discoverers." "But what do you mean by the second stage?" "The stage of Discovery! Have you ever walked about a Japanese city in the twilight when the evening bell sounds from a hidden temple? Have you turned into the by-streets and watched the men returning to their wise little houses and the family groups assembled to meet them and help them change into their kimonos? Have you heard the splashing and the chatter of the bath-houses which are the evening clubs of the common people and the great clearing-houses of gossip? Have you heard the broken _samisen_ music tracking you down a street of _geisha_ houses? Have you seen the _geisha_ herself in her blue cloak sitting rigid and expressionless in the rickshaw which is carrying her off to meet her lover? Have you heard the drums of Priapus beating from the gay quarters? Have you watched the crowds which gather round a temple festival, buying queer little plants for their homes and farthing toys for their children, crowding to the fortune-teller's booth for news of good luck and bad luck, throwing their penny to the god and clapping their hands to attract his attention? Have you seen anything of this without a feeling of deep pleasure and a wonder as to how these people live and think, what we have got in common with them, and what we have got to learn from them?" "I think I know what you mean," said Geoffrey. "It's all very picturesque, but they always seem to be hiding something." "Exactly," said his friend, "and every man of intelligence who has to live in this country thinks that he need only learn their language and use their customs, and then he will find out what is hidden. That is what Lafcadio Hearn did; and that is why I wear a kimono. But what did he find out? A lot of pretty stories, echoes of old civilization and folk-lore; but of the mind and heart of the Japanese people--the only coloured people, after all, who have held their heads up against the white races--little or nothing until he reached the third stage, Disillusionment. Then he wrote _Japan, an Interpretation_, which is his best book." "I haven't read it." "You ought to. His other things are mere melodies, the kind of stuff I can play to you by the hour. This is a serious book of history and political science." "Sounds a bit dry for me." laughed Geoffrey. "It is a disillusioned man's explanation of the country into which he had tried to sink, but which had rejected him. He explains the present by the past. That is reasonable. The dead are the real rulers of Japan, he says. Underneath the surface changing, the nation is deeply conservative, suspicious of all interference and unconventionally, sullenly self-satisfied; and above all, still as much locked in its primitive family system as it was a thousand years ago. You cannot be friends with a Japanese unless you are friends with his family; and you cannot be friends with his family unless you belong to it. This is the deadlock; and this is why we never get any forwarder." "Then I've got a chance since I've got a Japanese family." "I don't know of course," said Reggie; "but I shouldn't think they would have much use for you. They will receive you most politely; but they will look upon you as an interloper and they will try to steer you out of the country." "But my wife?" said Geoffrey, "she is their own flesh and blood, after all." "Well, of course, I don't know. But if they are extremely friendly I should look out, if I were you. The Japanese are conventionally hospitable, but they are not cordial to strangers unless they have a very strong motive." Geoffrey Barrington looked in the direction where his wife was seated on a corner of the big cushion, turning over one by one a portfolio full of parti-colored woodprints on their broad white mounts. The firelight flickered round her like a crowd of importunate thoughts. She felt that he was looking at her, and glanced across at him. "Can you see in there, Mrs. Barrington, or shall I turn the lights on?" asked her host. "Oh, no," answered the little lady, "that would spoil it. The pictures look quite alive in the firelight. What a lovely collection you've got!" "There's nothing very valuable there," said Reggie, "but they are very effective, I think, even the cheap ones." Asako was holding up a pied engraving of a sinuous Japanese woman, an Utamaro from an old block recut, in dazzling raiment, with her sash tied in front of her and her head bristling with amber pins like a porcupine. "Geoffrey, will you please take me to see the Yoshiwara?" she asked. The request dismayed Geoffrey. He knew well enough what was to be seen at the Yoshiwara. He would have been interested to visit the licensed quarter of the demi-monde himself in the company of--say Reggie Forsyth. But this was a branch of inquiry which to his mind should be reserved for men alone. Nice women never think of such things. That his own wife should wish to see the place and, worse still, should express that wish in public was a blatant offence against Good Form, which could only be excused by her innocent ignorance. But Reggie, who was used to the curiosity of every tourist, male and female, about the night-life of Tokyo, answered readily: "Yes, Mrs. Barrington. It's well worth seeing. We must arrange to go down there." "Miss Smith tells me," said Asako, "that all these lovely gay creatures are Yoshiwara girls; and that you can see them there now." "Not that identical lady of course," said Reggie, who had joined the group by the fireside, "she died a hundred years ago; but her professional great-granddaughters are still there." "And I can see them!" Asako clapped her hands. "Ladies are allowed to go and look? It does not matter? It is not improper?" "Oh, no," said Yaé Smith, "my brothers have taken me. Would you like to go?" "Yes, I would," said Asako, glancing at her husband, who, however, showed no signs of approval. CHAPTER IX ITO SAN _Ama no hara Fumi-todorokashi Naru-kami mo Omou-naka wo ba Sakuru mono ka wa?_ Can even the God of Thunder Whose footfall resounds In the plains of the sky Put asunder Those whom love joins? Geoffrey's conscience was disturbed. His face was lined and worried with thought, such as had left him untroubled since the effervescences of his early youth. Like many young men of his caste, he had soon submitted all the baffling riddles of conduct to the thumb rule of Good Form. This Yoshiwara question was to him something more than a moral conundrum. It was a subtle attack by the wife of his bosom, aided and abetted by his old friend Reggie Forsyth and by the mysterious forces of this unfamiliar land as typified by Yaé Smith, against the citadel of Good Form, against the stronghold of his principles. Geoffrey himself wished to see the Yoshiwara. His project had been that one evening, when Asako had been invited to dinner by friends, he and Reggie would go and look at the place. This much was sanctioned by Good Form. For him to take his wife there, and for people to know that he had done so, would be the worst of Bad Form, the conduct of a rank outsider. Unfortunately, it was also Bad Form for him to discuss the matter with Asako. A terrible dilemma. Was it possible that the laws of Good and Bad Form were only locally binding, and that here in Japan they were no longer valid? Reggie was different. He was so awfully clever. He could extemporize on Good Form as he could extemporize on the piano. Besides, he was a victim to the artistic temperament, which cannot control itself. But Reggie had not been improved by his sojourn in this queer country, or he would never have so far forgotten himself as to speak in such a way in the presence of ladies. Geoffrey would give him a good beating at tennis; and then, having reduced him to a fit state of humility, he would have it out with him. For Barrington was not a man to nurse displeasure against his friends. The tennis courts at Tokyo--which stand in a magnificent central position one day to be occupied by the Japanese Houses of Parliament--are every afternoon the meeting place for youth in exile with a sprinkling of Japanese, some of whom have acquired great skill at the game. Towards tea-time the ladies arrive to watch the evening efforts of their husbands and admirers, and to escort them home when the light begins to fail. So the tennis courts have become a little social oasis in the vast desert of oriental life. Brilliant it is not. Sparkle there is none. But there is a certain chirpiness, the forced gaiety of caged birds. The day was warm and bright. The snow had vanished as though by supernatural command. Geoffrey enjoyed his game thoroughly, although he was beaten, being out of practice and unused to gravel courts. But the exercise made him, in his own language, "sweat like a pig," and he felt better. He thought he would shelve the unpleasant subject for the time being; but it was Reggie himself who revived it. "About the Yoshiwara," he said, seating himself on one of the benches placed round the courts. "They are having a special show down there to-morrow. It will probably be worth seeing." "Look here," said Geoffrey, "is it the thing for ladies--English ladies--to go to a place like that?" "Of course," answered his friend, "it is one of the sights of Tokyo. Why, I went with Lady Cynthia not so long ago. She was quite fascinated." "By Jove!" Geoffrey ejaculated. "But for a young girl--? Did Miss Cairns go too?" "Not on that occasion; but I have no doubt she has been." "But isn't it much the same as taking a lady to a public brothel?" "Not in the least," was Reggie's answer, "it is like along Piccadilly after nightfall, looking in at the Empire, and returning via Regent Street; and in Paris, like a visit to the _Rat Mort_ and the _Bal Tabarin_. It is the local version of an old theme." "But is that a nice sight for a lady?" "It is what every lady wants to see." "Reggie, what rot! Any clean-minded girl--" "Geoffrey, old man, would _you_ like to see the place?" "Yes, but for a man it's different." "Why do you want to see it? You're not going there for business, I presume?" "Why? for curiosity, I suppose. One hears such a lot of people talk about the Yoshiwara--" "For curiosity, that's right: and do you really think that women, even clean-minded women, have less curiosity than men?" Geoffrey Barrington started to laugh at his own discomfiture. "Reggie, you were always a devil for arguing!" he said. "At home one would never talk about things like that." "There must be a slight difference then between Home and Abroad. Certain bonds are relaxed. Abroad, one is a sight-seer. One is out to watch the appearance and habits of the natives in a semi-scientific mood, just as one looks at animals in the Zoo. Besides, nobody knows or cares who one is. One has no awkward responsibilities towards one's neighbours; and there is little or no danger of finding an intimate acquaintance in an embarrassing position. In London one lives in constant dread of finding people out." "But my wife," Geoffrey continued, troubled once more, "I can't imagine--" "Mrs. Barrington may be an exception; but take my word for it, every woman, however good and holy, is intensely interested in the lives of her fallen sisters. They know less about them than we do. They are therefore more mysterious and interesting to them. And yet they are much nearer to them by the whole difference of sex. There is always a personal query arising, 'I, too, might have chosen that life--what would it have brought me?' There is a certain compassion, too; and above all there is the intense interest of rivalry. Who is not interested in his arch-enemy? and what woman does not want to know by what unholy magic her unfair competitor holds her power over men?" The tennis courts were filling with youths released from offices. In the court facing them, two young fellows had begun a single. One of them was a Japanese; the other, though his hair and eyes were of the native breed, was too fair of skin and too tall of stature. He was a Eurasian. They both played exceedingly well. The rallies were long sustained, the drives beautifully timed and taken. The few unemployed about the courts soon made this game the object of their special attention. "Who are they?" asked Geoffrey, glad to change the conversation. "That's Aubrey Smith, Yaé's brother, one of the best players here, and Viscount Kamimura, who ought to be quite the best; but he has just married, and his wife will not let him play often enough." "Oh," exclaimed Geoffrey, "he was on the ship with us coming out." He had not recognised the good-looking young Japanese. He had not expected to meet him somehow in such a European _milieu_. Kamimura had noticed his fellow-traveller, however; and when the set was over and the players had changed sides, he came up and greeted him most cordially. "I hear you are already married," said Geoffrey. "Our best congratulations!" "Thank you," replied Kamimura, blushing. Japanese blush readily in spite of their complexion. "We Japanese must not boast about our wives. It is what you call Bad Form. But I would like her to meet Mrs. Barrington. She speaks English not so badly." "Yes," said Geoffrey, "I hope you will come and dine with us one evening at the Imperial." "Thank you very much," answered the young Viscount. "How long are you staying in Japan?" "Oh, for some months." "Then we shall meet often, I hope," he said, and returned to his game. "A very decent fellow; quite human," Reggie commented. "Yes, isn't he?" said Geoffrey; and then he asked suddenly,-- "Do you think he would take his wife to see the Yoshiwara?" "Probably not; but then they are Japanese people living in Japan. That alters everything." "I don't think so," said Geoffrey; and he was conscious of having scored off his friend for once. Miss Yaé Smith had arrived on her daily visit to the courts. She was already surrounded by a little retinue of young men, who, however, scattered at Reggie's approach. Miss Yaé smiled graciously on the two new-comers and inquired after Mrs. Barrington. "It was so nice to talk with her the other day; it was like being in England again." Yes, Miss Yaé had been in England and in America too. She preferred those countries very much to Japan. It was so much more amusing. There was so little to do here. Besides, in Japan it was such a small world; and everybody was so disagreeable; especially the women, always saying untrue, unkind things. She looked so immaterial and sprite-like in her blue kimono, her strange eyes downcast as her habit was when talking about herself and her own doings, that Geoffrey could think no evil of her, nor could he wonder at Reggie's gaze of intense admiration which beat upon her like sunlight on a picture. However, Asako must be waiting for him. He took his leave, and returned to his hotel. * * * * * Asako had been entertaining a visitor. She had gone out shopping for an hour, not altogether pleased to find herself alone. On her return, a Japanese gentleman in a vivid green suit had risen from a seat in the lounge of the hotel, and had introduced himself. "I am Ito, your attorney-of-law." He was a small, podgy person with a round oily face and heavy voluted moustaches. The expression of his eyes was hidden behind gold-rimmed spectacles. It would have been impossible for a European to guess his age, anything between twenty-five and fifty. His thick, plum-coloured hair was brushed up on his forehead in a butcher-boy's curl. His teeth glittered with dentist's gold. He wore a tweed suit of bright pea-soup colour, a rainbow tie and yellow boots. Over the bulge of an egg-shaped stomach hung a massive gold watch-chain blossoming into a semi-heraldic charm, which might be a masonic emblem or a cycling club badge. His breastpocket appeared to hold a quiverful of fountain-pens. "How do you do, Mrs. Harrington? I am pleased to meet you." The voice was high and squeaky, like a boy's voice when it is breaking. The extended hand was soft and greasy in spite of its attempt at a firm grip. With elaborate politeness he ushered Mrs. Harrington into her chair. He took his place close beside her, crossed his fat legs, and stuck his thumbs into his arm-holes. "I am your friend Ito," he began, "your father's friend, and I am sure to be your friend, too." But for the reference to her father she would have snubbed him. She decided to give him tea in the lounge, and not to invite him to her private rooms. A growing distrust of her countrymen, arising largely from observation of the ways of Tanaka, was making little Asako less confiding than of yore. She was still ready to be amused by them, but she was becoming less credulous of the Japanese pose of simplicity and the conventional smile. However, she was soon melted by Mr. Ito's kindliness of manner. He patted her hand, and called her "little girl." "I am your old lawyer," he kept on saying, "your father's friend, and your best friend too. Anything you want, just ring me and you have it. There's my number. Don't forget now. Shiba 1326. What do you think of Japan, now? Beautiful country, I think. And you have not yet seen Miyanoshita, or Kamakura, or Nikko temples. You have not yet got automobile, I think. Indeed, I am sorry for you. That is a very wrong thing! I shall at once order for you a very splendid automobile, and we must make a grand trip. Every rich and noble person possesses splendid automobile." "Oh, that would be nice!" Asako clapped her hands. "Japan is so pretty. I do want to see more of it. But I must ask my husband about buying the motor." Ito laughed a fat, oily laugh. "Indeed, that is Japanese style, little girl. Japanese wife say, 'I ask my husband.' American style wife very different. She say, 'My husband do this, do that'--like coolie. I have travelled much abroad. I know American custom very well." "My husband gives me all I want, and a great deal more," said Asako. "He is very kind man," grinned the lawyer, "because the money is all yours--not his at all. Ha, ha!" Then, seeing that his officiousness was overstepping the mark, he added,-- "I know American ladies very well. They don't give money to their husbands. They tell their husbands, 'You give money to me.' They just do everything themselves, writing cheques all the time!" "Really?" said Asako; "but my husband is the kindest and best man in the world!" "Quite right, quite right. Love your husband like a good little girl. But don't forget your old lawyer, Ito. I was your father's friend. We were at school together here in Tokyo." This interested Asako immensely. She tried to make the lawyer talk further, but he said that it was a very long story, and he must tell her some other time. Then she asked him about her cousin, Mr. Fujinami Gentaro. "He is away from town just now. When he returns, I think he will invite you to splendid feast." With that he took his leave. "What do you think of him?" Asako asked Tanaka, who had been watching the interview with an attendant chorus of _boy sans_. "He is _haikara_ gentleman," was the reply. Now, _haikara_, is a native corruption of the words "high collar," and denoted at first a variety of Japanese "nut," who aped the European and the American in his habits, manners and dress--of which pose the high collar was the most visible symbol. The word was presumably contemptuous in its origin. It has since, however, changed its character as so to mean anything smart and fashionable. You can live in a _haikara_ house, you can read _haikara_ books, you can wear a _haikara_ hat. It has become indeed practically a Japanese equivalent for that untranslatable expression "_chic_." * * * * * Asako Harrington, like all simple people, had little familiarity save with the superficial stratum of her intelligence. She lived in the gladness of her eyes like a happy young animal. Nothing, not even her marriage, had touched her very profoundly. Even the sudden shock of de Brie's love-making had not shaken anything deeper than her natural pride and her ignorance of mankind. But in this strange, still land, whose expression looks inwards and whose face is a mask, a change was operating. Ito left her, as he had intended, with a growing sense of her own importance as distinct from her husband. "I was your father's friend: we were at school together here in Tokyo." Why, Geoffrey did not even know her father's name. Asako did not think as closely as this. She could not. But she must have looked very thoughtful; for when Geoffrey came in, he saw her still sitting in the lounge, and exclaimed,-- "Why, my little Yum Yum, how serious we are! We look as if we were at our own funeral. Couldn't you get the things you wanted?" "Oh yes," said Asako, trying to brighten up, "and I've had a visitor. Guess!" "Relations?" "No and yes. It was Mr. Ito, the lawyer." "Oh, that little blighter. That reminds me. I must go and see him to-morrow, and find out what he is doing with our money." "_My_ money," laughed Asako, "Tanaka never lets me forget that." "Of course, little one," said Geoffrey, "I'd be in the workhouse if it wasn't for you." "Geoffrey darling," said his wife hesitating, "will you give me something?" "Yes, of course, my sweetheart, what do you want?" "I want a motor-car, yes please; and I'd like to have a cheque-book of my own. Sometimes when I am out by myself I would like--" "Why, of course," said Geoffrey, "you ought to have had one long ago. But it was your own idea; you didn't want to be bothered with money." "Oh Geoffrey, you angel, you are so good to me." She clung to his neck; and he, seeing the hotel deserted and nobody about, raised her in his arms and carried her bodily upstairs to the interest and amusement of the chorus of _boy sans_, who had just been discussing why _danna san_ had left _okusan_ for so many hours that afternoon, and who and what was the Japanese gentleman who had been talking to _okusan_ in the hall. CHAPTER X THE YOSHIWARA WOMEN _Kyushu dai-ichi no ume Kon-ya kimi ga tame ni hiraku. Hana no shingi wo shiran to hosseba, San-ko tsuki wo funde kitare_. The finest plum-blossom of Kyushu This night is opening for thee. If thou wishes to know the true character of this flower, Come at the third hour singing in the moonlight. _Yoshiwara Popular Song_. As the result of an affecting scene with his wife, Geoffrey's opposition to the Yoshiwara project collapsed. If everybody went to see the place, then it could not be such very Bad Form to do so. Asako rang up Reggie; and on the next afternoon the young diplomat called for the Barringtons in a motor-car, where Miss Yaé Smith was already installed. They drove through Tokyo. It was like crossing London for the space of distance covered; an immense city--yet is it a city, or merely a village preposterously overgrown? There is no dignity in the Japanese capital, nothing secular or permanent, except that mysterious forest-land in the midst of the moats and the grey walls, where dwell the Emperor and the Spirit of the Race. It is a mongrel city, a vast congeries of native wooden huts, hastily equipped with a few modern conveniences. Drunken poles stagger down the streets, waving their cobwebs of electric wires. Rickety trams jolt past, crowded to overflowing, so crowded that humanity clings to the steps and platforms in clots, like flies clinging to some sweet surface. Thousands of little shops glitter, wink or frown at the passer-by. Many of them have western plate-glass windows and stucco fronts, hiding their savagery, like a native woman tricked out in ridiculous pomp. Some, still grimly conservative, receive the customer in their cavernous interior, and cheat his eyes in their perpetual twilight. Many of these little shops are so small that their stock-in-trade flows over on to the pavement. The toy shops, the china shops, the cake shops, the shops for women's ribbons and hairpins seem to be trying to turn themselves inside out. Others are so reticent that nothing appears save a stretch of clean straw mats, where sulky clerks sit smoking round the _hibachi_ (fireboxes). Then, when the eye gets accustomed to the darkness, one can see behind them the ranks of the tea-jars of Uji, or layers of dark kimono stuff. The character of the shops changed as the Barringtons and their party approached their destination. The native element predominated more and more. The wares became more and more inexplicable. There were shops in which gold Buddhas shone and brass lamps for temple use, shops displaying queer utensils and mysterious little bits of things, whose secret was hidden in the cabalistic signs of Chinese script. There were stalls of curios, and second-hand goods spread out on the pavement, under the custody of wizened, inattentive old men, who squatted and smoked. Red-faced maids stared at the foreigners from the balconies of lofty inns and eating-houses near Uyeno station. Further on, they passed the silence of old temple walls, the spaciousness of pigeon-haunted cloisters, and the huge high-pitched roofs of the shrines, with their twisted horn-like points. Then, down a narrow alley appeared the garish banners of the Asakusa theatres and cinema palaces. They heard the yelling of the door-touts, and the bray of discordant music. They caught a glimpse of hideous placards whose crude illustrations showed the quality of the performance to be seen within, girls falling from aeroplanes, demon ghosts with bloody daggers, melodrama unleashed. Everywhere the same crowds loitered along the pavements. No hustle, no appearance of business save where a messenger-boy threaded the maze on a break-neck bicycle, or where a dull-faced coolie pulled at an overloaded barrow. Grey and brown, the crowd clattered by on their wooden shoes. Grey and black, passed the _haikara_ young men with their yellow side-spring shoes. Black and sabre-dragging, the policeman went to and fro, invisibly moored to his wooden sentry-box. The only bright notes among all these drab multitudes were the little girls in their variegated kimonos, who fluttered in and out of the entrances, and who played unscolded on the footpaths. These too were the only notes of happiness; for their grown-up relatives, especially the women, carried an air, if not an actual expression, of animal melancholy, the melancholy of driven sheep or of cows ruminant. The crowds were growing denser. Their faces were all set in one direction. At last the whole roadway was filled with the slow-moving tide. The Harringtons and their friends had to alight from their car and continue the rest of the way on foot. "They are all going to see the show," Reggie explained to his party, and he pointed to a line of high houses, which stood out above the low native huts. It was a square block of building some hundreds of yards long, quite foreign in character, having the appearance of factory buildings, or of a barracks or workhouse. "What a dismal-looking place!" said Asako. "Yes," agreed Reggie, "but at night it is much brighter. It is all lit up from top to bottom. It is called the Nightless City." "What bad faces these people have!" said Asako, who was romantically set on seeing evil everywhere, "Is it quite safe?" "Oh yes," said their guide, "Japanese crowds are very orderly." Indeed they suffered no inconvenience from the crowd beyond much staring, an ordeal which awaits the foreigner in all corners of Tokyo. They had reached a very narrow street, where raffish beer-shops were doing a roaring trade. They caught a glimpse of dirty tablecloths and powdered waitresses wearing skirts, aprons and lumpy shoes--all very _haikara_. On the right hand they passed a little temple from whose exiguous courtyard two stone foxes grinned maliciously, the temple of the god Inari, who brings rich lovers to the girls who pray to him. They passed through iron gates, like the gates of a park, where two policemen were posted to regulate the traffic. Beyond was a single line of cherry-trees in full bloom, a single wave of pinkish spray, a hanging curtain of vapourous beauty, the subject of a thousand poems, of a thousand allusions, licentious, delicate and trite,--the cherry-blossoms of the Yoshiwara. At a street corner stood a high white building plastered with golden letters in Japanese and English--"Asahi Beer Hall." "That is the place," said Yaé, "let us get out of this crowd." They found refuge among more dirty tablecloths, Europeanised _mousmés_, and gaping guests. When Yaé spoke to the girls in Japanese, there was much bowing and hissing of the breath; and they were invited upstairs on to the first floor where was another beer-hall, slightly more exclusive-looking than the downstair Gambrinus. Here a table and chairs were set for them in the embrasure of a bow-window, which, protruding over the cross-roads, commanded an admirable view of the converging streets. "The procession won't be here for two hours more," said Yaé, pouting her displeasure. "One always has to wait in Japan," said Reggie. "Nobody ever knows exactly when anything is going to happen; and so the Japanese just wait and wait. They seem to like it rather. Anyhow they don't get impatient. Life is so uneventful here that I think they must like prolonging an incident as much as possible, like sucking a sweet slowly." Meanwhile there was plenty to look at. Asako could not get over her shock at the sea of wicked faces which surged below. "What class of people are these?" Geoffrey asked. "Oh, shop-people, I think, most of them," said Yaé, "and people who work in factories." "Good class Japanese don't come here, then?" Geoffrey asked again. "Oh no, only low class people and students. Japanese people say it is a shameful thing to go to the Yoshiwara. And, if they go, they go very secretly." "Do you know any one who goes?" asked Reggie, with a directness which shocked his friend's sense of Good Form. "Oh, my brothers," said Yaé, "but they go everywhere; or they say they do." * * * * * It certainly was an ill-favoured crowd. The Japanese are not an ugly race. The young aristocrat who has grown up with fresh air and healthy exercise is often good-looking, and sometimes distinguished and refined. But the lower classes, those who keep company with poverty, dirt and pawnshops, with the pleasures of the _saké_ barrel and the Yoshiwara, are the ugliest beings that were ever created in the image of their misshapen gods. Their small stature and ape-like attitudes, the colour and discolour of their skin, the flat Mongolian nose, their gaping mouths and bad teeth, the coarse fibre of their lustreless black hair, give them an elvish and a goblin look, as though this country were a nursery for fairy changelings, a land of the Nibelungen, where bad thoughts have found their incarnation. Yet the faces have not got that character for good and evil as we find them among the Aryan peoples, the deep lines and the firm profiles. "It is the absence of something rather than its presence which appals and depresses us," Reggie Forsyth observed, "an absence of happiness perhaps, or of a promise of happiness." The crowd which filled the four roads with its slow grey tide was peaceable enough; and it was strangely silent. The drag and clatter of the clogs made more sound than the human voices. The great majority were men, though there were women among them, quiet and demure. If ever a voice was lifted, one could see by the rolling walk and the fatuous smile that its owner had been drinking. Such a person would be removed out of sight by his friends. The Japanese generally go sight-seeing and merry-making in friendships and companies; and the _Verein_, which in Japan is called the _Kwai_, flourishes here as in Germany. Two coolies started quarreling under the Barringtons' window. They too had been drinking. They did not hit out at each other like Englishmen, but started an interchange of abuse in gruff monosyllables and indistinguishable grunts and snorts. "_Baka! Chikushomé! Kuso_! (Fool! Beast! Dung!)" These amenities exasperating their ill humour, they began to pull at each other's coats and to jostle each other like quarrelsome curs. This was a sign that affairs were growing serious; and the police intervened. Again each combatant was pushed away by his companions into opposite byways. With these exceptions, all tramplings, squeezings, pushings and pokings were received with conventional grins or apathetic staring. Yet in the paper next day it was said that so great had been the crowd that six deaths had occurred, and numerous persons had fainted. "But where is the Yoshiwara?" Geoffrey asked at last. "Where are these wretched women kept?" Reggie waved his hand in the direction of the three roads facing them. "Inside the iron gates, that is all the Yoshiwara, and those high houses and the low ones too. That is where the girls are. There are two or three thousand of them within sight, as it were, from here. But, of course, the night time is the time to see them." "I suppose so," said Geoffrey vaguely. "They sit in shop windows, one might say," Reggie went on, "only with bars in front like cages in the Zoo. And they wear gorgeous kimonos, red and gold and blue, and embroidered with flowers and dragons. It is like nothing I can think of, except aviaries full of wonderful parrakeets and humming-birds." "Are they pretty?" Asako asked. "No, I can't say they are pretty; and they all seem very much alike to the mere Westerner. I can't imagine any body picking out one of them and saying, 'I love her'--'she is the loveliest.' There is a fat, impassive type like Buddha. There is a foxy animated type which exchanges _badinage_ with the young nuts through the bars of her cage; and there is a merely ugly lumpy type, a kind of cloddish country-girl who exists in all countries. But the more exclusive houses don't display their women. One can only see a row of photographs. No doubt they are very flattering to their originals." Asako was staring at the buildings now, at the high square prison houses, and at the low native roofs. These had each its little platform, its _monohoshi_, where much white washing was drying in the sun. At the farther end of one street a large stucco building, with a Grecian portico, stood athwart the thoroughfare. "What is that?" said Asako; "it looks like a church." "That is the hospital," answered Reggie. "But why is there a hospital here?" she asked again. Yaé Smith smiled ever so little at her new friend's ignorance of the wages of sin. But nobody answered the question. * * * * * There was a movement in the crowd, a pushing back from some unseen locality, like the jolting of railway trucks. At the same time there was a craning of necks and a murmur of interest. In the street opposite, the crowd was opening down the centre. The police, who had sprung up everywhere like the crop of the dragons' teeth, were dividing the people. And then, down the path so formed, came the strangest procession which Geoffrey Barrington had ever seen on or off the stage. High above the heads of the crowd appeared what seemed to be a life-size automaton, a moving waxwork magnificently garbed in white brocade with red and gold embroidery of phenixes, and a huge red sash tied in a bow in front. The hem of the skirt, turned up with red and thickly wadded, revealed a series of these garments fitting beneath each other, like the leaves of an artichoke. Under a monumental edifice of hair, bristling like a hedgehog with amber-coloured pins and with silver spangles and rosettes, a blank, impassive little face was staring straight in front of it, utterly expressionless, utterly unnatural, hidden beneath the glaze of enamel--the china face of a doll. It parted the grey multitude like a pillar of light. It tottered forward slowly, for it was lifted above the crowd on a pair of black-lacquered clogs as high as stilts, dangerous and difficult to manipulate. On each side were two little figures, similarly painted, similarly bedizened, similarly expressionless, children of nine or ten years only, the _komuro_, the little waiting-women. They served to support the reigning beauty and at the same time to display her long embroidered sleeves, outstretched on either side like wings. The brilliant figure and her two attendants moved forward under the shade of a huge ceremonial umbrella of yellow oiled paper, which looked like a membrane or like old vellum, and upon which were written in Chinese characters the personal name of the lady chosen for the honour and the name of the house in which she was an inmate. The shaft of this umbrella, some eight or nine feet long, was carried by a sinister being, clothed in the blue livery of the Japanese artisan, a kind of tabard with close-fitting trousers. He kept twisting the umbrella-shaft all the time with a gyrating movement to and fro, which imparted to the disc of the umbrella the hesitation of a wave. He followed the Queen with a strange slow stride. For long seconds he would pause with one foot held aloft in the attitude of a high-stepping horse, which distorted his dwarfish body into a diabolic convulsion, like Durer's angel of horror. He seemed a familiar spirit, a mocking devil, the wicked _Spielmann_ of the "Miracle" play, whose harsh laughter echoes through the empty room when the last cup is emptied, the last shilling gone, and the dreamer awakes from his dream. Behind him followed five or six men carrying large oval lanterns, also inscribed with the name of the house; and after them came a representative collection of the officials of the proud establishment, a few foxy old women and a crowd of swaggering men, spotty and vicious-looking. The _Orian_ (Chief Courtesan) reached the cross-roads. There, as if moved by machinery or magnetism, she slowly turned to the left. She made her way towards one of a row of small, old-fashioned native houses, on the road down which the Barringtons had come. Here the umbrella was lowered. The beauty bowed her monumental head to pass under the low doorway, and settled herself on a pile of cushions prepared to receive her. Almost at once the popular interest was diverted to the appearance of another procession, precisely similar, which was debouching from the opposite road. The new _Orian_ garbed in blue, with a sash of gold and a design of cherry-blossom, supported by her two little attendants, wobbled towards another of the little houses. On her disappearing a third procession came into sight. "Ah!" sighed Asako, "what lovely kimonos! Where do they get them from?" "I don't know," said Yaé, "some of them are quite old. They come out fresh year after year for a different girl." Yaé, with her distorted little soul, was thinking that it must be worth the years of slavery and the humiliation of disease to have that one day of complete triumph, to be the representative of Beauty upon earth, to feel the admiration and the desire of that vast concourse of men rising round one's body like a warm flood. Geoffrey stared fascinated, wondering to see the fact of prostitution advertised so unblushingly as a public spectacle, his hatred and contempt breaking over the heads of the swine-faced men who followed the harlot, and picked their livelihood out of her shame. Reggie was wondering what might be the thoughts of those little creatures muffled in such splendour that their personality, like that of infant queens, was entirely hidden by the significance of what they symbolized. Not a smile, not a glance of recognition passed over the unnatural whiteness of their faces. Yet they could not be, as they appeared to be, sleep-walkers. Were they proud to wear such finery? Were they happy to be so acclaimed? Did their heart beat for one man, or did their vanity drink in the homage of all? Did their mind turn back to the mortgaged farm and the work in the paddy-fields, to the thriftless shop and the chatter of the little town, to the _saké_-sodden father who had sold them in the days of their innocence, to the first numbing shock of that new life? Perhaps; or perhaps they were too taken up with maintaining their equilibrium on their high shoes, or perhaps they thought of nothing at all. Reggie, who had a poor opinion of the intellectual brightness of uneducated Japanese women, thought that the last alternative was highly probable. "I wonder what those little houses are where they pay their visits," Reggie said. "Oh, those are the _hikité chaya_" said Yaé glibly, "the Yoshiwara tea-houses." "Do they live there?" asked Asako. "Oh, no; rich men who come to the Yoshiwara do not go to the big houses where the _oiran_ live. They go to the tea-houses; and they order food and _geisha_ to sing, and the _oiran_ to be brought from the big house. It is more private. So the tea-houses are called _hikité chaya_, 'tea-houses which lead by the hand.'" "Yaé," said Reggie, "you know a lot about it." "Yes," said Miss Smith, "my brothers have told me. They tell me lots of things." After a stay of about half an hour, the _oiran_ left their tea-houses. The processions reformed; and they slowly tottered back to the places whence they had come. Across their path the cherry petals were already falling like snowflakes; for the cherry-blossom is the Japanese symbol of the impermanence of earthly beauty, and of all sweet things and pleasant. "By Jove!" said Geoffrey Harrington to the world in general, "that was an extraordinary sight. East is East and West is West, eh? I never felt that so strongly before. How often does this performance take place?" "This performance," said Reggie, "has taken place for three days every Spring for the last three hundred years. But it is more than doubtful whether it will ever happen again. It is called _Oiran Dochu_, the procession of the courtesans. Geoffrey, what you have seen to-day is nothing more or less than the Passing of Old Japan!" "But whom do these women belong to?" asked Geoffrey. "And who is making money out of all this filth?" "Various people and companies, I suppose, who own the different houses," answered Reggie. "A fellow once offered to sell me his whole establishment, bedding and six girls for £50 down. But he must have been having a run of bad luck. In most countries it is a most profitable form of investment. Do you remember 'Mrs. Warren's Profession'? Thirty-five per cent I think was the exact figure. I don't suppose Japan is any exception." "By Jove!" said Geoffrey, "The women, poor wretches, they can't help themselves; and the men who buy what they sell, one can't blame them either. But the creatures who make fortunes out of all this beastiness and cruelty, I say, they ought to be flogged round the place with a cat-o'-nine-tails till the life is beaten out of them. Let's get away from here!" As they left the beer-house a small round Japanese man bobbed up from the crowd, raised his hat, bowed and smiled. It was Tanaka. Geoffrey had left him behind on purpose, that his servants, at least, might not know where he was going. "I think--I meet Ladyship here," said the little man, "but for long time I do not spy her. I am very sorry." "Is anything wrong? Why did you come?" asked Geoffrey. "Good _samurai_ never leave Lordship's side. Of course, I come," was the reply. "Well, hurry up and get back," said his master, "or we shall be home before you." With renewed bowings he disappeared. Asako was laughing. "We can never get rid of Tanaka," she said, "can we? He follows us like a detective." "Sometimes I think he is deliberately spying on us," said her husband. "Cheer up," said Reggie, "they all do that." The party dispersed at the Imperial Hotel. Asako was laughing and happy. She had enjoyed herself immensely as usual; and her innocence had realized little or nothing of the grim significance of what she had seen. But Geoffrey was gloomy and distrait. He had taken it much to heart. That night he had a horrible dream. The procession of the _oiran_ was passing once more before his eyes; but he could not see the face of the gorgeous doll whom all these crowds had come out to admire. He felt strangely apprehensive, however. Then at a corner of the street the figure turned and faced him. It was Asako, his wife. He struggled to reach her and save her. But the crowds of Japanese closed in upon him; he struggled in vain. CHAPTER XI A GEISHA DINNER _Inishi toshi Ne-kojite uyeshi Waga yodo no Wakaki no ume wa Hana saki ni keri_. The young plum tree Of my house Which in bygone years I dug up by the roots and transplanted Has at last bloomed with flowers. Next morning Geoffrey rose earlier than was his wont; and arrayed in one of his many kimonos, entered his sitting-room. There he found Tanaka, wrapped in contemplation of a letter. He was scrutinizing it with an attention which seemed to pierce the envelope. "Who is it from, Tanaka?" asked Geoffrey; he had become mildly ironical in his dealings with the inquisitive guide. "I think perhaps invitation to pleasure party from Ladyship's noble relatives," Tanaka replied, unabashed. Geoffrey took the note to his wife, and she read aloud: "DEAR MR. AND MRS. BARRINGTON--It is now the bright Spring weather. I hope you to enjoy good health. I have been rude thus to absent myself during your polite visit. Much pressing business has hampered me, also stomach trouble, but indeed there is no excuse. Please not to be angry. This time I hope you to attend a poor feast, Maple Club Hotel, next Tuesday, six p.m. Hoping to esteemed favor and even friend, "Yours obedient, "G. FUJINAMI." "What exactly does he mean?" "As Tanaka says, it is an invitation to a pleasure party at the beginning of next week." "Answer it, sweetheart," said Geoffrey; "tell them that we are not angry, and that we shall be delighted to accept." Tanaka explained that the Maple Club Restaurant or Koyokwan, which more strictly should be translated Hall of the Red Leaf, is the largest and most famous of Tokyo "tea-houses"--to use a comprehensive term which applies equally to a shack by the roadside, and to a dainty pleasure resort where entertainments run easily into four or five pounds per head. There are restaurants more secretive and more _élite_, where the aesthetic _gourmet_ may feel more at ease and where the bohemian spirit can loose its wit. But for public functions of all kinds, for anything on a really big scale, the Maple Club stands alone. It is the "Princes" of Tokyo with a flavour of the Guildhall steaming richly through its corridors. Here the great municipal dinners take place, the great political entertainments. Here famous foreigners are officially introduced to the mysteries of Japanese _cuisine_ and the charms of Japanese _geisha_. Here hangs a picture of Lord Kitchener himself, scrambled over by laughing _mousmés_, who seem to be peeping out of his pockets and buttonholes, a Gulliver in Lilliput. Both Geoffrey and Asako had treated the invitation as a joke; but at the last moment, while they were threading the mysterious streets of the still unfamiliar city, they both confessed to a certain nervousness. They were on the brink of a plunge into depths unknown. They knew nothing whatever about the customs, tastes and prejudices of the people with whom they were to mix--not even their names and their language. "Well, we're in for it," said Geoffrey, "we must see it through now." They drove up a steep gravel drive and stopped before a broad Japanese entrance, three wide steps like altar stairs leading up to a dark cavernous hall full of bowing women and men in black clothes, similar, silent and ghostlike. The first impression was lugubrious, like a feast of mutes. Boots off! Geoffrey knew at least this rule number one in Japanese etiquette. But who were these fluttering women, so attentive in removing their cloaks and hats? Were they relatives or waitresses? And the silent groups beyond? Were they Fujinami or waiters? The two guests had friendly smiles for all; but they gazed helplessly for a familiar face. An apparition in evening dress with a long frock coat and a purple tie emerged from that grim chorus of spectators. It was Ito, the lawyer. The free and easy American manner was checked by the responsibility of those flapping coat-tails. He looked and behaved just like a shop-walker. After a stiff bow and handshake he said: "Very pleased to see you, Sir, and Mrs. Barrington, also. The Fujinami family is proud to make your entertainment." Geoffrey expected further introductions; but the time had not yet come. With a wave of the arm Mr. Ito added: "Please step this way, Sir and Lady." The Barringtons with Ito led the procession; and the mutes closed in behind them. Down endless polished corridors they passed with noiseless steps over the spotless boards. The only sound was the rustling of silk garments. To closed eyes they might have seemed like the arrival of a company of dowagers. The women, who had at first received them, were still fluttering around them like humming-birds escorting a flight of crows. To one of them Geoffrey owed his preservation. He would have struck his forehead against a low doorway in the darkness; but she touched the lintel with her finger and then laid her tiny hand on Barrington's tall shoulder, laughing and saying in infantile English: "English _danna san_ very high!" They came to a sudden opening between paper walls. In a little room behind a table stood a middle-aged Japanese couple as stiff as waxworks. For an instant Geoffrey thought they must be the cloakroom attendants. Then, to his surprise, Ito announced: "Mr. and Mrs. Fujinami Gentaro, the head of the Fujinami family. Please walk in and shake hands." Geoffrey and his wife did as they were directed. Three mutual bowings took place in absolute silence, followed by a handshake. Then Ito said: "Mr. and Mrs. Fujinami Gentaro wish to say they are very pleased you both come to-night. It is very poor food and very poor feast, they say. Japanese food is very simple sort of thing. But they ask you please excuse them, for what they have done they have done from a good heart." Geoffrey was mumbling incoherently, and wondering whether he was expected to reply to this oration, when Ito again exclaimed, "Please step this way." They passed into a large room like a concert hall with a stage at one end. There were several men squatting on the floor round _hibachi_ smoking and drinking beer. They looked like black sheep browsing. These were joined by the mutes who followed the Barringtons. All of these people were dressed exactly alike. They wore white socks, a dark kimono almost hidden by the black cloak upon which the family crest--a wreath of wisteria (_fuji_) foliage--shone like a star on sleeves and neck, and by the fluted yellowish skirt of heavy rustling silk. This dress, though gloomy and sacerdotal, was dignified and becoming; but the similarity was absurd. It looked like a studied effect at a fancy dress ball. It was particularly exasperating to the guests of honour who were anxious to distinguish their relatives and to know them apart; but Ito alone, with his European clothes and his purple tie, was conspicuous and unmistakable. "He is like Mrs. Jarley," thought Geoffrey, "he explains the waxworks." In the middle of the room was a little group of chairs of the weary beast of burden type, which are requisitioned for public meetings. Two of them were dignified by cushions of crimson plush. These were for Geoffrey and Asako. Among the black sheep there was no movement beyond the steady staring of some thirty pairs of eyes. When the Harringtons had been enthroned, the host and hostess approached them with silent dragging steps and downcast faces. They might have been the bearers of evil tidings. A tall girl followed behind her parents. Mrs. Fujinami Shidzuyé and her daughter, Sadako, were the only women present. This was a compromise, and a consideration for Asako's feelings. Mr. Ito had proposed that since a lady was the chief guest of honour, therefore all the Fujinami ladies ought to be invited to meet her. To Mr. Fujinami's strict conservative mind such an idea was anathema. What! Wives at a banquet! In a public restaurant! With _geisha_ present! Absurd--and disgusting! _O tempora! O mores_! Then, argued the lawyer, Asako must not be invited. But Asako was the _clou_ of the evening; and besides, an English gentleman would be insulted if his wife were not invited too. And--as Mr. Ito went on to urge--any woman, Japanese or foreign, would be ill-at-ease in a company composed entirely of men. Besides Sadako could speak English so well; it was so convenient that she should come; and under her mother's care her morals would not be contaminated by the propinquity of _geisha_. So Mr. Fujinami gave in so far as concerned his own wife and daughter. Shidzuyé San, as befitted a matron of sober years, wore a plain black kimono; but Sadako's dress was of pale mauve color, with a bronze sash tied in an enormous bow. Her hair was parted on one side and caught up in a bun behind--the latest _haikara_ fashion and a tribute to the foreign guests. Hers was a graceful figure; but her expression was spoiled by the blue-tinted spectacles which completely hid her features. "Miss Sadako Fujinami, daughter of Mr. Fujinami Gentaro," said Ito. "She has been University undergraduate, and she speaks English quite well." Miss Sadako bowed three times. Then she said, "How do you do" in a high unnatural voice. The room was filling up with the little humming-bird women who had been present at the entrance. They were handing cigarettes and tea cups to the guests. They looked bright and pleasant; and they interested Geoffrey. "Are these ladies relatives of the Fujinami family?" he asked Ito. "Oh, no, not at all," the lawyer gasped; "you have made great mistake, Mr. Barrington. Japanese ladies all left at home, never go to restaurant. These girls are no ladies, they're _geisha_ girls. _Geisha_ girls very famous to foreign persons." Geoffrey knew that he had made his first _faux pas_. "Now," said Mr. Ito, "please step this way; we go upstairs to the feast room." The dining-room seemed larger still than the reception room. Down each side of it were arranged two rows of red lacquer tables, each about eighteen inches high and eighteen inches square. Mysterious little dishes were placed on each side of these tables; the most conspicuous was a flat reddish fish with a large eye, artistically served in a rollicking attitude, which in itself was an invitation to eat. The English guests were escorted to two seats at the extreme end of the room, where two tables were laid in isolated glory. They were to sit there like king and queen, with two rows of their subjects in long aisles to the right and to the left of them. The seats were cushions merely; but those placed for Geoffrey and Asako were raised on low hassocks. After them the files of the Fujinami streamed in and took up their appointed positions along the sides of the room. They were followed by the _geisha_, each girl carrying a little white china bottle shaped like a vegetable marrow, and a tiny cup like the bath which hygienic old maids provide for their canary birds. "Japanese _saké_" said Sadako to her cousin, "you do not like?" "Oh, yes, I do," replied Asako, who was intent on enjoying everything. But on this occasion she had chosen the wrong answer; for real ladies in Japan are not supposed to drink the warm rice wine. The _geisha_ certainly looked most charming as they slowly advanced in a kind of ritualistic procession. Their feet like little white mice, the dragging skirts of their spotless kimonos, their exaggerated care and precision, and their stiff conventional attitudes presented a picture from a Satsuma vase. Their dresses were of all shades, black, blue, purple, grey and mauve. The corner of the skirt folded back above the instep revealed a glimpse of gaudy underwear provoking to men's eyes, and displayed the intricate stenciled flower patterns, which in the case of the younger women seemed to be catching hold of the long sleeves and straying upwards. Little dancing girls, thirteen and fourteen years old--the so-called _hangyoku_ or half jewels--accompanied their elder sisters of the profession. They wore very bright dresses just like the dolls; and their massive _coiffure_ was bedizened with silver spangles and elaborately artificial flowers. "Oh!" gasped the admiring Asako, "I must get one of those _geisha_ girls to show me how to wear my kimonos properly; they do look smart." "I do not think," answered Sadako. "These are vulgar women, bad style; I will teach you the noble way." But all the _geisha_ had a grave and dignified look, quite different from the sprightly butterflies of musical comedy from whom Geoffrey had accepted his knowledge of Japan. They knelt down before the guests and poured a little of the _saké_ into the shallow saucer held out for their ministrations. Then they folded their hands in their laps and appeared to slumber. A sucking sound ran round the room as the first cup was drained. Then a complete silence fell, broken only by the shuffle of the girls' feet on the matting as they went to fetch more bottles. Mr. Fujinami Gentaro spoke to the guests assembled, bidding them commence their meal, and not to stand upon ceremony. "It is like the one--two--three--go! at a race," thought Geoffrey. All the guests were manipulating their chop-sticks. Geoffrey raised his own pair. The two slender rods of wood were unparted at one end to show that they had never been used. It was therefore necessary to pull them in two. As he did so a tiny splinter of wood like a match fell from between them. Asako laughed. "That is the toothpick," cousin Sadako explained. "We call such chop-sticks _komochi-hashi_, chopstick with baby, because the toothpick inside the chopstick like the baby inside the mother. Very funny, I think." There were two kinds of soup--excellent; there was cooked fish and raw fish in red and white slices, chastely served with ice; there were vegetables known and unknown, such as sweet potatoes, French beans, lotus stems and bamboo shoots. These had to be eaten with the aid of the chop-sticks--a difficult task when it came to cutting up the wing of a chicken or balancing a soft poached egg. The guests did not eat with gusto. They toyed with the food, sipping wine all the time, smoking cigarettes and picking their teeth. Geoffrey, according to his own description, was just getting his eye in, when Mr. Fujinami Gentaro rose from his humble place at the far end of the room. In a speech full of poetical quotations, which must have cost his tame students considerable trouble in the composition, he welcomed Asako Barrington, who, he said, had been restored to Japan like a family jewel which has been lost and is found. He compared her visit to the sudden flowering of an ancient tree. This did not seem very complimentary; however, it referred not to the lady's age but to the elder branch of the family which she represented. After many apologies for the tastelessness of the food and the stupidity of the entertainment, he proposed the health of Mr. and Mrs. Harrington, which was drunk by the whole company standing. Ito produced from his pocket a translation of this oration. "Now please say a few words in reply," he directed. Geoffrey, feeling acutely ridiculous, scrambled to his feet and thanked everybody for giving his wife and himself such a jolly good time. Ito translated. "Now please command to drink health of the Fujinami family," said the lawyer, consulting his _agenda_. So the health of Mr. and Mrs. Fujinami Gentaro was drunk with relish by everybody, including the lady and gentleman honoured. "In this country," thought Geoffrey, "one gets the speechmaking over before the dinner. Not a bad idea. It saves that nervous feeling which spoils the appetite." An old gentleman, with a restless jaw, tottered to his feet and approached Geoffrey's table. He bowed twice before him, and held out a claw-like hand. "Mr. Fujinami Gennosuké, the father of Mr. Fujinami Gentaro," announced Ito. "He has retired from life. He wishes to drink wine with you. Please wash your cup and give it to him." There was a kind of finger-bowl standing in front of Geoffrey, which he had imagined might be a spittoon. He was directed to rinse his cup in this vessel, and to hand it to the old gentleman. Mr. Fujinami Gennosuké received it in both hands as if it had been a sacrament. The attendant _geisha_ poured out a little of the greenish liquid, which was drunk with much hissing and sucking. Then followed another obeisance; the cup was returned, and the old gentleman retired. He was succeeded by Mr. Fujinami Gentaro himself, with whom the same ceremony of the _saké_ drinking was repeated; and then all the family passed by, one after another, each taking the cup and drinking. It was like a visiting figure in the lancers' quadrille. As each relative bent and bowed, Ito announced his name and quality. These names seemed all alike, alike as their faces and as their garments were. Geoffrey could only remember vaguely that he had been introduced to a Member of Parliament, a gross man with a terrible wen like an apple under his ear, and to two army officers, tall clean-looking men, who pleased him more than the others. There were several Government functionaries; but the majority were business men. Geoffrey could only distinguish for certain his host and his host's father. "They look just like two old vultures," he thought. Then there was Mr. Fujinami Takeshi, the son of the host and the hope of the family, a livid youth with a thin moustache and unhealthy marks on his face like raspberries under the skin. Still the _geisha_ kept bringing more and more food in a desultory way quite unlike our system of fixed and regular courses. Still Ito kept pressing Geoffrey to eat, while at the same time apologizing for the quality of the food with exasperating repetition. Geoffrey had fallen into the error of thinking that the fish and its accompanying dishes which had been laid before him at first comprised the whole of the repast. He had polished them off with gusto; and had then discovered to his alarm that they were merely _hors d'oeuvres_. Nor did he observe until too late how little the other guests were eating. There was no discourtesy apparently in leaving the whole of a dish untasted, or in merely picking at it from time to time. Rudeness consisted in refusing any dish. Plates of broiled meat and sandwiches arrived, bowls of soup, grilled eels on skewers--that most famous of Tokyo delicacies; finally, the inevitable rice with whose adhesive substance the Japanese epicure fills up the final crannies in his well-lined stomach. It made its appearance in a round drum-like tub of clean white wood, as big as a bandbox, and bound round with shining brass. The girls served the sticky grains into the china rice-bowl with a flat wooden ladle. "Japanese people always take two bowls of rice at least," observed Ito. "One bowl very unlucky; at the funeral we only eat one bowl." This to Geoffrey was the _coup de grâce_. He had only managed to stuff down his bowl through a desperate sense of duty. "If I do have a second," he gasped, "it will be my own funeral." But this joke did not run in the well-worn lines of Japanese humour. Mr. Ito merely thought that the big Englishman, having drunk much _saké_, was talking nonsense. All the guests were beginning to circulate now; the quadrille was becoming more and more elaborate. They were each calling on each other and taking wine. The talk was becoming more animated. A few bold spirits began to laugh and joke with the _geisha_. Some had laid aside their cloaks; and some even had loosened their kimonos at the neck, displaying hairy chests. The stiff symmetry of the dinner party was quite broken up. The guests were scattered like rooks, bobbing, scratching and pecking about on the yellow mats. The bright plumage of the _geisha_ stood out against their sombre monotony. Presently the _geisha_ began to dance at the far end of the room. Ten of the little girls did their steps, a slow dance full of posturing with coloured handkerchiefs. Three of the elder _geisha_ in plain grey kimonos squatted behind the dancers, strumming on their _samisens_. But there was very little music either in the instrument or in the melody. The sound of the string's twang and the rattle of the bone plectrum drowned the sweetness of the note. The result was a kind of dry clatter or cackle which is ingenious, but not pleasing. Reggie Forsyth used to say that there is no melody in Japanese music; but that the rhythm is marvelous. It is a kind of elaborate ragtime without any tune to it. The guests did not pay any attention to the performance, nor did they applaud when it was over. Mr. Ito was consulting his _agenda_ paper and his gold watch. "You will now drink with these gentlemen," he said. Geoffrey must have demurred. "It is Japanese custom," he continued; "please step this way; I will guide you." Poor Geoffrey! it was his turn now to do the visiting figure, but his head was buzzing with some thirty cups of _saké_ which he had swallowed out of politeness, and with the unreality of the whole scene. "Can't do it," he protested; "drunk too much already." "In Japan we say, 'When friends meet the _saké_ sellers laugh!'" quoted the lawyer. "It is Japanese custom to drink together, and to be happy. To be drunk in good company, it is no shame. Many of these gentlemen will presently be drunk. But if you do not wish to drink more, then just pretend to drink. You take the cup, see; you lift it to your mouth, but you throw away the _saké_ into the basin when you wash the cup. That is _geisha's_ trick when the boys try to make her drunk, but she is too wise!" Armed with this advice Geoffrey started on his round of visits, first to his host and then to his host's father. The face of old Mr. Fujinami Gennosuké was as red as beet-root, and his jaw was chewing more vigorously than ever. Nothing, however, could have been more perfect than his deportment in exchanging the cup with his guest. But no sooner had Geoffrey turned away to pay another visit than he became aware of a slight commotion. He glanced round and saw Mr. Fujinami, senior, in a state of absolute collapse, being conducted out of the room by two members of the family and a cluster of _geisha_. "What has happened?" he asked in some alarm. "It is nothing," said Ito; "old gentleman tipsy very quick." Everybody now seemed to be smiling and happy. Geoffrey felt the curse of his speechlessness. He was brimming over with good humour, and was most anxious to please. The Japanese no longer appeared so grotesque as they had on his arrival. He was sure that he would have much in common with many of these men, who talked so good-naturedly among themselves, until the chill of his approach fell upon them. Besides Ito and Sadako Fujinami, the only person present who could talk English at all fluently was that blotchy-faced individual, Mr. Fujinami Takeshi. The young man was in a very hilarious state, and had gathered around him a bevy of _geisha_ with whom he was cracking jokes. From the nature of his gestures they must have been far from decorous. "Please to sit down, my dear friend," he said to Geoffrey. "Do you like _geisha_ girl?" "I don't think they like me," said Geoffrey. "I'm too big." "Oh, no," said the Japanese; "very big, very good. Japanese man too small, no good at all. Why do all _geisha_ love _sumotori_ (professional wrestlers)? Because _sumotori_ very big; but this English gentleman bigger than _sumotori_. So this girl love you, and this girl, and this girl, and this very pretty girl, I don't know?" He added a question in Japanese. The _geisha_ giggled, and hid her face behind her sleeve. "She say, she wish to try first. To try the cake, you eat some? Is that right?" He repeated his joke in Japanese. The girl wriggled with embarrassment, and finally scuttled away across the room, while the others laughed. All the _geisha_ now hid their faces among much tittering. Geoffrey was becoming harassed by this _badinage_; but he hated to appear a prude, and said: "I have got a wife, you know, Mr. Fujinami; she is keeping an eye on me." "No matter, no matter," the young man answered, waving his hand to and fro; "we all have wife; wife no matter in Japan." At last Geoffrey got back to his throne at Asako's side. He was wondering what would be the next move in the game when, to his relief and surprise, Ito, after a glance at his watch, said suddenly: "It is now time to go home. Please say good-bye to Mr. and Mrs. Fujinami." A sudden dismissal, but none the less welcome. The inner circle of the Fujinami had gathered round. They and the _geisha_ escorted their guests to the rickshaws and helped them on with their cloaks and boots. There was no pressing to remain; and as Geoffrey passed the clock in the entrance hall he noticed that it was just ten o'clock. Evidently the entertainment was run with strict adherence to the time-table. Some of the guests were too deep in _saké_ and flirtation to be aware of the break-up; and the last vision granted to Geoffrey of the M.P.--the fat man with the wen--was of a kind of Turkey Trot going on in a corner of the room, and the thick arms of the legislator disappearing up the lady's kimono sleeve. CHAPTER XII FALLEN CHERRY-BLOSSOM _Iro wa nioedo Chirinuru wo-- Woga yo tore zo Tsune naran? Ui no okuyama Kyo koete, Asaki yume miji Ei mo sezu._ The colours are bright, but The petals fall! In this world of ours who Shall remain forever? To-day crossing The high mountains of mutability, We shall see no fleeting dreams, Being inebriate no longer. "_O hay[=o] gazaimas!_" (Respectfully early!) Twitterings of maid-servants salute the lady of the house with the conventional morning greeting. Mrs. Fujinami Shidzuyé replies in the high, fluty, unnatural voice which is considered refined in her social set. The servants glide into the room which she has just left, moving noiselessly so as not to wake the master who is still sleeping. They remove from his side the thick warm mattresses upon which his wife has been lying, the hard wooden pillow like the block of history, the white sheets and the heavy padded coverlet with sleeves like an enormous kimono. They roil up all these _yagu_ (night implements), fold them and put them away into an unsuspected cupboard in the architecture of the veranda. Mr. Fujinami Gentaro still snores. After a while his wife returns. She is dressed for the morning in a plain grey silk kimono with a broad olive-green _obi_ (sash). Her hair is arranged in a formidable helmet-like _coiffure_--all Japanese matrons with their hair done properly bear a remote resemblance to Pallas Athene and Britannia. This will need the attention of the hairdresser so as to wax into obedience a few hairs left wayward by the night in spite of that severe wooden pillow, whose hard, high discomfort was invented by female vanity to preserve from disarray the rigid order of their locks. Her feet are encased in little white _tabi_ like gloves, for the big toe has a compartment all to itself. She walks with her toes turned in, and with the heels hardly touching the ground. This movement produces a bend of the knees and hips so as to maintain the equilibrium of the body, and a sinuous appearance which is considered the height of elegance in Japan, so that the grace of a beautiful woman is likened to "a willow-tree blown by the wind," and the shuffle of her feet on the floor-matting to the wind's whisper. Mrs. Fujinami carries a red lacquer tray. On the tray is a tiny teapot and a tiny cup and a tiny dish, in which are three little salted damsons, with a toothpick fixed in one of them. It is the _petit déjeuner_ of her lord. She put down the tray beside the head of the pillow, and makes a low obeisance, touching the floor with her forehead. "_O hay[=o] gazaimas_'!" Mr. Fujinami stirs, gapes, stretches, yawns, rubs his lean fist in his hollow eyes, and stares at the rude incursion of daylight. He takes no notice of his wife's presence. She pours out tea for him with studied pose of hands and wrists, conventional and graceful. She respectfully requests him to condescend to partake. Then she makes obeisance again. Mr. Fujinami yawns once more, after which he condescends. He sucks down the thin, green tea with a whistling noise. Then he places in his mouth the damson balanced on the point of the toothpick. He turns it over and over with his tongue as though he was chewing a cud. Finally he decides to eat it, and to remove the stone. Then he rises from his couch. He is a very small wizened man. Dressed in his night kimono of light blue silk, he passes along the veranda in the direction of the morning ablutions. Soon the rending sounds of throat-clearing show that he has begun his wash. Three maids appear as by magic in the vacated room. The bed is rolled away, the matting swept, and the master's morning clothes are laid out ready for him on his return. Mrs. Fujinami assists her husband to dress, holding each garment ready for him to slip into, like a well-trained valet. Mr. Fujinami does not speak to her. When his belt has been adjusted, and a watch with a gold fob thrust into its interstice, he steps down from the veranda, slides his feet into a pair of _geta_, and strolls out into the garden. Mr. Fujinami's garden is a famous one. It is a temple garden many centuries old; and the eyes of the initiated may read in the miniature landscape, in the grouping of shrubs and rocks, in the sudden glimpses of water, and in the bare pebbly beaches, a whole system of philosophic and religious thought worked out by the patient priests of the Ashikaga period, just as the Gothic masons wrote their version of the Bible history in the architecture of their cathedrals. But for the ignorant, including its present master, it was just a perfect little park, with lawns six feet square and ancient pine trees, with impenetrable forests which one could clear at a bound, with gorges, waterfalls, arbours for lilliputian philanderings and a lake round whose tiny shores were represented the Eight Beautiful Views of the Lake of Biwa near Kyoto. The bungalow mansion of the family lies on a knoll overlooking the lake and the garden valley, a rambling construction of brown wood with grey scale-like tiles, resembling a domesticated dragon stretching itself in the sun. Indeed, it is not one house but many, linked together by a number of corridors and spare rooms. For Mr. and Mrs. Fujinami live in one wing, their son and his wife in another, and also Mr. Ito, the lawyer, who is a distant relative and a partner in the Fujinami business. Then, on the farther side of the house, near the pebble drive and the great gate, are the swarming quarters of the servants, the rickshaw men, and Mr. Fujinami's secretaries. Various poor relations exist unobserved in unfrequented corners; and there is the following of University students and professional swashbucklers which every important Japanese is bound to keep, as an advertisement of his generosity, and to do his dirty work for him. A Japanese family mansion is very like a hive--of drones. Nor is this the entire population of the Fujinami _yashiki_. Across the garden and beyond the bamboo grove is the little house of Mr. Fujinami's stepbrother and his wife; and in the opposite corner, below the cherry-orchard, is the _inkyo_, the dower house, where old Mr. Fujinami Gennosuké, the retired Lord--who is the present Mr. Fujinami's father by adoption only--watches the progress of the family fortunes with the vigilance of Charles the Fifth in the cloister of Juste. * * * * * Mr. Fujinami Gentaro shuffled his way towards a little room like a kind of summer-house, detached from the main building and overlooking the lake and garden from the most favourable point of vantage. This is Mr. Fujinami's study--like all Japanese rooms, a square box with wooden framework, wooden ceiling, sliding paper _shoji_, pale golden _tatami_ and double alcove. All Japanese rooms are just the same, from the Emperor's to the rickshaw-man's; only in the quality of the wood, in the workmanship of the fittings, in the newness and freshness of paper and matting, and by the ornaments placed in the alcove, may the prosperity of the house be known. In Mr. Fujinami's study, one niche of the alcove was fitted up as a bookcase; and that bookcase was made of a wonderful honey-coloured satinwood brought from the hinterland of China. The lock and the handles were inlaid with dainty designs in gold wrought by a celebrated Kyoto artist. In the open alcove the hanging scroll of Lao Tze's paradise had cost many hundreds of pounds, as had also the Sung dish below it, an intricacy of lotus leaves caved out of a single amethyst. On a table in the middle of this chaste apartment lay a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and a yellow book. The room was open to the early morning sunlight; the paper walls were pushed back. Mr. Fujinami moved a square silk cushion to the edge of the matting near the outside veranda. There he could rest his back against a post in the framework of the building--for even Japanese get wearied by the interminable squatting which life on the floor level entails--and acquire that condition of bodily repose which is essential for meditation. Mr. Fujinami was in the habit of meditating for one hour every morning. It was a tradition of his house; his father and his grandfather had done so before him. The guide of his meditations was the yellow book, the _Rongo_ (Maxims) of Confucius, that Bible of the Far East which has moulded oriental morality to the shape of the Three Obediences, the obedience of the child to his parents, of the wife to her husband, and of the servant to his lord. Mr. Fujinami sat on the sill of his study, and meditated. Around him was the stillness of early morning. From the house could be heard the swish of the maids' brooms brushing the _tatami_, and the flip-flap of their paper flickers, like horses' tails, with which they dislodged the dust from the walls and cornices. A big black crow had been perched on one of the cherry-trees in the garden. He rose with a shaking of branches and a flapping of broad black wings. He crossed the lake, croaking as he flew with a note more harsh, rasping and cynical than the consequential caw of English rooks. His was a malevolent presence "from the night's Plutonian shore," the symbol of something unclean and sinister lurking behind this dainty beauty and this elaboration of cleanliness. Mr. Fujinami's meditations were deep and grave. Soon he put down the book. The spectacles glided along his nose. His chest rose and fell quickly under the weight of his resting chin. To the ignorant observer Mr. Fujinami would have appeared to be asleep. However, when his wife appeared about an hour and a half afterwards, bringing her lord's breakfast on another red lacquer table she besought him kindly to condescend to eat, and added that he must be very tired after so much study. To this Mr. Fujinami replied by passing his hand over his forehead and saying, "_D[=o]m[=o]! So des' né!_ (Indeed, it is so!) I have tired myself with toil." This little farce repeated itself every morning. All the household knew that the master's hour of meditation was merely an excuse for an after-sleep. But it was a tradition in the family that the master should study thus; and Mr. Fujinami's grandfather had been a great scholar in his generation. To maintain the tradition Mr. Fujinami had hired a starveling journalist to write a series of random essays of a sentimental nature, which he had published under his own name, with the title, _Fallen Cherry-Blossoms_. Such is the hold of humbug in Japan that nobody in the whole household, including the students who respected nothing, ever allowed themselves the relief of smiling at the sacred hour of study, even when the master's back was turned. * * * * * "_O hay[=o] gozaimas_'!" "For honourable feast of yesterday evening indeed very much obliged!" The oily forehead of Mr. Ito touched the matting floor with the exaggerated humility of conventional gratitude. The lawyer wore a plain kimono of slate-grey silk. His American manners and his pomposity had both been laid aside with the tweed suit and the swallow-tail. He was now a plain Japanese business man, servile and adulatory in his patron's presence. Mr. Fujinami Gentaro bowed slightly in acknowledgment across the remnants of his meal. "It is no matter," he said, with a few waves of his fan; "please sit at your ease." The two gentlemen arranged themselves squatting cross-legged for the morning's confidential talk. "The cherry-flowers," Ito began, with a sweep of the arm towards the garden grove, "how quickly they fall, alas!" "Indeed, human life also," agreed Mr. Fujinami. "But the guests of last evening, what is one to think?" "_Ma_! In truth, _sensei_ (master or teacher), it would be impossible not to call that Asa San a beauty." "Ito Kun," said his relative in a tone of mild censure, "it is foolish always to think of women's looks. This foreigner, what of him?" "For a foreigner, that person seems to be honourable and grave," answered the retainer, "but one fears that it is a misfortune for the house of Fujinami." "To have a son who is no son," said the head of the family, sighing. "_D[=o]m[=o]!_ It is terrible!" was the reply; "besides, as the _sensei_ so eloquently said last night, there are so few blossoms on the old tree." The better to aid his thoughts, Mr. Fujinami drew from about his person a case which contained a thin bamboo pipe, called _kiseru_ in Japanese, having a metal bowl of the size and shape of the socket of an acorn. He filled this diminutive bowl with a little wad of tobacco, which looked like coarse brown hair. He kindled it from the charcoal ember in the _hibachi_. He took three sucks of smoke, breathing them slowly out of his mouth again in thick grey whorls. Then with three hard raps against the wooden edge of the firebox, he knocked out again the glowing ball of weed. When this ritual was over, he replaced the pipe in its sheath of old brocade. The lawyer sucked in his breath, and bowed his head. "In family matters," he said, "it is rude for an outside person to advise the master. But last night I saw a dream. I saw the Englishman had been sent back to England; and that this Asa San with all her money was again in the Fujinami family. Indeed, a foolish dream, but a good thing, I think!" Mr. Fujinami pondered with his face inclined and his eyes shut. "Ito Kun," he said at last, "you are indeed a great schemer. Every month you make one hundred schemes. Ninety of them are impracticable, eight of them are foolish, and two of them are masterpieces!" "And this one?" asked Ito. "I think it is impracticable," said his patron, "but it would be worth while to try. It would without doubt be an advantage to send away this foreigner. He is a great trouble, and may even become a danger. Besides, the house of Fujinami has few children. Where there are no sons even daughters are welcome. If we had this Asa, we could marry her to some influential person. She is very beautiful, she is rich, and she speaks foreign languages. There would be no difficulty. Now, as to the present, how about this Osaka business?" "I have heard from my friend this morning," answered Ito; "it is good news. The Governor will sanction the establishment of the new licensed quarter at Tobita, if the Home Minister approves." "But that is easy. The Minister has always protected us. Besides, did I not give fifty thousand _yen_ to the funds of the _Seiyukwai_?" said Mr. Fujinami, naming the political party then in the majority in Parliament. "Yes, but it must be done quickly; for opposition is being organised. First, there was the Salvation Army and the missionaries. Now, there are Japanese people, too, people who make a cry and say this licensed prostitute system is not suitable to a civilised country, and it is a shame to Japan. Also, there may be a political change very soon, and a new Minister." "Then we would have to begin all over again, another fifty thousand _yen_ to the other side." "If it is worth it?" "My father says that Osaka is the gold mine of Japan. It is worth all that we can pay." "Yes, but Mr. Fujinami Gennosuké is an old man now, and the times are changing." The master laughed. "Times change," he said, "but men and women never change." "It is true," argued Ito, "that rich and noble persons no longer frequent the _yukwaku_ (pleasure enclosure). My friend, Suzuki, has seen the Chief of the Metropolitan Police. He says that he will not be able to permit _Oiran Dochu_ another year. He says too that it will soon be forbidden to show the _jor[=o]_ in their windows. It will be photograph-system for all houses. It is all a sign of the change. Therefore, the Fujinami ought not to sink any more capital in the _yukwaku_." "But men will still be men, they will still need a laundry for their spirits." Mr. Fujinami used a phrase which in Japan is a common excuse for those who frequent the _demi-monde_. "That is true, _sensei_," said the counsellor; "but our Japan must take on a show of Western civilisation. It is the thing called progress. It is part of Western civilisation that men will become more hypocritical. These foreigners say our Yoshiwara is a shame; but, in their own cities, immoral women walk in the best streets, and offer themselves to men quite openly. These virtuous foreigners are worse than we are. I myself have seen. They say, 'We have no Yoshiwara system, therefore we are good.' They pretend not to see like a _geisha_ who squints through a fan. We Japanese, we now become more hypocritical, because this is necessary law of civilisation. The two swords of the _samurai_ have gone; but honour and hatred and revenge will never go. The _kanzashi_ (hair ornaments) of the _oiran_ will go too; but what the _oiran_ lose, the _geisha_ will gain. Therefore, if I were Fujinami San, I would buy up the _geisha_, and also perhaps the _inbai_ (unregistered women)." "But that is a low trade," objected the Yoshiwara magnate. "It is very secret; your name need never be spoken." "And it is too scattered, too disorganised, it would be impossible to control." "I do not think it would be so difficult. What might be proposed is a _geisha_ trust." "But even the Fujinami have not got enough money." "Within one month I guarantee to find the right men, with the money and the experience and the influence." "Then the business would no longer be the Fujinami only--" "It would be as in America, a combine, something on a big scale. In Japan one is content with such small business. Indeed, we Japanese are a very small people." "In America, perhaps, there is more confidence," said the elder man; "but in Japan we say, 'Beware of friends who are not also relatives,' There is, as you know, the temple of Inari Daimy[=o]jin in Asakusa. They say that if a man worships at that temple he becomes the owner of his friend's wealth. I fear that too many of us Japanese make pilgrimage to that temple after nightfall." With those words, Mr. Fujinami picked up a newspaper to indicate that the audience was terminated; and Mr. Ito, after a series of prostrations, withdrew. * * * * * As soon as he was out of sight, Mr. Fujinami Gentaro selected from the pile in front of him a number of letters and newspapers. With these in his hand, he left the study, and followed a path of broad, flat stepping-stones across the garden towards the cherry-orchard. Here the way sloped rapidly downward under a drift of fallen petals. On the black naked twigs of the cherry-trees one or two sturdy blossoms still clung pathetically, like weather-beaten butterflies. Beyond a green shrubbery, on a little knoll, a clean newly-built Japanese house, like a large rabbit hutch, rested in a patch of sunlight. It was the _inkyo_, the "shadow dwelling" or dower house. Here dwelt Mr. Fujinami, senior, and his wife--his fourth matrimonial experiment. The old gentleman was squatting on the balcony of the front corner room, the one which commanded the best view of the cherry-grove. He looked as if he had just been unpacked; for he was surrounded by reams and reams of paper, some white, and some with Chinese letters scrawled over them. He was busy writing these letters with a kind of thick paint-brush; and he was so deep in his task that he appeared not to notice his son's approach. His restless jaw was still imperturbably chewing. "_O hay[=o] gozaimas_'!" "_Tar[=o], yo! O hay[=o]_!" cried the old gentleman, calling his son by his short boy's name, and cutting off all honorifics from his speech. He always affected surprise at this visit, which had been a daily occurrence for many years. "The cherry-flowers are fallen and finished," said the younger man. "Ah, human life, how short a thing!" "Yes, one year more I have seen the flowers," said Mr. Fujinami Gennosuké, nodding his head and taking his son's generalisation as a personal reference. He had laid his brush aside; and he was really wondering what would be Gentaro's comment on last night's feast and its guests of honour. "Father is practising handwriting again?" The old man's mania was penmanship, just as his son's was literature. Among Japanese it is considered the pastime becoming to his age. "My wrist has become stiff. I cannot write as I used to. It is always so. Youth has the strength but not the knowledge; age has the knowledge, but no strength." As a matter of fact, Mr. Gennosuké was immensely satisfied with his calligraphy, and was waiting for compliments. "But this, this is beautifully written. It is worthy of Kobo Daishi!" said the younger man, naming a famous scholar priest of the Middle Ages. He was admiring a scroll on which four characters were written in a perpendicular row. They signified, "From the midst of tranquillity I survey the world." "No," said the artist; "you see the _ten_ (point) there is wrong. It is ill-formed. It should be written thus." Shaking back his kimono sleeve--he wore a sea-blue cotton kimono, as befitted his years--and with a little flourish of his wrist, like a golfer about to make his stroke, he traced off the new version of the character on the white paper. Perched on his veranda, with his head on one side he looked very like the marabout stork, as you may see him at the Zoo, that raffish bird with the folds in his neck, the stained glaucous complexion, the bald head and the brown human eye. He had the same look of respectable rascality. The younger Fujinami showed signs of becoming exactly like him, although the parentage was by adoption only. He was not yet so bald. His black hair was patched with grey in a piebald design. The skin of the throat was at present merely loose, it did not yet hang in bags. "And this Asa San?" remarked the elder after a pause; "what is to be thought of her? Last night I became drunk, as my habit is, and I could not see those people well." "She is not loud-voiced and bold like foreign women. Indeed, her voice and her eyes are soft. Her heart is very good, I think. She is timid, and in everything she puts her husband first. She does not understand the world at all; and she knows nothing about money. Indeed, she is like a perfect Japanese wife." "Hm! A good thing, and the husband?" "He is a soldier, an honourable man. He seemed foolish, or else he is very cunning. The English people are like that. They say a thing. Of course, you think it is a lie. But no, it is the truth; and so they deceive." "_Ma, mendo-kusai_ (indeed, smelly-troublesome!) And why has this foreigner come to Japan?" "Ito says he has come to learn about the money. That means, when he knows he will want more." "How much do we pay to Asa San?" "Ten per cent." "And the profits last year on all our business came to thirty seven and a half per cent. Ah! A fine gain. We could not borrow from the banks at ten per cent. They would want at least fifteen, and many gifts for silence. It is better to fool the husband, and to let them go back to England. After all, ten per cent is a good rate. And we want all our money now for the new brothels in Osaka. If we make much money there, then afterwards we can give them more." "Ito says that if the Englishman knows that the money is made in brothels, he will throw it all away and finish. Ito thinks it would be not impossible to send the Englishman back to England, and to keep Asa here in Japan." The old man looked up suddenly, and for once his jaw stopped chewing. "That would be best of all," he exclaimed. "Then indeed he is honourable and a great fool. Being an Englishman, it is possible. Let him go back to England. We will keep Asa. She too is a Fujinami; and, even though she is a woman, she can be useful to the family. She will stay with us. She would not like to be poor. She has not borne a baby to this foreigner, and she is young. I think also our Sada can teach her many things." "It is of Sada that I came to speak to father," said Mr. Gentaro. "The marriage of our Sada is a great question for the Fujinami family. Here is a letter from Mr. Osumi, a friend of the Governor of Osaka. The Governor has been of much help to us in getting the concession for the new brothels. He is a widower with no children. He is a man with a future. He is protected by the military clan. He is wishful to marry a woman who can assist his career, and who would be able to take the place of a Minister's wife. Mr. Osumi, who writes, had heard of the accomplishments of our Sada. He mentioned her name to the Governor; and His Excellency was quite willing that Mr. Osumi should write something in a letter to Ito." "Hm!" grunted the old gentleman, squinting sidelong at his son; "this Governor, has he a private fortune?" "No, he is a self-made man." "Then it will not be with him, as it was with that Viscount Kamimura. He will not be too proud to take our money." The truth of the allusion to Viscount Kamimura was that the name of Sadako Fujinami had figured on the list of possible brides submitted to that young aristocrat on his return from England. At first, it seemed likely that the choice would fall upon her, because of her undisputed cleverness; and the Fujinami family were radiant at the prospect of so brilliant a match. For although nothing had been formally mentioned between the two families, yet Sadako and her mother had learned from their hairdresser that there was talk of such a possibility in the servants' quarter of the Kamimura mansion, and that old Dowager Viscountess Kamimura was undoubtedly making inquiries which could only point to that one object. The young Viscount, however, on ascertaining the origin of the family wealth, eliminated poor Sadako from the competition for his hand. It was a great disappointment to the Fujinami, and most of all to the ambitious Sadako. For a moment she had seen opening the doorway into that marvellous world of high diplomacy, of European capitals, of diamonds, duchesses and intrigue, of which she had read in foreign novels, where everybody is rich, brilliant, immoral and distinguished, and where to women are given the rôles to play even more important than those of the men. This was the only world, she felt, worthy of her talents; but few, very few, just one in a million Japanese women, ever gets the remotest chance of entering it. This chance presented itself to Sadako--but for a moment only. The doorway shut to again; and Sadako was left feeling more acutely than before the emptiness of life, and the bitterness of woman's lot in a land where men are supreme. Her cousin, Asako, by the mere luck of having had an eccentric parent and a European upbringing, possessed all the advantages and all the experience which the Japanese girl knew only through the glamorous medium of books. But this Asa San was a fool. Sadako had found that out at once in the course of a few minutes talk at the Maple Club dinner. She was sweet, gentle and innocent; far more Japanese, indeed, than her sophisticated cousin. Her obvious respect and affection for her big rough husband, her pathetic solicitude for the father whose face she could hardly remember and for the mother who was nothing but a name; these traits of character belong to the meek Japanese girl of _Onna Daigaku_ (Woman's Great Learning), that famous classic of Japanese girlhood which teaches the submission of women and the superiority of men. It was a type which was becoming rare in her own country. Little Asako had nothing in common with the argumentative heroines of Bernard Shaw or with the desperate viragos of Ibsen, to whom Sadako felt herself spiritually akin. Asako must be a fool. She exasperated her Japanese cousin, who at the same time was envious of her, envious above all of her independent wealth. As she observed to her own mother, it was most improper that a woman, and a young woman too, should have so much money of her own. It would be sure to spoil her character. Meanwhile Asako was a way of access to first-hand knowledge of that world of European womanhood which so strongly attracted Sadako's intelligence, that almost incredible world in which men and women were equal, had equal rights to property, and equal rights to love. Asako must have seen enough to explain something about it; if only she were not a fool. But it appeared that she had never heard of Strindberg, Sudermann, or d'Annunzio; and even Bernard Shaw and Oscar Wilde were unfamiliar names. CHAPTER XIII THE FAMILY ALTAR _Yume no ai wa Kurushikari keri? Odorokite Kaki-saguredomo Te ni mo fureneba._ (These) meetings in dreams How sad they are! When, waking up startled One gropes about-- And there is no contact to the hand. Miss Fujinami made up her mind to cultivate Asako's friendship, and to learn all that she could from her. So she at once invited her cousin to the mysterious house in Akasaka, and Asako at once accepted. The doors seemed to fly open at the magic of the wanderer's return. Behind each partition were family retainers, bowing and smiling. Three maids assisted her to remove her boots. There was a sense of expectation and hospitality, which calmed Asako's fluttering shyness. "Welcome! Welcome!" chanted the chorus of maids, "_O agari nasaimashi!_ (pray step up into the house!)" The visitor was shown into a beautiful airy room overlooking the landscape garden. She could not repress an Ah! of wonder, when first this fairy pleasance came in sight. It was all so green, so tiny, and so perfect,--the undulating lawn, the sheet of silver water, the pigmy forests which clothed its shores, its disappearance round a shoulder of rock into that hinterland of high trees which closed the vista and shut out the intrusion of the squalid city. The Japanese understand better than we do the mesmeric effects of sights and sounds. It was to give her time to assimilate her surroundings that Asako was left alone for half an hour or so, while Sadako and her mother were combing their hair and putting their kimonos straight. Tea and biscuits were brought for her, but her fancy was astray in the garden. Already to her imagination a little town had sprung up along the shingles of the tiny bay which faced her; the sails of white ships were glimpsing where the sunlight struck the water; and from round the rock promontory she could catch the shimmer of the Prince's galleon with its high poop and stern covered with solid gold. He was on his way to rescue the lady who was immured in the top of the red pagoda on the opposite hill. Asako's legs were getting numb. She had been sitting on them in correct Japanese fashion all this time. She was proud of the accomplishment, which she considered must be hereditary, but she could not keep it up for much longer than half an hour. Sadako's mother entered. "Asa San is welcome." Much bowing began, in which Asako felt her disadvantage. The long lines of the kimono, with the big sash tied behind, lend themselves with peculiar grace to the squatting bow of Japanese intercourse. But Asako, in the short blue jacket of her tailor-made serge, felt that her attitude was that of the naughty little boys in English picture books, bending over for castigation. Mrs. Fujinami wore a perfectly plain kimono, blackish-brown in colour, with a plain gold sash. It is considered correct for middle-aged ladies in Japan to dress with modesty and reserve. She was tall for a Japanese woman and big-boned, with a long lantern-face, and an almost Jewish nose. The daughter was of her mother's build. But her face was a perfect oval, the melon-seed shape which is so highly esteemed in her country. The severity of her appearance was increased, by her blue-tinted spectacles; and like so many Japanese women, her teeth were full of gold stopping. She was resplendent in blue, the blue of the Mediterranean, with fronds of cherry-blossom and floating pink petals designed round her skirts and at the bottom of the long exaggerated sleeves. The sash of broad stiff brocade shone with light blue and silver in a kind of conventional wave pattern. This was tied at the back with a huge bow, which seemed perched upon its wearer like a gigantic butterfly alighting on a cornflower. Her straight black hair was parted on one side in "foreign" style. But her mother wore the helmet-like _marumagé_, the edifice of conservative taste in married women, which looks more like a wig than like natural hair. Rings sparkled on Sadako's fingers, and she wore a diamond ornament across her sash; but neither their taste nor their quality impressed her cousin. Her face was of the same ivory tint as Asako's, but it was hidden under a lavish coating of liquid powder. This hideous embellishment covers not only the Mongolian yellow, which every Japanese woman seems anxious to hide, but also the natural and charming nuances of young skin, under a white monotonous surface like a mask of clay. Painted roses bloomed on the girl's cheeks. The eyebrows were artificially darkened as well as the lines round the eyes. The face and its expression, in fact, were quite obscured by cosmetics; and Miss Fujinami was wrapped in a cloud of cheap scent like a servant-girl on her evening out. She spoke English well. In fact, at school she had achieved a really brilliant career, and she had even attended a University for a time with the intention of reading for a degree, an attainment rare among Japanese girls. But overwork brought on its inevitable result. Books had to be banished, and glasses interposed to save the tired eyes from the light. It was a bitter disappointment for Sadako, who was a proud and ambitious girl, and it had not improved her disposition. After the first formalities Asako was shown round the house. The sameness of the rooms surprised her. There was nothing to distinguish them except the different woods used in their ceilings and walls, a distinction which betrayed its costliness and its taste only to the practised eye. Each room was spotless and absolutely bare, with golden _tatami_, rice-straw mats with edgings of black braid, fixed into the flooring, by whose number the size of a Japanese room is measured. Asako admired the pale white _shoji_, the sliding windows of opaque glowing paper along the side of the room open to the outdoor light, the _fusuma_ or sliding partitions between room and room, set in the framework of the house, some of them charmingly painted with sketches of scenery, flowers, or people, some of them plain cream-coloured boards flecked with tiny specks of gold. Nothing broke the sameness of these rooms except the double alcove, or _tokonoma_ with its inevitable hanging picture, its inevitable ornament, and its spray of blossom. Between the double niche stood that pillar of wood which Sadako explained as being the soul of the room, the leading feature from which its character was taken, being either plain and firm, or twisted and ornate, or else still unshaped, with the bosses of amputated branches seared and black protesting against confinement. The _tokonoma_, as the word suggests, must originally have been the sleeping-place of the owner of the room, for it certainly is the only corner in a Japanese house which is secured from draughts. But perhaps it was respect for invisible spirits which drove the sleeper eventually to abandon his coign of vantage to the service of aesthetic beauty, and to stretch himself on the open floor. To Asako the rooms seemed all the same. Each gave the same impression of spotlessness and nudity. Each was stiffly rectangular like the honey squares fitted into a hive. Above all, there was nothing about any of them to indicate their individual use, or the character of the person to whom they were specially assigned. No dining-room, or drawing-room, or library. "Where is your bedroom?" asked Asako, with a frank demand for that sign of sisterhood among Western girls; "I should so like to see it." "I generally sleep," answered the Japanese girl, "in that room at the corner where we have been already, where the bamboo pictures are. This is the room where father and mother sleep." They were standing on the balcony outside the apartment where Asako had first been received. "But where are the beds?" she asked. Sadako went to the end of the balcony, and threw open a big cupboard concealed in the outside of the house. It was full of layers of rugs, thick, dark and wadded. "These are the beds," smiled the Japanese cousin. "My brother Takeshi has a foreign bed in his room; but my father does not like them, or foreign clothes, or foreign food, or anything foreign. He says the Japanese things are best for the Japanese. But he is very old-fashioned." "Japanese style looks nicer," said Asako, thinking how big and vulgar a bedstead would appear in that clean emptiness and how awkwardly its iron legs would trample on the straw matting; "but isn't it draughty and uncomfortable?" "I like the foreign beds best," said Sadako; "my brother has let me try his. It is very soft." So in this country of Asako's fathers, a bedstead was lent for trial as though it had been some fascinating novelty, a bicycle or a piano. The kitchen appealed most to the visitor. It was the only room to her mind which had any individuality of its own. It was large, dark and high, full of servant-girls scuttering about like little mice, who bowed and then fled when the two ladies came in. The stoves for boiling the rice interested Asako, round iron receptacles like coppers, each resting on a brick fireplace. Everything was explained to her: the high dressers hung with unfamiliar implements in white metal and white wood: the brightly labelled casks of _saké_ and _shoyu_ (sauce) waiting in the darkness like the deputation of a friendly society in its insignia of office: the silent jars of tea, greenish in colour and ticketed with strange characters, the names of the respective tea-gardens: the iron kettle hanging on gibbet chains from the top of the ceiling over a charcoal fire sunk in the floor; the tasteful design of the commonest earthenware bowl: the little board and chopper for slicing the raw fish: the clean white rice-tubs with their brass bindings polished and shining: the odd shape and entirely Japanese character which distinguished the most ordinary things, and gave to the short squat knives a romantic air and to the broad wooden spoons a suggestion of witchcraft: finally, the little shrine to the Kitchen God, perched on a shelf close to the ceiling, looking like the façade of a doll's temple, and decorated with brass vases, dry grasses, and strips of white paper. The wide kitchen was impregnated with a smell already familiar to Asako's nose, one of the most typical odours of Japan, the smell of native cooking, humid, acrid and heavy like the smell of wood smoke from damp logs, with a sour and rotten flavour to it contributed by a kind of pickled horse-radish called _Daikon_ or the Great Root, dear to the Japanese palate. The central ceremony of Asako's visit was her introduction to the memory of her dead parents. She was taken to a small room, where the alcove, the place of honour, was occupied by a closed cabinet, the _butsudan_ (Buddha shelf), a beautiful piece of joiner's work in a kind of lattice pattern covered with red lacquer and gold. Sadako, approaching, reverently opened this shrine. The interior was all gilt with a dazzling gold like that used an old manuscripts. In the centre of this glory sat a golden-faced Buddha with dark blue hair and cloak, and an aureole of golden rays. Below him were arranged the _ihai_, the Tablets of the Dead, miniature grave-stones about one foot high, with a black surface edged with gold upon which were inscribed the names of the dead persons, the new names given by the priests. Sadako stepped back and clapped her hands together three times, repeating the formula of the Nichiren Sect of Buddhists. "_Namu my[=o]h[=o] renge ky[=o]!_ (Adoration to the Wonderful Law of the Lotus Scriptures!)" She instructed Asako to do the same. "For," she said, "we believe that the spirits of the dead people are here; and we must be very good to them." Asako did as she was told, wondering whether her confessor would give her penance for idolatry. Sadako then motioned her to sit on the floor. She took one of the tablets from its place and placed it in front of her cousin. "That is your father's _ihai_," she said; and then removing another and placing it beside the first, she added,-- "This is your mother." Asako was deeply moved. In England we love our dead; but we consign them to the care of nature, to the change of the seasons, and the cold promiscuity of the graveyard. The Japanese dead never seem to leave the shelter of their home or the circle of their family. We bring to our dear ones flowers and prayers; but the Japanese give them food and wine, and surround them with every-day talk. The companionship is closer. We chatter much about immortality. We believe, many of us, in some undying particle. We even think that in some other world the dead may meet the dead whom they have known in life. But the actual communion of the dead and the living is for us a beautiful and inspiring metaphor rather than a concrete belief. Now the Japanese, although their religion is so much vaguer than ours, hardly question this survival of the ancestors in the close proximity of their children and grandchildren. The little funeral tablets are for them clothed with an invisible personality. "This is your mother." Asako felt influences floating around her. Her mind was in pain, straining to remember something which seemed to be not wholly forgotten. Just at this moment Mrs. Fujinami arrived, carrying an old photograph album and a roll of silk. Her appearance was so opportune that any one less innocent than Asako might have suspected that the scene had been rehearsed. In the hush and charm of that little chamber of the spirits, the face of the elder woman looked soft and sweet. She opened the volume at the middle, and pushed it in front of Asako. She saw the photograph of a Japanese girl seated in a chair with a man standing at her side, with one hand resting on the chair back. Her father's photograph she recognised at once, the broad forehead, the deep eyes, the aquiline nose, the high cheek bones, and the thin, angry sarcastic lips; not a typically Japanese face, but a type recurrent throughout our over-educated world, cultured, desperate and stricken. Asako had very little in common with her father; for his character had been moulded or warped by two powerful agencies, his intellect and his disease; and it was well for his daughter that she had escaped this dire inheritance. But never before had she seen her mother's face. Sometimes she had wondered who and what her mother had been; what she had thought of as her baby grew within her; and with what regrets she had exchanged her life for her child's. More often she had considered herself as a being without a mother, a fairy's child, brought into this world on a sunbeam or born from a flower. Now she saw the face which had reflected pain and death for her. It was impassive, doll-like and very young, pure oval in outline, but lacking in expression. The smallness of the mouth was the most characteristic feature, but it was not alive with smiles like her daughter's. It was pinched and constrained, with the lower lips drawn in. The photograph was clearly a wedding souvenir. She wore the black kimono of a bride, and the multiple skirts. A kind of little pocket-book with silver charms dangling from it, an ancient marriage symbol, was thrust into the opening at her breast. Her head was covered with a curious white cap like the "luggage" of Christmas crackers. She was seated rigidly at the edge of her uncomfortable chair; and her personality seemed to be overpowered by the solemnity of the occasion. "Did she love him," her daughter wondered, "as I love Geoffrey?" Through Sadako's interpretation Mrs. Fujinami explained that Asako's mother's name had been Yamagata Haruko (Spring child). Her father had been a _samurai_ in the old two-sworded days. The photograph was not very like her. It was too serious. "Like you," said the elder woman, "she was always laughing and happy. My husband's father used to call her the _Semi_ (the cicada), because she was always singing her little song. She was chosen for your father because he was so sad and wrathful. They thought that she would make him more gentle. But she died; and then he became more sad than before." Asako was crying very gently. She felt the touch of her cousin's hand on her arm. The intellectual Miss Sadako also was weeping, the tears furrowing her whitened complexion. The Japanese are a very emotional race. The women love tears; and even the men are not averse from this very natural expression of feeling, which our Anglo-Saxon schooling has condemned as babyish. Mrs. Fujinami continued,-- "I saw her a few days before you were born. They lived in a little house on the bank of the river. One could see the boats passing. It was very damp and cold. She talked all the time of her baby. 'If it is a boy,' she said, 'everybody will be happy; if it is a girl, Fujinami San will be very anxious for the family's sake; and the fortune-tellers say that it will surely be a little girl. But,' she used to say, 'I could play better with a little girl; I know what makes them laugh!' When you were born she became very ill. She never spoke again, and in a few days she died. Your father became like a madman, he locked the house, and would not see any of us; and as soon as you were strong enough, he took you away in a ship." Sadako placed in front of her cousin the roll of silk, and said,-- "This is Japanese _obi_ (sash). It belonged to your mother. She gave it to my mother a short time before you were born; for she said, 'It is too bright for me now; when I have my baby, I shall give up society, and I shall spend all my time with my children.' My mother gives it to you for your mother's sake." It was a wonderful work of art, a heavy golden brocade, embroidered with fans, and on each fan a Japanese poem and a little scene from the olden days. "She was very fond of this _obi_, she chose the poems herself." But Asako was not admiring the beautiful workmanship. She was thinking of the mother's heart which had beat for her under that long strip of silk, the little Japanese mother who "would have known how to make her laugh." Tears were falling very quietly on to the old sash. The two Japanese women saw this; and with the instinctive tact of their race, they left her alone face to face with this strange introduction to her mother's personality. There is a peculiar pathos about the clothes of the dead. They are so nearly a part of our bodies that it seems unnatural almost that they should survive with the persistence of inanimate things, when we who gave them the semblance of life are far more dead than they. It would be more seemly, perhaps, if all these things which have belonged to us so intimately were to perish with us in a general _suttee_. But the mania for relics would never tolerate so complete a disappearance of one whom we had loved; and our treasuring of hair and ornaments and letters is a desperate--and perhaps not an entirely vain--attempt to check the liberated spirit in its leap for eternity. Asako found in that old garment of her mother's a much more faithful reflection of the life which had been transmitted to her, than the stiff photograph could ever realise. She had chosen the poems herself. Asako must get them transcribed and translated; for they would be a sure indication of her mother's character. Already the daughter could see that her mother too must have loved rich and beautiful things, happiness and laughter. Old Mr. Fujinami had called her "the _Semi_." Asako did not yet know the voice of the little insects which are the summer and autumn orchestra of Japan. But she knew that it must be something happy and sweet; or they would not have told her. * * * * * She rose from her knees, and found her cousin waiting for her on the veranda. Whatever real expression she may have had was effectively hidden behind the tinted glasses, and the false white complexion, now renovated from the ravages of emotion. But Asako's heart was won by the power of the dead, of whom Sadako and her family were, she felt, the living representatives. Asako took both of her cousin's hands in her own. "It was sweet of you and your mother to give me that," she said--and her eyes were full of tears--"you could not have thought of anything which would please me more." The Japanese girl was on the point of starting to bow and smile the conventional apologies for the worthlessness of the gift, when she felt herself caught by a power unfamiliar to her, the power of the emotions of the West. The pressure on her wrists increased, her face was drawn down towards her cousin's, and she felt against the corner of her mouth the warm touch of Asako's lips. She started back with a cry of "_Iya_! (don't!)," the cry of outraged Japanese femininity. Then she remembered from her readings that such kissings were common among European girls, that they were a compliment and a sign of affection. But she hoped that it had not disarranged her complexion again; and that none of the servants had seen. Her cousin's surprise shook Asako out of her dream; and the kiss left a bitter powdery taste upon her lips which disillusioned her. "Shall we go into the garden?" said Sadako, who felt that fresh air was advisable. They joined hands; so much familiarity was permitted by Japanese etiquette. They went along the gravel path to the summit of the little hillock where the cherry-trees had lately been in bloom, Sadako in her bright kimono, Asako in her dark suit. She looked like a mere mortal being introduced to the wonders of Titania's country by an authentic fairy. The sun was setting in the clear sky, one half of which was a tempest of orange, gold and red, and the other half warm and calm with roseate reflections. Over the spot where the focus point of all this glory was sinking into darkness, a purple cloud hovered like a shred of the monarch's glory caught and torn away on the jag of some invisible obstruction. Its edges were white flame, as though part of the sun's fire were hidden behind it. Even from this high position little could be seen beyond the Fujinami enclosure except tree-tops. Away down the valley appeared the grey scaly roofs of huddled houses, and on a hill opposite more trees with the bizarre pinnacle of a pagoda forcing its way through the midst of them. It looked like a series of hats perched one on the top of the other by a merchant of Petticoat Lane. Lights were glimpsing from the Fujinami mansion; more lights were visible among the shrubberies below. This soft light, filtered through the paper walls, shone like a luminous pearl. This is the home light of the Japanese, and is as typical of their domesticity as the blazing log-fire is of ours. It is greenish, still and pure, like a glow-worm's beacon. Out of the deep silence a bell tolled. It was as though an unseen hand had struck the splendour of that metallic firmament; or as though a voice had spoken out of the sunset cloud. The two girls descended to the brink of the lake. Here at the farther end the water was broader; and it was hidden from view of the houses. Green reeds grew along the margin, and green iris leaves, like sword blades, black now in the failing light. There was a studied roughness in the tiny landscape, and in the midst of the wilderness a little hut. "What a sweet little summer-house!" cried Asako. It looked like a settler's shack, built of rough, unshapen logs and thatched with rushes. "It is the room for the _chanoyu_, the tea-ceremony," said her cousin. Inside, the walls were daubed with earth; and a round window barred with bamboo sticks gave a view into what was apparently forest depths. "Why, it is just like a doll's house," cried Asako, delighted. "Can we go in?" "Oh, yes," said the Japanese. Asako jumped in at once and squatted down on the clean matting; but her more cautious cousin dusted the place with her handkerchief before risking a stain. "Do you often have tea-ceremonies?" asked Asako. The Muratas had explained to her long ago something about the mysterious rites. "Two or three times in the Spring, and then two or three times in the Autumn. But my teacher comes every week." "How long have you been learning?" Asako wanted to know. "Oh, since I was ten years old about." "Is it so difficult then?" said Asako, who had found it comparatively easy to pour out a cup of drawing-room tea without clumsiness. Sadako smiled tolerantly at her cousin's naive ignorance of things aesthetic and intellectual. It was as though she had been asked whether music or philosophy were difficult. "One can never study too much," she said, "one is always learning; one can never be perfect. Life is short, art is long." "But it is not an art like painting or playing the piano, just pouring out tea?" "Oh, yes," Sadako smiled again, "it is much more than that. We Japanese do not think art is just to be able to do things, showing off like _geisha_. Art is in the character, in the spirit. And the tea-ceremony teaches us to make our character full of art, by restraining everything ugly and common, in every movement, in the movement of our hands, in the position of our feet, in the looks of our faces. Men and women ought not to sit and move like animals; but the shape of their bodies, and their way of action ought to express a poetry. That is the art of the _chanoyu_." "I should like to see it," said Asako, excited by her cousin's enthusiasm, though she hardly understood a word of what she had been saying. "You ought to learn some of it," said Sadako, with the zeal of a propagandist. "My teacher says--and my teacher was educated at the court of the Tokugawa Shogun--that no woman can have really good manners, if she has not studied the _chanoyu_." Of course, there was nothing which Asako would like more than to sit in this fascinating arbour in the warm days of the coming summer, and play at tea-parties with her new-found Japanese cousin. She would learn to speak Japanese, too; and she would help Sadako with her French and English. The two cousins worked out the scheme for their future intimacy until the stars were reflected in the lake and the evening breeze became too cool for them. Then they left the little hermitage and continued their walk around the garden. They passed a bamboo grove, whose huge plumes, black in the darkness, danced and beckoned like the Erl-king's daughters. They passed a little house shuttered like a Noah's Ark, from which came a monotonous moaning sound as of some one in pain, and the rhythmic beat of a wooden clapper. "What is that?" asked Asako. "That is my father's brother's house. But he is illegitimate brother; he is not of the true family. He is a very pious man. He repeats the prayer to Buddha ten thousand times every day; and he beats upon the _mokugy[=o]_ a kind of drum like a fish which the Buddhist priests use." "Was he at the dinner last night?" asked Asako. "Oh no, he never goes out. He has not once left that house for ten years. He is perhaps rather mad; but it is said that he brings good luck to the family." A little farther on they passed two stone lanterns, cold and blind like tombstones. Stone steps rose between them to what in the darkness looked like a large dog-kennel. A lighted paper lantern hung in front of it like a great ripe fruit. "What is that?" asked Asako. In the failing twilight this fairy garden was becoming more and more wonderful. At any moment, she felt she might meet the Emperor himself in the white robes of ancient days and the black coal-scuttle hat. "That is a little temple," explained her cousin, "for Inari Sama." At the top of the flight of steps Asako distinguished two stone foxes. Their expression was hungry and malign. They reminded her of--what? She remembered the little temple outside the Yoshiwara on the day she had gone to see the procession. "Do you say prayers there?" she asked her companion. "No, _I_ do not," answered the Japanese, "but the servants light the lamp every evening; and we believe it makes the house lucky. We Japanese are very superstitious. Besides, it looks pretty in the garden." "I don't like the foxes' faces," said Asako, "they look bad creatures." "They _are_ bad creatures," was the reply, "nobody likes to see a fox; they fool people." "Then why say prayers, if they are bad?" "It is just because they are bad," said Sadako, "that we must please them. We flatter them so that they may not hurt us." Asako was unlearned in the difference between religion and devil-worship, so she did not understand the full significance of this remark. But she felt an unpleasant reaction, the first which she had received that day; and she thought to herself that if she were the mistress of that lovely garden, she would banish the stone foxes and risk their displeasure. The two girls returned to the house. Its shutters were up, and it, too, had that same appearance of a Noah's Ark but of a more complete and expensive variety. One little opening was left in the wooden armature for the girls to enter by. "Please come again many, many times," was cousin Sadako's last farewell. "The house of the Fujinami is your home. _Sayonara_!" * * * * * Geoffrey was waiting for his wife in the hall of the hotel. He was anxious at her late return. His embrace seemed to swallow her up to the amusement of the _boy sans_ who had been discussing the lateness of _okusan_, and the possibility of her having an admirer. "Thank goodness," said Geoffrey, "what have you been doing? I was just going to organise a search party." "I have been with Mrs. Fujinami and Sadako," Asako panted, "they would not let me go; and oh!"--She was going to tell him all about her mother's picture; but she suddenly checked herself, and said instead, "They've got such a lovely garden." She described the home of the cousins in glowing colours, the hospitality of the family, the cleverness of cousin Sadako, and the lessons which they were going to exchange. Yes, she replied to Geoffrey's questions, she had seen the memorial tablets of her father and mother, and their wedding photograph. But a strange paralysis sealed her lips, and her soul became inarticulate. She found herself absolutely incapable of telling that big foreign husband of hers, truly as she loved him, the veritable state of her emotions when brought face to face with her dead parents. Geoffrey had never spoken to her of her mother. He had never seemed to have the least interest in her identity. These "Jap women," as he called them, were never very real to him. She dreaded the possibility of revealing to him her secret, and then of receiving no response to her emotion. Also she had an instinctive reluctance to emphasise in Geoffrey's mind her kinship with these alien people. After dinner, when she had gone up to her room, Geoffrey was left alone with his cigar and his reflection. "Funny that she did not speak more about her father and mother. But I suppose they don't mean much to her, after all. And, by Jove, it's a good thing for me! I wouldn't like to have a wife who was all the time running home to her people, and comparing notes with her mother." Upstairs in her bedroom, Asako had unrolled the precious _obi_. An unmounted photograph came fluttering out of the parcel. It was a portrait of her father alone taken a short time before his death. At the back of the photograph was some Japanese writing. "Is Tanaka there?" Asako asked her maid Titine. Yes, of course, Tanaka was there, in the next room with his ear near the door. "Tanaka, what does this mean?" "Japanese poem," he said, "meaning very difficult: very many meanings: I think perhaps it means, having travelled all over the world, he feels very sad." "Yes, but word for word, Tanaka, what does it mean?" "This writing means, World is really not the same it says: all the world very many tell lies." "And this?" "This means, Travelling everywhere." "And this at the end?" "It means, Eveything always the same thing. Very bad translation I make. Very sad poem." "And this writing here?" "That is Japanese name--Fujinami Katsundo--and the date, twenty-fifth year of Meiji, twelfth month." Tanaka had turned over the photograph and was looking attentively at the portrait. "The honoured father of Ladyship, I think," he said. "Yes," said Asako. Then she thought she heard her husband's step away down the corridor. Hurriedly she thrust _obi_ and photograph into a drawer. Now, why did she do that? wondered Tanaka. CHAPTER XIV THE DWARF TREES _Iwa-yado ni Tateru maisu no ki, Na wo mireba, Mukashi no hito wo Ai-miru gotashi._ O pine-tree standing At the (side of) the stone house, When I look at you, It is like seeing face to face The men of old time. For the first time during the journey of their married lives, Geoffrey and Asako were pursuing different paths. It is the normal thing, no doubt, for the man to go out to his work and to his play, while the wife attends to her social and domestic duties. The evening brings reunion with new impressions and new interests to discuss. Such a life with its brief restorative separations prevents love growing stale, and soothes the irritation of nerves which, by the strain of petty repetitions, are exasperated sometimes into blasphemy of the heart's true creed. But the Barrington _ménage_ was an unusual one. By adopting a life of travel, they had devoted themselves to a protracted honeymoon, a relentless _tête-à-tête_. So long as they were continually on the move, constantly refreshed by new scenes, they did not feel the difficulty of their self-imposed task. But directly their stay in Tokyo seemed likely to become permanent, their ways separated as naturally as two branches, which have been tightly bound together, spread apart with the loosening of the string. This separation was so inevitable that they were neither of them conscious of it. Geoffrey had all his life been devoted to exercise and games of all kinds. They were as necessary as food for his big body. At Tokyo he had found, most unexpectedly, excellent tennis-courts and first-class players. They still spent the mornings together, driving round the city, and inspecting curios. So what could be more reasonable than that Asako should prefer to spend her afternoons with her cousin, who was so anxious to please her and to initiate her into that intimate Japanese life, which of course must appeal to her more strongly than to her husband? Personally, Geoffrey found the company of his Japanese relatives exceedingly slow. In return for the hospitalities of the Maple Club the Barringtons invited a representative gathering of the Fujinami clan to dinner at the Imperial Hotel, to be followed by a general adjournment to the theatre. It was a most depressing meal. Nobody spoke. All of the guests were nervous; some of them about their clothes, some about their knives and forks, all of them about their English. They were too nervous even to drink wine, which would have been the only remedy for such a "frost." Only Ito, the lawyer, talked, talked noisily, talked with his mouth full. But Geoffrey disliked Ito. He mistrusted the man; but, because of his wife's growing intimacy with her cousins, he felt loath to start subterranean inquiries as to the whereabouts of her fortune. It was Ito who, foreseeing embarrassment, had suggested the theatre party after dinner. For this at least Geoffrey was grateful to him. It saved him the pain of trying to make conversation with his cousins. "Talking to these Japs," he said to Reggie Forsyth, "is like trying to play tennis all by yourself." Later on, at his wife's insistence, he attended an informal garden-party at the Fujinami house. Again he suffered acutely from those cruel silences and portentous waitings, to which he noticed that even the Japanese among themselves were liable, but which apparently they did not mind. Tea and ice-creams were served by _geisha_ girls who danced afterwards upon the lawn. When this performance was over the guests were conducted to an open space behind the cherry-grove, where a little shooting-range had been set up, with a target, air-guns and boxes of lead lugs. Geoffrey, of course, joined in the shooting-competition, and won a handsome cigarette case inlaid with Damascene work. But he thought that it was a poor game; nor did he ever realize that this entertainment had been specially organized with a view to flattering his military and sporting tastes. But the greatest disillusionment was the Akasaka garden. Geoffrey was resigned to be bored by everything else. But his wife had grown so enthusiastic about the beauties of the Fujinami domain, that he had expected to walk straight into a paradise. What did he see? A dirty pond and some shrubs, not one single flower to break the monotony of green and drab, and everything so small. Why, he could walk round the whole enclosure in ten minutes. Geoffrey Barrington was accustomed to country houses in England, with their broad acres and their lavish luxuriance of scent and blossom. This niggling landscape art of the Japanese seemed to him mean and insignificant. * * * * * He much preferred the garden at Count Saito's home. Count Saito, the late Ambassador at the Court of St. James, with his stooping shoulders, his grizzled hair, and his deep eyes peering under the gold-rimmed spectacles, had proposed the health of Captain and Mrs. Barrington at their wedding breakfast. Since then, he had returned to Japan, where he was soon to play a leading political rôle. Meeting Geoffrey one day at the Embassy, he had invited him and his wife to visit his famous garden. It was a hanging garden on the side of a steep hill, parted down the middle by a little stream with its string of waterfalls. Along either bank rose groups of iris, mauve and white, whispering together like long-limbed pre-Raphaelite girls. Round a sunny fountain, the source of the stream, just below the terrace of the Count's mansion, they thronged together more densely, surrounding the music of the water with the steps of a slow sarabande, or pausing at the edge of the pool to admire their own reflection. Count Saito showed Geoffrey where the roses were coming on, new varieties of which he had brought from England with him. "Perhaps they will not like to be turned into Japanese," he observed; "the rose is such an English flower." They passed on to where the azaleas would soon be in fiery bloom. For with the true gardener, the hidden promise of the morrow is more stimulating to the enthusiasm than the assured success of the full flowers. The Count wore his rustling native dress; but two black cocker spaniels followed at his heels. This combination presented an odd mixture of English squire-archy and the _daimyo_ of feudal Japan. On the crest of the hill above him rose the house, a tall Italianate mansion of grey stucco, softened by creepers, jessamine and climbing roses. Alongside ran the low irregular roofs of the Japanese portion of the residence. Almost all rich Japanese have a double house, half foreign and half native, to meet the needs of their amphibious existence. This grotesque juxtaposition is to be seen all over Tokyo, like a tall boastful foreigner tethered to a timid Japanese wife. Geoffrey inquired in which wing of this unequal bivalve his host actually lived. "When I returned from England," said Count Saito, "I tried to live again in the Japanese style. But we could not, neither my wife nor I. We took cold and rheumatism sleeping on the floor, and the food made us ill; so we had to give it up. But I was sorry. For I think it is better for a country to keep its own ways. There is a danger nowadays, when all the world is becoming cosmopolitan. A kind of international type is springing up. His language is _esperanto_, his writing is shorthand, he has no country, he fights for whoever will pay him most, like the Swiss of the Middle Ages. He is the mercenary of commerce, the ideal commercial traveler. I am much afraid of him, because I am a Japanese and not a world citizen. I want my country to be great and respected. Above all, I want it to be always Japanese. I think that loss in national character means loss of national strength." Asako was being introduced by her hostess to the celebrated collection of dwarf trees, which had made the social fame of the Count's sojourn as Ambassador in Grosvenor Square. Countess Saito, like her husband, spoke excellent English; and her manner in greeting Asako was of London rather than of Tokyo. She took both her hands and shook them warmly. "My dear," she said, in her curious deep hoarse voice, "I'm so glad to see you. You are like a little bit of London come to say that you have not forgotten me." This great Japanese lady was small and very plain. Her high forehead was deeply lined and her face was marked with small-pox. Her big mouth opened wide as she talked, like a nestling's. But she was immensely rich. The only child of one of the richest bankers of Japan, she had brought to her husband the opportunity for his great gifts as a political leader, and the luxury in which they lived. The little trees were in evidence everywhere, decorating the living rooms, posted like sentinels on the terrace, and staged with the honour due to statuary at points of vantage in the garden. But their chief home was in a sunny corner at the back of a shrubbery, where they were aligned on shelves in the sunlight. Three special gardeners who attended to their wants were grooming and massaging them, soothing and titivating them, for their temporary appearances in public. Here they had a green-house of their own, kept slightly warmed for a few delicate specimens, and also for the convalescence of the hardier trees; for these precious dwarfs are quite human in their ailments, their pleasures and their idiosyncracies. Countess Saito had a hundred or more of these fashionable pets, of all varieties and shapes. There were giants of primeval forests reduced to the dimensions of a few feet, like the timbers of a lordly park seen through the wrong end of a telescope. There were graceful maple trees, whose tiny star-like leaves were particularly adapted to the process of diminution which had checked the growth of trunk and branches. There were weeping willows with light-green feathery foliage, such as sorrowing fairies might plant on the grave of some Taliessin of Oberon's court. There was a double cherry in belated bloom; its flowers of natural size hung amid the slender branches like big birds' nests. There was a stunted oak tree, creeping along the earth with gnarled and lumpy limbs like a miniature dinosaur; it waved in the air a clump of demensurate leaves with the truculent mien of boxing-gloves or lobsters' claws. In the centre of the rectangle formed by this audience of trees, and raised on a long table, was a tiny wisteria arbour, formed by a dozen plants arranged in quincunx. The intertwisted ropes of branches were supported on shining rods of bamboo; and the clusters of blossom, like bunches of grapes or like miniature chandeliers, still hung over the litter of their fallen beauty, with a few bird-like flowers clinging to them, pale and bleached. "They are over two hundred years old," said their proud owner, "they came from one of the Emperor's palaces at Kyoto." But the pride of the collection were the conifers and evergreens--trees which have Japanese and Latin names only, the _hinoki_, the _enoki_, the _sasaki_, the _keyaki_, the _maki_, the _surgi_ and the _kusunoki_--all trees of the dark funereal families of fir and laurel, which the birds avoid, and whose deep winter green in the summer turns to rust. There were spreading cedar trees, black like the tents of Bedouins, and there were straight cryptomerias for the masts of fairy ships. There was a strange tree, whose light-green foliage grew in round clumps like trays of green lacquer at the extremities of twisted brandies, a natural _étagère_. There were the distorted pine-trees of Japan, which are the symbol of old age, of fidelity, of patience under adversity, and of the Japanese nation itself, in every attitude of menace, curiosity, jubilation and gloom. Some of them were leaning out of their pots and staring head downwards at the ground beneath them; some were creeping along the earth like reptiles; some were mere trunks, with a bunch of green needles sprouting at the top like a palm; some with one long pathetic branch were stretching out in quest of the infinite to the neglect of the rest of the tree; some were tall and bent as by some sea wind blowing shoreward. Streaking a miniature landscape, they were whispering together the tales of centuries past. The Japanese art of cultivating these tiny trees is a weird and unhealthy practice, akin to vivisection, but without its excuse. It is like the Chinese custom of dwarfing their women's feet. The result is pleasing to the eye; but it hurts the mind by its abnormality, and the heart by its ruthlessness. Asako's admiration, so easily stirred, became enthusiastic as Countess Saito told her something of the personal history of her favourite plants, how this one was two hundred years old, and that one three hundred and fifty, and how another had been present at such and such a scene famous in Japanese history. "Oh, they are lovely," cried Asako. "Where can one get them? I must have some." Countess Saito gave her the names of some well-known market gardeners. "You can get pretty little trees from them for fifty to a hundred _yen_ (£5 to £10)," she said. "But of course the real historical trees are so very few; they hardly ever come on the market. They are like animals, you know. They want so much attention. They must have a garden to take their walks in, and a valet of their own." This great Japanese lady felt an affection and sympathy for the girl who, like herself, had been set apart by destiny from the monotonous ranks of Japanese women and their tedious dependence. "Little Asa Chan," she said, calling her by her pet name, "take care; you can become Japanese again, but your husband cannot." "Of course not, he's too big," laughed Asako; "but I like to run away from him sometimes, and hide behind the _shoji_. Then I feel independent." "But you are not really so," said the Japanese, "no woman is. You see the wisteria hanging in the big tree there. What happens when the big tree is taken away? The wisteria becomes independent, but it lies along the ground and dies. Do you know the Japanese name for wisteria? It is _fuji_--Fujinami Asako. If you have any difficulty ever, come and talk to me. You see, I, too, am a rich woman; and I know that it is almost as difficult to be very rich as it is to be very poor." * * * * * Captain Barrington and the ex-Ambassador were sitting on one of the benches of the terrace when the ladies rejoined them. "Well, Daddy," the Countess addressed her husband in English, "what are you talking about so earnestly?" "About England and Japan," replied the Count. As a matter of fact, in the course of a rambling conversation, Count Saito had asked his guest: "Now, what strikes you as the most surprising difference between our two countries?" Geoffrey pondered for a moment. He wanted to answer frankly, but he was still awed by the canons of Good Form. At last he said: "This Yoshiwara business." The Japanese statesman seemed surprised. "But that is just a local difference in the manner of regulating a universal problem," he said. "Englishmen aren't any better than they should be," said Geoffrey; "but we don't like to hear of women put up for sale like things in a shop." "Then you have not actually seen them yourself?" said the Count. He could not help smiling at the characteristic British habit of criticising on hearsay. "Not actually; but I saw the procession last month." "You really think that it is better to let immoral women stray about the streets without any attempt to control them and the crime and disease they cause?" "It's not that," said Geoffrey; "it seems to me horrible that women should be put up to sale and exposed in shop windows ticketed and priced." Count Saito smiled again and said: "I see that you are an idealist like so many Englishmen. But I am only a practical statesman. The problem of vice is a problem of government. No law can abolish it. It is for us statesmen to study how to restrain it and its evil consequences. Three hundred years ago these women used to walk about the streets as they do in London to-day. Tokugawa Iyeyasu, the greatest of all Japanese statesmen, who gave peace to the whole country, put in order this untidiness also. He had the Yoshiwara built, and he put all the women there, where the police could watch both them and the men who visited them. The English might learn from us here, I think. But you are an unruly people. It is not only that you object for ideal reasons to the imprisonment of these women; but it is your men who would object very strongly to having the eye of the policeman watching them when they paid their visits." Geoffrey was silenced by the experience of his host. He was afraid, as most Englishmen are, of arguing that the British determination to ignore vice, however disastrous in practice, is a system infinitely nobler in conception than the acquiescence which admits for the evil its right to exist, and places it among the commonplaces of life. "And how about the people who make money out of such a place?" asked Geoffrey. "They must be contemptible specimens." The face of the wise statesman became suddenly gentle. "I really don't know much about them," he said. "If we do meet them they do not boast about it." CHAPTER XV EURASIA _Mono-sugo ya Ara omoshiro no Kaeri-bana._ Queer-- Yes, but attractive Are the flowers which bloom out of season. Although he felt a decreasing interest in the Japanese people, Geoffrey was enjoying his stay in Tokyo. He was tired of traveling, and was glad to settle down in the semblance of a home life. He was very keen on his tennis. It was also a great pleasure to see so much of Reggie Forsyth. Besides, he was conscious of the mission assigned to him by Lady Cynthia Cairns to save his friend from the dangerous connection with Yaé Smith. Reggie and he had been at Eton together. Geoffrey, four years the senior, a member of "Pop," and an athlete of many colours, found himself one day the object of an almost idolatrous worship on the part of a skinny little being, discreditably clever at Latin verses, and given over to the degrading habit of solitary piano practicing on half-holidays. He was embarrassed but touched by a devotion which was quite incomprehensible to him; and he encouraged it furtively. When Geoffrey left Eton the friends did not see each other again for some years, though they watched each other's careers from a distance, mutually appreciative. Their next meeting took place in Lady Everington's drawing-room, where Barrington had already heard fair ladies praising the gifts and graces of the young diplomat. He heard him play the piano; and he also heard the appreciation of discerning judgment. He heard him talking with arabesque agility. It was Geoffrey's turn to feel on the wrong side of a vast superiority, and in his turn he repaid the old debt of admiration; generosity filled the gulf and the two became firm friends. Reggie's intelligence flicked the inertia of Geoffrey's mind, quickened his powers of observation, and developed his sense of interest in the world around him. Geoffrey's prudence and stolidity had more than once saved the young man from the brink of sentimental precipices. For Reggie's unquestionable musical talent found its nourishment in love affairs dangerously unsophisticated. He refused to consider marriage with any of the sweet young things, who would gladly have risked his lukewarm interest for the chance of becoming an Ambassador's wife. He equally avoided pawning his youth to any of the maturer married ladies, whose status and character, together with those of their husbands, license them to practice as certificated Egerias. His dangerous _penchant_ was for highly spiced adventuresses, and for pastoral amourettes, wistful and obscure. But he never gave away his heart; he lent it out at interest. He received it again intact, with the profit of his musical inspiration. Thus his liaison with Véronique Gerson produced the publication of _Les demi-jours_, a series of musical poems which placed him at once in the forefront of young composers; but it also alarmed the Foreign Office, which was paternally interested in Reggie's career. This brought about his banishment to Japan. The _Attente d'hiver_, now famous, is his candid musical confession that the coma inflicted upon him by Véronique's unconcern was merely the drowsiness of the waiting earth before the New Year brought back the old story. Reggie would never be attracted to native women; and he had not the dry inquisitiveness of his predecessor, Aubrey Laking, which might induce him to buy and keep a woman for whom he felt no affection. The love which can exchange no thoughts in speech was altogether too crude for him. It was his emotions, rather than his senses, which were always craving for amorous excitement. His frail body claimed merely its right to follow their lead, as a little boat follows the strong wind which fills its sails. But ever since he had loved Geoffrey Barrington at Eton it was a necessity for his nature to love some one; and as the haze of his young conceptions cleared, that some one became necessarily a woman. He soon recognized the wisdom of the Foreign Office in choosing Japan. It was a starvation diet which had been prescribed for him. So he settled down to his memories and to _L'attente d'hiver_, thinking that it would be two long years or more before his Spring blossomed again. * * * * * Then he heard the story of the duel fought for Yaé Smith by two young English officers, both of them her lovers, so people said, and the vaguer tale of a fiancé's suicide. Some weeks later, he met her for the first time at a dance. She was the only woman present in Japanese dress, and Reggie thought at once of Asako Barrington. How wise of these small women to wear the kimono which drapes so gracefully their stumpy figures. He danced with her, his right hand lodged somewhere in the folds of the huge bow with the embroidered peacock, which covered her back. Under this stiff brocade he could feel no sensation of a living body. She seemed to have no bones in her, and she was as light as a feather. It was then that he imagined her as Lilith, the snake-girl. She danced with ease, so much better than he, that at the end of a series of cannons she suggested that they might sit out the dance. She guided him into the garden, and they took possession of a rustic seat. In the ballroom she had seemed timid, and had spoken in undertones only; but in this shadowy _tête-à-tête_ beneath the stars, she began to talk frankly about her own life. She told him about her one visit to England with her father; how she had loved the country, and how dull it was for her here in Japan. She asked him about his music. She would so like to hear him play. There was an old piano at her home. She did not think he would like it very much--indeed, Reggie was already shuddering in anticipation--or else? Would she come to tea with him at the Embassy? That would be nice! She could bring her mother or one of her brothers? She would rather come with a girl friend. Very well, to-morrow? On the morrow she came. Reggie hated playing in public. He said that it was like stripping naked before a multitude, or like having to read one's own love letters aloud in a divorce court. But there is nothing more soothing than to play to one attentive listener, especially if that listener be feminine and if the interest shown be that personal interest, which with so many women takes the place of true appreciation, and which looks over the art to the artist. Yaé came with the girl friend, a lean and skinny half-caste girl like a gipsy, whom Yaé patronized. She came once again with the girl friend; and then she came alone. Reggie was relieved, and said so. Yaé laughed and replied: "But I brought her for your own sake; I always go everywhere by myself." "Then please don't take me into consideration ever again," answered Reggie. So those afternoons began which so soon darkened into evenings, while Reggie sat at the piano playing his thoughts aloud, and the girl lay on the sofa or squatted on the big cushion by the fire, with cigarettes within reach and a glass of liqueur, wrapped in an atmosphere of laziness and well-being such as she had never known before. Then Reggie would stop playing. He would sit down beside her, or he would take her on his knee; and they would talk. He talked as poets talk, weaving stories out of nothing, finding laughter and tears in what she would have passed by unnoticed. She talked to him about herself, about the daily doings of her home, its sadness and isolation since her father died. He had been the playfellow of her childhood. He had never grudged his time or his money for her amusement. She had been brought up like a little princess. She had been utterly spoiled. He had transferred to her precocious mind his love of excitement, his inquisitiveness, his courage and his lack of scruple; and then, when she was sixteen, he had died, leaving as his last command to the Japanese wife who would obey him in death as she had obeyed him living, the strict injunction that Yaé was to have her own way always and in everything. He left a respectable fortune, a Japanese widow and two worthless sons. Poor Yaé! Surrounded by the friends and amusements of an English girl's life, the qualities of her happy disposition might have borne their natural fruit. But at her father's death she found herself isolated, without friends and without amusements. She found herself marooned on the island of Eurasia, a flat and barren land of narrow confines and stunted vegetation. The Japanese have no use for the half-castes; and the Europeans look down upon them. They dwell apart in a limbo of which Baroness Miyazaki is the acknowledged queen. Baroness Miyazaki is a stupendous old lady, whose figure might be drawn from some eighteenth-century comedy. Her late husband--and gossip says that she was his landlady during a period of study in England--held a high position in the Imperial Court. His wife, by a pomposity of manner and an assumption of superior knowledge, succeeded, where no other white woman has succeeded, in acquiring the respect and intimacy of the great ladies of Japan. She has inculcated the accents of Pentonville, with its aitches dropped and recovered again, among the high Japanese aristocracy. But first her husband died; and then the old Imperial Court of the Emperor Meiji passed away. So Baroness Miyazaki had to retire from the society of princesses. She passed not without dignity, like an old monarch _en disponibilité_, to the vacant throne of the Eurasian limbo, where her rule is undisputed. Every Friday afternoon you may see her presiding over her little court in the Miyazaki mansion, with its mixture of tinsel and dust. The Bourbonian features, the lofty white wig, the elephantine form, the rustling taffeta, and the ebony stick with its ivory handle, leads one's thoughts backwards to the days of Richardson and Sterne. But her loyal subjects who surround her--it is impossible to place them. They are poor, they are untidy, they are restless. Their black hair is straggling, their brown eyes are soft, their clothes are desperately European, but ill-fitting and tired. They chatter together ceaselessly and rapidly like starlings, with curious inflections in their English speech, and phrases snatched up from the vernacular. They are forever glancing and whispering, bursting at times into wild peals of laughter which lack the authentic ring of gladness. They are a people of shadows blown by the harsh winds of destiny across the face of a land where they can find no permanent resting place. They are the children of Eurasia, the unhappiest people on earth. It was among these people that Yaé's lot was cast. She stepped into an immediate ascendancy over them, thanks to her beauty, her personality and, above all, to her money. Baroness Miyazaki saw at once that she had a rival in Eurasia. She hated her, but waited calmly for the opportunity to assist in her inevitable collapse, a woman of wide experience watching the antics of a girl innocent and giddy, the Baroness playing the part of Elizabeth of England to Yaé's Mary Queen of Scots. Meanwhile, Yaé was learning what the Eurasian girls were whispering about so continually--love affairs, intrigues with secretaries of South American legations, secret engagements, disguised messages. This seed fell upon soil well-prepared. Her father had been a reprobate till the day of his death, when he had sent for his favourite Japanese girl to come and massage the pain out of his wasted body. Her brothers had one staple topic of conversation which they did not hesitate to discuss before their sister--_geisha_, assignation houses, and the licensed quarters. Yaé's mind was formed to the idea that for grown-up people there is one absorbing distraction, which is to be found in the company of the opposite sex. There was no talk in the Smith's home of the romance of marriage, of the love of parents and children, which might have turned this precocious preoccupation in a healthy direction. The talk was of women all the time, of women as instruments of pleasure. Nor could Mrs. Smith, the Japanese mother, guide her daughter's steps. She was a creature of duty, dry-featured and self-effaced. She did her utmost for her children's physical wants, she nursed them devotedly in sickness, she attended to their clothes and to their comforts. But she did not attempt to influence their moral ideas. She had given up any hope of understanding her husband. She schooled herself to accept everything without surprise. Poor man! He was a foreigner and had a fox (i.e. he was possessed); and unfortunately his children had inherited this incorrigible animal. To please her daughter she opened up her house for hospitality with unseemly promptitude after her husband's death. The Smiths gave frequent dances, well-attended by young people of the Tokyo foreign community. At the first of these series, Yaé listened to the passionate pleadings of a young man called Hoskin, a clerk in an English firm. On the second opportunity she became engaged to him. On the third, she was struck with admiration and awe by a South American diplomat with the green ribbon of a Bolivian order tied across his false shirt front. Don Quebrado d'Acunha was a practiced hand at seduction and Yaé became one of his victims soon after her seventeenth birthday, and just ten days before her admirer sailed away to rejoin his legitimate spouse in Guayaquil. The engagement with Hoskin still lingered on; but the young man, who adored her was haggard and pale. Yaé had a new follower, a teacher of English in a Japanese school, who recited beautifully and wrote poetry about her. Then Baroness Miyazaki judged that her time was ripe. She summoned young Hoskin into her dowager presence, and, with a manner heavily maternal, she warned him against the lightness of his fiancée. When he refused to believe evil of her she produced a pathetic letter full of half-confessions, which the girl herself had written to her in a moment of expansion. A week later the young man's body was washed ashore near Yokohama. Yaé was sorry to hear of the accident; but she had long ceased to be interested in Hoskin, the reticence of whose passion had seemed like a touch of ice to her fevered nerves. But this was Baroness Miyazaki's opportunity to discredit Yaé, to crush her rival out of serious competition, and to degrade her to the _demi-monde_. It was done promptly and ruthlessly; for the Baroness's gossip carried weight throughout the diplomatic, professional and missionary circles, even where her person was held in ridicule. The facts of Hoskin's suicide became known. Nice women dropped Yaé entirely; and bad men ran after her with redoubled zest. Yaé did not realize her ostracism. The Smith's dances next winter became so many competitions for the daughter's corruption, and were rendered brilliant by the presence of several of the young officers attached to the British Embassy, who made the running, and finally monopolized the prize. Next year the Smiths acquired a motor-car which soon became Yaé's special perquisite. She would disappear for whole days and nights. None of her family could restrain her. Her answer to all remonstrances was: "You do what you want; I do what I want." That summer two English officers whom she especially favoured fought a duel with pistols--for her beauty or for her honour. The exact motive remained unknown. One was seriously wounded; and both of them had to leave the country. Yaé was grieved by this sudden loss of both her lovers. It left her in a condition of double widowhood from which she was most anxious to escape. But now she was becoming more fastidious. The school teachers and the dagos fascinated her no longer. Her soldier friends had introduced her into Embassy circles, and she wished to remain there. She fixed on Aubrey Laking for her next attempt, but from him she received her first rebuff. Having lured him into a _tête-à-tête_, as her method was, she asked him for counsel in the conduct of her life. "If I were you," he said dryly, "I should go to Paris or New York. You will find much more scope there." Fortunately fate soon exchanged Aubrey Laking for Reggie Forsyth. He was just what suited her--for a time. But a certain impersonality in his admiration, his fits of reverie, the ascendancy of music over his mind, made her come to regret her more masculine lovers. And it was just at this moment of dissatisfaction that she first saw Geoffrey Barrington, and thought how lovely he would look in his uniform. From that moment desire entered her heart. Not that she wanted to lose Reggie; the peace and harmony of his surroundings soothed her like a warm and scented bath. But she wanted both. She had had two before, and had found them complimentary to one another and agreeable to her. She wanted to sit on Geoffrey's knee and to feel his strong arms round her. But she must not be too sudden in her advances, or she would lose him as she had lost Laking. It is easy to condemn Yaé as a bad girl, a born _cocotte_. Yet such a judgment would not be entirely equitable. She was a laughter-loving little creature, a child of the sun. She never sought to do harm to anybody. Rather was she over-amiable. She wished above all to make her men friends happy and to be pleasing in their eyes. She was never swayed by mercenary motives. She was to be won by admiration, by good looks, and by personal distinction, but never by money. If she tired of her lovers somewhat rapidly, it was as a child tires of a game or of a book, and leaves it forgotten to start another. She was a child with bad habits, rather than a mature sinner. It never occurred to her that, because Geoffrey Harrington was married, he at least ought to be immune from her attack. In her dreams of an earthly paradise there was no marrying or giving in marriage, only the sweet mingling of breath, the quickening of the heart-beats like the pulsation of her beloved motor-car, the sound as of violin arpeggios rising higher and ever higher, the pause of the ecstatic moment when the sense of time is lost--and then the return to earth on lazy languorous wings like a sea-gull floating motionless on a shoreward breeze. Such was Yaé's ideal of Love and of Life too. It is not for us to condemn Yaé, but rather should we censure the blasphemy of mixed marriages which has brought into existence these thistledown children of a realm which has no kings or priests or laws or Parliaments or duty or tradition or hope for the future, which has not even an acre of dry ground for its heritage or any concrete symbol of its soul--the Cimmerian land of Eurasia. Reggie Forsyth understood the pathos of the girl's position; and being a rebel and an anarchist at heart, he readily condoned the faults which she confided to him frankly. Gradually Pity, most dangerous of all counsellors, revealed her to him as a girl romantically unfortunate, who never had a fair chance in life, who had been the sport of bad men and fools, who needed only a measure of true friendship and affection for the natural sunshine of her disposition to scatter the rank vapours of her soul's night. What Reggie grasped only in that one enlightened moment when he had christened her Lamia, was the tragic fact that she had no soul. CHAPTER XVI THE GREAT BUDDHA _Tsuki-yo yoshi Tachitsu itsu netsu Mitsu-no-hama._ The sea-shore of Mitsu! Standing, sitting or lying down, How lovely is the moonlight night! Before the iris had quite faded, and before the azaleas of Hibiya were set ablaze--in Japan they count the months by the blossoming of the flowers--Reggie Forsyth had deserted Tokyo for the joys of sea bathing at Kamakura. He attended at the Embassy for office hours during the morning, but returned to the seaside directly after lunch. This departure disarranged Geoffrey's scheme for his friend's salvation; for he was not prepared to go the length of sacrificing his daily game of tennis. "What do you want to leave us for?" he remonstrated. "The bathing," said Reggie, "is heavenly. Besides, next month I have to go into _villegiatura_ with my chief. I must prepare myself for the strain with prayer and fasting. But why don't you come down and join us?" "Is there any tennis?" asked Geoffrey. "There is a court, a grass court with holes in it; but I've never seen anybody playing." "Then what is there to do?" "Oh, bathing and sleeping and digging in the sand and looking at temples and bathing again; and next week there is a dance." "Well, we might come down for that if her Ladyship agrees. How is Lamia?" "Don't call her that, please. She has got a soul after all. But it is rather a disobedient one. It runs away like a little dog, and goes rabbit-hunting for days on end. She is in great form. We motor in the moonlight." "Then I think it is quite time I did come," said Geoffrey. So the Harringtons arrived in their sumptuous car on the afternoon before the dance of which Reggie Forsyth had spoken. On the beach they found him in a blue bathing-costume sitting under an enormous paper umbrella with Miss Smith and the gipsy half-caste girl. Yaé wore a cotton kimono of blue and white, and she looked like a figurine from a Nanking vase. "Geoffrey," said the young diplomat, "come into the sea at once. You look thoroughly dirty. Do you like sea-bathing, Mrs. Harrington?" "I have only paddled," said Asako, "when I was a little girl." Geoffrey could not resist the temptation of the blue water and the lazy curling waves. In a few minutes the two men were walking down to the sea's edge, Geoffrey laughing at Reggie's chatter. His arms were akimbo, with hands on the hips, hips which looked like the boles of a mighty oak-tree. He touched the ground with the elasticity of Mercury; he pushed through the air with the shoulders of Hercules. The line of his back was pliant as a steel blade. In his hair the sun's reflection shone like wires of gold. The Gods were come down in the semblance of men. Yaé did not repress a sharp intake of her breath; and she squeezed the hand of the gipsy girl as if pain had gripped her. "How big your husband is!" she said to Asako. "What a splendid man!" Asako thought of her husband as "dear old Geoffrey." She never criticized his points; nor did she think that Yaé's admiration was in very good taste. However, she accepted it as a clumsy compliment from an uneducated girl who knew no better. The gipsy companion watched with a peculiar smile. She understood the range of Yaé's admiration. "Isn't it a pity they have to wear bathing dress?" Miss Smith went on. "It's so ugly. Look at the Japanese." Farther along the beach some Japanese men were bathing. They threw their clothes down on the sand and ran into the water with nothing on their bodies except a strip of white cotton knotted round the loins. They dashed into the sea with their arms lifted above their head, shouting wildly like savage devotees calling upon their gods. The sea sparkled like silver round their tawny skin. Their torsos were well formed and hardy; their dwarfed and ill-shaped legs were hidden by the waves. Certainly they presented an artistic contrast with the sodden blue of the foreigners' bathing suits. But Asako, brought up to the strict ideals of convent modesty, said: "I think it's disgusting; the police ought to stop those people bathing with no clothes on." The dust and sun of the motor ride, the constant anxiety lest they might run over some doddering old woman or some heedless child, had given her a headache. As soon as Geoffrey returned from his dip, she announced that she would go back to her room. As the headache continued, she abandoned the idea of dancing. She would go to bed, and listen to the music in the distance. Geoffrey wished to stay with her, but she would not hear of it. She knew that her husband was fond of dancing; she thought that the change and the brightness would be good for him. "Don't flirt with Yaé Smith," she smiled, as he gave her the last kiss, "or Reggie will be jealous." At first Geoffrey was bored. He did not know many of the dancers, business people from Yokohama, most of them, or strangers stopping at the hotel. Their appearance depressed him. The women had hard faces, the lustre was gone from their hair, they wore ill-fitting dresses without style or charm. The men were gross, heavy-limbed and plethoric. The music was appalling. It was produced out of a piano, a cello, and a violin driven by three Japanese who cared nothing for time or tune. Each dance, evidently, was timed to last ten minutes. At the end of the ten minutes the music stopped without finishing the phrase or even the bar; and the movement of the dancers was jerked into stability. Reggie entered the room with Yaé Smith. His manner was unusually excited and elate. "Hello, Geoffrey, enjoying yourself?" "No," said Geoffrey, "my wife has got a headache; and that music is simply awful." "Come and have a drink," proposed Reggie. He took them aside into the bar and ordered champagne. "This is to drink our own healths," he announced, "and many years of happiness to all of us. It is also, Geoffrey, to drive away your English spleen, and to make you into an agreeable grass-widower into whose hands I may commend this young lady, because you can dance and I cannot. My evening is complete. This is my _Nunc Dimittis._" He led them back to the ballroom. Then, with a low bow and a flourish of an imaginary cocked-hat, he disappeared. Geoffrey and Yaé danced together. Then they sat out a dance; and then they danced again. Yaé was tiny, but she danced well; and Geoffrey was used to a small partner. For Yaé it was sheer delight to feel the size and strength of this giant man bending over her like a sheltering tree; and then to be lifted almost in his arms and to float on tiptoe over the floor with the delightful airiness of dreams. What strange orgies our dances are! To the critical mind what a strange contradiction to our sheepish passion-hiding conventions! A survival of the corroboree, of the immolation of the tribal virgins, a ritual handed down from darkest antiquity like the cult of the Christmas Tree and the Easter Egg; only their significance is lost, while that of the dance is transparently evident. Maidens as chaste as Artemis, wives as loyal as Lucretia pass into the arms of men who are scarcely known to them with touchings of hands and legs, with crossings of breath, to the sound of music aphrodisiac or fescennine. The Japanese consider, not unreasonably, that our dancing is disgusting. A nice girl no doubt, and a nice man too, thinks of a dance as a graceful exercise or as a game like tennis or hockey. But Yaé was not a nice girl; and when the music stopped with its hideous abruptness, it awoke her from a kind of trance in which she had been lost to all sensations except the grip of Geoffrey's hand and arm, the stooping of his shadow above her, and the tingling of her own desire. Geoffrey left his partner at the end of their second dance. He went upstairs to see his wife. He found her sleeping peacefully; so he returned to the ballroom again. He looked in at the bar, and drank another glass of champagne. He was beginning to enjoy himself. He could not find Yaé, so he danced with the gipsy girl, who had a stride like a kangaroo. Then Yaé reappeared. They had two more dances together, and another glass of champagne. The night was fine. There was a bright moonlight. Geoffrey remarked that it was jolly hot for dancing. Yaé suggested a stroll along the sea-shore; and in a few minutes they were standing together on the beach. "Oh! Look at the bonfires," cried Yaé. A few hundred yards down the sea-front, where the black shadows of the native houses overhung the beach, the lighted windows gleamed softly like flakes of mica. The fishermen were burning seaweed and jetsam for ashes which would be used as fertilizer. Tongues of fire were flickering skywards. It was a blue night. The sky was deep blue, and the sea an oily greenish blue. Blue flames of salt danced and vanished over the blazing heaps. The savage figures squatting round the fires were dressed in tunics of dark blue cloth. Their legs were bare. Their healthy faces lit up by the blaze were the color of ripe apricots. Their attitudes and movements were those of apes. The elder men were chattering together; the younger ones were gazing into the fire with an expression of healthy stupor. A boat was coming in from the sea. A ruby light hung at the prow. It was rowed by four men standing and _yulohing_, two in the stern and two at the bow. They were intoning a rhythmic chant to which their bodies moved. The boat was slim and pointed; and the rowers looked like Vikings. The shadows cast by the moonlight were inky black, the shadows of the beaked ships, the shadows of the savage huts, of the ape-like men, of the huge round fish-baskets like immense _amphorae_. Far out from land, where the wide floating nets were spread, lights were scattered like constellations. The foreland was clearly visible, with the high woods which clothed its summit. But the farther end of the beach faded into an uneven string of lights, soft and spectral as will-o'-the-wisps. Warmth rose from the sleeping earth; and a breeze blew in from the sea, making a strange metallic rustling, which to Japanese ears is the sweetest natural music, in the gaunt sloping pine-trees, whose height in the semi-darkness was exaggerated to monstrous and threatening proportions. Geoffrey felt a little hand in his, warm and moist. "Shall we go and see _Dai-Butsu_?" said Yaé. Geoffrey had no idea who _Dai-Butsu_ might be, but he gladly agreed. She fluttered on beside him with her long kimono sleeves like a big moth. Geoffrey's head was full of wine and waltz tunes. They dived into a narrow street with dwellings on each side. Some of the houses were shuttered and silent. Others were open to the street with a completeness of detail denied by our stingy window-casements--women sitting up late over their needlework, men talking round the firebox, shopkeepers adding up their accounts, fishermen mending their tackle. The street led inland towards abrupt hills, which looked like a wall of darkness. It was lit by the round street lamps, the luminous globules with Chinese letters on them which had pleased Geoffrey first at Nagasaki. The road entered a gorge between two precipices, the kind of cleft into which the children of Hamlin had followed the Pied Piper. "I would not like to come here alone," said Yaé, clinging tighter. "It looks peaceful enough," said Geoffrey. "There is a little temple just to the left, where a nun was murdered by a priest only last year. He chopped her with a kitchen knife." "What did he do it for?" asked Geoffrey. "He loved her, and she would not listen to him; so he killed her. I think I would feel like that if I were a man." They passed under an enormous gateway, like a huge barn door with no barn behind it. Two threatening gods stood sentinel on either hand. Under the influence of the moonlight the carved figures seemed to move. Yaé led her big companion along a broad-flagged path between a pollarded avenue. Geoffrey still did not know what they had come so far to see. Nor did he care. Everything was so dreamy and so sweet. The path turned; and suddenly, straight in front of them, they saw the God--the Great Buddha--the immense bronze statue which has survived from the days of Kamakura's sovereignty. The bowed head and the broad shoulders were outlined against the blue and starry sky; against the shadow of the woods the body, almost invisible, could be dimly divined. The moonlight fell on the calm smile and on the hands palm upwards in the lap, with finger-tips and thumb-tips touching in the attitude of meditation. That ineffably peaceful, smiling face seemed to look down from the very height of heaven upon Geoffrey Barrington and Yaé Smith. The presence of the God filled the valley, patient and powerful, the Creator of the Universe and the Maintainer of Life. Geoffrey had never seen anything so impressive. He Stooped down towards his little companion, listening for a response to his own emotion. It came. Before he could realize what was happening he felt the soft kimono sleeves like wings round his neck, and the girl's burning mouth pressing his lips. "Oh, Geoffrey," she whispered. He sat down on a low table in front of a shuttered refreshment bar with Yaé on his knee, his strong arm round her, even as she had dreamed. The Buddha of Infinite Understanding smiled down upon them. Geoffrey was too little of a prig to scold the girl, and too much of a man not to be touched and flattered by the sincerity of her embrace. He was too much of an Englishman to ascribe it to its real passionate motive, and to profit by the opportunity. Instead, he told himself that she was only a child excited by the beauty and the romance of the night even as he was. He did not begin to realize that he or she were making love. So he took her on his knee and stroked her hand. "Isn't he fine?" he said, looking up at the God. She started at the sound of his voice, and put her arms round his neck again. "Oh, Geoffrey," she murmured, "how strong you are!" He stood up laughing, with the girl in his arms. "If it wasn't for your big _obi_" he said, "you would weigh nothing at all. Now hold tight; for I am going to carry you home." He started down the avenue with a swinging stride. Yaé could watch almost within range of her lips the powerful profile of his big face, a soldier's face trained to command strong men and to be gentle to women and children. There was a delicious fragrance about him, the dry heathery smell of clean men. He did not look down at her. He was staring into the black shadows ahead, his mind still full of that sudden vision of Buddha Amitabha. He was scarcely thinking of the half-caste girl who clung tightly to his neck. Yaé had no interest in the _Dai-Butsu_ except as a grand background for love-making, a good excuse for hand squeezings and ecstatic movements. She had tried it once before with her school-master lover. It never occurred to her that Geoffrey was in any way different from her other admirers. She thought that she herself was the sole cause of his emotion and that his fixed expression as he strode in the darkness was an indication of his passion and a compliment to her charms. She was too tactful to say anything, or to try to force the situation; but she felt disappointed when at the approach of lighted houses he put her down without further caresses. In silence they returned to the hotel, where a few tired couples were still revolving to a spasmodic music. Geoffrey was weary now; and the enchantment of the wine had passed away. "Good-night, Yaé," he said. She was holding the lapels of his coat, and she would have dearly loved to kiss him again. But he stood like a tower without any sign of bending down to her; and she would have had to jump for the forbidden fruit. "Good-night, Geoffrey," she purred, "I will never forget to-night." "It was lovely," said the Englishman, thinking of the Great Buddha. * * * * * Geoffrey retired to his room, where Asako was sleeping peacefully. He was very English. Only the first surprise of the girl's kiss had startled his loyalty. With the ostrich-like obtuseness, which our continental neighbours call our hypocrisy, he buried his head in his principles. As Asako's husband, he could not flirt with another woman. As Reggie's friend, he would not flirt with Reggie's sweetheart. As an honourable man, he would not trifle with the affections of a girl who meant nothing whatever to him. Therefore the incident of the Great Buddha had no significance. Therefore he could lie down and sleep with a light heart. Geoffrey had been sleeping for half an hour or so when he was awakened by a sudden jolt, as though the whole building had met with a violent collision, or as though a gigantic fist had struck it. Everything in the room was in vibration. The hanging lamp was swinging like a pendulum. The pictures were shaking on the walls. A china ornament on the mantelpiece reeled, and fell with a crash. Geoffrey leapt out of bed to cross to where his wife was sleeping. Even the floor was unsteady like a ship's deck. "Geoffrey! Geoffrey!" Asako called out. "It must be an earthquake," her husband gasped, "Reggie told me to expect one." "It has made me feel so sick," said Asako. The disturbance was subsiding. Only the lamp was still oscillating slightly to prove that the earthquake was not merely a nightmare. "Is any one about?" asked Asako. Geoffrey went out on to the veranda. The hotel having survived many hundreds of earthquake shocks, seemed unaware of what had happened. Far out to sea puffs of fire were dimly seen like the flashes of a battleship in action, where the island volcano of Oshima was emptying its wrath against the sky. There were hidden and unfamiliar powers in this strange country, of which Geoffrey and Asako had not yet taken account. Beneath a tall lamp-post on the lawn, round whose smooth waxy light scores of moths were flitting, stood the short stout figure of a Japanese, staring up at the hotel. "It looks like Tanaka," thought Geoffrey, "by Jove, it _is_ Tanaka!" They had definitely left their guide behind in Tokyo. Had Asako yielded at the last moment unable to dispense with her faithful squire? Or had he come of his own accord? and if so, why? These Japs were an unfathomable and exasperating people. Sure enough next morning it was Tanaka who brought the early tea. "Hello," said Geoffrey, "I thought you were in Tokyo." "Indeed," grinned the guide, "I am sorry for you. Perhaps I have commit great crime so to come. But I think and I think Ladyship not so well. Heart very anxious. Go to theatre, wish to make merry, but all the time heart very sad. I think I will take last train. I will turn like bad penny. Perhaps Lordship is angry." "No, not angry, Tanaka, just helpless. There was an earthquake last night?" "Not so bad _jishin_ (earth-shaking). Every twenty, thirty years one very big _jishin_ come. Last big _jishin_ Gifu _jishin_ twenty years before. Many thousand people killed. Japanese people say that beneath the earth is one big fish. When the fish move, the earth shake. Silly fabulous myth! Tanaka say, 'It is the will of God!'" The little man crossed himself devoutly. * * * * * A few minutes later there was a loud banging at the door, followed by Reggie's voice, shouting,-- "Are you coming down for a bath?" "Earthquakes are horrible things," commented Reggie, on their way to the sea. "Foreigners are supposed always to sleep through their first one. Their second they find an interesting experience; but the third and the fourth and the rest are a series of nervous shocks in increasing progression. It is like feeling God--but a wicked, cruel God! No wonder the Japanese are so fatalistic and so desperate. It is a case of 'Eat and drink, for to-morrow ye die.'" The morning sea was cold and bracing. The two friends did not remain in for long. When they were dried and dressed again, and when Geoffrey was for returning to breakfast, Reggie held him back. "Come and walk by the sea," he said, "I have something to tell you." They turned in the direction of the fishing village, where Geoffrey and Yaé had walked together only a few hours ago. But the fires were quenched. Black circles of charred ashes remained; and the magic world of the moonlight had become a cluster of sordid hovels, where dirty women were sweeping their frowsty floors, and scrofulous children were playing among stale bedding. "Did you notice anything unusual in my manner last night?" Reggie began very seriously. "No," laughed Geoffrey, "you seemed rather excited. But why did you leave so early?" "For various reasons," said his friend. "First, I hate dancing, but I feel rather envious of people who like it. Secondly, I wanted to be alone with my own sensations. Thirdly, I wanted you, my best friend, to have every opportunity of observing Yaé and forming an opinion about her." "But why?" Geoffrey began. "Because it would now be too late for me to take your advice," said Reggie mysteriously. "What do you mean?" Barrington asked. "Last night I asked Yaé to marry me; and I understand that she accepted." Geoffrey sat in the sunlight on the gunwale of a fishing-boat. "You can't do that," he said. "Oh, Geoffrey, I was afraid you'd say it, and you have," said his friend, half laughing. "Why not?" "Your career, old chap." "My career," snorted Reggie, "protocol, protocol and protocol. I am fed up with that, anyway. Can you imagine me a be-ribboned Excellency, worked by wires from London, babbling platitudes over teacups to other old Excellencies, and giving out a lot of gas for the F.O. every morning. No, in the old days there was charm and power and splendour, when an Ambassador was really plenipotentiary, and peace and war turned upon a court intrigue. All that is as dead as Louis Quatorze. Personality has faded out of politics. Everything is business, now, concessions, vested interests, dividends and bond-holders. These diplomats are not real people at all. They are shadowy survivals of the _grand siècle_, wraiths of Talleyrand; or else just restless bagmen. I don't call that a career." Geoffrey had listened to these tirades before. It was Reggie's froth. "But what do you propose doing?" he asked. "Doing? Why, my music of course. Before I left England some music-hall people offered me seventy pounds a week to do stunts for them. Their first offer was two hundred and fifty, because they were under the illusion that I had a title. My official salary at this moment is two hundred _per annum_. So you see there would be no financial loss." "Then are you giving up diplomacy because you are fed up with it? or for Yaé Smith's sake? I don't quite understand," said Geoffrey. He was still pondering over the scene of last evening, and he found considerable comfort in ascribing Yaé's behaviour to excitement caused by her engagement. "Yaé is the immediate reason: utter fed-upness is the original cause," replied Reggie. "Do you feel that you are very much in love with her?" asked his friend. The young man considered for a moment, and then answered,-- "No, not in love exactly. But she represents what I have come to desire. I get so terribly lonely, Geoffrey, and I must have some one, some woman, of course; and I hate intrigue and adultery. Yaé never grates upon me. I hate the twaddling activities of our modern women, their little sports, their little sciences, their little earnestnesses, their little philanthropies, their little imitations of men's ways. I like the seraglio type of woman, lazy and vain, a little more than a lovely animal. I can play with her, and hear her purring. She must have no father or mother or brothers or sisters or any social scheme to entangle me in. She must have no claim on my secret mind, she must not be jealous of my music, or expect explanations. Still less explain me to others,--a wife who shows one round like a monkey, what horror!" "But Reggie! old chap, does she love you?" Geoffrey's ideas were stereotyped. To his mind, only great love on both sides could excuse so bizarre a marriage. "Love!" cried Reggie. "What is Love? I can feel Love in music. I can feel it in poetry. I can see it in sunshine, in the wet woods, and in the phosphorescent sea. But in actual life! I think of things in too abstract a way ever to feel in love with anybody. So I don't think anybody could really fall in love with me. It is like religious faith. I have no faith, and yet I believe in faith. I have no love, and yet I have a great love for love. Blessed are they who have not seen, and yet have believed!" When Reggie was in this mood Geoffrey despaired of getting any sense out of him, and he felt that the occasion was too serious for smiles. They were walking back to the hotel in the direction of breakfast. "Reggie, are you quite sure?" said his friend, solemnly. "No, of course I'm not, I never could be." "And are you intending to get married soon?" "Not immediately, no: and all this is quite in confidence, please." "I'm glad there's no hurry," grunted Geoffrey. He knew that the girl was light and worthless; but to have shown Reggie his proofs would have been to admit his own complicity; and to give a woman away so callously would be a greater offence against Good Form than his momentary and meaningless trespass. "But there is one thing you have forgotten," said. Reggie, rather bitterly. "What's that, old chap?" "When a fellow announces his engagement to the dearest little girl in all the world, his friends offer their congratulations. It's Good Form," he added maliciously. CHAPTER XVII THE RAINY SEASON _Fugu-jiru no Ware ikite ir Ne-zame kana!_ Poisonous delicacies (last night)! I awake And I am still alive. Geoffrey Barrington tried not to worry about Yaé Smith; and, of course, he did not mention the episode of the Great Buddha either to his wife or to Reggie Forsyth. He did not exactly feel ashamed of the incident; but he realised that it was open to misinterpretation. He certainly had no love for Yaé; and she, since she was engaged to his friend, presumably had no love for him. There are certain unnatural states of mind in which we are not altogether morally responsible beings. Among these may be numbered the ballroom mood, which drives quite sane people to act madly. The music, the wine, the giddy turning, the display of women's charms and the confusing proximity of them produce an unwonted atmosphere, of which we have most of us been aware, so bewildering that admiration of one woman will drive sane men to kiss another. Explanation is of course impossible; and circumstances must have their way. Scheming people, mothers with daughters to marry, study the effects of this psychical chemistry and profit by their knowledge. Under similar influences Geoffrey himself had been guilty of wilder indiscretions than the kissing of a half-caste girl. But when he thought the matter over, he was sorry that it had occurred; and he was profoundly thankful that nobody had seen him. Somebody had seen him, however. The faithful Tanaka, who had been charged by Mr. Ito, the Fujinami lawyer, not to let his master out of his sight, had followed him at a discreet distance during the whole of that midnight stroll. He had observed the talk and the attitudes, the silences and the holding of hands, the glad exchange of kisses, the sitting of Yaé on Geoffrey's knees, and her triumphant return, carried in his arms. To the Japanese mind such conduct could only mean one thing. The Japanese male is frankly animal where women are concerned. He does not understand our fine shades of self-deception, which give to our love-making the thrill of surprise and the palliation of romance. Tanaka concluded that there could be only one termination to the scene which he had witnessed. He also learned that Yaé Smith was Reggie Forsyth's mistress, that he visited her room at night, that she was a girl of no character at all, that she had frequently stopped at the Kamakura hotel with other men, all of them her lovers. All this information Tanaka collected with a wealth and precision of detail which is only possible in Japan, where the espionage habit is so deeply implanted in the every-day life of the people. * * * * * Mr. Ito could scarcely believe such welcome tidings. The Barrington _ménage_ had seemed to him so devoted that he had often despaired of his boast to his patron that he would divide the wife from her husband, and restore her to her family. Now, if Tanaka's story were true, his task would be child's play. A woman charged with jealousy becomes like a weapon primed and cocked. If Ito could succeed in making Asako jealous, then he knew that any stray spark of misunderstanding would blast a black gulf between husband and wife, and might even blow the importunate Englishman back to his own country--alone. The lawyer explained his plan to the head of the family, who appreciated its classic simplicity. Sadako was given to understand the part which she was to play in alienating her cousin's affections from the foreigner. She was to harp on the faithlessness of men in general, and on husbands in particular, and on the importance of money values in matrimonial considerations. She was to suggest that a foreign man would never choose a Japanese bride merely for love of her. Then when the psychological moment had struck, the name of Yaé Smith was to be flashed into Asako's mind with a blinding glare. Asako had been visiting her Japanese cousins almost every day. Her conversation lessons were progressing rapidly; for the first stages of the language are easy. The new life appealed to Asako's love of novelty, and the strangeness of it to her child's love of make-believe. The summoning of her parents' spirits awakened in her the desire for a home, which lurks in every one of us; the love of old family things around us, the sense of an inheritance and a tradition. She was tired of hotel life; and she turned for relaxation to playing at Japan with cousin Sadako, just as her husband turned to tennis. Her favourite haunt was the little tea-house among the reeds at the edge of the lake, which seemed so hidden from everywhere. Here the two girls practised their languages. Here they tried on each others clothes, and talked about their lives and purposes. Sadako was intellectually the cleverer of the two, but Asako had seen and heard more; so they were fairly equally matched. Often the cousins shocked each other's sense of propriety. Asako had already observed that to the Japanese mind, the immediate corollary to being married is to produce children as promptly and as rapidly as possible. Already she had been questioned on the subject by Tanaka, by _boy sans_ and by shop-attendants. "It is a great pity," said cousin Sadako, "that you have no baby. In Japan if a wife have no baby, she is often divorced. But perhaps it is the fault of Mr. Barrington?" Asako had vaguely hoped for children in the future, but on the whole she was glad that their coming had been delayed. There was so much to do and to see first of all. It had never occurred to her that her childlessness might be the _fault_ of either herself or her husband. But her cousin went on ruthlessly,-- "Many men are like that. Because of their sickness their wives cannot have babies." Asako shivered. This beautiful country of hers seemed to be full of bogeys like a child's dream. Another time Sadako asked her with much diffidence and slanting of the eyes,-- "I wish to learn about--kissing." "What is the Japanese for 'kiss'?" laughed Asako. "Oh! There is no such word," expostulated Sadako, shocked at her cousin's levity, "we Japanese do not speak of such things." "Then Japanese people don't kiss?" "Oh, no," said the girl. "Not ever?" asked Asako, incredulous. "Only when they are--quite alone." "Then when you see foreign people kissing in public, you think it is very funny?" "We think it is disgusting," answered her cousin. It is quite true. Foreigners kiss so recklessly. They kiss on meeting: they kiss on parting. They kiss in London: they kiss in Tokyo. They kiss indiscriminately their fathers, mothers, wives, mistresses, cousins and aunts. Every kiss sends a shiver down the spine of a Japanese observer of either sex, as we should be shocked by the crude exhibition of an obscene gesture. For this blossoming of our buds of affection suggests to him, with immediate and detailed clearness, that other embrace of which in his mind it is the inseparable concomitant. The Japanese find the excuse that foreigners know no better, just as we excuse the dirty habits of natives. But they quote the kiss as an indisputable proof of the lowness of our moral standard, and as a sign of the guilt, not of individuals so much as of our whole civilisation. "Foreign people kiss too much," said cousin Sadako, "it is a bad thing. If I had a husband, I would always fear he kiss somebody else." "That is why I am so happy with Geoffrey," said Asako, "I know he would never love any one but me." "It is not safe to be so sure," said her cousin darkly, "a woman is made for one man, but a man is made for many women." Asako, arrayed in a Japanese kimono, and to all appearance as Japanese as her cousin, was sitting in the Fujinami tea-parlour. She had not understood much of the lesson in tea-ceremony at which she had just assisted. But the exceeding propriety and dignity of the teacher, the daughter of great people fallen upon evil days, had impressed her. She longed to acquire that tranquillity of deportment, that slow graceful poise of hand and arm, that low measured speech. When the teacher had gone, she began to mimic her gestures with all the seriousness of appreciative imitation. Sadako laughed. She supposed that her cousin was fooling. Asako thought that she was amused by her clumsiness. "I shall never be able to do it," she sighed. "But of course you will. I laugh because you are so like Kikuyé San." Kikuyé San was their teacher. "If only I could practise by myself!" said Asako, "but at the hotel it would be impossible." Then they both laughed together at the incongruity of rehearsing those dainty rites of old Japan in the over-furnished sitting-room at the Imperial Hotel, with Geoffrey sitting back in his arm-chair and puffing at his cigar. "If only I had a little house like this," said Asako. "Why don't you hire one?" suggested her cousin. Why not? The idea was an inspiration. So Asako thought; and she broached the matter to Geoffrey that very evening. "Wouldn't it be sweet to have a ducky little Japanese house all our very own?" she urged. "Oh yes," her husband agreed, wearily, "that would be great sport." Mr. Fujinami Gentaro was delighted at the success of his daughter's diplomacy. He saw that this plan for a Japanese house meant a further separation of husband and wife, a further step towards recovery of his errant child. For he was beginning to regard Asako with parental sentiment, and to pity her condition as the wife of this coarse stranger. Miss Sadako was under no such altruistic delusions. She envied her cousin. She envied her money, her freedom, and her frank happiness. She had often pondered about the ways of Japanese husbands and wives; and the more she thought over the subject, the more she envied Asako her happy married life. She envied her with a woman's envy, which seeks to hurt and spoil. She was smarting from her own disappointment; and by making her cousin suffer, she thought that she could assuage her own grief. Besides, the intrigue in itself interested her, and provided employment for her idolent existence and her restless mind. Of affection for Asako she had none at all, but then she had no affection for anybody. She was typical of a modern Japanese womanhood, which is the result of long repression, loveless marriages and sudden intellectual licence. Asako thought her charming, because she had not yet learned to discern. She confided to her all her ideas about the new house; and together the two girls explored Tokyo in the motor-car which Ito provided for them, inspecting properties. Asako had already decided that her home was to be on the bank of the river, where she could see the boats passing, something like the house in which her father and mother had lived. The desired abode was found at last on the river-bank at Mukojima just on the fringe of the city? where the cherry-trees are so bright in Springtime, where she could see the broad Sumida river washing her garden steps, the fussy little river boats puffing by, the portly junks, the crews of students training for their regattas, and, away on the opposite bank, the trees of Asakusa, the garish river restaurants so noisy at nightfall, the tall peaceful pagoda, the grey roofs and the red plinths of the temple of the Goddess of Mercy. Just when the new home was ready for occupation, just when Asako's enthusiasm was at its height and the purchases of silken bedding and dainty trays were almost complete, Geoffrey suddenly announced his intention of leaving Japan. "I can't stick it any longer," he said fretfully, "I don't know what's coming over me." "Leave Japan?" cried his wife, aghast. "Well, I don't know," grunted her husband, "it's no good stopping here and going all to seed." The rainy season was just over, the hot season of steaming rain which the Japanese call _nyubai_. It had played havoc with Geoffrey's nerves. He had never known anything so unpleasant as this damp, relaxing heat. It made the walls of the room sweat. It impregnated paper and blotting-paper. It rotted leather; and spread mould on boots and clothes. It made matches unstrikeable. It drenched Geoffrey's bed with perspiration, and drove away sleep. It sent him out on long midnight walks through the silent city in an atmosphere as stifling as that of a green-house. It beat down upon Tokyo its fetid exhalations, the smell of cooking, of sewage and of humanity, and the queer sickly scent of a powerful evergreen tree aflower throughout the city, which resembled the reek of that Nagasaki brothel, and recalled the dancing of the _Chonkina_. It bred swarms of bloodthirsty mosquitoes from every drop of stagnant water. They found their way through the musty mosquito-net which separated his bed from Asako's. They eluded his blow in the evening light; and he could only wreak his vengeance in the morning, when they were heavy with his gore. The colour faded from the Englishman's cheeks. His appetite failed. He was becoming, what he had never been before, cross and irritable. Reggie Forsyth wrote to him from Chuzenji,-- "Yaé is here, and we go in for yachting in a kind of winged punt, called a 'lark.' For five pounds you can become a ship-owner. I fancy myself as a skipper, and I have already won two races. But more often we escape from the burble of the diplomats, and take our sandwiches and _thermata_--or is _thermoi_ the plural?--to the untenanted shores of the lake, and picnic _à deux_. Then, if the wind does not fall we are lucky; but if it does, I have to row home. Yaé laughs at my oarsmanship; and says that, if you were here, you would do it so much better. You are a dangerous rival, but for this once I challenge you. I have a spare pen in my rabbit-hutch. There is just room for you and Mrs. Barrington. You must be quite melted by now." But Asako did not want to go to Chuzenji. All her thoughts were centred on the little house by the river. "Geoffrey darling," she said, stroking his hair with her tiny waxen fingers, "it is the hot weather which is making you feel cross. Why don't you go up to the mountains for a week or so, and stop with Reggie?" "Will you come?" asked her husband, brightening. "I can't very well. You see they are just laying down the _tatami_: and when that is done the house will be ready. Besides, I feel so well here. I like the heat." "But I've never been away without you!" objected Geoffrey, "I think it would be beastly." This side of the question had not struck Asako. She was so taken up with her project. Now, however, she felt a momentary thrill of relief. She would be able to give all her time to her beloved Japanese home. Geoffrey was a darling, but he was so uninterested in everything. "It will only be for a few days," she said, "you want the change; and when you come back it will be like being married again." CHAPTER XVIII AMONG THE NIKKO MOUNTAINS _Io chikaki Tsumagi no michi ya Kure-nuramu; Nokiba ni kudaru Yama-bito no koye_! Dusk, it seems, has come To the wood-cutter's track That is near my hut; The voices of the mountainmen Going down to the shed! Geoffrey left early one morning in a very doubtful frame of mind, after having charged Tanaka to take the greatest care of his lady, and to do exactly what she told him. It was not until half-way up the steep climb between Nikko and Chuzenji that his lungs suddenly seemed to break through a thick film, and he breathed fresh air again. Then he was glad that he had come. He was afoot. A coolie strode on before him with his suit-case strapped on his back. They had started in pouring rain, a long tramp through narrow gorges. Geoffrey could feel the mountains around him; but their forms were wrapped in cloud. Now the mist was lifting; and although in places it still clung to the branches like wisps of cotton-wool, the precipitous slopes became visible; and overhead, peeping through the clouds at impossible elevations, pieces of the mountain seemed to be falling from the grey sky. Everything was bathed in rain. The sandstone cliffs gleamed like marble, the luxuriant foliage like polished leather. The torrent foamed over its wilderness of grey boulders with a splendid rush of liberty. Country people passed by, dressed in straw overcoats which looked like bee-hives, or with thin capes of oiled paper, saffron or salmon-coloured. The kimono shirts were girt up like fishers--both men and women--showing gnarled and muscular limbs. The complexions of these mountain folk were red like fruit; the Mongolian yellow was hardly visible. Some were leading long files of lean-shanked horses, with bells to their bridles and high pack-saddles like cradles, painted red. Rough girls rode astride in tight blue trunk-hose. It was with a start that Geoffrey recognised their sex; and he wondered vaguely whether men could fall in love with them, and fondle them. They were on their way to fetch provision for the lake settlements, or for remote mining-camps way beyond the mountains. The air was full of the clamour of the torrent, the heavy splashing of raindrops delayed among the leaves, and the distant thunder of waterfalls. What a relief to breath again, and what a pleasure to escape from the tortuous streets and the toy houses, from the twisted prettiness of the Tokyo gardens and the tiresome delicacy of the rice-field mosaic, into a wild and rugged nature, a land of forests and mountains reminiscent of Switzerland and Scotland, where the occasional croak of a pheasant fell like music upon Geoffrey's ear! The two hours' climb ended abruptly in a level sandy road running among birch trees. At a wayside tea-house a man was sitting on a low table. He wore white trousers, a coat of cornflower shade and a Panama hat--all very spick and span. It was Reggie Forsyth. "Hello," he cried, "my dear old Geoffrey! I'm awfully glad you've come. But you ought to have brought Mrs. Harrington too. You seem quite incomplete without her." "Yes, it's a peculiar sensation, and I don't like it. But the heat, you know, at Tokyo, it made me feel rotten. I simply had to come away. And Asako is so busy now with her new cousins and her Japanese house and all the rest of it." For the first time Reggie thought that he detected a tone in his friend's voice which he had been expecting to hear sooner or later, a kind of "flagging" tone--he found the word afterwards in working out a musical sketch called _Love's Disharmony_. Geoffrey looked white and tired, he thought. It was indeed high time that he came up to the mountains. They were approaching the lake, which already showed through the tree-trunks. A path led away to the left across a rustic bridge. "That's the way to the hotel. Yaé is there. Farther along are the Russian, French and British Embassies. That's about half an hour from here." Reggie's little villa stood at a few minutes' distance in the opposite direction, past two high Japanese hotels which looked like skeleton houses with the walls taken out of them, past sheds where furs were on sale, and picture post-cards, and dry biscuits. The garden of the villa jutted out over the lake on an embankment of stones. The house was discreetly hidden by a high hedge of evergreens. "William Tell's chapel," explained Reggie, "a week in lovely Lucerne!" It was a Japanese house, another skeleton. From the wicket gate, Geoffrey could see its simple scheme open to the four winds, its scanty furniture unblushingly displayed; downstairs, a table, a sofa, some bamboo chairs and a piano--upstairs, two beds, two washstands, and the rest. The garden consisted of two strips of wiry grass on each side of the house; and a flight of steps ran down to the water's edge, where a small sailing-boat was moored. The landscape of high wooded hills was fading into evening across the leaden ripples of the lake. "What do you think of our highland home?" asked Reggie. There was not a sign of life over the heavy waters, not a boat, not a bird, not an island even. "Not much doing," commented Geoffrey, "but the air's good." "Not quite like a lake, it is?" his host reflected. That was true. A lake had always appealed to Geoffrey, both to his sense of natural beauty and to his instinct for sport. There is a soothing influence in the imprisoned waters, the romance of the sea without its restlessness and fury. The freshness of untrodden islands, the possibilities of a world beneath the waters, of half-perceived Venetas, the adventure of entrusting oneself and one's fortunes to a few planks of wood, are delights which the lake-lover knows well. He knows too, the delicious sense of detachment from the shore--the shore of ordinary affairs and monotonous people--and the charm of unfamiliar lights and colours and reflections. Even on the Serpentine he can find this glamour, when the birds are flocking to roost in the trees of Peter Pan's island. But on this lake of Chuzenji there was a sullen brooding, an absence of life, a suggestion of tragedy. "It isn't a lake," explained Reggie; "it's the crater of an old volcano which has filled up with water. It is one of the earth's pockmarks healed over and forgotten. But there is something lunar about it still, some memory of burned out passions, something creepy in spite of the beauty of the place. It is too dark this evening to see how beautiful it is. In places the lake is unfathomably deep, and people have fallen into the water and have never been seen again." The waters were almost blue now, a deep dull greyish blue. Suddenly, away to the left, lines of silver streaked the surface; and, with a clapping and dripping commotion, a flight of white geese rose. They had been dozing under the bank, and some one had disturbed them. A pale figure like a little flame was dimly discernible. "It's Yaé!" cried Reggie; and he made a noise which was supposed to be a _jodel_ The white figure waved an answer. Reggie picked up a megaphone which seemed to be kept there for the purpose. "Good night," he shouted, "same time to-morrow!" The figure waved again and disappeared. Next morning Geoffrey was awakened by the boom of a temple bell. He stepped out on to his balcony, and saw the lake and the hills around clear and bright under the yellow sunshine. He drank in the cool breath of the dew. For the first time after many limp and damp awakenings he felt the thrill of the wings of the morning. He thanked God he had come. If only Asako were here! he thought. Perhaps she was right in getting a Japanese home just for the two of them. They would be happier there than jostled by the promiscuity of hotels. At breakfast, Reggie had found a note from the Ambassador. "Oh, damn!" he cried, "I must go over and beat a typewriter for two or three hours. I must therefore break my tryst. But I expect you to replace me like the immortal Cyrano, who should be the ideal of all soldiers. Will you take Yaé for an hour or two's sail? She likes you very much." "And if I drown your fiancée? I don't know anything about sailing." "I'll show you. It's very easy. Besides, Yaé really knows more about it than I do." So Geoffrey after a short lesson in steering, tacking, and the manipulation of the centreboard, piloted his host safely over to British Bay, the exclusive precinct of the temporary Embassy on the opposite shore of the lake. He then made his way round French Cape past Russia Cove to the wooden landing-stage of the Lakeside Hotel. There he found Yaé, sitting on a bench and throwing pebbles at the geese. She wore the blue and white cotton kimono, which is the summer dress of Japanese women. It is a cheap garment, but most effective--so clean and cool in the hot weather. Silk kimonos soon become stale-looking; but this cotton dress always seems to be fresh from the laundry. A rope of imitation pearls was entwined in her dark hair; and her broad sash of deep blue was secured in front with an old Chinese ornament of jade. "Oh, big captain," she cried, "I am so glad it is you. I heard you were coming." She stepped into the boat, and took over the tiller and the command. Geoffrey explained his friend's absence. "The bad boy," she said, "he wants to get away from me in order to think about a lot of music. But I don't care!" Under a steady wind they sheered through the water. On the right hand was Chuzenji village, a Swiss effect of brown chalets dwarfed to utter insignificance by the huge wooded mountain dome of Nantai San which rose behind it. On the left the forest was supreme already, except where in small clearings five or six houses, tenanted by foreign diplomats, stood out above the lake. A little farther on a Buddhist temple slumbered above a flight of broad stone steps. The sacred buildings were freshly lacquered, and red as a new toy. In front, on the slope of golden sand, its base bathed by the tiny waves, stood the _torii_, the wooden archway which is Japan's universal religious symbol. Its message is that of the Wicket Gate in the Pilgrim's Progress. Wherever it is to be seen--and it is to be seen everywhere--it stands for the entering in of the Way, whether that way be "_Shinto_" (The Way of the Gods), or "_Butsudo_" (The Way of the Buddhas), or "_Bushido_" (The Way of the Warriors). There was plenty of breeze. The boat shot down the length of the lake at a delicious speed. The two voyagers reached at last a little harbour, Sh[=o]bu-ga-Hama--The Beach of the Lilies--a muddy shore with slimy rocks, a few brown cottages and a saw-mill. "Let's go and see the waterfall," suggested Yaé, "it's only a few minutes." They walked together up a steep winding lane. The fresh air and the birch trees, the sight of real Alderney cows grazing on patches of real grass, the distant rumble of the cataract brought back to Geoffrey a feeling of strength and well-being to which he had for weeks been a stranger. If only the real Asako had been with him instead of this enigmatic and disquieting image of her! The Japanese, who have an innate love for natural beauty, never fail to mark an exceptional view with a little bench or shelter for travelers, whence they can obtain the best perspective. If sight-seers frequent the spot in any number, there will be an old dame _en guérite_ with her picture post-cards and her Ebisu Beer, her "Champagne Cider," her _sembei_ (round and salted biscuits) and her tale of the local legend. "_Irrasshai! Irrasshai_;" she pipes. "Come, come, please rest a little!" But the cascade above Sh[=o]bu-ga-Hama is only one among the thousand lesser waterfalls of this mountain country. It is honoured merely by an unsteady bench under a broken roof, and by a rope knotted round the trunk of a tall tree in mid-stream to indicate that the locality is an abode of spirits, and to warn passers-by against inconsiderately offending the Undine. Geoffrey and Yaé were balancing themselves on the bench, gazing at the race of foam and at the burnished bracken. The Englishman was clearing his mind for action. "Miss Smith," he began at last, "do you think you will be happy with Reggie?" "He says so, big captain," answered the little half-caste, her mouth queerly twisted. "Because if you are not happy, Reggie won't be happy; and if you are neither of you happy, you will be sorry that you married."! "But we are not married yet," said the girl, "we are only engaged." "But you will be married sometime, I suppose?" "This year, next year, sometime, never!" laughed Yaé. "It is nice to be engaged, and it is such a protection. When I am not engaged, all the old cats, Lady Cynthia and the rest, say that I flirt. Now when I am engaged, my fiancé is here to shield me. Then they dare not say things, or it comes round to him, and he is angry. So I can do anything I like when I am engaged." This was a new morality for Geoffrey. It knocked the text from under the sermon which he had been preparing. She was as preposterous as Reggie; but she was not, like him, conscious of her preposterousness. "Then, when you are married, will you flirt?" asked her companion. "I think so," said Yaé gravely. "Besides, Reggie only wants me to dress me up and write music about me. If I am always the same like an English doll wife, he won't get many tunes to play. Reggie is like a girl." "Reggie is too good for you," said the Englishman, roughly. "I don't think so," said Yaé, "I don't want Reggie, but Reggie wants me." "What do you want then?" "I want a great big man with arms and legs like a wrestler. A man who hunts lions. He will pick me up like you did at Kamakura, big captain, and throw me in the air and catch me again. And I will take him away from the woman he loves, so that he will hate me and beat me for it. And when he sees on my back the marks of the whip and the blood he will love me again so strongly that he will become weak and silly like a baby. Then I will look after him and nurse him; and we will drink wine together. And we will go for long rides together on horseback in the moonlight galloping along the sands by the edge of the sea!" Geoffrey was gazing at her with alarm. Was she going mad? The girl jumped up and laid her little hands on his shoulder. "There, big captain," she cried, "don't be frightened. That is only one of Reggie's piano tunes. I never heard tunes like his before. He plays them, and then explains to me what each note means; and then he plays the tune again, and I can see the whole story. That is why I love him--sometimes!" "Then you _do_ love him?" Geoffrey was clutching pathetically for anything which he could understand or appeal to in this elusive person. "I love him," said Yaé, pirouetting on her white toes near the edge of the chasm, "and I love you and I love any man who is worth loving!" They returned to the lake in silence. Geoffrey's sermon was abortive. This girl was altogether outside the circle of his code of Good Form. He might as well preach vegetarianism to a leopard. Yet she fascinated him, as she fascinated all men who were not as dry as Aubrey Laking. She was so pretty, so frail and so fearless. Life had not given her a fair chance; and she appealed to the chivalrous instinct in men, as well as to their less creditable passions. She was such a butterfly creature; and the flaring lamps of life had such a fatal attraction for her. The wind was blowing straight against the harbour. The bay of Sh[=o]bu-ga-Hama was shallow water. Try as he might, Geoffrey could not manoeuvre the little yacht into the open waters of the lake. "We are on a lee-shore," said Geoffrey. At the end he had to get down and wade bare-legged, towing the boat after him until at last Yaé announced that the centreboard had been lowered and that the boat was answering to the helm. Geoffrey clambered in dripping. He shook himself like a big dog after a swim. "Reggie could never have done that," said Yaé, with fervent admiration. "He would be afraid of catching cold." * * * * * At last they reached the steps of the villa. They were both hungry. "I am going to stop to lunch, big captain," said Yaé, "Reggie won't be back." "How do you know?" "Because I saw Gwendolen Cairns listening last evening when he spoke to me through the big trumpet. She tells Lady Cynthia, and that means a lot of work next day for poor Reggie, so that he can't spend his time with me. You see! Oh, how I hate women!" After lunch, at Chuzenji, all the world goes to sleep. It awakes at about four o'clock, when the white sails come gliding out of the green bays like swans. They greet, or avoid. They run side by side for the length of a puff of breeze. They coquet with one another like butterflies; or they head for one of those hidden beaches which are the principal charm of the lake, where baskets are unpacked and cakes and sandwiches appear, where dry sticks are gathered for a rustic fire, and after an hour or more of anxious stoking the kettle boils. "Of all the Japanese holiday places, Chuzenji is the most select and the most agreeable," Reggie Forsyth explained; "it is the only place in all Japan where the foreigner is genuinely popular and respected. He spends his money freely, he does not swear or scold. The woman-chasing, whisky-swilling type, who has disgraced us in the open ports, is unknown here. These native mountaineers are rough and uneducated savages, but they are honest and healthy. We feel on easy terms with them, as we do with our own peasantry. In the village street of Chuzenji I have seen a young English officer instructing the sons of boatmen and woodcutters in the mysteries of cricket." In Chuzenji there are no Japanese visitors except the pilgrims who throng to the lake during the season for climbing the holy mountain of Nantai. These are country people, all of them, from villages all over Japan, who have drawn lucky lots in the local pilgrimage club. One can recognize them at once by their dingy white clothes, like grave-clothes--men and women are garbed alike--by their straw mushroom hats, by the strip of straw matting strapped across their shoulders, and by the long wooden staves which they carry and which will be stamped with the seal of the mountain-shrine when they have reached the summit. These pilgrims are lodged free by the temple on the lake-side, in long sheds like cattle-byres. The endless files of lean pack-horses, laden with bags of rice and other provisions, the ruddy sexless girls who lead them, and the women who have been foraging for wood and come down from the mountain with enormous faggots on their bent shoulders, provide a foreground for the Chuzenji landscape. * * * * * Geoffrey was sleeping upstairs in his bedroom. Yaé was sleeping downstairs on the sofa. He had expected her to return to the hotel after lunch, but her attitude was that of "_J'y suis, j'y reste_." He awoke with a start to find the girl standing beside his bed. Afterwards he became sure that he had been awakened by the touch of soft fingers on his face. "Wake up, big captain," she was saying. "It is four o'clock, and the Ark's coming." "What Ark?" he yawned. "Why, the Embassy boat." Out of sheer devilry, Miss Smith waited for the arrival of Lady Cynthia. The great lady paid no more attention to her existence than if she had been a piece of the house. But she greeted Geoffrey most cordially. "Come for a walk," she said in her abrupt way. As they turned down the village street she announced: "The worst has happened--I suppose you know?" "About Reggie?" "Yes; he's actually engaged to be married to the creature. Has he told you?" "In the greatest confidence." "Well, he forgot to bind his young lady to secrecy. She has told everybody." "Can't he be recalled to London?" "The old man says that would just push him over the edge. He has talked of resigning from the service." "Is there anything to be done?" "Nothing! Let him marry her. It will spoil his career in diplomacy, of course. But he will soon get tired of her fooling him. He will divorce her, and will give up his life to music to which, of course, he belongs. People like Reggie Forsyth have no right to marry at all." "But are you sure that she wants to marry him?" said his friend; and he related his conversation with Yaé that morning. "That's very interesting and encouraging," said Her Excellency. "So she has been trying her hand on you already." "I never thought of that," exclaimed Geoffrey. "Why, she knows that Reggie is my best friend; and that I am married." The judicial features of Lady Cynthia lightened with a judicial smile. "You have been through so many London seasons, Captain Barrington, and there is still no guile in you!" They walked on in silence past the temple terraces down a winding country lane. "Captain Barrington, would you care to play the part of a real hero, a real theatre hero, playing to the gallery?" Geoffrey was baffled. Had the talk suddenly swung over to amateur theatricals? Lady Cynthia was a terrible puller of legs. "Did you ever hear of Madge Carlyle?" she asked, "or was she before your time?" "I have heard of her." She was a famous London _cocotte_ in the days when mashers wore whiskers and "Champagne Charlie" was sung. "At the age of forty-three'" said Lady Cynthia, "Madge decided to marry for the third or fourth time. She had found a charming young man with plenty of money and a noble heart, who believed that Madge was a much slandered woman. His friends were sorry for the young man; and one of them decided to give a dinner to celebrate the betrothal. In the middle of the feast an urgent message arrived for the enamoured one, summoning him to his home. When he had gone the others started plying poor Madge with drinks. She was very fond of drinks. They had splendid fun. Then one of the guests--he was an old lover of Madge's--suggested--Good-bye to the old days and the rest of it!" "But what did he think of his friends?" asked Geoffrey. "It seems a low-down sort of trick." "He was very sore about it at the time," said Lady Cynthia; "but afterwards he understood that they were heroes, real theatre heroes." "It looks like rain," said Geoffrey, uneasily. So they turned back, talking about London people. The first drops fell as they were passing through the wicket gate; and they entered the house during a roar of thunder. Reggie was alone. "I see that my fate is sealed," he said, as he rose to meet them. "'The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes!'" CHAPTER XIX YAÉ SMITH _Nusubito wo Toraete mireba Waga ko nari_. The thief-- When I caught him and looked at him, Lo! My own child! A week of very hard work began for Reggie. The Ambassador was reporting home on every imaginable subject from political assassination to the manufacture of celluloid. This was part of Lady Cynthia's scheme. She was determined to throw Yaé Smith and Geoffrey Barrington together all the time, and to risk the consequences. So Yaé though she had her room at the hotel, became an inmate of Reggie's villa. She took all her meals there, and her siesta during most of the afternoons. She even passed whole nights with Reggie; and their relations could no longer be a secret even to Geoffrey's laborious discretion. This knowledge troubled him; for the presence of lovers, and the shadows cast by their intimacies are always disquieting even to the purest minds. But Geoffrey felt that it was no business of his; and that Reggie and Yaé being what they were, it would be useless hypocrisy for him to censure their pleasures. Meanwhile, Asako was writing to him, bewailing her loneliness. So one morning at breakfast he announced that he must be getting back to Tokyo. A cloud passed over Yaé's face. "Not yet, big captain," she expostulated; "I want to take you right to the far end of the lake where the bears live." "Very well," agreed Geoffrey, "to-morrow morning early, then; for the next day I really must go." He wrote to Asako a long letter with much about the lake and Yaé Smith, promising to return within forty-eight hours. At daybreak next morning Yaé was hammering at Geoffrey's door. "Wake up, old sleepy captain," she cried. Geoffrey got the boat ready; and Yaé prepared a picnic breakfast to be eaten on the way. Poor Reggie, of course, had work at the Embassy; he could not come. It was an ideal excursion. They reached Senju, the wood-cutter's village at the end of the lake. They ascended the forest path as far as the upper lake, a mere pond of reeds and sedges, which the bears are supposed to haunt. Geoffrey and Yaé, however, saw nothing more alarming than the village curs. "Returned in safety from the land of danger!" cried the girl, as she sprang ashore at the steps of the villa. The air and exercise had wearied Geoffrey. After lunch he changed into a kimono of Reggie's. Then he lay down on his bed and was soon fast asleep. How long he slept he could not say; but he awoke slowly out of confusing dreams. Somebody was in his room. Somebody was near his bed. Was it Asako? Was it a dream? No, it was his comrade of the morning's voyage. It was Yaé Smith. She was sitting on the bed beside him. She was gazing into his face with her soft, still, cat-like eyes. What was she doing that for? She was stroking his arm. Her touch was soft. He did not stop her. Her hair was let down to below her waist, long black hair, more silky in texture and more wavy than that of a pure Japanese woman. Her kimono was wide open at the throat. A sweet fragrance exhaled from her body. "Big captain, may I?" she pleaded. "What?" said Geoffrey, still half asleep. "Just lie by your side--just once,--just for the last time," she cooed. Geoffrey was for going to sleep again, well pleased with his dream. But Yaé slipped an arm across his chest, and caught his shoulder in her hand. She nestled closer to him. "Geoffrey," she murmured, "I love you so much. You are so strong and so big, Geoffrey. I want to stay like this always, always, holding on to you till I make you love me. Love me just a little, Geoffrey. Nobody will ever know. Geoffrey, it must be nice to have me near you. Geoffrey, you must, you must want to love me." She was hugging his body now in an embrace astonishingly powerful for so small a creature. It was this pressure which finally awoke Geoffrey. Gently he disengaged her arms and sat up in the bed. She was clinging to his neck now, wild-eyed like a Maenad. He felt pitifully ridiculous. The rôle of Joseph is so thankless and humiliating. A month ago he would have ordered her sternly to get out of the room and behave herself. But the hot month in Tokyo had relaxed his firmness of mind; and familiarity with Reggie's bohemian morality has sapped his fortress of Good Form. "Don't be so naughty, Yaé," he said feebly. "Reggie may be coming. For God's sake, control yourself." Her voice was terrible now. Geoffrey had lost the first moment when he might have been stern with her. Clumsily he tried to loosen her embrace. But for the first time in his life he was in the grip of an elemental natural force, a thing foreign to his experience of women in marriage or out of it. "Yaé, don't," he gasped, pushing the girl away. "I can't; I'm married." "Married!" she screamed. "Does marriage hurt like this? Love me, love me, Geoffrey. You must love me, you will!" * * * * * "The rhapsody is ended!" A voice which nobody would have recognized as Reggie's put a sudden end to this frantic assault. He was standing in the doorway smiling queerly. He had watched the two from the garden, whence indeed all Chuzenji could have seen them in the open bedroom. He had slipped off his shoes and had stolen up quietly in order to listen to them. Now he judged it time to intervene. Yaé started up from the bed. For a moment she hovered on the edge, uncertain of her tactics. Geoffrey stared, one hand to his forehead. Then the girl darted across the room, fell at Reggie's feet, clasped his knees, and sobbed convulsively. "Reggie, Reggie, forgive me!" she cried. "It's not my fault. He's been asking me and asking me to do this--ever since Kamakura--and all the time here. This is what he came to stay here for. Reggie, forgive me. I will never be naughty again." Reggie looked across at his friend for confirmation or denial. The queer smile had vanished. Good Form decreed that the man must lie for the woman's sake, if necessary till his soul were damned. But, with Geoffrey, Good Form had long since been thrown to the winds, like International Law in war time. Besides, the woman was no better than a _cocotte_; and Reggie's friendship was at stake. "No," he said huskily; "that is not true. I was quietly sleeping here and she came up to me. She is man-mad." The tangled heap at Reggie's feet leaped up, her green eyes blazing. "Liar!" she cried. "Reggie, do you believe him? The hypocrite, the goody-goody, the white slave man, the pimp!" "What does she mean?" said Geoffrey. Thank God, the woman was clearly mad. "Fujinami! Fujinami!" she yelled. "The great girl king! The Yoshiwara _daimyo_! Every scrap of money which his fool wife spends on sham curios was made in the Yoshiwara, made by women, made out of filth, made by prostitutes!" The last word brought Geoffrey to his feet. In his real agony he had quite forgotten his sham sin. "Reggie, for God's sake, tell me, is this true?" "Yes," said Reggie quietly, "it is quite true." "Then why did no one tell me?" "Husbands," said the young man, "and prospective husbands are always the last to learn. Yaé, go back to the hotel. You have done enough harm for to-day." "Not unless you forgive me, Reggie," the girl pleaded. "I will never go unless you forgive." "I can't forgive," he said, "but I can probably forget." The wrath of these two men fascinated her. She would have waited if she could, listening at the door. Reggie knew this. "If you don't clear out, Yaé, I will have to call T[=o] to take you," he threatened. To his great relief she went quietly. * * * * * Reggie returned to the bare bedroom, where Geoffrey with bowed head was staring at the floor. In Reggie's short kimono the big man looked decidedly ridiculous. "Good," thought Reggie. "Thank God for the comic spirit. It will be easier to get through with this now." His first action was to wash his hands. He had an unconscious instinct for symbolism. Then he sat down opposite his friend. The action of sitting reduces tragedy to comedy at once,--this was one of Napoleon's maxims. Then he opened his cigarette case and offered it to Geoffrey. This, too, was symbolic. Geoffrey took a cigarette mechanically, and sucked it between his lips, unlighted. "Geoffrey," said his friend very quietly, "let us try to put these women and all their rottenness out of our heads. We will try to talk this over decently." Geoffrey was so stunned by the shock of what he had just learned that he had thought of nothing else. Now, all of a sudden he remembered that he owed serious explanations to his friend. "Reggie," he said dully, "I'm most awfully sorry. I had never dreamed of this. I was good pals with Yaé because of you. I never dreamed of making love to her. You know how I love my wife. She must have been mad to think of me like that. Besides," he added sheepishly, "nothing actually happened." "I'm sure I don't care what actually happened or did not happen. Damn actual facts. They distort the truth. They are at the bottom of every injustice. What actually happened never matters. It is the picture which sticks in one's brain. True or false, it sticks just the same; and suddenly or slowly it alters every thing. But I can wipe up my own mess, I think. It is much more serious with you than with me, Geoffrey. She has bruised my heel, but she has broken your head. No, don't protest, for Heaven's sake! I am not interested." "Then what she says is absolutely true?" said Geoffrey, lighting his cigarette at last, and throwing the match aside as if it were Hope. "For a whole year I have been living on prostitutes' earnings. I am no better than those awful _ponces_ in Leicester Square, who can be flogged if they are caught, and serve them right too. And all that filthy Yoshiwara, it belongs to Asako, to my sweet innocent little girl, just as Brandan belongs to my father; and with all this filthy money we have been buying comforts and clothes and curios and rubbish." Reggie was pouring out whiskies and sodas, two strong ones. Geoffrey gulped down his drink, and then proceeded with his lamentation: "I understand it all now. Everybody knew. The secrecy and the mystery. Even at my wedding they were saying, 'Don't go to Japan, don't go.' They must have all known even then. And then those damned Fujinami, so anxious to be civil for the beastly money's sake, and yet hiding everything and lying all the time. And you knew, and the Ambassador, and Count Saito, and the servants too--always whispering and laughing behind our backs. But you, Reggie, you were my friend, you ought to have told me." "I asked Sir Ralph," said Reggie candidly, "whether you ought to be told. He is a very wise man. He said, 'No.' He said, 'It would be cruel and it would be useless. They will go back to England soon and then they will never know.' Where ignorance is bliss, you understand?" "It was unfair," groaned Geoffrey; "you were all deceiving me." "I said to Sir Ralph that it seemed to me unfair and dangerous. But he has more experience than I." "But what am I to do now?" said the big man helplessly. "This money must be given up, yes, and everything we have. But whom to? Not to those filthy Fujinami?" "Go slow," advised Reggie. "Go back to England first. Get your brain clear. Talk it over with your lawyers. Don't be too generous. Magnanimity has spoiled many noble lives. And remember that your wife is in this too. You must consider her first. She is very young and she knows nothing. I don't think that she wants to be poor, or that she will understand your motives." "I will make her understand then," said Geoffrey. "Don't talk like a brute. You will have to be very patient and considerate for her. Go slow!" "Can I stop here to-night, then?" asked Barrington, plaintively. "No," said Reggie with firmness; "that is really more than I could stick. I told you--truth or untruth, the mind keeps on seeing pictures. Pack up your things. Call a coolie. The evening walk down to Nikko will do you more good than my jawing. Good-bye." An unreal handshake--and he was gone. Then, of a sudden, Geoffrey realized that, how very unwittingly, he had deeply wronged this man who was his best friend and upon whom he was leaning in his hour of trial. Like Job, his adversities were coming upon him from this side and from that, until he must curse God and die. Now his friend had given him his dismissal. He would probably never see Reggie Forsyth again. As he was starting on his long walk downhill a motor car passed him. Only one motor car that season had climbed the precipitous road from the plains. It must be Yaé Smith's. Just as it was passing the girl leaned out of the carriage and blew a kiss to Geoffrey. She was not alone. There was a small fat man in the car beside her, a Japanese with a round impertinent face. With a throb of bitter heart-sickness Geoffrey recognized his own servant, Tanaka. * * * * * Next morning Reggie Forsyth crossed the lake as usual to his work at the Embassy. He met the Ambassadress on the terrace of her villa. "Good morning, Lady Cynthia," he said, "I congratulate you on your masterly diplomacy." "What do you mean?" Her manner nowadays was very chilly towards her former favourite. "In accordance with your admirable arrangements," he said, "my marriage is off." "Oh, Reggie," her coolness changed at once, "I'm so glad--" He held up a warning hand. "But--you have broken a better man than I." "Why, what do you mean?" "Geoffrey Barrington. He has learned who the Fujinami are, and where his money comes from." "You told him?" "I'm not such a skunk as all that, Lady Cynthia." Her Excellency was pondering what had better be done for Geoffrey. "Where is he?" she asked. "He stopped the night at Nikko. He is probably in the train for Tokyo by now." If she were a hero, a real theatre hero, as Geoffrey had been apparently, she would go straight off to Tokyo also; and perhaps she would be able to prevent a catastrophe. Or perhaps she would not. Perhaps she would only make things worse. On the whole, she had better stop in Chuzenji and look after her own husband. "Reggie," she said, "you've had a lucky escape. How did you know that I had any hand in this? You're more of a girl than a man. A rotten marriage would have broken you. Geoffrey Barrington is made of stronger stuff. He is in for a bad time. But he will learn a lot which you know already; and he will survive." CHAPTER XX THE KIMONO _Na we to wa wo Hito zo saku naru. Ide, wagimi! Hito no naka-goto Kiki-kosu na yume!_ It is other people who have separated You and me. Come, my Lord! Do not dream of listening To the between-words of people! After a ghastly night of sleeplessness at Nikko, Geoffrey Barrington reached Tokyo in time for lunch. His thoughts were confused and discordant. "I feel as if I had been drunk for a week," he kept on saying to himself. Indeed, he felt a fume of unreality over all his actions. One thing was certain: financially, he was a ruined man. The thousands a year which yesterday morning had been practically his, the ease and comfort which had seemed so secure, were lost more hopelessly than if his bank had failed. Even the cash in his pocket he touched with the greatest disgust, as if those identical bills and coins had been paid across the brothel counter as the price for a man's dirty pleasures and a girl's shame and disease. He imagined that the Nikko hotel-keeper looked at his notes suspiciously as though they were endorsed with the seal of the Yoshiwara. Geoffrey was ruined. He was henceforth dependent on what his brain could earn and on what his father would allow him, five hundred pounds a year at the outside. If he had been alone in the world it would not have mattered much; but Asako, poor little Asako, the innocent cause of this disaster, she was ruined too. She who loved her riches, her jewellery, her pretty things, she would have to sell them all. She would have to follow him into poverty, she, who had no experience of its meaning. This was his punishment, perhaps, for having steadily pursued the idea of a rich marriage. But what had Asako done to deserve it? Thank God, his marriage had at least not been a loveless one. Geoffrey felt acutely the need of human sympathy in his trouble. By sheer bad luck he had forfeited Reggie's friendship. But he could still depend upon his wife's love. So he ran up the stairs at the Imperial Hotel longing for Asako's welcome, though he dreaded the obligation to break the bad news. He threw open the door. The room was empty. He looked for cloaks and hats and curios, for luggage, for any sign of her presence. There was nothing to indicate that the room was hers. Sick with apprehension, he returned to the corridor. There was a _boy san_ near at hand. "_Okusan_ go away," said the _boy san_. "No come back, I think." "Where has she gone?" asked Geoffrey. The _boy san_, with the infuriating Japanese grin, shook his head. "I am very sorry for you," he said. "To-day very early plenty people come, Tanaka San and two Japanese girls. Very plenty talk. _Okusan_ cry tears. All nice kimono take away very quick." "Then Tanaka, where is he?" "Go away with _okusan_" the boy grinned again, "I am very sorry--" Geoffrey slammed the door in the face of his tormentor. He staggered into a chair and collapsed, staring blankly. What could have happened? Slowly his ideas returned. Tanaka! He had seen the little beast in Yaé's motor car at Chuzenji. He must have come spying after his master as he had done fifty times before. He and that half-caste devil had raced him back to Tokyo, had got in ahead of him, and had told a pack of lies to Asako. She must have believed them, since she had gone away. But where had she gone to? The _boy san_ had said "two Japanese girls." She must have gone to the Fujinami house, and to her horribly unclean cousins. He must find her at once. He must open her eyes to the truth. He must bring her back. He must take her away from Japan--forever. Harrington was crossing the hall of the hotel muttering to himself, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, when he felt a hand laid on his arm. It was Titine, Asako's French maid. "_Monsieur le capitaine_" she said, "_madame est partie_. It is not my fault, _monsieur le capitaine_. I say to madame, do not go, wait for monsieur. But madame is bewitched. She, who is _bonne catholique_, she say prayers to the temples of these yellow devils. I myself have seen her clap her hands--so!--and pray. Her saints have left her. She is bewitched." Titine was a Breton peasant girl. She believed implicitly in the powers of darkness. She had long ago decided that the gods of the Japanese and the _korrigans_ of her own country were intimately related. She had served Asako since before her marriage, and would have remained with her until death. She was desperately faithful. But she could not follow her mistress to the Fujinami house and risk her soul's salvation. "_Monsieur le capitaine_ go away, and madame very, very unhappy. Every night she cry. Why did monsieur stay away so long time?" "It was only a fortnight," expostulated Geoffrey. "For the first parting it was too long," said Titine judicially. "Every night madame cry; and then she write to monsieur and say, 'Come back.'" Monsieur write and say, 'Not yet.' Then madame break her heart and say, 'It is because of some woman that he stay away so long time!' She say so to Tanaka; and Tanaka say, 'I go and detect, and come again and tell madame;' and madame say, 'Yes, Tanaka can go: I wish to know the truth!' And still more she cry and cry. This morning very early Tanaka came back with Mademoiselle Smith and mademoiselle _la cousine_. They all talk a long time with madame in bedroom. But they send me away. Then madame call me. She cry and cry. 'Titine,' she say, 'I go away. Monsieur do not love me now. I go to the Japanese house. Pack all my things, Titine.' I say, 'No, madame, never. I never go to that house of devils. How can madame tell the good confessor? How can madame go to the Holy Mass? Will madame leave her husband and go to these people who pray to stone beasts? Wait for monsieur!' I say, 'What Tanaka say, it is lies, all the time lies. What Mademoiselle Smith say all lies.' But madame say, 'No come with me, Titine!' But I say again, 'Never!' And madame go away, crying all the time: and sixteen rickshaw all full of baggage. "Oh, _monsieur le capitaine_, what shall I do?" "I'm sure, I don't know," said the helpless Geoffrey. "Send me back to France, monsieur. This country is full of devils, devils and lies." He left her sobbing in the hall of the hotel with a cluster of _boy sans_ watching her. * * * * * Geoffrey took a taxi to the Fujinami house. No one answered his ringing; but he thought that he could hear voices inside the building. So he strode in, unannounced, and with his boots on his feet, an unspeakable offence against Japanese etiquette. He found Asako in a room which overlooked the garden where he had been received on former occasions. Her cousin Sadako was with her and Ito, the lawyer. To his surprise and disgust, his wife was dressed in the Japanese kimono and _obi_ which had once been so pleasing to his eyes. Her change of nationality seemed to be already complete. This was an Asako whom he had never known before. Her eyes were ringed with weeping, and her face was thin and haggard. But her expression had a new look of resolution. She was no longer a child, a doll. In the space of a few hours she had grown to be a woman. They were all standing. Sadako and the lawyer had formed up behind the runaway as though to give her moral support. "Asako," said Geoffrey sternly, "what does this mean?" The presence of the two Japanese exasperated him. His manner was tactless and unfortunate. His tall stature in the dainty room looked coarse and brutal. Sadako and Ito were staring at his offending boots with an expression of utter horror. Geoffrey suddenly remembered that he ought to have taken them off. "Oh, damn," he thought. "Geoffrey," said his wife, "I can't come back. I am sorry. I have decided to stay here." "Why?" asked Geoffrey brusquely. "Because I know that you do not love me. I think you never loved anything except my money." The hideous irony of this statement made poor Geoffrey gasp. He gripped the wooden framework of the room so as to steady himself. "Good God!" he shouted. "Your money! Do you know where it comes from?" Asako stared at him, more and more bewildered. "Send these people out of the room, and I'll tell you," said Geoffrey. "I would rather they stayed," his wife answered. It had been arranged beforehand that, if, Geoffrey called, Asako was not to be left alone with him. She had been made to believe that she was in danger of physical violence. She was terribly frightened. "Very well," Geoffrey blundered on, "every penny you have is made out of prostitution, out of the sale of women to men. You saw the Yoshiwara, you saw the poor women imprisoned there, you know that any drunken beast can come and pay his money down and say, 'I want that girl,' and she has to give herself up to be kissed and pulled about by him, even if she hates him and loathes him. Well, all this filthy Yoshiwara and all those poor girls and all that dirty money belongs to these Fujinami and to you. That is why they are so rich, and that is why we have been so rich. If we were in England, we could be flogged for this, and imprisoned, and serve us right too. And all this money is bad; and, if we keep it, we are worse than criminals; and neither of us can ever be happy, or look any one in the face again." Asako was shaking her head gently like an automaton, understanding not a word of all this outburst. Her mind was on one thing only, her husband's infidelity. His mind was on one thing only, the shame of his wife's money. They were like card-players who concentrate their attention exclusively on the cards in their own hands, oblivious to what their partners or opponents may hold. Asako remaining silent, Mr. Ito began to speak. His voice seemed more squeaky than ever. "Captain Barrington," he said, "I am very sorry for you. But you see now true condition of things. You must remember you are English gentleman. Mrs. Barrington wishes not to return to you. She has been told that you make misconduct with Miss Smith at Kamakura, and again at Chuzenji. Miss Smith herself says so. Mrs. Harrington thinks this story must be true; or Miss Smith do not tell so bad story about herself. We think she is quite right--" "Shut up!" thundered Geoffrey. "This is a matter for me and my wife alone. Please, leave us. My wife has heard one side of a story which is unfair and untrue. She must hear from me what really happened." "I think, some other day, it would be better," cousin Sadako intervened. "You see, Mrs. Barrington cannot speak to-day. She is too unhappy." It was quite true. Asako stood like a dummy, neither seeing nor hearing apparently, neither assenting nor contradicting. How powerful is the influence of clothes! If Asako had been dressed in her Paris coat and skirt, her husband would have crossed the few mats which separated them, and would have carried her off willy-nilly. But in her kimono did she wholly belong to him? Or was she a Japanese again, a Fujinami? She seemed to have been transformed by some enchanter's spell; as Titine had said, she was bewitched. "Asako, do you mean this?" The big man's voice was harsh with grief. "Do you mean that I am to go without you?" Asako still showed no sign of comprehension. "Answer me, my darling; do you want me to go?" Her head moved in assent, and her lips answered "Yes." That whisper made such a wrench at her husband's heart that his grip tightened on the frail _shoji_, and with a nervous spasm he sent it clattering out of its socket flat upon the floor of the room, like a screen blown down by the wind. Ito dashed forward to help Geoffrey replace the damage. When they turned round again, the two women had disappeared. "Captain Barrington," said Ito, "I think you had better go away. You make bad thing worse." Geoffrey frowned at the little creature. He would have liked to have crushed him underfoot like a cockroach. But as that was impossible, nothing remained for him to do but to depart, leaving the track of his dirty boots on the shining corridor. His last glimpse of his cousins' home was of two little serving-maids scuttering up with dusters to remove the defilement. Asako had fainted. * * * * * As Reggie had said in Chuzenji, "What actually happens does not matter: it is the thought of what might have happened, which sticks." If Reggie's tolerant and experienced mind could not rid itself of the picture conjured up by the possibility of his friend's treachery and his mistress's lightness, how could Asako, ignorant and untried, hope to escape from a far more insistent obsession? She believed that her husband was guilty. But the mere feeling that it was possible that he might be guilty would have been enough to numb her love for him, at any rate for a time. She had never known heartache before. She did not realise that it is a fever which runs its appointed course of torment and despair, which at length after a given term abates, and then disappears altogether, leaving the sufferer weak but whole again. The second attack of the malady finds its victim familiar with the symptoms, resigned to a short period of misery and confident of recovery. A broken heart like a broken horse is of great service to its owner. But Asako was like one stricken with an unknown disease. Its violence appalled her, and in her uncertainty she prayed for death. Moreover, she was surrounded by counsellors who traded on her little faith, who kept on reminding her that she was a Japanese, that she was among her father's people who loved her and understood her, that foreigners were notoriously treacherous to women, that they were blue-eyed and cruel-hearted, that they thought only of money and material things. Let her stay in Japan, let her make her home there. There she would always be a personage, a member of the family. Among those big, bold-voiced foreign women, she was overshadowed and out of place. If her husband left her for a half-caste, what chance had she of keeping him when once he got back among the women of his own race? Mixed marriages, in fact, were a mistake, an offence against nature. Even if he wished to be faithful to her, he could not really care for her as he could for an Englishwoman. * * * * * As soon as Geoffrey Barrington had left the house, Mr. Ito went in search of the head of the Fujinami, whom he found at work on the latest literary production of his tame students, _The Pinegrove by the Sea-shore_. Mr. Fujinami Gentaro put his writing-box aside with a leisurely gesture, for a Japanese gentleman of culture must never be in a hurry. "Indeed, it has been so noisy, composition has become impossible," he complained; "has that foreigner come, to the house?" He used the uncomplimentary word "_ket[=o]jin_" which may be literally translated "hairy rascal". It is a survival from the time of Perry's black ships and the early days of foreign intercourse, when "Expel the Barbarians!" was a watchword in the country. Modern Japanese assure their foreign friends that it has fallen altogether into disuse; but such is not the case. It is a word loaded with all the hatred, envy and contempt against foreigners of all nationalities, which still pervade considerable sections of the Japanese public. "This Barrington," answered the lawyer, "is indeed a rough fellow, even for a foreigner. He came into the house with his boots on, uninvited. He shouted like a coolie, and he broke the _shoji_. His behaviour was like that of Susa-no-O in the chambers of the Sun-Goddess. Perhaps he had been drinking whisky-sodas." "A disgusting thing, is it not?" said the master. "At this time I am writing an important chapter on the clear mirror of the soul. It is troublesome to be interrupted by these quarrels of women and savages. You will have Keiichi and Gor[=o] posted at the door of the house. They are to refuse entrance to all foreigners. It must not be allowed to turn our _yashiki_ into a battlefield." Mr. Fujinami's meditations that morning had been most bitter. His literary preoccupation was only a sham. There was a tempest in the political world of Japan. The Government was tottering under the revelations of a corruption in high places more blatant than usual. With the fall of the Cabinet, the bribes which the Fujinami had lavished to obtain the licences and privileges necessary to their trade, would become waste money. True, the Governor of Osaka had not yet been replaced. A Fujinami familiar had been despatched thither at full speed to secure the new Tobita brothel concessions as a _fait accompli_ before the inevitable change should take place. The head of the house of Fujinami, therefore, being a monarch in a small way, had much to think of besides "the quarrels of women and savages." Moreover, he was not quite sure of his ground with regard to Asako. To take a wife from her husband against his will, seems to the Japanese mind so flagrantly illegal a proceeding; and old Mr. Fujinami Gennosuké had warned his irreligious son most gravely against the danger of tampering with the testament of Asako's father, and of provoking thereby a visitation of his "rough spirit." CHAPTER XXI SAYONARA (GOOD-BYE) _Tomo ni narite Onaji minato wo Izuru fune no Yuku-ye mo shirazu Kogi-wakari-nuru!_ Those ships which left The same harbour Side by side Towards an unknown destination Have rowed away from one another! Reggie Forsyth, remaining in Chuzenji, had become a prey to a most crushing reaction. At the time of trial, he had been calm and clear-sighted. For a moment he had experienced a sensation of relief at shaking off the shackles which Yaé's fascination had fastened upon him. He had been aware all along that she was morally worthless. He was glad to have the matter incontestably proved. But his paradise, though an artificial one, had been paradise all the same. It had nourished him with visions and music. Now, he had no companion except his own irrepressible spirit jibing at his heart's infirmity. He came to the reluctant conclusion that he must take Yaé back again. But she must never come again to him on the same terms. He would take her for what she really was, a unique and charming _fille-de-joie_, and he knew that she would be glad to return. Without something, somebody, some woman to interest him, he could not face another year in this barren land. Then what about Geoffrey, his friend who had betrayed him? No, he could not regard him in such a tragic light. He was angry with Geoffrey, but not indignant. He was angry with him for being a blunderer, an elephant, for being so easily amenable to Lady Cynthia's intrigues, for being so good-natured, stupid and gullible. He argued that if Geoffrey had been a wicked seducer, a bold Don Juan, he would have excused him and would have felt more sympathy for him. He would have thoroughly enjoyed sitting down with him to a discussion of Yaé's psychology. But what did an oaf like Geoffrey understand about that bundle of nerves and instincts, partly primitive and partly artificial, bred out of an abnormal cross between East and West, and doomed from conception to a life astray between light and darkness? He had been disillusioned about his old friend, and he wished never to see him again. "What frauds these noble natures are!" he said to himself, "these Old Honests, these sterling souls! And as an excuse he tells me, 'Nothing actually happened!' Disgusting!" 'To play with light loves in the portal, To kiss and embrace and refrain!' "The virtue of our days is mostly impotence! Lust and passion and love and marriage! Why do our dull insular minds mix up these four entirely separate notions? And how can we jump with such goat-like agility from one circle of thought into another without ever noticing the change in the landscape?" He strolled over to the piano to put these ideas into music. Lady Cynthia had decided that it would be bad for him to stop in Chuzenji. Mountain scenery is demoralising for a nature so Byronic. He was forthwith despatched to Tokyo to represent his Embassy at a Requiem Mass to be celebrated for the souls of an Austrian Archduke and his wife, who had recently been assassinated by a Serbian fanatic somewhere in Bosnia. Reggie was furious at having to undertake this mission. For the mountains were soothing to him, and he was not yet ready for encounters. When he arrived in Tokyo, he was in a very bad temper. * * * * * Asako had heard from Tanaka that Reggie Forsyth was expected at the Embassy. That useful intelligence-officer had been posted by the Fujinami to keep watch on the Embassy compound, and to report any movements of importance; for the conspirators were not entirely at ease as to the legality of abducting the wife of a British subject, and keeping her against her husband's demands. Asako had received that day a pathetic letter from Geoffrey, giving detail for detail his account of his dealings with Yaé Smith, begging her to understand and believe him, and to forgive him for the crime which he had never committed. In spite of her cousin's incredulity, Asako's resolution was shaken by this appeal. At last, now that she had lost her husband, she was beginning to realise how very much she loved him. Reggie Forsyth would be a more or less impartial witness. Late that evening, in a hooded rickshaw she crossed the short distance which led to the Embassy. Mr. Forsyth had just arrived. Mr. Forsyth was very displeased to hear Mrs. Barrington announced. It was just the kind of meeting which would exasperate and unnerve him. Her appearance was against her. She wore a Japanese kimono, unpleasantly reminiscent of Yaé. Her hair was disordered and frantic-looking. Her eyes were red with weeping. "Let me say at once," observed Reggie, as he offered her a chair, "that I am in no way responsible for your husband's shortcomings. I have too many of my own." Asako could never understand Reggie when he talked in that sarcastic tone. "I want to know exactly what happened," she begged. "I have no one else who can tell me." "Your husband says that nothing actually happened," replied Reggie brutally. The girl realised that this statement was far from being the vindication of Geoffrey which she had begun to hope for. "But what did you actually see?" she asked. "I saw Miss Smith with your husband. As it was in my house, they might have asked my leave first." Asako shivered. "But do you think Geoffrey had been--love-making to Miss Smith?" "I don't know," said Reggie wearily. "From what I heard, I think Miss Smith was doing most of the love-making to Geoffrey; but he did not seem to object to the process." Asako's yearnings for proof of her husband's innocence were crushed. "What shall I do?" she pleaded. "I'm sure I don't know." This scene to Reggie was becoming positively silly. "Take him back to England as soon as possible, I should think." "But would he fall in love with women in England?" "Possibly." "Then what am I to do?" "Grin and bear it. That's what we all have to do." "Oh, Mr. Forsyth," Asako implored, "you know my husband so well. Do you think he is a bad man?" "No, not worse than the rest of us," answered Reggie, who felt quite maddened by this talk. "He is a bit of a fool, and a good deal of a blunderer." "But do you think Geoffrey was to blame for what happened?" "I have told you, my dear Mrs. Barrington, that your husband assured me that nothing actually happened. I am quite sure this is true, for your husband is a very honourable man--in details." "You mean," said Asako, gulping out the words, "that Miss Smith was not actually Geoffrey's--mistress; they did not--sin together." Asako did not know how intimate were the relations between Reggie and Yaé. She did not understand therefore how cruelly her words lanced him. But, more than the shafts of memory it was the imbecility of the whole scene which almost made the young man scream. "Exactly," he answered. "In the words of the Bible, she lay with him, but he knew her not." "Then, do you think I ought to forgive Geoffrey?" This was too much. Reggie leaped to his feet. "My dear lady, that is really a question for yourself and yourself alone. Personally, I do not at present feel like forgiving anybody. Least of all, can I forgive fools. Geoffrey Harrington is a fool. He was a fool to marry, a fool to marry you, a fool to come to Japan when everybody warned him not to, a fool to talk to Yaé when everybody told him that she was a dangerous woman. No, personally, at present I cannot forgive Geoffrey Barrington. But it is very late and I am very tired, and I'm sure you are, too. I would advise you to go home to your erring husband; and to-morrow morning we shall all be thinking more clearly. As the French say, _L'oreiller raccommode tout_." Asako still made no movement. "Well, dear lady, if you wish to wait longer, you will excuse me, if, instead of talking rot, I play to you. It is more soothing to the nerves." He sat down at the piano, and struck up the _Merry Widow_ chorus,-- "I'll go off to Maxim's: I've done with lovers' dreams; The girls will laugh and greet me, they will not trick and cheat me; Lolo, Dodo, Joujou, Cloclo, Margot, Frou-frou, I'm going off to Maxim's, and you may go to--" The pianist swung around on his stool: his visitor had gone. * * * * * "Thank God," he sighed; and within a quarter of an hour he was asleep. He awoke in the small hours with that sick restless feeling on his chest, which he described as a conviction of sin. "Good God!" he said aloud; "what a cad I've been!" He realised that an unspoiled and gentle creature had paid him the greatest of all compliments by coming to him for advice in the extremity of her soul's misery. He had received her with silly _badinage_ and cheap cynicism. At breakfast he learned that things were much more serious than he had imagined, that Asako had actually left her husband and was living with her Japanese cousins. What he had thought to be a lover's quarrel, he now recognised to be the shipwreck of two lives. With a kindly word he might have prevented this disaster. He drove straight to the Fujinami mansion, at the risk of being late for the Requiem Mass. He found two evil-eyed hooligans posted at the gate, who stopped his rickshaw, and, informing him that none of the Fujinami family were at home, seemed prepared to resist his entry with force. During the reception of the Austrian Embassy which followed the Mass, an incident occurred which altered the whole set of the young diplomat's thoughts, and, most surprisingly, sent him posting down to the Imperial Hotel to find Geoffrey Harrington, as one who has discovered a treasure and must share it with his friend. The big Englishman was contemplating a whisky-and-soda in the hall of the hotel. It was by no means the first of its series. He gazed dully at Reggie. "Thought you were at Chuzenji," he said thickly. "I had to come down for the special service for the Archduke Franz Ferdinand," said Reggie, excitedly. "They gave us a regular wake, champagne by the gallon! Several of the _corps diplomatique_ became inspired! They saw visions and made prophesyings. Von Falkenturm, the German military attache, was shouting out, 'We've got to fight. We're going to fight! We don't care who we fight! Russia, France, England: yes, the whole lot of them!' The man was drunk, of course; but, after, all, _in vino veritas_. The rest of the square-heads were getting very rattled, and at last they succeeded in suppressing Falkenturm. But, I tell you, Geoffrey, it's coming at last; it's really coming!" "What's coming?" "Why, the Great War. Thank God, it's coming!" "Why thank God?" "Because we've all become too artificial and beastly. We want exterminating, and to start afresh. We shall escape at last from women and drawing-rooms and silly gossip. We shall become men. It will give us all something to do and something to think about." "Yes," echoed Geoffrey, "I wish I could get something to do." "You'll get it all right. I wish I were a soldier. Are you going to stop in Japan much longer?" "No--going next week--going home." "Look here, I'll put in my resignation right away, and I'll come along with you." "No, thanks," said Geoffrey, "rather not." In his excitement Reggie had failed to observe the chilliness of his friend's demeanour. This snub direct brought up the whole chain of events, which Reggie had momentarily forgotten, or which were too recent as yet to have assumed complete reality. "I'm sorry, Geoffrey," he said, as he rose to go. "Not at all," said Barrington, ignoring his friend's hand and turning aside to order another drink. Geoffrey had a letter in his pocket, received from his wife that morning. It ran:-- "DEAR GEOFFREY,--I am very sorry. I cannot come back. It is not only what has happened. I am Japanese. You are English. You can never really love me. Our marriage was a mistake. Everybody says so even Reggie Forsyth. I tried my best to want to come back. I went to Reggie last night, and asked him what actually happened. He says that our marriage was a mistake, and that our coming to Japan was a mistake. So do I. I think we might have been happy in England. I want you to divorce me. It seems to be very easy in Japan. You only have to write a letter, which Mr. Ito will give you. Then I can become quite Japanese again, and Mr. Fujinami can take me back into his family. Also you will be free to marry an English girl. But don't have anything to do with Miss Smith. She is a very bad girl. I shall never marry anybody else. My cousins are very kind to me. It is much better for me to stay in Japan. Titine said I was wrong to go away. Please give her fifty pounds from me, and send her back to France, if she wants to go. I don't think it is good for us to see each other. We only make each other unhappy. Tanaka is here. I do not like him now. Good-bye! Good-bye! "Your loving, "ASAKO." From this letter Geoffrey understood that Reggie Forsyth also was against him. The request for a divorce baffled him entirely. How could he divorce his wife, when he had nothing against her? In answer, he wrote another frantic appeal to her to return to him. There was no answer. Then he left Tokyo for Yokohama--it is only eighteen miles away--to wait there until his boat started. Thither he was pursued by Ito. "I am sorry for you." The revolting little man always began his discourse now with this exasperating phrase. "Mrs. Barrington would like very much to obtain the divorce. She wishes very much to have her name inscribed on family register of Fujinami house. If there is no divorce, this is not possible." "But," objected Geoffrey, "it is not so easy to get divorced as to get married--unfortunately." "In Japan," said the lawyer, "it is more easy, because we have different custom." "Then there must be a lot of divorces," said Geoffrey grimly. "There are very many," answered the Japanese, "more than in any other country. In divorce Japan leads the world. Even the States come second to our country. Among the low-class persons in Japan there are even women who have been married thirty-five times, married properly, honourably and legally. In upper society, too, many divorce, but not so many, for it makes the family angry." "Marvellous!" said Geoffrey. "How do you do it?" "There is divorce by law-courts, as in your country," said Ito. "The injured party can sue the other party, and the court can grant decree. But very few Japanese persons go to the court for divorce. It is not nice, as you say, to wash dirty shirt before all people. So there is divorce by custom." "Well?" asked the Englishman. "Now, as you know, our marriage is also by custom. There is no ceremony of religion, unless parties desire. Only the man and the woman go to the _Shiyakusho_, to the office of the city or the village; and the man say, 'This woman is my wife; please, write her name on the register of my family,' Then when he want to divorce her, he goes again to the office of the city and says, 'I have sent my wife away; please, take her name from the register of my family, and write it again on the register of her father's family.' You see, our custom is very convenient. No expense, no trouble." "Very convenient," Geoffrey agreed. "So, if Captain Barrington will come with me to the office of Akasaka, Tokyo, and will give notice that he has sent Mrs. Barrington back to her family, then the divorce is finished. Mrs. Barrington becomes again a Japanese subject. Her name becomes Fujinami. She is again one of her family. This is her prayer to you." "And Mrs. Barrington's money?" asked Geoffrey sarcastically. "You have forgotten that." "Oh no," was the answer, "we don't forget the money. Mr. Fujinami quite understand that it is great loss to send away Mrs. Barrington. He will give big compensation as much as Captain Barrington desires." To Ito's surprise, his victim left the table and did not return. So he inquired from the servants about Captain Barrington's habits; and learned from the _boy sans_ that the big Englishman drank plenty whisky-soda; but he did not talk to any one or go to the brothels. Perhaps he was a little mad. * * * * * Ito returned to the charge next day. This time Geoffrey had an inspiration. He said that if he could be granted an interview alone with Asako, he would discuss with her the divorce project, and would consent, if she asked him personally. After some demur, the lawyer agreed. The last interview between husband and wife took place in Ito's office, which Geoffrey had visited once before in his search for the fortune of the Fujinami. The scene of the rendezvous was well chosen to repress any revival of old emotions. The varnished furniture, the sham mahogany, the purple plush upholstery, the gilt French clock, the dirty bust of Abraham Lincoln and the polyglot law library checked the tender word and the generous impulse. The Japanese have an instinctive knowledge of the influence of inanimate things, and use this knowledge with an unscrupulousness, which the crude foreigner only realises--if ever--after it is too late. Geoffrey's wife appeared hand in hand with cousin Sadako. There was nothing English in her looks. She had become completely Japanese from her black helmet-like _coiffure_ to the little white feet which shuffled over the dusty carpet. There was no hand-shaking. The two women sat down stiffly on chairs against the wall remote from Geoffrey, like two swallows perched uneasily on an unsteady wire. Asako held a fan. There was complete silence. "I wish to see my wife alone," said Geoffrey. He spoke to Ito, who grinned with embarrassment and looked at the two women. Asako shook her head. "I made it quite clear to you, Mr. Ito," said Geoffrey angrily, "that this was my condition. I understand that pressure has been used to keep my wife away from me. I will apply to my Embassy to get her restored." Ito muttered under his breath. That was a contingency which he had greatly dreaded. He turned to Sadako Fujinami and spoke to her in voluble Japanese. Sadako whispered in her cousin's ear. Then she rose and withdrew with Ito. Geoffrey was left alone with Asako. But was she really the same Asako? Geoffrey had often seen upper class Japanese ladies at receptions in the hotel at Tokyo. He had thought how picturesque they were, how well mannered, how excellent their taste in dress. But they had seemed to him quite unreal, denizens of a shadow world of bowing, gliding figures. He now realised that his former wife had become entirely a Japanese, a person absolutely different from himself, a visitant from another sphere. He was English she was Japanese. They were divorced already. The big man rose from his chair, and held out his hand to his wife. "I'm sorry, little Asako!" he said, very gently. "You are quite right. It was a mistake. Good-bye, and--God bless you always!" With immense relief and gratitude she took the giant's paw in her own tiny hand. It seemed to have lost its grip, to have become like a Japanese hand. He opened the door for her. Once again, as on the altar-steps of St. George's, the tall shoulders bent over the tiny figure with a movement of instinctive protection and tenderness. He closed the door behind her, recrossed the room and stared into the empty fireplace. After a time, Ito returned. The two men went together to the district office of the Akasaka Ward. There Geoffrey signed a declaration in Japanese and English to the effect that his marriage with Asako Fujinami was cancelled, and that she was free to return to her father's family. Next morning, at daylight his ship left Yokohama. Before he reached Liverpool, war had been declared. CHAPTER XXII FUJINAMI ASAKO _Okite mitsu Nete mitsu kaya no Hirosa kana_. When I rise, I look-- When I lie down, I look-- Alas, how vast is the mosquito-curtain. Asako Barrington was restored to the name and home of the Fujinami. Her action had been the result of hereditary instinct, of the natural current of circumstances, and of the adroit diplomacy of her relatives. She had been hunted and caught like a wild animal; and she was soon to find that the walls of her enclosure, which at first seemed so wide that she perceived them not, were closing in upon her day by day as in a mediaeval torture chamber, forcing her step by step towards the unfathomable pit of Japanese matrimony. The Fujinami had not adopted their foreign cousin out of pure altruism. Far from it. Like Japanese in general, they resented the intrusion of a "_tanin_" (outside person) into their intimacy. They took her for what she was worth to them. Since Asako was now a member of the family, custom allowed Mr. Fujinami Gentaro to control her money. But Mr. Ito warned his patron that, legally, the money was still hers, and hers alone, and that in case of her marrying a second time it might again slip away. It was imperative, therefore, to the policy of the Fujinami house that Asako should marry a Fujinami, and that as soon as possible. A difficulty here arose, not that Asako might object to her new husband--it never occurred to the Fujinami that this stranger from Europe might have opinions quite opposed to Japanese conventions--but that there were very few adequately qualified suitors. Indeed, in the direct line of succession there was only young Mr. Fujinami Takeshi, the youth with the purple blotches, who had distinguished himself by his wit and his _savoir vivre_ on the night of the first family banquet. True, he had a wife already; but she could easily be divorced, as her family were nobodies. If he married Asako, however, was he still capable of breeding healthy children? Of course, he might adopt the children whom he already possessed by his first wife, but the elder boy showed signs of being mentally deficient, the younger was certainly deaf and dumb, and the two others were girls and did not count. Grandfather Fujinami Gennosuké, who hated and despised his grandson, was for sweeping him and his brood out of the way altogether, and for adopting a carefully selected and creditable _yoshi_ (adopted son) by marriage with either Sadako or Asako. "But if this Asa is barren?" said Mrs. Fujinami Shidzuyé, who naturally desired that her daughter Sadako's husband should be the heir of the Fujinami. "That Englishman was strong and healthy. There was living together for more than a year, and still no child." "If she is barren, then a son must be adopted," said the old gentleman. "To adopt twice in succession is unlucky," objected Mr. Fujinami Gentaro. "Then," said Mrs. Shidzuyé, "the old woman of Akabo shall come for consultation. She shall tell if it is possible for her to have babies." Akabo was the up-country village, whence the first Fujinami had come to Tokyo to seek his fortune. The Japanese never completely loses touch with his ancestral village; and for over a hundred years the Tokyo Fujinami had paid their annual visit to the mountains of the North to render tribute to the graves of their forefathers. They still preserved an inherited faith in the "wise woman" of the district, who from time to time was summoned to the capital to give her advice. Their other medical counselor was Professor Kashio, who held degrees from Munich and Vienna. * * * * * During the first days of her self-chosen widowhood Asako was little better than a convalescent. She had never looked at sorrow before; and the shock of what she had seen had paralyzed her vitality without as yet opening her understanding. Like a dog, who in the midst of his faithful affection has been struck for a fault of which he is unconscious, she took refuge in darkness, solitude and despair. The Japanese, who are as a rule intuitively aware of others' emotions, recognized her case. A room was prepared for her in a distant wing of the straggling house, a "foreign-style" room in an upper story with glass in the windows--stained glass too--with white muslin blinds, a colored lithograph of Napoleon and a real bed, recently purchased on Sadako's pleading that everything must be done to make life happy for their guest. "But she is a Japanese," Mr. Fujinami Gentaro had objected. "It is not right that a Japanese should sleep upon a tall bed. She must learn to give up luxurious ways." Sadako protested that her cousin's health was not yet assured; and so discipline was relaxed for a time. Asako spent most of her days in the tall bed, gazing through the open doorway, across the polished wood veranda like the toffee veranda of a confectioner's model, past the wandering branch of an old twisted pine-tree which crouched by the side of the mansion like a faithful beast, over the pigmy landscape of the garden, to the scale-like roofs of the distant city, and to the pagoda on the opposite hill. It rested her to lie thus and look at her country. From time to time Sadako would steal into the room. Her cousin would leave the invalid in silence, but she always smiled; and she would bring some offering with her, a dish of food--Asako's favorite dishes, of which Tanaka had already compiled a complete list--or sometimes a flower. At the open door she would pause to shuffle off her pale blue _zori_ (sandals); and she would glide across the clean rice-straw matting shod in her snow-white _tabi_ only. Asako gradually accustomed herself to the noises of the house. First, there was the clattering of the _amado_, the wooden shutters whose removal announced the beginning of the day, then the gurgling and the expectorations which accompanied the family ablutions, then the harsh sound of the men's voices and their rattling laughter, the sound of their _geta_ on the gravel paths of the garden like the tedious dropping of heavy rain on an iron roof, then the flicking and dusting of the maids as they went about their daily _soji_ (house-cleaning), their shrill mouselike chirps and their silly giggle; then the afternoon stillness when every one was absent or sleeping; and then, the revival of life and bustle at about six o'clock, when the clogs were shuffled off at the front door, when the teacups began to jingle, and when sounds of swishing water came up from the bath-house, the crackle of the wood-fire under the bathtub, the smell of the burning logs, and the distant odours of the kitchen. Outside, the twilight was beginning to gather. A big black crow flopped lazily on to the branch of the neighbouring pine-tree. His harsh croak disturbed Asako's mind like a threat. High overhead passed a flight of wild geese in military formation on their way to the continent of Asia. Lights began to peep among the trees. Behind the squat pagoda a sky of raspberry pink closed the background. The twilight is brief in Japan. The night is velvety; and the moonlight and the starlight transfigure the dolls' house architecture, the warped pine-trees, the feathery bamboo clumps and the pagoda spires. From a downstair room there came the twang of cousin Sadako's _koto_, a kind of zither instrument, upon which she played interminable melancholy sonatas of liquid, detached notes, like desultory thoughts against a background of silence. There was no accompaniment to this music and no song to chime with it; for, as the Japanese say, the accompaniment for _koto_ music is the summer night-time and its heavy fragrance, and the voice with which it harmonizes is the whisper of the breeze in the pine-branches. Long after Sadako had finished her practice, came borne upon the distance the still more melancholy pipe of a student's flute. This was the last human sound. After that the night was left to the orchestra of the insects--the grasshoppers, the crickets and the _semi_ (cicadas). Asako soon was able to distinguish at least ten or twelve different songs, all metallic in character, like clock springs being slowly wound up and then let down with a run. The night and the house vibrated with these infinitesimal chromatics. Sometimes Asako thought the creatures must have got into her room, and feared for entanglements in her hair. Then she remembered that her mother's nickname had been "the _Semi_" and that she had been so called because she was always happy and singing in her little house by the river. This memory roused Asako one day with a wish to see how her own house was progressing. This wish was the first positive thought which had stirred her mind since her husband had left her; and it marked a stage in her convalescence. "If the house is ready," she thought "I will go there soon. The Fujinamis will not want me to live here permanently." This showed how little she understood as yet the Japanese family system, whereby relatives remain as permanent guests for years on end. "Tanaka" she said one morning, in what was almost her old manner, "I think I will have the motor car to-day." Tanaka had become her body servant as in the old days. At first she had resented the man's reappearance, which awakened such cruel memories. She had protested against him to Sadako, who had smiled and promised. But Tanaka continued his ministrations; and Asako had not the strength to go on protesting. As a matter of fact, he was specially employed by Mr. Fujinami Gentaro to spy on Asako's movements, an easy task hitherto, since she had not moved from her room. "Where is the motor car, Tanaka?" she asked again. He grinned, as Japanese always do when embarrassed. "Very sorry for you," he answered; "motor car has gone away." "Has Captain Barrington--?" Asako began instinctively; then, remembering that Geoffrey was now many thousands of miles from Japan, she turned her face to the wall and began to cry. "Young Fujinami San," said Tanaka, "has taken motor car. He go away to mountains with _geisha_ girl. Very bad, young Fujinami San, very _roué_." Asako thought that it was rather impertinent to borrow her own motor car without asking permission, even if she was their guest. She did not yet understand that she and all her possessions belonged from henceforth to her family--to her male relatives, that is to say; for she was only a woman. "Old Mr. Fujinami San," Tanaka went on, happy to find his mistress, to whom he was attached in a queer Japanese sort of way, interested and responsive at last, "old Mr. Fujinami San, he also go to mountain with _geisha_ girl, but different mountain. Japanese people all very _roué_. All Japanese people like to go away in summer season with _geisha_ girl. Very bad custom. Old Mr. Fujinami San, not so very bad, keep same _geisha_ girl very long time. Perhaps Ladyship see one little girl, very nice little girl, come sometimes with Miss Sadako and bring meal-time things. That little girl is _geisha_ girl's daughter. Perhaps old Mr. Fujinami San's daughter also, I think: very bastard: I don't know!" So he rambled on in the fashion of servants all the world over, until Asako knew all the ramifications of her relatives, legitimate and illegitimate. She gathered that the men had all left Tokyo during the hot season, and that only the women were left in the house. This encouraged her to descend from her eyrie, and to endeavour to take up her position in her family, which was beginning to appear the less reassuring the more she learned about its history. The life of a Japanese lady of quality is peculiarly tedious. She is relieved from the domestic cares which give occupation to her humbler sisters. But she is not treated as an equal or as a companion by her menfolk, who are taught that marriage is for business and not for pleasure, and consequently that home-life is a bore. She is supposed to find her own amusements, such as flower-arrangement, tea-ceremony, music, kimono-making and the composition of poetry. More often, this refined and innocent ideal degenerates into a poor trickle of an existence, enlivened only by scrappy magazine reading, servants' gossip, empty chatter about clothes, neighbours and children, backbiting, envying and malice. Once Sadako took her cousin to a charity entertainment given for the Red Cross at the house of a rich nobleman. A hundred or more ladies were present; but stiff civility prevailed. None of the guests seemed to know each other. There was no friendly talking. There were no men guests. There was three hours' agony of squatting, a careful adjustment of expensive kimonos, weak tea and tasteless cakes, a blank staring at a dull conjuring performance, and deadly silence. "Do you ever have dances?" Asako asked her cousin. "The _geisha_ dance, because they are paid," said Sadako primly. Her pose was no longer cordial and sympathetic. She set herself up as mentor to this young savage, who did not know the usages of civilized society. "No, not like that," said the girl from England; "but dancing among yourselves with your men friends." "Oh, no, that would not be nice at all. Only tipsy persons would dance like that." Asako tried, not very successfully, to chat in easy Japanese with her cousin; but she fled from the interminable talking parties of her relatives, where she could not understand one word, except the innumerable parentheses--_naruhodo_ (indeed!) and _so des'ka_ (is it so?)--with which the conversation was studded. As the realization of her solitude made her nerves more jumpy, she began to imagine that the women were forever talking about her, criticizing her unfavorably and disposing of her future. The only man whom she saw during the hot summer months, besides the inevitable Tanaka, was Mr. Ito, the lawyer. He could talk quite good English. He was not so egotistical and bitter as Sadako. He had traveled in America and Europe. He seemed to understand the trouble of Asako's mind, and would offer sympathetic advice. "It is difficult to go to school when we are no longer children," he would say sententiously. "Asa San must be patient. Asa San must forget. Asa San must take Japanese husband. I think it is the only way." "Oh, no," the poor girl shivered; "I wouldn't marry again for anything." "But," Ito went on relentlessly, "it is hurtful to the body when once it has custom to be married. I think that is reason why so many widow women are unfortunate and become mad." Every day he would spend an hour or so in conversation with Asako. She thought that this was a sign of friendliness and sympathy. As a matter of fact, his object at first was to improve his English. Later on more ambitious projects developed in his fertile brain. He would talk about New York and London in his queer stilted way. He had been a fireman on board ship, a teacher of _jiujitsu_, a juggler, a quack dentist, Heaven knows what else. Driven by the conscientious inquisitiveness of his race, he had endured hardships, contempt and rough treatment with the smiling patience inculcated in the Japanese people by their education. "We must chew our gall, and bide our time," they say, when the too powerful foreigner insults or abuses them. He had seen the magnificence of our cities, the vastness of our undertakings and had returned to Japan with great relief to find that life among his own people was less strenuous and fierce, that it was ordered by circumstances and the family system, that less was left to individual courage and enterprise, that things happened more often than things were done. The impersonality of Japan was as restful to him as it is aggravating to a European. But it must not be imagined that Ito was an idle man. On the contrary, he was exceedingly hard working and ambitious. His dream was to become a statesman, to enjoy unlimited patronage, to make men and to break men, and to die a peer. When he returned to Japan from his wanderings with exactly two shillings in his pocket, this was his programme. Like Cecil Rhodes, his hero among white men, he made a will distributing millions. Then he attached himself to his rich cousins, the Fujinami; and very soon he became indispensable to them. Fujinami Gentaro, an indolent man, gave him more and more authority over the family fortune. It was dirty business, this buying of girls and hiring of pimps, but it was immensely profitable; and more and more of the profits found their way into Ito's private account. Fujinami Gentaro did not seem to care. Takeshi, the son and heir, was a nonentity. Ito's intention was to continue to serve his cousins until he had amassed a working capital of a hundred thousand pounds. Then he would go into politics. But the advent of Asako suggested a short cut to his hopes. If he married her he would gain immediate control of a large interest in the Fujinami estate. Besides she had all the qualifications for the wife of a Cabinet Minister, knowledge of foreign languages, ease in foreign society, experience of foreign dress and customs. Moreover, passion was stirring in his heart, the swift stormy passion of the Japanese male, which, when thwarted, drives him towards murder and suicide. Like many Japanese, he had felt the attractiveness of foreign women when he was traveling abroad. Their independence stimulated him, their savagery and their masterful ways. Ito had found in Asako the physical beauty of his own race together with the character and energy which had pleased him so much in white women. Everything seemed to favor his suit. Asako clearly seemed to prefer his company to that of other members of the family. He had a hold over the Fujinami which would compel them to assent to anything he might require. True, he had a wife already; but she could easily be divorced. Asako tolerated him, _faute de mieux_. Cousin Sadako was becoming tired of their system of mutual instruction, as she tired sooner or later of everything. She had developed a romantic interest in one of the pet students, whom the Fujinami kept as an advertisement and a bodyguard. He was a pale youth with long greasy hair, spectacles and more gold in his teeth than he had ever placed in his waist-band. Popriety forbade any actual conversation with Sadako; but there was an interchange of letters almost every day, long subjective letters describing states of mind and high ideals, punctuated with shadowy Japanese poems and with quotations from the Bible, Tolstoy, Nietzsche, Bergson, Eucken, Oscar Wilde and Samuel Smiles. Sadako told her cousin that the young man was a genius, and would one day be Professor of Literature at the Imperial University. CHAPTER XXIII THE REAL SHINTO _Yo no naka wo Nani ni tatoyemu? Asa-borake Kogi-yuku fune no Ato no shira-nami_. To what shall I compare This world? To the white wake behind A ship that has rowed away At dawn! When the autumn came and the maple trees turned scarlet, the men returned from their long summer holidays. After that Asako's lot became heavier than ever. "What is this talk of tall beds and special cooking?" said Mr. Fujinami Gentaro. "The girl is a Japanese. She must live like a Japanese and be proud of it." So Asako had to sleep on the floor alongside her cousin Sadako in one of the downstairs rooms. Her last possession, her privacy, was taken away from her. The soft mattresses which formed the native bed, were not uncomfortable; but Asako discarded at once the wooden pillow, which every Japanese woman fits into the nape of her neck, so as to prevent her elaborate _coiffure_ becoming disarranged. As a result, her head was always untidy, a fact upon which her relatives commented. "She does not look like a great foreign lady now," said Mrs. Shidzuyé, the mistress of the house. "She looks like _osandon_ (a rough kitchen maid) from a country inn." The other women tittered. One day the old woman of Akabo arrived. Her hair was quite white like spun glass, and her waxen face was wrinkled like a relief map. Her body was bent double like a lobster; and her eyes were dim with cataracts. Cousin Sadako said with awe that she was over a hundred years old. Asako had to submit to the indignity of allowing this dessicated hag to pass her fumbling hands all over her body, pinching her and prodding her. The old woman smelt horribly of _daikon_ (pickled horse-radish). Furthermore the terrified girl had to answer a battery of questions as to her personal habits and her former marital relations. In return, she learned a number of curious facts about herself, of which she had hitherto no inkling. The lucky coincidence of having been born in the hour of the Bird and the day of the Bird set her apart from the rest of womankind as an exceptionally fortunate individual. But, unhappily, the malignant influence of the Dog Year was against her nativity. When once this disaffected animal had been conquered and cast out, Asako's future should be a very bright one. The family witch agreed with the Fujinami that the Dog had in all probability departed with the foreign husband. Then the toothless crone breathed three times upon the mouth, breasts and thighs of Asako; and when this operation was concluded, she stated her opinion that there was no reason, obstetrical or esoteric, why the ransomed daughter of the house of Fujinami should not become the mother of many children. But on the psychical condition of the family in general she was far from reassuring. Everything about the mansion, the growth of the garden, the flight of the birds, the noises of the night-time, foreboded dire disaster in the near future. The Fujinami were in the grip of a most alarming _ingé_ (chain of cause and effect). Several "rough ghosts" were abroad; and were almost certain to do damage before their wrath could be appeased. What was the remedy? It was indeed difficult to prescribe for such complicated cases. Temple charms, however, were always efficacious. The old woman gave the names of some of the shrines which specialized in exorcism. Some days later the charms were obtained, strips of rice paper with sacred writings and symbols upon them, and were pasted upon posts and lintels all over the house. This was done in Mr. Fujinami's absence. When he returned, he commented most unfavourably on this act of faith. The prayer tickets disfigured his house. They looked like luggage labels. They injured his reputation as an _esprit fort_. He ordered the students to remove them. After this sacrilegious act, the old woman, who had lingered on in the family mansion for several weeks, returned again to Akabo, shaking her white locks and prophesying dark things to come. * * * * * For some reason or other, the witch's visit did not improve Asako's position. She was expected to perform little menial services, to bring in food at meal-times and to serve the gentlemen on bended knee, to clap her hands in summons to the servant girls, to massage Mrs. Fujinami, who suffered from rheumatism in the shoulder, and to scrub her back in the bath. Her wishes were usually ignored; and she was not encouraged to leave the house and grounds. Sadako no longer took her cousin with her to the theatre or to choose kimono patterns at the Mitsukoshi store. She was irritated at Asako's failure to learn Japanese. It bored her to have to explain everything. She found this girl from Europe silly and undutiful. Only at night they would chatter as girls will, even if they are enemies; and it was then that Sadako narrated the history of her romance with the young student. One night, Asako awoke to find that the bed beside her was empty, and that the paper _shoji_ was pushed aside. Nervous and anxious, she rose and stood in the dark veranda outside the room. A cold wind was blowing in from some aperture in the _amado_. This was unusual, for a Japanese house in its night attire is hermetically sealed. Suddenly Sadako appeared from the direction of the wind. Her hair was disheveled. She wore a dark cloak over her parti-coloured night kimono. By the dim light of the _andon_ (a rushlight in a square paper box), Asako could see that the cloak was spotted with rain. "I have been to _benjo_," said Sadako nervously. "You have been out in the rain," contradicted her cousin. "You are wet through. You will catch cold." "_Sa! Damaré!_ (Be quiet!)" whispered Sadako, as she threw her cloak aside, "do not talk so loud. See!" She drew from her breast a short sword in a sheath of shagreen. "If you speak one word, I kill you with this." "What have you done?" asked Asako, trembling. "What I wished to do," was the sullen answer. "You have been with Sekiné?" Asako mentioned the student's name. Sadako nodded in assent. Then she began to cry, hiding her face in her kimono sleeve. "Do you love him?" Asako could not help asking. "Of course, I love him," cried Sadako, starting up from her sorrow. "You see me. I am no more virgin. He is my life to me. Why cannot I love him? Why cannot I be free like men are free to love as they wish? I am new woman. I read Bernard Shaw. I find one law for men in Japan, and another law for women. But I will break that law. I have made Sekiné my lover, because I am free." Asako could never have imagined her proud, inhuman cousin reduced to this state of quivering emotion. Never before had she seen a Japanese soul laid bare. "But you will marry Sekiné, Sada dear; and then you will be happy." "Marry Sekiné!" the girl hissed, "marry a boy with no money and leave you to be the Fujinami heiress, when I am promised to the Governor of Osaka, who will be home Minister when the next Governor comes!" "Oh, don't do that," urged Asako, her English sentimentalism flooding back across her mind. "Don't marry a man whom you don't love. You say you are a new woman. Marry Sekiné. Marry the man whom you love. Then you will be happy." "Japanese girls are never happy," groaned her cousin. Asako gasped. This morality confused her. "But that would be a mortal sin," she said. "Then you could never be happy." "We cannot be happy. We are Fujinami," said Sadako gravely. "We are cursed. The old woman of Akabo said that it is a very bad curse. I do not believe superstition. But I believe there is a curse. You also, you have been unhappy, and your father and mother. We are cursed because of the women. We have made so much money from poor women. They are sold to men, and they suffer in pain and die so that we become rich. It is a very bad _ingé_. So they say in Akabo, that we Fujinami have a fox in our family. It brings us money; but it makes us unhappy. In Akabo, even poor people will not marry with the Fujinami, because we have the fox." It is a popular belief, still widely held in Japan, that certain families own spirit foxes, a kind of family banshee who render them service, but mark them with a curse. "I do not understand," said Asako, afraid of this wild talk. "Do you know why the Englishman went away?" said her cousin brutally. It was Asako's turn to cry. "Oh, I wish I had gone with him. He was so good to me, always so kind and so gentle!" "When he married you," said Sadako, "he did not know that you had the curse. He ought not to have come to Japan with you. Now he knows you have the curse. So he went away. He was wise." "What do you mean by the curse?" asked Asako. "You do not know how the Fujinami have made so much money?" "No," said Asako. "It used to come for me from Mr. Ito. He had shares or something." "Yes. But a share that means a share of a business. Do you not know what is our business?" "No," said Asako again. "You have seen the Yoshiwara, where girls are sold to men. That is our business. Do you understand now?" "No." "Then I will tell you the whole story of the Fujinami. About one hundred and twenty years ago our great-great-grandfather came to Yedo, as Tokyo was then called. He was a poor boy from the country. He had no friends. He became clerk in a dry goods store. One day a woman, rather old, asked him: 'How much pay you get?' He said, 'No pay, only food and clothes.' The woman said, 'Come with me; I will give you food and clothes and pay also,' He went with her to the Yoshiwara where she had a small house with five or six girls. Every night he must stand in front of the house, calling. Then the drunken workmen, and the gamblers, and the bad _samurai_ would come and pay their money. And they pay their money to him, our great-great-grandfather. When the girls were sick, or would not receive guests, he would beat them, and starve them, and burn _o kyu_ (a medical plant called moxa, used for cauterization) on their backs. One day he said to the woman who was mistress of the house, 'Your girls are too old. The rich friends do not come any more. Let us sell these girls. I will go into the country and get new girls, and then you will marry me and make me your partner.' The woman said, 'If we have good luck with the girls and make money, then I marry you.' So our great-great-grandfather went back to his own country, to Akabo; and his old friends in the country were astonished, seeing how much money he had to spend. He said 'Yes. I have many rich friends in Yedo. They want pretty country girls to be their wives. See, I pay you in advance five pieces of gold. After the marriage more money will be given. Let me take your prettiest girls to Yedo with me. And they will all get rich husbands.' They were simple country people, and they believed him because he was a man of their village, of Akabo. He went back to Yedo with about twenty girls, fifteen or sixteen years old. He and the other clerks of the Yoshiwara first made them _jor[=o]_. From those twenty girls he made very much money. So he married the woman who kept the house. Then he hired a big house called Tomonji. He furnished it very richly; and he would only receive guests of the high-class people. Five of his girls became very famous _oiran_. Even their pictures, drawn by Utamaro, are worth now hundreds of _yen_. When our great-great-grandfather died he was a very rich man. His son was the second Fujinami. He bought more houses in the Yoshiwara and more girls. He was our great-grandfather. He had two sons. One was your father's father, who bought this land and first built a house here. The other was my grandfather, Fujinami Gennosuké, who still lives in the _inkyo_. They have all made much money from girls; but the curse was hurting them all, especially their wives and daughters." "And my father?" asked Asako. "Your father wrote a book to say how bad a thing it is that money is made from men's lust and the pain of Women. He told in the book how girls are tricked to come to Tokyo, how their parents sell them because they are poor or because there is famine, how the girls are brought to Tokyo ten and twenty at a time, and are put to auction sale in the Yoshiwara, how they are shut up like prisoner, how very rough men are sent to them to break their spirit and to compel them to be _jor[=o]_. There is a trial to see how strong they are. Then, when the spirit is broken, they are shown in the window as 'new girls' with beautiful kimono and with wreath of flowers on their head. If they are lucky they escape disease for a few years, but it comes soon or late--_rinbyo, baidoku_ and _raibyo_. They are sent to the hospital for treatment; or else they are told to hide the disease and to get more men. So the men take the disease and bring it to their wives and children, who have done no wrong. But the girls of the Yoshiwara have to work all the time, when they are only half cured. So they become old and ugly and rotten very quickly. Then, if they take consumption or some such thing, they die and the master says, 'It is well. She was already too old. She was wasting our money.' And they are buried quickly in the burial place of the _jor[=o]_ outside the city boundary, the burial place of the dead who are forgotten. Or some, who are very strong, live until their contract is finished. Then they go back to the country, and marry there and spread disease. But they all die cursing the Fujinami, who have made money out of their sorrow and pain. I think this garden is full of their ghosts, and their curses beat upon the house, like the wind when it makes the shutters rattle!" "How do you know all these terrible things?" asked Asako. "It is written in your father's book. I will read it to you. If you do not believe, ask Ito San. He will tell you it is true." So for several evenings Sadako read to this stranger Fujinami her own father's words, the words of a forerunner. Japan is still a savage country, wrote Fujinami Katsundo, the Japanese are still barbarians. To compare the conventional codes, which they have mistaken for civilization, with the depth and the height of Occidental idealism, as Christ perceived it and Dante and St. Francis of Assisi and Tolstoy, is "to compare the tortoise with the moon." Japan is imitating from the West its worst propensities--hard materialism, vulgarity and money-worship. The Japanese must be humble, and must admit that the most difficult part of their lesson has yet to be learned. Cut and dried systems are useless. Prussian constitution, technical education, military efficiency and bravado--such things are not progress. Japan must denounce the slavery of ancestor-worship, and escape from the rule of the dead. She must chase away the bogeys of superstition, and enjoy life as a lovely thing, and love as the vision of a life still more beautiful. She must cleanse her land of all its filth, and make it what it still might be--the Country of the Rising Sun. Such was the message of Asako's father in his book, _The Real Shinto_. "We are not allowed to read this book," Sadako explained; "the police have forbidden it. But I found a secret copy. It was undutiful of your father to write such things. He went away from Japan; and everyone said, 'It is a good thing he has gone; he was a bad man; he shamed his country and his family.'" There was much in the book which Asako could not follow. Her cousin tried to explain it to her; and many nights passed, thus, the two girls sitting up and reading by the pale light of the _andon_. It was like a renewal of the old friendship. Sometimes a low whistle sounded from outside the house. Sadako would lay aside the book, would slip on her cloak and go out into the garden, where Sekiné was waiting for her. When she was left to herself Asako began to think for the first time in her life. Hitherto her thoughts had been concerned merely with her own pleasures and pains, with the smiles and frowns of those around her, with petty events and trifling projects. Perhaps, because some of her father's blood was alive in her veins, she could understand certain aspects of his book more clearly than her interpreter, Sadako. She knew now why Geoffrey would not touch her money. It was filthy, it was diseased, like the poor women who had earned it. Of course, her Geoffrey preferred poverty to wealth like that. Could she face poverty with him? Why, she was poor already, here in her cousins' house. Where was the luxury which her money used to buy? She was living the life of a servant and a prisoner. What would be the end of it? Surely Geoffrey would come back to her, and take her away! But he had no money now, and it would cost much money to travel to Japan. And then, this terrible war! Geoffrey was a soldier. He would be sure to be there, leading his men. Supposing he were killed? One night in a dream she saw his body carried past her, limp and bleeding. She screamed in her sleep. Sadako awoke, terrified. "What is the matter?" "I dreamed of Geoffrey, my husband. Perhaps he is killed in the war." "Do not say that," said Sadako. "It is unlucky to speak of death. It troubles the ghosts. I have told you this house is haunted." Certainly for Asako the Fujinami mansion had lost its charm. Even the beautiful landscape was besieged by horrible thoughts. Every day two or three of the Yoshiwara women died of disease and neglect, so Sadako said and therefore every day the invisible population of the Fujinami garden must be increasing, and the volume of their curses must be gathering in intensity. The ghosts hissed like snakes in the bamboo grove. They sighed in the pine branches. They nourished the dwarf shrubs with their pollution. Beneath the waters of the lake the corpses--women's corpses--were laid out in rows. Their thin hands shook the reeds. Their pale faces rose at night to the surface, and stared at the moon. The autumn maples smeared the scene with infected blood; and the stone foxes in front of the shrine of Inari sneered and grinned at the devil world which their foul influence had called into being through the black witchcraft of lechery, avarice and disease. CHAPTER XXIV THE AUTUMN FESTIVAL _Yo no naka ni Ushi no Kuruma no Nakari-seba, Omoi no iye wo Ikade ide-mashi?_ In this world If there were no Ox-cart (_i.e._ Buddhist religion), How should we escape From the (burning) mansion of our thought? During October, the whole family of the Fujinami removed from Tokyo for a few days in order to perform their religious duties at the temple of Ikégami. Even grandfather Gennosuké emerged from his dower-house, bringing his wife, O Tsugi. Mr. Fujinami Gentaro was in charge of his own wife, Shidzuyé San, of Sadako and of Asako. Only Fujinami Takeshi, the son and heir, with his wife Matsuko, was absent. There had been some further trouble in the family which had not been confided to Asako, but which necessitated urgent steps for the propitiation of religious influences. The Fujinami were followers of the Nichiren sect of Buddhism. Their conspicuous devotion and their large gifts to the priests of the temple were held to be causes of their ever-increasing prosperity. The dead Fujinami, down from that great-great-grandfather who had first come to seek his fortune in Yedo, were buried at Ikégami. Here the priests gave to each _hotoké_ (Buddha or dead person) his new name, which was inscribed on small black tablets, the _ihai_. One of these tablets for each dead person was kept in the household shrine at Tokyo, and one in the temple at Ikégami. Asako was taken to the October festival, because her father too was buried in the temple grounds--one small bone of him, that is to say, an _ikotsu_ or legacy bone, posted home from Paris before the rest of his mortality found alien sepulture at Père Lachaise. Masses were said for the dead; and Asako was introduced to the tablet. But she did not feel the same emotion as when she first visited the Fujinami house. Now, she had heard her father's authentic voice. She knew his scorn for pretentiousness of all kinds, for false conventions, for false emotions, his hatred of priestcraft, his condemnation of the family wealth, and his contempt for the little respectabilities of Japanese life. * * * * * A temple in Japan is not merely a building; it is a site. These sites were most carefully chosen with the same genius which guided our Benedictines and Carthusians. The site of Ikégami is a long-abrupt hill, half-way between Tokyo and Yokohama. It is clothed with _cryptomeria_ trees. These dark conifers, like immense cypresses, give to the spot that grave, silent, irrevocable atmosphere, with which Boecklin has invested his picture of the Island of the Dead. These majestic trees are essentially a part of the temple. They correspond to the pillars of our Gothic cathedrals. The roof is the blue vault of heaven; and the actual buildings are but altars, chantries and monuments. A steep flight of steps is suspended like a cascade from the crest of the hill. Up and down these steps, the wooden clogs of the Japanese people patter incessantly like water-drops. At the top of the steps stands the towered gateway, painted with red ochre, which leads to the precincts. The guardians of the gate, _Ni-O_, the two gigantic Deva kings, who have passed from India into Japanese mythology, are encaged in the gateway building. Their cage and their persons are littered with nasty morsels of chewed paper, wherever their worshippers have literally spat their prayers at them. Within the enclosure are the various temple buildings, the bell-tower, the library, the washing-trough, the hall of votive offerings, the sacred bath-house, the stone lanterns and the lodgings for the pilgrims; also the two main halls for the temple services, which are raised on low piles and are linked together by a covered bridge, so that they look like twin arks of safety, floating just five feet above the troubles of this life. These buildings are most of them painted red; and there is fine carving on panels, friezes and pediments, and also much tawdry gaudiness. Behind these two sanctuaries is the mortuary chapel where repose the memories of many of the greatest in the land. Behind this again are the priests' dormitories, with a lovely hidden garden hanging on the slopes of a sudden ravine; its presiding genius is an old pine-tree, beneath which Nichiren himself, a contemporary and a counterpart of Saint Dominic, used to meditate on his project for a Universal Church, founded on the life of Buddha, and led by the apostolate of Japan. * * * * * For the inside of a week the Fujinami dwelt in one of a row of stalls, like loose-boxes, within the temple precincts. The festival might have some affinity with the Jewish Feast of Tabernacles, when the devout left their city dwellings to live in booths outside the walls. _Namu my[=o]h[=o] renge ky[=o]._ (Adoration to the Wonderful Law of the Lotus Scriptures!) The famous formula of the priests of the Nichiren sect was being repeated over and over again to the accompaniment of drums; for in the sacred text itself lies the only authentic Way of Salvation. With exemplary insistence Mr. Fujinami Gennosuké was beating out the rhythm of the prayer with a wooden clapper on the _mokugy[=o]_, a wooden drum, shaped like a fish's head. _Namu my[=o]h[=o] renge ky[=o]_. From every corner of the temple _enclave_ the invocation was droning like a threshing machine. Asako's Catholic conscience, now awakening from the spell which Japan had cast upon it, became uneasy about its share in these pagan rites. In order to drive the echo of the litany out of her ears, she tried to concentrate her attention upon watching the crowd. _Namu my[=o]h[=o] renge ky[=o]_. Around her was a dense multitude of pilgrims, in their hundreds of thousands, shuffling, chaffering and staring. Some, like the Fujinami, had hired temporary lodgings, and had cooks and servants in attendance. Some were camping in the open. Others were merely visiting the temple for the inside of the day. The crowds kept on shifting and mingling like ants on an ant-hill. Enjoyment, rather than piety, was the prevailing spirit; for this was one of the few annual holidays of the industrious Tokyo artisan. In the central buildings, five feet above this noisy confluence of people, where the golden images of the Buddhas are enthroned, the mitred priests with their copes of gold-embroidered brown were performing the rituals of their order. To right and left of the high altar, the canons squatting at their red-lacquered praying-desks, were reciting the _sutras_ in strophe and antistrophe. Clouds of incense rose. In the adjoining building an earnest young preacher was exhorting a congregation of elderly and somnolent ladies to eschew the lusts of the flesh and to renounce the world and its gauds, marking each point in his discourse with raps of his fan. Foxy-faced satellites of the abbey were doing a roaring trade in charms against various accidents, and in sacred scrolls printed with prayers or figures of Nichiren. The temple-yard was an immense fancy fair. The temple pigeons wheeled disconsolately in the air or perched upon the roofs, unable to find one square foot of the familiar flagstones, where they were used to strut and peck. Stalls lined the stone pathways and choked the spaces between the buildings. Merchants were peddling objects of piety, sacred images, charms and rosaries; and there were flowers for the women's hair, and toys for the children, and cakes and biscuits, _biiru_ (beer) and _ramuné_ (lemonade) and a distressing sickly drink called "champagne cider" and all manner of vanities. In one corner of the square a theatre was in full swing, the actors making up in public on a balcony above the crowd, so as to whet their curiosity and attract their custom. Beyond was a cinematograph, advertised by lurid paintings of murders and apparitions; and farther on there was a circus with a mangy zoo. The crowd was astonishingly mixed. There were prosperous merchants of Tokyo with their wives, children, servants and apprentices. There were students with their blue and white spotted cloaks, their _képis_ with the school badge, and their ungainly stride. There were modern young men in _y[=o]fuku_ (European dress), with panama hats, swagger canes and side-spring shoes, supercilious in attitude and proud of their unbelief. There were troops of variegated children, dragging at their elders' hands or kimonos, or getting lost among the legs of the multitude like little leaves in an eddy. There were excursion parties from the country, with their kimonos caught up to the knees, and with baked earthen faces stupidly staring, sporting each a red flower or a coloured towel for identification purposes. There were labourers in tight trousers and tabard jackets, inscribed with the name and profession of their employer. There were _geisha_ girls on their best behaviour, in charge of a professional auntie, and recognizable only by the smart cut of their cloaks and the deep space between the collar and the nape of the neck, where the black _chignon_ lay. Close to the tomb of Nichiren stood a Japanese Salvationist, a zealous pimply young man, wearing the red and blue uniform of General Booth with _kaiseigun_ (World-saving Army) in Japanese letters round his staff cap. He stood in front of a screen, on which the first verse of "Onward, Christian Soldiers," was written in a Japanese translation. An assistant officiated at a wheezy harmonium. The tune was vaguely akin to its Western prototype; and the two evangelists were trying to induce a tolerant but uninterested crowd to join in the chorus. Everywhere beggars were crawling over the compound in various states of filth. Some, however, were so ghastly that they were excluded from the temple enclosure. They had lined up among the trunks of the cryptomeria trees, among the little grey tombs with their fading inscriptions and the moss-covered statues of kindly Buddhas. Asako gave a penny into the crooked hand of one poor sightless wretch. "Oh, no!" cried cousin Sadako; "do not go near to them. Do not touch them. They are lepers." Some of them had no arms, or had mere stumps ending abruptly in a red and sickening object like a bone which a dog has been chewing. Some had no legs, and were pulled along on little wheeled trolleys by their less dilapidated companions in misfortune. Some had no features. Their faces were mere glabrous disks, from which eyes and nose had completely vanished; only the mouth remained, a toothless gap fringed with straggling hairs. Some had faces abnormally bloated, with powerful foreheads and heavy jowls, which gave them an expression of stony immobility like Byzantine lions. All were fearfully dirty and covered with sores and lice. The people passing by smiled at their grim unsightliness, and threw pennies to them, for which they scrambled and scratched like beasts. _Namu my[=o]h[=o] renge ky[=o]_. Asako's relatives spent the day in eating, drinking and gossiping to the rhythm of the interminable prayer. It was a perfect day of autumn, which is the sweetest season in Japan. A warm bright sun had been shining on the sumptuous colours of the waning year, on the brilliant reds and yellows which clothed the neighbouring hills, on the broad brown plain with its tesselated design of bare rice-fields, on the brown villas and cottages huddled in their fences of evergreen like birds in their nests, on the red trunks of the cryptomeria trees, on the brown carpet of matted pine-needles, on the grey crumbling stones of the old graveyard, on the high-pitched temple roofs, and on the inconsequential swarms of humanity drifting to their devotions, casting their pennies into the great alms-trough in front of the shrine, clanging the brass bell with a prayer for good luck, and drifting home again with their bewildered, happy children. Asako no longer felt like a Japanese. The sight of her countrymen in their drab monotonous thousands sickened her. The hiss and cackle of their incomprehensible tongue beat upon her brain with a deadly incessant sound, like raindrops to one who is impatiently awaiting the return of fine weather. Here at Ikégami, the distant view of the sea and the Yokohama shipping invited Asako to escape. But where could she escape to? To England. She was an Englishwoman no longer. She had cast her husband off for insufficient reasons. She had been cold, loveless, narrow-minded and silly. She had acted, as she now recognised, largely on the suggestion of others. Like a fool she had believed what had been told. She had not trusted her love for her husband. As usual, her thoughts returned to Geoffrey, and to the constant danger which threatened him. Lately, she had started to write a letter to him several times, but had never got further than "Dearest Geoffrey." She was glad when the irritating day was over, when the rosy sunset clouds showed through the trunks of the cryptomerias, when the night fell and the great stars like lamps hung in the branches. But the night brought no silence. Paper lanterns were lighted round the temple; and rough acetylene flares lit up the tawdry fairings. The chattering, the bargaining, the clatter of the _geta_ became more terrifying even than in daytime. It was like being in the darkness in a cage of wild beasts, heard, felt, but unseen. The evening breeze was cold. In spite of the big wooden fireboxes strewn over their stall, the Fujinami were shivering. "Let us go for a walk," suggested cousin Sadako. The two girls strolled along the ridge of the hill as far as the five-storied pagoda. They passed the tea-house, so famous for its plum-blossoms in early March. It was brightly lighted. The paper rectangles of the _shoji_ were aglow like an illuminated honeycomb. The wooden walls resounded with the jangle of the _samisen_, the high screaming _geisha_ voices, and the rough laughter of the guests. From one room the _shoji_ were pushed open; and drunken men could be seen with kimonos thrown back from their shoulders showing a body reddened with _saké_. They had taken the _geishas_' instruments from them, and were performing an impromptu song and dance, while the girls clapped their hands and writhed with laughter. Beyond the tea-house, the din of the festival was hushed. Only from the distance came the echo of the song, the rasp of the forced merriment, the clatter of the _geta_, and the hum of the crowd. Starlight revealed the landscape. The moon was rising through a cloud's liquescence. Soon the hundreds of rice-plots would catch her full reflection. The outline of the coast of Tokyo Bay was visible as far as Yokohama; so were the broad pool of Ikégami and the lumpy masses of the hills inland. The landscape was alive with lights, lights dim, lights bright, lights stationary, lights in swaying movement round each centre of population. It looked as if the stars had fallen from heaven, and were being shifted and sorted by careful gleaners. As each nebula of white illumination assembled itself, it began to move across the vast plain, drawn inwards towards Ikégami from every point of the compass as though by a magnetic force. These were the lantern processions of pilgrims. They looked like the souls of the righteous rising from earth to heaven in a canto from Dante. The clusters of lights started, moved onwards, paused, re-grouped themselves, and struggled forward, until in the narrow street of the village under the hill Asako could distinguish the shapes of the lantern-bearers and their strange antics, and the sacred palanquin, a kind of enormous wooden bee-hive, which was the centre of each procession, borne on the sturdy shoulders of a swarm of young men to the beat of drums and the inevitable chant. _Namu my[=o]h[=o] renge ky[=o]_. Slowly the procession jolted up the steep stairway, and came to rest with their heavy burdens in front of the temple of Nichiren. "It is very silly," said cousin Sadako, "to be so superstitious, I think." "Then why are we here?" asked Asako. "My grandfather is very superstitious; and my father is afraid to say 'No' to him. My father does not believe in any gods or Buddhas; but he says it does no harm, and it may do good. All our family is _gohei-katsugi_ (brandishers of sacred symbols). We think that with all this prayer we can turn away the trouble of Takeshi." "Why, what is the matter with Mr. Takeshi? Why is he not here? and Matsuko San and the children?" "It is a great secret," said the Fujinami cousin, "you will tell no one. You will pretend also even with me that you do not know. Takeshi San is very sick. The doctor says that he is a leper." Asako stared, uncomprehending. Sadako went on,-- "You saw this morning those ugly beggars. They were all so terrible to see, and their bodies were so rotten. My brother is becoming like that. It is a sickness. It cannot be cured. It will kill him very slowly. Perhaps his wife Matsu and his children also have the sickness. Perhaps we too are sick. No one can tell, not for many years." Ugly wings seemed to cover the night. The world beneath the hill had become the Pit of Hell, and the points of light were devils' spears. Asako trembled. "What does it mean?" she asked. "How did Takeshi San become sick?" "It was a _tenbatsu_ (judgment of heaven)," answered her cousin. "Takeshi San was a bad man. He was rude to his father, and he was cruel to his wife. He thought only of _geisha_ and bad women. No doubt, he became sick from touching a woman who was sick. Besides, it is the bad _ingé_ of the Fujinami family. Did not the old woman of Akabo say so? It is the curse of the Yoshiwara women. It will be our turn next, yours and mine." No wonder that poor Asako could not sleep that night in the cramped promiscuity of the family dead. Fujinami Takeshi had been sickly for some time; but then his course of life could hardly be called a healthy one. On his return from his summer holiday, red patches had appeared on the palms of his hands, and afterwards on his forehead. He had complained of the irritation caused by this "rash." Professor Kashio had been called in to prescribe. A blood test was taken. The doctor then pronounced that the son and heir was suffering from leprosy, and for that there was no cure. The disease is accompanied by irritation, but by little actual pain. Constant application of compresses can allay the itching, and can often save the patient from the more ghastly ravages of disfigurement. But, slowly, the limbs lose their force, the fingers and toes drop away, the hair falls, and merciful blindness comes to hide from the sufferer the living corpse to which his spirit is bound. More merciful yet, the slow decay attacks the organs of the body. Often consumption intervenes. Often just a simple cold suffices to snuff out the flickering life. In the village of Kusatsu, beyond the Karuizawa mountains, there is a natural hot spring, whose waters are beneficial for the alleviation of the disease. In this place there is a settlement of well-to-do lepers. Thither it was decided to banish poor Takeshi. His wife, Matsuko, naturally was expected to accompany him, to nurse him and to make life as comfortable for him as she could. Her eventual doom was almost certain. But there was no question, no choice, no hesitation and no praise. Every Japanese wife is obliged to become an Alcestis, if her husband's well-being demand it. The children were sent to the ancestral village of Akabo. CHAPTER XXV JAPANESE COURTSHIP _O-bune no Hatsuru-tomari no Tayutai ni Mono-omoi-yase-nu Hito no ko yuye ni_. With a rocking (As) of great ships Riding at anchor I have at last become worn out with love, Because of a child of a man. When the Fujinami returned to Tokyo, the wing of the house in which the unfortunate son had lived, had been demolished. An ugly scar remained, a slab of charred concrete strewn with ashes and burned beams. Saddest sight of all was the twisted iron work of Takeshi's foreign bedstead, once the symbol of progress and of the _haikara_ spirit. The fire was supposed to have been accidental; but the ravages had been carefully limited to the offending wing. Mr. Fujinami Gentaro, disgusted at this unsightly wreckage wished to rebuild at once. But the old grandfather had objected that this spot of misfortune was situated in the northeast corner of the mansion, a quarter notoriously exposed to the attacks of _oni_ (evil spirits). He was in favor of total demolishment. This was only one of the differences of opinion between the two seniors of the house of Fujinami, which became more frequent as the clouds of disaster gathered over the home in Akasaka. A far more thorny problem was the question of the succession. With the living death of Takeshi, there was no male heir. Several family councils were held in the presence of the two Mr. Fujinami generally in the lower-house, at which six or seven members of the collateral branches were also present. Grandfather Gennosuké, who despised Takeshi as a waster, would not listen to any plea on behalf of his children. "To a bad father a bad child," he enunciated, his restless jaw masticating more ferociously than ever. He was strongly of opinion that it was the curse of Asako's father which had brought this sorrow upon his family. Katsundo and Asako were representatives of the elder branch. Himself, Gentaro and Takeshi were mere usurpers. Restore the elder branch to its rights, and the indignant ghost would cease to plague them all. Such was the argument of grandfather Gennosuké. Fujinami Gentaro naturally supported the claims of his own progeny. If Takeshi's children must be disinherited because of the leprous strain, then, at least, Sadako remained. She was a well-educated and serious girl. She knew foreign languages. She could make a brilliant marriage. Her husband would be adopted as heir. Perhaps the Governor of Osaka? The other members of the council shook their heads, and breathed deeply. Were there no Fujinami left of the collateral branches? Why adopt a _tanin_ (outside person)? So spoke the M.P., the man with a wen, who had an axe of his own to grind. It was decided to choose the son-in-law candidate first of all; and, afterwards, to decide which of the girls he was to marry. Perhaps it would be as well to consult the fortune tellers. At any rate, a list of suitable applicants would be prepared for the next meeting. "When men speak of the future," said grandfather Gennosuké, "the rats in the ceiling laugh." So the conference broke up. Mr. Fujinami Gentaro had no sooner returned to the academic calm of his chaste reading room, than Mr. Ito appeared on the threshold. The oily face was more moist than usual, the buffalo-horn moustache more truculent; and though the autumn day was cool, Ito was agitating a fan. He was evidently nervous. Before approaching the sanctum, he had blown his nose into a small square piece of soft paper, which is the Japanese apology for a handkerchief. He had looked around for some place where to cast the offence; but finding none along the trim garden border, he had slipped it into his wide kimono sleeve. Mr. Fujinami frowned. He was tired of business matters, and the worry of other people's affairs. He longed for peace. "Indeed, the weather becomes perceptibly cooler," said Mr. Ito, with a low prostration. "If there is business," his patron replied crisply, "please step up into the room." Mr. Ito slipped off his _geta_, and ascended from the garden path. When he had settled himself in the correct attitude with legs crossed and folded, Mr. Fujinami pushed over towards him a packet of cigarettes, adding; "Please, without embarrassment, speak quickly what you have to say." Mr. Ito chose a cigarette, and slowly pinched together the cardboard holder, which formed its lower half. "Indeed, _sensei_, it is a difficult matter," he began. "It is a matter which should be handled by an intermediary. If I speak face to face like a foreigner the master will excuse my rudeness." "Please, speak clearly." "I owe my advancement in life entirely to the master. I was the son of poor parents. I was an emigrant and a vagabond over three thousand worlds. The master gave me a home and lucrative employment. I have served the master for many years; with my poor effort the fortunes of the family have perhaps increased. I have become as it were a _son_ to the Fujinami." He paused at the word "son." His employer had caught his meaning, and was frowning more than ever. At last he answered: "To expect too much is a dangerous thing. To choose a _yoshi_ (adopted son) is a difficult question. I myself cannot decide such grave matters. There must be consultation with the rest of the Fujinami family. You yourself have suggested that Governor Sugiwara might perhaps be a suitable person." "At that time the talk was of Sada San; this time the talk is of Asa San." A flash of inspiration struck Mr. Fujinami Gentaro, and a gush of relief. By giving her to Ito, he might be able to side-track Asako, and leave the highway to inheritance free for his own daughter. But Ito had grown too powerful to be altogether trusted. "It must be clearly understood," said the master, "that it is the husband of our Sada who will be the Fujinami _yoshi_." Ito bowed. "Thanks to the master," he said, "there is money in plenty. There is no desire to speak of such matters. The request is for Asa San only. Truly, the heart is speaking. That girl is a beautiful child, and altogether a _haikara_ person. My wife is old and barren and of low class. I wish to have a wife who is worthy of my position in the house of Fujinami San." The head of the family cackled with sudden laughter; he was much relieved. "Ha! Ha! Ito Kun! So it is love, is it? You are in love like a school student. Well, indeed, love is a good thing. What you have said shall be well considered." So the lawyer was dismissed. Accordingly, at the next family council Mr. Fujinami put forward the proposal that Asako should be married forthwith to the family factotum, who should be given a lump sum down in consideration for a surrender of all further claim in his own name or his wife's to any share in the family capital. "Ito Kun," he concluded, "is the brain of our business. He is the family _karo_ (prime minister). I think it would be well to give this Asa to him." To his surprise, the proposal met with unanimous opposition. The rest of the family envied and disliked Ito, who was regarded as Mr. Fujinami's pampered favourite. Grandfather Gennosuké was especially indignant. "What?" he exploded in one of those fits of rage common to old men in Japan; "give the daughter of the elder branch to a butler, to a man whose father ran between rickshaw shafts. If the spirit of Katsundo has not heard this foolish talk it would be a good thing for us. Already there is a bad _ingé_. By doing such a thing it will become worse and worse, until the whole house of Fujinami is ruined. This Ito is a rascal, a thief, a good-for-nothing, a----" The old gentleman collapsed. Again the council separated, still undecided except for one thing that the claim of Mr. Ito to the hand of Asako was quite inadmissible. When the "family prime minister" next pressed his master on the subject, Mr. Fujinami had to confess that the proposal had been rejected. Then Ito unmasked his batteries, and his patron had to realize that the servant was a servant no longer. Ito said that it was necessary for him to have Asa San and that before the end of the year. He was in love with this girl. Passion was an overwhelming thing. "Two things have ever been the same Since the Age of the Gods-- The flowing of water, And the way of Love." This old Japanese poem he quoted as his excuse for what would otherwise be an inexcusable impertinence. The master was aware that politics in Japan were in an unsettled state, and that the new Cabinet was scarcely established; that a storm would overthrow it, and that the Opposition were already looking about for a suitable scandal to use for their revenge. He, Ito, held the evidence which they desired--the full story of the Tobita concession, with the names and details of the enormous bribes distributed by the Fujinami. If these things were published, the Government would certainly fall; also the Tobita concession would be lost and the whole of that great outlay; also the Fujinami's leading political friends would be discredited and ruined. There would be a big trial, and exposure, and outcry, and judgment, and prison. The master must excuse his servant for speaking so rudely to his benefactor. But in love there are no scruples; and he must have Asa San. After all, after his long service, was his request so unreasonable? Mr. Fujinami Gentaro, thoroughly scared, protested that he himself was in favour of the match. He begged for time so as to be able to convert the other members of the family council. "Perhaps," suggested Ito, "if Asa San were sent away from Akasaka, perhaps if she were living alone, it would be more easy to manage. What is absent is soon forgotten. Mr. Fujinami Gennosuké is a very old gentleman; he would soon forget. Sada San could then take her proper position as the only daughter of the Fujinami. Was there not a small house by the river side at Mukojima, which had been rented for Asa San? Perhaps she would like to live there--quite alone." "Perhaps Ito Kun would visit her from time to time," said Mr. Fujinami, pleased with the idea; "she will be so lonely; there is no knowing." The one person who was never consulted, and who had not the remotest notion of what was going on, was Asako herself. * * * * * Asako was most unhappy. The disappearance of Fujinami Takeshi exasperated the competition between herself and her cousin. Just as formerly all Sadako's intelligence and charm had been exerted to attract her English relative to the house in Akasaka, so now she applied all her force to drive her cousin out of the family circle. For many weeks now Asako had been ignored; but after the return from Ikégami a positive persecution commenced. Although the nights were growing chilly, she was given no extra bedding. Her meals were no longer served to her; she had to get what she could from the kitchen. The servants, imitating their mistress's attitude were deliberately disobliging and rude to the little foreigner. Sadako and her mother would sneer at her awkwardness and at her ignorance of Japanese customs. Her _obi_ was tied anyhow; for she had no maid. Her hair was untidy; for she was not allowed a hairdresser. They nicknamed her _rashamen_ (goat face), using an ugly slang word for a foreigner's Japanese mistress; and they would pretend that she smelt like a European. "_Kusai! Kusai_! (Stink! Stink!)" they would say. The war even was used to bait Asako. Every German success was greeted with acclamation. The exploits of the _Emden_ were loudly praised; and the tragedy of Coronel was gloated over with satisfaction. "The Germans will win because they are brave," said Sadako. "The English lose too many prisoners; Japanese soldiers are never taken prisoner." "When the Japanese general ordered the attack on Tsingtao, the English regiment ran away!" Cousin Sadako announced her intention of studying German. "Nobody will speak English now," she said. "The English are disgraced. They cannot fight." "I wish Japan would make war on the English," Asako answered bitterly, "you would get such a beating that you would never boast again. Look at my husband," she added proudly; "he is so big and strong and brave. He could pick up two or three Japanese generals like toys and knock their heads together." Even Mr. Fujinami Gentaro joined once or twice in these debates, and announced sententiously: "Twenty years ago Japan defeated China and took Korea. Ten years ago we defeated Russia and took Manchuria. This year we defeat Germany and take Tsingtao. In ten years we shall defeat America and take Hawaii and the Philippines. In twenty years we shall defeat England and take India and Australia. Then we Japanese shall be the most powerful nation in the world. This is our divine mission." It was characteristic of the loyalty of Asako's nature, that, although very ignorant of the war, of its causes and its vicissitudes, yet she remained fiercely true to England and the Allies, and could never accept the Japanese detachment. Above all, the thought of her husband's danger haunted her. Waking and sleeping she could see him, sword in hand, leading his men to desperate hand-to-hand struggles, like those portrayed in the crude Japanese chromographs, which Sadako showed her to play upon her fears. Poor Asako! How she hated Japan now! How she loathed the cramped, draughty, uncomfortable life! How she feared the smiling faces and the watchful eyes, from which it seemed she never could escape! Christmas was at hand, the season of pretty presents and good things to eat. Her last Christmas she had spent with Geoffrey on the Riviera. Lady Everington had been there. They had watched the pigeon shooting in the warm sunlight. They had gone to the opera in the evening--_Madame Butterfly!_ Asako had imagined herself in the rôle of the heroine, so gentle, so faithful, waiting and waiting in her little wooden house for the big white husband--who never came. What was that? She heard the guns of his ship saluting the harbour. He was coming back to her at last--but not alone! A woman was with him, a white woman! Alone, in her bare room--her only companion a flaky yellow chrysanthemum nodding in the draught--Asako sobbed and sobbed as though her heart were breaking. Somebody tapped at the sliding shutter. Asako could not answer. The _shoji_ was pushed open, and Tanaka entered. Asako was glad to see him. Alone of the household Tanaka was still deferential in his attitude towards his late mistress. He was always ready to talk about the old times which gave her a bitter pleasure. "If Ladyship is so sad," he began, as he had been coached in his part beforehand by the Fujinami, "why Ladyship stay in this house? Change house, change trouble, we say." "But where can I go?" Asako asked helplessly. "Ladyship has pretty house by river brink," suggested Tanaka. "Ladyship can stay two month, three month. Then the springtime come and Ladyship feel quite happy again. Even I, in the winter season, I find the mind very distress. It is often so." To be alone, to be free from the daily insults and cruelty; this in itself would be happiness to Asako. "But will Mr. Fujinami allow me to go?" she asked, timorously. "Ladyship must be brave," said the counselor. "Ladyship is not prisoner. Ladyship must say, I go. But perhaps I can arrange matter for Ladyship." "Oh, Tanaka, please, please do. I'm so unhappy here." "I will hire cook and maid for Ladyship. I myself will be seneschal!" Mr. Fujinami Gentaro and his family were delighted to hear that their plan was working so smoothly, and that they could so easily get rid of their embarrassing cousin. The "seneschal" was instructed at once to see about arrangements for the house, which had not been lived in since its new tenancy. Next evening, when Asako had spread the two quilts on the golden matting, when she had lit the rushlight in the square _andon_, when the two girls were lying side by side under the heavy wadded bedclothes, Sadako said to her cousin: "Asa Chan, I do not think you like me now as much as you used to like me." "I always like people when I have once liked them," said Asako; "but everything is different now." "I see, your heart changes quickly," said her cousin bitterly. "No, I have tried to change, but I cannot change. I have tried to become Japanese, but I cannot even learn the Japanese language. I do not like the Japanese way of living. In France and in England I was always happy. I don't think I shall ever be happy again." "You ought to be more grateful," said Sadako severely. "We have saved you from your husband, who was cruel and deceitful--" "No, I don't believe that now. My husband and I loved each other always. You people came between us with wicked lies and separated us." "Anyhow, you have made the choice. You have chosen to be Japanese. You can never be English again." The Fujinami had hypnotized Asako with this phrase, as a hen can be hypnotized with a chalk line. Day after day it was dinned into her ears, cutting off all hope of escape from the country or of appeal to her English friends. "You had better marry a Japanese," said Sadako, "or you will become old maid. Why not marry Ito San? He says he likes you. He is a clever man. He has plenty of money. He is used to foreign ways." "Marry Mr. Ito!" Asako exclaimed, aghast; "but he has a wife already." "They will divorce. It is no trouble. There are not even children." "I would rather die than marry any Japanese," said Asako with conviction. Sadako Fujinami turned her back and pretended to sleep; but long through the dark cold night Asako could feel her turning restlessly to and fro. Some time about midnight Asako heard her name called: "Asa Chan, are you awake?" "Yes; is anything the matter?" "Asa Chan, in your house by the river you will be lonely. You will not be afraid?" "I am not afraid to be lonely," Asako answered; "I am afraid of people." "Look!" said her cousin; "I give you this." She drew from the bosom of her kimono the short sword in its sheath of shagreen, which Asako had seen once or twice before. "It is very old," she continued; "it belonged to my mother's people. They were _samurai_ of the Sendai clan. In old Japan every noble girl carried such a short sword; for she said, 'Better death than dishonour.' When the time came to die she would strike--here, in the throat, not too hard, but pushing strongly. But first she would tie her feet together with the _obidomé_, the silk string which you have to hold your _obi_ straight. That was in case the legs open too much; she must not die in immodest attitude. So when General Nogi did _harakiri_ at Emperor Meiji's funeral, his wife, Countess Nogi, killed herself also with such a sword. I give you my sword because in the house by the river you will be lonely--and things might happen. I can never use the sword myself now. It was the sword of my ancestors. I am not pure now. I cannot use the sword. If I kill myself I throw myself into the river like a common _geisha_. I think it is best you marry Ito. In Japan it is bad to have a husband; but to have no husband, it is worse." CHAPTER XXVI ALONE IN TOKYO _Kuraki yori Kuraki michi ni zo Iri-nu-beki: Haruka ni terase Yuma no ha no tsuki!_ Out of the dark Into a dark path I now must enter: Shine (on me) from afar, Moon of the mountain fringe! Some days before Christmas Asako had moved into her own little home. To be free, to have escaped from the watchful eyes and the whispering tongues to be at liberty to walk about the streets and to visit the shops, as an independent lady of Japan--these were such unfamiliar joys to her that for a time she forgot how unhappy she really was, and how she longed for Geoffrey's company as of old. Only in the evenings a sense of insecurity rose with the river mists, and a memory of Sadako's warning shivered through the lonely room with the bitter cold of the winter air. It was then that Asako felt for the little dagger resting hidden in her bosom just as Sadako had shown her how to wear it. It was then that she did not like to be alone, and that she summoned Tanaka to keep her company and to while away the time with his quaint loquacity. Considering that he had been largely instrumental in breaking up her happy life, considering that every day he stole from her and lied to her, it was wonderful that his mistress was still so attached to him, that, in fact, she regarded him as her only friend. He was like a bad habit or an old disease, which we almost come to cherish since we cannot be delivered from it. But, when Tanaka protested his devotion, did he mean what he said? There is a bedrock of loyalty in the Japanese nature. Half-way down the road to shame, it will halt of a sudden, and bungle back its way to honour. Then there is the love of the _beau geste_ which is an even stronger motive very often than the love of right-doing for its own sake. The favorite character of the Japanese drama is the _otokodaté_, the chivalrous champion of the common people who rescues beauty in distress from the lawless, bullying, two-sworded men. It tickled Tanaka's remarkable vanity to regard himself as the protector of this lonely and unfortunate lady. It might be said of him as of Lancelot, that-- "His honour rooted in dishonour stood, And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true." Asako was glad on the whole that she had no visitors. The Fujinami were busy with their New Year preparations. Christmas Day passed by, unheeded by the Japanese, though the personality and appearance of Santa Claus are not unknown to them. He stands in the big shop windows in Tokyo as in London, with his red cloak, his long white beard and his sack full of toys. Sometimes he is to be seen chatting with Buddhist deities, with the hammer-bearing Daikoku, with Ebisu the fisherman, with fat naked Hotei, and with Benten, the fair but frail. In fact, with the American Billiken, Santa Claus may be considered as the latest addition to the tolerant theocracy of Japan. Asako attended High Mass at the Catholic Cathedral in Tsukiji, the old foreign settlement. The music was crude; and there was a long sermon in Japanese. The magnificent bearded bishop, who officiated, was flanked by two native priests. But the familiar sounds and movements of the office soothed her, and the fragrance of the incense. The centre of the aisle was covered with straw mats where the Japanese congregation was squatting. Chairs for the foreigners were placed in the side aisles These were mostly members of the various Embassy and Legation staffs. For a moment Asako feared recognition. Then she remembered how entirely Japanese she had become--in appearance. Mr. Ito called during the afternoon to wish a Merry Christmas. Asako regaled him with thin green tea and little square cakes of ground rice, filled with a kind of bean paste called "_an_." She kept Tanaka in the room all the time; for Sadako's remarks about marriage with Ito had alarmed her. He was most agreeable, however, and most courteous. He amused Asako with stories of his experiences abroad. He admired the pretty little house and its position on the river bank; and, when he bowed his thanks for Asako's hospitality, he expressed a wish that he might come again many times in future. "I am afraid of him," Asako had confided to Tanaka, when the guest had departed, "because Sada San said that he wants to divorce his wife and marry me. You are to stop here with me in the room whenever he comes. Do not leave me alone, please." "Ladyship is _daimyo_," the round face answered; "Tanaka is faithful _samurai_. Tanaka gives life for Ladyship!" * * * * * It was the week before New Year. All along the Ginza, which is the main thoroughfare of Tokyo, along the avenue of slender willow trees which do their gallant utmost to break the monotony of the wide ramshackle street, were spread every evening the stock-in-trade of the _yomisé_, the night shops, which cater their most diverse wares for the aimless multitudes sauntering up and down the sidewalks. There are quack medicines and stylograph pens, clean wooden altar cabinets for the kitchen gods, and images of Daikoku and Ebisu; there are cheap underclothing and old hats, food of various kinds, boots and books and toys. But most fascinating of all are the antiquities. Strewn over a square six feet of ground are curios, most attractive to the unwary, especially by the deceptive light of kerosene lamps. One in a thousand perhaps may be a piece of real value; but almost every object has a character and a charm of its own. There are old gold screens, lacquer tables and cabinets, bronze vases, gilded Buddhas, fans, woodcuts, porcelains, _kakémono_ (hanging pictures), _makimono_ (illustrated scrolls), _inro_ (lacquer medicine boxes for the pocket), _netsuké_ (ivory or bone buttons, through which the cords of the tobacco pouch are slung), _tsuba_ (sword hilts of iron ornamented with delightful landscapes of gold and silver inlay). The Ginza at night-time is a paradise for the minor collector. "_Kore wa ikura_? (How much is this?)" asked Asako, picking up a tiny silver box, which could slip into a waistcoat pocket. Inside were enshrined three gentle Buddhas of old creamy ivory, perfectly carved to the minutest petal of the full-blown lotus upon which each reposed. "Indeed, it is the end of the year. We must sell all things cheaply," answered the merchant. "It is asked sixty _yen_ for true ancient artistic object." "Such a thing is not said," replied Asako, her Japanese becoming quite fluent with the return of her light-heartedness. "Perhaps a joke is being made. It would be possible to give ten _yen_." The old curio vender, with the face and spare figure of Julius Caesar, turned aside from such idle talk with a shrug of hopelessness. He affected to be more interested in lighting his slender pipe over the chimney of the lamp which hung suspended over his wares. "Ten _yen_! Please see!" said Asako, showing a banknote. The merchant shook his head and puffed. Asako turned away into the stream of passers-by. She had not gone, ten yards, however, before she felt a touch on her kimono sleeve. It was Julius Caesar with his curio. "Indeed, _okusan_, there must be reduction. Thirty _yen_; take it, please." He pressed the little box into Asako's hand. "Twenty _yen_," she bargained, holding out two notes. "It is loss! It is loss!" he murmured; but he shuffled back to his stall again, very well content. "I shall send it to Geoffrey," thought Asako; "it will bring him good luck. Perhaps he will write to me and thank me. Then I can write to him." The New Year is the greatest of Japanese festivals. Japanese of the middle and lower classes live all the year round in a thickening web of debt. But during the last days of the year these complications are supposed to be unraveled and the defaulting debtor must sell some of his family goods, and start the New Year with a clean slate. These operations swell the stock-in-trade of the _yomisé_. On New Year's Day the wife prepares the _mochi_ cakes of ground rice, which are the specialities of the season; and the husband sees to the erection of his door posts of the two _kadomatsu_ (corner pine trees), little Christmas trees planted in a coil of rope. Then, attired in his frock-coat and top hat, if he be a _haikara_ gentleman, or in his best kimono and _haori_, if he be an old-fashioned Japanese, he goes round in a rickshaw to pay his complimentary calls, and to exchange _o medet[=o]_ (respectfully lucky!), the New Year wish. He has presents for his important patrons, and cards for his less influential acquaintances. For, as the Japanese proverb says, "Gifts preserve friendship." At each house, which he visits, he sips a cup of _saké_, so that his return home is often due to the rickshaw man's assistance, rather than to his own powers of self-direction. In fact, as Asako's maid confided to her mistress, "Japanese wife very happy when New Year time all finish." * * * * * On the night following New Year, snow fell. It continued to fall all the next morning until Asako's little garden was as white as a bride-cake. The irregularities of her river-side lawn were smoothed out under the white carpet. The straw coverings, which a gardener's foresight had wrapped round the azalea shrubs and the dwarf conifers, were enfolded in a thick white shroud. Like tufts of foam on a wave, the snow was tossed on the plumes of the bamboo clump, which hid the neighbour's dwelling, and made a bird's nest of Asako's tiny domain. Beyond the brown sluggish river, the roofs and pinnacles of Asakusa were more fairy-like than a theatre scene. Asako was thinking of that first snow-white day, which introduced Geoffrey and her to the Embassy and to Yaé Smith. She shivered. Darkness was falling. A Japanese house is a frail protection in winter time; and a charcoal fire in a wooden box is poor company. The maid came in to close the shutters for the night. Where was Tanaka? He had gone out to a New Year party with relatives. Asako felt her loneliness all of a sudden; and she was grateful for the moral comfort of cousin Sadako's sword. She drew it from its sheath and examined the blade, and the fine work on the hilt, with care and alarm, like a man fingering a serpent. No sooner was the house silenced than the wind arose. It smote the wooden framework with an unexpected buffet almost like an earthquake. The bamboo grove began to rattle like bones; and the snow slid and fell from the roof in dull thuds. There was a sharp rap at the front door. Asako started and thrust the dagger into the breast of her kimono. She had been lying full length on a long deckchair. Now she put her feet to the ground. O Hana, the maid, came in and announced that Ito San had called. Asako, half-pleased and half-apprehensive, gave instructions for him to be shown in. She heard a stumbling on the steps of her house; then Ito lurched into the room. His face was very red, and his voice thick. He had been paying many New Year calls. "Happy New Year, Asa San, Happy New Year!" he hiccoughed, grasping her hand and working it up and down like a pump-handle. "New Year in Japan very lucky time. All Japanese people say New Year time very lucky. This New Year very lucky for Ito. No more dirty business, no more Yoshiwara, no more pimp. I am millionaire, madame. I have made one hundred thousand pounds, five hundred thousand dollars gold. I now become _giin giin_ (Member of Parliament). I become great party organizer, great party boss, then _daijin_ (Minister of State), then _taishi_ (Ambassador), then _soridaijin_ (Prime Minister). I shall be greatest man in Japan. Japan greatest country in the world. Ito greatest man in the world. And I marry Asa San to-morrow, next day, any day." Ito was sprawling in the deck chair, which divided the little sitting-room into two parts and cut off Asako's retreat. She was trembling on a bamboo stool near the shuttered window. She was terribly frightened. Why did not Tanaka come? "Speak to me, Asa San," shouted the visitor; "say to me very glad, very, very glad, will be very nice wife of Ito. Fujinami give you to me. I have all Fujinami's secrets in my safe box. Ito greatest man in Japan. Fujinami very fear of me. He give me anything I want. I say, give me Asa San. Very, very love." Asako remaining without speech, the Japanese frowned at her. "Why so silence, little girl? Say, I love you, I love you like all foreign girls say. I am husband now. I never go away from this house until you kiss me. You understand?" Asako gasped. "Mr. Ito, it is very late. Please, come some other day. I must go to bed now." "Very good, very good. I come to bed with you," said Ito, rolling out of his chair and putting one heavy leg to the ground. He was earing a kimono none too well adjusted, and Asako could see his hairy limb high up the thigh. Her face must have reflected her displeasure. "What?" the Japanese shouted; "you don't like me. Too very proud! No dirty Jap, no yellow man, what? So you think, Madame Lord Princess Barrington. In the East, it may be, ugly foreign women despise Japs. But New York, London, Paris--very different, ha! ha! New York girl say, Hello, Jap! come here! London girl say, Jap man very nice, very sweet manner, very soft eyes. When I was in London I have five or six girls, English girls, white girls, very beauty girls, all together, all very love! London time was great fine time!" Asako felt helpless. Her hand was on the hilt of her dagger, but she still hoped that Ito might come to his senses and go away. "There!" he cried, "I know foreign custom. I know everything. Mistletoe! Mistletoe! A kiss for the mistletoe, Asa San!" He staggered out of his chair and came towards her, like a great black bird. She dodged him, and tried to escape round the deck chair. But he caught hold of her kimono. She drew her sword. "Help! Help!" she cried. "Tanaka!" Something wrenched at her wrist, and the blade fell. At the same moment the inner _shoji_ flew open like the shutter of a camera. Tanaka rushed into the room. Asako did not turn to look again until she was outside the room with her maid and her cook trembling beside her. Then she saw Tanaka and Ito locked in a wrestler's embrace, puffing and grunting at each other, while their feet were fumbling for the sword which lay between them. Suddenly both figures relaxed. Two foreheads came together with a wooden concussion. Hands were groping where the feet had been. One set of fingers, hovering over the sword, grasped the hilt. It was Tanaka; but his foot slipped. He tottered and fell backward. Ito was on the top of him. Asako closed her eyes. She heard a hoarse roar like a lion. When she dared to look again, she saw Tanaka kneeling over Ito's body. With a wrench he pulled Sadako's dagger out of the prostrate mass. It was followed by a jet of blood, and then by a steady trickle from body, mouth and nostrils, which spread over the matting. Slowly and deliberately, Tanaka wiped first the knife and then his hands on the clothes of his victim. Then he felt his mouth and throat. "_Sa! Shimatta_! (There, finished!)" he said. He turned towards the garden side, threw open the _shoji_ and the _amado_. He ran across the snow-covered lawn; and from beyond the unearthly silence which followed his departure, come the distant sound of a splash in the river. At last, Asako said helplessly: "Is he dead?" The cook, a man, was glad of the opportunity to escape. "I go and call doctor," he said. "No, stay with me," said Asako; "I am afraid. O Hana can go for the doctor." Asako and the cook waited by the open _shoji_, staring blankly at the body of Ito. Presently the cook said that he must go and get something. He did not return. Asako called to him to come. There was no answer. She went to look for him in his little three-mat room near the kitchen. It was empty. He had packed his few chattels in his wicker basket and had decamped. Asako resumed her watch at the sitting-room door, an unwilling Rizpah. It was as though she feared that, if she left her post, somebody might come in and steal Ito. But she could have hardly approached the corpse even under compulsion. Sometimes it seemed to move, to try to rise; but it was stuck fast to the matting by the resinous flow of purple blood. Sometimes it seemed to speak: "Mistletoe! Mistletoe! Kiss me, Asa San!" Gusts of cold wind came in from the open windows, touching the dead man curiously, turning over his kimono sleeves. Outside, the bamboo grove was rattling like bones; and the caked snow fell from the roof in heavy thuds. * * * * * O Hana returned with a doctor and a policeman. The doctor loosened Ito's kimono, and at once shook his head. The policeman wore a blue uniform and cape; and a sword dragged at his side. He had produced a notebook and a pencil from a breast pocket. "What is your name?" he asked Asako; "what is your age? your father's and mother's name? What is your address? Are you married? Where is your husband? How long have you known this man? Were you on familiar terms? Did you kill him? How did you kill him? Why did you kill him?" The questions buzzed round Asako's head like a swarm of hornets. It had never occurred to the unfortunate girl that any suspicion could fall upon her. Three more policemen had arrived. "Every one in this house is arrested," announced the first policeman. "Put out your hands," he ordered Asako. Rusty handcuffs were slipped over her delicate wrists. One of the policemen had produced a coil of rope, which he proceeded to tie round her waist and then round the waist of O Hana. "But what have I done?" asked Asako plaintively. The policeman took no notice. She could hear two of them upstairs in her bedroom, talking and laughing, knocking open her boxes and throwing things about. Asako and her maid were led out of the house like two performing animals. It was bitterly cold, and Asako had no cloak. The road was already full of loafers. They stared angrily at Asako. Some laughed. Some pulled at her kimono as she passed. She heard one say: "It is a _geisha_; she has murdered her sweetheart." At the police station, Asako had to undergo the same confusing interrogatory before the chief inspector. "What is your name? What is your age? Where do you live? What are your father's and mother's names?" "Lies are no good," said the inspector, a burly unshaven man; "confess that you have killed this man." "But I did not kill him," protested Asako. "Who killed him then? You must know that," said the inspector triumphantly. "It was Tanaka," said Asako. "Who is this Tanaka?" the inspector asked the policeman. "I do not know; perhaps it is lies," he answered sulkily. "But it is not lies," expostulated Asako, "he ran away through the window. You can see his footmarks in the snow." "Did you see the marks?" the policeman was asked. "No; perhaps there were no marks." "Did you look?" "I did not look actually, but--" "You're a fool!" said the inspector. The weary questioning continued for quite two hours, until Asako had told her story of the murder at least three times. The unfamiliar language confused her, and the reiterated refrain: "You, now confess; you killed the man!" Asako was chilled to the bone. Her head was aching; her eyes were aching; her legs were aching with the ordeal of standing. She felt that they must soon give way altogether. At last, the inspector closed his _questionnaire_. "_Sa_!" he ejaculated, "it is past midnight. Even I must sleep sometimes. Take her away to the court, and lock her in the 'sty,' To-morrow the procurator will examine at nine o'clock. She is pretending to be silly and not understanding; so she is probably guilty." Again the handcuffs and the degrading rope were fastened upon her. She felt that she had already been condemned. "May I send word to my friends?" she asked. Surely even the Fujinami would not abandon her to her fate. "No. The procurator's examination has not yet taken place. After that, sometimes permission can be granted. That is the law." She was left waiting in a stone-flagged guard-room, where eight or nine policemen stared at her impertinently. "A pretty face, eh?" they said, "it looks like a _geisha_! Who is taking her to the court? It is Ishibashi. Oh, so! He is always the lucky chap!" A rough fellow thrust his hand up her kimono sleeve, and caught hold of her bare arm near the shoulder. "Here, Ishibashi," he cried; "you have caught a fine bird this time." The policeman Ishibashi picked up the loose end of the rope, and drove Asako before him into a closed van, which was soon rumbling along the deserted streets. She was made to alight at a tall stone building, where they passed down several echoing corridors, until, at the end of a little passage a warder pushed open a door. This was the "sty," where prisoners are kept pending examination in the procurator's court. The floor and walls were of stone. It was bitterly cold. There was no window, no light, no firebox, and no chair. Alone, in the petrifying darkness, her teeth chattering, her limbs trembling, poor Asako huddled her misery into a corner of the dirty cell, to await the further tender mercies of the Japanese criminal code. She could hear the scuttering of rats. Had she been ten times guilty, she felt that she could not have suffered more! * * * * * Daylight began to show under the crack of the door. Later on a warder came and beckoned to Asako to follow him. She had not touched food for twenty hours, but nothing was offered to her. She was led into a room with benches like a schoolroom. At the master's desk sat a small spotted man with a cloak like a scholar's gown, and a black cap with ribbons like a Highlander's bonnet. This was the procurator. At his side, sat his clerk, similarly but less sprucely garbed. Asako, utterly weary, was preparing to sit down on one of the benches. The warder pulled her up by the nape of her kimono. She had to stand during her examination. "What is your name? What is your age? What are your father's and mother's names?" The monotonous questions were repeated all over again; and then,-- "To confess were better. When you confess, we shall let you go. If you do not confess, we keep you here for days and days." "I am feeling sick," pleaded Asako; "may I eat something?" The warder brought a cup of tea and some salt biscuit. "Now, confess," bullied the procurator; "if you do not confess, you will get no more to eat." Asako told her story of the murder. She then told it again. Her Japanese words were slipping from the clutch of her worn brain. She was saying things she did not mean. How could she defend herself in a language which was strange to her mind? How could she make this judge, who seemed so pitiless and so hostile to her, understand and believe her broken sentences? She was beating with a paper sword against an armed enemy. An interpreter was sent for; and the questions were all repeated in English. The procurator was annoyed at Asako's refusal to speak in Japanese. He thought that it was obstinacy, or that she was trying to fool him. He seemed quite convinced that she was guilty. "I can't answer any more questions. I really can't. I am sick," said Asako, in tears. "Take her back to the 'sty,' while we have lunch," ordered the procurator. "I think this afternoon she will confess." Asako was taken away, and thrust into the horrible cell again. She collapsed on the hard floor in a state which was partly a fainting-fit, and partly the sleep of exhaustion. Dreams and images swept over her brain like low-flying clouds. It seemed to her distracted fancy that only one person could save her--Geoffrey, her husband! He must be coming soon. She thought that she could hear his step in the corridor. "Geoffrey! Geoffrey!" she cried. It was the warder. He stirred her with his foot. She was hauled back to the procurator's court. "So! Have you considered well?" said the little spotted man. "Will you now confess?" "How can I confess what I have not done?" protested Asako. The remorseless inquisition proceeded. Asako's replies became more and more confused. The procurator frowned at her contradictions. She must assuredly be guilty. "How many times do you say that you have met this Ito?" he asked. Asako was at the end of her strength. She reeled and would have fallen; but the warder jerked her straight again. "Confess, then," shouted the procurator, "confess and you will be liberated." "I will confess," Asako gasped, "anything you like." "Confess that you killed this Ito!" "Yes, I confess." "Then, sign the confession." With the triumphant air of a sportsman who has landed his fish after a long and bitter struggle, the procurator held out a sheet of paper prepared beforehand, on which something was written in Japanese characters. Asako tried to move towards the desk that she might write her name; but this time, her legs gave way altogether. The warder caught her by the neck of her kimono, and shook her as a terrier shakes a rat. But the body remained limp. He twisted her arm behind her with a savage wrench. His victim groaned with pain, but spoke no distinguishable word. Then he laid her out on the benches, and felt her chest. "The body is very hot," he said; "perhaps she is indeed sick." "Obstinate," grunted the procurator; "I am certain that she is guilty. Are you not?" he added, addressing the clerk. The clerk was busy filling up some of the blanks in the back evidence, extemporising where he could not remember. "Assuredly," he said, "the opinion of the procurator is always correct." However, the doctor was summoned. He pronounced that the patient was in a high fever, and must at once be removed to the infirmary. So the preliminary examination of Asako Fujinami came to an abrupt end. CHAPTER XXVII LADY BRANDAN _Haru no hi no Nagaki omoi wa Wasureji wo, Hito no kokoro ni Aki ya tatsuramu._ The long thoughts Of the spring days Will never be forgotten Even when autumn comes To the hearts of the people. The low-flying clouds of hallucination had fallen so close to Asako's brain, that her thoughts seemed to be caught up into the dizzy whirlwind and to be skimming around and round the world at the speed of an express aeroplane. Like a clock whose regulation is out of order, the hour-hand of her life seemed to be racing the minute-hand, and the minute-hand to be covering the face of the dial in sixty seconds or less, returning incessantly to the same well-known figures, pausing awhile, then jerking away again at an insane rate. From time to time the haze over the mind began to clear; and Asako seemed to look down upon the scene around her from a great height. There was a long room, so long that she could not see the end of it, and rows of narrow beds, and nurses, dressed in white with high caps like bishops' mitres, who appeared and disappeared. Sometimes they would speak to her and she would answer. But she did not know what they said, nor what she said to them. A gentle Japanese lady with a very long, pock-marked face, sat on her bed and talked to her in English. Asako noticed that the nurses and doctors were most deferential to this lady; and that, after her departure, she was treated much more kindly than before. A name kept peeping out of her memory, like a shy lizard out of its hole; but the moment her brain tried to grab at it, it slipped back again into oblivion. Two English ladies called together, one older and one younger. They talked about Geoffrey. Geoffrey was one of the roman figures on the clock dial of her mind. They said good things about Geoffrey; but she could not remember what they were. One day, the Japanese lady with the marked face and one of the nurses helped her to get out of bed. Her legs were trembling, and her feet were sorely plagued by pins and needles; but she held together somehow. Together they dressed her. The lady wrapped a big fur cloak round her; and with a supporter on either side she was led into the open air, where a beautiful motor-car was waiting. There was a crowd gathered round it. But the police kept them back. As Asako stepped in, she heard the click of cameras. "Asa Chan," said the lady, "don't you remember me? I am Countess Saito." Of course, Asako remembered now--a spring morning with Geoffrey and the little dwarf trees. The notoriety of the Ito murder case did Asako a good turn. Her friends in Japan had forgotten her. They had imagined that she had returned to England with Geoffrey. Reggie Forsyth, who alone knew the details of her position, had thrown up his secretaryship the day that war was declared, and had gone home to join the army. The morning papers of January 3rd, with their high-flown account of the mysterious house by the river-side and the Japanese lady who could talk no Japanese, brought an unexpected shock to acquaintances of the Barringtons, and especially to Lady Cynthia Cairns and to Countess Saito. These ladies both made inquiries, and learned that Asako was lying dangerously ill in the prison infirmary. A few days later, when Tanaka was arrested and had made a full confession of the crime, Count Saito, who knew how suspects fare at the hands of a zealous procurator, called in person on the Minister of Justice, and secured Asako's speedy liberation. "This girl is a valuable asset to our country," he had explained to the Minister. "She is married to an Englishman, who will one day be a peer in England. This was a marriage of political importance. It was a proof of the equal civilisation of our Japan with the great countries of Europe. It is most important that this Asako should be sent back to England as soon as possible, and that she should speak good things about Japan." So Asako was released from the procurator's clutches; and she was given a charming little bedroom of her own in the European wing of the Saito mansion. The house stood on a high hill; and Asako, seated at the window, could watch the multiplex activity of the streets below, the jolting tramcars, the wagons, the barrows and the rickshaws. To the left was a labyrinth of little houses of clean white wood, bright and new, like toys, with toy evergreens and pine-trees bursting out of their narrow gardens. This was a _geisha_ quarter, whence the sound of _samisen_ music and quavering songs resounded all day long. To the right was a big grey-boarded primary school, which, with the regular movement of tides, sucked in and belched out its flood of blue-cloaked boys and magenta-skirted maidens. Count and Countess Saito, despite their immense wealth and their political importance, were simple, unostentatious people, who seemed to devote most of their thoughts to their children, their garden, their dwarf trees, and their breed of cocker spaniels. They took their social duties lightly, though their home was a Mecca for needy relatives on the search for jobs. They gave generously; they entertained hospitably. Good-humour ruled the household; for husband and wife were old partners and devoted friends. Count Saito brought his nephew and secretary, a most agreeable young man, to see Asako. The Count said,-- "Asa Chan, I want you to tell Mr. Sakabé all about the Fujinami house and the way of life there." So Asako told her story to this interested listener. Fortunately, perhaps, she could not read the Japanese newspapers; for most of her adventures reappeared in the daily issues almost word for word. From behind the scenes, Count Saito was directing the course of the famous trial which had come to be known as the Fujinami Affair. For the Count had certain political scores of his own to pay off; and Asako proved to be a godsend. Tanaka was tried for murder; but it was established that he had killed Ito in defending his mistress's honour; and the court let him off with a year's hard labour. But the great Fujinami bribery case which developed out of the murder trial, ruined a Cabinet Minister, a local governor, and a host of minor officials. It reacted on the Yoshiwara regulations. The notoriety of the case has gone far towards putting an end to public processions of _oiran_, and to the display of prostitutes in the windows of their houses. Indeed, it is probably only a question of time for the great pleasure quarters to be closed down, and for vice to be driven into secrecy. Mr. Fujinami Gentaro was sentenced to three years' imprisonment for causing bribes to be distributed. Meanwhile Countess Saito had been in correspondence with Lady Everington in England. On one bright March morning, she came into Asako's room with a small flowerpot in her hands. "See, Asa Chan," she said in her strange hoarse voice, "the first flower of the New Year, the plum-blossom. It is the flower of hope and patience. It blooms when the snow is still on the ground, and before it has any green leaves to protect it." "It smells sweet," said Asako. Her hostess quoted the famous poem of the exiled Japanese statesman, Sukawara no Michizané,-- "When the East wind blows, Send your perfume to me, Flower of the plum; Even if your master is absent, Do not forget the spring." "Asako dear," Countess Saito continued, "would you like to go to England?" Asako's heart leaped. "Oh yes!" she answered gladly. Her hostess sighed reproachfully. She had tried to make life so agreeable for her little visitor; yet from the tone of her voice it was clear that Japan would never be home for her. "Marchioness Saméjima and I," continued the Japanese lady, "have been arranging for a party of about twenty-five Red Cross nurses to visit England and France. They are all very good, clever girls from noble families. We wish to show sympathy of Japan for the poor soldiers who are suffering so much; and we wish to teach our girls true facts about war and how to manage a hospital in war-time. We thought you might like to go as guide and interpreter." It needed no words to show how joyfully Asako accepted this proposal. Besides, she had heard from Geoffrey. A letter had arrived thanking her for her Christmas gift. "Little darling Asako," her husband had written, "It was so sweet of you and so like you to think of me at Christmas time. I hope that you are very happy and having a jolly good time. It is very rotten in England just now with the war going on. It had broken out before I reached home; and I joined up at once with my old regiment. We have had a very lively time. About half of my brother officers have been killed; and I am a colonel now. Also, incidentally, I have become Lord Brandan. My father died at the end of last year. Poor old father! This war is a ghastly business; but we have got them beat now. I shall be sorry in a way when it is over; for it gives me plenty to do and to think about. Reggie Forsyth is with his regiment in Egypt. Lady Everington is writing to you. I am in the north of France, and doing quite a lot of _parley-voo_. Is there any chance of your coming to England? God bless you, Asako darling. Write to me soon. "Your loving Geoffrey." With this letter folded near her heart, Asako was hardly in a mood to admire plum-blossoms. It was with difficulty that she could summon sufficient attention for give the little Saito children their daily lessons in English and French. Long rides in the motor-car through the reviving country-side to the splendid gorge of Miyanoshita or to the beaches of Oiso, where Count Saito had his summer villa, long days of play with the children in the hanging garden, the fascinating companionship of the dwarf trees and the black spaniels, and the welcome absence of espionage and innuendo, had soon restored Asako to health again. "Little Asa Chan," Count Saito said one day, beckoning his guest to sit down beside him in the sunlight on the terrace, "you will be happy to go back to England?" "Oh yes," said the girl. "It is a fine country, a noble country; and you will be happy to see your husband again?" Asako blushed and held down her head. "I don't think he is still my husband," she said, "but oh! I do want to see him so." "I think he wants to see you," said the Count; "My wife has received a letter from Lady Everington which says that he would like you very much to come back to him." The Count waited for this joyful news to produce its effect, and then he added,-- "Asa Chan, you are going to be a great English lady; but you will always remain a Japanese. In England, you will be a kind of ambassador for Japan. So you must never forget your father's country, and you must never say bad things about Japan, even if you have suffered here. Then the English people will like you; and for that reason, they will like Japan too; and the two counties will stand side by side, as they ought to, like good friends. The English are a very great people, the greatest of all; but they know very little about us in the East. They think that because we are yellow people, therefore we are inferior to them. Perhaps, when they see a Japanese lady as one of their peers' wives and a leader in society, they will understand that the Japanese also are not so inferior; for the English people have a great respect for peers. Japan is proud to be England's younger brother; but the elder brother must not take all the inheritance. He must be content to share. For perhaps he will not always be the strong one. This war will make England weak and it will make Japan strong. It will make a great change in the world, and in Asia most of all. Already the people of Asia are saying, Why should these white men rule over us? They cannot rule themselves; they fight among themselves like drunkards; their time is over and past. Then, when the white rulers are pushed out of Asia, Japan will become very strong indeed. It will be said then that England, the elder brother, is become _inkyo_ (retired from active life), and that Japan, the younger brother, is manager of the family. I think you will live to see these things, Asa Chan. Certainly your children will see them." "I could never like Japan," Asako said honestly. The old diplomat shrugged his shoulders. "Very well, Asa Chan. Just enjoy life, and be happy That will be the best propaganda." 
33051	----	JAPANESE FAIRY TALE SERIES NO 1 MOMOTARO. [Illustration] [Japanese: sei-fuku-kyo-fu-roku-to-ken-saku-cho] ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Published by T. HASEGAWA, 17 Kami Negishi, Tokyo, Japan. [Illustration] MOMOTARO OR LITTLE PEACHLING. [Illustration] [Illustration] A long long time ago there lived an old man and an old woman. One day the old man went to the mountains to cut grass; and the old woman went to the river to wash clothes. While she was washing a great big thing came tumbling and splashing down the stream. When the old woman saw it she was very glad, and pulled it to her with a piece of bamboo that lay near by. [Illustration] When she took it up and looked at it she saw that it was a very large peach. She then quickly finished her washing and returned home intending to give the peach to her old man to eat. [Illustration] When she cut the peach in two, out came a child from the large kernel. Seeing this the old couple rejoiced, and named the child Momotaro, or Little Peachling, because he came out of a peach. As both the old people took good care of him, he grew and became strong and enterprising. So the old couple had their expectations raised, and bestowed still more care on his education. [Illustration] [Illustration] Momotaro finding that he excelled every body in strength determined to cross over to the island of the devils, take their riches, and come back. He at once consulted with the old man and the old woman about the matter, and got them to make him some dumplings. These he put in his pouch. Besides this he made every kind of preparation for his journey to the island of the devils and set out. [Illustration] [Illustration] Then first a dog came to the side of the way and said; "Momotaro! What have you there hanging at your belt?" He replied: "I have some of the very best Japanese millet dumplings." "Give me one and I will go with you," said the dog. So Momotaro took a dumpling out of his pouch and gave it to the dog. Then a monkey came and got one the same way. A pheasant also came flying and said: "Give me a dumpling too, and I will go along with you." So all three went along with him. In no time they arrived at the island of the devils, and at once broke through the front gate; Momotaro first; then his three followers. Here they met a great multitude of the devil's retainers who showed fight, but they pressed still inwards, and at last encountered the chief of the devils, called Akandoji. Then came the tug of war. Akandoji made at Momotaro with an iron club, but Momotaro was ready for him, and dodged him adroitly. At last they grappled each other, and without difficulty Momotaro just crushed down Akandoji and tied him with a rope so tight that he could not even move. All this was done in a fair fight. [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] After this Akandoji the chief of the devils said he would surrender all his riches. "Out with your riches then;" said Momotaro laughing. Having collected and ranged in order a great pile of precious things, Momotaro took them, and set out for his home, rejoicing, as he marched bravely back, that, with the help of his three companions, to whom he attributed all his success, he had been able so easily to accomplish his end. [Illustration] [Illustration] Great was the joy of the old man and the old woman when Momotaro came back. He feasted every body bountifully, told many stories of his adventure, displayed his riches, and at last became a leading man, a man of influence, very rich and honorable; a man to be very much congratulated indeed!! [Illustration] JAPANESE FAIRY TALE SERIES. 1. Momotaro or Little Peachling. 2. The Tongue Cut Sparrow. 3. The Battle of the Monkey and the Crab. 4. The Old Man who made the Dead Trees Blossom. 5. Kachi-Kachi Mountain. 6. The Mouses' Wedding. 7. The Old Man and the Devils. 8. Urashima, the Fisher-boy. 9. The Eight-Headed Serpent. 10. The Matsuyama Mirror. 11. The Hare of Inaba. 12. The Cub's Triumph. 13. The Silly Jelly-Fish. 14. The Princes Fire-Flash and Fire-Fade 15. My Lord Rag-o'-Rice. 16. The Wonderful Tea-Kettle. 17. Schippeitaro. 18. The Ogre's Arm. 19. The Ogres of Oyeyama. 20. The Enchanted Waterfall. 2nd Series No. 1. The Goblin-Spider. " " " 2. The Wonderful Mallet. " " " 3. The Broken Images. [Illustration] 
33131	----	file was produced from images generously made available by Case Western Reserve University Preservation Department Digital Library) [Illustration] Library of Adelbert College of Western Reserve University Gift of the Publisher THE SPIRIT OF JAPAN A LECTURE BY SIR RABINDRANATH TAGORE Delivered for the Students of the Private Colleges of Tokyo and the Members of the Indo-Japanese Association, at the Keio Gijuku University. PUBLISHED BY THE INDO-JAPANESE ASSOCIATION, TOKYO JULY 2, 1916. Copyrighted in U. S. A. I am glad to have this opportunity once more of speaking to you before I leave Japan. My stay here has been so short that one may think I have not earned my right to speak to you about anything concerning your country. I feel sure that I shall be told, that I am idealising certain aspects, while leaving others unnoticed, and that there are chances of my disillusionment, if I remain here for long. For I have known foreigners, whose long experience has made them doubtful about your moral qualifications,--even of your full efficiency in modern equipments of progress. But I am not going to be brow-beaten by the authority of long experience, which is likely to be an experience of blindness carried through long years. I have known such instances in my own country. The mental sense, by the help of which we feel the spirit of a people, is like the sense of sight, or of touch,--it is a natural gift. It finds its objects, not by analysis, but by direct apprehension. Those who have not this vision, merely see events and facts, and not their inner association. Those who have no ear for music, hear sounds, but not the song. Therefore when, by the mere reason of the lengthiness of their suffering, they threaten to establish the fact of the tune to be a noise, one need not be anxious about music. Very often it is mistakes that require longer time to develop their tangles, while the right answer comes promptly. You ask me how I can prove, that I am right in my confidence that I can see. My answer is, because I see something which is positive. There are others, who affirm that they see something contrary. It only shows, that I am looking on the picture side of the canvas, and they on the blank side. Therefore my short view is of more value than their prolonged stare. It is a truism to say that shadows accompany light. What you feel, as the truth of a people, has its numberless contradictions,--just as the roundness of the earth is contradicted at every step by its hills and hollows. Those who can boast of a greater familiarity with your country than myself, can bring before me loads of contradictions, but I remain firm upon my vision of a truth, which does not depend upon its dimension, but upon its vitality. At first, I had my doubts. I thought that I might not be able to see Japan, as she is herself, but should have to be content to see the Japan that takes an acrobatic pride in violently appearing as something else. On my first arrival in this country, when I looked out from the balcony of a house on the hillside, the town of Kobe,--that huge mass of corrugated iron roofs,--appeared to me like a dragon, with glistening scales, basking in the sun, after having devoured a large slice of the living flesh of the earth. This dragon did not belong to the mythology of the past, but of the present; and with its iron mask it tried to look real to the children of the age,--real as the majestic rocks on the shore, as the epic rhythm of the sea-waves. Anyhow it hid Japan from my view, and I felt myself like the traveller, whose time is short, waiting for the cloud to be lifted to have a sight of the eternal snow on the Himalayan summit. I asked myself,--'Will the dense mist of the iron age give way for a moment, and let me see what is true and abiding in this land?' I was enveloped in a whirlwind of reception, but I had my misgivings and thought that this might be a violent outbreak of curiosity,--or that these people felt themselves bound to show their appreciation of a man who had won renown from Europe, thus doing honour to the West in a vicarious form. But the clouds showed rifts, and glimpses I had of Japan where she is true and more human. While travelling in a railway train I met, at a wayside station, some Buddhist priests and devotees. They brought their basket of fruits to me and held their lighted incense before my face, wishing to pay homage to a man who had come from the land of Buddha. The dignified serenity of their bearing, the simplicity of their devoutness, seemed to fill the atmosphere of the busy railway station with a golden light of peace. Their language of silence drowned the noisy effusion of the newspapers. I felt that I saw something which was at the root of Japan's greatness. And, since then, I have had other opportunities of reaching the heart of the people; and I have come to the conclusion, that the welcome which flowed towards me, with such outburst of sincerity, was owing to the fact that Japan felt the nearness of India to herself, and realised that her own heart has room to expand beyond her boundaries and the boundaries of the modern time. I have travelled in many countries and have met with men of all classes, but never in my travels did I feel the presence of the human so distinctly as in this land. In other great countries, signs of man's power loomed large, and I saw vast organisations which showed efficiency in all their features. There, display and extravagance, in dress, in furniture, in costly entertainments, are startling. They seem to push you back into a corner, like a poor intruder at a feast; they are apt to make you envious, or take your breath away with amazement. There, you do not feel man as supreme; you are hurled against the stupendousness of things that alienates. But, in Japan, it is not the display of power, or wealth, that is the predominating element. You see everywhere emblems of love and admiration, and not mostly of ambition and greed. You see a people, whose heart has come out and scattered itself in profusion in its commonest utensils of everyday life in its social institutions, in its manners, that are carefully perfect, and in its dealings with things that are not only deft, but graceful in every movement. What has impressed me most in this country is the conviction that you have realised nature's secrets, not by methods of analytical knowledge, but by sympathy. You have known her language of lines and music of colours, the symmetry in her irregularities, and the cadence in her freedom of movements; you have seen how she leads her immense crowds of things yet avoids all frictions; how the very conflicts in her creations break out in dance and music; how her exuberance has the aspect of the fullness of self-abandonment, and not a mere dissipation of display. You have discovered that nature reserves her power in forms of beauty; and it is this beauty which, like a mother, nourishes all the giant forces at her breast, keeping them in active vigour, yet in repose. You have known that energies of nature save themselves from wearing out by the rhythm of a perfect grace, and that she with the tenderness of her curved lines takes away fatigue from the world's muscles. I have felt that you have been able to assimilate these secrets into your life, and the truth which lies in the beauty of all things has passed into your souls. A mere knowledge of things can be had in a short enough time, but their spirit can only be acquired by centuries of training and self-control. Dominating nature from outside is a much simpler thing than making her your own in love's delight, which is a work of true genius. Your race has shown that genius, not by acquirements, but by creations; not by display of things, but by manifestation of its own inner being. This creative power there is in all nations, and it is ever active in getting hold of men's natures and giving them a form according to its ideals. But here, in Japan, it seems to have achieved its success, and deeply sunk into the minds of all men, and permeated their muscles and nerves. Your instincts have become true, your senses keen, and your hands have acquired natural skill. The genius of Europe has given her people the power of organisation, which has specially made itself manifest in politics and commerce and in coordinating scientific knowledge. The genius of Japan has given you the vision of beauty in nature and the power of realising it in your life. And, because of this fact, the power of organisation has come so easily to your help when you needed it. For the rhythm of beauty is the inner spirit, whose outer body is organisation. All particular civilisation is the interpretation of particular human experience. Europe seems to have felt emphatically the conflict of things in the universe, which can only be brought under control by conquest. Therefore she is ever ready for fight, and the best portion of her attention is occupied in organising forces. But Japan has felt, in her world, the touch of some presence, which has evoked in her soul a feeling of reverent adoration. She does not boast of her mastery of nature, but to her she brings, with infinite care and joy, her offerings of love. Her relationship with the world is the deeper relationship of heart. This spiritual bond of love she has established with the hills of her country, with the sea and the streams, with the forests in all their flowery moods and varied physiognomy of branches; she has taken into her heart all the rustling whispers and sighing of the woodlands and sobbing of the waves; the sun and the moon she has studied in all the modulations of their lights and shades, and she is glad to close her shops to greet the seasons in her orchards and gardens and cornfields. This opening of the heart to the soul of the world is not confined to a section of your privileged classes, it is not the forced product of exotic culture, but it belongs to all your men and women of all conditions. This experience of your soul, in meeting a personality in the heart of the world, has been embodied in your civilisation. It is civilisation of human relationship. Your duty towards your state has naturally assumed the character of filial duty, your nation becoming one family with your Emperor as its head. Your national unity has not been evolved from the comradeship of arms for defensive and offensive purposes, or from partnership in raiding adventures, dividing among each member the danger and spoils of robbery. It is not an outcome of the necessity of organisation for some ulterior purpose, but it is an extension of the family and the obligations of the heart in a wide field of space and time. The ideal of "maitri" is at the bottom of your culture,--"maitri" with men and "maitri" with Nature. And the true expression of this love is in the language of beauty, which is so abundantly universal in this land. This is the reason why a stranger, like myself, instead of feeling envy or humiliation before these manifestations of beauty, these creations of love, feels a readiness to participate in the joy and glory of such revealment of the human heart. And this has made me all the more apprehensive of the change, which threatens Japanese civilisation, as something like a menace to one's own person. For the huge heterogeneity of the modern age, whose only common bond is usefulness, is nowhere so pitifully exposed against the dignity and hidden power of reticent beauty, as in Japan. But the danger lies in this, that organised ugliness storms the mind and carries the day by its mass, by its aggressive persistence, by its power of mockery directed against the deeper sentiments of heart. Its harsh obtrusiveness makes it forcibly visible to us, overcoming our senses,--and we bring to its altar sacrifices, as does a savage to the fetish which appears powerful because of its hideousness. Therefore its rivalry to things that are modest and profound and have the subtle delicacy of life is to be dreaded. I am quite sure that there are men in your nation, who are not in sympathy with your national ideals; whose object is to gain, and not to grow. They are loud in their boast, that they have modernised Japan. While I agree with them so far as to say, that the spirit of the race should harmonise with the spirit of the time, I must warn them that modernising is a mere affectation of modernism, just as affectation of poesy is poetising. It is nothing but mimicry, only affectation is louder than the original, and it is too literal. One must bear in mind, that those who have the true modern spirit need not modernise, just as those who are truly brave are not braggarts. Modernism is not in the dress of the Europeans; or in the hideous structures, where their children are interned when they take their lessons; or in the square houses with flat straight wall-surfaces, pierced with parallel lines of windows, where these people are caged in their lifetime; certainly modernism is not in their ladies' bonnets, carrying on them loads of incongruities. These are not modern, but merely European. True modernism is freedom of mind, not slavery of taste. It is independence of thought and action, not tutelage under European schoolmasters. It is science, but not its wrong application in life,--a mere imitation of our science teachers who reduce it into a superstition absurdly invoking its aid for all impossible purposes. Science, when it oversteps its limits and occupies the whole region of life, has its fascination. It looks so powerful because of its superficiality,--as does a hippopotamus which is very little else but physical. Science speaks of the struggle for existence, but forgets that man's existence is not merely of the surface. Man truly exists in the ideal of perfection, whose depth and height are not yet measured. Life based upon science is attractive to some men, because it has all the characteristics of sport; it feigns seriousness, but is not profound. When you go a-hunting, the less pity you have the better; for your one object is to chase the game and kill it, to feel that you are the greater animal, that your method of destruction is thorough and scientific. Because, therefore, a sportsman is only a superficial man,--his fullness of humanity not being there to hamper him,--he is successful in killing innocent life and is happy. And the life of science is that superficial life. It pursues success with skill and thoroughness, and takes no account of the higher nature of man. But even science cannot tow humanity against truth and be successful; and those whose minds are crude enough to plan their lives upon the supposition, that man is merely a hunter and his paradise the paradise of sportsman, will be rudely awakened in the midst of their trophies of skeletons and skulls. For man's struggle for existence is to exist in the fullness of his nature,--not by curtailing all that is best in him and dwarfing his existence itself, but by accepting all the responsibilities of his spiritual life, even through death and defeat. I do not for a moment suggest, that Japan should be unmindful of acquiring modern weapons of self-protection. But this should never be allowed to go beyond her instinct of self-preservation. She must know that the real power is not in the weapons themselves, but in the man who wields those weapons; and when he, in his eagerness for power, multiplies his weapons at the cost of his own soul, then it is he who is in even greater danger than his enemies. Things that are living are so easily hurt; therefore they require protection. In nature, life protects itself within in coverings, which are built with life's own material. Therefore they are in harmony with life's growth, or else when the time comes they easily give way and are forgotten. The living man has his true protection in his spiritual ideals, which have their vital connection with his life and grow with his growth. But, unfortunately, all his armour is not living,--some of it is made of steel, inert and mechanical. Therefore, while making use of it, man has to be careful to protect himself from its tyranny. If he is weak enough to grow smaller to fit himself to his covering, then it becomes a process of gradual suicide by shrinkage of the soul. And Japan must have a firm faith in the moral law of existence to be able to assert to herself, that the Western nations are following that path of suicide, where they are smothering their humanity under the immense weight of organisations in order to keep themselves in power and hold others in subjection. Therefore I cannot think that the imitation of the outward aspects of the West, which is becoming more and more evident in modern Japan, is essential to her strength or stability. It is burdening her true nature and causing weakness, which will be felt more deeply as time goes on. The habits, which are being formed by the modern Japanese from their boyhood,--the habits of the Western life, the habits of the alien culture,--will prove, one day, a serious obstacle to the understanding of their own true nature. And then, if the children of Japan forget their past, if they stand as barriers, choking the stream that flows from the mountain peak of their ancient history, their future will be deprived of the water of life that has made her culture so fertile with richness of beauty and strength. What is still more dangerous for Japan is, not this imitation of the outer features of the West, but the acceptance of the motive force of the Western civilisation as her own. Her social ideals are already showing signs of defeat at the hands of politics, and her modern tendency seems to incline towards political gambling in which the players stake their souls to win their game. I can see her motto, taken from science, "Survival of the Fittest," writ large at the entrance of her present-day history--the motto whose meaning is, "Help yourself, and never heed what it costs to others"; the motto of the blind man, who only believes in what he can touch, because he cannot see. But those who can see, know that men are so closely knit, that when you strike others the blow comes back to yourself. The moral law, which is the greatest discovery of man, is the discovery of this wonderful truth, that man becomes all the truer, the more he realises himself in others. This truth has not only a subjective value, but is manifested in every department of our life. And nations, who sedulously cultivate moral blindness as the cult of patriotism, will end their existence in a sudden and violent death. In past ages we had foreign invasions, there had been cruelty and bloodshed, intrigues of jealousy and avarice, but they never touched the soul of the people deeply; for the people, as a body, never participated in these games. They were merely the outcome of individual ambitions. The people themselves, being free from the responsibilities of the baser and more heinous side of those adventures, had all the advantage of the heroic and the human disciplines derived from them. This developed their unflinching loyalty, their single-minded devotion to the obligations of honour, their power of complete self-surrender and fearless acceptance of death and danger. Therefore the ideals, whose seats were in the hearts of the people, would not undergo any serious change owing to the policies adopted by the kings or generals. But now, where the spirit of the Western civilisation prevails, the whole people is being taught from boyhood, to foster hatreds and ambitions by all kinds of means,--by the manufacture of half-truths and untruths in history, by persistent misrepresentation of other races and the culture of unfavourable sentiments towards them, by setting up memorials of events, very often false, which for the sake of humanity should be speedily forgotten, thus continually brewing evil menace towards neighbours and nations other than their own. This is poisoning the very fountain-head of humanity. It is discrediting the ideals, which were born of the lives of men, who were our greatest and best. It is holding up gigantic selfishness as the one universal religion for all nations of the world. We can take anything else from the hands of science, but not this elixir of moral death. Never think for a moment, that the hurts you inflict upon other races will not infect you, and the enmities you sow around your homes will be a wall of protection to you for all time to come. To imbue the minds of a whole people with an abnormal vanity of its own superiority, to teach it to take pride in its moral callousness and ill-begotten wealth, to perpetuate humiliation of defeated nations by exhibiting trophies won from war, and using these in schools in order to breed in children's minds contempt for others, is imitating the West where she has a festering sore, whose swelling is a swelling of disease eating into its vitality. Our food crops, which are necessary for our sustenance, are products of centuries of selection and care. But the vegetation, which we have not to transform into our lives, does not require the patient thoughts of generations. It is not easy to get rid of weeds; but it is easy, by process of neglect, to ruin your food crops and let them revert to their primitive state of wildness. Likewise the culture, which has so kindly adapted itself to your soil,--so intimate with life, so human,--not only needed tilling and weeding in past ages, but still needs anxious work and watching. What is merely modern,--as science and methods of organisation,--can be transplanted; but what is vitally human has fibres so delicate, and roots so numerous and far reaching, that it dies when moved from its soil. Therefore I am afraid of the rude pressure of the political ideals of the West upon your own. In political civilisation, the state is an abstraction and relationship of men utilitarian. Because it has no roots in sentiments, it is so dangerously easy to handle. Half a century has been enough for you to master this machine; and there are men among you, whose fondness for it exceeds their love for the living ideals which were born with the birth of your nation and nursed in your centuries. It is like a child, who, in the excitement of his play, imagines he likes his playthings better than his mother. Where man is at his greatest, he is unconscious. Your civilisation, whose mainspring is the bond of human relationship, has been nourished in the depth of a healthy life beyond reach of prying self-analysis. But a mere political relationship is all conscious; it is an eruptive inflammation of aggressiveness. It has forcibly burst upon your notice. And the time has come, when you have to be roused into full consciousness of the truth by which you live, so that you may not be taken unawares. The past has been God's gift to you; about the present, you must make your own choice. So the questions you have to put to yourselves are these,--"Have we read the world wrong, and based our relation to it upon an ignorance of human nature? Is the instinct of the West right, where she builds her national welfare behind the barricade of a universal distrust of humanity?" You must have detected a strong accent of fear, whenever the West has discussed the possibility of the rise of an Eastern race. The reason of it is this, that the power, by whose help she thrives, is an evil power; so long as it is held on her own side she can be safe, while the rest of the world trembles. The vital ambition of the present civilisation of Europe is to have the exclusive possession of the devil. All her armaments and diplomacy are directed upon this one object. But these costly rituals for invocation of the evil spirit lead through a path of prosperity to the brink of cataclysm. The furies of terror, which the West has let loose upon God's world, come back to threaten herself and goad her into preparations of more and more frightfulness; this gives her no rest and makes her forget all else but the perils that she causes to others, and incurs herself. To the worship of this devil of politics she sacrifices other countries as victims. She feeds upon their dead flesh and grows fat upon it, so long as the carcasses remain fresh,--but they are sure to rot at last, and the dead will take their revenge, by spreading pollution far and wide and poisoning the vitality of the feeder. Japan had all her wealth of humanity, her harmony of heroism and beauty, her depth of self-control and richness of self-expression; yet the Western nations felt no respect for her, till she proved that the bloodhounds of Satan are not only bred in the kennels of Europe, but can also be domesticated in Japan and fed with man's miseries. They admit Japan's equality with themselves, only when they know that Japan also possesses the key to open the floodgate of hell-fire upon the fair earth, whenever she chooses, and can dance, in their own measure, the devil dance of pillage, murder, and ravishment of innocent women, while the world goes to ruin. We know that, in the early stage of man's moral immaturity, he only feels reverence for the god whose malevolence he dreads. But is this the ideal of man which we can look up to with pride? After centuries of civilisation nations fearing each other like the prowling wild beasts of the night time; shutting their doors of hospitality; combining only for purpose of aggression or defence; hiding in their holes their trade secrets, state secrets, secrets of their armaments; making peace offerings to the barking dogs of each other with the meat which does not belong to them; holding down fallen races struggling to stand upon their feet; counting their safety only upon the feebleness of the rest of humanity; with their right hands dispensing religion to weaker peoples, while robbing them with their left,--is there anything in this to make us envious? Are we to bend our knees to the spirit of this civilisation, which is sowing broadcast over all the world seeds of fear, greed, suspicion, unashamed lies of its diplomacy, and unctuous lies of its profession of peace and good-will and universal brotherhood of Man? Can we have no doubt in our minds, when we rush to the Western market to buy this foreign product in exchange for our own inheritance? I am aware how difficult it is to know one's self; and the man, who is intoxicated, furiously denies his drunkenness; yet the West herself is anxiously thinking of her problems and trying experiments. But she is like a glutton, who has not the heart to give up his intemperance in eating, and fondly clings to the hope that he can cure his nightmares of indigestion by medicine. Europe is not ready to give up her political inhumanity, with all the baser passions of man attendant upon it; she believes only in modification of systems, and not in change of heart. We are willing to buy their machine-made systems, not with our hearts, but with our brains. We shall try them and build sheds for them, but not enshrine them in our homes, or temples. There are races, who worship the animals they kill; we can buy meat from them, when we are hungry, but not the worship which goes with the killing. We must not vitiate our children's minds with the superstition, that business is business, war is war, politics is politics. We must know that man's business has to be more than mere business, and so have to be his war and politics. You had your own industry in Japan; how scrupulously honest and true it was, you can see by its products,--by their grace and strength, their conscientiousness in details, where they can hardly be observed. But the tidal wave of falsehood has swept over your land from that part of the world, where business is business, and honesty is followed in it merely as the best policy. Have you never felt shame, when you see the trade advertisements, not only plastering the whole town with lies and exaggerations, but invading the green fields, where the peasants do their honest labour, and the hill-tops, which greet the first pure light of the morning? It is so easy to dull our sense of honour and delicacy of mind with constant abrasion, while falsehoods stalk abroad with proud steps in the name of trade, politics and patriotism, that any protest against their perpetual intrusion into our lives is considered to be sentimentalism, unworthy of true manliness. And it has come to pass, that the children of those heroes, who would keep their word at the point of death, who would disdain to cheat men for vulgar profit, who even in their fight would much rather court defeat than be dishonourable, have become energetic in dealing with falsehoods and do not feel humiliated by gaining advantage from them. And this has been effected by the charm of the word 'modern.' But if undiluted utility be modern, beauty is of all ages; if mean selfishness be modern, the human ideals are no new inventions. And we must know for certain, that however modern may be the proficiency, which clips and cripples man for the sake of methods and machines, it will never live to be old. When Japan is in imminent peril of neglecting to realise where she is great, it is the duty of a foreigner like myself to remind her, that she has given rise to a civilisation which is perfect in its form, and has evolved a sense of sight which clearly sees truth in beauty and beauty in truth. She has achieved something, which is positive and complete. It is easier for a stranger to know what it is in her, which is truly valuable for all mankind,--what is there, which only she, of all other races, has produced from her inner life and not from her mere power of adaptability. Japan must be reminded, that it is her sense of the rhythm of life and of all things, her genius for simplicity, her love for cleanliness, her definiteness of thought and action, her cheerful fortitude, her immense reserve of force in self-control, her sensitiveness to her code of honour and defiance of death, which have given her the power to resist the cyclonic storm of exploitation that has sprung from the shores of Europe circling round and round the world. All these qualities are the outcome of a civilisation, whose foundation is in the spiritual ideals of life. Such a civilisation has the gift of immortality; for it does not offend against the laws of creation and is not assailed by all the forces of nature. I feel it is an impiety to be indifferent to its protection from the incursion of vulgarity of power. But while trying to free our minds from the arrogant claims of Europe and to help ourselves out of the quicksands of our infatuation, we may go to the other extreme and blind ourselves with a wholesale suspicion of the West. The reaction of disillusionment is just as unreal as the first shock of illusion. We must try to come to that normal state of mind, by which we can clearly discern our own danger and avoid it, without being unjust towards the source of that danger. There is always the natural temptation in us of wishing to pay back Europe in her own coin, and return contempt for contempt and evil for evil. But that again would be to imitate Europe in one of her worst features which comes out in her behaviour to people whom she describes as yellow or red, brown or black. And this is a point on which we in the East have to acknowledge our guilt and own that our sin has been as great, if not greater, when we insulted humanity by treating with utter disdain and cruelty men who belonged to a particular creed, colour or caste. It is really because we are afraid of our own weakness, which allows itself to be overcome by the sight of power, that we try to substitute for it another weakness which makes itself blind to the glories of the West. When we truly know the Europe which is great and good, we can effectively save ourselves from the Europe which is mean and grasping. It is easy to be unfair in one's judgment when one is faced with human miseries,--and pessimism is the result of building theories while the mind is suffering. To despair of humanity is only possible, if we lose faith in the power which brings to it strength, when its defeat is greatest, and calls out new life from the depth of its destruction. We must admit that there is a living soul in the West which is struggling unobserved against the hugeness of the organisations under which men, women and children are being crushed, and whose mechanical necessities are ignoring laws that are spiritual and human,--the soul whose sensibilities refuse to be dulled completely by dangerous habits of heedlessness in dealings with races for whom it lacks natural sympathy. The West could never have risen to the eminence she has reached, if her strength were merely the strength of the brute, or of the machine. The divine in her heart is suffering from the injuries inflicted by her hands upon the world,--and from this pain of her higher nature flows the secret balm which will bring healing to those injuries. Time after time she has fought against herself and has undone the chains, which with her own hands she had fastened round helpless limbs; and though she forced poison down the throat of a great nation at the point of sword for gain of money, she herself woke up to withdraw from it, to wash her hands clean again. This shows hidden springs of humanity in spots which look dead and barren. It proves that the deeper truth in her nature, which can survive such career of cruel cowardliness, is not greed, but reverence for unselfish ideals. It would be altogether unjust, both to us and to Europe, to say that she has fascinated the modern Eastern mind by the mere exhibition of her power. Through the smoke of cannons and dust of markets the light of her moral nature has shone bright, and she has brought to us the ideal of ethical freedom, whose foundation lies deeper than social conventions and whose province of activity is world-wide. The East has instinctively felt, even through her aversion, that she has a great deal to learn from Europe, not merely about the materials of power, but about its inner source, which is of mind and of the moral nature of man. Europe has been teaching us the higher obligations of public good above those of the family and the clan, and the sacredness of law, which makes society independent of individual caprice, secures for it continuity of progress, and guarantees justice to all men of all positions in life. Above all things Europe has held high before our minds the banner of liberty, through centuries of martyrdom and achievement,--liberty of conscience, liberty of thought and action, liberty in the ideals of art and literature. And because Europe has won our deep respect, she has become so dangerous for us where she is turbulently weak and false,--dangerous like poison when it is served along with our best food. There is one safety for us upon which we hope we may count, and that is, that we can claim Europe herself, as our ally, in our resistance to her temptations and to her violent encroachments; for she has ever carried her own standard of perfection, by which we can measure her falls and gauge her degrees of failure, by which we can call her before her own tribunal and put her to shame,--the shame which is the sign of the true pride of nobleness. But our fear is, that the poison may be more powerful than the food, and what is strength in her to-day may not be the sign of health, but the contrary; for it may be temporarily caused by the upsetting of the balance of life. Our fear is that evil has a fateful fascination, when it assumes dimensions which are colossal,--and though at last, it is sure to lose its centre of gravity, by its abnormal disproportion, the mischief which it creates before its fall may be beyond reparation. Therefore I ask you to have the strength of faith and clarity of mind to know for certain, that the lumbering structure of modern progress, riveted by the iron bolts of efficiency, which runs upon the wheels of ambition, cannot hold together for long. Collisions are certain to occur; for it has to travel upon organised lines, it is too heavy to choose its own course freely; and once it is off the rails, its endless train of vehicles is dislocated. A day will come, when it will fall in a heap of ruin and cause serious obstruction to the traffic of the world. Do we not see signs of this even now? Does not the voice come to us, through the din of war, the shrieks of hatred, the wailings of despair, through the churning up of the unspeakable filth which has been accumulating for ages in the bottom of this civilisation,--the voice which cries to our soul, that the tower of national selfishness, which goes by the name of patriotism, which has raised its banner of treason against heaven, must totter and fall with a crash, weighed down by its own bulk, its flag kissing the dust, its light extinguished? My brothers, when the red light of conflagration sends up its crackle of laughter to the stars, keep your faith upon those stars and not upon the fire of destruction. For when this conflagration consumes itself and dies down, leaving its memorial in ashes, the eternal light will again shine in the East,--the East which has been the birth-place of the morning sun of man's history. And who knows if that day has not already dawned, and the sun not risen, in the Easternmost horizon of Asia? And I offer, as did my ancestor rishis, my salutation to that sunrise of the East, which is destined once again to illumine the whole world. I know my voice is too feeble to raise itself above the uproar of this bustling time, and it is easy for any street urchin to fling against me the epithet of 'unpractical.' It will stick to my coat-tail, never to be washed away, effectively excluding me from the consideration of all respectable persons. I know what a risk one runs from the vigorously athletic crowds to be styled an idealist in these days, when thrones have lost their dignity and prophets have become an anachronism, when the sound that drowns all voices is the noise of the market-place. Yet when, one day, standing on the outskirts of Yokohama town, bristling with its display of modern miscellanies, I watched the sunset in your southern sea, and saw its peace and majesty among your pine-clad hills,--with the great Fujiyama growing faint against the golden horizon, like a god overcome with his own radiance,--the music of eternity welled up through the evening silence, and I felt that the sky and the earth and the lyrics of the dawn and the dayfall are with the poets and idealists, and not with the marketsmen robustly contemptuous of all sentiments,--that, after the forgetfulness of his own divinity, man will remember again that heaven is always in touch with his world, which can never be abandoned for good to the hounding wolves of the modern era, scenting human blood and howling to the skies. Transcriber Notes: On page 11, "sacrificesstet" was replaced with "sacrifices". On page 20, "imitaing" was replaced with "imitating", and "its vitality," was replaced with "its vitality.". 
19264	----	Transcriber's Note: The accenting of the Japanese names is not consistent throughout the book. The accents are preserved as given in the book. Japanese Literature INCLUDING SELECTIONS FROM GENJI MONOGATARI AND CLASSICAL POETRY AND DRAMA OF JAPAN WITH CRITICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES BY EPIPHANIUS WILSON, A.M. REVISED EDITION COPYRIGHT, 1900 BY THE COLONIAL PRESS * * * * * CONTENTS GENJI MONOGATARI Introduction CHAPTER I.--The Chamber of Kiri II.--The Broom-like Tree III.--Beautiful Cicada IV.--Evening Glory V.--Young Violet VI.--Saffron Flower VII.--Maple Fête VIII.--Flower-Feast IX.--Hollyhock X.--Divine Tree XI.--Villa of Falling Flowers XII.--Exile at Suma XIII.--Exile at Akashi XIV.--The Beacon XV.--Overgrown Mugwort XVI.--Barrier House XVII.--Competitive Show of Pictures CLASSICAL POETRY OF JAPAN Introduction BALLADS-- The Fisher-Boy Urashima On Seeing a Dead Body The Maiden of Unáhi The Grave of the Maiden of Unáhi The Maiden of Katsushika The Beggar's Complaint A Soldier's Regrets on Leaving Home LOVE SONGS-- On Beholding the Mountain Love is Pain Hitomaro to His Mistress No Tidings Homeward The Maiden and the Dog Love is All Husband and Wife He Comes Not He and She The Pearls A Damsel Crossing a Bridge Secret Love The Omen A Maiden's Lament Rain and Snow Mount Mikash Evening ELEGIES-- On the Death of the Mikado Tenji On the Death of the Poet's Mistress Elegy on the Poet's Wife On the Death of Prince Hinami On the Death of the Nun Riguwañ On the Poet's Son, Furubi Short Stanza on the Same Occasion MISCELLANEOUS POEMS-- View from Mount Kago The Mikado's Bow Spring and Autumn Spring Recollections of My Children The Brook of Hatsúse Lines to a Friend A Very Ancient Ode The Bridge to Heaven Ode to the Cuckoo The Ascent of Mount Tsukúba Couplet SHORT STANZAS THE DRAMA OF JAPAN Nakamitsu Abstraction * * * * * GENJI MONOGATARI BY MURASAKI SHIKIB [_Translated into English by Suyematz Kenchio_] INTRODUCTION BY THE TRANSLATOR Genji Monogatari,[1] the original of this translation, is one of the standard works of Japanese literature. It has been regarded for centuries as a national treasure. The title of the work is by no means unknown to those Europeans who take an interest in Japanese matters, for it is mentioned or alluded to in almost every European work relating to our country. It was written by a lady, who, from her writings, is considered one of the most talented women that Japan has ever produced. She was the daughter of Fujiwara Tametoki, a petty Court noble, remotely connected with the great family of Fujiwara, in the tenth century after Christ, and was generally called Murasaki Shikib. About these names a few remarks are necessary. The word "Shikib" means "ceremonies," and is more properly a name adopted, with the addition of certain suffixes, to designate special Court offices. Thus the term "Shikib-Kiô" is synonymous with "master of the ceremonies," and "Shikib-no-Jiô" with "secretary to the master of the ceremonies." Hence it might at first sight appear rather peculiar if such an appellation should happen to be used as the name of a woman. It was, however, a custom of the period for noble ladies and their attendants to be often called after such offices, generally with the suffix "No-Kata," indicating the female sex, and somewhat corresponding to the word "madam." This probably originated in the same way as the practice in America of calling ladies by their husbands' official titles, such as Mrs. Captain, Mrs. Judge, etc., only that in the case of the Japanese custom the official title came in time to be used without any immediate association with the offices themselves, and often even as a maiden name. From this custom our authoress came to be called "Shikib," a name which did not originally apply to a person. To this another name, Murasaki, was added, in order to distinguish her from other ladies who may also have been called Shikib. "Murasaki" means "violet," whether the flower or the color. Concerning the origin of this appellation there exist two different opinions. Those holding one, derive it from her family name, Fujiwara; for "Fujiwara" literally means "the field of Wistaria," and the color of the Wistaria blossom is violet. Those holding the other, trace it to the fact that out of several persons introduced into the story, Violet (Murasaki in the text) is a most modest and gentle woman, whence it is thought that the admirers of the work transferred the name to the authoress herself. In her youth she was maid of honor to a daughter of the then prime minister, who became eventually the wife of the Emperor Ichijiô, better known by her surname, Jiôtô-Monin, and who is especially famous as having been the patroness of our authoress. Murasaki Shikib married a noble, named Nobtaka, to whom she bore a daughter, who, herself, wrote a work of fiction, called "Sagoromo" (narrow sleeves). She survived her husband, Nobtaka, some years, and spent her latter days in quiet retirement, dying in the year 992 after Christ. The diary which she wrote during her retirement is still in existence, and her tomb may yet be seen in a Buddhist temple in Kiôto, the old capital where the principal scenes of her story are laid. The exact date when her story was written is not given in the work, but her diary proves that it was evidently composed before she arrived at old age. The traditional account given of the circumstances which preceded the writing of the story is this: when the above-mentioned Empress was asked by the Saigû (the sacred virgin of the temple of Ise) if her Majesty could not procure an interesting romance for her, because the older fictions had become too familiar, she requested Shikib to write a new one, and the result of this request was this story. The tradition goes on to say that when this request was made Shikib retired to the Buddhist temple in Ishiyama, situated on hilly ground at the head of the picturesque river Wooji, looking down on Lake Biwa. There she betook herself to undergo the "Tooya" (confinement in a temple throughout the night), a solemn religious observance for the purpose of obtaining divine help and good success in her undertaking. It was the evening of the fifteenth of August. Before her eyes the view extended for miles. In the silver lake below, the pale face of the full moon was reflected in the calm, mirror-like waters, displaying itself in indescribable beauty. Her mind became more and more serene as she gazed on the prospect before her, while her imagination became more and more lively as she grew calmer and calmer. The ideas and incidents of the story, which she was about to write, stole into her mind as if by divine influence. The first topic which struck her most strongly was that given in the chapters on exile. These she wrote down immediately, in order not to allow the inspiration of the moment to be lost, on the back of a roll of Daihannia (the Chinese translation of Mahâprajñâpâramitâ, one of the Buddhist Sûtras), and formed subsequently two chapters in the text, the Suma and Akashi, all the remaining parts of the work having been added one by one. It is said that this idea of exile came naturally to her mind, because a prince who had been known to her from her childhood had been an exile at Kiûsiû, a little before this period. It is also said that the authoress afterwards copied the roll of Daihannia with her own hand, in expiation of her having profanely used it as a notebook, and that she dedicated it to the Temple, in which there is still a room where she is alleged to have written down the story. A roll of Daihannia is there also, which is asserted to be the very same one copied by her. How far these traditions are in accordance with fact may be a matter of question, but thus they have come down to us, and are popularly believed. Many Europeans, I daresay, have noticed on our lacquer work and other art objects, the representation of a lady seated at a writing-desk, with a pen held in her tiny fingers, gazing at the moon reflected in a lake. This lady is no other than our authoress. The number of chapters in the modern text of the story is fifty-four, one of these having the title only and nothing else. There is some reason to believe that there might have existed a few additional chapters. Of these fifty-four chapters, the first forty-one relate to the life and adventures of Prince Genji; and those which come after refer principally to one of his sons. The last ten are supposed to have been added by another hand, generally presumed to have been that of her daughter. This is conjectured because the style of these final chapters is somewhat dissimilar to that of those which precede. The period of time covered by the entire story is some sixty years, and this volume of translation comprises the first seventeen chapters. The aims which the authoress seems always to have kept in view are revealed to us at some length by the mouth of her hero: "ordinary histories," he is made to say, "are the mere records of events, and are generally treated in a one-sided manner. They give no insight into the true state of society. This, however, is the very sphere on which romances principally dwell. Romances," he continues, "are indeed fictions, but they are by no means always pure inventions; their only peculiarities being these, that in them the writers often trace out, among numerous real characters, the best, when they wish to represent the good, and the oddest, when they wish to amuse." From these remarks we can plainly see that our authoress fully understood the true vocation of a romance writer, and has successfully realized the conception in her writings. The period to which her story relates is supposed to be the earlier part of the tenth century after Christ, a time contemporary with her own life. For some centuries before this period, our country had made a signal progress in civilization by its own internal development, and by the external influence of the enlightenment of China, with whom we had had for some time considerable intercourse. No country could have been happier than was ours at this epoch. It enjoyed perfect tranquillity, being alike free from all fears of foreign invasion and domestic commotions. Such a state of things, however, could not continue long without producing some evils; and we can hardly be surprised to find that the Imperial capital became a sort of centre of comparative luxury and idleness. Society lost sight, to a great extent, of true morality, and the effeminacy of the people constituted the chief feature of the age. Men were ever ready to carry on sentimental adventures whenever they found opportunities, and the ladies of the time were not disposed to disencourage them altogether. The Court was the focus of society, and the utmost ambition of ladies of some birth was to be introduced there. As to the state of politics, the Emperor, it is true, reigned; but all the real power was monopolized by members of the Fujiwara families. These, again, vied among themselves for the possession of this power, and their daughters were generally used as political instruments, since almost all the Royal consorts were taken from some of these families. The abdication of an emperor was a common event, and arose chiefly from the intrigues of these same families, although partly from the prevailing influence of Buddhism over the public mind. Such, then, was the condition of society at the time when the authoress, Murasaki Shikib, lived; and such was the sphere of her labors, a description of which she was destined to hand down to posterity by her writings. In fact, there is no better history than her story, which so vividly illustrates the society of her time. True it is that she openly declares in one passage of her story that politics are not matters which women are supposed to understand; yet, when we carefully study her writings, we can scarcely fail to recognize her work as a partly political one. This fact becomes more vividly interesting when we consider that the unsatisfactory conditions of both the state and society soon brought about a grievous weakening of the Imperial authority, and opened wide the gate for the ascendency of the military class. This was followed by the systematic formation of feudalism, which, for some seven centuries, totally changed the face of Japan. For from the first ascendency of this military system down to our own days everything in society--ambitions, honors, the very temperament and daily pursuits of men, and political institutes themselves--became thoroughly unlike those of which our authoress was an eye-witness. I may almost say that for several centuries Japan never recovered the ancient civilization which she had once attained and lost. Another merit of the work consists in its having been written in pure classical Japanese; and here it may be mentioned that we had once made a remarkable progress in our own language quite independently of any foreign influence, and that when the native literature was at first founded, its language was identical with that spoken. Though the predominance of Chinese studies had arrested the progress of the native literature, it was still extant at the time, and even for some time after the date of our authoress. But with the ascendency of the military class, the neglect of all literature became for centuries universal. The little that has been preserved is an almost unreadable chaos of mixed Chinese and Japanese. Thus a gulf gradually opened between the spoken and the written language. It has been only during the last two hundred and fifty years that our country has once more enjoyed a long continuance of peace, and has once more renewed its interest in literature. Still Chinese has occupied the front rank, and almost monopolized attention. It is true that within the last sixty or seventy years numerous works of fiction of different schools have been produced, mostly in the native language, and that these, when judged as stories, generally excel in their plots those of the classical period. The status, however, of these writers has never been recognized by the public, nor have they enjoyed the same degree of honor as scholars of a different description. Their style of composition, moreover, has never reached the same degree of refinement which distinguished the ancient works. This last is a strong reason for our appreciation of true classical works such as that of our authoress. Again, the concise description of scenery, the elegance of which it is almost impossible to render with due force in another language, and the true and delicate touches of human nature which everywhere abound in the work, especially in the long dialogue in Chapter II, are almost marvellous when we consider the sex of the writer, and the early period when she wrote. Yet this work affords fair ground for criticism. The thread of her story is often diffuse and somewhat disjointed, a fault probably due to the fact that she had more flights of imagination than power of equal and systematic condensation: she having been often carried away by that imagination from points where she ought to have rested. But, on the other hand, in most parts the dialogue is scanty, which might have been prolonged to considerable advantage, if it had been framed on models of modern composition. The work, also, is too voluminous. In translating I have cut out several passages which appeared superfluous, though nothing has been added to the original. The authoress has been by no means exact in following the order of dates, though this appears to have proceeded from her endeavor to complete each distinctive group of ideas in each particular chapter. In fact she had even left the chapters unnumbered, simply contenting herself with a brief heading, after which each is now called, such as "Chapter Kiri-Tsubo," etc., so that the numbering has been undertaken by the translator for the convenience of the reader. It has no extraordinarily intricate plot like those which excite the readers of the sensational romances of the modern western style. It has many heroines, but only one hero, and this comes no doubt from the peculiar purpose of the writer to portray different varieties and shades of female characters at once, as is shadowed in Chapter II, and also to display the intense fickleness and selfishness of man. I notice these points beforehand in order to prepare the reader for the more salient faults of the work. On the whole my principal object is not so much to amuse my readers as to present them with a study of human nature, and to give them information on the history of the social and political condition of my native country nearly a thousand years ago. They will be able to compare it with the condition of mediæval and modern Europe. Another peculiarity of the work to which I would draw attention is that, with few exceptions, it does not give proper names to the personages introduced; for the male characters official titles are generally employed, and to the principal female ones some appellation taken from an incident belonging to the history of each; for instance, a girl is named Violet because the hero once compared her to that flower, while another is called Yûgao because she was found in a humble dwelling where the flowers of the Yûgao covered the hedges with a mantle of blossom. I have now only to add that the translation is, perhaps, not always idiomatic, though in this matter I have availed myself of some valuable assistance, for which I feel most thankful. SUYEMATZ KENCHIO. _Tokyo, Japan._ FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 1: Which means, "The Romance of Genji."] GENJI MONOGATARI CHAPTER I THE CHAMBER OF KIRI[2] In the reign of a certain Emperor, whose name is unknown to us, there was, among the Niogo[76] and Kôyi[3] of the Imperial Court, one who, though she was not of high birth, enjoyed the full tide of Royal favor. Hence her superiors, each one of whom had always been thinking--"I shall be the _one_," gazed upon her disdainfully with malignant eyes, and her equals and inferiors were more indignant still. Such being the state of affairs, the anxiety which she had to endure was great and constant, and this was probably the reason why her health was at last so much affected, that she was often compelled to absent herself from Court, and to retire to the residence of her mother. Her father, who was a Dainagon,[4] was dead; but her mother, being a woman of good sense, gave her every possible guidance in the due performance of Court ceremony, so that in this respect she seemed but little different from those whose fathers and mothers were still alive to bring them before public notice, yet, nevertheless, her friendliness made her oftentimes feel very diffident from the want of any patron of influence. These circumstances, however, only tended to make the favor shown to her by the Emperor wax warmer and warmer, and it was even shown to such an extent as to become a warning to after-generations. There had been instances in China in which favoritism such as this had caused national disturbance and disaster; and thus the matter became a subject of public animadversion, and it seemed not improbable that people would begin to allude even to the example of Yô-ki-hi.[5] In due course, and in consequence, we may suppose, of the Divine blessing on the sincerity of their affection, a jewel of a little prince was born to her. The first prince who had been born to the Emperor was the child of Koki-den-Niogo,[6] the daughter of the Udaijin (a great officer of State). Not only was he first in point of age, but his influence on his mother's side was so great that public opinion had almost unanimously fixed upon him as heir-apparent. Of this the Emperor was fully conscious, and he only regarded the new-born child with that affection which one lavishes on a domestic favorite. Nevertheless, the mother of the first prince had, not unnaturally, a foreboding that unless matters were managed adroitly her child might be superseded by the younger one. She, we may observe, had been established at Court before any other lady, and had more children than one. The Emperor, therefore, was obliged to treat her with due respect, and reproaches from her always affected him more keenly than those of any others. To return to her rival. Her constitution was extremely delicate, as we have seen already, and she was surrounded by those who would fain lay bare, so to say, her hidden scars. Her apartments in the palace were Kiri-Tsubo (the chamber of Kiri); so called from the trees that were planted around. In visiting her there the Emperor had to pass before several other chambers, whose occupants universally chafed when they saw it. And again, when it was her turn to attend upon the Emperor, it often happened that they played off mischievous pranks upon her, at different points in the corridor, which leads to the Imperial quarters. Sometimes they would soil the skirts of her attendants, sometimes they would shut against her the door of the covered portico, where no other passage existed; and thus, in every possible way, they one and all combined to annoy her. The Emperor at length became aware of this, and gave her, for her special chamber, another apartment, which was in the Kôrô-Den, and which was quite close to those in which he himself resided. It had been originally occupied by another lady who was now removed, and thus fresh resentment was aroused. When the young Prince was three years old the Hakamagi[7] took place. It was celebrated with a pomp scarcely inferior to that which adorned the investiture of the first Prince. In fact, all available treasures were exhausted on the occasion. And again the public manifested its disapprobation. In the summer of the same year the Kiri-Tsubo-Kôyi became ill, and wished to retire from the palace. The Emperor, however, who was accustomed to see her indisposed, strove to induce her to remain. But her illness increased day by day; and she had drooped and pined away until she was now but a shadow of her former self. She made scarcely any response to the affectionate words and expressions of tenderness which her Royal lover caressingly bestowed upon her. Her eyes were half-closed: she lay like a fading flower in the last stage of exhaustion, and she became so much enfeebled that her mother appeared before the Emperor and entreated with tears that she might be allowed to leave. Distracted by his vain endeavors to devise means to aid her, the Emperor at length ordered a Te-gruma[8] to be in readiness to convey her to her own home, but even then he went to her apartment and cried despairingly: "Did not we vow that we would neither of us be either before or after the other even in travelling the last long journey of life? And can you find it in your heart to leave me now?" Sadly and tenderly looking up, she thus replied, with almost failing breath:-- "Since my departure for this dark journey, Makes you so sad and lonely, Fain would I stay though weak and weary, And live for your sake only!" "Had I but known this before--" She appeared to have much more to say, but was too weak to continue. Overpowered with grief, the Emperor at one moment would fain accompany her himself, and at another moment would have her remain to the end where she then was. At the last, her departure was hurried, because the exorcism for the sick had been appointed to take place on that evening at her home, and she went. The child Prince, however, had been left in the Palace, as his mother wished, even at that time, to make her withdrawal as privately as possible, so as to avoid any invidious observations on the part of her rivals. To the Emperor the night now became black with gloom. He sent messenger after messenger to make inquiries, and could not await their return with patience. Midnight came, and with it the sound of lamentation. The messenger, who could do nothing else, hurried back with the sad tidings of the truth. From that moment the mind of the Emperor was darkened, and he confined himself to his private apartments. He would still have kept with himself the young Prince now motherless, but there was no precedent for this, and it was arranged that he should be sent to his grandmother for the mourning. The child, who understood nothing, looked with amazement at the sad countenances of the Emperor, and of those around him. All separations have their sting, but sharp indeed was the sting in a case like this. Now the funeral took place. The weeping and wailing mother, who might have longed to mingle in the same flames,[9] entered a carriage, accompanied by female mourners. The procession arrived at the cemetery of Otagi, and the solemn rites commenced. What were then the thoughts of the desolate mother? The image of her dead daughter was still vividly present to her--still seemed animated with life. She must see her remains become ashes to convince herself that she was really dead. During the ceremony, an Imperial messenger came from the Palace, and invested the dead with the title of Sammi. The letters patent were read, and listened to in solemn silence. The Emperor conferred this title now in regret that during her lifetime he had not even promoted her position from a Kôyi to a Niogo, and wishing at this last moment to raise her title at least one step higher. Once more several tokens of disapprobation were manifested against the proceeding. But, in other respects, the beauty of the departed, and her gracious bearing, which had ever commanded admiration, made people begin to think of her with sympathy. It was the excess of the Emperor's favor which had created so many detractors during her lifetime; but now even rivals felt pity for her; and if any did not, it was in the Koki-den. "When one is no more, the memory becomes so dear," may be an illustration of a case such as this. Some days passed, and due requiem services were carefully performed. The Emperor was still plunged in thought, and no society had attractions for him. His constant consolation was to send messengers to the grandmother of the child, and to make inquiries after them. It was now autumn, and the evening winds blew chill and cold. The Emperor--who, when he saw the first Prince, could not refrain from thinking of the younger one--became more thoughtful than ever; and, on this evening, he sent Yugei-no Miôbu[10] to repeat his inquiries. She went as the new moon just rose, and the Emperor stood and contemplated from his veranda the prospect spread before him. At such moments he had usually been surrounded by a few chosen friends, one of whom was almost invariably his lost love. Now she was no more. The thrilling notes of her music, the touching strains of her melodies, stole over him in his dark and dreary reverie. The Miôbu arrived at her destination; and, as she drove in, a sense of sadness seized upon her. The owner of the house had long been a widow; but the residence, in former times, had been made beautiful for the pleasure of her only daughter. Now, bereaved of this daughter, she dwelt alone; and the grounds were overgrown with weeds, which here and there lay prostrated by the violence of the winds; while over them, fair as elsewhere, gleamed the mild lustre of the impartial moon. The Miôbu entered, and was led into a front room in the southern part of the building. At first the hostess and the messenger were equally at a loss for words. At length the silence was broken by the hostess, who said:-- "Already have I felt that I have lived too long, but doubly do I feel it now that I am visited by such a messenger as you." Here she paused, and seemed unable to contend with her emotion. "When Naishi-no-Ske returned from you," said the Miôbu, "she reported to the Emperor that when she saw you, face to face, her sympathy for you was irresistible. I, too, see now how true it is!" A moment's hesitation, and she proceeded to deliver the Imperial message:-- "The Emperor commanded me to say that for some time he had wandered in his fancy, and imagined he was but in a dream; and that, though he was now more tranquil, he could not find that it was only a dream. Again, that there is no one who can really sympathize with him; and he hopes that you will come to the Palace, and talk with him. His Majesty said also that the absence of the Prince made him anxious, and that he is desirous that you should speedily make up your mind. In giving me this message, he did not speak with readiness. He seemed to fear to be considered unmanly, and strove to exercise reserve. I could not help experiencing sympathy with him, and hurried away here, almost fearing that, perhaps, I had not quite caught his full meaning." So saying, she presented to her a letter from the Emperor. The lady's sight was dim and indistinct. Taking it, therefore, to the lamp, she said, "Perhaps the light will help me to decipher," and then read as follows, much in unison with the oral message: "I thought that time only would assuage my grief; but time only brings before me more vividly my recollection of the lost one. Yet, it is inevitable. How is my boy? Of him, too, I am always thinking. Time once was when we both hoped to bring him up together. May he still be to you a memento of his mother!" Such was the brief outline of the letter, and it contained the following:-- "The sound of the wind is dull and drear Across Miyagi's[11] dewy lea, And makes me mourn for the motherless deer That sleeps beneath the Hagi tree." She put gently the letter aside, and said, "Life and the world are irksome to me; and you can see, then, how reluctantly I should present myself at the Palace. I cannot go myself, though it is painful to me to seem to neglect the honored command. As for the little Prince, I know not why he thought of it, but he seems quite willing to go. This is very natural. Please to inform his Majesty that this is our position. Very possibly, when one remembers the birth of the young Prince, it would not be well for him to spend too much of his time as he does now." Then she wrote quickly a short answer, and handed it to the Miôbu. At this time her grandson was sleeping soundly. "I should like to see the boy awake, and to tell the Emperor all about him, but he will already be impatiently awaiting my return," said the messenger. And she prepared to depart. "It would be a relief to me to tell you how a mother laments over her departed child. Visit me, then, sometimes, if you can, as a friend, when you are not engaged or pressed for time. Formerly, when you came here, your visit was ever glad and welcome; now I see in you the messenger of woe. More and more my life seems aimless to me. From the time of my child's birth, her father always looked forward to her being presented at Court, and when dying he repeatedly enjoined me to carry out that wish. You know that my daughter had no patron to watch over her, and I well knew how difficult would be her position among her fellow-maidens. Yet, I did not disobey her father's request, and she went to Court. There the Emperor showed her a kindness beyond our hopes. For the sake of that kindness she uncomplainingly endured all the cruel taunts of envious companions. But their envy ever deepening, and her troubles ever increasing, at last she passed away, worn out, as it were, with care. When I think of the matter in that light, the kindest favors seem to me fraught with misfortune. Ah! that the blind affection of a mother should make me talk in this way!" "The thoughts of his Majesty may be even as your own," said the Miôbu. "Often when he alluded to his overpowering affection for her, he said that perhaps all this might have been because their love was destined not to last long. And that though he ever strove not to injure any subject, yet for Kiri-Tsubo, and for her alone, he had sometimes caused the ill-will of others; that when all this has been done, she was no more! All this he told me in deep gloom, and added that it made him ponder on their previous existence." The night was now far advanced, and again the Miôbu rose to take leave. The moon was sailing down westward and the cool breeze was waving the herbage to and fro, in which numerous _mushi_ were plaintively singing.[12] The messenger, being still somehow unready to start, hummed-- "Fain would one weep the whole night long, As weeps the Sudu-Mushi's song, Who chants her melancholy lay, Till night and darkness pass away." As she still lingered, the lady took up the refrain-- "To the heath where the Sudu-Mushi sings, From beyond the clouds[13] one comes from on high And more dews on the grass around she flings, And adds her own, to the night wind's sigh." A Court dress and a set of beautiful ornamental hairpins, which had belonged to Kiri-Tsubo, were presented to the Miôbu by her hostess, who thought that these things, which her daughter had left to be available on such occasions, would be a more suitable gift, under present circumstances, than any other. On the return of the Miôbu she found that the Emperor had not yet retired to rest. He was really awaiting her return, but was apparently engaged in admiring the Tsubo-Senzai--or stands of flowers--which were placed in front of the palaces, and in which the flowers were in full bloom. With him were four or five ladies, his intimate friends, with whom he was conversing. In these days his favorite topic of conversation was the "Long Regret."[14] Nothing pleased him more than to gaze upon the picture of that poem, which had been painted by Prince Teishi-In, or to talk about the native poems on the same subject, which had been composed, at the Royal command, by Ise, the poetess, and by Tsurayuki, the poet. And it was in this way that he was engaged on this particular evening. To him the Miôbu now went immediately, and she faithfully reported to him all that she had seen, and she gave to him also the answer to his letter. That letter stated that the mother of Kiri-Tsubo felt honored by his gracious inquiries, and that she was so truly grateful that she scarcely knew how to express herself. She proceeded to say that his condescension made her feel at liberty to offer to him the following:-- "Since now no fostering love is found, And the Hagi tree is dead and sere, The motherless deer lies on the ground, Helpless and weak, no shelter near." The Emperor strove in vain to repress his own emotion; and old memories, dating from the time when he first saw his favorite, rose up before him fast and thick. "How precious has been each moment to me, but yet what a long time has elapsed since then," thought he, and he said to the Miôbu, "How often have I, too, desired to see the daughter of the Dainagon in such a position as her father would have desired to see her. 'Tis in vain to speak of that now!" A pause, and he continued, "The child, however, may survive, and fortune may have some boon in store for him; and his grandmother's prayer should rather be for long life." The presents were then shown to him. "Ah," thought he, "could they be the souvenirs sent by the once lost love," as he murmured-- "Oh, could I find some wizard sprite, To bear my words to her I love, Beyond the shades of envious night, To where she dwells in realms above!" Now the picture of beautiful Yô-ki-hi, however skilful the painter may have been, is after all only a picture. It lacks life and animation. Her features may have been worthily compared to the lotus and to the willow of the Imperial gardens, but the style after all was Chinese, and to the Emperor his lost love was all in all, nor, in his eyes, was any other object comparable to her. Who doubts that they, too, had vowed to unite wings, and intertwine branches! But to what end? The murmur of winds, the music of insects, now only served to cause him melancholy. In the meantime, in the Koki-Den was heard the sound of music. She who dwelt there, and who had not now for a long time been with the Emperor, was heedlessly protracting her strains until this late hour of the evening. How painfully must these have sounded to the Emperor! "Moonlight is gone, and darkness reigns E'en in the realms 'above the clouds,' Ah! how can light, or tranquil peace, Shine o'er that lone and lowly home!" Thus thought the Emperor, and he did not retire until "the lamps were trimmed to the end!" The sound of the night watch of the right guard[15] was now heard. It was five o'clock in the morning. So, to avoid notice, he withdrew to his bedroom, but calm slumber hardly visited his eyes. This now became a common occurrence. When he rose in the morning he would reflect on the time gone by when "they knew not even that the casement was bright." But now, too, he would neglect "Morning Court." His appetite failed him. The delicacies of the so-called "great table" had no temptation for him. Men pitied him much. "There must have been some divine mystery that predetermined the course of their love," said they, "for in matters in which she is concerned he is powerless to reason, and wisdom deserts him. The welfare of the State ceases to interest him." And now people actually began to quote instances that had occurred in a foreign Court. Weeks and months had elapsed, and the son of Kiri-Tsubo was again at the Palace. In the spring of the following year the first Prince was proclaimed heir-apparent to the throne. Had the Emperor consulted his private feelings, he would have substituted the younger Prince for the elder one. But this was not possible, and, especially for this reason:--There was no influential party to support him, and, moreover, public opinion would also have been strongly opposed to such a measure, which, if effected by arbitrary power, would have become a source of danger. The Emperor, therefore, betrayed no such desire, and repressed all outward appearance of it. And now the public expressed its satisfaction at the self-restraint of the Emperor, and the mother of the first Prince felt at ease. In this year, the mother of Kiri-Tsubo departed this life. She may not improbably have longed to follow her daughter at an earlier period; and the only regret to which she gave utterance, was that she was forced to leave her grandson, whom she had so tenderly loved. From this time the young Prince took up his residence in the Imperial palace; and next year, at the age of seven, he began to learn to read and write under the personal superintendence of the Emperor. He now began to take him into the private apartments, among others, of the Koki-den, saying, "The mother is gone! now at least, let the child be received with better feeling." And if even stony-hearted warriors, or bitter enemies, if any such there were, smiled when they saw the boy, the mother of the heir-apparent, too, could not entirely exclude him from her sympathies. This lady had two daughters, and they found in their half-brother a pleasant playmate. Every one was pleased to greet him, and there was already a winning coquetry in his manners, which amused people, and made them like to play with him. We need not allude to his studies in detail, but on musical instruments, such as the flute and the _koto_,[16] he also showed great proficiency. About this time there arrived an embassy from Corea, and among them was an excellent physiognomist. When the Emperor heard of this, he wished to have the Prince examined by him. It was, however, contrary to the warnings of the Emperor Wuda, to call in foreigners to the Palace. The Prince was, therefore, disguised as the son of one Udaiben, his instructor, with whom he was sent to the Kôro-Kwan, where foreign embassies are entertained. When the physiognomist saw him, he was amazed, and, turning his own head from side to side, seemed at first to be unable to comprehend the lines of his features, and then said, "His physiognomy argues that he might ascend to the highest position in the State, but, in that case, his reign will be disturbed, and many misfortunes will ensue. If, however, his position should only be that of a great personage in the country, his fortune may be different." This Udaiben was a clever scholar. He had with the Corean pleasant conversations, and they also interchanged with one another some Chinese poems, in one of which the Corean said what great pleasure it had given him to have seen before his departure, which was now imminent, a youth of such remarkable promise. The Coreans made some valuable presents to the Prince, who had also composed a few lines, and to them, too, many costly gifts were offered from the Imperial treasures. In spite of all the precautions which were taken to keep all this rigidly secret, it did, somehow or other, become known to others, and among those to the Udaijin, who, not unnaturally, viewed it with suspicion, and began to entertain doubts of the Emperor's intentions. The latter, however, acted with great prudence. It must be remembered that, as yet, he had not even created the boy a Royal Prince. He now sent for a native physiognomist, who approved of his delay in doing so, and whose observations to this effect, the Emperor did not receive unfavorably. He wisely thought to be a Royal Prince, without having any influential support on the mother's side, would be of no real advantage to his son. Moreover, his own tenure of power seemed precarious, and he, therefore, thought it better for his own dynasty, as well as for the Prince, to keep him in a private station, and to constitute him an outside supporter of the Royal cause. And now he took more and more pains with his education in different branches of learning; and the more the boy studied, the more talent did he evince--talent almost too great for one destined to remain in a private station. Nevertheless, as we have said, suspicions would have been aroused had Royal rank been conferred upon him, and the astrologists, whom also the Emperor consulted, having expressed their disapproval of such a measure, the Emperor finally made up his mind to create a new family. To this family he assigned the name of Gen, and he made the young Prince the founder of it.[17] Some time had now elapsed since the death of the Emperor's favorite, but he was still often haunted by her image. Ladies were introduced into his presence, in order, if possible, to divert his attention, but without success. There was, however, living at this time a young Princess, the fourth child of a late Emperor. She had great promise of beauty, and was guarded with jealous care by her mother, the Empress-Dowager. The Naishi-no-Ske, who had been at the Court from the time of the said Emperor, was intimately acquainted with the Empress and familiar with the Princess, her daughter, from her very childhood. This person now recommended the Emperor to see the Princess, because her features closely resembled those of Kiri-Tsubo. "I have now fulfilled," she said, "the duties of my office under three reigns, and, as yet, I have seen but one person who resembles the departed. The daughter of the Empress-Dowager does resemble her, and she is singularly beautiful." "There may be some truth in this," thought the Emperor, and he began to regard her with awakening interest. This was related to the Empress-Dowager. She, however, gave no encouragement whatever to the idea, "How terrible!" she said. "Do we not remember the cruel harshness of the mother of the Heir-apparent, which hastened the fate of Kiri-Tsubo!" While thus discountenancing any intimacy between her daughter and the Emperor, she too died, and the princess was left parentless. The Emperor acted with great kindness, and intimated his wish to regard her as his own daughter. In consequence of this her guardian, and her brother, Prince Hiôb-Kiô, considering that life at Court would be better for her and more attractive for her than the quiet of her own home, obtained for her an introduction there. She was styled the Princess Fuji-Tsubo (of the Chamber of Wistaria), from the name of the chamber which was assigned to her. There was, indeed, both in features and manners a strange resemblance between her and Kiri-Tsubo. The rivals of the latter constantly caused pain both to herself and to the Emperor; but the illustrious birth of the Princess prevented any one from ever daring to humiliate her, and she uniformly maintained the dignity of her position. And to her alas! the Emperor's thoughts were now gradually drawn, though he could not yet be said to have forgotten Kiri-Tsubo. The young Prince, whom we now style Genji (the Gen), was still with the Emperor, and passed his time pleasantly enough in visiting the various apartments where the inmates of the palace resided. He found the companionship of all of them sufficiently agreeable; but beside the many who were now of maturer years, there was one who was still in the bloom of her youthful beauty, and who more particularly caught his fancy, the Princess Wistaria. He had no recollection of his mother, but he had been told by Naishi-no-Ske that this lady was exceedingly like her; and for this reason he often yearned to see her and to be with her. The Emperor showed equal affection to both of them, and he sometimes told her that he hoped she would not treat the boy with coldness or think him forward. He said that his affection for the one made him feel the same for the other too, and that the mutual resemblance of her own and of his mother's face easily accounted for Genji's partiality to her. And thus as a result of this generous feeling on the part of the Emperor, a warmer tinge was gradually imparted both to the boyish humor and to the awakening sentiment of the young Prince. The mother of the Heir-apparent was not unnaturally averse to the Princess, and this revived her old antipathy to Genji also. The beauty of her son, the Heir-apparent, though remarkable, could not be compared to his, and so bright and radiant was his face that Genji was called by the public Hikal-Genji-no-Kimi (the shining Prince Gen). When he attained the age of twelve the ceremony of Gembuk[18] (or crowning) took place. This was also performed with all possible magnificence. Various _fêtes_, which were to take place in public, were arranged by special order by responsible officers of the Household. The Royal chair was placed in the Eastern wing of the Seiriô-Den, where the Emperor dwells, and in front of it were the seats of the hero of the ceremony and of the Sadaijin, who was to crown him and to regulate the ceremonial. About ten o'clock in the forenoon Genji appeared on the scene. The boyish style of his hair and dress excellently became his features; and it almost seemed matter for regret that it should be altered. The Okura-Kiô-Kurahito, whose office it was to rearrange the hair of Genji, faltered as he did so. As to the Emperor, a sudden thought stole into his mind. "Ah! could his mother but have lived to have seen him now!" This thought, however, he at once suppressed. After he had been crowned the Prince withdrew to a dressing-room, where he attired himself in the full robes of manhood. Then descending to the Court-yard he performed a measured dance in grateful acknowledgment. This he did with so much grace and skill that all present were filled with admiration; and his beauty, which some feared might be lessened, seemed only more remarkable from the change. And the Emperor, who had before tried to resist them, now found old memories irresistible. Sadaijin had by his wife, who was a Royal Princess, an only daughter. The Heir-apparent had taken some notice of her, but her father did not encourage him. He had, on the other hand, some idea of Genji, and had sounded the Emperor on the subject. He regarded the idea with favor, and especially on the ground that such a union would be of advantage to Genji, who had not yet any influential supporters. Now all the Court and the distinguished visitors were assembled in the palace, where a great festival was held; Genji occupied a seat next to that of the Royal Princess. During the entertainment Sadaijin whispered something several times into his ear, but he was too young and diffident to make any answer. Sadaijin was now summoned before the daïs of the Emperor, and, according to custom, an Imperial gift, a white Ô-Uchiki (grand robe), and a suit of silk vestments were presented to him by a lady. Then proffering his own wine-cup, the Emperor addressed him thus:-- "In the first hair-knot[19] of youth, Let love that lasts for age be bound!" This evidently implied an idea of matrimony. Sadaijin feigned surprise and responded:-- "Aye! if the purple[20] of the cord, I bound so anxiously, endure!" He then descended into the Court-yard, and gave expression to his thanks in the same manner in which Genji had previously done. A horse from the Imperial stables and a falcon from the Kurand-Dokoro[21] were on view in the yard, and were now presented to him. The princes and nobles were all gathered together in front of the grand staircase, and appropriate gifts were also presented to each one of them. Among the crowd baskets and trays of fruits and delicacies were distributed by the Emperor's order, under the direction of Udaiben; and more rice-cakes and other things were given away now than at the Gembuk of the Heir-apparent. In the evening the young Prince went to the mansion of the Sadaijin, where the espousal with the young daughter of the latter was celebrated with much splendor. The youthfulness of the beautiful boy was well pleasing to Sadaijin; but the bride, who was some years older than he was, and who considered the disparity in their age to be unsuitable, blushed when she thought of it. Not only was this Sadaijin himself a distinguished personage in the State, but his wife was also the sister of the Emperor by the same mother, the late Empress; and her rank therefore was unequivocal. When to this we add the union of their daughter with Genji, it was easy to understand that the influence of Udaijin, the grandfather of the Heir-apparent, and who therefore seemed likely to attain great power, was not after all of very much moment. Sadaijin had several children. One of them, who was the issue of his Royal wife, was the Kurand Shiôshiô. Udaijin was not, for political reasons, on good terms with this family; but nevertheless he did not wish to estrange the youthful Kurand. On the contrary, he endeavored to establish friendly relations with him, as was indeed desirable, and he went so far as to introduce him to his fourth daughter, the younger sister of the Koki-Den. Genji still resided in the palace, where his society was a source of much pleasure to the Emperor, and he did not take up his abode in a private house. Indeed, his bride, Lady Aoi (Lady Hollyhock), though her position insured her every attention from others, had few charms for him, and the Princess Wistaria much more frequently occupied his thoughts. "How pleasant her society, and how few like her!" he was always thinking; and a hidden bitterness blended with his constant reveries. The years rolled on, and Genji being now older was no longer allowed to continue his visits to the private rooms of the Princess as before. But the pleasure of overhearing her sweet voice, as its strains flowed occasionally through the curtained casement, and blended with the music of the flute and _koto_, made him still glad to reside in the Palace. Under these circumstances he seldom visited the home of his bride, sometimes only for a day or two after an absence of five or six at Court. His father-in-law, however, did not attach much importance to this, on account of his youth; and whenever they did receive a visit from him, pleasant companions were invited to meet him, and various games likely to suit his taste were provided for his entertainment. In the Palace, Shigeisa, his late mother's quarters, was allotted to him, and those who had waited on her waited on him. The private house, where his grandmother had resided, was beautifully repaired for him by the Shuri Takmi--the Imperial Repairing Committee--in obedience to the wishes of the Emperor. In addition to the original loveliness of the landscape and the noble forest ranges, the basin of the lake was now enlarged, and similar improvements were effected throughout with the greatest pains. "Oh, how delightful would it not be to be in a place like that which such an one as one might choose!" thought Genji within himself. We may here also note that the name Hikal Genji is said to have been originated by the Corean who examined his physiognomy. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 2: The beautiful tree, called Kiri, has been named Paulownia Imperialis, by botanists.] [Footnote 3: Official titles held by Court ladies.] [Footnote 4: The name of a Court office.] [Footnote 5: A celebrated and beautiful favorite of an Emperor of the Thang dynasty in China, whose administration was disturbed by a rebellion, said to have been caused by the neglect of his duties for her sake.] [Footnote 6: A Niogo who resided in a part of the Imperial palace called "Koki-den."] [Footnote 7: The Hakamagi is the investiture of boys with trousers, when they pass from childhood to boyhood. In ordinary cases, this is done when about five years old, but in the Royal Family, it usually takes place earlier.] [Footnote 8: A carriage drawn by hands. Its use in the Court-yard of the Palace was only allowed to persons of distinction.] [Footnote 9: Cremation was very common in these days.] [Footnote 10: A Court lady, whose name was Yugei, holding an office called "Miôbu."] [Footnote 11: Miyagi is the name of a field which is famous for the Hagi or Lespedeza, a small and pretty shrub, which blooms in the Autumn. In poetry it is associated with deer, and a male and female deer are often compared to a lover and his love, and their young to their children.] [Footnote 12: In Japan there is a great number of "mushi" or insects, which sing in herbage grass, especially in the evenings of Autumn. They are constantly alluded to in poetry.] [Footnote 13: In Japanese poetry, persons connected with the Court, are spoken of as "the people above the clouds."] [Footnote 14: A famous Chinese poem, by Hak-rak-ten. The heroine of the poem was Yô-ki-hi, to whom we have made reference before. The story is, that after death she became a fairy, and the Emperor sent a magician to find her. The works of the poet Peh-lo-tien, as it is pronounced by modern Chinese, were the only poems in vogue at that time. Hence, perhaps, the reason of its being frequently quoted.] [Footnote 15: There were two divisions of the Imperial guard, right and left.] [Footnote 16: The general name for a species of musical instrument resembling the zither, but longer.] [Footnote 17: In these days Imperial Princes were often created founders of new families, and with some given name, the Gen being one most frequently used. These Princes had no longer a claim to the throne.] [Footnote 18: The ceremony of placing a crown or coronet upon the head of a boy. This was an ancient custom observed by the upper and middle classes both in Japan and China, to mark the transition from boyhood to youth.] [Footnote 19: Before the crown was placed upon the head at the Gembuk, the hair was gathered up in a conical form from all sides of the head, and then fastened securely in that form with a knot of silken cords of which the color was always purple.] [Footnote 20: The color of purple typifies, and is emblematical of, love.] [Footnote 21: A body of men who resembled "Gentlemen-at-arms," and a part of whose duty it was to attend to the falcons.] CHAPTER II THE BROOM-LIKE TREE Hikal Genji--the name is singularly well known, and is the subject of innumerable remarks and censures. Indeed, he had many intrigues in his lifetime, and most of them are vividly preserved in our memories. He had always striven to keep all these intrigues in the utmost secrecy, and had to appear constantly virtuous. This caution was observed to such an extent that he scarcely accomplished anything really romantic, a fact which Katano-no-Shiôshiô[22] would have ridiculed. Even with such jealous watchfulness, secrets easily transpire from one to another; so loquacious is man! Moreover, he had unfortunately from nature a disposition of not appreciating anything within easy reach, but of directing his thought in undesirable quarters, hence sundry improprieties in his career. Now, it was the season of continuous rain (namely, the month of May), and the Court was keeping a strict Monoimi.[23] Genji, who had now been made a Chiûjiô,[24] and who was still continuing his residence in the Imperial Palace, was also confined to his apartments for a considerable length of time. His father-in-law naturally felt for him, and his sons were sent to bear him company. Among these, Kurand Shiôshiô, who was now elevated to the post of Tô-no-Chiûjiô, proved to be the most intimate and interesting companion. He was married to the fourth daughter of the Udaijin, but being a man of lively disposition, he, too, like Genji, did not often resort to the mansion of the bride. When Genji went to the Sadaijin's he was always his favorite associate; they were together in their studies and in their sports, and accompanied each other everywhere. And so all stiffness and formality were dispensed with, and they did not scruple to reveal their secrets to each other. It was on an evening in the above-mentioned season. Rain was falling drearily. The inhabitants of the Palace had almost all retired, and the apartment of Genji was more than usually still. He was engaged in reading near a lamp, but at length mechanically put his book aside, and began to take out some letters and writings from a bureau which stood on one side of the room. Tô-no-Chiûjiô happened to be present, and Genji soon gathered from his countenance that he was anxious to look over them. "Yes," said Genji; "some you may see, but there may be others!" "Those others," retorted Tô-no-Chiûjiô, "are precisely those which I wish to see; ordinary ones, even your humble servant may have received. I only long to look upon those which may have been written by fair hands, when the tender writer had something to complain of, or when in twilight hour she was outpouring all her yearning!" Being so pressed, Genji allowed his brother-in-law to see them all. It is, however, highly probable that any very sacred letters would not have been loosely deposited in an ordinary bureau; and these would therefore seem, after all, to have been of second-rate importance. "What a variety," said Tô-no-Chiûjiô, as he turned them over, and he asked several questions guessingly about this or that. About some he guessed correctly, about others he was puzzled and suspicious.[25] Genji smiled and spoke little, only making some obscure remark, and continuing as he took the letters: "but _you_, surely, must have collected many. Will not you show me some? And then my bureau also may open more easily." "You do not suppose that I have any worth reading, do you?" replied Tô-no-Chiûjiô. "I have only just now discovered," continued he, "how difficult it is to meet with a fair creature, of whom one can say, 'This is, indeed, _the_ one; here is, at last, perfection.' There are, indeed, many who fascinate; many who are ready with their pens, and who, when occasion may require, are quick at repartee. But how often such girls as these are conceited about their own accomplishments, and endeavor unduly to disparage those of others! There are again some who are special pets of their parents, and most jealously watched over at home. Often, no doubt, they are pretty, often graceful; and frequently they will apply themselves with effect to music and to poetry, in which they may even attain to special excellence. But then, their friends will keep their drawbacks in the dark, and eulogize their merits to the utmost. If we were to give full credence to this exaggerated praise, we could not but fail in every single instance to be more or less disappointed." So saying Tô-no-Chiûjiô paused, and appeared as if he were ashamed of having such an experience, when Genji smilingly remarked, "Can any one of them, however, exist without at least one good point?" "Nay, were there any so little favored as that, no one would ever be misled at all!" replied Tô-no-Chiûjiô, and he continued, "In my opinion, the most and the least favored are in the same proportion. I mean, they are both not many. Their birth, also, divides them into three classes. Those, however, who are especially well born, are often too jealously guarded, and are, for the most part, kept secluded from the outside gaze, which frequently tends to make their deportment shy and timid. It is those of the middle class, who are much more frequently seen by us, who afford us most chance of studying their character. As for the lower class, it would be almost useless to trouble ourselves with them." Thus Tô-no-Chiûjiô appeared to be thoroughly at home in his description of the merits of the fair sex, which made Genji amused, and he said: "But how do you define the classes you have referred to, and classify them into three? Those who are of high birth sink sometimes in the social scale until the distinction of their rank is forgotten in the abjectness of their present position. Others, again, of low origin, rise to a high position, and, with self-important faces and in ostentatious residences, regard themselves as inferior to none. Into what class will you allot _these_?" Just at this moment the Sama-no-Kami[26] and Tô Shikib-no-Jiô[27] joined the party. They came to pay their respects to Genji, and both of them were gay and light-hearted talkers. So Tô-no-Chiûjiô now made over the discussion to them, and it was carried to rather questionable lengths. "However exalted a lady's position may be," said Sama-no-Kami, "if her origin is an unenviable one, the estimation of the public for her would be widely different from that which it shows to those who are naturally entitled to it. If, again, adverse fortune assails one whose birth is high, so that she becomes friendless and helpless, degradation here will meet our eyes, though her heart may still remain as noble as ever. Examples of both of these are very common. After much reflection, I can only come to the conclusion that both of them should be included in the middle class. In this class, too, must be included many daughters of the Duriô,[28] who occupy themselves with local administration. These ladies are often very attractive, and are not seldom introduced at Court and enjoy high favor." "And successes depend pretty much upon the state of one's fortune, I fancy," interrupted Genji, with a placid smile. "That is a remark very unlikely to fall from the lips of a champion of romance," chimed in Tô-no-Chiûjiô. "There may be some," resumed Sama-no-Kami, "who are of high birth, and to whom public respect is duly paid, yet whose domestic education has been much neglected. Of a lady such as this we may simply remark, 'Why, and how, is it that she is so brought up?' and she would only cause discredit to her class. There are, of course, some who combine in themselves every perfection befitting their position. These best of the best are, however, not within every one's reach. But, listen! Within an old dilapidated gateway, almost unknown to the world, and overgrown with wild vegetation, perchance we might find, shut up, a maiden charming beyond imagination. Her father might be an aged man, corpulent in person, and stern in mien, and her brothers of repulsive countenance; but there, in an uninviting room, she lives, full of delicacy and sentiment, and fairly skilled in the arts of poetry or music, which she may have acquired by her own exertions alone, unaided. If there were such a case, surely she deserves our attention, save that of those of us who themselves are highly exalted in position." So saying, Sama-no-Kami winked slyly at Shikib-no-Jiô. The latter was silent: perhaps he fancied that Sama-no-Kami was speaking in the above strain, with a hidden reference to his (Shikib's) sisters, who, he imagined, answered the description. Meantime, Genji may have thought, "If it is so difficult to choose one even from the best class, how can--Ah!" and he began to close his eyes and doze. His dress was of soft white silk, partly covered by the _naoshi_,[29] worn carelessly, with its cord left loose and untied. His appearance and bearing formed quite a picture. Meanwhile, the conversation went on about different persons and characters, and Sama-no-Kami proceeded: "It is unquestionable that though at first glance many women appear to be without defects, yet when we come to the actual selection of any one of them, we should seriously hesitate in our choice. "Let me illustrate my meaning by reference to the numerous public men who may be aspiring to fulfil the duties of several important posts. You will at once recognize the great difficulty there would be in fixing upon the individual statesman under whose guardianship the empire could best repose. And supposing that, if at last, by good fortune, the most able man were designated, even then we must bear in mind that it is not in the power of one or two individuals, however gifted they may be, to carry on the whole administration of the kingdom alone. Public business can only be tranquilly conducted when the superior receives the assistance of subordinates, and when the subordinate yields a becoming respect and loyalty to his superior, and affairs are thus conducted in a spirit of mutual conciliation. So, too, it is in the narrow range of the domestic circle. To make a good mistress of that circle, one must possess, if our ideal is to be fully realized, many important qualifications. Were we to be constantly indulging in the severity of criticism, always objecting to this or that, a perfect character would be almost unattainable. Men should therefore bear with patience any trifling dissatisfaction which they may feel, and strive constantly to keep alive, to augment, and to cherish, the warmth of their early love. Only such a man as this can be called faithful, and the partner of such a man alone can enjoy the real happiness of affection. How unsatisfactory to us, however, seems the actual world if we look round upon it. Still more difficult must it be to satisfy such as you who seek your companions but from among the best! "How varied are the characters and the dispositions of women! Some who are youthful and favored by Nature strive almost selfishly to keep themselves with the utmost reserve. If they write, they write harmlessly and innocently; yet, at the same time, they are choice in their expressions, which have delicate touches of bewitching sentiment. This might possibly make us entertain a suddenly conceived fancy for them; yet they would give us but slight encouragement. They may allow us just to hear their voices, but when we approach them they will speak with subdued breath, and almost inaudibly. Beware, however, lest among these you chance to encounter some astute artiste, who, under a surface that is smooth, conceals a current that is deep. This sort of lady, it is true, generally appears quite modest; but often proves, when we come closer, to be of a very different temperament from what we anticipated. Here is one drawback to be guarded against. "Among characters differing from the above, some are too full of sentimental sweetness--whenever occasion offers them romance they become spoilt. Such would be decidedly better if they had less sentiment, and more sense. "Others, again, are singularly earnest--too earnest, indeed--in the performance of their domestic duty; and such, with their hair pushed back,[30] devote themselves like household drudges to household affairs. Man, whose duties generally call him from home all the day, naturally hears and sees the social movements both of public and private life, and notices different things, both good and bad. Of such things he would not like to talk freely with strangers, but only with some one closely allied to him. Indeed, a man may have many things in his mind which cause him to smile or to grieve. Occasionally something of a political nature may irritate him beyond endurance. These matters he would like to talk over with his fair companion, that she might soothe him, and sympathize with him. But a woman as above described is often unable to understand him, or does not endeavor to do so; and this only makes him more miserable. At another time he may brood over his hopes and aspirations; but he has no hope of solace. She is not only incapable of sharing these with him, but might carelessly remark, 'What ails you?' How severely would this try the temper of a man! "If, then, we clearly see all these, the only suggestion I can make is that the best thing to do is to choose one who is gentle and modest, and strive to guide and educate her according to the best ideal we may think of. This is the best plan; and why should we not do so? Our efforts would not be surely all in vain. But no! A girl whom we thus educate, and who proves to be competent to bear us company, often disappoints us when she is left alone. She may then show her incapability, and her occasional actions may be done in such an unbecoming manner that both good and bad are equally displeasing. Are not all these against us men?--Remember, however, that there are some who may not be very agreeable at ordinary times, yet who flash occasionally upon us with a potent and almost irresistible charm." Thus Sama-no-Kami, though eloquent, not having come to one point or another, remained thoughtful for some minutes, and again resumed:-- "After all, as I have once observed, I can only make this suggestion: That we should not too much consider either birth or beauty, but select one who is gentle and tranquil, and consider her to be best suited for our last haven of rest. If, in addition, she is of fair position, and is blessed with sweetness of temper, we should be delighted with her, and not trouble ourselves to search or notice any trifling deficiency. And the more so as, if her conscience is clear and pure, calmness and serenity of features can naturally be looked for. "There are women who are too diffident, and too reserved, and carry their generosity to such an extent as to pretend not to be aware even of such annoyances as afford them just grounds of complaint. A time arrives when their sorrows and anxieties become greater than they can bear. Even then, however, they cannot resort to plain speaking, and complain. But, instead thereof, they will fly away to some remote retreat among the mountain hamlets, or to some secluded spot by the seaside, leaving behind them some painful letter or despairing verses, and making themselves mere sad memories of the past. Often when a boy I heard such stories read by ladies, and the sad pathos of them even caused my tears to flow; but now I can only declare such deeds to be acts of mere folly. For what does it all amount to? Simply to this: That the woman, in spite of the pain which it causes her, and discarding a heart which may be still lingering towards her, takes to flight, regardless of the feelings of others--of the anguish, and of the anxiety, which those who are dearest to her suffer with her. Nay, this act of folly may even be committed simply to test the sincerity of her lover's affection for her. What pitiable subtlety! "Worse than this, the woman thus led astray, perhaps by ill advice, may even be beguiled into more serious errors. In the depth of her despairing melancholy she will become a nun. Her conscience, when she takes the fatal vow, may be pure and unsullied, and nothing may seem able to call her back again to the world which she forsook. But, as time rolls on, some household servant or aged nurse brings her tidings of the lover who has been unable to cast her out of his heart, and whose tears drop silently when he hears aught about her. Then, when she hears of his affections still living, and his heart still yearning, and thinks of the uselessness of the sacrifice she has made voluntarily, she touches the hair[31] on her forehead, and she becomes regretful. She may, indeed, do her best to persevere in her resolve, but if one single tear bedews her cheek, she is no longer strong in the sanctity of her vow. Weakness of this kind would be in the eyes of Buddha more sinful than those offences which are committed by those who never leave the lay circle at all, and she would eventually wander about in the 'wrong passage.'[32] "But there are also women, who are too self-confident and obtrusive. These, if they discover some slight inconsistency in men, fiercely betray their indignation and behave with arrogance. A man may show a little inconsistency occasionally, but yet his affection may remain; then matters will in time become right again, and they will pass their lives happily together. If, therefore, the woman cannot show a tolerable amount of patience, this will but add to her unhappiness. She should, above all things, strive not to give way to excitement; and when she experiences any unpleasantness, she should speak of it frankly but with moderation. And if there should be anything worse than unpleasantness she should even then complain of it in such a way as not to irritate the men. If she guides her conduct on principles such as these, even her very words, her very demeanor, may in all probability increase his sympathy and consideration for her. One's self-denial and the restraint which one imposes upon one's self, often depend on the way in which another behaves to us. The woman who is too indifferent and too forgiving is also inconsiderate. Remember 'the unmoored boat floats about.' Is it not so?" Tô-no-Chiûjiô quickly nodded assent, as he said, "Quite true! A woman who has no strength of emotion, no passion of sorrow or of joy, can never be holders of us. Nay even jealousy, if not carried to the extent of undue suspicion, is not undesirable. If we ourselves are not in fault, and leave the matter alone, such jealousy may easily be kept within due bounds. But stop"--added he suddenly--"Some women have to bear, and do bear, every grief that they may encounter with unmurmuring and suffering patience." So said Tô-no-Chiûjiô, who implied by this allusion that his sister was a woman so circumstanced. But Genji was still dozing, and no remark came from his lips. Sama-no-Kami had been recently made a doctor of literature, and (like a bird) was inflating his feathers, so Tô-no-Chiûjiô, willing to draw him out as much as possible, gave him every encouragement to proceed with his discourse. Again, therefore, he took up the conversation, and said, "Call to your mind affairs in general, and judge of them. Is it not always true that reality and sincerity are to be preferred to merely artificial excellence? Artisans, for instance, make different sorts of articles, as their talents serve them. Some of them are keen and expert, and cleverly manufacture objects of temporary fashion, which have no fixed or traditional style, and which are only intended to strike the momentary fancy. These, however, are not the true artisans. The real excellence of the true artisan is tested by those who make, without defects or sensational peculiarities, articles to decorate, we will say, some particular building, in conformity with correct taste and high æsthetic principles. Look for another instance at the eminence which has been attained by several of the artists of the Imperial College of Painting. Take the case of draughtsmen in black ink. Pictures, indeed, such as those of Mount Horai,[33] which has never been beheld by mortal eye, or of some raging monstrous fish in a rough sea, or of a wild animal of some far-off country, or of the imaginary face of the demon, are often drawn with such striking vividness that people are startled at the sight of them. These pictures, however, are neither real nor true. On the other hand, ordinary scenery, of familiar mountains, of calm streams of water, and of dwellings just before our eyes, may be sketched with an irregularity so charming, and with such excellent skill, as almost to rival Nature. In pictures such as these, the perspective of gentle mountain slopes, and sequestered nooks surrounded by leafy trees, are drawn with such admirable fidelity to Nature that they carry the spectator in imagination to something beyond them. These are the pictures in which is mostly evinced the spirit and effectiveness of the superior hand of a master; and in these an inferior artist would only show dulness and inefficiency. "Similar observations are applicable to handwriting.[34] Some people boldly dash away with great freedom and endless flourishes, and appear at the first glance to be elegant and skilful. But that which is written with scrupulous neatness, in accordance with the true rules of penmanship, constitutes a very different handwriting from the above. If perchance the upstrokes and downstrokes do not, at first sight, appear to be fully formed, yet when we take it up and critically compare it with writing in which dashes and flourishes predominate, we shall at once see how much more of real and sterling merit it possesses. "Such then is the nature of the case in painting, in penmanship, and in the arts generally. And how much more then are those women undeserving of our admiration, who though they are rich in outward and in fashionable display, attempting to dazzle our eyes, are yet lacking in the solid foundations of reality, fidelity, and truth! Do not, my friends, consider me going too far, but let me proceed to illustrate these observations by my own experience." So saying, Sama-no-Kami advanced his seat, and Genji awoke. Tô-no-Chiûjiô was quite interested in the conversation, and was keeping his eye upon the speaker, leaning his cheek upon his hand. This long discourse of Sama-no-Kami reminds us of the preacher's sermon, and amuses us. And it seems that, on occasions like these, one may easily be carried away by circumstances, until he is willing to communicate even his own private affairs. "It was at a time," continued Sama-no-Kami, "when I was in a still more humble position, that there was a girl to whom I had taken a fancy. She was like one of those whom I described in the process of my discourse; not a regular beauty. Although for this reason my youthful vanity did not allow me to pledge myself to her forever, I still considered her a pleasant companion. Nevertheless, from occasional fits of restlessness, I roamed often here and there. This she always resented fiercely, and with so much indignation that I sighed for a sweeter temper and more moderation. Indeed, there were times when her suspicion and spitefulness were more than I could endure. But my irritation was generally calmed down, and I even felt sorry myself, when I reflected how strong and devoted her affection for me was, in spite of the mean state of my circumstances. As to her general character, her only endeavor seemed to be to do everything for my sake, even what was beyond her powers, while she struggled to perfect herself in anything in which she might be deficient, and took the most faithful care of all my interests, striving constantly and earnestly to please me. She appeared at first even too zealous, but in time became more moderate. She seemed as if she felt uneasy lest her plain face should cause me displeasure, and she even denied herself the sight of other people, in order to avoid unbecoming comment. "As time went by, the more I became accustomed to observe how really simple-hearted she was, the more I sympathized with her. The one thing that I could not bear, however, was that jealousy of hers. Sincere and devoted as she is, thought I, is there no means of ridding her of this jealous weakness? Could I but do that, it would not matter even if I were to alarm her a little. And I also thought that since she was devoted to me, if I showed any symptoms of getting tired of her, she would, in all probability, be warned by it. Therefore, I purposely behaved to her with great coolness and heartlessness. This she resented as usual. I then said to her, that though our affection had been of old date, I should not see her again; 'if you wish to sever from me you may suspect me as much as you like. If you prefer to enjoy long happiness with me in future, be modest and patient in trifling matters. If you can only be so, how can I do otherwise than love you? My position also may in time be improved, and then we may enjoy greater happiness!' "In saying this, I thought I had managed matters very ingeniously. Without meaning it, however, I had in fact spoken a little too harshly. She replied, with a bitter smile, that 'to put up with a life of undistinguished condition, even though with faint hopes of future promotion, was not a thing about which we ought to trouble ourselves, but that it was indeed a hard task to pass long wearisome days in waiting until a man's mind should be restored to a sense of propriety. And that for this reason we had, perhaps, better separate at once.' "This she said with such sarcastic bitterness that I was irritated and stung to the quick, and overwhelmed her with a fresh torrent of reproaches. At this juncture she gave way to an uncontrollable fit of passion, and snatching up my hand, she thrust my little finger into her mouth and bit off the end of it. Then, notwithstanding my pain, I became quite cool and collected, and calmly said, 'insulted and maimed as I have now been, it is most fitting that I should absent myself for the future from polite society. Office and title would ill become me now. Your spite has now left me without spirit to face the world in which I should be ridiculed, and has left me no alternative but to withdraw my maimed person from the public gaze!' After I had alarmed her by speaking in this exalted strain, I added, 'to-day we meet for the last time,' and bending these fingers (pointing to them as she spoke) I made the farewell remark:-- When on my fingers, I must say I count the hours I spent with thee, Is this, and this alone, I pray The only pang you've caused to me? You are now quits with me,' At the instant I said so, she burst into tears and without premeditation, poured forth the following:-- 'From me, who long bore grievous harms, From that cold hand and wandering heart, You now withdraw your sheltering arms, And coolly tell me, we must part.' "To speak the truth, I had no real intention of separating from her altogether. For some time, however, I sent her no communication, and was passing rather an unsettled life. Well! I was once returning from the palace late one evening in November, after an experimental practice of music for a special festival in the Temple of Kamo. Sleet was falling heavily. The wind blew cold, and my road was dark and muddy. There was no house near where I could make myself at home. To return and spend a lonely night in the palace was not to be thought of. At this moment a reflection flashed across my mind. 'How cold must she feel whom I have treated so coldly,' thought I, and suddenly became very anxious to know what she felt and what she was about. This made me turn my steps towards her dwelling, and brushing away the snow that had gathered on my shoulders I trudged on: at one moment shyly biting my nails, at another thinking that on such a night at least all her enmity towards me might be all melted away. I approached the house. The curtains were not drawn, and I saw the dim light of a lamp reflected on the windows. It was even perceivable that a soft quilt was being warmed and thrown over the large couch. The scene was such as to give you the notion that she was really anticipating that I might come at least on such an evening. This gave me encouragement, but alas! she whom I hoped to see was not at home. I was told she had gone to her parents that very evening. Previous to that time, she had sent me no sad verses, no conciliatory letter, and this had already given birth to unpleasant feelings on my part. And at this moment, when I was told that she had gone away, all these things seemed to have been done almost purposely, and I involuntarily began to suspect that her very jealousy had only been assumed by her on purpose to cause me to become tired of her. "As I reflected what our future might be after such an estrangement as this, I was truly depressed. I did not, however, give up all hope, thinking that she would not be so determined as to abandon me forever. I had even carefully selected some stuff for a dress for her. Some time, however, passed away without anything particularly occurring. She neither accepted nor refused the offers of reconciliation which I made to her. She did not, it is true, hide herself away like any of those of whom I have spoken before. But, nevertheless, she did not evince the slightest symptom of regret for her previous conduct. "At last, after a considerable interval, she intimated to me that her final resolve was not to forgive me any more if I intended in future to behave as I had done before; but that, on the other hand, she should be glad to see me again if I would thoroughly change my habits, and treat her with the kindness which was her due. From this I became more convinced that she still entertained longings for me. Hence, with the hope of warning her a little more, I made no expressions of any intention to make a change in my habits, and I tried to find out which of us had the most patience. "While matters were in this state, she, to my great surprise, suddenly died, perhaps broken-hearted. "I must now frankly confess that she certainly was a woman in whom a man might place his confidence. Often, too, I had talked with her on music and on poetry, as well as on the more important business of life, and I found her to be by no means wanting in intellect and capability. She had too the clever hands of Tatyta-himè[35] and Tanabata.[36] "When I recall these pleasant memories my heart still clings to her endearingly." "Clever in weaving, she may have been like Tanabata, that is but a small matter," interposed Tô-no-Chiûjiô, "we should have preferred to have seen your love as enduring as Tanabata's.[37] Nothing is so beautiful as the brilliant dyes spread over the face of Nature, yet the red tints of autumn are often not dyed to a color so deep as we desire, because of the early drying of the dew, so we say, 'such is the uncertain fate of this world,'" and so saying, he made a sign to Sama-no-Kami to go on with his story. He went on accordingly. "About that time I knew another lady. She was on the whole a superior kind of person. A fair poetess, a good musician, and a fluent speaker, with good enunciation, and graceful in her movements. All these admirable qualities I noticed myself, and heard them spoken of by others. As my acquaintance with her commenced at the time when I was not on the best of terms with my former companion, I was glad to enjoy her society. The more I associated with her the more fascinating she became. "Meanwhile my first friend died, at which I felt truly sorry, still I could not help it, and I therefore paid frequent visits to this one. In the course of my attentions to her, however, I discovered many unpleasant traits. She was not very modest, and did not appear to be one whom a man could trust. On this account, I became somewhat disappointed, and visited her less often. While matters were on this footing I accidentally found out that she had another lover to whom she gave a share of her heart. "It happened that one inviting moonlight evening in October, I was driving out from home on my way to a certain Dainagon. On the road I met with a young noble who was going in the same direction. We therefore drove together, and as we were journeying on, he told me that 'some one might be waiting for him, and he was anxious to see her'; well! by and by we arrived at the house of my lady-love. The bright reflection of the waters of an ornamental lake was seen through crevices in the walls; and the pale moon, as she shed her full radiance over the shimmering waves, seemed to be charmed with the beauty of the scene. It would have been heartless to pass by with indifference, and we both descended from the carriage, without knowing each other's intention. "This youth seems to have been 'the other one'; he was rather shy. He sat down on a mat of reeds that was spread beside a corridor near the gateway; and, gazing up at the sky, meditated for some moments in silence. The chrysanthemums in the gardens were in full bloom, whose sweet perfume soothed us with its gentle influence; and round about us the scarlet leaves of the maple were falling, as ever and anon they were shaken by the breeze. The scene was altogether romantic. "Presently, he took a flute out of his bosom and played. He then whispered, 'Its shade is refreshing.' "In a few minutes the fair one struck up responsively on a sweet-toned _wagon_ (a species of _koto_). "The melody was soft and exquisite, in charming strains of modern music, and admirably adapted to the lovely evening. No wonder that he was fascinated; he advanced towards the casement from which the sounds proceeded, and glancing at the leaves scattered on the ground, whispered in invidious tones, 'Sure no strange footsteps would ever dare to press these leaves.' He then culled a chrysanthemum, humming, as he did so:-- 'Even this spot, so fair to view With moon, and Koto's gentle strain, Could make no other lover true, As me, thy fond, thy only swain.' "'Wretched!' he exclaimed, alluding to his poetry; and then added, 'One tune more! Stay not your hand when one is near, who so ardently longs to hear you.' Thus he began to flatter the lady, who, having heard his whispers, replied thus, in a tender, hesitating voice:-- 'Sorry I am my voice too low To match thy flute's far sweeter sound; Which mingles with the winds that blow The Autumn leaves upon the ground.' "Ah! she little thought I was a silent and vexed spectator of all this flirtation. She then took up a _soh_ (another kind of _koto_ with thirteen strings) and tuned it to a Banjiki key (a winter tune), and played on it still more excellently. Though an admirer of music, I cannot say that these bewitching melodies gave me any pleasure under the peculiar circumstances I stood in. "Now, romantic interludes, such as this, might be pleasant enough in the case of maidens who are kept strictly in Court service, and whom we have very little opportunity of meeting with, but even there we should hesitate to make such a one our life companion. How much less could one ever entertain such an idea in a case like my own? Making, therefore, that evening's experience a ground of dissatisfaction I never saw her more. "Now, gentlemen, let us take into consideration these two instances which have occurred to myself and see how equally unsatisfactory they are. The one too jealous, the other too forward. Thus, early in life, I found out how little reliance was to be placed on such characters. And now I think so still more; and this opinion applies more especially to the latter of the two. Dewdrops on the 'Hagi flower' of beauty so delicate that they disappear as soon as we touch them--hailstones on the bamboo grass that melt in our hand as soon as we prick them--appear at a distance extremely tempting and attractive. Take my humble advice, however, and go not near them. If you do not appreciate this advice now, the lapse of another seven years will render you well able to understand that such adventures will only bring a tarnished fame." Thus Sama-no-Kami admonished them, and Tô-no-Chiûjiô nodded as usual. Genji slightly smiled; perhaps he thought it was all very true, and he said, "Your twofold experience was indeed disastrous and irritating!" "Now," said Tô-no-Chiûjiô, "I will tell you a story concerning myself. It was the evil fortune of Sama-no-Kami to meet with too much jealousy in one of the ladies to whom he might otherwise have given his heart; while he could feel no confidence in another owing to flirtations. It was my hard lot to encounter an instance of excessive diffidence. I once knew a girl whose person was altogether pleasing, and although I, too, had no intention, as Sama-no-Kami said, of forming an everlasting connection with her, I nevertheless took a great fancy to her. As our acquaintance was prolonged, our mutual affection grew warmer. My thoughts were always of her, and she placed entire confidence in me. Now, when complete confidence is placed by one person in another, does not Nature teach us to expect resentment when that confidence is abused? No such resentment, however, seemed under any circumstances to trouble her. When I very seldom visited her, she showed no excitement or indignation, but behaved and looked as if we had never been separated from each other. This patient silence was more trying to me than reproaches. She was parentless and friendless. For this reason responsibility weighed more heavily on me. Abusing her gentle nature, however, I frequently neglected her. About this time, moreover, a certain person who lived near her, discovered our friendship, and frightened her by sending, through some channel, mischief-making messages to her. This I did not become aware of till afterwards, and, it seems, she was quite cast down and helpless. She had a little one for whose sake, it appears, she was additionally sad. One day I unexpectedly received a bunch of Nadeshiko[38] flowers. They were from her." At this point Tô-no-Chiûjiô became gloomy. "And what," inquired Genji, "were the words of her message?" "Sir! nothing but the verse, Forgot may be the lowly bed From which these darling flowerets spring, Still let a kindly dew be shed, Upon their early nurturing. "No sooner had I read this than I went to her at once. She was gentle and sedate as usual, but evidently absent and preoccupied. Her eyes rested on the dew lying on the grass in the garden, and her ears were intent upon the melancholy singing of the autumn insects. It was as if we were in a real romance. I said to her:-- When with confused gaze we view The mingled flowers on gay parterre, Amid their blooms of radiant hue The Tokonatz,[39] my love, is there. And avoiding all allusion to the Nadeshiko flowers, I repeatedly endeavored to comfort the mother's heart. She murmured in reply:-- 'Ah! Flower already bent with dew, The winds of autumn cold and chill Will wither all thy beauteous hue, And soon, alas, unpitying kill.' Thus she spoke sadly. But she reproached me no further. The tears came involuntarily into her eyes. She was, however, apparently sorry for this, and tried to conceal them. On the whole she behaved as if she meant to show that she was quite accustomed to such sorrows. I certainly deeply sympathized with her, yet still further abusing her patience. I did not visit her again for some time; but I was punished. When I did so she had flown, leaving no traces behind her. If she is still living she must needs be passing a miserable existence. "Now, if she had been free from this excessive diffidence, this apathy of calmness, if she had complained when it was necessary, with becoming warmth and spirit, she need never have been a wanderer, and I would never have abused her confidence. But, as I said before, a woman who has no strength of emotion, no passionate bursts of sorrow or of joy, can never retain a dominion over us. "I loved this woman without understanding her nature; and I am constantly, but in vain, trying to find her and her little darling, who was also very lovely; and often I think with grief and pain that, though I may succeed in forgetting her, she may possibly not be able to forget me, and, surely, there must be many an evening when she is disquieted by sad memories of the past. "Let us now sum up our experiences, and reflect on the lessons which they teach us. One who bites your finger will easily estrange your affection by her violence. Falseness and forwardness will be the reproach of some other, in spite of her melodious music and the sweetness of her songs. A third, too self-contained and too gentle, is open to the charge of a cold silence, which oppresses one, and cannot be understood. "Whom, then, are we to choose? All this variety, and this perplexing difficulty of choice, seems to be the common lot of humanity. Where, again, I say, are we to go to find the one who will realize our desires? Shall we fix our aspirations on the beautiful goddess, the heavenly Kichijiô?[40] Ah! this would be but superstitious and impracticable." So mournfully finished Tô-no-Chiûjiô; and all his companions, who had been attentively listening, burst simultaneously into laughter at his last allusion. "And now, Shikib, it is your turn. Tell us your story," exclaimed Tô-no-Chiûjiô, turning to him. "What worth hearing can your humble servant tell you?" "Go on; be quick; don't be shy; let us hear!" Shikib-no-Jiô, after a little meditation, thus began:-- "When I was a student at the University, I met there with a woman of very unusual intelligence. She was in every respect one with whom, as Sama-no-Kami has said, you could discuss affairs, both public and private. Her dashing genius and eloquence were such that all ordinary scholars would find themselves unable to cope with her, and would be at once reduced to silence. Now, my story is as follows:-- "I was taking lessons from a certain professor, who had several daughters, and she was one of them. It happened by some chance or other I fell much into her society. The professor, who noticed this, once took up a wine-cup in his hand, and said to me, 'Hear what I sing about two choices.'[41] "This was a plain offer put before me, and thenceforward I endeavored, for the sake of his tuition, to make myself as agreeable as possible to his daughter. I tell you frankly, however, that I had no particular affection for her, though she seemed already to regard me as her victim. She seized every opportunity of pointing out to me the way in which we should have to steer, both in public and private life. When she wrote to me she never employed the effeminate style of the Kana,[42] but wrote, oh! so magnificently! The great interest which she took in me induced me to pay frequent visits to her; and, by making her my tutor, I learned how to compose ordinary Chinese poems. However, though I do not forget all these benefits, and though it is no doubt true that our wife or daughter should not lack intelligence, yet, for the life of me, I cannot bring myself to approve of a woman like this. And still less likely is it that such could be of any use to the wives of high personages like yourselves. Give me a lovable nature in lieu of sharpness! I quite agree with Sama-no-Kami on this point." "What an interesting woman she must have been," exclaimed Tô-no-Chiûjiô, with the intention of making Shikib go on with his story. This he fully understood, and, making a grimace, he thus proceeded:-- "Once when I went to her after a long absence--a way we all have, you know--she did not receive me openly as usual, but spoke to me from behind a screen. I surmised that this arose from chagrin at my negligence, and I intended to avail myself of this opportunity to break with her. But the sagacious woman was a woman of the world, and not like those who easily lose their temper or keep silence about their grief. She was quite as open and frank as Sama-no-Kami would approve of. She told me, in a low clear voice, 'I am suffering from heartburn, and I cannot, therefore, see you face to face; yet, if you have anything important to say to me, I will listen to you.' This was, no doubt, a plain truth; but what answer could I give to such a terribly frank avowal? 'Thank you,' said I, simply; and I was just on the point of leaving, when, relenting, perhaps, a little, she said aloud, 'Come again soon, and I shall be all right.' To pass this unnoticed would have been impolite; yet I did not like to remain there any longer, especially under such circumstances: so, looking askance, I said-- Here I am, then why excuse me, is my visit all in vain: And my consolation is, you tell me, come again? No sooner had I said this than she dashed out as follows with a brilliancy of repartee which became a woman of her genius:-- 'If we fond lovers were, and meeting every night, I should not be ashamed, were it even in the light!' "Nonsense, nonsense!" cried Genji and the others, who either were, or pretended to be, quite shocked. "Where can there be such a woman as that? She must have been a devil! Fearful! fearful!" And, snapping their fingers with disapproving glances, they said, "Do tell us something better--do give us a better story than that." Shikib-no-Jiô, however, quietly remarked: "I have nothing else to relate," and remained silent. Hereupon a conversation took place to the following effect:-- "It is a characteristic of thoughtless people--and that, without distinction of sex--that they try to show off their small accomplishments. This is, in the highest degree, unpleasant. As for ladies, it may not, indeed, be necessary to be thorough master of the three great histories, and the five classical texts; yet they ought not to be destitute of some knowledge of both public and private affairs, and this knowledge can be imperceptibly acquired without any regular study of them, which, though superficial, will yet be amply sufficient to enable them to talk pleasantly about them with their friends. But how contemptible they would seem if this made them vain of it! The Manna[43] style and pedantic phrases were not meant for them; and, if they use them, the public will only say, 'would that they would remember that they are women and not men,' and they would only incur the reproach of being pedants, as many ladies, especially among the aristocracy, do. Again, while they should not be altogether unversed in poetical compositions, they should never be slaves to them, or allow themselves to be betrayed into using strange quotations, the only consequence of which would be that they would appear to be bold when they ought to be reserved, and abstracted when very likely they have practical duties to attend to. How utterly inappropriate, for instance, it would be on the May festival[44] if, while the attention of all present was concentrated on the solemnity of the occasion, the thoughts of these ladies were wandering on their own poetical imaginations about 'sweet flags;' or if, again, on the Ninth-day festival,[45] when all the nobles present were exercising their inventive faculties on the subject of Chinese poems, they were to volunteer to pour forth their grand ideas on the dew-laid flowers of the chrysanthemum, thus endeavoring to rival their opponents of the stronger sex. There is a time for everything; and all people, but more especially women, should be constantly careful to watch circumstances, and not to air their accomplishments at a time when nobody cares for them. They should practise a sparing economy in displaying their learning and eloquence, and should even, if circumstances require, plead ignorance on subjects with which they are familiar." As to Genji, even these last observations seemed only to encourage his reverie still to run upon a certain one, whom he considered to be the happy medium between the too much and the too little; and, no definite conclusion having been arrived at through the conversation, the evening passed away. The long-continued rainy weather had now cleared up bright and fine, and the Prince Genji proceeded to the mansion of his father-in-law, where Lady Aoi, his bride, still resided with him. She was in her private suite of apartments, and he soon joined her there. She was dignified and stately, both in manners and demeanor, and everything about her bore traces of scrupulous neatness. "Such may be one of those described by Sama-no-Kami, in whom we may place confidence," he thought, as he approached her. At the same time, her lofty queenliness caused him to feel a momentary embarrassment, which he at once tried to hide by chatting with the attendant maid. The air was close and heavy, and he was somewhat oppressed by it. His father-in-law happened to pass by the apartment. He stopped and uttered a few words from behind the curtain which overhung the door. "In this hot weather," said Genji, in a low tone, "what makes him come here?" and did not give the slightest encouragement to induce his father-in-law to enter the room; so he passed along. All present smiled significantly, and tittered. "How indiscreet!" exclaimed Genji, glancing at them reprovingly, and throwing himself back on a _kiô-sok_ (arm-stool), where he remained calm and silent. It was, by no means, becoming behavior on the part of the Prince. The day was drawing to an end when it was announced that the mansion was closed in the certain celestial direction of the Naka-gami (central God).[46] His own mansion in Nijiô (the one mentioned as being repaired in a previous chapter) was also in the same line of direction. "Where shall I go then?" said Genji, and without troubling himself any further, went off into a doze. All present expressed in different words their surprise at his unusual apathy. Thereupon some one reported that the residence of Ki-no-Kami, who was in waiting on the Prince, on the banks of the middle river (the River Kiôgok) had lately been irrigated by bringing the stream into its gardens, making them cool and refreshing. "That's very good, especially on such a close evening," exclaimed Genji, rousing himself, and he at once intimated to Ki-no-Kami his desire of visiting his house. To which the latter answered simply, "Yes." He did not, however, really like the Prince's visit, and was reluctantly telling his fellow attendants that, owing to a certain circumstance which had taken place at Iyo-no-Kami's[47] residence, his wife (Ki-no-Kami's stepmother) had taken up her abode with him that very evening, and that the rooms were all in confusion. Genji heard all this distinctly, but he would not change his mind, and said, "That is all the better! I don't care to stay in a place where no fair statue dwells; it is slow work." Being thus pressed, no alternative remained for the Ki-no-Kami, and a messenger was despatched to order the preparation of apartments for the Prince. Not long after this messenger had gone, Genji started on his way to the house of Ki-no-Kami, whose mild objections against this quick proceeding were not listened to. He left the mansion as quietly as possible, even without taking formal leave of its master, and his escort consisted of a few favorite attendants. The "eastern front room" in the "dwelling quarters" was wide open, and a temporary arrangement was made for the reception of the Prince, who arrived there very quickly. The scene of the garden struck him before anything else. The surface of the lake sparkled with its glittering waters. The hedges surrounded it in rustic beauty, and luxuriant shrubs grew in pleasing order. Over all the fair scene the breeze of evening swept softly, summer insects sang distinctly here and there, and the fireflies hovered about in mazy dances. The escort took up its quarters in a position which overlooked the stream of water which ran beneath the corridor, and here began to take cups of _saké_. The host hastened to order also some refreshment to be prepared for Genji. The latter was meanwhile gazing abstractedly about him, thinking such a place might belong to the class which Sama-no-Kami fairly placed in the middle category. He knew that the lady who was under the same roof was a young beauty of whom he had heard something before, and he was looking forward to a chance of seeing her. He then noticed the rustling of a silken dress escaping from a small boudoir to the right, and some youthful voices, not without charm, were also heard, mingled with occasional sounds of suppressed laughter. The casement of the boudoir had been, until a short time before, open, but was pulled down by order of Ki-no-Kami, who, perhaps, doubted the propriety of its being as it was, and now only allowed a struggling light to issue through the paper of the "sliding screen!" He proceeded to one side of his room that he might see what could be seen, but there was no chance. He still stood there that he might be able, at least, to catch some part of the conversation. It seems that this boudoir adjoined the general family room of the female inmates, and his ears were greeted by some faint talking. He inclined his head attentively, and heard them whispering probably about himself. "Is it not a pity that the fate of so fine a prince should be already fixed?" said one voice. "Yet he loses no opportunity of availing himself of the favors of fortune," added another. These remarks may have been made with no serious intention, but as to Genji, he, even in hearing them, could not help thinking of a certain fair image of which he so fondly dreamt. At the same time feeling a thrill on reflecting that, if this kind of secret were to be discovered and discussed in such a manner, what could be done. He then heard an observation in delicate allusion to his verse which he had presented to the Princess Momo-zono (peach-gardens) with the flowers of Asagao (morning-glory, or convolvulus). "What _cautious_ beauties they are to talk in that way! But I wonder if their forms when seen will answer to the pictures of my fancy," thought Genji, as he retired to his original position, for he could hear nothing more interesting. Ki-no-Kami presently entered the room, brought in some fruits, trimmed the lamp, and the visitor and host now began to enjoy a pleasant leisure. "What has become of the ladies? Without some of them no society is cheerful," observed Genji. "Who can there be to meet such wishes?" said the Ki-no-Kami to himself, but took no notice of Genji's remark. There were several boys in the house who had followed Ki-no-Kami into the room. They were the sons and brothers of Ki-no-Kami. Among them there was one about twelve or thirteen, who was nicer-looking than the others. Genji, of course, did not know who they all were, and accordingly made inquiries. When he came to the last-mentioned boy, Ki-no-Kami replied:-- "He is the youngest son of the late Lord Yemon, now an orphan, and, from his sister's connections, he is now staying here. He is shrewd and unlike ordinary boys. His desire is to take Court service, but he has as yet no patron." "What a pity! Is, then, the sister you mentioned your stepmother?" "Yes, sir, it is so." "What a good mother you have got. I once overheard the Emperor, to whom, I believe, a private application had been some time made in her behalf, referring to her, said, 'What has become of her?' Is she here now?" said Genji; and lowering his voice, added, "How changeable are the fortunes of the world!" "It is her present state, sir. But, as you may perceive, it differs from her original expectation. Changeable indeed are the fortunes of this world, especially so the fortunes of women!" "Does Iyo respect her? Perhaps he idolizes her, as his master." "That is a question, perhaps, as a _private_ master. I am the foremost to disapprove of this infatuation on his part." "Are you? Nevertheless he trusts her to such a one as you. He is a kind father! But where are they all?" "All in their private apartments." Genji by this time apparently desired to be alone, and Ki-no-Kami now retired with the boys. All the escort were already slumbering comfortably, each on his own cool rush mat, under the pleasant persuasion of _saké_. Genji was now alone. He tried to doze, but could not. It was late in the evening, and all was still around. His sharpened senses made him aware that the room next but one to his own was occupied, which led him to imagine that the lady of whom he had been speaking might be there. He rose softly, and once more proceeded to the other side of the room to listen to what he might overhear. He heard a tender voice, probably that of Kokimi, the boy spoken of before, who appeared to have just entered the room, saying:-- "Are you here?" To which a female voice replied, "Yes, dear, but has the visitor yet retired?" And the same voice added-- "Ah! so near, and yet so far!" "Yes, I should think so, he is so nice-looking, as they say." "Were it daytime I would see him, too," said the lady in a drowsy voice. "I shall go to bed, too! But what a bad light," said the boy, and Genji conjectured that he had been trimming the lamp. The lady presently clapped her hands for a servant, and said, "Where is Chiûjiô, I feel lonely, I wish to see her." "Madam, she is in the bath now, she will be here soon," replied the servant. "Suppose I pay my visit to her, too? What harm! no harm, perhaps," said Genji to himself. He withdrew the fastening of the intervening door, on the other side there was none, and it opened. The entrance to the room where the lady was sitting was only screened by a curtain, with a glimmering light inside. By the reflection of this light he saw travelling trunks and bags all scattered about; through these he groped his way and approached the curtain. He saw, leaning on a cushion, the small and pretty figure of a lady, who did not seem to notice his approach, probably thinking it was Chiûjiô, for whom she had sent. Genji felt nervous, but struggling against the feeling, startled the lady by saying:-- "Chiûjiô was called for, I thought it might mean myself, and I come to offer you my devoted services." This was really an unexpected surprise, and the lady was at a loss. "It is, of course, natural," he said, "you should be astonished at my boldness, but pray excuse me. It is solely from my earnest desire to show at such an opportunity the great respect for you which I have felt for a very long time." He was clever enough to know how to speak, and what to say, under all circumstances, and made the above speech in such an extremely humble and insinuating manner that the demon himself could not have taken offence, so she forbore to show any sudden resentment. She had, however, grave doubts as to the propriety of his conduct, and felt somewhat uncomfortable, saying shyly, "Perhaps you have made a mistake!" "No, certainly not," he replied. "What mistake can I have made? On the other hand, I have no wish to offend you. The evening, however, is very irksome, and I should feel obliged if you would permit me to converse with you." Then gently taking her hand he pressed her to return with him to his lonely apartment. She was still young and weak, and did not know what was most proper to do under these circumstances, so half yielding, half reluctantly was induced to be led there by him. At this juncture Chiûjiô, for whom she had sent previously, entered the room. Upon which Genji exclaimed "Ha!" Chiûjiô stared with astonishment at him, whom she at once recognized as the Prince, by the rich perfume which he carried about him. "What does this mean?" thought Chiûjiô. She could still do nothing. Had he been an ordinary personage she would have immediately seized him. Even in that case, however, there was enough room to doubt whether it would not have been better to avoid any violent steps lest it might have given rise to a disagreeable family scandal, hence Chiûjiô was completely perplexed and mechanically followed them. Genji was too bold to fear bystanders, a common fault with high personages, and coolly closed the door upon her saying, "She will soon return to you." The lady being placed in such an awkward position, and not knowing what Chiûjiô might imagine, became, as it were, bewildered. Genji was, however, as artful and insinuating as might be expected in consoling her, though we do not know where he had learnt his eloquence. This was really trying for her, and she said, "Your condescension is beyond my merit. I cannot disregard it. It is, however, absolutely necessary to know 'Who is who.'" "But such ignorance," he a little abashed, rejoined "as not to know 'Who is who,' is the very proof of my inexperience. Were I supposed to understand too well, I should indeed be sorry. You have very likely heard how little I mix in the world. This perhaps is the very reason why you distrust me. The excess of the blindness of my mind seems strange even to myself." He spoke thus insinuatingly. She, on her part, feared that if his fascinating address should assume a warmer tone it would be still more trying for her and more difficult to withstand, so she determined, however hard she might appear, not to give any encouragement to his feelings, and showed therefore a coolness of manner. To her meek character there was thus added a firm resolution, and it seemed like a young bamboo reed with its strength and tenderness combined, difficult to bend! Still she felt the struggle very keenly, and tears moistened her eyes. Genji could not help feeling touched. Not knowing exactly how to soothe her, he exclaimed, "What makes you treat me so coolly? It is true we are not old acquaintances, but it does not follow that this should prevent us from becoming good friends. Please don't discompose yourself like one who does not know the world at all: it pierces my heart." This speech touched her, and her firmness began to waver. "Were my position what it once was," said she, "and I received such attention, I might, however unworthy, have been moved by your affection, but as my position in life is now changed, its unsatisfactory condition often makes me dream of a happiness I cannot hope to enjoy." Hereupon she remained silent for some moments, and looked as if she meant to say that she could no longer help thinking of the line:-- Don't tell anyone you've seen my home. But these few moments of silence agitated the pure waters of her virtuous mind, and the sudden recollection of her aged husband, whom she did not generally think much about, occurred tenderly to her memory. She shuddered at the idea of his seeing her in such a dilemma as this, even in a dream, and without a word fled back to her apartment, and Genji was once more alone. Now the chanticleer began to proclaim the coming day, and the attendants rose from their couches, some exclaiming "How soundly we have slept," others, "Let us get the carriage ready." Ki-no-Kami also came out saying, "Why so early, no need of such hurry for the Prince." Genji also arose, and putting on his _naoshi_, went out on a balcony on the southern side of the house, where he leaned upon the wooden balustrade and meditated as he looked round him. It appears that people were peeping out of the casement on the western side, probably being anxious to catch a glimpse of the Prince, whose figure was indistinctly to be seen by them from the top of a short screen standing within the trellis. Among these spectators there was one who perhaps might have felt a thrill run through her frame as she beheld him. It was the very moment when the sky was being tinted by the glowing streaks of morn, and the moon's pale light was still lingering in the far distance. The aspect of the passionless heavens becomes radiant or gloomy in response to the heart of him who looks upon it. And to Genji, whose thoughts were secretly occupied with the events of the evening, the scene could only have given rise to sorrowful emotions. Reflecting how he might on some future occasion convey a message to the lady, and looking back several times, he presently quitted the house and returned to the mansion of his father-in-law. During some days succeeding the above events, he was staying at the mansion with his bride. His thoughts, however, were now constantly turning to the lady on the bank of the middle river. He therefore summoned Ki-no-Kami before him, and thus addressed him:-- "Cannot you let me have the boy, the son of the late Chiûnagon[48] whom I saw the other day? He is a nice lad, and I wish to have him near at hand. I will also introduce him to the Emperor." "I receive your commands. I will talk with his _sister_, and see if she consents to it," replied Ki-no-Kami with a bow. These last words alluding to the object which occupied his thoughts caused Genji to start, but he said with apparent calmness-- "Has the lady presented you yet with a brother or a sister?" "No, sir, not yet; she has been married now these two years, but it seems she is always thinking she is not settled in the way her parents desired, and is not quite contented with her position." "What a pity! I heard, however, she was a very good lady. Is it so?" "Yes, I quite believe so; but hitherto we have lived separately, and were not very cordial, which, as all the world knows, is usual in such relationship." After the lapse of five or six days the boy Kokimi was brought to him. He was not tall or handsome but very intelligent, and in manners perfectly well-bred. Genji treated him with the greatest kindness, at which, in his boyish mind, he was highly delighted. Genji now asked him many questions about his sister, to which he gave such answers as he could, but often with shyness and diffidence. Hence Genji was unable to take him into his confidence, but by skilfully coaxing and pleasing him, he ventured to hand him a letter to be taken to his sister. The boy, though he possibly guessed at its meaning, did not trouble himself much, but taking it, duly delivered it to his sister. She became confused and thoughtful as she took it, and fearing what the boy might think, opened the letter and held it before her face as she read, in order to conceal the expression of her countenance. It was a long one, and among other things contained the following lines:-- I had a dream, a dream so sweet, Ah! would that I could dream again; Alas, no sleep these eyes will greet, And so I strive to dream in vain! It was beautifully written, and as her eyes fell upon the passionate words, a mist gathered over them, and a momentary thought of her own life and position once more flashed over her mind, and without a word of comment to the boy, she retired to rest. A few days afterwards Kokimi was again invited to join the Prince. Thereupon he asked his sister to give him an answer to the Prince's letter. "Tell the Prince," she said, "there is no one _here_ who reads such letters." "But," said the boy, "he does not expect such an answer as this! How can I tell him so?" At first, she half-resolved to explain everything to Kokimi, and to make him thoroughly understand why she ought not to receive such letters, but the effort was too painful, so she simply said, "It is all the better for you not to talk in that way. If you think it so serious why should you go to him at all?" "Yet, how can I disobey his commands to go back?" exclaimed the boy, and so he returned to Genji without any written answer to him. "I was weary of waiting for you. Perhaps you, too, had forgotten me," said Genji, when he saw the boy, who was, however, silent and blushed. "And what answer have you brought me?" continued Genji, and then the boy replied in the exact words which his sister had used. "What?" cried Genji: and continued, "Perhaps you may not know, so I will tell you. I knew your sister before she knew Iyo. But she likes to treat me so because she thinks she has got a very good friend in Iyo; but do you be like a brother to me. The days of Iyo will be probably fewer than mine." He now returned to the Palace taking Komini with him, and, going to his dressing-room, attired him nicely in the Court style; in a word, he treated him as a parent would do. By the boy's assistance several more letters were conveyed to his sister. Her resolution, however, remained unshaken. "If one's heart were once to deviate from the path," she reflected, "the only end we could expect would be a damaged reputation and misery for life: the good and the bad result from one's self!" Thus thinking, she resolved to return no answer. She might, indeed, have admired the person of Genji, and probably did so, yet, whenever such feelings came into her mind, the next thought that suggested itself was, "What is the use of such idle admiration?" Meanwhile, Genji was often thinking of paying a visit to the house where she was staying, but he did not consider it becoming to do so, without some reasonable pretext, more especially as he would have been sorry, and for her sake more than his own, to draw a suspicion upon her. It happened, however, after a prolonged residence at the Court, that another occasion of closing the Palace in the certain celestial line of direction arrived. Catching at this opportunity he left the Palace, and suddenly turning out of his road, went straight to Ki-no-Kami's residence, with the excuse that he had just discovered the above fact on his way. Ki-no-Kami surprised at this unexpected visit, had only to bow before him, and acknowledge the honor of his presence. The boy, Kokimi, was already there before him, having been secretly informed of his intention beforehand, and he attended on him as usual in his apartment on his arrival. The lady, who had been told by her brother that the Prince earnestly desired to see her, knew well how dangerous it was to approach an inviting flower growing on the edge of a precipice. She was not, of course, insensible to his coming in such a manner, with an excuse for the sake of seeing her, but she did not wish to increase her dreamlike inquietude by seeing him. And again, if he ventured to visit her apartment, as he did before, it might be a serious compromise for her. For these reasons she retired while her brother was with Genji, to a private chamber of Chiûjiô, her companion, in the rear of the main building, under the pretence that her own room was too near that of the Prince, besides she was indisposed and required "Tataki,"[49] which she desired to have done in a retired part of the house. Genji sent his attendants very early to their own quarters, and then, through Kokimi, requested an interview with the lady. Kokimi at first was unable to find her, till after searching everywhere, he, at last, came to the apartment of Chiûjiô, and with great earnestness endeavored to persuade her to see Genji, in an anxious and half trembling voice, while she replied in a tone slightly angry, "What makes you so busy? Why do you trouble yourself? Boys carrying such messages are highly blamable." After thus daunting him, she added, more mildly, "Tell the Prince I am somewhat indisposed, and also that some friends are with me, and I cannot well leave them now." And she again cautioned the boy not to be too officious, and sent him away from her at once. Yet, at the bottom of her heart, different feelings might have been struggling from those which her words seemed to express, and some such thoughts as these shaped themselves to her mind: "Were I still a maiden in the home of my beloved parents, and occasionally received his visits there, how happy might I not be? How trying to act as if no romantic sentiment belonged to my heart!" Genji, who was anxiously waiting to know how the boy would succeed in persuading his sister, was soon told that all his efforts were in vain. Upon hearing this he remained for some moments silent, and then relieved his feelings with a long-drawn sigh, and hummed:-- "The Hahaki-gi[50] distant tree Spreads broom-like o'er the silent waste; Approach, how changed its shape we see, In vain we try its shade to taste." The lady was unable to sleep, and her thoughts also took the following poetic shape:-- Too like the Hahaki-gi tree, Lonely and humble, I must dwell, Nor dare to give a thought to thee, But only sigh a long farewell. All the other inmates of the house were now in a sound slumber, but sleep came not to Genji's eyes. He did, indeed, admire her immovable and chaste nature, but this only drew his heart more towards her. He was agitated. At one moment he cried, "Well, then!" at another, "However!" "Still!" At last, turning to the boy, he passionately exclaimed, "Lead me to her at once!" Kokimi calmly replied, "It is impossible, too many eyes are around us!" Genji with a sigh then threw himself back on the cushion, saying to Kokimi, "You, at least, will be my friend, and shall share my apartment!" FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 22: A hero of an older fiction, who is represented as the perfect ideal of a gallant.] [Footnote 23: A fast observed when some remarkable or supernatural event took place, or on the anniversary of days of domestic misfortune.] [Footnote 24: A general of the Imperial Guards.] [Footnote 25: Love letters generally are not signed or are signed with a fancy name.] [Footnote 26: Left Master of the Horse.] [Footnote 27: Secretary to the Master of Ceremonies.] [Footnote 28: Deputy-governors of provinces. In those days these functionaries were greatly looked down upon by the Court nobles, and this became one of the causes of the feudal system.] [Footnote 29: The naoshi is an outer attire. It formed part of a loose and unceremonious Court dress.] [Footnote 30: This alludes to a common habit of women, who push back their hair before commencing any task.] [Footnote 31: Some kinds of nuns did not shave their heads, and this remark seems to allude to the common practice of women who often involuntarily smooth their hair before they see people, which practice comes, no doubt, from the idea that the beauty of women often depends on the tidiness of their hair.] [Footnote 32: This means that her soul, which was sinful, would not go at once to its final resting-place, but wander about in unknown paths.] [Footnote 33: A mountain spoken of in Chinese literature. It was said to be in the Eastern Ocean, and people of extraordinary long lives, called Sennin, were supposed to dwell there.] [Footnote 34: In China and Japan handwriting is considered no less an art than painting.] [Footnote 35: An ideal woman patroness of the art of dyeing.] [Footnote 36: The weaver, or star Vega. In the Chinese legend she is personified as a woman always engaged in weaving.] [Footnote 37: In the same legend, it is said that this weaver, who dwells on one side of the Milky Way in the heavens, meets her lover--another star called Hikoboshi, or the bull-driver--once every year, on the evening of the seventh day of the seventh month. He dwelt on the other side of the Milky Way, and their meeting took place on a bridge, made by birds (jays), by the intertwining of their wings. It was this which gave rise to the popular festival, which takes place on this day, both in China and Japan.] [Footnote 38: Little darlings--a kind of pink.] [Footnote 39: The Tokonatz (everlasting summer) is another name for the pink, and it is poetically applied to the lady whom we love.] [Footnote 40: A female divinity in Indian mythology.] [Footnote 41: From the Chinese poet Hak-rak-ten, who was mentioned before. He says in one of his poems: "Once upon a time a certain host invited to his abode a clever match-maker. When the guests were assembled he poured forth wine into a beautiful jar, and said to all present, 'drink not for a moment, but hear what I say about the two choices, daughters of the rich get married soon, but snub their husbands, daughters of the poor get married with difficulty but dearly love their mothers-in-law.'"] [Footnote 42: A soft style of Japanese writing commonly used by ladies.] [Footnote 43: A stiff and formal style of Japanese writing.] [Footnote 44: The fifth of May is one of the five important national festivals. A solemn celebration of this fête used to be performed at Court. It is sometimes called the festival of the "Sweet Flags,"--_calami aromatici_--because it was held at the season when those beautiful water-plants were in the height of perfection.] [Footnote 45: Another of the five above-mentioned. It was held on the ninth of September, and it was customary on the occasion for rhymes to be given out to those present, wherewith to compose Chinese poems. It was sometimes called the "Chrysanthemum Festival," for the same reason that the celebration of the fifth of May was termed the "Sweet Flag Festival."] [Footnote 46: This is an astrological superstition. It is said that when this God is in any part of the compass, at the time being, it is most unlucky to proceed towards it, and to remain in the same line of its direction.] [Footnote 47: The deputy governor of the province Iyo; he is supposed to be in the province at this time, leaving his young wife and family behind.] [Footnote 48: The father of Kokimi seems to have been holding the office Yemon-no-Kami as well as Chiûnagon.] [Footnote 49: Tataki, or Amma, a sort of shampooing, a very common medical treatment in Japan.] [Footnote 50: Hahaki-gi, the broom-like tree, is said to have been a certain tree growing in the plain of Sonohara, so called from its shape, which, at a distance, looked like a spreading broom, but when one comes near, its appearance was totally changed.] CHAPTER III BEAUTIFUL CICADA Genji was still sleepless! "Never have I been so badly treated. I have now discovered what the disappointment of the world means," he murmured, while the boy Kokimi lay down beside him fast asleep. The smallness of his stature, and the graceful waving of his short hair, could not but recall to Genji the beautiful tresses of his sister, and bring her image vividly before him; and, long before the daylight appeared, he rose up, and returned to his residence with all speed. For some time after this no communication took place between the lady and himself. He could not, however, banish her from his thoughts, and he said to Kokimi that "he felt his former experience too painful, and that he strove to drive away his care; yet in vain; his thoughts would not obey his wish, and he begged him, therefore, to seek some favorable opportunity for him to see her." Kokimi, though he did not quite like the task, felt proud of being made his confidant, and thenceforward looked incessantly, with keen boyish eyes, for a chance of obliging him. Now, it happened that Ki-no-Kami went down to his official residence in his province, and only the female members of his family were left at home. "This is the time," said Kokimi to himself, and went to Genji, and persuaded him to come with him. "What can the boy do?" thought Genji; "I fear not very much, but I must not expect too much"; and they started at once, in Kokimi's carriage, so as to arrive in good time. The evening was darkening round them, and they drew up on one side of the house, where few persons were likely to observe them. As it happened to be Kokimi who had come, no fuss was made about his arrival, nor any notice taken of it. He entered the house; and, leaving the Prince in the Eastern Hall, proceeded first into the inner room. The casement was closed. "How is it the casement is closed?" he demanded of the servants. They told him "That the Lady of the West (Ki-no-Kami's sister, so called by the domestics from her living to the westward of the house) was there on a visit since noon, and was playing Go with his sister." The door by which the boy had entered the room was not entirely closed. Genji softly came up to it, and the whole interior of the apartment was visible. He stood facing the west. On one side of the room was a folding screen, one end of which was pushed back, and there was nothing besides to obstruct his view. His first glance fell on the fair figure of her of whom he had so fondly dreamt, sitting by a lamp near a central pillar. She wore a dress of dark purple, and a kind of scarf thrown over her shoulders; her figure was slight and delicate, and her face was partly turned aside, as if she did not like to expose it even to her companions. Her hands were prettily shaped and tiny, and she used them with a gentle reserve, half covering them. Another lady, younger than herself, sat facing the east--that is, just opposite Genji--and was, therefore, entirely visible to him. She was dressed in a thin white silk, with a Ko-uchiki (outer vestment), worked with red and blue flowers, thrown loosely over it, and a crimson sash round her waist. Her bosom was partly revealed; her complexion very fair; her figure rather stout and tall; the head and neck in good proportions, and the lips and eyelids lovely. The hair was not very long, but reached in wavy lines to her shoulders. "If a man had such a daughter, he might be satisfied," thought Genji. "But perhaps she may be a little deficient in quietness. No matter how this may be, she has sufficient attractions." The game was drawing to a close, and they paid very little attention to Kokimi on his entrance. The principal interest in it was over; they were hurrying to finish it. One was looking quietly at the board, and said, "Let me see, that point must be Ji. Let me play the Kôh[51] of this spot." The other saying, "I am beaten; let me calculate," began to count on her fingers the number of spaces at each corner, at the same time saying "Ten! twenty! thirty! forty!" When Genji came in this way to see them together, he perceived that his idol, in the matter of personal beauty, was somewhat inferior to her friend. He was not, indeed, able to behold the full face of the former; yet, when he shifted his position, and fixed his gaze steadfastly upon her, the profile became distinct. He observed that her eyelids were a little swollen, and the line of the nose was not very delicate. He still admired her, and said to himself, "But perhaps she is more sweet-tempered than the others"; but when he again turned his eyes to the younger one, strange to say the calm and cheerful smile which occasionally beamed in her face touched the heart of Genji; moreover, his usual interviews with ladies generally took place in full ceremony. He had never seen them in so familiar an attitude before, without restraint or reserve, as on the present occasion, which made him quite enjoy the scene. Kokimi now came out, and Genji retired stealthily to one side of the door along the corridor. The former, who saw him there, and supposed he had remained waiting in the place he had left him all the while, apologized for keeping him so long, and said: "A certain young lady is now staying here; I am sorry, but I did not dare mention your visit." "Do you mean to send me away again disappointed? How inglorious it is," replied Genji. "No; why so? The lady may leave shortly. I will then announce you." Genji said no more. The ladies had by this time concluded their game, and the servants, who were about to retire to their own apartments, cried out, "Where is our young master? we must close this door." "Now is the time; pray take me there; don't be too late. Go and ask," said Genji. Kokimi knew very well how hard was his task to persuade his sister to see the Prince, and was meditating taking him into her room, without her permission, when she was alone. So he said, hesitatingly, "Please wait a little longer, till the other lady, Ki-no-Kami's sister, goes away." "Is Ki-no's sister here? So much the better. Please introduce me to her before she leaves," said Genji. "But!" "But what? Do you mean that she is not worth seeing?" retorted Genji; and would fain have told the boy that he had already seen her, but thought it better not to do so, and continued: "Were we to wait for her to retire, it would become too late; we should have no chance." Hereupon Kokimi determined to risk a little, and went back to his sister's room, rolling up a curtain which hung in his way. "It is too warm--let the air in!" he cried, as he passed through. After a few minutes he returned, and led Genji to the apartment on his own responsibility. The lady with the scarf (his sister), who had been for some time fondly supposing that Genji had given up thinking about her, appeared startled and embarrassed when she saw him; but, as a matter of course, the usual courtesies were paid. The younger lady, however (who was free from all such thoughts), was rather pleased at his appearance. It happened that, when the eyes of the younger were turned in another direction, Genji ventured to touch slightly the shoulder of his favorite, who, startled at the action rose suddenly and left the room, on pretence of seeking something she required, dropping her scarf in her haste, as a cicada casts off its tender wingy shell, and leaving her friend to converse with the Prince. He was chagrined, but did not betray his vexation either by words or looks, and now began to carry on a conversation with the lady who remained, whom he had already admired. Here his usual bold flirtation followed. The young lady, who was at first disturbed at his assurance, betrayed her youthful inexperience in such matters; yet for an innocent maiden, she was rather coquettish, and he went on flirting with her. "Chance meetings like this," said he, "often arise from deeper causes than those which take place in the usual routine of things, so at least say the ancients. If I say I love you, you might not believe me; and yet, indeed, it is so. Do think of me! True, we are not yet quite free, and perhaps I might not be able to see you so often as I wish; but I hope you will wait with patience, and not forget me." "Truly, I also fear what people might suspect; and, therefore, I may not be able to communicate with you at all," said she, innocently. "Perhaps it might not be desirable to employ any other hand," he rejoined. "If you only send your message, say through Kokimi, there would not be any harm." Genji now rose to depart, and slyly possessed himself of the scarf which had been dropped by the other lady. Kokimi, who had been dozing all the time, started up suddenly when Genji roused him. He then led the latter to the door. At this moment, the tremulous voice of an aged female domestic, who appeared quite unexpectedly, exclaimed-- "Who is there?" To which Kokimi immediately replied, "It is I!" "What brings you here so late?" asked the old woman, in a querulous tone. "How inquisitive! I am now going out. What harm?" retorted the boy, rather scornfully; and, stepping up to the threshold, gave Genji a push over it, when all at once the shadow of his tall figure was projected on the moonlit floor. "Who's that?" cried the old woman sharply, and in alarm; but the next moment, without waiting for any reply, mumbled on: "Ah, ah! 'tis Miss Mimb, no wonder so tall." This remark seemed to allude to one of her fellow-servants, who must have been a stalwart maiden, and the subject of remarks among her companions. The old woman, quite satisfied in thinking that it was she who was with Kokimi, added: "You, my young master, will soon be as tall as she is; I will come out this way, too," and approached the door. Genji could do nothing but stand silent and motionless. When she came nearer she said, addressing the supposed Mimb, "Have you been waiting on the young mistress this evening? I have been ill since the day before yesterday, and kept myself to my room, but was sent for this evening because my services were required. I cannot stand it." So saying, and without waiting for any reply, she passed on, muttering as she went, "Oh! my pain! my pain!" Genji and the boy now went forth, and they drove back to the mansion in Nijiô. Talking over the events of the evening, Genji ironically said to his companion, "Ah! you are a nice boy!" and snapped his fingers with chagrin at the escape of his favorite and her indifference. Kokimi said nothing. Genji then murmured, "I was clearly slighted. Oh wretched me! I cannot rival the happy Iyo!" Shortly after, he retired to rest, taking with him, almost unconsciously, the scarf he had carried off, and again making Kokimi share his apartment, for company's sake. He had still some hope that the latter might be useful to him; and, with the intention of stirring up his energies, observed, "You are a nice boy; but I am afraid the coldness shown to me by your sister may at last weaken the friendship between you and me." Kokimi still made no reply. Genji closed his eyes but could not sleep, so he started up and, taking writing materials, began to write, apparently without any fixed purpose, and indited the following distich:-- "Where the cicada casts her shell In the shadows of the tree, There is one whom I love well, Though her heart is cold to me." Casting away the piece of paper on which these words were written--purposely or not, who knows?--he again leaned his head on his hand. Kokimi slyly stretching out his hand, picked up the paper from the floor, and hid it quickly in his dress. Genji soon fell into profound slumber, in which he was speedily joined by Kokimi. Some days passed away and Kokimi returned to his sister, who, on seeing him, chided him severely, saying:-- "Though I managed with some difficulty, we must not forget what people might say of us, _your_ officiousness is most unpardonable. Do you know what the Prince himself will think of your childish trick?" Thus was poor Kokimi, on the one hand, reproached by Genji for not doing enough, and on the other by his sister for being too officious! was he not in a very happy position! Yet, notwithstanding her words, he ventured to draw from his dress the paper he had picked up in Genji's apartment, and offered it to her. The lady hesitated a moment, though somewhat inclined to read it, holding it in her hand for some little time, undecided. At length she ventured to throw her eyes over its contents. At once the loss of her scarf floated upon her mind as she read, and, taking up her pen, wrote on part of the paper where Genji had written his verses, the words of a song:-- "Amidst dark shadows of the tree, Cicada's wing with dew is wet, So in mine eyes unknown to thee, Spring sweet tears of fond regret." FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 51: Ji and Kôh are the names of certain positions in the game of "Go."] CHAPTER IV EVENING GLORY It happened that when Genji was driving about in the Rokjiô quarter, he was informed that his old nurse, Daini, was ill, and had become a nun. Her residence was in Gojiô. He wished to visit her, and drove to the house. The main gate was closed, so that his carriage could not drive up; therefore, he sent in a servant to call out Koremitz, a son of the nurse. Meantime, while awaiting him, he looked round on the deserted terrace. He noticed close by a small and rather dilapidated dwelling, with a wooden fence round a newly-made enclosure. The upper part, for eight or ten yards in length, was surrounded by a trellis-work, over which some white reed blinds--rude, but new--were thrown. Through these blinds the indistinct outline of some fair heads were faintly delineated, and the owners were evidently peeping down the roadway from their retreat. "Ah," thought Genji, "they can never be so tall as to look over the blind. They must be standing on something within. But whose residence is it? What sort of people are they?" His equipage was strictly private and unostentatious. There were, of course, no outriders; hence he had no fear of being recognized by them. And so he still watched the house. The gate was also constructed of something like trellis-work, and stood half open, revealing the loneliness of the interior. The line: "Where do we seek our home?" came first into his mind, and he then thought that "even this must be as comfortable as golden palaces to its inmates." A long wooden rail, covered with luxuriant creepers, which, fresh and green, climbed over it in full vigor, arrested his eye; their white blossoms, one after another disclosing their smiling lips in unconscious beauty. Genji began humming to himself: "Ah! stranger crossing there." When his attendant informed him that these lovely white flowers were called "Yûgao" (evening-glory), adding, and at the same time pointing to the flowers, "See the flowers _only_, flourishing in that glorious state." "What beautiful flowers they are," exclaimed Genji. "Go and beg a bunch." The attendant thereupon entered the half-opened gate and asked for some of them, on which a young girl, dressed in a long tunic, came out, taking an old fan in her hand, and saying, "Let us put them on this, those with strong stems," plucked off a few stalks and laid them on the fan. These were given to the attendant, who walked slowly back. Just as he came near to Genji, the gate of Koremitz's courtyard opened and Koremitz himself appeared, who took the flowers from him and handed them to Genji, at the same moment saying, "I am very sorry I could not find the gate key, and that I made you wait so long in the public road, though there is no one hereabouts to stare at, or recognize you, I sincerely beg your pardon." The carriage was now driven in, and Genji alighted. The Ajari,[52] elder brother of Koremitz; Mikawa-no-Kami, his brother-in-law; and the daughter of Daini, all assembled and greeted him. The nun also rose from her couch to welcome him. "How pleased I am to see you," she said, "but you see I have quite altered, I have become a nun. I have given up the world. I had no reluctance in doing this. If I had any uneasiness, it was on your account alone. My health, however, is beginning to improve; evidently the divine blessing on this sacrifice." "I was so sorry," replied Genji, "to hear you were ill, and now still more so to find you have given up the world. I hope that you may live to witness my success and prosperity. It grieves me to think you were compelled to make such a change; yet, I believe, this will secure your enjoyment of happiness hereafter. It is said that when one leaves this world without a single regret, one passes straight to Paradise." As he said these words his eyes became moistened. Now, it is common for nurses to regard their foster children with blind affection, whatever may be their faults, thinking, so to speak, that what is crooked is straight. So in Genji's case, who, in Daini's eyes, was next door to perfection, this blindness was still more strongly apparent, and she always regarded her office as his nurse, as an honor, and while Genji was discoursing in the above manner, a tear began to trickle from her eyes. "You know," he continued, "at what an early age I was deprived of my dearest ties; there were, indeed, several who looked after me, but you were the one to whom I was most attached. In due course, after I grew up, I ceased to see you regularly. I could not visit you as often as I thought of you, yet, when I did not see you for a long time, I often felt very lonely. Ah! if there were no such things as partings in the world!" He then enjoined them earnestly to persevere in prayer for their mother's health, and said, "Good-by." At the moment of quitting the house he remembered that something was written on the fan that held the flowers. It was already twilight, and he asked Koremitz to bring a taper, that he might see to read it. It seemed to him as if the fragrance of some fair hand that had used it still remained, and on it was written the following couplets:-- "The crystal dew at Evening's hour Sleeps on the Yûgao's beauteous flower, Will this please him, whose glances bright, Gave to the flowers a dearer light?" With apparent carelessness, without any indication to show who the writer was, it bore, however, the marks of a certain excellence. Genji thought, "this is singular, coming from whence it does," and turning to Koremitz, he asked, "Who lives in this house to your right?" "Ah," exclaimed Koremitz mentally, "as usual, I see," but replied with indifference, "Truly I have been here some days, but I have been so busy in attending my mother that I neither know nor have asked about the neighbors." "You may probably be surprised at my inquisitiveness," said Genji, "but I have reasons for asking this on account of this fan. I request you to call on them, and make inquiries what sort of people they are." Koremitz thereupon proceeded to the house, and, calling out a servant, sought from him the information he wanted, when he was told that, "This is the house of Mr. Yômei-no-Ske. He is at present in the country; his lady is still young; her brothers are in the Court service, and often come here to see her. The whole history of the family I am not acquainted with." With this answer Koremitz returned, and repeated it to Genji, who thought, "Ah! the sending of this verse may be a trick of these conceited Court fellows!" but he could not entirely free his mind from the idea of its having been sent especially to himself. This was consistent with the characteristic vanity of his disposition. He, therefore, took out a paper, and disguising his handwriting (lest it should be identified), indited the following:-- "Were I the flower to see more near, Which once at dusky eve I saw, It might have charms for me more dear, And look more beauteous than before." And this he sent to the house by his servant, and set off on his way. He saw a faint light through the chinks of the blinds of the house, like the glimmer of the firefly. It gave him, as he passed, a silent sort of longing. The mansion in Rokjiô, to which he was proceeding this evening, was a handsome building, standing amidst fine woods of rare growth and beauty, and all was of comfortable appearance. Its mistress was altogether in good circumstances, and here Genji spent the hours in full ease and comfort. On his way home next morning he again passed the front of the house, where grew the Yûgao flowers, and the recollection of flowers which he had received the previous evening, made him anxious to ascertain who the people were who lived there. After the lapse of some time Koremitz came to pay him a visit, excusing himself for not having come before, on account of his mother's health being more unsatisfactory. He said, "In obedience to your commands to make further inquiries, I called on some people who know about my neighbors, but could not get much information. I was told, however, that there is a lady who has been living there since last May, but who she is even the people in the house do not know. Sometimes I looked over the hedges between our gardens, and saw the youthful figure of a lady, and a maiden attending her, in a style of dress which betrayed a good origin. Yesterday evening, after sunset, I saw the lady writing a letter, her face was very calm in expression, but full of thought, and her attendant was often sobbing secretly, as she waited on her. These things I saw distinctly." Genji smiled. He seemed more anxious than before to know something about them, and Koremitz continued: "Hoping to get some fuller information, I took an opportunity which presented itself of sending a communication to the house. To this a speedy answer was returned, written by a skilful hand. I concluded from this and other circumstances that there was something worth seeing and knowing enclosed within those walls." Genji immediately exclaimed, "Do! do! try again; not to be able to find out is too provoking," and he thought to himself, "If in lowly life, which is often left unnoticed, we find something attractive and fair, as Sama-no-Kami said, how delightful it will be, and I think, perhaps, this may be such a one." In the meantime his thoughts were occasionally reverting to Cicada. His nature was not, perhaps, so perverted as to think about persons of such condition and position in life as Cicada; but since he had heard the discussion about women, and their several classifications, he had somehow become speculative in his sentiments, and ambitious of testing all those different varieties by his own experience. While matters were in this state Iyo-no-Kami returned to the capital, and came in haste to pay his respects to Genji. He was a swarthy, repulsive looking man, bearing the traces of a long journey in his appearance, and of advanced age. Still there was nothing unpleasant in his natural character and manners. Genji was about to converse with him freely, but somehow or another an awkward feeling arose in his mind, and threw a restraint upon his cordiality. "Iyo is such an honest old man," he reflected, "it is too bad to take advantage of him. What Sama-no-Kami said is true, 'that to strive to carry out wrong desires is man's evil failing!' Her hardheartedness to me is unpleasant, but from the other side this deserves praise!" It was announced after this that Iyo-no-Kami would return to his province, and take his wife with him, and that his daughter would be left behind to be soon married. This intelligence was far from pleasing to Genji, and he longed once more, only once more to behold the lady of the scarf, and he concerted with Kokimi how to arrange a plan for obtaining an interview. The lady, however, was quite deaf to such proposals, and the only concession she vouchsafed was that she occasionally received a letter, and sometimes answered it. Autumn had now come; Genji was still thoughtful. Lady Aoi saw him but seldom, and was constantly disquieted by his protracted absence from her. There was, as we have before hinted, at Rokjiô, another person whom he had won with great difficulty, and it would have been a little inconsistent if he became too easily tired of her. He indeed had not become cool towards her, but the violence of his passion had somewhat abated. The cause of this seems to have been that this lady was rather too zealous, or, we may say, jealous; besides, her age exceeded that of Genji by some years. The following incident will illustrate the state of matters between them:-- One morning early Genji was about to take his departure, with sleepy eyes, listless and weary, from her mansion at Rokjiô. A slight mist spread over the scene. A maiden attendant of the mistress opened the door for his departure, and led him forth. The shrubbery of flowering trees struck refreshingly on the sight, with interlacing branches in rich confusion, among which was some Asagao in full blossom. Genji was tempted to dally, and looked contemplatively over them. The maiden still accompanied him. She wore a thin silk tunic of light green colors, showing off her graceful waist and figure, which it covered. Her appearance was attractive. Genji looked at her tenderly, and led her to a seat in the garden, and sat down by her side. Her countenance was modest and quiet; her wavy hair was neatly and prettily arranged. Genji began humming in a low tone:-- "The heart that roams from flower to flower, Would fain its wanderings not betray, Yet 'Asagao,' in morning's hour, Impels my tender wish to stray." So saying, he gently took her hand; she, however, without appearing to understand his real meaning, answered thus:-- "You stay not till the mist be o'er, But hurry to depart, Say can the flower you leave, no more Detain your changeful heart?" At this juncture a young attendant in Sasinuki[53] entered the garden, brushing away the dewy mist from the flowers, and began to gather some bunches of Asagao. The scene was one which we might desire to paint, so full of quiet beauty, and Genji rose from his seat, and slowly passed homeward. In those days Genji was becoming more and more an object of popular admiration in society, and we might even attribute the eccentricity of some of his adventures to the favor he enjoyed, combined with his great personal attractions. Where beautiful flowers expand their blossoms even the rugged mountaineer loves to rest under their shade, so wherever Genji showed himself people sought his notice. Now with regard to the fair one about whom Koremitz was making inquiries. After some still further investigations, he came to Genji and told him that "there is some one who often visits there. Who he was I could not at first find out, for he comes with the utmost privacy. I made up my mind to discover him; so one evening I concealed myself outside the house, and waited. Presently the sound of an approaching carriage was heard, and the inmates of the house began to peep out. The lady I mentioned before was also to be seen; I could not see her very plainly, but I can tell you so much: she looked charming. The carriage itself was now seen approaching, and it apparently belonged to some one of rank. A little girl who was peeping out exclaimed, "Ukon, look here, quick, Chiûjiô is coming." Then one older came forward rubbing her hands and saying to the child, 'Don't be so foolish, don't be excited.' How could they tell, I wondered, that the carriage was a Chiûjiô's. I stole forth cautiously and reconnoitred. Near the house there is a small stream, over which a plank had been thrown by way of a bridge. The visitor was rapidly approaching this bridge when an amusing incident occurred: The elder girl came out in haste to meet him, and was passing the bridge, when the skirt of her dress caught in something, and she well-nigh fell into the water. 'Confound that bridge, what a bad Katzragi,'[54] she cried, and suddenly turned pale. How amusing it was, you may imagine. The visitor was dressed in plain style, he was followed by his page, whom I recognized as belonging to Tô-no-Chiûjiô." "I should like to see that same carriage," interrupted Genji eagerly, as he thought to himself, "that house may be the home of the very girl whom he (Tô-no-Chiûjiô) spoke about, perhaps he has discovered her hiding-place." "I have also made an acquaintance," Koremitz continued, "with a certain person in this house, and it was through these means that I made closer observations. The girl who nearly fell over the bridge is, no doubt, the lady's attendant, but they pretend to be all on an equality. Even when the little child said anything to betray them by its remarks, they immediately turned it off." Koremitz laughed as he told this, adding, "this was an amusing trick indeed." "Oh," exclaimed Genji, "I must have a look at them when I go to visit your mother; you must manage this," and with the words the picture of the "Evening-Glory" rose pleasantly before his eyes. Now Koremitz not only was always prompt in attending to the wishes of Prince Genji, but also was by his own temperament fond of carrying on such intrigues. He tried every means to favor his designs, and to ingratiate himself with the lady, and at last succeeded in bringing her and Genji together. The details of the plans by which all this was brought about are too long to be given here. Genji visited her often, but it was with the greatest caution and privacy; he never asked her when they met any particulars about her past life, nor did he reveal his own to her. He would not drive to her in his own carriage, and Koremitz often lent him his own horse to ride. He took no attendant with him except the one who had asked for the "Evening-Glory." He would not even call on the nurse, lest it might lead to discoveries. The lady was puzzled at his reticence. She would sometimes send her servant to ascertain, if possible, what road he took, and where he went. But somehow, by chance or design, he always became lost to her watchful eye. His dress, also, was of the most ordinary description, and his visits were always paid late in the evening. To her all this seemed like the mysteries of old legends. True, she conjectured from his demeanor and ways that he was a person of rank, but she never ascertained exactly who he was. She sometimes reproached Koremitz for bringing her into such strange circumstances. But he cunningly kept himself aloof from such taunts. Be this as it may, Genji still frequently visited her, though at the same time he was not unmindful that this kind of adventure was scarcely consistent with his position. The girl was simple and modest in nature, not certainly manoeuvring, neither was she stately or dignified in mien, but everything about her had a peculiar charm and interest, impossible to describe, and in the full charm of youth not altogether void of experience. "But by what charm in her," thought Genji, "am I so strongly affected; no matter, I am so," and thus his passion continued. Her residence was only temporary, and this Genji soon became aware of. "If she leaves this place," thought he, "and I lose sight of her--for when this may happen is uncertain--what shall I do?" He at last decided to carry her off secretly to his own mansion in Nijiô. True, if this became known it would be an awkward business; but such are love affairs; always some dangers to be risked! He therefore fondly entreated her to accompany him to some place where they could be freer. Her answer, however, was "That such a proposal on his part only alarmed her." Genji was amused at her girlish mode of expression, and earnestly said, "Which of us is a fox?[55] I don't know, but anyhow be persuaded by me." And after repeated conversations of the same nature, she at last half-consented. He had much doubt of the propriety of inducing her to take this step, nevertheless her final compliance flattered his vanity. He recollected very well the Tokonatz (Pinks) which Tô-no-Chiûjiô spoke of, but never betrayed that he had any knowledge of that circumstance. It was on the evening of the 15th of August when they were together. The moonlight streamed through the crevices of the broken wall. To Genji such a scene was novel and peculiar. The dawn at length began to break, and from the surrounding houses the voices of the farmers might be heard talking. One remarked, "How cool it is." Another, "There is not much hope for our crops this year." "My carrying business I do not expect to answer," responded the first speaker. "But are our neighbors listening!" Conversing in this way they proceeded to their work. Had the lady been one to whom surrounding appearances were important, she might have felt disturbed, but she was far from being so, and seemed as if no outward circumstances could trouble her equanimity, which appeared to him an admirable trait. The noise of the threshing of the corn came indistinctly to their ears like distant thunder. The beating of the bleacher's hammer was also heard faintly from afar off. They were in the front of the house. They opened the window and looked out on the dawn. In the small garden before their eyes was a pretty bamboo grove; their leaves, wet with dew, shone brilliantly, even as bright as in the gardens of the palace. The cricket sang cheerfully in the old walls as if it was at their very ears, and the flight of wild geese in the air rustled overhead. Everything spoke of rural scenes and business, different from what Genji was in the habit of seeing and hearing round him. To him all these sights and sounds, from their novelty and variety, combined with the affection he had for the girl beside him, had a delightful charm. She wore a light dress of clear purple, not very costly; her figure was slight and delicate; the tones of her voice soft and insinuating. "If she were only a little more cultivated," thought he, but, in any case, he was determined to carry her off. "Now is the time," said he, "let us go together, the place is not very far off." "Why so soon?" she replied, gently. As her implied consent to his proposal was thus given without much thought, he, on his part, became bolder. He summoned her maid, Ukon, and ordered the carriage to be got ready. Dawn now fairly broke; the cocks had ceased to crow, and the voice of an aged man was heard repeating his orisons, probably during his fast. "His days will not be many," thought Genji, "what is he praying for?" And while so thinking, the aged mortal muttered, "Nam Tôrai no Dôshi" (Oh! the Divine guide of the future). "Do listen to that prayer," said Genji, turning to the girl, "it shows our life is not limited to this world," and he hummed:-- "Let us together, bind our soul With vows that Woobasok[56] has given, That when this world from sight shall roll Unparted we shall wake in heaven." And added, "By Mirok,[57] let us bind ourselves in love forever." The girl, doubtful of the future, thus replied in a melancholy tone:-- "When in my present lonely lot, I feel my past has not been free From sins which I remember not, I dread more, what to come, may be." In the meantime a passing cloud had suddenly covered the sky, and made its face quite gray. Availing himself of this obscurity, Genji hurried her away and led her to the carriage, where Ukon also accompanied her. They drove to an isolated mansion on the Rokjiô embankment, which was at no great distance, and called out the steward who looked after it. The grounds were in great solitude, and over them lay a thick mist. The curtains of the carriage were not drawn close, so that the sleeves of their dresses were almost moistened. "I have never experienced this sort of trouble before," said Genji; "how painful are the sufferings of love." "Oh! were the ancients, tell me pray, Thus led away, by love's keen smart, I ne'er such morning's misty ray Have felt before with beating heart. Have you ever?" The lady shyly averted her face and answered:-- "I, like the wandering moon, may roam, Who knows not if her mountain love Be true or false, without a home, The mist below, the clouds above." The steward presently came out and the carriage was driven inside the gates, and was brought close to the entrance, while the rooms were hurriedly prepared for their reception. They alighted just as the mist was clearing away. This steward was in the habit of going to the mansion of Sadaijin, and was well acquainted with Genji. "Oh!" he exclaimed, as they entered. "Without proper attendants!" And approaching near to Genji said, "Shall I call in some more servants?" Genji replied at once and impressively, "I purposely chose a place where many people should not intrude. Don't trouble yourself, and be discreet." Rice broth was served up for their breakfast, but no regular meal had been prepared. The sun was now high in the heavens. Genji got up and opened the window. The gardens had been uncared for, and had run wild. The forest surrounding the mansion was dense and old, and the shrubberies were ravaged and torn by the autumn gales, and the bosom of the lake was hidden by rank weeds. The main part of the house had been for a long time uninhabited, except the servants' quarter, where there were only a few people living. "How fearful the place looks; but let no demon molest us," thought Genji, and endeavored to direct the girl's attention by fond and caressing conversation. And now he began, little by little, to throw off the mask, and told her who he was, and then began humming:-- "The flower that bloomed in evening's dew, Was the bright guide that led to you." She looked at him askance, replying:-- "The dew that on the Yûgao lay, Was a false guide and led astray." Thus a faint allusion was made to the circumstances which were the cause of their acquaintance, and it became known that the verse and the fan had been sent by her attendant mistaking Genji for her mistress's former lover. In the course of a few hours the girl became more at her ease, and later on in the afternoon Koremitz came and presented some fruits. The latter, however, stayed with them only a short time. The mansion gradually became very quiet, and the evening rapidly approached. The inner room was somewhat dark and gloomy. Yûgao was nervous; she was too nervous to remain there alone, and Genji therefore drew back the curtains to let the twilight in, staying there with her. Here the lovers remained, enjoying each other's sight and company, yet the more the evening advanced, the more timid and restless she became, so he quickly closed the casement, and she drew by degrees closer and closer to his side. At these moments he also became distracted and thoughtful. How the Emperor would be asking after him, and know not where he might be! What would the lady, the jealous lady, in the neighboring mansion think or say if she discovered their secret? How painful it would be if her jealous rage should flash forth on him! Such were the reflections which made him melancholy; and as his eyes fell upon the girl affectionately sitting beside him, ignorant of all these matters, he could not but feel a kind of pity for her. Night was now advancing, and they unconsciously dropped off to sleep, when suddenly over the pillow of Genji hovered the figure of a lady of threatening aspect. It said fiercely, "You faithless one, wandering astray with such a strange girl." And then the apparition tried to pull away the sleeping girl near him. Genji awoke much agitated. The lamp had burnt itself out. He drew his sword, and placed it beside him, and called aloud for Ukon, and she came to him also quite alarmed. "Do call up the servants and procure a light," said Genji. "How can I go, 'tis too dark," she replied, shaking with fear. "How childish!" he exclaimed, with a false laugh, and clapped his hands to call a servant. The sound echoed drearily through the empty rooms, but no servant came. At this moment he found the girl beside him was also strangely affected. Her brow was covered with great drops of cold perspiration, and she appeared rapidly sinking into a state of unconsciousness. "Ah! she is often troubled with the nightmare," said Ukon, "and perhaps this disturbs her now; but let us try and rouse her." "Yes, very likely," said Genji; "she was very much fatigued, and since noon her eyes have often been riveted upwards, like one suffering from some inward malady. I will go myself and call the servants"--he continued, "clapping one's hands is useless, besides it echoes fearfully. Do come here, Ukon, for a little while, and look after your mistress." So pulling Ukon near Yûgao, he advanced to the entrance of the saloon. He saw all was dark in the adjoining chambers. The wind was high, and blew gustily round the mansion. The few servants, consisting of a son of the steward, footman, and page, were all buried in profound slumber. Genji called to them loudly, and they awoke with a start. "Come," said he, "bring a light. Valet, twang your bow-string, and drive away the fiend. How can you sleep so soundly in such a place? But has Koremitz come?" "Sir, he came in the evening, but you had given no command, and so he went away, saying he would return in the morning," answered one. The one who gave this reply was an old knight, and he twanged his bow-strings vigorously, "Hiyôjin! hiyôjin!" (Be careful of the fire! be careful of the fire!) as he walked round the rooms. The mind of Genji instinctively reverted at this moment to the comfort of the palace. "At this hour of midnight," he thought, "the careful knights are patrolling round its walls. How different it is here!" He returned to the room he had left; it was still dark. He found Yûgao lying half dead and unconscious as before, and Ukon rendered helpless by fright. "What is the matter? What does it mean? What foolish fear is this?" exclaimed Genji, greatly alarmed. "Perhaps in lonely places like this the fox, for instance, might try to exercise his sorcery to alarm us, but I am here, there is no cause for fear," and he pulled Ukon's sleeve as he spoke, to arouse her. "I was so alarmed," she replied; "but my lady must be more so; pray attend to her." "Well," said Genji, and bending over his beloved, shook her gently, but she neither spoke nor moved. She had apparently fainted, and he became seriously alarmed. At this juncture the lights were brought. Genji threw a mantle over his mistress, and then called to the man to bring the light to him. The servant remained standing at a distance (according to etiquette), and would not approach. "Come near," exclaimed Genji, testily. "Do act according to circumstances," and taking the lamp from him threw its light full on the face of the lady, and gazed upon it anxiously, when at this very moment he beheld the apparition of the same woman he had seen before in his terrible dream, float before his eyes and vanish. "Ah!" he cried, "this is like the phantoms in old tales. What is the matter with the girl?" His own fears were all forgotten in his anxiety on her account. He leaned over and called upon her, but in vain. She answered not, and her glance was fixed. What was to be done? There was no one whom he could consult. The exorcisms of a priest, he thought, might do some good, but there was no priest. He tried to compose himself with all the resolution he could summon, but his anguish was too strong for his nerves. He threw himself beside her, and embracing her passionately, cried, "Come back! come back to me, my darling! Do not let us suffer such dreadful events." But she was gone; her soul had passed gently away. The story of the mysterious power of the demon, who had threatened a certain courtier possessed of considerable strength of mind, suddenly occurred to Genji, who thought self-possession was the only remedy in present circumstances, and recovering his composure a little, said to Ukon, "She cannot be dead! She shall not die yet!" He then called the servant, and told him. "Here is one who has been strangely frightened by a vision. Go to Koremitz and tell him to come at once; and if his brother, the priest, is there, ask him to come also. Tell them cautiously; don't alarm their mother." The midnight passed, and the wind blew louder, rushing amongst the branches of the old pines, and making them moan more and more sadly. The cries of strange weird birds were heard, probably the shrieks of the ill-omened screech-owl, and the place seemed more and more remote from all human sympathy. Genji could only helplessly repeat, "How could I have chosen such a retreat." While Ukon, quite dismayed, cried pitifully at his side. To him it seemed even that this girl might become ill, might die! The light of the lamp flickered and burnt dim. Each side of the walls seemed to his alarmed sight to present numberless openings one after another (where the demon might rush in), and the sound of mysterious footsteps seemed approaching along the deserted passages behind them. "Ah! were Koremitz but here," was the only thought of Genji; but it would seem that Koremitz was from home, and the time Genji had to wait for him seemed an age. At last the crowing cocks announced the coming day, and gave him new courage. He said to himself, "I must now admit this to be a punishment for all my inconsiderateness. However secretly we strive to conceal our faults, eventually they are discovered. First of all, what might not my father think! and then the general public? And what a subject for scandal the story of my escapades will become." Koremitz now arrived, and all at once the courage with which Genji had fought against calamity gave way, and he burst into tears, and then slowly spoke. "Here a sad and singular event has happened; I cannot explain to you why. For such sudden afflictions prayers, I believe, are the only resource. For this reason I wished your brother to accompany you here." "He returned to his monastery only yesterday," replied Koremitz. "But tell me what has happened; any unusual event to the girl?" "She is dead," returned Genji in a broken voice; "dead without any apparent cause." Koremitz, like the Prince, was but young. If he had had greater experience he would have been more serviceable to Genji; indeed, they both were equally perplexed to decide what were the best steps to be taken under the trying circumstances of the case. At last Koremitz said, "If the steward should learn this strange misfortune it might be awkward; as to the man himself he might be relied on, but his family, who probably would not be so discreet, might hear of the matter. It would, therefore, be better to quit this place at once." "But where can we find a spot where there are fewer observers than here?" replied Genji. "That is true. Suppose the old lodgings of the deceased. No, there are too many people there. I think a mountain convent would be better, because there they are accustomed to receive the dead within their walls, so that matters can be more easily concealed." And after a little reflection, he continued, "There is a nun whom I know living in a mountain convent in Higashi-Yama. Let us take the corpse there. She was my father's nurse; she is living there in strict seclusion. That is the best plan I can think of." This proposal was decided on, and the carriage was summoned. Presuming that Genji would not like to carry the dead body in his arms, Koremitz covered it with a mantle, and lifted it into the carriage. Over the features of the dead maiden a charming calmness was still spread, unlike what usually happens, there being nothing repulsive. Her wavy hair fell outside the mantle, and her small mouth, still parted, wore a faint smile. The sight distressed both the eyes and heart of Genji. He fain would have followed the body; but this Koremitz would not permit. "Do take my horse and ride back to Nijiô at once," he said, and ordered the horse for him. Then taking Ukon away in the same carriage with the dead, he, girding up his dress, followed it on foot. It was by no means a pleasant task for Koremitz, but he put up with it cheerfully. Genji, sunk in apathy, now rode back to Nijiô; he was greatly fatigued, and looked pale. The people of the mansion noticed his sad and haggard appearance. Genji said nothing, but hurried straight away to his own private apartment. "Why did I not go with her?" he still vainly exclaimed. "What would she think of me were she to return to life?" And these thoughts affected him so deeply that he became ill, his head ached, his pulse beat high, and his body burned with fever. The sun rose high, but he did not leave his couch. His domestics were all perplexed. Rice gruel was served up to him, but he would not touch it. The news of his indisposition soon found its way out of the mansion, and in no time a messenger arrived from the Imperial Palace to make inquiries. His brother-in-law also came, but Genji only allowed Tô-no-Chiûjiô to enter his room, saying to him, "My aged nurse has been ill since last May, and has been tonsured, and received consecration; it was, perhaps, from this sacrifice that at one time she became better, but lately she has had a relapse, and is again very bad. I was advised to visit her, moreover, she was always most kind to me, and if she had died without seeing me it would have pained her, so I went to see her. At this time a servant of her house, who had been ill, died suddenly. Being rendered 'unclean' by this event, I am passing the time privately. Besides, since the morning, I have become ill, evidently the effects of cold. By the bye, you must excuse me receiving you in this way." "Well, sir," replied Tô-no-Chiûjiô, "I will represent these circumstances to his Majesty. Your absence last night has given much inquietude to the Emperor. He caused inquiries to be made for you everywhere, and his humor was not very good." And thereupon Tô-no-Chiûjiô took his leave, thinking as he went, "What sort of 'uncleanness' can this really be. I cannot put perfect faith in what he tells me." Little did Tô-no-Chiûjiô imagine that the dead one was no other than his own long-lost Tokonatz (Pinks). In the evening came Koremitz from the mountain, and was secretly introduced, though all general visitors were kept excluded on the pretext of the "uncleanness." "What has become of her?" cried Genji, passionately, when he saw him. "Is she really gone?" "Her end has come," replied Koremitz, in a tone of sadness; "and we must not keep the dead too long. To-morrow we will place her in the grave: to-morrow 'is a good day.' I know a faithful old priest. I have consulted with him how to arrange all." "And what has become of Ukon?" asked Genji. "How does she bear it?" "That is, indeed, a question. She was really deeply affected, and she foolishly said, 'I will die with my mistress.' She was actually going to throw herself headlong from the cliff; but I warned, I advised, I consoled her, and she became more pacified." "The state of her feelings may be easily conceived. I am myself not less deeply wounded than she. I do not even know what might become of myself." "Why do you grieve so uselessly? Every uncertainty is the result of a certainty. There is nothing in this world really to be lamented. If you do not wish the public to know anything of this matter, I, Koremitz, will manage it." "I, also, am aware that everything is fated. Still, I am deeply sorry to have brought this misfortune on this poor girl by my own inconsiderate rashness. The only thing I have now to ask you, is to keep these events in the dark. Do not mention them to any one--nay, not even to your mother." "Even from the priests to whom it must necessarily be known, I will conceal the reality," replied Koremitz. "Do manage all this most skilfully!" "Why, of course I shall manage it as secretly as possible," cried Koremitz; and he was about to take his departure, but Genji stopped him. "I must see her once more," said Genji, sorrowfully. "I will go with you to behold her, before she is lost to my sight forever." And he insisted on accompanying him. Koremitz, however, did not at all approve of this project; but his resistance gave way to the earnest desire of Genji, and he said, "If you think so much about it, I cannot help it." "Let us hasten, then, and return before the night be far advanced." "You shall have my horse to ride." Genji rose, and dressed himself in the ordinary plain style he usually adopted for his private expeditions, and started away with one confidential servant, besides Koremitz. They crossed the river Kamo, the torches carried before them burning dimly. They passed the gloomy cemetery of Toribeno, and at last reached the convent. It was a rude wooden building, and adjoining was a small Buddha Hall, through whose walls votive tapers mysteriously twinkled. Within, nothing but the faint sound of a female's voice repeating prayers was to be heard. Outside, and around, the evening services in the surrounding temples were all finished, and all Nature was in silent repose. In the direction of Kiyomidz alone some scattered lights studding the dark scene betrayed human habitations. They entered. Genji's heart was beating fast with emotion. He saw Ukon reclining beside a screen, with her back to the lamp. He did not speak to her, but proceeded straight to the body, and gently drew aside the mantle which covered its face. It still wore a look of tranquil calmness; no change had yet attacked the features. He took the cold hand in his own, crying out as he did so:-- "Do let me hear thy voice once more! Why have you left me thus bereaved?" But the silence of death was unbroken! He then, half sobbing, began to talk with Ukon, and invited her to come to his mansion, and help to console him. But Koremitz now admonished him to consider that time was passing quickly. On this Genji threw a long sad farewell glance at the face of the dead, and rose to depart. He was so feeble and powerless that he could not mount his horse without the help of Koremitz. The countenance of the dead girl floated ever before his sight, with the look she wore when living, and it seemed as if he were being led on by some mysterious influence. The banks of the river Kamo were reached, when Genji found himself too weak to support himself on horseback, and so dismounted. "I am afraid," he exclaimed, "I shall not be able to reach home." Koremitz was a little alarmed. "If I had only been firm," he thought, "and had prevented this journey, I should not have exposed him to such a trial." He descended to the river, and bathing his hands,[58] offered up a prayer to Kwannon of Kiyomidz, and again assisted Genji to mount, who struggled to recover his energy, and managed somehow to return to Nijiô, praying in silence as he rode along. The people of the mansion entertained grave apprehensions about him; and not unnaturally, seeing he had been unusually restless for some days, and had become suddenly ill since the day before, and they could never understand what urgency had called him out on that evening. Genji now lay down on his couch, fatigued and exhausted, and continued in the same state for some days, when he became quite weak. The Emperor was greatly concerned, as was also Sadaijin. Numerous prayers were offered, and exorcisms performed everywhere in his behalf, all with the most careful zeal. The public was afraid he was too beautiful to live long. The only solace he had at this time was Ukon; he had sent for her, and made her stay in his mansion. And whenever he felt better he had her near him, and conversed with her about her dead mistress. In the meantime, it might have been the result of his own energetic efforts to realize the ardent hopes of the Emperor and his father-in-law, that his condition became better, after a heavy trial of some three weeks; and towards the end of September he became convalescent. He now felt as though he had been restored to the world to which he had formerly belonged. He was, however, still thin and weak, and, for consolation, still resorted to talk with Ukon. "How strange," he said to her, as they were conversing together one fine autumn evening. "Why did she not reveal to me all her past life? If she had but known how deeply I loved her, she might have been a little more frank with me." "Ah! no," replied Ukon; "she would not intentionally have concealed anything from you; but it was, I imagine, more because she had no choice. You at first conducted yourself in such a mysterious manner; and she, on her part, regarded her acquaintance with you as something like a dream. That was the cause of her reticence." "What a useless reticence it was," exclaimed Genji. "I was not so frank as, perhaps, I ought to have been; but you may be sure that made no difference in my affection towards her. Only, you must remember, there is my father, the Emperor, besides many others, whose vigilant admonitions I am bound to respect. That was the reason why I had to be careful. Nevertheless, my love to your mistress was singularly deep; too deep, perhaps, to last long. Do tell me now all you know about her; I do not see any reason why you should conceal it. I have carefully ordered the weekly requiem for the dead; but tell me in whose behalf it is, and what was her origin?" "I have no intention of concealing anything from you. Why should I? I only thought it would be blamable if one should reveal after death what another had thought best to reserve," replied Ukon. "Her parents died when she was a mere girl. Her father was called Sammi-Chiûjiô, and loved her very dearly. He was always aspiring to better his position, and wore out his life in the struggle. After his death, she was left helpless and poor. She was however, by chance, introduced to Tô-no-Chiûjiô, when he was still Shiôshiô, and not Chiûjiô. During three years they kept on very good terms, and he was very kind to her. But some wind or other attacks every fair flower; and, in the autumn of last year, she received a fearful menace from the house of Udaijin, to whose daughter, as you know, Tô-no-Chiûjiô is married. Poor girl, she was terrified at this. She knew not what to do, and hid herself, with her nurse, in an obscure part of the capital. It was not a very agreeable place, and she was about removing to a certain mountain hamlet, but, as its 'celestial direction' was closed this year, she was still hesitating, and while matters were in this state, you appeared on the scene. To do her justice, she had no thought of wandering from one to another; but circumstances often make things appear as if we did so. She was, by nature, extremely reserved, so that she did not like to speak out her feelings to others, but rather suffered in silence by herself. This, perhaps, you also have noticed." "Then it was so, after all. She was the Tokonatz of Tô-no-Chiûjiô," thought Genji; and now it also transpired that all that Koremitz had stated about Tô-no-Chiûjiô's visiting her at the Yûgao house was a pure invention, suggested by a slight acquaintance with the girl's previous history. "The Chiûjiô told me once," said Genji, "that she had a little one. Was there any such?" "Yes, she had one in the spring of the year before last--a girl, a nice child," replied Ukon. "Where is she now?" asked Genji, "perhaps you will bring her to me some day. I should like to have her with me as a memento of her mother. I should not mind mentioning it to her father, but if I did so, I must reveal the whole sad story of her mother's fate, and this would not be advisable at present; however, I do not see any harm if I were to bring her up as my daughter. You might manage it somehow without my name being mentioned to any one concerned." "That would be a great happiness for the child," exclaimed Ukon, delighted, "I do not much appreciate her being brought up where she is." "Well, I will do so, only let us wait for some better chance. For the present be discreet." "Yes, of course. I cannot yet take any steps towards that object; we must not unfurl our sails before the storm is completely over." The foliage of the ground, touched with autumnal tints, was beginning to fade, and the sounds of insects (_mushi_) were growing faint, and both Genji and Ukon were absorbed by the sad charm of the scene. As they meditated, they heard doves cooing among the bamboo woods. To Genji it brought back the cries of that strange bird, which cry he had heard on that fearful night in Rokjiô, and the subject recurred to his mind once more, and he said to Ukon, "How old was she?" "Nineteen." "And how came you to know her?" "I was the daughter of her first nurse, and a great favorite of her father's, who brought me up with her, and from that time I never left her. When I come to think of those days I wonder how I can exist without her. The poet says truly, 'The deeper the love, the more bitter the parting.' Ah! how gentle and retiring she was. How much I loved her!" "That retiring and gentle temperament," said Genji, "gives far greater beauty to women than all beside, for to have no natural pliability makes women utterly worthless." The sky by this time became covered, and the wind blew chilly. Genji gazed intently on it and hummed:-- "When we regard the clouds above, Our souls are filled with fond desire, To me the smoke of my dead love, Seems rising from the funeral pyre." The distant sound of the bleacher's hammer reached their ears, and reminded him of the sound he had heard in the Yûgao's house. He bade "Good-night" to Ukon, and retired to rest, humming as he went:-- "In the long nights of August and September." On the forty-ninth day (after the death of the Yûgao) he went to the Hokke Hall in the Hiye mountain, and there had a service for the dead performed, with full ceremony and rich offerings. The monk-brother of Koremitz took every pains in its performance. The composition of requiem prayers was made by Genji himself, and revised by a professor of literature, one of his intimate friends. He expressed in it the melancholy sentiment about the death of one whom he had dearly loved, and whom he had yielded to Buddha. But who she was was not stated. Among the offerings there was a dress. He took it up in his hands and sorrowfully murmured, "With tears to-day, the dress she wore I fold together, when shall I Bright Elysium's far-off shore This robe of hers again untie?" And the thought that the soul of the deceased might be still wandering and unsettled to that very day, but that now the time had come when her final destiny would be decided,[59] made him pray for her more fervently. So closed the sad event of Yûgao. Now Genji was always thinking that he should wish to see his beloved in a dream. The evening after his visit to the Hokke Hall, he beheld her in his slumbers, as he wished, but at the same moment the terrible face of the woman that he had seen on that fearful evening in Rokjiô again appeared before him; hence he concluded that the same mysterious being who tenanted that dreary mansion had taken advantage of his fears and had destroyed his beloved Yûgao. A few words more about the house in which she had lived. After her flight no communication had been sent to them even by Ukon, and they had no idea of where she had gone to. The mistress of the house was a daughter of the nurse of Yûgao. She with her two sisters lived there. Ukon was a stranger to them, and they imagined that her being so was the reason of her sending no intelligence to them. True they had entertained some suspicions about the gay Prince, and pressed Koremitz to confide the truth to them, but the latter, as he had done before, kept himself skilfully aloof. They then thought she might have been seduced and carried off by some gallant son of a local Governor, who feared his intrigue might be discovered by Tô-no-Chiûjiô. During these days Kokimi, of Ki-no-Kami's house, still used to come occasionally to Genji. But for some time past the latter had not sent any letter to Cicada. When she heard of his illness she not unnaturally felt for him, and also she had experienced a sort of disappointment in not seeing his writing for some time, especially as the time of her departure for the country was approaching. She therefore sent him a letter of inquiry with the following:-- "If long time passes slow away, Without a word from absent friend, Our fears no longer brook delay, But must some kindly greeting send." To this letter Genji returned a kind answer and also the following:-- "This world to me did once appear Like Cicada's shell, when cast away, Till words addressed by one so dear, Have taught my hopes a brighter day." This was written with a trembling hand, but still bearing nice traits, and when it reached Cicada, and she saw that he had not yet forgotten past events, and the scarf he had carried away, she was partly amused and partly pleased. It was about this time that the daughter of Iyo-no-Kami was engaged to a certain Kurando Shiôshiô, and he was her frequent visitor. Genji heard of this, and without any intention of rivalry, sent her the following by Kokimi:-- "Like the green reed that grows on high By river's brink, our love has been, And still my wandering thoughts will fly Back to that quickly passing scene." She was a little flattered by it, and gave Kokimi a reply, as follows:-- "The slender reed that feels the wind That faintly stirs its humble leaf, Feels that too late it breathes its mind, And only wakes, a useless grief." Now the departure of Iyo-no-Kami was fixed for the beginning of October. Genji sent several parting presents to his wife, and in addition to these some others, consisting of beautiful combs, fans, _nusa_,[60] and the scarf he had carried away, along with the following, privately through Kokimi:-- "I kept this pretty souvenir In hopes of meeting you again, I send it back with many a tear, Since now, alas! such hope is vain." There were many other minute details, which I shall pass over as uninteresting to the reader. Genji's official messenger returned, but her reply about the scarf was sent through Kokimi:-- "When I behold the summer wings Cicada like, I cast aside; Back to my heart fond memory springs, And on my eyes, a rising tide." The day of the departure happened to be the commencement of the winter season. An October shower fell lightly, and the sky looked gloomy. Genji stood gazing upon it and hummed:-- "Sad and weary Autumn hours, Summer joys now past away, Both departing, dark the hours, Whither speeding, who can say?" All these intrigues were safely kept in strict privacy, and to have boldly written all particulars concerning them is to me a matter of pain. So at first I intended to omit them, but had I done so my history would have become like a fiction, and the censure I should expect would be that I had done so intentionally, because my hero was the son of an Emperor; but, on the other hand, if I am accused of too much loquacity, I cannot help it. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 52: Name of an ecclesiastical office.] [Footnote 53: Sasinuki is a sort of loose trousers, and properly worn by men only, hence some commentators conclude, the attendant here mentioned to mean a boy, others contend, this garment was worn by females also when they rode.] [Footnote 54: A mythological repulsive deity who took part in the building of a bridge at the command of a powerful magician.] [Footnote 55: A popular superstition in China and Japan believes foxes to have mysterious powers over men.] [Footnote 56: Upasaka, a sect of the followers of Buddhism who are laymen though they observe the rules of clerical life.] [Footnote 57: Meitreya, a Buddhisatva destined to reappear as a Buddha after the lapse of an incalculable series of years.] [Footnote 58: It is the Oriental custom that when one offers up a prayer, he first washes his hands, to free them from all impurity.] [Footnote 59: According to the Buddhist's doctrine of the Hosso sect, all the souls of the dead pass, during seven weeks after death, into an intermediate state, and then their fate is decided. According to the Tendai sect, the best and the worst go immediately where they deserve, but those of a medium nature go through this process.] [Footnote 60: An offering made of paper, to the God of roads, which travellers were accustomed to make, before setting out on a journey.] CHAPTER V YOUNG VIOLET It was the time when Genji became subject to periodical attacks of ague, that many exorcisms and spells were performed to effect a cure, but all in vain. At length he was told by a friend that in a certain temple on the northern mountain (Mount Kurama) there dwelt a famous ascetic, and that when the epidemic had prevailed during the previous summer, many people had recovered through his exorcisms. "If," added the friend, "the disease is neglected it becomes serious; try therefore, this method of procuring relief at once, and before it is too late." Genji, therefore, sent for the hermit, but he declined to come, saying that he was too old and decrepit to leave his retreat. "What shall I do?" exclaimed Genji, "shall I visit him privately?" Eventually, taking four or five attendants, he started off early one morning for the place, which was at no great distance on the mountain. It was the last day of March, and though the height of the season for flowers in the capital was over, yet, on the mountain, the cherry-trees were still in blossom. They advanced on their way further and further. The haze clung to the surface like a soft sash does round the waist, and to Genji, who had scarcely ever been out of the capital, the scenery was indescribably novel. The ascetic lived in a deep cave in the rocks, near the lofty summit. Genji did not, however, declare who he was, and the style of his retinue was of a very private character. Yet his nobility of manners was easily recognizable. "Welcome your visit!" cried the hermit, saluting him. "Perhaps you are the one who sent for me the other day? I have long since quitted the affairs of this world, and have almost forgotten the secret of my exorcisms. I wonder why you have come here for me." So saying, he pleasingly embraced him. He was evidently a man of great holiness. He wrote out a talismanic prescription, which he gave to Genji to drink in water, while he himself proceeded to perform some mysterious rite. During the performance of this ceremony the sun rose high in the heavens. Genji, meantime, walked out of the cave and looked around him with his attendants. The spot where they stood was very lofty, and numerous monasteries were visible, scattered here and there in the distance beneath. There was immediately beyond the winding path in which they were walking a picturesque and pretty building enclosed by hedges. Its well arranged balconies and the gardens around it apparently betokened the good taste of its inhabitants. "Whose house may that be?" inquired Genji of his attendants. They told him it was a house in which a certain priest had been living for the last two years. "Ah! I know him," said Genji. "Strange, indeed, would it be if he were to discover that I am here in this privacy." They noticed a nun and a few more females with her walking in the garden, who were carrying fresh water for their offerings, and were gathering flowers. "Ah! there are ladies walking there," cried the attendants in tones of surprise. "Surely, the Reverend Father would not indulge in flirtations! Who can they be?" And some of them even descended a little distance, and peered over the enclosure, where a pretty little girl was also seen amongst them. Genji now engaged in prayer until the sun sank in the heavens. His attendants, who were anxious about his disease, told him that it would be good for him to have a change from time to time. Hereupon, he advanced to the back of the temple, and his gaze fell on the far-off Capital in the distance, which was enveloped in haze as the dusk was setting in, over the tops of the trees around. "What a lovely landscape!" exclaimed Genji. "The people to whom such scenery is familiar, are perhaps happy and contented." "Nay," said the attendants, "but were you to see the beautiful mountain ranges and the sea-coast in our various provinces, the pictures would indeed be found lovely." Then some of them described to him Fuji Yama, while others told him of other mountains, diverting his attention by their animated description of the beautiful bays and coasts of the Western Provinces; thus as they depicted them to him, they cheered and gladdened his mind. One of them went on to say: "Among such sights and at no great distance, there is the sea-coast of Akashi, in the Province of Harima, which is, I think, especially beautiful. I cannot, indeed, point out in detail its most remarkable features, but, in general, the blue expanse of the sea is singularly charming. Here, too, the home of the former Governor of the Province constitutes an object of great attraction. He has assumed the tonsure, and resides there with his beautiful daughter. He is the descendant of a high personage, and was not without hope of elevation at Court, but, being of an eccentric character, he was strongly averse to society. He had formerly been a Chiûjiô of the Imperial Guard, but having resigned that office, had become Governor of Harima. He was not, however, popular in that office. In this state of affairs he reflected within himself, no doubt, that his presence in the Capital could not but be disagreeable. When, therefore, his term of office expired, he determined still to remain in the province. He did not, however, go to the mountainous regions of the interior, but chose the sea-coast. There are in this district several places which are well situated for quiet retirement, and it would have seemed inconsistent in him had he preferred a part of the sea-coast so near the gay world; nevertheless, a retreat in the too remote interior would have been too solitary, and might have met with objections on the part of his wife and child. For this reason, it appears, that he finally selected the place which I have already alluded to for the sake of his family. When I went down there last time, I became acquainted with the history and circumstances of the family, and I found that though he may not have been well received in the Capital, yet, that here, having been formerly governor, he enjoys considerable popularity and respect. His residence, moreover, is well appointed and of sufficient magnitude, and he performs with punctuality and devoutness his religious duties--nay, almost with more earnestness than many regular priests." Here Genji interrupted. "What is his daughter like?" "Without doubt," answered his companion, "the beauty of her person is unrivalled, and she is endowed with corresponding mental ability. Successive governors often offer their addresses to her with great sincerity, but no one has ever yet been accepted. The dominant idea of her father seems to be this: 'What, have I sunk to such a position! Well, I trust, at least, that my only daughter may be successful and prosperous in her life!' He often told her, I heard, that if she survived him, and if his fond hopes for her should not be realized, it would be better for her to cast herself into the sea." Genji was much interested in this conversation, and the rest of the company laughingly said, "Ah! she is a woman who is likely to become the Queen of the Blue Main. In very truth her father must be an extraordinary being!" The attendant who had given this account of the ex-governor and his daughter, was the son of the present Governor of the Province. He was until lately a Kurand, and this year had received the title of Jugoi. His name was Yoshikiyo, and he, too, was a man of gay habits, which gave occasion to one of his companions to observe: "Ah! perhaps you also have been trying to disappoint the hopes of the aged father." Another said, "Well, our friend has given us a long account, but we must take it with some reserve. She must be, after all, a country maiden, and all that I can give credit to is this much: that her mother may be a woman of some sense, who takes great care of the girl. I am only afraid that if any future governor should be seized with an ardent desire to possess her, she would not long remain unattached." "What possible object could it serve if she were carried to the bottom of the sea? The natives of the deep would derive no pleasure from her charms," remarked Genji, while he himself secretly desired to behold her. "Ay," thought his companions, "with his susceptible temperament, what wonder if this story touches him." The day was far advanced, and the Prince prepared to leave the mountain. The Hermit, however, told him that it would be better to spend the evening in the Temple, and to be further prayed for. His attendants also supported this suggestion. So Genji made up his mind to stay there, saying, "Then I shall not return home till to-morrow." The days at this season were of long duration, and he felt it rather tiresome to pass a whole evening in sedate society, so, under the cover of the shades of the evening, he went out of the Temple, and proceeded to the pretty building enclosed by hedges. All the attendants had been despatched home except Koremitz, who accompanied him. They peeped at this building through the hedges. In the western antechamber of the house was placed an image of Buddha, and here an evening service was performed. A nun, raising a curtain before Buddha, offered a garland of flowers on the altar, and placing a Kiô (or Sutra, i.e., Buddhist Bible) on her "arm-stool," proceeded to read it. She seemed to be rather more than forty years old. Her face was rather round, and her appearance was noble. Her hair was thrown back from her forehead and was cut short behind, which suited her very well. She was, however, pale and weak, her voice, also, being tremulous. Two maiden attendants went in and out of the room waiting upon her, and a little girl ran into the room with them. She was about ten years old or more, and wore a white silk dress, which fitted her well and which was lined with yellow. Her hair was waved like a fan, and her eyes were red from crying. "What is the matter? Have you quarrelled with the boy?" exclaimed the nun, looking at her. There was some resemblance between the features of the child and the nun, so Genji thought that she possibly might be her daughter. "Inuki has lost my sparrow, which I kept so carefully in the cage," replied the child. "That stupid boy," said one of the attendants. "Has he again been the cause of this? Where can the bird be gone? And all this, too, after we had tamed it with so much care." She then left the room, possibly to look for the lost bird. The people who addressed her called her Shiônagon, and she appeared to have been the little girl's nurse. "To you," said the nun to the girl, "the sparrow may be dearer than I may be, who am so ill; but have I not told you often that the caging of birds is a sin? Be a good girl; come nearer!" The girl advanced and stood silent before her, her face being bathed in tears. The contour of the child-like forehead and of the small and graceful head was very pleasing. Genji, as he surveyed the scene from without, thought within himself, "If she is thus fair in her girlhood, what will she be when she is grown up?" One reason why Genji was so much attracted by her was, that she greatly resembled a certain lady in the Palace, to whom he, for a long time, had been fondly attached. The nun stroked the beautiful hair of the child and murmured to herself, "How splendid it looks! Would that she would always strive to keep it thus. Her extreme youth makes me anxious, however. Her mother departed this life when she only a very young girl, but she was quite sensible at the age of this one. Supposing that I were to leave her behind, I wonder what would happen to her!" As she thus murmured, her countenance became saddened by her forebodings. The sight moved Genji's sympathy as he gazed. It seemed that the tender heart of the child was also touched, for she silently watched the expression of the nun's features, and then with downcast eyes bent her face towards the ground, the lustrous hair falling over her back in waves. The nun hummed, in a tone sufficiently audible to Genji, "The dews that wet the tender grass, At the sun's birth, too quickly pass, Nor e'er can hope to see it rise In full perfection to the skies." Shiônagon, who now joined them, and heard the above distich, consoled the nun with the following:-- "The dews will not so quickly pass, Nor shall depart before they see The full perfection of the grass, They loved so well in infancy." At this juncture a priest entered and said, "Do you know that this very day Prince Genji visited the hermit in order to be exorcised by him. I must forthwith go and see him." Genji observing this movement quickly returned to the monastery, thinking as he went what a lovely girl he had seen. "I can guess from this," thought he, "why those gay fellows (referring to his attendants) so often make their expeditions in search of good fortune. What a charming little girl have I seen to-day! Who can she be? Would that I could see her morning and evening in the palace, where I can no longer see the fair loved one whom she resembles!" He now returned to the monastery, and retired to his quarters. Soon after a disciple of the priest came and delivered a message from him through Koremitz, saying, "My master has just heard of the Prince's visit to the mountain, and would have waited on him at once, but thought it better to postpone calling. Nevertheless he would be much pleased to offer a humble welcome, and feels disappointed that he has not yet had an opportunity of doing so." Genji said in reply, "I have been afflicted with constant attacks of ague for the last few weeks, and, therefore, by the advice of my friends, I came to this mountain to be exorcised. If, however, the spells of the holy man are of no avail to me, his reputation might suffer in consequence. For that reason I wish to keep my visit as private as possible, nevertheless I will come now to your master." Thereupon the priest himself soon made his appearance, and, after briefly relating the circumstances which had occasioned his retirement to this locality, he offered to escort Genji to his house, saying, "My dwelling is but a rustic cottage, but still I should like you to see, at least, the pretty mountain streamlet which waters my garden." Genji accepted the offer, thinking as he went, "I wonder what the priest has said at home about myself to those to whom I have not yet been introduced. But it will be pleasant to see them once more." The night was moonless. The fountain was lit up by torches, and many lamps also were lighted in the garden. Genji was taken to an airy room in the southern front of the building, where incense which was burning threw its sweet odors around. The priest related to him many interesting anecdotes, and also spoke eloquently of man's future destiny. Genji as he heard him, felt some qualms of conscience, for he remembered that his own conduct was far from being irreproachable. The thought troubled him that he would never be free from the sting of these recollections through his life, and that there was a world to come, too! "Oh, could I but live in a retreat like this priest!" As he thus thought of a retreat, he was involuntarily taken by a fancy, that how happy would he be if accompanied to such a retreat by such a girl as he had seen in the evening, and with this fancy her lovely face rose up before him. Suddenly he said to the priest, "I had once a dream which made me anxious to know who was living in this house, and here to-day that dream has again come back to my memory!" The priest laughed, and said, "A strange dream! even were you to obtain your wish it might not gratify you. The late Lord Azechi Dainagon died long ago, and perhaps you know nothing about him. Well! his widow is my sister, and since her husband's death her health has not been satisfactory, so lately she has been living here in retirement." "Ah, yes," said Genji, venturing upon a guess, "and I heard that she bore a daughter to Dainagon." "Yes, she had a daughter, but she died about ten years ago. After her father's death the sole care of her fell upon her widowed mother alone. I know not how it came to pass, but she became secretly intimate with Prince Hiôbkiô. But the Prince's wife was very jealous and severe, so she had much to suffer and put up with. I saw personally the truth that 'care kills more than labor.'" "Ah, then," thought Genji, "the little one is her daughter, and no wonder that she resembles the one in the palace (because Prince Hiôbkiô was the brother of the Princess Wistaria). How would it be if I had free control over her, and had her brought up and educated according to my own notions?" So thinking, he proceeded to say how sad it was that she died! "Did she leave any offspring?" "She gave birth to a child at her death, which was also a girl, and about this girl the grandmother is always feeling very anxious." "Then," said Genji, "let it not appear strange to you if I say this, but I should be very happy to become the guardian of this girl. Will you speak to her grandmother about it? It is true that there is one to whom my lot is linked, but I care but little for her, and indeed usually lead a solitary life." "Your offer is very kind," replied the priest, "but she is extremely young. However every woman grows up under the protecting care of some one, and so I cannot say much about her, only it shall be mentioned to my sister." The priest said this with a grave and even a stern expression on his countenance, which caused Genji to drop the subject. He then asked the Prince to excuse him, for it was the hour for vespers, and as he quitted the room to attend the service, said he would return as soon as it was finished. Genji was alone. A slight shower fell over the surrounding country, and the mountain breezes blew cool. The waters of the torrent were swollen, and the roar of them might be heard from afar. Broken and indistinct, one might hear the melancholy sound of the sleepy intonation of prayers. Even those people who have no sorrow of their own often feel melancholy from the circumstances in which they are placed. So Genji, whose mind was occupied in thought, could not slumber here. The priest said he was going to vespers, but in reality it was later than the proper time for them. Genji perceived that the inmates had not yet retired to rest in the inner apartments of the house. They were very quiet, yet the sound of the telling of beads, which accidentally struck the lectern, was heard from time to time. The room was not far from his own. He pulled the screen slightly aside, and standing near the door, he struck his fan on his hand, to summon some one. "What can be the matter," said an attendant, and as she came near to the Prince's room she added, "Perhaps my ear was deceived," and she began to retire. "Buddha will guide you; fear not the darkness, I am here," said Genji. "Sir!" replied the servant, timidly. "Pray do not think me presumptuous," said Genji; "but may I beg you to transmit this poetical effusion to your mistress for me? Since first that tender grass I viewed, My heart no soft repose e'er feels, But gathering mist my sleeve bedews, And pity to my bosom steals." "Surely you should know, sir, that there is no one here to whom such things can be presented!" "Believe me, I have my own reasons for this," said Genji. "Let me beseech you to take it." So the attendant went back, and presented it to the nun. "I do not see the real intent of the effusion," thought the nun. "Perhaps he thinks that she is already a woman. But"--she continued, wonderingly--"how could he have known about the young grass?" And she then remained silent for a while. At last, thinking it would be unbecoming to take no notice of it, she gave orally the following reply to the attendant to be given to Genji:-- "You say your sleeve is wet with dew, 'Tis but one night alone for you, But there's a mountain moss grows nigh, Whose leaves from dew are never dry." When Genji heard this, he said: "I am not accustomed to receive an answer such as this through the mouth of a third person. Although I thank the lady for even that much, I should feel more obliged to her if she would grant me an interview, and allow me to explain to her my sincere wishes." This at length obliged the nun to have an interview with the Prince. He then told her that he called Buddha to witness that, though his conduct may have seemed bold, it was dictated by pure and conscientious motives. "All the circumstances of your family history are known to me," continued he. "Look upon me, I pray, as a substitute for your once loved daughter. I, too, when a mere infant, was deprived by death of my best friend--my mother--and the years and months which then rolled by were fraught with trouble to me. In that same position your little one is now. Allow us, then, to become friends. We could sympathize with each other. 'Twas to reveal these wishes to you that I came here, and risked the chance of offending you in doing so." "Believe me, I am well disposed at your offer," said the nun; "but you may have been incorrectly informed. It is true that there is a little girl dependent upon myself, but she is but a child. Her society could not afford you any pleasure; and forgive me, therefore, if I decline your request." "Yet let there be no reserve in the expression of your ideas," interrupted Genji; but, before they could talk further, the return of the priest put an end to the subject, and Genji retired to his quarters, after thanking the nun for his kind reception. The night passed away, and dawn appeared. The sky was again hazy, and here and there melodious birds were singing among the mountain shrubs and flowers that blossomed around. The deer, too, which were to be seen here, added to the beauty of the picture. Gazing around at these Genji once more proceeded to the temple. The hermit--though too infirm to walk--again contrived to offer up his prayers on Genji's behalf, and he also read from the Darani.[61] The tremulous accents of the old man--poured forth from his nearly toothless mouth--imparted a greater reverence to his prayers. Genji's attendants now arrived from the capital, and congratulated him on the improvement in his health. A messenger was despatched from the Imperial Palace for the same purpose. The priest now collected wild and rare fruits, not to be met with in the distant town, and, with all respect, presented them to Genji, saying: "The term of my vow has not yet expired; and I am, therefore, sorry to say that I am unable to descend the mountain with you on your departure." He then offered to him the parting cup of _saké_. "This mountain, with its waters, fill me with admiration," said Genji, "and I regret that the anxiety of my father the Emperor obliges me to quit the charming scene; but before the season is past, I will revisit it: and-- The city's folk from me shall hear How mountain cherries blossom fair, And ere the Spring has passed away, I'll bid them view the prospect gay." To this the priest replied-- "Your noble presence seems to me Like the rare flowers of Udon tree,[62] Nor does the mountain cherry white, Attract my gaze while you're in sight." Genji smiled slightly, and said: "That is a very great compliment; but the Udon tree does not blossom so easily." The hermit also raised the cup to his lips, and said:-- "Opening my lonely hermit's door, Enclosed around by mountain pine, A blossom never seen before My eyes behold that seems divine." And he presented to him his _toko_ (a small ecclesiastical wand). On seeing this, the priest also made him the following presents:--A rosary of Kongôji (a kind of precious stone), which the sage Prince Shôtok obtained from Corea, enclosed in the original case in which it had been sent from that country; some medicine of rare virtue in a small emerald jar; and several other objects, with a spray of Wistaria, and a branch of cherry blossoms. Genji, too, on the other hand, made presents, which he had ordered from the capital, to the hermit and his disciples who had taken part in the religious ceremonies, and also to the poor mountaineers. He also sent the following to the nun, by the priest's page:-- "In yester-eve's uncertain light, A flower I saw so young and bright, But like a morning mist. Now pain Impels me yet to see again." A reply from the nun was speedily brought to him, which ran thus:-- "You say you feel, perhaps 'tis true, A pang to leave these mountain bowers, For sweet the blossoms, sweet the view, To strangers' eyes of mountain flowers." While this was being presented to him in his carriage, a few more people came, as if accidentally, to wait upon him on his journey. Among them was Tô-no-Chiûjiô, and his brother Ben, who said: "We are always pleased to follow you; it was unkind of you to leave us behind." Just as the party were on the point of starting, some of them observed that it was a pity to leave so lovely a spot without resting awhile among the flowers. This was immediately agreed to, and they took their seats on a moss-grown rock, a short distance from which a little streamlet descended in a murmuring cascade. They there began to drink _saké_, and Tô-no-Chiûjiô taking his flute, evoked from it a rich and melodious strain; while Ben, tapping his fan in concert, sang "The Temple of Toyora," while the Prince, as he leaned against a rock, presented a picturesque appearance, though he was pale and thin. Among the attendants was one who blew on a long flute, called Hichiriki, and another on a Shiô flute. The priest brought a _koto_, and begged Genji to perform upon it, saying: "If we are to have music at all, let us have a harmonious concert." Genji said that he was no master of music; but, nevertheless, he played, with fair ability, a pleasing air. Then they all rose up, and departed. After they had quitted the mountain, Genji first of all went to the Palace, where he immediately had an interview with the Emperor, who considered his son to be still weak in health; and who asked him several questions with regard to the efficacy of the prayers of the reverend hermit. Genji gave him all particulars of his visit to the mountain. "Ah!" said the Emperor, "he may some day be entitled to become a dean (Azali). His virtue and holiness have not yet been duly appreciated by the government and the nation." Sadaijin, the father-in-law of the Prince, here entered, and entreated Genji to accompany him to his mansion, and spend a few days. Genji did not feel very anxious to accept this invitation, but was persuaded to do so. Sadaijin conveyed him in his own carriage, and gave up to him the seat of honor. They arrived; but, as usual, his bride did not appear, and only presented herself at last at the earnest request of her father. She was one of those model princesses whom one may see in a picture--very formal and very sedate--and it was very difficult to draw her into conversation. She was very uninteresting to Genji. He thought that it would only lead to a very unpleasant state of affairs, as years grew on, if they were to be as cool and reserved to each other as they had been hitherto. Turning to her, he said, with some reproachfulness in his accents, "Surely you should sometimes show me a little of the ordinary affection of people in our position!" She made no reply; but, glancing coolly upon him, murmured with modest, yet dignified, tone-- "When you cease to care for me, What can I then do for thee?" "Your words are few; but they have a sting in them. You say I cease to care for you; but you do me wrong in saying so. May the time come when you will no longer pain me thus," said Genji; and he made every effort to conciliate her. But she was not easily appeased. He was unsuccessful in his effort, and presently they retired to their apartment, where he soon relapsed into sleepy indifference. His thoughts began to wander back into other regions, and hopes of the future growth and charms of the young mountain-violet again occupied his mind. "Oh! how difficult it is to secure a prize," thought he. "How can I do so? Her father, Prince Hiôbkiô, is a man of rank, and affable, but he is not of prepossessing appearance. Why does his daughter resemble so much, in her personal attractions, the lovely one in the chamber of Wistaria. Is it that the mother of her father and of Wistaria is the same person? How charming is the resemblance between them! How can I make her mine?" Some days afterwards he sent a letter to the mountain home, and also a communication--perhaps with some hint in it--to the priest. In his letter to the nun he said that her indifference made it desirable to refrain from urging his wishes; but, nevertheless, that he should be deeply gratified if she would think more favorably of the idea which was now so deeply rooted in his mind. Inside the letter he enclosed a small folded slip of paper, on which was written:-- "The mountain flower I left behind I strive but vainly to forget, Those lovely traits still rise to mind And fill my heart with sad regret." This ludicrous effusion caused the nun to be partly amused and partly vexed. She wrote an answer as follows:-- "When you came into our neighborhood your visit was very pleasing to us, and your special message does us honor. I am, however, at a loss how to express myself with regard to the little one, as yet she cannot even manage the naniwadz."[63] Enclosed in the note were the following lines, in which she hinted as to her doubts of the steadfastness of Genji's character: "Your heart admires the lowly flower That dwells within our mountain bower. Not long, alas! that flower may last Torn by the mountain's angry blast." The tenor of the priest's answer was much the same, and it caused Genji some vexation. About this time the Lady Wistaria, in consequence of an attack of illness, had retired from the palace to her private residence, and Genji, while sympathizing with the anxiety of the Emperor about her, longed greatly for an opportunity of seeing her, ill though she was. Hence at this time he went nowhere, but kept himself in his mansion at Nijiô, and became thoughtful and preoccupied. At length he endeavored to cajole Ô Miôbu, Wistaria's attendant, into arranging an opportunity for him to see her. On Wistaria's part there were strong doubts as to the propriety of complying with his request, but at last the earnestness of the Prince overcame her scruples, and Ô Miôbu managed eventually to bring about a meeting between them.[64] Genji gave vent to his feelings to the Princess, as follows:-- "Though now we meet, and not again We e'er may meet, I seem As though to die, I were full fain Lost in this blissful dream." Then the Princess replied to him, full of sadness:-- "We might dream on but fear the name, The envious world to us may give, Forgetful of the darkened fame, That lives when we no longer live." For some time after this meeting had taken place, Genji found himself too timid to appear at his father's palace, and remained in his mansion. The Princess, too, experienced a strong feeling of remorse. She had, moreover, a cause of anxiety special in its nature and peculiar to herself as a woman, for which she alone felt some uneasiness of conscience. Three months of the summer had passed away, and her secret began to betray itself externally. The Emperor was naturally anxious about the health of his favorite, and kind inquiries were sent from time to time to her. But the kinder he was to her the more conscience-stricken she felt. Genji at this time was often visited by strange dreams. When he consulted a diviner about them, he was told that something remarkable and extraordinary might happen to him, and that it behooved him to be cautious and prudent. "Here is a pretty source of embarrassment," thought Genji. He cautioned the diviner to be discreet about it, especially because he said the dreams were not his own but another person's. When at last he heard authentically about the condition of the Princess, he was extremely anxious to communicate with her, but she now peremptorily objected to any kind of correspondence between them, and Ô Miôbu too refused any longer to assist him. In July Wistaria returned to the palace. There she was received by the Emperor with great rejoicing, and he thought that her condition did but add to her attractiveness. It was now autumn, the season when agreeable receptions were often held by the Emperor in Court, and it was awkward when Genji and the Princess happened to face each other on these occasions, as neither of them could be free from their tender recollections. During these autumn evenings the thoughts of Genji were often directed to the granddaughter of the nun, especially because she resembled the Princess so much. His desire to possess her was considerably increased, and the recollection of the first evening when he heard the nun intoning to herself the verses about the tender grass, recurred to his mind. "What," thought he, "if I pluck this tender grass, would it then be, would it then grow up, as fair as now." "When will be mine this lovely flower Of tender grace and purple hue? Like the Wistaria of the bower, Its charms are lovely to my view." The Emperor's visit to the Palace Suzak-in was now announced to take place in October, and dancers and musicians were selected from among the young nobles who were accomplished in these arts, and Royal Princes and officers of State were fully engaged in preparation for the _fête_. After the Royal festivities, a separate account of which will be given hereafter, he sent again a letter to the mountain. The answer, however, came only from the priest, who said that his sister had died on the twentieth day of the last month; and added that though death is inevitable to all of us, still he painfully felt her loss. Genji pondered first on the precariousness of human life, and then thought how that little one who had depended on her must be afflicted, and gradually the memory of his own childhood, during which he too had lost his mother, came back to his mind. When the time of full mourning was over, Shiônagon, together with the young girl, returned to their house in the capital. There one evening Genji paid them a visit. The house was rather a gloomy one, and was tenanted by fewer inmates than usual. "How timid the little girl must feel!" thought Genji, as he was shown in. Shiônagon now told him with tearful eyes every circumstance which had taken place since she had seen him. She also said that the girl might be handed over to her father, who told her that she must do so, but his present wife was said to be very austere. The girl is not young enough to be without ideas and wishes of her own, but yet not old enough to form them sensibly; so were she to be taken to her father's house and be placed with several other children, much misery would be the result. Her grandmother suffered much on this account. "Your kindness is great," continued she, "and we ought not, perhaps, to think too anxiously about the future. Still she is young, too young, and we cannot think of it without pity." "Why do you recur to that so often?" said Genji, "it is her very youthfulness which moves my sympathy. I am anxious to talk to her, Say, can the wave that rolls to land, Return to ocean's heaving breast, Nor greet the weed upon the strand With one wild kiss, all softly pressed. How sweet it would be!" "That is very beautifully put, sir," said Shiônagon, "but, Half trembling at the coming tide That rolls about the sea-beat sand, Say, can the tender weed untried, Be trusted to its boisterous hand?" Meanwhile the girl, who was with her companions in her apartment, and who was told that a gentleman in Court dress had arrived, and that perhaps it was the Prince, her father, came running in, saying, "Shiônagon, where is the gentleman in Court dress; has the Prince, my father, arrived?" "Not the Prince, your father," uttered Genji, "but I am here, and I too am your friend. Come here!" The girl, glancing with shy timidity at Genji, for whom she already had some liking, and thinking that perhaps there was impropriety in what she had spoken, went over to her nurse, and said, "Oh! I am very sleepy, and wish to lie down!" "See how childish she still is," remarked Shiônagon. "Why are you so timid, little one, come here and sleep on my knees," said Genji. "Go, my child, as you are asked," observed Shiônagon, and she pushed her towards Genji. Half-unconsciously she took her place by his side. He pushed aside a small shawl which covered her hair, and played with her long tresses, and then he took her small hand in his. "Ah, my hand!" cried she, and drawing it back, she ran into a neighboring room. Genji followed her, and tried to coax her out of her shyness, telling her that he was one of her best friends, and that she was not to be so timid. By this time darkness had succeeded to the beautiful evening, and hail began to fall. "Close the casement, it is too fearful, I will watch over you this evening," said Genji, as he led the girl away, to the great surprise of Shiônagon and others who wondered at his ease in doing this. By and by she became sleepy, and Genji, as skilfully as any nurse could, removed all her outer clothing, and placed her on the couch to sleep, telling her as he sat beside her, "some day you must come with me to some beautiful palace, and there you shall have as many pictures and playthings as you like." Many other similar remarks he added to arrest her attention and to please her. Her fears gradually subsided, and as she kept looking on the handsome face of Genji, and taking notice of his kindness, she did not fall asleep for some time. When the night was advanced, and the hailstorm had passed away, Genji at last took his departure. The temperature now suddenly changed, and the hail was lying white upon the grass. "Can it be," thought he, "that I am leaving this place as a lover?" At that moment he remembered that the house of a maiden with whom he had had an acquaintance was on his road home. When he came near to it he ordered one of his attendants to knock at the door. No one, however, came forth. Thereupon Genji turned to another, who had a remarkably good voice, and ordered him to sing the following lines:-- "Though wandering in the morning gray, This gate is one I cannot pass, A tender memory bids me stay To see once more a pretty lass." This was repeated twice, when presently a man came to the door and sang, in reply, as follows:-- "If you cannot pass the gate, Welcome all to stop and wait. Nought prevents you. Do not fear, For the gate stands always here." And then went in, slamming the door in their faces, and appearing no more. Genji, therefore disappointed, proceeded on his way home. On the morrow he took up his pen to write a letter to Violet, but finding that he had nothing in particular to say, he laid it aside, and instead of a letter several beautiful pictures were sent for her. From this time Koremitz was sent there very often, partly to do them service, and partly to watch over their movements. At last the time when the girl's father was to take her home approached within a night, and Shiônagon was busily occupied in sewing a dress for the girl, and was thus consequently unable to take much notice of Koremitz when he arrived. Noting these preparatory arrangements, Koremitz at once hastened to inform Genji about them. He happened to be this evening at the mansion of Sadaijin, but Lady Aoi was not, as was often the case, with him, and he was amusing himself there with thumping a _wagon_ as he sang a "Hitachi" song. Koremitz presented himself before him, and gave him the latest information of what was going on. Genji, when he had listened to Koremitz, thought, "This will never do; I must not lose her in this way. But the difficulty is indeed perplexing. If, on the one hand, she goes to her father, it will not become me to ask him for her. If, on the other hand, I carry her off, people may say that I stole her. However, upon consideration, this latter plan, if I can manage to shut people's mouths beforehand, will be much better than that I should demand her from her father." So, turning to Koremitz, he said, "I must go there. See that the carriage is ready at whatever hour I may appoint. Let two or three attendants be in readiness." Koremitz, having received these orders, retired. Long before dawn broke, Genji prepared to leave the mansion. Lady Aoi, as usual, was a little out of temper, but Genji told her that he had some particular arrangements to make at his mansion at Nijiô, but that he would soon return to her. He soon started, Koremitz alone following him on horseback. On their arrival Koremitz proceeded to a small private entrance and announced himself. Shiônagon recognized his voice and came out, and upon this he informed her that the Prince had come. She, presuming that he did so only because he happened to pass by them, said, "What! at this late hour?" As she spoke, Genji came up and said:-- "I hear that the little one is to go to the Prince, her father, and I wish to say a few words to her before she goes." "She is asleep; really, I am afraid that she cannot talk with you at this hour. Besides, what is the use?" replied Shiônagon, with a smile. Genji, however, pressed his way into the house, saying:-- "Perhaps the girl is not awake yet, but I will awake her," and, as the people could not prevent his doing so, he proceeded to the room where she was unconsciously sleeping on a couch. He shook her gently. She started up, thinking it was her father who had come. Genji pushed the hair back from her face, as he said to her, "I am come from your father;" but this she knew to be false, and was alarmed. "Don't be frightened," said Genji; "there is nothing in me to alarm you." And in spite of Shiônagon's request not to disturb her, he lifted her from the couch, abruptly saying that he could not allow her to go elsewhere, and that he had made up his mind that he himself would be her guardian. He also said she should go with him, and that some of them should go with her. Shiônagon was thunderstruck. "We are expecting her father to-morrow, and what are we to say to him?" She added, "Surely, you can find some better opportunity to manage matters than this." "All right, you can come afterward; we will go first," retorted Genji, as he ordered his carriage to drive up. Shiônagon was perplexed, and Violet also cried, thinking how strange all this was. At last Shiônagon saw it was no use to resist, and so having hurriedly changed her own dress for a better one, and taking with her the pretty dress of Violet which she had been making in the evening, got into the carriage, where Genji had already placed the little one. It was no great distance to Nijiô, and they arrived there before dawn. The carriage was driven up to the western wing of the mansion. To Shiônagon the whole affair seemed like a dream. "What am I to do?" she said to Genji, who teasingly answered, "What you choose. You may go if you like; so long as this darling is here I am content." Genji lifted the girl out and carried her into the house. That part of the mansion in which they now were, had not been inhabited, and the furniture was scanty and inappropriate; so, calling Koremitz, the Prince ordered him to see that proper furniture was brought. The beds were therefore taken from the eastern wing, where he himself lived. Day broke, and Shiônagon surveyed with admiration all the magnificence with which she was surrounded. Both the exterior of the building and its internal arrangements left nothing to be desired. Going to the casement, she saw the gravelled walks flashing brightly in the sun. "Ah," thought she, "where am I amidst all this splendor? This is too grand for me!" Bath water for their ablutions, and rice soup were now brought into the apartment, and Genji afterward made his appearance. "What! no attendants? No one to play with the girl? I will send some," and he then ordered some young persons from the eastern wing of the mansion. Four accordingly came. Violet was still fast asleep in her night-dress, and now Genji gently shook and woke her. "Do not be frightened any more," he said quietly to her; "a good girl would not be so, but would know that it is best to be obedient." She became more and more pleasing to him, and he tried to please her by presenting to her a variety of pretty pictures and playthings, and by consulting her wishes in whatever she desired. She was still wearing the dress of mourning, of sombre color and of soft material, and it was only now at last that she began to smile a little, and this filled Genji with delight. He now had to return to the eastern wing, and Violet, for the first time, went to the casement and looked out on the scenery around. The trees covered with foliage, a small lake, and the plantations round about expanded before her as in a picture. Here and there young people were going in and out. "Ah! what a pretty place," she exclaimed, charmed as she gazed around. Then, turning again into the apartment, she saw beautiful pictures painted on the screens and walls, which could not but please her. Genji did not go to the Palace for two or three days, but spent his time in trying to train Violet. "She must soon take lessons in writing," he thought, and he wrote several writing copies for her. Among these was one in plain characters on violet-colored paper, with the title, "Musashi-no" (The field of Musashi is known for its violets). She took it up, and in handwriting plain and clear though small, she found the following: Though still a bud the violet be, A still unopened blossom here, Its tenderness has charms for me, Recalling one no longer near. "Come, _you_ must write one now," said Genji. "I cannot write well enough," said Violet, looking up at him, with an extremely charming look. "Never mind, whether good or bad," said he, "but still write something, to refuse is unkind. When there is any difficulty I will help you through with it." Thereupon she turned aside shyly and wrote something, handling the pen gracefully with her tiny fingers. "I have done it badly," she cried out, and tried to conceal what she had written, but Genji insisted on seeing it and found the following:-- I wonder what's the floweret's name, From which that bud its charm may claim! This was, of course, written in a childish hand, but the writing was large and plain, giving promise of future excellence. "How like her grandmother's it is," thought Genji. "Were she to take lessons from a good professor she might become a master of the art." He ordered for her a beautiful doll's house, and played with her different innocent and amusing games. In the meantime, the Prince, her father, had duly arrived at the old home of Violet and asked for her. The servants were embarrassed, but as they had been requested by Genji not to tell, and as Shiônagon had also enjoined them to keep silence, they simply told him that the nurse had taken her and absconded. The Prince was greatly amazed, but he remembered that the girl's grandmother never consented to send his daughter to his house, and knowing Shiônagon to be a shrewd and intelligent woman, he concluded that she had found out the reasons which influenced her, and that so out of respect to her, and out of dislike to tell him the reason of it, she had carried the girl off in order that she might be kept away from him. He therefore merely told the servants to inform him at once if they heard anything about them, and he returned home. Our story again brings us back to Nijiô. The girl gradually became reconciled to her new home, as she was most kindly treated by Genji. True, during those evenings when Genji was absent she thought of her dead grandmother, but the image of her father never presented itself to her, as she had seldom seen him. And now, naturally enough, Genji, whom she had learned to look upon as a second father, was the only one for whom she cared. She was the first to greet him when he came home, and she came forward to be fondled and caressed by him without shame or diffidence. Girls at her age are usually shy and under restraint, but with her it was quite different. And again, if a girl has somewhat of jealousy in her disposition, and looks upon every little trifle in a serious light, a man will have to be cautious in his dealings with her, and she herself, too, will often have to undergo vexation. Thus many disagreeable and unexpected incidents might often result. In the case of Violet, however, things were very different, and she was ever amiable and invariably pleasant. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 61: An Indian theological writing.] [Footnote 62: In the Buddhist Bible it is stated that there is in Paradise a divine tree, called Udon, which rarely blossoms. When, however, it does blossom, Buddha is said to appear in the world, therefore we make use of this expression when referring to any rare event.] [Footnote 63: The name of a song which in those days formed the first lesson in writing.] [Footnote 64: The authoress represents her in a subsequent chapter as suffering punishment in the next world for this sin. The real cause of Genji's exile is also supposed to have resulted from the same sin.] CHAPTER VI SAFFRON FLOWER The beauteous Yûgao of Genji was lost, but memory of her never vanished from his mind. Her attractive nature, thoughtfulness, and patient manner had seemed to him surpassingly charming. At last he began to think of seeking for some other maiden who might resemble her in these qualities. True, his thoughts had often reverted to Cicada, and to her young friend; but it was now of little use thinking of them, for one had gone to the country, and the other was married. Now, Genji had another nurse, next in degree to Daini. The daughter of this nurse, Tayû-no-Miôbu, was in Court service. She was still young, and full of mirth and life. Genji was wont to make her useful when in the palace. Her father, who had been remotely connected with the Royal blood, was an official in the War Department. Her mother, however, had been married again to the Governor of the province of Chikzen, and had gone there with her husband; so Tayû made her father's house her home, and went from there backwards and forwards to the palace. She was an intimate acquaintance of a young Princess, the daughter of the late Lord-Lieutenant of Hitachi, and she had been the child of his old age, and was at this time his survivor. The life that she passed was somewhat lonely, and her circumstances miserable. Tayû mentioned this young lady to Genji, who exclaimed:-- "How sad! Tell me all about her." "I cannot say that I know so much about her," replied Tayû. "She leads a very retired life, and is seldom seen in society. Perhaps, some favorable evening, you might see her from a hiding-place. The _koto_ is her favorite instrument, and the favorite amusement of her solitude." "Ah!" said Genji, "I see, one of the three friends (as the Chinese poets call them)--Music, Poetry, and Wine; but, of the other two, one is not always a good friend." And he added, "Well, you may manage some time to let me hear her _koto_. The Prince, her father, had great taste and reputation in such arts; so, I believe, she is no ordinary performer." "But, perhaps, after all, not so good as you imagine," replied Tayû, disingenuously. "Oh! that remains to be discovered," cried Genji, nibbling at the bait. "One of these evenings I will come, and you had better be there also." Now, the home of Tayû's father was at some distance from the Princess's mansion; but Tayû used to spend her time very often with the Princess, when she had leave of absence from the Court, chiefly because she did not like being at home with her stepmother. For this reason Tayû had plenty of chances for gratifying the wish of Genji to see the Princess; so a certain evening was appointed. It was a sweet balmy day in spring, and the grounds of the palace were full of silence and repose. Tayû left the palace, and proceeded to the mansion of the Princess, attracted more by the beauty of the evening than by the appointment made. Genji also appeared on the scene, with the newly risen moon, and was soon prattling with Tayû. "You have not come at a very favorable time," said she. "This is not the sort of evening when the _koto_ sounds sweetest." "But take me somewhere, so that I may hear her voice. I cannot go away without hearing that." Tayû then led him into a private room, where she made him sit down, and left him, saying, as she went away, "I am sorry to make you wait, but you must have a little patience." She proceeded to another part of the palace occupied by the Princess, whom she found sitting pensively near an open casement, inhaling the rich perfume of the plum blossoms. "A good opportunity," thought Tayû; and, advancing to the Princess, said: "What a lovely evening! How sweet at such an hour is the music of the _koto_! My official going to and fro to the palace prevents me from having the pleasure of hearing it often; so do now, if you please, play me a tune." "You appreciate music," said the Princess; "but I am afraid that mine is not good enough to charm the ear of courtiers; but, if you wish it, I will play one tune." And she ordered the _koto_ to be brought, and began to strike it. Her skill was certainly not super-excellent; but she had been well instructed, and the effect was by no means displeasing to the ear. Tayû, however, it must be remembered, was rather a sharp girl. She did not like Genji to hear too much, so as to criticise; and, therefore, said to the Princess, casting a glance upwards, "How changed and dull the sky has become. A friend of mine is waiting; and is, perhaps, impatient. I must have more of this pleasure some other time; at present I must go and see him." Thus she caused the Princess to cease playing, and went to Genji, who exclaimed, when she returned, "Her music seems pretty good; but I had better not have heard it at all. How can we judge by so little? If you are willing to oblige me at all, let me hear and see more closely than this." Tayû made a difficulty. "She is so retiring," she said, "and always keeps herself in the strictest privacy. Were you to intrude upon her, it would not be acting rightly." "Truly so," replied Genji; "her position insures her from intrusion. Let us, then, seek for some better opportunity." And then he prepared to take leave, as if he had some other affairs on his hands. Tayû observed, with a knowing smile, "The Emperor, your father, always thinks of you as quite guileless, and actually says so. When I hear these remarks I often laugh in my sleeve. Were his Majesty to see you in these disguises, what would he then think?" Genji answered, with a slight laugh: "Nonsense! If these trifling amusements were thought so improper, how cheerless the life of woman would be!" Tayû made no remark in reply; so Genji then left the house, and took a stroll round the garden, intending to reach that part of the mansion where the Princess had her apartments. As he sauntered along, he came to a thick hedge, in which there was a dark bower, and here wished to stop awhile. He stepped cautiously into it, when he suddenly perceived a tall man concealed there. "Who can this be?" thought Genji, as he withdrew to a corner where the moonlight did not reach. This was Tô-no-Chiûjiô, and the reason of his being there was this: He had left the Palace that evening in company with Genji, who did not go to his house in Nijiô, nor to his bride, but separated from him on the road. Tô-no-Chiûjiô was very anxious to find out where Genji was going. He therefore followed him unperceived. When he saw Genji enter the mansion of the Princess, he wished to see how the business would end; so he waited in the garden, in order that he might witness Genji's departure, listening, at the same time, to the _koto_ of the Princess. Genji did not know who the man was, nor did he wish to be recognized. He therefore began to retreat slowly on tip-toe, when Tô-no-Chiûjiô came up to him from behind, and addressed him: "You slighted me, but I have come to watch over you:-- Though like two wandering moons on high We left our vast imperial home, We parted on our road, and I Knew not where you were bent to roam." Genji at once recognized his companion; and, being somewhat amused at his pertinacity, exclaimed: "What an unexpected surprise! We all admire the moon, 'tis true, Whose home unknown to mortal eye Is in the mountains hid, but who To find that far-off home, would try?" Hereupon Tô-no-Chiûjiô gave him a taunt: "What would you do," said he, "if I were to follow you very often? Were you to maintain true propriety in your position, you ought always to have trustworthy attendants; and I am sure, by so doing, you will meet with better fortune. I cannot say that it is very decorous of you to go wandering about in such a fashion. It is too frivolous!" "How very tiresome!" mentally exclaimed Genji; "but he little knows about his Nadeshiko (little darling). I have him there!" Neither of them ventured to go to any other rendezvous that night; but, with many mutual home-thrusts, they got into a carriage together, and proceeded home, amusing themselves all the way with a duet on their flutes. Entering the mansion, they went to a small apartment, where they changed their dresses, and commenced playing the flutes in such a manner as if they had come from the Palace. The Sadaijin, hearing this music, could not forbear joining them, and blew skilfully a Corean flute in concert with theirs. Lady Aoi, also, in her room, catching the impulse, ordered some practised players on the _koto_ to perform. Meantime, both Genji and Tô-no-Chiûjiô, in their secret minds, were thinking of the notes of the _koto_ heard before on that evening, and of the bare and pitiable condition of the residence of the Princess whom they had left--a great contrast to the luxury of their present quarters. Tô-no-Chiûjiô's idea about her took something of this shape: "If girls who, from a modest propriety, keep themselves aloof for years from our society, were at last to be subdued by our attentions, our affection for them would become irresistible, even braving whatever remarks popular scandal might pass upon us. She may be like one of these. The Prince Genji seems to have made her the object of some attentions. He is not one to waste his time without reason. He knows what he is doing." As these thoughts arose in his mind, a slight feeling of jealousy disturbed him, and made him ready to dare a little rivalry in that quarter; for, it would appear, that after this day amatory letters were often sent both by him and Genji to the Princess, who, however, returned no answer to either. This silence on her part made Tô-no-Chiûjiô, more especially, think thus: "A strange rejection; and from one, too, who possesses such a secluded life. True, her birth is high; but that cannot be the only reason which makes her bury herself in retirement. There must be some stronger reason, I presume." As we have before mentioned, Genji and Tô-no-Chiûjiô were so intimate that all ceremony was dispensed with between them, and they could ask each other any question without reserve. From this circumstance Tô-no-Chiûjiô one day boldly inquired of Genji: "I dare say you have received some replies from the Princess. Have you not? I for my part have thrown out some hints in that quarter by way of experiment, but I gave up in disappointment." "Ah, then, he too has been trying there," thought Genji, smiling slightly, and he replied very vaguely, "I am not particularly concerned whether I get an answer or not, therefore I cannot tell you whether I have received any." "I understand that," thought Tô-no-Chiûjiô; "perhaps he has got one; I suspect so." To state the truth, Genji was not very deeply smitten by the Princess, and he was but little concerned at her sending no reply to his letter; but when he heard the confession of his brother-in-law's attempts in the same quarter, the spirit of rivalry stirred him once more. "A girl," thought he, "will yield to him who pays her the most attentions. I must not allow him to excel me in that." And Genji determined to achieve what he intended to do, and with this object still enlisted the aid of Tayû. He told her that the Princess's treating his letter with such indifference was an act of great cruelty. "Perhaps she does this," said he, "because she suspects I am changeable. I am not, however, such a one as that. It is often only the fault of ladies themselves that causes men to appear so; besides a lady, like the Princess, who has neither parent nor brother to interfere with her, is a most desirable acquaintance, as we can maintain our friendship far better than we could otherwise do." "Yes! what you say is all very well," replied Tayû, "but the Princess is not exactly so placed that any one can make himself quite at ease with her. As I told you before she is very bashful and reserved; but yet is perhaps more desirable for this very reason," and she detailed many more particulars about her. This enabled Genji to fully picture the general bearing of the Princess's character; and he thought, "Perhaps her mind is not one of brilliant activity, but she may be modest, and of a quiet nature, worthy of attention." And so he kept the recollection of her alive in his mind. Before, however, he met her, many events had taken place. He had been attacked by the ague, which led to his journey to the mountain and his discovery of Violet, and his secret affection for a certain one in the palace. His mind being thus otherwise occupied, the spring and summer passed away without anything further transpiring about the Princess. As the autumn advanced his thoughts recurred to past times, and even the sound of the fuller's hammer, which he had listened to in the home of Yûgao, came back to his mental ear; and these reveries again brought him to the recollection of the Princess Hitachi, and now once more he began to urge Tayû to contrive a meeting. It would seem that there was no difficulty for Tayû to bring the matter about, but at the same time no one knew better than herself that the natural gifts and culture of the Princess were far from coming up to Genji's standard. She thought, however, that it would matter very little if he did not care for her, but if, on the other hand, he did so, he was quite free to come and see her without any interference. For this reason she at last made up her mind to bring them together, and she gave several hints to the Princess. Now it so happened towards the end of August that Tayû was on one occasion engaged in conversing with the Princess. The evening was as yet moonless, the stars alone twinkled in the heavens, and the gentle winds blew plaintively over the tall trees around the mansion. The conversation gradually led to times gone by, and the Princess was rendered sad by the contrast of her present circumstances with those of her father's time. "This is a good opportunity," thought Tayû, and she sent, it seems, a message to Genji, who soon hastened to the mansion with his usual alacrity. At the moment when he arrived on the scene the long-looked-for moon had just made her appearance over the tops of a distant mountain, and as he looked along the wildly growing hedges around the residence, he heard the sound of the _koto_, which was being played by the Princess at Tayû's request. It sounded a little too old-fashioned, but that was of no consequence to the eager ears of the Prince. He soon made his way to the entrance, and requested a domestic to announce him to Tayû. When the latter heard of this she affected great surprise, and said to the Princess, "The Prince has come. How annoying! He has often been displeased because I have not yet introduced him to you. I have often told him that you do not particularly like it, and therefore I cannot think what makes him come here. I had better see him and send him away, but what shall I say. We cannot treat him like an ordinary person. I am really puzzled what to do. Will you not let me ask you if you will see him for a few minutes, then all matters will end satisfactorily?" "But I am not used to receive people," said the Princess, blushing. "How simple minded!" rejoined Tayû, coaxingly, "I am sorry for that, for the bashfulness of young ladies who are under the care of their parents may sometimes be even desirable, but how then is that parallel with your case? Besides, I do not see any good in a friendless maiden refusing the offer of a good acquaintance." "Well, if you really insist upon it," said the Princess, "perhaps I will; but don't expose me too much to the gaze of a stranger." Having thus cunningly persuaded the Princess, Tayû set the reception-room in order, into which Genji was soon shown. The Princess was all the while experiencing much nervousness, and as she did not know exactly how to manage, she left everything to Tayû, and was led by her to the room to receive her visitor. The room was arranged in such a way that the Princess had her back to the light so that her face and emotions could be obscured. The perfume which she used was rich, still preserving the trait of high birth, but her demeanor was timid, and her deportment awkward. Genji at once noticed this. "Just as I imagined. She is so simple," thought he, and then he commenced to talk with her, and to explain how passionately he had desired to see her. She, however, listened to him almost in silence, and gave no plain answer. Genji was disconcerted, and at last said, "From you I sought so oft reply, But you to give one would not deign, If you discard me, speak, and I Will cease to trouble you again." The governess of the Princess, Kojijiû by name, who was present, was a sagacious woman, and noticing the embarrassment of the lady, she advanced to her side, and made the following reply in such a well-timed manner that her real object, which was to conceal the deficiencies of her mistress, did not betray itself-- "Not by the ringing of a bell, Your words we wish to stay; But simply, she has nought to tell, And nothing much to say." "Your eloquence has so struck me that my mouth is almost closed," said Genji, smiling-- "Not speaking is a wiser part, And words are sometimes vain, But to completely close the heart In silence, gives me pain." He then tried to speak of this thing and that indifferently, but all hopes of agreeable responsiveness on the lady's part being vain, he coolly took his leave, and left the mansion, much disappointed. This evening he slept in his mansion at Nijiô. The next morning Tô-no-Chiûjiô appeared before he had risen. "How late, how late!" he cried, in a peculiar tone. "Were you fatigued last night, eh?" Genji rose and presently came out, saying, "I have overslept myself, that is all; nothing to disturb me. But have you come from the palace? Was it your official watch-night?"[65] "Yes," replied Tô-no-Chiûjiô, "and I must inform you that the dancers and musicians for the _fête_ in Suzak-in are to be nominated to-day. I came from the palace to report this to my father, so I must now go home, but I will soon return to you." "I will go with you," said Genji, "but let us breakfast before we start." Breakfast was accordingly brought, of which they partook. Two carriages, Genji's and Tô-no-Chiûjiô's, were driven to the door, but Tô-no-Chiûjiô invited the Prince to take a seat with him. Genji complied, and they drove off. Going along Tô-no-Chiûjiô observed with an envious tone in his voice, "You look very sleepy;" to which Genji returned an indifferent reply. From the house of Sadaijin they proceeded to the Imperial Palace to attend the selection of the dancers and musicians. Thence Genji drove with his father-in-law to the mansion of the latter. Here in the excitement of the coming _fête_ were assembled several young nobles, in addition to Genji himself. Some practised dancing, others music, the sound of which echoed everywhere around. A large _hichiriki_ and a _shakuhachi_ (two kinds of flute) were blown with the utmost vigor. Even large drums were rolled upon a balcony and beaten with a will. During the following days, therefore, Genji was so busily engaged that no thought came across his mind of revisiting the Princess Hitachi. Tayû certainly came now and then, and strove to induce him to pay the Princess another visit, but he made an excuse on the pretext of being so much occupied. It was not until the _fête_ was over that one evening he resolved to pay a visit there. He did not, however, announce his intention openly, but went there in strict secrecy, making his way to the house unobserved, as there was no one about. On his arrival he went up to the latticed window and peeped through. The curtains were old and half worn out, yet were still left to hang in the once pretty and decorated chamber. There were a few domestic maidens there partaking of supper. The table and service seemed to be old Chinese, but everything else betrayed a scantiness of furniture. In the further room where the mistress was probably dining, an old waitress was passing in and out, wearing a peculiar white dress rather faded in appearance, and an awkward-looking comb in her hair, after the old-fashioned style of those formerly in the service of the aristocratic class, of whom a few might still be retained in a family. "Ah," thought Genji, smiling, "we might see this kind of thing in the college of ceremonies." One of the maids happened to say, "This poor cold place! when one's life is too long, such fate comes to us." Another answered her, "How was it we did not like the mansion when the late Prince was living?" Thus they talked about one thing or another connected with their mistress's want of means. Genji did not like that they should know that he had seen and heard all this, so he slyly withdrew some distance, and then advancing with a firm step, approached the door and knocked. "Some one is come," cried a servant, who then brought a light, opened the door, and showed him into a room where he was soon joined by the Princess, neither Tayû nor Kojijiû being there on this occasion. The latter was acquainted with the Saiin (the sacred virgin at the Temple of Kamo),[66] and often spent some time with her. On this occasion she happened to be visiting her, a circumstance which was not very convenient for the Princess. The dilapidated state of the mansion was just as novel to Genji as that which he had seen in the lodge of Yûgao, but the great drawback consisted in the Princess's want of responsiveness. He spoke much, she but little. Outside, in the meantime, the weather had become boisterous and snow fell thickly, while within in the room where they sat the lamp burned dimly, no one waiting there even to trim the light. Some hours were spent between them, and then Genji rose, and throwing up the shutter in the same way as he did in the lodge of Yûgao, looked upon the snow which had fallen in the garden. The ground was covered with a sheet of pure whiteness; no footstep had left its trace, betraying the fact that few persons came to the mansion. He was about to take his departure, but some vague impulse arrested him. Turning to the Princess, he asked her to come near him, and to look out on the scene, and she somewhat unreadily complied. The evening was far advanced, but the reflection of the snow threw a faint light over all. Now, for the first time, he discovered the imperfections of the personal attractions of the Princess. First, her stature was very tall, the upper part of her figure being out of proportion to the lower, then one thing which startled him most was her nose. It reminded him of the elephant of Fugen. It was high and long; while its peak, a little drooping, was tinged with pink. To the refined eyes of Genji this was a sad defect. Moreover, she was thin, too thin; and her shoulders drooped too much, as if the dress was too heavy for them. "Why am I so anxious to examine and criticise?" thought Genji, but his curiosity impelled him to continue his examination. Her hair and the shape of her head were good, in no way inferior to those of others he liked so well. Her complexion was fair, and her forehead well developed. The train of her dress, which hung down gracefully, seemed about a foot too long. If I described everything which she wore I should become loquacious, but in old stories the dress of the personages is very often more minutely described than anything else; so I must, I suppose, do the same. Her vest and skirt dress were double, and were of light green silk, a little worn, over which was a robe of dark color. Over all this she wore a mantle of sable of good quality, only a little too antique in fashion. To all these things, therefore, he felt no strong objection; but the two things he could not pass unnoticed were her nose, and her style of movement. She moved in a stiff and constrained manner, like a master of the ceremonies in some Court procession, spreading out his arms and looking important. This afforded him amusement, but still he felt for her. "If I say too much, pardon me," said Genji, "but you seem apparently friendless. I should advise you to take interest in one with whom you have made acquaintance. He will sympathize with you. You are much too reserved. Why are you so? The icicle hangs at the gable end, But melts when the sun is high, Why does your heart not to me unbend, And warm to my melting sigh." A smile passed over the lips of the Princess, but they seemed too stiff to reply in a similar strain. She said nothing. The time had now come for Genji to depart. His carriage was drawn up to the middle gate, which, like everything else that belonged to the mansion, was in a state of dilapidation. "The spot overgrown with wild vegetation, spoken of by Sama-no-Kami might be such as this," he thought. "If one can find a real beauty of elevated character and obtain her, how delightful would it not be! The spot answers the description, but the girl does not quite equal the idea; however, I really pity her, and will look after her. She is a fortunate girl, for if I were not such a one as I am, I should have little sympathy for the unfortunate and unfavored. But this is not what I shall do." He saw an orange tree in the garden covered with snow. He bade his servant shake it free. A pine tree which stood close by suddenly jerked its branches as if in emulation of its neighbor, and threw off its load of snow like a wave. The gate through which he had to drive out was not yet opened. The gatekeeper was summoned to open it. Thereupon an aged man came forth from his lodge. A miserable-looking girl with a pinched countenance stood by, his daughter or his granddaughter, whose dress looked poorer from the whiteness of the surrounding snow. She had something containing lighted charcoal which she held to her breast for warmth. When she observed that her aged parent could scarcely push back the gate, she came forward and helped him. And the scene was quite droll. Genji's servant also approached them, and the gates were thrown open. Again Genji hummed:-- "The one who on the time-bent head of age, Beholds the gathered snow, Nor less his tears of grief may shed, For griefs that youth can only know." and added, "Youth with its body uncovered."[67] Then the pitiable image of one with a tinged flower[68] on her face presented itself once more to his thoughts and made him smile. "If Tô-no-Chiûjiô observed this, what would he not have to say?" thought he, as he drove back slowly to his mansion. After this time communications were frequently sent from Genji to the Princess. This he did because he pitied the helpless condition and circumstances he had witnessed more than for any other reason. He also sent her rolls of silk, which might replace the old-fashioned sable-skins, some damask, calico and the like. Indeed, presents were made even to her aged servants and to the gatekeeper. In ordinary circumstances with women, particular attention such as this might make a blush, but the Princess did not take it in such a serious light, nor did Genji do this from any other motive than kindness. The year approached its end! He was in his apartment in the Imperial Palace, when one morning Tayû came in. She was very useful to him in small services, such as hairdressing, so she had easy access to him, and thus she came to him this morning. "I have something strange to tell you, but it is somewhat trying for me to do so," she said, half smiling. "What can it be? There can be nothing to conceal from me!" "But I have some reason for my hesitation to reveal it," replied Tayû. "You make a difficulty, as usual," rejoined Genji. "This is from the Princess," she said, taking a letter from her pocket and presenting it. "Is this a thing of all others that you ought to conceal," cried Genji, taking the letter and opening it. It was written on thick and coarse paper of Michinok manufacture. The verse it contained ran as follows:-- "Like this, my sleeves are worn away, By weeping at your long delay." These words puzzled Genji. Inclining his head in a contemplative way, he glanced from the paper to Tayû, and from Tayû to the paper. Then she drew forth a substantial case of antique pattern, saying, "I cannot produce such a thing without shame, but the Princess expressly sent this for your New Year. I could not return it to her nor keep it myself; I hope you will just look at it." "Oh, certainly," replied Genji. "It is very kind of her," at the same time thinking, "What a pitiful verse! This may really be her own composition. No doubt Kojijiû has been absent, besides she seems to have had no master to improve her penmanship. This must have been written with great effort. We ought to be grateful for it, as they say." Here a smile rose on Genji's cheeks, and a blush upon Tayû's. The case was opened, and a Naoshi (a kind of gown), of scarlet, shabby and old-fashioned, of the same color on both sides, was found inside. The sight was almost too much for Genji from its very absurdity. He stretched out the paper on which the verse had been written, and began to write on one side, as if he was merely playing with the pen. Tayû, glancing slyly, found that he had written:-- This color pleases not mine eye, Too fiery bright its gaudy hue, And when the saffron flower was nigh, The same pink tinge was plain to view. He then erased what he had written, but Tayû quickly understood what he really meant by "saffron flower," referring to the pinkness of its flower, so she remarked:-- "Although the dress too bright in hue, And scarlet tints may please you not, At least to her, who sends, be true, Soon will Naoshi be forgot." While they were thus prattling on the matter, people were entering the room to see him, so Genji hastily put the things aside, and Tayû retired. A few days after, Genji one morning looked into the Daihan-sho (large parlor), where he found Tayû, and threw a letter to her, saying, "Tayû, here is the answer. It has cost me some pains," and then passed through, humming as he went, with a peculiar smile, "Like that scarlet-tinged plum." None but Tayû understood the real allusion. One of the women observed, "The weather is too frosty, perhaps he has seen some one reddened by the frost." Another said, "What an absurdity! There is no one among us of that hue, but perhaps Sakon or Unemé may be like this," and thus they chattered on till the matter dropped. The letter was soon sent by Tayû to the Princess, who assembled all her attendants round her, and they all read it together, when the following was found in it:-- Of my rare visits you complain, But can the meaning be, Pray come not often, nor again, For I am tired of thee. On the last day of the year he made the following presents to the Princess, sending them in the same case as the Naoshi had been sent to him: stuff for a complete dress, which had originally been presented to himself; also rolls of silk, one of the color of the purple grape, another of the Kerria japonica color, and others. All these were handed to the Princess by Tayû. It should be observed that these presents were made by Genji to the Princess chiefly on account of her reduced circumstances. Her attendants, however, who wished to flatter their mistress, exclaimed, "Our scarlet dress was very good, too. Scarlet is a color which never fades. The lines we sent were also excellent. Those of the Prince are, no doubt, a little amusing, but nothing more." The Princess, flattered by the remarks, wrote down her verse in her album, as if worthy of preservation. The New Year began with the morrow; and it was announced that the Otoko-dôka (gentlemen's singing dances) would soon take place in which Genji would take part. Hence he was busy in going backwards and forwards, to practise, but the lonely residence of the saffron flower began to draw his thoughts in that direction. So after the ceremony of the State Festival, on the seventh day, he betook himself there in the evening, after he had left the Emperor's presence, having made a pretence of retiring to his own private apartments. On this occasion the appearance of the lady happened to be a little more attractive, and Genji was pleased, thinking there might be a time when she would improve still more. When the sun shone forth he rose to leave. He opened the casement on the western side of the mansion, and, looking at the corridor, perceived that its roof was broken. Through it the sunshine peeped, and shone upon the slight cover of snow scattered in the crevices. The scene, as we have before said, betrayed everywhere dilapidation and decay. The mirror-stand, combs, and dressing-case were brought in by an attendant. They were all of an extremely antique pattern. He drew an "arm-stool" near him, and resting himself upon it began combing his hair. He was amused at the sight of these articles, which were doubtless a legacy from her parents. The dress of the Princess was in every way nicer. It had been made out of the silk of Genji's present. He recognized it by the tasteful pattern. Turning to her he said, "This year you might become a little more genial, the only thing I wait for above all is a change in your demeanor." To which she, with some awkwardness, said, "In the spring, when numerous birds sing." Such poetic responses were a great delight to Genji, who thought they were the silent touches of time, and that she had made some improvement. He then left and returned to his mansion in Nijiô, where he saw the young Violet innocently amusing herself. She wore with grace a long close-fitting cherry-colored dress of plain silk. She had not yet blackened her teeth,[69] but he now made her do so, which gave a pleasant contrast to her eyebrows. He played at their usual games at toys with her, trying in every way to please her. She drew pictures and painted them, so did he also. He drew the likeness of a lady with long hair, and painted her nose with pink. Even in caricature it was odd to see. He turned his head to a mirror in which he saw his own image reflected in great serenity. He then took the brush and painted his own nose pink. Violet, on seeing this, screamed. "When I become ornamented in this way what shall I be like?" inquired Genji. "That would be a great pity. Do wipe it off, it might stain," she replied. Genji partly wiped it off, saying, "Need I wipe it off any more? Suppose I go with this to the Palace?" On this Violet approached and carefully wiped it for him. "Don't put any more color," cried Genji, "and play upon me as Heijiû."[70] The mild sun of spring descended in the west, and darkness slowly gathered over the forest tops, obscuring all but the lovely white plum blossoms which were still visible amidst the gloom. At the front of the porch, also, a red plum blossom, which usually opens very early, was deeply tinged with glowing hues. Genji murmured:-- "The 'red-tinged flower' is far from fair, Nor do my eyes delight to see, But yon red plum which blossoms there, Is full of loveliness to me." What will become of all these personages! FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 65: Young nobles spent a night in the palace in turns, to attend to any unexpected official business.] [Footnote 66: When a new emperor succeeded, two virgins, chosen from the royal princesses, were sent--one to the Shintô temple at Ise, the other to the same temple at Kamo--to become vestals, and superintend the services.] [Footnote 67: From a Chinese poem about poor people "night advancing, snow and hail fly white around. Youth with its body uncovered, and the aged with chilly pain, grief and cold come together, and make them both sob."] [Footnote 68: A play upon the word "hana," which means a nose, as well as a flower.] [Footnote 69: An old custom in Japan for girls when married, or even betrothed, is to blacken their teeth. This custom, however, is rapidly disappearing.] [Footnote 70: In an old tale it is stated that this man had a sweetheart. He often pretended to be weeping, and made his eyes moist by using the water which he kept in his bottle for mixing ink, in order to deceive her. She discovered this ruse; so one day she put ink into it secretly. He damped his eyes as usual, when, giving him a hand mirror, she hummed, "You may show me your tears, but don't show your blackened face to strangers."] CHAPTER VII MAPLE FÊTE The Royal visit to the Suzak-in was arranged to take place towards the middle of October, and was anticipated to be a grand affair. Ladies were not expected to take part in it, and they all regretted their not being able to be present. The Emperor, therefore, wished to let his favorite, the Princess Wistaria, above others, have an opportunity of witnessing a rehearsal that would represent the coming _fête_, and ordered a preliminary concert to be performed at the Court, in which Genji danced the "Blue Main Waves," with Tô-no-Chiûjiô for his partner. They stood and danced together, forming a most pleasing contrast--one, so to speak, like a bright flower; the other, an everlasting verdure beside it. The rays of the setting sun shone over their heads, and the tones of the music rose higher and higher in measure to their steps. The movements both of hand and foot were eminently graceful; as well, also, was the song of Genji, which was sung at the end of his dance, so that some of the people remarked that the sound of the holy bird, Kariôbinga,[71] might be even like this. And so the rehearsal ended. When the day of the _fête_ came, all the Royal Princes, including the Heir-apparent, and all personages of State, were present at the scene. On the lake, "the music boat," filled with selected musicians, floated about, as usual on such occasions; and in the grounds, the bands, which were divided into two divisions on the right and left, under the direction of two Ministers and two Yemon-no-Kami, played. With this music different dances, including Chinese and Corean, were performed, one after another, by various dancers. As the performance went on, the high winds rustled against the tall fir-trees, as though Divine strains of music had broken forth on high in harmony with them. The tune of the bands became quick and thrilling, as different colored leaves whirled about overhead. Then, at length, the hero of the "Blue Main Waves" made his appearance, to the delight of the suddenly startled spectators, from the midst of a knoll in the grounds, covered with maple leaves. The twigs of maple which crowned his head, became thinned as he danced, and a Sadaishiô, plucking a bunch of chrysanthemums from in front of the Royal stand, replaced the lessened maple leaves. The sun was by this time descending, and the sky had become less glaring, while the face of Nature seemed as if it were smiling on the scene. Genji danced with unusual skill and energy. All the pages and attendants, who were severally stationed here under the side of the rock, there under the shade of the foliage, were quite impressed with the effects of the performance. After Genji, a little prince, the child of the Niogo of Jiôkiô-den, danced the "Autumn Gales," with a success next to that of Genji. Then, the principal interest of the day being over, as these dances were finished, the _fête_ ended. This very evening Genji was invested with the title of Shôsammi, and Tô-no-Chiûjiô with that of Shôshii. Many other persons also received promotion in rank according to their merits. It was after this _fête_ that the young Violet was taken into the mansion of Genji at Nijiô, and she lived with him. The more care he took of her the more amiable she became, while nothing pleased him more than teaching her to read and write. The full extent of her mourning for her grandmother was three months, as it is for the maternal side; and on the last day of December her dress was changed. As she, however, had been always brought up under the care of her grandmother, her indebtedness to the latter was not to be held lightly; consequently any bright colors were not advisable for her, so she wore plain scarlet, mauve, and light yellow, without trimmings or ornament on them. The dawn ushered in the New Year's day. Genji was about to leave his mansion to attend the New Year's _levée_. Just before starting, he came into Violet's room to see her. "How are you? Are you becoming less childish now?" said he, with a smile to the girl who was playing with her Hina (toys). "I am trying to mend this. Inuki damaged it when he was playing what he called 'driving out devils,'"[72] replied the girl. "What carelessness! I will soon get it mended for you. Don't cry this day, please," said Genji, and he went off, the maidens who attended on Violet accompanying him to the door. This example was also followed by Violet herself. She went back again to her toys, and presented a toy prince, whom she called Genji, at the Court of her toy house. Shiônagon was beside her. She said:-- "You might really be a little more womanly, as the Prince told you. How very childish! a girl older than ten always playing with toys!" Violet said nothing; but she seemed, for the first time, to have become aware that she was expected to be a woman in the course of time. From the Court, Genji went to the mansion of Sadaijin. Lady Aoi was as cool to him as ever. His persuasive eloquence availed him but little. She was older than Genji by four years, and was as cold and stately in her mien as ever. Her father, however, received him joyfully whenever he called, although he was not always satisfied with the capriciousness of his son-in-law. The next morning Genji rose early, and was arranging his toilet, with a view of making his New Year's visits, when Sadaijin entered the room, and officiously assisted him in putting on his dress, except, perhaps, his boots. He, moreover, had brought him a belt mounted with rare jewels, and requested him to wear it. Genji observed: "Such a belt is more suited for some special occasion--such as a Royal banquet, or the like." But Sadaijin insisted on his putting it on, telling him that for that sort of occasion he possessed a much more valuable one. These New Year's visits were only paid to the Emperor, to the Heir-apparent, and to the Princess Wistaria at her private residence in Sanjiô, where she had retired, but she did not receive him personally. At this time, the Princess was not in her usual state of health, for she was approaching her confinement. Many people, who thought that they might have heard of the event in December, now began to say, "At least we shall receive the intelligence this month," and the Emperor himself became impatient; but the month passed away, and yet it did not happen. In the middle of February, however, she was safely delivered of a Prince. During the following April the child was presented to the Emperor.[73] He was rather big for his age, and had already begun to notice those around him. In these days much of Genji's time was passed at Nijiô with Violet, and Lady Aoi was still greatly neglected. The circumstances which induced him to stay at home more than ever were these: He would order his carriage to be brought in readiness to take him; but, before it was ready, he would proceed to the western wing, where Violet lived. Perhaps, with eyes drowsy after dozing, and playing on a flute as he went, he would find her moping on one side of the room, like a fair flower moistened with dews. He would then approach her side, and say, "How are you? Are you not well?" She, without being startled, would slowly open her eyes, and murmur: "Sad like the weed in a creek," and then put her hand on her mouth deprecatingly. On this he would remark, "How knowing you are! Where did you learn such things?" He would then call for a _koto_, and saying "The worst of the _soh-koto_ is that its middle chord should break so easily," would arrange it for a Hiôjiô tune, and when he had struck a few chords on it, would offer it to her, asking her to play, and would presently accompany her with his flute. They would then play some difficult air, perhaps Hosoroguseri, a very ugly name, but a very lively tune, and she would keep very good time, and display her skill. The lamp would be presently brought in, and they would look over some pictures together. In due time, the carriage would be announced. Perhaps it might be added, "It is coming on to rain." Upon hearing this, she would, perhaps, put her pictures aside, and become downcast. He would then smooth her wavy hair, and say, "Are you sorry when I am not here?" To this question she would indicate her feelings by slightly nodding an affirmative, and she would lean on his knee and begin to doze. He would then say, "I shall not go out to-night." The servant having brought in supper, would tell her that Genji was not going out that evening. Then she would manifest the greatest delight, and would partake of the supper. And thus it came to pass that he often disappointed one who was expecting him. The way that Genji neglected his bride gradually became known to the public--nay, to the Emperor himself, who sometimes admonished him, telling him that his father-in-law always took great interest in him and great care from his earliest childhood, and saying that he hoped that he would surely not forget all these benefits, and that it was strange to be unkind to his daughter. But when these remarks were made to Genji, he answered nothing. Let us now change our subject. The Emperor, though he had already passed the meridian of life, was still fond of the society of the fair sex. And his Court was full of ladies who were well versed in the ways of the world. Some of these would occasionally amuse themselves by paying attentions to Genji. We will here relate the following amusing incident:-- There was at the Court a Naishi-no-Ske, who was already no longer young, and commonly called Gen-Naishi-no-Ske. Both her family and character were good. She was, however, in spite of her age, still coquettish, which was her only fault. Genji often felt amused at her being so young in temperament, and he enjoyed occasionally talking nonsense with her. She used to attend on the Emperor while his hair was being dressed. One day, after he had retired into his dressing-room, she remained in the other room, and was smoothing her own hair. Genji happened to pass by. He stole unperceived into the room, and slyly tugged the skirt of her robe. She started, and instinctively half concealed her face with an old-fashioned fan, and looked back at Genji with an arch glance in her sunken eyes. "What an unsuitable fan for you!" exclaimed Genji, and took it from her hand. It was made of reddish paper, apparently long in use, and upon it an ancient forest had been thickly painted. In a corner was written, in antique style, the following words:-- "On grasses old, 'neath forest trees, No steed will browse or swain delay, However real that grass may be, 'Tis neither good for food nor play." Genji was highly amused. "There are many things one might write on fans," thought he; "what made her think of writing such odd lines as these?" "Ah!" said Genji, "I see, 'its summer shade is still thick though!'"[74] While he was joking he felt something like nervousness in thinking what people might say if anyone happened to see him flirting with such an elderly lady. She, on her side, had no such fear. She replied-- "If beneath that forest tree, The steed should come or swain should be, Where that ancient forest grows, Is grass for food, and sweet repose." "What?" retorted Genji, "If my steed should venture near, Perhaps he'd find a rival there, Some one's steed full well, I ween, Rejoices in these pastures green." And quitted the room. The Emperor, who had been peeping unobserved into it, after he had finished his toilet, laughed heartily to himself at the scene. Tô-no-Chiûjiô was somehow informed of Genji's fun with this lady, and became anxious to discover how far he meant to carry on the joke. He therefore sought her acquaintance. Genji knew nothing of this. It happened on a cool summer evening that Genji was sauntering round the Ummeiden in the palace yard. He heard the sound of a _biwa_ (mandolin) proceeding from a veranda. It was played by this lady. She performed well upon it, for she was often accustomed to play it before the Emperor along with male musicians. It sounded very charming. She was also singing to it the "Melon grower." "Ah!" thought Genji, "the singing woman in Gakshoo, whom the poet spoke of, may have been like this one," and he stood still and listened. Slowly he approached near the veranda, humming slowly, as he went, "Adzmaya," which she soon noticed, and took up the song, "Do open and come in! but I do not believe you're in the rain, Nor that you really wish to come in." Genji at once responded, "Whose love you may be I know not, But I'll not stand outside your cot," and was going away, when he suddenly thought, "This is too abrupt!" and coming back, he entered the apartment. How great was the joy of Tô-no-Chiûjiô, who had followed Genji unperceived by him, when he saw this. He contrived a plan to frighten him, so he reconnoitred in order to find some favorable opportunity. The evening breeze blew chill, and Genji it appears was becoming very indifferent. Choosing this moment Tô-no-Chiûjiô slyly stepped forth to the spot where Genji was resting. Genji soon noticed his footsteps, but he never imagined that it was his brother-in-law. He thought it was Suri-no-Kami, a great friend of the lady. He did not wish to be seen by this man. He reproached her for knowing that he was expected, but that she did not give him any hint. Carrying his Naoshi on his arm, he hid himself behind a folding screen. Tô-no-Chiûjiô, suppressing a laugh, advanced to the side of the screen, and began to fold it from one end to the other, making a crashing noise as he did so. The lady was in a dilemma, and stood aloof. Genji would fain have run out, and concealed himself elsewhere, but he could not get on his Naoshi, and his head-dress was all awry. The Chiûjiô spoke not a word lest he should betray himself, but making a pretended angry expostulation, he drew his sword. All at once the lady threw herself at his feet, crying, "My lord! my lord!" Tô-no-Chiûjiô could scarcely constrain himself from laughing. She was a woman of about fifty seven, but her excitement was more like that of a girl of twenty. Genji gradually perceived that the man's rage was only simulated, and soon became aware who it was that was there; so he suddenly rushed out, and catching hold of Tô-no-Chiûjiô's sword-arm, pinched it severely. Tô-no-Chiûjiô no longer maintained his disguise, but burst into loud laughter. "How are you my friend, were you in earnest?" exclaimed Genji, jestingly--"but first let me put on my Naoshi." But Tô-no-Chiûjiô caught it, and tried to prevent him putting it on. "Then I will have yours," cried Genji, seizing the end of Tô-no-Chiûjiô's sash, and beginning to unfasten it, while the latter resisted. Then they both began to struggle, and their Naoshi soon began to tear. "Ah," cried Tô-no-Chiûjiô, "Like the Naoshi to the eye, Your secrets all discovered lie." "Well," replied Genji, "This secret if so well you know, Why am I now disturbed by you?" And they both quitted the room without much noticing the state of their garments. Tô-no-Chiûjiô proceeded to his official chamber, and Genji to his own apartment. The sash and other things which they had left behind them were soon afterwards sent to Genji by the lady. The sash was that of Tô-no-Chiûjiô. Its color was somewhat deeper than his own, and while he was looking at this, he suddenly noticed that one end of a sleeve of his own Naoshi was wanting. "Tô-no-Chiûjiô, I suppose, has carried it off, but I have him also, for here is his sash!" A page boy from Tô-no-Chiûjiô's office hereupon entered, carrying a packet in which the missing sleeve was wrapped, and a message advising Genji to get it mended before all things. "Fancy if I had not got this sash?" thought Genji, as he made the boy take it back to his master in return. In the morning they were in attendance at Court. They were both serious and solemn in demeanor, as it happened to be a day when there was more official business than on other days; Tô-no-Chiûjiô (who being chief of the Kurand, which office has to receive and despatch official documents) was especially much occupied. Nevertheless they were amused themselves at seeing each other's solemn gravity. In an interval, when free from duty, Tô-no-Chiûjiô came up to Genji and said, with envious eyes, "Have you not been a little scared in your private expedition?" when Genji replied, "No, why so? there was nothing serious in it; but I do sympathize with one who took so much useless trouble." They then cautioned each other to be discreet about the matter, which became afterwards a subject for laughter between them. Now even some Royal Princes would give way to Genji, on account of his father's favor towards him, but Tô-no-Chiûjiô, on the contrary, was always prepared to dispute with him on any subject, and did not yield to him in any way. He was the only brother of the Lady Aoi by the same Royal mother, with an influential State personage for their father, and in his eyes there did not seem to be much difference between himself and Genji. The incidents of the rivalry between them, therefore, were often very amusing, though we cannot relate them all. In the month of July the Princess Wistaria was proclaimed Empress. This was done because the Emperor had a notion of abdication in favor of the Heir-apparent and of making the son of the Princess Wistaria the Heir-apparent to the new Emperor, but there was no appropriate guardian or supporter, and all relations on the mother's side were of the Royal blood, and thereby disqualified from taking any active part in political affairs. For this reason the Emperor wished to make the position of the mother firmer. The mother of the Heir-apparent, whom this arrangement left still a simple Niogo, was naturally hurt and uneasy at another being proclaimed Empress. Indeed she was the mother of the Heir-apparent, and had been so for more than twenty years. And the public remarked that it was a severe trial for her to be thus superseded by another. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 71: Kalavinka, the beautifully singing holy birds in Paradise, to whose singing the voice of Buddha is compared.] [Footnote 72: On New Year's Eve, in Japan, some people fry peas, and throw them about the rooms, saying, "Avaunt, Devil, avaunt! Come in happiness!" This is called driving out devils.] [Footnote 73: An infant born to the Emperor is presented to him only when it has attained the age of some months.] [Footnote 74: From an old poem, "The shade of Ôaraki forest is thick: The summer has come there, the summer has come!" This is a mere metaphorical pun referring to her still being lively in spite of age.] CHAPTER VIII FLOWER-FEAST Towards the end of February the cherry flowers at the front of the Southern Palace were coming into blossom, and a feast was given to celebrate the occasion. The weather was most lovely, and the merry birds were singing their melody to the charms of the scene. All the Royal Princes, nobles and _literati_ were assembled, and among them the Emperor made his appearance, accompanied by the Princess Wistaria (now Empress) on the one side, and the Niogo of Kokiden, the mother of the Heir-apparent on the other; the latter having constrained herself to take part with her rival in the _fête_, in spite of her uneasiness at the recent promotion of that rival. When all the seats were taken the composing[75] of poems, as was the custom, commenced, and they began picking up the rhymes. The turn came in due course to Genji, who picked up the word spring. Next to Genji, Tô-no-Chiûjiô took his. Many more followed them, including several aged professors, who had often been present on similar occasions, with faces wrinkled by time, and figures bowed by the weight of years. The movements and announcements[76] both of Genji and his brother-in-law were elegant and graceful, as might be expected; but among those who followed there were not a few who showed awkwardness, this being more the case with scholars of ordinary accomplishments, since this was an epoch when the Emperor, the Heir-apparent and others of high distinction were more or less accomplished in these arts. Meanwhile, they all partook of the feast; the selected musicians joyfully played their parts, and as the sun was setting, "The Spring-lark Sings" (name of a dance) was danced. This reminded those present of Genji's dance at the maple _fête_, and the Heir-apparent pressed him to dance, at the same moment putting on his head a wreath of flowers. Upon this Genji stood up, and waving his sleeves, danced a little. Tô-no-Chiûjiô was next requested by the Emperor to do the same thing, and he danced the "Willow Flower Gardens" most elaborately, and was honored by the Emperor with a present of a roll of silk. After them, many young nobles danced indiscriminately, one after another, but we cannot give an opinion about them as the darkness was already gathering round. Lamps were at length brought, when the reading of the poems took place, and late in the evening all present dispersed. The palace grounds now became quite tranquil, and over them the moon shone with her soft light. Genji, his temper mellowed by _saké_, was tempted to take a stroll to see what he could see. He first sauntered round Fuji-Tsubo (the chamber of Wistaria) and came up by the side of the corridor of Kokiden. He noticed a small private door standing open. It seems that the Niogo was in her upper chamber at the Emperor's quarters, having gone there after she retired from the feast. The inner sliding door was also left open, and no human voice was heard from within. "Such are occasions on which one often compromises one's self," thought he, and yet slowly approached the entrance. Just at that moment he heard a tender voice coming toward him, humming, "Nothing so sweet as the _oboro_[77] moon-night." Genji waited her approach, and caught her by the sleeve. It made her start. "Who are you?" she exclaimed. "Don't be alarmed," he replied, and gently led her back to the corridor. He then added, "Let us look out on the moonlight together." She was, of course, nervous, and would fain have cried out. "Hush," said he; "know that I am one with whom no one will interfere; be gentle, and let us talk a little while." These words convinced her that it was Prince Genji, and calmed her fears. It appears that he had taken more _saké_ than usual, and this made him rather reckless. The girl, on the other hand, was still very young, but she was witty and pleasantly disposed, and spent some time in conversing with him. He did not yet know who she was, and asked, "Can't you let me know your name? Suppose I wish to write to you hereafter?" But she gave no decided answer; so Genji, after exchanging his fan with hers, left her and quietly returned to his apartments. Genji's thoughts were now directed to his new acquaintance. He was convinced that she was one of the younger sisters of the Niogo. He knew that one of them was married to a Prince, one of his own relations, and another to his brother-in-law, Tô-no-Chiûjiô. He was perfectly sure that his new acquaintance was not either of these, and he presumed her to be the fifth or sixth of them, but was not sure which of these two. "How can I ascertain this?" he thought. "If I compromise myself, and her father becomes troublesome, that won't do; but yet I must know." The fan which he had just acquired was of the color of cherry. On it was a picture representing the pale moon coming out of a purple cloud, throwing a dim light upon the water. To Genji this was precious. He wrote on one side the following, and kept it carefully, with a longing for the chance of making it useful:-- "The moon I love has left the sky, And where 'tis hid I cannot tell; I search in vain, in vain I try To find the spot where it may dwell." Now, it so happened that on a certain day at the end of March, an archery meeting was to be held at Udaijin's, in which numerous noble youths were to be present, and which was to be succeeded by the Wistaria flower-feast. The height of the flower season was past, but there were two cherry-trees, besides the Wistaria in the gardens, which blossomed later. A new building in the ground, which had been decorated for the occasion of the Mogi[78] of the two Princesses, was being beautifully arranged for this occasion. Genji also had been told one day at Court by Udaijin that he might join the meeting. When the day came Genji did not arrive early. Udaijin sent by one of his sons the following haughty message to Genji, who was at the time with the Emperor:-- "If the flowers of my home were of every-day hue, Why should they so long a time have tarried for you?" Genji at once showed this to the Emperor, asking whether he had better go. "Ah!" said the latter, smiling, "This is from a great personage. You had better go, I should think; besides there are the Princesses there." Thereupon he prepared to go, and made his appearance late in the afternoon. The party was very pleasant, although the archery-match was almost finished, and several hours were spent in different amusements. As twilight fell around, Genji affected to be influenced by the _saké_ he had taken, left the party, and went to that part of the Palace where the Princesses lived. The Wistaria flowers in the gardens could also be seen from this spot, and several ladies were looking out on them. "I have been too much pressed. Let me take a little quiet shelter here," said Genji, as he joined them. The room was nicely scented with burning perfume. There he saw his two half-sisters and some others with whom he was not acquainted. He was certain that the one he wished to ascertain about was among them, but from the darkness of the advancing evening he was unable to distinguish her. He adopted a device for doing so. He hummed, as he looked vacantly around, the "Ishi-kawa,"[79] but instead of the original line, "My belt being taken," artfully, and in an arch tone, substituted the word "fan" for "belt." Some were surprised at this change, while others even said, "What a strange Ishi-kawa!" One only said nothing, but looked down, and thus betrayed herself as the one whom he was seeking, and Genji was soon at her side. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 75: Composing poems in Chinese was a principal part of the feast. The form of it is this, a Court scholar selects in obedience to Imperial command, the subject, and then writes different words on pieces of paper and places them on a table in the gardens, folded up. Two of these are first picked out for the Emperor, and then each one after another, according to precedence, goes to the table, takes one, and these words form their rhymes.] [Footnote 76: It was also the custom, when each had taken his paper, to read it aloud, and also to announce his particular title or station.] [Footnote 77: "Oboro" is an adjective meaning calm, and little glaring, and is specially attributed to the moon in spring. The line is from an old ode.] [Footnote 78: The ceremony of girls putting on a dress marking the commencement of womanhood, corresponding to the Gembuk in the case of boys. These princesses were the daughters of the Niogo of Kokiden. It was the custom that royal children should be brought up at the home of the mother.] [Footnote 79: Name of a well-known ballad.] CHAPTER IX HOLLYHOCK The Emperor has at last abdicated his throne, as he has long intended, in favor of the Heir-apparent, and the only child of the Princess Wistaria is made Heir-apparent to the new Emperor. The ex-Emperor now lived in a private palace with this Princess in a less royal style; and the Niogo of Kokiden, to whom was given the honorary title of ex-Empress, resided in the Imperial Palace with the Emperor, her son, and took up a conspicuous position. The ex-Emperor still felt some anxiety about the Heir-apparent, and appointed Genji as his guardian, as he had not yet a suitable person for that office. This change in the reigning Emperor, and the gradual advancement of Genji's position, gave the latter greater responsibility, and he had to restrain his wandering. Now, according to usage, the Saigû[80] and Saiin[81] were selected; for the latter the second sister of the Emperor was chosen, and for the former the only daughter of the Lady of Rokjiô, whose husband had been a Royal Prince. The day of the departure of the Saigû for Ise was not yet fixed; and the mind of her mother, who had some reasons for dissatisfaction with Genji, was still wavering in her indecision, whether or not she should go to Ise with her daughter. The case of the Saiin, however, was different, and the day of her installation was soon fixed. She was the favorite child of her mother as well as of her father, and the ceremonies for the day of consecration were arranged with especial splendor. The number of persons who take a share in the procession on this occasion is defined by regulations; yet the selection of this number was most carefully made from the most fashionable of the nobles of the time, and their dresses and saddles were all chosen of beautiful appearance. Genji was also directed by special order to take part in the ceremony. As the occasion was expected to be magnificent, every class of the people showed great eagerness to witness the scene, and a great number of stands were erected all along the road. The day thus looked forward to at last arrived. Lady Aoi seldom showed herself on such occasions; besides, she was now in a delicate state of health, near her confinement, and had, therefore, no inclination to go out. Her attendants, however, suggested to her that she ought to go. "It is a great pity," they said, "not to see it; people come from a long distance to see it." Her mother also said, "You seem better to-day. I think you had better go. Take these girls with you." Being pressed in this way, she hastily made up her mind, and went with a train of carriages. All the road was thronged by multitudes of people, many dressed in a style which is called Tsubo-Shôzok. Many of great age prostrated themselves in an attitude of adoration, and many others, notwithstanding their natural plainness, looked almost blooming, from the joy expressed in their countenances--nay, even nuns and aged women, from their retreats, were to be seen amongst them. Numerous carriages were also squeezed closely together, so that the broad thoroughfare of the Ichijiô road was made almost spaceless. When, however, the carriages of the Lady Aoi's party appeared, her attendants ordered several others to make way, and forced a passage to the spot where the best view could be obtained, and where the common people were not allowed. Among these happened to be two _ajiro_[82] carriages, and their inmates were plainly incognito and persons of rank. These belonged to the party of the Lady of Rokjiô. When these carriages were forced to give place, their attendants cried out, "These carriages do not belong to people who ought to be so abruptly forced away." But the attendants of the Lady Aoi, who were slightly under the influence of drink, would not listen to their expostulations, and they at last made their way and took up their position, pushing the other two back where nothing could be seen, even breaking their poles. The lady so maltreated was of course extremely indignant, and she would fain have gone home without seeing the spectacle, but there was no passage for retiring. Meanwhile the approach of the procession was announced, and only this calmed her a little. Genji was as usual conspicuous in the procession. There were several carriages along the roads on whose occupants his glance was cast; that of Lady Aoi, however, was the most striking, and as he passed by the attendants saluted him courteously, which act Genji acknowledged. What were the feelings of the Lady of Rokjiô, who had been driven back, at this moment! In due course the procession passed, and the exciting scene of the day was over. The quarrels about the carriage naturally came to the ears of Genji. He thought that Lady Aoi was too modest to be the instigator of such a dispute; but her house was one of great and powerful families famous for overweening pride, a tendency shared by its domestics; and they, for other motives, also of rivalry, were glad to have an opportunity of mortifying the Lady of Rokjiô. He felt for the wounded lady, and hastened to see her; but she, under some pretext, refused to see him. The day of the hollyhock _fête_ of the same temple came. It was especially grand, as it was the first one after the installation of the new Saiin, but neither Lady Aoi or the Lady of Rokjiô was present, while Genji privately took Violet with him in a close carriage to see the festival, and saw the horse-races. We have already mentioned that the mind of the Lady of Rokjiô was still wavering and unsettled whether or not she should go to Ise with her daughter; and this state of mind became more and more augmented and serious after the day of the dispute about the carriages, which made her feel a bitter disdain and jealousy towards the Lady Aoi. Strange to say, that from about the same time, Lady Aoi became ill, and began to suffer from spiritual influences. All sorts of exorcisms were duly performed, and some spirits came forth and gave their names. But among them was a spirit, apparently a "living one,"[83] which obstinately refused to be transmitted to the third party. It caused her great suffering, and seemed not to be of a casual nature, but a permanent hostile influence. Some imagined this to be the effect of fearful jealousy of some one who was intimately known to Genji and who had most influence over him; but the spirit gave no information to this effect. Hence some even surmised that the wandering spirit of some aged nurse, or the like, long since dead, still haunted the mansion, and might have seized the opportunity of the lady's delicate health, and taken possession of her. Meanwhile at the mansion of Rokjiô, the lady, when she was informed of the sufferings of Lady Aoi, felt somewhat for her, and began to experience a sort of compassion. This became stronger when she was told that the sufferings of the Lady Aoi were owing to some living spirit. She thought that she never wished any evil to her; but, when she reflected, there were several times when she began to think that a wounded spirit, such as her own, might have some influence of the kind. She had sometimes dreams, after weary thinking, between slumber and waking, in which she seemed to fly to some beautiful girl, apparently Lady Aoi, and to engage in bitter contention and struggle with her. She became even terrified at these dreams; but yet they took place very often. "Even in ordinary matters," she thought, "it is too common a practice, to say nothing of the good done by people, but to exaggerate the bad; and so, in such cases, if it should be rumored that mine was that living spirit which tormented Lady Aoi, how trying it would be to me! It is no rare occurrence that one's disembodied spirit, after death, should wander about; but even that is not a very agreeable idea. How much more, then, must it be disagreeable to have the repute that one's living spirit was inflicting pain upon another!" These thoughts still preyed upon her mind, and made her listless and depressed. In due course, the confinement of Lady Aoi approached. At the same time, the jealous spirit still vexed her, and now more vigorous exorcising was employed. She became much affected by it, and cried out, "Please release me a little; I have something to tell the Prince." Hereupon he was ushered into the room. The curtain was dropped, and the mother of the lady left the room, as she thought her daughter might prefer to speak to him in private. The sound of the spells performed in the next chamber ceased, and Hoke-kiô was read in its place. The lady was lying on her couch, dressed in a pure white garment, with her long tresses unfastened. He approached her, and taking her hand, said: "What sad affliction you cause us!" She then lifted her heavy eyelids, and gazed on Genji for some minutes. He tried to soothe her, and said, "Pray don't trouble yourself too much about matters. Everything will come right. Your illness, I think, will soon pass away. Even supposing you quit this present world, there is another where we shall meet, and where I shall see you once more cheerful, and there will be a time when your mother and father will also join you." "Ah! no. I only come here to solicit you to give me a little rest. I feel extremely disturbed. I never thought of coming here in such a way; but it seems the spirit of one whose thoughts are much disconcerted wanders away unknown even to itself. Oh, bind my wandering spirit, pray, Dear one, nor let it longer stray." The enunciation of these words was not that of Lady Aoi herself; and when Genji came to reflect, it clearly belonged to the Lady of Rokjiô. Always before, when anyone had talked with him about a living spirit coming to vex Lady Aoi, he felt inclined to suppress such ideas; but now he began to think that such things might really happen, and he felt disturbed. "You speak thus," said Genji, as if he was addressing the spirit, "but you do not tell me who you are. Do, therefore, tell me clearly." At these words, strange to say, the face of the Lady Aoi seemed momentarily to assume the likeness of that of Rokjiô. On this, Genji was still more perplexed and anxious, and put a stop to the colloquy. Presently she became very calm, and people thought that she was a little relieved. Soon after this, the lady was safely delivered of a child. Now, to perform due thanksgiving for this happy deliverance, the head of the monastery on Mount Hiye and some other distinguished priests were sent for. They came in all haste, wiping off the perspiration from their faces as they journeyed; and, from the Emperor and Royal princes down to the ordinary nobles, all took an interest in the ceremony of Ub-yashinai (first feeding), and the more so as the child was a boy. To return to the Lady of Rokjiô. When she heard of the safe delivery of Lady Aoi, a slightly jealous feeling once more seemed to vex her; and when she began to move about, she could not understand how it was, but she perceived that her dress was scented with a strange odor.[84] She thought this most surprising, and took baths and changed her dress, in order to get rid of it; but the odor soon returned, and she was disgusted with herself. Some days passed, and the day of autumn appointments arrived. By this time, Lady Aoi's health seemed progressing favorably, and Genji left her in order to attend the Court. When he said good-by to her, there was a strange and unusual look in her eyes. Sadaijin also went to Court, as well as his sons, who had some expectation of promotion, and there were few people left in the mansion. It was in the evening of that day that Lady Aoi was suddenly attacked by a spasm, and before the news of this could be carried to the Court, she died. These sad tidings soon reached the Court, and created great distress and confusion: even the arrangements for appointments and promotion were disturbed. As it happened late in the evening there was no time to send for the head of the monastery, or any other distinguished priest. Messengers of inquiry came one after another to the mansion, so numerous that it was almost impossible to return them all answers. We need not add how greatly affected were all her relations. As the death took place from a malign spiritual influence, she was left untouched during two or three days, in the hope that she might revive; but no change took place, and now all hope was abandoned. In due course the corpse was taken to the cemetery of Toribeno. Numerous mourners and priests of different churches crowded to the spot, while representatives of the ex-Emperor, Princess Wistaria, and the Heir-apparent also were present. The ceremony of burial was performed with all solemnity and pathos. Thus the modest and virtuous Lady Aoi passed away forever. Genji forthwith confined himself to his apartment in the grand mansion of Sadaijin, for mourning and consolation. Tô-no-Chiûjiô, who was now elevated to the title of Sammi, constantly bore him company, and conversed with him both on serious and amusing subjects. Their struggle in the apartment of Gen-naishi, and also their rencontre in the garden of the "Saffron Flower," were among the topics of their consoling conversation. It was on one of these occasions that a soft shower of rain was falling. The evening was rendered cheerless, and Tô-no-Chiûjiô came to see him, walking slowly in his mourning robes of a dull color. Genji was leaning out of a window, his cheek resting on his hand; and, looking out upon the half-fading shrubberies, was humming-- "Has she become rain or cloud? 'Tis now unknown." Tô-no-Chiûjiô gently approached him. They had, as usual, some pathetic conversation, and then the latter hummed, as if to himself-- "Beyond the cloud in yonder sky, From which descends the passing rain, Her gentle soul may dwell, Though we may cease to trace its form in vain." This was soon responded to by Genji:-- "That cloudy shrine we view on high, Where my lost love may dwell unseen, Looks gloomy now to this sad eye That looks with tears on what has been." There was among the faded plants of the garden a solitary Rindô-nadeshko.[85] When Tô-no-Chiûjiô had gone, Genji picked this flower, and sent it to his mother-in-law by the nurse of the infant child, with the following:-- "In bowers where all beside are dead Survives alone this lovely flower, Departed autumn's cherished gem, Symbol of joy's departed hour."[86] Genji still felt lonely. He wrote a letter to the Princess Momo-zono (peach-gardens). He had known her long. He admired her, too. She had been a spectator, with her father, on the day of the consecration of the Saiin, and was one of those to whom the appearance of Genji was most welcome. In his letter he stated that she might have a little sympathy with him in his sorrow, and he also sent with it the following:-- "Many an autumn have I past In gloomy thought, but none I ween Has been so mournful as the last, Which rife with grief and change hath been." There was, indeed, nothing serious between Genji and this princess; yet, as far as correspondence was concerned, they now and then exchanged letters, so she did not object to receiving this communication. She felt for him much, and an answer was returned, in which she expressed her sympathy at his bereavement. Now, in the mansion of Sadaijin every performance of requiem was celebrated. The forty-ninth day had passed, and the mementoes of the dead, both trifling and valuable, were distributed in a due and agreeable manner; and Genji at length left the grand mansion with the intention of first going to the ex-Emperor, and then of returning to his mansion at Nijiô. After his departure, Sadaijin went into the apartment occupied till lately by him. The room was the same as before, and everything was unchanged; but his only daughter, the pride of his old days, was no more, and his son-in-law had gone too. He looked around him for some moments. He saw some papers lying about. They were those on which Genji had been practising penmanship for amusement--some in Chinese, others in Japanese; some in free style, others in stiff. Among these papers he saw one on which the words "Old pillows and old quilts" were written, and close to these the following:-- "How much the soul departed, still May love to linger round this couch, My own heart tells me, even I Reluctant am to leave it now." And on another of these papers, accompanying the words, "The white frost lies upon the tiles," the following:-- "How many more of nights shall I On this lone bed without thee lie; The flower has left its well-known bed, And o'er its place the dews are shed." As Sadaijin was turning over these papers a withered flower, which seems to have marked some particular occasion, dropped from amongst them. Return we now to Genji. He went to the ex-Emperor, to whom he still seemed thin and careworn. He had some affectionate conversation with him, remained till evening, and then proceeded to his mansion at Nijiô. He went to the western wing to visit the young Violet. All were habited in new winter apparel, and looked fresh and blooming. "How long it seems since I saw you!" he exclaimed. Violet turned her glance a little aside. She was apparently shy, which only increased her beauty. He approached, and after having a little conversation, said, "I have many things to say to you, but now I must have a little rest," and returned to his own quarters. The next morning, first of all he sent a letter to Sadaijin's, making inquiry after his infant child. At this time he confined himself more than usual to his own house, and for companionship he was constantly with Violet, who was now approaching womanhood. He would sometimes talk with her differently from the manner in which he would speak to a mere girl; but on her part she seemed not to notice the difference, and for their daily amusement either Go or Hentski[87] was resorted to, and sometimes they would play on till late in the evening. Some weeks thus passed away, and there was one morning when Violet did not appear so early as usual. The inmates of the house, who did not know what was the reason, were anxious about her, thinking she was indisposed. About noon Genji came. He entered the little room, saying, "Are you not quite well? Perhaps you would like to play at Go again, like last night, for a change;" but she was more than ever shy. "Why are you so shy?" he exclaimed; "be a little more cheerful--people may think it strange," said he, and stayed with her a long time trying to soothe her; but to no effect--she still continued silent and shy. This was the evening of Wild Boar's day, and some _mochi_ (pounded rice cake) was presented to him, according to custom, on a tray of plain white wood. He called Koremitz before him and said, "To-day is not a very opportune day; I would rather have them to-morrow evening. Do send in some to-morrow.[88] It need not be of so many colors." So saying, he smiled a little, and sharp Koremitz soon understood what he meant. And this he accordingly did on the morrow, on a beautiful flower-waiter. Up to this time nothing about Violet had been publicly known, and Genji thought it was time to inform her father about his daughter; but he considered he had better have the ceremony of Mogi first performed, and ordered preparations to be made with that object. Let us here notice that the young daughter of Udaijin, after she saw Genji, was longing to see him again. This inclination was perceived by her relations. It seems that her father was not quite averse to this liking, and he told his eldest daughter, the reigning Emperor's mother, that Genji was recently bereaved of his good consort, and that he should not feel discontented if his daughter were to take the place of Lady Aoi; but this the royal mother did not approve. "It would be far better for her to be introduced at Court," she said, and began contriving to bring this about. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 80: The sacred virgin of the temple of Ise.] [Footnote 81: The same of Kamo, which is situated in the neighborhood of Kiôto, the then capital.] [Footnote 82: "Ajiro" means woven bamboo, and here it signifies a carriage made of woven bamboo.] [Footnote 83: Before proceeding with the story, it is necessary for the reader to peruse the following note: In Japan there existed, and still more or less exists, a certain superstition which is entertained, that the spirits of the dead have the power of inflicting injury on mankind; for instance, a woman when slighted or deserted, dies, her spirit often works evil on the man who forsook her, or on her rival. This is the spirit of the dead. There is also another belief that the spirits of the living have sometimes the same power, but in this case it only takes place when one is fiercely jealous. When this spirit works upon the rival, the owner of the spirit is not aware of it; but she herself becomes more gloomy, as if she had, as it were, lost her own spirit. These spirits can be exorcised, and the act is performed by a certain sect of priests; but the living one is considered far more difficult to exorcise than the other, because it is imagined that the dead spirit can be easily "laid," or driven back to the tomb, while the living one, being still in its present state, cannot be settled so easily. The method of exorcism is as follows: Certain spells are used on the sufferer, and certain religious addresses are read from the Buddhist bibles, and then the sufferer is made to speak out all his subjects of complaint; but it is supposed not to be the man himself who speaks and tells these causes of complaint, but the spirit of which he is possessed. This process is sometimes performed on a third party; in that case the priest temporarily transmits the spirit from the sufferer to the substitute and makes it speak with his mouth. When he has told all the causes of his complaint and wrongs, the priest sometimes argues with him, sometimes chides, sometimes soothes, and sometimes threatens, and at last says to the spirit, "If you do not go out quietly, I will confine you by my sacred power." By such means the spirit is exorcised; the process resembles mesmerism in some points, but of course has no sensible foundation. In other cases the spirits of those who have either recently, or even years before, met with cruel wrongs or death, may in their wanderings seize upon some person in the vicinity, though totally unconnected with the crime done upon them, and may cause them suffering, or even spirits, who from any cause, are unable to obtain rest, may do the same thing.] [Footnote 84: In the ceremony of exorcism a sacred perfume is burnt, and it was this scent which the Lady of Rokjiô perceived in her garment because her spirit was supposed to go to and fro between herself and Lady Aoi, and to bring with it the smell of this perfume.] [Footnote 85: A kind of pink; some translate it Gentian.] [Footnote 86: Here the flower is compared to the child, and autumn to the mother.] [Footnote 87: "Hentski," a children's game. It consists in choosing beforehand a "hen" or half-character, opening a book and seeing which of the players can most quickly pick out the words beginning with this "hen."] [Footnote 88: It seemed to have been the ancient custom, that on the third night of a wedding, the same kind of rice cake, but only of one color, was served up.] CHAPTER X DIVINE TREE The departure of the Saigû, the daughter of the Lady of Rokjiô, for her destination in the Temple of Ise, which was postponed from time to time, owing to different circumstances, was at length arranged to take place in September. This definite arrangement delighted the Saigû, to whom the uncertainty of the event had been somewhat tiresome. Her mother also made up her mind to accompany her to the temple. Although there was no precedent for the mother of the Saigû accompanying her daughter, this lady made up her mind to do so, because she would not allow her young daughter to go alone. In a suburban field the "field palace" was built.[89] It was of wood, and surrounded by a fence of newly cut branches of trees. In front stood a huge _torii_[90] of logs, and within the compound were the quarters of the Kandzkasa.[91] Here the Saigû took up her residence, where her mother also accompanied her. When the sixteenth of September, which was fixed for the departure, arrived, the ceremony of her last consecration was duly performed on the banks of the River Katzra, whence the sacred virgin went to the Imperial Palace to have the farewell audience with the Emperor. She was accompanied by her mother. The father of the latter had been a great personage of State, and she had been married to a Royal Prince at sixteen, when there had been every possibility of her coming to the Court in a position far superior to what she now enjoyed. She was, however, bereaved of him at the age of twenty; and now at thirty she comes to take leave at her departure for a far-off province with her only daughter. The Saigû was about fourteen years of age, was extremely delicate and fair to look upon, and when presented to the Emperor he was struck by the charms of her youthful appearance. Numerous carriages were ranged at the front of eight State departments to see her off in state, besides many others along the road, full of spectators. Late in the afternoon her party left the palace, and turned away from Nijiô round to the highway of Tôin, and passed by the mansion of Genji, who witnessed their passing, and sent the following to the lady-mother with a twig of Sakaki (divine tree):-- "Bravely you quit this scene, 'tis true; But though you dauntless fly so far, Your sleeve may yet be wet with dew, Before you cross Suzukah."[92] The answer to this was sent to him from beyond the barrier of Ausaka (meeting-path) in the following form:-- "Whether my sleeve be wet or not, In the waters of the Suzukah, Who will care? Too soon forgot Will Ise be that lies so far." And thus the Lady of Rokjiô and her daughter disappear for some time from our scenes in the capital. It was about this time that the ex-Emperor was indisposed for some time, and in October his state became precarious. The anxiety of the public was general, and the Emperor went to visit him. Notwithstanding his weakness, the former gave him every injunction, first about the Heir-apparent, then about Genji, and said:-- "Regard him as your adviser, both in large and small matters, without reserve, and not otherwise than if I were still alive. He is not incapable of sharing in the administration of public affairs, notwithstanding his youth. He has a physiognomy which argues great qualities, and for this reason, I made him remain in an ordinary position, without creating him a Royal Prince, with the object that he should be able to take part in public affairs. Do not misconstrue these ideas." There were some more injunctions given of like nature relating to public matters, and the Emperor sorrowfully and repeatedly assured him that he would not neglect them. Such, however, are not subjects which we women are supposed to understand, and even thus much that I have mentioned is given not without some apprehension. A few days after the visit of the Emperor the Heir-apparent was brought before his dying father. There had been some idea that he should be brought on the day when the Emperor paid his visit, but it was postponed to avoid any possible confusion. The boy Prince was apparently more pleased at seeing his father than concerned at his illness. To him the ex-Emperor told many things, but he was too young to heed them. Genji was also present, and the ex-Emperor explained to him in what way he should serve the Government, and how he should look after this young Prince. When their interview concluded it was already merging towards the evening, and the young Prince returned to the palace. The Royal mother of the reigning Emperor (formerly Koki-den-Niogo) would also have visited the ex-Emperor but for her repugnance to encounter the Princess Wistaria, who never left his side. In the course of a few days the strength of the Emperor began to decline, and at last he quietly and peacefully passed away. And now the Court went into general mourning, and Genji, being one of the principal mourners, put on a dress of Wistaria cloth;[93] so frequently did misfortune fall on him in the course of a few years, and his cares became really great. The funeral and the weekly requiems were performed with all due pomp and ceremony, and when the forty-ninth day had passed, all the private household of his late Majesty dispersed in the midst of the dreary weather of the latter part of December to their own homes; the Princess Wistaria retiring to her own residence in Sanjiô, accompanied by her brother, Prince Hiôbkiô. True, it is that his late Majesty had been for some time off the throne, but his authority had by no means diminished on that account. But his death now altered the state of things, and the ascendancy of the family of Udaijin became assured. The people in general entertained great fear that infelicitous changes would take place in public affairs, and among these Genji and the Princess Wistaria were the most disturbed by such anxieties. The new year came in, but nothing joyful or exciting accompanied its presence--the world was still. Genji kept himself to his mansion. In those days, when his father was still in power, his courtyard was filled with the carriages of visitors, especially when the days of the appointments were approaching; but now this was changed, and his household secretaries had but little to occupy them. In January the Princess Momo-zono (peach-gardens) was chosen for the Saiin, of the Temple of Kamo, her predecessor having retired from office, on account of the mourning for her father, the late ex-Emperor. There were not many precedents for Princesses of the second generation being appointed to this position; but this Princess was so chosen, owing, it seems, to the circumstance that there was no immediate issue of the Imperial blood suitable for this office. In February the youngest daughter of the Udaijin became the Naishi-no-Kami,[94] in the place of the former one, who had left office and become a nun after the death of the ex-Emperor. She took up her residence in the Kokiden, which was till lately occupied by her sister, the Empress-mother, who at this period spent most of her time at her father's, and who when she came to the Court made the Ume-Tsubo (the plum-chamber) her apartment. Meanwhile the Empress-mother, who was by nature sagacious and revengeful, and who during the late Emperor's life had been fain to disguise her spiteful feelings, now conceived designs of vengeance against those who had been adverse to her; and this spirit was directed especially against Genji and his father-in-law, Sadaijin--against the latter because he had married his only daughter to Genji against the wishes of the Emperor when Heir-apparent, and because during the life of the late Emperor his influence eclipsed that of her father, Udaijin, who had long been his political adversary. The Emperor, it is true, never forgot the dying injunctions of his father, and never failed in sympathy with Genji; but he was still young, with a weak mind, and therefore he was under the influence of his mother and grandfather, Udaijin, and was often constrained by them in his actions to go contrary to his own wishes. Such being the state of things, Sadaijin seldom appeared at Court, and his loss of influence became manifest. Genji, too, had become less adventurous and more steady in his life; and in his mansion Violet became the favorite object of attraction, in whose behalf the ceremony of Mogi had been duly performed some time before, and who had been presented to her father. The latter had for a long time regarded her as lost, and even now he never forgave the way in which his daughter had been taken away by Genji. The summer had passed without any particular events, and autumn arrived. Genji, wishing to have a little change, went to the monastery of Unlinin,[95] and spent some days in the chamber of a rissh (discipline-master), who was a brother of his mother. Maple-trees were changing their tints, and the beautiful scenery around this spot made him almost forget his home. His daily amusement was to gather together several monks, and make them discuss before him. He himself perused the so-called "sixty volumes,"[96] and would get the monks to explain any point which was not clear to his understanding. When he came to reflect on the various circumstances taking place in the capital, he would have preferred remaining in his present retirement; but he could not forget one whom he had left behind there, and this caused him to return. After he had requested a splendid expiatory service to be performed, he left the monastery. The monks and the neighbors came to see him depart. His carriage was still black, and his sleeves were still of Wistaria, and in this gloomy state he made his return to his mansion in Nijiô. He brought back some twigs of maple, whose hues, when compared with those in his own garden, he perceived were far more beautiful. He, therefore, sent one of these to the residence of Princess Wistaria, who had it put in a vase, and hung at the side of her veranda. Next day he went to the Imperial Palace, to see his brother the Emperor, who was passing a quiet and unoccupied leisure, and soon entered into a pleasant conversation on matters both past and present. This Emperor, it must be remembered, was a person of quiet ways and moderate ambition. He was kind in heart, and affectionate to his relatives. His eyes were shut to the more objectionable actions of Genji. He talked with him on different topics of literature, and asked his opinions on different questions. He also talked on several poetical subjects, and on the news of the day--of the departure of the Saigû. The conversation then led to the little Prince, the Heir-apparent. The Emperor said, "Our father has enjoined me to adopt him as my son, and to be kind to him in every way; but he was always a favorite of mine, and this injunction was unnecessary, for I could not be any more particularly kind to him. I am very glad that he is very clever for his age in penmanship and the like." Genji replied, "Yes, I also notice that he is of no ordinary promise; but yet we must admit that his ability may be only partial." After this conversation Genji left. On his way he came across a nephew of the Empress-mother, who seems to have been a person of rather arrogant and rough character. As he crossed Genji's path he stopped for a minute, and loudly reciting, "The white rainbow crossed the sun, And the Prince was frightened,"[97] passed on. Genji at once understood what it was intended for, but prudently proceeded on his way homeward without taking any notice of it. Let us now proceed to the Princess Wistaria. Since she had been bereaved of the late Emperor she retired to her private residence. She fully participated in all those inglorious mortifications to which Genji and his father-in-law were subjected. She was convinced she would never suffer such cruel treatment as that which Seki-Foojin[98] did at the hands of her rival, but she was also convinced that some sort of misfortune was inevitable. These thoughts at last led her to determine to give up the world. The fortune of her child, however, had been long a subject of anxiety to her; and though she had determined to do so, the thought of him had affected her mind still more keenly. She had hitherto rarely visited the Court, where he was residing; for her visits might be unpleasing to the feelings of her rival, the other ex-Empress, and prejudicial to his interests. However, she now went there unceremoniously, in order to see him before she carried out her intention to retire. In the course of her chatting with him, she said, "Suppose, that while I do not see you for some time, my features become changed, what would you think?" The little Prince, who watched her face, replied, "Like Shikib?[99]--no--that can't be." The Princess smiled a little, and said, "No, that is not so; Shikib's is changed by age, but suppose mine were different from hers, and my hair became shorter than hers, and I wore a black dress like a chaplain-in-waiting, and I could not see you often, any longer." And she became a little sad, which made the Prince also a little downcast. Serene was his face, and finely pencilled were his eyebrows. He was growing up fast, and his teeth were a little decayed and blackened,[100] which gave a peculiar beauty to his smile, and the prettiness of his appearance only served to increase her regret; and with a profound pensiveness she returned to her residence. In the middle of December she performed Mihakkô (a grand special service on the anniversary of death), which she was carefully preparing for some days. The rolls of the Kiô (Buddhist Bible) used for this occasion were made most magnificently--the spindle of jade, the covering of rich satin, and its case of woven bamboo ornamented likewise, as well as the flower-table. The first day's ceremony was for her father, the second for her mother, and the third for the late Emperor. Several nobles were present, and participated, Genji being one of them. Different presents were made by them all. At the end of the third day's performance her vows of retirement were, to the surprise of all, announced by the priest. At the conclusion of the whole ceremony, the chief of the Hiye monastery, whom she had sent for, arrived, and from whom she received the "commandments." She then had her hair cut off by her uncle, Bishop of Yokogawa. These proceedings cast a gloom over the minds of all present, but especially on those of Hiôb-Kiô, her brother, and Genji; and soon after every one departed for his home. Another New Year came in, and the aspect of the Court was brighter. A royal banquet and singing dances were soon expected to take place, but the Princess Wistaria no longer took any heed of them, and most of her time was devoted to prayer in a new private chapel, which she had had built expressly for herself in her grounds. Genji came to pay his New Year's visit on the seventh day, but he saw no signs of the season. All nobles who used to pay visits of felicitation, now shunned her house and gathered at the mansion of Udaijin, near her own. The only things which caught Genji's attention in her mansion was a white horse,[101] which was being submitted to her inspection as on former occasions. When he entered, he noticed that all the hangings of the room and the dresses of the inmates were of the dark hues of conventual life. The only things that there seemed to herald spring, were the melting of the thin ice on the surface of the lake, and the budding of the willows on its banks. The scene suggested many reflections to his mind; and, after the usual greetings of the season, and a short conversation, he quitted the mansion. It should be here noticed that none of her household officers received any promotion or appointment to any sinecure office, or honorary title, even where the merit of the individual deserved it, or the Court etiquette required it. Nay, even the proper income for her household expenses was, under different pretexts, neglected. As for the Princess, she must have been prepared for such inevitable consequences of her giving up the world; but it ought not to be taken as implying that the sacrifice should be so great. Hence these facts caused much disappointment to her household, and the mind of the Princess herself was sometimes moved by feelings of mortification. Nevertheless, troubled about herself no longer, she only studied the welfare and prosperity of her child, and persevered in the most devout prayers for this. She also remembered a secret sin, still unknown to the world, which tormented the recesses of her soul, and she was constantly praying to Buddha to lighten her burden. About the same time, tired of the world, both public and private, Sadaijin sent in his resignation. The Emperor had not forgotten how much he was respected by the late ex-Emperor, how the latter had enjoined him always to regard him as a support of the country, and he several times refused to accept his resignation; but Sadaijin persevered in his request, and confined himself to his own mansion. This gave complete ascendancy to the family of Udaijin. All the sons of Sadaijin, who formerly had enjoyed considerable distinction at Court, were now fast sinking into insignificance, and had very little influence. Tô-no-Chiûjiô, the eldest of them, was one of those affected by the change of circumstances. True, he was married to the fourth daughter of Udaijin; but he passed little time with her, she still residing with her father, and he was not among the favorite sons-in-law. His name was also omitted in the appointment list on promotion day, which seems to have been intended by his father-in-law as a warning. Under such circumstances he was constantly with Genji, and they studied and played together. They both well remembered how they used to compete with each other in such matters as studying and playing, and they still kept their rivalry alive. They would sometimes send for some scholars, and would compose poems together, or play the "Covering Rhymes."[102] They seldom appeared at Court, while in the outer world different scandals about them were increasing day by day. One day in summer Tô-no-Chiûjiô came to pay his usual visit to Genji. He had brought by his page several interesting books, and Genji also ordered several rare books from his library. Many scholars were sent for, in such a manner as not to appear too particular; and many nobles and University students were also present. They were divided into two parties, the right and the left, and began betting on the game of "Covering Rhymes." Genji headed the right, and Tô-no-Chiûjiô the left. To his credit the former often hit on the most difficult rhymes, with which the scholars were puzzled. At last the left was beaten by the right, consequently Tô-no-Chiûjiô gave an entertainment to the party, as arranged in their bet. They also amused themselves by writing prose and verse. Some roses were blossoming in front of the veranda, which possessed a quiet charm different from those of the full season of spring. The sight of these afforded them a delightful enjoyment while they were partaking of refreshment. A son of Tô-no-Chiûjiô, about eight or nine years old, was present. He was the second boy by his wife, Udaijin's daughter, and a tolerable player on the Sôh-flute. Both his countenance and disposition were amiable. The party was in full enjoyment when the boy rose and sang "Takasago" (high sand).[103] When he proceeded to the last clause of his song, "Oh, could I see that lovely flower, That blossomed this morn!" Tô-no-Chiûjiô offered his cup to Genji, saying, "How glad am I to see your gentleness, Sweet as the newly blooming flower!" Genji, smiling, took the cup as he replied, "Yet that untimely flower, I fear, The rain will beat, the wind will tear, Ere it be fully blown." And added, "Oh, I myself am but a sere leaf." Genji was pressed by Tô-no-Chiûjiô to take several more cups, and his humor reached its height. Many poems, both in Chinese and Japanese, were composed by those present, most of whom paid high compliment to Genji. He felt proud, and unconsciously exclaimed, "The son of King Yuen, the brother of King Mu;" and would have added, "the King Ching's ----"[104] but there he paused. To describe the scene which followed at a time such as this, when every mind is not in due equilibrium, is against the warning of Tsurayuki, the poet, so I will here pass over the rest. Naishi-no-Kami, the young daughter of Udaijin, now retired to her home from the Court, having been attacked by ague; and the object of her retirement was to enjoy rest and repose, as well as to have spells performed for her illness. This change did her great good, and she speedily recovered from the attack. We had mentioned before that she always had a tender yearning for Genji, and she was the only one of her family who entertained any sympathy or good feeling towards him. She had seen, for some time, the lack of consideration and the indifference with which he was treated by her friends, and used to send messages of kind inquiry. Genji, on his part also, had never forgotten her, and the sympathy which she showed towards him excited in his heart the most lively appreciation. These mutual feelings led at length to making appointments for meeting during her retirement. Genji ran the risk of visiting her secretly in her own apartments. This was really hazardous, more especially so because her sister, the Empress-mother, was at this time staying in the same mansion. We cannot regard either the lady or Genji as entirely free from the charge of imprudence, which, on his part, was principally the result of his old habits of wandering. It was on a summer's evening that Genji contrived to see her in her own apartment, and while they were conversing, a thunderstorm suddenly broke forth, and all the inmates got up and ran to and fro in their excitement. Genji had lost the opportunity of escape, and, besides, the dawn had already broken. When the storm became lighter and the thunder ceased, Udaijin went first to the room of his royal daughter, and then to that of Naishi-no-Kami. The noise of the falling rain made his footsteps inaudible, and all unexpectedly he appeared at the door and said: "What a storm it has been! Were you not frightened?" This voice startled both Genji and the lady. The former hid himself on one side of the room, and the latter stepped forth to meet her father. Her face was deeply flushed, which he soon noticed. He said, "You seem still excited; is your illness not yet quite passed?" While he was so saying he caught sight of the sash of a man's cloak, twisted round her skirt. "How strange!" thought he. The next moment he noticed some papers lying about, on which something had been scribbled. "This is more strange!" he thought again; and exclaimed, "Whose writings are these?" At this request she looked aside, and all at once noticed the sash round her skirt, and became quite confused. Udaijin was a man of quiet nature; so, without distressing her further, bent down to pick up the papers, when by so doing he perceived a man behind the screen, who was apparently in great confusion and was endeavoring to hide his face. However, Udaijin soon discovered who he was, and without any further remarks quitted the room, taking the papers with him. The troubled state of Genji and the lady may be easily imagined, and in great anxiety he left the scene. Now it was the character of Udaijin that he could never keep anything to himself, even his thoughts. He therefore went to the eldest daughter--that is, the Empress-mother, and told her that he had found papers which clearly were in the handwriting of Genji, and that though venturesomeness is the characteristic of men, such conduct as that which Genji had indulged in was against all propriety. "People said," continued Udaijin, "that he was always carrying on a correspondence with the present Saiin. Were this true, it would not only be against public decorum, but his own interest; although I did not entertain any suspicion before." When the sagacious Empress-mother heard this, her anger was something fearful. "See the Emperor," she said; "though he is Emperor, how little he is respected! When he was Heir-apparent, the ex-Sadaijin, not having presented his daughter to him, gave her to Genji, then a mere boy, on the eve of his Gembuk; and now this Genji boldly dares to carry on such intrigues with a lady who is intended to be the Royal consort! How daring, also, is his correspondence with the sacred Saiin! On the whole, his conduct, in every respect, does not appear to be as loyal as might be expected, and this only seems to arise from his looking forward to the ascent of the young Prince to the throne." Udaijin somehow felt the undesirability of this anger, and he began to change his tone, and tried to soothe her, saying: "You have some reason for being so affected; yet don't disclose such matters to the public, and pray don't tell it to the Emperor. It is, of course, an impropriety on the part of the Prince, but we must admit that our girl, also, would not escape censure. We had better first warn her privately among ourselves; and if the matter does not even then come all right, I will myself be responsible for that." The Empress-mother, however, could not calm her angry feelings. It struck her as a great disrespect to her dignity, on Genji's part, to venture to intrude into the very mansion where she was staying. And she began to meditate how to turn this incident into a means of carrying out the design which she had been forming for some time. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 89: A temporary residence expressly built for the Saigû to undergo purification.] [Footnote 90: A peculiar gate erected in front of the sacred places.] [Footnote 91: Shinto priests.] [Footnote 92: Name of a river of the province of Ise, which the travellers had to cross.] [Footnote 93: A dress made of the bark of the Wistaria was worn by those who were in deep mourning for near relatives.] [Footnote 94: This was an office held by a Court lady, whose duty it was to act as a medium of communication in the transmitting of messages between the Emperor and State officials.] [Footnote 95: It is said that the tomb of the authoress of this work is to be found at this spot.] [Footnote 96: In the Tendai sect of Buddhists there are sixty volumes of the theological writings which are considered most authoritative for their doctrine.] [Footnote 97: A passage of a Chinese history. The story is, that a Prince of a certain Chinese kingdom contrived to have assassinated an Emperor, his enemy. When he sent off the assassin this event took place. The allusion here seems to imply the allegation that Genji intended high treason.] [Footnote 98: She was the favorite of the first Emperor of the Hung dynasty in China, and the rival of the Empress. When the Emperor died, the Empress, a clever and disdainful woman, revenged herself by cutting off her feet, and her arms, and making away with her son.] [Footnote 99: This seems to have been the name of an aged attendant.] [Footnote 100: Among Japanese children it often happens that the milk teeth become black and decayed, which often gives a charm to their expression.] [Footnote 101: It was the custom to show a white horse on the seventh day of the new year to the Empress, the superstition being that this was a protestation against evil spirits.] [Footnote 102: A game consisting in opening Chinese poetry books and covering the rhymes, making others guess them.] [Footnote 103: Name of a ballad.] [Footnote 104: In Chinese history it is recorded that in giving an injunction to his son, Duke Choau, a great statesman of the eleventh century B.C., used these words: "I am the son of King Yuen, the brother of King Mu, and the uncle of King Ching; but I am so ready in receiving men in any way distinguished, that I am often interrupted three times at my dinner, or in my bath." It would seem that Genji, in the pride of his feeling, unconsciously made the above quotation in reference to himself.] CHAPTER XI VILLA OF FALLING FLOWERS The troubles of Genji increased day by day, and the world became irksome to him. One incident, however, deserves a brief notice before we enter into the main consequences of these troubles. There was a lady who had been a Niogo at the Court of the late ex-Emperor, and who was called Reikeiden-Niogo, from the name of her chamber. She had borne no child to him, and after his death she, together with a younger sister, was living in straitened circumstances. Genji had long known both of them, and they were often aided by the liberality with which he cheerfully assisted them, both from feelings of friendship, and out of respect to his late father. He, at this time, kept himself quiet at his own home, but he now paid these ladies a visit one evening, when the weather, after a long-continued rain, had cleared up. He conversed with them on topics of past times until late in the evening. The waning moon threw her faint light over the tall trees standing in the garden, which spread their dark shadows over the ground. From among them an orange-tree in full blossom poured forth its sweet perfume, and a Hototo-gisu[105] flew over it singing most enchantingly. "'Ah! how he recollects his own friend!'" said Genji, and continued:-- "To this home of 'falling flower,' The odors bring thee back again, And now thou sing'st, in evening hour, Thy faithful loving strain." To this the elder lady replied:-- "At the home where one lives, all sadly alone, And the shadow of friendship but seldom is cast, These blossoms reach the bright days that are gone And bring to our sadness the joys of the past." And, after a long and friendly conversation, Genji returned to his home. One may say that the character of Genji was changeable, it is true, yet we must do him justice for his kind-heartedness to his old acquaintances such as these two sisters, and this would appear to be the reason why he seldom estranged the hearts of those whom he liked. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 105: The name of a small bird which appears about the time when the orange trees are in blossom. It sings, and is most active in the evening. In poetry, therefore, the orange blossom and this bird are associated, and they are both, the blossom and the bird, emblems of old memories.] CHAPTER XII EXILE AT SUMA Genji at last made up his mind to undergo a voluntary exile, before the opinion of the Imperial Court should be publicly announced against him. He heard that the beautiful sea-coast along Suma was a most suitable place for retirement, and that, though formerly populous, there were now only a few fishermen's dwellings scattered here and there. To Suma he finally determined to go into voluntary exile. When he had thus made up his mind he became somewhat regretful to leave the capital, although it had hitherto appeared ungenial. The first thing which disturbed his mind was the young Violet, whom he could not take with him. The young lady, also, in the "Villa of Falling Flowers" (notwithstanding that he was not a frequent visitor) was another object of his regret. In spite of these feelings he prepared to set off at the end of March, and at length it came within a few days of the time fixed for his departure, when he went privately, under the cover of the evening, to the mansion of the ex-Sadaijin, in an ajiro carriage, generally used by women. He proceeded into the inner apartments, where he was greeted by the nurse of his little child. The boy was growing fast, was able to stand by this time and to toddle about, and run into Genji's arms when he saw him. The latter took him on his knee, saying, "Ah! my good little fellow, I have not seen you for some time, but you do not forget me, do you?" The ex-Sadaijin now entered. He said, "Often have I thought of coming to have a talk with you, but you see my health has been very bad of late, and I seldom appear at Court, having resigned my office. It would be impolitic to give cause to be talked about, and for it to be said that I stretch my old bones when private matters please me. Of course, I have no particular reason to fear the world; still, if there is anything dreadful, it is the demagogical world. When I see what unpleasant things are happening to you, which were no more probable than that the heavens should fall, I really feel that everything in the world is irksome to me." "Yes, what you say is indeed true," replied Genji. "However, all things in the world--this or that--are the outcome of what we have done in our previous existence. Hence if we dive to the bottom we shall see that every misfortune is only the result of our own negligence. Examples of men's losing the pleasures of the Court are, indeed, not wanting. Some of these cases may not go so far as a deprivation of titles and honors, as is mine;[106] still, if one thus banished from the pleasures of Court, behaves himself as unconcernedly as those to whom no such misfortune has happened, this would not be becoming. So, at least, it is considered in a foreign country. Repentance is what one ought to expect in such circumstances, and banishment to a far-off locality is a measure generally adopted for offences different from ordinary ones. If I, simply relying on my innocence, pass unnoticed the recent displeasure of the Court, this would only bring upon me greater dishonor. I have, therefore, determined to go into voluntary exile, before receiving such a sentence from the Court." Then the conversation fell back, as usual, on the times of the late ex-Emperor, which made them sad; while the child also, who innocently played near, made them still more gloomy. The ex-Sadaijin went on to say:--"There is no moment when I ever forget the mother of the boy, but now I almost dare to think that she was fortunate in being short lived, and being free from witnessing the dreamlike sorrow we now suffer. With regard to the boy, the first thing which strikes me as unbearable is that he may pass some time of his lovely childhood away from the gaze of your eyes. There are, as you say, no want of instances of persons suffering a miserable fate, without having committed any real offence; yet still, in such cases, there was some pretext to justify their being so treated. I cannot see any such against you." While he was thus speaking Tô-no-Chiûjiô joined them, and, partaking of _saké_, they continued their conversation till late in the evening. This night Genji remained in the mansion. Early the next morning he returned to his own residence, and he spent the whole day with Violet in the western wing. It should here be noticed that she was scarcely ever with her father, even from childhood. He strongly disapproved of his daughter being with Genji, and of the way in which she had been carried off, so he scarcely ever had any communication with her, or did he visit her. These circumstances made her feel Genji's affection more keenly than she otherwise would have; hence her sorrow at the thought of parting with him in a few days may be easily imagined. Towards the evening Prince Sotz came with Tô-no-Chiûjiô and some others to pay him a visit. Genji, in order to receive them, rose to put on one of his Naoshi, which was plain, without pattern, as proper for one who had no longer a title. Approaching the mirror, to comb his hair, he noticed that his face had grown much thinner. "Oh, how changed I appear," he exclaimed. "Am I really like this image which I see of myself?" he said, turning to the girl, who cast on him a sad and tearful glance. Genji continued:-- "Though changed I wander far away, My soul shall still remain with you, Perhaps in this mirror's mystic ray, My face may linger still in view." To this Violet replied:-- "If in this mirror I could see, Always your face, then it would be My consolation when thou art gone." As she said this she turned her face to one side of the room, and by doing so obscured the tears gathering in her soft eyes. Genji then left her to receive his friends, who, however, did not remain long, leaving the mansion after a short conversation of a consolatory nature. This evening Genji paid his visit to the sisters of the "Falling Flower" villa. On the following day the final arrangements necessary for his household affairs were made at his residence. The management of the mansion was intrusted to a few confidential friends; while that of his lands and pasture, and the charge of his documents, were intrusted to the care of Violet, to whom he gave every instruction what she should do. Besides, he enjoined Shiônagon, in whom he placed his confidence, to give her every assistance. He told all the inmates who wished to remain in the mansion, in order to await his return, that they might do so. He also made an appropriate present to the nurse of his boy, and to the ladies of the "Villa of Falling Flowers." When all these things were accomplished, he occupied himself in writing farewell letters to his intimate friends, such as the young daughter of Udaijin and others, to none of whom he had paid a visit. On the evening prior to his departure he went on horseback to visit the tomb of his father. On his way he called on the Princess Wistaria, and thence proceeded to the mountain where the remains reposed. The tomb was placed among tall growing grass, under thick and gloomy foliage. Genji advanced to the tomb, and, half kneeling down before it, and half sobbing, uttered many words of remembrance and sorrow. Of course no reply came forth. The moon by this time was hidden behind dark clouds, and the winds blew keen and nipping, when suddenly a shadowy phantom of the dead stood before Genji's eyes. "How would his image look on me, Knew he the secret of the past; As yonder moon in clouded sky, Looks o'er the scene mysteriously." He returned to his mansion late in the night. Early in the morning he sent a letter to Ô Miôbu, the nurse of the Heir-apparent, in which he said: "I at last leave the capital, to-day. I know not when I may come and see the Prince again. On him my thoughts and anxieties are concentrated, above all else. Realize these feelings in your own mind, and tell them to him." He also sent the following, fastened to a bough of cherry flowers, already becoming thin:-- "When shall I see these scenes again, And view the flowers of spring in bloom, Like rustic from his mountain home, A mere spectator shall I come?" These were carefully read by Ô Miôbu to the Prince, and when he was asked what she should write in answer, he said: "Write that I said that since I feel every longing to see him, when I do not see him for a long time, how shall I feel when he goes away altogether?" Thereupon she wrote an answer, in which she indefinitely stated that she had shown the letter to the Prince, whose answer was simple, yet very affectionate, and so on, with the following:-- "'Tis sad that fair blossoms so soon fade away, In the darkness of winter no flower remains, But let spring return with its sunshiny ray, Then once more the flowers we look on again." Now, with regard to the recent disgrace of Genji, the public in general did not approve of the severity which the Court had shown to him. Moreover, he had been constantly with the Emperor, his father, since the age of seven, and his requests had been always cheerfully listened to by the latter; hence there were very many, especially among public servants of the ordinary class, who were much indebted to him. However, none of them now came to pay their respects to him. It seems that in a world of intrigue none dares do what is right for fear of risking his own interests. Such being the state of things, Genji, during the whole day, was unoccupied, and the time was entirely spent with Violet. Then, at his usual late hour in the evening, he, in a travelling dress of incognito, at length left the capital, where he had passed five-and-twenty years of his life. His attendants, Koremitz and Yoshikiyo being among them, were seven or eight in number. He took with him but little luggage. All ostentatious robes, all unnecessary articles of luxury were dispensed with. Among things taken, was a box containing the works of Hak-rak-ten (a famous Chinese poet), with other books, and besides these a _kin-koto_ for his amusement. They embarked in a boat and sailed down the river. Early the next morning they arrived at the sea-coast of Naniwa. They noticed the Ôye Palace standing lonely amidst the group of pine trees. The sight of this palace gave a thrill of sadness to Genji, who was now leaving, and not returning, home. He saw the waves rolling on the coast and again sweep back. He hummed, as he saw them:-- "The waves roll back, but unlike me, They come again." From Naniwa they continued their voyage, sailing in the bay. As they proceeded they looked back on the scenes they had left. They saw all the mountains veiled in haze, growing more and more distant, while the rowers gently pulled against the rippling waves. It seemed to them as if they were really going "three thousand miles' distance."[107] "Our home is lost in the mist of the mountain, Let us gaze on the sky which is ever the same." The day was long and the wind was fair, so they soon arrived at the coast of Suma.[108] The place was near the spot where the exiled Yukihira had lived, and had watched the beautiful smoke rising from the salt ovens. There was a thatched house in which the party temporarily took up their residence. It was a very different home from what they had been used to, and it might have appeared even novel, had the circumstances of their coming there been different. The authorities of the neighborhood were sent for, and a lodge was built under the direction of Yoshikiyo, in accordance with Genji's wishes. The work was hurried on, and the building was soon completed. In the garden, several trees, cherries and others, were planted, and water was also conducted into it. Here Genji soon took up his abode. The Governor of the province, who had been at Court, secretly paid attention to the Prince, with as much respect as was possible. For some time Genji did not feel settled in his new residence. When he had become in some degree accustomed to it, the season of continuous rain had arrived (May); his thoughts more than ever reverted to the old capital. The thoughtful expression of Violet's face, the childish affection of the Heir-apparent, and the innocent playfulness of his little son, became the objects of his reveries and anxiety, nor did he forget his old companions and acquaintances. He, therefore, sent a special messenger to the capital bearing his letters, so that speedy answers might be returned from every quarter. He also sent a messenger to Ise to make inquiry after the lady, who also sent one to him in return. Now the young daughter of Udaijin had been remaining repentingly in the mansion of her father since the events of the stormy evening. Her father felt much for her, and interceded with the Empress-mother in her behalf, and also with her son, that is, the Emperor, thus getting permission to introduce her once more into Court, an event which took place in the month of July. To return to Suma. The rainy season had passed, and autumn arrived. The sea was at some distance from the residence of Genji, but the dash of its waves sounded close to their ears as the winds passed by, of which Yukihira sang, "The autumn wind which passes the barrier of Suma." The autumn winds are, it seems, in such a place as this, far more plaintive than elsewhere. It happened one evening that when all the attendants were fast asleep Genji was awake and alone. He raised his head and rested his arms on his pillow and listened to the sound of the waves which reached his ear from a distance. They seemed nearer than ever, as though they were coming to flood his pillows. He drew his _koto_ towards him and struck a melancholy air, as he hummed a verse of a poem in a low tone. With this every one awoke and responded with a sigh. Such was a common occurrence in the evening, and Genji always felt saddened whenever he came to think that all his attendants had accompanied him, having left their families and homes simply for his sake. In the daytime, however, there were changes. He would then enjoy pleasant conversations. He also joined several papers into long rolls on which he might practise penmanship. He spent a good deal of time in drawing and sketching. He remembered how Yoshikiyo, on one occasion in Mount Kurama, had described the beautiful scenery of the place on which he was now gazing. He sketched every beautiful landscape of the neighborhood, and collected them in albums, thinking how nice it would be if he could send for Tsunenori, a renowned contemporary artist, and get him to paint the sketches which he had made. Out of all the attendants of Genji there were four or five who had been more especially his favorites, and who had constantly attended on him. One evening they were all sitting together in a corridor which commanded a full view of the sea. They perceived the island of Awaji lying in the distance, as if it were floating on the horizon, and also several boats with sailors, singing as they rowed to the shore over the calm surface of the water, like waterfowl in their native element. Over their heads flocks of wild geese rustled on their way homeward with their plaintive cry, which made the thoughts of the spectators revert to their homes. Genji hummed this verse:-- "Those wandering birds above us flying, Do they our far-off friends resemble. With their voice of plaintive crying Make us full of thoughtful sighing." Yoshikiyo took up the idea and replied:-- "Though these birds no friends of ours Are, and we to them are nought, Yet their voice in these still hours Bring those old friends to our thought." Then Koremitz continued:-- "Before to-day I always thought They flew on pleasure's wing alone, But now their fate to me is fraught With some resemblance to our own." Ukon-no-Jiô added:-- "Though we, like them, have left our home To wander forth, yet still for me There's joy to think where'er I roam My faithful friends are still with me." Ukon-no-Jiô was the brother of Ki-no-Kami. His father, Iyo-no-Kami, had now been promoted to be Hitachi-no-Kami (Governor of Hitachi), and had gone down to that province, but Ukon-no-Jiô did not join his father, who would have gladly taken him, and faithfully followed Genji. This evening happened to be the fifteenth of August, on which day a pleasant reunion is generally held at the Imperial Palace. Genji looked at the silvery pale sky, and as he did so the affectionate face of the Emperor, his brother, whose expression strikingly resembled their father's, presented itself to his mind. After a deep and long sigh, he returned to his couch, humming as he went:-- "Here is still a robe His Majesty gave to me." It should be here noticed that he had been presented by the Emperor on a certain occasion with a robe, and this robe he had never parted with, even in his exile. About this time Daini (the senior Secretary of the Lord-Lieutenant of Kiûsiû) returned to the capital with his family, having completed his official term. His daughter had been a virgin dancer, and was known to Genji. They preferred to travel by water, and slowly sailed up along the beautiful coast. When they arrived at Suma, the distant sound of a _kin_[109] was heard, mingled with the sea-coast wind, and they were told that Genji was there in exile. Daini therefore sent his son Chikzen-no-Kami to the Prince with these words: "Coming back from a distant quarter I expected as soon as I should arrive in the capital to have had the pleasure of visiting you and listening to your pleasant voice, and talking of events which have taken place there, but little did I think that you had taken up your residence in this part of the country. How greatly do I sympathize with you! I ought to land and see you at once, but there are too many people in the same boat, therefore I think it better to avoid the slightest grounds which may cause them to talk. However, possibly I shall pay you a visit soon." This Chikzen-no-Kami had been for some time previously a Kurand (a sort of equerry) to Genji, therefore his visit was especially welcome to him. He said that since he had left the capital it had become difficult to see any of his acquaintances, and that therefore this especial visit was a great pleasure to him. His reply to the message of Daini was to the same effect. Chikzen-no-Kami soon took his leave, and returning to the boat, reported to his father and others all he had seen. His sister also wrote to Genji privately thus: "Pray excuse me if I am too bold. Know you not the mind is swayed Like the tow-rope of our boat, At the sounds your Kin has made, Which around us sweetly float." When Genji received this, his pleasure was expressed by his placid smile, and he sent back the following:-- "If this music moves the mind So greatly as you say, No one would care to leave behind These lonely waves of Suma's bay." This recalls to our mind that there was in the olden time an exile who gave a stanza even to the postmaster of a village.[110] Why then should not Genji have sent to her whom he knew this stanza? In the meantime, as time went on, more sympathizers with Genji were found in the capital, including no less a personage than the Emperor himself. True it is that before Genji left, many even of his relatives and most intimate friends refrained from paying their respects to him, but in the course of time not a few began to correspond with him, and sometimes they communicated their ideas to each other in pathetic poetry. These things reached the ears of the Empress-mother, who was greatly irritated by them. She said: "The only thing a man who has offended the Court should do is to keep himself as quiet as possible. It is most unpardonable that such a man should haughtily cause scandal to the Court from his humble dwelling. Does he intend to imitate the treacherous example of one who made a deer pass for a horse?[111] Those who intrigue with such a man are equally blamable." These spiteful remarks once more put a stop to the correspondence. Meanwhile, at Suma, the autumn passed away and winter succeeded, with all its dreariness of scene, and with occasional falls of snow. Genji often spent the evening in playing upon the Kin, being accompanied by Koremitz's flute and the singing of Yoshikiyo. It was on one of these evenings that the story of a young Chinese Court lady, who had been sent to the frozen land of barbarians, occurred to Genji's mind. He thought what a great trial it would be if one were obliged to send away one whom he loved, like the lady in the tale, and as he reflected on this, with some melancholy feelings, it appeared to him as vividly as if it were only an event of yesterday, and he hummed:-- "The sound of the piper's distant strain Broke on her dreams in the frozen eve." He then tried to sleep, but could not do so, and as he lay the distant cry of Chidori reached his ears.[112] He hummed again as he heard them:-- "Although on lonely couch I lie Without a mate, yet still so near, At dawn the cries of Chidori, With their fond mates, 'tis sweet to hear." Having washed his hands, he spent some time in reading a Kiô (Sutra), and in this manner the winter-time passed away. Towards the end of February the young cherry-trees which Genji had planted in his garden blossomed, and this brought to his memory the well-known cherry-tree in the Southern Palace, and the _fête_ in which he had taken part. The noble countenance of the late ex-Emperor, and that of the present one, the then Heir-apparent, which had struck him much at that time, returned to his recollection with the scene where he had read out his poem. "While on the lordly crowd I muse, Which haunts the Royal festive hours, The day has come when I've put on The crown of fairest cherry flowers." While thus meditating on the past, strange to say, Tô-no-Chiûjiô, Genji's brother-in-law, came from the capital to see the Prince. He had been now made Saishiô (privy councillor). Having, therefore, more responsibility, he had to be more cautious in dealing with the public. He had, however, a personal sympathy with Genji, and thus came to see him, at the risk of offending the Court. The first thing which struck his eyes was, not the natural beauty of the scenery, but the style of Genji's residence, which showed the novelty of pure Chinese fashion. The enclosure was surrounded by "a trellis-work of bamboo," with "stone steps," and "pillars of pine-tree."[113] He entered, and the pleasure of Genji and Tô-no-Chiûjiô was immense, so much so that they shed tears. The style of the Prince's dress next attracted the attention of Tô-no-Chiûjiô. He was habited in a plain, simple country style, the coat being of an unforbidden color, a dull yellow, the trousers of a subdued green. The furniture was all of a temporary nature, with Go and Sugorok playing boards, as well as one for the game of Dagi. He noticed some articles for the services of religion, showing that Genji was wont to indulge in devotional exercises. The visitor told Genji many things on the subject of affairs in the capital, which he had been longing to impart to him for many months past; telling him also how the grandfather of his boy always delighted in playing with him, and giving him many more interesting details. Several fishermen came with the fish which they had caught. Genji called them in and made them show their spoils. He also led them to talk of their lives spent on the sea, and each in his own peculiar local dialect gave him a narration of his joys and sorrows. He then dismissed them with the gift of some stuff to make them clothing. All this was quite a novelty to the eyes of Tô-no-Chiûjiô, who also saw the stable in which he obtained a glimpse of some horses. The attendants at the time were feeding them. Dinner was presently served, at which the dishes were necessarily simple, yet tasteful. In the evening they did not retire to rest early, but spent their time in continuing their conversation and in composing verses. Although Tô-no-Chiûjiô had, in coming, risked the displeasure of the Court, he still thought it better to avoid any possible slander, and therefore he made up his mind to set out for his home early next morning. The _saké_ cup was offered, and they partook of it as they hummed, "In our parting cup, the tears of sadness fall." Several presents had been brought from the capital for Genji by Tô-no-Chiûjiô, and, in return, the former made him a present of an excellent dark-colored horse, and also a celebrated flute, as a token of remembrance. As the sun shed forth his brilliant rays Tô-no-Chiûjiô took his leave, and as he did so he said, "When shall I see you again, you cannot be here long?" Genji replied, "Yon noble crane that soars on high,[114] And hovers in the clear blue sky, Believe my soul as pure and light; As spotless as the spring day bright. However, a man like me, whose fortune once becomes adverse seldom regains, even in the case of great wisdom, the prosperity he once fully enjoyed, and so I cannot predict when I may find myself again in the capital." So Tô-no-Chiûjiô, having replied as follows:-- "The crane mounts up on high, 'tis true, But now he soars and cries alone, Still fondly thinking of his friend, With whom in former days he flew," set off on his homeward road, leaving Genji cast down for some time. Now the coast of Akashi is a very short distance from Suma, and there lived the former Governor of the province, now a priest, of whom we have spoken before. Yoshikiyo well remembered his lovely daughter, and, after he came to Suma with Genji, he wrote to her now and then. He did not get any answer from her, but sometimes heard from her father, to whom Genji's exile became soon known, and who wished to see him for a reason not altogether agreeable to himself. It should be remembered that this old man always entertained aspirations on behalf of his daughter, and in his eyes the successive governors of the province who came after him, and whose influence had been unbounded, were considered as nobodies. To him, his young daughter was everything; and he used to send her twice a year to visit the temple of Sumiyoshi, in order that she might obtain good fortune by the blessing of the god. She was not of an ideal beauty, but yet expressive in countenance and exalted in mind. She could, in this respect, rival any of those of high birth in the capital. The priest said one day to his wife, "Prince Genji, the imperial son of the Kôyi of Kiritsubo is now at Suma in exile, having offended the Court. How fortunate it would be if we could take the opportunity of presenting our child to him!" The wife replied, "Ah, how dreadful, when I heard what the townspeople talk, I understood that he has several mistresses. He went even so far as to carry on a secret intimacy, which happened to be obnoxious to the Emperor, and it is said that this offence was the cause of his exile." "I have some reason for mentioning this to you," he interrupted, impatiently; "it is not a thing which you understand, so make up your mind, I shall bring the matter about, and take an opportunity of making him come to us." "No matter how distinguished a personage he is," replied the wife, "it is a fact that he has offended the Court and is exiled. I do not understand why you could take a fancy to such a man for our maiden daughter. It is not a joking matter. I hope you will take it into graver consideration." "That a man of ability and distinction should meet with adverse fortune is a very common occurrence," said he, still more obstinately, "both in our empire and in that of China. How then do you venture to say such things against the Prince? His mother was the daughter of an Azechi Dainagon, who was my uncle. She enjoyed a good reputation, and when she was introduced at Court, became both prosperous and distinguished. Although her life was shortened by the suffering caused by the fierce jealousy of her rivals, she left behind the royal child, who is no other person than Prince Genji. A woman should always be aspiring, as this lady was. What objection then is there in the idea of introducing our only child to a man like him? Although I am now only a country gentleman, I do not think he would withdraw his favor from me." Such were the opinions of this old man, and hence his discouragement of the advances of Yoshikiyo. The first of March came, and Genji was persuaded by some to perform Horai (prayer for purification) for the coming occasion of the Third.[115] He therefore sent for a calendar-priest, with whom he went out, accompanied by attendants, to the sea-shore. Here a tent was erected ceremoniously, and the priest began his prayers, which were accompanied by the launching of a small boat, containing figures representing human images. On seeing this Genji said, "Never thought I, in my younger day, To be thrown on the wild sea-shore, And like these figures to float away, And perhaps see my home no more." As he contemplated the scene around him, he perceived that the wild surface of the sea was still and calm, like a mirror without its frame. He offered prayers in profound silence, and then exclaimed, "Oh, all ye eight millions of gods,[116] hear my cry, Oh, give me your sympathy, aid me, I pray, For when I look over my life, ne'er did I Commit any wrong, or my fellows betray." Suddenly, as he spoke these words, the wind arose and began to blow fiercely. The sky became dark, and torrents of rain soon followed. This caused great confusion to all present, and each ran back to the house without finishing the ceremony of prayers. None of them were prepared for the storm, and all got drenched with the rain. From this the rain continued to pour down, and the surface of the sea became as it were tapestried with white, over which the lightning darted and the thunder rolled. It seemed as if thunderbolts were crashing overhead, and the force of the rain appeared to penetrate the earth. Everyone was frightened, for they thought the end of the world was near. Genji occupied his time in quietly reading his Buddhist Bible. In the evening, the thunder became less loud, though the wind still blew not less violently than in the daytime. Everyone in the residence said that they had heard of what is termed a flood-tide, which often caused a great deal of damage, but they had never witnessed such a scene as they had that day. Genji dropped off into a slumber, when indistinctly the resemblance of a human figure came to him and said, "You are requested to come to the palace, why don't you come?" Genji was startled by the words, and awoke. He thought that the king of the dragon palace[117] might have admired him, and was perhaps the author of this strange dream. These thoughts made him weary of remaining at Suma. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 106: When a person was exiled, he was generally deprived of his own title, or was degraded. Genji appears to have been deprived of his.] [Footnote 107: A favorite phrase in Chinese poems describing the journey of exile.] [Footnote 108: Suma is about sixty miles from Kiôto, the then capital.] [Footnote 109: A musical instrument--often called a _koto._] [Footnote 110: When Sugawara, before referred to, arrived at Akashi, on his way to exile, the village postmaster expressed his surprise. Thereupon Sugawara gave him a stanza, which he composed: "Oh, master, be not surprised to see This change in my estate, for so Once to bloom, and once to fade Is spring and autumn's usual lot." ] [Footnote 111: In Chinese history it is recounted that a certain artful intriguer made a fool of his Sovereign by bringing a deer to the Court and presenting it before the Emperor, declaring it to be a horse. All the courtiers, induced by his great influence, agreed with him in calling it a horse, to the Emperor's great astonishment and bewilderment.] [Footnote 112: The coast along by Suma is celebrated for Chidori, a small sea-bird that always flies in large flocks. Their cries are considered very plaintive, and are often spoken of by poets.] [Footnote 113: Expressions used in a poem by Hak-rak-ten, describing a tasteful residence.] [Footnote 114: Here Tô-no-Chiûjiô is compared to the bird.] [Footnote 115: The third day of March is one of five festival days in China and Japan, when prayers for purification, or prayers intended to request the freeing one's self from the influence of fiends, are said on the banks of a river.] [Footnote 116: In the Japanese mythology the number of gods who assemble at their councils is stated to have been eight millions. This is an expression which is used to signify a large number rather than an exact one.] [Footnote 117: In Japanese mythology we have a story that there were two brothers, one of whom was always very lucky in fishing, and the other in hunting. One day, to vary their amusements, the former took his brother's bow and arrows and went to the mountain to hunt. The latter took the fishing-rod, and went to the sea, but unfortunately lost his brother's hook in the water. At this he was very miserable, and wandered abstractedly along the coast. The dragon god of the dragon palace, under the blue main, admired his beauty, and wishing him to marry his daughter, lured him into the dragon palace.] CHAPTER XIII EXILE AT AKASHI The storm and thunder still continued for some days, and the same strange dream visited Genji over and over again. This made him miserable. To return to the capital was not yet to be thought of, as to do so before the imperial permission was given, would only be to increase his disgrace. On the other hand, to render himself obscure by seeking further retreat was also not to be thought of, as it might cause another rumor that he had been driven away by mere fear of the disturbed state of the ocean. In the meantime, a messenger arrived from the capital with a letter from Violet. It was a letter of inquiry about himself. It was written in most affectionate terms, and stated that the weather there was extremely disagreeable, as rain was pouring down continuously, and that this made her especially gloomy in thinking of him. This letter gave Genji great pleasure. The messenger was of the lowest class. At other times Genji would never have permitted such sort of people to approach him, but under the present circumstances of his life he was only too glad to put up with it. He summoned the man to his presence, and made him talk of all the latest news in the capital. The messenger told him, in awkward terms, that in the capital these storms were considered to be a kind of heavenly warning, that a Nin-wô-ye[118] was going to be held; and that many nobles who had to go to Court were prevented from doing so by the storms, adding that he never remembered such violent storms before. From the dawn of the next day the winds blew louder, the tide flowed higher, and the sound of the waves resounded with a deafening noise. The thunder rolled and the lightning flashed, while everyone was trembling in alarm, and were all, including Genji, offering up prayers and vows to the God of Sumiyoshi, whose temple was at no great distance, and also to other gods. Meanwhile a thunderbolt struck the corridor of Genji's residence and set fire to it. The Prince and his friends retired to a small house behind, which served as a kitchen. The sky was as if blackened with ink, and in that state of darkness the day ended. In the evening the wind gradually abated, the rain diminished to a thin shower, and even the stars began to blink out of the heavens. This temporary retreat was now irksome, and they thought of returning to their dwelling quarters, but they saw nothing but ruins and confusion from the storm, so they remained where they were. Genji was occupied in prayer. The moon began to smile from above, the flow of the tide could be seen, and the rippling of the waves heard. He opened the rude wooden door, and contemplated the scene before him. He seemed to be alone in the world, having no one to participate in his feelings. He heard several fishermen talking in their peculiar dialect. Feeling much wearied by the events of the day, he soon retired, and resigned himself to slumber, reclining near one side of the room, in which there were none of the comforts of an ordinary bedchamber. All at once his late father appeared before his eyes in the exact image of life, and said to him, "Why are you in so strange a place?" and taking his hand, continued, "Embark at once in a boat, as the God of Sumiyoshi[119] guides you, and leave this coast." Genji was delighted at this, and replied, "Since I parted from you I have undergone many misfortunes, and I thought that I might be buried on this coast." "It must not be thus," the phantom replied; "your being here is only a punishment for a trifling sin which you have committed. For my own part, when I was on the throne, I did no wrong, but I have somehow been involved in some trifling sin, and before I expiated it I left the world. Hurt, however, at beholding you oppressed with such hardships I came up here, plunging into the waves, and rising on the shore. I am much fatigued; but I have something I wish to tell the Emperor, so I must haste away," and he left Genji, who felt very much affected, and cried out, "Let me accompany you!" With this exclamation he awoke, and looked up, when he saw nothing but the moon's face shining through the windows, with the clouds reposing in the sky. The image of his father still vividly remained before his eyes, and he could not realize that it was only a dream. He became suddenly sad, and was filled with regret that he did not talk a little more, even though it was only in a dream. He could not sleep any more this night, and dawn broke, when a small boat was seen approaching the coast, with a few persons in it. A man from the boat came up to the residence of Genji. When he was asked who he was, he replied that the priest of Akashi (the former Governor) had come from Akashi in his boat, and that he wished to see Yoshikiyo, and to tell him the reason of his coming. Yoshikiyo was surprised, and said, "I have known him for years, but there was a slight reason why we were not the best of friends, and some time has now passed without correspondence. What makes him come?" As to Genji, however, the arrival of the boat made him think of its coincidence with the subject of his dream, so he hurried Yoshikiyo to go and see the new comers. Thereupon the latter went to the boat, thinking as he went, "How could he come to this place amidst the storms which have been raging?" The priest now told Yoshikiyo that in a dream which he had on the first day of the month, a strange being told him a strange thing, and, said he, "I thought it too credulous to believe in a dream, but the object appeared again, and told me that on the thirteenth of this month he will give me a supernatural sign, directing me also to prepare a boat, and as soon as the storm ceased, to sail out to this coast. Therefore, to test its truth I launched a boat, but strange to say, on this day the extraordinarily violent weather of rain, wind, and thunder occurred. I then thought that in China there had been several instances of people benefiting the country by believing in dreams, so though this may not exactly be the case with mine, yet I thought it my duty, at all events, to inform you of the fact. With these thoughts I started in the boat, when a slight miraculous breeze, as it were, blew, and drove me to this coast. I can have no doubt that this was divine direction. Perhaps there might have been some inspiration in this place, too; and I wish to trouble you to transmit this to the Prince." Yoshikiyo then returned and faithfully told Genji all about his conversation with the priest. When Genji came to reflect, he thought that so many dreams having visited him must have some significance. It might only increase his disgrace if he were to despise such divine warnings merely from worldly considerations, and from fear of consequences. It would be better to resign himself to one more advanced in age, and more experienced than himself. An ancient sage says, that "resigning one's self makes one happier," besides, his father had also enjoined him in the dream to leave the coast of Suma, and there remained no further doubt for taking this step. He, therefore, gave this answer to the priest, that "coming into an unknown locality, plunged in solitude, receiving scarcely any visits from friends in the capital, the only thing I have to regard as friends of old times are the sun and the moon that pass over the boundless heavens. Under these circumstances, I shall be only too delighted to visit your part of the coast, and to find there such a suitable retreat." This answer gave the priest great joy, and he pressed Genji to set out at once and come to him. The Prince did so with his usual four or five confidential attendants. The same wind which had miraculously blown the vessel of the priest to Suma now changed, and carried them with equal favor and speed back to Akashi. On their landing they entered a carriage waiting for them, and went to the mansion of the priest. The scenery around the coast was no less novel than that of Suma, the only difference being that there were more people there. The building was grand, and there was also a grand Buddha-hall adjoining for the service of the priest. The plantations of trees, the shrubberies, the rock-work, and the mimic lakes in the garden were so beautifully arranged as to exceed the power of an artist to depict, while the style of the dwelling was so tasteful that it was in no way inferior to any in the capital. The wife and the daughter of the priest were not residing here, but were at another mansion on the hill-side, where they had removed from fear of the recent high tides. Genji now took up his quarters with the priest in this seaside mansion. The first thing he did when he felt a little settled was to write to the capital, and tell his friends of his change of residence. The priest was about sixty years old, and was very sincere in his religious service. The only subject of anxiety which he felt was, as we have already mentioned, the welfare of his daughter. When Genji became thoroughly settled he often joined the priest, and spent hours in conversing with him. The latter, from his age and experience, was full of information and anecdotes, many of which were quite new to Genji, but the narration of them seemed always to turn upon his daughter. April had now come. The trees began to be clothed with a thick shade of leaves, which had a peculiar novelty of appearance, differing from that of the flowers of spring, or the bright dyes of autumn. The Kuina (a particular bird of summer) commenced their fluttering. The furniture and dresses were changed for those more suitable to the time of year. The comfort of the house was most agreeable. It was on one of these evenings that the surface of the broad ocean spread before the eye was unshadowed by the clouds, and the Isle of Awaji floated like foam on its face, just as it appeared to do at Suma. Genji took out his favorite _kin_, on which he had not practised for some time, and was playing an air called "Kôriô," when the priest joined him, having left for awhile his devotions, and said that his music recalled to his mind the old days and the capital which he had quitted so long. He sent for a _biwa_ (mandolin)[120] and a _soh-koto_ from the hill-side mansion, and, after the fashion of a blind singer of ballads to the _biwa_, played two or three airs. He then handed the _soh-koto_ to Genji, who also played a few tunes, saying, as he did so, in a casual manner, "This sounds best when played upon by some fair hand." The priest smiled, and rejoined: "What better hand than yours need we wish to hear playing; for my part, my poor skill has been transmitted to me, through three generations, from the royal hand of the Emperor Yenghi, though I now belong to the past; but, occasionally, when my loneliness oppresses me, I indulge in my old amusement, and there is one who, listening to my strains, has learnt to imitate them so well that they resemble those of the Emperor Yenghi himself. I shall be very happy, if you desire, to find an opportunity for you to hear them." Genji at once laid aside the instrument, saying: "Ah, how bold! I did not know I was among proficients," and continued, "From olden time the _soh-koto_ was peculiarly adopted by female musicians. The fifth daughter of the Emperor Saga, from whom she had received the secret, was a celebrated performer, but no one of equal skill succeeded her. Of course there are several players, but these merely strike or strum on the instrument; but in this retreat there is a skilful hand. How delightful it will be." "If you desire to hear, there is no difficulty. I will introduce her to you. She also plays the _biwa_ very well. The _biwa_ has been considered from olden time very difficult to master, and I am proud of her doing so." In this manner the priest led the conversation to his own daughter, while fruit and _sake_ were brought in for refreshment. He then went on talking of his life since he first came to the coast of Akashi, and of his devotion to religion, for the sake of future happiness, and also out of solicitude for his daughter. He continued: "Although I feel rather awkward in saying it, I am almost inclined to think your coming to this remote vicinity has something providential in it, as an answer, as it were, to our earnest prayers, and it may give you some consolation and pleasure. The reason why I think so is this--it is nearly eighteen years since we began to pray for the blessing of the God Sumiyoshi on our daughter, and we have sent her twice a year, in spring and autumn, to his temple. At the 'six-time' service,[121] also, the prayers for my own repose on the lotus flower,[122] are only secondary to those which I put up for the happiness of my daughter. My father, as you may know, held a good office in the capital, but I am now a plain countryman, and if I leave matters in their present state, the status of my family will soon become lower and lower. Fortunately this girl was promising from her childhood, and my desire was to present her to some distinguished personage in the capital, not without disappointment to many suitors, and I have often told her that if my desire is not fulfilled she had better throw herself into the sea." Such was the tedious discourse which the priest held on the subject of his family affairs; yet it is not surprising that it awakened an interest in the susceptible mind of Genji for the fair maiden thus described as so promising. The priest at last, in spite of the shyness and reserve of the daughter, and the unwillingness of the mother, conducted Genji to the hill-side mansion, and introduced him to the maiden. In the course of time they gradually became more than mere acquaintances to each other. For some time Genji often found himself at the hill-side mansion, and her society appeared to afford him greater pleasure than anything else, but this did not quite meet with the approval of his conscience, and the girl in the mansion at Nijio returned to his thoughts. If this flirtation of his should become known to her, he thought, it perhaps would be very annoying to her. True, she was not much given to be jealous, but he well remembered the occasional complaints she had now and then made to him while in the capital. These feelings induced him to write more frequently and more minutely to her, and he soon began to frequent the hill-side mansion less often. His leisure hours were spent in sketching, as he used to do in Suma, and writing short poetic effusions explanatory of the scenery. This was also going on in the mansion at Nijio, where Violet passed the long hours away in painting different pictures, and also in writing, in the form of a diary, what she saw and did. What will be the issue of all these things? Now, since the spring of the year there had been several heavenly warnings in the capital, and things in general were somewhat unsettled. On the evening of the thirteenth of March, when the rain and wind had raged, the late Emperor appeared in a dream to his son the Emperor, in front of the palace, looking reproachfully upon him. The Emperor showed every token of submission and respect when the dead Emperor told him of many things, all of which concerned Genji's interests. The Emperor became alarmed, and when he awoke he told his mother all about his dream. She, however, told him that on such occasions, when the storm rages, and the sky is obscured by the disturbance of the elements, all things, especially on which our thoughts have been long occupied, appear to us in a dream in a disturbed sleep; and she continued, "I further counsel you not to be too hastily alarmed by such trifles." From this time he began to suffer from sore eyes, which may have resulted from the angry glances of his father's spirit. About the same time the father of the Empress-mother died. His death was by no means premature; but yet, when such events take place repeatedly, it causes the mind to imagine there is something more than natural going on, and this made the Empress-mother feel a little indisposed. The Emperor then constantly told her that if Genji were left in his present condition it might induce evil, and, therefore, it would be better to recall him, and restore his titles and honors to him. She obstinately opposed these ideas, saying, "If a person who proved to be guilty, and has retired from the capital, were to be recalled before the expiration of at least three years, it would naturally show the weakness of authority." She gained her point, and thus the days were spent and the year changed. The Emperor still continually suffered from indisposition, and the unsettled state of things remained the same as before. A prince had been born to him, who was now about two years old, and he began to think of abdicating the throne in favor of the Heir-apparent, the child of the Princess Wistaria. When he looked around to see who would best minister public affairs, he came to think that the disgrace of Genji was a matter not to be allowed to continue, and at last, contrary to the advice of his mother, he issued a public permission for Genji's return to the capital, which was repeated at the end of July. Genji therefore prepared to come back. Before, however, he started, a month passed away, which time was mostly spent in the society of the lady of the hill-side mansion. The expected journey of Genji was now auspicious, even to him, and ought also to have been so to the family of the priest, but parting has always something painful in its nature. This was more so because the girl had by this time the witness of their love in her bosom, but he told her that he would send for her when his position was assured in the capital. Towards the middle of August everything was in readiness, and Genji started on his journey homeward. He went to Naniwa, where he had the ceremony of Horai performed. To the temple of Sumiyoshi he sent a messenger to say that the haste of his journey prevented him coming at this time, but that he would fulfil his vows as soon as circumstances would permit. From Naniwa he proceeded to the capital, and returned once more, after an absence of nearly three years, to his mansion at Nijiô. The joy and excitement of the inmates of the mansion were unbounded, and the development of Violet charmed his eyes. His delight was great and the pleasure of his mind was of the most agreeable nature; still, from time to time, in the midst of this very pleasure, the recollection of the maiden whom he had left at Akashi occurred to his thoughts. But this kind of perturbation was only the result of what had arisen from the very nature of Genji's character. Before the lapse of many days all his titles and honors were restored to him, and he was soon created an extra Vice-Dainagon. All those who had lost dignities or office on account of Genji's complications were also restored to them. It seemed to these like a sudden and unexpected return of spring to the leafless tree. In the course of a few days Genji was invited by the Emperor to come and see him. The latter had scarcely recovered from his indisposition, and was still looking weak and thin. When Genji appeared before him, he manifested great pleasure, and they conversed together in a friendly way till the evening. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 118: A religious feast in the Imperial Palace, in which Nin-wô-kiô, one of the Buddhist Bibles, was read, an event which rarely took place. Its object was to tranquillize the country.] [Footnote 119: The god of the sea.] [Footnote 120: The "biwa," more than any other instrument, is played by blind performers, who accompany it with ballads.] [Footnote 121: The services performed by rigid priests were six times daily--namely, at early morn, mid-day, sunset, early evening, midnight, and after midnight.] [Footnote 122: The Buddhist idea that when we get into Paradise we take our seat upon the lotus flower.] CHAPTER XIV THE BEACON Genji well remembered the dream which he had dreamt at Suma, and in which his father, the late ex-Emperor, had made a faint allusion to his fallen state. He was always thinking of having solemn service performed for him, which might prove to be a remedy for evils. He was now in the capital, and at liberty to do anything he wished. In October, therefore, he ordered the grand ceremony of Mihakkô to be performed for the repose of the dead. Meanwhile the respect of the public towards Genji had now returned to its former state, and he himself had become a distinguished personage in the capital. The Empress-mother, though indisposed, regretted she had not ruined Genji altogether; while the Emperor, who had not forgotten the injunction of the late ex-Emperor, felt satisfied with his recent disposition towards his half-brother, which he believed to be an act of goodness. This he felt the more, because he noticed the improvement in his health continued from day to day, and he experienced a sensation of fresh vigor. He did not, however, believe he should be long on the throne, and when he found himself lonely, he often sent for Genji, and spent hours conversing with him, without any reserve, on public affairs. In February of the next year the ceremony of the "Gembuk" of the Heir-apparent, who was eleven years of age, was performed. At the end of the same month the Emperor abdicated the throne in favor of the Heir-apparent, and his own son was made the Heir-apparent to the new Emperor. The suddenness of these changes struck the Empress-mother with surprise, but she was told by her son that his abdication had been occasioned by his desire to enjoy quiet and repose. The new reign opened with several changes in public affairs. Genji had been made Naidaijin. He filled this extra office of Daijin because there was no vacancy either in the Sadaijin or the Udaijin. He was to take an active part in the administration, but as he was not yet disposed to engage in the busy cares of official life, the ex-Sadaijin, his father-in-law, was solicited to become the regent for the young Emperor. He at first declined to accept the office, on the ground that he was advanced in age, that he had already retired from official life, and that the decline of his life left him insufficient energy. There was, however, an example in a foreign State, where some wise councillors, who resigned and had retired into the far-off mountains when their country was in a disturbed state, came forth from their retreat, with their snow-crowned heads, and took part in the administration of affairs. Nor was it an unusual thing for a statesman who had retired from political scenes to assume again a place under another government. So the ex-Sadaijin did not persist in his refusal, but finally accepted the post of Dajiôdaijin (the Premier). He was now sixty-three years of age. His former retirement had taken place more on account of his disgust with the world than from his indisposition, and hence, when he accepted his new post, he at once showed how capable he was of being a responsible Minister. Tô-no-Chiûjiô, his eldest son, was also made the Gon-Chiûnagon. His daughter by his wife, the fourth daughter of Udaijin, was now twelve years old, and was shortly expected to be presented at Court; while his son, who had sung the "high sand" at a summer-day reunion at Genji's mansion, received a title. The young Genji too, the son of the late Lady Aoi, was admitted to the Court of the Emperor and of the Heir-apparent. The attendants who faithfully served the young Genji, and those in the mansion at Nijiô, had all received a satisfactory token of appreciation from Genji, who now began to have a mansion repaired, which was situated to the east of the one in which he resided, and which had formerly belonged to his father. This he did with a notion of placing there some of his intimate friends, such as the younger one of the ladies in the "Villa of Falling Flowers." Now the young maiden also, whom Genji had left behind at Akashi, and who had been in delicate health, did not pass away from his thoughts. He despatched a messenger there on the first of March, as he deemed the happy event would take place about that time. When the messenger returned, he reported that she was safely delivered of a girl on the sixteenth of the month. He remembered the prediction of an astrologer who had told him that an Emperor would be born to him, and another son who would eventually become a Dajiôdaijin. He also remembered that a daughter, who would be afterwards an Empress, would be also born to him, by a lady inferior to the mothers of the other two children. When he reflected on this prediction and on the series of events, he began thinking of the remarkable coincidences they betrayed; and as he thought of sending for her, as soon as the condition of the young mother's health would admit, he hurried forward the repairs of the eastern mansion. He also thought that as there might not be a suitable nurse at Akashi for the child, he ought to send one from the capital. Fortunately there was a lady there who had lately been delivered of a child. Her mother, who had waited at Court when the late ex-Emperor lived, and her father, who had been some time Court Chamberlain, were both dead. She was now in miserable circumstances. Genji sounded her, through a certain channel, whether she would not be willing to be useful to him. This offer on his part she accepted without much hesitation, and was despatched with a confidential servant to attend on the new-born child. He also sent with her a sword and other presents. She left the capital in a carriage, and proceeded by boat to the province of Settsu, and thence on horseback to Akashi. When she arrived the priest was intensely delighted, and the young mother, who had been gradually improving in health, felt great consolation. The child was very healthy, and the nurse at once began to discharge her duties most faithfully. Hitherto Genji did not confide the story of his relations with the maiden of Akashi to Violet, but he thought he had better do so, as the matter might naturally reach her ears. He now, therefore, informed her of all the circumstances, and of the birth of the child, saying, "If you feel any unpleasantness about the matter, I cannot blame you in any way. It was not the blessing which I desired. How greatly do I regret that in the quarter where I wished to see the heavenly gift, there is none, but see it in another, where there was no expectation. The child is merely a girl too, and I almost think that I need pay no further attention. But this would make me heartless towards my undoubted offspring. I shall send for it and show it to you, and hope you will be generous to her. Can you assure me you will be so?" At these words Violet's face became red as crimson, but she did not lose her temper, and quietly replied: "Your saying this only makes me contemptible to myself, as I think my generosity may not yet be fully understood; but I should like to know when and where I could have learnt to be ungenerous." "These words sound too hard to me," said he. "How can you be so cruel to me? Pray don't attribute any blame to me; I never thought of it. How miserable am I!" And he began to drop tears when he came to reflect how faithful she had been all the time, and how affectionate, and also how regular had been her correspondence. He felt sorry for her, and continued, "In my anxious thoughts about this child, I have some intentions which may be agreeable to you also, only I will not tell you too hastily, since, if I do so now, they might not be taken in a favorable light. The attractions of the mother seem only to have arisen from the position in which she was placed. You must not think of the matter too seriously." He then briefly sketched her character and her skill in music. But on the part of Violet she could not but think that it was cruel to her to give away part of his heart, while her thoughts were with no one but him, and she was quite cast down for some time. Genji tried to console her. He took up a _kin_ and asked her to play and sing with him; but she did not touch it, saying that she could not play it so well as the maiden of Akashi. This very manner of her mild jealousy made her more captivating to him, and without further remarks the subject was dropped. The fifth of May was the fiftieth day of the birth of the child, so Genji sent a messenger to Akashi a few days before the time when he would be expected. At Akashi the feast for the occasion was arranged with great pains, and the arrival of Genji's messenger was most opportune. Let us now relate something about the Princess Wistaria.--Though she had become a nun, her title of ex-Empress had never been lost; and now the change in the reigning sovereign gave her fresh honors. She had been recognized as equivalent to an Empress-regnant who had abdicated. A liberal allowance was granted to her, and a becoming household was established for her private use. She, however, still continued her devotion to religion, now and then coming to Court to see her son, where she was received with all cordiality; so that her rival, the mother of the ex-Emperor, whose influence was overwhelming till lately, now began to feel like one to whom the world had become irksome. In the meantime, public affairs entirely changed their aspects, and the world seemed at this time to have been divided between the Dajiôdaijin and his son-in-law, Genji, by whose influence all things in public were swayed. In August, of this year, the daughter of Gon-Chiûnagon (formerly Tô-no-Chiûjiô) was introduced at Court. She took up her abode in the Kokiden, which had been formerly occupied by her maternal aunt, and she was also styled from this time the Niogo of Kokiden. Prince Hiôb-Kiô had also the intention of introducing his second daughter at Court, but Genji took no interest in this. What will he eventually do about this matter? In the same autumn Genji went to the Temple of Sumiyoshi to fulfil his vows. His party consisted of many young nobles and Court retainers, besides his own private attendants. By a coincidence the maiden of Akashi, who had been prevented from coming to the Temple since the last year, happened to arrive there on the same day. Her party travelled in a boat, and when it reached the beach they saw the procession of Genji's party crossing before them. They did not know what procession it was, and asked the bystanders about it, who, in return, asked them sarcastically, "Can there be anyone who does not know of the coming of Naidaijin, the Prince Genji, here to-day to fulfil his vows?" Most of the young nobles were on horseback, with beautifully made saddles; and others, including Ukon-no-Jiô, Yoshikiyo, and Koremitz, in fine uniforms of different colors (blue, green, or scarlet), according to their different ranks, formed the procession, contrasting with the hue of the range of pine-trees on both sides of the road. Genji was in a carriage, which was followed by ten boy pages, granted by the Court in the same way as a late Sadaijin, Kawara, had been honored. They were dressed in admirable taste, and their hair was twisted up in the form of a double knot, with ribbons of gorgeous purple. The young Genji was also in the procession on horseback, and followed the carriage. The maiden of Akashi witnessed the procession, but she avoided making herself known. She thought she had better not go up to the Temple on that day; but she could not sail back to Akashi, so she had her boat moored in the bay of Naniwa for the night. As to Genji, he knew nothing of the maiden being a spectator of the procession, and spent the whole night in the Temple with his party in performing services which might please the God. It was then that he was informed by Koremitz that he had seen the maiden of Akashi in a boat. On the morrow Genji and his party set off for their homes. As they proceeded Genji hummed, "Ima hata onaji Naniwa nal,"[123] and he stopped, while contemplating the bay. Koremitz, who stood beside him, and divined what he was thinking about, took out a small pen from his pocket and presented it to Genji, who took it and wrote the following on a piece of paper, which he sent to the maiden by one of his attendants who knew her whereabouts:-- "Divinely led by love's bright flame, To this lone temple's shrine we come; And as yon beacon meets our eye, To dream, perchance, of days gone by." A few words more. The change of the ruler had brought a change of the Saigû; and the Lady of Rokjiô, with her daughter, returned to the capital. Her health, however, began to fail, and she became a nun, and after some time died. Before her death Genji visited her, and with her last breath she consigned her daughter to his care. Genji was thinking, therefore, of introducing her at Court at some future time. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 123: A line of an old ode about the beacon in the bay of Naniwa, at the same time expressing the desire of meeting with a loved one. It is impossible to translate this ode literally, as in the original there is a play upon words, the word beacon (in Japanese) also meaning "enthusiastic endeavor." The word "myo-tzkushi" (= beacon) more properly means "water-marker" though disused in the modern Japanese. In the translation a little liberty has been taken.] CHAPTER XV OVERGROWN MUGWORT When Genji was an exile on the sea-coast, many people had been longing for his return. Among these was the Princess Hitachi. She was, as we have seen, the survivor of his Royal father, and the kindness which she had received from Genji was to her like the reflection of the broad starlit sky in a basin of water. After Genji left the capital, however, no correspondence ever passed between them. Several of her servants left her, and her residence became more lonely than ever. A fox might have found a covert in the overgrown shrubbery, and the cry of the owl might have been heard among the thick branches. One might imagine some mysterious "tree-spirit" to reign there. Nevertheless, such grounds as these, surrounded with lofty trees, are more tempting to those who desire to have a stylish dwelling. Hence there were several Duriôs (local governors) who had become rich, and having returned from different provinces, sounded the Princess to see if she were inclined to part with her residence; but this she always refused to do, saying that, however unfortunate she might be, she was not able to give up a mansion inherited from her parents. The mansion contained also a store of rare and antique articles. Several fashionable persons endeavored to induce the Princess to part with them; but such people appeared only contemptible to her, as she looked upon them as proposing such a thing solely because they knew she was poor. Her attendants sometimes suggested to her that it was by no means an uncommon occurrence for one to dispose of such articles when destiny necessitated the sacrifice; but her reply was that these things had been handed down to her only that she might make use of them, and that she would be violating the wishes of the dead if she consented to part with them, allowing them to become the ornament of the dwellings of some lowborn upstarts. Scarcely anyone paid a visit to her dwelling, her only occasional visitor being her brother, a priest, who came to see her when he came to the capital, but he was a man of eccentric character, and was not very flourishing in his circumstances. Such being the state of affairs with the Princess Hitachi, the grounds of her mansion became more and more desolate and wild, the mugwort growing so tall that it reached the veranda. The surrounding walls of massive earth broke down here and there and crumbled away, being trampled over by wandering cattle. In spring and summer boys would sometimes play there. In the autumn a gale blew down a corridor, and carried away part of the shingle roof. Only one blessing remained there--no thief intruded into the enclosure, as no temptation was offered to them for their attack. But never did the Princess lose her accustomed reserve, which her parents had instilled into her mind. Society for her had no attractions. She solaced the hours of her loneliness by looking over ancient story-books and poems, which were stored in the old bookshelves, such as the Karamori, Hakoya-no-toji, or Kakya-hime. These, with their illustrations, were her chief resources. Now a sister of the Princess's mother had married a Duriô, and had already borne him a daughter. This marriage had been considered an unequal match by the father of the Princess, and for this reason she was not very friendly with the family. Jijiû, however, who was a daughter of the Princess's nurse, and who still remained with the Princess, used to go to her. This aunt was influenced by a secret feeling of spite, and when Jijiû visited her she often whispered to her many things which did not become her as a lady. It seems to me that where a lady of ordinary degree is elevated to a higher position, she often acquires a refinement like one originally belonging to it; but there are other women, who when degraded from their rank spoil their taste and habits just like the lady in question. She fondly hoped to revenge herself for having been formerly looked down upon, by showing an apparent kindness to the Princess Hitachi, and by wishing to take her into her home, and make her wait upon her daughters. With this view she told Jijiu to tell her mistress to come to her, and Jijiu did so; but the Princess did not comply with this request. In the meantime the lady's husband was appointed Daini (Senior Secretary to the Lord-Lieutenant), and they were to go down to Tzkushi (modern Kiusiu). She wished to take the Princess with her, and told her that she felt sorry to go to such a far-off locality, leaving her in her present circumstances; but the latter still unhesitatingly replied in the negative, and declined the offer; whereupon her aunt tauntingly remarked that she was too proud, and that, however exalted she might think herself, no one, not even Genji, would show her any further attention. About this time Genji returned, but for some while she heard nothing from him, and only the public rejoicing of many people, and the news about him from the outside world reached her ears. This gave her aunt a further opportunity of repeating the same taunts. She said, "See now who cares for you in your present circumstances. It is not praiseworthy to display such self-importance as you did in the lifetime of your father." And again she pressed her to go with her, but the Princess still clung to the hope that the time would come when Genji would remember her and renew his kindness. Winter came! One day, quite unexpectedly, the aunt arrived at the mansion, bringing as a present a dress for the Princess. Her carriage dashed into the garden in a most pompous style, and drove right up to the southern front of the building. Jijiu went to meet her, and conducted her into the Princess's apartment. "I must soon be leaving the capital," said the visitor. "It is not my wish to leave you behind, but you would not listen to me, and now there is no help. But this one, this Jijiu at least, I wish to take with me. I have come to-day to fetch her. I cannot understand how you can be content with your present condition." Here she manifested a certain sadness, but her delight at her husband's promotion was unmistakable, and she continued:-- "When your father was alive, I was looked down upon by him, which caused a coolness between us. But nevertheless I at no time entertained any ill-will towards you, only you were much favored by Prince Genji, as I heard, which made me abstain from visiting you often; but fortune is fickle, for those in a humble position often enjoy comfort, and those that are higher in station are not quite so well circumstanced. I do really feel sorry to leave you behind." The Princess said very little, but her answer was, "I really thank you for your kind attention, but I do not think I am now fit to move about in the world. I shall be quite happy to bury myself under this roof." "Well, you may think so, but it is simply foolish to abandon one's self, and to bury one's life under such a mass of dilapidation. Had Prince Genji been kind enough to repair the place, it might have become transformed into a golden palace, and how joyous would it not be? but this you cannot expect. As far as I am informed the daughter of Prince Hiob-Kio is the only favorite of the Prince, and no one else shares his attention, all his old favorites being now abandoned. How, then, can you expect him to say that, because you have been faithful to him, he will therefore come to you again?" These words touched the Princess, but she gave no vent to her feelings. The visitor, therefore, hurried Jijiu to get ready, saying that they must leave before the dusk. "When I hear what the lady says," said Jijiu, "it sounds to me very reasonable; but when I see how anxious the Princess is, that also seems natural. Thus I am puzzled between the two. Let me, however, say this, I will only see the lady off to-day." Nevertheless, the Princess foresaw that Jijiu was going to leave her, and she thought of giving her some souvenir. Her own dress was not to be thought of, as it was too old; fortunately she had a long tress of false hair, about nine feet long, made of the hair which had fallen from her own head. This she put into an old casket, and gave it to Jijiu, with a jar of rare perfume. Jijiu had been an attendant on the Princess for a very long time, besides, her mother (the nurse), before she died, told the Princess and her daughter that she hoped they might be long together; so the parting with Jijiu was very trying to the Princess who said to her that though she could not blame her for leaving, she still felt sorry to lose her. To this Jijiu replied, that she never forgot the wishes of her mother, and was only too happy to share joy and sorrow with the Princess; yet she was sorry to say that circumstances obliged her to leave her for some time; but before she could say much, she was hurried away by the visitor. It was one evening in April of the following year that Genji happened to be going to the villa of "the falling flowers," and passed by the mansion of the Princess. There was in the garden a large pine-tree, from whose branches the beautiful clusters of a wistaria hung in rich profusion. A sigh of the evening breeze shook them as they hung in the silver moonlight, and scattered their rich fragrance towards the wayfarer. There was also a weeping willow close by, whose pensile tresses of new verdure touched the half-broken walls of earth underneath. When Genji beheld this beautiful scene from his carriage, he at once remembered it was a place he had seen before. He stopped his carriage, and said to Koremitz, who was with him as usual-- "Is this not the mansion of the Princess Hitachi?" "Yes, it is," replied Koremitz. "Do ask if she is still here," said Genji; "this is a good chance; I will see her if she is at home--ask!" Koremitz entered, and proceeding to the door, called out. An old woman from the inside demanded to know who he was. Koremitz announced himself, and asked if Jijiû was within. The old women replied that she was not, but that she herself was the same as Jijiû. Koremitz recognized her as an aunt of the latter. He then asked her about the Princess, and told her of Genji's intention. To his inquiries he soon obtained a satisfactory answer, and duly reported it to Genji, who now felt a pang of remorse for his long negligence of one so badly circumstanced. He descended from his carriage, but the pathway was all but overgrown with tall mugwort, which was wet with a passing shower; so Koremitz whisked them with his whip, and led him in. Inside, meanwhile, the Princess, though she felt very pleased, experienced a feeling of shyness. Her aunt, it will be remembered, had presented her with a suitable dress, which she had hitherto had no pleasure in wearing, and had kept it in a box which had originally contained perfume. She now took this out and put it on. Genji was presently shown into the room. "It is a long time since I saw you last," said Genji, "but still I have never forgotten you, only I heard nothing from you; so I waited till now, and here I find myself once more." The Princess, as usual, said very little, only thanking him for his visit. He then addressed her in many kind and affectionate words, many of which he might not really have meant, and after a considerable stay he at last took his departure. This was about the time of the feast in the Temple of Kamo, and Genji received several presents under various pretexts. He distributed these presents among his friends, such as those in the villa of "the falling flowers," and to the Princess. He also sent his servant to the mansion of the latter to cut down the rampant mugwort, and he restored the grounds to proper order. Moreover, he had a wooden enclosure placed all round the garden. So far as the world hitherto knew about Genji, he was supposed only to cast his eyes on extraordinary and pre-eminent beauties; but we see in him a very different character in the present instance. He showed so much kindness to the Princess Hitachi, who was by no means distinguished for her beauty, and who still bore a mark on her nose which might remind one of a well-ripened fruit carried by mountaineers. How was this? it might have been preordained to be so. The Princess continued to live in the mansion for two years, and then she removed to a part of a newly built "eastern mansion" belonging to Genji, where she lived happily under the kind care of the Prince, though he had much difficulty in coming often to see her. I would fain describe the astonishment of her aunt when she returned from the Western Island and saw the Princess's happy condition, and how Jijiu regretted having left her too hastily; but my head is aching and my fingers are tired, so I shall wait for some future opportunity when I may again take up the thread of my story. CHAPTER XVI BARRIER HOUSE We left beautiful Cicada at the time when she quitted the capital with her husband. Now this husband Iyo-no-Kami, had been promoted to the governorship of Hitachi, in the year which followed that of the demise of the late ex-Emperor, and Cicada accompanied him to the province. It was a year after Genji's return that they came back to the capital. On the day when they had to pass the barrier house of Ausaka (meeting-path) on their homeward way, Hitachi's sons, the eldest known to us as Ki-no-Kami, now became Kawachi-no-Kami, and others went from the city to meet them. It so happened that Genji was to pay his visit to the Temple of Ishiyama on this very day. This became known to Hitachi, who, thinking it would be embarrassing if they met with his procession on the road, determined to start very early; but, somehow or another, time passed on, and when they came to the lake coast of Uchiide (modern Otz, a place along Lake Biwa), the sun had risen high, and this was the moment when Genji was crossing the Awata Road. In the course of a few hours the outriders of Genji's cortège came in sight; so that Hitachi's party left their several carriages, and seated themselves under the shade of the cedars on the hill-side of Ausaka, in order to avoid encountering Genji and his procession. It was the last day of September. All the herbage was fading under the influence of the coming winter, and many tinted autumn leaves displayed their different hues over the hills and fields. The scene was in every way pleasing to the eyes of the spectators. The number of the carriages of Hitachi's party was about ten in all, and the style and appearance of the party showed no traces of rusticity of taste. It might have been imagined that the party of the Saigû journeying towards or from Ise, might be something similar to this one. Genji soon caught sight of them, and became aware that it was Hitachi. He therefore sent for Cicada's brother--whom we know as Kokimi, and who had now been made Uyemon-no-Ske--from the party, and told him that he hoped his attention in coming there to meet them would not be considered unfavorable. This Kokimi, as we know, had received much kindness from Genji up to the time of his becoming a man; but when Genji had to quit the capital he left him and joined his brother-in-law in his official province. This was not viewed as very satisfactory; but Genji manifested no bad feeling to him, and treated him still as one of his household attendants. Ukon-no-Jiô, a brother-in-law of Cicada, on the other hand, had faithfully followed Genji to his exile, and after their return he was more than ever favored by Genji. This state of things made many feel for the bad taste of the ordinary weakness of the world, exhibited by the faithfully following of one when circumstances are flourishing, and deserting him in the time of adversity. Kokimi himself was one of those who fully realized these feelings, and was pained by them. When Genji finished his visit to the Temple, and was coming back, Kokimi once more came from the capital to meet him. Through him Genji sent a letter to his sister, asking her if she had recognized him when he passed at Ausaka, adding the following verse:-- "As onward we our way did take, On Meeting-Path, both I and you, We met not, for by the saltless lake, No _milme_[124] by its waters grew." In handing the letter to Kokimi, Genji said, "Give this to your sister; it is a long time since I heard anything from her, still the past seems to me only like yesterday. But do you disapprove of my sending this?" Kokimi replied in a few words, and took the letter back to his sister, and told her, when he gave it, that she might easily give him some sort of answer. She did indeed disapprove of treating the matter in any way more seriously than she had formerly done, yet she wrote the following:-- "By Barrier-House--oh, name unkind, That bars the path of friendly greeting; We passed along with yearning mind, But passed, alas! without a meeting." After this time some other correspondence now and then passed between them. As time rolled on the health of her aged husband visibly declined; and after fervently enjoining his sons to be kind and attentive to her, in due time he breathed his last. For some time they were kind and attentive to her, as their father had requested, and there was nothing unsatisfactory in their behavior towards her, yet many things which were not altogether pleasant gradually presented themselves to her, and so it is always in life. Finally Cicada, telling her intentions to no one beforehand, became a nun. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 124: The name of a seaweed, but also meaning the eyes that meet, and hence the twofold sense of the word.] CHAPTER XVII COMPETITIVE SHOW OF PICTURES The introduction of the late Saigû, the daughter of the Lady of Rokjiô, at Court, was now arranged to take place, with the approval of the Empress-mother (the Princess Wistaria). All the arrangements and preparations were made, though not quite openly, under the eye of Genji, who took a parental interest in her. It may be remembered that the ex-Emperor was once struck by her charms, on the eve of her departure for Ise; and though he never encouraged this fancy to become anything more than an ordinary partiality, he took no small interest in all that concerned her welfare. When the day of introduction arrived, he made her several beautiful presents, such as a comb-box, a dressing-table, and a casket containing rare perfumes. At her residence all her female attendants, and some others, assembled, who made every preparation with the utmost pains. In the Palace, the Empress-mother was with her Royal son on this day. He was still a mere boy, and scarcely understood what was going on; but he was now fully informed on the subject by his mother, and was told that a very interesting lady was going to reside in the Palace to attend on him, and that he must be good and kind to her. The presentation took place late in the evening, and henceforth she was called the Niogo of the Ume-Tsubo (plum-chamber), from the name of her apartment. She was a charming lady, and the Emperor was not without a certain liking for her; yet Lady Kokiden, the daughter of Gon-Chiûnagon (Tô-no-Chiûjiô), who had been introduced some time previously, and consequently was an acquaintance of an older date, was much more frequently preferred by him to the other for society in daily amusement. When Gon-Chiûnagon introduced his daughter, he did not of course do so without hope of her further elevation; but now Lady Plum came to assume a position through Genji's influence, as if to compete with his daughter for the royal favor; and it was by no means glad tidings for him. It may be here mentioned that Prince Hiob-Kio had also, as we have already seen, an intention of introducing one of his daughters at Court; but this hope was doomed to disappointment by the establishing of the two ladies already introduced, and he was induced to defer his intention, at least for the present. The Emperor was very fond of pictures, and painted with considerable ability. Lady Plum, too, as it happened, possessed the same taste as the Emperor, and used often to amuse herself by painting. If, therefore, he liked ordinary courtiers who exhibited a taste for painting, it was no matter of surprise that he liked to see the delicate hands of the lady occupied in carefully laying on colors. This similarity of taste gradually drew his attention to her, and led to frequent visits to the "plum-chamber." When Gon-Chiûnagon was informed of these circumstances, he took the matter into his own hands. He himself determined to excite a spirit of rivalry. He contrived means to counteract the influence of painting, and commissioned several famous artists of the times to execute some elaborate pictures. Most of these were subjects taken from old romances, as he conceived that these were always more attractive than mere fanciful pictures. He had also caused to be painted a representation of every month of the year, which would also be likely, he thought, to interest the Emperor. When these pictures were finished he took them to Court, and submitted them to his inspection; but he would not agree that he should take any of them to the plum-chamber; and they were all deposited in the chamber of his daughter. Genji, when he heard of this, said of his brother-in-law, "He is young; he never could be behind others." He was, however, unable to pass the matter over unnoticed. He told the Emperor that he would present him with some old pictures, and returning to his mansion at Nijio he opened his picture cabinet, where numbers of old and new pictures were kept. From these, with the assistance of Violet, he made a selection of the best. But such pictures as illustrations of the "Long Regrets," or representations of "O-shio-kun," were reserved, because the terminations of these stories were not happy ones. He also took out of his cabinet the sketches which he had made while in Suma and Akashi, and showed them for the first time to Violet, who was a little angry at his not having shown them to her sooner. It was about the tenth of February, and the face of Nature began to smile with the approach of spring, making the hearts and tempers of people more calm and cheerful; besides, it was just the time when the Court was unoccupied with the keeping of any festival. There could be no better chance than this for such an exhibition of pictures to attract the attention of people enjoying leisure. Genji, therefore, sent his collection of pictures to the Palace in behalf of the lady of the plum-chamber. This soon created a sensation in the Palace. Most of the pictures that were in the possession of the lady of the plum-chamber were from old romances, and the pictures themselves were of ancient date, being rare, while those of Kokiden were more modern subjects and by living artists. Thus each of them had their special merits, so that it became difficult to say which were more excellent. Talking of these pictures became quite a fashionable subject of conversation of the courtiers of the day. The Imperial-mother happened to be at Court, and when she saw these pictures and heard different persons at Court discussing their relative merits, she suggested that they should divide themselves into two parties, right and left, and regularly to give their judgment. This was accordingly done: Hei-Naishi-no-Ske, Jijiû-no-Naishi, and Shiôshiô-no-Miôbu took the left, on the side of the lady of the plum-chamber; while Daini-no-Naishi-no-Ske, Chiûjiô-no-Miôbu, and Hiôye-no-Miôbu took the right, on the side of the Kokiden. The first picture selected was the illustration of the "Bamboo Cutter,"[125] by the left, as it was the most appropriate to come first for the discussion of its merits, as being the parent of romance. To compete with this, that of "Toshikagè,"[126] from "The Empty Wood," was selected by the right. The left now stated their case, saying, "The bamboo--indeed, its story too--may be an old and commonly known thing, but the maiden Kakya, in keeping her purity unsullied in this world, is highly admirable; besides, it was an occurrence that belongs to a pre-historical period. No ordinary woman would ever be equal to her, and so this picture has an excellence." Thereupon the right argued in opposition to this, saying, "The sky, where the maiden Kakya has gone away, may indeed be high, but it is beyond human reach, so we may put it aside. When she made her appearance in this world she was, after all, a creature of bamboo; and, indeed, we may consider her even lower than ourselves. It may also be true that she threw a bright radiance over the inside of a cottage, but she never shone in the august society of a palace. Abe-no-oshi's[127] spending millions of money in order to get the so-called fire-proof rat, which, when obtained, was consumed in the flames in a moment, is simply ridiculous. Prince Kuramochi's[128] pretended jewel branch was simply a delusion. Besides, this picture is by Kose-no-Omi, with notes[129] by Tsurayuki. These are not very uncommon. The paper is Kamiya, only covered with Chinese satin. The outer cover is reddish purple, and the centre stick is purple Azedarach. These are very common ornaments. Now Toshikagè, though he had undergone a severe trial from the raging storm, and had been carried to a strange country, arrived at length at the country to which he was originally despatched, and from there returned to his native land, having achieved his object, and having made his ability recognized both at home and abroad. This picture is the life of this man, and it represents many scenes, not only of his country but of foreign ones, which cannot fail to be interesting. We therefore dare to place this one above the other in merit." The ground of this picture was thick white tinted paper, the outer cover was green, and the centre stick jade. The picture was by Tsunenori, and the writing by Michikage. It was in the highest taste of the period. The left made no more protestation against the right. Next the romance of Ise by the left, and that of Shiô-Sammi by the right, were brought into competition. Here again the relative merit was very difficult to be decided at once. That of the right had apparently more charms than that of the other, since it beautifully represented the society of a more recent period. Hei-Naishi, of the left, therefore said, "If leaving the depths of Ise's night-sea, We follow the fancies of new-fashioned dreams, All the beauty and skill of the ancients will be Swept away by the current of art's modern streams. Who would run down the fame of Narihira for the sake of the pretentious humbug of our own days?" Then Daini-no-Naishi-no-Ske, of the right, replied, "The noble mind that soars on high, Beyond the star-bespangled sky; Looks down with ease on depths that lie A thousand fathoms 'neath his eye."[130] Upon this, the Empress-mother interceded. She said, that "The exalted nobility of Lord Hiôye[131] may not, indeed, be passed over without notice, yet the name of Narihira could not altogether be eclipsed by his. Though too well-known to all may be The lovely shore of Ise's sea; Its aged fisher's honored name, A tribute of respect may claim." There were several more rolls to be exhibited, and the rival protestations on both sides became very warm, so that one roll occasioned considerable discussion. While this was going on, Genji arrived on the scene. He suggested to them that if there was any competition at all it should be decided on a specially appointed day, in a more solemn manner, in the presence of the Emperor. This suggestion having been adopted, the discussion came to an end. The day for this purpose was fixed. The ex-Emperor, who had been informed of this, presented several pictures to the lady of the plum-chamber. They were mostly illustrations of Court Festivals, on which there were explanatory remarks written by the Emperor Yenghi. Besides these, there was one which had been expressly executed at his own order by Kim-mochi. This was an illustration of the ceremony which took place at his palace on the departure of the lady for Ise, some time back, when she had gone there as the Saigû. It was also probable that some of his pictures came into the possession of her rival, the Lady Kokiden, through his mother (as the mother of the former was a sister of the latter). When the day arrived every arrangement was made in the large saloon at the rear of the Palace, where the Imperial seat was placed at the top. The Court ladies of both parties--those of the lady of the plum-chamber, and those of the lady of Kokiden--were arranged respectively left and right, the left, or those of the lady of the plum-chamber, facing southwards, and those of the right, northwards. All the courtiers also took the places allotted to them. Here the pictures were brought. The box, containing those of the left was of purple Azedarach. The stand on which the box was placed was of safran, and over this was thrown a cover of Chinese brocade with a mauve ground. The seat underneath was of Chinese colored silk. Six young girls brought all this in, and arranged it all in order. Their Kazami (outer dress) was of red and cherry color, with tunics of Wistaria lining (light purple outside, and light green within). The box which contained the pictures of the right was of "Jin" wood, the stand of light colored "Jin," the cover of Corean silk with a green ground. The legs of the stand, which were trellised round with a silken cord, showed modern and artistic taste. The Kazami of the young girls was of willow lining (white outside and green within), and their tunics were of Kerria japonica lining (or yellow outside and light red within). Both Genji and Gon-Chiûnagon were present, by the Emperor's special invitation, as also the Prince Lord-Lieutenant of Tzkushi who loved pictures above all things, and he was consequently chosen umpire for this day's competition. Many of the pictures were highly admirable, and it was most difficult to make any preference between them. For instance, if there was produced by one party a roll of "The Season," which was the masterpiece of some old master, on selected subjects; there was produced also, by the other party, a roll of sketches on paper, which were scarcely inferior to, and more ornamented with flourishing than the ancient works, in spite of the necessary limitation of space which generally makes the wide expanse of scenery almost too difficult to express. Thus the disputes on both sides were very warm. Meanwhile the Imperial-mother (the Princess Wistaria) also came into the saloon, pushing aside the sliding screen of the breakfast chamber. The criticisms still continued, in which Genji made, now and then, suggestive remarks. Before all was finished the shades of evening began to fall on them. There remained, on the right, one more roll, when the roll of "Suma" was produced on the left. It made Gon-Chiûnagon slightly embarrassed. The last roll of the right was, of course, a selected one, but it had several disadvantages in comparison with that of "Suma." The sketches on this roll had been done by Genji, with great pains and time. They were illustrations of different bays and shores. They were most skilfully executed, and carried away the minds of the spectators to the actual spots. On them illustrative remarks were written, sometimes in the shape of a diary, occasionally mingled with poetical effusions in style both grave and easy. These made a great impression on the Emperor, and on everyone present; and finally, owing to this roll, the left was decided to have won the victory. Then followed the partaking of refreshments, as was usual on such occasions. In the course of conversation, Genji remarked to the Lord-Lieutenant, "From my boyhood I paid much attention to reading and writing, and perhaps my father noticed that I had benefited by these pursuits. He observed that 'few very clever men enjoyed worldly happiness and long life'; perhaps because ability and knowledge are too highly valued in the world to admit of other blessings. True it is, that even a man whose high birth assures him a certain success in life, ought not to be devoid of learning, but I advise you to moderate your exertions. After this time, he took more pains in instructing me in the ways and manners of men of high position than in the minute details of science. For these reasons, though on the one hand I was not quite clumsy, I cannot, on the other, say in what particular subject I am well versed and efficient. Drawing, however, was a favorite object of my taste and ambition, and I also desired to execute a work to the full extent of my ideas. In the meantime, I enjoyed quiet leisure by the sea-shore, and as I contemplated the wide expanse of scenery, my conception seemed to enlarge as I gazed upon it. This made me take up my brush, but not a few parts of the work have fallen short of those conceptions. Therefore, I thought them altogether unworthy to be shown expressly, though I have now boldly submitted them to your inspection on this good opportunity." "Nothing can be well learned that is not agreeable to one's natural taste," replied the Lord-Lieutenant. "It is true, but every art has its special instructor, and by this means their methods can be copied by their pupils, though there may be differences in skill and perfection. Among arts, however, nothing betrays one's tastes and nature more than work of pen or brush (writing and painting), and playing the game of Go. Of course men of low origin, and of little accomplishment, often happen to excel in these arts, but not so frequently as persons of position. Under the auspicious care of the late Emperor, what prince or princess could have failed to attain the knowledge of such arts? a care which was directed towards yourself especially. I will not speak of literature and learning too. Your accomplishments comprised the _kin_, next the flute, the mandolin, and _soh-koto_--this we all knew, and so, too, the late Emperor said: your painting, however, has been hitherto thought to be mere amusement, but we now have seen your sketches executed with a skill not unequal to the ancient famous draughtsmen in black ink." It was about the twentieth of the month, and the evening moon appeared in the sky, while they were thus conversing. Her radiance was too weak to make the ground near them bright, but afar-off the sky became palely white. Several musical instruments were sent for from the guardian of the library. Genji played a _kin_, Gon-Chiûnagon a _wagon_, the Lord-Lieutenant a _soh-koto_, and Shiôshiô-no-Miôbu a mandolin. The _hiôshi_ (beating time to music) was undertaken by a courtier. As this went on, the darkness of night began to diminish, and the hues of the flowers in the garden, and the countenance of each of the party, became gradually visible, while the birds themselves began to chirp in the trees. It was a pleasant dawn. Several presents were made to the company by the Imperial-mother, and to the Lord-Lieutenant a robe was given in addition, as an acknowledgment of his services as judge in the competition. And so the party broke up. The roll of "Suma" was left, as was requested, in the hands of the Imperial-mother. Genji had some more rolls of the same series, but they were reserved for some future occasion. During the reign of this Emperor every care was taken on the occasion of all Court Festivals, so that future generations should hold that such and such precedents took their origin in this reign. Hence a meeting even such as above described, which was only private in its nature, was carried out in a manner as pleasant and enlightened as possible. As to Genji, he thought he had obtained a position too exalted, and an influence too great. There were, indeed, several instances of public men surprised by misfortune, who, in premature age, obtained high position and vast influence. He thought of these examples, and though he had hitherto enjoyed his position and authority, as if he regarded them as a compensation for his former fall, he began, as the Emperor was now becoming older, to retire gradually from public life, so as to prepare his mind and thoughts, and devote himself to the attainment of happiness in the world to come, and also for the prolongation of life. For these reasons he ordered a chapel to be built for himself on a mountain side, where he might retire. In the meantime he had the ambition to see his children satisfactorily brought out into the world--an ambition which restrained him from carrying out his wishes of retiring. It is not easy to understand or define the exact state of his mind at this period. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 125: A short romance, supposed to be the oldest work of the kind ever written in Japan, as the authoress states. The story is, that once upon a time there was an aged man whose occupation was to cut bamboo. One day he found a knot in a bamboo cane which was radiant and shining, and upon cutting it he found in it a little girl who was named Kakya-hime. He took her home and brought her up. She grew a remarkable beauty. She had many suitors, but she refused to listen to their addresses, and kept her maiden reputation unsullied. Finally, in leaving this world, she ascended into the moon, from which she professed to have originally come down.] [Footnote 126: This is another old romance, and Toshikagè is its principal hero. When twelve or thirteen years of age he was sent to China, but the ship in which he was, being driven by a hurricane to Persia, he met there with a mystic stranger, from whom he learned secrets of the "Kin;" from thence he reached China, and afterwards returned to Japan.] [Footnote 127: This man was one of the maiden's suitors. He was told by her that if he could get for her the skin of the fire-proof rat she might possibly accept his hand. With this object he gave a vast sum of money to a Chinese merchant, who brought him what he professed to be the skin of the fire-proof rat, but when it was put to the test, it burnt away, and he lost his suit.] [Footnote 128: This Prince was another suitor of the maiden. His task was to find a sacred island called Horai, and to get a branch of a jewelled tree which grew in this island. He pretended to have embarked for this purpose, but really concealed himself in an obscure place. He had an artificial branch made by some goldsmith; but, of course, this deception was at once detected.] [Footnote 129: Japanese pictures usually have explanatory notes written on them.] [Footnote 130: It seems that this stanza alludes to some incident in the Shiô-Sammi, at the same time praising the picture.] [Footnote 131: This seems to be the name of the hero in the story alluded to above.] * * * * * CLASSICAL POETRY OF JAPAN [_Selections translated by Basil Hall Chamberlain_] INTRODUCTION The poetry of a nation is always the best revealer of its genuine life: the range of its spiritual as well as of its intellectual outlook. This is the case even where poetry is imitative, for imitation only pertains to the form of poetry, and not to its essence. Vergil copied the metre and borrowed the phraseology of Homer, but is never Homeric. In one sense, all national poetry is original, even though it be shackled by rules of traditional prosody, and has adopted the system of rhyme devised by writers in another language, whose words seem naturally to bourgeon into assonant terminations. But Japanese poetry is original in every sense of the term. Imitative as the Japanese are, and borrowers from other nations in every department of plastic, fictile, and pictorial art, as well as in religion, politics, and manufactures, the poetry of Japan is a true-born flower of the soil, unique in its mechanical structure, spontaneous and unaffected in its sentiment and subject. The present collection of Japanese poetry is compiled and translated into English from what the Japanese call "The Collection of Myriad Leaves," and from a number of other anthologies made by imperial decree year by year from the tenth until the fifteenth century. This was the golden age of Japanese literature, and nowadays, when poetry is dead in Japan, and the people and their rulers are aiming at nothing but the benefits of material civilization, these ancient anthologies are drawn upon for vamping up and compiling what pass for the current verses of the hour. The twenty volumes of the "Myriad Leaves" were probably published first in the latter half of the eighth century, in the reign of the Mikado Shiyaumu; the editor was Prince Moroye, for in those days the cultivation of verse was especially considered the privilege of the princely and aristocratic. A poem written by a man of obscure rank was sometimes included in the royal collections, but the name of the author never. And indeed some of the distinctive quality of Japanese poetry is undoubtedly due to the air in which it flourished. It is never religious, and it is often immoral, but it is always suffused with a certain hue of courtliness, even gentleness. The language is of the most refined delicacy, the thought is never boorish or rude; there is the self-collectedness which we find in the poetry of France and Italy during the Renaissance, and in England during the reign of Queen Anne. It exhibits the most exquisite polish, allied with an avoidance of every shocking or perturbing theme. It seems to combine the enduring lustre of a precious metal with the tenuity of gold-leaf. Even the most vivid emotions of grief and love, as well as the horrors of war, were banished from the Japanese Parnassus, where the Muse of Tragedy warbles, and the lyric Muse utters nothing but ditties of exquisite and melting sweetness, which soothe the ear, but never stir the heart: while their meaning is often so obscure as even to elude the understanding. Allied to this polite reserve of the courtly poets of Japan is the simplicity of their style, which is, doubtless, in a large measure, due to the meagre range of spiritual faculties which characterize the Japanese mind. This intellectual poverty manifests itself in the absence of all personification and reference to abstract ideas. The narrow world of the poet is here a concrete and literal sphere of experience. He never rises on wings above the earth his feet are treading, and the things around him that his fingers touch. But within this limited area he revels in a great variety of subjects. In the present anthology will be found ballads, love-songs, elegies, as well as short stanzas composed with the strictest economy of word and phrase. These we must characterize as epigrams. They are gems, polished with almost passionless nicety and fastidious care. They remind us very much of Roman poetry under the later Empire, and many of them might have been written by Martial, at the court of Domitian. They contain references to court doings, compliments, and sentiments couched in pointed language. The drama of Japan is represented by two types, one of which may be called lyrical, and the other the comedy of real life. Specimens of both are found in the present collection, which will furnish English readers with a very fair idea of what the most interesting and enterprising of Oriental nations has done in the domain of imaginative literature. E. W. BALLADS THE FISHER-BOY URASHIMA 'Tis spring, and the mists come stealing O'er Suminóye's shore, And I stand by the seaside musing On the days that are no more. I muse on the old-world story, As the boats glide to and fro, Of the fisher-boy, Urashima, Who a-fishing loved to go; How he came not back to the village Though sev'n suns had risen and set, But rowed on past the bounds of ocean, And the sea-god's daughter met; How they pledged their faith to each other, And came to the Evergreen Land, And entered the sea-god's palace So lovingly hand in hand, To dwell for aye in that country, The ocean-maiden and he-- The country where youth and beauty Abide eternally. But the foolish boy said, "To-morrow I'll come back with thee to dwell; But I have a word to my father, A word to my mother to tell." The maiden answered, "A casket I give into thine hand; And if that thou hopest truly To come back to the Evergreen Land, "Then open it not, I charge thee! Open it not, I beseech!" So the boy rowed home o'er the billows To Suminóye's beach. But where is his native hamlet? Strange hamlets line the strand. Where is his mother's cottage? Strange cots rise on either hand. "What, in three short years since I left it," He cries in his wonder sore, "Has the home of my childhood vanished? Is the bamboo fence no more? "Perchance if I open the casket Which the maiden gave to me, My home and the dear old village Will come back as they used to be." And he lifts the lid, and there rises A fleecy, silvery cloud, That floats off to the Evergreen Country:-- And the fisher-boy cries aloud; He waves the sleeve of his tunic, He rolls over on the ground, He dances with fury and horror, Running wildly round and round.[132] But a sudden chill comes o'er him That bleaches his raven hair, And furrows with hoary wrinkles The form erst so young and fair. His breath grows fainter and fainter, Till at last he sinks dead on the shore; And I gaze on the spot where his cottage Once stood, but now stands no more. _Anon_. ON SEEING A DEAD BODY Methinks from the hedge round the garden His bride the fair hemp hath ta'en, And woven the fleecy raiment That ne'er he threw off him again. For toilsome the journey he journeyed To serve his liege and lord,[133] Till the single belt that encircled him Was changed to a thrice-wound cord; And now, methinks, he was faring Back home to the country-side, With thoughts all full of his father, Of his mother, and of his bride. But here 'mid the eastern mountains, Where the awful pass climbs their brow, He halts on his onward journey And builds him a dwelling low; And here he lies stark in his garments, Dishevelled his raven hair, And ne'er can he tell me his birthplace, Nor the name that he erst did bear. _Sakimaro_. THE MAIDEN OF UNÁHI[134] In Ashinóya village dwelt The Maiden of Unáhi, On whose beauty the next-door neighbors e'en Might cast no wandering eye; For they locked her up as a child of eight, When her hair hung loosely still; And now her tresses were gathered up, To float no more at will.[135] And the men all yearned that her sweet face Might once more stand reveal'd, Who was hid from gaze, as in silken maze The chrysalis lies concealed. And they formed a hedge round the house, And, "I'll wed her!" they all did cry; And the Champion of Chinu he was there, And the Champion of Unáhi. With jealous love these champions twain The beauteous girl did woo, Each had his hand on the hilt of his sword, And a full-charged quiver, too, Was slung o'er the back of each champion fierce, And a bow of snow-white wood Did rest in the sinewy hand of each; And the twain defiant stood. Crying, "An 'twere for her dear sake, Nor fire nor flood I'd fear!" The maiden heard each daring word, But spoke in her mother's ear:-- "Alas! that I, poor country girl, Should cause this jealous strife! As I may not wed the man I love What profits me my life? "In Hades' realm I will await The issue of the fray." These secret thoughts, with many a sigh, She whisper'd and pass'd away. To the Champion of Chinu in a dream Her face that night was shown; So he followed the maid to Hades' shade, And his rival was left alone; Left alone--too late! too late! He gapes at the vacant air, He shouts, and he yells, and gnashes his teeth, And dances in wild despair. "But no! I'll not yield!" he fiercely cries, "I'm as good a man as he!" And girding his poniard, he follows after, To search out his enemy. The kinsmen then, on either side, In solemn conclave met, As a token forever and evermore-- Some monument for to set, That the story might pass from mouth to mouth, While heav'n and earth shall stand; So they laid the maiden in the midst, And the champions on either hand. And I, when I hear the mournful tale, I melt into bitter tears, As though these lovers I never saw Had been mine own compeers. _Mushimaro_. THE GRAVE OF THE MAIDEN OF UNÁHI I stand by the grave where they buried The Maiden of Unáhi, Whom of old the rival champions Did woo so jealously. The grave should hand down through ages Her story for evermore, That men yet unborn might love her, And think on the days of yore. And so beside the causeway They piled up the bowlders high; Nor e'er till the clouds that o'ershadow us Shall vanish from the sky, May the pilgrim along the causeway Forget to turn aside, And mourn o'er the grave of the Maiden; And the village folk, beside, Ne'er cease from their bitter weeping, But cluster around her tomb; And the ages repeat her story, And bewail the Maiden's doom. Till at last e'en I stand gazing On the grave where she now lies low, And muse with unspeakable sadness On the old days long ago. _Sakimaro_. [Note.--The existence of the Maiden of Unáhi is not doubted by any of the native authorities, and, as usual, the tomb is there (or said to be there, for the present writer's search for it on the occasion of a somewhat hurried visit to that part of the country was vain) to attest the truth of the tradition. Ashinóya is the name of the village, and Unáhi of the district. The locality is in the province of Setsutsu, between the present treaty ports of Kobe and Osaka.] THE MAIDEN OF KATSUSHIKA Where in the far-off eastern land The cock first crows at dawn, The people still hand down a tale Of days long dead and gone. They tell of Katsushika's maid, Whose sash of country blue Bound but a frock of home-spun hemp, And kirtle coarse to view; Whose feet no shoe had e'er confined, Nor comb passed through her hair; Yet all the queens in damask robes Might nevermore compare. With this dear child, who smiling stood, A flow'ret of the spring-- In beauty perfect and complete, Like to the moon's full ring. And, as the summer moths that fly Towards the flame so bright, Or as the boats that deck the port When fall the shades of night, So came the suitors; but she said:-- "Why take me for your wife? Full well I know my humble lot, I know how short my life."[136] So where the dashing billows beat On the loud-sounding shore, Hath Katsushika's tender maid Her home for evermore. Yes! 'tis a tale of days long past; But, listening to the lay, It seems as I had gazed upon Her face but yesterday. _Anon_. THE BEGGAR'S COMPLAINT[137] The heaven and earth they call so great, For me are mickle small; The sun and moon they call so bright, For me ne'er shine at all. Are all men sad, or only I? And what have I obtained-- What good the gift of mortal life, That prize so rarely gained,[138] If nought my chilly back protects But one thin grass-cloth coat, In tatters hanging like the weeds That on the billows float-- If here in smoke-stained, darksome hut, Upon the bare cold ground, I make my wretched bed of straw, And hear the mournful sound-- Hear how mine aged parents groan, And wife and children cry, Father and mother, children, wife, Huddling in misery-- If in the rice-pan, nigh forgot, The spider hangs its nest,[139] And from the hearth no smoke goes up Where all is so unblest? And now, to make our wail more deep, That saying is proved true Of "snipping what was short before":-- Here comes to claim his due, The village provost, stick in hand He's shouting at the door;-- And can such pain and grief be all Existence has in store? _Stanza_ Shame and despair are mine from day to day; But, being no bird, I cannot fly away. _Anon._ A SOLDIER'S REGRETS ON LEAVING HOME When _I left_ to keep guard on the frontier (For such was the monarch's decree), My mother, with skirt uplifted,[140] Drew near and fondled me; And my father, the hot tears streaming His snow-white beard adown, Besought me to tarry, crying:-- "Alas! when thou art gone, "When thou leavest our gate in the morning, No other sons have I, And mine eyes will long to behold thee As the weary years roll by; "So tarry but one day longer, And let me find some relief In speaking and hearing thee speak to me!" So wail'd the old man in his grief. And on either side came pressing My wife and my children dear, Fluttering like birds, and with garments Besprinkled with many a tear; And clasped my hands and would stay me, For 'twas so hard to part; But mine awe of the sovereign edict Constrained my loving heart. I went; yet each time the pathway O'er a pass through the mountains did wind, I'd turn me round--ah! so lovingly!-- And ten thousand times gaze behind. But farther still, and still farther, Past many a land I did roam, And my thoughts were all thoughts of sadness, All loving, sad thoughts of home;-- Till I came to the shores of Sumi, Where the sovereign gods I prayed, With off'rings so humbly offered-- And this the prayer that I made:-- "Being mortal, I know not how many The days of my life may be; And how the perilous pathway That leads o'er the plain of the sea, "Past unknown islands will bear me:-- But grant that while I am gone No hurt may touch father or mother, Or the wife now left alone!" Yes, such was my prayer to the sea-gods; And now the unnumbered oars, And the ship and the seamen to bear me From breezy Naníha's shores, Are there at the mouth of the river:-- Oh! tell the dear ones at home, That I'm off as the day is breaking To row o'er the ocean foam. _Anon._ FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 132: Such frantic demonstrations of grief are very frequently mentioned in the early poetry, and sound strangely to those who are accustomed to the more than English reserve of the modern Japanese. Possibly, as in Europe, so in Japan, there may have been a real change of character in this respect.] [Footnote 133: The Mikado is meant. The feudal system did not grow up till many centuries later.] [Footnote 134: The N-á-h-i are sounded like our English word nigh, and therefore form but one syllable to the ear.] [Footnote 135: Anciently (and this custom is still followed in some parts of Japan) the hair of female children was cut short at the neck and allowed to hang down loosely till the age of eight. At twelve or thirteen the hair was generally bound up, though this ceremony was often frequently postponed till marriage. At the present day, the methods of doing the hair of female children, of grown-up girls, and of married women vary considerably.] [Footnote 136: The original of this stanza is obscure, and the native commentators have no satisfactory interpretation to offer.] [Footnote 137: In the original the title is "The Beggar's Dialogue," there being two poems, of which that here translated is the second. The first one, which is put into the mouth of an unmarried beggar, who takes a cheerier view of poverty, is not so well fitted for translation into English.] [Footnote 138: Because, according to the Buddhist doctrine of perpetually recurring births, it is at any given time more probable that the individual will come into the world in the shape of one of the lower animals.] [Footnote 139: A literal translation of the Japanese idiom.] [Footnote 140: The Japanese commentators are puzzled over the meaning of the passage "with skirt uplifted, drew near and fondled me." To the European mind there seems to be nothing obscure in it. The mother probably lifted her skirt to wipe her eyes, when she was crying. It is evidently a figurative way of saying that the mother was crying.] LOVE SONGS ON BEHOLDING THE MOUNTAIN _Composed by the commander of the forces of the Mikado Zhiyomei_ The long spring day is o'er, and dark despond My heart invades, and lets the tears flow down, As all alone I stand, when from beyond The mount our heav'n-sent monarch's throne doth crown. There breathes the twilight wind and turns my sleeve. Ah, gentle breeze! to turn, home to return, Is all my prayer; I cannot cease to grieve On this long toilsome road; I burn, I burn! Yes! the poor heart I used to think so brave Is all afire, though none the flame may see, Like to the salt-kilns there by Tsunu's wave, Where toil the fisher-maidens wearily. _Anon_. LOVE IS PAIN 'Twas said of old, and still the ages say, "The lover's path is full of doubt and woe." Of me they spake: I know not, nor can know, If she I sigh for will my love repay. My heart sinks on my breast; with bitter strife My heart is torn, and grief she cannot see. All unavailing is this agony To help the love that has become my life. _Anon_. HITOMARO TO HIS MISTRESS Tsunu's shore, Ihámi's brine, To all other eyes but mine Seem, perchance, a lifeless mere, And sands that ne'er the sailor cheer. Ah, well-a-day! no ports we boast, And dead the sea that bathes our coast; But yet I trow the wingèd breeze Sweeping at morn across our seas, And the waves at eventide From the depths of ocean wide, Onward to Watadzu bear The deep-green seaweed, rich and fair; And like that seaweed gently swaying, Wingèd breeze and waves obeying, So thy heart hath swayed and bent And crowned my love with thy content. But, dear heart! I must away, As fades the dew when shines the day; Nor aught my backward looks avail, Myriad times cast down the vale, From each turn the winding road Takes upward; for thy dear abode Farther and still farther lies, And hills on hills between us rise. Ah! bend ye down, ye cruel peaks, That the gate my fancy seeks, Where sits my pensive love alone, To mine eyes again be shown! _Hitomaro._ NO TIDINGS The year has come, the year has gone again, And still no tidings of mine absent love! Through the long days of spring all heaven above And earth beneath, re-echo with my pain. In dark cocoon my mother's silk-worms dwell; Like them, a captive, through the livelong day Alone I sit and sigh my soul away, For ne'er to any I my love may tell. Like to the pine-trees I must stand and pine,[141] While downward slanting fall the shades of night, Till my long sleeve of purest snowy white, With showers of tears, is steeped in bitter brine. _Anon._ HOMEWARD From Kaminábi's crest The clouds descending pour in sheeted rain, And, 'midst the gloom, the wind sighs o'er the plain:-- Oh! he that sadly press'd, Leaving my loving side, alone to roam Magami's des'late moor, has he reached home? _Anon._ THE MAIDEN AND THE DOG As the bold huntsman on some mountain path Waits for the stag he hopes may pass that way, So wait I for my love both night and day:-- Then bark not at him, as thou fearest my wrath. _Anon_. LOVE IS ALL Where in spring the sweetest flowers Fill Mount Kaminábi's bowers, Where in autumn dyed with red, Each ancient maple rears its head, And Aska's flood, with sedges lin'd, As a belt the mound doth bind:-- There see my heart--a reed that sways, Nor aught but love's swift stream obeys, And now, if like the dew, dear maid, Life must fade, then let it fade:-- My secret love is not in vain, For thou lov'st me back again. HUSBAND AND WIFE WIFE.-- Though other women's husbands ride Along the road in proud array, My husband, up the rough hill-side, On foot must wend his weary way. The grievous sight with bitter pain My bosom fills, and many a tear Steals down my cheek, and I would fain Do aught to help my husband dear. Come! take the mirror and the veil, My mother's parting gifts to me; In barter they must sure avail To buy an horse to carry thee! HUSBAND.-- And I should purchase me an horse, Must not my wife still sadly walk? No, no! though stony is our course, We'll trudge along and sweetly talk. _Anon._ HE COMES NOT He comes not! 'tis in vain I wait; The crane's wild cry strikes on mine ear, The tempest howls, the hour is late, Dark is the raven night and drear:-- And, as I thus stand sighing, The snowflakes round me flying Light on my sleeve, and freeze it crisp and clear. Sure 'tis too late! he cannot come; Yet trust I still that we may meet, As sailors gayly rowing home Trust in their ship so safe and fleet. Though waking hours conceal him, Oh! may my dreams reveal him, Filling the long, long night with converse sweet! _Anon_. HE AND SHE HE.--To Hatsúse's vale I'm come, To woo thee, darling, in thy home; But the rain rains down apace, And the snow veils ev'ry place, And now the pheasant 'gins to cry, And the cock crows to the sky:-- Now flees the night, the night hath fled, Let me in to share thy bed! SHE.--To Hatsúse's vale thou'rt come, To woo me, darling, in my home:-- But my mother sleeps hard by, And my father near doth lie; Should I but rise, I'll wake her ear; Should I go out, then he will hear:-- The night hath fled! it may not be, For our love's a mystery! _Anon._ THE PEARLS Oh! he my prince, that left my side O'er the twain Lover Hills[142] to roam, Saying that in far Kíshiu's tide He'd hunt for pearls to bring them home. When will he come? With trembling hope I hie me on the busy street, To ask the evening horoscope, That straightway thus gives answer meet-- The lover dear, my pretty girl, For whom thou waitest, comes not yet, Because he's seeking ev'ry pearl Where out at sea the billows fret. "He comes not yet, my pretty girl! Because among the riplets clear He's seeking, finding ev'ry pearl; 'Tis that delays thy lover dear. "Two days at least must come and go, Sev'n days at most will bring him back; 'Twas he himself that told me so:-- Then cease, fair maid, to cry Alack!" _Anon._ A DAMSEL CROSSING A BRIDGE Across the bridge, with scarlet lacquer glowing, That o'er the Katashiha's stream is laid, All trippingly a tender girl is going, In bodice blue and crimson skirt arrayed. None to escort her: would that I were knowing Whether alone she sleeps on virgin bed, Or if some spouse has won her by his wooing:-- Tell me her house! I'll ask the pretty maid! _Anon_. SECRET LOVE If as my spirit yearns for thine Thine yearns for mine, why thus delay? And yet, what answer might be mine If, pausing on her way, Some gossip bade me tell Whence the deep sighs that from my bosom swell? And thy dear name my lips should pass, My blushes would our love declare; No, no! I'll say my longing was To see the moon appear O'er yonder darkling hill; Yet 'tis on thee mine eyes would gaze their fill. _Anon_. THE OMEN[143] Yes! 'twas the hour when all my hopes Seemed idle as the dews that shake And tremble in their lotus-cups By deep Tsurúgi's lake-- 'Twas then the omen said:-- "Fear not! he'll come his own dear love to wed." What though my mother bids me flee Thy fond embrace? No heed I take; As pure, as deep my love for thee As Kiyosúmi's lake. One thought fills all my heart:-- When wilt thou come no more again to part? _Anon_. A MAIDEN'S LAMENT Full oft he swore, with accents true and tender, "Though years roll by, my love shall ne'er wax old!" And so to him my heart I did surrender, Clear as a mirror of pure burnished gold; And from that day, unlike the seaweed bending To ev'ry wave raised by the summer gust, Firm stood my heart, on him alone depending, As the bold seaman in his ship doth trust. Is it some cruel god that hath bereft me? Or hath some mortal stol'n away his heart? No word, no letter since the day he left me, Nor more he cometh, ne'er again to part! In vain I weep, in helpless, hopeless sorrow, From earliest morn until the close of day; In vain, till radiant dawn brings back the morrow, I sigh the weary, weary nights away. No need to tell how young I am and slender-- A little maid that in thy palm could lie:-- Still for some message comforting and tender, I pace the room in sad expectancy. _The Lady Sakanouhe_. RAIN AND SNOW Forever on Mikáne's crest, That soars so far away, The rain it rains in ceaseless sheets, The snow it snows all day. And ceaseless as the rain and snow That fall from heaven above, So ceaselessly, since first we met, I love my darling love. _Anon_. MOUNT MIKASH Oft in the misty spring The vapors roll o'er Mount Mikash's crest, While, pausing not to rest, The birds each morn with plaintive note do sing. Like to the mists of spring My heart is rent; for, like the song of birds, Still all unanswered ring The tender accents of my passionate words. I call her ev'ry day Till daylight fades away; I call her ev'ry night Till dawn restores the light;-- But my fond prayers are all too weak to bring My darling back to sight. _Akahito._ EVENING From the loud wave-washed shore Wend I my way, Hast'ning o'er many a flow'r, At close of day-- On past Kusaka's crest, Onward to thee, Sweet as the loveliest Flower of the lea! _Anon._ [Note.--A note to the original says: "The name of the composer of the above song was not given because he was of obscure rank," a reason which will sound strange to European ears.] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 141: The play in the original is on the word Matsu, which has the double signification of "a pine-tree" and "to wait."] [Footnote 142: Mount Lover and Mount Lady-love (Se-yama and Imo-yama) in the province of Yamato.] [Footnote 143: The reference in this song is to an old superstition. It used to be supposed that the chance words caught from the mouths of passers-by would solve any doubt on questions to which it might otherwise be impossible to obtain an answer. This was called the yufu-ura, or "evening divination," on account of its being practised in the evening. It has been found impossible in this instance to follow the original very closely.] ELEGIES ON THE DEATH OF THE MIKADO TENJI[144] _By One of His Ladies_ Alas! poor mortal maid! unfit to hold High converse with the glorious gods above,[145] Each morn that breaks still finds me unconsoled, Each hour still hears me sighing for thy love. Wert thou a precious stone, I'd clasp thee tight Around mine arm; wert thou a silken dress I'd ne'er discard thee, either day or night:-- Last night, sweet love! I dreamt I saw thy face. ON THE DEATH OF THE POET'S MISTRESS How fondly did I yearn to gaze (For was there not the dear abode Of her whose love lit up my days?) On Karu's often-trodden road. But should I wander in and out, Morning and evening ceaselessly, Our loves were quickly noised about, For eyes enough there were to see. So, trusting that as tendrils part To meet again, so we might meet, As in deep rocky gorge my heart, Unseen, unknown, in secret beat. But like the sun at close of day, And as behind a cloud the moon, So passed my gentle love away, An autumn leaf ta'en all too soon. When came the fatal messenger, I knew not what to say or do:-- But who might sit and simply hear? Rather, methought, of all my woe. Haply one thousandth part might find Relief if my due feet once more, Where she so often trod, should wind Through Karu's streets and past her door. But mute that noise, nor all the crowd Could show her like, or soothe my care; So, calling her dear name aloud, I waved my sleeve in blank despair. _Hitomaro_. ELEGY ON THE POET'S WIFE The gulls that twitter on the rush-grown shore When fall the shades of night, That o'er the waves in loving pairs do soar When shines the morning light-- 'Tis said e'en these poor birds delight To nestle each beneath his darling's wing That, gently fluttering, Through the dark hours wards off the hoar-frost's might. Like to the stream that finds The downward path it never may retrace, Like to the shapeless winds, Poor mortals pass away without a trace:-- So she I love has left her place, And, in a corner of my widowed couch, Wrapped in the robe she wove me, I must crouch, Far from her fond embrace. _Nibi_. ON THE DEATH OF PRINCE HINAMI I When began the earth and heaven, By the banks of heaven's river[146] All the mighty gods assembled, All the mighty gods in council. And, for that her sov'reign grandeur The great goddess of the day-star Rul'd th' ethereal realms of heaven, Downward through the many-piled Welkin did they waft her grandson, Bidding him, till earth and heaven, Waxing old, should fall together, O'er the middle land of reed-plains, O'er the land of waving rice-fields, Spread abroad his power imperial. II But not his Kiyomi's palace:-- 'Tis his sov'reign's, hers the empire; And the sun's divine descendant, Ever soaring, passeth upward Through the heav'n's high rocky portals. III Why, dear prince, oh! why desert us? Did not all beneath the heaven, All that dwell in earth's four quarters, Pant, with eye and heart uplifted, As for heav'n-sent rain in summer, For thy rule of flow'ry fragrance, For thy plenilune of empire? Now on lone Mayúmi's hillock, Firm on everlasting columns, Pilest thou a lofty palace, Whence no more, when day is breaking, Sound thine edicts, awe-compelling. Day to day is swiftly gathered, Moon to moon, till e'er thy faithful Servants from thy palace vanish. _Hitomaro_. ON THE DEATH OF THE NUN RIGUWAÑ Ofttimes in far Corea didst thou hear Of our Cipango as a goodly land; And so, to parents and to brethren dear Bidding adieu, thou sailed'st to the strand Of these domains, that own th' imperial pow'r, Where glittering palaces unnumbered rise; Yet such might please thee not, nor many a bow'r Where village homesteads greet the pilgrim's eyes:-- But in this spot, at Sahoyáma's base, Some secret influence bade thee find thy rest-- Bade seek us out with loving eagerness, As seeks the weeping infant for the breast. And here with aliens thou didst choose to dwell, Year in, year out, in deepest sympathy; And here thou buildest thee an holy cell; And so the peaceful years went gliding by. But ah! what living thing mote yet avoid Death's dreary summons?--And thine hour did sound When all the friends on whom thine heart relied Slept on strange pillows on the mossy ground. So, while the moon lit up Kasuga's crest, O'er Sahogáha's flood thy corse they bore To fill a tomb upon yon mountain's breast, And dwell in darkness drear for evermore. No words, alas! nor efforts can avail:-- Nought can I do, poor solitary child! Nought can I do but make my bitter wail, And pace the room with cries and gestures wild, Ceaselessly weeping, till my snowy sleeve Is wet with tears. Who knows? Perchance, again Wafted, they're borne upon the sighs I heave, On 'Arima's far distant heights to rain. _Sakanouhe_. ON THE POET'S SON FURUBI Sev'n are the treasures mortals most do prize, But I regard them not:-- One only jewel could delight mine eyes-- The child that I begot. My darling boy, who with the morning sun Began his joyous day; Nor ever left me, but with child-like fun Would make me help him play; Who'd take my hand when eve its shadows spread, Saying, "I'm sleepy grown; 'Twixt thee and mother I would lay my head:-- Oh! leave me not alone!" Then with his pretty prattle in mine ears, I'd lie awake and scan The good and evil of the coming years, And see the child a man. And, as the seaman trusts his bark, I'd trust That nought could harm the boy:-- Alas! I wist not that the whirling gust Would shipwreck all my joy! Then with despairing, helpless hands I grasp'd The sacred mirror's[147] sphere; And round my shoulder I my garments clasp'd, And prayed with many a tear:-- "'Tis yours, great gods, that dwell in heav'n on high, Great gods of earth! 'tis yours To heed, or heed not, a poor father's cry, Who worships and implores!" Alas! vain pray'rs, that more no more avail! He languished day by day, Till e'en his infant speech began to fail, And life soon ebbed away. Stagg'ring with grief I strike my sobbing breast, And wildly dance and groan:-- Ah! such is life! the child that I caress'd Far from mine arms hath flown. SHORT STANZA ON THE SAME OCCASION So young, so young! he cannot know the way:-- On Hades' porter I'll a bribe bestow, That on his shoulders the dear infant may Be safely carried to the realms below. _Attributed to Okura._ FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 144: Died A.D. 671.] [Footnote 145: Viz., with the departed and deified Mikado.] [Footnote 146: The Milky Way.] [Footnote 147: The part played by the mirror in the devotions of the Japanese is carried back by them to a tale in their mythology which relates the disappearance into a cavern of the Sun-goddess Amaterasu, and the manner in which she was enticed forth by being led to believe that her reflection in a mirror that was shown to her was another deity more lovely than herself.] MISCELLANEOUS POEMS VIEW FROM MOUNT KAGO _Composed by the Mikado Zhiyomei_ Countless are the mountain-chains Tow'ring o'er Cipango's plains; But fairest is Mount Kago's peak, Whose heav'nward soaring heights I seek, And gaze on all my realms beneath-- Gaze on the land where vapors wreath O'er many a cot; gaze on the sea, Where cry the sea-gulls merrily. Yes! 'tis a very pleasant land, Fill'd with joys on either hand, Sweeter than aught beneath the sky, Dear islands of the dragon-fly![148] THE MIKADO'S BOW[149] When the dawn is shining, He takes it up and fondles it with pride; When the day's declining, He lays it by his pillow's side. Hark to the twanging of the string! This is the Bow of our great Lord and King! Now to the morning chase they ride, Now to the chase again at eventide: Hark to the twanging of the string! This is the Bow of our great Lord and King! _Hashibito_. SPRING AND AUTUMN When winter turns to spring, Birds that were songless make their songs resound, Flow'rs that were flow'rless cover all the ground; Yet 'tis no perfect thing:-- I cannot walk, so tangled is each hill; So thick the herbs I cannot pluck my fill. But in the autumn-tide I cull the scarlet leaves and love them dear, And let the green leaves stay, with many a tear, All on the fair hill-side:-- No time so sweet as that. Away! Away! Autumn's the time I fain would keep alway. _Ohogimi._ SPRING When winter turns to spring, The dews of morn in pearly radiance lie, The mists of eve rise circling to the sky, And Kaminábi's thickets ring With the sweet notes the nightingale doth sing. _Anon._ RECOLLECTIONS OF MY CHILDREN Ne'er a melon can I eat, But calls to mind my children dear; Ne'er a chestnut crisp and sweet, But makes the lov'd ones seem more near. Whence did they come, my life to cheer? Before mine eyes they seem to sweep, So that I may not even sleep. What use to me the gold and silver hoard? What use to me the gems most rich and rare? Brighter by far--aye! bright beyond compare-- The joys my children to my heart afford! _Yamagami-no Okura._ THE BROOK OF HATSÚSE Pure is Hatsúse mountain-brook-- So pure it mirrors all the clouds of heaven; Yet here no fishermen for shelter look When sailing home at even:-- 'Tis that there are no sandy reaches, Nor sheltering beaches, Where the frail craft might find some shelt'ring nook. Ah, well-a-day! we have no sandy reaches:-- But heed that not; Nor shelving beaches:-- But heed that not! Come a-jostling and a-hustling O'er our billows gayly bustling:-- Come, all ye boats, and anchor in this spot! _Anon._ LINES TO A FRIEND Japan is not a land where men need pray, For 'tis itself divine:-- Yet do I lift my voice in prayer and say:-- "May ev'ry joy be thine! And may I too, if thou those joys attain, Live on to see thee blest!" Such the fond prayer, that, like the restless main, Will rise within my breast. _Hitomaro._ A VERY ANCIENT ODE Mountains and ocean-waves Around me lie; Forever the mountain-chains Tower to the sky; Fixed is the ocean Immutably:-- Man is a thing of nought, Born but to die! _Anon._ THE BRIDGE TO HEAVEN[150] Oh! that that ancient bridge, Hanging 'twixt heaven and earth, were longer still! Oh! that yon tow'ring mountain-ridge So boldly tow'ring, tow'red more boldly still! Then from the moon on high I'd fetch some drops of the life-giving stream-- A gift that might beseem Our Lord, the King, to make him live for aye! _Anon._ ODE TO THE CUCKOO Nightingales built the nest Where, as a lonely guest, First thy young head did rest, Cuckoo, so dear! Strange to the father-bird, Strange to the mother-bird, Sounded the note they heard, Tender and clear. Fleeing thy native bow'rs, Bright with the silv'ry flow'rs, Oft in the summer hours Hither thou fliest; Light'st on some orange tall, Scatt'ring the blossoms all, And, while around they fall, Ceaselessly criest. Through, through the livelong day Soundeth thy roundelay, Never its accents may Pall on mine ear:-- Come, take a bribe of me! Ne'er to far regions flee; Dwell on mine orange-tree, Cuckoo, so dear! _Anon._ THE ASCENT OF MOUNT TSUKÚBA When my lord, who fain would look on Great Tsukúba, double-crested, To the highlands of Hitachi Bent his steps, then I, his servant, Panting with the heats of summer, Down my brow the sweat-drops dripping, Breathlessly toil'd onward, upward, Tangled roots of timber clutching. "There, my lord! behold the prospect!" Cried I, when we scaled the summit. And the gracious goddess gave us Smiling welcome, while her consort Condescended to admit us Into these, his sacred precincts, O'er Tsukúba, double-crested, Where the clouds do have their dwelling. And the rain forever raineth, Shedding his divine refulgence, And revealing to our vision Ev'ry landmark that in darkness And in shapeless gloom was shrouded;-- Till for joy our belts we loosen'd, Casting off constraint, and sported. Danker now than in the dulcet Spring-time grew the summer grasses; Yet to-day our bliss was boundless. _Anon._ COUPLET When the great men of old pass'd by this way, Could e'en their pleasures vie with ours to-day? _Anon._ FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 148: One of the ancient names of Japan, given to the country on account of a supposed resemblance in shape to that insect. The dragon-flies of Japan are various and very beautiful.] [Footnote 149: The Mikado referred to is Zhiyomei, who died in A.D. 641.] [Footnote 150: The poet alludes to the so-called Ama-no-Ukihashi, or "floating bridge of heaven"--the bridge by which, according to the Japanese mythology, the gods passed up and down in the days of old.] SHORT STANZAS I Spring, spring has come, while yet the landscape bears Its fleecy burden of unmelted snow! Now may the zephyr gently 'gin to blow, To melt the nightingale's sweet frozen tears. _Anon._ II Amid the branches of the silv'ry bowers The nightingale doth sing: perchance he knows That spring hath come, and takes the later snows For the white petals of the plum's sweet flowers.[151] _Sosei._ III Too lightly woven must the garments be-- Garments of mist--that clothe the coming spring:-- In wild disorder see them fluttering Soon as the zephyr breathes adown the lea. _Yukihara._ IV Heedless that now the mists of spring do rise, Why fly the wild geese northward?--Can it be Their native home is fairer to their eyes, Though no sweet flowers blossom on its lea? _Ise_. V If earth but ceased to offer to my sight The beauteous cherry-trees when blossoming, Ah! then indeed, with peaceful, pure delight, My heart might revel in the joys of spring! _Narihira._ VI Tell me, doth any know the dark recess Where dwell the winds that scatter the spring flow'rs? Hide it not from me! By the heav'nly pow'rs, I'll search them out to upbraid their wickedness! _Sosei._ VII No man so callous but he heaves a sigh When o'er his head the withered cherry-flowers Come flutt'ring down.--Who knows? the spring's soft show'rs May be but tears shed by the sorrowing sky. _Kuronushi._ VIII Whom would your cries, with artful calumny, Accuse of scatt'ring the pale cherry-flow'rs? 'Tis your own pinions flitting through these bow'rs That raise the gust which makes them fall and die! _Sosei._ IX In blossoms the wistaria-tree to-day Breaks forth, that sweep the wavelets of my lake:-- When will the mountain cuckoo come and make The garden vocal with his first sweet lay? _Attributed to Hitomaro._ X Oh, lotus leaf! I dreamt that the wide earth Held nought more pure than thee--held nought more true:-- Why, then, when on thee rolls a drop of dew, Pretend that 'tis a gem of priceless worth?[152] _Heñzeu._ XI Can I be dreaming? 'Twas but yesterday We planted out each tender shoot again;[153] And now the autumn breeze sighs o'er the plain, Where fields of yellow rice confess its sway. _Anon._ XII A thousand thoughts of tender, vague regret, Crowd on my soul, what time I stand and gaze On the soft-shining autumn moon; and yet Not to me only speaks her silv'ry haze. _Chisato._ XIII What bark impelled by autumn's fresh'ning gale Comes speeding t'ward me?--'Tis the wild geese arriv'n Across the fathomless expanse of Heav'n, And lifting up their voices for a sail! _Anon._ XIV _Autumn_ The silv'ry dewdrops that in autumn light Upon the moors, must surely jewels be; For there they hang all over hill and lea, Strung on the threads the spiders weave so tight. _Asayasu._ XV _Autumn_ The trees and herbage, as the year doth wane, For gold and russet leave their former hue-- All but the wave-toss'd flow'rets of the main, That never yet chill autumn's empire knew. _Yasuhide._ XVI _Autumn_ The dews are all of one pale silv'ry white:-- Then tell me, if thou canst, oh! tell me why These silv'ry dews so marvellously dye The autumn leaves a myriad colors bright? _Toshiyuki._ XVII _Autumn_ The warp is hoar-frost and the woof is dew-- Too frail, alas! the warp and woof to be:-- For scarce the woods their damask robes endue, When, torn and soiled, they flutter o'er the lea. _Sekiwo._ XVIII _Autumn_ E'en when on earth the thund'ring gods held sway Was such a sight beheld?--Calm Tatsta's flood, Stain'd, as by Chinese art, with hues of blood, Rolls o'er Yamáto's peaceful fields away. _Narihira._ XIX _Winter_ When falls the snow, lo! ev'ry herb and tree, That in seclusion through the wintry hours Long time had been held fast, breaks forth in flow'rs That ne'er in spring were known upon the lea. _Tsurayuki._ XX _Winter_ When from the skies, that wintry gloom enshrouds, The blossoms fall and flutter round my head, Methinks the spring e'en now his light must shed O'er heavenly lands that lie beyond the clouds. _Fukayabu._ XXI _Congratulations_ A thousand years of happy life be thine! Live on, my lord, till what are pebbles now, By age united, to great rocks shall grow, Whose venerable sides the moss doth line! _Anon._ XXII _Congratulations_[154] Of all the days and months that hurry by Nor leave a trace, how long the weary tale! And yet how few the springs when in the vale On the dear flow'rets I may feast mine eye! _Okikaze._ XXIII _Congratulations_ If ever mortal in the days of yore By Heav'n a thousand years of life was lent, I wot not; but if never seen before, Be thou the man to make the precedent. _Sosei._ XXIV _Parting_ Mine oft-reiterated pray'rs in vain The parting guest would stay: Oh, cherry-flow'rs! Pour down your petals, that from out these bow'rs He ne'er may find the homeward path again! _Anon._ XXV _Travelling_ With roseate hues that pierce th' autumnal haze The spreading dawn lights up Akashi's shore; But the fair ship, alas! is seen no more:-- An island veils it from my loving gaze. _Attributed to Hitomaro._ XXVI _Travelling_ Miyako-bird! if not in vain men give Thy pleasing name, my question deign to hear:-- And has she pass'd away, my darling dear, Or doth she still for Narihira live? _Narihira._ * * * * * XXVIII _Love_ The barest ledge of rock, if but a seed Alight upon it, lets the pine-tree grow:-- If, then, thy love for me be love indeed, We'll come together, dear; it must be so! _Anon._ XXIX _Love_ There is on earth a thing more bootless still Than to write figures on a running stream:-- And that thing is (believe me if you will) To dream of one who ne'er of you doth dream. _Anon._ * * * * * XXXI _Love_ Since that first night when, bath'd in hopeless tears, I sank asleep, and he I love did seem To visit me, I welcome ev'ry dream, Sure that they come as heav'n-sent messengers. _Komachi._ XXXII _Love_ Methinks my tenderness the grass must be, Clothing some mountain desolate and lone; For though it daily grows luxuriantly, To ev'ry mortal eye 'tis still unknown. _Yoshiki._ XXXIII _Love_ Upon the causeway through the land of dreams Surely the dews must plentifully light:-- For when I've wandered up and down all night, My sleeve's so wet that nought will dry its streams. _Tsurayuki._ XXXIV _Love_ Fast fall the silv'ry dews, albeit not yet 'Tis autumn weather; for each drop's a tear, Shed till the pillow of my hand is wet, As I wake from dreaming of my dear. _Anon._ XXXV _Love_ I ask'd my soul where springs th' ill-omened seed That bears the herb of dull forgetfulness;[155] And answer straightway came:--Th' accursed weed Grows in that heart which knows no tenderness. _Sosei._ XXXVI _Elegies_[156] So frail our life, perchance to-morrow's sun May never rise for me. Ah! well-a-day! Till comes the twilight of the sad to-day, I'll mourn for thee, O thou beloved one! _Tsurayuki._ XXXVII _Elegies_ The perfume is the same, the same the hue As that which erst my senses did delight:-- But he who planted the fair avenue Is here no more, alas! to please my sight! _Tsurayuki._ XXXVIII _Elegies_ One thing, alas! more fleeting have I seen Than wither'd leaves driv'n by the autumn gust:-- Yea, evanescent as the whirling dust Is man's brief passage o'er this mortal scene! _Chisato._ XXXIX Softly the dews upon my forehead light:-- From off the oars, perchance, as feather'd spray, They drop, while some fair skiff bends on her way Across the Heav'nly Stream[157] on starlit night. _Anon._ XL What though the waters of that antique rill That flows along the heath, no more are cold; Those who remember what it was of old Go forth to draw them in their buckets still. _Anon._ XLI[158] Old Age is not a friend I wish to meet; And if some day to see me he should come, I'd lock the door as he walk'd up the street, And cry, "Most honored sir! I'm not at home!" _Anon_. XLII[159] Yes, I am old; but yet with doleful stour I will not choose to rail 'gainst Fate's decree. An' I had not grown old, then ne'er for me Had dawned the day that brings this golden hour. _Toshiyuki._ XLIII[160] The roaring torrent scatters far and near Its silv'ry drops:--Oh! let me pick them up! For when of grief I drain some day the cup, Each will do service as a bitter tear. _Yukihira._ XLIV _Composed on beholding the cascade of Otoha on Mount Hiye_ Long years, methinks, of sorrow and of care Must have pass'd over the old fountain-head Of the cascade; for, like a silv'ry thread, It rolls adown, nor shows one jet-black hair. _Tadamine._ XLV If e'en that grot where thou didst seek release From worldly strife in lonesome mountain glen Should find thee sometimes sorrowful, ah! then Where mayest thou farther flee to search for peace? _Mitsune._ XLVI[161] So close thy friendly roof, so near the spring, That though not yet dull winter hath gone hence, The wind that bloweth o'er our parting fence From thee to me the first gay flow'rs doth bring. _Fukayabu._ XLVII If to this frame of mine in spring's first hour, When o'er the moor the lightsome mists do curl, Might but be lent the shape of some fair flower, Haply thou 'dst deign to pluck me, cruel girl! _Okikaze._ XLVIII "Love me, sweet girl! thy love is all I ask!" "Love thee?" she laughing cries; "I love thee not!" "Why, then I'll cease to love thee on the spot, Since loving thee is such a thankless task!" _Anon._ XLIX A youth once lov'd me, and his love I spurn'd. But see the vengeance of the pow'rs above On cold indiff'rence:--now 'tis I that love, And my fond love, alas! is not returned. _Anon._ L Beneath love's heavy weight my falt'ring soul Plods, like the packman, o'er life's dusty road. Oh! that some friendly hand would find a pole To ease my shoulders of their grievous load! _Anon._ FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 151: The plum-tree, cherry-tree, etc., are in Japan cultivated, not for their fruit, but for their blossoms. Together with the wistaria, the lotus, the iris, the lespedeza, and a few others, these take the place which is occupied in the West by the rose, the lily, the violet, etc.] [Footnote 152: The lotus is the Buddhist emblem of purity, and the lotus growing out of the bud is a frequent metaphor for the heart that remains unsullied by contact with the world.] [Footnote 153: The transplanting of the rice occupies the whole rural population during the month of June, when men and women may all be seen working in the fields, knee-deep in water. The crops are gathered in October.] [Footnote 154: This ode was composed on beholding a screen presented to the Empress by Prince Sadayasu at the festival held in honor of her fiftieth birthday, whereon was painted a man seated beneath the falling cherry blossoms and watching them flutter down.] [Footnote 155: The "Herb of Forgetfulness" answers in the poetical diction of the Japanese to the classical waters Lethe.] [Footnote 156: It is the young poet Ki-no-Tomonori who is mourned in this stanza.] [Footnote 157: The Milky Way.] [Footnote 158: This stanza is remarkable for being (so far as the present writer is aware) the only instance in Japanese literature of that direct impersonation of an abstract idea which is so very strongly marked a characteristic of Western thoughts and modes of expression.] [Footnote 159: Composed on the occasion of a feast at the palace.] [Footnote 160: One of a number of stanzas composed by a party of courtiers who visited the cascade of Nunobiki, near the site of the modern treaty-port of Kobe.] [Footnote 161: This stanza was composed and sent to the owner of the neighboring house on the last day of winter, when the wind had blown some snow across from it into the poet's dwelling.] * * * * * THE DRAMA OF JAPAN [_Selected Plays, translated by Basil Hall Chamberlain_] NAKAMITSU DRAMATIS PERSONÆ MITSUNAKA, Lord of the Horse to the Emperor Murakami. BIJIYAU, Son of Mitsunaka, and still a boy. NAKAMITSU, retainer of Mitsunaka. KAUZHIYU, son of Nakamitsu, and foster-brother of Bijiyau. WESHIÑ, Abbot of the great monastery on Mount Hiyei, near Kiyauto (Miaco). The Chorus. Scene.--The Temple of Chiynuzañzhi, and my Lord Mitsunaka's palace in Kiyauto. Time.--Early in the Tenth Century. NAKAMITSU PART I Scene I.--Near the Monastery of Chiynuzañzhi _Enter Nakamitsu._ NAKAMITSU.--I am Nakamitsu, a man of the Fujihara clan, and retainer of Mitsunaka, Lord of Tada in the land of Setsushiu. Now you must know that my lord hath an only son, and him hath he sent to a certain monastery amid the mountains named Chiynuzañzhi, while I, too, have a son called Kauzhiyu, who is gone as page to young my lord. But young my lord doth not condescend to apply his mind unto study, loving rather nothing so well as to spend from morn to night in quarrelling and disturbance. Wherefore, thinking doubtless to disinherit young my lord, my lord already this many a time, hath sent his messengers to the temple with summons to return home to Kiyauto. Nevertheless, as he cometh not, me hath he now sent on the same errand. [_The above words are supposed to be spoken during the journey, and Nakamitsu now arrives at the monastery[162]._] Prithee! is any within? KAUZHIYU.--Who is it that deigneth to ask admittance? NAKAMITSU.--What! Is that Kauzhiyu? Tell young my lord that I have come to fetch him home. KAUZHIYU.--Your commands shall be obeyed. [_He goes to his master's apartment._] How shall I dare address my lord? Nakamitsu is come to fetch my lord. BIJIYAU.--Call him hither. KAUZHIYU.--Your commands shall be obeyed. [_He returns to the outer hall and addresses his father._] Condescend to come this way. [_They go to Bijiyau's apartment._ NAKAMITSU.--It is long since I was last here. BIJIYAU.--And what is it that hath now brought thee? NAKAMITSU.--'Tis that my lord, your father, hath sent me to bid your lordship follow me home without delay. BIJIYAU.--Shall I, then, go without saying anything to the priests, my preceptors? NAKAMITSU.--Yes; if the priests be told, they will surely wish to see your lordship on the way, whereas, my lord, your father's commands were, that I alone was to escort you. BIJIYAU.--Then we will away. NAKAMITSU.--Kauzhiyu! thou, too, shalt accompany thy master. KAUZHIYU.--Your commands shall be obeyed. [_They depart from the temple, and arrive at Mitsunaka's palace._ NAKAMITSU.--How shall I dare address my lord? I have brought hither his lordship Bijiyau. MITSUNAKA.--Well, Bijiyau! my only reason for sending thee up to the monastery was to help thy learning; and I would fain begin, by hearing thee read aloud from the Scriptures. And with these words, and bidding him read on, He lays on ebon desk before his son The sacred text, in golden letters writ. BIJIYAU.--But how may he who never bent his wit To make the pencil trace Asaka's[163] line Spell out one letter of the book divine? In vain, in vain his sire's behest he hears:-- Nought may he do but choke with idle tears. MITSUNAKA.--Ah! surely 'tis that, being my child, he respecteth the Scriptures too deeply, and chooseth not to read them except for purposes of devotion. What of verse-making, then? BIJIYAU.--I cannot make any. MITSUNAKA.--And music? [_Bijiyau makes no answer._ MITSUNAKA.--What! no reply? Hast lost thy tongue, young fool? CHORUS.--Whom, then, to profit wentest thou to school? And can it be that e'en a father's word, Like snow that falling melts, is scarcely heard, But 'tis unheeded? Ah! 'twill drive me wild To point thee out to strangers as my child! No sooner said, than out the scabbard flies His trusty sword, and with fierce flashing eyes Forward he darts; but rushing in between, Good Nakamitsu checks the bloody scene-- Firm, though respectful, stays his master's arm, And saves the lad from perilous alarm. NAKAMITSU.--Good my lord, deign to be merciful this once! MITSUNAKA.--Why stayed'st thou my hand? Haste thou now and slay Bijiyau with this my sword. NAKAMITSU.--Your commands shall be obeyed. [_He retires into another apartment._] What is this horror unutterable? 'Tis no mere passing fit of anger. What shall I do?--Ah! I have it! I have it! I will take upon myself to contrive some plan for his escape. Kauzhiyu, Kauzhiyu, art thou there? KAUZHIYU.--Behold me at thy service. NAKAMITSU.--Where is my lord Bijiyau? KAUZHIYU.--All my prayers have been unavailing to make him leave this spot. NAKAMITSU.--But why will he not seek refuge somewhere? Here am I come from my lord, his father, as a messenger of death! [_Bijiyau shows himself._ BIJIYAU.--That I am alive here at this moment is thy doing. But through the lattice I heard my father's words to thee just now. Little imports it an' I die or live, But 'tis for thee I cannot choose but grieve If thou do vex thy lord: to avert his ire Strike off my head, and show it to my sire! NAKAMITSU.--My lord, deign to be calm! I will take upon myself to contrive some plan for your escape.--What! say you a messenger hath come? My heart sinks within me.--What! another messenger? [_These are messengers from Mitsunaka to ask whether his orders be not yet carried into execution_. NAKAMITSU.--Alas! each joy, each grief we see unfurl'd Rewards some action in a former world. KAUZHIYU.--In ages past thou sinned; BIJIYAU.--And to-day CHORUS.--Comes retribution! think not then to say 'Tis others' fault, nor foolishly upbraid The lot thyself for thine own self hast made. Say not the world's askew! with idle prate Of never-ending grief the hour grows late. Strike off my head! with many a tear he cries, And might, in sooth, draw tears from any eyes.[164] NAKAMITSU.--Ah! young my lord, were I but of like age with thee, how readily would I not redeem thy life at the cost of mine own! Alas! that so easy a sacrifice should not be possible! KAUZHIYU.--Father, I would make bold to speak a word unto thee. NAKAMITSU.--What may it be? KAUZHIYU.--'Tis, father, that the words thou hast just spoken have found a lodgment in mine ears. Thy charge, truly, is Mitsunaka; but Mitsunaka's son is mine. This, if any, is a great occasion, and my years point to me as of right the chief actor in it. Be quick! be quick! strike off my head, and show it to Mitsunaka[165] as the head of my lord Bijiyau! NAKAMITSU.--Thou'st spoken truly, Nakamitsu cries, And the long sword from out his scabbard flies, What time he strides behind his boy. BIJIYAU.--But no! The youthful lord on such stupendous woe May never gaze unmov'd; with bitter wail The father's sleeve he clasps. Nought may 't avail, He weeping cries, e'en should the deed be done, For I will slay myself if falls thy son. KAUZHIYU.--But 'tis the rule--a rule of good renown-- That for his lord a warrior must lay down His lesser life. BIJIYAU.-- But e'en if lesser, yet He, too, is human; neither shouldst forget What shame will e'er be mine if I survive NAKAMITSU.--Alas! alas! and 'tis for death they strive! KAUZHIYU.--Me deign to hear. BIJIYAU.--No! mine the truer word! NAKAMITSU.--Ah! this my child! KAUZHIYU.--And there behold thy lord! NAKAMITSU.--Betwixt the two see Nakamitsu stand:-- CHORUS.--His own brave life, an' 'twere his lord's command, Were freely giv'n; but now, in sore dismay, E'en his fierce courage fades and droops away. BIJIYAU.--Why heed a life my sire himself holds cheap? Nought may thy pity do but sink more deep My soul in wretchedness. KAUZHIYU.--Mistake me not! Think not 'tis pity moves me; but a blot The martial honor of our house will stain, If, when I might have bled, my lord be slain. CHORUS.--On either side 'tis infancy that pleads. NAKAMITSU.--And yet how well they've learnt where duty leads! CHORUS.--Dear is thy lord! NAKAMITSU.--And mine own child how dear! CHORUS.--But Nakamitsu knows full well that ne'er, To save the child his craven heart ador'd, Warrior yet dar'd lay hands upon his lord. He to the left, the trembling father cries, Was sure my boy, nor lifts his tear-stain'd eyes:-- A flash, a moment, the fell sabre gleams, And sends his infant to the land of dreams.[166] NAKAMITSU.--Oh, horror unutterable! to think that I should have slain mine own innocent child! But I must go and inform my lord. [_He goes to Mitsunaka's apartment._ How shall I dare to address my lord? I have slain my lord Bijiyau according to your commands. MITSUNAKA.--So thou hast killed the fellow? I trow his last moments were those of a coward. Is it not true? NAKAMITSU.--Not so, my lord. As I stood there aghast, holding in my hand the sword your lordship gave me, your son called out, "Why doth Nakamitsu thus delay?" and those were the last words he was pleased to utter. MITSUNAKA.--As thou well knowest, Bijiyau was mine only child. Go and call thy son Kauzhiyu, and I will adopt him as mine heir. NAKAMITSU.--Kauzhiyu, my lord, in despair at being separated from young my lord, hath cut off his locks,[167] and vanished none knows whither. I, too, thy gracious license would obtain. Hence to depart, and in some holy fane To join the priesthood. MITSUNAKA.--Harsh was my decree, Yet can I think what thy heart's grief must be That as its own my recreant child receiv'd, And now of both its children is bereav'd. But 'tis a rule of universal sway That a retainer ever must obey. CHORUS.--Thus would my lord, with many a suasion fond, Have rais'd poor Nakamitsu from despond. Nor eke himself, with heart all stony hard, Might, as a father, ev'ry pang discard:-- Behold him now, oh! lamentable sight! O'er his own son perform the fun'ral rite. PART II Scene I.--Mitsunaka's Palace _Some time is supposed to have elapsed, and Weshiñ, abbot of the monastery on Mount Hiyei, comes down from that retreat to Mitsunaka's palace in the capital, bringing with him Bijiyau, who had been persuaded by Nakamitsu to take refuge with the holy man._ WESHIÑ.--I am the priest Weshiñ, and am hastening on my way to my lord Mitsunaka's palace, whither certain motives guide me. [_They arrive at the gate and he cries out_:] I would fain crave admittance. NAKAMITSU.--Who is it that asks to be admitted? Ah! 'tis his reverence, Weshiñ. WESHIÑ.--Alas, for poor Kauzhiyu! Nakamitsu.--Yes; but prithee speak not of this before his lordship. [_He goes to Mitsunaka's apartment._] How shall I venture to address my lord? His reverence, Weshiñ, hath arrived from Mount Hiyei. MITSUNAKA.--Call him hither. Nakamitsu.--Your commands shall be obeyed. [_He goes to the room where Weshiñ is waiting, and says_:] Be pleased to pass this way. [_They enter Mitsunaka's apartment._ MITSUNAKA.--What may it be that has brought your reverence here to-day? WESHIÑ.--'Tis this, and this only. I come desiring to speak to your lordship anent my lord Bijiyau. MITSUNAKA.--Respecting him I gave orders to Nakamitsu, which orders have been carried out. WESHIÑ.--Ah! my lord, 'tis that, 'tis that I would discourse of. Be not agitated, but graciously deign to give me thine attention while I speak. Thou didst indeed command that my lord Bijiyau's head should be struck off. But never might Nakamitsu prevail upon himself to lay hands on one to whom, as his lord, he knew himself bound in reverence through all the changing scenes of the Three Worlds.[168] Wherefore he slew his own son, Kauzhiyu, to save my lord Bijiyau's life. And now here I come bringing Bijiyau with me, and would humbly supplicate thee to forgive one who was so loved that a man hath given his own son in exchange for him.[169] MITSUNAKA.--Then he was a coward, as I thought! Wherefore, if Kauzhiyu was sacrificed, did he, too, not slay himself? WESHIÑ.--My lord, put all other thoughts aside, and if it be only as an act of piety towards Kauzhiyu's soul--curse not thy son! CHORUS.--As thus the good man speaks, Tears of entreaty pour adown his cheeks. The father hears, and e'en his ruthless breast, Soft'ning at last, admits the fond request, While Nakamitsu, crowning their delight, The flow'ry wine brings forth, and cups that might Have served the fays: but who would choose to set Their fav'rite's bliss that, home returning, wet His grandson's grandson's still remoter line, Beside the joy that doth itself entwine Round the fond hearts of father and of son, Parted and now in the same life made one? WESHIÑ.--Prithee, Nakamitsu, wilt thou not dance and sing to us awhile, in honor of this halcyon hour? [_During the following song Nakamitsu dances._ NAKAMITSU.--Water-bird, left all alone Now thy little mate hath flown, On the billows to and fro Flutter, flutter, full of woe! CHORUS.--Full of woe, so full of woe, Flutter, flutter, full of woe! NAKAMITSU.--Ah! if my darling were but here to-day I'd make the two together dance and play While I beat time, and, gazing on my boy, Instead of tears of grief, shed tears of joy! CHORUS.--Behold him weep! NAKAMITSU.--But the gay throng perceive Nought but the rhythmic waving of my sleeve. CHORUS.--Hither and thither, flutt'ring in the wind. NAKAMITSU.--Above, beneath, with many a dewdrop lin'd! CHORUS.--Ah, dewy tears! in this our world of woe If any stay, the friends he loves must go:-- Thus 'tis ordain'd, and he that smiles to-day To-morrow owns blank desolation's sway. But now 'tis time to part, the good priest cries-- Him his disciple follows, and they rise; While Nakamitsu walking in their train, The palanquin escorts; for he would fain Last counsel give: "Beware, young lord, beware! Nor cease from toilsome study; for if e'er Thy sire again be anger'd, all is lost!" Then takes his leave, low bending to the dust. Forward they're borne; but Nakamitsu stays, Watching and weeping with heart-broken gaze, And, mutely weeping, thinks how ne'er again He'll see his child borne homeward o'er the plain. ABSTRACTION [_The Japanese title is "Za-zeñ"._] DRAMATIS PERSONÆ A HUSBAND. HIS WIFE. TARAUKUWAZHIYA, their servant. ABSTRACTION Scene I.--A Room in a Private House in Kiyauto HUSBAND.--I am a resident in the suburbs of the metropolis. On the occasion of a recent journey down[170] East, I was served (at a tea-house) in the post-town of Nogami, in the province of Mino, by a girl called Hana, who, having since then heard of my return to the capital, has followed me up here, and settled down at Kita-Shira-kaha, where she expects me this evening according to a promise made by letter. But my vixen of a wife has got scent of the affair and thus made it difficult for me to go. So what I mean to do is to call her, and tell her some pretty fable that may set me free. Halloo! halloo! are you there, pray? are you there? WIFE.--So it seems you are pleased to call me. What may it be that makes you thus call me? HUSBAND.--Well, please to come in. WIFE.--Your commands are obeyed. HUSBAND.--My reason for calling you is just simply this: I want to tell you how much my spirits have been affected by continual dreams that I have had. That is why I have called you. WIFE.--You are talking rubbish. Dreams proceed from organic disturbance, and do not come true; so pray don't trouble your head about them. HUSBAND.--What you say is quite correct. Dreams, proceeding as they do from organic disturbance, do not come true nine times out of ten. Still, mine have affected my spirits to such an extent, that I think of making some pilgrimage or other to offer up prayers both on your behalf and on my own. WIFE.--Then where shall you go? HUSBAND.--I mean (to say nothing of those in the metropolis and in the suburbs) to worship at every Shiñtau shrine and every Buddhist temple throughout the land. WIFE.--No, no! I won't allow you to go out of the house for a single hour. If you are so completely bent upon it, choose some devotion that can be performed at home. HUSBAND.--Some devotion to be performed at home? What devotion could it be? WIFE.--Burning incense on your arm or on your head.[171] HUSBAND.--How thoughtlessly you do talk! What! is a devotion like that to suit _me_--a layman if ever there was one? WIFE.--I won't tolerate any devotion that cannot be performed at home. HUSBAND.--Well, I never! You _are_ one for talking at random. Hang it! what devotion shall it be? [_He reflects a few moments._] Ah! I have it! I will perform the devotion of abstraction. WIFE.--Abstraction? What is that? HUSBAND.--Your want of familiarity with the term is but natural. It is a devotion that was practised in days of old by Saint Daruma[172]--(blessings on him!) you put your head under what is called the "abstraction blanket," and obtain salvation by forgetting all things past and to come--a most difficult form of devotion. WIFE.--About how long does it take? HUSBAND.--Well, I should say about a week or two. WIFE.--That won't do, either, if it is to last so many days. HUSBAND.--Then for how long would my darling consent to it without complaining? WIFE.--About one hour is what I should suggest; but, however, if you can do it in a day, you are welcome to try. HUSBAND.--Never, never! This important devotion is not a thing to be so easily performed within the limits of a single day. Please, won't you grant me leave for at least a day and a night? WIFE.--A day and a night? HUSBAND.--Yes. WIFE.--I don't much relish the idea; but if you are so completely bent upon it, take a day and a night for your devotion. HUSBAND.--Really and truly? WIFE.--Really and truly. HUSBAND.--Oh! that is indeed too delightful! But I have something to tell you: know then, that if a woman so much as peep through a chink, to say nothing of her coming into the actual room where the devotee is sitting, the spell of the devotion is instantly broken. So be sure not to come to where I am. WIFE.--All right. I will not come to you. So perform away. HUSBAND.--Well, then, we will meet again after it shall have been happily accomplished. WIFE.--I shall have the pleasure of seeing you when it is over. HUSBAND AND WIFE.--Good-by! good-by! [_She moves away._ HUSBAND.--I say! WIFE.--What is it? HUSBAND.--As I mentioned before, mind you don't come to me. We have the Buddhist's warning words: "When there is a row in the kitchen, to be rapt in abstraction is an impossibility."[173] So whatever you do, do not come to me. WIFE.--Please feel no uneasiness. I shall not think of intruding. HUSBAND.--Well, then, we shall meet again when the devotion is over. WIFE.--When it is done, I shall have the pleasure of seeing you. HUSBAND AND WIFE.--Good-by! Good-by! HUSBAND [_laughing_].--What fools women are, to be sure! To think of the delight of her taking it all for truth, when I tell her that I am going to perform the religious devotion of abstraction for one whole day and night! Taraukuwazhiya, are you there? halloo? SERVANT.--Yes, sir! HUSBAND.--Are you there? SERVANT.--At your service. HUSBAND.--Oh! you have been quick in coming. SERVANT.--You seem, master, to be in good spirits. HUSBAND.--For my good spirits there is a good reason. I have made, as you know, an engagement to go and visit Hana this evening. But as my old woman has got scent of the affair, thus making it difficult for me to go, I have told her that I mean to perform the religious devotion of abstraction for a whole day and night--a very good denial, is it not? for carrying out my plan of going to see Hana! SERVANT.--A very good device indeed, sir. HUSBAND.--But in connection with it, I want to ask you to do me a good turn. Will you? SERVANT.--Pray, what may it be? HUSBAND.--Why, just simply this: it is that I have told my old woman not to intrude on my devotions; but, being the vixen that she is, who knows but what she may not peep and look in? in which case she would make a fine noise if there were no semblance of a religious practice to be seen; and so, though it is giving you a great deal of trouble, I wish you would oblige me by taking my place until my return. SERVANT.--Oh! it would be no trouble; but I shall get such a scolding if found out, that I would rather ask you to excuse me. HUSBAND.--What nonsense you talk! Do oblige me by taking my place; for I will not allow her to scold you. SERVANT.--Oh sir! that is all very well; but pray excuse me for this time. HUSBAND.--No, no! you must please do this for me; for I will not so much as let her point a finger at you. SERVANT.--Please, please let me off! HUSBAND.--Gracious goodness! The fellow heeds what my wife says, and won't heed what I say myself! Do you mean that you have made up your mind to brave me? [_Threatening to beat him._ SERVANT.--Oh! I will obey. HUSBAND.--No, no! you mean to brave me! SERVANT.--Oh no, sir! surely I have no choice but to obey. HUSBAND.--Really and truly? SERVANT.--Yes, really and truly. HUSBAND.--My anger was only a feint. Well, then, take my place, please. SERVANT.--Yes, to be sure; if it is your desire, I will do so. HUSBAND.--That is really too delightful. Just stop quiet while I set things to rights for you to sit in abstraction. SERVANT.--Your commands are laid to heart. HUSBAND.--Sit down here. SERVANT.--Oh! what an unexpected honor! HUSBAND.--Now, then; I fear it will be uncomfortable, but oblige me by putting your head under this "abstraction blanket." SERVANT.--Your commands are laid to heart. HUSBAND.--Well, it is scarcely necessary to say so; but even if my old woman should tell you to take off the abstraction blanket, be sure not to do so until my return. SERVANT.--Of course not. I should not think of taking it off. Pray don't be alarmed. HUSBAND.--I will be back soon. SERVANT.--Please be good enough to return quickly. HUSBAND.--Ah! that is well over! No doubt Hana is waiting impatiently for me. I will make haste and go. WIFE.--I am mistress of this house. I perfectly understood my partner the first time he asked me not to come to him on account of the religious devotion which he was going to perform. But there is something suspicious in his insisting on it a second time with a "Don't come to look at me! don't come to look at me!" So I will just peep through some hidden corner, and see what the thing looks like. [_Peeping._] What's this? Why, it seems much more uncomfortable than I had supposed! [_Coming in and drawing near._] Please, please; you told me not to come to you, and therefore I had intended not to do so; but I felt anxious, and so I have come. Won't you lift off that "abstraction blanket," and take something, if only a cup of tea, to unbend your mind a little? [_The figure under the blanket shakes its head._] You are quite right. The thought of my being so disobedient and coming to you after the care you took to tell me not to intrude may justly rouse your anger; but please forgive my rudeness, and do please take that blanket off and repose yourself, do! [_The figure shakes its head again._] You may say no again and again, but I _will_ have it off. You _must_ take it off. Do you hear? [_She pulls it off, and Taraukuwazhiya stands exposed._] What! you, you rascal? Where has my old man gone? Won't you speak? Won't you speak? SERVANT.--Oh! I know nothing. WIFE.--Oh! how furious I am! Oh! how furious I am! Of course he must have gone to that woman's house. Won't you speak? Won't you speak? I shall tear you in pieces? SERVANT.--In that case, how can I keep anything from you? Master has walked out to see Miss Hana. WIFE.--What! _Miss_ Hana, do you say? Say, _Minx_, say _Minx_. Gracious me, what a rage I am in! Then he really has gone to Hana's house, has he? SERVANT.--Yes, he really has gone there. WIFE.--Oh! when I hear he has gone to Hana's house, I feel all ablaze, and oh! in such a passion! oh! in such a passion! [_She bursts out crying._ SERVANT.--Your tears are but natural. WIFE.--Ah! I had meant not to let you go if you had kept it from me. But as you have told the truth I forgive you. So get up. SERVANT.--I am extremely grateful for your kindness. WIFE.--Now tell me, how came you to be sitting there? SERVANT.--It was master's order that I should take his place; and so, although it was most repugnant to me, there was no alternative but for me to sit down, and I did so. WIFE.--Naturally. Now I want to ask you to do me a good turn. Will you? SERVANT.--Pray, what may it be? WIFE.--Why, just simply this: you will arrange the blanket on top of me just as it was arranged on the top of you; won't you? SERVANT.--Oh! your commands ought of course to be laid to heart; but I shall get such a scolding if the thing becomes known, that I would rather ask you to excuse me. WIFE.--No, no! I will not allow him to scold you; so you must really please arrange me. SERVANT.--Please, please, let me off this time. WIFE.--No, no! you must arrange me, as I will not so much as let him point a finger at you. SERVANT.--Well, then, if it comes to my getting a scolding, I count on you, ma'am, as an intercessor. WIFE.--Of course. I will intercede for you; so do you please arrange me. SERVANT.--In that case, be so good as to sit down here. WIFE.--All right. SERVANT.--I fear it will be uncomfortable, but I must ask you to put your head under this. WIFE.--Please arrange me so that he cannot possibly know the difference between us. SERVANT.--He will never know. It will do very nicely like this. WIFE.--Will it? SERVANT.--Yes. WIFE.--Well, then! do you go and rest. SERVANT.--Your commands are laid to heart. [_He moves away._ WIFE.--Wait a moment, Taraukuwazhiya! SERVANT.--Yes, ma'am. WIFE.--It is scarcely necessary to say so, but be sure not to tell him that it is I. SERVANT.--Of course not, I should not think of telling him. WIFE.--It has come to my ears that you have been secretly wishing for a purse and silk wrapper.[174] I will give you one of each which I have worked myself. SERVANT.--I am extremely grateful for your kindness. WIFE.--Now be off and rest. SERVANT.--Yes, ma'am. _Enter husband, singing as he walks along the road._ Why should the lonely sleeper heed The midnight bell, the bird of dawn? But ah! they're sorrowful indeed When loosen'd was the damask zone. Her image still, with locks that sleep Had tangled, haunts me, and for aye; Like willow-sprays where winds do sweep, All tangled too, my feelings lie. As the world goes, it rarely happens even with the most ardent secret love; but in my case I never see her but what I care for her more and more:-- 'Twas in the spring-time that we first did meet, Nor e'er can I forget my flow'ret sweet. Ah well! ah well! I keep talking like one in a dream, and meantime Taraukuwazhiya is sure to be impatiently awaiting me. I must get home. How will he have been keeping my place for me? I feel a bit uneasy. [_He arrives at his house._] Halloo! halloo! Taraukuwazhiya! I'm back! I'm back! [_He enters the room._] I'm just back. Poor fellow! the time must have seemed long to you. There now! [_Seating himself._] Well, I should like to tell you to take off the "abstraction blanket"; but you would probably feel ashamed at being exposed.[175] Anyhow I will relate to you what Hana said last night if you care to listen. Do you? [_The figure nods acquiescence._] So you would like to? Well, then, I'll tell you all about it: I made all the haste I could, but yet it was nearly dark before I arrived; and I was just going to ask admittance, my thoughts full of how anxiously Hana must be waiting for me in her loneliness, saying, perhaps, with the Chinese poet[176]:-- He promised but he comes not, and I lie on my pillow in the fifth watch of the night:-- The wind shakes the pine trees and the bamboos; can it be my beloved? when there comes borne to me the sound of her voice, humming as she sat alone:-- "The breezes through the pine trees moan, The dying torch burns low; Ah me! 'tis eerie all alone! Say, will he come or no?" So I gave a gentle rap on the back door, on hearing which she cried out: "Who's there? who's there?" Well, a shower was falling at the time. So I answered by singing:-- Who comes to see you Hana dear, Regardless of the soaking rain? And do your words, Who's there, who's there? Mean that you wait for lovers twain? to which Hana replied:-- "What a fine joke! well, who can tell? On such a dark and rainy night Who ventures out must love me well, And I, of course, must be polite, And say: Pray sir, pass this way." And, with these words, she loosened the ring and staple with a cling-a-ring, and pushed open the door with a crick-a-tick; and while the breeze from the bamboo blind poured towards me laden with the scent of flowers, out she comes to me, and, "At your service, sir," says she, "though I am but a poor country maid." So in we went, hand in hand, to the parlor. But yet her first question, "Who's there?" had left me so doubtful as to whether she might not be playing a double game, that I turned my back on her, and said crossly that I supposed she had been expecting a number of lovers, and that the thought quite spoiled my pleasure. But oh! what a darling Hana is! Coming to my side and clasping tight my hand, she whispered, saying: "If I do please you not, then from the first Better have said that I do please you not; But wherefore pledge your troth, and after turn Against me? Alas! alas! "Why be so angry? I am playing no double game." Then she asked why I had not brought you, Taraukuwazhiya, with me; and on my telling her the reason why you had remained at home, "Poor fellow!" said she, "how lonely he must be all by himself! Never was there a handier lad at everything than he, though doubtless it is a case of the mugwort planted among the hemp, which grows straight without need of twisting, and of the sand mixed with the mud, which gets black without need of dyeing,[177] and it is his having been bound to you from a boy that has made him so genteel and clever. Please always be a kind master to him." Yes, those are the things you have said of you when Hana is the speaker. As for my old vixen, she wouldn't let as much fall from her mug in the course of a century, I'll warrant! [_Violent shaking under the blanket._] Then she asked me to pass into the inner room to rest awhile. So in we went to the inner room, hand in hand. And then she brought out wine and food, and pressed me to drink, so that what with drinking one's self, and passing the cup to her, and pressing each other to drink, we kept feasting until quite far into the night, when at her suggestion another room was sought and a little repose taken. But soon day began to break, and I said I would go home. Then Hana exclaimed:-- "Methought that when I met thee, dearest heart! I'd tell thee all that swells within my breast:-- But now already 'tis the hour to part, And oh! how much still lingers unexpress'd! Please stay and rest a little longer!" "But no!" said I, "I must get home. All the temple-bells are a-ringing." "And heartless priests they are," cried she, "that ring them! Horrid wretches to begin their ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, when it is still the middle of the night!" But for all her entreaties, and for all my own regrets, I remembered that "meeting is but parting," and, Tearing me loose, I made to go; farewell! Farewell a thousand times, like ocean sands Untold! and followed by her distant gaze I went; but as I turn'd me round, the moon, A slender rim, sparkling remain'd behind, And oh! what pain it was to me to part! [_He sheds tears._] And so I came home. Oh! isn't it a pity? [_Weeping again._] Ah well! out of my heart's joy has flamed all this long history, and meanwhile you must be very uncomfortable. Take off that "abstraction blanket." Take it off, for I have nothing more to tell you. Gracious goodness! what a stickler you are! Well, then! I must pull it off myself. I _will_ have it off, man! do you hear me? [_He pulls off the blanket, and up jumps his wife._ WIFE.--Oh! how furious I am! Oh! how furious I am! To hoax me and go off to Hana in that manner! HUSBAND.--Oh! not at all, not at all! I never went to Hana. I have been performing my devotions, indeed I have. WIFE.--What! so he means to come and tell me that he has been performing his devotions? and then into the bargain to talk about "things the old vixen would never have let drop"! Oh! I'm all ablaze with rage! Hoaxing me and going off--where? Going off where? [_Pursuing her husband round the stage._ HUSBAND.--Not at all, not at all! I never said anything of the kind. Do, do forgive me! do forgive me! WIFE.--Oh! how furious I am! Oh! how furious I am! Where have you been, sir? where have you been? HUSBAND.--Well, then! why should I conceal it from you? I have been to pray both for your welfare and for my own at the Temple of the Five Hundred Disciples[178] in Tsukushi. WIFE.--Oh! how furious I am! Oh! how furious I am! as if you could have got as far as the Five Hundred Disciples! HUSBAND.--Do, do forgive me! Do forgive me! WIFE.--Oh! how furious I am! Oh! how furious I am! [_The husband runs away._ Where's the unprincipled wretch off to? Is there nobody there? Please catch him! I won't let him escape! I won't let him escape! FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 162: The reader will call to mind the extreme simplicity which distinguishes the method of representing the Japanese lyric dramas. In accordance with this simplicity, all the changes of place mentioned in the text are indicated merely by a slight movement to and fro of the actors upon the stage.] [Footnote 163: It is said that in antiquity an ode commencing with the name of Mount Asaka was the first copybook put into the hands of children. The term is therefore now used as the "Pillow-word" for learning to write.] [Footnote 164: The doctrine of retribution set forth in the above lines is a cardinal point of the Buddhist teaching; and, as the afflicted Christian seeks support in the expectation of future rewards for goodness, so will the pious Buddhist find motives for resignation in the consideration of his present sufferings as the consequence of sins committed in past stages of existence.] [Footnote 165: A little further on, Kauzhiyu says it is a "rule" that a retainer must lay down his life for his lord. Though it would be difficult to find either in the Buddhist or in the Confucian teaching any explicit statement of such a duty, it is nevertheless true that the almost frantic loyalty of the mediæval and modern Japanese was but the natural result of such teaching domiciled amid a feudal society. We may see in this drama the whole distance that had been traversed by the Japanese mind since the time of the "Mañyefushifu" poets, whose means of life and duty were so much nearer to those of the simply joyous and unmoral, though not immoral, children of nature.] [Footnote 166: Literally, "turns his child into a dream."] [Footnote 167: During the Middle Ages it was very usual for afflicted persons to renounce secular life, the Buddhist tonsure being the outward sign of the step thus taken.] [Footnote 168: The Past World, the Present World, and the World to Come. According to the Buddhist teaching, the relations subsisting between parents and children are for one life only; those between husband and wife are for two lives; while those uniting a servant to his lord or a disciple to his master endure for the space of three consecutive lives.] [Footnote 169: This sentence, which so strangely reminds us of John iii., 16, is, like all the prose passages of these dramas, a literal rendering of the Japanese original.] [Footnote 170: In Japan, as in England, it is usual to talk of going "up" to the capital and "down" to the country.] [Footnote 171: A form of mortification current in the Shiñgoñ sect of Buddhists.] [Footnote 172: Bôdhidharma, the first Buddhist Patriarch of China, whither he came from India in A.D. 520. He is said to have remained seated in abstraction gazing at a wall for nine years, till his legs rotted off. His name is, in Japan, generally associated with the ludicrous. Thus certain legless and shapeless dolls are called after him, and snow-figures are denominated Yuki-daruma (Snow Daruma).] [Footnote 173: Needless to say that no such text exists.] [Footnote 174: Used for carrying parcels, and for presenting anything to, and receiving anything from, a superior. The touch of the inferior's hand would be considered rude.] [Footnote 175: The meaning is that, as one of the two must be under the blanket in readiness for a possible visit from the wife, the servant would doubtless feel it to be contrary to their respective positions for him to take his ease outside while his master is sitting cramped up inside--a peculiarly uncomfortable position, moreover, for the teller of a long story.] [Footnote 176: The lines are in reality a bad Japanese imitation of some in a poem by Li Shang-Yin.] [Footnote 177: Proverbial expressions.] [Footnote 178: Properly, the Five Hundred "Arhân," or personal disciples of Sâkya. The island of Tsukushi forms the southwestern extremity of Japan.] 
19944	----	* * * * * +------------------------------------------------------------+ | TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES | | | | Accents and diacritical marks have generally been | | standardised. Where there is a single instance of a word | | with an accent, and one without, no change has been made | | to the original. (e.g. momme/mommé; murashite/murashité; | | Kuramae/Kuramaé). | | | | The letter o with a macron is represented as o[u]. | | The letter u with a macron is represented as u[u]. | | | | Kanji characters in the original book are shown | | enclosed in square brackets: for example, [kami]. | | | | The italicisation of Japanese words has been standardised. | | | | Punctuation and obvious printer's errors have been | | corrected. | | | | Hyphenation and capitalisation has been standardised. | | | | The symbol referred to in footnote 44, an X with a bar | | across the top, has been represented as [=X]. | | | | Superscript numbers in square brackets are represented | | as ^{[4]}. | | | | Punctuation and obvious printer's errors have been | | corrected. For a complete list, please see the bottom | | of this document. | | | +------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * [Illustration] LEGEND. The outline of the map is that found in Volume I. of the Edo Sunago, published Keio 2nd year (1866). The detail of district maps found in the book is worked in, together with that from the sectional map of Edo published Ansei 4th year (1857), and from the Go Edo Zusetsu Shu[u]ran published Kaei 6th year (1853). The map therefore shows in rough outline the state of the city just before the removal of the capital from Kyo[u]to; the distribution of the castes. The Pre-Tokugawa villages (Eiroku: 1558-1569) indicated on the map found in the "Shu[u]ran" are:-- North and South Shinagawa: Meguro-Motomura: Gin-Mitamura: Mitamura: O[u]nemura: Upper and Lower Shibuya: Harajuku-mura: Kokubunji: Azabu: Kawaza Ichi: O[u]zawa-mura: Imai-mura: Sendagaya: Yamanaka-mura: Ichigaya: Ushigome: Kobiko-mura: Upper and Lower Hirakawa-mura: Ochiya: Sekihon: Ikebukuroya: Tomizaka-mura: Ishibukero-mura: Tanibaragaike: Neruma-mura: Okurikyo[u]: Nakarai-mura: Koishikawa: Zoshigayatsu: O[u]ji: Shimura: Takinogawa: Kinsoboku-mura: Harajuku-mura (II.): Komegome-mura: Taninaka-mura: Shimbori-mura: Mikawajima-mura: Ashigahara-mura: Haratsuka: Ishihama-mura: Senju[u]-mura: Suda-mura: Sumidagawa: Yanagijima: Jujo[u]-mura; Itabashi: Sugamo-mura: Arakawa (river): Kandagawa pool (_ike_); Kanda-mura: Shibasaki-mura: Shin-Horima-mura: Yushima-mura: Shitaya-mura: Torigoe-mura: Shirosawa-mura: Asakusa-mura: Harai-mura: Some-Ushigome: Ishiwara: Kinoshitagawa: Ubagaike (pool): Negishi-mura: Kinsoki-mura: Kameido-mura (near Ueno): Shinobazu-ike (pool). From South to North circling by the West. Shinagawa: Mita-mura: Takanawa: Near Imai-mura is a Myo[u]jin shrine, close by the mouth of the present Akabane river. Ikura: Hibiya: Tsukiji: Tsukuda: Tame-ike (pool): Tsukuda Myo[u]jin: Ota's castle: Sanke-in: Hirakawa-mura: Sakurada-mura: Honju[u]-mura: O[u]tamage-ike: Kametaka-mura. To the East. 77 villages, total. Pronounce as in Italian, giving vowels full value: ch- as in "church." THE YOTSUYA KWAIDAN OR O'IWA INARI _BY THIS AUTHOR_ SAKURAMBO[U] (THE FRUIT OF THE TREE) Travel notes on thoughts and things Japanese, experienced during a four years' sojourn in the country Octavo. 339 pages. MORE JAPONICO A critique of the effect of an idea--communityism--on the life and history of a people Octavo. VI, 594 pages. SAITO[U] MUSASHI-BO[U] BENKEI (TALES OF THE WARS OF THE GEMPEI) Being the story of the lives and adventures of Iyo-no-Kami Minamoto Kuro[u] Yoshitsune and Saito[u] Musashi-Bo[u] Benkei the Warrior Monk Octavo. 2 Vols., XXI, 841 pages, with 69 full page illustrations (frontispieces in color) and three maps. OGURI HANGWAN ICHIDAIKI (TALES OF THE SAMURAI) Being the story of the lives, the adventures, and the mis-adventures of the Hangwan-dai Kojiro[u] Sukéshigé and Ternte-hime, his wife Octavo. XV, 485 pages, with 45 full page illustrations (frontispiece in color) and three maps. [Illustration: THE O'IWA OF THE TAMIYA INARI JINJA OF ECHIZENBORI, TOKYO] _TALES OF THE TOKUGAWA_ THE YOTSUYA KWAIDAN OR O'IWA INARI RETOLD FROM THE JAPANESE ORIGINALS BY JAMES S. DE BENNEVILLE "The mainspring of human existence is love (_nasaké_), for others or--oneself." --SEISHIN PRESS OF J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY PHILADELPHIA, U.S.A. 1917 COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY JAMES SEGUIN DE BENNEVILLE PRINTED AND COPYRIGHTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA PREFACE Tales of the Tokugawa can well be introduced by two "wonder-stories" of Nippon. One of these, the Yotsuya Kwaidan,[1] is presented in the present volume, not so much because of the incidents involved and the peculiar relation to a phase of Nipponese mentality, as from the fact that it contains all the machinery of the Nipponese ghost story. From this point of view the reading of one of these tales disposes of a whole class of the native literature. Difference of detail is found. But unless the tale carries some particular interest, as of curious illustration of customs or history--the excuse for a second presentation--a long course of such reading becomes more than monotonous. It is unprofitable. Curiously enough, it can be said that most Nipponese ghost stories are true. When a sword is found enshrined, itself the malevolent influence--as is the Muramasa blade of the Hamamatsu Suwa Jinja, the subject of the Komatsu Onryu[u] of Matsubayashi Hakuchi--and with such tradition attached to it, it is difficult to deny a basis of fact attaching to the tradition. The ghost story becomes merely an elaboration of an event that powerfully impressed the men of the day and place. Moreover this naturalistic element can be detected in the stories themselves. Nipponese writers of to-day explain most of them by the word _shinkei_--"nerves"; the working of a guilty conscience moulding succeeding events, and interpreting the results to the subsequent disaster involved. The explanation is somewhat at variance with the native Shinto[u] doctrine of the moral perfection of the Nipponese, and its maxim--follow the dictates of one's heart; but that is not our present concern. Their theory, however, finds powerful support in the nature of the Nipponese ghost. The Buddhist ghost does not remain on earth. It has its travels and penalties to go through in the nether world, or its residence in Paradise, before it begins a new life--somewhere. The Shinto[u] ghost, in the vagueness of Shinto[u] theology, does remain on earth. If of enough importance it is enshrined, and rarely goes abroad, except when carried in procession at the time of the temple festival. Otherwise it finds its home in the miniature shrine of the _kami-dana_ or god-shelf. There is a curious confusion of Nipponese thought on this subject; at least among the mass of laity. At the Bon-Matsuri the dead revisit the scene of their earthly sojourn for the space of three days; and yet the worship of the _ihai_, or mortuary tablets, the food offerings with ringing of the bell to call the attention of the resident Spirit is a daily rite at the household Buddhist shrine (Butsudan). When, therefore, the ghost does not conform to these well-regulated habits, it is because it is an unhappy ghost. It is then the _O'Baké_ or _Bakémono_, the haunting ghost. Either it has become an unworshipped spirit, or, owing to some atrocious injury in life, it stays to wander the earth, and to secure vengeance on the living perpetrator. In most cases this is effected by the grudge felt or spoken at the last moment of life. The mind, concentrated in its hate and malice at this final crisis, secures to the Spirit a continued and unhappy sojourn among the living, until the vengeance be secured, the grudge satisfied, and the Spirit pacified. There are other unhappy conditions of this revisiting of life's scenes; as when the dead mother returns to nurse her infant, or the dead mistress to console a lover. In the latter case, at least, the expressed affection has a malignant effect, perhaps purpose--as in the Bo[u]tan Do[u]ro[u] of Sanyu[u]tei Encho[u], a writer most careful in observing all the niceties called for by the subject. In the Nipponese ghost story the vengeful power of the ghost acts through entirely natural means. The characters involved suffer through their own delusions aroused by conscience. In the old days, and among the common people in Nippon to-day, the supernatural was and is believed in, with but few exceptions. Such stories still are held to be fact, albeit the explanation is modern. Hence it can be said that the "Yotsuya Kwaidan" is a true story. O'Iwa, the Lady of Tamiya, really did exist in the Genroku and Ho[u]rei periods (1688-1710); just ante-dating the reforming rule of the eighth Tokugawa Sho[u]gun, Yoshimune Ko[u]. Victim of an atrocious plot of her husband and others, she committed suicide with the vow to visit her rage upon all engaged in the conspiracy. The shrine of the O'Iwa Inari (Fox-witched O'Iwa) in Yotsuya was early erected (1717) to propitiate her wrathful ghost; and the shrines of Nippon, to the shabbiest and meanest, have their definite record. On the register the name of the husband appears as Ibei; "probably correct," as Mr. Momogawa tells us. With him the name of Iémon is retained in the present story. Iémon is the classic example of the wicked and brutal husband, on the stage and in the _gidayu_ recitation of Nippon. There was but little reason to revert to the record. The shrine always prospered. It appears on the maps of the district as late as Ansei fourth year (1857); and the writer has had described to him by a friend a visit to this shrine some twenty years ago. The lady in question referred to it rather vaguely as beyond Samegafuchi: _i.e._, at Yotsuya Samoncho[u]. It was particularly favoured by the hair dressers, and to the eyes of a young girl was a gorgeous structure in its continually renewed decoration. Inquiry of late in the district elicited the information that the shrine had been removed. Many changes have been made on the southern side of Yotsuya by the passage of the railway from Iidamachi to Shinjuku. The Myo[u]gyo[u]ji, with other temples there located, has been swept away. In fact the Meiji period handled all those institutions established by deceased piety with great roughness. Teramachi--Temple Street--is now but a name. The temples of eastern Yotsuya have nearly all disappeared. Have public institutions occupied this "public land"? Of course: the sites were sold for the secular purpose of profit, and poverty spread wide and fast over them. Yotsuya got the shell of this oyster. About the middle of Meiji therefore (say 1893) the shrine disappeared from Yotsuya Samoncho[u]; to be re-erected in Echizenbori near the Sumidagawa. Local inquiry could or would give but little information. A fortunate encounter at the Denzu-In with an University student, likewise bent on hunting out the old sites of Edo's history, set matters right. Subsequent visits to the newer shrine were not uninteresting, though the presence of the mirror of O'Iwa and of the bamboo tube inclosing her Spirit (Mr. Momogawa) was strenuously denied by the incumbent. In the presence of the very genuine worship at the lady's shrine much stress need not be laid on the absence. The present story practically is based on the "Yotsuya Kwaidan" of Shunkintei Ryuo[u], a famous story-teller of the Yoshiwara, and an old man when the "Restoration" of the Meiji period occurred. The sketch given in the "O'Iwa Inari Yu[u]rei" of Momogawa Jakuen filled in gaps, and gave much suggestion in moulding the story into a consistent whole. Parts merely sketched by the older story-teller found completeness. This collection of ghost stories--the "Kwaidan Hyaku Monogatari" published by the Kokkwado[u]--is in the main written by Mr. Momogawa, and can be recommended as one of the best of these collections, covering in shorter form the more important stories of this class of the native literature. The "Yotsuya Kwaidan" of Shinsai To[u]yo[u], one of the older and livelier of the _ko[u]dan_ lecturers, gives the scene at the house of Cho[u]bei, and his quarrel with Toémon. It is found in the "Kwaidan-Shu[u]" published by the Hakubun-kwan. The _gidayu_ (heroic recitation) and the drama handle all these stories for their own peculiar purposes. The incidents of a tale are so distorted, for stage use and dramatic effect, as to make these literary forms of small avail. The letter of O'Hana, however, is practically that of the play of Tsuruya Namboku (Katsu Byo[u]zo[u]). It has been thought well to append to the story the _gidayu_ of this writer, covering the scene in Iémon's house. Also the strange experience of the famous actor Kikugoro[u], third of that name, is put into English for the curious reader. Kikugoro[u] was the pioneer in the representation of the Namboku drama. This life history of the O'Iwa Inari--the moving cause of the establishment of her shrine--is no mere ghost story. It is a very curious exposition of life in Edo among a class of officials entirely different from the fighting _samurai_ who haunted the fencing schools of Edo; from the men higher up in social status, who risked heads, or rather bellies, in the politics of the day and the struggle to obtain position, which meant power, in the palace clique. These latter were men who sought to have a share in the government of the Sho[u]gun's person, and hence of the nation. They strove to seat themselves in the high posts of the palace. Here was a rapidly revolving wheel to which a man must cling, or be dashed to pieces. To prevent being shoved off into destruction they used every means of slander and intrigue, and fought against such, that the life of a rich and luxurious court afforded. The result, too often, was the present of a dagger from the suzerain they sought to please. Trapped into some breach of the harsh discipline, or even of mere form of etiquette, the gift was "respectfully received" with the mocking face of gratitude, even from the hand of the successful rival in office. At his home the defeated politician cut his belly open. His obedience to the suzerain's will was duly reported. His family was ruined or reprieved according to a capricious estimation of its power of resentment--and it became a question of "who next?" to try for a place on the wheel. On the contrary those lower officials,[2] engaged in the dull routine of bureaucratic office, had a much less dangerous service and etiquette to deal with. In insignificant ease they lived and intrigued in their petty way, under no obligation to take sides in the politics of the truly great. If they fell, it was largely their own fault. Such was the position of those in immediate contact with the working wheels of the Sho[u]gun's Government. The great _bugyo[u]_ (magistrates) were continually shifting. Their court staff was the solid foundation of unyielding precedent in form. The one was a court officer; the others court officers. Hence the Kwaidan possesses value for the social lesson it conveys. The admittance of a stranger to the ward, his evil bond with the Lady of Tamiya, the previous passion for O'Hana and thereby the entanglement of Kwaiba in the plot; all form a network in which the horror of the story is balanced by the useful lessons to be drawn by the mind of Nippon from its wickedness. Perhaps this belief in the effect of the curse of the suicide acts both in deterring or bringing back the erring husband, and in saving the wife from the extremities of her despair in abandonment. The story of O'Iwa, the belief in her power, to-day has a strong influence on a certain class of the Nipponese mind; especially among the women. If the present writer might have felt momentarily an amused feeling at sight of her worshippers, it was quickly lost at sight of the positive unhappiness expressed in these faces of the abandoned. A visit to the Tamiya Inari is not necessarily either one of idle curiosity or without results. Some exceedingly painful impressions can be brought away in the mind. It is not entirely in jest therefore that apology is made for the reproduction of the story. It is well in such matters to follow one's predecessors. Moreover, public sentiment is not to be derided nor disregarded. It has a certain title to respect, even when superstition is involved. Hence the statement can be made, that in telling this story of the "Yotsuya Kwaidan" no derogatory motive is involved--to people, class, or person; least of all in reference to the dread Lady of Tamiya. OMARUDANI--4th July, 1916. CONTENTS CHAPTER. PAGE PROEM 15 I. O'MINO AND DENSUKÉ 17 II. KAWAI SAN OF KANDA KU 28 III. TAKAHASHI DAIHACHIRO[U] 35 IV. THE APPEARANCE OF O'IWA SAN 43 V. THE AFFAIR OF THE SHIBA KIRIDO[U]SHI 49 VI. NEGOTIATIONS: THE BUSINESS OF A NAKO[U]DO OR MARRIAGE BROKER 63 VII. IÉMON APPEARS 74 VIII. IF OLD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT 86 IX. LOVE KNOTS 93 X. THE PLOT AGAINST O'IWA 99 XI. THE PLOT DEVELOPS 106 XII. KWAIBA'S REVENGE 114 XIII. THE YO[U]TAKA (NIGHT-HAWKS) OF HONJO[U] 123 XIV. THE PUNISHMENT 131 XV. CHO[U]BEI GETS THE NEWS 141 XVI. NEWS REACHES KWAIBA 155 XVII. NEWS OF KWAIBA 162 XVIII. IN THE SHADOW OF THE GO INKYO[U] 173 XIX. TAMIYA YOÉMON: WITH NEWS OF KONDO[U] ROKURO[U]BEI AND MYO[U]ZEN THE PRIEST 180 XX. KIBEI DONO 195 XXI. MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL 212 XXII. THE RITES FOR O'IWA 222 XXIII. THE SANZUGAWA, BRIDGELESS; THE FLOWERLESS ROAD TRAVERSED BY THE DEAD 233 APPENDICES 251 [The pronunciation of the Japanese vowels and consonants follows closely the Italian; in diphthongs and triphthongs each vowel is given full value. a = a as in father, e = a as in mate, i = e as in meet, o = o as in soap, u = oo as in fool. g is always hard. In the To[u]kyo[u] district it has the sound ng. ch has full value, as in church. It is _not_ k; c is only found as ch; _i.e._ cha, chi, cho, chu. The vowels also have long (continued) sounds, marked by the accent -. At times a vowel is elided; or rather but faintly touched by the voice. Thus Sukéshigé is pronounced Skéshigé; Sukénaga = Skénaga; Kuranosuké = Kuranoské. _Bu_ and _mu_ at the end of word lose the vowel sound--Shikibu = Shikib. Kami used in connection with a man means "lord," Wakasa no Kami = Lord of Wakasa province. Reprinted from the "Oguri Hangwan."] (Kami also means "God" or divinized person; including the spirits of the dead. Even a living man can be regarded as a _kami_, in cases of some very unusual service rendered to the public welfare. Professor Imai recently--at Karuizawa--called attention to the fact that originally _kami_ was written [kami], _i.e._ "superior." The divine attribute [kami] was introduced with Buddhism.) PROEM Reader, pray take not the story of the O'Iwa Inari, the Yotsuya Kwaidan, as a mere fairy tale or novel of the day. The shrine of the Tamiya Inari stands now to attest the truth of the tradition. Let the doubter but witness the faith of the believer in the powers of the fearful lady; and, if doubt still continues to exist, the salutary fear of others at least will inspire respect. THE YOTSUYA KWAIDAN OR O'IWA INARI CHAPTER I O'MINO AND DENSUKÉ Yotsuya is a suburb--at the extreme west of Edo-To[u]kyo[u]. Its streets are narrow and winding, though hilly withal; especially on the southern edge toward the Aoyama district, still devoted to cemeteries and palaces, sepulchres whited without and within. Echizenbori would be at the other extremity of the great city. It fronts eastward on the bank of the Sumidagawa. The populous and now poverty stricken districts of Honjo[u] and Fukagawa beyond the wide stream, with other qualities, deprive it of any claim of going to extremes. In fact Echizenbori is a very staid and solid section of Edo-To[u]kyo[u]. Its streets are narrow; and many are the small shops to purvey for the daily needs of its inhabitants. But these rows of shops are sandwiched in between great clumps of stores, partly warehouses and partly residences of the owners thereof. These stores line the canals of Echizenbori, water courses crowded with junks carrying their ten tons, or their hundreds of tons, of freight--precious cargoes of rice to go into these stores in bulk, of _shoyu_ (soy) by the hundred kegs, of sakarazumi (charcoal from Shimosa) by the thousand _tawara_ (bale), of fish dried and fresh, of _takuan_ or _daikon_ (the huge white radish) pickled in salt and rice bran, of all the odds and ends of material in the gross which go to make up the necessities of living in a great city. If Echizenbori then can make its show of poverty, and very little _display_ of wealth, it is not one of the poor quarters of this capital city of Nippon. Crossing the Takabashi from Hacho[u]bori and plunging down the narrow street opposite; a short turn to the right, a plunge down another narrow street and a turn to the right; one comes to the high cement wall, in its modernness of type a most unusual attachment to shrine or temple. The gate is narrow and formal; almost like the entrance to a garden or smaller burying ground. Within all is changed from the busy outside world. The area inclosed is small--perhaps a square of a hundred and fifty feet--but marked in lines by a maze of lanterns of the cheap iron variety, set on cheap wooden posts. On the right is seen a minor shrine or two dedicated to the Inari goddess. On the left is a small building devoted to votive offerings, the crude and the more elaborate. The most striking is the offering of a little _geisha_ lady, and portrays an heroic scene of early days. There are other portraitures, in which perhaps a wandering lover is seen as a hero, to the lady's eyes, of these later times. On the outside of the structure are posted up by the hundred pictures of once woebegone ladies, now rejoicing in the potent influence of the Tamiya shrine to restore to them the strayed affections of husband or lover. Next in line is an open, shed-like structure. It is a poor chance if here the casual visitor does not encounter one or two of the petitioners, patiently trotting round in a circle from front to back, and reciting their prayers in this accomplishment of "the hundred turns." Just opposite, and close by, is the shrine itself. This is in part a massive store-house set back in the domestic structure, with the shrine of the Inari facing the visitor. The floor space at the sides and before it often is piled high with tubs of _shoyu_ and _saké_, with bundles of charcoal, such negotiable articles as the wealthier shopkeeper can offer to the mighty lady; and long tresses of hair of women too poor to offer anything else, or wise enough to know that a woman could make no greater sacrifice. And is not the object of their worship a woman? Numerous are these severed strands. Entering the shrine and passing the pleasant spoken warden at its entrance, peddling his charms and giving advice where often it is sadly needed--perhaps the more valuable of his two public duties--to the left within is the Oku-no-In, the inner shrine containing the _ihai_ or memorial tablet of O'Iwa. That the shrine is popular and wealthy; that the lady is feared, venerated, and her dreadful powers much sought after; this is plain to the eye in the crowded elaborateness of this inner holy place of the larger sacred structure. Now Echizenbori is not a particularly old quarter of the city. Long after Edo was established, the city, step by step, fought its way down to the river; filling in lagoons and swamps, and driving their waters into the canals which were to furnish very largely the means of communication for its traffic. Yotsuya on the contrary is old. Its poverty is of later date. In the Edo days it was a favourite site for the homes of _do[u]shin_, _yakunin_, and a whole herd of the minor officials who had the actual working of the great Tokugawa machine of government in their hands. In the maps of Ansei 4th year (1857) the shrine of the O'Iwa Inari figures in Samoncho[u], in its Teramachi; a small part of the great mass of red, indicating temples and shrines and their lands, which then covered a large part of Yotsuya. How then did it come to pass that the shrine was removed to this far off site in Echizenbori, with such incongruous surroundings? The explanation must be found in our story. When the Tenwa year period (1681-83) opened, long resident at Yotsuya Samoncho[u] had been Tamiya Matazaémon. By status he was a minor official or _do[u]shin_ under the Tokugawa administration. These _do[u]shin_ held highest rank of the permanent staff under the bureaucratic establishment; and on these men lay the main dependence for smoothness of working of the machinery of the Government. Matazaémon was the perfect type of the under-official of the day; smooth, civilly impertinent to his equals, harsh to his inferiors, and all unction and abjectness to his superiors. Indeed, he laid more stress on those immediately above him than on the more removed. To serve the greater lord he served his immediate officer, being careful to allow to the latter all the credit. No small part of his function was to see that ceremonial form and precedent were carried out to the letter. It was the accurate and ready knowledge of these which was of greatest import to his chief, indeed might save the latter from disaster. Matazaémon's readiness and conduct rendered him deservedly valued. Hence he enjoyed the double salary of thirty _tawara_ of rice, largely supplemented by gifts coming to him as teacher in _hanaiké_ (the art of flower arrangement) and of the _cha-no-yu_ (tea ceremony). He had a more than good house, for one of his class, facing on the wide Samoncho[u] road, and with a garden on the famous Teramachi or long street lined with temples and which runs eastward from that thoroughfare. The garden of Tamiya almost faced the entrance to the Gwansho[u]ji, which is one of the few relics of the time still extant. It was large enough to contain some fifteen or twenty fruit trees, mainly the _kaki_ or persimmon, for Matazaémon was of practical mind. Several cherry trees, however, periodically displayed their bloom against the rich dark green foliage of the fruit trees; and in one corner, to set forth the mystic qualities of a small Inari shrine relic of a former owner, were five or six extremely ancient, gnarled, and propped up plum trees, sufficient in number to cast their delicate perfume through garden and house in the second month (March). Such was the home of Matazaémon; later that of O'Iwa San. It was pretentious enough to make display with a large household. But the master of Tamiya was as close-fisted and hard and bitter as an unripe _biwa_ (medlar). His wealth was the large and unprofitable stone which lay within; the acid pulp, a shallow layer, all he had to give to society in his narrow minded adherence to official routine; the smooth, easily peeled skin the outward sign of his pretentions to social status and easily aroused acidity of temper. With most of his neighbours, and all his relatives, he had a standing quarrel. Secure in his lord's favour as an earnest officer, so little did he care for the dislike of the ward residents that he was ever at drawn swords with the head of his ward-association, Ito[u] Kwaiba. As for the relatives, they were only too ready to come to closer intimacy; and Matazaémon knew it. His household consisted of his wife O'Naka, his daughter O'Mino, and the man servant Densuké. The garden Matazaémon would allow no one to attend to but himself. The two women did all the work of the household which ordinarily would fall to woman-kind, with something more. Densuké performed the heavier tasks, accompanied his master on his outings, and represented his contribution to the service of the ward barrier, the O[u]kido[u], on the great Ko[u]shu[u]-Kaido[u] and just beyond the O[u]bangumi. The barrier cut off Yotsuya from the Naito[u]-Shinjuku district, and, as an entrance into Edo, was of considerable importance. When the time of service came Densuké appeared in full uniform and with his pike. A handsome young fellow of nineteen years, the women, especially O'Mino, saw to it that his appearance should be a credit to the House. His progress up the wide Samoncho[u], up to his disappearance into the great highway, was watched by O'Mino--and by the neighbours, who had much sharper eyes and tongues than Matazaémon and his wife. They marvelled. With ground for marvel. In the eyes of her parents O'Mino was the most beautiful creature ever created. Occasionally Matazaémon would venture on criticism. "Naka, something is to be said to Mino. Too much powder is used on the face. Unless the colour of the skin be very dark, the use of too much powder is not good. Mino is to be warned against excess." Thus spoke the official in his most official tone and manner. Wife and daughter heard and disobeyed; the wife because she was ruled by her daughter, and the daughter because she would emulate the fair skin of Densuké and be fairer in his eyes. O'Mino had suffered both from fate and fortune. She had been born ugly; with broad, flat face like unto the moon at full, or a dish. Her back was a little humped, her arms disproportionately long, losing in plumpness what they gained in extension. She seemed to have no breasts at all, the chest forming a concavity in correspondence to the convexity of the back, with a smoothness much like the inner surface of a bowl. This perhaps was no disadvantage--under the conditions. So much for fate. But fortune had been no kinder. "Blooming" into girlhood, she had been attacked by smallpox. Matazaémon was busy, and knew nothing of sick nursing. O'Naka was equally ignorant, though she was well intentioned. Of course the then serving wench knew no more than her mistress. O'Mino was allowed to claw her countenance and body, as the itching of the sores drove her nearly frantic. In fact, O'Naka in her charity aided her. The result was that she was most hideously pock-marked. Furthermore, the disease cost her an eye, leaving a cavity, a gaping and unsightly wound, comparable to the dumplings called _kuzumanju_, white puffy masses of rice dough with a depression in the centre marked by a dab of the dark-brown bean paste. The neighbours used to say that O'Mino was _nin san baké shichi_--that is, three parts human and seven parts apparition. The more critical reduced her humanity to the factor one. The children had no name for her but "Oni" (fiend). They had reason for this. They would not play with her, and treated her most cruelly. O'Mino, who was of no mild temperament, soon learned to retaliate by use of an unusually robust frame, to which was united by nature and circumstances her father's acidity of character. When the odds were not too great all the tears were not on O'Mino's side; but she suffered greatly, and learned with years that the Tamiya garden was her safest playground. O'Mino grew into a woman. Affection had to find some outlet. Not on the practical and very prosaic mother; not on the absorbed and crabbed father; but on Densuké, on the _samurai's_ attendant or _chu[u]gen_, it fell. All manner of little services were rendered to him; even such as would appropriately fall within his own performance. At first O'Mino sought out little missions for him to perform, out of the line of his usual duties, and well rewarded in coin. This was at his first appearance in the house. Then she grew bolder. Densuké found his clothing undergoing mysterious repairs and replacement. His washing, even down to the loin cloths, was undertaken by the Ojo[u]san. Densuké did not dare to question or thwart her. Any trifling fault O'Mino took on herself, as due to her meddling. She became bolder and bolder, and sought his assistance in her own duties, until finally they were as man and maid employed in the same house. Matazaémon noted little increases in the house expenses. O'Mino took these as due to her own extravagance. The father grunted a little at these unusual expenditures. "What goes out at one end must be cut off at the other end. Densuké, oil is very expensive. At night a light is not needed. Be sure, therefore, on going to bed to extinguish the light." Densuké at once obeyed his master's order; and that very night, for the first time, O'Mino boldly sought his couch. Confused, frightened, overpowered by a passionate woman, Densuké sinned against his lord, with his master's daughter as accomplice. Henceforth Densuké had what O'Mino was willing to give him. On Matazaémon's going forth to his duties, O'Mino, and O'Naka under her orders, did all his household work. The only return required was submission to the exigencies of the Ojo[u]san. This was no slight obligation. Densuké at times thought of escape, to his home at To[u]gané village in Kazusa, to his uncle Kyu[u]bei in the Kanda quarter of Edo. O'Mino seemed to divine his thoughts. She would overload him with favors; or openly express her purpose of following wherever he went in life. Kanda? Kyu[u]bei was a well-known hanger-on at the Tamiya. Matazaémon entered him up in his expense book at so much a year. To[u]gané? He could not get there except through Kyu[u]bei. Matazaémon had farms there, and the _nanushi_ or village bailiff was his servant. Besides, he would be a runaway. Matazaémon surely would come down on Kyu[u]bei as the security. So the months passed, and matters were allowed to drift. Perhaps it was some gossip of the quarter which reached the deaf ears of Matazaémon. As he was about to go forth one day he followed the figure of O'Mino sharply with his little eyes all screwed up. "Naka, there seems change in the figure of Mino. Surely the gossip of the neighbours as to Densuké is not true? Mino is said to harbour a child by him. In such case it would be necessary to kill them both. Warn Mino in time; a _chu[u]gen_ is not one to become the adopted son (_muko_) of the Tamiya. He is an excellent lad, and costs but little. His habits are not riotous. To dismiss him thus causelessly would not only be unjust, but to no profit. Mino giving heed to the warning, all will be well." With this the lord of the household stalked forth to the house entrance. Receiving his clogs from O'Mino, he stalked forth to his official attendance. The two women, prostrate in salutation at his exit, raised their heads to watch him stalk. It was a frightened face that O'Naka turned to her daughter. In whispering voice--"The honoured father's words have been heard? If not, it is to be said that gossip of the neighbourhood has come to his ears as to relations with Densuké. He notices that an _obi_ is not often worn; and when worn is soon discarded. However, a man's eye is not so apt in such matters. Even in this Naka cannot speak positively. Doubtless the report is not true." O'Mino, if ugly, was anything but obtuse. Her mother must know; and yet not know. "My honoured father does not consider the difference of age and status in Densuké. Densuké is but a boy. This Mino has passed her twenty-third year. Moreover, surely she deserves a better husband than a _chu[u]gen_. Least of all would she give her father cause for regret or painful thoughts. Can a woman be pregnant otherwise than by a man?" O'Mino, respectfully prostrate, with this raised her head. The two women looked each other in the face. Finally O'Naka said--"With joy is the answer heard. But Matazaémon San is of hasty temper. In his suspicions even he is to be avoided. However, the business of the house is to be performed. This will take the time until late in the day. Tradesmen may come for payments of the month. In the closet ten _ryo[u]_ in silver will be found. Here are the keys to the chests. It would be well to take an inventory of the effects. The winter is at hand. It is time to make warmer provision for it. Be sure to observe circumspection." With these words, and a sad look at her erring daughter, O'Naka donned street garb, threw a _haori_ (cloak) over her shoulders, climbed down into her clogs, and their patter soon disappeared down the street. Her departure was almost coincident with the reappearance of Densuké. His attendance on the master to the offices of the palace stables accomplished, for the time being he had returned. Thus did Matazaémon effect an outward state and an household economy. None too willing was the presence of Densuké. He was faithful in his way to O'Mino, and much afraid of her. Even in the most private intercourse to him she was the Ojo[u]san, the daughter of the House; but he had no other recourse than the Tamiya. Once assured of him, O'Mino had cut off all the previous flow of coin, and with it the means of his rare indiscretions at the Shinjuku pleasure quarter. Besides, their interviews took place in the darkness of night. In the daytime O'Naka usually was present, who, lacking other company, sought that of her daughter, and moreover was unwilling to be too complacent in the intrigue she saw going on. As soon as the sound of Densuké's steps was heard, O'Mino called him. There was a sharpness in her tone, a note of alarmed decision, that frightened and chilled him. Humbly he sought her presence. A glance showed the absence of O'Naka, yet as usual he prostrated himself in salutation. In that position he did not see her face. She said impatiently--"For salutation there is no time nor occasion. It is no longer the Ojo[u]san who speaks; it is the wife. My father knows all concerning this Mino and Densuké. On his return he is sure to take the occasion of the presence of both to kill us. It is his right and our duty to submit to his punishment. But to do so consigns the infant in the womb from darkness to darkness. This is too dreadful to contemplate. Unfilial though it be, we must run away. Make up your mind to do so." Densuké looked up. She was bent in meditation over this flight. The corners of the mouth widened out, the eyelid drooping more conspicuously than ever and forming a heavy fold over the empty socket, the bald brow, the scanty hair at the sides in disordered whisps and strands, all these made her a hideous mask. He could not endure the sight. Timidly he said--"Terrible news indeed! How has it happened? Surely, honoured lady, you have been very rash; nay, somewhat clumsy withal. Cannot women take their pleasure with whom they please without such dire results? Ah! Such luxury, such pleasant surroundings! All must be abandoned. This Densuké will seek his native village in Kazusa. And the Ojo[u]san whither will she go; what will she do?" Was the question asked in innocence, or in deepest guile? O'Mino could not have answered, well as she thought she knew Densuké. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He sprang up in fright, hardly knowing whether it was a demon, or O'Mino turned demon, who confronted him. Her mouth half open, her large, white, shining, even teeth all displayed, her single eye darting malignant gleams, and the empty socket and its fold quivering and shaking, she was a frightful object. "To speak of pleasure without the consequences, such talk is that of a fool. Densuké was taken for the relationship of the two worlds. Now you would abandon me. Very well--do so. But this Mino does not perish by her father's sword. The well is at hand. Within three days I shall reappear and hunt you out. Torn to pieces the wretched man shall die a miserable death. Better would it be now to die with Mino. A last salutation...." Two vigorous arms seized his neck. Densuké gave a cry of anguish as the sharp teeth marked the ear. Letting him go, she sprang to the _ro[u]ka_ (verandah). Frightened as he was, Densuké was too quick for her. He grasped her robe. "Nay! The Ojo[u]san must not act so desperately. Densuké spoke as one clumsy, and at a loss what to do ... yes ... we must run away ... there is the uncle, Kawai, in Kanda. To him Densuké will go, and there learn the will of Tamiya Dono." O'Mino's tragic attitude lapsed. At once she was the practical woman of the house. She gave thanks for her mother's foresight. "The escape is not as of those unprovided. Here are ten _ryo[u]_ in silver. A bundle is to be made of the clothing and other effects. This is to be carried by Densuké. And the uncle: Mino presenting herself for the first time as wife, a present is to be brought. What should it be?" She talked away, already busy with piling clothes, quilts (_futon_), toilet articles onto a large _furoshiki_ or square piece of cloth. Then she arrayed her person with greatest care, and in the soberest and richest fashion as the newly-wed wife. With time Densuké managed to get his breath amid this vortex of unexpected confusion into which he had been launched. "The uncle's teeth are bad. Soft _takuan_[3] is just the thing. For long he has eaten little else. Four or five stalks are sufficient." He went to the kitchen to secure this valued gift. Then he collected his own possessions. With the huge bundle of the _furoshiki_ on his shoulders; with straw raincoat, sun hat, clogs for wet and dry weather, piled on the top, and the stalks of the _takuan_ dangling down; "it was just as if they were running away from a fire." As Densuké departed O'Mino closely observed him. He was too subdued, too scared to give her anxiety. Later she left the house to join him at the Hanzo[u]-bashi, far enough removed from Yotsuya. It was then Tenwa, 2nd year, 11th month (December, 1682). CHAPTER II KAWAI SAN OF KANDU KU This uncle of Densuké, Kawai Kyu[u]bei by name, was a rice dealer, with a shop in Matsudacho[u] of the Kanda district. The distance to go was far. As with all ladies, O'Mino kept Densuké waiting long at the Hanzo[u]-bashi. Indeed, there was much romance about this ugly, neglected, hard girl. She waited until the sound of O'Naka's clogs was heard. Then she halted at the corner of Teramachi until she could see her mother's figure in the dusk; see it disappear into the house. When she went down the street toward the Samégabashi she was crying. It was late therefore--after the hour of the pig (9 P.M.)--when the pair reached Kanda. The business of the day was long over in this business section of Edo. The houses were tightly closed. On reaching the entrance of Kyu[u]bei's house said Densuké--"Ojo[u]san, condescend to wait here for a moment. The uncle is to be informed. Deign to have an eye to the _furoshiki_. Please don't let the dogs bite into or insult the _takuan_." He pounded on the door. Said a voice within--"Obasan (Auntie)! Obasan! Someone knocks. Please go and open for them." The more quavering and softer tones of an old woman made answer--"No, it is not my turn and time to go to the door. Get up; and first make inquiry before entrance is allowed. With little to lose, loss is much felt. Ah! Tamiya Dono in the Yotsuya has been sadly neglected." The scolding tones hummed on. Grumbling, the old man was lighting a rush. "'Tis agreed; 'tis agreed. To-morrow without fail this Kyu[u]bei visits Tamiya. Ah! It is no jest to go to that house. Not only is the distance great, but...." He had the door open, and his mouth too. "Densuké! Graceless fellow! But what are you doing here, and at this hour? No; the luck is good. There is a big bundle with you, a huge bundle." He spied the _takuan_ and his face broadened into a smile. "Ah! If dismissed, it has been with honour. Doubtless the _takuan_ is for this Kyu[u]bei. Thanks are felt. But is all this stuff Densuké's? He has not stolen it? Doubtless a woman is at the bottom of the affair. Never mind; an opportunity presents itself to offer you as _muko_--at the Tatsuya in Yokomachi. Of late a boy has been hoped for, but another girl presented herself. A _muko_ now will be welcome. The wife is getting past child-bearing, and there is little hope of a son. The Tatsuya girl is just the thing. In a few months she will be fit to be a wife. She...." Densuké edged a word into this stream. "The honoured uncle is right. The cause of Densuké's appearance is a woman." The old man made a face. Said he--"Well, in such a case it is good to be out of it. This Kyu[u]bei has heard talk of Densuké--and of all things with the Ojo[u]san! That would be terrible indeed. But how is the Oni (demon)? What a sight she is! Bald, one-eyed, hairless, with a face like a dish and no nose--Kyu[u]bei came suddenly on her at dusk in the Yotsuya. Iya! It was cold feet and chills for him for the space of seven days. It is that which keeps Kyu[u]bei from Yotsuya, although a little aid would go far. The last dealings in rice notes were not favourable. Besides, account is soon to be rendered to Tamiya Dono. But though wicked of temper and ugly, O'Mino San is rich. Even for the demon in time a good match will be found. She will be the wife of an honoured _kenin_ (vassal), and the husband will buy _geisha_ and _joro[u]_ with the money. Such is the expectation of Tamiya Dono. Don't allow any trifling there. Remember that she is the daughter of a _go-kenin_. They talk of Densuké in the Yotsuya. Of course it is all talk. Don't allow it to happen." Densuké found an opening. The words meant one thing; the expression another. "It is not _going_ to happen." Kyu[u]bei looked at him aghast as he took in the meaning. "What! With the demon? Densuké has committed the carnal sin with the demon? Oh, you filthy scoundrel! Rash, inconsiderate boy! Obasan! Obasan!... What did she pay you for the deed?... This low fellow Densuké, this foolish rascal of a nephew, has been caught in fornication with the demon.... What a fool! How is it that death has been escaped? And you have run away. Doubtless a pregnancy has followed. After putting his daughter to death Tamiya Dono will surely hunt out Densuké. Or perhaps keep O'Mino San until he catches the interloper. Sinning together, both will die together. Ah! To cross the Sanzu no Kawa, to climb the Shide no Yama, with the demon as company: terrific! It is terrific! And what has become of her? Why fall into such a trap, with a woman old and ugly? Her riches are not for you. Caught here, the _tatami_ of Kyu[u]bei will be spoiled."[4] Densuké countered. He spoke in the old man's ear. "Refusing consent, she threatened to kill herself and haunt this Densuké as O'Baké (apparition). The Ojisan (uncle) has seen the Ojo[u]san. Would he be haunted by her, be seized and killed with torture?... And then--here she stands, just at the door." The old man spluttered, and gasped, and went on his nose in abject salutation--"Oh, the fool!... the Ojo[u]san is here in person ... he would trifle with the devil!... the low rascal would seduce the honoured daughter of Tamiya ... put ten hags in a row and pick out the worst ... will the Ojo[u]san condescend to honour Kyu[u]bei's place.... Oh! She's a very O'Baké already. Pregnancy with a beautiful woman is bad enough. With this demon it makes her an apparition ... condescend to enter; deign to enter." O'Mino slowly came forward. That what had been said by the rash and unconscious Kyu[u]bei had escaped her ear was unlikely. The humility of demeanor hardly veiled the offended dignity of her approach. "Densuké has spoken truth. We come as husband and wife. Condescend to give shelter for the time being, and become the intercessor with Tamiya Dono. Such is the prayer of this Mino." As she spoke she bowed low on the _tatami_ (mats). Kyu[u]bei caught the hint; for if she had heard the talk of Densuké, she had assuredly heard his still louder ejaculations and ill-timed wit. The Obasan was in a rage at him. Taking the conduct of affairs in her own hand--"Condescend to make this poor dwelling a home for as long as desired. Plainly the visitors have not come empty handed. Ma! Ma! 'Tis like an escape from a fire. Densuké is a strong lad to shoulder such a burden. But he always has been something of an ass. As for Matazaémon Dono, to-morrow the Ojisan shall attend to the affair, and see what is to be expected. Meanwhile, deign to be as in Samoncho[u] itself." The kindly old woman pushed Kyu[u]bei and his clumsy apologies out of the way. She busied herself about O'Mino. The two women understood each other. The varied contents of the _furoshiki_ were quickly stowed away. A little supper was prepared for the hungry fugitives. Kyu[u]bei sat by, his eyes dazzled by the wealth of goods displayed, and his nostrils shifting under the acrid perfume of the _takuan_ and remembrance of his stupidity. The next morning Kyu[u]bei was up betimes. Matazaémon was no dawdler. It was best to catch him satisfied with the morning meal, and perhaps beset by the night's regret over the loss of his daughter. In no way was it a pleasant mission. Kyu[u]bei's pace became a crawl as he approached the garden gate on Teramachi. He put in an appearance at the kitchen side. O'Naka was here established, engaged in her duties and surely awaiting him. At sight of him she burst into what was half laugh and half tears. "Ah! It is Kyu[u]bei San. Doubtless he comes on the part of Mino and Densuké. It is kind of Kyu[u]bei to befriend them. The Danna (master) is very angry indeed. An only daughter, and one on whom he depended for a _muko_, he is much upset. Please go in and talk with him. Show anger at the runaways. To agree with him may somewhat soothe his passion. Condescend so to act." Kyu[u]bei winked. And turn some of this anger on himself? Well, agreement might rouse the spirit of contradiction in Tamiya Dono. It was a characteristic of this hide-bound official. Matazaémon was drinking the last sips of tea from his rice bowl when the _sho[u]ji_ were gently pushed apart, and the head of Kyu[u]bei inserted in the opening. At first he paid no attention. Then as one in haste--"Ah! Is it Kyu[u]bei? He comes early to-day--and hardly to apply for anything. The rice notes are not yet due for some weeks." His tone was grim; the usual indifferent benevolence of demeanor toward a townsman was conspicuously absent. Kyu[u]bei felt chilled. Densuké must not sacrifice his good uncle to his own folly. Said Kyu[u]bei--"Yet it is to seek the honoured benevolence of Tamiya Dono that Kyu[u]bei comes." Matazaémon turned sharp around toward him. Frightened, the townsman continued--"Densuké has acted very wickedly. The low, lascivious rascal has dared to seduce the honoured daughter of the House. Both are now harboured at the house of this Kyu[u]bei, who now makes report. Their lives are in the hand of Tamiya Dono. But Kyu[u]bei would make earnest plea for delay. O'Mino San being pregnant, the child would be sent from darkness to darkness--a terrible fate. May it be condescended to show the honoured mercy and benevolence. Evil and unfilial though the action of the two has been, yet 'benevolence weighs the offence; justice possesses two qualities.' Such are the words of Ko[u]shi (Confucius)." The eyes of Matazaémon twinkled. He had heard that Kyu[u]bei was on the verge of shaving his head (turning priest). Truly the townsman was profitting by the exhortations of his teacher. After a time he said--"The memory of Kyu[u]bei is excellent. Don't let it fail him on the present occasion. For such a deed as has been committed the punishment is death, meted out by the hand of this Matazaémon. The fact ascertained, it was intended to kill them both. The flight of Mino and Densuké has altered the complexion of the affair. It is no longer necessary to inflict the extreme penalty. O'Mino is disowned for seven births. Neither she nor Densuké is to appear before this Matazaémon. If the talk of the ward be true, in exchange for a loyal service Densuké has secured a beautiful bride. There can be no regrets." Then, taking a sprightly and jeering air, "But this Kyu[u]bei has been the one to exercise benevolence. Matazaémon now learns that the two runaways have been received by him. Entertain them well; entertain them well. Thanks are due to Kyu[u]bei San--from them. Doubtless he is much occupied with his guests. Less will be seen of him in Yotsuya.... But official duties press. This Matazaémon must leave. Don't be in haste. Stay and take some tea.... Naka! Naka! Tea for Kyu[u]bei San; the _haori_ (cloak) of Matazaémon.... _Sayonara_.... Ah! The rice notes this Matazaémon took up for Kyu[u]bei San, they fall due with the passage of the weeks. But Kyu[u]bei is one who always meets his obligations. As to that there is no anxiety." With this last fling the prostrate Kyu[u]bei heard the sound of the clogs of Matazaémon on the flagged walk outside. A departing warning to O'Naka as to the tea, and steps were heard near-by. He raised his head, to confront the mistress of the house. O'Naka spoke with tears in her eyes--a salve to the alarmed and wounded feelings of Kyu[u]bei. "Don't be frightened. After all Matazaémon is a _samurai_. To press Kyu[u]bei, or any tradesman, is beyond him. But this Naka cannot see her daughter! To add to his anger would bring disaster on her and the unborn child. Alas! Anyhow, give Mino this money; and these articles of value, properly her own. Her mirror has been forgotten in the hasty flight." O'Naka brought forth one of those elaborate polished silver surfaces, used by the ladies of Nippon in these later luxurious days of the Sho[u]gunate. It was only now that it became the property of O'Mino. It was part of the wedding outfit of O'Naka herself. With this little fiction the mother continued--"When the child is born allow the grandmother at least a distant sight of it. Perhaps it will resemble Tamiya; be like its mother, and soften a father's heart." Now she wept bitterly; and Kyu[u]bei wept with her--bitterly. "Like the mother! The Buddhas of Daienji[5] would indeed weep at the appearance of such a monster." This was his thought; not expressed with the humble gratitude, prostration, and promises which he fully intended to keep. Kyu[u]bei reverentially accepted the mirror, the goods, the money. Taking his leave of Yotsuya--a long one he feared--with sighs he set out for Kanda. Here he made his report. Said the old townsman with severity--"The will of the parent is not to be disobeyed. It is the duty of this Kyu[u]bei to see to its performance." He had O'Naka more in mind than the master of Tamiya. O'Mino might yet be the goose to lay golden eggs. A goose of such plumage! Kyu[u]bei made a wry face in the darkness of the corridor. CHAPTER III TAKAHASHI DAIHACHIRO[U] Some means of support had to be found. Employed in a _kenin's_ house, and leaving it under such conditions, kindred occupation was out of the question. There was a sort of black list among these officials to cover all grades of their service. Time and the host of servants of some great House would get the lad back into the only occupation he understood. Trusting to some such accident of fortune, Kyu[u]bei made Densuké his agent on commission. Densuké was no idler. Kyu[u]bei managed to meet the Tamiya security for his loans, largely through the efforts of the younger man. The married couple at this time set up their establishment in Goro[u]beicho[u] of Kyo[u]bashi Ku. Coming and going, often with no definite task in hand, Densuké to all appearance was an out-and-out idler. For the first time released from the trammels of her class, O'Mino could attend the theatres and farce shows of the capital. She delighted in acting this part of a tradesman's wife. Moreover she was very sure of not meeting with Matazaémon, of whom she was in great fear. Bound to the _formulæ_ of his class, her father might feel bound to cut her down on sight. One day Densuké was idling and hanging over the parapet of the Nihonbashi. Some fishermen were violently quarrelling in the fish market on the bank just below the bridge. As he looked on with interest a hand was laid on his shoulder. Turning, he saw a man, partly in the dress of a _chu[u]gen_, partly in that of a menial attendant of one of the larger _yashiki_ (nobleman's mansion). Scars of burns on his hands and arms, patches of rice flour and bran, showed that he was a cook. His eye was severe and his manner abrupt as he rebuked Densuké. "An idle fellow! This Taro[u]bei never fails to come across Densuké as an idler, or on the way to Asakusa with the worthy wife. Is he fit for nothing?" Densuké was a mild man. To this man with a grievance his answer was soft. Besides he had no liking for the cook's knife stuck in the girdle, and handy to carve fish or flesh. He said--"Perchance the idleness is more in appearance than fact. Buying and selling on commission the task is an irregular one. It is true, however, that this Densuké has no settled labour. Alas! Former days in the service of a _samurai_ are much to be regretted."--"Can you cook rice?" was the abrupt interruption. "This Densuké knows the 'Sanryaku' fairly well. Is more needed?" The man looked at him dumbfounded. "The 'Sanryaku'--what's that?"--"Knowledge of the 'Sanryaku' enables one to meet all the requirements of a _bushi_ (knight).[6] At the school in Kazusa To[u]gané the priest who taught this Densuké, at one time a _samurai_, was far more taken with the 'Sanryaku' than with the _Sutra_ (Scripture); the lessons taught applied more to Bushido[u] (the knight's way) than to Butsudo[u] (the way of the Buddha).... But to the point; this Densuké for three years cooked the rice at Tamiya in Yotsuya. First there is the _toro-toro_ of bubbling water; then the _biri-biri_, as what little remains passes as steam through the rice grains. Then the sharp whistling cry of a baby from the pot on the slow fire (_murashite_). The task is done, and the vessel is removed from the stove." The man looked with respect on this learned cook. Said he--"Densuké is the man. Taro[u]bei must leave the kitchen of Geishu[u] Sama at once. The mother is ill in Aki province. A substitute is to be found. The salary--is next to nothing; but the perquisites are numerous, and the food ample to feed several Densuké and their wives. Deign to accept." Densuké did not hesitate--"The obligation lies with Densuké. But how secure the position? There is Tamiya...." The man laughed. "There are many Densuké in Edo; and no connection between the _yashiki_ of Matsudaira Aki no Kami and the house of a _do[u]shin_ in Yotsuya. There is small likelihood of meeting old acquaintances. Be sure to remember that it is Densuké of Kyo[u]bashi; not Densuké of Yotsuya. This pass will answer to the gate-man. Substitutes are common. Whether it be Densuké or Taro[u]bei who cooks the rice makes no difference; provided the rice be well cooked. Taro[u]bei's service lies elsewhere; to Densuké San deep his obligation." He held out the pass, and Densuké took it. With mutual salutation and joy in heart they parted. Densuké betook himself to the _yashiki_ of Matsudaira Aki no Kami at Kasumigaseki. No difficulties were encountered. Taro[u]bei was not so superlative as a cook that the substitute could not be better than the original. At this place Densuké acted the part of the _komatsukibatta_. This is a narrow brown weevil, some three parts of an inch in length, and which stands on its head making the repeated movements of _o'jigi_, much as at a ceremonial encounter in Nippon. Densuké was not long in becoming well liked. He was ready to run errands for all, outside of the hours of his duties. From those higher up in the _yashiki_ these errands brought him coin. Every month he could bring O'Mino twenty to thirty _mon_ in "cash"; apart from the ample rations of rice and _daikon_ bestowed on the kitchen staff. Nay: as cook at times fish could not be allowed to spoil, and fell to the perquisites of Densuké. Thus time passed; and with it the delivery of O'Mino, and the crisis in the affairs of Densuké approached. Now Geishu[u] Sama[7] was a fourth month _daimyo[u]_. Hence with the iris blossoms he took his departure from Edo to the government of his fief in Aki province. The Sakuji Machibugyo[u], one Takahashi Daihachiro[u], plead illness on this occasion of the exodus. As unable to accompany his lord he remained in Edo. On plea of convenience he established himself in the abandoned quarters of the _ashigaru_ or common soldiers, situated right over Densuké's cooking stoves. Entirely removed from the bustle of the household, except during Densuké's now rare attendance, he secured complete isolation and quiet. Densuké went on cooking for Takahashi Sama, just as if it had been for the whole military household. Daihachiro[u] was a forbidding kind of man; and it was with no amiable look that he greeted Densuké when the latter appeared very late to prepare the meal. It being the 5th month 5th day (the _sekku_) of Tenwa 3rd year (30th May, 1683), perhaps he suspected Densuké of preparation for, and participation in, the great festival which was in progress. "Densuké is very late. This Daihachiro[u] has made the trial; to find out that he is no cook. Indeed the right hand has been severely burnt. A cook should be on time--for the meal, not the _matsuri_." Densuké was all apology--"Nay, Danna Sama; it is not the festival which has detained Densuké. An infant was expected to-day by the wife. Hence Densuké's neglect. Deign to pardon him."--"A baby being born is no reason why Daihachiro[u] should starve. Prepare the meal in haste. The rice is to be soft; and please see that the fish also is soft. Make the sauce not too sharp. It would give great trouble to make the bath in the quarters. In Owarimachi, or Kubomachi, good bath-houses are to be found." Densuké took the hint. At once he recommended one he thought befitting the great man's greatness. "Well: _Sayonara_. See that the meal is ready by the return." Off stalked Takahashi Daihachiro[u], towel dangling from his hand, and toothbrush and bran bag in his bosom. Densuké gave a sigh of relief as he left the court. Daihachiro[u] often employed him on missions, and was never particularly generous even when the transaction was decidedly shady. Densuké was dreadfully afraid of him. Somehow he felt as if Daihachiro[u] was Fate--his fate. Turning to his stoves, the pots and the pans, the meal soon was in successful preparation. As Densuké lifted the cover to inspect the rice--splash! A great red spot spread in widening circle over the white mass. In fright Densuké clapped on the lid of the pot. He looked upward, to locate this unusual condiment to his provision. On his forehead he received in person a second consignment. Applying his finger to his head, and then to his nose--"Blood! Ah! O'Také's fierce cat has caught a rat and is chewing it in the room above. How vexatious! If the Danna should find out...." Hastily he tried to shove his equipment to one side. This would not do. The massive stone blocks forming the furnace were too heavy for Densuké to move unaided. Somewhat helpless he looked around. The rice was almost done; ready for the process of _murashité_, or simmering over the slow fire. The fish, carefully prepared, as yet was to be cooked. All was to be ready against the return of Daihachiro[u] Sama. Ah! Again the dropping began. As finding some channel in the rough boarding of the ceiling it came fast. His kitchen began to look like the place where the Eta (outcasts) slaughter beasts. Densuké shuddered. Circumstances, the results involved, make the timid brave. Grasping a pole Densuké started up the ladder leading to the loft and the quarters of the _ashigaru_. Arrived at the top his eyes took in the poor apartment. The rafters and beams of a low-cast roof; six wretched (Loo-choo) mats on the floor, for the men to sit, and sleep, and live upon; such its bare equipment. In the middle of the mats was a great red stain. Densuké was at once attracted to it. "A cat would eat a rat; but it would not wipe up the blood." His eyes were caught by the straw basket used to store away the raincoats. This was all stained red at the bottom. Going close up he found it was wet. Perhaps the cat was at work inside. Densuké raised the cover and looked in. In alarm he sprang back. On the trunk and limbs of a body was placed a freshly severed head. Without replacing the cover, with pole uplifted over his head in defence, Densuké backed toward the ladder. His one idea was to flee this _yashiki_. As he reached the top of the steps the voice of Daihachiro[u] was heard below--"A pest on such filthy bath-houses; and filthier patrons.... What! No rice yet, Densuké? Ah! Where is the fellow?" Densuké looked down, to meet the altered countenance of Daihachiro[u] looking up. He retreated as the latter sprang up the ladder. Daihachiro[u] gave a rapid glance. He saw the raised cover of the basket. The next moment the bosom of Densuké's dress was harshly grasped, and he himself was forced down on the floor. Gloomily Daihachiro[u] regarded him--"Rash and curious fellow! Why not keep to your pots and pans? Densuké loses his life; and Daihachiro[u] a fool for a cook." He had drawn his sword to strike. Densuké clung to his knees in petition--"Pardon, master! Pardon! This Densuké is no idle gossip. The dripping blood threatened to spoil the meal. Thinking the cat was eating a rat, fearing the anger of the Danna Sama if the meal had to be re-cooked, Densuké came up here to chase the animal away. Thus the crime was discovered...."--"Crime!" thundered Daihachiro[u]. "Ah! This intermeddler must certainly die. By the word of a _samurai_...." In his terror Densuké almost put his hand over the irrevocable sentence. He spoke with life at stake. "Deign, master, to pardon Densuké. He has committed no offence; knows of no offence in others. Densuké has seen nothing. Life is a jewel, to be kept at any cost. Densuké is far too insignificant to deserve the anger of Takahashi Sama." He grovelled in the abject terror of his petition. Takahashi Daihachiro[u] hesitated. An idea seemed to occur to him, at sight of the man's fear-struck state. He smiled grimly. "Densuké saw the head?"--"'Tis so," admitted Densuké. "But to see a head means nothing." Daihachiro[u] dragged him over to the raincoat basket. Holding him down, he grasped the head by the cue and lifted it out. "Look!" Densuké gave a cry of surprise at sight of the features of a once neighbour. "It is the head of Iséya Jusuké, the money lender of Hacho[u]bori; a hard man. Surely the Danna...."--"Just so," replied Daihachiro[u], carelessly throwing the mortuary relic back into the basket. "Borrowing five _ryo[u]_, in six months with the interest the sum now due is twenty-five _ryo[u]_. Pleading illness Daihachiro[u] remained in Edo, to try and soften the usurer. He threatened a report to my lord; grew insolent beyond measure. The sword drawn, he was killed forthwith.... Here Densuké finds his use and saves his life. This body is an awkward impediment. Densuké must take and cast it away. Otherwise, a second head is added to this first. With one already to dispose of a second gives no difficulty. Decide: is it agreed? Moreover there will be payment." He took out a money belt (_do[u]maki_), that of Jusuké. Densuké recognized it. Daihachiro[u] had robbed Jusuké, after killing him. Lovingly he ran the golden _ryo[u]_ through his fingers. Seventy of them Densuké counted. Daihachiro[u] picked out three _ryo[u]_. "Here is payment. Life is spared, and it is agreed to cast away the body." Stammered Densuké--"On the rubbish heap?" Daihachiro[u] looked at him--"You fool! Why not proclaim that Densuké murdered Jusuké? Once the gate is passed--and this Daihachiro[u] goes in company so far--it is Densuké who is the murderer of Jusuké. Remain in this place until night. Then off with the body; pitch it into the ditch of Kuroda Ke, or that of Saio[u] Dono. Daihachiro[u] now takes his meal. There is nothing wrong with it?" He looked meaningly at Densuké. The latter, with eyes on the shining sword, at once denied all defilement. He now plumed himself on the care taken of the Danna's interests. Daihachiro[u] descended; to feed at ease and keep watch over the unwilling Densuké. In the 5th month (June) the days are long. Densuké was a coward; and for company had the corpse of the murdered Jusuké. To the poor cook the time passed was torture. He was continually going to the stair and calling down--"Danna Sama, has the time come?... Ah! The sky is light. The streets at night will be full of people with lanterns. Plainly O'Tento[u] Sama (the Sun) has forgotten to decline in the West. Alas! This Densuké is most unlucky." At last the hour of the dog was passing (7-9 P.M.). Daihachiro[u] appeared. "Now for the corpse! Wrap it up in this matting.... Coward! Is Densuké afraid of a dead man?" He took the body and cut the tendons of arms and legs. Then he placed the head on the belly. Doubling the limbs over the body so as to hold the head he wrapped the matting around the whole. The outside he covered with some red raincoats--"in case of accidental stains." Then he strongly roped the whole together. He stood back to inspect a truly admirable job. Densuké wondered how many usurers Daihachiro[u] had thus disposed of. His speculations were interrupted. Everything was ready. "Now! the loan of Densuké's back." Groaned Densuké--"Danna Sama, a request."--"What?" asked Daihachiro[u]. "Condescend to put a board between the body of Densuké and that of Jusuké. The head might seize and bite me with its teeth." Daihachiro[u] snorted with laughter, contempt, and anger mixed. "What a cowardly rascal you are! Off with it as it is." Said Densuké respectfully and firmly--"The task is that of Densuké. Condescend so far to favour him." His obvious terror threatened collapse even of the influence of Daihachiro[u]. An old remnant of the back of a corselet was at hand. Said Daihachiro[u]--"This is still better. It is metal. In it goes. Now off with you." Stalking along in the rear of the unfortunate cook, Daihachiro[u] kept within easy distance of a sword blow. At the gate he said--"Pray grant passage. Densuké takes washing of this Daihachiro[u]--bed quilts and _futon_ to be renovated."--"Respectfully heard and understood." The gate-man let fall the bar and stood aside. Densuké passed into the street. A little way off he looked around. Takahashi Daihachiro[u] had disappeared. Now indeed it was an affair between Densuké and Jusuké.[8] CHAPTER IV THE APPEARANCE OF O'IWA SAN Shouldering his pack Densuké made off down the broad space lined by the white walls of the _yashiki_. In this quarter of the _bushi_ the highway was not crowded with citizens and their lanterns. Densuké had high hopes of an early disposition of the incubus. He approached the ditch which protected the wall of the _yashiki_ of Prince Kuroda. When about to put down the bundle a hail reached him from the _samurai_ on guard at the Kuroda gate. "Heigh there, rascal! Wait!" But Densuké did not wait. In terror he gave the load a shift on his shoulder and started off almost at a run. On doing so there was a movement within. The cold sweat stood out on the unhappy man's forehead. A moment, and would the teeth of Jusuké be fastened in his shoulder? "Ah! Jusuké San! Good neighbour! This Densuké is but the wretched agent. 'Tis Daihachiro[u] Sama who killed Jusuké. Deign to pursue and haunt Takahashi Sama. Jusuké San! Jusuké San!" Fright gave him strength and boldness. The Tora no Mon (Tiger gate) of the castle should be the place of disposal. Here the ditch was deep and dark. But to its very edge swarmed the people with their lanterns on this night of festival in early summer. The moor of Kubomachi was his next goal. At this period it really was open ground. With a sigh of relief Densuké let the bundle slip from his now weary shoulders. Alive he would have laughed at the idea of carrying the portly Jusuké. Yet here the usurer bestrode him, far heavier weight than on other unfortunate clients. "Let's have a look at him; address him face to face." His hand was on the knot, when a woman's voice spoke in his ear. Densuké did not wait to ascertain the nature of her solicitation. He sped away into the darkness, toward the distant city. Without goal, he found himself at Shiodomé.[9] Crossing the Shimbashi he entered on the crowded and lighted Owaricho[u]. It was only the hour of the pig (9 P.M.), and the house lanterns as yet burned brightly. He hesitated, with the idea of turning toward Shiba, of trying his luck in this still rustic district; or on the seashore, not far off. A man close by greeted him. "Iya! Densuké San at last is found. The honoured wife suffers great anxiety. Thinking that the festival might be the attraction this Goémon set out to find you. Deign to hasten at once to Goro[u]beicho[u]." Densuké shifted his burden away from the man. Did it not already somewhat taint the air? His nostrils were wide open in alarmed inquiry. He made excuses. With his heavy pack he would follow after slowly. He was overwhelmed by his neighbour's kindness. Goémon offered to share the work. Densuké did more than refuse. Unable to shake off his companion in stolid desperation he took his way to his home in the tenement (_nagaya_). "Tadaima" (just now--present), he called from the doorway. Entering the shabby room he put down the _furoshiki_ in a distant corner. Going to the Butsudan, or house altar, at once he lit the lamps. O'Mino eyed him with astonishment. "What's that?" she asked, pointing to the bundle--"Washing of Daihachiro[u] Sama"--"But Mino is ill. So situated she cannot do washing. How negligent!"--"It makes no matter," replied Densuké recklessly. O'Mino did not like the tone of his voice. She eyed him sharply. Then more pressing matters urged. "Weary as you are it is to be regretted; but money must be in hand, for the midwife and other expenses. A few hours, and this Mino will be unable to leave her bed--for three turns (weeks). There is cooking and washing to be done. Please go to Kyu[u]bei San and ask the loan of a _ryo[u]_. Perhaps he will give half."--"He will give nothing," was the surly reply of Densuké. "Of loans he has grown tired of late. As the uncle is the only stay in dire necessity care must be taken not to offend. Moreover, the loan is unnecessary. Here are three _ryo[u]_." He brought out the shining oblong pieces. O'Mino's eyes were bright with terror. "Ah! Has Densuké turned thief? How was this money secured? What has happened? Why so late in returning?" But Densuké was made confident and ready of tongue by the physical helplessness of O'Mino. "Don't be alarmed. Densuké is neither thief nor murderer. He is no Shirai Gompachi. Perhaps there is a corpse within, not washing. Would the Ojo[u]san see a head, arms, legs, freshly severed?" He laughed harshly as she turned her head from him to the bundle, then back again. "This money was given to Densuké by Takahashi Sama; in return for faithful service in an important matter. Don't be frightened. It has been honestly earned." Said O'Mino, almost to herself--"But Daihachiro[u] Sama is not one to give such a sum as three _ryo[u]_. He is always in debt. The wife of Jusuké San complains of his delays with her husband. However...." Confidence restored, she bade Densuké put the money in the drawer of the toilet stand. Then he was to prepare some food; for themselves, and for the neighbours ready to assist at the expected birth. Densuké did so, his eyes shifting from O'Mino to the stove, from the stove to the deadly bundle. Finally he removed the _furoshiki_ to their outer room, mumbling some excuse as to the foulness of a buck-basket. He returned to his cooking. Barely tasting some food O'Mino soon was sound asleep. Densuké observed her. "Ugly, rich, a very _O'Baké_ in appearance is the Ojo[u]san; and yet she takes as husband a spiritless creature, such as is this Densuké. Is it good or bad fortune? How grateful would be her advice." He went to bed himself in the outer room; to spend a hideous night of nightmare in company with the dead Jusuké, who now did taint the air with that indefinable pollution of even the freshest corpse. Wild visions floated through the brain of Densuké. The neighbours would assemble. The food was ready. Ah! Here comes the wife of Jusuké San. She demands her husband. A moment, and Densuké was stealing from the house entrance into the darkness. The river? Ah! That was it. The canal of Hacho[u]bori was close at hand to Jusuké's own home. It would float him to his very door. Densuké soon saw himself at the river bank. No one was at hand. Splash! In went the foul burden. There it was again. But now it was Jusuké in person. "Jusuké San! Jusuké San! Pardon! 'Twas not this Densuké who killed you. Seek vengeance of Daihachiro[u] Sama. He is the murderer." In his terror he lost all fear of being heard. He shouted at the top of his lungs. But Jusuké laid a heavy hand on him. With one long drawn out groan Densuké--awoke. O'Mino was leaning close over him, her face spectre-like with pain. Seeing that he was awake she took away her hand. "What is the matter with you? All night you have been shouting and mumbling in sleep. Just now it was 'Jusuké San! Jusuké San! Daihachiro[u] Sama!' It is indeed a matter of Jusuké San. The time of Mino is at hand; the pains begin. Go at once to the house of Jusuké, and ask his wife O'Yoshi to condescend her aid." Densuké sprang up. An idea flashed into his mind. He would go to Hacho[u]bori and make full confession. Which was the most important? O'Yoshi as confessor or as midwife? With his brain thus puzzled over an answer he started off. His last injunction to O'Mino was--"by no means meddle with the bundle of Daihachiro[u] Sama." There could have been no more direct invitation to her to do so. For a short time O'Mino did nothing but eye the strange bundle. Then she was on her knees before it, examining it. "Rain coats as wrapping! And tied with rope: a queer kind of washing. What a strange odour! Pickled _daikon_ (_nukamisozuké_)?" She shook it. Something inside went _gotsu-gotsu_. This was too much for her curiosity. Her old suspicion came back, that Densuké had turned robber. She poked a little hole in the straw wrapping. Some kind of cloth covering was within; a _kimono_ without doubt. Through its tissue something shone white. The kitchen knife was close at hand on the brazier (_hibachi_). She reached out, and in a moment the rope was severed. "Oya! Oya!" Out rolled a head. An arm, two helpless flexible legs were extended before her. With a scream of horror O'Mino fell flat on her back. Lying stretched out she uttered one sharp cry after another. The neighbouring wives came hurrying in, a stream of humanity. "What is wrong? A young wife screams not without cause. Oya! Oya! O'Mino San has given birth to a baby and a head. Iya! Head, limbs, body--a monstrous parturition!" With the woman groaning in the pain of her delivery, the wives in confusion, children flying to summon the men folk, the whole district was in an uproar. In the midst of the confusion arrived Densuké and the wife of Jusuké. As yet he had not found courage to confess. He was still "deciding." A neighbour greeted him--"Densuké San! Strange things have happened to O'Mino San. She has given birth to a head and a baby at the same time. Hasten, Densuké San! Hasten!" Densuké did hasten; but it was to disappear down the nearest byway in headlong flight. Amazed and confounded the wife of Jusuké proceeded alone to the house; as the first thing to set eyes on the head of her husband, eyes still open and glaring in death. With a cry she precipitated herself upon it; took it in her arms. The midwife, summoned in haste, parted infant from mother. Thus did O'Iwa San come forth into the world. The affair was grave. The _kenshi_ (coroner) was soon on the scene. O'Mino with feeble voice told what she knew. "Deign to examine into the affair beyond the surface. My husband Densuké is not the man to commit this crime. Ask the neighbours, who know him. Last night he brought three _ryo[u]_, given him by Takahashi Daihachiro[u] Sama, the Sakuji Machibugyo[u] of Geishu[u] Ko[u]. He said that it was for important service rendered. There is no doubt that Takahashi San is the murderer. Deign to examine well; show benevolence.... Ah! This Mino shall have vengeance. For seven lives Daihachiro[u] shall be pursued...." Her eyes became injected with blood. Her breast heaved painfully in the attempt to get air. The women around her gave cries of alarm. O'Mino sank back in a pool of blood. She had died in the midst of her curse. Said one present--"This To[u]kichi would not be the honoured Sakuji Sama; nay, not for the full seven existences in human form." The others felt as he did. Even the _kenshi_ drew up his shoulders a little at the frightful mask of the dead woman's face. He could learn but little. Kyu[u]bei, soon at hand, petitioned for the dead body of O'Mino and the custody of the infant. The neighbours corroborated the story of O'Mino; but Densuké had disappeared. Daihachiro[u] never had confidence in his agent. His preparations for flight had been made before Densuké's discovery, and almost together with Densuké he had passed out the gate of Geishu[u] Sama, with the seventy _ryo[u]_ provided by Jusuké. Report being made to the Machibugyo[u] a "grass dividing" search was made, without result. No trace of either man was found. As for the child born under these auspicious conditions, Kyu[u]bei went at once to Tamiya Matazaémon and made report. With bowed head the old man awaited the decision. Said Matazaémon--"The name giving is to take place on the seventh night. Kyu[u]bei will not fail to be present." He did not speak further. Thus the offence of the parents was pardoned in O'Iwa the infant; the grandchild of a man and woman passing the period of middle age.[10] CHAPTER V THE AFFAIR OF THE SHIBA KIRIDO[U]SHI[11] It was Genroku 8th year (1695). O'Iwa, a girl of twelve years, could understand what came to her ears. In dealing with each other the Nipponese are very exact and exacting. The New Year must start with a clean balance sheet for the tradesman--all bills paid and collected. The last night of the dying year, and its last few hours; this time is the busiest and most anxious. Zensuké, the _banto[u]_ (clerk) of the Shimaya dry goods shop, accompanied by one Jugoro[u], was passing the Shiba Kirido[u]shi. It was the hour of the tiger (3 A.M.). Of the two, Jugoro[u] was the fighting man. Juro[u]zaémon of the Shimaya had provided him with a short sword and sent him as guard to Zensuké, who would have more than three hundred _ryo[u]_ in gold. Said Jugoro[u]--"Banto[u] San, whither now? The hour is late."--"It is never late on the _o[u]misoka_ (31st of the 12th month)," replied Zensuké tersely. "However, there remains but one account to collect; at Nishikubo. We will hasten."--"Go on ahead," said Jugoro[u]. "A moment here for a necessity." Thus the two men became separated by nearly a _cho[u]_ (100 yards). The district was one of _yashiki_ and temples. The white walls of the former blended with the white carpet of snow on the ground. At any hour it was no busy place; now it was desolate. The high banks of the cutting crowned by woods and approached through the trees, made it an ideal place for a hold-up. Zensuké hesitated. He slowed his pace to allow his companion to join him. He thought he saw something move in the darkness close by. From behind a tree just before him came a _samurai_. Two others followed this man from the shadows. The heads of all three men were covered by _zukin_ (hoods). They wore vizors. "Wait!" Zensuké stopped in fright. "What suspicious rascal is this, travelling the quarter at this hour? Probably some clerk making off with his master's funds. Come now! Give them into better keeping. Low fellow! You are fairly trapped." Zensuké began to retreat, but two of the men were now behind him. He began to shout for Jugoro[u]. The latter came up at a run--"Honoured Sirs! This is the Banto[u] San of the Shimaya of Honjo[u] Itcho[u]me. He is collecting the house bills. Deign not to disturb him."--"Shut up!" was the reply of the leader. "Another fellow of the same kidney. Look to him." Roughly he thrust his hand into Zensuké's bosom and began to hustle and fumble the clerk. When Jugoro[u] would interfere the two other men prevented him. With fright he saw the money belt of the _banto[u]_ dangling from the man's hand. The nature of the affair was plain. "Heigh! Jokes don't go, honoured sirs. We are not suspicious fellows. Condescend to pardon us." As he spoke he took advantage of the negligence of his opponents, their interest in the struggle of Zensuké and their leader, to wrench himself free. At once his sword was out. Jugoro[u] was of no mean skill. None of his wardsmen could face him. One man received severe wounds in scalp and face. The other lost part of his hand. But Jugoro[u] was no match for the odds of two trained soldiers. He was soon cut down. Meanwhile Zensuké was shouting lustily for aid. At this period there was a guard called the _tsujiban_ (cross-roads watch). It was mostly composed of oldish men not fit for active service. Such regulations as there were they observed. These were very severe; but, as with the present day police, kept them to their post. They rarely troubled themselves to patrol their district. From these men there could be little hope of aid. Just then, however, the train of some lord came in sight. With one hand the leader held Zensuké by the bosom of his robe. The hand holding the money belt was already thrust in his own bosom. In a moment it would be free. Then Zensuké would go in company with Jugoro[u] to the Yellow Fountain (in Hell). His captor gave a startled cry. "The train of Geishu[u] Sama! Lose no time!" As he wrenched himself away Zensuké sank his teeth deep into the man's hand. With a howl of pain the fellow made off, exchanging a little finger for the three hundred and twenty-five _ryo[u]_ in Zensuké's _do[u]maki_. The _banto[u]_ crouched in conventional attitude by the roadside. His distress was plain; the prostrate body of a man evidence of some unusual condition. A _samurai_ left the passing train and came up to investigate. "Ah! Robbery and murder: follow behind to the _tsujiban_. It is their affair." With moans and groans Zensuké made his report. He was indignant at the luxury of these watchmen, toasting at their fire. They noted it; looked at each other and out into the snowy night, and laughed with contempt. For a tradesman's money belt were they to disturb themselves? They questioned him harshly, in such way as to excuse any further effort on their part. Surely the thieves by this time were at the other end of Edo. Two of them, however, did accompany Zensuké to the scene of the hold-up. Casting an eye over Jugoro[u]'s mangled corpse, said one--"A good fight: the occasion has been missed. As perhaps the criminal this man is to be bound. Probably his intent was to run away with the master's funds." Roughly they seized him, hustled him back to the guardhouse. Trussed up Zensuké had to spend the hours in alarm and fear. Luckily the _kenshi_ soon appeared. It was the _o[u]misoka_. No official business would be performed during the three days following. Jugoro[u] could hardly exercise patience and remain as he was for that space of time. So the examination was duly held. The Shimaya soon secured the body of Jugoro[u] and the release of Zensuké. The latter's evidence was put on record; none too satisfactory, as the concealing _zukin_ prevented any recognition or description of the features of the assailants. He only knew of the cries of impatience at wounds received, and knew that he had left his mark on his own opponent. How then were they to be run down? The _kenshi_ showed some impatience. Said he to the captain of the _tsujiban_--"Why truss up this man, even though a tradesman? He has all his own fingers, and the corpse lacks none." He touched the severed finger with his baton. With this all were dismissed, and to all seeming the affair was forgotten. The Tokugawa had their plain-clothes police. One of the most noted was Magomé Yaémon of Hacho[u]bori. His great grandfather had captured Marubashi Chuya, of note in the rebellion of Yui Shosetsu at the time of the fourth Shogun Iyetsuna Ko[u]. One day this Magomé Dono, in company with a _yakunin_ (constable) named Kuma, was rummaging the poorer districts of Shitaya Hiroko[u]ji. The two men were disguised as charcoal burners, and attracted little attention. All the legitimate profession in the way of medicine and pharmacy had been ransacked by the magistrate (_machibugyo[u]_) of the south district. Yaémon felt sure that there were still some by-ways. "Who's that fellow?" he asked Kuma. The constable laughed. "He's a _sunékiri_ (shin-cutter). The rascals can be told by their tough dark blue cotton socks, the coarse straw sandals, and the banded leggings. Deign to note the long staff he carries. They peddle plasters--shin plasters, guaranteed to cure any wound, to stop any flow of blood. A man's arm hangs but by a strip of skin; the blood flows in torrents. Apply the plaster and the flow ceases at once, the arm heals. They drive a roaring trade, even among the _bushi_ (_samurai_); selling a shell here, two there. As for their real usefulness...." He laughed.[12] They followed after the man and soon came to a guard house. Said Magomé San--"Detain that man yonder. He is to be examined." The ward officer was a little surprised--"Respectfully heard and understood. It is old Yamabayashi Yo[u]gen." Soon the man entered the guard house. Said the official drily--"Magomé Dono is here to talk with Yo[u]gen. What has he been up to?" But the old fellow was confident. "Thanks are felt." With the ease of the righteous and prosperous he passed into the presence of Yaémon. The latter greeted him with a non-official genial smile. "Ah! This is Yamabayashi Yo[u]gen, the head of the _Sunékiri_. And business?"--"Truly this Yo[u]gen is grateful. Man was born with teeth. Men and women still seek each other's company. So long as such endures Yo[u]gen finds profit."--"And plasters?"--"They are the affair of To[u]kichi. Would his worship deign to examine him ... condescend dismissal. At once he presents himself." Thus in short order the straight haired, unshaven, low browed To[u]kichi stuck his head into the Sanbashi guard house. "Deign to pardon this To[u]kichi. The honoured benevolence...." The ward officer eyed him knowingly and quizzically. "Shut up! Magomé Dono has questions to ask about clients. Wait until the questions deal with the doings of To[u]kichi. That will be well. Then it will be time enough to lie. Meanwhile, be sure and tell the truth." With this disinterested advice To[u]kichi was passed to the presence. Once more conscience spoke louder than caution. "The honoured benevolence, the honoured pity; condescend the honoured examination into the innocence of To[u]kichi." Yaémon laughed. "Fortunately it is not a matter of To[u]kichi, but of his plasters. Who bought these at this year's Sho[u]gwatsu (New Year)? Be careful in answer. The case is a bad one." To[u]kichi considered. "The first day of the New Year a man came. His purchase of salve was large. In the course of the past three months he has been many times to buy. His visits now are wider spaced, and he praises the goods--as he ought. No hand ever had a worse poisoned wound. He...."--"Age and appearance?" interrupted Yaémon, now all attention. He had struck a trail. "Perhaps fifty years; fair of complexion, tall, and stout. By his lordly manner he must at least be a _go-kenin_, or a charlatan." Who was this man? Yaémon felt sure that he was about to learn something of interest. Kuma was given his instructions. "Go daily to the shop of this man and receive his report. As to the _samurai_ in question be circumspect. Evidently he is no ordinary person. A _samurai_ is to be summoned, not disgraced by arrest--if he is a _samurai_." So Kuma with several aides established himself in the rear of To[u]kichi's shop. The man not having put in an appearance for several weeks, the wait, if uncertain, was soon rewarded. On the 25th day of the 3rd month (May) he presented himself. Kuma recognized him at once by the description; sooner than To[u]kichi, who was engaged in filling his little shells with the marvellous salve. The officer's decision was prompt. At a call To[u]kichi turned from his drugs. "Ah! the honoured Sir. And the arm, does it honourably progress?"--"Progress could not be better. This is probably the last visit." In replying the man eyed To[u]kichi with some astonishment. The latter made his bows, first to the newcomer, then to the indefinite rear of the establishment. "Indeed the drug is all that is claimed for it. The wound being poisoned, at one time it looked as if the hand, nay arm, must go. These House doctors are notoriously good for nothing. Just as nothing can surpass your product, good leech. Here is money for two shells of its virtues." He held out a silver _bu_.[13] Busied with his preparations To[u]kichi looked in vain toward the rear apartment. After as long delay as he could contrive he passed the shells and a heap of copper change over to the customer. As soon as the latter had left the shop To[u]kichi bolted for the rear. Kuma was gone. His aides were calmly smoking their pipes and drinking the poor tea (_bancha_) of To[u]kichi. Kuma had little trouble in following his man to Okachimachi in Shitaya. He found near by a shop for the sale of everything, from tobacco to _daikon_ (radish), both odoriferous, yet lacking perfume. Said Kuma--"A question or so: this tall _samurai_, an oldish man, who lives close by; who is he?" The woman in charge hesitated. Then dislike overcame discretion. "Ah! With the hand wrapped in a bandage; his name is Sakurai Kichiro[u] Tayu. Truly he is a bad man. That he should quarrel with his own class is no great matter. Maimed as he is, thrice report has been made to the guard house, but in each case he has escaped further process. He is a dreadful fellow; one who never pays a debt, yet to whom it is dangerous to refuse credit. Already nearly a _ryo[u]_ is due to this Echigoya. It has been the bad luck to support him and his family during the past six months." Said Kuma--"Thus maimed, to hold his own in quarrels he must be a notable fencer as well as brawler. Was the wound so received?"--"Iya! That is not known. Some quarrel at the New Year's festivities probably was the cause. Before that time he was sound enough." She laughed. "He has two friends; Kahei San and Miemon San. They are birds of a feather; and all partly plucked. Perhaps they quarrelled in company, but if so have made it up. Sakurai San is a match for the two others." She looked at Kuma, to see if he had more to say. Indifferent he picked out a strand of tobacco. "He shouldered this Go[u]bei into the ditch close by here. Fortunate is it to have escaped worse injury." Satisfied with his inquiries he took his way in haste to his master. The eyes of Yaémon and his aid shone with enjoyment. Surely they had the men of the Shiba Kirido[u]shi. Magomé Yaémon at once sought out the _machibugyo[u]'s_ office. His lordship heard the report. "Different disorders require different treatment. Of two of these men this Gemba knows something. The other man is hard to place, and evidently not so easy to deal with." Two _do[u]shin_ and _yakunin_ were sent at once to the addresses indicated. To capture Nakagawa Miemon and Imai Kahei was an easy task. The _do[u]shin_ and _yakunin_ sent to the house of Sakurai formed a band of twenty men. The house surrounded, without ceremony the officer and an aid entered. "On the lord's mission: Sakurai San is wanted at the office of Matsuda Dono. If resistance be made it will be necessary to use the rope. Pray accompany me." Sakurai Kichiro[u] divined the object of the arrest. "The affair at the Kirido[u]shi has been scented out. The manner of that rascally drug seller was strange to-day." The officer had planted himself right before the sword rack. Sakurai could neither kill anybody, nor cut belly. He turned to his wife. "There is a matter on hand to be explained. Absence will probably be prolonged. Already the day is far advanced.... Ah! Is it Kichitaro[u]?" A boy of seven years had rushed into the room. "Pretty fellow!... Honoured Sir, be patient. The separation is no short one. No resistance is made. We go the same road.... Taro[u]; rude fellow! Salute the gentleman." The boy obeyed, with grave ceremony and a hostility which divined an unpleasant mission. "Your father leaves you. It is now the time to obey the mother in all she says. Remember well, or the end will be a bad one." Wife and child clung to him, frightened and now weeping. It was an arrest; their mainstay was being taken from them. In the last caresses he had time to bend down and whisper to O'Ren--"In the toilet box is a scroll sealed up. All is there explained. Read and destroy it. In later days at discretion let our son know." Roughly he pushed woman and boy aside. With rapid stride he reached the entrance. The _yakunin_ confronted him. He laughed and waved a hand. "There is no resistance. We go the same road." The _do[u]shin_ permitted the laxity of discipline. He had his orders. Meanwhile the examination of the other two men was in progress at the office of the _machibugyo[u]_. As the biggest fool of the two, Nakagawa Miemon was the first summoned to the presence of Matsuda Dono. Said the Judge[14]--"Nakagawa Uji, there is a slight inquiry to make. How were those scars on the face come by? These are marks of wounds not long since received. Consider well and remember." The tone of menace staggered Miemon. He had anticipated some rebuke for slight infraction of the peace, not unusual with these men. "Naruhodo! Has the Shiba Kirido[u]shi matter cropped up?" He hesitated--"The story is a long one, and a foolish one. To weary the honoured ears...." Matsuda Gemba caught him up with impatient gesture. "Answer the question, and truly. Nakagawa Miemon is noted neither for judgment nor sobriety." The man caught up the last phrase as a cue. Eagerly he spoke, the doors of the jail opening wide for exit--"So it is indeed. Wine never benefited man; much less a _samurai_. Hence, with Kahei and Sakurai Uji, it was decided to forswear wine forever. It was determined to make a pilgrimage to Kompira San. There the vow of abstinence was to be taken; on its holy ground. All went well. We met at Nihonbashi. Alas! At the Kyo[u]bashi the perfume of a grog shop reached our noses. The vow had not yet been taken. The ground was not holy. Just one last drink before setting out. But the Buddha was unfavourable. Once begun, the drinking was adjourned to a cook shop. There the bout continued all day. Wine lent us the wings of _tengu_. We travelled the road to Kompira San in a dream. In the progress Kahei and this Miemon quarrelled. Swords were drawn, and we cut each other. These wounds on head and face were the portion of this Miemon. Kahei had his hand nearly severed. Sakurai San, who was asleep, aroused by the noise, sprang up to part us. He is a man to be feared; but in my rage I sank my teeth in his hand. The bite of man or beast is poison. His wound was worse than that of either of us." Gemba Dono was in conversation with his chamberlain. He let Miemon talk away. He was not one to say too little. As barely having listened he asked--"When was this fight? The day of the vow and journey to Kompira? Truly the result has been the vengeance of offended deity."--"The twelfth month tenth day," naturally replied Miemon. Gemba forced him to repeat the answer. Several times he put the query in different forms. Miemon, fool that he was, stuck to the date. Then said the magistrate--"Miemon, you are a liar. Moreover, you are a murderer. On the 13th day, on going up to the castle, this Gemba had converse with your lord. At that time Nakagawa Miemon was summoned to carry out a mission. As a man of whom report had been made you were noted well. At that time you had no wound.... Tie him up, and take him away." The _yakunin_ fell on him from all sides. In a trice he was trussed up and removed. Then appeared Imai Kahei. Kahei was cunning, but also a coward. To the questions of the _machibugyo[u]_ he procrastinated in his answers, confused them all he could. What had Miemon said? "He spoke of the eloquence of Imai San; of Kahei Uji as the clever man, the one to tell the tale properly. Now let us have the true statement of the case." Such was Gemba's reply. It was flattering. Unable to help himself Kahei set sail on his sea of lies. "We all like wine...."--"Ah! After all you are agreed." Gemba smiled pleasantly. Kahei took courage--"But wine costs money. Together we went to Kuraya Jibei, a money-lender living at Kuramae no Saka, as is well known." Gemba nodded assent. "Of him two _ryo[u]_ were borrowed, on agreement to repay ten _ryo[u]_ as interest within a month. The nearest grog shop was sought, and it was the hour of the rat (11 P.M.) before the return was started. At the Teobashi a band of drunkards was encountered. Without cause these men forced a quarrel on us. Thus was the hand of Kahei nearly severed. This is the truth."--"And what was the date of this money bond?" Imai hesitated. He had caught a glimpse of the drug seller To[u]kichi on being brought into the place. Without doubt the Kirido[u]shi affair was in question. He must antedate his wound. "Kahei does not remember with certainty. Perhaps it was the seventeenth day; before the Kwannon festival of the eighteenth day." He mumbled, and was frightened. Said Gemba sharply--"Speak distinctly; the seventeenth day?"--"Hei! Hei! Some time in the last decade of the month; the nineteenth or twentieth day--not later; not later." Matsuda Gemba almost leaped at him. "Oh, you liar! On the last day of the year you came, in person, to this Gemba to anticipate the New Year's gift (_sebo_). At that time you had no wound. Yet the drug seller sees you next day with maimed hand. It was not at Teobashi, but at Shiba Kirido[u]shi, that the wound was received.... Tie him up, and away with him." The _yakunin_ came forward. Imai made a spasmodic attempt to rise. They threw him down, and in a moment he was keeping company with Nakagawa Miemon. Gemba Dono braced himself for the more serious task. So did his _yakunin_. A glance showed the magistrate that he had mistaken his man. Sakurai Kichiro[u] came forward with calm and dignity. Making his ceremonial salutation to the judge he came at once to the point. "What lies Miemon and Kahei have told, this Kichiro[u] knows not. The fact is that we three plotted together to rob the fatly supplied purses of the _banto[u]_ making their rounds in settlement of accounts at the close of the year. Hence the _banto[u]_ of the Shimaya, Zensuké, lost his money belt, and a man of the same stamp, one Jugoro[u], was killed. All three of us are guilty of the murder...." As he would proceed Gemba held up his hand. "Bring in the other two men. Continue, Kichiro[u]." Said Sakurai--"Miemon was badly cut about the head and face. Kahei nearly lost his hand. This Kichiro[u] would have killed the clerk, but the procession of Geishu[u] Sama came in sight, and recognition was feared. Of the three hundred and twenty-five _ryo[u]_ secured...." The eyes of Nakagawa and Imai stood out. Aghast they had followed the confession of Sakurai Kichiro[u], with full intention to deny its truth. Now they were in a fury. "What! Three hundred and twenty-five _ryo[u]_! And we had but ten _ryo[u]_ apiece. You jest, Sakurai Uji.... Oh! The low fellow! The villain! A very beast! A swine!" Gemba Dono could ask for nothing more. With smiling face and courtesy he turned to Sakurai Kichiro[u]. "Why did Kichiro[u] take the three hundred _ryo[u]_, giving to these fellows such a paltry sum?" Answered Kichiro[u]--"As deserving no more. They are paltry fellows; little better than common soldiers (_ashigaru_). But there is more to tell, now the end is reached. The true name of Sakurai Kichiro[u] is Takahashi Daihachiro[u], at one time a retainer of Matsudaira Aki no Kami. Pressed by the money lender Jusuké, I killed him and had the body disposed of by one Densuké, the cook at the soldiers' quarters of the _yashiki_. This was in Tenwa 3rd year 5th month (June 1683). Fleeing to avoid arrest the occupation of writing teacher was taken up at Yu[u]ki in Shimosa. Densuké, too, had fled, and hither he came as a wandering beggar. Fearing his tongue I killed him; and mutilating the corpse, threw it into the castle moat close by. A beggar found dead, no inquiry was made."--"When did this take place?" asked Gemba. "Just one year later--Jo[u]kyo[u] 1st year 5th month." He made a little movement. Nakagawa and Imai broke out into protest at the completeness of this confession, but Sakurai turned fiercely on them. "Shut up! To undergo public trial would bring shame on all _kerai_ throughout the land; would cause people to fear our caste. We three planned the deed and secured the money." He put his arms behind his back. The _yakunin_, stepping softly, roped him up almost with respect. A wave of Gemba's hand and the guilty men were removed. Unable to help themselves, Nakagawa and Imai made confession to avoid the torture in what was now a hopeless case. Later the sentences of condemnation were issued. Degraded from their status the three men were taken to the execution ground of Shinagawa, and there decapitated. The wife of Takahashi Daihachiro[u] did not wait these proceedings. The confession of her husband was in her hands before he himself told everything to Matsuda Gemba. Before night she had decamped with her son. At eight years of age Kichitaro[u] was placed as disciple (_deshi_) at the Jo[u]shinji of Fukagawa. Receiving the name of Myo[u]shin he became the favourite of the rector (_ju[u]shoku_) of the temple. The mother now became reduced to the greatest penury. For a time she was bawd in the Honjo[u] Warigesui district. Subsequently she was promoted to the position of favourite sultana (wife) of her master Toémon, local head of his profession. Her name now was O'Matsu. When Myo[u]shin was thirteen years old in some way he was told that she was dead. Henceforth he had no stay in the world but the worthy priest, who became a second and better father to him. This treatment found its usual and virtuous reward. At eighteen years, now a priest and learned in priestly ways, he took to himself the contents of the temple strong box. Fifty _ryo[u]_ soon disappeared in the company of the harlots of Fukagawa Yagura-Shita. A prolonged absence of Myo[u]shin aroused the inquiries of the other monks, and the eyes of the rector were soon opened as to his unworthy proselyte, the blighted issue of a miserable stock.[15] CHAPTER VI NEGOTIATIONS: THE BUSINESS OF A MARRIAGE BROKER (NAKO[U]DO) The presence of O'Iwa created an upheaval in the Samoncho[u] household. The wet nurse required brought with her a train of servants. With the child's growth this was maintained, even increased. The young lady (Ojo[u]san) found herself graduated into one with a _status_ to maintain. All the niggardly habits of Matazaémon were thrown to the winds with the advent of this grandchild. The affection never shown outwardly to the mother, was lavished on her daughter. At seven years of age O'Iwa underwent the common enough infliction of smallpox. It showed itself on the anniversary day of O'Mino's death, and the child's sickness afforded but mutilated rites for the memorial service of the mother. Matazaémon would have abandoned all his duties, himself to nurse the child. O'Naka loved O'Iwa for self and daughter. She had sense enough to drive the old man into a corner of the room, then out of it; and further expostulations sent him to his duties. Who, in those iron days, would accept such excuse for absence? The child worried through, not unscathed. Her grandmother's qualifications as nurse have been mentioned. O'Iwa was a plain girl. She had the flat plate-like face of her mother. The eyes were small, disappearing behind the swollen eyelids, the hair was scanty, the disease added its black pock marks which stood thick and conspicuous on a fair skin. Otherwise she was spared by its ravages, except-- Whatever her looks O'Iwa compensated for all by her disposition. She had one of those balanced even temperaments, with clear judgment, added to a rare amiability. Moreover she possessed all the accomplishments and discipline of a lady. At eleven years Matazaémon unwillingly had sought and found a place for her in attendance on her ladyship of the great Hosokawa House. O'Iwa's absence made no difference in his household. The train of servants was maintained, to be disciplined for her return, to be ready on this return. Perhaps it was a pleasing fiction to the fond mind of the aging man that she would return, soon, to-morrow. O'Naka acquiesced in the useless expense and change in her habits. She always acquiesced; yet her own idea would have been to make a good housekeeper of O'Iwa--like herself, to sew, cook, wash, clean--a second O'Mino. She could not understand the new turn of Matazaémon's mind. As for O'Iwa, she grew to girlhood in the Hosokawa House, learned all the accomplishments of her own house and what the larger scale of her new position could teach her; everything in the way of etiquette and the polite arts, as well as the plainer tasks of housekeeping, she was likely ever to be called on to perform. The plain child grew into the plain woman; perhaps fortunately for her. The _okugata_ (her ladyship) was a jealous woman. Her spouse was mad on women. Every nubile maid (_koshimoto_) in the _yashiki_ was a candidate for concubinage. His wife countered by as hideous a collection of females as her own House and her lord's retainers could furnish. O'Iwa attracted from the first by her lack of all physical attraction. His lordship tried to get used to her with the passage of years--and failed. He could not stomach the necessary advances. But the girl's admirable temper and even judgment secured the esteem of all. These latter qualities captivated the whole household. It was O'Iwa who performed all duties for her ladyship, took them in charge as her substitute. For the first time in his life Oki no Kami found something in a woman apart from her sex. When the time came for O'Iwa to depart, the regret of lord and lady was substantially expressed in their gifts. But his lordship had to admit failure. Not a retainer could be found willing to take the daughter of Tamiya as wife. So far O'Iwa's mission at the _yashiki_ had failed. O'Naka knew this. Matazaémon never gave it thought; so glad he was to get her back. He received the honoured words and presents with humble and delighted thanks. O'Iwa reentered her home, a recovered jewel. She was the Ojo[u]san, the lady daughter. A first step of hers was gradually to get rid of a good part of the superfluous train. O'Iwa was a very practical girl. Matazaémon was now old and ill. He was nearing his seventieth year. The one idea in his head was the _muko_, the son to be adopted as husband of the heir of the House; the mate to be secured for O'Iwa, and the posterity to be secured for his House. As a little girl O'Iwa had been much courted--in fun. Watanabé Juzo[u], Natsumé Kyuzo[u], Imaizumi Jinzaémon, many others the growing "sparks" of Samoncho[u] and roundabout, could not forbear this amusement with the little "_Bakémono_" (apparition). Of their ill intent O'Iwa knew nothing. Indeed a short experience with O'Iwa disarmed derision. Most of the unseemly lovers came genuinely to like the girl, unless inherent malice and ugliness of disposition, as with Natsumé and Akiyama Cho[u]zaémon, made their sport more than mere pastime. But as grown men they could not face the results of the final step, and no parent was harsh enough to graft his unwilling stock on O'Iwa's persimmon trees. The girl was clever enough to know this. It was Ho[u]ei 6th year (1709) and she was now twenty-six years old. It was indirectly at her suggestion that Matazaémon sought the aid of Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei. This man lived just behind the large inclosure of the Sainenji, on the hill slope which dips steeply down to the Samégabashi. The relationship was very distant at best; but with nearer relatives in general, and with Yoémon his brother in particular, the master of Tamiya had deadly feud. To them he would not turn to find a husband for O'Iwa. Thus it happened that one day in the seventh month (August) Rokuro[u]bei was awaiting the appearance of Yamada Cho[u]bei. He really knew little about the man, but Cho[u]bei at one time had been resident in the ward. He had undergone vicissitudes, and now was a dealer in metals and a kind of broker in everything under the sign of Musashiya. He had a wide acquaintance over Edo in his different businesses, and was the easy and slip-shod means by which Rokuro[u]bei would avoid the more arduous part of the task laid on him by Matazaémon. Cho[u]bei was not long in putting in an appearance. All affairs were gifts of the gods to a man who lived on wind. Kazaguruma Cho[u]bei--Windmill Cho[u]bei--he was called. His flittings were so noiseless and erratic, just like the little paper windmills made for children, that the nickname applied exactly fitted him. The maid in announcing him showed no particular politeness. "Wait here a moment.... Danna Sama (master), Cho[u]bei San, the metal dealer, requests an interview."--"Ah! Pass him here at once.... Is it Cho[u]bei? Please sit down." Cho[u]bei had followed almost on the girl's footsteps. She drew aside to make room for him, then flirted out in haste. Poverty and dislike had no influence in Yotsuya in those days. She seemed to scent the man. Cho[u]bei looked with envy at the comfortable Rokuro[u]bei. The day was hot. The thin _kimono_ fallen about his loins, the latter's garb was a pair of drawers and a thin shirt. He sat looking out on the garden, with its shade of large trees, its shrubbery and rock work. Everything was dripping with the water industriously splashed to this side and to that by the serving man. The tea was brought and Kondo[u] at last remembered that he had a guest. As he turned--"It is a long time since a visit has been paid. Deign to pardon the intrusion." Cho[u]bei sighed in making this remark. The irony was lost on his fat host. As Rokuro[u]bei seemed unwilling, or hardly to know how to impart the subject concerning which he had summoned him, Cho[u]bei continued--"And the honoured health, is it good? The honoured business, is it on some matter of moment that Cho[u]bei is summoned?" Rokuro[u]bei woke up under the direct question. He, too, sighed. Cho[u]bei was noted for a greed which inspired fear. For money he would do anything. "Blindman Cho[u]bei" had been his nickname of old days in the ward. Kondo[u] remembered this. He liked money, too. It brought in so much comfort. He hated to part with comfort. It was to be a question between himself and Cho[u]bei how much of his hard-earned commission was to be parted with. This last thought completely aroused him. "It is a matter of securing a _muko_. This Rokuro[u]bei is the one charged with the task. As a son-in-law outside the ward is desired, no one has wider circulation and better opportunities than Cho[u]bei San. Hence the desire for a consultation." Cho[u]bei whistled inwardly. Outside the ward! What was wrong with the case. Here was coin to be turned up by the circumspect. "Surely there are young fellows enough in Samoncho[u], fit to be _muko_. Of course with impediments...."--"It is the daughter of Tamiya; O'Iwa San. Matazaémon Dono has commissioned this Rokuro[u]bei to secure a _muko_." Cho[u]bei whistled outwardly. "For O'Iwa San!..."--"She is no beauty, as Cho[u]bei evidently knows. Wealth compensates for other deficiencies. At all events his aid is desired."--"For how much?" Cho[u]bei spoke bluntly. If Rokuro[u]bei had forgotten Cho[u]bei, Cho[u]bei had not forgotten Rokuro[u]bei. He went on--"To get a price for damaged goods is no sinecure. Fortunately she is only out of repair on the surface.... Say ten _ryo[u]_?" Kondo[u] laughed scornfully--"And they call Cho[u]bei 'the Blind-man'! Rather is it vision magnified. The entertainment should be the reward; with what Cho[u]bei collects from the happy bridegroom." Cho[u]bei replied gravely--"With such a wealthy connection the future of Kondo[u] Dono is to be envied. Cho[u]bei has to realize his future at once. Not a _ryo[u]_ less can he afford." Plainly he was in earnest, as was the long conversation which followed. Finally Cho[u]bei emerged with partial success, and half the sum named as stipend for his labours. He began them at once. The next day he was at the metal market in Kanda. In course of chaffering over wares he never bought--"You fellows always have some _ro[u]nin_ in train; a fine, handsome fellow for whom a wife is needed. Application is made. Jinzaémon, you have a candidate."--"Not for the kind of wife Cho[u]bei San provides." Those present laughed loudly at the sally. Cho[u]bei did not wink. He explained. "No bad provision is this one. Rich, with an income of thirty _tawara_, a fine property in reversion, and but twenty-five years old. The man therefore must be fit to pose as a _samurai_; able to read and write, to perform official duty, he must be neither a boy nor a man so old as to be incapable. Come now! Does no one come forward? _Ro[u]nin_ are to be had. A _ryo[u]_ for aid to this Cho[u]bei."--"Too cheap as an offer," was Jinzaémon's retort. "A _ro[u]nin_ is one to be handled with care. Those favoured with acquaintance of the honoured _bushi_ often part with life and company at the same date. Those without lords are equally testy as those in quarters." He spoke with the bluntness of the true Edokko, the peculiar product of the capital; men who were neither farmers nor provincials, but true descendants of the men of the guild of Bandzuin Cho[u]bei. He jested, but the subject interested the crowd. Said one--"Does Cho[u]bei San get the _ryo[u]_ out of groom or bride? She is a bold wench, unmarried at that age; and none too chaste eh, Cho[u]bei San? She will provide the husband with wife and child to hand, or in the making. Or, are matters the other way? Has she been tried and found wanting? Is she impotent, or deformed; or is Cho[u]bei making fools of us?" Answered Cho[u]bei slowly--"No; she is a little ugly. The face round and flat, shining, with black pock marks, making it look like speckled pumice, rouses suspicion of leprosy. This, however, is not the case. At all events she is a woman." All were now roaring with laughter--"A very beauty indeed! Just the one for Cho[u]bei's trade! Too honied was his speech. He would market anything. But in this market it is a matter of hard cash; without credit. This is a bit of goods too wilted. Even Cho[u]bei cannot sell it."--"You lie!" said Cho[u]bei in a towering passion. "At the first hint of ill-fortune threatening wine supply or pleasure, there is not one of you who would not turn to Cho[u]bei to find the money needed. Sisters, daughters, wives, aunts ... mothers are for sale." He was choking with rage. "Sell her? Cho[u]bei can and will." Angered by the final item on his family list, a man nearby gave him a sharp poke in the back. Others voiced resentment, perhaps would have given it material form. The canal was spoken of. Cho[u]bei took the hint. He did not wait for a ducking. At a sharp pace he trotted off toward his tenement at Asakusa Hanagawado[u]. For a while he would avoid the metal market. He regretted his display of temper. It was in the necessities of other trades that he found the material of his own, and flourished. In plain terms Kazaguruma Cho[u]bei was a pimp for the Yoshiwara and kindred quarters. His other occupations were mere channels accessory to this main business. Hence his seasons of increase and decline. Just now he was in a period of decline. His eagerness in this Tamiya affair was sharpened. Pushing his way through the Kuramae of Asakusa suddenly a hopeful light came into his eye. Abruptly he made his way to the side of the roadway. Here boarding covered the ditch, removing the occupant of a booth erected thereon, and would-be clients, from the passing stream of humanity. There was a table in the booth, and on it were several books, a vessel containing water, brushes (_fudé_), scrolls for writing, and a box containing divining sticks. It was the stand of a strolling fortune-teller. At the time the occupant was engaged in gathering together his professional apparatus, with the evident purpose to decamp. Cho[u]bei did not delay in accosting him. "Ah! The Sensei;[16] Kazuma Uji finds the day too hot to pry into the future. Does the Sensei leave his clients to their fate, or have the clients abandoned the Sensei? Deign to come along with Cho[u]bei. Perhaps he, too, can tell fortunes. At all events the wife has been forewarned; the bath is ready. It will put life into both of us." The young man laughed and hastened his operations, nodding assent--"Thanks are felt, Cho[u]bei San. Indeed this Kazuma has but to continue the art of prophecy if he would foretell his own fate. No one will buy the future when money is so needed for the present. Besides this is a pleasure ground. Men have no hankering to learn of possible worse luck than being here. All the fools have died--except their prophet." He shouldered his scanty apparatus, and with rapid stride the two men pushed their way up the crowded street toward the great gate of the temple. In his haste Cho[u]bei yet had time to eye, from time to time, his companion, always gaining encouragement from the palpable seediness made more plain by a handsome person. The two were neighbours in a house-row (_nagaya_) of the Hanagawado[u], that poverty-stricken district along the river close to the great amusement ground, and furnishing those who perform its baser tasks. On arrival Cho[u]bei called out--"O'Taki! O'Taki! The bath, is it ready? The Sensei, Kazuma San, honours us with his company. Make all ready for his reception.... Sensei, condescend to enter; please come up." Yanagibara Kazuma dropped his clogs in the vestibule. As he entered the room--"Pray pardon the intrusion. This Kazuma feels much in the way. He is continually putting his neighbours of the _nagaya_ to inconvenience; too great the kindness of Cho[u]bei San and wife." O'Taki laughed deprecatingly. Truly this was a handsome young man. In this 6th year of Ho[u]ei (1709) Yanagibara Kazuma was twenty-one years of age. O'Taki was thirty odd. She appreciated masculine beauty all the more. Cho[u]bei grunted from heat and the merest trace of discomfiture. He had his limit, even in his business. Quickly he shook off his _kimono_, and fan in hand squatted in his loin cloth. "Ah! 'Tis hot beyond endurance. Business is bad--from Yoshiwara to Yotsuya." O'Taki looked up at the last word. He continued--"The Sensei takes precedence. Kazuma Uji, deign to enter the bath. All is ready?" His wife nodded assent. Kazuma followed the example of Cho[u]bei. In a trice he was naked as his mother bore him. Cho[u]bei burst out into phrases of admiration--"What a splendid fellow! Ah! Waste of material! If a woman Kazuma San would be a fortune to himself and to Cho[u]bei.... Taki, note the skin of the Sensei. It has the texture of the finest paper. How regrettable!" He drew back for the better inspection of the sum total of his subject's charms. O'Taki drew closer for the same purpose. Cho[u]bei sighed--"It is plain enough that Kazuma San is not a woman. An error of Nature! Somehow the age at which a woman becomes of use, is that at which a boy becomes a mere burden. He is fit for nothing but to be a story-teller.... And you, Taki, what are you about?" The lady of his affections was far advanced in the process of disrobing. She protested. "Does not the Sensei need aid in the bath? How cleanse the back, the shoulders. This Taki would aid him."--"Immodest wench!" bellowed Cho[u]bei. "The Sensei needs no such aid. Why! You ... Taki ... one would take you for a charcoal ball (_tadon_), so dark your skin. Nay! For two of them, for a cluster piled in a box, so round the buttocks and belly. The Sensei wants no aid from such an ugly jade. This Cho[u]bei can do what is needed; with as much skill and better purpose than a woman." Kazuma modestly interposed in this incipient quarrel between husband and wife. "Nay, the matter is of no importance. Kazuma is grateful for such kindness, but aid is not needed. His arm is long." He held it out, almost simian in proportion and slenderness, the one proportional defect of this handsome body. The quarrel of Cho[u]bei and O'Taki lapsed before his pleasant smile. Seated over tea said Cho[u]bei--"This Cho[u]bei, too, has claimed to be a diviner. Don't deny it. The Sensei at one time has been a priest." Kazuma looked at him with surprise, even misgiving. Explained Cho[u]bei--"The manner in which the Sensei takes up the cup betrays him; in both hands, with a little waving of the vessel and shake of the head. The rust of the priest's garb clings close." Said Kazuma--"Cho[u]bei San is a clever fellow. It is true. At one time I was priest."--"Whereabouts?" asked Cho[u]bei. "At the Reigan of Fukagawa," replied the prophet--"Ah! Reiganji; and later would return to the life of a _samurai_. Such pose and manner possessed by the Sensei are only gained in good company. He would reassume the status. This Cho[u]bei was not always as he is. Wine, women, gambling, have brought him to pimping. The buying of _geisha_ and _joro[u]_ cost the more as they imply the other two vices. Wife, status, fortune; all are gone. Such has been Cho[u]bei's fate."--"Not the only case of the kind," grumbled his partner in concubinage. "And the wife, what has become of her?"--"None of Taki's affair, as she is no longer an issue. Would the jade be jealous?" He glowered at her. "But Kazuma San, this Cho[u]bei is not only diviner, to tell fortunes. He can make them." Kazuma laughed. "Don't joke. Cho[u]bei San's line of business has already cost this Kazuma fortune and position."--"To secure a better one. Kazuma San is a _ro[u]nin_ (without lord), a man of education, and of fine appearance. He is just the one to become a _muko_."--"In some tradesman's family?" The _samurai_ spoke with disdain. Said Cho[u]bei eagerly--"No: Cho[u]bei prophesied the return of Kazuma Uji to his own caste."--"At what cost?" said Kazuma coolly. "The honour of a _samurai_ cannot stand open taint. Kazuma has no desire to cut belly at too early a date, to save the situation for others. Has the woman erred, and is the father's sword dulled?"--"It is no such case," answered Cho[u]bei. "The parents, rather grandparents, are fools in pride. The girl is twenty-five years old, rich, and, one must admit, not too good looking. It is by a mere chance, a former connection, that the affair comes into Cho[u]bei's hands. As Kazuma Uji knows, it is not much in his line. Let us share the good luck together."--"Is she a monster; one of those long-necked, pop-eyed _rokurokubi_?"--"That can be determined at the meeting," said the cautious Cho[u]bei. "She is somewhat pock-marked, as with others. It is a matter of luck. Cho[u]bei's position forces him to fall back on Kazuma San as the only likely man to recommend. Deign not to refuse to come to his aid."--"Rich, and granddaughter of people old in years." He eyed Cho[u]bei quizzically. The latter nodded agreement. "No matter what her looks, this Kazuma accepts with thanks--unless this be a jest of Cho[u]bei San." Cho[u]bei slightly coughed--"There is a commission...."--"Ah! Then the foundation is rock. As to commission, assuredly; Kazuma is not rich, nor in funds."--"But will be. At ten _ryo[u]_ it is a cheap affair."--"Agreed," replied the diviner carelessly. "The money will be paid."--"With the delivery of the goods." Cho[u]bei now was all gaiety--"Of the Rokurokubi, the monster with sextuple lengthed neck," laughed Kazuma Sensei as he took his leave. He was engaged to meet Cho[u]bei the next day at the house of Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei in Yotsuya. CHAPTER VII IÉMON APPEARS In his difficult mission Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei had hopes of Cho[u]bei; but not much more. It was with no small pleasure that he heard the announcement of his visit the next morning. The maid was a shade more civil--"Please wait." Kondo[u] was decidedly so. He greeted Cho[u]bei with an effusion which Cho[u]bei noted. The tea brought, the two men faced each other over the cups. To Kondo[u]'s inquiring look--"Honoured master the task is a difficult one." He retailed his experience at the Kanda market. Kondo[u] was somewhat discomfited. He had put a different interpretation on the early visit of Cho[u]bei. Continued the latter--"A difficult task, but not hopeless. Surely five _ryo[u]_ is very small remuneration." Kondo[u]'s eye lit up. Cho[u]bei had his man. "It is all this Kondo[u] is qualified to give. Cho[u]bei knows Tamiya Dono. After all it is he who pays, and Cho[u]bei can claim but his share. However, the matter is not urgent. A bad turn with Matazaémon, and O'Naka will be much easier to deal with ... unless it be Yoémon who interposes." He made a wry face; joined in by Cho[u]bei. Kondo[u] went on--"It is matter of regret to have troubled you. The parents of Natsumé Kyuzo[u] show signs of breaking off present negotiations and coming round to us. This is a matter of yesterday, and on hearing that the affair of O'Iwa San was definitely in the hands of Rokuro[u]bei." Cho[u]bei was frightened. Was this the cause of Kondo[u]'s joy? Had he misinterpreted on his entrance? He put out a hand, as if to stop the talk of his host. "Deign to allow the money question to stand as agreed. Such step would put this Cho[u]bei in an awkward position. The man is found, and soon will be here. Probably even Kondo[u] Dono will be satisfied."--"Who is he?" asked Kondo[u].--"One Yanagibara Kazuma. He has practised divination at Asakusa...."--"A charlatan! A quack doctor! Cho[u]bei, are you mad?" Rokuro[u]bei pushed back his cushion and his cue in horror. Not a word did he say of Natsumé Kyuzo[u]. Cho[u]bei smiled. He had been trapped; but he had detected Kondo[u]. "Don't be alarmed. The man is a _ro[u]nin_, his divination of small account and due to temporary stress. Kondo[u] Dono will soon judge of the man by his appearance. Let the subject of Kazuma San be dropped--with that of Natsumé San. Our bargain has been made firm." Kondo[u] looked down. He felt a little injured. Continued Cho[u]bei--"For his man Cho[u]bei cannot answer if all be known. Pray follow my plan, and precede us to the house of Matazaémon. He must not see O'Iwa at this juncture. Tamiya Dono is ill and not visible. The Obasan is wise enough to do as she is told. Years have drilled that into her. O'Iwa has taken cold. Her hair is loose and she cannot think of appearing. Make this known when the time comes to serve the wine. Meanwhile send her off on some mission; to the house of Akiyama, or that of the newly-wed Imaizumi."--"But the man must see the girl," protested Kondo[u]. Answered Cho[u]bei--"He must see the property. It is with that Cho[u]bei intends he shall become enamoured. He is not to see the girl until she is his wife. To keep the estate he will cleave to the woman. Trust Cho[u]bei for a knowledge of men's hearts ... at least that of Yanagibara Kazuma." Perhaps he spoke a little too plainly. Rokuro[u]bei had a last touch of conscience--"Cho[u]bei, what manner of man is this one you bring? What is his real nature? Tamiya is upright as the walls of the Honmaru (castle). And Yanagibara Kazuma...." Cho[u]bei's brow wrinkled. He was spared an answer. Said the maid--"Yanagibara Sama would see the master."--"Show him in at once," said Rokuro[u]bei. He rose, as much in amazement as in courtesy. Kazuma was a striking figure as he entered the room. His dress of white Satsuma was of finest quality, and perfectly aligned. The _haori_ (cloak) was of the corrugated Akashi crape. In his girdle he wore the narrow swords then coming into fashion, with finely lacquered scabbards. In person he was tall, fair, with high forehead and big nose. Slender and sinewy every movement was lithe as that of a cat. Kondo[u] gasped as he made the accustomed salutations. "This man for O'Iwa! Bah! A fox has stolen a jewel." All his compunction and discretion vanished before this unusual presence. Kazuma gracefully apologized for his intrusion, thus uninvited. Kondo[u] stammered protests and his delight at the opportunity of meeting Yanagibara Dono. Cho[u]bei smiled inward and outward delight at thus summarily removing any too pointed objections of Kondo[u]. For absolute self-possession in this awkward situation the younger man easily carried the palm. Kazuma acted as would a man double his years. Cho[u]bei was not only delighted, but astonished. "Whence had the Sensei produced all this wondrous get-up? Was he in real fact a magician?" Kazuma knew, but he was not one to enlighten Cho[u]bei or anyone else. After talk on general matters the affair of the meeting was broached. Said Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei--"Thus to trouble Yanagibara Dono requires apology, but the affair is not without advantage. The lady is the daughter of Tamiya, a _do[u]shin_ and favoured by the Hosokawa House. This Kondo[u] is honoured in presenting Kazuma Dono in Yotsuya."--"Nay, fear enters.[17] The honour of this meeting with Kondo[u] Dono is as great as the intrusion has been unseemly. Deign to pardon the precipitancy of this Kazuma." Kondo[u] protested in his turn. Said Cho[u]bei--"The presentation made, doubtless the matter is as good as concluded. But Tamiya Dono is ill; this visit is unexpected. If Kondo[u] Dono would deign to precede, and ascertain how matters are at Tamiya, it would be well." To this Kondo[u] assented. Making his excuses he set out for Samoncho[u], bubbling over with excitement, and praying that the matter would have certain issue; and thus establish him for life on the shoulders of the wealthy Tamiya. Prayers? Indeed he did stop on the road, one lined with the ecclesiastical structures. Kondo[u] had too much at stake, not to invoke all likely aid. With his departure Cho[u]bei began to go into the externals of the House of Tamiya. As they walked along--"Congenial surroundings." This was with a grin and a wave of the hand toward the long line of temple buildings and graveyards they were passing. "Not much savour of present lodging in Hanagawado[u]. Eh! Kazuma Uji, even Cho[u]bei notes the difference." He stopped opposite the Gwansho[u]ji and looked across the way. The fruit was already formed on the trees of Matazaémon's garden. "Persimmons of a hundred momme (375 grammes) each; twenty cartloads for the profit of the house at the fall of the year." As they passed in the entrance on Samoncho[u] he pointed to a store-house. "Stuffed with rice, from the farms of Tamiya in Kazusa. No husks to be found in it."--"Who said there were?" said Kazuma testily. His eyes were taking in the wide proportions of the garden, the spreading roof and eaves of a stately mansion. As they passed along the _ro[u]ka_ to a sitting room Cho[u]bei called his attention to the fret work (_rama-sho[u]ji_) between the rooms, the panelled ceilings, the polished and rare woodwork of _tokonoma_ (alcoves). A _kakémono_ of the severe Kano school was hung in the sitting room alcove, a beautifully arranged vase of flowers stood beneath it. Matazaémon could not use his legs, but his hands were yet active. Of his visitors he knew nothing; least of all of Cho[u]bei. Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei appeared. With him was an old lady. O'Naka bowed to the ground before the proposed son-in-law. She was in a flutter over the beautiful man destined for O'Iwa. The admirable courtesy of his manners, the tender softness of voice, robbed her of what little judgment she had. Her only fear was that the candidate for honours and the Tamiya would escape. Said Cho[u]bei--"Asakusa is a long distance; the occasion exceptional. Cannot the Ojo[u]san favour us by pouring the wine?" The old woman hummed and hawed. Kondo[u], too, seemed put out. "As a matter of fact O'Iwa is not presentable. She has taken cold, and just now is in bed. Perhaps the Obasan will urge her further, now that Yanagibara Uji is present." O'Naka at once rose, like to an automaton, the spring of which has been pressed. She disappeared, to return and repeat her lesson. "Wilful as a child! One would suppose her such. Illness she would disregard, but her hair is not made up. She cannot think of appearing before company. Truly she is vexing."--"Not so," defended Cho[u]bei. "She could not show higher regard than by refusing to appear before a future husband in careless attire. It is a guarantee of conduct when married. She is much to be commended for such respect. All women like to appear well. A man in the neighbourhood, and rice powder and rouge are at once applied. How neglect such an elaborate structure as the hair? Trust Cho[u]bei's judgment as to women." O'Naka thought that he spoke well, but like most men with great conceit. Kazuma looked out towards the beautiful garden. He took the chance to smile, for he had soon ascertained that Kondo[u] knew little about his agent; was in fact a precipitate, testy man. However, he was a little put out at not seeing the would-be bride. At an opportunity he stepped out, to see more of the house and its surroundings. Cho[u]bei came up to him as he stood on the _ro[u]ka_. His voice was coaxing and pleading. "Is it not a fine prospect--for Kazuma Dono?" His voice hung on the 'Dono.' "Nay, don't let escape this splendid piece of luck. Long has Cho[u]bei interested himself in his neighbour. Such a beautiful exterior should have a proper setting. Marry O'Iwa San and Kazuma Dono is master of Tamiya. Is it agreed?" Kazuma looked down in thought. At his age there are ideals of the other sex, hard to put aside. Said he--"Not to see the lady.... Is she so horrible?" Cho[u]bei protested. "Not so! The lady is a mere item, well fitted to go with this fine house, this beautiful garden, these store-houses filled with goods. Look: Tamiya Dono is a man of double rations. The property has _nagaya_ for attendants. For long this has not been used. Tamiya will not rent it out. It will be so much revenue added to the stipend of the House, and will replace the old man's uncertain income from his accomplishments as master of _hanaiké_ and _cha-no-yu_." Kazuma looked around, following the pointing finger of Cho[u]bei. He was in sad straits. His only future was this position of a _muko_. No matter what the woman might be, there was compensation. To Cho[u]bei's direct question he made answer--"Yes." The affair of the marriage suffered no delays. Cho[u]bei had struck home. Kazuma was so impressed with the surroundings, especially after a return to his own miserable quarters, that the matter of the interview took a minor place to the inspection of his future property. Within the week he had removed to the house of Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei. The latter introduced him to his future associates in the ward by a succession of fish and wine dinners dear to the heart of the men of Nippon. These neighbours were astonished at the future son-in-law of the Tamiya. This man was to be the husband of the O'Baké? Was he mad, or drunk? Perhaps the latter, for neither themselves nor Kazuma had the opportunity to be particularly sober during this period of festivity. Of course there was an introduction to Matazaémon, the other principal involved. As Kondo[u] carefully explained, no set date could be made for this interview. Tamiya Dono was ill, and to be seen at a favourable time. As ill luck would have it, on the very day the interview was permitted O'Iwa San received an urgent summons from the Okugata of the Hosokawa House. This could not be disregarded, and her absence on the second occasion was easily explained and condoned. Kondo[u] certainly made no effort, and Kazuma no suggestion, for a meeting in the three days intervening before the formal marriage. At evening the guests met in the reception rooms of Tamiya. In a private apartment were Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei and his wife, O'Iwa, and Iémon. The latter name had been assumed by Kazuma on his formal registration in the Tamiya House. It was Cho[u]bei who had purchased the _wataboshi_, or wadded hood, of floss silk worn by the bride on this great occasion of her life. Iémon could see but little within its depths, except the shining light of her countenance. Joy perhaps? At least this curiosity was soon to be satisfied. Nine times--three times three--were the _saké_ cups drained. Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei joined the hands of the train, exhorting them to mutual forbearance, O'Iwa to unquestioning obedience to the husband. He pattered over the maxims of the Do[u]jikun of Kaibara Yekken in this strange case, as he had done twenty times before with favourable results. Yekken's book was comparatively recent, only a few decades old, and the woman's guide. Truly the position of the _nako[u]do_ was no easy one, if it was to bring him at odds with either House involved. He felt complacent. This pair at least presented less complications in that line than usual. What there was of doubtful issue came now to the test. At this crisis he cast an eye to the _ro[u]ka_ (verandah) to see that Cho[u]bei really was at hand as promised. Then the strings of the _wataboshi_ were loosed. The hood concealing the face of O'Iwa was removed. Iémon rose to his feet as if impelled by springs; then hurriedly he sat again with some mumbled excuse and trembling hands. He could not take his eyes from the shining white of the face before him, the glazed smooth surface left in many places between the black of the pock marks. The removal of the hood had somewhat disarrayed the hair, leaving the broad expanse of forehead more prominent, the puffed heavy eyelids in the face more conspicuous. In the depths shone two tiny points, the eyes. Indeed, as Cho[u]bei afterwards described it, eyelids and eyes had the appearance of _kuzumanju_, the dumplings of white rice paste with the black dots of dark brown bean paste sunk deep in the centre. Never had O'Iwa appeared to such disadvantage. She was now engaged in removing the white garment, to appear in her proper array as bride and wife. Iémon took advantage of this absence to step to the _ro[u]ka_. In leaving the room Kondo[u] had given a wink to Cho[u]bei. Iémon almost ran into him. He seized him by the arm. The young man's voice was excited. He spoke in a whisper, as one who could barely find speech. With satisfaction Cho[u]bei noted that he was frightened, not angered. "What is that? Who is that creature?" were the first words of Iémon. Replied Cho[u]bei coldly--"That is the wife of Tamiya Iémon; O'Iwa San, daughter of Matazaémon Dono; your wife to eight thousand generations." Then roughly--"Deign, Iémon San, not to be a fool. In the purchase of cow or horse, what does the buyer know of the animal? Its real qualities remain to be ascertained. O'Iwa San is ugly. That much Cho[u]bei will admit. She is pock-marked, perhaps stoops a little. But if the daughter of the rich Tamiya, a man with this splendid property, had been a great beauty, this Iémon would not have become the _muko_ of Tamiya, the future master of its wealth. What qualification had he for such a position--a diviner, a man whose pedigree perhaps would not stand too much search." He looked keenly at Iémon, and noted with satisfaction how the last thrust had gone home. Cho[u]bei must know more of Iémon, ex-Kazuma. He determined on that for the future. He continued--"Withdrawal at this juncture would merely create scandal. Matazaémon is not so bereft of friends that such a step would not cause serious displeasure in high quarters. The insult would find an avenger. Then consider please: the old man is kept alive by the anxiety to see his granddaughter established in life, the line of the Tamiya assured. He will die within the month. If the old woman hangs on too long"--he halted speech for a moment, then coldly--"give her lizard to eat. A diviner, doubtless Iémon San knows Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei by this time. He will never prejudice the man who holds in his hands the purse of the Tamiya. Iémon San and O'Iwa San are left alone. Good luck to you, honoured Sir, in the encounter. In this Cho[u]bei a counsellor and friend always is to be found; and one by no means lacking experience of the world. As for the woman, she is your wife; one to take charge of the house and affairs of Iémon Dono is to hand. No other _rusu_[18] could be found so earnest in duty and so cheap, as O'Iwa San. Take a concubine. This Cho[u]bei will purchase one for you; such a one as will be the object of envy and desire to the whole of young Edo. His opportunities in that line are exceptional. Come! To turn on the lights. On our part at least there is nothing to conceal." Iémon did not pay attention to the hint. The one thought harassing him must out--"lop-sided and--a leper!" He spoke with despair and conviction, eyes fastened on Cho[u]bei, and such a frightened look that even Cho[u]bei had pity. One foot in the room he turned back. "That is not so--absolutely." Iémon could not disbelieve the earnest testimony. Said Cho[u]bei--"The wounds of smallpox were no trivial ones. In healing the scars were such in places as form over burns. Hence the shining surface. Positively there is no leprous taint in Tamiya." He was gratified by the sigh which came from Iémon, sign of the immense weight lifted off the young man's mind. "Bah! leave things to the future, and--enjoy the present. O'Iwa cannot grow ugly with age. So much is gained. What difference will her looks make to Iémon thirty years hence? She is a woman. Make a child on her. Then you are free to turn elsewhere." At once he began to place lights everywhere, as a sign to Kondo[u] that all was well. This worthy came forward with other guests, to congratulate the Tamiya House on being once more in young and vigorous hands. It was Iémon himself who gave the signal to retire. How matters went alone with his bride has reference to one of those occasions over which the world draws the veil of decency. In the morning O'Iwa arose early to attend to the matutinal needs of her spouse. The ablutions performed, Iémon sat down to tea, as exquisite and exquisitely served as in any dream in literature of how such ceremony of the opening day should be performed. Then the morning meal was brought, under the same supervision of this woman, as expert in all the technique of her craft as she was ugly in feature; and that was saying much. Iémon watched her movements in the room with curiosity, mixed with a little pain and admiration. He was quick to note the skill with which she concealed the slight limp, due to the shrinking of the sinews of one leg and causing an unevenness of gait. It was a blemish in the little quick movements of a woman of surpassing grace; who by art had conquered disease and an ungainly figure. O'Iwa had left the room for a moment to get flowers to place in the vases, offering to the _hotoké_ (Spirits of the departed) in the Butsudan. On his return Iémon held the _ihai_ (memorial tablets) in his hands. A priest, these had at once attracted his notice. "Kangetsu Shinshi; Kangetsu Shimmyo[u]; O'Iwa San, these people have died on the same day of the month--and the year?"--"Is on the back of the _ihai_," replied O'Iwa. "No; it is not a case of suicide together." Then seeing his evident curiosity she motioned him to sit as she poured tea, ready for a long story. With its progress voice and manner grew more strained and earnest. She never took her eyes from the _tatami_ (mats). "The tablets are those of the father and mother of this Iwa. My mother's name was Mino. Daughter of Tamiya she acted badly with my father Densuké, a mere servant in the house. This Densuké was a good man, but his status of _chu[u]gen_ made my grandfather very angry. He drove the twain from the house. Thus deprived of means to live, my father took a position as cook in the _yashiki_ of a great noble. Here he was frightened into becoming the tool of a very wicked man. Having killed an usurer this man forced my father to dispose of the body under penalty of death if he refused. The body being placed in a cloth, my father had carried it to his house. During his short absence my mother's curiosity led her into untying the bundle. Her screams aroused the neighbourhood. As they entered she was seized with convulsions, and gave birth to this Iwa, thus brought into the world together with the exposure of the crime. My father, doubtless warned by the crowd, fled from Edo. My mother had but time to tell her story to the _kenshi_. Then she died. A year later to the day my father's dead body was found floating in the castle moat, near the town of Yu[u]ki in Shimosa. A beggar man, but little inquiry was made into the crime. For long the cause and the criminal were unknown. Then a _banto[u]_ was robbed in the Shiba Kirido[u]shi; his companion was killed. The criminals were traced, and on confession were put to death. The leader and most wicked of them also confessed to the murder of the usurer Jusuké and to that of my father Densuké. My father had met him again in Yu[u]ki town, and had aroused in him fear of denunciation of past crimes. He spoke of 'this Densuké' as a superstitious, haunted fool; thus in his wickedness regarding my father's remorse and desire to clear up the strange affair. The execution of this man removed all chance of my avenging the deaths of father and mother on himself. But he has left behind a son. The one wish of this Iwa is to meet with Kichitaro[u]; to avenge on him the wickedness of his father Takahashi Daihachiro[u]." Iémon at first had followed in idle mood her story. With the development of the details he showed an attention which grew in intensity at every stage. With the mention of the name of Takahashi Daihachiro[u] he gave a violent start. Yanagibara Kazuma, Iémon Tamiya--what were these but names to cover this Kichitaro[u], the one-time priest Myo[u]shin of the Jo[u]shinji at Reigan Fukagawa, and son of Daihachiro[u]. Strange was this retributory fate which had brought these two into the most intimate relations of husband and wife. When Iémon could control his voice he said--"That O'Iwa San should have this feeling in reference to the wicked Daihachiro[u] can be understood. But why such hatred toward this Kichitaro[u]? Surely the boy is not to be held guilty of the father's offence!"--"That is a man's way of reasoning," answered O'Iwa. "A woman, ignorant and foolish, has but her feelings to consult. To seven births this Iwa will clutch and chew the wicked son of a wicked father. Against Kichitaro[u] is the vow made." She raised her head. Iémon turned away shuddering. She had aged into a hag. The shining face, the marks like black spots in pumice standing out, the mere dots of eyes in their puffy bed, the spreading mouth with its large shining teeth--all turned the plain gentle girl into a very demon. The certainty, the intensity, of a malignant hate was driven into Iémon. He was so frightened that he even nodded assent to her last words. The gentle voice of O'Iwa added--"Iwa is ugly; perhaps annoys by the tale. Leave the affair to her and to the enemy. To Iémon she is bound for two existences. Deign to drop all formality; call her Iwa, and condescend to regard her with affection." And Iémon covenanted with himself so to do. The present should compensate for the past. But in the days which followed O'Iwa sat on him as a nightmare. He felt the impress of her teeth at his throat, and would wake up gasping. Time made the situation familiar. He carefully lulled her into a blind admiration and belief in her husband Iémon. There seemed no likelihood of O'Iwa learning the truth; or believing it, if she did.[19] CHAPTER VIII IF OLD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT Matazaémon's illness justified all the predictions of Cho[u]bei. In the course of the month it was plain that his last hold on life was rapidly weakening. In that time Iémon had won golden opinions from household and neighbours. His face was beautiful, and this they saw. His heart was rotten to the core, and this he kept carefully concealed. The incentive of his fear of O'Iwa kept up the outward signs of good-will. He found this easier with the passage of the days. Plain as she was in face and figure, no one could help being attracted by the goodness of O'Iwa's disposition. Iémon, in his peculiar situation, placed great hopes on this, even if discovery did take place. Day following day he began to discount this latter contingency. To a feeling of half liking, half repugnance, was added a tinge of contempt for one so wrapped in her immediate surroundings, whose attention was so wholly taken up with the matter in hand. She easily could be kept in ignorance, easily be beguiled. One day Iémon was summoned to the old man's bedside. He was shocked at the change which had taken place in a few hours. Propped upon pillows Matazaémon would speak a few last words. With a shade of his old impertinent official smile and manner--"The Tamiya is to be congratulated on its great good fortune in the entrance of one so well qualified by appearance and manners to uphold its reputation. Deign, honoured Muko San, to accept the thanks of this Matazaémon. All else has been placed in the hands of Iémon--goods, reputation, granddaughter." Iémon bowed flat in acknowledgment and protest at the good-will expressed. Continued Matazaémon--"There is one matter close to the old man's heart. Concerning that he would make his last request to the admirable heart of Iémon. Iwa is a plain girl. The end of time for man, and the carping comment of neighbours come to his ears, have opened the eyes of Matazaémon to the truth. Great has been the favour in disregarding this plainness and taking her to wife. Everything is in the hands of Iémon San. Consider her happiness and deign to use her well. Abstain if possible from taking a concubine. At all events conceal the fact from Iwa, if it be deigned to keep such company. Plainness and jealousy go together. Faithful and upright, such a disposition as hers is not to be strained on that point. She would be very unhappy. Better the light women of Shinjuku Nakacho[u], than one who takes the place of the wife. Condescend to remember this last request of Tamiya Matazaémon." He clasped the hand of Iémon, and tears were in his eyes as he spoke. Iémon, too, was affected. It almost frightened him to be left alone with O'Iwa. "Deign not to consider such unlikely contingency. The amiability of O'Iwa is compensation for the greatest beauty. Who could think of injuring her in any way? Perhaps a child soon will be the issue. With this in mind condescend to put aside all gloomy thoughts. Concentrate the honoured will on life, and complete recovery to health will follow. Such, indeed, is the daily prayer of this Iémon at the Myo[u]gyo[u]ji." Matazaémon smiled faintly--with gratification or grimness? Perhaps death unseals the vision. Often indeed did Iémon present himself at the family temple; he the substitute for the Master of Tamiya. But as often did his feet return by the diametrically opposite direction, running the gauntlet of the charms of the frail beauties of Nakacho[u]. Iémon held on to the hand of Matazaémon, swearing and forswearing himself with the greatest earnestness and the best of intentions. Suddenly he raised his head. The emotion aroused by the interview had been too much for the old man's fluttering heart. His head had slipped down sideways on the pillow. A little stream of dark bitter refuse flowed from the mouth and choked him. He was dead. Great was the grief of wife and grandchild; great was the importance of Iémon, now in very fact Master of Tamiya. Whether or not he followed the advice of Cho[u]bei, and gave the old woman _tokagé_ (lizard); whether her constant small journeys to the houses of neighbours, reciting a litany of praise of this wondrous son-in-law; whether the loss of the companion of so many years wore out the feeble frame; it is fact that O'Naka followed her lord before the maple leaf turned red. Again the Tamiya was the scene of the funereal chanting of the priest. The corpse removed with the provision for the guests and watchers at the wake, the seventh night of the death observed, with this removal of the deceased spirit from the scenes of its former activities Iémon could turn himself without impediment to the life of the future. Outward change there was none. He was the same kind and affectionate husband as of former days. Neighbours, anticipating some change of manner, were still louder in their praises. One day there appeared at Tamiya two intimates, Natsumé Kyuzo[u] and Imaizumi Jinzaémon. "Iémon Uji, a matter of importance presses. We are on our way to the ward head, Ito[u] Kwaiba Dono. Deign to go in company. You are known to be an expert at _go_,[20] a game at which the old man prides himself for skill. He chafes at the presence of this unknown rival, heard of but not yet tested. A dinner and wine are at stake. Without Iémon Uji we do not dare to present ourselves. Condescend to go in company. To know the great man of the ward, the wealthy Ito[u] Kwaiba, is of advantage even to Tamiya." Iémon laughed and assented. He was soon dressed for the greater ceremony of a first visit. All three climbed down into their clogs, and set out for the house of the Kumi-gashira near Samégabashi. If Iémon had been impressed by the wealth of Tamiya, he felt insignificant before that of the head of Yotsuya. Ito[u] Kwaiba was a man of sixty-four years, retaining much of the vigour of his youth. For the past ten years he had added _go_ to his twin passions for wine and women, neither of which seemed to have made any impression on a keenness of sight which could read the finest print by the scanty light of an _andon_, teeth which could chew the hard and tough dried _mochi_ (rice paste) as if bean confection, and an activity of movement never to be suspected from his somewhat heavy frame. At the name of Tamiya he looked up with much curiosity, and Iémon thought his greeting rather brusque. He saluted with great respect--"Truly fear is inspired. For long no visit has been paid to the honoured head. Coming thus without invitation is very rude. Intrusion is feared."--"Nay! Nay!" replied Kwaiba, apparently attracted by the splendid externals of Iémon. "The failure to visit is reciprocal. In fact, Tamiya and this Kwaiba have been at odds these many years. Visits had altogether ceased. This, however, is no matter for the younger generation. But Iémon San is indeed a fine fellow. So Kwaiba had heard from all he met. Ah! A fellow to put all the girls in a flutter. He is the very image of this Kwaiba in younger years. The husbands were little troubled when he was around. The fair ones were attracted. Well, well: they all had their turn at Kwaiba; and Kwaiba has stood the pace. He is as good to-day as ever; in some ways.... And it is a man like Iémon San who has married the--lady of Tamiya." Iémon knew the term "O'Baké" had nearly slipped out. Knowing O'Iwa's attractiveness of temperament, feeling touched in his own conceit, this astonished and satirical reception he met with on every side nettled him more than a little. Perhaps Kwaiba noted it. With greatest unction he urged a cushion and at once changed the subject. "Iémon San is noted as a _go_ player. This Kwaiba is a mere amateur. It is for him to ask odds in making request for a game.... Ho! Heigh! The _go_ board and stones!" Kwaiba and Iémon were the antagonists. Natsumé and Imaizumi sat at the sides of the board. Kwaiba, confident in his powers, readily accepted the deprecatory answer of Iémon at its face value. The game was to be on even terms. Iémon really was an expert of the sixth grade; certainly of several grades superiority to Kwaiba.[21] The latter's brows knit as his position rapidly became imperilled. Natsumé was in a ferment. Fish or wine? If Iémon sought Kwaiba's favour by a preliminary sound thrashing at his favourite game, the prospects of either were small. He dropped his tobacco pipe. In picking it up he gave the buttocks of Iémon a direct and severe pinch. Iémon was too astonished to cry out. His ready mind sought a motive for this unexpected assault and pain. The face of Natsumé was unmoved, that of Imaizumi anxious. A glance at Kwaiba's attitude enlightened him. Politeness and a dinner were at stake. Even Natsumé and Imaizumi wondered and admired at what followed. The blunder of Iémon was a stroke of genius, the inspiration of an expert player. It was a slight blunder, not obvious to the crudeness of Kwaiba; but it opened up the whole of Iémon's position and put the game in his antagonist's hands. Kwaiba promptly seized the advantage. His triumphant glance shifted continually from Iémon to the onlookers, as the former struggled bravely with a desperate position. Kwaiba won this first game somewhat easily. A second he lost by a bare margin. In the third he scored success in a manner to make evident his superiority over a really expert player. Confident in his championship of the ward, he was all geniality as at the end he sorted and swept back the _go_ stones into their polished boxes. "_Go-ishi_ of Shingu; soft as a woman's hands. But never mind the sex. Now for fish and wine.... However, Hana can serve the liquor for us." To the servant--"Heigh! Some refreshments for the honoured guests; and convey the request of Kwaiba to O'Hana San, to be present." With the wine appeared O'Hana San. She was a beautiful girl. Of not more than twenty years, on the graceful sloping shoulders was daintily set a head which attracted attention and admiration. The face was a pure oval--of the _uri_ or melon, as the Nipponese class it--with high brow, and was framed in long hair gathered below the waist and reaching nearly to her ankles with its heavy luxuriant mass. She was dressed for the hot season of the year in a light coloured Akashi crape, set off by an _obi_ or broad sash of peach colour in which were woven indistinct and delicate wavy designs. The sleeves, drawn a little back, showed the arms well up to the shoulder. Glimpses of a beautifully moulded neck and bosom appeared from time to time as she moved here and there in her preparation of the service of the wine utensils. The delicate tissue of the dress seemed to caress the somewhat narrow hips of a girlish figure. Every movement was studied and graceful. This O'Hana had belonged to the Fukadaya at Yagura no Shita of Fukagawa. She had been what is known as an _obitsuké_ harlot, wearing the _obi_ in the usual form, without the loose overrobe or _shikaké_ of the common women. "In the period of Tempo[u] (1830-1843) all Fukagawa harlots were dressed in this manner." Attracted by her beauty old Kwaiba had ransomed her and made her his concubine. For nearly two years she had held this position in his house. In serving the wine she came to the front and knelt before Iémon as first to receive it. In handing him the tray with the cup she looked into his face. The start on the part of both was obvious. Some of the wine was spilled. Said Kwaiba--"Then Iémon Uji, you know this woman?" His tone was hard and truculent. It conveyed the suspicion of the jealous old male. Iémon's former profession stood him in good stead. He had a glib tongue, and no intention to deny what had been made perfectly obvious--"It is fact, and nothing to be ashamed of on the part of Iémon; except as to attendant conditions beyond control. I was a diviner on the public highway."--"So 'twas heard," grumbled Kwaiba. "Without customers, and with no use for the diviner's lens but to charr the rafters of the garret in which you lived." Iémon did not care to notice the attack. He merely said--"Deign not to find amusement in what really is a serious matter to one who has to suffer poverty. While seated at the diviner's stand attention was drawn by a girl coming down the Kuramaé. Slouching along close by her was a drunken _samurai_. From time to time he lurched entirely too close to her. Turning unexpectedly her sunshade caught in his _haori_ (cloak), which thereby was slightly torn. At once he flew into a great rage. Laying hands on her he showed no disposition to accept her excuses. 'Careless wench! You have torn my dress. How very impudent of you. Unless you at once accompany me to the tea house close by, to serve the wine and please me, pardon, there is none; be sure of that.' The people had gathered like a black mountain. Nothing was to be seen but heads. O'Hana San was in the greatest embarrassment, unable to free herself from the insults and importunities of the drunken fellow. The _samurai_ was hid under the diviner's garb. Stepping from the stand I interposed in the girl's behalf, making apology, and pointing out the rudeness of his behaviour to the drunkard. Instead of becoming calm he raised his fist and struck me in the face. His condition gave the advantage without use of arms. Locking a leg in his tottering supports I threw him down into the ditch. Then with a word to O'Hana San to flee at once, we disappeared in different directions. The _samurai_ Iémon again became the diviner. That part of his rôle this Iémon regrets; but a weapon he could not draw in the quarrel. Later on meeting O'Hana San at the Kwannon temple of Asakusa thanks were received, for what was a very trivial service."--"And again renewed," said the beauty, raising her downcast face to look direct into that of Iémon. Said Kwaiba--"Ah! That's the tale, is it? A fortunate encounter, and a strange reunion; but the world is full of such. O'Hana, it comes in most befitting that opportunity is afforded to favour the rescuer with something of greater value than thanks. Pray serve him with wine." Then did Kwaiba take the matter as a man of the world. But he was no fool, "this old _tanuki_ (badger) of a thousand autumns' experience on hill and in dale." He understood very well that between Iémon and O'Hana there had been a closer connection than that of mere accident. CHAPTER IX LOVE KNOTS Many were the visits paid by Iémon to contest at _go_ with Ito[u] Kwaiba. Rapid was the progress of the love affair between a young man and a young woman, both inspired with a consuming passion for each other. In former days--something more than two years before--when Iémon was priest in the Jo[u]shinji of the Reigan district of Fukagawa, and was spending the money of the _osho[u]_ so freely, he had met O'Hana at the Fukagawa of Yagura no Shita. Just entering on her career, she at once captivated him with a permanent passion. It was in her company that the funds of the temple had been cast to the four winds of heaven. His love had been fully reciprocated by O'Hana. The one purpose was to ransom the lady, and then to live together as husband and wife. Such was the engagement plighted between them. However, the ransom figure was large. Iémon--or Kazuma at that time, he dropped his priestly name when out of bounds--had already planned a larger raid than usual on the ecclesiastical treasury. Warned by O'Hana that his operations had been discovered, he had sought safety in flight; not without a last tearful parting with his mistress, and assurance that fate somehow would bring them again together. The engagement thus entered on was to flourish under the new conditions. As to this pursuit of O'Hana, in which the maiden was coy and willing, the lover circumspect and eager, or at least thought he was, those around the pair were soon well informed; that is, with the exception of the most interested--O'Iwa and Kwaiba. The marked neglect which now ensued O'Iwa took in wifely fashion; and attributing it to some passing attraction of Shinjuku Nakacho[u], she did not take it to heart as she would have done if a concubine had been at issue. As for Kwaiba, the usually astute and prying old man was so immersed in his _go_ as to be struck blind, deaf, and dumb. The matter coming to the ears of Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei, the worthy gentleman was seriously alarmed. If true, the old man had indeed reached a parting of the ways, at which he had to satisfy Iémon, Master of Tamiya, O'Iwa, his ward, and Ito[u] Kwaiba, the powerful influence in the daily life of all of them. That night there was a meeting at the house of Kwaiba, a competition in _gidayu_ recitation, dancing, and poetry (_uta_) making. He presented himself in season at the door of the Tamiya. "Ah! O'Iwa San; and to-night does Iémon join the company at the house of the _Kumi-gashira_? Rokuro[u]bei comes from Kawagoé, and perhaps is not too late to find company on the road."--"Oya! Is it Kondo[u] Sama? Iya! the Danna has but begun his preparations.... Iémon! The Danna of Yotsuyazaka has come; for company on the way to Ito[u] Sama's house.... Deign to enter. In a short time Iémon will be ready." Kondo[u] looked at her quizzically. There was no sign of distress or misgivings in this quarter. He felt encouraged. Probably the rumour was false or exaggerated; perhaps it was wholly due to the malice of Akiyama Cho[u]zaémon, from whom that day he had heard it. He turned to greet Iémon, who emerged ready for the street. At the entrance they halted. Said Iémon--"It will be a long drawn-out affair. Deign to retire, and not await the return." Replied O'Iwa--"A small matter. The sound of the Danna's footstep will arouse Iwa to receive him." Iémon laughed. "How so? How distinguish my steps from those of Akiyama San or other constant callers?" Said O'Iwa gravely--"When the wife can no longer distinguish the husband's footstep, then affection has departed. O'Iwa will be ready to receive Iémon, no matter what the hour."--"And, indeed, a late one," put in Kondo[u]. "The party consists mainly of young men. After it they will adjourn to Nakacho[u]. Is it allowed to Iémon Dono to accompany them?" O'Iwa winced a little. "The Master is always master, within and without the house. He will do as he pleases."--"Gently said; like a true wife. Truly such a married pair are rarely to be encountered. They are the mandarin duck and drake of Morokoshi transplanted to Yotsuya. Rokuro[u]bei feels proud of his guardianship." As he and Iémon took their way along the Teramachi, he said--"Iémon is indeed a wonderful man. He is handsome and pursued by the women. O'Iwa undeniably is ugly; yet never is there failure to show her respect and consideration, in private as well as public. One's life here in Yotsuya is open to all the neighbours, and these speak well of Iémon." Said the younger man, in matter of fact tone--"Who could fail toward Iwa? She is amiability itself. Plain, perhaps, but gentleness is the compensating quality, a truer source of household wealth than beauty."--"Well spoken! Deign to keep it in heart, for the neighbours' tongues wag as to Iémon and O'Hana. Malice can cause as much unhappiness as downright wickedness. Besides, Kwaiba is no man to trifle with." Iémon was a little put out and alarmed at the directness of Kondo[u]'s reference. "Be sure there is nothing in such talk. A slight service, rendered in earlier days, makes O'Hana San more cordial to one otherwise a stranger. The excess shown is perhaps to be discouraged. But Ito[u] Dono is good company and has good wine; and besides really is a good _go_ player. It would be loss to shun his house." Kondo[u] noted a first symptom on their arrival. He spoke sharply to the maid--"Middle age in company with youth plainly finds a poor reception. Is that the master's order? The clogs of Tamiya are not the only ones. Is Rokuro[u]bei to shift for himself?" The girl, all confusion, made profuse apology as she hastened to repair the neglect. Kondo[u] was easily mollified. "Bah! No wonder. Bring Tamiya near a woman, and all is confusion.... But Ito[u] Dono?"--"This way, honoured Sirs: the Danna awaits the guests." They entered the sitting room, to find Kwaiba in a high state of anger and sulks. For some reason, error in transmission or date or other ambiguity, not a man of the guests had appeared. "The supper prepared is next to useless. We four can do but little in its dispatch. Not so with the wine; let every man do double duty here." He hustled around and gave his orders with some excitement; more than cordial with the guests who had not failed him. There was present one Kibei. Iémon had noted with curiosity his first appearance on this ground. What effect was this factor going to have on O'Hana's position in the household. He had been reassured on the physical point. Kibei was exceedingly ugly, a regular mask, and O'Hana was a woman to make much of physical beauty, as well as strength and ruggedness. He was a younger son of Inagaki Sho[u]gen, a _hatamoto_ with a _yashiki_ in Honjo[u] and an income of three thousand _koku_.[22] It was almost certain that Kwaiba would adopt Kibei. The negotiations had been long continued, and there was some hitch in the matter that Iémon could not make out. What he did realize was Kibei's hostility to himself. A noted fencer, making some sort of a living as teacher of the art, he was the last man with whom Iémon had any desire for a quarrel. Iémon was a coward, and the cold eye of Kibei sent a chill down his spine. Himself, he was always excessively polite in their intercourse. Limited as to number the party tried to make up for the missing guests by liveliness. There was a dance by Kibei, drinking as substitutes of the absent, and competition in _uta_ (poetry). Handing in his own effort--no mean one--Iémon left the room for a moment. As he came out on the corridor, and was about to return to the guest room, he found the maid O'Moto awaiting him with water and towel. A slight puckering frown came over Iémon's face at this imprudence. Said the girl pleadingly--"Danna Sama, deign to exercise patience. That of the mistress is sorely tried. The absence of the other guests, the pursuit of Kibei Dono, who only seeks to compromise her and secure her expulsion from the house, or even death at the hand of Kwaiba Dono, has driven her well nigh mad. A moment--in this room." Iémon drew back.--"A room apart, and in darkness! The age of seven years once passed, and boy and girl are never to be allowed alone together." He would have refused, but a sudden push and he was within. The _sho[u]ji_ closed at once. Kwaiba's voice called loudly--"Hana! Hana! What has become of the girl? There is no one to serve the wine. If the ugliness of Kibei drives her to cover, Tamiya's beauty should lure her out. Hana! Hana!" O'Hana slipped hastily from the arms of Iémon. Passing through the garden she entered the kitchen and snatched up a _saké_ bottle from the stove. She did not notice that the fire had gone entirely out. She and Iémon entered the sitting room together, from different sides. Rokuro[u]bei looked sharply at Iémon. Kibei was engaged in hot talk with Kwaiba. Said Kondo[u]--"Where have you been? Pressed by necessity? For such a lapse of time! nonsense! Is rice powder found in such a place? 'Plaster'? It does not leave the mark of a cheek on the sleeve." He laid a warning hand on Iémon, skilfully removing the telltale mark in so doing. "What has happened is clear enough. Fortunately Kwaiba and Kibei have got into a dispute over the merits of Heinai and Sho[u]setsu as fencing masters; both of them dead as the long ago quarrels of the Toyotomi and Tokugawa Houses. Heinai was loyal, and Sho[u]setsu a traitor; but Kibei tries the old man and officer by supporting the prowess of the latter. Besides the _saké_ is cold and Kwaiba at start was in a very bad temper. He has thought for naught but his drink and disappointment. Cajole him by agreeing with him, but don't get into a quarrel with Kibei. He is expert with the sword, has a temper as ugly as his face, and would willingly engage in one. He don't like you...." He stopped. Kwaiba was speaking sharply. He had just taken the fresh bottle. "Cold as a stone! How careless you are."--"Not so," said O'Hana in some surprise. "It has just come off the stove." Kwaiba put the bottle in her hand, to her confusion. "O'Hana must have been asleep; or much engaged, not to note the difference." For the first time he looked sharply at her, then at Iémon. O'Hana often executed great freedom with him--"Asleep! Just so; and no wonder. Without guests the evening has been stupid enough. If Tamiya Sama had brought his wife with him it would have been complete." Kwaiba, Kibei, Kondo[u] smiled at the sally. Iémon took the cue, and chose to resent the words. He said coldly--"O'Iwa certainly brings spice into everything she engages in. Her intelligence is unusual." O'Hana looked at him; then smiled a little, reassured. Passing behind him she stumbled. "Forgotten"--Iémon felt a letter thrust into his hand, which he passed quickly to his sleeve. Then he and Kondo[u] rose to take their leave. The usual salutations followed. As if to compensate for the failure of the entertainment all joined in seeing them depart. Kwaiba was still grumbling and half quarrelling with O'Hana. O'Moto was engaged with Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei. Kibei insisted on aiding Iémon; and Iémon did not dare to refuse his services in donning the _haori_. As he adjusted the awkward efforts of Kibei on one side, this amateur valet made a mess of it on the other. Besides, neither of them was any too steady on his feet. Then Kondo[u] and Iémon set out in the rain. "_Sayonara! Sayonara!_" CHAPTER X THE PLOT AGAINST O'IWA The following morning Iémon sat brooding, mind and tongue clouded by the drinking bout of the previous night. O'Iwa silently busied herself with his renovation. Rokuro[u]bei had delivered him over to her, decidedly the worse for wine and wear. He was somewhat astonished at the young man's easy discomfiture. Middle age with the Nipponese usually means the seasoned and steady toper. Regarding the matter as partly due to her own fault, and reassured by Kondo[u] as to the events of the evening, O'Iwa heated the _saké_ with all the greater care, serving it herself, chatting on the indifferent gossip of the neighbourhood. She spoke of the talk current as to Ito[u] Kwaiba's adoption of an heir. "This man Kibei, his disposition appears to be as ugly as his face." With a little smile she added, "for the latter compensation is to be found in the first-named quality; a truth which he seems to disregard. What will become of O'Hana San?" For the first time since the night before the thought of the letter flashed into Iémon's mind. He put down the renovating morning draft, and on some excuse arose. His _kimono_ lay neatly folded in the _hirabuta_ (flat tray). Hastily he searched the sleeves. There was not a sign of the missive. With clouded brow he returned to the sitting room. A glance at O'Iwa made him feel ashamed. It had never come into her hands. He knew her well enough to be assured that he would have found it, scrupulously laid together with the tobacco pouch, nose wipe (_hanagami_), and divers other minor articles of daily use carried on the person. The whole affair perhaps was a dream. The more he considered, the more he became so convinced. His transports with O'Hana, their surprise, Kondo[u]'s rebuke--so far the evening was tolerably clear. It was only as to the final cups, the rising to depart, the standing in the cold night air, that the exact course of events became clouded. "Ah! It was all a vision. O'Hana never would have been so imprudent." There was a trace of doubt in his mind. He would clear it up at the fountain source--at Kwaiba's house and by the lips of O'Hana. Kwaiba greeted him with almost boisterous cheerfulness. "Ah! Tamiya comes early; a flattering acknowledgment of last night's reception." To Iémon's deprecatory speech and apology--"Don't talk folly, after the manner of a country boor. Iémon San is a man of the world; and will give this Kwaiba credit for being the same. What does it amount to? A matter of a little too much wine.... Hana! Hana! The Master of Tamiya is present. Cut some bean paste, and bring tea. Heat the wine. Matazaémon was so sober an old dog that it is doubtful whether O'Iwa knows aught about the best remedy for past drinking." As Kibei entered--"There is the inventory of the Shimosa farms. Condescend to take a glance at the report of the _nanushi_ (bailiff). Hana will aid." Thus dismissed, the two left the room. Kwaiba turned to Iémon--"A draught: no? Then Kwaiba will drink for both. For him it is a day of rejoicing. The coming of Tamiya is opportune. It was intended to send for him. Deign to aid this Kwaiba with counsel. The adoption of Kibei has finally been settled." The old man's exultation influenced even the indifference of Iémon's aching head. With well-simulated interest he said--"Naruhodo! Kibei Dono is indeed to be congratulated. As to our chief, since everything is to his satisfaction, Iémon is but too glad to speak his pleasure, to offer his congratulations."--"Nay! A little more than that, Iémon Uji. This Kwaiba would seek his aid in another matter of importance. Kwaiba is old. A woman no longer is an object to him. He cannot make a child. If O'Hana should give birth to a child great would be the discomfiture, knowing the truth. What is to be done in such a case?" He now was looking with direct inquiry into the face of Iémon. The latter was much confused. He stammered--"Just so: so indeed. O'Hana San is truly an embarrassment. Doubtless she is also an obstacle to Kibei Dono. She...." Sneered Kwaiba--"Tamiya, though young, is wise. He grasps the situation at once. Deign, Iémon San, to take O'Hana yourself." Kwaiba raised his voice a little. Kibei brought O'Hana with him from the next room. She seemed alarmed and embarrassed. Said Kwaiba--"What have you there; the inventory? Ah! A letter: and there is no one to read a letter like Iémon San. Deign, Sir, to favour us. Iémon San alone can give the contents the proper inflection." He handed it to Iémon. A glance showed the latter that it was a letter from O'Hana, probably that of the previous night. His pocket had been neatly picked by Kibei. It was plain. He had been trapped. The pretended entertainment had been a plot in which the passion of O'Hana had been given full chance to range. Even the disinterested witness, the old fool Kondo[u], had been provided. He caught a curious, mocking smile on the face of the girl O'Moto, just then passing along the _ro[u]ka_. Kwaiba allowed the silence to become oppressive. He seemed to await an incriminating outburst on the part of O'Hana, plainly on the verge of tears. However, the girl caught herself up. Instead she turned a calm, inquiring look toward the three men. Iémon alone looked down, his gaze on the letter the characters of which danced and waved before his eyes. Sharp as he ordinarily was, before this vigorous and astute old man, backed by the ruffianly prospective son with impertinent smile, the cowardice of Iémon deprived him of all spirit. His faculties were numbed. Kwaiba leaned over and removed the letter from his hands. "Since Iémon San will not read the letter, Kwaiba will try to do so; a poor substitute for the accomplished cleric." The old fellow seemed to know everything, as the tone of contempt indicated. He ran the scroll out in his hands--"Naruhodo! Ma! Ma! What's this? From some woman: a lascivious jade indeed!... Eh! Kibei Dono, apology is due your ears. This Kwaiba laughed at your suspicions." He threw down the scroll, as in a fury. Kibei picked it up. He began to read: "Night is the source of pleasure, but greater that pleasure at sight of Iémon. The day comes when Iémon and Hana will be husband and wife, in fact if not in form. 'Ah! Day and night to be at the service of Iémon.' Thus does Hana pray gods and Buddhas. When distant from his side, even though the time be short, painful is its passage. Place this letter next to your very person. May that night come quickly, when the coming of Iémon is awaited. The connection with O'Iwa San is the punishment for sin committed in a previous existence. Condescend to dismiss her from your mind. View the matter wholly in this light. The spiteful brush (pen) refuses further service. Hard, hard, is the lot of this Hana. The honoured Master comes; the heartfelt wish is accomplished. With compliments, To Iémon Sama." HANA. Kwaiba's rage grew and grew with the reading. At Iémon's name he sprang up and made a movement toward the stand on which reposed his swords. Laying a hand on the larger weapon he turned with a scowl--"Ah! This Kwaiba is old, but in vigour he is young. It is for Kwaiba to sport with the women. They are not to make a fool of him." Kibei sharply interposed. "Does Kwaiba Dono gain satisfaction by such a vengeance? To Kibei it seems a poor one. A matter so easily to be settled is not to be made a scandal in the ward. Deign, honoured Sir, so to regard it. To punish both at once with death is proper. But is it expedient? Condescend to hear the words of Kibei." Kwaiba pulled himself up. It was as if some one had dragged him back. His rage departed. A cold malice took its place. He smiled blandly--"One does not quarrel over a harlot. Kwaiba spares their lives. Iémon shall take Hana home--as wife."--"As wife!" Iémon broke through his fear. "Surely the honoured _Kashira_ is unreasonable. This Iémon is but the _muko_ of Tamiya. To demand that O'Iwa San be discarded is going too far. Positively in this matter, though there have been love passages, the most intimate relation has never followed--now or in previous relations."--"You lie!" said Kwaiba coldly. "Furthermore 'tis a matter not passing the period of last night. But that is not to the point. Against Matazaémon this Kwaiba has a grudge--as yet unsatisfied. Through O'Iwa San this shall be paid. With Iémon no harsh measures are adopted. Nay; Kwaiba comes to his aid. You, too, Kibei, shall assist.... Ah! For the ready consent, thanks. Ma! A delicious revenge is that gathered by Kwaiba. O'Hana the harlot takes the place of the Ojo[u]san. And she loves Iémon! In our feasts Natsumé and Imaizumi get the skin of the omelet; Iémon the centre. Then O'Iwa is to be driven out. To that Tamiya cannot object. He substitutes honey for garlic;[23] O'Hana the flower for the ugly toad O'Iwa. Splendid! Splendid! But how? Ah! Here's Kondo[u], just in the nick of time. Rokuro[u]bei, aid us with your experience and influence. Aid us with Iémon, who would cleave to the O'Baké." Put in possession of the facts Kondo[u] was aghast. He had come to the parting of the ways; and under conditions which assured his participation in the plot. At first he turned on Iémon with bitter recrimination. "Oh! A virtuous fellow, who would drink a man's wine, lie with his woman, and then preach morality to a household! But the mischief is done. If not the paramour of O'Hana San, everybody believes it to be so...." Kwaiba held up his hands in well-simulated anger. Kibei and Rokuro[u]bei interfered. Iémon's last resistance was broken down. To talk? That is the business of a priest. Soon he was as eagerly engaged in the plot as if he had left the house in Samoncho[u] for that purpose. Said Rokuro[u]bei--"What difficulty does the matter present? Set on Watanabé Goro[u] to tempt and make love to O'Iwa. He is badly in debt. The handsome man of the ward everyone would suspect her fall. Surprised by Iémon, O'Iwa is driven out as unchaste. This Kondo[u] stipulates that matters go no further. After all O'Iwa is innocent of offence. The husband's full rights are not to be excused. Neither she, nor Watanabé is to suffer injury." Kibei laughed outright at the idea of a drawn sword in Iémon's hand. Iémon turned the contempt on to Kondo[u]. Sneering, he replied--"The plan is worthless. O'Iwa is chastity itself. In the absence of this Iémon no man is allowed entrance to the house." Kwaiba knitted his brows--"Kakusuké! Kakusuké!" As the _chu[u]gen_ appeared--"Go yonder to the house of Akiyama Cho[u]zaémon San. Say that the Kumi-gashira would speak with Akiyama San." As the man departed--"Cho[u]zaémon is the man. For gossip and malice he is a very woman. Rejoice and he weeps; weep and he rejoices. If Akiyama cannot concoct some plan to get rid of O'Iwa, then no one can.... Alas! O'Hana and Iémon must die by the hand of this Kwaiba. Kibei will give his aid." The old man and Kibei got much enjoyment out of the cowardice of Iémon and the fright of O'Hana. But not for long. Akiyama Cho[u]zaémon, the one-time boy lover of O'Iwa; a long, lean, hungry-looking man, with long, cadaverous face and a decidedly bad eye, appeared with the _chu[u]gen_ Kakusuké close behind. The latter seemed a sort of policeman attending the none-too-willing Cho[u]zaémon. The latter's brow lightened at sight of the company. He owed Kwaiba money. Sending away the servant, Kwaiba unfolded the situation. Said Cho[u]zaémon--"Heigh! Tamiya takes the cast off leman of Ito[u] Dono. Fair exchange is no robbery; Kibei Uji against O'Hana San. Iémon San goes into the matter with eyes wide open. The lady is an old intimate, it is said." This manner of approaching the subject was Cho[u]zaémon's way. He cared nothing for the scowls of Kibei nor the wrath of Kwaiba. He was needed, or they would not have called him to counsel. As for Iémon, he was grateful to Cho[u]zaémon; as neighbour, and for the insult to Kibei and Kwaiba. Continued the mediator--"The obstacle of course is the O'Baké. O'Iwa is to be driven out. And Watanabé won't answer? Maa! Chastity in an O'Baké! It is a thing unheard of. 'Tis such, once of womankind, who seduce living men. Tamiya is now head of the House. O'Iwa once driven out, the property remains in his hands as its representative. She must be forced to leave of her own will. Good; very good. What is it worth to Kwaiba Dono?"--"Look to Iémon for commission," said Kwaiba roughly. "Nay! Nay!" mouthed Cho[u]zaémon. "Kwaiba is Kwaiba; Iémon is Iémon. The two are to be settled with separately. If Kwaiba Dono had gone to extremes at the start no question would have been raised. To do so now, with all present and after discussion, is out of the question. Kwaiba Dono wishes to adopt Kibei Uji; to get rid of O'Hana San. Iémon San has been neatly trapped. He must consent. O'Hana is a woman. She has no voice in the matter. All this is clear. But as to Cho[u]zaémon's labour in the affair; that it is which interests this Akiyama." He gave a sour reprimanding look at Kibei. Then he looked impertinently from Kwaiba to Iémon, and from Iémon to Kwaiba. Iémon in delight nodded assent. Cho[u]zaémon promptly turned his back on him and faced Kwaiba. At first the old man was very angry at the acuteness of Cho[u]zaémon. The sharp, free exposure did not please him. Then the idea of countering on this acuteness made him good tempered. He grumbled--"The ten _ryo[u]_ owing to Kwaiba at the New Year--principal and interest; such is the fee for a successful issue." Cho[u]zaémon held up his hands in pretended horror--"Pay back borrowed money! Is that expected by the Kumi-gashira?"--"Not 'expected,'" put in Kwaiba promptly. "With the seal of Akiyama San the return is assured." Cho[u]zaémon became thoughtful--"It is true. The last loan was under seal.... Too bad.... Well! Well! The conditions are hard. Submission is necessary. The debt will be forgiven?"--"Kibei and Iémon stand as witnesses," replied Kwaiba--"Then how is this?" said Cho[u]zaémon. All put their heads together. Akiyama Cho[u]zaémon went into details. Kwaiba pushed back his cushion; slapped his thighs. "Cho[u]zaémon, you are cheap at double the money. Just the thing! Eh, Iémon, Uji? Eh, Muko San?" All grinned a raptured assent. CHAPTER XI THE PLOT DEVELOPS For two days Iémon was maturing the preliminaries. He seemed unwell and out of sorts. The third day he did not get up at all. O'Iwa was properly anxious. Said she--"The change in the year is a sickly season. Condescend to take some drug. Allow Suian Sensei to be summoned." Iémon grumbled a dissent. She went on in her enthusiasm--"He is the very prince of doctors. See: here is a salve he recommends; for skin and nerves. O'Hana San, the beautiful concubine of Ito[u] Sama, uses nothing else. He guarantees it on her praise, as means to remove blemishes of any kind or source." Iémon looked up quickly. The connection puzzled and did not please him. Perhaps he noted a puffiness about O'Iwa's face, remembered a repulsion toward marital usages. The women should leave the men to play their own game. He said gruffly--"Suian! A dealer in cosmetics and charms. Have naught to do with his plasters and potions; as cheats or something worse. As for O'Iwa, she is black as a farm hand from Ryu[u]kyu[u] (Loo-choo). O'Hana is fair as the white _kiku_. Can the pastes of Suian Sensei change black to white?" Startled, O'Iwa looked round from the glass into which she was peering. She was taken by surprise. In their personal relations Iémon had always been more than considerate. For some weeks in secret she had been using this drug of Suian Sensei. In childhood O'Iwa had shown something of an epileptic tendency. This had worn off with time. Of late the recurrence had alarmed her. The drug of Suian, at the time anyhow, made her less conscious of the alarmed critical feeling which heralded the inception of the attacks. Iémon gave her but time to catch the meaning of his insult. He went on--"Probably it is but a cold. Some eggs, with plenty of hot wine, will obviate ill effects. Deign to see that they are prepared." The channel of O'Iwa's thoughts changed. At once she was the housekeeper and nurse, and all solicitude to make him at ease. In the course of the meal of eggs with _saké_ in came Natsumé Kyuzo[u] and Imaizumi Jinzaémon. "Ah! Iémon, pardon the intrusion. Probably the engagement of yesterday with Kwaiba Sama was forgotten.... In bed! A cold? But such is no treatment for the complaint. There should be a cheerful, lively atmosphere.... Ah! Here is the dice box. One can shake dice as well lying down as sitting. Deign to refresh the spirits with play as well as wine." Iémon saw to it that both were available. With surprise at first, misgiving afterwards, O'Iwa heated bottle after bottle of _saké_. The men did not pay the slightest attention to her presence. Absorbed in their game, there was but a rough call from time to time for wine, addressed to the air, a servant, anybody. At the end of the play Natsumé rose to leave in high spirits. Imaizumi and Tamiya were correspondingly depressed. This was but a first day's procedure. Day after day, for the space of half the month, the play was repeated. Iémon had long since recovered. One day he stood with his hands shoved into the folds of his sash. He was very sober and sour. "Iwa, is there money in the house?" She looked at him in surprise. "Matters have not turned out at all well with Kyuzo[u] and Jinzaémon. This Iémon is a hundred _ryo[u]_ to the bad. With spare cash at hand an attempt can be made to repair the loss." O'Iwa prostrated herself before him. "May the Danna deign to consider. To Iwa this pastime of gambling seems a very ill one, particularly in a man of official rank. It is fraught with peril; and the offence once known rarely is pardoned. Condescend to hear and forgive the warning of this Iwa." She stopped a little frightened. Iémon was looking at her in greatest wrath and astonishment. "What! Is there argument from wife to husband? This insolence of behaviour crowns the insult of refusal. The very sight of your face is enough to make one sick at the stomach. Boors and _bakémono_ are shut out at the Hakoné barrier. But you--the guards have been put to sleep, and you have slipped through. Shut up! Get the money, or...." O'Iwa crouched at the _sho[u]ji_, in terror and surprise. The insulting words heaped on her pained and tortured. Now she felt the sharp sting of a hand forcibly applied to her cheek. Without a word she left the room. Returning she brought thirty _ryo[u]_ in gold on a salver. Timidly prostrate she presented it to Iémon. "Condescend to pardon Iwa. That she is ugly and incompetent she knows. Did not Iémon accept her?" The man stuffed the gold in his girdle. In reply--"No: Iémon was cheated by Kondo[u] and Cho[u]bei. A plain woman--perhaps; but a monster, a worse than _rokurokubi_, was never thought of even in a dream. Compensation is to be found. Iémon likes gambling. He will gamble. Have a care to supply the needed funds; and don't interfere." Roughly he shoved her out of the way, and left the house. For long O'Iwa saw nothing of Iémon; but she heard from him. In fact he was living in semi-secrecy at the house of Rokuro[u]bei. Now this messenger, then that, would come to O'Iwa. "If there is no money--sell something. The bearer will indicate. A supply must be found." Thus one thing after another left the house--to be stored in the godown of Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei, to whose clever suggestion was due this way of stripping O'Iwa of all she possessed. With goods and clothes went the servants. In the course of a few weeks O'Iwa was living in one room, furnished with three _tatami_ in lieu of the usual twelve in number. Hibachi, _andon_ (night lamp), the single garment she wore, this was all she possessed in the house. Then at last she saw him. The light dawned on a cold snowy morning of early March. O'Iwa rose, opened the _amado_, and started her day. About the fourth hour (9 A.M.) the _sho[u]ji_ were pushed aside and Iémon entered. He looked as if fresh from a night's debauch. His garments were dirty and disordered. His face was sallow, the eyes deep set and weary, his manner listless. O'Iwa gave him the only cushion in the room. Seated before the _hibachi_ (brazier) after some time he said--"A million pardons: the luck has been very bad.... Ah! The place here seems in disorder. It is not fit for a man to live in." He looked around as one waking from a dream. "No wonder: yet all can be restored. Iémon has surprised you?" Said O'Iwa timidly--"Matters are a little at odds and ends. O'Iwa needs but little; a stalk of _daikon_ (radish) and a handful of wheat (_mugi_). Does the Danna remain here? If so...." There was a painful hitch in her voice, a puzzled look on her face. She had one _bu_ in cash. In fact she was hoping for the monthly visit of Yosuké the farmer; if there was a farm any longer. She did not know. "For the night," replied Iémon. "Sleep and food are the essentials of good play. All has been lost in the gambling houses of Shinjuku and Shinagawa, at the Nakanocho[u]. Is there no money in the house?... Evidently not. Deign to secure some, no matter how." He took the silver _bu_ she presented to him. "At least a bath and tobacco can be had. See to it that a meal is ready at even; not much, _sashimi_ (sliced raw fish) and wine. Iémon would play, not eat." With this he rose. O'Iwa heard the sound of the closing gate. Long she remained, her face buried in her knees. In this gloomy situation what was she to do? She looked around. There was not a thing to sell; not even herself. Who would buy the ugly O'Iwa? An idea came into her head. In a moment she was in the street. Soon she stood at the door of her uncle, Yoémon. With this uncle and aunt she had but little to do. Matazaémon had been at daggers drawn with his brother, whom he accused of being a wretched miser, one acquiring wealth by very questionable means for a _samurai_. In old days Cho[u]bei had been a hired agent of Yoémon. The principal had escaped; the second had to leave Yotsuya and its neighbourhood. The Obasan (aunt) came out at O'Iwa's call. She greeted her niece with surprise. "Oya! Oya! Iwa is a stranger to this house. It has been heard that a splendid _muko_ was received at Tamiya." The old woman looked at O'Iwa shrewdly, and not without kindness. O'Iwa took heart. She made answer--"It is true; of late matters have not gone well. Just now Iwa would ask the loan of a _sho[u]_ (1/5 peck) of rice, together with a _bu_ to buy eels or _sashimi_.[24] It is very rude indeed...."--"Very rude indeed!" said a harsh voice close by. O'Iwa shrank to the outer part of the doorway. The aunt fled to the inner part of the house. Continued Yoémon--"And what is Iwa doing at the house of Yoémon? That there is relationship between them this Yoémon does not recognize. Yoémon never exchanged look or word with his brother Matazaémon, nor does he desire to do so with the issue. Let the Tamiya of Samoncho[u] look out for itself. A _muko_ was taken without aid or advice of Yoémon. A stranger, one practising wayside divination, this fine fellow turns out a gambler and a debauched man, to the ruin of the House. Iwa can look to him; ignorant and foolish woman that she is. This Yoémon would contribute to the needs of a beggar before granting even a single _mon_ to Iwa." The grating rattled sharply as the angry old man pushed it to and let fall the bar. O'Iwa looked into the dark recess with pained and startled eyes. So much of a recluse she was learning that Iémon had long been the talk of the ward. She turned, and slowly took her way back to Samoncho[u]. Here the reaction came. Strong was the inclination to laugh and weep; too strong for self-control. In alarm she ran to take from the closet the potion of Suian. Its effect was the opposite of what she expected--or perhaps it was taken too late. For an hour O'Iwa writhed, screamed, laughed in her agony. Then she sank into slumber. On awakening the sun was already well past the zenith. She sprang up in alarm. This meal to prepare--the duty of the wife--and not a step taken. It could not be helped. Just as she was, twisting a towel around her disordered hair, she started out to the place of one Kuraya Jibei of the Asakusa Kuramaé no Saka. This man was a lender on the notes from the rice pensions of the _samurai_--a _fudasashi_ dealer, as these men were called. The distance was great. O'Iwa was tired out on her arrival. At the entrance the _kozo[u]_ or "boy" hailed her sharply. He waved her off. "No! No! Old girl, it won't do. Nothing is to be had here. Please come back the day before yesterday." He barred the way. Said O'Iwa, shrinking back--"Nothing is wanted of the honoured house. An interview with Jibei San, an inquiry to make. Such the request." Something about tone or manner, certainly not pity, made the fellow hesitate--"Jibei San! A beggar woman wants an interview with Jibei San! How about it?"--"Nothing to be had," answered the _banto[u]'s_ voice. "Tell her to read the white tablet hung before the entrance. It is all the house has to give." In speaking he edged around a little. O'Iwa raised the towel from her face. At once he was on his feet. "Ah! For long the honoured lady of Tamiya has not been seen. Many and profitable the dealings with Matazaémon Dono. Condescend to pardon this senseless fellow. He outrivals his companions in lack of brains. Deign to enter." The _kozo[u]_ was all apology--"Condescend wholly to pardon. Deign to have pity on the ignorance shown. With fear and respect...." Looking into O'Iwa's face he was overcome by his feelings. Bursting with laughter he fled to the front of the shop to stuff the dust rag into his mouth in mistake for a towel. This slight error restored his equanimity. The _banto[u]_ looked after him with some fellow feeling and much anger. "He is half idiot. Condescend to disregard his rude speech and manner. After all he is but a _kozo[u]_.... What can this Jibei do for the lady of Tamiya?" "Knowing that the House has dealings with Jibei San, and there being necessity for three _sho[u]_ of rice, it is ventured to ask the loan." Thus spoke O'Iwa. Money, actual coin, was on the end of her tongue, but somehow she could not get the words out. Jibei was not particularly astonished. Since Iémon had taken charge of the affairs of Tamiya, its income was usually discounted well beforehand. Moreover, the rumour of Iémon's gambling was spreading among his connections. Neither Kwaiba nor Akiyama, nor the others engaged, were men to lose sight of the likelihood of fine pickings from the Tamiya. Jibei made prompt answer. "Respectfully heard and understood. It shall be sent.... Ah! It is required now? Matsu! Matsu! Put up three _sho[u]_ of rice for the lady of Tamiya. Its conveyance is to be provided. Place a _bu_ in the parcel. The distance to Yotsuya is great. The _kago_ (litter) men are exacting." O'Iwa's heart leaped with gratitude at the perspicacity of Jibei. He watched her departing figure as far as he could see it. Then he took out a ledger; and against the name of Tamiya he placed a question mark. It was dusk when O'Iwa entered the house at Samoncho[u]. She gave a start on finding Iémon glumly seated before the fireless brazier. "A fine hour for a woman to be gadding the street. And the meal! Unprepared: excellent habits in a wife!----" "To the Danna apology is due. This Iwa is much in the wrong. But for the meal money had first to be secured...."--"Then there is money, or means to procure it? Where is it? How much?"--"Nay, the rice is here. This _bu_ is enough to secure eels, _sashimi_, some delicacy...." She hesitated before Iémon's doubting glare. He was eyeing rice and money. The mark on the bag caught his eye. "Whence was this rice had? And this money? From Jibei, the _fudasashi_ dealer? A visit paid in such garb? Truly the House is disgraced, not only by your ugliness, but by ill conduct. Who could remain in such a den?" O'Iwa threw herself in his way as he rose to leave the room. Clinging to his sleeve she pleaded for pardon, as only a woman can do who has done no wrong. There was an ugly look on Iémon's face as he turned on her. Frightened, she would have fled. Instead she could only crouch like a dog under the blows he showered on her. Then with a violent kick in the groin he rolled her over, and departed. O'Iwa heard footsteps. Had Iémon returned? Despite the pain, she half sat up in her dread. Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei appeared. The portly man held up his hands in horror and benevolence at what he saw. "But O'Iwa--what has occurred? Ah! Kondo[u] has heard rumours of what is going on. The _tatami_ (mats), screens, drawers (_tansu_), clothes-baskets--the house is completely stripped to satisfy the thirst for the money of others. Now he has descended to blows! Truly he is a miserable fellow." Kondo[u]'s voice grew loud in his wrath. "This must not go on. Rokuro[u]bei is responsible to Tamiya, to the ancestors. To be subject to a fellow like this will never do. A divorce is to be secured. Let him depart with his plunder. Let him have everything; only to get rid of him. He is husband, and head of Tamiya. But Kondo[u] will be too much for him. A divorce shall be secured. Ito[u] Dono, the ward chief, is to be interested in the affair. Pressure shall be put on Iémon to grant the letter of divorce." Indignation choked the worthy man. O'Iwa spoke slowly, with pain and effort. "Be in no such haste, Kondo[u] Sama. Iémon has not been a good man. Much is known to this Iwa. He buys women at Nakacho[u]. He buys _geisha_. He gambles. These are a man's vices. As to these Iwa has nothing to say. She is the wife, for two lives to maintain the house in good and ill fortune. A good wife does not look to divorce to rectify mistakes. With such remedy Iwa has nothing to do. But is not Kondo[u] Sama the _nako[u]do_? Was he not the mediator in the marriage between Iémon and Iwa? Deign to speak as _nako[u]do_. Rebuke Iémon. Cause this gambling to be brought to an end." Rokuro[u]bei could hardly hear her to the end. His testy impatience was in evidence. He broke into protest--"This is complete madness; utter folly. You allow this fellow to ruin the House. He will dispose of the pension."--"The goods, the House, Iwa, all belong to Iémon; to do with as he pleases. Iwa is the wife. She must submit.... Ah! You refuse. Kondo[u] Sama is no longer the friend of Iwa, to act as _nako[u]do_." What had come into the soul of this gentle woman? Kondo[u] in fright shrank back from the look she gave him--"A very demon! The mother, O'Mino, has returned to life. Oni! Oni! You are not human. Kondo[u] assuredly will have nothing to do with O'Iwa, or O'Iwa's affairs." He left her helpless in the middle of her fit. Forgetting in his fright even his clogs, barefooted, he fled from the house in Samoncho[u]. CHAPTER XII KWAIBA'S REVENGE Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei went direct to the council of the conspirators. He found them assembled in the house of Ito[u]. Kwaiba, Iémon, O'Hana, Cho[u]zaémon, Kibei, were drinking _saké_. Kwaiba as usual was bragging over his prowess in youth extended into age. O'Hana was laughing at him behind his back. Kibei was surly; yet his share of income was assured. Kwaiba roundly berated Iémon for lack of energy. "O'Iwa has been allowed to get the upper hand. Iémon is far too soft to deal with a woman who has been spoiled all her life." Iémon listened in silence, with a rather doubtful smile of acquiescence or contempt. In fact, knowing O'Iwa as he did, he had little confidence in Kwaiba or Cho[u]zaémon, or the methods they proposed. His own plan was maturing. Meanwhile in part it ran parallel. On this assembly burst the discomfited Rokuro[u]bei--"Ah! What an experience! The woman is a very fiend. A new pair of _geta_, bought but yesterday, and left at your house, Iémon Uji." Iémon looked at Kondo[u]'s frightened face and bare feet. Then he burst into a roar of laughter. Kwaiba was indignant. "Is the fright of Kondo[u] San any license to bring his dirty feet on the _tatami_. Deign, good sir, to accept water for the cleansing. O'Hana San now is inmate of the house of Kondo[u]; yet condescend for the moment to act the mistress here." This was part of the arrangement. With the goods of O'Iwa the person of O'Hana had been transferred to the charge of the honest Rokuro[u]bei. There Iémon had easy and decent access to the use of both. Said Iémon--"What happened after this Iémon left Samoncho[u]? Kondo[u] Dono has been frightened." Kondo[u] puffed and fumed as he cleansed his feet at the mounting step. He groaned--"Iémon Dono, you are certainly done for. Was it 'three years,' she said? Her face was frightful. This Rokuro[u]bei has no more to do with the affair. He goes no more to Samoncho[u]. Alas! He will never sleep again. Oh! Oh! To be haunted in the next existence by such a rotten O'Baké." Said Kwaiba--"Did Iémon really beat her? He says he did." Answered Kondo[u]--"She could barely move a limb. Of love for Iémon not a spark is left; but she clings to the honour of Tamiya, to the wife's duty to the House. There is no moving her. Rokuro[u]bei is suspect, as not doing his duty as _nako[u]do_. Look to yourselves. If she ever gets suspicious of the real facts, has an inkling of the truth--look out for yourselves." Kwaiba was thoughtful; Iémon was indifferent. None of them could think of aught but the venture already engaged in. A week, ten days, passed. In that time every effort was made to move O'Iwa to consent to a divorce. As _Kumi-gashira_, Kwaiba summoned her to his house. Before his kindly sympathy O'Iwa melted into tears. The scandalous treatment of Iémon had reached his ears. Why had he not heard of it before it reached such extremes? He looked indignation at his messenger, the one who had brought O'Iwa to his presence, Akiyama Cho[u]zaémon the neighbour of Tamiya, living not far off near the Ten-o[u]. Said the ward head--"Kwaiba always took this Iémon, or Kazuma, for a scoundrel. A stranger, why bring him into the ward? But now he is master of Tamiya. In the place of the excellent, if obstinate, Matazaémon. Alas! The pension of the House is said to be hypothecated for five years. And the household goods; and separate properties of Tamiya--all gone?" O'Iwa nodded assent, and Kwaiba threw up his hands at such wickedness. At all events he counselled her to consider matters, to accept his aid. He would place her somewhere; in the country and far off from the ward in which Iémon as master of Tamiya in its degradation would always be an unpleasant sight and influence in her life; at least until Iémon could be expelled. With the fellow's past career doubtless this would happen before long. Meanwhile O'Iwa was to pass into one of the wretched, overworked, exhausted drudges on one of Kwaiba's Shimosa farms. From his chief's expressed views Cho[u]zaémon dissented. This was the one man O'Iwa distrusted. He had always shown dislike to her. In defense of her conduct Cho[u]zaémon was too clever to show any warmth. He was the subordinate making exact report to his chief. O'Iwa was completely taken in. This friendly neutrality aroused her every grateful feeling. Said Cho[u]zaémon--"Iémon is a coward. A _samurai_ beats neither woman nor dog. If either are unfaithful to him, he kills the offender. Iémon's conduct has been thoroughly bad. Before the reproaches of O'Iwa San, beaten in argument he has retaliated by beating her to a jelly. Her face bears the marks of his violence. As to her body, my wife answers for it that it is a mass of bruises."--"Is that so?" said Kwaiba in deep sympathy. O'Iwa burst into tears. Kwaiba fumed with rage--"Truly Iémon is not a human being. He has the horns of a demon." Then the priest Myo[u]zen, of the family temple, the Myo[u]gyo[u]ji of Samégabashi,[25] appeared at the Samoncho[u] house. To him O'Iwa looked for ghostly consolation against the ills of this world. Instead he merely chanted the old refrain, harped on the scandal brought on Samoncho[u] by the continued bickering of the married pair. Husband and wife had mutual duty toward each other; but also there was a duty toward their neighbours. Iémon was irreclaimable.... This stranger! O'Iwa San should deign to take the active part herself; not afford this ill spectacle and example to the ward. Like most parsons he was convinced by the noise of his own voice, and spoke with the intense conviction of long rehearsal. O'Iwa heard him out with a curious chill at heart. The graves of her beloved _hotoké_ (departed ones) were in the cemetery of Myo[u]gyo[u]ji. The temple had been one of the few generous features, almost extravagances, of Matazaémon. It had profited greatly by his donations. It was the honour of the House against the argument of the priest and the convenience of the neighbours; and all because a bad man had been brought into it. "What the revered _osho[u]_ (prebend) has said reaches to the heart of this Iwa. Submission is to be an inspiration from the revered _hotoké_. Iwa will seek their counsel." Baffled, the priest left the house; veiled censure was on his lips; open disobedience and contempt on the part of O'Iwa. Said Kwaiba--"Cho[u]zaémon has failed. At least this Kwaiba has saved his ten _ryo[u]_--and gained one object. Kondo[u] Dono, thanks for your kind hospitality to O'Hana San. Do you propose to adopt her?" Kondo[u] made an emphatic gesture of protest and dissent. He said--"At least Kondo[u] has the security of goods and money for his generous expenditures."--"Both of them belonging to O'Iwa San; just as Kwaiba holds the acknowledgment of Akiyama San." Cho[u]zaémon made a wry face. The prospect of pressure put on him, with all the added accumulation of the months of interest, was not a cheerful one. Said Kwaiba angrily--"Ah! Whoever would have suspected such obstinacy in the O'Baké; she who always was so yielding within her home and outside of it. She seemed to be such an easy mark. It was merely a matter of ordering her out. And now she baffles this Kwaiba of his revenge!" Iémon laughed outright. Kwaiba looked at him with surprise. Was this charlatan playing a double game? Said Iémon--"Fear enters at the words of the honoured chief. Pray condescend to be easy in mind. As yet Cho[u]zaémon has not failed. At least the question can be argued with the _Kumi-gashira_. It is left to these principals. Iémon is of better counsel." Then after a silence during which Kwaiba intently eyed him--"To-morrow O'Iwa San leaves Yotsuya. Kwaiba Dono gets his revenge on the late master of Tamiya. Pray remember it, in favour of the present incumbent of the House." Said Kwaiba fervently--"Iémon would be a son to Kwaiba! Is it really true--that the O'Baké will be expelled the ward, in disgrace?" Iémon nodded assent. On the following day O'Iwa had completed her ablutions. She arrayed herself in freshly washed robes. Then she took her place before the Butsudan. It was memorial day of the decease of the _hotoké_. Earnestly she prayed--"Deign, honoured _hotoké_, to have regard to this Iwa. The year has not lapsed since the hand of Iwa was placed in that of Iémon. Now the House is brought to ruin. No heir appears to console this Iwa and to continue its worship, to inherit its revenues. 'Take these in hand. Life lies before Iémon for their enjoyment. His revenue will be ample. Deign but to have the honour of the House in mind, the continuance of its line as object.' Such were the words of the honoured Matazaémon when in life. Unworthy has been the conduct of this trust by Iémon. But divorce is a scandal, always to be avoided by a woman. Return the love of Iémon to this Iwa. Deign, honoured _hotoké_, to influence his wandering passions toward this child of the House. Cause the husband to return to Tamiya, once more to uphold its rights and influence. Such is the prayer of this Iwa." She rose, placed the offerings, and struck the little bell with the hammer. As she did so a noise was heard at the entrance. Iémon, carrying fishing rod and basket, and followed by Natsumé Kyuzo[u] and Imaizumi Jinzaémon, burst into the room. All three were more or less drunk. Dumfounded O'Iwa looked from one to the other. Imaizumi carried a tub. Kyuzo[u] knocked it from his shoulders. Then tumbled clumsily down on the cask. None of them had removed the dirty _waraji_ (straw sandals) they wore. "Why do so in such a barn?" hiccoughed Kyuzo[u]. "And this _saké_; Kyuzo[u] found it without, at the kitchen door. Jinzaémon shouldered it. Whence does it come, Iémon San? Faugh! It smells as if the cask had been placed for the convenience of passers-by on the wayside. It stinks. That's what it does." He gave the cask a kick, knocking out the bung. The filthy liquid poured out on the floor. Iémon appropriated the tub. He seated himself on it. "'Tis the fine liquor of Tamiya. All the house possesses. Iémon is hungry." Opening his basket he took out an eel. He began to skin it. A cry from O'Iwa arrested him. His wife sank down before him in attitude of prayer. "Importunate jade! What would you now? Further advice to a husband who wants but to get rid of the sight of an ugly face? Bah! This lump of a wench is neither good for child-bearing nor for house-keeping; she is not even a good _rusu_ (care-taker)." His knife made a rip in the skin of the squirming animal. O'Iwa laid a hand on his sleeve. With a voice in which sobs mingled with the petition--"To-day is a memorial day of the honoured _Hotoké Sama_. Deign to refrain from taking life in the house; nay, before the very _ihai_ in the Butsudan. Such deed will cause pain to the _Hotoké Sama_; bring disaster on the House, perhaps on this Iwa and Iémon San." Iémon fairly roared as he sprang up from the tub--"What! You noisy slut! Is this Iémon to go without food because the _hotoké_ dislikes the smell of eels?... Jinzaémon, can you cook eels?" Imaizumi had sought the _ro[u]ka_. His round featureless face showed his fright and indecision before this critical quarrel of husband and wife. Of all involved in the plot he was the most unwilling in performance of his rôle. But he answered according to rote--"Iya! Iémon Uji, the office of cook is a special one. Jinzaémon is no cook. He leaves that office to his wife. Moreover the cooking of eels is an art in itself."--"And the artist is here," chimed in the malignancy of Kyuzo[u]. "O'Iwa San is noted for her skill."--"Right!" said Iémon. "Kyuzo[u] and Jinzaémon have heard the refusal of O'Iwa. Cook this eel--or else Iémon pronounces the formula of divorce against the disobedient wife." In silence O'Iwa rose. She went to the portable stove. With the bellows she stirred up the fire therein. She did not dare even for a moment to pray at the Butsudan. The skillet was on the fire. The eels were sizzling in the hot liquor. Suddenly Iémon made an exclamation. Taking a towel he grasped the handle of the vessel. The next moment he had forced down the hot pan and its contents on the head of O'Iwa. "Kiya!" With the single cry she fell over backwards, writhing in pain under the infliction of the scalding mess streaming over face, neck, and bosom. Imaizumi fled in dismay. Even Natsumé Kyuzo[u] protested. Seizing the arm of Iémon--"Iémon Uji, you go too far. Don't kill her." "Kill the O'Baké? It's impossible." Iémon spoke coldly. He was the one person of collected wits in the room. Groaning with agony O'Iwa came to her senses. A man was leaning over her. Half blind as she was, she could recognize Cho[u]bei. His look was grave. His voice was reticent and confused. "What has been going on here, O'Iwa Dono? Ah! Cho[u]bei comes at a bad season. Ma! Ma! The house, too; stripped bare to the very boards, and the season still wintry. Truly this Iémon is a beast--a very brute (_chikusho[u]_). What is Cho[u]bei to do? There is this matter of the honour of Tamiya." He wrung his hands as in great perplexity, glancing sideways toward O'Iwa. The first part of his speech she disregarded. Such talk and consolation were growing stale. That all should pity her caused no surprise. Her situation was not unusual. It was the last words which caught her ear. "The honour of Tamiya: Cho[u]bei San?" Cho[u]bei turned away; to put some peppermint in his eyes. Tears stood in them as he turned again to her. O'Iwa was alarmed. "What has happened?" She caught his sleeve, drew close to him. He answered--"Cho[u]bei cannot speak. To find O'Iwa San in such dreadful state renders it impossible to explain. Iémon San has gone too far." So he had, from Cho[u]bei's point of view and for his purposes. These young fellows never can keep within bounds; even in abuse of a woman. His resentment was extreme. O'Iwa insisted. Finally the resistance of Cho[u]bei was overcome. Iémon's name was posted at the Kuramaé of Asakusa. He was in debt on every side. As the final blow, he had stolen the seal of Ito[u] Kwaiba and forged an acknowledgment for twenty _ryo[u]_. Kwaiba's enmity to Matazaémon was well known. He liked Iémon no better, and would pursue him to the end, force him to cut belly, and accomplish the official degradation and extinction of the Tamiya House (_kaieki_). "What is to be done?" He turned squarely to O'Iwa. She said--"Ito[u] Dono has been kind to O'Iwa. Perhaps if request be made...." Cho[u]bei laughed. "Ito[u] Kwaiba is always kind to a woman. It is not O'Iwa San whom he hates. But this is an affair between men. He secures vengeance on Matazaémon through Iémon and this official extinction of Tamiya. It is too tempting. He is not to be trusted. No hint of the deed must reach him. Is there no money at the command of O'Iwa San? The sum is but twenty _ryo[u]_. Iémon brought this news to Cho[u]bei last night. He leaves Edo, to go in hiding, after ... after ... punishing the ... Well! Well! He is a wicked man. Cho[u]bei never suspected such wickedness. But Iémon is not the issue. He represents and can disgrace the Tamiya. There lies the issue. Has O'Iwa San no means, nothing in coin?"--"Less than a _bu_, sixty _mon_." She held out the coppers to Cho[u]bei. Said Cho[u]bei with decision--"There is one resource left. There is the person of O'Iwa San. Deign to go into service at the pleasure quarter. Cho[u]bei is skilful. In seven days these wounds can be healed. Twenty _ryo[u]_ secured, the paper is taken up, the robbery of the seal is never discovered. We can laugh at Kwaiba's anger. All is for the Tamiya." He noted that O'Iwa was hesitating--"It is but as a pledge. The money is advanced on the person of O'Iwa San. A week, ten days, and other sources of loan will be discovered. This is the only measure Cho[u]bei can suggest. He has no means of his own to meet this debt." He smiled as at a thought--"Perhaps Kwaiba himself will pay his own debt!" He chuckled at the idea. "Why not make appeal at once?" repeated O'Iwa, grasping at any straw of safety from this resource, so horrible to the _samurai_ woman. Said Cho[u]bei promptly--"Ito[u] Sama knows perfectly well the state of Samoncho[u]. Asakusa, Honjo[u], are far removed. An appeal for twenty _ryo[u]_ as surety money in applying for a situation would appeal to him; the other would not. Besides, thus far away he could not investigate closely, if he would. He could but say 'yes' or 'no.'" O'Iwa remembered what Kwaiba had said--the necessity of removing to a distance. The words and actions of these rascals dove-tailed admirably. A long silence followed. With exultation at heart Cho[u]bei saw her rise. She put out the fire, gathered together the few personal articles she still possessed. On seeing her struggle with the heavy rain doors he came to her aid. "For the time being accept the hospitality of Cho[u]bei's poor quarters. These wounds are to be healed." With full heart O'Iwa gratefully accepted. She took his hand as if to kiss it. Cho[u]bei hastily snatched it away. In his sleeve, the ink not twenty-four hours old, was the paper of the sale of O'Iwa to Cho[u]bei; her passing over to his guardianship, to dispose of as a street harlot, a night-hawk. The consideration? Five _ryo[u]_: payment duly acknowledged, and of course nominal. The paper of transfer was in thoroughly correct form. Cho[u]bei had drawn it himself. CHAPTER XIII THE YO[U]TAKA (NIGHT-HAWKS) OF HONJO[U] O'Iwa's stay of nearly seven days at Cho[u]bei's house was one of the golden periods of her life. O'Taki received the Ojo[u]san with humble joy. Iémon could not drop Cho[u]bei out of his life of prosperity. O'Iwa was soon brought in contact with the humble pair in adversity. Hers was a generous heart, and O'Taki could not look around her house without some indication of this kindness. Her sympathy with the wronged wife was great. A husband--thriftless, a gambler, inconsiderate--of such a one she had some experience. By the same means this lady was brought to her present pass. It roused her indignation. As to brutality; that was another matter. She squared her stout shoulders and looked derisively at the loose angularity of Cho[u]bei, his rickety physique. But the storm would pass. Ito[u] Sama, Kondo[u] Sama, Myo[u]zen Osho[u], all these were agreed. The Ojo[u]san now out of his reach, without a home to go to, and only hostile faces met with in the ward, Iémon Sama would soon come to terms. Would the Ojo[u]san deign to honour their humble home as long as she liked. She at once suppressed O'Iwa's rather futile attempts to aid in her rough household work. It had been the lady's part to direct her maids in their more repugnant tasks, and now brought right under her hand in this plebeian household. O'Iwa never had undergone the harsher lot of her mother O'Mino. Cho[u]bei in his way was as kind as his wife. At once he devoted himself to the repair of his property. When O'Iwa produced the paste and lotion of Suian Sensei, as sovereign for the complexion, Cho[u]bei took them, smelled and carefully tasted, and finally put some of the paste on the end of the _hashi_ or sticks to arrange the charcoal in the _hibachi_. A smell of garlic pervaded the room. He noted the puffy face of O'Iwa, the unnatural, almost ghastly, white of the skin where the wide pockmarks permitted it to be seen. Within the circles of these scars there was a curious striated effect, only seen at times in the efforts of artists to depict the supernatural, or of savages to frighten their foes. It gave a drawn cadaverous look to the lower part of the face. "There is more in it than _that_," mused Cho[u]bei. During her stay O'Iwa had one of her attacks--of nerves--in fact a true epileptic seizure. Cho[u]bei put an embargo at once on all remedies but his own. Cynically, he added--"But elsewhere there will be no Cho[u]bei. If the Okusama deigns to apply the drugs of Suian Sensei where she now goes, doubtless she will find early relief. At present they spoil Cho[u]bei's efforts." The clever rascal at once recognized his fellow in Suian, bribed to render O'Iwa more hideous than Nature had made her, to take away her womanhood and hope of an heir to the Tamiya. To poison her? That he doubted; although the ignorance of leech and victim might readily lead to such result. Within the seven days O'Iwa San once more could show herself in public. It was now Cho[u]bei's part to carry the plot to completion. Iémon, at the proposition, had said--"Sell her as a night-hawk! An ugly woman like that no one will approach."--"'Tis Cho[u]bei's trade," said the pimp coolly. "In Yoshidamachi they have noses--over night. Between dark and dawn the member melts, becomes distorted, and has to be made. It has served its purpose. This is Cho[u]bei's affair. Provided that O'Iwa never again troubles the presence of Iémon Sama the object is attained."--"That is true. Do what you please. Kill her, if desired. O'Iwa in the Yotsuya; and Cho[u]bei feels the wrath of Ito[u] Dono, of this Iémon." Unwillingly he signed the contract required by Cho[u]bei. He gave the latter a fee of ten _ryo[u]_ for the excision of this excrescence, and with a sigh of joy learned of the disappearance in company of the pimp and O'Iwa. Within three days carpenters and other workmen swarmed over the Tamiya in Samoncho[u]. The master made ready for his return. O'Taki had gone forth on a mission for Cho[u]bei. This would insure her absence for the greater part of the day. Said Cho[u]bei--"Deign, Okusama, to allow Cho[u]bei to prove his art. All his accomplishments have not been displayed." To pass off the ugly woman at night could be done. He was compelled to act by daylight; though relying somewhat on the dusky interior of Toémon's entrance and reception room. This Toémon was the chief of the guild which bought and controlled these unfortunate street-walkers, lowest of their class. Cho[u]bei sat down before O'Iwa. As if in an actor's room he was surrounded with a battery of brushes and spatulas, pastes, paints of all shades of greys, flesh colour, pinks--even reds. Under his skilful hands O'Iwa was transformed. To make her beautiful was impossible. He made her passable. The weather was cold, though spring was now close at hand. Cho[u]bei hesitated. The walk was a long one. His handiwork might fade or melt under the sweating induced by effort. Besides he had no desire for conversation. There were to be as few answers to curious questions as possible. In his house he had left the two women to themselves, and saw O'Iwa only when O'Taki was present. So he called a _kago_ and gave the necessary directions. As the coolies moved off with their fair burden he trotted along in the rear, his project occupying his busy mind. The place of Toémon was at Yoshidacho[u] Nicho[u]me, in the centre of the Warigesui district. To the north was the canal of that name. To the south a second canal ditto; the second stream was the larger, fairer, and more pretentious South Warigesui. An equal distance to the east was the Ho[u]onji Bashi, with the great temple of that name just across the bounding river or canal of the district. As the _kago_ bearers ambled down the bank of the North Warigesui, O'Iwa thought she had never seen a more filthy stream than this back-water with its stale current. The bearers put them down at the canal. Cho[u]bei had some directions to give during the short walk of a couple of hundred yards to their destination. Said he--"For a _samurai_ woman to engage in this business is a serious offence. After all the matter is mere form; a pledge to secure the return of the sealed paper forged by the husband. The wife performs her highest duty in saving the honour of the House. Is not that true?" There was a little sob in O'Iwa's voice as she gave assent. She felt different now that she was close at hand to the scene and crisis of her trial. Continued Cho[u]bei--"The agreement has been made out as with O'Iwa, daughter of Kanémon, the younger brother of this Cho[u]bei and green-grocer of Abegawacho[u] of Asakusa. Deign to remember that the twenty _ryo[u]_ is needed to save a father in peril of default and imprisonment."--"The cases are not so different," whispered O'Iwa. "Just so," said Cho[u]bei. "Here is the place. Condescend to wait a moment, here at the entrance." Briskly he entered the house. "A request to make!"--"Ah! Is it Cho[u]bei San? The Danna Sama is absent for the day, at the office of the ward magistrate. Some drunkard considers that he has been robbed. The girl he accused was punished--perhaps unjustly. All the women of this house are honest."--"Beyond repair," laughed Cho[u]bei. "However, the other matter has been agreed on. The girl is here. An uncontrollable jade! The master has deigned to aid Cho[u]bei. Thanks are felt. Since she will run with the men, it is as well for Kanémon to get the profit of the business. If she breaks out--put a ring in her nose, and treat her as the farmers treat their cattle. Don't let her again bother home or Cho[u]bei. She will lie--of course. At Toémon's they are used to lies?" The woman Matsu laughed--"No fear as to that." She looked over the contract with care. "Ah! She is sold for life service; otherwise the twenty _ryo[u]_ would be a scandalous price. Is that her?... Um! Not a likely jade. Stand a little in the light.... This Matsu would never have closed the bargain without a view. But Toémon San has left no choice. In the scarcity of women, and his good-will to Cho[u]bei San, he would pay any sum. At twenty _ryo[u]_ she is a gem! You can come up here. Také! Haru! A new girl. Take her in charge and show her the house and its ways.... Cho[u]bei San, some tea." Cho[u]bei put a word into this running comment and invitation. As the girls were leading off the hesitating O'Iwa he said loudly and roughly--"Remember to obey the Okamisan (wife) in everything. Whatever she commands is right and must be done: no nonsense. Ah! Something forgotten: a moment please." He drew O'Iwa aside, seeing that she was on the verge of tears. Speaking gently--"Be astonished at nothing; be ignorant of everything. The house of Toémon in Honjo[u] is not the drawing room of Tamiya in Yotsuya. Deign to remember that Cho[u]bei must play his part. Life is like an excursion in a pleasure boat. There are rough places to pass, some danger, and much refuse to get rid of. Condescend to have House and husband in mind. It is but for a week--or so."--"And Iémon San, the House; they will be secure?"--"That Cho[u]bei is assured of. See: he has the twenty _ryo[u]_ in hand. It is mere matter of securing the compromising paper and the return of Iémon. Some negotiations are necessary for that. In the future his behaviour will be much improved." He clinked the coin before her. As O'Iwa passed up the stairs he returned to the _hibachi_ of the wife. The tea was a short course. Cho[u]bei was on needles while drinking it. He feared an outbreak from above in the course of O'Iwa's initiation into a vileness the depth of which she never even could suspect. "Yes: trade is good. Women are difficult to secure. The men prefer to have them in their homes, rather than to gain by their service elsewhere." In such professional talk of a few moments he quickly dispatched the refreshment, climbed into his clogs, and departed. O'Iwa had disappeared far into the depths. Toémon and his wife were quarrelling. Said the woman--"Are you mad, to pay twenty _ryo[u]_ for such an ugly wench? No choice was given. This Matsu was to receive her. Cho[u]bei is a cheat." Toémon and the _banto[u]_ drew O'Iwa under the light, much as if she were a bag of rice--"The clever rascal! From crown of the head to neck she is all made up. And perhaps elsewhere."--"At all events she is a woman." The _banto[u]_ spoke as in doubt. "Never mind: we are great artists, too, if not so good at cheating as this Cho[u]bei. Twenty-six years! She's forty at least.... What may be your honoured age?"--"Twenty-six years," replied the distressed O'Iwa. The wife threw up her hands--"And she does not lie!... Haru! Ko[u]ta! It is time to go out. The bell already strikes the hour of the dog (7 P.M.). Take Iwa to the reception room (_yoséba_). She is to learn the ways of the place; where to entertain her guests.... Come! Along with all of you!" Some ten or fifteen women had gathered in their array for their night's campaign. Paint, powder, plaster, disguised the ravages of disease among the hardened set of this low class house. O'Iwa accompanied O'Haru to what had been called the _yoséba_. The girl explained to her. Here was the place to bring and entertain any guest picked up on the street. They were not the degraded wretches who made the darkness of an alleyway the reception room for their lovers. It was to be remembered that the wine drunk not only profited the house, but paid in commissions for their own cosmetics and other little gratifications. On entering the place O'Iwa shrank back to the wall in horror; to shrink away in turn from the filth and obscenity to be seen on that support. She would have fled, but the entering crowd pressed her further in. It was a long room. The entrance formed a sort of parlour or place to sit. The rest of the apartment was divided longitudinally into little cubicula, rooms of the space of the one dirty mat with which each was furnished. A shelf contained its cynically filthy and suggestive furniture. O'Iwa's disgust and terror was too obvious. O'Haru held on to her arm to prevent flight. The attention of the others was drawn to them. "Does the beauty want an apartment to herself? That is the privilege of the Oiran, the Go Tayu, the Kashiku.[26] Ah! Sister dear; it is to be learned that this place is Hell--First Block. There is no 'second block' (nicho[u]mé). One gets used to anything here; even to use a demon's horns for toothpicks." Thus spoke a hard-faced woman of some thirty odd, by her looks. Said the frightened O'Iwa in low tones--"Iwa has not come for this service. She is but a pledge. This redeemed, within the week she returns to her home. This place upsets one's stomach." Those present laughed loudly. "We all say that. The real reason for our coming is not to be told. Be assured that you must perform the service, or suffer. Condescend not to fall into the hands of the Okamisan. In anger she is terrible." There was a general movement of the women. Said O'Haru, drawing along O'Iwa by the hand--"Come! Make no trouble. A newcomer, you are sure to be successful and please Matsu Dono." O'Iwa resolutely held back. No matter what the suffering she would undergo it. Ah! A week in this place indeed was to be life in Hell. She called up the sight of the dismantled house, the figure of her grandfather, anything to strengthen her will to resist. O'Haru left the room. "Okamisan, the new girl refuses to serve. Haru makes report." The wife of Toémon leaped up from her cushion. Dressed in night clothes, a long pipe in hand, she rushed into the room. "What nonsense is this? Which slut is it that refuses the service of the house?... You! The ink on the receipt for twenty _ryo[u]_ paid for your ugly face and body is hardly dry.... Pledge? A week's service? You lie: as your uncle said you would lie. You are here for life service as a street harlot. Out with you!... No? No?" She was about to throw herself on O'Iwa, to cast her into the street. Then her passion, to outward appearance, cooled. She was the woman of her business, malevolent and without pity. "O'Kin! O'Kin!" The others now gathered around O'Iwa. O'Haru and the girl O'Také plead with her to obey. They tried to hustle her off by force. Said O'Haru--"Report had to be made. This Haru acted for the best. Truly such obstinacy deserves punishment. But Haru is filled with pity. Deign to obey. Go forth to the service. The result of refusal is terrible." O'Iwa shook her head--"O'Haru San is free from blame. Iwa is grateful for the kind words. To go out to this service is impossible." The woman O'Kin strode into the room; a big, strapping wench, and the understudy of O'Matsu in her husband's affections. "A new recruit?" She spoke in inquiry--"Yes: and obstinate. It is a matter of punishment in the _seméba_.... Now! Out with you all! No dawdling!" The irate woman turned on her flock. They fled like sheep into the open. CHAPTER XIV THE PUNISHMENT O'Iwa did not move. The two women approached and laid hands on her. Her yielding made no difference in the roughness of their treatment. Dragged, hustled, shoved, with amplitude of blows, she was already much bruised on reaching the place of punishment--the _seméba_, to use the technical term of these establishments "for the good of the community." During a temporary absence of the mistress, a ray of kindliness seemed to touch the woman O'Kin. She pointed to the square of some six feet, to the rings fastened in the rafters. "Don't carry self-will to extremes. Here you are to be stripped, hauled up to those rings, and beaten until the bow breaks. Look at it and take warning. Kin is no weakling." She shoved back her sleeve, showing an arm as hard and brawny as that of a stevedore. With disapproval she observed O'Iwa. The latter stood unresisting, eyes on the ground. Only the lips twitched from time to time. As the only person in the house, male or female, not to fear the Okamisan, O'Kin could only put down the courage to ignorance. She shrugged her shoulders with contempt. "A man would cause you no pain. The same cannot be said of Kin. You shall have the proof." Perhaps severity would be more merciful, by quickly breaking down this obstinacy. The wife returned with the instrument of torture, a bow of bamboo wound with rattan to strengthen it. O'Kin took it, ostentatiously bent and displayed its stinging flexibility before the eyes of O'Iwa. The latter closed them. She would cut off all temptation to weakness. At a sign O'Kin roughly tore off the _obi_. A twist, and the torn and disordered _kimono_ of O'Iwa fell to her feet with the skirt. She had no shirt. Thus she was left completely naked. In modesty she sank crouching on the ground. The cold wind of the March night made her shiver as O'Kin roped her wrists. Again the woman whispered her counsel in her ear--"When you get enough, say 'Un! Un!'" Detecting no sign of consent she took a ladder, climbed up, and passed the ropes through the rings above. She descended, and the two women began to haul away. Gradually O'Iwa was raised from the sitting posture to her full height of extended arms, until by effort her toes could just reach the ground. In this painful position the slightest twist to relieve the strain on the wrists caused agonizing pains through the whole body. "Still obstinate--strike!" shouted the wife. O'Kin raised the bow and delivered the blow with full force across the buttocks. A red streak appeared. O'Iwa by a natural contortion raised her legs. The blows descended fast, followed at once by the raised welt of flesh, or the blood from the lacerated tissue. Across the shoulder blades, the small of the back, the buttocks, the belly, they descended with the full force of the robust arms and weight of O'Kin. Every time the legs were raised at the shock the suspended body spun round. Every time the toes rested on the ground the bow descended with merciless ferocity. The sight of the torture roused the fierce spirit in the tormentors. O'Kin redoubled the violence of her blows, seeking out the hams and the withers, the shoulders, the tenderest points to cause pain. The wife ran from side to side, gazing into the face and closed eyes of O'Iwa, trying to detect weakening under the torture, or result from some more agonizing blow. O'Iwa's body was striped and splashed with red. O'Kin's hands slipped on the wet surface of the rod. Suddenly she uttered an exclamation. Blood was now gushing from the nose, the eyes, the mouth of O'Iwa. "Okamisan! Okamisan! It won't do to kill her. Deign to give the order to cease. She must be lowered." The wife coolly examined the victim. "She has fainted. Lower her, and throw salt water over her. The sting will bring her to." O'Kin followed the instructions in the most literal sense. She dashed the bucket of water with great impetus right into O'Iwa's face. "Un!" was the latter's exclamation as she came to consciousness. "She consents! She consents!" cried O'Kin with delight. The wife was decidedly sceptical, but her aid plainly would go no further at this time. Said she--"Leave her as she is. There are other matters to attend to than the whims of an idle vicious jade. She would cheat this Matsu out of twenty _ryo[u]_? Well: time will show the victor." She departed--"to drink her wine, pare her nails, and sing obscene songs to the accompaniment of the _samisen_." Tied hand and foot O'Iwa lay semi-conscious in the cold shed of punishment. At midnight the girls returned to this "home." They gathered around the prostate O'Iwa. From O'Kin they had an inkling of the courage displayed. They admired her, but none dared to touch her bonds. At last O'Haru San, unusually successful in her night's raid, ventured to approach the half drunk mistress of the house. "Haru makes report." She spread her returns before the gratified Okamisan. Timidly the girl added--"O'Iwa San repents. Deign to remit her punishment. She looks very ill and weak."--"Shut up!" was the fierce retort. Then as afterthought of sickness and possible loss came to mind. "She can be untied and sent to bed."--"And food?"--"She can earn it." The woman turned on O'Haru, who bowed humbly and slipped away. That night the girls contributed from their store to feed O'Iwa; as they did on the succeeding days and nights. The wife would have stopped the practice, but Toémon interfered. He meant to keep his dilapidated stock in as good repair as possible. He fed them pretty well. "The woman is not to be starved--at least too openly. The last case gave this Toémon trouble enough, and on the very day this epileptic came into the house, to bring confusion with her. Beat her if you will; but not enough to kill her." O'Matsu followed his words to the letter. One beating was followed by another; with interval enough between the torture to insure recuperation and avoid danger to life. These scenes came to be regarded as a recreation of the house. The other inmates were allowed to attend, to witness the example and fascinate their attention. But at last the Okamisan despaired. Amusement was one thing; but her hatred of O'Iwa was tempered by the desire to find some use for her, to get a return for the twenty _ryo[u]_ of which she had been swindled. Finally the advice of the _banto[u]_ was followed. "The men of the house cannot be tempted to approach such an apparition. The other girls have not time to devote to making up O'Iwa as for the stage. They have not twenty _ryo[u]_ at stake, as had Cho[u]bei. Let her wash the dishes." Thus was O'Iwa "degraded" from her high estate as street-walker. Turned into a kitchen drudge she shed tears of joy. She almost forgot the matter of the pledge in this new and pleasant life. The time and the place, perhaps the drug she took, had done their work on the mind of O'Iwa. Iémon, the house of Samoncho[u], the _ihai_ in the Butsudan, the pleasant garden--all were of the tissue of a dream amid a toil which deposited her on the straw wrappings of the charcoal and in a shed, thoroughly worn out at the end of her long day. The O'Iwa of Samoncho[u] at this end of the lapsing year of service was dormant. But accidents will happen. There was excitement in the house. Mobei, the dealer in toilet articles--combs, brushes, jewel strings--was at the grating. The women were clustered before the wares he exposed in his trays. This Mobei, as dealer in toilet articles (_koma-mono_) wandered all the wards of Edo, his little trays fitting neatly into each other, and wrapped in a _furoshiki_ or bundle-handkerchief. His wares formed a marvellous collection of the precious and common place, ranging from true coral and tortoise shell, antique jewelry and curious _netsuké_ of great value, to their counterfeits in painted wood, horn, and coloured glass. "Mobei San, long has been the wait for you. Is there a bent comb in stock?"--"Truly this Mobei is vexing. He humbly makes apology, lady. Here is just the thing.... How much? Only a _bu_.... Too high? Nay! With women in the ordinary walks of life it is the wage of a month. To the honoured Oiran it is but a night's trifling." The other women tittered. O'Haru was a little nettled at the high sounding title of Oiran. She would not show her irritation. Mobei continued his attentions. He laid before her and the others several strings of jewels, their "coral" made of cleverly tinted paste. "Deign to look; at but one _bu_ two _shu[u]_. If real they would cost twenty _ryo[u]_."--"And Mobei has the real?" The dealer laughed. As in pity, and to give them a glimpse of the far off upper world, he raised the cover of a box in the lower tier. They gasped in admiration before the pink of the true coral. Hands were stretched through the grating to touch it. Mobei quickly replaced the cover. "For some great lady," sighed O'Haru--"Just so," replied Mobei, adjusting his boxes. He had sold two wooden painted combs and a string of horn beads in imitation of tortoise shell. He pocketed the hundred "cash," those copper coins with a hole in the centre for stringing. Then briefly--"The necklace is for no other than the Kashiku of the Yamadaya, the loved one of Kibei Dono of Yotsuya. The comb (_kanzashi_) in tortoise shell and gold is for the honoured lady wife of Iémon Dono, the _go kenin_. But Mobei supplies not only the secular world. This--for one who has left the world; for Myo[u]zen Osho[u] of Myo[u]gyo[u]ji, the gift of Ito[u] Dono. For the custom of Mobei the Yotsuya stands first in order." He took a box from his sleeve and showed them the rosary of pure crystal beads. Even in the dull light of a lowering day the stones flashed and sparkled. The women showed little interest. A priest to them was not a man--ordinarily. He shouldered his pack. "Mobei San--a comb with black spots, in imitation of tortoise shell. Please don't fail me on the next visit." Mobei nodded agreement. Then he halted and turned. One of the women had called out in derision--"Here is O'Iwa San. Surely she wants to purchase. Mobei San! Mobei San! A customer with many customers and a full pocketbook." These women looked on O'Iwa's assignment to the kitchen as the fall to the lowest possible state. At sight of the newcomer Mobei gasped. O'Iwa on leaving the door of Toémon's house, _miso_ (soup) strainers for repair in one hand, fifteen _mon_ for bean paste (_to[u]fu_) tightly clasped in the other, came face to face with the toilet dealer, "The lady of Tamiya--here!"--"The lady of Tamiya!" echoed the astonished and curious women. Said O'Iwa quickly--"Mobei San is mistaken. This is Iwa; but lady of Tamiya...." Hastily she pulled her head towel over her face. In doing so the "cash" slipped from her hand. A _mon_ missing meant no _to[u]fu_; result, a visit to the _seméba_. In recovering the lost coin Mobei was left in no doubt. "'Tis indeed the lady of Tamiya. It cannot be denied." O'Iwa no longer attempted the impossible. She said--"It is Iwa of Tamiya. Mobei San, a word with you." The women were whispering to each other. "He called her '_shinzo[u]_.'" Said O'Haru--"There always was something about her to arouse suspicion; so ugly, and with such grand airs. And how she endured the punishment! Truly she must be a _samurai_ woman." The minds of all reverted to their master Toémon, and how he would take this news. O'Iwa had drawn Mobei somewhat apart from the grating. With downcast face she spoke--"Deign, Mobei San, to say nothing in the ward of this meeting with Iwa." To Mobei's earnest gesture of comprehension--"Affairs had gone badly with Tamiya. Iémon San was misled into gambling by Natsumé Kyuzo[u] and Imaizumi Jinzaémon. He was carried away by the passion. It was no longer possible to stay in Samoncho[u]. Worse conduct followed. In the kindness and advice of Ito[u] Dono, of Akiyama and Kondo[u] Sama, this Iwa found support. But she disobeyed. She would not follow the advice given. However, gratitude is felt by Iwa. One cannot leave this place, or long since she would have paid the visit of acknowledgment. A matter of importance arose. Cho[u]bei San came to Iwa's aid, and saved the situation. This place is terrible, but the consequences of not coming would have been more so. To Cho[u]bei gratitude is felt. It was the opportunity offered the wife to show her faith and courage." Now she looked bravely in Mobei's face. It was the toilet dealer's turn to show confusion--"Honoured lady, is nothing known?"--"Known?" answered O'Iwa in some surprise. "What is there to know? When this Iwa left Samoncho[u] to be sure the house was cracking apart everywhere. The light poured in as through a bamboo door.... Ah! Have matters gone badly with the Danna in Iwa's absence?" Mobei shook his head in dissent. "Alas! Ito[u] Sama, Akiyama or Kondo[u] San, has misfortune come to them, without a word of condolence from Iwa? Perhaps Cho[u]bei San, in his precarious life...." The poor isolated world of the thoughts of this homely creature was limited to these friends in need. Mobei had sunk on his knees before her. He raised eyes in which stood tears of pity and indignation. "The Ojo[u]san knows nothing of what has occurred in Yotsuya? This Mobei will not keep silent. With the affairs of Iémon Sama, of Ito[u] Dono and Akiyama San nothing has gone wrong. The absence of the lady O'Iwa is otherwise related. She has abandoned house and husband to run away with a plebeian, the _banto[u]_ at the green-grocer's on Shinjuku road. Such is the story circulated." O'Iwa drew away from him as from a snake--then: "Mobei, you lie! Why tell such a tale to this Iwa? Are not the words of Ito[u] Dono, of Akiyama Sama, of Cho[u]bei San still in Iwa's ears? What else has she had to console her during these bitter months but the thought of their kindness? This dress (a scantily wadded single garment), these bare feet in this snow, this degraded life--are not they evidences of Iwa's struggle for the honour of husband and House? Mobei, slander of honourable men brings one to evil. Mobei lies; lies!" He seized her dress. The man now was weeping. "The lady of Tamiya is a saint. Alas! Nothing does she know of the wicked hearts of men. Too great has been the kindness of the Ojo[u]san to this Mobei for him to attempt deceit. Deign to listen. This day a week; was it not the day to a year of the Ojo[u]san's leaving the house in Yotsuya?" O'Iwa turned to him with a startled face. He continued--"A week ago Mobei visited Yotsuya. He has many customers there, not too curious about prices. Hence he brings the best of his wares. Coming to the house in Samoncho[u] a feast was in progress. There were present Ito[u] Dono, Akiyama Sama, Natsumé and Imaizumi Sama, Kondo[u] Dono; O'Hana San, of course. All were exceedingly merry, Iémon Dono poured out a cup of wine. 'Mobei! Mobei! Come here! Drain this cup in honour of the occasion. We celebrate the anniversary of the expulsion of the _bakémono_. The demon is driven forth from the Paradise of Yotsuya. Namu Myo[u]ho[u] Renge Kyo[u]! Namu Myo[u]ho[u] Renge Kyo[u]!' This Mobei was amazed--'The O'Baké.... What O'Baké?'--'Why: O'Iwa San. A year since, with the aid of these good friends, and one not present here, Iémon freed himself from the clutches of the vengeful apparition. Our _Kumi-gashira_ granted divorce in due form. The son of Takahashi Daihachiro[u]--Yanagibara Kazuma--Tamiya Iémon no longer catches at sleep to wake in fear. Chief, deep is the gratitude of Iémon for the favour done by Ito[u] Dono.' The Ojo[u]san a _bakémono_! At these outrageous words Mobei felt faint. Receiving the cup, as in modesty returned to the _ro[u]ka_ to drink, the contents were spilled on the ground. Ah! Honoured lady, it is not only that the Ojo[u]san has been driven out. Her goods have been cleverly stolen by false messages of gambling losses. Stored with Kondo[u] Sama they were brought back on the success of the wicked plot. The whole is a conspiracy of Iémon Dono with Ito[u] Dono, with Akiyama, Cho[u]bei, Kondo[u], and others. They bragged of it, and told the tale in full before this Mobei, laughing the while. Why, lady! On the word of Cho[u]bei San the order of divorce was issued by Ito[u] Dono. Within the month O'Hana San left the shelter of the house of Kondo[u] Sama to enter the Tamiya as bride. Deign to look. Here is a jewelled comb reserved by Iémon Sama as present for O'Hana San his wife. Here is gift of Ito[u] Dono to Myo[u]zen Osho[u] for his efforts 'in the cause.'" O'Iwa stood as one frozen. With Mobei's words the light was flooding into mind and soul. Step by step she now followed clearly the stages of this infamous conspiracy against her peace and honour. She had been fooled, cheated, degraded--and by Ito[u] Kwaiba, the enemy of Matazaémon; by Iémon, son of the hereditary foe Takahashi Daihachiro[u]. Mobei remained huddled at her feet, watching with fright the sudden and awful change in her face. The words came in a whisper. At first she brought out her speech with difficulty, then to rise to torrent force--"Cheated, gulled by the hereditary foe! And this Iwa lies bound and helpless! 'Tis understood! The end is at hand--Ah! The poison! The poison! Now it, too, rises; flowing upward to heart and head of Iwa. Accursed man! Accursed woman; who would play the rival and destroy the wife! The time is short; the crisis is at hand. Cho[u]bei's dark words become light. Hana would poison Iwa through this treacherous leech. Iémon would kill her by the foul life of this brothel--Gods of Nippon! Buddhas of the Universe! All powerful Amida, the Protector! Kwannon, the Lady Merciful! Deign to hearken to the prayer of this Iwa. Emma Dai-o[u], king of Hell, summon not the daughter of Tamiya before the dreaded throne for judgment--through the course of seven existences--until the vengeance of Iwa be sated with the miserable end of these her persecutors. May the sacred characters of the Daimoku, written on the heart of Iwa for her future salvation, be seared out as with hot iron. On Ito[u] Kwaiba, Iémon, Akiyama Cho[u]zaémon, Cho[u]bei, all and every one engaged in this vile plot, rests the death curse of Iwa. Against these; against Natsumé, Imaizumi, Yoémon of Tamiya, lies the grudge of Iwa of Tamiya. Gods and Buddhas--grant this prayer!" A violent hand was laid on the bosom of Mobei's robe. He screamed in terror at the fearful face bent over him. A broad round dead white swollen face, too sharp gleaming malignant dots darting flashes as from a sword between the puffed and swollen lids, froze him into a passive object. One of these lids drooped horribly down upon the cheek of the apparition. In the physical effort exerted, the slit of the mouth showed the broad black even teeth, which seemed about to clutch at his throat; as did the vigorous hand, the nails of which sank into his gullet. Framed in the mass of wild disordered hair Mobei was isolated as in a universe of space; left alone with this fearful vision. "Lady! Lady O'Iwa! Lady of Tamiya! This Mobei has done naught. Others have wronged O'Iwa San. Mobei is guiltless.... Ah! Ah!" With fright and pain he rolled over on the ground in a dead faint. Screaming and shouting the women Také and Ko[u]ta rushed around and out to his rescue. O'Iwa San was now under the full control of her disorder. Takézo staggered back, her hands to her face to hide the horrible sight, to wipe from eyes and cheeks the blood streaming from the deep tears made by O'Iwa's nails. Ko[u]ta from behind seized O'Iwa around the waist and shoulders. Sharply up came the elbow shot, catching this interloper under the chin. Neck and jaw fairly cracked under the well-delivered blow. Ko[u]ta went down in a heap as one dead. A _chu[u]gen_ coming along the North Warigesui had reached the crossing. He thought it better to stand aside, rather than attempt to stop this maddened fiend tearing through space. At the canal bank there was a moment's pause. Then came a dull splash; as of some heavy body plunged in the water. With a cry the man hastened forward. Not a sign of anything could be seen. In this rural place no help was to be had, and he was little inclined to plunge at random into the foul stream. In haste he turned back to where a crowd was gathering around the prostrate Mobei, the groaning harlots to whom punishment had been meted out. CHAPTER XV CHO[U]BEI GETS THE NEWS The _chu[u]gen_ stood over the toilet dealer now coming out of his half-trance condition. The eyes of the two men met and showed mutual astonishment. "Naruhodo! Mobei San! In a quarrel over his wares with the vile women of this district?"--"Kakusuké San! Ah! There is much to tell. O'Iwa San...." The _chu[u]gen_ of Ito[u] Kwaiba was amazed attention. "This Mobei to his ill fortune, met with the lady of Tamiya. Her condition, her ignorance, was too pitiful. Learning all the truth from Mobei she inflicted on him this punishment. May it cease there! Namu Amida Butsu! Namu Amida Butsu!... Heavy the grudge against your master Ito[u] Dono; against Iémon Sama, his wife O'Hana San, all in the plot against the Lady O'Iwa. 'To seven existences grant this Iwa opportunity to vent her anger. Every one of the perpetrators of this deed shall be seized and put to death.' She invoked all the gods and Buddhas; Nay, the king of Hell--Emma Dai-o[u] himself. Look to yourself, Kakusuké San. Deign to seek employment elsewhere." Kakusuké completed his task of raising the battered and scratched toilet dealer to his feet. "Mobei San, you have acted the fool; without doubt. Relate what has happened." Mobei did so in full detail. Kakusuké was thoughtful. "Much of this Kakusuké hears for the first time. A servant gets but snatches of the inside of such matters. Just now the mission has been from his master, Ito[u] Dono, to the Inagaki _yashiki_ near Ho[u]onji; matter of transfer involved in the late adoption of Kibei Dono into the House of the Danna Sama.... So that scoundrel Cho[u]bei sold the lady of Tamiya to Toémon for a harlot. Alas! She deserved a better fate. One way or another they would kill her; and Cho[u]bei, his money in hand, abetted the crime. Where is this brothel?" Surrounded by his women Toémon was listening to their excited statements. Takézo was crying with rage and pain, as she examined her fissured countenance before a toilet stand (_kyo[u]dai_). Ko[u]ta, brought back to consciousness, lay groaning in a corner. They were applying cold compresses to her broken jaw. Toémon looked up suspiciously as Kakusuké entered, supporting the lamed and maimed Mobei. "Look to this man's wares, scattered in the roadway; and to the man himself." He spoke roughly, and with authority. Toémon did not dare to resent his manner. With well feigned solicitude he addressed Mobei--"Ma! Ma! A terrible punishment. Your face has the blush of the plum blossom marked upon it.... O'Haru, run to the house of Wakiyama Sensei. Ko[u]ta is badly hurt; his skill is needed. Stop at the drug store. Here is the 'cash' to bring salve for this good man's wounds. Alas! That a woman of Toémon's house should so maltreat others. When caught her punishment...."--"Shut up!" said Kakusuké. He had already taken his line of conduct in his master's interest. "How comes it that the Lady O'Iwa is found at the house of Toémon?"--"The Lady O'Iwa!" replied the brothel keeper in well-feigned surprise. Turning to Mobei--"It is true, then, what the women report; that Mobei San called the O'Iwa of this house 'Shinzo[u].' Who is this O'Iwa?" Said Kakusuké coldly--"The Lady O'Iwa is the granddaughter and heir of Tamiya Matazaémon, a higher _do[u]shin_. She is the wife of the _go-kenin_, Tamiya Iémon." Toémon now was truly aghast. "Heir and wife of _go-kenin_! This Toémon had not the slightest inkling of her _status_. Cho[u]bei has juggled this Toémon most outrageously." He turned savagely on O'Matsu. "So much for stupid brutality. One must give you head, or have no peace. Why not treat the woman kindly, learn her story? Lies or truth that of all the women in the house is known. But O'Iwa San was a mark for malice. Cho[u]bei has lied. Between you the house is ruined. Since when were _samurai_ women sold to life service? Fool! It means imprisonment, exile, to those implicated. This Toémon ends his days among the savage fishermen of Sado." He would have struck her. Kakusuké and the _banto[u]_ interposed. The woman did not budge. Defiant, she stood with folded arms--"It was Toémon's arrangement to buy her in blind belief of Cho[u]bei. Why blame this Matsu? Since when were women exempt from service or punishment? The rule of the house is one or the other. How long has it been since O'Seki left the house--in a box; and Toémon had to make answer at the office." Then catching herself up in the presence of strangers--"Danna Sama, this is no time for a quarrel. Those of the house will say nothing; in their own interest. As for this worthy gentleman, the Lady O'Iwa was wife and heir neither of himself nor his master. Toémon San is grossly neglectful of courtesy due to guests. Leave Mobei San to this Matsu." She whispered in his ear. Toémon had now recovered his balance. Kakusuké was a _chu[u]gen_. He had an object in coming to Toémon's house, instead of making report at once to his master, to the outraged Iémon Dono. Of course Toémon misinterepreted this motive; and Kakusuké was quite ready to profit by his mistake. To the now courteous brothel keeper he was equally cordial. O'Matsu and her women carried off Mobei, to salve his wounds, regale him with fish and wine and good treatment, carefully to make inventory of his goods, and repack them with substantial diminution of purchases. What more could Mobei ask. His valued rosary, the necklace, the _kanzashi_, all the treasures were uninjured. His exchequer was palpably swollen, and more pleasingly than his phiz. His beating had turned out a good day's venture; and without misgiving he can be left in the careful hands of O'Matsu and her women. Meanwhile Kakusuké and Toémon sat over their wine. From the _chu[u]gen_ and toilet dealer the latter secured a complete view of his situation. It was bad, but not irreparable. As Kakusuké with due tardiness prepared to depart, the hospitable innkeeper had ample time to prostrate himself in salutation, meanwhile pushing over a golden _ryo[u]_ wrapped up in decently thin paper which permitted the filtering through of its yellow gleam. "Great has been the trouble and delay of Kakusuké San. Mark not this day in memory, good Sir." Kakusuké was equally polite in salutation--"Fear enters: thanks for the kind entertainment of Toémon San. This alone is to be kept in mind, mark of a day otherwise of but little import." These last words were a healing balm; and Toémon rejoiced. With the departure of Kakusuké, the chief of the "night-hawks" turned at once to his aides. "Také! Haru!... Ah! Ko[u]ta is completely done up. You, Také, bear the marks of the day's encounter. Go to Asakusa Hanagawado[u]. Cho[u]bei is to be brought here at once. The house must clear its skirts of this affair. If he refuses to come, put a rope about his neck and drag him here." The women bowed. At once they prepared for the street, a mission welcome enough under other conditions. O'Také was smarting from her wounds and not very willing to be an object lesson. O'Haru had in mind the fearful curse of O'Iwa, plainly heard by the women. Very willingly she would have had nothing to do with the affair. Cho[u]bei was engaged at _go_ with the metal dealer of his neighbourhood. The fish and wine were in course of preparation in the kitchen close by and under the skilled hands of O'Taki. The perfume, vinous and of viands, came to the noses of the competitors, to the disturbance of their game. Cho[u]bei had just made a profitable stroke. He had five _ryo[u]_ in hand, commission from the worthy _doguya_ for the successful sale of a daughter to the Yamadaya of Nakanocho[u]. This enterprising plebeian, having a son to succeed him in the business, had secured the necessary furnishing and adoption of a second son into the rival house of the ward, by means of the fifty _ryo[u]_ secured for the girl through the experience and clever tactics of Cho[u]bei. Many the compliments and congratulations exchanged by these excellent men and worthy representatives of their class as they tussled over their game of _go_. Profuse were the thanks of the metal dealer for past services and future feasting. It was with some displeasure therefore that O'Taki had her offices interrupted to respond to a loud and harsh--"Request to make!" sounded at the house entrance. Said she crossly--"Who is it?... Ah! O'Také and O'Haru San of Toémon Sama." Then in wonder--"Oya! Oya! O'Také San.... Your honoured face.... Has O'Také San gone to bed in the dark with the cat?" Answered O'Také, in no amiable mood--"It could well have been. Your man Cho[u]bei deals in such articles. There are the marks of O'Iwa's nails. As for Cho[u]bei, is the precious rascal at home?" O'Taki heard her with rising rage--"O'Iwa? What has Cho[u]bei San to do with any O'Iwa and the house of Toémon San? Why call the man of Taki a scoundrel?"--"Because he is such. Nay, Okamisan, don't get angry."--O'Haru was speaking--"has your husband a brother in Abegawacho[u], a brother in need of twenty _ryo[u]_ and with a daughter who would do nothing but run after the men?" O'Taki was puzzled. "Cho[u]bei San has no brother, in Abegawacho[u] or any other _cho[u]_. Hence such brother has no daughter O'Iwa; nor are there children of his own, except the one born to him by this Taki, and a girl already sold...." A light was breaking in on O'Taki. Months before she had come home to find that the Ojo[u]san had taken her departure. Explained Cho[u]bei--"At Yotsuya everything has been adjusted. Iémon Dono is established again with his wife. The Okusama will not come back to us. Deign to rejoice at the auspicious settlement of her affairs." Which O'Taki did; all the more as Cho[u]bei often was in funds in the successive days through Tamiya. Now she looked from one woman to the other, her fists clenched and working. Said the harsh voice of O'Také--"Cho[u]bei lied then; just as the Danna Sama thought. Nearly a year ago he brought to the house the daughter of his brother Kanémon. He sold her into life service as a night-hawk. For this she turned out to be worthless. O'Taki San knows our Okamisan. No matter how severely beaten, even until the blood came, O'Iwa would not consent to serve. Other means were tried, but the men of the house would have nothing to do with her. She was too ugly. Finally she was degraded into being the kitchen wench, to fetch and carry, and do the hardest and most nauseating tasks. At this downfall in her prospects like a very fool she rejoiced. To-day she met the toilet dealer Mobei. He recognized her as the Lady O'Iwa of Tamiya in the Yotsuya. Drawn apart they spoke together. Suddenly she was transformed into a demon. Leaping on Mobei she tore and clutched at him. Ko[u]ta and this Také ran to aid him. Ko[u]ta lies helpless and with a broken jaw. Truly it might have been the kick of a horse she received. This Také is--as can be seen. The Lady O'Iwa disappeared toward Warigesui. A _chu[u]gen_ saw her leap in. Probably she has killed herself.... And now, O'Taki San, is not your man Cho[u]bei a scoundrel?" Said O'Taki--"Rightly spoken; more than right. Wait here." Abruptly she entered the inner room. To Cho[u]bei--"You ... my fine fellow ... is this a time for _go_? Up and off with you; to accompany O'Také and O'Haru from Toémon's in Honjo[u]. A pretty business is in preparation there." Said the embarrassed and enraged Cho[u]bei--"Wh-what does this rude entrance of Taki mean? Is not the master of the metal shop present? Is such language, such abruptness, to be used in his presence?"--"The Danna of the _doguya_ is certainly present," coolly replied the woman. "It would be better if he was at home.... Honoured Sir, pray betake yourself there. This Cho[u]bei has business with Toémon Sama of Honjo[u], the brothel keeper and chief of the night-hawks, to whom he has sold for life service as a street harlot the Lady O'Iwa, wife of the _go-kenin_ Iémon Dono and heir of Tamiya Matazaémon the _do[u]shin_. A man can be too clever--as this Cho[u]bei, who cheats his wife and all others. Do you be clever enough to take the hint and depart.... Off with you!" The _doguya_ had sat in silence. His eyes were popping out of his head in frightened amaze. Cho[u]bei bounded up in a rage--"You huzzy--shut up! Would you publish the affairs of this Cho[u]bei to the world? Many a bridge is to be passed in the course through this world; and none too sure the footing. Money must be had to live and enjoy life. The result, not the means, is the important factor in its acquisition. Such rudeness to a guest! Vile jade, Cho[u]bei will...." O'Také and O'Haru had to interfere--"Fight it out later, Cho[u]bei San. This quarrel is no concern of ours. The sooner the master is seen, the better for Cho[u]bei San. His rage is great, and mounting. You have the contract? With that face the master; if you can."--"Just so! Just so! As for this wench--she shall have something to remember this Cho[u]bei by...." The worthy and trembling metal dealer took this remark as threat of renewed violence. "For the kind reception and entertainment: thanks. Jubei calls later." Nimbly he was on his feet. Diving under the _haori_ into which Cho[u]bei was struggling he bounced out the front, leaving Cho[u]bei on the ground and floundering in the folds of his garments, from which issued most violent language. For the first time that day O'Také and O'Haru had something to amuse them. O'Taki refusing, they assisted Cho[u]bei to his feet and adjusted his robe. Then one on each side of him they set out for Honjo[u] Yoshidacho[u]. As parting salute to O'Taki, Cho[u]bei finished his sentence.... "Something to remember on Cho[u]bei's return." Her laugh in reply was so savage that the women turned to look at her. In fright they hastened off with their prize. At Honjo[u] the reception of Cho[u]bei called forth the whole house. The pimp entered the presence of Toémon with confident and jaunty air. "He has the contract?" said Toémon to the woman. O'Haru indicated a sleeve. The _banto[u]_ and one of the _wakashu[u]_ (young men employes) grasped the arms of Cho[u]bei. The incriminating document was deftly removed by O'Haru and passed over to Toémon. "Now the fellow can neither produce it, nor play his tricks with it." He looked it over carefully; then placed it with his own copy. Cho[u]bei was too outraged and frightened to do more than squat and gasp as he looked around the circle of hostile faces. Without cushion he sat on the bare _tatami_, much as does a criminal at the white sand. Said Toémon severely--"For once Cho[u]bei has drunk hot water with this Toémon. Does he think to act thus with impunity. The younger sister of his brother Kanémon, 'a noted wench for the streets,' was brought here for life service; sold to Toémon for twenty _ryo[u]_. Toémon does not intend that the price shall be too high for him. Cho[u]bei cannot lie out of his own contract. Toémon has it in his hands. Cho[u]bei has the twenty _ryo[u]_. Toémon loses his money. Well and good: Toémon clears himself from the affair. The responsibility lies wholly with Cho[u]bei. Let him look to it." Cho[u]bei seized the moment when lack of breath in his anger halted the speech of Toémon. He would have lied, but Toémon again broke in. "Cho[u]bei has no brother. Cho[u]bei has no woman to dispose of on his own signature. The one he did have, the one he possesses, Toémon knows where to find. Toémon had a woman O'Iwa in his house. You sold the wife of a _go-kenin_, Iémon Dono of Yotsuya; a woman who was the heir of Tamiya Matazaémon the _do[u]shin_. The Lady O'Iwa is traced to the hands of Cho[u]bei. Settle the matter with those in office--_machibugyo[u]_, _do[u]shin_, _yakunin_--when the affair comes to light...."--"Easily," burst in Cho[u]bei, once more himself. "Honoured chief, matters do not call for such earnestness. All this is mere froth and fury. It is true that Cho[u]bei has deceived the chief; but it was at the orders of those much higher. The lady of Tamiya was an obstacle. The sale was ordered by Iémon Dono himself; backed by Ito[u] Kwaiba the head of the Yotsuya ward."--"Cho[u]bei, you lie," said Toémon. The words and advice of Kakusuké still rang in his ears. "Iémon Dono? Ito[u] Dono? Who else will Cho[u]bei bring in as his bails? Such a man is not to be trusted. With this Toémon there is no more dealing. The guild is to be warned by a circular letter." At this fearful threat all Cho[u]bei's jauntiness left him. His livelihood, his existence, were at stake. He prostrated himself before Toémon, dragging his body over the _tatami_ to the _zen_ (low table) at which was seated this autocrat of the night-hawks, this receiver of the refuse and worn-out goods of his greater brothers in the trade. Toémon harshly repulsed him with his foot. Cho[u]bei in despair turned to O'Matsu--"Honoured lady the chief is unreasonably angry. There shall be no loss of money, no harm suffered by the affair. Deign to say a word for Cho[u]bei."--"Since when has Matsu had aught to do with the affairs of the house? The women are her concern. She goes not outside her province." The pimp sought the feet of O'Také--"Condescend to plead for Cho[u]bei. His fault is venial. When no injury results, pardon follows. This is to cut off the breath of Cho[u]bei, of wife and child. Deign to intercede." The street harlot laughed. Her cracked voice was rough--"The commission of Cho[u]bei San has no attractions. This Také has had enough to do with the matter. Truly Cho[u]bei is a wicked fellow. Také would fare badly in such intercourse. Besides his company is too high flown. Officials! Samurai! Cho[u]bei San seeks and will find promotion in the world. Lodgings are preparing for Cho[u]bei Sama in public office--on the Ryo[u]gokubashi; of such he is assured." She drew away from him, harshly cackling. Thus he crawled from one to the other. It was "Cho[u]bei Sama," "Cho[u]bei Dono," in derision they would call him prince--"Cho[u]bei Ko[u]." All stuck out their tongues at him. The young fellows of the house, several of them, stood round the entrance, ostensibly occupied, but with one eye on the scene. As Cho[u]bei sought the _banto[u]'s_ aid, the man raised a long lean leg and gave him a violent kick in the breast. Strong hands seized him as he rolled over and over to the edge of the platform, to land in the arms of the enthusiastic _wakashu[u]_. The next moment, and Cho[u]bei was picking himself up out of the mud and snow of the street. The lattice of the house entrance closed noisily. In his confusion of mind by force of habit Cho[u]bei turned round and bowed with ceremony toward the place of his unceremonious exit--"The time is inopportune. Cho[u]bei intrudes. He will call again." The opening of the wicket gate, the peering, scowling face of the _banto[u]_ recalled the past scene to mind. With all the haste his tottering gait allowed Cho[u]bei sprang off northward to the Adzumabashi and home. As he sped, swaying along, his active mind was making calculations. "Ryo[u]gokubashi, the last home of the outcast beggar--other than the river which flows beneath it!" He shuddered at the prophecy. "Bah! One rascal loses; another gains. Toémon loses twenty _ryo[u]_. From Iémon San ten _ryo[u]_ was the commission. Ito[u] Dono gave five _ryo[u]_ and asked no questions. The total to Cho[u]bei sums up thirty-five _ryo[u]_. For a year the affair of O'Iwa has fattened Cho[u]bei; with something still left." His foot struck a stone in the roadway. He looked up and around to find himself before the Genkwo[u]ji. About to enter on the maze of temple grounds and _yashiki_ separating him from the bridge his gaze fell on the stagnant squalid waters of the canal. It was in the dirty foulness of this North Warigesui that O'Iwa had disappeared. Cho[u]bei pulled up short. A dead cur, copper hued, with swollen germinating sides and grinning teeth, bobbed at him from the green slime. Cho[u]bei slewed round--"A vile ending; but after all an ending. Iémon profits; Cho[u]bei gets the scoldings. Ah! If it was not that Ito[u] Kwaiba is engaged in this affair; Tamiya should pay dearly. There is a double ration to share with Cho[u]bei--and not to be touched! Ito[u] Dono is no man to trifle with. There was that affair with Isuké; and now, as he says, Iémon is a very son to him." A memory seemed to touch Cho[u]bei. His pace became a crawl. "Why hasten? Cho[u]bei rushes to the fiend--that demon Taki. Cho[u]bei would rather face O'Iwa than Taki in a rage." He laughed--"The attenuated hands of a ghost and the thick fist of Taki, the choice is not uncertain. From the lady mild and merciful there is nothing to fear. Evidently she has settled matters once and for all in the Warigesui. But at the tenement--there it is another affair. This Cho[u]bei will fortify himself against the shock. A drink; then another, and still more. The scoldings will fall on a blunted mind wandering in some dreamland. Time will soothe her rage. To-morrow Cho[u]bei wakes, to find the storm has passed and Taki his obedient serving wench." Near the Adzumabashi, following his prescription against domestic enlivenment, he entered a grog shop; to turn his good coin into wine. The quarter at Hanagawado[u] in Asakusa was in an uproar. What had occurred was this--There was an old woman--"Baba" in the native parlance for Dame Gossip--a seller of the dried seaweed called _nori_ (sloke or laver), still called Asakusa _nori_, though even at that time gathered at Shinagawa, Omori, and more distant places. This old trot had returned, to make her last sales to the excellent metal dealer who lived opposite her own home in the _nagaya_, in which she lived next door to the Cho[u]bei, husband and wife. The tongue of the _doguya_ was still in full swing of the recital, not only of his own experiences, but of the revelations of O'Taki. He was only too willing for this twenty-first time to repeat the tale to the _nori_ seller, his good neighbour. The good wife and wives listened again with open mouths. The Baba was the most interested of them all. This choice morsel of gossip was to be gathered at the primal source, from the lips of O'Taki herself. She was all sympathy in her curiosity--ranging in the two cases of Cho[u]bei and wife on the one part, and the metal dealer and his insulted household on the other part. Away she stepped quickly from the assembly of ward gossips. At the door of Cho[u]bei's quarters she stopped--"Okamisan! Okamisan!... Strange: is she not at home? Is she so angered that no answer is given? However, this Baba fears no one.... Nesan! Nesan!" She passed the room entrance and went into the area. Glancing into the kitchen--"Oya! Oya! The meal is burnt to a crisp. It has become a soppy, disgusting mass. Nesan! Nesan! The rain falls, the roof window (_hikimado_) is open." She put down her empty tubs in order to play the good neighbour. The first thing was to close the window against the descending rain. Quickly and deftly she proceeded to wipe the moisture off the shining vessels, to put everything in order in O'Taki's usually immaculate kitchen. Women of this class are finicky housekeepers in their own homes. As the old wife became less engaged she began to hear strange sounds above. Some one was in conversation--and yet it was a one-sided queer kind of talk. The voice was threatening and wheedling. Then she heard a child cry. Surely O'Taki was in the upper room; and thus neglectful of her lord and household. The old Baba went to the foot of the ladder and listened. "Nesan! Nesan!" No answer came, beyond the curious droning monotone above, varied by an occasional wailing cry of the child. It seemed to be in pain. Resolute, the sturdy old Baba began to climb the steps. At the top she halted, to get breath and look into the room. The sight she witnessed froze the old woman in horror to where she stood. A woman was in the room. She knelt over the body of the child, which now and again writhed in the hard and cruel grasp. The queer monotonous voice went on--"Ah! To think you might grow up like your father. The wicked, unprincipled man! To sell the Ojo[u]san for a street whore, for her to spend her life in such vile servitude; she by whose kindness this household has lived. Many the visits in the past two years paid these humble rooms by the lady of Tamiya. To all her neighbours O'Taki has pointed out and bragged of the favour of the Ojo[u]san. The very clothing now on your wretched puny body came from her hands. While Cho[u]bei spent his gains in drink and paid women, Taki was nourished by the rice from Tamiya. When Taki lay in of this tiny body it was the Ojo[u]san who furnished aid, and saw that child and mother could live. Alas! That you should grow up to be like this villainous man is not to be endured.... Ah! An idea! To crunch your throat, to secure revenge and peace, security against the future." She bent down low over the child. Suddenly it gave a fearful scream, as does a child fallen into the fire. The Baba, helpless, could only feebly murmur--"Nesan! Nesan! O'Taki San! What are you about? Control yourself." She gave a frightened yowl as the creature began to spread far apart the child's limbs, and with quick rips of the sharp kitchen knife beside her dissevered and tore the little limbs from the quivering body. At the cry the woman turned half around and looked toward her. Jaws dripping red with blood, a broad white flat face with bulging brow, two tiny piercing dots flashing from amid the thick swollen eyelids, it was the face of O'Iwa glowering at her. "Kiya!" The scream resounded far and wide. Incontinently the old woman tumbled backward down the steep steps, to land below on head and buttocks. Some neighbours, people passing, came rushing in. A crowd began to gather. "Baba! Baba San! What is wrong?" She could not speak; only point upward and shudder as does one with heavy chills. As they moved toward the stair a roar went up from the crowd in the street. O'Taki had appeared at the window, her face smeared with blood and almost unrecognizable. She waved a limb of the dismembered infant. The crowd were frozen with horror. As some shouted to those within to hasten the woman brandished the bloody knife. Thrusting it deep into her throat she ripped and tore at the handle, spattering the incautious below with the blood spurting from the wound. Then she fell backward into the room. When the foremost to interfere rushed in they drew back in fear at what they saw. The child's head was half knawed from the body; its limbs lay scattered to this place and that. The body of O'Taki lay where she had fallen. It was as if the head had been gnawed from the trunk, but the head itself was missing. Search as they would, it was not to be found. Meanwhile the news of these happenings spread rapidly. In the next block it was shouted that the wife of the pimp Cho[u]bei had gone mad and killed and eaten five children. A block further the number had risen to twenty-five. At the guardhouse of the Adzumabashi she had killed and gnawed a hundred adults. These rumours were mingled with the strange tale of the old woman as to O'Iwa San. In time there were many who had witnessed the suicide of O'Taki, who were ready to swear they had seen the fearful lady of Tamiya. Cho[u]bei first learned of the affair by being dragged from the grog shop to the guardhouse of the Adzumabashi. Here he was put under arrest. Distressed and discomforted he stood before the ruin in his home, under the eyes of his neighbours. These stood loyally by him. As happens in ward affairs in Nippon the aspect of the affair not immediately on the surface was slow to reach official ears. Thus it was as to the Tamiya phase involved. Cho[u]bei had suffered much, and was in to suffer more. His fellow wardsmen were silent as to all but the actual facts needed for interpretation. The marvellous only filters out slowly. But they had their own way of dealing with him. The _kenshi_ (coroner) made his report. Examinations, fines, bribes, the funeral costs, reduced Cho[u]bei to his worst garment. With this after some weeks he was permitted to go free. The house owner had turned him out. The wardsmen had expelled him. Enough of Kazaguruma Cho[u]bei--for the present. CHAPTER XVI NEWS REACHES KWAIBA Kwaiba was hard at it, practising his favourite arts. His _saké_ cup stood before him, and from time to time he raised the bottle from the hot water, testing its temperature with skilled hand. He accompanied the action with a continual drone of a _gidayu_. Kwaiba by no means confined the art of _gidayu_ recitation to the heroic tales usually therewith associated. His present effort was one of the suggestive and obscene _ukarebushi_, quite as frequent and as well received in the _gidayu_ theme containing them. Kibei listened and applauded, with cynical amusement at the depravity of the impotent old man. Kwaiba had found an excellent bottle companion, and renewed his own former days in the "Quarter," with the fresher experiences retailed by Kibei. Said Kwaiba--"All has gone well. For half the year Kibei has been the son of Kwaiba. He has brought luck into the house." Kibei bowed respectfully. Continued the old man--"Iémon with his whore is fast destroying Tamiya by riot and drinking. Cho[u]zaémon is a fish in the net. The debt of ten _ryo[u]_ has doubled into twenty _ryo[u]_, which at any cost he must repay. Kwaiba will make him cut belly if he don't. And Tamiya! Old Tamiya; Matazaémon! O'Iwa is paying his debt to Kwaiba by becoming an outcast, perhaps a beggar somewhere on the highway. If she shows her face in the ward, seeking 'cash' to keep life in a wretched carcass, this Kwaiba will send her to the jail, to rot as vagrant. But what did become of her? Iémon has never spoken." Kibei shrugged his shoulders. "A close mouthed fellow; too wise to talk of himself. He would but say that Cho[u]bei took the affair in hand." Kwaiba threw up his hands in horror and merriment. Said he--"'Tis rumoured the fellow is a pimp. But surely he could not dispose of O'Iwa in his line. The very demons of the Hell of lust would refuse all intercourse with her." Just then Kakusuké presented himself. "Report to make to the Go Inkyo[u] Sama. Inagaki Dono sends his compliments to Ito[u] Sama. The papers of transfer are these; by the hand of Kakusuké." As he took the documents, said Kwaiba in answer to Kibei's inquiring look--"Your honoured parent has favoured this Kwaiba. The transfer is of farms in Kazusa for others in Shimosa. Thus all can be brought under one hand. A single _nanushi_ (bailiff) can manage the whole property in the two villages."--"But the office...," objected Kibei. He had the _samurai_ instinct against the slightest taint of failure in obligation. "Let Kibei San deign to follow in the footsteps of Kwaiba. The successor to the _nanushi_ recently deceased is a child. Kwaiba is in no haste to provide a substitute pending majority. The right will lapse, and at majority the boy can be found occupation elsewhere, to no small gain in the revenue. Out of sight, out of mind. Kwaiba's present manager is unsurpassed; so is the income he manages to gather." He looked around in some surprise, seeing that Kakusuké still maintained his position, although dismissed. Then noting him closely--"What has happened, Kakusuké? Your colour is bad. Too cordial entertainment by the _chu[u]gen_ of Inagaki Dono? Or has Kakusuké seen a ghost?" "Kakusuké has seen O'Iwa San; of Tamiya. Rather would he have seen a ghost; if indeed it was not a demon he saw." Kwaiba started--"O'Iwa! Where?"--"It was at the brothel of Toémon, chief of the night-hawks, at Yoshidacho[u] in Honjo[u]. Mobei the toilet dealer had suffered direfully at her hands. Meeting her unexpectedly, the fool let out all he knew of the happenings in the ward. In a rage she flew on him. 'To seven lives a curse on Iémon Dono, on Akiyama Sama, on Kondo[u] Sama.'"--He hesitated; then added--"on the Go Inkyo[u] Sama. Then in a straight line she flew off toward the canal. Did she drown herself? This Kakusuké could not ascertain. Going to the aid of Mobei, mauled and prostrate on the ground, the whole story was learned. Cho[u]bei had sold her for life to Toémon, to serve as a night-hawk." Ito[u] Kwaiba sat straight up. His idle braggart words of a few moments before came home to him. In Kibei he found no encouragement. After all Kibei was a _samurai_; harsh, but with the courage of his caste and profession. He spoke openly--"It was an outrageous deed. To sell a _samurai_ woman to such a life! It stinks. This comes of bringing in a low dog (_yaro[u]_) such as this Cho[u]bei. Did Iémon know of his intention?" He looked Kwaiba in the eye, but the latter met him squarely--"What Iémon knew or did not know, this Kwaiba knows not. But of this event he must know--and at once. Kakusuké, go in all haste to the house of Tamiya Sama. Kwaiba would consult with him." Kibei fidgetted and fumed. He walked up and down the room. Then abruptly--"Condescend to pardon the presence of Kibei. The honoured father having matters to discuss with the diviner--he finds no amusement in the counsellor." As he was withdrawing Iémon entered. Their greeting was cold to the extreme. Iémon knew that Kibei hated and despised him; as much as he, Iémon, hated and feared Kibei. Kwaiba called sharply to his genial son--"Pray be within call, if needed." He was glad to see the surly fellow's exit. In some things Kwaiba felt fear. The stiff courage of Kibei made him ashamed openly to air his weakness. He broke the news at once to Iémon. "Kakusuké has seen O'Iwa." Iémon looked at him curiously. Was Kwaiba frightened? Said the one-time priest--"What of that? She lives in Edo. A meeting with her is quite likely; at least for a man of the grade of Kakusuké." He smiled grimly--"But...," said Kwaiba. He plunged into the story of the _chu[u]gen_ in its full details. Iémon listened carefully. "Ah! She is likely to come here."--"Come here!" bellowed Kwaiba. "Just so," answered Iémon. "If she seeks vengeance on this Iémon, on Kwaiba, or the others, where else would she come than Yotsuya. We cannot run away." Kwaiba gasped at his coolness--"And Iémon Dono, does he open Tamiya to the presence of its ex-lady and mistress?"--"A beggar, an outcast, importuning Tamiya; the severed body will lie in the ditch, for the gatherers of offal to cast as food to the dogs on the moor. Fear enters, but--honoured chief, condescend to follow the example of Iémon." The round eyes in the round face of Kwaiba stood out. He leaned over and touched Iémon's sleeve. In astonishment Iémon noted the fright depicted in his face. The blustering old man at bottom was an arrant coward. Two knaves should understand each other--as did he and Cho[u]bei. He felt that he had been gulled during the whole of his intercourse with this old fool. He should have bluffed; and not been bluffed. Said Kwaiba in lowered voice--"Kakusuké could see nothing of her. She disappeared into the waters of Warigesui. Suppose O'Iwa appears as a ghost, to take vengeance on Kwaiba...." He straightened up in astonishment and some anger at the derisive smile playing over the face of Iémon. Indeed Iémon was more than amused. Not at the circumstances, but at finding at last this weak spot in the man who had dominated him. Conditions, however, controlled him. It was fact that the physical O'Iwa might appear--to the distress and discomfiture of all concerned. They must stand together. He spoke with severity--"Rich and afraid of ghosts! Has not Ito[u] Dono two spearmen when he goes abroad? When he has an interview with his lord does he tremble with fear? When the enemy in life, with all physical powers, is not feared; why fear a disembodied spirit deprived of all means of venting its wrath and spite? It is but the imagination which works havoc. None are more helpless than the dead. With them time and occasion has reached an end. If O'Iwa returns to Yotsuya, it will be in her own person. With O'Iwa, the beggar and night-hawk, our _Kumi-gashira_ knows how to deal."--"Then Iémon knew the lot dealt out to O'Iwa."--"At first hand; from Cho[u]bei himself. The lean knave has prospered by the affair. Iémon had no such desire to see him, as to secure his costly presence at the dinner so unfortunately witnessed by Mobei.... But deign to call for wine; drive out these vapours with wine. Honoured chief, condescend to play the host to Iémon." Iémon's manner was not wholly natural, as Kwaiba could have detected if more himself. He felt immensely relieved. A priest--surely he was one to know all about the nature of ghosts; was one to speak with authority. Iémon was hardly to be regarded as in ecclesiastical good odour. But Kwaiba was easily satisfied. He, too, roared--"Wine! Wine! Bring wine!" As by magic Kibei appeared at the welcome sound. He disliked Iémon, but he liked wine. The servants bustled around. The wine was heated--again and again. A feast of fish--with more wine--followed. It was late when Iémon left the house, the only sober member of the party. Of his hosts, one was maudlin, the other asleep. The ample resources of Tamiya, if not of benefit to his person, in these past two years had given him the chance to harden his head; and he had grasped it. Iémon by no means had all the confidence he displayed before Kwaiba. He was a priest, but environment influences everybody. There was a possibility--discountenanced by experience, but existing. As he walked slowly along Teramachi his thoughts strayed back into the past. "It was an ill bond between this Iémon and O'Iwa San. Without question she has drowned herself in the Warigesui. The body must be found and buried. Memorial services are to be recited, for one dying without relatives or friends (_segaki_)." The virtuous resolution was the outcome of his meditation and glances into the many graveyards passed in his progress through the temple-lined street. It was a beautiful street, with its overhanging trees, its open spaces populated by the many dead, its temples gorgeous in red and gilding amid the dark green of pine and cedar. Iémon on this night had to hasten his steps. Rain threatened. Gusts of wind came sharply from this side and that, driving the first drops of the coming storm. He reached home just as it broke with all its fury. To O'Hana he would say nothing of Kwaiba's mission. On her remarking on the lateness of the hour, he made answer that the old man was out of sorts. Kibei was too robust a bottle companion for a man reaching toward his seventieth year. No matter how vigorous, Kwaiba's wine was showing on him. The two prepared for bed. O'Hana listened as the rain dashed in streams against the _amado_, as if trying to break its way in. She gave a little chuckle--"Who would have thought it!"--"What?" asked Iémon, perhaps a little tartly. He was nervous. O'Hana laughed--"That Iémon and this Hana should be where they now are. Their parting was on a night like this. Ah! At seeing a man weep Hana could have retired into a cave--forever. Only the fortunate accident of a drunken _yakunin_ (constable) as guest enabled her to give warning.... And now! Once more united Iémon and this Hana live in luxury. Every wish is gratified. Thanks for the past which contained this meeting in its womb; thanks for the present in which happiness is secured: 'Losing one's way, again roads meet! The hill of flowers.'"[27] A terrific gust struck the rain-doors. They bent and cracked before the force of the gale. The vivid white of lightning showed that one door had been forced from its groove. Iémon rose and replaced it. As he turned away suddenly the room was plunged in darkness. Said the voice of O'Hana--"The light of the _andon_ has gone out. Oya! Oya! The lights in the Butsudan (altar) are lit. And yet this Hana extinguished them." Grumbled Iémon--"The wind has blown out the light in the _andon_. Doubtless a spark was left in the wick of the altar light. Fire is to be dreaded; great care should be taken in extinguishing the light." As he relit the light in the night lamp, O'Hana went up to the Butsudan to extinguish the lights there. She put her hand out to take one. A sharp scream, and she fell back in confusion and fright. "An _aodaisho[u]_ in the Butsudan! Help! Aid this Hana!" As she fled the snake with a thud fell on the _tatami_. Unrolling its six feet of length, it started in pursuit. Iémon stepped behind it and caught it by the tail. A sharp rap behind the head stunned it. It hung limp in his hand. "Hana, please open the _amado_."--"No, no: this Hana cannot; move she will not."--"Coward!" said Iémon. "Time comes when Hana, for generations in the future existence, will wander hill and dale in such form."--"Ara!" The woman was properly shocked at this speech, wicked and brutal as an imprecation. "Has the life of Hana been so foul as to deserve such punishment in a future life? Surely 'tis not the priest of Reigan who speaks; nor Iémon." She could only see his lips move as he stood at the _amado_. "Evil was the connection between O'Iwa and this Iémon. Wander not as one unburied, but becoming a Buddha at once enter Nirvana. Namu Myo[u]ho[u] Renge Kyo[u]! Namu Myo[u]ho[u] Renge Kyo[u]! Wonderful the Law, wondrous the Scripture of the Lotus!" With the invocation he cast the stunned reptile far out into the garden. Returning, he said--"The _aodaisho[u]_ is the most harmless of snakes. The farmers keep it to destroy the rats which infest house and store rooms. How can Hana be afraid of snakes, living in this _yashiki_ overgrown by weeds and grass, from roof to garden?" O'Hana did not reply in direct terms--"It is evil fortune to take a snake in the hand."--"Never mind such talk. It is the priest who speaks. This Iémon knows all about snakes. Go to sleep." She obeyed, knowing nothing about O'Iwa and the events of the day; yet her slumber was broken and restless. By morning she was in a high fever.[28] CHAPTER XVII NEWS FROM KWAIBA Kwaiba was reported as ill; very ill. His friends and dependents who had to pay visits of condolence, spoke of this illness with awe and terror. To understand what follows something must be said of the past of this man. The actor, drawing on the presumed knowledge of his audience as to the story in the gross, can pass this over with a speech or two; a horror-struck gesture and allusion. Not so the _ko[u]dan_ writer, who perforce must lay before his reader all the _minutiæ_ of the case. Ito[u] Kwaiba did not brag when he spoke of his beauty as a boy, his handsome figure as a young man. These had brought him wealth and position; gained, it was whispered, in vilest service to his lord. In these days he had in his employ a _chu[u]gen_ named Isuké, or as some say Kohei. Engaged before the mirror Kwaiba was applying the paint and powder which of late had become necessary adjuncts to fit him to appear before his lord. A gesture of pain and discomfiture, and then Kwaiba turned irritably toward his satellite. "Isuké, you are a clever fellow. Kwaiba has needed no aids to his looks--up to recent days. Now paint and powder, all the armoury of a woman, or paraphernalia of an actor, hardly avail to conceal the blotches which disfigure Kwaiba's face and body. The voice broken and husky, the lightning pains in limbs and joints, these violet patches--in such state it soon will be impossible to act as attendant on his lordship's household service, as _kami-yakunin_. What disorder eats into the life and happiness of Kwaiba?" For a time Isuké made no answer, beyond a bow at his master's acknowledgment of his cleverness, and in which he heartily concurred. He seemed engaged in a close contemplation of the end of his nose. "Hei! Hei!" It was all that Kwaiba could get out of him for the moment. Then noting the growing anger Isuké began with--"Condescend beforehand to pardon this Isuké. Though the anger of the Wakadono (young lord) is hard to bear, yet a faithful servitor should speak. Deign to step this way." He conducted Kwaiba to one of those small retired rooms, opening on an inner garden and common to every properly built house of any size in Nippon. He closed the few rain-doors, shutting out the light. Then fetching a piece of camphor, he set fire to it. When the thick yellow light flared strongly he took up a hand-mirror and passed it to Kwaiba. Kwaiba was frightened at what he saw. His face was dark as that of a peasant of Satsuma. Said Isuké--"The darkness is shown up by the light of the burning camphor. The colour is due to the poison circulating between the body and the outer skin. The white sunlight does not show up this symptom. But there is another test." Lighting a candle, he took a long steel _kanzashi_ needle and heated it to redness. Holding the cold end by his head towel he grasped the arm of Kwaiba. The latter drew back, afraid. "Nay, it will give no pain," said Isuké. He thrust the hot length of the needle several inches under the skin. As far as Kwaiba was concerned he might as well have thrust it into the straw matting (_tatami_) at his feet. Isuké withdrew the needle and carefully pressed the arm. A brownish liquor oozed out; not blood. "The Danna has a nose--as yet." Kwaiba hastily applied his arm to that member. He turned his face to one side in disgust and horror--"Is this Kwaiba already dead and rotten? In such condition all is lost. Duty no longer can be performed. Service and income cease together. Isuké, there remains naught but to get out the mats. Kwaiba will cut belly." Isuké examined him carefully and quizzically. Satisfied with his inspection, he said--"Deign to have confidence in Isuké. In former days he was not Isuké the _chu[u]gen_. Son of a doctor of the Dutch practice at Nagasaki; gambling, wine, women have reduced Isuké to the state of a servant. Family and friends long since have discarded and cast him out. The severance of relations between parent and child was formal. Isuké owes naught of service or duty to any but his master Kwaiba. Here is his refuge. Deign to give Isuké three silver _ryo[u]_. The disease is curable. Trust the matter to Isuké. _Soppin_ (mercury) duly applied will remove the poison, and with it all the disastrous symptoms. The two hundred and thirty _tawara_ of income are enjoyed by the Wakadono. Service can be performed; and Isuké preserves such a good master." Flattered and frightened Kwaiba at once handed over the money. Isuké disappeared to secure the drug necessary to the "Dutch practice." Baths and potions, potions and baths, followed in due course. The promises of Isuké were fulfilled. The fearful symptoms gradually were alleviated. In the course of six months Kwaiba was himself again; his position was assured to him. He heaved double sighs--of relief from the nightmare which had pursued him; of anxiety at the nightmare substituted for it. Kwaiba was a rake and a gambler. So was Isuké. The two hundred and thirty _tawara_ of income was saved to Kwaiba--and Isuké. Not long after the cure was thus assured Isuké disappeared. Kwaiba sighed gently, with relief at the departure of one who knew too much of his affairs, and with a scared feeling on losing the only "doctor" in whom he had confidence. "These fellows come and go, like leaves on a tree. Isuké has grown tired, and deserted. Some day he may return. This Kwaiba is a good master." Isuké did return--in the form of a note from the Yoshiwara. Twenty _ryo[u]_ were needed to pay his debts to pleasure and gambling. Severely reprimanded, Isuké opened his eyes in astonishment. "Respectfully heard and understood: has the income been reduced? But that does not affect the share of Isuké. He keeps well within his limit." This was the first intimation Kwaiba had of Isuké's views as to his rôle of physician. In those days the doctor usually had the pleasure of performance, not of payment. Moreover with the great--like Kwaiba--performance was carried out at a distance; the pulse felt by the vibration of a string attached to the wrist, or at best by passing the hand under the coverlet. For a time Kwaiba's strange medical attendant devoted himself to his more prosaic duties of _chu[u]gen_. Within ten days his master ransomed him from a resort in Shinagawa; price, ten _ryo[u]_. A few weeks later he was heard from at a gambler's resort in Shinjuku. The note was peremptory--and for fifty _ryo[u]_. Kwaiba lost all patience. Moreover, just then he held office very favourable for bringing this matter to an issue. But he must have Isuké; and have him in Yotsuya. As usual payment secured the presence of a repentant Isuké, full of promises of amendment. Kwaiba smiled, used soft words; and shortly after Isuké was confined to the jail on a trumped up charge of theft from another _chu[u]gen_. Kwaiba, then acting as magistrate for the district, had full power. On notification he assured Isuké of a speedy release. This the unhappy man secured through a poisoned meal, following a long fast. He died raving, and cursing his master. No one heard him but his two jailers, who considered him crazy--this man of bad record. Years had passed, but Isuké merely lay dormant in the mind of Kwaiba. Then came up the affair of Tamiya--the threatening curse of O'Iwa San. Iémon's counsel lasted but over night. With soberness and morning Kwaiba straightway showed the results of wrecked nerves and distorted imagination. Sleepless nights he now visited on his friends by an increasing irritability. The first few days of this state of Kwaiba were laughable. He spoke of O'Iwa San; not freely, rather with reticence. He made his references as of jesting expectation of her advent. Then he passed to boisterous tricks; springing out on the maids from dark corners or the turns in the corridors. Alarmed by these manifestations of the old man--not entirely strange, for he was a terror to the female element in his household--they soon noted that there was an unnatural wildness in his amusement at their discomfiture. Now he would talk of nothing but O'Iwa. From this hysterical mirth he passed to an hysterical fear. Afraid of visions of the Lady of Tamiya he stayed awake at night. To be alone appalled him. He would have others keep awake with him. He was now at the gibbering stage. "Night in the house of Kwaiba is to be turned into day. The day shall be the time for sleep. Lights! Lights! More lights!" He sat surrounded by his household, until the white light of dawn filtered through the spaces above the rain-doors. One of his women, her hair down for washing, met him unexpectedly in the corridor. With a howl of terror he started to flee. Then recognizing her, he flew on her and beat her almost to a jelly in his insane rage. People began to talk of the eccentricities of Ito[u] Kwaiba--the honoured ward head. Barely three weeks after Iémon's visit a violent scene occurred in the mansion of the _Kumi-gashira_. Shouts and screams, the smashing of screens and sounds of a terrific struggle were heard in Kwaiba's room. Kibei, who with the men preferred night for sleep, rushed in. He found the old man standing, stark naked and alone. His attendants had fled--to a woman. His pillow sword drawn, Kwaiba was dancing to this side and that. "Isuké! O'Iwa! Pardon! This Kwaiba is a wicked fellow! Isuké was poisoned by Kwaiba. O'Iwa San? Kwaiba sold her for a street whore. For seven lives they pursue him. Ah! A merry chase! But Kwaiba deals not with night-hawks. His game is higher. Away with the huzzy!" He had grasped in both hands the flower vase standing in the alcove (_tokonoma_). Kibei dodged, and catching him by a wrestler's hold, threw him to the ground. Kakusuké, just entering, was knocked flat by the heavy missile. Groaning, he rose, and with other servants came to the aid of the Wakadono. Kwaiba was overpowered and guarded during the remainder of the night. With daylight he knew nothing of what had occurred; at least he made no reference to it, no response to the talk of others. His fear was now full on him. He babbled of nothing but Isuké and O'Iwa San. Now he was incapacitated, downright ill. There was no more turning of day into night, and _vice versa_. He was in the hands of his nurses. But to humour him Kibei marshalled the women. Their beds were made encircling that of Kwaiba in the midst. Kibei and Kakusuké were present. Thus they lay in this room brilliant with its scores of lanterns, its wax lights blazing on the lamp-stands. At the sides and in each corner were placed the scrolls of the holy _sutra_. Kwaiba in despair sought a sleep which would not favour him. "Some one walks in the corridor.... Namu Amida Butsu! Namu Amida Butsu!... Kibei! Kibei!" The appeal to the man would bring quicker response than that to the Buddha. Indeed there was a sound, as of hair rubbing across the paper screens, of some one or something trying to peer through the opaque material. There was a rattle and dash of rain. A gust swept through the corridor, the _sho[u]ji_ slightly parted. Kwaiba gave a shriek--"O'Iwa! O'Iwa San! Ah! The bloated face, the drooping eyelid, the corpse taint in the air. It catches Kwaiba's throat. O'Iwa the O'Baké would force away Kwaiba the living. Ha! Ha!" A stronger gust, and the _sho[u]ji_ dislodged from its groove whirled round and fell noisily into the room. Terror gave strength to the sick man. Kwaiba sprang madly forward. It was horrible to see the ghastly renovation of this tottering, flabby, emaciated man, who yet inspired the fear of a maniac's reckless strength. The frightened women huddled and crouched in the now darkened room, lit but by a single _andon_ near the alcove. Was Kwaiba mad? As the men fought over the ruins of the _sho[u]ji_, in the darkness of the corridor, at first faint as a mist, then distinctly seen, the women were assured of the presence of O'Iwa. In long black robe, face wide and bloated, of a livid greenish tint, hair in wild disorder, bulging forehead, swollen eyeless lids, she stood over the struggling men. Suddenly she thrust the severed head she carried into the face of Kwaiba, leering horribly at him the while. With a yell he fell flat on his back. The braver entered with lights. All gathered round the unconscious Kwaiba. This scene was the crisis of his disorder. The disease, once dormant, now fell on him suddenly and with full force. Perhaps these mental symptoms were its first indication. More annoying to his comfort, ulcers broke out all over his body. The itching drove the man nearly frantic. His mad scratching spread the sores. The boils developed. They ran with pus. So terrible was the stench that few would stay by him. The women fled the room in terror, driven away by the running stream of physical corruption, the continual babble of lewdness from the corrupt mind. He soon noted their absence. Kibei, attended by the sturdy and faithful Kakusuké, remained to nurse him. Suddenly said Kwaiba--"O'Hana, the harlot of Reigan; this Kwaiba would have talk and dalliance with her. Summon her hither. Let wine and the _samisen_ be brought, a feast prepared. O'Hana! O'Hana!" He raved so for the woman that Kibei thought her presence would quiet him. A request was sent to the house of Iémon. Wishing her to know nothing of the affair of O'Iwa, Iémon had kept silence. He would have refused the mission--on the pretext of a quarrel with Kwaiba and Kibei. O'Hana showed herself unexpectedly obstinate--"It is to the favour of Kwaiba Sama that Iémon owes this Hana. She has a duty to the past, as well as to the present." With a snarl she turned on him, glowering. Iémon shrank back. He passed his hand across the eyes into which O'Iwa had just looked. He no longer opposed her going. O'Hana was still weak from repeated attacks of the fever which had visited her ever since the night Iémon had cast forth the _aodaisho[u]_. She said that the snake had bitten her. It was the poison, not fever, working in her. Iémon had laughed at her proposal to try the exorcisms of the priest. Behind the irritation aroused by his scepticism was that peculiar clinging of a woman to an old lover, to a man with whom she had been intimate. In the heart of O'Hana there still remained a strong leaning to the man who had removed her from the rapid and nauseating life of the Fukagawa brothel, which cast her into the arms of anyone who paid the price and raised his finger. With time and the old conditions probably she would have been as unfaithful to Iémon as she had been to Kwaiba. The latter showing his desire, she would have answered his call. Even before this disease-eaten swollen mass of dropsy, she showed but temporary repugnance. Leaning over him, almost overcome by the stench, with endearing terms she strove to rouse him to consciousness and recognition of her. It seemed fearful to have him die without the word of parting. Kibei aided her by raising the old man. The result was a horrible frightened stare in eyes made large by fever and delirium. Long he gazed at her. Said the woman--"'Tis Hana; Hana once the intimate of Kwaiba. Deign to take courage. This is but a passing affliction. With Hana as nurse recovery to health is assured." She laid her hands on his shoulders. In so doing her hair, come loose, fell down around her wan face. Kwaiba was as galvanized. With a howl the old man pushed her violently away. "Scrawny wench! What impudence to show your face here! Ah! To the last moment, waking and in dreams, she pursues this Kwaiba. I sold you. 'Tis true--I sold you for a night-hawk--to Toémon of Honjo[u]. Does Kwaiba consort with wenches of such ilk?" Raising his fist he dealt her blow after blow, all the time shouting--"O'Iwa! O'Iwa! The O'Baké solicits Kwaiba. Broken loose from Hell and the waters of Warigesui she would force away Kwaiba. Help! Help! Aid for Kwaiba! Away with the O'Baké!" The old man again had broken into his mad fit. The shouts of Kibei brought Kakusuké. Kwaiba's hands were detached from the masses of O'Hana's hair. The wounds on her face were not so deep as those inflicted on her mind. At last the secret was out. In bare feet she fled along the muddy street toward the Samoncho[u] house. It was true that the vileness of the disease, the vileness of Kwaiba's tongue, had driven the women from attendance in the sick room to the remotest quarters of the house. But there was a deterrent even to their now limited service. All said the place where Kwaiba lay was haunted. Under press of necessity a maid had brought needed medicaments to the sick man's room. Putting down the light she carried on the _ro[u]ka_, she pushed open the _sho[u]ji_ to enter the outer chamber. Her robe caught as she did so. Turning to release it she gave a fearful shriek. Standing in the corridor, at the open screen behind her, were two tall figures robed in black. With dishevelled hair, broad white flat faces, bulging brows, eyelids swollen and sightless, yet they gazed through and through the onlooker and into the farther room. One creature, even more hideous with drooping lid and baldness extending far back, half moved, half fell toward the frightened maid. The woman's screams now were mingled with wild laughter. Kibei came rushing out, sword drawn, to find her in a fit of mad hysterics. Catching the drift of her broken phrases he went out on the _ro[u]ka_. There was no one there. _Haori_ and _kimono_, hung up there to dry, rustled and moved a little in the draft. Had these frightened the woman? Kakusuké carried her back to her companions. Henceforth no one would enter that part of the building occupied by the sick man. Kibei as son, Kakusuké the old and faithful attendant, were isolated in their nursing. Kibei noted the sick man's face. "Father, why the forehead so wrinkled? Is pain condescended?" Said Kwaiba--"'Tis the rats; they gnaw and worry at Kwaiba."--"Rats?" replied Kibei in some astonishment. He looked around. The _sho[u]ji_ were tight closed. Kwaiba noted the inspection. He shook his head, and pointed to the _rama-sho[u]ji_, the ornamental open work near the ceiling. This could not be obviated. "Auntie (Obasan) is old and deaf. She sleeps; while rats, attracted by the foul sores of the scrofulous child, enter and attack the infant in its cradle. The child gets thinner and weaker every day; then dies. A terrible creature is the rat." So much for the opinion of Nippon. Kibei had brought a mosquito net. Its edges were weighted down with heavy stones. Thus the watchers could not be taken by surprise. Under its protection the sick man was saved from annoyance. Said Kibei--"This illness is most tedious. Could not Kibei go to the Yoshiwara for a space? The letters of the Kashiku (_oiran_) accumulate. Kibei has nothing to give, and has given no explanation for not giving. What thinks Kakusuké?" Kakusuké was brave. Moreover he knew the Wakadono was brave. The prospect, however, of facing his old master in a crazy fit--and perhaps O'Iwa--had no attraction. He gave his advice--"The Go Inkyo[u] Sama is in a very precarious state. He is now very weak. The worst may happen at any moment. For the Wakadono to be taking his pleasure at the Yoshiwara would arouse criticism in the ward; nay, even more than criticism. It would be held unfilial. Deign to reconsider the purpose." Kibei looked sourly at the swollen corruption which represented Kwaiba--"How does he hold on! His strength must be great." Kakusuké shrugged his shoulders--"The Go Inkyo[u] Sama will not die easily. He has much to go through yet."--"In the name of all the _kami_ and Buddhas, how has he come to such an end? He is a sight to inspire fear--in those who can feel such." Replied Kakusuké with sly look--"The Go Inkyo[u] Sama has lived high, and loved beyond measure. The Wakadono does well to reconsider his purpose." The night was passing. The two men, worn out by the continued watching and nursing, after vain struggle to keep awake had gone to sleep. Kakusuké was in the room with Kwaiba. In his slumber Kibei was back in the fencing room. The clash of the wooden swords (_bokken_), the cries of the contestants, rang clear in his ears. He woke to find rain and storm shaking and tearing at the _amado_. But it was the shouts of Kakusuké, standing at the _sho[u]ji_, which had aroused him--"Danna Sama! Danna Sama! Wakadono! At once! At once! Deign to hasten!" Kibei rushed into the next room. In fright Kakusuké pointed to the mosquito net. A figure stood upright within it, swaying, gesticulating, struggling. It was a figure all black and horrible. "Un! Un!" grunted Kwaiba. He was answered by a mincing, gnawing sound. "Father! Have courage! Kibei is here." He rushed at the heavy stones, to toss them to one side and enter the net. The swaying figure within suddenly toppled over in a heap. With his sword Kibei tore and severed the cording of the net. The black mass of rats scattered to the eight directions of space. On approaching Kwaiba a terrible sight met the eye. Eyes, ears, nose, chin, toes and fingers had been torn and eaten off. The lips were gnawed away and exposed to view the grinning teeth. A feeble groan--and Kwaiba had met his end. Neither Kibei nor Kakusuké dared to touch the foul body. In their panic the two men looked in each other's faces. "Namu Amida Butsu! Holy the Lord Buddha, Amida!" prayed Kibei, on his knees before the corpse. "Namu Amida Butsu!" answered Kakusuké.[29] CHAPTER XVIII IN THE SHADOW OF THE GO-INKYO[U] Said a neighbour next day, on meeting his fellow-gossip--"Ah! Is it Goémon San? It is said the Go Inkyo[u] is to be congratulated." Kamimura Goémon sniffed. He was a long man; with long face, long nose, long thin arms, long thin legs; a malicious man, who longed to give advice to his fellows which they much disliked to hear, and liked to see them writhe under the infliction. In fact this epitome of length rarely spoke in good faith or temper--"The Go Inkyo[u] is to be congratulated? Escaping the troubles of this world, perhaps he has fallen into worse troubles in the next." At this unorthodox reply Mizoguchi Hambei showed surprise. Continued Goémon--"The Go Inkyo[u] died a leper, eaten by the rats. Such an end hardly calls for congratulations." Mizoguchi gasped, with round eyes and round face. "Extraordinary!"--"Not at all," replied Kamimura, complacently tapping the palm of one hand with the elongated fingers of the other. "The Go Inkyo[u] drove out O'Iwa San from Tamiya. He gave O'Hana in her stead to Iémon as wife. Hana the harlot! Cursed by O'Iwa in dying, he has met this frightful end. Akiyama, Natsumé, Imaizumi will surely follow. As will all those involved in the affair."--"But is O'Iwa San really the cause of the death? The Go Inkyo[u] in life was not the most careful of men in conserving health." This was timidly interjected by a third party. Kamimura suppressed him with a scowl--"Of course it is O'Iwa San. Has she not been seen? The women of the house answer for it. Only Kibei the sceptic, and Kakusuké who would face the devil in person, attempt to deny it." He threw up a hand. With unction--"Ah! It inspires fear. Small is the profit of wickedness and malice. He is a fool who indulges in either.... How cold it is for the time of year!" Said the interloper--"But the congratulations have to be rendered all the same. It will be necessary to attend the all-night watch. How vexatious! Perhaps O'Iwa San will not appear. There is no getting out of it?"--"Certainly not," answered Kamimura. "The Go Inkyo[u] was the head of the ward association. Twelve neighbours have been invited to the watch. At dawn the body is to be prepared. A pleasant undertaking, if all that is said be true! The viands will be of the best, the wine no worse and plentiful. None must fail to attend." He smacked his lips. The others likewise, but much less heartily. It was an unwilling band which crawled in laggard procession through rain and mud and the length of the Teramachi to Kwaiba's house. A _do[u]shin_, the ward chief, a rich man, the mansion displayed all its splendour. The atmosphere, however, was oppressive. Kibei greeted the guests with heartiness, and accepted their condolence and gifts with lavish thanks and the cheerful face of him that profiteth by the funeral. Kakusuké was his main aid in connection with the Go Inkyo[u]'s last appearance. Occasionally a timid white-faced woman was seen, but she would flit away from the scene of these festivities, to seek the companionship of her panic-stricken fellows. Entering the funereal chamber the body was found, laid out and decently swathed so as to cover, as far as possible, the horrible nature of the death. On a white wood stand was the _ihai_ in white wood, a virtuous lie as to the qualities of the deceased. It ran--Tentoku Gishin Jisho[u] Daishi. Which can be interpreted--"A man of brilliant virtues, virtuous heart, and benevolent temperament." Screens, upside down, were placed at the head: "Alas! The screen: the carp descends the fall."[30] Akiyama, Natsumé, Imaizumi, were the last to appear. The former had been composing a violent quarrel between his two friends--the long and the fat. Much recrimination had passed, and the usually peaceful Imaizumi was in a most violent and truculent humour. He glared with hate on Natsumé, who now aided Akiyama in efforts to soothe his anger. On entering the assembly the looks of all were composed. "A retribution for deeds in the past world. Old; but so vigorous! The offering is a mere trifle. This Kyuzo[u] would burn a stick of incense." Kibei extended his thanks and suppressed his smile as much as possible. He was breathing with full lungs for the first time in weeks. The storm was over; happiness was ahead; the clouded sky was all serene. "Thanks are felt. This Kibei is most fortunate: nay, grateful. Such kindness is not to be forgotten during life."--"The Inkyo[u] an _hotoké_; Iémon Dono and O'Hana are the husband and wife not present?" The question came from some one in the room. "O'Hana San is very ill. Her state is serious. Iémon does not leave her." Akiyama answered for the truant pair. Kibei's joy was complete. Akiyama, Natsumé, Imaizumi were standing by Kwaiba's body. Kamimura slowly approached. The long man's face was longer than ever; longer, much longer than that of Natsumé; and Kibei was not in the running. Goémon meditatively fondled his nose; on the pretence of concentrating thought, and for the purpose of relieving that member from the savour arising from Kwaiba's bier. This was no bed of roses--"Yes, the Inkyo[u] is indeed dead." He sniffed. "Soon it will be the turn of all of you--to be like this;" another sniff--"of Iémon and O'Hana, of Natsumé and Imaizumi, of this Akiyama San." The latter gave a violent start. With hand to his nose also, he turned on the intruder. Continued Goémon--"A plot was concocted against O'Iwa San. Beggared and driven from the ward, deceived and sold as a street harlot, this death of the Inkyo[u] is but the first in the roll of her vengeance. Kamimura speaks with pure heart and without malice. You men are not long for this world. Is Akiyama San reconciled? And...." He pointed a skinny finger at Kyuzo[u], then at Jinzaémon. "You show it. Your eyes are hollow; your nostrils are fallen in. The colour of the face is livid. You seem already to be _hotoké_, prepared to lie with the Go Inkyo[u]." Akiyama found his tongue. He burst out in a rage--"The jest is unseemly. Kamimura San goes too far. It is true this Cho[u]zaémon gave counsel to Ito[u] Kwaiba. Kyuzo[u] and Jinzaémon took some part in what followed. But we acted on the orders of Ito[u] Dono, of Iémon San. On the first will be visited any grudge." Goémon laughed harshly. He pointed to the corpse. "Here he lies. How did he die? Goémon does not jest, and the argument of Akiyama San is rotten. The master bids the servants to beat the snow from the bushes. The snow falls on them; not on him. How now Akiyama San?" Cho[u]zaémon turned away discomfited. All three felt very bad--in mind and body. The bell of Sainenji struck the eighth hour (1 A.M.). Just opposite, its clangour filled the whole mansion with a ghostly sound. In the depths of night this inert mass of metal seemed a thing of life, casting its influence into the lives of those present, rousing them to face grave issues. Noting the absence of Natsumé, the round-faced, round-eyed, round-bodied Imaizumi followed after. Kibei came forth from the supper room, to find his guests all flown. "Where have they gone to, Kakusuké?" He looked around in amazement--"They were taken with pains in the belly. With this excuse they departed. Yotsuya is afflicted with a flux." The _chu[u]gen_ answered in the dry and certain tone of one unconvinced. Kibei shrugged his shoulders. "There is naught wrong with wine or viands?"--"Nor with the guests," replied Kakusuké. "They are cowards, who have caught some inkling as to the not over-nice death of the Go Inkyo[u]."--"The latter day _bushi_ are not what the _bushi_ were of old; at least this brand of them. Ah! These wretched little bureaucrats; _bushi_ of the pen. Two men to eat a supper prepared for twelve sturdy trenchers. Well: two are enough to wash the corpse. Lend a hand Kakusuké."--"Respectfully heard and obeyed," replied the _chu[u]gen_. The white dress for the last cover to the body was laid ready. Secured by Kwaiba many years before in a pilgrimage to the holy Ko[u]yasan, the sacred characters were woven into its tissue. Kakusuké dragged a large tub into the bathroom. Kwaiba's body was unswathed and placed in it. Kakusuké eyed his late master with critical and unfavourable eye. "Naruhodo! The Go Inkyo[u] is a strange object. No eyes: nose, ears, lips gone; his expression is not a pleasant one.... Nay! The Wakadono is awkward. Throw the water from head to feet.... Take care! Don't throw it over Kakusuké. He at least is yet alive. The Wakadono is wasteful. More is needed. Deign to wait a moment. Kakusuké draws it from the well." He opened the side door and went outside. Kibei drew a little apart from the body. It stank. A noise at the sliding window (_hikimado_) in the roof made him look up. Oya! Oya! The face of O'Iwa filled the aperture--round, white, flat; with puffed eyelids and a sightless glare. With a cry of horror and surprise Kibei sprang to the door. As he did so slender attenuated hands groped downward. "Kakusuké! Kakusuké!"--"What is it, Wakadono?"--"O'Iwa: she looks down through the _hikimado_! She seeks the Inkyo[u]!" Kakusuké gave a look upward--"Bah! It's the cat. Is the Wakadono, too, getting nerves? They are a poor investment."--"The cat!" Kibei sighed with relief. Nevertheless he kept his hand on his sword. He turned round--to give a shout of surprise--"Kakusuké! Kakusuké! The body of the Go Inkyo[u] is no longer here." As the astonished _chu[u]gen_ came running to look into the empty tub, both men nearly fell over in their wonder. The body of the Inkyo[u] was whirling around the neighbouring room in execution of a mad dance. Followed by Kakusuké, his worthy son and heir sprang in pursuit. Invisible hands led Kwaiba and the pursuers into the darkness of the garden, into the rain and storm. Kibei heard the steps just in front of him. He pursued madly after them. "To lose his parent's body--this was against all rules of Bushido[u]." Thus comments the scribe of Nippon. Kibei could commit all the moral and physical atrocities except--failure in filial conduct to parent and lord; the unpardonable sins of the Scripture of Bushido[u]. Kakusuké soon lost his master in the darkness. Disconcerted and anxious he returned to secure a lantern. The wind promptly blew it out; then another, and a third. He stood on the _ro[u]ka_ in the darkness to wait the return of the Wakadono. For the first time Kakusuké had noted failing purpose in his young master. He was more solicitous over this than over the strange disappearance of the Inkyo[u]'s body. Was the Wakadono losing his nerve; as had the O'Dono? In time Kibei reappeared. To Kakusuké's inquiring glance--"Kibei pursued to Myo[u]gyo[u]ji; then up the hill. Here sight was lost of the Inkyo[u]. The darkness prevented further search. A lantern is next to worthless in this gale. Kakusuké, go to the houses of Natsumé and Imaizumi close by. They are young and will aid Kibei in the search." Kakusuké did not demur. Pulling his cape over his head, off he posted. He asked but to come across the Inkyo[u]'s body, in O'Iwa's company or not made no difference to this iron-hearted servitor. His mission was fruitless. The two men had expressed the intention of spending the night at the Kwaiba wake. Neither had as yet returned. Grumbled Kibei--"The filthy fellows! With this excuse to their wives they seek new pastures at Nakacho[u] (Shinjuku), to spend the night in dissipation. 'Tis Natsumé who is the lecher. Gladly would he wean Imaizumi from his barely wed wife."--"Or wean the wife from Imaizumi Sama! Wakadono, nothing can be done now. The dawn should be awaited." With these sage comments the _chu[u]gen_ squatted at respectful distance from his master. From time to time one or other arose, to look sceptically into the empty tub in which once had reposed the Inkyo[u]'s body. Finally both nodded off into sleep. At dawn--don, don, don, don, came a loud knocking on the outer gate. Kakusuké went out, to return with astonished face and portentous news. The dead bodies of Natsumé Kyuzo[u] and Imaizumi Jinzaémon had been found at the foot of the _baké-icho[u]_, a huge tree close by the guardhouse. Finger tip to finger tip three men could not girdle this tree. With the bodies of the men lay that of a woman. Two corpses, man and woman, were stark naked. Kibei's presence, as the successor to Kwaiba's office, was required. He prepared at once to start for the Okido[u]. The tale was in time learned from the prolix Kamimura Goémon, who had witnessed part at least of the scene. As he was knocking at his door on the Shinjuku road, having just returned late from the watch at Kwaiba's house, rapid steps were heard in the street. A man, recognized as Kyuzo[u], passed, running at top speed. He dragged along by the hand a woman, the wife of Imaizumi. The two were nearly naked. Close in the rear pursued Imaizumi Jinzaémon, his drawn sword in his hand. They sped up the wide road. Goémon stepped out, to follow at a distance this flight and pursuit. At the _icho[u]_ tree the fugitives were overtaken. The woman was the first to be cut down. Kyuzo[u] turned to grapple with the assailant. Unarmed his fate soon overtook him. He fell severed from shoulder to pap. Having finished his victims Imaizumi seated himself at the foot of the tree, and cut open his belly. "Long had such outcome been expected," intoned the long-nosed man. The case needed no explanation. Others echoed the opinion of Goémon, who was merely many fathoms deeper in the scandal of the neighbourhood than most of them. It was agreed to hush the matter up. Reporting his own experience, to the astonishment of his hearers, Kibei, accompanied by Kakusuké, started down Teramachi toward Samégabashi. As they passed the Gwansho[u]ji attention was drawn by a pack of dogs, fighting and quarrelling in the temple cemetery. A white object lay in the midst. With a shout the men sprang in. Tearing up a grave stick Kibei rushed into the pack, driving off the animals. There lay the body of Ito[u] Kwaiba, brought hither by the hands of O'Iwa to be torn and mangled by the teeth of the brutes. Thus was it that the funerals of Ito[u] Kwaiba, Natsumé Kyuzo[u], and Imaizumi Jinzaémon took place in one cortége on the same day and at the same time. The postponement in the first instance--was it providential? CHAPTER XIX TAMIYA YOÉMON: WITH NEWS OF KONDO[U] ROKURO[U]BEI AND MYO[U]ZEN THE PRIEST Tamiya Yoémon was stumbling home in all haste from the funeral of Ito[u] Kwaiba. He was full of news for the wife, O'Kamé. The neighbours could talk of nothing but the strange happenings in the ward, and details lost nothing in the telling; perhaps gained somewhat by the process. Most edifying was the reported conduct of the wife of the late Natsumé Kyuzo[u], the observed of all observers at the funeral, the object of that solicitous congratulation which embodies the secret sigh of relief of friends, neighbours, and relatives at the removal of a prospective burden. Natsumé had left behind him a wife, an old mother, an infant child, and huge liabilities. To administer this legacy--and perhaps to get rid of her mother-in-law--the wife had promptly and tearfully sacrificed her status, and sold herself for a term of years to the master of the Sagamiya, a pleasure house at Shinagawa post town. The sum paid--one hundred _ryo[u]_--relieved the immediate future. The neighbours derided the ignorance of the Sagamiya in accepting the uncertain bail of Akiyama Cho[u]zaémon. If the lady behaved badly, small satisfaction was to be obtained of her security. "Ignorance is bliss." Let the Sagamiya bask in both and the beauty of the prize. Meanwhile their concern and admiration were for the lady destined to this post town of the crowded To[u]kaido[u], the stopping place of high and low, noble and riff-raff, entering Edo town. Of the inmates of the pleasure quarters, the harlots of Shinagawa, Shinjuku, Itabashi, were held in lowest esteem. Arrived at his door Yoémon stopped short in surprise and alarm. To his loud call of "Wife! Wife!" answer there was none. Looking within he could barely distinguish objects through the thick smoke which filled the house. The last thing the Nipponese would do under such conditions, would be to throw open doors and panels. This would convert the place at once to a blazing conflagration. Where was the fire getting its start? Choking and spluttering Yoémon groped his way through the rooms into the rear. Wherever the fire was, it was not in the living rooms. The smoke was accentuated on reaching the kitchen. Here was a smell of burning rice, of Yoémon's dinner gradually carbonizing under the influence of an element other than the juices of his round stomach. Looking into the room, through the thickened haze he saw the flame of the fire brightening. O'Kamé the wife could be made out, on her knees before the portable furnace. She was blowing a mass of slivers and brushwood into flame by the aid of a bamboo pipe. It was this stuff, green and partly wet, which gave out the choking acrid smoke. Yoémon was angered beyond measure at the sight of his ruined meal and expectations. "Kamé! Kamé! What are you doing? Have you gone mad? Ma! Ma! The dinner is being ruined. You are ill. Kamé's head whirls with head-ache. Yoémon will act as cook. Go to bed--at once." At his peremptory speech the wife looked up into the face of the husband standing over her. She scowled at him in a way to cause fear. "Not a _sho[u]_ of rice; not a _mon_. Yoémon would give freely to a beggar, rather than confer a 'cash' on Iwa. Yoémon sells me as a street harlot." He started back in fright before the snarling distorted visage. The wife sprang to her feet. Pash! On his devoted head descended the hot iron pan with its content of stew. "Ah! Kamé is mad--clean daft." With a wild laugh she seized the pot full of boiling rice and began to pour it into the drain. When he tried to stop her, he received the mess full in his bosom--"Mad? Not at all. This Kamé never felt in better spirits. When grass grows in Samoncho[u] we enter Nirvana. Ha! Ha! Ha! To hasten the happy time!" With a kick she knocked over the furnace. In an instant the _tatami_ was in a blaze. Yelling like mad, shouting for help, Yoémon leaped from the house. O'Kamé seized the burning brands in her bare hands, hurling them into this room and into that. Outstripping the old Yoémon, the younger men of the neighbours rushed in. The mad woman was soon overcome and carried from the burning building. Nothing else was saved. They took her to the house of Akiyama Cho[u]zaémon. Here she was tied hand and foot, and put in a closet. The old man Yoémon stood by in despair, watching the progress of events. Before the conflagration was extinguished his own and four other houses were destroyed. He was a ruined man; responsible for all. Myo[u]zen the priest had just set foot on the slope leading up from Samégabashi to Yotsuya. A somewhat long retreat at Myo[u]honji, attendance at the ceremonies held on the Saint's (Nichiren) birthday, had kept him in ignorance of recent events in Yotsuya. In the dawn of the beautiful day of earliest 3rd month (our April 13th) he had set out from Kamakura. Sturdy as were the priest's limbs, yet he was a little tired. He rested at the foot of the hill. Then his eyes grew big with astonishment. In the waning afternoon a funeral came wending its way downwards. But such a funeral! Two spearmen led the way. Then came a long train of attendants. Three catafalques followed, the first a most imposing bier. Then came the relatives. Kibei on horseback headed these. The women rode in _kago_. That it was a ward funeral Myo[u]zen had no doubt, both from its source and make up. He noted a parishioner in the cortége. "Kamimura Uji!" The long-limbed, long-faced, long-tongued man left the ranks and obsequiously greeted his spiritual father. At Myo[u]zen's question he expressed gratified surprise, and unlimbered his lingual member at once--"Whose honoured funeral this? Nay! It is a triple funeral; that of Natsumé Kyuzo[u], Imaizumi Jinzaémon, the Go Inkyo[u], our ward-head. It is owing to this latter that there is such an outpouring of the ward, with attendance of barrier guards and firemen. Although the ending of Natsumé and Jinzaémon was not edifying, that of our honoured once head gratified still more the public curiosity. Gnawed and eaten by the rats he died most horribly." He told of the eventful night. "Hence delay in the burial. The deaths of Natsumé and Imaizumi were almost coincident. The body of the adulterous woman, rejected by both families, was cast out on the moor." He noted with satisfaction the great impression his tale made on the priest, as also the clerical garb and rosary held in hand. "Pray join the band. A little re-adjustment...." He bent down. With the baton he held in hand as leader of his section he carefully dusted the robes. Adjusting the folds he pronounced the results as most presentable. "The honoured Osho[u] is ready to bury or be buried." Myo[u]zen took this remark in very ill form. He prepared to answer tartly, but curiosity overcame his weariness and ill temper. The procession was moving fast. He fell at once into line, with hardly an acknowledgment of Kamimura's courtesy, as this latter hastened forward to his place. His neighbour in the procession explained. The nature of the deaths of the three men had aroused the feeling in the ward. Their connection with a conspiracy against O'Iwa San was now generally known. Without doubt it was owing to her vengeance that they had died as they did. Let them lie outside the quarter. The protest to Kibei was respectful but emphatic. A newcomer, he had made no great resistance. It was determined to bury them at the Denzu-In, close by the mound of the nameless dead of Edo's great fire of more than half a century before. Hence the direction of the cortége. As the cemetery of the great temple was approached the curiosity of Myo[u]zen, morbidly growing the while, became overpowering. The priest slipped from rank to rank. At the grave he stood in the very front. As long-time friend he besought a last glance at the dead. Those given to Natsumé and Imaizumi called forth a careless prayer for each. The men hesitated before raising the cover concealing the body of Kwaiba. At Myo[u]zen's peremptory gesture they complied. He bent over and looked in. Frozen with horror, he was fascinated by those great holes for eyes, large as teacups, which seemed to fix him. Dead of leprosy, gnawed and torn by beasts, the face presented a sight unforgettable. The holes torn in the flesh twisted the features into a lifelike, though ghastly, sardonic grin, full of the pains of the hell in which Kwaiba had suffered and now suffered. A stench arose from the box which made the hardened bearers hold their noses and draw away. Yet the priest bent down all the closer. In his corruption the lips of the old man seemed to move. Did Kwaiba speak? Closer and closer: Myo[u]zen seemed never satisfied with this inspection. The poise and brain gave way. Priest and corpse met in the horrible salutation. With exclamation the attendants sprang forward. Myo[u]zen in a dead faint was carried apart and laid on the ground. Some priests of the hall busied themselves over him. Somewhat revived he was taken off to the residence quarters of the temple, and soon was able to return to his home. "Curious fool." Kibei was greatly angered. He was easily irritated in these days. The delay in the rites almost maddened him. Would old Kwaiba--his father Ito[u] Inkyo[u]--never be got out of men's sight? Out of Kibei's sight? That night Myo[u]zen sat alone in his quarters. Somewhat shaken, he was ashamed and regretful at thought of his unseemly curiosity of the afternoon. The priests of Denzuin had regarded him with covert amusement and repulsion. He had noted one passing the sleeve of his robe over his lips. Myo[u]zen explained the incident by more than usual weariness. They condoled with him, and made horrified gestures of ill-disguised glee when they thought his attention was elsewhere. In his present privacy the scene at the grave came back to mind again and again. "Ah! Ah! If this Myo[u]zen had not looked. The Inkyo[u]'s face was terrible. Myo[u]zen cannot put it from mind." He glanced at the pages of the sutra lying before him. He turned them over. He knew they spoke of the horribleness of death; but what was the cold script to the actuality? It was no use, the attempt to read. Kwaiba's face interposed. "Oh! That salute! The very idea of that terrible salute, the contact with corruption!" He was as if plunged in an icy bath. He started nervously. It was but rain dashing against the _amado_, rattling and twisting in the gale. He could not sleep. That night he would watch. The fire was hot in the _hibachi_ (brazier). He went to the closet to get some tea. On opening it he sprang back with a shout of alarm, to lean trembling and quivering in every limb huddled against the wall. "Namu Myo[u]ho[u] Renge Kyo[u]! Namu Myo[u]ho[u] Renge Kyo[u]!" One character of the wondrous formula secured pardon and safety to the believer in that paradise of Amida which Myo[u]zen was in no great haste to visit. Shivering as with a chill intently he watched the animal as it glided along the edge of the room, to disappear into the shadows. He shrugged his shoulders wearily. A rat had frightened him almost out of his wits! His heart beat tumultuously, almost to suffocation; then it seemed to cease altogether; to resume its wild career. Hardly was he again seated, his hand on the kettle--don--don, don--don, don, don, don. Some one was violently knocking on the door. Myo[u]zen sprang up. Approaching the _amado_ with silent step he eyed the bolts: "All secure." Snatching up a stake close by he jammed it in between floor and crosspiece. Leaning heavily on the panel he listened. "Myo[u]zen Sama! Osho[u] Sama! Condescend to open; deign to give entrance! The storm nearly throws one to the ground. News! News for the Osho[u]! A request to make!" Myo[u]zen held his ground against this outer temptation. "Who are you, out at this hour of the night and in such weather? To-night Myo[u]zen does not open. Go away; return in daylight."--"But the honoured Osho[u] Sama is needed. His presence is requested. Deign to open; at least to hear the message. The priest aids the afflicted." There was something in the voice he recognized, despite its terror. Regaining some courage he parleyed. The priest was for the consolation of the unfortunate. O'Iwa had been, was unfortunate. He could not open. "Who are you? Unless the name be given this Myo[u]zen holds no further talk. To-night he is unwell, positively ill. Come at dawn and Myo[u]zen will receive you."--"Who? Does not the voice answer for the person? This is Tomobei, from the house of Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei. Deign to open. The master needs and calls for the aid of the Osho[u] Sama." Voice and speech, the importance of Kondo[u] in the life of Myo[u]zen, broke down his hesitation. Slowly he removed the bars. Tomobei entered, dripping with wet. He cast down his straw coat at the entrance. The man's eyes and manner were wild. He kept casting frightened looks into the wild welter of storm outside. When the priest would withdraw into the room he held him by the skirt. "What has happened?" commanded Myo[u]zen briefly. Replied Tomobei--"A terrible thing! To-day the master was ready to attend the funeral of Ito[u] Inkyo[u]. The wife was engaged in putting the house _kimono_ in the closet. O'Tama was playing on the upper _ro[u]ka_. She is but seven years old. Leaning far over to see her father leave, she lost her balance. Down she fell, to be impaled on the knife-like points of the _shinobi-gaeshi_. The sharp-pointed bamboo, protection against thieves, have robbed the Danna of his greatest treasure (_tama_). Deep into throat and chest ran the cruel spikes, to appear through the back. The sight inspired fear, so horrible was it. He could but call out--'Tomobei! Tomobei!' All effort to detach the child, to saw off the points, did but make matters worse. It was necessary to fetch a ladder. When taken down she was dead. Alas! Alas! The Okusama is nearly crazed. The Danna Sama in his cruel distress does but rage through the house. 'Myo[u]zen Osho[u], he loved the child. Let Myo[u]zen Osho[u] be summoned to say a prayer of direction, while yet the child spirit hovers hereabouts.' Such is the cry of the Okusama. Hence the presence of this Tomobei. Otherwise he would rather be scourged at the white sand than face the darkness in which O'Iwa San wanders abroad." Man and priest were weeping. The former in his fright and over the confusion and distress fallen on the household; the priest over the sudden and dreadful end of this child to whom the homeless one, the man devoted to the solitary life, had taken an unbounded affection as of a father. Great as was his terror, he forgot his own ills in the greater misfortune of the life-long friend. He remained bowed in prayer. "Namu Myo[u]ho[u] Renge Kyo[u]! Namu Myo[u]ho[u] Renge Kyo[u]! Oh! The wondrous law, the _sutra_ of the Lotus!" He rose--"Myo[u]zen comes." As they struggled through the storm, Tomobei kept up a nonsensical, running talk, full of the superstitious fear of the man of the lower classes. "Iya! The affair has been terrible, but misfortune is in the air.... What's that! Ah! Something passes by ... above. O'Iwa! O'Iwa!" He seized the priest's arm and clung to him in terror. Myo[u]zen's fears had all returned. He would have run away, but was too tightly held. "Where! Where!" He shrieked and whirled around toward Samégabashi. Tomobei held on tenaciously to his skirts. An object was bearing down on them in the dark. Close upon priest and man they jumped to one side. A cold hand was laid on the neck of the cleric, who squawked with fear. A howl answered the howls and mad cries and blows of the two men, who now threw themselves flat on the ground to shut out sight of the apparition. The beast sped down the hill. Discomfited, Myo[u]zen disentangled himself from the embraces of a broken water spout, which descending from the roof under which he had taken shelter, was sending its cold stream down his neck. Tomobei rose from the mud puddle in which he lay face downward. They gazed at each other. "A dog! A wandering cur!" Myo[u]zen eyed his once immaculate garments with disgust. How present himself in such a state! Tomobei read his thoughts and determined to keep a companion so hardly won. "There are present but the master and the Okusama, Tomobei, and Kiku; other company there is none.... Yes; the Ojo[u]san."--"The corpse needs no company," said Myo[u]zen testily. In his disgrace and unkempt condition Myo[u]zen was unduly irritated at his child friend. The business was to be gone through. They were opposite the cemetery of Sainenji, on its western side. Said Tomobei--"A paling is loose. There is no need to descend the hill. This is no cheerful spot at this hour. Deign to sprint it, Osho[u] Sama. In the time one can count ten the entrance at the rear is reached. Deign a spurt, honoured priest; deign to sprint." Myo[u]zen felt he was in for everything this night. With Tomobei he tucked up his robes to his hams, as if entering a race. Crawling through the bamboo palings into the haunt of the dead, at it they went--a mad spurt across to Ko[u]ndo's house. Tomobei was the more active. He turned to watch the priest tripping over hillocks in the grass, knocking into gravestones hidden by the darkness. So near home, courage was returning. He burst into laughter at sight of Myo[u]zen madly hammering a battered old stone lantern of the _yukimido[u]ro_ style. The broad-brimmed hat-like object he belaboured as something naturally or unnaturally possessed of life, all the while giving utterance to anything but priestly language. Tomobei ventured back to his rescue. Myo[u]zen was quite battered and bleeding as the two rushed into Kondo[u]'s house. The master was expecting them; but he threw up his hands as they appeared in the room. "Osho[u] Sama! Tomobei! What are you about! Why rush into the room, clogs still on the feet? Deign to withdraw. The _tatami_ are stained and streaked with mud.... Water for the feet of the Osho[u] Sama! Tomobei, are you mad? Out with you: bring water to clean up this mess." In confusion the priest withdrew. His apologies were profuse as he reappeared--"Alas! Terrible the loss, and in such dreadful manner. Kondo[u] Dono, Okusama, part at least of this grief Myo[u]zen would take on himself. Great is the sorrow at this end of one just beginning life." The wife received the condolence of the priest with a burst of weeping. Then she turned fiercely on the husband--"It is all the fault of Rokuro[u]bei. He was _nako[u]do_ for O'Iwa San in the marriage with Iémon. Turning against her, he took O'Hana into the house. Did she not spend her time in idling, and teaching the child the ways of her questionable life--'how to please men,' forsooth?... Ah! Tama did have pretty ways. Though but of seven years, she danced, and sang, and postured as would a girl double her age. Now thus cruelly she has perished." Her mind, reverted to the child, again took a turn. "The plot against O'Iwa--with Ito[u] Kwaiba, Iémon, Cho[u]zaémon--here is found the source of this calamity. O'Iwa in dying has cursed all involved. Now 'tis the turn of Kondo[u] and his unfortunate wife." She ended in another outburst of tears, her head on the mats at the feet of the priest. Rokuro[u]bei was tearing up and down the room, gesticulating and almost shouting--"Yes! 'Tis she! 'Tis she! The hateful O'Iwa strikes the father through the child. Ah! It was a cowardly act to visit such a frightful ending on one budding into life. O'Iwa seeks revenge. O'Iwa is abroad; and yet this Kondo[u] cannot meet with her." Myo[u]zen was almost deafened with his cries and noisy earnestness. Truly to bring peace into this household, with division reigning between husband and wife smitten with fear of the supernatural, would be no easy matter. His priestly experience taught him the safest way to bring about his object. "'Tis true; 'tis true. But loud cries avail nothing. The aid of the Buddha for the deceased is to be sought." Apologetically he showed something of his condition to the wife. At once she rose. Outergarments were removed. Muddied undergarments were renewed. Myo[u]zen went into the mortuary chamber. The little "Jewel" was laid out as in sleep. The wounded chest, the torn throat, were concealed by garments and a scarf-like bandage adjusted by a mother's sad and tender care. The incense sticks lay in clay saucers near the couch. "Oh, the wonderful Law! The _sutra_ of the Lotus! Namu Myo[u]ho[u] Renge Kyo[u]! Namu Myo[u]ho[u] Renge Kyo[u]!" He looked long at the little silent figure. His eyes were full of tears as he turned and took the hands of the weeping mother who had followed him into the room. Then for long he spoke in consoling tones. She was somewhat quieted when they returned. Kondo[u] Rokuo[u]bei was still moving restlessly about the room. Now he was here, now there; from the death room he returned to the company; from them he passed to the kitchen. The wife thought of the friend and priest. "Tomobei, go to the store-room and bring wine." Myo[u]zen was a curious mixture. His weak spot was touched--"Deign it, honoured lady, for all. Let the occasion be made seemly, but more cheerful. Cause not sorrow to the dead by an unmeasured grief. This does but pain the Spirit in its forced communion with the living. Death perchance is not the misfortune of subsequent existence in this world, but a passage to the paradise of Amida." He spoke unctuously; as one full informed and longing for its trial. His homily had no effect in moving Tomobei, who was flatly unwilling to perform the service ordered. "The wine...," broke in Kondo[u] harshly.--"The go-down is at the end of the lot. The hour is very late, and the storm ... and other things ... it rages fiercely. This Tomobei...."--"Shut up!" roared his master, with easily roused anger. The maid O'Kiku timidly interposed--"There is a supply in the kitchen. This Kiku early brought it there, anticipating the need. Indeed the storm is terrible. One gets wet to the bone in traversing the yard." The wife caught the last words--"Aye! Wet and chilled the lost child spirit wanders, ringing its bell and vainly seeking aid and shelter; no aid at hand but that of the heartless hag in the River of Souls."[31] At the thought of the little O'Tama in cold and storm she broke down. Crying bitterly, she crept from the room and laid down beside the bier. The wine was served. Myo[u]zen drank. Then he drank again. His potations gave him confidence--for more drink--and recalled him to his functions. "Let us all pray. Namu Myo[u]ho[u] Renge Kyo[u]! Namu Myo[u]ho[u] Renge Kyo[u]! Wonderful the Law! Wonderful the _sutra_ of the Lotus, explanatory of the Law by which mankind are saved, to enter the paradise of Amida. Be sure the wanderings of O'Tama will be short. Scanty is the power of the Shozuka no Baba. Soon shall the child sit upon a lotus. Early shall be her entrance into Nirvana. Namu Myo[u]ho[u] Renge Kyo[u]! Namu Myo[u]ho[u] Renge Kyo[u]!... Honoured master, let all join in. Command the servants to join in the recital of the Daimoku." Kondo[u] waved a hand at Tomobei and O'Kiku, in assent and command. Vigorous were the tones of all in the responses. Myo[u]zen drank again. He pressed the wine on the others; drinking in turn as they agreed. The night was passing. It was the eighth hour (1-3 A.M.). Said he--"Don't get drowsy. By every means avoid it. Now! A vigorous prayer." He raised his hand--"Namu Myo[u]ho[u] Renge Kyo[u]! Namu Myo[u]ho[u] Renge Kyo[u]!" But the responses were flagging. Said Myo[u]zen--"This will never do; at this hour of the night." He drank again--to find that the supply had come to an end. Kondo[u] was nodding. Tomobei, if awake, was deaf to words. Myo[u]zen rose himself to fetch a new supply. Kondo[u] pricked up his ears. The temple bells were booming the hour watch in solemn unison. The rain splashed and pattered on the _amado_. A rustling, swishing sound was heard, close by, in the next room. Now it was as if a hand was passing along the screen. He sprang up, drawn sword in hand. His eyes were riveted on the _sho[u]ji_, anticipating an appearance. Then he laid a violent hand on the interposing obstacle and threw it back. A tall figure robed in black, with broad flat face and bulging brow, puffed eyelids in which were sunken little dots in place of eyes, hair in wild disorder framing the dead white face, stood before him. "O'Iwa! O'Iwa!" The lamp was knocked over, but not before he dealt the one fierce upward blow. Madly he sprang on the apparition and slashed away in the dark. "Kiya!" The cry rang loud. Kondo[u] danced with joy, calling loudly for lights. "O'Iwa! O'Iwa! Kondo[u] has slain the O'Baké, the enemy of his child! Rejoice with Kondo[u]! The vendetta is accomplished!" In the darkness and confusion a groan was heard; then another, still fainter; then there was silence. Tomobei appeared with a light. He leaned over the long black robed body; to raise an alarmed face to his joyful master. "At what does the Danna Sama rejoice? What has he done? 'Tis Myo[u]zen Sama, the Osho[u] Sama, who lies cut down. Dreadful has been the mistake of the Danna Sama. This is like to cost the House dear."--"Namu Myo[u]ho[u] Renge Kyo[u]! Namu Myo[u]ho[u] Renge Kyo[u]!" The sword had slipped from Kondo[u]'s hand, and in genuine grief he knelt beside the body of the unfortunate priest, seeking for some sign of life. Alas! Myo[u]zen had almost been cut in two by the upward sweep of the sword. From liver to pap was one gaping wound. He lay in the pool of almost all the blood in his body. Gathered around the corpse the four people eyed each other with terror. Don--don--don, don, don, don. They sprang up in a huddled mass. The sound was at their very shoulders. "Some one knocks at the back door," said Tomobei. "Go open it," commanded Kondo[u]. Tomobei flatly refused, and without respect, nay with insolence. Kondo[u] picked up and weighed in his hand the bloody sword. Why mingle vile blood with good? Instead of cutting the man down he went himself and opened the half door at the top. A woman, dripping with water, her hair in wild disorder, her face white as chalk, stood outside in the storm. Kondo[u] gave an exclamation of surprise--"O'Kamé of Tamiya! How comes O'Kamé here? It was said that Yoémon San had shut her up, as one gone mad." The woman smirked with satisfied air--"Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei is seer as well as murderer. This Kamé was bound and imprisoned; nay, almost divorced. Myo[u]zen, just dead at Kondo[u]'s hands, to-morrow was to pronounce the divorce. For so much, thanks to Kondo[u] Dono. But O'Tama has died. Kamé would condole with Kondo[u] San; burn a stick of incense for O'Tama. Condescend to grant entrance." Said Rokuro[u]bei abruptly--"How knows O'Kamé of the death of Myo[u]zen; who told her of the fate of O'Tama?" She laughed wildly--"Who? O'Iwa; O'Iwa is the friend of Kamé. It was she who loosed the bonds. 'O'Tama of Kondo[u]'s house is dead. O'Kamé should condole with the wife, the friend of this Iwa. Get you hence, for Kondo[u] has murdered the priest.' ... So here we are; O'Iwa accompanies Kamé. Here she is." She waved a hand into the storm and darkness. "Deign to give passage to the chamber where lies O'Tama. O'Iwa and Kamé would burn incense to the darling's memory, to the little Jewel." With a roar Kondo[u] seized the breast of her robe--"Vile old trot, off with you!" He gave her a violent push which sent her on her buttocks. The woman remained seated in the mud, laughing noisily. She held out two skinny arms to him. With a slam he shut the door. He knelt by the priest's body, truly grieved--"Ah! O'Iwa is abroad. How has this mad woman knowledge of this deed? What was the offence of Myo[u]zen thus to deserve the hatred of Tamiya O'Iwa?" O'Kamé had seen the priest enter, had stood in the wet listening to the wild talk of Kondo[u], had seen the bloody sword in his hand. Her mad brain had put riot and death together. The talk as to O'Tama she had overheard from her closet. Kondo[u] thought of neither explanation. He was at odds with Akiyama, and had sent no message to his house. As he speculated and thought how best to compound matters with the temple, now grieved at the rash blow fallen on a friend, now aghast at the certain and heavy indemnification which would be exacted by the enraged clerics, an uproar arose outside. There were wild cries and a scream of pain. Then came a loud triumphant shout--"Heads out! Heads out! O'Iwa is slain! This Akiyama has killed the O'Baké. The incubus of the ward is lifted. Help!" Kondo[u] sprang up and out of the house. Were the words true? Had another succeeded where he had failed? His lantern, the lanterns of many others, threw light on the place where Akiyama Cho[u]zaémon bravely stood ward over the prostrate body of the apparition. Returning late from Shitamachi he had entered the ward with shrinking terror. As he skulked along, with eyes on every dark corner, the figure of a woman was seen close by the eaves of the house of Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei. As he approached she came forward laughing wildly the while. The light of his lantern fell on the ghastly white face, the disordered hair. In a spasm of fright he dropped the lantern and delivered his blow in drawing the sword. The cut was almost identical with the one delivered to Myo[u]zen the priest. The men there gathered looked into each other's faces, then at the body of O'Kamé lying in their midst. The crowd parted, and Tamiya Yoémon appeared. Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei and Akiyama Cho[u]zaémon stood by with bloody swords, their own skins without a scratch. They were self-accused. The upshot of the affair was ruin for all. Matters in Yotsuya were coming to the official ears. Yoémon was forced to make charges against Akiyama; the more willingly as therein lay a chance to recoup his own losses through the wife he intended to divorce on the morrow. Kondo[u] easily cleared his skirts of this offence, but was involved with the irate temple priests. All were entangled in the heavy costs of the law of those days. Of these three men something is to be said later. CHAPTER XX KIBEI DONO Kibei was in great straits, financial and domestic. The death of Kwaiba had brought him anything but freedom. In Nippon the headship of a House is much more than the simple heirship of our western law. Relieved of his obligation in office the old man's hands were wide open to shower benefice or caprice on the most worthless. Endorsement for cash and goods to Natsumé, Imaizumi, and Kamimura; donations to the temples of Teramachi and the Yotsuyazaka; favours in every direction except that of Akiyama Cho[u]zaémon, in the pursuit of whom Kwaiba found much amusement; all these items added to the very free living in his household had pledged deeply the ample revenue of two hundred and thirty _tawara_, and would have upheld the _samurai_ trait of not knowing the value of money--if Kwaiba had been of that kind. Between Kwaiba and Kibei, the wild debauchery of the last year had brought the House to the verge of ruin. Kibei was aghast. Long since he had become deeply involved with the Kashiku Tamagiku of the Yamadaya in Edomachi Itcho[u]me of the Yoshiwara. The ugly fellow was madly in love with the beauty. On her he had poured out the treasures of the Ito[u] House during the six months which preceded the illness of Kwaiba. During his prolonged absence from her the letters of the Kashiku had inundated the writing table of Kibei. Had he deserted her? Was all affection gone? Where now were the promises of ransom, the blood-sealed vow to become husband and wife, to assume the relation which endures for two worlds? Kibei sullenly read these lines; cursing Kwaiba and cursing himself. Ransom! With strict living for the next five years _he_ might set matters straight and free the Tayu; and any day _she_ might be bought by some rich country _samurai_ or _go[u]shi_ (gentleman farmer), or be carried off to ornament the _besso[u]_ of some _hatamoto_. Kibei wiped the bitter saliva from his lips.[32] The domestic difficulties were accompaniment to these more important matters. In the large mansion Kibei was now alone. The tenth day had witnessed the flight of the last of the servants. The women had departed with the funeral, through fear, sacrificing wages and even such clothing as could not surreptitiously be removed. What woman--or man--could remain in a house which was the nightly scene of such fearful sounds of combat. Shrieks, wails, groans, came from the quarters once occupied by the dead Kwaiba. As to this there was no difference of opinion. The more venturesome had been favoured with actual sight of the scenes enacted. They had seen the old man as he was in death, pursued from room to room by two frightful hags, as gaunt, blear, sightless as himself. Dreadful were the cries of the dead man as the harpies fastened upon him, descending from above like two huge bats. These scenes took place usually at the eighth hour (1 A.M.), not to cease until dawn. As for the men servants, they took their leave in the days following, asking formal dismissal (_itoma_) with recommendation to another House. They scented the approaching ruin of their present employer. One day Kakusuké presented himself. Kibei looked up. He understood at once that the man had come in his turn to take leave. Kakusuké alone had remained with him. He was _chu[u]gen_, stable boy, cook, maid; and did the work of all four without complaint. The change in his master was too marked. Kibei, in his turn, had become irritable, timorous as a girl, subject to outbreaks of almost insane rage. To Kakusuké the young man seemed to have lost all nerve. Kakusuké wanted to serve a man. As long as the Wakadono gave promise of redemption, of rising above his difficulties and emerging into a splendid career in which Kakusuké could take pride, the _chu[u]gen_ was ready to take the bitter with the sweet. To be maid servant and keeper of a man half mad had no attraction for this blunt-nerved fellow. He spoke plainly--"The Wakadono should deign to throw up the whole connection. Under the present conditions the ruin of the House is unavoidable. Condescend to return to the original House in Honjo[u] Yokogawa. This course will be best. At least the Wakadono secures his own salvation. This is the advice of Kakusuké, grown old in experience of service in a _samurai_ household. In naught else is there hope. As to himself, would the Wakadono condescend to grant dismissal." Long had been the intimacy between Ito[u] Kwaiba and Inagaki Sho[u]gen. Kakusuké, the messenger between the two Houses, had watched this Fukutaro[u] (Kibei) grow to manhood, had noted his prowess. It was with delight he had carried the documents which were to bring this new and vigorous blood into the home of his decadent master. This was the result. "A pest on these witches--and their craft!" Kibei heard him out with growing anger. As the man's words gathered vigour and plain spokenness his hand wandered to his sword. He had a mind to cut him down then and there for his freedom of speech. More than half induced to recognize the truth of the indictment his better feeling halted him. With harsh and sardonic tone he gave unbelieving thanks for the implied reproof of the _chu[u]gen_. The service of Kakusuké had been faithful beyond measure. It should have its proper reward. If others had chosen to depart as do those who run away, they had shown ignorance of this Kibei. From a drawer of the desk he took out a letter already prepared, a roll containing wages. He pushed the _zen_ toward Kakusuké. This readiness, as if foreseen, hit the man hard. Respectfully he pressed the letter to his forehead, bowing with extended hands on the _tatami_; the money he did not touch. Finally he raised a timid questioning glance to his one-time master. Said Kibei jeeringly--"Kakusuké has given his advice. Is it part of his long experience that a servant should question the wages placed under his nose? Off with you! This Kibei would be alone; most willingly so." At the peremptory threatening gesture Kakusuké no longer hesitated. He had no inclination to be a victim of one of the mad outbreaks of the young man. Taking the roll humbly he backed out of the room. His steps were heard a few minutes later passing the entrance. Then the outer gate shut to with a clang. For a long watch Kibei sat in meditation. He was as one who sleeps. Then he rose with decision. "'Tis the last chance. Kakusuké is right. The matter is to be brought to an end." Dressing for the street he left the house. He opened the big gate; then went to the stable, and saddled and bridled his horse. He led it outside, closed the gate, and mounting he rode forth, to go to Honjo[u] Yokogawa and the _yashiki_ of his father, Inagaki Sho[u]gen. Coming unaccompanied he was received with surprise and some discomfiture, as he was quick to note. He was very quick to note things in these days. Prostrating himself before his mother--"Kibei presents himself. Honoured mother, deign to pardon the intrusion. Fukutaro[u] would solicit her pity and influence." The lady looked at him with amazement. "Fukutaro[u]! What then of Kibei? Is some jest deigned at the mother's expense? It is in very bad taste.... But the face of Kibei implies no jest. Pray put the matter plainly. Why does her son come in petition to the mother?" Began Kibei--"The matter is most serious...." He went into the full details; from the time of his entrance into the Ito[u] House, through the course of dissipation and illness of Kwaiba, down to the present ruined state of affairs. "All this is due to the curse of O'Iwa San, to this plot in which Kibei foolishly engaged." Of this he now fully felt the force. The events of the past weeks had wrecked him in mind and body. One disaster after another, in house and ward, had been visited on Kibei. The bitterness and dislike of the people toward Kwaiba was visited on his representative, who was held responsible. In his great mansion he lived alone. No servant would enter it to attend to his wants. Was he to cook and be valet for himself--and pose as the Kumi-gashira, the great chief of the ward! The position was an impossible one. Deign to use a mother's influence with Inagaki Dono. "Condescend to secure permission for the return of this Kibei to his original House, for the cancellation of the adoption." The wife of Sho[u]gen sat frightened; at the tale, and at this radical way of finding an exit from the situation. The mother's heart was full of pity for the distracted son, whose haggard looks showed the strain of the past weeks. Besides she was a woman, and as such fully believed in and feared the curse of this dead O'Iwa, one who had died without funeral rites or prayer. "Fortunately the honoured father now is on the night watch at the castle. He is at home, drinking his wine. His humour is excellent. Wait but a moment." Leaving Kibei she went to the room of Sho[u]gen's light indulgence. The severe and conscientious nobleman was bending under the genial influence of the _saké_. "Kibei? He comes in good season. The heir of Kwaiba Inkyo[u] has not favoured his real father of late. Ah! The boy was well placed. Kwaiba soon made way for him; and none too willingly, one can believe." He chuckled. Then noting his wife's troubled looks. "But there is something to tell."--"So indeed; none too pleasant." She went into the story Kibei had told her. "His fear of O'Iwa San is deadly. The House is ruined, with no profit in the connection. Deign to permit the cancellation of the adoption, his return to the House of his true parent." She stopped before the stern astonished look of the husband. Said he harshly--"Let him come up. Sho[u]gen answers Kibei Dono in person.... Heigh! Up here with you! For Ito[u] Dono there is wine...." Kibei entered joyfully at his father's call. Success was in his hands. Once more he was to marshal his father's retainers and accompany him to the castle; once more be the habitué of the fencing rooms. "Honoured father, fear enters: for long this Kibei has not ventured into your presence."--"And need not for long again," thundered the old man. "What stuff is this for the ears of Sho[u]gen? Kibei would sever his connection with the Ito[u] House. Kibei is afraid of a ghost! He fears a girl! A _samurai_ wearing two swords shrinks from an encounter with a woman! Has Sho[u]gen no obligation toward his old friend Kwaiba? In more serious matters and in life Sho[u]gen would share Kwaiba's lot. Back with you to the house in Yotsuya! If this matter become known, both Kibei and Sho[u]gen will be the laughing stocks of Edo. At least keep such fears to yourself. Off with you! Sho[u]gen had wine for Ito[u] Dono. For the fellow who would call himself--Fukutaro[u], he has none." With a kick he sent rolling the _zen_ (table) with its burden of bottles and heating apparatus. In a rage he left the room. Kibei's face was white as he raised it from the _tatami_. "Father has no experience of ghosts; he speaks at random and in anger. Terrible is the actuality." Said the mother, slowly and painfully--"He is the father; he is to be obeyed." Kibei was sitting upright. He nodded grave assent. Then suddenly he prostrated himself ceremoniously before the _sho[u]ji_ through which Sho[u]gen had disappeared. He repeated the salutation before his mother. Then he rose--"Ito[u] Kibei takes leave. May good health and fortune visit those of this House." At his exit the mother rejoiced. Severe had been the father's words, but they had brought the boy to reason. She wept and trembled at the reproof. Men had best knowledge of such affairs. She would pray at Reiganji, and have memorial service held for the peace of this O'Iwa in the next world. Then the curse would not rest upon her son. On his appearance at the house entrance an _ashigaru_ (foot soldier) led up the horse. Kibei waved him away--"For the present keep the animal in charge. With matters to attend to close at hand Kibei will use other conveyance." The man took the animal away. Leaving the gate of the _yashiki_ Kibei walked the short distance to the Ho[u]onji bridge. Here was a _kago_ (litter) stand. "To Yamadaya in Yoshiwara." As the _kago_ men went off at a trot--"Kibei has played and lost. How does the account yonder stand? Seventy _ryo[u]_ owed at the Matsuminatoya. For the rest, this Kibei can claim a night's attendance from the _kashiku_. If affection would not grant it, the huge sums bestowed in the past have a claim upon her. Then to end matters and die like a _samurai_. To-morrow Kibei cuts belly." It was the debt which sent him direct to the Yamadaya, and not first to the tea house. Sitting over the wine all effort of the Kashiku to enliven him failed. Noting her discomfiture he smiled gloomily. Then in explanation--"The thoughts of Kibei go astray. The House is ruined. Ransom is impossible. This is the last meeting. To-morrow Kibei cuts belly, and dies like a _samurai_." At first the girl thought he was joking. Then noting the wild look of despair in his eyes, she was frightened. Partly in disbelief; partly seeking to postpone this desperate resolve, to turn his thoughts and gain time for reflection; partly in that sentimental mood which at times affects this class of women--"Is Kibei truly ruined? Lamentable the fate of Tamagiku. Why not join him in death? But the idea is too new. Deign to postpone the execution for a space. To-night shall be a night of pleasure with the Kashiku Tamagiku. With the morrow's darkness she dies with Kibei. Hand in hand they will wander the paths of Amida's paradise." She came close to him in service of the wine; put her arms about him, and drew him to her bosom; in every way cajoled and sought to comfort him, and corrupt his purpose. Consent was easy. The night was passed in love and wine. In the morning he left her. Kibei was making his final preparations; writing directions which would benefit as far as possible the House in Honjo[u] at the expense of that in Yotsuya. In the Yoshiwara a very different scene was taking place. With his departure the Kashiku sprang up. Hastily throwing a robe around her person she sought the room of the _yarité_--the bawd of the house. "The Kashiku! At this hour--what has happened?"--"Something of importance. This night Tama dies with Kibei Dono. The compact is closed, hard and firm." The astonished bawd had been rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. The last words brought her full awake--"Is the Kashiku drunk with wine? Is she mad? Truly it would seem so. And the bail? What is to become of the unfortunate? True it is Toémon of Honjo[u]; and he has trouble enough already. He will never leave his prison." Tamagiku made a gesture of impatience--"This Tama has acted but to gain time. Can she have affection for such an ugly fellow? Was she to be the victim of some crazy outburst? Perhaps the day will bring better counsel; but the night's conversation does not augur it. His plans are most complete. The master must be seen. Deign to mediate; prevent the admittance of Kibei Dono as guest." O'Kayo the bawd nodded intelligence and assent. At once she sought the master of the house. "A dangerous guest," was his comment. "Send to the Matsuminatoya. They must be warned. We can look after ourselves." As an attendant of the tea house presented himself--"And the master, Teisuké San!"--"Is absent; this To[u]suké represents him. He has gone to Edo. Perhaps the house will deign to look at a new inmate. A true Tayu! The daughter of Akiyama San of Yotsuya sacrifices her caste. But sixteen years, she is a jewel. Less than a hundred _ryo[u]_ will buy her. He is in great difficulties." To[u]suké spoke with enthusiasm. The master of the Yamadaya answered promptly and with emphasis--"Accepted: let her be on hand in the course of the day. But To[u]suké, there is another matter. Kibei Dono no longer can be accepted as a guest." He went into details. To[u]suké drew a long breath. "A dangerous fellow! The Danna Sama never liked his presence. But he owes the house much money; seventy _ryo[u]_."--"That is your affair," coldly replied the master of the Yamadaya. "This house answers not for the accounts of the tea-house. Previous notice has been given. Kibei Dono cannot be received as guest."--"That is not to be denied. He is most undesirable. But the seventy _ryo[u]_! And the week's settlement to make with this house?" The Yamadaya had an idea--"It rarely passes a hundred _ryo[u]_.... Five years is accepted? Then take thirty _ryo[u]_ and deliver this girl to the Yamadaya.... A true Tayu? If so the debt of Kibei finds payment." To[u]suké agreed with joy. At night the _kago_ man set Kibei down before the Matsuminatoya. Teisuké, the _teishu[u]_ (host), regarded his arrival with mixed feelings. His coming meant something. Giving up his two swords, and once seated, Kibei's first act was to give thanks for past services. Calling for his account he produced the seventy _ryo[u]_ in its settlement. Prompt and profound were the humble thanks of the house for this unexpected liquidation. Kibei had secured the money by the transfer of obligations of Akiyama Cho[u]zaémon to the usurer Suzuki Sanjuro[u]. Three hundred and fifty _ryo[u]_ immediately due against seventy _ryo[u]_ in cash satisfied even this shark. Teisuké was impressed. How deny such a guest? He would get rid of him, and profit both ways. Yamadaya now would promptly pay the additional seventy _ryo[u]_ due on the girl with whom they were so delighted. He had paid fifty _ryo[u]_ for her. At Kibei's call his order was prompt. "To[u]suké, accompany Kibei Dono to the Yamadaya." Kibei's calm and collected manner reassured him. This man did not contemplate suicide. With the appearance of To[u]suké and Kibei at the Yamadaya there was a flutter. The Banto[u] Matsuzo respectfully came forward. As Kibei came up to the _ro[u]ka_ and shook off his _geta_ he interposed. "Deign to wait, Kibei Dono. Matters have changed since morning. The Kashiku is very ill. She can see no one. Condescend to come another time. For one ill in body pleasure is no pastime. Pray consider; grant excuse for this one occasion." Kibei was surprised. He had left her perfectly well in the morning. Something in the _banto[u]'s_ face, in the massed position of the men standing by, apprised him of the truth. He was enraged at the lie and the insult. "Ill? That is very strange, when so well at morning. But it is immaterial. Kibei goes to the room."--"Impossible," was the firm reply of the _banto[u]_. "The Kashiku lies isolated from all. It is the order of the physician. Even those in the rooms around her have been ordered out. Pray forbear." But Kibei was obstinate--"Then a glass of wine at her bedside; Kibei has matters to impart." The _banto[u]_ stuck to his post--"Wine! Amid the smell of drugs, the unseemly vessels of the sick room! Such could not be permitted." Kibei stretched out an arm. The _banto[u]_ went flying a dozen feet. Kibei made a leap toward the stairway. But the bawd O'Kayo interposed her vinegary presence. She was brave; having the support of great numbers, of the whole household. "What rudeness! How inconsiderate your way of acting! You behave in very bad taste; with the roughness of an _ashigaru_ (foot soldier). The Yamadaya does not entertain such miserable scamps. The Tayu is ill. This Kayo says it. Get you hence--to some coolie house. Return the day before yesterday."[33] Kibei gave a yell--"Yai! You old bitch! The whole affair is plain to Kibei. Out of money, his presence is no longer desired. Ah! Kibei will have vengeance." Without arms, before the sullen determination of these plebeians, he felt his helplessness. An unseemly brawl, in which he would be worsted, must not be entered on. He must leave. In a towering rage he strode back to the tea-house. To[u]suké tried to keep pace with him. Said Teisuké in feigned astonishment--"Kibei Dono! What has happened?" Kibei did but stutter and fume. The _teishu[u]_ turned to To[u]suké. This latter made answer for his charge--"At the Yamadaya they were very rude. Admittance was refused to Kibei Dono. The bawd O'Kayo told him to come back day before yesterday!"--"Very rude indeed! Were such things said? It is unpardonable. An explanation must be had with the house. Danna Sama, for to-night deign to leave this matter to Teisuké. Ample satisfaction shall be had for the outrage." Teisuké threw up his hands as with uncontrollable anger. Kibei paid no attention, but demanded his swords. Outwardly he had regained his self-control. The maid O'Moto looked with diffidence at her mistress. The woman was accustomed to such scenes. At her sign the girl brought the weapons, carefully wrapped up. She placed them before Kibei. Unrolling the cover he put them on. With scanty salutation he strode off. Teisuké watched him--"It would be wise for the Yamadaya to close early to-night, to take in their lanterns; nay, even to board up the front and take refuge in the store-house." To[u]suké was in no hurry to face Matsuzo, the _banto[u]_ of Yamadaya. Continued the easy old fellow--"Well, 'tis their affair. They are as good judges as Teisuké; and they could have been more civil in refusal. At all events the house has seventy _ryo[u]_, and Kibei Dono is sober. He will cut belly before dawn; and perhaps nothing will happen hereabouts." The old pimp went off to his inner room; to sit down before his wine about the same time that Kibei did the same in a cook shop opposite the great gate of Yoshiwara. Here he idled, barely touched his drink, and passed the time in bantering the maid servant. He was in a riotous humour. He would take her to wife--and sell her the next morning. "As they do yonder." But O'Kiyo was not of that kind. "There is a lover?"--"Of course!" In admitting it she blushed, somewhat offended at hint of suspicion that such was lacking. Jibed Kibei--"He will do the same. Better to be the wife of a _samurai_; even for an hour." In the end he frightened the girl a good deal, so boisterous was he. She had gone out to buy him a deep hat. With relief she saw him put it on and set forth into the darkness and the rain. The eighth hour (1 A.M.) was nearly ready to strike. The pleasure quarter was silent. Passersby were few. The occasional shuffling sound of _zo[u]ri_ (sandals) could be heard behind the closed _amado_. Kibei smiled cynically as he recognized this mark of revolting passage from one room to another. In doubt he stood before the gate of the Yamadaya. How break in and kill them all? If Kibei had his way the Kashiku would keep her word. Just then a noise of voices was heard within, the falling of the bar. Several belated guests came forth. They were in the charge of O'Moto, the maid of the Matsuminatoya. Affectionate were the leave-takings with the quondam wives. "Condescend an early visit. This Haya lives but in the thought of Mosuké."--"Bunzaémon San, be faithful to this Hana. In his absence she is always ill. She receives no one." At this there was a roar of laughter from the others of the company. Bunzaémon answered with reproaches. Kibei followed behind. This fellow was somewhat lamed. He lagged behind. Kibei pulled his sleeve. Bunzaémon, the cit, turned in surprise and fear at sight of the _samurai_ in his deep hat. Said Kibei--"Don't be afraid. Bunzaémon San has forgotten pipe, or purse, or something. He must go back to the Yamadaya." At the fellow's groping in his garments and failure to understand he grew impatient. "A friend lies at the Yamadaya. It is late, and they will not open at an unknown voice. Entrance somehow must be had. Deign to lend your aid." At last the fellow comprehended--"O'Moto San! A moment: my pipe...."--"Oya! The Danna Sama has forgotten his pipe?" The girl went back the short distance to the gate. She knocked and called. With sleepy tones the voice of Matsuzo the _banto[u]_ was heard. The bar fell. The girl turned to look down the street toward her guests. She looked right into the face of Kibei. Dropping her lantern, with a smothered scream she fled. Matsu, the _banto[u]_, looked with horror at the man before him. As Kibei threw off his hat he turned to flee. Tripping, he fell. Kibei drew him back by the leg. A blow cut him through the shoulder. As he rose staggering a second vicious side swing sent the severed head to the ground. The gate-man took the chance. Fleeing to the recesses of the kitchen, he swarmed up a post and hid himself among the rafters of the roof, amid the darkness of their shadows. Kibei turned back and carefully barred the gate. With the key at the girdle of Matsuzo he locked the bar chain. All was now ready for his visitation and search. On the floor above they had a drunken guest in hand, trying to get him to depart. A _banto[u]_ and several women formed the committee of expulsion. "Ah! Money gone, one's welcome is quickly worn out in this hell. But Jusuké does not budge. He fears not the whole pack of foxes.... Thanks: deep the obligation of this Jusuké, extending to the next life." A woman had picked up and restored his purse. "The bill is paid? An early start To[u]kaido[u] way? Ah, true! Jusuké had forgotten." He was now all compliments and thanks. Then in a rage--"Oh! The huzzy! What is Jusuké's purse worth with nothing in it? Who has robbed the purse of Jusuké?" He was madly fumbling his tobacco pouch. A woman put his hand on the missing object in the folds of his girdle. He was mollified. As they moved to the head of the stairs--"Take care! Jusuké San, don't fall! Banto[u] San, deign to aid the guest." Refusing all help the man lurched half way down the flight. Then he stopped, staring and looking before him. At the foot stood Kibei, bloody sword in hand. "Down with this Jusuké? But Jusuké cannot down. A fool blocks the way.... Fool, you block the way of Jusuké."--"Out of the road, drunkard!" The words of Kibei came between his teeth, half growl, half snarl. The man obstinately held his own. When Kibei would push past him--"Beast!" He struck the _samurai_. Kibei whirled the sword. The head rolled to the bottom of the steps. The blood bathed Kibei from head to foot. His appearance was horrible. The women fled in all directions. The _banto[u]_ covered their retreat. "Kibei Dono! Pray be reasonable. Control yourself!" Kibei made a step toward the women's rooms. The _banto[u]_ was dreadfully frightened, yet bravely he interposed to save them. He shouted for aid; below and to the neighbours. Kibei reached him. A blow and he fell severed. Kibei gave a howl of joy. O'Kayo the bawd came out to ascertain the cause of the brawl. She turned livid with fear on recognizing Kibei. They were standing together in the sort of entresol or room at the head of the stairway. Only a large brazier separated Kibei from his vengeance. Its massiveness of three or four feet breadth baffled him. The woman was fleeing for life. As he strove to get within striking distance fear gave her wings. From one side to another she leaped and dodged. Kibei was hampered. He had to cut her off from stair and _ro[u]ka_. As he hesitated she discharged the iron kettle at his head. One implement followed another. In hurling the iron tripod ashes entered her eyes. At once Kibei leaped to close quarters. The first sword blow she dodged. As Kibei recovered she sprang by him and over the _hibachi_, seeking the safety of the stairs now open to her. Her night-dress caught on the handle of the brazier and brought her to the ground. Next moment she was severed from shoulder to midriff. Methodically Kibei began his examination of the rooms. To most of the inmates this uproar was a mere quarrel in the house, the cause of which they neither knew nor cared to know. The first search was at the room of the Kashiku, close to that of O'Kayo the bawd. Her reception room was dark. Here the Kashiku's bed usually was prepared. The inner room, her dressing room, showed the dim light of an _andon_. Noting her absence from the usual place a hasty stride brought him to the _sho[u]ji_. As he violently shoved them apart a man rose from the bed in the room. A mere glance showed that this was no lover. As Kibei with drawn sword stood over him, he squatted on his hams, crouching and begging for life. To Kibei's astonishment he called him by name--"Deign, honoured Sir, to spare this Cho[u]bei. Be assured the Kashiku is not in this place. She lies to-night with the Danna of the house. Deign to seek her in his company." He pointed vaguely as he spoke, to give direction. Kibei laughed ferociously. From this source these directions were atrocious. He lowered the weapon--"Cho[u]bei! At this place and time! Well met, good Sir. Kibei is doubly grateful for what he has learned. Cho[u]bei and Kibei are fellows in fortune. Willingly Kibei leaves him to O'Iwa San and her mercies." His attentive gaze never wandered from the face of the one-time pimp. With a gesture of horror he rushed from the room. In fright Cho[u]bei rolled his head up in the coverlet, to keep out the vision evoked. He continued his search--"Is it my little black fellow?" Such the greeting of one woman aroused from sleep. Trembling she rose at sight of Kibei. Harshly told to lie down, she gladly obeyed. Her quivering limbs already were nearly yielding as he spoke. In but one place did he encounter opposition. Pushing open the _sho[u]ji_ of the merest closet of a room he came upon a girl whose face somehow was familiar. She was a mere slip of a creature to be called a woman. The undeveloped hips, the yet immature bosom, aroused his astonishment at finding her in such a place as inmate; that is, until the pure oval and beauty of the face caught his glance. As he entered she sprang up in alarm. Just roused from sleep she hardly knew where she was--"Father! Father! A man! A man is in the room! Help!" Kibei pushed her back on the bed. With his bloody sword he rolled over the bed-clothes. Then he made a move to get at the closet behind. Perhaps mistaking his action the girl sprang upon him. Kibei was startled at her mad energy. When he thrust her down she seized his hand in her teeth, sinking them deep into it. Pain and impatience--after all he was pressed for time--overcame him. Unable otherwise to shake her off he thrust the point of the sword into her throat and gave a vigorous downward push. Coughing up great clouts of blood, the girl sank back, dying on the _futon_. As he left the room remembrance came to Kibei's mind. He had seen her in Yotsuya. More than once O'Tsuru had served him tea in the house of her father, Cho[u]zaémon. How came she in this vile den? He took a step back to aid her if he could. She was stone dead. The Tayu Nishikiyama[34] now knew the cause of the disturbance. To the frightened page (_kamuro_) who came running to her--"Be quiet child. This is no time to lose self-control. Aid me in preparation." She dressed herself with the greatest care; "all in white, as befitted a lady in attendance on a nobleman." Then she took down her _koto_ and struck the opening bars of an old and famous song--the "Jinmujo[u]" (Inexhaustible Happiness)--said to have been sung by the famous Shizuka Go[u]zen when she danced the Ho[u]raku, or sacred dance, before the Sho[u]gun Yoritomo at Kamakura Hachimangu[u]. As Kibei turned into the corridor the voice of the Oiran caught his ear as she sang in accompaniment to the instrument. She was bending over the _koto_ as the _sho[u]ji_ were flung apart. Kibei, his hair hanging in disorder and framing a face ghastly white in contrast to the red streaks splashed over it and his garments, stood transfixed at the entrance. The Tayu looked up. With calm pose and courteous salute--"Kibei Dono, what manner of acting is this! Is not Kibei Dono the _bushi_? Truly madness has seized you, honoured Sir. This is Nishikiyama.... Deign to be seated. 'Tis Nishikiyama who serves Kibei Dono. What has been done cannot be undone. The last cup of wine in life is to be drained. Deign to accept it from these humble hands." Kibei continued gazing on her. The unhappy man, his mind was opened to a flood of light. The hurricane of passion was passing. Slowly he advanced into the room. "Truly the Go Tayu is right. Kibei has gone mad; mad indeed!" He sank down on the cushion before her. At a sign the page placed the stand containing the bottle of cold _saké_ before the lady. Skilfully the slender hands held it, gracefully poured it for the man doomed to death, taking this final cup served by her. Kibei raised it, drained it to the last drop. "The Kashiku: she is on this lower floor. Where lies she?" Nashikiyama noted the wild light returning to his eyes. She bowed her head before him--"The life of Nishikiyama is at the command of Kibei Dono. Her lips are sealed. Honoured Sir, how answer Kibei Dono's question?" For the moment he looked down. Then he rose--"Whose daughter can the Oiran be! Truly no lady in the land could show a higher courage, a finer courtesy. The final salute of this Kibei in life is to the Go Tayu." In grave ceremony it was performed. As he left the room the woman buried her face in her hands, weeping bitterly. In wonder and gratitude the frightened page extended her hands, her face hidden in the white robes of the Go Tayu. Kibei trod this lower corridor with sombre tread. He would cut belly at the garden pond. With some surprise he noted an _amado_ open at the end of the _ro[u]ka_. Voices were heard. Standing at the opening he saw lanterns. Some frenzied women had raised a ladder to the garden wall. They would thus escape, but the knife-like bamboo stakes prevented. Said a voice outside, and close to him--"The key to the gate: here it is." The Kashiku at a run passed by him. Kibei gave a shout. The frightened woman turned, recognized him, then sped on. In a few steps he was on her. The raised sword descended as she fell on her knees before him, in attempt to swerve its course. Through wrist and collar-bone, from neck to navel, the keen blade passed. Kibei threw the weapon aside. He leaned over her, his dagger drawn. Then he rose, holding by its tresses the head. For a moment he gazed on it. Slowly he walked to the pond in the centre of the garden. Carefully he washed the bloody trophy and placed it on the curbing. Confronting it he made reverential salutation. "Kibei keeps his promise to the Kashiku. With Tamagiku he treads the gloomy paths of Shideyama. Honoured lady--a moment and Kibei follows." Seated before the head reposing on the curb he opened his clothes. Thrusting the bloody dagger deep into his left side he slowly drew it across the belly; then made the upward cut. The body fell forward. Kibei indeed had kept his word. CHAPTER XXI MATTERS ECCLESIASTICAL Inagaki Sho[u]gen received the news at dawn, just as he was leaving the castle on completion of his night watch. The old knight smiled gravely, thanked the bearer of the message, and rewarded him with lavish hand. The _kago_ bearers jolted on. The news had reached the train, and _chu[u]gen_ and spearman exchanged whispers. On arrival at the Inagaki _yashiki_ his lordship made no motion to descend. The chamberlain raising the curtain gave a cry of horror. The old man lay stretched at the bottom of the little chamber. The dagger and the pool of blood told the tale. Sho[u]gen had followed the example of his son. He, too, now trod the paths of Shideyama. With laggard tottering step Akiyama Cho[u]zaémon entered his house. Regardless of wife and the cushion she offered, of the hardly repressed tear in her salutation, he cast himself full length on the mats. He buried his face in his arms. The groans which issued from the prostrate body frightened the woman. "The honoured return; has other misfortune fallen on the House?" A shrug of the shoulders, a shiver; then the man half rose and faced her. She was startled at his expression. He was facing the most dreadful, not mere thought of ruin to him and his--"Suzuki San is liar and thief. Fifty _ryo[u]_ in hand the promise was for abstention. Now he demands twenty _ryo[u]_ more--the interest on the debt in full." His voice rose to a harsh scream. He laughed despairingly. "Seventy-five _ryo[u]_ interest, for the loan of a month; and that loan forced on this Cho[u]zaémon by Ito[u] Kwaiba! Kibei has squandered everything. The loan comes back on the bail. If Suzuki holds the interest in hand, he allows the principal, three hundred and fifty _ryo[u]_, to stand for the month. Unless he has the lacking twenty-five _ryo[u]_ by the fourth hour (9 A.M.) to-morrow, complaint is laid at the office. As usual the interest is written into the face of the bond. The end is certain. This Cho[u]zaémon must cut belly or suffer degradation (_kaieki_)." He looked her over critically. The light of hope died out of his eyes--"Ah! If this Tsuyu could but be sold, the money would be in hand. But she is old and ugly. Pfaugh!..." How he hated her at this moment. Some half a dozen years older than Cho[u]zaémon the marriage had been arranged by the parents on truly financial principles. Mizoguchi Hampei was rich, and reputed stingy and saving. Just recently he had fallen into the Edogawa as he returned home late one night. Drunk and surfeited with the foul waters of the stream they had fished him out stone dead. Then it was learned that the old fellow of sixty odd years had several concubines, of the kind to eat into house and fortune. The reversion of the pension, of course, went to the House. In all these years Cho[u]zaémon had never received the dower of O'Tsuyu; nor dared to press the rich man for it, too generous to his daughter to quarrel with. The funds eagerly looked for by Cho[u]zaémon were found to be _non est inventus_. Probably, if alive, Mizoguchi would have argued that the dower had been paid in instalments. In his grave difficulties Akiyama could find no aid in his wife. She mourned her uselessness--"Willingly would Tsuyu come to the aid of House and husband, join her daughter in the bitter service. But past forty years.... 'Tis useless to think of it. Perhaps some expedient will come to mind." She brought out the arm rest and placed it near his side. Then she sat apart watching him. From time to time was heard the tap of her pipe as she knocked out the ashes. At last, overcome by sleep and seeing no sign of movement on the husband's part, she went off to bed, expecting that he would soon follow. She woke with a start--"Father! Father!" The voice of O'Tsuru rang sharply in her ears. Dazed she half rose and looked around her. The daylight streamed through the closed _amado_. She had been dreaming. With surprise she noted her husband's absence. Had he gone forth? The cries of a bean curd seller were heard without--"_To[u]fu!_ _To[u]fu!_ The best of _to[u]fu_!" The palatable, cheap, and nutritious food was a standard meal in this house as in many others of Nippon. Akiyama was most generous in indulgence of his passions for gambling, wine, and the women of Shinjuku; and his household with equal generosity were indulged in an economical regimen of _to[u]fu_. The wife rose to answer the call of the street huckster. Her surprise increased as she found every means of exit bolted and barred, as during the night. The open sliding window in the kitchen roof caught her eye. Surely he had not departed that way! As she opened the back door a murmur of voices, as in the roadway or close by, struck her ear. The _to[u]fu_ seller had his head turned away looking upward. At her call he turned quickly with apology--"Good day, honoured lady. A strange event! Ah! The honoured household still sleeps. All is silent.... Strange indeed! A man has hung himself on the big oak tree in the temple ground. Deign to look." He pointed to the big tree close by in the grounds of the Myo[u]gyo[u]ji.[35] Sure enough: forty feet from the ground dangled the body of a man. It swayed gently to and fro in harmony with the movement of the branches. A hand seemed to grasp the heart of Tsuyu. The branches of the tree reached far over their roof. The open _hikimado_! With feeble voice she said--"My husband; he is strangely absent. Deign, somebody, to climb up and find out whether this man is--of the ward." The startled _to[u]fu_ seller hastened to get aid. Several men entered the garden, quickly mounted to the roof, and thus reached the tree. Said the topmost fellow--"Ma! Ma! It is no pretty sight. He makes a hideous spectacle. The face is black as a rice boiler. The eyes stand out as if ready to burst. The tongue hangs out like a true guard (_hyo[u]tan_). The grin on the distended mouth is not nice to see. Ah! The rascal has used the merest cord to cut himself off. And he has nearly done so. The head is almost severed." He gave a shout--"Naruhodo! Why, its...." One close by silenced him. The men above looked down. They made signs to those below. The women gathered around O'Tsuyu as if to keep her from the sight. She broke away from them as the body was gently lowered to the ground. Her shrieks rang loud. They strove to detach her from the dead body of Cho[u]zaémon. The House ruined, daughter and husband taken out of her life in a single day; the blow was too crushing for a brain harassed by a life with this debauched worthless man. Her warders struggled with one gone clean daft. Years after men grown up from childhood in the ward looked with pity at the feeble ragged old mad beggar woman who crouched by the beautiful bronze dragon which ornaments the water basin of the Ten-o[u] Jinja. They would drop in her hand a copper "cash," and drive off with rebuke the children who taunted and annoyed her--as they had done years before. Thus were mother and daughter--the innocent--involved in the father's crime against the dread Lady of Tamiya. All these events created a tremendous stir in Yotsuya. Men disliked to go abroad at night. Women, to their great inconvenience were confined to the house. Two figures approaching each other in the darkness would be seen to hesitate and stop. "What's that--standing, slinking yonder by the wall? Alas! This Kinsaburo[u], this Genzaémon has evil fortune led him into the clutches of the O'Baké? O'Iwa! O'Iwa!" With that and mad cries they would fall on each other; at times only to exercise restraint after some injury had been done. Hence quarrels arose; feuds, started in all innocence, came into being. Women, as suspects, were chief sufferers. The local atmosphere was overcharged, nerve racked. And so from Honjo[u] to Nakacho[u] (Shinjuku), from Nakanocho[u] (Yoshiwara) to Shinagawa, even in the nearer post towns of Kawasaki, Tsurumi, and Kanagawa the talk was spreading of the strange happenings in Yotsuya of Edo town. Katada Tatéwaki, descendant of that Katada Samon who, as vassal of Gongen Samon (Iyeyasu) had had this Aoyama-Yotsuya district in fief, now first began his inquiries into the affair. The Katada had wide possessions elsewhere at the time of the grant. Samon had gifted much of his new fief as temple land, and on the old maps of the day this part of Edo is a blood red splash, indication of these many establishments. But the Katada influence still prevailed through the ward, indeed through the more than good will of the beneficiaries. Tatéwaki's _yashiki_ was at the top of Ushigomézaka. His modest pension of a thousand _koku_ by no means represented the extent of his power. Iémon became frightened at the storm gathering against him. He was open to all suggestions of remedy for the cataleptic state into which O'Hana had fallen. The neighbour gossips suggested calling in the Daiho[u]-in of Shiomachi. A service kept part at least of the money in the ward. They had their share in provision and consumption; the fifty _ryo[u]_ necessary were much to them--and to Iémon in his present circumstances. The neighbours were assembled at Tamiya. Iémon went forth to greet the Daiho[u]-in. With his attendant _kannushi_ and train he presented himself at the entrance. Iémon was prostrate in salutation before the great man.--"Reverential thanks for the condescension. Deign to enter this unfortunate house." The Shinto[u] priest was brusque, as is the way of the kind. Himself he was the _samurai_, with all the tone of official manner. "Ha! Ha! Salutation to all." He gave a comprehensive glance through the assembly and lost none of them in the process. He approached the couch of O'Hana. He opened the closed eyes, which stared fixedly into space as of one dead. He raised an arm upright from the body. Stepping aside, he squatted. Some moments passed. The arm remained rigidly upright. Satisfied, the Daiho[u]-in signed to his attendants. Raising O'Hana they placed her in a sitting posture on a mat. Her hair was arranged in _icho[u]mage_.[36] A _gohei_ was placed between her hands. Then the Daiho[u]-in began the recitation of the prayers and charms. The other priests gave voice at times in response. All present were awe-struck. The women hardly breathed, leaning eagerly forward. Their eyes took on a vacant stare, as if themselves mesmerized. The _gohei_ began to tremble; then to shake violently. The woman's hair fell down in disorder around her face. All turned away their faces. Some women gave smothered cries. It was O'Iwa San who glared at them out of those eyes. The Daiho[u]-in eagerly leaned close over O'Hana--"O'Iwa: where are you? What has become of your body? Be sure to speak the truth. Don't attempt to lie to the priest.... You don't know? Ah! you would be obstinate in your grudge. The charm shakes and quivers; it possesses O'Iwa.... You would rest in Samoncho[u] ground? That is much to ask; particularly when the body is not in hand.... A substitute will do? Ah! Prayers?... For a year, at morn and night of each day? That is terrific. Consider the cost.... You care not for the cost! Only then will you cease to afflict the ward?... Very well: humbly this Daiho[u]-in transmits the will of the dead." Thus did the priestly mediator interpret to his gaping auditors the mumbling and cries given forth by O'Hana. The wild look faded from her eyes. She rolled over as in a faint. The priests raised her up. The Daiho[u]-in turned to Iémon and the assembly--"The words of O'Iwa have been heard through this woman. O'Hana has been possessed by O'Iwa. Hence her trance.... Heigh! Water!" He began making passes over his patient--"The stage has passed. O'Hana no longer is possessed by O'Iwa. The wronged lady leaves O'Hana to peace. O'Hana is completely herself again. O'Iwa is all delusion. O'Hana believes this. She believes firmly. The Daiho[u]-in tells her to believe. O'Iwa does not haunt O'Hana. O'Iwa has no ill will against O'Hana." He looked fixedly and with command into the eyes of O'Hana. His voice rang clear and authoritative. Then he began gently to stroke the back of her head, her neck and spine. "All is well?" "Hai! Hai! This Hana is completely restored. All is well." With a little sigh she sank back, to be laid on the cushions in a sleep which all wondered to see was most natural. Those present were in transports of delight. They buzzed approval as the Daiho[u]-in addressed Iémon. "The Daiho[u]-in has done his part. All have heard the words of O'Iwa San. The rest lies with the temple. Deign to receive these words. The Daiho[u]-in returns." With his pack voicing loudly at his tail he left the entrance gate. The assembly streamed after. Iémon was left alone, biting his thumbs in helpless rage. He was aghast. "The old fox! What is to be done, pressed as Iémon is for funds? How is this Iémon to act? Refusal means the open hostility of the whole ward. It will turn against him. Ah! What a miserable old scamp. He did it all himself; he and his confederates. The gods descend from above; the Daiho[u]-in shakes the _gohei_ from below--and those fools believe, to the ruin of Iémon!" Hence he would have postponed the costly appeal to the temple. Within the week a committee of the ward waited upon him. As if expecting them, Iémon gave ready compliance. With four or five other gentlemen he waited upon Shu[u]den Osho[u], the famous priest of the temple of the Gyo[u]ran Kwannon. The Lady Merciful, Kwannon Sama, seemed the fitting deity to whom appeal should be made. A word is to be said as to this famous manifestation of the goddess. Told by Ryuo[u] at length, of necessity here the account is much abridged. Gyo[u]ran Kwannon--Kwannon of the fish-basket--has several other names. She is called the Namagusai Kwannon, from the odour of fresh blood attached to the pursuit; the Byaku Kwannon, or the white robed; the Baryufu Kwannon, as wife of Baryu the fisherman. The image of the Byaku Kwannon exists.[37] It is carved in white wood, stained black, with a scroll in the right hand, and holding a fish basket (_gyo[u]ran_) in the left hand. The story of Baryu, and of his connection with Kwannon, is of more moment. In Morokoshi (China) there is a place called Kinshaden. Across the bay from Edo-To[u]kyo[u] is Kazusa with its ninety-nine villages, one of which has the same name--Kinshaden. The fishing population of Nippon is a rough lot. From babyhood there is little but quarrelling and fighting between the bands which control the different wards of the villages. The relations between the people are very primitive. One of the important occupations is the _iwashi_, or pilchard, fishing. To pull in the nets loaded with the fish requires the united effort of the whole village population, men, women, even children. Among their toilers the people of Kinshaden noted a young girl of some sixteen or seventeen years; easily noted by the great beauty and attraction of face and figure, the willing readiness and wonderful strength she showed in her struggles with the weighted net. As she appeared several times at last some men went up to her--"Girl, you are a stranger here. For your aid thanks are offered. Who may you be; and whence from? Strangers, even in kindness, in Nippon must not conceal their names." The girl smiled.--"I come from Fudarakusan in the South Ocean.... Where is Fudarakusan? It is in India.... And India? It is in the South Ocean, the Nankai." To the wonder expressed at her coming such a distance of thousands of _ri_--"I come, I serve, for my husband."--"Your husband? Pray who may he be, in these parts?"--"Not yet is he chosen," answered the girl. "Come! The nets are drawn, the fishing ended for the day. I will ascend that rock; read the sutra of the Lady Kwannon. He who can first memorize it shall be my husband." Ready was the assent to such an attractive proposal--a beautiful helpmate in prospect, one endowed with surprising strength for her frail form, and who seemed to bring luck to the efforts of the village in the struggle for a livelihood. Even the Nipponese prejudice against strangers paled before such practical qualification. The maid ascended to the rostrum. For three days she read and expounded the holy sutra of the Lady Kwannon. On the fourth day the fisherman Baryu--young, handsome, strong--felt sure that he could answer to the test. "Woman, descend! To-day this Baryu will repeat the sutra, expound its meaning." With seeming surprise and merriment the girl obeyed. Baryu took her place. Without slip or fault he repeated the sutra, expounded the intricacies of its meaning. The girl bowed low in submission. "Condescend to admit my humble person to the hut of Baryu the fisherman. To-night she pollutes with her presence a corner of his bed-chamber." Rejoicing Baryu at once took her to his home, where he would act the husband. At first gently she rebuked him. "These rough people of Kinshaden have regard to nothing! There is such a rite as marriage. Nine times are the _saké_ cups to be drained between husband and wife. Thus is established this important relation. In the connection between man and woman there is such a thing as etiquette. This observed, the woman passes to the possession of the man. For the woman, second marriage there is none." Thus were the decencies of the marriage bed taught to the rough fisherman. Near dawn Baryu awoke with surprise. His bed-fellow was in the last extremities. Dripping with sweat, she seemed to be melting away. Already she was unconscious. Then vomiting forth water she died. Baryu was tremendously put out. To lose a wife, who barely had been a wife; one so beautiful, so strong; this was extremely vexatious. "This won't do at all! Why has such a misfortune befallen this Baryu? O'Kabe (Miss Plaster) and O'Nabé (Miss Stewpan) endured without mishap the passage of their marriage night.... Hai! Hai!" in reply to a friend knocking at the door. "Baryu cannot go to the fishing to-day.... The woman? She has died. Baryu's wife is dead." Opening the door he retailed his experience to the wondering friend. As they talked, along came a priest most strangely dressed for this land. Approaching them he said--"Is this the house of Baryu?" At the fisherman's acknowledgement--"Has a girl come here?... Dead! Deign to let this foolish cleric hang eyes upon her." Baryu thought he would take his turn at questions. "And you; whence from?" "From Fudarakusan in the Nankai." "Get you hence, frantic interloper," broke in Baryu with grief and anger. "Enough has this Baryu heard of Fudarakusan. Baryu must needs observe his state as widower. The month must pass before he seeks a wife. And more than half its days remain! But look." Mollified by the humble attitude of the priest he went and raised the coverlet from the woman's body. He uttered a cry of surprise. "Oya! Oya! She has disappeared. There is naught here but a wooden image. Ma! Ma! what a curious figure--with scroll and fish basket, just as the wife appeared at the beach. This is what one reads of in books." He turned to the priest in wonder and as seeking explanation. Said the latter with earnest and noble emphasis--"Favoured has been this Baryu. The Kwannon of Fudarakusan of Nankai has shown herself before his very eyes. For the reform of this wicked people, to teach them the holy writing, she has condescended to submit to the embraces of the fisherman. Let not Baryu think of other marriage. For him has come the call to leave this world. Fail not to obey." Baryu rushed to the door, to catch but a glimpse of the departing form. All sign of the priest quickly faded. Baryu returned to the wooden figure lying where once had reposed the body of the beautiful girl. It was a most unsatisfactory substitute for the flesh and blood original. But Baryu made the most of it. He took his vow. He shaved his head, becoming a priest to recite and preach the sutra of the Lady Kwannon. Hence this Kwannon is known as the Baryufu Kwannon--wife of Baryu the fisherman. Hence she is called the Kwannon of the fish basket, in honour of the aid she brought the people of this village and land. CHAPTER XXII THE RITES FOR O'IWA SAN Iémo[u]n fared as badly at the hands of the Buddha as at those of the Kami. Shu[u]den Osho[u], as guardian of the sacred image of the Gyo[u]ran Kwannon, was a very great man indeed. After some delay the deputation from Samoncho[u] was ushered into his presence, Iémon made profound obeisance and explained the cause of their presence. The visitations of O'Iwa to the district were causing the greatest public commotion. Not as a matter of private interest, but of public utility his interference was sought. If Iémon thought to abstract a copper "cash" from the priestly treasury he made a gross mistake. Besides, the individual who disturbs the public peace suffers severely from official mediation, no matter what form this takes. Shu[u]den inquired minutely as to the visit of the Daiho[u]-in, of which he seemed to have heard. What information Iémon might have withheld, or minimised, or given a different complexion, was cheerfully volunteered by others, who also corrected and amplified any undue curtailing or ambiguity of their spokesman. Shu[u]den listened to Iémon with a gravity and an expression hovering between calculation and jeering comment. He turned from him to the committee, giving great attention to those scholiasts on the text of the orator. He gravely wagged his head in agreement with the rival prelate, whose acumen he highly extolled. Memorial services were to be provided for a year. It was, after all, merely a form of restitution to the wronged lady. But also the wandering spirit of O'Iwa was to be suitably confined. Here lay the difficulty. Recitation of the sutra for seven continuous days; proper inhumation of the substitute beyond possibility of disturbance, would surely lay a spell on the enraged lady, and put an end to the curse of one dying an unworshipped spirit. For the burial a bamboo was to be provided--of length one _shaku_ eight _bu_ (one foot nine inches) between the joints. With this notice Iémon and his companions withdrew. He was resigned to the payment of the fifty _ryo[u]_ necessary for the memorial services extending over the year. The inclusion in the bamboo was another affair. The finding of such was about as easy as the fishing for black pearls. He soon found that securing the substitute and securing the body of O'Iwa San for proper inhumation were kindred problems. After looking over all the bamboo which had drifted to Edo and was in the hands of the world secular--and most of it at surprisingly cheap rates--the committee was driven back on the religious world. They soon found that the article in question was kept in stock only at the Gyo[u]ran Kwannondo[u]. Resorting to the priestly offices, Iémon felt convinced that the grave salutation of the incumbent official--they directed him to the treasury--concealed a derisive grin at his expense. He was sure of it when he learned that this rare object could be had--for another fifty _ryo[u]_. The temple gave no credit; but Suzuki, the usurer who was one of the party, after some demur agreed to hand over the amount, which he had just received from Akiyama Cho[u]zaémon, the service bounty of the daughter O'Tsuru. With some reluctance the long nosed, long faced, long limbed Kamimura went security for the repayment on their return to the ward. With cheerful recklessness Iémon pledged the last chance of any income from the pension and resources of Tamiya for the next three years; so heavily was he in debt. Shu[u]den on his part lost no time. With at least one member of the committee in attendance, to see that he played fair, for seven days vigorously was the sutra intoned by the loudest and most brazen of his subordinates, backed by the whole body of priests. Day and night a priest would slip to the side altar, to invoke the pity of the Buddha on the wandering spirit of the deceased lady in few pithy but hasty words, and to spend the rest of his vigil in a decent slumberous immobility. The seven days accomplished, the procession formed. Six men in new uniforms--provided by Iémon--made pretence of great difficulty in carrying the long box (_nagamochi_). Four men carried the _sambo_, or sacred tray of white wood, on which rested the section of bamboo wrapped by the hands of Shu[u]den himself in the sacred roll of the sutra of Kwannon. Officialdom of the ward was present. The citizens turned out _en masse_. For long Yotsuya had not witnessed such a scene. Within its precincts the _yashiki_ of the great nobles were conspicuously absent; their long processions of spearman, _chu[u]gen_, _samurai_ and officials were only to be witnessed at times on the highway which leaves Shinjuku for the Ko[u]shu[u]kaido[u] and the alternate and then little used Ashigarato[u]ge road. Arrived at Samoncho[u] the ground selected was inspected by Shu[u]den. The bishop's eyebrows puckered in questioning mien. "Here there are too many people. Is there no other place?" They led him to another site. The wrinkle deepened to a frown--"Here there are too many children. Their frolics and necessities are unseemly. These would outrage the tender spirit. Is there no other place?" The committee was nonplussed. Iémon was in terrible fear lest all his effort and expenditure would go for naught but to swell Shu[u]den's cash roll. A thought came into his mind. "There is no other open land, but the garden of Tamiya is wide and secluded. The wall prevents public access." People looked at him aghast. He was either mad with courage, or obstinate in disbelief in the power of O'Iwa San so plainly manifested. Shu[u]den paid no attention to that surprised whispering. "Deign to show the way thither." Thus the procession took its course back to Teramachi and through the gate of Tamiya. A spot was selected, just before the garden gate. It was open to the salutation and vows of passers-by, yet could be shut off from direct access toward house and public. At Shu[u]den's order a hole was dug, just four _shaku_ (feet) in depth. The Osho[u] began the recitation of the sutra. The priests stood by in vigilant attention. As the last word reverberated on the bishop's lips they seized the sutra wrapped bamboo, slipped it in the long box--bum! the lock snapped. The congregation was tremendously impressed. For a decent time Shu[u]den remained in prayer and meditation. "The charm is complete. O'Iwa no longer wanders, to her own penance and the disaster of men. Henceforth he who says she does so lies. Hearken to the words of Shu[u]den. Admit none such to your company. Let not children make this place a playground. Shu[u]den has given warning. Pollution surely follows. Their habits are unseemly, an insult to the dead. Even as to parents, those with infants on their backs are specifically to be excluded." He tied a paper covered with Sanscrit characters to a bamboo stick. This was placed on a white wood stake. On the stake he wrote kindred words, converting it into the counterfeit of a _sotoba_. Neither he nor any present knew what the words meant, or had care as to their ignorance of this essential of religion. Then he and his train gathered up their gowns and galloped out the gate, after practice and receipt of grave courtesy, so much did temple differ from shrine in its contact with secular life. The assembled multitude departed; much edified by the day's proceedings, and with low comment to each other on the dilapidation of Tamiya, its fall from the one time spruce and flourishing state. "Introduce a spendthrift in the door, and the wealth leaks from every crevice. The spirit of Tamiya Matazaémon must grieve at this sight. But why did he bring in as _muko_ a stranger?" Iémon could flatter himself on the efficacy of the divine interposition. The public mind was quieted. Nothing more was heard of O'Iwa San. Only the daily summons, on one pretext or another, to the ward office troubled him. The _yakunin_ also made a practice of taking in Tamiya en route to performance of their various missions. This he knew was a practice as to men under observation. He went over his career as known to Yotsuya. There was nothing in it to call for question. Official censure does not rest its case on a ghost story. The famous investigation of Echizen no Kami (O[u]oka) into the Yaeume case of Yamada was matter of later days. Moreover, all his troubles were lightened by the state of O'Hana, the devoted object of unwavering affection. Ever since the Daiho[u]-in had mesmerized her, impressed his will on her, the daily improvement could be marked. Now again she was her normal self; sadly thin and worn in spirit, a woman tired out, but yet the figure of O'Hana and in her right mind. To him she was the beautiful tradition of the past and just as beautiful as ever in actuality. Two weeks had passed since Shu[u]den's experiment. One night, as the hour of the pig (9 P.M.) was striking, there came a knocking at the door. O'Hana rose from her sewing. "Danna, Kamimura San would say a word." Iémon made a gesture of annoyance. The long man had shadowed him, ever since entering on the engagement of bail. He went to the door and looked at his caller with amazement. Kamimura, his hair in confusion, was stark naked except for his wife's under cloth--and she was almost a dwarf. He stretched out a hand to Iémon, half in threat, half in begging. "Iémon Uji, a word: condescend to grant this Goémon ten _ryo[u]_ in silver, not in words. Suzuki the usurer has come on Goémon as bail of Iémon, in the matter of the exorcism. To-day he stripped the house of everything. Wife and children, hungry and almost naked, lie on bare boards. When Goémon begged mercy, that he go to Tamiya, the wretched fellow jeered. 'Tamiya? Tamiya has but _hibachi_ and three mats; the clothes worn by himself and wife. The house and land of Tamiya is but a reversion. Suzuki gets nothing at Tamiya but a lawsuit which would not pay the office fees. Kamimura is rich; his house is well supplied. One petition; and not only expenses, but the debt finds payment. Hence Suzuki troubles not Tamiya.' With this off he went deriding me. Deign the loan, Iémon San. Condescend at least the shelter of clothes and food." To the wretched fellow Iémon could make no reply. Ten _ryo[u]_! Kamimura might as well have asked for ten thousand _ryo[u]_. In house and land Iémon was secure. These belonged to the heirship of Tamiya as long as the House maintained its status. The pension was long mortgaged. The farms had disappeared. The trouble of Goémon pained him. He could only refuse; palliating the refusal with vague promises as to the near future. He would effect a loan. The debt of Suzuki repaid, all his goods would be restored to Kamimura San. Goémon took this talk at its real value. Shaking his fist he berated Iémon with violent words. "Ah! Shame is brought to the House of Kamimura, wretchedness to his family--and by this vile stranger. It is Iémon with his heartless wicked treatment of O'Iwa San, who has wrought distress and ruin to the ward. For Goémon there is neither food nor clothing? Wait! Time shall bring his vengeance on Iémon and his House." Iémon would have detained him; sought in some way to mollify him, at least get a hint as to how he purposed injury. Goémon shook him off as one would a reptile. With a wild laugh he went out naked as he was into the darkness. He had no definite purpose in mind. However, as he passed the garden gate of Tamiya his eye caught the factitious _sotoba_ standing white in the fitful moonlight. He stood stock still; then clapped his hands in mad joy and decision. Hastening to his home he sought out an old battered mattock and a rusty spade. Soon he was back at the garden gate. A blow and the bar fell. Goémon passed within. "She lies but four _shaku_ deep. The task is quickly performed. None pass here at this hour." The dirt flew under his nervous arms. Soon he had the box out on the ground beside him. A peal of thunder; he must hasten, or stand a ducking from the coming storm. He laughed. What had a naked man to fear from getting wet? The clothes he wore would not spoil. Why did not man dress in a towel, as after the bath; its use, to wipe the moisture from the body. Now his eyes were fixed in curiosity on the bamboo staff before him. The first few drops of the rainstorm fell on his bare shoulders, but he disregarded them. "Naruhodo! How heavy it is! O'Iwa in life hardly weighed more. Lady of Tamiya--show pity on this Goémon. Iémon and O'Hana--those wicked voluptuaries--prosper and flourish, while Goémon is brought to beggary and starvation. Deign to visit the wrath of O'Iwa San on these vile wretches. Seize and kill them. Goémon sets O'Iwa free." He seized the mattock. Raising it overhead he brought the edge sharply down on the bamboo stake. At the moment there was a violent peal of thunder rolling off into a crash and rattle. The landscape was lit up by the vivid lightning. People uneasily turned over on their beds. Shortly after dawn Iémon woke with a start. Don-don-don, don-don-don. There was a tremendous rapping at his door. O'Hana could hear but a whispered consultation going on without the _amado_. Iémon returned to the room. His face was white; his step tottered. Hastily he donned an outer robe. To her question he made scant reply, so agitated was he. His one idea was to keep from her what he had just heard. In the garden he found his wardsmen assembled. All were dumbfounded and aghast. They looked at each other and then at the broken bamboo tube. Close by lay the body of the man who had done the deed. Brains and blood had oozed from the hole in the skull in which yet stuck the pointed end of the mattock sunk deep within. Evidently the instrument had rebounded from the resilient surface of the bamboo. A by-stander pointed to the tiny fracture near the hard knot of the staff. It was a small thing, but enough to destroy all the past labours. Iémon went up to look at the body. "Why! 'Tis Goémon." To their questioning he told how Kamimura had called on the previous night, his rage at the inability of Iémon to aid him in distress. With hanging heads, eyes on the ground, and wagging tongues, all departed to their homes. Later the body of Goémon was borne to his house by neighbours. Iémon picked up the bamboo staff. Carrying it within he placed it in a closet. It was as costly an object as the house had ever held. He was in despair. It was on that very day, at the seventh hour (3 P.M.), that O'Hana heard a call at the door. "A request to make! A request to make!" She recoiled from the sight presented. A beggar stood at the entrance of Tamiya. A dirty mat wrapped around his body, feet and arms emerging from bandages, making him like to some hideous insect with its carapace, his face wrapped in a towel, the effects of leprosy were hideously patent.--"What do you here? There is naught to be had. Pray depart at once." The answer was in tones the very harshness of which seemed to cause pain to the utterer--"The request is to Iémon Dono. Condescend to notify him." With fearful glance O'Hana shrank within, Iémon noted her nervous quivering. Promptly he was on his feet--"A beggar has frightened Hana? Such are to be severely dealt with." He went to the entrance. "A beggar, and such a fellow? How comes it entrance has been had to the ward? There is nothing for you here. If you would escape the dogs and bastinado, get you hence at once." The man did not stir from the spot on which he stood. Slowly he opened the mat held round his body (_komokaburi_), one of the coarse kind used to wrap round _saké_ barrels. He was clothed in rags glued together by the foul discharges of his sores. He removed the towel from his face. The ghastly white and red blotches, the livid scars of the leper, the head with patches of scurfy hair ready to fall at a touch, startled even Iémon the priest. He would not have touched this man, expelled him by force, for all the past wealth of Tamiya. The intruder noted the effect produced. "To such has the wrath of O'Iwa San brought this Cho[u]bei. Does not Iémon, the one-time neighbour Kazuma, recognize Cho[u]bei? And yet all comes through Iémon. Child, wife, means of life, all these have failed Cho[u]bei. In the jail robbed of everything, degenerate in mind and body, Cho[u]bei has found refuge at nights in the booths of street vendors; on cold wet nights, even in the mouths of the filthy drains. Fortunate is he when fine weather sends him to rest on the river banks. To seek rest; not to find it. O'Iwa stands beside him. When eyelids drowse Cho[u]bei is aroused, to find her face close glaring into his. Beg and implore, yet pardon there is none. 'Cho[u]bei has a debt to pay to Iwa. In life Cho[u]bei must repay by suffering; yet not what Iwa suffered. Think not to rest.' Some support was found in a daughter, sold in times past to the Yamadaya of Yoshiwara. There the child grew up to become the great profit of the house. The influence of the Kashiku was all powerful to secure entrance. For a night Cho[u]bei was to find food and a bed. But that night came Kibei San. He killed the Kashiku--crushed her out, as one would crush an insect. This Cho[u]bei nearly died; but Kibei left him to the mercy of O'Iwa. Her mercy!" He would have thrown out his arms in weary gesture of despair. The pain and effort were too great. He moaned. "Last night Cho[u]bei sought relief. Of late years the river has been spanned, for passers-by and solace of the human refuse. Standing on Ryo[u]gokubashi the dark waters of the river called to Cho[u]bei as they swept strongly by to the sea. A moment, and all would be ended. About to leap hands were laid on Cho[u]bei's shoulders. He was dragged back. Turning--lo! 'twas O'Iwa San. Another creature, still fouler than she, with sloping eyelid, bald head, and savage look, stood by. Said O'Iwa San--'And Cho[u]bei would end all--with luxury before his eyes! Cho[u]bei dies not but with the consent of Iwa. Get you to Yotsuya; to Iémon and Hana, living in luxury and Tamiya. Aid will not be refused you.' And so she brought me here. Deign to hear the prayer of Cho[u]bei. Allow him to die in Yotsuya, upon the _tatami_; not on the bare earth, to be thrown on the moor for dogs to gnaw. Grant him burial in temple ground." He changed his theme; the feeble quivering hands clasped his belly. "Ah! This pinching hunger. Double Cho[u]bei's suffering; of mind and body. Apply for alms or food, and the leper is repulsed. See! Two fingers remain on this hand. Count of the rest fills out the tale for but one member. O'Hana San, condescend a rice ball for this Cho[u]bei. You, at least, know not the pinch of hunger.... Ah! She still possesses some of that beauty and charm for which Iémon has brought ruin upon all." Before the horrible lascivious leer of this object O'Hana fled. Left alone Iémon spoke. He had been thinking--"Cho[u]bei has spoken well. From Iémon he is entitled to relief. Cho[u]bei shall die on his mat. But in such shape nothing can be done. Get you hence. Buy clothing fit to appear before men's eyes. In the bath wash that pus-laden body. Then come to Iémon. Relief shall be granted Cho[u]bei." Wrapping a _ryo[u]_ in paper he passed it to the leper. It was the last coin he possessed. O'Hana now returned with five or six rice balls savoured with salt. Fascinated, the two watched the horrible diseased stumps awkwardly shoving the food into the toothless mouth, cramming it in, and breaking it up so as not to lose the savour of a grain. "Until to-morrow," said Cho[u]bei. He picked up his stick. In silence the man and woman watched him. "Leaning on his bamboo staff he crawled away like some insect." O'Hana looked inquiringly at Iémon. He turned away his head. Through the dusk Cho[u]bei crawled across the Ryo[u]gokubashi. The words of the woman O'Také had come true. He had a sense of being followed. He turned at the sound of footsteps. At sight of a _samurai_ in deep hat, mechanically he stretched out hands and self in the roadway, begging an alms. The man drew apart, passing him in disgust and haste. Cho[u]bei went on. He had no aim. It was with surprise that he found himself, as often of late, on the embankment of the North Warigesui. He looked down on the foul place of O'Iwa's disappearance. "A foul ending; but after all an end. One night! One night's sleep! Deign, lady of Tamiya, to grant pardon and respite to Cho[u]bei. Just one hour of sleep." Carefully he adjusted his mat. Painfully he stretched himself out on it. "To die on the mat. Such was the word of Iémon." He felt his rags. "It was well he agreed. Cho[u]bei had other means to force compliance. Well, 'tis for later use." A continued rustling aroused him. Some one was cautiously picking a way through the dry grass of the past winter, was creeping toward him. He half rose. Seeing that concealment was no longer possible, the man rushed on him. Cho[u]bei struggled to his feet, as one to fight for life. "Life is dear. Why kill Cho[u]bei the leper? Is he a test for some new sword? Deign to pardon. The flesh of the leper is too rotten. It defiles the weapon. Cho[u]bei has been the _samurai_; he knows.... Ah! Respite there is none. 'Tis Iémon! Iémon of Tamiya would kill Cho[u]bei!" He shouted and coupled the names in his despair. Fearful of discovery, of being overheard, Iémon did not delay. The gleaming weapon descended. Standing over the body Iémon showed uncertainty. He had some thought of search; even bent down over it. But he could not touch those foul rags. His nicety of feeling, almost womanlike--recoiled. Besides, what more had Iémon to do with the leper Cho[u]bei. Their account was closed. Should he leave the body where it was? Recognition might convey some danger, at least inconvenience. He looked around for means to sink it in these waters, and yet not handle its repulsiveness. A _sho[u]yu_ tub, old but fairly intact, lay upon the bank. It caught his eye. He rolled it up to the corpse. Gingerly he girdled the body of the dead man with his _tasuki_ (shoulder cord). Now tight fast it clasped the roundness of the barrel. This he filled with stones, drove in the head, and with a shove sent it and its burden into the Warigesui. "That will hold him down. The rotten punk! Three days, and none could recognize him." Then he set off at rapid pace for Yotsuya. CHAPTER XXIII SANZUGAWA BRIDGELESS: THE FLOWERLESS ROAD TRAVERSED BY THE DEAD It was the hour of the pig (9 P.M.) before Iémon reached the house in Yotsuya. To his surprise he found the _amado_ still open on the garden. Some one was lying face downward on the _ro[u]ka_. It was O'Hana. To his alarmed inquiry as to what was wrong she answered in the voice of one trying to suppress great pain. "This Hana knows not. Opening a closet to get the spices used in preparing the meal, a rat sprang out. It scratched the face of Hana. Truly the pain is very great." She groaned, Iémon gently raised her. At the look on his face O'Hana said--"There is a mirror in the toilet set (_kyo[u]dai_). Deign to get it for Hana." He did not get it--this dower gift once of O'Iwa--but tried to soothe her--"Let be: the wounds soon will heal. The pain will pass away." She shoved him aside and ran to the toilet stand. She took the hand-mirror to the solitary lamp lighting the room. Aghast she contemplated her features. One side of the face was completely discoloured. It was a dark red, almost black, with the mark of five fingers plainly visible, as if a hand had struck her. No rat had made this wound. O'Hana leaned over, her head resting almost on her knees. Iémon touched her shoulder--"Don't mind it. Truly the pain will pass with dawn. Hana...." He drew back from the scowling madness in the face raised to him--"Sa! Sa! Iémon! Iémon! Easily did you get hold of all my property, to waste it on O'Hana. 'Twas like grasping wet millet. Then, barbarous as you were, you sold me to the vile life of a street harlot. Ah! Vengeance!" In fright Iémon retreated. O'Hana, taking herself to be O'Iwa, all her madness had returned. She sprang up. Screens were beaten and torn to pieces. With the heavy mirror she turned on him, seeking vengeance for her imagined wrongs. Iémon narrowly escaped injury as he dashed in to grapple with her. He succeeded in dragging her away from the lamp. Thus did this wild battle rage in the half dark room. The fictitious strength of the ill woman gave out. He held her on the floor, as one subdued. As she relapsed into a sleep, almost of unconsciousness, he ventured to release her. Going to a closet he placed the mirror beside the bamboo stick; both hidden away. All night he watched over her. Wearied out, with day he sought an aid readily given. The nurse, however, in alarm soon roused him. O'Hana was raving madly in a high fever. The woman could not restrain her. Her cries were terrible, but not more so than the speech from her lips--"O'Iwa, pardon! With the drugs of Suian this Hana would palsy O'Iwa's mind and body; poison the very springs of life, cut off all hope of issue. Ah! Vain the love of a man. All is granted him; body and goods. Iémon sells Hana for a street harlot. Out with him! Help!... Ah! Kwaiba aids--in all his rottenness. How horrible he is--huge vacant eye holes, the purple whitish flesh gnawed and eaten.... Ugh! He stinks!... Nay! 'Tis not Kwaiba. 'Tis Cho[u]bei: Cho[u]bei the leper, who would embrace this Hana. Iémon comes. There is murder in his eye--for Hana to see, not Cho[u]bei. Away! Away!... Again, there she comes!" She grasped the nurse's arm, and pointed to the just lighted _andon_ which barely relieved the shadows of the darkening night; was it the woman's imagination? By the light, dimly outlined; sat O'Iwa San. Her hair hung down around face and body half turned aside. The bulging forehead, the puffed eyelids, were not to be mistaken. The woman shook off the sick girl's hand and fled the house. Iémon did not try to prevent her. He was as one paralyzed. He, too, had seen, and was convinced. To watch through the night was the task of the anxious and wearied man. In the day a _yakunin_ had come, with formal notice to attend next day the office of Katada Tatéwaki Dono. His lordship had an inquiry to make. The summons was not to be disregarded, no matter what his own exigencies. O'Hana had dropped into a cataleptic state. As the eighth hour (1 A.M.) approached he thought to clear brain and body by the rest of a few moments. His head had barely touched the pillow when sleep followed. The bell of Gwansho[u]ji struck the hour. It roared and reverberated through Tamiya. Iémon awoke; an oppression like suffocation pervaded his whole body. Opening his eyes they stared into the wide white flat face of O'Iwa. Her eyes were now alive, darting gleams of fire deep from within the puffed and swollen lids. He felt her wild disordered hair sweeping his face as she swayed a little, still retaining her post and clutch on his bosom--"Iémon knows Iwa now! Hana knows Iwa now! Sworn to seize and kill both for seven births--come! Now it is that Iwa completes her vengeance." As she shook and pressed on him he came gradually out of his sleep. With a shout he cast her backwards. Springing up he grasped the sword at his pillow. Madly he dealt blow after blow on the body before him. To the groans he replied by fresh blows. An uproar without called him to himself. Don--don--don, don, don, don. There was knocking at the gate. Iémon hastily trimmed up the wick of the lamp. He leaned over the body. O'Hana! The young man stooped over her, leaning on the gory sword. Great drops of cold sweat stood out on his forehead. A shout came from without. "In his lordship's name! Open, or force will be used." Why had the summons for the day been anticipated? The unhappy ravings of O'Hana flashed to his mind. Iémon no longer reasoned. A cunning insane light was in his eyes. Softly he made his way to the _amado_ fronting on the garden. No one was without. In the rain and storm he might escape. Traversing the darkness he noted, however, the man posted at the gate in the rear. Springing on the roof of the shed he looked over into Teramachi. It was deserted. With the bloody sword he hacked off the sharp points of the bamboo stakes. They now aided his flight over the wall. He cast the weapon aside. In a few minutes he disappeared in rapid flight down the street. When Katada Tatéwaki, accompanied by his men, at last broke down the stout resistance offered by the outer door of Tamiya he found the house empty, except for the dead body of O'Hana, lying in its pool of blood. She was still warm. He took it for mere murder, giving more urgent directions for immediate pursuit. Methodically he searched the house, down to the very rubbish pile. The seal of Tamiya was secured. This meant much. With sceptical smile he handled the broken bamboo stick found in a closet. He did not show the discovery to his men. Where did Iémon go? The unhappy man himself could not have told what happened in the intervening days. He came to consciousness in the darkness of a spring night, just before the dawn. The stars were beginning to pale in the East. The landscape had the livid eerie light in which it is uncertain whether day or night is to be the issue. With surprise Iémon looked around him; then shuddered. The stagnant waters of Warigesui's filthy stream lay beneath him. He had found rest on the bank, at the very place where Cho[u]bei had died under his hand. "The Sanzugawa--without hills or bridges; On highway traversed by the dead, flowers there are none."[38] The _yama_ ([yama]) refers to Yamada Cho[u]bei; the _hashi_ ([hashi]) to Takahashi Iémon; the _hana_ ([hana]) to O'Hana, the wife of Iémon. Such was the then interpretation of the old poem. Iémon could go no further. His course was run. He knew it; but how end life? At heart he was an arrant coward. Determined to cut belly he drew the dagger he had kept with him. A shudder went through him at sight of the steel. Ah! Better the green slime of the waters below. He thrust the blade back into its scabbard. Moodily standing and gazing down, he gave an idle kick to a stone near by. Dislodged, it swayed, then rolled heavily down the bank, to plunge noisily into the stream, disturb its noisome depths. The effect was surprising. Following its course with his eye Iémon suddenly gave a yell of horror. Eyes starting from his head, arms raised high, he bent toward the stream. Hair standing on end he watched the hideous object rise to the surface. The face of Cho[u]bei, purple and bloated, the lips half gnawed and open in a fiendish grin, looked up at him. Down came the arms, and Iémon put hands over eyes to shut out the fearful vision. A horrid curiosity drove him again to view it. Was he mad? This time the barrel in its slow revolution brought to view the wide flat face, the bulging brow and heavy lids, the tangled, disordered hair of the drowned O'Iwa. Scream after scream of the now frantic wretch rang in the air. These waters! Seek death there! No! No! A thousand times--No! He turned to flee the place, but his legs refused the service. With fell purpose he ripped the blade from its scabbard, tore open his clothes to give the deadly thrust. As he raised the dagger invisible hands seized his arm. When he would release it, the other arm was seized. Everywhere these hands held him fast. He raged, tore, struggled madly to elude their grasp. Then, overcome, he fainted. Katada Tatéwaki from the top of the bank had been watching the struggle of his men. He came forward and looked down at the bound and helpless creature. "'Tis he: in very fact." On order a bamboo pole was fetched, and run between the bound hands and feet. Thus like some beast was Iémon conveyed to the nearest ward office. The formalities were few and soon over. To avoid chance of repetition of the scene they conveyed him as he was. Thus began the brutal progress across Edo in full daylight. People turned and stared after this escort of the man-beast. At a distance they took the burden as some savage bear, or perhaps one of those reputed "_tanuki_" so noxious in their pranks on humankind. Come closer it was seen to be a man. Any mad struggle to get free was treated to spear pricks applied with no great nicety beyond the avoidance of serious injury. Violent as were his struggles at times, it is doubtful if they could have walked him the long distance. For the days of his flight he had never rested; nor had these men in his pursuit. Yet he was unexpected game. The Yotsuya affair was taking a widening sweep. Tamiya Yoémon and Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei were under examination. The death of a girl O'Haru at the brothel of Toémon of Honjo[u] had unexpected effects. In the investigation which followed one of the women, O'Také, had made full confession. The pedlar Mobei had never left the house of Toémon; never escaped from the hospitality of O'Matsu. His goods had aroused her cupidity. The man died by poison, and was buried in the garden of Toémon's house. O'Haru knew of the deed. This knowledge was the girl's destruction. The wife and her substitute O'Kin hated O'Haru. Some remains of a first good looks, her youth, gave her power with the master of the house. The two women worked on his fears to gain consent for her destruction. A charge easily was trumped up, and she was dragged off to the cell of punishment. Under the hands of the wife and O'Kin she suffered so that she died in three days, not without letting her mate O'Také into the secret. Promptly the Honjo[u] police were at work; not more prompt than was the woman O'Kin to disappear from Edo, almost a confession in itself. The rosary, found in the hands of the rector of the Reiganji, was easily traced through different mediators straight to O'Matsu herself. The man Toémon held out, and died under the torture. The woman confessed; and in her confession was comprehended the full story of O'Iwa's connection with Toémon's house. Of her no more need be said. She rotted and died in the jail. The girls were scattered to kindred houses. Two of the women, hunting their pray on Warigesui toward the _yashiki_ quarter, had witnessed the murder of Cho[u]bei three nights before. The police had gone to secure the body. Tatéwaki Dono was notified and had accompanied them. To the surprise of all Iémon, then the object of earnest search, was found on the spot. The affair kept on spreading--to the very source of all these troubles. Katada Tatéwaki in the course of procedure had transmitted the Tamiya case to the jurisdiction of the _machibugyo[u]_ of the North district of Edo town, Homma Iga no Kami. With greatest interest the two men in company poured over the innumerable documents now piling up in the case. Old Tamiya Yoémon proved easy game. He readily confessed all he knew. This brought in many witnesses from the wardsmen. It was not exactly what was wanted. The evidence was mostly mere hearsay and conjecture. In those days such testimony had a value not far below that of direct statement. All pointed the way to the real criminal, who after all was the star witness. Against Yoémon at first there was but little. However, in his rage against Iémon and Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei--Akiyama was out of his reach--his tongue was too long. The faces of the magistrates grew serious as his connection with the money lender Suzuki was made plain. A _samurai_ loaning money on interest! and pressing men to ruin for payment!! The stingy avaricious Yoémon appeared behind the usurer--until in time his own heavy losses had made him a borrower, and placed him in the hands of his once partner. Yoémon, together with the conspirators, was not allowed to participate in the forced restitution made by Suzuki. Nevertheless, at the time no great severity was shown the old man. He was remanded to the custody of his bail, to be kept confined to one room in the house. The same leniency was shown toward Rokuro[u]bei. When he showed a disposition to be recalcitrant, to equivocate, Homma gave sign to the _do[u]shin_. Quickly the scourgers came forward with their fearful instrument, the _madaké_. Made of bamboo split into long narrow strips, these tightly wrapped in twisted hempen cord to the thickness of a _sun_ (inch), with the convenient leverage of a couple of _shaku_ (feet), the mere sight brought Kondo[u] to terms. As he entered he had seen them lead away a _heimin_ (commoner) who had undergone the punishment. The man's back, a mass of bruised and bleeding flesh, was vivid to mind. At once he prostrated himself; made full confession. At last they were at the source. Kondo[u] was a witness of the fact. He could and did tell of the inception and progress of the whole plot against O'Iwa San, the source of untold woe to Yotsuya. His story covered the period from the entrance of Iémon into the ward up to the discovery of the body of Kamimura Goémon. The rôle played by Kazaguruma Cho[u]bei was in part dark to him. Of the disposition of O'Iwa to the Honjo[u] master of the _Yo[u]taka_ he pleaded ignorance. Tatéwaki Dono smiled as he counselled indulgence on this point. He knew. Kondo[u], however, was sent back to the jail. He was unquestionably a principal. At last it was the turn of Iémon. The weeks had passed. The body had been carefully nursed back to vigour. The mind was in lamentable state. The ill-meant efforts of the jail authorities, the strengthening of the criminal in order better to endure the torture to the confession point, were somewhat baffled by the nightly visions of the wretched man. The two hags, O'Iwa and O'Mino; Cho[u]bei in his final stage of purple bloatedness; these were his nightly companions, to torment and harass him. Sleep! If he could but close his eyes to shut out these horrors! Instead they became more vivid. The jailors put him at the farthest corner of their ample premises. His fellow prisoners, such as were allowed daily exit to the yard, visited him with blows and foul insults for the disturbance he created in the night. But he was cunning withal. Trapped as he was, in his lucid moments he realized that there could be but little against him. O'Iwa? Not even in Tokugawa times was the supernatural cause of prosecution except at the hands of the vulgar. Nor in those days, any more than in these of Taisho[u] _nengo_, was a wife legally protected against abuse of husband or parents-in-law. As for Cho[u]bei--he was dead. His own presence on the scene was no evidence against him as murderer. His only misgivings on that point lay in the confusion of mind as to the few days then covered. But who would blame a _samurai_ for testing his blade on a beggar? What were beggars for? He knew nothing of the evidence given by Yoémon and Kondo[u]; of the vile proof in the hands of Katada Dono. He had wholly forgotten the nurse who had listened to the wild ravings of O'Hana in her illness, broken sentences bearing so heavily and dove-tailing so nicely into the completed case. Owing to this woman Tatéwaki Dono had not waited the appearance of Iémon at morning. Iémon also left out of account the characters of the two men before whom he appeared. Iga no Kami sat as judge in the case. Close beside him, a little in the rear, sat Katada Tatéwaki, in whose jurisdiction the case had originated, and who was familiar with every stage. The four _do[u]shin_ sat to one side and the other of these two men. Homma and Katada were typical of their caste. Cold, callous, cruel, devoted rigidly to the formulæ; of the _samurai_ code, with strange exceptions granted to the virtues required of the common people--filial conduct and unswerving obedience to a superior--they were not men likely to regard with favour this intruder into their class. The name of _samurai_ had been brought into contempt. Hence the serious character of the offence, the necessity of severest scrutiny. To the valued suggestion of Tatéwaki, Iga no Kami nodded assent. Iémon thought of nothing but the murder of Cho[u]bei, the abuse of his wife O'Iwa, the conspiracy against her life and honour. The first question paralyzed his defence. Was he not the son of Takahashi Daihachiro[u]? The whole terrible vista of the consequences of avowal appeared before him, once himself a _do[u]shin_ and familiar with legal procedure. The family had suffered _kaieki_ (deprivation of rights). It had been degraded from the caste. Properly speaking Iémon was an intruder into the _samurai_ class. He was an impostor. His offence was against the suzerain lord, the Sho[u]gun. All the terrible penalties of treason hung over him. Tatéwaki had been quick to note the opportunity to take this case out of the category of offence by a _samurai_. Iémon was a plebeian and a charlatan. He had insulted Government. At the stumbling denial quick order was given. A _yakunin_ seized the rope and dragged down the head of Iémon. Others held him at the sides, to maintain the body rigid. Stout fellows, the pick of the jailors, came forward. With ferocious regularity the blows fell. Welts at once appeared. Soon the blood was trickling from the torn skin. There was no sign to mitigate the severity of the infliction. When at the seventieth blow the body collapsed in a faint the wretched man was a terrible sight. The attendants of the jail, witnesses of the full punishment of double the number of stripes, had rarely seen such severity exercised. The jailors hated this smooth fellow, this disturber of their peace. They kept a jail, not a madhouse. Their superiors showed no sign of the mercy of renewed questioning. Hence they would change the mad nightly ravings to the subdued groans of the punished. The days passed and his body had healed, though movement caused pain and distress. Brought again before the judges at the very sight of the scourges he screamed out confession. Questioned as to the conspiracy against the caste, his fraudulent attempt to consummate marriage with a _samurai_ woman--the actual fact or legality of it was ignored--his ill-treatment and sale of her; all these in terror he denied. Once he had looked upon banishment from Edo as the limit of his punishment. Now decapitation would be a merciful end. He strove to secure the favour of a quick and painless death. Again he was beaten almost to a jelly. He clung to his denial, so important was the issue. At the next appearance he was seized and dragged to a post fixed in the ground not far from the judge's seat. His knees were pressed down on the edges of the triangular bars. These formed a sort of grid, the edges of the bars being just enough blunted to avoid cutting the skin. None of the pain was spared, yet the prisoner remained fit for early future torture. The granite slabs were then piled on his knees. Each one weighed thirteen _kwan_ (107 lbs.). As the fifth slab was placed on the body of Iémon, the flesh assumed a reddish tint from the impeded circulation. Froth stained his mouth, mucus ran from his nose. A sixth, a seventh stone, were placed. "How now! How now!" The men pressed heavily on the stones. A _do[u]shin_ bent over him, listening and waiting for sign of the important confession. The criminal was the one important witness of Tokugawa penal law. Without confession he was innocent beyond all other proof. As the eighth stone was placed Iémon began to vomit blood. The doctor raised his hand. The feet were showing signs of blackness, which rapidly spread upward. The man was in a dead faint. No confession had been secured. Perhaps the examination was thus conducted out of some severity. Days passed. Whether or not the report of the physician was unfavourable, influenced by some means Homma had fear the man might die before a public retribution was secured. When Iémon again was dragged before his judges he had a terrible object lesson before him. A man was undergoing the torture of the lobster. Hands drawn up behind to the shoulders, the feet tightly bound across the chest, he was propped up on a mat. Properly conducted this "effort to persuade" took place in the jail. Homma wished to try the effect of anticipation on Iémon. The prisoner looked quickly at the man under torture, then hung down his head. His lips were twitching with uncertainty. Homma struck hard--"Why deny the plain fact? Is justice so ignorant of the doings and whereabouts of a scamp. Kichitaro[u], or Kazuma the diviner, as he called himself, murders Cho[u]bei the pimp; a deed carried out before witnesses." A _do[u]shin_ placed the document of the confession of the whores so that Iémon had no difficulty in ascertaining its title. "And why? Because of the agreement with Cho[u]bei to sell the woman he dared to call his wife. The proof? The seal of Tamiya, the document itself." At last Iémon looked up. The _do[u]shin_ placed under his eyes the fatal contract with Cho[u]bei--agreement of exchange of the body of the woman in return for five _ryo[u]_ duly received. It had been recovered from the dead pimp's corpse. Carefully wrapped in oiled paper, Cho[u]bei had carried it--sewn in what he called his dress. Iémon unwilling to recognize past services, Cho[u]bei was sure to find it useful. Truly Iémon was young and impatient, and Cho[u]bei was double his age. With bitterness the survivor recognized this primal fact. Iémon's eyes wandered from the paper to the thief under torture. The dark green of the body was rapidly changing. The doctor present gave a quick frightened sign. Skilful hands at once cast loose the bonds. Over toppled the body. Iémon noted the white, almost livid, colour of death. Restoratives were applied. All were busied with bringing the man back to life. Then he was carried off, expression so unlike that of a human being that the less hardened shuddered. Said Homma--"No confession yet?" He raised his hand to make a sign. Iémon knew the quickness of response. He almost screamed his appeal for further respite. The Law had triumphed. As Iémon put his thumb seal to the confession of guilt to insolence (_futodoki_) the magistrates rose and disappeared. "Futodoki"--they and he knew that it meant the death sentence.[39] Judgment was not delayed. The next day Homma, with Katada and an officer of the Sho[u]gun's household present, gave sentence. Yoémon and Rokuro[u]bei glared hate at Iémon who squatted with head bent to the ground. The sword--that now was his only hope. The first words of Homma showed that no mercy was to be dealt out in this case. Suzuki the plebeian merely suffered stripes and banishment from Edo. He had to make restitution to the amount of his property--such as was left after paying the huge fine to Government. Tamiya Yoémon and Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei underwent degradation from the caste. There was no disposition to overlook the offence of usury. Beggary was to be the portion of Yoémon, the destitution of the outcast. For some years the senile old man, the virago of a woman once the wife of Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei, were stationed at the Nio[u]mon, to attract and amuse the worshippers passing up to the great temple of the Asakusa Kwannon. Not for long could the woman hold her tongue. Abuse passed with the sun's height to blows, and the by-standers had to interfere and rescue the old man from the severe beating. It was to the profit, rather than disadvantage, of the temple. The pair were an added attraction. The priests left interference to those at hand. Then the old man disappeared; to ornament the highway with his corpse, or be cast on the moor, food for dogs and crows. Such probably was the end of Tamiya Yoémon. The woman had not been seen for some months. Her abilities as scold had attracted those qualified to judge; her transfer to the position of bawd in a low-class house of the neighbouring Yoshiwara soon followed. Kondo[u] Rokuro[u]bei fared tolerably well, considering his deserts. His confession had been a great aid in unravelling the case. He was not sentenced to cut belly. Degraded he heard with dismay the sentence of deportation and exile to the far distant island of Sado. At this savage place, subject to the hell of a Siberian winter and the intense heats of the summer, the once pampered man lived out his last days, few and evil. He who had passed the time idling with tea-cup, or _go_, or flower arrangement, and taking enjoyment in the freshness and coolness of his garden at the Yotsuyazaka, at fifty years now tried to lead the hard and dangerous life of the wild fishing population among whom he was unceremoniously cast. Such life was soon forbidden him. He was but in the road. Then he did such clerical duties as the village at times needed. A wife even was provided for him. The final blow was a palsy, cutting off all effort at making a livelihood. Beatings now took the place of food. The villagers laughed when they heard of the old man's fall from a cliff. They, too, would have acted as had the brothers of O'Nabé (stew pan). They took the word for the deed; and at the cliff foot near Negai they erected a wooden shrine to propitiate the spirit of "Jiya Rokuro[u]." The day of execution had come. When sentenced, bound as he was Iémon struggled forward to plead for mercy, respite from the barbarous punishment to be inflicted on the traitor. His reward was the cangue and bamboo saw--_nokogirihiki_; failing death by this, he was to be crucified. The attendants fell on him. Kicks and blows had little effect on the man frantic with terror. He almost reached the _ro[u]ka_ at which sat Homma. Then madly struggling he was carried off to the jail. Said a _do[u]shin_--"His antics in the cangue will find small scope." The last clause of the sentence was due to the notorious unwillingness of any passer-by to give a cut. The punishment had lapsed since the days of the third Sho[u]gun, and was no more successful in Iémon's case. Placed in the cangue at the execution ground of Shinagawa a cut was made in each side of his neck. Smeared with blood the bamboo saw was placed on the cangue in inviting proximity to the head. For five hours people passed, with curious glances, but no movement to release the criminal. An Eta (outcast) butcher sidled up. The guards watched him with curiosity. Picking up the saw he made one pass. At the yell given by Iémon he dropped the implement and fled in terror, amid the laughter of guards and by-standers. Toward the hour of the sheep (1 P.M.) a _yoriki_ with his _do[u]shin_ appeared. On signal the cangue was removed. Inert limbs feebly twitching Iémon was bound tight to the double cross, his legs and arms stretched wide apart. This was raised, and again the hours passed in miserable waiting for a death which seemed to recede. If unconsciousness threatened he was given vinegar to drink as restorative. His fevered lips eagerly sought the fluid and prolonged his torture. In the spring light the days were long. As the sun was about to set the officer gave command. A _do[u]shin_ came forward to the cross and made a sign. A guard thrust his spear upward into the belly of Iémon. The limbs made a movement, as in attempt to be drawn up. A guard on the other side in turn made a thrust. Others followed. For some moments they continued their sport, the reward of long waiting. The man was not yet dead. Impatient the _do[u]shin_ gave the shaft of a spear a violent upward thrust. Its point appeared through the left shoulder. The head fell forward on the breast and hung limp. Iémon was dead. * * * * * These events could not be let pass without notice from either the pious or the timorous. Kyo[u]ho[u] 2nd year 2nd month 22nd day (3rd April, 1717) the Inari shrine built to propitiate the fearful Lady of Tamiya was opened to worship with due ceremonies. It had been erected on the ground of the house once occupied by Matazaémon, facing on Teramachi and on the narrow street paralleling Samoncho[u] to the East. It was almost opposite the entrance to the Sho[u]gwanji. At the family temple, the Myo[u]gyo[u]ji, on the Samégabashi side, a grave and stela was set up. With time, however, the opposition made itself felt. It was asserted that the Lady O'Iwa still walked the ward, inflicting pains and penalties on the inhabitants thereof. Triumphant reference was made to recent public disasters--of plague, pestilence, famine, and tax levies. The shrine was invitation for her presence. People had grown indifferent as the new paint grew old, then shabby on the once famous _miya_. Success lay with the opposition, and abolition of shrine and grave was easily enforced. It was but for a time. The ward was either equally, or more, unfortunate without the protection of its tutelary Inari shrine. Just when it was re-established cannot be stated, but in the late eighteenth century it was most flourishing. It was a favourite resort of _samurai_ women, seeking consolation for unfaithful or brutal conduct of their husbands, and strength in the reputation for chastity of the famous Lady of Tamiya. In 1825 the third Kikugoro[u] made Yotsuya famous by his presentation of the "Yotsuya Kwaidan" as written for the stage by Tsuruya Namboku (Katsu Byo[u]zo[u]). In the first years of the Meiji restoration period Shunkintei Ryuo[u], the famous story-teller, heralded its renown in the Shin Yoshiwara. O'Iwa San became a feature of the Konharuko[u] fête of that quarter. A grave was again erected to her at the Myo[u]gyo[u]ji. As she had no _kaimyo[u]_, or posthumous name, the rector of the temple gave her that of "Tokusho[u]-In Myo[u]nen Hisho[u] Daishi," which can be interpreted--"She, pleasing of disposition and earnest in prayer; a woman of greatest brilliance." Let the reader not judge this composition harshly; or its truth. The editor to the reproduction[40] of Ryuo[u]'s story speaks of his difficulties. Placed in his hand for judgment he saw at once the power of the tale. But--how avoid incurring the divine anger of the Yotsuya Inari; how avoid being charged with the divine punishment? This question was solved by the publisher assuming the burden of both inflictions; under the spur of what _he_ regarded as publication in inferior and untrue form. He answered these questions with a laugh--"Afraid? Not so: I, too, am human. Though the unusual is an object, yet I would not rejoice at incurring the divine anger by publishing what should not be published. Though the divine anger be incurred by publishing the Yotsuya Kwaidan, and the divine punishment be inflicted, yet who would not gladden the eyes and ears of the land? Hence in haste the true record is to be printed; owing to emission of unfounded stories. The true record being put forth, the people profit by it. How then is the divine wrath incurred by publication? Certainly not: the protection of the divine one is secured." The editor trusted in his argument; as does the present scribe. More than once the remark has been heard as to these shrines of Nippon--"Their temples? Those dirty, shabby places, without architecture or interest, the haunts of snotty, ragged children?" The sun-helmeted gentleman and lady, or collection of their kind, rush them by in haughty contempt, and with some ridicule and ridiculous comment. Good Sir and Madame, you are passing history on the road. At this Kwo[u]gwanji, in its rather shabby guest hall, Kusonoki Masashige and his devoted followers spoke their last defiance and then cut belly. Kobé? It is noted as a place to take ship, and not be too long in doing so. This other, barely a mile from the To[u]kyo[u]-Yokohama railway, is contemporary record of Nitta Yoshioka, who carved his bloody protest on the Ashikaga before he killed himself in the trap set by their treachery at this spot. Here behind the Ko[u]raiji near Oiso is a very shabby and tiny shrine nestled at the foot of the cliff. This had better be avoided. It is dedicated to the smallpox god. But more than history is neglected in the indifference and contempt shown these minor _miya_. A vein of thought inwoven into the minds of this strange people is instanced by this modest shrine of the Tamiya Inari. Wandering along the amusement quarter of some great city, a theatre is seen with a _torii_ gorgeous in its red paint standing before the entrance. Within this entrance is a small shrine and a box for the practical offerings of cash or commodities. The theatre is decorated inside and outside with flags as for a festival (_matsuri_). Such is actually in progress. The representation is that of the Yotsuya Kwaidan. From manager and actor (even in the presentation of the figured screen of the moving picture) the malevolence of the O'Iwa Inari--the Fox-witched O'Iwa--is to be averted. Hence all the signs of worship as at her very shrine; hence the unwillingness of author or publisher to handle the story, at least in its full form. This is but a remnant of the fear of "black magic" still found and practised in Nippon. On the beach at Kamakura at times can be found straw chaplets with gaudy cloth attached to the centre; a copper coin, and rice offering are accompaniments. Or such will be found at the crossroads of town or village, or on the Yokohama Bluff. Or in times of epidemic in numbers they are laid on the wayside shrine of the god of measles or other disease. The latter disposition conveys its own warning; the others are _majinai_ or charms by which it is hoped to transfer the disease to some other child, thus insuring the cure of the first sufferer. The coin has been rubbed on the body of the little patient. Dogs usually dispose of the food offering; and passing children are only too likely to pick up the nefarious coin. The road cleaner comes along at his rare intervals and sweeps the chaplet into the hole for refuse. It is to be regretted that the ignorance and malevolence indicated by these charms cannot as easily be gathered in and disposed of. With these remarks the Yotsuya Kwaidan and its tale of ill-fortune is brought to an end. YOKOHAMA, 5th June-4th July, 1916. FINIS APPENDICES A [In printed copies of the _gidayu_ the characters are to be distinguished by their theme, only the term _kotoba_ is used to mark a speaker. The shading into descriptive writing is at times vague. In the present translation the characters are indicated. The original figures in most _gidayu_ collections. Cf., "Gidayu Hyakuban," p. 271.] The Gidayu: Tsuruya Namboku was a writer of drama. Many are the persons called Namboku. The three preceding generations were actors who played in buffoon parts. In the fourth generation for the first time was taken up the literary work of play-writing. The Namboku in the fourth generation, Yo[u]myo[u] Genzo[u], later known as Inosuké, was born at Motohamacho[u]. The father carried on the business of _katatsuki_ dyer, (handling the cloth to be more or less gaily patterned). Anei 4th year (1775), entering at the Kanai Sansho[u] no Mon he (_Yo[u]myo[u]_) took the name of Katsu Byo[u]zo[u]. Later he received the name of Nan Tsuruya Boku. When he became a playwright he was about fifty years old. His plays are most ingenious, and are very numerous. Among them are the "Osome Hisomatsu," "Iro-yomi-uri," "Sumidagawa Hana Gosho[u]," "Yotsuya Kwaidan." In the playhouse they are known (collectively) as the "Namboku Mono." IÉMON SUMIKA NO DAN (Scene in the house of Iémon) Now to present it:--Already on that day--ko[u], ko[u]--the bell of sunset had issued its call. In the hedges were heard sounds of the swarms of insects. Still more lonely was the deserted mansion. O'Iwa, disturbed, anxious, when was her countenance to be open, her breast cleared of its darkness? She brought forth the _andon_; took out the sulphured slivers of wood from the box holding steel, flint, and tinder. In the depths of her husband's mind no flowers bloomed. She thought it was her woman's temperament that made her brood. In her anxiety she gave expression to her gloom: _O'Iwa_--"Truly as 'tis said, it is a fleeting world; the flowing of water the future of men. Before this I performed the service of the inner apartments of the Hosokawa House. The marriage! Connected in thought with Iémon Dono the honoured dismissal was requested, that I should become a bride. Without fortune is that Inosuké, heir of the master, such object of delight to bring him to maturity. In the end all affection is absent. Nerve-racked from birth, with the pains of child-birth, the blood clot, such sickness has seized upon me. Then suddenly--one without a home, shorn of all ornament. Overcome completely by the struggle, effort and end have culminated. Parent and child, husband and wife, these (relations) master this self. Detested is the fleeting world, gloomy one's existence." As she pondered, unbidden the tears mingled with her depression. Without restraint, gradually rising-rising-rising, mounted the flow of blood: _O'Iwa_--"Ah! Ah! Again the ever-present disease shows itself. Deign--a remedy! Oh! Oh! That! That! That same remedy of aforetime, stirred and mingled with pure water. Two sips, three sips; if one drinks poison--one becomes divine; life comes to an end, but pity is aroused." The curtain before the dressing room was gently raised. Without speaking Gombei seated himself close to O'Iwa. "Eh! Who is that? Iya! No one is announced. Hana, I say! Hana, I say! Oh! 'Tis he--of all men! Gombei San, has he come again? Vengeance is satisfied, no longer exists." As she would depart he held her sleeve to stop her. _Gombei_--"Ah! Ah! I say--please wait. A little while ago, at Iémon's coughing and clearing his throat, I was frightened away. Trembling, at that time I went round to the rear. Thinking him really absent, with stealth I have entered. The motive of a man lies at the bottom of the heart. Just think to grant me a little affection. Alas! Ma! Submitting it is deigned to hear what I have to say. Heigh! A woman like this, her whole mind on Iémon, she would be the chaste wife. But the affections of Iémon are elsewhere, far distant. Ya! Hoi! Hoi! Hoi! To fly! Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! Oh! Moreover the disposition of Gombei is not wicked. He seeks to be the husband. Other purpose there is none. Condescend to be easy in mind." But his words carry no weight. The face of O'Iwa in the light has a glare. _Gombei_--"As usual: Ma! One deeply distrustful. Iya! These matters, though in thought, are not to be put in words. The state of affairs is too urgent to be put into words. Sa! But I hear you say--'Iémon probably goes to Hachiman. Groundless all these censures.' Do you really believe this? The intrigue is with the only daughter of Okumura Kinai, by name Koúmé. She is indeed a beauty; whether one regard the shape of her face, her manners, or the carriage of her loins as if the willow of spring. The intimacy with Iémon could go no further. The proof spoken of is here. This letter--the sealed envelope: it fell from the sleeve of Iémon. Stealthily I picked it up, by accident. Now then! Whereabouts is it? A lengthy thing--Sa! Let's see what's in it. The coquettishness of the sentences! But let's see what she does say. Eh! What's that? 'The night is source of pleasure. Great the pleasure at sight of you. With compliments.' Assuredly there can be no mistake, when she talks this way--'The day comes. Soon we will be husband and wife; morning and night to be at your service. With compliments.'[41]--'Thus are the gods invoked. With compliments.' Eh! What's this? 'When distant from your side but for a moment, painful Time's course. Place this signature next your very person (_hadaka_).'--'To-night--come quickly; your advent is awaited. With compliments.' What a miserable creature is this! Is she not? But there's still more. 'O'Iwa Sama and matters with her, this is a punishment due to offence in a previous existence. Condescend to be relieved in mind. Be sure thus to view it. The spiteful brush (pen) stops. With compliments.'--'It is hard (my lot); very hard. With compliments.'--'The honoured master comes; the ever-present desire.' How now, O'Iwa Sama? Sa! Is there no outbreak as to this? The occasion is no pleasing one. Is there no harsh remark forthcoming as to one who holds illicit intercourse with the husband of another? Eh! You are a woman of marvellous patience! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! At all events say what you think. 'As yet in this matter, as yet in this affair, you are certain of nothing.' Is that it? That Koúmé and her mother plot together. Eh; but she has a beautiful face! And you--you are bloated, eyes wide distended, one side of the face caved in, the hair of the head all fallen out. That--and that--how describe the ugliness of your face! The affection of Iémon has worn out. Ah! What is the name of that poisonous drug, begged of Suian until secured? That, too, has been learned. Oh! Fearful, fearful, fearful! This is to act as one without care. Life is not something which lasts forever. Send from this house dismissal to Iémon, the act of separation. This the finality! Surely the intrigue is proved. Mere thought, easily exhausted, is to no purpose. Make up your mind; express your feelings. At all events your reputation is preserved. Act and decide as one indifferent. More and more have in mind the _susuki_ of Masuo. Deign to yield. Do this--just this--O'Iwa Dono!" _O'Iwa_--"No! and always, No! Firm the stand taken. In no way is this to be endured--to be endured. To hate a person is unreasonable; 'tis unjust. But--the embracing arms, the closely clinging, this is to act the lover." With fingertips she thrust him off. Angry the tears; her voice trembled. _O'Iwa_--"Ya! 'A woman, and the object of contempt; one treated by her lord with rudeness beyond measure. The husband has become wearied. Here's the proof. Are you a woman lacking sense?' One so unmeasurably rude--out with you! One's whole frame vibrates with passion. At one's very feet, the fact is made plain. Quick--away with you! Delay--and this shall be the guerdon." With violence she drew the dagger of Kosuké. Gombei, wicked as he was, weakened forthwith. _Gombei_--"Eh! Treated thus one's purpose is brought to naught. Listen now to reason, self-willed as you are. A little while, and it will not be the time for a snarling face. Very well: notice is given that soon your spirit will be broken. The petition is lodged at the Daikwan's office. There will be difficulty in gathering principal and interest. Just wait." He said these words on leaving, ready to make a bolt of it. With _zo[u]ri_ (sandal) on one foot and a wooden clog (_geta_) on the other rapidly he ran away. Left alone O'Iwa rose in haste. To the conflagration burning in her bosom, was added the fuel of a woman's temperament. If it were true! How learn? Pondering over the details filled her with anxiety. _O'Iwa_--"Ah! Ah! Ill feeling seeks to destroy--already it turns to wickedness. Gombei's face betrayed him. His talk was specious. At sight of the letter he read the doubting heart learns the truth. Burdensome the knowledge for one's heart. The mind tastes the bitterness of adversity. The hair of the head, behind the temples, is affected by the feelings. To draw out the dressing stand to hand: the little combs of willow, where are they? Sorrow effects change; as does entanglements of the heart. The fine-toothed comb which holds the thousand strands of hair--how now! It has been forgotten." Again she took up the hair. To get it out of the way she took the front hair in both hands, making space to see. _O'Iwa_--"Alas! I fail to understand. To-day the vertigo is more pronounced than usual; especially with the hair like this. Did sickness cause the loss?" As she spoke, she drew the cover from the mirror. Reflected in it was a face to inspire fear. Ha! Frightened, she rose and drew back. Though she looked around her--there was no one. Alas! How strange! Thus she stood. Then leaning forward carefully she scanned the mirror. "Ya! Ya! Since when has my face been like this? It is completely altered." As if she could repair the ravages to self and features squint-eyed she stood and gazed. To sight she seemed a woman of evil. "Hai! Ha!" She fell prostrate. "How now! How pitiful!" Like one crazed she arose. Her body writhed in pain, at the pit of the stomach. These stomach pains, of frequent occurrence, now seized her. Thus long she lay writhing where she was. While she twisted in agony; knowing nothing of what has happened, and hearing the wheedling voice of a crying child, Kosuké had returned and was at the entrance. _Kosuké_--"Honoured lady, long have you been kept waiting. The honoured priest had matter to relate. In Yotsuya I went from this place to that, in effort to coax supply. But just now.... Is she suckling the child?" While speaking he drew close--"In the meantime the honoured illness has developed beyond measure. After retiring for the night you walk in your sleep. Eh! Deign to be a little prudent." Softly the child came to her side. On seeing in what agony she was: _Kosuké_--"Ya! Alas! Alas! Have you again one of those hysterical attacks, now so frequent? Okusama! I say!" To restore her from the fit to consciousness he raised her in his arms. Regarding with attention her frightful appearance: _Kosuké_--"Yo! Yo! Yo! Yo! This face of the Okusama: Ma! What can be the matter?" He staggered in bewilderment. _Kosuké_--"How changed! The Danna is absent. Heigh-ho! Ma! How has this occurred? What can be done? The cold water in the kettle here...." Opening her mouth he made her swallow a mouthful. He placed his mouth to her ear. _Kosuké_--"Okusama! Your ladyship!" Gently he stroked her back. Thus nursed, the breath of the heartbroken O'Iwa faintly returned. _O'Iwa_--"Hei! Has Kosuké returned? Why do you stroke me thus? I had but gone to sleep, just now." "Oh! Oh!" said he--"Ma! Ma! How joyful. Ah! Iya! I say, Okusama; how long have you been in that state? Your face inspires fear." At his question again she was the woman. The tears in her breast rose high and overflowed. For a time she did not answer. When a little calm: _O'Iwa_--"Deign then to listen. As usual Iémon Dono went forth to worship at Hachimangu[u]. Subsequently my vertigo was too pronounced. Two or three drinks were taken of the medicine prescribed by Suian Dono. Secretly at the rear entered Naosuké no Gombei, to make illicit courtship. Various were his pleas. Thus--Iémon Dono was deeply in love with the daughter of Okumura. The worship (_kami-mairi_) was all a lie. He was contracted to Koúmé. Hence his affection for me was at an end. This change was due to the drug. Hear what is to be done. Love unrequited is to be satisfied by revenge. Thus did Gombei put the matter. But it is not likely that my husband is so cruel. Heart again will turn to heart. The attack of vertigo was strong. The hair was pulled out. Moreover, suddenly the face became altered.... My appearance: Ma! Gombei then did not lie. By the plotting of the Okumura, parent and child, I have drunk poison. They have an understanding with Suian. Eh! At the thought--at the thought--anger rises. My husband, a man of note, with him she commits adultery. Hence the hatred of these people. Since the poison has been quaffed; as serpent, as demon, none shall be my equal. The Okumura, parent and child, are you the kind thus to act!" Suddenly she sprang up, and would have dashed out at the front. At her act the frightened Kosuké put his arms around and stopped her. _Kosuké_--"Heigh! Heigh! I say, Okusama! The expression of your face has changed. Heigh-ho! Whither away? Alas! It is plain that she would go to the _yashiki_ of Okumura. Evil her purpose. She would confute the malice spoken by Koúmé, by parent and child. She would fetch away with her Iémon Dono. Iya! Ho, there! Your honoured judgment strays. She believes in what Gombei has said; that he is with the Okumura. Does she not remember times past, the reproof of the Danna? Sa! As before! As before! As before! Put on outward seeming. Deign to be calm. No! No! No! Though there be shame; display a smile. Do but this. The prudence of the lady carries the day. The colour, the perfume, of the flower has no effect. Sa! She won't stop! She will go! Thither she will take her way! The conflagration of her wrath is in her glare. She goes, and Kosuké remains behind!" At a sound she looked around. The little boy was weeping bitterly at his mother's state. The tie of blood, her affection, prevailed. _O'Iwa_--"Oh! Bonka! Bonka! Bonka! The pretty fellow grieves." She drew near to embrace him. Earnestly he looked in his mother's face. _Child_--"Iya! Iya! My lady mother is not like this. I'm afraid! I'm afraid!" Weeping, the little boy dropped from her knee. "Bei-yo! Please call my real lady mother." _O'Iwa_--"Aré! Aré! Aré! Deign to hear that! In heart children are without discernment. My appearance changed, he fears the presence of his mother. To her side he will not approach. How, how comes this face! Meeting with Iémon Dono one would think--one would think--my very self meets with retribution for some deed done in a past existence. Husband and beloved child--alas! they avoid my sight." With lamentable cries she wept. Kosuké, too, was moved, and joined in her tears. O'Iwa again inspected the appearance of her face. _O'Iwa_--"To continue living thus in the world would be one unending shame. Dying the grudge will be repaid. Holding thus the skirt prevents my leaving. This must not be. To that place I go." As the two struggled the girdle (_obi_) came loose. The contest was brought to an end. At this juncture returned Hamiya Iémon. He had little disposition to enter his home. Thus unexpectedly, without premeditation, the two came face to face. Mutually they gazed at each other. "Ho! The Danna: good day." Kosuké remained where he was, uneasily twisting. O'Iwa clasped tight the breast of her husband's coat. "Heigh! Iémon Dono." _O'Iwa_--"Complete has been the silence toward me. Every night, every night, polluted. With Koúmé have pillows been exchanged." Speech and voice vibrated with jealousy. She glared at him. Without showing alarm: _Iémon_--"Ma! I don't understand. This way of acting is unusual. Why look like that? In that manner painful the change in appearance."--"Why? Why? Eh! You pretend ignorance. You pretend ignorance of the joyful result. By the artifice of Koúmé, of parent and child, in unison with Suian, a poisonous drug has been given me to drink. By this means I am made unrecognizable. Would that never I had been born, to live so deformed ... all due to the feeling aroused in these people. Sa! Sa! Sa! Restore my former appearance! Bewitched, seized by anxious care, it remains but to withdraw." _Iémon_--"Ya! What mad talk! In my absence, loosening the cord of the _obi_, secretly you indulge your lewdness. Detected by the master's eye, disloyal as you are, death is the weighty punishment. Make ready!" At hearing the unjust proposal the upright Kosuké with tears held tight his knees. _Kosuké_--"Heigh! Danna Sama. Iya! I say, Iémon Dono! This Kosuké an adulterous fellow? Heigh-ho! It is unreasonable! Unreasonable! Unreasonable! You speak for your own purpose. I, the mere servant, have been to call the honoured priest to the Yotsuya. Returning home I found the Okusama unconscious. When she learned the true state of affairs the Okusama would have rushed forth. To stop her I seized the end of the _obi_. And that is to be unchaste! Iya! A paramour--heigh-ho! That is too much! Too much! Too much! It is to go to excess. Truly, truly, for these years and months you have gone forth in the world. Such has been your conduct. You have allowed a sight of you--at the Bon Matsuri, at the New Year, in accidental meetings on the street when on some mission. Why! The very dogs bark--the honoured constables of the night watch--eh! they administer reproof." _O'Iwa_--"Lamentable the distress. How many times! Sleepless the nights--the time when one should slumber. But this does not move him. Hence the unkindness of his speech." _Kosuké_--"Eh! He don't listen. Danna Dono, beating the _tatami_ one weeps with regret." O'Iwa forthwith sprang up in haste--sprang up--sprang up. "Superior is the concubine to the lady wife. Below the basely mean is one placed. In the relation of husband and wife, the thought is to treat the husband with respect. Such is the duty of woman. To you the poverty and distress are not displayed. Obtaining her means to live by washing and occasional tasks, yet the wife is discarded. The sum total of the sunshine transforms the flowers; invisible their change. Regardless of self-distrust of the past is put aside. But you act with cruel motive; a grudge as lasting as a night without moonlight. From the clouds the drizzle falls on bamboo and on village. And between the intervals of rain there is naught but weeping." Iémon refused to listen: _Iémon_--"Ya! Mere excuses these; mere excuses these. In the master's absence the cord of the _obi_ is loosed. Madly you go your rounds. The lewdness is evident. Sa! Make honest confession." At the outrageous words of the husband the voice of O'Iwa trembled still more: _O'Iwa_--"Eh! 'Tis your own sin you would conceal. Regardless of self you would impute evil reputation to me. Having driven me out, you would make Koúmé your wife. But by that you shall gain nothing. Miserable one! Unblushingly do you join in the hate of the Okumura, parent and child?" With a rapid motion she snatched his dagger. She half turned: _Iémon_--"Ya! Whither? Whither? Here one must pick one's words. This is not the time to inquire into the facts. Iya! Iya! Iya! Where do you go?" At their quarrel Kosuké was perplexed. Said the child in troubled voice: _Child_--"Honoured mother--where go ye? Honoured father--forbearance, patience." He clung to their garments in kindness and affection. The eyes of the two in Shurado[u] (Hell of fighting) were blinded. On this side and that they pulled at the scabbard of the sword. In the wrestling, the springing in and recoil, the sword slipped from the scabbard. Without intention to five or six inches it pierced the shoulder. Atto! The wife fell--"Namu Sambo[u]!"[42] Plucking out the sword O'Iwa cast it aside. By the action of retributive fate the point of the weapon pierced the chest of Kosuké. The wound was fatal. Seven revolutions and a fall: alas! he was dying. Close under his feet the blow of Iémon had reached the child. With but a single cry forthwith he died. At the accident the husband was at a loss what to do. He stood stupified. With difficulty O'Iwa rose from the ground. _O'Iwa_--"Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho! You would kill me! Oh! Since you would kill, put into deed the ardent wish. Wretch! An idea--Koúmé, the parent and child: these are to be seized and put to death. Be it so!" With eyes of hate, her hair fallen down, jealously glaring, in appearance she was just like a female devil. Blood curdling, she inspired fear. The husband gave vent to his inner thought: _Iémon_--"Though one kill without intent, yet the brandishing of the sword is one's own deed, one's very act. It is the punishment of Heaven for unchastity and jealousy. Bear it in mind." At the cruel words Kosuké, drawing painful breath: _Kosuké_--"Eh! To us, to us, to us, such speech applies not. Unkind, unrighteous, is this death punishment. There is naught to compare to it. Very wicked and unprincipled, surely you are possessed of a devil! Seldom is the life of a serving man grudged him; unconsidered as he is. Forgetful, the evil reputation of lechery is attached, and death the portion. Eh! How regrettable! The sight is unseemly. 'Twas you who inflicted the wound! To the Okusama also, evil the name. Thus, without intention, the end of your life is not witnessed by your child." _Iémon_--"By the hand of another your wound, by one your parent! On my part--on my part--had I aught to do with this? Heigh! Am I not grieved? Eh! Cold? Unfeeling? A wound to myself could not pain more." Vainly writhing he raised and embraced the body of the child. As sadly he lamented, O'Iwa crawled up close. Tightly her arms clasped the dead body of her child. _O'Iwa_--"Alas! Alas! Inosuké! Inosuké! The selfishness of your father; the temperament of the mother; foolish their thoughts. Thus have you ended life.... How great is the grudge. Heigh! Exercise forbearance! Exercise forbearance! Deign to show forbearance. Parent and child are related for but one life, 'tis said. Now separated, again in what world will there be meeting? Men are born into the wide world. There is such a thing as sympathy, 'tis said. Before your eyes lie _kerai_ (retainer), wife, and child. Now, on the very brink of time, not once do you recite the Buddha's name. Abandon your inordinate desires. Is your heart that of a demon? Eh! A snake? Cruel and cold to your wife, you reckon up your various hates. With Kosuké I am the one to lament. Tears overflow. Steady the fall of rain of Yo[u]suji, of _sumidare_ (the rainy season). When dying the chief of birds vomits forth blood with his song: so I." _Iémon_--"Ya! The song she sings inspires no regret. A prayer said and the child enters Nirvana. Namu Amida Butsu! As for these two--I would kill them by inches; as they twisted, and staggered, and fell grasping at the air, and in every way showed their agony. In the next world may they meet with a mountain set with sharp-edged swords, so cruel as to inspire pity." Just then came running to the front entrance Suian. He gasped for breath: "Heigh! Heigh! Iémon Dono!" _Suian_--"O'Iwa Dono's appearance has changed. It was the drug, our own secret nostrum, administered at request of the honoured mother of Okumura. Though sorrow was felt, unexpected the good luck in killing the honoured wife. Henceforth come out openly. Who would not drain the _saké_ cups with Koúmé Dono! The three lands (China, India, Japan) are the inheritance of one who was but an adopted son. All in good order! All in good order! All in good order! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Sa! To set about it at once." The husband concealed tears of regret for past conduct. _Iémon_--"Plain it is that wife, child, and _kerai_, though deserving compassion, have found death. 'Twas determined by fate in a previous existence. But to obviate fear of future disaster, though not the original purpose, the dead bodies of these two are to be nailed to a door panel, with the inscription--'unchaste and jealous.' Let them float away on the current of the Nenashigawa. The entrance of the house is close to the inner room. Make ready: it will be best to leave by the rear. Quick! Quick! But...." _Suian_--"It happens that the neighbor Dansuké comes." He bent and peeped through the entrance. "Dansuké! Dansuké!" Dansuké Mizuo in presence, mouth to ear he was informed. "Namu! Namu! Namu! Namu!" He nodded consent. The two men talked in whispers. The dead bodies of the two (O'Iwa and Kosuké) were carried into the inner room. For some time Naosuké Gombei had been watching what went on, peeping out and listening. He appeared from the shadow. _Gombei_--"Yai! Unjustly have the blameless wife and _kerai_ been punished by Hamiya Iémon. Complaint is to be made at the Daikwan's court." When he would rush forth he was pulled back by the girdle (_obi_). "Ya! Ya! Whither would you go? There is matter of importance to hear."--"The intent is plain. You would kill me." One had the long sword of the soldier. Two or three passes and he was nearly cut down by the skill of Hamiya. When he tried to flee, from behind he received a cut through the shoulder. It finished him. Then he (Iémon) would hide the dead body of his child from the eyes and reproach of men. Close at hand was a heavy stone trough. For funeral rites--"Namu Amida Butsu!" Into the well crib he threw it. Aré! Marvellous! Suddenly the house creaked and trembled. From somewhere came swarms of rats. Heigh! Incomprehensible! Iémon wavered. Singling him out they flew and seized him. Sha! Confused he slashed in attempt to drive them off. Lightning blazed around the sword; many phosphorescent lights--in wreaths, double, triple. To the end of the worlds his retribution. Thus the causes, origins, are made known of what remains as the Yotsuya Kwaidan. END OF THE GIDAYU [It can be noted that Japanese thought and expression are not very different from that of the West. An idea perhaps can be obtained from this _gidayu_ as to why the native waxes enthusiastic over the pose and vivid gestures of the _geisha_, who is the one to interpret these dramatic recitations. To her falls the "_kotoba_." The descriptive lines are recited by a chorus to the harsh and effective twang of the _samisen_. The _samisen_ may not afford music, but it can give expression to the emotional in feeling. The _gidayu_ recitation is a favourite art with the Go Inkyo[u] Sama. Symposia are held, before which the old gentleman recites, often enough without chorus; for he, and the _geisha_, at times have to fill the rôle both of "_kotoba_" and chorus, modulating the voice according to the theme. Symposia is not an unbefitting term. Meetings are held for public competition in _gidayu_ recitation; but in the privacy of one's circle and hobby the banquet is an important feature--at least to the guests. In his history of "Japanese Literature" (Dai Nihon Bungaku Shi, pp. 591-596) Suzuki Cho[u]ko[u] gives a long extract from the play, as sample of Tsuruya's powers as a dramatist. Adopted into the House of the actor Tsuruya Namboku, and marrying his daughter, Katsu Byo[u]zo[u] in turn assumed the name Tsuruya Namboku.] B [In the original the story by Momogawa Jakuen is found in the Kwaidan Hyaku Monogatari, vol. ii, p. 83 (Kokkwado[u]-To[u]kyo[u]). This collection has already been referred to, as sketching a number of the best known Japanese _kwaidan_. The present example furnishes a specimen of _ko[u]dan_ style, and has application to the present subject. It also instances how the Japanese stage boldly faces situations, the exigencies of which call for the greatest adaptation and facility on the part of actor and stage manager. The "Yotsuya Kwaidan" in the stage representation presents a number of critical scenes in which both qualities are severely strained. Rapid metamorphosis is a _sine qua non_. And it is effected--somehow.] The _ko[u]dan_: ONOÉ KIKUGORO[U] NO YU[U]REI From former times and generations the Otowa[43] House held a monopoly in the representation of ghosts. Its representative in the fifth generation was the most skilful of all at spectres. This man of the third generation lived at Muko[u]jima no Terajima. He was commonly called Terajima no Kikugoro[u]; his stage name was Baiko[u]. This man's daughter was the mother of the fifth generation. Thus it can be seen that he was the maternal grandfather of this fifth representative. This third Kikugoro[u] was the first to act the Yotsuya Kwaidan, in Bunsei 8th year 7th month (14th August-13th September, 1825) at the Nakamura-za (theatre). The author was the noted Tsuruya Namboku, who constructed the very famous "To[u]kaido[u] Yotsuya Kwaidan." O'Iwa San, the attendant (_wakato[u]_) Kohei, and Enya no Ro[u]nin Sato[u] Yo[u]mo Shichi, these parts fell to Kikugoro[u]. Matsumoto Koshiro[u], he who strutted it at the Ko[u]raiya, did the Naosuké Gombei. Iémon was the part of the seventh Danjuro[u]; later Ebizo, who was the real father of the ninth of the name. The staging of O'Iwa Sama includes--1st scene, the combing of the hair; 2nd scene, the Sunamura Ombo[u]bori; 3rd scene, Iémon ill in the dark room at Hebiyama; 4th scene, the _yashiki_ of Naosuké Gombei at Fukagawa Sankaku. O'Iwa appears at the scene of the combing of the hair as mentioned, in the incident where the guests are received, and in the 3rd scene at Hebiyama. Iémon is ill. Splitting apart the lantern set out during the Festival of the Dead (Bon Matsuri) the ghost of O'Iwa appears with the child in her embrace. Iémon receives them as would a stone Jizo[u]. O'Iwa, at sight of the fright of Iémon, laughs--ki, ki, ki. At once they fade away; and at once the ghost of Kohei the _wakato[u]_ takes her place, he who was charged with unchaste conduct with O'Iwa. It was the part of the performer to please the uninitiated by some strenuous effort. The first performance at this theatre was for three months--from the seventh to the ninth month. On consideration the drama is of interest. O'Iwa is killed at Yotsuya. With the dead body of the _wakato[u]_ Kohei she is fastened to a door, and from the rear the scoundrel sets them adrift. Fishing at Ombo[u]bori, Iémon sees them float by. From Yotsuya to Sunamura is a very great distance. It would occupy a woman's legs for the space of a day; or faint-hearted fellows, water drinkers, such of the kind as would try it. Winding along what rivers, by what intersecting canals had they floated here? In no way does one conceive. All the more the reasons influencing the author's design are not known. Very interesting is the story, to the cheerful character, and those not to be chilled by apparitions. At all events they get to Ombo[u]bori? The third Kikugoro[u], the first to take the part of O'Iwa, was a superlative actor, skilled in capturing the people. In the third scene, the dark room at Hebiyama, the ghost comes forth from the _Bon_ lantern. Every day the _kozo[u]_ (man or boy as apprentice) of the utility shop in Asakusa Umacho[u] slowly took down the lantern covered with white paper. In a straight line, before the eyes of all, he passed along Kuramaédo[u]ri, crossing Asakusa. From Yokoyamacho[u] he crossed to Daimaru no Mae. Passing through Norigyo[u]cho[u] he reached the Nakamura-za in Sakaicho[u]. As he passed along these streets crowded with people, the eyes of men were attracted: _No. 1_--"Every day, every day, the _kozo[u]_ goes by carrying that _Bon_ lantern. Where does he go?" _No. 2_--"He? Kikugoro[u] now is playing O'Iwa Sama at the Nakamura-za. The ghost issues from that _Bon_ lantern. The lantern used is brought every day by the _kozo[u]_." _No. 1_--"Ha! A practical application. We must be sure and go see." Through this advertisement the guests came readily. As fact, every day but the one _Bon_ lantern was used. Split apart, it was repaired. From the first day, up to the performances of a thousand autumns, one lantern answered all purposes. Truly Kikugoro[u] was more than a clever actor. He was wonderful in securing the good will of people. No actor was equal to him. Tradesmen, Government officials, learned men, refined people--he was skilful at gaining their support. Hence he did not lack money. His _status_ did not affect him. When as usual the _Bon_ lantern one day was to be carried out, Kikugoro[u] made his pupil Onozo[u] the bearer. Said Kikugoro[u]: _Kikugoro[u]_--"Onozo[u], don't I frighten you somewhat in this shape?" _Onozo[u]_--"I'm not in the least frightened. Every day acting as your assistant I'm not afraid." _Kikugoro[u]_--"What? Not afraid? Say that you're afraid." _Onozo[u]_--"Patron, that is unreasonable. One not afraid--is not afraid. Hence it cannot be helped." _Kikugoro[u]_--"Anyhow, say you are afraid." _Onozo[u]_--"I'm not at all afraid." _Kikugoro[u]_--"An obstinate rascal, this." While speaking--_pokari_, he gave _Onozo[u]_ a whack on the head. As it was he went through the performance. Coming to the green room, at once he called Onozo[u]. _Kikugoro[u]_--"Fool and low fellow." _Onozo[u]_--"Why is it then you would strike a fool and low fellow with a stick?" _Kikugoro[u]_--"You are just like a fool. A little while ago when told to be afraid of me, you would not say you were afraid." _Onozo[u]_--"Patron, that is to be unreasonable. I attend you. Every day I see you." _Kikugoro[u]_--"I know you are not afraid. But you are the very one who acts as my attendant. In public you are to look at me as one frightened beyond measure. If this be not widely published, will not the theatre be deserted? An actor who is good only at acting, he is not to be called a clever man. He must draw people. Fool and low fellow!" _Onozo[u]_--"Naruhodo! Since you say it--I'm afraid." _Kikugoro[u]_--"Your answer now is to the purpose." Hence on considering the matter, was not Kikugoro[u] in every way a talented man? For the space of eighty days this theatre turned away guests. Later, in Tempo[u] 7th year 7th month (12th August to 11th September, 1836) again this drama was produced. The actor was the same as at the previous production. On this occasion Kikugoro[u] took thought. As it was the second time, it must be changed in presentation to an audience. _Do[u]mo!_ There was the coming on of the ghost. It is clad in a grey robe. If O'Iwa wears a grey robe, and the _wakato[u]_ Kohei wears a grey robe, both being the same to view this would fail to interest. He continually worried. Nevertheless it would not do to wear armour; and a ghost in _kami-shimo_[44] raises no chill. Some contrivance must be hit upon. Day and night the matter worried him. Habitué of the gallery of this Morita-za was a man named Tsutaya no Yoshi, commonly known as Tsutayoshi. An extraordinarily dissolute fellow he borrowed to the four sides and eight directions. At this time in the Yoshiwara Sumicho[u] was a tenement placed in the rear of the prostitute houses. He removed thither, and soothed his troubles by living alone. His face washed in the morning, at once he ran forth. He ate his meals at a cheap eating house. A varied meal consumed he made his way to the Morita-za. Lunch was eaten in the theatre. On the return he took a drink and then went home. In truth he was a lively fellow. The Yotsuya Kwaidan had just been determined on for the close of the sixth month (July). At sundown he returned to his home in the Yoshiwara. On the way he drank--the strongest of liquors. At once he hung up the mosquito net and went inside. Not knowing front from rear he went to sleep. Pressed by a necessity the sound of the wooden clappers (_hyoshigi_) made him open his eyes. It was the harlot quarter, the 9th hour and more (after 3 A.M.), and the liveliness of the night was over. The quiet of the place inspired fear. From evening he had not stirred from the mosquito net, but had slept. The light had gone out, and it was pitch dark. Soundly had he slept. In the jar was fresh water for drinking. Greedily he drank. _Yoshi_--"I have slept--in a way to cause fear. It is now past the 9th hour. I still can sleep without stint." Again he entered the net. He drew the tobacco box close to his pillow head. He would smoke. Looking toward the _andon_, beneath it, faintly outlined, he saw somebody. _Yoshi_--"Who is there? This place used to be a brothel. Now it is a tenement. I rent it. It don't do to have it taken for a brothel. Oi! You--whence do you come?" At the words--he! It disappeared. _Yoshi_--"I say now! A marvellous thing--that over there. A kind of dream--extraordinary: I don't remember having a grudge with anyone. Yai! If the spirit which just came entertains a grudge I have never even dreamed of such. I am a dissolute fellow, but remember no grudge with anyone." Thus loud and wrathfully he shouted out. As one without fear he went to sleep. Waking up, the next day he left the house to go to the hot bath in Umacho[u]. On the way he breakfasted. Then he went to the Morita-za. Although the performance had not begun, as it was a first representation the theatre was crowded with people. Said a friend: _Friend_--"Yoshi San, the colour of your face is bad. Are you affected by the heat?" _Yoshi_--"Liking strong spirits, I feel badly. Moreover, last night a strange thing was witnessed. I feel out of sorts." _Friend_--"What was it?" _Yoshi_--"In the middle of last night I opened my eyes. Dimly outlined beside the lantern (_andon_) sat a rascal; some fellow who had been amusing himself at a neighbouring brothel. I thought that being drunk with wine he had come there by mistake. 'Who are you?' Thus I shouted. It disappeared. _Do[u]mo!_ It was a strange occurrence. Was it a ghost, thought I? I could remember no grudge with another person. Anyhow, in all likelihood it is no ghost, thought I. However I look at it, I don't understand." _Friend_--"Hei! Yoshi San, it was your own imagination." _Yoshi_--"Though I considered it a vision of my own, as strange I mention it." _Friend_--"If you feel bad it will be well to stay away for to-night." _Yoshi_--"I don't think I feel badly in any other way. To-night--for the whole night--I'll make the test." That day he returned to the Yoshiwara house. That night no one was seen. But when he did see it, was the thing a matter of his own imagination? The next day he came to the theatre. The friend was waiting for him. _Friend_--"Yoshi San, did it appear at night?" _Yoshi_--"Iya! At night it did not appear. In the middle of the night opening my eyes I looked with especial care to the eight sides. Nothing that could be considered suspicious was to be seen." _Friend_--"Then it was as I said. It being at one time a brothel, would not something appear in this house? Having this wholly in mind, the thing presented itself to your eyes." _Yoshi_--"Doubtless it is but that; a freak of the imagination." That night returning to the Yoshiwara, nothing happened. A space of five nights passed. His habit was to return early; and as his thin dress was wet with sweat he would change it. Going upstairs he took out the thin garment from the clothes-basket (_tsuzura_). With this in hand he was about to descend. Now as at one time the place had been a brothel the steps were broad and wide. Seated on the lower step, lying face downward, was somebody. _Yoshi_--"Ah! Has it come?" Being a courageous fellow, while speaking he raised his leg. _Yoshi_--"You're in the way." Pon: he gave a kick. There was not the slightest resistance. Forthwith--ha! it was gone. _Yoshi_--"_Do[u]mo!_ Remarkable: it is a strange occurrence." While speaking he changed his robe and lit the fire. Making the water boil, with Echizen peat he heated some wine he had bought on the road and brought home with him. With _tsukudani_,[45] or something of that kind to eat, he drank and thought. _Yoshi_--"To-day it is no product of my imagination. Who can that rascal be?" Talking to himself, he drank the _saké_. Attending to preliminaries he would go to bed. He went to the necessary and opened the door. Some one stood there, with his back to him. _Yoshi_--"Here again?" At the words it disappeared. No matter how brave he was, that night he felt badly and did not sleep. Awaiting dawn he was quick to go forth. On coming to the theatre-- _Friend_--"Good day: how goes it with Yoshi San? Are you not very much out of tone?" _Yoshi_--"At night it came. Moreover it appeared twice." _Friend_--"Did it appear?" _Yoshi_--"At first it was seated on the stair. The second time it was inside the necessary." _Friend_--"Hei! That is marvellous. Probably it is the work of fox or badger (_tanuki_)." This talk abruptly terminated. Tsutayoshi was a bold fine fellow. Unmoved, he retired to his own home in the Yoshiwara. After that nothing was seen for several days. Just as he was forcing a way into the theatre-- _Man_--"Yoshi San! At the Bairin (Plum Tree) over the way is the master of Otowaya. He is urgent to see you; so he says. It will be well to go at once." _Yoshi_--"Was he told I was here?" _Man_--"Ah!" _Yoshi_--"How annoying! The Otawaya San has lent me money. _Do[u]mo!_ A meeting, 'tis bad news." _Man_--"As nothing was said about it--go. Surely the return of the loan is not involved." _Yoshi_--"It's not to be avoided. I'll go and see." Opposite to the theatre was the tea house called the "Bairin." He went in. _Yoshi_--"Good-day." _Maid_--"Oya! Yoshi San. As the master of Otowaya is waiting upstairs for you, just condescend to go up." _Yoshi_--"Ah! Is that so? Condescend to pardon." Don, don, he climbed the stairs. At the end of a six-mat room was a man fanning himself. He was alone. It was Kikugoro[u], the third of the name. He had been noted as a handsome man. However, at this time he was an old man. The white summer garb of that very fine quality of cloth-grass known as _jo[u]fu_ was girded in by a _chakenjo[u] obi_.[46] Of his profession there was not a hint. _Kikugoro[u]_--"Sa! Yoshi San, come here, please." _Yoshi_--"The patron: _do[u]mo_! truly it has been rude not to come and see you. I have not crossed the threshold." _Kikugoro[u]_--"Iya! Why speak so? You now live in the Yoshiwara." _Yoshi_--"That is so; for a long time I lived in Fukiyacho[u]. The neighbourhood was a bad one. I had borrowed money. It was like running away in the night. A one-time brothel now the rent is ridiculously cheap. _Mikoshi_ (carriages) are kept in it now." _Kikugoro[u]_--"The Yoshiwara is a gay place. For people who would amuse themselves there is none superior. It is an excellent locality." _Yoshi_--"One can find whatever is desired." _Kikugoro[u]_--"So Yoshi San, now you live alone." _Yoshi_--"Hai! I'm alone." _Kikugoro[u]_--"I've just heard the talk of people. A ghost appears at your place." _Yoshi_--"Who said such a thing?" _Kikugoro[u]_--"Iya! It was heard, by accident. Is it true?" _Yoshi_--"Hai! First it was seen beside the _andon_; then on the stairway, and in the necessary." _Kikugoro[u]_--"A strange matter! Is it man or woman?" _Yoshi_--"_Do[u]mo!_ That I don't know. It was seen as in a mist. Whether man or woman, I don't know." _Kikugoro[u]_--"Are there male and female ghosts?" _Yoshi_--"Male or female--I know nothing about it." _Kikugoro[u]_--"What its nature? When it appears this time, condescend to take a good look at it." He continued (then)--"The present drama of the Yotsuya Kwaidan--as to my part, as you well know, O'Iwa and Kohei before the very eyes must change places in an instant. For both to wear the grey _kimono_ lacks interest. Which of them is to change? It is on my mind. _Do[u]mo!_ Thought fails to solve the question. Hence the request to you. What kind of dress does that ghost wear? That is what I want to learn." _Yoshi_--"Hei!" _Kikugoro[u]_--"But Yoshi San: It is no mere request. I loaned you ten _ryo[u]_." _Yoshi_--"Patron, do you condescend still to remember it?" _Kikugoro[u]_--"Deign not to jest. Who would forget such a rascal? I'll wipe out that ten _ryo[u]_--and give you five _ryo[u]_ in addition. How now? Condescend to observe." _Yoshi_--"Thanks are felt. When it appears I'll take a good look at it." _Kikugoro[u]_--"With the month's change the first representation takes place. It must be ascertained in the intervening time. Probably in four or five days it will be seen." _Yoshi_--"That is so. _Do[u]mo!_ The opponent being a ghost, will it appear to-night? Or has is ended by going away? That I don't know. Having found out its dwelling place, I'll send a postal-card." _Kikugoro[u]_--"Don't jest. As just said, I'll give you five _ryo[u]_. Be careful; and please take a good look." _Yoshi_--"Respectfully heard and understood. This time I'll get a good look at it." Thus agreed Tsutayoshi returned that night to the Yoshiwara. _Yoshi_--"A pleasing thing! Ten _ryo[u]_ wiped off, and five _ryo[u]_ received in addition. Thanks: a fine bit of work. It will be well if the rascal of a ghost comes to-night. Anyhow, just before the _Bon_ it suffers distress beyond measure. For several days nothing has been seen of it. Its purpose may have changed: Yai! If the ghost is to appear, please show up at once. Don't it yet appear? Oi! Ghost!" The ghost was not to be drawn out by this display of energy. Several days passed without the slightest sign of it. Every day Kikugoro[u] came to the Bairin and sent for Tsutayoshi. _Kikugoro[u]_--"Yoshi San, has it not yet appeared?" _Yoshi_--"_Do[u]mo!_ The patron is vexed. Every day, every day, it is awaited; and not a sign of it. Feeling out of sorts, has it not died? That's my idea." _Kikugoro[u]_--"Oi! Oi! Yoshi San. Being dead, is it not a ghost? Once dead, does the rascal die again?" _Yoshi_--"_Do[u]mo!_ Patron, nothing is known of one's spirit. For it not to appear is annoying. Spirits (_ki_) suffer pain; and suffering pain they don't show themselves. It seems that you want it to appear before the first representation. If I see it, I get five _ryo[u]_. I would like to have it show itself before the _Bon_. My purpose is to get through this year's _Bon_[47] by means of the ghost." _Kikugoro[u]_--"Anyhow--have a care." _Yoshi_--"Agreed." That night he went home and drank wine. _Man_--"Yoshi San, is he at home?" Thereupon without ceremony entered an intimate friend, from Sakaicho[u] near Fukiyacho[u]. He had loaned money to Tsutayoshi, and now sought the repayment. _Man_--"Yoshi San, you say you will bring it, you will bring it; and you make no sign of bringing it. That was my money, and the failure to return it is vexing. Will matters change before the _Bon_?" _Yoshi_--"Wait but a little. If to-night something materializes I get five _ryo[u]_. The money in hand, at once I will pay you back." _Man_--"What is going to materialize? The five _ryo[u]_ you spoke of?" _Yoshi_--"In fact at my house a ghost appears. The Otowaya San heard of it. As of immediate use to the theatre I am carefully to observe what the ghost wears. He says he will give me five _ryo[u]_. The money obtained, at once the two _ryo[u]_ will be repaid. Wait until that happens." _Man_--"Oi! Oi! Yoshi San. Does a ghost really appear?" _Yoshi_--"It really does." _Man_--"What kind of a ghost?" _Yoshi_--"As to that--right before one; a most blood-curdling thing. Anyhow, I shiver all over at sight of it. Just like this--" _Man_--"Where does it show itself?" _Yoshi_--"Just where you are seated." _Man_--"Yoshi San, jokes don't go." Without waiting for an answer he fled. Seeing this said Tsutayoshi: _Yoshi_--"A ghost is a very profitable object. Do but speak of it, and he who would collect borrowed money takes to flight. If it appears, money is obtained. Hence a ghost is a remarkable thing. After this when the dry goods man comes for repayment, I'll chase him out again with the ghost. Anyhow this house brings good luck. The rent is cheap, and there is a ghost which enables one to dodge paying loans. Thanks: henceforth in renting a house I'll confine myself to haunted houses. So much for that. Will it show itself to-night?" Tsutayoshi hung up the mosquito net. He drank a glass. Thus reinforced, tranquil and pleased he laid down on the pillow. After sleeping awhile he opened his eyes. All around was quiet. The bustle of the night had ceased. There was not a sound. Outside the mosquito net the wick of the _andon_ had burned low and gave a faint light. Suddenly the bell of the eighth watch (1 A.M.) was heard on Bentenyama. Thereupon--de!... the sound was heard and the light of the _andon_ went out. Then as a mist an object like to a human being (_hito_) was visible. Ha! Tsutayoshi was frightened. Was this the ghost? He rolled up the mosquito net, the pupils of the eyes intent. Thus he had it in plain view. The hair of the head was in wild disorder. To sight it was certain it was a man. He wore a grey cotton garment. _Yoshi_--"That's it!" At the sudden exclamation--Ha! It disappeared. The _andon_ having previously gone out truly it was the very blackness of night. Coming out from under the mosquito net he (Yoshi) lit the wick. Smoking his tobacco he staid awake until dawn. In time the East became white. At once he left the house. He entered the bath at Agecho[u], breakfasted as usual at the cheap eating house in Komégata, and then went to the Morita-za in Kibikicho[u]. _Friend_--"Good-day." _Yoshi_--"Iya! It's hot to-day." _Friend_--"How now, Yoshi San? The O'Baké?" _Yoshi_--"As usual--it came in the night." _Friend_--"Is that so? When Otowaya San hears that, he will rejoice." While in talk a message came from Kikugoro[u]. At once Tsutayoshi went to the Bairin. Otowaya was waiting for him. _Kikugoro[u]_--"Yoshi San, how now--the ghost?" _Yoshi_--"Patron, condescend to rejoice. It appeared in the night." _Kikugoro[u]_--"Did it appear? The rascal is brave. Is it man or woman?" _Yoshi_--"A man in all likelihood." _Kikugoro[u]_--"The dress?" _Yoshi_--"Was seen to be grey cotton--positively so." _Kikugoro[u]_--"That's interesting. A _kimono_ of grey colour just suits the ghost of the _wakato[u]_ Kohei. Sa! Yoshi San, in accordance with the bargain I give you five _ryo[u]_." _Yoshi_--"_Do[u]mo!_ Thanks are felt." _Kikugoro[u]_--"There they are. Yoshi San, you are a brave fellow. Life in a haunted house is unpleasant. It will be well to remove elsewhere." _Yoshi_--"Iya! A haunted house is splendid. A friend just now came for the return of borrowed money. When told of a ghost appearing, he fled. Again, merely for noting what the ghost wears, you tell me I will get five _ryo[u]_. All this is due to the honoured shadow of the ghost. Thus regarding (my) Yurei Dai Myo[u]jin Sama,[48] to abandon such a splendid ghost and remove to some other place would change my luck. My purpose is to go on living with this ghost." _Kikugoro[u]_--"In that case, Yoshi San, it would be well to have the house cleaned. _Do[u]mo!_ Don't you think it is the work of fox or _tanuki_?" _Yoshi_--"Naruhodo! At all events I'll have the house cleaned." So receiving the money from Kikugoro[u], rejoicing Yoshi returned to the Yoshiwara. On the way he took a glass or so. Somewhat drunk, he entered the Tanaka no Mikawaya, a _tabi_ (sock) shop. The house was the owner of the place where Tsutayoshi lived. _Yoshi_--"Good-day." _Mikawaya_--"Oya! Yoshi San. Are you on your return? Ma! Condescend to enter. _Do[u]mo!_ The theatre now pleases the people. The audiences are large." _Yoshi_--"Thanks are felt." _Mikawaya_--"What your business, Yoshi San?" _Yoshi_--"Danna, I would like to have the house cleaned." _Mikawaya_--"Cleaned?" _Yoshi_--"_Do[u]mo!_ At present a supernatural object appears. It is vexing. As I will furnish the wages of the workman, I thought it would be well to have it cleaned." _Mikawaya_--"Hei! What appears?" _Yoshi_--"At times a ghost shows itself." _Mikawaya_--"A ghost?" _Yoshi_--"Once it showed itself beside the _andon_. The second time it was seen in the necessary. At evening it was seated at the entrance to the stairs. There is nothing to fear, unless it be the work of fox or badger. It would be bad for outsiders to get wind of it; so I would like to have the place cleaned." _Mikawaya_--"Is it man or woman?" _Yoshi_--"There is no doubt of its being a man, of small stature. His dress plainly is of grey cotton." _Mikawaya_--"A dress of grey cotton--the man of small stature. Un! Jo[u]! It is that low fellow." _Yoshi_--"Oi! Oi! Danna, did you know him? Was he a wicked fellow? Setting up in the ghost way--pray excuse me." _Landlord_--"Ma! Yoshi San, please hear what I have to say. The house that I rent to you originally was a brothel called the Yamashiroya. The landlord was an unrighteous fellow. One night an _oiran_ lacked any guest.[49] He took her with him to the _seméba_--(punishment room) and treated her most cruelly. No one called the place 'the Yamashiroya.' It was known as the Onimisé (devil-shop) of Fushimicho[u]. It was just this time last year that a _wakashu[u]_ (attendant) named Tokuzo fell in love with a woman named Kotsu no Wakataké. Pressed for money, to get it he had an eye to the pillows of the guests. From the low brothel mentioned perhaps he would get a _bu_--a couple of _shu[u]_. A restitution privately effected would have been well. He was roped up and carried off to the town hall. In every way a low scoundrel he was sent to Temmacho[u]. Soon after he died in the jail. Subsequently there were nothing but unpleasant happenings at the Yamashiroya. It was completely ruined. Later I bought it. Undecided about setting it up, I divided it into two houses and rented them out." _Yoshi_--"Hei!" _Mikawaya_--"That Tokuzo, as the _wakashu[u]_ was called, when sent to the town hall was dressed in the thin grey cotton robe given as present to him by an _oiran_. I knew Tokuzo. He was flighty and good natured; an interesting fellow. Of low stature, he was a good worker. Probably he failed to carry out his purpose." _Yoshi_--"Is that the case? It is a wonderful affair. Anyhow condescend to make everything clean." _Mikawaya_--"Agreed." After this workmen came from the Mikawaya, and the cleaning up was performed. Tsutayoshi at a subsequent meeting with Kikugoro[u] told him the story of Tokuzo. It would be well to have a funeral service held. So the memorial service for Tokuzo was conducted at the family temple of Tsutayoshi. The figure was never again seen. Kikugoro[u] in the rôle of ghost of the _wakato[u]_ Kohei came out dressed in a grey robe marked with _kokumochi_ (the badge of the white disk figured on coloured ground). Before one's very eyes he changed to O'Iwa. As ghost and arrayed in the family crest it was restricted to the Kohei of the "Yotsuya Kwaidan." The theatre was packed. Such was the crowd that the upper gallery of the theatre collapsed. Even though an actor, everywhere he (Kikugoro[u]) was spoken of as a great man. To favoured guests of Kikugoro[u] the matter was so related. Thus the tale is a true one. TAKUAN Three great priests of influence figure in the rule of the first three Tokugawa Sho[u]gun. Tenhai Osho[u] of the Nankwo[u]bo[u], bishop of the temple foundation at Ueno, was all powerful under Iyeyasu. His successors, Nikkei So[u]zu of the San-en-Zo[u]jo[u]ji at Shiba, and Takuan Zaisho[u] of the Daikokudo[u], the To[u]kaiji of Shinagawa, were the priestly influences under the 2nd and 3rd Sho[u]gun. It is the last-named cleric who is responsible for the hard and palatable yellow preparation of the _daikon_ (radish) known under his name of _takuan_. The _daikon_ is soused in brine and rice bran, kept weighted down under heavy stones, and allowed "to ripen" for some weeks. A way station in its preparation and edibility, and to be experienced in every Japanese household, is the unspeakable and unbreathable soft _nukamisozuké_. Its presence always arouses suspicion of the pressing defect in the house drainage. Takuan deserves esteem and appreciation for other than culinary reasons. On a visit to the castle one day the old friar noted the depression of his valued and intimate friend Yagyu Tajima no Kami. The aging _o[u]metsuké_ (suzerain's eye) and fencing teacher to the third Sho[u]gun opened out his woes. His second son was dead. His third son was worthless. At least the father thought so at this time. His eldest son, Jubei, as great at arms as himself and his legitimate successor, was a madman--gone mad over his own excellence. Takuan heard the particulars. At once he volunteered to act as physician. "Be of good heart. This Takuan will prescribe." The grateful Munenori, in the course of the next few days sent to the prelate's quarters to know when the journey to the far-off Yamato fief would be made. He would make provision for the prior's comfort and conveyance. Said a sleek scribe and substitute--"The lord abbot has long since departed. It is useless to attempt to overtake him. He travels fast." Such was the message to the pleased but discomfited Munenori. Meanwhile at Yagyu Masakizaka in Yamato there turned up a shabby travel-stained old fellow. The gatekeepers were inclined flatly to refuse admission. However, the _karo[u]_, or chief officer of the fief, had to be notified. He was unwilling to let slip any chance of relief to the condition of Jubei Dono. With some misgivings the old fellow was ordered around to the garden. The _samurai_ code made little account of cutting down a retainer, a beggar, or an outcast. In the first case compensation was allowed; the last two were honoured by the experiment. Priests and women were not covered by the code; matter of omission, rather than of importance. The wanderer had taken his seat by the little pond in the garden. Here to all appearance he remained in a meditation which was roughly interrupted by the irruption of the lord of the mansion into a room close by. Jubei kicked the _sho[u]ji_ out of the frames, and strode to the edge of the verandah. His hair was in wild disorder. He wore armour on his shoulders, and was stark naked below the waist. Face twitching and eyes flashing he hailed his visitor, to demand on what mission he had dared to intrude on the time and patience of the great man. Let the excuse be a good one. Otherwise--But at abuse the cleric was a good hand himself. He, too, had heard of Jubei Dono; he who posed as the great man of Nippon. This was poaching on his own ground, for he set himself up to be the match of any number in the land. At this Jubei broke into angry jeers and invectives. The priest made answer with equal roughness. "How face two opponents--to right and left?" Jubei snorted with contempt. He was active enough to neglect the one and cut down the other before aid could be brought. The Yagyu-ryu[u], or style of fencing, made provision for such occasion. Aye! And for four--and against eight.... "And against sixteen, and thirty-two, and sixty-four, and a hundred and twenty-eight opponents ... against all the many fighting men of Nippon? How would Jubei face all those?" To this Jubei could but answer that he would die fighting. The priest in his turn snorted with contempt. "Die fighting: by such words Jubei admits defeat." But he did not allow Jubei to turn questioner in his turn. Swiftly he shifted the argument. He, the cleric, considered Jubei of small account. He would prove to him what a fool he was by the interpretation of a mere thirty-one syllables of poetry. This should be the test of intelligence. The Knight's Way (Budo[u]) had its inner and cryptic meaning expressed in verse. So had the Way of the Buddha (Butsudo[u]). Of this latter Jubei knew nothing; and he doubted if he knew anything of the former. At least let him display some sample of his wit. Jubei leaped at the test to prove his greatness. Now he scorned to deal with a priest in arms. How was this: "By night storm of Narutaki broken, The scattered jewels, e'en the moon, it harbours."[50] "Is there but that to prove wit?"--"How then with this one?" "Tree leaves on Yamakawa's flood: The self, abandoned, does but drift--lo!"[51] The priest threw up his hands. "Such stuff will never do! And this fellow considers himself educated!" "Rain seen, impeded not to flow away; The snow breaks not the stem of willow green."[52] "Various and many though the ways of teaching be, There is but one true stroke of sword."[53] Jubei gleamed most homicidally at his questioner. The priest only said--"A child has such by heart." And Jubei knew 'twas so, and was rebuked. Now he was in less haste: "The heart, how judge it? An ink sketch of the breeze amid the pines."[54] A shrug of the shoulders was the reward of this effort. "Though barrier mount, the leafy mount, the inner mount, be dense with leafage; What e'er one wills, naught hinders."[55] The priest shook his head as with grave indulgence to childhood's thoughts. Jubei burst into a rage. He turned to his sword-bearer, and laid hand on the weapon. The lad knelt with bowed head, uncertain whether the sword was to fall on himself or the visitor. Without paying the slightest attention to the hostile attitude the priest cut matters short. "Jubei Dono would question the priest's right to judge. Come now! The cleric's foolish head against the wits of Nippon's great man. O warrior, interpret!" A sign; and ink stone and poem paper (_tanzaku_) were put before him. Jubei in turn took the scroll in hand. He read: "_Tatazumuna, yukuna, modoruna, isuwaruna; Neruna, okiruna, shiru mo shiranu mo._" "It neither stands still, nor goes forward, nor goes backward, nor remains as it is; It sleeps not, rises not: known or unknown." Jubei started with a bellow; and ended in a whisper. The retainers looked in each other's faces. Who was the maddest--their lord or the shabby _bo[u]zu_? A long silence followed. Jubei no longer stood in grandiloquent pose. He squatted down before the ideographs. At last he said--"The poem contains much matter. Deign to allow time for the solution." His voice was gentle and courteous to this future victim of his intelligence. The priest nodded a genial assent. Before he withdrew Jubei gave emphatic orders as to ward and entertainment. The pleasures of anticipation, of solution of the poem and slicing of the cleric, must have compensation. His tread was slow and stately as he left the room; his looks were contained and thoughtful. The man of black robe was carried off to a better reception than so far experienced. With scorn he sent away the scanty meal of vegetable food; and ordered matters to his taste with a manner that none cared to obey, or dared to disobey. Meanwhile Jubei started in on the poem. With the progress of his efforts ideas of his greatness disappeared. No matter what might be his skill with the sword--and the priest already had shown its limitations--his inexperience in literature was patent. Ah! If he could but win the head of this scurvy cleric. His mind now was totally removed from thoughts of himself. For two days and two nights he never closed his eyes, which were fastened on the infernal ideographs--palpably so full of a meaning he could not grasp. Then he was worn out. He went to sleep, and slept for a full twenty-four hours. On awaking he was a different being. The cobwebs of the mind were clean swept. Its vague shiftings had been brought to concentration--to thought. Now it was the household which was mad with joy. It was Jubei, lord of the manor, who sought interview with his saviour. Prostrate he gave thanks, apology for the poor entertainment; and expressed his hope and wish to keep always by him the holy man. Who was he--this man who had given him back mind and power of thought? Just then a messenger from his father, Tajima no Kami, was announced. Those assembled leaned forward at sight of the man in amazed prostration, first before his lord, then before the shabby old priest. "Takuan Osho[u] Sama at Yagyu! And yet this Kyu[u]taro[u] has made all speed to Yamato to make report of his lordship's coming." All fell on their faces, including Jubei. Takuan smiled, a little grimly. "The garb makes not the cleric. Jubei Dono will forgive the presence of the humble priest who now must leave him, pressed by affairs, none of which have been more important than the mission here." And leave he did--but ample gifts to the temple followed after. Jubei never could take his father's place close to the Sho[u]gun's side. His one-time madness forbade assumption of such office. Indeed on rare occasions the mad fit again would threaten; but the infallible remedy was at hand. To Jubei's question Takuan had answered--"The meaning? The poem has none. If there had been verily Takuan would have lost his head. But find one, if you can." The joy of Tajima no Kami was completed by the return of his third son Matajuro[u], restored to normal health. Later this Matajuro[u] became the famous Hida no Kami and successor to his father as the Sho[u]gun's fencing master. Of these three men--more anon.[56] FOOTNOTES: [1] _Kwaidan_ means "Wonder Tale." The word is of general meaning, requiring limitation for the specific case. [2] The _go-kenin_, for the most part; although some _hatamoto_, whose incomes ran as low as 300 _koku_ could be classed with them. In English--cf. T.H. Gubbins--Trans. Asiatic Soc. of Japan, xv. [3] The hard palatable pickled yellow _daikon_ (radish). _Nukamisozuké_ is a way station in its production by pickling in salt and bran. _Nukamisozuké_ is better described than smelt. [4] Sanzu no Kawa--the river crossed by the dead; the Buddhist "Styx." Shide no Yama--the mountain to be crossed on the way to Hell, or to the judgment hall of its great king--Emma Dai-o[u] (Yama). All deserve, and get, some punishment in this nether world. [5] Near Meguro: scores of quaint figures, seated in tiers and meditation. [6] A famous Chinese book on military tactics. Prince Yoshitsuné, hero of the Gempei wars, served arduously for a glimpse of it. Cf.: Life of Benkei, vol. i, pp. 311 reg. Densuké refers to the three (_san_) stages of rice cooking. [7] Geishu[u]-Aki province. For six months the _daimyo[u]_ left Edo to govern their fief in person. Their wives and families remained in Edo. The penalties at the barriers (Hakoné, for instance) were severe if the wife tried to get away (escape) from Edo. [8] The Japanese personal pronoun is used--in the first person only to obviate ambiguity in the sentence. Women use it more frequently than men. In the second person it is used to express emphasis, great familiarity, impertinence, or rebuke. The last two uses are frequent. Ordinarily the honorifics and the construction of the sentence take the place of these pronouns. Such at least seems to be the usage of the _ko[u]dan_ writers, and in the present book the example has been followed, as far as possible. In a few instances the use of a pronoun will relieve the strain of a lengthy sentence or involved circumlocution in the western tongue. At times the closer style can be abandoned--as in the direct narration of the Tale of the Baryufu Kwannon. So also with the translations of the _gidayu_ and the _ko[u]dan_ attached. These are for recitation. In the original the pronoun is rarely written in. But the literal translation of the honorifics would appear stilted. To westerners these are appellations; to the native they are indications. [9] The old Shimbashi station and its yards cover this site. "Tide limit"--a suggestive name. [10] A _sakuji bugyo[u]_ was the official who had charge of the maintenance and construction of public works within the _daimyo[u]'s_ fief. [11] A deep cutting through the hill. They are common features in Nippon. Many valleys are only accessible by a climb, unless mitigated by a _kirido[u]shi_, or obviated by a tunnel. Kamakura, for instance, is accessible by land in no other way. Asahina _kirido[u]shi_: there are several others. [12] The description is curious. Writing fifty years ago Ryuo[u] tells us these men no longer practised. His book is not readily met with and the passage in the original is worth preserving--"_Kono sunegiri yatsu to iu wa tadaima de wa arimasen ga; makurajima no tabi ni asaura wo haki, sankeigyo[u] no kyahan de, nagai no wo ippon sashi. Eh! To[u] de o isogi de nai. Okata wa watakushi no mosu koyaku no ko[u]no[u] wo kiite o motome nasai. Nukeba tamachiru nagai no yaiba da nure kami de mo kayo ni kireru, tadaima yatsu ga wo kiri chi wo tomete goran ni ireru; to maru de kiru yo[u] desu ga ha (yaiba) no aru tokoro wa madzu no kata bakari de, moto no kata wa yaiba ga hiite aru yue, sono ha hiku no tokoro wo ude he ataru to suji ga tsuku bakari de kire washimasen ga, tanka ga kireru kara, chiwa taki-tsu se no gotoku nagareru. Chi ni wa sakarawazu ikusa naka ko wo mochiireba, sokuza ni todomaru nani mae kara todotteru no desu ga, hagyu[u] da kara maru de chi ga tomaru yo[u] ni micru kara, kono ho he hitotsu gai, kono ho he futatsu gai, to uremasu._"--"Yotsuya Kwaidan," pp. 31-32. [13] One-fourth of a _ryo[u]_ = 15 silver mommé = 872 grains Troy. Money had much greater purchasing value at that time as compared with the present days; perhaps 20 times, but adulteration of the coinage caused great variations. [14] The Machibugyo[u] was judge and prosecutor (procurator or district attorney); the two offices being held by the same man. A court trial included both functions. _Tengu_, used below, is the long-nosed wood bogey. There is a note in Benkei, i, 260. [15] The _tawara_ equals two-fifths of a _koku_. At present-day figures the stipend of Tamiya can be put at about 2000 yen; that of Ito[u] Kwaiba, mentioned later, at 13,000 yen. The great _daimyo[u]_ with incomes running into the hundreds of thousands of _koku_ were princes administering part of the public domain, with armies and an elaborate civil service to support. Even a _hatamoto_ (minor _daimyo[u]_, immediate vassals of the sho[u]gun) of 10,000 _koku_, such as Yagyu[u] Tajima no Kami had a large train at his Edo _yashiki_ and at his fief. The Daté House of Sendai, or the Maeda of Kaga, Etchu[u], and Echizen, are examples of the greater To[u]zama, or lords independent in the administration of their fiefs. Labour, it is to be added, was cheap compared to food values. Taxes were heavy--ranging from 30 to 70 per cent. The middleman took his high fee. Yet sumptuary laws were necessary to prevent extravagance among the farming class. Some of them were rich men, especially in the better administered Tokugawa fiefs. The public works required of the _daimyo[u]_--especially the To[u]zama--prevented a dangerous accumulation of resources, and sometimes almost ruined his subjects. Accurate measurements of income are not available. The _koku_ of _daimyo[u]_ income has been placed as high as ten bushels. The present-day _koku_ equals 5.13 bushels. The price of rice ranges between 15-20 yen per _koku_. [16] The title for all men of learning and professional attainments. The great medical doctor is "Sensei," the doctor of literature is "Sensei"--and the charlatan who peddles charms by the highway is "Sensei"--teacher. [17] A technical social expression--"I trouble you" or "with highest respect and consideration." Satuma = Satsuma-Jo[u]fu, the grass cloth of fine quality woven and dyed in Loo-choo; narrow swords; all this (Momogawa) is an example of the earnest study the _ko[u]dan_ lecturers make of their subject. These delightful little expositions of dress and manner are frequent. [18] _Rusu_ or _rusuban_ = caretaker in the owner's absence. As often as not the wife is so regarded by the Japanese husband. [19] Reiganji, the great temple giving the name to the Reigan district of Fukagawa, is one of the many temples there found. The Jo[u]shinji is close by. [20] A complicated checkers-chess like game. [21] There are nine of these stages of skill. [22] 5.13 bushel. Income of the _samurai_ classes were so measured. [23] _Kyara_ = nut gall, in Momogawa's _ko[u]dan_. From the marriage to the expulsion of O'Iwa his treatment of the story is mainly followed. Ryuo[u] slurs the marriage, but describes the persecution with great effect. The lines of treatment only diverge subsequently. Ryuo[u] is to be preferred. [24] The monetary _bu_ was one-fourth the _ryo[u]_; the _shu[u]_ was one-fourth the value of the _bu_. A hundred _mon_ = one _sen_. To-day there are blind shampooers (and for massage) at 500 _mon_ = 5 _sen_. [25] Of the Nichiren sect. The characters of the "Yotsuya Kwaidan" move within the circle of this Presbyterian cult: _i.e._, Presbyterian in its stiff attitude of hostility and superiority to all other sects. There is another Myo[u]gyo[u]ji, neighbour to the Ten-o[u] shrine. [26] High sounding titles given to the _great hetairae_. The difference from the Greek world lay in their not being independent. They were confined to the houses of their owners. But these noted women were ransomed at times--even by great nobles. Thus Daté Tsunamune the 3rd _daimyo[u]_ of Sendai bought the famous Oiran Takao, weighing in the scales the woman against gold. In a fit of passion he killed her soon after, and had her body cast into the Edogawa. [27] "_Hagurete mo mata afu michi ya hana no yama._" [28] The _aodaisho[u]_ is something of the nature of a black snake. Says Brinkley's Dict. "_elaphis virgatus_." [29] The term "Inkyo[u]," already several times used, applies to a man who has retired from active life, leaving the management of the affairs of the House to the duly appointed heir and successor. A specified portion of the income is usually assigned for his maintenance, and forms a first lien, so to speak, on such return. The modernized law of Nippon does not permit assumption of this state before the age of fifty years, unless there be incapacitation such as necessitates retirement. In ancient days (pre-Meiji) there was no such limitation. Men often retired very early in life--from caprice, family intrigue, or for the freer management of their affairs. In the latter case they had more power and less responsibility; the latter falling on the heir and successor, perhaps still a mere child. _Go_ is merely honorific. [30] "Awarase ya: Byo[u]bu wa koi no taki sagari." The living carp strives to ascend the fall. [31] The old hag who lurks in the River of Souls, waylaying little children, robbing them of their clothes, and compelling them to construct huge piles of stones. Her counterfeit presentment (by Unkei) can be well seen at the Enno[u]ji of Kamakura. [32] An ordinary disposition of these women; who often preferred their Edo lover to such lot. [33] _Ototoi oidé_: It is the salutation of the good Buddhist to the captured insect, thrown without and requested to return "the day before yesterday" = the Greek Kalends. As used above it is a gross insult to the person addressed. [34] Damask hill: the names taken by these great _hetairai_ were most fanciful. [35] Next to the Ten-o[u] Jinja; not that of Samégabashi. To-day retired, neat and clean; without the dirty publicity of larger temples. It is a bit of country in crowded Yotsuya. [36] A young girl's method of fixing the hair; but Ryuo[u] uses the term. Gohei are the paper strips used as offering. Usually attached to a short stick. [37] At the Gyo[u]ranji of Matsuzakacho[u] in the Mita district of To[u]kyo[u]. [38] _Sanzugawa_: _Yama_ mo nakereba, _hashi mo nashi_; _shinde no tabiji hana wa nao nashi_. Sanzugawa, the river crossed by the dead. [39] A fourth form of torture was suspension--an exaggerated infliction of "the lobster." These official forms are described by J. Carey Hall in the transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan, vol. XLI., Part V. The native references are the "Tokugawa Seikei Shiryo[u]," "Keizai Dai Hiroku," "Ko[u]jiki Ruihi Horitsu-bu." Cf. article on Go[u]mon in the "Kokushi Dai Jiten." There were other forms. In the examination into the famous conspiracy of Yui Sho[u]setsu (1651 A.D.) no confession could be secured from Yoshida Hatsuémon. He was brought out, to find his thirteen-year-old son Hachitaro[u] undergoing the torture of dropping water. At the last extremities the boy pleaded for mercy. His father drily told him to act the _samurai_, and not to imperil the lives of others. It was different with Matsubayashi Chuya (really the last heir of the famous Cho[u]sokabé House of Tosa). At sight of his old, white haired, white faced, jail wearied mother threatened with the fire torture, he did for her what he would not do for himself. The old woman willingly would have undergone the torture. Chuya's confession cost the lives of seventy-five men. [40] Hifumikwan (To[u]kyo[u]), Meiji 29th year 2nd month 15th day (28th March, 1896). [41] _Mairase So[u]ro[u]_: "I take the liberty of...." Brinkley's Dict. A purely formal expression used in the letters of women writers. [42] The three holy things--Buddha, his Law, the priesthood. [43] Another reading of the characters for Kikugoro[u]--to the initiated. [44] "Top-bottom": the beautiful lozenge shaped [=X] dress of the _samurai_ when on court service, or for other ceremony: full dress. [45] "Small fish boiled in soy in order to preserve it (named after Tsukudajima-To[u]kyo[u]--famous for its preparation)."--Brinkley's Dict. [46] Brown, with stripes--a favourite pattern with men and women. [47] Feast of the Dead. This festival is held in July--in the country in August, the old calendar seventh month. [48] Apparitional divine lord. [49] The expression is technical--"_hitoban de mo o cha wo hikeba_." All night a mere tea-server. [50] [Narutaki no yoru no arashi ni kudakarete; Chiru tama goto ni tsuki zo yadoreru.] [51] [Yamakawa no nagare ni ko no ha shizumu tomo; Mi wo sutete koso ukabu se mo are.] [52] [Furu to miba tsumoranu saki ni haraekashi; Yuki ni wa orenu aoyagi no ito.]^{[3]} [53] [Sama Sama to oshie no michi mo o[u]keredo Uchikomu tokoro shin no itto[u].]^{[4]} [54] [Kokoro to wa ikanaru mono wo iu yaran; Sumie ni kakitsu matsu kaze no oto.]^{[5]} [55] [Tsukubayama, Hayama, Nakayama, Shigeredomo; Omoiru ni wa mono mo sawarazu.]^{[6]} [56] Cf.--"Araki Mataémon--Ueno Adauchi," by Masui Nanzan. There is little reason to believe that Jubei's madness was assumed, a rather extravagant explanation of the more than probable fact that his well-known travels were inspired by the Sho[u]gun's government. Actual knowledge and inspection of the conditions and feelings in far-off Satsuma, made by an expert, was much desired. Okubo Hikozaémon also travelled as the Sho[u]gun's private eye. Jubei undoubtedly found his reputation for one-time madness very useful, and played upon it. * * * * * +------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page 27: nukamisosuké amended to nukamisozuké | | Page 54: aids amended to aides | | Page 55, pages 58-61 inclusive: Sakarai amended to Sakurai | | Page 61: T[=o]eman amended to Toémon | | Page 104: Nakusuké amended to Kakusuké | | Page 143: misintrepeted amended to misinterpreted | | Page 144: aids amended to aides | | Page 172: honorofic amended to honorific | | Page 173: Kamikura amended to Kamimura | | Page 175: trucculent amended to truculent | | Page 187: Samegebashi amended to Samégabashi | | Page 193: Akiyima amended to Akiyama | | Page 194: Teremachi amended to Teramachi | | Page 198: Fukotar[=o] amended to Fukutar[=o] | | Page 223: Sh[=o]zaémon amended to Ch[=o]zaémon | | Page 227: peel amended to peal | | Page 240: Kamikura amended to Kamimura | | Page 262: Okusuma amended to Okusama | | Page 269: gray amended to grey (twice) | | Page 273: threshhold amended to threshold | | Page 277: Iye amended to Iya | | Page 279: Mikowaya amended to Mikawaya | | | | Where there is an equal number of instances of a word | | occurring as hyphenated and unhyphenated, the hyphens | | have been retained: Blind-man/Blindman; | | care-taker/caretaker; cross-roads/crossroads; | | go-down/godown; house-keeping/housekeeping; | | Mita-mura/Mitamura; near-by/nearby; woman-kind/womankind. | | | +------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * 
31043	----	LETTERS FROM CHINA AND JAPAN BY JOHN DEWEY, Ph.D., LL.D. PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY AND ALICE CHIPMAN DEWEY Edited by EVELYN DEWEY NEW YORK E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 681 FIFTH AVENUE Copyright, 1920, By E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY _All Rights Reserved_ _Printed in the United States of America_ PREFACE John Dewey, Professor of Philosophy in Columbia University, and his wife, Alice C. Dewey, who wrote the letters reproduced in this book, left the United States early in 1919 for a trip to Japan. The trip was eagerly embarked on, as they had desired for many years to see at least something of the Eastern Hemisphere. The journey was to be solely for pleasure, but just before their departure from San Francisco, Professor Dewey was invited, by cable, to lecture at the Imperial University at Tokyo, and later at a number of other points in the Japanese Empire. They traveled and visited in Japan for some three to four months and in May, after a most happy experience, made doubly so by the unexpected courtesies extended them, they decided to go on to China, at least for a few weeks, before returning to the United States. The fascination of the struggle going on in China for a unified and independent democracy caused them to alter their plan to return to the United States in the summer of 1919. Professor Dewey applied to Columbia University for a year's leave of absence, which was granted, and with Mrs. Dewey, is still in China. Both are lecturing and conferring, endeavoring to take some of the story of a Western Democracy to an Ancient Empire, and in turn are enjoying an experience, which, as the letters indicate, they value as a great enrichment of their own lives. The letters were written to their children in America, without thought of their ever appearing in print. EVELYN DEWEY. NEW YORK, January 5th, 1920. LETTERS FROM CHINA AND JAPAN TOKYO, Monday, February. Well, if you want to see one mammoth, muddy masquerade just see Tokyo to-day. I am so amused all the time that if I were to do just as I feel, I should sit down or stand up and call out, as it were, from the housetops to every one in the world to come and see the show. If it were not for the cut of them I should think that all the cast-off clothing had been misdirected and had gone to Japan instead of Belgium. But they are mostly as queer in cut as they are in material. Imagine rummaging your attic for the colors and patterns of past days and then gathering up kimonos of all the different colors and patterns and sizes and with it all a lot of men's hats that are like nothing you ever saw, and very muddy streets, and there you have it. The 'ricksha men have their legs fitted with tight trousers and puttees to end them, and they are graceful. They run all day, through the mud and snow and wet in these things made of cotton cloth that are neither stockings nor shoes but both, and they stand about or sit on steps and wait, and yet they get through the day alive. I am distracted between the desire to ride in the baby cart and the fear of the language, mixed with the greater fear of the pain of being drawn by a fellow-being. They are a lithe set of little men and look as if they had steel springs to make them go when you look at their course. Still I have been only in autos, of which there are not many here. I get tired with the excitement of the constant amusement. This morning a man came out of a curio shop. Bow. "Exguse me, madame, is this not Mrs. Daway? I knew you because I saw your picture in the paper. Will you not come in and look at our many curios? I shall have the pleasure of bringing them to your hotel. What is the number of your room, madame?" Bow. "No, please do not bring them to my room, for I am always out. I will come in and see them sometime." "Thank you, madame, please do so, madame, we have many fine curios." Bow. "Good-morning, madame." The looks of the streets are like the clothes, just left over from the past ages. Of course Tokyo is the modern city of Japan, and we shall watch out for the ancient ones when it comes their turn. I wish I could give you an idea of the looks of the poor. The children up to the age of about thirteen appear never to wipe their noses. Combine this effect (more effect than in Italy) with several kimonos, one on top of the other, made of cotton and wool of bright colors and flowered, with a queer brown checked one on top; this wadded and much too big, therefore hitched up round the waist. Swung in this outside one a baby is carried on the back, the little baby head with black bangs or still fuzzy scalp sticking out, nose never yet touched by a handkerchief, wearer of the baby with a nose in the same condition if at a tender age--I scream inside of me as I go about, and it is more exciting than any play ever. We are as much curiosities to them as they are to us, though we live where the most foreigners go. Now on top of it all we can no more make a car driver understand where we want to go than if we were monkeys. We can't find any names on the streets, we can't read a sign except the few that are in English; the streets wind in any and every direction; they are long and short and circular, while a big canal circles through the part of the city where we are and we seem to cross it every few minutes; every time we cross it we think we are going in the same direction as the last time we crossed it. About this stage of our search your father goes up to a young fellow with an ulster on, and capes, and a felt hat that is like a fedora except for a few inches taken out of its height, and says to him, Tei-ko-ku Hotel, which would mean the Imperial Hotel if he had pronounced it right, and the boy turns around and says, "Do you want ze Imperialee Hoter?" And we say, "Yes" (you bet), and the fellow says, "Eet is ze beeg building down zere," so we wade along some more with all the clog walkers looking at our feet till we come to this old barn of a place where we are paying as much as at a Fifth Avenue hotel, and get clear soup for dinner. Just like any one of those old-fashioned French places where they measure out with care all they give you, and where the head is a most distinguished and conspicuous jack-in-the-box who jacks at you all the time, bows every time you go down the hall and all and all and all. It is all so screamingly funny. The shops are nearly as big as our bedrooms at home with enough space to step in and leave your shoes before you mount the takenomo and walk on the mats. We could not go into any shop, except the foreign book stores, because we were too dirty and had no time to unlace our shoes even if we wanted to wear out our silk stockings. We shall have some nice striped socks before we begin to do shopping. I am possessed with the notion of trying the clogs. Tuesday, February 11 (TOKYO). To-day is a holiday, so we cannot go to the bank, but we can go to a meeting where they will discuss universal franchise and democratization generally. The Emperor is said to be indisposed, so he will not come to the celebration. His illnesses, like everything else about him, are arranged by the ministers and mistresses, as near as we can make out. We are having so many interesting experiences and impressions that it is already difficult to catch up in writing them down. Yesterday morning we went to walk and in the afternoon we were taken out in a car so that we have got over the first impression of the surface. We saw the university and the park where the tombs of the shoguns are, and those tombs are wonderful, just to look at from the car. About to-morrow we may be able to go to the museum. The rows of stone lanterns are impressive beyond anything I had imagined; hundreds of them which must have given to the nights they illuminated a wonderfully weird spectral look. It is not fully true that the Japanese are not interested in their history. At least the educated are, as in any other country. A friend told us about the revival of interest in the tea ceremony. He is going to arrange for us to go to one somewhere, he did not say where, but it will be accompanied by a grand dinner and will express the magnificence of the new rich as well as the taste of old Japan, to judge from the impressions he gave us. He told us of an old Chinese cup for the tea ceremony that a certain millionaire has recently paid 160,000 yen for. That means $80,000. He says the collectors have various sets, and each set will often represent a million dollars. This particular bowl is of black porcelain with decorations of bright color. He told us also of a tea which is now produced in China by grafting the tea branches on to lemon trees. He has some of this tea which was given him by the Chinese ambassador and so I hope we may get a taste of it. Apropos of this hotel you will be interested to know the manager who runs the house has just come home from the Waldorf and from London where he has been learning how to do--people. The exchange rates they offered Papa seem to be an index of their line of development and they are going to build more. This is _the_ one first-class hotel in Japan. At present they have only about sixty rooms or a little more. In general, things are coming along promisingly. I should be through lecturing by the first of April here, which is _just_ the time to begin traveling. It turns out a good scheme to come in winter, for the weather, while not cheerful, is far from really cold, though it is not easy to see just how the palms thrive in the snow. Japan seems to have developed a peculiar type of semi-tropical vegetation which endures freezing and winter. I can foresee that we are going to be busy enough, and for the next few weeks your mother is going to have more time for miscellaneous sightseeing than I. It is indescribably fascinating; in substance, of course, like the books and pictures, but nothing really prepares you for the fact that it is not only real in quality but on such a vast scale---not just specimens here and there. TOKYO, Thursday, February 13. We have done our first independent shopping to-day. I can't get over my astonishment at the amount and quality of English spoken here; it is about as easy shopping in this store, the big department store, as it is at home--much easier as respects attention and comfort. They give us little wrappers or feet gloves to put over our shoes. Think of what an improvement that would be in muddy weather in Chicago. This afternoon is sort of a lull after the storm of sociability and hospitality which reached its temporary height yesterday. Let me give the diary. Before we had finished breakfast--and we have eaten every morning at eight until to-day--people began to call. Then two gentlemen took us to the University in their car and we called on the President again. He is a gentleman of the old school, Confucianist I suppose, and your mother was much impressed at being taken in, instead of staying in the car, but I think he was much more pleased and complimented by her call than by mine. Then we were taken to the department store to which I have already alluded. Many people do all their buying there, because there are fixed prices with a reward for a discovery of any place where the same goods are sold cheaper, and absolute honesty as to quality. But they also said that was the easy way to visit Japan and learn about the clothes, ornaments, toys, etc., and also to see the people, as the Japanese from all over the country come there to see the sights. There were a group of country people in; they are called red blankets, not greenhorns, because they wear in winter a red bed blanket gathered with a string, instead of an overcoat. Then at night it comes in handy. The stores are already displaying the things for the girls' festival though it doesn't come till early March--this is the peach fête, and the display of festive dolls--king and queen, servants, ladies of the court in their old costumes, is very interesting and artistic. They have certainly put the doll to uses which we haven't approached. Then we had lunch at the store, a regular Japanese lunch, which tasted very good, and I ate mine with chop sticks. Then they brought us back to the hotel, and at two a friend came and took me to call on Baron Shibusawa--I suppose even benighted foreigners like yourself will know who he is, but you may not know that he is 83, that he has a skin like a baby's, and shows all the signs of the most acute mental vigor, or that for the last two or three years he has given up all business and devoted himself to philanthropic and humanitarian activities. He does evidently what not many American millionaires do; he takes an intellectual and moral interest, and doesn't merely give money. He explained for about half an hour or more his theory of life (he is purely a Confucianist and not a religionist of any kind), and what he was trying to do, especially that it isn't merely relief. He is desirous to preserve the old Confucian standards only adapted to present economic conditions; it is essentially a morality of feudal economic relationships, as perhaps you know, and he thinks the modern factory employers can be brought to take the old paternal attitude to the employees and thus forestall the class struggle here. The radicals laugh at the notion here much as they would in the United States, but for my part if he can get in a swipe at the Marxian theory of social evolution and bring about another type still of social evolution, I don't see why he should not have a run for his money. According to all reports there is very little labor and capital problem here yet, though the big fortunes made by the war and the increased prosperity of the workingmen have begun to make a change, it is said. Up to the present labor unions have not been permitted, but the government has announced that while they are not encouraged they will not be any longer forbidden. But I must get back to the story. Another friend had asked us to go to the theater with him, the Imperial Theater, which has European seats and is a fine and large building, as fine as in any capital and not overdecorated like a New York one. The theater began at four, and, with about half an hour intermission for dinner, continued till ten at night; the regular Japanese theaters begin at eleven in the morning and continue till ten at night and you have your food brought to you; also they have no seats and you sit on your legs. None of the plays was strictly of the old historic type, but the most interesting one by far was adapted from a classic--it centers to some extent about a faithful horse, and the people are country farmers of several centuries ago. The least interesting was a kind of problem play--mostly philosophical discourse of the modern type--the right to expression of self and an artistic career, aphorisms having no dramatic appeal to even the Japanese audience. These people certainly have an alert intelligence--almost as specialized as the Parisian, for the audience was distinctly of the people, and no American audience could be got to pay the close attention it gave to performances where the merits, so far as they are not strictly artistic, in the technique of acting which is very highly developed, depend upon catching the play of moral emotions rather than upon anything very theatrical. However, the classic drama which is based upon old stories and traditions is more dramatic and melodramatic. The Japanese also say the old theater has much better actors than the semi-Europeanized one which is, I suppose, supported by the government. In the Imperial, the orchestra seats are one dollar and a half; they are more--on the floor at that--in the all-day theaters. Even in this one they have not introduced applause, though there was slight handclapping once or twice when the curtain went down. The Japanese have always had the revolving theater as a means of scene shifting; it works like a railway turntable apparently. Well, that ended the day yesterday. Except we had invited two gentlemen to dinner, and when we told our friends about it, they said, "Oh, just telephone them to come some other day," which appears to be good Japanese etiquette, as it is also to make calls at any time of the day, so we did. But unfortunately they had to telephone to-day that they couldn't come to-night. To-day has been comparatively calm; we have only had four Japanese callers and two American ones. Of the two Japanese, one is a woman who is the warden of the Girls' University, and the other is a teacher in it, a young woman of a wealthy and aristocratic family who has become too modern, I judge, for her family. I hope all you children will make a bow to every Japanese you meet and ask him what you can do to be of service to him. I shall have to spend the rest of my life trying to make up for some of the kindnesses and courtesies which so abound here. I am afraid much of this is more interesting to me to write about than it is to you to read, to say nothing of being more interesting to go through than to read about. But you can then save the letter for us to re-read when we get old and return from our Odysseying, and wish to recover the memories of the days when people were so kind that they created in us the illusion of being somebody, and gave us the combined enjoyments of home and being in a strange and semi-magic country; semi-magic for us. For the mass of the people, one can only wonder at their cheerfulness and realize what a really old and overcrowded country is and how Buddhism and stoic fatalistic cheerfulness develop. Don't ever fool yourself into thinking of Japan as a new country; I don't any longer believe the people who tell you that you have to go to China and India to see antiquity. Superficially it may be so, but not fundamentally. Any country is old where birth and death are like the coming and dropping of leaves on a tree, and where the individual is of as much importance as the leaf. Old world and New world are not mere relatives; they are as near absolutes as anything. We heard a whistle making its cry outside and Mamma thought it was the bank messenger, so I rang the bell for the boy to bring him in--but alas, it was much less romantic; it was the call of the macaroni peddler. TOKYO, February. Here we are, one week after landing, on a hill in a beautiful garden of trees on which the buds are already swelling. The plums will soon be in bloom, and in March the camellias, which grow to fairly large trees. In the distance we see the wonderful Fuji, nearby the other hills of this district, and the further plains of the city. Just at the foot of our hill is a canal, along which is an alley of cherry trees formerly famous, but largely destroyed by a storm a few years ago. We have a wonderful apartment to ourselves, mostly all windows, which in this house are glass. A very large bedroom, a small dressing room, and a study where I now sit with the sun coming in the windows which are all its sides. We need this sun, though the hibashi, or boxes of charcoal, do wonders in warming up your feet and drying hair, as I am now doing. We are surrounded by all the books on Japan that modern learning has produced, so we have never a waiting moment. The house is very large, with one house after another covering the hilltop and connected by the galleries that are cut off the sides of each room in succession. I shall try to get a photo. At the extreme end of the house is Mr. X----'s library of several rooms, and at the limit of that the tea room for the tea ceremonies. Our host is not one of the new rich who buy sets at a million dollars for performing this ceremony. He laughs at that. But there is a gold lacquer table which is like transfixed sunshine, and there are other pieces of old furniture, which are priceless now, and which have come down in his family. You would be amused to see us at breakfast, which O-Tei, the maid assigned to us, serves in our sun parlor. First we have fruit. Two little lacquer tables to move wherever we want to sit. The dishes and service are in our fashion in this house. Nice old blue Canton plates and other things Japanese. After fruit she makes toast over the charcoal in the hibashi, two little iron sticks stuck in the bread to hold it. On these prongs she hands us the toast. Meantime she teaches us Japanese and we teach her English which she already knows, and she giggles every time we speak. Well, we put our toast down on the plate and she disappears. The coffee pot is on a side table and we desperately look for cups for ourselves, though with some fear of disturbing the etiquette. No cups, she forgot them. After a while she comes up again with the cups and we get coffee, then she goes down again and brings scrambled eggs on the nice old blue plates. Then she giggles a little more and talks in that soft voice that is like nothing else we ever heard, as she hands us a nice hot piece of toast on an iron spike; she is much pleased and giggles because I tell her the toast is not harmed by dropping it on the clean floor, and she walks off into the big bedroom to bring the coffee from the gas heater. It is all like a pretty play unmarred by any remote ideas about efficiency, and time and labor-saving devices. Then two maids make our beds; then they dust the floor, one holding up the sofa on edge while the other whisks underneath it, and they smile and bow and take an interest in every move we make as if we were their dearest friends. Enter now the housekeeper who, with many bows, announces v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y that she would like to accompany me to go about the city and to explain things to me, as I would thus teach her English. I asked if she were going to church and she said she wasn't a Christian. Think what a funny sound that has. She is the secretary of Mr. X---- and a student in the new Christian college of which he is the President. She comes in now to wait on us at breakfast and she stays and repeats English after us. She knows a lot of English, but it is so literary that it is quite amusing to turn her into the ways of ordinary talk. To get her to open her mouth and break the polite Japanese whisper, in which the Japanese women speak, is what I work most on. Yesterday we visited the Women's University which is within walking distance of this house. The President, Mr. Naruse, is dying of cancer. He is in bed but is able to talk quite naturally. He has made a farewell address to his students, has said good-bye to his faculty in a speech, and has named the dean, who is acting in his place now, as his successor. At this University they teach flower arrangement, long sword, and Japanese etiquette, and the chief warden is a fine woman. She says I may come in as much as I like to see those different things. In the afternoon we had callers again, among them two women. Women are rare. One, a Dr. R----, is an osteopath who has practiced here for fifteen years and is an old friend of our host's. The second, Miss T----, has just returned from seven years in our country. I heard much of her at Stanford and brought letters to her. She has a chair in the Women's University. It is a chair of Sociology, but she says the authorities are afraid the time has not yet come for her to start on sociology, so she will begin with the teaching of English and work into sociology by the process of ingratiating it into her classes. She is an interesting personality. She was sent to me to say I might be lonely because your father was away so she was to take me, with any other friends I wanted, to the theater. As we had already been to the Imperial Theater and sat in the Baron's box it was finally arranged to go to the Kabuki, where we sit on the floor and see real old Japanese acting, which I am very anxious to do. I understand it begins at 11 in the morning and lasts until ten at night. February 22. Yesterday we went to the theater, beginning at one and ending about nine; tea is constantly in the box, and little meals--and a big one--between the acts. We liked the old Japanese theater better than the more or less modernized one. Baron Shibusawa presented us with a box--or rather two of them--and his niece and another relative and the two young people from the house went. I won't try to describe the dramas, except to say that the way to study Japanese history and tradition would be to go to the theater with some one to interpret, and that while the theater is as plain as a medieval European one, the dresses are even more elaborate and costly. The stage is a beautiful spectacle when there are forty old Samurai on it, as the garments are genuine, not tinsel. Mamma went more than I, because I had to leave at half-past four to go to the Concordia Society--in fact, I hadn't expected to go at all at first, as the Baron said that he sent the offer of the box because he feared Mamma might be lonely when I was away! There were about twenty-five Japanese and Americans at the meeting and after I had spoken for half an hour we had dinner in an adjoining restaurant, and then sat around and visited for an hour or so. The great event of the week, aside from the theater yesterday, was visiting the Women's University--you mightn't think that a great treat, but you don't know what we saw. We started early to walk, since it isn't far and we had been shown the way once, but we were rubbering so busily at the shops that we failed to notice where we were till we got to the end of things and then had to turn around and walk back, so we got there late. The forenoon we spent in the elementary classes and kindergarten, which are their practice school. Those very bright kimonos for children you see are real--all the children wear them, as bright as can be, generally reds, and then some. So the rooms where the little children were are like gardens of flowers with bright birds in them--gay as can be. The work was all interesting, but the colored crayon drawings particularly. They have a great deal of freedom there, and instead of the children imitating and showing no individuality--which seems to be the proper thing to say--I never saw so much variety and so little similarity in drawings and other hand work, to say nothing of its quality being much better than the average of ours. The children were under no visible discipline, but were good as well as happy; they paid no attention to visitors, which I think is ultramodern, as I expected to see them all rise and bow. If you will think of doing all the regular school work--including in this school a good deal of hand work, drawing, etc.--and then learning by the end of the sixth grade a thousand or more Chinese characters, to make as well as to read, you will have some idea of how industrious the kids have to be, and of course they have to learn Japanese characters, too. Then we had a luncheon, ten of us altogether, cooked and served by the girls in the Domestic Department; some luncheon!--and garnished in a way to beat the Ritz--European food and service. Then the real show began. First we had flower arrangement, ancient and modern styles, then examples of the ancient etiquette in serving tea and cakes to guests, and then of inferiors calling on superiors; then Koto playing--a thirteen-stringed harp that lies on the floor--first two girls and the teacher, and then a solo by the teacher. He is blind and said to be the best player in Japan; he gave "Cotton Bleaching in the Brook," and said he rarely played it, only once a year. Well, you could hear the water ripple and fall, and hit the stones, and the women singing and beating the cotton. I could hear it better than I can hear spring in our music, so I think perhaps my ears are made to fit the Japanese scale, or lack of it. Then we were taken into the tea house and shown the tea ceremony, being served with tea. Mamma sat tatami, on her heels, but I basely took a chair. Then we went to the gymnasium and saw the old Samurai women's sword and spear exercises, etc. The teacher was an old woman of seventy-five and as lithe and nimble as a cat--more graceful than any of the girls. I have an enormous respect now for the old etiquette and ceremonies regarded as physical culture. Every movement has to be made perfectly, and it cannot be done without conscious control. The modernized gym exercises by the children were simply pitiful compared with all these ceremonies. Then we were taken to the dormitories, which are in a garden, simple wooden Japanese buildings, like barns our girls would think, but everything so clean you could eat on the floor anywhere, with the south side all glass and sun, and the girls sitting on the floor to study on a table about a foot and a half high; no beds or chairs to litter up the rooms. Then after we were taken over some of the other rooms, we went back to the dining-room and had a most exquisite Japanese vegetarian Buddhist lunch served--just a sample, all on a little plate, but including the sweets for dessert, five or six things all quite different and elegantly cooked. Also three kinds of tea. Politeness is so universal here that when we get back we shall either be so civil that you won't know us, or else we shall be so irritated that nobody is sufficiently civil that you won't know us either. Mr. X---- took me in his car and brought me back. When we got to the hall there were five maids bowing and smiling to get our slippers and hang up our coats and hats. Just going in or out is like going to a picnic; I think the maids enjoy this change in their regular work, for they really smile, as if they were having the time of their lives. If it is perfunctory and put on, they have me fooled. Well, I'll spare you all any philosophical reflections this trip. Besides, I've been too busy having a good time to think of any. They will probably grow spontaneously in China. I forgot whether I told you in my last letter that the Minister of the Interior has given me a monthly and renewable pass first class on the Japanese railways. A friend here asked him for one for Mamma, too, but he said he was very sorry, that privilege could not be extended to a woman. So I'm the only grafter in the family. I haven't had a chance to use it yet, but shall make one at the first opportunity in order to get the sensation. TOKYO, Friday, February 28. I don't get much sightseeing done except in the way of seeing street sights. I am generally accompanied when I take a walk for exercise and always taken by some new way. The other evening we went out after dinner and took a walk to a lively street not far off--booksellers with their things spread out on the sidewalk or rather road, little lunch wagons, crowded streets and shops--they have electricity everywhere, and some geisha girls trotting along with maids to carry their samisens. We went into a Japanese movie beside rubbering at everything and then went into a Japanese restaurant. Their eating places here are specialized--this was a noodle shop, and we tried three kinds, one wheat in a soup, one buckwheat with fried shrimps, and another cold with seaweed. For the entire lot for the two of us it cost 27 cents American money, and the place, which was an ordinary one, was cleaner than any American one, even the best. The movie story seemed more complicated than any of ours, and was certainly slower, because there is a man and a woman in a little coop near the curtain who say what the actors are saying whenever their lips move, this gives a chance of course for more talk. There were a few knockouts and a murder and a villain and a persecuted damsel, and an attempted suicide to provide thrills, but I couldn't make out what it was about even with the aid of the guide with me. Such are simple pleasures here, save that when we walk in the daytime we generally go to a temple where on the whole the people are more interesting than the temples, though sometimes the layout of trees is beautiful and gives much the same effect of religious calm as a cathedral. In general the similarity between worship here and the country Italian Catholicism is more striking than anything else. They are slightly more naïve here--to see the dolls, woolly dogs, and pinwheels at the shrines of the children's gods, besides their straw slippers, straw sandals and an occasional child's kimono is quite touching, also sometimes a mother has cut off her hair and pinned it up as an offering. Other things are as humorous as these are pathetic, such as making spitballs of written prayers and pasting the god with them. Some of the gods are now protected by wire netting on this account. I have got fairly well used to the street scenes now and can tell most of the kinds of shops, such as an undertaker's from a cooper's. What makes the street so interesting is that you can look in and see everything going on. I forgot to mention the most interesting street thing I've seen, a bird catcher with a long limed pole like a bamboo fishing rod, a basket with a valve door to put them in and some other utensils. I didn't see him catch any, though. Sunday Morning, March 2. I am writing early because we are going to-day to Kamakura. You have probably heard of the big bronze Buddha--fifty feet high--well, that is there. A friend has arranged an interview for us with the most distinguished or most learned of the Buddhist priests in Japan--who belongs to the most philosophical of all the sects, the Zen, which believes in the simple life and is more or less Stoical; this is the sect that had the greatest influence on the warrior class in the good old days. Kamakura is on the other side of Yokohama, an old Shogun capital; has lots of historic shrines, etc. Yesterday I made my first speech with an interpreter to a teachers' association, some five hundred in all, mostly elementary school teachers conspicuous for the fact that only about twenty-five were women. In the evening we went to a supper and reception of the English-Speaking Society, Americans and Japanese, mostly the latter; both men and women and the most generally sociable thing we have seen yet. We have heard said it was the only place in Tokyo where Japanese men and women really met in a free sociable way, and the president said that when Japanese met for sociable purposes they were reserved and stiff--at least till the wine went round--as long as they spoke Japanese, but speaking English brought back the habits they got in America and thawed them out--an interesting psychological observation on the effect of language. TOKYO, Tuesday, March 4. You would be surprised to see how free from all affectations this country has remained, at least so far as we see it. There is a social democracy here that we do not know. All Japan is talking democracy now, which is to be taken in the sense of representative government rather than in the sense of tearing down the present form of government. The representation in elections here now does not seem to extend much further, if any, than to include those large taxpayers who would under any system be a force in forming policy. The extension of the suffrage is the great question under discussion at present. That and the expansion of special education for men are the turning points for the coming legislators. Japan has acquired many new millionaires during the war and those men are already founding new schools for vocational purposes for men. Four hundred and forty students are to be sent abroad with a very generous allowance for living in the different foreign countries, none of them women, and no women are mentioned in any of the new appropriation bills. Not even a mention of the needs for women. Yesterday, to begin, was spent thus: It was the famous festival of dolls. In the morning I made a dress for a poor sort of foreign doll I had hunted out for a little girl. It was all American. Another ridiculous imitation of American baby, looking half caste Japanese, has still to be dressed when I can find the material for long clothes, but I presented it as is. They invited me in to see their exhibition. Some of their dolls are two hundred years old from their mothers' family. I shall try to find some literature on this festival as it is too long to write about. But it is true that one begins immediately to get the passion for dolls; they are not dead things like ours, but works of art symbolic of all the different phases of national life. The little girls were delighted with their possessions. If I had only known about this I should have known what to bring to Japan for gifts, instead of feeling as helpless as I did. If you come, bring dolls. In the afternoon I was invited to go to the best or one of the best collections in the country and that was a great experience. It began very painfully for me because I got lost and was three-quarters of an hour late at the Imperial Hotel from which we started. The family that owns this famous collection is very old and the wife is the daughter of a Daimyo, hence the dolls are very old. And they are wonderful, and more wonderful still their housekeeping equipment of old lacquer and porcelain and glass. The doll refreshments are served in tiny dishes on tiny tables while the guests sit on the floor, the hostess and her family doing all the serving. We had the thick white wine made from rice poured out of wonderful little decanters into tiny glasses. We drank to the health of the family and the stuff is delicious, with an aroma such as no honey can excel. After these refreshments we were shown the room for the tea ceremony and then taken back into the foreign part of the house for real refreshments, which consisted of many and wonderful varieties of cakes. The tea was served in cups with saucers decorated with plum blossoms, this being the time of plum blossoms. Then tea cups taken away and cups of rich chocolate placed on the tables. These tables were high enough for the ordinary chairs. All the foreign houses are very ugly in style but very comfortable and mid-Victorian. The Baroness urged us to eat special cakes and we left stuffed. One kind is in the form of a beautiful pink leaf wrapped in a cherry leaf which has been preserved from last year. The leaf gives the cake a delicious flavor and also a cover to protect the fingers from its stickiness. Then three little round brown cakes looking some like chocolate--on a skewer. You bite off the first one whole, then slip the other two as you eat them. Those alone are enough for a meal and very nourishing. All cakes are made from bean paste or like our richest pastries. When that second meal was finished, we said good-bye. The Baroness and her three pretty daughters and her sister all followed us to the outer door and when our auto drove off the last thing we saw were the bows of the butlers and these pretty ladies, all saying one more harmonious good-bye. The young girls dress in kimonos of wool muslin of the brightest colors and designs which are conceivable even to the Japanese imagination. They look like a very profusely blooming garden of old fashioned perennials. The garden is indescribable. I had some fancy of what a Japanese garden would look like, but find it is nothing at all beside the reality. This place is big and the grass is now brown. Most of the grass is covered with a thick carpet of pine needles and at the edge of the pine needle carpet a rope of twisted straw outlines graceful curves. The use of the big stones is the most surprising part of the whole. They are very old and weather-stained, of many shades of gray and blue-gray, with the short shrubs for a background, and the severity and simplicity of the result has a classic beauty which we may attain in centuries, and only after we have consumed our abundance of things material. Then we went to dinner at the house of Professor M----. There are six children in his family, the oldest a man of about twenty-five, a graduate of the Imperial University, now a factory inspector for the government; he speaks eight languages. One of these is Esperanto, which is his hobby. The French Professors were there also, two of them, a clever and amusing pair, who did their duty in talking, and the young man spoke better than any of us and with an excellent pronunciation. He has never been out of Japan. Two little girls and a young boy appeared after dinner and made their pretty bows to the floor, and then went to a low table and squatted and played Go the rest of the evening. Go is the famous shell game. Go means five and it is a game of fives, but ask me no more, except that the men are 364 in number and you play it on an expanded checker board. There was an endless succession of food and drinks and we did not leave till nearly eleven. Japanese families have many nice drinks which we do not. Theirs are perhaps no better than our best ones, but they add to the pleasant variety of non-alcoholic drinks. Besides those we had two wines. This was the dinner as near as I can remember. A menu card was at each plate and I fancy they were intended as souvenirs for the foreign guests, but I forgot to take mine, if that was their purpose. We had soup, bread of two kinds, and butter. Then fish patties, then little birds, boned, on toast with a vegetable, then ramekins of Japanese macaroni, which is not like ours. Next roast beef, very tender fillet, with potato balls, peas, gravy, another vegetable forgot, and salad, white and red wine, coming after the orange cider. Then a delicious pudding, then cake and strawberries. Those berries are raised out of doors. They are planted between rows of stones which are heated artificially, I did not quite understand how, the vines being kept from touching the stones by low bamboo trellises. Whipped cream served with the berries. Then delicious coffee in foreign style. After dinner we leave the reception room in foreign style and go upstairs to the big Japanese room, sit by the hibashi or the grate, and here the children come. At once tea is served. Then just as we were starting for home we were urged to stay for a drink, which was more orange cider, very sweet, and bottled waters, which are so good and come from the many natural springs. One of the amusements of the Japanese is seeing the foreign visitors try to sit, and you can't wonder they are amused. I can manage it, in awkward fashion, but your father can't even bend for the pose. On Sunday we sat for two hours in the presence of the greatest Buddhist priest in Japan, and you can guess whether we wriggled and if my feet were asleep if you try the pose for a few minutes yourself, even on a nice soft cushion as we were. Getting up properly is the hardest part of it. TOKYO, Tuesday, March 4. Our friends took us to Kamakura; it isn't interesting reading these things in advance in guide books, so I don't think a description will be interesting, but something over seven hundred years ago, the first Shogun rulers settled there and made it their capital, of which nothing is now left save the Buddhist temples. We met on the train going down the professor of Japanese literature in the University, who was going there because it was the seventh hundred anniversary of a Shogun who wrote poetry, and the professor was going over to lecture on his poems. Also we ran across several hundred school children, boys and girls with their teachers, who were spending Sunday seeing the historic sights. One of the big temples to the god of war was a kind of museum, with old swords and masks and things in it. They took us to call on the Reverend Shaku, who is the head of the Zen sect of Buddhists in Japan, and who talked--including the interpreter--about two hours, in answer to questions about Buddhism, especially his variety. It was very interesting. We were ushered into a Japanese room, beautiful proportions, a lovely kakemono in the alcove--it's a scroll, not a kimono--and a five-legged little table made of metal with mother-of-pearl inlay. Otherwise nothing but the room with gorgeous blue and gold chrysanthemums alternating on the paneled ceiling and five silk cushions scattered around for us to sit on, and a single one at the end of the room for him. In about five minutes another screen door opened and he appeared in a gorgeous but simple flowing robe, copper colored. Then tea and sponge cake--meantime the talk fest had begun. Incidentally I should remark that the bowing and kneeling of the servants looks much more natural and less servile when you see people seated on the floor, and the servants have to kneel to hand them anything. His personality is that of a scholarly type, rather ascetic, not over refined, but not in the least sleek like some of our Hindu swamis, and very charming. When we left he thanked us for coming and expressed his great satisfaction that he had made some friends. His talk was largely moral but with a high metaphysical flavor, somewhat elusive, and reminding one of Royce. Well it was an experience worth having, as he is reputed the most learned and representative Buddhist in Japan, and as I have remarked before, seeing is quite different from reading. He was more modern than Royce in one respect; he said God is the moral ideal in man and as man develops the divine principle does also. We saw the big fifty-foot bronze statue of Buddha, in some respects the most celebrated single thing in Japan and again one you have to see. It is as impressive as a cathedral. We have been to a dinner party since I began this. Our host seems to be a universal genius--a member of the house of peers, an authority on education, an orchid fancier, a painter and I don't know what. There were over twenty at table, and our health was drunk in champagne with a little speech, and two members of the cabinet were there. The Countess is the mother of eight children, and looks about thirty and very pretty for thirty. Three or four of the little girls were about before and after dinner, and, like several of the little girls of the new generation, are as spontaneous and natural as you would wish. Acquired characteristics are certainly hereditary in Japan, for even the most lively and spontaneous children are civilized. Whatever else you think about the Japanese they are about the most highly civilized people on earth, perhaps overcultivated. I asked Mamma when these girls would undergo the clammifying process and have all their life taken out of them, and she said never for these girls. President Naruse died this morning; as he had cancer, it was fortunate he did not linger longer. He was one of the most remarkable men in Japan. Two days before he died the Empress sent him a present of five thousand dollars for his school--a very great tribute and one which will help the cause of woman's education. Speaking of this family where we dined, you can judge of the high aristocracy of our hosts of the evening by the fact that when they showed us the dolls' festival, there were some fine ones which had been sent the Countess by the Imperial Princesses. The dolls by the way are never played with--they are works of art and history to look at. These children got out their American dolls, of which they had ten, to show Mamma. March 5. I have now given three lectures. They are a patient race; there is still a good-sized audience, probably five hundred. We are gradually getting a superficial acquaintance with a good many people, and if I could get two or three weeks free from lectures to prepare I could make a business of finding things out, but as it is I only accumulate certain impressions. There is no doubt a great change is going on; how permanent it will be depends a good deal upon how the rest of the world behaves. If it doesn't live up to its peaceful and democratic professions, the conservative bureaucrats and militarists, who of course are still very strong, will say we told you so and there will be a backset. But if other countries, and especially our own, behave decently, the democratizing here will go on as steadily and as rapidly as is desirable. TOKYO, Monday, March 10. Yesterday we had our first taste of the Noh drama. We got there before nine in the morning, and I left before two to go to Mr. Naruse's funeral, but Mamma stayed till nearly three when she had to go to speak at a school. Mamma can give you a much more intelligent idea of it than I can, but the building is a kind of barnlike structure--the Elizabethan theater with a vengeance, and no stage properties except some little live pines and a big painted one, and except costumes which are rich and expensive and the masks which are likewise. It is an acquired taste, but one which can be acquired very rapidly. If they weren't done with such extraordinary art and technique they would probably be stupid, to a foreigner anyway, but as it is they are fascinating, though it is hard to say what the source of the fascination is aside from the perfection of technique. Conscious control was certainly born and bred in Japan. Mr. Naruse had a very strong hold on people, and his funeral was an event--all the autos and most of the 'rickshas in Tokyo must have been there, and some eight or ten speakers, and even to me who could understand nothing it was very impressive. One of the civilized things is that before the speaker bowed to the audience--and they all bowed back--he bowed to the remains, Which were in a coffin on the platform with flowers, and more flowers than at an American funeral. We were to have gone to Baron Shibusawa's for tea and dinner this afternoon, but his influenza has gone into pneumonia. To go back to Saturday. The reception was pleasant. We met the Americans who are educators and in the missionary schools and colleges; intelligent and well disposed, so far as I have seen. The criticism of the missionaries seems to be rather cooked up. Just now there is a fuss over them in Korea, because there is some agitation going on there for independence, and it seems to have started with Koreans who had been in missionary schools. The missionaries here seem much divided, some of them blaming the missionaries over there, saying they will bring Christianity into disrepute everywhere in Japan, and some saying that it proves Christian teaching amounts to something and that it will have a good effect in improving conditions, leading to foreign criticism and publicity, and causing the Japanese to modify their colonial policy, which seems to be under military rather than civil control. There is a rumor that the ex-Emperor of Korea didn't die a natural death, but committed suicide, with the hope of putting off or preventing the marriage of his oldest son to a Japanese princess--they were to have been married very soon. No one seems to know whether the story was invented to encourage the revolutionaries in Korea or has truth in it. Meanwhile they say the wedding is going to take place, and the Japanese are sorry for their poor princess, who is sacrificed to marry a foreigner. Thursday evening Mamma invited the X----'s and some others, eight including ourselves, to supper in a Japanese restaurant, a beef restaurant--they are all specialized--where we not only sat on the floor and ate with chop sticks, but where the little slices of thin beefsteak were brought in raw with vegetables to flavor, and cooked over a little pan on a charcoal hibashi, one fire to each two persons. Naturally it was lots of fun, a kind of inside picnic. Oh, yes, something happened Friday. We went to the Imperial Museum in the morning and the curator showed us about--I won't describe a museum--but on the way home we were taken into a pipe store and Mamma purchased three little Japanese pipes, ladies' pipes, to take home. Quite cunning, and the dealer said this was the first time he had ever sold anything to a foreigner, so he presented her with a little ladies' pouch and a pipe holder, both made from Holland cloth, not anything very precious, but probably worth as much as her entire purchase, certainly more than the profit on his sales. These things are quite touching and an offset to the stories about their bad business methods, because it is really a matter of hospitable courtesy to the foreigner, though he said himself they generally put the price up for the foreigner on antiques. TOKYO, Thursday, March 14. We have just had a mild picnic. Mamma has a slight cold, so the maids brought her supper up to her and for sociability brought mine up too. Mamma got out a Japanese phrase book and pronounced various phrases to them; to see them giggle and bend double, no theater was ever so funny. When I got to my last bite, I inquired the name of the food, and said it and "Sayonara"--good night. This old gag was a triumph of humor. They are certainly a good-natured people. I have watched the children come out from a public school near here, and never yet have I seen a case of bullying or even of teasing, except of a very good-natured kind, no quarreling and next to no disputing. Yet they are sturdy little things and no mollycoddles. To see a boy of ten or twelve playing tag and jumping ditches with a boy strapped to his back is a sight. There are no public rebukes or scoldings of the children or even cross words, to say nothing of slappings, no nagging, at least not in public. Some would say that the children are not scolded because they are good, but it is a fair guess that it is the other way. But it must be admitted that so far as amiable exterior and cheerfulness and courtesy is concerned, they have no bad examples set them. Some foreigners say all this is only skin deep, but the manners of the foreigners who say these things aren't any too good even from our standards. Anyway, skin deep is better than nothing and good as far as it goes. However, the Japanese say that their courtesy is reserved for their friends and people they know, not that they have bad manners to strangers, but that they pay no attention to them, and won't go out of their way to do anything for them. I told about the man who made Mamma a present when she bought the pipes. Yesterday we were in that region and Mamma went in again and bought another, and paid him a compliment on what people said about the present. Whereupon he gets up and fishes out another more valuable pouch, somewhat ragged and old, the kind the actors now use on the stage, and offers it. Mamma naturally tries to avoid it, but can't. He informs her through the friend with us that he likes Americans very much. An international matter having been made of it, the pouch is accepted, and now we have to think up some present to give him. However, we have told this story to several Americans here, and they say they have never heard anything like it. We were to have gone to the Peeress's School this morning, an appointment having been made to show us about. Mamma's cold preventing her going, we had somebody 'phone to see if the time could be changed. And this afternoon appear for her some lovely lilies and amaryllis--these being from people we had never seen. A Freudian would readily infer how bad my own manners are from the amount I talk about this. We went to a Japanese restaurant for supper. This was a fish restaurant, and we cooked the fish and vegetables ourselves, but over gas, not charcoal this time. Then we had side dishes, fish, lobster, etc., innumerable. Instead of bringing you in a bill of fare to order from, the coolie brings a big tray with samples of everything on it, and you help yourself. One thing was abalones on the half shell, these being babies, about like our clams, but not so tough, to say nothing of as tough as the big ones. I didn't try the fried devil fish and other luxuries, but wandered pretty far afield. When you have leisure, try eating lobster in the shell with chop sticks. You will resort to something more ancient than chop sticks, as I did. This restaurant is quite plebeian, though it has a great reputation for its secret recipe for the sauce the fish is cooked in, but it was considerably more expensive than the other--probably because we sampled so many side dishes; the other one cost less than five dollars for eight people--good food and all anybody could eat. TOKYO, March 14th. The ceremony of breakfast is over, and I am sorry again you cannot all share in these daily festivals which add so much to the dignity of living. We are now studying Japanese with the aid of the maids. I missed going to the Dolls' Festival at a private kindergarten and the result--this morning by mail a postcard from the children with numerous presents made by them, all dolls, and those I will send home, as they are interesting. With the presents they say: "We made cakes and prepared for your coming and we were in the depths of despair when you did not come. Please come another time." I am sure there is no other country in the world like this. The language is an impossible one. The way given in the phrases of the guide book is the way the man speaks. So when I stammer off those phrases the girls are literally tickled to death. When they tell me what I ought to say in the more elaborated polite way of the women, then I am floored. It is all an amusing game and relieves the watch they keep on each bite we take so as to be ready to supply more. Everything they do is marked with the kindliest attitude and every act or move is one of friendship. This is the program for to-day: Go to lunch at the house of some missionaries, then to father's lecture at 3:30, then to dinner for University of Chicago students. To-morrow will be an open day for me and the little secretary will take me shopping. The big department store is the fashionable place where all the noble and rich buy their kimonos, and I may supplement my secondhand attempts with a new one. When I get to Kyoto I hope to find a real old one, as the new style of weave are infected with foreign influence. The other evening with Y---- we found a little shop for antiques which is a gem to look at. An old man and his wife, Y---- says he bets they are Samurai, with the politeness of real nobles, and their little place as carefully arranged for beauty as if it were their home--which it is. I broke an old Kutani plate and I inquired for one there. They had none, but we looked at their things, they with many bows, and when we left said we were sorry to have troubled them for nothing. They replied, "Please excuse us for not having the thing you wanted." To-morrow we go to lunch here in the neighborhood with a very clever and interesting family (of a professor). None of the women call, at least none of the married ones, all being afraid of their English for one reason, but I am learning to just take things as they come and not to bother over formalities, never knowing whether that is the best way or not. The wedding of last Tuesday was the most interesting function I have seen. The marriage ceremony was the Christian one. The company represented the rich and fashionable of the city. The ladies all wear black crepe kimonos, that splendid crepe which is so heavy, next under the black is an all white of soft china silk, then the third of bright color. K----'s was that bright vermilion red. Her sleeves were not very long, as she is a mother, but the young girls wear bright colored kimonos and long sleeves that almost touch the floor. The bride wears black, too. All these dress-up kimonos have decorations in color, sometimes embroidered and sometimes dyed on the lower points of the front. The bride's was spread out on the floor around her just like the old pictures, embroidered in heavy rose peonies, her undergarment and the lining of the black, in rose color. Her hair was done in the old conventional way shown in the prints with the long pins of light tortoise shell with bouquets of tiny flowers carved at the ends, which stuck out about three inches, making a crown over her head. The receiving party is as follows: First, father of groom; second, mother of bride; third, groom; fourth, bride; fifth, father of bride; sixth, mother of groom. The line is straight and the bride is perfectly arranged like an old print, she and the groom with their eyes cast down. As each person passes, they make bows all along the line at once, but they do not move hand or eyes or a fold of these perfect clothes. I forgot to say the men, unfortunately, wear European dress. Then we moved on to two large rooms, the men all seated and smoking in one, and the women in the other. Those who knew me were very kind. Countess H---- introduced me to the bridesmaids; at least they would be the maids at home. They were the sisters and young relatives all dressed in the most brilliant kimonos and embroidered and decorated to the limit; they looked like all the parrots and peacocks and paradise and blue birds and every lovely color imaginable, while the uniform black of the guests, decorated with the pure white of their crests which stand out in such a group, formed the perfect background, free from all the messiness which is so apparent in a diversified gathering of all sorts of color and shape and materials in our land. At tea, which was very elaborate and taken sitting at the tables, the family of the two filled one table, a long one at the end of the room. The bride now wore a green kimono, equally brilliant; about two feet away from her sat the groom, both in the middle of the long table. TOKYO, Thursday, March 20. We have had a number of social events this week. Tuesday evening General H----, who speaks no English but who came over on the _Shinyo_ with us, gave a party for us in the gardens of the Arsenal Grounds. We could not have entered the Arsenal Grounds in any other way. There were about twenty-five people there, mostly Christian Association people, and the clergyman of the Japanese church where I had spoken the night before. He is keen about introducing more democracy in Japan, and I spoke on the moral meaning of democracy. Well, the garden isn't a garden at all in our sense, but a park, and the finest in Tokyo outside of the Imperial ones. It is quite different from the miniature ones we know as Japanese gardens, being of fair size, with none of those cunning little imitations in it; big imitations there are in plenty, as it was a fad of the old landscapists, as you might know, to reproduce on a small scale celebrated scenes elsewhere. The old Daimyo, who built this one two hundred years ago, was a great admirer of the Chinese and reproduced several famous Chinese landscapes as well as one from Kyoto. The extraordinary thing is the amount of variety they get in a small space; they could reproduce the earth, including the Alps and a storm in the Irish Channel, if they had Central Park. Every detail counts; it is all so artistically figured out and every little rock has a meaning of its own so that a barbarian can only get a surface view. It would have to be studied like an artist's masterpiece to take it all in. The arsenal factory fumes have killed many of the old trees and much of the glory has departed. Probably Mamma has written you that she has one young woman, Japanese, coming on the ship with us under her care, to New York to study; and to-day another young lady called, and said she wanted to go back to America. About the young women going home with us, Y---- said we would have to be careful, as one time his mother was offered seventeen damsels to escort when she was going over, of whom she took three. You may not appreciate the fact that going to America to study means practically giving up marriage; they will be old maids and out of it by the time they return--also those who have been in America do not take kindly to having a marriage arranged for them. At a lecture I listened to yesterday, a Japanese woman, close to thirty, was pointed out to me as about to get married to an American architect here. There are exceptions, but this case is evidently a famous romance. The lecture was on Social Aspects of Shinto; Shinto is the official cult though not the established religion of Japan. Although nothing is said that wasn't scientifically a matter of course to be said--I mean supposing it was scientifically correct--one of the most interesting things was the caution that was taken to avoid publication of anything said. On one side the Imperial Government is theocratic, and this is the most sensitive side, so that historical criticism or analysis of old documents is not indulged in, the Ancestors being Gods or the Gods being Ancestors. One bureaucratic gentleman felt sure that the divine ancestors must have left traces of their own language somewhere, so he investigated the old shrines, and sure enough he found on some of the beams characters different from Chinese or Japanese. These he copied and showed for the original language--till some carpenters saw them and explained that they were the regular guild marks. KAMAKURA, Thursday, March 27. This weather beats Chicago for changeableness. Monday, at midnight, it was storming rain; when we got up the next day it was the brightest, warmest day we have had. We spent it sightseeing and went out without an overcoat. The magnolia trees are in full bloom. Yesterday and to-day are as raw March days as I ever saw anywhere; there would have been frost last night but for the wind. Tuberculosis is rife here and no wonder. Three of the University professors have called on me this morning. They wish to arrange in every detail for our movements when we leave here. I suppose I was asked twenty times how long we are to stay in Kamakura. When I said I didn't know, it depended on weather and other things, they said, "Oh, yes," and in five minutes asked the same question again. Whether they arrange everything in minute detail for themselves in advance or whether they think we are helpless foreigners I can't make out; some of both, I think. But they can't understand that we can't give an exact date for everything we are going to do till we go to China. At the same time I never knew anybody to change their own plans, especially socially, as much as they do. There is a great anti-American drive on now; seems to be largely confined to newspapers, but also stimulated artificially somewhat, presumably by the militaristic faction, which has lost more prestige in the last few months than in years, with a corresponding gain in liberal sentiment. They have consequently found it necessary to do something to come back. Criticism of the United States is the easiest way to arrest the spread of liberal sentiments and strengthen the arguments for a big militaristic party, like twisting the lion's tail with us. Discussion about race discrimination is very active and largely directed against the United States in spite of Australia and Canada, and also in spite of the fact that Chinese and Korean immigration here is practically forbidden, and they discriminate more against the Chinese than we do against them. But consistency is not the strong point of politics in any country. Excepting on the subject of race discrimination, foreigners in contact with Japanese do not find the anti-American feeling which is expressed in papers. If the Anglo-Japanese treaty of alliance should lapse because of the League of Nations or anything else, America will be held responsible, even if the British are the cause. Two years ago there was a similar anti-British drive here, and pretty hard bargains were driven with the British ally in all war matters. Now that Germany and Russia are out of it, England has no apparent reason for snuggling up much and the shoe is on the other foot. Which makes the attack on the U.S. all the more stupid, as they are internationally quite lonely, even if they tie up with France on account of similar Russian interests, financial and otherwise. TOKYO, Wednesday, March 28. To-morrow we are going to Kamakura again; it is only an hour and a half from here. We are going to take a little trip into the mountain and hot-spring district also, but the cherry blossom season is much advanced, ten days earlier than usual, and we are afraid it will spring itself in our absence if we go far, so probably we shall be back here in a few days for about a week. Then we shall take a five-day trip on our way to Kyoto, going to the shrine at Ise. This is the oldest and most sacred Shinto shrine in Japan, which means that it is the central spot for imperial ancestor worship. Speaking of ancestors, you remember our references to the Count. The father of his first wife has recently been made a Baron. Parliament being over, the Count has left for the southern Island to inform the ancestors of his first wife, who are buried there, of the important item of family gossip. The oldest liberal statesman of aristocratic descent, who was quite intimate with the late Emperor, won't go to the annual meeting to celebrate the granting of the Constitution by the late Emperor because he is so disgusted that no more progress has been made in constitutionalism, and says he cannot meet his late master until he can report progress to him. Otherwise he would be ashamed to meet him as he feels responsible to the Emperor. This would not be any place for a spiritualist to earn his living. They are clear past mediums. We have chiefly been eating lately. I had two Japanese meals, a la chop sticks, yesterday and one to-day. Luncheon yesterday at a restaurant, where we had lots of things you never heard of, to say nothing of eating them, and a dinner at a friend's. There were twelve courses at table and two or three afterwards--not counting tea, and much the same at another dinner to-night. We have a bill of fare written on fans, only in Japanese, and little silver salt cellars as souvenirs besides. One feature of both dinners was soup three times, at the beginning, about the middle and again at closing, at these functions rice is not served till near the last course. Then there were one or two semi-soupy courses thrown in. I can eat raw fish and ask no questions; and in a bird restaurant, Sunday for luncheon, I ate raw chicken wrapped in seaweed; abalone is my middle name, and some of the shell fish we eat is probably devil fish. We have been here over six weeks now, and in taking an inventory it can be said that while we have not done as much sightseeing as some six-day tourists, I think we have seen more Japanese under normal home conditions than most Americans in six months, and have seen an unusually large number of people to talk to, not the official crowd but the representative intellectual liberals. I have seen less but found out more than I ever expected about Japanese conditions, which is quite the opposite of European experience in traveling. When I come back I shall try to see a few of the official people, since I now know enough to judge what they may say. On the whole, America ought to feel sorry for Japan, or at least sympathetic with it, and not afraid. When we have so many problems it seems absurd to say they have more, but they certainly have fewer resources, material and human, in dealing with theirs than we have, and they have still to take almost the first step in dealing with many of them. It is very unfortunate for them that they have become a first-class power so rapidly and with so little preparation in many ways; it is a terrible task for them to live up to their position and reputation and they may crack under the strain. TOKYO, Tuesday, April 1. The Japanese do one thing that we should do well to imitate. They teach the children in school a very nice lesson about the beauty and the responsibility of being polite and kind to the foreigner, like being so to the guests of your own house. This adds to the national dignity. Yesterday the Emperor got out and I caught him at it. Quite an amazing and lucky experience for me and no harm to him, as I had not known he ever went out before I picked him up in the street. I went down our hill as usual with a friend to take the car. At this side of the street where the car passes, we walk across the bridge on the canal and then turn and walk one block to the car stop. When we got to the other side of the bridge all the people on both sides of the street were massed in a nice little quiet line and three policemen were carefully and gently placing each one according to his height so he could see as well as possible. So we lined in with the rest while the policeman looked on in an encouraging fashion. Nobody spoke out loud, and after I had noticed the friend with me having a conversation with the officer, I ventured to ask why we were left standing there. With the same quiet, she said: "The Emperor is passing on his way to the commencement exercises of Waseda University." Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather. I don't suppose I should have known what was happening at all unless I could have figured it out from the Chrysanthemums on the carriage doors. I said to her: "How is he coming, in an automobile? How long are we to stand here?" I had visions of the stories about the streets being cleared, and the doors shut for some hours while white sand was sprinkled over the car tracks, and all the rest. "No," she said, "just a little time." I saw by now that I was not likely to have much gossip poured out to me about the Emperor, so I just fixed a nice little thing about three years old in front of me and then we waited with the rest of the school children. Soon the procession came, first a body of horse in plain khaki uniforms, then one very Japanese-looking man alone on the back seat in one of the light victorias, very clean and shiny, with the Chrysanthemums on the door. He was dressed in a khaki wool uniform just like the rest of the army with a cap on his head. Then came some other shiny, light little victorias with two horses, all just alike. I rubbered my best and I had a very good look at the one little man alone in the middle of the seat, and sitting up and looking straight ahead of him pleasantly. In the midst of the passing I asked the companion with me, "Which is the Emperor?" and she answered "The one in the first carriage," and still there was that quiet of perfect breeding; and by and by all the nice little soldiers on horseback passed, and after I had stood a little longer on the edge of my bridge I started our little procession moving towards the car. The Emperor had gone the opposite way. After a little I said: "I did not know the Emperor went to commencements and things like that," and I chattered on, and then my companion said in her slow, proper, calm tone: "That is my first experience to see the Emperor, too." And I said "Is that so?" and asked some more questions, still wondering that no one had called out a Banzai nor made a sound, and it is not till to-day that I learned that all the people were standing with their eyes cast down to the ground, and that I was the only one who looked at the Emperor, and their reverence was so great that that was the reason I had not heard them breathe. For another thing, Waseda is the liberal university and private, so I wondered still till I learned then that the Emperor was going to the Peers' School commencement, and that is the one commencement he goes to every year. So you see I had luck, and my conscience was clear for having rubbered, and I have seen the Emperor. The Imperial Garden party comes off the week after we leave Tokyo. To this party all the nobles of the third rank and above, and all the professors in the Imperial University, and all the foreigners of latest arrival, are asked. So a foreigner can go just once and no more unless a Professor. We put our names down in the Ambassador's book for an invitation before we knew all the niceties of the case. So now that we have learned that we can go once and no more, and that we are expected to go if we are invited, we will take back our request for an invitation as the party is on the 17th of April, and we are to be in Kyoto on the 15th. So in our good luck, a daughter of a Baron, who is a member of the Imperial household, has asked us to go with her to-morrow to see the Imperial Garden where the party is to be and we may see the gardens all the better. This Imperial Garden is one of the prince's gardens and not the one behind the moat where the Emperor lives. It seems the fall chrysanthemum party is in that garden, though never inside the inner moat where no one goes unless he has an audience. The moat and the surroundings of the palace are lovely, but as you can read the guide book if you want a description, I will not bore you with an attempt. The walls of the moat were built by labor of the feudal dependencies, and like all such labor it spared no pains to be splendid. Some of the moats have been filled up long ago, but there are still three around the palace. Inside the outer one you may walk part of the time and see the grand gates with their solemn guards. In these gardens the air is fresh and the birds sing in the trees, and the dust of the city never gets there. To-night I am wearing tabi, those nice little toe socks which will not fit my feet, but which are so much nicer than the felt toe slippers that fall off your feet every time you go upstairs. As a matter of fact, I wear ordinary house slippers in this house, but it is nicer not to and we always take them off when we come in from outdoors. Truly, the Japanese are a cleaner people than we are. Have I told you we bathe in a Japanese tub? Every night a hot, very hot wooden box over three feet deep is filled for us. This one has water turned in from a faucet, but in Kamakura the little charcoal stove is in the end of the tub and the water is carried in by buckets, and is reheated each night. It seems all right and I regret all the years our country went without bath tubs, and all the fuss we made to get them when this little, simple device was all there and as old as the hills. But we can catch up with the heating and cooking with charcoal hibashi. We have learned to eat with chop sticks very well, and it is not a bad way. The main objection I see to it is that one eats too fast, and Fletcherizing is not known in this country. The nice little way of doing your own cooking is something to introduce for cuteness in New York. These last few days we have just been sightseeing in the real European sense, running about town and buying small things all day and then having the wonderful advantage of coming back to this delightful home of perfect comfort at night, which is quite unlike Europe, and spoils us for the common lot of knocking about. The greatest actor of the country is here. He belongs in Osaka, his name is Ganjiro, and we have a box for Thursday. The play is the one that was given in New York called "Bushido." It is much longer than as given there. It is called by another name and is acted quite differently. On Sunday we are going again to the Noh Dance, or if no good tickets are to be had for that, we are going to a theater where women act all the parts to offset the usual way here of having only men in the company. The men who act women's parts here do make up very well. They live and dress and act as women all the time so as not to lose the art. Only when they stand in pose they cannot conceal the fact that they are men. The play begins at one in the afternoon and lasts until ten at night. Tea and dinner is brought into your box in those nice little lacquer lunch boxes. Ganjiro is on the stage in every scene for eight hours, so you can see the actors work for their art here. The costumes are superb, but the actors do not simply strut to show off. Their speech being very affected in manner they have had to depend upon expression to get results, and as a consequence their acting is done with their entire body more than any other school in the world. The best ones, like the ones we are to see, can express any emotion, so 'tis said, with their backs and the calves of their legs when you can't see their faces. TOKYO, April 1. Our activities of late have been miscellaneous; we spent three days, counting coming and going four days, at Kamakura last week. It is on the seaside and is a great resort, summer and winter, for the Japanese, and at the hotel for Europeans over weekends. For summers the foreigners go to the mountains, while the Japanese take to the seaside, largely because there is more for the children to do on the seashore, but partly because mountains seem to be an acquired taste. Kamakura is about ten degrees warmer than Tokyo, as it is sheltered by the hills. Peas were in blossom and the cherry trees all out. It was cold and rainy while we were there, however, except one day, when we crowded in so much sightseeing we got rather tired. Mamma and I are now catching up on calls, prior to leaving and doing some sightseeing. To-day we went to a shop where they publish very fine reproductions of the old art of Japan, including Chinese paintings owned in Japan, much better worth buying than the color print reproductions to my mind, though we have laid in some reproductions of the latter. There are so many millionaires made by the war in Japan, that lots of the old lords are selling out part of their treasures now; prices I think are too high even for Americans. The old Daimyo families evidently have enough business sense to take advantage of the market, though some are hard up and sell more for that reason. A week ago we went to an auction room where there was a big collection of genuine old stuff, much finer than appears in the curio shops, and this weekend there is another big sale by a Marquis. However, it is said they keep the best things and unload on the nouveau riche; not but what a lot of it is mighty good as it is. My other experience that I have not written about is seeing Judo. The great Judo expert is president of a normal school, and he arranged a special exhibition by experts for my benefit, he explaining the theory of each part of it in advance. It took place Sunday morning in a big Judo hall, and there were lots of couples doing "free" work, too; they are too quick for my eye in that to see anything but persons suddenly thrown over somebody's back and flopped down on the ground. It is really an art. The Professor took the old practices and studied them, worked out their mechanical principles, and then devised a graded scientific set of exercises. The system is really not a lot of tricks, but is based on the elementary laws of mechanics, a study of the equilibrium of the human body, the ways in which it is disturbed, how to recover your own and take advantage of the shiftings of the center of gravity of the other person. The first thing that is taught is how to fall down without being hurt, that alone is worth the price of admission and ought to be taught in all our gyms. It isn't a good substitute for out-of-door games, but I think it is much better than most of our inside formal gymnastics. The mental element is much stronger. In short, I think a study ought to be made here from the standpoint of conscious control. Tell Mr. Alexander to get a book by Harrison--a compatriot of his--out of the library, called "The Fighting Spirit of Japan." It is a journalist's book, not meant to be deep, but is interesting and said to be reliable as far as it goes. I noticed at the Judo the small waists of all these people; they breathe always from the abdomen. Their biceps are not specially large, but their forearms are larger than any I have ever seen. I have yet to see a Japanese throw his head back when he rises. In the army they have an indirect method of getting deep breathing which really goes back to the Buddhist Zen teaching of the old Samurai. However, they have adopted a lot of the modern physical exercises from other armies. The gardens round here are full of cherry trees in blossom--and the streets are full of people too full of saké. The Japanese take their drunkenness apparently seasonly, as we hadn't seen drunken people till now. TOKYO, April 2. We have had another great day to-day. This morning rose early and wrote letters, which were not sent in spite of the haste, as we decided the slow boat was slower than waiting for a later and faster one. So you ought to get many letters at once. The day has been sunshiny and bright, but not at all sultry, so perfect for getting about. We went to the art store to get some prints which we had selected the day before and then on to call on a Professor of Political Economy, who is also a member of Parliament, radical and very wide awake and interesting, quite like an American in his energy and curiosity and interest. We visited and learned a lot about things here and there and then he took us to lunch at his mother-in-law's house. They have a beautiful house in Japanese style, with a foreign style addition, like most of the houses of the rich, the Japanese part having no resemblance whatever to the foreign, which is so much less beautiful. In carpets and table covers and tapestries imitated from the German, the Japanese have no taste, while in their own line they remain exquisite. This house is one of the most absolute cleanliness. No floor in it but shines like a mirror and has not a fleck of dust, never had one. Let me see if I can describe accurately this entertainment. We took three 'rickshas and rode through the cherry lined narrow streets over hills where are the lovely gardens of the rich showing through the gateways and showing over the top of the bamboo walls, which are built of poles about six feet long upright and tied together with cords. They are very pretty with the green. When we reached the house Mr. U---- took us in to the foreign drawing room, which is very mid-Victorian and German in its general effect. This one has in it a beautiful lacquer cabinet, very large and quite overpowering every other thing in the room. There the ladies of the house came in and made their bows, very amiable and smiling at our thanks for their hospitality. The sister-in-law, a young girl of sixteen, who wants to go to America, and afterwards the grandmother, very much the commanding character that a grandmother ought to be. The children hovered round them all much like our children. The ladies brought us tea with their own hands in lovely blue and white cups with little lacquer stands and covers. Candy with the tea, which was green. I forgot to say that we had already, during the hour with Mr. U---- had tea three different times and of three different kinds, besides little refreshments therewith. After a little we were summoned to lunch. Three places set on a low table and a beautiful blue brocade cushion to sit upon. The two younger ladies on their knees ready to serve us. They poured out wine for us, or Vermouth, and we took the latter. We had before us, each, one lacquer bowl, covered, that contained the usual fish soup with little pieces of fish and green things cut up in it. This we drink, putting the solid bits into our mouths with the chop sticks. The grandmother thought she ought to have prepared foreign food, but the clever girl of sixteen had spoken for home food, and so we thanked them for giving that to us, as we seldom get a real genuine Japanese meal. And this is the first we have had where we were served by the ladies of the house, except the dolls' food at the festival. It seems this is the highest compliment that we have had, as the real Japanese home is open to the foreigner only when the foreigner is asked to sit on the floor and is served by the ladies of the household. They kneel near the table and the maid brings the dishes and hands them to the ladies, who in turn serve the dishes to the guests. It is very pretty. I have reached the stage where I can sit on my heels for the length of a meal, but I rise very awkwardly, as my feet are asleep clear up to my knees at the end. We ate soup, cold fried lobster and shrimps, which are dipped in sauce besides; and cold vegetables in another bowl, and then hot fried fish; then some little pickles, then rice, of which the Japanese eat several bowls, then the dessert, which has been beside you all the time, and is a cold omelette, which tastes very good, and then they give you tea, Formosa oolong. We had toast, too, but that is foreign. Then we left the table and were shown the rooms upstairs, which contain many pieces of lacquer and bronze and woodwork, and then we went down and there was tea and a dish of fruit ready for us. We had not much time for this, as they were going to send us in a motor to the Imperial Gardens. But as the last kind of tea had to be brought we were at the door putting on our shoes when it arrived. This tea is strong oolong and has milk in it, with two lumps of sugar for you to put in yourself. Thus we had been served with tea six times within three hours. It is hard to describe the Imperial Gardens. Read the guide book and you will see that it is. Ten thousand orchid plants were the beginning of the sight. We saw the lettuce and the string beans and the tomatoes and potatoes and eggplant and melons, and all growing under glass, for the Emperor to eat. Never saw such perfect lettuce, all the heads in one frame of exactly the same size and arrangement, as if they were artificial, and all the others just right. Why potatoes under glass? Don't ask me. Grapes in pots looked as if the raising of grapes under glass was in its beginning, but maybe not, as I was not familiar enough with those little vines to know whether they would bear or not. The flowers in the frames were perfection. Masses of Mignonette daisies, and some other bright flowers I did not know were ready to put out in the beds which were prepared for the garden party. We cannot go on the 17th. A very large pavilion with shingle roof under which the Emperor and Empress are to sit at the party is being built and will be taken down the next day, or rather week, as it will take more than one day. Then if it rains there will be no party. To-night it looks as if rain might spoil the blossoms. But to-day was perfect. It is a little surprising when one sees this famous garden after reading about Japanese gardens for all one's life. There is such a large expanse of grass with no flowers and the grass does not get green here so soon as with us, and it is now all brown, though big masses of daffodils are superb. These under the cherry trees with the sunshine shining through slantways made one of the brilliant sights of a lifetime. The artificial lakes and rivers and waterfall and the bridges and islands and hills with big birds walking and swimming make enough to have come for to Japan. The groups of trees are as fine as anything can be and across the long expanses the view of them is like a succession of pictures. There are a hundred and sixty-five acres in the park, no buildings. In the beginning it was pretty well to one side of the city, but now it is on a car track of much travel, though still on the outskirts on its outer edge. On Monday we have arranged to go to the theater again at the Imperial. To-day it is the great actor Ganjiro at a small theater. It is said the jealousy of the Tokyo actors and managers keeps Ganjiro from getting a fair chance when he comes here. Mr. T----, formerly of Chicago, has just been here to try to arrange a dinner for us before we leave, the dinner to be at a restaurant with all the old students present. The restaurants are always amusing and we agreed, of course. This may keep us in Tokyo one day longer, though that is not decided yet. For the rest of the time we are to make up on calls as far as we can and ride about to see the cherry blossoms, and I hope we may see some of the famous tea houses. Thus far we have seen no tea house at all, and there is not one afternoon tea house where ladies go in this city excepting the new-fashioned department stores, and they do not stand for anything different than they do with us. This shows how little the real ladies of Tokyo go out of their houses. The Sumida river is a big river gathering up all the small streams from one side of the mountains. It is full of junks and other craft and is the center of much history, both for Tokyo as a city and for the whole country. TOKYO, April 4. Ganjiro, the greatest actor from Osaka, is acting here now, and the show was great. He did the scene among other things they did in New York under the name of "Bushido." A dance by a fox who had taken the form of a man was a wonderful thing. There is no use in trying to describe it. It was not just slow posturings, like the other Japanese dances we have seen, nor was it as wild as the Russian dancers; he did it alone, no companion, male or female. But it was as free as the Russian and much more classic at the same time. You will never realize what the human hand and arm can do until you see this. He put on a number of masks and then acted or danced according to the type of mask he had on. He can do an animal's motions without any clawing--as graceful and lithe as a cat. He is a son of an old man Ganjiro. Our last days here are rather crowded and we aren't going to get the things done that should be done. Cherry blossoms are at their height--another thing indescribable, but if dogwood trees were bigger and the blossoms were tinged with pink without being pink it would give the effect more than anything else I know. The indescribable part is the tree full of blossoms without leaves; of course you get that in the magnolias, but they are coarse where the cherry is delicate. We went to a museum to-day, which is finer in some respects than the Imperial; gods till you can't rest, and wonderful Chinese things, everything except paintings. TOKYO, April 8. We are actually packing up and get away to-morrow morning at 8:30--we travel all day, the first part till four o'clock on the fastest train in Japan. The ordinary trains make about fifteen miles an hour, Japan having unfortunately adopted narrow gauge in early days and going on the well-known principle of safety first. We have had various and sundry experiences since writing, the most interesting being on Sunday, when we were taken into the country both to see the cherry blossoms and the merry-makers; the time is a kind of a carnival and mild saturnalia based on bright clothes, and wigs, and saké, about ninety per cent saké. There were a few besides ourselves not intoxicated, but not many. Everybody practiced whatever English he knew on us, one dressed-up fellow informing us "I Chrallie Chaplin," and he was as good an imitation as most. Aside from one fight we saw no rudeness and not much boisterousness, the mental effect being apparently to make them confidential and demonstrative. Usually they are very reserved with one another, but Sunday it looked as if they were telling each other all their deepest secrets and life ambitions. Our host of the day laughed most benevolently all the time, not excluding when a fellow dressed in bright red woman's clothes insisted on riding on the running board. They get drunk so seldom that it didn't appeal to him so much as a drunk as it did as a popular festival; the people really were happy. There were miles of trees planted each side of a canal that supplies Tokyo with water, all kinds of trees and in all stages of development, from no blossoms to full, no leaf and beautiful little pink leaves. The blossoms are dropping, it is almost a mild snowfall, and yet the trees seem full. Yesterday we went to the theater again, the Imperial, a party of ten filling two boxes. We were taken behind the scenes and shown the green rooms, etc., and introduced to an actor and to his son, about eleven, who appeared on the stage later and did a very pretty dance. He had a teacher in the room and was doing his Chinese writing lesson, never looked up till he was spoken to, about the handsomest and most intelligent looking lad I have seen in Japan. Acting is practically an hereditary profession here. I doubt if an outsider not trained from early childhood could possibly do the acting anyway, and I don't think the guild would let him break in if he could, though one man of British extraction has been quite successful on the Japanese stage. We saw some very interesting things yesterday, including dances, and learned that they are very anxious to come to America, but they want a patron. If the scenes were selected with great care to take those that have lots of action and not so much talking, and the libretto was carefully explained, they could make a hit in New York at least. Our other blowout was the other evening at a Japanese classic tea house, a part of a Noh dance for entertainment and a twelve-course meal or so. The most interesting thing though is talking to people. On the whole I think we have a chance to see people who know Japan much better than most. We haven't been officialized and putting the different things together I think we have as good an acquaintance with the social conditions as anybody would be likely to get in eight weeks. An experienced journalist could get it, so far as information is concerned, in a few days, but I think things have to be soaked in by cumulative impressions to get the feel of the thing and the background. When they told me first that this was a great psychological moment, that everything was critical and crucial, I didn't know what they meant, and I could hardly put it in words now, any more than they did, but I know inside of me. There are few external signs of a change, but Japan is nearly in the condition she was in during the first years of contact and opening up of things fifty or so years ago, so far as the mental readiness for change is concerned, and the next few years may see rapid social changes. NARA, April 12. Well, we have started on our journey and have seen Japan for the first time, scenically speaking, that is to say. The first day's ride from Tokyo to Nagoya was interesting, but not particularly so except for Fuji, which we saw off and on for several hours, and on three sides. As sometimes it isn't visible, and we had a fine warm day, we had good luck. Nagoya is where the best old castle in Japan is, you may even in your benighted country and estate have heard of the two golden dolphins on top. The castle is an imperial palace and it turned out that you have to have a permit from Tokyo, but we set out to try to get in, and as we had met a nice young man at the X----'s in Tokyo who came from Nara, we telephoned him, and while we didn't get in through him (he said he could never get in himself under any circumstances) he promptly asked us to dinner. Then we were taken to the swellest tea house in Nara and had another of those elaborate dinners, on what he called the tea-istic plan. We began with the tea ceremony without the ceremony but with the powdered tea, the bowl being prepared for each one separately in succession. The Nara cooking is better, we all thought, than the Tokyo, the food being more savory and the variety of flavors greater, an opinion which pleased our host. Expressing some curiosity about some four-inch trout which seemed to have a sugar caramel coating, we found that they were cooked in a kind of liquor which deposited the sweetness, and then we were presented with a bottle of the drink known as Mirin, so now we are lugging glassware. Then after the dinner he said that he hoped that we would not think him guilty of improper action, but that he had invited the best samisen player and singer in Nagoya, and also some dancers. In other words, some geishas were introduced and sang, played and danced before King David. There are all grades from those comparable to chorus girls at Jack's to high grade actresses, and these were of the upper kind. He said he wished us to see something of true Japan which few foreigners saw, this referring to the restaurant as well as the dancing. They won't receive anybody who isn't an old client or friend of one of these high toned places. But the ladies of the party thought he was especially interested in one of the girls. Personally I think the dancing and music are much more interesting than they are reported to be in the guide books. The next day we went to the primitive Ise shrines, arriving cross and hungry at about two, but bound to get the pilgrimage over, especially as it wasn't good weather. Yamada, where the sacred shrines are, is a very beautiful place, with wooded hills and little streams. The trees are largely cryptomerias, which are evidently some relative of the California redwoods, and while not nearly as tall, make much the same effect. It is a darling spot, filled with the usual thousands of carpet bagger (literally the old Brussel carpet bags) pilgrims. As previously reported I toted a borrowed frock coat and stovepipe hat. Our guide said special clothing was not needed for the ladies. I put on my war paint, and the chief priest having been written from Tokyo of our impending arrival, an hour had been set. At the outermost gate, the Torii, the ceremony of purification, took place. We had water poured out on our hands out of a little ceremonial cup and basin and then the priest sprinkled salt on us; nobody else had this but us. Then when we got to the fence gate, we were told that the ladies not having "visiting dresses," whatever they are, couldn't go inside, but that I should be treated as of the same rank as an Imperial professor and allowed to go. I forgot to say that we had a gendarme in front of us to shoo the vulgar herd out of our way. Then we marched slowly in behind the priest, on stones brought from the seaside, through a picket fence to designated spots near the next fence, I being allowed nearer to the gate than our Japanese guide; and we worshiped, that is bowed. I got my bow over disgracefully quick, but I think our Japanese conductor stood at least fifteen minutes. KYOTO, April 15. Here we are in the Florence of Japan, and even more to see if possible than in Italy. We have had a rainy day to-day, which is perhaps a good beginning for a week of constant sightseeing. This morning we spent in Yamanaka's--the most beautiful shop I ever saw, composed of the finest Japanese rooms of the finest proportions and filled with the most beautiful art specimens of all kinds. But the kinds are properly assorted in true Japanese fashion. I bought a red brocade. It is a panel, old red with figures of gold and some dark blue, peonies and birds. It is what the Buddhist priests wear over the left arm in procession. We have the certificate that it is over a hundred years old. The panel is about five feet long and one wide, the strips which compose it are four in number, sewed in seams, which turn the corners in mortise fashion, and yet they all match perfectly. Most of these strips are woven in these ribbons and sewed together. I got a second one which is purple with splendid big birds and peonies again. I like the peony in brocade much better than the chrysanthemum or the smaller flowers. Some fine ones with pomegranates are tempting, but I did not buy the most beautiful on account of the prospects of spending money better in China. I also bought a pretty tea set which I have here in my room--it cost 30 sen, which means fifteen cents for teapot and five cups, gray pottery with blue decorations. There are many cheaper ones that are pretty too. Tomorrow we go to the original temple where the tea ceremony originated and are to participate in the tea ceremony, which the high priest will perform for us. You better get a guide book and read about the temples of Kyoto, as they are too numerous to tell about in letters. We have the municipal car for all these occasions. Good thing we do, for Kyoto has shrunk like a nut in its shell since the days of its ancient capital size and the distances between temples are enormous. Next day we go to the Imperial Palaces, and so go on and on getting fatter and fatter. The weather and the spring time are superb. Cherry blossoms were gone when we got here, but the young leaves of the maples are lovely green or red and the whole earth is paradise now. The hills are nearer than in Florence, the mountains higher, so that Kyoto has every natural beauty. We shall only have a week here and then go to Osaka, where the puppet theater is and where there is a school of drama, of which Ganjiro is the leader. It is the doll theater we want to see, because that is the origin of all acting in Japan. Many of the conventions of the theater are based on the movements of the puppets. Kyoto in many respects is the most lovely thing the world has to show, such a combination of nature and art as one dreams of. These wonderful temples of enormous size, of natural wood filled with paintings and sculpture of an ancient and unknown kind, fascinate one to the point of feeling there must be many more worlds when such multiplicity of ideas and feelings can exist on a single planet, and we live unconscious of the whole of it or even of any part of its extent. The gardens we have seen to-day are the old Japan unchanged since they were made a thousand years ago, when they took the ancient ideas of China and India for models. The temples of Tokyo seem like shabby relics of a worn-out era, but here the perfection of their art remains and is kept intact. The landscape of the first Buddhist monastery, where the tea ceremony originated, has the same rivers and islands and little piles of sand which were placed in the beginning, all in miniature, and planted with miniature trees, all imitations of real scenes in China when China was the land of culture. Now they say even the originals are destroyed in China, which is so out of repair that it depresses every one who sees it. Fifty years ago they advertised for sale here in Nara, a lovely pagoda five stories high for fifty yen. It is obviously necessary for some American millionaire to buy up the massive gates and pagodas and temples of China in order to redeem them from complete ruin. The Japanese are the one people who have waked up in time to the value of these historic things, and several of the temples have been rebuilt before the old material was so rotted as to make them hopeless. Wood is a magnificent material when it is used in such massive structures as it is here. The biggest bell in the world, twelve feet high, is hung on a great tree trunk in a belfry with a curled-up roof of flower-like proportions, first having been hauled to the top of the high hill. We shall hear it boom next Saturday. We heard the one in Nara, the deepest thing I ever thought to hear, nine feet high. They are beautiful bronze and they are very mellow and melodious and reach to the center of whatever the center of your being may be and leave you to hope the greater unknown of the judgment day may be a call like that sound. We had lunch with Miss D----. She tells stories about the efforts of the Japanese girls to get an education that make you want to sell your earrings, even if you have none, in order to give the money to these idealists. They are as much pioneers as our forebears who chopped down the trees, but they can't get at a tree to chop. She says she wants me to go back to America and to go to every Congregational church there and tell them they must send money here to give education to the people. One day we have the mayor's car to go about in and the next day the University hires a car for us and we indulge ourselves in all kinds of doings we do not deserve and sometimes wonder if we shall have to commit suicide after it ends in order to condone the point of honor. Certainly these people have a nobility of character which entitles them to race equality. I want to find a nice quiet place to stay and come back and see the sights at greater length. The paintings on the walls are mostly ruined, but the kakemonas and the screens and the makemonas, those are wonderful and I am glad to say that we have got over seeing them as grotesque, and we feel their beauty. When once you see that the trees in the ground are real and that they look just as the trees in the pictures have always looked, then you begin to appreciate both nature and human nature as depicted. KYOTO, April 15. To-day is rainy and we haven't done much. We got here yesterday noon. The hotel is on the side of a hill with wonderful views, and is pretty good, though the one at Nara which is run by the Imperial Railway System is the only first-class one we have seen so far. In the afternoon the University sent a car and we took an auto ride into the suburbs to a famous cherry place--it was too late for blossoms, but the river and hills and woods were beautiful, and we saw the usual large crowd enjoying life. It is really wonderful the way the people go out, all classes, and the amount of pleasure they get out of doors and in the tea houses. I have never been anywhere where every day seemed so much of a holiday as in Japan--there is still saké in evidence but not so much. This month a special geisha dance is given here at a theater connected with a training school; the dance lasts an hour and is repeated four or five consecutive hours. We went last night; the dancing is much more mechanical posturing than the theater dancing, or than the little geisha dance we saw at Nara, but the color combinations and the way they handled the scenery were wonderful. There were eight very different scenes and it didn't take more than a minute to make any change. Once a curtain was simply drawn down through a trap door, another time what had looked like a canvas mat in front of the curtain was pulled up and it turned out to be painted on one side. But they had a different method every time. The mayor has invited me to speak to the teachers Saturday afternoon, and afterwards we are invited by the municipality to a Japanese dinner. They are also putting the city auto--the only one apparently--at our disposal, when they aren't using it, and have arranged to take us to a porcelain and a weaving factory next Monday. This town is the headquarters of Japan for artistic production, ancient and modern. The University authorities also telephoned to Tokyo and got permission for us to visit the palaces here, but they are said not to be equal to the Nagoya ones which we missed. While at Nara we spent most of our time at the Horiuji temples, some miles out. I won't do the encyclopedia act except to say that they are the headquarters of the introduction of Buddhism into Japan thirteen hundred years ago, which meant civilization, especially art, and have the wall frescoes, unfortunately faint, of that period, and lots of sculpture; this means wood carving, as of course there is no marble here. Well, it happened that it was the birthday of Prince Shotoku, who was the gentleman responsible for the aforesaid introduction, and of whom there are many statues, age of two, twelve and sixteen being favorites; his piety was precocious. Consequently, everything was wide open. Every kind of peep show and stall, and more than the usual hundreds of pilgrims who combine pleasure with piety in a way that beats even the Italian peasants; when they have money here they spend it; tightwadism is not a Japanese vice. Well, we were taken into the garden of the chief priest to eat our luncheon; of course, he was very busy, but greeted us in gorgeous robes and then sent out tea and rice cakes. The contrast between this lovely little garden and the drums and barkers just beyond the walls and the wonderful old artistic shrines beyond the barkers and ham and egg row was as interesting as anything in Japan. You may remember Miss E---- is rather tall for an American woman, even. Mamma is something of an object to the country people, but Miss E---- is a spectacle. Curiosity is the only emotion the Japanese are not taught to conceal apparently. They gather around in scores, literally. I don't know how many times I have seen parents make sure the children didn't miss the show. Several times I have seen people walk slowly and solemnly all the way around us to make sure they missed nothing. No rudeness ever, just plain curiosity. As we were going to the museum after breakfast, a few of those children, girls, appeared and bowed. First I knew one of them had hold of each of my hands, and went with us as far as the museum--girls of nine or ten. It was touching to see their friendliness, especially one evidently rather poor, who would look up at me and laugh, and then squeeze my hand and press it against herself, and then laugh with delight again. I haven't been able to discover when it ceases to be proper for children to be natural. Sunday morning some soldiers were going off to Manchuria--or Korea--and before eight we heard the patter of the clogs down the street and some hundred of boys and girls were marching down to the station with their teachers; the same thing next morning, for the soldiers. KYOTO, April 19. We have just come from another Geisha party, given by the mayor and about fifteen of the other officers of the city. Papa is quite stuck up because they say it is the first time the city of Kyoto ever entertained a scholar in that fashion. But if he is stuck up what should I be when a woman appears for the first time in history at a men's carouse in Japan? The Geisha girls are all the way from eleven years old to something like fifty. One of the older ones is the best dancer in the city, and she gave us one of the wonderful pantomime dances that so fascinate one here. She has been in jail for her political activities, said activities consisting in the active distribution of funds in order to elect someone she favored. It is against the law for a woman to take any part in politics here. Like all the older women of that class that I have seen she has a sad look when her face is at rest. But they all talk and entertain so busily that the sadness is not seen by the men. They are a very cultivated lot of women so far as we have seen them; of course we see only the best. They talk with the composure of a duchess and the good nature of a child. It is a rare combination. They are very curious about us and ask all sorts of questions. One girl of seventeen said she loved babies and how many did I have? When I told her five she was delighted. She had a rosebud mouth just like the old prints and danced with the old print postures. The girls pass the drinks and the rice which always comes at the end of such feasts. The little eleven-year-old gave a dance called "Climbing Fuji." Wonderful flat-footed movements that make you feel exactly as if you were climbing with her. In the middle part she puts on a mask which is puffy in the cheeks, and then she wipes the perspiration and washes her little face and fans herself and goes on again, flatfooted. All the motions are most elegant and graceful and subtle and serpentine, never an abrupt or sudden gesture, and never quite literal in any sense. After the dance was finished she came and sat by me and her skin was hot as if she had a fever. All the men were older and I must say they treated her very nicely. This is the way those feasts go. We enter the restaurant in stocking feet, and are usually shown to a small room where we kneel on the cushions and take tea while waiting for all the guests to assemble. About six this time, we were shown to the large room, which is always surrounded by gold screens and shoji, which slide back before the windows. Cushions are placed about three feet apart on three sides of the long and beautifully shaped room. In the middle of one side they are piled up so the foreign guests of honor may sit instead of kneeling Japanese fashion. We place ourselves after having all the guests one after another brought up. We shake hands because their bows are rather impossible and they have adapted themselves to our way. Then we all squat again. Then the pretty waitresses come slithering across the floor, each with a tiny table in her hands. The first is for Papa, the second for me, then the mayor, and so on. The mayor is down at the end of the line. After each one has his table before him the mayor comes to the center of the hollow square and makes a little speech of welcome. He always tells you how sorry he is he has such a poor entertainment and that he could not do better for these distinguished guests who do him so much honor by coming, and how this is the first time the city has ever honored a foreign scholar by this kind of entertainment. Then Papa does his best to make a reply, and after he sits down we lift the cover of a lovely lacquer soup bowl and lift the chop sticks. You take a drink of soup, lift a thin slippery slice of raw fish from its little dish, dip it in the sauce and put it in your mouth. To-night this first soup is a rich and rare green turtle, delicious. So you drink it all and take a little fish, but our guide warns us not to take too much raw fish as we are not accustomed it. By this time another tray of pretty lacquer is put beside you on the floor and on it is a tiny tray or platter of lacquer on which are placed two little fish browned to perfection, and trimmed with two little cakes of egg and powdered fish, very nicely rolled in cherry leaves. Every dish is a work of art in its arrangement. These two fish are the favorite of the last emperor, and you do not blame him. They are cooked in mirin, a kind of sweet liquor made from saké, and you eat all you can pick off the bones with your hashi. As soon as this tray is in place you see a lovely little girl with her long, bright-colored kimona on the floor around her, and she has in her hand a blue and white china bottle placed in a tiny lacquer coaster, and you know the feast is really under way. She is followed by the older girls, and little by little one at a time and quite gradually the dancing girls come in and bow to the floor while they pour out the saké. They laugh at the ways of the foreigners who always forget it is the part of the guest to hold out his tiny cup for the poison. Everybody drinks to the health of everybody else and there stops my saké, but the Japanese drink on and on, one cup at a sip and the hand reaching out for more. Talk gets livelier, the girls take more part in it. They are said by some to be the only interesting women in Japan. At any rate, no wives are ever there but me, and the girls are beautifully cultured, moving at the slightest suggestion of voice or gesture and always seeing quickly and very pleasantly what each one wants. As soon as they see we do not drink saké they bring many bottles of mineral water for us. Then they do their beautiful dances. Two, about seventeen years old, did one called "Twilight on the east hill of Kyoto." In Nagoya, in Tokyo, or wherever you are, the theme is always some natural event connected with the nature near by. Always simple and classic. Then the famous old dancer did a subtle thing called "The nurse putting the child to sleep." That is another favorite theme. This was lovely, but sometimes too subtle for us to grasp all the movements. These girls all dress in dark colors like the ladies, only with the difference prescribed by the profession, such as the low neck in the back and the full length of the kimona on the floor like a wave around her. With the young ones the obi is different, being tied to drop down on the floor in a long bow. The young ones also have the bright hair ornaments and the very long sleeves. But so do other young girls wear the long sleeves for company dress. There are other courses of fish; one of four strawberries, two slices of orange, some mint jelly cut in cubes, and sweetened bamboo slices in the middle of the list. Then more fish courses, many of them bright-colored shell fish which are always rather tough. Then a very nice mixture of sour cucumber salad and little pieces of lobster or crab, very nice and any sour thing is good with these many courses of fish. At the end bowls of rice, which is brought in in a big lacquer dish with a cover looking some like a small barrel. This is put into bowls by one of the older dancers and handed about by the younger ones who get up and down from their kneeling posture by just lifting themselves as if they had no weight, on their toes. Many of the Japanese take the regulation three bowls full of rice, and eat it very fast. I must say their rice is delicious, but I cannot get away with more than one bowl, partly because I cannot gobble. Then, for the last, your bowl is filled with tea. All this time the gentlemen from the other parts of the room are kneeling one at a time before you asking you if you like the cherry dance and what your first impressions of Japan were, and all such talk, and you have become intimate friends with the dancers as well, maybe with no common language except "thank you" and "very nice" and "good-bye," and constant smiles and interpretations now and then from others who know a very little English. One thing no one expects is for a foreigner to know a word of Japanese. Therefore, when you pop out an awkward word or two, you are applauded by laughter and compliments on your good pronunciation. To-night we had the very tiniest of green peppers cooked as a vegetable with one of the dishes. That was good as it had flavor; three of them about as big as a hairpin were served in the dish. You always get tiny portions and are usually warned not to eat too much at the first part of the meal. In the tea-dinner the rice comes along at the beginning so it can be eaten with the fish, and that is an agreeable variety though you are told not to eat too much of it as there are other courses to follow. I forgot to say there is always a course in the middle which is a hot custard made with broth instead of milk and seasoned with vegetables. That is good, too. In fact, I have become quite fond of this fish food. When we got in the motor car at the gate of the restaurant, all the gay little dancers were standing there in the rain waving their hands in American fashion till we went out of sight. Then I suppose the tired little things went back and danced for more men. We were home at 8:30. All the dinners seem to be early here in Japan, except what are called the foreign ones and they follow our hours as well as our style. I must tell you the best tea in Japan grows here at a place nearby called Uji. We had that tea after a lecture in the city hall. It is strong to the danger point, and has a flavor unlike anything else. An acid like lemon and no bitter at all; leaves a smooth pleasant taste something like dry sherry, and is generally delicious. It costs at least ten yen a pound here, but I shall get some to take home. Very good ordinary tea here costs fifteen sen a pound, seven and a half cents. KYOTO, April 22. To-day we were taken visiting schools--first a Boys' High school, then an elementary school which had an American flag along with the Japanese over the door in our honor, and which was awfully nice. The children did lots of cunning stunts for us, one little kid beating the Japanese drum for their rhythmic marching, which they are good at. Then a textile school for textile design, weaving and dyeing, which for some unexplained reason was bad and poorly attended. The machines were old, German and out of date. In fact, it all looked as if it had been worked off on them second hand by some Germans who didn't want them ever to amount to anything. All of the best work here is still done by hand, although they have good electric power developed from the water they have. Then we went to a Girls' High School, combined with a college for girls, preparing teachers for the regular high schools. The élite of Kyoto go there, and it, like the other schools, was very nice and good. They specialize in domestic science and we ate a fine Japanese lunch they had prepared. All this, like most our other trips, in the mayor's car. This is really a country where the scholar is looked up to and not down upon. In virtue of having lectured at the Imperial University I am "Your Excellency" officially. Osaka city does not wish to be outdone by Kyoto, so I am to lecture to the teachers there, and the city is to provide for us at the hotel, and the mayor to give us a banquet there. Of course, Mamma is the only woman present, as it would not occur to them to invite their own wives. Foreign women are expected, however, to do strange things, and they are very polite to them. The geisha women seem to be about the only ones who have an all-around education--not of the book type, but in the sense of knowing about things and being able and willing to talk--and I think the men go to these banquets and talk to them because they are tired of their too obeyful wives and their overdocility. One woman at the banquet we went to was known as the Singing Butterfly, and has the name Constitution as a nickname, because of her supposed interest in politics, especially on the liberal side. When we heard that she had been in prison because of her interest in politics, we sat up and took notice, but it turned out that it was for bribing voters to vote for a man she was interested in. But she is a local celebrity all right, and her stay in prison had evidently added to her interest and prestige. April 28, on the _Kumano Maru_. En Route to China. The lecture yesterday was a success, going off rather better than the others. It was in a school hall and they are always beautiful rooms. I was entertained during its two hours of duration by watching a splendid pink azalea and a pine on either side of the desk. They are each about five feet high and of the most lovely shape, and there were about a thousand blossoms on this azalea. We know but very little about dwarfed trees and shrubs in our country as the specimens we see are very small ones and inferior in shape and interest to those we see here. They are everywhere, each little shop has in the midst of its mess of second hand or cheap new things a charming little peach or plum, pine, azalea, or redberry. In a hot house we saw a tree that had two plums on it, and we frequently see tiny orange trees covered with fruit. The white peach is one of the loveliest things in the world, double blossoms like roses, and is entirely artificially produced. The smoke has lifted and we are seeing the hills of the shore very well. On the other side of the ship we see the Island of Awaji, so we are now between the two islands and it is much like the Thousand Islands in the St. Lawrence River. I suppose this is the entrance to the Inland Sea. It is partly clear and the land is so close it is easy to see. There are many Japanese ladies on board with their husbands and they seem to enjoy it. With their faces white with rice powder and their purple color in their haoris they are pretty, and especially here where they do not feel the necessity of covering the obi with haori so they look less humpbacked than in fashionable Tokyo. Their footwear I love, only, of course, it holds them still more to the conventional position as it leaves the legs bare above the ankle, and they must walk so as not to show that as well as not to disturb the lap of the kimona down the front. But the tabi feel like bare feet on account of the division of the big toe from the other toes, and as soon as you put them on you feel as if the toes were really made to use, and the foot clings as you walk. I am taking a set of cotton kimonas to China so as to have them to wear in my room with the tabi on hot days. Without the obi the dress becomes quite cool if made of thin material. The thin silk, which is practically transparent, is one of the most beautiful things in Japanese weaving, as it is still firm enough to keep its shape and wear for years. The dress of the geisha is very like the ceremonial dress of the lady, especially when black with decorations at the bottom. The little girls are very touching, many of them are not over eight or nine, and they wear the elaborate dress and coiffure which is theirs for the part. In cherry season it is bright peacock blue. In Osaka the decorations were butterflies in colors and gold. The samisen players are older and they dress more plainly in black or plain blue, the drum players are young and gay colored. The teeth of the little girls are so bad that I asked if they blackened them. The dances are lovely poetical things with themes of the most delicate subjects. There is never anything coarse either in the thought or the execution. They say the geisha is the most unselfish person in the world. Perhaps that might be said for all the women. They do their hard work and keep themselves out of sight to a degree that shows the pain there must be in it. When I was asked what I thought of them I answered that I thought Japanese women were not appreciated for what they did. They said, "No, that is not so, we do not show it but we appreciate them in our hearts." SHANGHAI, May 1. We have slept one night in China, but we haven't any first impressions, because China hasn't revealed itself to our eyes as yet. We compared Shanghai to Detroit, Michigan, and except that there is less coal smoke, the description hits it off. This is said to be literally an international city, but I haven't learned yet just what the technique is; every country seems to have its own post office though, and its own front-door yard, and when we were given a little auto ride yesterday, we found that the car couldn't go into Chinatown because it had no license for that district. I shall be interested to find out whether in this really old country they talk about "ages eternal" as freely as they do in Japan; the authentic history of the latter begins about 500 A.D., their mythical history 500 B.C., but still it is a country which has endured during myriads of ages. In spite of the fact that they kept the emperors shut up for a thousand years, and killed them off and changed them about with great ease and complacency, the children are all taught, and they repeat in books for foreigners, that the rule of Japan has been absolutely unbroken. Of course, they get to believing these things themselves, not exactly intellectually but emotionally and practically, and it would be worth any teacher's position for him to question any of their patriotic legends in print. However, they say that in their oral lectures, the professors of history of the universities criticise these legends. In the higher elementary school we visited in Osaka, we saw five classes in history and ethics, in each of which the Emperor was under discussion--sometimes _the_ Emperor and what he had done for the country, and sometimes _an_ Emperor in particular. Apparently this religion has been somewhat of a necessity, as the country was so divided and split up, they had practically nothing else to unite on--the Emperor became a kind of symbol of united and modern Japan. But this worship is going to be an Old Man of the Sea on their backs. They say the elementary school teachers are about the most fanatical patriots of the country. More than one has been burned or allowed the children to be burned while he rescued the portrait of the Emperor when there was a fire. They must take it out in patriotism in lieu of salary; they don't get a living wage, now that the cost of living has gone up. SHANGHAI, May 2. We have been taken in hand by a reception committee of several Chinese gentlemen, mostly returned American students. The "returned student" is a definite category here, and if and when China gets on its feet, the American university will have a fair share of the glory to its credit. They took us to see a Chinese cotton spinning and weaving factory. There is not even the pretense at labor laws here that there is in Japan. Children six years of age are employed, not many though, and the wages of the operatives in the spinning department, mainly women, is thirty cents a day, at the highest thirty-two cents Mex. In the weaving department they have piece work and get up to forty cents. I will tell you something of what we had to eat in one small afternoon. First, lunch of all courses here at the hotel. Then we went to the newspaper where we had tea and cake at about four. From there to the house of the daughter of a leading statesman of the Manchus, she being a lady of small feet and ten children, who has offered a prize for the best essay on the ways to stop concubinage, which they call the whole system of plural marriage. They say it is quite unchanged among the rich. There we were given a tea of a rare sort, unknown in our experience. Two kinds of meat pies which are made in the form of little cakes and quite peculiar in taste, delicious; also cake. Then after we went to the restaurant where we were to have dinner. First we got into the wrong hotel and there, while we were waiting, they gave us tea. We were struck by the fact that they asked for nothing when we left, and thanked us for coming to the wrong place. Then we went to the right hotel across the street from the first. They called it the corner of Broadway and 42nd Street, and it is that. There is a big roof garden besides the hotels, and they are both run by the Department stores which have their places underneath. It may be a sad commentary on the human character that one can eat more than one can remember, but that is what we did last night. First of all we went into the room which was all Chinese furniture; very small round table in the middle and the rows of stools along one side for the singing girls, who do not dance here. Those stools were not used, as all the young Chinese are ashamed of that institution and want to get rid of it. On a side table were almonds shelled, nice little ones, different from ours and very sweet. Beside them were dried watermelon seeds which were hard to crack and so I did not taste them. All the Chinese nibbled them with relish. Two ladies came, both of them had been in New York to study. All these people speak and understand English in earnest. On the table were little pieces of sliced ham, the famous preserved eggs which taste like hard-boiled eggs and look like dark-colored jelly, and little dishes of sweets, shrimps, etc. To these we helped ourselves with the chop sticks, though they insisted on giving us little plates on which they spooned out some of each. Then followed such a feast as we had never experienced, the boys taking off one dish after another and replacing them with others in the center of the table, to which we helped ourselves. There was no special attempt at display of fine dishes such as you might have expected with such cooking and such expense, and such as would have happened in Japan. We had chicken and duck and pigeon and veal and pigeon eggs and soup and fish and little oysters that grow in the ground (very delicious and delicate) and nice little vegetables and bamboo sprouts mixed in with the others, and we had shrimps cooked, and shark's fin and bird's nest (this has no taste at all and is a sort of very delicate soup, but costs a fortune and that is its real reason for being). It is gelatine which almost all dissolves in the cooking. We had many more things than these, and the boy in a dirty white coat and an old cap on his head passing round the hot perfumed wet towels every few courses, and for dessert we had little cakes made of bean paste filled up with almond paste and other sweets, all very elaborately made, and works of art to look at, but with too little taste to appeal much to us; then we had fruits, bananas and apples and pears, cut up in pieces, each with a toothpick in it so it can be eaten easily. Then we had a soup made of fish's stomach, or air sac. Then we had a pudding of the most delicious sort imaginable, made of a mold of rice filled in with eight different symbolic things that I don't know anything about, but they don't cut much part in the taste. In serving this dish we were first given a little bowl half full of a sauce thickened and looking like a milk sauce. It was really made of powdered almonds. Into this you put the pudding, and it is so good that I regretted all that had gone before, and I am going to learn how to make it. SHANGHAI, May 3. Some one told us when we were on the boat that the Japanese cared everything for what people thought of them, and the Chinese cared nothing. Making comparisons is a favorite, if dangerous, indoor sport. The Chinese are noisy, not to say boisterous, easy-going and dirty--and quite human in general effect. They are much bigger than the Japanese, and frequently very handsome from any point of view. The most surprising thing is the number of those who look not merely intelligent but intellectual among the laborers, such as some of the hotel waiters and attendants. Our waiter is a rather feminine, ultra refined type, and might be a poet. I noticed quite a number of the same Latin quarter Paris type of artists among the teachers whom I addressed to-day. The Japanese impressions are gradually sinking into perspective with distance, and it is easy to see that the same qualities that make them admirable are also the ones that irritate you. That they should have made what they have out of that little and mountainous island is one of the wonders of the world, but everything in themselves is a little overmade, there seems to be a rule for everything, and admiring their artistic effects one also sees how near art and the artificial are together. So it is something of a relaxation to get among the easy-going once more. Their slouchiness, however, will in the end get on one's nerves quite as much as the "eternal" attention of the Japanese. One more generalization borrowed from one of our Chinese friends here, and I'm done. "The East economizes space and the West time"--that also is much truer than most epigrams. SHANGHAI, May 4. I have seen a Chinese lady, small feet and all. We took dinner with her. She did not come into the room until after dinner was over, having been in the kitchen cooking it while the servant brought things in. She has one of those placid faces which are round and plump and quite beautiful in a way, a pretty complexion, and of course a slow, rocking, hobbling way of walking. Yesterday after the lecture we went there again and she showed us all over her flat. It is well kept, with not many conveniences from our point of view, but I think it is regarded as quite modern here. It has a staircase, and a little roof where they dry clothes or sit. The bath is a tin tub, warmed by carrying water from the little stove like our little laundry stoves. It has an outlet pipe to the ground, no sewers as usual in the Orient. The kitchen has a little stove of iron set up on boxes and they burn small pieces of wood. It has three compartments, two big shallow iron pots for roasting and boiling and a deep one in the middle for keeping the hot water for tea. Only two fires are needed as the heat from the two end fires does for the water in the middle. There is no doubt that the Chinese are a sociable people if given a chance. Of course, men like the husband of our hostess are the extreme of ability and advanced ideas here. But it is remarkable that he shows us things as they are. When we visited schools he did not arrange in advance because he did not want us to see a fixed up program. When we went out to lunch he took us to a Chinese place where no foreigners ever go. Yesterday we went to a department store to buy some gloves and garters. Gloves were Keyser's, imported, so were the stockings, so were the garters and suspenders, etc. The gloves were from $1 to $1.60 and the suspenders were a dollar. I bought some silk, sixteen inches wide, for fifty cents a yard. The store was messy and the floors dirty, but it is a popular place for the Chinese. We paid three dollars for a book marked 1sh. 6p. in England, and everything here is like that. Gloves and stockings are made in Japan, and good and cheap there; fine silken stockings $1.60 a pair. But still the Chinese do not buy of them, but from America. We have visited a cotton mill. The Chinese cotton and silk are now inferior, owing to lack of scientific production and of proper care of seed. In weaving, they sometimes mix their cotton with ours. SHANGHAI, Monday, May 12. The Peking tempest seems to have subsided for the present, the Chancellor still holding the fort, and the students being released. The subsidized press said this was due in part to the request of the Japanese that the school-boy pranks be looked upon indulgently. According to the papers, the Japanese boycott is spreading, but the ones we see doubt if the people will hold out long enough--meanwhile Japanese money is refused here. The East is an example of what masculine civilization can be and do. The trouble I should say is that the discussions have been confined to the subjection of the women as if that were a thing affecting the women only. It is my conviction that not merely the domestic and educational backwardness of China, but the increasing physical degeneration and the universal political corruption and lack of public spirit, which make China such an easy mark, is the result of the condition of women. There is the same corruption in Japan only it is organized; there seems to be an alliance between two groups of big capitalists and the two leading political "parties." There the very great public spirit is nationalistic rather than social, that is, it is patriotism rather than public spirit as we understand it. So while Japan is strong where China is weak, there are corresponding defects there because of the submission of women--and the time will come when the hidden weakness will break Japan down. Here are two items from the Chinese side. A missionary spoke to Christian Chinese about spending the time Sunday, making chiefly the point that it was a good time for family reunions and family readings, conversation and the like. One of them said that they would be bored to death if they had to spend the whole day with their wives. Then we are told that the rich women--who have of course much less liberty in getting out than the poorer class women--spend their time among themselves gambling. It is universally believed that the attempt to support a number of wives extravagantly is one of the chief sources of political corruption. On the other hand, at one of the political protest meetings in Peking a committee of twelve was appointed to go to the officials and four of them were women. In Japan women are forbidden to attend any meetings where politics are discussed, and the law is strictly enforced. There are many more Chinese women studying in America than there are Japanese--in part, perhaps, because of the lack of higher schools for girls here, but also because they don't have to give up marriage here when they get an education--in fact we are told they are in especial demand not only among the men who have studied abroad, but among the millionaires. Certainly the educated ones here are much more advanced on the woman question than in Japan. "You never can tell" is the coat of arms of China. The Chancellor of the University was forced out on the evening of the eighth by the cabinet, practically under threat of assassination; also soldiers (bandits) were brought into the city and the University surrounded, so to save the University rather than himself, he left--nobody knows where. The release of the students was sent out by telegraph, but they refused to allow this to become known. It seems this Chancellor was more the intellectual leader of the liberals than I had realized, and the government had become really afraid of him. He has only been there two years, and before that the students had never demonstrated politically and now they are the leaders of the new movement. So of course the government will put in a reactionary, and the students will leave and all the honest teachers resign. Perhaps the students will go on strike all over China. But you never can tell. Tuesday A.M. Ex-President Sun Yat Sen is a philosopher, as I found out last night during dinner with him. He has written a book, to be published soon, saying that the weakness of the Chinese is due to their acceptance of the statement of an old philosopher, "To know is easy, to act is difficult." Consequently they did not like to act and thought it was possible to get a complete theoretical understanding, while the strength of the Japanese was that they acted even in ignorance and went ahead and learned by their mistakes; the Chinese were paralyzed by fear of making a mistake in action. So he has written a book to prove to his people that action is really easier than knowledge. The American sentiment here hopes that the Senate will reject the treaty because it virtually completes the turning over of China to Japan. I will only mention two things said in the conversation. Japan already has more troops, namely twenty-three divisions, under arms in China than she has in Japan, Japanese officered Chinese, and her possession of Manchurian China is already complete. They have lent China two hundred millions to be used in developing this army and extending it. They offered China, according to the conversation at dinner, to lend her two million a month for twenty years for military purposes. Japan figured the war would last till '21 or '22, and had proposed an offensive and defensive alliance to Germany, Japan to supply its trained Chinese army, and Germany to turn over to Japan the Allies' concessions and colonies in China. As an evidence of good faith, Germany had already offered to Japan its own Chinese territory, and it was the communication of this fact to Great Britain which induced the latter to sign the secret pact agreeing to turn over German possessions to Japan, when the peace was made. These men are not jingoists; they think they know what they are talking about, and they have good sources of knowledge. Some of these statements are known facts--like the size of the army and the two hundred million loan--but of course I can't guarantee them. But I'm coming to the opinion that it might be well worth while to reject the treaty on the ground that it involved the recognition of secret treaties and secret diplomacy. On the other hand, a genuine League of Nations--one with some vigor--is the only salvation I can see of the whole Eastern situation, and it is infinitely more serious than we realize at home. If things drift on five or ten years more, the world will have a China under Japanese military domination--barring two things--Japan will collapse in the meantime under the strain, or Asia will be completely Bolshevikized, which I think is about fifty-fifty with a Japanized-Militarized China. European diplomacy here, which of course dominates America, is completely futile. England does everything with reference to India, and they all temporize and drift and take what are called optimistic long-run views and quarrel among themselves, and Japan alone knows what it wants and comes after it. I still believe in the genuineness of the Japanese liberal movement there, but they lack moral courage. They, the intellectual liberals, are almost as ignorant of the true facts as we are, and enough aware of them to wish to keep themselves in ignorance. Then there is the great patriotism, which of course easily justifies, by the predatory example of the Europeans, the idea that this is all in self-defense. SHANGHAI, May 13. I closed up abruptly because there seemed a possibility of mail going out and now it is a day after and more to tell, with a prospect of little time to tell it. China is full of unused resources and there are too many people. The factories begin to work at six or earlier in the morning, with not enough for the poor to do, and they have the habit of not wanting to work much. Two shifts work in factories for the twenty-four hours. They get about twenty to thirty cents a day and the little children get from nothing up to nine cents, or even eleven cents after they get older. Iron mines are idle, coal and oil undeveloped, and they cannot get railroads. They burn their wood everywhere and the country is withering away because it is deforested. They made the porcelain industry for the world and they buy their table dishes from Japan. They raise a deteriorated cotton and buy cotton cloth from Japan. They buy any quantity of small useful articles from Japan. Japanese are in every town across China like a network closing in on fishes. All the mineral resources of China are the prey of the Japanese, and they have secured 80 per cent of them by bribery of the Peking government. Talk to a Chinese and he will tell you that China cannot develop because she has no transportation facilities. Talk to him about building railroads and he tells you China ought to have railroads but she cannot build them because she cannot get the material. Talk to him about fuel when you see all the weeds being gathered from the roadsides for burning in the cook stoves, and he tells you China cannot use her mines because of the government's interference. There are large coal mines within ten miles of this city with the coal lying near the surface and only the Japanese are using them, though they are right on the bank of the Yangste River. The iron mines referred to are near the river, a whole mountain of iron being worked by the Japanese, who bring the ocean ships up the river, load them directly from the mines, the ore being carried down the hill, and take these ships directly to Japan, and they pay four dollars a ton to the Chinese company which carries on all the work. The last hope of China for an effective government passed away with the closing of the Peace Conference, which has been working hard here for weeks. It seems the delegates from the south could act with plenary power. The delegates from the north had to refer everything to the military ministers from Peking, and so at last they gave up. Despair is deeper than ever, and they all say that nothing can be done. We have gone round recommending many ways of getting at the wrong impressions that prevail in our country about them, such as propaganda, an insistence upon the explanation of the differences between the people and the government. But the reply is, "We can do nothing, we have no money." Certainly the Chinese pride has been grounded now. An American official here says there is no hope for China except through the protection of the great powers, in which Japan must join. Without that she is the prey of Japan. Japanese are buying best bits of land in this city for business, and in other cities. Japan borrows money from other nations and then loans it to China on bleeding terms. The cession of Shantung has, of course, precipitated the whole mess and some Chinese think that is their last hope to so reduce them to the last extremity that rage will bring them to act. The boycott of Japanese goods and money has begun, but many say it will not be persistently carried out. The need for food and clothes in China keeps everybody bound by the struggle for a livelihood, and everything else has to be forgotten in the long run. The protests of the Faculty on behalf of the students seem to have been received by the government in good part. Students here are in trouble also to some extent and there is a probability of a strike of students in all the colleges and middle schools of the country. The story at St. John's here is very interesting. It is the Episcopalian mission school, and one of the best. Students walked to Shanghai, ten miles, on the hottest day to parade, then ten miles back. Some of them fell by the way with sunstroke. On their return in the evening they found some of the younger students going in to a concert. The day was a holiday, called the Day of Humiliation. It is the anniversary of the date of the twenty-one demands of Japan, and is observed by all the schools. It is a day of general meetings and speechmaking for China. These students stood outside of the door where the concert was to be held and their principal came out and told them they must go to the concert. They replied that they were praying there, as it was not a time for celebrating by a concert on the Day of Humiliation. Then they were ordered to go in first by this principal and afterwards by the President of the whole college. Considerable excitement was the result. Students said they were watching there for the sake of China as the apostles prayed at the death of Christ and this anniversary was like the anniversary of the death of Christ. The President told them if they did not go in then he would shut them out of the college. This he did. They stood there till morning and then one of them who lived nearby took them into his house. Therefore St. John's College is closed and the President has not given in. I fancy the Chinese would be almost ready to treat the Japanese as they did the treacherous minister if it were not for the reaction it would have on the world at large. They do hate them and the Americans we have met all seem to feel with them. Certainly the apparent lie of the Japanese when they made their splurge in promising before the sitting of the Peace Conference to give back the German concessions to China is something America ought not to forget. All these, and the extreme poverty of China is what I had no idea of before coming here. A wonderfully solemn and intent old pedlar has made his appearance most every day, and much the same ceremonies are gone through. For instance, there was a bead necklace--the light hollowed silver enamel--he wanted fourteen dollars for; he seemed rather glad finally to sell it for four, though you can't say he seemed glad; on the contrary, he seemed preternaturally gloomy and remarked that he and not we would eat bitterness because of this purchase. The funniest thing was once when, after getting sick of bargaining, we put the whole thing down and started to walk away. His movements and gestures would have made an actor celebrated--they are indescribable, but they said in effect, "Rather than have any misunderstanding come between me and my close personal friends I would give you free anything in my possession." The blood rushed to his face and a smile of heavenly benignity came over it as he handed us the things at the price we had offered him. The students' committees met yesterday and voted to inform the government by telegraph that they would strike next Monday if their four famous demands were not granted--or else five--including of course refusal to sign the peace treaty, punishment of traitors who made the secret treaties with Japan because they were bribed, etc. But the committee seemed to me more conservative than the students, for the rumor this A.M. is that they are going to strike to-day anyway. They are especially angered because the police have forbidden them to hold open-air meetings--that's now the subject of one of their demands--and because the provincial legislature, after promising to help on education, raised their own salaries and took the money to do it with out of the small educational fund. In another district the students rioted and rough-housed the legislative hall when this happened. Here there was a protest committee, but the students are mad and want action. Some of the teachers, so far as I can judge, quite sympathize with the boys, not only in their ends but in their methods; some think it their moral duty to urge deliberate action and try to make the students as organized and systematic as possible, and some take the good old Chinese ground that there is no certainty that any good will come of it. To the outsider it looks as if the babes and sucklings who have no experience and no precedents would have to save China--if. And it's an awful if. It's not surprising that the Japanese with their energy and positiveness feel that they are predestined to govern China. I didn't ever expect to be a jingo, but either the United States ought to wash its hands entirely of the Eastern question, and say "it's none of our business, fix it up yourself any way you like," or else it ought to be as positive and aggressive in calling Japan to account for every aggressive move she makes, as Japan is in doing them. It is sickening that we allow Japan to keep us on the defensive and the explanatory, and talk about the open door, when Japan has locked most of the doors in China already and got the keys in her pocket. I understand and believe what all Americans say here--the military party that controls Japan's foreign policy in China regards everything but positive action, prepared to back itself by force, as fear and weakness, and is only emboldened to go still further. Met by force, she would back down. I don't mean military force, but definite positive statements about what she couldn't do that she knew meant business. At the present time the Japanese are trying to stir up anti-foreign feeling and make the Chinese believe the Americans and English are responsible for China not getting Shantung back, and also talking race discrimination for the same purpose. I don't know what effect their emissaries are having among the ignorant, but the merchant class has about got to the point of asking foreign intervention to straighten things out--first to loosen the clutch of Japan, and then, or at the same time, for it's the two sides of the same thing, overthrow the corrupt military clique that now governs China and sells it out. It's a wonderful job for a League of Nations--if only by any chance there is a league, which looks most dubious at this distance. The question which is asked oftenest by the students is in effect this: "All of our hopes of permanent peace and internationalism having been disappointed at Paris, which has shown that might still makes right, and that the strong nations get what they want at the expense of the weak, should not China adopt militarism as part of her educational system?" NANKING, May 18. There is no doubt we are in China. Hangchow, we are told, was one of the most prosperous of the strictly Chinese cities, and after seeing this town we can believe it. It has a big wall around it, said to be 21 miles and also 33--my guess is the latter; nonetheless there are hundreds of acres of farm within it. This afternoon we were taken up on the wall; it varies from 15 to 79 feet in height, according to the lay of the ground, and from 12 to 30 feet or so wide; hard baked brick, about as large as three of ours. They always had a smaller walled city inside the big one, variously called the Imperial and Manchu city. But since the revolution they are tearing down these inner walls, partly I suppose to show their contempt for the Manchus, and partly to use the brick. These are sold for three or four cents apiece and carted all around on the big Chinese wheelbarrow, by man power, of course. The compound wall of this house is made of them, and they have several thousand of them stored at the University grounds. They scrape them off by hand; you can get some idea of the relative value of material and human beings. I started out to speak of the view--typical China, deforested hills close by, all pockmarked at the bottom with graves, like animal burrows and golf bunkers; peasants' stone houses with thatched roofs, looking like Ireland or France; orchards of pomegranates with lovely scarlet blossoms and other fruits; some rice fields already growing, others being set out, ten or a dozen people at work in one patch; garden patches, largely melons; in the distance the wall stretching out for miles, a hill with a pagoda, a lotus lake, and in the far distance the blue mountains--also the city, not so much of which was visible, however. One of the interesting things in moving about is the fact that only once in a while do I see a face typically Chinese. I forget they are Chinese a great deal of the time. They just seem like dirty, poor miserable people anywhere. They are cheerful but not playful. I should like to give a few millions for playgrounds and toys and play leaders. I can't but think that a great deal of the lack of initiative and the let-George-do-it, which is the curse of China, is connected with the fact that the children are grown up so soon. There are less than a hundred schools for children in this city of a third of a million, and the schools only have a few hundred--two or three at most. The children on the street are always just looking and watching, wise, human looking, and reasonably cheerful, but old and serious beyond bearing. Of course many are working at the loom, or when they are younger at reeling. This is a good deal of a silk place, and we visited one government factory with several hundred people at work; this one at least makes out to be self-supporting. There isn't a power reeler or loom in the town, nor yet a loom of the Jacquard type. Sometimes a boy sits up top and shifts things, sometimes they have six or eight foot treadles. A lot of the reeling isn't even foot power--just hand, though their hand reeler is much more ingenious than the Japanese one. There seem so many places to take hold and improve things and yet all of these are so tied together, and change is so hard that it isn't much wonder everybody who stays here gets more or less Chinafied and takes it out in liking the Chinese personally for their amiable qualities. Just now the students are forming a patriotic league because of the present political situation, Japanese boycott, etc. But the teachers of the Nanking University here say that instead of contenting themselves with the two or three things they might well do, they are laying out an ambitious scheme covering everything, and their energy will be exhausted when they get their elaborate constitution formed, or they will meet so many difficulties that they will get discouraged even with the things they might do. I don't know whether I told you about the clerk in the tailor shop in Shanghai; after taking the usual fatalistic attitude that nothing could be done with the present situation, he said the boycott was a good thing but "Chinaman he got weak mind; pretty soon he forget." In various places there are lots of straw hats hung up painted in Chinese characters where they have stopped passersby and taken their hats away because they were Japanese made. It is all good natured and nobody objects. There are policemen in front of Japanese stores, and they allow no one to enter; they are "protecting" the Japanese. This is characteristic of China. The policemen all carry guns with bayonets attached; they are very numerous and slouch around looking bored to death. The only other class as bored looking is the dogs, which are even more numerous, and lie stretched out at full length, never curled up, and never by any chance doing anything. We visited the old examination halls which are now being torn down. These are the cells, about 25,000 in number, where the candidates for degrees used to be shut up during the examination period. Said cells are built in long rows, under a lean-to roof, mostly opening face to face on an open corridor, which is uncovered. Some of them face against a wall which is the back of the next row of cells. Cells are two and one-half feet wide by four long. In them are two ridges along the wall on each side, one at the height of a seat, the other at the height of a table. On these they laid two boards, two and a half feet long, and this was their furniture. They sat and wrote and cooked and ate and slept in these cells. In case it did not rain, their feet could stick out into the corridor so they might stretch out on the hard floor. The exams lasted eight days, divided into three divisions. They went in on the eighth day of the eighth moon in the evening. They wrote the first subject until the afternoon of the tenth. Then they left for the night. On the afternoon of the eleventh they came in for the second subject and wrote till the afternoon of the thirteenth, when there was another day off. On the evening of the fourteenth they re-entered the cell for the third period and that ended on the evening of the sixteenth. They had free communication with each other in the corridors, which were closed and locked. No one could approach them from the outside for any reason. Often they died. But if they could only get put into a corridor with a friend who knew, the biggest fool in China could get his paper written for him, and he could pass and become an M. A., or something corresponding to that degree. Thus were the famous literati of China produced. Preparation for the exam was not the affair of the government, and might be acquired in any possible way. The houses of the examiners are still in good condition and might be made into a school very easily. But do you think they will do that? Not at all. The government has not ordered a school there, and so they will be torn down or else used for some official work. You can have no conception of how far the officialism goes till you see it. We also visited a Confucian Temple, big and used twice each year. It is like all temples in that it is covered with the dust of many years' accumulation. If you were to be dropped in any Chinese temple you would think you had landed in a deserted and forgotten ruin out of reach of man. We went to the Temple of Hell on Sunday, and the gentleman who accompanied us suggested to the priest that the images ought to be dusted off. "Yes," said the priest, "it would be better if they were." NANKING, Thursday, May 22. The returned students from Japan hate Japan, but they are all at loggers with the returned students from America, and their separate organizations cannot get together. Many returned students have no jobs, apparently because they will not go into business or begin at the bottom anywhere, and there is strong hostility against them on the part of the officials. As a sample of the way business is done here, we have just had an express letter from Shanghai which took four days to arrive. It should arrive in twelve hours. People use express letters rather than the telegraph because they are quicker. You may spend as much time as you like or don't like, wondering why your express letter did not reach you on time; you do it at your own risk and expense. The Chinese do not juggle with foreigners as the Japanese do, in the conscious sense, they simply drift, they juggle with themselves and with each other all the time. This house is four miles from the railroad station. There is no street car here; there are many 'rickshas, a few carriages, still fewer autos. There are no sedan chairs, at least I don't remember seeing any, but at Chienkiang, where we went the other day, the streets are so narrow that chairs are the main means of conveyance. The 'ricksha men here pay forty cents a day to the city for their vehicles, which are all alike and very poor ones. They make a little more than that sum for themselves. In Shanghai they pay ninety cents a day for their right to work, and earn from one dollar to a possible dollar and a half for themselves. I said to a young professor, the other day, that China was still supporting three idle classes of people. He looked surprised, though a student and critic of social conditions, and asked me who they were. When I asked him if that couldn't be said of the officials, the priests, and the army, he said yes, it could. Thus far and no further, seems to be their motto, both in thinking and acting, especially in acting. NANKING, May 23. I don't believe anybody knows what the political prospects are; this students' movement has introduced a new and uncalculable factor--and all in the three weeks we have been here. You heard nothing but gloom about political China at first, corrupt and traitorous officials, soldiers only paid banditti, the officers getting the money from Japan to pay them with, no organizing power or cohesion among the Chinese; and then the students take things into their hands, and there is animation and a sudden buzz. There are a hundred students being coached here to go out and make speeches, they will have a hundred different stations scattered through the city. It is also said the soldiers are responding to the patriotic propaganda; a man told us that the soldiers wept when some students talked to them about the troubles of China, and the soldiers of Shantung, the province turned over to Japan, have taken the lead in telegraphing the soldiers in the other provinces to resist the corrupt traitors. Of course, what they all are afraid of is that this is a flash in the pan, but they are already planning to make the student movement permanent and to find something for them to do after this is settled. Their idea here is to reorganize them for popular propaganda for education, more schools, teaching adults, social service, etc. It is very interesting to compare the men who have been abroad with those who haven't--I mean students and teachers. Those who haven't are sort of helpless, practically; the height of literary and academic minds. Those who have studied abroad, even in Japan, have much more go to them. Certainly the classicists in education have a noble example here in China of what their style of education can do if only kept up long enough. On the other hand, there must be something esthetically very fine in the old Chinese literature; even many of the modern young men have a sentimental attachment to it, precisely like that which they have to the fine writing of their characters. They talk about them with all the art jargon: "Notice the strength of this down stroke, and the spirituality of the cross stroke and elegant rhythm of the composition." When we visited a temple the other day, one of the chief Buddhist shrines in China, we were presented with a rubbing of the writing of the man who is said to be the finest writer ever known in China--these characters were engraved in the rock from his writing some centuries ago--I don't know how many. It is very easy to see how cultivated people take refuge in art and spirituality when politics are corrupt and the general state of social life is discouraging; you see it here, and how in the end it increases the decadence. I think we wrote you from Shanghai that we had been introduced to all the mysteries of China, ancient eggs, sharks' fins, birds' nests, pigeon eggs, the eight precious treasures, rice pudding, and so on. We continue to have Chinese meals; yesterday lunch in the home of an adviser to a military official. He is very outspoken, doesn't trim in politics, and gives you a more hopeful feeling about China. The most depressing thing is hearing it said, "When we get a stable government, we can do so and so, but there is no use at present." But this man's attitude is rather, "Damn the government and go ahead and do something." He is very proud of having a "happy, Christian home" and doesn't cover up his Christianity as most of the official and wealthy class seem to do. He expects to have his daughters educated in America, one in medicine and one in home affairs, and to have help in a campaign for changing the character of the Chinese home--from these big aggregates of fifty people or so living together, married children, servants, etc., where he says the waste is enormous, to say nothing of bickerings and jealousies. In the old type of well-to-do home, breakfast would begin for someone about seven, and someone would have cooking done for him to eat till noon; then about two, visitors would come, and the servants would be ordered to cook something for each caller--absolutely no organization or planning in anything, according to him. NANKING, Monday, May 26. The trouble among the students is daily getting worse, and even the most sympathetic among the faculties are getting more and more anxious. The governor of this province, capital here, is thought most liberal, and he has promised to support these advanced measures in education. Last Friday the assembly passed a bill cutting down the educational appropriation and raising their own salaries. Therefore the students here are now all stirred up and the faculties are afraid they cannot be kept in control until they are well enough organized to make a strike effective. At the same time our friends are kept busy running up to the assembly and the governor. The latter has promised to veto the bill when it is sent to him from the senate. But the students are getting anxious to go to the senate themselves. Our friends say it costs so much for these men to get elected that they have to get it all back after they get into office. A missionary says: "Let's go out and shoot them all, they are just as bad as Peking, and if they had the same chance they would sell out the whole country to Japan or to anyone else." Certainly China needs education all along the line, but they never will get it as long as they try in little bits. So maybe they will have to be pushed to the very bottom before they will be ready to go the whole hog or none. Yesterday a Chinese lady had a tea for me and asked the Taitai, as the wives of the officials are called, corresponding to the court ladies of previous times. As a function this was interesting, for every woman brought her servant and most of her children. Some appeared to have two servants, one big-footed maid for herself and one bound-footed as a nurse for the children. Her own servant hands her the cup of tea. All the children are fed at the same time as the grown-ups, and after their superiors the servants get something in the kitchen. I don't know yet what that something is, but probably an inferior tea. The tea we drank is that famous jasmine tea from Hangchow. It costs something like fifteen dollars a pound here. It is very good, with a peculiar spicy flavor, almost musky and smoky, from the jasmine combined with the tea flavor, which is strong. It is a delicious brown tea, but I do not like to drink it so well as I like the best green tea. Well, I wish you could see the Taitai. The wife of the governor is about twenty-five, or may be a little more. She is a substantial young person, with full-grown feet, a pale blue dress of skirt and coat scalloped on the edges and bound with black satin, her nice hair parted to one side on the right and pinned above her left ear with a white artificial rose. Her maid had black coat and trousers. She had some bracelets on, but her jewels were less beautiful than those of the other women. One very pretty woman had buttons on her coat of emeralds surrounded with pearls, and on her arm a lovely bracelet of pearls. After tea, the great ladies went into an inner room, with the exception of two. One of these two had a very sad face. I watched her and finally had a chance to ask her how many children she had. She said she had none, but she would like to have a daughter. I was told after that her husband was a Christian pastor and she was trying to be Christian. The other one who stayed was the pretty one with the emerald buttons. I finally decided the ladies had left us to play their cards and asked if I might go and see them. They were not playing cards, but had just gone off to gossip among themselves, probably about the foreigners. One of the ladies said she would take me some day to see their card games. It is said they play in the morning and in the afternoon and all the night till the next morning when they go to bed. It is commonly said this is all they do, and the losses are very disastrous sometimes. But they were not playing then and came back, some of them with their children, and sat in the rows of chairs, sixteen of them, and some amahs around the room, while I talked to them. I told stories about what the American women did in the war and they stared with amazement. I had to explain what a gas mask is, but they knew what killing is and what high class is. Their giggles were quite encouraging to intercourse. A nice young lady from the college interpreted, and when I stopped I asked them to tell me something about their lives. So the governor's wife was at last persuaded to give an account of how she brought up her children. They are all free from self-consciousness, and though they have little manners in our sense of the word, they have a self-possession and gentleness combined which gives a very graceful appearance. The governor's wife says she has two little boys, the eldest six years of age. In the morning he has a Chinese tutor. After dinner, she teaches him music, of which she is very fond. After that he plays till five-thirty, has supper, plays again a little while before going to bed, and then bed. At thirteen the boy will be sent away to school. I asked her what about girls, and she said that her little niece was the first one in her family to be sent to school, but this ten-year-old one is in Tientsin at a boarding school. PEKING, Sunday, June 1. We met a young man here from an interior province who is trying to get money for teachers who haven't received their pay for a long time. Meantime over sixty per cent of the entire national expenses is going to the military, and the army is worse than useless. In many provinces it is composed of brigands and everywhere is practically under the control of the tuchuns or military governors, who are corrupt and use the pay roll to increase their graft and the army to increase their power of local oppression, while the head military man is openly pro-Japanese. There is a lull in our affairs just now. We agreed yesterday that never in our lives had we begun to learn as much as in the last four months. And the last month particularly, there has been almost too much food to be digestible. Talk about the secretive and wily East. Compared, say, with Europe, they hand information out to you here on a platter (though it must be admitted the labels are sometimes mixed) and sandbag you with it. Yesterday we went to the Western Hills where are the things you see in the pictures, including the stone boat, the base of which is really marble and as fine as the pictures. But all the rest of it is just theatrical fake, more or less peeling off at that. However, it is as wonderful as it is cracked up to be, and in some ways more systematic than Versailles, which is what you naturally compare it to. The finest thing architecturally is a Buddhist temple with big tiles, each of which has a Buddha on--for further details see movie or something. We walked somewhat higher than Russian Hill, including a journey through the caves in an artificial mountain such as the Chinese delight in, clear up to this temple. The Manchu family seems to own the thing yet, and charge a big sum, or rather several sums, a la Niagara Falls, to get about--another evidence that China needs another revolution, or rather _a_ revolution, the first one having got rid of a dynasty and left, as per my previous letters, a lot of corrupt governors in charge of chaos. The only thing that I can see that keeps things together at all is that while a lot of these generals and governors would like to grab more for their individual selves, they are all afraid the whole thing would come down round their ears if anyone made a definite move. Status quo is China's middle name, mostly status and a little quo. I have one more national motto to add to "You Never Can Tell" and "Let George Do It." It is, "That is very bad." Instead of concealing things, they expose all their weak and bad points very freely, and after setting them forth most calmly and objectively, say "That is very bad." I don't know whether it is possible for a people to be too reasonable, but it is certainly too possible to take it out in being reasonable--and that's them. However, it makes them wonderful companions. You can hardly blame the Japanese for wanting to run them and supply the necessary pep when they decline to run themselves. You certainly see the other side of the famous one-track mind of Japan over here, as well as of other things. If you keep doing something all the time, I don't know whether you need even a single track mind. All you have to do is to keep going where you started for, while others keep wobbling or never get started. Well, this morning we went to the famous museum, and there is one thing where China is still ahead. It is housed in some of the old palaces and audience halls of the inner, or purple, forbidden City. With the yellow porcelain roofs, and the blue and green and gold, and the red walls, it is really the barbaric splendor you read about, and about the first thing that comes up to the conventional idea of what is Oriental. The Hindoo influence is much stronger here than anywhere else we have been, or else really Thibetan, I suppose, and many things remind one of the Moorish. The city of Peking was a thousand years building, and was laid out on a plan when the capitals of Europe were purely haphazard, so there is no doubt they have organizing power all right if they care to use it. The museum is literally one of treasures, porcelains, bronzes, jade, etc., not an historic or antiquated museum. It costs ten cents to get into the park here and much more into the museum, a dollar or more, I guess, and we got the impression that it was fear of the crowd and the populace rather than the money which controls; the rate is too high for revenue purposes. PEKING, June 1. We have just seen a few hundred girls march away from the American Board Mission school to go to see the President to ask him to release the boy students who are in prison for making speeches on the street. To say that life in China is exciting is to put it fairly. We are witnessing the birth of a nation, and birth always comes hard. I may as well begin at the right end and tell you what has happened while things have been moving so fast I could not get time to write. Yesterday we went to see the temples of Western Hills, conducted by one of the members of the Ministry of Education. As we were running along the big street that passes the city wall we saw students speaking to groups of people. This was the first time the students had appeared for several days. We asked the official if they would not be arrested, and he said, "No, not if they keep within the law and do not make any trouble among the people." This morning when we got the paper it was full of nothing else. The worst thing is that the University has been turned into a prison with military tents all around it and a notice on the outside that this is a prison for students who disturb the peace by making speeches. As this is all illegal, it amounts to a military seizure of the University and therefore all the faculty will have to resign. They are to have a meeting this afternoon to discuss the matter. After that is over, we will probably know what has happened again. The other thing we heard was that in addition to the two hundred students locked up in the Law Building, two students were taken to the Police rooms and flogged on the back. Those two students were making a speech and were arrested and taken before the officers of the gendarmerie. Instead of shutting up as they were expected to do, the boys asked some questions of these officers that were embarrassing to answer. The officers then had them flogged on the back. Thus far no one has been able to see any of the officers. If the officers denied the accusation then the reporters would ask to see the two prisoners on the principle that the officers could have no reason for refusing that request unless the story were true. We saw students making speeches this morning about eleven, when we started to look for houses, and heard later that they had been arrested, that they carried tooth brushes and towels in their pockets. Some stories say that not two hundred but a thousand have been arrested. There are about ten thousand striking in Peking alone. The marching out of those girls was evidently a shock to their teachers and many mothers were there to see them off. The girls were going to walk to the palace of the President, which is some long distance from the school. If he does not see them, they will remain standing outside all night and they will stay there till he does see them. I fancy people will take them food. We heard the imprisoned students got bedding at four this morning but no food till after that time. There is water in the building and there is room for them to lie on the floor. They are cleaner than they would be in jail, and of course much happier for being together. PEKING, June 2. Maybe you would like to know a little about how we look this morning and how we are living. In the first place, this is a big hotel with a bath in each room. On a big street opposite to us is the wall of the legation quarter, which has trees in it and big roofs which represent all that China ought to have and has not. The weather is like our hot July, except that it is drier than the August drought on Long Island. The streets of Peking are the widest in the world, I guess, and ours leads by the red walls of the Chinese city with the wonderful gates of which you see pictures. It is macadamized in the middle, but on each side of it run wider roads, which are used for the traffic. Thank your stars there are good horses in Peking; men do not pull all the heavy loads. The two side roads are worn down in deep ruts and these ruts are filled with dust like finest ashes, and all thrown up into the air whenever a man steps on it or a cart moves through. Our room faces the south on this road. All day long the sun pours through the bamboo shades and the hot air brings in that gray dust, and everything you touch, including your own skin, is gritty and has a queer dry feeling that makes you think you ought to run for water. I am learning to shut the windows and inner blinds afternoons. Isn't it strange that in the latitude of New York this drought should be expected every spring? In spite of all this the fields have crops growing, thinly, to be sure, on the hard gray fields. There are very few trees, and they are not of the biggest. The grain is already about fit to cut, and the onions are ripe. After a while it will rain and rain much and then new crops will be put in. The flowers are almost gone and I am sorry that we did not see the famous peonies. You will be interested to know that they keep the peonies small; even the tree kind are cut down till they are the size of those little ones of mine. The tuber peonies are transplanted each year or in some way kept small and the blossoms are lovely and little. I have seen white rose peonies and at first thought they were roses. The buds look almost like the buds of our big white roses and they are very fragrant. The peony beds are laid out in terraces held in place by brick walls, usually oblong or oval, something like a huge pudding mold on a table. Other times they are planted on the flat and surrounded by bamboo fences of fancy design and geometrical pattern, usually with a square form to include each division. The inner city has many peony beds of that sort, both the tree and tuber kind, but they have only leaves to show now. Yesterday we went to the summer palace and to-day we are going to the museum. That is really inside the Forbidden City, so at last we shall set foot on the sacred ground. The summer palace is really wonderful, but sad now, like all things made on too ambitious a scale to fit into the uses of life. There is a mile of loggia ornamented with the green and blue and red paintings which you see imitated. Through a window we had a peek at the famous portrait of old Tsu Hsu and she looks just as she did when I saw it exhibited in New York. The strange thing about it is that it is still owned by the Hsu family. Huge rolls of costly rugs and curtains lie in piles round the room and everything is covered with this fine dust so thick that it is not possible to tell the color of a table top. Cloissonné vases, or rather images of the famous blue ware stand under the old lady's portrait, and everything is going to rack and ruin. Meantime we wandered around, planning how it could be made over into use when the revolution comes. Get rid of the idea that China has had a revolution and is a republic; that point is just where we have been deceived in the United States. China is at present the rotten crumbling remnant of the old bureaucracy that surrounded the corruption of the Manchus and that made them possible. The little Emperor is living here in his palace surrounded by his eunuchs and his tutors and his two mothers. He is fourteen and it is really funny to think that they have just left him Emperor, but as he has not money except what the republic votes him from year to year, nobody worries about him, unless it is the Japanese, who want the imperial government restored until they get ready to take it themselves. It looks as if they might be ready now except for the nudge which has just been given to the peace conference. You had better read a book about this situation, for it is the most surprising affair in a lifetime. Yesterday we went to see a friend's house. It is interesting and I should like to live in one like it. There is no water except what the water man brings every day. This little house has eighteen rooms around a court. It means four separate roofs and going outdoors to get from one to another. When the mercury is at twenty below zero it would mean that just the same. All the ground floors have stone floors. We did not see all the rooms; there are paper windows in some and glass windows in some. In summer they put on a temporary roof of mats over the court. It is higher than the roofs and so allows ventilation and gives good shade. June 5. This is Thursday morning, and last night we heard that about one thousand students were arrested the day before. Yesterday afternoon a friend got a pass which permitted him to enter the building where the students were confined. They have filled up the building of Law, and have begun on the Science building, in consequence of which the faculty have to go to the Missionary buildings to-day to hold their faculty meeting. At four yesterday afternoon, the prisoners who had been put in that day at ten had had no food. One of our friends went out and got the University to appropriate some money and they ordered a carload of bread sent in. This bread means some little biscuit sometimes called raised biscuit at home. I think carload means one of the carts in which they are delivered. At any rate, the boys had some food, though not at the expense of the police. On the whole, the checkmate of the police seems surely impending. They will soon have the buildings full, as the students are getting more and more in earnest, and the most incredible part of it is that the police are surprised. They really thought the arrests would frighten the others from going on. So everybody is getting an education. This morning one of our friends here is going to take us up to the University to see the military encampment, and I hope he will take us inside also, though I hardly think he will do the latter. As near as I can find out, the Chinese have reached that interesting stage of development when they must do something for women and do as little as they can, but in case they must have a girls' school they find that a convenient place to unload an antiquated official who really can't be endured any longer by real folks. No one can tell to-day what the students' strike will bring next; it may bring a revolution, it may do anything surprising to the police, who seem to be as lacking in imagination as police are famous for being. Everyone here is getting ready to flee for the summer, which is very hot during July. On the whole, the heat is perhaps less hard to endure than the heat of New York, as it is so dry. But the dryness has its own effect and when those hard winds blow up the dust storms it gets on the nerves. Dust heaps up inside the house, and cuts the skin both inside and outside of the body. This is a lucky day, being cloudy and a little damp as if it might rain. The Western Hill was an experience to remember. Stepping from a Ford limousine to a chair carried by four men and an outwalker alongside, we were thus taken by fifteen men to the temples, your father, an officer from the Department of Education, and I. The men walked over the paths in the dust and on stones which no one thinks of picking up. It was so astounding to call it a pleasure resort that we could only stare and remain dumb. We saw three temples and one royal garden. Five hundred Buddhas in one building, and all the buildings tumble-down and dirty. On top of one hill is a huge building which cost a million or more to build about four hundred years ago by someone for his tomb. Then he did something wrong, probably stole from the wrong person, and was not allowed to be buried there. Round the temple places the trees remain and give a refreshing oasis, and there are some beautiful springs. All the time we kept saying, "Trees ought to be planted." "Yes, but they take so long to grow," or, "Yes, but they will not grow, it is so dry," etc. Sometimes they would say, "Yes, we must plant some trees," or more likely, "Yes, I think we may plant some trees sometime, but we have an Arbor Day and the people cut down the trees or else they did." We would show that the trees would grow because they were there round the temples, and besides grass was growing and trees would grow where grass would grow in such dry weather, and they would say the same things over. It made the little forestry station in Nanking seem like a monumental advance, while that fearful sun was beating up the dust under the stones as the men gave us the Swedish massage in the motion of the chairs. Fifty men and more stood around as we got in and out of the car and five men apiece stood and waited for us as we walked round the temple and ate our lunch and spent the time sipping tea, and yet they cannot plant trees, and that is China. The whole country is covered every inch with stones. Nature has supplied them, and falling walls are everywhere. We saw one great thing, however. They are building a new school house and orphanage for the children of that village. Many of the children are naked everywhere hereabouts and they stand with sunburned heads, their backs covered only with coats of dirt, eating their bean food in the street. Everywhere the food is laid out on tables by the roadside ready to eat. In one temple, a certain official here has promised to rebuild a small shrine which houses the laughing Buddha, who is made of bronze and was once covered with lacquer, which is now mostly split off. At present the only shade the god has is a roof of mats which they have braced up on the pile of ruins that once made a roof. The President of the Republic has built a lovely big gate like the old ones, because it is propitious and would bring him good fortune. But he has decided it was not propitious, something went wrong with the gods, I did not learn what it was; anyway, he is now tearing down one of the big buttresses on one side of it to see if fate will treat him more kindly then. Just what he wants of fate I did not learn either, but perhaps it is that fate should make him Emperor, as that seems to be their idea of curing poverty and political evils. I forgot to say that they never remove ruins; everything is left to lie as it falls or is falling, so one gets a good idea of how gods are constructed. Most of them were of clay, a sort of concrete built up on a wood frame, and badly as they need wood I have never seen a sign of piling up the fallen beams of a temple. Instead of that, you risk your life by walking under these falling roofs unless you have the sense to look after your own safety. In most of these Peking temples they do sweep the floors and even some of the statues look as if they had some time been dusted, though this last I am not certain about. PEKING, June 5. As has been remarked before, you never can tell. The students were stirred up by orders dissolving their associations, and by the "mandates" criticising the Japanese boycott and telling what valuable services the two men whose dismissal was demanded had rendered the country. So they got busy--the students. They were also angered because the industrial departments of two schools were ordered closed by the police. In these departments the students had set about seeing what things of Japanese importation could be replaced by hand labor without waiting for capital. After they worked it out in the school they went out to the shops and taught the people how to make them, and then peddled them about, making speeches at the same time. Well, yesterday when we went about we noticed that the students were speaking more than usual, and while the streets were full of soldiers the students were not interfered with; in the afternoon a procession of about a thousand students was even escorted by the police. Then in the evening a telephone came from the University that the tents around the University buildings where the students were imprisoned had been struck and the soldiers were all leaving. Then the students inside held a meeting and passed a resolution asking the government whether they were guaranteed freedom of speech, because if they were not, they would not leave the building merely to be arrested again, as they planned to go on speaking. So they embarrassed the government by remaining in "jail" all night. We haven't heard to-day what has happened, but the streets are free of soldiers, and there were no students talking anywhere we went, so I fancy a truce has been arranged while they try and fix things up. The government's ignominious surrender was partly due to the fact that the places of detention were getting full and about twice as many students spoke yesterday as the day before, when they arrested a thousand, and the government for the first time realized that they couldn't bulldoze the students; it was also partly due to the fact that the merchants in Shanghai struck the day before yesterday, and there is talk that the Peking merchants are organizing for the same purpose. This is, once more, a strange country; the so-called republic is a joke; all it has meant so far is that instead of the Emperor having a steady job, the job of ruling and looting is passed around to the clique that grabs power. One of the leading militarist party generals invited his dearest enemy to breakfast a while ago--within the last few months--in Peking, and then lined his guest against the wall and had him shot. Did this affect his status? He is still doing business at the old stand. But in some ways there is more democracy than we have; leaving out the women, there is complete social equality, and while the legislature is a perfect farce, public opinion, when it does express itself, as at the present time, has remarkable influence. Some think the worst officials will now resign and get out, others that the militarists will attempt a coup d'état and seize still more power rather than back down. Fortunately, the latter seem to be divided at the present time. But all of the student (and teacher) crowd are much afraid that even if the present gang is thrown out, it will be only to replace them by another set just as bad, so they are refraining from appealing to the army for help. Later.--The students have now asked that the chief of police come personally to escort them out and make an apology. In many ways, it seems like an opéra bouffe, but there is no doubt that up to date they have shown more shrewdness and policy than the government, and are getting the latter where it is a laughing stock, which is fatal in China. But the government isn't inactive; they have appointed a new Minister of Education and a new Chancellor of the University, both respectable men, with no records and colorless characters. It is likely the Faculty will decline to receive the new Chancellor unless he makes a satisfactory declaration--which he obviously can't, and thus the row will begin all over again, with the Faculty involved. If the government dared, it would dissolve the University, but the scholar has a sacred reputation in China. June 7. The whole story of the students is funny and not the least funny part is that last Friday the students were speaking and parading with banners and cheers and the police standing near them like guardian angels, no one being arrested or molested. We heard that one student pouring out hot eloquence was respectfully requested to move his audience along a little for the reason that they were so numerous in statu quo as to impede traffic, and the policeman would not like to be held responsible for interfering with the traffic. Meantime, Saturday the government sent an apology to the students who were still in prison of their own free will waiting for the government to apologize and to give them the assurance of free speech, etc. The students are said to have left the building yesterday morning, though we have no accurate information. The Faculty of the University met and refused to recognize or accept the new Chancellor. They sent a committee to the government to tell them that, and one to the Chancellor to tell him also and to ask him to resign. It seems the newly-appointed Chancellor used to be at the head of the engineering school of the University, but he was kicked out in the political struggle. He is an official of the Yuan Shi Kai school and has become a rich rubber merchant in Malay, and anyway they do not want a mere rubber merchant as President of the University, and they think they may so explain that to the new Chancellor that he will not look upon the office as so attractive as he thought it was. There is complete segregation in this city in all public gatherings, the women at the theaters are put off in one of those real galleries such as we think used to be and are not now. The place for the women in the hall of the Board of Education is good enough and on one side facing the hall so that all the men can look at them freely and so protect that famous modesty which I have heard more of in China than for many years previously. Gasoline is one dollar a gallon here and a Ford car costs $1900. Ivory soap five for one dollar. Clean your dress for $2.50. Tooth paste one dollar a tube, vaseline 50 cents a small bottle. Washing three cents each, including dresses and men's coats and shirts; fine cook ten dollars a month. They have a very good one here, and I am going right on getting fat on delicious Chinese food. The new Rockefeller Institute, called the Union Medical College, is very near here, and they are making beautiful buildings in the old Chinese style, to say nothing of their Hygiene. They have just decided to open it to women, but I am rather suspicious the requirements will prevent the women's using it at first. Peking is still much of a capital city and is divided into the diplomats and the missionaries. It seems there is not much lacking except the old Dowager Empress to make up the old Peking. PEKING, June 10. The students have taken the trick and won the game at the present moment--I decline to predict the morrow when it comes to China. Sunday morning I lectured at the auditorium of the Board of Education and at that time the officials there didn't know what had happened. But the government sent what is called a pacification delegate to the self-imprisoned students to say that the government recognized that it had made a mistake and apologized. Consequently the students marched triumphantly out, and yesterday their street meetings were bigger and more enthusiastic than ever. The day before they had hooted at four unofficial delegates who had asked them to please come out of jail, but who hadn't apologized. But the biggest victory is that it is now reported that the government will to-day issue a mandate dismissing the three men who are always called traitors--yesterday they had got to the point of offering to dismiss one, the one whose house was attacked by the students on the fourth of May, but they were told that that wouldn't be enough, so now they have surrendered still more. Whether this will satisfy the striking merchants or whether they will make further demands, having won the first round, doesn't yet appear. There are lots of rumors, of course. One is that the backdown is not only due to the strike of merchants, but to a fear that the soldiers could no longer be counted upon. There was even a rumor that a regiment at Western Hills was going to start for Peking to side with the students. Rumors are one of China's strong suits. When you realize that we have been here less than six weeks, you will have to admit that we have been seeing life. For a country that is regarded at home as stagnant and unchanging, there is certainly something doing. This is the world's greatest kaleidoscope. Wilson's Decoration Day Address has just been published; perhaps it sounds academic at home, but over here Chinese at least regard it as very practical--as, in fact, a definite threat. On the other hand, we continue to get tales of how the Washington State Department has declined to take the reports sent from here as authentic. Lately they have had a number of special agents over here, more or less secret, to get independent information. In talking about democratic developments in America, whenever I make a remark such as the Americans do not depend upon the government to do things for them, but go ahead and do things for themselves, the response is immediate and emphatic. The Chinese are socially a very democratic people and their centralized government bores them. June 16. Chinesewise speaking, we are now having another lull. The three "traitors" have had their resignations accepted, the cabinet is undergoing reconstruction, the strike has been called off, both of students and merchants (the railwaymen striking was the last straw), and the mystery is what will happen next. There are evidences that the extreme militarists are spitting on their hands to take hold in spite of their defeat, and also that the President, who is said to be a moderate and skillful politician, is nursing things along to get matters more and more into his own hands. Although he issued a mandate against the students and commending the traitors, the students' victory seems to have strengthened him. I can't figure it out, but it is part of the general beginning to read at the back of the book. The idea seems to be that he has demonstrated the weakness of the militarists in the country, while in sticking in form by them he has given them no excuse for attacking him. They are attacking most everybody else in anonymous circulars. One was got out signed "Thirteen hundred and fifty-eight students," but giving no names, saying that the sole object of the strike was to regain Tsingtao, but that a few men had tried to turn the movement to their own ends, one wishing to be Chancellor of the University. PEKING, June 20. Some time ago I had decided to tell you that here I had found the human duplication of the bee colony in actual working order. China is it, and in all particulars lives up to the perfect socialization of the race. Nobody can do anything alone, nobody can do anything in a hurry. The hunt of the bee for her cell goes on before one's eyes all the time. When found, lo, the discovery that the cell was there all the time. Let me give you an example. We go to the art school for lectures, enter by a door at the end of a long hall. Behind that hall is another large room and in back of the second room somewhere is a place where the men make the tea. Near the front door where we enter is the table where we are always asked to sit down before and after the lecture, whereat we sit down to partake of tea and other beverages, such as soda. Well, the teacups are kept in a cabinet at the front end of the first room right near the entrance door. Comes a grown man from the rear somewhere; silently and with stately tread he walks across the long room to the cabinet, takes one teacup in each hand and retreads the space towards the back. After sufficient time he returns bearing in his two hands these cups filled with hot tea. He puts these down on the table for us and then he takes two more cups from the cabinet, and retires once more, returning later as before. When bottles are opened they are brought near the table, because otherwise the soda would be spoiled in carrying open, never to save steps. The Chinese kitchen is always several feet from the dining room, under a separate roof. Often you must cross a court in the open to get from one to another. As it has not rained since we have been here, I do not know what happens to the soup under the umbrella. But remember, the beehive is the thing in China, and it is the old-fashioned beehive in the barrel. When you look at the men who are doing it all they have the air of strong, quiet beings who might do almost anything, but when you get acquainted with them, how they do almost nothing is a marvelous achievement. At Ching Hua College, said being the famous Boxer Indemnity College, the houses are new and built by American initiative, and the kitchen is forty feet from the dining room door in those. I will not describe the kitchens, but when you see the clay stoves crumbling in places, no sink, and one window on one side of the rather dark room, a little room where the cook sleeps on a board and where both the men eat their own frugal meals, it is all the Middle Ages undisturbed. PEKING, June 20. Last weekend we went out about ten miles to Ching Hua College; this is the institution started with the returned Boxer Indemnity Fund; it's a high school with about two years college work; they have just graduated sixty or seventy who are going to America next year to finish up. They go all around, largely to small colleges and the Middle West state institutions, a good many to Tech and a number to Stevens, though none go to Columbia, because it is in a big city; just what improvement Hoboken is I don't know. China is full of Columbia men, but they went there for graduate work. No doubt it is wise keeping them away from a big city at first. Except for the instruction in Chinese, the teaching is all done in English, and the boys seem to speak English quite well already. It's a shame the way they will be treated, the insults they will have to put up with in America before they get really adjusted. And then when they get back here they have even a worse time getting readjusted. They have been idealizing their native land at the same time that they have got Americanized without knowing it, and they have a hard time to get a job to make a living. They have been told that they are the future saviors of their country and then their country doesn't want them for anything at all--and they can't help making comparisons and realizing the backwardness of China and its awful problems. At the same time at the bottom of his heart probably every Chinese is convinced of the superiority of Chinese civilization--and maybe they are right--three thousand years is quite a spell to hold on. You may come over here some time in your life, so it will do no harm to learn about the money--_about_ it, nobody but the Chinese bankers ever learn it. There are eleven dimes in a dollar and six twenty-cent pieces, and while there are only eleven coppers in a dime, there are one hundred and thirty-eight in a dollar. Consequently the thrifty always carry a pound or two of big coppers with them to pay 'ricksha men with. Then there are various kinds of paper money. We are going to Western Hills tomorrow night, and under instructions I bought some dollars at sixty-five cents apiece which are good for a whole dollar on this railway and apparently nowhere else. On the contrary, the foreigners are done all the time at the hotels; there they only give you five twenty-cent pieces in change for a dollar, and so on--but they are run by foreigners, and not by the wily Chinese. One thing you will be glad to know is that Peking is Americanized to the extent that we have ice cream at least once a day, two big helpings. This helps. A word to the wise. Never ask a Chinese whether it is going to rain, or any other question about the coming weather. The turtle is supposed to be a weather prophet, and as the turtle is regarded as the vilest creature on earth, you can see what an insult such a question is. One of their subtle compliments to the Japanese during the late campaign was to take a straw hat, of Japanese make, which they had removed from a passerby's head, and cut it into the likeness of a turtle and then nail it up on a telephone post. I find, by the way, that I didn't do the students justice when I compared their first demonstration here to a college boys' roughhouse; the whole thing was planned carefully, it seems, and was even pulled off earlier than would otherwise have been the case, because one of the political parties was going to demonstrate soon, and they were afraid their movement (coming at the same time) would make it look as if they were an agency of the political faction, and they wanted to act independently as students. To think of kids in our country from fourteen on, taking the lead in starting a big cleanup reform politics movement and shaming merchants and professional men into joining them. This is sure some country. PEKING, June 23. Last night we had a lovely dinner at the house of a Chinese official. All the guests were men except me and the fourteen-year-old daughter of the house. She was educated in an English school here and speaks beautiful English, besides being a talented and interesting girl. Chinese girls at her age seem older than ours. The family consists of five children and two wives. I found the reason the daughter was hostess was that it was embarrassing to choose between the two wives for hostess and they didn't want to give us a bad impression, so no wife appeared. We were given to understand that the reason for the non-appearance was that mother was sick. There is a new little baby six weeks old. The father is a delicate, refined little man, very proud of his children and fond of them, and they were all brought out to see us, even the six weeks older, who was very hot in a little red dress. Our host is the leader of a party of liberal progressives, and also an art collector. We had hopes he would show us his collection of things. He did not, except for the lovely porcelain that was on the table. The house is big and behind the wall of the Purple City, as they call the old Forbidden City, and it looks on the famous old pagoda, so it was interesting. We sat in the court for coffee and there seemed to be many more courts leading on one behind another as they do here, sometimes fourteen or more, with chains of houses around each one. As for the dinner, I forgot to say that the cook is a remarkable man, Fukien, who gave us the most delicious Chinese cookery with French names attached on the menu. Cooking is apt to be named geographically here. Most everyone in Peking came from somewhere else, just as should be in a capital city. But they seem to keep the cooks and cook in accordance with the predilections of the old home province. They have adopted ice cream, showing the natural sense of the race, but the daughter of our host told me that they do not give it to the sick, as they still have the idea that the sick should have nothing cold. They are now thrashing the wheat in this locality. That consists of cutting it with the sickle and having the women and children glean. The main crop is scattered on the floor, as it is called, being a hard piece of ground near the house, and then the wheat is treaded out by a pair of donkeys attached to a roller about as big as our garden roller. After it is out of the husk, it is winnowed by being tossed in the breeze, which takes the time of a number of people and leaves in a share of the mother earth. The crops are very thin round this region and they say that they are thinner than usual, as this is a drier year than usual. Corn is small, but there is some growing between here and the hills where we went, always in the little pieces of ground, of course. Peanuts and sweet potatoes are planted now, and they seem to be growing well in the dust, which has been wet by the recent day of rain. PEKING, June 25. Simple facts for home consumption. All boards in China are sawed by hand--two men and a saw, like a cross-cut buck-saw. At the new Hotel de Peking, a big building, instead of carrying window casings ready to put in, they are carrying big logs cut the proper length for a casing. Spitting is a common accomplishment. When a school girl wants excuse to leave her seat she walks across the room and spits vigorously in the spittoon. Little melons are now ready to eat. They come like ripe cucumbers, small, rather sweet. Coolies and boys eat them, skins and all, on the street. Children eat small green apples. Peaches are expensive, but those who can get the green hard ones eat them raw. The potted pomegranates are now in bloom and also in fruit in the pots. The color is a wonderful scarlet. The lotus ponds are in bloom--wonderful color in a deep rose. When the buds are nearly ready to open they look as if they were about to explode and fill the air with their intense color. The huge leaves are brilliant and lovely--light green and delicately veined. But the lotus was never made for art, and only religion could have made it acceptable to art. The sacred ponds are well kept and are in the old moats of the Purple City--Forbidden. There are twice as many men in Peking as women. Sunday we went to a Chinese wedding. It was at the Naval Club--no difference in appearance from our ceremony. Bride and groom both in the conventional foreign dress. They had a ring. At the supper there were six tables full of men, and three partly full of women and children. Women take their children and their amahs everywhere in China--I mean wherever they go and provided they want to; it is the custom. None of the men spoke to the women at the wedding--except rare returned students. Eggs cost $1.00 for 120--we get all we want in our boarding house. Men take birds out for walks--either in cages or with one leg tied to a string attached to a stick on which the bird perches. PEKING, June 27. It's a wonder we were ever let out of Japan at all. It's fatal; I could now tell after reading ten lines of the writings of any traveler whether he ever journeyed beyond a certain point. You have to hand it to the Japanese. Their country is beautiful, their treatment of visitors is beautiful, and they have the most artistic knack of making the visible side of everything beautiful, or at least attractive. Deliberate deceit couldn't be one-tenth as effective; it's a real gift of art. They are the greatest manipulators of the outside of things that ever lived. I realized when I was there that they were a nation of specialists, but I didn't realize that foreign affairs and diplomacy were also such a specialized art. The new acting Minister of Education has invited us to dinner soon. This man doesn't appear to have any past educational record, but he has pursued a conciliatory course; the other one resigned and disappeared when he found he couldn't control things. The really liberal element does not appear to be strong enough at present to influence politics practically. The struggle is between the extreme militarists, who are said to be under Japanese influence, and the group of somewhat colorless moderates headed by the President. As he gets a chance he appears to be putting his men in. The immediate gain seems to be negative in keeping the other crowd out instead of positive, but they are at least honest and will probably respond when there is enough organized liberal pressure brought to bear upon them. It cannot be denied that it is hot here. Yesterday we went out in 'rickshas about the middle of the day and I don't believe I ever felt such heat. It is like the Yosemite, only considerably more intense as well as for longer periods of time. The only consolation one gets from noting that it isn't humid is that if it were, one couldn't live at all. But the desert sands aren't moist either. Your mother asked the coolie why he didn't wear a hat, and he said because it was too hot. Think of pulling a person at the rate of five or six miles an hour in the sun of a hundred and twenty or thirty with your head exposed. Most of the coolies who work in the sun have nothing on their heads. It's either survival of the fittest or inheritance of acquired characteristics. Their adaptation to every kind of physical discomfort is certainly one of the wonders of the world. You ought to see the places where they lie down to go to sleep. They have it all over Napoleon. This is also the country of itinerant domesticity. I doubt if lots of the 'ricksha men have any places to sleep except in their carts. And a large part of the population must buy their food of the street pedlars, who sell every conceivable cooked thing; then there are lots of cooked food stores besides the street men. PEKING, July 2. The rainy season has set in, and now we have floods and also coolness, the temperature having fallen from the late nineties to the early seventies, and life seems more worth living again. This is a great country for pictures, and I am most anxious for one of a middle-aged Chinese, inclining to be fat, with a broad-brimmed straw hat, sitting on the back of a very small and placid cream colored donkey. He is fanning himself as the donkey moves imperceptibly along the highway, is satisfied with himself and at ease with the world, and everything in the world, whatever happens. This would be a good frontispiece for a book on China--and the joke wouldn't all be on the Chinese either. To-day the report is that the Chinese delegates refused to sign the Paris treaty; the news seems too good to be true, but nobody can learn the facts. There are also rumors that the governmental military party, having got everything almost out of Japan that is coming to them and finding themselves on the unpopular side, are about to forget that they ever knew the Japanese and to come out very patriotic. This is also unconfirmed, but I suppose the only reason they would stay bought in any case is that there are no other bidders in the market. PEKING, Wednesday, July 2. The anxiety here is tense. The report is that the delegates did not sign, but so vaguely worded as to leave conjectures and no confirmation. Meanwhile the students' organizations, etc., have begun another attack against the government by demanding the dissolution of Parliament. Meantime there is no cabinet and the President can get no one to form one, and half those inside seem to be also on the strike because the other half are there. PEKING, July 4. We are going out to the Higher Normal this morning. The head of the industrial department is going to take us. The students are erecting three new school buildings this summer--they made the plans, designs, details, and are supervising the erection as well as doing the routine carpenter work. The head of the industrial department, who acted as our guide and host, has been organizing the "national industry" activity in connection with the students' agitation. He is now, among other things, trying to organize apprentice schools under guild control. The idea is to take the brightest apprentice available in each "factory"--really, of course, just a household group--and give them two hours' schooling a day with a view to introducing new methods and new products into the industry. They are going to take metal working here. Then he hopes it will spread all over China. You cannot imagine the industrial backwardness here, not only as compared with us but with Japan. Consequently their markets here are flooded with cheap flimsy Japan-made stuff, which they buy because it's cheap, the line of least resistance. But perhaps the Shantung business will be worth its cost. The cotton guild is very anxious to co-operate and they will supply capital if the schools can guarantee skilled workingmen, especially superintendents. Now they sell four million worth of cotton to Japan, where it is spun, and then buy back the same cotton in thread for fourteen million--which they weave. This is beside the large amount of woven cotton goods they import. I find in reading books that the Awakening of China has been announced a dozen or more times by foreign travelers in the last ten years, so I hesitate to announce it again, but I think this is the first time the merchants and guilds have really been actively stirred to try to improve industrial methods. And if so, it _is_ a real awakening--that and the combination with the students. I read the translations from Japanese every few days, and it would be very interesting to know whether their ignorance is real or assumed. Probably some of both--it is inconceivable that they should be as poor judges of Chinese psychology as the articles indicate. But at the same time they have to keep up a certain tone of belief among the people at home--namely, that the Chinese really prefer the Japanese to all other foreigners; for they realize their dependence upon them, and if they do not make common cause with them it is because foreigners, chiefly Americans, instigate it all from mercenary and political motives. As a matter of fact, I doubt if history knows of any such complete case of national dislike and distrust; it sometimes seems as if there hadn't been a single thing that the Japanese might have done to alienate the Chinese that they haven't tried. The Chinese would feel pretty sore at America for inviting them into the war and then leaving them in the lurch, if the Japanese papers and politicians hadn't spent all their time the last three months abusing America--then their sweet speeches in America. It will be interesting to watch and see just what particular string they trip on finally. It's getting to the end of an Imperfect Day. We saw the school as per program and I find I made a mistake. The boys made the plans of the three buildings and are supervising their erection, but not doing the building. They are staying in school all summer, however--those in the woodworking class--and have taken a contract for making all the desks for the new buildings--the school gives them room and board (food and its preparation costs about five dollars per month), and they practically give their time. All the metal-working boys are staying in Peking and working in the shops to improve and diversify the products. Remember these are boys, eighteen to twenty, and that they are carrying on their propaganda for their country; that the summer averages one hundred in the shade in Peking, and you'll admit there is some stuff here. This P.M. we went to a piece of the celebration. The piece we saw wasn't so very Fourth of Julyish, but it was interesting--Chinese sleight of hand. Their long robe is an advantage, but none the less it can't be so very easy to move about with a very large sized punch bowl filled to the brim with water, or with five glass bowls each with a gold fish in it, ready to bring out. It seems that sometimes the artist turns a somersault just as he brings out the big bowl of water, but we didn't get that. None of the tricks were complicated, but they were the neatest I ever saw. There is a home-made minstrel show to-night, but it rained, and as the show (and dance later) are in the open, we aren't going, as we intended. You can't imagine what it means here for China not to have signed. The entire government has been for it--the President up to ten days before the signing said it was necessary. It was a victory for public opinion, and all set going by these little schoolboys and girls. Certainly the United States ought to be ashamed when China can do a thing of this sort. Sunday, July 7. We had quite another ride yesterday, sixty or seventy miles altogether. The reason for the macadam road is worth telling. When Yuan Shi Kai was planning to be Emperor his son broke his leg, and he heard the hot springs would be good for him. So one of the officials made a road to it. Some of the present day officials, including an ex-official who was recently forced to resign after being beaten up, now own the springs and hotel, so the road will continue to be taken care of. On the way we went through the village of the White Snake and also of the One Hundred Virtues. Y. M. C. A.'s and Red Crossers are still coming from Siberia on their way home. I don't know whether they will talk freely when they get home. It is one mess, and the stories they will tell won't improve our foreign relations any. The Bolsheviki aren't the only ones that shoot up villages and take the loot--so far the Americans haven't done it. PEKING, July 8. This morning the papers here reported the denial of Japan that she had made a secret treaty with Germany. The opinion here seems to be that they did not, but merely that preliminaries had begun with reference to such a treaty. We heard at dinner the other day from responsible American officials here that, after America had completed the last of the arrangements for China to go into the war, the Japanese arranged to get a concession from Russia for the delivery on the part of the Japanese of China into the war on the side of the Allies. Well, the Japanese are still at it with the cat out of the bag. It looks now as if they are getting ready to break up the present government in Japan. This is interpreted to mean that that breakup will be made to look as if it were in disapproval of the present mistakes in diplomacy and of the price of rice; and then they can put in a worse one there and the world will not know the difference, but will be made to think that Japan is reforming. Speaking of constitutionality in Japan, I ceased to worry about that as soon as I learned the older statesmen never troubled at all about who was elected, but just let the elections go through, as their business was so assured in other ways that the elections made no difference anyway, and that the same principle worked equally well in the matter of passing bills. No bill can ever come up without the approval of the powers that be and they know how it is coming out in spite of all discussions. No wonder change comes slowly and maybe it will have to come all at once in the form of a revolution if it comes in reality. It is now reported that Tsai, the Chancellor of the University here, has said he will come back on condition that the students do not move in future in any political matter without his consent, and I am not able to guess whether that is a concession or a clever way of seeming to agree with both sides at once. The announcement of Tsai's return means that things will soon be back in normal shape and ready for another upheaval. We seem to be utterly stumped by the house situation. All the members of the Rockefeller Foundation get nice new houses built for them, and the houses are nice new Chinese ones but free from the poor qualities of those to be rented here. All the houses in Peking are built like our woodsheds, directly on the ground, raised a few inches from actual contact with the earth by a stone floor. The courts fill with water when the rains are hard and then they are moist for days, maybe weeks, and about two feet of wet seeps up the side of the walls. Yesterday we called on one of our Chinese friends here, and the whole place was in that state, but he did not seem to notice it. If he wants baths in the house it doubles the cost he pays the water wagon, and then after all the trouble of heating and carrying the water there is no way to dispose of the waste, except to get a man to come and carry it away in buckets. You would have endless occupation here just looking on to see how this bee colony can find so many ways of making life hard for itself. A gentleman at the Foundation has just been telling us how the coolies steal every little piece of metal, leftovers or screwed on, that they can get at. The privation of life sets up an entirely new set of standards for morals. No one, it appears, can be convicted for stealing food in China. PEKING, July 8. The Rockefeller buildings are lovely samples of what money can do. In the midst of this worn and weak city they stand out like illuminating monuments of the splendor of the past in proper combination with the modern idea. They are in the finest old style of Chinese architecture; green roofs instead of yellow, with three stories instead of one. One wonders how long it will take China to catch up and know what they are doing. It is said the Chinese are not at all inclined to go to their hospital for fear of the ultra foreign methods which they do not yet understand. On the other hand, there is no disposition on the part of the Institution to meet them half way as the missionaries have always done. There are a number of Chinese among the doctors and they have now opened all the work to the women. There is a great need for women doctors now in China, but evidently it will take a generation yet before this work will begin to be understood and will take its natural place in Chinese affairs. It is rather amusing that this splendid set of buildings quite surrounds and overshadows the biggest Japanese hospital and school that is in Peking, and they say the fact has quite humiliated the Japanese. At present the buildings are nearing completion, but all the old rubbishy structures of former times will have to be pulled down before these new ones can be seen in all their beauty. Among other things, they have built thirty-five houses also in Chinese style but with all the modern comforts, in which to house their faculty, and in addition to those there are a good many buildings which were taken over from the old medical missionary College, besides, perhaps, some that will be left from the palace of the Prince whose property they bought. Two fine old lions are an addition from the Prince, but no foreign family would stand the inconveniences and discomforts of the ancient Prince, in spite of all his wives. PEKING, July 11. They have the best melons here you ever saw. Their watermelons, which are sold on the street in such quantities as to put even the southern negroes to shame, are just like yellow ice cream in color, but they aren't as juicy as ours. Their musk melons aren't spicy like the ones at home at all, but are shaped like pears, only bigger and have an acid taste; in fact they are more like a cucumber with a little acid pep in them, only the seeds are all in the center like our melons. When you get macaroons and little cakes here in straight Chinese houses you realize that neither we nor the Europeans were the first to begin eating. They either boil or steam their bread--they eat wheat instead of rice in this part of the country--or fry it, and I have no doubt that doughnuts were brought home to grandma by some old seafaring captain. These things are all the stranger because, except for sponge cake, no such things are indigenous to Japan. So when you first get here you can hardly resist the impression that these things have been brought to China from America or Europe. Read a book called "Two Heroes of Cathay," by Luella Miner, and see how our country has treated some of these people in the past, and then you see them so fond of America and of Americans and you realize that in some ways they are ahead of us in what used to be known as Christianity before the war. I guess we wrote you from Hangchow about seeing the monument and shrine to two Chinese officials who were torn in pieces at the time of the Boxer rebellion because they changed a telegram to the provincial officers "Kill all foreigners" to read "Protect all foreigners." The shrine is kept up, of course, by the Chinese, and very few foreigners in China even know of the incident. Their art is really childlike and all the new kinds of artists in America who think being queer is being primitive ought to come over here and study the Chinese in their native abodes. A great love of bright colors and a wonderful knowledge of how to combine them, a comparatively few patterns used over and over in all kinds of ways, and a preference for designs that illustrate some story or idea or that appeal to their sense of the funny--it's a good deal more childlike than what passes in Greenwich Village for the childlike in art. Y.M.C.A., PEKING, July 17. A young Korean arrived here in the evening and he was met here on our porch by a Chinese citizen who is also Korean. The newly arrived could speak very little English and by means of a triangle we were able to arrive at his story. It seems there is quite a leakage of Korean students over the Chinese border all the time. To become a Chinese student requires six years of residence, or else it was three; anyway enough to postpone the idea of going to America to study till rather late in case one wants to resort to that way of escape from Japanese oppression. The elder and the one who has become a Chinese citizen seemed a good deal excited; I fancy they are dramatic by nature, and made many gestures. He urged on me the importance of our going to Korea and he is going to bring us some pictures to look at. Well, it all set me thinking, and so I have been reading the Korean guide book and reflecting on the wonderful climate there and wondering if we can get a reasonable place to stay. My first discovery of the real seriousness of the Korean situation came across me in Japan early in March, when we had a holiday on account of the funeral of the Korean prince, for the reason that after the funeral and gradually in connection with it the _Japanese Advertiser_ said it was rumored that the old Korean prince had committed suicide. Doubtless you may know the story there, and then again you may not. However, the facts have leaked one way and another and now it is known that the old man did commit suicide in order to prevent the marriage of the young prince, who has been brought up in Japan, to the Japanese princess. By etiquette his death, taking place three days or so before the date set for the wedding, prevented the marriage from taking place for two years, and it is hoped by the Koreans that before two years they could weaken the Japanese grip on Korea. We all know they have made a beginning since last March and the suicide did something to help that along. Now that Japan is advertising political reforms in Korea she would probably count on that reputation again to cover her real activities and intentions with the world at large for some time to come. The Japanese are like the Italian Padrones or other skillful newly rich; they have learned the western efficiency and in that they are at least a generation ahead of their neighbors. New knowledge to take advantage of the old experience which she has moved away from and understands so well, to make that experience contribute all it has towards building up and strengthening the new riches of herself. The excuse is the one of the short and easy road to success though in the long run it is destructive in its bearings. But a certain physical efficiency is what Japan surely has and she has made that go a little further than it really can go. It is just one more evidence of the failure of the Peace Conference to comprehend the excuses that Wilson is making for the concessions he has granted to the practical needs, as he calls them. We are now getting the first echoes from his speeches here. When I reflect on the changed aspect of our minds and on the facts that we have become accustomed to gradually since coming here I realize we have much to explain to you which now seems a matter of course over here. We discovered from reading an old back number somewhere that an American traveler had been given the order of the Royal Treasure in Japan when he was there. This order is said to be bestowed on the Japanese alone. Before he received it he had made a public speech to the effect that as China was down and out and needed some protector it was natural that Japan should be that, as by all historical reasons she was fitted to be. It appears to be true that the Militarists here who are causing the trouble for China and who are able to hold the government on account of foreign support have that idea so far as the "natural" goes. The great man of China to-day is Hsu, commonly known as Little Hsu, which is a good nickname in English, Little Shoe. He has never been in the western hemisphere and he thinks it is better for China to give a part of her territory to the Japanese who will help them, than to hope for anything from the other foreigners, who only want to exploit them, and if once China can get a stable government with the aid of the Japanese militarists, then after that she can build herself into a nation. Meantime Little Shoe has gained by a sad fluke in the legislature the appointment of Military Dictator of Mongolia, and this means he is given full power to use his army for agricultural and any other enterprises he may choose. It means, in short, that he is absolute dictator of all Mongolia which is retained by China and which is bordered by Eastern Inner Mongolia which Japan controls under the twenty-one Demands by a ninety-nine-year lease under the same absolute conditions. These last few days since that act was consummated, nothing is happening so far as the public knows, and according to friends the government can go on indefinitely here with no cabinet and no responsibility to react to the public demands. The bulk of the nation is against this state of affairs, but with the support of foreigners and the lack of organization there is nothing to do but stand it and see the nation sold out to Japan and other grabbers. If you can get at _Millard's Review_, look at it and read especially the recent act of the Foreign Council which licensed the press--I mean they passed an Act to do so. Fortunately the Act is not legal and will not be ratified by the Chinese Council at Shanghai. To this house come the officers of the Y. M.C.A. who are on the way home from Siberia and other places. The stories one hears here are full of horror and always the same. Our men are too few to accomplish anything and the whole affair is not any of our business anyway. Anyway the Canadians have a sense of virtue in getting out of it and going home, and well they may, say I. The Japanese have had 70,000 there at least and they may have shipped many more than that, for they have such a command of the railroads that there is no way of keeping track of them. I believe the conviction is they are taking in men according to their own judgment of the case all the time. Everybody agrees that the Japanese soldiers are hated by all the others and have generally proved themselves disagreeable, the Chinese being thoroughly liked. Meantime the dissatisfaction in Japan over rice in particular and food in general is quite evidently becoming more and more acute. And it is interesting to read the interviews with Count Ishii which all end up in the same way, that the fear of bomb-throwers in the United States is becoming a very serious alarm among all. The Anti-American agitation was hard for us to understand while we were there, but its meaning is less obscure now. Will it be effective? Is another world war already preparing? It is said here that the students were very successful during the strike in converting soldiers to their ideas. The boys at the High Normal said they were disappointed when they were let out of jail at the University because they had not converted more than half the soldiers. The guards around those boys were changed every four hours. It is raining most of the time and it is typical of the Chinese character that my teacher did not come because of the rain. You have to remember he never takes a 'ricksha, though he might have looked at it that it was better to pay a man than to lose the lesson. The mud in the roads here is much like the old days on Long Island before the gravel was put there, only it is softer and more slippery here, and the water stands. PEKING, July 17. We are pleased to learn that the Japanese censor hasn't detained all our letters, though since you call them incoherent there must be some gaps. I'm sure we never write anything incoherent if you get it all. The course of events has been a trifle incoherent if you don't sit up and hold its hands all the time. Since China didn't sign the peace treaty things have quite settled down here, however, and the lack of excitement after living on aerated news for a couple of months is quite a letdown. However, we live in hopes of revolution or a coup d'état or some other little incident to liven up the dog days. You will be pleased to know that the University Chancellor--see letters of early May--has finally announced that he will return to the University. It is supposed that the Government has assented to his conditions, among which is that the police won't interfere with the students, but will leave discipline to the University authorities. To resign and run away in order to be coaxed back is an art. It's too bad Wilson never studied it. The Chinese peace delegates reported back here that Lloyd George inquired what the twenty-one Demands were, as he had never heard of them. However, the Chinese hold Balfour as most responsible. In order to avoid any incoherence I will add that a Chinese servant informed a small boy in the household of one of our friends here that the Chinese are much more cleanly than the foreigners, for they have people come to them to clean their ears and said cleaners go way down in. This is an unanswerable argument. I hear your mother downstairs engaged on the fascinating task of trying to make Chinese tones. I may tell you that there are only four hundred spoken words in Chinese, all monosyllables. But each one of these is spoken in a different tone, there being four tones in this part of the country and increasing as you go south till in Canton there are twelve or more. In writing there are only 214 radicals, which are then combined and mixed up in all sorts of ways. My last name here is Du, my given name is Wei. The Du is made up of two characters, one of which means tree and the other earth. They are written separately. Then Wei is made up of some more characters mixed up together, one character for woman and one for dart, and I don't know what else. Don't ask me how they decided that earth and tree put together made Du, for I can't tell. PEKING, July 19. I met the tutor, the English tutor, of the young Manchu Emperor, the other day--he has three Chinese tutors besides. He teaches him Math., Sciences, etc., besides English, which he has been doing for three months. It is characteristic of the Chinese that they not only didn't kill any of the royal family, but they left them one of the palaces in the Imperial City and an income of four million dollars Mex. a year, and within this palace the kid who is now thirteen is still Emperor, is called that, and is waited upon by the eunuch attendants who crawl before him on their hands and knees. At the same time he is, of course, practically a prisoner, being allowed to see his father and his younger brother once a month. Otherwise he has no children to play with at all. There is some romance left in China after all if you want to let your imagination play about this scene. The tutors don't kneel, although they address him as Your Majesty, or whatever it is in Chinese, and they walk in and he remains standing until the tutor is seated. This is the old custom, which shows the reverence in which even the old Tartars must have held education and learning. He has a Chinese garden in which to walk, but no place to ride or for sports. The tutor is trying to get the authorities to send him to the country, let him have playmates and sports, and also abolish the eunuch--but he seems to think they will more likely abolish him. The kid is quite bright, reads all the newspapers and is much interested in politics, keeps track of the Paris Conference, knows about the politicians in all the countries, and in short knows a good deal more about world politics than most boys of his age; also he is a good classical Chinese scholar. The Chinese don't seem to worry at all about the boy's becoming the center of intrigue and plots, but I imagine they sort of keep him in reserve with the idea that unless the people want monarchy back he never can do anything, while if they do let him back it will be the will of heaven. I am afraid I haven't sufficiently impressed it upon you that this is the rainy season. It was impressed upon us yesterday afternoon, when the side street upon which we live was a flowing river a foot and a half deep. The main street on which the Y. M. C. A. building is situated was a solid lake from housewall to housewall, though not more than six inches or so. But the street is considerably wider than Broadway, so it was something of a sight. Peking has for many hundred years had sewers big enough for a man to stand up in, but they don't carry fast enough. Probably about this time you will be reading cables from some part of China about floods and the number of homeless. The Yellow River is known as the curse of China, so much damage is done. We were told that when the missionaries went down to do flood relief work a year or so ago, they were so busy that they didn't have time to preach, and they did so much good that when they were through they had to put up the bars to keep the Chinese from joining the churches en masse. We haven't heard, however, that they took the hint as to the best way of doing business. These floods go back largely if not wholly to the policy of the Chinese in stripping the forests. If you were to see the big coffins they are buried in and realize the large part of China's scant forests that must go into coffins you would favor a law that no man could die until he had planted a tree for his coffin and one extra. One of our new friends here is quite an important politician, though quite out of it just now. He told a story last night which tickled the Chinese greatly. The Japanese minister here haunted the President and Prime Minister while the peace negotiations were on, and every day on the strength of what they told him cabled the Tokyo government that the Chinese delegates were surely going to sign. Now he is in a somewhat uncomfortable position making explanations to the home government. He sent a representative after they didn't sign to the above-mentioned friend to ask him whether the government had been fooling him all the time. He replied No, but that the Japanese should remember that there was one power greater than the government, namely, the people, and that the delegates had obeyed the people. The Japanese will never be able to make up their minds though whether they were being deliberately deceived or not. The worst of the whole thing, however, is that even intelligent Chinese are relying upon war between the United States and Japan, and when they find out that the United States won't go to war just on China's account, there will be some kind of a revulsion. But if the United States had used its power when the war closed to compel disarmament and get some kind of a just settlement, there would be no limit to its influence over here. As it is, they infer that the moral is that Might Controls, and that adds enormously to the moral power of Japan as against the United States. It is even plainer here than at home that if the United States wasn't going to see its "ideals" through, it shouldn't have professed any, but if it did profess them it ought to have made good on 'em even if we had to fight the whole world. However, our financial pressure, and the threat of withholding food and raw materials would have enabled Wilson to put anything over. Another little incident is connected with the Chancellor of the University. Although he is not a politician at all, the Militarist party holds him responsible for their recent trials and the student outbreaks. So, although it announced that the Chancellor is coming back, the Anfu Club, the parliamentary organization of the militarists, is still trying to keep him out. The other night they gave a banquet to some University students and bribed them to start something. At the end they gave each one dollar extra for 'ricksha hire the next day, so there would be no excuse for not going to the meeting at the University. Fifteen turned up, but the spies on the other side heard something was going on and they rang the bell, collected about a hundred and locked the bribees in. Then they kept them in till they confessed the whole story (and put their names to a written confession) and turned over their resolutions and mimeographed papers which had been prepared for them in which they said they were really the majority of the students and did not want the Chancellor back, and that a noisy minority had imposed on the public, etc. The next day the Anfu papers told about an awful riot at the University, and how a certain person had instigated and led it, although he hadn't been at the University at all that day. PEKING, July 24. We expect to go to Manchuria, probably in September, and in October to Shansi, which is quite celebrated now because they have a civil governor who properly devotes himself to his job, and they are said to have sixty per cent or more of the children in school and to be prepared for compulsory education in 1920. It is the ease with which the Chinese do these things without any foreign assistance which makes you feel so hopeful for China on the one hand, and so disgusted on the other that they put up so patiently with inefficiency and graft most of the time. There seems to be a general impression that the present situation cannot continue indefinitely, but must take a turn one way or another. The student agitation has died down as an active political thing but continues intellectually. In Tientsin, for example, they publish several daily newspapers which sell for a copper apiece. A number of students have been arrested in Shantung lately by the Japanese, so I suppose the students are actively busy there. I fancy that when vacation began there was quite an exodus in that direction. I am told that X----, our Japanese friend, is much disgusted with the Chinese about the Shantung business--that Japan has promised to return Shantung, etc., and that Japan can't do it until China gets a stable government to take care of things, because their present governments are so weak that China would simply give away her territory to some other power, and that the Chinese instead of attacking the Japanese ought to mind their own business and set their own house in order. There is enough truth in this so that it isn't surprising that so intelligent and liberal a person as X---- is taken in by it. But what such Japanese as he cannot realize, because the truth is never told to them, is how responsible the Japanese government is for fostering a weak and unrepresentative government here, and what a temptation to it a weak and divided China will continue to be, for it will serve indefinitely as an excuse for postponing the return of Shantung--as well as for interfering elsewhere. Anyone who knows the least thing about not only general disturbances in China but special causes of friction between China and Japan, can foresee that there will continue to be a series of plausible excuses for postponing the return promised--and anyway, as a matter of fact, what she has actually promised to return compared with the rights she would keep in her possession amount to little or nothing. Just this last week there was a clash in Manchuria and fifteen or twenty Japanese soldiers are reported killed by Chinese--there will always be incidents of that kind which will have to be settled first. If the other countries would only surrender their special concessions to the keeping of an international guarantee, they could force the hand of Japan, but I can't see Great Britain giving up Hong Kong. On the whole, however, Great Britain, next to us, and barring the opium business, has been the most decent of all the great powers in dealing with China. I started out with a prejudice to the contrary, and have been surprised to learn how little grabbing England has actually done here. Of course, India is the only thing she really cares about and her whole policy here is controlled by that consideration, with such incidental trade advantages as she can pick up. (Later) July 27. I think I wrote a while back about a little kid five years old or so who walked up the middle aisle at one of my lectures and stood for about fifteen minutes quite close to me, gazing at me most seriously and also wholly unembarrassed. Night before last we went to a Chinese restaurant for dinner, under the guardianship of a friend here. A little boy came into our coop and began most earnestly addressing me in Chinese. Out friend found out that he was asking me if I knew his third uncle. He was the kid of the lecture who had recognized me as the lecturer, and whose third uncle is now studying at Columbia. If you meet Mr. T---- congratulate him for me on his third nephew. The boy made us several calls during the evening, all equally serious and unconstrained. At one he asked me for my card, which he carefully wrapped up in ceremonial paper. The restaurant is near a lotus pond and they are now in their fullest bloom. I won't describe them beyond saying that the lotus is the lotus and advising you to come out next summer and see them. PEKING, August 4. I went to Tientsin to an educational conference for two days last week. It was called by the Commissioner of this Province for all the principals of the higher schools to discuss the questions connected with the opening of the schools in the fall. Most of the heads of schools are very conservative and were much opposed to the students' strikes, and also to the students' participation in politics. They are very nervous and timorous about the opening of the schools, for they think that the students after engaging in politics all summer won't lend themselves readily to school discipline--their high schools, etc., are all boarding schools--and will want to run the schools after having run the government for several months. The liberal minority, while they want the students to settle down to school work, think that the students' experiences will have been of great educational value and that they will come back with a new social viewpoint, and the teaching ought to be changed--and also the methods of school discipline--to meet the new situation. I had a wonderful Chinese lunch at a private high school one day there. The school was started about fifteen years ago in a private house with six pupils; now they have twenty acres of land, eleven hundred pupils, and are putting up a first college building to open a freshman class of a hundred this fall--it's of high school grade now, all Chinese support and management, and non-missionary or Christian, although the principal is an active Christian and thinks Christ's teachings the only salvation for China. The chief patron is a non-English speaking, non-Christian scholar of the old type--but with modern ideas. The principal said that when three of them two years ago went around the world on an educational trip, this old scholar among them, the United States Government gave them a special secret service detective from New York to San Francisco, and this man was so impressed with the old Chinese gentleman that he said: "What kind of education can produce such a man as that, the finest gentleman I ever saw. You western educated gentlemen are spoiled in comparison with him." They certainly have the world beat in courtesy of manners--as much politeness as the Japanese but with much less manner, so it seems more natural. However, this type is not very common. I asked the principal what the effect of the missionary teaching was on the Chinese passivity and non-resistance. He said it differed very much as between Americans and English and among Americans between the older and the younger lot. The latter, especially the Y. M. C. A., have given up the non-interventionalist point of view and take the ground that Christianity ought to change social conditions. The Y. M. C. A. is, he says, a group of social workers rather than of missionaries in the old-fashioned sense--all of which is quite encouraging. Perhaps the Chinese will be the ones to rejuvenate Christianity by dropping its rot, wet and dry, and changing it into a social religion. The principal is a Teachers College man and one of the most influential educators in China. He speaks largely in picturesque metaphor, and I'm sorry I can't remember what he said. Among other things, in speaking of the energy of the Japanese and the inertia of the Chinese, he said the former were mercury, affected by every change about them, and the latter cotton wool that the heat didn't warm and cold didn't freeze. He confirmed my growing idea, however, that the conservatism of the Chinese was much more intellectual and deliberate, and less mere routine clinging to custom, than I used to suppose. Consequently, when their ideas do change, the people will change more thoroughly, more all the way through, than the Japanese. It seems that the present acting Minister of Education was allowed to take office under three conditions--that he should dissolve the University, prevent the Chancellor from returning, and dismiss all the present heads of the higher schools here. He hasn't been able, of course, to accomplish one, and the Anfu Club is correspondingly sore. He is said to be a slick politician, and when he has been at dinner with our liberal friends he tells them how even he is calumniated--people say that he is a member of the Anfu Club. I struck another side of China on my way home from Tientsin. I was introduced to an ex-Minister of Finance as my traveling companion. He is a Ph.D. in higher math. from America, and is a most intelligent man. But his theme of conversation was the need of a scientific investigation of spirits and spirit possession and divination, etc., in order to decide scientifically the existence of the soul and an overruling mind. Incidentally he told a fine lot of Chinese ghost stories. Aside from the coloring of the tales I don't know that there was anything especially Chinese about them. He certainly is much more intelligent about it than some of our American spiritualists. But the ghosts were certainly Chinese all right--spirit possession mostly. I suppose you know that the walls that stand in front of the better-to-do Chinese houses are there to keep spirits out--the spirits can't turn a corner, so when the wall is squarely in front of the location of the front door the house is safe. Otherwise they come in and take possession of somebody--if they aren't comfortable as they are. It seems there is quite a group of ex-politicians in Tientsin who are much interested in psychical research. Considering that China is the aboriginal home of ghosts, I can't see why the western investigators don't start their research here. These educated Chinese aren't credulous, so there is nothing crude about their ghost stories. Transcriber's Note Typographical errors in English were corrected. Spellings of non-English words were left as found. 
13015	----	Note: The author, Algernon Bertram Freeman-Mitford (1837-1916), Lord Redesdale, was in the British Foreign Service as a young man. He was assigned to the legation in Japan for several years and acquired a life-long fascination with Japanese culture. This book has been a standard source of information about Japanese folklore and customs since its original publication in 1871 and has been in print ever since. Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 13015-h.htm or 13015-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/1/3/0/1/13015/13015-h/13015-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/1/3/0/1/13015/13015-h.zip) TALES OF OLD JAPAN by LORD REDESDALE, G.C.V.O., K.C.B. Formerly Second Secretary to the British Legation in Japan With Illustrations Drawn and Cut on Wood by Japanese Artists 1910 [Illustration: THE RÔNINS INVITE KÔTSUKÉ NO SUKÉ TO PERFORM HARA-KIRI.] PREFACE In the Introduction to the story of the Forty-seven Rônins, I have said almost as much as is needful by way of preface to my stories. Those of my readers who are most capable of pointing out the many shortcomings and faults of my work, will also be the most indulgent towards me; for any one who has been in Japan, and studied Japanese, knows the great difficulties by which the learner is beset. For the illustrations, at least, I feel that I need make no apology. Drawn, in the first instance, by one Ôdaké, an artist in my employ, they were cut on wood by a famous wood-engraver at Yedo, and are therefore genuine specimens of Japanese art. Messrs. Dalziel, on examining the wood blocks, pointed out to me, as an interesting fact, that the lines are cut with the grain of the wood, after the manner of Albert Dürer and some of the old German masters,--a process which has been abandoned by modern European wood-engravers. It will be noticed that very little allusion is made in these Tales to the Emperor and his Court. Although I searched diligently, I was able to find no story in which they played a conspicuous part. Another class to which no allusion is made is that of the Gôshi. The Gôshi are a kind of yeomen, or bonnet-lairds, as they would be called over the border, living on their own land, and owning no allegiance to any feudal lord. Their rank is inferior to that of the Samurai, or men of the military class, between whom and the peasantry they hold a middle place. Like the Samurai, they wear two swords, and are in many cases prosperous and wealthy men claiming a descent more ancient than that of many of the feudal Princes. A large number of them are enrolled among the Emperor's body-guard; and these have played a conspicuous part in the recent political changes in Japan, as the most conservative and anti-foreign element in the nation. With these exceptions, I think that all classes are fairly represented in my stories. The feudal system has passed away like a dissolving view before the eyes of those who have lived in Japan during the last few years. But when they arrived there it was in full force, and there is not an incident narrated in the following pages, however strange it may appear to Europeans, for the possibility and probability of which those most competent to judge will not vouch. Nor, as many a recent event can prove, have heroism, chivalry, and devotion gone out of the land altogether. We may deplore and inveigh against the Yamato Damashi, or Spirit of Old Japan, which still breathes in the soul of the Samurai, but we cannot withhold our admiration from the self-sacrifices which men will still make for the love of their country. The first two of the Tales have already appeared in the _Fortnightly Review,_ and two of the Sermons, with a portion of the Appendix on the subject of the Hara-Kiri, in the pages of the _Cornhill Magazine_. I have to thank the editors of those periodicals for permission to reprint them here. LONDON, January 7, 1871 CONTENTS THE FORTY-SEVEN RÔNINS THE LOVES OF GOMPACHI AND KOMURASAKI KAZUMA'S REVENGE A STORY OF THE OTOKODATÉ OF YEDO THE WONDERFUL ADVENTURES OF FUNAKOSHI JIUYÉMON THE ETA MAIDEN AND THE HATAMOTO FAIRY TALES THE TONGUE-CUT SPARROW THE ACCOMPLISHED AND LUCKY TEA-KETTLE THE CRACKLING MOUNTAIN THE STORY OF THE OLD MAN WHO MADE WITHERED TREES TO BLOSSOM THE BATTLE OF THE APE AND THE CRAB THE ADVENTURES OF LITTLE PEACHLING THE FOXES' WEDDING THE HISTORY OF SAKATA KINTOKI THE ELVES AND THE ENVIOUS NEIGHBOUR THE GHOST OF SAKURA HOW TAJIMA SHUMÉ WAS TORMENTED BY A DEVIL OF HIS OWN CREATION CONCERNING CERTAIN SUPERSTITIONS THE VAMPIRE CAT OF NABÉSHIMA THE STORY OF THE FAITHFUL CAT HOW A MAN WAS BEWITCHED AND HAD HIS HEAD SHAVED BY THE FOXES THE GRATEFUL FOXES THE BADGER'S MONEY THE PRINCE AND THE BADGER JAPANESE SERMONS THE SERMONS OF KIU-Ô, VOL. I. SERMON I. " " SERMON II. " " SERMON III. APPENDICES:-- AN ACCOUNT OF THE HARA-KIRI THE MARRIAGE CEREMONY ON THE BIRTH AND REARING OF CHILDREN FUNERAL RITES LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS THE RÔNINS INVITE RÔTSUKÉ NO SUKÉ TO PERFORM HARA-KIRI THE WELL IN WHICH THE HEAD WAS WASHED THE SATSUMA MAN INSULTS OISHI KURANOSUKÉ THE TOMBS OF THE RÔNINS THE TOMB OF THE SHIYOKU GOMPACHI AWAKENED BY THE MAIDEN IN THE ROBBERS' DEN FORGING THE SWORD MATAGORÔ KILLS YUKIYÉ THE DEATH OF DANYÉMON TRICKS OF SWORDSMANSHIP AT ASAKUSA THE DEATH OF CHÔBEI OF BANDZUIN FUNAKOSHI JIUYÉMON ON BOARD THE PIRATE SHIP JIUYÉMON PUNISHES HIS WIFE AND THE WRESTLER FUNAKOSHI JIUYÉMON AND THE GOBLINS "GOKUMON" CHAMPION WRESTLER A WRESTLING MATCH GENZABURÔ'S MEETING WITH THE ETA MAIDEN THE TONGUE-CUT SPARROW THE TONGUE-CUT SPARROW (2) THE ACCOMPLISHED AND LUCKY TEA-KETTLE THE ACCOMPLISHED AND LUCKY TEA-KETTLE (2) THE HARE AND THE BADGER THE HARE AND THE BADGER (2) THE OLD MAN WHO CAUSED WITHERED TREES TO FLOWER THE OLD MAN WHO CAUSED WITHERED TREES TO FLOWER (2) THE APE AND THE CRAB THE APE AND THE CRAB (2) LITTLE PEACHLING LITTLE PEACHLING (2) THE FOXES' WEDDING THE FOXES' WEDDING (2) THE DEPUTATION OF PEASANTS AT THEIR LORD'S GATE THE GHOST OF SAKURA SÔGORÔ THRUSTING THE PETITION INTO THE SHOGUN'S LITTER THE CAT OF NABÉSHIMA THE FEAST OF INARI SAMA A JAPANESE SERMON THE FORTY-SEVEN RÔNINS The books which have been written of late years about Japan have either been compiled from official records, or have contained the sketchy impressions of passing travellers. Of the inner life of the Japanese the world at large knows but little: their religion, their superstitions, their ways of thought, the hidden springs by which they move--all these are as yet mysteries. Nor is this to be wondered at. The first Western men who came in contact with Japan--I am speaking not of the old Dutch and Portuguese traders and priests, but of the diplomatists and merchants of eleven years ago--met with a cold reception. Above all things, the native Government threw obstacles in the way of any inquiry into their language, literature, and history. The fact was that the Tycoon's Government--with whom alone, so long as the Mikado remained in seclusion in his sacred capital at Kiôto, any relations were maintained--knew that the Imperial purple with which they sought to invest their chief must quickly fade before the strong sunlight which would be brought upon it so soon as there should be European linguists capable of examining their books and records. No opportunity was lost of throwing dust in the eyes of the new-comers, whom, even in the most trifling details, it was the official policy to lead astray. Now, however, there is no cause for concealment; the _Roi Fainéant_ has shaken off his sloth, and his _Maire du Palais_, together, and an intelligible Government, which need not fear scrutiny from abroad, is the result: the records of the country being but so many proofs of the Mikado's title to power, there is no reason for keeping up any show of mystery. The path of inquiry is open to all; and although there is yet much to be learnt, some knowledge has been attained, in which it may interest those who stay at home to share. The recent revolution in Japan has wrought changes social as well as political; and it may be that when, in addition to the advance which has already been made, railways and telegraphs shall have connected the principal points of the Land of Sunrise, the old Japanese, such as he was and had been for centuries when we found him eleven short years ago, will have become extinct. It has appeared to me that no better means could be chosen of preserving a record of a curious and fast disappearing civilization than the translation of some of the most interesting national legends and histories, together with other specimens of literature bearing upon the same subject. Thus the Japanese may tell their own tale, their translator only adding here and there a few words of heading or tag to a chapter, where an explanation or amplification may seem necessary. I fear that the long and hard names will often make my tales tedious reading, but I believe that those who will bear with the difficulty will learn more of the character of the Japanese people than by skimming over descriptions of travel and adventure, however brilliant. The lord and his retainer, the warrior and the priest, the humble artisan and the despised Eta or pariah, each in his turn will become a leading character in my budget of stories; and it is out of the mouths of these personages that I hope to show forth a tolerably complete picture of Japanese society. Having said so much by way of preface, I beg my readers to fancy themselves wafted away to the shores of the Bay of Yedo--a fair, smiling landscape: gentle slopes, crested by a dark fringe of pines and firs, lead down to the sea; the quaint eaves of many a temple and holy shrine peep out here and there from the groves; the bay itself is studded with picturesque fisher-craft, the torches of which shine by night like glow-worms among the outlying forts; far away to the west loom the goblin-haunted heights of Oyama, and beyond the twin hills of the Hakoné Pass--Fuji-Yama, the Peerless Mountain, solitary and grand, stands in the centre of the plain, from which it sprang vomiting flames twenty-one centuries ago.[1] For a hundred and sixty years the huge mountain has been at peace, but the frequent earthquakes still tell of hidden fires, and none can say when the red-hot stones and ashes may once more fall like rain over five provinces. In the midst of a nest of venerable trees in Takanawa, a suburb of Yedo, is hidden Sengakuji, or the Spring-hill Temple, renowned throughout the length and breadth of the land for its cemetery, which contains the graves of the Forty-seven. Rônins,[2] famous in Japanese history, heroes of Japanese drama, the tale of whose deeds I am about to transcribe. On the left-hand side of the main court of the temple is a chapel, in which, surmounted by a gilt figure of Kwanyin, the goddess of mercy, are enshrined the images of the forty-seven men, and of the master whom they loved so well. The statues are carved in wood, the faces coloured, and the dresses richly lacquered; as works of art they have great merit--the action of the heroes, each armed with his favourite weapon, being wonderfully life-like and spirited. Some are venerable men, with thin, grey hair (one is seventy-seven years old); others are mere boys of sixteen. Close by the chapel, at the side of a path leading up the hill, is a little well of pure water, fenced in and adorned with a tiny fernery, over which is an inscription, setting forth that "This is the well in which the head was washed; you must not wash your hands or your feet here." A little further on is a stall, at which a poor old man earns a pittance by selling books, pictures, and medals, commemorating the loyalty of the Forty-seven; and higher up yet, shaded by a grove of stately trees, is a neat inclosure, kept up, as a signboard announces, by voluntary contributions, round which are ranged forty-eight little tombstones, each decked with evergreens, each with its tribute of water and incense for the comfort of the departed spirit. There were forty-seven Rônins; there are forty-eight tombstones, and the story of the forty-eighth is truly characteristic of Japanese ideas of honour. Almost touching the rail of the graveyard is a more imposing monument under which lies buried the lord, whose death his followers piously avenged. [Footnote 1: According to Japanese tradition, in the fifth year of the Emperor Kôrei (286 B.C.), the earth opened in the province of Omi, near Kiôto, and Lake Biwa, sixty miles long by about eighteen broad, was formed in the shape of a _Biwa_, or four-stringed lute, from which it takes its name. At the same time, to compensate for the depression of the earth, but at a distance of over three hundred miles from the lake, rose Fuji-Yama, the last eruption of which was in the year 1707. The last great earthquake at Yedo took place about fifteen years ago. Twenty thousand souls are said to have perished in it, and the dead were carried away and buried by cartloads; many persons, trying to escape from their falling and burning houses, were caught in great clefts, which yawned suddenly in the earth, and as suddenly closed upon the victims, crushing them to death. For several days heavy shocks continued to be felt, and the people camped out, not daring to return to such houses as had been spared, nor to build up those which lay in ruins.] [Footnote 2: The word _Rônin_ means, literally, a "wave-man"; one who is tossed about hither and thither, as a wave of the sea. It is used to designate persons of gentle blood, entitled to bear arms, who, having become separated from their feudal lords by their own act, or by dismissal, or by fate, wander about the country in the capacity of somewhat disreputable knights-errant, without ostensible means of living, in some cases offering themselves for hire to new masters, in others supporting themselves by pillage; or who, falling a grade in the social scale, go into trade, and become simple wardsmen. Sometimes it happens that for political reasons a man will become Rônin, in order that his lord may not be implicated in some deed of blood in which he is about to engage. Sometimes, also, men become Rônins, and leave their native place for a while, until some scrape in which they have become entangled shall have blown over; after which they return to their former allegiance. Nowadays it is not unusual for men to become Rônins for a time, and engage themselves in the service of foreigners at the open ports, even in menial capacities, in the hope that they may pick up something of the language and lore of Western folks. I know instances of men of considerable position who have adopted this course in their zeal for education.] And now for the story. At the beginning of the eighteenth century there lived a daimio, called Asano Takumi no Kami, the Lord of the castle of Akô, in the province of Harima. Now it happened that an Imperial ambassador from the Court of the Mikado having been sent to the Shogun[3] at Yedo, Takumi no Kami and another noble called Kamei Sama were appointed to receive and feast the envoy; and a high official, named Kira Kôtsuké no Suké, was named to teach them the proper ceremonies to be observed upon the occasion. The two nobles were accordingly forced to go daily to the castle to listen to the instructions of Kôtsuké no Suké. But this Kôtsuké no Suké was a man greedy of money; and as he deemed that the presents which the two daimios, according to time-honoured custom, had brought him in return for his instruction were mean and unworthy, he conceived a great hatred against them, and took no pains in teaching them, but on the contrary rather sought to make laughing-stocks of them. Takumi no Kami, restrained by a stern sense of duty, bore his insults with patience; but Kamei Sama, who had less control over his temper, was violently incensed, and determined to kill Kôtsuké no Suké. [Footnote 3: The full title of the Tycoon was Sei-i-tai-Shogun, "Barbarian-repressing Commander-in-chief." The style Tai Kun, Great Prince, was borrowed, in order to convey the idea of sovereignty to foreigners, at the time of the conclusion of the Treaties. The envoys sent by the Mikado from Kiôto to communicate to the Shogun the will of his sovereign were received with Imperial honours, and the duty of entertaining them was confided to nobles of rank. The title Sei-i-tai-Shogun was first borne by Minamoto no Yoritomo, in the seventh month of the year A.D. 1192.] [Illustration: THE WELL IN WHICH THE HEAD WAS WASHED.] One night when his duties at the castle were ended, Kamei Sama returned to his own palace, and having summoned his councillors[4] to a secret conference, said to them: "Kôtsuké no Suké has insulted Takumi no Kami and myself during our service in attendance on the Imperial envoy. This is against all decency, and I was minded to kill him on the spot; but I bethought me that if I did such a deed within the precincts of the castle, not only would my own life be forfeit, but my family and vassals would be ruined: so I stayed my hand. Still the life of such a wretch is a sorrow to the people, and to-morrow when I go to Court I will slay him: my mind is made up, and I will listen to no remonstrance." And as he spoke his face became livid with rage. [Footnote 4: Councillor, lit. "elder." The councillors of daimios were of two classes: the _Karô_, or "elder," an hereditary office, held by cadets of the Prince's family, and the _Yônin_, or "man of business," who was selected on account of his merits. These "councillors" play no mean part in Japanese history.] Now one of Kamei Sama's councillors was a man of great judgment, and when he saw from his lord's manner that remonstrance would be useless, he said: "Your lordship's words are law; your servant will make all preparations accordingly; and to-morrow, when your lordship goes to Court, if this Kôtsuké no Suké should again be insolent, let him die the death." And his lord was pleased at this speech, and waited with impatience for the day to break, that he might return to Court and kill his enemy. But the councillor went home, and was sorely troubled, and thought anxiously about what his prince had said. And as he reflected, it occurred to him that since Kôtsuké no Suké had the reputation of being a miser he would certainly be open to a bribe, and that it was better to pay any sum, no matter how great, than that his lord and his house should be ruined. So he collected all the money he could, and, giving it to his servants to carry, rode off in the night to Kôtsuké no Suké's palace, and said to his retainers: "My master, who is now in attendance upon the Imperial envoy, owes much thanks to my Lord Kôtsuké no Suké, who has been at so great pains to teach him the proper ceremonies to be observed during the reception of the Imperial envoy. This is but a shabby present which he has sent by me, but he hopes that his lordship will condescend to accept it, and commends himself to his lordship's favour." And, with these words, he produced a thousand ounces of silver for Kôtsuké no Suké, and a hundred ounces to be distributed among his retainers. When the latter saw the money their eyes sparkled with pleasure, and they were profuse in their thanks; and begging the councillor to wait a little, they went and told their master of the lordly present which had arrived with a polite message from Kamei Sama. Kôtsuké no Suké in eager delight sent for the councillor into an inner chamber, and, after thanking him, promised on the morrow to instruct his master carefully in all the different points of etiquette. So the councillor, seeing the miser's glee, rejoiced at the success of his plan; and having taken his leave returned home in high spirits. But Kamei Sama, little thinking how his vassal had propitiated his enemy, lay brooding over his vengeance, and on the following morning at daybreak went to Court in solemn procession. When Kôtsuké no Suké met him his manner had completely changed, and nothing could exceed his courtesy. "You have come early to Court this morning, my Lord Kamei," said he. "I cannot sufficiently admire your zeal. I shall have the honour to call your attention to several points of etiquette to-day. I must beg your lordship to excuse my previous conduct, which must have seemed very rude; but I am naturally of a cross-grained disposition, so I pray you to forgive me." And as he kept on humbling himself and making fair speeches, the heart of Kamei Sama was gradually softened, and he renounced his intention of killing him. Thus by the cleverness of his councillor was Kamei Sama, with all his house, saved from ruin. Shortly after this, Takumi no Kami, who had sent no present, arrived at the castle, and Kôtsuké no Suké turned him into ridicule even more than before, provoking him with sneers and covert insults; but Takumi no Kami affected to ignore all this, and submitted himself patiently to Kôtsuké no Suké's orders. This conduct, so far from producing a good effect, only made Kôtsuké no Suké despise him the more, until at last he said haughtily: "Here, my Lord of Takumi, the ribbon of my sock has come untied; be so good as to tie it up for me." Takumi no Kami, although burning with rage at the affront, still thought that as he was on duty he was bound to obey, and tied up the ribbon of the sock. Then Kôtsuké no Suké, turning from him, petulantly exclaimed: "Why, how clumsy you are! You cannot so much as tie up the ribbon of a sock properly! Any one can see that you are a boor from the country, and know nothing of the manners of Yedo." And with a scornful laugh he moved towards an inner room. But the patience of Takumi no Kami was exhausted; this last insult was more than he could bear. "Stop a moment, my lord," cried he. "Well, what is it?" replied the other. And, as he turned round, Takumi no Kami drew his dirk, and aimed a blow at his head; but Kôtsuké no Suké, being protected by the Court cap which he wore, the wound was but a scratch, so he ran away; and Takumi no Kami, pursuing him, tried a second time to cut him down, but, missing his aim, struck his dirk into a pillar. At this moment an officer, named Kajikawa Yosobei, seeing the affray, rushed up, and holding back the infuriated noble, gave Kôtsuké no Suké time to make good his escape. Then there arose a great uproar and confusion, and Takumi no Kami was arrested and disarmed, and confined in one of the apartments of the palace under the care of the censors. A council was held, and the prisoner was given over to the safeguard of a daimio, called Tamura Ukiyô no Daibu, who kept him in close custody in his own house, to the great grief of his wife and of his retainers; and when the deliberations of the council were completed, it was decided that, as he had committed an outrage and attacked another man within the precincts of the palace, he must perform _hara-kiri_,--that is, commit suicide by disembowelling; his goods must be confiscated, and his family ruined. Such was the law. So Takumi no Kami performed _hara-kiri_, his castle of Akô was confiscated, and his retainers having become Rônins, some of them took service with other daimios, and others became merchants. Now amongst these retainers was his principal councillor, a man called Oishi Kuranosuké, who, with forty-six other faithful dependants, formed a league to avenge their master's death by killing Kôtsuké no Suké. This Oishi Kuranosuké was absent at the castle of Akô at the time of the affray, which, had he been with his prince, would never have occurred; for, being a wise man, he would not have failed to propitiate Kôtsuké no Suké by sending him suitable presents; while the councillor who was in attendance on the prince at Yedo was a dullard, who neglected this precaution, and so caused the death of his master and the ruin of his house. So Oishi Kuranosuké and his forty-six companions began to lay their plans of vengeance against Kôtsuké no Suké; but the latter was so well guarded by a body of men lent to him by a daimio called Uyésugi Sama, whose daughter he had married, that they saw that the only way of attaining their end would be to throw their enemy off his guard. With this object they separated and disguised themselves, some as carpenters or craftsmen, others as merchants; and their chief, Kuranosuké, went to Kiôto, and built a house in the quarter called Yamashina, where he took to frequenting houses of the worst repute, and gave himself up to drunkenness and debauchery, as if nothing were further from his mind than revenge. Kôtsuké no Suké, in the meanwhile, suspecting that Takumi no Kami's former retainers would be scheming against his life, secretly sent spies to Kiôto, and caused a faithful account to be kept of all that Kuranosuké did. The latter, however, determined thoroughly to delude the enemy into a false security, went on leading a dissolute life with harlots and winebibbers. One day, as he was returning home drunk from some low haunt, he fell down in the street and went to sleep, and all the passers-by laughed him to scorn. It happened that a Satsuma man saw this, and said: "Is not this Oishi Kuranosuké, who was a councillor of Asano Takumi no Kami, and who, not having the heart to avenge his lord, gives himself up to women and wine? See how he lies drunk in the public street! Faithless beast! Fool and craven! Unworthy the name of a Samurai!"[5] [Footnote 5: _Samurai_, a man belonging to the _Buké_ or military class, entitled to bear arms.] [Illustration: THE SATSUMA MAN INSULTS OISHI KURANOSUKÉ.] And he trod on Kuranosuké's face as he slept, and spat upon him; but when Kôtsuké no Suké's spies reported all this at Yedo, he was greatly relieved at the news, and felt secure from danger. One day Kuranosuké's wife, who was bitterly grieved to see her husband lead this abandoned life, went to him and said: "My lord, you told me at first that your debauchery was but a trick to make your enemy relax in watchfulness. But indeed, indeed, this has gone too far. I pray and beseech you to put some restraint upon yourself." "Trouble me not," replied Kuranosuké, "for I will not listen to your whining. Since my way of life is displeasing to you, I will divorce you, and you may go about your business; and I will buy some pretty young girl from one of the public-houses, and marry her for my pleasure. I am sick of the sight of an old woman like you about the house, so get you gone--the sooner the better." So saying, he flew into a violent rage, and his wife, terror-stricken, pleaded piteously for mercy. "Oh, my lord! unsay those terrible words! I have been your faithful wife for twenty years, and have borne you three children; in sickness and in sorrow I have been with you; you cannot be so cruel as to turn me out of doors now. Have pity! have pity!" "Cease this useless wailing. My mind is made up, and you must go; and as the children are in my way also, you are welcome to take them with you." When she heard her husband speak thus, in her grief she sought her eldest son, Oishi Chikara, and begged him to plead for her, and pray that she might be pardoned. But nothing would turn Kuranosuké from his purpose, so his wife was sent away, with the two younger children, and went back to her native place. But Oishi Chikara remained with his father. The spies communicated all this without fail to Kôtsuké no Suké, and he, when he heard how Kuranosuké, having turned his wife and children out of doors and bought a concubine, was grovelling in a life of drunkenness and lust, began to think that he had no longer anything to fear from the retainers of Takumi no Kami, who must be cowards, without the courage to avenge their lord. So by degrees he began to keep a less strict watch, and sent back half of the guard which had been lent to him by his father-in-law, Uyésugi Sama. Little did he think how he was falling into the trap laid for him by Kuranosuké, who, in his zeal to slay his lord's enemy, thought nothing of divorcing his wife and sending away his children! Admirable and faithful man! In this way Kuranosuké continued to throw dust in the eyes of his foe, by persisting in his apparently shameless conduct; but his associates all went to Yedo, and, having in their several capacities as workmen and pedlars contrived to gain access to Kôtsuké no Suké's house, made themselves familiar with the plan of the building and the arrangement of the different rooms, and ascertained the character of the inmates, who were brave and loyal men, and who were cowards; upon all of which matters they sent regular reports to Kuranosuké. And when at last it became evident from the letters which arrived from Yedo that Kôtsuké no Suké was thoroughly off his guard, Kuranosuké rejoiced that the day of vengeance was at hand; and, having appointed a trysting-place at Yedo, he fled secretly from Kiôto, eluding the vigilance of his enemy's spies. Then the forty-seven men, having laid all their plans, bided their time patiently. It was now midwinter, the twelfth month of the year, and the cold was bitter. One night, during a heavy fall of snow, when the whole world was hushed, and peaceful men were stretched in sleep upon the mats, the Rônins determined that no more favourable opportunity could occur for carrying out their purpose. So they took counsel together, and, having divided their band into two parties, assigned to each man his post. One band, led by Oishi Kuranosuké, was to attack the front gate, and the other, under his son Oishi Chikara, was to attack the postern of Kôtsuké no Suké's house; but as Chikara was only sixteen years of age, Yoshida Chiuzayémon was appointed to act as his guardian. Further it was arranged that a drum, beaten at the order of Kuranosuké, should be the signal for the simultaneous attack; and that if any one slew Kôtsuké no Suké and cut off his head he should blow a shrill whistle, as a signal to his comrades, who would hurry to the spot, and, having identified the head, carry it off to the temple called Sengakuji, and lay it as an offering before the tomb of their dead lord. Then they must report their deed to the Government, and await the sentence of death which would surely be passed upon them. To this the Rônins one and all pledged themselves. Midnight was fixed upon as the hour, and the forty-seven comrades, having made all ready for the attack, partook of a last farewell feast together, for on the morrow they must die. Then Oishi Kuranosuké addressed the band, and said-- "To-night we shall attack our enemy in his palace; his retainers will certainly resist us, and we shall be obliged to kill them. But to slay old men and women and children is a pitiful thing; therefore, I pray you each one to take great heed lest you kill a single helpless person." His comrades all applauded this speech, and so they remained, waiting for the hour of midnight to arrive. When the appointed hour came, the Rônins set forth. The wind howled furiously, and the driving snow beat in their faces; but little cared they for wind or snow as they hurried on their road, eager for revenge. At last they reached Kôtsuké no Suké's house, and divided themselves into two bands; and Chikara, with twenty-three men, went round to the back gate. Then four men, by means of a ladder of ropes which they hung on to the roof of the porch, effected an entry into the courtyard; and, as they saw signs that all the inmates of the house were asleep, they went into the porter's lodge where the guard slept, and, before the latter had time to recover from their astonishment, bound them. The terrified guard prayed hard for mercy, that their lives might be spared; and to this the Rônins agreed on condition that the keys of the gate should be given up; but the others tremblingly said that the keys were kept in the house of one of their officers, and that they had no means of obtaining them. Then the Rônins lost patience, and with a hammer dashed in pieces the big wooden bolt which secured the gate, and the doors flew open to the right and to the left. At the same time Chikara and his party broke in by the back gate. Then Oishi Kuranosuké sent a messenger to the neighbouring houses, bearing the following message:--"We, the Rônins who were formerly in the service of Asano Takumi no Kami, are this night about to break into the palace of Kôtsuké no Suké, to avenge our lord. As we are neither night robbers nor ruffians, no hurt will be done to the neighbouring houses. We pray you to set your minds at rest." And as Kôtsuké no Suké was hated by his neighbours for his covetousness, they did not unite their forces to assist him. Another precaution was yet taken. Lest any of the people inside should run out to call the relations of the family to the rescue, and these coming in force should interfere with the plans of the Rônins, Kuranosuké stationed ten of his men armed with bows on the roof of the four sides of the courtyard, with orders to shoot any retainers who might attempt to leave the place. Having thus laid all his plans and posted his men, Kuranosuké with his own hand beat the drum and gave the signal for attack. Ten of Kôtsuké no Suké's retainers, hearing the noise, woke up; and, drawing their swords, rushed into the front room to defend their master. At this moment the Rônins, who had burst open the door of the front hall, entered the same room. Then arose a furious fight between the two parties, in the midst of which Chikara, leading his men through the garden, broke into the back of the house; and Kôtsuké no Suké, in terror of his life, took refuge, with his wife and female servants, in a closet in the verandah; while the rest of his retainers, who slept in the barrack outside the house, made ready to go to the rescue. But the Rônins who had come in by the front door, and were fighting with the ten retainers, ended by overpowering and slaying the latter without losing one of their own number; after which, forcing their way bravely towards the back rooms, they were joined by Chikara and his men, and the two bands were united in one. By this time the remainder of Kôtsuké no Suké's men had come in, and the fight became general; and Kuranosuké, sitting on a camp-stool, gave his orders and directed the Rônins. Soon the inmates of the house perceived that they were no match for their enemy, so they tried to send out intelligence of their plight to Uyésugi Sama, their lord's father-in-law, begging him to come to the rescue with all the force at his command. But the messengers were shot down by the archers whom Kuranosuké had posted on the roof. So no help coming, they fought on in despair. Then Kuranosuké cried out with a loud voice: "Kôtsuké no Suké alone is our enemy; let some one go inside and bring him forth. dead or alive!" Now in front of Kôtsuké no Suké's private room stood three brave retainers with drawn swords. The first was Kobayashi Héhachi, the second was Waku Handaiyu, and the third was Shimidzu Ikkaku, all good men and true, and expert swordsmen. So stoutly did these men lay about them that for a while they kept the whole of the Rônins at bay, and at one moment even forced them back. When Oishi Kuranosuké saw this, he ground his teeth with rage, and shouted to his men: "What! did not every man of you swear to lay down his life in avenging his lord, and now are you driven back by three men? Cowards, not fit to be spoken to! to die fighting in a master's cause should be the noblest ambition of a retainer!" Then turning to his own son Chikara, he said, "Here, boy! engage those men, and if they are too strong for you, die!" Spurred by these words, Chikara seized a spear and gave battle to Waku Handaiyu, but could not hold his ground, and backing by degrees, was driven out into the garden, where he missed his footing and slipped into a pond, but as Handaiyu, thinking to kill him, looked down into the pond, Chikara cut his enemy in the leg and caused him to fall, and then, crawling out of the water dispatched him. In the meanwhile Kobayashi Héhachi and Shimidzu Ikkaku had been killed by the other Rônins, and of all Kôtsuké no Suké's retainers not one fighting man remained. Chikara, seeing this, went with his bloody sword in his hand into a back room to search for Kôtsuké no Suké, but he only found the son of the latter, a young lord named Kira Sahioyé, who, carrying a halberd, attacked him, but was soon wounded and fled. Thus the whole of Kôtsuké no Suké's men having been killed, there was an end of the fighting; but as yet there was no trace of Kôtsuké no Suké to be found. Then Kuranosuké divided his men into several parties and searched the whole house, but all in vain; women and children weeping were alone to be seen. At this the forty-seven men began to lose heart in regret, that after all their toil they had allowed their enemy to escape them, and there was a moment when in their despair they agreed to commit suicide together upon the spot; but they determined to make one more effort. So Kuranosuké went into Kôtsuké no Suké's sleeping-room, and touching the quilt with his hands, exclaimed, "I have just felt the bed-clothes and they are yet warm, and so methinks that our enemy is not far off. He must certainly be hidden somewhere in the house." Greatly excited by this, the Rônins renewed their search. Now in the raised part of the room, near the place of honour, there was a picture hanging; taking down this picture, they saw that there was a large hole in the plastered wall, and on thrusting a spear in they could feel nothing beyond it. So one of the Rônins, called Yazama Jiutarô, got into the hole, and found that on the other side there was a little courtyard, in which there stood an outhouse for holding charcoal and firewood. Looking into the outhouse, he spied something white at the further end, at which he struck with his spear, when two armed men sprang out upon him and tried to cut him down, but he kept them back until one of his comrades came up and killed one of the two men and engaged the other, while Jiutarô entered the outhouse and felt about with his spear. Again seeing something white, he struck it with his lance, when a cry of pain betrayed that it was a man; so he rushed up, and the man in white clothes, who had been wounded in the thigh, drew a dirk and aimed a blow at him. But Jiutarô wrested the dirk from him, and clutching him by the collar, dragged him out of the outhouse. Then the other Rônin came up, and they examined the prisoner attentively, and saw that he was a noble-looking man, some sixty years of age, dressed in a white satin sleeping-robe, which was stained by the blood from the thigh-wound which, Jiutarô had inflicted. The two men felt convinced that this was no other than Kôtsuké no Suké, and they asked him his name, but he gave no answer, so they gave the signal whistle, and all their comrades collected together at the call; then Oishi Kuranosuké, bringing a lantern, scanned the old man's features, and it was indeed Kôtsuké no Suké; and if further proof were wanting, he still bore a scar on his forehead where their master, Asano Takumi no Kami, had wounded him during the affray in the castle. There being no possibility of mistake, therefore, Oishi Kuranosuké went down on his knees, and addressing the old man very respectfully, said-- "My lord, we are the retainers of Asano Takumi no Kami. Last year your lordship and our master quarrelled in the palace, and our master was sentenced to _hara-kiri,_ and his family was ruined. We have come to-night to avenge him, as is the duty of faithful and loyal men. I pray your lordship to acknowledge the justice of our purpose. And now, my lord, we beseech you to perform _hara-kiri_. I myself shall have the honour to act as your second, and when, with all humility, I shall have received your lordship's head, it is my intention to lay it as an offering upon the grave of Asano Takumi no Kami." Thus, in consideration of the high rank of Kôtsuké no Suké, the Rônins treated him with the greatest courtesy, and over and over again entreated him to perform _hara-kiri._ But he crouched speechless and trembling. At last Kuranosuké, seeing that it was vain to urge him to die the death of a nobleman, forced him down, and cut off his head with the same dirk with which Asano Takumi no Kami had killed himself. Then the forty-seven comrades, elated at having accomplished their design, placed the head in a bucket, and prepared to depart; but before leaving the house they carefully extinguished all the lights and fires in the place, lest by any accident a fire should break out and the neighbours suffer. As they were on their way to Takanawa, the suburb in which the temple called Sengakuji stands, the day broke; and the people flocked out to see the forty-seven men, who, with their clothes and arms all blood-stained, presented a terrible appearance; and every one praised them, wondering at their valour and faithfulness. But they expected every moment that Kôtsuké no Suké's father-in-law would attack them and carry off the head, and made ready to die bravely sword in hand. However, they reached Takanawa in safety, for Matsudaira Aki no Kami, one of the eighteen chief daimios of Japan, of whose house Asano Takumi no Kami had been a cadet, had been highly pleased when he heard of the last night's work, and he had made ready to assist the Rônins in case they were attacked. So Kôtsuké no Suké's father-in-law dared not pursue them. At about seven in the morning they came opposite to the palace of Matsudaira Mutsu no Kami, the Prince of Sendai, and the Prince, hearing of it, sent for one of his councillors and said: "The retainers of Takumi no Kami have slain their lord's enemy, and are passing this way; I cannot sufficiently admire their devotion, so, as they must be tired and hungry after their night's work, do you go and invite them to come in here, and set some gruel and a cup of wine before them." So the councillor went out and said to Oishi Kuranosuké: "Sir, I am a councillor of the Prince of Sendai, and my master bids me beg you, as you must be worn out after all you have undergone, to come in and partake of such poor refreshment as we can offer you. This is my message to you from my lord." "I thank you, sir," replied Kuranosuké. "It is very good of his lordship to trouble himself to think of us. We shall accept his kindness gratefully." So the forty-seven Rônins went into the palace, and were feasted with gruel and wine, and all the retainers of the Prince of Sendai came and praised them. Then Kuranosuké turned to the councillor and said, "Sir, we are truly indebted to you for this kind hospitality; but as we have still to hurry to Sengakuji, we must needs humbly take our leave." And, after returning many thanks to their hosts, they left the palace of the Prince of Sendai and hastened to Sengakuji, where they were met by the abbot of the monastery, who went to the front gate to receive them, and led them to the tomb of Takumi no Kami. And when they came to their lord's grave, they took the head of Kôtsuké no Suké, and having washed it clean in a well hard by, laid it as an offering before the tomb. When they had done this, they engaged the priests of the temple to come and read prayers while they burnt incense: first Oishi Kuranosuké burnt incense, and then his son Oishi Chikara, and after them the other forty-five men performed the same ceremony. Then Kuranosuké, having given all the money that he had by him to the abbot, said-- "When we forty-seven men shall have performed _hara-kiri_, I beg you to bury us decently. I rely upon your kindness. This is but a trifle that I have to offer; such as it is, let it be spent in masses for our souls!" And the abbot, marvelling at the faithful courage of the men, with tears in his eyes pledged himself to fulfil their wishes. So the forty-seven Rônins, with their minds at rest, waited patiently until they should receive the orders of the Government. At last they were summoned to the Supreme Court, where the governors of Yedo and the public censors had assembled; and the sentence passed upon them was as follows: "Whereas, neither respecting the dignity of the city nor fearing the Government, having leagued yourselves together to slay your enemy, you violently broke into the house of Kira Kôtsuké no Suké by night and murdered him, the sentence of the Court is, that, for this audacious conduct, you perform _hara-kiri_." When the sentence had been read, the forty-seven Rônins were divided into four parties, and handed over to the safe keeping of four different daimios; and sheriffs were sent to the palaces of those daimios in whose presence the Rônins were made to perform _hara-kiri_. But, as from the very beginning they had all made up their minds that to this end they must come, they met their death nobly; and their corpses were carried to Sengakuji, and buried in front of the tomb of their master, Asano Takumi no Kami. And when the fame of this became noised abroad, the people flocked to pray at the graves of these faithful men. [Illustration: THE TOMBS OF THE RÔNINS.] Among those who came to pray was a Satsuma man, who, prostrating himself before the grave of Oishi Kuranosuké, said: "When I saw you lying drunk by the roadside at Yamashina, in Kiôto, I knew not that you were plotting to avenge your lord; and, thinking you to be a faithless man, I trampled on you and spat in your face as I passed. And now I have come to ask pardon and offer atonement for the insult of last year." With those words he prostrated himself again before the grave, and, drawing a dirk from his girdle, stabbed himself in the belly and died. And the chief priest of the temple, taking pity upon him, buried him by the side of the Rônins; and his tomb still remains to be seen with those of the forty-seven comrades. This is the end of the story of the forty-seven Rônins. * * * * * A terrible picture of fierce heroism which it is impossible not to admire. In the Japanese mind this feeling of admiration is unmixed, and hence it is that the forty-seven Rônins receive almost divine honours. Pious hands still deck their graves with green boughs and burn incense upon them; the clothes and arms which they wore are preserved carefully in a fire-proof store-house attached to the temple, and exhibited yearly to admiring crowds, who behold them probably with little less veneration than is accorded to the relics of Aix-la-Chapelle or Trèves; and once in sixty years the monks of Sengakuji reap quite a harvest for the good of their temple by holding a commemorative fair or festival, to which the people flock during nearly two months. A silver key once admitted me to a private inspection of the relics. We were ushered, my friend and myself, into a back apartment of the spacious temple, overlooking one of those marvellous miniature gardens, cunningly adorned with rockeries and dwarf trees, in which the Japanese delight. One by one, carefully labelled and indexed boxes containing the precious articles were brought out and opened by the chief priest. Such a curious medley of old rags and scraps of metal and wood! Home-made chain armour, composed of wads of leather secured together by pieces of iron, bear witness to the secrecy with which the Rônins made ready for the fight. To have bought armour would have attracted attention, so they made it with their own hands. Old moth-eaten surcoats, bits of helmets, three flutes, a writing-box that must have been any age at the time of the tragedy, and is now tumbling to pieces; tattered trousers of what once was rich silk brocade, now all unravelled and befringed; scraps of leather, part of an old gauntlet, crests and badges, bits of sword handles, spear-heads and dirks, the latter all red with rust, but with certain patches more deeply stained as if the fatal clots of blood were never to be blotted out: all these were reverently shown to us. Among the confusion and litter were a number of documents, Yellow with age and much worn at the folds. One was a plan of Kôtsuké no Suké's house, which one of the Rônins obtained by marrying the daughter of the builder who designed it. Three of the manuscripts appeared to me so curious that I obtained leave to have copies taken of them. The first is the receipt given by the retainers of Kôtsuké no Suké's son in return for the head of their lord's father, which the priests restored to the family, and runs as follows:-- "MEMORANDUM:-- ITEM. ONE HEAD. ITEM. ONE PAPER PARCEL. The above articles are acknowledged to have been received. Signed, { SAYADA MAGOBELI. (_Loc. sigill._) { SAITÔ KUNAI. (_Loc. sigill._) "To the priests deputed from the Temple Sengakuji, His Reverence SEKISHI, His Reverence ICHIDON." The second paper is a document explanatory of their conduct, a copy of which was found on the person of each of the forty-seven men:-- "Last year, in the third month, Asano Takumi no Kami, upon the occasion of the entertainment of the Imperial ambassador, was driven, by the force of circumstances, to attack and wound my Lord Kôtsuké no Suké in the castle, in order to avenge an insult offered to him. Having done this without considering the dignity of the place, and having thus disregarded all rules of propriety, he was condemned to _hara-kiri,_ and his property and castle of Akô were forfeited to the State, and were delivered up by his retainers to the officers deputed by the Shogun to receive them. After this his followers were all dispersed. At the time of the quarrel the high officials present prevented Asano Takumi no Kami from carrying out his intention of killing his enemy, my Lord Kôtsuké no Suké. So Asano Takumi no Kami died without having avenged himself, and this was more than his retainers could endure. It is impossible to remain under the same heaven with the enemy of lord or father; for this reason we have dared to declare enmity against a personage of so exalted rank. This day we shall attack Kira Kôtsuké no Suké, in order to finish the deed of vengeance which was begun by our dead lord. If any honourable person should find our bodies after death, he is respectfully requested to open and read this document. "15th year of Genroku. 12th month. "Signed, OISHI KURANOSUKÉ, Retainer of Asano Takumi no Kami, and forty-six others."[6] [Footnote 6: It is usual for a Japanese, when bent upon some deed of violence, the end of which, in his belief, justifies the means, to carry about with him a document, such as that translated above, in which he sets forth his motives, that his character may be cleared after death.] The third manuscript is a paper which the Forty-seven Rônins laid upon the tomb of their master, together with the head of Kira Kôtsuké no Suké:-- "The 15th year of Genroku, the 12th month, and 15th day. We have come this day to do homage here, forty-seven men in all, from Oishi Kuranosuké down to the foot-soldier, Terasaka Kichiyémon, all cheerfully about to lay down our lives on your behalf. We reverently announce this to the honoured spirit of our dead master. On the 14th day of the third month of last year our honoured master was pleased to attack Kira Kôtsuké no Suké, for what reason we know not. Our honoured master put an end to his own life, but Kira Kôtsuké no Suké lived. Although we fear that after the decree issued by the Government this plot of ours will be displeasing to our honoured master, still we, who have eaten of your food, could not without blushing repeat the verse, 'Thou shalt not live under the same heaven nor tread the same earth with the enemy of thy father or lord,' nor could we have dared to leave hell and present ourselves before you in paradise, unless we had carried out the vengeance which you began. Every day that we waited seemed as three autumns to us. Verily, we have trodden the snow for one day, nay, for two days, and have tasted food but once. The old and decrepit, the sick and ailing, have come forth gladly to lay down their lives. Men might laugh at us, as at grasshoppers trusting in the strength of their arms, and thus shame our honoured lord; but we could not halt in our deed of vengeance. Having taken counsel together last night, we have escorted my Lord Kôtsuké no Suké hither to your tomb. This dirk,[7] by which our honoured lord set great store last year, and entrusted to our care, we now bring back. If your noble spirit be now present before this tomb, we pray you, as a sign, to take the dirk, and, striking the head of your enemy with it a second time, to dispel your hatred for ever. This is the respectful statement of forty-seven men." [Footnote 7: The dirk with which Asano Takumi no Kumi disembowelled himself and with which Oishi Kuranosuké cut off Kôtsuké no Suké's head.] The text, "Thou shalt not live under the same heaven with the enemy of thy father," is based upon the Confucian books. Dr. Legge, in his "Life and Teachings of Confucius," p. 113, has an interesting paragraph summing up the doctrine of the sage upon the subject of revenge. "In the second book of the 'Le Ke' there is the following passage:--'With the slayer of his father a man may not live under the same heaven; against the slayer of his brother a man must never have to go home to fetch a weapon; with the slayer of his friend a man may not live in the same State.' The _lex talionis_ is here laid down in its fullest extent. The 'Chow Le' tells us of a provision made against the evil consequences of the principle by the appointment of a minister called 'The Reconciler.' The provision is very inferior to the cities of refuge which were set apart by Moses for the manslayer to flee to from the fury of the avenger. Such as it was, however, it existed, and it is remarkable that Confucius, when consulted on the subject, took no notice of it, but affirmed the duty of blood-revenge in the strongest and most unrestricted terms. His disciple, Tsze Hea, asked him, 'What course is to be pursued in the murder of a father or mother?' He replied, 'The son must sleep upon a matting of grass with his shield for his pillow; he must decline to take office; he must not live under the same heaven with the slayer. When he meets him in the market-place or the court, he must have his weapon ready to strike him.' 'And what is the course in the murder of a brother?' 'The surviving brother must not take office in the same State with the slayer; yet, if he go on his prince's service to the State where the slayer is, though he meet him, he must not fight with him.' 'And what is the course in the murder of an uncle or cousin?' 'In this case the nephew or cousin is not the principal. If the principal, on whom the revenge devolves, can take it, he has only to stand behind with his weapon in his hand, and support him.'" I will add one anecdote to show the sanctity which is attached to the graves of the Forty-seven. In the month of September 1868, a certain man came to pray before the grave of Oishi Chikara. Having finished his prayers, he deliberately performed _hara-kiri_,[8] and, the belly wound not being mortal, dispatched himself by cutting his throat. Upon his person were found papers setting forth that, being a Rônin and without means of earning a living, he had petitioned to be allowed to enter the clan of the Prince of Chôshiu, which he looked upon as the noblest clan in the realm; his petition having been refused, nothing remained for him but to die, for to be a Rônin was hateful to him, and he would serve no other master than the Prince of Chôshiu: what more fitting place could he find in which to put an end to his life than the graveyard of these Braves? This happened at about two hundred yards' distance from my house, and when I saw the spot an hour or two later, the ground was all bespattered with blood, and disturbed by the death-struggles of the man. [Footnote 8: A purist in Japanese matters may object to the use of the words _hara-kiri_ instead of the more elegant expression _Seppuku_. I retain the more vulgar form as being better known, and therefore more convenient.] THE LOVES OF GOMPACHI AND KOMURASAKI Within two miles or so from Yedo, and yet well away from the toil and din of the great city, stands the village of Meguro. Once past the outskirts of the town, the road leading thither is bounded on either side by woodlands rich in an endless variety of foliage, broken at intervals by the long, low line of villages and hamlets. As we draw near to Meguro, the scenery, becoming more and more rustic, increases in beauty. Deep shady lanes, bordered by hedgerows as luxurious as any in England, lead down to a valley of rice fields bright with the emerald green of the young crops. To the right and to the left rise knolls of fantastic shape, crowned with a profusion of Cryptomerias, Scotch firs and other cone-bearing trees, and fringed with thickets of feathery bamboos, bending their stems gracefully to the light summer breeze. Wherever there is a spot shadier and pleasanter to look upon than the rest, there may be seen the red portal of a shrine which the simple piety of the country folk has raised to Inari Sama, the patron god of farming, or to some other tutelary deity of the place. At the eastern outlet of the valley a strip of blue sea bounds the horizon; westward are the distant mountains. In the foreground, in front of a farmhouse, snug-looking, with its roof of velvety-brown thatch, a troop of sturdy urchins, suntanned and stark naked, are frisking in the wildest gambols, all heedless of the scolding voice of the withered old grandam who sits spinning and minding the house, while her son and his wife are away toiling at some outdoor labour. Close at our feet runs a stream of pure water, in which a group of countrymen are washing the vegetables which they will presently shoulder and carry off to sell by auction in the suburbs of Yedo. Not the least beauty of the scene consists in the wondrous clearness of an atmosphere so transparent that the most distant outlines are scarcely dimmed, while the details of the nearer ground stand out in sharp, bold relief, now lit by the rays of a vertical sun, now darkened under the flying shadows thrown by the fleecy clouds which sail across the sky. Under such a heaven, what painter could limn the lights and shades which flit over the woods, the pride of Japan, whether in late autumn, when the russets and yellows of our own trees are mixed with the deep crimson glow of the maples, or in spring-time, when plum and cherry trees and wild camellias--giants, fifty feet high--are in full blossom? All that we see is enchanting, but there is a strange stillness in the groves; rarely does the song of a bird break the silence; indeed, I know but one warbler whose note has any music in it, the _uguisu_, by some enthusiasts called the Japanese nightingale--at best, a king in the kingdom of the blind. The scarcity of animal life of all descriptions, man and mosquitoes alone excepted, is a standing wonder to the traveller; the sportsman must toil many a weary mile to get a shot at boar, or deer, or pheasant; and the plough of the farmer and the trap of the poacher, who works in and out of season, threaten to exterminate all wild creatures; unless, indeed, the Government should, as they threatened in the spring of 1869, put in force some adaptation of European game-laws. But they are lukewarm in the matter; a little hawking on a duck-pond satisfies the cravings of the modern Japanese sportsman, who knows that, game-laws or no game-laws, the wild fowl will never fail in winter; and the days are long past when my Lord the Shogun used to ride forth with a mighty company to the wild places about Mount Fuji, there camping out and hunting the boar, the deer, and the wolf, believing that in so doing he was fostering a manly and military spirit in the land. There is one serious drawback to the enjoyment of the beauties of the Japanese country, and that is the intolerable affront which is continually offered to one's sense of smell; the whole of what should form the sewerage of the city is carried out on the backs of men and horses, to be thrown upon the fields; and, if you would avoid the overpowering nuisance, you must walk handkerchief in hand, ready to shut out the stench which assails you at every moment. It would seem natural, while writing of the Japanese country, to say a few words about the peasantry, their relation to the lord of the soil, and their government. But these I must reserve for another place. At present our dealings are with the pretty village of Meguro. At the bottom of a little lane, close to the entrance of the village, stands an old shrine of the Shintô (the form of hero-worship which existed in Japan before the introduction of Confucianism or of Buddhism), surrounded by lofty Cryptomerias. The trees around a Shintô shrine are specially under the protection of the god to whom the altar is dedicated; and, in connection with them, there is a kind of magic still respected by the superstitious, which recalls the waxen dolls, through the medium of which sorcerers of the middle ages in Europe, and indeed those of ancient Greece, as Theocritus tells us, pretended to kill the enemies of their clients. This is called _Ushi no toki mairi,_ or "going to worship at the hour of the ox,"[9] and is practised by jealous women who wish to be revenged upon their faithless lovers. [Footnote 9: The Chinese, and the Japanese following them, divide the day of twenty-four hours into twelve periods, each of which has a sign something like the signs of the Zodiac:-- Midnight until two in the morning is represented by the rat. 2 a.m. " 4 a.m. " " ox. 4 a.m. " 6 a.m. " " tiger. 6 a.m. " 8 a.m. " " hare. 8 a.m. " 10 a.m. " " dragon. 10 a.m. " 12 noon " " snake. 12 noon " 2 p.m. " " horse. 2 p.m. " 4 p.m. " " ram. 4 p.m. " 6 p.m. " " ape. 6 p.m. " 8 p.m. " " cock. 8 p.m. " 10 p.m. " " hog. 10 p.m. " Midnight " " fox.] When the world is at rest, at two in the morning, the hour of which the ox is the symbol, the woman rises; she dons a white robe and high sandals or clogs; her coif is a metal tripod, in which are thrust three lighted candles; around her neck she hangs a mirror, which falls upon her bosom; in her left hand she carries a small straw figure, the effigy of the lover who has abandoned her, and in her right she grasps a hammer and nails, with which she fastens the figure to one of the sacred trees that surround the shrine. There she prays for the death of the traitor, vowing that, if her petition be heard, she will herself pull out the nails which now offend the god by wounding the mystic tree. Night after night she comes to the shrine, and each night she strikes in two or more nails, believing that every nail will shorten her lover's life, for the god, to save his tree, will surely strike him dead. Meguro is one of the many places round Yedo to which the good citizens flock for purposes convivial or religious, or both; hence it is that, cheek by jowl with the old shrines and temples, you will find many a pretty tea-house, standing at the rival doors of which Mesdemoiselles Sugar, Wave of the Sea, Flower, Seashore, and Chrysanthemum are pressing in their invitations to you to enter and rest. Not beautiful these damsels, if judged by our standard, but the charm of Japanese women lies in their manner and dainty little ways, and the tea-house girl, being a professional decoy-duck, is an adept in the art of flirting,--_en tout bien tout honneur_, be it remembered; for she is not to be confounded with the frail beauties of the Yoshiwara, nor even with her sisterhood near the ports open to foreigners, and to their corrupting influence. For, strange as it seems, our contact all over the East has an evil effect upon the natives. In one of the tea-houses a thriving trade is carried on in the sale of wooden tablets, some six inches square, adorned with the picture of a pink cuttlefish on a bright blue ground. These are ex-votos, destined to be offered up at the Temple of Yakushi Niurai, the Buddhist Æsculapius, which stands opposite, and concerning the foundation of which the following legend is told. In the days of old there was a priest called Jikaku, who at the age of forty years, it being the autumn of the tenth year of the period called Tenchô (A.D. 833), was suffering from disease of the eyes, which had attacked him three years before. In order to be healed from this disease he carved a figure of Yakushi Niurai, to which he used to offer up his prayers. Five years later he went to China, taking with him the figure as his guardian saint, and at a place called Kairetsu it protected him from robbers and wild beasts and from other calamities. There he passed his time in studying the sacred laws both hidden and revealed, and after nine years set sail to return to Japan. When he was on the high seas a storm arose, and a great fish attacked and tried to swamp the ship, so that the rudder and mast were broken, and the nearest shore being that of a land inhabited by devils, to retreat or to advance was equally dangerous. Then the holy man prayed to the patron saint whose image he carried, and as he prayed, behold the true Yakushi Niurai appeared in the centre of the ship, and said to him-- "Verily, thou hast travelled far that the sacred laws might be revealed for the salvation of many men; now, therefore, take my image, which thou carriest in thy bosom, and cast it into the sea, that the wind may abate, and that thou mayest be delivered from this land of devils." The commands of the saints must be obeyed, so with tears in his eyes, the priest threw into the sea the sacred image which he loved. Then did the wind abate, and the waves were stilled, and the ship went on her course as though she were being drawn by unseen hands until she reached a safe haven. In the tenth month of the same year the priest again set sail, trusting to the power of his patron saint, and reached the harbour of Tsukushi without mishap. For three years he prayed that the image which he had cast away might be restored to him, until at last one night he was warned in a dream that on the sea-shore at Matsura Yakushi Niurai would appear to him. In consequence of this dream he went to the province of Hizen, and landed on the sea-shore at Hirato, where, in the midst of a blaze of light, the image which he had carved appeared to him twice, riding on the back of a cuttlefish. Thus was the image restored to the world by a miracle. In commemoration of his recovery from the disease of the eyes and of his preservation from the dangers of the sea, that these things might be known to all posterity, the priest established the worship of Tako Yakushi Niurai ("Yakushi Niurai of the Cuttlefish") and came to Meguro, where he built the Temple of Fudô Sama,[10] another Buddhist divinity. At this time there was an epidemic of small-pox in the village, so that men fell down and died in the street, and the holy man prayed to Fudô Sama that the plague might be stayed. Then the god appeared to him, and said-- "The saint Yakushi Niurai of the Cuttlefish, whose image thou carriest, desires to have his place in this village, and he will heal this plague. Thou shalt, therefore, raise a temple to him here that not only this small-pox, but other diseases for future generations, may be cured by his power." [Footnote 10: Fudô, literally "the motionless": Buddha in the state called Nirvana.] Hearing this, the priest shed tears of gratitude, and having chosen a piece of fine wood, carved a large figure of his patron saint of the cuttlefish, and placed the smaller image inside of the larger, and laid it up in this temple, to which people still flock that they may be healed of their diseases. Such is the story of the miracle, translated from a small ill-printed pamphlet sold by the priests of the temple, all the decorations of which, even to a bronze lantern in the middle of the yard, are in the form of a cuttlefish, the sacred emblem of the place. What pleasanter lounge in which to while away a hot day could a man wish for than the shade of the trees borne by the hill on which stands the Temple of Fudô Sama? Two jets of pure water springing from the rock are voided by spouts carved in the shape of dragons into a stone basin enclosed by rails, within which it is written that "no woman may enter." If you are in luck, you may cool yourself by watching some devotee, naked save his loin-cloth, performing the ceremony called _Suigiyô_; that is to say, praying under the waterfall that his soul may be purified through his body. In winter it requires no small pluck to go through this penance, yet I have seen a penitent submit to it for more than a quarter of an hour on a bitterly cold day in January. In summer, on the other hand, the religious exercise called _Hiyakudo_, or "the hundred times," which may also be seen here to advantage, is no small trial of patience. It consists in walking backwards and forwards a hundred times between two points within the sacred precincts, repeating a prayer each time. The count is kept either upon the fingers or by depositing a length of twisted straw each time that the goal is reached; at this temple the place allotted for the ceremony is between a grotesque bronze figure of Tengu Sama ("the Dog of Heaven"), the terror of children, a most hideous monster with a gigantic nose, which it is beneficial to rub with a finger afterwards to be applied to one's own nose, and a large brown box inscribed with the characters _Hiyaku Do_ in high relief, which may generally be seen full of straw tallies. It is no sinecure to be a good Buddhist, for the gods are not lightly to be propitiated. Prayer and fasting, mortification of the flesh, abstinence from wine, from women, and from favourite dishes, are the only passports to rising in office, prosperity in trade, recovery from sickness, or a happy marriage with a beloved maiden. Nor will mere faith without works be efficient. A votive tablet of proportionate value to the favour prayed for, or a sum of money for the repairs of the shrine or temple, is necessary to win the favour of the gods. Poorer persons will cut off the queue of their hair and offer that up; and at Horinouchi, a temple in great renown some eight or nine miles from Yedo, there is a rope about two inches and a half in diameter and about six fathoms long, entirely made of human hair so given to the gods; it lies coiled up, dirty, moth-eaten, and uncared for, at one end of a long shed full of tablets and pictures, by the side of a rude native fire-engine. The taking of life being displeasing to Buddha, outside many of the temples old women and children earn a livelihood by selling sparrows, small eels, carp, and tortoises, which the worshipper sets free in honour of the deity, within whose territory cocks and hens and doves, tame and unharmed, perch on every jutty, frieze, buttress, and coigne of vantage. But of all the marvellous customs that I wot of in connection with Japanese religious exercises, none appears to me so strange as that of spitting at the images of the gods, more especially at the statues of the Ni-ô, the two huge red or red and green statues which, like Gog and Magog, emblems of strength, stand as guardians of the chief Buddhist temples. The figures are protected by a network of iron wire, through which the votaries, praying the while, spit pieces of paper, which they had chewed up into a pulp. If the pellet sticks to the statue, the omen is favourable; if it falls, the prayer is not accepted. The inside of the great bell at the Tycoon's burial-ground, and almost every holy statue throughout the country, are all covered with these outspittings from pious mouths.[11] [Footnote 11: It will be readily understood that the customs and ceremonies to which I have alluded belong only to the gross superstitions with which ignorance has overlaid that pure Buddhism of which Professor Max Müller has pointed out the very real beauties.] [Illustration: THE TOMB OF THE SHIYOKU.] Through all this discourse about temples and tea-houses, I am coming by degrees to the goal of our pilgrimage--two old stones, mouldering away in a rank, overgrown graveyard hard by, an old old burying-ground, forgotten by all save those who love to dig out the tales of the past. The key is kept by a ghoulish old dame, almost as time-worn and mildewed as the tomb over which she watches. Obedient to our call, and looking forward to a fee ten times greater than any native would give her, she hobbles out, and, opening the gate, points out the stone bearing the inscription, the "Tomb of the Shiyoku" (fabulous birds, which, living one within the other--a mysterious duality contained in one body--are the emblem of connubial love and fidelity). By this stone stands another, graven with a longer legend, which runs as follows:-- "In the old days of Genroku, she pined for the beauty of her lover, who was as fair to look upon as the flowers; and now beneath the moss of this old tombstone all has perished of her save her name. Amid the changes of a fitful world, this tomb is decaying under the dew and rain; gradually crumbling beneath its own dust, its outline alone remains. Stranger! bestow an alms to preserve this stone; and we, sparing neither pain nor labour, will second you with all our hearts. Erecting it again, let us preserve it from decay for future generations, and let us write the following verse upon it:--'These two birds, beautiful as the cherry-blossoms, perished before their time, like flowers broken down by the wind before they have borne seed.'" Under the first stone is the dust of Gompachi, robber and murderer, mixed with that of his true love Komurasaki, who lies buried with him. Her sorrows and constancy have hallowed the place, and pious people still come to burn incense and lay flowers before the grave. How she loved him even in death may be seen from the following old-world story. * * * * * About two hundred and thirty years ago there lived in the service of a daimio of the province of Inaba a young man, called Shirai Gompachi, who, when he was but sixteen years of age, had already won a name for his personal beauty and valour, and for his skill in the use of arms. Now it happened that one day a dog belonging to him fought with another dog belonging to a fellow-clansman, and the two masters, being both passionate youths, disputing as to whose dog had had the best of the fight, quarrelled and came to blows, and Gompachi slew his adversary; and in consequence of this he was obliged to flee from his country, and make his escape to Yedo. And so Gompachi set out on his travels. One night, weary and footsore, he entered what appeared to him to be a roadside inn, ordered some refreshment, and went to bed, little thinking of the danger that menaced him: for as luck would have it, this inn turned out to be the trysting-place of a gang of robbers, into whose clutches he had thus unwittingly fallen. To be sure, Gompachi's purse was but scantily furnished, but his sword and dirk were worth some three hundred ounces of silver, and upon these the robbers (of whom there were ten) had cast envious eyes, and had determined to kill the owner for their sake; but he, all unsuspicious, slept on in fancied security. In the middle of the night he was startled from his deep slumbers by some one stealthily opening the sliding door which led into his room, and rousing himself with an effort, he beheld a beautiful young girl, fifteen years of age, who, making signs to him not to stir, came up to his bedside, and said to him in a whisper-- "Sir, the master of this house is the chief of a gang of robbers, who have been plotting to murder you this night for the sake of your clothes and your sword. As for me, I am the daughter of a rich merchant in Mikawa: last year the robbers came to our house, and carried off my father's treasure and myself. I pray you, sir, take me with you, and let us fly from this dreadful place." She wept as she spoke, and Gompachi was at first too much startled to answer; but being a youth of high courage and a cunning fencer to boot, he soon recovered his presence of mind, and determined to kill the robbers, and to deliver the girl out of their hands. So he replied-- "Since you say so, I will kill these thieves, and rescue you this very night; only do you, when I begin the fight, run outside the house, that you may be out of harm's way, and remain in hiding until I join you." Upon this understanding the maiden left him, and went her way. But he lay awake, holding his breath and watching; and when the thieves crept noiselessly into the room, where they supposed him to be fast asleep, he cut down the first man that entered, and stretched him dead at his feet. The other nine, seeing this, laid about them with their drawn swords, but Gompachi, fighting with desperation, mastered them at last, and slew them. After thus ridding himself of his enemies, he went outside the house and called to the girl, who came running to his side, and joyfully travelled on with him to Mikawa, where her father dwelt; and when they reached Mikawa, he took the maiden to the old man's house, and told him how, when he had fallen among thieves, his daughter had come to him in his hour of peril, and saved him out of her great pity; and how he, in return, rescuing her from her servitude, had brought her back to her home. When the old folks saw their daughter whom they had lost restored to them, they were beside themselves with joy, and shed tears for very happiness; and, in their gratitude, they pressed Gompachi to remain with them, and they prepared feasts for him, and entertained him hospitably: but their daughter, who had fallen in love with him for his beauty and knightly valour, spent her days in thinking of him, and of him alone. The young man, however, in spite of the kindness of the old merchant, who wished to adopt him as his son, and tried hard to persuade him to consent to this, was fretting to go to Yedo and take service as an officer in the household of some noble lord; so he resisted the entreaties of the father and the soft speeches of the daughter, and made ready to start on his journey; and the old merchant, seeing that he would not be turned from his purpose, gave him a parting gift of two hundred ounces of silver, and sorrowfully bade him farewell. [Illustration: GOMPACHI AWAKENED BY THE MAIDEN IN THE ROBBERS' DEN.] But alas for the grief of the maiden, who sat sobbing her heart out and mourning over her lover's departure! He, all the while thinking more of ambition than of love, went to her and comforted her, and said: "Dry your eyes, sweetheart, and weep no more, for I shall soon come back to you. Do you, in the meanwhile, be faithful and true to me, and tend your parents with filial piety." So she wiped away her tears and smiled again, when she heard him promise that he would soon return to her. And Gompachi went his way, and in due time came near to Yedo. But his dangers were not yet over; for late one night, arriving at a place called Suzugamori, in the neighbourhood of Yedo, he fell in with six highwaymen, who attacked him, thinking to make short work of killing and robbing him. Nothing daunted, he drew his sword, and dispatched two out of the six; but, being weary and worn out with his long journey, he was sorely pressed, and the struggle was going hard with him, when a wardsman,[12] who happened to pass that way riding in a chair, seeing the affray, jumped down from his chair and drawing his dirk came to the rescue, and between them they put the robbers to flight. [Footnote 12: Japanese cities are divided into wards, and every tradesman and artisan is under the authority of the chief of the ward in which he resides. The word _chônin_, or wardsman, is generally used in contradistinction to the word _samurai_, which has already been explained as denoting a man belonging to the military class.] Now it turned out that this kind tradesman, who had so happily come to the assistance of Gompachi, was no other than Chôbei of Bandzuin, the chief of the _Otokodaté_, or Friendly Society of the wardsmen of Yedo--a man famous in the annals of the city, whose life, exploits, and adventures are recited to this day, and form the subject of another tale. When the highwaymen had disappeared, Gompachi, turning to his deliverer, said-- "I know not who you may be, sir, but I have to thank you for rescuing me from a great danger." And as he proceeded to express his gratitude, Chôbei replied-- "I am but a poor wardsman, a humble man in my way, sir; and if the robbers ran away, it was more by good luck than owing to any merit of mine. But I am filled with admiration at the way you fought; you displayed a courage and a skill that were beyond your years, sir." "Indeed," said the young man, smiling with pleasure at hearing himself praised; "I am still young and inexperienced, and am quite ashamed of my bungling style of fencing." "And now may I ask you, sir, whither you are bound?" "That is almost more than I know myself, for I am a _rônin,_ and have no fixed purpose in view." "That is a bad job," said Chôbei, who felt pity for the lad. "However, if you will excuse my boldness in making such an offer, being but a wardsman, until you shall have taken service I would fain place my poor house at your disposal." Gompachi accepted the offer of his new but trusty friend with thanks; so Chôbei led him to his house, where he lodged him and hospitably entertained him for some months. And now Gompachi, being idle and having nothing to care for, fell into bad ways, and began to lead a dissolute life, thinking of nothing but gratifying his whims and passions; he took to frequenting the Yoshiwara, the quarter of the town which is set aside for tea-houses and other haunts of wild young men, where his handsome face and figure attracted attention, and soon made him a great favourite with all the beauties of the neighbourhood. About this time men began to speak loud in praise of the charms of Komurasaki, or "Little Purple," a young girl who had recently come to the Yoshiwara, and who in beauty and accomplishments outshone all her rivals. Gompachi, like the rest of the world, heard so much of her fame that he determined to go to the house where she dwelt, at the sign of "The Three Sea-coasts," and judge for himself whether she deserved all that men said of her. Accordingly he set out one day, and having arrived at "The Three Sea-coasts," asked to see Komurasaki; and being shown into the room where she was sitting, advanced towards her; but when their eyes met, they both started back with a cry of astonishment, for this Komurasaki, the famous beauty of the Yoshiwara, proved to be the very girl whom several months before Gompachi had rescued from the robbers' den, and restored to her parents in Mikawa. He had left her in prosperity and affluence, the darling child of a rich father, when they had exchanged vows of love and fidelity; and now they met in a common stew in Yedo. What a change! what a contrast! How had the riches turned to rust, the vows to lies! "What is this?" cried Gompachi, when he had recovered from his surprise. "How is it that I find you here pursuing this vile calling, in the Yoshiwara? Pray explain this to me, for there is some mystery beneath all this which I do not understand." But Komurasaki--who, having thus unexpectedly fallen in with her lover that she had yearned for, was divided between joy and shame--answered, weeping-- "Alas! my tale is a sad one, and would be long to tell. After you left us last year, calamity and reverses fell upon our house; and when my parents became poverty-stricken, I was at my wits' end to know how to support them: so I sold this wretched body of mine to the master of this house, and sent the money to my father and mother; but, in spite of this, troubles and misfortunes multiplied upon them, and now, at last, they have died of misery and grief. And, oh! lives there in this wide world so unhappy a wretch as I! But now that I have met you again--you who are so strong--help me who am weak. You saved me once--do not, I implore you, desert me now!!" and as she told her piteous tale the tears streamed from her eyes. "This is, indeed, a sad story," replied Gompachi, much affected by the recital. "There must have been a wonderful run of bad luck to bring such misfortune upon your house, which but a little while ago I recollect so prosperous. However, mourn no more, for I will not forsake you. It is true that I am too poor to redeem you from your servitude, but at any rate I will contrive so that you shall be tormented no more. Love me, therefore, and put your trust in me." When she heard him speak so kindly she was comforted, and wept no more, but poured out her whole heart to him, and forgot her past sorrows in the great joy of meeting him again. When it became time for them to separate, he embraced her tenderly and returned to Chôbei's house; but he could not banish Komurasaki from his mind, and all day long he thought of her alone; and so it came about that he went daily to the Yoshiwara to see her, and if any accident detained him, she, missing the accustomed visit, would become anxious and write to him to inquire the cause of his absence. At last, pursuing this course of life, his stock of money ran short, and as, being a _rônin_ and without any fixed employment, he had no means of renewing his supplies, he was ashamed of showing himself penniless at "The Three Sea-coasts." Then it was that a wicked spirit arose within him, and he went out and murdered a man, and having robbed him of his money carried it to the Yoshiwara. From bad to worse is an easy step, and the tiger that has once tasted blood is dangerous. Blinded and infatuated by his excessive love, Gompachi kept on slaying and robbing, so that, while his outer man was fair to look upon, the heart within him was that of a hideous devil. At last his friend Chôbei could no longer endure the sight of him, and turned him out of his house; and as, sooner or later, virtue and vice meet with their reward, it came to pass that Gompachi's crimes became notorious, and the Government having set spies upon his track, he was caught red-handed and arrested; and his evil deeds having been fully proved against him, he was carried off to the execution ground at Suzugamori, the "Bell Grove," and beheaded as a common male-factor. Now when Gompachi was dead, Chôbei's old affection for the young man returned, and, being a kind and pious man, he went and claimed his body and head, and buried him at Meguro, in the grounds of the Temple called Boronji. When Komurasaki heard the people at Yoshiwara gossiping about her lover's end, her grief knew no bounds, so she fled secretly from "The Three Sea-coasts," and came to Meguro and threw herself upon the newly-made grave. Long she prayed and bitterly she wept over the tomb of him whom, with all his faults, she had loved so well, and then, drawing a dagger from her girdle, she plunged it in her breast and died. The priests of the temple, when they saw what had happened, wondered greatly and were astonished at the loving faithfulness of this beautiful girl, and taking compassion on her, they laid her side by side with Gompachi in one grave, and over the grave they placed a stone which remains to this day, bearing the inscription "The Tomb of the Shiyoku." And still the people of Yedo visit the place, and still they praise the beauty of Gompachi and the filial piety and fidelity of Komurasaki. Let us linger for a moment longer in the old graveyard. The word which I have translated a few lines above as "loving faithfulness" means literally "chastity." When Komurasaki sold herself to supply the wants of her ruined parents, she was not, according to her lights, forfeiting her claim to virtue. On the contrary, she could perform no greater act of filial piety, and, so far from incurring reproach among her people, her self-sacrifice would be worthy of all praise in their eyes. This idea has led to grave misunderstanding abroad, and indeed no phase of Japanese life has been so misrepresented as this. I have heard it stated, and seen it printed, that it is no disgrace for a respectable Japanese to sell his daughter, that men of position and family often choose their wives from such places as "The Three Sea-coasts," and that up to the time of her marriage the conduct of a young girl is a matter of no importance whatever. Nothing could be more unjust or more untrue. It is only the neediest people that sell their children to be waitresses, singers, or prostitutes. It does occasionally happen that the daughter of a _Samurai_, or gentleman, is found in a house of ill-fame, but such a case could only occur at the death or utter ruin of the parents, and an official investigation of the matter has proved it to be so exceptional, that the presence of a young lady in such a place is an enormous attraction, her superior education and accomplishments shedding a lustre over the house. As for gentlemen marrying women of bad character, are not such things known in Europe? Do ladies of the _demi-monde_ never make good marriages? _Mésalliances_ are far rarer in Japan than with us. Certainly among the lowest class of the population such, marriages may occasionally occur, for it often happens that a woman can lay by a tempting dowry out of her wretched earnings-, but amongst the gentry of the country they are unknown. And yet a girl is not disgraced if for her parents' sake she sells herself to a life of misery so great, that, when a Japanese enters a house of ill-fame, he is forced to leave his sword and dirk at the door for two reasons--first, to prevent brawling; secondly, because it is known that some of the women inside so loathe their existence that they would put an end to it, could they get hold of a weapon. It is a curious fact that in all the Daimio's castle-towns, with the exception of some which are also seaports, open prostitution is strictly forbidden, although, if report speaks truly, public morality rather suffers than gains by the prohibition. The misapprehension which exists upon the subject of prostitution in Japan may be accounted for by the fact that foreign writers, basing their judgment upon the vice of the open ports, have not hesitated to pronounce the Japanese women unchaste. As fairly might a Japanese, writing about England, argue from the street-walkers of Portsmouth or Plymouth to the wives, sisters, and daughters of these very authors. In some respects the gulf fixed between virtue and vice in Japan is even greater than in England. The Eastern courtesan is confined to a certain quarter of the town, and distinguished by a peculiarly gaudy costume, and by a head-dress which consists of a forest of light tortoiseshell hair-pins, stuck round her head like a saint's glory--a glory of shame which a modest woman would sooner die than wear. Vice jostling virtue in the public places; virtue imitating the fashions set by vice, and buying trinkets or furniture at the sale of vice's effects--these are social phenomena which the East knows not. The custom prevalent among the lower orders of bathing in public bath-houses without distinction of the sexes, is another circumstance which has tended to spread abroad very false notions upon the subject of the chastity of the Japanese women. Every traveller is shocked by it, and every writer finds in it matter for a page of pungent description. Yet it is only those who are so poor (and they must be poor indeed) that they cannot afford a bath at home, who, at the end of their day's work, go to the public bath-house to refresh themselves before sitting down to their evening meal: having been used to the scene from their childhood, they see no indelicacy in it; it is a matter of course, and _honi soit qui mal y pense_: certainly there is far less indecency and immorality resulting from this public bathing, than from the promiscuous herding together of all sexes and ages which disgraces our own lodging-houses in the great cities, and the hideous hovels in which some of our labourers have to pass their lives; nor can it be said that there is more confusion of sexes amongst the lowest orders in Japan than in Europe. Speaking upon the subject once with a Japanese gentleman, I observed that we considered it an act of indecency for men and women to wash together. He shrugged his shoulders as he answered, "But then Westerns have such prurient minds." Some time ago, at the open port of Yokohama, the Government, out of deference to the prejudices of foreigners, forbade the men and women to bathe together, and no doubt this was the first step towards putting down the practice altogether: as for women tubbing in the open streets of Yedo, I have read of such things in books written by foreigners; but during a residence of three years and a half, in which time I crossed and recrossed every part of the great city at all hours of the day, I never once saw such a sight. I believe myself that it can only be seen at certain hot mineral springs in remote country districts. The best answer to the general charge of immorality which has been brought against the Japanese women during their period of unmarried life, lies in the fact that every man who can afford to do so keeps the maidens of his family closely guarded in the strictest seclusion. The daughter of poverty, indeed, must work and go abroad, but not a man is allowed to approach the daughter of a gentleman; and she is taught that if by accident any insult should be offered to her, the knife which she carries at her girdle is meant for use, and not merely as a badge of her rank. Not long ago a tragedy took place in the house of one of the chief nobles in Yedo. One of My Lady's tire-women, herself a damsel of gentle blood, and gifted with rare beauty, had attracted the attention of a retainer in the palace, who fell desperately in love with her. For a long time the strict rules of decorum by which she was hedged in prevented him from declaring his passion; but at last he contrived to gain access to her presence, and so far forgot himself, that she, drawing her poniard, stabbed him in the eye, so that he was carried off fainting, and presently died. The girl's declaration, that the dead man had attempted to insult her, was held to be sufficient justification of her deed, and, instead of being blamed, she was praised and extolled for her valour and chastity. As the affair had taken place within the four walls of a powerful noble, there was no official investigation into the matter, with which the authorities of the palace were competent to deal. The truth of this story was vouched for by two or three persons whose word I have no reason to doubt, and who had themselves been mixed up in it; I can bear witness that it is in complete harmony with Japanese ideas; and certainly it seems more just that Lucretia should kill Tarquin than herself. The better the Japanese people come to be known and understood, the more, I am certain, will it be felt that a great injustice has been done them in the sweeping attacks which have been made upon their women. Writers are agreed, I believe, that their matrons are, as a rule, without reproach. If their maidens are chaste, as I contend that from very force of circumstances they cannot help being, what becomes of all these charges of vice and immodesty? Do they not rather recoil upon the accusers, who would appear to have studied the Japanese woman only in the harlot of Yokohama? Having said so much, I will now try to give some account of the famous Yoshiwara[13] of Yedo, to which frequent allusion will have to be made in the course of these tales. [Footnote 13: The name Yoshiwara, which is becoming generic for "Flower Districts,"--_Anglicé_, quarters occupied by brothels,--is sometimes derived from the town Yoshiwara, in Sunshine, because it was said that the women of that place furnished a large proportion of the beauties of the Yedo Yoshiwara. The correct derivation is probably that given below.] At the end of the sixteenth century the courtesans of Yedo lived in three special places: these were the street called Kôji-machi, in which dwelt the women who came from Kiôto; the Kamakura Street, and a spot opposite the great bridge, in which last two places lived women brought from Suruga. Besides these there afterwards came women from Fushimi and from Nara, who lodged scattered here and there throughout the town. This appears to have scandalized a certain reformer, named Shôji Jinyémon, who, in the year 1612, addressed a memorial to the Government, petitioning that the women who lived in different parts of the town should be collected in one "Flower Quarter." His petition was granted in the year 1617, and he fixed upon a place called Fukiyacho, which, on account of the quantities of rushes which grew there, was named _Yoshi-Wara,_ or the rush-moor, a name which now-a-days, by a play upon the word _yoshi,_ is written with two Chinese characters, signifying the "good," or "lucky moor." The place was divided into four streets, called the Yedo Street, the Second Yedo Street, the Kiôto Street, and the Second Kiôto Street. In the eighth month of the year 1655, when Yedo was beginning to increase in size and importance, the Yoshiwara, preserving its name, was transplanted bodily to the spot which it now occupies at the northern end of the town. And the streets in it were named after the places from which the greater number of their inhabitants originally came, as the "Sakai Street," the "Fushimi Street," &c. The official Guide to the Yoshiwara for 1869 gives a return of 153 brothels, containing 3,289 courtesans of all classes, from the _Oiran_, or proud beauty, who, dressed up in gorgeous brocade of gold and silver, with painted face and gilded lips, and with her teeth fashionably blacked, has all the young bloods of Yedo at her feet, down to the humble _Shinzo_, or white-toothed woman, who rots away her life in the common stews. These figures do not, however, represent the whole of the prostitution of Yedo; the Yoshiwara is the chief, but not the only, abiding-place of the public women. At Fukagawa there is another Flower District, built upon the same principle as the Yoshiwara; while at Shinagawa, Shinjiku, Itabashi, Senji, and Kadzukappara, the hotels contain women who, nominally only waitresses, are in reality prostitutes. There are also women called _Jigoku-Omna,_ or hell-women, who, without being borne on the books of any brothel, live in their own houses, and ply their trade in secret. On the whole, I believe the amount of prostitution in Yedo to be wonderfully small, considering the vast size of the city. There are 394 tea-houses in the Yoshiwara, which are largely used as places of assignation, and which on those occasions are paid, not by the visitors frequenting them, but by the keepers of the brothels. It is also the fashion to give dinners and drinking-parties at these houses, for which the services of _Taikomochi_, or jesters, among whom there are thirty-nine chief celebrities, and of singing and dancing girls, are retained. The Guide to the Yoshiwara gives a list of fifty-five famous singing-girls, besides a host of minor stars. These women are not to be confounded with the courtesans. Their conduct is very closely watched by their masters, and they always go out to parties in couples or in bands, so that they may be a check upon one another. Doubtless, however, in spite of all precautions, the shower of gold does from time to time find its way to Danaë's lap; and to be the favoured lover of a fashionable singer or dancer is rather a feather in the cap of a fast young Japanese gentleman. The fee paid to singing-girls for performing during a space of two hours is one shilling and fourpence each; for six hours the fee is quadrupled, and it is customary to give the girls a _hana_, or present, for themselves, besides their regular pay, which goes to the master of the troupe to which they belong. Courtesans, singing women, and dancers are bought by contractors, either as children, when they are educated for their calling, or at a more advanced age, when their accomplishments and charms render them desirable investments. The engagement is never made life-long, for once past the flower of their youth the poor creatures would be mere burthens upon their masters; a courtesan is usually bought until she shall have reached the age of twenty-seven, after which she becomes her own property. Singers remain longer in harness, but even they rarely work after the age of thirty, for Japanese women, like Italians, age quickly, and have none of that intermediate stage between youth and old age, which seems to be confined to countries where there is a twilight. Children destined to be trained as singers are usually bought when they are five or six years old, a likely child fetching from about thirty-five to fifty shillings; the purchaser undertakes the education of his charge, and brings the little thing up as his own child. The parents sign a paper absolving him from all responsibility in case of sickness or accident; but they know that their child will be well treated and cared for, the interests of the buyer being their material guarantee. Girls of fifteen or upwards who are sufficiently accomplished to join a company of singers fetch ten times the price paid for children; for in their case there is no risk and no expense of education. Little children who are bought for purposes of prostitution at the age of five or six years fetch about the same price as those that are bought to be singers. During their novitiate they are employed to wait upon the _Oiran_, or fashionable courtesans, in the capacity of little female pages (_Kamuro_). They are mostly the children of distressed persons, or orphans, whom their relatives cruelly sell rather than be at the expense and trouble of bringing them up. Of the girls who enter the profession later in life, some are orphans, who have no other means of earning a livelihood; others sell their bodies out of filial piety, that they may succour their sick or needy parents; others are married women, who enter the Yoshiwara to supply the wants of their husbands; and a very small proportion is recruited from girls who have been seduced and abandoned, perhaps sold, by faithless lovers. The time to see the Yoshiwara to the best advantage is just after nightfall, when the lamps are lighted. Then it is that the women--who for the last two hours have been engaged in gilding their lips and painting their eyebrows black, and their throats and bosoms a snowy white, carefully leaving three brown Van-dyke-collar points where the back of the head joins the neck, in accordance with one of the strictest rules of Japanese cosmetic science--leave the back rooms, and take their places, side by side, in a kind of long narrow cage, the wooden bars of which open on to the public thoroughfare. Here they sit for hours, gorgeous in dresses of silk and gold and silver embroidery, speechless and motionless as wax figures, until they shall have attracted the attention of some of the passers-by, who begin to throng the place. At Yokohama indeed, and at the other open ports, the women of the Yoshiwara are loud in their invitations to visitors, frequently relieving the monotony of their own language by some blasphemous term of endearment picked up from British and American seamen; but in the Flower District at Yedo, and wherever Japanese customs are untainted, the utmost decorum prevails. Although the shape which vice takes is ugly enough, still it has this merit, that it is unobtrusive. Never need the pure be contaminated by contact with the impure; he who goes to the Yoshiwara, goes there knowing full well what he will find, but the virtuous man may live through his life without having this kind of vice forced upon his sight. Here again do the open ports contrast unfavourably with other places: Yokohama at night is as leprous a place as the London Haymarket.[14] [Footnote 14: Those who are interested in this branch of social science, will find much curious information upon the subject of prostitution in Japan in a pamphlet published at Yokohama, by Dr. Newton, R.N., a philanthropist who has been engaged for the last two years in establishing a Lock Hospital at that place. In spite of much opposition, from prejudice and ignorance, his labours have been crowned by great success.] A public woman or singer on entering her profession assumes a _nom de guerre_, by which she is known until her engagement is at an end. Some of these names are so pretty and quaint that I will take a few specimens from the _Yoshiwara Saiken_, the guidebook upon which this notice is based. "Little Pine," "Little Butterfly," "Brightness of the Flowers," "The Jewel River," "Gold Mountain," "Pearl Harp," "The Stork that lives a Thousand Years," "Village of Flowers," "Sea Beach," "The Little Dragon," "Little Purple," "Silver," "Chrysanthemum," "Waterfall," "White Brightness," "Forest of Cherries,"--these and a host of other quaint conceits are the one prettiness of a very foul place. KAZUMA'S REVENGE It is a law that he who lives by the sword shall die by the sword. In Japan, where there exists a large armed class over whom there is practically little or no control, party and clan broils, and single quarrels ending in bloodshed and death, are matters of daily occurrence; and it has been observed that Edinburgh in the olden time, when the clansmen, roistering through the streets at night, would pass from high words to deadly blows, is perhaps the best European parallel of modern Yedo or Kiôto. It follows that of all his possessions the Samurai sets most store by his sword, his constant companion, his ally, defensive and offensive. The price of a sword by a famous maker reaches a high sum: a Japanese noble will sometimes be found girding on a sword, the blade of which unmounted is worth from six hundred to a thousand riyos, say from £200 to £300, and the mounting, rich in cunning metal work, will be of proportionate value. These swords are handed down as heirlooms from father to son, and become almost a part of the wearer's own self. Iyéyasu, the founder of the last dynasty of Shoguns, wrote in his Legacy,[15] a code of rules drawn up for the guidance of his successors and their advisers in the government, "The girded sword is the living soul of the Samurai. In the case of a Samurai forgetting his sword, act as is appointed: it may not be overlooked." [Footnote 15: _The Legacy of Iyéyasu_, translated by F. Lowder. Yokohama, 1868. (Printed for private circulation.)] The occupation of a swordsmith is an honourable profession, the members of which are men of gentle blood. In a country where trade is looked down upon as degrading, it is strange to find this single exception to the general rule. The traditions of the craft are many and curious. During the most critical moment of the forging of the sword, when the steel edge is being welded into the body of the iron blade, it is a custom which still obtains among old-fashioned armourers to put on the cap and robes worn by the Kugé, or nobles of the Mikado's court, and, closing the doors of the workshop, to labour in secrecy and freedom from interruption, the half gloom adding to the mystery of the operation. Sometimes the occasion is even invested with a certain sanctity, a tasselled cord of straw, such as is hung before the shrines of the Kami, or native gods of Japan, being suspended between two bamboo poles in the forge, which for the nonce is converted into a holy altar. At Osaka, I lived opposite to one Kusano Yoshiaki, a swordsmith, a most intelligent and amiable gentleman, who was famous throughout his neighbourhood for his good and charitable deeds. His idea was that, having been bred up to a calling which trades in life and death, he was bound, so far as in him lay, to atone for this by seeking to alleviate the suffering which is in the world; and he carried out his principle to the extent of impoverishing himself. No neighbour ever appealed to him in vain for help in tending the sick or burying the dead. No beggar or lazar was ever turned from his door without receiving some mark of his bounty, whether in money or in kind. Nor was his scrupulous honesty less remarkable than his charity. While other smiths are in the habit of earning large sums of money by counterfeiting the marks of the famous makers of old, he was able to boast that he had never turned out a weapon which bore any other mark than his own. From his father and his forefathers he inherited his trade, which, in his turn, he will hand over to his son--a hard-working, honest, and sturdy man, the clank of whose hammer and anvil may be heard from daybreak to sundown. [Illustration: FORGING THE SWORD.] The trenchant edge of the Japanese sword is notorious. It is said that the best blades will in the hands of an expert swordsman cut through the dead bodies of three men, laid one upon the other, at a blow. The swords of the Shogun used to be tried upon the corpses of executed criminals; the public headsman was entrusted with the duty, and for a "nose medicine," or bribe of two bus (about three shillings), would substitute the weapon of a private individual for that of his Lord. Dogs and beggars, lying helpless by the roadside, not unfrequently serve to test a ruffian's sword; but the executioner earns many a fee from those who wish to see how their blades will cut off a head. The statesman who shall enact a law forbidding the carrying of this deadly weapon will indeed have deserved well of his country; but it will be a difficult task to undertake, and a dangerous one. I would not give much for that man's life. The hand of every swashbuckler in the empire would be against him. One day as we were talking over this and other kindred subjects, a friend of mine, a man of advanced and liberal views, wrote down his opinion, _more Japonico_, in a verse of poetry which ran as follows:--"I would that all the swords and dirks in the country might be collected in one place and molten down, and that, from the metal so produced, one huge sword might be forged, which, being the only blade left, should be the girded sword of Great Japan." The following history is in more senses than one a "Tale of a Sword." About two hundred and fifty years ago Ikéda Kunaishôyu was Lord of the Province of Inaba. Among his retainers were two gentlemen, named Watanabé Yukiyé and Kawai Matazayémon, who were bound together by strong ties of friendship, and were in the habit of frequently visiting at one another's houses. One day Yukiyé was sitting conversing with Matazayémon in the house of the latter, when, on a sudden, a sword that was lying in the raised part of the room caught his eye. As he saw it, he started and said-- "Pray tell me, how came you by that sword?" "Well, as you know, when my Lord Ikéda followed my Lord Tokugawa Iyéyasu to fight at Nagakudé, my father went in his train; and it was at the battle of Nagakudé that he picked up this sword." "My father went too, and was killed in the fight, and this sword, which was an heirloom in our family for many generations, was lost at that time. As it is of great value in my eyes, I do wish that, if you set no special store by it, you would have the great kindness to return it to me." "That is a very easy matter, and no more than what one friend should do by another. Pray take it." Upon this Yukiyé gratefully took the sword, and having carried it home put it carefully away. At the beginning of the ensuing year Matazayémon fell sick and died, and Yukiyé, mourning bitterly for the loss of his good friend, and anxious to requite the favour which he had received in the matter of his father's sword, did many acts of kindness to the dead man's son--a young man twenty-two years of age, named Matagorô. Now this Matagorô was a base-hearted cur, who had begrudged the sword that his father had given to Yukiyé, and complained publicly and often that Yukiyé had never made any present in return; and in this way Yukiyé got a bad name in my Lord's palace as a stingy and illiberal man. But Yukiyé had a son, called Kazuma, a youth sixteen years of age, who served as one of the Prince's pages of honour. One evening, as he and one of his brother pages were talking together, the latter said-- "Matagorô is telling everybody that your father accepted a handsome sword from him and never made him any present in return, and people are beginning to gossip about it." "Indeed," replied the other, "my father received that sword from Matagorô's father as a mark of friendship and good-will, and, considering that it would be an insult to send a present of money in return, thought to return the favour by acts of kindness towards Matagorô. I suppose it is money he wants." When Kazuma's service was over, he returned home, and went to his father's room to tell him the report that was being spread in the palace, and begged him to send an ample present of money to Matagorô. Yukryé reflected for a while, and said-- "You are too young to understand the right line of conduct in such matters. Matagorô's father and myself were very close friends; so, seeing that he had ungrudgingly given me back the sword of my ancestors, I, thinking to requite his kindness at his death, rendered important services to Matagorô. It would be easy to finish the matter by sending a present of money; but I had rather take the sword and return it than be under an obligation to this mean churl, who knows not the laws which regulate the intercourse and dealings of men of gentle blood." So Yukiyé, in his anger, took the sword to Matagorô's house, and said to him-- "I have come to your house this night for no other purpose than to restore to you the sword which your father gave me;" and with this he placed the sword before Matagorô. "Indeed," replied the other, "I trust that you will not pain me by returning a present which my father made you." "Amongst men of gentle birth," said Yukiyé, laughing scornfully, "it is the custom to requite presents, in the first place by kindness, and afterwards by a suitable gift offered with a free heart. But it is no use talking to such as you, who are ignorant of the first principles of good breeding; so I have the honour to give you back the sword." As Yukiyé went on bitterly to reprove Matagorô, the latter waxed very wroth, and, being a ruffian, would have killed Yukiyé on the spot; but he, old man as he was, was a skilful swordsman, so Matagorô, craven-like, determined to wait until he could attack him unawares. Little suspecting any treachery, Yukiyé started to return home, and Matagorô, under the pretence of attending him to the door, came behind him with his sword drawn and cut him in the shoulder. The older man, turning round, drew and defended himself; but having received a severe wound in the first instance, he fainted away from loss of blood, and Matagorô slew him. The mother of Matagorô, startled by the noise, came out; and when she saw what had been done, she was afraid, and said--"Passionate man! what have you done? You are a murderer; and now your life will be forfeit. What terrible deed is this!" "I have killed him now, and there's nothing to be done. Come, mother, before the matter becomes known, let us fly together from this house." "I will follow you; do you go and seek out my Lord Abé Shirogorô, a chief among the Hatamotos,[16] who was my foster-child. You had better fly to him for protection, and remain in hiding." [Footnote 16: _Hatamotos._ The Hatamotos were the feudatory nobles of the Shogun or Tycoon. The office of Taikun having been abolished, the Hatamotos no longer exist. For further information respecting them, see the note at the end of the story.] So the old woman persuaded her son to make his escape, and sent him to the palace of Shirogorô. Now it happened that at this time the Hatamotos had formed themselves into a league against the powerful Daimios; and Abé Shirogorô, with two other noblemen, named Kondô Noborinosuké and Midzuno Jiurozayémon, was at the head of the league. It followed, as a matter of course, that his forces were frequently recruited by vicious men, who had no means of gaining their living, and whom he received and entreated kindly without asking any questions as to their antecedents; how much the more then, on being applied to for an asylum by the son of his own foster-mother, did he willingly extend his patronage to him, and guarantee him against all danger. So he called a meeting of the principal Hatamotos, and introduced Matagorô to them, saying--"This man is a retainer of Ikéda Kunaishôyu, who, having cause of hatred against a man named Watanabé Yukiyé, has slain him, and has fled to me for protection; this man's mother suckled me when I was an infant, and, right or wrong, I will befriend him. If, therefore, Ikéda Kunaishôyu should send to require me to deliver him up, I trust that you will one and all put forth your strength and help me to defend him." "Ay! that will we, with pleasure!" replied Kondô Noborinosuké. "We have for some time had cause to complain of the scorn with which the Daimios have treated us. Let Ikéda Kunaishôyu send to claim this man, and we will show him the power of the Hatamotos." All the other Hatamotos, with one accord, applauded this determination, and made ready their force for an armed resistance, should my Lord Kunaishôyu send to demand the surrender of Matugorô. But the latter remained as a welcome guest in the house of Abé Shirogorô. [Illustration: MATAGORÔ KILLS YUKIYÉ.] Now when Watanabé Kazuma saw that, as the night advanced, his father Yukiyé did not return home, he became anxious, and went to the house of Matagorô to seek for him, and finding to his horror that he was murdered, fell upon the corpse and, embraced it, weeping. On a sudden, it flashed across him that this must assuredly be the handiwork of Matagorô; so he rushed furiously into the house, determined to kill his father's murderer upon the spot. But Matagorô had already fled, and he found only the mother, who was making her preparations for following her son to the house of Abé Shirogorô: so he bound the old woman, and searched all over the house for her son; but, seeing that his search was fruitless, he carried off the mother, and handed her over to one of the elders of the clan, at the same time laying information against Matagorô as his father's murderer. When the affair was reported to the Prince, he was very angry, and ordered that the old woman should remain bound and be cast into prison until the whereabouts of her son should be discovered. Then Kazuma buried his father's corpse with great pomp, and the widow and the orphan mourned over their loss. It soon became known amongst the people of Abé Shirogorô that the mother of Matagorô had been imprisoned for her son's crime, and they immediately set about planning her rescue; so they sent to the palace of my Lord Kunaishôyu a messenger, who, when he was introduced to the councillor of the Prince, said-- "We have heard that, in consequence of the murder of Yukiyé, my lord has been pleased to imprison the mother of Matagorô. Our master Shirogorô has arrested the criminal, and will deliver him up to you. But the mother has committed no crime, so we pray that she may be released from a cruel imprisonment: she was the foster-mother of our master, and he would fain intercede to save her life. Should you consent to this, we, on our side, will give up the murderer, and hand him over to you in front of our master's gate to-morrow." The councillor repeated this message to the Prince, who, in his pleasure at being able to give Kazuma his revenge on the morrow, immediately agreed to the proposal, and the messenger returned triumphant at the success of the scheme. On the following day, the Prince ordered the mother of Matagorô to be placed in a litter and carried to the Hatamoto's dwelling, in charge of a retainer named Sasawo Danyémon, who, when he arrived at the door of Abé Shirogorô's house, said-- "I am charged to hand over to you the mother of Matagorô, and, in exchange, I am authorized to receive her son at your hands." "We will immediately give him up to you; but, as the mother and son are now about to bid an eternal farewell to one another, we beg you to be so kind as to tarry a little." With this the retainers of Shirogorô led the old woman inside their master's house, and Sasawo Danyémon remained waiting outside, until at last he grew impatient, and ventured to hurry on the people within. "We return you many thanks," replied they, "for your kindness in bringing us the mother; but, as the son cannot go with you at present, you had better return home as quickly as possible. We are afraid we have put you to much trouble." And so they mocked him. When Danyémon saw that he had not only been cheated into giving up the old woman, but was being made a laughing-stock of into the bargain, he flew into a great rage, and thought to break into the house and seize Matagorô and his mother by force; but, peeping into the courtyard, he saw that it was filled with Hatamotos, carrying guns and naked swords. Not caring then to die fighting a hopeless battle, and at the same time feeling that, after having been so cheated, he would be put to shame before his lord, Sasawo Danyémon went to the burial-place of his ancestors, and disembowelled himself in front of their graves. [Illustration: THE DEATH OF DANYÉMON.] When the Prince heard how his messenger had been treated, he was indignant, and summoning his councillors resolved, although he was suffering from sickness, to collect his retainers and attack Abé Shirogorô; and the other chief Daimios, when the matter became publicly known, took up the cause, and determined that the Hatamotos must be chastised for their insolence. On their side, the Hatamotos put forth all their efforts to resist the Daimios. So Yedo became disturbed, and the riotous state of the city caused great anxiety to the Government, who took counsel together how they might restore peace. As the Hatamotos were directly under the orders of the Shogun, it was no difficult matter to put them down: the hard question to solve was how to put a restraint upon the great Daimios. However, one of the Gorôjin,[17] named Matsudaira Idzu no Kami, a man of great intelligence, hit upon a plan by which he might secure this end. [Footnote 17: The first Council of the Shogun's ministers; literally, "assembly of imperial elders."] There was at this time in the service of the Shogun a physician, named Nakarai Tsusen, who was in the habit of frequenting the palace of my Lord Kunaishôyu, and who for some time past had been treating him for the disease from which he was suffering. Idzu no Kami sent secretly for this physician, and, summoning him to his private room, engaged him in conversation, in the midst of which he suddenly dropped his voice and said to him in a whisper-- "Listen, Tsusen. You have received great favours at the hands of the Shogun. The Government is now sorely straitened: are you willing to carry your loyalty so far as to lay down your life on its behalf?" "Ay, my lord; for generations my forefathers have held their property by the grace of the Shogun. I am willing this night to lay down my life for my Prince, as a faithful vassal should." "Well, then, I will tell you. The great Daimios and the Hatamotos have fallen out about this affair of Matagorô, and lately it has seemed as if they meant to come to blows. The country will be agitated, and the farmers and townsfolk suffer great misery, if we cannot quell the tumult. The Hatamotos will be easily kept under, but it will be no light task to pacify the great Daimios. If you are willing to lay down your life in carrying out a stratagem of mine, peace will be restored to the country; but your loyalty will be your death." "I am ready to sacrifice my life in this service." "This is my plan. You have been attending my Lord Kunaishôyu in his sickness; to-morrow you must go to see him, and put poison in his physic. If we can kill him, the agitation will cease. This is the service which I ask of you." Tsusen agreed to undertake the deed; and on the following day, when he went to see Kunaishôyu, he carried with him poisoned drugs. Half the draught he drank himself,[18] and thus put the Prince off his guard, so that he swallowed the remainder fearlessly. Tsusen, seeing this, hurried away, and as he was carried home in his litter the death-agony seized him, and he died, vomiting blood. [Footnote 18: A physician attending a personage of exalted rank has always to drink half the potion he prescribes as a test of his good faith.] My Lord Kunaishôyu died in the same way in great torture, and in the confusion attending upon his death and funeral ceremonies the struggle which was impending with the Hatamotos was delayed. In the meanwhile the Gorôjiu Idzu no Kami summoned the three leaders of the Hatamotos and addressed them as follows-- "The secret plottings and treasonable, turbulent conduct of you three men, so unbecoming your position as Hatamotos, have enraged my lord the Shogun to such a degree, that he has been pleased to order that you be imprisoned in a temple, and that your patrimony be given over to your next heirs." Accordingly the three Hatamotos, after having been severely admonished, were confined in a temple called Kanyeiji; and the remaining Hatamotos, scared by this example, dispersed in peace. As for the great Daimios, inasmuch as after the death of my Lord Kunaishôyu the Hatamotos were all dispersed, there was no enemy left for them to fight with; so the tumult was quelled, and peace was restored. Thus it happened that Matagorô lost his patron; so, taking his mother with him, he went and placed himself under the protection of an old man named Sakurai Jiuzayémon. This old man was a famous teacher of lance exercise, and enjoyed both wealth and honour; so he took in Matagorô, and having engaged as a guard thirty Rônins, all resolute fellows and well skilled in the arts of war, they all fled together to a distant place called Sagara. All this time Watanabé Kazuma had been brooding over his father's death, and thinking how he should be revenged upon the murderer; so when my Lord Kunaishôyu suddenly died, he went to the young Prince who succeeded him and obtained leave of absence to go and seek out his father's enemy. Now Kazuma's elder sister was married to a man named Araki Matayémon, who at that time was famous as the first swordsman in Japan. As Kazuma was but sixteen years of age, this Matayémon, taking into consideration his near relationship as son-in-law to the murdered man, determined to go forth with the lad, as his guardian, and help him to seek out Matagorô; and two of Matayémon's retainers, named Ishidomé Busuké and Ikezoyé Magohachi, made up their minds, at all hazards, to follow their master. The latter, when he heard their intention, thanked them, but refused the offer, saying that as he was now about to engage in a vendetta in which his life would be continually in jeopardy, and as it would be a lasting grief to him should either of them receive a wound in such a service, he must beg them to renounce their intention; but they answered-- "Master, this is a cruel speech of yours. All these years have we received nought but kindness and favours at your hands; and now that you are engaged in the pursuit of this murderer, we desire to follow you, and, if needs must, to lay down our lives in your service. Furthermore, we have heard that the friends of this Matagorô are no fewer than thirty-six men; so, however bravely you may fight, you will be in peril from the superior numbers of your enemy. However, if you are pleased to persist in your refusal to take us, we have made up our minds that there is no resource for us but to disembowel ourselves on the spot." When Matayémon and Kazuma heard these words, they wondered at these faithful and brave men, and were moved to tears. Then Matayémon said-- "The kindness of you two brave fellows is without precedent. Well, then, I will accept your services gratefully." Then the two men, having obtained their wish, cheerfully followed their master; and the four set out together upon their journey to seek out Matagorô, of whose whereabouts they were completely ignorant. Matagorô in the meanwhile had made his way, with the old man Sakurai Jiuzayémon and his thirty Rônins, to Osaka. But, strong as they were in numbers, they travelled in great secrecy. The reason for this was that the old man's younger brother, Sakurai Jinsuké, a fencing-master by profession, had once had a fencing-match with Matayémon, Kazuma's brother-in-law, and had been shamefully beaten; so that the party were greatly afraid of Matayémon, and felt that, since he was taking up Kazuma's cause and acting as his guardian, they might be worsted in spite of their numbers: so they went on their way with great caution, and, having reached Osaka, put up at an inn in a quarter called Ikutama, and hid from Kazuma and Matayémon. The latter also in good time reached Osaka, and spared no pains to seek out Matagorô. One evening towards dusk, as Matayémon was walking in the quarter where the enemy were staying, he saw a man, dressed as a gentleman's servant, enter a cook-shop and order some buckwheat porridge for thirty-six men, and looking attentively at the man, he recognized him as the servant of Sakurai Jiuzayémon; so he hid himself in a dark place and watched, and heard the fellow say-- "My master, Sakurai Jiuzayémon, is about to start for Sagara to-morrow morning, to return thanks to the gods for his recovery from a sickness from which he has been suffering; so I am in a great hurry." With these words the servant hastened away; and Matayémon, entering the shop, called for some porridge, and as he ate it, made some inquiries as to the man who had just given so large an order for buckwheat porridge. The master of the shop answered that he was the attendant of a party of thirty-six gentlemen who were staying at such and such an inn. Then Matayémon, having found out all that he wanted to know, went home and told Kazuma, who was delighted at the prospect of carrying his revenge into execution on the morrow. That same evening Matayémon sent one of his two faithful retainers as a spy to the inn, to find out at what hour Matagorô was to set out on the following morning; and he ascertained from the servants of the inn, that the party was to start at daybreak for Sagara, stopping at Isé to worship at the shrine of Tershô Daijin.[19] [Footnote 19: Goddess of the sun, and ancestress of the Mikados.] Matayémon made his preparations accordingly, and, with Kazuma and his two retainers, started before dawn. Beyond Uyéno, in the province of Iga, the castle-town of the Daimio Tôdô Idzumi no Kami, there is a wide and lonely moor; and this was the place upon which they fixed for the attack upon the enemy. When they had arrived at the spot, Matayémon went into a tea-house by the roadside, and wrote a petition to the governor of the Daimio's castle-town for permission to carry out the vendetta within its precincts;[20] then he addressed Kazuma, and said-- "When we fall in with Matagorô and begin the fight, do you engage and slay your father's murderer; attack him and him only, and I will keep off his guard of Rônins;" then turning to his two retainers, "As for you, keep close to Kazuma; and should the Rônins attempt to rescue Matagorô, it will be your duty to prevent them, and succour Kazuma." And having further laid down each man's duties with great minuteness, they lay in wait for the arrival of the enemy. Whilst they were resting in the tea-house, the governor of the castle-town arrived, and, asking for Matayémou, said-- "I have the honour to be the governor of the castle-town of Tôdô Idzumi no Kami. My lord, having learnt your intention of slaying your enemy within the precincts of his citadel, gives his consent; and as a proof of his admiration of your fidelity and valour, he has further sent you a detachment of infantry, one hundred strong, to guard the place; so that should any of the thirty-six men attempt to escape, you may set your mind at ease, for flight will be impossible." [Footnote 20: "In respect to revenging injury done to master or father, it is granted by the wise and virtuous (Confucius) that you and the injurer cannot live together under the canopy of heaven. "A person harbouring such vengeance shall notify the same in writing to the Criminal Court; and although no check or hindrance may be offered to his carrying out his desire within the period allowed for that purpose, it is forbidden that the chastisement of an enemy be attended with riot. "Fellows who neglect to give notice of their intended revenge are like wolves of pretext, and their punishment or pardon should depend upon the circumstances of the case."--_Legacy of Iyéyasu_, ut suprà.] When Matayémon and Kazurna had expressed their thanks for his lordship's gracious kindness, the governor took his leave and returned home. At last the enemy's train was seen in the distance. First came Sakurai Jiuzayémon and his younger brother Jinsuké; and next to them followed Kawai Matagorô and Takénouchi Gentan. These four men, who were the bravest and the foremost of the band of Rônins, were riding on pack-horses, and the remainder were marching on foot, keeping close together. As they drew near, Kazuma, who was impatient to avenge his father, stepped boldly forward and shouted in a loud voice-- "Here stand I, Kazuma, the son of Yukiyé, whom you, Matagorô, treacherously slew, determined to avenge my father's death. Come forth, then, and do battle with me, and let us see which of us twain is the better man." And before the Rônins had recovered from their astonishment, Matayémon said-- "I, Araké Matayémon, the son-in-law of Yukiyé, have come to second Kazuma in his deed of vengeance. Win or lose, you must give us battle." When the thirty-six men heard the name of Matayémon, they were greatly afraid; but Sakurai Jiuzayémon urged them to be upon their guard, and leaped from his horse; and Matayémon, springing forward with his drawn sword, cleft him from the shoulder to the nipple of his breast, so that he fell dead. Sakurai Jinsuké, seeing his brother killed before his eyes, grew furious, and shot an arrow at Matayémon, who deftly cut the shaft in two with his dirk as it flew; and Jinsuké, amazed at this feat, threw away his bow and attacked Matayémon, who, with his sword in his right hand and his dirk in his left, fought with desperation. The other Rônins attempted to rescue Jinsuké, and, in the struggle, Kazuma, who had engaged Matagorô, became separated from Matayémon, whose two retainers, Busuké and Magohachi, bearing in mind their master's orders, killed five Rônins who had attacked Kazuma, but were themselves badly wounded. In the meantime, Matayémon, who had killed seven of the Rônins, and who the harder he was pressed the more bravely he fought, soon cut down three more, and the remainder dared not approach him. At this moment there came up one Kanô Tozayémon, a retainer of the lord of the castle-town, and an old friend of Matayémon, who, when he heard that Matayémon was this day about to avenge his father-in-law, had seized his spear and set out, for the sake of the good-will between them, to help him, and act as his second, and said-- "Sir Matayémon, hearing of the perilous adventure in which you have engaged, I have come out to offer myself as your second." Matayémon, hearing this, was rejoiced, and fought with renewed vigour. Then one of the Rônins, named Takénouchi Gentan, a very brave man, leaving his companions to do battle with Matayémon, came to the rescue of Matagorô, who was being hotly pressed by Kazuma, and, in attempting to prevent this, Busuké fell covered with wounds. His companion Magohachi, seeing him fall, was in great anxiety; for should any harm happen to Kazuma, what excuse could he make to Matayémon? So, wounded as he was, he too engaged Takénouchi Gentan, and, being crippled by the gashes he had received, was in deadly peril. Then the man who had come up from the castle-town to act as Matayémon's second cried out-- "See there, Sir Matayémon, your follower who is fighting with Gentan is in great danger. Do you go to his rescue, and second Sir Kazuma: I will give an account of the others!" "Great thanks to you, sir. I will go and second Kazuma." So Matayémon went to help Kazuma, whilst his second and the infantry soldiers kept back the surviving Rônins, who, already wearied by their fight with Matayémon, were unfit for any further exertion. Kazuma meanwhile was still fighting with Matagorô, and the issue of the conflict was doubtful; and Takénouchi Gentan, in his attempt to rescue Matagorô, was being kept at bay by Magohachi, who, weakened by his wounds, and blinded by the blood which was streaming into his eyes from a cut in the forehead, had given himself up for lost when Matayémon came and cried-- "Be of good cheer, Magohachi; it is I, Matayémon, who have come to the rescue. You are badly hurt; get out of harm's way, and rest yourself." Then Magohachi, who until then had been kept up by his anxiety for Kazuma's safety, gave in, and fell fainting from loss of blood; and Matayémon worsted and slew Gentan; and even then, although be had received two wounds, he was not exhausted, but drew near to Kazuma and said-- "Courage, Kazuma! The Rônins are all killed, and there now remains only Matagorô, your father's murderer. Fight and win!" The youth, thus encouraged, redoubled his efforts; but Matagorô, losing heart, quailed and fell. So Kazuma's vengeance was fulfilled, and the desire of his heart was accomplished. The two faithful retainers, who had died in their loyalty, were buried with great ceremony, and Kazuma carried the head of Matagorô and piously laid it upon his father's tomb. So ends the tale of Kazuma's revenge. I fear that stories of which killing and bloodshed form the principal features can hardly enlist much sympathy in these peaceful days. Still, when such tales are based upon history, they are interesting to students of social phenomena. The story of Kazuma's revenge is mixed up with events which at the present time are peculiarly significant: I mean the feud between the great Daimios and the Hatamotos. Those who have followed the modern history of Japan will see that the recent struggle, which has ended in the ruin of the Tycoon's power and the abolition of his office, was the outburst of a hidden fire which had been smouldering for centuries. But the repressive might had been gradually weakened, and contact with Western powers had rendered still more odious a feudality which men felt to be out of date. The revolution which has ended in the triumph of the Daimios over the Tycoon, is also the triumph of the vassal over his feudal lord, and is the harbinger of political life to the people at large. In the time of Iyéyasu the burden might be hateful, but it had to be borne; and so it would have been to this day, had not circumstances from without broken the spell. The Japanese Daimio, in advocating the isolation of his country, was hugging the very yoke which he hated. Strange to say, however, there are still men who, while they embrace the new political creed, yet praise the past, and look back with regret upon the day when Japan stood alone, without part or share in the great family of nations. NOTE.--_Hatamoto_. This word means "_under the flag_." The Hatamotos were men who, as their name implied, rallied round the standard of the Shogun, or Tycoon, in war-time. They were eighty thousand in number. When Iyéyasu left the Province of Mikawa and became Shogun, the retainers whom he ennobled, and who received from him grants of land yielding revenue to the amount of ten thousand kokus of rice a year, and from that down to one hundred kokus, were called _Hatamoto_. In return for these grants of land, the Hatamotos had in war-time to furnish a contingent of soldiers in proportion to their revenue. For every thousand kokus of rice five men were required. Those Hatamotos whose revenue fell short of a thousand kokus substituted a quota of money. In time of peace most of the minor offices of the Tycoon's government were filled by Hatamotos, the more important places being held by the Fudai, or vassal Daimios of the Shogun. Seven years ago, in imitation of the customs of foreign nations, a standing army was founded; and then the Hatamotos had to contribute their quota of men or of money, whether the country were at peace or at war. When the Shogun was reduced in 1868 to the rank of a simple Daimio, his revenue of eight million kokus reverted to the Government, with the exception of seven hundred thousand kokus. The title of Hatamoto exists no more, and those who until a few months ago held the rank are for the most part ruined or dispersed. From having been perhaps the proudest and most overbearing class in Japan, they are driven to the utmost straits of poverty. Some have gone into trade, with the heirlooms of their families as their stock; others are wandering through the country as Rônins; while a small minority have been allowed to follow the fallen fortunes of their master's family, the present chief of which is known as the Prince of Tokugawa. Thus are the eighty thousand dispersed. The koku of rice, in which all revenue is calculated, is of varying value. At the cheapest it is worth rather more than a pound sterling, and sometimes almost three times as much. The salaries of officials being paid in rice, it follows that there is a large and influential class throughout the country who are interested in keeping up the price of the staple article of food. Hence the opposition with which a free trade in rice has met, even in famine times. Hence also the frequent so-called "Rice Riots." The amounts at which the lands formerly held by the chief Daimios, but now patriotically given up by them to the Mikado, were assessed, sound fabulous. The Prince of Kaga alone had an income of more than one million two hundred thousand kokus. Yet these great proprietors were, latterly at least, embarrassed men. They had many thousand mouths to feed, and were mulcted of their dues right and left; while their mania for buying foreign ships and munitions of war, often at exorbitant prices, had plunged them heavily in debt. A STORY OF THE OTOKODATÉ OF YEDO; BEING THE SUPPLEMENT OF THE STORY OF GOMPACHI AND KOMURASAKI The word Otokodaté occurs several times in these Tales; and as I cannot convey its full meaning by a simple translation, I must preserve it in the text, explaining it by the following note, taken from the Japanese of a native scholar. The Otokodaté were friendly associations of brave men bound together by an obligation to stand by one another in weal or in woe, regardless of their own lives, and without inquiring into one another's antecedents. A bad man, however, having joined the Otokodaté must forsake his evil ways; for their principle was to treat the oppressor as an enemy, and to help the feeble as a father does his child. If they had money, they gave it to those that had none, and their charitable deeds won for them the respect of all men. The head of the society was called its "Father"; if any of the others, who were his apprentices, were homeless, they lived with the Father and served him, paying him at the same time a small fee, in consideration of which, if they fell sick or into misfortune, he took charge of them and assisted them. The Father of the Otokodaté pursued the calling of farming out coolies to the Daimios and great personages for their journeys to and from Yedo, and in return for this received from them rations in rice. He had more influence with the lower classes even than the officials; and if the coolies had struck work or refused to accompany a Daimio on his journey, a word from the Father would produce as many men as might be required. When Prince Tokugawa Iyémochi, the last but one of the Shoguns, left Yedo for Kiôto, one Shimmon Tatsugorô, chief of the Otokodaté, undertook the management of his journey, and some three or four years ago was raised to the dignity of Hatamoto for many faithful services. After the battle of Fushimi, and the abolition of the Shogunate, he accompanied the last of the Shoguns in his retirement. In old days there were also Otokodaté among the Hatamotos; this was after the civil wars of the time of Iyéyasu, when, though the country was at peace, the minds of men were still in a state of high excitement, and could not be reconciled to the dulness of a state of rest; it followed that broils and faction fights were continually taking place among the young men of the Samurai class, and that those who distinguished themselves by their personal strength and valour were looked up to as captains. Leagues after the manner of those existing among the German students were formed in different quarters of the city, under various names, and used to fight for the honour of victory. When the country became more thoroughly tranquil, the custom of forming these leagues amongst gentlemen fell into disuse. The past tense is used in speaking even of the Otokodaté of the lower classes; for although they nominally exist, they have no longer the power and importance which they enjoyed at the time to which these stories belong. They then, like the 'prentices of Old London, played a considerable part in the society of the great cities, and that man was lucky, were he gentle Samurai or simple wardsman, who could claim the Father of the Otokodaté for his friend. The word, taken by itself, means a manly or plucky fellow. * * * * * Chôbei of Bandzuin was the chief of the Otokodaté of Yedo. He was originally called Itarô, and was the son of a certain Rônin who lived in the country. One day, when he was only ten years of age, he went out with a playfellow to bathe in the river; and as the two were playing they quarrelled over their game, and Itarô, seizing the other boy, threw him into the river and drowned him. Then he went home, and said to his father-- "I went to play by the river to-day, with a friend; and as he was rude to me, I threw him into the water and killed him." When his father heard him speak thus, quite calmly, as if nothing had happened, he was thunderstruck, and said-- "This is indeed a fearful thing. Child as you are, you will have to pay the penalty of your deed; so to-night you must fly to Yedo in secret, and take service with some noble Samurai, and perhaps in time you may become a soldier yourself." With these words he gave him twenty ounces of silver and a fine sword, made by the famous swordsmith Rai Kunitoshi, and sent him out of the province with all dispatch. The following morning the parents of the murdered child came to claim that Itarô should be given up to their vengeance; but it was too late, and all they could do was to bury their child and mourn for his loss. Itarô made his way to Yedo in hot haste, and there found employment as a shop-boy; but soon tiring of that sort of life, and burning to become a soldier, he found means at last to enter the service of a certain Hatamoto called Sakurai Shôzayémon, and changed his name to Tsunéhei. Now this Sakurai Shôzayémon had a son, called Shônosuké, a young man in his seventeenth year, who grew so fond of Tsunéhei that he took him with him wherever he went, and treated him in all ways as an equal. When Shônosuké went to the fencing-school Tsunéhei would accompany him, and thus, as he was by nature strong and active, soon became a good swordsman. One day, when Shôzayémon had gone out, his son Shônosuké said to Tsunéhei-- "You know how fond my father is of playing at football: it must be great sport. As he has gone out to-day, suppose you and I have a game?" "That will be rare sport," answered Tsunéhei. "Let us make haste and play, before my lord comes home." So the two boys went out into the garden, and began trying to kick the football; but, lacking skill, do what they would, they could not lift it from the ground. At last Shônosuké, with a vigorous kick, raised the football; but, having missed his aim, it went tumbling over the wall into the next garden, which belonged to one Hikosaka Zempachi, a teacher of lance exercise, who was known to be a surly, ill-tempered fellow. "Oh, dear! what shall we do?" said Shônosuké. "We have lost my father's football in his absence; and if we go and ask for it back from that churlish neighbour of ours, we shall only be scolded and sworn at for our pains." "Oh, never mind," answered Tsunéhei; "I will go and apologize for our carelessness, and get the football back." "Well, but then you will be chidden, and I don't want that." "Never mind me. Little care I for his cross words." So Tsunéhei went to the next-door house to reclaim the ball. Now it so happened that Zempachi, the surly neighbour, had been walking in his garden whilst the two youths were playing; and as he was admiring the beauty of his favourite chrysanthemums, the football came flying over the wall and struck him full in the face. Zempachi, not used to anything but flattery and coaxing, flew into a violent rage at this; and while he was thinking how he would revenge himself upon any one who might be sent to ask for the lost ball, Tsunéhei came in, and said to one of Zempachi's servants-- "I am sorry to say that in my lord's absence I took his football, and, in trying to play with it, clumsily kicked it over your wall. I beg you to excuse my carelessness, and to be so good as to give me back the ball." The servant went in and repeated this to Zempachi, who worked himself up into a great rage, and ordered Tsunéhei to be brought before him, and said-- "Here, fellow, is your name Tsunéhei?" "Yes, sir, at your service. I am almost afraid to ask pardon for my carelessness; but please forgive me, and let me have the ball." "I thought your master, Shôzayémon, was to blame for this; but it seems that it was you who kicked the football." "Yes, sir. I am sure I am very sorry for what I have done. Please, may I ask for the ball?" said Tsunéhei, bowing humbly. For a while Zempachi made no answer, but at length he said-- "Do you know, villain, that your dirty football struck me in the face? I ought, by rights, to kill you on the spot for this; but I will spare your life this time, so take your football and be off." And with that he went up to Tsunéhei and beat him, and kicked him in the head, and spat in his face. Then Tsunéhei, who up to that time had demeaned himself very humbly, in his eagerness to get back the football, jumped up in a fury, and said-- "I made ample apologies to you for my carelessness, and now you have insulted and struck me. Ill-mannered ruffian! take back the ball,--I'll none of it;" and he drew his dirk, and cutting the football in two, threw it at Zempachi, and returned home. But Zempachi, growing more and more angry, called one of his servants, and said to him-- "That fellow, Tsunéhei, has been most insolent: go next door and find out Shôzayémon, and tell him that I have ordered you to bring back Tsunéhei, that I may kill him." So the servant went to deliver the message. In the meantime Tsunéhei went back to his master's house; and when Shônosuké saw him, he said-- "Well, of course you have been ill treated; but did you get back the football?" "When I went in, I made many apologies; but I was beaten, and kicked in the head, and treated with the greatest indignity. I would have killed that wretch, Zempachi, at once, but that I knew that, if I did so while I was yet a member of your household, I should bring trouble upon your family. For your sake I bore this ill-treatment patiently; but now I pray you let me take leave of you and become a Rônin, that I may be revenged upon this man." "Think well what you are doing," answered Shônosuké. "After all, we have only lost a football; and my father will not care, nor upbraid us." But Tsiméhei would not listen to him, and was bent upon wiping out the affront that he had received. As they were talking, the messenger arrived from Zempachi, demanding the surrender of Tsunéhei, on the ground that he had insulted him: to this Shônosuké replied that his father was away from home, and that in his absence he could do nothing. At last Shôzayémon came home; and when he heard what had happened he was much grieved, and at a loss what to do, when a second messenger arrived from Zempachi, demanding that Tsunéhei should be given up without delay. Then Shôzayémon, seeing that the matter was serious, called the youth to him, and said-- "This Zempachi is heartless and cruel, and if you go to his house will assuredly kill you; take, therefore, these fifty riyos, and fly to Osaka or Kiôto, where you may safely set up in business." "Sir," answered Tsunéhei, with tears of gratitude for his lord's kindness, "from my heart I thank you for your great goodness; but I have been insulted and trampled upon, and, if I lay down my life in the attempt, I will repay Zempachi for what he has this day done." "Well, then, since you needs must be revenged, go and fight, and may success attend you! Still, as much depends upon the blade you carry, and I fear yours is likely to be but a sorry weapon, I will give you a sword;" and with this he offered Tsunéhei his own. "Nay, my lord," replied Tsunéhei; "I have a famous sword, by Rai Kunitoshi, which my father gave me. I have never shown it to your lordship, but I have it safely stowed away in my room." When Shôzayémon saw and examined the sword, he admired it greatly, and said, "This is indeed a beautiful blade, and one on which you may rely. Take it, then, and bear yourself nobly in the fight; only remember that Zempachi is a cunning spearsman, and be sure to be very cautious." So Tsunéhei, after thanking his lord for his manifold kindnesses, took an affectionate leave, and went to Zempachi's house, and said to the servant-- "It seems that your master wants to speak to me. Be so good as to take me to see him." So the servant led him into the garden, where Zempachi, spear in hand, was waiting to kill him. When Zempachi saw him, he cried out-- "Ha! so you have come back; and now for your insolence, this day I mean to kill you with my own hand." "Insolent yourself!" replied Tsunéhei. "Beast, and no Samurai! Come, let us see which of us is the better man." Furiously incensed, Zempachi thrust with his spear at Tsunéhei; but he, trusting to his good sword, attacked Zempachi, who, cunning warrior as he was, could gain no advantage. At last Zempachi, losing his temper, began fighting less carefully, so that Tsunéhei found an opportunity of cutting the shaft of his spear. Zempachi then drew his sword, and two of his retainers came up to assist him; but Tsunéhei killed one of them, and wounded Zempachi in the forehead. The second retainer fled affrighted at the youth's valour, and Zempachi was blinded by the blood which flowed from the wound on his forehead. Then Tsunéhei said-- "To kill one who is as a blind man were unworthy a soldier. Wipe the blood from your eyes, Sir Zempachi, and let us fight it out fairly." So Zempachi, wiping away his blood, bound a kerchief round his head, and fought again desperately. But at last the pain of his wound and the loss of blood overcame him, and Tsunéhei cut him down with a wound in the shoulder and easily dispatched him. Then Tsunéhei went and reported the whole matter to the Governor of Yedo, and was put in prison until an inquiry could be made. But the Chief Priest of Bandzuin, who had heard of the affair, went and told the governor all the bad deeds of Zempachi, and having procured Tsunéhei's pardon, took him home and employed him as porter in the temple. So Tsunéhei changed his name to Chôbei, and earned much respect in the neighbourhood, both for his talents and for his many good works. If any man were in distress, he would help him, heedless of his own advantage or danger, until men came to look up to him as to a father, and many youths joined him and became his apprentices. So he built a house at Hanakawado, in Asakusa, and lived there with his apprentices, whom he farmed out as spearsmen and footmen to the Daimios and Hatamotos, taking for himself the tithe of their earnings. But if any of them were sick or in trouble, Chôbei would nurse and support them, and provide physicians and medicine. And the fame of his goodness went abroad until his apprentices were more than two thousand men, and were employed in every part of the city. But as for Chôbei, the more he prospered, the more he gave in charity, and all men praised his good and generous heart. This was the time when the Hatamotos had formed themselves into bands of Otokodaté,[21] of which Midzuno Jiurozayémon, Kondô Noborinosuké, and Abé Shirogorô were the chiefs. And the leagues of the nobles despised the leagues of the wardsmen, and treated them with scorn, and tried to put to shame Chôbei and his brave men; but the nobles' weapons recoiled upon themselves, and, whenever they tried to bring contempt upon Chôbei, they themselves were brought to ridicule. So there was great hatred on both sides. [Footnote 21: See the story of Kazuma's Revenge.] One day, that Chôbei went to divert himself in a tea-house in the Yoshiwara, he saw a felt carpet spread in an upper room, which had been adorned as for some special occasion; and he asked the master of the house what guest of distinction was expected. The landlord replied that my Lord Jiurozayémon, the chief of the Otokodaté of the Hatamotos, was due there that afternoon. On hearing this, Chôbei replied that as he much wished to meet my Lord Jiurozayémon, he would lie down and await his coming. The landlord was put out at this, and knew not what to say; but yet he dare not thwart Chôbei, the powerful chief of the Otokodaté. So Chôbei took off his clothes and laid himself down upon the carpet. After a while my Lord Jiurozayémon arrived, and going upstairs found a man of large stature lying naked upon the carpet which had been spread for him. "What low ruffian is this?" shouted he angrily to the landlord. "My lord, it is Chôbei, the chief of the Otokodaté," answered the man, trembling. Jiurozayémon at once suspected that Chôbei was doing this to insult him; so he sat down by the side of the sleeping man, and lighting his pipe began to smoke. When he had finished his pipe, he emptied the burning ashes into Chôbei's navel; but Chôbei, patiently bearing the pain, still feigned sleep. Ten times did Jiurozayémon fill his pipe,[22] and ten times he shook out the burning ashes on to Chôbei's navel; but he neither stirred nor spoke. Then Jiurozayémon, astonished at his fortitude, shook him, and roused him, saying-- "Chôbei! Chôbei! wake up, man." "What is the matter?" said Chôbei, rubbing his eyes as though he were awaking from a deep sleep; then seeing Jiurozayémon, he pretended to be startled, and said, "Oh, my lord, I know not who you are; but I have been very rude to your lordship. I was overcome with wine, and fell asleep: I pray your lordship to forgive me." "Is your name Chôbei?" "Yes, my lord, at your service. A poor wardsman, and ignorant of good manners, I have been very rude; but I pray your lordship to excuse my ill-breeding." "Nay, nay; we have all heard the fame of Chôbei, of Bandzuin, and I hold myself lucky to have met you this day. Let us be friends." "It is a great honour for a humble wardsman to meet a nobleman face to face." [Footnote 22: The tiny Japanese pipe contains but two or three whiffs; and as the tobacco is rolled up tightly in the fingers before it is inserted, the ash, when shaken out, is a little fire-ball from which a second pipe is lighted.] As they were speaking, the waitresses brought in fish and wine, and Jiurozayémon pressed Chôbei to feast with him; and thinking to annoy Chôbei, offered him a large wine-cup,[23] which, however, he drank without shrinking, and then returned to his entertainer, who was by no means so well able to bear the fumes of the wine. Then Jiurozayémon hit upon another device for annoying Chôbei, and, hoping to frighten him, said-- "Here, Chôbei, let me offer you some fish;" and with those words he drew his sword, and, picking up a cake of baked fish upon the point of it, thrust it towards the wardsman's mouth. Any ordinary man would have been afraid to accept the morsel so roughly offered; but Chôbei simply opened his mouth, and taking the cake off the sword's point ate it without wincing. Whilst Jiurozayémon was wondering in his heart what manner of man this was, that nothing could daunt, Chôbei said to him-- "This meeting with your lordship has been an auspicious occasion to me, and I would fain ask leave to offer some humble gift to your lordship in memory of it.[24] Is there anything which your lordship would specially fancy?" "I am very fond of cold macaroni." [Footnote 23: It is an act of rudeness to offer a large wine-cup. As, however, the same cup is returned to the person who has offered it, the ill carries with it its own remedy. At a Japanese feast the same cup is passed from hand to hand, each person rinsing it in a bowl of water after using it, and before offering it to another.] [Footnote 24: The giving of presents from inferiors to superiors is a common custom.] "Then I shall have the honour of ordering some for your lordship;" and with this Chôbei went downstairs, and calling one of his apprentices, named Tôken Gombei,[25] who was waiting for him, gave him a hundred riyos (about £28), and bade him collect all the cold macaroni to be found in the neighbouring cook-shops and pile it up in front of the tea-house. So Gombei went home, and, collecting Chôbei's apprentices, sent them out in all directions to buy the macaroni. Jiurozayémon all this while was thinking of the pleasure he would have in laughing at Chôbei for offering him a mean and paltry present; but when, by degrees, the macaroni began to be piled mountain-high around the tea-house, he saw that he could not make a fool of Chôbei, and went home discomfited. [Footnote 25: _Tôken_, a nickname given to Gombei, after a savage dog that he killed. As a Chônin, or wardsman, he had no surname.] It has already been told how Shirai Gompachi was befriended and helped by Chôbei.[26] His name will occur again in this story. [Footnote 26: See the story of Gompachi and Komurasaki.] At this time there lived in the province of Yamato a certain Daimio, called Honda Dainaiki, who one day, when surrounded by several of his retainers, produced a sword, and bade them look at it and say from what smith's workshop the blade had come. "I think this must be a Masamuné blade," said one Fuwa Banzayémon. "No," said Nagoya Sanza, after examining the weapon attentively, "this certainly is a Muramasa."[27] [Footnote 27: The swords of Muramasa, although so finely tempered that they are said to cut hard iron as though it were a melon, have the reputation of being unlucky: they are supposed by the superstitious to hunger after taking men's lives, and to be unable to repose in their scabbards. The principal duty of a sword is to preserve tranquillity in the world, by punishing the wicked and protecting the good. But the bloodthirsty swords of Muramasa rather have the effect of maddening their owners, so that they either kill others indiscriminately or commit suicide. At the end of the sixteenth century Prince Tokugawa Iyéyasu was in the habit of carrying a spear made by Muramasa, with which he often scratched or cut himself by mistake. Hence the Tokugawa family avoid girding on Muramasa blades, which are supposed to be specially unlucky to their race. The murders of Gompachi, who wore a sword by this maker, also contributed to give his weapons a bad name. The swords of one Tôshirô Yoshimitsu, on the other hand, are specially auspicious to the Tokugawa family, for the following reason. After Iyéyasu had been defeated by Takéta Katsuyori, at the battle of the river Tenrin, he took refuge in the house of a village doctor, intending to put an end to his existence by _hara-kiri,_ and drawing his dirk, which was made by Yoshimitsu, tried to plunge it into his belly, when, to his surprise, the blade turned. Thinking that the dirk must be a bad one, he took up an iron mortar for grinding medicines and tried it upon that, and the point entered and transfixed the mortar. He was about to stab himself a second time, when his followers, who had missed him, and had been searching for him everywhere, came up, and seeing their master about to kill himself, stayed his hand, and took away the dirk by force. Then they set him upon his horse and compelled him to fly to his own province of Mikawa, whilst they kept his pursuers at bay. After this, when, by the favour of Heaven, Iyéyasu became Shogun, it was considered that of a surety there must have been a good spirit in the blade that refused to drink his blood; and ever since that time the blades of Yoshimitsu have been considered lucky in his family.] A third Samurai, named Takagi Umanojô, pronounced it to be the work of Shidzu Kanenji; and as they could not agree, but each maintained his opinion, their lord sent for a famous connoisseur to decide the point; and the sword proved, as Sanza had said, to be a genuine Muramasa. Sanza was delighted at the verdict; but the other two went home rather crestfallen. Umanojô, although he had been worsted in the argument, bore no malice nor ill-will in his heart; but Banzayémon, who was a vainglorious personage, puffed up with the idea of his own importance, conceived a spite against Sanza, and watched for an opportunity to put him to shame. At last, one day Banzayémon, eager to be revenged upon Sanza, went to the Prince, and said, "Your lordship ought to see Sanza fence; his swordsmanship is beyond all praise. I know that I am no match for him; still, if it will please your lordship, I will try a bout with him;" and the Prince, who was a mere stripling, and thought it would be rare sport, immediately sent for Sanza and desired he would fence with Banzayémon. So the two went out into the garden, and stood up facing each other, armed with wooden swords. Now Banzayémon was proud of his skill, and thought he had no equal in fencing; so he expected to gain an easy victory over Sanza, and promised himself the luxury of giving his adversary a beating that should fully make up for the mortification which he had felt in the matter of the dispute about the sword. It happened, however, that he had undervalued the skill of Sanza, who, when he saw that his adversary was attacking him savagely and in good earnest, by a rapid blow struck Banzayémon so sharply on the wrist that he dropped the sword, and, before he could pick it up again, delivered a second cut on the shoulder, which sent him rolling over in the dust. All the officers present, seeing this, praised Sanza's skill, and Banzayémon, utterly stricken with shame, ran away home and hid himself. After this affair Sanza rose high in the favour of his lord; and Banzayémon, who was more than ever jealous of him, feigned sickness, and stayed at home devising schemes for Sanza's ruin. Now it happened that the Prince, wishing to have the Muramasa blade mounted, sent for Sanza and entrusted it to his care, ordering him to employ the most cunning workmen in the manufacture of the scabbard-hilt and ornaments; and Sanza, having received the blade, took it home, and put it carefully away. When Banzayémon heard of this, he was overjoyed; for he saw that his opportunity for revenge had come. He determined, if possible, to kill Sanza, but at any rate to steal the sword which had been committed to his care by the Prince, knowing full well that if Sanza lost the sword he and his family would be ruined. Being a single man, without wife or child, he sold his furniture, and, turning all his available property into money, made ready to fly the country. When his preparations were concluded, he went in the middle of the night to Sanza's house and tried to get in by stealth; but the doors and shutters were all carefully bolted from the inside, and there was no hole by which he could effect an entrance. All was still, however, and the people of the house were evidently fast asleep; so he climbed up to the second storey, and, having contrived to unfasten a window, made his way in. With soft, cat-like footsteps he crept downstairs, and, looking into one of the rooms, saw Sanza and his wife sleeping on the mats, with their little son Kosanza, a boy of thirteen, curled up in his quilt between them. The light in the night-lamp was at its last flicker, but, peering through the gloom, he could just see the Prince's famous Muramasa sword lying on a sword-rack in the raised part of the room: so he crawled stealthily along until he could reach it, and stuck it in his girdle. Then, drawing near to Sanza, he bestrode his sleeping body, and, brandishing the sword made a thrust at his throat; but in his excitement his hand shook, so that he missed his aim, and only scratched Sanza, who, waking with a start and trying to jump up, felt himself held down by a man standing over him. Stretching out his hands, he would have wrestled with his enemy; when Banzayémon, leaping back, kicked over the night-lamp, and throwing open the shutters, dashed into the garden. Snatching up his sword, Sanza rushed out after him; and his wife, having lit a lantern and armed herself with a halberd,[28] went out, with her son Kosanza, who carried a drawn dirk, to help her husband. Then Banzayémon, who was hiding in the shadow of a large pine-tree, seeing the lantern and dreading detection, seized a stone and hurled it at the light, and, chancing to strike it, put it out, and then scrambling over the fence unseen, fled into the darkness. When Sanza had searched all over the garden in vain, he returned to his room and examined his wound, which proving very slight, he began to look about to see whether the thief had carried off anything; but when his eye fell upon the place where the Muramasa sword had lain, he saw that it was gone. He hunted everywhere, but it was not to be found. The precious blade with which his Prince had entrusted him had been stolen, and the blame would fall heavily upon him. Filled with grief and shame at the loss, Sanza and his wife and child remained in great anxiety until the morning broke, when he reported the matter to one of the Prince's councillors, and waited in seclusion until he should receive his lord's commands. [Footnote 28: The halberd is the special arm of the Japanese woman of gentle blood. That which was used by Kasa Gozen, one of the ladies of Yoshitsuné, the hero of the twelfth century, is still preserved at Asakusa. In old-fashioned families young ladies are regularly instructed in fencing with the halberds.] It soon became known that Banzayémon, who had fled the province, was the thief; and the councillors made their report accordingly to the Prince, who, although he expressed his detestation of the mean action of Banzayémon, could not absolve Sanza from blame, in that he had not taken better precautions to insure the safety of the sword that had been committed to his trust. It was decided, therefore, that Sanza should be dismissed from his service, and that his goods should be confiscated; with the proviso that should he be able to find Banzayémon, and recover the lost Muramasa blade, he should be restored to his former position. Sanza, who from the first had made up his mind that his punishment would be severe, accepted the decree without a murmur; and, having committed his wife and son to the care of his relations, prepared to leave the country as a Rônin and search for Banzayémon. Before starting, however, he thought that he would go to his brother-officer, Takagi Umanojô, and consult with him as to what course he should pursue to gain his end. But this Umanojô, who was by nature a churlish fellow, answered him unkindly, and said-- "It is true that Banzayémon is a mean thief; but still it was through your carelessness that the sword was lost. It is of no avail your coming to me for help: you must get it back as best you may." "Ah!" replied Sanza, "I see that you too bear me a grudge because I defeated you in the matter of the judgment of the sword. You are no better than Banzayémon yourself." And his heart was bitter against his fellow men, and he left the house determined to kill Umanojô first and afterwards to track out Banzayémon; so, pretending to start on his journey, he hid in an inn, and waited for an opportunity to attack Umanojô. One day Umanojô, who was very fond of fishing, had taken his son Umanosuké, a lad of sixteen, down to the sea-shore with him; and as the two were enjoying themselves, all of a sudden they perceived a Samurai running towards them, and when he drew near they saw that it was Sanza. Umanojô, thinking that Sanza had come back in order to talk over some important matter, left his angling and went to meet him. Then Sanza cried out-- "Now, Sir Umanojô, draw and defend yourself. What! were you in league with Banzayémon to vent your spite upon me? Draw, sir, draw! You have spirited away your accomplice; but, at any rate, you are here yourself, and shall answer for your deed. It is no use playing the innocent; your astonished face shall not save you. Defend yourself, coward and traitor!" and with these words Sanza flourished his naked sword. "Nay, Sir Sanza," replied the other, anxious by a soft answer to turn away his wrath; "I am innocent of this deed. Waste not your valour on so poor a cause." "Lying knave!" said Sanza; "think not that you can impose upon me. I know your treacherous heart;" and, rushing upon Umanojô, he cut him on the forehead so that he fell in agony upon the sand. Umanosuké in the meanwhile, who had been fishing at some distance from his father, rushed up when he saw him in this perilous situation and threw a stone at Sanza, hoping to distract his attention; but, before he could reach the spot, Sanza had delivered the death-blow, and Umanojô lay a corpse upon the beach. "Stop, Sir Sanza--murderer of my father!" cried Umanosuké, drawing his sword, "stop and do battle with me, that I may avenge his death." "That you should wish to slay your father's enemy," replied Sanza, "is but right and proper; and although I had just cause of quarrel with your father, and killed him, as a Samurai should, yet would I gladly forfeit my life to you here; but my life is precious to me for one purpose--that I may punish Banzayémon and get back the stolen sword. When I shall have restored that sword to my lord, then will I give you your revenge, and you may kill me. A soldier's word is truth; but, as a pledge that I will fulfil my promise, I will give to you, as hostages, my wife and boy. Stay your avenging hand, I pray you, until my desire shall have been attained." Umanosuké, who was a brave and honest youth, as famous in the clan for the goodness of his heart as for his skill in the use of arms, when he heard Sanza's humble petition, relented, and said-- "I agree to wait, and will take your wife and boy as hostages for your return." "I humbly thank you," said Sanza. "When I shall have chastised Banzayémon, I will return, and you shall claim your revenge." So Sanza went his way to Yedo to seek for Banzayémon, and Umanosuké mourned over his father's grave. Now Banzayémon, when he arrived in Yedo, found himself friendless and without the means of earning his living, when by accident he heard of the fame of Chôbei of Bandzuin, the chief of the Otokodaté, to whom he applied for assistance; and having entered the fraternity, supported himself by giving fencing-lessons. He had been plying his trade for some time, and had earned some little reputation, when Sanza reached the city and began his search for him. But the days and months passed away, and, after a year's fruitless seeking, Sanza, who had spent all his money without obtaining a clue to the whereabouts of his enemy, was sorely perplexed, and was driven to live by his wits as a fortune-teller. Work as he would, it was a hard matter for him to gain the price of his daily food, and, in spite of all his pains, his revenge seemed as far off as ever, when he bethought him that the Yoshiwara was one of the most bustling places in the city, and that if he kept watch there, sooner or later he would be sure to fall in with Banzayémon. So be bought a hat of plaited bamboo, that completely covered his face, and lay in wait at the Yoshiwara. One day Banzayémon and two of Chôbei's apprentices Tôken Gombei and Shirobei, who, from his wild and indocile nature, was surnamed "the Colt," were amusing themselves and drinking in an upper storey of a tea-house in the Yoshiwara, when Tôken Gombei, happening to look down upon the street below, saw a Samurai pass by, poorly clad in worn-out old clothes, but whose poverty-stricken appearance contrasted with his proud and haughty bearing. "Look there!" said Gombei, calling the attention of the others; "look at that Samurai. Dirty and ragged as his coat is, how easy it is to see that he is of noble birth! Let us wardsmen dress ourselves up in never so fine clothes, we could not look as he does." "Ay," said Shirobei, "I wish we could make friends with him, and ask him up here to drink a cup of wine with us. However, it would not be seemly for us wardsmen to go and invite a person of his condition." "We can easily get over that difficulty," said Banzayémon. "As I am a Samurai myself, there will be no impropriety in my going and saying a few civil words to him, and bringing him in." The other two having joyfully accepted the offer, Banzayémon ran downstairs, and went up to the strange Samurai and saluted him, saying-- "I pray you to wait a moment, Sir Samurai. My name is Fuwa Banzayémon at your service. I am a Rônin, as I judge from your appearance that you are yourself. I hope you will not think me rude if I venture to ask you to honour me with your friendship, and to come into this tea-house to drink a cup of wine with me and two of my friends." The strange Samurai, who was no other than Sanza, looking at the speaker through the interstices of his deep bamboo hat, and recognizing his enemy Banzayémon, gave a start of surprise, and, uncovering his head, said sternly-- "Have you forgotten my face, Banzayémon?" For a moment Banzayémon was taken aback, but quickly recovering himself, he replied, "Ah! Sir Sanza, you may well be angry with me; but since I stole the Muramasa sword and fled to Yedo I have known no peace: I have been haunted by remorse for my crime. I shall not resist your vengeance: do with me as it shall seem best to you; or rather take my life, and let there be an end of this quarrel." "Nay," answered Sanza, "to kill a man who repents him of his sins is a base and ignoble action. When you stole from me the Muramasa blade which had been confided to my care by my lord, I became a disgraced and ruined man. Give me back that sword, that I may lay it before my lord, and I will spare your life. I seek to slay no man needlessly." "Sir Sanza, I thank you for your mercy. At this moment I have not the sword by me, but if you will go into yonder tea-house and wait awhile, I will fetch it and deliver it into your hands." Sanza having consented to this, the two men entered the tea-house, where Banzayémon's two companions were waiting for them. But Banzayémon, ashamed of his own evil deed, still pretended that Sanza was a stranger, and introduced him as such, saying-- "Come Sir Samurai, since we have the honour of your company, let me offer you a wine-cup." Banzayémon and the two men pressed the wine-cup upon Sanza so often that the fumes gradually got into his head and he fell asleep; the two wardsmen, seeing this, went out for a walk, and Banzayémon, left alone with the sleeping man, began to revolve fresh plots against him in his mind. On a sudden, a thought struck him. Noiselessly seizing Sanza's sword, which he had laid aside on entering the room, he stole softly downstairs with it, and, carrying it into the back yard, pounded and blunted its edge with a stone, and having made it useless as a weapon, he replaced it in its scabbard, and running upstairs again laid it in its place without disturbing Sanza, who, little suspecting treachery, lay sleeping off the effects of the wine. At last, however, he awoke, and, ashamed at having been overcome by drink, he said to Banzayémon-- "Come, Banzayémon, we have dallied too long; give me the Muramasa sword, and let me go." "Of course," replied the other, sneeringly, "I am longing to give it back to you; but unfortunately, in my poverty, I have been obliged to pawn it for fifty ounces of silver. If you have so much money about you, give it to me and I will return the sword to you." "Wretch!" cried Sanza, seeing that Banzayémon was trying to fool him, "have I not had enough of your vile tricks? At any rate, if I cannot get back the sword, your head shall be laid before my lord in its place. Come," added he, stamping his foot impatiently, "defend yourself." "With all my heart. But not here in this tea-house. Let us go to the Mound, and fight it out." "Agreed! There is no need for us to bring trouble on the landlord. Come to the Mound of the Yoshiwara." So they went to the Mound, and drawing their swords, began to fight furiously. As the news soon spread abroad through the Yoshiwara that a duel was being fought upon the Mound, the people flocked out to see the sight; and among them came Tôken Gombei and Shirobei, Banzayémon's companions, who, when they saw that the combatants were their own friend and the strange Samurai, tried to interfere and stop the fight, but, being hindered by the thickness of the crowd, remained as spectators. The two men fought desperately, each driven by fierce rage against the other; but Sanza, who was by far the better fencer of the two, once, twice, and again dealt blows which should have cut Banzayémon down, and yet no blood came forth. Sanza, astonished at this, put forth all his strength, and fought so skilfully, that all the bystanders applauded him, and Banzayémon, though he knew his adversary's sword to be blunted, was so terrified that he stumbled and fell. Sanza, brave soldier that he was, scorned to strike a fallen foe, and bade him rise and fight again. So they engaged again, and Sanza, who from the beginning had had the advantage, slipped and fell in his turn; Banzayémon, forgetting the mercy which had been shown to him, rushed up, with bloodthirsty joy glaring in his eyes, and stabbed Sanza in the side as he lay on the ground. Faint as he was, he could not lift his hand to save himself; and his craven foe was about to strike him again, when the bystanders all cried shame upon his baseness. Then Gombei and Shirobei lifted up their voices and said-- "Hold, coward! Have you forgotten how your own life was spared but a moment since? Beast of a Samurai, we have been your friends hitherto, but now behold in us the avengers of this brave man." With these words the two men drew their dirks, and the spectators fell back as they rushed in upon Banzayémon, who, terror-stricken by their fierce looks and words, fled without having dealt the death-blow to Sanza. They tried to pursue him, but he made good his escape, so the two men returned to help the wounded man. When he came to himself by dint of their kind treatment, they spoke to him and comforted him, and asked him what province he came from, that they might write to his friends and tell them what had befallen him. Sanza, in a voice faint from pain and loss of blood, told them his name and the story of the stolen sword, and of his enmity against Banzayémon. "But," said he, "just now, when I was fighting, I struck Banzayémon more than once, and without effect. How could that have been?" Then they looked at his sword, which had fallen by his side, and saw that the edge was all broken away. More than ever they felt indignant at the baseness of Banzayémon's heart, and redoubled their kindness to Sanza; but, in. spite of all their efforts, he grew weaker and weaker, until at last his breathing ceased altogether. So they buried the corpse honourably in an adjoining temple, and wrote to Sanza's wife and son, describing to them the manner of his death. Now when Sanza's wife, who had long been anxiously expecting her husband's return, opened the letter and learned the cruel circumstances of his death, she and her son Kosanza mourned bitterly over his loss. Then Kosanza, who was now fourteen years old, said to his mother-- "Take comfort, mother; for I will go to Yedo and seek out this Banzayémon, my father's murderer, and I will surely avenge his death. Now, therefore, make ready all that I need for this journey." And as they were consulting over the manner of their revenge, Umanosuké, the son of Umanojô, whom Sanza had slain, having heard of the death of his father's enemy, came to the house. But he came with no hostile intent. True, Sanza had killed his father, but the widow and the orphan were guiltless, and he bore them no ill-will; on the contrary, he felt that Banzayémon was their common enemy. It was he who by his evil deeds had been the cause of all the mischief that had arisen, and now again, by murdering Sanza, he had robbed Umanosuké of his revenge. In this spirit he said to Kosanza-- "Sir Kosanza, I hear that your father has been cruelly murdered by Banzayémon at Yedo. I know that you will avenge the death of your father, as the son of a soldier should: if, therefore, you will accept my poor services, I will be your second, and will help you to the best of my ability. Banzayémon shall be my enemy, as he is yours." "Nay, Sir Umanosuké, although I thank you from my heart, I cannot accept this favour at your hands. My father Sanza slew your noble father: that you should requite this misfortune thus is more than kind, but I cannot think of suffering you to risk your life on my behalf." "Listen to me," replied Umanosuké, smiling, "and you will think it less strange that I should offer to help you. Last year, when my father lay a bleeding corpse on the sea-shore, your father made a covenant with me that he would return to give me my revenge, so soon as he should have regained the stolen sword. Banzayémon, by murdering him on the Mound of the Yoshiwara, has thwarted me in this; and now upon whom can I avenge my father's death but upon him whose baseness was indeed its cause? Now, therefore, I am determined to go with you to Yedo, and not before the murders of our two fathers shall have been fully atoned for will we return to our own country." When Kosanza heard this generous speech, he could not conceal his admiration; and the widow, prostrating herself at Umanosuké's feet, shed tears of gratitude. The two youths, having agreed to stand by one another, made all ready for their journey, and obtained leave from their prince to go in search of the traitor Banzayémon. They reached Yedo without meeting with any adventures, and, taking up their abode at a cheap inn, began to make their inquiries; but, although they sought far and wide, they could learn no tidings of their enemy. When three months had passed thus, Kosanza began to grow faint-hearted at their repeated failures; but Umanosuké supported and comforted him, urging him to fresh efforts. But soon a great misfortune befell them: Kosanza fell sick with ophthalmia, and neither the tender nursing of his friend, nor the drugs and doctors upon whom Umanosuké spent all their money, had any effect on the suffering boy, who soon became stone blind. Friendless and penniless, the one deprived of his eyesight and only a clog upon the other, the two youths were thrown upon their own resources. Then Umanosuké, reduced to the last extremity of distress, was forced to lead out Kosanza to Asakusa to beg sitting by the roadside, whilst he himself, wandering hither and thither, picked up what he could from the charity of those who saw his wretched plight. But all this while he never lost sight of his revenge, and almost thanked the chance which had made him a beggar, for the opportunity which it gave him of hunting out strange and hidden haunts of vagabond life into which in his more prosperous condition he could not have penetrated. So he walked to and fro through the city, leaning on a stout staff, in which he had hidden his sword, waiting patiently for fortune to bring him face to face with Banzayémon. [Illustration: TRICKS OF SWORDSMANSHIP AT ASAKUSA.] Now Banzayémon, after he had killed Sanza on the Mound of the Yoshiwara, did not dare to show his face again in the house of Chôbei, the Father of the Otokodaté; for he knew that the two men, Tôken Gombei and Shirobei "the loose Colt," would not only bear an evil report of him, but would even kill him if he fell into their hands, so great had been their indignation at his cowardly Conduct; so he entered a company of mountebanks, and earned his living by showing tricks of swordsmanship, and selling tooth-powder at the Okuyama, at Asakusa.[29] One day, as he was going towards Asakusa to ply his trade, he caught sight of a blind beggar, in whom, in spite of his poverty-stricken and altered appearance, he recognized the son of his enemy. Rightly he judged that, in spite of the boy's apparently helpless condition, the discovery boded no weal for him; so mounting to the upper storey of a tea-house hard by, he watched to see who should come to Kosanza's assistance. Nor had he to wait long, for presently he saw a second beggar come up and speak words of encouragement and kindness to the blind youth; and looking attentively, he saw that the new-comer was Umanosuké. Having thus discovered who was on his track, he went home and sought means of killing the two beggars; so he lay in wait and traced them to the poor hut where they dwelt, and one night, when he knew Umanosuké to be absent, he crept in. Kosanza, being blind, thought that the footsteps were those of Umanosuké, and jumped up to welcome him; but he, in his heartless cruelty, which not even the boy's piteous state could move, slew Kosanza as he helplessly stretched out his hands to feel for his friend. The deed was yet unfinished when Umanosuké returned, and, hearing a scuffle inside the hut, drew the sword which was hidden in his staff and rushed in; but Banzayémon, profiting by the darkness, eluded him and fled from the hut. Umanosuké followed swiftly after him; but just as he was on the point of catching him, Banzayémon, making a sweep backwards with his drawn sword, wounded Umanosuké in the thigh, so that he stumbled and fell, and the murderer, swift of foot, made good his escape. The wounded youth tried to pursue him again, but being compelled by the pain of his wound to desist, returned home and found his blind companion lying dead, weltering in his own blood. Cursing his unhappy fate, he called in the beggars of the fraternity to which he belonged, and between them they buried Kosanza, and he himself being too poor to procure a surgeon's aid, or to buy healing medicaments for his wound, became a cripple. [Footnote 29: See Note at end of story.] It was at this time that Shirai Gompachi, who was living under the protection of Chôbei, the Father of the Otokodaté, was in love with Komurasaki, the beautiful courtesan who lived at the sign of the Three Sea-shores, in the Yoshiwara. He had long exhausted the scanty supplies which he possessed, and was now in the habit of feeding his purse by murder and robbery, that he might have means to pursue his wild and extravagant life. One night, when he was out on his cutthroat business, his fellows, who had long suspected that he was after no good, sent one of their number, named Seibei, to watch him. Gompachi, little dreaming that any one was following him, swaggered along the street until he fell in with a wardsman, whom he cut down and robbed; but the booty proving small, he waited for a second chance, and, seeing a light moving in the distance, hid himself in the shadow of a large tub for catching rain-water till the bearer of the lantern should come up. When the man drew near, Gompachi saw that he was dressed as a traveller, and wore a long dirk; so he sprung out from his lurking-place and made to kill him; but the traveller nimbly jumped on one side, and proved no mean adversary, for he drew his dirk and fought stoutly for his life. However, he was no match for so skilful a swordsman as Gompachi, who, after a sharp struggle, dispatched him, and carried off his purse, which contained two hundred riyos. Overjoyed at having found so rich a prize, Gompachi was making off for the Yoshiwara, when Seibei, who, horror-stricken, had seen both murders, came up and began to upbraid him for his wickedness. But Gompachi was so smooth-spoken and so well liked by his comrades, that he easily persuaded Seibei to hush the matter up, and accompany him to the Yoshiwara for a little diversion. As they were talking by the way, Seibei said to Gompachi-- "I bought a new dirk the other day, but I have not had an opportunity to try it yet. You have had so much experience in swords that you ought to be a good judge. Pray look at this dirk, and tell me whether you think it good for anything." "We'll soon see what sort of metal it is made of," answered Gompachi. "We'll just try it on the first beggar we come across." At first Seibei was horrified by this cruel proposal, but by degrees he yielded to his companion's persuasions; and so they went on their way until Seibei spied out a crippled beggar lying asleep on the bank outside the Yoshiwara. The sound of their footsteps aroused the beggar, who seeing a Samurai and a wardsman pointing at him, and evidently speaking about him, thought that their consultation could bode him no good. So he pretended to be still asleep, watching them carefully all the while; and when Seibei went up to him, brandishing his dirk, the beggar, avoiding the blow, seized Seibei's arm, and twisting it round, flung him into the ditch below. Gompachi, seeing his companion's discomfiture, attacked the beggar, who, drawing a sword from his staff, made such lightning-swift passes that, crippled though he was, and unable to move his legs freely, Gompachi could not overpower him; and although Seibei crawled out of the ditch and came to his assistance, the beggar, nothing daunted, dealt his blows about him to such good purpose that he wounded Seibei in the temple and arm. Then Gompachi, reflecting that after all he had no quarrel with the beggar, and that he had better attend to Seibei's wounds than go on fighting to no purpose, drew Seibei away, leaving the beggar, who was too lame to follow them, in peace. When he examined Seibei's wounds, he found that they were so severe that they must give up their night's frolic and go home. So they went back to the house of Chôbei, the Father of the Otokodaté, and Seibei, afraid to show himself with his sword-cuts, feigned sickness, and went to bed. On the following morning Chôbei, happening to need his apprentice Seibei's services, sent for him, and was told that he was sick; so he went to the room, where he lay abed, and, to his astonishment, saw the cut upon his temple. At first the wounded man refused to answer any questions as to how he had been hurt; but at last, on being pressed by Chôbei, he told the whole story of what had taken place the night before. When Chôbei heard the tale, be guessed that the valiant beggar must be some noble Samurai in disguise, who, having a wrong to avenge, was biding his time to meet with his enemy; and wishing to help so brave a man, he went in the evening, with his two faithful apprentices, Tôken Gombei and Shirobei "the loose Colt," to the bank outside the Yoshiwara to seek out the beggar. The latter, not one whit frightened by the adventure of the previous night, had taken his place as usual, and was lying on the bank, when Chôbei came up to him, and said-- "Sir, I am Chôbei, the chief of the Otokodaté, at your service. I have learnt with deep regret that two of my men insulted and attacked you last night. However, happily, even Gompachi, famous swordsman though he be, was no match for you, and had to beat a retreat before you. I know, therefore, that you must be a noble Samurai, who by some ill chance have become a cripple and a beggar. Now, therefore, I pray you tell me all your story; for, humble wardsman as I am, I may be able to assist you, if you will condescend to allow me." The cripple at first tried to shun Chôbei's questions; but at last, touched by the honesty and kindness of his speech, he replied-- "Sir, my name is Takagi Umanosuké, and I am a native of Yamato;" and then he went on to narrate all the misfortunes which the wickedness of Banzayémon had brought about. "This is indeed a strange story," said Chôbei who had listened with indignation. "This Banzayémon, before I knew the blackness of his heart, was once under my protection. But after he murdered Sanza, hard by here, he was pursued by these two apprentices of mine, and since that day he has been no more to my house." When he had introduced the two apprentices to Umanosuké, Chôbei pulled forth a suit of silk clothes befitting a gentleman, and having made the crippled youth lay aside his beggar's raiment, led him to a bath, and had his hair dressed. Then he bade Tôken Gombei lodge him and take charge of him, and, having sent for a famous physician, caused Umanosuké to undergo careful treatment for the wound in his thigh. In the course of two months the pain had almost disappeared, so that he could stand easily; and when, after another month, he could walk about a little, Chôbei removed him to his own house, pretending to his wife and apprentices that he was one of his own relations who had come on a visit to him. After a while, when Umanosuké had become quite cured, he went one day to worship at a famous temple, and on his way home after dark he was overtaken by a shower of rain, and took shelter under the eaves of a house, in a part of the city called Yanagiwara, waiting for the sky to clear. Now it happened that this same night Gompachi had gone out on one of his bloody expeditions, to which his poverty and his love for Komurasaki drove him in spite of himself, and, seeing a Samurai standing in the gloom, he sprang upon him before he had recognized Umanosuké, whom he knew as a friend of his patron Chôbei. Umanosuké drew and defended himself, and soon contrived to slash Gompachi on the forehead; so that the latter, seeing himself overmatched, fled under the cover of the night. Umanosuké, fearing to hurt his recently healed wound, did not give chase, and went quietly back to Chôbei's house. When Gompachi returned home, he hatched a story to deceive Chôbei as to the cause of the wound on his forehead. Chôbei, however, having overheard Umanosuké reproving Gompachi for his wickedness, soon became aware of the truth; and not caring to keep a robber and murderer near him, gave Gompachi a present of money, and bade him return to his house no more. And now Chôbei, seeing that Umanosuké had recovered his strength, divided his apprentices into bands, to hunt out Banzayémon, in order that the vendetta might be accomplished. It soon was reported to him that Banzayémon was earning his living among the mountebanks of Asakusa; so Chôbei communicated this intelligence to Umanosuké, who made his preparations accordingly; and on the following morning the two went to Asakusa, where Banzayémon was astonishing a crowd of country boors by exhibiting tricks with his sword. Then Umanosuké, striding through the gaping rabble, shouted out-- "False, murderous coward, your day has come! I, Umanosuké, the son of Umanojô, have come to demand vengeance for the death of three innocent men who have perished by your treachery. If you are a man, defend yourself. This day shall your soul see hell!" With these words he rushed furiously upon Banzayémon, who, seeing escape to be impossible, stood upon his guard. But his coward's heart quailed before the avenger, and he soon lay bleeding at his enemy's feet. But who shall say how Umanosuké thanked Chôbei for his assistance; or how, when he had returned to his own country, he treasured up his gratitude in his heart, looking upon Chôbei as more than a second father? Thus did Chôbei use his power to punish the wicked, and to reward the good--giving of his abundance to the poor, and succouring the unfortunate, so that his name was honoured far and near. It remains only to record the tragical manner of his death. We have already told how my lord Midzuno Jiurozayémon, the chief of the associated nobles, had been foiled in his attempts to bring shame upon Chôbei, the Father of the Otokodaté; and how, on the contrary, the latter, by his ready wit, never failed to make the proud noble's weapons recoil upon him. The failure of these attempts rankled in the breast of Jiurozayémon, who hated Chôbei with an intense hatred, and sought to be revenged upon him. One day he sent a retainer to Chôbei's house with a message to the effect that on the following day my lord Jiurozayémon would be glad to see Chôbei at his house, and to offer him a cup of wine, in return for the cold macaroni with which his lordship had been feasted some time since. Chôbei immediately suspected that in sending this friendly summons the cunning noble was hiding a dagger in a smile; however, he knew that if he stayed away out of fear he would be branded as a coward, and made a laughing-stock for fools to jeer at. Not caring that Jiurozayémon should succeed in his desire to put him to shame, he sent for his favourite apprentice, Tôken Gombei, and said to him-- "I have been invited to a drinking-bout by Midzuno Jiurozayémon. I know full well that this is but a stratagem to requite me for having fooled him, and maybe his hatred will go the length of killing me. However, I shall go and take my chance; and if I detect any sign of foul play, I'll try to serve the world by ridding it of a tyrant, who passes his life in oppressing the helpless farmers and wardsmen. Now as, even if I succeed in killing him in his own house, my life must pay forfeit for the deed, do you come to-morrow night with a burying-tub,[30] and fetch my corpse from this Jiurozayémon's house." [Footnote 30: The lowest classes in Japan are buried in a squatting position, in a sort of barrel. One would have expected a person of Chôbei's condition and means to have ordered a square box. It is a mistake to suppose the burning of the dead to be universal in Japan: only about thirty per cent of the lower classes, chiefly belonging to the Montô sect of Buddhism, are burnt. The rich and noble are buried in several square coffins, one inside the other, in a sitting position; and their bodies are partially preserved from decay by filling the nose, ears, and mouth with vermilion. In the case of the very wealthy, the coffin is completely filled in with vermilion. The family of the Princes of Mito, and some other nobles, bury their dead in a recumbent position.] Tôken Gombei, when he heard the "Father" speak thus, was horrified, and tried to dissuade him from obeying the invitation. But Chôbei's mind was fixed, and, without heeding Gombei's remonstrances, he proceeded to give instructions as to the disposal of his property after his death, and to settle all his earthly affairs. On the following day, towards noon, he made ready to go to Jiurozayémon's house, bidding one of his apprentices precede him with a complimentary present.[31] Jiurozayémon, who was waiting with impatience for Chôbei to come, so soon as he heard of his arrival ordered his retainers to usher him into his presence; and Chôbei, having bade his apprentices without fail to come and fetch him that night, went into the house. [Footnote 31: It is customary, on the occasion of a first visit to a house, to carry a present to the owner, who gives something of equal value on returning the visit.] No sooner had he reached the room next to that in which Jiurozayémon was sitting than he saw that his suspicions of treachery were well founded; for two men with drawn swords rushed upon him, and tried to cut him down. Deftly avoiding their blows, however, he tripped up the one, and kicking the other in the ribs, sent him reeling and breathless against the wall; then, as calmly as if nothing had happened he presented himself before Jiurozayémon, who, peeping through a chink in the sliding-doors, had watched his retainers' failure. "Welcome, welcome, Master Chôbei," said he. "I always had heard that you were a man of mettle, and I wanted to see what stuff you were made of; so I bade my retainers put your courage to the test. That was a masterly throw of yours. Well, you must excuse this churlish reception: come and sit down by me." "Pray do not mention it, my lord," said Chôbei, smiling rather scornfully. "I know that my poor skill is not to be measured with that of a noble Samurai; and if these two good gentlemen had the worst of it just now, it was mere luck--that's all." So, after the usual compliments had been exchanged, Chôbei sat down by Jiurozayémon, and the attendants brought in wine and condiments. Before they began to drink, however, Jiurozayémon said-- "You must be tired and exhausted with your walk this hot day, Master Chôbei. I thought that perhaps a bath might refresh you, so I ordered my men to get it ready for you. Would you not like to bathe and make yourself comfortable?" Chôbei suspected that this was a trick to strip him, and take him unawares when he should have laid aside his dirk. However, he answered cheerfully-- "Your lordship is very good. I shall be glad to avail myself of your kind offer. Pray excuse me for a few moments." So he went to the bath-room, and, leaving his clothes outside, he got into the bath, with the full conviction that it would be the place of his death. Yet he never trembled nor quailed, determined that, if he needs must die, no man should say he had been a coward. Then Jiurozayémon, calling to his attendants, said-- "Quick! lock the door of the bath-room! We hold him fast now. If he gets out, more than one life will pay the price of his. He's a match for any six of you in fair fight. Lock the door, I say, and light up the fire under the bath;[32] and we'll boil him to death, and be rid of him. Quick, men, quick!" [Footnote 32: This sort of bath, in which the water is heated by the fire of a furnace which is lighted from outside, is called _Goyémon-buro,_ or Goyémon's bath, after a notorious robber named Goyémon, who attempted the life of Taiko Sama, the famous general and ruler of the sixteenth century, and suffered for his crimes by being boiled to death in oil--a form of execution which is now obsolete.] So they locked the door, and fed the fire until the water hissed and bubbled within; and Chôbei, in his agony, tried to burst open the door, but Jiurozayémon ordered his men to thrust their spears through the partition wall and dispatch him. Two of the spears Chôbei clutched and broke short off; but at last he was struck by a mortal blow under the ribs, and died a brave man by the hands of cowards. [Illustration: THE DEATH OF CHÔBEI OF BANDZUIN.] That evening Tôken Gombei, who, to the astonishment of Chôbei's wife, had bought a burying-tub, came, with seven other apprentices, to fetch the Father of the Otokodaté from Jiurozayémon's house; and when the retainers saw them, they mocked at them, and said-- "What, have you come to fetch your drunken master home in a litter?" "Nay," answered Gombei, "but we have brought a coffin for his dead body, as he bade us." When the retainers heard this, they marvelled at the courage of Chôbei, who had thus wittingly come to meet his fate. So Chôbei's corpse was placed in the burying-tub, and handed over to his apprentices, who swore to avenge his death. Far and wide, the poor and friendless mourned for this good man. His son Chômatsu inherited his property; and his wife remained a faithful widow until her dying day, praying that she might sit with him in paradise upon the cup of the same lotus-flower. Many a time did the apprentices of Chôbei meet together to avenge him; but Jiurozayémon eluded all their efforts, until, having been imprisoned by the Government in the temple called Kanyeiji, at Uyéno, as is related in the story of "Kazuma's Revenge," he was placed beyond the reach of their hatred. So lived and so died Chôbei of Bandzuin, the Father of the Otokodaté of Yedo. NOTE ON ASAKUSA _Translated from a native book called the "Yedo Hanjôki," or Guide to the prosperous City of Yedo, and other sources._ Asakusa is the most bustling place in all Yedo. It is famous for the Temple Sensôji, on the hill of Kinriu, or the Golden Dragon, which from morning till night is thronged with visitors, rich and poor, old and young, flocking in sleeve to sleeve. The origin of the temple was as follows:--In the days of the Emperor Suiko, who reigned in the thirteenth century A.D., a certain noble, named Hashi no Nakatomo, fell into disgrace and left the Court; and having become a Rônin, or masterless man, he took up his abode on the Golden Dragon Hill, with two retainers, being brothers, named Hinokuma Hamanari and Hinokuma Takénari. These three men being reduced to great straits, and without means of earning their living, became fishermen. Now it happened that on the 6th day of the 3rd month of the 36th year of the reign of the Emperor Suiko (A.D. 1241), they went down in the morning to the Asakusa River to ply their trade; and having cast their nets took no fish, but at every throw they pulled up a figure of the Buddhist god Kwannon, which they threw into the river again. They sculled their boat away to another spot, but the same luck followed them, and nothing came to their nets save the figure of Kwannon. Struck by the miracle, they carried home the image, and, after fervent prayer, built a temple on the Golden Dragon Hill, in which they enshrined it. The temple thus founded was enriched by the benefactions of wealthy and pious persons, whose care raised its buildings to the dignity of the first temple in Yedo. Tradition says that the figure of Kwannon which was fished up in the net was one inch and eight-tenths in height. The main hall of the temple is sixty feet square, and is adorned with much curious workmanship of gilding and of silvering, so that no place can be more excellently beautiful. There are two gates in front of it. The first is called the Gate of the Spirits of the Wind and of the Thunder, and is adorned with figures of those two gods. The Wind-god, whose likeness is that of a devil, carries the wind-bag; and the Thunder-god, who is also shaped like a devil, carries a drum and a drumstick.[33] The second gate is called the Gate of the gods Niô, or the Two Princes, whose colossal statues, painted red, and hideous to look upon, stand on either side of it. Between the gates is an approach four hundred yards in length, which is occupied by the stalls of hucksters, who sell toys and trifles for women and children, and by foul and loathsome beggars. Passing through the gate of the gods Niô, the main hall of the temple strikes the eye. Countless niches and shrines of the gods stand outside it, and an old woman earns her livelihood at a tank filled with water, to which the votaries of the gods come and wash themselves that they may pray with clean hands. Inside are the images of the gods, lanterns, incense-burners, candlesticks, a huge moneybox, into which the offerings of the pious are thrown, and votive tablets[34] representing the famous gods and goddesses, heroes and heroines, of old. Behind the chief building is a broad space called the _okuyama_, where young and pretty waitresses, well dressed and painted, invite the weary pilgrims and holiday-makers to refresh themselves with tea and sweetmeats. Here, too, are all sorts of sights to be seen, such as wild beasts, performing monkeys, automata, conjurers, wooden and paper figures, which take the place of the waxworks of the West, acrobats, and jesters for the amusement of women and children. Altogether it is a lively and a joyous scene; there is not its equal in the city. [Footnote 33: This gate was destroyed by fire a few years since.] [Footnote 34: Sir Rutherford Alcock, in his book upon Japan, states that the portraits of the most famous courtesans of Yedo are yearly hung up in the temple at Asakusa. No such pictures are to be seen now, and no Japanese of whom I have made inquiries have heard of such a custom. The priests of the temple deny that their fane was ever so polluted, and it is probable that the statement is but one of the many strange mistakes into which an imperfect knowledge of the language led the earlier travellers in Japan. In spite of all that has been said by persons who have had no opportunity of associating and exchanging ideas with the educated men of Japan, I maintain that in no country is the public harlot more abhorred and looked down upon.] At Asakusa, as indeed all over Yedo, are to be found fortunetellers, who prey upon the folly of the superstitious. With a treatise on physiognomy laid on a desk before them, they call out to this man that he has an ill-omened forehead, and to that man that the space between his nose and his lips is unlucky. Their tongues wag like flowing water until the passers-by are attracted to their stalls. If the seer finds a customer, he closes his eyes, and, lifting the divining-sticks reverently to his forehead, mutters incantations between his teeth. Then, suddenly parting the sticks in two bundles, he prophesies good or evil, according to the number in each. With a magnifying-glass he examines his dupe's face and the palms of his hands. By the fashion of his clothes and his general manner the prophet sees whether he is a countryman or from the city. "I am afraid, sir," says he, "you have not been altogether fortunate in life, but I foresee that great luck awaits you in two or three months;" or, like a clumsy doctor who makes his diagnosis according to his patient's fancies, if he sees his customer frowning and anxious, he adds, "Alas! in seven or eight months you must beware of great misfortune. But I cannot tell you all about it for a slight fee:" with a long sigh he lays down the divining-sticks on the desk, and the frightened boor pays a further fee to hear the sum of the misfortune which threatens him, until, with three feet of bamboo slips and three inches of tongue, the clever rascal has made the poor fool turn his purse inside out. The class of diviners called _Ichiko_ profess to give tidings of the dead, or of those who have gone to distant countries. The Ichiko exactly corresponds to the spirit medium of the West. The trade is followed by women, of from fifteen or sixteen to some fifty years of age, who walk about the streets, carrying on their backs a divining-box about a foot square; they have no shop or stall, but wander about, and are invited into their customers' houses. The ceremony of divination is very simple. A porcelain bowl filled with water is placed upon a tray, and the customer, having written the name of the person with whom he wishes to hold communion on a long slip of paper, rolls it into a spill, which he dips into the water, and thrice sprinkles the Ichiko, or medium. She, resting her elbow upon her divining-box, and leaning her head upon her hand, mutters prayers and incantations until she has summoned the soul of the dead or absent person, which takes possession of her, and answers questions through her mouth. The prophecies which the Ichiko utters during her trance are held in high esteem by the superstitious and vulgar. Hard by Asakusa is the theatre street. The theatres are called _Shiba-i_,[35] "turf places," from the fact that the first theatrical performances were held on a turf plot. The origin of the drama in Japan, as elsewhere, was religious. In the reign of the Emperor Heijô (A.D. 805), there was a sudden volcanic depression of the earth close by a pond called Sarusawa, or the Monkey's Marsh, at Nara, in the province of Yamato, and a poisonous smoke issuing from the cavity struck down with sickness all those who came within its baneful influence; so the people brought quantities of firewood, which they burnt in order that the poisonous vapour might be dispelled. The fire, being the male influence, would assimilate with and act as an antidote upon the mephitic smoke, which was a female influence.[36] Besides this, as a further charm to exorcise the portent, the dance called Sambasô, which is still performed as a prelude to theatrical exhibitions by an actor dressed up as a venerable old man, emblematic of long life and felicity, was danced on a plot of turf in front of the Temple Kofukuji. By these means the smoke was dispelled, and the drama was originated. The story is to be found in the _Zoku Nihon Ki_, or supplementary history of Japan. [Footnote 35: In Dr. Hepburn's Dictionary of the Japanese language, the Chinese characters given for the word _Shiba-i_ are _chi chang_ (_keih chang_, Morrison's Dictionary), "theatrical arena." The characters which are usually written, and which are etymologically correct, are _chih chü_ (_che keu_, Morrison), "the place of plants or turf plot."] [Footnote 36: This refers to the Chinese doctrine of the Yang and Yin, the male and female influences pervading all creation.] Three centuries later, during the reign of the Emperor Toba (A.D. 1108), there lived a woman called Iso no Zenji, who is looked upon as the mother of the Japanese drama. Her performances, however, seem only to have consisted in dancing or posturing dressed up in the costume of the nobles of the Court, from which fact her dance was called Otoko-mai, or the man's dance. Her name is only worth mentioning on account of the respect in which her memory is held by actors. It was not until the year A.D. 1624 that a man named Saruwaka Kanzaburô, at the command of the Shogun, opened the first theatre in Yedo in the Nakabashi, or Middle Bridge Street, where it remained until eight years later, when it was removed to the Ningiyô, or Doll Street. The company of this theatre was formed by two families named Miako and Ichimura, who did not long enjoy their monopoly, for in the year 1644 we find a third family, that of Yamamura, setting up a rival theatre in the Kobiki, or Sawyer Street. In the year 1651, the Asiatic prejudice in favour of keeping persons of one calling in one place exhibited itself by the removal of the playhouses to their present site, and the street was called the Saruwaka Street, after Saruwaka Kanzaburô, the founder of the drama in Yedo. Theatrical performances go on from six in the morning until six in the evening. Just as the day is about to dawn in the east, the sound of the drum is heard, and the dance Sambasô is danced as a prelude, and after this follow the dances of the famous actors of old; these are called the extra performances (_waki kiyôgen_). The dance of Nakamura represents the demon Shudendôji, an ogre who was destroyed by the hero Yorimitsu according to the following legend:--At the beginning of the eleventh century, when Ichijô the Second was Emperor, lived the hero Yorimitsu. Now it came to pass that in those days the people of Kiôto were sorely troubled by an evil spirit, which took up its abode near the Rashô gate. One night, as Yorimitsu was making merry with his retainers, he said, "Who dares go and defy the demon of the Rashô gate, and set up a token that he has been there?" "That dare I," answered Tsuna, who, having donned his coat of mail, mounted his horse, and rode out through the dark bleak night to the Rashô gate. Having written his name upon the gate, he was about to turn homewards when his horse began to shiver with fear, and a huge hand coming forth from the gate seized the back of the knight's helmet. Tsuna, nothing daunted, struggled to get free, but in vain, so drawing his sword he cut off the demon's arm, and the spirit with a howl fled into the night. But Tsuna carried home the arm in triumph, and locked it up in a box. One night the demon, having taken the shape of Tsuna's aunt, came to him and said, "I pray thee show me the arm of the fiend." Tsuna answered, "I have shown it to no man, and yet to thee I will show it." So he brought forth the box and opened it, when suddenly a black cloud shrouded the figure of the supposed aunt, and the demon, having regained its arm, disappeared. From that time forth the people were more than ever troubled by the demon, who carried off to the hills all the fairest virgins of Kiôto, whom he ravished and ate, so that there was scarce a beautiful damsel left in the city. Then was the Emperor very sorrowful, and he commanded Yorimitsu to destroy the monster; and the hero, having made ready, went forth with four trusty knights and another great captain to search among the hidden places of the mountains. One day as they were journeying far from the haunts of men, they fell in with an old man, who, having bidden them to enter his dwelling, treated them kindly, and set before them wine to drink; and when they went away, and took their leave of him, he gave them a present of more wine to take away with them. Now this old man was a mountain god. As they went on their way they met a beautiful lady, who was washing blood-stained clothes in the waters of the valley, weeping bitterly the while. When they asked her why she shed tears, she answered, "Sirs, I am a woman from Kiôto, whom the demon has carried off; he makes me wash his clothes, and when he is weary of me, he will kill and eat me. I pray your lordships to save me." Then the six heroes bade the woman lead them to the ogre's cave, where a hundred devils were mounting guard and waiting upon him. The woman, having gone in first, told the fiend of their coming; and he, thinking to slay and eat them, called them to him; so they entered the cave, which reeked with the smell of the flesh and blood of men, and they saw Shudendôji, a huge monster with the face of a little child. The six men offered him the wine which they had received from the mountain god, and he, laughing in his heart, drank and made merry, so that little by little the fumes of the wine got into his head, and he fell asleep. The heroes, themselves feigning sleep, watched for a moment when the devils were all off their guard to put on their armour and steal one by one into the demon's chamber. Then Yorimitsu, seeing that all was still, drew his sword, and cut off Shudendôji's head, which sprung up and bit at his head; luckily, however, Yorimitsu had put on two helmets, the one over the other, so he was not hurt. When all the devils had been slain, the heroes and the woman returned to Kiôto carrying with them the head of Shudendôji, which was laid before the Emperor; and the fame of their action was spread abroad under heaven. This Shudendôji is the ogre represented in the Nakamura dance. The Ichimura dance represents the seven gods of wealth; and the Morita dance represents a large ape, and is emblematical of drinking wine. As soon as the sun begins to rise in the heaven, sign-boards all glistening with paintings and gold are displayed, and the playgoers flock in crowds to the theatre. The farmers and country-folk hurry over their breakfast, and the women and children, who have got up in the middle of the night to paint and adorn themselves, come from all the points of the compass to throng the gallery, which is hung with curtains as bright as the rainbow in the departing clouds. The place soon becomes so crowded that the heads of the spectators are like the scales on a dragon's back. When the play begins, if the subject be tragic the spectators are so affected that they weep till they have to wring their sleeves dry. If the piece be comic they laugh till their chins are out of joint. The tricks and stratagems of the drama baffle description, and the actors are as graceful as the flight of the swallow. The triumph of persecuted virtue and the punishment of wickedness invariably crown the story. When a favourite actor makes his appearance, his entry is hailed with cheers. Fun and diversion are the order of the day, and rich and poor alike forget the cares which they have left behind them at home; and yet it is not all idle amusement, for there is a moral taught, and a practical sermon preached in every play. The subjects of the pieces are chiefly historical, feigned names being substituted for those of the real heroes. Indeed, it is in the popular tragedies that we must seek for an account of many of the events of the last two hundred and fifty years; for only one very bald history[37] of those times has been published, of which but a limited number of copies were struck off from copper plates, and its circulation was strictly forbidden by the Shogun's Government. The stories are rendered with great minuteness and detail, so much so, that it sometimes takes a series of representations to act out one piece in its entirety. The Japanese are far in advance of the Chinese in their scenery and properties, and their pieces are sometimes capitally got up: a revolving stage enables them to shift from one scene to another with great rapidity. First-rate actors receive as much as a thousand riyos (about £300) as their yearly salary. This, however, is a high rate of pay, and many a man has to strut before the public for little more than his daily rice; to a clever young actor it is almost enough reward to be allowed to enter a company in which there is a famous star. The salary of the actor, however, may depend upon the success of the theatre; for dramatic exhibitions are often undertaken as speculations by wealthy persons, who pay their company in proportion to their own profit. Besides his regular pay, a popular Japanese actor has a small mine of wealth in his patrons, who open their purses freely for the privilege of frequenting the greenroom., The women's parts are all taken by men, as they used to be with us in ancient days. Touching the popularity of plays, it is related that in the year 1833, when two actors called Bandô Shuka and Segawa Rokô, both famous players of women's parts, died at the same time, the people of Yedo mourned to heaven and to earth; and if a million riyos could have brought back their lives, the money would have been forthcoming. Thousands flocked to their funeral, and the richness of their coffins and of the clothes laid upon them was admired by all. [Footnote 37: I allude to the _Tai Hei Nem-piyô,_ or Annals of the Great Peace, a very rare work, only two or three copies of which have found their way into the libraries of foreigners.] "When I heard this," says Terakado Seiken, the author of the _Yedo Hanjôki_, "I lifted my eyes to heaven and heaved a great sigh. When my friend Saitô Shimei, a learned and good man, died, there was barely enough money to bury him; his needy pupils and friends subscribed to give him a humble coffin. Alas! alas! here was a teacher who from his youth up had honoured his parents, and whose heart know no guile: if his friends were in need, he ministered to their wants; he grudged no pains to teach his fellow-men; his good-will and charity were beyond praise; under the blue sky and bright day he never did a shameful deed. His merits were as those of the sages of old; but because he lacked the cunning of a fox or badger he received no patronage from the wealthy, and, remaining poor to the day of his death, never had an opportunity of making his worth known. Alas! alas!" The drama is exclusively the amusement of the middle and lower classes. Etiquette, sternest of tyrants, forbids the Japanese of high rank to be seen at any public exhibition, wrestling-matches alone excepted. Actors are, however, occasionally engaged to play in private for the edification of my lord and his ladies; and there is a kind of classical opera, called Nô, which is performed on stages specially built for the purpose in the palaces of the principal nobles. These Nô represent the entertainments by which the Sun Goddess was lured out of the cave in which she had hidden, a fable said to be based upon an eclipse. In the reign of the Emperor Yômei (A.D. 586-593), Hada Kawakatsu, a man born in Japan, but of Chinese extraction, was commanded by the Emperor to arrange an entertainment for the propitiation of the gods and the prosperity of the country. Kawakatsu wrote thirty-three plays, introducing fragments of Japanese poetry with accompaniments of musical instruments. Two performers, named Takéta and Hattori, having especially distinguished themselves in these entertainments, were ordered to prepare other similar plays, and their productions remain to the present day. The pious intention of the Nô being to pray for the prosperity of the country, they are held in the highest esteem by the nobles of the Court, the Daimios, and the military class: in old days they alone performed in these plays, but now ordinary actors take part in them. The Nô are played in sets. The first of the set is specially dedicated to the propitiation of the gods; the second is performed in full armour, and is designed to terrify evil spirits, and to insure the punishment of malefactors; the third is of a gentler intention, and its special object is the representation of all that is beautiful and fragrant and delightful. The performers wear hideous wigs and masks, not unlike those of ancient Greece, and gorgeous brocade dresses. The masks, which belong to what was the private company of the Shogun, are many centuries old, and have been carefully preserved as heirlooms from generation to generation; being made of very thin wood lacquered over, and kept each in a silken bag, they have been uninjured by the lapse of time. During the Duke of Edinburgh's stay in Yedo, this company was engaged to give a performance in the Yashiki of the Prince of Kishiu, which has the reputation of being the handsomest palace in all Yedo. So far as I know, such an exhibition had never before been witnessed by foreigners, and it may be interesting to give an account of it. Opposite the principal reception-room, where his Royal Highness sat, and separated from it by a narrow courtyard, was a covered stage, approached from the greenroom by a long gallery at an angle of forty-five degrees. Half-a-dozen musicians, clothed in dresses of ceremony, marched slowly down the gallery, and, having squatted down on the stage, bowed gravely. The performances then began. There was no scenery, nor stage appliances; the descriptions of the chorus or of the actors took their place. The dialogue and choruses are given in a nasal recitative, accompanied by the mouth-organ, flute, drum, and other classical instruments, and are utterly unintelligible. The ancient poetry is full of puns and plays upon words, and it was with no little difficulty that, with the assistance of a man of letters, I prepared beforehand the arguments of the different pieces. The first play was entitled _Hachiman of the Bow_. Hachiman is the name under which the Emperor Ojin (A.C. 270-312) was deified as the God of War. He is specially worshipped on account of his miraculous birth; his mother, the Empress Jingo, having, by the virtue of a magic stone which she wore at her girdle, borne him in her womb for three years, during which she made war upon and conquered the Coreans. The time of the plot is laid in the reign of the Emperor Uda the Second (A.D. 1275-1289). In the second month of the year pilgrims are flocking to the temple of Hachiman at Mount Otoko, between Osaka and Kiôto. All this is explained by the chorus. A worshipper steps forth, sent by the Emperor, and delivers a congratulatory oration upon the peace and prosperity of the land. The chorus follows in the same strain: they sing the praises of Hachiman and of the reigning Emperor. An old man enters, bearing something which appears to be a bow in a brocade bag. On being asked who he is, the old man answers that he is an aged servant of the shrine, and that he wishes to present his mulberry-wood bow to the Emperor; being too humble to draw near to his Majesty he has waited for this festival, hoping that an opportunity might present itself. He explains that with this bow, and with certain arrows made of the Artemisia, the heavenly gods pacified the world. On being asked to show his bow, he refuses; it is a mystic protector of the country, which in old days was overshadowed by the mulberry-tree. The peace which prevails in the land is likened to a calm at sea. The Emperor is the ship, and his subjects the water. The old man dwells upon the ancient worship of Hachiman, and relates how his mother, the Empress Jingo, sacrificed to the gods before invading Corea, and how the present prosperity of the country is to be attributed to the acceptance of those sacrifices. After having revealed himself as the god Hachiman in disguise, the old man disappears. The worshipper, awe-struck, declares that he must return to Kiôto and tell the Emperor what he has seen. The chorus announces that sweet music and fragrant perfumes issue from the mountain, and the piece ends with felicitations upon the visible favour of the gods, and especially of Hachiman. The second piece was _Tsunémasa_. Tsunémasa was a hero of the twelfth century, who died in the civil wars; he was famous for his skill in playing on the _biwa_, a sort of four-stringed lute. A priest enters, and announces that his name is Giyôkei, and that before he retired from the world he held high rank at Court. He relates how Tsunémasa, in his childhood the favourite of the Emperor, died in the wars by the western seas. During his lifetime the Emperor gave him a lute, called Sei-zan, "the Azure Mountain"; this lute at his death was placed in a shrine erected to his honour, and at his funeral music and plays were performed during seven days within the palace, by the special grace of the Emperor. The scene is laid at the shrine. The lonely and awesome appearance of the spot is described. Although the sky is clear, the wind rustles through the trees like the sound of falling rain; and although it is now summer-time, the moonlight on the sand looks like hoar-frost. All nature is sad and downcast. The ghost appears, and sings that it is the spirit of Tsunémasa, and has come to thank those who have piously celebrated his obsequies. No one answers him, and the spirit vanishes, its voice becoming fainter and fainter, an unreal and illusory vision haunting the scenes amid which its life was spent. The priest muses on the portent. Is it a dream or a reality? Marvellous! The ghost, returning, speaks of former days, when it lived as a child in the palace, and received the Azure Mountain lute from the Emperor--that lute with the four strings of which its hand was once so familiar, and the attraction of which now draws it from the grave. The chorus recites the virtues of Tsunémasa--his benevolence, justice, humanity, talents, and truth; his love of poetry and music; the trees, the flowers, the birds, the breezes, the moon--all had a charm for him. The ghost begins to play upon the Azure Mountain lute, and the sounds produced from the magical instrument are so delicate, that all think it is a shower falling from heaven. The priest declares that it is not rain, but the sound of the enchanted lute. The sound of the first and second strings is as the sound of gentle rain, or of the wind stirring the pine-trees; and the sound of the third and fourth strings is as the song of birds and pheasants calling to their young. A rhapsody in praise of music follows. Would that such strains could last for ever! The ghost bewails its fate that it cannot remain to play on, but must return whence it came. The priest addresses the ghost, and asks whether the vision is indeed the spirit of Tsunémasa. Upon this the ghost calls out in an agony of sorrow and terror at having been seen by mortal eyes, and bids that the lamps be put out: on its return to the abode of the dead it will suffer for having shown itself: it describes the fiery torments which will be its lot. Poor fool! it has been lured to its destruction, like the insect of summer that flies into the flame. Summoning the winds to its aid, it puts out the lights, and disappears. _The Suit of Feathers_ is the title of a very pretty conceit which followed. A fisherman enters, and in a long recitative describes the scenery at the sea-shore of Miwo, in the province of Suruga, at the foot of Fuji-Yama, the Peerless Mountain. The waves are still, and there is a great calm; the fishermen are all out plying their trade. The speaker's name is Hakuriyô, a fisherman living in the pine-grove of Miwo. The rains are now over, and the sky is serene; the sun rises bright and red over the pine-trees and rippling sea; while last night's moon is yet seen faintly in the heaven. Even he, humble fisher though he be, is softened by the beauty of the nature which surrounds him. A breeze springs up, the weather will change; clouds and waves will succeed sunshine and calm; the fishermen must get them home again. No; it is but the gentle breath of spring, after all; it scarcely stirs the stout fir-trees, and the waves are hardly heard to break upon the shore. The men may go forth in safety. The fisherman then relates how, while he was wondering at the view, flowers began to rain from the sky, and sweet music filled the air, which was perfumed by a mystic fragrance. Looking up, he saw hanging on a pine-tree a fairy's suit of feathers, which he took home, and showed to a friend, intending to keep it as a relic in his house. A heavenly fairy makes her appearance, and claims the suit of feathers; but the fisherman holds to his treasure trove. She urges the impiety of his act--a mortal has no right to take that which belongs to the fairies. He declares that he will hand down the feather suit to posterity as one of the treasures of the country. The fairy bewails her lot; without her wings how can she return to heaven? She recalls the familiar joys of heaven, now closed to her; she sees the wild geese and the gulls flying to the skies, and longs for their power of flight; the tide has its ebb and its flow, and the sea-breezes blow whither they list: for her alone there is no power of motion, she must remain on earth. At last, touched by her plaint, the fisherman consents to return the feather suit, on condition that the fairy shall dance and play heavenly music for him. She consents, but must first obtain the feather suit, without which she cannot dance. The fisherman refuses to give it up, lest she should fly away to heaven without redeeming her pledge. The fairy reproaches him for his want of faith: how should a heavenly being be capable of falsehood? He is ashamed, and gives her the feather suit, which she dons, and begins to dance, singing of the delights of heaven, where she is one of the fifteen attendants who minister to the moon. The fisherman is so transported with joy, that he fancies himself in heaven, and wishes to detain the fairy to dwell with him for ever. A song follows in praise of the scenery and of the Peerless Mountain capped with the snows of spring. When her dance is concluded, the fairy, wafted away by the sea-breeze, floats past the pine-grove to Ukishima and Mount Ashidaka, over Mount Fuji, till she is seen dimly like a cloud in the distant sky, and vanishes into thin air. The last of the Nô was _The Little Smith_, the scene of which is laid in the reign of the Emperor Ichijô (A.D. 987--1011). A noble of the court enters, and proclaims himself to be Tachibana Michinari. He has been commanded by the Emperor, who has seen a dream of good omen on the previous night, to order a sword of the smith Munéchika of Sanjô. He calls Munéchika, who comes out, and, after receiving the order, expresses the difficulty he is in, having at that time no fitting mate to help him; he cannot forge a blade alone. The excuse is not admitted; the smith pleads hard to be saved from the shame of a failure. Driven to a compliance, there is nothing left for it but to appeal to the gods for aid. He prays to the patron god of his family, Inari Sama.[38] A man suddenly appears, and calls the smith; this man is the god Inari Sama in disguise. The smith asks who is his visitor, and how does he know him by name. The stranger answers, "Thou hast been ordered to make a blade for the Emperor." "This is passing strange," says the smith. "I received the order but a moment since; how comest thou to know of it?" "Heaven has a voice which is heard upon the earth. Walls have ears, and stones tell tales.[39] There are no secrets in the world. The flash of the blade ordered by him who is above the clouds (the Emperor) is quickly seen. By the grace of the Emperor the sword shall be quickly made." Here follows the praise of certain famous blades, and an account of the part they played in history, with special reference to the sword which forms one of the regalia. The sword which the Emperor has sent for shall be inferior to none of these; the smith may set his heart at rest. The smith, awe-struck, expresses his wonder, and asks again who is addressing him. He is bidden to go and deck out his anvil, and a supernatural power will help him. The visitor disappears in a cloud. The smith prepares his anvil, at the four corners of which he places images of the gods, while above it he stretches the straw rope and paper pendants hung up in temples to shut out foul or ill-omened influences. He prays for strength to make the blade, not for his own glory, but for the honour of the Emperor. A young man, a fox in disguise, appears, and helps Munéchika to forge the steel. The noise of the anvil resounds to heaven and over the earth. The chorus announces that the blade is finished; on one side is the mark of Munéchika, on the other is graven "The Little Fox" in clear characters. [Footnote 38: The note at the end of the Story of the Grateful Foxes contains an account of Inari Sama, and explains how the foxes minister to him.] [Footnote 39: This is a literal translation of a Japanese proverb.] The subjects of the Nô are all taken from old legends of the country; a shrine at Miwo, by the sea-shore, marks the spot where the suit of feathers was found, and the miraculously forged sword is supposed to be in the armoury of the Emperor to this day. The beauty of the poetry--and it is very beautiful--is marred by the want of scenery and by the grotesque dresses and make-up. In the _Suit of Feathers_, for instance, the fairy wears a hideous mask and a wig of scarlet elf locks: the suit of feathers itself is left entirely to the imagination; and the heavenly dance is a series of whirls, stamps, and jumps, accompanied by unearthly yells and shrieks; while the vanishing into thin air is represented by pirouettes something like the motion of a dancing dervish. The intoning of the recitative is unnatural and unintelligible, so much so that not even a highly educated Japanese could understand what is going on unless he were previously acquainted with the piece. This, however, is supposing that which is not, for the Nô are as familiarly known as the masterpieces of our own dramatists. The classical severity of the Nô is relieved by the introduction between the pieces of light farces called Kiyôgen. The whole entertainment having a religious intention, the Kiyôgen stand to the Nô in the same relation as the small shrines to the main temple; they, too, are played for the propitiation of the gods, and for the softening of men's hearts. The farces are acted without wigs or masks; the dialogue is in the common spoken language, and there being no musical accompaniment it is quite easy to follow. The plots of the two farces which were played before the Duke of Edinburgh are as follows:-- In the _Ink Smearing_ the hero is a man from a distant part of the country, who, having a petition to prefer, comes to the capital, where he is detained for a long while. His suit being at last successful, he communicates the joyful news to his servant, Tarôkaja (the conventional name of the Leporello of these farces). The two congratulate one another. To while away his idle hours during his sojourn at the capital the master has entered into a flirtation with a certain young lady: master and servant now hold a consultation as to whether the former should not go and take leave of her. Tarôkaja is of opinion that as she is of a very jealous nature, his master ought to go. Accordingly the two set out to visit her, the servant leading the way. Arrived at her house, the gentleman goes straight in without the knowledge of the lady, who, coming out and meeting Tarôkaja, asks after his master. He replies that his master is inside the house. She refuses to believe him, and complains that, for some time past, his visits have been few and far between. Why should he come now? Surely Tarôkaja is hoaxing her. The servant protests that he is telling the truth, and that his master really has entered the house. She, only half persuaded, goes in, and finds that my lord is indeed there. She welcomes him, and in the same breath upbraids him. Some other lady has surely found favour in his eyes. What fair wind has wafted him back to her? He replies that business alone has kept him from her; he hopes that all is well with her. With her, indeed, all is well, and there is no change; but she fears that his heart is changed. Surely, surely he has found mountains upon mountains of joy elsewhere, even now, perhaps, he is only calling on his way homeward from some haunt of pleasure. What pleasure can there be away from her? answers he. Indeed, his time has not been his own, else he would have come sooner. Why, then, did he not send his servant to explain? Tarôkaja here puts in his oar, and protests that, between running on errands and dancing attendance upon his lord, he has not had a moment to himself. "At any rate," says the master, "I must ask for your congratulations; for my suit, which was so important, has prospered." The lady expresses her happiness, and the gentleman then bids his servant tell her the object of their visit. Tarôkaja objects to this; his lord had better tell his own story. While the two are disputing as to who shall speak, the lady's curiosity is aroused. "What terrible tale is this that neither of you dare tell? Pray let one or other of you speak." At last the master explains that he has come to take leave of her, as he must forthwith return to his own province. The girl begins to weep, and the gentleman following suit, the two shed tears in concert. She uses all her art to cajole him, and secretly produces from her sleeve a cup of water, with which she smears her eyes to imitate tears. He, deceived by the trick, tries to console her, and swears that as soon as he reaches his own country he will send a messenger to fetch her; but she pretends to weep all the more, and goes on rubbing her face with water. Tarôkaja, in the meanwhile, detects the trick, and, calling his master on one side, tells him what she is doing. The gentleman, however, refuses to believe him, and scolds him right roundly for telling lies. The lady calls my lord to her, and weeping more bitterly than ever, tries to coax him to remain. Tarôkaja slyly fills another cup, with ink and water, and substitutes it for the cup of clear water. She, all unconcerned, goes on smearing her face. At last she lifts her face, and her lover, seeing it all black and sooty, gives a start. What can be the matter with the girl's face? Tarôkaja, in an aside, explains what he has done. They determine to put her to shame. The lover, producing from his bosom a box containing a mirror, gives it to the girl, who, thinking that it is a parting gift, at first declines to receive it. It is pressed upon her; she opens the box and sees the reflection of her dirty face. Master and man burst out laughing. Furious, she smears Tarôkaja's face with the ink; he protests that he is not the author of the trick, and the girl flies at her lover and rubs his face too. Both master and servant run off, pursued by the girl. The second farce was shorter than the first, and was called _The Theft of the Sword_. A certain gentleman calls his servant Tarôkaja, and tells him that he is going out for a little diversion. Bidding Tarôkaja follow him, he sets out. On their way they meet another gentleman, carrying a handsome sword in his hand, and going to worship at the Kitano shrine at Kiôto. Tarôkaja points out the beauty of the sword to his master, and says what a fine thing it would be if they could manage to obtain possession of it. Tarôkaja borrows his master's sword, and goes up to the stranger, whose attention is taken up by looking at the wares set out for sale in a shop. Tarôkaja lays his hand on the guard of the stranger's sword; and the latter, drawing it, turns round, and tries to cut the thief down. Tarôkaja takes to his heels, praying hard that his life may be spared. The stranger takes away the sword which Tarôkaja has borrowed from his master, and goes on his way to the shrine, carrying the two swords. Tarôkaja draws a long breath of relief when he sees that his life is not forfeited; but what account is he to give of his master's sword which he has lost. There is no help for it, he must go back and make a clean breast of it. His master is very angry; and the two, after consulting together, await the stranger's return from the shrine. The latter makes his appearance and announces that he is going home. Tarôkaja's master falls upon the stranger from behind, and pinions him, ordering Tarôkaja to fetch a rope and bind him. The knave brings the cord; but, while he is getting it ready, the stranger knocks him over with his sword. His master calls out to him to get up quickly and bind the gentleman from behind, and not from before. Tarôkaja runs behind the struggling pair, but is so clumsy that he slips the noose over his master's head by mistake, and drags him down. The stranger, seeing this, runs away laughing with the two swords. Tarôkaja, frightened at his blunder, runs off too, his master pursuing him off the stage. A general run off, be it observed, something like the "spill-and-pelt" scene in an English pantomime, is the legitimate and invariable termination of the Kiyôgen. NOTE ON THE GAME OF FOOTBALL. The game of football is in great favour at the Japanese Court. The days on which it takes place are carefully noted in the "Daijôkwan Nishi," or Government Gazette. On the 25th of February, 1869, for instance, we find two entries: "The Emperor wrote characters of good omen," and "The game of football was played at the palace." The game was first introduced from China in the year of the Empress Kôkiyoku, in the middle of the seventh century. The Emperor Mommu, who reigned at the end of the same century, was the first emperor who took part in the sport. His Majesty Toba the Second became very expert at it, as also did the noble Asukai Chiujo, and from that time a sort of football club was formed at the palace. During the days of the extreme poverty of the Mikado and his Court, the Asukai family, notwithstanding their high rank, were wont to eke out their scanty income by giving lessons in the art of playing football. THE WONDERFUL ADVENTURES OF FUNAKOSHI JIUYÉMON The doughty deeds and marvellous experiences of Funakoshi Jiuyémon are perhaps, like those of Robin Hood and his Merry Men, rather traditional than historical; but even if all or part of the deeds which popular belief ascribes to him be false, his story conveys a true picture of manners and customs. Above all, the manner of the vengeance which he wreaked upon the wife who had dishonoured him, and upon her lover, shows the high importance which the Japanese attach to the sanctity of the marriage tie. The 50th and 51st chapters of the "Legacy of Iyéyasu," already quoted, say: "If a married woman of the agricultural, artisan, or commercial class shall secretly have intercourse with another man, it is not necessary for the husband to enter a complaint against the persons thus confusing the great relation of mankind, but he may put them both to death. Nevertheless, should he slay one of them and spare the other, his guilt is the same as that of the unrighteous persons. "In the event, however, of advice being sought, the parties not having been slain, accede to the wishes of the complainant with, regard to putting them to death or not. "Mankind, in whose bodies the male and female elements induce a natural desire towards the same object, do not look upon such practices with aversion; and the adjudication of such cases is a matter of special deliberation and consultation. "Men and women of the military class are expected to know better than to occasion disturbance by violating existing regulations; and such an one breaking the regulations by lewd, trifling, or illicit intercourse shall at once be punished, without deliberation or consultation. It is not the same in this case as in that of agriculturists, artisans, and traders." As a criminal offence, adultery was, according to the ancient laws of Japan, punished by crucifixion. In more modern times it has been punished by decapitation and the disgraceful exposure of the head after death; but if the murder of the injured husband accompany the crime of adultery, then the guilty parties are crucified to this day. At the present time the husband is no longer allowed to take the law into his own hands: he must report the matter to the Government, and trust to the State to avenge his honour. Sacred as the marriage tie is so long as it lasts, the law which cuts it is curiously facile, or rather there is no law: a man may turn his wife out of doors, as it may suit his fancy. An example of this practice was shown in the story of "The Forty-seven Rônins." A husband has but to report the matter to his lord, and the ceremony of divorce is completed. Thus, in the days of the Shoguns' power, a Hatamoto who had divorced his wife reported the matter to the Shogun. A Daimio's retainer reports the matter to his Prince. The facility of divorce, however, seems to be but rarely taken advantage of: this is probably owing to the practice of keeping concubines. It has often been asked, Are the Japanese polygamists? The answer is, Yes and no. They marry but one wife; but a man may, according to his station and means, have one or more concubines in addition. The Emperor has twelve concubines, called Kisaki; and Iyéyasu, alluding forcibly to excess in this respect as _teterrima belli causa_, laid down that the princes might have eight, high officers five, and ordinary Samurai two handmaids. "In the olden times," he writes, "the downfall of castles and the overthrow of kingdoms all proceeded from this alone. Why is not the indulgence of passions guarded against?" The difference between the position of the wife and that of the concubine is marked. The legitimate wife is to the handmaid as a lord is to his vassal. Concubinage being a legitimate institution, the son of a handmaid is no bastard, nor is he in any way the child of shame; and yet, as a general rule, the son of the bondwoman is not heir with the son of the free, for the son of the wife inherits before the son of a concubine, even where the latter be the elder; and it frequently happens that a noble, having children by his concubines but none by his wife, selects a younger brother of his own, or even adopts the son of some relative, to succeed him in the family honours. The family line is considered to be thus more purely preserved. The law of succession is, however, extremely lax. Excellent personal merits will sometimes secure to the left-handed son the inheritance of his ancestors; and it often occurs that the son of a concubine, who is debarred from succeeding to his own father, is adopted as the heir of a relation or friend of even higher rank. When the wife of a noble has a daughter but no son, the practice is to adopt a youth of suitable family and age, who marries the girl and inherits as a son. The principle of adoption is universal among all classes, from the Emperor down to his meanest subject; nor is the family line considered to have been broken because an adopted son has succeeded to the estates. Indeed, should a noble die without heir male, either begotten or adopted, his lands are forfeited to the State. It is a matter of care that the person adopted should be himself sprung from a stock of rank suited to that of the family into which he is to be received. Sixteen and upwards being considered the marriageable age for a man, it is not usual for persons below that age to adopt an heir; yet an infant at the point of death may adopt a person older than himself, that the family line may not become extinct. An account of the marriage ceremony will be found in the Appendix upon the subject. In the olden time, in the island of Shikoku[40] there lived one Funakoshi Jiuyémon, a brave Samurai and accomplished man, who was in great favour with the prince, his master. One day, at a drinking-bout, a quarrel sprung up between him and a brother-officer, which resulted in a duel upon the spot, in which Jiuyémon killed his adversary. When Jiuyémon awoke to a sense of what he had done, he was struck with remorse, and he thought to disembowel himself; but, receiving a private summons from his lord, he went to the castle, and the prince said to him-- "So it seems that you have been getting drunk and quarrelling, and that you have killed one of your friends; and now I suppose you will have determined to perform _hara-kiri_. It is a great pity, and in the face of the laws I can do nothing for you openly. Still, if you will escape and fly from this part of the country for a while, in two years' time the affair will have blown over, and I will allow you to return." [Footnote 40: _Shikoku_, one of the southern islands separated from the chief island of Japan by the beautiful "Inland Sea;" it is called _Shikoku_, or the "Four Provinces," because it is divided into the four provinces, _Awa, Sanuki, Iyo,_ and _Tosa_.] And with these words the prince presented him with a fine sword, made by Sukésada,[41] and a hundred ounces of silver, and, having bade him farewell, entered his private apartments; and Jiuyémon, prostrating himself, wept tears of gratitude; then, taking the sword and the money, he went home and prepared to fly from the province, and secretly took leave of his relations, each of whom made him some parting present. These gifts, together with his own money, and what he had received from the prince, made up a sum of two hundred and fifty ounces of silver, with which and his Sukésada sword he escaped under cover of darkness, and went to a sea-port called Marugamé, in the province of Sanuki, where he proposed to wait for an opportunity of setting sail for Osaka. As ill luck would have it, the wind being contrary, he had to remain three days idle; but at last the wind changed; so he went down to the beach, thinking that he should certainly find a junk about to sail; and as he was looking about him, a sailor came up, and said-- "If your honour is minded to take a trip to Osaka, my ship is bound thither, and I should be glad to take you with me as passenger." "That's exactly what I wanted. I will gladly take a passage," replied Jiuyémon, who was delighted at the chance. [Footnote 41: _Sukésada_, a famous family of swordsmiths, belonging to the Bizen clan. The Bizen men are notoriously good armourers, and their blades fetch high prices. The sword of Jiuyémon is said to have been made by one of the Sukésada who lived about 290 years ago.] "Well, then, we must set sail at once, so please come on board without delay." So Jiuyémon went with him and embarked; and as they left the harbour and struck into the open sea, the moon was just rising above the eastern hills, illumining the dark night like a noonday sun; and Jiuyémon, taking his place in the bows of the ship, stood wrapt in contemplation of the beauty of the scene. [Illustration: JIUYÉMON ON BOARD THE PIRATE SHIP.] Now it happened that the captain of the ship, whose name was Akagôshi Kuroyémon, was a fierce pirate who, attracted by Jiuyémon's well-to-do appearance, had determined to decoy him on board, that he might murder and rob him; and while Jiuyémon was looking at the moon, the pirate and his companions were collected in the stern of the ship, taking counsel together in whispers as to how they might slay him. He, on the other hand, having for some time past fancied their conduct somewhat strange, bethought him that it was not prudent to lay aside his sword, so he went towards the place where he had been sitting, and had left his weapon lying, to fetch it, when he was stopped by three of the pirates, who blocked up the gangway, saying-- "Stop, Sir Samurai! Unluckily for you, this ship in which you have taken a passage belongs to the pirate Akagôshi Kuroyémon. Come, sir! whatever money you may chance to have about you is our prize." When Jiuyémon heard this he was greatly startled at first, but soon recovered himself, and being an expert wrestler, kicked over two of the pirates, and made for his sword; but in the meanwhile Shichirohei, the younger brother of the pirate captain, had drawn the sword, and brought it towards him, saying-- "If you want your sword, here it is!" and with that he cut at him; but Jiuyémon avoided the blow, and closing with the ruffian, got back his sword. Ten of the pirates then attacked him with spear and sword; but he, putting his back against the bows of the ship, showed such good fight that he killed three of his assailants, and the others stood off, not daring to approach him. Then the pirate captain, Akagôshi Kuroyémon, who had been watching the fighting from the stern, seeing that his men stood no chance against Jiuyémon's dexterity, and that he was only losing them to no purpose, thought to shoot him with a matchlock. Even Jiuyémon, brave as he was, lost heart when he saw the captain's gun pointed at him, and tried to jump into the sea; but one of the pirates made a dash at him with a boat-hook, and caught him by the sleeve; then Jiuyémon, in despair, took the fine Sukésada sword which he had received from his prince, and throwing it at his captor, pierced him through the breast so that he fell dead, and himself plunging into the sea swam for his life. The pirate captain shot at him and missed him, and the rest of the crew made every endeavour to seize him with their boat-hooks, that they might avenge the death of their mates; but it was all in vain, and Jiuyémon, having shaken off his clothes that he might swim the better, made good his escape. So the pirates threw the bodies of their dead comrades into the sea, and the captain was partly consoled for their loss by the possession of the Sukésada sword with which one of them had been transfixed. As soon as Jiuyémon jumped over the ship's side, being a good swimmer, he took a long dive, which carried him well out of danger, and struck out vigorously; and although he was tired and distressed by his exertions, he braced himself up to greater energy, and faced the waves boldly. At last, in the far distance, to his great joy, he spied a light, for which he made, and found that it was a ship carrying lanterns marked with the badge of the governor of Osaka; so he hailed her, saying-- "I have fallen into great trouble among pirates: pray rescue me." "Who and what are you?" shouted an officer, some forty years of age. "My name is Funakoshi Jiuyémon, and I have unwittingly fallen in with pirates this night. I have escaped so far: I pray you save me, lest I die." "Hold on to this, and come up," replied the other, holding out the butt end of a spear to him, which he caught hold of and clambered up the ship's side. When the officer saw before him a handsome gentleman, naked all but his loincloth, and with his hair all in disorder, he called to his servants to bring some of his own clothes, and, having dressed him in them, said-- "What clan do you belong to, sir?" "Sir, I am a Rônin, and was on my way to Osaka; but the sailors of the ship on which I had embarked were pirates;" and so he told the whole story of the fight and of his escape. "Well done, sir!" replied the other, astonished at his prowess. "My name is Kajiki Tozayémon, at your service. I am an officer attached to the governor of Osaka. Pray, have you any friends in that city?" "No, sir, I have no friends there; but as in two years I shall be able to return to my own country, and re-enter my lord's service, I thought during that time to engage in trade and live as a common wardsman." "Indeed, that's a poor prospect! However, if you will allow me, I will do all that is in my power to assist you. Pray excuse the liberty I am taking in making such a proposal." Jiuyémon warmly thanked Kajiki Tozayémon for his kindness; and so they reached Osaka without further adventures. Jiuyémon, who had secreted in his girdle the two hundred and fifty ounces which he had brought with him from home, bought a small house, and started in trade as a vendor of perfumes, tooth-powder, combs, and other toilet articles; and Kajiki Tozayémon, who treated him with great kindness, and rendered him many services, prompted him, as he was a single man, to take to himself a wife. Acting upon this advice, he married a singing-girl, called O Hiyaku.[42] [Footnote 42: The O before women's names signifies "_Imperial_," and is simply an honorific.] Now this O Hiyaku, although at first she seemed very affectionately disposed towards Jiuyémon, had been, during the time that she was a singer, a woman of bad and profligate character; and at this time there was in Osaka a certain wrestler, named Takaségawa Kurobei, a very handsome man, with whom O Hiyaku fell desperately in love; so that at last, being by nature a passionate woman, she became unfaithful to Jiuyémon. The latter, little suspecting that anything was amiss, was in the habit of spending his evenings at the house of his patron Kajiki Tozayémon, whose son, a youth of eighteen, named Tônoshin, conceived a great friendship for Jiuyémon, and used constantly to invite him to play a game at checkers; and it was on these occasions that O Hiyaku, profiting by her husband's absence, used to arrange her meetings with the wrestler Takaségawa. One evening, when Jiuyémon, as was his wont, had gone out to play at checkers with Kajiki Tônoshin, O Hiyaku took advantage of the occasion to go and fetch the wrestler, and invite him to a little feast; and as they were enjoying themselves over their wine, O Hiyaku said to him-- "Ah! Master Takaségawa, how wonderfully chance favours us! and how pleasant these stolen interviews are! How much nicer still it would be if we could only be married. But, as long as Jiuyémon is in the way, it is impossible; and that is my one cause of distress." "It's no use being in such a hurry. If you only have patience, we shall be able to marry, sure enough. What you have got to look out for now is, that Jiuyémon does not find out what we are about. I suppose there is no chance of his coming home to-night, is there?" "Oh dear, no! You need not be afraid. He is gone to Kajiki's house to play checkers; so he is sure to spend the night there." And so the guilty couple went on gossiping, with their minds at ease, until at last they dropped off asleep. In the meanwhile Jiuyémon, in the middle of his game at checkers, was seized with a sudden pain in his stomach, and said to Kajiki Tônoshin, "Young sir, I feel an unaccountable pain in my stomach. I think I had better go home, before it gets worse." "That is a bad job. Wait a little, and I will give you some physic; but, at any rate, you had better spend the night here." "Many thanks for your kindness," replied Jiuyémon; "but I had rather go home." So he took his leave, and went off to his own house, bearing the pain as best he might. When he arrived in front of his own door, he tried to open it; but the lock was fastened, and he could not get in, so he rapped violently at the shutters to try and awaken his wife. When O Hiyaku heard the noise, she woke with a start, and roused the wrestler, saying to him in a whisper-- "Get up! get up! Jiuyémon has come back. You must hide as fast as possible." "Oh dear! oh dear!" said the wrestler, in a great fright; "here's a pretty mess! Where on earth shall I hide myself?" and he stumbled about in every direction looking for a hiding-place, but found none. Jiuyémon, seeing that his wife did not come to open the door, got impatient at last, and forced it open by unfixing the sliding shutter and, entering the house, found himself face to face with his wife and her lover, who were both in such confusion that they did not know what to do. Jiuyémon, however, took no notice of them, but lit his pipe and sat smoking and watching them in silence. At last the wrestler, Takaségawa, broke the silence by saying-- "I thought, sir, that I should be sure to have the pleasure of finding you at home this evening, so I came out to call upon you. When I got here, the Lady O Hiyaku was so kind as to offer me some wine; and I drank a little more than was good for me, so that it got into my head, and I fell asleep. I must really apologize for having taken such a liberty in your absence; but, indeed, although appearances are against us, there has been nothing wrong." "Certainly," said O Hiyaku, coming to her lover's support, "Master Takaségawa is not at all to blame. It was I who invited him to drink wine; so I hope you will excuse him." Jiuyémon sat pondering the matter over in his mind for a moment, and then said to the wrestler, "You say that you are innocent; but, of course, that is a lie. It's no use trying to conceal your fault. However, next year I shall, in all probability, return to my own country, and then you may take O Hiyaku and do what you will with her: far be it from me to care what becomes of a woman with such a stinking heart." When the wrestler and O Hiyaku heard Jiuyémon say this quite quietly, they could not speak, but held their peace for very shame. "Here, you Takaségawa," pursued he; "you may stop here to-night, if you like it, and go home to-morrow." "Thank you, sir," replied the wrestler, "I am much obliged to you; but the fact is, that I have some pressing business in another part of the town, so, with your permission, I will take my leave;" and so he went out, covered with confusion. As for the faithless wife, O Hiyaku, she was in great agitation, expecting to be severely reprimanded at least; but Jiuyémon took no notice of her, and showed no anger; only from that day forth, although she remained in his house as his wife, he separated himself from her entirely. Matters went on in this way for some time, until at last, one fine day, O Hiyaku, looking out of doors, saw the wrestler Takaségawa passing in the street, so she called out to him-- "Dear me, Master Takaségawa, can that be you! What a long time it is since we have met! Pray come in, and have a chat." "Thank you, I am much obliged to you; but as I do not like the sort of scene we had the other day, I think I had rather not accept your invitation." "Pray do not talk in such a cowardly manner. Next year, when Jiuyémon goes back to his own country, he is sure to give me this house, and then you and I can marry and live as happily as possible." "I don't like being in too great a hurry to accept fair offers."[43] [Footnote 43: The original is a proverbial expression like "Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes."] "Nonsense! There's no need for showing such delicacy about accepting what is given you." And as she spoke, she caught the wrestler by the hand and led him into the house. After they had talked together for some time, she said:-- "Listen to me, Master Takaségawa. I have been thinking over all this for some time, and I see no help for it but to kill Jiuyémon and make an end of him." "What do you want to do that for?" "As long as he is alive, we cannot be married. What I propose is that you should buy some poison, and I will put it secretly into his food. When he is dead, we can be happy to our hearts' content." At first Takaségawa was startled and bewildered by the audacity of their scheme; but forgetting the gratitude which he owed to Jiuyémon for sparing his life on the previous occasion, he replied:-- "Well, I think it can be managed. I have a friend who is a physician, so I will get him to compound some poison for me, and will send it to you. You must look out for a moment when your husband is not on his guard, and get him to take it." Having agreed upon this, Takaségawa went away, and, having employed a physician to make up the poison, sent it to O Hiyaku in a letter, suggesting that the poison should be mixed up with a sort of macaroni, of which Jiuyémon was very fond. Having read the letter, she put it carefully away in a drawer of her cupboard, and waited until Jiuyémon should express a wish to eat some macaroni. One day, towards the time of the New Year, when O Hiyaku had gone out to a party with a few of her friends, it happened that Jiuyémon, being alone in the house, was in want of some little thing, and, failing to find it anywhere, at last bethought himself to look for it in O Hiyaku's cupboard; and as he was searching amongst the odds and ends which it contained, he came upon the fatal letter. When he read the scheme for putting poison in his macaroni, he was taken aback, and said to himself, "When I caught those two beasts in their wickedness I spared them, because their blood would have defiled my sword; and now they are not even grateful for my mercy. Their crime is beyond all power of language to express, and I will kill them together." So he put back the letter in its place, and waited for his wife to come home. So soon as she made her appearance he said-- "You have come home early, O Hiyaku. I feel very dull and lonely this evening; let us have a little wine." And as he spoke without any semblance of anger, it never entered O Hiyaku's mind that he had seen the letter; so she went about her household duties with a quiet mind. The following evening, as Jiuyémon was sitting in his shop casting up his accounts, with his counting-board[44] in his hand, Takaségawa passed by, and Jiuyémon called out to him, saying:-- "Well met, Takaségawa! I was just thinking of drinking a cup of wine to-night; but I have no one to keep me company, and it is dull work drinking alone. Pray come in, and drink a bout with me." [Footnote 44: The _abacus_, or counting-board, is the means of calculation in use throughout the Continent from St. Petersburg to Peking, in Corea, Japan, and the Liukiu Islands.] "Thank you, sir, I shall have much pleasure," replied the wrestler, who little expected what the other was aiming at; and so he went in, and they began to drink and feast. "It's very cold to-night," said Jiuyémon, after a while; "suppose we warm up a little macaroni, and eat it nice and hot. Perhaps, however, you do not like it?" "Indeed, I am very fond of it, on the contrary." "That is well. O Hiyaku, please go and buy a little for us." "Directly," replied his wife, who hurried off to buy the paste, delighted at the opportunity for carrying out her murderous design upon her husband. As soon she had prepared it, she poured it into bowls and set it before the two men; but into her husband's bowl only she put poison. Jiuyémon, who well knew what she had done, did not eat the mess at once, but remained talking about this, that, and the other; and the wrestler, out of politeness, was obliged to wait also. All of a sudden, Jiuyémon cried out-- "Dear me! whilst we have been gossiping, the macaroni has been getting cold. Let us put it all together and warm it up again. As no one has put his lips to his bowl yet, it will all be clean; so none need be wasted." And with these words he took the macaroni that was in the three bowls, and, pouring it altogether into an iron pot, boiled it up again. This time Jiuyémon served out the food himself, and, setting it before his wife and the wrestler, said-- "There! make haste and eat it up before it gets cold." Jiuyémon, of course, did not eat any of the mess; and the would-be murderers, knowing that sufficient poison had been originally put into Jiuyémon's bowl to kill them all three, and that now the macaroni, having been well mixed up, would all be poisoned, were quite taken aback, and did not know what to do. "Come! make haste, or it will be quite cold. You said you liked it, so I sent to buy it on purpose. O Hiyaku! come and make a hearty meal. I will eat some presently." At this the pair looked very foolish, and knew not what to answer; at last the wrestler got up and said-- "I do not feel quite well. I must beg to take my leave; and, if you will allow me, I will come and accept your hospitality to-morrow instead." "Dear me! I am sorry to hear you are not well. However, O Hiyaku, there will be all the more macaroni for you." As for O Hiyaku, she put a bold face upon the matter, and replied that she had supped already, and had no appetite for any more. Then Jiuyémon, looking at them both with a scornful smile, said-- "It seems that you, neither of you, care to eat this macaroni; however, as you, Takaségawa, are unwell, I will give you some excellent medicine;" and going to the cupboard, he drew out the letter, and laid it before the wrestler. When O Hiyaku and the wrestler saw that their wicked schemes had been brought to light, they were struck dumb with shame. Takaségawa, seeing that denial was useless, drew his dirk and cut at Jiuyémon; but he, being nimble and quick, dived under the wrestler's arm, and seizing his right hand from behind, tightened his grasp upon it until it became numbed, and the dirk fell to the ground; for, powerful man as the wrestler was, he was no match for Jiuyémon, who held him in so fast a grip that he could not move. Then Jiuyémon took the dirk which had fallen to the ground, and said:-- "Oh! I thought that you, being a wrestler, would at least be a strong man, and that there would be some pleasure in fighting you; but I see that you are but a poor feckless creature, after all. It would have defiled my sword to have killed such an ungrateful hound with it; but luckily here is your own dirk, and I will slay you with that." Takaségawa struggled to escape, but in vain; and O Hiyaku, seizing a large kitchen knife, attacked Jiuyémon; but he, furious, kicked her in the loins so violently that she fell powerless, then brandishing the dirk, he cleft the wrestler from the shoulder down to the nipple of his breast, and the big man fell in his agony. O Hiyaku, seeing this, tried to fly; but Jiuyémon, seizing her by the hair of the head, stabbed her in the bosom, and, placing her by her lover's side, gave her the death-blow. [Illustration: JIUYÉMON PUNISHES HIS WIFE AND THE WRESTLER.] On the following day, he sent in a report of what he had done to the governor of Osaka, and buried the corpses; and from that time forth he remained a single man, and pursued his trade as a seller of perfumery and such-like wares; and his leisure hours he continued to spend as before, at the house of his patron, Kajiki Tozayémon. One day, when Jiuyémon went to call upon Kajiki Tozayémon, he was told by the servant-maid, who met him at the door, that her master was out, but that her young master, Tônoshin, was at home; so, saying that he would go in and pay his respects to the young gentleman, he entered the house; and as he suddenly pushed open the sliding-door of the room in which Tônoshin was sitting, the latter gave a great start, and his face turned pale and ghastly. "How now, young sir!" said Jiuyémon, laughing at him, "surely you are not such a coward as to be afraid because the sliding-doors are opened? That is not the way in which a brave Samurai should behave." "Really I am quite ashamed of myself," replied the other, blushing at the reproof; "but the fact is that I had some reason for being startled. Listen to me, Sir Jiuyémon, and I will tell you all about it. To-day, when I went to the academy to study, there were a great number of my fellow-students gathered together, and one of them said that a ruinous old shrine, about two miles and a half to the east of this place, was the nightly resort of all sorts of hobgoblins, who have been playing pranks and bewitching the people for some time past; and he proposed that we should all draw lots, and that the one upon whom the lot fell should go to-night and exorcise those evil beings; and further that, as a proof of his having gone, he should write his name upon a pillar in the shrine. All the rest agreed that this would be very good sport; so I, not liking to appear a coward, consented to take my chance with the rest; and, as ill luck would have it, the lot fell upon me. I was thinking over this as you came in, and so it was that when you suddenly opened the door, I could not help giving a start." "If you only think for a moment," said Jiuyémon, "you will see that there is nothing to fear. How can beasts[45] and hobgoblins exercise any power over men? However, do not let the matter trouble you. I will go in your place to-night, and see if I cannot get the better of these goblins, if any there be, having done which, I will write your name upon the pillar, so that everybody may think that you have been there." [Footnote 45: Foxes, badgers, and cats. See the stories respecting their tricks.] "Oh! thank you: that will indeed be a service. You can dress yourself up in my clothes, and nobody will be the wiser. I shall be truly grateful to you." So Jiuyémon having gladly undertaken the job, as soon as the night set in made his preparations, and went to the place indicated--an uncanny-looking, tumble-down, lonely old shrine, all overgrown with moss and rank vegetation. However, Jiuyémon, who was afraid of nothing, cared little for the appearance of the place, and having made himself as comfortable as he could in so dreary a spot, sat down on the floor, lit his pipe, and kept a sharp look-out for the goblins. He had not been waiting long before he saw a movement among the bushes; and presently he was surrounded by a host of elfish-looking creatures, of all shapes and kinds, who came and made hideous faces at him. Jiuyémon quietly knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and then, jumping up, kicked over first one and then another of the elves, until several of them lay sprawling in the grass; and the rest made off, greatly astonished at this unexpected reception. When Jiuyémon took his lantern and examined the fallen goblins attentively, he saw that they were all Tônoshin's fellow-students, who had painted their faces, and made themselves hideous, to frighten their companion, whom they knew to be a coward: all they got for their pains, however, was a good kicking from Jiuyémon, who left them groaning over their sore bones, and went home chuckling to himself at the result of the adventure. [Illustration: FUNAKOSHI JIUYÉMON AND THE GOBLINS.] The fame of this exploit soon became noised about Osaka, so that all men praised Jiuyémon's courage; and shortly after this he was elected chief of the Otokodaté,[46] or friendly society of the wardsmen, and busied himself no longer with his trade, but lived on the contributions of his numerous apprentices. [Footnote 46: See the Introduction to the Story of Chôbei of Bandzuin.] Now Kajiki Tônoshin was in love with a singing girl named Kashiku, upon whom he was in the habit of spending a great deal of money. She, however, cared nothing for him, for she had a sweetheart named Hichirobei, whom she used to contrive to meet secretly, although, in order to support her parents, she was forced to become the mistress of Tônoshin. One evening, when the latter was on guard at the office of his chief, the Governor of Osaka, Kashiku sent word privately to Hichirobei, summoning him to go to her house, as the coast would be clear. While the two were making merry over a little feast, Tônoshin, who had persuaded a friend to take his duty for him on the plea of urgent business, knocked at the door, and Kashiku, in a great fright, hid her lover in a long clothes-box, and went to let in Tônoshin, who, on entering the room and seeing the litter of the supper lying about, looked more closely, and perceived a man's sandals, on which, by the light of a candle, he saw the figure seven.[47] Tônoshin had heard some ugly reports of Kashiku's proceedings with this man Hichirobei, and when he saw this proof before his eyes he grew very angry; but he suppressed his feelings, and, pointing to the wine-cups and bowls, said:-- "Whom have you been feasting with to-night?" "Oh!" replied Kashiku, who, notwithstanding her distress, was obliged to invent an answer, "I felt so dull all alone here, that I asked an old woman from next door to come in and drink a cup of wine with me, and have a chat." [Footnote 47: _Hichi_, the first half of _Hichirobei_, signifies seven.] All this while Tônoshin was looking for the hidden lover; but, as he could not see him, he made up his mind that Kashiku must have let him out by the back door; so he secreted one of the sandals in his sleeve as evidence, and, without seeming to suspect anything, said:-- "Well, I shall be very busy this evening, so I must go home." "Oh! won't you stay a little while? It is very dull here, when I am all alone without you. Pray stop and keep me company." But Tônoshin made no reply, and went home. Then Kashiku saw that one of the sandals was missing, and felt certain that he must have carried it off as proof; so she went in great trouble to open the lid of the box, and let out Hichirobei. When the two lovers talked over the matter, they agreed that, as they both were really in love, let Tônoshin kill them if he would, they would gladly die together: they would enjoy the present; let the future take care of itself. The following morning Kashiku sent a messenger to Tônoshin to implore his pardon; and he, being infatuated by the girl's charms, forgave her, and sent a present of thirty ounces of silver to her lover, Hichirobei, on the condition that he was never to see her again; but, in spite of this, Kashiku and Hichirobei still continued their secret meetings. It happened that Hichirobei, who was a gambler by profession, had an elder brother called Chôbei, who kept a wine-shop in the Ajikawa Street, at Osaka; so Tônoshin thought that he could not do better than depute Jiuyémon to go and seek out this man Chôbei, and urge him to persuade his younger brother to give up his relations with Kashiku; acting upon this resolution, he went to call upon Jiuyémon, and said to him-- "Sir Jiuyémon, I have a favour to ask of you in connection with that girl Kashiku, whom you know all about. You are aware that I paid thirty ounces of silver to her lover Hichirobei to induce him to give up going to her house; but, in spite of this, I cannot help suspecting that they still meet one another. It seems that this Hichirobei has an elder brother--one Chôbei; now, if you would go to this man and tell him to reprove his brother for his conduct, you would be doing me a great service. You have so often stood my friend, that I venture to pray you to oblige me in this matter, although I feel that I am putting you to great inconvenience." Jiuyémon, out of gratitude for the kindness which he had received at the hands of Kajiki Tozayémon, was always willing to serve Tônoshin; so he went at once to find out Chôbei, and said to him-- "My name, sir, is Jiuyémon, at your service; and I have come to beg your assistance in a matter of some delicacy." "What can I do to oblige you, sir?" replied Chôbei, who felt bound to be more than usually civil, as his visitor was the chief of the Otokodaté. "It is a small matter, sir," said Jiuyémon. "Your younger brother Hichirobei is intimate with a woman named Kashiku, whom he meets in secret. Now, this Kashiku is the mistress of the son of a gentleman to whom I am under great obligation: he bought her of her parents for a large sum of money, and, besides this, he paid your brother thirty ounces of silver some time since, on condition of his separating himself from the girl; in spite of this, it appears that your brother continues to see her, and I have come to beg that you will remonstrate with your brother on his conduct, and make him give her up." "That I certainly will. Pray do not be uneasy; I will soon find means to put a stop to my brother's bad behaviour." And so they went on talking of one thing and another, until Jiuyémon, whose eyes had been wandering about the room, spied out a very long dirk lying on a cupboard, and all at once it occurred to him that this was the very sword which had been a parting gift to him from his lord: the hilt, the mountings, and the tip of the scabbard were all the same, only the blade had been shortened and made into a long dirk. Then he looked more attentively at Chôbei's features, and saw that he was no other than Akagôshi Kuroyémon, the pirate chief. Two years had passed by, but he could not forget that face. Jiuyémon would have liked to have arrested him at once; but thinking that it would be a pity to give so vile a robber a chance of escape, he constrained himself, and, taking his leave, went straightway and reported the matter to the Governor of Osaka. When the officers of justice heard of the prey that awaited them, they made their preparations forthwith. Three men of the secret police went to Chôbei's wine-shop, and, having called for wine, pretended to get up a drunken brawl; and as Chôbei went up to them and tried to pacify them, one of the policemen seized hold of him, and another tried to pinion him. It at once flashed across Chôbei's mind that his old misdeeds had come to light at last, so with a desperate effort he shook off the two policemen and knocked them down, and, rushing into the inner room, seized the famous Sukésada sword and sprang upstairs. The three policemen, never thinking that he could escape, mounted the stairs close after him; but Chôbei with a terrible cut cleft the front man's head in sunder, and the other two fell back appalled at their comrade's fate. Then Chôbei climbed on to the roof, and, looking out, perceived that the house was surrounded on all sides by armed men. Seeing this, he made up his mind that his last moment was come, but, at any rate, he determined to sell his life dearly, and to die fighting; so he stood up bravely, when one of the officers, coming up from the roof of a neighbouring house, attacked him with a spear; and at the same time several other soldiers clambered up. Chôbei, seeing that he was overmatched, jumped down, and before the soldiers below had recovered from their surprise he had dashed through their ranks, laying about him right and left, and cutting down three men. At top speed he fled, with his pursuers close behind him; and, seeing the broad river ahead of him, jumped into a small boat that lay moored there, of which the boatmen, frightened at the sight of his bloody sword, left him in undisputed possession. Chôbei pushed off, and sculled vigorously into the middle of the river; and the officers--there being no other boat near--were for a moment baffled. One of them, however, rushing down the river bank, hid himself on a bridge, armed with. a spear, and lay in wait for Chôbei to pass in his boat; but when the little boat came up, he missed his aim, and only scratched Chôbei's elbow; and he, seizing the spear, dragged down his adversary into the river, and killed him as he was struggling in the water; then, sculling for his life, he gradually drew near to the sea. The other officers in the mean time had secured ten boats, and, having come up with Chôbei, surrounded him; but he, having formerly been a pirate, was far better skilled in the management of a boat than his pursuers, and had no great difficulty in eluding them; so at last he pushed out to sea, to the great annoyance of the officers, who followed him closely. Then Jiuyémon, who had come up, said to one of the officers on the shore-- "Have you caught him yet?" "No; the fellow is so brave and so cunning that our men can do nothing with him." "He's a determined ruffian, certainly. However, as the fellow has got my sword, I mean to get it back by fair means or foul: will you allow me to undertake the job of seizing him?" "Well, you may try; and you will have officers to assist you, if you are in peril." Jiuyémon, having received this permission, stripped off his clothes and jumped into the sea, carrying with him a policeman's mace, to the great astonishment of all the bystanders. When he got near Chôbei's boat, he dived and came up alongside, without the pirate perceiving him until he had clambered into the boat. Chôbei had the good Sukésada sword, and Jiuyémon was armed with nothing but a mace; but Chôbei, on the other hand, was exhausted with his previous exertions, and was taken by surprise at a moment when he was thinking of nothing but how he should scull away from the pursuing boats; so it was not long before Jiuyémon mastered and secured him. For this feat, besides recovering his Sukésada sword, Jiuyémon received many rewards and great praise from the Governor of Osaka. But the pirate Chôbei was cast into prison. Hichirobei, when he heard of his brother's capture, was away from home; but seeing that he too would be sought for, he determined to escape to Yedo at once, and travelled along the Tôkaidô, the great highroad, as far as Kuana. But the secret police had got wind of his movements, and one of them was at his heels disguised as a beggar, and waiting for an opportunity to seize him. Hichirobei in the meanwhile was congratulating himself on his escape; and, little suspecting that he would be in danger so far away from Osaka, he went to a house of pleasure, intending to divert himself at his ease. The policeman, seeing this, went to the master of the house and said-- "The guest who has just come in is a notorious thief, and I am on his track, waiting to arrest him. Do you watch for the moment when he falls asleep, and let me know. Should he escape, the blame will fall upon you." The master of the house, who was greatly taken aback, consented of course; so he told the woman of the house to hide Hichirobei's dirk, and as soon as the latter, wearied with his journey, had fallen asleep, he reported it to the policeman, who went upstairs, and having bound Hichirobei as he lay wrapped up in his quilt, led him back to Osaka to be imprisoned with his brother. When Kashiku became aware of her lover's arrest, she felt certain that it was the handiwork of Jiuyémon; so she determined to kill him, were it only that she might die with Hichirobei. So hiding a kitchen knife in the bosom of her dress, she went at midnight to Jiuyémon's house, and looked all round to see if there were no hole or cranny by which she might slip in unobserved; but every door was carefully closed, so she was obliged to knock at the door and feign an excuse. "Let me in! let me in! I am a servant-maid in the house of Kajiki Tozayémon, and am charged with a letter on most pressing business to Sir Jiuyémon." Hearing this, one of Jiuyémon's servants, thinking her tale was true, rose and opened the door; and Kashiku, stabbing him in the face, ran past him into the house. Inside she met another apprentice, who had got up, aroused by the noise; him too she stabbed in the belly, but as he fell he cried out to Jiuyémon, saying:-- "Father, father![48] take care! Some murderous villain has broken into the house." [Footnote 48: The apprentice addresses his patron as "father."] [Illustration: "GOKUMON."] And Kashiku, desperate, stopped his further utterance by cutting his throat. Jiuyémon, hearing his apprentice cry out, jumped up, and, lighting his night-lamp, looked about him in the half-gloom, and saw Kashiku with the bloody knife, hunting for him that she might kill him. Springing upon her before she saw him, he clutched her right hand, and, having secured her, bound her with cords so that she could not move. As soon as he had recovered from his surprise, he looked about him, and searched the house, when, to his horror, he found one of his apprentices dead, and the other lying bleeding from a frightful gash across the face. With the first dawn of day, he reported the affair to the proper authorities, and gave Kashiku in custody. So, after due examination, the two pirate brothers and the girl Kashiku were executed, and their heads were exposed together.[49] [Footnote 49: The exposure of the head, called _Gokumon_, is a disgraceful addition to the punishment of beheading. A document, placed on the execution-ground, sets forth the crime which has called forth the punishment.] Now the fame of all the valiant deeds of Jiuyémon having reached his own country, his lord ordered that he should be pardoned for his former offence, and return to his allegiance; so, after thanking Kajiki Tozayémon for the manifold favours which he had received at his hands, he went home, and became a Samurai as before. * * * * * The fat wrestlers of Japan, whose heavy paunches and unwieldy, puffy limbs, however much they may be admired by their own country people, form a striking contrast to our Western notions of training, have attracted some attention from travellers; and those who are interested in athletic sports may care to learn something about them. The first historical record of wrestling occurs in the sixth year of the Emperor Suinin (24 B.C.), when one Taima no Kéhaya, a noble of great stature and strength, boasting that there was not his match under heaven, begged the Emperor that his strength might be put to the test. The Emperor accordingly caused the challenge to be proclaimed; and one Nomi no Shikuné answered it, and having wrestled with Kéhaya, kicked him in the ribs and broke his bones, so that he died. After this Shikuné was promoted to high office, and became further famous in Japanese history as having substituted earthen images for the living men who, before his time, used to be buried with the coffin of the Mikado. In the year A.D. 858 the throne of Japan was wrestled for. The Emperor Buntoku had two sons, called Koréshito and Korétaka, both of whom aspired to the throne. Their claims were decided in a wrestling match, in which one Yoshirô was the champion of Koréshito, and Natora the champion of Korétaka. Natora having been defeated, Koréshito ascended his father's throne under the style of Seiwa. In the eighth century, when Nara was the capital of Japan, the Emperor Shômu instituted wrestling as part of the ceremonies of the autumn festival of the Five Grains, or Harvest Home; and as the year proved a fruitful one, the custom was continued as auspicious. The strong men of the various provinces were collected, and one Kiyobayashi was proclaimed the champion of Japan. Many a brave and stout man tried a throw with him, but none could master him. Rules of the ring were now drawn up; and in order to prevent disputes, Kiyobayashi was appointed by the Emperor to be the judge of wrestling-matches, and was presented, as a badge of his office, with a fan, upon which were inscribed the words the "Prince of Lions." The wrestlers were divided into wrestlers of the eastern and of the western provinces, Omi being taken as the centre province. The eastern wrestlers wore in their hair the badge of the hollyhock; the western wrestlers took for their sign the gourd-flower. Hence the passage leading up to the wrestling-stage was called the "Flower Path." Forty-eight various falls were fixed upon as fair--twelve throws, twelve lifts, twelve twists, and twelve throws over the back. All other throws not included in these were foul, and it was the duty of the umpire to see that no unlawful tricks were resorted to. It was decided that the covered stage should be composed of sixteen rice-bales, in the shape of one huge bale, supported by four pillars at the four points of the compass, each pillar being painted a different colour, thus, together with certain paper pendants, making up five colours, to symbolize the Five Grains. [Illustration: CHAMPION WRESTLER.] The civil wars by which the country was disturbed for a while put a stop to the practice of wrestling; but when peace was restored it was proposed to re-establish the athletic games, and the umpire Kiyobayashi, the "Prince of Lions," was sought for; but he had died or disappeared, and could not be found, and there was no umpire forthcoming. The various provinces were searched for a man who might fill his place, and one Yoshida Iyétsugu, a Rônin of the province of Echizen, being reported to be well versed in the noble science, was sent for to the capital, and proved to be a pupil of Kiyobayashi. The Emperor, having approved him, ordered that the fan of the "Prince of Lions" should be made over to him, and gave him the title of Bungo no Kami, and commanded that his name in the ring should be Oi-Kazé, the "Driving Wind." Further, as a sign that there should not be two styles of wrestling, a second fan was given to him bearing the inscription, "A single flavour is a beautiful custom." The right of acting as umpire in wrestling-matches was vested in his family, that the "Driving Wind" might for future generations preside over athletic sports. In ancient days, the prizes for the three champion wrestlers were a bow, a bowstring, and an arrow: these are still brought into the ring, and, at the end of the bout, the successful competitors go through a variety of antics with them. To the champion wrestlers--to two or three men only in a generation--the family of the "Driving Wind" awards the privilege of wearing a rope-girdle. In the time of the Shogunate these champions used to wrestle before the Shogun. At the beginning of the 17th century (A.D. 1606) wrestling-matches, as forming a regular part of a religious ceremony, were discontinued. They are still held, however, at the shrines of Kamo, at Kiôto, and of Kasuga, in Yamato. They are also held at Kamakura every year, and at the shrines of the patron saints of the various provinces, in imitation of the ancient customs. In the year 1623 one Akashi Shiganosuké obtained leave from the Government to hold public wrestling-matches in the streets of Yedo. In the year 1644 was held the first wrestling-match for the purpose of raising a collection for building a temple. This was done by the priests of Kofukuji, in Yamashiro. In the year 1660 the same expedient was resorted to in Yedo, and the custom of getting up wrestling-matches for the benefit of temple funds holds good to this day. The following graphic description of a Japanese wrestling-match is translated from the "Yedo Hanjôki":-- "From daybreak till eight in the morning a drum is beaten to announce that there will be wrestling. The spectators rise early for the sight. The adversaries having been settled, the wrestlers enter the ring from the east and from the west. Tall stalwart men are they, with sinews and bones of iron. Like the Gods Niô,[50] they stand with their arms akimbo, and, facing one another, they crouch in their strength. The umpire watches until the two men draw their breath at the same time, and with his fan gives the signal. They jump up and close with one another, like tigers springing on their prey, or dragons playing with a ball. Each is bent on throwing the other by twisting or by lifting him. It is no mere trial of brute strength; it is a tussle of skill against skill. Each of the forty-eight throws is tried in turn. From left to right, and from right to left, the umpire hovers about, watching for the victory to declare itself. Some of the spectators back the east, others back the west. The patrons of the ring are so excited that they feel the strength tingling within them; they clench their fists, and watch their men, without so much as blinking their eyes. At last one man, east or west, gains the advantage, and the umpire lifts his fan in token of victory. The plaudits of the bystanders shake the neighbourhood, and they throw their clothes or valuables into the ring, to be redeemed afterwards in money; nay, in his excitement, a man will even tear off his neighbour's jacket and throw it in." [Footnote 50: The Japanese Gog and Magog.] [Illustration: A WRESTLING MATCH.] Before beginning their tussle, the wrestlers work up their strength by stamping their feet and slapping their huge thighs. This custom is derived from the following tale of the heroic or mythological age:-- After the seven ages of the heavenly gods came the reign of Tensho Daijin, the Sun Goddess, and first Empress of Japan. Her younger brother, Sosanöô no Mikoto, was a mighty and a brave hero, but turbulent, and delighted in hunting the deer and the boar. After killing these beasts, he would throw their dead bodies into the sacred hall of his sister, and otherwise defile her dwelling. When he had done this several times, his sister was angry, and hid in the cave called the Rock Gate of Heaven; and when her face was not seen, there was no difference between the night and the day. The heroes who served her, mourning over this, went to seek her; but she placed a huge stone in front of the cave, and would not come forth. The heroes, seeing this, consulted together, and danced and played antics before the cave to lure her out. Tempted by curiosity to see the sight, she opened the gate a little and peeped out. Then the hero Tajikaraô, or "Great Strength," clapping his hands and stamping his feet, with a great effort grasped and threw down the stone door, and the heroes fetched back the Sun Goddess.[51] As Tajikaraô is the patron god of Strength, wrestlers, on entering the ring, still commemorate his deed by clapping their hands and stamping their feet as a preparation for putting forth their strength. [Footnote 51: The author of the history called "Kokushi Riyaku" explains this fable as being an account of the first eclipse.] The great Daimios are in the habit of attaching wrestlers to their persons, and assigning to them a yearly portion of rice. It is usual for these athletes to take part in funeral or wedding processions, and to escort the princes on journeys. The rich wardsmen or merchants give money to their favourite wrestlers, and invite them to their houses to drink wine and feast. Though low, vulgar fellows, they are allowed something of the same familiarity which is accorded to prize-fighters, jockeys, and the like, by their patrons in our own country. The Japanese wrestlers appear to have no regular system of training; they harden their naturally powerful limbs by much beating, and by butting at wooden posts with their shoulders. Their diet is stronger than that of the ordinary Japanese, who rarely touch meat. THE ETA MAIDEN AND THE HATAMOTO It will be long before those who were present at the newly opened port of Kôbé on the 4th of February, 1868, will forget that day. The civil war was raging, and the foreign Legations, warned by the flames of burning villages, no less than by the flight of the Shogun and his ministers, had left Osaka, to take shelter at Kôbé, where they were not, as at the former place, separated from their ships by more than twenty miles of road, occupied by armed troops in a high state of excitement, with the alternative of crossing in tempestuous weather a dangerous bar, which had already taken much valuable life. It was a fine winter's day, and the place was full of bustle, and of the going and coming of men busy with the care of housing themselves and their goods and chattels. All of a sudden, a procession of armed men, belonging to the Bizen clan, was seen to leave the town, and to advance along the high road leading to Osaka; and without apparent reason--it was said afterwards that two Frenchmen had crossed the line of march--there was a halt, a stir, and a word of command given. Then the little clouds of white smoke puffed up, and the sharp "ping" of the rifle bullets came whizzing over the open space, destined for a foreign settlement, as fast as the repeating breech-loaders could be discharged. Happily, the practice was very bad; for had the men of Bizen been good shots, almost all the principal foreign officials in the country, besides many merchants and private gentlemen, must have been killed: as it was, only two or three men were wounded. If they were bad marksmen, however, they were mighty runners; for they soon found that they had attacked a hornets' nest. In an incredibly short space of time, the guards of the different Legations and the sailors and marines from the ships of war were in hot chase after the enemy, who were scampering away over the hills as fast as their legs could carry them, leaving their baggage ingloriously scattered over the road, as many a cheap lacquered hat and flimsy paper cartridge-box, preserved by our Blue Jackets as trophies, will testify. So good was the stampede, that the enemy's loss amounted only to one aged coolie, who, being too decrepit to run, was taken prisoner, after having had seventeen revolver shots fired at him without effect; and the only injury that our men inflicted was upon a solitary old woman, who was accidently shot through the leg. If it had not been for the serious nature of the offence given, which was an attack upon the flags of all the treaty Powers, and for the terrible retribution which was of necessity exacted, the whole affair would have been recollected chiefly for the ludicrous events which it gave rise to. The mounted escort of the British Legation executed a brilliant charge of cavalry down an empty road; a very pretty line of skirmishers along the fields fired away a great deal of ammunition with no result; earthworks were raised, and Kôbé was held in military occupation for three days, during which there were alarms, cutting-out expeditions with armed boats, steamers seized, and all kinds of martial effervescence. In fact, it was like fox-hunting: it had "all the excitement of war, with only ten per cent. of the danger." The first thought of the kind-hearted doctor of the British Legation was for the poor old woman who had been wounded, and was bemoaning herself piteously. When she was carried in, a great difficulty arose, which, I need hardly say, was overcome; for the poor old creature belonged to the Etas, the Pariah race, whose presence pollutes the house even of the poorest and humblest Japanese; and the native servants strongly objected to her being treated as a human being, saying that the Legation would be for ever defiled if she were admitted within its sacred precincts. No account of Japanese society would be complete without a notice of the Etas; and the following story shows well, I think, the position which they hold. Their occupation is to slay beasts, work leather, attend upon criminals, and do other degrading work. Several accounts are given of their origin; the most probable of which is, that when Buddhism, the tenets of which forbid the taking of life, was introduced, those who lived by the infliction of death became accursed in the land, their trade being made hereditary, as was the office of executioner in some European countries. Another story is, that they are the descendants of the Tartar invaders left behind by Kublai Khan. Some further facts connected with the Etas are given in a note at the end of the tale. * * * * * Once upon a time, some two hundred years ago, there lived at a place called Honjô, in Yedo, a Hatamoto named Takoji Genzaburô; his age was about twenty-four or twenty-five, and he was of extraordinary personal beauty. His official duties made it incumbent on him to go to the Castle by way of the Adzuma Bridge, and here it was that a strange adventure befel him. There was a certain Eta, who used to earn his living by going out every day to the Adzuma Bridge, and mending the sandals of the passers-by. Whenever Genzaburô crossed the bridge, the Eta used always to bow to him. This struck him as rather strange; but one day when Genzaburô was out alone, without any retainers following him, and was passing the Adzuma Bridge, the thong of his sandal suddenly broke: this annoyed him very much; however, he recollected the Eta cobbler who always used to bow to him so regularly, so he went to the place where he usually sat, and ordered him to mend his sandal, saying to him: "Tell me why it is that every time that I pass by this bridge, you salute me so respectfully." [Illustration: GENZABURÔ'S MEETING WITH THE ETA MAIDEN.] When the Eta heard this, he was put out of countenance, and for a while he remained silent; but at last taking courage, he said to Genzaburô, "Sir, having been honoured with your commands, I am quite put to shame. I was originally a gardener, and used to go to your honour's house and lend a hand in trimming up the garden. In those days your honour was very young, and I myself little better than a child; and so I used to play with your honour, and received many kindnesses at your hands. My name, sir, is Chokichi. Since those days I have fallen by degrees info dissolute habits, and little by little have sunk to be the vile thing that you now see me." When Genzaburô heard this he was very much surprised, and, recollecting his old friendship for his playmate, was filled with pity, and said, "Surely, surely, you have fallen very low. Now all you have to do is to presevere and use your utmost endeavours to find a means of escape from the class into which you have fallen, and become a wardsman again. Take this sum: small as it is, let it be a foundation for more to you." And with these words he took ten riyos out of his pouch and handed them to Chokichi, who at first refused to accept the present, but, when it was pressed upon him, received it with thanks. Genzaburô was leaving him to go home, when two wandering singing-girls came up and spoke to Chokichi; so Genzaburô looked to see what the two women were like. One was a woman of some twenty years of age, and the other was a peerlessly beautiful girl of sixteen; she was neither too fat nor too thin, neither too tall nor too short; her face was oval, like a melon-seed, and her complexion fair and white; her eyes were narrow and bright, her teeth small and even; her nose was aquiline, and her mouth delicately formed, with lovely red lips; her eyebrows were long and fine; she had a profusion of long black hair; she spoke modestly, with a soft sweet voice; and when she smiled, two lovely dimples appeared in her cheeks; in all her movements she was gentle and refined. Genzaburô fell in love with her at first sight; and she, seeing what a handsome man he was, equally fell in love with him; so that the woman that was with her, perceiving that they were struck with one another, led her away as fast as possible. Genzaburô remained as one stupefied, and, turning to Chokichi, said, "Are you acquainted with those two women who came up just now?" "Sir," replied Chokichi, "those are two women of our people. The elder woman is called O Kuma, and the girl, who is only sixteen years old, is named O Koyo. She is the daughter of one Kihachi, a chief of the Etas. She is a very gentle girl, besides being so exceedingly pretty; and all our people are loud in her praise." When he heard this, Genzaburô remained lost in thought for a while, and then said to Chokichi, "I want you to do something for me. Are you prepared to serve me in whatever respect I may require you?" Chokichi answered that he was prepared to do anything in his power to oblige his honour. Upon this Genzaburô smiled and said, "Well, then, I am willing to employ you in a certain matter; but as there are a great number of passers-by here, I will go and wait for you in a tea-house at Hanakawado; and when you have finished your business here, you can join me, and I will speak to you." With these words Genzaburô left him, and went off to the tea-house. When Chokichi had finished his work, he changed his clothes, and, hurrying to the tea-house, inquired for Genzaburô, who was waiting for him upstairs. Chokichi went up to him, and began to thank him for the money which he had bestowed upon him. Genzaburô smiled, and handed him a wine-cup, inviting him to drink, and said-- "I will tell you the service upon which I wish to employ you. I have set my heart upon that girl O Koyo, whom I met to-day upon the Adzuma Bridge, and you must arrange a meeting between us." When Chokichi heard these words, he was amazed and frightened, and for a while he made no answer. At last he said--- "Sir, there is nothing that I would not do for you after the favours that I have received from you. If this girl were the daughter of any ordinary man, I would move heaven and earth to comply with your wishes; but for your honour, a handsome and noble Hatamoto, to take for his concubine the daughter of an Eta is a great mistake. By giving a little money you can get the handsomest woman in the town. Pray, sir, abandon the idea." Upon this Genzaburô was offended, and said-- "This is no matter for you to give advice in. I have told you to get me the girl, and you must obey." Chokichi, seeing that all that he could say would be of no avail, thought over in his mind how to bring about a meeting between Genzaburô and O Koyo, and replied-- "Sir, I am afraid when I think of the liberty that I have taken. I will go to Kihachi's house, and will use my best endeavours with him that I may bring the girl to you. But for to-day, it is getting late, and night is coming on; so I will go and speak to her father to-morrow." Genzaburô was delighted to find Chokichi willing to serve him. "Well," said he, "the day after to-morrow I will await you at the tea-house at Oji, and you can bring O Koyo there. Take this present, small as it is, and do your best for me." With this he pulled out three riyos from his pocket and handed them to Chokichi. who declined the money with thanks, saying that he had already received too much, and could accept no more; but Genzaburô pressed him, adding, that if the wish of his heart were accomplished he would do still more for him. So Chokichi, in great glee at the good luck which had befallen him, began to revolve all sorts of schemes in his mind; and the two parted. But O Koyo, who had fallen in love at first sight with Genzaburô on the Adzuma Bridge, went home and could think of nothing but him. Sad and melancholy she sat, and her friend O Kuma tried to comfort her in various ways; but O Koyo yearned, with all her heart, for Genzaburô; and the more she thought over the matter, the better she perceived that she, as the daughter of an Eta, was no match for a noble Hatamoto. And yet, in spite of this, she pined for him, and bewailed her own vile condition. Now it happened that her friend O Kuma was in love with Chokichi, and only cared for thinking and speaking of him; one day, when Chokichi went to pay a visit at the house of Kihachi the Eta chief, O Kuma, seeing him come, was highly delighted, and received him very politely; and Chokichi, interrupting her, said-- "O Kuma, I want you to answer me a question: where has O Koyo gone to amuse herself to-day?" "Oh, you know the gentleman who was talking with you the other day, at the Adzuma Bridge? Well, O Koyo has fallen desperately in love with him, and she says that she is too low-spirited and out of sorts to get up yet." Chokichi was greatly pleased to hear this, and said to O Kuma-- "How delightful! Why, O Koyo has fallen in love with the very gentleman who is burning with passion for her, and who has employed me to help him in the matter. However, as he is a noble Hatamoto, and his whole family would be ruined if the affair became known to the world, we must endeavour to keep it as secret as possible." "Dear me!" replied O Kuma; "when O Koyo hears this, how happy she will be, to be sure! I must go and tell her at once." "Stop!" said Chokichi, detaining her; "if her father, Master Kihachi, is willing, we will tell O Koyo directly. You had better wait here a little until I have consulted him;" and with this he went into an inner chamber to see Kihachi; and, after talking over the news of the day, told him how Genzaburô had fallen passionately in love with O Koyo, and had employed him as a go-between. Then he described how he had received kindness at the hands of Genzaburô when he was in better circumstances, dwelt on the wonderful personal beauty of his lordship, and upon the lucky chance by which he and O Koyo had come to meet each other. When Kihachi heard this story, he was greatly flattered, and said-- "I am sure I am very much obliged to you. For one of our daughters, whom even the common people despise and shun as a pollution, to be chosen as the concubine of a noble Hatamoto--what could be a greater matter for congratulation!" So he prepared a feast for Chokichi, and went off at once to tell O Koyo the news. As for the maiden, who had fallen over head and ears in love, there was no difficulty in obtaining her consent to all that was asked of her. Accordingly Chokichi, having arranged to bring the lovers together on the following day at Oji, was preparing to go and report the glad tidings to Genzaburô; but O Koyo, who knew that her friend O Kuma was in love with Chokichi, and thought that if she could throw them into one another's arms, they, on their side, would tell no tales about herself and Genzaburô, worked to such good purpose that she gained her point. At last Chokichi, tearing himself from the embraces of O Kuma, returned to Genzaburô, and told him how he had laid his plans so as, without fail, to bring O Koyo to him, the following day, at Oji, and Genzaburô, beside himself with impatience, waited for the morrow. The next day Genzaburô, having made his preparations, and taking Chokichi with him, went to the tea-house at Oji, and sat drinking wine, waiting for his sweetheart to come. As for O Koyo, who was half in ecstasies, and half shy at the idea of meeting on this day the man of her heart's desire, she put on her holiday clothes, and went with O Kuma to Oji; and as they went out together, her natural beauty being enhanced by her smart dress, all the people turned round to look at her, and praise her pretty face. And so after a while, they arrived at Oji, and went into the tea-house that had been agreed upon; and Chokichi, going out to meet them, exclaimed-- "Dear me, Miss O Koyo, his lordship has been all impatience waiting for you: pray make haste and come in." But, in spite of what he said, O Koyo, on account of her virgin modesty, would not go in. O Kuma, however, who was not quite so particular, cried out-- "Why, what is the meaning of this? As you've come here, O Koyo, it's a little late for you to be making a fuss about being shy. Don't be a little fool, but come in with me at once." And with these words she caught fast hold of O Koyo's hand, and, pulling her by force into the room, made her sit down by Genzaburô. When Genzaburô saw how modest she was, he reassured her, saying-- "Come, what is there to be so shy about? Come a little nearer to me, pray." "Thank you, sir. How could I, who am such a vile thing, pollute your nobility by sitting by your side?" And, as she spoke, the blushes mantled over her face; and the more Genzaburô looked at her, the more beautiful she appeared in his eyes, and the more deeply he became enamoured of her charms. In the meanwhile he called for wine and fish, and all four together made a feast of it. When Chokichi and O Kuma saw how the land lay, they retired discreetly into another chamber, and Genzaburô and O Koyo were left alone together, looking at one another. "Come," said Genzaburô, smiling, "hadn't you better sit a little closer to me?" "Thank you, sir; really I'm afraid." But Genzaburô, laughing at her for her idle fears, said-- "Don't behave as if you hated me." "Oh, dear! I'm sure I don't hate you, sir. That would be very rude; and, indeed, it's not the case. I loved you when I first saw you at the Adzuma Bridge, and longed for you with all my heart; but I knew what a despised race I belonged to, and that I was no fitting match for you, and so I tried to be resigned. But I am very young and inexperienced, and so I could not help thinking of you, and you alone; and then Chokichi came, and when I heard what you had said about me, I thought, in the joy of my heart, that it must be a dream of happiness." And as she spoke these words, blushing timidly, Genzaburô was dazzled with her beauty, and said--- "Well, you're a clever child. I'm sure, now, you must have some handsome young lover of your own, and that is why you don't care to come and drink wine and sit by me. Am I not right, eh?" "Ah, sir, a nobleman like you is sure to have a beautiful wife at home; and then you are so handsome that, of course, all the pretty young ladies are in love with you." "Nonsense! Why, how clever you are at flattering and paying compliments! A pretty little creature like you was just made to turn all the men's heads--a little witch." "Ah! those are hard things to say of a poor girl! Who could think of falling in love with such a wretch as I am? Now, pray tell me all about your own sweetheart: I do so long to hear about her." "Silly child! I'm not the sort of man to put thoughts into the heads of fair ladies. However, it is quite true that there is some one whom I want to marry." At this O Koyo began to feel jealous. "Ah!" said she, "how happy that some one must be! Do, pray, tell me the whole story." And a feeling of jealous spite came over her, and made her quite unhappy. Genzaburô laughed as he answered-- "Well, that some one is yourself, and nobody else. There!" and as he spoke, he gently tapped the dimple on her cheek with his finger; and O Koyo's heart beat so, for very joy, that, for a little while, she remained speechless. At last she turned her face towards Genzaburô, and said-- "Alas! your lordship is only trifling with me, when you know that what you have just been pleased to propose is the darling wish of my heart. Would that I could only go into your house as a maid-servant, in any capacity, however mean, that I might daily feast my eyes on your handsome face!" "Ah! I see that you think yourself very clever at hoaxing men, and so you must needs tease me a little;" and, as he spoke, he took her hand, and drew her close up to him, and she, blushing again, cried-- "Oh! pray wait a moment, while I shut the sliding-doors." "Listen to me, O Koyo! I am not going to forget the promise which I made you just now; nor need you be afraid of my harming you; but take care that you do not deceive me." "Indeed, sir, the fear is rather that you should set your heart on others; but, although I am no fashionable lady, take pity on me, and love me well and long." "Of course! I shall never care for another woman but you." "Pray, pray, never forget those words that you have just spoken." "And now," replied Genzaburô, "the night is advancing, and, for to-day, we must part; but we will arrange matters, so as to meet again in this tea-house. But, as people would make remarks if we left the tea-house together, I will go out first." And so, much against their will, they tore themselves from one another, Genzaburô returning to his house, and O Koyo going home, her heart filled with joy at having found the man for whom she had pined; and from that day forth they used constantly to meet in secret at the tea-house; and Genzaburô, in his infatuation, never thought that the matter must surely become notorious after a while, and that he himself would be banished, and his family ruined: he only took care for the pleasure of the moment. Now Chokichi, who had brought about the meeting between Genzaburô and his love, used to go every day to the tea-house at Oji, taking with him O Koyo; and Genzaburô neglected all his duties for the pleasure of these secret meetings. Chokichi saw this with great regret, and thought to himself that if Genzaburô gave himself up entirely to pleasure, and laid aside his duties, the secret would certainly be made public, and Genzaburô would bring ruin on himself and his family; so he began to devise some plan by which he might separate them, and plotted as eagerly to estrange them as he had formerly done to introduce them to one another. At last he hit upon a device which satisfied him. Accordingly one day he went to O Koyo's house, and, meeting her father Kihachi, said to him-- "I've got a sad piece of news to tell you. The family of my lord Genzaburô have been complaining bitterly of his conduct in carrying on his relationship with your daughter, and of the ruin which exposure would bring upon the whole house; so they have been using their influence to persuade him to hear reason, and give up the connection. Now his lordship feels deeply for the damsel, and yet he cannot sacrifice his family for her sake. For the first time, he has become alive to the folly of which he has been guilty, and, full of remorse, he has commissioned me to devise some stratagem to break off the affair. Of course, this has taken me by surprise; but as there is no gainsaying the right of the case, I have had no option but to promise obedience: this promise I have come to redeem; and now, pray, advise your daughter to think no more of his lordship." When Kihachi heard this he was surprised and distressed, and told O Koyo immediately; and she, grieving over the sad news, took no thought either of eating or drinking, but remained gloomy and desolate. In the meanwhile, Chokichi went off to Genzaburô's house, and told him that O Koyo had been taken suddenly ill, and could not go to meet him, and begged him to wait patiently until she should send to tell him of her recovery. Genzaburô, never suspecting the story to be false, waited for thirty days, and still Chokichi brought him no tidings of O Koyo. At last he met Chokichi, and besought him to arrange a meeting for him with O Koyo. "Sir," replied Chokichi, "she is not yet recovered; so it would be difficult to bring her to see your honour. But I have been thinking much about this affair, sir. If it becomes public, your honour's family will be plunged in ruin. I pray you, sir, to forget all about O Koyo." "It's all very well for you to give me advice," answered Genzaburô, surprised; "but, having once bound myself to O Koyo, it would be a pitiful thing to desert her; I therefore implore you once more to arrange that I may meet her." However, he would not consent upon any account; so Genzaburô returned home, and, from that time forth, daily entreated Chokichi to bring O Koyo to him, and, receiving nothing but advice from him in return, was very sad and lonely. One day Genzaburô, intent on ridding himself of the grief he felt at his separation from O Koyo, went to the Yoshiwara, and, going into a house of entertainment, ordered a feast to be prepared, but, in the midst of gaiety, his heart yearned all the while for his lost love, and his merriment was but mourning in disguise. At last the night wore on; and as he was retiring along the corridor, he saw a man of about forty years of age, with long hair, coming towards him, who, when he saw Genzaburô, cried out, "Dear me! why this must be my young lord Genzaburô who has come out to enjoy himself." Genzaburô thought this rather strange; but, looking at the man attentively, recognized him as a retainer whom he had had in his employ the year before, and said-- "This is a curious meeting: pray, what have you been about since you left my service? At any rate, I may congratulate you on being well and strong. Where are you living now?" "Well, sir, since I parted from you I have been earning a living as a fortune-teller at Kanda, and have changed my name to Kaji Sazen. I am living in a poor and humble house; but if your lordship, at your leisure, would honour me with a visit--" "Well, it's a lucky chance that has brought us together, and I certainly will go and see you; besides, I want you to do something for me. Shall you be at home the day after to-morrow?" "Certainly, sir, I shall make a point of being at home." "Very well, then, the day after to-morrow I will go to your house." "I shall be at your service, sir. And now, as it is getting late, I will take my leave for to-night." "Good night, then. We shall meet the day after to-morrow." And so the two parted, and went their several ways to rest. On the appointed day Genzaburô made his preparations, and went in disguise, without any retainers, to call upon Sazen, who met him at the porch of his house, and said, "This is a great honour! My lord Genzaburô is indeed welcome. My house is very mean, but let me invite your lordship to come into an inner chamber." "Pray," replied Genzaburô, "don't make any ceremony for me. Don't put yourself to any trouble on my account." And so he passed in, and Sazen called to his wife to prepare wine and condiments; and they began to feast. At last Genzaburô, looking Sazen in the face, said, "There is a service which I want you to render me--a very secret service; but as if you were to refuse me, I should be put to shame, before I tell you what that service is, I must know whether you are willing to assist me in anything that I may require of you." "Yes; if it is anything that is within my power, I am at your disposal." "Well, then," said Genzaburô, greatly pleased, and drawing ten riyos from his bosom, "this is but a small present to make to you on my first visit, but pray accept it." "No, indeed! I don't know what your lordship wishes of me; but, at any rate, I cannot receive this money. I really must beg your lordship to take it back again." But Genzaburô pressed it upon him by force, and at last he was obliged to accept the money. Then Genzaburô told him the whole story of his loves with O Koyo--how he had first met her and fallen in love with her at the Adzuma Bridge; how Chokichi had introduced her to him at the tea-house at Oji, and then when she fell ill, and he wanted to see her again, instead of bringing her to him, had only given him good advice; and so Genzaburô drew a lamentable picture of his state of despair. Sazen listened patiently to his story, and, after reflecting for a while, replied, "Well, sir, it's not a difficult matter to set right: and yet it will require some little management. However, if your lordship will do me the honour of coming to see me again the day after to-morrow, I will cast about me in the meanwhile, and will let you know then the result of my deliberations." When Genzaburô heard this he felt greatly relieved, and, recommending Sazen to do his best in the matter, took his leave and returned home. That very night Sazen, after thinking over all that Genzaburô had told him, laid his plans accordingly, and went off to the house of Kihachi, the Eta chief, and told him the commission with which he had been entrusted. Kihachi was of course greatly astonished, and said, "Some time ago, sir, Chokichi came here and said that my lord Genzaburô, having been rebuked by his family for his profligate behaviour, had determined to break off his connection with my daughter. Of course I knew that the daughter of an Eta was no fitting match for a nobleman; so when Chokichi came and told me the errand upon which he had been sent, I had no alternative but to announce to my daughter that she must give up all thought of his lordship. Since that time she has been fretting and pining and starving for love. But when I tell her what you have just said, how glad and happy she will be! Let me go and talk to her at once." And with these words, he went to O Koyo's room; and when he looked upon her thin wasted face, and saw how sad she was, he felt more and more pity for her, and said, "Well, O Koyo, are you in better spirits to-day? Would you like something to eat?" "Thank you, I have no appetite." "Well, at any rate, I have some news for you that will make you happy. A messenger has come from my lord Genzaburô, for whom your heart yearns." At this O Koyo, who had been crouching down like a drooping flower, gave a great start, and cried out, "Is that really true? Pray tell me all about it as quickly as possible." "The story which Chokichi came and told us, that his lordship wished to break off the connection, was all an invention. He has all along been wishing to meet you, and constantly urged Chokichi to bring you a message from him. It is Chokichi who has been throwing obstacles in the way. At last his lordship has secretly sent a man, called Kaji Sazen, a fortune-teller, to arrange an interview between you. So now, my child, you may cheer up, and go to meet your lover as soon as you please." When O Koyo heard this, she was so happy that she thought it must all be a dream, and doubted her own senses. Kihachi in the meanwhile rejoined Sazen in the other room, and, after telling him of the joy with which his daughter had heard the news, put before him wine and other delicacies. "I think," said Sazen, "that the best way would be for O Koyo to live secretly in my lord Genzaburô's house; but as it will never do for all the world to know of it, it must be managed very quietly; and further, when I get home, I must think out some plan to lull the suspicions of that fellow Chokichi, and let you know my idea by letter. Meanwhile O Koyo had better come home with me to-night: although she is so terribly out of spirits now, she shall meet Genzaburô the day after to-morrow." Kihachi reported this to O Koyo; and as her pining for Genzaburô was the only cause of her sickness, she recovered her spirits at once, and, saying that she would go with Sazen immediately, joyfully made her preparations. Then Sazen, having once more warned Kihachi to keep the matter secret from Chokichi, and to act upon the letter which he should send him, returned home, taking with him O Koyo; and after O Koyo had bathed and dressed her hair, and painted herself and put on beautiful clothes, she came out looking so lovely that no princess in the land could vie with her; and Sazen, when he saw her, said to himself that it was no wonder that Genzaburô had fallen in love with her; then, as it was getting late, he advised her to go to rest, and, after showing her to her apartments, went to his own room and wrote his letter to Kihachi, containing the scheme which he had devised. When Kihachi received his instructions, he was filled with admiration at Sazen's ingenuity, and, putting on an appearance of great alarm and agitation, went off immediately to call on Chokichi, and said to him-- "Oh, Master Chokichi, such a terrible thing has happened! Pray, let me tell you all about it." "Indeed! what can it be?" "Oh! sir," answered Kihachi, pretending to wipe away his tears, "my daughter O Koyo, mourning over her separation from my lord Genzaburô, at first refused all sustenance, and remained nursing her sorrows until, last night, her woman's heart failing to bear up against her great grief, she drowned herself in the river, leaving behind her a paper on which she had written her intention." When Chokichi heard this, he was thunderstruck, and exclaimed, "Can this really be true! And when I think that it was I who first introduced her to my lord, I am ashamed to look you in the face." "Oh, say not so: misfortunes are the punishment due for our misdeeds in a former state of existence. I bear you no ill-will. This money which I hold in my hand was my daughter's; and in her last instructions she wrote to beg that it might be given, after her death, to you, through whose intervention she became allied with a nobleman: so please accept it as my daughter's legacy to you;" and as he spoke, he offered him three riyos. "You amaze me!" replied the other. "How could I, above all men, who have so much to reproach myself with in my conduct towards you, accept this money?" "Nay; it was my dead daughter's wish. But since you reproach yourself in the matter when you think of her, I will beg you to put up a prayer and to cause masses to be said for her." At last, Chokichi, after much persuasion, and greatly to his own distress, was obliged to accept the money; and when Kihachi had carried out all Sazen's instructions, he returned home, laughing in his sleeve. Chokichi was sorely grieved to hear of O Koyo's death, and remained thinking over the sad news; when all of a sudden looking about him, he saw something like a letter lying on the spot where Kihachi had been sitting, so he picked it up and read it; and, as luck would have it, it was the very letter which contained Sazen's instructions to Kihachi, and in which the whole story which had just affected him so much was made up. When he perceived the trick that had been played upon him, he was very angry, and exclaimed, "To think that I should have been so hoaxed by that hateful old dotard, and such a fellow as Sazen! And Genzaburô, too!--out of gratitude for the favours which I had received from him in old days, I faithfully gave him good advice, and all in vain. Well, they've gulled me once; but I'll be even with them yet, and hinder their game before it is played out!" And so he worked himself up into a fury, and went off secretly to prowl about Sazen's house to watch for O Koyo, determined to pay off Genzaburô and Sazen for their conduct to him. In the meanwhile Sazen, who did not for a moment suspect what had happened, when the day which had been fixed upon by him and Genzaburô arrived, made O Koyo put on her best clothes, smartened up his house, and got ready a feast against Genzaburô's arrival. The latter came punctually to his time, and, going in at once, said to the fortune-teller, "Well, have you succeeded in the commission with which I entrusted you?" At first Sazen pretended to be vexed at the question, and said, "Well, sir, I've done my best; but it's not a matter which can be settled in a hurry. However, there's a young lady of high birth and wonderful beauty upstairs, who has come here secretly to have her fortune told; and if your lordship would like to come with me and see her, you can do so." But Genzaburô, when he heard that he was not to meet O Koyo, lost heart entirely, and made up his mind to go home again. Sazen, however, pressed him so eagerly, that at last he went upstairs to see this vaunted beauty; and Sazen, drawing aside a screen, showed him O Koyo, who was sitting there. Genzaburô gave a great start, and, turning to Sazen, said, "Well, you certainly are a first-rate hand at keeping up a hoax. However, I cannot sufficiently praise the way in which you have carried out my instructions." "Pray, don't mention it, sir. But as it is a long time since you have met the young lady, you must have a great deal to say to one another; so I will go downstairs, and, if you want anything, pray call me." And so he went downstairs and left them. Then Genzaburô, addressing O Koyo, said, "Ah! it is indeed a long time since we met. How happy it makes me to see you again! Why, your face has grown quite thin. Poor thing! have you been unhappy?" And O Koyo, with the tears starting from her eyes for joy, hid her face; and her heart was so full that she could not speak. But Genzaburô, passing his hand gently over her head and back, and comforting her, said, "Come, sweetheart, there is no need to sob so. Talk to me a little, and let me hear your voice." At last O Koyo raised her head and said, "Ah! when I was separated from you by the tricks of Chokichi, and thought that I should never meet you again, how tenderly I thought of you! I thought I should have died, and waited for my hour to come, pining all the while for you. And when at last, as I lay between life and death, Sazen came with a message from you, I thought it was all a dream." And as she spoke, she bent her head and sobbed again; and in Genzaburô's eyes she seemed more beautiful than ever, with her pale, delicate face; and he loved her better than before. Then she said, "If I were to tell you all I have suffered until to-day, I should never stop." "Yes," replied Genzaburô, "I too have suffered much;" and so they told one another their mutual griefs, and from that day forth they constantly met at Sazen's house. One day, as they were feasting and enjoying themselves in an upper storey in Sazen's house, Chokichi came to the house and said, "I beg pardon; but does one Master Sazen live here?" "Certainly, sir: I am Sazen, at your service. Pray where are you from?" "Well, sir, I have a little business to transact with you. May I make so bold as to go in?" And with these words, he entered the house. "But who and what are you?" said Sazen. "Sir, I am an Eta; and my name is Chokichi. I beg to bespeak your goodwill for myself: I hope we may be friends." Sazen was not a little taken aback at this; however, he put on an innocent face, as though he had never heard of Chokichi before, and said, "I never heard of such a thing! Why, I thought you were some respectable person; and you have the impudence to tell me that your name is Chokichi, and that you're one of those accursed Etas. To think of such a shameless villain coming and asking to be friends with me, forsooth! Get you gone!--the quicker, the better: your presence pollutes the house." Chokichi smiled contemptuously, as he answered, "So you deem the presence of an Eta in your house a pollution--eh? Why, I thought you must be one of us." "Insolent knave! Begone as fast as possible." "Well, since you say that I defile your house, you had better get rid of O Koyo as well. I suppose she must equally be a pollution to it." This put Sazen rather in a dilemma; however, he made up his mind not to show any hesitation, and said, "What are you talking about? There is no O Koyo here; and I never saw such a person in my life." Chokichi quietly drew out of the bosom of his dress the letter from Sazen to Kihachi, which he had picked up a few days before, and, showing it to Sazen, replied, "If you wish to dispute the genuineness of this paper, I will report the whole matter to the Governor of Yedo; and Genzaburô's family will be ruined, and the rest of you who are parties in this affair will come in for your share of trouble. Just wait a little." And as he pretended to leave the house, Sazen, at his wits' end, cried out, "Stop! stop! I want to speak to you. Pray, stop and listen quietly. It is quite true, as you said, that O Koyo is in my house; and really your indignation is perfectly just. Come! let us talk over matters a little. Now you yourself were originally a respectable man; and although you have fallen in life, there is no reason why your disgrace should last for ever. All that you want in order to enable you to escape out of this fraternity of Etas is a little money. Why should you not get this from Genzaburô, who is very anxious to keep his intrigue with O Koyo secret?" Chokichi laughed disdainfully. "I am ready to talk with you; but I don't want any money. All I want is to report the affair to the authorities, in order that I may be revenged for the fraud that was put upon me." "Won't you accept twenty-five riyos?" "Twenty-five riyos! No, indeed! I will not take a fraction less than a hundred; and if I cannot get them I will report the whole matter at once." Sazen, after a moment's consideration, hit upon a scheme, and answered, smiling, "Well, Master Chokichi, you're a fine fellow, and I admire your spirit. You shall have the hundred riyos you ask for; but, as I have not so much money by me at present, I will go to Genzaburô's house and fetch it. It's getting dark now, but it's not very late; so I'll trouble you to come with me, and then I can give you the money to-night." Chokichi consenting to this, the pair left the house together. Now Sazen, who as a Rônin wore a long dirk in his girdle, kept looking out for a moment when Chokichi should be off his guard, in order to kill him; but Chokichi kept his eyes open, and did not give Sazen a chance. At last Chokichi, as ill-luck would have it, stumbled against a stone and fell; and Sazen, profiting by the chance, drew his dirk and stabbed him in the side; and as Chokichi, taken by surprise, tried to get up, he cut him severely over the head, until at last he fell dead. Sazen then looking around him, and seeing, to his great delight, that there was no one near, returned home. The following day, Chokichi's body was found by the police; and when they examined it, they found nothing upon it save a paper, which they read, and which proved to be the very letter which Sazen had sent to Kihachi, and which Chokichi had picked up. The matter was immediately reported to the governor, and, Sazen having been summoned, an investigation was held. Sazen, cunning and bold murderer as he was, lost his self-possession when he saw what a fool he had been not to get back from Chokichi the letter which he had written, and, when he was put to a rigid examination under torture, confessed that he had hidden O Koyo at Genzaburô's instigation, and then killed Chokichi, who had found out the secret. Upon this the governor, after consulting about Genzaburô's case, decided that, as he had disgraced his position as a Hatamoto by contracting an alliance with the daughter of an Eta, his property should be confiscated, his family blotted out, and himself banished. As for Kihachi, the Eta chief, and his daughter O Koyo, they were handed over for punishment to the chief of the Etas, and by him they too were banished; while Sazen, against whom the murder of Chokichi had been fully proved, was executed according to law. NOTE At Asakusa, in Yedo, there lives a man called Danzayémon, the chief of the Etas. This man traces his pedigree back to Minamoto no Yoritomo, who founded the Shogunate in the year A.D. 1192. The whole of the Etas in Japan are under his jurisdiction; his subordinates are called Koyagashira, or "chiefs of the huts"; and he and they constitute the government of the Etas. In the "Legacy of Iyéyasu," already quoted, the 36th Law provides as follows:--"All wandering mendicants, such as male sorcerers, female diviners, hermits, blind people, beggars, and tanners (Etas), have had from of old their respective rulers. Be not disinclined, however, to punish any such who give rise to disputes, or who overstep the boundaries of their own classes and are disobedient to existing laws." The occupation of the Etas is to kill and flay horses, oxen, and other beasts, to stretch drums and make shoes; and if they are very poor, they wander from house to house, working as cobblers, mending old shoes and leather, and so earn a scanty livelihood. Besides this, their daughters and young married women gain a trifle as wandering minstrels, called Torioi, playing on the _shamisen_, a sort of banjo, and singing ballads. They never marry out of their own fraternity, but remain apart, a despised and shunned race. At executions by crucifixion it is the duty of the Etas to transfix the victims with spears; and, besides this, they have to perform all sorts of degrading offices about criminals, such as carrying sick prisoners from their cells to the hall of justice, and burying the bodies of those that have been executed. Thus their race is polluted and accursed, and they are hated accordingly. Now this is how the Etas came to be under the jurisdiction of Danzayémon:-- When Minamoto no Yoritomo was yet a child, his father, Minamoto no Yoshitomo, fought with Taira no Kiyomori, and was killed by treachery: so his family was ruined; and Yoshitomo's concubine, whose name was Tokiwa, took her children and fled from the house, to save her own and their lives. But Kiyomori, desiring to destroy the family of Yoshitomo root and branch, ordered his retainers to divide themselves into bands, and seek out the children. At last they were found; but Tokiwa was so exceedingly beautiful that Kiyomori was inflamed with love for her, and desired her to become his own concubine. Then Tokiwa told Kiyomori that if he would spare her little ones she would share his couch; but that if he killed her children she would destroy herself rather than yield to his desire. When he heard this, Kiyomori, bewildered by the beauty of Tokiwa, spared the lives of her children, but banished them from the capital. So Yoritomo was sent to Hirugakojima, in the province of Idzu; and when he grew up and became a man, he married the daughter of a peasant. After a while Yoritomo left the province, and went to the wars, leaving his wife pregnant; and in due time she was delivered of a male child, to the delight of her parents, who rejoiced that their daughter should bear seed to a nobleman; but she soon fell sick and died, and the old people took charge of the babe. And when they also died, the care of the child fell to his mother's kinsmen, and he grew up to be a peasant. Now Kiyomori, the enemy of Yoritomo, had been gathered to his fathers; and Yoritomo had avenged the death of his father by slaying Munémori, the son of Kiyomori; and there was peace throughout the land. And Yoritomo became the chief of all the noble houses in Japan, and first established the government of the country. When Yoritomo had thus raised himself to power, if the son that his peasant wife had born to him had proclaimed himself the son of the mighty prince, he would have been made lord over a province; but he took no thought of this, and remained a tiller of the earth, forfeiting a glorious inheritance; and his descendants after him lived as peasants in the same village, increasing in prosperity and in good repute among their neighbours. But the princely line of Yoritomo came to an end in three generations, and the house of Hôjô was all-powerful in the land. Now it happened that the head of the house of Hôjô heard that a descendant of Yoritomo was living as a peasant in the land, so he summoned him and said:-- "It is a hard thing to see the son of an illustrious house live and die a peasant. I will promote you to the rank of Samurai." Then the peasant answered, "My lord, if I become a Samurai, and the retainer of some noble, I shall not be so happy as when I was my own master. If I may not remain a husbandman, let me be a chief over men, however humble they may be." But my lord Hôjô was angry at this, and, thinking to punish the peasant for his insolence, said:-- "Since you wish to become a chief over men, no matter how humble, there is no means of gratifying your strange wish but by making you chief over the Etas of the whole country. So now see that you rule them well." When he heard this, the peasant was afraid; but because he had said that he wished to become a chief over men, however humble, he could not choose but become chief of the Etas, he and his children after him for ever; and Danzayémon, who rules the Etas at the present time, and lives at Asakusa, is his lineal descendant. FAIRY TALES FAIRY TALES I think that their quaintness is a sufficient apology for the following little children's stories. With the exception of that of the "Elves and the Envious Neighbour," which comes out of a curious book on etymology and proverbial lore, called the Kotowazagusa, these stories are found printed in little separate pamphlets, with illustrations, the stereotype blocks of which have become so worn that the print is hardly legible. These are the first tales which are put into a Japanese child's hands; and it is with these, and such as these, that the Japanese mother hushes her little ones to sleep. Knowing the interest which many children of a larger growth take in such Baby Stories, I was anxious to have collected more of them. I was disappointed, however, for those which I give here are the only ones which I could find in print; and if I asked the Japanese to tell me others, they only thought I was laughing at them, and changed the subject. The stories of the Tongue-cut Sparrow, and the Old Couple and their Dog, have been paraphrased in other works upon Japan; but I am not aware of their having been literally translated before. THE TONGUE-CUT SPARROW Once upon a time there lived an old man and an old woman. The old man, who had a kind heart, kept a young sparrow, which he tenderly nurtured. But the dame was a cross-grained old thing; and one day, when the sparrow had pecked at some paste with which she was going to starch her linen, she flew into a great rage, and cut the sparrow's tongue and let it loose. When the old man came home from the hills and found that the bird had flown, he asked what had become of it; so the old woman answered that she had cut its tongue and let it go, because it had stolen her starching-paste. Now the old man, hearing this cruel tale, was sorely grieved, and thought to himself, "Alas! where can my bird be gone? Poor thing! Poor little tongue-cut sparrow! where is your home now?" and he wandered far and wide, seeking for his pet, and crying, "Mr. Sparrow! Mr. Sparrow! where are you living?" One day, at the foot of a certain mountain, the old man fell in with the lost bird; and when they had congratulated one another on their mutual safety, the sparrow led the old man to his home, and, having introduced him to his wife and chicks, set before him all sorts of dainties, and entertained him hospitably. "Please partake of our humble fare," said the sparrow; "poor as it is, you are very welcome." "What a polite sparrow!" answered the old man, who remained for a long time as the sparrow's guest, and was daily feasted right royally. At last the old man said that he must take his leave and return home; and the bird, offering him two wicker baskets, begged him to carry them with him as a parting present. One of the baskets was heavy, and the other was light; so the old man, saying that as he was feeble and stricken in years he would only accept the light one, shouldered it, and trudged off home, leaving the sparrow-family disconsolate at parting from him. When the old man got home, the dame grew very angry, and began to scold him, saying, "Well, and pray where have you been this many a day? A pretty thing, indeed, to be gadding about at your time of life!" "Oh!" replied he, "I have been on a visit to the sparrows; and when I came away, they gave me this wicker basket as a parting gift." Then they opened the basket to see what was inside, and, lo and behold! it was full of gold and silver and precious things. When the old woman, who was as greedy as she was cross, saw all the riches displayed before her, she changed her scolding strain, and could not contain herself for joy. [Illustration: THE TONGUE-CUT SPARROW.] "I'll go and call upon the sparrows, too," said she, "and get a pretty present." So she asked the old man the way to the sparrows' house, and set forth on her journey. Following his directions, she at last met the tongue-cut sparrow, and exclaimed-- "Well met! well met! Mr. Sparrow. I have been looking forward to the pleasure of seeing you." So she tried to flatter and cajole the sparrow by soft speeches. The bird could not but invite the dame to its home; but it took no pains to feast her, and said nothing about a parting gift. She, however, was not to be put off; so she asked for something to carry away with her in remembrance of her visit. The sparrow accordingly produced two baskets, as before, and the greedy old woman, choosing the heavier of the two, carried it off with her. But when she opened the basket to see what was inside, all sorts of hobgoblins and elves sprang out of it, and began to torment her. [Illustration: THE TONGUE-CUT SPARROW. (2)] But the old man adopted a son, and his family grew rich and prosperous. What a happy old man! THE ACCOMPLISHED AND LUCKY TEA-KETTLE A long time ago, at a temple called Morinji, in the province of Jôshiu, there was an old tea-kettle. One day, when the priest of the temple was about to hang it over the hearth to boil the water for his tea, to his amazement, the kettle all of a sudden put forth the head and tail of a badger. What a wonderful kettle, to come out all over fur! The priest, thunderstruck, called in the novices of the temple to see the sight; and whilst they were stupidly staring, one suggesting one thing and another, the kettle, jumping up into the air, began flying about the room. More astonished than ever, the priest and his pupils tried to pursue it; but no thief or cat was ever half so sharp as this wonderful badger-kettle. At last, however, they managed to knock it down and secure it; and, holding it in with their united efforts, they forced it into a box, intending to carry it off and throw it away in some distant place, so that they might be no more plagued by the goblin. For this day their troubles were over; but, as luck would have it, the tinker who was in the habit of working for the temple called in, and the priest suddenly bethought him that it was a pity to throw the kettle away for nothing, and that he might as well get a trifle for it, no matter how small. So he brought out the kettle, which had resumed its former shape and had got rid of its head and tail, and showed it to the tinker. When the tinker saw the kettle, he offered twenty copper coins for it, and the priest was only too glad to close the bargain and be rid of his troublesome piece of furniture. But the tinker trudged off home with his pack and his new purchase. That night, as he lay asleep, he heard a strange noise near his pillow; so he peeped out from under the bedclothes, and there he saw the kettle that he had bought in the temple covered with fur, and walking about on four legs. The tinker started up in a fright to see what it could all mean, when all of a sudden the kettle resumed its former shape. This happened over and over again, until at last the tinker showed the tea-kettle to a friend of his, who said, "This is certainly an accomplished and lucky tea-kettle. You should take it about as a show, with songs and accompaniments of musical instruments, and make it dance and walk on the tight rope." [Illustration: THE ACCOMPLISHED AND LUCKY TEA-KETTLE.] The tinker, thinking this good advice, made arrangements with a showman, and set up an exhibition. The noise of the kettle's performances soon spread abroad, until even the princes of the land sent to order the tinker to come to them; and he grew rich beyond all his expectations. Even the princesses, too, and the great ladies of the court, took great delight in the dancing kettle, so that no sooner had it shown its tricks in one place than it was time for them to keep some other engagement. At last the tinker grew so rich that he took the kettle back to the temple, where it was laid up as a precious treasure, and worshipped as a saint. [Illustration: THE ACCOMPLISHED AND LUCKY TEA-KETTLE. (2)] THE CRACKLING MOUNTAIN Once upon a time there lived an old man and an old woman, who kept a pet white hare, by which they set great store. One day, a badger, that lived hard by, came and ate up the food which had been put out for the hare; so the old man, flying into a great rage, seized the badger, and, tying the beast up to a tree, went off to the mountain to cut wood, while the old woman stopped at home and ground the wheat for the evening porridge. Then the badger, with tears in his eyes, said to the old woman-- "Please, dame, please untie this rope!" The dame, thinking that it was a cruel thing to see a poor beast in pain, undid the rope; but the ungrateful brute was no sooner loose, than he cried out-- "I'll be revenged for this," and was off in a trice. When the hare heard this, he went off to the mountain to warn the old man; and whilst the hare was away on this errand, the badger came back, and killed the dame. Then the beast, having assumed the old woman's form, made her dead body into broth, and waited for the old man to come home from the mountain. When he returned, tired and hungry, the pretended old woman said-- "Come, come; I've made such a nice broth of the badger you hung up. Sit down, and make a good supper of it." With these words she set out the broth, and the old man made a hearty meal, licking his lips over it, and praising the savoury mess. But as soon as he had finished eating, the badger, reassuming its natural shape, cried out-- "Nasty old man! you've eaten your own wife. Look at her bones, lying in the kitchen sink!" and, laughing contemptuously, the badger ran away, and disappeared. Then the old man, horrified at what he had done, set up a great lamentation; and whilst he was bewailing his fate, the hare came home, and, seeing how matters stood, determined to avenge the death of his mistress. So he went back to the mountain, and, falling in with the badger, who was carrying a faggot of sticks on his back, he struck a light and set fire to the sticks, without letting the badger see him. When the badger heard the crackling noise of the faggot burning on his back, he called out-- "Holloa! what is that noise?" "Oh!" answered the hare, "this is called the Crackling Mountain. There's always this noise here." And as the fire gathered strength, and went pop! pop! pop! the badger said again-- "Oh dear! what can this noise be?" "This is called the 'Pop! Pop! Mountain,'" answered the hare. [Illustration: THE HARE AND THE BADGER.] All at once the fire began to singe the badger's back, so that he fled, howling with pain, and jumped into a river hard by. But, although the water put out the fire, his back was burnt as black as a cinder. The hare, seeing an opportunity for torturing the badger to his heart's content, made a poultice of cayenne pepper, which he carried to the badger's house, and, pretending to condole with him, and to have a sovereign remedy for burns, he applied his hot plaister to his enemy's sore back. Oh! how it smarted and pained! and how the badger yelled and cried! [Illustration: THE HARE AND THE BADGER. (2)] When, at last, the badger got well again, he went to the hare's house, thinking to reproach him for having caused him so much pain. When he got there, he found that the hare had built himself a boat. "What have you built that boat for, Mr. Hare?" said the badger. "I'm going to the capital of the moon,"[52] answered the hare; "won't you come with me?" [Footnote 52: The mountains in the moon are supposed to resemble a hare in shape. Hence there is a fanciful connection between the hare and the moon.] "I had enough of your company on the Crackling Mountain, where you played me such tricks. I'd rather make a boat for myself," replied the badger, who immediately began building himself a boat of clay. The hare, seeing this, laughed in his sleeve; and so the two launched their boats upon the river. The waves came plashing against the two boats; but the hare's boat was built of wood, while that of the badger was made of clay, and, as they rowed down the river, the clay boat began to crumble away; then the hare, seizing his paddle, and brandishing it in the air, struck savagely at the badger's boat, until he had smashed it to pieces, and killed his enemy. When the old man heard that his wife's death had been avenged, he was glad in his heart, and more than ever petted and loved the hare, whose brave deeds had caused him to welcome the returning spring. THE STORY OF THE OLD MAN WHO MADE WITHERED TREES TO BLOSSOM In the old, old days, there lived an honest man with his wife, who had a favourite dog, which they used to feed with fish and titbits from their own kitchen. One day, as the old folks went out to work in their garden, the dog went with them, and began playing about. All of a sudden, the dog stopped short, and began to bark, "Bow, wow, wow!" wagging his tail violently. The old people thought that there must be something nice to eat under the ground, so they brought a spade and began digging, when, lo and behold! the place was full of gold pieces and silver, and all sorts of precious things, which had been buried there. So they gathered the treasure together, and, after giving alms to the poor, bought themselves rice-fields and corn-fields, and became wealthy people. Now, in the next house there dwelt a covetous and stingy old man and woman, who, when they heard what had happened, came and borrowed the dog, and, having taken him home, prepared a great feast for him, and said-- "If you please, Mr. Dog, we should be much obliged to you if you would show us a place with plenty of money in it." The dog, however, who up to that time had received nothing but cuffs and kicks from his hosts, would not eat any of the dainties which they set before him; so the old people began to get cross, and, putting a rope round the dog's neck, led him out into the garden. But it was all in vain; let them lead him where they might, not a sound would the dog utter: he had no "bow-wow" for them. At last, however, the dog stopped at a certain spot, and began to sniff; so, thinking that this must surely be the lucky place, they dug, and found nothing but a quantity of dirt and nasty offal, over which they had to hold their noses. Furious at being disappointed, the wicked old couple seized the dog, and killed him. When the good old man saw that the dog, whom he had lent, did not come home, he went next door to ask what had become of him; and the wicked old man answered that he had killed the dog, and buried him at the root of a pine-tree; so the good old fellow, with, a heavy heart, went to the spot, and, having set out a tray with delicate food, burnt incense, and adorned the grave with flowers, as he shed tears over his lost pet. But there was more good luck in store yet for the old people--the reward of their honesty and virtue. How do you think that happened, my children? It is very wrong to be cruel to dogs and cats. [Illustration: THE OLD MAN WHO CAUSED WITHERED TREES TO FLOWER.] That night, when the good old man was fast asleep in bed, the dog appeared to him, and, after thanking him for all his kindness, said-- "Cause the pine-tree, under which, I am buried, to be cut down and made into a mortar, and use it, thinking of it as if it were myself." The old man did as the dog had told him to do, and made a mortar out of the wood of the pine-tree; but when he ground his rice in it, each grain of rice was turned into some rich treasure. When the wicked old couple saw this, they came to borrow the mortar; but no sooner did they try to use it, than all their rice was turned into filth; so, in a fit of rage, they broke up the mortar and burnt it. But the good old man, little suspecting that his precious mortar had been broken and burnt, wondered why his neighbours did not bring it back to him. [Illustration: THE OLD MAN WHO CAUSED WITHERED TREES TO FLOWER. (2)] One night the dog appeared to him again in a dream, and told him what had happened, adding that if he would take the ashes of the burnt mortar and sprinkle them on withered trees, the trees would revive, and suddenly put out flowers. After saying this the dream vanished, and the old man, who heard for the first time of the loss of his mortar, ran off weeping to the neighbours' house, and begged them, at any rate, to give him back the ashes of his treasure. Having obtained these, he returned home, and made a trial of their virtues upon a withered cherry-tree, which, upon being touched by the ashes, immediately began to sprout and blossom. When he saw this wonderful effect, he put the ashes into a basket, and went about the country, announcing himself as an old man who had the power of bringing dead trees to life again. A certain prince, hearing of this, and thinking it a mighty strange thing, sent for the old fellow, who showed his power by causing all the withered plum and cherry-trees to shoot out and put forth flowers. So the prince gave him a rich reward of pieces of silk and cloth and other presents, and sent him home rejoicing. So soon as the neighbours heard of this they collected all the ashes that remained, and, having put them in a basket, the wicked old man went out into the castle town, and gave out that he was the old man who had the power of reviving dead trees, and causing them to flower. He had not to wait long before he was called into the prince's palace, and ordered to exhibit his power. But when he climbed up into a withered tree, and began to scatter the ashes, not a bud nor a flower appeared; but the ashes all flew into the prince's eyes and mouth, blinding and choking him. When the prince's retainers saw this, they seized the old man, and beat him almost to death, so that he crawled off home in a very sorry plight. When he and his wife found out what a trap they had fallen into, they stormed and scolded and put themselves into a passion; but that did no good at all. The good old man and woman, so soon as they heard of their neighbours' distress, sent for them, and, after reproving them for their greed and cruelty, gave them a share of their own riches, which, by repeated strokes of luck, had now increased to a goodly sum. So the wicked old people mended their ways, and led good and virtuous lives ever after. THE BATTLE OF THE APE AND THE CRAB If a man thinks only of his own profit, and tries to benefit himself at the expense of others, he will incur the hatred of Heaven. Men should lay up in their hearts the story of the Battle of the Ape and Crab, and teach it, as a profitable lesson, to their children. Once upon a time there was a crab who lived in a marsh in a certain part of the country. It fell out one day that, the crab having picked up a rice cake, an ape, who had got a nasty hard persimmon-seed, came up, and begged the crab to make an exchange with him. The crab, who was a simple-minded creature, agreed to this proposal; and they each went their way, the ape chuckling to himself at the good bargain which he had made. When the crab got home, he planted the persimmon-seed in his garden, and, as time slipped by, it sprouted, and by degrees grew to be a big tree. The crab watched the growth of his tree with great delight; but when the fruit ripened, and he was going to pluck it, the ape came in, and offered to gather it for him. The crab consenting, the ape climbed up into the tree, and began eating all the ripe fruit himself, while he only threw down the sour persimmons to the crab, inviting him, at the same time, to eat heartily. The crab, however, was not pleased at this arrangement, and thought that it was his turn to play a trick upon the ape; so he called out to him to come down head foremost. The ape did as he was bid; and as he crawled down, head foremost, the ripe fruit all came tumbling out of his pockets, and the crab, having picked up the persimmons, ran off and hid himself in a hole. The ape, seeing this, lay in ambush, and as soon as the crab crept out of his hiding-place gave him a sound drubbing, and went home. Just at this time a friendly egg and a bee, who were the apprentices of a certain rice-mortar, happened to pass that way, and, seeing the crab's piteous condition, tied up his wounds, and, having escorted him home, began to lay plans to be revenged upon the cruel ape. [Illustration: THE APE AND THE CRAB.] Having agreed upon a scheme, they all went to the ape's house, in his absence; and each one having undertaken to play a certain part, they waited in secret for their enemy to come home. The ape, little dreaming of the mischief that was brewing, returned home, and, having a fancy to drink a cup of tea, began lighting the fire in the hearth, when, all of a sudden, the egg, which was hidden in the ashes, burst with. the heat, and bespattered the frightened ape's face, so that he fled, howling with pain, and crying, "Oh! what an unlucky beast I am!" Maddened with the heat of the burst egg, he tried to go to the back of the house, when the bee darted out of a cupboard, and a piece of seaweed, who had joined the party, coming up at the same time, the ape was surrounded by enemies. In despair, he seized the clothes-rack, and fought valiantly for awhile; but he was no match for so many, and was obliged to run away, with the others in hot pursuit after him. Just as he was making his escape by a back door, however, the piece of seaweed tripped him up, and the rice-mortar, closing with him from behind, made an end of him. [Illustration: THE APE AND THE CRAB. (2)] So the crab, having punished his enemy, went home in triumph, and lived ever after on terms of brotherly love with the seaweed and the mortar. Was there ever such a fine piece of fun! THE ADVENTURES OF LITTLE PEACHLING Many hundred years ago there lived an honest old wood-cutter and his wife. One fine morning the old man went off to the hills with his billhook, to gather a faggot of sticks, while his wife went down to the river to wash the dirty clothes. When she came to the river, she saw a peach floating down the stream; so she picked it up, and carried it home with her, thinking to give it to her husband to eat when he should come in. The old man soon came down from the hills, and the good wife set the peach before him, when, just as she was inviting him to eat it, the fruit split in two, and a little puling baby was born into the world. So the old couple took the babe, and brought it up as their own; and, because it had been born in a peach, they called it _Momotarô_,[53] or Little Peachling. [Footnote 53: _Momo_ means a peach, and _Tarô_ is the termination of the names of eldest sons, as _Hikotarô_, _Tokutarô_, &c. In modern times, however, the termination has been applied indifferently to any male child.] By degrees Little Peachling grew up to be strong and brave, and at last one day he said to his old foster-parents-- "I am going to the ogres' island to carry off the riches that they have stored up there. Pray, then, make me some millet dumplings for my journey." So the old folks ground the millet, and made the dumplings for him; and Little Peachling, after taking an affectionate leave of them, cheerfully set out on his travels. As he was journeying on, he fell in with an ape, who gibbered at him, and said, "Kia! kia! kia! where are you off to, Little Peachling?" "I'm going to the ogres' island, to carry off their treasure," answered Little Peachling. "What are you carrying at your girdle?" "I'm carrying the very best millet dumplings in all Japan." "If you'll give me one, I will go with you," said the ape. So Little Peachling gave one of his dumplings to the ape, who received it and followed him. When he had gone a little further, he heard a pheasant calling-- "Ken! ken! ken![54] where are you off to, Master Peachling?" [Footnote 54: The country folk in Japan pretend that the pheasant's call is a sign of an approaching earthquake.] Little Peachling answered as before; and the pheasant, having begged and obtained a millet dumpling, entered his service, and followed him. A little while after this, they met a dog, who cried-- "Bow! wow! wow! whither away, Master Peachling?" "I'm going off to the ogres' island, to carry off their treasure." "If you will give me one of those nice millet dumplings of yours, I will go with you," said the dog. [Illustration: LITTLE PEACHLING.] "With all my heart," said Little Peachling. So he went on his way, with the ape, the pheasant, and the dog following after him. When they got to the ogres' island, the pheasant flew over the castle gate, and the ape clambered over the castle wall, while Little Peachling, leading the dog, forced in the gate, and got into the castle. Then they did battle with the ogres, and put them to flight, and took their king prisoner. So all the ogres did homage to Little Peachling, and brought out the treasures which they had laid up. There were caps and coats that made their wearers invisible, jewels which governed the ebb and flow of the tide, coral, musk, emeralds, amber, and tortoiseshell, besides gold and silver. All these were laid before Little Peachling by the conquered ogres. [Illustration: LITTLE PEACHLING. (2)] So Little Peachling went home laden with riches, and maintained his foster-parents in peace and plenty for the remainder of their lives. THE FOXES' WEDDING Once upon a time there was a young white fox, whose name was Fukuyémon. When he had reached the fitting age, he shaved off his forelock[55] and began to think of taking to himself a beautiful bride. The old fox, his father, resolved to give up his inheritance to his son,[56] and retired into private life; so the young fox, in gratitude for this, laboured hard and earnestly to increase his patrimony. Now it happened that in a famous old family of foxes there was a beautiful young lady-fox, with such lovely fur that the fame of her jewel-like charms was spread far and wide. The young white fox, who had heard of this, was bent on making her his wife, and a meeting was arranged between them. There was not a fault to be found on either side; so the preliminaries were settled, and the wedding presents sent from the bridegroom to the bride's house, with congratulatory speeches from the messenger, which were duly acknowledged by the person deputed to receive the gifts; the bearers, of course, received the customary fee in copper cash. [Footnote 55: See the Appendix on "Ceremonies."] [Footnote 56: See the note on the word Inkiyô, in the story of the "Prince and the Badger."] When the ceremonies had been concluded, an auspicious day was chosen for the bride to go to her husband's house, and she was carried off in solemn procession during a shower of rain, the sun shining all the while.[57] After the ceremonies of drinking wine had been gone through, the bride changed her dress, and the wedding was concluded, without let or hindrance, amid singing and dancing and merry-making. [Footnote 57: A shower during sunshine, which we call "the devil beating his wife," is called in Japan "the fox's bride going to her husband's house."] The bride and bridegroom lived lovingly together, and a litter of little foxes were born to them, to the great joy of the old grandsire, who treated the little cubs as tenderly as if they had been butterflies or flowers. "They're the very image of their old grandfather," said he, as proud as possible. "As for medicine, bless them, they're so healthy that they'll never need a copper coin's worth!" As soon as they were old enough, they were carried off to the temple of Inari Sama, the patron saint of foxes, and the old grand-parents prayed that they might be delivered from dogs and all the other ills to which fox flesh is heir. [Illustration: THE FOXES' WEDDING.] In this way the white fox by degrees waxed old and prosperous, and his children, year by year, became more and more numerous around him; so that, happy in his family and his business, every recurring spring brought him fresh cause for joy. [Illustration: THE FOXES' WEDDING. (2)] THE HISTORY OF SAKATA KINTOKI A long time ago there was an officer of the Emperor's body-guard, called Sakata Kurando, a young man who, although he excelled in valour and in the arts of war, was of a gentle and loving disposition. This young officer was deeply enamoured of a fair young lady, called Yaégiri, who lived at Gojôzaka, at Kiyôto. Now it came to pass that, having incurred the jealousy of certain other persons, Kurando fell into disgrace with the Court, and became a Rônin, so he was no longer able to keep up any communication with his love Yaégiri; indeed, he became so poor that it was a hard matter for him to live. So he left the place and fled, no one knew whither. As for Yaégiri, lovesick and lorn, and pining for her lost darling, she escaped from the house where she lived, and wandered hither and thither through the country, seeking everywhere for Kurando. Now Kurando, when he left the palace, turned tobacco merchant, and, as he was travelling about hawking his goods, it chanced that he fell in with Yaégiri; so, having communicated to her his last wishes, he took leave of her and put an end to his life. Poor Yaégiri, having buried her lover, went to the Ashigara Mountain, a distant and lonely spot, where she gave birth to a little boy, who, as soon as he was born, was of such wonderful strength that he walked about and ran playing all over the mountain. A woodcutter, who chanced to see the marvel, was greatly frightened at first, and thought the thing altogether uncanny; but after a while he got used to the child, and became quite fond of him, and called him "Little Wonder," and gave his mother the name of the "Old Woman of the Mountain." One day, as "Little Wonder" was playing about, he saw that on the top of a high cedar-tree there was a tengu's nest;[58] so he began shaking the tree with all his might, until at last the tengu's nest came tumbling down. [Footnote 58: _Tengu_, or the Heavenly Dog, a hobgoblin who infests desert places, and is invoked to frighten naughty little children.] As luck would have it, the famous hero, Minamoto no Yorimitsu, with his retainers, Watanabé Isuna, Usui Sadamitsu, and several others, had come to the mountain to hunt, and seeing the feat which "Little Wonder" had performed, came to the conclusion that he could be no ordinary child. Minamoto no Yorimitsu ordered Watanabé Isuna to find out the child's name and parentage. The Old Woman of the Mountain, on being asked about him, answered that she was the wife of Kurando, and that "Little Wonder" was the child of their marriage. And she proceeded to relate all the adventures which had befallen her. When Yorimitsu heard her story, he said, "Certainly this child does not belie his lineage. Give the brat to me, and I will make him my retainer." The Old Woman of the Mountain gladly consented, and gave "Little Wonder" to Yorimitsu; but she herself remained in her mountain home. So "Little Wonder" went off with the hero Yorimitsu, who named him Sakata Kintoki; and in aftertimes he became famous and illustrious as a warrior, and his deeds are recited to this day. He is the favourite hero of little children, who carry his portrait in their bosom, and wish that they could emulate his bravery and strength. THE ELVES AND THE ENVIOUS NEIGHBOUR Once upon a time there was a certain man, who, being overtaken by darkness among the mountains, was driven to seek shelter in the trunk of a hollow tree. In the middle of the night, a large company of elves assembled at the place; and the man, peeping out from his hiding-place, was frightened out of his wits. After a while, however, the elves began to feast and drink wine, and to amuse themselves by singing and dancing, until at last the man, caught by the infection of the fun, forgot all about his fright, and crept out of his hollow tree to join in the revels. When the day was about to dawn, the elves said to the man, "You're a very jolly companion, and must come out and have a dance with us again. You must make us a promise, and keep it." So the elves, thinking to bind the man over to return, took a large wen that grew on his forehead and kept it in pawn; upon this they all left the place, and went home. The man walked off to his own house in high glee at having passed a jovial night, and got rid of his wen into the bargain. So he told the story to all his friends, who congratulated him warmly on being cured of his wen. But there was a neighbour of his who was also troubled with a wen of long standing, and, when he heard of his friend's luck, he was smitten with envy, and went off to hunt for the hollow tree, in which, when he had found it, he passed the night. Towards midnight the elves came, as he had expected, and began feasting and drinking, with songs and dances as before. As soon as he saw this, he came out of his hollow tree, and began dancing and singing as his neighbour had done. The elves, mistaking him for their former boon-companion, were delighted to see him, and said-- "You're a good fellow to recollect your promise, and we'll give you back your pledge;" so one of the elves, pulling the pawned wen out of his pocket, stuck it on to the man's forehead, on the top of the other wen which he already bad. So the envious neighbour went home weeping, with two wens instead of one. This is a good lesson to people who cannot see the good luck of others, without coveting it for themselves. THE GHOST OF SAKURA The misfortunes and death of the farmer Sôgorô, which, although the preternatural appearances by which they are said to have been followed may raise a smile, are matters of historic notoriety with which every Japanese is familiar, furnish a forcible illustration of the relations which exist between the tenant and the lord of the soil, and of the boundless power for good or for evil exercised by the latter. It is rather remarkable that in a country where the peasant--placed as he is next to the soldier, and before the artisan and merchant, in the four classes into which the people are divided--enjoys no small consideration, and where agriculture is protected by law from the inroads of wild vegetation, even to the lopping of overshadowing branches and the cutting down of hedgerow timber, the lord of the manor should be left practically without control in his dealings with his people. The land-tax, or rather the yearly rent paid by the tenant, is usually assessed at forty per cent. of the produce; but there is no principle clearly defining it, and frequently the landowner and the cultivator divide the proceeds of the harvest in equal shapes. Rice land is divided into three classes; and, according to these classes, it is computed that one _tan_ (1,800 square feet) of the best land should yield to the owner a revenue of five bags of rice per annum; each of these bags holds four tô (a tô is rather less than half an imperial bushel), and is worth at present (1868) three riyos, or about sixteen shillings; land of the middle class should yield a revenue of three or four bags. The rent is paid either in rice or in money, according to the actual price of the grain, which varies considerably. It is due in the eleventh month of the year, when the crops have all been gathered, and their market value fixed. The rent of land bearing crops other than rice, such as cotton, beans, roots, and so forth, is payable in money during the twelfth month. The choice of the nature of the crops to be grown appears to be left to the tenant. The Japanese landlord, when pressed by poverty, does not confine himself to the raising of his legitimate rents: he can always enforce from his needy tenantry the advancement of a year's rent, or the loan of so much money as may be required to meet his immediate necessities. Should the lord be just, the peasant is repaid by instalments, with interest, extending over ten or twenty years. But it too often happens that unjust and merciless lords do not repay such loans, but, on the contrary, press for further advances. Then it is that the farmers, dressed in their grass rain-coats, and carrying sickles and bamboo poles in their hands, assemble before the gate of their lord's palace at the capital, and represent their grievances, imploring the intercession of the retainers, and even of the womankind who may chance to go forth. Sometimes they pay for their temerity by their lives; but, at any rate, they have the satisfaction of bringing shame upon their persecutor, in the eyes of his neighbours and of the populace. [Illustration: THE DEPUTATION OF PEASANTS AT THEIR LORD'S GATE.] The official reports of recent travels in the interior of Japan have fully proved the hard lot with which the peasantry had to put up during the government of the Tycoons, and especially under the Hatamotos, the created nobility of the dynasty. In one province, where the village mayors appear to have seconded the extortions of their lord, they have had to flee before an exasperated population, who, taking advantage of the revolution, laid waste and pillaged their houses, loudly praying for a new and just assessment of the land; while, throughout the country, the farmers have hailed with acclamations the resumption of the sovereign power by the Mikado, and the abolition of the petty nobility who exalted themselves upon the misery of their dependants. Warming themselves in the sunshine of the court at Yedo, the Hatamotos waxed fat and held high revel, and little cared they who groaned or who starved. Money must be found, and it was found. It is necessary here to add a word respecting the position of the village mayors, who play so important a part in the tale. The peasants of Japan are ruled by three classes of officials: the Nanushi, or mayor; the Kumigashira, or chiefs of companies; and the Hiyakushôdai, or farmers' representatives. The village, which is governed by the Nanushi, or mayor, is divided into companies, which, consisting of five families each, are directed by a Kumigashira; these companies, again, are subdivided into groups of five men each, who choose one of their number to represent them in case of their having any petition to present, or any affairs to settle with their superiors. This functionary is the Hiyakushôdai. The mayor, the chief of the company, and the representative keep registers of the families and people under their control, and are responsible for their good and orderly behaviour. They pay taxes like the other farmers, but receive a salary, the amount of which depends upon the size and wealth of the village. Five per cent. of the yearly land tax forms the salary of the mayor, and the other officials each receive five per cent. of the tax paid by the little bodies over which they respectively rule. The average amount of land for one family to cultivate is about one chô, or 9,000 square yards; but there are farmers who have inherited as much as five or even six chô from their ancestors. There is also a class of farmers called, from their poverty, "water-drinking farmers," who have no land of their own, but hire that of those who have more than they can keep in their own hands. The rent so paid varies; but good rice land will bring in as high a rent as from £1 18s. to £2 6s. per tan (1,800 square feet). Farm labourers are paid from six or seven riyos a year to as much as thirty riyos (the riyo being worth about 5s. 4d.); besides this, they are clothed and fed, not daintily indeed, but amply. The rice which they cultivate is to them an almost unknown luxury: millet is their staple food, and on high days and holidays they receive messes of barley or buckwheat. Where the mulberry-tree is grown, and the silkworm is "educated," there the labourer receives the highest wage. The rice crop on good land should yield twelve and a half fold, and on ordinary land from six to seven fold only. Ordinary arable land is only half as valuable as rice land, which cannot be purchased for less than forty riyos per tan of 1,800 square feet. Common hill or wood land is cheaper, again, than arable land; but orchards and groves of the Pawlonia are worth from fifty to sixty riyos per tan. With regard to the punishment of crucifixion, by which Sôgorô was put to death, it is inflicted for the following offences:--parricide (including the murder or striking of parents, uncles, aunts, elder brothers, masters, or teachers) coining counterfeit money, and passing the barriers of the Tycoon's territory without a permit.[59] The criminal is attached to an upright post with two cross bars, to which his arms and feet are fastened by ropes. He is then transfixed with spears by men belonging to the Eta or Pariah class. I once passed the execution-ground near Yedo, when a body was attached to the cross. The dead man had murdered his employer, and, having been condemned to death by crucifixion, had died in prison before the sentence could be carried out. He was accordingly packed, in a squatting position, in a huge red earthenware jar, which, having been tightly filled up with. salt, was hermetically sealed. On the anniversary of the commission of the crime, the jar was carried down to the execution-ground and broken, and the body was taken out and tied to the cross, the joints of the knees and arms having been cut, to allow of the extension of the stiffened and shrunken limbs; it was then transfixed with spears, and allowed to remain exposed for three days. An open grave, the upturned soil of which seemed almost entirely composed of dead men's remains, waited to receive the dishonoured corpse, over which three or four Etas, squalid and degraded beings, were mounting guard, smoking their pipes by a scanty charcoal fire, and bandying obscene jests. It was a hideous and ghastly warning, had any cared to read the lesson; but the passers-by on the high road took little or no notice of the sight, and a group of chubby and happy children were playing not ten yards from the dead body, as if no strange or uncanny thing were near them. [Footnote 59: This last crime is, of course, now obsolete.] THE GHOST OF SAKURA.[60] [Footnote 60: The story, which also forms the subject of a play, is published, but with altered names, in order that offence may not be given to the Hotta family. The real names are preserved here. The events related took place during the rule of the Shogun Iyémitsu, in the first half of the seventeenth century.] How true is the principle laid down by Confucius, that the benevolence of princes is reflected in their country, while their wickedness causes sedition and confusion! [Illustration: THE GHOST OF SAKURA.] In the province of Shimôsa, and the district of Sôma, Hotta Kaga no Kami was lord of the castle of Sakura, and chief of a family which had for generations produced famous warriors. When Kaga no Kami, who had served in the Gorôjiu, the cabinet of the Shogun, died at the castle of Sakura, his eldest son Kôtsuké no Suké Masanobu inherited his estates and honours, and was appointed to a seat in the Gorôjiu; but he was a different man from the lords who had preceded him. He treated the farmers and peasants unjustly, imposing additional and grievous taxes, so that the tenants on his estates were driven to the last extremity of poverty; and although year after year, and month after month, they prayed for mercy, and remonstrated against this injustice, no heed was paid to them, and the people throughout the villages were reduced to the utmost distress. Accordingly, the chiefs of the one hundred and thirty-six villages, producing a total revenue of 40,000 kokus of rice, assembled together in council and determined unanimously to present a petition to the Government, sealed with their seals, stating that their repeated remonstrances had been taken no notice of by their local authorities. Then they assembled in numbers before the house of one of the councillors of their lord, named Ikéura Kazuyé, in order to show the petition to him first, but even then no notice was taken of them; so they returned home, and resolved, after consulting together, to proceed to their lord's yashiki, or palace, at Yedo, on the seventh day of the tenth month. It was determined, with one accord, that one hundred and forty-three village chiefs should go to Yedo; and the chief of the village of Iwahashi, one Sôgorô, a man forty-eight years of age, distinguished for his ability and judgment, ruling a district which produced a thousand kokus, stepped forward, and said-- "This is by no means an easy matter, my masters. It certainly is of great importance that we should forward our complaint to our lord's palace at Yedo; but what are your plans? Have you any fixed intentions?" "It is, indeed, a most important matter," rejoined the others; but they had nothing further to say. Then Sôgorô went on to say-- "We have appealed to the public office of our province, but without avail; we have petitioned the Prince's councillors, also in vain. I know that all that remains for us is to lay our case before our lord's palace at Yedo; and if we go there, it is equally certain that we shall not be listened to--on the contrary, we shall be cast into prison. If we are not attended to here, in our own province, how much less will the officials at Yedo care for us. We might hand our petition into the litter of one of the Gorôjiu, in the public streets; but, even in that case, as our lord is a member of the Gorôjiu, none of his peers would care to examine into the rights and wrongs of our complaint, for fear of offending him, and the man who presented the petition in so desperate a manner would lose his life on a bootless errand. If you have made up your minds to this, and are determined, at all hazards, to start, then go to Yedo by all means, and bid a long farewell to parents, children, wives, and relations. This is my opinion." The others all agreeing with what Sôgorô said, they determined that, come what might, they would go to Yedo; and they settled to assemble at the village of Funabashi on the thirteenth day of the eleventh month. On the appointed day all the village officers met at the place agreed upon,--Sôgorô, the chief of the village of Iwahashi, alone being missing; and as on the following day Sôgorô had not yet arrived, they deputed one of their number, named Rokurobei, to inquire the reason. Rokurobei arrived at Sôgorô's house towards four in the afternoon, and found him warming himself quietly over his charcoal brazier, as if nothing were the matter. The messenger, seeing this, said rather testily-- "The chiefs of the villages are all assembled at Funabashi according to covenant, and as you, Master Sôgorô, have not arrived, I have come to inquire whether it is sickness or some other cause that prevents you." "Indeed," replied Sôgorô, "I am sorry that you should have had so much trouble. My intention was to have set out yesterday; but I was taken with a cholic, with which I am often troubled, and, as you may see, I am taking care of myself; so for a day or two I shall not be able to start. Pray be so good as to let the others know this." Rokurobei, seeing that there was no help for it, went back to the village of Funabashi and communicated to the others what had occurred. They were all indignant at what they looked upon as the cowardly defection of a man who had spoken so fairly, but resolved that the conduct of one man should not influence the rest, and talked themselves into the belief that the affair which they had in hand would be easily put through; so they agreed with one accord to start and present the petition, and, having arrived at Yedo, put up in the street called Bakurochô. But although they tried to forward their complaint to the various officers of their lord, no one would listen to them; the doors were all shut in their faces, and they had to go back to their inn, crestfallen and without success. On the following day, being the 18th of the month, they all met together at a tea-house in an avenue, in front of a shrine of Kwannon Sama;[61] and having held a consultation, they determined that, as they could hit upon no good expedient, they would again send for Sôgorô to see whether he could devise no plan. Accordingly, on the 19th, Rokurobei and one Jiuyémon started for the village of Iwahashi at noon, and arrived the same evening. [Footnote 61: A Buddhist deity.] Now the village chief Sôgorô, who had made up his mind that the presentation of this memorial was not a matter to be lightly treated, summoned his wife and children and his relations, and said to them-- "I am about to undertake a journey to Yedo, for the following reasons:--Our present lord of the soil has increased the land-tax, in rice and the other imposts, more than tenfold, so that pen and paper would fail to convey an idea of the poverty to which the people are reduced, and the peasants are undergoing the tortures of hell upon earth. Seeing this, the chiefs of the various villages have presented petitions, but with what result is doubtful. My earnest desire, therefore, is to devise some means of escape from this cruel persecution. If my ambitious scheme does not succeed, then shall I return home no more; and even should I gain my end, it is hard to say how I may be treated by those in power. Let us drink a cup of wine together, for it may be that you shall see my face no more. I give my life to allay the misery of the people of this estate. If I die, mourn not over my fate; weep not for me." Having spoken thus, he addressed his wife and his four children, instructing them carefully as to what he desired to be done after his death, and minutely stating every wish of his heart. Then, having drunk a parting cup with them, he cheerfully took leave of all present, and went to a tea-house in the neighbouring village of Funabashi, where the two messengers, Rokurobei and Jiuyémon, were anxiously awaiting his arrival, in order that they might recount to him all that had taken place at Yedo. "In short," said they, "it appears to us that we have failed completely; and we have come to meet you in order to hear what you propose. If you have any plan to suggest, we would fain be made acquainted with it." "We have tried the officers of the district," replied Sôgorô, "and we have tried my lord's palace at Yedo. However often we might assemble before my lord's gate, no heed would be given to us. There is nothing left for us but to appeal to the Shogun." So they sat talking over their plans until the night was far advanced, and then they went to rest. The winter night was long; but when the cawing of the crows was about to announce the morning, the three friends started on their journey for the tea-house at Asakusa, at which, upon their arrival, they found the other village elders already assembled. "Welcome, Master Sôgorô," said they. "How is it that you have come so late? We have petitioned all the officers to no purpose, and we have broken our bones in vain. We are at our wits' end, and can think of no other scheme. If there is any plan which seems good to you, we pray you to act upon it." "Sirs," replied Sôgorô, speaking very quietly, "although we have met with no better success here than in our own place, there is no use in grieving. In a day or two the Gorôjiu will be going to the castle; we must wait for this opportunity, and following one of the litters, thrust in our memorial. This is my opinion: what think you of it, my masters?" One and all, the assembled elders were agreed as to the excellence of this advice; and having decided to act upon it, they returned to their inn. Then Sôgorô held a secret consultation with Jiuyémon, Hanzô, Rokurobei, Chinzô, and Kinshirô, five of the elders, and, with their assistance, drew up the memorial; and having heard that on the 26th of the month, when the Gorôjiu should go to the castle, Kuzé Yamato no Kami would proceed to a palace under the western enclosure of the castle, they kept watch in a place hard by. As soon as they saw the litter of the Gorôjiu approach, they drew near to it, and, having humbly stated their grievances, handed in the petition; and as it was accepted, the six elders were greatly elated, and doubted not that their hearts' desire would be attained; so they went off to a tea-house at Riyôgoku, and Jiuyémon said-- "We may congratulate ourselves on our success. We have handed in our petition to the Gorôjiu, and now we may set our minds at rest; before many days have passed, we shall hear good news from the rulers. To Master Sôgorô is due great praise for his exertions." Sôgorô, stepping forward, answered, "Although we have presented our memorial to the Gorôjiu, the matter will not be so quickly decided; it is therefore useless that so many of us should remain here: let eleven men stay with me, and let the rest return home to their several villages. If we who remain are accused of conspiracy and beheaded, let the others agree to reclaim and bury our corpses. As for the expenses which we shall incur until our suit is concluded, let that be according to our original covenant. For the sake of the hundred and thirty-six villages we will lay down our lives, if needs must, and submit to the disgrace of having our heads exposed as those of common malefactors." Then they had a parting feast together, and, after a sad leave-taking, the main body of the elders went home to their own country; while the others, wending their way to their quarters waited patiently to be summoned to the Supreme Court. On the 2d day of the 12th month, Sôgorô, having received a summons from the residence of the Gorôjiu Kuzé Yamato no Kami, proceeded to obey it, and was ushered to the porch of the house, where two councillors, named Aijima Gidaiyu and Yamaji Yôri, met him, and said-- "Some days since you had the audacity to thrust a memorial into the litter of our lord Yamato no Kami. By an extraordinary exercise of clemency, he is willing to pardon this heinous offence; but should you ever again endeavour to force your petitions; upon him, you will be held guilty of riotous conduct;" and with this they gave back the memorial. "I humbly admit the justice of his lordship's censure. But oh! my lords, this is no hasty nor ill-considered action. Year after year, affliction upon affliction has been heaped upon us, until at last the people are without even the necessaries of life; and we, seeing no end to the evil, have humbly presented this petition. I pray your lordships of your great mercy to consider our case" and deign to receive our memorial. Vouchsafe to take some measures that the people may live, and our gratitude for your great kindness will know no bounds." "Your request is a just one," replied the two councillors after hearing what he said; "but your memorial cannot be received: so you must even take it back." With this they gave back the document, and wrote down the names of Sôgorô and six of the elders who had accompanied him. There was no help for it: they must take back their petition, and return to their inn. The seven men, dispirited and sorrowful, sat with folded arms considering what was best to be done, what plan should be devised, until at last, when they were at their wits' end, Sôgorô said, in a whisper-- "So our petition, which we gave in after so much pains, has been returned after all! With what f ace can we return to our villages after such a disgrace? I, for one, do not propose to waste my labour for nothing; accordingly, I shall bide my time until some day, when the Shogun shall go forth from the castle, and, lying in wait by the roadside, I shall make known our grievances to him, who is lord over our lord. This is our last chance." [Illustration: SÔGORÔ THRUSTING THE PETITION INTO THE SHOGUN'S LITTER.] The others all applauded this speech, and, having with one accord hardened their hearts, waited for their opportunity. Now it so happened that, on the 20th day of the 12th month, the then Shogun, Prince Iyémitsu, was pleased to worship at the tombs of his ancestors at Uyéno;[62] and Sôgorô and the other elders, hearing this, looked upon it as a special favour from the gods, and felt certain that this time they would not fail. So they drew up a fresh memorial, and at the appointed time Sôgorô hid himself under the Sammayé Bridge, in front of the black gate at Uyéno. When Prince Iyémitsu passed in his litter, Sôgorô clambered up from under the bridge, to the great surprise of the Shogun's attendants, who called out, "Push the fellow on one side;" but, profiting by the confusion, Sôgorô, raising his voice and crying, "I wish to humbly present a petition to his Highness in person," thrust forward his memorial, which he had tied on to the end of a bamboo stick six feet long, and tried to put it into the litter; and although there were cries to arrest him, and he was buffeted by the escort, he crawled up to the side of the litter, and the Shogun accepted the document. But Sôgorô was arrested by the escort, and thrown into prison. As for the memorial, his Highness ordered that it should be handed in to the Gorôjiu Hotta Kôtsuké no Suké, the lord of the petitioners. [Footnote 62: Destroyed during the revolution, in the summer of 1868, by the troops of the Mikado. See note on the tombs of the Shoguns, at the end of the story.] When Hotta Kôtsuké no Suké had returned home and read the memorial, he summoned his councillor, Kojima Shikibu, and said-- "The officials of my estate are mere bunglers. When the peasants assembled and presented a petition, they refused to receive it, and have thus brought this trouble upon me. Their folly has been beyond belief; however, it cannot be helped. We must remit all the new taxes, and you must inquire how much was paid to the former lord of the castle. As for this Sôgorô, he is not the only one who is at the bottom of the conspiracy; however, as this heinous offence of his in going out to lie in wait for the Shogun's procession is unpardonable, we must manage to get him given up to us by the Government, and, as an example for the rest of my people, he shall be crucified--he and his wife and his children; and, after his death, all that he possesses shall be confiscated. The other six men shall be banished; and that will suffice." "My lord," replied Shikibu, prostrating himself, "your lordship's intentions are just. Sôgorô, indeed, deserves any punishment for his outrageous crime. But I humbly venture to submit that his wife and children cannot be said to be guilty in the same degree: I implore your lordship mercifully to be pleased to absolve them from so severe a punishment." "Where the sin of the father is great, the wife and children cannot be spared," replied Kôtsuké no Suké; and his councillor, seeing that his heart was hardened, was forced to obey his orders without further remonstrance. So Kôtsuké no Suké, having obtained that Sôgorô should be given up to him by the Government, caused him to be brought to his estate of Sakura as a criminal, in a litter covered with nets, and confined him in prison. When his case had been inquired into, a decree was issued by the Lord Kôtsuké no Suké that he should be punished for a heinous crime; and on the 9th day of the 2d month of the second year of the period styled Shôhô (A.D. 1644) he was condemned to be crucified. Accordingly Sôgorô, his wife and children, and the elders of the hundred and thirty-six villages were brought before the Court-house of Sakura, in which were assembled forty-five chief officers. The elders were then told that, yielding to their petition, their lord was graciously pleased to order that the oppressive taxes should be remitted, and that the dues levied should not exceed those of the olden time. As for Sôgorô and his wife, the following sentence was passed upon them:-- "Whereas you have set yourself up as the head of the villagers; whereas, secondly, you have dared to make light of the Government by petitioning his Highness the Shogun directly, thereby offering an insult to your lord; and whereas, thirdly, you have presented a memorial to the Gorôjiu; and, whereas, fourthly, you were privy to a conspiracy: for these four heinous crimes you are sentenced to death by crucifixion. Your wife is sentenced to die in like manner; and your children will be decapitated. "This sentence is passed upon the following persons:-- "Sôgorô, chief of the village of Iwahashi, aged 48. "His wife, Man, aged 38. "His son, Gennosuké, aged 13. "His son, Sôhei, aged 10. "His son, Kihachi, aged 7." The eldest daughter of Sôgorô, named Hatsu, nineteen years of age, was married to a man named Jiuyémon, in the village of Hakamura, in Shitachi, beyond the river, in the territory of Matsudaira Matsu no Kami (the Prince of Sendai). His second daughter, whose name was Saki, sixteen years of age, was married to one Tôjiurô, chief of a village on the property of my lord Naitô Geki. No punishment was decreed against these two women. The six elders who had accompanied Sôgorô were told that although by good rights they had merited death, yet by the special clemency of their lord their lives would be spared, but that they were condemned to banishment. Their wives and children would not be attainted, and their property would be spared. The six men were banished to Oshima, in the province of Idzu. Sôgorô heard his sentence with pure courage. The six men were banished; but three of them lived to be pardoned on the occasion of the death of the Shogun, Prince Genyuin,[63] and returned to their country. [Footnote 63: The name assigned after death to Iyétsuna, the fourth of the dynasty of Tokugawa, who died on the 8th day of the 5th month of the year A.D. 1680.] According to the above decision, the taxes were remitted; and men and women, young and old, rejoiced over the advantage that had been gained for them by Sôgorô and by the six elders, and there was not one that did not mourn for their fate. When the officers of the several villages left the Court-house, one Zembei, the chief of the village of Sakato, told the others that he had some important subjects to speak to them upon, and begged them to meet him in the temple called Fukushôin. Every man having consented, and the hundred and thirty-six men having assembled at the temple, Zembei addressed them as follows:-- "The success of our petition, in obtaining the reduction of our taxes to the same amount as was levied by our former lord, is owing to Master Sôgorô, who has thus thrown away his life for us. He and his wife and children are now to suffer as criminals for the sake of the one hundred and thirty-six villages. That such a thing should take place before our very eyes seems to me not to be borne. What say you, my masters?" "Ay! ay! what you say is just from top to bottom," replied the others. Then Hanzayémon, the elder of the village of Katsuta, stepped forward and said-- "As Master Zembei has just said, Sôgorô is condemned to die for a matter in which all the village elders are concerned to a man. We cannot look on unconcerned. Full well I know that it is useless our pleading for Sôgorô; but we may, at least, petition that the lives of his wife and children may be spared." The assembled elders having all applauded this speech, they determined to draw up a memorial; and they resolved, should their petition not be accepted by the local authorities, to present it at their lord's palace in Yedo, and, should that fail, to appeal to the Government. Accordingly, before noon on the following day, they all affixed their seals to the memorial, which four of them, including Zembei and Hanzayémon, composed, as follows:-- "With deep fear we humbly venture to present the following petition, which the elders of the one hundred and thirty-six villages of this estate have sealed with their seals. In consequence of the humble petition which we lately offered up, the taxes have graciously been reduced to the rates levied by the former lord of the estate, and new laws have been vouchsafed to us. With reverence and joy the peasants, great and small, have gratefully acknowledged these favours. With regard to Sôgorô, the elder of the village of Iwahashi, who ventured to petition his highness the Shogun in person, thus being guilty of a heinous crime, he has been sentenced to death in the castle-town. With fear and trembling we recognize the justice of his sentence. But in the matter of his wife and children, she is but a woman, and they are so young and innocent that they cannot distinguish the east from the west: we pray that in your great clemency you will remit their sin, and give them up to the representatives of the one hundred and thirty-six villages, for which we shall be ever grateful. We, the elders of the villages, know not to what extent we may be transgressing in presenting this memorial. We were all guilty of affixing our seals to the former petition; but Sôgorô, who was chief of a large district, producing a thousand kokus of revenue, and was therefore a man of experience, acted for the others; and we grieve that he alone should suffer for all. Yet in his case we reverently admit that there can be no reprieve. For his wife and children, however, we humbly implore your gracious mercy and consideration. "Signed by the elders of the villages of the estate, the 2d year of Shôhô, and the 2d month." Having drawn up this memorial, the hundred and thirty-six elders, with Zembei at their head, proceeded to the Court-house to present the petition, and found the various officers seated in solemn conclave. Then the clerk took the petition, and, having opened it, read it aloud; and the councillor, Ikéura Kazuyé, said-- "The petition which you have addressed to us is worthy of all praise. But you must know that this is a matter which is no longer within our control. The affair has been reported to the Government; and although the priests of my lord's ancestral temple have interceded for Sôgorô, my lord is so angry that he will not listen even to them, saying that, had he not been one of the Gorôjiu, he would have been in danger of being ruined by this man: his high station alone saved him. My lord spoke so severely that the priests themselves dare not recur to the subject. You see, therefore, that it will be no use your attempting to take any steps in the matter, for most certainly your petition will not be received. You had better, then, think no more about it." And with these words he gave back the memorial. Zembei and the elders, seeing, to their infinite sorrow, that their mission was fruitless, left the Court-house, and most sorrowfully took counsel together, grinding their teeth in their disappointment when they thought over what the councillor had said as to the futility of their attempt. Out of grief for this, Zembei, with Hanzayémon and Heijiurô, on the 11th day of the 2d month (the day on which Sôgorô and his wife and children suffered), left Ewaradai, the place of execution, and went to the temple Zenkôji, in the province of Shinshiu, and from thence they ascended Mount Kôya in Kishiu, and, on the 1st day of the 8th month, shaved their heads and became priests; Zembei changed his name to Kakushin, and Hanzayémon changed his to Zenshô: as for Heijiurô, he fell sick at the end of the 7th month, and on the 11th day of the 8th month died, being forty-seven years old that year. These three men, who had loved Sôgorô as the fishes love water, were true to him to the last. Heijiurô was buried on Mount Kôya. Kakushin wandered through the country as a priest, praying for the entry of Sôgorô and his children into the perfection of paradise; and, after visiting all the shrines and temples, came back at last to his own province of Shimôsa, and took up his abode at the temple Riukakuji, in the village of Kano, and in the district of Imban, praying and making offerings on behalf of the souls of Sôgorô, his wife and children. Hanzayémon, now known as the priest Zenshô, remained at Shinagawa, a suburb of Yedo, and, by the charity of good people, collected enough money to erect six bronze Buddhas, which remain standing to this day. He fell sick and died, at the age of seventy, on the 10th day of the 2d month of the 13th year of the period styled Kambun. Zembei, who, as a priest, had changed his name to Kakushin, died, at the age of seventy-six, on the 17th day of the 10th month of the 2d year of the period styled Empô. Thus did those men, for the sake of Sôgorô and his family, give themselves up to works of devotion; and the other villagers also brought food to soothe the spirits of the dead, and prayed for their entry into paradise; and as litanies were repeated without intermission, there can be no doubt that Sôgorô attained salvation. "In paradise, where the blessings of God are distributed without favour, the soul learns its faults by the measure of the rewards given. The lusts of the flesh are abandoned; and the soul, purified, attains to the glory of Buddha."[64] [Footnote 64: Buddhist text.] On the 11th day of the 2d month of the 2d year of Shôhô, Sôgorô having been convicted of a heinous crime, a scaffold was erected at Ewaradai, and the councillor who resided at Yedo and the councillor who resided on the estate, with the other officers, proceeded to the place in all solemnity. Then the priests of Tôkôji, in the village of Sakénaga, followed by coffin-bearers, took their places in front of the councillors, and said-- "We humbly beg leave to present a petition." "What have your reverences to say?" "We are men who have forsaken the world and entered the priesthood," answered the monks, respectfully; "and we would fain, if it be possible, receive the bodies of those who are to die, that we may bury them decently. It will be a great joy to us if our humble petition be graciously heard and granted." "Your request shall be granted; but as the crime of Sôgorô was great, his body must be exposed for three days and three nights, after which the corpse shall be given to you." At the hour of the snake (10 A.M.), the hour appointed for the execution, the people from the neighbouring villages and the castle-town, old and young, men and women, flocked to see the sight: numbers there were, too, who came to bid a last farewell to Sôgorô, his wife and children, and to put up a prayer for them. When the hour had arrived, the condemned were dragged forth bound, and made to sit upon coarse mats. Sôgorô and his wife closed their eyes, for the sight was more than they could bear; and the spectators, with heaving breasts and streaming eyes, cried "Cruel!" and "Pitiless!" and taking sweetmeats and cakes from the bosoms of their dresses threw them to the children. At noon precisely Sôgorô and his wife were bound to the crosses, which were then set upright and fixed in the ground. When this had been done, their eldest son Gennosuké was led forward to the scaffold, in front of the two parents. Then Sôgorô cried out-- "Oh! cruel, cruel! what crime has this poor child committed that he is treated thus? As for me, it matters not what becomes of me." And the tears trickled down his face. The spectators prayed aloud, and shut their eyes; and the executioner himself, standing behind the boy, and saying that it was a pitiless thing that the child should suffer for the father's fault, prayed silently. Then Gennosuké, who had remained with his eyes closed, said to his parents-- "Oh! my father and mother, I am going before you to paradise, that happy country, to wait for you. My little brothers and I will be on the banks of the river Sandzu,[65] and stretch out our hands and help you across. Farewell, all you who have come to see us die; and now please cut off my head at once." [Footnote 65: The Buddhist Styx, which separates paradise from hell, across which the dead are ferried by an old woman, for whom a small piece of money is buried with them.] With this he stretched out his neck, murmuring a last prayer; and not only Sôgorô and his wife, but even the executioner and the spectators could not repress their tears; but the headsman, unnerved as he was, and touched to the very heart, was forced, on account of his office, to cut off the child's head, and a piteous wail arose from the parents and the spectators. Then the younger child Sôhei said to the headsman, "Sir, I have a sore on my right shoulder: please, cut my head off from the left shoulder, lest you should hurt me. Alas! I know not how to die, nor what I should do." When the headsman and the officers present heard the child's artless speech, they wept again for very pity; but there was no help for it, and the head fell off more swiftly than water is drunk up by sand. Then little Kihachi, the third son, who, on account of his tender years, should have been spared, was butchered as he was in his simplicity eating the sweetmeats which had been thrown to him by the spectators. When the execution of the children was over, the priests of Tôkôji took their corpses, and, having placed them in their coffins, carried them away, amidst the lamentations of the bystanders, and buried them with great solemnity. Then Shigayémon, one of the servants of Danzayémon, the chief of the Etas, who had been engaged for the purpose, was just about to thrust his spear, when O Man, Sôgorô's wife, raising her voice, said-- "Remember, my husband, that from the first you had made up your mind to this fate. What though our bodies be disgracefully exposed on these crosses?--we have the promises of the gods before us; therefore, mourn not. Let us fix our minds upon death: we are drawing near to paradise, and shall soon be with the saints. Be calm, my husband. Let us cheerfully lay down our single lives for the good of many. Man lives but for one generation; his name, for many. A good name is more to be prized than life." So she spoke; and Sôgorô on the cross, laughing gaily, answered-- "Well said, wife! What though we are punished for the many? Our petition was successful, and there is nothing left to wish for. Now I am happy, for I have attained my heart's desire. The changes and chances of life are manifold. But if I had five hundred lives, and could five hundred times assume this shape of mine, I would die five hundred times to avenge this iniquity. For myself I care not; but that my wife and children should be punished also is too much. Pitiless and cruel! Let my lord fence himself in with iron walls, yet shall my spirit burst through them and crush his bones, as a return for this deed." And as he spoke, his eyes became vermilion red, and flashed like the sun or the moon, and he looked like the demon Razetsu.[66] [Footnote 66: A Buddhist fiend.] "Come," shouted he, "make haste and pierce me with the spear." "Your wishes shall be obeyed," said the Eta, Shigayémon, and thrust in a spear at his right side until it came out at his left shoulder, and the blood streamed out like a fountain. Then he pierced the wife from the left side; and she, opening her eyes, said in a dying voice-- "Farewell, all you who are present. May harm keep far from you. Farewell! farewell!" and as her voice waxed faint, the second spear was thrust in from her right side, and she breathed out her spirit. Sôgorô, the colour of his face not even changing, showed no sign of fear, but opening his eyes wide, said-- "Listen, my masters! all you who have come to see this sight. Recollect that I shall pay my thanks to my lord Kôtsuké no Suké for this day's work. You shall see it for yourselves, so that it shall be talked of for generations to come. As a sign, when I am dead, my head shall turn and face towards the castle. When you see this, doubt not that my words shall come true." When he had spoken thus, the officer directing the execution gave a sign to the Eta, Shigayémon, and ordered him to finish the execution, so that Sôgorô should speak no more. So Shigayémon pierced him twelve or thirteen times, until he died. And when he was dead, his head turned and faced the castle. When the two councillors beheld this miracle, they came down from their raised platform, and knelt down before Sôgorô's dead body and said-- "Although you were but a peasant on this estate, you conceived a noble plan to succour the other farmers in their distress. You bruised your bones, and crushed your heart, for their sakes. Still, in that you appealed to the Shogun in person, you committed a grievous crime, and made light of your superiors; and for this it was impossible not to punish you. Still we admit that to include your wife and children in your crime, and kill them before your eyes, was a cruel deed. What is done, is done, and regret is of no avail. However, honours shall be paid to your spirit: you shall be canonized as the Saint Daimiyô, and you shall be placed among the tutelar deities of my lord's family." With these words the two councillors made repeated reverences before the corpse; and in this they showed their faithfulness to their lord. But he, when the matter was reported to him, only laughed scornfully at the idea that the hatred of a peasant could affect his feudal lord; and said that a vassal who had dared to hatch a plot which, had it not been for his high office, would have been sufficient to ruin him, had only met with his deserts. As for causing him to be canonized, let him be as he was. Seeing their lord's anger, his councillors could only obey. But it was not long before he had cause to know that, though Sôgorô was dead, his vengeance was yet alive. The relations of Sôgorô and the elders of the villages having been summoned to the Court-house, the following document was issued:-- "Although the property of Sôgorô, the elder of the village of Iwahashi, is confiscated, his household furniture shall be made over to his two married daughters; and the village officials will look to it that these few poor things be not stolen by lawless and unprincipled men. "His rice-fields and corn-fields, his mountain land and forest land, will be sold by auction. His house and grounds will be given over to the elder of the village. The price fetched by his property will be paid over to the lord of the estate. "The above decree will be published, in full, to the peasants of the village; and it is strictly forbidden to find fault with this decision. "The 12th day of the 2d month, of the 2d year of the period Shôhô." The peasants, having heard this degree with all humility, left the Court-house. Then the following punishments were awarded to the officers of the castle, who, by rejecting the petition of the peasants in the first instance, had brought trouble upon their lord:-- "Dismissed from their office, the resident councillors at Yedo and at the castle-town. "Banished from the province, four district governors, and three bailiffs, and nineteen petty officers. "Dismissed from office, three metsukés, or censors, and seven magistrates. "Condemned to _hara-kiri_, one district governor and one Yedo bailiff. "The severity of this sentence is owing to the injustice of the officials in raising new and unprecedented taxes, and bringing affliction upon the people, and in refusing to receive the petitions of the peasants, without consulting their lord, thus driving them to appeal to the Shogun in person. In their avarice they looked not to the future, but laid too heavy a burden on the peasants, so that they made an appeal to a higher power, endangering the honour of their lord's house. For this bad government the various officials are to be punished as above." In this wise was justice carried out at the palace at Yedo and at the Court-house at home. But in the history of the world, from the dark ages down to the present time, there are few instances of one man laying down his life for the many, as Sôgorô did: noble and peasant praise him alike. As month after month passed away, towards the fourth year of the period Shôhô, the wife of my lord Kôtsuké no Suké, being with child, was seized with violent pains; and retainers were sent to all the different temples and shrines to pray by proxy, but all to no purpose: she continued to suffer as before. Towards the end of the seventh month of the year, there appeared, every night, a preternatural light above the lady's chamber; this was accompanied by hideous sounds as of many people laughing fiendishly, and sometimes by piteous wailings, as though myriads of persons were lamenting. The profound distress caused by this added to her sufferings; so her own privy councillor, an old man, took his place in the adjoining chamber, and kept watch. All of a sudden, he heard a noise as if a number of people were walking on the boards of the roof of my lady's room; then there was a sound of men and women weeping; and when, thunderstruck, the councillor was wondering what it could all be, there came a wild burst of laughter, and all was silent. Early the following morning, the old women who had charge of my lady's household presented themselves before my lord Kôtsuké no Suké, and said-- "Since the middle of last month, the waiting-women have been complaining to us of the ghostly noises by which my lady is nightly disturbed, and they say that they cannot continue to serve her. We have tried to soothe them, by saying that the devils should be exorcised at once, and that there was nothing to be afraid of. Still we feel that their fears are not without reason, and that they really cannot do their work; so we beg that your lordship will take the matter into your consideration." "This is a passing strange story of yours; however, I will go myself to-night to my lady's apartments and keep watch. You can come with me." Accordingly, that night my lord Kôtsuké no Suké sat up in person. At the hour of the rat (midnight) a fearful noise of voices was heard, and Sôgorô and his wife, bound to the fatal crosses, suddenly appeared; and the ghosts, seizing the lady by the hand, said-- "We have come to meet you. The pains you are suffering are terrible, but they are nothing in comparison with those of the hell to which we are about to lead you." At these words, Kôtsuké no Suké, seizing his sword, tried to sweep the ghosts away with a terrific cut; but a loud peal of laughter was heard, and the visions faded away. Kôtsuké no Suké, terrified, sent his retainers to the temples and shrines to pray that the demons might be cast out; but the noises were heard nightly, as before. When the eleventh month of the year came round, the apparitions of human forms in my lady's apartments became more and more frequent and terrible, all the spirits railing at her, and howling out that they had come to fetch her. The women would all scream and faint; and then the ghosts would disappear amid yells of laughter. Night after night this happened, and even in the daytime the visions would manifest themselves; and my lady's sickness grew worse daily, until in the last month of the year she died, of grief and terror. Then the ghost of Sôgorô and his wife crucified would appear day and night in the chamber of Kôtsuké no Suké, floating round the room, and glaring at him with red and flaming eyes. The hair of the attendants would stand on end with terror; and if they tried to cut at the spirits, their limbs would be cramped, and their feet and hands would not obey their bidding. Kôtsuké no Suké would draw the sword that lay by his bedside; but, as often as he did so, the ghosts faded away, only to appear again in a more hideous shape than before, until at last, having exhausted his strength and spirits, even he became terror-stricken. The whole household was thrown into confusion, and day after day mystic rites and incantations were performed by the priests over braziers of charcoal, while prayers were recited without ceasing; but the visions only became more frequent, and there was no sign of their ceasing. After the 5th year of Shôhô, the style of the years was changed to Keian; and during the 1st year of Keian the spirits continued to haunt the palace; and now they appeared in the chamber of Kôtsuké no Suké's eldest son, surrounding themselves with even more terrors than before; and when Kôtsuké no Suké was about to go to the Shogun's castle, they were seen howling out their cries of vengeance in the porch of the house. At last the relations of the family and the members of the household took counsel together, and told Kôtsuké no Suké that without doubt no ordinary means would suffice to lay the ghosts; a shrine must be erected to Sôgorô, and divine honours paid to him, after which the apparitions would assuredly cease. Kôtsuké no Suké having carefully considered the matter and given his consent, Sôgorô was canonized under the name of Sôgo Daimiyô, and a shrine was erected in his honour. After divine honours had been paid to him, the awful visions were no more seen, and the ghost of Sôgorô was laid for ever. In the 2d year of the period Keian, on the 11th day of the 10th month, on the occasion of the festival of first lighting the fire on the hearth, the various Daimios and Hatamotos of distinction went to the castle of the Shogun, at Yedo, to offer their congratulations on this occasion. During the ceremonies, my lord Hotta Kôtsuké no Suké and Sakai Iwami no Kami, lord of the castle of Matsumoto, in the province of Shinshiu, had a quarrel, the origin of which was not made public; and Sakai Iwami no Kami, although he came of a brave and noble family, received so severe a wound that he died on the following day, at the age of forty-three; and in consequence of this, his family was ruined and disgraced.[67] My lord Kôtsuké no Suké, by great good fortune, contrived to escape from the castle, and took refuge in his own house, whence, mounting a famous horse called Hira-Abumi,[68] he fled to his castle of Sakura, in Shimôsa, accomplishing the distance, which is about sixty miles, in six hours. When he arrived in front of the castle, he called out in a loud voice to the guard within to open the gate, answering, in reply to their challenge, that he was Kôtsuké no Suké, the lord of the castle. The guard, not believing their ears, sent word to the councillor in charge of the castle, who rushed out to see if the person demanding admittance were really their lord. When he saw Kôtsuké no Suké, he caused the gates to be opened, and, thinking it more than strange, said-- "Is this indeed you, my lord? What strange chance brings your lordship hither thus late at night, on horseback and alone, without a single follower?" [Footnote 67: In the old days, if a noble was murdered, and died outside his own house, he was disgraced, and his estates were forfeited. When the Regent of the Shogun was murdered, some years since, outside the castle of Yedo, by a legal fiction it was given out that he had died in his own palace, in order that his son might succeed to his estates.] [Footnote 68: Level stirrups.] With these words he ushered in Kôtsuké no Suké, who, in reply to the anxious inquiries of his people as to the cause of his sudden appearance, said-- "You may well be astonished. I had a quarrel to-day in the castle at Yedo, with Sakai Iwami no Kami, the lord of the castle of Matsumoto, and I cut him down. I shall soon be pursued; so we must strengthen the fortress, and prepare for an attack." The household, hearing this, were greatly alarmed, and the whole castle was thrown into confusion. In the meanwhile the people of Kôtsuké no Suké's palace at Yedo, not knowing whether their lord had fled, were in the greatest anxiety, until a messenger came from Sakura, and reported his arrival there. When the quarrel inside the castle of Yedo and Kôtsuké no Suké's flight had been taken cognizance of, he was attainted of treason, and soldiers were sent to seize him, dead or alive. Midzuno Setsu no Kami and Gotô Yamato no Kami were charged with the execution of the order, and sallied forth, on the 13th day of the 10th month, to carry it out. When they arrived at the town of Sasai, they sent a herald with the following message-- "Whereas Kôtsuké no Suké killed Sakai Iwami no Kami inside the castle of Yedo, and has fled to his own castle without leave, he is attainted of treason; and we, being connected with him by ties of blood and of friendship, have been charged to seize him." The herald delivered this message to the councillor of Kôtsuké no Suké, who, pleading as an excuse that his lord was mad, begged the two nobles to intercede for him. Gotô Yamato no Kami upon this called the councillor to him, and spoke privately to him, after which the latter took his leave and returned to the castle of Sakura. In the meanwhile, after consultation at Yedo, it was decided that, as Gotô Yamato no Kami and Midzuno Setsu no Kami were related to Kôtsuké no Suké, and might meet with difficulties for that very reason, two other nobles, Ogasawara Iki no Kami and Nagai Hida no Kami, should be sent to assist them, with orders that should any trouble arise they should send a report immediately to Yedo. In consequence of this order, the two nobles, with five thousand men, were about to march for Sakura, on the 15th of the month, when a messenger arrived from that place bearing the following despatch for the Gorôjiu, from the two nobles who had preceded them-- "In obedience to the orders of His Highness the Shogun, we proceeded, on the 13th day of this month, to the castle of Sakura, and conducted a thorough investigation of the affair. It is true that Kôtsuké no Suké has been guilty of treason, but he is out of his mind; his retainers have called in physicians, and he is undergoing treatment by which his senses are being gradually restored, and his mind is being awakened from its sleep. At the time when he slew Sakai Iwami no Kami he was not accountable for his actions, and will be sincerely penitent when he is aware of his crime. We have taken him prisoner, and have the honour to await your instructions; in the meanwhile, we beg by these present to let you know what we have done. "(Signed) GOTÔ YAMATO NO KAMI. MIDZUNO SETSU NO KAMI. _To the Gorôjiu, 2d year of Keian, 2d month, 14th day_." This despatch reached Yedo on the 16th of the month, and was read by the Gorôjiu after they had left the castle; and in consequence of the report of Kôtsuké no Suké's madness, the second expedition was put a stop to, and the following instructions were sent to Gotô Yamato no Kami and Midzuno Setsu no Kami-- "With reference to the affair of Hotta Kôtsuké no Suké, lord of the castle of Sakura, in Shimôsa, whose quarrel with Sakai Iwami no Kami within the castle of Yedo ended in bloodshed. For this heinous crime and disregard of the sanctity of the castle, it is ordered that Kôtsuké no Suké be brought as a prisoner to Yedo, in a litter covered with nets, that his case may be judged. "2d year of Keian, 2d month. (_Signed by the Gorôjiu_) INABA MINO NO KAMI. INOUYE KAWACHI NOKAMI. KATÔ ECCHIU NO KAMI." Upon the receipt of this despatch, Hotta Kôtsuké nô Suké was immediately placed in a litter covered with a net of green silk, and conveyed to Yedo, strictly guarded by the retainers of the two nobles; and, having arrived at the capital, was handed over to the charge of Akimoto Tajima no Kami. All his retainers were quietly dispersed; and his empty castle was ordered to be thrown open, and given in charge to Midzuno Iki no Kami. At last Kôtsuké no Suké began to feel that the death of his wife and his own present misfortunes were a just retribution for the death of Sôgorô and his wife and children, and he was as one awakened from a dream. Then night and morning, in his repentance, he offered up prayers to the sainted spirit of the dead farmer, and acknowledged and bewailed his crime, vowing that, if his family were spared from ruin and re-established, intercession should be made at the court of the Mikado,[69] at Kiyôto, on behalf of the spirit of Sôgorô, so that, being worshipped with even greater honours than before, his name should be handed down to all generations. [Footnote 69: In the days of Shogun's power, the Mikado remained the Fountain of Honour, and, as chief of the national religion and the direct descendant of the gods, dispensed divine honours.] In consequence of this it happened that the spirit of Sôgorô having relaxed in its vindictiveness, and having ceased to persecute the house of Hotta, in the 1st month of the 4th year of Keian, Kôtsuké no Suké received a summons from the Shogun, and, having been forgiven, was made lord of the castle of Matsuyama, in the province of Déwa, with a revenue of twenty thousand kokus. In the same year, on the 20th day of the 4th month, the Shogun, Prince Iyémitsu, was pleased to depart this life, at the age of forty-eight; and whether by the forgiving spirit of the prince, or by the divine interposition of the sainted Sôgorô, Kôtsuké no Suké was promoted to the castle of Utsu no Miya, in the province of Shimotsuké, with a revenue of eighty thousand kokus; and his name was changed to Hotta Hida no Kami. He also received again his original castle of Sakura, with a revenue of twenty thousand kokus: so that there can be no doubt that the saint was befriending him. In return for these favours, the shrine of Sôgorô was made as beautiful as a gem. It is needless to say how many of the peasants of the estate flocked to the shrine: any good luck that might befall the people was ascribed to it, and night and day the devout worshipped at it. Here follows a copy of the petition which Sôgorô presented to the Shogun-- "We, the elders of the hundred and thirty-six villages of the district of Chiba, in the province of Shimôsa, and of the district of Buji, in the province of Kadzusa, most reverently offer up this our humble petition. "When our former lord, Doi Shosho, was transferred to another castle, in the 9th year of the period Kanyé, Hotta Kaga no Kami became lord of the castle of Sakura; and in the 17th year of the same period, my lord Kôtsuké no Suké succeeded him. Since that time the taxes laid upon us have been raised in the proportion of one tô and two sho to each koku.[70] [Footnote 70: 10 Sho = 1 Tô. 10 Tô = 1 Koku.] "_Item_.--At the present time, taxes are raised on nineteen of our articles of produce; whereas our former lord only required that we should furnish him with pulse and sesamum, for which he paid in rice. "_Item_.--Not only are we not paid now for our produce, but, if it is not given in to the day, we are driven and goaded by the officials; and if there be any further delay, we are manacled and severely reprimanded; so that if our own crops fail, we have to buy produce from other districts, and are pushed to the utmost extremity of affliction. "_Item_.--We have over and over again prayed to be relieved from these burthens, but our petitions are not received. The people are reduced to poverty, so that it is hard for them to live under such grievous taxation. Often they have tried to sell the land which they till, but none can be found to buy; so they have sometimes given over their land to the village authorities, and fled with their wives to other provinces, and seven hundred and thirty men or more have been reduced to begging, one hundred and eighty-five houses have fallen into ruins; land producing seven thousand kokus has been given up, and remains untilled, and eleven temples have fallen into decay in consequence of the ruin of those upon whom they depended. "Besides this, the poverty-stricken farmers and women, having been obliged to take refuge in other provinces, and having no abiding-place, have been driven to evil courses and bring men to speak ill of their lord; and the village officials, being unable to keep order, are blamed and reproved. No attention has been paid to our repeated representations upon this point; so we were driven to petition the Gorôjiu Kuzé Yamato no Kami as he was on his way to the castle, but our petition was returned to us. And now, as a last resource, we tremblingly venture to approach his Highness the Shogun in person. "The 1st year of the period Shôhô, 12th month, 20th day. [Illustration: Seal] "The seals of the elders of the 136 villages." The Shogun at that time was Prince Iyémitsu, the grandson of Iyéyasu. He received the name of Dai-yu-In after his death. The Gorôjiu at that time were Hotta Kôtsuké no Suké, Sakai Iwami no Kami, Inaba Mino no Kami, Katô Ecchiu no Kami, Inouyé Kawachi no Kami. The Wakadoshiyôri (or 2d council) were Torii Wakasa no Kami, Tsuchiya Dewa no Kami, and Itakura Naizen no Sho. * * * * * The belief in ghosts appears to be as universal as that in the immortality of the soul, upon which it depends. Both in China and Japan the departed spirit is invested with the power of revisiting the earth, and, in a visible form, tormenting its enemies and haunting those places where the perishable part of it mourned and suffered. Haunted houses are slow to find tenants, for ghosts almost always come with revengeful intent; indeed, the owners of such houses will almost pay men to live in them, such is the dread which they inspire, and the anxiety to blot out the stigma. One cold winter's night at Yedo, as I was sitting, with a few Japanese friends, huddled round the imperfect heat of a brazier of charcoal, the conversation turned upon the story of Sôgorô and upon ghostly apparitions in general. Many a weird tale was told that evening, and I noted down the three or four which follow, for the truth of which the narrators vouched with the utmost confidence. About ten years ago there lived a fishmonger, named Zenroku, in the Mikawa-street, at Kanda, in Yedo. He was a poor man, living with his wife and one little boy. His wife fell sick and died, so he engaged an old woman to look after his boy while he himself went out to sell his fish. It happened, one day, that he and the other hucksters of his guild were gambling; and this coming to the ears of the authorities, they were all thrown into prison. Although their offence was in itself a light one, still they were kept for some time in durance while the matter was being investigated; and Zenroku, owing to the damp and foul air of the prison, fell sick with fever. His little child, in the meantime, had been handed over by the authorities to the charge of the petty officers of the ward to which his father belonged, and was being well cared for; for Zenroku was known to be an honest fellow, and his fate excited much compassion. One night Zenroku, pale and emaciated, entered the house in which his boy was living; and all the people joyfully congratulated him on his escape from jail. "Why, we heard that you were sick in prison. This is, indeed, a joyful return." Then Zenroku thanked those who had taken care of the child, saying that he had returned secretly by the favour of his jailers that night; but that on the following day his offence would be remitted, and he should be able to take possession of his house again publicly. For that night, he must return to the prison. With this he begged those present to continue their good offices to his babe; and, with a sad and reluctant expression of countenance, he left the house. On the following day, the officers of that ward were sent for by the prison authorities. They thought that they were summoned that Zenroku might be handed back to them a free man, as he himself had said to them; but to their surprise, they were told that he had died the night before in prison, and were ordered to carry away his dead body for burial. Then they knew that they had seen Zenroku's ghost; and that when he said that he should be returned to them on the morrow, he had alluded to his corpse. So they buried him decently, and brought up his son, who is alive to this day. The next story was told by a professor in the college at Yedo, and, although it is not of so modern a date as the last, he stated it to be well authenticated, and one of general notoriety. About two hundred years ago there was a chief of the police, named Aoyama Shuzen, who lived in the street called Bancho, at Yedo. His duty was to detect thieves and incendiaries. He was a cruel and violent man, without heart or compassion, and thought nothing of killing or torturing a man to gratify spite or revenge. This man Shuzen had in his house a servant-maid, called O Kiku (the Chrysanthemum), who had lived in the family since her childhood, and was well acquainted with her master's temper. One day O Kiku accidentally broke one of a set of ten porcelain plates, upon which he set a high value. She knew that she would suffer for her carelessness; but she thought that if she concealed the matter her punishment would be still more severe; so she went at once to her master's wife, and, in fear and trembling, confessed what she had done. When Shuzen came home, and heard that one of his favourite plates was broken, he flew into a violent rage, and took the girl to a cupboard, where he left her bound with cords, and every day cut off one of her fingers. O Kiku, tightly bound and in agony, could not move; but at last she contrived to bite or cut the ropes asunder, and, escaping into the garden, threw herself into a well, and was drowned. From that time forth, every night a voice was heard coming from the well, counting one, two, three, and so on up to nine--the number of the plates that remained unbroken--and then, when the tenth plate should have been counted, would come a burst of lamentation. The servants of the house, terrified at this, all left their master's service, until Shuzen, not having a single retainer left, was unable to perform his public duties; and when the officers of the government heard of this, he was dismissed from his office. At this time there was a famous priest, called Mikadzuki Shônin, of the temple Denzuin, who, having been told of the affair, came one night to the house, and, when the ghost began to count the plates, reproved the spirit, and by his prayers and admonitions caused it to cease from troubling the living. The laying of disturbed spirits appears to form one of the regular functions of the Buddhist priests; at least, we find them playing a conspicuous part in almost every ghost-story. About thirty years ago there stood a house at Mitsumé, in the Honjô of Yedo, which was said to be nightly visited by ghosts, so that no man dared to live in it, and it remained untenanted on that account. However, a man called Miura Takéshi, a native of the province of Oshiu, who came to Yedo to set up in business as a fencing-master, but was too poor to hire a house, hearing that there was a haunted house, for which no tenant could be found, and that the owner would let any man live in it rent free, said that he feared neither man nor devil, and obtained leave to occupy the house. So he hired a fencing-room, in which he gave his lessons by day, and after midnight returned to the haunted house. One night, his wife, who took charge of the house in his absence, was frightened by a fearful noise proceeding from a pond in the garden, and, thinking that this certainly must be the ghost that she had heard so much about, she covered her head with the bed-clothes and remained breathless with terror. When her husband came home, she told him what had happened; and on the following night he returned earlier than usual, and waited for the ghostly noise. At the same time as before, a little after midnight, the same sound was heard--as though a gun had been fired inside the pond. Opening the shutters, he looked out, and saw something like a black cloud floating on the water, and in the cloud was the form of a bald man. Thinking that there must be some cause for this, he instituted careful inquiries, and learned that the former tenant, some ten years previously, had borrowed money from a blind shampooer,[71] and, being unable to pay the debt, had murdered his creditor, who began to press him for his money, and had thrown his head into the pond. The fencing-master accordingly collected his pupils and emptied the pond, and found a skull at the bottom of it; so he called in a priest, and buried the skull in a temple, causing prayers to be offered up for the repose of the murdered man's soul. Thus the ghost was laid, and appeared no more. [Footnote 71: The apparently poor shaven-pated and blind shampooers of Japan drive a thriving trade as money-lenders. They give out small sums at an interest of 20 per cent. per month--210 per cent. per annum--and woe betide the luckless wight who falls into their clutches.] The belief in curses hanging over families for generations is as common as that in ghosts and supernatural apparitions. There is a strange story of this nature in the house of Asai, belonging to the Hatamoto class. The ancestor of the present representative, six generations ago, had a certain concubine, who was in love with a man who frequented the house, and wished in her heart to marry him; but, being a virtuous woman, she never thought of doing any evil deed. But the wife of my lord Asai was jealous of the girl, and persuaded her husband that her rival in his affections had gone astray; when he heard this he was very angry, and beat her with a candlestick so that he put out her left eye. The girl, who had indignantly protested her innocence, finding herself so cruelly handled, pronounced a curse against the house; upon which, her master, seizing the candlestick again, dashed out her brains and killed her. Shortly afterwards my lord Asai lost his left eye, and fell sick and died; and from that time forth to this day, it is said that the representatives of the house have all lost their left eyes after the age of forty, and shortly afterwards they have fallen sick and died at the same age as the cruel lord who killed his concubine. NOTE. Of the many fair scenes of Yedo, none is better worth visiting than the temple of Zôjôji, one of the two great burial-places of the Shoguns; indeed, if you wish to see the most beautiful spots of any Oriental city, ask for the cemeteries: the homes of the dead are ever the loveliest places. Standing in a park of glorious firs and pines beautifully kept, which contains quite a little town of neat, clean-looking houses, together with thirty-four temples for the use of the priests and attendants of the shrines, the main temple, with its huge red pillars supporting a heavy Chinese roof of grey tiles, is approached through a colossal open hall which leads into a stone courtyard. At one end of this courtyard is a broad flight of steps--the three or four lower ones of stone, and the upper ones of red wood. At these the visitor is warned by a notice to take off his boots, a request which Englishmen, with characteristic disregard of the feelings of others, usually neglect to comply with. The main hall of the temple is of large proportions, and the high altar is decorated with fine bronze candelabra, incense-burners, and other ornaments, and on two days of the year a very curious collection of pictures representing the five hundred gods, whose images are known to all persons who have visited Canton, is hung along the walls. The big bell outside the main hall is rather remarkable on account of the great beauty of the deep bass waves of sound which it rolls through the city than on account of its size, which is as nothing when compared with that of the big bells of Moscow and Peking; still it is not to be despised even in that respect, for it is ten feet high and five feet eight inches in diameter, while its metal is a foot thick: it was hung up in the year 1673. But the chief objects of interest in these beautiful grounds are the chapels attached to the tombs of the Shoguns. It is said that as Prince Iyéyasu was riding into Yedo to take possession of his new castle, the Abbot of Zôjôji, an ancient temple which then stood at Hibiya, near the castle, went forth and waited before the gate to do homage to the Prince. Iyéyasu, seeing that the Abbot was no ordinary man, stopped and asked his name, and entered the temple to rest himself. The smooth-spoken monk soon found such favour with Iyéyasu, that he chose Zôjôji to be his family temple; and seeing that its grounds were narrow and inconveniently near the castle, he caused it to be removed to its present site. In the year 1610 the temple was raised, by the intercession of Iyéyasu, to the dignity of the Imperial Temples, which, until the last revolution, were presided over by princes of the blood; and to the Abbot was granted the right, on going to the castle, of sitting in his litter as far as the entrance-hall, instead of dismounting at the usual place and proceeding on foot through several gates and courtyards. Nor were the privileges of the temple confined to barren honours, for it was endowed with lands of the value of five thousand kokus of rice yearly. When Iyéyasu died, the shrine called Antoku In was erected in his honour to the south of the main temple. Here, on the seventeenth day of the fourth month, the anniversary of his death, ceremonies are held in honour of his spirit, deified as Gongen Sama, and the place is thrown open to all who may wish to come and pray. But Iyéyasu is not buried here; his remains lie in a gorgeous shrine among the mountains some eighty miles north of Yedo, at Nikkô, a place so beautiful that the Japanese have a rhyming proverb which says, that he who has not seen Nikkô should never pronounce the word Kekkô (charming, delicious, grand, beautiful). Hidétada, the son and successor of Iyéyasu, together with Iyénobu, Iyétsugu, Iyéshigé, Iyéyoshi, and Iyémochi, the sixth, seventh, ninth, twelfth, and fourteenth Shoguns of the Tokugawa dynasty, are buried in three shrines attached to the temple; the remainder, with the exception of Iyémitsu, the third Shogun, who lies with his grandfather at Nikkô, are buried at Uyéno. The shrines are of exceeding beauty, lying on one side of a splendid avenue of Scotch firs, which border a broad, well-kept gravel walk. Passing through a small gateway of rare design, we come into a large stone courtyard, lined with a long array of colossal stone lanterns, the gift of the vassals of the departed Prince. A second gateway, supported by gilt pillars carved all round with figures of dragons, leads into another court, in which are a bell tower, a great cistern cut out of a single block of stone like a sarcophagus, and a smaller number of lanterns of bronze; these are given by the Go San Ké, the three princely families in which the succession to the office of Shogun was vested. Inside this is a third court, partly covered like a cloister, the approach to which is a doorway of even greater beauty and richness than the last; the ceiling is gilt, and painted with arabesques and with heavenly angels playing on musical instruments, and the panels of the walls are sculptured in high relief with admirable representations of birds and flowers, life-size, life-like, all being coloured to imitate nature. Inside this enclosure stands a shrine, before the closed door of which a priest on one side, and a retainer of the house of Tokugawa on the other, sit mounting guard, mute and immovable as though they themselves were part of the carved ornaments. Passing on one side of the shrine, we come to another court, plainer than the last, and at the back of the little temple inside it is a flight of stone steps, at the top of which, protected by a bronze door, stands a simple monumental urn of bronze on a stone pedestal. Under this is the grave itself; and it has always struck me that there is no small amount of poetical feeling in this simple ending to so much magnificence; the sermon may have been preached by design, or it may have been by accident, but the lesson is there. There is little difference between the three shrines, all of which are decorated in the same manner. It is very difficult to do justice to their beauty in words. Writing many thousand miles away from them, I have the memory before me of a place green in winter, pleasant and cool in the hottest summer; of peaceful cloisters, of the fragrance of incense, of the subdued chant of richly robed priests, and the music of bells; of exquisite designs, harmonious colouring, rich gilding. The hum of the vast city outside is unheard here: Iyéyasu himself, in the mountains of Nikkô, has no quieter resting-place than his descendants in the heart of the city over which they ruled. Besides the graves of the Shoguns, Zôjôji contains other lesser shrines, in which are buried the wives of the second, sixth, and eleventh Shoguns, and the father of Iyénobu, the sixth Shogun, who succeeded to the office by adoption. There is also a holy place called the Satsuma Temple, which has a special interest; in it is a tablet in honour of Tadayoshi, the fifth son of Iyéyasu, whose title was Matsudaira Satsuma no Kami, and who died young. At his death, five of his retainers, with one Ogasasawara Kemmotsu at their head, disembowelled themselves, that they might follow their young master into the next world. They were buried in this place; and I believe that this is the last instance on record of the ancient Japanese custom of _Junshi_, that is to say, "dying with the master." There are, during the year, several great festivals which are specially celebrated at Zôjoji; the chief of these are the Kaisanki, or founder's day, which is on the eighteenth day of the seventh month; the twenty-fifth day of the first month, the anniversary of the death of the monk Hônen, the founder of the Jôdo sect of Buddhism (that to which the temple belongs); the anniversary of the death of Buddha, on the fifteenth of the second month; the birthday of Buddha, on the eighth day of the fourth month; and from the sixth to the fifteenth of the tenth month. At Uyéno is the second of the burial-grounds of the Shoguns. The Temple Tô-yei-zan, which stood in the grounds of Uyéno, was built by Iyémitsu, the third of the Shoguns of the house of Tokugawa, in the year 1625, in honour of Yakushi Niôrai, the Buddhist Æsculapius. It faces the Ki-mon, or Devil's Gate, of the castle, and was erected upon the model of the temple of Hi-yei-zan, one of the most famous of the holy places of Kiyôto. Having founded the temple, the next care of Iyémitsu was to pray that Morizumi, the second son of the retired emperor, should come and reside there; and from that time until 1868, the temple was always presided over by a Miya, or member of the Mikado's family, who was specially charged with the care of the tomb of Iyéyasu at Nikkô, and whose position was that of an ecclesiastical chief or primate over the east of Japan. The temples in Yedo are not to be compared in point of beauty with those in and about Peking; what is marble there is wood here. Still they are very handsome, and in the days of its magnificence the Temple of Uyéno was one of the finest. Alas! the main temple, the hall in honour of the sect to which it belongs, the hall of services, the bell-tower, the entrance-hall, and the residence of the prince of the blood, were all burnt down in the battle of Uyéno, in the summer of 1868, when the Shogun's men made their last stand in Yedo against the troops of the Mikado. The fate of the day was decided by two field-pieces, which the latter contrived to mount on the roof of a neighbouring tea-house; and the Shogun's men, driven out of the place, carried off the Miya in the vain hope of raising his standard in the north as that of a rival Mikado. A few of the lesser temples and tombs, and the beautiful park-like grounds, are but the remnants of the former glory of Uyéno. Among these is a temple in the form of a roofless stage, in honour of the thousand-handed Kwannon. In the middle ages, during the civil wars between the houses of Gen and Hei, one Morihisa, a captain of the house of Hei, after the destruction of his clan, went and prayed for a thousand days at the temple of the thousand-handed Kwannon at Kiyomidzu, in Kiyôto. His retreat having been discovered, he was seized and brought bound to Kamakura, the chief town of the house of Gen. Here he was condemned to die at a place called Yui, by the sea-shore; but every time that the executioner lifted his sword to strike, the blade was broken by the god Kwannon, and at the same time the wife of Yoritomo, the chief of the house of Gen, was warned in a dream to spare Morihisa's life. So Morihisa was reprieved, and rose to power in the state; and all this was by the miraculous intervention of the god Kwannon, who takes such good care of his faithful votaries. To him this temple is dedicated. A colossal bronze Buddha, twenty-two feet high, set up some two hundred years ago, and a stone lantern, twenty feet high, and twelve feet round at the top, are greatly admired by the Japanese. There are only three such lanterns in the empire; the other two being at Nanzenji--a temple in Kiyôto, and Atsura, a shrine in the province of Owari. All three were erected by the piety of one man, Sakuma Daizen no Suké, in the year A.D. 1631. Iyémitsu, the founder of the temple, was buried with his grandfather, Iyéyasu, at Nikkô; but both of these princes are honoured with shrines here. The Shoguns who are interred at Uyéno are Iyétsuna, Tsunayoshi, Yoshimuné, Iyéharu, Iyénori, and Iyésada, the fourth, fifth, eighth, tenth, eleventh, and thirteenth Princes of the Line. Besides them, are buried five wives of the Shoguns, and the father of the eleventh Shogun. HOW TAJIMA SHUMÉ WAS TORMENTED BY A DEVIL OF HIS OWN CREATION Once upon a time, a certain Rônin, Tajima Shumé by name, an able and well-read man, being on his travels to see the world, went up to Kiyôto by the Tôkaidô.[72] One day, in the neighbourhood of Nagoya, in the province of Owari, he fell in with a wandering priest, with whom he entered into conversation. Finding that they were bound for the same place, they agreed to travel together, beguiling their weary way by pleasant talk on divers matters; and so by degrees, as they became more intimate, they began to speak without restraint about their private affairs; and the priest, trusting thoroughly in the honour of his companion, told him the object of his journey. [Footnote 72: The road of the Eastern Sea, the famous high-road leading from Kiyôto to Yedo. The name is also used to indicate the provinces through which it runs.] "For some time past," said he, "I have nourished a wish that has engrossed all my thoughts; for I am bent on setting up a molten image in honour of Buddha; with this object I have wandered through various provinces collecting alms and (who knows by what weary toil?) we have succeeded in amassing two hundred ounces of silver--enough, I trust, to erect a handsome bronze figure." What says the proverb? "He who bears a jewel in his bosom bears poison." Hardly had the Rônin heard these words of the priest than an evil heart arose within him, and he thought to himself, "Man's life, from the womb to the grave, is made up of good and of ill luck. Here am I, nearly forty years old, a wanderer, without a calling, or even a hope of advancement in the world. To be sure, it seems a shame; yet if I could steal the money this priest is boasting about, I could live at ease for the rest of my days;" and so he began casting about how best he might compass his purpose. But the priest, far from guessing the drift of his comrade's thoughts, journeyed cheerfully on, till they reached the town of Kuana. Here there is an arm of the sea, which is crossed in ferry-boats, that start as soon as some twenty or thirty passengers are gathered together; and in one of these boats the two travellers embarked. About half-way across, the priest was taken with a sudden necessity to go to the side of the boat; and the Rônin, following him, tripped him up whilst no one was looking, and flung him into the sea. When the boatmen and passengers heard the splash, and saw the priest struggling in the water, they were afraid, and made every effort to save him; but the wind was fair, and the boat running swiftly under the bellying sails, so they were soon a few hundred yards off from the drowning man, who sank before the boat could be turned to rescue him. When he saw this, the Rônin feigned the utmost grief and dismay, and said to his fellow-passengers, "This priest, whom we have just lost, was my cousin: he was going to Kiyôto, to visit the shrine of his patron; and as I happened to have business there as well, we settled to travel together. Now, alas! by this misfortune, my cousin is dead, and I am left alone." He spoke so feelingly, and wept so freely, that the passengers believed his story, and pitied and tried to comfort him. Then the Rônin said to the boatmen-- "We ought, by rights, to report this matter to the authorities; but as I am pressed for time, and the business might bring trouble on yourselves as well, perhaps we had better hush it up for the present; and I will at once go on to Kiyôto and tell my cousin's patron, besides writing home about it. What think you, gentlemen?" added he, turning to the other travellers. They, of course, were only too glad to avoid any hindrance to their onward journey, and all with one voice agreed to what the Rônin had proposed; and so the matter was settled. When, at length, they reached the shore, they left the boat, and every man went his way; but the Rônin, overjoyed in his heart, took the wandering priest's luggage, and, putting it with his own, pursued his journey to Kiyôto. On reaching the capital, the Rônin changed his name from Shumé to Tokubei, and, giving up his position as a Samurai, turned merchant, and traded with the dead man's money. Fortune favouring his speculations, he began to amass great wealth, and lived at his ease, denying himself nothing; and in course of time he married a wife, who bore him a child. Thus the days and months wore on, till one fine summer's night, some three years after the priest's death, Tokubei stepped out on to the verandah of his house to enjoy the cool air and the beauty of the moonlight. Feeling dull and lonely, he began musing over all kinds of things, when on a sudden the deed of murder and theft, done so long ago, vividly recurred to his memory, and he thought to himself, "Here am I, grown rich and fat on the money I wantonly stole. Since then, all has gone well with me; yet, had I not been poor, I had never turned assassin nor thief. Woe betide me! what a pity it was!" and as he was revolving the matter in his mind, a feeling of remorse came over him, in spite of all he could do. While his conscience thus smote him, he suddenly, to his utter amazement, beheld the faint outline of a man standing near a fir-tree in the garden: on looking more attentively, he perceived that the man's whole body was thin and worn and the eyes sunken and dim; and in the poor ghost that was before him he recognized the very priest whom he had thrown into the sea at Kuana. Chilled with horror, he looked again, and saw that the priest was smiling in scorn. He would have fled into the house, but the ghost stretched forth its withered arm, and, clutching the back of his neck, scowled at him with a vindictive glare, and a hideous ghastliness of mien, so unspeakably awful that any ordinary man would have swooned with fear. But Tokubei, tradesman though he was, had once been a soldier, and was not easily matched for daring; so he shook off the ghost, and, leaping into the room for his dirk, laid about him boldly enough; but, strike as he would, the spirit, fading into the air, eluded his blows, and suddenly reappeared only to vanish again: and from that time forth Tokubei knew no rest, and was haunted night and day. At length, undone by such ceaseless vexation, Tokubei fell ill, and kept muttering, "Oh, misery! misery!--the wandering priest is coming to torture me!" Hearing his moans and the disturbance he made, the people in the house fancied he was mad, and called in a physician, who prescribed for him. But neither pill nor potion could cure Tokubei, whose strange frenzy soon became the talk of the whole neighbourhood. Now it chanced that the story reached the ears of a certain wandering priest who lodged in the next street. When he heard the particulars, this priest gravely shook his head, as though he knew all about it, and sent a friend to Tokubei's house to say that a wandering priest, dwelling hard by, had heard of his illness, and, were it never so grievous, would undertake to heal it by means of his prayers; and Tokubei's wife, driven half wild by her husband's sickness, lost not a moment in sending for the priest, and taking him into the sick man's room. But no sooner did Tokubei see the priest than he yelled out, "Help! help! Here is the wandering priest come to torment me again. Forgive! forgive!" and hiding his head under the coverlet, he lay quivering all over. Then the priest turned all present out of the room, put his mouth to the affrighted man's ear, and whispered-- "Three years ago, at the Kuana ferry, you flung me into the water; and well you remember it." But Tokubei was speechless, and could only quake with fear. "Happily," continued the priest, "I had learned to swim and to dive as a boy; so I reached the shore, and, after wandering through many provinces, succeeded in setting up a bronze figure to Buddha, thus fulfilling the wish of my heart. On my journey homewards, I took a lodging in the next street, and there heard of your marvellous ailment. Thinking I could divine its cause, I came to see you, and am glad to find I was not mistaken. You have done a hateful deed; but am I not a priest, and have I not forsaken the things of this world? and would it not ill become me to bear malice? Repent, therefore, and abandon your evil ways. To see you do so I should esteem the height of happiness. Be of good cheer, now, and look me in the face, and you will see that I am really a living man, and no vengeful goblin come to torment you." Seeing he had no ghost to deal with, and overwhelmed by the priest's kindness, Tokubei burst into tears, and answered, "Indeed, indeed, I don't know what to say. In a fit of madness I was tempted to kill and rob you. Fortune befriended me ever after; but the richer I grew, the more keenly I felt how wicked I had been, and the more I foresaw that my victim's vengeance would some day overtake me. Haunted by this thought, I lost my nerve, till one night I beheld your spirit, and from that time forth fell ill. But how you managed to escape, and are still alive, is more than I can understand." "A guilty man," said the priest, with a smile, "shudders at the rustling of the wind or the chattering of a stork's beak: a murderer's conscience preys upon his mind till he sees what is not. Poverty drives a man to crimes which he repents of in his wealth. How true is the doctrine of Môshi,[73] that the heart of man, pure by nature, is corrupted by circumstances." [Footnote 73: Mencius.] Thus he held forth; and Tokubei, who had long since repented of his crime, implored forgiveness, and gave him a large sum of money, saying, "Half of this is the amount I stole from you three years since; the other half I entreat you to accept as interest, or as a gift." The priest at first refused the money; but Tokubei insisted on his accepting it, and did all he could to detain him, but in vain; for the priest went his way, and bestowed the money on the poor and needy. As for Tokubei himself, he soon shook off his disorder, and thenceforward lived at peace with all men, revered both at home and abroad, and ever intent on good and charitable deeds. CONCERNING CERTAIN SUPERSTITIONS CONCERNING CERTAIN SUPERSTITIONS Cats, foxes, and badgers are regarded with superstitious awe by the Japanese, who attribute to them the power of assuming the human shape in order to bewitch mankind. Like the fairies of our Western tales, however, they work for good as well as for evil ends. To do them a good turn is to secure powerful allies; but woe betide him who injures them!--he and his will assuredly suffer for it. Cats and foxes seem to have been looked upon as uncanny beasts all the world over; but it is new to me that badgers should have a place in fairy-land. The island of Shikoku, the southernmost of the great Japanese islands, appears to be the part of the country in which the badger is regarded with the greatest veneration. Among the many tricks which he plays upon the human race is one, of which I have a clever representation carved in ivory. Lying in wait in lonely places after dusk, the badger watches for benighted wayfarers: should one appear, the beast, drawing a long breath, distends his belly and drums delicately upon it with his clenched fist, producing such entrancing tones, that the traveller cannot resist turning aside to follow the sound, which, Will-o'-the-wisp-like, recedes as he advances, until it lures him on to his destruction. Love is, however, the most powerful engine which the cat, the fox, and the badger alike put forth for the ruin of man. No German poet ever imagined a more captivating water-nymph than the fair virgins by whom the knight of Japanese romance is assailed: the true hero recognizes and slays the beast; the weaker mortal yields and perishes. The Japanese story-books abound with tales about the pranks of these creatures, which, like ghosts, even play a part in the histories of ancient and noble families. I have collected a few of these, and now beg a hearing for a distinguished and two-tailed[74] connection of Puss in Boots and the Chatte Blanche. [Footnote 74: Cats are found in Japan, as in the Isle of Man, with stumps, where they should have tails. Sometimes this is the result of art, sometimes of a natural shortcoming. The cats of Yedo are of bad repute as mousers, their energies being relaxed by much petting at the hands of ladies. The Cat of Nabéshima, so says tradition, was a monster with two tails.] THE VAMPIRE CAT OF NABÉSHIMA There is a tradition in the Nabéshima[75] family that, many years ago, the Prince of Hizen was bewitched and cursed by a cat that had been kept by one of his retainers. This prince had in his house a lady of rare beauty, called O Toyo: amongst all his ladies she was the favourite, and there was none who could rival her charms and accomplishments. One day the Prince went out into the garden with O Toyo, and remained enjoying the fragrance of the flowers until sunset, when they returned to the palace, never noticing that they were being followed by a large cat. Having parted with her lord, O Toyo retired to her own room and went to bed. At midnight she awoke with a start, and became aware of a huge cat that crouched watching her; and when she cried out, the beast sprang on her, and, fixing its cruel teeth in her delicate throat, throttled her to death. What a piteous end for so fair a dame, the darling of her prince's heart, to die suddenly, bitten to death by a cat! Then the cat, having scratched out a grave under the verandah, buried the corpse of O Toyo, and assuming her form, began to bewitch the Prince. [Footnote 75: The family of the Prince of Hizen, one of the eighteen chief Daimios of Japan.] But my lord the Prince knew nothing of all this, and little thought that the beautiful creature who caressed and fondled him was an impish and foul beast that had slain his mistress and assumed her shape in order to drain out his life's blood. Day by day, as time went on, the Prince's strength dwindled away; the colour of his face was changed, and became pale and livid; and he was as a man suffering from a deadly sickness. Seeing this, his councillors and his wife became greatly alarmed; so they summoned the physicians, who prescribed various remedies for him; but the more medicine he took, the more serious did his illness appear, and no treatment was of any avail. But most of all did he suffer in the night-time, when his sleep would be troubled and disturbed by hideous dreams. In consequence of this, his councillors nightly appointed a hundred of his retainers to sit up and watch over him; but, strange to say, towards ten o'clock on the very first night that the watch was set, the guard were seized with a sudden and unaccountable drowsiness, which they could not resist, until one by one every man had fallen asleep. Then the false O Toyo came in and harassed the Prince until morning. The following night the same thing occurred, and the Prince was subjected to the imp's tyranny, while his guards slept helplessly around him. Night after night this was repeated, until at last three of the Prince's councillors determined themselves to sit up on guard, and see whether they could overcome this mysterious drowsiness; but they fared no better than the others, and by ten o'clock were fast asleep. The next day the three councillors held a solemn conclave, and their chief, one Isahaya Buzen, said-- "This is a marvellous thing, that a guard of a hundred men should thus be overcome by sleep. Of a surety, the spell that is upon my lord and upon his guard must be the work of witchcraft. Now, as all our efforts are of no avail, let us seek out Ruiten, the chief priest of the temple called Miyô In, and beseech him to put up prayers for the recovery of my lord." [Illustration: THE CAT OF NABÉSHIMA.] And the other councillors approving what Isahaya Buzen had said, they went to the priest Ruiten and engaged him to recite litanies that the Prince might be restored to health. So it came to pass that Ruiten, the chief priest of Miyô In, offered up prayers nightly for the Prince. One night, at the ninth hour (midnight), when he had finished his religious exercises and was preparing to lie down to sleep, he fancied that he heard a noise outside in the garden, as if some one were washing himself at the well. Deeming this passing strange, he looked down from the window; and there in the moonlight he saw a handsome young soldier, some twenty-four years of age, washing himself, who, when he had finished cleaning himself and had put on his clothes, stood before the figure of Buddha and prayed fervently for the recovery of my lord the Prince. Ruiten looked on with admiration; and the young man, when he had made an end of his prayer, was going away; but the priest stopped him, calling out to him-- "Sir, I pray you to tarry a little: I have something to say to you." "At your reverence's service. What may you please to want?" "Pray be so good as to step up here, and have a little talk." "By your reverence's leave;" and with this he went upstairs. Then Ruiten said-- "Sir, I cannot conceal my admiration that you, being so young a man, should have so loyal a spirit. I am Ruiten, the chief priest of this temple, who am engaged in praying for the recovery of my lord. Pray what is your name?" "My name, sir, is Itô Sôda, and I am serving in the infantry of Nabéshima. Since my lord has been sick, my one desire has been to assist in nursing him; but, being only a simple soldier, I am not of sufficient rank to come into his presence, so I have no resource but to pray to the gods of the country and to Buddha that my lord may regain his health." When Ruiten heard this, he shed tears in admiration of the fidelity of Itô Sôda, and said-- "Your purpose is, indeed, a good one; but what a strange sickness this is that my lord is afflicted with! Every night he suffers from horrible dreams; and the retainers who sit up with him are all seized with a mysterious sleep, so that not one can keep awake. It is very wonderful." "Yes," replied Sôda, after a moment's reflection, "this certainly must be witchcraft. If I could but obtain leave to sit up one night with the Prince, I would fain see whether I could not resist this drowsiness and detect the goblin." At last the priest said, "I am in relations of friendship with Isahaya Buzen, the chief councillor of the Prince. I will speak to him of you and of your loyalty, and will intercede with him that you may attain your wish." "Indeed, sir, I am most thankful. I am not prompted by any vain thought of self-advancement, should I succeed: all I wish for is the recovery of my lord. I commend myself to your kind favour." "Well, then, to-morrow night I will take you with me to the councillor's house." "Thank you, sir, and farewell." And so they parted. On the following evening Itô Sôda returned to the temple Miyô In, and having found Ruiten, accompanied him to the house of Isahaya Buzen: then the priest, leaving Sôda outside, went in to converse with the councillor, and inquire after the Prince's health. "And pray, sir, how is my lord? Is he in any better condition since I have been offering up prayers for him?" "Indeed, no; his illness is very severe. We are certain that he must be the victim of some foul sorcery; but as there are no means of keeping a guard awake after ten o'clock, we cannot catch a sight of the goblin, so we are in the greatest trouble." "I feel deeply for you: it must be most distressing. However, I have something to tell you. I think that I have found a man who will detect the goblin; and I have brought him with me." "Indeed! who is the man?" "Well, he is one of my lord's foot-soldiers, named Itô Sôda, a faithful fellow, and I trust that you will grant his request to be permitted to sit up with my lord." "Certainly, it is wonderful to find so much loyalty and zeal in a common soldier," replied Isahaya Buzen, after a moment's reflection; "still it is impossible to allow a man of such low rank to perform the office of watching over my lord." "It is true that he is but a common soldier," urged the priest; "but why not raise his rank in consideration of his fidelity, and then let him mount guard?" "It would be time enough to promote him after my lord's recovery. But come, let me see this Itô Sôda, that I may know what manner of man he is: if he pleases me, I will consult with the other councillors, and perhaps we may grant his request." "I will bring him in forthwith," replied Ruiten, who thereupon went out to fetch the young man. When he returned, the priest presented Itô Sôda to the councillor, who looked at him attentively, and, being pleased with his comely and gentle appearance, said-- "So I hear that you are anxious to be permitted to mount guard in my lord's room at night. Well, I must consult with the other councillors, and we will see what can be done for you." When the young soldier heard this he was greatly elated, and took his leave, after warmly thanking Buiten, who had helped him to gain his object. The next day the councillors held a meeting, and sent for Itô Sôda, and told him that he might keep watch with the other retainers that very night. So he went his way in high spirits, and at nightfall, having made all his preparations, took his place among the hundred gentlemen who were on duty in the prince's bed-room. Now the Prince slept in the centre of the room, and the hundred guards around him sat keeping themselves awake with entertaining conversation and pleasant conceits. But, as ten o'clock approached, they began to doze off as they sat; and in spite of all their endeavours to keep one another awake, by degrees they all fell asleep. Itô Sôda all this while felt an irresistible desire to sleep creeping over him, and, though he tried by all sorts of ways to rouse himself, he saw that there was no help for it, but by resorting to an extreme measure, for which he had already made his preparations. Drawing out a piece of oil paper which he had brought with him, and spreading it over the mats, he sat down upon it; then he took the small knife which he carried in the sheath of his dirk, and stuck it into his own thigh. For awhile the pain of the wound kept him awake; but as the slumber by which he was assailed was the work of sorcery, little by little he became drowsy again. Then he twisted the knife round and round in his thigh, so that the pain becoming very violent, he was proof against the feeling of sleepiness, and kept a faithful watch. Now the oil paper which he had spread under his legs was in order to prevent the blood, which might spurt from his wound, from defiling the mats. So Itô Sôda remained awake, but the rest of the guard slept; and as he watched, suddenly the sliding-doors of the Prince's room were drawn open, and he saw a figure coming in stealthily, and, as it drew nearer, the form was that of a marvellously beautiful woman some twenty-three years of age. Cautiously she looked around her; and when she saw that all the guard were asleep, she smiled an ominous smile, and was going up to the Prince's bedside, when she perceived that in one corner of the room there was a man yet awake. This seemed to startle her, but she went up to Sôda and said-- "I am not used to seeing you here. Who are you?" "My name is Itô Sôda, and this is the first night that I have been on guard." "A troublesome office, truly! Why, here are all the rest of the guard asleep. How is it that you alone are awake? You are a trusty watchman." "There is nothing to boast about. I'm asleep myself, fast and sound." "What is that wound on your knee? It is all red with blood." "Oh! I felt very sleepy; so I stuck my knife into my thigh, and the pain of it has kept me awake." "What wondrous loyalty!" said the lady. "Is it not the duty of a retainer to lay down his life for his master? Is such a scratch as this worth thinking about?" Then the lady went up to the sleeping prince and said, "How fares it with my lord to-night?" But the Prince, worn out with sickness, made no reply. But Sôda was watching her eagerly, and guessed that it was O Toyo, and made up his mind that if she attempted to harass the Prince he would kill her on the spot. The goblin, however, which in the form of O Toyo had been tormenting the Prince every night, and had come again that night for no other purpose, was defeated by the watchfulness of Itô Sôda; for whenever she drew near to the sick man, thinking to put her spells upon him, she would turn and look behind her, and there she saw Itô Sôda glaring at her; so she had no help for it but to go away again, and leave the Prince undisturbed. At last the day broke, and the other officers, when they awoke and opened their eyes, saw that Itô Sôda had kept awake by stabbing himself in the thigh; and they were greatly ashamed, and went home crestfallen. That morning Itô Sôda went to the house of Isahaya Buzen, and told him all that had occurred the previous night. The councillors were all loud in their praises of Itô Sôda's behaviour, and ordered him to keep watch again that night. At the same hour, the false O Toyo came and looked all round the room, and all the guard were asleep, excepting Itô Sôda, who was wide awake; and so, being again frustrated, she returned to her own apartments. Now as since Sôda had been on guard the Prince had passed quiet nights, his sickness began to get better, and there was great joy in the palace, and Sôda was promoted and rewarded with an estate. In the meanwhile O Toyo, seeing that her nightly visits bore no fruits, kept away; and from that time forth the night-guard were no longer subject to fits of drowsiness. This coincidence struck Sôda as very strange, so he went to Isahaya Buzen and told him that of a certainty this O Toyo was no other than a goblin. Isahaya Buzen reflected for a while, and said-- "Well, then, how shall we kill the foul thing?" "I will go to the creature's room, as if nothing were the matter, and try to kill her; but in case she should try to escape, I will beg you to order eight men to stop outside and lie in wait for her." Having agreed upon this plan, Sôda went at nightfall to O Toyo's apartment, pretending to have been sent with a message from the Prince. When she saw him arrive, she said-- "What message have you brought me from my lord?" "Oh! nothing in particular. Be so look as to look at this letter;" and as he spoke, he drew near to her, and suddenly drawing his dirk cut at her; but the goblin, springing back, seized a halberd, and glaring fiercely at Sôda, said-- "How dare you behave like this to one of your lord's ladies? I will have you dismissed;" and she tried to strike Sôda with the halberd. But Sôda fought desperately with his dirk; and the goblin, seeing that she was no match for him, threw away the halberd, and from a beautiful woman became suddenly transformed into a cat, which, springing up the sides of the room, jumped on to the roof. Isahaya Buzen and his eight men who were watching outside shot at the cat, but missed it, and the beast made good its escape. So the cat fled to the mountains, and did much mischief among the surrounding people, until at last the Prince of Hizen ordered a great hunt, and the beast was killed. But the Prince recovered from his sickness; and Itô Sôda was richly rewarded. THE STORY OF THE FAITHFUL CAT About sixty years ago, in the summertime, a man went to pay a visit at a certain house at Osaka, and, in the course of conversation, said-- "I have eaten some very extraordinary cakes to-day," and on being asked what he meant, he told the following story:-- "I received the cakes from the relatives of a family who were celebrating the hundredth anniversary of the death of a cat that had belonged to their ancestors. When I asked the history of the affair, I was told that, in former days, a young girl of the family, when she was about sixteen years old, used always to be followed about by a tom-cat, who was reared in the house, so much so that the two were never separated for an instant. When her father perceived this, he was very angry, thinking that the tom-cat, forgetting the kindness with which he had been treated for years in the house, had fallen in love with his daughter, and intended to cast a spell upon her; so he determined that he must kill the beast. As he was planning this in secret, the cat overheard him, and that night went to his pillow, and, assuming a human voice, said to him-- "'You suspect me of being in love with your daughter; and although you might well be justified in so thinking, your suspicions are groundless. The fact is this:--There is a very large old rat who has been living for many years in your granary. Now it is this old rat who is in love with my young mistress, and this is why I dare not leave her side for a moment, for fear the old rat should carry her off. Therefore I pray you to dispel your suspicions. But as I, by myself, am no match for the rat, there is a famous cat, named Buchi, at the house of Mr. So-and-so, at Ajikawa: if you will borrow that cat, we will soon make an end of the old rat.' "When the father awoke from his dream, he thought it so wonderful, that he told the household of it; and the following day he got up very early and went off to Ajikawa, to inquire for the house which the cat had indicated, and had no difficulty in finding it; so he called upon the master of the house, and told him what his own cat had said, and how he wished to borrow the cat Buchi for a little while. "'That's a very easy matter to settle,' said the other: 'pray take him with you at once;' and accordingly the father went home with the cat Buchi in charge. That night he put the two cats into the granary; and after a little while, a frightful clatter was heard, and then all was still again; so the people of the house opened the door, and crowded out to see what had happened; and there they beheld the two cats and the rat all locked together, and panting for breath; so they cut the throat of the rat, which was as big as either of the cats: then they attended to the two cats; but, although they gave them ginseng[76] and other restoratives, they both got weaker and weaker, until at last they died. So the rat was thrown into the river; but the two cats were buried with all honours in a neighbouring temple." [Footnote 76: A restorative in high repute. The best sorts are brought from Corea.] HOW A MAN WAS BEWITCHED AND HAD HIS HEAD SHAVED BY THE FOXES In the village of Iwahara, in the province of Shinshiu, there dwelt a family which had acquired considerable wealth in the wine trade. On some auspicious occasion it happened that a number of guests were gathered together at their house, feasting on wine and fish; and as the wine-cup went round, the conversation turned upon foxes. Among the guests was a certain carpenter, Tokutarô by name, a man about thirty years of age, of a stubborn and obstinate turn, who said-- "Well, sirs, you've been talking for some time of men being bewitched by foxes; surely you must be under their influence yourselves, to say such things. How on earth can foxes have such power over men? At any rate, men must be great fools to be so deluded. Let's have no more of this nonsense." Upon this a man who was sitting by him answered-- "Tokutarô little knows what goes on in the world, or he would not speak so. How many myriads of men are there who have been bewitched by foxes? Why, there have been at least twenty or thirty men tricked by the brutes on the Maki Moor alone. It's hard to disprove facts that have happened before our eyes." "You're no better than a pack of born idiots," said Tokutarô. "I will engage to go out to the Maki Moor this very night and prove it. There is not a fox in all Japan that can make a fool of Tokutarô." "Thus he spoke in his pride; but the others were all angry with him for boasting, and said-- "If you return without anything having happened, we will pay for five measures of wine and a thousand copper cash worth of fish; and if you are bewitched, you shall do as much for us." Tokutarô took the bet, and at nightfall set forth for the Maki Moor by himself. As he neared the moor, he saw before him a small bamboo grove, into which a fox ran; and it instantly occurred to him that the foxes of the moor would try to bewitch him. As he was yet looking, he suddenly saw the daughter of the headman of the village of Upper Horikané, who was married to the headman of the village of Maki. "Pray, where are you going to, Master Tokutarô?" said she. "I am going to the village hard by." "Then, as you will have to pass my native place, if you will allow me, I will accompany you so far." Tokutarô thought this very odd, and made up his mind that it was a fox trying to make a fool of him; he accordingly determined to turn the tables on the fox, and answered--"It is a long time since I have had the pleasure of seeing you; and as it seems that your house is on my road, I shall be glad to escort you so far." With this he walked behind her, thinking he should certainly see the end of a fox's tail peeping out; but, look as he might, there was nothing to be seen. At last they came to the village of Upper Horikané; and when they reached the cottage of the girl's father, the family all came out, surprised to see her. "Oh dear! oh dear! here is our daughter come: I hope there is nothing the matter." And so they went on, for some time, asking a string of questions. In the meanwhile, Tokutarô went round to the kitchen door, at the back of the house, and, beckoning out the master of the house, said-- "The girl who has come with me is not really your daughter. As I was going to the Maki Moor, when I arrived at the bamboo grove, a fox jumped up in front of me, and when it had dashed into the grove it immediately took the shape of your daughter, and offered to accompany me to the village; so I pretended to be taken in by the brute, and came with it so far." On hearing this, the master of the house put his head on one side, and mused a while; then, calling his wife, he repeated the story to her, in a whisper. But she flew into a great rage with Tokutarô, and said-- "This is a pretty way of insulting people's daughters. The girl is our daughter, and there's no mistake about it. How dare you invent such lies?" "Well," said Tokutarô, "you are quite right to say so; but still there is no doubt that this is a case of witchcraft." Seeing how obstinately he held to his opinion, the old folks were sorely perplexed, and said-- "What do you think of doing?" "Pray leave the matter to me: I'll soon strip the false skin off, and show the beast to you in its true colours. Do you two go into the store-closet, and wait there." With this he went into the kitchen, and, seizing the girl by the back of the neck, forced her down by the hearth. "Oh! Master Tokutarô, what means this brutal violence? Mother! father! help!" So the girl cried and screamed; but Tokutarô only laughed, and said-- "So you thought to bewitch me, did you? From the moment you jumped into the wood, I was on the look-out for you to play me some trick. I'll soon make you show what you really are;" and as he said this, he twisted her two hands behind her back, and trod upon her, and tortured her; but she only wept, and cried-- "Oh! it hurts, it hurts!" "If this is not enough to make you show your true form, I'll roast you to death;" and he piled firewood on the hearth, and, tucking up her dress, scorched her severely. "Oh! oh! this is more than I can bear;" and with this she expired. The two old people then came running in from the rear of the house, and, pushing aside Tokutarô, folded their daughter in their arms, and put their hands to her mouth to feel whether she still breathed; but life was extinct, and not the sign of a fox's tail was to be seen about her. Then they seized Tokutarô by the collar, and cried-- "On pretence that our true daughter was a fox, you have roasted her to death. Murderer! Here, you there, bring ropes and cords, and secure this Tokutarô!" So the servants obeyed, and several of them seized Tokutarô and bound him to a pillar. Then the master of the house, turning to Tokutarô, said-- "You have murdered our daughter before our very eyes. I shall report the matter to the lord of the manor, and you will assuredly pay for this with your head. Be prepared for the worst." And as he said this, glaring fiercely at Tokutarô, they carried the corpse of his daughter into the store-closet. As they were sending to make the matter known in the village of Maki, and taking other measures, who should come up but the priest of the temple called Anrakuji, in the village of Iwahara, with an acolyte and a servant, who called out in a loud voice from the front door-- "Is all well with the honourable master of this house? I have been to say prayers to-day in a neighbouring village, and on my way back I could not pass the door without at least inquiring after your welfare. If you are at home, I would fain pay my respects to you." As he spoke thus in a loud voice, he was heard from the back of the house; and the master got up and went out, and, after the usual compliments on meeting had been exchanged, said-- "I ought to have the honour of inviting you to step inside this evening; but really we are all in the greatest trouble, and I must beg you to excuse my impoliteness." "Indeed! Pray, what may be the matter?" replied the priest. And when the master of the house had told the whole story, from beginning to end, he was thunderstruck, and said-- "Truly, this must be a terrible distress to you." Then the priest looked on one side, and saw Tokutarô bound, and exclaimed, "Is not that Tokutarô that I see there?" "Oh, your reverence," replied Tokutarô, piteously, "it was this, that, and the other: and I took it into my head that the young lady was a fox, and so I killed her. But I pray your reverence to intercede for me, and save my life;" and as he spoke, the tears started from his eyes. "To be sure," said the priest, "you may well bewail yourself; however, if I save your life, will you consent to become my disciple, and enter the priesthood?" "Only save my life, and I'll become your disciple with all my heart." When the priest heard this, he called out the parents, and said to them-- "It would seem that, though I am but a foolish old priest, my coming here to-day has been unusually well timed. I have a request to make of you. Your putting Tokutarô to death won't bring your daughter to life again. I have heard his story, and there certainly was no malice prepense on his part to kill your daughter. What he did, he did thinking to do a service to your family; and it would surely be better to hush the matter up. He wishes, moreover, to give himself over to me, and to become my disciple." "It is as you say," replied the father and mother, speaking together. "Revenge will not recall our daughter. Please dispel our grief, by shaving his head and making a priest of him on the spot." "I'll shave him at once, before your eyes," answered the priest, who immediately caused the cords which bound Tokutarô to be untied, and, putting on his priest's scarf, made him join his hands together in a posture of prayer. Then the reverend man stood up behind him, razor in hand, and, intoning a hymn, gave two or three strokes of the razor, which he then handed to his acolyte, who made a clean shave of Tokutarô's hair. When the latter had finished his obeisance to the priest, and the ceremony was over, there was a loud burst of laughter; and at the same moment the day broke, and Tokutarô found himself alone, in the middle of a large moor. At first, in his surprise, he thought that it was all a dream, and was much annoyed at having been tricked by the foxes. He then passed his hand over his head, and found that he was shaved quite bald. There was nothing for it but to get up, wrap a handkerchief round his head, and go back to the place where his friends were assembled. "Hallo, Tokutarô! so you've come back. Well, how about the foxes?" "Really, gentlemen," replied he, bowing, "I am quite ashamed to appear before you." Then he told them the whole story, and, when he had finished, pulled off the kerchief, and showed his bald pate. "What a capital joke!" shouted his listeners, and amid roars of laughter, claimed the bet of fish, and wine. It was duly paid; but Tokutarô never allowed his hair to grow again, and renounced the world, and became a priest under the name of Sainen. There are a great many stories told of men being shaved by the foxes; but this story came under the personal observation of Mr. Shôminsai, a teacher of the city of Yedo, during a holiday trip which he took to the country where the event occurred; and I[77] have recorded it in the very selfsame words in which he told it to me. [Footnote 77: The author of the "Kanzen-Yawa," the book from which the story is taken.] THE GRATEFUL FOXES One fine spring day, two friends went out to a moor to gather fern, attended by a boy with a bottle of wine and a box of provisions. As they were straying about, they saw at the foot of a hill a fox that had brought out its cub to play; and whilst they looked on, struck by the strangeness of the sight, three children came up from a neighbouring village with baskets in their hands, on the same errand as themselves. As soon as the children saw the foxes, they picked up a bamboo stick and took the creatures stealthily in the rear; and when the old foxes took to flight, they surrounded them and beat them with the stick, so that they ran away as fast as their legs could carry them; but two of the boys held down the cub, and, seizing it by the scruff of the neck, went off in high glee. The two friends were looking on all the while, and one of them, raising his voice, shouted out, "Hallo! you boys! what are you doing with that fox?" The eldest of the boys replied, "We're going to take him home and sell him to a young man in our village. He'll buy him, and then he'll boil him in a pot and eat him." "Well," replied the other, after considering the matter attentively, "I suppose it's all the same to you whom you sell him to. You'd better let me have him." "Oh, but the young man from our village promised us a good round sum if we could find a fox, and got us to come out to the hills and catch one; and so we can't sell him to you at any price." "Well, I suppose it cannot be helped, then; but how much would the young man give you for the cub?" "Oh, he'll give us three hundred cash at least." "Then I'll give you half a bu;[78] and so you'll gain five hundred cash by the transaction." [Footnote 78: _Bu_. This coin is generally called by foreigners "ichibu," which means "one bu." To talk of "_a hundred ichibus_" is as though a Japanese were to say "_a hundred one shillings."_ Four bus make a _riyo>,_ or ounce; and any sum above three bus is spoken of as so many riyos and bus--as 101 riyos and three bus equal 407 bus. The bu is worth about 1s. 4d.] "Oh, we'll sell him for that, sir. How shall we hand him over to you?" "Just tie him up here," said the other; and so he made fast the cub round the neck with the string of the napkin in which the luncheon-box was wrapped, and gave half a bu to the three boys, who ran away delighted. The man's friend, upon this, said to him, "Well, certainly you have got queer tastes. What on earth are you going to keep the fox for?" "How very unkind of you to speak of my tastes like that. If we had not interfered just now, the fox's cub would have lost its life. If we had not seen the affair, there would have been no help for it. How could I stand by and see life taken? It was but a little I spent--only half a bu--to save the cub, but had it cost a fortune I should not have grudged it. I thought you were intimate enough with me to know my heart; but to-day you have accused me of being eccentric, and I see how mistaken I have been in you. However, our friendship shall cease from this day forth." And when he had said this with a great deal of firmness, the other, retiring backwards and bowing with his hands on his knees, replied-- "Indeed, indeed, I am filled with admiration at the goodness of your heart. When I hear you speak thus, I feel more than ever how great is the love I bear you. I thought that you might wish to use the cub as a sort of decoy to lead the old ones to you, that you might pray them to bring prosperity and virtue to your house. When I called you eccentric just now, I was but trying your heart, because I had some suspicions of you; and now I am truly ashamed of myself." And as he spoke, still bowing, the other replied, "Really! was that indeed your thought? Then I pray you to forgive me for my violent language." When the two friends had thus become reconciled, they examined the cub, and saw that it had a slight wound in its foot, and could not walk; and while they were thinking what they should do, they spied out the herb called "Doctor's Nakasé," which was just sprouting; so they rolled up a little of it in their fingers and applied it to the part. Then they pulled out some boiled rice from their luncheon-box and offered it to the cub, but it showed no sign of wanting to eat; so they stroked it gently on the back, and petted it; and as the pain of the wound seemed to have subsided, they were admiring the properties of the herb, when, opposite to them, they saw the old foxes sitting watching them by the side of some stacks of rice straw. "Look there! the old foxes have come back, out of fear for their cub's safety. Come, we will set it free!" And with these words they untied the string round the cub's neck, and turned its head towards the spot where the old foxes sat; and as the wounded foot was no longer painful, with one bound it dashed to its parents' side and licked them all over for joy, while they seemed to bow their thanks, looking towards the two friends. So, with peace in their hearts, the latter went off to another place, and, choosing a pretty spot, produced the wine bottle and ate their noon-day meal; and after a pleasant day, they returned to their homes, and became firmer friends than ever. Now the man who had rescued the fox's cub was a tradesman in good circumstances: he had three or four agents and two maid-servants, besides men-servants; and altogether he lived in a liberal manner. He was married, and this union had brought him one son, who had reached his tenth year, but had been attacked by a strange disease which defied all the physician's skill and drugs. At last a famous physician prescribed the liver taken from a live fox, which, as he said, would certainly effect a cure. If that were not forthcoming, the most expensive medicine in the world would not restore the boy to health. When the parents heard this, they were at their wits' end. However, they told the state of the case to a man who lived on the mountains. "Even though our child should die for it," they said, "we will not ourselves deprive other creatures of their lives; but you, who live among the hills, are sure to hear when your neighbours go out fox-hunting. We don't care what price we might have to pay for a fox's liver; pray, buy one for us at any expense." So they pressed him to exert himself on their behalf; and he, having promised faithfully to execute the commission, went his way. In the night of the following day there came a messenger, who announced himself as coming from the person who had undertaken to procure the fox's liver; so the master of the house went out to see him. "I have come from Mr. So-and-so. Last night the fox's liver that you required fell into his hands; so he sent me to bring it to you." With these words the messenger produced a small jar, adding, "In a few days he will let you know the price." When he had delivered his message, the master of the house was greatly pleased, and said, "Indeed, I am deeply grateful for this kindness, which will save my son's life." Then the goodwife came out, and received the jar with every mark of politeness. "We must make a present to the messenger." "Indeed, sir, I've already been paid for my trouble." "Well, at any rate, you must stop the night here." "Thank you, sir: I've a relation in the next village whom I have not seen for a long while, and I will pass the night with him;" and so he took his leave, and went away. The parents lost no time in sending to let the physician know that they had procured the fox's liver. The next day the doctor came and compounded a medicine for the patient, which at once produced a good effect, and there was no little joy in the household. As luck would have it, three days after this the man whom they had commissioned to buy the fox's liver came to the house; so the goodwife hurried out to meet him and welcome him. "How quickly you fulfilled our wishes, and how kind of you to send at once! The doctor prepared the medicine, and now our boy can get up and walk about the room; and it's all owing to your goodness." "Wait a bit!" cried the guest, who did not know what to make of the joy of the two parents. "The commission with which you entrusted me about the fox's liver turned out to be a matter of impossibility, so I came to-day to make my excuses; and now I really can't understand what you are so grateful to me for." "We are thanking you, sir," replied the master of the house, bowing with his hands on the ground, "for the fox's liver which we asked you to procure for us." "I really am perfectly unaware of having sent you a fox's liver: there must be some mistake here. Pray inquire carefully into the matter." "Well, this is very strange. Four nights ago, a man of some five or six and thirty years of age came with a verbal message from you, to the effect that you had sent him with a fox's liver, which you had just procured, and said that he would come and tell us the price another day. When we asked him to spend the night here, he answered that he would lodge with a relation in the next village, and went away." The visitor was more and more lost in amazement, and; leaning his head on one side in deep thought, confessed that he could make nothing of it. As for the husband and wife, they felt quite out of countenance at having thanked a man so warmly for favours of which he denied all knowledge; and so the visitor took his leave, and went home. That night there appeared at the pillow of the master of the house a woman of about one or two and thirty years of age, who said, "I am the fox that lives at such-and-such a mountain. Last spring, when I was taking out my cub to play, it was carried off by some boys, and only saved by your goodness. The desire to requite this kindness pierced me to the quick. At last, when calamity attacked your house, I thought that I might be of use to you. Your son's illness could not be cured without a liver taken from a live fox, so to repay your kindness I killed my cub and took out its liver; then its sire, disguising himself as a messenger, brought it to your house." And as she spoke, the fox shed tears; and the master of the house, wishing to thank her, moved in bed, upon which his wife awoke and asked him what was the matter; but he too, to her great astonishment, was biting the pillow and weeping bitterly. "Why are you weeping thus?" asked she. At last he sat up in bed, and said, "Last spring, when I was out on a pleasure excursion, I was the means of saving the life of a fox's cub, as I told you at the time. The other day I told Mr. So-and-so that, although my son were to die before my eyes, I would not be the means of killing a fox on purpose; but asked him, in case he heard of any hunter killing a fox, to buy it for me. How the foxes came to hear of this I don't know; but the foxes to whom I had shown kindness killed their own cub and took out the liver; and the old dog-fox, disguising himself as a messenger from the person to whom we had confided the commission, came here with it. His mate has just been at my pillow-side and told me all about it; hence it was that, in spite of myself, I was moved to tears." [Illustration: THE FEAST OF INARI SAMA.] When she heard this, the goodwife likewise was blinded by her tears, and for a while they lay lost in thought; but at last, coming to themselves, they lighted the lamp on the shelf on which the family idol stood, and spent the night in reciting prayers and praises, and the next day they published the matter to the household and to their relations and friends. Now, although there are instances of men killing their own children to requite a favour, there is no other example of foxes having done such a thing; so the story became the talk of the whole country. Now, the boy who had recovered through the efficacy of this medicine selected the prettiest spot on the premises to erect a shrine to Inari Sama,[79] the Fox God, and offered sacrifice to the two old foxes, for whom he purchased the highest rank at the court of the Mikado. [Footnote 79: Inari Sama is the title under which was deified a certain mythical personage, called Uga, to whom tradition attributes the honour of having first discovered and cultivated the rice-plant. He is represented carrying a few ears of rice, and is symbolized by a snake guarding a bale of rice grain. The foxes wait upon him, and do his bidding. Inasmuch as rice is the most important and necessary product of Japan, the honours which Inari Sama receives are extraordinary. Almost every house in the country contains somewhere about the grounds a pretty little shrine in his honour; and on a certain day of the second month of the year his feast is celebrated with much beating of drums and other noises, in which the children take a special delight. "On this day," says the Ô-Satsuyô, a Japanese cyclopædia, "at Yedo, where there are myriads upon myriads of shrines to Inari Sama, there are all sorts of ceremonies. Long banners with inscriptions are erected, lamps and lanterns are hung up, and the houses are decked with various dolls and figures; the sound of flutes and drums is heard, the people dance and make holiday according to their fancy. In short, it is the most bustling festival of the Yedo year."] * * * * * The passage in the tale which speaks of rank being purchased for the foxes at the court of the Mikado is, of course, a piece of nonsense. "The saints who are worshipped in Japan," writes a native authority, "are men who, in the remote ages, when the country was developing itself, were sages, and by their great and virtuous deeds having earned the gratitude of future generations, received divine honours after their death. How can the Son of Heaven, who is the father and mother of his people, turn dealer in ranks and honours? If rank were a matter of barter, it would cease to be a reward to the virtuous." All matters connected with the shrines of the Shintô, or indigenous religion, are confided to the superintendence of the families of Yoshida and Fushimi, Kugés or nobles of the Mikado's court at Kiyôto. The affairs of the Buddhist or imported religion are under the care of the family of Kanjuji. As it is necessary that those who as priests perform the honourable office of serving the gods should be persons of some standing, a certain small rank is procured for them through the intervention of the representatives of the above noble families, who, on the issuing of the required patent, receive as their perquisite a fee, which, although insignificant in itself, is yet of importance to the poor Kugés, whose penniless condition forms a great contrast to the wealth of their inferiors in rank, the Daimios. I believe that this is the only case in which rank can be bought or sold in Japan. In China, on the contrary, in spite of what has been written by Meadows and other admirers of the examination system, a man can be what he pleases by paying for it; and the coveted button, which is nominally the reward of learning and ability, is more often the prize of wealthy ignorance. The saints who are alluded to above are the saints of the whole country, as distinct from those who for special deeds are locally worshipped. To this innumerable class frequent allusion is made in these Tales. Touching the remedy of the fox's liver, prescribed in the tale, I may add that there would be nothing strange in this to a person acquainted with the Chinese pharmacopoeia, which the Japanese long exclusively followed, although they are now successfully studying the art of healing as practised in the West. When I was at Peking, I saw a Chinese physician prescribe a decoction of three scorpions for a child struck down with fever; and on another occasion a groom of mine, suffering from dysentery, was treated with acupuncture of the tongue. The art of medicine would appear to be at the present time in China much in the state in which it existed in Europe in the sixteenth century, when the excretions and secretions of all manner of animals, saurians, and venomous snakes and insects, and even live bugs, were administered to patients. "Some physicians," says Matthiolus, "use the ashes of scorpions, burnt alive, for retention caused by either renal or vesical calculi. But I have myself thoroughly experienced the utility of an oil I make myself, whereof scorpions form a very large portion of the ingredients. If only the region of the heart and all the pulses of the body be anointed with it, it will free the patients from the effects of all kinds of poisons taken by the mouth, corrosive ones excepted." Decoctions of Egyptian mummies were much commended, and often prescribed with due academical solemnity; and the bones of the human skull, pulverized and administered with oil, were used as a specific in cases of renal calculus. (See Petri Andreæ Matthioli Opera, 1574.) These remarks were made to me by a medical gentleman to whom I mentioned the Chinese doctor's prescription of scorpion tea, and they seem to me so curious that I insert them for comparison's sake. THE BADGER'S MONEY It is a common saying among men, that to forget favours received is the part of a bird or a beast: an ungrateful man will be ill spoken of by all the world. And yet even birds and beasts will show gratitude; so that a man who does not requite a favour is worse even than dumb brutes. Is not this a disgrace? Once upon a time, in a hut at a place called Namékata, in Hitachi, there lived an old priest famous neither for learning nor wisdom, but bent only on passing his days in prayer and meditation. He had not even a child to wait upon him, but prepared his food with his own hands. Night and morning he recited the prayer "Namu Amida Butsu,"[80] intent upon that alone. Although the fame of his virtue did not reach far, yet his neighbours respected and revered him, and often brought him food and raiment; and when his roof or his walls fell out of repair, they would mend them for him; so for the things of this world he took no thought. [Footnote 80: A Buddhist prayer, in which something approaching to the sounds of the original Sanscrit has been preserved. The meaning of the prayer is explained as, "Save us, eternal Buddha!" Many even of the priests who repeat it know it only as a formula, without understanding it.] One very cold night, when he little thought any one was outside, he heard a voice calling "Your reverence! your reverence!" So he rose and went out to see who it was, and there he beheld an old badger standing. Any ordinary man would have been greatly alarmed at the apparition; but the priest, being such as he has been described above, showed no sign of fear, but asked the creature its business. Upon this the badger respectfully bent its knees, and said-- "Hitherto, sir, my lair has been in the mountains, and of snow or frost I have taken no heed; but now I am growing old, and this severe cold is more than I can bear. I pray you to let me enter and warm myself at the fire of your cottage, that I may live through this bitter night." When the priest heard what a helpless state the beast was reduced to, he was filled with pity, and said-- "That's a very slight matter: make haste and come in and warm yourself." The badger, delighted with so good a reception, went into the hut, and squatting down by the fire began to warm itself; and the priest, with renewed fervour, recited his prayers and struck his bell before the image of Buddha, looking straight before him. After two hours the badger took its leave, with profuse expressions of thanks, and went out; and from that time forth it came every night to the hut. As the badger would collect and bring with it dried branches and dead leaves from the hills for firewood, the priest at last became very friendly with it, and got used to its company; so that if ever, as the night wore on, the badger did not arrive, he used to miss it, and wonder why it did not come. When the winter was over, and the spring-time came at the end of the second month, the Badger gave up its visits, and was no more seen; but, on the return of the winter, the beast resumed its old habit of coming to the hut. When this practice had gone on for ten years, one day the badger said to the priest, "Through your reverence's kindness for all these years, I have been able to pass the winter nights in comfort. Your favours are such, that during all my life, and even after my death, I must remember them. What can I do to requite them? If there is anything that you wish for, pray tell me." The priest, smiling at this speech, answered, "Being such as I am, I have no desire and no wishes. Glad as I am to hear your kind intentions, there is nothing that I can ask you to do for me. You need feel no anxiety on my account. As long as I live, when the winter comes, you shall be welcome here." The badger, on hearing this, could not conceal its admiration of the depth of the old man's benevolence; but having so much to be grateful for, it felt hurt at not being able to requite it. As this subject was often renewed between them, the priest at last, touched by the goodness of the badger's heart, said, "Since I have shaven my head, renounced the world, and forsaken the pleasures of this life, I have no desire to gratify, yet I own I should like to possess three riyos in gold. Food and raiment I receive by the favour of the villagers, so I take no heed for those things. Were I to die to-morrow, and attain my wish of being born again into the next world, the same kind folk have promised to meet and bury my body. Thus, although I have no other reason to wish for money, still if I had three riyos I would offer them up at some holy shrine, that masses and prayers might be said for me, whereby I might enter into salvation. Yet I would not get this money by violent or unlawful means; I only think of what might be if I had it. So you see, since you have expressed such kind feelings towards me, I have told you what is on my mind." When the priest had done speaking, the badger leant its head on one side with a puzzled and anxious look, so much so that the old man was sorry he had expressed a wish which seemed to give the beast trouble, and tried to retract what he had said. "Posthumous honours, after all, are the wish of ordinary men. I, who am a priest, ought not to entertain such thoughts, or to want money; so pray pay no attention to what I have said;" and the badger, feigning assent to what the priest had impressed upon it, returned to the hills as usual. From that time forth the badger came no more to the hut. The priest thought this very strange, but imagined either that the badger stayed away because it did not like to come without the money, or that it had been killed in an attempt to steal it; and he blamed himself for having added to his sins for no purpose, repenting when it was too late: persuaded, however, that the badger must have been killed, he passed his time in putting up prayers upon prayers for it. After three years had gone by, one night the old man heard a voice near his door calling out, "Your reverence! your reverence!" As the voice was like that of the badger, he jumped up as soon as he heard it, and ran out to open the door; and there, sure enough, was the badger. The priest, in great delight, cried out, "And so you are safe and sound, after all! Why have you been so long without coming here? I have been expecting you anxiously this long while." So the badger came into the hut, and said, "If the money which you required had been for unlawful purposes, I could easily have procured as much as ever you might have wanted; but when I heard that it was to be offered to a temple for masses for your soul, I thought that, if I were to steal the hidden treasure of some other man, you could not apply to a sacred purpose money which had been obtained at the expense of his sorrow. So I went to the island of Sado,[81] and gathering the sand and earth which had been cast away as worthless by the miners, fused it afresh in the fire; and at this work I spent months and days." As the badger finished speaking, the priest looked at the money which it had produced, and sure enough he saw that it was bright and new and clean; so he took the money, and received it respectfully, raising it to his head. [Footnote 81: An island on the west coast of Japan, famous for its gold mines.] "And so you have had all this toil and labour on account of a foolish speech of mine? I have obtained my heart's desire, and am truly thankful." As he was thanking the badger with great politeness and ceremony, the beast said, "In doing this I have but fulfilled my own wish; still I hope that you will tell this thing to no man." "Indeed," replied the priest, "I cannot choose but tell this story. For if I keep this money in my poor hut, it will be stolen by thieves: I must either give it to some one to keep for me, or else at once offer it up at the temple. And when I do this, when people see a poor old priest with a sum of money quite unsuited to his station, they will think it very suspicious, and I shall have to tell the tale as it occurred; but as I shall say that the badger that gave me the money has ceased coming to my hut, you need not fear being waylaid, but can come, as of old, and shelter yourself from the cold." To this the badger nodded assent; and as long as the old priest lived, it came and spent the winter nights with him. From this story, it is plain that even beasts have a sense of gratitude: in this quality dogs excel all other beasts. Is not the story of the dog of Totoribé Yorodzu written in the Annals of Japan? I[82] have heard that many anecdotes of this nature have been collected and printed in a book, which I have not yet seen; but as the facts which I have recorded relate to a badger, they appear to me to be passing strange. [Footnote 82: The author of the tale.] THE PRINCE AND THE BADGER In days of yore there lived a forefather of the Prince of Tosa who went by the name of Yamanouchi Kadzutoyo. At the age of fourteen this prince was amazingly fond of fishing, and would often go down to the river for sport. And it came to pass one day that he had gone thither with but one retainer, and had made a great haul, that a violent shower suddenly came on. Now, the prince had no rain-coat with him, and was in so sorry a plight that he took shelter under a willow-tree and waited for the weather to clear; but the storm showed no sign of abating, and there was no help for it, so he turned to the retainer and said-- "This rain is not likely to stop for some time, so we had better hurry home." As they trudged homeward, night fell, and it grew very dark; and their road lay over a long bank, by the side of which they found a girl, about sixteen years old, weeping bitterly. Struck with wonder, they looked steadfastly at her, and perceived that she was exceedingly comely. While Kadzutoyo stood doubting what so strange a sight could portend, his retainer, smitten with the girl's charms, stepped up to her and said-- "Little sister, tell us whose daughter you are, and how it comes that you are out by yourself at night in such a storm of rain. Surely it is passing strange." "Sir," replied she, looking up through her tears, "I am the daughter of a poor man in the castle town. My mother died when I was seven years old, and my father has now wedded a shrew, who loathes and ill-uses me; and in the midst of my grief he is gone far away on his business, so I was left alone with my stepmother; and this very night she spited and beat me till I could bear it no longer, and was on my way to my aunt's, who dwells in yonder village, when the shower came on; but as I lay waiting for the rain to stop, I was seized with a spasm, to which I am subject, and was in great pain, when I had the good luck to fall in with your worships." As she spoke, the retainer fell deeply in love with her matchless beauty, whilst his lord Kadzutoyo, who from the outset had not uttered a word, but stood brooding over the matter, straightway drew his sword and cut off her head. But the retainer stood aghast, and cried out-- "Oh! my young lord, what wicked deed is this that you've done? The murder of a man's daughter will bring trouble upon us, for you may rely on the business not ending here." "You don't know what you're talking about," answered Kadzutoyo: "only don't tell any one about it, that is all I ask;" and so they went home in silence. As Kadzutoyo was very tired, he went to bed, and slept undisturbed by any sense of guilt; for he was brave and fearless. But the retainer grew very uneasy, and went to his young lord's parents and said-- "I had the honour of attending my young lord out fishing to-day, and we were driven home by the rain. And as we came back by the bank, we descried a girl with a spasm in her stomach, and her my young lord straightway slew; and although he has bidden me tell it to no one, I cannot conceal it from my lord and my lady." Kadzutoyo's parents were sore amazed, bewailing their son's wickedness, and went at once to his room and woke him; his father shed tears and said-- "Oh! dastardly cut-throat that you are! how dare you kill another man's daughter without provocation? Such unspeakable villany is unworthy a Samurai's son. Know, that the duty of every Samurai is to keep watch over the country, and to protect the people; and such is his daily task. For sword and dirk are given to men that they may slay rebels, and faithfully serve their prince, and not that they may go about committing sin and killing the daughters of innocent men. Whoever is fool enough not to understand this will repeat his misdeed, and will assuredly bring shame on his kindred. Grieved as I am that I should take away the life which I gave you, I cannot suffer you to bring dishonour on our house; so prepare to meet your fate!" With these words he drew his sword; but Kadzutoyo, without a sign of fear, said to his father-- "Your anger, sir, is most just; but remember that I have studied the classics and understand the laws of right and wrong, and be sure I would never kill another man without good cause. The girl whom I slew was certainly no human being, but some foul goblin: feeling certain of this, I cut her down. To-morrow I beg you will send your retainers to look for the corpse; and if it really be that of a human being, I shall give you no further trouble, but shall disembowel myself." Upon this the father sheathed his sword, and awaited daybreak. When the morning came, the old prince, in sad distress, bade his retainers lead him to the bank; and there he saw a huge badger, with his head cut off, lying dead by the roadside; and the prince was lost in wonder at his son's shrewdness. But the retainer did not know what to make of it, and still had his doubts. The prince, however, returned home, and sending for his son, said to him-- "It's very strange that the creature which appeared to your retainer to be a girl, should have seemed to you to be a badger." "My lord's wonder is just," replied Kadzutoyo, smiling: "she appeared as a girl to me as well. But here was a young girl, at night, far from any inhabited place. Stranger still was her wondrous beauty; and strangest of all that, though it was pouring with rain, there was not a sign of wet on her clothes; and when my retainer asked how long she had been there, she said she had been on the bank in pain for some time; so I had no further doubt but that she was a goblin, and I killed her." "But what made you think she must be a goblin because her clothes were dry?" "The beast evidently thought that, if she could bewitch us with her beauty, she might get at the fish my retainer was carrying; but she forgot that, as it was raining, it would not do for her clothes not to be wet; so I detected and killed her." When the old prince heard his son speak thus, he was filled with admiration for the youth's sagacity; so, conceiving that Kadzutoyo had given reliable proof of wisdom and prudence, he resolved to abdicate;[83] and Kadzutoyo was proclaimed Prince of Tosa in his stead. [Footnote 83: _Inkiyô_, abdication. The custom of abdication is common among all classes, from the Emperor down to his meanest subject. The Emperor abdicates after consultation with his ministers: the Shogun has to obtain the permission of the Emperor; the Daimios, that of the Shogun. The abdication of the Emperor was called _Sentô_; that of the Shogun, _Oyoshô_; in all other ranks it is called _Inkiyô_. It must be remembered that the princes of Japan, in becoming Inkiyô, resign the semblance and the name, but not the reality of power. Both in their own provinces and in the country at large they play a most important part. The ex-Princes of Tosa, Uwajima and Owari, are far more notable men in Japan than the actual holders of the titles.] JAPANESE SERMONS [Illustration: A JAPANESE SERMON.] JAPANESE SERMONS "Sermons preached here on 8th, 18th, and 28th days of every month." Such was the purport of a placard, which used to tempt me daily, as I passed the temple Chô-ô-ji. Having ascertained that neither the preacher nor his congregation would have any objection to my hearing one of these sermons, I made arrangements to attend the service, accompanied by two friends, my artist, and a scribe to take notes. We were shown into an apartment adjoining a small chapel--a room opening on to a tastily arranged garden, wealthy in stone lanterns and dwarfed trees. In the portion of the room reserved for the priest stood a high table, covered with a cloth of white and scarlet silk, richly embroidered with flowers and arabesques; upon this stood a bell, a tray containing the rolls of the sacred books, and a small incense-burner of ancient Chinese porcelain. Before the table was a hanging drum, and behind it was one of those high, back-breaking arm-chairs which adorn every Buddhist temple. In one corner of the space destined for the accommodation of the faithful was a low writing-desk, at which sat, or rather squatted, a lay clerk, armed with a huge pair of horn spectacles, through which he glared, goblin-like, at the people, as they came to have their names and the amount of their offerings to the temple registered. These latter must have been small things, for the congregation seemed poor enough. It was principally composed of old women, nuns with bald shiny pates and grotesque faces, a few petty tradesmen, and half-a-dozen chubby children, perfect little models of decorum and devoutness. One lady there was, indeed, who seemed a little better to do in the world than the rest; she was nicely dressed, and attended by a female servant; she came in with a certain little consequential rustle, and displayed some coquetry, and a very pretty bare foot, as she took her place, and, pulling out a dandy little pipe and tobacco-pouch, began to smoke. Fire-boxes and spittoons, I should mention, were freely handed about; so that half-an-hour which passed before the sermon began was agreeably spent. In the meanwhile, mass was being celebrated in the main hall of the temple, and the monotonous nasal drone of the plain chant was faintly heard in the distance. So soon as this was over, the lay clerk sat himself down by the hanging drum, and, to its accompaniment, began intoning the prayer, "Na Mu Miyô Hô Ren Go Kiyô," the congregation fervently joining in unison with him. These words, repeated over and over again, are the distinctive prayer of the Buddhist sect of Nichiren, to which the temple Chô-ô-ji is dedicated. They are approximations to Sanscrit sounds, and have no meaning in Japanese, nor do the worshippers in using them know their precise value. Soon the preacher, gorgeous in red and white robes, made his appearance, following an acolyte, who carried the sacred book called _Hokké_ (upon which the sect of Nichiren is founded) on a tray covered with scarlet and gold brocade. Having bowed to the sacred picture which hung over the _tokonoma_--that portion of the Japanese room which is raised a few inches above the rest of the floor, and which is regarded as the place of honour--his reverence took his seat at the table, and adjusted his robes; then, tying up the muscles of his face into a knot, expressive of utter abstraction, he struck the bell upon the table thrice, burnt a little incense, and read a passage from the sacred book, which he reverently lifted to his head. The congregation joined in chorus, devout but unintelligent; for the Word, written in ancient Chinese, is as obscure to the ordinary Japanese worshipper as are the Latin liturgies to a high-capped Norman peasant-woman. While his flock wrapped up copper cash in paper, and threw them before the table as offerings, the priest next recited a passage alone, and the lay clerk irreverently entered into a loud dispute with one of the congregation, touching some payment or other. The preliminary ceremonies ended, a small shaven-pated boy brought in a cup of tea, thrice afterwards to be replenished, for his reverence's refreshment; and he, having untied his face, gave a broad grin, cleared his throat, swallowed his tea, and beamed down upon us, as jolly, rosy a priest as ever donned stole or scarf. His discourse, which was delivered in the most familiar and easy manner, was an _extempore_ dissertation on certain passages from the sacred books. Whenever he paused or made a point, the congregation broke in with a cry of "Nammiyô!" a corruption of the first three words of the prayer cited above, to which they always contrived to give an expression or intonation in harmony with the preacher's meaning. "It is a matter of profound satisfaction to me," began his reverence Nichirin, smiling blandly at his audience, "to see so many gentlemen and ladies gathered together here this day, in the fidelity of their hearts, to do honour to the feast of Kishimojin."[84] [Footnote 84: Kishimojin, a female deity of the Buddhists.] "Nammiyô! nammiyô!" self-depreciatory, from the congregation. "I feel certain that your piety cannot fail to find favour with Kishimojin. Kishimojin ever mourns over the tortures of mankind, who are dwelling in a house of fire, and she ever earnestly strives to find some means of delivering them. "Nammiyô! nammiyô!" grateful and reverential. "Notwithstanding this, it is useless your worshipping Kishimojin, and professing to believe in her, unless you have truth in your hearts; for she will not receive your offerings. Man, from his very birth, is a creature of requirements; he is for ever seeking and praying. Both you who listen, and I who preach, have all of us our wants and wishes. If there be any person here who flatters himself that he has no wishes and no wants, let him reflect. Does not every one wish and pray that heaven and earth may stand for ever, that his country and family may prosper, that there may be plenty in the land, and that the people may be healthy and happy? The wishes of men, however, are various and many; and these wishes, numberless as they are, are all known to the gods from the beginning. It is no use praying, unless you have truth in your heart. For instance, the prayer _Na Mu_ is a prayer committing your bodies to the care of the gods; if, when you utter it, your hearts are true and single, of a surety your request will be granted. Now, this is not a mere statement made by Nichiren, the holy founder of this sect; it is the sacred teaching of Buddha himself, and may not be doubted." "Nammiyô! nammiyô!" with profound conviction. "The heart of man is, by nature, upright and true; but there are seven passions[85] by which it is corrupted. Buddha is alarmed when he sees the fires by which the world is being consumed. These fires are the five lusts of this sinful world; and the five lusts are, the desire for fair sights, sweet sounds, fragrant smells, dainty meats, and rich trappings. Man is no sooner endowed with a body than he is possessed by these lusts, which become his very heart; and, it being a law that every man follows the dictates of his heart, in this way the body, the lusts of the flesh, the heart, and the dictates of the heart, blaze up in the consuming fire. 'Alas! for this miserable world!' said the divine Buddha." [Footnote 85: The seven passions are joy, anger, sadness, fear, love, hatred, and desire.] "Nammiyô! nammiyô!" mournful, and with much head-shaking. "There is not so foul thing under heaven as the human body. The body exudes grease, the eyes distil gums, the nose is full of mucus, the mouth of slobbering spittle; nor are these the most impure secretions of the body. What a mistake it is to look upon this impure body as clean and perfect! Unless we listen to the teachings of Buddha, how shall we be washed and purified?" "Nammiyô, nammiyô!" from an impure and very miserable sinner, under ten years of age. "The lot of man is uncertain, and for ever running out of the beaten track. Why go to look at the flowers, and take delight in their beauty? When you return home, you will see the vanity of your pleasure. Why purchase fleeting joys of loose women? How long do you retain the delicious taste of the dainties you feast upon? For ever _wishing_ to do this, _wishing_ to see that, _wishing_ to eat rare dishes, _wishing_ to wear fine clothes, you pass a lifetime in fanning the flames which consume you. What terrible matter for thought is this! In the poems of the priest Saigiyo it is written, 'Verily I have been familiar with the flowers; yet are they withered and scattered, and we are parted. How sad!' The beauty of the convolvulus, how bright it is!--and yet in one short morning it closes its petals and fades. In the book called _Rin Jo Bo Satsu_[86] we are told how a certain king once went to take his pleasure in his garden, and gladden his eyes with the beauty of his flowers. After a while he fell asleep; and as he slumbered, the women of his train began pulling the flowers to pieces. When the king awoke, of all the glory of his flowers there remained but a few torn and faded petals. Seeing this, the king said, 'The flowers pass away and die; so is it with mankind: we are born, we grow old, we sicken and die; we are as fleeting as the lightning's flash, as evanescent as the morning dew.' I know not whether any of you here present ever fix your thoughts upon death; yet it is a rare thing for a man to live for a hundred years. How piteous a thing it is that in this short and transient life men should consume themselves in a fire of lust! and if we think to escape from this fire, how shall we succeed save only by the teaching of the divine Buddha?" [Footnote 86: One of the Buddhist classics.] "Nammiyô! nammiyô!" meekly and entreatingly. "Since Buddha himself escaped from the burning flames of the lusts of the flesh, his only thought has been for the salvation of mankind. Once upon a time there was a certain heretic, called Rokutsuponji, a reader of auguries, cunning in astrology and in the healing art. It happened, one day, that this heretic, being in company with Buddha, entered a forest, which was full of dead men's skulls. Buddha, taking up one of the skulls and tapping it thus" (here the preacher tapped the reading-desk with his fan), "said, 'What manner of man was this bone when alive?--and, now that he is dead, in what part of the world has he been born again?' The heretic, auguring from the sound which the skull, when struck, gave forth, began to tell its past history, and to prophesy the future. Then Buddha, tapping another skull, again asked the same question. The heretic answered-- "'Verily, as to this skull, whether it belonged to a man or a woman, whence its owner came or whither he has gone, I know not. What think you of it?" "'Ask me not,' answered Buddha. But the heretic pressed him, and entreated him to answer; then Buddha said, 'Verily this is the skull of one of my disciples, who forsook the lusts of the flesh.' "Then the heretic wondered, and said-- "'Of a truth, this is a thing the like of which no man has yet seen. Here am I, who know the manner of the life and of the death even of the ants that creep. Verily, I thought that no thing could escape my ken; yet here lies one of your disciples, than whom there lives no nobler thing, and I am at fault. From this day forth I will enter your sect, praying only that I may receive your teaching.' "Thus did this learned heretic become a disciple of Buddha. If such an one as he was converted, how much the more should after-ages of ordinary men feel that it is through. Buddha alone that they can hope to overcome the sinful lusts of the flesh! These lusts are the desires which agitate our hearts: if we are free from these desires, our hearts will be bright and pure, and there is nothing, save the teaching of Buddha, which can ensure us this freedom. Following the commands of Buddha, and delivered by him from our desires, we may pass our lives in peace and happiness." "Nammiyô! nammiyô!" with triumphant exultation. "In the sacred books we read of conversion from a state of sin to a state of salvation. Now this salvation is not a million miles removed from us; nor need we die and be born again into another world in order to reach it. He who lays aside his carnal lusts and affections, at once and of a certainty becomes equal to Buddha. When we recite the prayer _Na Mu Miyô Hô Ren Go Kiyô_, we are praying to enter this state of peace and happiness. By what instruction, other than that of Nichiren, the holy founder of this sect, can we expect to attain this end? If we do attain it, there will be no difference between our state and that of Buddha and of Nichiren. With this view we have learnt from the pious founder of our sect that we must continually and thankfully repeat the prayer _Na Mu Miyô Hô Ren Go Kiyô_, turning our hearts away from lies, and embracing the truth." Such were the heads of the sermon as they were taken down by my scribe. At its conclusion, the priest, looking about him smiling, as if the solemn truths he had been inculcating were nothing but a very good joke, was greeted by long and loud cries of "Nammiyô! nammiyô!" by all the congregation. Then the lay clerk sat himself down again by the hanging drum; and the service ended as it had begun, by prayer in chorus, during which the priest retired, the sacred book being carried out before him by his acolyte. Although occasionally, as in the above instance, sermons are delivered as part of a service on special days of the month, they are more frequently preached in courses, the delivery occupying about a fortnight, during which two sermons are given each day. Frequently the preachers are itinerant priests, who go about the towns and villages lecturing in the main hall of some temple or in the guest-room of the resident priest. There are many books of sermons published in Japan, all of which have some merit and much quaintness: none that I have seen are, however, to my taste, to be compared to the "Kiu-ô Dô-wa," of which the following three sermons compose the first volume. They are written by a priest belonging to the Shingaku sect--a sect professing to combine all that is excellent in the Buddhist, Confucian, and Shin Tô teaching. It maintains the original goodness of the human heart; and teaches that we have only to follow the dictates of the conscience implanted in us at our birth, in order to steer in the right path. The texts are taken from the Chinese classical books, in the same way as our preachers take theirs from the Bible. Jokes, stories which are sometimes untranslatable into our more fastidious tongue, and pointed applications to members of the congregation, enliven the discourses; it being a principle with the Japanese preacher that it is not necessary to bore his audience into virtue. SERMON I (THE SERMONS OF KIU-Ô, VOL. I) Môshi[87] says, "Benevolence is the heart of man; righteousness is the path of man. How lamentable a thing is it to leave the path and go astray, to cast away the heart and not know where to seek for it!" [Footnote 87: Môshi, the Japanese pronunciation of the name of the Chinese philosopher Mêng Tse, whom Europeans call Mencius.] The text is taken from the first chapter of Kôshi (the commentator), on Môshi. Now this quality, which we call benevolence, has been the subject of commentaries by many teachers; but as these commentaries have been difficult of comprehension, they are too hard to enter the ears of women and children. It is of this benevolence that, using examples and illustrations, I propose to treat. A long time ago, there lived at Kiôto a great physician, called Imaôji--I forget his other name: he was a very famous man. Once upon a time, a man from a place called Kuramaguchi advertised for sale a medicine which he had compounded against the cholera, and got Imaôji to write a puff for him. Imaôji, instead of calling the medicine in the puff a specific against the cholera, misspelt the word cholera so as to make it simpler. When the man who had employed him went and taxed him with this, and asked him why he had done so, he answered, with a smile-- "As Kuramaguchi is an approach to the capital from the country, the passers-by are but poor peasants and woodmen from the hills: if I had written 'cholera' at length, they would have been puzzled by it; so I wrote it in a simple way, that should pass current with every one. Truth itself loses its value if people don't understand it. What does it signify how I spelt the word cholera, so long as the efficacy of the medicine is unimpaired?" Now, was not that delightful? In the same way the doctrines of the sages are mere gibberish to women and children who cannot understand them. Now, my sermons are not written for the learned: I address myself to farmers and tradesmen, who, hard pressed by their daily business, have no time for study, with the wish to make known to them the teachings of the sages; and, carrying out the ideas of my teacher, I will make my meaning pretty plain, by bringing forward examples and quaint stories. Thus, by blending together the doctrines of the Shintô, Buddhist, and other schools, we shall arrive at something near the true principle of things. Now, positively, you must not laugh if I introduce a light story now and then. Levity is not my object: I only want to put things in a plain and easy manner. Well, then, the quality which we call benevolence is, in fact, a perfection; and it is this perfection which Môshi spoke of as the heart of man. With this perfect heart, men, by serving their parents, attain to filial piety; by serving their masters they attain to fidelity; and if they treat their wives, their brethren, and their friends in the same spirit, then the principles of the five relations of life will harmonize without difficulty. As for putting perfection into practice, parents have the special duties of parents; children have the special duties of children; husbands have the special duties of husbands; wives have the special duties of wives. It is when all these special duties are performed without a fault that true benevolence is reached; and that again is the true heart of man. For example, take this fan: any one who sees it knows it to be a fan; and, knowing it to be a fan, no one would think of using it to blow his nose in. The special use of a fan is for visits of ceremony; or else it is opened in order to raise a cooling breeze: it serves no other purpose. In the same way, this reading-desk will not do as a substitute for a shelf; again, it will not do instead of a pillow: so you see that a reading-desk also has its special functions, for which you must use it. So, if you look at your parents in the light of your parents, and treat them with filial piety, that is the special duty of children; that is true benevolence; that is the heart of man. Now although you may think that, when I speak in this way, I am speaking of others, and not of yourselves, believe me that the heart of every one of you is by nature pure benevolence. I am just taking down your hearts as a shopman does goods from his shelves, and pointing out the good and bad qualities of each; but if you will not lay what I say to your own accounts, but persist in thinking that it is all anybody's business but yours, all my labour will be lost. Listen! You who answer your parents rudely, and cause them to weep; you who bring grief and trouble on your masters; you who cause your husbands to fly into passions; you who cause your wives to mourn; you who hate your younger brothers, and treat your elder brothers with contempt; you who sow sorrow broadcast over the world;--what are you doing but blowing your noses in fans, and using reading-desks as pillows? I don't mean to say that there are any such persons here; still there are plenty of them to be found--say in the back streets in India, for instance. Be so good as to mind what I have said. Consider, carefully, if a man is born with a naturally bad disposition, what a dreadful thing that is! Happily, you and I were born with perfect hearts, which we would not change for a thousand--no, not for ten thousand pieces of gold: is not this something to be thankful for? This perfect heart is called in my discourses, "the original heart of man." It is true that benevolence is also called the original heart of man; still there is a slight difference between the two. However, as the inquiry into this difference would be tedious, it is sufficient for you to look upon this original heart of man as a perfect thing, and you will fall into no error. It is true that I have not the honour of the personal acquaintance of every one of you who are present: still I know that your hearts are perfect. The proof of this, that if you say that which you ought not to say, or do that which you ought not to do, your hearts within you are, in some mysterious way, immediately conscious of wrong. When the man that has a perfect heart does that which is imperfect, it is because his heart has become warped and turned to evil. This law holds good for all mankind. What says the old song?--"When the roaring waterfall is shivered by the night-storm, the moonlight is reflected in each scattered drop."[88] Although there is but one moon, she suffices to illuminate each little scattered drop. Wonderful are the laws of Heaven! So the principle of benevolence, which is but one, illumines all the particles that make up mankind. Well, then, the perfection of the human heart can be calculated to a nicety, So, if we follow the impulses of our perfect heart in whatever we undertake, we shall perform our special duties, and filial piety and fidelity will come to us spontaneously. You see the doctrines of this school of philosophy are quickly learnt. If you once thoroughly understand this, there will be no difference between your conduct and that of a man who has studied a hundred years. Therefore I pray you to follow the impulses of your natural heart; place it before you as a teacher, and study its precepts. Your heart is a convenient teacher to employ too: for there is no question of paying fees; and no need to go out in the heat of summer, or the cold of winter, to pay visits of ceremony to your master to inquire after his health. What admirable teaching this is, by means of which you can learn filial piety and fidelity so easily! Still, suspicions are apt to arise in men's minds about things that are seen to be acquired too cheaply; but here you can buy a good thing cheap, and spare yourselves the vexation of having paid an extravagant price for it. I repeat, follow the impulses of your hearts with all your might. In the _Chin-yo_, the second of the books of Confucius, it is certified beyond a doubt that the impulses of nature are the true path to follow; therefore you may set to work in this direction with your minds at ease. [Footnote 88: "The moon looks on many brooks; The brooks see but one moon."--T. MOORE.] Righteousness, then, is the true path, and righteousness is the avoidance of all that is imperfect. If a man avoids that which is imperfect, there is no need to point out how dearly he will be beloved by all his fellows. Hence it is that the ancients have defined righteousness as that which ought to be--that which is fitting. If a man be a retainer, it is good that he should perform his service to his lord with all his might. If a woman be married, it is good that she should treat her parents-in-law with filial piety, and her husband with reverence. For the rest, whatever is good, that is righteousness and the true path of man. The duty of man has been compared by the wise men of old to a high road. If you want to go to Yedo or to Nagasaki, if you want to go out to the front of the house or to the back of the house, if you wish to go into the next room or into some closet or other, there is a right road to each of these places: if you do not follow the right road, scrambling over the roofs of houses and through ditches, crossing mountains and desert places, you will be utterly lost and bewildered. In the same way, if a man does that which is not good, he is going astray from the high road. Filial piety in children, virtue in wives, truth among friends--but why enumerate all these things, which are patent?--all these are the right road, and good; but to grieve parents, to anger husbands, to hate and to breed hatred in others, these are all bad things, these are all the wrong road. To follow these is to plunge into rivers, to run on to thorns, to jump into ditches, and brings thousands upon ten thousands of disasters. It is true that, if we do not pay great attention, we shall not be able to follow the right road. Fortunately, we have heard by tradition the words of the learned Nakazawa Dôni: I will tell you about that, all in good time. It happened that, once, the learned Nakazawa went to preach at Ikéda, in the province of Sesshiu, and lodged with a rich family of the lower class. The master of the house, who was particularly fond of sermons, entertained the preacher hospitably, and summoned his daughter, a girl some fourteen or fifteen years old, to wait upon him at dinner. This young lady was not only extremely pretty, but also had charming manners; so she arranged bouquets of flowers, and made tea, and played upon the harp, and laid herself out to please the learned man by singing songs. The preacher thanked her parents for all this, and said-- "Really, it must be a very difficult thing to educate a young lady up to such a pitch as this." The parents, carried away by their feelings, replied-- "Yes; when she is married, she will hardly bring shame upon her husband's family. Besides what she did just now, she can weave garlands of flowers round torches, and we had her taught to paint a little;" and as they began to show a little conceit, the preacher said-- "I am sure this is something quite out of the common run. Of course she knows how to rub the shoulders and loins, and has learnt the art of shampooing?" The master of the house bristled up at this and answered-- "I may be very poor, but I've not fallen so low as to let my daughter learn shampooing." The learned man, smiling, replied, "I think you are making a mistake when you put yourself in a rage. No matter whether her family be rich or poor, when a woman is performing her duties in her husband's house, she must look upon her husband's parents as her own. If her honoured father-in-law or mother-in-law fall ill, her being able to plait flowers and paint pictures and make tea will be of no use in the sick-room. To shampoo her parents-in-law, and nurse them affectionately, without employing either shampooer or servant-maid, is the right path of a daughter-in-law. Do you mean to say that your daughter has not yet learnt shampooing, an art which is essential to her following the right path of a wife? That is what I meant to ask just now. So useful a study is very important." At this the master of the house was ashamed, and blushing made many apologies, as I have heard. Certainly, the harp and guitar are very good things in their way; but to attend to nursing their parents is the right road of children. Lay this story to heart, and consider attentively where the right road lies. People who live near haunts of pleasure become at last so fond of pleasure, that they teach their daughters nothing but how to play on the harp and guitar, and train them up in the manners and ways of singing-girls, but teach them next to nothing of their duties as daughters; and then very often they escape from their parents' watchfulness, and elope. Nor is this the fault of the girls themselves, but the fault of the education which they have received from their parents. I do not mean to say that the harp and guitar, and songs and dramas, are useless things. If you consider them attentively, all our songs incite to virtue and condemn vice. In the song called "The Four Sleeves," for instance, there is the passage, "If people knew beforehand all the misery that it brings, there would be less going out with young ladies, to look at the flowers at night." Please give your attention to this piece of poetry. This is the meaning of it:--When a young man and a young lady set up a flirtation without the consent of their parents, they think that it will all be very delightful, and find themselves very much deceived. If they knew what a sad and cruel world this is, they would not act as they do. The quotation is from a song of remorse. This sort of thing but too often happens in the world. When a man marries a wife, he thinks how happy he will be, and how pleasant it will be keeping house on his own account; but, before the bottom of the family kettle has been scorched black, he will be like a man learning to swim in a field, with his ideas all turned topsy-turvy, and, contrary to all his expectations, he will find the pleasures of housekeeping to be all a delusion. Look at that woman there. Haunted by her cares, she takes no heed of her hair, nor of her personal appearance. With her head all untidy, her apron tied round her as a girdle, with a baby twisted into the bosom of her dress, she carries some wretched bean sauce which she has been out to buy. What sort of creature is this? This all comes of not listening to the warnings of parents, and of not waiting for the proper time, but rushing suddenly into housekeeping. And who is to blame in the matter? Passion, which does not pause to reflect. A child of five or six years will never think of learning to play the guitar for its own pleasure. What a ten-million times miserable thing it is, when parents, making their little girls hug a great guitar, listen with pleasure to the poor little things playing on instruments big enough for them to climb upon, and squeaking out songs in their shrill treble voices! Now I must beg you to listen to me carefully. If you get confused and don't keep a sharp look-out, your children, brought up upon harp and guitar playing, will be abandoning their parents, and running away secretly. Depend upon it, from all that is licentious and meretricious something monstrous will come forth. The poet who wrote the "Four Sleeves" regarded it as the right path of instruction to convey a warning against vice. But the theatre and dramas and fashionable songs, if the moral that they convey is missed, are a very great mistake. Although you may think it very right and proper that a young lady should practise nothing but the harp and guitar until her marriage, I tell you that it is not so; for if she misses the moral of her songs and music, there is the danger of her falling in love with some man and eloping. While on this subject, I have an amusing story to tell you. Once upon a time, a frog, who lived at Kiôto, had long been desirous of going to see Osaka. One spring, having made up his mind, he started off to see Osaka and all its famous places. By a series of hops on all-fours he reached a temple opposite Nishi-no-oka, and thence by the western road he arrived at Yamazaki, and began to ascend the mountain called Tenôzan. Now it so happened that a frog from Osaka had determined to visit Kiôto, and had also ascended Tenôzan; and on the summit the two frogs met, made acquaintance, and told one another their intentions. So they began to complain about all the trouble they had gone through, and had only arrived half-way after all: if they went on to Osaka and Kiôto, their legs and loins would certainly not hold out. Here was the famous mountain of Tenôzan, from the top of which the whole of Kiôto and Osaka could be seen: if they stood on tiptoe and stretched their backs, and looked at the view, they would save themselves from stiff legs. Having come to this conclusion, they both stood up on tiptoe, and looked about them; when the Kiôto frog said-- "Really, looking at the famous places of Osaka, which I have heard so much about, they don't seem to me to differ a bit from Kiôto. Instead of giving myself any further trouble to go on, I shall just return home." The Osaka frog, blinking with his eyes, said, with a contemptuous smile, "Well, I have heard a great deal of talk about this Kiôto being as beautiful as the flowers, but it is just Osaka over again. We had better go home." And so the two frogs, politely bowing to one another, hopped off home with an important swagger. Now, although this is a very funny little story, you will not understand the drift of it at once. The frogs thought that they were looking in front of them; but as, when they stood up, their eyes were in the back of their heads, each was looking at his native place, all the while that he believed himself to be looking at the place he wished to go to. The frogs stared to any amount, it is true; but then they did not take care that the object looked at was the right object, and so it was that they fell into error. Please, listen attentively. A certain poet says-- "Wonderful are the frogs! Though they go on all-fours in an attitude of humility, their eyes are always turned ambitiously upwards." A delightful poem! Men, although they say with their mouths, "Yes, yes, your wishes shall be obeyed,--certainly, certainly, you are perfectly right," are like frogs, with their eyes turned upwards. Vain fools! meddlers ready to undertake any job, however much above their powers! This is what is called in the text, "casting away your heart, and not knowing where to seek for it." Although these men profess to undertake any earthly thing, when it comes to the point, leave them to themselves, and they are unequal to the task; and if you tell them this, they answer-- "By the labour of our own bodies we earn our money; and the food of our mouths is of our own getting. We are under obligation to no man. If we did not depend upon ourselves, how could we live in the world?" There are plenty of people who use these words, _myself_ and _my own_, thoughtlessly and at random. How false is this belief that they profess! If there were no system of government by superiors, but an anarchy, these people, who vaunt themselves and their own powers, would not stand for a day. In the old days, at the time of the war at Ichi-no-tani, Minamoto no Yoshitsuné[89] left Mikusa, in the province of Tamba, and attacked Settsu. Overtaken by the night among the mountains, he knew not what road to follow; so he sent for his retainer, Benkei, of the Temple called Musashi, and told him to light the big torches which they had agreed upon. Benkei received his orders and transmitted them to the troops, who immediately dispersed through all the valleys, and set fire to the houses of the inhabitants, so that one and all blazed up, and, thanks to the light of this fire, they reached Ichi-no-tani, as the story goes. If you think attentively, you will see the allusion. Those who boast about _my_ warehouse, _my_ house, _my_ farm, _my_ daughter, _my_ wife, hawking about this "_my_" of theirs like pedlers, let there once come trouble and war in the world, and, for all their vain-gloriousness, they will be as helpless as turtles. Let them be thankful that peace is established throughout the world. The humane Government reaches to every frontier: the officials of every department keep watch night and day. When a man sleeps under his roof at night, how can he say that it is thanks to himself that he stretches his limbs in slumber? You go your rounds to see whether the shutters are closed and the front door fast, and, having taken every precaution, you lay yourself down to rest in peace: and what a precaution after all! A board, four-tenths of an inch thick, planed down front and rear until it is only two-tenths of an inch thick. A fine precaution, in very truth!--a precaution which may be blown down with a breath. Do you suppose such a thing as that would frighten a thief from breaking in? This is the state of the case. Here are men who, by the benevolence and virtue of their rulers, live in a delightful world, and yet, forgetting the mysterious providence that watches over them, keep on singing their own praises. Selfish egotists! [Footnote 89: The younger brother of Minamoto no Yoritomo, who first established the government of the Shoguns. The battle of Ichi-no-tani took place in the year A.D. 1184.] "My property amounts to five thousand ounces of silver. I may sleep with my eyes turned up, and eat and take my pleasure, if I live for five hundred or for seven hundred years. I have five warehouses and twenty-five houses. I hold other people's bills for fifteen hundred ounces of silver." So he dances a fling[90] for joy, and has no fear lest poverty should come upon him for fifty or a hundred years. Minds like frogs, with eyes in the middle of their backs! Foolhardy thoughts! A trusty castle of defence indeed! How little can it be depended upon! And when such men are sleeping quietly, how can they tell that they may not be turned into those big torches we were talking about just now, or that a great earthquake will not be upheaved? These are the chances of this fitful world. With regard to the danger of too great reliance, I have a little tale to tell you. Be so good as to wake up from your drowsiness, and listen attentively. [Footnote 90: Literally, "a dance of the Province of Tosa."] There is a certain powerful shell-fish, called the Sazayé, with a very strong operculum. Now this creature, if it hears that there is any danger astir, shuts up its shell from within, with a loud noise, and thinks itself perfectly safe. One day a Tai and another fish, lost in envy at this, said-- "What a strong castle this is of yours, Mr. Sazayé! When you shut up your lid from within, nobody can so much as point a finger at you. A capital figure you make, sir." When he heard this, the Sazayé, stroking his beard, replied-- "Well, gentlemen, although you are so good as to say so, it's nothing to boast of in the way of safety; yet I must admit that, when I shut myself up thus, I do not feel much anxiety." And as he was speaking thus, with the pride that apes humility, there came the noise of a great splash; and the shell-fish, shutting up his lid as quickly as possible, kept quite still, and thought to himself, what in the world the noise could be. Could it be a net? Could it be a fish-hook? What a bore it was, always having to keep such a sharp look-out! Were the Tai and the other fish caught, he wondered; and he felt quite anxious about them: however, at any rate, he was safe. And so the time passed; and when he thought all was safe, he stealthily opened his shell, and slipped out his head and looked all round him, and there seemed to be something wrong--something with which he was not familiar. As he looked a little more carefully, lo and behold there he was in a fishmonger's shop, and with a card marked "sixteen cash" on his back. Isn't that a funny story? And so, at one fell swoop, all your boasted wealth of houses and warehouses, and cleverness and talent, and rank and power, are taken away. Poor shell-fish! I think there are some people not unlike them to be found in China and India. How little self is to be depended upon! There is a moral poem which says, "It is easier to ascend to the cloudy heaven without a ladder than to depend entirely on oneself." This is what is meant by the text, "If a man casts his heart from him, he knows not where to seek for it." Think twice upon everything that you do. To take no care for the examination of that which relates to yourself, but to look only at that which concerns others, is to cast your heart from you. Casting your heart from you does not mean that your heart actually leaves you: what is meant is, that you do not examine your own conscience. Nor must you think that what I have said upon this point of self-confidences applies only to wealth and riches. To rely on your talents, to rely on the services you have rendered, to rely on your cleverness, to rely on your judgment, to rely on your strength, to rely on your rank, and to think yourself secure in the possession of these, is to place yourselves in the same category with the shell-fish in the story. In all things examine your own consciences: the examination of your own hearts is above all things essential. (The preacher leaves his place.) SERMON II (THE SERMONS OF KIU-Ô, VOL. I) "If a man loses a fowl or a dog, he knows how to reclaim it. If he loses his soul, he knows not how to reclaim it. The true path of learning has no other function than to teach us how to reclaim lost souls." This parable has been declared to us by Môshi. If a dog, or a chicken, or a pet cat does not come home at the proper time, its master makes a great fuss about hunting for it, and wonders can it have been killed by a dog or by a snake, or can some man have stolen it; and ransacking the three houses opposite, and his two next-door neighbours' houses, as if he were seeking for a lost child, cries, "Pray, sir, has my tortoiseshell cat been with you? Has my pet chicken been here?" That is the way in which men run about under such circumstances. It's a matter of the utmost importance. And yet to lose a dog or a tame chicken is no such terrible loss after all. But the soul, which is called the lord of the body, is the master of our whole selves. If men part with this soul for the sake of other things, then they become deaf to the admonitions of their parents, and the instructions of their superiors are to them as the winds of heaven. Teaching is to them like pouring water over a frog's face; they blink their eyes, and that is all; they say, "Yes, yes!" with their mouths, but their hearts are gone, and, seeing, they are blind, hearing, they are deaf. Born whole and sound, by their own doing they enter the fraternity of cripples. Such are all those who lose their souls. Nor do they think of inquiring or looking for their lost soul. "It is my parents' fault; it is my master's fault; it is my husband's fault; it is my elder brother's fault; it is Hachibei who is a rogue; it is Matsu who is a bad woman." They content themselves with looking at the faults of others, and do not examine their own consciences, nor search their own hearts. Is not this a cruel state of things? They set up a hue and cry for a lost dog or a pet chicken, but for this all-important soul of theirs they make no search. What mistaken people! For this reason the sages, mourning over such a state of things, have taught us what is the right path of man; and it is the receiving of this teaching that is called learning. The main object of learning is the examination and searching of our own hearts; therefore the text says, "The true path of learning has no other function than to teach us how to reclaim lost souls." This is an exhaustive exposition of the functions of learning. That learning has no other object, we have this gracious pledge and guarantee from the sage. As for the mere study of the antiquities and annals of China and Japan, and investigation into literature, these cannot be called learning, which is above all things an affair of the soul. All the commentaries and all the books of all the teachers in the world are but so many directories by which to find out the whereabouts of our own souls. This search after our own souls is that which I alluded to just now as the examination of our consciences. To disregard the examination of our consciences is a terrible thing, of which it is impossible to foresee the end; on the other hand, to practise it is most admirable, for by this means we can on the spot attain filial piety and fidelity to our masters. Virtue and vice are the goals to which the examination and non-examination of our consciences lead. As it has been rightly said, benevolence and malice are the two roads which man follows. Upon this subject I have a terrible and yet a very admirable story to tell you. Although I dare say you are very drowsy, I must beg you to listen to me. In a certain part of the country there was a well-to-do farmer, whose marriage had brought him one son, whom he petted beyond all measure, as a cow licks her calf. So by degrees the child became very sly: he used to pull the horses' tails, and blow smoke into the bulls' nostrils, and bully the neighbours' children in petty ways and make them cry. From a peevish child he grew to be a man, and unbearably undutiful to his parents. Priding himself on a little superior strength, he became a drunkard and a gambler, and learned to wrestle at fairs. He would fight and quarrel for a trifle, and spent his time in debauchery and riotous living. If his parents remonstrated with him, he would raise his voice and abuse them, using scurrilous language. "It's all very well your abusing me for being dissolute and disobedient. But, pray, who asked you to bring me into the world? You brought me into the world, and I have to thank you for its miseries; so now, if you hate dissolute people, you had better put me back where I came from, and I shall be all right again." This was the sort of insolent answer he would give his parents, who, at their wits' end, began to grow old in years. And as he by degrees grew more and more of a bully, unhappy as he made them, still he was their darling, and they could not find it in their hearts to turn him out of the house and disinherit him. So they let him pursue his selfish course; and he went on from worse to worse, knocking people down, breaking their arms, and getting up great disturbances. It is unnecessary to speak of his parents' feelings. Even his relations and friends felt as if nails were being hammered into their breasts. He was a thoroughly wicked man. Now no one is from his mother's womb so wicked as this; but those who persist in selfishness lose their senses, and gradually reach this pitch of wickedness. What a terrible thing is this throwing away of our hearts! Well, this man's relations and friends very properly urged his parents to disown him; but he was an only child, and so his parents, although they said, "To-day we really will disinherit him," or "To-morrow we really will break off all relations with him," still it was all empty talk; and the years and months passed by, until the scapegrace reached his twenty-sixth year, having heaped wickedness upon wickedness; and who can tell how much trouble he brought upon his family, who were always afraid of hearing of some new enormity? At last they held a family council, and told the parents that matters had come to such a pass that if they did not disown their son the rest of the family must needs break off all communication with them: if he were allowed to go on in his evil courses, the whole village, not to speak of his relations, would be disgraced; so either the parents, against whom, however, there was no ill-will felt, must be cut by the family, or they must disinherit their son: to this appeal they begged to have a distinct answer. The parents, reflecting that to separate themselves from their relations, even for the sake of their own son, would be an act of disrespect to their ancestors, determined to invite their relations to assemble and draw up a petition to the Government for leave to disinherit their son, to which petition the family would all affix their seals according to form; so they begged them to come in the evening, and bring their seals with them. This was their answer. There is an old saw which says, "The old cow licks her calf, and the tigress carries her cub in her mouth." If the instinct of beasts and birds prompt them to love their young, how much the more must it be a bitter thing for a man to have to disown his own son! All this trouble was the consequence of this youth casting his heart from him. Had he examined his own conscience, the storm of waves and of wind would not have arisen, and all would have been calm. But as he refused to listen to his conscience, his parents, much against their will, were forced to visit him with the punishment of disinheritance, which he had brought upon himself. A sad thing indeed! In the poems of his Reverence Tokuhon, a modern poet, there is the following passage: "Since Buddha thus winds himself round our hearts, let the man who dares to disregard him fear for his life." The allusion is to the great mercy and love of the gods. The gods wish to make men examine their consciences, and, day and night, help men to discern that which is evil; but, although they point out our desires and pleasures, our lusts and passions, as things to be avoided, men turn their backs upon their own consciences. The love of the gods is like the love of parents for their children, and men treat the gods as undutiful children treat their parents. "Men who dare to disregard the gods, let them fear for their lives." I pray you who hear me, one and all, to examine your own consciences and be saved. To return to the story of the vagabond son. As it happened, that day he was gambling in a neighbouring village, when a friend from his own place came up and told him that his relations had met together to disinherit him; and that, fine fellow as he was, he would find it a terrible thing to be disowned. Before he had heard him half out, the other replied in a loud voice-- "What, do you mean to say that they are holding a family council to-night to disinherit me? What a good joke! I'm sure I don't want to be always seeing my father's and mother's blubbering faces; it makes me quite sick to think of them: it's quite unbearable. I'm able to take care of myself; and, if I choose to go over to China, or to live in India, I should like to know who is to prevent me? This is the very thing above all others for me. I'll go off to the room where they are all assembled, and ask them why they want to disinherit me. I'll just swagger like Danjurô [91] the actor, and frighten them into giving me fifty or seventy ounces of silver to get rid of me, and put the money in my purse, and be off to Kiôto or Osaka, where I'll set up a tea-house on my own account; and enjoy myself to my heart's content! I hope this will be a great night for me, so I'll just drink a cup of wine for luck beforehand." [Footnote 91: A famous actor of Yedo, who lived 195 years ago. He was born at Sakura, in Shimôsa.] And so, with a lot of young devils of his own sort, be fell to drinking wine in teacups,[92] so that before nightfall they were all as drunk as mud. Well, then, on the strength of this wine, as he was setting out for his father's house, he said, "Now, then, to try my luck," and stuck a long dirk in his girdle. He reached his own village just before nightfall, thinking to burst into the place where he imagined his relations to be gathered together, turning their wisdom-pockets inside out, to shake out their small provision of intelligence in consultation; and he fancied that, if he blustered and bullied, he would certainly get a hundred ounces of silver out of them. Just as he was about to enter the house, he reflected-- [Footnote 92: The ordinary wine-cup holding only a thimbleful, to drink wine out of teacups is a great piece of debauchery--like drinking brandy in tumblers.] "If I show my face in the room where my relations are gathered together, they will all look down on the ground and remain silent; so if I go in shouting and raging, it will be quite out of harmony; but if they abuse me, then I shall be in the right if I jump in on them and frighten them well. The best plan will be for me to step out of the bamboo grove which is behind the house, and to creep round the verandah, and I can listen to these fellows holding their consultation: they will certainly be raking up all sorts of scandal about me. It will be all in harmony, then, if I kick down the shutters and sliding-doors with a noise like thunder. And what fun it will be!" As he thought thus to himself, he pulled off his iron-heeled sandals, and stuck them in his girdle, and, girding up his dress round his waist, left the bamboo grove at the back of the house, and, jumping over the garden wicket, went round the verandah and looked in. Peeping through a chink in the shutters, he could see his relations gathered together in council, speaking in whispers. The family were sitting in a circle, and one and all were affixing their seals to the petition of disinheritance. At last, having passed from hand to hand, the document came round to where the two parents were sitting. Their son, seeing this, said-- "Come, now, it's win or lose! My parents' signing the paper shall be the sign for me to kick open the door and jump into the middle of them." So, getting ready for a good kick, he held his breath and looked on. What terrible perversion man can allow his heart to come to! Môshi has said that man by nature is good; but although not a particle of fault can be found with what he has said, when the evil we have learned becomes a second nature, men reach this fearful degree of wickedness. When men come to this pass, Kôshi[93] and Môshi themselves might preach to them for a thousand days, and they would not have strength to reform. Such hardened sinners deserve to be roasted in iron pots in the nethermost hell. Now, I am going to tell you how it came about that the vagabond son turned over a new leaf and became dutiful, and finally entered paradise. The poet says, "Although the hearts of parents are not surrounded by dark night, how often they stray from the right road in their affection for their children!" [Footnote 93: Kôshi is the Japanese pronunciation of the name of the Chinese philosopher Kung Ts[=u], or Kung Fu Ts[=u], whom we call Confucius.] When the petition of disinheritance came round to the place where the two parents were sitting, the mother lifted up her voice and wept aloud; and the father, clenching his toothless gums to conceal his emotion, remained with his head bent down: presently, in a husky voice, he said, "Wife, give me the seal!" But she returned no answer, and with tears in her eyes took a leather purse, containing the seal, out of a drawer of the cupboard and placed it before her husband. All this time the vagabond son, holding his breath, was peeping in from outside the shutters. In the meanwhile, the old man slowly untied the strings of the purse, and took out the seal, and smeared on the colouring matter. Just as he was about to seal the document, his wife clutched at his hand and said, "Oh, pray wait a little." The father replied, "Now that all our relations are looking on, you must not speak in this weak manner." But she would not listen to what he said, but went on-- "Pray listen to what I have to say. It is true that if we were to give over our house to our undutiful son, in less than three years the grass would be growing in its place, for he would be ruined. Still, if we disinherit our child--the only child that we have, either in heaven or upon earth--we shall have to adopt another in his place. Although, if the adopted son turned out honest and dutiful, and inherited our property, all would be well; still, what certainty is there of his doing so? If, on the other hand, the adopted son turned out to be a prodigal, and laid waste our house, what unlucky parents we should be! And who can say that this would not be the case? If we are to be ruined for the sake of an equally wicked adopted son, I had rather lose our home for the sake of our own son, and, leaving out old familiar village as beggars, seek for our lost boy on foot. This is my fervent wish. During fifty years that we have lived together, this has been the only favour that I have ever asked of you. Pray listen to my prayer, and put a stop to this act of disinheritance. Even though I should become a beggar for my son's sake, I could feel no resentment against him." So she spoke, sobbing aloud. The relations, who heard this, looked round at one another, and watched the father to see what he would do; and he (who knows with what thoughts in his head?) put back the seal into the leather purse, and quickly drew the strings together, and pushed back the petition to the relations. "Certainly," said he, "I have lost countenance, and am disgraced before all my family; however, I think that what the good wife has just said is right and proper, and from henceforth I renounce all thoughts of disinheriting my son. Of course you will all see a weakness of purpose in what I say, and laugh at me as the cause of my son's undutiful conduct. But laugh away: it won't hurt me. Certainly, if I don't disinherit this son of mine, my house will be ruined before three years are over our heads. To lay waste the house of generations upon generations of my ancestors is a sin against those ancestors; of this I am well aware. Further, if I don't disinherit my son, you gentlemen will all shun me. I know that I am cutting myself off from my relations. Of course you think that when I leave this place I shall be dunning you to bestow your charity upon me; and that is why you want to break off relations with me. Pray don't make yourselves uneasy. I care no more for my duties to the world, for my impiety to my ancestors, or for my separation from my family. Our son is our only darling, and we mean to go after him, following him as beggars on foot. This is our desire. We shall trouble you for no alms and for no charity. However we may die, we have but one life to lose. For our darling son's sake, we will lay ourselves down and die by the roadside. There our bodies shall be manure for the trees of the avenue. And all this we will endure cheerfully, and not utter a complaint. Make haste and return home, therefore, all of you. From to-morrow we are no longer on speaking terms. As for what you may say to me on my son's account, I do not care." And as his wife had done, he lifted up his voice and wept, shedding manly tears. As for her, when she heard that the act of disinheritance was not to be drawn up, her tears were changed to tears of joy. The rest of the family remained in mute astonishment at so unheard-of a thing, and could only stare at the faces of the two old people. You see how bewildered parents must be by their love for their children, to be so merciful towards them. As a cat carrying her young in her mouth screens it from the sun at one time and brings it under the light at another, so parents act by their children, screening their bad points and bringing out in relief their good qualities. They care neither for the abuse of others, nor for their duties to their ancestors, nor for the wretched future in store for themselves. Carried away by their infatuation for their children, and intoxicated upon intoxication, the hearts of parents are to be pitied for their pitifulness. It is not only the two parents in my story who are in this plight; the hearts of all parents of children all over the world are the same. In the poems of the late learned Ishida it is written, "When I look round me and see the hearts of parents bewildered by their love for their children, I reflect that my own father and mother must be like them." This is certainly a true saying. To return to the story: the halo of his parents' great kindness and pity penetrated the very bowels of the prodigal son. What an admirable thing! When he heard it, terrible and sly devil as he had been, he felt as if his whole body had been squeezed in a press; and somehow or other, although the tears rose in his breast, he could not for shame lift up his voice and weep. Biting the sleeve of his dress, he lay down on the ground and shed tears in silence. What says the verse of the reverend priest Eni? "To shed tears of gratitude one knows not why." A very pretty poem indeed! So then the vagabond son, in his gratitude to his parents, could neither stand nor sit. You see the original heart of man is by nature bright virtue, but by our selfish pursuit of our own inclinations the brilliancy of our original virtue is hidden. To continue: the prodigal was pierced to the core by the great mercy shown by his parents, and the brilliancy of his own original good heart was enticed back to him. The sunlight came forth, and what became of all the clouds of self-will and selfishness? The clouds were all dispelled, and from the bottom of his soul there sprang the desire to thank his parents for their goodness. We all know the story of the rush-cutter who saw the moon rising between the trees on a moorland hill so brightly, that he fancied it must have been scoured with the scouring-rush which grew near the spot. When a man, who has been especially wicked, repents and returns to his original heart, he becomes all the more excellent, and his brightness is as that of the rising moon scoured. What an admirable thing this is! So the son thought to enter the room at once and beg his parents' forgiveness; but he thought to himself, "Wait a bit. If I burst suddenly into the room like this, the relations will all be frightened and not know what to make of it, and this will be a trouble to my parents. I will put on an innocent face, as if I did not know what has been going on, and I'll go in by the front door, and beg the relations to intercede for me with my parents." With stealthy step he left the back of the house, and went round to the front. When he arrived there, he purposely made a great noise with his iron-heeled sandals, and gave a loud cough to clear his throat, and entered the room. The relations were all greatly alarmed; and his parents, when they saw the face of their wicked son, both shed tears. As for the son, he said not a word, but remained weeping, with his head bent down. After a while, he addressed the relations and said, "Although I have frequently been threatened with disinheritance, and although in those days I made light of it, to-night, when I heard that this family council had assembled, I somehow or other felt my heart beset by anxiety and grief. However I may have heaped wickedness upon wickedness up to the present moment, as I shall certainly now mend my ways, I pray you to delay for a while to-night's act of disinheritance. I do not venture to ask for a long delay,--I ask but for thirty days; and if within that time I shall not have given proofs of repentance, disinherit me: I shall not have a word to say. I pray you, gentlemen, to intercede with my parents that they may grant this delay of thirty days, and to present them my humble apologies." With this he rubbed his head on the mat, as a humble suppliant, in a manner most foreign to his nature. The relations, after hearing the firm and resolute answer of the parents, had shifted about in their places; but, although they were on the point of leaving the house, had remained behind, sadly out of harmony; when the son came in, and happily with a word set all in tune again. So the relations addressed the parents, and said, "Pray defer to-night's affair;" and laid the son's apologies at their feet. As for the parents, who would not have disinherited their son even had he not repented, how much the more when they heard what he said did they weep for joy; and the relations, delighted at the happy event, exhorted the son to become really dutiful; and so that night's council broke up. So this son in the turn of a hand became a pious son, and the way in which he served his parents was that of a tender and loving child. His former evil ways he extinguished utterly. The fame of this story rose high in the world; and, before half a year had passed, it reached the ears of the lord of the manor, who, when he had put on his noble spectacles and investigated the case, appointed the son to be the head man of his village. You may judge by this what this son's filial piety effected. Three years after these events, his mother, who was on her death-bed, very sick, called for him and said, "When some time since the consultation was being held about disinheriting you, by some means or other your heart was turned, and since then you have been a dutiful son above all others. If at that time you had not repented, and I had died in the meanwhile, my soul would have gone to hell without fail, because of my foolish conduct towards you. But, now that you have repented, there is nothing that weighs upon me, and there can be no mistake about my going to paradise. So the fact of my becoming one of the saints will all be the work of your filial piety." And the story goes, that with these words the mother, lifting up her hands in prayer, died. To be sure, by the deeds of the present life we may obtain a glimpse into the future. If a man's heart is troubled by his misdeeds in this life, it will again be tortured in the next. The troubled heart is hell. The heart at rest is paradise. The trouble or peace of parents depends upon their children. If their children are virtuous, parents are as the saints: if their children are wicked, parents suffer the tortures of the damned. If once your youthful spirits, in a fit of heedlessness, have led you to bring trouble upon your parents and cause them to weep, just consider the line of argument which I have been following. From this time forth repent and examine your own hearts. If you will become dutiful, your parents from this day will live happy as the saints. But if you will not repent, but persist in your evil ways, your parents will suffer the pains of hell. Heaven and hell are matters of repentance or non-repentance. Repentance is the finding of the lost heart, and is also the object of learning. I shall speak to you further upon this point to-morrow evening. SERMON III (THE SERMONS OF KIU-Ô, VOL. 1) Môshi has said, "There is the third finger. If a man's third or nameless finger be bent, so that he cannot straighten it, although his bent finger may cause him no pain, still if he hears of some one who can cure it, he will think nothing of undertaking a long journey from _Shin_ to _So_[94] to consult him upon this deformed finger; for he knows it is to be hateful to have a finger unlike those of other men. But he cares not a jot if his heart be different to that of other men; and this is how men disregard the true order of things." [Footnote 94: Ancient divisions of China.] Now this is the next chapter to the one about benevolence being the true heart of man, which I expounded to you the other night. True learning has no other aim than that of reclaiming lost souls; and, in connection with this, Môshi has thus again declared in a parable the all-importance of the human heart. The nameless finger is that which is next to the little finger. The thumb is called the parent-finger; the first finger is called the index; the long is called the middle finger; but the third finger has no name. It is true that it is sometimes called the finger for applying rouge; but that is only a name given it by ladies, and is not in general use. So, having no name, it is called the nameless finger. And how comes it to have no name? Why, because it is of all the fingers the least useful. When we clutch at or grasp things, we do so by the strength of the thumb and little finger. If a man scratches his head, he does it with the forefinger; if he wishes to test the heat of the wine[95] in the kettle, he uses the little finger. Thus, although each finger has its uses and duties, the nameless finger alone is of no use: it is not in our way if we have it, and we do not miss it if we lose it. Of the whole body it is the meanest member: if it be crooked so that we cannot straighten it, it neither hurts nor itches; as Môshi says in the text, it causes no pain; even if we were without it, we should be none the worse off. Hence, what though it should be bent, it would be better, since it causes no pain, to leave it as it is. Yet if a person, having such a crooked finger, hears of a clever doctor who can set it straight, no matter at how great a distance he may be, he will be off to consult this doctor. And pray why? Because he feels ashamed of having a finger a little different from the rest of the world, and so he wants to be cured, and will think nothing of travelling from Shin to So--a distance of a thousand miles--for the purpose. To be sure, men are very susceptible and keenly alive to a sense of shame; and in this they are quite right. The feeling of shame at what is wrong is the commencement of virtue. The perception of shame is inborn in men; but there are two ways of perceiving shame. There are some men who are sensible of shame for what regards their bodies, but who are ignorant of shame for what concerns their hearts; and a terrible mistake they make. There is nothing which can be compared in importance to the heart. The heart is said to be the lord of the body, which it rules as a master rules his house. Shall the lord, who is the heart, be ailing and his sickness be neglected, while his servants, who are the members only, are cared for? If the knee be lacerated, apply tinder to stop the bleeding; if the moxa should suppurate, spread a plaster; if a cold be caught, prepare medicine and garlic and gruel, and ginger wine! For a trifle, you will doctor and care for your bodies, and yet for your hearts you will take no care. Although you are born of mankind, if your hearts resemble those of devils, of foxes, of snakes, or of crows, rather than the hearts of men, you take no heed, caring for your bodies alone. Whence can you have fallen into such a mistake? It is a folly of old standing too, for it was to that that Môshi pointed when he said that to be cognizant of a deformed finger and ignore the deformities of the soul was to disregard the true order of things. This is what it is, not to distinguish between that which is important and that which is unimportant--to pick up a trifle and pass by something of value. The instinct of man prompts him to prefer the great to the small, the important to the unimportant. [Footnote 95: Wine is almost always drunk hot.] If a man is invited out to a feast by his relations or acquaintances, when the guests are assembled and the principal part of the feast has disappeared, he looks all round him, with the eyeballs starting out of his head, and glares at his neighbours, and, comparing the little titbits of roast fowl or fish put before them, sees that they are about half an inch bigger than those set before him; then, blowing out his belly with rage, he thinks, "What on earth can the host be about? Master Tarubei is a guest, but so am I: what does the fellow mean by helping me so meanly? There must be some malice or ill-will here." And so his mind is prejudiced against the host. Just be so good as to reflect upon this. Does a man show his spite by grudging a bit of roast fowl or meat? And yet even in such trifles as these do men show how they try to obtain what is great, and show their dislike of what is small. How can men be conscious of shame for a deformed finger, and count it as no misfortune that their hearts are crooked? That is how they abandon the substance for the shadow. Môshi severely censures the disregard of the true order of things. What mistaken and bewildered creatures men are! What says the old song? "Hidden far among the mountains, the tree which seems to be rotten, if its core be yet alive, may be made to bear flowers." What signifies it if the hand or the foot be deformed? The heart is the important thing. If the heart be awry, what though your skin be fair, your nose aquiline, your hair beautiful? All these strike the eye alone, and are utterly useless. It is as if you were to put horse-dung into a gold-lacquer luncheon-box. This is what is called a fair outside, deceptive in appearance. There's the scullery-maid been washing out the pots at the kitchen sink, and the scullion Chokichi comes up and says to her, "You've got a lot of charcoal smut sticking to your nose," and points out to her the ugly spot. The scullery-maid is delighted to be told of this, and answers, "Really! whereabouts is it?" Then she twists a towel round her finger, and, bending her head till mouth and forehead are almost on a level, she squints at her nose, and twiddles away with her fingers as if she were the famous Gotô[96] at work, carving the ornaments of a sword-handle. "I say, Master Chokichi, is it off yet?" "Not a bit of it. You've smeared it all over your cheeks now." "Oh dear! oh dear! where can it be?" And so she uses the water-basin as a looking-glass, and washes her face clean; then she says to herself, "What a dear boy Chokichi is!" and thinks it necessary, out of gratitude, to give him relishes with his supper by the ladleful, and thanks him over and over again. But if this same Chokichi were to come up to her and say, "Now, really, how lazy you are! I wish you could manage to be rather less of a shrew," what do you think the scullery-maid would answer then? Reflect for a moment. "Drat the boy's impudence! If I were of a bad heart or an angular disposition, should I be here helping him? You go and be hung! You see if I take the trouble to wash your dirty bedclothes for you any more." And she gets to be a perfect devil, less only the horns. [Footnote 96: A famous gold- and silver-smith of the olden time. A Benvenuto Cellini among the Japanese. His mark on a piece of metal work enhances its value tenfold.] There are other people besides the poor scullery-maid who are in the same way. "Excuse me, Mr. Gundabei, but the embroidered crest on your dress of ceremony seems to be a little on one side." Mr. Gundabei proceeds to adjust his dress with great precision. "Thank you, sir. I am ten million times obliged to you for your care. If ever there should be any matter in which I can be of service to you, I beg that you will do me the favour of letting me know;" and, with a beaming face, he expresses his gratitude. Now for the other side of the picture. "Really, Mr. Gundabei, you are very foolish; you don't seem to understand at all. I beg you to be of a frank and honest heart: it really makes me quite sad to see a man's heart warped in this way." What is his answer? He turns his sword in his girdle ready to draw, and plays the devil's tattoo upon the hilt: it looks as if it must end in a fight soon. In fact, if you help a man in anything which has to do with a fault of the body, he takes it very kindly, and sets about mending matters. If any one helps another to rectify a fault of the heart, he has to deal with a man in the dark, who flies in a rage, and does not care to amend. How out of tune all this is! And yet there are men who are bewildered up to this point. Nor is this a special and extraordinary failing. This mistaken perception of the great and the small, of colour and of substance, is common to us all--to you and to me. Please give me your attention. The form strikes the eye; but the heart strikes not the eye. Therefore, that the heart should be distorted and turned awry causes no pain. This all results from the want of sound judgment; and that is why we cannot afford to be careless. The master of a certain house calls his servant Chokichi, who sits dozing in the kitchen. "Here, Chokichi! The guests are all gone; come and clear away the wine and fish in the back room." Chokichi rubs his eyes, and with a sulky answer goes into the back room, and, looking about him, sees all the nice things paraded on the trays and in the bowls. It's wonderful how his drowsiness passes away: no need for any one to hurry him now. His eyes glare with greed, as he says, "Hullo! here's a lot of tempting things! There's only just one help of that omelette left in the tray. What a hungry lot of guests! What's this? It looks like fish rissoles;" and with this he picks out one, and crams his mouth full; when, on one side, a mess of young cuttlefish, in a Chinese[97] porcelain bowl, catches his eyes. There the little beauties sit in a circle, like Buddhist priests in religious meditation! "Oh, goodness! how nice!" and just as he is dipping his finger and thumb in, he hears his master's footstep; and knowing that he is doing wrong, he crams his prize into the pocket of his sleeve, and stoops down to take away the wine-kettle and cups; and as he does this, out tumble the cuttlefish from his sleeve. The master sees it. [Footnote 97: Curiosities, such as porcelain or enamel or carved jade from China, are highly esteemed by the Japanese. A great quantity of the porcelain of Japan is stamped with counterfeit Chinese marks of the Ming dynasty.] "What's that?" Chokichi, pretending not to know what has happened, beats the mats, and keeps on saying, "Come again the day before yesterday; come again the day before yesterday."[98] [Footnote 98: An incantation used to invite spiders, which are considered unlucky by the superstitious, to come again at the Greek Kalends.] But it's no use his trying to persuade his master that the little cuttlefish are spiders, for they are not the least like them. It's no use hiding things,--they are sure to come to light; and so it is with the heart,--its purposes will out. If the heart is enraged, the dark veins stand out on the forehead; if the heart is grieved, tears rise to the eyes; if the heart is joyous, dimples appear in the cheeks; if the heart is merry, the face smiles: thus it is that the face reflects the emotions of the heart. It is not because the eyes are filled with tears that the heart is sad; nor because the veins stand out on the forehead that the heart is enraged. It is the heart which leads the way in everything. All the important sensations of the heart are apparent in the outward appearance. In the "Great Learning" of Kôshi it is written, "The truth of what is within appears upon the surface." How then is the heart a thing which can be hidden? To answer when reproved, to hum tunes when scolded, show a diseased heart; and if this disease is not quickly taken in hand, it will become chronic, and the remedy become difficult: perhaps the disease may be so virulent that even Giba and Henjaku[99] in consultation could not effect a cure. So, before the disease has gained strength, I invite you to the study of the moral essays entitled _Shin-gaku_ (the Learning of the Heart). If you once arrive at the possession of your heart as it was originally by nature, what an admirable thing that will be! In that case your conscience will point out to you even the slightest wrong bias or selfishness. [Footnote 99: Two famous Indian and Chinese physicians.] While upon this subject, I may tell you a story which was related to me by a friend of mine. It is a story which the master of a certain money-changer's shop used to be very fond of telling. An important part of a money-changer's business is to distinguish between good and bad gold and silver. In the different establishments, the ways of teaching the apprentices this art vary; however, the plan adopted by the money-changer was as follows:--At first he would show them no bad silver, but would daily put before them good money only; when they had become thoroughly familiar with the sight of good money, if he stealthily put a little base coin among the good, he found that they would detect it immediately,--they saw it as plainly as you see things when you throw light on a mirror. This faculty of detecting base money at a glance was the result of having learned thoroughly to understand good money. Having once been taught in this way, the apprentices would not make a mistake about a piece of base coin during their whole lives, as I have heard. I can't vouch for the truth of this; but it is very certain that the principle, applied to moral instruction, is an excellent one,--it is a most safe mode of study. However, I was further told that if, after having thus learned to distinguish good money, a man followed some other trade for six months or a year, and gave up handling money, he would become just like any other inexperienced person, unable to distinguish the good from the base. Please reflect upon this attentively. If you once render yourself familiar with the nature of the uncorrupted heart, from that time forth you will be immediately conscious of the slightest inclination towards bias or selfishness. And why? Because the natural heart is illumined. When a man has once learned that which is perfect, he will never consent to accept that which is imperfect; but if, after having acquired this knowledge, he again keeps his natural heart at a distance, and gradually forgets to recognize that which is perfect, he finds himself in the dark again, and that he can no longer distinguish base money from good. I beg you to take care. If a man falls into bad habits, he is no longer able to perceive the difference between the good impulses of his natural heart and the evil impulses of his corrupt heart. With this benighted heart as a starting-point, he can carry out none of his intentions, and he has to lift his shoulders sighing and sighing again. A creature much to be pitied indeed! Then he loses all self-reliance, so that, although it would be better for him to hold his tongue and say nothing about it, if he is in the slightest trouble or distress, he goes and confesses the crookedness of his heart to every man he meets. What a wretched state for a man to be in! For this reason, I beg you to learn thoroughly the true silver of the heart, in order that you may make no mistake about the base coin. I pray that you and I, during our whole lives, may never leave the path of true principles. I have an amusing story to tell you in connection with this, if you will be so good as to listen. Once upon a time, when the autumn nights were beginning to grow chilly, five or six tradesmen in easy circumstances had assembled together to have a chat; and, having got ready their picnic box and wine-flask, went off to a temple on the hills, where a friendly priest lived, that they might listen to the stags roaring. With this intention they went to call upon the priest, and borrowed the guests' apartments[100] of the monastery; and as they were waiting to hear the deer roar, some of the party began to compose poetry. One would write a verse of Chinese poetry, and another would write a verse of seventeen syllables; and as they were passing the wine-cup the hour of sunset came, but not a deer had uttered a call; eight o'clock came, and ten o'clock came; still not a sound from the deer. [Footnote 100: All the temples in China and Japan have guests' apartments, which may be secured for a trifle, either for a long or short period. It is false to suppose that there is any desecration of a sacred shrine in the act of using it as a hostelry; it is the custom of the country.] "What can this mean?" said one. "The deer surely ought to be roaring." But, in spite of their waiting, the deer would not roar. At last the friends got sleepy, and, bored with writing songs and verses, began to yawn, and gave up twaddling about the woes and troubles of life; and as they were all silent, one of them, a man fifty years of age, stopping the circulation of the wine-cup, said-- "Well, certainly, gentlemen, thanks to you, we have spent the evening in very pleasant conversation. However, although I am enjoying myself mightily in this way, my people at home must be getting anxious, and so I begin to think that we ought to leave off drinking." "Why so?" said the others. "Well, I'll tell you. You know that my only son is twenty-two years of age this year, and a troublesome fellow be is, too. When I'm at home, he lends a hand sulkily enough in the shop: but as soon as he no longer sees the shadow of me, he hoists sail and is off to some bad haunt. Although our relations and connections are always preaching to him, not a word has any more effect that wind blowing into a horse's ear. When I think that I shall have to leave my property to such a fellow as that, it makes my heart grow small indeed. Although, thanks to those to whom I have succeeded, I want for nothing, still, when I think of my son, I shed tears of blood night and day." And as he said this with a sigh, a man of some forty-five or forty-six years said-- "No, no; although you make so much of your misfortunes, your son is but a little extravagant after all. There's no such great cause for grief there. I've got a very different story to tell. Of late years my shopmen, for one reason or another, have been running me into debt, thinking nothing of a debt of fifty or seventy ounces; and so the ledgers get all wrong. Just think of that. Here have I been keeping these fellows ever since they were little children unable to blow their own noses, and now, as soon as they come to be a little useful in the shop, they begin running up debts, and are no good whatever to their master. You see, you only have to spend your money upon your own son." Then another gentleman said-- "Well, I think that to spend money upon your shop-people is no such great hardship after all. Now I've been in something like trouble lately. I can't get a penny out of my customers. One man owes me fifteen ounces; another owes me twenty-five ounces. Really that is enough to make a man feel as if his heart was worn away." When he had finished speaking, an old gentleman, who was sitting opposite, playing with his fan, said-- "Certainly, gentlemen, your grievances are not without cause; still, to be perpetually asked for a little money, or to back a bill, by one's relations or friends, and to have a lot of hangers-on dependent on one, as I have, is a worse case still." But before the old gentleman had half finished speaking, his neighbour called out-- "No, no; all you gentlemen are in luxury compared to me. Please listen to what I have to suffer. My wife and my mother can't hit it off anyhow. All day long they're like a couple of cows butting at one another with their horns. The house is as unendurable as if it were full of smoke. I often think it would be better to send my wife back to her village; but then I've got two little children. If I interfere and take my wife's part, my mother gets low-spirited. If I scold my wife, she says that I treat her so brutally because she's not of the same flesh and blood; and then she hates me. The trouble and anxiety are beyond description: I'm like a post stuck up between them." And so they all twaddled away in chorus, each about his own troubles. At last one of the gentlemen, recollecting himself, said-- "Well, gentlemen, certainly the deer ought to be roaring; but we've been so engrossed with our conversation, that we don't know whether we have missed hearing them or not." With this he pulled aside the sliding-door of the verandah and looked out, and, lo and behold! a great big stag was standing perfectly silent in front of the garden. "Hullo!" said the man to the deer, "what's this? Since you've been there all the time, why did you not roar?" Then the stag answered, with an innocent face-- "Oh, I came here to listen to the lamentations of you gentlemen." Isn't that a funny story? Old and young, men and women, rich and poor, never cease grumbling from morning till night. All this is the result of a diseased heart. In short, for the sake of a very trifling inclination or selfish pursuit, they will do any wrong in order to effect that which is impossible. This is want of judgment, and this brings all sorts of trouble upon the world. If once you gain possession of a perfect heart, knowing that which is impossible to be impossible, and recognizing that that which is difficult is difficult, you will not attempt to spare yourself trouble unduly. What says the Chin-Yo?[101] The wise man, whether his lot be cast amongst rich or poor, amongst barbarians or in sorrow, understands his position by his own instinct. If men do not understand this, they think that the causes of pain and pleasure are in the body. Putting the heart on one side, they earnestly strive after the comforts of the body, and launch into extravagance, the end of which is miserly parsimony. Instead of pleasure they meet with grief of the heart, and pass their lives in weeping and wailing. In one way or another, everything in this world depends upon the heart. I implore every one of you to take heed that tears fall not to your lot. [Footnote 101: The second book of Confucius.] APPENDICES APPENDIX A AN ACCOUNT OF THE HARA-KIRI (FROM A RARE JAPANESE MS.) Seppuku _(hara-kiri)_ is the mode of suicide adopted amongst Samurai when they have no alternative but to die. Some there are who thus commit suicide of their own free will; others there are who, having committed some crime which does not put them outside the pale of the privileges of the Samurai class, are ordered by their superiors to put an end to their own lives. It is needless to say that it is absolutely necessary that the principal, the witnesses, and the seconds who take part in the affair should be acquainted with all the ceremonies to be observed. A long time ago, a certain Daimio invited a number of persons, versed in the various ceremonies, to call upon him to explain the different forms to be observed by the official witnesses who inspect and verify the head, &c., and then to instruct him in the ceremonies to be observed in the act of suicide; then he showed all these rites to his son and to all his retainers. Another person has said that, as the ceremonies to be gone through by principal, witnesses, and seconds are all very important matters, men should familiarize themselves with a thing which is so terrible, in order that, should the time come for them to take part in it, they may not be taken by surprise. The witnesses go to see and certify the suicide. For seconds, men are wanted who have distinguished themselves in the military arts. In old days, men used to bear these things in mind; but now-a-days the fashion is to be ignorant of such ceremonies, and if upon rare occasions a criminal is handed over to a Daimio's charge, that he may perform _hara-kiri,_ it often happens, at the time of execution, that there is no one among all the prince's retainers who is competent to act as second, in which case a man has to be engaged in a hurry from some other quarter to cut off the head of the criminal, and for that day he changes his name and becomes a retainer of the prince, either of the middle or lowest class, and the affair is entrusted to him, and so the difficulty is got over: nor is this considered to be a disgrace. It is a great breach of decorum if the second, who is a most important officer, commits any mistake (such as not striking off the head at a blow) in the presence of the witnesses sent by the Government. On this account a skilful person must be employed; and, to hide the unmanliness of his own people, a prince must perform the ceremony in this imperfect manner. Every Samurai should be able to cut off a man's head: therefore, to have to employ a stranger to act as second is to incur the charge of ignorance of the arts of war, and is a bitter mortification. However, young men, trusting to their youthful ardour, are apt to be careless, and are certain to make a mistake. Some people there are who, not lacking in skill on ordinary occasions, lose their presence of mind in public, and cannot do themselves justice. It is all the more important, therefore, as the act occurs but rarely, that men who are liable to be called upon to be either principals or seconds or witnesses in the _hara-kiri_ should constantly be examined in their skill as swordsmen, and should be familiar with all the rites, in order that when the time comes they may not lose their presence of mind. According to one authority, capital punishment may be divided into two kinds--beheading and strangulation. The ceremony of _hara-kiri_ was added afterwards in the case of persons belonging to the military class being condemned to death. This was first instituted in the days of the Ashikaga[102] dynasty. At that time the country was in a state of utter confusion; and there were men who, although fighting, were neither guilty of high treason nor of infidelity to their feudal lords, but who by the chances of war were taken prisoners. To drag out such men as these, bound as criminals, and cut their heads off, was intolerably cruel; accordingly, men hit upon a ceremonious mode of suicide by disembowelling, in order to comfort the departed spirit. Even at present, where it becomes necessary to put to death a man who has been guilty of some act not unworthy of a Samurai, at the time of the execution witnesses are sent to the house; and the criminal, having bathed and put on new clothes, in obedience to the commands of his superiors, puts an end to himself, but does not on that account forfeit his rank as a Samurai. This is a law for which, in all truth, men should be grateful. [Footnote 102: Ashikaga, third dynasty of Shoguns, flourished from A.D. 1336 to 1568. The practice of suicide by disembowelling is of great antiquity. This is the time when the ceremonies attending it were invented.] ON THE PREPARATION OF THE PLACE OF EXECUTION In old days the ceremony of _hara-kiri_ used to be performed in a temple. In the third year of the period called Kan-yei (A.D. 1626), a certain person, having been guilty of treason, was ordered to disembowel himself, on the fourteenth day of the first month, in the temple of Kichijôji, at Komagomé, in Yedo. Eighteen years later, the retainer of a certain Daimio, having had a dispute with a sailor belonging to an Osaka coasting-ship, killed the sailor; and, an investigation having been made into the matter by the Governor of Osaka, the retainer was ordered to perform _hara-kiri_, on the twentieth day of the sixth month, in the temple called Sokusanji, in Osaka. During the period Shôhô (middle of seventeenth century), a certain man, having been guilty of heinous misconduct, performed _hara-kiri_ in the temple called Shimpukuji, in the Kôji-street of Yedo. On the fourth day of the fifth month of the second year of the period Meiréki (A.D. 1656), a certain man, for having avenged the death of his cousin's husband at a place called Shimidzudani, in the Kôji-street, disembowelled himself in the temple called Honseiji. On the twenty-sixth day of the sixth month of the eighth year of the period Yempô (A.D. 1680), at the funeral ceremonies in honour of the anniversary of the death of Genyuin Sama, a former Shogun, Naitô Idzumi no Kami, having a cause of hatred against Nagai Shinano no Kami, killed him at one blow with a short sword, in the main hall of the temple called Zôjôji (the burial-place of the Shoguns in Yedo). Idzumi no Kami was arrested by the officers present, and on the following day performed _hara-kiri_ at Kiridôshi, in the temple called Seiriuji. In modern times the ceremony has taken place at night, either in the palace or in the garden of a Daimio, to whom the condemned man has been given in charge. Whether it takes place in the palace or in the garden depends upon the rank of the individual. Daimios and Hatamotos, as a matter of course, and the higher retainers of the Shogun, disembowel themselves in the palace: retainers of lower rank should do so in the garden. In the case of vassals of feudatories, according to the rank of their families, those who, being above the grade of captains, carry the bâton,[103] should perform _hara-kiri_ in the palace; all others in the garden. If, when the time comes, the persons engaged in the ceremony are in any doubt as to the proper rules to be followed, they should inquire of competent persons, and settle the question. At the beginning of the eighteenth century, during the period Genroku, when Asano Takumi no Kami[104] disembowelled himself in the palace of a Daimio called Tamura, as the whole thing was sudden and unexpected, the garden was covered with matting, and on the top of this thick mats were laid and a carpet, and the affair was concluded so; but there are people who say that it was wrong to treat a Daimio thus, as if he had been an ordinary Samurai. But it is said that in old times it was the custom that the ceremony should take place upon a leather carpet spread in the garden; and further, that the proper place is inside a picket fence tied together in the garden: so it is wrong for persons who are only acquainted with one form of the ceremony to accuse Tamura of having acted improperly. If, however, the object was to save the house from the pollution of blood, then the accusation of ill-will may well be brought; for the preparation of the place is of great importance. [Footnote 103: A bâton with a tassel of paper strips, used for giving directions in war-time.] [Footnote 104: See the story of the Forty-seven Rônins.] Formerly it was the custom that, for personages of importance, the enclosure within the picket fence should be of thirty-six feet square. An entrance was made to the south, and another to the north: the door to the south was called _Shugiyômon_ ("the door of the practice of virtue"); that to the north was called _Umbanmon_ ("the door of the warm basin"[105]). Two mats, with white binding, were arranged in the shape of a hammer, the one at right angles to the other; six feet of white silk, four feet broad, were stretched on the mat, which was placed lengthwise; at the four corners were erected four posts for curtains. In front of the two mats was erected a portal, eight feet high by six feet broad, in the shape of the portals in front of temples, made of a fine sort of bamboo wrapped in white[106] silk. White curtains, four feet broad, were hung at the four corners, and four flags, six feet long, on which should be inscribed four quotations from the sacred books. These flags, it is said, were immediately after the ceremony carried away to the grave. At night two lights were placed, one upon either side of the two mats. The candles were placed in saucers upon stands of bamboo, four feet high, wrapped in white silk. The person who was to disembowel himself, entering the picket fence by the north entrance, took his place upon the white silk upon the mat facing the north. Some there were, however, who said that he should sit facing the west: in that case the whole place must be prepared accordingly. The seconds enter the enclosure by the south entrance, at the same time as the principal enters by the north, and take their places on the mat that is placed crosswise. [Footnote 105: No Japanese authority that I have been able to consult gives any explanation of this singular name.] [Footnote 106: White, in China and Japan, is the colour of mourning.] Nowadays, when the _hara-kiri_ is performed inside the palace, a temporary place is made on purpose, either in the garden or in some unoccupied spot; but if the criminal is to die on the day on which he is given in charge, or on the next day, the ceremony, having to take place so quickly, is performed in the reception-room. Still, even if there is a lapse of time between the period of giving the prisoner in charge and the execution, it is better that the ceremony should take place in a decent room in the house than in a place made on purpose. If it is heard that, for fear of dirtying his house, a man has made a place expressly, he will be blamed for it. It surely can be no disgrace to the house of a soldier that he was ordered to perform the last offices towards a Samurai who died by _hara-kiri_. To slay his enemy against whom he has cause of hatred, and then to kill himself, is the part of a noble Samurai; and it is sheer nonsense to look upon the place where he has disembowelled himself as polluted. In the beginning of the eighteenth century, seventeen of the retainers of Asano Takumi no Kami performed _hara-kiri_ in the garden of a palace at Shirokané, in Yedo. When it was over, the people of the palace called upon the priests of a sect named Shugenja to come and purify the place; but when the lord of the palace heard this, he ordered the place to be left as it was; for what need was there to purify a place where faithful Samurai had died by their own hand? But in other palaces to which the remainder of the retainers of Takumi no Kami were entrusted, it is said that the places of execution were purified. But the people of that day praised Kumamoto Ko (the Prince of Higo), to whom the palace at Shirokané belonged. It is a currish thing to look upon death in battle or by _hara-kiri_ as a pollution: this is a thing to bear in mind. In modern times the place of _hara-kiri_ is eighteen feet square in all cases; in the centre is a place to sit upon, and the condemned man is made to sit facing the witnesses; at other times he is placed with his side to the witnesses: this is according to the nature of the spot. In some cases the seconds turn their backs to the witnesses. It is open to question, however, whether this is not a breach of etiquette. The witnesses should be consulted upon these arrangements. If the witnesses have no objection, the condemned man should be placed directly opposite to them. The place where the witnesses are seated should be removed more than twelve or eighteen feet from the condemned man. The place from which the sentence is read should also be close by. The writer has been furnished with a plan of the _hara-kiri_ as it is performed at present. Although the ceremony is gone through in other ways also, still it is more convenient to follow the manner indicated. If the execution takes place in a room, a kerchief of five breadths of white cotton cloth or a quilt should be laid down, and it is also said that two mats should be prepared; however, as there are already mats in the room, there is no need for special mats: two red rugs should be spread over all, sewed together, one on the top of the other; for if the white cotton cloth be used alone, the blood will soak through on to the mats; therefore it is right the rugs should be spread. On the twenty-third day of the eighth month of the fourth year of the period Yenkiyô (A.D. 1740), at the _hara-kiri_ of a certain person there were laid down a white cloth, eight feet square, and on that a quilt of light green cotton, six feet square, and on that a cloth of white hemp, six feet square, and on that two rugs. On the third day of the ninth month of the ninth year of the period Tempô (A.D. 1838), at the _hara-kiri_ of a certain person it is said that there were spread a large double cloth of white cotton, and on that two rugs. But, of these two occasions, the first must be commended for its careful preparation. If the execution be at night, candlesticks of white wood should be placed at each of the four corners, lest the seconds be hindered in their work. In the place where the witnesses are to sit, ordinary candlesticks should be placed, according to etiquette; but an excessive illumination is not decorous. Two screens covered with white paper should be set up, behind the shadow of which are concealed the dirk upon a tray, a bucket to hold the head after it has been cut off, an incense-burner, a pail of water, and a basin. The above rules apply equally to the ceremonies observed when the _hara-kiri_ takes place in a garden. In the latter case the place is hung round with a white curtain, which need not be new for the occasion. Two mats, a white cloth, and a rug are spread. If the execution is at night, lanterns of white paper are placed on bamboo poles at the four corners. The sentence having been read inside the house, the persons engaged in the ceremony proceed to the place of execution; but, according to circumstances, the sentence may be read at the place itself. In the case of Asano Takumi no Kami, the sentence was read out in the house, and he afterwards performed _hara-kiri_ in the garden. On the third day of the fourth month of the fourth year of the period Tenmei (A.D. 1784), a Hatamoto named Sano, having received his sentence in the supreme court-house, disembowelled himself in the garden in front of the prison. When the ceremony takes place in the garden, matting must be spread all the way to the place, so that sandals need not be worn. The reason for this is that some men in that position suffer from a rush of blood to the head, from nervousness, so their sandals might slip off their feet without their being aware of their loss; and as this would have a very bad appearance, it is better to spread matting. Care must be taken lest, in spreading the matting, a place be left where two mats join, against which the foot might trip. The white screens and other things are prepared as has been directed above. If any curtailment is made, it must be done as well as circumstances will permit. According to the crime of which a man who is handed over to any Daimio's charge is guilty, it is known whether he will have to perform _hara-kiri_; and the preparations should be made accordingly. Asano Takumi no Kami was taken to the palace of Tamura Sama at the hour of the monkey (between three and five in the afternoon), took off his dress of ceremony, partook of a bowl of soup and five dishes, and drank two cups of warm water, and at the hour of the cock (between five and seven in the evening) disembowelled himself. A case of this kind requires much attention; for great care should be taken that the preparations be carried on without the knowledge of the principal. If a temporary room has been built expressly for the occasion, to avoid pollution to the house, it should be kept a secret. It once happened that a criminal was received in charge at the palace of a certain nobleman, and when his people were about to erect a temporary building for the ceremony, they wrote to consult some of the parties concerned; the letter ran as follows-- "The house in which we live is very small and inconvenient in all respects. We have ordered the guard to treat our prisoner with all respect; but our retainers who are placed on guard are much inconvenienced for want of space; besides, in the event of fire breaking out or any extraordinary event taking place, the place is so small that it would be difficult to get out. We are thinking, therefore, of adding an apartment to the original building, so that the guard may be able at all times to go in and out freely, and that if, in case of fire or otherwise, we should have to leave the house, we may do so easily. We beg to consult you upon this point." When a Samurai has to perform _hara-kiri_ by the command of his own feudal lord, the ceremony should take place in one of the lesser palaces of the clan. Once upon a time, a certain prince of the Inouyé clan, having a just cause of offence against his steward, who was called Ishikawa Tôzayémon, and wishing to punish him, caused him to be killed in his principal palace at Kandabashi, in Yedo. When this matter was reported to the Shogun, having been convicted of disrespect of the privileges of the city, he was ordered to remove to his lesser palace at Asakusa. Now, although the _hara-kiri_ cannot be called properly an execution, still, as it only differs from an ordinary execution in that by it the honour of the Samurai is not affected, it is only a question of degree; it is a matter of ceremonial. If the principal palace[107] is a long distance from the Shogun's castle, then the _hara-kiri_ may take place there; but there can be no objection whatever to its taking place in a minor palace. Nowadays, when a man is condemned to _hara-kiri_ by a Daimio, the ceremony usually takes place in one of the lesser palaces; the place commonly selected is an open space near the horse-exercising ground, and the preparations which I have described above are often shortened according to circumstances. [Footnote 107: The principal yashikis (palaces) of the nobles are for the most part immediately round the Shogun's castle, in the enclosure known as the official quarter. Their proximity to the palace forbids their being made the scenes of executions.] When a retainer is suddenly ordered to perform _hara-kiri_ during a journey, a temple or shrine should be hired for the occasion. On these hurried occasions, coarse mats, faced with finer matting or common mats, may be used. If the criminal is of rank to have an armour-bearer, a carpet of skin should be spread, should one be easily procurable. The straps of the skin (which are at the head) should, according to old custom, be to the front, so that the fur may point backwards. In old days, when the ceremony took place in a garden, a carpet of skin was spread. To hire a temple for the purpose of causing a man to perform _hara-kiri_ was of frequent occurrence: it is doubtful whether it may be done at the present time. This sort of question should be referred beforehand to some competent person, that the course to be adopted may be clearly understood. In the period Kambun (A.D. 1661-1673) a Prince Sakai, travelling through the Bishiu territory, hired a temple or shrine for one of his retainers to disembowel himself in; and so the affair was concluded. ON THE CEREMONIES OBSERVED AT THE HARA-KIRI OF A PERSON GIVEN IN CHARGE TO A DAIMIO. When a man has been ordered by the Government to disembowel himself, the public censors, who have been appointed to act as witnesses, write to the prince who has the criminal in charge, to inform them that they will go to his palace on public business. This message is written directly to the chief, and is sent by an assistant censor; and a suitable answer is returned to it. Before the ceremony, the witnesses send an assistant censor to see the place, and look at a plan of the house, and to take a list of the names of the persons who are to be present; he also has an interview with the _kaishaku_, or seconds, and examines them upon the way of performing the ceremonies. When all the preparations have been made, he goes to fetch the censors; and they all proceed together to the place of execution, dressed in their hempen-cloth dress of ceremony. The retainers of the palace are collected to do obeisance in the entrance-yard; and the lord, to whom the criminal has been entrusted, goes as far as the front porch to meet the censors, and conducts them to the front reception-room. The chief censor then announces to the lord of the palace that he has come to read out the sentence of such an one who has been condemned to perform _hara-kiri_, and that the second censor has come to witness the execution of the sentence. The lord of the palace then inquires whether he is expected to attend the execution in person, and, if any of the relations or family of the criminal should beg to receive his remains, whether their request should be complied with; after this he announces that he will order everything to be made ready, and leaves the room. Tea, a fire-box for smoking, and sweetmeats are set before the censors; but they decline to accept any hospitality until their business shall have been concluded. The minor officials follow the same rule. If the censors express a wish to see the place of execution, the retainers of the palace show the way, and their lord accompanies them; in this, however, he may be replaced by one of his _karô_ or councillors. They then return, and take their seats in the reception-room. After this, when all the preparations have been made, the master of the house leads the censors to the place where the sentence is to be read; and it is etiquette that they should wear both sword and dirk.[108] The lord of the palace takes his place on one side; the inferior censors sit on either side in a lower place. The councillors and other officers of the palace also take their places. One of the councillors present, addressing the censors without moving from his place, asks whether he shall bring forth the prisoner. [Footnote 108: A Japanese removes his sword on entering a house, retaining only his dirk.] Previously to this, the retainers of the palace, going to the room where the prisoner is confined, inform him that, as the censors have arrived, he should change his dress, and the attendants bring out a change of clothes upon a large tray: it is when he has finished his toilet that the witnesses go forth and take their places in the appointed order, and the principal is then introduced. He is preceded by one man, who should be of the rank of _Mono-gashira_ (retainer of the fourth rank), who wears a dirk, but no sword. Six men act as attendants; they should be of the fifth or sixth rank; they walk on either side of the principal. They are followed by one man who should be of the rank of _Yônin_ (councillor of the second class). When they reach the place, the leading man draws on one side and sits down, and the six attendants sit down on either side of the principal. The officer who follows him sits down behind him, and the chief censor reads the sentence. When the reading of the sentence is finished, the principal leaves the room and again changes his clothes, and the chief censor immediately leaves the palace; but the lord of the palace does not conduct him to the door. The second censor returns to the reception-room until the principal has changed his clothes. When the principal has taken his seat at the place of execution, the councillors of the palace announce to the second censor that all is ready; he then proceeds to the place, wearing his sword and dirk. The lord of the palace, also wearing his sword and dirk, takes his seat on one side. The inferior censors and councillors sit in front of the censor: they wear the dirk only. The assistant second brings a dirk upon a tray, and, having placed it in front of the principal, withdraws on one side: when the principal leans his head forward, his chief second strikes off his head, which is immediately shown to the censor, who identifies it, and tells the master of the palace that he is satisfied, and thanks him for all his trouble. The corpse, as it lies, is hidden by a white screen which is set up around it, and incense is brought out. The witnesses leave the place. The lord of the palace accompanies them as far as the porch, and the retainers prostrate themselves in the yard as before. The retainers who should be present at the place of execution are one or two councillors (_Karô_), two or three second councillors (_Yônin_), two or three _Mono-gashira_, one chief of the palace (_Rusui_), six attendants, one chief second, two assistant seconds, one man to carry incense, who need not be a person of rank--any Samurai will do. They attend to the setting up of the white screen. The duty of burying the corpse and of setting the place in order again devolves upon four men; these are selected from Samurai of the middle or lower class; during the performance of their duties, they hitch up their trousers and wear neither sword nor dirk. Their names are previously sent in to the censor, who acts as witness; and to the junior censors, should they desire it. Before the arrival of the chief censor, the requisite utensils for extinguishing a fire are prepared, firemen are engaged,[109] and officers constantly go the rounds to watch against fire. From the time when the chief censor comes into the house until he leaves it, no one is allowed to enter the premises. The servants on guard at the entrance porch should wear their hempen dresses of ceremony. Everything in the palace should be conducted with decorum, and the strictest attention paid in all things. [Footnote 109: In Japan, where fires are of daily occurrence, the fire-buckets and other utensils form part of the gala dress of the house of a person of rank.] When any one is condemned to _hara-kiri_, it would be well that people should go to the palace of the Prince of Higo, and learn what transpired at the execution of the Rônins of Asano Takumi no Kami. A curtain was hung round the garden in front of the reception-room; three mats were laid down, and upon these was placed a white cloth. The condemned men were kept in the reception-room, and summoned, one by one; two men, one on each side, accompanied them; the second, followed behind; and they proceeded together to the place of execution. When the execution was concluded in each case, the corpse was hidden from the sight of the chief witness by a white screen, folded up in white cloth, placed on a mat, and carried off to the rear by two foot-soldiers; it was then placed in a coffin. The blood-stained ground was sprinkled with sand, and swept clean; fresh mats were laid down, and the place prepared anew; after which the next man was summoned to come forth. ON CERTAIN THINGS TO BE BORNE IN MIND BY THE WITNESSES. When a clansman is ordered by his feudal lord to perform _hara-kiri_, the sentence must be read out by the censor of the clan, who also acts as witness. He should take his place in front of the criminal, at a distance of twelve feet; according to some books, the distance should be eighteen feet, and he should sit obliquely, not facing the criminal; he should lay his sword down by his side, but, if he pleases, he may wear it in his girdle; he must read out the sentence distinctly. If the sentence be a long document, to begin reading in a very loud voice and afterwards drop into a whisper has an appearance of faint-heartedness; but to read it throughout in a low voice is worse still: it should be delivered clearly from beginning to end. It is the duty of the chief witness to set an example of fortitude to the other persons who are to take part in the execution. When the second has finished his work, he carries the head to the chief witness, who, after inspecting it, must declare that he has identified it; he then should take his sword, and leave his place. It is sufficient, however, that the head should be struck off without being carried to the chief witness; in that case, the second receives his instructions beforehand. On rising, the chief witness should step out with his left foot and turn to the left. If the ceremony takes place out of doors, the chief witness, wearing his sword and dirk, should sit upon a box; he must wear his hempen dress of ceremony; he may hitch his trousers up slightly; according to his rank, he may wear his full dress--that is, wings over his full dress. It is the part of the chief witness to instruct the seconds and others in the duties which they have to perform, and also to preconcert measures in the event of any mishap occurring. If whilst the various persons to be engaged in the ceremony are rubbing up their military lore, and preparing themselves for the event, any other person should come in, they should immediately turn the conversation. Persons of the rank of Samurai should be familiar with all the details of the _hara-kiri_; and to be seen discussing what should be done in case anything went wrong, and so forth, would have an appearance of ignorance. If, however, an intimate friend should go to the place, rather than have any painful concealment, he may be consulted upon the whole affair. When the sentence has been read, it is probable that the condemned man will have some last words to say to the chief witness. It must depend on the nature of what he has to say whether it will be received or not. If he speaks in a confused or bewildered manner, no attention is paid to it: his second should lead him away, of his own accord or at a sign from the chief witness. If the condemned man be a person who has been given in charge to a prince by the Government, the prince after the reading of the sentence should send his retainers to the prisoner with a message to say that the decrees of the Government are not to be eluded, but that if he has any last wishes to express, they are ordered by their lord to receive them. If the prisoner is a man of high rank, the lord of the palace should go in person to hear his last wishes. The condemned man should answer in the following way-- "Sir, I thank you for your careful consideration, but I have nothing that I wish to say. I am greatly indebted to you for the great kindness which I have received since I have been under your charge. I beg you to take my respects to your lord and to the gentlemen of your clan who have treated me so well." Or he may say, "Sirs, I have nothing to say; yet, since you are so kind as to think of me, I should be obliged if you would deliver such and such a message to such an one." This is the proper and becoming sort of speech for the occasion. If the prisoner entrusts them with any message, the retainers should receive it in such a manner as to set his mind at rest. Should he ask for writing materials in order to write a letter, as this is forbidden by the law, they should tell him so, and not grant his request. Still they must feel that it is painful to refuse the request of a dying man, and must do their best to assist him. They must exhaust every available kindness and civility, as was done in the period Genroku, in the case of the Rônins of Asano Takumi no Kami. The Prince of Higo, after the sentence had been read, caused paper and writing materials to be taken to their room. If the prisoner is light-headed from excitement, it is no use furnishing him with writing materials. It must depend upon circumstances; but when a man has murdered another, having made up his mind to abide by the consequences, then that man's execution should be carried through with all honour. When a man kills another on the spot, in a fit of ungovernable passion, and then is bewildered and dazed by his own act, the same pains need not be taken to conduct matters punctiliously. If the prisoner be a careful man, he will take an early opportunity after he has been given in charge to express his wishes. To carry kindness so far as to supply writing materials and the like is not obligatory. If any doubt exists upon the point, the chief witness may be consulted. After the Rônins of Asano Takumi no Kami had heard their sentence in the palace of Matsudaira Oki no Kami, that Daimio in person went and took leave of them, and calling Oishi Chikara,[110] the son of their chief, to him, said, "I have heard that your mother is at home in your own country; how she will grieve when she hears of your death and that of your father, I can well imagine. If you have any message that you wish to leave for her, tell me, without standing upon ceremony, and I will transmit it without delay." For a while Chikara kept his head bent down towards the ground; at last he drew back a little, and, lifting his head, said, "I humbly thank your lordship for what you have been pleased to say. My father warned me from the first that our crime was so great that, even were we to be pardoned by a gracious judgment upon one count, I must not forget that there would be a hundred million counts against us for which we must commit suicide: and that if I disregarded his words his hatred would pursue me after death. My father impressed this upon me at the temple called Sengakuji, and again when I was separated from him to be taken to the palace of Prince Sengoku. Now my father and myself have been condemned to perform _hara-kiri_, according to the wish of our hearts. Still I cannot forget to think of my mother. When we parted at Kiyôto, she told me that our separation would be for long, and she bade me not to play the coward when I thought of her. As I took a long leave of her then, I have no message to send to her now." When he spoke thus, Oki no Kami and all his retainers, who were drawn up around him, were moved to tears in admiration of his heroism. [Footnote 110: Oishi Chikara was separated from his father, who was one of the seventeen delivered over to the charge of the Prince of Higo.] Although it is right that the condemned man should bathe and partake of wine and food, these details should be curtailed. Even should he desire these favours, it must depend upon his conduct whether they be granted or refused. He should be caused to die as quickly as possible. Should he wish for some water to drink, it should be given to him. If in his talk he should express himself like a noble Samurai, all pains should be exhausted in carrying out his execution. Yet however careful a man he may be, as he nears his death his usual demeanour will undergo a change. If the execution is delayed, in all probability it will cause the prisoner's courage to fail him; therefore, as soon as the sentence shall have been passed, the execution should be brought to a conclusion. This, again, is a point for the chief witness to remember. CONCERNING SECONDS (KAISHAKU). When the condemned man is one who has been given in charge for execution, six attendants are employed; when the execution is within the clan, then two or three attendants will suffice; the number, however, must depend upon the rank of the principal. Men of great nerve and strength must be selected for the office; they must wear their hempen dress of ceremony, and tuck up their trousers; they must on no account wear either sword or dirk, but have a small poniard hidden in their bosom: these are the officers who attend upon the condemned man when he changes his dress, and who sit by him on the right hand and on the left hand to guard him whilst the sentence is being read. In the event of any mistake occurring (such as the prisoner attempting to escape), they knock him down; and should he be unable to stand or to walk, they help to support him. The attendants accompanying the principal to the place of execution, if they are six in number, four of them take their seats some way off and mount guard, while the other two should sit close behind the principal. They must understand that should there be any mistake they must throw the condemned man, and, holding him down, cut off his head with their poniard, or stab him to death. If the second bungles in cutting off the head and the principal attempts to rise, it is the duty of the attendants to kill him. They must help him to take off his upper garments and bare his body. In recent times, however, there have been cases where the upper garments have not been removed: this depends upon circumstances. The setting up of the white screen, and the laying the corpse in the coffin, are duties which, although they may be performed by other officers, originally devolved upon the six attendants. When a common man is executed, he is bound with cords, and so made to take his place; but a Samurai wears his dress of ceremony, is presented with a dagger, and dies thus. There ought to be no anxiety lest such a man should attempt to escape; still, as there is no knowing what these six attendants may be called upon to do, men should be selected who thoroughly understand their business. The seconds are three in number--the chief second, the assistant second, and the inferior second. When the execution is carried out with proper solemnity, three men are employed; still a second and assistant second are sufficient. If three men serve as seconds, their several duties are as follows:--The chief second strikes off the head; that is his duty: he is the most important officer in the execution by _hara-kiri._ The assistant second brings forward the tray, on which is placed the dirk; that is his duty: he must perform his part in such a manner that the principal second is not hindered in his work. The assistant second is the officer of second importance in the execution. The third or inferior second carries the head to the chief witness for identification; and in the event of something suddenly occurring to hinder either of the other two seconds, he should bear in mind that he must be ready to act as his substitute: his is an office of great importance, and a proper person must be selected to fill it. Although there can be no such thing as a _kaishaku_ (second) in any case except in one of _hara-kiri,_ still in old times guardians and persons who assisted others were also called _kaishaku_: the reason for this is because the _kaishaku_, or second, comes to the assistance of the principal. If the principal were to make any mistake at the fatal moment, it would be a disgrace to his dead body: it is in order to prevent such mistakes that the _kaishaku,_ or second, is employed. It is the duty of the _kaishaku_ to consider this as his first duty. When a man is appointed to act as second to another, what shall be said of him if he accepts the office with a smiling face? Yet must he not put on a face of distress. It is as well to attempt to excuse oneself from performing the duty. There is no heroism in cutting a man's head off well, and it is a disgrace to do it in a bungling manner; yet must not a man allege lack of skill as a pretext for evading the office, for it is an unworthy thing that a Samurai should want the skill required to behead a man. If there are any that advocate employing young men as seconds, it should rather be said that their hands are inexpert. To play the coward and yield up the office to another man is out of the question. When a man is called upon to perform the office, he should express his readiness to use his sword (the dirk may be employed, but the sword is the proper weapon). As regards the sword, the second should borrow that of the principal: if there is any objection to this, he should receive a sword from his lord; he should not use his own sword. When the assistant seconds have been appointed, the three should take counsel together about the details of the place of execution, when they have been carefully instructed by their superiors in all the ceremonies; and having made careful inquiry, should there be anything wrong, they should appeal to their superiors for instruction. The seconds wear their dresses of ceremony when the criminal is a man given in charge by the Government: when he is one of their own clan, they need only wear the trousers of the Samurai. In old days it is said that they were dressed in the same way as the principal; and some authorities assert that at the _hara-kiri_ of a nobleman of high rank the seconds should wear white clothes, and that the handle of the sword should be wrapped in white silk. If the execution takes place in the house, they should partially tuck up their trousers; if in the garden, they should tuck them up entirely. The seconds should address the principal, and say, "Sir, we have been appointed to act as your seconds; we pray you to set your mind at rest," and so forth; but this must depend upon the rank of the criminal. At this time, too, if the principal has any last wish to express, the second should receive it, and should treat him with every consideration in order to relieve his anxiety. If the second has been selected by the principal on account of old friendship between them, or if the latter, during the time that he has been in charge, has begged some special retainer of the palace to act as his second in the event of his being condemned to death, the person so selected should thank the principal for choosing so unworthy a person, and promise to beg his lord to allow him to act as second: so he should answer, and comfort him, and having reported the matter to his lord, should act as second. He should take that opportunity to borrow his principal's sword in some such terms as the following: "As I am to have the honour of being your second, I would fain borrow your sword for the occasion. It may be a consolation to you to perish by your own sword, with which you are familiar." If, however, the principal declines, and prefers to be executed with the second's sword, his wish must be complied with. If the second should make an awkward cut with his own sword, it is a disgrace to him; therefore he should borrow some one else's sword, so that the blame may rest with the sword, and not with the swordsman. Although this is the rule, and although every Samurai should wear a sword fit to cut off a man's head, still if the principal has begged to be executed with the second's own sword, it must be done as he desires. It is probable that the condemned man will inquire of his second about the arrangements which have been made: he must attend therefore to rendering himself capable of answering all such questions. Once upon a time, when the condemned man inquired of his second whether his head would be cut off at the moment when he received the tray with the dirk upon it, "No," replied the second; "at the moment when you stab yourself with the dirk your head will be cut off." At the execution of one Sanô, he told his second that, when he had stabbed himself in the belly, he would utter a cry; and begged him to be cool when he cut off his head. The second replied that he would do as he wished, but begged him in the meantime to take the tray with the dirk, according to proper form. When Sanô reached out his hand to take the tray, the second cut off his head immediately. Now, although this was not exactly right, still as the second acted so in order to save a Samurai from the disgrace of performing the _hara-kiri_ improperly (by crying out), it can never be wrong for a second to act kindly, If the principal urgently requests to be allowed really to disembowel himself, his wish may, according to circumstances, be granted; but in this case care must be taken that no time be lost in striking off the head. The custom of striking off the head, the prisoner only going through the semblance of disembowelling himself, dates from the period Yempô (about 190 years ago). When the principal has taken his place, the second strips his right shoulder of the dress of ceremony, which he allows to fall behind his sleeve, and, drawing his sword, lays down the scabbard, taking care that his weapon is not seen by the principal; then he takes his place on the left of the principal and close behind him. The principal should sit facing the west, and the second facing the north, and in that position should he strike the blow. When the second perceives the assistant second bring out the tray on which is laid the dirk, he must brace up his nerves and settle his heart beneath his navel: when the tray is laid down, he must put himself in position to strike the blow. He should step out first with the left foot, and then change so as to bring his right foot forward: this is the position which he should assume to strike; he may, however, reverse the position of his feet. When the principal removes his upper garments, the second must poise his sword: when the principal reaches out his hand to draw the tray towards him, as he leans his head forward a little, is the exact moment for the second to strike. There are all sorts of traditions about this. Some say that the principal should take the tray and raise it respectfully to his head, and set it down; and that this is the moment to strike. There are three rules for the time of cutting off the head: the first is when the dirk is laid on the tray; the second is when the principal looks at the left side of his belly before inserting the dirk; the third is when he inserts the dirk. If these three moments are allowed to pass, it becomes a difficult matter to cut off the head: so says tradition. However, four moments for cutting are also recorded: first, when the assistant second retires after having laid down the stand on which is the dirk; second, when the principal draws the stand towards him; third, when he takes the dirk in his hand; fourth, when he makes the incision into the belly. Although all four ways are approved, still the first is too soon; the last three are right and proper. In short, the blow should be struck without delay. If he has struck off the head at a blow without failure, the second, taking care not to raise his sword, but holding it point downwards, should retire backward a little and wipe his weapon kneeling; he should have plenty of white paper ready in his girdle or in his bosom to wipe away the blood and rub up his sword; having replaced his sword in its scabbard, he should readjust his upper garments and take his seat to the rear. When the head has fallen, the junior second should enter, and, taking up the head, present it to the witness for inspection. When he has identified it, the ceremony is concluded. If there is no assistant or junior second, the second, as soon as he has cut off the head, carrying his sword reversed in his left hand, should take the head in his right hand, holding it by the top-knot of hair, should advance towards the witness, passing on the right side of the corpse, and show the right profile of the head to the witness, resting the chin of the head upon the hilt of his sword, and kneeling on his left knee; then returning again round by the left of the corpse, kneeling on his left knee, and carrying the head in his left hand and resting it on the edge of his sword, he should again show the left profile to the witness. It is also laid down as another rule, that the second, laying down his sword, should take out paper from the bosom of his dress, and placing the head in the palm of his left hand, and taking the top-knot of hair in his right hand, should lay the head upon the paper, and so submit it for inspection. Either way may be said to be right. NOTE.--To lay down thick paper, and place the head on it, shows a disposition to pay respect to the head; to place it on the edge of the sword is insulting: the course pursued must depend upon the rank of the person. If the ceremony is to be curtailed, it may end with the cutting off of the head: that must be settled beforehand, in consultation with the witness. In the event of the second making a false cut, so as not to strike off the head at a blow, the second must take the head by the top-knot, and, pressing it down, cut it off. Should he take bad aim and cut the shoulder by mistake, and should the principal rise and cry out, before he has time to writhe, he should hold him down and stab him to death, and then cut off his head, or the assistant seconds, who are sitting behind, should come forward and hold him down, while the chief second cuts off his head. It may be necessary for the second, after he has cut off the head, to push down the body, and then take up the head for inspection. If the body does not fall at once, which is said to be sometimes the case, the second should pull the feet to make it fall. There are some who say that the perfect way for the second to cut off the head is not to cut right through the neck at a blow, but to leave a little uncut, and, as the head hangs by the skin, to seize the top-knot and slice it off, and then submit it for inspection. The reason of this is, lest, the head being struck off at a blow, the ceremony should be confounded with an ordinary execution. According to the old authorities, this is the proper and respectful manner. After the head is cut off, the eyes are apt to blink, and the mouth to move, and to bite the pebbles and sand. This being hateful to see, at what amongst Samurai is so important an occasion, and being a shameful thing, it is held to be best not to let the head fall, but to hold back a little in delivering the blow. Perhaps this may be right; yet it is a very difficult matter to cut so as to leave the head hanging by a little flesh, and there is the danger of missing the cut; and as any mistake in the cut is most horrible to see, it is better to strike a fair blow at once. Others say that, even when the head is struck off at a blow, the semblance of slicing it off should be gone through afterwards; yet be it borne in mind that; this is unnecessary. Three methods of carrying the sword are recognized amongst those skilled in swordsmanship. If the rank of the principal be high, the sword is raised aloft; if the principal and second are of equal rank, the sword is carried at the centre of the body; if the principal be of inferior rank, the sword is allowed to hang downwards. The proper position for the second to strike from is kneeling on one knee, but there is no harm in his standing up: others say that, if the execution takes place inside the house, the second should kneel; if in the garden, he should stand. These are not points upon which to insist obstinately: a man should strike in whatever position is most convenient to him. The chief duty for the assistant second to bear in mind is the bringing in of the tray with the dirk, which should be produced very quietly when the principal takes his place: it should be placed so that the condemned man may have to stretch his hand well out in order to reach it.[111] The assistant second then returns to his own place; but if the condemned man shows any signs of agitation, the assistant second must lend his assistance, so that the head may be properly cut off. It once happened that the condemned man, having received the tray from the assistant second, held it up for a long time without putting it down, until those near him had over and over again urged him to set it down. It also happens that after the tray has been set down, and the assistant second has retired, the condemned man does not put out his hand to take it; then must the assistant second press him to take it. Also the principal may ask that the tray be placed a little nearer to him, in which case his wish must be granted. The tray may also be placed in such a way that the assistant second, holding it in his left hand, may reach the dirk to the condemned man, who leans forward to take it. Which is the best of all these ways is uncertain. The object to aim at is, that the condemned man should lean forward to receive the blow. Whether the assistant second retires, or not, must depend upon the attitude assumed by the condemned man. [Footnote 111: It should be placed about three feet away from him.] If the prisoner be an unruly, violent man, a fan, instead of a dirk, should be placed upon the tray; and should he object to this, he should be told, in answer, that the substitution of the fan is an ancient custom. This may occur sometimes. It is said that once upon a time, in one of the palaces of the Daimios, a certain brave matron murdered a man, and having been allowed to die with all the honours of the _hara-kiri,_ a fan was placed upon the tray, and her head was cut off. This may be considered right and proper. If the condemned man appears inclined to be turbulent, the seconds, without showing any sign of alarm, should hurry to his side, and, urging him to get ready, quickly cause him to make all his preparations with speed, and to sit down in his place; the chief second, then drawing his sword, should get ready to strike, and, ordering him to proceed as fast as possible with the ceremony of receiving the tray, should perform his duty without appearing to be afraid. A certain Prince Katô, having condemned one of his councillors to death, assisted at the ceremony behind a curtain of slips of bamboo. The councillor, whose name was Katayama, was bound, and during that time glared fiercely at the curtain, and showed no signs of fear. The chief second was a man named Jihei, who had always been used to treat Katayama with great respect. So Jihei, sword in hand, said to Katayama, "Sir, your last moment has arrived: be so good as to turn your cheek so that your head may be straight." When Katayama heard this, he replied, "Fellow, you are insolent;" and as he was looking round, Jihei struck the fatal blow. The lord Katô afterwards inquired of Jihei what was the reason of this; and he replied that, as he saw that the prisoner was meditating treason, he determined to kill him at once, and put a stop to this rebellious spirit. This is a pattern for other seconds to bear in mind. When the head has been struck off, it becomes the duty of the junior second to take it up by the top-knot, and, placing it upon some thick paper laid over the palm of his hand, to carry it for inspection by the witness. This ceremony has been explained above. If the head be bald, he should pierce the left ear with the stiletto carried in the scabbard of his dirk, and so carry it to be identified. He must carry thick paper in the bosom of his dress. Inside the paper he shall place a bag with rice bran and ashes, in order that he may carry the head without being sullied by the blood. When the identification of the head is concluded, the junior second's duty is to place it in a bucket. If anything should occur to hinder the chief second, the assistant second must take his place. It happened on one occasion that before the execution took place the chief second lost his nerve, yet he cut off the head without any difficulty; but when it came to taking up the head for inspection, his nervousness so far got the better of him as to be extremely inconvenient. This is a thing against which persons acting as seconds have to guard. * * * * * As a corollary to the above elaborate statement of the ceremonies proper to be observed at the _hara-kiri_, I may here describe an instance of such an execution which I was sent officially to witness. The condemned man was Taki Zenzaburô, an officer of the Prince of Bizen, who gave the order to fire upon the foreign settlement at Hiogo in the month of February 1868,--an attack to which I have alluded in the preamble to the story of the Eta Maiden and the Hatamoto. Up to that time no foreigner had witnessed such an execution, which was rather looked upon as a traveller's fable. The ceremony, which was ordered by the Mikado himself, took place at 10.30 at night in the temple of Seifukuji, the headquarters of the Satsuma troops at Hiogo. A witness was sent from each of the foreign legations. We were seven foreigners in all. We were conducted to the temple by officers of the Princes of Satsuma and Choshiu. Although the ceremony was to be conducted in the most private manner, the casual remarks which we overheard in the streets, and a crowd lining the principal entrance to the temple, showed that it was a matter of no little interest to the public. The courtyard of the temple presented a most picturesque sight; it was crowded with soldiers standing about in knots round large fires, which threw a dim flickering light over the heavy eaves and quaint gable-ends of the sacred buildings. We were shown into an inner room, where we were to wait until the preparation for the ceremony was completed: in the next room to us were the high Japanese officers. After a long interval, which seemed doubly long from the silence which prevailed, Itô Shunské, the provisional Governor of Hiogo, came and took down our names, and informed us that seven _kenshi_, sheriffs or witnesses, would attend on the part of the Japanese. He and another officer represented the Mikado; two captains of Satsuma's infantry, and two of Choshiu's, with a representative of the Prince of Bizen, the clan of the condemned man, completed the number, which was probably arranged in order to tally with that of the foreigners. Itô Shunské further inquired whether we wished to put any questions to the prisoner. We replied in the negative. A further delay then ensued, after which we were invited to follow the Japanese witnesses into the _hondo_ or main hall of the temple, where the ceremony was to be performed. It was an imposing scene. A large hall with a high roof supported by dark pillars of wood. From the ceiling hung a profusion of those huge gilt lamps and ornaments peculiar to Buddhist temples. In front of the high altar, where the floor, covered with beautiful white mats, is raised some three or four inches from the ground, was laid a rug of scarlet felt. Tall candles placed at regular intervals gave out a dim mysterious light, just sufficient to let all the proceedings be seen. The seven Japanese took their places on the left of the raised floor, the seven foreigners on the right. No other person was present. After an interval of a few minutes of anxious suspense, Taki Zenzaburô, a stalwart man, thirty-two years of age, with a noble air, walked into the hall attired in his dress of ceremony, with the peculiar hempen-cloth wings which are worn on great occasions. He was accompanied by a _kaishaku_ and three officers, who wore the _jimbaori_ or war surcoat with gold-tissue facings. The word _kaishaku_, it should be observed, is one to which our word _executioner_ is no equivalent term. The office is that of a gentleman: in many cases it is performed by a kinsman or friend of the condemned, and the relation between them is rather that of principal and second than that of victim and executioner. In this instance the _kaishaku_ was a pupil of Taki Zenzaburô, and was selected by the friends of the latter from among their own number for his skill in swordsmanship. With the _kaishaku_ on his left hand, Taki Zenzaburô advanced slowly towards the Japanese witnesses, and the two bowed before them, then drawing near to the foreigners they saluted us in the same way, perhaps even with more deference: in each case the salutation was ceremoniously returned. Slowly, and with great dignity, the condemned man mounted on to the raised floor, prostrated himself before the high altar twice, and seated[112] himself on the felt carpet with his back to the high altar, the _kaishaku_ crouching on his left-hand side. One of the three attendant officers then came forward, bearing a stand of the kind used in temples for offerings, on which, wrapped in paper, lay the _wakizashi_, the short sword or dirk of the Japanese, nine inches and a half in length, with a point and an edge as sharp as a razor's. This he handed, prostrating himself, to the condemned man, who received it reverently, raising it to his head with both hands, and placed it in front of himself. [Footnote 112: Seated himself--that is, in the Japanese fashion, his knees and toes touching the ground, and his body resting on his heels. In this position, which is one of respect, he remained until his death.] After another profound obeisance, Taki Zenzaburô, in a voice which betrayed just so much emotion and hesitation as might be expected from a man who is making a painful confession, but with no sign of either in his face or manner, spoke as follows:-- "I, and I alone, unwarrantably gave the order to fire on the foreigners at Kôbé, and again as they tried to escape. For this crime I disembowel myself, and I beg you who are present to do me the honour of witnessing the act." Bowing once more, the speaker allowed his upper garments to slip down to his girdle, and remained naked to the waist. Carefully, according to custom, he tucked his sleeves under his knees to prevent himself from falling backwards; for a noble Japanese gentleman should die falling forwards. Deliberately, with a steady hand, he took the dirk that lay before him; he looked at it wistfully, almost affectionately; for a moment he seemed to collect his thoughts for the last time, and then stabbing himself deeply below the waist on the left-hand side, he drew the dirk slowly across to the right side, and, turning it in the wound, gave a slight cut upwards. During this sickeningly painful operation he never moved a muscle of his face. When he drew out the dirk, he leaned forward and stretched out his neck; an expression of pain for the first time crossed his face, but he uttered no sound. At that moment the _kaishaku_, who, still crouching by his side, had been keenly watching his every movement, sprang to his feet, poised his sword for a second in the air; there was a flash, a heavy, ugly thud, a crashing fall; with one blow the head had been severed from the body. A dead silence followed, broken only by the hideous noise of the blood throbbing out of the inert heap before us, which but a moment before had been a brave and chivalrous man. It was horrible. The _kaishaku_ made a low bow, wiped his sword with a piece of paper which he had ready for the purpose, and retired from the raised floor; and the stained dirk was solemnly borne away, a bloody proof of the execution. The two representatives of the Mikado then left their places, and, crossing over to where the foreign witnesses sat, called us to witness that the sentence of death upon Taki Zenzaburô had been faithfully carried out. The ceremony being at an end, we left the temple. The ceremony, to which the place and the hour gave an additional solemnity, was characterized throughout by that extreme dignity and punctiliousness which are the distinctive marks of the proceedings of Japanese gentlemen of rank; and it is important to note this fact, because it carries with it the conviction that the dead man was indeed the officer who had committed the crime, and no substitute. While profoundly impressed by the terrible scene it was impossible at the same time not to be filled with admiration of the firm and manly bearing of the sufferer, and of the nerve with which the _kaishaku_ performed his last duty to his master. Nothing could more strongly show the force of education. The Samurai, or gentleman of the military class, from his earliest years learns to look upon the _hara-kiri_ as a ceremony in which some day he may be called upon to play a part as principal or second. In old-fashioned families, which hold to the traditions of ancient chivalry, the child is instructed in the rite and familiarized with the idea as an honourable expiation of crime or blotting out of disgrace. If the hour comes, he is prepared for it, and gravely faces an ordeal which early training has robbed of half its horrors. In what other country in the world does a man learn that the last tribute of affection which he may have to pay to his best friend may be to act as his executioner? Since I wrote the above, we have heard that, before his entry into the fatal hall, Taki Zenzaburô called round him all those of his own clan who were present, many of whom had carried out his order to fire, and, addressing them in a short speech, acknowledged the heinousness of his crime and the justice of his sentence, and warned them solemnly to avoid any repetition of attacks upon foreigners. They were also addressed by the officers of the Mikado, who urged them to bear no ill-will against us on account of the fate of their fellow-clansman. They declared that they entertained no such feeling. The opinion has been expressed that it would have been politic for the foreign representatives at the last moment to have interceded for the life of Taki Zenzaburô. The question is believed to have been debated among the representatives themselves. My own belief is that mercy, although it might have produced the desired effect among the more civilized clans, would have been mistaken for weakness and fear by those wilder people who have not yet a personal knowledge of foreigners. The offence--an attack upon the flags and subjects of all the Treaty Powers, which lack of skill, not of will, alone prevented from ending in a universal massacre--was the gravest that has been committed upon foreigners since their residence in Japan. Death was undoubtedly deserved, and the form chosen was in Japanese eyes merciful and yet judicial. The crime might have involved a war and cost hundreds of lives; it was wiped out by one death. I believe that, in the interest of Japan as well as in our own, the course pursued was wise, and it was very satisfactory to me to find that one of the ablest Japanese ministers, with whom I had a discussion upon the subject, was quite of my opinion. The ceremonies observed at the _hara-kiri_ appear to vary slightly in detail in different parts of Japan; but the following memorandum upon the subject of the rite, as it used to be practised at Yedo during the rule of the Tycoon, clearly establishes its judicial character. I translated it from a paper drawn up for me by a Japanese who was able to speak of what he had seen himself. Three different ceremonies are described:-- 1st. _Ceremonies observed at the "hara-kiri" of a Hatamoto (petty noble of the Tycoon's court) in prison._--This is conducted with great secrecy. Six mats are spread in a large courtyard of the prison; an _ometsuké_ (officer whose duties appear to consist in the surveillance of other officers), assisted by two other _ometsukés_ of the second and third class, acts as _kenshi_ (sheriff or witness), and sits in front of the mats. The condemned man, attired in his dress of ceremony, and wearing his wings of hempen cloth, sits in the centre of the mats. At each of the four corners of the mats sits a prison official. Two officers of the Governor of the city act as _kaishaku_ (executioners or seconds), and take their place, one on the right hand and the other on the left hand of the condemned. The _kaishaku_ on the left side, announcing his name and surname, says, bowing, "I have the honour to act as _kaishaku_ to you; have you any last wishes to confide to me?" The condemned man thanks him and accepts the offer or not, as the case may be. He then bows to the sheriff, and a wooden dirk nine and a half inches long is placed before him at a distance of three feet, wrapped in paper, and lying on a stand such as is used for offerings in temples. As he reaches forward to take the wooden sword, and stretches out his neck, the _kaifihaku_ on his left-hand side draws his sword and strikes off his head. The _kaishaku_ on the right-hand side takes up the head and shows it to the sheriff. The body is given to the relations of the deceased for burial. His property is confiscated. 2nd. _The ceremonies observed at the "hara-kiri" of a Daimio's retainer._--When the retainer of a Daimio is condemned to perform the _hara-kiri,_ four mats are placed in the yard of the _yashiki_ or palace. The condemned man, dressed in his robes of ceremony and wearing his wings of hempen cloth, sits in the centre. An officer acts as chief witness, with a second witness under him. Two officers, who act as _kaishaku_, are on the right and left of the condemned man; four officers are placed at the corners of the mats. The _kaishaku_, as in the former case, offers to execute the last wishes of the condemned. A dirk nine and a half inches long is placed before him on a stand. In this case the dirk is a real dirk, which the man takes and stabs himself with on the left side, below the navel, drawing it across to the right side. At this moment, when he leans forward in pain, the _kaishaku_ on the left-hand side cuts off the head. The _kaishaku_ on the right-hand side takes up the head, and shows it to the sheriff. The body is given to the relations for burial. In most cases the property of the deceased is confiscated. 3rd. _Self-immolation of a Daimio on account of disgrace_.--When a Daimio had been guilty of treason or offended against the Tycoon, inasmuch as the family was disgraced, and an apology could neither be offered nor accepted, the offending Daimio was condemned to _hara-kiri_. Calling his councillors around him, he confided to them his last will and testament for transmission to the Tycoon. Then, clothing himself in his court dress, he disembowelled himself, and cut his own throat. His councillors then reported the matter to the Government, and a coroner was sent to investigate it. To him the retainers handed the last will and testament of their lord, and be took it to the Gorôjiu (first council), who transmitted it to the Tycoon. If the offence was heinous, such as would involve the ruin of the whole family, by the clemency of the Tycoon, half the property might be confiscated, and half returned to the heir; if the offence was trivial, the property was inherited intact by the heir, and the family did not suffer. In all cases where the criminal disembowels himself of his own accord without condemnation and without investigation, inasmuch as he is no longer able to defend himself, the offence is considered as non-proven, and the property is not confiscated. In the year 1869 a motion was brought forward in the Japanese parliament by one Ono Seigorô, clerk of the house, advocating the abolition of the practice of _hara-kiri_. Two hundred members out of a house of 209 voted against the motion, which was supported by only three speakers, six members not voting on either side. In this debate the _seppuku, or hara-kiri_, was called "the very shrine of the Japanese national spirit, and the embodiment in practice of devotion to principle," "a great ornament to the empire," "a pillar of the constitution," "a valuable institution, tending to the honour of the nobles, and based on a compassionate feeling towards the official caste," "a pillar of religion and a spur to virtue." The whole debate (which is well worth reading, and an able translation of which by Mr. Aston has appeared in a recent Blue Book) shows the affection with which the Japanese cling to the traditions of a chivalrous past. It is worthy of notice that the proposer, Ono Seigorô, who on more than one occasion rendered himself conspicuous by introducing motions based upon an admiration of our Western civilization, was murdered not long after this debate took place. There are many stories on record of extraordinary heroism being displayed in the _hara-kiri._ The case of a young fellow, only twenty years old, of the Choshiu clan, which was told me the other day by an eye-witness, deserves mention as a marvellous instance of determination. Not content with giving himself the one necessary cut, he slashed himself thrice horizontally and twice vertically. Then he stabbed himself in the throat until the dirk protruded on the other side, with its sharp edge to the front; setting his teeth in one supreme effort, he drove the knife forward with both hands through his throat, and fell dead. One more story and I have done. During the revolution, when the Tycoon, beaten on every side, fled ignominiously to Yedo, he is said to have determined to fight no more, but to yield everything. A member of his second council went to him and said, "Sir, the only way for you now to retrieve the honour of the family of Tokugawa is to disembowel yourself; and to prove to you that I am sincere and disinterested in what I say, I am here ready to disembowel myself with you." The Tycoon flew into a great rage, saying that he would listen to no such nonsense, and left the room. His faithful retainer, to prove his honesty, retired to another part of the castle, and solemnly performed the _hara-kiri._ APPENDIX B THE MARRIAGE CEREMONY (FROM THE "SHO-REI HIKKI"--RECORD OF CEREMONIES.) The ceremonies observed at marriages are various, and it is not right for a man, exceeding the bounds of his condition in life, to transgress against the rules which are laid down. When the middle-man has arranged the preliminaries of the marriage between the two parties, he carries the complimentary present, which is made at the time of betrothal, from the future bridegroom to his destined bride; and if this present is accepted, the lady's family can no longer retract their promise. This is the beginning of the contract. The usual betrothal presents are as follows. Persons of the higher classes send a robe of white silk; a piece of gold embroidery for a girdle; a piece of silk stuff; a piece of white silk, with a lozenge pattern, and other silk stuffs (these are made up into a pile of three layers); fourteen barrels of wine, and seven sorts of condiments. Persons of the middle class send a piece of white silk stuff; a piece of gold embroidery for a girdle; a piece of white silk, with a lozenge pattern, and other silk stuffs (these are made up into a pile of two layers); ten barrels of wine, and five sorts of condiments. The lower classes send a robe of white silk, a robe of coloured silk, in a pile of one layer, together with six barrels of wine and three sorts of condiments. To the future father-in-law is sent a sword, with a scabbard for slinging, such as is worn in war-time, together with a list of the presents; to the mother-in-law, a silk robe, with wine and condiments. Although all these presents are right and proper for the occasion, still they must be regulated according to the means of the persons concerned. The future father-in-law sends a present of equal value in return to his son-in-law, but the bride elect sends no return present to her future husband; the present from the father-in-law must by no means be omitted, but according to his position, if he be poor, he need only send wine and condiments. In sending the presents care must be taken not to fold the silk robe. The two silk robes that are sent on the marriage night must be placed with the collars stitched together in a peculiar fashion. The ceremonies of sending the litter to fetch the bride on the wedding night are as follows. In families of good position, one of the principal retainers on either side is deputed to accompany the bride and to receive her. Matting is spread before the entrance-door, upon which the bride's litter is placed, while the two principal retainers congratulate one another, and the officers of the bridegroom receive the litter. If a bucket containing clams, to make the wedding broth, has been sent with the bride, it is carried and received by a person of distinction. Close by the entrance-door a fire is lighted on the right hand and on the left. These fires are called garden-torches. In front of the corridor along which the litter passes, on the right hand and on the left, two men and two women, in pairs, place two mortars, right and left, in which they pound rice; as the litter passes, the pounded rice from the left-hand side is moved across to the right, and the two are mixed together into one. This is called the blending of the rice-meal.[113] Two candles are lighted, the one on the right hand and the other on the left of the corridor; and after the litter has passed, the candle on the left is passed over to the right, and, the two wicks being brought together, the candles are extinguished. These last three ceremonies are only performed at the weddings of persons of high rank; they are not observed at the weddings of ordinary persons. The bride takes with her to her husband's house, as presents, two silken robes sewed together in a peculiar manner, a dress of ceremony with wings of hempen cloth, an upper girdle and an under girdle, a fan, either five or seven pocket-books, and a sword: these seven presents are placed on a long tray, and their value must depend upon the means of the family. [Footnote 113: Cf. Gibbon on Roman Marriages, _Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_, vol. iv. p. 345: "The contracting parties were seated on the same sheepskin; they tasted a salt cake of _far_, or rice; and this _confarreation_, which denoted the ancient food of Italy, served as an emblem of their mystic union of mind and body."] The dress of the bride is a white silk robe with a lozenge pattern, over an under-robe, also of white silk. Over her head she wears a veil of white silk, which, when she sits down, she allows to fall about her as a mantle. The bride's furniture and effects are all arranged for her by female attendants from her own house on a day previous to the wedding; and the bridegroom's effects are in like manner arranged by the women of his own house. When the bride meets her husband in the room where the relations are assembled, she takes her seat for this once in the place of honour, her husband sitting in a lower place, not directly opposite to her, but diagonally, and discreetly avoiding her glance. On the raised part of the floor are laid out beforehand two trays, the preparations for a feast, a table on which are two wagtails,[114] a second table with a representation of Elysium, fowls, fish, two wine-bottles, three wine-cups, and two sorts of kettles for warming wine. The ladies go out to meet the bride, and invite her into a dressing-room, and, when she has smoothed her dress, bring her into the room, and she and the bridegroom take their seats in the places appointed for them. The two trays are then brought out, and the ladies-in-waiting, with complimentary speeches, hand dried fish and seaweed, such as accompany presents, and dried chestnuts to the couple. Two married ladies then each take one of the wine-bottles which have been prepared, and place them in the lower part of the room. Then two handmaids, who act as wine-pourers, bring the kettles and place them in the lower part of the room. The two wine-bottles have respectively a male and female butterfly, made of paper, attached to them. The female butterfly is laid on its back, and the wine is poured from the bottle into the kettle. The male butterfly is then taken and laid on the female butterfly, and the wine from the bottle is poured into the same kettle, and the whole is transferred with due ceremony to another kettle of different shape, which the wine-pourers place in front of themselves. Little low dining-tables are laid, one for each person, before the bride and bridegroom, and before the bride's ladies-in-waiting; the woman deputed to pour the wine takes the three wine-cups and places them one on the top of the other before the bridegroom, who drinks two cups[115] from the upper cup, and pours a little wine from the full kettle into the empty kettle. The pouring together of the wine on the wedding night is symbolical of the union that is being contracted. The bridegroom next pours out a third cup of wine and drinks it, and the cup is carried by the ladies to the bride, who drinks three cups, and pours a little wine from one kettle into the other, as the bridegroom did. A cup is then set down and put on the other two, and they are carried back to the raised floor and arranged as before. After this, condiments are set out on the right-hand side of a little table, and the wine-pourers place the three cups before the bride, who drinks three cups from the second cup, which is passed to the bridegroom; he also drinks three cups as before, and the cups are piled up and arranged in their original place, by the wine-pourers. A different sort of condiment is next served on the left-hand side; and the three cups are again placed before the bridegroom, who drinks three cups from the third cup, and the bride does the same. When the cups and tables have been put back in their places, the bridegroom, rising from his seat, rests himself for a while. During this time soup of fishes' fins and wine are served to the bride's ladies-in-waiting and to the serving-women. They are served with a single wine-cup of earthenware, placed upon a small square tray, and this again is set upon a long tray, and a wine-kettle with all sorts of condiments is brought from the kitchen. When this part of the feast is over, the room is put in order, and the bride and bridegroom take their seats again. Soups and a preparation of rice are now served, and two earthenware cups, gilt and silvered, are placed on a tray, on which there is a representation of the island of Takasago.[116] This time butterflies of gold and silver paper are attached to the wine-kettles. The bridegroom drinks a cup or two, and the ladies-in-waiting offer more condiments to the couple. Rice, with hot water poured over it, according to custom, and carp soup are brought in, and, the wine having been heated, cups of lacquer ware are produced; and it is at this time that the feast commences. (Up to now the eating and drinking has been merely a form.) Twelve plates of sweetmeats and tea are served; and the dinner consists of three courses, one course of seven dishes, one of five dishes, and one of three dishes, or else two courses of five dishes and one of three dishes, according to the means of the family. The above ceremonies are those which are proper only in families of the highest rank, and are by no means fitting for the lower classes, who must not step out of the proper bounds of their position. [Footnote 114: The god who created Japan is called Kunitokodachi no Mikoto. Seven generations of gods after his time existed Izanagi no Mikoto and Izanami no Mikoto--the first a god, the second a goddess. As these two divine beings were standing upon the floating bridge of heaven, two wagtails came; and the gods, watching the amorous dalliance of the two birds, invented the art of love. From their union thus inaugurated sprang the mountains, the rivers, the grass, the trees, the remainder of the gods, and mankind. Another fable is, that as the two gods were standing on the floating bridge of heaven, Izanagi no Mikoto, taking the heavenly jewelled spear, stirred up the sea, and the drops which fell from the point of it congealed and became an island, which was called _Onokoro-jima_, on which the two gods, descending from heaven, took up their abode.] [Footnote 115: Each cup contains but a sip.] [Footnote 116: In the island of Takasago, in the province of Harima, stands a pine-tree, called the "pine of mutual old age." At the root the tree is single, but towards the centre it springs into two stems--an old, old pine, models of which are used at weddings as a symbol that the happy pair shall reach old age together. Its evergreen leaves are an emblem of the unchanging constancy of the heart. Figures of an old man and woman under the tree are the spirits of the old pine.] There is a popular tradition that, in the ceremony of drinking wine on the wedding night, the bride should drink first, and then hand the cup to the bridegroom; but although there are some authorities upon ceremonies who are in favour of this course, it is undoubtedly a very great mistake. In the "Record of Rites," by Confucius, it is written, "The man stands in importance before the woman: it is the right of the strong over the weak. Heaven ranks before earth; the prince ranks before his minister. This law of honour is one." Again, in the "Book of History," by Confucius, it is written, "The hen that crows in the morning brings misfortune." In our own literature in the Jusho (Book of the Gods), "When the goddesses saw the gods for the first time, they were the first to cry cut, 'Oh! what beautiful males!' But the gods were greatly displeased, and said, 'We, who are so strong and powerful, should by rights have been the first to speak; how is it that, on the contrary, these females speak first? This is indeed vulgar.'" Again it is written, "When the gods brought forth the cripple Hiruko, the Lord of Heaven, answering, said that his misfortune was a punishment upon the goddesses who had presumed to speak first." The same rule therefore exists in China and in Japan, and it is held to be unlucky that the wife should take precedence: with this warning people should be careful how they commit a breach of etiquette, although it may be sanctioned by the vulgar. At the wedding of the lower classes, the bride and her ladies and friends have a feast, but the bridegroom has no feast; and when the bride's feast is over, the bridegroom is called in and is presented with the bride's wine-cup; but as the forms observed are very vulgar, it is not worth while to point out the rules which guide them. As this night is essentially of importance to the married couple only, there are some writers on ceremonies who have laid down that no feast need be prepared for the bride's ladies, and in my opinion they are right: for the husband and wife at the beginning of their intercourse to be separated, and for the bride alone to be feasted like an ordinary guest, appears to be an inauspicious opening. I have thus pointed out two ill-omened customs which are to be avoided. The ceremonies observed at the weddings of persons of ordinary rank are as follows:--The feast which is prepared is in proportion to the means of the individuals. There must be three wine-cups set out upon a tray. The ceremony of drinking wine three times is gone through, as described above, after which the bride changes her dress, and a feast of three courses is produced--two courses of five dishes and one of three dishes, or one course of five dishes, one of three, and one of two, according to the means of the family. A tray, with a representation of the island of Takasago, is brought out, and the wine is heated; sweetmeats of five or seven sorts are also served in boxes or trays; and when the tea comes in, the bridegroom gets up, and goes to rest himself. If the wine kettles are of tin, they must not be set out in the room: they must be brought in from the kitchen; and in that case the paper butterflies are not attached to them. In old times the bride and bridegroom used to change their dress three or five times during the ceremony; but at the present time, after the nine cups of wine have been drunk, in the manner recorded above, the change of dress takes place once. The bride puts on the silk robe which she has received from the bridegroom, while he dons the dress of ceremony which has been brought by the bride. When these ceremonies have been observed, the bride's ladies conduct her to the apartments of her parents-in-law. The bride carries with her silk robes, as presents for her parents and brothers and sister-in-law. A tray is brought out, with three wine-cups, which are set before the parents-in-law and the bride. The father-in-law drinks three cups and hands the cup to the bride, who, after she has drunk two cups, receives a present from her father-in-law; she then drinks a third cup, and returns the cup to her father-in-law, who again drinks three cups. Fish is then brought in, and, in the houses of ordinary persons, a preparation of rice. Upon this the mother-in-law, taking the second cup, drinks three cups and passes the cup to the bride, who drinks two cups and receives a present from her mother-in-law: she then drinks a third cup and gives back the cup to the mother-in-law, who drinks three cups again. Condiments are served, and, in ordinary houses, soup; after which the bride drinks once from the third cup and hands it to her father-in-law, who drinks thrice from it; the bride again drinks twice from it, and after her the mother-in-law drinks thrice. The parents-in-law and the bride thus have drunk in all nine times. If there are any brothers or sisters-in-law, soup and condiments are served, and a single porcelain wine-cup is placed before them on a tray, and they drink at the word of command of the father-in-law. It is not indispensable that soup should be served upon this occasion. If the parents of the bridegroom are dead, instead of the above ceremony, he leads his bride to make her obeisances before the tablets on which their names are inscribed. In old days, after the ceremonies recorded above had been gone through, the bridegroom used to pay a visit of ceremony to the bride's parents; but at the present time the visit is paid before the wedding, and although the forms observed on the occasion resemble those of the ancient times, still they are different, and it would be well that we should resume the old fashion. The two trays which had been used at the wedding feast, loaded with fowl and fish and condiments neatly arranged, used to be put into a long box and sent to the father-in-law's house. Five hundred and eighty cakes of rice in lacquer boxes were also sent. The modern practice of sending the rice cakes in a bucket is quite contrary to etiquette: no matter how many lacquer boxes may be required for the purpose, they are the proper utensils for sending the cakes in. Three, five, seven, or ten men's loads of presents, according to the means of the family, are also offered. The son-in-law gives a sword and a silk robe to his father-in-law, and a silk robe to his mother-in-law, and also gives presents to his brothers and sisters-in-law. (The ceremony of drinking wine is the same as that which takes place between the bride and her parents-in-law, with a very slight deviation: the bridegroom receives no presents from his mother-in-law, and when the third cup is drunk the son-in-law drinks before the father-in-law). A return visit is paid by the bride's parents to the bridegroom, at which similar forms are observed. At the weddings of the great, the bridal chamber is composed of three rooms thrown into one,[117] and newly decorated. If there are only two rooms available, a third room is built for the occasion. The presents, which have been mentioned above, are set out on two trays. Besides these, the bridegroom's clothes are hung up upon clothes-racks. The mattress and bedclothes are placed in a closet. The bride's effects must all be arranged by the women who are sent on a previous day for the purpose, or it may be done whilst the bride is changing her clothes. The shrine for the image of the family god is placed on a shelf adjoining the sleeping-place. There is a proper place for the various articles of furniture. The _kaioké_[118] is placed on the raised floor; but if there be no raised floor, it is placed in a closet with the door open, so that it may be conspicuously seen. The books are arranged on a book-shelf or on a cabinet; if there be neither shelf nor cabinet, they are placed on the raised floor. The bride's clothes are set out on a clothes-rack; in families of high rank, seven robes are hung up on the rack; five of these are taken away and replaced by others, and again three are taken away and replaced by others; and there are either two or three clothes-racks: the towel-rack is set up in a place of more honour than the clothes-racks. If there is no dressing-room, the bride's bedclothes and dressing furniture are placed in the sleeping-room. No screens are put up on the bridal night, but a fitting place is chosen for them on the following day. All these ceremonies must be in proportion to the means of the family. [Footnote 117: The partitions of a Japanese suite of apartments being merely composed of paper sliding-screens, any number of rooms, according to the size of the house, can be thrown into one at a moment's notice.] [Footnote 118: A _kaioké_ is a kind of lacquer basin for washing the hands and face.] NOTE. The author of the "Sho-rei Hikki" makes no allusion to the custom of shaving the eyebrows and blackening the teeth of married women, in token of fidelity to their lords. In the upper classes, young ladies usually blacken their teeth before leaving their father's house to enter that of their husbands, and complete the ceremony by shaving their eyebrows immediately after the wedding, or, at any rate, not later than upon the occasion of their first pregnancy. The origin of the fashion is lost in antiquity. As a proof that it existed before the eleventh century, A.D., a curious book called "Teijô Zakki," or the Miscellaneous Writings of Teijô, cites the diary of Murasaki Shikibu, the daughter of one Tamésoki, a retainer of the house of Echizen, a lady of the court and famous poetess, the authoress of a book called "Genji-mono-gatari," and other works. In her diary it is written that on the last night of the fifth year of the period Kankô (A.D. 1008), in order that she might appear to advantage on New Year's Day, she retired to the privacy of her own apartment, and repaired the deficiencies of her personal appearance by re-blackening her teeth, and otherwise adorning herself. Allusion is also made to the custom in the "Yeiga-mono-gatari," an ancient book by the same authoress. The Emperor and nobles of his court are also in the habit of blackening their teeth; but the custom is gradually dying out in their case. It is said to have originated with one Hanazono Arishito, who held the high rank of _Sa-Daijin,_ or "minister of the left," at the commencement of the twelfth century, in the reign of the Emperor Toba. Being a, man of refined and sensual tastes, this minister plucked out his eyebrows, shaved his beard, blackened his teeth, powdered his face white, and rouged his lips in order to render himself as like a woman as possible. In the middle of the twelfth century, the nobles of the court, who went to the wars, all blackened their teeth; and from this time forth the practice became a fashion of the court. The followers of the chiefs of the Hôjô dynasty also blackened their teeth, as an emblem of their fidelity; and this was called the Odawara fashion, after the castle town of the family. Thus a custom, which had its origin in a love of sensuality and pleasure, became mistaken for the sign of a good and faithful spirit. The fashion of blackening the teeth entails no little trouble upon its followers, for the colour must be renewed every day, or at least every other day. Strange and repelling as the custom appears at first, the eye soon learns to look without aversion upon a well-blacked and polished set of teeth; but when the colour begins to wear away, and turns to a dullish grey, streaked with black, the mouth certainly becomes most hideous. Although no one who reads this is likely to put a recipe for blackening the teeth to a practical test, I append one furnished to me by a fashionable chemist and druggist in Yedo:-- "Take three pints of water, and, having warmed it, add half a teacupful of wine. Put into this mixture a quantity of red-hot iron; allow it to stand for five or six days, when there will be a scum on the top of the mixture, which should then be poured into a small teacup and placed near a fire. When it is warm, powdered gallnuts and iron filings should be added to it, and the whole should be warmed again. The liquid is then painted on to the teeth by means of a soft feather brush, with more powdered gallnuts and iron, and, after several applications, the desired colour will be obtained." The process is said to be a preservative of the teeth, and I have known men who were habitual sufferers from toothache to prefer the martyrdom of ugliness to that of pain, and apply the black colouring when the paroxysms were severe. One man told me that he experienced immediate relief by the application, and that so long as he blackened his teeth he was quite free from pain. ON THE BIRTH AND BEARING OF CHILDREN (FROM THE "SHO-REI HIKKI.") In the fifth month of a woman's pregnancy, a very lucky day is selected for the ceremony of putting on a girdle, which is of white and red silk, folded, and eight feet in length. The husband produces it from the left sleeve of his dress; and the wife receives it in the right sleeve of her dress, and girds it on for the first time. This ceremony is only performed once. When the child is born, the white part of the girdle is dyed sky-blue, with a peculiar mark on it, and is made into clothes for the child. These, however, are not the first clothes which it wears. The dyer is presented with wine and condiments when the girdle is entrusted to him. It is also customary to beg some matron, who has herself had an easy confinement, for the girdle which she wore during her pregnancy; and this lady is called the girdle-mother. The borrowed girdle is tied on with that given by the husband, and the girdle-mother at this time gives and receives a present. The furniture of the lying-in chamber is as follows:--Two tubs for placing under-petticoats in; two tubs to hold the placenta; a piece of furniture like an arm-chair, without legs, for the mother to lean against;[119] a stool, which is used by the lady who embraces the loins of the woman in labour to support her, and which is afterwards used by the midwife in washing the child; several pillows of various sizes, that the woman in child-bed may ease her head at her pleasure; new buckets, basins, and ladles of various sizes. Twenty-four baby-robes, twelve of silk and twelve of cotton, must be prepared; the hems must be dyed saffron-colour. There must be an apron for the midwife, if the infant is of high rank, in order that, when she washes it, she may not place it immediately on her own knees: this apron should be made of a kerchief of cotton. When the child is taken out of the warm water, its body must be dried with a kerchief of fine cotton, unhemmed. [Footnote 119: Women in Japan are delivered in a kneeling position, and after the birth of the child they remain night and day in a squatting position, leaning back against a support, for twenty-one days, after which they are allowed to recline. Up to that time the recumbent position is supposed to produce a dangerous rush of blood to the head.] On the seventy-fifth or hundred and twentieth day after its birth, the baby leaves off its baby-linen; and this day is kept as a holiday. Although it is the practice generally to dress up children in various kinds of silk, this is very wrong, as the two principles of life being thereby injured, the child contracts disease; and on this account the ancients strictly forbade the practice. In modern times the child is dressed up in beautiful clothes; but to put a cap on its head, thinking to make much of it, when, on the contrary, it is hurtful to the child, should be avoided. It would be an excellent thing if rich people, out of care for the health of their children, would put a stop to a practice to which fashion clings. On the hundred and twentieth day after their birth children, whether male or female, are weaned.[120] This day is fixed, and there is no need to choose a lucky day. If the child be a boy, it is fed by a gentleman of the family; if a girl, by a lady. The ceremony is as follows:--The child is brought out and given to the weaning father or sponsor. He takes it on his left knee. A small table is prepared. The sponsor who is to feed the child, taking some rice which has been offered to the gods, places it on the corner of the little table which is by him; He dips his chop-sticks thrice in this rice, and very quietly places them in the mouth of the child, pretending to give it some of the juice of the rice. Five cakes of rice meal are also placed on the left side of the little table, and with these he again pretends to feed the child three times. When this ceremony is over, the child is handed back to its guardian, and three wine-cups are produced on a tray. The sponsor drinks three cups, and presents the cup to the child. When the child has been made to pretend to drink two cups, it receives a present from its sponsor, after which the child is supposed to drink a third time. Dried fish is then brought in, and the baby, having drunk thrice, passes the cup to its sponsor, who drinks thrice. More fish of a different kind is brought in. The drinking is repeated, and the weaning father receives a present from the child. The guardian, according to rules of propriety, should be near the child. A feast should be prepared, according to the means of the family. If the child be a girl, a weaning mother performs this ceremony, and suitable presents must be offered on either side. The wine-drinking is gone through as above. [Footnote 120: This is only a nominal weaning. Japanese children are not really weaned until far later than is ordinary in Europe; and it is by no means uncommon to see a mother in the poorer classes suckling a hulking child of from five to seven years old. One reason given for this practice is, that by this means the danger of having to provide for large families is lessened.] On the fifteenth day of the eleventh month of the child's third year, be the child boy or girl, its hair is allowed to grow. (Up to this time the whole head has been shaven: now three patches are allowed to grow, one on each side and one at the back of the head.) On this occasion also a sponsor is selected. A large tray, on which are a comb, scissors, paper string, a piece of string for tying the hair in a knot, cotton wool, and the bit of dried fish or seaweed which accompanies presents, one of each, and seven rice straws--these seven articles must be prepared.[121] [Footnote 121: For a few days previous to the ceremony the child's head is not shaved.] The child is placed facing the point of the compass which is auspicious for that year, and the sponsor, if the child be a boy, takes the scissors and gives three snips at the hair on the left temple, three on the right, and three in the centre. He then takes the piece of cotton wool and spreads it over the child's head, from the forehead, so as to make it hang down behind his neck, and he places the bit of dried fish or seaweed and the seven straws at the bottom of the piece of cotton wool, attaching them to the wool, and ties them in two loops, like a man's hair, with a piece of paper string; he then makes a woman's knot with two pieces of string. The ceremony of drinking wine is the same as that gone through at the weaning. If the child is a girl, a lady acts as sponsor; the hair-cutting is begun from the right temple instead of from the left. There is no difference in the rest of the ceremony. On the fifth day of the eleventh month of the child's fourth year he is invested with the _hakama_, or loose trousers worn by the Samurai. On this occasion again a sponsor is called in. The child receives from the sponsor a dress of ceremony, on which are embroidered storks and tortoises (emblems of longevity--the stork is said to live a thousand years, the tortoise ten thousand), fir-trees (which, being evergreen, and not changing their colour, are emblematic of an unchangingly virtuous heart), and bamboos (emblematic of an upright and straight mind). The child is placed upright on a chequer-board, facing the auspicious point of the compass, and invested with the dress of ceremony. It also receives a sham sword and dirk. The usual ceremony of drinking wine is observed. NOTE.--In order to understand the following ceremony, it is necessary to recollect that the child at three years of age is allowed to grow its hair in three patches. By degrees the hair is allowed to grow, the crown alone being shaved, and a forelock left. At ten or eleven years of age the boy's head is dressed like a man's, with the exception of this forelock. The ceremony of cutting off the forelock used in old days to include the ceremony of putting on the noble's cap; but as this has gone out of fashion, there is no need to treat of it. Any time after the youth has reached the age of fifteen, according to the cleverness and ability which he shows, a lucky day is chosen for this most important ceremony, after which the boy takes his place amongst full-grown men. A person of virtuous character is chosen as sponsor or "cap-father." Although the man's real name (that name which is only known to his intimate relations and friends, not the one by which he usually goes in society) is usually determined before this date, if it be not so, he receives his real name from his sponsor on this day. In old days there used to be a previous ceremony of cutting the hair off the forehead in a straight line, so as to make two angles: up to this time the youth wore long sleeves like a woman, and from that day he wore short sleeves. This was called the "half cutting." The poorer classes have a habit of shortening the sleeves before this period; but that is contrary to all rule, and is an evil custom. A common tray is produced, on which is placed an earthenware wine-cup. The sponsor drinks thrice, and hands the cup to the young man, who, having also drunk thrice, gives back the cup to the sponsor, who again drinks thrice, and then proceeds to tie up the young man's hair. There are three ways of tying the hair, and there is also a particular fashion of letting the forelock grow long; and when this is the case, the forelock is only clipped. (This is especially the fashion among the nobles of the Mikado's court.) This applies only to persons who wear the court cap, and not to gentlemen of lower grade. Still, these latter persons, if they wish to go through the ceremony in its entirety, may do so without impropriety. Gentlemen of the Samurai or military class cut off the whole of the forelock. The sponsor either ties up the hair of the young man, or else, placing the forelock on a willow board, cuts it off with a knife, or else, amongst persons of very high rank, he only pretends to do so, and goes into another room whilst the real cutting is going on, and then returns to the same room. The sponsor then, without letting the young man see what he is doing, places the lock which has been cut into the pocket of his left sleeve, and, leaving the room, gives it to the young man's guardians, who wrap it in paper and offer it up at the shrine of the family gods. But this is wrong. The locks should be well wrapped up in paper and kept in the house until the man's death, to serve as a reminder of the favours which a man receives from his father and mother in his childhood; when he dies, it should be placed in his coffin and buried with him. The wine-drinking and presents are as before. * * * * * In the "Sho-rei Hikki," the book from which the above is translated, there is no notice of the ceremony of naming the child: the following is a translation from a Japanese MS.:-- "On the seventh day after its birth, the child receives its name; the ceremony is called the congratulations of the seventh night. On this day some one of the relations of the family, who holds an exalted position, either from his rank or virtues, selects a name for the child, which name he keeps until the time of the cutting of the forelock, when he takes the name which he is to bear as a man. This second name is called _Yeboshina_,[122] the cap-name, which is compounded of syllables taken from an old name of the family and from the name of the sponsor. If the sponsor afterwards change his name, his name-child must also change his name. For instance, Minamoto no Yoshitsuné, the famous warrior, as a child was called Ushiwakamaru; when he grew up to be a man, he was called Kurô; and his real name was Yoshitsuné." [Footnote 122: From _Yeboshi_, a court cap, and _Na_, a name.] FUNERAL RITES (FROM THE "SHO-REI HIKKI.") On the death of a parent, the mourning clothes worn are made of coarse hempen cloth, and during the whole period of mourning these must be worn night and day. As the burial of his parents is the most important ceremony which a man has to go through during his whole life, when the occasion comes, in order that there be no confusion, he must employ some person to teach him the usual and proper rites. Above all things to be reprehended is the burning of the dead: they should be interred without burning.[123] The ceremonies to be observed at a funeral should by rights have been learned before there is occasion to put them in practice. If a man have no father or mother, he is sure to have to bury other relations; and so he should not disregard this study. There are some authorities who select lucky days and hours and lucky places for burying the dead, but this is wrong; and when they talk about curses being brought upon posterity by not observing these auspicious seasons and places, they make a great mistake. It is a matter of course that an auspicious day must be chosen so far as avoiding wind and rain is concerned, that men may bury their dead without their minds being distracted; and it is important to choose a fitting cemetery, lest in after days the tomb should be damaged by rain, or by men walking over it, or by the place being turned into a field, or built upon. When invited to a friend's or neighbour's funeral, a man should avoid putting on smart clothes and dresses of ceremony; and when he follows the coffin, he should not speak in a loud voice to the person next him, for that is very rude; and even should he have occasion to do so, he should avoid entering wine-shops or tea-houses on his return from the funeral. [Footnote 123: On the subject of burning the dead, see a note to the story of Chôbei of Bandzuin.] The list of persons present at a funeral should be written on slips of paper, and firmly bound together. It may be written as any other list, only it must not be written beginning at the right hand, as is usually the case, but from the left hand (as is the case in European books). On the day of burial, during the funeral service, incense is burned in the temple before the tablet on which is inscribed the name under which the dead person enters salvation.[124] The incense-burners, having washed their hands, one by one, enter the room where the tablet is exposed, and advance half-way up to the tablet, facing it; producing incense wrapped in paper from their bosoms, they hold it in their left hands, and, taking a pinch with the right hand, they place the packet in their left sleeve. If the table on which the tablet is placed be high, the person offering incense half raises himself from his crouching position; if the table be low, he remains crouching to burn the incense, after which he takes three steps backwards, with bows and reverences, and retires six feet, when he again crouches down to watch the incense-burning, and bows to the priests who are sitting in a row with their chief at their head, after which he rises and leaves the room. Up to the time of burning the incense no notice is taken of the priest. At the ceremony of burning incense before the grave, the priests are not saluted. The packet of incense is made of fine paper folded in three, both ways. [Footnote 124: After death a person receives a new name. For instance, the famous Prince Tokugawa Iyéyasu entered salvation as Gongen Sama. This name is called _okurina_, or the accompanying name.] NOTE. The reason why the author of the "Sho-rei Hikki" has treated so briefly of the funeral ceremonies is probably that these rites, being invariably entrusted to the Buddhist priesthood, vary according to the sect of the latter; and, as there are no less than fifteen sects of Buddhism in Japan, it would be a long matter to enter into the ceremonies practised by each. Should Buddhism be swept out of Japan, as seems likely to be the case, men will probably return to the old rites which obtained before its introduction in the sixth century of our era. What those rites were I have been unable to learn. 
15516	----	THE RELIGIONS OF JAPAN FROM THE DAWN OF HISTORY TO THE ERA OF MEIJI BY WILLIAM ELLIOT GRIFFIS, D.D. FORMERLY OF THE IMPERIAL UNIVERSITY OF TOKIO; AUTHOR OF "THE MIKADO'S EMPIRE" AND "COREA, THE HERMIT NATION;" LATE LECTURER ON THE MORSE FOUNDATION IN UNION THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY IN NEW YORK "I came not to destroy, but to fulfil."--THE SON OF MAN NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1895 COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS TROW DIRECTORY PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY NEW YORK IN GLAD RECOGNITION OF THEIR SERVICES TO THE WORLD AND IN GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF MY OWN GREAT DEBT TO BOTH I DEDICATE THIS BOOK SO UNWORTHY OF ITS GREAT SUBJECT TO THOSE TWO NOBLE BANDS OF SEEKERS AFTER TRUTH THE FACULTY OF UNION THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY OF WHOM CHARLES A. BRIGGS AND GEORGE L. PRENTISS ARE THE HONORED SURVIVORS AND TO THAT TRIO OF ENGLISH STUDENTS ERNEST M. SATOW, WILLIAM G. ASTON AND BASIL H. CHAMBERLAIN WHO LAID THE FOUNDATIONS OF CRITICAL SCHOLARSHIP IN JAPAN "IN UNCONSCIOUS BROTHERHOOD, BINDING THE SELF-SAME SHEAF" PREFACE This book makes no pretence of furnishing a mirror of contemporary Japanese religion. Since 1868, Japan has been breaking the chains of her intellectual bondage to China and India, and the end is not yet. My purpose has been, not to take a snap-shot photograph, but to paint a picture of the past. Seen in a lightning-flash, even a tempest-shaken tree appears motionless. A study of the same organism from acorn to seed-bearing oak, reveals not a phase but a life. It is something like this--"_to_ the era of Meiji" (A.D. 1868-1894+) which I have essayed. Hence I am perfectly willing to accept, in advance, the verdict of smart inventors who are all ready to patent a brand-new religion for Japan, that my presentation is "antiquated." The subject has always been fascinating, despite its inherent difficulties and the author's personal limitations. When in 1807, the polite lads from Satsuma and Ki[=o]to came to New Brunswick, N.J., they found at least one eager questioner, a sophomore, who, while valuing books, enjoyed at first hand contemporaneous human testimony. When in 1869, to Rutgers College, came an application through Rev. Dr. Guido F. Verbeck, of T[=o]ki[=o], from Fukui for a young man to organize schools upon the American principle in the province of Echizen (ultra-Buddhistic, yet already so liberally leavened by the ethical teachings of Yokoi Héishiro), the Faculty made choice of the author. Accepting the honor and privilege of being one of the "beginners of a better time," I caught sight of peerless Fuji and set foot on Japanese soil December 29, 1870. Amid a cannonade of new sensations and fresh surprises, my first walk was taken in company with the American missionary (once a marine in Perry's squadron, who later invented the jin-riki-sha), to see a hill-temple and to study the wayside shrines around Yokohama. Seven weeks' stay in the city of Yedo--then rising out of the débris of feudalism to become the Imperial capital, T[=o]ki[=o], enabled me to see some things now so utterly vanished, that by some persons their previous existence is questioned. One of the most interesting characters I met personally was Fukuzawa, the reformer, and now "the intellectual father of half of the young men of ... Japan." On the day of the battle of Uyéno, July 11, 1868, this far-seeing patriot and inquiring spirit deliberately decided to keep out of the strife, and with four companions of like mind, began the study of Wayland's Moral Science. Thus were laid the foundations of his great school, now a university. Journeying through the interior, I saw many interesting phenomena of popular religions which are no longer visible. At Fukui in Echizen, one of the strongholds of Buddhism, I lived nearly a year, engaged in educational work, having many opportunities of learning both the scholastic and the popular forms of Shint[=o] and of Buddhism. I was surrounded by monasteries, temples, shrines, and a landscape richly embroidered with myth and legend. During my four years' residence and travel in the Empire, I perceived that in all things the people of Japan were _too_ religious. In seeking light upon the meaning of what I saw before me and in penetrating to the reasons behind the phenomena, I fear I often made myself troublesome to both priests and lay folk. While at work in T[=o]ki[=o], though under obligation to teach only physical science, I voluntarily gave instruction in ethics to classes in the University. I richly enjoyed this work, which, by questioning and discussion, gave me much insight into the minds of young men whose homes were in every province of the Empire. In my own house I felt free to teach to all comers the religion of Jesus, his revelation of the fatherhood of God and the ethics based on his life and words. While, therefore, in studying the subject, I have great indebtedness to acknowledge to foreigners, I feel that first of all I must thank the natives who taught me so much both by precept and practice. Among the influences that have helped to shape my own creed and inspire my own life, have been the beautiful lives and noble characters of Japanese officers, students and common people who were around and before me. Though freely confessing obligation to books, writings, and artistic and scholastic influences, I hasten first to thank the people of Japan, whether servants, superior officers, neighbors or friends. He who seeks to learn what religion is from books only, will learn but half. Gladly thanking those, who, directly or indirectly, have helped me with light from the written or printed page, I must first of all gratefully express my especial obligations to those native scholars who have read to me, read for me, or read with me their native literature. The first foreign students of Japanese religions were the Dutch, and the German physicians who lived with them, at Déshima. Kaempfer makes frequent references, with test and picture, in his Beschryving van Japan. Von Siebold, who was an indefatigable collector rather than a critical student, in Vol. V. of his invaluable _Archiv_ (Pantheon von Nippon), devoted over forty pages to the religions of Japan. Dr. J.J. Hoffman translated into Dutch, with notes and explanations, the Butsu-z[=o]-dzu-i, which, besides its 163 figures of Buddhist holy men, gives a bibliography of the works mentioned by the native author. In visiting the Japanese museum on the Rapenburg, Leyden, one of the oldest, best and most intelligently arranged in Europe, I have been interested with the great work done by the Dutchmen, during two centuries, in leavening the old lump for that transformation which in our day as New Japan, surprises the world. It requires the shock of battle to awaken the western nations to that appreciation of the racial and other differences between the Japanese and Chinese, which the student has already learned. The first praises, however, are to be awarded to the English scholars, Messrs. Satow, Aston, Chamberlain, and others, whose profound researches in Japanese history, language and literature have cleared the path for others to tread in. I have tried to acknowledge my debt to them in both text and appendix. To several American missionaries, who despite their trying labors have had the time and the taste to study critically the religions of Japan, I owe thanks and appreciation. With rare acuteness and learning, Rev. Dr. George Wm. Knox has opened on its philosophical, and Rev. Dr. J.H. DeForest on its practical side, the subject of Japanese Confucianism. By his lexicographical work, Dr. J.C. Hepburn has made debtors to him both the native and the alien. To our knowledge of Buddhism in Japan, Dr. J.C. Berry and Rev. J.L. Atkinson have made noteworthy contributions. I have been content to quote as authorities and illustrations, the names of those who have thus wrought on the soil, rather than of those, who, even though world-famous, have been but slightly familiar with the ethnic and the imported faith of Japan. The profound misunderstandings of Buddhism, which some very eminent men of Europe have shown in their writings, form one of the literary curiosities of the world. In setting forth these Morse lectures, I have purposely robbed my pages of all appearance of erudition, by using as few uncouth words as possible, by breaking up the matter into paragraphs of moderate length, by liberally introducing subject-headings in italics, and by relegating all notes to the appendix. Since writing the lectures, and even while reading the final proofs, I have ransacked my library to find as many references, notes, illustrations and authorities as possible, for the benefit of the general student. I have purposely avoided recondite and inaccessible books and have named those easily obtainable from American or European publishers, or from Messrs. Kelly & Walsh, of Yokohama, Japan. In using oriental words I have followed, in the main, the spelling of the Century Dictionary. The Japanese names are expressed according to that uniform system of transliteration used by Hepburn, Satow and other standard writers, wherein consonants have the same general value as in English (except that initial g is always hard), while the vowels are pronounced as in Italian. Double vowels must be pronounced double, as in Méiji (m[=a]-[=e]-j[=e]); those which are long are marked, as in [=o] or [=u]; i before o or u is short. Most of the important Japanese, as well as Sanskrit and Chinese, terms used, are duly expressed and defined in the Century Dictionary. I wish also to thank especially my friends, Riu Watanabe, Ph.D., of Cornell University, and William Nelson Noble, Esq., of Ithaca. The former kindly assisted me with criticisms and suggestions, while to the latter, who has taken time to read all the proofs, I am grateful for considerable improvement in the English form of the sentences. In closing, I trust that whatever charges may be brought against me by competent critics, lack of sympathy will not be one. I write in sight of beautiful Lake Cayuga, on the fertile and sloping shores of which in old time the Iroquois Indian confessed the mysteries of life. Having planted his corn, he made his pregnant squaw walk round the seed-bed in hope of receiving from the Source of life increased blessing and sustenance for body and mind. Between such a truly religious act of the savage, and that of the Christian sage, Joseph Henry, who uncovered his head while investigating electro-magnetism to "ask God a question," or that of Samuel F.B. Morse, who sent as his first telegraphic message "What hath God wrought," I see no essential difference. All three were acts of faith and acknowledgment of a power greater than man. Religion is one, though religions are many. As Principal Fairbairn, my honored predecessor in the Morse lectureship, says: "What we call superstition of the savage is not superstition _in him_. Superstition is the perpetuation of a low form of belief along with a higher knowledge.... Between fetichism and Christian faith there is a great distance, but a great affinity--the recognition of a supra-sensible life." "For the earnest expectation of the creation waiteth for the revealing of the sons of God.... The creation itself shall be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the liberty of the glory of the children of God." W.E.G. ITHACA, N.Y., October 27, 1894. TABLE OF CONTENTS CHAPTER I PRIMITIVE FAITH: RELIGION BEFORE BOOKS, PAGE 1 Salutatory.--The Morse Lectureship and its provisions.--The Science of Comparative Religion is Christianity's own child.--The Parliament of Religions.--The Study of Religion most appropriate in a Theological Seminary.--Shortening weapons and lengthening boundaries.--The right missionary spirit that of the Master, who "came not to destroy but to fulfil."--Characteristics of Japan.--Bird's-eye view of Japanese history and religion.--Popularly, not three religions but one religion.--Superstitions which are not organically parts of the "book-religions."--The boundary line between the Creator and his creation not visible to the pagan.--Shamanism: Fetichism.--Mythical monsters, Kirin, Phoenix, Tortoise, Dragon.--Japanese mythical zoölogy.--The erection of the stone fetich.--Insurance by amulets upon house and person.--Phallicism.--Tree-worship.--Serpent-worship.--These unwritten superstitions condition the "book-religions."--Removable by science and a higher religion. CHAPTER II SHINTO: MYTHS AND RITUAL, PAGE 35 Japan is young beside China and Korea.--Japanese history is comparatively modern.--The oldest documents date from A.D. 712.--The Japanese archipelago inhabited before the Christian era.--Faith, worship and ritual are previous to written espression.--The Kojiki, Many[=o]shu and Norito.--Tendency of the pupil nations surrounding China to antedate their civilization.--Origin of the Japanese people and their religion.--Three distinct lines of tradition from Tsukushi, Idzumo and Yamato.--War of the invaders against the aborigines--Mikadoism is the heart of Shint[=o].--Illustrations from the liturgies.--Phallicism among the aborigines and common people.--The mind or mental climate of the primæval man.--Representation of male gods by emblems.--Objects of worship and _ex-voto_.--Ideas of creation.--The fire-myth, Prometheus.--Comparison of Greek and Japanese mythology.--Ritual for the quieting of the fire-god.--The fire-drill. CHAPTER III THE KOJIKI AND ITS TEACHINGS, PAGE 59 Origin of the Kojiki. Analysis of its opening lines--Norito.--Indecency of the myths of the Kojiki.--Modern rationalistic interpretations--Life in prehistoric Japan.--Character and temperament of the people then and now.--Character of the kami or gods.--Hades.--Ethics.--The Land of the Gods.--The barbarism of the Yamato conquerors an improvement upon the savagery of the aborigines.--Cannibalism and human sacrifices.--The makers of the God-way captured and absorbed the religion of the aborigines.--A case of syncretism.--Origin of evil in bad gods.--Pollution was sin.--Class of offences enumerated in the norito.--Professor Kumi's contention that Mikadoism usurped a simple worship of Heaven.--Difference between the ancient Chinese and ancient Japanese cultus.--Development of Shint[=o] arrested by Buddhism.--Temples and offerings.--The tori-i.--Pollution and purification.--Prayer.--Hirata's ordinal and specimen prayers.--To the common people the sun is a god.--Prayers to myriads of gods.--Summary of Shint[=o].--Swallowed up in the Riy[=o]bu system.--Its modern revival.--Kéichin.--Kada Adzumar[=o].--Mabuchi, Motoöri.--Hirata.--In 1870, Shint[=o] is again made the state religion.--Purification of Riy[=o]bu temples.--Politico-religious lectures.--Imperial rescript.--Reverence to the Emperor's photograph.--Judgment upon Shint[=o].--The Christian's ideal of Yamato-damashii. CHAPTER IV THE CHINESE ETHICAL SYSTEM IN JAPAN, PAGE 99 In what respects Confucius was unique as a teacher.--Outline of his life.--The canon.--Primitive Chinese faith a sort of monotheism.--How the sage modified it.--History of Confucianism until its entrance into Japan.--Outline of the intellectual and political history of the Japanese.--Rise of the Samurai class.--Shifting of emphasis from filial piety to loyalty.--Prevalence of suicide in Japan.--Confucianism has deeply tinged the ideas of the Japanese.--Great care necessary in seeking equivalents in English for the terms used in the Chino-Japanese ethics; e.g., the emperor, "the father of the people."--Impersonality of Japanese speech.--Christ and Confucius.--"Love" and "reverence."--Exemplars of loyalty.--The Forty-seven R[=o]nins.--The second relation.--The family in Chinese Asia and in Christendom.--The law of filial piety and the daughter.--The third relation.--Theory of courtship and marriage.--Chastity.--Jealousy.--Divorce.--Instability of the marriage bond.--The fourth relation.--The elder and the younger brother.--The house or family everything, the individual nothing.--The fifth relation.--The ideas of Christ and those of Confucius.--The Golden and the Gilded rule.--Lao Tsze and Kung.--Old Japan and the alien.--Commodore Perry and Professor Hayashi. CHAPTER V CONFUCIANISM IN ITS PHILOSOPHICAL FORM, PAGE 131 Harmony of the systems of Confucius and Buddha in Japan during a thousand years.--Revival of learning in the seventeenth century.--Exodus of the Chinese scholars on the fall of the Ming dynasty.--Their dispersion and work in Japan.--Founding of schools of the new Chinese learning.--For two and a half centuries the Japanese mind has been moulded by the new Confucianism.--Survey of its rise and developments.--Four stages in the intellectual history of China.--The populist movement in the eleventh century.--The literary controversy.--The philosophy of the Cheng brothers and of Chu Hi, called in Japan Tei-Shu system.--In Buddhism the Japanese were startling innovators, in philosophy they were docile pupils.--Paucity of Confucian or speculative literature in Japan.--A Chinese wall built around the Japanese intellect.--Yelo orthodoxy.--Features of the Téi-Shu system.--Not agnostic but pantheistic.--Its influence upon historiography.--Ki (spirit) Ri (way) and Ten (heaven).--The writings of Ohashi Junzo.--Confucianism obsolescent in New Japan.--A study of Confucianism in the interest of comparative religion.--Man's place in the universe.--The Samurai's ideal, obedience.--His fearlessness in the face of death.--Critique of the system.--The ruler and the ruled.--What has Confucianism done for woman?--Improvement and revision of the fourth and fifth relations.--The new view of the universe and the new mind in New Japan. The ideal of Yamato-damashii revised and improved. CHAPTER VI THE BUDDHISM OF NORTHERN ASIA, PAGE 153 Buddha--sun myth or historic personage?--Buddhism one of the protestantisms of the world.--Characteristics of new religions.--Survey of the history of Indian thought.--The age of the Vedas.--The epic age.--The rationalistic age.--Our fellow-Aryans and the story of their conquests.--Their intellectual energy and inventions.--Systems of philosophy.--Condition of religion at the birth of Gautama.--Outline of his life.--He attains enlightenment or buddhahood.--In what respects Buddhism was an old, and in what a new religion.--Did Gautama intend to found a new religion, or return to simpler and older faith?--Monasticism, Kharma and Nirvana,--Enthusiasm of the disciples of the new faith.--The great schism.--The Northern Buddhists.--The canon.--The two Yana or vehicles.--Simplicity of Southern and luxuriance of Northern Buddhism.--Summary of the process of thought in Nepal.--The old gods of India come back again.--Maitreya, Manjusri and Avalokitesvara.--The Legend of Manjusri.--Separation of attributes and creation of new Buddhas or gods.--The Dhyani Buddhas.--Amida.--Adi-Buddhas.--Abstractions become gods.--The Tantra system.--Outbursts of doctrine and art.--Prayer-mills.--The noble eight-fold path of self-denial and benevolence forgotten.--Entrance of Buddhism from Korea into Japan.--Condition of the country at that time.--Dates and first experiences.--Soga no Inamé.--Sh[=o]toku.--Japanese pilgrims to China.--Changes wrought by the new creed and cult.--Temples, monasteries and images.--Influence upon the Mikado's name, rank and person, and upon Shint[=o].--Relative influence of Buddhism in Asia and of Christianity in Europe.--The three great characteristics of Buddhism.--How the clouds returned after the rain.--Buddhism and Christianity confronting the problem of life. CHAPTER VII RIYOBU, OR MIXED BUDDHISM, PAGE 189 The experience of two centuries and a half of Buddhism in Japan.--Necessity of using more powerful means for the conversion of the Japanese.--Popular customs nearly ineradicable.--Analogy from European history.--Syncretism in Christian history.--In the Arabian Nights.--How far is the process of Syncretism honest?--Examples not to be recommended for imitation.--The problem of reconciling the Kami and the Buddhas.--Northern Buddhism ready for the task.--The Tantra or Yoga-chara system.--Art and its influence on the imagination.--The sketch replaced by the illumination and monochrome by colors.--Japanese art.--Mixed Buddhism rather than mixed Shint[=o].--K[=o]b[=o] the wonder-worker who made all Japanese history a transfiguration of Buddhism.--Legends about his extraordinary abilities and industry.--His life, and studies in China.--The kata-kana syllabary.--K[=o]b[=o]o's revelation from the Shint[=o] goddess Toyo-Uké-Bimé.--The gods of Japan were avatars of Buddha.--K[=o]b[=o]'s plan of propaganda.--Details of the scheme.--A clearing-house of gods and Buddhas.--Relative rise and fall of the native and the foreign deities.--Legend of Daruma. "Riy[=o]bu Shint[=o]."--Impulse to art and art industry.--The Kami no Michi falls into shadow.--Which religion suffered most?--Phenomenally the victory belonged to Buddhism.--The leavening power was that of Shint[=o].--Buddhism's fresh chapter of decay.--Influence of Riy[=o]bu upon the Chinese ethical system in Japan.--Influence on the Mikado.--Abdication all along the lines of Japanese life.--Ultimate paralysis of the national intellect.--Comparison with Chinese Buddhism.--Miracle-mongering.--No self-reforming power in Buddhism.--The Seven Happy Gods of Fortune.--Pantheism's destruction of boundaries.--The author's study of the popular processions in Japan.--Masaka Do.--Swamping of history in legend.--The jewel in the lotus. CHAPTER VIII NORTHERN BUDDHISM IN ITS DOCTRINAL EVOLUTIONS, PAGE 225 Four stages of the doctrinal development of Buddhism in Japan.--Reasons for the formation of sects.--The Saddharma Pundarika.--Shastras and Sutras.--The Ku-sha sect.--Book of the Treasury of Metaphysics.--The J[=o]-jitsu sect, its founder and its doctrines.--The Ris-shu or Viyana sect.--Japanese pilgrims to China.--The Hos-s[=o] sect and its doctrines.--The three grades of disciples.--The San-ron or Three-shastra sect and its tenets.--The Middle Path.--The Kégon sect.--The Unconditioned, or realistic pantheism.--The Chinese or Tendai sect.--Its scriptures and dogmas.--Buddhahood attainable in the present body.--Vagradrodhi.--The Yoga-chara system.--The "old sects."--Reaction against excessive idol-making.--The Zen sect.--Labor-saving devices in Buddhism.--Making truth apparent by one's own thought.--Transmission of the Zen doctrine.--History of Zen Shu. CHAPTER IX THE BUDDHISM OF THE JAPANESE, PAGE 257 The J[=o]-d[=o] or Pure Land sect.--Substitution of faith in Amida for the eight-fold Path.--Succession of the propagators of true doctrine.--Zend[=o] and H[=o]-nen.--The Japanese path-finder to the Pure Land.--Doctrine of J[=o]-d[=o].--Buddhistic influence on the Japanese language.--Incessant repetition of prayers.--The Pure Land in the West.--The Buddhist doctrine of justification by faith.--H[=o]-nen's universalism.--Tendency of doctrinal development after H[=o]-nen.--"Reformed" Buddhism.--Synergism _versus_ salvation by faith only.--Life of Shinran.--Posthumous honors.--Policy and aim of the Shin sect, methods and scriptures. CHAPTER X JAPANESE BUDDHISM IN ITS MISSIONARY DEVELOPMENT, PAGE 287 The missionary history of Japanese Buddhism is the history of Japan.--The first organized religion of the Japanese.--Professor Basil Hall Chamberlain's testimony--A picture of primeval life in the archipelago.--What came in the train of the new religion from "the West". Missionary civilizers, teachers, road-makers, improvers of diet. Language of flowers and gardens.--The house and home.--Architecture--The imperial capital--Hiyéizan.--Love of natural scenery.--Pilgrimages and their fruits.--The Japanese aesthetic.--Art and decoration in the temples.--Exterior resemblances between the Roman form of Christianity and of Buddhism.--Quotation from "The Mikado's Empire."--Internal vital differences.--Enlightenment and grace.--Ingwa and love.--Luxuriance of the art of Northern Buddhism.--Variety in individual treatment.--Place of the temple in the life of Old Japan.--The protecting trees.--The bell and its note.--The graveyard and the priests' hold upon it.--Japanese Buddhism as a political power.--Its influence upon military history.--Abbots on horseback and monks in armor.--Battles between the Shin and Zen sects.--Nobunaga.--Influence of Buddhism in literature and education.--The temple school.--The _kana_ writing.--Survey and critique of Buddhist history in Japan.--Absence of organized charities.--Regard for animal and disregard for human life.--The Eta.--The Aino.--Attitude to women.--Nuna and numerics.--Polygamy and concubinage.--Buddhism compared with Shint[=o].--Influence upon morals.--The First Cause.--Its leadership among the sects.--Unreality of Amida Buddha.--Nichiren.--His life and opinions.--Idols and avatars.--The favorite scripture of the sect, the Saddharma Pundarika.--Its central dogma, everything in the universe capable of Buddha-ship.--The Salvation Army of Buddhism.--K[=o]b[=o]'s leaven working.--Buddhism ceases to be an intellectual force.--The New Buddhism.--Are the Japanese eager for reform? CHAPTER XI ROMAN CHRISTIANITY IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY, PAGE 323 The many-sided story of Japanese Christianity.--One hundred years of intercourse between Japan and Europe.--State of Japan at the introduction of Portuguese Christianity.--Xavier and Anjiro.--Xavier at Ki[=o]to and in Bungo.--Nobunaga and the Buddhists.--High-water mark of Christianity.--Hideyoshi and the invasion of Korea.--Kato and Konishi.--Persecutions.--Arrival of the Spanish friars.--Their violation of good faith.--Spirit of the Jesuits and Franciscans.--Crucifixion on the bamboo cross.--Hidéyori.--Kato Kiyomasa.--The Dutch in the Eastern seas.--Will Adams.--Iyéyas[)u] suspects designs against the sovereignty of Japan.--The Christian religion outlawed.--Hidétada follows up the policy of Iyéyas[)u], excludes aliens, and shuts up the country.--The uprising of the Christians at Shimabara in 1637.--Christianity buried from sight.--Character of the missionaries and the form of the faith introduced by them.--Noble lives and ideals.--The spirit of the Inquisition in Japan.--Political animus and complexion. CHAPTER XII TWO CENTURIES OF SILENCE, PAGE 351 Policy of the Japanese government after the suppression of Christianity.--Insulation of Japan.--The Hollanders at Déshima.--Withdrawal of the English.--Relations with Korea.--Policy of inclusion.--"A society impervious to foreign ideas."--Life within stunted limits.--Canons of art and literature.--Philosophy made an engine of government.--Esoteric law.--Social waste of humanity.--Attempts to break down the wall--External and internal.--Seekers after God.--The goal of the pilgrims.--The Déshima Dutchman as pictured by enemies and rivals, _versus_ reality and truth.--Eager spirits groping after God.--Morning stars of the Japanese reformation.--Yokoi Héishiro.--The anti-Christian edicts.--The Buddhist Inquisitors.--The Shin-gaku or New Learning movement.--The story of nineteenth century Christianity, subterranean and interior before being phenomenal.--Sabbath-day service on the U.S.S. Mississippi.--The first missionaries.--Dr. J.C. Hepburn--Healing and the Bible.--Yedo becomes T[=o]ki[=o].--Despatch of the Embassy round the world.--Eyes opened.--The Acts of the Apostles in Japan. NOTES, AUTHORITIES AND ILLUSTRATIONS, PAGE 375 INDEX, PAGE 451 CHAPTER I - PRIMITIVE FAITH: RELIGION BEFORE BOOKS "The investigation of the beginnings of a religion is never the work of infidels, but of the most reverent and conscientious minds." "We, the forty million souls of Japan, standing firmly and persistently upon the basis of international justice, await still further manifestations as to the morality of Christianity,"--Hiraii, of Japan. "When the Creator [through intermediaries that were apparently animals] had finished treating this world of men, the good and the bad Gods were all mixed together promiscuously, and began disputing for the possession of this world."--The Aino Story of the Creation. "If the Japanese have few beast stories, the Ainos have _apparently_ no popular tales of heroes ... The Aino mythologies ... lack all connection with morality.... Both lack priests and prophets.... Both belong to a very primitive stage of mental development ... Excepting stories ... and a few almost metreless songs, the Ainos have no other literature at all."--Aino Studies. "I asked the earth, and it answered, 'I am not He;' and whatsoever are therein made the same confession. I asked the sea and the deep and the creeping things that lived, and they replied, 'We are not thy God; seek higher than we.' ... And I answered unto all things which stand about the door of my flesh, 'Ye have told me concerning my God, that ye are not he; tell me something about him.' And with a loud voice they explained, 'It is He who hath made us!'"--Augustine's Confessions. "Seek Him that maketh the seven stars and Orion, and turneth the shadow of death into the morning, and maketh the day dark with night; that calleth for the waters of the sea, and poureth them out upon the face of the earth: The LORD is his name."--Amos. "That which hath been made was life in Him."--John. CHAPTER I - PRIMITIVE FAITH: RELIGION BEFORE BOOKS The Morse Lectureship and the Study of Comparative Religion. As a graduate of the Union Theological Seminary in the city of New York, in the Class of 1877, your servant received and accepted with pleasure the invitation of the President and Board of Trustees to deliver a course of lectures upon the religions of Japan. In that country and in several parts of it, I lived from 1870 to 1874. I was in the service first of the feudal daimi[=o] of Echizen and then of the national government of Japan, helping to introduce that system of public schools which is now the glory of the country. Those four years gave me opportunities for close and constant observation of the outward side of the religions of Japan, and facilities for the study of the ideas out of which worship springs. Since 1867, however, when first as a student in Rutgers College at New Brunswick, N.J., I met and instructed those students from the far East, who, at risk of imprisonment and death had come to America for the culture of Christendom, I have been deeply interested in the study of the Japanese people and their thoughts. To attempt a just and impartial survey of the religions of Japan may seem a task that might well appall even a life-long Oriental scholar. Yet it may be that an honest purpose, a deep sympathy and a gladly avowed desire to help the East and the West, the Japanese and the English-speaking people, to understand each other, are not wholly useless in a study of religion, but for our purpose of real value. These lectures are upon the Morse[1] foundation which has these specifications written out by the founder: The general subject of the lectures I desire to be: "The Relation of the Bible to any of the Sciences, as Geography, Geology, History, and Ethnology, ... and the relation of the facts and truths contained in the Word of God, to the principles, methods, and aims of any of the sciences." Now, among the sciences which we must call to our aid are those of geography and geology, by which are conditioned history and ethnology of which we must largely treat; and, most of all, the science of Comparative Religion. This last is Christianity's own child. Other sciences, such as geography and astronomy, may have been born among lands and nations outside of and even before Christendom. Other sciences, such as geology, may have had their rise in Christian time and in Christian lands, their foundation lines laid and their main processes illustrated by Christian men, which yet cannot be claimed by Christianity as her children bearing her own likeness and image; but the science of Comparative Religion is the direct offspring of the religion of Jesus. It is a distinctively Christian science. "It is so because it is a product of Christian civilization, and because it finds its impulse in that freedom of inquiry which Christianity fosters."[2] Christian scholars began the investigations, formulated the principles, collected the materials and reared the already splendid fabric of the science of Comparative Religion, because the spirit of Christ which was in them did signify this. Jesus bade his disciples search, inquire, discern and compare. Paul, the greatest of the apostolic Christian college, taught: "Prove all things; hold fast that which is good." In our day one of Christ's loving followers[3] expressed the spirit of her Master in her favorite motto, "Truth for authority, not authority for truth." Well says Dr. James Legge, a prince among scholars, and translator of the Chinese classics, who has added several portly volumes to Professor Max Müller's series of the "Sacred Books of the East," whose face to-day is bronzed and whose hair is whitened by fifty years of service in southern China where with his own hands he baptized six hundred Chinamen:[4] The more that a man possesses the Christian spirit, and is governed by Christian principle, the more anxious will he be to do justice to every other system of religion, and to hold his own without taint or fetter of bigotry.[5] It was Christianity that, in a country where the religion of Jesus has fullest liberty, called the Parliament of Religions, and this for reasons clearly manifest. Only Christians had and have the requisites of success, viz.: sufficient interest in other men and religions; the necessary unity of faith and purpose; and above all, the brave and bold disregard of the consequences. Christianity calls the Parliament of Religions, following out the Divine audacity of Him who, so often, confronting worldly wisdom and priestly cunning, said to his disciples, "Think not, be not anxious, take no heed, be careful for nothing--only for love and truth. I am not come to destroy, but to fulfil." Of all places therefore, the study of comparative religion is most appropriate in a Christian theological seminary. We must know how our fellow-men think and believe, in order to help them. It is our duty to discover the pathways of approach to their minds and hearts. We must show them, as our brethren and children of the same Heavenly Father, the common ground on which we all stand. We must point them to the greater truth in the Bible and in Christ Jesus, and demonstrate wherein both the divinely inspired library and the truth written in a divine-human life fulfil that which is lacking in their books and masters. To know just how to do this is knowledge to be coveted as a most excellent gift. An understanding of the religion of our fellow-men is good, both for him who goes as a missionary and for him who at home prays, "Thy kingdom come." The theological seminary, which begins the systematic and sympathetic study of Comparative Religion and fills the chair with a professor who has a vital as well as academic interest in the welfare of his fellow-men who as yet know not Jesus as Christ and Lord, is sure to lead in effective missionary work. The students thus equipped will be furnished as none others are, to begin at once the campaign of help and warfare of love. It may be that insight into and sympathy with the struggles of men who are groping after God, if haply they may find him, will shorten the polemic sword of the professional converter whose only purpose is destructive hostility without tactics or strategy, or whose chief idea of missionary success is in statistics, in blackening the character of "the heathen," in sensational letters for home consumption and reports properly cooked and served for the secretarial and sectarian palates. Yet, if true in history, Greek, Roman, Japanese, it is also true in the missionary wars, that "the race that shortens its weapons lengthens its boundaries."[6] Apart from the wit or the measure of truth in this sentence quoted, it is a matter of truth in the generalizations of fact that the figure of the "sword of the spirit, which is the word of God," used by Paul, and also the figure of the "word of God, living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, and piercing even to the dividing of the soul and spirit, of both joints and marrow, and quick to discern the thoughts and intents of the heart," of the writer to the Hebrews, had for their original in iron the victorious _gladium_ of the Roman legionary--a weapon both short and sharp. We may learn from this substance of fact behind the shadow of the figure a lesson for our instant application. The disciplined Romans scorned the long blades of the barbarians, whose valor so often impetuous was also impotent against discipline. The Romans measured their blades by inches, not by feet. For ages the Japanese sword has been famed for its temper more than its weight.[7] The Christian entering upon his Master's campaigns with as little impediments of sectarian dogma as possible, should select a weapon that is short, sure and divinely tempered. To know exactly the defects of the religion we seek to abolish, modify, supplement, supplant or fulfil, means wise economy of force. To get at the secrets of its hold upon the people we hope to convert leads to a right use of power. In a word, knowledge of the opposing religion, and especially of alien language, literature and ways of feeling and thinking, lengthens missionary life. A man who does not know the moulds of thought of his hearers is like a swordsman trying to fight at long range but only beating the air. Armed with knowledge and sympathy, the missionary smites with effect at close quarters. He knows the vital spots. Let me fortify my own convictions and conclude this preliminary part of my lectures by quoting again, not from academic authorities, but from active missionaries who are or have been at the front and in the field.[8] The Rev. Samuel Beal, author of "Buddhism in China," said (p. 19) that "it was plain to him that no real work could be done among the people [of China and Japan] by missionaries until the system of their belief was understood." The Rev. James MacDonald, a veteran missionary in Africa, in the concluding chapter of his very able work on "Religion and Myth," says: The Church that first adopts for her intending missionaries the study of Comparative Religion as a substitute for subjects now taught will lead the van in the path of true progress. The People of Japan. In this faith then, in the spirit of Him who said, "I come not to destroy but to fulfil," let us cast our eyes upon that part of the world where lies the empire of Japan with its forty-one millions of souls. Here we have not a country like India--a vast conglomeration of nations, languages and religions occupying a peninsula itself like a continent, whose history consists of a stratification of many civilizations. Nor have we here a seemingly inert mass of humanity in a political structure blending democracy and imperialism, as in China, so great in age, area and numbers as to weary the imagination that strives to grasp the details. On the contrary, in Dai Nippon, or Great Land of the Sun's Origin, we have a little country easy of study. In geology it is one of the youngest of lands. Its known history is comparatively modern. Its area roughly reckoned as 150,000 square miles, is about that of our Dakotas or of Great Britain and Ireland. The census completed December 31, 1892, illustrates here, as all over the world, nature's argument against polygamy. It tells us that the relation between the sexes is, numerically at least, normal. There were 20,752,366 males and 20,337,574 females, making a population of 41,089,940 souls. All these people are subjects of the one emperor, and excepting fewer than twenty thousand savages in the northern islands called Ainos, speak one language and form substantially one race. Even the Riu Kiu islanders are Japanese in language, customs and religion. In a word, except in minor differences appreciable or at least important only to the special student, the modern Japanese are a homogeneous people. In origin and formation, this people is a composite of many tribes. Roughly outlining the ethnology of Japan, we should say that the aborigines were immigrants from the continent with Malay reinforcement in the south, Koreans in the centre, and Ainos in the east and north, with occasional strains of blood at different periods from various parts of the Asian mainland. In brief, the Japanese are a very mixed race. Authentic history before the Christian era is unknown. At some point of time, probably later than A.D. 200, a conquering tribe, one of many from the Asian mainland, began to be paramount on the main island. About the fourth century something like historic events and personages begin to be visible, but no Japanese writings are older than the early part of the eighth century, though almanacs and means of measuring time are found in the sixth century. Whatever Japan may be in legend and mythology, she is in fact and in history younger than Christianity. Her line of rulers, as alleged in old official documents and ostentatiously reaffirmed in the first article of the constitution of 1889, to be "unbroken for ages eternal," is no older than that of the popes. Let us not think of Aryan or Chinese antiquity when we talk of Japan. Her history as a state began when the Roman empire fell. The Germanic nations emerged into history long before the Japanese. Roughly outlining the political and religious life of the ancient Japanese, we note that their first system of government was a rude sort of feudalism imposed by the conquerors and was synchronous with aboriginal fetichism, nature worship, ancestral sacrifices, sun-worship and possibly but not probably, a very rude sort of monotheism akin to the primitive Chinese cultus.[9] Almost contemporary with Buddhism, its introduction and missionary development, was the struggle for centralized imperialism borrowed from the Chinese and consolidated in the period from the seventh to the twelfth century. During most of this time Shint[=o], or the primitive religion, was overshadowed while the Confucian ethics were taught. From the twelfth to this nineteenth century feudalism in politics and Buddhism in religion prevailed, though Confucianism furnished the social laws or rules of daily conduct. Since the epochal year of 1868, with imperialism reestablished and the feudal system abolished, Shint[=o] has had a visible revival, being kept alive by government patronage. Buddhism, though politically disestablished, is still the popular religion with recent increase of life,[10] while Confucianism is decidedly losing force. Christianity has begun its promising career. The Amalgam of Religions. Yet in the imperial and constitutional Japan of our day it is still true of probably at least thirty-eight millions of Japanese that their religion is not one, Shint[=o], Confucianism or Buddhism, but an amalgam of all three. There is not in every-day life that sharp distinction between these religions which the native or foreign scholar makes, and which both history and philosophy demand shall be made for the student at least. Using the technical language of Christian theologians, Shint[=o] furnishes theology, Confucianism anthropology and Buddhism soteriology. The average Japanese learns about the gods and draws inspiration for his patriotism from Shint[=o], maxims for his ethical and social life from Confucius, and his hope of what he regards as salvation from Buddhism. Or, as a native scholar, Nobuta Kishimoto,[11] expresses it, In Japan these three different systems of religion and morality are not only living together on friendly terms with one another, but, in fact, they are blended together in the minds of the people, who draw necessary nourishment from all of these sources. One and the same Japanese is both a Shint[=o]ist, a Confucianist, and a Buddhist. He plays a triple part, so to speak ... Our religion may be likened to a triangle.... Shint[=o]ism furnishes the object, Confucianism offers the rules of life, while Buddhism supplies the way of salvation; so you see we Japanese are eclectic in everything, even in religion. These three religious systems as at present constituted, are "book religions." They rest, respectively, upon the Kojiki and other ancient Japanese literature and the modern commentators; upon the Chinese classics edited and commented on by Confucius and upon Chu Hi and other mediaeval scholastics who commented upon Confucius; and upon the shastras and sutras with which Gautama, the Buddha, had something to do. Yet in primeval and prehistoric Nippon neither these books nor the religions growing out of the books were extant. Furthermore, strictly speaking, it is not with any or all of these three religions that the Christian missionary comes first, oftenest or longest in contact. In ancient, in mediaeval, and in modern times the student notices a great undergrowth of superstition clinging parasitically to all religions, though formally recognized by none. Whether we call it fetichism, shamanism, nature worship or heathenism in its myriad forms, it is there in awful reality. It is as omnipresent, as persistent, as hard to kill as the scrub bamboo which both efficiently and sufficiently takes the place of thorns and thistles as the curse of Japanese ground. The book-religions can be more or less apprehended by those alien to them, but to fully appreciate the depth, extent, influence and tenacity of these archaic, unwritten and unformulated beliefs requires residence upon the soil and life among the devotees. Disowned it may be by the priests and sages, indignantly disclaimed or secretly approved in part by the organized religions, this great undergrowth of superstition is as apparent as the silicious bamboo grass which everywhere conditions and modifies Japanese agriculture. Such prevalence of mental and spiritual disease is the sad fact that confronts every lover of his fellow-men. This paganism is more ancient and universal than any one of the religions founded on writing or teachers of name and fame. Even the applied science and the wonderful inventions imported from the West, so far from eradicating it, only serve as the iron-clad man-of-war in warm salt water serves the barnacles, furnishing them food and hold. We propose to give in this our first lecture, a general or bird's-eye view of this dead level of paganism above which the systems of Shint[=o], Confucianism and Buddhism tower like mountains. It in by this omnipresent superstition that the respectable religious have been conditioned in their history and are modified at present, even as Christianity has been influenced in its progress by ethnic or local ideas and temperaments, and will be yet in its course of victory in the Mikado's empire. Just as the terms "heathen" (happily no longer, in the Revised Version of the English Bible) and "pagan" suggest the heath-man of Northern Europe and the isolated hamlet of the Roman empire, while the cities were illuminated with Christian truth, so, in the main, the matted superstitious of Chinese Asia are more suggestive of distances from books and centres of knowledge, though still sufficiently rooted in the crowded cities. One to whom the boundary line between the Creator and his world is perfectly clear, one who knows the eternal difference between mind and matter, one born amid the triumphs of science can but faintly realize the mental condition of the millions of Japan to whom there is no unifying thought of the Creator-Father. Faith in the unity of law is the foundation of all science, but the average Asiatic has not this thought or faith. Appalled at his own insignificance amid the sublime mysteries and awful immensities of nature, the shadows of his own mind become to him real existences. As it is affirmed that the human skin, sensitive to the effects of light, takes the photograph of the tree riven by lightning, so, on the pagan mind lie in ineffaceable and exaggerated grotesqueness the scars of impressions left by hereditary teaching, by natural phenomena and by the memory of events and of landmarks. Out of the soil of diseased imagination has sprung up a growth as terrible as the drunkard's phantasies. The earthquake, flood, tidal wave, famine, withering or devastating wind and poisonous gases, the geological monsters and ravening bird, beast and fish, have their representatives or supposed incarnations in mythical phantasms. Frightful as these shadows of the mind appear, they are both very real and, in a sense, very necessary to the ignorant man. He must have some theory by which to explain the phenomena of nature and soothe his own terrors. Hence he peoples the earth and water, not only with invisible spirits more or less malevolent, but also with bodily presences usually in terrific bestial form. To those who believe in one Spirit pervading, ordering, governing all things, there is unity amid all phenomena, and the universe is all order and beauty. To the mind which has not reached this height of simplicity, instead of one cause there are many. The diverse phenomena of nature are brought about by spirits innumerable, warring and discordant. Instead of a unity to the mind, as of sun and solar system, there is nothing but planets, asteroids and a constant rain of shooting-stars. Shamanism. Glancing at some phases of the actual unwritten religions of Japan we name Shamanism, Mythical Zoölogy, Fetichism, Phallicism, and Tree and Serpent Worship. In actual Shamanism or Animism there may or there may not be a belief in or conception of a single all-powerful Creator above and beyond all.[12] Usually there is not such a belief, though, even if there be, the actual government of the physical world and its surroundings is believed to lie in the hands of many spirits or gods benevolent and malevolent. Earth, air, water, all things teem with beings that are malevolent and constantly active. In time of disaster, famine, epidemic the universe seems as overcrowded with them as stagnant water seems to be when the solar microscope throw its contents into apparition upon the screen. It is absolutely necessary to propitiate these spirits by magic rites and incantations. Among the tribes of the northern part of the Chinese Empire and the Ainos of Japan this Shamanism exists as something like an organized cultus. Indeed, it would be hard to find any part of Chinese Asia from Korea to Annam or from Tibet to Formosa, not dominated by this belief in the power and presence of minor spirits. The Ainos of Yezo may be called Shamanists or Animists; that is, their minds are cramped and confused by their belief in a multitude of inferior spirits whom they worship and propitiate by rites and incantations through their medicine-man or sorcerer. How they whittle sticks, keeping on the fringe of curled shavings, and set up these, called _inao_ in places whence evil is suspected to lurk, and how the shaman conducts his exorcisms and works his healings, are told in the works of the traveller and the missionary.[13] In the wand of shavings thus reared we see the same motive as that which induced the Mikado in the eighth century to build the great monasteries on Hiyéizan, northeast of Ki[=o]to, this being the quarter in which Buddhist superstition locates the path of advancing evil, to ward off malevolence by litanies and incense. Or, the _inao_ is a sort of lightning-rod conductor by which impending mischief may be led harmlessly away. Yet, besides the Ainos,[14] there are millions of Japanese who are Shamanists, even though they know not the name or organized cult. And if we make use of the term Shamanism instead of the more exact one of Animism, it is for the very purpose of illustrating our contention that the underlying paganisms of the Japanese archipelago, unwritten and unformulated, are older than the religions founded on books; and that these paganisms, still vital and persistent, constantly modify and corrupt the recognized religious. The term Shaman, a Pali word, was originally a pure Buddhist term meaning one who has separated from his family and his passions. One of the designations of the Buddha was Shamana-Gautama. The same word, Shamon, in Japanese still means a bonze, or Buddhist priest. Its appropriation by the sorcerers, medicine-men, and lords of the misrule of superstition in Mongolia and Manchuria shows decisively how indigenous paganism has corrupted the Buddhism of northern Asia even as it has caused its decay in Japan. As out of Animism or Shamanism grows Fetichism in which a visible object is found for the abode or medium of the spirit, so also, out of the same soil arises what we may call Imaginary Zoölogy. In this mental growth, the nightmare of the diseased imagination or of the mind unable to draw the line between the real and the unreal, Chinese Asia differs notably from the Aryan world. With the mythical monsters of India and Iran we are acquainted, and with those of the Semitic and ancient European cycle of ideas which furnished us with our ancients and classics we are familiar. The lovely presences in human form, the semi-human and bestial creations, sphinxes, naiads, satyrs, fauns, harpies, griffins, with which the fancy of the Mediterranean nations populated glen, grotto, mountain and stream, are probably outnumbered by the less beautiful and even hideous mind-shadows of the Turanian world. Chief among these are what in Chinese literature, so slavishly borrowed by the Japanese, are called the four supernatural or spiritually endowed creatures--the Kirin or Unicorn, the Phoenix, the Tortoise and the Dragon.[15] Mythical Zoölogy. Of the first species the _ki_ is the male, the _lin_ is the female, hence the name Kilin. The Japanese having no _l_, pronounce this Kirin. Its appearance on the earth is regarded as a happy portent of the advent of good government or the birth of men who are to prove virtuous rulers. It has the body of a deer, the tail of an ox, and a single, soft horn. As messenger of mercy and benevolence, the Kirin never treads on a live insect or eats growing grass. Later philosophy made this imaginary beast the incarnation of those five primordial elements--earth, air, water, fire and ether of which all things, including man's body, are made and which are symbolized in the shapes of the cube, globe, pyramid, saucer and tuft of rays in the Japanese gravestones. It is said to attain the age of a thousand years, to be the noblest form of the animal creation and the emblem of perfect good. In Chinese and Japanese art this creature holds a prominent place, and in literature even more so. It is not only part of the repertoire of the artist's symbols in the Chinese world of ideas, but is almost a necessity to the moulds of thought in eastern Asia. Yet it is older than Confucius or the book-religions, and its conception shows one of the nobler sides of Animism. The Feng-hwang or Phoenix, Japanese H[=o]-w[=o], the second of the incarnations of the spirits, is of wondrous form and mystic nature. The rare advent of this bird upon the earth is, like that of the kirin or unicorn, a presage of the advent of virtuous rulers and good government. It has the head of a pheasant, the beak of a swallow, the neck of a tortoise, and the features of the dragon and fish. Its colors and streaming feathers are gorgeous with iridian sheen, combining the splendors of the pheasant and the peacock. Its five colors symbolize the cardinal virtues of uprightness of mind, obedience, justice, fidelity and benevolence. The male bird _H[=o]_, and female _w[=o]_, by their inseparable fellowship furnish the artist, poet and literary writer with the originals of the ten thousand references which are found in Chinese and its derived literatures. Of this mystic Phoenix a Chinese dictionary thus gives description: The Phoenix is of the essence of water; it was born in the vermilion cave; it perches not but on the most beautiful of all trees; it eats not but of the seed of the bamboo; its body is adorned with the five colors; its song contains the five notes; as it walks it looks around; as it flies hosts of birds follow it. Older than the elaborate descriptions of it and its representations in art, the H[=o]-w[=o] is one of the creations of primitive Chinese Animism. The Kwei or Tortoise is not the actual horny reptile known to naturalists and to common experience, but a spirit, an animated creature that ages ago rose up out of the Yellow River, having on its carapace the mystic writing out of which the legendary founder of Chinese civilization deciphered the basis of moral teachings and the secrets of the unseen. From this divine tortoise which conceived by thought alone, all other tortoises sprang. In the elaboration of the myths and legends concerning the tortoise we find many varieties of this scaly incarnation. It lives a thousand years, hence it is emblem of longevity in art and literature. It is the attendant of the god of the waters. It has some of the qualities and energies of the dragon, it has the power of transformation. In pictures and sculptures we are familiar with its figure, often of colossal size, as forming the curb of a well, the base of a monument or tablet. Yet, whatever its form in literature or art, it is the later elaborated representation of ancient Animism which selected the tortoise as one of the manifold incarnations or media of the myriad spirits that populate the air. Chief and leader of the four divinely constituted beasts is the Lung, Japanese Ri[=o], or Dragon, which has the power of transformation and of making itself visible or invisible. At will it reduces itself to the size of a silk-worm, or is swollen until it fills the space of heaven and earth. This is the creature especially preeminent in art, literature and rhetoric. There are nine kinds of dragons, all with various features and functions, and artists and authors revel in their representation. The celestial dragon guards the mansions of the gods and supports them lest they fall; the spiritual dragon causes the winds to blow and rain to descend for the service of mankind; the earth dragon marks out the courses of rivers and streams; the dragon of the hidden treasures watches over the wealth concealed from mortals, etc. Outwardly, the dragon of superstition resembles the geological monsters brought to resurrection by our paleontologists. He seems to incarnate all the attributes and forces of animal life--vigor, rapidity of motion, endurance, power of offence in horn, hoof, claw, tooth, nail, scale and fiery breath. Being the embodiment of all force the dragon is especially symbolical of the emperor. Usually associated with malevolence, one sees, besides the conventional art and literature of civilization, the primitive animistic idea of men to whose mind this mysterious universe had no unity, who believed in myriad discordant spirits but knew not of "one Law-giver, who is able both to save and to destroy." An enlargement, possibly, of prehistoric man's reminiscence of now extinct monsters, the dragon is, in its artistic development, a mythical embodiment of all the powers of moisture to bless and to harm. We shall see how, when Buddhism entered China, the cobra-de-capello, so often figured in the Buddhistic representations of India, is replaced by the dragon. Yet besides these four incarnations of the spirits that misrule the world there is a host, a menagerie of mythical monsters. In Korea, one of the Asian countries richest in demonology, beast worship is very prevalent. Mythical winged tigers and flying serpents with attributes of fire, lightning and combinations of forces not found in any one creature, are common to the popular fancy. In Japan, the _kappa_, half monkey half tortoise, which seizes children bathing in the rivers, as real to millions of the native common folk as is the shark or porpoise; the flying-weasel, that moves in the whirlwind with sickle-like blades on his claws, which cut the face of the unfortunate; the wind-god or imp that lets loose the gale or storm; the thunder-imp or hairy, cat-like creature that on the cloud-edges beats his drums in crash, roll, or rattle; the earthquake-fish or subterranean bull-head or cat-fish that wriggles and writhes, causing the earth to shiver, shudder and open; the _ja_ or dragon centipede; the _tengu_ or long-nosed and winged mountain sprite, which acts as the messenger of the gods, pulling out the tongues of fibbing, lying children; besides the colossal spiders and mythical creatures of the old story-books; the foxes, badgers, cats and other creatures which transform themselves and "possess" human beings, still influence the popular mind. These, once the old _kami_ of the primitive Japanese, or _kamui_ of the aboriginal Aino, show the mental soil and climate[16] which were to condition the growth of the seed imported from other lands, whether of Buddhism or Christianity. It is very hard to kill a god while the old mind that grew and nourished him still remains the same. Banish or brand a phantom or mind-shadow once worshipped as divine, and it will appear as a fairy, a demon, a mythical animal, or an _oni_; but to annihilate it requires many centuries of higher culture. As with the superstitions and survival of Animism and Fetichism from our pagan ancestors among ourselves, many of the lingering beliefs may be harmless, but over the mass of men in Japan and in Chinese Asia they still exert a baleful influence. They make life full of distress; they curtail human joy; they are a hindrance, to spiritual progress and to civilization. Fetichism. The animistic tendency in that part of Asia dominated by the Chinese world of ideas shows itself not only in a belief in messengers or embodiments of divine malevolence or benevolence, but also in the location of the spiritual influence in or upon an inanimate object or fetich. Among men in Chinese Asia, from the clodhopper to the gentleman, the inheritance of Fetichism from the primeval ages is constantly noticeable. Let us glance at the term itself. As the Chinaman's "Joss" is only his own pronunciation of the Portuguese word _Deos_, or the Latin _Deus_, so the word "fetich" is but the Portuguese modification of the Latin word _facticius_, that is _feitiço_. Portugal, beginning nearly five hundred years ago, had the honor of sending the first ships and crews to explore the coasts of Africa and Asia, and her sailors by this word, now Englished as fetich, described the native charms or talismans. The word "fetichism" came into the European languages through the work of Charles de Brosses, who, in 1760, wrote on "Du Culte des Dieux Fétiches." In Fetichism, the "object is treated as having personal consciousness and power, is talked with, worshipped, prayed to, sacrificed to, petted or ill-treated with reference to its past or future behavior to its votaries." Let me draw a picture from actual observation. I look out of the windows of my house in Fukui. Here is a peasant who comes back after the winter to prepare his field for cultivation. The man's horizon of ideas, like his vocabulary, is very limited. His view of actual life is bounded by a few rice-fields, a range of hills, and the village near by. Possibly one visit to a city or large town has enriched his experience. More probably, however, the wind and clouds, the weather, the soil, crops and taxes, his family and food and how to provide for them, are the main thoughts that occupy his mind. Before he will strike mattock or spade in the soil, lay axe to a tree, collect or burn underbrush, he will select a stone, a slab of rock or a stick of wood, set it upon hill side or mud field-boundary, and to this he will bow, prostrate himself or pray. To him, this stone or stick is consecrated. It has power to placate the spirits and ward off their evil. It is the medium of communication between him and them. Now, having attended, as he thinks, to the proprieties in the case, he proceeds to dig, plough, drain, put in order and treat soil or water, tree or other growth as is most convenient for his purpose. His fetich is erected to "the honorable spirits." Were this not attended to, some known or unknown bad luck, sinister fortune, or calamity would befall him. Here, then, is a fetich-worshipper. The stick or stone is the medium of communication between the man and the spirits who can bless or harm him, and which to his mind are as countlessly numerous as the swarms of mosquitoes which he drives out of and away from his summer cottage by smudge fires in August. One need not travel in Yezo or Saghalin to see practical Fetichism. Go where you will in Japan, there are fetich worshippers. Among the country folk, the "_inaka_" of Japanese parlance, Fetichism is seen in its grossest forms. Yet among probably millions of Buddhists, especially of certain sects, the Nichiren for example, and even among the rationalistic Confucians, there are fetich-worshippers. Rare is the Japanese farmer, laborer, mechanic, ward-man, or _hei-min_ of any trade who does not wear amulet, charm or other object which he regards with more or less of reverence as having relation to the powers that help or harm.[17] In most of the Buddhist temples these amulets are sold for the benefit of the priests or of the shrine or monastery. Not a few even of the gentry consider it best to be on the safe side and wear in pouch or purse these protectors against evil. Of the 7,817,570 houses in the empire, enumerated in the census of 1892, it is probable that seven millions of them are subjects of insurance by fetich.[18] They are guaranteed against fire, thieves, lightning, plague and pestilence. It is because of money paid to the priests that the wooden policies are duly nailed on the walls, and not on account of the wise application of mathematical, financial or medical science. Examine also the paper packages carefully tied and affixed above the transom, decipher the writing in ink or the brand left by the hot iron on the little slabs of pine-wood--there may be one or a score of them--and what will you read? Names of the temples with date of issue and seal of certificate from the priests, mottoes or titles from sacred books, often only a Sanskrit letter or monogram, of which the priest-pedler may long since have forgotten the meaning. To build a house, select a cemetery or proceed to any of the ordinary events of life without making use of some sort of material fetich, is unusual, extraordinary and is voted heterodox. Long after the brutish stage of thought is past the fetichistic instinct remains in the sacredness attached to the mere letter or paper or parchment of the sacred book or writing, when used as amulet, plaster or medicine. The survivals, even in Buddhism, of ancient and prehistoric Fetichism are many and often with undenied approval of the religious authorities, especially in those sects which are themselves reversions to primitive and lower types of religion. Among the Ainos of Yezo and Saghalin the medicine-man or shaman is decorated with fetichistic bric-à-brac of all sorts, and these bits of shells, metals, and other clinking substances are believed to be media of communication with mysterious influences and forces. In Korea thousands of trees bedecked with fluttering rags, clinking scraps of tin, metal or stone signify the same thing. In Japan these primitive tinkling scraps and clinking bunches of glass have long since become the _suzu_ or wind-bells seen on the pagoda which tintinabulate with every passing breeze. The whittled sticks of the Aino, non-conductors of evil and protectors of those who make and rear them, stuck up in every place of awe or supposed danger, have in the slow evolution of centuries become the innumerable flag-poles, banners and streamers which one sees at their _matsuris_ or temple festivals. Millions of towels and handkerchiefs still flutter over wells and on sacred trees. In old Japan the banners of an army almost outnumbered the men who fought beneath them. Today, at times they nearly conceal the temples from view. The civilized Japanese, having passed far beyond the Aino's stage of religion, still show their fetichistic instincts in the veneration accorded to priestly inventions for raising revenue.[19] This instinct lingers in the faith accorded to medicine in the form of decoction, pill, bolus or poultice made from the sacred writing and piously swallowed; in the reverence paid to the idol for its own sake, and in the charm or amulet worn by the soldier in his cap or by the gentleman in his pill-box, tobacco-pouch or purse. As the will of the worshipper who selects the fetich makes it what it is, so also, by the exercise of that will he imagines he can in a certain measure be the equal or superior of his god. Like the Italian peasant who beats or scolds his bambino when his prayers are not answered or his wishes gratified, so the fetich is punished or not allowed to know what is going on, by being covered up or hidden away. Instances of such rough handling of their fetiches by the people are far from unknown in the Land of Great Peace. At such childishness we may wonder and imagine that fetich-worship is the very antipodes of religion; and yet it requires but little study of the lower orders of mind and conduct in Christendom to see how fetich-worship still lingers among people called Christians, whether the fetich be the image of a saint or the Virgin, or a verse of the Bible found at random and used much as is a penny-toss to decide minor actions. Or, to look farther south, what means the rabbit's foot carried in the pocket or the various articles of faith now hanging in the limbo between religion and folk-lore in various parts of our own country? Phallicism. Further illustrations of far Eastern Animism and Fetichism are seen in forms once vastly more prevalent in Japan than now. Indeed, so far improved off the face of the earth are they, that some are already matters of memory or archæology, and their very existence even in former days is nearly or wholly incredible to the generation born since 1868--when Old Japan began to vanish in dissolving views and New Japan to emerge. What the author has seen with his own eyes, would amaze many Japanese born since 1868 and the readers of the rhapsodies of tourists who study Japan from the _jin-riki-sha_. Phases of tree and serpent worship are still quite common, and will be probably for generations to come; but the phallic shrines and emblems abolished by the government in 1872 have been so far invisible to most living travellers and natives, that their once general existence and use are now scarcely suspected. Even profound scholars of the Japanese language and literature whose work dates from after the year 1872 have scarcely suspected the universality of phallic worship. Yet what we could say of this cult and its emblems, especially in treating of Shint[=o], the special ethnic faith of Japan, would be from sight of our own eyes besides the testimony of many witnesses.[20] The cultus has been known in the Japanese archipelago from Riu Kin to Yezo. Despite official edicts of abolition it is still secretly practised by the "heathen," the _inaka_ of Japan. "Government law lasts three days," is an ancient proverb in Nippon. Sharp eyes have, within three months of the writing of this line, unearthed a phallic shrine within a stone's-throw of Shint[=o]'s most sacred temples at Isé. Formerly, however, these implements of worship were seen numerously--in the cornucopia distributed in the temples, in the _matsuris_ or religious processions and in representation by various plastic material--and all this until 1872, to an extent that is absolutely incredible to all except the eye-witnesses, some of whose written testimonies we possess. What seems to our mind shocking and revolting was once a part of our own ancestors' faith, and until very recently was the perfectly natural and innocent creed of many millions of Japanese and is yet the same for tens of thousands of them. We may easily see why and how that which to us is a degrading cult was not only closely allied to Shint[=o], but directly fostered by and properly a part of it, as soon as we read the account of the creation of the world, an contained in the national "Book of Ancient Traditions," the "Kojiki." Several of the opening paragraphs of this sacred book of Shint[=o] are phallic myths explaining cosmogony. Yet the myths and the cult are older than the writing and are phases of primitive Japanese faith. The mystery of fatherhood is to the primitive man the mystery of creation also. To him neither the thought nor the word was at hand to put difference and transcendental separation between him and what he worshipped as a god. Into the details of the former display and carriage of these now obscene symbols in the popular celebrations; of the behavior of even respectable citizens during the excitement and frenzy of the festivals; of their presence in the wayside shrines; of the philosophy, hideousness or pathos of the subject, we cannot here enter. We simply call attention to their existence, and to a form of thought, if not of religion, properly so-called, which has survived all imported systems of faith and which shows what the native or indigenous idea of divinity really is--an idea that profoundly affects the organization of society. To the enlightened Buddhist, Confucian, and even the modern Shintoist the phallus-worshipper is a "heathen," a "pagan," and yet he still practises his faith and rites. It is for us to hint at the powerful influence such persistent ideas have upon Japanese morals and civilization. Still further, we illustrate the basic fact which all foreign religions and all missionaries, Confucian, Buddhist, Mahometan or Christian must deal with, viz.: That the Eastern Asiatic mind runs to pantheism as surely as the body of flesh and blood seeks food. Tree and Serpent Worship. In prehistoric and medieval Japan, as among the Ainos to-day, trees and serpents as well as rocks, rivers and other inanimate objects were worshipped, because such of them as were supposed for reasons known and felt to be awe-inspiring or wonderful were "kami," that is, above the common, wonderful.[21] This word kami is usually translated god or deity, but the term does not conform to our ideas, by a great gulf of difference. It is more than probable that the Japanese term kami is the same as the Aino word _kamui_, and that the despised and conquered aboriginal savage has furnished the mould of the ordinary Japanese idea of god--which even to-day with them means anything wonderful or extraordinary.[22] From the days before history the people have worshipped trees, and do so yet, considering them as the abodes of and as means of communication with supernatural powers. On them the people hang their votive offerings, twist on the branches their prayers written on paper, avoid cutting down, breaking or in any way injuring certain trees. The _sakaki_ tree is especially sacred, even to this day, in funeral or Shint[=o] services. To wound or defile a tree sacred to a particular god was to call forth the vengeance of the insulted deity upon the insulter, or as the hearer of prayer upon another to whom guilt was imputed and punishment was due. Thus, in the days older than this present generation, but still within this century, as the writer has witnessed, it was the custom of women betrayed by their lovers to perform the religious act of vengeance called _Ushi toki mairi_, or going to the temple at the hour of the ox, that is at 2 A.M. First making an image or manikin of straw, she set out on her errand of revenge, with nails held in her mouth and with hammer in one hand and straw figure in the other, sometimes also having on her head a reversed tripod in which were stuck three lighted candles. Arriving at the shrine she selected a tree dedicated to a god, and then nailed the straw simulacrum of her betrayer to the trunk, invoking the kami to curse and annihilate the destroyer of her peace. She adjures the god to save his tree, impute the guilt of desecration to the traitor and visit him with deadly vengeance. The visit is repeated and nails are driven until the object of the incantation sickens and dies, or is at least supposed to do so. I have more than once seen such trees and straw images upon them, and have observed others in which the large number of rusted nails and fragments of straw showed how tenaciously the superstition lingered.[23] In instances more pleasant to witness, may be seen trees festooned with the symbolical rice-straw in cords and fringes. With these the people honor the trees as the abode of the kami, or as evidence of their faith in the renown accredited in the past. In common with most human beings the Japanese consider the serpent an object of mystery and awe, but most of them go further and pay the ophidian a reverence and awe which is worship. Their oldest literature shows how large a part the serpent played in the so-called divine age, how it acted as progenitress of the Mikado's ancestry, and how it afforded means of incarnation for the kami or gods. Ten species of ophidia are known in the Japanese islands, but in the larger number of more or less imaginary varieties which figure in the ancient books we shall find plenty of material for fetich-worship. In perusing the "Kojiki" one scarcely knows, when he begins a story, whether the character which to all appearance is a man or woman is to end as a snake, or whether the mother after delivering her child will or will not glide into the marsh or slide away into the sea, leaving behind a trail of slime. A dragon is three-fourths serpent, and both the dragon and the serpent are prominent figures, perhaps the most prominent of the kami or gods in human or animal form in the "Kojiki" and other early legends of the gods, though the crocodile, crow, deer, dog, and other animals are kami.[24] It is therefore no wonder that serpents have been and are still worshipped by the people, that some of their gods and goddesses are liable at any time to slip away in scaly form, that famous temples are built on sites noted as being the abode or visible place of the actual water or land snake of natural history, and that the spot where a serpent is seen to-day is usually marked with a sacred emblem or a shrine.[25] We shall see how this snake-worship became not only a part of Shint[=o] but even a notable feature in corrupt Buddhism. Pantheism's Destruction of Boundaries.[26] In its rudest forms, this pantheism branches out into animism or shamanism, fetichism and phallicism. In its higher forms, it becomes polytheism, idolatry and defective philosophy. Having centuries ago corrupted Buddhism it is the malaria which, unseen and unfelt, is ready to poison and corrupt Christianity. Indeed, it has already given over to disease and spiritual death more than one once hopeful Christian believer, teacher and preacher in the Japan of our decade. To assault and remove the incubus, to replace and refill the mind, to lift up and enlighten the Japanese peasant, science as already known and faith in one God, Creator and Father of all things, must go hand in hand. Education and civilization will do much for the ignorant _inaka_ or boors, but for the cultured whose minds waver and whose feet flounder, as well as for the unlearned and priest-ridden, there is no surer help and healing than that faith in the Heavenly Father which gives the unifying thought to him who looks into creation. Keep the boundary line clear between God and his world and all is order and discrimination. Obliterate that boundary and all is pathless morass, black chaos and on the mind the phantasms which belong to the victim of _delirium tremens_. There is one Lawgiver. In the beginning, God. In the end, God, all in all. CHAPTER II - SHINT[=O]: MYTHS AND RITUAL "In the great days of old, When o'er the land the gods held sov'reign sway, Our fathers lov'd to say That the bright gods with tender care enfold The fortunes of Japan, Blessing the land with many an holy spell: And what they loved to tell, We of this later age ourselves do prove; For every living man May feast his eyes on tokens of their love." --Poem of Yamagami-no Okura, A.D. 733. Baal: "While I on towers and banging terraces, In shaft and obelisk, behold my sign. Creative, shape of first imperious law." --Bayard Taylor's "Masque of the Gods." "Thou hast also taken thy fair jewels of my gold and of my silver, which I had given thee, and madest to thyself images of men, and didst commit whoredom with them, and tookest thy broidered garments, and coveredst them: and thou hast set mine oil and mine incense before them. My meat also which I gave thee, fine flour, and oil, and honey, wherewith I fed thee, thou hast even set it before them for a sweet savor: and thus it was, saith the Lord GOD."--Ezekiel. If it be said (as has been the case), 'Shintoism has nothing in it,' we should be inclined to answer, 'So much the better, there is less error to counteract.' But there _is_ something in it, and that ... of a kind of which we may well avail ourselves when making known the second commandment, and the 'fountain of cleansing from all sin.'"--E.W. Syle. "If Shint[=o] has a dogma, it is purity."--Kaburagi. "I will wash my hands in innocency, O Lord: and so will I go to thine altar."--Ps. xxvi. 6. CHAPTER II - SHINT[=O]: MYTHS AND RITUAL The Japanese a Young Nation. What impresses us in the study of the history of Japan is that, compared with China and Korea, she is young. Her history is as the story of yesterday. The nation is modern. The Japanese are as younger children in the great family of Asia's historic people. Broadly speaking, Japan is no older than England, and authentic Japanese history no more ancient than British history. In Albion, as in the Honorable Country, there are traditions and mythologies that project their shadows aeons back of genuine records; but if we consider that English history begins in the fifth, and English literature in the eighth century, then there are other reasons besides those commonly given for calling Japan "the England of the East." No trustworthy traditions exist which carry the known history of Japan farther back than the fifth century. The means for measuring and recording time were probably not in use until the sixth century. The oldest documents in the Japanese language, excepting a few fragments of the seventh century, do not antedate the year 712, and even in these the Chinese characters are in many instances used phonetically, because the meaning of the words thus transliterated had already been forgotten. Hence their interpretation in detail is still largely a matter of conjecture. Yet the Japanese Archipelago was inhabited long before the dawn of history. The concurrent testimony of the earliest literary monuments, of the indigenous mythology, of folk-lore, of shell-heaps and of kitchen-middens shows that the occupation by human beings of the main islands must be ascribed to times long before the Christian era. Before written records or ritual of worship, religion existed on its active or devotional side, and there were mature growths of thought preserved and expressed orally. Poems, songs, chants and _norito_ or liturgies were kept alive in the human memory, and there was a system of worship, the _name_ of which was given long after the introduction of Buddhism. This descriptive term, Kami no Michi in Japanese, and Shin-t[=o] in the Chinese as pronounced by Japanese, means the Way of the Gods, the t[=o] or final syllable being the same as tao in Taoism. We may say that Shint[=o] means, literally, theoslogos, theology. The customs and practices existed centuries before contact with Chinese letters, and long previous to the Shint[=o] literature which is now extant. Whether Kami no Michi is wholly the product of Japanese soil, or whether its rudimentary ideas were imported from the neighboring Asian continent and more or less allied to the primitive Chinese religion, is still an open question. The preponderance of argument tends, however, to show that it was an importation as to its origin, for not a few events outlined in the Japanese mythology cast shadows of reminiscence upon Korea or the Asian mainland. In its development, however, the cultus is almost wholly Japanese. The modern forms of Shint[=o], as moulded by the revivalists of the eighteenth century, are at many points notably different from the ancient faith. At the World's Parliament of Religions at Chicago, Shint[=o] seemed to be the only one, and probably the last, of the purely provincial religions. In order to gain a picture of life in Japan before the introduction of Chinese civilization, we must consult those photographs of the minds of the ancient islanders which still exist in their earliest literature. The fruits of the study of ethnology, anthropology and archaeology greatly assist us in picturing the day-break of human life in the Morning Land. In preparing materials for the student of the religions of Japan many laborers have wrought in various fields, but the chief literary honors have been taken by the English scholars, Messrs. Satow,[1] Aston,[2] and Chamberlain.[3] These untiring workers have opened the treasures of ancient thought in the Altaic world.[4] Although even these archaic Japanese compositions, readable to-day only by special scholars, are more or less affected by Chinese influences, ideas and modes of expression, yet they are in the main faithful reflections of the ancient life before the primitive faith of the Japanese people was either disturbed or reduced to system in presence of an imported religion. These monuments of history, poetry and liturgies are the "Kojiki," or Notices of Ancient Things; the "Manyöshu" or Myriad Leaves or Poems, and the "Norito," or Liturgies. The Ancient Documents. The first book, the "Kojiki," gives us the theology, cosmogony, mythology, and very probably, in its later portions, some outlines of history of the ancient Japanese. The "Kojiki" is the real, the dogmatic exponent, or, if we may so say, the Bible, of Shint[=o]. The "Many[=o]shu," or Book of Myriad Poems, expresses the thoughts and feelings; reflects the manners and customs of the primitive generations, and, in the same sense as do the Sagas of the Scandinavians, furnishes us unchronological but interesting and more or less real narratives of events which have been glorified by the poets and artists. The ancient codes of law and of ceremonial procedure are of great value, while the "Norito" are excellent mirrors in which to see reflected the religion called Shint[=o] on the more active side of worship. In a critical study, either of the general body of national tradition or of the ancient documents, we must continually be on our guard against the usual assumption that Chinese civilization came in earlier than it really did. This assumption colors all modern Japanese popular ideas, art and literature. The vice of the pupil nations surrounding the Middle Kingdom is their desire to have it believed that Chinese letters and culture among them is an nearly coeval with those of China as can be made truly or falsely to appear. The Koreans, for example, would have us believe that their civilization, based on letters and introduced by Kishi, is "four thousand years old" and contemporaneous with China's own, and that "the Koreans are among the oldest people of the world."[5] The average modern Japanese wishes the date of authentic or official history projected as far back as possible. Yet he is a modest man compared with his mediæval ancestor, who constructed chronology out of ink-stones. Over a thousand years ago a deliberate forgery was officially put on paper. A whole line of emperors who never lived was canonized, and clever penmen set down in ink long chapters which describe what never happened.[6] Furthermore, even after, and only eight years after the fairly honest "Kojiki" had been compiled, the book called "Nihongi," or Chronicles of Japan, was written. All the internal and not a little external evidence shows that the object of this book is to give the impression that Chinese ideas, culture and learning had long been domesticated in Japan. The "Nihongi" gives dates of events supposed to have happened fifteen hundred years before, with an accuracy which may be called villainous; while the "Kojiki" states that Wani, a Korean teacher, brought the "Thousand Character Classic" to Japan in A.D. 285, though that famous Chinese book was not composed until the sixth century, or A.D. 550.[7] Even to this day it is nearly impossible for an American to get a Korean "frog in the well"[8] to understand why the genuine native life and history, language and learning of his own peninsular country is of greater value to the student than the pedantry borrowed from China. Why these possess any interest to a "scholar" is a mystery to the head in the horsehair net. Anything of value, he thinks, _must_ be on the Chinese model. What is not Chinese is foolish and fit for women and children only. Furthermore, Korea "always had" Chinese learning. This is the sum of the arguments of the Korean literati, even as it used to be of the old-time hatless Yedo scholar of shaven skull and topknot. Despite Japanese independence and even arrogance in certain other lines, the thought of the demolition of cherished notions of vast antiquity is very painful. Critical study of ancient traditions is still dangerous, even in parliamentary Nippon. Hence the unbiassed student must depend on his own reading of and judgment upon the ancient records, assisted by the thorough work done by the English scholars Aston, Satow, Chamberlain, Bramsen and others. It was the coming of Buddhism in the sixth century, and the implanting on the soil of Japan of a system of religion in which were temples with all that was attractive to the eye, gorgeous ritual, scriptures, priesthood, codes of morals, rigid discipline, a system of dogmatics in which all was made positive and clear, that made the variant myths and legends somewhat uniform. The faith of Shaka, by winning adherents both at the court and among the leading men of intelligence, reacted upon the national traditions so as to compel their collection and arrangemeut into definite formulas. In due time the mythology, poetry and ritual was, as we have seen, committed to writing and the whole system called Shint[=o], in distinction from Butsud[=o], the Way of the Gods from the Way of the Buddhas. Thus we can see more clearly the outward and visible manifestations of Shint[=o]. In forming our judgment, however, we must put aside those descriptions which are found in the works of European writers, from Marco Polo and Mendez Pinto down to the year 1870. Though these were good observers, they were often necessarily mistaken in their deductions. For, as we shall see in our lecture on Riy[=o]bu or Mixed Buddhism, Shint[=o] was, from the ninth century until late into the nineteenth century, absorbed in Buddhism so as to be next to invisible. Origins of the Japanese People. Without detailing processes, but giving only results, our view of the origin of the Japanese people and of their religion is in the main as follows: The oldest seats of human habitation in the Japanese Archipelago lie between the thirtieth and thirty-eighth parallels of north latitude. South of the thirty-fourth parallel, it seems, though without proof of writing or from tradition, that the Malay type and blood from the far south probably predominated, with, however, much infusion from the northern Asian mainland. Between the thirty-fourth and thirty-sixth parallels, and west of the one hundred and thirty-eighth meridian of longitude, may be found what is still the choicest, richest and most populous part of The Country Between Heaven and Earth. Here the prevailing element was Korean and Tartar. To the north and east of this fair country lay the Emishi savages, or Ainos. In "the world" within the ken of the prehistoric dwellers in what is now the three islands, Hondo, Kiushiu and Shikoku, there was no island of Yezu and no China; while Korea was but slightly known, and the lands farther westward were unheard of except as the home of distant tribes. Three distinct lines of tradition point to the near peninsula or the west coast of Japan as the "Heaven" whence descended the tribe which finally grew to be dominant. The islands of Tsushima and Iki were the stepping-stones of the migration out of which rose what may be called the southern or Tsukushi cycle of legend, Tsukushi being the ancient name of Kiushiu. Idzumo is the holy land whence issued the second stream of tradition. The third course of myth and legend leads us into Yamato, whence we behold the conquest of the Mikado's home-land and the extension of his name and influence into the regions east of the Hakoné Mountains, including the great plain of Yedo, where modern T[=o]ki[=o] now stands. We shall take the term "Yamato" as the synonym of the prehistoric but discernible beginnings of national life. It represents the seat of the tribe whose valor and genius ultimately produced the Mikado system. It was through this house or tribe that Japanese history took form. The reverence for the ruler long afterward entitled "Son of Heaven" is the strongest force in the national history. The spirit and prowess of these early conquerors have left an indelible impress upon the language and the mind of the nation in the phrase Yamato Damashi--the spirit of (Divine and unconquerable) Japan. The story of the conquest of the land, in its many phases, recalls that of the Aryans in India, of the Hebrews in Canaan, of the Romans in Europe and of the Germanic races in North America. The Yamato men gradually advanced to conquest under the impulse, as they believed, of a divine command.[9] They were sent from Takama-no-hara, the High Plain of Heaven. Theirs was the war, of men with a nobler creed, having agriculture and a feudal system of organization which furnished resources for long campaigns, against hunters and fishermen. They had improved artillery and used iron against stone. Yet they conquered and pacified not only by superior strategy, tactics, weapons and valor, but also by advanced fetiches and dogma. They captured the religion of their enemies as well as their bodies, lands and resources. They claimed that their ancestors were from Heaven, that the Sun was their kinswoman and that their chief, or Mikado, was vicegerent of the Heavenly gods, but that those whom they conquered were earth-born or sprung from the terrestrial divinities. Mikadoism the Heart of Shint[=o]. As success came to their arms and their chief's power was made more sure, they developed further the dogma of the Mikado's divinity and made worship centre in him as the earthly representative of the Sun and Heaven. His fellow-conquerors and ministers, as fast as they were put in lordship over conquered provinces, or indigenous chieftains who submitted obediently to his sway or yielded graciously to his prowess, were named as founders of temples and in later generations worshipped and became gods.[10] One of the motives for, and one of the guiding principles in the selections of the floating myths, was that the ancestry of the chieftains loyal to the Mikado might be shown to be from the heavenly gods. Both the narratives of the "Kojiki" and the liturgies show this clearly. The nature-worship, which was probably practised throughout the whole archipelago, became part of the system as government and society were made uniform on the Yamato model. It seems at least possible, if Buddhism had not come in so soon, that the ordinary features of a religion, dogmatic and ethical codes, would have been developed. In a word, the Kami no Michi, or religion of the islanders in prehistoric times before the rise of Mikadoism, must be carefully distinguished from the politico-ecclesiasticism which the system called Shint[=o] reveals and demands. The early religion, first in the hands of politicians and later under the pens and voices of writers and teachers at the Imperial Court, became something very different from its original form. As surely as K[=o]b[=o] later captured Shint[=o], making material for Buddhism out of it and overlaying it in Riy[=o]bu, so the Yamato men made political capital out of their own religion and that of the subject tribes. The divine sovereign of Japan and his political church did exactly what the state churches of Europe, both pagan and Christian, have done before and since the Christian era. Further, in studying the "Kojiki," we must remember that the sacred writings sprang out of the religion, and that the system was not an evolution from the book. Customs, ritual, faith and prayer existed long before they were written about or recorded in ink. Moreover, the philosophy came later than the practice, the deeds before the myths, and the joy and terror of the visible universe before the cosmogony or theogony, while the book-preface was probably written last of all. The sun was first, and then came the wonder, admiration and worship of men. The personification and pedigree of the sun were late figments. To connect their ancestors with the sun-goddess and the heavenly gods, was a still later enterprise of the "Mikado reverencers" of this earlier time. Both the god-way in its early forms and Shint[=o] in its later development, were to them political as well as ecclesiastical institutes of dogma. Both the religion which they themselves brought and cultivated and the aboriginal religion which the Yamato men found, were used as engines in the making of Mikadoism, which is the heart of Shint[=o]. Not until two centuries after the coming of Buddhism and of Asiatic civilization did it occur to the Japanese to reduce to writing the floating legends and various cycles of tradition which had grown up luxuriantly in different parts of "the empire," or to express in the Chinese character the prayers and thanksgivings which had been handed down orally through many generations. These norito had already assumed elegant literary form, rich in poetic merit, long before Chinese writing was known. They, far more than the less certain philosophy of the "Kojiki," are of undoubted native origin. It is nearly certain that the prehistoric Japanese did not borrow the literary forms of the god-way from China, as any one familiar with the short, evenly balanced and antithetical sentences of Chinese style can see at once. The norito are expressions, in the rhythmical and rhetorical form of worship, of the articles of faith set forth in the historic summary which we have given. We propose to illustrate the dogmas by quoting from the rituals in Mr. Satow's masterly translation. The following was addressed to the sun-goddess (Amatéras[)u] no Mikami, or the From-Heaven-Shining-Great-Deity) by the priest-envoy of the priestly Nakatomi family sent annually to the temples at Isé, the Mecca of Shint[=o]. The _sevran_ referred to in the ritual is the Mikado. This word and all the others printed in capitals are so rendered in order to express in English the force of "an untranslatable honorific syllable, supposed to be originally identical with a root meaning 'true,' but no longer possessing that signification." Instead of the word "earth," that of "country" (Japan) is used as the correlative of Heaven. Ritual in Praise of the Sun-goddess. He (the priest-envoy) says: Hear all of you, ministers of the gods and sanctifiers of offerings, the great ritual, the heavenly ritual, declared in the great presence of the From-Heaven-Shining-Great-DEITY, whose praises are fulfilled by setting up the stout pillars of the great HOUSE, and exalting the cross-beams to the plain of high heaven at the sources of the Isuzu River at Uji in Watarai. He says: It is the sovran's great WORD. Hear all of you, ministers of the gods and sanctifiers of offerings, the fulfilling of praises on this seventeenth day of the sixth moon of this year, as the morning sun goes up in glory, of the Oho-Nakatomi, who--having abundantly piled up like a range of hills the TRIBUTE thread and sanctified LIQUOR and FOOD presented as of usage by the people of the deity's houses attributed to her in the three departments and in various countries and places, so that she deign to bless his [the Mikado's] LIFE as a long LIFE, and his AGE as a luxuriant AGE eternally and unchangingly as multitudinous piles of rock; may deign to bless the CHILDREN who are born to him, and deigning to cause to flourish the five kinds of grain which the men of a hundred functions and the peasants of the countries in the four quarters of the region under heaven long and peacefully cultivate and eat, and guarding and benefiting them to deign to bless them--is hidden by the great offering-wands. In the Imperial City the ritual services were very imposing. Those in expectation of the harvest were held in the great hall of the Jin-Gi-Kuan, or Council of the Gods of Heaven and Earth. The description of the ceremonial is given by Mr. Satow.[11] In the prayers offered to the sun-goddess for harvest, and in thanksgiving to her for bestowing dominion over land and sea upon her descendant the Mikado, occurs the following passage: I declare in the great presence of the From-Heaven-Shining-Great-DEITY who sits in Isé. Because the sovran great GODDESS bestows on him the countries of the four quarters over which her glance extends, as far as the limit where heaven stands up like a wall, as far as the bounds where the country stands up distant, as far as the limit where the blue clouds spread flat, as far as the bounds where the white clouds lie away fallen--the blue sea plain as far as the limit whither come the prows of the ships without drying poles or paddles, the ships which continuously crowd on the great sea plain, and the road which men travel by land, as far as the limit whither come the horses' hoofs, with the baggage-cords tied tightly, treading the uneven rocks and tree-roots and standing up continuously in a long path without a break--making the narrow countries wide and the hilly countries plain, and as it were drawing together the distant countries by throwing many tons of ropes over them--he will pile up the first-fruits like a range of hills in the great presence of the sovran great GODDESS, and will peacefully enjoy the remainder. Phallic Symbols. To form one's impression of the Kami no Michi wholly from the poetic liturgies, the austere simplicity of the miyas or shrines, or the worship at the palace or capital, would be as misleading as to gather our ideas of the status of popular education from knowing only of the scholars at court. Among the common people the real basis of the god-way was ancestor-worship. From the very first this trait and habit of the Japanese can be discerned. Their tenacity in holding to it made the Confucian ethics more welcome when they came. Furthermore, this reverence for the dead profoundly influenced and modified Buddhism, so that today the altars of both religions exist in the same house, the dead ancestors becoming both kami and buddhas. Modern taste has removed from sight what were once the common people's symbols of the god-way, that is of ancestor worship. The extent of the phallus cult and its close and even vital connection with the god-way, and the general and innocent use of the now prohibited emblems, tax severely the credulity of the Occidental reader. The processes of the ancient mind can hardly be understood except by vigorous power of the imagination and by sympathy with the primeval man. To the critical student, however, who has lived among the people and the temples devoted to this worship, who knows how innocent and how truly sincere and even reverent and devout in the use of these symbols the worshippers are, the matter is measurably clear. He can understand the soil, root and flower even while the most strange specimen is abhorrent to his taste, and while he is most active in destroying that mental climate in which such worship, whether native or exotic, can exist and flourish. In none of the instances in which I have been eyewitness of the cult, of the person officiating or of the emblem, have I had any reason to doubt the sincerity of the worshipper. I have never had reason to look upon the implements or the system as anything else than the endeavor of man to solve the mystery of Being and Power. In making use of these emblems, the Japanese worshipper simply professes his faith in such solution as has seemed to him attainable. That this cultus was quite general in pre-Buddhistic Japan, as in many other ancient countries, is certain from the proofs of language, literature, external monuments and relics which are sufficiently numerous. Its organic connection with the god-way may be clearly shown. To go farther back in point of time than the "Kojiki," we find that even before the development of art in very ancient Japan, the male gods were represented by a symbol which thus became an image of the deity himself. This token was usually made of stone, though often of wood, and in later times of terra-cotta, of cast and wrought iron and even of gold.[12] Under the direct influence of such a cult, other objects appealed to the imagination or served the temporary purpose of the worshipper as _ex-voto_ to hang up in the shrines, such as the mushroom, awabi, various other shells and possibly the fire-drill. It is only in the decay of the cultus, in the change of view and centre of thought compelled by another religion, that representations of the old emblems ally themselves with sensualism or immorality. It is that natural degradation of one man's god into another man's devil, which conversion must almost of necessity bring, that makes the once revered symbol "obscene," and talk about it become, in a descending scale, dirty, foul, filthy, nasty. That the Japanese suffer from the moral effluvia of a decayed cult which was once as the very vertebral column of the national body of religion, is evident to every one who acquaints himself with their popular speech and literature. How closely and directly phallicism is connected with the god-way, and why there were so many Shint[=o] temples devoted to this latter cult and furnished with symbols, is shown by study of the "Kojiki." The two opening sections of this book treat of kami that were in the minds even of the makers of the myths little more than mud and water[13]--the mere bioplasm of deity. The seven divine generations are "born," but do nothing except that they give Izanagi and Izanami a jewelled spear. With this pair come differentiation of sex. It is immediately on the apparition of the consciousness of sex that motion, action and creation begin, and the progress of things visible ensues. The details cannot be put into English, but it is enough, besides noting the conversation and union of the pair, to say that the term meaning giving birth to, refers to inanimate as well as animate things. It is used in reference to the islands which compose the archipelago as well as to the various kami which seem, in many cases, to be nothing more than the names of things or places. Fire-myths and Ritual. Fire is, in a sense, the foundation and first necessity of civilization, and it is interesting to study the myths as to the origin of fire, and possibly even more interesting to compare the Greek and Japanese stories. As we know, old-time popular etymology makes Prometheus the fore-thinker and brother of Epimetheus the after-thinker. He is the stealer of the fire from heaven, in order to make men share the secret of the gods. Comparative philology tells us, however, that the Sanskrit _Pramantha_ is a stick that produces fire. The "Kojiki" does indeed contain what is probably the later form of the fire-myth about two brothers, Prince Fire-Shine and Fire-Fade, which suggests both the later Greek myth of the fore- and after-thinker and a tradition of a flood. The first, and most probably older, myth in giving the origin of fire does it in true Japanese style, with details of parturition. After numerous other deities had been born of Izanagi and Izanami, it is said "that they gave birth to the Fire-Burning-Swift-Male-Deity, another name for whom is the Deity-Fire-Shining-Prince, and another name is the Deity-Fire-Shining-Elder." In the other ancient literature this fire-god is called Ho-musubi, the Fire-Producer. Izanami yielded up her life upon the birth of her son, the fire-god; or, as the sacred text declares, she "divinely retired"[14] into Hades. From her corpse sprang up the pairs of gods of clay, of metal, and other kami that possessed the potency of calming or subduing fire, for clay resists and water extinguishes. Between the mythical and the liturgical forms of the original narrative there is considerable variation. The Norito entitled the "Quieting of Fire" gives the ritual form of the myth. It contains, like so many Norito, less the form of prayer to the Fire-Producer than a promise of offerings. Not so much by petitions as by the inducements of gifts did the ancient worshippers hope to save the palace of the Mikado from the fire-god's wrath. We omit from the text those details which are offensive to modern and western taste. I declare with the great ritual, the heavenly ritual, which was bestowed on him at the time when, by the WORD of the Sovran's dear progenitor and progenitrix, who divinely remain in the plain of high heaven, they bestowed on him the region under heaven, saying: "Let the Sovran GRANDCHILD'S augustness tranquilly rule over the country of fresh spikes which flourishes in the midst of the reed-moor as a peaceful region." When ... Izanami ... had deigned to bear the many hundred myriads of gods, she also deigned to bear her dear youngest child of all, the Fire-producer god, ... and said: "My dear elder brother's augustness shall rule the upper country; I will rule the lower country," she deigned to hide in the rocks; and having come to the flat hills of darkness, she thought and said: "I have come hither, having borne and left a bad-hearted child in the upper country, ruled over by my illustrious elder brother's augustness," and going back she bore other children. Having borne the water-goddess, the gourd, the river-weed, and the clay-hill maiden, four sorts of things, she taught them with words, and made them to know, saying: "If the heart of this bad-hearted child becomes violent, let the water-goddess take the gourd, and the clay-hill maiden take the river-weed, and pacify him." In consequence of this I fulfil his praises, and say that for the things set up, so that he may deign not to be awfully quick of heart in the great place of the Sovran GRANDCHILD'S augustness, there are provided bright cloth, glittering cloth, soft cloth, and coarse cloth, and the five kinds of things; as to things which dwell in the blue-sea plain, there are things wide of fin and narrow of fin, down to the weeds of the shore; as to LIQUOR, raising high the beer-jars, filling and ranging in rows the bellies of the beer-jars, piling the offerings up, even to rice in grain and rice in ear, like a range of hills, I fulfil his praises with the great ritual, the heavenly ritual. Izanagi, after shedding tears over his consort, whose death was caused by the birth of the fire-god, slays the fire-god, and follows her into the Root-land, or Hades, whereupon begins another round of wonderful stories of the birth of many gods. Among these, though evidently out of another cycle of legends, is the story of the birth of the three gods--Fire-Shine, Fire-Climax and Fire-Fade, to which we have already referred. The fire-drill mentioned in the "Kojiki" suggests easily the same line of thought with the myths of cosmogony and theogony, and it is interesting to note that this archaic implement is still used at the sacred temples of Isé to produce fire. After the virgin priestesses perform the sacred dances in honor of local deities the water for their bath is heated by fires kindled by heaps of old _harai_ or amulets made from temple-wood bought at the Mecca of Japan. It is even probable that the retention of the fire-drill in the service of Shint[=o] is but a survival of phallicism. The liturgy for the pacification of the gods of fire is worth noticing. The full form of the ritual, when compared with a legend in the "Nihongi," shows that a myth was "partly devised to explain the connection of an hereditary family of priests with the god whose shrine they served; it is possible that the claim to be directly descended from the god had been disputed." The Norito first recites poetically the descent of Ninigi, the grandchild of the sun-goddess from heaven, and the quieting of the turbulent kami. I (the diviner), declare: When by the WORD of the progenitor and progenitrix, who divinely remaining in the plain of high heaven, deigned to make the beginning of things, they divinely deigned to assemble the many hundred myriads of gods in the high city of heaven, and deigned divinely to take counsel in council, saying: "When we cause our Sovran GRANDCHILD'S augustness to leave heaven's eternal seat, to cleave a path with might through heaven's manifold clouds, and to descend from heaven, with orders tranquilly to rule the country of fresh spikes, which flourishes in the midst of the reed-moor as a peaceful country, what god shall we send first to divinely sweep away, sweep away and subdue the gods who are turbulent in the country of fresh spikes;" all the gods pondered and declared: "You shall send Aménohohi's augustness, and subdue them," declared they. Wherefore they sent him down from heaven, but he did not declare an answer; and having next sent Takémikuma's augustness, he also, obeying his father's words, did not declare an answer. Amé-no-waka-hiko also, whom they sent, did not declare an answer, but immediately perished by the calamity of a bird on high. Wherefore they pondered afresh by the WORD of the heavenly gods, and having deigned to send down from heaven the two pillars of gods, Futsunushi and Takémika-dzuchi's augustness, who having deigned divinely to sweep away, and sweep away, and deigned divinely to soften, and soften the gods who were turbulent, and silenced the rocks, trees, and the least leaf of herbs likewise that had spoken, they caused the Sovran GRANDCHILD'S augustness to descend from heaven. I fulfil your praises, saying: As to the OFFERINGS set up, so that the sovran gods who come into the heavenly HOUSE of the Sovran GRANDCHILD'S augustness, which, after he had fixed upon as a peaceful country--the country of great Yamato where the sun is high, as the centre of the countries of the four quarters bestowed upon him when he was thus sent down from heaven--stoutly planting the HOUSE-pillars on the bottom-most rocks, and exalting the cross-beams to the plain of high heaven, the builders had made for his SHADE from the heavens and SHADE from the sun, and wherein he will tranquilly rule the country as a peaceful country--may, without deigning to be turbulent, deigning to be fierce, and deigning to hurt, knowing, by virtue of their divinity, the things which were begun in the plain of high heaven, deigning to correct with Divine-correcting and Great-correcting, remove hence out to the clean places of the mountain-streams which look far away over the four quarters, and rule them as their own place. Let the Sovran gods tranquilly take with clear HEARTS, as peaceful OFFERINGS and sufficient OFFERINGS the great OFFERINGS which I set up, piling them upon the tables like a range of hills, providing bright cloth, glittering cloth, soft cloth, and coarse cloth; as a thing to see plain in--a mirror: as things to play with--beads: as things to shoot off with--a bow and arrows: as a thing to strike and cut with--a sword: as a thing which gallops out--a horse; as to LIQUOR--raising high the beer-jars, filling and ranging in rows the bellies of the beer-jars, with grains of rice and ears; as to the things which dwell in the hills--things soft of hair, and things rough of hair; as to the things which grow in the great field plain--sweet herbs and bitter herbs; as to the things which dwell in the blue sea plain--things broad of fin and things narrow of fin, down to weeds of the offing and weeds of the shore, and without deigning to be turbulent, deigning to be fierce, and deigning to hurt, remove out to the wide and clean places of the mountain-streams, and by virtue of their divinity be tranquil. In this ritual we find the origin of evil attributed to wicked kami, or gods. To get rid of them is to be free from the troubles of life. The object of the ritual worship was to compel the turbulent and malevolent kami to go out from human habitations to the mountain solitudes and rest there. The dogmas of both god-possession and of the power of exorcism were not, however, held exclusively by the high functionaries of the official religion, but were part of the faith of all the people. To this day both the tenets and the practices are popular under various forms. Besides the twenty-seven Norito which are found in the Yengishiki, published at the opening of the tenth century, there are many others composed for single occasions. Examples of these are found in the Government Gazettes. One celebrates the Mikado's removal from Ki[=o]to to T[=o]ki[=o], another was written and recited to add greater solemnity to the oath which he took to govern according to modern liberal principles and to form a national parliament. To those Japanese whose first idea of duty is loyalty to the emperor, Shint[=o] thus becomes a system of patriotism exalted to the rank of a religion. Even Christian natives of Japan can use much of the phraseology of the Norito while addressing their petitions on behalf of their chief magistrate to the King of kings. The primitive worship of the sun, of light, of fire, has left its impress upon the language and in vernacular art and customs. Among scores of derivations of Japanese words (often more pleasing than scientific), in which the general term _hi_ enters, is that which finds in the word for man, _hito_, the meaning of "light-bearer." On the face of the broad terminal tiles of the house-roofs, we still see moulded the river-weed, with which the Clay-Hill Maiden pacified the Fire-God. On the frontlet of the warrior's helmet, in the old days of arrow and armor, glittered in brass on either side of his crest the same symbol of power and victory. Having glanced at the ritual of Shint[=o], let us now examine the teachings of its oldest book. CHAPTER III - "THE KOJIKI" AND ITS TEACHINGS "Japan is not a land where men need pray, For 'tis itself divine: Yet do I lift my voice in prayer..." Hitomaro, + A.D. 737. "Now when chaos had begun to condense, but force and form were not yet manifest, and there was naught named, naught done, who could know its shape? Nevertheless Heaven and Earth first parted, and the three Deities performed the commencement of creation; the Passive and Active Essences then developed, and the Two Spirits became the ancestors of all things."--Preface of Yasumar[=o] (A.D. 712) to the "Kojiki." "These, the 'Kojiki' and 'Nihongi' are their [the Shint[=o]ists] canonical books, ... and almost their every word is considered undeniable truth." "The Shint[=o] faith teaches that God inspired the foundation of the Mikadoate, and that it is therefore sacred."--Kaburagi. "We now reverently make our prayer to Them [Our Imperial Ancestors] and to our Illustrious Father [Komei, + 1867], and implore the help of Their Sacred Spirits, and make to Them solemn oath never at this time nor in the future to fail to be an example to Our subjects in the observance of the Law [Constitution] hereby established."--Imperial oath of the Emperor Mutsuhito in the sanctuary in the Imperial Palace, T[=o]ki[=o], February 11, 1889. "Shint[=o] is not our national religion. A faith existed before it, which was its source. It grew out of superstitious teaching and mistaken tradition. The history of the rise of Shint[=o] proves this."--T. Matsugami. "Makoto wo moté KAMI NO MICHI wo oshiyuréba nari." (Thou teachest the way of God in truth.)--Mark xii. 14. "Ware wa Micni nuri, Mukoto nari, Inochi nari."--John xiv. 6.--The New Testament in Japanese. CHAPTER III - "THE KOJIKI" AND ITS TEACHINGS "The Kojiki" mid its Myths of Cosmogony. As to the origin of the "Kojiki," we have in the closing sentences of the author's preface the sole documentary authority explaining its scope and certifying to its authenticity. Briefly the statement is this: The "Heavenly Sovereign" or Mikado, Temmu (A.D. 673-686), lamenting that the records possessed by the chief families were "mostly amplified by empty falsehoods," and fearing that "the grand foundation of the monarchy" would be destroyed, resolved to preserve the truth. He therefore had the records carefully examined, compared, and their errors eliminated. There happened to be in his household a man of marvellous memory, named Hiyéda Aré, who could repeat, without mistake, the contents of any document he had ever seen, and never forgot anything which he had heard. This person was duly instructed in the genuine traditions and old language of former ages, and made to repeat them until he had the whole by heart. "Before the undertaking was completed," which probably means before it could be committed to writing, "the emperor died, and for twenty-five years Aré's memory was the sole depository of what afterwards received the title of 'Kojiki.' ... At the end of this interval the Empress Gemmi[=o] ordered Yasumar[=o] to write it down from the mouth of Aré, which accounts for the completion of the manuscript in so short a time as four months and a half,"[1] in A.D. 712. It is from the "Kojiki" that we obtain most of our ideas of ancient life and thought. The "Nihongi," or Chronicles of Japan, expressed very largely in Chinese phrases and with Chinese technical and philosophical terms, further assists us to get a measurably correct idea of what is called The Divine Age. Of the two books, however, the "Kojiki" is much more valuable as a true record, because, though rude in style and exceedingly naïve in expression, and by no means free from Chinese thoughts and phrases, it is marked by a genuinely Japanese cast of thought and method of composition. Instead of the terse, carefully measured, balanced, and antithetical sentences of correct Chinese, those of the "Kojiki" are long and involved, and without much logical connection. The "Kojiki" contains the real notions, feelings, and beliefs of Japanese who lived before the eighth century. Remembering that prefaces are, like porticos, usually added last of all, we find that in the beginning all things were in chaos. Heaven and earth were not separated. The world substance floated in the cosmic mass, like oil on water or a fish in the sea. Motion in some way began. The ethereal portions sublimed and formed the heavens; the heavier residuum became the present earth. In the plain of high heaven, when the heaven and earth began, were born three kami who "hid their bodies," that is, passed away or died. Out of the warm mould of the earth a germ sprouted, and from this were born two kami, who also were born alone, and died. After these heavenly kami came forth what are called the seven divine generations, or line of seven kami.[2] To express the opening lines of the "Kojiki" in terms of our own speech and in the moulds of Western thought, we may say that matter existed before mind and the gods came forth, as it were, by spontaneous evolution. The first thing that appeared out of the warm earth-muck was like a rush-sprout, and this became a kami, or god. From this being came forth others, which also produced beings, until there were perfect bodies, sex and differentiation of powers. The "Nihongi," however, not only gives a different view of this evolution basing it upon the dualism of Chinese philosophy--that is, of the active and passive principles--and uses Chinese technical terminology, but gives lists of kami that differ notably from those in the "Kojiki." This latter fact seems to have escaped the attention of those who write freely about what they imagine to be the early religion of the Japanese.[3] After this introduction, in which "Dualities, Trinities, and Supreme Deities" have been discovered by writers unfamiliar with the genius of the Japanese language, there follows an account of the creation of the habitable earth by Izanami and Izanagi, whose names mean the Male-Who-Invites and the Female-Who-Invites. The heavenly kami commanded these two gods to consolidate and give birth to the drifting land. Standing on the floating bridge of heaven, the male plunged his jewel-spear into the unstable waters beneath, stirring them until they gurgled and congealed. When he drew forth the spear, the drops trickling from its point formed an island, ever afterward called Onokoro-jima, or the Island of the Congealed Drop. Upon this island they descended. The creative pair, or divine man and woman, now separated to make a journey round the island, the male to the left, the female to the right. At their meeting the female spoke first: "How joyful to meet a lovely man!" The male, offended that the woman had spoken first, required the circuit to be repeated. On their second meeting, the man cried out: "How joyful to meet a lovely woman!" This island on which they had descended was the first of several which they brought into being. In poetry it is the Island of the Congealed Drop. In common geography it is identified as Awaji, at the entrance of the Inland Sea. Thence followed the creation of the other visible objects in nature. Izanagi's Visit to Hades and Results. After the birth of the god of fire, which nearly destroyed the mother's life, Izanami fled to the land of roots or of darkness, that is into Hades. Izanagi, like a true Orpheus, followed his Eurydice and beseeched her to come back to earth to complete with him the work of creation. She parleyed so long with the gods of the underworld that her consort, breaking off a tooth of his comb, lighted it as a torch and rushed in. He found her putrefied body, out of which had been born the eight gods of thunder. Horrified at the awful foulness which he found in the underworld, he rushed up and out, pursued by the Ugly-Female-of-Hades. By artifices that bear a wonderful resemblance to those in Teutonic fairy tales, he blocked up the way. His head-dress, thrown at his pursuer, turned into grapes which she stopped to eat. The teeth of his comb sprouted into a bamboo forest, which detained her. The three peaches were used as projectiles; his staff which stuck up in the ground became a gate, and a mighty rock was used to block up the narrow pass through the mountains. Each of these objects has its relation to place-names in Idzumo or to superstitions that are still extant. The peaches and the rocks became gods, and on this incident, by which the beings in Hades were prevented from advance and successful mischief on earth, is founded one of the norito which Mr. Satow gives in condensed form. The names of the three gods,[4] Youth and Maiden of the Many Road-forkings, and Come-no-further Gate, are expressed and invoked in the praises bestowed on them in connection with the offerings. He (the priest) says: I declare in the presence of the sovran gods, who like innumerable piles of rocks sit closing up the way in the multitudinous road-forkings.... I fulfil your praises by declaring your NAMES, Youth and Maiden of the Many Road-forkings and Come-no-further Gate, and say: for the OFFERINGS set up that you may prevent [the servants of the monarch] from being poisoned by and agreeing with the things which shall come roughly-acting and hating from the Root-country, the Bottom-country, that you may guard the bottom (of the gate) when they come from the bottom, guard the top when they come from the top, guarding with nightly guard and with daily guard, and may praise them--peacefully take the great OFFERINGS which are set up by piling them up like a range of hills, that is to say, providing bright cloth, etc., ... and sitting closing-up the way like innumerable piles of rock in the multitudinous road-forkings, deign to praise the sovran GRANDCHILD'S augustness eternally and unchangingly, and to bless his age as a luxuriant AGE. Retreating to another part of the world--that is, into southwestern Japan--Izanami purified himself by bathing in a stream. While washing himself,[5] many kami were borne from the rinsings of his person, one of them, from the left eye (the left in Japanese is always the honorable side), being the far-shining or heaven-illuminating kami, whose name, Amatéras[)u], or Heaven-shiner, is usually translated "The Sun-goddess." This personage is the centre of the system of Shint[=o]. The creation of gods by a process of cleansing has had a powerful effect on the Japanese, who usually associate cleanliness of the body (less moral, than physical) with godliness. It is not necessary to detail further the various stories which make up the Japanese mythology. Some of these are lovely and beautiful, but others are horrible and disgusting, while the dominant note throughout is abundant filthiness. Professor Basil Hall Chamberlain, who has done the world such good service in translating into English the whole of the Kojiki, and furnishing it with learned commentary and notes, has well said: "The shocking obscenity of word and act to which the 'Records' bear witness is another ugly feature which must not quite be passed over in silence. It is true that decency, as we understand it, is a very modern product, and it is not to be looked for in any society in the barbarous stage. At the same time, the whole range of literature might perhaps be ransacked for a parallel to the naïve filthiness of the passage forming Sec. IV. of the following translation, or to the extraordinary topic which the hero Yamato-Také and his mistress Miyadz[)u] are made to select as the theme of poetical repartee. One passage likewise would lead us to suppose that the most beastly crimes were commonly committed."[6] Indeed, it happens in several instances that the thread by which the marvellous patchwork of unrelated and varying local myths is joined together, is an indecent love story. A thousand years after the traditions of the Kojiki had been committed to writing, and orthodox Shint[=o] commentators had learned science from the Dutch at Nagasaki, the stirring of the world mud by Izanagi's spear[7] was gravely asserted to be the cause of the diurnal revolution of the earth upon its axis, the point of the axis being still the jewel spear.[8] Onogoro-jima, or the Island of the Congealed Drop, was formerly at the north pole,[9] but subsequently removed to its present position. How this happened is not told. Life in Japan During the Divine Age. Now that the Kojiki is in English and all may read it, we can clearly see who and what were the Japanese in the ages before letters and Chinese civilization; for these stories of the kami are but legendary and mythical accounts of men and women. One could scarcely recognize in the islanders of eleven or twelve hundred years ago, the polished, brilliant, and interesting people of to-day. Yet truth compels us to say that social morals in Dai Nippon, even with telegraphs and railways, are still more like those of ancient days than readers of rhapsodies by summer tourists might suppose. These early Japanese, indeed, were possibly in a stage of civilization somewhat above that of the most advanced of the American Indians when first met by Europeans, for they had a rude system of agriculture and knew the art of fashioning iron into tools and weapons. Still, they were very barbarous, certainly as much so as our Germanic "forbears." They lived in huts. They were without writing or commerce, and were able to count only to ten.[10] Their cruelty was as revolting as that of the savage tribes of America. The family was in its most rudimentary stage, with little or no restraint upon the passions of men. Children of the same father, but not of the same mother, could intermarry. The instances of men marrying their sisters or aunts were very common. There was no art, unless the making of clay images, to take the place of the living human victims buried up to their necks in earth and left to starve on the death of their masters,[11] may be designated as such. The Magatama, or curved jewels, being made of ground and polished stone may be called jewelry; but since some of these prehistoric ornaments dug up from the ground are found to be of jade, a mineral which does not occur in Japan, it is evident that some of these tokens of culture came from the continent. Many other things produced by more or less skilled mechanics, the origin of which is poetically recounted in the story of the dancing of Uzumé before the cave in which the Sun-goddess had hid herself,[12] were of continental origin. Evidently these men of the god-way had passed the "stone age," and, probably without going through the intermediate bronze age, were artificers of iron and skilled in its use. Most of the names of metals and of many other substances, and the terms used in the arts and sciences, betray by their tell-tale etymology their Chinese origin. Indeed, it is evident that some of the leading kami were born in Korea or Tartary. Then as now the people in Japan loved nature, and were quickly sensitive to her beauty and profoundly in sympathy with her varied phenomena. In the mediæval ages, Japanese Wordsworths are not unknown.[13] Sincerely they loved nature, and in some respects they seemed to understand the character of their country far better than the alien does or can. Though a land of wonderful beauty, the Country of Peaceful Shores is enfolded in powers of awful destructiveness. With the earthquake and volcano, the typhoon and the tidal wave, beauty and horror alternate with a swiftness that is amazing. Probably in no portion of the earth are the people and the land more like each other or apparently better acquainted with each other. Nowhere are thought and speech more reflective of the features of the landscape. Even after ten centuries, the Japanese are, in temperament, what the Kojiki reveals them to have been in their early simplicity. Indeed, just as the modern Frenchman, down beneath his outward environments and his habiliments cut and fitted yesterday, is intrinsically the same Gaul whom Julius Cæsar described eighteen hundred years ago, so the gentleman of T[=o]ki[=o] or Ki[=o]to is, in his mental make-up, wonderfully like his ancestors described by the first Japanese Stanley, who shed the light of letters upon the night of unlettered Japan and darkest Dai Nippon. The Kojiki reveals to us, likewise, the childlike religious ideas of the islanders. Heaven lay, not about but above them in their infancy, yet not far away. Although in the "Notices," it is "the high plain of heaven," yet it is just over their heads, and once a single pillar joined it and the earth. Later, the idea was, that it was held up by the pillar-gods of the wind, and to them norito were recited. "The great plain of the blue sea" and "the land of luxuriant reeds" form "the world"--which means Japan. The gods are only men of prowess or renown. A kami is anything wonderful--god or man, rock or stream, bird or snake, whatever is surprising, sensational, or phenomenal, as in the little child's world of to-day. There is no sharp line dividing gods from men, the natural from the supernatural, even as with the normal uneducated Japanese of to-day. As for the kami or gods, they have all sorts of characters; some of them being rude and ill-mannered, many of them beastly and filthy, while others are noble and benevolent. The attributes of moral purity, wisdom and holiness, cannot be, and in the original writings are not, ascribed to them; but they were strong and had power. In so far as they had power they were called kami or gods, whether celestial or terrestrial. Among the kami--the one term under which they are all included--there were heavenly bodies, mountains, rivers, trees, rocks and animals, because those also were supposed to possess force, or at least some kind of influence for good or evil. Even peaches, as we have seen, when transformed into rocks, became gods.[14] That there was worship with awe, reverence, and fear, and that the festivals and sacrifices had two purposes, one of propitiating the offended Kami and the other of purifying the worshipper, may be seen in the norito or liturgies, some of which are exceedingly beautiful.[15] In them the feelings of the gods are often referred to. Sometimes their characters are described. Yet one looks in vain in either the "Notices," poems, or liturgies for anything definite in regard to these deities, or concerning morals or doctrines to be held as dogmas. The first gods come into existence after evolution of the matter of which they are composed has taken place. The later gods are sometimes able to tell who are their progenitors, sometimes not. They live and fight, eat and drink, and give vent to their appetites and passions, and then they die; but exactly what becomes of them after they die, the record does not state. Some are in heaven, some on the earth, some in Hades. The underworld of the first cycle of tradition is by no means that of the second.[16] Some of the kami are in the water, or on the water, or in the air. As for man, there is no clear statement as to whether he is to have any future life or what is to become of him, though the custom or jun-shi, or dying with the master, points to a sort of immortality such as the early Greeks and the Iroquois believed in. It would task the keenest and ablest Shint[=o]ist to deduce or construct a system of theology, or of ethics, or of anthropology from the mass of tradition so full of gaps and discord as that found in the Kojiki, and none has done it. Nor do the inaccurate, distorted, and often almost wholly factitious translations, so-called, of French and other writers, who make versions which hit the taste of their occidental readers far better than they express the truth, yield the desired information. Like the end strands of a new spider's web, the lines of information on most vital points are still "in the air." The Ethics of the God-way. There are no codes of morals inculcated in the god-way, for even its modern revivalists and exponents consider that morals are the invention of wicked people like the Chinese; while the ancient Japanese were pure in thought and act. They revered the gods and obeyed the Mikado, and that was the chief end of man, in those ancient times when Japan was the world and Heaven was just above the earth. Not exactly on Paul's principle of "where there is no law there is no transgression," but utterly scouting the idea that formulated ethics were necessary for these pure-minded people, the modern revivalists of Shint[=o] teach that all that is "of faith" now is to revere the gods, keep the heart pure, and follow its dictates.[17] The naïveté of the representatives of Shint[=o] at Chicago in A.D. 1893, was almost as great as that of the revivalists who wrote when Japan was a hermit nation. The very fact that there was no moral commandments, not even of loyalty or obedience such as Confucianism afterward promulgated and formulated, is proof to the modern Shint[=o]ist that the primeval Japanese were pure and holy; they did right, naturally, and hence he does not hesitate to call Japan, the Land of the Gods, the Country of the Holy Spirits, the Region Between Heaven and Earth, the Island of the Congealed Drop, the Sun's Nest, the Princess Country, the Land of Great Peace, the Land of Great Gentleness, the Mikado's Empire, the Country ruled by a Theocratic Dynasty. He considers that only with the vice brought over from the Continent of Asia were ethics both imported and made necessary.[18] All this has been solemnly taught by famous Shint[=o] scholars of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and is still practically promulgated in the polemic Shint[=o] literature of to-day, even after the Kojiki has been studied and translated into European languages. The Kojiki shows that whatever the men may have been or done, the gods were abominably obscene, and both in word and deed were foul and revolting, utterly opposed in act to those reserves of modesty or standards of shame that exist even among the cultivated Japanese to-day.[19] Even among the Ainos, whom the Japanese look upon as savages, there is still much of the obscenity of speech which belongs to all society[20] in a state of barbarism; but it has been proved that genuine modesty is a characteristic of the Aino women.[21] A literal English translation of the Kojiki, however, requires an abundant use of Latin in order to protect it from the grasp of the law in English-speaking Christendom. In Chamberlain's version, the numerous cesspools are thus filled up with a dead language, and the road is constructed for the reader, who likes the language of Edmund Spencer, of William Tyndale and of John Ruskin kept unsoiled. The cruelty which marks this early stage shows that though moral codes did not exist, the Buddhist and Confucian missionary were for Japan necessities of the first order. Comparing the result to-day with the state of things in the early times, one must award high praise to Buddhism that it has made the Japanese gentle, and to Confucianism that it has taught the proprieties of life, so that the polished Japanese gentleman, as to courtesy, is in many respects the peer and at some external points the superior, of his European confrère. Another fact, made repulsively clear, about life in ancient Japan, is that the high ideals of truth and honor, characteristic at least of the Samurai of modern times, were utterly unknown in the days of the kami. Treachery was common. Instances multiply on the pages of the Kojiki where friend betrayed friend. The most sacred relations of life were violated. Altogether these were the darkest ages of Japan, though, as among the red men of America, there were not wanting many noble examples of stoical endurance, of courage, and of power nobly exerted for the benefit of others. The Rise of Mikadoism. Nevertheless we must not forget that the men of the early age of the Kami no Michi conquered the aborigines by superior dogmas and fetiches, as well as by superior weapons. The entrance of these heroes, invaders from the highlands of the Asian continent, by way of Korea, was relatively a very influential factor of progress, though not so important as was the Aryan descent upon India, or the Norman invasion of England, for the aboriginal tribes were vastly lower in the scale of humanity than their subduers. Where they found savagery they introduced barbarism, which, though unlettered and based on the sword, was a vast improvement over what may be called the geological state of man, in which he is but slightly raised above the brutes. For the proofs from the shell heaps, combined with the reflected evidences of folk-lore, show, that cannibalism[22] was common in the early ages, and that among the aboriginal hill tribes it lingered after the inhabitants of the plain and shore had been subdued. The conquerors, who made themselves paramount over the other tribes and who developed the Kami religion, abolished this relic of savagery, and gave order where there had been chronic war. Another thing that impresses us because of its abundant illustrations, is the prevalence of human sacrifices. The very ancient folk-lore shows that beautiful maidens were demanded by the "sea-gods" in propitiation, or were devoured by the "dragons." These human victims were either chosen or voluntarily offered, and in some instances were rescued from their fate by chivalrous heroes[23] from among the invaders. These gods of the sea, who anciently were propitiated by the sacrifice of human beings, are the same to whom Japanese sailors still pray, despite their Buddhism. The title of the efficient victims was _hitoga-shira_, or human pillars. Instances of this ceremony, where men were lowered into the water and drowned in order to make the sure foundation for bridges, piers or sea-walls, or where they were buried alive in the earth in order to lay the right bases for walls or castles, are quite numerous, and most of the local histories contain specific traditions.[24] These traditions, now transfigured, still survive in customs that are as beautiful as they are harmless. To reformers of pre-Buddhistic days, belongs the credit of the abolition of jun-shi, or dying with the master by burial alive, as well as of the sacrifice to dragons and sea-gods. Strange as it may seem, before Buddhism captured and made use of Shint[=o] for its own purposes (just as it stands ready to-day to absorb Christianity by making Jesus one of the Palestinian avatars of the Buddha), the house or tribe of Yamato, with its claim to descent from the heavenly gods, and with its Mikado or god-ruler, had given to the Buddhists a precedent and potent example. Shint[=o], as a state religion or union of politics and piety, with its system of shrines and festivals, and in short the whole Kami no Michi, or Shint[=o] as we know it, from the sixth to the eighth century, was in itself (in part at least), a case of the absorption of one religion by another. In short, the Mikado tribe or Yamato clan did, in reality, capture the aboriginal religion, and turn it into a great political machine. They attempted syncretism and succeeded in their scheme. They added to their own stock of dogma and fetich that of the natives. Only, while recognizing the (earth) gods of the aborigines they proclaimed the superiority of the Mikado as representative and vicegerent of Heaven, and demanded that even the gods of the earth, mountain, river, wind, and thunder and lightning should obey him. Not content, however, with absorbing and corrupting for political purposes the primitive faith of the aborigines, the invaders corrupted their own religion by carrying the dogma of the divinity and infallibility of the Mikado too far. Stopping short of no absurdity, they declared their chief greater even than the heavenly gods, and made their religion centre in him rather than in his alleged heavenly ancestors, or "heaven." In the interest of politics and conquest, and for the sake of maintaining the prestige of their tribe and clan, these "Mikado-reverencers" of early ages advanced from dogma to dogma, until their leader was virtually chief god in a great pantheon. A critical native Japanese, student of the Kojiki and of the early writings, Professor Kumi, formerly of the Imperial University in T[=o]ki[=o], has brought to light abundant evidence to show that the aboriginal religion found by the Yamato conquerors was markedly different at many vital points, from that which was long afterward called Shint[=o]. If the view of recent students of anthropology be correct, that the elements dominating the population in ancient Japan were in the south, Malay; in the north, Aino; and in the central region, or that occupied by the Yamato men, Korean; then, these continental invaders may have been worshippers of Heaven and have possessed a religion closely akin to that of ancient China with its monotheism. It is very probable also that they came into contact with tribes or colonies of their fellow-continentals from Asia. These tribes, hunters, fishermen, or rude agriculturists--who had previously reached Japan--practised many rites and ceremonies which were much like those of the new invaders. It is certain also, as we have seen, that the Yamato men made ultimate conquest and unification of all the islanders, not merely by the superiority of their valor and of their weapons of iron, but also by their dogmas. After success in battle, and the first beginnings of rude government, they taught their conquered subjects or over-awed vassals, that they were the descendants of the heavenly gods; that their ancestors had come down from heaven; find that their chief or Mikado was a god. According to the same dogmatics, the aborigines were descendants of the earth-born gods, and as such must obey the descendants of the heavenly gods, and their vicegerent upon the earth, the Mikado. Purification of Offences. These heaven-descended Yamato people were in the main agriculturists, though of a rude order, while the outlying tribes were mostly hunters and fishermen; and many of the rituals show the class of crimes which nomads, or men of unsettled life, would naturally commit against their neighbors living in comparatively settled order. It is to be noted that in the god-way the origin of evil is to be ascribed to evil gods. These kami pollute, and pollution is iniquity. From this iniquity the people are to be purged by the gods of purification, to whom offerings are duly made. He who would understand the passion for cleanliness which characterizes the Japanese must look for its source in their ancient religion. The root idea of the word _tsumi_, which Mr. Satow translated as "offence," is that of pollution. On this basis, of things pure and things defiling, the ancient teachers of Shint[=o] made their classification of what was good and what was bad. From the impression of what was repulsive arose the idea of guilt. In rituals translated by Mr. Satow, the list of offences is given and the defilements are to be removed to the nether world, or, in common fact, the polluted objects and the expiatory sacrifices are to be thrown into the rivers and thence carried to the sea, where they fall to the bottom of the earth. The following norito clearly shows this. Furthermore, as Mr. Satow, the translator, points out, this ritual contains the germ of criminal law, a whole code of which might have been evolved and formulated under Shint[=o], had not Buddhism arrested its growth. Amongst the various sorts of offences which may be committed in ignorance or out of negligence by heaven's increasing people, who shall come into being in the country, which the Sovran GRANDCHILD'S augustness, hiding in the fresh RESIDENCE, built by stoutly planting the HOUSE-pillars on the bottom-most rocks, and exalting the cross-beams to the plain of high heaven, as his SHADE from the heavens and SHADE from the sun, shall tranquilly ruin as a peaceful country, namely, the country of great Yamato, where the sun is soon on high, which he fixed upon as a peaceful country, as the centre of the countries of the four quarters thus bestowed upon him--breaking the ridges, filling up water-courses, opening sluices, double-sowing, planting stakes, flaying alive, flaying backwards, and dunging; many of such offences are distinguished as heavenly offences, and as earthly offences; cutting living flesh, cutting dead flesh, leprosy, proud-flesh, ... calamities of crawling worms, calamities of a god on high, calamities of birds on high, the offences of killing beasts and using incantations; many of such offences may be disclosed. When he has thus repeated it, the heavenly gods will push open heaven's eternal gates, and cleaving a path with might through the manifold clouds of heaven, will hear; and the country gods, ascending to the tops of the high mountains, and to the tops of the low hills, and tearing asunder the mists of the high mountains and the mists of the low hills, will hear. And when they have thus heard, the Maiden-of-Descent-into-the-Current, who dwells in the current of the swift stream which boils down the ravines from the tops of the high mountains, and the tops of the low hills, shall carry out to the great sea plain the offences which are cleared away and purified, so that there be no remaining offence; like as Shinato's wind blows apart the manifold clouds of heaven, as the morning wind and the evening wind blow away the morning mist and the evening mist, as the great ships which lie on the shore of a great port loosen their prows, and loosen their sterns to push out into the great sea-plain; as the trunks of the forest trees, far and near, are cleared away by the sharp sickle, the sickle forged with fire: so that there ceased to be any offence called an offence in the court of the Sovran GRANDCHILD'S augustness to begin with, and in the countries of the four quarters of the region under heaven. And when she thus carries them out and away, the deity called the Maiden-of-the-Swift-cleansing, who dwells in the multitudinous meetings of the sea waters, the multitudinous currents of rough sea-waters shall gulp them down. And when she has thus gulped them down, the lord of the Breath-blowing-place, who dwells in the Breath-blowing-place, shall utterly blow them away with his breath to the Root-country, the Bottom-country. And when he has thus blown them away, the deity called the Maiden-of-Swift-Banishment, who dwells in the Root-country, the Bottom-country, shall completely banish them, and get rid of them. And when they have thus been got rid of, there shall from this day onwards be no offence which is called offence, with regard to the men of the offices who serve in the court of the Sovran, nor in the four quarters of the region under heaven. Then the high priest says: Hear all of you how he leads forth the horse, as a thing that erects its ears towards the plain of high heaven, and deigns to sweep away and purify with the general purification, as the evening sun goes down on the last day of the watery moon of this year. O diviners of the four countries, take (the sacrifices) away out to the river highway, and sweep them away. Mikadoism Usurps the Primitive God-way. A further proof of the transformation of the primitive god-way in the interest of practical politics, is shown by Professor Kumi in the fact that some of the festivals now directly connected with the Mikado's house, and even in his honor, were originally festivals with which he had nothing to do, except as leader of the worship, for the honor was paid to Heaven, and not to his ancestors. Professor Kumi maintains that the thanksgivings of the court were originally to Heaven itself, and not in honor of Amatéras[)u], the sun-goddess, as is now popularly believed. It is related in the Kojiki that Amatéras[)u] herself celebrated the feast of Niinamé. So also, the temple of Isé, the Mecca of Shint[=o], and the Holy shrine in the imperial palace were originally temples for the worship of Heaven. The inferior gods of earthly origin form no part of primitive Shint[=o]. Not one of the first Mikados was deified after death, the deification of emperors dating from the corruption which Shint[=o] underwent after the introduction of Buddhism. Only by degrees was the ruler of the country given a place in the worship, and this connection was made by attributing to him descent from Heaven. In a word, the contention of Professor Kumi is, that the ancient religion of at least a portion of the Japanese and especially of those in central Japan, was a rude sort of monotheism, coupled, as in ancient China, with the worship of subordinate spirits. It is needless to say that such applications of the higher criticism to the ancient sacred documents proved to be no safer for the applier than if he had lived in the United States of America. The orthodox Shint[=o]ists were roused to wrath and charged the learned critic with "degrading Shint[=o] to a mere branch of Christianity." The government, which, despite its Constitution and Diet, is in the eyes of the people really based on the myths of the Kojiki, quickly put the professor on the retired list.[25] It is probably correct to say that the arguments adduced by Professor Kumi, confirm our theory of the substitution in the simple god-way, of Mikadoism, the centre of the primitive worship being the sun and nature rather than Heaven. Between the ancient Chinese religion with its abstract idea of Heaven and its personal term for God, and the more poetic and childlike system of the god-way, there seems to be as much difference as there is racially between the people of the Middle Kingdom and those of the Land Where the Day Begins. Indeed, the entrance of Chinese philosophical and abstract ideas seemed to paralyze the Japanese imagination. Not only did myth-making, on its purely æsthetic and non-utilitarian side cease almost at once, but such myths as were formed were for direct business purposes and with a transparent tendency. Henceforth, in the domain of imagination the Japanese intellect busied itself with assimilating or re-working the abundant material imported by Buddhism. Ancient Customs and Usages. In the ancient god-way the temple or shrine was called a miya. After the advent of Buddhism the keepers of the shrine were called kannushi, that is, shrine keepers or wardens of the god. These men were usually descendants of the god in whose honor the temples were built. The gods being nothing more than human founders of families, reverence was paid to them as ancestors, and so the basis of Shint[=o] is ancestor worship. The model of the miya, in modern as in ancient times, is the primitive hut as it was before Buddhism introduced Indian and Chinese architecture. The posts, stuck in the ground, and not laid upon stones as in after times, supported the walls and roof, the latter being of thatch. The rafters, crossed at the top, were tied along the ridge-pole with the fibres of creepers or wistaria vines. No paint, lacquer, gilding, or ornaments of any sort existed in the ancient shrine, and even to-day the modern Shint[=o] temple must be of pure hinoki or sun-wood, and thatched, while the use of metal is as far as possible avoided. To the gods, as the norito show, offerings of various kinds were made, consisting of the fruits of the soil, the products of the sea, and the fabrics of the loom. Inside modern temples one often sees a mirror, in which foreigners with lively imaginations read a great deal that is only the shadow of their own mind, but which probably was never known in Shint[=o] temples until after Buddhist times. They also see in front of the unpainted wooden closets or casements, wands or sticks of wood from which depend masses or strips of white paper, cut and notched in a particular way. Foreigners, whose fancy is nimble, have read in these the symbols of lightning, the abode of the spirits and various forthshadowings unknown either to the Japanese or the ancient writings. In reality these _gohei_, or honorable offerings, are nothing more than the paper representatives of the ancient offerings of cloth which were woven, as the arts progressed, of bark, of hemp and of silk. The chief Shint[=o] ministers of religion and shrine-keepers belonged to particular families, which were often honored with titles and offices by the emperor. In ordinary life they dressed like others of their own rank or station, but when engaged in their sacred office were robed in white or in a special official costume, wearing upon their heads the _éboshi_ or peculiar cap which we associate with Japanese archæology. They knew nothing of celibacy; but married, reared families and kept their scalps free from the razor, though some of the lower order of shrine-keepers dressed their hair in ordinary style, that is, with shaven poll and topknot. At some of the more important shrines, like those at Isé, there were virgin priestesses who acted as custodians both of the shrines and of the relics.[26] In front of the miyas stood what we should suppose on first seeing was a gateway. This was the _torii_ or bird-perch, and anciently was made only of unpainted wood. Two upright tree-trunks held crosswise on a smooth tree-trunk the ends of which projected somewhat over the supports, while under this was a smaller beam inserted between the two uprights. On the torii, the birds, generally barn-yard fowls which were sacred to the gods, roosted. These creatures were not offered up as sacrifices, but were chanticleers to give notice of day-break and the rising of the sun. The cock holds a prominent place in Japanese myth, legend, art and symbolism. How this feature of pure Japanese architecture, the torii, afterward lost its meaning, we shall show in our lecture on Riy[=o]bu or mixed Buddhism. Shint[=o]'s Emphasis on Cleanliness. One of the most remarkable features of Shint[=o] was the emphasis laid on cleanliness. Pollution was calamity, defilement was sin, and physical purity at least, was holiness. Everything that could in any way soil the body or the clothing was looked upon with abhorrence and detestation. Disease, wounds and death were defiling, and the feeling of disgust prevailed over that of either sympathy or pity. Birth and death were especially polluting. Anciently there were huts built both for the mother about to give birth to a child, or for the man who was dying or sure to die of disease or wounds. After the birth of the infant or the death of the patient these houses were burned. Cruel as this system was to the woman at a time when she needed most care and comfort, and brutal as it seems in regard to the sick and dying, yet this ancient custom was continued in a few remote places in Japan as late as the year 1878.[27] In modern days with equal knowledge of danger and defilement, tenderness and compassion temper the feeling of disgust, and prevail over it. Horror of uncleanliness was so great that the priests bathed and put on clean garments before making the sacred offerings or chanting the liturgies, and were accustomed to bind a slip of paper over their mouths lest their breath should pollute the offering. Numerous were the special festivals, observed simply for purification. Salt also was commonly used to sprinkle over the ground, and those who attended a funeral must free themselves from contamination by the use of salt.[28] Purification by water was habitual and in varied forms. The ancient emperors and priests actually performed the ablution of the people or made public lustration in their behalf. Afterwards, and probably because population increased and towns sprang up, we find it was customary at the festivals of purification to perform public ablution, vicariously, as it were, by means of paper mannikins instead of making applications of water to the human cuticle. Twice a year paper figures representing the people were thrown into the river, the typical meaning of which was that the nation was thereby cleansed from the sins, that is, the defilements, of the previous half-year. Still later, the Mikado made the chief minister of religion at Ki[=o]to his deputy to perform the symbolical act for the people of the whole country. Prayers to Myriads of Gods. In prayer, the worshipper, approaching the temple but not entering it, pulls a rope usually made of white material and attached to a peculiar-shaped bell hung over the shrine, calling the attention of the deity to his devotions. Having washed his hands and rinsed out his mouth, he places his hands reverently together and offers his petition. Concerning the method and words of prayer, Hirata, a famous exponent of Shint[=o], thus writes: As the number of the gods who possess different functions is so great, it will be convenient to worship by name only the most important and to include the rest in a general petition. Those whose daily affairs are so multitudinous that they have not time to go through the whole of the following morning prayers, may content themselves with adoring the residence of the emperor, the domestic kami-dana, the spirits of their ancestors, their local patron god and the deity of their particular calling in life. In praying to the gods the blessings which each has it in his power to bestow are to be mentioned in a few words, and they are not to be annoyed with greedy petitions, for the Mikado in his palace offers up petitions daily on behalf of his people, which are far more effectual than those of his subjects. Rising early in the morning, wash your face and hands, rinse out the mouth and cleanse the body. Then turn toward the province of Yamato, strike the palms of the hands together twice, and worship, bowing the head to the ground. The proper posture is that of kneeling on the heels, which is ordinarily assumed in saluting a superior. PRAYER. From a distance I reverently worship with awe before Amé no Mi-hashira (Heaven-pillar) and Kuni no Mi-hashira (Country-pillar), also called Shinatsu-hiko no kami and Shinatsu-himé no kami, to whom is consecrated the Palace built with stout pillars at Tatsuta no Tachinu in the department of Héguri in the province of Yamato. I say with awe, deign to bless me by correcting the unwitting faults which, seen and heard by you, I have committed, by blowing off and clearing away the calamities which evil gods might inflict, by causing me to live long like the hard and lasting rock, and by repeating to the gods of heavenly origin and to the gods of earthly origin the petitions which I present every day, along with your breath, that they may hear with the sharp-earedness of the forth-galloping colt. To the common people the sun is actually a god, as none can doubt who sees them worshipping it morning and evening. The writer can never forget one of many similar scenes in T[=o]ki[=o], when late one afternoon after O Tent[=o] Sama (the sun-Lord of Heaven), which had been hidden behind clouds for a fortnight, shone out on the muddy streets. In a moment, as with the promptness of a military drill, scores of people rushed out of their houses and with faces westward, kneeling, squatting, began prayer and worship before the great luminary. Besides all the gods, supreme, subordinate and local, there is in nearly every house the Kami-dana or god-shelf. This is usually over the door inside. It contains images with little paper-covered wooden tablets having the god's name on them. Offerings are made by day and a little lamp is lighted at night. The following is one of several prayers which are addressed to this kami-dana. Reverently adoring the great god of the two palaces of Isé, in the first place, the eight hundred myriads of celestial gods, the eight hundred myriads of terrestrial gods, all the fifteen hundred myriads of gods to whom are consecrated the great and small temples in all provinces, all islands and all places of the Great Land of Eight Islands, the fifteen hundreds of myriads of gods whom they cause to serve them, and the gods of branch palaces and branch temples, and Sohodo no kami, whom I have invited to the shrine set up on this divine shelf, and to whom I offer praises day by day, I pray with awe that they will deign to correct the unwitting faults, which, heard and seen by them, I have committed, and blessing and favoring me according to the powers which they severally wield, cause me to follow the divine example, and to perform good works in the Way. Shint[=o] Left in a State of Arrested Development. Thus from the emperor to the humblest believer, the god-way is founded on ancestor worship, and has had grafted upon its ritual system nature worship, even to phallicism.[29] In one sense it is a self-made religion of the Japanese. Its leading characteristics are seen in the traits of the normal Japanese character of to-day. Its power for good and evil may be traced in the education of the Japanese through many centuries. Knowing Shint[=o], we to a large degree know the Japanese, their virtues and their failings. What Shint[=o] might have become in its full evolution had it been left alone, we cannot tell. Whether in the growth of the nation and without the pressure of Buddhism, Confucianism or other powerful influences from outside, the scattered and fragmentary mythology might have become organized into a harmonious system, or codes of ethics have been formulated, or the doctrines of a future life and the idea of a Supreme Being with personal attributes have been conceived and perfected, are questions the discussion of which may seem to be vain. History, however, gives no uncertain answer as to what actually did take place. We do but state what is unchallenged fact, when we say, that after commitment to writing of the myths, poems and liturgies which may be called the basis of Shint[=o], there came a great flood of Chinese and Buddhistic literature and a tremendous expansion of Buddhist missionary activity, which checked further literary growth of the kami system. These prepared the way for the absorption of the indigenous into the foreign cultus under the form called by an enthusiastic emperor, Riy[=o]bu Shint[=o], or the "two-fold divine doctrine." Of this, we shall speak in another lecture. Suffice it here to say that by the scheme of syncretism propounded by K[=o]b[=o] in the ninth century, Shint[=o] was practically overlaid by the new faith from India, and largely forgotten as a distinct religion by the Japanese people. As late as A.D. 927, there were three thousand one hundred and thirty-two enumerated metropolitan and provincial temples, besides many more unenumerated village and hamlet shrines of Shint[=o]. These are referred to in the revised codes of ceremonial law set forth by imperial authority early in the tenth century. Probably by the twelfth century the pure rites of the god-way were celebrated, and the unmixed traditions maintained, in families and temples, so few as to be counted on the fingers. The ancient language in which the archaic forms had been preserved was so nearly lost and buried, that out of the ooze of centuries of oblivion, it had to be rescued by the skilled divers of the seventeenth century. Mabuchi, Motöri and the other revivalists of pure Shint[=o], like the plungers after orient pearls, persevered until they had first recovered much that had been supposed irretrievably lost. These scholars deciphered and interpreted the ancient scriptures, poetry, prose, history, law and ritual, and once more set forth the ancient faith, as they believed, in its purity. Whether, however, men can exactly reproduce and think for themselves the thoughts of others who have been dead for a millennium, is an open question. The new system is apt to be transparent. Just as it is nearly impossible for us to restore the religious life, thoughts and orthodoxy of the men who lived before the flood, so in the writings of the revivalists of pure Shint[=o] we detect the thoughts of Dutchmen, of Chinese, and of very modern Japanese. Unconsciously, those who would breathe into the dry bones of dead Shint[=o] the breath of the nineteenth century, find themselves compelled to use an oxygen and nitrogen generator made in Holland and mounted with Chinese apparatus; withal, lacquered and decorated with the art of to-day. To change from metaphor to matter of fact, modern "pure Shint[=o]" is mainly a mass of speculation and philosophy, with a tendency of which the ancient god-way knew nothing. The Modern Revivalists of Kami no Michi. Passing by further mention of the fifteen or more corrupt sects of Shint[=o]ists, we name with honor the native scholars of the seventeenth century, who followed the illustrious example of Iyéyas[)u], the political unifier of Japan. They ransacked the country and purchased from temples, mansions and farmhouses, old manuscripts and books, and forming libraries began anew the study of ancient language and history. Kéichu (1640-1701), a Buddhist priest, explored and illumined the poems of the Many[=o]shu. Kada Adzumar[=o], born in 1669 near Ki[=o]to, the son of a shrine-keeper at Inari, attempted the mastery of the whole archaic native language and literature. He made a grand beginning. He is unquestionably the founder of the school of Pure Shint[=o]. He died in 1736. His successor and pupil was Mabuchi (1697-1769), who claimed direct descent from that god which in the form of a colossal crow had guided the first chief of the Yamato tribe as he led his invaders through the country to found the line of Mikados. After Mabuchi came Motoöri (1730-1801) a remarkable scholar and critic, who, with erudition and acuteness, analyzed the ancient literature and showed what were Chinese or imported elements and what was of native origin. He summarized the principles of the ancient religion, reasserted and illuminated with amazing learning and voluminous commentary the archaic documents, expounded and defended the ancient cosmogony, and in the usual style of Japanese polemics preached anew the doctrines of Shint[=o]. With wonderful naïveté and enthusiasm, Motoöri taught that Japan was the first part of the earth created, and that it is therefore The Land of the Gods, the Country of the Holy Spirits. The stars were created from the muck which fell from the spear of Izanagi as he thrust it into the warm earth, while the other countries were formed by the spontaneous consolidation of the foam of the sea. Morals were invented by the Chinese because they were an immoral people, but in Japan there is no necessity for any system of morals, as every Japanese acts aright if he only consults his own heart. The duty of a good Japanese consists in obeying the Mikado, without questioning whether his commands are right or wrong. The Mikado is god and vicar of all the gods, hence government and religion are the same, the Mikado being the centre of Church and State, which are one. Did the foreign nations know their duty they would at once hasten to pay tribute to the Son of Heaven in Ki[=o]to. It is needless here to dwell upon the tremendous power of Shint[=o] as a political system, especially when wedded with the forces, generated in the minds of the educated Japanese by modern Confucianism. The Chinese ethical system, expanded into a philosophy as fascinating as the English materialistic school of to-day, entered Japan contemporaneously with the revival of the Way of the Gods and of native learning. In full rampancy of their vigor, in the seventeenth century these two systems began that generation of national energy, which in the eighteenth century was consolidated and which in the nineteenth century, though unknown and unsuspected by Europeans or Americans, was all ready for phenomenal manifestation and tremendous eruption, even while Perry's fleet was bearing the olive branch to Japan. As we all know, this consolidation of forces from the inside, on meeting, not with collision but with union, the exterior forces of western civilization, formed a resultant in the energies which have made New Japan. The Great Purification of 1870. In 1870, with the Sh[=o]gun of Yedo deposed, the dual system abolished, feudalism in its last gasp and Shint[=o] in full political power, with the ancient council of the gods (Jin Gi Kuan) once more established, and purified Shint[=o] again the religion of state, thousands of Riy[=o]bu Shint[=o] temples were at once purged of all their Buddhist ornaments, furniture, ritual, and everything that might remind the Japanese of foreign elements. Then began, logically and actually, the persecution of those Christians, who through all the centuries of repression and prohibition had continued their existence, and kept their faith however mixed and clouded. Theoretically, ancient belief was re-established, yet it was both physically and morally impossible to return wholly to the baldness and austere simplicity of those early ages, in which art and literature were unknown. For a while it seemed as though the miracle would be performed, of turning back the dial of the ages and of plunging Japan into the fountain of her own youth. Propaganda was instituted, and the attempts made to convert all the Japanese to Shint[=o] tenets and practice were for a while more lively than edifying; but the scheme was on the whole a splendid failure, and bitter disappointment succeeded the first exultation of victory. Confronted by modern problems of society and government, the Mikado's ministers found themselves unable, if indeed willing, to entomb politics in religion, as in the ancient ages. For a little while, in 1868, the Jin Gi Kuan, or Council of the Gods of Heaven and Earth, held equal authority with the Dai J[=o] Kuan, or Great Council of the Government. Pretty soon the first step downward was taken, and from a supreme council it was made one of the ten departments of the government. In less than a year followed another retrograde movement and the department was called a board. Finally, in 1877, the board became a bureau. Now, it is hard to tell what rank the Shint[=o] cultus occupies in the government, except as a system of guardianship over the imperial tombs, a mode of official etiquette, and as one of the acknowledged religions of the country. Nevertheless, as an element in that amalgam of religions which forms the creed of most Japanese, Shint[=o] is a living force, and shares with Buddhism the arena against advancing Christianity, still supplying much of the spring and motive to patriotism. The Shint[=o] lecturers with unblushing plagiarism rifled the storehouses of Chinese ethics. They enforced their lessons from the Confucian classics. Indeed, most of their homiletical and illustrative material is still derived directly therefrom. Their three main official theses and commandments were: 1. Thou shalt honor the Gods and love thy country. 2. Thou shalt clearly understand the principles of Heaven, and the duty of man. 3. Thou shalt revere the Emperor as thy sovereign and obey the will of his Court. For nearly twenty years this deliverance of the Japanese Government, which still finds its strongest support in the national traditions and the reverence of the people for the throne, sufficed for the necessities of the case. Then the copious infusion of foreign ideas, the disintegration of the old framework of society, and the weakening of the old ties of obedience and loyalty, with the flood of shallow knowledge and education which gave especially children and young people just enough of foreign ideas to make them dangerous, brought about a condition of affairs which alarmed the conservative and patriotic. Like fungus upon a dead tree strange growths had appeared, among others that of a class of violently patriotic and half-educated young men and boys, called _Soshí_. These hot-headed youths took it upon themselves to dictate national policy to cabinet ministers, and to reconstruct society, religion and politics. Something like a mania broke out all over the country which, in certain respects, reminds us of the Children's Crusade, that once afflicted Europe and the children themselves. Even Christianity did not escape the craze for reconstruction. Some of the young believers and pupils of the missionaries seemed determined to make Christianity all over so as to suit themselves. This phase of brain-swelling is not yet wholly over. One could not tell but that something like the Tai Ping rebellion, which disturbed and devastated China, might break out. These portentous signs on the social horizon called forth, in 1892, from the government an Imperial Rescript, which required that the emperor's photograph be exhibited in every school, and saluted by all teachers and scholars whatever their religious tenets and scruples might be. Most Christians as well as Buddhists, saw nothing in this at which to scruple. A few, however, finding in it an offence to conscience, resigned their positions. They considered the mandate an unwarrantable interference with their rights as conferred by the constitution of 1889, which in theory is the gift of the emperor to his people. The radical Shint[=o]ist, to this day, believes that all political rights which Japanese enjoy or can enjoy are by virtue of the Mikado's grace and benevolence. It is certain that all Japanese, whatever may be their religious convictions, consider that the constitution depends for its safeguards and its validity largely upon the oath which the Mikado swore at the shrine of his heavenly ancestors, that he would himself be obedient to it and preserve its provisions inviolate. For this solemn ceremony a special norito or liturgy was composed and recited. Summary of Shint[=o]. Of Shint[=o] as a system we have long ago given our opinion. In its higher forms, "Shint[=o] is simply a cultured and intellectual atheism; in its lower forms it is blind obedience to governmental and priestly dictates." "Shint[=o]," says Mr. Ernest Satow, "as expounded by Motoöri is nothing more than an engine for reducing the people to a condition of mental slavery." Japan being a country of very striking natural phenomena, the very soil and air lend themselves to support in the native mind this system of worship of heroes and of the forces of nature. In spite, however, of the conservative power of the ancestral influences, the patriotic incentives and the easy morals of Shint[=o] under which lying and licentiousness shelter themselves, it is doubtful whether with the pressure of Buddhism, and the spread of popular education and Christianity, Shint[=o] can retain its hold upon the Japanese people. Yet although this is our opinion, it is but fair, and it is our duty, to judge every religion by its ideals and not by its failings. The ideal of Shint[=o] is to make people pure and clean in all their personal and household arrangements; it is to help them to live simply, honestly and with mutual good will; it is to make the Japanese love their country, honor their imperial house and obey their emperor. Narrow and local as this religion is, it has had grand exemplars in noble lives and winning characters. So far as Shint[=o] is a religion, Christianity meets it not as destroyer but fulfiller, for it too believes that cleanliness is not only next to godliness but a part of it. Jesus as perfect man and patriot, Captain of our salvation and Prince of peace, would not destroy the Yamato damashii--the spirit of unconquerable Japan--but rather enlarge, broaden, and deepen it, making it love for all humanity. Reverence for ancestral virtue and example, so far from being weakened, is strengthened, and as for devotion to king and ruler, law and society, Christianity lends nobler motives and grander sanctions, while showing clearly, not indeed the way of the eight million or more gods, but the way to God--the one living, only and true, even through Him who said "I am the Way." CHAPTER IV - THE CHINESE ETHICAL SYSTEM IN JAPAN "Things being investigated, knowledge became complete; knowledge being complete, thoughts were sincere; thoughts being sincere, hearts were rectified; hearts being rectified, persons were cultivated; persons being cultivated, families were regulated; families being regulated, states were rightly governed; states being rightly governed, the whole nation was made tranquil and happy." "When you know a thing to hold that you know it; and when you do not know a thing to allow that you do not know it; this is knowledge." "Old age sometimes becomes second childhood; why should not filial piety become parental love?" "The superior man accords with the course of the mean. Though he may be all unknown, unregarded by the world, he feels no regret. He is only the sage who is able for this."--Sayings of Confucius. "There is, in a word, no bringing down of God to men in Confucianism in order to lift them up to Him. Their moral shortcomings, when brought home to them, may produce a feeling of shame, but hardly a conviction of guilt."--James Legge. "Do not to others what you would not have them do to you."--The Silver Rule. "All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them."--The Golden Rule. "In respect to revenging injury done to master or father, it is granted by the wise and virtuous (Confucius) that you and the injurer cannot live together under the canopy of heaven."--Legacy of Iyéyas[)u], Cap. iii, Lowder's translation. "But I say unto you forgive your enemies."--Jesus. "Thou, O Lord, art our father, our redeemer, thy name is from everlasting."--Isaiah. CHAPTER IV - THE CHINESE ETHICAL SYSTEM IN JAPAN Confucius a Historical Character. If the greatness of a teacher is to be determined by the number of his disciples, or to be measured by the extent and diversity of his influence, then the foremost place among all the teachers of mankind must be awarded to The Master Kung (or Confucius, as the Jesuit scholars of the seventeenth century Latinized the name). Certainly, he of all truly historic personages is to-day, and for twenty-three centuries has been, honored by the largest number of followers. Of the many systems of religion in the world, but few are based upon the teachings of one person. The reputed founders of some of them are not known in history with any certainty, and of others--as in the case of Buddhism--have become almost as shadows among a great throng of imaginary Buddhas or other beings which have sprung from the fancies of the brain and become incorporated into the systems, although the original teachers may indeed have been historical. Confucius is a clear and distinct historic person. His parentage, place of birth, public life, offices, work and teaching, are well known and properly authenticated. He used the pen freely, and not only compiled, edited and transmitted the writings of his predecessors, but composed an historical and interpretative book. He originated nothing, however, but on the contrary disowned any purpose of introducing new ideas, or of expressing thoughts of his own not based upon or in perfect harmony with the teaching of the ancients. He was not an original thinker. He was a compiler, an editor, a defender and reproclaimer of the ancient religion, and an exemplar of the wisdom and writings of the Chinese fathers. He felt that his duty was exactly that which some Christian theologians of to-day conscientiously feel to be theirs--to receive intact a certain "deposit" or "system" and, adding nothing to it, simply to teach, illuminate, defend, enforce and strongly maintain it as "the truth." He gloried in absolute freedom from all novelty, anticipating in this respect a certain illustrious American who made it a matter for boasting, that his school had never originated a new idea.[1] Whether or not the Master Kung did nevertheless, either consciously or unconsciously, modify the ancient system by abbreviating or enlarging it, we cannot now inquire. Confucius wan born into the world in the year 551 B.C., during that wonderful century of religious revival which saw the birth of Ezra, Gautama, and Lao Tsze, and in boyhood he displayed an unusually sedate temperament which made him seem to be what we would now call an "old-fashioned child." The period during which he lived was that of feudal China. From the ago of twenty-two, while holding an office in the state of Lu within the modern province of Shan-Tung, he gathered around him young men as pupils with whom, like Socrates, he conversed in question and answer. He made the teachings of the ancients the subjects of his research, and he was at all times a diligent student of the primeval records. These sacred books are called King, or Ki[=o] in Japanese, and are: Shu King, a collection of historic documents; Shih King, or Book of Odes; Hsiao King, or Classic of Filial Piety, and Yi King, or Book of Changes.[2] This division of the old sacred canon, resembles the Christian or non-Jewish arrangement of the Old Testament scriptures in the four parts of Law, History, Poetry and Prophesy, though in the Chinese we have History, Poetry, Ethics and Divination.[3] His own table-talk, conversations, discussions and notes were compiled by his pupils, and are preserved in the work entitled in English, "The Confucian Analects," which is one of the four books constituting the most sacred portion of Chinese philosophy and instruction. He also wrote a work named "Spring and Autumn, or Chronicles of his Native State of Lu from 722 B.C., to 481[4] B.C." He "changed his world," as the Buddhists say, in the year 478 B.C., having lived seventy-three years. Primitive Chinese Faith. The pre-Confucian or primitive faith was monotheistic, the forefathers of the Chinese nation having been believers in one Supreme Spiritual Being. There is an almost universal agreement among scholars in translating the term "Shang Ti" as God, and in reading from these classics that the forefathers "in the ceremonies at the altars of Heaven and earth ... served God." Concurrently with the worship of one Supreme God there was also a belief in subordinate spirits and in the idea of revelation or the communication of God with men. This restricted worship of God was accompanied by reverence for ancestors and the honoring of spirits by prayers and sacrifices, which resulted, however, neither in deification nor polytheism. But, as the European mediæval schoolmen have done with the Bible, so, after the death of Confucius the Chinese scholastics by metaphysical reasoning and commentary, created systems of interpretation which greatly altered the apparent form and contents of his own and of the ancient texts. Thus, the original monotheism of the pre-Confucian documents has been completely obscured by the later webs of sophistry which have been woven about the original scriptures. The ancient simplicity of doctrine has been lost in the mountains of commentary which were piled upon the primitive texts. Throughout the centuries, the Confucian system has been conditioned and greatly modified by Taoism, Buddhism and the speculations of the Chinese wise men. Confucius, however, did not change or seriously modify the ancient religion except that, as is more than probable, he may have laid unnecessary emphasis upon social and political duties, and may not have been sufficiently interested in the honor to be paid to Shang Ti or God. He practically ignored the God-ward side of man's duties. His teachings relate chiefly to duties between man and man, to propriety and etiquette, and to ceremony and usage. He said that "To give one's self to the duties due to men and while respecting spiritual beings to keep aloof from them, may be called wisdom."[5] We think that Confucius cut the tap-root of all true progress, and therefore is largely responsible for the arrested development of China. He avoided the personal term, God (Ti), and instead, made use of the abstract term, Heaven (Tien). His teaching, which is so often quoted by Japanese gentlemen, was, "Honor the Gods and keep them far from you." His image stands in thousands of temples and in every school, in China, but he is only revered and never deified. China has for ages suffered from agnosticism; for no normal Confucianist can love God, though he may learn to reverence him. The Emperor periodically worships for his people, at the great marble altar to Heaven in Peking, with vast holocausts, and the prayers which are offered may possibly amount to this: "Our Father who art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy name." But there, as it seems to a Christian, Chinese imperial worship stops. The people at large, cut off by this restricted worship from direct access to God, have wandered away into every sort of polytheism and idolatry, while the religion of the educated Chinese is a mediæval philosophy based upon Confucianism, of which we shall speak hereafter. The Confucian system as a religion, like a giant with a child's head, is exaggerated on its moral and ceremonial side as compared with its spiritual development. Some deny that it is a religion at all, and call it only a code. However, let us examine the Confucian ethics which formed the basis and norm of all government in the family and nation, and are summed up in the doctrine of the "Five Relations." These are: Sovereign and Minister; Father and Son; Husband and Wife; Elder Brother and Younger Brother; and Friends. The relation being stated, the correlative duty arises at once. It may perhaps be truly said by Christians that Confucius might have made a religion of his system of ethics, by adding a sixth and supreme relation--that between God and man. This he declined to do, and so left his people without any aspiration toward the Infinite. By setting before them only a finite goal he sapped the principles of progress.[6] Vicissitudes of Confucianism. After the death of Confucius (478 B.C.) the teachings of the great master were neglected, but still later they were re-enforced and expounded in the time (372-289 B.C.) of Meng Ko, or Mencius (as the name has been Latinized) who was likewise a native of the State of Lu. At one time a Chinese Emperor attempted in vain to destroy not only the writings of Confucius but also the ancient classics. Taoism increased as a power in the religion of China, especially after the fall of its feudal system. The doctrine of ancestral worship as commended by the sage had in it much of good, both for kings and nobles. The common people, however, found that Taoism was more satisfying. About the beginning of the Christian era Buddhism entered the Middle Kingdom, and, rapidly becoming popular, supplied needs for which simple Confucianism was not adequate. It may be said that in the sixth century--which concerns us especially--although Confucianism continued to be highly esteemed, Buddhism had become supreme in China--that venerable State which is the mother of civilization in all Asia cast of the Ganges, and the Middle Kingdom among pupil nations. Confucianism overflowed from China into Korea, where to this day it is predominant even over Buddhism. Thence, it was carried beyond sea to the Japanese Archipelago, where for possibly fifteen hundred years it has shaped and moulded the character of a brave and chivalrous people. Let us now turn from China and trace its influence and modifications in the Land of the Rising Sun. It must be remembered that in the sixth century of the Christian Era, Confucianism was by no means the fully developed philosophy that it is now and has been for five hundred years. In former times, the system of Confucius had been received in China not only as a praiseworthy compendium of ceremonial observances, but also as an inheritance from the ancients, illumined by the discourses of the great sage and illustrated by his life and example. It was, however, very far from being what it is at present--the religion of the educated men of the nation, and, by excellence, the religion of Chinese Asia. But in those early centuries it did not fully satisfy the Chinese mind, which turned to the philosophy of Taoism and to the teachings of the Buddhist for intellectual food, for comfort and for inspiration. The time when Chinese learning entered Japan, by the way of Korea, has not been precisely ascertained.[7] It is possible that letters[8] and writings were known in some parts of the country as early as the fourth century, but it is nearly certain, that, outside the Court of the Emperor, there was scarcely even a sporadic knowledge of the literature of China until the Korean missionaries of Buddhism had obtained a lodgement in the Mikado's capital. Buddhism was the real purveyor of the foreign learning and became the vehicle by means of which Confucianism, or the Chinese ethical principles, reached the common people of Japan. The first missionaries in Japan were heartily in sympathy with the Confucian ethics, from which no effort was made to alienate them. They were close allies, and for a thousand years wrought as one force in the national life. They were not estranged until the introduction, in the seventeenth century, of the metaphysical and scholastic forms given to the ancient system by the Chinese schoolmen of the Sung dynasty (A.D. 960-1333). Japanese Confucianism and Feudalism Contemporary. The intellectual history of the Japanese prior to their recent contact with Christendom, may be divided into three eras: 1. The period of early insular or purely native thought, from before the Christian era until the eighth century; by which time, Shint[=o], or the indigenous system of worship--its ritual, poetry and legend having been committed to writing and its life absorbed in Buddhism--had been, as a system, relegated from the nation and the people to a small circle of scholars and archæologists. 2. The period from 800 A.D. to the beginning of the seventeenth century; during which time Buddhism furnished to the nation its religion, philosophy and culture. 3. From about 1630 A.D. until the present time; during which period the developed Confucian philosophy, as set forth by Chu Hi in the twelfth century, has been the creed of a majority of the educated men of Japan. The political history of the Japanese may also be divided into three eras: 1. The first extends from the dawn of history until the seventh century. During this period the system of government was that of rude feudalism. The conquering tribe of Yamato, having gradually obtained a rather imperfect supremacy over the other tribes in the middle and southern portions of the country now called the Empire of Japan, ruled them in the name of the Mikado. 2. The second period begins in the seventh century, when the Japanese, copying the Chinese model, adopted a system of centralization. The country was divided into provinces and was ruled through boards or ministries at the capital, with governors sent out from Ki[=o]to for stated periods, directly from the emperor. During this time literature was chiefly the work of the Buddhist priests and of the women of the imperial court. While armies in the field brought into subjection the outlying tribes and certain noble families rose to prominence at the court, there was being formed that remarkable class of men called the Samurai, or servants of the Mikado, which for more than ten centuries has exercised a profound influence upon the development of Japan. In China, the pen and the sword have been kept apart; the civilian and the soldier, the man of letters and the man of arms, have been distinct and separate. This was also true in old Loo Choo (now Riu Kiu), that part of Japan most like China. In Japan, however, the pen and the sword, letters and arms, the civilian and the soldier, have intermingled. The unique product of this union is seen in the Samurai, or servant of the Mikado. Military-literati, are unknown in China, but in Japan they carried the sword and the pen in the same girdle. 3. This class of men had become fully formed by the end of the twelfth century, and then began the new feudal system, which lasted until the epochal year 1868 A.D.--a year of several revolutions, rather than of restoration pure and simple. After nearly seven hundred years of feudalism, supreme magistracy, with power vastly increased beyond that possessed in ancient times, was restored to the emperor. Then also was abolished the duarchy of Throne and Camp, of Mikado and Sh[=o]gun, and of the two capitals Ki[=o]to and Yedo, with the fountain of honor and authority in one and the fountain of power and execution in the other. Thereupon, Japan once more presented to the world, unity. Practically, therefore, the period of the prevalence of the Confucian ethics and their universal acceptance by the people of Japan nearly coincides with the period of Japanese feudalism or the dominance of the military classes. Although the same ideograph, or rather logogram, was used to designate the Chinese scholar and the Japanese warrior as well, yet the former was man of the pen only, while the latter was man of the pen and of two swords. This historical fact, more than any other, accounts for the striking differences between Chinese and Japanese Confucianism. Under this state of things the ethical system of the sage of China suffered a change, as does almost everything that is imported into Japan and borrowed by the islanders, but whether for the better or for the worse we shall not inquire too carefully. The point upon which we now lay emphasis is this: that, although the Chinese teacher had made filial piety the basis of his system, the Japanese gradually but surely made loyalty (Kun-Shin), that is, the allied relations of sovereign and minister, of lord and retainer, and of master and servant, not only first in order but the chief of all. They also infused into this term ideas and associations which are foreign to the Chinese mind. In the place of filial piety was Kun-shin, that new growth in the garden of Japanese ethics, out of which arose the white flower of loyalty that blooms perennial in history. In Japan, Loyalty Displaces Filial Piety. This slow but sure adaptation of the exotic to its new environment, took place during the centuries previous to the seventeenth of the Christian era. The completed product presented a growth so strikingly different from the original as to compel the wonder of those Chinese refugee scholars, who, at Mito[9] and Yedo, taught the later dogmas which are orthodox but not historically Confucian. Herein lies the difference between Chinese and Japanese ethical philosophy. In old Japan, loyalty was above filial obedience, and the man who deserted parents, wife and children for the feudal lord, received unstinted praise. The corner-stone of the Japanese edifice of personal righteousness and public weal, is loyalty. On the other hand, filial piety is the basis of Chinese order and the secret of the amazing national longevity, which is one of the moral wonders of the world, and sure proof of the fulfilment of that promise which was made on Sinai and wrapped up in the fourth commandment. This master passion of the typical Samurai of old Japan made him regard life as infinitely less than nothing, whenever duty demanded a display of the virtue of loyalty. "The doctrines of Koshi and Moshi" (Confucius and Mencius) formed, and possibly even yet form, the gospel and the quintessence of all wordly wisdom to the Japanese gentleman; they became the basis of his education and the ideal which inspired his conceptions of duty and honor; but, crowning all his doctrines and aspirations was his desire to be loyal. There might abide loyal, marital, filial, fraternal and various other relations, but the greatest of all these was loyalty. Hence the Japanese calendar of saints is not filled with reformers, alms-givers and founders of hospitals or orphanages, but is over-crowded with canonized suicides and committers of _hara-kiri_. Even today, no man more quickly wins the popular regard during his life or more surely draws homage to his tomb, securing even apotheosis, than the suicide, though he may have committed a crime. In this era of Meiji or enlightened peace, most appalling is the list of assassinations beginning with the murder in Ki[=o]to of Yokoi Héishiro, who was slain for recommending the toleration of Christianity, down to the last cabinet minister who has been knifed or dynamited. Yet in every case the murderers considered themselves consecrated men and ministers of Heaven's righteous vengeance.[10] For centuries, and until constitutional times, the government of Japan was "despotism tempered by assassination." The old-fashioned way of moving a vote of censure upon the king's ministers was to take off their heads. Now, however, election by ballot has been substituted for this, and two million swords have become bric-à-brac. A thousand years of training in the ethics of Confucius--which always admirably lends itself to the possessors of absolute power, whether emperors, feudal lords, masters, fathers, or older brothers--have so tinged and colored every conception of the Japanese mind, so dominated their avenues of understanding and shaped their modes of thought, that to-day, notwithstanding the recent marvellous development of their language, which within the last two decades has made it almost a new tongue,[11] it is impossible with perfect accuracy to translate into English the ordinary Japanese terms which are congregated under the general idea of Kun-shin. Herein may be seen the great benefit of carefully studying the minds of those whom we seek to convert. The Christian preacher in Japan who uses our terms "heaven," "home," "mother," "father," "family," "wife," "people," "love," "reverence," "virtue," "chastity," etc., will find that his hearers may indeed receive them, but not at all with the same mental images and associations, nor with the same proportion and depth, that these words command in western thought and hearing. One must be exceedingly careful, not only in translating terms which have been used by Confucius in the Chinese texts, but also in selecting and rendering the current expressions of the Japanese teachers and philosophers. In order to understand each other, Orientals and Occidentals need a great deal of mutual intellectual drilling, without which there will be waste of money, of time, of brains and of life. The Five Relations. Let us now glance at the fundamentals of the Confucian ethics--the Five Relations--as they were taught in the comparatively simple system which prevailed before the new orthodoxy was proclaimed by Sung schoolmen. First. Although each of the Chinese and Japanese emperors is supposed to be, and is called, "father of the people," yet it would be entirely wrong to imagine that the phrase implies any such relation, as that of William the Silent to the Dutch, or of Washington to the American nation. In order to see how far the emperor was removed from the people during a thousand years, one needs but to look upon a brilliant painting of the Yamato-Tosa school, in which the Mikado is represented as sitting behind a cloud of gold or a thick curtain of fine bamboo, with no one before the matting-throne but his prime ministers or the empress and his concubines. For centuries, it was supposed that the Mikado did not touch the ground with his feet. He went abroad in a curtained car; and he was not only as mysterious and invisible to the public eye as a dragon, but he was called such. The attributes of that monster with many powers and functions, were applied to him, with an amazing wealth of rhetoric and vocabulary. As well might the common folks to-day presume to pray unto one of the transcendent Buddhas, between whom and the needy suppliant there may be hosts upon hosts of interlopers or mediators, as for an ordinary subject to petition the emperor or even to gaze upon his dragon countenance. The change in the constitutional Japan of our day is seen in the fact that the term "Mikado" is now obsolete. This description of the relation of sovereign and minister (inaccurately characterised by some writers on Confucianism as that of "King and subject," a phrase which might almost fit the constitutional monarchy of to-day) shows the relation, as it did exist for nearly a thousand years of Japanese history. We find the same imitation of procedure, even when imperialism became only a shadow in the government and the great Sh[=o]gun who called himself "Tycoon," the ruler in Yedo, aping the majesty of Ki[=o]to, became so powerful as to be also a dragon. Between the Yedo Sh[=o]gun and the people rose a great staircase of numberless subordinates, and should a subject attempt to offer a petition in person he must pay for it by crucifixion.[12] As, under the emperor there were court ministers, heads of departments, governors and functionaries of all kinds before the people were reached, so, under the Sh[=o]gun in the feudal days, there were the Daimi[=o]s or great lords and the Shomi[=o]s or small lords with their retainers in graduated subordination, and below these were the servants and general humanity. Even after the status of man was reached, there were gradations and degradations through fractions down to ciphers and indeed to minus quantities, for there existed in the Country of Brave Warriors some tens of thousands of human beings bearing the names of _eta_ (pariah) and _h[=i]-nin_ (non-human), who were far below the pale of humanity. The Paramount Idea of Loyalty. The one idea which dominated all of these classes,[13]--in Old Japan there were no masses but only many classes--was that of loyalty. As the Japanese language shows, every faculty of man was subordinated to this idea. Confucianism even conditioned the development of Japanese grammar, as it also did that of the Koreans, by multiplying honorary prefixes and suffixes and building up all sociable and polite speech on perpendicular lines. Personality was next to nothing and individuality was in a certain sense unknown. In European languages, the pronoun shows how clearly the ideas of personality and of individuality have been developed; but in the Japanese language there really are no pronouns, in the sense of the word as used by the Germanic nations, at least, although there are hundreds of impersonal and topographical substitutes for them.[14] The mirror, of the language itself, reflects more truth upon this point of inquiry than do patriotic assertions, or the protests of those who in the days of this Meiji era so handsomely employ the Japanese language as the medium of thought. Strictly speaking, the ego disappears in ordinary conversation and action, and instead, it is the servant speaking reverently to his master; or it is the master condescending to the object which is "before his hand" or "to the side" or "below" where his inferior kneels; or it is the "honorable right" addressing the "esteemed left." All the terms which a foreigner might use in speaking of the duties of sovereign and minister, of lord and retainer and of master and servant, are comprehended in the Japanese word, Kun-shin, in which is crystallized but one thought, though it may relate to three grades of society. The testimony of history and of the language shows, that the feelings which we call loyalty and reverence are always directed upward, while those which we term benevolence and love invariably look downward. Note herein the difference between the teachings of Christ and those of the Chinese sage. According to the latter, if there be love in the relation of the master and servant, it is the master who loves, and not the servant who may only reverence. It would be inharmonious for the Japanese servant to love his master; he never even talks of it. And in family life, while the parent may love the child, the child is not expected to love the parent but rather to reverence him. So also the Japanese wife, as in our old scriptural versions, is to "see that she _reverence_ her husband." Love (not _agapé_, but _eros_) is indeed a theme of the poets and of that part of life and of literature which is, strictly speaking, outside of the marriage relation, but the thought that dominates in marital life, is reverence from the wife and benevolence from the husband. The Christian conception, which requires that a woman should love her husband, does not strictly accord with the Confucian idea. Christianity has taught us that when a man loves a woman purely and makes her his wife, he should also have reverence for her, and that this element should be an integral part of his love. Christianity also teaches a reverence for children; and Wordsworth has but followed the spirit of his great master, Christ, when expressing this beautiful sentiment in his melodious numbers. Such ideas as these, however, are discords in Japanese social life of the old order. So also the Christian preaching of love to God, sounds outlandish to the men of Chinese mind in the middle or the pupil kingdom, who seem to think that it can only come from the lips of those who have not been properly trained. To "love God" appears to them as being an unwarrantable patronage of, and familiarity with "Heaven," or the King of Kings. The same difficulty, which to-day troubles Christian preachers and translators, existed among the Roman Catholic missionaries three centuries ago.[15] The moulds of thought were not then, nor are they even now, entirely ready for the full truth of Christian revelation. Suicide Made Honorable. In the long story of the Honorable Country, there are to be found many shining examples of loyalty, which is the one theme oftenest illustrated in popular fiction and romance. Its well-attested instances on the crimson thread of Japanese history are more numerous than the beads on many rosaries. The most famous of all, perhaps, is the episode of the Forty-Seven R[=o]nins, which is a constant favorite in the theatres, and has been so graphically narrated or pictured by scores of native poets, authors, artists, sculptors and dramatists, and told in English by Mitford, Dickens and Grecy.[16] These forty-seven men hated wife, child, society, name, fame, food and comfort for the sake of avenging the death of their master. In a certain sense, they ceased to be persons in order to become the impersonal instruments of Heaven's retribution. They gave up every thing--houses, lands, kinsmen--that they might have in this life the hundred-fold reward of vengeance, and in the world-life of humanity throughout the centuries, fame and honor. Feeding the hunger of their hearts upon the hope of glutting that hunger with the life-blood of their victim, they waited long years. When once their swords had drunk the consecrated blood, they laid the severed head upon their master's tomb and then gladly, even rapturously, delivered themselves up, and ripping open their bowels they died by that judicially ordered seppuku which cleansed their memory from every stain, and gave to them the martyr's fame and crown forever. The tombs of these men, on the hillside overlooking the Bay of Yedo, are to this day ever fragrant with fresh flowers, and to the cemetery where their ashes lie and their memorials stand, thousands of pilgrims annually wend their way. No dramas are more permanently popular on the stage than those which display the virtues of these heroes, who are commonly spoken of as "The righteous Samurai." Their tombs have stood for two centuries, as mighty magnets drawing others to self-impalement on the sword--as multipliers of suicides. Yet this alphabetic number, this _i-ro-ha_ of self-murder, is but one of a thousand instances in the Land of Noble Suicides. From the pre-historic days when the custom of _Jun-shi_, or dying with the master, required the interment of the living retainers with the dead lord, down through all the ages to the Revolution of 1868, when at Sendai and Aidzu scores of men and boys opened their bowels, and mothers slew their infant sons and cut their own throats, there has been flowing through Japanese history a river of suicides' blood[17] having its springs in the devotion of retainers to masters, and of soldiers to a lost cause as represented by the feudal superior. Shigémori, the son of the prime minister Kiyomori, who protected the emperor even against his own father, is a model of that Japanese kun-shin which placed fidelity to the sovereign above filial obedience; though even yet Shigémori's name is the synonym of both virtues. Kusunoki Masashigé,[18] the white flower of Japanese chivalry, is but one, typical not only of a thousand but of thousands of thousands of soldiers, who hated parents, wife, child, friend in order to be disciple to the supreme loyalty. He sealed his creed by emptying his own veins. Kiyomori,[19] like King David of Israel, on his dying bed ordered the assassination of his personal enemy. The common Japanese novels read like records of slaughter-houses. No Moloch or Shiva has won more victims to his shrine than has this idea of Japanese loyalty which is so beautiful in theory and so hideous in practice. Despite the military clamps and frightful despotism of Yedo, which for two hundred and fifty years gave to the world a delusive idea of profound quiet in the Country of Peaceful Shores, there was in fact a chronic unrest which amounted at many times and in many places to anarchy. The calm of despotism was, indeed, rudely broken by the aliens in the "black ships" with the "flowery flag"; but, without regarding influences from the West, the indications of history as now read, pointed in 1850 toward the bloodiest of Japan's many civil wars. Could the statistics of the suicides during this long period be collected, their publication would excite in Christendom the utmost incredulity. Nevertheless, this qualifying statement should be made. A study of the origin and development of the national method of self-destruction shows that suicide by seppuku, or opening of the abdomen, was first a custom, and then a privilege. It took, among men of honor, the place of the public executions, the massacres in battle and siege, decimation of rebels and similar means of killing at the hands of others, which so often mar the historical records of western nations. Undoubtedly, therefore, in the minds of most Japanese, there are many instances of _hara-kiri_ which should not be classed as suicide, but technically as execution of judicial sentence. And yet no sentence or process of death known in western lands had such influence in glorifying the victim, as had seppuku in Japan. The Family Idea. The Second Relation is that of father and son, thus preceding what we should suppose to be the first of human relations--husband and wife--but the arrangement entirely accords with the Oriental conception that the family, the house, is more important than the individual. In Old Japan the paramount idea in marriage, was not that of love or companionship, or of mutual assistance with children, but was almost wholly that of offspring, and of maintaining the family line.[20] The individual might perish but the house must live on. Very different from the family of Christendom, is the family in Old Japan, in which we find elements that would not be recognized where monogamy prevails and children are born in the home and not in the herd. Instead of father, mother and children, there are father, wife, concubines, and various sorts of children who are born of the wife or of the concubine, or have been adopted into the family. With us, adoption is the exception, but in Japan it is the invariable rule whenever either convenience or necessity requires it of the house. Indeed it is rare to find a set of brothers bearing the same family name. Adoption and concubinage keep the house unbroken.[21] It is the house, the name, which must continue, although not necessarily by a blood line. The name, a social trade-mark, lives on for ages. The line of Japanese emperors, which, in the Constitution of 1889, by adding mythology to history is said to rule "unbroken from ages eternal," is not one of fathers and sons, but has been made continuous by concubinage and adoption. In this view, it is possibly as old as the line of the popes. It is very evident that our terms and usages do not have in such a home the place or meaning which one not familiar with the real life of Old Japan would suppose. The father is an absolute ruler. There is in Old Japan hardly any such thing as "parents," for practically there is only one parent, as the woman counts for little. The wife is honored if she becomes a mother, but if childless she is very probably neglected. Our idea of fatherhood implies that the child has rights and that he should love as well as be loved. Our customs excite not only the merriment but even the contempt of the old-school Japanese. The kiss and the embrace, the linking of the child's arm around its father's neck, the address on letters "My dear Wife" or "My beloved Mother" seem to them like caricatures of propriety. On the other hand, it is undoubtedly true that in reverence toward parents--or at least toward one of the parents--a Japanese child is apt to excel the one born even in a Christian home. This so-called filial "piety" becomes in practice, however, a horrible outrage upon humanity and especially upon womanhood. During centuries the despotic power of the father enabled him to put an end to the life of his child, whether boy or girl. Under this abominable despotism there is no protection for the daughter, who is bound to sell her body, while youth or beauty last or perhaps for life, to help pay her father's debts, to support an aged parent or even to gratify his mere caprice. In hundreds of Japanese romances the daughter, who for the sake of her parents has sold herself to shame, is made the theme of the story and an object of praise. In the minds of the people there may be indeed a feeling of pity that the girl has been obliged to give up her home life for the brothel, but no one ever thinks of questioning the right of the parent to make the sale of the girl's body, any more than he would allow the daughter to rebel against it. This idea still lingers and the institution remains,[22] although the system has received stunning blows from the teaching of Christian ethics, the preaching of a better gospel and the improvements in the law of the land. The Marital Relation. The Third Relation is that of husband and wife. The meaning of these words, however, is not the same with the Japanese as with us. In Confucius there is not only male and female, but also superior and inferior, master and servant.[23] Without any love-making or courtship by those most interested, a marriage between two young people is arranged by their parents through the medium of what is called a "go-between." The bride leaves her father's house forever--that is, when she is not to be subsequently divorced--and entering into that of her husband must be subordinate not only to him but also to his parents, and must obey them as her own father and mother. Having all her life under her father's roof reverenced her superiors, she is expected to bring reverence to her new domicile, but not love. She must always obey but never be jealous. She must not be angry, no matter whom her husband may introduce into his household. She must wait upon him at his meals and must walk behind him, but not with him. When she dies her children go to her funeral, but not her husband. A foreigner, hearing the Japanese translate our word chastity by the term _téiso_ or _misao_, may imagine that the latter represents mutual obligation and personal purity for man and wife alike, but on looking into the dictionary he will find that _téiso_ means "Womanly duties." A circumlocution is needed to express the idea of a chaste man. Jealousy is a horrible sin, but is always supposed to be a womanish fault, and so an exhibition of folly and weakness. Therefore, to apply such a term to God--to say "a jealous God"--outrages the good sense of a Confucianist,[24] almost as much as the statement that God "cannot lie" did that of the Pundit, who wondered how God could be Omnipotent if He could not lie. How great the need in Japanese social life of some purifying principle higher than Confucianism can afford, is shown in the little book entitled "The Japanese Bride,"[25] written by a native, and scarcely less in the storm of native criticism it called forth. Under the system which has ruled Japan for a millennium and a half, divorce has been almost entirely in the hands of the husband, and the document of separation, entitled in common parlance the "three lines and a half," was invariably written by the man. A woman might indeed nominally obtain a divorce from her husband, but not actually; for the severance of the marital tie would be the work of the house or relatives, rather than the act of the wife, who was not "a person" in the case. Indeed, in the olden time a woman was not a person in the eye of the law, but rather a chattel. The case is somewhat different under the new codes,[26] but the looseness of the marriage tie is still a scandal to thinking Japanese. Since the breaking up of the feudal system and the disarrangement of the old social and moral standards, the statistics made annually from the official census show that the ratio of divorce to marriage is very nearly as one to three.[27] The Elder and the Younger Brother. The Fourth Relation is that of Elder Brother and Younger Brother. As we have said, foreigners in translating some of the Chinese and Japanese terms used in the system of Confucius are often led into errors by supposing that the Christian conception of family life prevails also in Chinese Asia. By many writers this relation is translated "brother to brother;" but really in the Japanese language there is no term meaning simply "brother" or "sister,"[28] and a circumlocution is necessary to express the ideas which we convey by these words. It is always "older brother" or "younger brother," and "older sister" or "younger sister"--the male or female "_kiyodai_" as the case may be. With us--excepting in lands where the law of primogeniture still prevails--all the brothers are practically equal, and it would be considered a violation of Christian righteousness for a parent to show more favor to one child than to another. In this respect the "wisdom that cometh from above" is "without partiality." The Chinese ethical system, however, disregards the principle of mutual rights and duties, and builds up the family on the theory of the subordination of the younger brother to the elder brother, the predominant idea being not mutual love, but, far more than in the Christian household, that of rank and order. The attitude of the heir of the family toward the other children is one of condescension, and they, as well as the widowed mother, regard the oldest son with reverence. It is as though the commandment given on Sinai should read, "Honor thy father and thy elder brother." The mother is an instrument rather than a person in the life of the house, and the older brother is the one on whom rests the responsibility of continuing the family line. The younger brothers serve as subjects for adoption into other families, especially those where there are daughters to be married and family names to be continued. In a word, the name belongs to the house and not to the individual. The habit of naming children after relatives or friends of the parents, or illustrious men and women, is unknown in Old Japan, though an approach to this common custom among us is made by conferring or making use of part of a name, usually by the transferrence of one ideograph forming the name-word. Such a practice lays stress upon personality, and so has no place in the country without pronouns, where the idea of continuing the personal house or semi-personal family, is predominant. The customs prevalent in life are strong even in death, and the elder brother or sister, in some provinces, did not go to the funeral of the younger. This state of affairs is reflected in Japanese literature, and produces in romance as well as in history many situations and episodes which seem almost incredible to the Western mind. In the lands ruled by Confucius the grown-up children usually live under the parental roof, and there are few independent homes as we understand them. The so-called family is composed both of the living and of the dead, and constitutes the unit of society. Friendship and Humanity. The Fifth Relation--Friends. Here, again, a mistake is often made by those who import ideas of Christendom into the terms used in Chinese Asia, and who strive to make exact equivalent in exchanging the coins of speech. Occidental writers are prone to translate the term for the fifth relation into the English phrase "man to man," which leads the Western reader to suppose that Confucius taught that universal love for man, as man, which was instilled and exemplified by Jesus Christ. In translating Confucius they often make the same mistake that some have done who read in Terence's "Self-Tormentor" the line, "I am a man, and nothing human is foreign to me,"[29] and imagine that this is the sentiment of an enlightened Christian, although the context shows that it is only the boast of a busybody and parasite. What Confucius taught under the fifth relation is not universality, and, as compared to the teachings of Jesus, is moonlight, not sunlight. The doctrine of the sage is clearly expressed in the Analects, and amounts only to courtesy and propriety. He taught, indeed, that the stranger is to be treated as a friend; and although in both Chinese and Japanese history there are illustrious proofs that Confucius had interpreters nobler than himself, yet it is probable that the doctrine of the stranger's receiving treatment as a friend, does not extend to the foreigner. Confucius framed something like the Golden Rule--though it were better called a Silver Rule, or possibly a Gilded Rule, since it is in the negative instead of being definitely placed in the positive and indicative form. One may search his writings in vain for anything approaching the parable of the Good Samaritan, or the words of Him who commended Elijah for replenishing the cruse and barrel of the widow of Sarepta, and Elisha for healing Naaman the Syrian leper, and Jonah for preaching the good news of God to the Assyrians who had been aliens and oppressors. Lao Tsze, however, went so far as to teach "return good for evil." When one of the pupils of Confucius interrogated his Master concerning this, the sage answered; "What then will you return for good? Recompense injury with justice, and return good for good." But if we do good only to those who do good to us, what thanks have we? Do not the publicans the same? Behold how the Heavenly Father does good alike unto all, sending rain upon the just and unjust! How Old Japan treated the foreigner is seen in the repeated repulse, with powder and ball, of the relief ships which, under the friendly stars and stripes, attempted to bring back to her shores the shipwrecked natives of Nippon.[30] Granted that this action may have been purely political and the Government alone responsible for it--just as our un-Christian anti-Chinese legislation is similarly explained--yet it is certain that the sentiment of the only men in Japan who made public opinion,--the Samurai of that day,--was in favor of this method of meeting the alien. In 1852 the American expedition was despatched to Japan for the purpose of opening a lucrative trade and of extending American influence and glory, but also unquestionably with the idea of restoring shipwrecked Japanese as well as securing kind treatment for shipwrecked American sailors, thereby promoting the cause of humanity and international courtesy; in short, with motives that were manifestly mixed.[31] In the treaty pavilion there ensued an interesting discussion between Commodore Perry and Professor Hayashi upon this very subject. Perry truthfully complained that the dictates of humanity had not been followed by the Japanese, that unnecessary cruelty had been used against shipwrecked men, and that Japan's attitude toward her neighbors and the whole world was that of an enemy and not of a friend. Hayashi, who was then probably the leading Confucianist in Japan, warmly defended his countrymen and superiors against the charge of intentional cruelty, and denounced the lawless character of many of the foreign sailors. Like most Japanese of his school and age, he wound up with panegyrics on the pre-eminence in virtue and humanity, above all nations, of the Country Ruled by a Theocratic Dynasty, and on the glory and goodness of the great Tokugawa family, which had given peace to the land during two centuries or more.[32] It is manifest, however, that so far as this hostility to foreigners, and this blind bigotry of "patriotism" were based on Chinese codes of morals, as officially taught in Yedo, they belonged as much to the old Confucianism as to the new. Wherever the narrow philosophy of the sage has dominated, it has made Asia Chinese and nations hermits. As a rule, the only way in which foreigners could come peacefully into China or the countries which she intellectually dominated was as vassals, tribute-bearers, or "barbarians." The mental attitude of China, Korea, Annam and Japan has for ages been that of the Jews in Herodian times, who set up, between the Court of Israel and the Court of the Gentiles, their graven stones of warning which read:[33] "No foreigner to proceed within the partition wall and enclosure around the sanctuary; whoever is caught in the same will on that account be liable to incur death." CHAPTER V - CONFUCIANISM IN ITS PHILOSOPHICAL FORM "After a thousand years the pine decays; the flower has its glory in blooming for a day."--Hakkyoi, Chinese Poet of the Tang Dynasty. "The morning-glory of an hour differs not in heart from the pine-tree of a thousand years."--Matsunaga of Japan. "The pine's heart is not of a thousand years, nor the morning-glory's of an hour, but only that they may fulfil their destiny." "Since Iyéyasú, his hair brushed by the wind, his body anointed with rain, with lifelong labor caused confusion to cease and order to prevail, for more than a hundred years there has been no war. The waves of the four seas have been unruffled and no one has failed of the blessing of peace. The common folk must speak with reverence, yet it is the duty of scholars to celebrate the virtue of the Government."--Ky[=u]so of Yedo. "A ruler must have faithful ministers. He who sees the error of his lord and remonstrates, not fearing his wrath, is braver than he who bears the foremost spear in battle."--Iyéyasú. "The choice of the Chinese philosophy and the rejection of Buddhism was not because of any inherent quality in the Japanese mind. It was not the rejection of supernaturalism or the miraculous. The Chinese philosophy is as supernaturalistic as some forms of Buddhism. The distinction is not between the natural and the supernatural in either system, but between the seen and the unseen." "The Chinese philosophy is as religious as the original teaching of Gautama. Neither Shushi nor Gautama believed in a Creator, but both believed in gods and demons.... It has little place for prayer, but has a vivid sense of the Infinite and the Unseen, and fervently believes that right conduct is in accord with the 'eternal verities.'"--George William Knox. "In him is the yea."--Paul. CHAPTER V - CONFUCIANISM IN ITS PHILOSOPHICAL FORM Japan's Millennium of Simple Confucianism. Having seen the practical working of the ethics of Confucianism, especially in the old and simple system, let us now glance at the developed and philosophical forms, which, by giving the educated man of Japan a creed, made him break away from Buddhism and despise it, while becoming often fanatically Confucian. For a thousand years (from 600 to 1600 A.D.) the Buddhist religious teachers assisted in promulgating the ethics of Confucius; for during all this time there was harmony between the various Buddhisms imported from India, Tibet, China and Korea, and the simple undeveloped system of Chinese Confucianism. Slight modifications were made by individual teachers, and emphasis was laid upon this or that feature, while out of the soil of Japanese feudalism were growths of certain virtues as phases of loyalty, phenomenal beyond those in China. Nevertheless, during all this time, the Japanese teachers of the Chinese ethic were as students who did but recite what they learned. They simply transmitted, without attempting to expand or improve. Though the apparatus of distribution was early known, block printing having been borrowed from the Chinese after the ninth century, and movable types learned from the Koreans and made use of in the sixteenth century,[1] the Chinese classics were not printed as a body until after the great peace of Genna (1615). Nor during this period were translations made of the classics or commentaries, into the Japanese vernacular. Indeed, between the tenth and sixteenth centuries there was little direct intercourse, commercial, diplomatic or intellectual, between Japan and China, as compared with the previous eras, or the decades since 1870. Suddenly in the seventeenth century the intellect of Japan, all ready for new surprises in the profound peace inaugurated by Iyéyas[)u], received, as it were, an electric thrill. The great warrior, becoming first a unifier by arms and statecraft, determined also to become the architect of the national culture. Gathering up, from all parts of the country, books, manuscripts, and the appliances of intellectual discipline, he encouraged scholars and stimulated education. Under his supervision the Chinese classics were printed, and were soon widely circulated. A college was established in Yedo, and immediately there began a critical study of the texts and principal commentaries. The fall of the Ming dynasty in China, and the accession of the Manchiu Tartars, became the signal for a great exodus of learned Chinese, who fled to Japan. These received a warm welcome, both at the capital and in Yedo, as well as in some of the castle towns of the Daimi[=o]s, among whom stand illustrious those of the province of Mito.[2] These men from the west brought not only ethics but philosophy; and the fertilizing influences of these scholars of the Dispersion, may be likened to those of the exodus of the Greek learned men after the capture of Constantinople by the Turks. Confucian schools were established in most of the chief provincial cities. For over two hundred years this discipline in the Chinese ethics, literature and history constituted the education of the boys and men of Japan. Almost every member of the Samurai classes was thoroughly drilled in this curriculum. All Japanese social, official, intellectual and literary life was permeated with the new spirit. Their "world" was that of the Chinese, and all outside of it belonged to "barbarians." The matrices of thought became so fixed and the Japanese language has been so moulded, that even now, despite the intense and prolonged efforts of thirty years of acute and laborious scholarship, it is impossible, as we have said, to find English equivalents for terms which were used for a century or two past in every-day Japanese speech. Those who know most about these facts, are most modest in attempting with English words to do justice to Japanese thought; while those who know the least seem to be most glib, fluent and voluminous in showing to their own satisfaction, that there is little difference between the ethics of Chinese Asia and those of Christendom. Survey of the Intellectual History of China. The Confucianism of the last quarter-millennium in Japan is not that of her early centuries. While the Japanese for a thousand years only repeated and recited--merely talking aloud in their intellectual sleep but not reflecting--China was awake and thinking hard. Japan's continued civil wars, which caused the almost total destruction of books and manuscripts, secured also the triumph of Buddhism which meant the atrophy of the national intellect. When, after the long feuds and battles of the middle ages, Confucianism stepped the second time into the Land of _Brave_ Scholars, it was no longer with the simple rules of conduct and ceremonial of the ancient days, nor was it as the ally of Buddhism. It came like an armed man in full panoply of harness and weapons. It entered to drive Buddhism out, and to defend the intellect of the educated against the wiles of priestcraft. It was a full-blown system of pantheistic rationalism, with a scheme of philosophy that to the far-Oriental mind seemed perfect as a rule both of faith and practice. It came in a form that was received as religion, for it was not only morality "touched" but infused with motion. Nor were the emotions kindled, those of the partisan only, but rather also those of the devotee and the martyr. Henceforth Buddhism, with its inventions, its fables, and its endless dogmatism, was for the common people, for women and children, but not for the Samurai. The new Confucianism came to Japan as the system of Chu Hi. For three centuries this system had already held sway over the intellect of China. For two centuries and a half it has dominated the minds of the Samurai so that the majority of them to-day, even with the new name Shizoku, are Confucianists so far as they are anything. To understand the origin of Buddhism we must know something of the history and the previous religious and philosophical systems of India, and so, if we are to appreciate modern "orthodox" Confucianism, we must review the history of China, and see, in outline, at least, its literature, politics and philosophy during the middle ages. "Four great stages of literary and national development may be pointed to as intervening (in the fifteen hundred years) between the great sage and the age called that of the Sung-Ju,"[3] from the tenth to the fourteenth century, in which the Confucian system received its modern form. Each of them embraced the course of three or four centuries. I. From the sixth to the third century before Christ the struggle was for Confucian and orthodox doctrine, led by Mencius against various speculators in morals and politics, with Taoist doctrine continually increasing in acceptance. II. The Han age (from B.C. 206 to A.D. 190) was rich in critical expositors and commentators of the classics, but "the tone of speculation was predominantly Taoist." III. The period of the Six Dynasties (from A.D. 221 to A.D. 618) was the golden age of Buddhism, when the science and philosophy of India enriched the Chinese mind, and the wealth of the country was lavished on Buddhist temples and monasteries. The faith of Shaka became nearly universal and the Buddhists led in philosophy and literature, founding a native school of Indian philosophy. IV. The Tang period (from A.D. 618 to 905) marked by luxury and poetry, was an age of mental inaction and enervating prosperity. V. The fifth epoch, beginning with the Sung Dynasty (from A.D. 960 to 1333) and lasting to our own time, was ushered in by a period of intense mental energy. Strange to say (and most interesting is the fact to Americans of this generation), the immediate occasion of the recension and expansion of the old Confucianism was a Populist movement.[4] During the Tang era of national prosperity, Chinese socialists questioned the foundations of society and of government, and there grew up a new school of interpreters as well as of politicians. In the tenth century the contest between the old Confucianism and the new notions, broke out with a violence that threatened anarchy to the whole empire. One set of politicians, led by Wang (1021-1086), urged an extension of administrative functions, including agricultural loans, while the brothers Cheng (1032-1085, 1033-1107) reaffirmed, with fresh intellectual power, the old orthodoxy. The school of writers and party agitators, led by Szma Kwaug (1009-1086)[5] the historian, contended that the ancient principles of the sages should be put in force. Others, the Populists of that age and land, demanded the entire overthrow of existing institutions. In the bitter contest which ensued, the Radicals and Reformers temporarily won the day and held power. For a decade the experiment of innovation was tried. Men turned things social and political upside down to see how they looked in that position. So these stood or oscillated for thirteen years, when the people demanded the old order again. The Conservatives rose to power. There was no civil war, but the Radicals were banished beyond the frontier, and the country returned to normal government. This controversy raised a landmark in the intellectual history of China.[6] The thoughts of men were turned toward deep and acute inquiry into the nature and use of things in general. This thinking resulted in a literature which to-day is the basis of the opinions of the educated men in all Chinese Asia. Instead of a sapling we now have a mighty tree. The chief of the Chinese writers, the Calvin of Asiatic orthodoxy, who may be said to have wrought Confucianism into a developed philosophy, and who may be called the greatest teacher of the mind, of modern China, Korea and Japan, is Chu Hi, who reverently adopted the criticisms on the Chinese classics of the brothers Cheng.[7] It is evident that in Chu Hi's system, we have a body of thought which may be called the result of Chinese reflection during a millennium and a half. It is the ethics of Confucius transfused with the mystical elements of Taoism and the speculations of Buddhism. As the common people of China made an amalgam of the three religions and consider them one, so the philosophers have out of these three systems made one, calling that one Confucianism. The dominant philosophy in Japan to-day is based upon the writings of Chu Hi (in Japanese, Shu Shi) and called the system of Téi-Shu, which is the Japanese pronunciation of the names of the Cheng brothers and of Chu (Hi). It is a medley which the ancient sage could no more recognize than would Jesus know much of the Christianity that casts out devils in his name. Contrast between the Chinese and Japanese Intellect. Here we must draw a contrast between the Chinese and Japanese intellect to the credit of the former; China made, Japan borrowed. While history shows that the Chinese mind, once at least, possessed mental initiative, and the power of thinking out a system of philosophy which to-day satisfies largely, if not wholly, the needs of the educated Chinaman, there has been in the Japanese mind, as shown by its history, apparently no such vigor or fruitfulness. From the literary and philosophical points of view, Confucianism, as it entered Japan, in the sixth century, remained practically stationary for a thousand years. Modifications, indeed, were made upon the Chinese system, and these were striking and profound, but they were less developments of the intellect than necessities of the case. The modifications were made, as molten metal poured into a mould shaped by other hands than the artist's own, rather than as clay made plastic under the hand of a designer. Buddhism, being the dominant force in the thoughts of the Japanese for at least eight hundred years, furnished the food for the requirements of man on his intellectual and religious side. Broadly speaking, it may be said that the Japanese, receiving passively the Chinese classics, were content simply to copy and to recite what they had learned. As compared with their audacity in not only going beyond the teachings of Buddha, but in inventing systems of Buddhism which neither Gautama nor his first disciples could recognize, the docile and almost slavish adherence to ancient Confucianism is one of the astonishing things in the history of religions in Japan. In the field of Buddhism we have a luxuriant growth of new and strange species of colossal weeds that overtower and seem to have choked out whatever furze of original Buddhism there was in Japan, while in the domain of Confucianism there is a barren heath. Whereas, in China, the voluminous literature created by commentators on Confucius and the commentaries on the commentators suggests the hyperbole used by the author of John's Gospel,[8] yet there is probably nothing on Confucianism from the Japanese pen in the thousand years under our review which is worth the reading or the translation.[9] In this respect the Japanese genius showed its vast capabilities of imitation, adoption and assimilation. As of old, Confucianism again furnished a Chinese wall, within which the Japanese could move, and wherein they might find food for the mind in all the relations of life and along all the lines of achievement permitted them. The philosophy imported from China, as shown again and again in that land of oft-changing dynasties, harmonizing with arbitrary government, accorded perfectly with the despotism of the Tokugawas, the "Tycoons" who in Yedo ruled from 1603 to 1868. Nothing new was permitted, and any attempt at modification, enlargement, or improvement was not only frowned and hissed down as impious innovation, but usually brought upon the daring innovator the ban of the censor, imprisonment, banishment, or death by enforced suicide.[10] In Yedo, the centre of Chinese learning, and in other parts of the country, there were, indeed, thinkers whose philosophy did not always tally with what was taught by the orthodox,[11] but as a rule even when these men escaped the ban of the censor, or the sword of the executioner, they were but us voices crying in the wilderness. The great mass of the gentry was orthodox, according to the standards of the Séido College, while the common people remained faithful to Buddhism. In the conduct of daily life they followed the precepts which had for centuries been taught them by their fathers. Philosophical Confucianism the Religion of the Samurai. What were the features of this modern Confucian philosophy, which the Japanese Samurai exalted to a religion?[12] We say philosophy and religion, because while the teachings of the great sage lay at the bottom of the system, yet it is not true since the early seventeenth century, that the thinking men of Japan have been satisfied with only the original simple ethical rules of the ancient master. Though they have craved a richer mental pabulum, yet they have enjoyed less the study of the original text, than acquaintance with the commentaries and communion with the great philosophical exponents, of the master. What, then, we ask, are the features of the developed philosophy, which, imported from China, served the Japanese Samurai not only as morals but for such religion as he possessed or professed? We answer: The system was not agnostic, as many modern and western writers assert that it is, and as Confucius, transmitting and probably modifying the old religion, had made the body of his teachings to be. Agnostic, indeed, in regard to many things wherein a Christian has faith, modern Confucianism, besides being bitterly polemic and hostile to Buddhism, is pantheistic. Certain it is that during the revival of Pure Shint[=o] in the eighteenth century, the scholars of the Shint[=o] school, and those of its great rival, the Chinese, agreed in making loyalty[13] take the place of filial duty in the Confucian system. To serve the cause of the Emperor became the most essential duty to those with cultivated minds. The newer Chinese philosophy mightily influenced the historians, Rai Sanyo and those of the Mito school, whose works, now classic, really began the revolution of 1868. By forming and setting in motion the public opinion, which finally overthrew the Sh[=o]gun and feudalism, restored the Emperor to supreme power, and unified the nation, they helped, with modern ideas, to make the New Japan of our day. The Shint[=o] and the Chinese teachings became amalgamated in a common cause, and thus the philosophy of Chu Hi, mingling with the nationalism and patriotism inculcated by Shint[=o], brought about a remarkable result. As a native scholar and philosopher observes, "It certainly is strange to see the Tokugawa rule much shaken, if not actually overthrown, by that doctrine which generations of able Sh[=o]guns and their ministers had earnestly encouraged and protected. It is perhaps still more remarkable to see the Mito clan, under many able and active chiefs, become the centre of the Kinno[14] movement, which was to result in the overthrow of the Tokugawa family, of which it was itself a branch." A Medley of Pantheism. The philosophy of modern Confucianism is wholly pantheistic. There is in it no such thing or being as God. The orthodox pantheism of Old Japan means that everything in general is god, but nothing in particular is God; that All is god, but not that God is all. It is a "pantheistic medley."[15] Chu Hi and his Japanese successors, especially Ky[=u]-so, argue finely and discourse volubly about _Ki_[16] or spirit; but it is not Spirit, or spiritual in the sense of Him who taught even a woman at the well-curb at Sychar. It is in the air. It is in the earth, the trees, the flowers. It comes to consciousness in man. His _Ri_ is the Tao of Lao Tsze, the Way, Reason, Law. It is formless, invisible. "Ri is not separate from Ki, for then it were an empty abstract thing. It is joined to Ki, and may be called, by nature, one decreed, changeless Norm. It is the rule of Ki, the very centre, the reason why Ki is Ki." Ten or Heaven is not God or the abode of God, but an abstraction, a sort of Unknowable, or Primordial Necessity. "The doctrine of the Sages knows and worships Heaven, and without faith in it there is no truth. For men and things, the universe, are born and nourished by Heaven, and the 'Way,' the 'ri,' that is in all, is the 'Way,' the 'ri' of Heaven. Distinguishing root and branch, the heart is the root of Heaven and the appearance, the revolution of the sun and moon, the order of the stars, is the branch. The books of the sages teach us to conform to the heart of Heaven and deal not with appearances." "The teaching of the sages is the original truth and, given to men, it forms both their nature and their relationships. With it complete, naught else is needed for the perfect following of the 'Way.' Let then the child make its parents Heaven, the retainer, his Lord, the wife her husband, and let each give up life for righteousness. Thus will each serve for Heaven. But if we exalt Heaven above parent or Lord, we shall come to think we can serve it though they be disobeyed and like tiger or wolf shall rejoice to kill them. To such fearful end does the Western learning lead.... Let each one die for duty, there is naught else we can do." Thus wrote Ohashi Junzo, as late as 1857 A.D., the same year in which Townsend Harris entered Yedo to teach the practical philosophy of Christendom, and the brotherhood of man as expressed in diplomacy. Ohashi Junzo bitterly opposed the opening of Japan to modern civilization and the ideas of Christendom. His book was the swan-song of the dying Japanese Confucianism. Slow as is the dying, and hard as its death may be, the mind of new Japan has laid away to dust and oblivion the Téi-shu philosophy. "At present they (the Chinese classics) have fallen into almost total neglect, though phrases and allusions borrowed from them still pass current in literature, and even to some extent in the language of every-day life." Séido, the great temple of Confucius in Tokyo, is now utilized as an educational Museum.[17] A study of this subject and of comparative religion, is of immediate practical benefit to the Christian teacher. The preacher, addressing an audience made up of educated Japanese, who speaks of God without describing his personality, character, or attributes as illustrated in Revelation, will find that his hearers receive his term as the expression for a bundle of abstract principles, or a system of laws, or some kind of regulated force. They do, indeed, make some reference to a "creator" by using a rare word. Occasionally, their language seems to touch the boundary line on the other side of which is conscious intelligence, but nothing approaching the clearness and definiteness of the early Chinese monotheism of the pre-Confucian classics is to be distinguished.[18] The modern Japanese long ago heard joyfully the words, "Honor the gods, but keep them far from you," and he has done it. To love God would no more occur to a Japanese gentleman than to have his child embrace and kiss him. Whether the source and fountain of life of which they speak has any Divine Spirit, is very uncertain, but whether it has, or has not, man need not obey, much less worship him. The universe is one, the essence is the same. Man must seek to know his place in the universe; he is but one in an endless chain; let him find his part and fulfil that part; all else is vanity. One need not inquire into the origins or the ultimates. Man is moved by a power greater than himself; he has no real independence of his own; everything has its rank and place; indeed, its rank and place is its sole title to a separate existence. If a man mistakes his place he is a fool, he deserves punishment. The Ideals of a Samurai. Out of his place, man is not man. Duty is more important than being. Nearly everything in our life is fixed by fate; there may seem to be exceptions, because some wicked men are prosperous and some righteous men are wretched, but these are not real exceptions to the general rule that we are made for our environment and fitted to it. And then, again, it may be that our judgments are not correct. Let the heart be right and all is well. Let man be obedient and his outward circumstance is nothing, having no relation to his joy or happiness. Even when as to his earthly body man passes away, he is not destroyed; the drop again becomes part of the sea, the spark re-enters the flame, and his life continues, though it be not a conscious life. In this way man is in harmony with the original principle of all things. He outlasts the universe itself. Hence to a conscientious Samurai there is nothing in this world better than obedience, in the ideal of a true man. What he fears most and hates most is that his memory may perish, that he shall have no seed, that he shall be forgotten or die under a cloud and be thought treacherous or cowardly or base, when in reality his life was pure and his motives high. "Better," sang Yoshida Shoin, the dying martyr for his principles, "to be a crystal and to be broken, than to be a tile upon the housetop and remain." So, indeed, on a hundred curtained execution grounds, with the dirk of the suicide firmly grasped and about to shed their own life-blood, have sung the martyrs who died willingly for their faith in their idea of Yamato Damashii.[19] In untold instances in the national history, men have died willingly and cheerfully, and women also by thousands, as brave, as unflinching as the men, so that the story of Japanese chivalry is almost incredible in its awful suicides. History reveals a state of society in which cool determination, desperate courage and fearlessness of death in the face of duty were quite unique, and which must have had their base in some powerful though abnormal code of ethics. This leads us to consider again the things emphasized by Japanese as distinct from Chinese and Korean[20] Confucianism, and to call attention to its fruits, while at the same time we note its defects, and show wherein it failed. We shall then show how this old system has already waxed old and is passing away. Christ has come to Japan, and behold a new heaven and a new earth! New Japan Makes Revision. First. For sovereign and minister, there are coming into vogue new interpretations. This relation, if it is to remain as the first, will become that of the ruler and the ruled. Constitutional government has begun; and codes of law have been framed which are recognizing the rights of the individual and of the people. Even a woman has rights before the law, in relation to husband, parents, brothers, sisters and children. It is even beginning to be thought that children have rights. Let us hope that as the rights are better understood the duties will be equally clear. It is coming to pass in Japan that even in government, the sovereign must consult with his people on all questions pertaining to their welfare. Although, thus far the constitutional government makes the ministers responsible to the Sovereign instead of to the Diet, yet the contention of the enlightened men and the liberal parties is, that the ministers shall be responsible to the Diet. The time seems at hand when the sovereign's power over his people will not rest on traditions more or less uncertain, on history manufactured by governmental order, on mythological claims based upon the so-called "eternal ages," on prerogatives upheld by the sword, or on the supposed grace of the gods, but will be "broad-based upon the people's will." The power of the rulers will be derived from the consent of the governed. The Emperor will become the first and chief servant of the nation. Revision and improvement of the Second Relation will make filial piety something more real than that unto which China has attained, or Japan has yet seen, or which is yet universally known in Christendom. The tyranny of the father and of the older brother, and the sale of daughters to shame, will pass away; and there will arise in the Japanese house, the Christian home. It would be hard to say what Confucianism has done for woman. It is probable that all civilizations, and systems of philosophy, ethics and religion, can be well tested by this criterion--the position of woman. Confucianism virtually admits two standards of morality, one for man, another for woman.[21] In Chinese Asia adultery is indeed branded as one of the vilest of crimes, but in common idea and parlance it is a woman's crime, not man's. So, on the other hand, chastity is a female virtue, it is part of womanly duty, it has little or no relation to man personally. Right revision and improvement of the Third Relation will abolish concubinage. It will reform divorce. It will make love the basis of marriage. It will change the state of things truthfully pictured in such books as the Genji Monogatari, or Romance of Prince Genji, with its examples of horrible lust and incests; the Kojiki or Ethnic scripture, with its naïve accounts of filthiness among the gods; the Onna Dai Gaku, Woman's Great Study, with its amazing subordination and moral slavery of wife and daughter; and The Japanese Bride, of yesterday--all truthful pictures of Japanese life, for the epoch in which each was written. These books will become the forgotten curiosities of literature, known only to the archæologist. Improvement and revision of the Fourth Relation, will bring into the Japanese home more justice, righteousness, love and enjoyment of life. It will make possible, also, the cheerful acceptance and glad practice of those codes of law common in Christendom, which are based upon the rights of the individual and upon the idea of the greatest good to the greatest number. It will help to abolish the evils which come from primogeniture and to release the clutch of the dead hand upon the living. It will decrease the power of the graveyard, and make thought and care for the living the rule of life. It will abolish sham and fiction, and promote the cause of truth. It will hasten the reign of righteousness and love, and beneath propriety and etiquette lay the basis of "charity toward all, malice toward none." Revision with improvement of the Fifth Relation hastens the reign of universal brotherhood. It lifts up the fallen, the down-trodden and the outcast. It says to the slave "be free," and after having said "be free," educates, trains, and lifts up the brother once in servitude, and helps him to forget his old estate and to know his rights as well as his duties, and develops in him the image of God. It says to the hinin or not-human, "be a man, be a citizen, accept the protection of the law." It says to the eta, "come into humanity and society, receive the protection of law, and the welcome of your fellows; let memory forget the past and charity make a new future." It will bring Japan into the fraternity of nations, making her people one with the peoples of Christendom, not through the empty forms of diplomacy, or by the craft of her envoys, or by the power of her armies and navies reconstructed on modern principles, but by patient education and unflinching loyalty to high ideals. Thus will Japan become worthy of all the honors, which the highest humanity on this planet can bestow. The Ideal of Yamato Damashii Enlarged. In this our time it is not only the alien from Christendom, with his hostile eye and mordant criticism, who is helping to undermine that system of ethics which permitted the sale of the daughter to shame, the introduction of the concubine into the family and the reduction of woman, even though wife and mother, to nearly a cipher. It is not only the foreigner who assaults that philosophy which glorified the vendetta, kept alive private war, made revenge in murder the sweetest joy of the Samurai and suicide the gate to honor and fame, subordinated the family to the house, and suppressed individuality and personality. It is the native Japanese, no longer a hermit, a "frog in the well, that knows not the great ocean" but a student, an inquirer, and a critic, who assaults the old ethical and philosophical system, and calls for a new way between heaven and earth, and a new kind of Heaven in which shall be a Creator, a Father and a Saviour. The brain and pen of New Japan, as well as its heart, demand that the family shall be more than the house and that the living members shall have greater rights as well as duties, than the dead ancestors. They claim that the wife shall share responsibility with the husband, and that the relation of husband and wife shall take precedence of that of the father and son; that the mother shall possess equal authority with the father; that the wife, whether she be mother or not, shall not be compelled to share her home with the concubine; and that the child in Japan shall be born in the home and not in the herd. The sudden introduction of the Christian ideas of personality and individuality has undoubtedly wrought peril to the framework of a society which is built according to the Confucian principles; but faith in God, love in the home, and absolute equality before the law will bring about a reign of righteousness such as Japan has never known, but toward the realization of which Christian nations are ever advancing. Even the old ideal of the Samurai embodied in the formula Yamato Damashii will be enlarged and improved from its narrow limits and ferocious aspects, when the tap-root of all progress is allowed to strike into deeper truth, and the Sixth Relation, or rather the first relation of all, is taught, namely, that of God to Man, and of Man to God. That this relation is understood, and that the Samurai ideal, purified and enlarged, is held by increasing numbers of Japan's brightest men and noblest women, is shown in that superb Christian literature which pours from the pens of the native men and women in the Japanese Christian churches. Under this flood of truth the old obstacles to a nobler society are washed away, while out of the enriched soil rises the new Japan which is to be a part of the better Christendom that is to come. Christ in Japan, as everywhere, means not destruction, but fulfilment. CHAPTER VI - THE BUDDHISM OF NORTHERN ASIA "Life is a dream is what the pilgrim learns, Nor asks for more, but straightway home returns." --Japanese medieval lyric drama. "The purpose of Buddha's preaching was to bring into light the permanent truth, to reveal the root of all suffering and thus to lead all sentient beings into the perfect emancipation from all passions."--Outlines of the Mahayana. "Buddhism will stand forth as the embodiment of the eternal verity that as a man sows he will reap, associated with the duties of mastery over self and kindness to all men, and quickened into a popular religion by the example of a noble and beautiful life."--Dharmapala of Ceylon. "Buddhism teaches the right path of cause and effect, and nothing which can supersede the idea of cause and effect will be accepted and believed. Buddha himself cannot contradict this law which is the Buddha, of Buddhas, and no omnipotent power except this law is believed to be existent in the universe. "Buddhism does not quarrel with other religions about the truth ... Buddhism is truth common to every religion regardless of the outside garment."--Horin Toki, of Japan. "Death we can face; but knowing, as some of us do, what is human life, which of us is it that without shuddering could (if we were summoned) face the hour of birth?" -De Quinccy. The prayer of Buddhism, "Deliver us from existence." The prayer of the Christian, "Deliver us from evil." "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth."--Genesis. "I am come that they might have life and that they might have it more abundantly."--Jesus. CHAPTER VI - THE BUDDHISM OF NORTHERN ASIA Pre-Buddhistic India. Does the name of Gautama, the Buddha, stand for a sun-myth or for a historic personage? One set of scholars and writers, represented by Professor Kern,[1] of Leyden, thinks the Buddha a mythical personage. Another school, represented by Professor T. Rhys Davids,[2] declares that he lived in human flesh and breathed the air of earth. We accept the historical view as best explaining the facts. In order to understand a religion, in its origin at least, we must know some of the conditions out of which it arose. Buddhism is one of the protestantisms of the world. Yet, is not every religion, in one sense, protestant? Is it not a protest against something to which it opposes a difference? Every new religion, like a growing plant, ignores or rejects certain elements in the soil out of which it springs. It takes up and assimilates, also, other elements not used before, in order to produce a flower or fruit different from other growths out of the same soil. Yet whether the new religion be considered as a development, fulfilment, or protest, we must know its historical perspective or background. To understand the origin of Buddhism, one of the best preparations is to read the history of India and especially of the thought of her many generations; for the landmarks of the civilizations of India, as a Hindu may proudly say, are its mighty literatures. At these let us glance.[3] The age of the Vedas extends from the year 2000 to 1400 B.C., and the history of this early India is wonderfully like that of America. During this era, the Hindus, one of the seven Aryan tribes of which the Persian, Greek, Latin, Celtic, Sclav and Teutonic form the other six, descending from the mid-Asian plateau, settled the Punjab in Northwest India. They drove the dark-skinned aborigines before them and reclaimed forest and swamp to civilization, making the land of the seven rivers bright with agriculture and brilliant with cities. This was the glorious heroic age of joyous life and conquest, when men who believed in a Heavenly Father[4] made the first epoch of Hindu history. Then followed the epic age, 1400-1000 B.C., when the area of civilization was extended still farther down the Ganges Valley, the splendor of wealth, learning, military prowess and social life excelling that of the ancestral seats in the Punjab. Amid differences of wars and diplomacy with rivalries and jealousies, a common sacred language, literature and religion with similar social and religious institutions, united the various nations together. In this time the old Vedas were compiled into bodies or collections, and the Brahmanas and the Upanishads, besides the great epic poems, the Mahabharata and the Ramayana were composed. The next, or rationalistic epoch, covers the period from 1000 B.C. to 320 B.C., when the Hindu expansion had covered all India, that is, the peninsula from the Himalayas to Cape Comorin. Then, all India, including Ceylon, was Hinduized, though in differing degrees; the purest Aryan civilization being in the north, the less pure in the Ganges Valley and south and east, while the least Aryan and more Dravidian was in Bengal, Orissa, and India south of the Kistna River. This story of the spread of Hindu civilization is a brilliant one, and seems as wonderful as the later European conquest of the land, and of the other "Indians" of North America from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Beside the conquests in material civilization of these our fellow-Aryans (who were the real Indians, and who spoke the language which is the common ancestor of our own and of most European tongues), what impresses us most of all, in these Aryans, is their intellectual energy. The Hindus of the rationalistic age made original discoveries. They invented grammar, geometry, arithmetic, decimal notation, and they elaborated astronomy, medicine, mental philosophy and logic (with syllogism) before these sciences were known or perfected in Greece. In the seventh century before Christ, Kapila taught a system of philosophy, of which that of the Europeans, Schopenhaur and Hartmann, seems largely a reproduction. Following this agnostic scheme of thought, came, several centuries later, the dualistic Yoga[5] system in which the chief feature is the conception of Deity as a means of final emancipation of the human soul from further transmigration, and of union with the Universal Spirit or World Soul. There is, however, perhaps no sadder chapter in the history of human thought than the story of the later degeneration of the Yoga system into one of bloody and cruel rites in India, and of superstition in China. Still other systems followed: one by Gautama, of the same clan or family of the later Buddha, who develops inference by the construction of syllogism; while Kanada follows the atomic philosophy in which the atoms are eternal, but the aggregates perishable by disintegration. Against these schools, which seemed to be dangerous "new departures," orthodox Hindus, anxious for their ancient beliefs and practices as laid down in the Vedas, started fresh systems of philosophy, avowedly more in consonances with their ancestral faith. One system insisted on the primitive Vedic ritual, and another laid emphasis on the belief in a Universal Soul first inculcated in the Upanishads. Conditions out of which Buddhism Arose. Whatever we may think of these schools of philosophy, or the connection with or indebtedness of Gautama, the Buddha, to them, they reveal to us the conceptions which his contemporaries had of the universe and the beings inhabiting it. These were honest human attempts to find God. In them the various beings or six conditions of sentient existence are devas or gods; men; asuras or monsters; pretas or demons; animals; and beings in hell. Furthermore, these schools of Hindu philosophy show us the conditions out of which Buddhism arose, furnish us with its terminology and technical phrases, reveal to us what the reformer proposed to himself to do, and, what is perhaps still more important, show us the types to which Buddhism in its degeneration and degradation reverted. The strange far-off oriental words which today scholars discuss, theosophists manipulate, and charlatans employ as catchpennies were common words in the every-day speech of the Hindu people, two or three thousand years ago. Glancing rapidly at the condition of religion in the era ushering in the birth of Buddha, we note that the old joyousness of life manifested in the Vedic hymns is past, their fervor and glow are gone. In the morning of Hindu life there was no caste, no fixed priesthood, and no idols; but as wealth, civilization, easy and settled life succeeded, the taste for pompous sacrifices conducted by an hereditary priestly caste increased. Greater importance was laid upon the detail of the ceremonies, the attention of the worshipper being turned from the deities "to the minutiæ of rites, the erection of altars, the fixing of the proper astronomical moments for lighting the fire, the correct pronunciation of prayers, and to the various requisite acts accompanying a sacrifice."[6] In the chapter of decay which time wrote and literature reflects, we find "grotesque reasons given for every minute rite, dogmatic explanation of texts, penances for every breach of form and rule, and elaborate directions for every act and moment of the worshipper." The literature shows a degree of credulity and submission on the part of the people and of absolute power on the part of the priests, which reminds us of the Middle Ages in Europe. The old inspiring wars with the aborigines are over. The time of bearing a noble creed, meaning culture and civilization as against savagery and idolatry, is past, and only intestine quarrels and local strife have succeeded. The age of creative literature is over, and commentators, critics and grammarians have succeeded. Still more startling are the facts disclosed by literary history. The liquid poetry has become frozen prose; the old flaming fuel of genius is now slag and ashes. We see Hindus doing exactly what Jewish rabbis, and after them Christian schoolmen and dogma-makers, did with the old Hebrew poems and prophecies. Construing literally the prayers, songs and hopes of an earlier age, they rebuild the letter of the text into creeds and systems, and erect an amazing edifice of steel-framed and stone-cased tradition, to challenge which is taught to be heresy and impiety. The poetical similes used in the Rig Vedas have been transformed into mythological tales. In the change of language the Vedas themselves are unreadable, except by the priests, who fatten on popular beliefs in the transmigration of souls and in the power of priestcraft to make that transmigration blissful--provided liberal gifts are duly forthcoming. Idolatry and witchcraft are rampant. Some saviour, some light was needed. Buddhism a Logical Product of Hindu Thought. At such a time, probably 557 B.C., was born Shaka, of the Muni clan, at Kapilavastu, one hundred miles northeast of Benares. We pass over the details[7] of the life of him called Prince, Lord, Lion of the Tribe of Shaka, and Saviour; of his desertion of wife and child, called the first Great Renunciation; of his struggles to obtain peace; of his enlightenment or Buddhahood; of his second or Greater Renunciation; of merit on account of austerities; and give the story told in a mountain of books in various tongues, but condensed in a paragraph by Romesh Chunder Dutt. "At an early age, Prince Gautama left his royal home, and his wife, and new-born child, and became a wanderer and a mendicant, to seek a way of salvation for man. Hindu rites, accompanied by the slaughter of innocent victims, repelled his feelings. Hindu philosophy afforded him no remedy, and Hindu penances and mortifications proved unavailing after he had practised them for years. At last, by severe contemplation, he discovered the long coveted truth; a holy and calm life, and benevolence and love toward all living creatures seemed to him the essence of religion. Self-culture and universal love--this was his discovery--this is the essence of Buddhism."[8] From one point of view Buddhism was the logical continuance of Aryan Hindoo philosophy; from another point of view it was a new departure. The leading idea in the Upanishads is that the object of the wise man should be to know, inwardly and consciously, the Great Soul of all; and by this knowledge his individual soul would become united to the Supreme Being, the true and absolute self. This was the highest point reached in the old Indian philosophy[9] before Buddha was born. So, looking at Buddhism in the perspective of Hindu history and thought, we may say that it is doubtful whether Gautama intended to found a new religion. As, humanly speaking, Saul of Tarsus saved Christianity from being a Jewish sect and made it universal, so Gautama extricated the new enthusiasm of humanity from the priests. He made Aryan religion the property of all India. What had been a rare monopoly as narrow as Judaism, he made the inheritance of all Asia. Gautama was a protestant and a reformer, not an agnostic or skeptic. It is more probable that he meant to shake off Brahmanism and to restore the pure and original form of the Aryan religion of the Vedas, as far as it was possible to do so. In one sense, Buddhism was a revolt against hereditary and sacerdotal privilege--an attack of the people against priestcraft. The Buddha and his disciples were levellers. In a different age and clime, but along a similar path, they did a work analogous to that of the so-called Anabaptists in Europe and Independents in England, centuries later. It is certain, however, that Buddhism has grown logically out of ancient Hinduism. In its monastic feature--one of its most striking characteristics--we see only the concentration and reduction to system, of the old life of the ascetics and religious mendicants recognized and respected by Hinduism. For centuries the Buddhist monks and nuns were regarded in India as only a new sect of ascetics, among many others which flourished in the land. The Buddhist doctrine of karma, or in Japanese, _ingwa_, of cause and effect, whereby it is taught that each effect in this life springs from a cause in some previous incarnation, and that each act in this life bears its fruit in the next, has grown directly out of the Hindu idea of the transmigration of souls. This idea is first inculcated in the Upanishads, and is recognized in Hindu systems of philosophy. So also the Buddhist doctrine of Nirvana, or the attainment of a sinless state of existence, has grown out of the idea of final union of the individual soul with the Universal Soul, which is also inculcated in the Upanishads. Yet, as we shall see, the Buddhists were, in the eyes of the Brahmans, atheists, because in the ken of these new levellers gods and men were put on the same plane. Brahmanism has never forgiven Buddhism for ignoring the gods, and the Hindoos finally drove out the followers of Gautama from India. It eventuated that after a millenium or so of Buddhism in India, the old gods, Brahma, Indra, etc., which at first had been shut out from the ken of the people, by Gautama, found their places again in the popular faith of the Buddhists, who believed that the gods as well as men, were all progressing toward the blessed Nirvana--that sinless life and holy calm, which is the Buddhist's heaven and salvation. It is certainly very curious, and in a sense amusing, to find flourishing in far-off Japan the old gods of India, that one would suppose to have been utterly dead and left behind in oblivion. As acknowledged devas or kings and bodhisattvas or soon-to-be Buddhas, not a few once defunct Hindu gods, utterly unknown to early Buddhism, have forced their way into the company of the elect. Though most of them have not gained the popularity of the indigenous deities of Nippon, they yet attract many worshippers. They remind one that amid the coming of the sons of Elohim before Jehovah, "the satan" came also.[10] From another point of view Buddhism was a new religion; for it swept away and out of the field of its vision the whole of the World or Universal Soul theory. "It proclaimed a salvation which each man could gain for himself and by himself, in this world during this life, without the least reference to God, or to gods, either great or small." "It placed the first importance on knowledge; but it was no longer a knowledge of God, it was a clear perception of the real nature as they supposed it to be of men and things." In a word, Gautama never reached the idea of a personal self-existent God, though toward that truth he groped. He was satisfied too soon.[11] His followers were even more easily satisfied with abstractions. When Gautama saw the power over the human heart of inward culture and of love to others, he obtained peace, he rested on certainty, he became the Buddha, that is, the enlightened. Perhaps he was not the first Buddhist. It may be that the historical Gautama, if so he is worthy to be called, merely made the sect or the new religion famous. Hardly a religion in the full sense of the word, Buddhism did not assume the rôle of theology, but sought only to know men and things. In one sense Buddhism is atheism, or rather, atheistic humanism. In one sense, also, the solution of the mystery of God, of life, and of the universe, which Gautama and his followers attained, was one of skepticism rather than of faith. Buddhism is, relatively, a very modern religion; it is one of the new faiths. Is it paradoxical to say that the Buddhists are "religious atheists?" The Buddhist Millennium in India. Let us now look at the life of the Founder. Day after day, the pure-souled teacher attracted new disciples while he with alms-bowl went around as mendicant and teacher. Salvation merely by self-control, and love without any rites, ceremonies, charms, priestly powers, gods or miracles, formed the burden of his teachings. "Thousands of people left their homes, embraced the holy order and became monks, ignoring caste, and relinquishing all worldly goods except the bare necessaries of life, which they possessed and enjoyed in common." Probably the first monastic _system_ of the world, was that of the Indian Buddhists. The Buddha preached the good news during forty-five years. After his death, five hundred of his followers assembled at Rajagriha and chanted together the teachings of Gautama, to fix them in memory. A hundred years later, in 377 B.C., came the great schism among the Buddhists, out of which grew the divisions known as Northern and Southern Buddhism. There was disagreement on ten points. A second council was therefore called, and the disputed points determined to the satisfaction of one side. Thereupon the seceders went away in large numbers, and the differences were never healed; on the contrary, they have widened in the course of ages. The separatists began what may be called the Northern Buddhisms of Nepal, Tibet, China, Korea and Japan. The orthodox or Southern Buddhists are those of Ceylon, Burma and Siam. The original canon of Southern Buddhism is in Pali; that of Northern Buddhism is in Sanskrit. The one is comparatively small and simple; the other amazingly varied and voluminous. The canon of Southern scripture is called the Hinayana, the Little or Smaller Vehicle; the canon of Northern Buddhism is named the Mahayana or Great Vehicle. Possibly, also, besides the Southern and Northern Buddhisms, the Buddhism of Japan may be treated by itself and named Eastern Buddhism. In the great council called in 242 B.C., by King Asoka, who may be termed the Constantine of Buddhism, the sacred texts were again chanted. It was not until the year 88 B.C. in Ceylon, six hundred years after Gautama, that the three Pitakas, Boxes or Baskets, were committed to writing in the Pali language. In a word, Buddhism knows nothing of sacred documents or a canon of scripture contemporary with its first disciples. The splendid Buddhist age of India lasted nearly a thousand years, and was one of superb triumphs in civilization. It was an age of spiritual emancipation, of freedom from idol worship, of nobler humanity and of peace.[12] It was followed by the Puranic epoch and the dark ages. Then Buddhism was, as some say, "driven out" from the land of its birth, finding new expansion in Eastern and Northern Asia, and again, a still more surprising development in the ultima-Thule of the Asiatic continent, Japan. There is now no Buddhism in India proper, the faith being represented only in Ceylon and possibly also on the main land, by the sect of the Jains, and peradventure in Persia by Babism which contains elements from three religions.[13] Like Christianity, Buddhism was "driven out" of its old home to bless other nations of the world. It is probably far nearer the truth to say that Buddhism was never expelled from India, but rather that it died by disintegration and relapse.[14] It had become Brahmanism again. The old gods and the old idol-worship came back. It is in Japan that the ends of the earth, eastern and western civilization, and the freest and fullest or at least the latest developments of Christianity and of Buddhism, have met. In its transfer to distant lands and its developments throughout Eastern Asia, the faith which had originated in India suffered many changes. Dividing into two great branches, it became a notably different religion according as it moved along the southern, the northern, or the eastern channel. By the vehicle of the Pali language it was carried to Ceylon, Siam, Burma, Cambodia and the islands of the south; that is, to southern or peninsular and insular Asia. Here there is little evidence of any striking departure from the doctrines of the Pali Pitakas; and, as Southern Buddhism does not greatly concern us in speaking of the religions of Japan, we may pass it by. For although the books and writings belonging to Southern Buddhism, and comprehended under the formula of the Hinayana or Smaller Vehicle, have been studied in China, Korea and Japan, yet they have had comparatively little influence upon doctrinal, ritualistic, or missionary development in Chinese Asia. Astonishingly different has been the case with the Northern Buddhisms which are those of Nepal, Tibet, Mongolia, Manchuria, China, Korea and Japan. As luxuriant as the evolutions of political and dogmatic Christianity and as radical in their departures from the primitive simplicity of the faith, have been these forms of Buddhist doctrine, ritual and organization. We cannot now dwell upon the wonderful details of the vast and complicated system, differing so much in various countries. We pass by, or only glance at, the philosophy of the Punjaub; the metaphysics of Nepal--with its developments into what some writers consider to be a close approach to monotheism, and others, indeed, monotheism itself; the system of Lamaism in Tibet, which has paralleled so closely the development of the papal hierarchy; the possibly two thousand years' growth and decay of Chinese Buddhism; the varieties of the Buddhism of Mongolia--almost swamped in the Shamanistic superstitions of these dwellers on the plains; the astonishing success, quick ripening, decay, and almost utter annihilation, among the learned and governing classes, of Korean Buddhism;[15] and study in detail only Eastern or Japanese Buddhism. We shall in this lecture attempt but two things: I. A summary of the process of thought by which the chief features of the Northern Buddhisms came into view. II. An outline of the story of Japanese Buddhism during the first three centuries of its existence. The Development of Northern Buddhism Leaving the early Buddha legends and the solid ground of history, the makers of the newer Buddhist doctrines in Nepal occupied themselves with developing the theory of Buddhahood and of the Buddhas;[16] for we must ever remember that Buddha[17] is not a proper name, but a common adjective meaning enlightened, from the root to know, perceive, etc. They made constant and marvellous additions to the primitive doctrine, giving it a momentum which gathered force as the centuries went on; and, as propaganda, it moved against the sun. This development theory ran along the line of _personification_. Not being satisfied with "the wheel of the law," it personified both the hub and the spokes. It began with the spirit of kindness out of which all human virtues rise, and by the power of which the Buddhist organization will conquer all sin and unbelief and become victorious throughout the world. This personification is called the Maitreya Buddha, the unconquerable one, or the future Buddha of benevolence, the Buddha who is yet to come. Here was a tremendous and revolutionary movement in the new faith, the beginning of a long process. It was as though the Christians had taken the particular attributes, justice, mercy, etc., of God and, after personifying each one, deified it, thus multiplying gods. What was the soil for the new sowing, and what was the harvest to be reaped in due time? With many thousands of India Buddhists whose minds were already steeped in Brahministic philosophy and mythology, who were more given to speculation and dreaming than to self-control and moral culture, and who mourned for the dead gods of Hinduism, the soil was already prepared for a growth wholly abnormal to true Buddhism, but altogether in keeping with the older Brahministic philosophies from which these dreamers had been but partially converted to Buddhism.[18] The seed is found in the doctrine which already forms part of the system of the Little Vehicle, when it tells of the personal Buddhas and the Buddhas elect, or future Buddhas. In the Jataka stories, or Birth tales, "the Buddha elect" is the title given to each of the beings, man, angel, or animal, who is held to be a Bodhisattva, or the future Buddha in one of his former births. The title Bodhisattva[19] is the name given to a being whose Karma will produce other beings in a continually ascending scale of goodness until it becomes vested in a Buddha. Or, in the more common use of the word, a Bodhisattva (Japanese bosatsu) is a being whose essence has become intelligence, and who will have to pass through human existence once more only before entering Nirvana. In Southern Buddhist temples, the pure white image of Maitreya is sometimes found beside the idol representing Gautama or the historical Buddha. While in Southern Buddhism the idea of this possibility of development seems to have been little seized upon and followed up, in Northern Buddhism as early as 400 A.D. the worship of two Buddhas elect named Manjusri and Avalokitesvara, or personified Wisdom and Power, had already become general. Manjusri,[20] the Great Being or "Prince Royal," is the personification of wisdom, and especially of the mystic religious insight which has produced the Great Vehicle or canon of Northern Buddhism; or, as a Japanese author says, the third collection of the Tripitaka was that made by Manjusri and Maitreya. Avalokitesvara,[21] the Lord of View or All-sided One, is the personification of power, the merciful protector and preserver of the world and of men. Both are frequently and voluminously mentioned in the Saddharma Pundarika,[22] in which the good law is made plain by flowers of rhetoric, and of which we shall have occasion frequently to speak. Manjusri is the mythical author of this influential work,[23] the twenty-fourth chapter being devoted to a glorification of the character, the power, and the advantages to be derived from the worship of Avalokitesvara. The Creation of Gods. Possibly the name of Manjusri may be derived from that of the Indian mendicant, the traditional introducer of Buddhism and its accompanying civilization into Nepal. The Tibetans identify him with the minister of a great King Strongstun, who lived in the seventh century of our era and who was the great patron of Buddhism into Tibet. He is the founder of that school of thought which ended in the Great Vehicle,--the literature of Northern Buddhism.[24] From Nepal to Japan, in the books of the Northern Buddhists there is certainly much confusion between the metaphysical being and the legendary civilizer and teacher of Nepal. The other name, Avalokitesvara, which means the Lord of View, "the lord who looks down from on high," instead of being a purely metaphysical invention, may he only an adaptation of one epithet of Shiva, which meant Master of View. Later and by degrees the attributes were separated and each one was personified. For example, the power of Avalokitesvara was separated from his protecting care and providence. His power was personified as the bearer of the thunder-bolt, or the lightning-handed one; and this new personification added to the two other Buddhas elect, made a triad, the first in Northern Buddhism. In this triad, the thunder-bolt holder was Vagrapani; Manjusri was the deified teacher; and Avalokitesvara was the Spirit of the Buddhas present in the church. Before many centuries had elapsed, these imaginary beings, with a few others, had become gods to whom men prayed; and thus Buddhism became a religion with some kind of theism,--which Gautama had expressly renounced. If any one wants proof of this reversion into the old religions of India, he has only to notice that the name, given to the new god made by personification of the attribute of power, Vagrapani, or Vadjradhara, or the bearer of the thunder-bolt, had formerly been used as an epithet of the old fire-god of the Vedas, Indra. It were tedious to recount all the steps in the further development of Northern Buddhism.[25] Suffice it to say, that out of ideas and principles set forth in the earlier Buddhism, and under the generating force reborn from old Brahminism, the Dhyani Buddhas (that is the Buddhas evolved out of the mind in mystic trance) were given their elect Buddhas; and so three sets of five were co-ordinated.[26] That is, first, five pre-penultimate Buddhas; then their Bodhisattvas or penultimate Buddhas; and then the ultimate or human Buddhas, of which Gautama was one. Or, first abstraction; then pre-human effluence; then emanation. All this multiplication of beings is unknown to Southern Buddhism, unknown to the Saddharma Pundarika, and very probably unknown also to the Chinese pilgrims who visited India in the fifth and seventh centuries. Professor Rhys Davids, in his compact little manual of Buddhism, says:[27] "Among those hypothetical beings--the creations of a sickly scholasticism, hollow abstractions without life or reality--the fourth Amitabha, 'Immeasurable Light,' whose Bodhisatwa is Avalokitesvara, and whose emanation is Gautama, occupies of course the highest and most important rank. Surrounded by innumerable Bodhisatwas, he sits enthroned under a Bo-tree in Sukhavati, i.e., the Blissful, a paradise of heavenly joys, whose description occupies whole tedious books of the so-called Great Vehicle. By this theory, each of the five Buddhas has become three, and the fourth of these five sets of three is the second Buddhist Trinity, the belief in which must have arisen after the seventh century of our era." Buddhism has been called the light of Asia, and Gautama its illuminator; but certainly the light has not been pure, nor the products of its illumination wholesome. Pardon an illustration. In Christian churches and cathedrals of Europe, there is still a great prejudice against the use of pipes, and of gas made from coal, because of the machinery and of the impure emanations. The prejudice is a wholesome one; for we all know that most of the elements forming common illuminating gas are worthless except to convey the very small amount of light-giving material, and that these elements in combustion vitiate the air and give off deleterious products which corrode, tarnish and destroy. Now though Buddhist doctrine may have been the light of India, yet to reach the Northern and Eastern nations of Asia it had, apparently, to be adulterated for conveyance, as much as is the illuminating gas in our cities. From the first, Northern Buddhism showed a wonderful affinity, not only for Brahministic superstitions and speculations, but for almost everything else with which it came in contact in countries beyond India. Instead of combating, it absorbed. It adapted itself to circumstances, and finding certain beliefs prevalent among the people, it imbibed them, and thus gained by accretion until its bulk, both of beliefs and of disciples, was in the inverse ratio of its purity. Even to-day, the occult theosophy of "Isis Unveiled," and of the school of writers such as Blavatsky, Olcott, etc., seems to be a perfectly logical product of the Northern Buddhisms, and may be called one of them; yet it is simply a repetition of what took place centuries ago. Most of the primitive beliefs and superstitions of Nepal and Tibet were absorbed in the ever hungry and devouring system of Buddhistic scholasticism. The Making of a Pantheon. Let us glance again at this Nepal Buddhism. In the tenth century we find what at first seems to be a growth out of Polytheism into Monotheism, for a new Being, to whom the attributes of infinity, self-existence and omniscience are ascribed, is invented and named Adi-Buddha, or the primordial Buddha. According to the speculations of the thinkers, he had evolved himself out of the five Dhyani-Buddhas by the exercise of the five meditations, while each of these had evolved out of itself by wisdom and contemplation, the corresponding Buddhas elect. Again, each of the latter evolved out of his own essence a material world,--our present world being the fourth of these, that is of Avaloki. One almost might consider that this setting forth of the primordial Buddha was real Monotheism; but on looking more carefully one sees that it is as little real Monotheism as was possible in the system of Gnosticism. Indeed the force of evolution could not stop here; for, since even this primordial Buddha rested upon Ossa of hypothesis piled upon Pelion of hypothesis, there must be other hypotheses yet to come, and so the Tantra system, a compound of old Brahminism with the magic and witchcraft and Shamanism of Northern Asia burst into view. As this was to travel into Japan and be hailed as purest Buddhism, let us note how this tenth century Tantra system grew up. To see this clearly, is to look upon the parable of the man with the unclean spirit being acted out on a vast scale in history. In the sixth century of our era, one Asanga, or Asamga, wrote the Shastra, called the Shastra Yoga-chara Bhumi.[28] With great dexterity he erected a sort of clearing-house for both the corrupt Brahminism and corrupt Buddhism of his day, and exchanging and rearranging the gods and devils in both systems, he represented them as worshippers and supporters of the Buddha and Avalokitesvara. In such a system, the old primitive Buddhism of the noble eight-fold path of self-conquest and pure morals was utterly lost. Instead of that, the worshipper gave his whole powers to obtaining occult potencies by means of magic phrases and magic circles. Then grew up whole forests of monasteries and temples, with an outburst of devilish art representing many-headed and many-eyed and many-handed idols on the walls, on books, on the roadside, with manifold charms and phrases the endless repetitions of which were supposed to have efficacy with the hypothetical being who filled the heavens. That was _the_ age of idols for China as well as for India; and the old Chinese house, once empty, swept and garnished by Confucianism, was now filled with a mob of unclean spirits each worse than the first. With more courageous logic than the more matter-of-fact Chinese, the Tibetan erected his prayer-mills[29] and let the winds of heaven and the flowing waters continually multiply his prayers and holy syllables. And these inventions were duly imported into Japan, and even now are far from being absent.[30] Passing over for the present the history of Buddhism in China,[31] suffice it to say that the Buddhism which entered Japan from Korea in the sixth century, was not the simple atheism touched with morality, the bald skepticism or benevolent agnosticism of Gautama, but a religion already over a thousand years old. It was the system of the Northern Buddhists. These, dissatisfied, or unsatisfied, with absorption into a passionless state through self-sacrifice and moral discipline, had evolved a philosophy of religion in which were gods, idols and an apparatus of conversion utterly unknown to the primitive faith. Buddhism Already Corrupted when brought to Japan. This sixth century Buddhism in Japan was not the army with banners, which was introduced still later with the luxuriances of the fully developed system, its paradise wonderfully like Mohammed's and its over-populated pantheon. It was, however, ready with the necessary machinery, both material and mental, to make conquest of a people which had not only religious aspirations, but also latent aesthetic possibilities of a high order. As in its course through China this Northern Buddhism had acted as an all-powerful absorbent of local beliefs and superstitions, so in Japan it was destined to make a more remarkable record, and, not only to absorb local ideas but actually to cause the indigenous religion to disappear. Let us inquire who were the people to whom Buddhism, when already possessed of a millenium of history, entered its Ultima Thule in Eastern Asia. At what stage of mutual growth did Buddhism and the Japanese meet each other? Instead of the forty millions of thoroughly homogeneous people in Japan--according to the census of December 31, 1892--all being loyal subjects of one Emperor, we must think of possibly a million of hunters, fishermen and farmers in more or less warring clans or tribes. These were made up of the various migrations from the main land and the drift of humanity brought by the ocean currents from the south; Ainos, Koreans, Tartars and Chinese, with probably some Malay and Nigrito stock. In the central part of Hondo, the main island, the Yamato tribe dominated, its chief being styled Suméru-mikoto, or Mikado. To the south and southwest, the Mikado's power was only more or less felt, for the Yamato men had a long struggle in securing supremacy. Northward and eastward lay great stretches of land, inhabited by unsubdued and uncivilized native tribes of continental and most probably of Korean origin, and thus more or less closely akin to the Yamato men. Still northward roamed the Ainos, a race whose ancestral seats may have been in far-off Dravidian India. Despite the constant conflicts between the Yamato people who had agriculture and the beginnings of government, law and literature, and their less civilized neighbors, the tendency to amalgamation was already strong. The problem of the statesman, was to extend the sway of the Mikado over the whole Archipelago. Shint[=o] was, in its formation, made use of as an engine to conquer, unify and civilize all the tribes. In one sense, this conquest of men having lower forms of faith, by believers in the Kami no Michi, or Way of the Gods, was analogous to the Aryan conquest of India and the Dravidians. However this may be, the energy and valor displayed in these early ages formed the ideal of Yamato Damashii (The Spirit of unconquerable Japan), which has so powerfully influenced the modern Japanese. We shall see, also, how grandly Buddhism also came to be a powerful force in the unification of the Japanese people. At first, the new faith would be rejected as an alien invader, stigmatized as a foreign religion, and, as such, sure to invoke the wrath of the native gods. Then later, its superiority to the indigenous cult would be seen both by the wise and the practically minded, and it would be welcomed and enjoyed. The Inviting Field. Never had a new religion a more inviting field or one more sure of success, than had Buddhism on stepping from the Land of Morning Dawn to the Land of the Rising Sun. Coming as a gorgeous, dazzling and disciplined array of all that could touch the imagination, stimulate the intellect and move the heart of the Japanese, it was irresistible. For the making of a nation, Shint[=o] was as a donkey engine, compared to the system of furnaces, boilers, shaft and propeller of a ten-thousand-ton steel cruiser, moved by the energies of a million years of sunbeam force condensed into coal and released again through transmigration by fire. All accounts in the vernacular Japanese agree, that their Butsu-d[=o] or Buddhism was imported from Korea. In the sixteenth year of Kéitai, the twenty-seventh Mikado (of the list made centuries after, and the eleventh after the impossible line of the long-lived or mythical Mikados), A.D. 534, it is said that a man from China brought with him an image of Buddha into Yamato, and setting it up in a thatched cottage worshipped it. The people called it "foreign-country god." Visitors discussed with him the religion of Shaka, as the Japanese call Shakyamuni, and some little knowledge of Buddhism was gained, but no notable progress was made until A.D. 552, which is generally accepted and celebrated as the year of the introduction of the faith into Japan. Then a king of Hiaksai in Korea, sent over to the court and to the Mikado golden images of the Buddha and of the triad of "precious ones," with Sutras and sacred books. These holy relics are believed to be still preserved in the famous temple of Zenk[=o]ji,[32] belonging to the temple of the Tendai Sect at Nagano in Northern Japan, this shrine being dedicated to Amida and his two followers Kwannon (Avalokitesvara) and Dai-séi-shi (Mahastanaprapta). This group of idols, as the custodian of the shrine will tell you, was made by Shaka himself out of gold, found at the base of the tree which grows at the centre of the universe. After remaining in Korea for eleven hundred and twelve years, it was brought to Japan. Mighty is the stream of pilgrims which continually sets toward the holy place. A common proverb declares that even a cow can find her way thither. In A.D. 572 and again in 584, new images, sutras and teachers came over from another part of Korea. The Mikado called a council to determine what should be done with the idols, to the worship of which he was himself inclined; but a majority were against the idea of insulting the native gods by receiving the presents and thus introducing a foreign religion. The minister of state, however, one Soga no Inamé, expressed himself in favor of Buddhism, and put the images in his country house which he converted into a temple. When, soon after, the land was afflicted with a pestilence, the opponents of the new faith attributed it to the wrath of the gods at the hospitality given to the new idols. War broke out, fighting took place, and the Buddhist temple was burned and the idols thrown into the river, near Osaka. Great portents followed, and the enemies of Buddhism were, it is said, burned up by flames descending from heaven. The tide then turned in favor of the Indian faith, and Soga rebuilt his temple. Priests and missionaries were invited to come over from Korea, being gladly furnished by the allies of Japan from the state of Shinra, and Buddhism again flourished at the court, but not yet among the people. Once more, fighting broke out; and again the temple of the alien gods was destroyed, only to be rebuilt again. The chief champion of Buddhism was the son of a Mikado, best known by his posthumous title, Sh[=o]toku,[33] who all his life was a vigorous defender and propagator of the new faith. Through his influence, or very probably through the efforts of the Korean missionaries, the devastating war between the Japanese and Koreans was ended. In the peace which followed, notable progress was made through the vigor of the missionaries encouraged by the regent Sh[=o]toku, so that at his death in the year A.D. 621, there were forty-six temples, and thirteen hundred and eighty-five priests, monks and nuns in Japan. Many of the most famous temples, which are now full of wealth and renown, trace their foundations to this era of Sh[=o]toku and of his aunt, the Empress Suiko (A.D. 593-628), who were friendly to the new religion. Sh[=o]toku may be almost called the founder of Japanese Buddhism. Although a layman, he is canonized and stands unique in the Pantheon of Eastern Buddhism, his image being prominently visible in thousands of Japanese temples. Legend, in no country more luxurious than in Japan, tells us that the exotic religion made no progress until Amida, the boundlessly Merciful One, assuming the shape of a concubine of the imperial prince who afterward became the Mikado Yomé, gave birth to Sh[=o]toku, who was himself Kwannon or the goddess of mercy in human form; and that when he grew up, he took to wife an incarnation of the Buddha elect, Mahastana-prapta, or in Japanese Dai-séi-shi, whose idol is honored at Zenk[=o]ji. The New Faith Becomes Popular. Then Buddhism became popular, passing out from the narrow circle of the court to be welcomed by the people. In A.D. 623, monks came over directly from China, and we find mentioned two sects, the Sanron and the J[=o]jitsu, which are no longer extant in Japan. In about A.D. 650 the fame of Yuan Chang (Hiouen Thsang) the Chinese pilgrim to India, or the holy land, reached-Japan; and his illustrious example was enthusiastically followed. History now frequently repeated itself. The Japanese monk, D[=o]sh[=o], crossed the seas to China to gaze upon the face and become the pupil of that illustrious Chinese pilgrim, who had seen Buddha Land. Later on, other monks crossed to the land of Sinim, until we find that in this and succeeding centuries, hundreds of Japanese in their frail junks, braved the dangers of the stormy ocean, in order to study Sanskrit, to read the old scriptures, to meet the new lights of learning or revelation, and to become versed in the latest fashions of religion. We find the pilgrims returning and founding new sects or sub-sects, and stimulating by their enthusiasm the monks and the home missionaries. In the year A.D. 700 the custom of cremation was introduced. This wrought not only a profound change in customs, but also became the seed of a rich crop of superstitions; since out of the cremated bodies of the saints came forth the _shari_ or, in Sanskrit, _sarira_. These hard substances or pellets, preserved in crystal cabinets, are treated as holy gems or relics. Thus venerated, they become the nuclei of cycles of fairy lore. In A.D. 710, the great monastery at Nara was founded; and here we must notice or at least glance at the great throng of civilizing influences that came in with Buddhism, and at the great army of artists, artisans and skilled men and women of every sort of trade and craft. We note that with the building of this great Nara monastery came another proof of improvement and the added element of stability in Japanese civilization. The ancient dread which the Japanese had, of living in any place where a person had died was passing away. The nomad life was being given up. The successor of a dead Mikado was no longer compelled to build himself a new capital. The traveller in Japan, familiar with the ancient poetry of the Many[=o]-shu, finds no fewer than fifty-eight sites[34] as the early homes of the Japanese monarchy. Once occupying the proud position of imperial capitals, they are now for the most part mere hamlets, oftentimes mere names, with no visible indication of former human habitation; while the old rivers or streams once gay with barges filled with silken-robed lords and ladies, have dried up to mere washerwomen's runnels. For the first time after the building of this Buddhist monastery, the capital remained permanent, Nara being the imperial residence during seventy-five years. Then beautiful Ki[=o]to was chosen, and remained the residence of successive generations of emperors until 1868. In A.D. 735, we read of the Kégon sect. Two years later a large monastery, with a seven-storied pagoda alongside of it, was ordered to be built in every province. These, with the temples and their surroundings, and with the wayside shrines beginning to spring up like exotic flowers, made a striking alteration in the landscape of Japan. The Buddhist scriptures were numerously copied and circulated among the learned class, yet neither now nor ever, except here and there in fragments, were they found among the people. For, although the Buddhist canon has been repeatedly imported, copied by the pen and in modern times printed, yet no Japanese translation has ever been made. The methods of Buddhism in regard to the circulation of the scriptures are those, not of Protestantism but of Roman Catholicism. In the same year, the Mikado called for contributions from all the people for the building of a colossal image of the Buddha, which was to be of bronze and gilded. Yet, fearing that the Shint[=o] gods might be offended, a skilful priest named Giyoku,--probably the same man who introduced the potter's wheel into Japan,--was sent to the shrine of the Sun-goddess in Isé to present her with a shari or relic of the Buddha, and find out how she would regard his project. After seven days and nights of waiting, the chapel doors flew open and the loud-voiced oracle was interpreted in a favorable sense. The night following the return of the priest, the Mikado dreamed that the sun-goddess appeared to him in her own form and said "The sun is Birushana" (Vairokana). This meant that the chief deity of the Japanese proclaimed herself an avatar or incarnation of one of the old Hindu gods.[35] She also approved the project of the image; and in this same year, 759, native gold was found in Japan, which sufficed for the gilding of the great idol that, after eleven hundred years and many vicissitudes, still stands, the glory of a multitude of pilgrims. In A.D. 754 a famous priest, who introduced the new Ritsu Sect, was able to convert the Mikado and obtain four hundred converts in the imperial court. Thirteen years later, another tremendous triumph of Buddhism was scored and a deadly blow at Shint[=o] was struck. The Buddhist priests persuaded the Mikados to abandon their ancient title of Sumeru and adopt that of Tenn[)o]; (Heavenly King or Tenshi) Son of Heaven, after the Chinese fashion. At the same time it was taught that the emperor could gain great merit and sooner become a Buddha, by retiring from the active cares of the throne and becoming a monk, with the title of H[=o]-[=o], or Cloistered Emperor. This innovation had far-reaching consequences, profoundly altering the status of the Mikado, giving sensualism on the one hand and priestcraft on the other, their coveted opportunity, changing the ruler of the nation from an active statesman into a recluse and the recluse into a pious monk, or a licentious devotee, as the case might be. It paved the way for the usurpation of the government by the unscrupulous soldier, "the man on horseback," who was destined to rule Japan for seven hundred years, while the throne and its occupant were in the shadow. One of a thousand proofs of the progress of the propaganda scheme is seen in the removal of the Shint[=o] temple which had stood at Nikk[=o], and the erection in its place of a Buddhist temple. In A.D. 805 the famous Tendai, and in 806 the powerful Shingon Sect were introduced. All was now ready in Japan for the growth not only of one new Buddhism, but of several varieties among the Northern Buddhisms which so arouse the astonishment of those who study the simple Pali scriptures that contain the story of Gautama, and who know only the southern phase of the faith, that is to Asia, relatively, what Christianity is to Europe. We say relatively, for while Buddhism made Chinese Asia gentle in manners and kind to animals, it covered the land with temples, monasteries and images; on the other hand the religion of Jesus filled Europe not only with churches, abbeys, monasteries and nunneries, but also with hospitals, orphan asylums, lighthouses, schools and colleges. Between the fruits of Christendom and Buddhadom, let the world judge. Survey and Summary. To sum up: Buddhism is the humanitarian's, and also the skeptic's, solution of the problem of the universe. Its three great distinguishing characteristics are atheism, metempsychosis and absence of caste. It was in its origin pure democracy. As against despotic priesthood and oppressive hierarchy, it was congregational. Theoretically it is so yet, though far from being so practically. It is certainly sacerdotal and aristocratic in organization. As in any other system which has so vast a hierarchy with so many grades of honor and authority, its theory of democracy is now a memory. First preached in a land accursed by caste and under spiritual and secular oppressions, it acknowledged no caste, but declared all men equally sinful and miserable, and all equally capable of being freed from sin and misery through Buddhahood, that is, knowledge or enlightenment.[36] The three-fold principle laid down by Gautama, and now in dogma, literature, art and worship, a triad or formal trinity, is, Buddha, the attainment of Buddha-hood, or perfect enlightenment, through meditation and benevolence; Karma, the law of cause and effect; and Dharma, discipline or order; or, the Lord, the Law and the Church. Paying no attention to questions of cosmogony or theogony, the universe is accepted as an ultimate fact. Matter is eternal. Creation exists but not a Creator. All is god, but God is left out of consideration. The gods are even less than Buddhas. Humanity is glorified and the stress of all teaching is upon this life. In a word: a sinless life, attainable by man, through his own exertions in this world, above all the powers or beings of the universe, is the essence of original Buddhism. Original Nirvana meant death which ends all, extinction of existence. Gautama's immediate purpose was to emancipate himself and his followers from the fetters of Brahminism. He tried to leave the world of Hindu philosophy behind him and to escape from it. Did he succeed? Partially. Buddha hoped also to rise above the superstitions of the common people, but in this he was again only partially successful.[37] "The clouds returned after the rain." The old dead gods of Brahminism came back under new names and forms. The malarial exhalations of corrupt Brahmanistic philosophy, continually poisoned the atmosphere which Buddha's disciples breathed. Still worse, as his religion transmigrated into other lands, it became itself a history of transformation, until to-day no religion on earth seems to be such a kaleidoscopic phantasmagoria. Polytheism is rampant over the greater part of the Buddhist world to-day. In the larger portion of Chinese Asia, pantheism dominates the mind. In modern Babism,--a mixture of Mohammedanism, Christianity and Buddhism,--there are streaks of dualism. If Monotheism has ever dawned on the Buddhist world, it has been in fitful pulses as in auroral flashes, soon to leave darkness darker. For us is this lesson: Buddhism, brought face to face with the problem of the world's evil and possible improvement, evades it; begs the whole question at the outset; prays: "Deliver us from existence. Save us from life and give us as little as possible of it." Christianity faces the problem and flinches not; orders advance all along the line of endeavor and prays: "Deliver us from evil;" and is ever of good cheer, because Captain and leader says: "I have overcome the world." Go, win it for me. "I have come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly." CHAPTER VII - RIY[=O]BU, OR MIXED BUDDHISM "All things are nothing but mind." "The doctrines of Buddhism have no fixed forms." "There is nothing in things themselves that enables us to distinguish in them either good or evil, right or wrong. It is but man's fancy that weighs their merits and causes him to choose one and reject the other." "Non-individuality is the general principle of Buddhism."--Outlines of the Mah[=a]y[=a]na. "It (Shint[=o]) was smothered before reaching maturity, but Buddhism and Confucianism had to disguise and change in order to enter Japan." "Life has a limited span and naught may avail to extend it. This is manifested by the impermanence of human beings. But yet whenever necessary I will hereafter make my appearance from time to time as a god, a sage, or a Buddha."--Last words of Shaka the Buddha, in Japanese biography. "It is our opinion that Buddhism cannot long hold its ground, and that Christianity must finally prevail throughout all Japan.... Now, when Buddhism and Christianity are in conflict for the ascendency, this indifference of the Japanese people to the difference of sects is a great disadvantage to Buddhism. That they should worship Jesus Christ with the same mind as they do _Inari_ or _Mi[=o]jin_ is not at all inconsistent in their estimation or contrary to their custom."--Fukuzawa, of T[=o]ki[=o]. "How long halt ye between two opinions? If the Lord be God, follow him; but if Baal, then follow him."--Elijah. "Do men gather grapes of thorns or figs of thistles?"--Jesus. "Doth a fountain send forth at the same place sweet water and bitter?"--James. "What concord hath Christ with Belial?"--Paul. CHAPTER VII - RIY[=O]BU, OR MIXED BUDDHISM Syncretism in Religion. Two centuries and a half of Buddhism in Japan, showed the leaders and teachers of the Indian faith that complete victory over the whole nation was yet very far off. The court had indeed been invaded and won. Even the Mikado, the ecclesiastical head of Shint[=o], and the incarnation and vicar of the heavenly gods, had not only embraced Buddhism, but in many instances had shorn the hair and taken the vows of the monk. Yet the people clung tenaciously to their old traditions, customs and worship; for their gods were like themselves and indeed were of themselves, since Shint[=o] is only a transfiguration of Japanese life. In the Japanese of those days we can trace the same traits which we behold in the modern son of Nippon, especially his intense patriotism and his warlike tendencies. To convert these people to the peaceful dogmas of Siddartha and to make them good Buddhists, something more than teaching and ritual was necessary. It was indispensable that there should be complete substitution, all along the ruts and paths of national habit, and especially that the names of the gods and the festivals should be Buddhaized. Popular customs are nearly immortal and ineradicable. Though wars may come, dynasties rise and fall, and convulsions in nature take place, yet the people's manners and amusements are very slow in changing. If, in the history of Christianity, the European missionaries found it necessary in order to make conquest of our pagan forefathers, to baptize and re-name without radically changing old notions and habits, so did it seem equally indispensable that in Japan there should be some system of reconciliation of the old and the new, some theological revolution, which should either fulfil, absorb, or destroy Shint[=o]. In the histories of religions in Western Asia, Northern Africa and Europe, we are familiar with efforts at syncretism. We have seen how Philo attempted to unite Hebrew righteousness and Greek beauty, and to harmonize Moses and Plato. We know of Euhemerus, who thought he read in the old mythologies not only the outlines of real history, but the hieroglyphics of legend and tradition, truth and revelation.[1] Students of Church history are well aware that this principle of interpretation was followed only too generously by Tertullian, Clement of Alexandria, Lactantius, Chrysostom and others of the Church Fathers. Indeed, it would be hard to find in any of the great religions of the world an utter absence of syncretism, or the union of apparently hostile religious ideas. In the Thousand and One Nights, we have an example in popular literature. We see that the ancient men of India, Persia and pre-Mohammedan Arabia now act and talk as orthodox Mussulmans. In matters pertaining to art and furniture, the statue of Jupiter in Rome serves for St. Peter, and in Japan that of the Virgin and child for the Buddha and his mother.[2] What, however, chiefly concerns the critic and student of religions is to inquire how far the process has been natural, and the efforts of those who have brought about the union have been honest, and their motives pure. The Bible pages bear witness, that Israelites too often tried to make the same fountain give forth sweet waters and bitter, and to grow thistles and grapes on the same stem, by uniting the cults of Jehovah and the Baalim. King Solomon's enterprises in the same direction are more creditable to him as a politician than as a worshipper.[3] In the history of Christianity one cannot commend the efforts either of the Gnostics or the neo-Platonists, nor always justify the medieval missionaries in their methods. Nor can we accurately describe as successful the ingenuity of Vossius, the Dutch theologian, who, following the scheme of Euhemerus, discovered the Old Testament patriarchs in the disguise of the gods of Paganism. Nor, even though Germany be the land of learning, can the clear-headed scholar agree with some of her rationalists, who are often busy in the same field of industry, setting forth wild criticism as "science." The Kami and the Buddhas. In Japan, to solve the problem of reconciliation between the ancient traditions of the divine ancestors and the dogmas of the Indian cult, it was necessary that some master spirit, profoundly learned in the two Ways, of the Kami and of the Buddhas, should be bold, and also as it seems, crafty and unscrupulous. To convert a line of theocratic emperors, whose authority was derived from their alleged divine origin and sacerdotal character, into patrons and propagandists of Buddhism, and to transform indigenous Shint[=o] gods into Buddhas elect, or Buddhas to come, or Buddhas in a former state of existence, were tasks that might appall the most prodigious intellect, and even strain the capacities of what one might imagine to be the universal religion for all mankind. Yet from such a task continental Buddhism had not shrunk before and did not shrink then, nor indeed from it do the insular Japanese sects shrink now. Indeed, Buddhism is quite ready to adopt, absorb and swallow up Japanese Christianity. With all encompassing tentacles, and with colossal powers of digestion and assimilation, Northern Buddhism had drawn into itself a large part of the Brahmanism out of which it originally sprang,[4] reversing the old myth of Chronos by swallowing its parents. It had gathered in, pretty much all that was in the heavens above and the earth beneath and the waters that were under the earth, in Nepal, Tibet, China, and Korea. Thoroughly exercised and disciplined, it was ready to devour and digest all that the imagination of Japan had conceived. We must remember that, at the opening of the ninth century, the Buddhism rampant in China and indeed throughout Chinese Asia was the Tantra system of Yoga-chara.[5] This compound of polytheism and pantheism, with its sensuous paradise, its goddess of mercy and its pantheon of every sort of worshipable beings, was also equipped with a system of philosophy by which Buddhism could be adapted to almost every yearning of human nature in its lowest or its highest form, and by which things apparently contradictory could be reconciled. Furthermore--and this is not the least important thing to consider when the work to be done is for the ordinary man as an individual and for the common people in the mass--it had also a tremendous apparatus for touching the imagination and captivating the fancy of the unthinking and the uneducated. For example, consider the equipment of the Buddhist priests of the ninth century in the matter of art alone. Shint[=o] knows next to nothing of art,[6] and indeed one might almost say that it knows little of civilization. It is like ultra-Puritanic Protestantism and Iconoclasm. Buddhism, on the contrary, is the mother of art, and art is her ever-busy child and handmaid. The temples of the Kami were bald and bare. The Kojiki told nothing of life hereafter, and kept silence on a hundred points at which human curiosity is sure to be active, and at which the Yoga system was voluble. Buddhism came with a set of visible symbols which should attract the eye and fire the imagination, and within ethical limits, the passions also. It was a mixed and variegated system,--a resultant of many forces.[7] It came with the thought of India, the art-influence of Greece, the philosophy of Persia, the speculations of the Gnostics and, in all probability, with ideas borrowed indirectly from Nestorian or other forms of Christianity; and thus furnished, it entered Japan. The Mission of Art. Thus far the insular kingdom had known only the monochrome sketches of the Chinese painters, which could have a meaning for the educated few alone. The composite Tantra dogmas fed the fancy and stimulated the imagination, filling them with pictures of life, past, present and future. "The sketch was replaced by the illumination." Whole schools of artists, imported from China and Korea, multiplied their works and attracted the untrained senses of the people, by filling the temples with a blaze of glory. "This result was sought by a gorgeous but studied play of gold and color, and a lavish richness of mounting and accessories, that appear strangely at variance with the begging bowl and patched garments of primitive Buddhism."[8] The change in the Japanese temple was as though the gray clouds had been kissed by the sun and made to laugh rainbows. The country of the Fertile Plain of Sweet Flags was transformed. It suddenly became the land wherein gods grew not singly but in whole forests. Like the Shulamite, when introduced among the jewelled ladies of Solomon's harem, so stood the boor amid the sheen and gold of the new temples. "Gold was the one thing essential to the Buddhist altar-piece, and sometimes, when applied on a black ground, was the only material used. In all cases it was employed with an unsparing hand. It appeared in uniform masses, as in the body of the Buddha or in the golden lakes of the Western Paradise; in minute diapers upon brocades and clothing, in circlets and undulating rays, to form the glory surrounding the head of Amitaba; in raised bosses and rings upon the armlets or necklets of the Bodhisattvas and Devas, and in a hundred other manners. The pigments chosen to harmonize with this display were necessarily body colors of the most pronounced lines, and were untoned by any trace of chiaroscuro. Such materials as these would surely try the average artist, but the Oriental painter knew how to dispose them without risk of crudity or gaudiness, and the precious metal, however lavishly applied, was distributed over the picture with a judgment that would make it difficult to alter or remove any part without detriment to the beauty of the work."[9] In our day, Japanese art has won its own place in the world's temple of beauty. Even those familiar with the master-pieces of Europe do not hesitate to award to the artists of Nippon a meed of praise which, within certain limits, is justly applied to them equally with the masters of the Italian, the Dutch, the Flemish, or the French schools. It serves our purpose simply to point out that art was a powerful factor in the religious conquest of the Japanese for the new doctrines of the Yoga system, which in Japan is called Riy[=o]bu, or Mixed Buddhism. We say Mixed Buddhism rather than Riy[=o]bu Shint[=o], for Shint[=o] was less corrupted than swallowed up, while Buddhism suffered one more degree of mixture and added one more chapter of decay. It increased in its visible body, while in its mind it became less and less the religion of Buddha and more and more a thing with the old Shint[=o] heart still in it, making a strange growth in the eyes of the continental believers. To the Northern and Southern was now added an Eastern or Japanese Buddhism. Who was the wonder-worker that annexed the Land of the Gods to Buddhadom and re-read the Kojiki as a sutra, and all Japanese history and traditions as only a chapter of the incarnations of Buddha? K[=o]b[=o] the Wonder Worker. The Philo and Euhemerus of Japan was the priest Kukai, who was born in the province of Sanuki, in the year 774. He is better known by his posthumous title K[=o]b[=o] Daishi, or the Great Teacher who promulgates the Law. By this name we shall call him. About his birth, life and death, have multiplied the usual swaddling bands of Japanese legend and tradition,[10] and to his tomb at the temple on Mount K[=o]-ya, the Campo Santo of Japanese Buddhism, still gather innumerable pilgrims. The "hall of ten thousand lamps," each flame emblematic of the Wisdom that saves, is not, indeed, in these days lighted annually as of old; but the vulgar yet believe that the great master still lives in his mausoleum, in a state of profoundly silent meditation. Into the hall of bones near by, covering a deep pit, the teeth and "Adam's apple" of the cremated bodies of believers are thrown by their relatives, though the pit is cleared out every three years. The devotees believe that by thus disposing of the teeth and "Adam's apple," they obtain the same spiritual privileges as if they were actually entombed there, that is, of being born again into the heaven of the Bodhisattva or the Pure Land of Absolute Bliss, by virtue of the mystic formulas repeated by the great master in his lifetime. Let us sketch the life of K[=o]b[=o], First named Toto-mono, or Treasure, by his parents, who sent him to Ki[=o]t[=o] to be educated for the priesthood, the youth spent four years in the study of the Chinese classics. Dissatisfied with the teachings of Confucius, he became a disciple of a famous Buddhist priest, named Iwabuchi (Rock-edge or throne). Soon taking upon himself the vows of the monk, he was first named Kukai, meaning "space and sea," or heaven and earth.[11] He overcame the dragons that assaulted him, by prayers, by spitting at them the rays of the evening star which had flown from heaven into his mouth and by repeating the mystic formulas called Dharani.[12] Annoyed by hobgoblins with whom he was obliged to converse, he got rid of them by surrounding himself with a consecrated imaginary enclosure into which they were unable to enter against his will. We mention these legends only to call the attention to the fact that they are but copies of those already accepted in China at that time, and are the logical and natural fruit of the Tantra school at which we have glanced. In 804, K[=o]b[=o] was appointed to visit the Middle Kingdom as a government student. By means of his clever pen and calligraphic skill he won his way into the Chinese capital. He became the favored disciple of a priest who taught him the mystic doctrines of the Yoga. Having acquired the whole of the system, and equipped himself with a large library of Buddhist doctrinal works and still more with every sort of ecclesiastical furniture and religious goods, he returned to Japan. Multitudes of wonders are reported about K[=o]b[=o], all of which show the growth of the Tantra school. It is certain that his erudition was immense, and that he was probably the most learned man of Japan in that age, and possibly of any other age. Besides being a Japanese Ezra in multiplying writings, he is credited with the invention of the hira-gana, or running script, and if correctly so, he deserves on this account alone an immortal honor equal to that of Cadmus or Sequoia. The kana[13] is a syllabary of forty-seven letters, which by diacritical marks, may be increased to seventy. The kata-kana is the square or print form, the hira-kana is the round or "grass" character for writing. Though not as valuable as a true phonetic alphabet, such as the Koreans and the Cherokees possess, the _i-ro-ha_, or kana script, even though a syllabary and not an alphabet, was a wonderful aid to popular writing and instruction. Evidently the idea of the i-ro-ha, or Japanese ABC, was derived from the Sanskrit alphabet, or, what some modern Anglo-Indian has called the Deva-Nagari or the god-alphabet. There is no evidence, however, to show that K[=o]b[=o] did more than arrange in order forty-seven of the easiest Chinese signs then used, in such a manner that they conveyed in a few lines of doggerel the sense of a passage from a sutra in which the mortality of man and the emptiness of all things are taught, and the doctrine of Nirvana is suggested.[14] Hokusai, the artist, in a sketch which embodies the popular idea of this bonze's immense industry, represents him copying the shastras and sutras. K[=o]b[=o] is on a seat before a large upright sheet of paper. He holds a brush-pen in his mouth, and one in each of his hands and feet, all moving at once.[15] Favorite portions of the Buddhist scriptures were indeed so rapidly multiplied in Japan in the ninth century, as to suggest the idea, that, even in this early age, block printing had been imported from China, whence also afterward, in all probability, it was exported into Europe before the days of Gutenberg and Coster.[16] The popular imagination, however, was more easily moved on seeing five brushes kept at work and all at once by the muscles in the fingers, toes and mouth of one man. Yet, had his life lasted six hundred years instead of sixty, he could hardly have graven all the images, scaled all the mountain peaks, confounded all the sceptics, wrought all the miracles and performed all the other feats with which he is popularly credited.[17] K[=o]b[=o] Irenicon. K[=o]b[=o] indeed was both the Philo and Euhemerus of Japan, plus a large amount of priestly cunning and what his enemies insist was dishonesty and forgery. Soon after his return from China, he went to the temples of Isé,[18] the most holy place of Shint[=o].[19] Taking a reverent attitude before the chief shrine, that of Toko Uké Bimé no Kami or Abundant-Food-Lady-God, or the deified Earth as the producer of food and the upholder of all things upon its surface, the suppliant waited patiently while fasting and praying. In this, K[=o]b[=o] did but follow out the ordinary Shint[=o] plan for securing god-possession and obtaining revelation; that is, by starving both the stomach and the brain.[20] After a week's waiting he obtained the vision. The Food-possessing Goddess revealed to him the yoke (or Yoga) by which he could harness the native and the imported gods to the chariot of victorious Buddhism. She manifested herself to him and delivered the revelation on which his system is founded, and which, briefly stated, is as follows: All the Shint[=o] deities are avatars or incarnations of Buddha. They were manifestations to the Japanese, before Gautama had become the enlightened one, or the jewel in the lotus, and before the holy wheel of the law or the sacred shastras and sutras had reached the island empire. Further more, provision was made for the future gods and deified holy ones, who were to proceed from the loins of the Mikado, or other Japanese fathers, according to the saying of Buddha which is thus recorded in a Japanese popular work: "Life has a limited span, and naught may avail to extend it. This is manifested by the impermanence of human beings, but yet, whenever necessary, I will hereafter make my appearance from time to time as a god (Kami), a sage (Confucian teacher), or a Buddha (Hotoké)."[21] In a word, the Shint[=o] goddess talked as orthodox (Yoga) Buddhism as the ancient characters of the Indian, Persian and pre-Islam-Arabic stories in the Arabian Nights now talk the purest Mohammedanism.[22] According to the words put into Gautama's mouth at the time of his death, the Buddha was already to reappear in the particular form and in all the forms, acceptable to Shint[=o]ists, Confucianists, or Buddhists of whatever sect. Descending from the shrine of vision and revelation, with a complete scheme of reconciliation, with correlated catalogues of Shint[=o] and Buddhist gods, with liturgies, with lists of old popular festivals newly named, with the apparatus of art to captivate the senses, K[=o]b[=o] forthwith baptized each native Shint[=o] deity with a new Chinese-Buddhistic name. For every Shint[=o] festival he arranged a corresponding Buddhist's saints' day or gala time. Then, training up a band of disciples, he sent them forth proclaiming the new irenicon. The Hindu Yoga Becomes Japanese Riy[=o]bu. It was just the time for this brilliant and able ecclesiastic to succeed. The power and personal influence of the Mikado were weakening, the court swarmed with monks, the rising military classes were already safely under the control of the shavelings, and the pen of learning had everywhere proved itself mightier than the sword and muscle. K[=o]b[=o]'s particular dialectic weapons were those of the Yoga-chara, or in Japanese, the Shingon Shu, or Sect of the True Word.[23] He, like his Chinese master, taught that we can attain the state of the Enlightened or Buddha, while in the present physical body which was born of our parents. This branch of Buddhism is said to have been founded in India about A.D. 200, by a saint who made the discovery of an iron pagoda inhabited by the holy one, Vagrasattva, who communicated the exact doctrine to those who have handed it down through the Hindoo and Chinese patriarchs. The books or scriptures of this sect are in three sutras; yet the essential point in them is the Mandala or the circle of the Two Parts, or in Japanese Riy[=o]bu. Introduced into China, A.D. 720, it is known as the Yoga-chara school. K[=o]b[=o] finding a Chinese worm, made a Japanese dragon, able to swallow a national religion. In the act of deglutition and the long process of the digestion of Shint[=o], Japanese Buddhism became something different from every other form of the faith in Asia. Noted above all previous developments of Buddhism for its pantheistic tendencies, the Shingon sect could recognize in any Shint[=o] god, demi-god, hero, or being, the avatar in a previous stage of existence of some Buddhist being of corresponding grade. For example,[24] Amatéras[)u] or Ten-Sh[=o]-Dai-Jin, the sun-goddess, becomes Dai Nichi Ni[=o]rai or Amida, whose colossal effigies stand in the bronze images Dai Butsu at Nara, Ki[=o]to and Kamakura. Ojin, the god of war, became Hachiman Dai Bosatsu, or the great Bodhisattva of the Eight Banners. Adopted as their patron by the fighting Genji or Minamoto warriors of mediæval times, the Buddhists could not well afford to have this popular deity outside their pantheon. For each of the thirty days of the month, a Bodhisattva, or in Japanese pronunciation Bosatsu, was appointed. Each of these Bodhisattvas became a Dai Mi[=o] Jin or Great Enlightened Spirit, and was represented as an avatar in Japan of Buddha in the previous ages, when the Japanese were not yet prepared to receive the holy law of Buddhism. Where there were not enough Dai Mi[=o] Jin already existing in native traditions to fill out the number required by the new scheme, new titles were invented. One of these was Ten-jin, Heavenly being or spirit. The famous statesman and scholar of the tenth century, Sugawara Michizané, was posthumously named Tenjin, and is even to this day worshipped by many children of Japan as he was formerly for a thousand years by nearly all of them, as the divine patron of letters. Kompira, Benten and other popular deities, often considered as properly belonging to Shint[=o], "are evidently the offspring of Buddhist priestly ingenuity."[25] Out of the eight millions or so of native gods, several hundred were catalogued under the general term Gon-gen, or temporary manifestations of Buddha. In this list are to be found not only the heroes of local tradition, but even deified forces of nature, such as wind and fire. The custom of making gods of great men after their death, thus begun on a large scale by K[=o]b[=o], has gone on for centuries. Iyéyas[)u], the political unifier of Japan, shines as a star of the first magnitude in the heavens of the Riy[=o]bu system, under the mime of T[=o]-sh[=o]-g[=u], or Great Light of the East. The common people speak of him as Gon-gen Sama, the latter word being an honorary form of address for all beings from a baby to a Bosatsu. In this way, K[=o]b[=o] arranged a sort of clearing-house or joint-stock company in which the Bodhisattvas, kami and other miscellaneous beings, in either the native or foreign religion, were mutually interchangeable. In a large sense, this feat of priestly dexterity was but the repetition in history, of that of Asanga with the Brahmanism and Buddhism of India three centuries before. It was this Asanga who wrote the Yoga-chara Bhumi. The succession of syncretists in India, China and Japan is Asanga, Hiuki[=o] and K[=o]b[=o]. The Happy Family of Riy[=o]bu. Nevertheless this attempt at making a happy family and ploughing with an ox and ass in the same yoke, has not been an unqualified success. It will sometimes happen that one god escapes the classification made by the Buddhists and slips into the fold of Shint[=o], or _vice versa_; while again the label-makers and pasters--as numerous in scholastic Buddhism as in sectarian Christendom--have hard work to make the labels stick. A popular Gon-gen or Dai-Mi[=o]-jin, whose name and renown has for centuries attracted crowds of pilgrims, and yielded fat revenues as regularly as the autumn harvests, is not readily surrendered by the old Buddhist proprietors, however cleverly or craftily the bonzes may yield outward conformity to governmental edicts. On the other hand, the efforts, both archaeological and practical, which have been made in recent years by fiercely zealous Shint[=o]ists, savor of the smartness of New Japan more than they suggest either sincerity or edification. It often requires the finest tact on the part of both the strenuous Buddhists and the stalwart purists of Shint[=o], to extricate the various gods out of the mixture and mess of Riy[=o]bu Shint[=o], and to keep them from jostling each other. This reclaiming and kidnapping of gods and transferring them from one camp to another, has been especially active since 1870, when, under government auspices, the Riy[=o]bu temples were purged of all Buddhist idols, furniture and influences. The term Dai Mi[=o] Jin, or Great Illustrious Spirit, is no longer officially permitted to be used of the old kami or gods of Shint[=o], who were known to have existed before the days of K[=o]b[=o]. In some cases these gods have lost much of the esteem in which they were held for centuries. Especially is this true of the infamous rebel of the tenth century, Masakado.[26] On the entrance into Yedo of the Imperial army, in 1868, his idol was torn from its shrine and hacked to pieces by the patriots. His place as a deity (Kanda Dai Mi[=o] Jin, or Great Illustrious Spirit of Kanda) was taken by another deified being, a brother to the aboriginal earth-god who, in the ages of the Kami, "resigned his throne in favor of the Mikado's ancestors when they descended from Heaven." The apotheosis of the rebel Masakado had been resorted to by the Buddhist canonizers because the unquiet spirit of the dead man troubled the people. This method of laying a ghost by making a god of him, was for centuries a favorite one in Japanese Buddhism. Indeed, a large part of the practical and parochial duties of the bonzes consists in quieting the restless spirits of the departed. All Japanese popular religion of the past has been intensely local and patriotic. The ancient idea that Nippon was the first country created and the centre of the world, has persisted through the ages, modifying every imported religion. Hence the noticeable fact in Japanese Buddhism, of the comparative degradation of the Hindu deities and the exaltation of those which were native to the soil. The normal Japanese, be he priest or lay brother, theologian or statesman, is nothing if not patriotic. Even the Chinese gods and goddesses which, clothed in Indian drapery and still preserving their Aryan features, were imported to Japan, could not hold their own in competition with the popularity of the indigenous inhabitants of the Japanese pantheon. The normal Japanese eye does not see the ideals of beauty in the human face and form in common with the Aryan vision. Benten or Knanon, with the features and drapery of the homelike beauties of Yamato or Adzuma, have ever been more lovely to the admiring eye of the Japanese sailor and farmer, than the Aryan features of the idols imported from India. So also, the worshipper to whom the lovely scenery of Japan was fresh from the hands of the kami who were so much like himself, turned naturally in preference, to the "gods many" of his own land. Succeeding centuries only made it worse for the imported devas or gods, while the kami, or the gods sprung from the soil created by Izanami and Izanagi steadily rose in honor. Degradation of the Foreign Deities. For example, the Indian saint Dharma is reputed to have come to the Dragon-fly Country long before the advent of Buddhism, but the people were not ready for him or his teachings, and therefore he returned to India. So at least declares the book entitled San Kai Ri[27] (Mountain, Sea and Earth), which is a re-reading and explanation of Japanese mythology and tradition as recorded in the Kojiki, by a Ki[=o]t[=o] priest of the Shin Shu Sect. Of this Dharma, it is said, that he outdid the Roman Regulus who suffered involuntary loss of his eyelids at the hands of the Carthaginians. Dharma cut off his own eyelids, because he could not keep awake.[28] Throwing the offending flesh upon the ground, he saw the tea-plant arise to help holy men to keep vigil. Daruma, as the Japanese spell his name, has a temple in central Japan. It is related that when Sh[=o]toku, the first patron of Buddhism, was one day walking abroad he found a poor man dying of hunger, who refused to answer any questions or give his name. Sh[=o]toku ordered food to be given him, and wrapped his own mantle round him. Next day the beggar died, and the prince charitably had him buried on the spot. Shortly afterward it was observed that the mantle was lying neatly folded up, on the tomb, which on examination proved to be empty. The supposed dying beggar was no other than the Indian Saint Dharma, and a pagoda was built over the grave, in which images of the priest and saint were enshrined.[29] Yet, alas, to-day Daruma the Hindoo and foreigner, despite his avatar, his humility, his vigils and his self-mutilation, has been degraded to be the shop-sign of the tobacconists. Besides being ruthlessly caricatured, he is usually pictured with a scowl, his lidless eyes as wide open as those upon a Chinese junk-prow or an Egyptian coffin-lid. Often even, he has a pipe in his mouth--a comical anachronism, suggestive to the smoker of the dark ages that knew no tobacco, before nicotine made the whole world of savage and of civilized kin. Legless dolls and snow-men are named after this foreigner, whose name is associated almost entirely with what is ludicrous. On K[=o]b[=o]'s expounding his scheme to the Mikado, the emperor was so pleased with his servant's ingenuity, that he gave it the name of Riy[=o]bu[30] Shint[=o]; that is, the two-fold divine doctrine, double way of the gods, or amalgamated theology. Henceforth the Japanese could enter Nirvana or Paradise through a two-leaved gate. As for the people, they also were pleased, as they usually are when change or reform does not mean abolition of the old festivals, or of the washings, sousings, and fun at the tombs of their ancestors in the graveyards, or the merry-makings, or the pilgrimages,[31] which are usually only other names for social recreation, and often for sensual debauch. The Yoga had become a _kubiki_, for Shint[=o] and Buddhism were now harnessed together, not indeed as true yoke-fellows, but yet joined as inseparably as two oxen making the same furrow. Many a miya now became a tera. At first in many edifices, the rites of Shint[=o] and Buddhism were alternately performed. The Buddhist symbols might be in the front, and the Shint[=o]ist in the rear of the sacred hall, or _vice versa_, with a bamboo curtain between; but gradually the two blended. Instead of austere simplicity, the Shint[=o] interior contained a museum of idols. Image carvers had now plenty to do in making, out of camphor or _hinoki_ wood, effigies of such of the eight million or so of kamis as were given places in the new and enlarged pantheon. The multiplication was always on the side of Buddhism. Soon, also, the architecture was altered from the type of the primitive hut, to that of the low Chinese temple with great sweeping roof, re-curved eaves, many-columned auditorium and imposing gateway, with lacquer, paint, gilding and ceilings, on which, in blazing gold and color, were depicted the emblems of the Buddhist paradise. Many of these still remain even after the national purgation of 1870, just as the Christian inscriptions survive in the marble palimpsests of Mahometan mosques, converted from basilicas, at Damascus or Constantinople. The torii was no longer raised in plain hinoki wood, but was now constructed of hewn stone, rounded or polished. Sometimes it was even of bronze with gilded crests and Sanskrit monograms, surmounted, it may be, with tablets of painted or stained wood, on which were Chinese letters glittering with gold. This departure from the primitive idea of using only the natural trunks of trees, "somewhat on the principle of Exodus, 20:25,"[32] was a radical one in the ninth century. The elongated barrels with iron hoops, or the riveted boiler-plate and stove-pipe pattern, in this era of Meiji is a still more radical and even scandalous innovation. Shint[=o] Buried in Buddhism. So complete was the victory of Riy[=o]buism, that for nearly a thousand years Shint[=o] as a religion, except in a few isolated spots, ceased from sight and sank to a mere mythology or to the shadow of a mythology. The very knowledge even of the ancient traditions was lost in the Buddhaized forms in which the old stories[33] were cast, or in the omnipresent ritual of the Buddhist tera. Yet, after all, it is a question as to which suffered most, Buddhism or Shint[=o]. Who can tell which was the base and which was the true metal in the alloy that was formed? The San Kai Ri shows how superstitious manifold became imbedded in Buddhism. It was not alone through the Shingon sect, which K[=o]b[=o] introduced, that this Yoga or union came. In the other great sect called the Tendai, and in the later sects, more especially in that of Nichiren, the same principle of absorption was followed. These sects also adopted many elements derived from the god-way and thus became Shint[=o]ized. Indeed, it seems certain that that vast development of Japanese Buddhism, peculiar to Japan and unknown to the rest of the Buddhist world, scouted by the Southern Buddhists as dreadful heresy, and rousing the indignation of students of early Buddhism, like Max Müller and Professor Whitney, is largely owing to this attempted digestion of Japanese mythology. The anaconda may indeed be able, by reason of its marvellously flexible jaws and its abundant activity of salivary glands, to swallow the calf, and even the ox; but sometimes the serpent is killed by its own voracity, or at least made helpless before the destroying hunter. When sweet potatoes and pumpkins are planted in the same hill, and the cooked product comes on the table, it is hard to tell whether it is tuber or hollow fruit, subterranean or superficial growth, that we are eating. So in Riy[=o]bu, whether it be most _imo_ or _kabocha_ is a fair question. If the Buddhism in Japan did but add a chapter of decay and degradation to the religion of the Light of Asia, is not this owing to the act of K[=o]b[=o]--justified indeed by those who imitated his example, yet hardly to be called honest? A stroke of ecclesiastical dexterity, it may have been, but scarcely a lawful example or an illustrious and commendable specimen of syncretism in religion. Many students have asked what is the peculiar, the characteristic difference between the Buddhism of Japan and the other Buddhisms of the Asian continent. If there be one cause, leading all others, we incline to believe it is because Japanese Buddhism is not the Buddhism of Gautama, but is so largely Riy[=o]bu or Mixed. Yet in the alloy, which ingredient has preserved most of its qualities? Is Japanese Buddhism really Shint[=o]ized Buddhism, or Buddhaized Shint[=o]? Which is the parasite and which the parasitized? Is the hermit crab Shint[=o], and the shell Buddhism, or _vice versa_? About as many corrupt elements from Shint[=o] entered into the various Buddhist sects as Buddhism gave to Shint[=o]. This process of Shint[=o]izing Buddhism or of Buddhaizing Shint[=o]--that is, of combining Shint[=o] or purely Japanese ideas and practices with the systems imported from India, went on for five centuries. The old native habits and mental characteristics were not eradicated or profoundly modified; they were rather safely preserved in so-called Buddhism, not indeed as dead flies in amber but as live creatures, fattening on a body, which, every year, while keeping outward form and name, was being emptied of its normal and typical life. It is no gain to pure water to add either microbes or the food which nourishes them. Buddhism Writes New Chapters of Decay. Phenomenally, the victory was that of Buddhism. The mustard-seed has indeed become a great tree, lodging every fowl of heaven, clean and unclean; but potentially and in reality, the leavening power, as now seen, seems to have been that of Shint[=o]. Or, to change metaphor, since the hermit crab and the shell were separated by law only one generation ago, in 1870, we shall soon, before many generations, discern clearly which has the life and which has only the shell.[34] There are but few literary monuments[35] of Riy[=o]buism, and it has left few or no marks in the native chronicles, misnamed history, which utterly omit or ignore so many things interesting to the student and humanist.[36] Yet to this mixture or amalgamation of Buddhism with Shint[=o], more probably than to any other direct influence, may also be ascribed that striking alteration in the system of Chinese ethics or Confucianism which differentiates the Japanese form from that prevalent in China. That is, instead of filial piety, the relation of parent and child, occupying the first place, loyalty, the relation of lord and retainer, master and servant, became supreme. Although Buddhism made the Mikado first a King (Tenn[=o]) or Son of Heaven (Ten-Shi), and then a monk (H[=o]-[=o]), and after his death a Hotoké or Buddhist deity, it caused him early to abdicate from actual life. Buddhism is thus directly responsible for the habitual Japanese resignation from active life almost as soon as it is entered, by men in all classes. Buddhism started all along and down through the lines of Japanese society the idea of early retirement from duty; so that men were considered old at forty, and _hors concours_ before forty-five.[37] Life was condemned as vanity of vanities before it was mature, and old age a friend that nobody wished to meet,[38] although Japanese old age is but European prime. In a measure, Buddhism is thus responsible for the paralysis of Japanese civilization, which, like oft-tapped maple-trees, began to die at the top. This was in accordance with its theories and its literature. In the Bible there is, possibly, one book which is pessimistic in tone, Ecclesiastes. In the bulky and dropsical canon of Buddhism there is a whole library of despondency and despair. Nevertheless, the ethical element held its own in the Japanese mind; and against the pessimism and puerility of Buddhism and the religious emptiness of Shint[=o], the bond of Japanese society was sought in the idea of loyalty. While then, as we repeat, everything that comes to the Japanese mind suffers as it were "a sea change, into something new and strange," is it not fair to say that the change made by K[=o]b[=o] was at the expense of Buddhism as a system, and that the thing that suffered reversion was the exotic rather than the native plant? For, in the emergence of this new idea of loyalty as supreme, Shint[=o] and not Buddhism was the dictator. Even more after K[=o]b[=o]'s death than during his life, Japan improved upon her imported faith, and rapidly developed new sects of all degrees of reputableness and disreputableness. Had K[=o]b[=o] lived on through the centuries, as the boors still believe;[39] he could not have stopped, had he so desired, the workings of the leaven he had brought from China. From the sixth to the twelfth century, was the missionary age of Japanese Buddhism. Then followed two centuries of amazing development of doctrine. Novelties in religion blossomed, fruited and became monuments as permanent as the age-enduring forests Hakoné, or Nikk[=o]. Gautama himself, were he to return to "red earth" again, could not recognize his own cult in Japan. In China to-day Buddhism is in a bad state. One writer calls it, "The emasculated descendant that now occupies the land with its drone of priests and its temples, in which scarce a worthy disciple of the learned patriarchs of ancient days is to be found. Received with open arms, persecuted, patronized, smiled upon, tolerated, it with the last phase of its existence, has reached, not the halcyon days of peace and rest, but its final stage, foreshadowing its decay from rottenness and corruption."[40] So also, in a like report, agree many witnesses. The common people of China are to-day Taoists rather than Buddhists.[41] If this be the position in China, something not very far from it is found in Japan to-day. Whatever may be the Buddhism of the few learned scholars, who have imbibed the critical and scientific spirit of Christendom, and whatever be the professions and representations of its earnest adherents and partisans, it is certain that popular Buddhism is both ethically and vitally in a low state. In outward array the system is still imposing. There are yet, it may be, millions of stone statues and whole forests of wayside effigies, outdoors and unroofed--irreverently called by the Japanese themselves, "wet gods." Hosts upon hosts of lacquered and gilded images in wood, sheltered under the temple tiles or shingles, still attract worshippers. Despite shiploads of copper Buddhas exported as old metal to Europe and America, and thousands of tons of gods and imps melted into coin or cannon, there are myriads of metal reminders of those fruits of a religion that once educated and satisfied; but these are, in the main, no longer to the natives instruments of inspiration or compellers to enthusiasm. In this time of practical charity, they are poor substitutes for those hospitals and orphan asylums which were practically unknown in Japan until the advent of Christianity. K[=o]b[=o]'s smart example has been followed only too well by the people in every part of the country. One has but to read the stacks of books of local history to see what an amazing proportion of legends, ideas, superstitions and revelations rests on dreams; how incredibly numerous are the apparitions; how often the floating images of Buddha are found on the water; how frequently flowers have rained out of the sky; how many times the idols have spoken or shot forth their dazzling rays--in a word; how often art and artifices have become alleged and accepted reality. Unfortunately, the characteristics of this literature and undergrowth of idol lore are monotony and lack of originality; for nearly all are copies of K[=o]b[=o]'s model. His cartoon has been constantly before the busy weavers of legend. It may indeed be said, and said truly, that in its multiplication of sects and in its growth of legend and superstition, Buddhism has but followed every known religion, including traditional Christianity itself. Yet popular Buddhism has reached a point which shows, that, instead of having a self-purgative and self-reforming power, it is apparently still treading in the steps of the degradation which K[=o]b[=o]began. The Seven Gods of Good Fortune. We repeat it, Riy[=o]bu Buddhism is Japanese Buddhism with vengeance. It is to-day suffering from the effect of its own sins. Its _ingwa_ is manifest. Take, for example, the little group of divinities known as the Seven Gods of Good Fortune, which forms a popular appendage to Japanese Buddhism and which are a direct and logical growth of the work done by K[=o]b[=o], as shown in his Riy[=o]bu system. Not from foreign writers and their fancies, nor even from the books which profess to describe these divinities, do we get such an idea of their real meaning and of their influence with the people, as we do by observation of every-day practice, and a study of the idols themselves and of Japanese folk-lore, popular romance, local history and guidebooks. Those familiar divinities, indeed, at the present day owe their vitality rather to the artists than to priests, and, it may be, have received, together with some rather rude handling, nearly the whole of their extended popularity and influence from their lay supporters. The Seven Happy Gods of Fortune form nominally a Buddhist assemblage, and their effigies on the kami-dana or god-shelf, found in nearly every Japanese house, are universally visible. The child in Japan is rocked to sleep by the soothing sound of the lullaby, which is often a prayer to these gods. Even though it may be with laughing and merriment, that, in their name the evil gods and imps are exorcised annually on New Year's eve, with showers of beans which are supposed to be as disagreeable to the Buddhist demons "as drops of holy water to the Devil," yet few households are complete without one or more of the images or the pictures of these favorite deities. The separate elements of this conglomerate, so typical of Japanese religion, are from no fewer than four different sources: Brahmanism, Buddhism, Taoism and Shint[=o]ism. "Thus, Bishamon is the Buddhist _Vâis'ramana_[42] and the Brahmanic Kuvera; Benten is Sarasvatî, the wife of Brahmâ; Daikoku is an extremely popularised form of Mahakala, the black-faced Temple Guardian; Hotéi has Taoist attributes, but is regarded as an incarnation of Màitreyâ, the Buddhist Messiah; Fuku-roku-jiu is of purely Taoist origin, and is perhaps a personification of Lao-Tsze himself; Ju-ró-jin is almost certainly a duplicate of Fuku-roku-jiu; and, lastly, Ebisu, as the son of Izanagi and Izanami, is a contribution from the Shint[=o] hero-worship."[43] If Riy[=o]bu Buddhism be two-fold, here is a texture or amalgam that is _shi-bu_, four-fold. Let us watch lest _go-bu_, with Christianity mixed in, be the next result of the process. To play the Japanese game of go-ban, with Christianity as the fifth counter, and Jesus as a Palestinian avatar of some Dhyani Buddha, crafty priests in Japan are even now planning. This illustration of the Seven Gods of Happiness, whose local characters, functions and relations have been developed especially within the last three or four hundred years, is but one of many that could be adduced, showing what proceeded on a larger scale. The Riy[=o]bu process made it almost impossible for the average native to draw the line between history and mythology. It destroyed the boundary lines, as Pantheism invariably does, between fact and fiction, truth and falsehood. The Japanese mind, by a natural, possibly by a racial, tendency, falls easily into Pantheism, which may be called the destroyer of boundaries and the maker of chaos and ooze. Pretty much all early Japanese "history" is ooze; yet there are grave and learned men, even in the Constitutional Japan of the Méiji era--masters in their arts and professions, graduates of technical and philosophical courses--who solemnly talk about their "first emperor ascending the throne, B.C. 660," and to whom the dragon-born, early Mikados, and their fellow-tribesmen, seen through the exaggerated mists of the Kojiki, are divine personages. The Gon-gen in the Processions. While living in Japan between 1870 and 1874, the writer used to enjoy watching and studying the long processions which celebrated the foundation of temples, national or local festivals, or the completion of some great public enterprise, such as the railway between T[=o]kio and Yokohama. In rich costume, decoration, and representation most of the cultus-objects were marvels of art and skill. Besides the gala dresses and uniforms, the fantastic decorations and personal adornments, the dances which represented the comedies and tragedies of the gods and the striking scenes in the Kojiki, there wore colossal images of Kami, Bodhisattvas, Gon-gen, Dai Mi[=o] Jin, and of imps, oni, mythical animal forms and imaginary monsters.[44] More interesting than anything else, however, were the male and female figures, set high upon triumphal cars having many tiers, and arrayed in characteristic primeval, ancient, medieval, or early modern dress. Some were of scowling, others of benign visage. In some years, everyone of the eight hundred and eight streets of Yedo sent its contribution of men, money, decorations, or vehicles. As seen by four kinds of spectators, the average ignorant native, the Shint[=o]ist, the learned Buddhist, and the critical historical scholar, these effigies represented three different characters or creations. Especially were those divine personages called Gon-gen worth the study of the foreign observer. (1) The common boor or streetman saluted, for example, this or that Dai Mi[=o] Jin, as the great illustrious spirit or god of its particular district. To this spirit and image he prayed; in his honor he made offerings; his wrath he feared; and his smile he hoped to win, for the Gon-gen was a divine being. (2) To the Shint[=o]ist, who hated Buddhism and the Riy[=o]bu Shint[=o] which had overlaid his ancestral faith, and who scorned and tabooed this Chinese term Dai Mi[=o] Jin, this or that image represented a divine ancestor whose name had in it many Japanese syllables, with no defiling Chinese sounds, and who was the Kami or patron deity of this or that neighborhood. (3) To the Buddhist, this or that personage, in his lifetime, in the early ages of Japanese history, had been an avatar of Buddha who had appeared in human flesh and brought blessings to the people and neighborhood; yet the people of the early ages being unprepared to receive his doctrine or revelation, he had not then revealed or preached it; but now, as for a thousand years since the time of the illustrious and saintly K[=o]b[=o], he had his right name and received his just honors and worship as an avatar of the eternal Buddha. So, although Buddhist and Shint[=o]ist might quarrel as to his title, and divide, even to anger, on minor points, they would both agree in letting the common people take their pleasure, enjoy the festivals and merriment, and preserve their reverence and worship. (4) Still another spectator studied with critical interest the swaying figure high in air. With a taste for archaeology, he admired the accuracy of the drapery and associations. He was amused, it may be, with occasional anachronisms as to garments or equipments. He knew that the original of this personage had been nothing more than a human being, who might indeed have been conspicuous as a brave soldier in war, or as a skilful physician who helped to stop the plague, or as a civilizer who imported new food or improved agriculture. In a word, had this subject of the ancient Mikado lived in modern Christendom, he might be honored through the government, patent office, privy council, the admiralty, the university, or the academy, as the case or worth might be. He might shine in a plastic representation by the sculptor or artist, or be known in the popular literature; but he would never receive religious worship, or aught beyond honor and praise. In this swamping of history in legend and of fact in dogma, we behold the fruit of K[=o]b[=o]'s work, Riy[=o]bu Buddhism. K[=o]b[=o]'s Work Undone. Buddhism calls itself the jewel in the lotus. Japanese poetry asks of the dewdrop "why, having the heart of the lotus for its home, does it pretend to be a gem?" For a thousand years Riy[=o]bu Buddhism was received as a pure brilliant of the first water, and then the scholarship of the Shint[=o] revivalists of the eighteenth century exposed the fraudulent nature of the unrelated parts and declared that the jewel called Riy[=o]bu was but a craftsman's doublet and should be split apart. Only a splinter of diamond, they declared, crowned a mass of paste. Indignation made learning hot, and in 1870 the cement was liquefied in civil war. The doublet was rent asunder by imperial decree, as when a lapidist melts the mastic that holds in deception adamant and glass, while real diamond stands all fire short of the hydro-oxygen flame. The Riy[=o]bu temples were purged of all Buddhist symbols, furniture, equipment and personnel, and were made again to assume their august and austere simplicity. In the eyes of the purely aesthetic critic, this national purgation was Puritanical iconoclasm; in those of the priests, cast out to earn rice elsewise and elsewhere, it was outrage, which in individual instances called for reprisal in blood, fire and assassination; to the Shint[=o]ist, it was an exhibition of the righteous judgment of the long-insulted gods; in the ken of the critical student, it seems very much like historic and poetic justice. In our day and time, Riy[=o]bu Buddhism furnishes us with a warning, for, looked at from a purely human point of view, what happened to Shint[=o] may possibly happen to Japanese Christianity. The successors of those who, in the ninth century, did not scruple to Buddhaize Shint[=o], and in later times, even our own, to Shint[=o]ize Buddhism while holding to Buddha's name and all the revenue possible, will Buddhaize Christianity if they have power and opportunity; and signs are not wanting to show that this is upon their programme. The water of stagnant Buddhism is still a swarming mass, which needs cleansing to purity by a knowledge of one God who is Light and Love. Without such knowledge, the manifold changes in Buddhism will but form fresh chapters of degradation and decay. Holding such knowledge, Christianity may pass through endless changes, for this is her capability by Divine power and the authorization of her Founder. The now Buddhism of our day is endeavoring to save itself through reformation and progress. In doing so, the danger of the destruction of the system is great, for thus far change has meant decay. CHAPTER VIII - NORTHERN BUDDHISM IN ITS DOCTRINAL EVOLUTIONS "To the millions of China, Corea, and Japan, creator and creation are new and strange terms,"--J.H. De Forest. "The Law of our Lord, the Buddha, is not a natural science or a religion, but a doctrine of enlightenment; and the object of it is to give rest to the restless, to point out the Master (the Inmost Man) to those that are blind and do not perceive their Original State." "The Saddharma Pundarika Sutra teaches us how to obtain that desirable knowledge of the mind as it is in itself [universal wisdom] ... Mind is the One Reality, and all Scriptures are the micrographic photographs of its images. He that fully grasps the Divine Body of Sakyamuni, holds ever, even without the written Sutra, the inner Saddharma Pundarika in his hand. He ever reads it mentally, even though he would never read it orally. He is unified with it though he has no thought about it. He is the true keeper of the Sutra."--Zitsuzen Ashitsu of the Tendai sect. "It [Buddhism] is idealistic. Everything is as we think it. The world is my idea.... Beyond our faith is naught. Hold the Buddhist to his creed and insist that such logic destroys itself, and he triumphs smilingly, 'Self-destructive! Of course it is. All logic is. That is the centre of my philosophy.'" "It [Buddhism] denounces all desire and offers salvation as the reward of the murder of our affections, hopes, and aspirations. It is possible where conscious existence is believed to be the chief of evils."--George William Knox. "Swallowing the device of the priests, the people well satisfied, dance their prayers."--Japanese Proverb. "The wisdom that is from above is ... without variance, without hypocrisy."--James. "The mystery of God, even Christ in whom are all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge."--Paul. CHAPTER VIII - NORTHERN BUDDHISM IN ITS DOCTRINAL EVOLUTIONS Chronological Outline. In sketching the history of the doctrinal developments of Buddhism in Japan, we note that the system, greatly corrupted from its original simplicity, was in 552 A.D. already a millennium old. Several distinct phases of the much-altered faith of Gautama, were introduced into the islands at various times between the sixth and the ninth century. From these and from others of native origin have sprung the larger Japanese sects. Even as late as the seventeenth century, novelties in Buddhism were imported from China, and the exotics took root in Japanese soil; but then, with a single exception, only to grow as curiosities in the garden, rather than as the great forests, which had already sprung from imported and native specimens. We may divide the period of the doctrinal development of Buddhism in Japan into four epochs: I. The first, from 552 to 805 A.D., will cover the first six sects, which had for their centre of propagation, Nara, the southern capital. II. Then follows Riy[=o]bu Buddhism, from the ninth to the twelfth centuries. III. This was succeeded by another explosion of doctrine wholly and peculiarly Japanese, and by a wide missionary propagation. IV. From the sixteenth to the nineteenth century, there is little that is doctrinally noticeable, until our own time, when the new Buddhism of to-day claims at least a passing notice. The Japanese writers of ecclesiastical history classify in three groups the twelve great sects as the first six, the two mediæval, and the four modern sects. In this lecture we shall merely summarize the characteristics of the first five sects which existed before the opening of the ninth century but which are not formally extant at the present time, and treat more fully the purely Japanese developments. The first three sects may be grouped under the head of the Hinayana, or Smaller Vehicle, as Southern or primitive orthodox Buddhism is usually called. Most of the early sects, as will be seen, were founded upon some particular sutra, or upon selections or collections of sutras. They correspond to some extent with the manifold sects of Christendom, and yet this illustration or reference must not be misleading. It is not as though a new Christian sect, for example, were in A.D. 500 to be formed wholly on the gospel of Luke, or the book of the Revelation; nor as though a new sect should now arise in Norway or Tennessee because of a special emphasis laid on a combination of the epistle to the Corinthians and the book of Daniel. It is rather as though distinct names and organizations should be founded upon the writings of Tertullian, of Augustine, of Luther, or of Calvin, and that such sects should accept the literary work of these scholars not only as commentaries but as Holy Scripture itself. The Buddhist body of scriptures has several times been imported and printed in Japan, but has never been translated into the vernacular. The canon[1] is not made up simply of writings purporting to be the words of Buddha or of the apostles who were his immediate companions or followers. On the contrary, the canon, as received in Japan, is made up of books, written for the most part many centuries after the last of the contemporaries of Gautama had passed away. Not a few of these writings are the products of the Chinese intellect. Some books held by particular sects as holy scripture were composed in Japan itself, the very books themselves being worshipped. Nevertheless those who are apparently farthest away from primitive Buddhism, claim to understand Buddha most clearly. The Standard Doctrinal Work. One of the most famous of books, honored especially by several of the later and larger sects in Japan, and probably the most widely read and most generally studied book of the canon, is the Saddharma Pundarika.[2] Professor Kern, who has translated this very rhetorical work into English, thinks it existed at or some time before 250 A.D., and that in its most ancient form it dates some centuries earlier, possibly as early as the opening of the Christian era. It has now twenty-seven chapters, and may be called the typical scripture of Northern Buddhism. It is overflowingly full of those sensuous images and descriptions of the Paradise, in which the imagination of the Japanese Buddhist so revels, and in it both rhetoric and mathematics run wild. Of this book, "the cream of the revealed doctrine," we shall hear often again. It is the standard of orthodoxy in Japanese Buddhism, the real genius of which is monastic asceticism in morals and philosophical scepticism in religion. In most of the other sutras the burden of thought is ontology. Doctrinally, Buddhism seems to be less a religion than a system of philosophy. Hundreds of volumes in the canon concern themselves almost wholly with ontological speculations. The Japanese mind,[3] as described by those who have studied most acutely and profoundly its manifestations in language and literature, is essentially averse to speculation. Yet the first forms of Buddhism presented to the Japanese, were highly metaphysical. The history of thought in Japan, shows that these abstractions of dogma were not congenial to the islanders. The new faith won its way among the people by its outward sensuous attractions, and by appeals to the imagination, the fancy and the emotions; though the men of culture were led captive by reasoning which they could not answer, even if they could comprehend it. Though these early forms of dogma and philosophy no longer survive in Japan, having been eclipsed by more concrete and sensuous arguments, yet it is necessary to state them in order to show: first, what Buddhism really is; second, doctrinal development in the farthest East; and, third, the peculiarities of the Japanese mind. In this task, we are happy to be able to rely upon native witness and confession.[4] The foreigner may easily misrepresent, even when sincerely inclined to utter only the truth. Each religion, in its theory at least, must be judged by its ideals, and not by its failures. Its truth must be stated by its own professors. In the "History of The Twelve Japanese Sects," by Bunyiu Nanjio, M.A. Oxon., and in "Le Bouddhisme Japonais," by Ryauon Fujishima, we have the untrammelled utterances, of nine living lights of the religion of Shaka as it is held and taught in Dai Nippon. The former scholar is a master of texts, and the latter of philosophy, each editor excelling in his own department; and the two books complement each other in value. Buddhism, being a logical growth out of Brahmanism, used the old sacred language of India and inherited its vocabulary. In the Tripitaka, that is, the three book-baskets or boxes, we have the term for canon of scripture, in the complete collection of which are _sutra_, _vinaya_ and _abidharma_. We shall see, also, that while Gautama shut out the gods, his speculative followers who claimed to be his successors, opened the doors and allowed them to troop in again. The democracy of the congregation became a hierarchy and the empty swept and garnished house, a pantheon. A sutra, from the root _siv_, to sew, means a thread or string, and in the old Veda religion referred to household rites or practices and the moral conduct of life; but in Buddhist phraseology it means a body of doctrine. A shaster or shastra, from the Sanskrit root _ças_, to govern, relates to discipline. Of those shastras and sutras we must frequently speak. In India and China some of those sutras are exponents, of schools of thought or opinion, or of views or methods of looking at things, rather than of organizations. In Japan these schools of philosophy, in certain instances, become sects with a formal history. In China of the present day, according to a Japanese traveller and author, "the Chinese Buddhists seem ... to unite all different sects, so as to make one harmonious sect." The chief divisions are those of the blue robe, who are allied with the Lamaism of Tibet and whose doctrine is largely "esoteric," and those of the yellow robe, who accept the three fundamentals of principle, teaching and discipline. Dhyana or contemplation is their principle; the Kégon or Avatamsaka sutra and the Hokké or Saddharma Pundarika sutra, etc., form the basis of their teaching; and the Vinaya of the Four Divisions (Dharmagupta) is their discipline. On the contrary, in Japan there are vastly greater diversities of sect, principle, teaching and discipline. Buddhism as a System of Metaphysics. The date of the birth of the Buddha in India, accepted by the Japanese scholars is B.C. 1027--the day and month being also given with suspicious accuracy. About nine centuries after Gautama had attained Nirvana, there were eighteen schools of the Hinayana or the doctrine of the Smaller Vehicle. Then a shastra or institute of Buddhist ontology in nine chapters, was composed, the title of which in English, is, Book of the Treasury of Metaphysics. It had such a powerful influence that it was called an intelligence-creating, or as we say, an epoch-making book. This Ku-sha shastra, from the Sanskrit _kosa_, a store, is eclectic, and contains nine chapters embodying the views of one of the schools, with selections from those of others. It was translated in A.D. 563, into Chinese by a Hindu scholar; but about a hundred years later the famous pilgrim, whom the Japanese call Gen-j[=o], but who is known in Europe as Hiouen Thsang,[5] made a better translation, while his disciples added commentaries. In A.D. 658, two Japanese priests[6] made the sea-journey westward into China, as Gen-j[=o] had before made the land pilgrimage into India, and became pupils of the famous pilgrim. After long study they returned, bringing the Chinese translation of this shastra into Japan. They did not form an independent sect; but the doctrines of this shastra, being eclectic, were studied by all Japanese Buddhist sects. This Ku-sha scripture is still read in Japan as a general institute of ontology, especially by advanced students who wish to get a general idea of the doctrines. It is full of technical terms, and is well named The Store-house of Metaphysics. The Ku-sha teaches control of the passions, and the government of thought. The burden of its philosophy is materialism; that is, the non-existence of self and the existence of the matter which composes self, or, as the Japanese writer says: "The reason why all things are so minutely explained in this shastra is to drive away the idea of self, and to show the truth in order to make living beings reach Nirvana." Among the numerous categories, to express which many technical terms are necessary, are those of "forms," eleven in number, including the five senses and the six objects of sense; the six kinds of knowledge; the forty-six mental qualities, grouped under six heads; and the fourteen conceptions separated from the mind; thus making in all seventy-two compounded things and three immaterial things. These latter are "conscious cessation of existence," "unconscious cessation of existence," and "space." The Reverend Shuzan Emura, of the Shin-shu sect of Japan, after specifying these seventy-five Dharmas, or things compounded and things immaterial, says:[7] "The former include all things that proceed from a cause. This cause is Karma, to which everything existing is due, Space and Nirvana alone excepted. Again, of the three immaterial things the last two are not subjects to be understood by the wisdom not free from frailty. Therefore the 'conscious cessation of existence' is considered as being the goal of all effort to him who longs for deliverance from misery." In a word, this one of the many Buddhisms of Asia is vastly less a religion, in any real sense of the word, than a system of metaphysics. However, the doctrine to be mastered is graded in three Yanas or Vehicles; for there are now, as in the days of Shaka, three classes of being, graded according to their ability or power to understand "the truth." These are: (I.) The Sho-mon or lowest of the disciples of Shaka, or hearers who meditate on the cause and effect of everything. If acute in understanding, they become free from confusion after three births; but if they are dull, they pass sixty kalpas[8] or aeons before they attain to the state of enlightenment. (II.) The Engaku or Pratyeka Buddhas, that is, "singly enlightened," or beings in the middle state, who must extract the seeds or causes of actions, and must meditate on the twelve chains of causation, or understand the non-eternity of the world, while gazing upon the falling flowers or leaves. They attain enlightenment after four births or a hundred kalpas, according to their ability. (III.) The Bodhisattvas or Buddhas-elect, who practise the six perfections (perfect practice of alms-giving, morality, patience, energy, meditation and wisdom) as preliminaries to Nirvana, which they reach only after countless kalpas. These three grades of pupils in the mysteries of Buddha doctrine, are said to have been ordered by Shaka himself, because understanding human beings so thoroughly, he knew that one person could not comprehend two ways or vehicles (Yana) at once. People were taught therefore to practise anyone of the three vehicles at pleasure. We shall see how the later radical and democratic Japanese Buddhism swept away this gradation, and declaring but the one vehicle (éka), opened the kingdom to all believers. The second of the early Japanese schools of thought, is the J[=o]-jitsu,[9] or the sect founded chiefly upon the shastra which means The Book of the Perfection of the Truth, containing selections from and explanations of the true meaning of the Tripitaka. This shastra was the work of a Hindu whose name means Lion-armor, and who lived about nine centuries after Gautama. Not satisfied with the narrow views of his teacher, who may have been of the Dharmagupta school (of the four Disciplines), he made selections of the best and broadest interpretations then current in the several different schools of the Smaller Vehicle. The book is eclectic, and attempts to unite all that was best in each of the Hinayana schools; but certain Chinese teachers consider that its explanations are applicable to the Great Vehicle also. Translated into Chinese in 406 A.D., the commentaries upon it soon numbered hundreds, and it was widely expounded and lectured upon. Commentaries upon this shastra were also written in Korean by D[=o]-z[=o]. From the peninsula it was introduced into Japan. This J[=o]-jitsu doctrine was studied by prince Sh[=o]toku, and promulgated as a division of the school called San-Ron. The students of the J[=o]-jitsu school never formed in Japan a distinct organization. The burden of the teachings of this school is pure nihilism, or the non-existence of both self and of matter. There is an utter absence of substantiality in all things. Life itself is a prolonged dream. The objects about us are mere delusive shadows or mirage, the product of the imagination alone. The past and the future are without reality, but the present state of things only stands as if it were real. That is to say: the true state of things is constantly changing, yet it seems as if the state of things were existing, even as does a circle of fire seen when a rope watch is turned round very quickly. Japanese Pilgrims to China. The Ris-shu or Vinaya sect is one of purely Chinese origin, and was founded, or rather re-founded, by the Chinese priest D[=o]sen, who lived on Mount Shunan early in the seventh century, and claimed to be only re-proclaiming the rules given by Gautama himself. He was well acquainted with the Tripitaka and especially versed in the Vinaya or rules of discipline. His purpose was to unite the teachings of both the Greater and the Lesser Vehicle in a sutra whose burden should be one of ethics and not of dogma. The founder of this sect was greatly honored by the Chinese Emperor. Furthermore, he was honored in vision by the holy Pindola or Binzura,[10] who praised the founder as the best man that had promulgated the discipline since Buddha himself. In later centuries, successors of the founder compiled commentaries and reproclaimed the teachings of this sect. In A.D. 724 two Japanese priests went over to China, and having mastered the Ris-shu doctrine, received permission to propagate it in Japan. With eighty-two Chinese priests they returned a few years later, having attempted, it is said, the journey five times and spent twelve years on the sea. On their return, they received an imperial invitation to live in the great monastery at Nara, and soon their teachings exerted a powerful influence on the court. The emperor, empress and four hundred persons of note were received into the Buddhist communion by a Chinese priest of the Ris-shu school in the middle of the eighth century. The Mikado Sh[=o]-mu resigned his throne and took the vow and robes of a monk, becoming H[=o]-[=o] or cloistered emperor. Under imperial direction a great bronze image of the Vairokana Buddha, or Perfection of Morality, was erected, and terraces, towers, images and all the paraphernalia of the new kind of Buddhism were prepared. Even the earth was embroidered, as it were, with sutras and shastras. Symbolical landscape gardening, which, in its mounds and paths, variously shaped stones and lanterns, artificial cascades and streamlets, teaches the holy geography as well as the allegories and hidden truths of Buddhism, made the city of Nara beautiful to the eyes of faith as well as of sight. This sect, with its excellence in morality and benevolence, proved itself a beautifier of human life, of society and of the earth itself. Its work was an irenicon. It occupied itself exclusively with the higher ethics, the higher meditations and the higher knowledge. Interdicting what was evil and prescribing what was good, its precepts varied in number and rigor according to the status of the disciple, lay or clerical. It is by the observance of the _sila_, or grades of moral perfection, that one becomes a Buddha. Besides making so powerful a conquest at the southern capital, this sect was the one which centuries afterward built the first Buddhist temple in Yedo. Being ordinary human mortals, however, both monk and layman occasionally illustrated the difference between profession and practice. These three schools or sects, Ku-sha, J[=o]-jitsu, and Ris-shu, may be grouped under the Hinayana or Smaller Vehicle, with more or less affiliation with Southern Buddhism; the others now to be described were wholly of the Northern division. The Hoss[=o]-shu, or the Dharma-lakshana sect, as described by the Rev. Dai-ryo Takashi of the Shin-gon sect, is the school which studies the nature of Dharmas or things. The three worlds of desire, form and formlessness, consist in thought only; and there is nothing outside thought. Nine centuries after Gautama, Maitreya,[11] or the Buddha of kindness, came down from the heaven of the Bodhisattva to the lecture-hall in the kingdom in central India at the request of the Buddhas elect, and discounted five shastras. After that two Buddhist fathers who were brothers, composed many more shastras and cleared up the meaning of the Mah[=a]yan[=a]. In 629 A.D., in his twenty-ninth year, the famous Chinese pilgrim, Gen-j[=o] (Hiouen-thsang), studied these shastras and sciences, and returning to China in 645 A.D., began his great work of translation, at which he continued for nineteen years. One of his disciples was the author of a hundred commentaries on sutras and shastras. The doctrines of Gen-j[=o] and his disciples were at four different times, from 653 to 712 A.D., imported into Japan, and named, after the monasteries in which they were promulgated, the Northern and Southern Transmission. The Middle Path. The burden of the teachings of this sect is subjective idealism. They embrace principles enjoining complete indifference to mundane affairs, and, in fact, thorough personal nullification and the ignoring of all actions by its disciples. In these teachings, thought only, is real. As we have already seen with the Ku-sha teaching, human beings are of three classes, divided according to intellect, into higher, middle and lower, for whom the systems of teachings are necessarily of as many kinds. The order of progress with those who give themselves to the study of the Hoss[=o] tenets, is,[12] first, they know only the existence of things, then the emptiness of them, and finally they enter the middle path of "true emptiness and wonderful existence." From the first, such discipline is long and painful, and ultimate victory scarcely comes to the ordinary being. The disciple, by training in thought, by destroying passions and practices, by meditating on the only knowledge, must pass through three kalpas or aeons. Constantly meditating, and destroying the two obstacles of passion and cognizable things, the disciple then obtains four kinds of wisdom and truly attains perfect enlightenment or Pari-Nirvana. The San-ron Shu, as the Three-Shastra sect calls itself, is the sect of the Teachings of Buddha's whole life.[13] Other sects are founded upon single sutras, a fact which makes the student liable to narrowness of opinion. The San-ron gives greater breadth of view and catholicity of opinion. The doctrines of the Greater Vehicle are the principal teachings of Gautama, and these are thoroughly explained in the three shastras used by this sect, which, it is claimed, contain Buddha's own words. The meanings of the titles of the three favorite sutras, are, The Middle Book, The Hundred, and The Book of Twelve Gates. Other books of the canon are also studied and valued by this sect, but all of them are apt to be perused from a particular point of view; i.e., that of Pyrronism or infinite negation. There are two lines of the transmission of this doctrine, both of them through China, though, the introduction to Japan was made from Korea, in 625 A.D. Not to dwell upon the detail of history, the burden of this sect's teaching, is, infinite negation or absolute nihilism. Truth is the inconceivable state, or, in the words of the Japanese writer: "The truth is nothing but the state where thoughts come to an end; the right meditation is to perceive this truth. He who has obtained this meditation is called Buddha. This is this doctrine of the San-ron sect." This sect, by its teachings of the Middle Path, seems to furnish a bridge from the Hinayana or Southern school, to the Mah[=a]yan[=a] or Northern school of Buddhism. Part of its work, as set forth by the Rev. K[=o]-ch[=o] Ogurasu, of the Shin sect, is to defend the authenticity, genuineness and canonicity of the books which form the Northern body of scriptures. In these two sects Hos-s[=o] and San-ron, called those of Middle Path, and much alike in principle and teaching, the whole end and aim of mental discipline, is nihilism--in the one case subjective, and in the other absolute, the end and goal being nothing--this view into the nature of things being considered the right one. Is it any wonder that such teachings could in the long run satisfy neither the trained intellects nor the unthinking common people of Japan? Is it far from the truth to suspect that, even when accepted by the Japanese courtiers and nobles, they were received, only too often, in a Platonic, not to say a Pickwickian, sense? The Japanese is too polite to say "no" if he can possibly say "yes," even when he does not mean it; while the common people all over the world, as between metaphysics and polytheism, choose the latter. Is it any wonder that, along with this propagation of Nihilism as taught in the cloisters and the court, history informs us of many scandals and much immorality between the women of the court and the Buddhist monks? Such dogmas were not able to live in organized forms, after the next importations of Buddhism which came in, not partly but wholly, under the name of the Mah[=a]yan[=a] or Great Vehicle, or Northern Buddhism. By the new philosophy, more concrete and able to appeal more closely to the average man, these five schools, which, in their discussions, dealt almost wholly with _noumena_, were absorbed. As matter of fact, none of them is now in existence, nor can we trace them, speaking broadly, beyond the tenth century. Here and there, indeed, may be a temple bearing the name of one of the sects, or grades of doctrine, and occasionally an eccentric individual who "witnesses" to the old metaphysics; but these are but fossils or historical relics, and are generally regarded as such. Against such baldness of philosophy not only might the cultivated Japanese intellect revolt and react, but as yet the common people of Japan, despite the modern priestly boast of the care of the imperial rulers for what the bonzes still love to call "the people's religion," were but slightly touched by the Indian faith. The Great Vehicle. The Kégon-Shu or Avatamsaka-sutra sect, is founded on a certain teaching which Gautama is said to have promulgated in nine assemblies held at seven different places during the second week of his enlightenment. This sutra exists in no fewer than six texts, around each of which has gathered some interesting mythology. The first two tests were held in memory and not committed to palm leaves; the second pair are secretly preserved in the dragon palace of Riu-gu[14] under the sea, and are not kept by the men of this world. The fifth text of 100,000 verses, was obtained by a Bodhisattva from the palace of the dragon king of the world under the sea and transmitted to men in India. The sixth is the abridged text. It concerns us to notice that the shorter texts were translated into Chinese in the fourth century, and that later, other translations were made--36,000 verses of the fifth text, 45,000 verses of the sixth text, etc. When the doctrine of the sect had been perfected by the fifth patriarch and he lectured on the sutra, rays of white light came from his mouth, and there rained wonderful heavenly flowers. In A.D. 736 a Chinese Vinaya teacher or instructor in Buddhist discipline, named D[=o]-sen, first brought the Kégon scriptures to Japan. Four years later a Korean priest gave lectures on them in the Golden-Bell Hall of the Great Eastern Monastery at Nara. He completed his task of expounding the sixty volumes in three years. Henceforth, lecturing on this sutra became one of the yearly services of the Eastern Great Monastery. "The Ké-gon sutra is the original book of Buddha's teachings of his whole life. All his teachings therefore sprang from this sutra. If we attribute all the branches to the origin, we may say that there is no teaching of Buddha for his whole life except this sutra."[15] The title of the book, when literally translated, is Great-square-wide-Buddha-flower-adornment-teaching--a title sufficiently indicative of its rhetoric. The age of hard or bold thinking was giving way to flowery diction, and the Law was to be made easy through fine writing. The burden of doctrine is the unconditioned or realistic, pantheism. Nature absolute, or Buddha-tathata, is the essence of all things. Essence and form were in their origin combined and identical. Fire and water, though phenomenally different, are from the point of view of Buddha-tathata absolutely identical. Matter and thought are one--that is Buddha-tathata. In teaching, especially the young, it must be remembered that the mind resembles a fair page upon which the artist might trace a design, especial care being needed to prevent the impression of evil thoughts, in order to accomplish which one must completely and always direct the mind to Buddha.[16] One notable sentence in the text is, "when one first raises his thoughts toward the perfect knowledge, he at once becomes fully enlightened." In some parts of the metaphysical discussions of this sect we are reminded of European mediaeval scholasticism, especially of that discussion as to how many angels could dance on the point of a cambric needle without jostling each other. It says, "Even at the point of one grain of dust, of immeasurable and unlimited worlds, there are innumerable Buddhas, who are constantly preaching the Ké-gon ki[=o] (sutra) throughout the three states of existence, past, present and future, so that the preaching is not at all to be collected.[17] A New Chinese Sect. In its formal organization the Ten-dai sect is of Chinese origin. It is named after Tien Tai,[18] a mountain in China about fifty miles south of Ningpo, on which the book which forms the basis of its tenets was composed by Chi-sha, now canonized as a Dai Shi or Great teacher. Its special doctrine of completion and suddenness was, however, transmitted directly from Shaka to Vairokana and thence to Maitreya, so that the apostolical succession of its orthodoxy cannot be questioned. The metaphysics of this sect are thought to be the most profound of the Greater Vehicle, combining into a system the two opposite ideas of being and not being. The teachers encourage all men, whether quick or slow in understanding, to exercise the principle of "completion" and "suddenness," together with four doctrinal divisions, one or all of which are taught to men according to their ability. The object of the doctrine is to make men get an excellent understanding, practise good discipline and attain to the great fruit of Enlightenment or Buddha-hood. Out of compassion, Gautama appeared in the world and preached the truth in several forms, according to the circumstances of time and place. There are four doctrinal divisions of "completion," "secrecy," "meditation," and "moral precept," which are the means of knowing the principle of "completion." From Gautama, Vairokana and Maitreya the doctrine passed through more than twenty Buddhas elect, and arrived in China on the twentieth day of the twelfth month, A.D. 401. The delivery to disciples was secret, and the term used for this esoteric transmission means "handed over within the tower." In A.D. 805, two Japanese pilgrims went to China, and received orthodox training. With twenty others, they brought the Ten-dai doctrines into Japan. During this century, other Japanese disciples of the same sect crossed the seas to study at Mount Tien Tai. On coming back to Japan they propagated the various shades of doctrine, so that this main sect has many branches. It was chiefly through these pilgrims from the West that the Sanskrit letters, writing and literature were imported. In our day, evidences of Sanskrit learning, long since neglected and forgotten, are seen chiefly in the graveyards and in charms and amulets. Although the philosophical doctrines of Ten-dai are much the same as those of the Ké-gon sect, being based on pantheistic realism, and teaching that the Buddha-tathata or Nature absolute is the essence of all things, yet the Ten-dai school has striking and peculiar features of its own. Instead of taking some particular book or books in the canon, shastra, or sutra, selection or collection, as a basis, the Chinese monk Chi-sha first mastered, and then digested the whole canon. Then selecting certain doctrines for emphasis he supported them by a wide range of quotation, professing to give the gist of the pure teachings of Gautama rather than those of his disciples. In practice, however, the Saddharma Pundarika is the book most honored by this sect; the other sutras being employed mainly as commentary. Furthermore, this sect makes as strenuous a claim for the true apostolical succession from the Founder, as do the other sects. The teachers of Ten-dai doctrine must fully estimate character and ability in their pupils, and so apportion instruction. In this respect and in not a few others, they are like the disciples of Loyola, and have properly been called the Jesuits of Buddhism. They are ascetics, and teach that spiritual insight is possible only through prolonged thought. Their purpose is to recognize the Buddha, in all the forms he has assumed in order to save mankind. Nevertheless, the highest truths are incomprehensible except to those who have already attained to Buddha-hood.[19] In contrast to the Nichirenites, who give an emotional and ultra-concrete interpretation and expression to the great sutra, Hokké Ki[=o], the Ten-dai teachers are excessively philosophical and intellectual. In its history the Ten-dai sect has followed out its logic. Being realistic in pantheism, it reverences not only Gautama the historic Buddha, but also, large numbers of the Hindu deities, the group of idols called Jiz[=o], the god Fudo, and Kuannon the god or goddess of mercy, under his or her protean forms. In its early history this sect welcomed to its pantheon the Shint[=o] gods, who, according to the scheme of Riy[=o]bu Shint[=o], were declared to be avatars or manifestations of Buddha. The three sub-sects still differ in their worship of the avatars selected as supreme deities, but their philosophy enables them to sweep in the Buddhas of every age and clime, name and nation. Many other personifications are found honored in the Ten-dai temples. At the gateways may usually be seen the colossal painted and hideous images of the two Devas or kings (Ni-O). These worthies are none other than Indra and Brahma of the old Vedic mythology. Space and time--which seem never to fail the Buddhists in their literature--would fail us to describe this sect in full, or to show in detail its teachings, wherein are wonderful resemblances to European ideas and facts--in philosophy, to Hegel and Spinoza find in history, to Jesuitism. Nor can we stay to point out the many instances in which, invading the domain of politics, the Ten-dai abbots with their armies of monks, having made their monasteries military arsenals and issuing forth clad in armor as infantry and cavalry, have turned the scale of battle or dictated policies to emperors. Like the Praetorian guard of Rome or the clerical militia in Spain, these men of keen intellect have left their marks deep upon the social and political history of the country in which they dwelt. They have understood thoroughly the art of practising religion for the sake of revenue. To secure their ends, priests have made partnerships with other sects; in order to hold Shint[=o] shrines, they have married to secure heirs and make office hereditary; and finally in the Purification of 1870, when the Riy[=o]bu system was blown to the winds by the Japanese Government, not a few priests of this sect became laymen, in order to keep both office and emolument in the purified Shint[=o] shrines. The Sect of the True Word. It is probable that the conquest and obliteration of Shint[=o] might have been accomplished by some priest or priests of the Ten-dai sect, had such a genius as K[=o]b[=o] been found in its household; but this great achievement was reserved for the man who introduced into Japan the Shin-gon Shu, or Sect of the True Word. The term _gon_ is the equivalent of Mantra,[20] a Sanskrit term meaning word, but in later use referring to the mystic salutations addressed to the Buddhist gods. "The doctrine of this sect is a great secret law. It teaches us that we can attain to the state of the 'Great Enlightened,' that is the state of 'Buddha,' while in the present physical body, which was born of our parents (and which consists of six elements,[21] Earth, Water, Fire, Wind, Ether, and Knowledge), if we follow the three great secret laws, regarding Body, Speech, and Thought."[22] The history of the transmission of the doctrine from the greatest of the spirit-bodied Buddhas to the historic founder, Vagrabodhi, is carefully given. The latter was a man very learned in regard to many doctrines of Buddhism and other religious, and was especially well acquainted with the deepest meaning of the doctrine of this sect, which he taught in India for a considerable time. The doctrine is recorded in several sutras, yet the essential point is nothing but the Mandala, or circle of the two parts, or, in Japanese, Riy[=o]bu. The great preacher, Vagrabodhi, in 720 A.D., came with his disciples to the capital of China, and translated the sacred books, seventy-seven in number. This doctrine is the well-known Yoga-chara, which has been well set forth by Doctor Edkins in his scholarly volume on Chinese Buddhism. As "yoga" becomes in plain English "yoke," and as "mantra" is from the same root as "man" and "mind," we have no difficulty in recognizing the original meaning of these terms; the one in its nobler significance referring to union with Buddha or Gnosis, and the other to the thought taking lofty expression or being debased to hocus-pocus in charm or amulet. Like the history of so many Sanskrit words as now uttered in every-day English speech, the story of the word mantra forms a picture of mental processes and apparently of the degradation of thought, or, as some will doubtless say, of the decay of religion. The term mantra meant first, a thought; then thought expressed; then a Vedic hymn or text; next a spell or charm. Such have been the later associations, in India, China and Japan with the term mantra. The burden of the philosophy of the Shin-gon, looked at from one point of view, is mysticism, and from another, pantheism. One of the forms of Buddha is the principle of everything. There are ten stages of thought, and there are two parts, "lengthwise" and "crosswise" or exoteric and esoteric. Other doctrines of Buddhism represent the first, or exoteric stage; and those of the Shin-gon or true word, the second, or esoteric. The primordial principle is identical with that of Maha-Vairokana, one of the forms[23] of Buddha. The body, the word and the thought are the three mysteries, which being found in all beings, animate and inanimate, are to be fully understood only by Buddhas, and not by ordinary men. To show the actual method of intellectual procedure in order to reach Buddha-hood, many categories, tables and diagrams are necessary; but the crowning tenet, most far reaching in its practical influence, is the teaching that it is possible to reach the state of Buddha-hood in this present body. As discipline for the attainment of excellence along the path marked out in the "Mantra sect," there are three mystic rites: (1) worshipping the Buddha with the hand in certain positions called signs; (2) repeating Dharani, or mystic formulas; (3) contemplation. K[=o]b[=o] himself and all those who imitated him, practised fasting in order to clear the spiritual eyesight. The thinking-chairs, so conspicuous in many old monasteries, though warmed at intervals through the ages by the living bodies of men absorbed in contemplation, are rarely much worn by the sitters, because almost absolute cessation of motion characterizes the long and hard thinkers of the Shin-gon philosophers. The idols in the Shin-gon temples represent many a saint and disciple, who, by perseverance in what a critic of Buddhism calls "mind-murder," and the use of mystic finger twistings and magic formulas, has won either the Nirvana or the penultimate stage of the Bodhisattva. In the sermons and discourses of Shin-gon, the subtle points of an argument are seized and elaborated. These are mystical on the one side, and pantheistic on the other. It is easily seen how Buddha, being in Japanese gods as well as men, and no being without Buddha, the way is made clear for that kind of a marriage between Buddhism and Shint[=o], in which the two become one, and that one, as to revenue and advantage, Buddhism. Truth Made Apparent by One's Own Thought. The Japanese of to-day often speak of these seven religious bodies which we have enumerated and described, as "the old sects," because much of the philosophy, and many of the forms and prayers, are common to all, or, more accurately speaking, are popularly supposed to be; while the priests, being celibates, refrain from saké, flesh and fish, and from all intimate relations with women. Yet, although these sects are considered to be more or less conformable to the canon of the Greater Vehicle, and while the last three certainly introduce many of its characteristic features--one sect teaching that Buddha-hood could be obtained even in the present body of flesh and blood--yet the idea of Paradise had not been exploited or emphasized. This new gospel was to be introduced into Japan by the J[=o]-d[=o] Shu or Sect of the Pure Land. Before detailing the features of J[=o]-d[=o], we call attention to the fact that in Japan the propagation of the old sects was accompanied by an excessive use of idols, images, pictures, sutras, shastras and all the furniture thought necessary in a Buddhist temple. The course of thought and action in the Orient is in many respects similar to that in the Occident. In western lands, with the ebb and flow of religious sentiment, the iconolater has been followed by the iconoclast, and the overcrowded cathedrals have been purged by the hammer and fire of the Protestant and Puritan. So in Japan we find analogous, though not exactly similar, reactions. The rise and prosperity of the believers in the Zen dogmas, which in their early history used sparingly the eikon, idol and sutra, give some indication of protest against too much use of externals in religion. May we call them the Quakers of Japanese Buddhism? Certainly, theirs was a movement in the direction of simplicity. The introduction of the Zen, or contemplative sect, did, in a sense, both precede and follow that of Shingon. The word Zen is a shortened form of the term Zenna, which is a transliteration into Chinese of the Sanskrit word Dhyana, or contemplation. It teaches that the truth is not in tradition or in books, but in one's self. Emphasis is laid on introspection rather than on language. "Look carefully within and there you will find the Buddha," is its chief tenet. In the Zen monasteries, the chair of contemplation is, or ought to be, always in use. The Zen Shu movement may be said to have arisen out of a reaction against the multiplication of idols. It indicated a return to simpler forms of worship and conduct. Let us inquire how this was. It may be said that Buddhism, especially Northern Buddhism, is a vast, complicated system. It has a literature and a sacred canon which one can think of only in connection with long trains of camels to carry, or freight trains to transport, or ships a good deal bigger than the Mayflower to import. Its multitudinous rules and systems of discipline appall the spirit and weary the flesh even to enumerate them; so that, from one point of view, the making of new sects is a necessity. These are labor-saving inventions. They are attempts to reduce the great bulk of scriptures to manageable proportions. They seek to find, as it were, the mother-liquor of the great ocean, so as to express the truth in a crystal. Hence the endeavors to simplify, to condense; here, by a selection of sutras, rather than the whole collection; there, by emphasis on a single feature and a determination to put the whole thing in a form which can be grasped, either by the elect few or by the people at large. The Zen sect did this in a more rational way than that set forth as orthodox by later priestcraft, which taught that to the believer who simply turned round the revolving library containing the canon, the merit of having read it all would be imputed. The rin-z[=o][24] found near the large temples,--the cunning invention of a Chinese priest in the sixth century,--soon became popular in Japan. The great wooden book-case turning on a pivot contains 6,771 volumes, that being the number of canonical volumes enumerated in China and Japan. The Zen sect teaches that, besides all the doctrines of the Greater and the Lesser Vehicles, whether hidden or apparent, there is one distinct line of transmission of a secret doctrine which is not subject to any utterance at all. According to their tenet of contemplation, one is to see directly the key to the thought of Buddha by his own thought, thus freeing himself from the multitude of different doctrines--the number of which is said to be eighty-four thousand. In fact, Zen Shu or "Dhyana sect" teaches the short method of making truth apparent by one's own thought, apart from the writings. The story of the transmission of the true Zen doctrine is this: "When the blessed Shaka was at the assembly on Vulture's Peak, there came the heavenly king, who offered the Buddha a golden-colored flower and asked him to preach the law. The Blessed One simply took the flower and held it in his hand, but said no word. No one in the whole assembly could tell what he meant. The venerable Mahahasyapa alone smiled. Than the Blessed One said to him, 'I have the wonderful thought of Nirvana, the eye of the Right Law, which I shall now give to you.'[25] Thus was ushered in the doctrine of thought transmitted by thought." After twenty-eight patriarchs had taught the doctrine of contemplation, the last came into China in A.D. 520, and tried to teach the Emperor the secret key of Buddha's thought. This missionary Bodhidharma was the third son of a king of the Kashis, in Southern India, and the historic original of the tobacconist's shop-sign in Japan, who is known as Daruma. The imperial Chinaman was not yet able to understand the secret key of Buddha's thought. So the Hindu missionary went to the monastery on Mount Su, where in meditation, he sat down cross-legged with his face to a wall, for nine years, by which time, says the legend, his legs had rotted off and he looked like a snow-image. During that period, people did not know him, and called him simply the Wall-gazing Brahmana. Afterward he had a number of disciples, but they had different views that are called the transmissions of the skin, flesh, or bone of the teacher. Only one of them got the whole body of his teachings. Two great sects were formed: the Northern, which was undivided, and the Southern, which branched off into five houses and seven schools. The Northern Sect was introduced into Japan by a Chinese priest in 729 A.D., while the Southern was not brought over until the twelfth century. In both it is taught that perfect tranquillity of body and mind is essential to salvation. The doctrine is the most sublime one, of thought transmitted by thought being entirely independent of any letters or words. Another name for them is, "The Sect whose Mind Assimilates with Buddha," direct from whom it claims to have received its articles of faith. Too often this idea of Buddhaship, consisting of absolute freedom from matter and thought, means practically mind-murder, and the emptiness of idle reverie. Contrasting modern reality with their ancient ideal, it must be confessed that in practice there is not a little letter worship and a good deal of pedantry; for, in all the teachings of abstract principles by the different sects, there are endless puns or plays upon words in the renderings of Chinese characters. This arises from that antithesis of extreme poverty in sounds with amazing luxuriance in written expression, which characterizes both the Chinese and Japanese languages. In the temples we find that the later deities introduced into the Buddhist pantheon are here also welcome, and that the triads or groups of three precious ones, the "Buddhist trinity," so-called,[26] are surrounded by gods of Chinese or Japanese origin. The Zen sect, according to its professions and early history, ought to be indifferent to worldly honors and emoluments, and indeed many of its devotees are. Its history, however, shows how poorly mortals live up to their principles and practise what they preach. Furthermore, these professors of peace and of the joys of the inner life in the S[=o]-t[=o] or sub-sect have made the twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth years of Meiji, or A.D. 1893 and 1894, famous and themselves infamous by their long-continued and scandalous intestine quarrels. Of the three sub-sects, those called Rin-zai and S[=o]-t[=o], take their names from Chinese monks of the ninth century; while the third, O-baku, founded in Japan in the seventeenth century, is one of the latest importations of Chinese Buddhistic thought in the Land of the Rising Sun. Japanese authors usually classify the first six denominations at which we have glanced, some of which are phases of thought rather than organizations, as "the ancient sects." Ten-dai and Shin-gon are "the medieval sects." The remaining four, of which we shall now treat, and which are more particularly Japanese in spirit and development, are "the modern sects." CHAPTER IX - THE BUDDHISM OF THE JAPANESE "A drop of spray cast by the infinite I hung an instant there, and threw my ray To make the rainbow. A microcosm I Reflecting all. Then back I fell again, And though I perished not, I was no more."-- The Pantheist's Epitaph. "Buddhism is essentially a religion of compromise." "Where Christianity has One Lord, Buddhism has a dozen." "I think I may safely challenge the Buddhist priesthood to give a plain historical account of the Life of Amida, Kwannon, Dainichi, or any other Mah[=a]y[=a]na Buddha, without being in serious danger of forfeiting my stakes." "Christianity openly puts this Absolute Unconditioned Essence in the forefront of its teaching. In Buddhism this absolute existence is only put forward, when the logic of circumstances compels its teachers to have recourse to it."--A. Lloyd, in The Higher Buddhism in the Light of the Nicene creed. "Now these six characters, 'Na-mu-A-mi-da-Butsu,' Zend-[=o] has explained as follows: 'Namn' means [our] following His behest--and also [His] uttering the Prayer and bestowing [merit] upon us. 'Amida Butsu' is the practice of this, consequently by this means a certainty of salvation is attained." "By reason of the conferring on us sentient creators of this great goodness and great merit through the utterance of the Prayer, and the bestowal [by Amida] the evil Karma and [effect of the] passions accumulated through the long Kalpas, since when there was no beginning, are in a moment annihilated, and in consequence, those passions and evil Karma of ours all disappearing, we live already in the condition of the steadfast, who do not return [to revolve in the cycle of Birth and Death]."--Renny[=o] of the Shin sect, 1473. "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God."--John. "The Father of lights, with whom there is no variableness, neither shadow of turning."--James. CHAPTER IX - THE BUDDHISM OF THE JAPANESE The Western Paradise. We cannot take space to show how, or how much, or whether at all, Buddhism was affected by Christianity, though it probably was. Suffice it to say that the J[=o]-d[=o] Shu, or Sect of the Pure Land, was the first of the many denominations in Buddhism which definitely and clearly set forth that especial peculiarity of Northern Buddhism, the Western Paradise. The school of thought which issued in J[=o]-d[=o] Shu was founded by the Hindoo, Memio. In A.D. 252 an Indian scholar, learned in the Tripitaka, came to China, and translated one of the great sutras, called Amitayus. This sutra gives a history of Tathagata Amitabha,[1] from the first spiritual impulses which led him to the attainment of Buddha-hood in remote Kalpas down to the present time, when he dwells in the Western World, called the Happy, where he receives all living beings from every direction, helping them to turn away from confusion and to become enlightened.[2] The apocalyptic twentieth chapter of the Hokké Ki[=o] is a glorification of the transcendent power of the Tathagatas, expressed in flamboyant oriental rhetoric. We have before called attention to the fact that, with the multiplication of sutras or the Sacred Canon and the vast increase of the apparatus of Buddhism as well as of the hardships of brain and body to be undergone in order to be a Buddhist, it was absolutely necessary that some labor-saving system should be devised by which the burden could be borne. Now, as a matter of fact, all sects claim to found their doctrine on Buddha or his work. According to the teaching of certain sects, the means of salvation are to be found in the study of the whole canon, and in the practice of asceticism and meditation. On the contrary, the new lights of Buddhism who came as missionaries into China, protested against this expenditure of so much mental and physical energy. One of the first Chinese propagators of the J[=o]-d[=o] doctrine declared that it was impossible, owing to the decay of religion in his own age, for anyone to be saved in this way by his own efforts. Hence, instead of the noble eight-fold path of primitive Buddhism, or of the complicated system of the later Buddhistic Phariseeism of India, he substituted for the difficult road to Nirvana, a simple faith in the all-saving power of Amida. In one of the sutras it is taught, that if a man keeps in his memory the name of Amida one day, or seven days, the Buddha together with Buddhas elect, will meet him at the moment of his death, in order to let him be born in the Pure Land, and that this matter has been equally approved by all other Buddhas of ten different directions. One of the sutras, translated in China during the fifth century, contains the teaching of Buddha, which he delivered to the wife of the King of Magudha, who on account of the wickedness of her son was feeling weary of this world. He showed her how she might be born into the Pure Land. Three paths of good actions were pointed out. Toward the end of the particular sutra which he advised her to read and recite, Buddha says: "Let not one's voice cease, but ten times complete the thought, and repeat the formula, of the adoration of Amida." "This practice," adds the Japanese exegete and historian, "is the most excellent of all." How well this latter teaching is practised may be demonstrated when one goes into a Buddhist temple of the J[=o]-d[=o] sect in Japan, and hears the constant refrain,--murmured by the score or more of listeners to the sermon, or swelling like the roar of the ocean's waves, on festival days, when thousands sit on the mats beneath the fretted roof to enjoy the exposition of doctrine--"Namu Amida Butsu"--"Glory to the Eternal Buddha!"[3] The apostolical succession or transmission through the patriarchs and apostles of India and China, is well known and clearly stated, withal duly accredited and embellished with signs and wonders, in the historical literature of the J[=o]-d[=o] sect. In Buddhism, as in Christianity, the questions relating to True Churchism, High Churchism, the succession of the apostles, teachers and rulers, and the validity of this or that method of ordination, form a large part of the literature of controversy. Nevertheless, as in the case of many a Christian sect which calls itself the only true church, the date of the organization of J[=o]-d[=o] was centuries later than that of the Founder and apostles of the original faith. Five hundred years after Zen-d[=o] (A.D. 600-650), the great propagator of the J[=o]-d[=o] philosophy, H[=o]-nen, the founder of the J[=o]-d[=o] sect, was born; and this phase of organized Buddhism, like that of Shin Shu and Nichirer Shu, may be classed under the head of Eastern or Japanese Buddhism. When only nine years of age, the boy afterward called H[=o]-nen, was converted by his father's dying words. He went to school in his native province, but his priest-teacher foreseeing his greatness, sent him to the monastery of Hiyéizan, near Ki[=o]to. The boy's letter of introduction contained only these words: "I send you an image of the Bodhisattva, (Mon-ju) Manjusri." The boy shaved his head and received the precepts of the Ten-dai sect, but in his eighteenth year, waiving the prospect of obtaining the headship of the great denomination, he built a hut in the Black Ravine and there five times read through the five thousand volumes[4] of the Tripitaka. He did this for the purpose of finding out, for the ordinary and ignorant people of the present day, how to escape from misery. He studied Zen-d[=o]'s commentary, and repeated his examination eight times. At last, he noticed a passage in it beginning with the words, "Chiefly remember or repeat the name of Amida with a whole and undivided heart." Then he at once understood the thought of Zen-d[=o], who taught in his work that whoever at any time practises to remember Buddha, or calls his name even but once, will gain the right effect of going to be born in the Pure Land after death. This Japanese student then abandoned all sorts of practices which he had hitherto followed for years, and began to repeat the name of Amida Buddha sixty thousand times a day. This event occurred in A.D. 1175. H[=o]-nen, Founder of the Pure Land Sect. This path-finder to the Pure Land, who developed a special doctrine of salvation, is best known by his posthumous title of H[=o]-nen. During his lifetime he was very famous and became the spiritual preceptor of three Mikados. After his death his biography was compiled in forty-eight volumes by imperial order, and later, three other emperors copied or republished it. In the history of Japan this sect has been one of the most influential, especially with the imperial and sh[=o]gunal families. In Ki[=o]to the magnificent temples and monasteries of Chi[=o]n-in, and in T[=o]ki[=o] Z[=o]-j[=o]-ji, are the chief seats of the two principal divisions of this sect. The gorgeous mausoleums,--well known to every foreign tourist,--at Shiba and Uyéno in T[=o]ki[=o], and the clustered and matchless splendors of Nikk[=o], belong to this sect, which has been under the patronage of the illustrious line of the Tokugawa,[5] while its temples and shrines are numbered by many thousands. The doctrine of the J[=o]-d[=o], or the Pure Land Sect, is easily discerned. One of Buddha's disciples said, that in the teachings of the Master there are two divisions or vehicles. In the Maha-yana also there are two gates; the Holy path, and the Pure Land. The Smaller Vehicle is the doctrine by which the immediate disciples of Buddha and those for five hundred years succeeding, practised the various virtues and discipline. The gateway of the Maha-yana is also the doctrine, by which in addition to the trainings mentioned, there are also understood the three virtues of spiritual body, wisdom and deliverance. The man who is able successfully to complete this course of discipline and practice is no ordinary person, but is supposed to possess merit produced from good actions performed in a former state of existence. The doctrine by which man may do so, is called the gate of the Holy Path. During the fifteen hundred years after Buddha there were from time to time, such personages in the world, who attained the end of the Holy Path; but in these latter days people are more insincere, covetous and contentious, and the discipline is too hard for degenerate times and men. The three trainings already spoken of are the correct causes of deliverance; but if people think them as useless as last year's almanac, when can they complete their deliverance? H[=o]-nen, deeply meditating on this, shut up the gate of the Holy Path and opened that of the Pure Land; for in the former the effective deliverance is expected in this world by the three trainings of morality, thought and learning, but in the latter the great fruit of going to be born in the Pure Land after death, is expected through the sole practice of repeating Buddha's name. Moreover, it is not easy to accomplish the cause and effect of the Holy Path, but both those of the doctrine of the Pure Land are very easy to be completed. The difference is like that between travelling by land and travelling by water.[6] The doctrines preached by the Buddha are eighty-four thousand in number; that is to say, he taught one kind of people one system, that of the Holy Path, and another kind that of the Pure Land. The Pure Land doctrine of H[=o]-nen was derived from the sutra preached by the great teacher Shaka. This simple doctrine of "land travel to Paradise" was one which the people of Japan could easily understand, and it became amazingly popular. Salvation along this route is a case of being "carried to the skies on flowery beds of ease, while others sought to win the prize and sailed through bloody seas." Largely through the influence of J[=o]-d[=o] Shu and of those sects most closely allied to it, the technical terms, peculiar phraseology and vocabulary of Buddhism became part of the daily speech of the Japanese. When one studies their language he finds that it is a complicated organism, including within itself several distinct systems. Just as the human body harmonizes within itself such vastly differing organized functions as the osseous, digestive, respiratory, etc., so, embedded in what is called the Japanese language, there are, also, a Chinese vocabulary, a polite vernacular, one system of expression for superiors, another for inferiors, etc. Last of all, there is, besides a peculiar system of pronunciation taught by the priests, a Buddhist language, which suggests a firmament of starry and a prairie of flowery metaphors, with intermediate deeps of space full of figurative expressions. In our own mother tongue we have something similar. The dialect of Canaan, the importations of Judaism, the irruptions of Hebraic idioms, phrases and names into Puritanism, and the ejaculations of the camp-meeting, which vein and color our English speech, may give some idea of the variegated strains which make up the Japanese language. Further, the peculiar nomenclature of the Fifth Monarchy men, is fully paralleled in the personal names of priests and even of laymen in Japan. Characteristics of the J[=o]-d[=o] Sect. H[=o]-nen teaches that the solution of abstract questions and doctrinal controversies is not needed as means of grace to promote the work of salvation. Whether the priests and their followers were learned and devout, or the contrary, mattered little as regards the final result, as all that is necessary is the continual repetition of the prayer to Amida. It may be added that his followers practise the master's precepts with emphasis. Their incessant pounding upon wooden fish-drums and bladder-shaped bells during their public exercises, is as noisy as a frontier camp-meeting. The rosary is a notable feature in the private devotions of the Buddhists, but the J[=o]-d[=o] sect makes especial use of the double rosary, which was invented with the idea of being manipulated by the left hand only; this gave freedom to the right hand, "facilitating a happy combination of spiritual and secular duty." At funerals of believers a particular ceremony was exclusively practised by this sect, at which the friends of the deceased sat in a circle facing the priest, making as many repetitions as possible.[7] In Mohammedan countries, blind men, who cannot look down into the surrounding gardens or house tops at the pretty women in or on them, but who have clear and penetrating voices, are often chosen us muezzins to utter the call to prayer from the minarets. On much the same principle, in Old Japan, J[=o]-d[=o] priests, blind to metaphysics, but handsome, elegantly dressed and with fine delivery, went about the streets singing and intoning prayers, rich presents being made to them, especially by the ladies. The J[=o]-d[=o] people cultivate art and aesthetic ornamentation to a notable degree. They also understand the art of fictitious and sensational miracle-mongering. It is said that Zen-d[=o], the famous Chinese founder of this Chinese sect, when writing his commentary, prayed for a wonderful exhibition of supernatural power. Thereupon, a being arrayed as a priest of dignified presence gave him instruction on the division of the text in his first volume. Hence Zen-d[=o] treats his own work as if it were the work of Buddha, and says that no one is allowed either to add or to take away even a word or sentence of the book. The Pure Land is the western world where Amida lives. It is perfectly pure and free from faults. Those who wish to go thither will certainly be re-born there, but otherwise they will not. This world, on the contrary, is the effect of the action of all beings, so that even those who do not wish to be born here are nevertheless obliged to come. This world is called the Path of Pain, because it is full of all sorts of pains, such as birth, old age, disease, death, etc. This is therefore a world not to be attached to, but to be estranged and separated from. One who is disgusted with this world, and who is filled with desire for that world, will after death be born there. Not to doubt about these words of Buddha, even in the slightest degree, is called deep faith; but if one entertains the least doubts he will not be born there. Hence the saying: "In the great sea of the law of Buddha, faith is the only means to enter." Salvation Through the Merits of Another. In this absolute trust in the all-saving power of Amida as compared with the ways promulgated before, we see the emergence of the Buddhist doctrine of justification by faith, the simplification of theology, and a revolt against Buddhist scholasticism. The Japanese technical term, "_tariki_," or relying upon the strength of another, renouncing all idea of _ji-riki_ or self-power,[8] is the substance of the J[=o]-d[=o] doctrine; but the expanded term _ta-riki chin no ji-riki_, or "self-effort depending on another," while expressing the whole dogma, is rather scornfully applied to the J[=o]-d[=o]ists by the men of the Shin sect. The invocation of Amida is a meritorious act of the believer, much repetition being the substance of this combination of personal and vicarious work. H[=o]-nen, after making his discovery, believing it possible for all mankind eventually to attain to perfect Buddhaship, left, as we have seen, the Ten-dai sect, which represented particularism and laid emphasis on the idea of the elect. H[=o]-nen taught Buddhist universalism. Belief and repetition of prayer secure birth into the Pure Land after the death of the body, and then the soul moves onward toward the perfection of Buddha-hood. The Japanese were delighted to have among them a genius who could thus Japanize Buddhism, and J[=o]-d[=o] doctrine went forth conquering and to conquer. From the twelfth century, the tendency of Japanese Buddhism is in the direction of universalism and democracy. In later developments of J[=o]-d[=o], the pantheistic tendencies are emphasized and the syncretistic powers are enlarged. While mysticism is a striking feature of the sect and the attainment of truth is by the grace of Amida, yet the native Kami of Japan are logically accepted as avatars of Buddha. History had little or no rights in the case; philosophy was dictator, and that philosophy was H[=o]-nen's. Those later Chinese deities made by personifying attributes or abstract ideas, which sprang up after the introduction of Buddhism into China, are also welcomed into the temples of this sect. That the common people really believe that they themselves may attain Buddha-hood at death, and enter the Pure Land, is shown in the fact that their ordinary expression for the dead saint is Hotoké--a general term for all the gods that were once human. Some popular proverbs indicate this in a form that easily lends itself to irreverence and merriment. The whole tendency of Japanese Buddhism and its full momentum were now toward the development of doctrine even to startling proportions. Instead of the ancient path of asceticism and virtue with agnosticism and atheism, we see the means of salvation put now, and perhaps too easily, within the control of all. The pathway to Paradise was made not only exceedingly plain, but also extremely easy, perhaps even ridiculously so; while the door was open for an outburst of new and local doctrines unknown to India, or even to China. The rampant vigor with which Japanese Buddhism began to absorb everything in heaven, earth and sea, which it could make a worshipable object or cause to stand as a Kami or deity to the mind, will be seen as we proceed. The native proverb, instead of being an irreverent joke, stands for an actual truth--"Even a sardine's head may become an object of worship." "Reformed" Buddhism. We now look at what foreigners call "Reformed" Buddhism, which some even imagine has been borrowed from Protestant Christianity--notwithstanding that it is centuries older than the Reformation in Europe. The Shin Shu or True Sect, though really founded on the J[=o]-d[=o] doctrines, is separate from the sect of the Pure Land. Yet, besides being called the Shin Shu, it is also spoken of as the J[=o]-d[=o] Shin Shu or the True Sect of the Pure Land. It is the extreme form of the Protestantism of Buddhism. It lays emphasis on the idea of salvation wholly through the merits of another, but it also paints in richer tints the sensuous delights of the Western Paradise. As the term Pure Land is antithetical to that of the Holy Path, so the word Shin, or True, expresses the contrary of what are termed the "temporary expedients." While some say that we should practise good works, bring our stock of merits to maturity, and be born in the Pure Land, others say that we need only repeat the name of Amida in order to be born in the Pure Land, by the merit produced from such repetition. These doctrines concerning repetitions, however, are all considered but "temporary expedients." So also is the rigid classification, so prominent in "the old sects," of all beings or pupils into three grades. As in Islam or Calvinism, all believers stand on a level. To Shin-ran the Radical, the practices even of J[=o]-d[=o] seemed complicated and difficult, and all that appeared necessary to him was faith in the desire of Amida to bless and save. To Shinran,[9] faith was the sole saving act. To rely upon the power of the Original Prayer of Amitabha Buddha with the whole heart and give up all idea of _ji-riki_ or self-power, is called the truth. This truth is the doctrine of this sect of Shin.[10] In a word, not synergism, not faith _and_ works, but faith only is the teaching of Shin Shu. Shinran, the founder of this sect in Japan, was born A.D. 1173 and died in the year 1262. He was very naturally one who had been first educated in the J[=o]-d[=o] sect, then the ruling one at the imperial court in Ki[=o]to. Shall we call him a Japanese Luther, because of his insistence on salvation by faith only? He is popularly believed to have been descended from one of the Shint[=o] gods, being on his father's side the twenty-first in the line of generation. On his mother's side he was of the lineage of the Minamoto or Genji, a clan sprung from Mikados and famous during centuries for its victorious warriors. H[=o]-nen was his teacher, and like his teacher, Shinran studied at the great monastery near Ki[=o]to, learning first the doctrine of the Tendai, and then, at the age of twenty-nine, receiving from H[=o]-nen the tenets of the J[=o]-d[=o] sect. Shortly after, at thirty years of age, he began to promulgate his doctrines. Then he took a step as new to Buddhism, as was Luther's union with Katharine von Bora, to the ecclesiasticism of his time. He married a lady of the imperial court, named Tamayori, who was the daughter of the Kuambaku or premier. Shinran thus taught by example, if not formally and by written precept, that marriage was honorable, and that celibacy was an invention of the priests not warranted by primitive Buddhism. Penance, fasting, prescribed diet, pilgrimages, isolation from society whether as hermits or in the cloister, and generally amulets and charms, are all tabooed by this sect. Monasteries imposing life-vows are unknown within its pale. Family life takes the place of monkish seclusion. Devout prayer, purity, earnestness of life and trust in Buddha himself as the only worker of perfect righteousness, are insisted upon. Morality is taught to be more important than orthodoxy. In practice, the Shin sect even more than the J[=o]-d[=o], teaches that it is faith in Buddha, which accomplishes the salvation of the believer. Instead of waiting for death in order to come under the protection of Amida, the faithful soul is at once received into the care of the Boundlessly Compassionate. In a word, the Shin sect believes in instantaneous conversion and sanctification. Between the Roman and the Reformed soteriology of Christendom, was Melancthonism or the co[=o]perate union of the divine and the human will. So, the old Buddhism prior to Shinran taught a phase of synergism, or the union of faith and works. Shinran, in his "Reformed" Buddhism, taught the simplicity of faith. So also _in_ regard to the sacred writings, Shinran opposed the San-ron school and the three-grade idea. The scriptures of other sects are in Sanskrit and Chinese, which only the learned are able to read. The special writings of Shinran are in the vernacular. Three of the sutras, also, have been translated into Japanese and expressed in the kana script. Singleness of purpose characterised this sect, which was often called Monto, or followers of the gate, in reference to its unity of organization, and the opening of the way to all by Shinran and the doctrine taught by him. Yet, lest the gate might seem too broad, the Shin teachers insist that morality is as important as faith, and indeed the proof of it. The high priests of Shin Shu have ever held a high position and wielded vast influence in the religious development of the people. While the temples of other sects are built in sequestered places among the hills, those of Shin Shu are erected in the heart of cities, on the main streets, and at the centres of population,--the priests using every means within their power to induce the people to come to them. The altars are on an imposing scale of magnificence and gorgeous detail. No Roman Catholic church or cathedral can outshine the splendor of these temples, in which the way to the Western Paradise is made so clear and plain. Another name for the sect is Ikko. After the death of Shinran, his youngest daughter and one of his grandsons erected a monastery near his tomb in the eastern suburbs of Ki[=o]to, to which the Mikado gave the title of Hon-guanji, or Monastery of the Original Vow. This was in allusion to the vow made by Amida, that he would not accept Buddhaship except under the condition that salvation be made attainable for all who should sincerely desire to be born into his kingdom, and signify their desire by invoking his name ten times.[11] It is upon the passage in the sutra where this vow is recorded, that the doctrine of the sect is based. Its central idea is that man is to be saved by faith in the mercy of the boundlessly compassionate Amida, and not by works or vain repetitions. Within our own time, on November 28, 1876, the present reigning Mikado bestowed upon Shinran the posthumous title Ken-shin Dai-shi, or Great Teacher of the Revelation of Truth. The Protestants of Japanese Buddhism. This is the sect which, being called "Reformed" Buddhism[12] and resembling Protestantism in so many points, both large and minute, foreigners think has been borrowed or imitated from European Protestantism.[13] As matter of fact, the foundation principles of Shin-Shu are at least six hundred years old. They are perfectly clear in the writings of the founder,[14] as well as in those of his successor Renni[=o],[15] who wrote the Ofumi or sacred writings, now daily read by the disciples of this denomination. With the characteristic object of reaching the masses, they are written, as we have shown, not in the mixed Chinese and Japanese characters, but in the common script, or kana, which all the people of both sexes can read. Within the last two decades the Shin educators have been the first to organize their schools of learning on the models of those in Christendom, so that their young men might be trained to resist Shint[=o] or Christianity, or to measure the truth in either. Their new temples also show European influence in architecture and furniture. Liberty of thought and action, and incoercible desire to be free from governmental, traditional, ultra-ecclesiastical, or Shint[=o] influence--in a word, protestantism in its pure sense, is characteristic of the great sect founded by Shinran. Indeed the Shin sect, which sprang out of the J[=o]-d[=o], maintains that it alone professes the true teaching of H[=o]-nen, and that the J[=o]-d[=o] sect has wandered from the original doctrines of its founder. Whereas the J[=o]-d[=o] or Pure Land sect believes that Amida will come to meet the soul of the believer on its separation from the body, in order to conduct it to Paradise, the Shin or True Sect of the Pure Land believes in immediate salvation and sanctification. It preaches that as soon as a man believes in Amida he is taken by him under him merciful protection. Some might denominate these people the Methodists of Buddhism. One good point in their Protestantism is their teaching that morality is of equal importance with faith. To them Buddha-hood means the perfection and unlimitedness of wisdom and compassion. "Therefore," writes one, "knowing the inability of our own power we should believe simply in the vicarious Power of the Original Prayer. If we do so, we are in correspondence with the wisdom of the Buddha and share his great compassion, just as the water of rivers becomes salt as soon as it enters the sea. For this reason this is called the faith in the Other Power." To their everlasting honor, also, the Shin believers have probably led all other Japanese Buddhists in caring for the Eta, even as they probably excel in preaching the true spiritual democracy of all believers, yes, even of women.[16] "According to the earlier and general view of Buddhism, women are condemned, in virtue of the pollution of their nature, to look forward to rebirth in other forms. By no possibility can they, in their existence as women, reach the higher grades of holiness which lead to Nirvana. According to the Shin Shu system, on the other hand, a believing woman may hope to attain the goal of the Buddhist at the close of her present life."[17] This doctrine seems to be founded on that passage in the eleventh chapter of the Saddharma Pundarika, in which the daughter of S[=a]gara, the N[=a]ga-king, loses her sex as female and reappears as a Bodhisattva of male sex.[18] The Shin sect is the largest in Japan, having more than twice as many temples as any four of the great sects, and five thousand more than the So-d[=o] or sub-sect of J[=o]-d[=o], which is the next largest; or, over nineteen thousand in all. It is also supposed to be one of the richest and most powerful of all the Japanese sects. In reality, however, it possesses no fixed property, and is dependent entirely upon the voluntary contributions of its adherents. To-day, it is probably the most active of them all in education, learning and missionary operations in Yezo, China and Korea. Interesting as is the development of the J[=o]-d[=o] and Shin sects, which became popular largely through their promulgation of dogmas founded on the Western Paradise, we must not forget that both of them preached a new Buddha--not the real figure in history, but an unhistoric and unreal phantom, the creation and dream of the speculator and visionary. Amida, the personification of boundless light, is one of the luxuriant growths of a sickly scholasticism--a hollow abstraction without life or reality. Amidaism is utterly repudiated by many Japanese Buddhists, who give no place to his idol on their altars, and reject utterly the teaching as to Paradise and salvation through the merits of another. Yet these two special developments by natives, though embodying tendencies of the Japanese mind, did not reach the limit to which Northern Buddhism was to go in those almost incredible lengths, which prompted Professor Whitney[19] to call it "the high-faluting school," and which we have seen in our own time under the cultivation of western admirers. The Nichiren Sect. The Japanese mind runs to pantheism as naturally as an unpruned grape-vine runs to fibre and leaves. When Nichiren, the ultra-patriotic and ultra-democratic bonze, saw the light in A.D. 1222, he was destined to bring religion not only down to man, but even down to the beasts and to the mud. He founded the Saddharma-Pundarika sect, now called Nichiren Shu. Born at Kominato, near the mouth of Yedo Bay, he became a neophite in the Shin-gon sect at the age of twelve, and was admitted into the priesthood when but fifteen years old. Then he adopted his name, which means Sun-lotus, because, according to a typical dream very common in Korea and Japan, his mother thought that she had conceived by the sun entering her body. Through a miracle, he acquired a thorough knowledge of the whole Buddhist canon, in the course of which he met with words, which he converted into that formula which is constantly in the mouth of the members of the Nichiren sect, Namu-my[=o]-ho-ren-gé-ky[=o]--"O, the Sutra of the Lotus of the Wonderful Law."[20] His history, full of amazing activity and of romantic adventure, is surrounded by a perfect sunrise splendor, or, shall we say, sunset gorgeousness, of mythology and fable. The scenes of his life are mostly laid in the region of the modern T[=o]ki[=o], and to the cultivated traveller, its story lends fascinating charms to the landscape in the region of Yedo Bay. Nichiren was a fiery patriot, and ultra-democratic in his sympathies. He was a radical believer in "Japan for the Japanese." He was an ecclesiastical _Soshi_. He felt that the developments of Buddhism already made, were not sufficiently comprehensive, or fully suited to the common people. So, in A.D. 1282, he founded a new sect which gradually included within its pantheon all possible Buddhas, and canonized pretty nearly all the saints, righteous men and favorite heroes known to Dai Nippon. Nichiren first made Japan the centre of the universe, and then brought religion down to the lowest. He considered that the period in which he lived was the latter day of the law, and that all creatures ought to share in the merit of Buddha-hood. Only the original Buddha is the real moon in the sky, but all Buddhas of the subordinate states are like the images of the moon, reflected upon the waters. All these different Buddhas, be they gods or men, beasts, birds or snakes, are to be honored. Indeed, they are both honored and worshipped in the Nichiren pantheon. Besides the historic Buddha, this sect, which is the most idolatrous of all, admits as objects of its reverence such personages as Nichiren, the founder; Kato Kiyomasa, the general who led the army of invasion in Korea and was the persecutor of the Christians; and Shichimen--a word which means seven points of the compass or seven faces. This Shichimen is the being that appeared to Nichiren as a beautiful woman, but disappeared from his sight in the form of a snake, twenty feet long, covered with golden scales and armed with iron teeth. It is now deified under the name meaning the Great God of the Seven Faces, and is identified with the Hindoo deity Siva. Another idol usually seen in the Nichiren temples is Mioken. Under this name the pole star is worshipped, usually in the form of a Buddha with a wheel of a Buddha elect. Standing on a tortoise, with a sword in his right hand, and with the left hand half open--a gesture which symbolizes the male and female principles in the physical world, and the intelligence and the law in the spiritual world--Mioken is a striking figure. Indeed, the list of glorified animals reminds us somewhat of the ancient beast-worship of Egypt. In the Nichiren hierology, it is as though the symbolical figures in the Book of Revelation had been deified and worshipped. It is evident that all the creatures in that Buddhist chamber of imagery, the Hokké Ki[=o], that could possibly be made into gods have received apotheosis. The very book itself is also worshipped, for the Nichirenites are extreme believers in verbal inspiration, and pay divine honors to each jot and tittle of the sutra, which to them is a god. They adore also the triad of the three precious ones, the Buddha, the Rule or Discipline, and the Organization; or, Being, Law, and Church. The hideous idol, Fudo, "Eleven-faced," "Horse-headed," "Thousand-handed," or girt in a robe of fiery flame, is believed by Buddhists to represent Avalokitesvara; but, in recent times he has been recognized, detected and recaptured by the Shint[=o]ists as Kotohira. The goddess Kishi, and that miscellaneous assortment or group known as the Seven Patrons of Happiness, which form a sort of encyclopaedia or museum of curiosities derived from the cults of India, China and Japan, are also components of the amazing menagerie and pantheon of this sect, in which scholasticism run mad, and emotional kindness to animals become maudlin, join hands. The Ultra-realism of Northern Buddhism. Like most of the other Japanese sects, the Nichirenites claim that their principles are contained in the Hok-ké-ki[=o], which is considered the consummate white flower of Buddhist doctrine and literature. This is the Japanese name for that famous sutra, the Saddharma Pundarika, so often mentioned in these chapters but a thousand-fold more so in Japanese literature. The Ten-dai and the Nichiren sects are allied, in that both lay supreme emphasis upon this sutra; but the former interprets it with an intellectual, and the latter with an emotional emphasis. Philosophically, the two bodies have much in common. Outwardly they are very far apart. One has but to read their favorite scripture, to see the norm upon which the gorgeous art of Japan has been developed. Probably no single book in the voluminous canon of the Greater Vehicle gives one so masterful a key to Japanese Buddhism. Its pages are crowded with sensuous descriptions of all that is attractive to both the reason and the understanding. Its descriptions of Paradise are those which would suit also the realistic Mussulman. Its rhetoric and visions seem to be those of some oriental De Quincey, who, out of the dreams of an opium-eater, has made the law-book of a religion. Translated into matter-of-fact Chinese, none better than Nichiren knew how to present its realism to his people. In its ethical standards, which are two, this sect, like most others, prescribes one course of life for the monk, which is difficult, and another for the laity, which is easy. The central dogma is that every part of the universe, including not only gods and men, but animals, plants and the very mud itself, is capable, by successive transmigrations, of attaining to Buddhaship. In one sense, Nichirenism is the transfiguration of atheistic evolution. In its teachings there are also two forms: the one, largely in symbol, is intended to attract followers; the other, the pure truth, is employed to convert the obstinately ignorant, against their wills. As in the history of the papal organization in Europe, a materialistic interpretation has been given to the canons of dogma and discipline. Contrary to the doctrine of those sects which teach the attainment of salvation solely through the aid of Amida, or Another, the Nichirenites insist that it is necessary for man to work out his own salvation, by observing the law, by self-examination, by reflecting on the blessings vouchsafed to the members of this elect and orthodox sect and by constant prayer. They consider themselves as in the only true church, and their succession to the priesthood, the only valid one. The strict Nichiren churchmen will not have the Shint[=o] gods in their household shrines, nor will they intermarry among the sects. The Nichirenites are also very fond of controversy, and their language in speaking of other creeds and sects is not that characteristic of the gentle Buddha. The people of this sect are much given to the belief in demoniacal possession, and a considerable part of the duty and revenue-yielding business of the Nichiren priests consists in exorcising the foxes, badgers and other demons, which have possessed subjects who are generally women at certain stages of illness or convalescence. The phenomena and pathology of these disorders seem to be allied to those of hysteria and hypnotism. This popular sect also makes greatest use of charms, spells and amulets, lays great store on pilgrimages, and is very fond of noise-making instruments whether prayer-books or the wooden bells or drums which are prominent features in their temples and revival meetings. In one sense it is the Salvation Army of Buddhism, being especially powerful in what strikes the eye and ear. The Nichirenites have been well called the Ranters of Buddhism. Their revival meetings make Bedlam seem silent, and reduce to gentle murmurs the camp-meeting excesses with which we are familiar in our own country. They are the most sectarian of all sects. Their vocabulary of Billingsgate and the ribaldry employed by them even against their Buddhist brethren, cast into the shade those of Christian sectarians in their fiercest controversies. "A thousand years in the lowest of the hells is the atonement prescribed by the Nichirenites for the priests of all other sects." When the Parliament of Religions was called in Chicago, the successors of Nichiren, with their characteristic high-church modesty, promptly sent letters to America, warning the world against all other Japanese Buddhists, and denouncing especially those coming to speak in the Parliament, as misrepresenting the true doctrines of Buddha. Doctrinal Culmination. When the work of Nichiren had been completed, and his realistic pantheism had been able to include within its great receiver and processes of Buddha-making, everything from gods to mud, the circle of doctrine was complete. K[=o]b[=o]'s leaven had now every possible lump in which to do its work. All grades of men in Japan, from the most devout and intellectual to the most ranting and fanatical, could choose their sect. Yet it may be that Buddhism in Nichiren's day was in danger of stagnation and formalism, and needed the revival which this fiery bonze gave it; for, undoubtedly, along with zeal even to bigotry, came fresh life and power to the religion. This invigoration was followed by the mighty missionary labors of the last half of the thirteenth century, which carried Buddhism out to the northern frontier and into Yezo. Although, from time to time minor sects were formed either limiting or developing further the principles of the larger parent sects, and although, even as late as the seventeenth century, a new subsect, the Oba-ku of Zen Shu, was imported from China, yet no further doctrinal developments of importance took place; not even in presence of or after sixteenth century Christianity and seventeenth century Confucianism. The fourteenth and fifteenth centuries form the golden age of Japanese Buddhism. In the sixteenth century, the feudal system had split into fragments and the normal state of the country was that of civil war. Sect was arrayed against sect, and the Shin bonzes, especially, formed a great military body in fortified monasteries. In the first half of the sixteenth century, came the tremendous onslaught of Portuguese Christianity. Then followed the militarism and bloody persecutions of Nobunaga. In clashing with the new Confucianism of the seventeenth century, Buddhism utterly weakened as an intellectual power. Though through the favor of the Yodo sh[=o]guns it recovered lands and wealth, girded itself anew as the spy, persecutor and professed extirpator of Christianity, and maintained its popularity with the common people, it was, during the eighteenth century, among the educated Japanese, as good as dead. Modern Confucianism and the revival of Chinese learning, resulted in eighteenth century scepticism and in nineteenth century agnosticism. The New Buddhism. In our day and time, Japanese Buddhism, in the presence of aggressive Christianity, is out of harmony with the times, and the needs of forty-one millions of awakened and inquiring people; and there are deep searchings of heart. Politically disestablished and its landed possessions sequestrated by the government, it has had, since 1868, a history, first of depression and then of temporary revival. Now, amid much mechanical and external activity, the employment of the press, the organization of charity, of summer schools of "theology," and of young men's and other associations copied from the Christians, it is endeavoring to keep New Japan within its pale and to dictate the future. It seeks to utilize the old bottles for the new vintage. There is, however, a movement discernible which may be called the New Buddhism, and has not only new wine but new wineskins. It is democratic, optimistic, empirical or practical; it welcomes women and children; it is hospitable to science and every form of truth. It is catholic in spirit and has little if any of the venom of the old Buddhist controvertists. It is represented by earnest writers who look to natural and spiritual means, rather than to external and mechanical methods. As a whole, we may say that Japanese Buddhism is still strong to-day in its grip upon the people. Though unquestionably moribund, its death will be delayed. Despite its apparent interest in, and harmony with, contemporaneous statements of science, it does not hold the men of thought, or those who long for the spiritual purification and moral elevation of Japan. Are the Japanese eager for reform? Do they possess that quality of emotion in which a tormenting sense of sin, and a burning desire for self-surrender to holiness, are ever manifest? Frankly and modestly, we give our opinion. We think not. The average Japanese man has not come to that self-consciousness, that searching of heart, that self-seeing of sin in the light of a Holy God's countenance which the gospel compels. Yet this is exactly what the Japanese need. Only Christ's gospel can give it. The average man of culture in Dai Nippon has to-day no religion. He is waiting for one. What shall be the issue, in the contest between a faith that knows no personal God, no Creator, no atonement, no gospel of salvation from sin, and the gospel which bids man seek and know the great First Cause, as Father and Friend, and proclaims that this Infinite Friend seeks man to bless him, to bestow upon him pardon and holiness and to give him earthly happiness and endless life? Between one religion which teaches personality in God and in man, and another which offers only a quagmire of impersonality wherein a personal god and an individual soul exist only as the jack-lights of the marsh, mere phosphorescent gleams of decay, who can fail to choose? Of the two faiths, which shall be victor? CHAPTER X - JAPANESE BUDDHISM IN ITS MISSIONARY DEVELOPMENT "The heart of my country, the power of my country, the Light of my country, is Buddhism."--Yatsubuchi, of Japan. "Buddhism was the teacher under whose instruction the Japanese nation grew up."--Chamberlain. "Buddhism was the civilizer. It came with the freshness of religious zeal, and religious zeal was a novelty. It come as the bearer of civilization and enlightenment." "Buddhism has had a fair field in Japan, and its outcome has not been elevating. Its influence has been aesthetic and not ethical. It added culture and art to Japan, as it brought with itself the civilization of continental Asia. It gave the arts, and more, it added the artistic atmosphere.... Reality disappears. 'This fleeting borrowed world' is all mysterious, a dream; moonlight is in place of the clear hot sun.... It has so fitted itself to its surroundings that it seems indigenous."--George William Knox. "The Japanese ... are indebted to Buddhism for their present civilization and culture, their great susceptibility to the beauties of nature, and the high perfection of several branches of artistic industry."--Rein. "We speak of _God_, and the Japanese mind is filled with idols. We mention _sin_, and he thinks of eating flesh or the killing of insects. The word _holiness_ reminds him of crowds of pilgrims flocking to some famous shrine, or of some anchorite sitting lost in religions abstraction till his legs rot off. He has much error to unlearn before he can take in the truth-"--R.E. McAlpine. "There in a life of study, prayer, and thought, Kenshin became a saintly priest--not wide In intellect nor broad in sympathies, For such things come not from the ascetic life; But narrow, strong, and deep, and like the stream That rushes fervid through the narrow path Between the rooks at Nikk[=o]--so he grasped, Heart, soul, and strength, the holy Buddha's Law With no room left for doubt, or sympathy For other views."--Kenshin's Vision. "For from the rising of the sun even unto the going down of the same, my name is great among the Gentiles; and in every place incense is offered unto my name, and a pure offering, for my name is great among the Gentiles, saith the Lord of hosts."--Malachi. CHAPTER X - JAPANESE BUDDHISM IN ITS MISSIONARY DEVELOPMENT Missionary Buddhism the Measure of Japan's Civilization. Broadly speaking, the history of Japanese Buddhism in its missionary development is the history of Japan. Before Buddhism came, Japan was pre-historic. We know the country and people through very scanty notices in the Chinese annals, by pale reflections cast by myths, legends and poems, and from the relics cast up by the spade and plough. Chinese civilization had filtered in, though how much or how little we cannot tell definitely; but since the coming of the Buddhist missionaries in the sixth century, the landscape and the drama of human life lie before us in clear detail. Speaking broadly again, it may be said that almost from the time of its arrival, Buddhism became on its active side the real religion of Japan--at least, if the word "religion" be used in a higher sense than that connoted by either Shint[=o] or Confucianism. Though as a nation the Japanese of the Méiji era are grossly forgetful of this fact, yet, as Professor Chamberlain says,[1] "All education was for centuries in Buddhist hands. Buddhism introduced art; introduced medicine; created the folk-lore of the country; created its dramatic poetry; deeply influenced politics, and every sphere of social and intellectual activity; in a word, Buddhism was the teacher under whose instruction the Japanese nation grew up." For many centuries all Japanese, except here and there a stern Shint[=o]ist, or an exceptionally dogmatic Confucian, have acknowledged these patent facts, and from the emperor to the eta, glorified in them. It was not until modern Confucian philosophy entered the Mikado's empire in the seventeenth century, that hostile criticism and polemic tenets denounced Buddhism, and declared it only fit for savages. This bitter denunciation of Buddhism at the lips and hands of Japanese who had become Chinese in mind, was all the more inappropriate, because Buddhism had for over a thousand years acted as the real purveyor and disperser of the Confucian ethics and culture in Japan. Such denunciation came with no better grace from the Yedo Confucianists than from the Shint[=o] revivalists, like Motoöri, who, while execrating everything Chinese, failed to remember or impress upon his countrymen the fact, that almost all which constituted Japanese civilization had been imported from the Middle Kingdom. Buddhism, in its purely doctrinal development, seems to be rather a system of metaphysics than a true religion, being a conglomeration, or rather perhaps an agglomeration, of all sorts of theories relating to the universe and its contents. Its doctrinal and metaphysical side, however, is to be carefully distinguished from its popular and external features, for in its missionary development Buddhism may be called a system of national improvement. The history of its propagation, in the land farthest east from its cradle, is not only the outline of the history of Japanese civilization, but is nearly the whole of it. Pre-Buddhistic Japan. It is not perhaps difficult to reconstruct in imagination the landscape of Japan in pre-Buddhistic days. Certainly we may, with some accuracy, draw a contrast between the appearance of the face of the earth then and now. Supposing that there were as many as a million or two of souls in the Japanese Archipelago of the sixth century--the same area which in the nineteenth century contains over forty-one millions--we can imagine only here and there patches of cultivated fields, or terraced gullies. There were no roads except paths or trails. The horse was probably yet a curiosity to the aborigines, though well known to the sons of the gods. Sheep and goats then, as now, were unknown. The cow and the ox were in the land, but not numerous.[2] In architecture there was probably little but the primeval hut. Tools were of the rudest description; yet it is evident that the primitive Japanese were able to work iron and apply it to many uses. There were other metals, though the tell-tale etymology of their names in Japanese metallurgy, as in so many other lines of industry and articles of daily use, points to a Chinese origin. It is the almost incredible fact that the Japanese man or woman wore on the person neither gold nor silver jewelry. In later times, decoration was added to the sword hilt and pins were thrust in the hair. Possibly a prejudice against metal touching the skin, such as exists in Korea, may account for this absence of jewelry, though silver was not discovered until A.D. 675, or gold until A.D. 749. The primitive Japanese, however, did wear ornaments of ground and polished stone, and these so numerously as to compel contrast with the severer tastes of later ages. Some of these magatama--curved jewels or perforated cylinders--were made of very hard stone which requires skill to drill, cut and polish. Among the substances used was jade, a mineral found only in Cathay.[3] Indeed, we cannot follow the lines of industry and manufactures, of personal adornment and household decoration, of scientific terms and expressions, of literary, intellectual and religious experiment, without continually finding that the Japanese borrowed from Chinese storehouses. Possibly their debt began at the time of the alleged conquest of Korea[4] in the third century. In Japanese life, as it existed before the introduction of Buddhism, there was, with barbaric simplicity, a measure of culture somewhat indeed above the level of savagery, but probably very little that could be appraised beyond that of the Iroquois Indians in the days of their Confederacy. For though granting that there were many interesting features of art, industry, erudition and civilization which have been lost to the historic memory, and that the research of scholars may hereafter discover many things now in oblivion; yet, on the other hand, it is certain that much of what has long been supposed to be of primitive Japanese origin, and existent before the eighth century, has been more or less infused or enriched with Chinese elements, or has been imported directly from India, or Persia,[5] or has crystallized into shape from the mixture of things Buddhistic and primitive Japanese. Apart from all speculation, we know that in the train of the first missionaries came artisans, and instructors in every line of human industry and achievement, and that the importation of the inventions and appliances of "the West"--the West then being Korea and China, and the "Far West," India--was proportionately as general, as far-reaching, as sensational, as electric in its effects upon the Japanese minds, as, in our day, has been the introduction of the modern civilization of Europe and the United States.[6] The Purveyors of Civilization. The Buddhist missionaries, in their first "enthusiasm of humanity," were not satisfied to bring in their train, art, medicine, science and improvements of all sorts, but they themselves, being often learned and practical men, became personal leaders in the work of civilizing the country. In travelling up and down the empire to propagate their tenets, they found out the necessity of better roads, and accordingly, they were largely instrumental in having them made. They dug wells, established ferries and built bridges.[7] They opened lines of communication; they stimulated traffic and the exchange of merchandise; they created the commerce between Japan and China; and they acted as peacemakers and mediators in the wars between the Japanese and Koreans. For centuries they had the monopoly of high learning. In the dark middle ages when civil war ruled, they were the only scholars, clerks, diplomatists, mediators and peacemakers. Japanese diet became something new under the direction of the priests. The bonzes taught the wickedness of slaughtering domestic animals, and indeed, the wrong of putting any living thing to death, so that kindness to animals has become a national trait. To this day it may be said that Japanese boys and men are, at least within the limits of their light, more tender and careful with all living creatures than are those of Christendom.[8] The bonzes improved the daily fare of the people, by introducing from Korea and China articles of food hitherto unknown. They brought over new seeds and varieties of vegetables and trees. Furthermore, necessity being the mother of invention, not a few of the shorn brethren made up for the prohibition of fish and flesh, by becoming expert cooks. They so exercised their talents in the culinary art that their results on the table are proverbial. Especially did they cultivate mushrooms, which in taste and nourishment are good substitutes for fish. The bonzes were lovers of beauty and of symbolism. They planted the lotus, and the monastery ponds became seats of splendor, and delights to the eye. Their teachings, metaphysical and mystical, poetical and historical, scientific and literary, created, it may be said, the Japanese garden, which to the refined imagination contains far more than meets the eye of the alien.[9] Indeed, the oriental imitations in earth, stone, water and verdure, have a language and suggestion far beyond what the usual parterres and walks, borders and lines, fountains and statuary of a western garden teach. It may be said that our "language of flowers" is more luxuriant and eloquent than theirs; yet theirs is very rich also, besides being more subtle in suggestion. The bonzes instilled doctrine, not only by sermons, books and the emblems and furniture of the temples, but they also taught dogma and ethics by the flower-ponds and plots, by the artificial landscape, and by outdoor symbolism of all kinds. To Buddhism our thanks are due, for the innumerable miniature continents, ranges of mountains, geographical outlines and other horticultural allusions to their holy lands and spiritual history, seen beside so many houses, temples and monasteries in Japan. In their floral art, no people excels the Japanese in making leaf and bloom teach history, religion, philosophy, aesthetics and patriotism. Not only around the human habitation,[10] but within it, the new religion brought a marvellous change. Instead of the hut, the dwelling-house grew to spacious and comfortable proportions, every part of the Japanese house to-day showing to the cultured student, especially to one familiar with the ancient poetry, the lines of its origin and development, and in the larger dwellings expressing a wealth of suggestion and meaning. The oratory and the kami-dana or shelf holding the gods, became features in the humblest dwelling. Among the well-to-do there were of course the gilded ancestral tablets and the worship of progenitors, in special rooms, with imposing ritual and equipment, with which Buddhism did not interfere; but on the shelf over the door of nearly every house in the land, along with the emblems of the kami, stood images representing the avatars of Buddha.[11] There, the light ever burned, and there, offerings of food and drink were thrice daily made. Though the family worship might vary in its length and variety of ceremony, yet even in the home where no regular system was followed, the burning lights and the stated offering made, called the mind up to thoughts higher than the mere level of providing for daily wants. The visitation of the priests in time of sorrow, or of joy, or for friendly converse, made religion sweetly human.[12] Outwardly the Buddhist architecture made a profound change in the landscape. With a settled religion requiring gorgeous ceremonial, the chanting of liturgies by large bodies of priests and the formation of monasteries as centres of literary and religious activity, there were required stability and permanence in the imperial court itself. While, therefore, the humble village temples arose all over the country, there were early erected, in the place where the court and emperor dwelt, impressive religious edifices.[13] The custom of migration ceased, and a fixed spot selected as the capital, remained such for a number of generations, until finally Héian-j[)o] or the place of peace, later called Ki[=o]to, became the "Blossom Capital" and the Sacred City for a thousand years. At Nara, where flourished the first six sects introduced from Korea, were built vast monasteries, temples and images, and thence the influence of civilisation and art radiated. From the first, forgetting its primitive democracy and purely moral claims, Buddhism lusted for power in the State. As early as A.D. 624, various grades were assigned to the priesthood by the government.[14] The sects eagerly sought and laid great stress upon imperial favor. To this day they keenly enjoy the canonization of their great teachers by letters patent from the Throne. Ministers of Art. On the establishment of the imperial capital, at Ki[=o]to, toward the end of the eighth century, we find still further development and enlargement of those latent artistic impulses with which the Heavenly Father endowed his Japanese child. That capacity for beauty, both in appreciation and expression, which in our day makes the land of dainty decoration the resort of all those who would study oriental art in unique fulness and decorative art in its only living school--a school founded on the harmonious marriage of the people and the nature of the country--is discernible from quite early ages. The people seem to have responded gladly to the calls for gifts and labor. The direction from which it is supposed all evils are likely to come is the northeast; this special point of the compass being in pan-Asian spiritual geography the focus of all malign influences. Accordingly, the Mikado Kwammu, in A.D. 788, built on the highest mountain called Hiyéi a superb temple and monastery, giving it in charge of the Ten-dai sect, that there should ever be a bulwark against the evil that might otherwise swoop upon the city. Here, as on castellated walls, should stand the watchman, who, by the recitation of the sacred liturgies, would keep watch and ward. In course of time this great mountain became a city of three thousand edifices and ten thousand monks, from which the droning of litanies and the chanting of prayers ascended daily, and where the chief industries were, the counting of beads on rosaries and the burning of incense before the altars. This was in the long bright day of a prosperity which has been nourished by vast sums obtained from the government and nobles. One notes the contrast at the end of our century, when "disestablished" as a religion and its bonzes reduced to beggary, Hiyéi-san is used as the site of a Summer School of Christian Theology. Along with the blossoming of the lotus in every part of the empire, bloomed the grander flowers of sculpture, of painting and of temple architecture. It was because of the carpenter's craft in building temples that he won his name of Dai-ku, or the great workman. The artificers of the sunny islands cultivated an ambition, not only to equal but to excel, their continental brethren of the saw and hammer. Yet the carpenter was only the leader of great hosts of artisans that were encouraged, of craftsmen that were educated and of industries that were called into being by the spread of Buddhism.[15] It was not enough that village temples and town monasteries should be built, under an impulse that meant volumes for the development of the country. The ambitious leaders chose sightly spots on mountains whence were lovely vistas of scenery, on which to erect temples and monasteries, while it seemed to be their further ambition to allow no mountain peak to be inaccessible. With armies of workmen, supported by the contributions of the faithful who had been aroused to enthusiasm by the preaching of the bonzes, great swaths were cut in the forest; abundant timber was felled; rocky plateaus were levelled; and elegant monastic edifices were reared, soon to be filled with eager students, and young men in training for the priesthood. Whether the pilgrimage[16] be of Shint[=o] or of Buddhist origin, or simply a contrivance of human nature to break the monotony of life, we need not discuss. It is certain that if the custom be indigenous, the imported faith adopted, absorbed and enlarged it. The peregrinations made to the great temples and to the mountain tops, being meritorious performances, soon filled the roads with more or less devout travellers. In thus finding vent for their piety, the pilgrims mingled sanctification with recreation, enjoying healthful holidays, and creating trade with varied business, commercial and commissarial activities, while enlarging also their ideas and learning something of geography. Thus, in the course of time, it has come to pass that Japan is a country of which almost every square mile is known, while it is well threaded with paths, banded with roads, and supplied to a remarkable extent with handy volumes of description and of local history.[17] Her people being well educated in their own lore and local traditions, possessed also a voluminous literature of guidebooks and cyclopedias of information. The devotees were, withal, well instructed and versed in a code of politeness and courtesy, as pilgrimage and travel became settled habits of a life. As a further result, the national tongue became remarkably homogeneous. Broadly speaking, it may be said that the Japanese language, unlike the Chinese in this as it is in almost every other point, has very little dialectic variation.[18] Except in some few remote eddies lying outside the general currents, there is a uniform national speech. This is largely owing to that annual movement of pilgrims in the summer months especially, habitual during many centuries. Buddhism coming to Japan by means of the Great Vehicle, or with the features of the Northern development, was the fertile mother of art. In the exterior equipment of the temple, instead of the Shint[=o] thatch, the tera or Buddhist edifice called for tiles on its sweeping roof, with ornamental terra-cotta at the end of its imposing roof-ridge, or for sheets of copper soon to be made verdant, then sombre and then sable by age and atmosphere. Outwardly the edifice required the application of paint and lacquer in rich tints, its recurved roof-edges gladly welcoming the crest and monogram of the feudal prince, and its railings and stairways accepting willingly the bronze caps and ornaments. In front of its main edifice was the imposing gateway with proportions almost as massive as the temple itself, with prodigal wealth of curiously fitted and richly carved, painted and gilded supports and morticings, with all the fancies and adornments of the carpenter's art, and having as its frontlet and blazon the splendidly gilt name, style or title. Often these were impressive to eye and mind, to an extent which the terse Chinese or curt monosyllables could scarcely suggest to an alien.[19] The number, forms and positions of the various parts of the temple easily lent themselves to the expression of the elaborate symbolism of the India faith. Resemblances between Buddhism and Christianity. Within the sacred edifice everything to strike the senses was lavishly displayed. The passion of the East, as opposed to Greek simplicity, is for decoration; yet in Japan, decorative art, though sometimes bursting out in wild profusion or running to unbridled lengths, was in the main a regulated mass of splendor in which harmony ruled. Differing though the Buddhist sects do in their temple furniture and altar decorations, they are, most of them, so elaborately full in their equipment as to suggest repeatedly the similarity between the Roman Catholic organization, altars, vestments and ritual, and those of Buddhism, and remarks on this point seem almost commonplace. Almost everything in Roman Catholicism is found in Buddhism,[20] and one may even say, _vice versa_, at least in things exterior. We take the liberty of transcribing here a passage from the chapter entitled "Christianity and Foreigners" in The Mikado's Empire, written twenty years ago. "Furthermore, the transition from the religion of India to that of Rome was extremely easy. The very idols of Buddha served, after a little alteration with the chisel, for images of Christ. The Buddhist saints were easily transformed into the Twelve Apostles. The Cross took the place of the _torii_. It was emblazoned on the helmets and banners of the warriors, and embroidered on their breasts. The Japanese soldiers went forth to battle like Christian crusaders. In the roadside shrine Kuanon, the Goddess of Mercy, made way for the Virgin, the mother of God. Buddhism was beaten with its own weapons. Its own artillery was turned against it. Nearly all the Christian churches were native temples, sprinkled and purified. The same bell, whose boom had so often quivered the air announcing the orisons and matins of paganism, was again blessed and sprinkled, and called the same hearers to mass and confession; the same lavatory that fronted the temple served for holy water or baptismal font; the same censer that swung before Amida could be refilled to waft Christian incense; the new convert could use unchanged his old beads, bells, candles, incense, and all the paraphernalia of his old faith in celebration of the new. "Almost everything that is distinctive in the Roman form of Christianity is to be found in Buddhism: images, pictures, lights, altars, incense, vestments, masses, beads, wayside shrines, monasteries, nunneries, celibacy, fastings, vigils, retreats, pilgrimages, mendicant vows, shorn heads, orders, habits, uniforms, nuns, convents, purgatory, saintly and priestly intercession, indulgences, works of supererogation, pope, archbishops, abbots, abbesses, monks, neophytes, relics and relic-worship, exclusive burial-ground, etc., etc., etc."[21] Nevertheless, these resemblances are almost wholly superficial, and have little or nothing to do with genuine religion. Such matters are of aesthetic and of commercial, rather than of spiritual, interest. They concern priestcraft and vulgar superstition rather than truth and righteousness. "In point of dogma a whole world of thought separates Buddhism from every form of Christianity. Knowledge, enlightenment, is the condition of Buddhistic grace, not faith. Self-perfectionment is the means of salvation, not the vicarious sufferings of a Redeemer. Not eternal life is the end and active participation in unceasing prayer and praise, but absorption into Nirvana (Jap. Nehan), practical annihilation."[22] At certain points, the metaphysic of Buddhism is so closely like that of Christian theology, that a connection on reciprocal exchange of ideas is not only possible but probable. In their highest thinking,[23] the sincere Christian and Buddhist approach each other in their search after truth. The key-word of Buddhism is Ingwa, which means law or fate, the chain of cause and effect in which man is found, atheistic "evolution applied to ethics," the grinding machinery of a universe in which is no Creator-Father, no love, pity or heart. If the cry of the human spirit has compelled the makers of Buddhist theology to furnish a goddess of mercy, it is but one subordinate being among many. If a boundlessly compassionate Amida is thought out, it is an imaginary being. The symbol of Buddhism is the wheel of the law, which revolves as mercilessly as ceaselessly.[24] The key-word of Christianity is love, and its message is grace. Its symbol is the cross, and its sacrament the supper, in token of the infinite love of the Father who wrote his revelation in a human life. The resemblances between the religions of Gautama and of Jesus, are purely superficial. They appear to the outward man. The inward man cannot, even from Darien peaks of observation or in his scrutiny _de profundis_, discover any vital or historical connection between the two faiths, Christianity and Buddhism. In his theology the Christian says God is all; but the Buddhist says All is god. Buddhism says destroy the passions: Christianity says control them. The Buddhist's watchword is Nirvana. The Christian's is Eternal Life in Christ Jesus.[25] The Temples and Their Symbolism. In the vast airy halls of a Buddhist temple one will often see columns made of whole tree-trunks, sheeted with gold and supporting massive ceilings which are empanelled and gorgeous with every hue and tint known to the palette. Besides the coloring, carving and gilding, the rich symbolism strikes the eye and touches the imagination. It is a pleasing study for one familiar with the background and world of Buddhism, to note their revelation and expression in art, as well as to discern what the varying sects accept or reject. There is the lotus, in leaf, bud, flower and calyx;[26] the diamond in every form, real and imaginary, with the vagra or emblem of conquest; while on the altars, beside the central image, be it that of Shaka or of Amida, are Bodhisattvas or Buddhas by brevet, beings in every state of existence, as well as deities of many names and forms. Abstract ideas and attributes are expressed in the art language not only of Japan, Korea and China, but also in that of India and even of Persia and Greece,[27] until one wonders how an Aryan religion, like Buddhism, could have so conquered and unified the many nations of Chinese Asia. He wonders, indeed, until he remembers how it has itself been transformed and changed in popular substance, from lofty metaphysics and ethics into pantheism for the shorn, and into polytheism for the unshorn. Looking at early Japanese pictures with the eye of the historian, as well as of the connoisseur of art, one will see that the first real school of Japanese art was Buddhistic. The modern school of pictorial art, named from the monkish phrase, Ukioyé--pictures of the Passing World--is indeed very interesting to the western student, because it seems to be more in touch with the human nature of the whole world, as distinct from what is local, Chinese, or sectarian. Yet, casting a glance back of the mediaeval Kano, Chinese and Yamato-Tosa styles, he finds that Buddhism gave Japan her first examples of and stimulus to pictorial art.[28] He sees further that instead of the monochrome of Chinese exotic art, or the first rude attempts of the native pencil, Buddhism began Japanese sculpture, carving and nearly every other form of plastic or pictorial representation, in which are all the elements of Northern Buddhism, as so lavishly represented, for example, in that great sutra which is the book, _par excellence_, of Japanese Buddhism, the Saddharma Pundarika. Turning from text to art, we behold the golden lakes of joy, the mountain of gems, the floating female angels with their marvellous drapery and lovely faces, the gentle benignity of the goddesses of mercy, the rays of light and the glory streaming from face and head of the holy ones, the splendors of costume, the varied beauties of the lotus, the hosts of ministering intelligences, the luxuriant symbolism, the purple clouds, the wheel of the law, the swastika[29] or double cross, and the vagra,[30] or diamond trefoil. All that color, perfume, sensuous delights, art and luxury can suggest, are here, together with all the various orders of beings that inhabit the Buddhist universe; and these are set forth in their fulness and detail. In the six conditions of sentient existence are devas or gods, men, asuras or monsters, pretas or demons, beasts, and beings in hell. In portraying these, the artists and sculptors do not always slavishly follow tradition or uniformity. The critical eye notes nearly as much genius, wit and variety as in the mediaeval cathedral architecture of Europe. Probably the most popular groups of idols are those of the seven or the thirty-three Kuannon, of the six Jizo[31] or compassionate helpers, and of the sixteen or the five hundred Rakan[32] or circles of primitive disciples of Gautama. The angelic beings and sweetly singing birds of Paradise are also favorite subjects of the artists. One who has lived alongside the great temples; who knows the daily routine and sees what powerful engines of popular instruction they are; who has been present at the great festivals and looked upon the mighty kitchens and refectories in operation; and who has gone in and out among their monasteries and examined their records, their genealogies and their relics, can see how powerfully Buddhism has moulded the whole life of the people through long ages. The village temple is often the epitome and repository of the social life of the people now living, and of the story of their ancestors for generations upon generations past. It is the historico-genealogical society, the museum, the repository of documents and trophies, the place of national thanksgiving and praise, of public sorrow and farewell, a place of rendezvous and separation, the starting-point of procession, and the centre of festival and joy; and thus it is linked with the life of the people. In other respects, also, the temple is like the old village cathedral of mediaeval Europe. It is in many sects the centre of popular pleasure of all sorts, both reputable and disreputable. Not only shops and bazaars, fairs and markets, games and sports, cluster around it, but also curiosities and works of popular art, the relics of war, and the trophies of travel and adventure. Except that Buddhism--outside of India--never had the unity of European Christianity, the Buddhist temple is the mirror and encyclopaedia both of history and of contemporary life. As fame and renown are necessary for the glory of the place or the structure, favorite gods, or rather their idols, are frequently carried about on "starring" tours. At the opening to public view of some famous image or relic, a great festival or revival called Kai-ch[=o] is held, which becomes a scene of trade and merry-making like that of the mediaeval fair or kermis in Europe. The far-oriental is able as skilfully as his western confrère, to mix business and religion and to suppose that gain is godliness. Further, the manufacture of legend becomes a thriving industry; while the not-infrequent sensation of a popular miracle is manipulated by the bonzes--for priestcraft in all ages and climes is akin throughout the world. It is no wonder that some honest Japanese, incensed at the shams utilized by the religious, has struck out like coin the proverb that rings true--"Good doctrine needs no miracle." The Bell and the Cemetery. The Buddhist missionaries, and especially the founders of temples, thoroughly understood the power of natural beauty to humble, inspire and soothe the soul of man. The instinctive love of the Japanese people for fine scenery, was made an ally of faith. The sites for temples were chosen with reference to their imposing surroundings or impressive vistas. Whether as spark-arresters and protectives against fire, or to compel reverent awe, the loftiest evergreen trees are planted around the sacred structure. These "trees of Jehovah" are compellers to reverence. The _alien's_ hat comes off instinctively--though it may be less convenient to shed boots than sandals--as he enters the sacred structure. The great tongueless bell is another striking accessory to the temple services. Near at hand stands the belfry out of which boom forth tidings of the hours. In the flow of time and years, the note of the bell becomes more significant, and in old age solemn, making in the lapse of centuries an educating power in seriousness. "As sad as a temple bell" is the coinage of popular speech. Many of the inscriptions, though with less of sunny hope and joy than even Christian grave-stones bear, are yet mournfully beautiful.[33] They preach Buddhism in its reality. Whereas, the general associations of the Christian spire and belfry, apart from the note of time, are those of joy, invitation and good news, those of the tongueless and log-struck bells of Buddhism are sombre and saddening. "As merry as a marriage bell," could never be said of the boom from a Buddhist temple, even though it pour waves of sound through sunny leagues. There is a vast difference between the peal and play of the chimes of Europe and the liquid melody which floods the landscape of Chinese Asia. The one music, high in air, seems ever to tell of faith, triumph and aspiration; the other in minor notes, from bells hung low on yokes, perpetually echoes the pessimism of despair, the folly of living and the joy that anticipates its end. Above all, the temple holds and governs the cemetery[34] as well as the cradle; while from it emanate influences that enwrap and surround the villager, from birth to death. Since the outlawry of Christianity, and especially since the division of the empire into Buddhist parishes, the bonzes have had the oversight of birth, death, marriage and divorce. Particularly tenacious, in common with priestcraft all over the world, is their clutch upon what they call "consecrated ground." In a large sense Japan is still, what China has always been, a country governed by the graveyard. These cities of the dead are usually kept in attractive order and made beautiful with flowers in memoriam. The study of epitaphs and mortuary architecture, though not without elements bordering on the ludicrous, is enjoyed by the thoughtful student.[35] In every community the inhabitants are enrolled at birth at the local temple, whose priests are the authorized religious teachers, and are always expected to take charge of the funerals of those whose names are thus enrolled. So long as an individual remains in the region of the family temple, the tie which binds him to it is exceedingly difficult to break; but if he moves away he is no longer bound by this tie. This explains the fact, so often observed by missionaries, that the membership of Christian churches is made up almost entirely of people who have come from other localities. In the city of Osaka, for instance, it is a very rare thing to find a native Osakan in any of the churches. The same is true in all parts of the country. So long as a Japanese remains in the neighborhood of his family temple it is almost impossible to get him to break the temple tie and join a Christian church; but when he moves to another place he is free to do as he likes.[36] This statement of a resident in modern Japan will long remain true for a large part of the empire. Political and Military Influences. A volume might be written and devoted to Japanese Buddhism as a political power; for, having quickly obtained intellectual possession of the court and emperor, it dictated the policies of the rulers. In A.D. 624, it was recognized as a state religion, and the hierarchy of priests was officially established. At this date there were 46 temples and monasteries, with 816 monks and 569 nuns. As early as the eighth century, beginning with Sh[=o]mu, who reigned A.D. 724-728, and who with his daughter, afterward the female Mikado, became a disciple of Shaka, the habit of the emperors becoming monks, shaving their heads and retiring from public life, came in vogue and lasted until near the nineteenth century. By this means the bonzes were soon enabled to call Buddhism "the people's religion," and to secure the resources of the national treasury as an aid to their temple and monastery building, and for the erection of those images and wayside shrines on which so many millions of dollars have been lavished. In addition to this subsidized propaganda, the Buddhist confessor was too often able, by means of the wife, concubine, or other female member of the household, imperial or noble, to dictate the imperial policy in accordance with monkish or priestly ideas. Ugéno D[=o]-ki[=o], a monk, is believed to have aspired to the throne. Being made premier by the Empress K[=o]-ken, whose passion for him is the scandal of history, he made no scruple of extending the power as well as the influence of the Buddhist hierarchy. Buddhism had also a distinct influence on the military history of the country,[37] and this was greatest during the civil wars of the rival Mikados (1336-1392), when the whole country was a camp and two lines of nominees claimed to be descendants of the sun-goddess. Japan's only foreign wars have been in the neighboring peninsula of Korea, and thither the bonzes went with the armies in the expeditions of the early centuries, and in that great invasion of 1592-1597, which has left a scar even to this day on the Korean mind. At home, Buddhist priests only too gladly accompanied the imperial armies of conquest and occupation. During centuries of activity in the southwest and in the far east and extreme north, the military brought the outlying portions of the empire, throughout the whole archipelago, under the sway of the Yamato tribe and the Mikado's dominion. The shorn clerks not only lived in camp, ministered to the sick and shrived the dying soldier, but wrote texts for the banners, furnished the amulets and war cries, and were ever assistant and valuable in keeping up the temper and morals of the armies.[38] No sooner was the campaign over and peace had become the order of the day, than the enthusiastic missionaries began to preach and to teach in the pacified region. They set up the shrines, anon started the school and built the temple; usually, indeed, with the aid of the law and the government, acting as agents of a politico-ecclesiastical establishment, yet with energy and consecration. In later feudal days, when the soldier classes obtained the upper hand, overawed the court and Mikado and gradually supplanted the civil authority, introducing feudalism and martial law, the bonzes often represented the popular and democratic side. Protesting against arbitrary government, they came into collision with the warrior rulers, so as to be exposed to imprisonment and the sword. Yet even as refugees and as men to whom the old seats of activity no longer offered success or comfort, they went off into the distant and outlying provinces, preaching the old tenets and the new fashions in theology. Thus again they won hosts of converts, built monasteries, opened fresh paths and were purveyors of civilization. The feudal ages in Japan bred the same type of militant priest known in Europe--the military bishop and the soldier monk. So far from Japan's being the "Land of Great Peace," and Buddhism's being necessarily gentle and non-resistant, we find in the chequered history of the island empire many a bloody battle between the monks on horseback and in armor.[39] Rival sectarians kept the country disquieted for years. Between themselves and their favored laymen, and the enemy, consisting of the rival forces, lay and clerical, in like array, many a bloody battle was fought. The writer lived for one year in Echizen, which, in the fifteenth century, was the battle-ground for over fifty years, of warring monks. The abbot of the Monastery of the Original Vow, of the Shin sect, in Ki[=o]to, had built before the main edifice a two-storied gate, which was expected to throw into the shade every other gateway in Japan, and especially to humble the pride of the monks of the Tendai sect, in Hiyéizan, The monks of the mountain, swarming down into the capital city, attacked the gate and monastery of the Shin sect and burned the former to ashes. The abbot thus driven off by fire, fled northward, and, joined by a powerful body of adherents, made himself possessor of the rich provinces of Kaga and Echizen, holding this region for half a century, until able to rebuild the mighty fortress-monasteries near Ki[=o]to and at Osaka. These strongholds of the fighting Shin priests had become so powerful as arsenals and military headquarters, that in 1570, Nobunaga, skilful general as he was, and backed by sixty thousand men, was unsuccessful in his attempt to reduce them. For ten years, the war between Nobunaga and the Shin sectarians kept the country in disorder. It finally ended in the conflagration of the great religious fortress at Osaka, and the retreat of the monks to another part of the country. By their treachery and incendiarism, the shavelings prevented the soldiers from enjoying the prizes. To detail the whole history of the fighting monks would be tedious. They have had a foothold for many centuries and even to the present time, in every province except that of Satsuma. There, because they treacherously aided the great Hidéyoshi to subdue the province, the fiery clansmen, never during Tokugawa days, permitted a Buddhist priest to come.[40] Literature, and Education. In its literary and scholastic development, Japanese Buddhism on its popular educational side deserves great praise. Although the Buddhist canon[41] was never translated into the vernacular,[42] and while the library of native Buddhism, in the way of commentary or general literature, reflects no special credit upon the priests, yet the historian must award them high honor, because of the part taken by them as educators and schoolmasters.[43] Education in ancient and mediaeval times was, among the laymen, confined almost wholly to the imperial court, and was considered chiefly to be, either as an adjunct to polite accomplishments, or as valuable especially in preparing young men for political office.[44] From the first introduction of letters until well into the nineteenth century, there was no special provision for education made by the government, except that, in modern and recent times in the castle towns of the Daimi[=o]s, there were schools of Chinese learning for the Samurai. Private schools and school-masters[45] were also creditably numerous. In original literature, poetry, fiction and history, as well as in the humbler works of compilation, in the making of text-books and in descriptive lore, the pens of many priests have been busy.[46] The earliest biography written in Japan was of Sh[=o]toku, the great lay patron of Buddhism. In the ages of war the monastery was the ark of preservation amid a flood of desolation. The temple schools were early established, and in the course of centuries became at times almost coextensive with the empire. Besides the training of the neophytes in the Chinese language and the vernacular, there were connected with thousands of temples, schools in which the children, not only of the well-to-do, but largely of the people, were taught the rudiments of education, chiefly reading and writing. Most of the libraries of the country were those in monasteries. Although it is not probable that K[=o]b[=o] invented the Kana or common script, yet it is reasonably certain that the bonzes[47] were the chief instrument in the diffusion and popularization of that simple system of writing, which made it possible to carry literature down into the homes of the merchant and peasant, and enabled even women and children to beguile the tedium of their lives. Thus the people expanded their thoughts through the medium of the written, and later of the printed, page.[48] Until modern centuries, when the school of painters, which culminated in Hok[)u]sai and his contemporaries, brought a love of art down to the lowest classes of the people, the only teacher of pictorial and sculptural art for the multitude, was Buddhism. So strong is this popular delight in things artistic that probably, to this passion as much as to the religious instinct, we owe many of the wayside shrines and images, the symbolical and beautifully prepared landscapes, and those stone stairways which slope upward toward the shrines on the hill-tops. In Japan, art is not a foreign language; it is vernacular. Thus, while we gladly point out how Buddhism, along the paths of exploration, commerce, invention, sociology, military and political influence, education and literature, not only propagated religion, but civilized Japan,[49] it is but in the interest of fairness and truth that we point out that wherein the great system was deficient. If we make comparison with Christendom and the religion of Jesus, it is less with the purpose of the polemic who must perhaps necessarily disparage, and more with the idea of making contrast between what we have seen in Japan and what we have enjoyed as commonplace in the United States and Europe. Things Which Buddhism Left Undone. In the thirteen hundred years of the life of Buddhism in Japan, what are the fruits, and what are the failures? Despite its incessant and multifarious activities, one looks in vain for the hospital, the orphan asylum, the home for elderly men or women or aged couples, or the asylum for the insane, and much less, for that vast and complicated system of organized charities, which, even amid our material greed of gain, make cities like New York, or London, or Chicago, so beautiful from the point of view of humanity. Buddhism did indeed teach kindness to animals, making even the dog, though ownerless and outcast, in a sense sacred. Because of his faith in the doctrine of the transmigration of souls, the toiling laborer will keep his wheels or his feet from harming the cat or dog or chicken in the road, even though it be at risk and trouble and with added labor to himself. The pious will buy the live birds or eels from the old woman who sits on the bridge, in order to give them life and liberty again in air or water. The sacred rice is for sale at the temples, not only to feed but to fatten the holy pigeons. Yet, while all this care is lavished on animals, the human being suffers.[50] Buddhism is kind to the brute, and cruel to man. Until the influx of western ideas in recent years, the hospital and the orphanage did not exist in Japan, despite the gentleness and tenderness of Shaka, who, with all his merits, deserted his wife and babe in order to enlighten mankind.[51] If Buddhism is not directly responsible for the existence of that class of Japanese pariahs called _hi-nin_, or not-human, the name and the idea are borrowed from the sutras; while the execration of all who prepare or sell the flesh of animals is persistently taught in the sacred books. These unfortunate bearers of the human image, during twelve hundred years and until the fiat of the present illustrious emperor made them citizens, were not reckoned in the census, nor was the land on which they dwelt measured. The imperial edict which finally elevated the Eta to citizenship, was suggested by one whose life, though known to men as that of a Confucian, was probably hid with Christ, Yokoi Héishiro.[52] The emperor Mutsuhito, 123d of the line of Japan, born on the day when Perry was on the Mississippi and ready to sail, placed over these outcast people in 1871, the protecting aegis of the law.[53] Until that time, the people in this unfortunate class, numbering probably a million, or, as some say, three millions, were compelled to live outside of the limits of human habitation, having no lights which society or the law was bound to respect. They were given food or drink only when benevolence might be roused; but the donor would never again touch the vessel in which the offering was made. The Eta,[54] though in individual cases becoming measurably rich, rotted and starved, and were made the filth, and off-scouring of the earth, because they were the butchers, the skinners, the leather workers, and thus handled dead animals, being made also the executioners and buriers of the dead. After a quarter of a century the citizens, whose ancestry is not forgotten, suffer social ostracism even more than do the freed slaves of our country, though between them and the other Japanese there is no color line, but only the streak of difference which Buddhism created and has maintained. Nevertheless, let it be said to the eternal honor of Shin Shu and of some of the minor sects, that they were always kind and helpful to the Eta. Furthermore it would be hard to discover Buddhist missionary activities among the Ainos, or benefits conferred upon them by the disciples of Gautama. One would suppose that the Buddhists, professing to be believers in spiritual democracy, would be equally active among all sorts and conditions of men; but they have not been so. Even in the days when the regions of the Ebisu or barbarians (Yezo) extended far southward upon the main island, the missionary bonze was conspicuous by his absence among these people. It would seem as though the popular notion that the Ainos are the offspring of dogs, had been fed by prejudices inculcated by Buddhism. It has been reserved for Christian aliens to reduce the language of these simple savages to writing, and to express in it for their spiritual benefit the ideas and literature of a religion higher than their own, as well as to erect church edifices and build hospitals. The Attitude Toward Woman. In its attitude toward woman, which is perhaps one of the crucial tests of a religion as well as of a civilization, Buddhism has somewhat to be praised and much to be blamed for. It is probable that the Japanese woman owes more to Buddhism than to Confucianism, though relatively her position was highest under Shint[=o]. In Japan the women are the freest in Asia, and probably the best treated among any Asiatic nation, but this is not because of Gautama's teaching.[55] Very early in its history Japanese Buddhism welcomed womanhood to its fraternity and order,[56] yet the Japanese _ama, bikuni_, or nun, never became a sister of mercy, or reached, even within a measurable distance, the dignity of the Christian lady in the nunnery. In European history the abbess is a notable figure. She is hardly heard of beyond the Japanese nunnery, even by the native scholar--except in fiction. So far as we can see, the religion founded by one who deserted his wife and babe did nothing to check concubinage or polygamy. It simply allowed these things, or ameliorated their ancient barbaric conditions through the law of kindness. Nevertheless, it brought education and culture within the family as well as within the court. It would be an interesting question to discuss how far the age of classic vernacular prose or the early mediaeval literature of romance, which is almost wholly the creation of woman,[57] is due to Buddhism, or how far the credit belongs, by induction or reaction, to the Chinese movement in favor of learning. Certainly, the faith of India touches and feeds the imagination far more than does that of China. Certainly also, the animating spirit of most of the popular literature is due to Buddhistic culture. The Shin sect, which permits the marriage of the priests and preaches the salvation of woman, probably leads all others in according honor to her as well as in elevating her social position. Buddhism, like Roman Catholicism, and as compared to Confucianism which is protestant and masculine, is feminine in its type. In Japan the place of the holy Virgin Mary is taken by Kuannon, the goddess of mercy; and her shrine is one of the most popular of all. Much the same may be said of Benten, the queen of the heaven and mistress of the seas. The angels of Buddhism are always feminine, and, as in the unscriptural and pagan conception of Christian angels, have wings.[58] So also in the legends of Gautama, in the Buddhist lives of the saints, and in legendary lore as well as in glyptic and pictorial art, the female being transfigured in loveliness is a striking figure. Nevertheless, after all is summed up that can possibly be said in favor of Buddhism, the position it accords to woman is not only immeasurably beneath that given by Christianity, but is below that conceded by Shint[=o], which knows not only goddesses and heroines, but also priestesses and empresses.[59] According to the popular ethical view as photographed in language, literature and art, jealousy is always represented by a female demon. Indeed, most of the tempters, devils, and transformations of humanity into malign beings, whether pretas, asuras, oni, foxes, badgers, or cats, are females. As the Chinese ideographs associate all things weak or vile with women, so the tell-tale words of Japanese daily speech are but reflections of the dogmas coined in the Buddhist mint. In Japanese, chastity means not moral cleanliness without regard to sex, but only womanly duties. For, while the man is allowed a loose foot, the woman is expected not only to be absolutely spotless, but also never to show any jealousy, however wide the husband may roam, or however numerous may be the concubines in his family. In a word, there is the double standard of morals, not only of priest and laity, but of man and woman. The position of the Japanese woman even of to-day, despite that eagerness once shown to educate her--an eagerness which soon cooled in the government schools, but which keeps an even pulse in the Christian home and college--is still relatively one of degradation as compared with that of her sister in Christendom. For this, the mid-Asian religion is not wholly responsible, yet it is largely so. Influence on the Japanese Character. In regard to the influence of Buddhism upon the morals and character of the Japanese, there is much to be said in praise, and much also in criticism. It has aided powerfully to educate the people in habits of gentleness and courtesy, but instead of aspiration and expectancy of improvement, it has given to them that spirit of hopeless resignation which is so characteristic of the Japanese masses. Buddhism has so dominated common popular literature, daily life and speech, that all their mental procedure and their utterance is cast in the moulds of Buddhist doctrine. The fatalism of the Moslem world expressed in the idea of Kismet, has its analogue in the Japanese Ingwa, or "cause and effect,"--the notion of an evolution which is atheistic, but viewed from the ethical side. This idea of Ingwa is the key to most Japanese novels as well as dramas of real life.[60] While Buddhism continually preaches this doctrine of Karma or Ingwa,[61] the law of cause and effect, as being sufficient to explain all things, it shows its insufficiency and emptiness by leaving out the great First Cause of all. In a word, Buddhism is law, but not gospel. It deals much with man, but not with man's relations with his Creator, whom it utterly ignores. Christianity comes not to destroy its ethics, beautiful as they are, nor to ignore its metaphysics; but to fulfil, to give a higher truth, and to reveal a larger Universe and One who fills it all--not only law, but a Law-giver. CHAPTER XI - A CENTURY OF ROMAN CHRISTIANITY "_Sicut cadaver._" "Et fiet unum ovile et unus pastor."--Vulgate, John x. 16. "He (Xavier) has been the moon of that 'Society of Jesus' of which Ignatius Loyola was the guiding sun."--S.W. Duffield. "My God I love Thee; not because I hope for Heaven thereby, Nor yet because, who love Thee not, must, die eternally. So would I love Thee, dearest Lord, and in Thy praise will sing; Solely because thou art my God, and my eternal King." --Hymn attributed to Francis Xavier. "Half hidden, stretching in a lengthened line In front of China, which its guide shall be, Japan abounds in mines of Silver fine, And shall enlighten'd be by holy faith divine." --Camoens "The people of this Iland of Japon are good of nature, curteous aboue measure, and valiant in warre; their justice is seuerely executed without any partialitie vpon transgressors of the law. They are gouerned in great ciuilitie. I meane, not a land better gouerned in the world by ciuill policie. The people be verie superstitious in their religion, and are of diuers opinions."--Will Adams, October 22, 1611. "A critical history of Japan remains to be written ... We should know next to nothing of what may be termed the Catholic episode of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, had we access to none but the official Japanese sources. How can we trust those sources when they deal with times yet more remote?"--Chamberlain. "The annals of the primitive Church furnish no instances of sacrifice or heroic constancy, in the Coliseum or the Roman arenas, that were not paralleled on the dry river-beds or execution-grounds of Japan." "They ... rest from their labors; and their works do follow them. "--Revelation. CHAPTER XI - A CENTURY OF ROMAN CHRISTIANITY Darkest Japan. The story of the first introduction and propagation of Roman Christianity in Japan, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, has been told by many writers, both old and new, and in many languages. Recent research upon the soil,[1] both natives and foreigners making contributions, has illustrated the subject afresh. Relics and memorials found in various churches, monasteries and palaces, on both sides of the Pacific and the Atlantic, have cast new light upon the fascinating theme. Both Christian and non-Christian Japanese of to-day, in their travels in the Philippines, China, Formosa, Mexico, Spain, Portugal and Italy, being keenly alert for memorials of their countrymen, have met with interesting trovers. The descendants of the Japanese martyrs and confessors now recognize their own ancestors, in the picture galleries of Italian nobles, and in Christian churches see lettered tombs bearing familiar names, or in western museums discern far-eastern works of art brought over as presents or curiosities, centuries ago. Roughly speaking, Japanese Christianity lasted phenomenally nearly a century, or more exactly from 1542 to 1637, During this time, embassies or missions crossed the seas not only of Chinese and Peninsular Asia, circumnavigating Africa and thus reaching Europe, but also sailed across the Pacific, and visited papal Christendom by way of Mexico and the Atlantic Ocean. This century of Southern Christianity and of commerce with Europe enabled Japan, which had previously been almost unheard of, except through the vague accounts of Marco Polo and the semi-mythical stories by way of China, to leave a conspicuous mark, first upon the countries of southern Europe, and later upon Holland and England. As in European literature Cathay became China, and Zipango or Xipangu was recognized as Japan, so also the curiosities, the artistic fabrics, the strange things from the ends of the earth, soon became familiar in Europe. Besides the traffic in mercantile commodities, there were exchanges of words. The languages of Europe were enriched by Japanese terms, such as soy, moxa, goban, japan (lacquer or varnish), etc., while the tongue of Nippon received an infusion of new terms,[2] and a notable list of inventions was imported from Europe. We shall merely outline, with critical commentary, the facts of history which have been so often told, but which in our day have received luminous illustration. We shall endeavor to treat the general phenomena, causes and results of Christianity in Japan in the same judicial spirit with which we have considered Buddhism. Whatever be the theological or political opinions of the observer who looks into the history of Japan at about the year 1540, he will acknowledge that this point of time was a very dark moment in her known history. Columbus, who was familiar with the descriptions of Marco Polo, steered his caravels westward with the idea of finding Xipangu, with its abundance of gold and precious gems; but the Genoese did not and could not know the real state of affairs existing in Dai Nippon at this time. Let us glance at this. The duarchy of Throne and Camp, with the Mikado in Ki[=o]to and the Sh[=o]gun at Kamakura, with the elaborate feudalism under it, had fallen into decay. The whole country was split up into a thousand warring fragments. To these convulsions of society, in which only the priest and the soldier were in comfort, while the mass of the people were little better than serfs, must be added the frequent violent earthquakes, drought and failure of crops, with famine and pestilence. There was little in religion to uplift and cheer. Shint[=o] had sunk into the shadow of a myth. Buddhism had become outwardly a system of political gambling rather than the ordered expression of faith. Large numbers of the priests were like the mercenaries of Italy, who sold their influence and even their swords or those of their followers, to the highest bidder. Besides being themselves luxurious and dissolute, their monasteries were fortresses, in which only the great political gamblers, and not the oppressed people, found comfort and help. Millions of once fertile acres had been abandoned or left waste. The destruction of libraries, books and records is something awful to contemplate; and "the times of Ashikaga" make a wilderness for the scapegoat of chronology. Ki[=o]to, the sacred capital, had been again and again plundered and burnt. Those who might be tempted to live in the city amid the ruins, ran the risk of fire, murder, or starvation. Kamakura, once the Sh[=o]-gun's seat of authority, was, a level waste of ashes. Even China, Annam and Korea suffered from the practical dissolution of society in the island empire; for Japanese pirates ravaged their coasts to steal, burn and kill. Even as for centuries in Europe, Christian churches echoed with that prayer in the litanies: "From the fury of the Norsemen, good Lord, deliver us," so, along large parts of the deserted coasts of Chinese Asia, the wretched inhabitants besought their gods to avenge them against the "Wojen." To this day in parts of Honan in China, mothers frighten their children and warn them to sleep by the fearful words "The Japanese are coming." First Coming of Europeans. This time, then, was that of darkest Japan. Yet the people who lived in darkness saw great light, and to them that dwelt in the shadow of death, light sprang up. When Pope Alexander VI. bisected the known world, assigning the western half, including America to Spain, and the eastern half, including Asia and its outlying archipelagos to the Portuguese, the latter sailed and fought their way around Africa to India, and past the golden Chersonese. In 1542, exactly fifty years after the discovery of America, Dai Nippon was reached. Mendez Pinto, on a Chinese pirate junk which had been driven by a storm away from her companions, set foot upon an island called Tanégashima. This name among the country folks is still synonymous with guns and pistols, for Pinto introduced fire-arms, and powder.[3] During six months spent by the "mendacious" Pinto on the island, the imitative people made no fewer than six hundred match-locks or arquebuses. Clearing twelve hundred per cent. on their cargo, the three Portuguese loaded with presents, returned to China. Their countrymen quickly flocked to this new market, and soon the beginnings of regular trade with Portugal were inaugurated. On the other hand, Japanese began to be found as far west as India. To Malacca, while Francis Xavier was laboring there, came a refugee Japanese, named Anjiro. The disciple of Loyola, and this child of the Land of the Rising Sun met. Xavier, ever restless and ready for a new field, was fired with the idea of converting Japan. Anjiro, after learning Portuguese and becoming a Christian, was baptized with the name of Paul. The heroic missionary of the cross and keys then sailed with his Japanese companion, and in 1549 landed at Kagoshima,[4] the capital of Satsuma. As there was no central government then existing in Japan, the entrance of the foreigners, both lay and clerical, was unnoticed. Having no skill in the learning of languages, and never able to master one foreign tongue completely, Xavier began work with the aid of an interpreter. The jealousy of the daimi[=o], because his rivals had been supplied with fire-arms by the Portuguese merchants, and the plots and warnings of those Buddhist priests (who were later crushed by the Satsuma clansmen as traitors), compelled Xavier to leave this province. He went first to Hirado,[5] next to Nagat[=o], and then to Bungo, where he was well received. Preaching and teaching through his Japanese interpreter, he formed Christian congregations, especially at Yamaguchi.[6] Thus, within a year, the great apostle to the Indies had seen the quick sprouting of the seed which he had planted. His ambition was now to go to the imperial capital, Ki[=o]to, and there advocate the claims of Christ, of Mary and of the Pope. Thus far, however, Xavier had seen only a few seaports of comparatively successful daimi[=o]s. Though he had heard of the unsettled state of the country because of the long-continued intestine strife, he evidently expected to find the capital a splendid city. Despite the armed bands of roving robbers and soldiers, he reached Ki[=o]to safely, only to find streets covered with ruins, rubbish and unburied corpses, and a general situation of wretchedness. He was unable to obtain audience of either the Sh[=o]gun or the Mikado. Even in those parts of the city where he tried to preach, he could obtain no hearers in this time of war and confusion. So after two weeks he turned his face again southward to Bungo, where he labored for a few months; but in less than two years from his landing in Japan, this noble but restless missionary left the country, to attempt the spiritual conquest of China. One year later, December 2, 1551, he died on the island of Shanshan, or Sancian, in the Canton River, a few miles west of Macao. Christianity Flourishes. Nevertheless, Xavier's inspiring example was like a shining star that attracted scores of missionaries. There being in this time of political anarchy and religious paralysis none to oppose them, their zeal, within five years, bore surprising fruits. They wrote home that there were seven churches in the region around Ki[=o]to, while a score or more of Christian congregations had been gathered in the southwest. In 1581 there were two hundred churches and one hundred and fifty thousand native Christians. Two daimi[=o]s had confessed their faith, and in the Mikado's minister, Nobunaga (1534-1582), the foreign priests found a powerful supporter.[7] This hater and scourge of the Buddhist priesthood openly welcomed and patronized the Christians, and gave them eligible sites on which to build dwellings and churches. In every possible way he employed the new force, which he found pliantly political, as well as intellectually and morally a choice weapon for humbling the bonzes, whom he hated as serpents. The Buddhist church militant had become an army with banners and fortresses. Nobunaga made it the aim of his life to destroy the military power of the hierarchy, and to humble the priests for all time. He hoped at least to extract the fangs of what he believed to be a politico-religious monster, which menaced the life of the nation. Unfortunately, he was assassinated in 1582. To this day the memory of Nobunaga is execrated by the Buddhists. They have deified Kato Kiyomasa and Iyéyas[)u], the persecutors of the Christians. To Nobunaga they give the title of Bakadono, or Lord Fool. In 1583, an embassy of four young noblemen was despatched by the Christian daimi[=o]s of Kiushiu, the second largest island in the empire, to the Pope to declare themselves spiritual--though as some of their countrymen suspected, political--vassals of the Holy See. It was in the three provinces of Bungo, Omura and Arima, that Christianity was most firmly rooted. After an absence of eight years, in 1590, the envoys from the oriental to the occidental ends of the earth, returned to Nagasaki, accompanied by seventeen more Jesuit fathers--an important addition to the many Portuguese "religious" of that order already in Japan. Yet, although there was to be still much missionary activity, though printing presses had been brought from Europe for the proper diffusion of Christian literature in the Romanized colloquial,[8] though there were yet to be built more church edifices and monasteries, and Christian schools to be established, a sad change was nigh. Much seed which was yet to grow in secret had been planted,--like the exotic flowers which even yet blossom and shed their perfume in certain districts of Japan, and which the traveller from Christendom instantly recognizes, though the Portuguese Christian church or monastery centuries ago disappeared in fire, or fell to the earth and disappeared. Though there were to be yet wonderful flashes of Christian success, and the missionaries were to travel over Japan even up to the end of the main island and accompany the Japanese army to Korea; yet it may be said that with the death of Nobunaga at the hands of the traitor Akéchi, we see the high-water mark of the flood-tide of Japanese Christianity. "Akéchi reigned three days," but after him were to arise a ruler and central government jealous and hostile. After this flood was to come slowly but surely the ebb-tide, until it should leave, outwardly at least, all things as before. The Jesuit fathers, with instant sensitiveness, felt the loss of their champion and protector, Nobunaga. The rebel and assassin, Akéchi, ambitious to imitate and excel his master, promised the Christians to do more for them even than Nobunaga had done, provided they would induce the daimi[=o] Takayama to join forces with his. It is the record of their own friendly historian, and not of an enemy, that they, led by the Jesuit father Organtin, attempted this persuasion. To the honor of the Christian Japanese Takayama, he refused.[9] On the contrary, he marched his little army of a thousand men to Ki[=o]to, and, though opposed to a force of eight thousand, held the capital city until Hidéyoshi, the loyal general of the Mikado, reached the court city and dispersed the assassin's band. Hidéyoshi soon made himself familiar with the whole story, and his keen eye took in the situation. This "man on horseback," master of the situation and moulder of the destinies of Japan, Hidéyoshi (1536-1598), was afterward known as the Taik[=o], or Retired Regent. The rarity of the title makes it applicable in common speech to this one person. Greater than his dead master, Nobunaga, and ingenious in the arts of war and peace, Hidéyoshi compelled the warring daimi[=o]s, even the proud lord of Satsuma,[10] to yield to his power, until the civil minister of the emperor, reverently bowing, could say: "All under Heaven, Peace." Now, Japan had once more a central government, intensely jealous and despotic, and with it the new religion must sooner or later reckon. Religion apart from politics was unknown in the Land of the Gods. Yet, in order to employ the vast bodies of armed men hitherto accustomed to the trade of war, and withal jealous of China and hostile to Korea, Hidéyoshi planned the invasion of the little peninsular kingdom by these veterans whose swords were restless in their scabbards. After months of preparation, he despatched an army in two great divisions, one under the Christian general Konishi, and one under the Buddhist general Kato. After a brilliant campaign of eighteen days, the rivals, taking different routes, met in the Korean capital. In the masterly campaign which followed, the Japanese armies penetrated almost to the extreme northern boundary of the kingdom. Then China came to the rescue and the Japanese were driven southward. During the six or seven years of war, while the invaders crossed swords with the natives and their Chinese allies, and devastated Korea to an extent from which she has never recovered, there were Jesuit missionaries attending the Japanese armies. It is not possible or even probable, however, that any seeds of Christianity were at this time left in the peninsula. Korean Christianity sprang up nearly two centuries later, wind-wafted from China.[11] During the war there was always more or less of jealousy, mostly military and personal, between Konishi and Kato, which however was aggravated by the priests on either side. Kato, being then and afterward a fierce champion of the Buddhists, glorified in his orthodoxy, which was that of the Nichiren sect. He went into battle with a banneret full of texts, stuck in his back and flying behind him. His example was copied by hundreds of his officers and soldiers. On their flags and guidons was inscribed the famous apostrophe of the Nichiren sect, so often heard in their services and revivals to-day (Namu miy[=o] ho ren gé ki[=o]), and borrowed from the Saddharma Pundarika: "Glory be to the salvation-bringing Lotus of the True Law." The Hostility of Hidéyoshi. Konishi, on the other hand, was less numerously and perhaps less influentially backed by, and made the champion of, the European brethren; and as all the negotiations between the invaders and the allied Koreans and Chinese had to be conducted in the Chinese script, the alien fathers were, as secretaries and interpreters, less useful than the native Japanese bonzes. Yet this jealousy and hostility in the camps of the invaders proved to be only correlative to the state of things in Japan. Even supposing the statistics in round numbers, reported at that time, to be exaggerated, and that there were not as many as the alleged two hundred thousand Christians, yet there were, besides scores of thousands of confessing believers among the common people, daimi[=o]s, military leaders, court officers and many persons of culture and influence. Nevertheless, the predominating influence at the Ki[=o]to court was that of Buddhism; and as the cult that winks at polygamy was less opposed to Hidéyoshi's sensualism and amazing vanity, the illustrious upstart was easily made hostile to the alien faith. According to the accounts of the Jesuits, he took umbrage because a Portuguese captain would not please him by risking his ship in coming out of deep water and nearer land, and because there were Christian maidens of Arima who scorned to yield to his degrading proposals. Some time after these episodes, an edict appeared, commanding every Jesuit to quit the country within twenty days. There were at this time sixty-five foreign missionaries in the country. Then began a series of persecutions, which, however, were carried on spasmodically and locally, but not universally or with system. Bitter in some places, they were neutralized or the law became a dead letter, in other parts of the realm. It is estimated that ten thousand new converts were made in the single year, 1589, that is, the second year after the issue of the edict, and again in the next year, 1590. It might even be reasonable to suppose that, had the work been conducted wisely and without the too open defiance of the letter of the law, the awful sequel which history knows, might not have been. Let us remember that the Duke of Alva, the tool of Philip II., failing to crush the Dutch Republic had conquered Portugal for his master. The two kingdoms of the Iberian peninsula were now united under one crown. Spain longed for trade with Japan, and while her merchants hoped to displace their Portuguese rivals, the Spanish Franciscans not scrupling to wear a political cloak and thus override the Pope's bull of world-partition, determined to get a foothold alongside of the Jesuits. So, in 1593 a Spanish envoy of the governor of the Philippine Islands came to Ki[=o]to, bringing four Spanish Franciscan priests, who were allowed to build houses in Ki[=o]to, but only on the express understanding that this was because of their coming as envoys of a friendly power, and with the explicitly specified condition that they were not to preach, either publicly or privately. Almost immediately violating their pledge and the hospitality granted them, these Spaniards, wearing the vestments of their order, openly preached in the streets. Besides exciting discord among the Christian congregations founded by the Jesuits, they were violent in their language. Hidéyoshi, to gratify his own mood and test his power as the actual ruler for a shadowy emperor, seized nine preachers while they were building churches at Ki[=o]to and Osaka. They were led to the execution-ground in exactly the same fashion as felons, and executed by crucifixion, at Nagasaki, February 5, 1597. Three Portuguese Jesuits, six Spanish Franciscans and seventeen native Christians were stretched on bamboo crosses, and their bodies from thigh to shoulder were transfixed with spears. They met their doom uncomplainingly. In the eye of the Japanese law, these men were put to death, not as Christians, but as law-breakers and as dangerous political conspirators. The suspicions of Hidéyoshi were further confirmed by a Spanish sea-captain, who showed him a map of the world on which were marked the vast dominions of the King of Spain; the Spaniard informing the Japanese, in answer to his shrewd question, that these great conquests had been made by the king's soldiers following up the priests, the work being finished by the native and foreign allies. The Political Character of Roman Christianity. The Roman Catholic "Histoire del' Église Chrétienne" shows the political character of the missionary movement in Japan, a character almost inextricably associated with the papal and other political Christianity of the times, when State and Church were united in all the countries of Europe, both Catholic and Protestant. Even republican Holland, leader of toleration and forerunner of the modern Christian spirit, permitted, indeed, the Roman Catholics to worship in private houses or in sacred edifices not outwardly resembling churches, but prohibited all public processions and ceremonies, because religion and politics at that time were as Siamese twins. Only the Anabaptists held the primitive Christian and the American doctrine of the separation of politics from ecclesiasticism. Except in the country ruled by William the Silent, all magistrates meddled with men's consciences.[12] In 1597, Hidéyoshi died, and the missionaries took heart again. The Christian soldiers returning by thousands from Korea, declared themselves in favor of Hidéyori, son of the dead Taik[=o]. Encouraged by those in power, and by the rising star Iyéyas[)u] (1542-1616), the fathers renewed their work and the number of converts increased. Though peace reigned, the political situation was one of the greatest uncertainty, and with two hundred thousand soldiers gathered around Ki[=o]to, under scores of ambitious leaders, it was hard to keep the sword in the sheath. Soon the line of cleavage found Iyéyas[)u] and his northern captains on one side, and most of the Christian leaders and southern daimi[=o]s on the other. In October, 1600, with seventy-five thousand men, the future unifier of Japan stood on the ever-memorable field of Sékigahara. The opposing army, led largely by Christian commanders, left their fortress to meet the one whom they considered a usurper, in the open field. In the battle which ensued, probably the most decisive ever fought on the soil of Japan, ten thousand men lost their lives. The leading Christian generals, beaten, but refusing out of principle because they were Christians, to take their own lives by _hara-kiri_, knelt willingly at the common blood-pit and had their heads stricken off by the executioner. Then began a new era in the history of the empire, and then were laid by Iyéyas[)u] the foundation-lines upon which the Japan best known to Europe has existed for nearly three centuries. The creation of a central executive government strong enough to rule the whole empire, and hold down even the southern and southwestern daimi[=o]s, made it still worse for the converts of the European teachers, because in the Land of the Gods government is ever intensely pagan. In adjusting the feudal relations of his vassals in Kiushiu, Iyéyas[)u] made great changes, and thus the political status of the Christians was profoundly altered. The new daimi[=o]s, carrying out the policy of their predecessors who had been taught by the Jesuits, but reversing its direction, began to persecute their Christian subjects, and to compel them to renounce their faith. One of the leading opposers of the Christians and their most cruel persecutor, was Kato, the zealous Nichirenite. Like Brandt, the famous Iroquois Indian, who, in the Mohawk Valley is execrated as a bloodthirsty brute, and on the Canadian side is honored with a marble statue and considered not only as the translator of the prayer-book but also as a saint; even also as Claverhouse, who, in Scotland is looked upon as a murderous demon, but in England as a conscientious and loyal patriot; so Kato, the _vir ter execrandus_ of the Jesuits, is worshipped in his shrine at the Nichiren temple at Ikégami, near T[=o]ki[=o],[13] and is praised by native historians as learned, brave and true. The Christians of Kiushiu, in a few cases, actually took up arms against their new rulers and oppressors, though it was a new thing under the Japanese sun for peasantry to oppose not only civil servants of the law, but veterans in armor. Iyéyas[)u], now having time to give his attention wholly to matters of government and to examine the new forces that had entered Japanese life, followed Hidéyoshi in the suspicion that, under the cover of the western religion, there lurked political designs. He thought he saw confirmation of his theories, because the foreigners still secretly or openly paid court to Hidéyori, and at the same time freely disbursed gifts and gold as well as comfort to the persecuted. Resolving to crush the spirit of independence in the converts and to intimidate the foreign emissaries, Iyéyas[)u] with steel and blood put down every outbreak, and at last, in 1606, issued his edict[14] prohibiting Christianity. The Quarrels of the Christians. About the same time, Protestant influences began to work against the papal emissaries. The new forces from the triumphant Dutch republic, which having successfully defied Spain for a whole generation had reached Japan even before the Great Truce, were opposed to the Spaniards and to the influence of both Jesuits and Franciscans. Hollanders at Lisbon, obtaining from the Spanish archives charts and geographical information, had boldly sailed out into the Eastern seas, and carried the orange white and blue flag to the ends of the earth, even to Nippon. Between Prince Maurice, son of William the Silent, and the envoys of Iyéyas[)u], there was made a league of commerce as well as of peace and friendship. Will Adams,[15] the English pilot of the Dutch ships, by his information given to Iyéyas[)u], also helped much to destroy the Jesuits influence and to hurt their cause, while both the Dutch and English were ever busy in disseminating both correct information and polemic exaggeration, forging letters and delivering up to death by fire the _padres_ when captured at sea. In general, however, it may be said that while Christian converts and the priests were roughly handled in the South, yet there was considerable missionary activity and success in the North. Converts were made and Christian congregations were gathered in regions remote from Ki[=o]to and Yedo, which latter place, like St. Petersburg in the West, was being made into a large city. Even outlying islands, such as Sado, had their churches and congregations. The Anti-Christian Policy of the Tokugawas. The quarrels between the Franciscans and Jesuits,[16] however, were probably more harmful to Christianity than were the whispers of the Protestant Englishmen or Hollanders. In 1610, the wrath of the government was especially aroused against the _bateren_, as the people called the _padres_, by their open and persistent violation of Japanese law. In 1611, from Sado, to which island thousands of Christian exiles had been sent to work the mines, Iyéyas[)u] believed he had obtained documentary proof in the Japanese language, of what he had long suspected--the existence of a plot on the part of the native converts and the foreign emissaries to reduce Japan to the position of a subject state.[17] Putting forth strenuous measures to root out utterly what he believed to be a pestilential breeder of sedition and war, the Yedo Sh[=o]gun advanced step by step to that great proclamation of January 27, 1614,[18] in which the foreign priests were branded as triple enemies--of the country, of the Kami, and of the Buddhas. This proclamation wound up with the charge that the Christian band had come to Japan to change the government of the country, and to usurp possession of it. Whether or not he really had sufficient written proof of conspiracy against the nation's sovereignty, it is certain that in this state paper, Iyéyas[)u] shrewdly touched the springs of Japanese patriotism. Not desiring, however, to shed blood or provoke war, he tried transportation. Three hundred persons, namely, twenty-two Franciscans, Dominicans and Augustines, one hundred and seventeen foreign Jesuits, and nearly two hundred native priests and catechists, were arrested, sent to Nagasaki, and thence shipped like bundles of combustibles to Macao. Yet, as many of the foreign and native Christian teachers hid themselves in the country and as others who had been banished returned secretly and continued the work of propaganda, the crisis had not yet come. Some of the Jesuit priests, even, were still hoping that Hidéyori would mount to power; but in 1615, Iyéyas[)u], finding a pretext for war,[19] called out a powerful army and laid siege to the great castle of Osaka, the most imposing fortress in the country. In the brief war which ensued, it is said by the Jesuit fathers, that one hundred thousand men perished. On June 9, 1615, the castle was captured and the citadel burned. After thousands of Hidéyori's followers had committed _hara-kiri_, and his own body had been burned into ashes, the Christian cause was irretrievably ruined. Hidétada, the successor of Iyéyas[)u] in Yedo, who ruled from 1605 to 1622, seeing that his father's peaceful methods had failed in extirpating the alien politico-religious doctrine, now pronounced sentence of death on every foreigner, priest, or catechist found in the country. The story of the persecutions and horrible sufferings that ensued is told in the voluminous literature which may be gathered from every country in Europe;[20] though from the Japanese side "The Catholic martyrology of Japan is still an untouched field for a [native] historian."[21] All the church edifices which the last storm had left standing were demolished, and temples and pagodas were erected upon their ruins. In 1617, foreign commerce was restricted to Hirado and Nagasaki. In 1621, Japanese were forbidden ever to leave the country. In 1624, all ships having a capacity of over twenty-five hundred bushels were burned, and no craft, except those of the size of ordinary junks, were allowed to be built. The Books of the Inferno Opened. For years, at intervals and in places, the books of the Inferno were opened, and the tortures devised by the native pagans and Buddhists equalled in their horror those which Dante imagines, until finally, in 1636, even Japanese human nature, accustomed for ages to subordination and submission, could stand it no longer. Then a man named Nirado Shiro raised the banner of the Virgin and called on all Christians and others to follow him. Probably as many as thirty thousand men, women and children, but without a single foreigner, lay or clerical, among them, gathered from parts of Kiushiu. After burning Shint[=o] and Buddhist temples, they fortified an old abandoned castle at Shimabara, resolving to die rather than submit. Against an army of veterans, led by skilled commanders, the fortress held out during four months. At last, after a bloody assault, it was taken, and men, women and children were slaughtered.[22] Thousands suffered death at the point of the spear and sword; many were thrown into the sea; and others were cast into boiling hot springs, emblems of the eight Buddhist Hells. All efforts were now put forth to uproot not only Christianity but also everything of foreign planting. The Portuguese were banished and the death penalty declared against all who should return, The ai no ko, or half-breed children, were collected and shipped by hundreds to Macao. All persons adopting or harboring Eurasians were to be banished, and their relatives punished. The Christian cause now became like the doomed city of Babylon or like the site of Nineveh, which, buried in the sand and covered with the desolation and silence of centuries, became lost to the memory of the world, so that even the very record of scripture was the jest of the infidel, until the spade of Layard brought them again to resurrection. So, Japanese Christianity, having vanished in blood, was supposed to have no existence, thus furnishing Mr. Lecky with arguments to prove the extirpative power of persecution.[23] Yet in 1859, on the opening of the country by treaty, the Roman Catholic fathers at Nagasaki found to their surprise that they were re-opening the old mines, and that their work was in historic continuity with that of their predecessors. The blood of the martyrs had been the seed of the church. Amid much ignorance and darkness, there were thousands of people who, through the Virgin, worshipped God; who talked of Jesus, and of the Holy Spirit; and who refused to worship at the pagan shrines[24]. Summary of Roman Christianity in Japan. Let us now strive impartially to appraise the Christianity of this era, and inquire what it found, what it attempted to do, what it did not strive to attain, what was the character of its propagators, what was the mark it made upon the country and upon the mind of the people, and whether it left any permanent influence. The gospel net which had gathered all sorts of fish in Europe brought a varied quality of spoil to Japan. Among the Portuguese missionaries, beginning with Xavier, there are many noble and beautiful characters, who exemplified in their motives, acts, lives and sufferings some of the noblest traits of both natural and redeemed humanity. In their praise, both the pagan and the Christian, as well as critics biased by their prepossessions in favor either of the Reformed or the Roman phase of the faith, can unite. The character of the native converts is, in many instances, to be commended, and shows the direct truth of Christianity in fields of life and endeavor, in ethics and in conceptions, far superior to those which the Japanese religious systems have produced. In the teaching that there should be but one standard of morality for man and woman, and that the male as well as the female should be pure; in the condemnation of polygamy and licentiousness; in the branding of suicide as both wicked and cowardly; in the condemnation of slavery; and in the training of men and women to lofty ideals of character, the Christian teachers far excelled their Buddhist or Confucian rivals. The benefits which Japan received through the coming of the Christian missionaries, as distinct and separate from those brought by commerce and the merchants, are not to be ignored. While many things of value and influence for material improvement, and many beneficent details and elements of civilization were undoubtedly imported by traders, yet it was the priests and itinerant missionaries who diffused the knowledge of the importance of these things and taught their use throughout the country. Although in the reaction of hatred and bitterness, and in the minute, universal and long-continued suppression by the government, most of this advantage was destroyed, yet some things remained to influence thought and speech, and to leave a mark not only on the language, but also on the procedure of daily life. One can trace notable modifications of Japanese life from this period, lasting through the centuries and even until the present time. Christianity, in the sixteenth century, came to Japan only in its papal or Roman Catholic form. While in it was infused much of the power and spirit of Loyola and Xavier, yet the impartial critic must confess that this form was military, oppressive and political.[25] Nevertheless, though it was impure and saturated with the false principles, the vices and the embodied superstitions of corrupt southern Europe, yet, such as it was, Portuguese Christianity confronted the worst condition of affairs, morally, intellectually and materially, which Japan has known in historic times. Defective as the critic must pronounce the system of religion imported from Europe, it was immeasurably superior to anything that the Japanese had hitherto known. It must be said, also, that Portuguese Christianity in Japan tried to do something more than the mere obtaining of adherents or the nominal conversion of the people.[26] It attempted to purify and exalt their life, to make society better, to improve the relations between rulers and ruled; but it did not attempt to do what it ought to have done. It ignored great duties and problems, while it imitated too fully, not only the example of the kings of this world in Europe but also of the rulers in Japan. In the presence of soldier-like Buddhist priests, who had made war their calling, it would have been better if the Christian missionaries had avoided their bad example, and followed only in the footsteps of the Prince of Peace; but they did not. On the contrary, they brought with them the spirit of the Inquisition then in full blast in Spain and Portugal, and the machinery with which they had been familiar for the reclamation of native and Dutch "heretics." Xavier, while at Goa, had even invoked the secular arm to set up the Inquisition in India, and doubtless he and his followers would have put up this infernal enginery in Japan if they could have done so. They had stamped and crushed out "heresy" in their own country, by a system of hellish tortures which in its horrible details is almost indescribable. The rusty relics now in the museums of Europe, but once used in church discipline, can be fully appreciated only by a physician or an anatomist. In Japan, with the spirit of Alva and Philip II., these believers in the righteousness of the Inquisition attacked violently the character of native bonzes, and incited their converts to insult the gods, destroy the Buddhist images, and burn or desecrate the old shrines. They persuaded the daimi[=o]s, when these lords had become Christians, to compel their subjects to embrace their religion on pain of exile or banishment. Whole districts were ordered to become Christian. The bonzes were exiled or killed, and fire and sword as well as preaching, were employed as means of conversion. In ready imitation of the Buddhists, fictitious miracles were frequently got up to utilize the credulity of the superstitious in furthering the faith--all of which is related not by hostile critics, but by admiring historians and by sympathizing eye-witnesses.[27] The most prominent feature of the Roman Catholicism of Japan, was its political animus and complexion. In writings of this era, Japanese historians treat of the Christian missionary movement less as something religious, and more as that which influenced government and polities, rather than society on its moral side. So also, the impartial historian must consider that, on the whole, despite the individual instances of holy lives and unselfish purposes, the work of the Portuguese and Spanish friars and "fathers" was, in the main, an attempt to bring Japan more or less directly within the power of the Pope or of those rulers called Most Catholic Majesties, Christian Kings, etc., even as they had already brought Mexico, South America, and large portions of India under the same control. The words of Jesus before the Roman procurator had not been apprehended:--"My kingdom is not of this world." CHAPTER XII - TWO CENTURIES OF SILENCE "The frog in the well knows not the great ocean" --Sanskrit and Japanese Proverb. "When the blind lead the blind, both fall into the ditch." --Japanese Proverb. "The little island of Déshima, well and prophetically signifying Fore-Island, was Japan's window, through which she looked at the whole Occident ... We are under obligation to Holland for the arts of engineering, mining, pharmacy, astronomy, and medicine ... 'Rangaku' (i.e., Dutch learning) passed almost as a synonym for medicine," [1615-1868].--Inazo Nitobé. "The great peace, of which we are so proud, was more like the stillness of stagnant pools than the calm surface of a clear lake."--Mitsukuri. "The ancestral policy of self-contentment must be done away with. If it was adopted by your forefathers, because it was wise in their time, why not adopt a new policy if it in sure to prove wise in your time."--Sakuma Shozan, wrote in 1841, assassinated 1864. "And slowly floating onward go Those Black Ships, wave-tossed to and fro." --Japanese Ballad of the Black Ship, 1845. "The next day was Sunday (July 10th), and, as usual, divine service was held on board the ships, and, in accordance with proper reverence for the day, no communication was held with the Japanese authorities." --Perry's Narrative. "Praise God, from whom all blessings flow, Praise Him, all creatures here below, Praise Him above, ye heavenly host, Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost." --Sung on U.S.S.S. Mississippi, in Yedo Bay, July 10, 1853. "I refuse to see anyone on Sunday, I am resolved to set an example of a proper observance of the Sabbath ... I will try to make it what I believe it was intended to be--a day of rest."--Townsend Harris's Diary, Sunday, August 31, 1856. "I have called thee by thy name. I have surnamed thee, though thou hast not known me. I am the LORD, and there is none else; besides me there is no God."--Isaiah. "I saw underneath the altar the souls of them that had been slain for the word of God, and for the testimony which they held."--John. "That they should seek God, If haply they might feel after him, though he is not far from each one of us."--Paul. "Other sheep have I which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and they shall become one flock, one shepherd"--Jesus. CHAPTER XII - TWO CENTURIES OF SILENCE The Japanese Shut In. Sincerely regretting that we cannot pass more favorable judgments upon the Christianity of the seventeenth century in Japan, let us look into the two centuries of silence, and see what was the story between the paling of the Christian record in 1637, and the glowing of the palimpsest in 1859, when the new era begins. The policy of the Japanese rulers, after the supposed utter extirpation of Christianity, was the double one of exclusion and inclusion. A deliberate attempt, long persisted in and for centuries apparently successful, was made to insulate Japan from the shock of change. The purpose was to draw a whole nation and people away from the currents and movements of humanity, and to stereotype national thought and custom. This was carried out in two ways: first, by exclusion, and then by inclusion. All foreign influences were shut off, or reduced to a minimum. The whole western world, especially Christendom, was put under ban. Even the apparent exception made in favor of the Dutch was with the motive of making isolation more complete, and of securing the perfect safety which that isolation was expected to bring. For, having built, not indeed with brick and mortar, but by means of edict and law, both open and secret, a great wall of exclusion more powerful than that of China's, it was necessary that there should be a port-hole, for both sally and exit, and a slit for vigilant scrutiny of any attempt to force seclusion or violate the frontier. Hence, the Hollanders were allowed to have a small place of residence in front of a large city and at the head of a land-locked harbor. There, the foreigners being isolated and under strict guard, the government could have, as it were, a nerve which touched the distant nations, and could also, as with a telescope, sweep the horizon for signs of danger. So, in 1640, the Hollanders were ordered to evacuate Hirado, and occupy the little "outer island" called Déshima, in front of the city of Nagasaki, and connected therewith by a bridge. Any ships entering this hill-girdled harbor, it was believed, could be easily managed by the military resources possessed by the government. Vessels were allowed yearly to bring the news from abroad and exchange the products of Japan for those of Europe. The English, who had in 1617 opened a trade and conducted a factory for some years,[1] were unable to compete with the Dutch, and about 1624, after having lost in the venture forty thousand pounds sterling, withdrew entirely from the Japanese trade. The Dutch were thus left without a rival from Christendom. Japan ceased her former trade and communications with the Philippine Islands, Annam, Siam, the Spice Islands and India,[2] and begun to restrict trade and communication with Korea and China. The Koreans, who were considered as vassals, or semi-vassals, came to Japan to present their congratulations on the accession of each new Sh[=o]gun; and some small trade was done at Fusan under the superintendence of the daimi[=o] of Tsushima. Even this relation with Korea was rather one of watchfulness. It sprang from the pride of a victor rather than from any desire to maintain relations with the rest of the world. As for China, the communication with her was astonishingly little, only a few junks crossing yearly between Nankin and Nagasaki; so that, with the exception of one slit in their tower of observation, the Japanese became well isolated from the human family. This system of exclusion was accompanied by an equally vigorous policy of inclusiveness. It was deliberately determined to keep the people from going abroad, either in their bodies or minds. All seaworthy ships were destroyed. Under pain of imprisonment and death, all natives were forbidden to go to a foreign country, except in the rare cases of urgent government service. By settled precedents it was soon made to be understood that those who were blown out to sea or carried away in stress of weather, need not come back; if they did, they must return only on Chinese and Korean vessels, and even then would be grudgingly allowed to land. It was given out, both at home and to the world, that no shipwrecked sailors or waifs would be welcomed when brought on foreign vessels. This inclusive policy directed against physical exportation, was still more stringently carried out when applied to imports affecting the minds of the Japanese. The "government deliberately attempted to establish a society impervious to foreign ideas from without, and fostered within by all sorts of artificial legislation. This isolation affected every department of private and public life. Methods of education were cast in a definite mould; even matters of dress and household architecture were strictly regulated by the State, and industries were restricted or forced into specified channels, thus retarding economic developments."[3] Starving of the Mind. In the science of keeping life within stunted limits and artificial boundaries, the Japanese genius excels. It has been well said that "the Japanese mind is great in little things and little in great things." To cut the tap-root of a pine-shoot, and, by regulating the allowance of earth and water, to raise a pine-tree which when fifty years old shall be no higher than a silver dollar, has been the proud ambition of many an artist in botany. In like manner, the Tokugawa Sh[=o]guns (1604-1868) determined to so limit the supply of mental food, that the mind of Japan should be of those correctly dwarfed proportions of puniness, so admired by lovers of artificiality and unconscious caricature. Philosophy was selected as a chief tool among the engines of oppression, and as the main influence in stunting the intellect. All thought must be orthodox according to the standards of Confucianism, as expounded by Chu Hi. Anything like originality in poetry, learning or philosophy must be hooted down. Art must follow Chinese, Buddhist and Japanese traditions. Any violation of this order would mean ostracism. All learning must be in the Chinese and Japanese languages--the former mis-pronounced and in sound bearing as much resemblance to Pekingise speech as "Pennsylvania Dutch" does to the language of Berlin. Everything like thinking and study must be with a view of sustaining and maintaining the established order of things. The tree of education, instead of being a lofty or wide-spreading cryptomeria, must be the measured nursling of the teacup. If that trio of emblems, so admired by the natives, the bamboo, pine and plum, could produce glossy leaves, ever-green needles and fragrant blooms within a space of four cubic inches, so the law, the literature and the art of Japan must display their normal limit of fresh fragrance, of youthful vigor and of venerable age, enduring for aye, within the vessel of Japanese inclusion so carefully limited by the Yedo authorities. Such a policy, reminds one of the Amherst agricultural experiment in which bands of iron were strapped around a much-afflicted squash, in order to test vital potency. It recalls the pretty little story of Picciola, in which a tender plant must grow between the interstices of the bricks in a prison yard. Besides the potent bonds of the only orthodox Confucian philosophy which was allowed and the legally recognized religions, there was gradually formed a marvellous system of legislation, that turned the whole nation into a secret society in which spies and hypocrites flourished like fungus on a dead log. Besides the unwritten code of private law,[4] that is, the local and general customs founded on immemorial usage, there was that peculiar legal system framed by Iyéyas[)u], bequeathed as a legacy and for over two hundred years practically the supreme law of the land. What this law was, it was exceedingly difficult, if not utterly impossible, for the aliens dwelling in the country at Nagasaki ever to find out. Keenly intellectual, as many of the physicians, superintendents and elect members of the Dutch trading company were, they seem never to have been able to get hold of what has been called "The Testament of Iyéyas[)u]."[5] This consisted of one hundred laws or regulations, based on a home-spun sort of Confucianism, intended to be orthodoxy "unbroken for ages eternal." To a man of western mode of thinking, the most astonishing thing is that this law was esoteric.[6] The people knew of it only by its irresistible force, and by the constant pressure or the rare easing of its iron hand. Those who executed the law were drilled in its routine from childhood, and this routine became second nature. Only a few copies of the original instrument were known, and these were kept with a secrecy which to the people became a sacred mystery guarded by a long avenue of awe. The Dutchmen at Déshima. The Dutchmen who lived at Déshima for two centuries and a half, and the foreigners who first landed at the treaty ports in 1859, on inquiring about the methods of the Japanese Government, the laws and their administration, found that everything was veiled behind a vague embodiment of something which was called "the Law." What that law was, by whom enacted, and under what sanctions enforced, no one could tell; though all seemed to stand in awe of it as something of superhuman efficiency. Its mysteriousness was only equalled by the abject submission which it received. Foreign diplomatists, on trying to deal with the seat and source of authority, instead of seeing the real head of power, played, as it were, a game of chess against a mysterious hand stretched out from behind a curtain. Morally, the whole tendency of such a dual system of exclusion and of inclusion was to make a nation of liars, foster confirmed habits of deceit, and create a code of politeness vitiated by insincerity. With such repression of the natural powers of humanity, it was but in accordance with the nature of things that licentiousness should run riot, that on the fringes of society there should be the outcast and the pariah, and that the social waste of humanity by prostitution, by murder, by criminal execution under a code that prescribed the death penalty for hundreds of offences, should be enormous. It is natural also that in such a state of society population[7] should be kept down within necessary limits, not only by famine, by the restraints of feudalism, by legalized murder in the form of vendetta, by a system of prostitution that made and still makes Japan infamous, by child murder, by lack of encouragement given to feeble or malformed children to live, and by various devices known to those who were ingenious in keeping up so artificial a state of society. That there were many who tried to break through this wall, from both the inside and the outside, and to force the frontiers of exclusion and inclusion, is not to be wondered at. Externally, there were bold spirits from Christendom who burned to know the secrets of the mysterious land. Some even yearned to wear the ruby crown. The wonderful story of past Christian triumphs deeply stirred the heart of more than one fiery spirit, and so we find various attempts made by the clerical brethren of southern Europe to enter the country. Bound by their promises, the Dutch captains could not introduce these emissaries of a banned religion within the borders; yet there are several notable instances of Roman Catholic "religious"[8] getting themselves left by shipmasters on the shores of Japan. The lion's den of reality was Yedo. Like the lion's den of fable, the footprints all led one way, and where these led the bones of the victims soon lay. Besides these men with religious motives, the ships of the West came with offers of trade and threats of invasion. These were English, French, Russian and American, and the story of the frequent episodes has been told by Hildreth, Aston,[9] Nitobé, and others. There is also a considerable body of native literature which gives the inside view of these efforts to force the seclusion of the hermit nation, and coax or compel the Japanese to be more sociable and more human. All were in vain until the peaceful armada, under the flag of thirty-one stars, led by Matthew Calbraith Perry,[10] broke the long seclusion of this Thorn-rose of the Pacific, and the unarmed diplomacy of Townsend Harris,[11] brought Japan into the brotherhood of commercial and Christian nations. Within the isolating walls and the barred gates the story of the seekers after God is a thrilling one. The intellect of choice spirits, beating like caged eagles the bars of their prisons, yearned for more light and life. "Though an eagle be starving," says the Japanese proverb, "it will not eat grain;" and so, while the mass of the people and even the erudite, were content with ground food--even the chopped straw and husks of materialistic Confucianism and decayed Buddhism--there were noble souls who soared upward to exercise their God-given powers, and to seek nourishment fitted for that human spirit which goeth upward and not downward, and which, ever in restless discontent, seeks the Infinite. Protests of Inquiring Spirits. There is no stronger proof of the true humanity and the innate god-likeness of the Japanese, of their worthiness to hold and their inherent power to win a high place among the nations of the earth, than this longing of a few elect ones for the best that earth could give and Heaven bestow. We find men in travail of spirit, groping after God if haply they might find Him, following the ways of the Spirit along lines different, and in pathways remote, from those laid down by Confucius and his materialistic commentators, or by Buddha and his parodists or caricaturists. The story of the philosophers, who mutinied against the iron clamps and governmentally nourished system of the Séido College expounders, is yet to be fully told.[12] It behooves some Japanese scholar to tell it. How earnest truth-seeking Japanese protested and rebelled against the economic fallacies, against the political despotism, against the abominable usurpations, against the false strategies and against the inherent immoralities of the Tokugawa system, has of late years been set forth with tantalizing suggestiveness, but only in fragments, by the native historians. Heartrending is the narrative of these men who studied, who taught, who examined, who sifted the mountains of chaff in the native literature and writings, who made long journeys on foot all over the country, who furtively travelled in Korea and China, who boarded Dutch and Russian vessels, who secretly read forbidden books, who tried to improve their country and their people. These men saw that their country was falling behind not only the nations of the West, but, as it seemed to them, even the nations of the East. They felt that radical changes were necessary in order to reform the awful poverty, disease, licentiousness, national weakness, decay of bodily powers, and the creeping paralysis of the Samurai intellect and spirit. How they were ostracized, persecuted, put under ban, hounded by the spies, thrown into prison; how they died of starvation or of disease; how they were beheaded, crucified, or compelled to commit _hara-kiri_; how their books were purged by the censors, or put under ban or destroyed,[13] and their maps, writings and plates burned, has not yet been told. It is a story that, when fully narrated, will make a volume of extraordinary interest. It is a story which both Christian and human interests challenge some native author to tell. During all this time, but especially during the first half of the nineteenth century, there was one steady goal to which the aspiring student ever kept his faith, and to which his feet tended. There was one place of pilgrimage, toward which the sons of the morning moved, and which, despite the spy and the informer and the vigilance of governors, fed their spirits, and whence they carried the sacred fire, or bore the seed whose harvest we now see. That goal of the pilgrim band was Nagasaki, and the place where the light burned and the sacred flames were kindled was Déshima. The men who helped to make true patriots, daring thinkers, inquirers after truth, bringers in of a better time, yes, and even Christians and preachers of the good news of God, were these Dutchmen of Déshima. A Handful of Salt in a Stagnant Mass. The Nagasaki Hollanders were not immaculate saints, neither were they sooty devils. They did not profess to be Christian missionaries. On the other hand, they were men not devoid of conscience nor of sympathy with aspiring and struggling men in a hermit nation, eager for light and truth. The Dutchman during the time of hermit Japan, as we see him in the literature of men who were hostile in faith and covetous rivals in trade, is a repulsive figure. He seems to be a brutal wretch, seeking only gain, and willing to sell conscience, humanity and his religion, for pelf. In reality, he was an ordinary European, probably no better, certainly no worse, than his age or the average man of his country or of his continent. Further, among this average dozen of exiles in the interest of commerce, science or culture, there were frequently honorable men far above the average European, and shining examples of Christianity and humanity. Even in his submission to the laws of the country, the Dutchman did no more, no less, but exactly as the daimi[=o]s,[14] who like himself were subject to the humiliations imposed by the rulers in Yedo. It was the Dutch, who, for two hundred years supplied the culture of Europe to Japan, introduced Western science, furnished almost the only intellectual stimulant, and were the sole teachers of medicine and science.[15] They trained up hundreds of Japanese to be physicians who practised rational medicine and surgery. They filled with needed courage the hearts of men, who, secretly practising dissection of the bodies of criminals, demonstrated the falsity of Chinese ideas of anatomy. It was Dutch science which exploded and drove out of Japan that Chinese system of medicine, by means of which so many millions have, during the long ages, been slowly tortured to death. The Déshima Dutchman was a kindly adviser, helper, guide and friend, the one means of communication with the world, a handful of salt in the stagnant mass. Long before the United States, or Commodore Perry, the Hollanders advised the Yodo government in favor of international intercourse. The Dutch language, nearest in structure and vocabulary to the English, even richer in the descriptive energy of its terms, and saturated withal with Christian truth, was studied by eager young men. These speakers of an impersonal language which in psychological development was scarcely above the grade of childhood, were exercised in a tongue that stands second to none in Europe for purity, vigor, personality and philosophical power. The Japanese students of Dutch held a golden key which opened the treasures of modern thought and of the world's literature. The minds of thinking Japanese were thus made plastic for the reception of the ideas of Christianity. Best of all, though forbidden by their contracts to import Bibles into Japan, the Dutchmen, by means of works of reference, pointed more than one inquiring spirit to the information by which the historic Christ became known. The books which they imported, the information which they gave, the stimulus which they imparted, were as seeds planted within masonry-covered earth, that were to upheave and overthrow the fabric of exclusion and inclusion reared by the Tokugawa Sh[=o]guns. Time and space fail us to tell how eager spirits not only groped after God, but sought the living Christ--though often this meant to them imprisonment, suicide enforced by the law, or decapitation. Yet over all Japan, long before the broad pennant of Perry was mirrored on the waters of Yedo Bay, there were here and there masses of leavened opinion, spots of kindled light, and fields upon which the tender green sprouts of new ideas could be detected. To-day, as inquiry among the oldest of the Christian leaders and scores of volumes of modern biography shows, the most earnest and faithful among the preachers, teachers and soldiers in the Christian army, were led into their new world of ideas through Dutch culture. The fact is revealed in repeated instances, that, through father, grandfather, uncle, or other relative--some pilgrim to the Dutch at Nagasaki--came their first knowledge, their initial promptings, the environment or atmosphere, which made them all sensitive and ready to receive the Christian truth when it came in its full form from the living missionary and the vital word of God. Some one has well said that the languages of modern Europe are nothing more than Christianity expressed with differing pronunciation and vocabulary. To him who will receive it, the mastery of any one of the languages of Christendom, is, in a large sense, a revelation of God in Christ Jesus. Seekers after God. Pathetic, even to the compulsion of tears, is the story of these seekers after God. We, who to-day are surrounded by every motive and inducement to Christian living and by every means and appliance for the practice of the Christian life, may well consider for a moment the struggle of earnest souls to find out God. Think of this one who finds a Latin Bible cast up on the shore from some broken ship, and bearing it secretly in his bosom to the Hollander, gains light as to the meaning of its message. Think of the nobleman, Watanabé Oboru,[16] who, by means of the Japanese interpreter of Dutch, Takano Choyéi, is thrilled with the story of Jesus of Nazareth who helped and healed and spake as no other man spake, teaching with an authority above that of the masters Confucius or Buddha. Think of the daimi[=o] of Mito,[17] who, proud in lineage, learned and scholarly, and surrounded by a host of educated men, is yet unsatisfied with what the wise of his own country could give him, and gathers around him the relics unearthed from the old persecutions. From a picture of the Virgin, a fragment of a litany, or it may be a part of a breviary, he tries to make out what Christianity is. Think of Yokoi Héishiro,[18] learned in Confucius and his commentators, who seeks better light, sends to China for a Chinese translation of the New Testament, and in his lectures on the Confucian ethics, to the delight and yet to the surprise of his hearers who hear grander truth than they are able to find in text or commentary, really preaches Christ, and prophesies that the time will come when the walls of isolation being levelled, the brightest intellects of Japan will welcome this same Jesus and His doctrine. Think of him again, when unable to purify the Augean stables of Yedo's moral corruption, because the time was at hand for other cleansing agencies, he retires to his home, content awhile with his books and flowers. Again, see him summoned to the capital, to sit at Ki[=o]to--like aged Franklin among the young statesmen of the Constitution in Philadelphia--with the Mikado's youthful advisers in the new government of 1868. Think of him pleading for the elevation of the pariah Eta, accursed and outcast through Buddhism, to humanity and citizenship. Then hear him urge eloquently the right of personal belief, and argue for toleration under the law, of opinions, which the Japanese then stigmatized as "evil" and devilish, but which we, and many of them now, call sound and Christian. Finally, behold him at night in the public streets, assaulted by assassins, and given quick death by their bullet and blades. See his gray head lying severed from his body and in its own gore, the wretched murderers thinking they have stayed the advancing tide of Christianity; but at home there dwells a little son destined in God's providence to become an earnest Christian and one of the brilliant leaders of the native Christianity of Japan in our day. The Buddhist Inquisitors. During the nation's period of Thorn-rose-like seclusion, the three religions recognized by the law were Buddhism, Shint[=o] and Confucianism. Christianity was the outlawed sect. All over the country, on the high-roads, at the bridges, and in the villages, towns and cities, the fundamental laws of the country were written on wooden tablets called kosats[)u]. These, framed and roofed for protection from the weather, but easily before the eyes of every man, woman and child, and written in a style and language understood of all, denounced the Christian religion as an accursed "sect," and offered gold to the spy and informer;[19] while once a year every Samurai was required to swear on the true faith of a gentleman that he had nothing to do with Christianity. From the seventeenth century, the country having been divided into parishes, the inquisition was under the charge of the Buddhist priests who penetrated into the house and family and guarded the graveyards, so that neither earth nor fire should embrace the carcass of a Christian, nor his dust or ashes defile the ancestral graveyards. Twice--in 1686 and in 1711--were the rewards increased and the Buddhist bloodhounds of Japan's Inquisition set on fresh trails. On one occasion, at Osaka, in 1839,[20] a rebellion broke out which was believed, though without evidence, to have been instigated in some way by men with Christian ideas, and was certainly led by Oshio, the bitter opponent of Buddhism, of Tokugawa, and of the prevalent Confucianism. Possibly, the uprising was aided by refugees from Korea. Those implicated were, after speedy trial, crucified or beheaded. In the southern part of the country the ceremony of Ebumi or trampling on the cross,[21] was long performed. Thousands of people were made to pass through a wicket, beneath which and on the ground lay a copper plate engraved with the image of the Christ and the cross. In this way it was hoped to utterly eradicate the very memory of Christianity, which, to the common people, had become the synonym for sorcery. But besides the seeking after God by earnest souls and the protest of philosophers, there was, amid the prevailing immorality and the agnosticism and scepticism bred by decayed Buddhism and the materialistic philosophy based on Confucius, some earnest struggles for the purification of morals and the spiritual improvement of the people. The Shingaku Movement. One of the most remarkable of the movements to this end was that of the Shingaku or New Learning. A class of practical moralists, to offset the prevailing tendency of the age to much speculation and because Buddhism did so little for the people, tried to make the doctrines of Confucius a living force among the great mass of people. This movement, though Confucian in its chief tone and color, was eclectic and intended to combine all that was best in the Chinese system with what could be utilized from Shint[=o] and Buddhism. With the preaching was combined a good deal of active benevolence. Especially in the time of famine, was care for humanity shown. The effect upon the people was noticeable, followers multiplied rapidly, and it is said that even the government in many instances made them, the Shingaku preachers, the distributors of rice and alms for the needy. Some of the preachers became famous and counted among their followers many men of influence. The literary side of the movement[22] has been brought to the attention of English readers through Mr. Mitford's translation of three sermons from the volume entitled Shingaku D[=o]wa. Other discourses have been from time to time rendered into English, those by Shibata, entitled The Sermons of the Dove-like Venerable Master, being especially famous. This movement, interesting as it was, came to an end when the country began to be convulsed by the approaching entrance of foreigners, through the Perry treaty; but it serves to show, what we believe to be the truth, that the moral rottenness as well as the physical decay of the Japanese people reached their acme just previous to the apparition of the American fleet in 1853. The story of nineteenth century Reformed Christianity in Japan does not begin with Perry, or with Harris, or with the arrival of Christian missionaries in 1859; for it has a subterranean and interior history, as we have hinted; while that of the Roman form and order is a story of unbroken continuity, though the life of the tunnel is now that of the sunny road. The parable of the leaven is first illustrated and then that of the mustard-seed. Before Christianity was phenomenal, it was potent. Let us now look from the interior to the outside. On Perry's flag-ship, the Mississippi, the Bible lay open, a sermon was preached, and the hymn "Before Jehovah's Awful Throne" was sung, waking the echoes of the Japan hills. The Christian day of rest was honored on this American squadron. In the treaty signed in 1854, though it was made, indeed, with use of the name of God and terms of Christian chronology, there was nothing upon which to base, either by right or privilege, the residence of missionaries in the country. Townsend Harris, the American Consul-General, who hoisted his flag and began his hermit life at Shimoda, in September, 1855, had as his only companion a Dutch secretary, Mr. Heusken, who was later, in Yedo, to be assassinated by ronins. Without ship or soldier, overcoming craft and guile, and winning his way by simple honesty and perseverance, Mr. Harris obtained audience[23] of "the Tycoon" in Yedo, and later from the Sh[=o]gun's daring minister Ii, the signature to a treaty which guaranteed to Americans the rights of residence, trade and commerce. Thus Americans were enabled to land as citizens, and pursue their avocation as religious teachers. As the government of the United States of America knows nothing of the religion of American citizens abroad, it protects all missionaries who are law-abiding citizens, without regard to creed.[24] Japan Once More Missionary Soil. The first missionaries were on the ground as soon as the ports were open. Though surrounded by spies and always in danger of assassination and incendiarism, they began their work of mastering the language. To do this without trained teachers or apparatus of dictionary and grammar, was then an appalling task. The medical missionary began healing the swarms of human sufferers, syphilitic, consumptive, and those scourged by small-pox, cholera and hereditary and acute diseases of all sorts. The patience, kindness and persistency of these Christian men literally turned the edge of the sword, disarmed the assassin, made the spies' occupation useless, shamed away the suspicious, and conquered the nearly invincible prejudices of the government. Despite the awful under-tow in the immorality of the sailor, the adventurer and the gain-greedy foreigner, the tide of Christianity began steadily to rise. Notwithstanding the outbursts of the flames of persecution, the torture and imprisonment of Christian captives and exiles, and the slow worrying to death of the missionary's native teachers, inquirers came and converts were made. In 1868, after revolution and restoration, the old order changed, and duarchy and feudalism passed away. Quick to seize the opportunity, Dr. J.C. Hepburn, healer of bodies and souls of men, presented a Bible to the Emperor, and the gift was accepted. No sooner had the new government been established in safety, and the name of Yedo, the city of the Baydoor, been changed into that of T[=o]ki[=o], the Eastern Capital, than an embassy[25] of seventy persons started on its course round the world. At its head were three cabinet ministers of the new government and the court noble, Iwakura, of immemorial lineage, in whose veins ran the blood of the men called gods. Across the Pacific to the United States they went, having their initial audience of the President of the Republic that knows no state church, and whose Christianity had compelled both the return of the shipwrecked Japanese and the freedom of the slave. This embassy had been suggested and its course planned by a Christian missionary, who found that of the seventy persons, one-half had been his pupils.[26] The Imperial Embassy Round the World. The purpose of these envoys was, first of all, to ask of the nations of Christendom equal rights, to get removed the odious extra-territoriality clause in the treaties, to have the right to govern aliens on their soil, and to regulate their own tariff. Secondarily, its members went to study the secrets of power and the resources of civilization in the West, to initiate the liberal education of their women by leaving in American schools a little company of maidens, to enlarge the system of education for their own country, and to send abroad with approval others of their young men who, for a decade past had, in spite of every ban and obstacle, been furtively leaving the country for study beyond the seas. In the lands of Christendom, the eyes of ambassadors, ministers, secretaries and students were opened. They saw themselves as others saw them. They compared their own land and nation, mediaeval in spirit and backward in resources, and their people untrained as children, with the modern power, the restless ambition, the stern purpose, the intense life of the western nations, with their mighty fleets and armaments, their inventions and machinery, their economic and social theories and forces, their provision for the poor, the sick, and the aged, the peerless family life in the Christian home. They found, further yet, free churches divorced from politics and independent of the state; that the leading force of the world was Christianity, that persecution was barbarous, and that toleration was the law of the future, and largely the condition of the present. It took but a few whispers over the telegraphic wire, and the anti-Christian edicts disappeared from public view like snowflakes melting on the river. The right arm of persecution was broken. The story of the Book of Acts of the modern apostles in Japan is told, first in the teaching of inquirers, preaching to handfuls, the gathering of tiny companies, the translation of the Gospel, and then prayer and waiting for the descent of the Holy Spirit. A study of the Book of the Acts of the Apostles, followed in order to find out how the Christian Church began. On the 10th day of March, in the year of our Lord and of the era of Meiji (Enlightened Peace) the fifth, 1872, at Yokohama, in the little stone chapel built on part of Commodore Perry's treaty ground, was formed the first Reformed or Protestant Christian Church in Japan. At this point our task is ended. We cannot even glance at the native Christian churches of the Roman, Reformed, or Greek order, or attempt to appraise the work of the foreign missionaries. He has read these pages in vain, however, who does not see how well, under Providence, the Japanese have been trained for higher forms of faith. The armies of Japan are upon Chinese soil, while we pen our closing lines. The last chains of purely local and ethnic dogma are being snapped asunder. May the sons of Dai Nippon, as they win new horizons of truth, see more clearly and welcome more loyally that Prince of Peace whose kingdom is not of this world. May the age of political conquest end, and the era of the self-reformation of the Asian nations, through the gospel of Jesus Christ, be ushered in. NOTES, AUTHORITIES, AND ILLUSTRATIONS The few abbreviations used in these pages stand for well-known works: T.A.S.J., for Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan; Kojiki, for Supplement to Volume X., T.A.S.J., Introduction, Translation, Notes, Map, etc., by Professor Basil Hall Chamberlain; T.J., for Things Japanese (2d ed.), by Professor B.H. Chamberlain; S. and H., for Satow and Hawes's Hand-book for Japan, now continued in new editions (4th, 1894), by Professor B.H. Chamberlain; C.R.M., for Mayers's Chinese Reader's Manual; M.E., The Mikado's Empire (7th ed.); B.N., for Mr. Bunyiu Nanjio's A Short History of the Twelve Japanese Buddhist Sects, T[=o]ki[=o], 1887. CHAPTER I PRIMITIVE FAITH: RELIGION BEFORE BOOKS [Footnote 1: The late Professor Samuel Finley Breese Morse, LL.D., who applied the principles of electro-magnetism to telegraphy, was the son of the Rev. Jedediah Morse, D.D., the celebrated theologian, geographer, and gazetteer. In memory of his father, Professor Morse founded this lectureship in Union Theological Seminary, New York, on "The Relation of the Bible to the Sciences," May 20,1865, by the gift of ten thousand dollars.] [Footnote 2: An American Missionary in Japan, p. 209, by Rev. M.L. Gordon, M.D., Boston, 1892.] [Footnote 3: Lucretia Coftin Mott.] [Footnote 4: "I remember once making a calculation in Hong Kong, and making out my baptisms to have amounted to about six hundred.... I believe with you that the study of comparative religion is important for all missionaries. Still more important, it seems to me, is it that missionaries should make themselves thoroughly proficient in the languages and literature of the people to whom they are sent."--Dr. Legge's Letter to the Author, November 27, 1893.] [Footnote 5: The Religions of China, p. 240, by James Legge, New York, 1881.] [Footnote 6: The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, p. 22, Boston editions of 1859 and 1879.] [Footnote 7: One of the many names of Japan is that of the Country Ruled by a Slender Sword, in allusion to the clumsy weapons employed by the Chinese and Koreans. See, for the shortening and lightening of the modern Japanese sword (_katana_) as compared with the long and heavy (_ken_) of the "Divine" (_kami_) or uncivilized age, "The Sword of Japan; Its History and Traditions," T.A.S.J., Vol. II., p. 58.] [Footnote 8: The course of lectures on The Religions of Chinese Asia (which included most of the matter in this book), given by the author in Bangor Theological Seminary, Bangor, Me., in April, 1894, was upon the Bond foundation, founded by alumni and named after the chief donor, Rev. Ellas Bond, D.D., of Kohala, long an active missionary in Hawaii.] [Footnote 9: This is the contention of Professor Kumi, late of the Imperial University of Japan; see chapter on Shint[=o].] [Footnote 10: In illustration, comical or pitiful, the common people in Satsuma believe that the spirit of the great Saigo Takamori, leader of the rebellion of 1877, "has taken up its abode in the planet Mars," while the spirits of his followers entered into a new race of frogs that attack man and fight until killed--Mounsey's The Satsuma Rebellion, p. 217. So, also, the _Heiké-gani_, or crabs at Shimonoséki, represent the transmigration of the souls of the Heiké clan, nearly exterminated in 1184 A.D., while the "H[=o]j[=o] bugs" are the avatars of the execrated rulers of Kamakura (1219-1333 A.D.).--Japan in History, Folk-lore, and Art, Boston, 1892, pp. 115, 133.] [Footnote 11: The Future of Religion in Japan. A paper read at the Parliament of Religions by Nobuta Kishimoto.] [Footnote 12: The Ainos, though they deify all the chief objects of nature, such as the sun, the sea, fire, wild beasts, etc., often talk of a Creator, _Kotan kara kamui_, literally the God who made the World. At the fact of creation they stop short.... One gathers that the creative act was performed not directly, but through intermediaries, who were apparently animals."--Chamberlain's Aino Studies, p. 12. See also on the Aino term "Kamui," by Professor B.H. Chamberlain and Rev. J. Batchelor, T.A.S.J., Vol. XVI.] [Footnote 13: See Unbeaten Tracks in Japan, by Isabella Bird (Bishop), Vol. II.; The Ainu of Japan, by Rev. John Batchelor; B. Douglas Howard's Life With Trans-Siberian Savages; Ripley Hitchcock's Report, Smithsonian Institute, Washington. Professor B. H. Chamberlain's invaluable "Aino Studies," T[=o]ki[=o], 1887, makes scholarly comparison of the Japanese and Aino language, mythology, and geographical nomenclature.] [Footnote 14: M.E., The Mythical Zoölogy of Japan, pp. 477-488. C.R.M., _passim_.] [Footnote 15: See the valuable article entitled Demoniacal Possession, T.J., p. 106, and the author's Japanese Fox Myths, _Lippincott's Magazine_, 1873.] [Footnote 16: See the Aino animal stories and evidences of beast worship in Chamberlain's Aino Studies. For this element in Japanese life, see the Kojiki, and the author's Japanese Fairy World.] [Footnote 17: The proprietor of a paper-mill in Massachusetts, who had bought a cargo of rags, consisting mostly of farmers' cast off clothes, brought to the author a bundle of scraps of paper which he had found in this cheap blue-dyed cotton wearing apparel. Besides money accounts and personal matters, there were numerous temple amulets and priests' certificates. See also B.H. Chamberlain's Notes on Some Minor Japanese Religious Practices, _Journal of the Anthropological Institute_, May, 1893.] [Footnote 18: M.E., p. 440.] [Footnote 19: See the Lecture on Buddhism in its Doctrinal Development.--The Nichiren Sect.] [Footnote 20: The phallus was formerly a common emblem in all parts of Japan, Hondo, Kiushiu, Shikoku, and the other islands. Bayard Taylor noticed it in the Riu Kiu (Loo Choo) Islands; Perry's Expedition to Japan, p. 196; Bayard Taylor's Expedition in Lew Chew; M.E., p. 33, note; Rein's Japan, p. 432; Diary of Richard Cocks, Vol. I., p. 283. The native guide-books and gazetteers do not allude to the subject. Although the author of this volume has collected considerable data from personal observations and the testimony of personal friends concerning the vanishing nature-worship of the Japanese, he has, in the text, scarcely more than glanced at the subject. In a work of this sort, intended both for the general reader as well as for the scientific student of religion, it has been thought best to be content with a few simple references to what was once widely prevalent in the Japanese archipelago. Probably the most thorough study of Japanese phallicism yet made by any foreign scholar is that of Edmund Buckley, A.M., Ph.D., of the Chicago University, Lecturer on Shint[=o], the Ethnic Faith of Japan, and on the Science of Religion. Dr. Buckley spent six years in central and southwestern Japan, most of the time as instructor in the Doshisha University, Ki[=o]to. He will publish the results of his personal observations and studios in a monograph on phallicism, which will be on sale at Chicago University, in which the Buckley collection illustrating Shint[=o]-worship has been deposited.] [Footnote 21: Mr. Takahashi Gor[=o], in his Shint[=o] Shin-ron, or New Discussion of Shint[=o], accepts the derivation of the word _kami_ from _kabé_, mould, mildew, which, on its appearance, excites wonder. For Hirata's discussion, see T.A.S.J., Vol. III., Appendix, p. 48. In a striking paper on the Early Gods of Japan, in a recent number of the Philosophical Magazine, published in T[=o]ki[=o], a Japanese writer, Mr. Kenjir[=o] Hiradé, states also that the term kami does not necessarily denote a spiritual being, but is only a relative term meaning above or high, but this respect toward something high or above has created many imaginary deities as well as those having a human history. See also T.A.S.J., Vol. XXII., Part I., p. 55, note.] [Footnote 22: "There remains something of the Shint[=o] heart after twelve hundred years of foreign creeds and dress. The worship of the marvellous continues.... Exaggerated force is most impressive.... So the ancient gods, heroes, and wonders are worshipped still. The simple countryfolk clap their hands, bow their heads, mumble their prayers, and offer the fraction of a cent to the first European-built house they see."--Philosophy in Japan, Past and Present, by Dr. George Wm. Knox.] [Footnote 23: M.E., p. 474. Honda the Samurai, pp. 256-267.] [Footnote 24: Kojiki, pp. 127, 136, 213, 217.] [Footnote 25: See S. and H., pp. 39, 76. "The appearance of anything unusual at a particular spot is hold to be a sure sign of the presence of divinity. Near the spot where I live in Ko-ishi-kawa, T[=o]ki[=o], is a small Miya, built at the foot of a very old tree, that stands isolated on the edge of a rice-field. The spot looks somewhat insignificant, but upon inquiring why a shrine has been placed there, I was told that a white snake had been found at the foot of the old tree." ... "As it is, the religion of the Japanese consists in the belief that the productive ethereal spirit, being expanded through the whole universe, every part is in some degree impregnated with it; and therefore, every part is in some measure the seat of the Deity."--Legendre's Progressive Japan, p. 258.] [Footnote 26: De Verflauwing der Grenzen, by Dr. Abraham Kuyper, Amsterdam, 1892; translated by Rev. T. Hendrik de Vries, in the Methodist Review, New York, July-Sept., 1893.] CHAPTER II SHINT[=O]; MYTHS AND RITUAL [Footnote 1: The scholar who has made profound researches in all departments of Japanese learning, but especially in the literature of Shint[=o], is Mr. Ernest Satow, now the British Minister at Tangier. He received the degree of B.A. from the London University. After several years' study and experience in China, Mr. Satow came to Japan in 1861 as student-interpreter to the British Legation, receiving his first drill under Rev. S.R. Brown, D.D., author of A Grammar of Colloquial Japanese. To ceaseless industry, this scholar, to whom the world is so much indebted for knowledge of Japan, has added philosophic insight. Besides unearthing documents whose existence was unsuspected, he has cleared the way for investigators and comparative students by practically removing the barriers reared by archaic speech and writing. His papers in the T.A.S.J., on The Shint[=o] Shrines at Isé, the Revival of Pure Shint[=o], and Ancient Japanese Rituals, together with his Hand-book for Japan, form the best collection of materials for the study of the original and later forms of Shint[=o].] [Footnote 2: The scholar who above all others has, with rare acumen united to laborious and prolonged toil, illuminated the subject of Japan's chronology and early history is Mr. W.G. Aston of the British Civil Service. He studied at the Queen's University, Ireland, receiving the degree of M.A. He was appointed student-interpreter in Japan, August 6, 1864. He is the author of a Grammar of the Written Japanese Language, and has been a student of the comparative history and speech and writing of China, Korea, and Japan, during the past thirty years. See his valuable papers in the T.A.S.J., and the learned societies in Great Britain. In his paper on Early Japanese History, T.A.S.J., Vol. XVI., pp. 39-75, he recapitulates the result of his researches, in which he is, in the main, supported by critical native scholars, and by the late William Bramsen, in his Japanese Chronological Tables, T[=o]ki[=o], 1880. He considers A.D. 461 as the first trustworthy date in the Japanese annals. We quote from his paper, Early Japanese History, T.A.S.J., Vol. XVI., p. 73. 1. The earliest date of the accepted Japanese Chronology, the accuracy of which is confirmed by external evidence, is A.D. 461. 2. Japanese History, properly so called, can hardly be said to exist previous to A.D. 500. (A cursory examination leads me to think that the annals of the sixth century must also be received with caution.) 3. Korean History and Chronology are more trustworthy than those of Japan during the period previous to that date. 4. While there was an Empress of Japan in the third century A.D., the statement that she conquered Korea is highly improbable. 5. Chinese learning was introduced into Japan from Korea 120 years later than the date given in Japanese History. 6. The main fact of Japan having a predominant influence in some parts of Korea during the fifth century is confirmed by the Korean and Chinese chronicles, which, however, show that the Japanese accounts are very inaccurate in matters of detail.] [Footnote 3: Basil Hall Chamberlain, who has done the world of learning such signal service by his works on the Japanese language, and especially by his translation, with critical introduction and commentary, of the Kojiki, is an English gentleman, born at Southsea, Hampshire, England, on the 18th day of October, 1830. His mother was a daughter of the well-known traveller and author, Captain Basil Hall, R.N., and his father an Admiral in the British Navy. He was educated for Oxford, but instead of entering, for reasons of health, he spent a number of years in western Mid southern Europe, acquiring a knowledge of various languages and literatures. His coming to Japan (in May, 1873) was rather the result of an accident--a long sea voyage and a trial of the Japanese climate having been recommended. The country and the field of study suited the invalid well. After teaching for a time in the Naval College the Japanese honored themselves and this scholar by making him, in April, 1886, Professor of Philology at the Imperial University. His works, The Classical Poetry of the Japanese, his various grammars and hand-books for the acquisition of the language, his Hand-book for Japan, his Aino Studies, Things Japanese, papers in the T.A.S.J. and his translation of the Kojiki are all of a high order of value. They are marked by candor, fairness, insight, and a mastery of difficult themes that makes his readers his constant debtors.] [Footnote 4: "If the term 'Altaic' be held to include Korean and Japanese, then Japanese assumes prime importance as being by far the oldest living representative of that great linguistic group, its literature antedating by many centuries the most ancient productions of the Manchus, Mongols, Turks, Hungarians, or Finns."--Chamberlain, Simplified Grammar, Introd., p. vi.] [Footnote 5: Corea, the Hermit Nation, pp. 13-14; Mr. Pom K. Soh's paper on Education in Korea; Report of U.S. Commissioner of Education, 1890-91.] [Footnote 6: T.A.S.J., Vol. XVI., p. 74; Bramsen's Chronological Tables, Introd., p. 34; T.J., p. 32.] [Footnote 7: The Middle Kingdom, Vol. I., p. 531.] [Footnote 8: "The frog in the well knows not the great ocean." This proverb, so freely quoted throughout Chinese Asia, and in recent years so much applied to themselves by the Japanese, is of Hindu origin and is found in the Sanskrit.] [Footnote 9: This is shown with literary skill and power in a modern popular work, the title of which, Dai Nippon Kai-biyaku Yurai-iki, which, very freely indeed, may be translated Instances of Divine Interposition in Behalf of Great Japan. A copy of this work was presented to the writer by the late daimi[=o] of Echizen, and was read with interest as containing the common people's ideas about their country and history. It was published in Yedo in 1856, while Japan was still excited over the visits of the American and European fleets. On the basis of the information furnished in this work General Le Gendre wrote his influential book, Progressive Japan, in which a number of quotations from the _Kai-biyaku_ may be read.] [Footnote 10: In the Kojiki, pp. 101-104, we have the poetical account of the abdication of the lord of Idzumo in favor of the Yamato conqueror, on condition that the latter should build a temple and have him honored among the gods. One of the rituals contains the congratulatory address of the chieftains of Idzumo, on their surrender to "the first Mikado, Jimmu Tenn[=o]." See also T.J., p. 206.] [Footnote 11: "The praying for Harvest, or Toshigoi no Matsuri, was celebrated on the 4th day of the 2d month of each year, at the capital in the Jin-Gi-Kuan or office for the Worship of the Shint[=o] gods, and in the provinces by the chiefs of the local administrations. At the Jin-Gi-Kuan there were assembled the ministers of state, the functionaries of that office, the priests and priestesses of 573 temples, containing 737 shrines, which were kept up at the expense of the Mikado's treasury, while the governors of the provinces superintended in the districts under their administration the performance of rites in honor of 2,395 other shrines. It would not be easy to state the exact number of deities to whom these 3,132 shrines were dedicated. A glance over the list in the 9th and 10th books of the Yengishiki shows at once that there were many gods who were worshipped in more than half-a-dozen different localities at the same time; but exact calculation is impossible, because in many cases only the names of the temples are given, and we are left quite in the dark as to the individuality of the gods to whom they were sacred. Besides these 3,132 shrines, which are distinguished as Shikidai, that is contained in the catalogue of the Yengishiki, there were a large number of enumerated shrines in temples scattered all over the country, in every village or hamlet, of which it was impossible to take any account, just as at the present day there are temples of Hachiman, Kompira, Tenjin sama, San-no sama and Sengen sama, as they are popularly called, wherever twenty or thirty houses are collected together. The shrines are classed as great and small, the respective numbers being 492 and 2,640, the distinction being twofold, firstly in the proportionately larger quantity of offerings made at the great shrines, and secondly that the offerings in the one case were arranged upon tables or altars, while in the other they were placed on mats spread upon the earth. In the Yengishiki the amounts and nature of the offerings are stated with great minuteness, but it will be sufficient if the kinds of articles offered are alone mentioned here. It will be seen, by comparison with the text of the norito, that they had varied somewhat since the date when the ritual was composed. The offerings to a greater shrine consisted of coarse woven silk (_ashiginu_), thin silk of five different colors, a kind of stuff called _shidori_ or _shidzu_, which is supposed by some to have been a striped silk, cloth of broussonetia bark or hemp, and a small quantity of the raw materials of which the cloth was made, models of swords, a pair of tables or altars (called _yo-kura-oki_ and _ya-kura-oki_), a shield or mantlet, a spear-head, a bow, a quiver, a pair of stag's horns, a hoe, a few measures of saké or rice-beer, some haliotis and bonito, two measures of _kituli_ (supposed to be salt roe), various kinds of edible seaweed, a measure of salt, a saké jar, and a few feet of matting for packing. To each of the temples of Watarai in Isé was presented in addition a horse; to the temple of the Harvest god Mitoshi no kami, a white horse, cock, and pig, and a horse to each of nineteen others. "During the fortnight which preceded the celebration of the service, two smiths and their journeymen, and two carpenters, together with eight inbe [or hereditary priests] were employed in preparing the apparatus and getting ready the offerings. It was usual to employ for the Praying for Harvest members of this tribe who held office in the Jin-Gi-Kuan, but if the number could not he made up in that office, it was supplied from other departments of state. To the tribe of quiver-makers was intrusted the special duty of weaving the quivers of wistaria tendrils. The service began at twenty minutes to seven in the morning, by our reckoning of time. After the governor of the province of Yamashiro had ascertained that everything was in readiness, the officials of the Jin-Gi-Kuan arranged the offerings on the tables and below them, according to the rank of the shrines for which they were intended. The large court of the Jin-Gi-Kuan where the service was held, called the Sai-in, measured 230 feet by 370. At one end were the offices and on the west side were the shrines of the eight Protective Deities in a row, surrounded by a fence, to the interior of which three sacred archways (torii) gave access. In the centre of the court a temporary shed was erected for the occasion, in which the tables or altars were placed. The final preparations being now complete, the ministers of state, the virgin priestesses and priests of the temples to which offerings were sent by the Mikado, entered in succession, and took the places severally assigned to them. The horses which formed a part of the offerings were next brought in from the Mikado's stable, and all the congregation drew near, while the reader recited or read the norito. This reader was a member of the priestly family or tribe of Nakatomi, who traced their descent back to Ameno-koyané, one of the principal advisers attached to the sun-goddess's grandchild when he first descended on earth. It is a remarkable evidence of the persistence of certain ideas, that up to the year 1868 the nominal prime-minister of the Mikado, after he came of age, and the regent during his minority, if he had succeeded young to the throne, always belonged to this tribe, which changed its name from Nakatomi to Fujiwara in the seventh century, and was subsequently split up into the Five Setsuké or governing families. At the end of each section the priests all responded 'O!' which was no doubt the equivalent of 'Yes' in use in those days. As soon as he had finished, the Nakatomi retired, and the offerings were distributed to the priests for conveyance and presentation to the gods to whose service they were attached. But a special messenger was despatched with the offerings destined to the temples at Watarai. This formality having been completed, the President of the Jin-Gi-Kuan gave the signal for breaking up the assembly." Ancient Japanese Rituals, T.A.S.J., Vol. VII, pp. 104-107.] [Footnote 12: S. and H., p. 461.] [Footnote 13: Consult Chamberlain's literal translations of the name in the Kojiki, and p. lxv. of his Introduction.] [Footnote 14: The parallel between the Hebrew and Japanese accounts of light and darkness, day and night, before the sun, has been noticed by several writers. See the comments of Hirata, a modern Shint[=o] expounder.--T.A.S.J., Vol. III., Appendix, p. 72.] [Footnote 15: Westminster Review, July, 1878, p. 19.] CHAPTER III "THE KOJIKI" AND ITS TEACHINGS [Footnote 1: Kojiki, pp. 9-18; T.A.S.J., Vol. III., Appendix, p. 20.] [Footnote 2: M.E., p. 43; McClintock and Strong's Cyclopedia, Art. Shint[=o]; in T.A.S.J., Vol. III., Appendix, is to be found Mr. Satow's digest of the commentaries of the modern Shint[=o] revivalists; in Mr. Chamberlain's translation of the Kojiki, the text with abundant notes. See also Mr. Twan-Lin's Account of Japan up to A.D. 1200, by E.H. Parker. T.A.S.J., Vol. XXII., Part I.] [Footnote 3: "The various abstractions which figure at the commencement of the 'Records' (Kojiki) and of the 'Chronicles' (Nihongi) were probably later growths, and perhaps indeed were inventions of individual priests."--Kojiki, Introd., p. lxv. See also T.A.S.J., Vol. XXII., Part I, p. 56. "Thus, not only is this part of the Kojiki pure twaddle, but it is not even consistent twaddle."] [Footnote 4: Kojiki, Section IX.] [Footnote 5: Dr. Joseph Edkins, D.D., author of Chinese Buddhism, who believes that the primeval religious history of men is recoverable, says in Early Spread of Religious Ideas, Especially in the Far East, p. 29, "In Japan Amatéras[)u], ... in fact, as I suppose, Mithras written in Japanese, though the Japanese themselves are not aware of this etymology." Compare Kojiki, Introduction, pp. lxv.-lxvii.] [Footnote 6: Kojiki, p. xlii.] [Footnote 7: T.A.S.J., Vol. III., Appendix, p. 67.] [Footnote 8: E. Satow, Revival of Pure Shint[=o], pp. 67-68.] [Footnote 9: This curious agreement between the Japanese and other ethnic traditions in locating "Paradise," the origin of the human family and of civilization, at the North Pole, has not escaped the attention of Dr. W.F. Warren, President of Boston University, who makes extended reference to it in his interesting and suggestive book, Paradise Found: The Cradle of the Human Race at the North Pole; A Study of the Prehistoric World, Boston, 1885.] [Footnote 10: The pure Japanese numerals equal in number the fingers; with the borrowed Chinese terms vast amounts can be expressed.] [Footnote 11: This custom was later revived, T.A.S.J., pp. 28, 31. Mitford's Tales of Old Japan, Vol. II., p. 57; M.E., pp. 156, 238.] [Footnote 12: See in Japanese Fairy World, "How the Sun-Goddess was enticed out of her Cave." For the narrative see Kojiki, pp. 54-59; T.A.S.J., Vol. II., 128-133.] [Footnote 13: See Choméi and Wordsworth, A Literary Parallel, by J.M. Dixon, T.A.S.J., Vol. XX., pp. 193-205; Anthologie Japonaise, by Leon de Rosny; Chamberlain's Classical Poetry of the Japanese; Suyémats[)u]'s Genji Monogatari, London, 1882.] [Footnote 14: Oftentimes in studying the ancient rituals, those who imagine that the word Kami should be in all cases translated gods, will be surprised to see what puerility, bathos, or grandiloquence, comes out of an attempt to express a very simple, it may be humiliating, experience.] [Footnote 15: Mythology and Religious Worship of the Japanese, Westminster Review, July, 1878; Ancient Japanese Rituals, T.A.S.J., Vols. VII., IX.; Esoteric Shint[=o], by Percival Lowell, T.A.S.J, Vol. XXI.] [Footnote 16: Compare Sections IX. and XXIII. of the Kojiki.] [Footnote 17: This indeed seems to be the substance of the modern official expositions of Shint[=o] and the recent Rescripts of the Emperor, as well as of much popular literature, including the manifestoes or confessions found on the persons of men who have "consecrated" themselves as "the instruments of Heaven for punishing the wicked," i.e., assassinating obnoxious statesmen. See The Ancient Religion, M.E., pp. 96-100; The Japan Mail, _passim_.] [Footnote 18: Revival of Pure Shint[=o], pp. 25-38.] [Footnote 19: Japanese Homes, by E.S. Morse, pp. 228-233, note, p. 832.] [Footnote 20: Chamberlain's Aino Studies, p. 12.] [Footnote 21: Geological Survey of Japan, by Benj. S. Lyman, 1878-9.] [Footnote 22: The Shell Mounds of Omori; and The Tokio Times, Jan. 18, 1879, by Edward S. Morse; Japanese Fairy World, pp. I78, 191, 196.] [Footnote 23: Kojiki, pp. 60-63.] [Footnote 24: S. and H., pp. 58, 337, etc.] [Footnote 25: This study in comparative religion by a Japanese, which cost the learned author his professorship in the Téi-Koku Dai Gaku or Imperial University (lit. Theocratic Country Great Learning Place), has had a tendency to chill the ardor of native investigators. His paper was first published in the Historical Magazine of the University, but the wide publicity and popular excitement followed only after republication, with comments by Mr. Taguchi, in the Kéizai Zasshi (Economical Journal). The Shint[=o]ists denounced Professor Kumi for "making our ancient religion a branch of Christianity," and demanded and secured his "retirement" by the Government. See Japan Mail, April 2, 1892, p. 440.] [Footnote 26: T.A.S.J., Vol. XXI., p. 282.] [Footnote 27: Kojiki, p. xxviii.] [Footnote 28: For the use of salt in modern "Esoteric" Shint[=o], both in purification and for employment as of salamandrine, see T.A.S.J., pp. 125, 128.] [Footnote 29: In the official census of 1893, nine Shint[=o] sects are named, each of which has its own Kwancho or Presiding Head, recognized by the government. The sectarian peculiarities of Shint[=o] have been made the subject of study by very few foreigners. Mr. Satow names the following: The Yui-itsu sect was founded by Toshida Kané-tomo. His signature appears as the end of a ten-volume edition, issued A.D. 1503, of the liturgies extracted from the Yengishiki or Book of Ceremonial Law, first published in the era of Yengi (or En-gi), A.D. 901-922. He is supposed to be the one who added the _kana_, or common vernacular script letters, to the Chinese text and thus made the norito accessible to the people. The little pocket prayer-books, folded in an accordeon-like manner, are very cheap and popular. The sect is regarded as heretical by strict Shint[=o]ists, as the system Yuwiitsu consists "mainly of a Buddhist superstructure on a Shint[=o] foundation." Yoshida applied the tenets of the Shingon or True Word sect of Buddhists to the understanding and practice of the ancient god-way. The Suiga sect teaches a system which is a combination of Yuwiitsu and of the modern philosophical form of Confucianism as elaborated by Chu Hi, and known in Japan as the Téi-shu philosophy. The founder was Yamazaki Ansai, who was born in 1618 and died in 1682. By combining the forms of the Yoshida sect, which is based on the Buddhism of the Shingon sect, with the materialistic philosophy of Chu Hi, he adapted the old god-way to what he deemed modern needs. In the Déguchi sect, the ancient belief is explained by the Chinese Book of Changes (or Divination). Déguchi Nobuyoshi, the founder, was god-warden or _kannushi_ of the Géiku or Outer Palace Temple at Isé. He promulgated his views about the year 1660, basing them upon the book called Éki by the Japanese and Yi-king by the Chinese. This Yi-king, which Professor Terrien de Laeouporie declares is only a very ancient book of pronunciation of comparative Accadian and Chinese Syllabaries, has been the cause of incredible waste of labor, time, and brains in China--enough to have diked the Yellow River or drained the swamps of the Empire. It is the chief basis of Chinese superstition, and the greatest literary barrier to the advance of civilization. It has also made much mischief in Japan. Déguchi explained the myths of the age of the gods by divination or éki, based on the Chinese books. As late as 1893 there was published in T[=o]ki[=o] a work in Japanese, with good translation info English, on Scientific Morality, or the practical guidance of life by means of divination--The Takashima Ékidan (or Monograph on the Éki of Mr. Takashima), by S. Sugiura. The Jikko sect, according to its representative at the World's Parliament of Religions at Chicago, is "the practical." It lays stress less upon speculation and ritual, and more upon the realization of the best teachings of Shint[=o]. It was founded by Haségawa Kakugi[=o], who was born at Nagasaki in 1541. Living in a cave in Fuji-yama, "he received inspiration through the miraculous power of the mountain." It believes in one absolute Deity, often mentioned in the Kojiki, which, self-originated, took the embodiment of two deities, one with the male nature and the other female, though these two deities are nothing but forms of the one substance and unite again in the absolute deity. These gave birth to the Japanese Archipelago, the sun and moon, the mountains and streams, the divine ancestors, etc. According to the teachings of this sect, the peerless mountain, Fuji, ought to be reverenced as the sacred abode of the divine lord, and as "the brains of the whole globe." The believer must make Fuji the example and emblem of his thought and action. He must be plain and simple, as the form of the mountain, making his body and mind pure and serene, as Fuji itself. The present world with all its practical works must be respected more than the future world. We must pray for the long life of the country, lead a life of temperance and diligence, cooperating with one another in doing good. * * * * * _Statistics of Shint[=o]ism._ From the official Résumé Statistique de l'Empire du Japon, 1894. In 1801 there were nine administrative heads of sects; 75,877 preachers, priests, and shrine-keepers, with 1,158 male and 228 female students. There were 163 national temples of superior rank and 136,652 shrines or temples in cities and prefectures; a total of 193,153, served by 14,700 persons of the grade of priests. Most of the expenses, apart from endowments and local contributions, are included in the first item of the annual Treasury Budget, "Civil List, Appanage and Shint[=o] Temples."] CHAPTER IV THE CHINESE ETHICAL SYSTEM IN JAPAN [Footnote 1: "He was fond of saying that Princeton had never originated a new idea; but this meant no more than that Princeton was the advocate of historical Calvinism in opposition to the modified and provincial Calvinism of a later day."--Francis L. Patton, in Schaff-Herzog Encyclopædia, Article on Charles Hodge.] [Footnote 2: We use Dr. James Legge's spelling, by whom these classics have been translated into English. See Sacred Books of the East, edited by Max Müller.] [Footnote 3: The Canon or Four Classics has a somewhat varied literary history of transmission, collection, and redaction, as well as of exposition, and of criticism, both "lower" and "higher." As arranged under the Han Dynasty (B.C. 206-A.D. 23) it consisted of--I. The Commentary of Tso Kinming (a disciple who expounded Confucius's book, The Annals of State of Lu); II. The Commentary of Kuh-liang upon the same work of Confucius; III. The Old Text of the Book of History; IV. The Odes, collected by Mao Chang, to whom is ascribed the test of the Odes as handed down to the present day. The generally accepted arrangement is that made by the mediaeval schoolmen of the Sung Dynasty (A.D. 960-1341), Cheng Teh Sio and Chu Hi, in the twelfth century: I. The Great Learning; II. The Doctrine of the Mean; III. Conversations of Confucius; IV. The Sayings of Mencius.--C.R.M., pp. 306-309.] [Footnote 4: See criticisms of Confucius as an author, in Legge's Religions of China, pp. 144, 145.] [Footnote 5: Religions of China, by James Legge, p. 140.] [Footnote 6: See Article China, by the author, Cyclopaedia of Political Science, Chicago, 1881.] [Footnote 7: This subject is critically discussed by Messrs. Satow, Chamberlain, and others in their writings on Shint[=o] and Japanese history. On Japanese chronology, see Japanese Chronological Tables, by William Bramsen, T[=o]ki[=o], 1880, and Dr. David Murray's Japan (p. 95), in the series Story of the Nations, New York.] [Footnote 8: The absurd claim made by some Shint[=o]ists that the Japanese possessed an original native alphabet called the Shingi (god-letters) before the entrance of the Chinese or Buddhist learning in Japan, is refuted by Aston, Japanese Grammar, p. 1; T.A.S.J., Vol. III., Appendix, p. 77. Mr. Satow shows "their unmistakable identity with the Corean alphabet."] [Footnote 9: For the life, work, and tombs of the Chinese scholars who fled to Japan on the fall of the Ming Dynasty, see M.E., p. 298; and Professor E.W. Clement's paper on The Tokugawa Princes of Mito, T.A.S.J., Vol. XVIII., and his letters in The Japan Mail.] [Footnote 10: "We have consecrated ourselves as the instruments of Heaven for punishing the wicked man,"--from the document submitted to the Yedo authorities, by the assassins of Ii Kamon no Kami, in Yedo, March 23, 1861, and signed by seventeen men of the band. For numerous other instances, see the voluminous literature of the Forty-seven R[=o]nins, and the Meiji political literature (1868-1893), political and historical documents, assassins' confessions, etc., contained in that thesarus of valuable documents, The Japan Mail; Kinsé Shiriaku, or Brief History of Japan, 1853-1869, Yokohama, 1873, and Nihon Guaishi, translated by Mr. Ernest Satow; Adams's History of Japan; T.A.S.J., Vol. XX., p. 145; Life and Letters of Yokoi Héishiro; Life of Sir Harry Parkes, London, 1893, etc., for proof of this assertion.] [Footnote 11: For proof of this, as to vocabulary, see Professor B.H. Chamberlain's Grammars and other philological works; Mr. J.H. Gubbins's Dictionary of Chinese-Japanese Words, with Introduction, three vols., T[=o]ki[=o] 1892; and for change in structure, Rev. C. Munzinger, on The Psychology of the Japanese Language in the Transactions of the Gorman Asiatic Society of Japan. See also Mental Characteristics of the Japanese, T.A.S.J., Vol. XIX., pp. 17-37.] [Footnote 12: See The Ghost of Sakura, in Mitfoid's Tales of Old Japan, Vol. II, p. 17.] [Footnote 13: M.E., 277-280. See an able analysis of Japanese feudal society, by M.F. Dickins, Life of Sir Harry Parkes, pp. 8-13; M.E., pp. 277-283.] [Footnote 14: This subject is discussed in Professor Chamberlain's works; Mr. Percival Lowell's The Soul of the Far East; Dr. M.L. Gordon's An American Missionary in Japan; Dr. J.H. De Forest's The Influence of Pantheism, in The Japan Evangelist, 1894.] [Footnote 15: T.A.S.J., Vol. XVII., p. 96.] [Footnote 16: The Forty Seven-R[=o]nins, Tales of Old Japan, Vol. I.; Chiushiugura, by F.V. Dickens; The Loyal R[=o]nins, by Edward Greey; Chiushiugura, translated by Enouyé.] [Footnote 17: See Dr. J.H. De Forest's article in the Andover Review, May, June, 1893, p. 309. For details and instances, see the Japanese histories, novels, and dramas; M.E.; Rein's Japan; S. and H.; T.A.S.J., etc. Life of Sir Harry Parkes, p. 11 _et passim_.] [Footnote 18: M.E. pp. 180-192, 419. For the origin and meaning of hara-kiri, see T.J., pp. 199-201; Mitford's Tales of Old Japan, Vol. I., Appendix; Adams's History of Japan, story of Shimadz[)u].] [Footnote 19: M.E., p. 133.] [Footnote 20: For light upon the status of the Japanese family, see F.O. Adams's History of Japan, Vol. II., p. 384; Kinsé Shiriaku, p. 137; Naomi Tamura, The Japanese Bride, New York, 1893; E.H. House, Yoné Santo, A Child of Japan, Chicago, 1888; Japanese Girls and Women, by Miss A.M. Bacon, Boston, 1891; T.J., Article Woman, and in Index, Adoption, Children, etc.; M.E., 1st ed., p. 585; Marriage in Japan, T.A.S.J., Vol. XIII., p. 114; and papers in the German Asiatic Society of Japan.] [Footnote 21: See Mr. F.W. Eastlake's papers in the Popular Science Monthly.] [Footnote 22: See Life of Sir Harry Parkes, Vol. II, pp. 181-182. "It is to be feared, however, that this reform [of the Yoshiwara system], like many others in Japan, never got beyond paper, for Mr. Norman in his recent book, The Real Japan [Chap. XII.], describes a scarcely modified system in full vigor." See also Japanese Girls and Women, pp. 289-292.] [Footnote 23: See Pung Kwang Yu's paper, read at the Parliament of Religions in Chicago, and The Chinese as Painted by Themselves, by Colonel Tcheng-Ki-Tong, New York and London, 1885. Dr. W.A.P. Martin's scholarly book, The Chinese, New York, 1881, in the chapter Remarks on the Ethical Philosophy of the Chinese, gives in English and Chinese a Chart of Chinese Ethics in which the whole scheme of philosophy, ethics, and self-culture is set forth.] [Footnote 24: See an exceedingly clear, able, and accurate article on The Ethics of Confucius as Seen in Japan, by the veteran scholar, Rev. J.H. De Forest, The Andover Review, May, June, 1893. He is the authority for the statements concerning non-attendance (in Old Japan) of the husband at the wife's, and older brother at younger brother's funeral.] [Footnote 25: A Japanese translation of Mrs. Caudle's Curtain Lectures, in a T[=o]ki[=o] morning newspaper "met with instant and universal approval," showing that Douglas Jerrold's world-famous character has her counterpart in Japan, where, as a Japanese proverb declares, "the tongue three inches long can kill a man six feet high." Sir Edwin Arnold and Mr. E.H. House, in various writings, have idealized the admirable traits of the Japanese woman. See also Mr. Lafcadio Hearn's Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan, Boston, 1894; and papers (The Eternal Feminine, etc.), in the Atlantic Monthly.] [Footnote 26: Summary of the Japanese Penal Codes, T.A.S.J., Vol. V., Part II.; The Penal Code of Japan, and The Code of Criminal Procedure of Japan, Yokohama.] [Footnote 27: See T.A.S.J., Vol. XIII., p. 114; the Chapter on Marriage and Divorce, in Japanese Girls and Women, pp. 57-84. The following figures are from the Résumé Statistique de L'Empire du Japon, published annually by the Imperial Government: MARRIAGES. DIVORCES. Number. Per 1,000 Number. Per 1,000 Persons. Persons. 1887....334,149 8.55 110,859 2.84 1888....330,246 8.34 109,175 2.76 1889....340,445 8.50 107,458 2.68 1890....325,141 8.04 197,088 2.70 1891....352,051 8.00 112,411 2.76 1892....348,489 8.48 113,498 2.76 ] [Footnote 28: This was strikingly brought out in the hundreds of English compositions (written by students of the Imperial University, 1872-74, describing the home or individual life of students), examined and read by the author.] [Footnote 29: Homo sum: humani nil a me alienum puto--Héauton Tomoroumenos, Act--, Scene 1, line 25, where Chremes inquires about his neighbor's affairs. For the golden rule of Jesus and the silver rule of Confucius, see Doolittle's Social Life of the Chinese.] [Footnote 30: "What you do not want done to yourselves, do not do to others." Legge, The Religions of China, p. 137; Doolittle's Social Life of the Chinese; The Testament of Iyéyas[)u];, Cap. LXXI., translated by J.C. Lowder, Yokohama, 1874.] [Footnote 31: Die politische Bedeutung der amerikanischer Expedition nach Japan, 1852, by Tetsutaro Yoshida, Heidelberg, 1893; The United States and Japan (p. 39), by Inazo Nitobé, Baltimore, 1891; Matthew Calbraith Perry, Chap. XXVIII.; T.J., Article Perry; Life and Letters of S. Wells Williams, New York, 1889.] [Footnote 32: See Life of Matthew Calbraith Perry, pp. 363, 364.] [Footnote 33: Lee's Jerusalem Illustrated, p. 88.] CHAPTER V CONFUCIANISM IN ITS PHILOSOPHICAL FORM [Footnote 1: See On the Early History of Printing in Japan, by E.M. Satow, T.A.S.J., Vol. X., pp. 1-83, 252-259; The Jesuit Mission Press in Japan, by E.M. Satow (privately printed, 1888), and Review of this monograph by Professor B.H. Chamberlain, T.A.S.J., Vol. XVII., pp. 91-100.] [Footnote 2: The Tokugawa Princes of Mito, by Ernest W. Clement, T.A.S.J., Vol. XVIII., pp. 1-24, and Letters in The Japan Mail, 1889.] [Footnote 3: Effect of Buddhism on the Philosophy of the Sung Dynasty, p. 318, Chinese Buddhism, by Rev. J. Edkins, Boston, 1880.] [Footnote 4: C.R.M., p. 200; The Middle Kingdom, by S. Wells Williams, Vol. II., p. 174.] [Footnote 5: C.R.M., p. 34. He was the boy-hero, who smashed with a stone the precious water-vase in order to save from drowning a playmate who had tumbled in, so often represented in Chinese popular art.] [Footnote 6: C.R.M., pp. 25-26; The Middle Kingdom, Vol. I., pp. 113, 540, 652-654, 677.] [Footnote 7: This decade in Chinese history was astonishingly like that of the United States from 1884 to 1894, in which the economical theories advocated in certain journals, in the books Progress and Poverty, Looking Backward, and by the Populists, have been so widely read and discussed, and the attempts made to put them into practice. The Chinese theorist of the eleventh century, Wang Ngan-shih was "a poet and author of rare genius."--C.R.M., p. 244.] [Footnote 8: John xxi. 25.] [Footnote 9: This is the opinion of no less capable judges than Dr. George Wm. Knox and Professor Basil Hall Chamberlain.] [Footnote 10: The United States and Japan, pp. 25-27; Life of Takano Choyéi by Kato Sakayé, T[=o]ki[=o], 1888.] [Footnote 11: Note on Japanese Schools of Philosophy, by T. Haga, and papers by Dr. G.W. Knox, Dr. T. Inoué, T.A.S.J., Vol. XX, Part I.] [Footnote 12: A religion, surely, with men like Yokoi Héishiro.] [Footnote 13: See pp. 110-113.] [Footnote 14: _Kinno_--loyalty to the Emperor; T.A.S.J., Vol. XX., p. 147.] [Footnote 15: "Originally recognizing the existence of a Supreme personal Deity, it [Confucianism] has degenerated into a pantheistic medley, and renders worship to an impersonal _anima mundi_ under the leading forms of visible nature."--Dr. W.A.P. Martin's The Chinese, p. 108.] [Footnote 16: Ki, Ri, and Ten, Dr. George Wm. Knox, T.A.S.J., Vol. XX., pp. 155-177.] [Footnote 17: T.J., p. 94.] [Footnote 18: T.A.S.J., Vol. XX., p. 156.] [Footnote 19: Matthew Calbraith Perry, p. 373; Japanese Life of Yoshida Shoin, by Tokutomi, T[=o]ki[=o], 1894; Life of Sir Harry Parkes, Vol. II., p. 83.] [Footnote 20: "The Chinese accept Confucius in every detail, both as taught by Confucius and by his disciples.... The Japanese recognize both religions [Buddhism and Confucianism] equally, but Confucianism in Japan has a direct bearing upon everything relating to human affairs, especially the extreme loyalty of the people to the emperor, while the Koreans consider it more useful in social matters than in any other department of life, and hardly consider its precepts in their business and mercantile relations." "Although Confucianism is counted a religion, it is really a system of sociology.... Confucius was a moralist and statesman, and his disciples are moralists and economists."--Education in Korea, by Mr. Pom K. Soh, of the Korean Embassy to the United States; Report of U.S. Commissioner of Education, 1890-91, Vol. I., pp. 345-346.] [Footnote 21: In Bakin, who is the great teacher of the Japanese by means, of fiction, this is the idea always inculcated.] CHAPTER VI THE BUDDHISM OF NORTHERN ASIA [Footnote 1: See his Introduction to the Saddharma Pundarika, Sacred Books of the East, and his Buddhismus.] [Footnote 2: Origin and Growth of Religion as Illustrated by Buddhism; Non-Christian Religious Systems--Buddhism.] [Footnote 3: The sketch of Indian thought here following is digested from material obtained from various works on Buddhism and from the Histories of India. See the excellent monograph of Romesh Chunder Dutt, in Epochs of Indian History, London and New York, 1893; and Outlines of The Mahayana, as Taught by Buddha ("for circulation among the members of the Parliament of Religions," and distributed in Chicago), Toki[=o], 1893.] [Footnote 4: Dyaus-Pitar, afterward _zeus patêr_. See Century Dictionary, Jupiter.] [Footnote 5: Yoga is the root form of our word yoke, which at once suggests the union of two in one. See Yoga, in The Century Dictionary.] [Footnote 6: Dutt's History of India.] [Footnote 7: The differences between the simple primitive narrative of Gautama's experiences in attaining Buddhahood, and the richly embroidered story current in later ages, may be seen by reading, first, Atkinson's Prince Sidartha, the Japanese Buddha, and then Arnold's Light of Asia. See also S. and H., Introduction, pp. 70-84, etc. Atkinson's book is refreshing reading after the expurgation and sublimation of the same theme in Sir Edwin Arnold's Light of Asia.] [Footnote 8: Romesh Chunder Dutt's Ancient India, p. 100.] [Footnote 9: Origin and Growth of Religion by T. Rhys Davids, p. 28.] [Footnote 10: Job i. 6, Hebrew.] [Footnote 11: Origin and Growth of Religion, p. 29.] [Footnote 12: "Buddhism so far from tracing 'all things' to 'matter' as their original, denies the reality of matter, but it nowhere denies the reality of existence."--The Phoenix, Vol. I., p. 156.] [Footnote 13: See A Year among the Persians, by Edward G. Browne, London, 1893.] [Footnote 14: Dutt's History of India, pp. 153-156. See also Mozoomdar's The Spirit of God, p. 305. "Buddhism, though for a long time it supplanted the parent system, was the fulfilment of the prophecy of universal peace, which Hinduism had made; and when, in its turn, it was outgrown by the instincts of the Aryans, it had to leave India indeed forever, but it contributed quite as much to Indian religion as it had ever borrowed."] [Footnote 15: Korean Repository, Vol. I., pp. 101, 131, 153; Siebold's Nippon, Archiv; Report of the U.S. Commissioner of Education, 1890-91, Vol. I., p. 346; Dallet's Histoire de l'Église de Corée, Vol. 1., Introd., p. cxlv.; Corea, the Hermit Nation, p. 331.] [Footnote 16: See Brian H. Hodgson's The Literature and History of the Buddhists, in Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal, which is epitomized in The Phoenix, Vol. I.; Beal's Buddhism in China, Chap. II.; T. Rhys Davids's Buddhism, etc. To Brian Houghton Hodgson, (of whose death at the ripe age of ninety-three years we read in Luzac's Oriental List) more than to any one writer, are we indebted for our knowledge of Northern or Mahayana Buddhism.] [Footnote 17: See the very accurate, clear, and full definitions and explanations in The Century Dictionary.] [Footnote 18: This subject is fully discussed by Professor T. Rhys Davids in his compact Manual of Buddhism.] [Footnote 19: See Century Dictionary.] [Footnote 20: Jap. Mon-ju. One of the most famous images of this Bodhisattva is at Zenkô-ji, Nagano. See Kern's Saddharma Pundarika, p. 8, and the many referents to Manjusri in the Index. That Manjusri was the legendary civilizer of Nepaul seems probable from the following extract from Brian Hodgson: "The Swayambhu Purana relates in substance as follows: That formerly the valley of Nepaul was of circular form, and full of very deep water, and that the mountains confining it were clothed with the densest forests, giving shelter to numberless birds and beasts. Countless waterfowl rejoiced in the waters.... "... Vipasyi, having thrice circumambulated the lake, seated himself in the N.W. (Váyubona) side of it, and, having repeated several mantras over the root of a lotos, he threw it into the water, exclaiming, 'What time this root shall produce a flower, then, from out of the flower, Swayambhu, the Lord of Agnishtha Bhuvana, shall be revealed in the form of flame; and then shall the lake become a cultivated and populous country.' Having repeated these words, Vipasyi departed. Long after the date of this prophecy, it was fulfilled according to the letter.... "... When the lake was dessicated (by the sword of Manjusri says the myth--probably earthquake) Karkotaka had a fine tank built for him to dwell in; and there he is still worshipped, also in the cave-temple appendant to the great Buddhist shrine of Swayambhu Nath.... "... The Bodhisatwa above alluded to is Manju Sri, whose native place is very far off, towards the north, and is called Pancha Sirsha Parvata (which is situated in Maha China Des). After the coming of Viswabhu Buddha to Naga Vasa, Manju Sri, meditating upon what was passing in the world, discovered by means of his divine science that Swayambhu-jyotirupa, that is, the self-existent, in the form of flame, was revealed out of a lotos in the lake of Naga Vasa. Again, he reflected within himself: 'Let me behold that sacred spot, and my name will long be celebrated in the world;' and on the instant, collecting together his disciples, comprising a multitude of the peasantry of the land, and a Raja named Dharmakar, he assumed the form of Viswakarma, and with his two Devis (wives) and the persons above-mentioned, set out upon the long journey from Sirsha Parvata to Naga Vasa. There having arrived, and having made puja to the self-existent, he began to circumambulate the lake, beseeching all the while the aid of Swayambhu in prayer. In the second circuit, when he had reached the central barrier mountain to the south, he became satisfied that that was the best place whereat to draw off the waters of the lake. Immediately he struck the mountain with his scimitar, when the sundered rock gave passage to the waters, and the bottom of the lake became dry. He then descended from the mountain, and began to walk about the valley in all directions."--The Phoenix, Vol. II., pp. 147-148.] [Footnote 21: Jap. Kwannon, god or goddess of mercy, in his or her manifold forms, Thousand-handed, Eleven-faced, Horse-headed, Holy, etc.] [Footnote 22: Or, The Lotus of the Good Law, a mystical name for the cosmos. "The good law is made plain by flowers of rhetoric." See Bernouf and Kern's translations, and Edkin's Chinese Buddhism, pp. 43, 214. Translations of this work, so influential in Japanese Buddhism, exist in French, German, and English. See Sacred Books of the East, Vol. XXI., by Professor H. Kern, of Leyden University. In the Introduction, p. xxxix., the translator discusses age, authorship, editions, etc. Bunyiu Nanjio's Short History of the Twelve Japanese Buddhist Sects, pp. 132-134. Beal in his Catena of Buddhist Scriptures, pp. 389-396, has translated Chapter XXIV.] [Footnote 23: At the great Zenk[=o]ji, a temple of the Tendai sect, at Nagano, Japan, dedicated to three Buddhist divinities, one of whom is Kwannon (Avalokitesvara, the rafters of the vast main hall are said to number 69,384, in reference to the number of Chinese characters contained in the translation of the Saddharma Pundarika.] [Footnote 24: "The third (collection of the Tripitaka) was ... made by Manjusri and Maitreya. This is the collection of the Mahayana books. Though it is as clear or bright as the sun at midday yet the men of the Hinayana are not ashamed of their inability to know them and speak evil of them instead, just as the Confucianists call Buddhism a law of barbarians, without reading the Buddhist books at all."--B.N., p. 51.] [Footnote 25: See the writings of Brian Hodgson, J. Edkins, E.J. Eitel, S. Beal, T. Rhys Davids, Bunyiu Nanjio, etc.] [Footnote 26: See Chapter VIII. in T. Rhys Davids's Buddhism, a book of great scholarship and marvellous condensation.] [Footnote 27: Davids's Buddhism, p. 206. Other illustrations of the growth of the dogmas of this school of Buddhism we select from Brian Hodgson's writings. 1. The line of division between God and man, and between gods and man, was removed by Buddhism. "Genuine Buddhism never seems to contemplate any measures of acceptance with the deity; but, overleaping the barrier between finite and infinite mind, urges its followers to aspire by their own efforts to that divine perfectibility of which it teaches that man is capable, and by attaining which man becomes God--and thus is explained both the quiescence of the imaginary celestial, and the plenary omnipotence of the real Manushi Buddhas--thus, too, we must account for the fact that genuine Buddhism has no priesthood; the saint despises the priest; the saint scorns the aid of mediators, whether on earth or in heaven; 'conquer (exclaims the adept or Buddha to the novice or BodhiSattwa)--conquer the importunities of the body, urge your mind to the meditation of abstraction, and you shall, in time, discover the great secret (Sunyata) of nature: know this, and you become, on the instant, whatever priests have feigned of Godhead--you become identified with Prajna, the sum of all the power and all the wisdom which sustain and govern the world, and which, as they are manifested out of matter, must belong solely to matter; not indeed in the gross and palpable state of pravritti, but in the archetypal and pure state of nirvritti. Put off, therefore, the vile, pravrittika necessities of the body, and the no less vile affections of the mind (Tapas); urge your thought into pure abstraction (Dhyana), and then, as assuredly you can, so assuredly you shall, attain to the wisdom of a Buddha (Bodhijnana), and become associated with the eternal unity and rest of nirvritti.'"--The Phoenix, Vol. I., p. 194. 2. A specimen of "esoteric" and "exoteric" Buddhism;--the Buddha Tatkagata. "And as the wisdom of man is, in its origin, but an effluence of the Supreme wisdom (_Prajná_) of nature, so is it perfected by a refluence to its source, but without loss of individuality; whence Prajna is feigned in the exoteric system to be both the mother and the wife of all the Buddhas, '_janani sarva Buddkánám_,' and '_Jina-sundary_;' for the efflux is typified by a birth, and the reflux by a marriage. "The Buddha is the adept in the wisdom of Buddhism (_Bodhijnána_) whose first duty, so long as he remains on earth, is to communicate his wisdom to those who are willing to receive it. These willing learners are the 'Bodhisattwas,' so called from their hearts being inclined to the wisdom of Buddhism, and 'Sanghas,' from their companionship with one another, and with their Buddha or teacher, in the _Viháras_ or coenobitical establishments." "And such is the esoteric interpretation of the third (and inferior) member of the Prajniki Triad. The Bodhisattwa or Sangha continues to be such until he has surmounted the very last grade of that vast and laborious ascent by which he is instructed that he can 'scale the heavens,' and pluck immortal wisdom from its resplendent source: which achievement performed, he becomes a Buddha, that is, an Omniscient Being, and a _Tathágata_--a title implying the accomplishment of that gradual increase in wisdom by which man becomes immortal or ceases to be subject to transmigration."--The Phoenix, Vol. I., pp. 194, 195. 3. Is God all, or is all God? "What that grand secret, that ultimate truth, that single reality, is, whether all is God, or God is all, seems to be the sole _proposition_ of the oriental philosophic religionists, who have all alike sought to discover it by taking the high _priori_ road. That God is all, appears to be the prevalent dogmatic determination of the Brahmanists; that all is God, the preferential but sceptical solution of the _Buddhists_; and, in a large view, I believe it would be difficult to indicate any further essential difference between their theoretic systems, both, as I conceive, the unquestionable growth of the Indian soil, and both founded upon transcendental speculation, conducted in the very same style and manner."--The Phoenix, Vol. II., p. 45. 4. Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha. "In a philosophical light, the precedence of Buddha or of Dharma indicates the theistic or atheistic school. With the former, Buddha is intellectual essence, the efficient cause of all, and underived. Dharma is material essence, the plastic cause, and underived, a co-equal biunity with Buddha; or else the plastic cause, as before, but dependent and derived from Buddha. Sangha is derived from, and compounded of, Buddha, and Dharma, is their collective energy in the state of action; the immediate operative cause of creation, its type or its agent. With the latter or atheistic schools, Dharma is _Diva natura_, matter as the sole entity, invested with intrinsic activity and intelligence, the efficient and material cause of all. "Buddha is derivative from Dharma, is the active and intelligent force of nature, first put off from it and then operating upon it. Sangha is the _result_ of that operation; is embryotic creation, the type and sum of all specific forms, which are spontaneously evolved from the union of Buddha with Dharma."--The Phoenix, Vol. II., p. 12. 5. The mantra or sacred sentence best known in the Buddhadom and abroad. "_Amitábha_ is the fourth _Dhyani_ or celestial _Budda: Padma-pani_ his _Æon_ and executive minister. _Padma-pani_ is the _praesens Divus_ and creator of the _existing_ system of worlds. Hence his identification with the third member of the _Triad_. He is figured as a graceful youth, erect, and bearing in either hand a _lotos_ and a jewel. The last circumstance explains the meaning of the celebrated _Shadakshári Mantra_, or six-lettered invocation of him, viz., _Om! Manipadme hom!_ of which so many corrupt versions and more corrupt interpretations have appeared from Chinese, Tibetan, Mongolian, and other sources. The _mantra_ in question is one of three, addressed to the several members of the _Triad_. 1. _Om sarva vidye hom_. 2. _Om Prajnáye hom_. 3. _Om mani-padme hom_. 1. The mystic triform Deity is in the all-wise (Buddha). 2. The mystic triform Deity is in Prajna (Dharma). 3. The mystic triform Deity is in him of the jewel and lotos (Sangha). But the praesens Divus, whether he be Augustus or _Padma-pani_, is everything with the many. Hence the notoriety of this _mantra_, whilst the others are hardly ever heard of, and have thus remained unknown to our travellers."--The Phoenix, Vol. II., p. 64.] [Footnote 28: "Nine centuries after Buddha, Maitreya (Miroku or Ji-shi) came down from the Tushita heaven to the lecture-hall in the kingdom of Ayodhya (A-ya-sha) in Central India, at the request of the Bodhisattva Asamga (Mu-jaku) and discoursed five Sastras, 1, Yoga-karya-bhumi-sastra (Yu-ga-shi-ji-ron), etc.... After that, the two great Sastra teachers, Asanga and Vasubandhu (Se-shin), who were brothers, composed many Sastras (Ron) and cleared up the meaning of the Mahayana" (or Greater Vehicle, canon of Northern Buddhism).--B.N., p. 32.] [Footnote 29: Buddhism, T. Rhys Davids, pp. 206-211.] [Footnote 30: Prayer-wheels in Japan are used by the Tendai and Shingon sects, but without written prayers attached, and rather as an illustration of the doctrine of cause and effect (ingwa); the prayers being usually offered to Jizo the merciful.--S. and H., p. 29; T. J., p. 360.] [Footnote 31: For this see Edkins's Chinese Buddhism; Eitel's Three Lectures, and Hand-book; Rev. S. Beal's Buddhism, and A Catena of Buddhist Scriptures from the Chinese; The Romantic Legend of Sakya Buddha, from the Chinese; Texts from the Buddhist canon commonly known as the Dhammapeda; Notes on Buddhist Words and Phrases, the Chrysanthemum, Vol. I.; The Phoenix, Vols. I-III. See, also, a spirited sketch of Ancient Japan, by Frederick Victor Dickins, in the Life of Sir Harry Parkes, Vol. II., pp. 4-14.] [Footnote 32: S. and H., pp. 289, 293; Chamberlain's Hand-book for Japan, p. 220; Summer's Notes on Osaka, T.A.S.J., Vol. VIL, p. 382; Buddhism, and Traditions Concerning its Introduction into Japan, T.A.S.J., Vol. XIV., p. 78.] [Footnote 33: S. and H., p. 344.] [Footnote 34: T.J., p. 73.] [Footnote 35: Vairokana is the first or chief of the five personifications of Wisdom, and in Japan the idol is especially noticeable in the temples of the Tendai sect.--"The Action of Vairokana, or the great doctrine of the highest vehicle of the secret union," etc., B.N., p. 75.] [Footnote 36: S. and H., p. 390; B.N., p. 29.] [Footnote 37: "Hinduism stands for philosophic spirituality and emotion, Buddhism for ethics and humanity, Christianity for fulness of God's incarnation in man, while Mohammedanism is the champion of uncompromising monotheism."--F.P.C. Mozoomdar's The Spirit of God, Boston, 1894, p. 305.] CHAPTER VII RIY[=O]BU, OR MIXED BUDDHISM [Footnote 1: Is not something similar frankly attempted in Rev. Dr. Joseph Edkins's The Early Spread of Religious Ideas in the Far East (London, 1893)?] [Footnote 2: M.E., p. 252; Honda the Samurai, pp. 193-194.] [Footnote 3: See The Lily Among Thorns, A Study of the Biblical Drama Entitled the Song of Songs (Boston 1890), in which this subject is glanced at.] [Footnote 4: See The Religion of Nepaul, Buddhist Philosophy, and the writings of Brian Hodgson in The Phoenix, Vols. I., II., III.] [Footnote 5: See Century Dictionary, Yoga; Edkins's Chinese Buddhism, pp. 169-174; T. Rhys Davids's Buddhism, pp. 206-211; Index of B.N., under Vagrasattwa; S. and H., pp. 85-87.] [Footnote 6: T.J., p. 226; Kojiki, Introduction.] [Footnote 7: See in the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, 1893, a very valuable paper by Mr. L.A. Waddell, on The Northern Buddhist Mythology, epitomized in the Japan Mail, May 5, 1894.] [Footnote 8: See Catalogue of Chinese and Japanese Paintings in the British Museum, and The Pictorial Arts of Japan, by William Anderson, M.D.] [Footnote 9: Anderson's Catalogue, p. 24.] [Footnote 10: S. and H., p. 415; Chamberlain's Hand-book for Japan; T.J.; M.E., p. 162, etc.] [Footnote 11: The names of Buddhist priests and monks are usually different from those of the laity, being taken from events in the life of Gautama, or his original disciples, passages in the sacred classics, etc. Among some personal acquaintances in the Japanese priesthood were such names as Lift-the-Kettle, Take-Hold-of-the-Dipper, Drivelling-Drunkard, etc. In the raciness, oddity, literalness, realism, and close connection of their names with the scriptures of their system, the Buddhists quite equal the British Puritans.] [Footnote 12: Kern's Saddharma-Pundarika, pp. 311, 314; Davids's Buddhism p. 208; The Phoenix, Vol. I., p. 169; S. and H., p. 502; Du Bose's Dragon, Demon, and Image, p. 407; Fuso Mimi Bukuro, p. 134; Hough's Corean Collections, Washington, 1893, p. 480, plate xxviii.] [Footnote 13: Japan in History, Folk-lore and Art, pp. 86, 80-88; A Japanese Grammar, by J.J. Hoffman, p. 10; T.J., pp. 465-470.] [Footnote 14: This is the essence of Buddhism, and was for centuries repeated and learned by heart throughout the empire: "Love and enjoyment disappear, What in our world endureth here? E'en should this day it oblivion be rolled, 'Twas only a vision that leaves me cold." ] [Footnote 15: This legend suggests the mediaeval Jewish story, that Ezra, the scribe, could write with five pens at once; Hearn's Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan, pp. 29-33.] [Footnote 16: Brave Little Holland, and What She Taught Us, p. 124.] [Footnote 17: T.J., pp. 75, 342; Chamberlain's Hand-book for Japan, p. 41; M.E., p. 162.] [Footnote 18: T.A.S.J., Vol. II., p. 101; S. and H., p. 176.] [Footnote 19: It was for lifting with his walking-stick the curtain hanging before the shrine of this Kami that Arinori Mori, formerly H.I.J.M. Minister at Washington and London, was assassinated by a Shint[=o] fanatic, February 11, 1889; T. J., p. 229; see Percival Lowell's paper in the Atlantic Monthly.] [Footnote 20: See Mr. P. Lowell's Esoteric Shint[=o], T.A.S.J., Vol. XXI, pp. 165-167, and his "Occult Japan."] [Footnote 21: S. and H., Japan, p. 83.] [Footnote 22: See the Author's Introduction to the Arabian Nights' Entertainments, Boston, 1891.] [Footnote 23: B.N., Index and pp. 78-103; Edkins's Chinese Buddhism, p. 169.] [Footnote 24: Satow's or Chamberlain's Guide-books furnish hundreds of other instances, and describe temples in which the renamed kami are worshipped.] [Footnote 25: S. and H., p. 70.] [Footnote 26: M.E., pp. 187, 188; S. and H., pp. 11, 12.] [Footnote 27: San Kai Ri (Mountain, Sea, and Land). This work, recommended to me by a learned Buddhist priest in Fukui, I had translated and read to me by a Buddhist of the Shin Shu sect. In like manner, even Christian writers in Japan have occasionally endeavored to rationalize the legends of Shint[=o], see Kojiki, p. liii., where Mr. T. Goro's Shint[=o] Shin-ron is referred to. I have to thank my friend Mr. C. Watanabé, of Cornell University, for reading to me Mr. Takahashi's interesting but unconvincing monographs on Shint[=o] and Buddhism.] [Footnote 28: T.J., p. 402; Some Chinese Ghosts, by Lafcadio Hearn, p. 129.] [Footnote 29: S. and H., Japan, p. 397; Classical Poetry of the Japanese, p. 201, note.] [Footnote 30: The Japanese word Ry[=o] means both, and is applied to the eyes, ears, feet, things correspondent or in pairs, etc.; _bu_ is a term for a set, kind, group, etc.] [Footnote 31: Rein, p. 432; T.A.S.J., Vol. XXI., pp. 241-270; T.J., p. 339.] [Footnote 32: The Chrysanthemum, Vol. I., p. 401.] [Footnote 33: Even the Takétori Monogatari (The Bamboo Cutter's Daughter), the oldest and the best of the Japanese classic romances is (at least in the text and form now extant) a warp of native ideas with a woof of Buddhist notions.] [Footnote 34: Mr. Percival Lowell argues, in Esoteric Shint[=o], T.A.S.J., Vol. XXI., that besides the habit of pilgrimages, fire-walking, and god-possession, other practices supposed to be Buddhistic are of Shint[=o] origin.] [Footnote 35: The native literature illustrating Riy[=o]buism is not extensive. Mr. Ernest Satow in the American Cyclopædia (Japan: Literature) mentions several volumes. The Tenchi Réiki Noko, in eighteen books contains a mixture of Buddhism and Shint[=o], and is ascribed by some to Sh[=o]toku and by others to K[=o]b[=o], but now literary critics ascribe these, as well as the books Jimbetsuki and Tenshoki, to be modern forgeries by Buddhist priests. The Kogoshiui, written in A.D. 807, professes to preserve fragments of ancient tradition not recorded in the earlier books, but the main object is that which lies at the basis of a vast mass of Japanese literature, namely, to prove the author's own descent from the gods. The Yuiitsu Shint[=o] Miyoho Yoshiu, in two volumes, is designed to prove that Shint[=o] and Buddhism are identical in their essence. Indeed, almost all the treatises on Shint[=o] before the seventeenth century maintained this view. Certain books like the Shint[=o] Shu, for centuries popular, and well received even by scholars, are now condemned on account of their confusion of the two religions. One of the most interesting works which we have found is the San Kai Ri, to which reference has been made.] [Footnote 36: T.J., p. 224.] [Footnote 37: "Human life is but fifty years," Japanese Proverb; M.E., p. 107.] [Footnote 38: Chamberlain's Classical Poetry of the Japanese, p. 130.] [Footnote 39: S. and H., p. 416.] [Footnote 40: Things Chinese, by J. Dyer Ball, p. 70; see also Edkins and Eitel.] [Footnote 41: The Japan Weekly Mail of April 28, 1893, translating and condensing an article from the Bukky[=o], a Buddhist newspaper, gives the results of a Japanese Buddhist student's tour through China--"Taoism prevails everywhere.... Buddhism has decayed and is almost dead."] [Footnote 42: Vaisramana is a Deva who guarded, praised, fed with heavenly food, and answered the questions of the Chinese D[=o]-sen (608-907 A.D.) who founded the Risshu or Vinaya sect.--B.N., p. 25.] [Footnote 43: Anderson, Catalogue, pp. 29-45.] [Footnote 44: Some of those are pictured in Aimé Humbert's Japon Illustré, and from the same pictures reproduced by electro-plates which, from Paris, have transmigrated for a whole generation through the cheaper books on Japan, in every European language.] CHAPTER VIII NORTHERN BUDDHISM IS ITS DOCTRINAL EVOLUTIONS [Footnote 1: On the Buddhist canon, see the writings of Beal, Spence Hardy, T. Rhys Davids, Bunyiu Nanjio, etc.] [Footnote 2: Edkins's Chinese Buddhism, pp. 43, 108, 214; Classical Poetry of the Japanese, p. 173.] [Footnote 3: See T.A.S.J., Vol. XIX., Part I., pp. 17-37; The Soul of the Far East; and the writings of Chamberlain, Aston, Dickins, Munzinger, etc.] [Footnote 4: Much of the information as to history and doctrine contained in this chapter has been condensed from Mr. Bunyiu Nanjio's A Short History of the Twelve Japanese Buddhist Sects, translated out of the Japanese into English. This author, besides visiting the old seats of the faith in China, studied Sanskrit at Oxford with Professor Max Müller, and catalogued in English the Tripitaka or Buddhist canon of China and Japan, sent to England by the ambassador Iwakura. The nine reverend gentlemen who wrote the chapters and introduction of the Short History are Messrs. K[=o]-ch[=o] Ogurusu, and Shu-Zan Emura of the Shin sect; Rev. Messrs. Sh[=o]-hen Uéda, and Dai-ryo Takashi, of the Shin-gon Sect; Rev. Messrs. Gy[=o]-kai Fukuda, Keu-k[=o] Tsuji, Renj[=o] Akamatsu, and Zé-jun Kobayashi of the J[=o]-d[=o], Zen, Shin, and Nichiren sects, respectively. Though execrably printed, and the English only tolerable, the work is invaluable to the student of Japanese Buddhism. It has a historical introduction and a Sanskrit-Chinese Index, 1 vol., pp. 172, T[=o]ki[=o], 1887. Substantially the same work, translated into French, is Le Bouddhisme Japonais, by Ryauon Fujishima, Paris, 1889. Satow and Hawes's Hand-book for Japan has brief but valuable notes in the Introduction, and, like Chamberlain's continuation of the same work, is a storehouse of illustrative matter. Edkine's and Eitel's works on Chinese Buddhism have been very helpful.] [Footnote 5: M. Abel Remusat published a translation of a Chinese Pilgrim's travels in 1836; M. Stanislais Julien completed his volume on Hiouen Thsang in 1858; and in 1884 Rev. Samuel Beal issued his Travels of Fah-Hian and Sung-Yun, Buddhist Pilgrims from China to India (400 A.D. and 518 A.D.). The latter work contains a map.] [Footnote 6: B.N., p. 3.] [Footnote 7: B.N., p. 11.] [Footnote 8: Three hundred and twenty million years. See Century Dictionary.] [Footnote 9: See the paper of Rev. Sh[=o]-hen Uéda of the Shingon sect, in B.N., pp. 20-31; and R. Fujishima's Le Bouddhisme Japonais, pp. xvi., xvii., from which most of the information here given has been derived.] [Footnote 10: M.E., p. 383; S. and H., pp. 23, 30. The image of Binzuru is found in many Japanese temples to-day, a famous one being at Asakusa, in T[=o]ki[=o]. He is the supposed healer of all diseases. The image becomes entirely rubbed smooth by devotees, to the extinguishment of all features, lines, and outlines.] [Footnote 11: Davids's Buddhism, pp. 180, 200; S. and H., pp. (87) 389, 416.] [Footnote 12: B.N., pp. 32-43.] [Footnote 13: B.N., pp. 44-56.] [Footnote 14: Japanese Fairy World, p. 282; Anderson's Catalogue, pp. l03-7.] [Footnote 15: B.N., p. 62.] [Footnote 16: Pfoundes, Fuso Mimi Bukuro, p. 102.] [Footnote 17: B.N., p. 58. See also The Monist for January, 1894, p. 168.] [Footnote 18: "Tien Tai, a spot abounding in Buddhist antiquities, the earliest, and except Puto the largest and richest seat of that religion in eastern China. As a monastic establishment it dates from the fourth century."--Edkins's Chinese Buddhism, pp. 137-142.] [Footnote 19: S. and H., p. 87. See the paper read at the Parliament of Religions by the Zen bonze Ashitsu of Hiyéisan, the poem of Right Reverend Shaku Soyen, and the paper on The Fundamental Teachings of Buddhism, in The Monist for January, 1894; Japan As We Saw It, p. 297.] [Footnote 20: See Century Dictionary, _mantra_.] [Footnote 21: See Chapter XX. Ideas and Symbols in Japan: in History, Folk-lore, and Art. Buddhist tombs (go-rin) consist of a cube (earth), sphere (water), pyramid (fire), crescent (wind), and flame-shaped stone (ether), forming the go-rin or five-blossom tomb, typifying the five elements.] [Footnote 22: B.N., p. 78.] [Footnote 23: To put this dogma into intelligible English is, as Mr. Satow says, more difficult than to comprehend the whole doctrine, hard as that may be. "Dai Nichi Ni-yorai (Vairokana) is explained to be the collectivity of all sentient beings, acting through the mediums of Kwan-non, Ji-z[=o], Mon-ju, Shaka, and other influences which are popularly believed to be self-existent deities." In the diagram called the eight-leaf enclosure, by which the mysteries of Shingon are explained, Maha-Vairokana is in the centre, and on the eight petals are such names as Amitabha, Manjusri, Maitreya, and Avalokitesvara; in a word, all are purely speculative beings, phantoms of the brain, the mushrooms of decayed Brahmanism, and the mould of primitive Buddhism disintegrated by scholasticism.] [Footnote 24: S. and H., p. 31.] [Footnote 25: B.N., p. 115.] [Footnote 26: Here let me add that in my studies of oriental and ancient religion, I have never found one real Trinity, though triads, or tri-murti, are common. None of these when carefully analyzed yield the Christian idea of the Trinity.] CHAPTER IX THE BUDDHISM OF THE JAPANESE [Footnote 1: Tathagata is one of the titles of the Buddha, meaning "thus come," i.e., He comes bringing human nature as it truly is, with perfect knowledge and high intelligence, and thus manifests himself. Amitabha is the Sanskrit of Amida, or the deification of boundless light.] [Footnote 2: B.N., p. 104.] [Footnote 3: Literally, I yield to, or I adore the Boundless or the Immeasurable Buddha.] [Footnote 4: A Chinese or Japanese volume is much smaller than the average printed volume in Europe.] [Footnote 5: Legacy of Iyéyas[)u], Section xxviii. Doctrinally, this famous document, written probably long after Iyéyas[)u]'s death and canonization as a _gongen_, is a mixture or _Riy[=o]bu_ of Confucianism and Buddhism.] [Footnote 6: At first glance a forcible illustration, since the Japanese proverb declares that "A sea-voyage is an inch of hell." And yet the original saying of Ry[=u]-ju, now proverbial in Buddhadom, referred to the ease of sailing over the water, compared with the difficulty of surmounting the obstacles of land travel in countries not yet famous for good roads. See B.N., p. 111.] [Footnote 7: Fuso Mimi Bukuro, p. 108; Descriptive Notes on the Rosaries as used by the different Sects of Buddhists in Japan, T.A.S.J., Vol. IX., pp. 173-182.] [Footnote 8: B.N., p. 122.] [Footnote 9: S. and H., p. 361.] [Footnote 10: S. and H., pp. 90-92; Unbeaten Tracks in Japan, Vol. II., pp. 242-253.] [Footnote 11: These three sutras are those most in favor with the J[=o]-d[=o] sect also, they are described, B.N., 104-106, and their tenets are referred to on pp. 260, 261.] [Footnote 12: For modern statements of Shin tenets and practices, see E.J. Reed's Japan, Vol. I., pp. 84-86; The Chrysanthemum, April, 1881, pp. 109-115; Unbeaten Tracks in Japan, Vol. II., 242-246; B.N., 122-131. Edkins's Religion in China, p. 153. The Chrysanthemum, April, 1881, p. 115.] [Footnote 13: S. and H., p. 361; B.N., pp. 105, 106. Toward the end of the Amitayus-dhyana sutra, Buddha says: "Let not one's voice cease, but ten times complete the thought, and repeat Namo'mit[=a]bh[=a]ya Buddh[=a]ya (Namu Amida Butsu) or adoration to Amitb[=a]ha Buddha."] [Footnote 14: M.E., pp. 164-166.] [Footnote 15: Schaff's Encyclopaedia, Article, Buddhism.] [Footnote 16: On the Tenets of the Shin Shiu, or "True Sect" of Buddhists, T.A.S.J., Vol. XIV., p. 1.] [Footnote 17: The Gobunsho, or Ofumi, of Renny[=o] Sh[=o]nin, T.A.S.J., Vol. XVII., pp. 101-143.] [Footnote 18: At the gorgeous services in honor of the founder of the great Higashi Hongwanji Western Temple of the Original Vow at Asakusa, T[=o]ki[=o], November 21 to 28, annually, the women attend wearing a head-dress called "horn-hider," which seems to have been named in allusion to a Buddhist text which says: "A woman's exterior is that of a saint, but her heart is that of a demon."--Chamberlain's Hand-book for Japan, p. 82; T.A.S.J., Vol. XVII., pp. 106, 141; Sacred Books of the East, Vol. XXI., pp. 251-254.] [Footnote 19: Review of Buddhist Texts from Japan, The Nation, No. 875, April 6, 1882. "The _Mah[=a]y[=a]na_ or Great Vehicle (we might fairly render it 'highfalutin') school.... Filled as these countries (Tibet, China, Japan) are with Buddhist monasteries, and priests, and nominal adherents, and abounding in voluminous translations of the Sanskrit Buddhistic literature, little understood and wellnigh unintelligible (for neither country has had the independence and mental force to produce a literature of its own, or to add anything but a chapter of decay to the history of this religion)...."] [Footnote 20: M.E., pp. 164, 165; B.N., pp. 132-147; Mitford's Tales of Old Japan, Vol. II., pp. 125-134.] CHAPTER X JAPANESE BUDDHISM IN ITS MISSIONARY DEVELOPMENT [Footnote 1: T.J., p. 71. Further illustrations of this statement may be found in his Classical Poetry of the Japanese, especially in the Selection and Appendices of this book; also in T.R.H. McClatchie's Japanese Plays (Versified), London, 1890.] [Footnote 2: See Introduction to the Kojiki, pp. xxxii.-xxxiv., and in Bakin's novel illustrating popular Buddhist beliefs, translated by Edward Greey, A Captive of Love, Boston, 1886.] [Footnote 3: See jade in Century Dictionary; "Magatama, so far as I am aware, do not ever appear to have been found in shell heaps" (of the aboriginal Ainos), Milne's Notes on Stone Implements, T.A.S.J., Vol. VIII., p. 71.] [Footnote 4: Concerning this legendary, and possibly mythical, episode, which has so powerfully influenced Japanese imagination and politics, see T.A.S.J., Vol. XVI., Part I., pp. 39-75; M.E., pp. 75-85.] [Footnote 5: See Corea, the Hermit Nation, pp. 1, 2; Persian Elements in Japanese Legends, T.A.S.J., Vol. XVI., Part I, pp. 1-10; Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, January, 1894. Rein's book, The Industries of Japan, points out, as far as known, the material debt to India. Some Japanese words like _beni-gari_ (Bengal) or rouge show at once their origin. The mosaic of stories in the Taéktori Monogatari, an allegory in exquisite literary form, illustrating the Buddhist dogma of Ingwa, or law of cause and effect, and written early in the ninth century, is made up of Chinese-Indian elements. See F.V. Dickins's translation and notes in Journal of the Royal Oriental Society, Vol. XIX., N.S. India was the far off land of gems, wonders, infallible drugs, roots, etc.; Japanese Fairy World, p. 137.] [Footnote 6: M.E., Chap. VIII.; Klaproth's Annales des Empereurs du Japon (a translation of Nippon 0 Dai Ichi Ran); Rein's Japan, p. 224.] [Footnote 7: See Klaproth's Annales, _passim_. S. and H. p. 85. Bridges are often symbolical of events, classic passages in the shastras and sutras, or are antetypes of Paradisaical structures. The ordinary native _hashi_ is not remarkable as a triumph of the carpenter's art, though some of the Japanese books mention and describe in detail some structures that are believed to be astonishing.] [Footnote 8: Often amusingly illustrated, M.E., p. 390. A translation into Japanese of Goethe's Reynard the Fox is among the popular works of the day. "Strange to say, however, the Japanese lose much of the exquisite humor of this satire in their sympathy with the woes of the maltreated wolf."--The Japan Mail. This sympathy with animals grows directly out of the doctrine of metempsychosis. The relationship between man and ape is founded upon the pantheistic identity of being. "We mention sin," says a missionary now in Japan, "and he [the average auditor] thinks of eating flesh, or the killing of insects." Many of the sutras read like tracts and diatribes of vegetarians.] [Footnote 9: See The Art of Landscape Gardening in Japan, T.A.S.J., Vol. XIV.; Theory of Japanese Flower Arrangements, by J. Conder, T.A.S.J., Vol. XVII.; T.J., p. 168; M.E., p. 437; T.J., p. 163.] [Footnote 10: _The_ book, by excellence, on the Japanese house, is Japanese Homes and Their Surroundings, by E.S. Morse. See also Constructive Art in Japan, T.A.S.J., Vol. II., p. 57, III., p. 20; Feudal Mansions of Yedo, Vol. VII., p. 157.] [Footnote 11: See Hearn's Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan, pp. 385, 410, and _passim_.] [Footnote 12: For pathetic pictures of Japanese daily life, see Our Neighborhood, by the late Dr. T.A. Purcell, Yokohama, 1874; A Japanese Boy, by Himself (S. Shigémi), New Haven, 1889; Lafcadio Hearn's Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan, Boston, 1894.] [Footnote 13: Klaproth's Annales, and S. and H. _passim_.] [Footnote 14: See Pfoundes's Fuso Mimi Bukuro, p. 130, for a list of grades from Ho-[=o] or cloistered emperor, Miya or sons of emperors, chief priests of sects, etc., down to priests in charge of inferior temples. This Budget of Notes, pp. 99-144, contains much valuable information, and was one of the first publications in English which shed light upon the peculiarities of Japanese Buddhism.] [Footnote 15: Isaiah xl. 19, 20, and xli. 6, 7, read to the dweller in Japan like the notes of a reporter taken yesterday.] [Footnote 16: T.J., p. 339; Notes on Some Minor Japanese Religious Practices, _Journal of the Anthropological Institute_, May, 1893; Lowell's Esoteric Shint[=o], T.A.S.J., Vol. XXI.; Satow's The Shint[=o] Temples of Isé, T.A.S.J., Vol. II., p. 113.] [Footnote 17: M.E., p. 45; American Cyclopaedia, Japan, Literature--History, Travels, Diaries, etc.] [Footnote 18: That is, no dialects like those which separate the people of China. The ordinary folks of Satsuma and Suruga, for example, however, would find it difficult to understand each other if only the local speech were used. Men from the extremes of the Empire use the T[=o]ki[=o] standard language in communicating with each other.] [Footnote 19: For some names of Buddhist temples in Shimoda see Perry's Narrative, pp. 470-474, described by Dr. S. Wells Williams; S. and H. _passim_.] [Footnote 20: The Abbé Huc in his Travels in Tartary was one of the first to note this fact. I have not noticed in my reading that the Jesuit missionaries in Japan in the seventeenth century call attention to the matter. See also the writings of Arthur Lillie, voluminous but unconvincing, Buddha and Early Buddhism, and Buddhism and Christianity, London, 1893.] [Footnote 21: M.E., p. 252.] [Footnote 22: T.J., p. 70.] [Footnote 23: See The Higher Buddhism in the Light of the Nicene Creed, T[=o]ki[=o], 1894, by Rev. A. Lloyd.] [Footnote 24: "I preach with ever the same voice, taking enlightenment as my text. For this is equal for all; no partiality is in it, neither hatred nor affection.... I am inexorable, bear no love or hatred towards anyone, and proclaim the law to all creatures without distinction, to the one as well as to the other."--Saddharma Pundarika.] [Footnote 25: Unbeaten Tracks in Japan, Vol. II., p. 247.] [Footnote 26: For the symbolism of the lotus see M.E., p. 437; Unbeaten Tracks in Japan, Vol. I., p. 299; M.E. index; and Saddharma Pundarika, Kern's translation, p. 76, note: "Here the Buddha is represented as a wise and benevolent father; he is the heavenly father, Brahma. As such ho was represented as sitting on a 'lotus-seat.' How common this representation was in India, at least in the sixth century of our era, appears from Varâhamihira's Brihat-Sainhita, Ch. 58, 44, where the following rule is laid down for the Buddha idols: 'Buddha shall be (represented) sitting on a lotus-seat, like the father of the world.'"] [Footnote 27: See The Northern Buddhist Mythology in _Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society_, January, 1894.] [Footnote 28: See The Pictorial Arts of Japan, and Descriptive and Historical Catalogue, William Anderson, pp. 13-94.] [Footnote 29: See fylfot in Century Dictionary.] [Footnote 30: The word _vagra_, diamond, is a constituent in scores of names of sutras, especially those whose contents are metaphysical in their nature. The Vajrasan, Diamond Throne or Thunderbolt seat, was the name applied to the most sacred part of the great temple reared by Asoka on the site of the bodhi tree, under which Gautama received enlightenment. "The adamantine truths of Buddha struck like a thunderbolt upon the superstitious of his age." "The word vagra has the two senses of hardness and utility. In the former sense it is understood to be compared to the secret truth which is always in existence and not to be broken. In the latter sense it implies the power of the enlightened, that destroys the obstacles of passions."--B.N., p. 88. "As held in the arms of Kwannon and other images in the temples," the vagra or "diamond club" (is that) with which the foes of the Buddhist Church are to be crushed.--S. and H., p. 444. Each of the gateway gods Ni-[=o] (two Kings, Indra and Brahma) "bears in his hand the tokko (Sanskrit _vagra_), an ornament originally designed to represent a diamond club, and now used by priests and exorcists, as a religious sceptre symbolizing the irresistible power of prayer, meditation, and incantation."--Chamberlain's Hand-book for Japan, p. 31.] [Footnote 31: Jiz[=o] is the compassionate helper of all in trouble, especially of travellers, of mothers, and of children. His Sanskrit name is Kshiugarbha. His idol is one of the most common in Japan. It is usually neck-laced with baby's bibs, often by the score, while the pedestal is heaped with small stones placed there by sorrowing mothers.--S. and H., p. 29, 394; Chamberlain's Handbook of Japan, 29, 101. Hearn's Japan, p. 34, and _passim_.] [Footnote 32: Sanskrit _arhat_ or _arhan_, meaning worthy or deserving, i.e., holy man, the highest rank of Buddhist saintship. See Century Dictionary.] [Footnote 33: M.E., p. 201. The long inscription on the bell in Wellesley College, which summons the student-maidens to their hourly tasks has been translated by the author and Dr. K. Kurahara and is as follows: 1. A prose preface or historical statement. 2. Two stanzas of Chinese poetry, in four-syllable lines, of four verses each, with an apostrophe in two four-syllable lines. 3. The chronology. 4. The names of the composer and calligraphist, and of the bronze-founder. The characters in vertical lines are read from top to bottom, the order of the columns being from right to left. There are in all 117 characters. The first tablet reads: Lotus-Lily Temple (of) Law-Grove Mountain; Bell-inscription (and) Preface. "Although there had been of old a bell hung in the Temple of the Lotus-Lily, yet being of small dimensions its note was quickly exhausted, and no volume of melody followed (after having been struck). Whereupon, for the purpose of improving upon this state of affairs, we made a subscription, and collected coin to obtain a new bell. All believers in the doctrine, gods as well as devils, contributed freely. Thus the enterprise was soon consummated, and this inscription prepared, to wit: "'The most exalted Buddha having pitiful compassion upon the people, would, by means of this bell, instead of words, awaken them from earthly illusions, and reveal the darkness of this world. "'Many of the living hearkening to its voice, and making confession, are freed from the bondage of their sins, and forever released from their disquieting desires. "'How great is (Buddha's) merit! Who can utter it? Without measure, boundless!' "Eleventh year of the Era of the Foundation of Literature (and of the male element) Wood (and of the zodiac sign) Dog; Autumn, seventh month, fifteenth day (A.D. August 30,1814). "Composition and penmanship by Kaméda Koyé-sen. Cast by the artist Sugiwara Kuninobu." (The poem in unrhymed metre.) Buddha in compassion tender With this bell, instead of words, Wakens souls from life's illusions, Lightens this world's darkness drear. Many souls its sweet tones heeding, From their chains of sin are freed; All the mind's unrest is soothed, Sinful yearnings are repressed. Oh how potent is his merit, Without bounds in all the worlds! ] [Footnote 34: Fuso Mimi Bukuro, p. 129.] [Footnote 35: M.E., pp. 287-290, 513-514; Perry's Narrative, pp. 471, 472; Our Neighborhood, pp. 119-124. The following epitaphs are gathered from various sources: "This stone marks the remains of the believer who never grows old." "The believing woman Yu-ning, Happy was the day of her departure." "Multitudes fill the graves." "Only by this vehicle--the coffin--can we enter Hades." "As the floating grass is blown by the gentle breeze, or the glancing ripples of autumn disappear when the sun goes down, or as a ship returns to her old shore--so is life. It is a vapor, a morning-tide." "Buddha himself wishes to hear the name of the deceased that he may enter life." "He who has left humanity is now perfected by Buddha's name, as the withered moss by the dew." "Life is like a candle in the wind." "The wise make our halls illustrious, and their monuments endure for ages." "What permanency is there to the glory of the world? It goes from the sight like hoar-frost in the sun." "If men wish to enter the joys of heavenly light, Let them smell the fragrance of the law of Buddha." "Whoever wishes to have his merit reach even to the abode of demons, let him, with us, and all living, become perfect in the doctrine."] [Footnote 36: Rev. C.B. Hawarth in the _New York Independent_, January 18, 1894.] [Footnote 37: In 781 the Buddhist monk Kéi-shun dedicated a chapel to Jizo, on whom he conferred the epithet of Sho-gun or general, to suit the warlike tastes of the Japanese people.--S. and H., p. 384. So also Hachiman became the god of war because adopted as the patron deity of the Genji warriors.--S. and H., p. 70.] [Footnote 38: Corea, the Hermit Nation, p. 90.] [Footnote 39: Dixon's Japan, p. 41; S. and H., Japan, _passim_; Rein's Japan; Story of the Nations, Japan, by David Murray, p. 201, note; Dening's life of Toyotomi Hidéyoshi; M.E., Chapters XV., XVI., XX., XXIII., XXIV.; Gazetteer of Echizen; Shiga's History of Nations, T[=o]ki[=o], 1888, pp. 115, 118; T.A.S.J., Vol. VIII., pp. 94, 134, 143.] [Footnote 40: T.A.S.J., Vol. VIII., Hidéyoshi and the Satsuma Clan in the Sixteenth Century, by J.H. Gubbins; The Times of Taik[=o], by R. Brinkley, in _The Japan Times_.] [Footnote 41: The Copy of the Buddhist Tripitaka, or Northern Collection, made by order of the Emperor, Wan-Li, in the sixteenth century, when the Chinese capital (King) was changed from the South (Nan) to the North (Pe), was reproduced in Japan in 1679 and again in 1681-83, and in over two thousand volumes, making a pile a hundred feet high, was presented by the Japanese Government, through the Junior Prime Minister, Mr. Tomomi Iwakura, to the Library of the India Office. See Samuel Beal's The Buddhist Tripitaka, as it is known in China and Japan, A Catalogue and Compendious Report, London, 1876. The library has been rearranged by Mr. Bunyin Nanjio, who has published the result of his labors, with Sanskrit equivalents of the titles and with notes of the highest value.] [Footnote 42: "Neither country (China or Japan) has had the independence and mental force to produce a literature of its own, and to add anything but a chapter of decay to the history of this religion."--Professor William D. Whitney, in review of Anecdota Oxoniensia, Buddhist Texts from Japan, in _The Nation_, No. 875.] [Footnote 43: Education in Japan, A series of papers by the writer, printed in _The Japan Mail_ of 1873-74, and reprinted in the educational journals of the United Status. A digest of these papers is given in the appendix of F.O. Adams's History of Japan; Life of Sir Harry Parkes, Vol. II., pp. 305, 306.] [Footnote 44: Japan: in Literature, Folk-Lore, and Art, p. 77.] [Footnote 45: Japanese Education at the Philadelphia Exposition, New York, 1876.] [Footnote 46: See Japanese Literature, by E.M. Satow, in The American Cyclopædia.] [Footnote 47: The word bonze (Japanese _bon-so_ or _bozu_, Chinese _fan-sung_) means an ordinary member of the congregation, just as the Japanese term _bon-yo_ or _bon-zuko_ means common people or the ordinary folks. The word came into European use from the Portuguese missionaries, who heard the Japanese thus pronounce the Chinese term _fan_, which, as _bon_, is applied to anything in the mass not out of the common.] [Footnote 48: See On the Early History of Printing in Japan, by E.M. Satow, T.A.S.J., Vol. X., Part L, p. 48; Part II., p. 252.] [Footnote 49: Japanese mediaeval monastery life has been ably pictured in English fiction by a scholar of imagination and literary power, withal a military critic and a veteran in Japanese lore. "The Times of Taik[=o]," in the defunct Japanese Times (1878), deserves reprint as a book, being founded on Japanese historical and descriptive works. In Mr. Edward's Greey's A Captive of Love, Boston, 1880, the idea of ingwa (the effects in this life of the actions in a former state of existence), is illustrated. See also S. and H., p. 29; T.J., p. 360.] [Footnote 50: It is curious that while the anti-Christian polemics of the Japanese Buddhists have used the words of Jesus, "I came to send not peace but a sword," Matt, x. 34, and "If any man ... hate not his father and mother," etc., Luke xiv. 26, as a branding iron with which to stamp the religion of Jesus as gross immorality and dangerous to the state, they justify Gautama in his "renunciation" of marital and paternal duties.] [Footnote 51: See Public Charity in Japan, Japan Mail, 1893; and The Annual (Appleton's) Cyclopaedia for 1893.] [Footnote 52: I have some good reasons for making this suggestion. Yokoi Héishiro had dwelt for some time in Fukui, a few rods away from the house in which I lived, and the ideas he promulgated among the Echizen clansmen in his lectures on Confucianism, were not only Christian in spirit but, by their own statement, these ideas could not be found in the texts of the Chinese sage or of his commentators. Although the volume (edited by his son, Rev. J.F. Yokoi) of his Life and Letters shows him to have been an intense and at times almost bigoted Confucianist, he, in one of his later letters, prophesied that when Christianity should be taught by the missionaries, it would win the hearts of the young men of Japan. See also Satow's Kinsé Shiriaku, p. 183; Adams's History of Japan; and in fiction, see Honda The Samurai, p. 242, and succeeding chapters.] [Footnote 53: In the colorless and unsentimental language of government publications, the Japanese edict of emancipation, issued to the local authorities in October, 1871, ran as follows: "The designations of eta and hinin are abolished. Those who bore them are to be added to the general registers of the population and their social position and methods of gaining a livelihood are to be identical with the rest of the people. As they have been entitled to immunity from the land tax and other burdens of immemorial custom, you will inquire how this may be reformed and report to the Board of Finance." (Signed) Council of State.] [Footnote 54: In English fiction, see The Eta Maiden and the Hatamoto, in Mitford's Tales of Old Japan, Vol. I., pp. 210-245. Discussions as to the origin of the Eta are to be found in Adams's History of Japan, Vol. I, p. 77; M.E., index; T.J., p. 147; S. and H., p. 36; Honda the Samurai, pp. 246, 247; Mitford's Tales of Old Japan, Vol. I., pp. 210-245. The literature concerning the Ainos is already voluminous. See Chamberlain's Aino Studies, with bibliography; and Rev. John Batchelor's Ainu Grammar, published by The Imperial University of T[=o]ki[=o]; T.A.S.J., Vols. X., XL, XVI., XVIII., XX.; The Ainu of Japan, New York, 1892, by J. Batchelor (who has also translated the Book of Common Prayer, and portions of the Bible into the Ainu tongue); M. E., Chap. II.; T.A.S.J., Vol. X., and following volumes; Unbeaten Tracks in Japan, Vol. II.; Life with Trans-Siberian Savages, London, 1895.] [Footnote 55: "Then the venerable S[=a]riputra said to that daughter of Sagara, the N[=a]ga-king: 'Thou hast conceived the idea of enlightenment, young lady of good family, without sliding back, and art gifted with immense wisdom, but supreme, perfect enlightenment is not easily won. It may happen, sister, that a woman displays an unflagging energy, performs good works for many thousands of Aeons, and fulfils the six perfect virtues (P[=a]ramit[=a]s), but as yet there is no example of her having reached Buddhaship, and that because a woman cannot occupy the five ranks, viz., 1, the rank of Brahma; 2, the rank of Indra; 3, the rank of a chief guardian of the four quarters; 4, the rank of Kakravartin; 5, the rank of a Bodhisattva incapable of sliding back," Saddharma Pundarika, Kern's Translation, p. 252.] [Footnote 56: Chi[=u]-j[=o]-himé was the first Japanese nun, and the only woman who is commemorated by an idol. "She extracted the fibres of the lotus root, and wove them with silk to make tapestry for altars." Fuso Mimi Bukuro, p. 128. Her romantic and marvellous story is given in S. and H., p. 397. "The practice of giving ranks to women was commenced by Jito Tenn[=o] (an empress, 690-705)." Many women shaved their heads and became nuns "on becoming widows, as well as on being forsaken by, or after leaving their husbands. Others were orphans." One of the most famous nuns (on account of her rank) was the Nii no Ama, widow of Kiyomori and grandmother of the Emperor Antoku, who were both drowned near Shimono-séki, in the great naval battle of 1185 A.D. Adams's History of Japan, Vol. I., p. 37; M.E., p. 137.] [Footnote 57: M.E., p. 213; Japanese Women, World's Columbian Exhibition, Chicago, 1893, Chap. III.] [Footnote 58: There is no passage in the original Greek texts, or in the Revised Version of the New Testament which ascribes wings to the _aggelos_, or angel. In Rev. xii. 14, a woman is "given two wings of a great eagle."] [Footnote 59: Japanese Women in Politics, Chap. I., Japanese Women, Chicago, 1893; Japanese Girls and Women, Chapters VI. and VII.] [Footnote 60: Bakin's novels are dominated by this idea, while also preaching in fiction strict Confucianism. See A Captive of Love, by Edward Greey.] [Footnote 61: "Fate is one of the great words of the East. _Japan's language is loaded and overloaded with it._ Parents are forever saying before their children, 'There's no help for it.' I once remarked to a school-teacher, 'Of course you love to teach children.' His quick reply was, 'Of course I don't. I do it merely because there is no help for it.' Moralists here deplore the prosperity of the houses of ill-fame and then add with a sigh, 'There's no help for it.' All society reverberates with this phrase with reference to questions that need the application of moral power, will power."--J.H. De Forest. "I do not say there is no will power in the East, for there is. Nor do I say there is no weak yielding to fate in lands that have the doctrine of the Creator, for there is. But, putting the East and West side by side, one need not hesitate to affirm that the reason the will power of the East is weak cannot be fully explained by any mere doctrine of environment, but must also have some vital connection with the fact that the idea of a personal almighty Creator has for long ages been wanting. And one reason why western nations have an aggressive character that ventures bold things and tends to defy difficulties cannot be wholly laid to environment but must have something to do with the fact that leads millions daily reverently to say 'I believe in the Almighty Father, Maker of Heaven and Earth.'"--J.H. De Forest.] STATISTICS OF BUDDHISM IN JAPAN. (From The official "Résumé Statistique de l'Empire du Japon," T[=o]ki[=o], 1894.) In 1891 there were 71,859 temples within city or town limits, and 35,959 in the rural districts, or 117,718 in all, under the charges of 51,791 principal priests and 720 principal priestesses, or 52,511 in all. The number of temples, classified by sects, were as follows: Tendai, with 3 sub-sects, 4,808; Shingon, with 2 sub-sects, 12,821, of which 45 belonged to the Hoss[=o] shu; J[=o]-do, with 2 sub-sects, 8,323, of which 21 were of the Ké-gon shu; Zen, with 3 sub-sects, 20,882, of which 6,146 were of the Rin-Zai shu; 14,072 of the S[=o]-d[=o] shu, and 604 of the O-bakushu; Shin, with 10 sub-sects, 19,146; Nichiren, with 7 sub-sects, 5,066; Ji shu, 515; Yu-dz[=u]; Nembutsu, 358; total, 38 sects and 71,859 temples. The official reports required by the government from the various sects, show that there are 38 administrative heads of sects; 52,638 priest-preachers and 44,123 ordinary priests or monks; and 8,668 male and 328 female, or a total of 8,996, students for the grade of monk or nun. In comparison with 1886, the number of priest-preachers was 39,261, ordinary priests 38,189: male students, 21,966; female students, 642. CHAPTER XI ROMAN CHRISTIANITY IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. [Footnote 1: See for a fine example of this, Mr. C. Meriwether's Life of Daté Masamuné, T.A.S.J., Vol. XXI., pp. 3-106. See also The Christianity of Early Japan, by Koji Inaba, in The Japan Evangelist, Yokohama, 1893-94; Mr. E. Satow's papers in T.A.S.J.] [Footnote 2: See M.E., p. 280; Rein's Japan, p. 312; Shigétaka Shiga's History of Nations, p. 139, quoting from M.E. (p. 258).] [Footnote 3: M.E., 195.] [Footnote 4: The Japan Mail of April and May, 1894, contains a translation from the Japanese, with but little new matter, however, of a work entitled Paul Anjiro.] [Footnote 5: The "Firando" of the old books. See Cock's Diary. It is difficult at first to recognize the Japanese originals of some of the names which figure in the writings of Charlevoix, Léon Pagés, and the European missionaries, owing to their use of local pronunciation, and their spelling, which seems peculiar. One of the brilliant identifications of Mr. Ernest Satow, now H.B.M. Minister at Tangier, is that of Kuroda in the "Kondera"' of the Jesuits.] [Footnote 6: See Mr. E.M. Matow's Vicissitudes of the Church at Yamaguchi. T.A.S.J., Vol. VII., pp. 131-156.] [Footnote 7: Nobunaga was Nai Dai Jin, Inner (Junior) Prime Minister, one in the triple premiership, peculiar to Korea and Old Japan, but was never Sh[=o]gun, as some foreign writers have supposed.] [Footnote 8: See The Jesuit Mission Press in Japan, by E. Satow, 1591-1610 (privately printed, London, 1888). Review of the same by B.H. Chamberlain, T.A.S.J., Vol. XVII., p. 91.] [Footnote 9: Histoire de l'Église, Vol. I, p. 490; Rein, p. 277. Takayama is spoken of in the Jesuit Records as Jûsto Ucondono. A curious book entitled Justo Ucondono, Prince of Japan, in which the writer, who is "less attentive to points of style than to matters of faith," labors to show that "the Bible alone" is "found wanting," and only the "Teaching Church" is worthy of trust, was published in Baltimore, in 1854.] [Footnote 10: How Hidéyoshi made use of the Shin sect of Buddhists to betray the Satsuma clansmen is graphically told in Mr. J.H. Gubbin's paper, Hidéyoshi and the Satsuma Clan, T.A.S.J., Vol. VIII, pp. 124-128, 143.] [Footnote 11: Corea the Hermit Nation, Chaps. XII.-XXI., pp. 121-123; Mr. W.G. Aston's Hidéyoshi's Invasion of Korea, T.A.S.J., Vol. VI., p. 227; IX, pp. 87, 213; XI., p. 117; Rev. G.H. Jones's The Japanese Invasion, The Korean Repository, Seoul, 1892.] [Footnote 12: Brave Little Holland and What She Taught Us, Boston, 1893, p. 247.] [Footnote 13: See picture and description of this temple--"fairly typical of Japanese Buddhist architecture," Chamberlain's Handbook for Japan, p. 26; G.A. Cobbold's, Religion in Japan, London, 1894, p. 72.] [Footnote 14: T.A.S.J., see Vol. VI., pp. 46, 51, for the text of the edicts.] [Footnote 15: M.E., p. 262, Chamberlain's Handbook for Japan, p. 59.] [Footnote 16: The Origin of Spanish and Portuguese Rivalry in Japan, by E.M. Satow, T.A.S.J., Vol. XVIII., p. 133.] [Footnote 17: See Chapter VIII., W.G. Dixon's Gleanings from Japan.] [Footnote 18: T.A.S.J., Vol. VI., pp. 48-50.] [Footnote 19: In the inscription upon the great bell, at the temple containing the image of Dai Buts[)u] or Great Buddha, reared by Hidéyori and his mother, one sentence contained the phrase _Kokka anko, ka_ and _Lo_ being Chinese for _Iyé_ and _yas[(u]_, which the Yedo ruler professed to believe mockery. In another sentence, "On the East it welcomes the bright moon, and on the West bids farewell to the setting sun," Iyéyas[)u] discovered treason. He considered himself the rising sun, and Hidéyori the setting moon.--Chamberlain's Hand-book for Japan, p. 300.] [Footnote 20: I have found the Astor Library in New York especially rich in works of this sort.] [Footnote 21: Nitobé's United States and Japan, p. 13, note.] [Footnote 22: This insurrection has received literary treatment at the hands of the Japanese in Shimabara, translated in The Far East for 1872; Woolley's Historical Notes on Nagasaki, T.A.S.J., Vol. IX., p. 125; Koeckebakker and the Arima Rebellion, by Dr. A.J.C. Geerts, T.A.S.J., Vol. XI., 51; Inscriptions on Shimabara and Amakusa, by Henry Stout, T.A.S.J., Vol. VII, p. 185.] [Footnote 23: "Persecution extirpated Christianity from Japan."--History of Rationalism, Vol. II, p. 15.] [Footnote 24: T.A.S.J., Vol. VI., Part I., p. 62; M.E. pp. 531, 573.] [Footnote 25: Political, despite the attempt of many earnest members of the order to check this tendency to intermeddle in politics; see Dr. Murray's Japan, p. 245, note, 246.] [Footnote 26: See abundant illustration in Léon Pagés' Histoire de la Religion Chrétienne en Japon, a book which the author read while in Japan amid the scenes described.] [Footnote 27: _The Japan Evangelist_, Vol. I., No. 2, p. 96.] CHAPTER XII TWO CENTURIES OF SILENCE [Footnote 1: See Diary of Richard Cocks, and Introduction by R.M. Thompson, Hakluyt Publications, 1883.] [Footnote 2: For the extent of Japanese influence abroad, see M.E., p. 246; Rein, Nitobe, and Hildreth; Modern Japanese Adventurers, T.A.S.J., Vol. VII., p. 191; The Intercourse between Japan and Siam in the Seventeenth Century, by E.M. Satow, T.A.S.J., Vol. XIII., p. 139; Voyage of the Dutch Ship Grol, T.A.S.J., Vol. XI., p. 180.] [Footnote 3: The United States and Japan, p. 16.] [Footnote 4: See Professor J.H. Wigmore's elaborate work, Materials for the Study of Private Law in Old Japan, T.A.S.J., T[=o]ki[=o], 1892.] [Footnote 5: See the Legacy of Iyéyas[)u], by John Frederic Lowder, Yokohama, 1874, with criticisms and discussions by E.M. Satow and others in the _Japan Mail_; Dixon's Japan, Chapter VII.; Professor W.E. Grigsby, in T.A.S.J., Vol. III., Part II., p. 131, gives another version, with analysis, notes, and comments; Rein's Japan, pp. 314, 315.] [Footnote 6: Old Japan in the days of its inclusiveness was a secret society on a vast scale, with every variety and degree of selfishness, mystery, secrecy, close-corporationism, and tomfoolery. See article Esotericism in T.J., p. 143.] [Footnote 7: Since the abolition of feudalism, with the increase of the means of transportation, the larger freedom, and, at many points, improved morality, the population of Japan shows an unprecedented rate of increase. The census taken in 1744 gave, as the total number of souls in the empire, 26,080,000 (E.J. Reed's Japan, Vol. I., p. 236); that of 1872, 33,110,825; that of 1892, 41,089,910, showing a greater increase during the past twenty years than in the one hundred and thirty-eight years previous. See Résumé Statistique de l'Empire du Japon, T[=o]ki[=o], 1894; Professor Garrett Droppers' paper on The Population of Japan during the Tokugawa Period, read June 27th, 1894; T.A.S.J., Vol. XXII.] [Footnote 8: For the notable instance of Pere Sidotti, see M.E, p. 63; Séi Y[=o] Ki Buu, by S.R. Brown, D.D., a translation of Arai Hakuséki's narrative, Yedo, 1710, T.N.C.A.S.; Capture and Captivity of Pere Sidotti, T.A.S.J., Vol. IX., p. 156; Christian Valley, T.A.S.J., Vol. XVI., p. 207.] [Footnote 9: T.A.S.J., Vol. I., p. 78, Vol. VII., p. 323.] [Footnote 10: See Matthew Calbraith Perry, Boston, 1887.] [Footnote 11: See the author's Townsend Harris, First American Minister to Japan, _The Atlantic Monthly_, August, 1891.] [Footnote 12: See Honda the Samurai, Boston, 1890; Nitobe's United States and Japan; The Japan Mail _passim_; Dr. G.F. Verbeck's History of Protestant Missions in Japan, Yokohama, 1883; Dr. George Wm. Knox's papers on Japanese Philosophy, T.A.S.J., Vol. XX., p. l58, etc. Recent Japanese literature, of which the writer has a small shelf-full, biographies, biographical dictionaries, the histories of New Japan, Life of Yoshida Shoin, and recent issues of The Nation's Friend (Kokumin no Tomo), are very rich on this fascinating subject.] [Footnote 13: A typical instance was that of Rin Shihei, born 1737, author of _Sun Koku Tsu Ran to Setsu_, translated into French by Klaproth, Paris, 1832. Rin learned much from the Dutch and Prussians, and wrote books which had a great sale. He was cast into prison, whence he never emerged. The (wooden) plates of his publications were confiscated and destroyed. In 1876, the Mikado visited his grave in Sendai, and ordered a monument erected to the honor of this far-seeing patriot.] [Footnote 14: Rein, pp. 336, 337] [Footnote 15: Rein, p. 339; The Early Study of Dutch in Japan, by K. Mitsukuri, T.A.S.J., Vol. V., p. 209; History of the Progress of Medicine in Japan, T.A.S.J., Vol. XII., p. 245; Vijf Jaren in Japan, J.L.C. Pompe van Meerdervoort, 2d Ed., Leyden, 1808.] [Footnote 16: Honda the Samurai, pp. 249-251; Nitobé, 25-27.] [Footnote 17: The Tokugawa Princes of Mito, by Professor E. W. Clement, T.A.S.J., Vol. XVIII, p. 14; Nitobé's United States and Japan, p. 25, note.] [Footnote 18: M.E. (6 Ed.), p. 608; Adams's History of Japan, Vol. II., p. 171.] [Footnote 19: See the text of the anti-Christian edicts, M.E., p. 369.] [Footnote 20: T.A.S.J., Vol. XX., p. 17.] [Footnote 21: T.A.S.J., Vol. IX., p. 134.] [Footnote 22: Tales of Old Japan, Vol. II., p. 125; A Japanese Buddhist Preacher, by Professor M.K. Shimomura, in the New York Independent; other sermons have been printed in The Japan Mail; Kino Dowa, two sermons and vocabulary, has been edited by Rev. C.S. Eby, Yokohama.] [Footnote 23: On Sunday, November 29, 1857, Mr. Harris, resting at Kawasaki, over Sunday, on his way to Yedo and audience of the Sh[=o]gun, having Mr. Heusken as his audience and fellow-worshipper, read service from the Book of Common Prayer.] [Footnote 24: See a paper written by the author and read at the World's Columbian Exhibition Congress of Missions, Chicago, September, 1893, on The Citizen Rights of Missionaries.] [Footnote 25: This embassy was planned and first proposed to the Junior premier, Tomomi Iwakura, and the route arranged by the Rev. Guido F. Verbeck, then President of the Imperial University. One half of the members of the embassy had been Dr. Verbeck's pupils at Nagasaki.] [Footnote 26: A somewhat voluminous native Japanese literature is the result of the various embassies and individual pilgrimages abroad, since 1860. Immeasurably superior to all other publications, in the practical influence over his fellow-countrymen, is the Séiyo Jijo (The Condition of Western Countries) by Fukuzawa, author, educator, editor, decliner of numerously proffered political offices, and "the intellectual father of one-half of the young men who now fill the middle and lower posts in the government of Japan." For the foreign side, see The Japanese in America, by Charles Lanman, New York, 1872, and in The Life of Sir Harry Parkes, London, 1894, and for an amusing piece of literary ventriloquism, Japanese Letters, Eastern Impressions of Western Men and Manners, London and New York, 1891. See History of Protestant Missions in Japan, by G. F. Verbeck, Yokohama, 1893.] INDEX Abbess, 318. Abbots, 312. Abdication, 214. Aborigines, 9, 38, 43, 77-79, 177. Adams, Will, 334, 340. Adi-Buddha, 174. Adoption, 122, 126. Adultery, 149. Aidzu, 119. Ainos, 2, 9, 16, 73, 177, 317, 379. Akamatsu, Rev. Renjo, 425. Akéchi, 332. Alphabets, 199, 200. Altaic, 39, 389. Amalgam of religions, 11, 13. Amatéras[)u], see Sun-goddess. American relations, 11, 12, 157. Amidaism, 276, 303. Anabaptists, 162. Analects, 128. Ancestral worship, 106. Anderson, Dr. Win, 435. Angels, 304. Animism, 15-17. Anjiro, 329. Apostolical succession, 262. Arabian Nights, 192, 201. Architecture, 82, 84, 210, 298-300. Art, 68, 1l4, 195-197, 297, 298, 303-305, 314, 356. Aryan Conquest of India, 44, 156, 157, 177, 207. Asanga, 175, 205. Assassination, 367. Asoka, 165. Aston, Mr. Wm. G., 360, 386, 387. Atheism, 163, 164. Atkinson, Rev, J.L., 410. Avalokitesvara, 170, 171, 179. Avatars, 201, 208, 221, 247, 269, 295. Babism, 166. Bakin, 444. Bangor Theological Seminary, 378. Batchelor, Rev. John, 317. Beal, Rev. Samuel, 8. Beauty, 207. Beggars, 208. Bells, 307, 308. Benten, 204, 207, 218. Bible, 27, 104, 364, 386. Binzuru, 237. Birth, 84. Bishamon, 218. Bodhidharma, see Daruma. Bodhisattva, 169, 204, 234. Bonzes, 310. Bosatsu, 170, 204; see Bodhsattva. Brahma, 247. Brahmanism, 163, 185, 186, 218. Brothers, 125, 126. Buddha. Amida, see Amidaism. the Buddha, 101, 103, 161, 162. Gautama, 155, 161-164. Shakyamuni, 160. Siddartha, 410. Tathagata, 259. Tathata, 243. Bunyin Nanjio, Rev., 231, 425. Buddhism, 42, 74, 76, 106, 133, 136, 137, 140, 185, 186, 227, 231. Buddhist, 165, 166, 183, 214, 229, 252. Cannibalism, 74. Canon, Chinese, 103; Shint[=o], 39-41. Capitals of Japan, 182, 183, 296. Celibacy, 272. Cemeteries, 308. Chair of Contemplation, 252. Chamberlain, Prof. B. Hall, 39, 324, 388. Chastity, 68, 124, 149, 320. Cheng Brothers, 138, 139. China, 134, 199, 215, 328, 355. Chinese, 83, 134; Buddhism, 232. Christianity and Buddhism, 166, 183, 185, 187, 195, 217, 218, 265, 270, 300-302, 306, 315, 319. Chronology, 41, 370, 387. Chu Hi, 11, 108, 139, 143, 144, 356. Cleanliness, 84, 97. Clement, Prof. E.M., 407. Cobra-de-capello, 21. Cocks, Mr. Richard, 380. Columbus, 328. Comparative religion, 4-6. Confucius, 100-106. Confucianism, 74, 107, 213. Concubinage, 149. Constitution of 1889, 96, 122. Corea, see Korea. Courtship, 124. Creator, 145, 285. Cremation, 182. Crucifixion, 115, 368. Dai Butsu, 203. Daikoku, 218. Dai Mi[=o] Jin, 190, 204, 206, 230. Daruma, 186, 208, 254. Davids, T. Rhys, 155, 172. Death, 84. De Brosses, 23. De Forest, Rev. J.H., 226. Demoniacal possession, 281. Déshima, 354, 358, 362-365. Dharari, 199. Dharma, see Daruma, 186. Dhyana Buddhas and Sect, 172, 252, 254. Diet, 293, 294. Divorce, 125, 149. D[=o]-sen, 236. D[=o]-sh[=o], 181. Dragon, 20, 21, 74, 115, 198, 242. Dutch, 90, 336, 340, 353, 354, 358, 360, 362, 363-365, 366. Dutt, Mr. Romesh Chunder, 161. Ebisu, 218. Ecclesiastes, 214. Echizen, 312. Edicts against Christianity, 335, 336, 342. Edkins, Dr. J., 249. Education, 313, 320. Embassy round the world, 373. Emperor, 148. Emura, Rev. Shu-zan, 232. England, 37. Eta, 115, 150, 275, 316, 317, 367. Ethics, 92, 94. Euhemerus, 192, 193, 197, 201. Eurasians, 344. Evil, 58, 78. Evolution, 62. Ezekiel, 36. Ezra, 102. Family Life, 122, 125-127. Female divinities, 66, 305, 319. Fetichism, 22-27. Feudalism, 10, 108-110. Filial piety, 123, 149, 213. Fire-drill, 55, 56. Fire, God of, 53. Fire-myths, 53. Five Relations, 105, 114, 148-150. Flags, 26. Flood, 53. Flowers, 58. Forty-seven R[=o]nins, 118, 119. Franciscans, 336, 337. Friends, 127. Fudo, 279. Fuji Mountain, 400. Fujishima, Rev. Ryauon, 231. Fukuda, Rev. Gyo-kai, 425. Fukui, 23. Fuku-roku-jin, 218. Gardens, 237, 294, 295. Gautama, 158, 161, 164. Genji Monogatari, 149. Genj[=o], 181, 232, 233, 238, 239. Germanic nations, 10, 44. Ghosts, 206. Giyoku, 183. Gnostics, 193, 195. God-possession, 201. Gold, 184, 196, 210, 291. Golden Rule, 128. Gongen, 204, 205, 220. Gore, Mr. T., 7, 384. Graveyards, 308, 368. Greater Vehicle, 165, 170, 240, 244. Gubbins, Mr. J.H., 403, 447. Hachiman, 204. Hades, 53, 64. Hara-kiri, 112, 121, 339. Harris, Mr. Townsend, 145, 352, 360, 370, 371. Hayashi, 129. Heathen, 13, 30. Heaven, 62, 63, 70, 81, 105, 112, 118, 144. Hepburn, Dr. J.C., 372. Hidéyori, 340, 342. Hidéyoshi, 313, 333, 338. Hindu history, 156. Hi-nin, 115, 150. Hinayana, 165, 167, 169, 228, 232, 238. Hiouen Thsang, see Genj[=o]. Hiraii, 2. Hirata, 86. History of China, intellectual, 137. of Japan, intellectual, 230. of Japan, political, 10, 37, 44, 219. of Japan, religious, 227, 228. Hitomar[=o], 60. Hiyéisan, 16, 297. Hodge, 102. Hodgson, Mr. Brian H., 411, 414. Hokké-Ki[=o], see Saddharma Pundarika. Hokusai, 314. Holland, 338. H[=o]nen, 261, 264. H[=o]-[=o], 184, 237. Hospitals, 216, 315. Hoss[=o]-Shu, 238, 239. Hotéi, 218. Hotoké, 202, 269. Idols, 175, 207, 216. Idzumo, 44, 65. Ikk[=o], 273. Inari, 190. Indra, 163, 247. Ingwa, 217, 302, 321; see Karma. Inquisition, 347, 348, 368. Insurance by fetich, 24, 25. Isaiah, 100. Isé, 28, 184, 201. Iyéyas[)u], 91, 100, 132, 134, 204, 205, 338, 342, 357, 358. Izanagi and Izanami, 52, 63, 64, 207, 218. Jade, 292. Jains, 166. Japan, area, 9. Census, 9. Ethnology, 43, 44. Geography, 9, 43, 44. Government, 40. History, 10, 37, 44, 109. Origins, 43. Population, 8, 9. Various names of, 73. Japanese Bride, The, 125, 149. Japanese characteristics, 112, 285, 361. Language, 113, 116, 135. Writing, 200. Jataka tales, 169. Jealousy, 124. Jesuits, 247, 329, 337, 341, 342. Jesus, 76, 97, 100, 117. Jimmu Tenn[=o], 389, Jin Gi Kuan, 49, 94, 390-392. Jizo, 247, 305. J[=o] d[=o] sect, 250, 275. John, 2, 60. J[=o]-jitsu sect, 181, 235. Joss, 23. Jun-shi, 68, 76, 119. Ju-r[)u]-jin, 218. Kaburagi, 36, 60. Kada Adzumar[=o], 91. Kamui, 30. Kami-dana, 86, 88, 295. Kamui, 30. Kana, 199, 200, 274. Kanda, Dai Mi[=o]-Jin, 205. Karma, 162, 169, 186, 234, 258. Kato Kyomasa, 278, 334, 339. Ké-gon sect, 242-244. Kéichu, 91. Kern, Prof. H., 155, 239. Ki[=o]to, 183, 296, 330, 336. Kirin, 19. Kishimoto, Mr. Nobuta., 11. Kiushiu, 339. Kiyomori, 120. Knos, Dr. George Wm., 182, 228, 288, 385. Kobayashi, Rev. Zé-jun, 425. K[=o]b[=o], 89, 197, 205, 248, 250. Kojiki, 29, 32, 40, 41, 52, 74, 82-90, 149, 195, 197. Ko-ken, Empress, 310. Kompira, 204. Konishi, 334, 335. Korea, 9, 21, 26, 40, 41, 74, 106, 107, 168, 179, 180, 292, 310, 328, 332, 333, 334, 355, 368. Kosatsu, 368. Ku-ya, 198. Kumi, Prof., 76-82. Kun-shin, 111, 113, 116, 117, 213. Ku-sha sutra, 232, 233. Kwannon, 181, 207, 247, 319. Ky[=u]so, 132, 144. Lamaism, 107. Language of China, 237. of England, 295. of Holland, 364, 365. of Japan, 39, 113, 116, 134, 265, 295, 299, 364. of Korea, 116. Lao Tsze, 102, 144, 218. Laws of Japan, 358. Lecky, Mr., 344. Legendre, Gen., 385, 389. Legge, Dr. J., 100, 378. Libraries, 253, 327. Lingam, see Phallicism. Literature, 39, 100, 141, 156, 159, 216, 252, 313, 318, 369. Liturgy, see Norito. Lloyd, Rev. A., 258. Loo-choo, see Rin Kin. Lotus, 434, 435, 437. Love, 117, 118. Lowell, Mr. Percival, 397, 423. Loyalty, see Kun-shin. Luther, 271. Lyman, Prof. B.S., 383. Mabuchi, 90, 91. MacDonald, Rev. James, 8. Magatama, 68, 292. Mahayana, 105; see Greater Vehicle. Maitreya, 169, 170, 218, 236, 244. Malays, 9, 43. Mandala, 203. Munjusri, 170, 171, 179, 262. Mantra, 248. Many[=u]-shu, 39, 40. Marco Polo, 42. Mark, 60. Marriage, 123, 126, 149. Martyrs, 337, 344, 359, 360, 362, 366-369. Masakado, 209. Matsugami, 209. Matsuri, 28. Meiji Era, 112, 116, 256. Mencius, 106, 112, 137. Mendez, Pinto, 42. Mexico, 349. Mikado, 44, 45, 76, 92, 95, 96, 114, 117, 184, 191, 201. Mikadoism, 45-49, 74-82, 184, 202. Military monks, 247. Minamoto, 271. Ming dynasty, 134. Mioken, 279. Miracles, 216, 267. Mirror, 83. Missionary training, 6-8. Mito, 111, 134, 143, 366. Miya, 82-84, 209. Monasteries, 162, 165, 298, 311, 312. Monotheism, 15, 81, 103, 104, 145, 174, 187. Morse lectureship, 4. Morse, Prof E.S., 377. Motoöri, 80, 91, 290. Mozoomdar, 411, 420. Müller, Prof. Max, 211. Munzinger, Rev. C., 403. Murray, Dr. David, 402. Mutsuhito, 60, 316. Nagasaki, 332, 337, 343, 344, 358, 362. Nakatomi, 48. Names, 127, 202, 265. Names of Japan, 73, 82. Namu-Amida-Butsu, 259, 261. Nanjio Bunyin, 231. Nara, 182, 237, 243, 296. Nehan, see Nirvana. Nepal, 167, 168, 171. New Buddhism, 284, 285. Nichiren, 277, 278. Sect, 277-280, 334, 339. Nihilism, 236, 240, 241. Nihongi, 41, 56, 62. Nikk[=o], 185, 263. Nirvana, 162, 163, 186, 200, 302, 303. Nitobé, Mr. Inazo, 352, 360. Nobunaga, 312, 331, 332. Norito, 38, 47-49, 54, 55-58, 79, 80, 96. Northern Buddhism, 165. Obaku sect, 283. Offerings, 57. Ogurusu, Rev. Ku-ch[=o], 214. Obashi Junzo, 145. Ojin, 204. Onna-ishi, see Phallicism. Original prayer, 271. Original vow, 273, 312. Orphan asylums, 216. Osaka, 130, 312, 368. Pagés, Mr. Leon, 449. Pagodas, 203. Pantheism, 31, 142, 143, 187, 219, 243. Paradise, 210, 229, 259, 261, 280. Parliament of Religions, 5, 39, 72, 283. Peking, 105. Perry, Commodore M.C., 129, 316, 352, 360, 364, 365. Persecutions, 93, 343. Persian elements, 195, 202, 304. Personality, 116. Pessimism, 214. Phallicism, 29-30, 49-53, 88, 380-384. Philo, 192, 197, 201. Phoenix, 19, 20. Pilgrimages, 298, 290. Pindola, see Binzuru. Poetry, 223; see Many[=u]shu. Politeness, 74, 241. Popular customs, 192. Population, 8, 9, 177, 291, 359. Popular movement in China, 138. Portuguese, 344, 345, 347. Pratyekas, 234. Prayers, 86-88. Prayer-wheels, 175. Printing, 133, 134, 200. Prometheus, 53. Protestantism, 155, 162, 252, 274. Pronouns, 116. Proverbs, 28, 179, 226, 270, 307, 332, 352, 389. Psychology of the Japanese, 230, 241. Pure Land of Bliss, 198, 263-265. Purification of 1870, 206, 210, 213, 222, 248, 360. Pyrronism, 240. Rai Sanyo, 143. Rakan, 305. "Reformed" Buddhism, 270, 274-277. Renny[=o] Sh[=o]-nin, 258. Revision of Confucianism, 148-152. Revival of pure Shint[=o], 91-96. Revolving libraries, 253. Ris-shu, 236-238. Rituals, see Norito. Riu Kiu, 9, 109. Riy[=o]bu, 89, 191, 203, 209, 211, 212, 223. Rosaries, 266. Saddharma Pundarika, 170, 229, 246, 280, 304. Sado, 341. Salt, 85. Samurai, 110, 119, 146, 151, 152. San Kai Ri, 211. Sanron sect, 182, 240. Sanskrit, 25, 182, 200, 210, 245, 249. Saratashi, 218. Satow, Mr. Ernest, 39, 47, 386. Satsuma, 313. Schools of Philosophy: Chinese, 136-139. Indian, 159-164, 232. Japanese, 356-358, 369. Sekigaharu, 338. Sendai, 119. Seppuku, see Hara-kiri. Serpent-worship, 30-33, 278, 279, 385. Seven Gods of Good Fortune, 217, 218. Shaka, 160, 161, 179, 254. Shakyamuni, see Shaka. Shaminism, 15-17. Shang-Ti, 103, 104. Shari, 182. Shastra and Sutra, 231. Shichimen, 278. Shigomori, 120. Shimabara, 344. Shingaku movement, 369, 370. Shingon sect, 185, 203, 248-251. Shinran, 271-274. Shin sect, 270-276, 317. Shint[=o], 38, 42, 76, 89, 96, 97, 142, 184, 195, 214, 319. Sin, 285, 288. Sh[=o]-gun, 110, 115, 143. Shomon, 236. Sh[=o]toku, 180, 181, 208, 236, 313. Siddartha, 410. Soga no Inamé, 180. Soshi, 95, 278. Southern Buddhism, 165, 167. Spaniards, 336, 337, 340, 347. Stars, 92. Statistics of Buddhism, 309. of Shint[=o], 400, 401. Sugawara Michizané, 204. Suicide, 112, 118-121, 147, 151. Suiko, 180. Sung dynasty, 414, 437. Sun-goddess, 66, 104, 201, 203. Sun-worship, 46, 47, 82, 87. Swastika, 305. Swords, 7, 378. Syle, Rev. E.W., 36. Syncretism, 191-194, 205. Synergism, 268, 271, 272. Szma Kwang, 138. Taik[=o], see Hidéyoshi. Takahashi, Mr. Gor[=o], 384. Takashi, Rev. Dai-Ryo, 238. Takétori Monogatari, 423. Tantra system, 194. Ta[=o]ism, 106, 215, 218. Tathagata, 259. Tathata, 243, 246. Taylor, Bayard, 380. Tea plant, 208. Téi-Shn philosophy, 139, 145. Temples, 83, 93, 209, 305-309. Ten, 144. Tendai sect, 185, 244-248, 268. Tenjin, 204. Tenn[=o], 184. Tenshi, 184. Terence, 128. Theism, 172. Theological seminaries, 6-8. Tibet, 165, 167, 170. Tobacco, 209. Tokugawas, 141, 143, 356, 365. Torii, 84, 210. Tortoise, 19. Transmigration of souls, 315. Tree-worship, 30, 31. Triads, 171, 255, 279. Trinity, 428. Tripitaka, 160, 170, 231. Tsuji, Rev. Ken-ko, 425. Tsukushi, 44. Tsushima, 44. Tycoon, see Sh[=o]-gun. Uéda, Rev. Sho-Hen, 425. Upanishads, 156, 161, 162. Ushi toki mairi, 31. Uzumé, 68. Vagra, 305. Vagrabodhi, 248, 249. Vairokana, 184, 244, 250. Vedas, 156, 158, 159, 160, 162. Vehicles, the three, 234, 235; see also Hinayana and Mahayana. Victims, 74. Washington, 114. Western Paradise, 277. Wheel of the law, 302. Whitney, Prof. W.D., 211, 277. William the Silent, 114. Woman, 123, 149, 275, 318-320. Xavier, 324, 329, 330, 345, 346, 347. Yamato, 44, 76, 87, 91, 109, 177, 179. Damashii, 44, 147, 151, 152, 172. Yamato-Tosa art, 114, Yedo, 110, 115, 119, 141, 220, 238, 340, 360, 366. Yen Sect, 252-256. Yezo, 43, 317. Yoga, 157, 197, 199, 201, 209, 211. Yoga-chara, 194, 203, 249. Yokoi Héishiro, 112, 316, 366, 367. Yori, see Phallicism. Yoshida Shoin, 147. Yoshiwara system, 404. Zend[=o], 261-262, 267. Zenk[=o]ji, 179, 181. 
19945	----	* * * * * +------------------------------------------------------------+ | TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES | | | | Accents and diacritical marks have generally been | | standardised. Where there is a single instance of a word | | with an accent, and one without, no change has been made | | to the original (e.g. Shigenari/Shigénari, Uesugi/Uésugi). | | | | The letter o with a macron is represented as o[u]. | | The letter u with a macron is represented as u[u]. | | The letter e with a macron is represented as e[e]. | | | | Kanji and hiragana characters in the original book are | | shown enclosed in square brackets: for example, [sara]. | | | | The italicisation of Japanese words has been standardised. | | | | Hyphenation and capitalisation has been standardised. | | | | Punctuation and obvious printer's errors have been | | corrected. For a complete list, please see the bottom | | of this document. | | | +------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * [Illustration: EDO WAN (TOKYO BAY)] LEGEND. The outline of the map is that found in Volume I. of the Edo Sunago, published Keio 2nd year (1866). The detail of district maps found in the book is worked in, together with that from the sectional map of Edo published Ansei 4th year (1857), and from the Go Edo Zusetsu Shu[u]ran published Kaei 6th year (1853). The map therefore shows in rough outline the state of the city just before the removal of the capital from Kyo[u]to; the distribution of the castes. The Pre-Tokugawa villages (Eiroku: 1558-1569) indicated on the map found in the "Shu[u]ran" are:-- North and South Shinagawa: Meguro-Motomura: Gin-Mitamura: Mitamura: O[u]nemura: Upper and Lower Shibuya: Harajuku-mura: Kokubunji: Azabu: Kawaza Ichi: O[u]zawa-mura: Imai-mura: Sendagaya: Yamanaka-mura: Ichigaya: Ushigome: Kobiko-mura: Upper and Lower Hirakawa-mura: Ochiya: Sekihon: Ikebukuroya: Tomizaka-mura: Ishibukero-mura: Tanibaragaike: Neruma-mura: Okurikyo[u]: Nakarai-mura: Koishikawa: Zoshigayatsu: O[u]ji: Shimura: Takinogawa: Kinsoboku-mura: Harajuku-mura (II.): Komegome-mura: Taninaka-mura: Shimbori-mura: Mikawajima-mura: Ashigahara-mura: Haratsuka: Ishihama-mura: Senju[u]-mura: Suda-mura: Sumidagawa: Yanagijima: Jujo[u]-mura: Itabashi: Sugamo-mura: Arakawa (river): Kandagawa pool (_ike_): Kanda-mura: Shibasaki-mura: Shin-Horima-mura: Yushima-mura: Shitaya-mura: Torigoe-mura: Shirosawa-mura: Asakusa-mura: Harai-mura: Some-Ushigome: Ishiwara: Kinoshitagawa: Ubagaike (pool): Negishi-mura: Kinsoki-mura: Kameido-mura (near Ueno): Shinobazu-ike (pool). From South to North circling by the West. Shinagawa: Mita-mura: Takanawa: Near Imai-mura is a Myo[u]jin shrine, close by the mouth of the present Akabane river. Ikura: Hibiya: Tsukiji: Tsukuda: Tame-ike (pool): Tsukuda Myo[u]jin: Ota's castle: Sanke-in: Hirakawa-mura: Sakurada-mura: Honju[u]-mura: O[u]tamage-ike: Kametaka-mura. To the East. 77 villages, total. Pronounce as in Italian, giving vowels full value: ch- as in "church." [NIROKUDO[U] ISSUES] TALES OF THE TOKUGAWA II BAKÉMONO YASHIKI (THE HAUNTED HOUSE) RETOLD FROM THE JAPANESE ORIGINALS BY JAMES S. DE BENNEVILLE "Woman's greatest need, The base of all governance, Is governance; Seldom found, And rarely applied."--_Seishin_ YOKOHAMA 1921 PREFACE In 1590 A.D. the Ho[u]jo[u] were overthrown at Odawara by the Taiko[u] Hidéyoshi, and the provinces once under their sway were intrusted to his second in command, Tokugawa Iyeyasu. This latter, on removing to the castle of Chiyoda near Edo, at first paid main attention to strengthening his position in the military sense. From his fief in To[u]to[u]mi and Suruga he had brought with him a band of noted captains, devoted to his service through years of hardest warfare. He placed them around his castle ward, from East to South in a great sweeping arc of detached fortresses, extending from Shimo[u]sa province to that of Sagami. Koga was the chief stronghold on the North, against what was left of the Uésugi power. The most devoted of his captains, Honda Tadakatsu, was established at Kawagoé. Odawara, under an O[u]kubo, as always, blocked the way from the Hakoné and Ashigara passes. In the hands of Iyeyasu and his captains, the formidable garrison here established was not likely to offer opportunity of a second "Odawara conference," during which dalliance with compromise and surrender would bring sudden attack and disaster. At this period there is no sign that in his personal service Prince Iyeyasu made changes from the system common to the great military Houses of the time. The castle ward and attendance always were divided up among the immediate vassals of the lord. The basis was strictly military, not domestic. Even the beautiful _kami-shimo_ (X), or butterfly hempen cloth garb of ceremonial attendance was an obvious reminder of the armour worn in the field. Great statesman and warrior that he was, the Taiko[u] Hidéyoshi must have realised the difficulties confronting his House. The formidable power he had created in the North was no small part of them. On several occasions he sought a quarrel with Iyeyasu; sought to humiliate him in small ways, to lower his prestige and provoke an outbreak. Such was the trifling incident of the lavish donation required of Iyeyasu to the Hachiman shrine at Kamakura. But Hidéyoshi, as with Elizabeth of England, looked rather to the balance of cost against result, always with possibility of failure in view. When he died in 1598, and left Tokugawa Iyeyasu practically regent of the land, his expectation can be judged to be, either that the loyal members of the council of regency would at least balance the Tokugawa power for their own sakes, or that the majority of his son Hidéyori, then a mere infant, would witness no question of supremacy. In the one event the glory and prestige of his House would stand. In the second case the safety of his posterity would be assured. With his experience, and belief in the over-riding power of Nobunaga and himself, the first was as likely to happen as the second; and the influence of the Toyotomi House was the means necessary to insure to Iyeyasu the position already secured, against the jealousy of the other lords. Time showed that he granted a perspicuity and energy to the members of his council which Iyeyasu alone possessed. With Sekigahara (1600) the situation was definitely changed. In 1603 Iyeyasu was made Sho[u]gun, and the first steps were to organize the Eastern capital at Edo on an Imperial scale. The modest proportions of the Chiyoda castle of Ho[u]jo[u] times--the present inner keep--had already grown to the outer moat. Around these precincts were thrown the vassals of the Sho[u]gun. The distribution at first was without much method, beyond the establishment of greater lords in close proximity to the person of the Sho[u]gun. This feature was accentuated in the time of the third Sho[u]gun Iyemitsu. Immediately allied Houses and vassals occupied the castle ward between the inner and outer moats, from the Hitotsubashi gate on the North, sweeping East and South to the Hanzo[u] gate on the West. The Nishimaru, or western inclosure of the castle, faced this Hanzo[u] Gomon. From this gate to a line drawn diagonally north eastward from the Kanda-bashi Gomon to the Sujikae Gomon, the section of the circle was devoted to the _yashiki_ (mansions) of the _hatamoto_ or minor lords in immediate vassalage of the Sho[u]gun's service. Kanda, Bancho[u], Ko[u]jimachi (within the outer moat), the larger parts of Asakusa, Shitaya, Hongo[u], Koishikawa, Ushigomé (Ichigaya), Yotsuya, Akasaka, Azabu, and Shiba, were occupied by _yashiki_ of _hatamoto_ and _daimyo[u]_--with an ample proportion of temple land. It would seem that there was little left for commercial Edo. Such was the case. The scattered towns of Kanda, Tayasu, Ko[u]jicho[u], several score of villages on the city outskirts, are found in this quarter. The townsmen's houses were crowded into the made ground between the outer moat of the castle and the _yashiki_ which lined the Sumida River between Shiba and the Edogawa. In 1624 the reclaimed ground extended almost to the present line of the river. The deepening of the beds of the Kanda and Edo Rivers had drained the marshes. The use of the waters of the Kandagawa for the castle moat had made dry land of the large marsh just to the south of the present Ueno district. Thus Hongo[u], in its more particular sense, became a building site. With elaboration of the outer defences went elaboration of the immediate service on the Sho[u]gun. There was no sudden change. The military forms of the camp stiffened into the etiquette of the palace. The _Sho[u]inban_ or service of the audience chamber, the _Ko[u]sho[u]gumi_ or immediate attendants, these were the most closely attached to the Sho[u]gun's person. To be added to these are the O[u]bangumi or palace guard, the _Kojuningumi_ and the Kachigumi which preceded and surrounded the prince on his outside appearances. These "sections" formed the Go Banshu[u], the _honoured_ bodyguard. In the time of Iyemitsu a sixth _kumi_ or section was formed, to organize the service of the women attendants of the palace, of the _oku_ or private apartments in distinction from the _omoté_ or public (men's) apartments, to which the Go Banshu[u] were attached. Given the name of _Shinban_ (New) this _kumi_ was annexed to the Banshu[u]. This aroused instant protest. The then lords of the Go Ban inherited their position through the merits of men who had fought on the bloody fields of war. Now "luck, not service," was to be the condition of deserving. The protest was made in form, and regarded. Iyemitsu gave order that the Shinbangumi retain its name, but without connection with the Banshu[u]. At this point the confusion of terms is to be explained. All through the rule of the first three Sho[u]gun a gradual sifting had been taking place. Into Edo were crowding the _daimyo[u]_ who sought proximity to the great man of the land. Then came the order of compulsory residence, issued by Iyemitsu himself; seconded by the mighty lords of Sendai and Satsuma, who laid hands on sword hilts, and made formal statement that he who balked nourished a treacherous heart. The support of one of them was at least unexpected. The acquiescence of both cut off all opposition. Most of the ground now within the outer moat was devoted to the greater lords in immediate service on the Tokugawa House. The _hatamoto_ were removed to the outer sites in Koishikawa, Ushigomé, Yotsuya; to the Bancho[u], the only closer ward they retained; or across the river to Honjo[u] and Fukagawa. Those in immediate service were placed nearest to the palace. From the beginning the favoured residence site had been just outside the Hanzo[u] and Tayasu Gomon, across the inner moat from the palace. Hence the district got the name of Bancho[u]. _Go Ban_ ([go ban]) in popular usage was confused with ([go ban])--"five" instead of "honoured." In course of time the constant removals to this district made it so crowded, its ways so intricate, that one who lived in the Bancho[u] (Ban ward) was not expected to know the locality; a wide departure from the original checker board design on which it had been laid out, and hence the characters [bancho[u]] (Bancho[u]) used at one time. This, however, was when Edo had expanded from its original 808 _cho[u]_ (20200 acres) to 2350 _cho[u]_ (58750 acres). The original Bancho[u] included all the ground of Iidamachi, and extended to the Ko[u]jimachi road. Ko[u]jimachi (the _mura_ or village) was then in the Bancho[u], and known as _samurai ko[u]jimachi_ [ko[u]jimachi] (by-way), not the present [ko[u]ji] (yeast). In the time of the third Sho[u]gun the Bancho[u] was as yet a lonely place--to the west of the city and on its outskirts. The filling in process, under the Government pressure for ground, was just under way. Daimyo[u]-ko[u]ji, between the inner and outer moats, through the heart of which runs the railway spur from Shimbashi to To[u]kyo[u] station, was being created by elimination of the minor lords. At the close of Kwanei (1624 A.D.) all the Daimyo[u]-koji was very solid ground; an achievement of no little note when the distance from the Sumidagawa is considered. At Iyeyasu's advent to Edo the shore line ran close to the inner moat of the castle. The monastery of Zo[u]jo[u]ji then situated close to the site of the present Watagaru gate, was converted by him into the great establishment at Shiba; and placed as close to the waters of the bay as the present Seikenji of Okitsu in Suruga--its fore-bear in the material and ecclesiastical sense. The same rapid development of the town took place on the eastern side of the river. Honjo[u] and Fukagawa became covered by the _yashiki_ sites, interspersed with the numerous and extensive temple grounds. Iyeyasu was as liberal to the material comforts of his ghostly advisers, as he was strict in their supervision. One fifth of Edo was ecclesiastical. One eighth of it, perhaps, was given over to the needed handicrafts and tradesmen of the Kyo[u]bashi and Nihonbashi wards along the river, with a moiety of central Honjo[u]--and to the fencing rooms. The balance of the city site was covered by the _yashiki_. Thus matters remained until the Meiji period swept away feudalism, and substituted for the military town the modern capital of a living nation. So much for the Edo with which we have to deal, apart from its strange legends and superstitions, its malevolent and haunting influences, working ill to the invaders, daring to encroach upon the palace itself and attack the beloved of the Sho[u]gun and his heir, only to be quelled by the divine majesty of his look--as expounded in such tangle of verities as the Honjo[u]-Nana-fushigi (seven marvels of Honjo[u]), the Azabu Nana-fushigi, the Fukagawa Nana-fushigi, the Bancho[u] Nana-fushigi, the Okumura Kiroku, the temple scrolls and traditions, and many kindred volumes. In reference to the Bancho[u]: the stories outlined in the present volume date from the period of the puppet shows and strolling reciters, men who cast these tales into their present lines, thus reducing popular tradition to the form in which it could be used by the _ko[u]danshi_ or lecturers on history, or by those diving into the old tales and scandals connected with the _yashiki_ of Edo town. In the present volume main reliance for the detail has been placed on the following _ko[u]dan_:-- "The Bancho[u] Nana-fushigi" of Matsubayashi Hakuen. "The Bancho[u] Sarayashiki" of Momogawa Jo[u]en. "The Bancho[u] Sarayashiki" of Byo[u]haku Hakuchi, in the "Kwaidan-shu[u]" published by the Hakubunkwan. "The Bancho[u] Sarayashiki" of Ho[u]gyu[u]sha To[u]ko. "Yui Sho[u]setsu" of Ko[u]ganei Koshu[u]. These references could be extended. The story of the Sarayashiki figures in most of the collections of wonder tales. The Gidayu of the "Banshu[u] Sarayashiki" by Tamenaga Taro[u]bei and Asada Itcho[u] finds no application. It deals with Himeji in Harima. As for the stories from an esoteric point of view, as illustrations of the period they have a value--to be continued in those more historical, and which deal with the lives and deeds of men of greater note and influence in this early Tokugawa court. The present volume instances the second class of wonder tales referred to in the preface to the Yotsuya Kwaidan. O[u]marudani, 14th November, 1916. CONTENTS PAGE Preface v Map of Edo _Facing_ xii PART I. TALES OF THE EDO BANCHO[U]: WHO AOYAMA SHU[U]ZEN WAS 1 Chapter I. The Chu[u]gen Rokuzo 3 II. The Bakémono Yashiki 17 III. Nakakawachi Shu[u]zen 26 IV. The O'kagé Sama 38 V. The Report to the Tono Sama 48 VI. The Shrine of the O'Inari Sama 55 VII. The Luck of Okumura Shu[u]zen 64 VIII. Aoyama Shu[u]zen 76 IX. Shu[u]zen meets Shu[u]zen 84 X. The Meeting of the Gaman Kwai 89 PART II. BANCHO[U] SARAYASHIKI: WHAT AOYAMA SHU[U]ZEN BECAME 97 Chapter XI. The Yoshida Goten 99 XII. The Ko[u]jimachi Well 111 XIII. The Sen Himégimi (Princess Sen) 122 XIV. Shu[u]zen Adolescens 130 XV. The God favours Shu[u]zen 142 XVI. The Affair of the Asakusa Kwannon 150 XVII. Emma Dai-O[u] gives Judgment 156 XVIII. Kosaka Jinnai 165 XIX. A Matter of Pedestrianism 171 XX. The Affair of Kishu[u] Ke 179 XXI. If old Acquaintance be forgot 192 XXII. The Shrine of the Jinnai-bashi 201 XXIII. A Winter Session 212 XXIV. The Tiger at the front Gate; the Wolf at the Postern 218 XXV. Chu[u]dayu wins his Suit 229 XXVI. Sampei Dono 236 XXVII. Aoyama wins his Suit 245 XXVIII. The Sarayashiki 251 PART I TALES OF THE EDO BANCHO[U] WHO AOYAMA SHU[U]ZEN WAS. CHAPTER I THE _Chu[u]gen_ ROKUZO Rokuzo the _chu[u]gen_ sighed as he faced the long slope leading to the Kudanzaka. Pleasant had been his journey to this point. From his master's _yashiki_ in Ichigaya to the shop of the sandal maker Sukébei in lower Kanda it had been one long and easy descent. Sukébei had gratified Rokuzo with the desired and well established commission or "squeeze." Orders for sandals in the _yashiki_ of a nobleman were no small item. Rokuzo was easily satisfied. Though of a scant thirty years in age he had not the vice of women, the exactions of whom were the prime source of rascality in the sphere of _chu[u]gen_, as well as in the glittering train of the palace. At the turn of the road ahead Rokuzo could eye the massive walls of the moat, which hid the fortress and seraglio built up by the skilful hands of Kasuga no Tsubone in her earnest efforts to overcome the woman hating propensities of the San-dai-ke, the third prince of the Tokugawa line, Iyemitsu Ko[u]. Rokuzo was a _chu[u]gen_, servant in attendance on his master Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon, _hatamoto_ or immediate vassal of the commander-in-chief, the Sho[u]gun or real ruler in the land of Nippon since the long past days of Taira Kiyomori. Rokuzo had no great lady in charge of his domestic arrangements, one whose obsession it was to overcome his dislike of man's natural mate. Nor had he such mate to administer reproof for his decided liking for the sherry-like rice wine called _saké_. Sukébei had rigidly performed his part in the matter of the "squeeze"; but Rokuzo considered him decidedly stingy in administration of the wine bottle--or bottles. Willingly would he have sacrificed the commission for an amplitude of the wine. But even _chu[u]gen_ had their formulae of courtesy, and such reflection on his host would have been too gross. With a sigh therefore he had set out from the shop of the sandal maker, eyeing the wine shops passed from time to time, but not fortunate enough to chance upon any acquaintance whose services he could call upon in facing him over a glass. Rokuzo had the virtue of not drinking alone. Kanda village once passed, the _yashiki_ walls hemmed in the highway which ran through a district now one of the busiest quarters of the city. This sloping ground was popularly known as Ichimenhara, to indicate its uniformity of surface. There was not a hint of the great university, the long street of book-stores close packed side by side for blocks. Their site was covered by the waters of the marsh, almost lake, of the Kanda River, then being slowly drained into the castle moats. The top of the hill reached, at what is now South Jimbocho[u], the shops and houses of the one village hereabouts, Tayasu-mura, offered a last chance for diversion. The steep slope of the Kudan hill was now before Rokuzo, and beyond he had to pass through the lonely wood which harboured a temple to the war god Hachiman, and which covered the site of the present Sho[u]konsha or shrine to the spirits of the soldiers killed in Nippon's wars. This road ran through the San-Bancho[u], then a lonely quarter in which stood isolated from each other _yashiki_ of the _hatamoto_. The district was filling up, under press of the needs of the castle service for space immediately round about. But the process was a slow one, and the district one much suspected by the lower classes. Rokuzo was not fat. He was short, thick necked, sturdy with a barrel-like roundness, and, owing to his drinking propensities, endowed with legs the thinness of which found the conveyance of the upper massiveness no mean task. Hence he stopped at the foot of the hill to wipe the sweat from his face. He eyed with envy a low caste being, a _heimin_ and labourer. Clad in a breech-clout the fellow swung rapidly down the hill with his load of charcoal balanced at each end of the carrying pole. It was etiquette, not modesty, which confined Rokuzo to the livery of his master. He was compelled to a coat which, light and thin as it was, cut off all the breeze from his muscular shoulders. Well! Up the hill he must get. The rolling down was a matter of the past. The _yashiki_, the house officer (_kyu[u]nin_) to whom report was to be made, lay beyond. About to make the start a voice spoke in his ear. Though soft and gentle it would have had no particular attraction for the now thirsty Rokuzo. But apart from thirst Rokuzo was of the thoroughly good natured kind. He was surprised at the beauty of the face on which his eyes rested; still more so at the size of the bundle she was trying to carry, and which plainly was far beyond her strength. The rashness of benevolence overcame the not too energetic Rokuzo. Sigh as he did over the conveyance of his carcass up the steep hill, he sighed still more at thought of this fragile creature attempting to carry such a burden. She followed his eyes to the bundle. "Alas! Honoured Sir, what is to be done? The _furoshiki_ is far beyond one's poor strength. Though the distance is not great--only to Go Bancho[u]--yet it could as well be a pilgrimage to Isé. Surely the hills of Hakoné and Iga are no steeper than this Kudanzaka." She sighed; and apart from a weariness of voice there was a suspicion of moisture in her eyes. The more Rokuzo looked at her, the greater waxed his pity and benevolence. Barely of eighteen years she was a beautiful girl; not a servant, yet not one of the secluded and guarded daughters of a noble House. Perhaps she was the young wife of some soldier, and he was surprised at her being unattended. She noted this, and readily explained the fact. There were purchases yet to make, close by in Tayasu. Here a servant was to be at hand, but wearied by waiting the woman had made off. "To offer a wage, good sir, seems impolite; yet the way being the same deign to grant the favour of your strength." In the petition her face was wreathed in admiring smiles at Rokuzo's fine figure of a man. A light in the eyes, captious and coquettish, the furtive glances at his broad shoulders and stout neck, betrayed him into the indiscretion of volunteering a service promptly accepted. This done, the lady, without losing sight of display of her charm of manner, was all business. Rokuzo had much to learn, and he was not one to profit much by his lessons. If he was virtuous, he was by nature a very Simple Simon. A greater liking for women might by contact have sharpened wits rather dulled by drinking. As it was, anyone in the _yashiki_, who wished to shift some unpleasant obligation, found in Rokuzo the one to be impressed by the most specious excuse, and the one whose kindness of heart undertook and carried out the purpose of avoidance by assumption of the task. Instead of concocting some pretext to carry off Sukébei, or one, or all, of his apprentices to the neighbouring street and a grog shop, his inexperience and diffidence had carried him away still thirsty. Instead of bumping into some passing fellow _chu[u]gen_ on the street, and wiping out the insult with wine, he had idled along, leaving to every man his share of the roadway, and to the thirsty with burdens more than their share. Hence this uncongenial company of thirst and a woman. She had halted at a grocer's shop, and his eyes were soon agog at sight of her investments--mushrooms, not of much weight, but in bulk forming almost a mound; the dried sliced gourd called _kambyoku_, of which she seemed very fond; marrow, _to[u]gan_ (gourd-melon),[1] the new and expensive potato (_imo_), for money was no object in her purchases. A second shop close by caught her eye. Here were added to the pile the long string beans, doubtless to roast in the pod for an afternoon's amusement and repast, _kabocha_ or squashes, large stalks of _daikon_ (radish) two feet in length, _go[u]bo[u]_ or burdock, and a huge watermelon. The list is too long to quote except for the report of a produce exchange. Indeed it was rather a case of what she did not buy, on a scale to furnish forth a _yashiki_. Then she made her way to a confection and fruit shop just opposite the scene of her last purchases. Pears were coming into season--weighty in measure and on the stomach. But the lady was not frightened. She bought for yesterday, to-day, and to-morrows, in fruit and cakes of all kinds. Conveyed by the divers attendants her goods lay piled up at the last source of supply. Puzzled, she regarded the huge mass; then took eye measure of the shoulders of Rokuzo. They inspired confidence. She laid a gentle and admiring hand on his massiveness. She looked into his face with enticing smile. There was a silvery little laugh in her voice. Concealing their grins the shop attendants fled to their different haunts. Here they smothered cries and roars of coarse merriment; and one man nearly smothered himself by sticking his head in the brine cask. This _chu[u]gen_ was no servant of the lady. He was a volunteer conveyancer caught by a pretty face. They knew her. Rokuzo had more than sturdy shoulders. He stuck to his bargain. Plainly something must be done; and the lady did it. In a trice she haled him to a draper's shop. "A five-fold _furoshiki_--at once." The draper gaped not; he obeyed. The cloth was produced, and his several apprentices were engaged in sewing together one of those square package cloths, so convenient in the conveyance of scattered parcels. It was a portentous product, a very sheet. Obsequiously offered and accepted, the draper watched his customers depart with curious eyes. It was not the first of its kind bought by the lady. He hoped it would not be the last; for his own sake and that of his fellow traders. The money at least was always good. The girl must be popular and rich. A number of _chu[u]gen_ were employed in her service. Never did she bring the same man. Then the purchases were piled into one bundle. At this both Rokuzo and the dispenser of sweets were skilled hands. The lady looked anxiously up and down the road. She tripped into this place and that. Finally she came back to the bundle, looking as if about to cry. Of the servant's return there was no sign. Stolidly the shop-keeper maintained his pose. His shop could not be left to itself; the lady could not wait. Outside was the blazing sun of the sixth month (July), then at its hottest period of the hour of the ape (after 3 P.M.). She looked at Rokuzo. He twisted uneasily. His good nature yielded again to the caressing glance. "Come! As boy this Rokuzo has carried many a farmer's frame of grass from the mountain to Shibukawa village. Nay; many a sick man has he shouldered on the hills leading to the healing springs of Ikao and Kusatsu." He ran an eye over the bundle. "Ah! A terrific bundle; one to cause fright. There is nothing else to do." He would have liked to measure strength with this truant servant; doubtless a terrific female. The confectioner puffed and blew, with straining, swelling neck. The _furoshiki_ at last was on the shoulders of the unhappy Rokuzo. Fortunately the shops of Nippon have no doors. A most mountainous and monstrous wrestler, a very Daniel Lambert, can be carried forth feet first from such a front. The shop keeper followed the pair with his eyes. He passed his hand over the money. Then he looked again. The lady went lightly up the hill. Puffing and blowing at last Rokuzo was compelled to zig-zag on its steepness. Then she followed after his movements, gently encouraging him with words, and a cheerful pleased giggle that was a very goad in his rear. The grocer crossed to consultation with the baker. "Bah! He has a ring in his nose." Said the man of confections--"He is Rokuzo, _chu[u]gen_ of Endo[u] Sama. But the other day it was Isuké, _chu[u]gen_ of Okumura Sama, who did her service. And so with others. Truly entertainment at Yoshiwara costs less effort and wage. These cats are all one colour in the dark." The philosophic and cynical shop-keepers, each departed to his own place, arguing more shrewdness in a _chu[u]gen_, and the greater freedom, if less honour, implied in the gains and amusements of the townsman. Again and again the baker inspected his coin. There were still houses for women in the Ko[u]jimachi road. This satisfied his doubts. Encouraged by the lady Rokuzo reached the top of the Kudan hill. In all his experience of burden bearing never before had he shouldered the like. It seemed at times as if the lady herself had floated up on its broad surface, to deposit a weight far beyond her appearance. Perhaps she did; for Rokuzo, blinded by the pouring sweat, hardly knew what occurred. From time to time the sweet voice gave direction. Skirting the castle moat she led him up the short slope of the Gomizaka. A fitting name, thought Rokuzo. There were more than "five flavours" on his back, without counting the nasty taste in a very dry mouth. His journey was almost at an end. At least he had so determined, when suddenly the destination was reached. The lady knocked at the side door of a splendid gate set in a long stretch of wall. So much Rokuzo could see through the damp stream from his brow; and that the surroundings were very rural. A rattling of the bar and he turned eagerly to the gate. Its opening gave a vision of beauty. Clean swept was the ground beneath the splendid pine trees; graceful the curves of the roofs of the villa seen beyond; and still more beautiful, and little more mature than his companion, was the figure of the girl framed in the doorway. Forgetful of his burden Rokuzo gaged. Forgetful of etiquette the girl stared. She scanned Rokuzo from head to foot. The squat and sturdy figure of the man, in combination with the huge burden, turned him into some new and useful kind of beast. Astonishment passed into a smile; the smile into a mad burst of laughter in which the other girl more discreetly joined. "Ne[e]san (elder sister) the hour is late, but to-day the opportunity of assistance was slow to appear. With such sturdy support it was thought well to make ample provision."--"Provision indeed! Merry will be the feast. Truly sister, great has been the good fortune. Honoured Sir, deign to furnish forth the entertainment." Again came the merry peal, this time from both the girls. Rokuzo hardly appreciated such reward of his efforts. He had a strong suspicion that this merriment was directed at him; that the courtesy and gentle voices were on the surface. There was a snappy nasal sneering ring in the laughter, most unpleasant and savouring of derision. However there was certain to be something at the end of the task. Why neglect to take the reward now close to hand? He passed through the large gate, opened by the elder maiden to admit the size of his burden. Under her guidance he struggled along past the corner of the house and into the more removed privacy. Of this he could note the carefully kept inner garden, the massive old well curb standing in its centre, and the scent and strange beauty of the flowering plants. Attention was attracted by the conduct of his three employers; for another and older girl now made her appearance at the _ro[u]ka_ (verandah). She too gave the same short sharp exclamation of amusement at the sight of the porter and his portentous load. She leaped down quickly from the verandah and ran up to peer into his face. Then she went off into the same mad peal of laughter, in which she was joined without stint by her sisters. Rokuzo was now angry beyond measure; yet as a man and good natured he found it difficult of expression with such beautiful women. All the terms of revilement came to his lips--rude rascals (_burei na yatsu_), scoundrels (_berabo[u]mé_), vile beasts (_chikusho[u]mé_). These were freely loaded on himself in time of displeasure of master or fellows. But somehow now they stayed in his throat. "Rude"--yes; "rascals"--yes. These words reached to a murmur. But the crowning insult of calling these beautiful women "beasts" stuck in his gorge and he nearly choked. Said the oldest girl--and she was not over twenty years--"Sister, you are wearied by the heat and your efforts. Deign to enter the bath. All is ready. Come! We will enter it together." Hand in hand the three were about to depart. Rokuzo found speech. He stuttered in his indignation--"Honoured ladies! Heigh there! This bundle--how now? Truly it is as if this Rokuzo had been carrying a child. His back is wet through. It is very unpleasant. Where is the package to be bestowed? Deign to indicate." At the sharpness of his tone the elder girl turned in surprise. His anger dropped before the attraction of smile and address. Truly these creatures had attention but for the passing moment. "Ah! In joy at the sister's return the burden and its bearer have been completely forgotten. This is to be very rude. Aré! Honoured Sir, you are melting away with heat. Place the burden here. At the well yonder is water. Deign to wipe off the sweat which pours from your honoured person." At once with more than relief he deposited the huge package on the _ro[u]ka_. Pending its disposition Rokuzo devoted himself to his ablutions with decent slowness, to allow the idea of remuneration to filter into the somewhat fat wits of these ladies. At first he was inclined thoroughly to sluice himself inwardly. The water was deliciously cool to the outer person on this hot day. But on approaching the bucket to his mouth there was an indefinable nauseating something about it that made him hesitate. Again he tried to drink. Decidedly it was bad, this water; offensive for drinking. With a sigh he diverted the stream from his gullet to his shoulders. So pleased was Rokuzo with the experience that he repeated it again and again from the inexhaustible coolness of the well. Then with his head towel he began to wipe the nudity of his person, taking in at leisure his surroundings as he did so. Oya! Oya! It was indeed an extraordinarily beautiful place, this which he had entered. The care lavished upon plants and ornamentation was carried to extravagance. The eyes of Rokuzo opened wider and wider. Here was a splendid cherry tree in the full magnificence of its bloom. The square of this inner garden was completed by half a dozen plum trees laden with the scented blossoms, although the fruit hung heavy from the branches. At the opposite corner the polished red of the ripe persimmons made the mouth water. Beyond these trees and the house was a large and splendid bed of iris, the curious and variegated bloom counterfeiting some patterned screen. From the _ro[u]ka_ extended a wide trellis heavy with the blossoms of the wisteria. Lotus was in flower in the pond. Wherever he turned his eyes the affection of these ladies for colour and scent showed itself. Jinjo[u]ki, hibiscus, pyrus spectabilis, chrysanthemum, peonies, ayamé or the early iris, all were in mad bloom to please the eye. With growing fright Rokuzo gazed from side to side. What could be the social condition of these women, thus treated so familiarly by a mere _chu[u]gen_? The gardener surely was an extraordinary genius, such as would serve none but the truly great. This was a suspicious place. These thoughts were interrupted. Abruptly he approached the part of the house that seemed a sort of kitchen. The huge bundle had disappeared. The elder sister showed herself. The two younger girls held back diffidently in the rear. All showed amusement, but the freshness of the bath had wrought a change in manner, and made them still more lovely than before. Said the elder--"Thanks are due for the kindness shown. Though ashamed, deign to accept this trifling acknowledgment as porter's wage." She held out to Rokuzo a _hana-furi-kin_. This gold coin, worth a _bu_ (the quarter of a _ryo[u]_) was an extravagant fee.[2] Somewhat strange withal; struck off in the Taiko[u]'s day the savour of disloyalty was compensated by the "raining flowers" stamped in the gold. Rokuzo was still more frightened. Ladies of course were ignorant of values. Plainly these were ladies, of but little contact with the world. As an honest and somewhat simple fellow he would have refused the over-payment. But he was not eloquent in explanation, and the acceptance meant the speedier departure. Prostrate with extended hands he gave thanks. Then he thrust the coin into his bosom and rose in good earnest to depart. Here follows the fall of Rokuzo from the grace of good behaviour. On her way to a room at the end of the garden passed the youngest of the sisters. She was bearing a tray, the burden of which was _saké_ bottles. In the other hand was the heating apparatus, flask included. Rokuzo's nostrils opened wide at the delicious perfume. He stood stock still. As in some surprise the elder sister regarded him. Thereupon the wine bearer halted, in her pose holding the grateful steam directly under his nose. Said the first girl--"Is the wage insufficient? If so...." Rokuzo's nostrils twitched. The younger sister stopped a movement as of further bestowal. "Ah! This honoured Sir can carry more than burdens." She broke into a merry laugh. Said the sister--"Is that so? The _saké_ is object of desire." Beauty was now enhanced a thousand times by the benevolence of their demeanor. With tongue at last eloquent--"Ah, ladies! This Rokuzo is dying of thirst. The well here offers no means to quench it. But for the honoured encounter at Kudanzaka long since would the company at the wine shop of Ichigaya have been sought. For reward deign wine rather than coin." He made a movement as if to restore the gold, but the elder girl stopped him. "So then, Rokuzo likes wine. He shall have both wine and coin, and entertainment in addition." With the request from him their manner had changed. It was now more sedate and purposeful. Rokuzo hardly understood the further course of his experiences. Emerged from the bath he found himself seated before a plentiful repast. The viand contents of the monumental burden together with what sea and hill could provide--these figured. Rokuzo drank first, and plentifully. Never had he tasted such delicious wine. He knew that the Tono Sama drank no better _saké_; nor did his master occupy a more splendid apartment than this one of the wine feast. The silken figured _fusuma_ (screens), the fretwork crowning them, the many lamps--it was now dark--in bronze and precious metals, dazzled his small understanding. The women acted as attendants. Rokuzo sat long, now thoroughly fuddled. He listened to an orchestral theme, interpreted by _koto_, _fué_, _biwa_, or the _taiko_ (drum). Perhaps there were better voices. Even in their singing the three girls had that sharp, derisive, unpleasant, nasal twang. But Rokuzo was past criticism. To their questioning he told who and what he was; a _chu[u]gen_ in the service of his lord, Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon, _hatamoto_ in the land, and now in office at the fireward of the palace. Had he a wife? A _chu[u]gen_ is not one to have a wife. At this all the women seemed very pleased. They exchanged glances. The elder girl now came close to him. She nestled by his side and took his arm, looking coquettishly and smilingly into his face. "Rokuzo Dono has done much for three lonely women. Will he not do more? Why not remain as now, perform the tasks of this house? Does not the change of masters attract?" Rokuzo's latest remembrance of encounter with the honoured house officer (_kyu[u]nin_) of his master was the six days turn in the _yashiki_ prison, on very scant fare. His face was long at the thought. He was very remiss on this present occasion. What would happen? In the haze of his wine the voice of the girl continued. Her face was very close as she pressed on him. "Rokuzo Dono, deign to serve this house, meet its difficulties." For a moment Rokuzo broke the spell. "Difficulties? Of luxurious living and a splendid home? Such 'difficulties' make one laugh."--"Yet there are real difficulties. Three women--they have their difficulties. Be the man of the house; the man in the house. Condescend the favour." Restraint was thrown off. She held him in her arms and drew him close. Rokuzo's brain was in a whirl. Women? Women? Ah! The wine! His lips eagerly sought the cup she held to them. When she rose he allowed her gentle persuasion. The two other girls busied themselves in the preparations for the night. They whispered to each other; and there seemed to be some ground of division, but the elder had her way. She and Rokuzo were left alone. If Rokuzo sought solace in the arms of his mistress he certainly failed to find it. Never had such a nightmare descended on his slumbers. Through the night he was battling with most fearful visions, seeking to avoid tortures of hell. He had pursued his beauty into some huge cave. Now possession was secure. From this there was no escape. But it was no escape for Rokuzo. Now she turned into a huge obscene object, a very _rokurokubi_, one of those hideous monsters with lengthy neck, gleaming teeth, and distorted human-like face. Again there was change. He lay supine and helpless; and extended full length over him was a fox of portentous size. The sharp, yelping, nasal voice sounded in his ears. "Coin, wine, then lechery: Rokuzo would drink, then play the beast. The porter's wage is insufficient. Now let him pay the beast's wage." The sharp gleaming teeth were at his throat. The foul breath filled his lungs. Rokuzo struggled for air, shouted for an aid not at hand. "Drunkard; lecher." By a final effort he would free himself from the succubus--"Liar!... Namu Amida Butsu! Namu Amida Butsu! Holy the Lord Buddha!" A heavy chill went through his body, shaking him from head to foot. He opened his eyes. In amazement he looked around him. The magnificent apartment, the women, the garden, the feast, nothing remained of his night's experience. It was the chill of early dawn, and he was lying on the bare ground, in the midst of a wild grass grown and deserted moor. A tree root was his pillow. He rose to find the waters of the Kanda marsh under his eyes. He was still on the Ichimenhara. The Kudanzaka was yet to be climbed. Ah! He had been foxed, bewitched by reynard or _tanuki_ (badger). Then remembrance of the _hana-furi-kin_ came to mind. Here would be proof. He thrust a hand into his bosom--to draw out the leaf of a tree. There was no doubt about it. And the banquet? At the very thought of the viands Rokuzo squirmed. He made a gesture of nausea and disgust. The _saké_--was excrement. The food--worse yet. He felt very ill. His aching limbs and heavy head accompanied him to his lord's _yashiki_ in Ichigaya. Rokuzo took to his bed. At the porter's lodge the _kyu[u]nin_, Naito[u] Kyu[u]saburo[u], inspected the tickets of the _chu[u]gen_. At last Rokuzo had made his appearance; and had made no report. He was not long in reaching the _chu[u]gen's_ bedside. With severe face he questioned him as to his absence and neglect. "Gluttonous fellow! Something eaten is the cause of the sickness. Rascal that you are, a good purge is the thing. Then a fast in the jail will restore the stomach. This the punishment, if great your good luck. Otherwise--it will be the garden front. Report is to be made." He turned to go. Rokuzo detained him. He spoke with timidity, but under spur of the greater retribution. He admitted his fault. "But...."--"But what?" impatiently interjected Naito[u]. "Is not the food furnished by his lordship ample supply for the belly? Does a _chu[u]gen_ question his lord's generosity? What banquet tempted this rascal...?"--"Indeed it was a banquet." Rokuzo went into details. Kyu[u]saburo[u]'s rage increased. "You are lying. Or does illness follow food partaken in a dream? Perhaps the rascal Sukébei has not been paid. Is Rokuzo a thief?" Rokuzo groaned in pain and discomfiture. He would make a clean breast of it; confess to more than mere food. And he did. "Nor is Rokuzo the only victim. Isuké, _chu[u]gen_ of Okumura Sama of the Bancho[u], nearly lost his life. Others have been trapped; and others knew enough to refuse service and run away. Truly this Rokuzo is a fool. Condescend the honoured intercession. Ah, that banquet!" He shuddered at the thoughts aroused. At sight of the receipt of Sukébei perforce Naito[u] Kyu[u]saburo[u] believed. He pitied Rokuzo, administered the stoutest purges in his pharmacy, and left him somewhat relieved in mind and body. The tale was soon known all over the _yashiki_--to the profit of all and the amusement of most. With gleeful malice Rokuzo would be asked to describe his meal, the superlative flavour of the wine, for past fact and present fancy became strangely mixed in his recital. Thus, through the report of the _kyu[u]nin_, Naito[u] Kyu[u]saburo[u], the experience of his _chu[u]gen_ Rokuzo came to the ears of Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon, _hatamoto_ of the land, of four hundred _koku_ income, and officer in charge of the Hiban or fire-ward at the Ushigomé gate.[3] CHAPTER II THE _Bakémono Yashiki_ Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon heard the report of his officer. A slight frown puckered his brow, and he contemplated the big toe of his immaculately white _tabi_ (sock). "A vexatious matter! _Hatamoto_ of the land, official duty gives occupation enough. Yet for such things to take place, and so close to the person of the suzerain, this is not to be permitted. Beyond his love for wine Rokuzo has shown himself trustworthy. He is not lying?" Kyu[u]saburo[u] bowed low--"As your lordship says. Of his illness there is no question; and that not merely from a drunken debauch. Rokuzo is not one to be tempted by women; and to those beyond his station he dares not raise his eyes. It was the wine which tempted him beyond discretion. He has tried all patience, been most disloyal. The honoured dismissal or severe punishment at the least is his due. The Tono Sama summoning him to the garden front, and deigning the kindness of putting him to death (_te-uchi_) ... yet...." Hesitating he brought out the once _hana-furi-kin_, wage of the unfortunate Rokuzo, now in such danger of drastic remedy for his aching head. Respectfully pushing forward a knee the _kyu[u]nin_ presented it to his lord. Saburo[u]zaémon examined it with much curiosity. "And this?"--"The wage for his porter's work," answered the officer, his face respectfully wrinkled with the trace of a smile. "Though one could say from his exhaustion that he received other favour than coin. The very thought of his filthy repast drives the rascal to most fearful retchings. He is in a parlous way, and if your lordship deign forbearance...."--"Heigh!" He was interrupted by the exclamation of Saburo[u]zaémon, now examining the leaf most intently. "I say now! An oak leaf, the broad reminder of the _kiri_ (paulownia imperialis), such might come from last year's fall. This leaf never sprang from Nippon's soil."--"Just so," replied the _kyu[u]nin_. "Hence petition for delay in administering punishment."--"And of course the fellow is useless. Ill, and besides he knows not whither he went, and came to himself on the Ichimenhara."--"Yet, while still in his five senses, he recognized Go Bancho[u]; and it is fact that the _chu[u]gen_ of Okumura Dono suffered likewise in the Bancho[u]."--"Of Kakunai and the strange horse this Saburo[u]zaémon has heard. And the other man?"--"One Isuké, a stout fellow, but in good fortune the twin brother of this rascal Rokuzo." Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon rose to his feet with an elasticity and snap denoting decision. His wife standing close by laid hand upon his arm. He turned to meet her frightened questioning look. He spoke reassuringly. "Don't be afraid. Such things so near the suzerain's honoured dwelling are not to be permitted. This Saburo[u]zaémon goes to learn the facts as to this suspicious house. The _samurai_ has no fear of apparitions; and less of thieves, as is likely to be the case. Let the rascals look to themselves if they would avoid the taste of Saburo[u]zaémon's sword. Kyu[u]saburo[u] is to see that the _Yashiki_ is well guarded. To-night O[u]kubo Hikoroku Dono holds the fire ward. The occasion fits." At once he was busied with his preparations for out door service. His wife, granddaughter of old Nagasaki Chiyari Kuro[u]--he of the "bloody spear"--was the _samurai_ woman, to aid her lord in his duty, not to hold him back with tears and plaints. The pair were admirable specimens of their caste. Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon's grand-father had been a retainer of that hard hitting Asai Nagamasa who had to bow the head before the sword of Hidéyoshi. The son Kiémon perforce had served the Taiko[u], and well. It was with more than readiness that he had appeared in the army of the Tokugawa at Sekigahara, to be killed in all loyalty before O[u]saka in Genwa 1st year (1618). Saburo[u]zaémon was then but five years old. But the early Tokugawa did not forget loyal service. When of age he was summoned to Edo from his native province of O[u]mi, given duty in the palace service, to become with years a _hatamato_ with income of four hundred _koku_ and a _yashiki_ in Ichigaya, just beyond the Gomon or great gate at the outer moat. In the present matter night must be awaited. When the bell of the Gekkeiji, the huge temple of the district, struck the watch of the pig (9-11 P.M.) Endo[u] prepared to set forth. "In case of necessity ask the aid of Hikoroku Dono, of Juro[u]zaémon."[4] This to his wife. "At least one attendant? Kyu[u]saburo[u] is old enough to know that these rascals never deal with more than one human." This to the old _kyu[u]nin_, who with anxiety watched him depart into the darkness. With a sigh the officer shut fast the outer gate. Then, sword over his knees, he squatted himself at the house entrance, to slumber and await his lord's return. As officer of the fire ward Saburo[u]zaémon met with little difficulty in passing the Ichigaya gate, beyond which lay the suspected district of the Bancho[u]. To the sharp hail and protest at his appearance without a lantern he sought the service of those of the guard. Surprise and abject apology followed the bringing of face and equipment into their light. As on urgent mission to the palace he explained the one and disregarded the other. For form he borrowed a lantern at the guard house, to leave it in a hedge close by, to hand for his return if in the darkness. Straight ahead he walked for some distance. Now he was in the very centre of the Bancho[u]. It was a most lonely place. The district had been set apart for the _yashiki_ of _hatamoto_ and the houses of _gokenin_ who showed no haste to apply for its ample space. Its highways and byways showed lines of bamboo fences, plaster walls, broken at intervals by gates. Between the far _yashiki_ there was much waste land. Suspicious were its precincts in these days when the haunting spirits and apparitions, attendant on once owners and their wars, were being driven out by the advent and aggression of the new lords from the South. Still fresh in men's minds was the wondrous _mami-ana_ of Azabu--the cave of the _tanuki_ (badger)--with the implied curse on the Tokugawa. The cohorts of apparitions, driven northward to the land of savages, had suffered severely at the hands of Ii Naomasa on the banks of the Ueno Toshima ferry. Thus the curse came down the centuries on the Tokugawa House. Once in the heart of the district Saburo[u]zaémon stood uncertain. All sense of locality was lost. The Bancho[u] by day and by night greatly differed. The wind sighed through the great pine trees and whispered in the long _suzuki_ grass. He thought to reach the neighbourhood of the Gomizaka. The noise and bustle of the Ko[u]jimachi would give direction. Just then a lantern came in sight at the turning in the lane. As it drew near it was seen that to all appearance the bearer was a _chu[u]gen_. Endo[u] drew back into the shadow. He would take a good look at him. He allowed the man to pass. Then from behind--"Heigh! Wait!" Instead of waiting the fellow took to his heels. Endo[u] pursued and soon caught him. In terror the fellow sank on his knees before the two sworded man. "Deign, honoured sir, to spare the cutting test. This Isuké is yet young. He loves life. Condescend not to cut short his breath." Saburo[u]zaémon was struck by the name fresh to his ears. Coldly he looked the man over; played on his terror--"Yet you are fat; just of the girth to give fair test to a new blade."--"Nay! Your lordship can deign to observe it. Isuké is stuffed out with a recent meal. It would be but a case of tripes. His bones are young and soft, his muscles wasted by mere feeding. It would be as cutting _to[u]fu_ (bean paste). Deign to spare him." Said Saburo[u]zaémon. "'Tis no cutting test. Thus passing carelessly at the side that fat paunch was an easy mark. Be more careful henceforth.... You live hereabouts?"--"Honoured Sir, 'tis so. Isuké is _chu[u]gen_ at the _yashiki_ of Okumura Sama."--"Ah! Then you know the haunted house (_bakémono yashiki_) of the Bancho[u]."--"Just beyond? Isuké knows it too well."--"Life spared, act as guide thither." The man's knees bent under him. He plead for forbearance. Plainly he must die. Only to this dreadful sentence and sight of Endo[u]'s sword did he yield. Reluctantly he went ahead of the _samurai_, as far as a gate the massiveness of which attracted attention. Saburo[u]zaémon looked it over, then carefully considered his guide. He held out a coin. The fellow respectfully drew back. Said Endo[u] with impatience--"As lord of this mansion the money of guidance is offered. Accept it without question. Here lies my purpose." This was but addition to obvious terror. With wabbling knees the fellow persisted in refusal. "Honoured lord, deign forbearance. Already has this Isuké accepted entertainment here, with fearful results; nearly quaffing the waters of the Yellow Fountain in Meido." Said Saburo[u]zaémon sourly--"What has the purpose to do with a low fellow's entertainment? Take the coin, and be off with you. Darkness acts as screen." The man did but whimper, "With purpose in hand: truly darkness the screen, upside down; the balsam an incense, the sticks to hand in the clay dishes. This? 'Twill turn out but the leaf of a tree, to bring sorrow on Isuké. Your lordship has said it."--"It is good coin," replied Endo[u] briefly. Then with some curiosity--"But what has a tree leaf to do with purpose?"--"Pine leaves denote purpose, and are so named."[5]--"A clever fellow after all! No wonder he escaped.... But be off with you. The coin shall ring true with daylight. So much is promised on the word of a _samurai_. Fear the living man, not the inanimate object; and say nothing of meeting the donor. Otherwise Isuké ends badly. Now--off with you!" The voice was very human, the peremptory gesture surely that of a two sworded man. The _chu[u]gen_ took confidence in the fact that he could not help himself. Whatever doubts he possessed, these he kept with the coin in his bosom. With scant thanks cut short by fear he obeyed the order to depart into the shades. Gathering impetus with distance he fairly took to his heels. Saburo[u]zaémon waited for the lantern to disappear. Then he turned to inspect the gate. There was no entrance through its solidity. It was a _yashiki mon_, almost house, with two posterns. He must get a look within. A long high plaster wall ran on both sides into the distance. The moonlight, flooding the scene, showed him a breach opened by long neglect. Once within he felt convinced that he was on the scene of Rokuzo's experience. But the pine grove was anything but swept clean. Branches torn off by storm and wind, fallen trees, lay scattered everywhere. It was a very winding course which took him to the eaves of the building some distance off. Plainly the once occupant had been a person of position, perhaps a minor _daimyo[u]_. At the corner of the structure he found himself in the garden more particularly attached to the house. An exclamation of regret at sight of such desolation came to the lips of Saburo[u]zaémon. A master hand had laid out this beautiful piece of work; but trees and plants, no longer trained and trimmed by man's hand, had run wild. In the centre was a wide well curb rising some three feet from the ground. A single stone step allowed easier access for those drawing water. The well-sweep had rotted off and lay upon the ground. There was no bucket. Saburo[u]zaémon leaned over. From the still surface of the water came an indefinable putrescent odour, perhaps from the decaying plants, or refuse blown into the depths. He drew away, disgusted and convinced. Carefully he made the round of this pleasaunce. At the bottom of the garden near the confines of the well, was an artificial mound--a _tsukiyama_ or moon viewing hill. Before this was a little lake, for fish and lotus, of perhaps a couple of hundred feet in length by narrow width. In places he could jump across it; and elsewhere stepping stones offered passage. An Inari shrine in a plum grove offered no particular interest, beyond recent inclosure showing a neighbour's hand. There was swampy ground for the _shobu_ or iris and beds of peony plants. In front of the line of towering pines was a row of Yoshino cherry trees, all broken and neglected. The one time owner had loved flowers. Endo[u] turned to the house. The moon was pouring full on the closed _amado_ (rain doors), its cold silver globe lighting up the scene. "Solitary is the moon of winter glorious that of autumn." This was the tranquil moon of summer, pacifying yet saddening men's hearts, as does all moonlight. It was plain there was no entrance on this side of the house, unless unseemly force was used. This was unnecessary. Endo[u] noticed the lattice work of the bath-room. A few strokes of his dagger, and the frame was lifted out. Then it was easy to draw back the heavy wooden panels and allow the moonlight to flood these exposed chambers. Carefully he scanned his immediate surroundings. The paper of the _sho[u]ji_ was torn and eaten by the rats. In places the frayed _tatami_ (mats) bent under his feet, evidence of decay of the supporting floor. There was the mouldy damp smell common to places long closed to the freedom of the outer air. It sent a chill to the bone; which Endo[u] noted with surprise as he turned to the dark inner rooms. He must have some kind of light. Almost the first step into the semi-obscurity offered the means to hand. Stumbling over an object at his feet he picked up a staff. On examination it proved to be one of those _kongo_ canes, the support to feet and belly of the devout in their long pilgrimages, sign manual of the pious intent of the bearer. He had taken a candle from his pocket, and, with small respect to the "six worlds" of its rings, used the spiked end to improvise a torch. Then an unexpected voice caught his ear; a sad, wailing cry which chilled the heart. Then followed low, rapid, disorderly speech, the meaning of which rendered indistinct by distance could not be made out. Then came the unearthly startling shriek which rang through the whole mansion. Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon now had his torch fastened and blazing. Loosing his sword in the scabbard promptly he set forth into the darkness beyond. The candle cast a feeble light, making the darkness still more apparent. However, he could see the splendour of these once inhabited rooms. Screens worked in silk were dirty and frayed, but they were by master hands, and still showed the outlines of beautiful designing. The _rama-sho[u]ji_--the fret work between the rooms--was broken in places, yet it displayed the erratic course of Nature's handiwork, the most bizarre and effective of all. And always just before him went the shuffling drag of sandals--as of some one on the _ro[u]ka_, further on, at the room beyond. He sprang forward in haste, to fling back the closed screens, but still the object eluded him; always there, yet never seen. Thus it led him from room to room--reception rooms, sitting rooms, the women's apartments; all gorgeous, all unfurnished, not a single object of the value to tempt stray visitor or intentional thief. Even the kitchen was stripped bare of equipment. Not even the stones to support the furnace had been left. Thieves, or others, had long since accounted for all movables. Dumbfounded Saburo[u]zaémon stood at the foot of the stairway. Patter, patter the footsteps had led him to this point. The width was coated thickly with dust, swept by breezes from without, and from the disintegrating plaster (_kabé_) walls. The webs of spiders were woven across it; across the aperture. Yet--again came the wild sounds of riot above. This time the voices were distinct and close at hand. A woman was struggling, pleading under torture. "Alas! Alas! Deign to show pity. What has been the offence, thus to inflict punishment. Condescend the honoured pity. Ah! Pardon there is none. The child is consigned from the darkness of the womb to the darkness of death. Alas! Most harsh and unkind! How avoid the eternal grudge? Unending the hate of...." The voice, like to the sharp rending of silk, ended in the fearful shriek, chilling, heart rending, paralysing even the stout heart of Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon. "Ki-i-i!" There followed the ineffectual gurgling wailing cries of one struggling for breath. Drawn sword in hand Saburo[u]zaémon sprang up the stairway. Nothing! The _amado_ thrown back in haste light enough was given to show the emptiness of the room. Still the voice was heard. He passed beyond. As before--nothing; except the voice, now plain, as at his very side. Saburo[u]zaémon was now assured of some witchery. "This is Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon Takékiyo, _hatamoto_ of the land. Whoever, or whatever, be present, assume the proper shape. Fox or _tanuki_ (badger), strip off all disguise; stand to the test of Saburo[u]zaémon's blade." But the sad wailing voice made answer--"Unkind the words of Endo[u] Sama. This is no trick of fox or badger. Meeting an untimely end, the Spirit now wanders as an unworshipped demon; as one deprived of all honour in the grave. Brave has been the deed of Endo[u] Dono. Others have come; to depart in fright. He alone stays to challenge. For so much, thanks. Deign worship to my spirit, the security of rest from its wanderings." Saburo[u]zaémon in amazement looked around. The voice was clearly heard, and close to him; yet naught was to be seen. "Whoever you be, if wronged the sword of Saburo[u]zaémon is here to avenge the wrong. If in life, the perpetrator shall pay the penalty of the misdeed; yourself shall secure worship. Such is the office of a _bushi_--to aid the helpless. But cannot the shape be seen? Why this concealment from the eyes of Saburo[u]zaémon?" And the voice made answer--"Has Endo[u] Sama no eyes? Concentrate the thoughts. Here! Here!" Carefully and long Saburo[u]zaémon scrutinized every spot. Following the voice he sought to get nearer and nearer. Thus he was brought right before the _tokonoma_ (alcove). For a moment he shielded his eyes with his hands, then boldly removed the screen and faced the spectre in the plaster. At first faint, then more strongly outlined was the vision of a young girl. At one time the face perhaps had had great beauty. Now there was a weird expression of life amid the wasting and decay of death. The living eyes gleamed a deadly hate and distress which showed the torment of the spirit. Framed in the wild disordered masses of long black hair the face of the apparition sought to plunge its own unhappiness into the soul of its visitor. It was a strange vision; one to rouse the desire for the beautiful woman in man's heart, the wish to shield; together with repulsion toward the most evil passions of a malice which inspires fear. Long and steadily the man gazed; the woman answered the challenge. Then again Endo[u] was the _samurai_. "On with the tale. To the wronged Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon gives right and worship. A _samurai_, he has passed his word, not to be broken." He would have taken seat before the alcove. Said the voice--"Honoured Sir, the tale is long. On the _ro[u]ka_ without is a stool. The _tatami_ are dangerous with the wet. Later deign the honoured hearing." With surprise Endo[u] followed these household directions. At the room close by he found the object indicated. Here met his eye a sign unmistakeable. In the very centre of the _tatami_ was a huge red-brownish stain; by the verandah a second stain; at the further entrance a third of kindred character. Plainly the tale he would hear was of no peaceful exit from life. To the tragedy of death had been added violence. Thus fortified he returned, to take his seat before the vision in the alcove; steadily, with the harsh official manner of his caste, to meet the evil, strangely seductive, malice of its look and suggestion. Then it spoke: CHAPTER III NAKAKAWACHI SHU[U]ZEN Honoured sir, long past the source of this offence. It was the fourteenth year of Kwanei (1637). As now, the summer heat was stifling. To seek relief this Shimo had left the house, to stroll the neighbourhood close by. Thus idly engaged, listening to the song of the _suzumushi_, watching the fireflies flitting over the tops of the _suzuki_ grass, and bending to cull a few lilies to arrange in the _hanaike_, the presence of a stranger was felt. Ah! He was indeed a handsome man. Not too young to seem a callow youth to the eyes of Shimo's sixteen years; not too old to look on her merely as one of different sex. Indeed he was not yet thirty years, a soldier, carrying his two swords and his person most nobly. At very sight of him Shimo was carried into the gust of the love passion. Her cheeks were "dashed with the maple leaf, her heart swelled as the noon-tide." Her confusion did not escape the notice of one already surprised at sight of a girl so young strolling alone on the byways of the Bancho[u]. At once he spoke, with the confidence of one who has the right to question--"And who may this little beauty be, unaccompanied, with night so close at hand? The Bancho[u] is said to be no safe place with coming of darkness. If on some mission and belated, this Shu[u]zen will protect from harm. Or perhaps, though young in years, this is some new wife. Or is it a lover who is in question?" He spoke with kindness and authority, coming very close to get his answer, his eyes fastened on my person, to the greater increase of embarrassment. Vain was the attempt to throw some indignation into the reply. Lover there was none. Of but sixteen years, Shimo was in the hands of father and mother. To admit a lover would be unfilial.... The father? Kawasaki Cho[u]bei, attached to the palace stables. Humble was his rank in the minor office he held; but a one time _ashigaru_ (common soldier) his service had entitled him to the position and the suzerain's stipend of twenty _koku_. Hence he was of some consequence among his neighbours. At this information, given with some heat, the _samurai_ smiled and praised my father's service. He did more than praise; on this night, and other nights. Frequent were the meetings. Yet never did this Shimo pass the bounds of propriety. Carried away by the gust of passion, incited by the lover's presence and solicitation, yet Shimo's filial duty kept her person pure. A night came when he failed at the rendezvous. So with the next, and following nights. He had laughed at parting, and said that where was the will, there a means would be found. Plainly the will was lacking, and he was too proud and too highly placed even to endure the presence of Shimo at his side. With these thoughts, and overcome by love and vexation, I sickened. Great was the anxiety of the parents. Doctors were called in; the priest's charms were sought. They were of no avail. It was the advice of the wise old Saito[u] Sensei to leave me to myself and time. "It is her years," said he. "Time will effect the cure; unless she herself sooner indicates the means." Laughing he departed, as one convinced that the cure was a simple one. Long had the determination been held to tell all to the mother; always put off at sight of the kindly anxious face. With such a lover she would have felt alarmed and helpless. Time brought the cure. The summer heats were nearly past; the eighth month (September) close at hand. One day came a _chu[u]gen_ to the house, bearing a message. At once all was in confusion. Nakakawachi Dono was a _fudai daimyo[u]_ of twelve thousand _koku_ income. He was a new-comer in the district, and known to be held in high favour at the palace. A goodly portion of the site of the former Yoshida Goten in Bancho[u] Ko[u]jimachi had recently been assigned to him. With the removal of the Takata no Kata[6] to quarters closer to the castle the greater portion of the palace had been removed to build the prior's hall of the Iinuma Kugyo[u]ji. The villa part (_besso[u]_) of the structure had been left intact, and with much of the park and garden had been secured by favour to Nakakawachi Sama. For such a great lord in his passage to condescend to rest at the humble house of a mere _go-kenin_ caused much disturbance. The limited household staff was put energetically to work at cleaning and making all preparations for the honoured visit. Treading with cat's paw my parents went from room to room, to see that all was befitting. The articles of greatest value were set forth for his lordship's view. An instinct set dancing my barely restored nerves. Why did this great lord, so near home in his progress--his fief was in Ko[u]shu[u]--deign thus to rest? What command would he urge? His name was Nakakawachi Shu[u]zen. The _samurai_ lover of the Bancho[u] spoke of himself as Shu[u]zen. Thus was the watching and waiting, in a flutter of trepidation and newly aroused passion. Then he came. My parents prostrated themselves on the ground in his presence. "With your permission--" Haughty he swept on, to be ushered to the inner rooms. Even the officer in charge remained at a distance. Prostrate at the sill my father gave thanks for the honour of this unexpected presence, for his lordship's deigning to halt the palanquin. On command Shimo served the tea, not daring to raise face from the _tatami_ under the satisfied scrutiny of this honoured guest, exercising all her self control, which yet did not prevent a trembling of the fingers in presenting the salver with the cup. In due course, on withdrawal of the service, he noted the one who served, and indicated his wishes. He was a new-comer in the district. He would have his service therefrom, at the hands of those close by. No girl was better spoken of than the daughter of Cho[u]bei San. He would ask that Shimo be sent to the _yashiki_ to attend as _koshimoto_ (maid in waiting) to her ladyship. His short stay in this house he regarded as most fortunate. He spoke through his chamberlain, now present; but followed the officer's words with close attention. My father was overwhelmed by the honour. Profuse and earnest were his astonished thanks. Shimo was the only child of people now entering into the coldness of age. This was of small moment. But there had been no opportunity to give her the training required for such service. Beyond an awkward touch on _samisen_, mainly due to her own practice, she was a moor girl, a very rustic. She could keep house--yes; like a wardsman's daughter. Polite accomplishments she lacked. Deign in this instance his lordship's honoured forbearance. The girl was too young and awkward for such service. Polite was the withdrawal; without knowledge of his lordship's disposition and previous acquaintance. Shu[u]zen Dono was not so easily balked. All the objections were brushed aside. Youth was everything in my favour. His eyes twinkled with inward amusement as he spoke. All the easier came the practice which everyone must go through. If Shimo was incurably awkward she would not be dismembered, but dismissed. Great would be the forbearance. That she had everything to learn pleased him all the more. She would be the more readily moulded to his service. At the _yashiki_ youth was an object, and not the experience of long time service which had left the adept far too experienced. Such women had their lord's service little at heart. Shimo had youth and beauty. These were a girl's treasures and accomplishments. He had never seen one better fitted for entrance on such service. All this the chamberlain conveyed with an authority which put aside opposition. The lord's will was spoken. First the mother gave thanks for the honour condescended to one so insignificant. She claimed the promised forbearance of his lordship to any faults. My father followed her example, and gave his thanks. Such entertainment as the humble house afforded was now produced. After partaking his lordship departed in state. The neighbours had been agape at the great lord's train stationed at the gate. For them and for the curious and discreet questioning, the congratulations at such promotion in the world, this Shimo cared little. His lordship's will had prevailed. Henceforth Shimo would live close to his side. I had fled to the little working room, as one taking refuge amid the constant household sewing. But needle could not be seen through the veil of tears. "What joy! What joy!" Thoughtless the words were spoken out loud. The mother's hand was laid on my shoulder. The look was kind, yet with some reproach at this unfilial rejoicing. Apology was made. To her doubts eager was the answer. "How else succeed in life? Service at the _yashiki_, its life always under eye, its etiquette, even its dangers--this experience alone can teach how to meet its requirements; and so close at hand, near to home and parents. Others had succeeded in such promotion. Why not Shimo, thus offered the chance to rise from the status of a wardsman's daughter, or not much more, to become an attendant in a lord's _yashiki_?" Sadly my mother smiled. Grave would be her anxieties concerning one so inexperienced. "The child thinks but of self and pleasure. The mother thinks but of the child, and sees the dangers." This in lower tones--"If Shimo becomes the favourite of her lord, how is such inexperience to meet the evil passions roused in those around her? Always place her ladyship first. Resist the solicitation of Shu[u]zen Dono; unless the _okusama_ chooses to favour what would be but a transient passion. Keep this well in mind.... And now--to the preparation of what is needed." She had detected the motive of his lordship's summons, thought him captivated by a pretty face and figure come across by accident. Thus she understood the inner feeling of this Shimo. With the words of advice she turned to the subject of my needs. Willingly this was left to her skilled hands; and the advice received as little attention. To speak of resistance to his lordship, to one who hungered for his presence, was but to set the brain devising all the means to secure his favour. Thus outwardly busied with needle and garments, the self was existing as in a dream. The preparations in any event could not be elaborate. Shu[u]zen Dono was urgent. A lucky day was chosen, and with my modest equipment I entered on the service of the _yashiki_ of Nakakawachi Sama. Introduction to the immediate presence of her ladyship, O'Hagi was anything but pleasing. Seated with her were two maids, O'Tsugi and O'Han. The first named was a buxom masculine woman of nearly thirty years. The girl O'Han was a recent promotion from the scullery; and, as was learned later, she owed the favour to the goodwill of the chamberlain (_yo[u]nin_) Nishioka Shintaro[u], a cold, smooth spoken, evil eyed man, mainly notable for the uncompromising readiness with which he carried out the wishes of her ladyship. Over them all, of greatest influence with O'Hagi Dono, was an old woman, O'Saku. She had accompanied her ladyship from the original House, was utterly unscrupulous in her service, and her sharp voice, like that of a file scratching glass, sent shivers down the spine as I prostrated myself before the group. Cold was the reception. "A likely wench! Plainly his lordship's choice, without reference to your ladyship. But time will show.... Meanwhile no service as yet is assigned. With this girl his lordship's orders are first to be heard. O'Han, show the new comer to the quarters of the _koshimoto_, that she stand in no necessity or likelihood of forgetting where they are. For to-day there is remission of service." Thus spoke the harsh voice of O'Saku, passing over my head. The cold, knife like glances of all were like steel plunged into my body. With obeisance I withdrew, to follow O'Han, who gave no greater welcome and was no kinder than the rest. Almost at once she left me, and several days were passed in solitude awaiting a summons. This came one evening. With evil dubious smile O'Han presented herself. "His lordship summons O'Shimo Dono to his service this night. You are to attend. Deign not to forget the good services of this Han." She laughed, with a bitter suggestiveness. What would anyone have done, thus treated at start as evil doer, as intruder? With joy his lordship's command was heard. The whole person of Shimo showed a well restrained love and joy. He was pleased at the effect wrought on me by his presence. Small the experience, beyond what love's attention could afford. The night's banquet was plainly not the dullest of its kind. At its close O'Shimo had command to accompany him. With morning I was a woman. In the period which followed every night came the summons to attend my lord. Foolish and inexperienced, in this whirlwind of passion Shimo was but a leaf driven by the storm. The assignment to duty in the _yashiki_ never came. There was the daily report for duty at her ladyship's rising, the cold and curt reception, the quick dismissal. O'Hagi Dono was past her thirtieth year. Of the great Doi House, she brought to her husband a dower of influence and prestige. Older than her husband the love passion had never taken root. An ugly woman, there was small chance for other good qualities to secure a fictitious esteem with a man so easily captivated by beauty as Shu[u]zen Sama. Furthermore her ladyship did not possess such amiable traits. She was a proud, hard, jealous woman; with the natural graft of a bad temper. Soon abandoned to a lonely bed she was no longer treated as a wife. Though the marriage had endured some five years there was no child, and little prospect of one. On occasions of ceremony the _okugata_ presided at his lordship's wine feasts, attended by her band of furies. With the exception of O'Han, who possessed the freshness of youth, none of them had any pretence to good looks. Outwardly all due respect was paid to his lordship, but the private apartments (_oku_) were in league against him. For weeks the contact was through the _yo[u]nin_, Nishioka Shintaro[u], who acted as messenger of his lord's commands, and conveyed to his lordship any intimation of the wishes of her ladyship. Hence Shu[u]zen Sama knew and cared little as to what passed in the inner apartments of his wife. She knew everything which passed in those of his lordship. This tacit divorce appeared welcome to both. The object of his lordship's passion, in a household in which one side or the other of the existing feud must be taken, the position of this Shimo was quickly determined. Not by her, for short experience of her ladyship inspired a terror which would even have counselled cooler treatment from his lordship in one more experienced. The other girls were all honey, to disguise the bitterness of gall. There was not one of them who would not gladly have obeyed her lord's call to Shimo's place. Hence to partisanship was added jealousy. At the daily tasks there was but one topic of conversation--O'Shimo's favour with her lord. The charms she used were evident enough, for Nature had been lavish with the kind to meet his lordship's wishes. How was it their own parents had spawned such incapacity? "Deign, O'Shimo Dono, to teach the art so sadly lacking. How bring to prominence such meagre gifts of proportion as one does possess? In turn shall be taught the art of the _hanaike_--the arrangement of flowers, of the _koto_ and the _biwa_ in accompaniment of old songs of heroes and their ladies, the ceremonial grace so necessary in attendance, the conduct of a lady. From a wardsman's daughter little is expected, beyond good looks. Alas! O'Shimo Dono is the _yamabuki_, the yellow rose, beautiful in its out of season bloom (April), but only too likely to be nipped by the frost. Deign to enlighten, O'Shimo Dono. Beauty soon wanes, and pregnancy kills good looks as completely as the chill wind does the flowers." Then they all broke into mad laughter; and whispered to each other. Their suspicions were correct. The constant companionship of his lordship had the natural effect. When told great was his pleasure. If a boy, the child should be acknowledged as heir of the House. If a girl, it should be the solace of his years. So great was his joy and pride that he spoke to the retainers as if it was the _okugata_ herself who was at issue. Thus the news must have reached her ladyship's ears with the first telling, for Nishioka usually was present at his lord's repast. He was the black cloud hanging over all. A tall, gaunt, suave, determined man of nearly forty years, the smile he cast upon this Shimo chilled her. Always courteous in his lordship's presence, elsewhere his courtesy conveyed a threat and insult which made me as the bird before the snake. I feared the man; and feared him all the more when one day, with small disguise of malice, he told me that his lordship had departed in all haste for the fief in Ko[u]shu[u], not to return for some weeks. Considering the state of affairs, this should inconvenience me but little. This open reference to the pregnancy was a first alarm. It showed how well known it was to the whole household. Indeed concealment now was impossible. The fifth month had been entered upon; the supporting band had become a necessity. But the climax was at hand. That very day--toward noon--the summons came through the girl O'Han. With sinking heart I took my way to her ladyship's sitting room. What was going to take place. Passing the _chu[u]gen_ Jisuké on the _ro[u]ka_ he called to someone in the garden--"His lordship's absence gives the chance to clean out the house." Covertly glancing below--there was no one. Was it in malice, or as warning? Probably the latter. Jisuké always had been active in little services; often the chosen messenger of my lord. His look in passing conveyed no insolence; rather kind intention. It took away the exhibition of surprise at my reception. Her ladyship was seated at the upper end of the room. The maids O'Tsugi and O'Han stood close by. Nishioka Shintaro[u] was just behind her ladyship. The old hag O'Saku was seated at the front. She motioned me to make salutation. The _okugata_ spoke harshly, with contempt and dislike of the one thus brought before her at the white sand of judicial process. "The affair at issue is a simple one. Shimo is to answer the questions--without tergiversation or lying. To Saku is left the matter of the examination." The old woman bowed with respect and smiling gratitude at the pleasing task. The smile conveyed to her ladyship promise of satisfaction, even amusement, in the torture of a forced confession from this child who would play the woman. Turning to me her face, with cheeks fallen in, long sharp nose, hard bright glittering eyes of a bird of prey, the snowy hair piled high around the temples, it was that of one keenly searching out the tenderest spot into which to drive the knife. Her first words were all flattery. "Much has been heard, and little seen, of O'Shimo Dono since her entrance into the _yashiki_. What has been heard is all to her advantage. Her devotion to the service of his lordship has been carried to the utmost--even, some say, to extremes. Of that there can be no criticism. His lordship's wishes are paramount. The action of O'Shimo Dono contains nothing but merit. It is for the malice of others to say that O'Shimo has sought and stolen the fruit belonging to her ladyship; that her cat's eyes have been quick to fasten upon the place of the mistress of the house; that it is she who would furnish forth an heir to his lordship. Such is not to be believed. But the truth is to be told. An heir to his lordship is a matter for her ladyship. No child has fallen to her lot. If O'Shimo Dono be the first to give birth to a child in the _yashiki_, it must be between the knees of her ladyship. Deign then to make full confession.... Ah! There is no need to beg for mercy and reprieve from the examination. Saku is old. Her ladyship is a married woman. Both possess experience. On refusal personal examination is to be made. O'Tsugi, O'Han, are to aid." The two women had come forward and passed behind me. Seized and thrown down the clenched fist of O'Tsugi was roughly pressed into my abdomen. In fright and pain, in dread for the unborn child, I cried out. Then the violent old woman dragged out the confession of all that had passed with his lordship. Minute and shameful the details to be told in the presence of a man. But Shimo was an animal with powers of speech, and must tell all. With the confession the old woman's smoothness departed. "Vile slut! A townsman's brat, sprung from the stable dung, you would play the adulteress, take her ladyship's place, and supplant her with an heir got by some stranger's seed.... She is gone to the sixth month? High time for interference. She shall be kept here, until the separation of persons takes place. No wonder his lordship abandoned the shameless hussy--for some fresh country wench in Ko[u]shu[u]. For such loose jades to please the taste of the Tono Sama causes surprise. But off with her, to the room for confinement. There she is to lie, until her affair is settled." At a sign O'Tsugi and O'Han seized hold of me. Clothes torn and in disorder, the person vilely exposed, roughly I was dragged over to this barred and retired apartment. Always I made effort to preserve my body and its fruit from their harsh violence. O'Tsugi roared with laughter at the feeble resistance. The woman was strong as a horse. To O'Han--"Look at her big belly. Ah! Her ladyship is none too wise. Let the matter but be left to Tsugi, and the midwife soon would be needed." She raised a massive leg with suggestive gesture. In some fright O'Han stopped her, on plea of no such orders. The girl was young, of full figure and not without attraction. Perhaps she harboured hopes, and would not in a rival's person set precedent for her own. O'Tsugi spun me around, as a child would a top with the cord. Then suddenly she released me. With a crash my body fell against the wall. Sick and faint I tried to rise, and failed. They watched me for a time as I grovelled and retched in sickness. Then the bar fell on the outer passage and my imprisonment. The day light waned. The sound of the birds going to roost came to the ears. It was now spring, the gladsome period of the year. The cooing and chirping brought no charm to the prisoner's ear. These birds were as the birds of Shidéyama (in Hell). Mournful the dirge they sang. Filled with foreboding, with dread for self and the passing from the darkness of the womb to the darkness of death for the unborn child, faintness of heart was made worse by the faintness of hunger. I sank into a kind of slumber, more racking than the working hours. Then the harsh cries of the crows aroused me. Daylight was again streaming through the window bars. At a corner of the sill was a jar. The water in it was stale and foul smelling. None other was to hand. A _mimitarai_ (hand basin) was found in the closet. Thus was the nauseating ablution performed. Near mid-day, when ready to cry out with hunger, for sake of child not self, the door opened. It was O'Han who brought me food. One strip of _takuan_, the bitter pickled radish; for drink, ice cold water. Such was the meal. At night some pickled greens replaced the radish. On my knees I plead with O'Han, besought her mercy for the unborn child. She laughed at my misery. "Good living on forbidden fruits has made O'Shimo Dono fat. Her big belly is perchance to be reduced by diet. Such are the orders of the _okugata_. Han can do nothing; and would do nothing if she could. What a fool! Cannot one please his lordship, all night and every night, without promise of an heir to the House? Condescend the vacancy and leave such matter to this Han...." Perhaps she felt that she had said too much. Abruptly she turned and left the room. I was not long alone. At least it seemed not so, for the light slumbers were disturbed by the pangs of hunger. Then came a hand fingering the outside bar. It was done stealthily. In aid or menace? A deadly fear came over me. With wild staring eyes, loosened hair framing an anguished and distorted figure I faced the object without, seeking its entrance. The terror was not relieved by the appearance of the chamberlain, Nishioka Shintaro[u]. His face was set and drawn, as of a man who has a problem to work out, as of one who would carry out the purpose with certainty and expedition. He closed the door, set the lamp carefully on the floor in a distant corner. Not a word was spoken. Eyes bright with terror I watched his movements. He carried something in one hand. Shaken loose it was allowed to trail behind him. His preparations made he came toward me with decision. Retreating before his advance the wall was reached. By this time he was on me. Then I saw what it was he held; a slender rope, its dreadful meaning plain. I screamed in terror. Roughly he silenced me, one hand on open mouth. In stifled tones I plead for mercy. Then failing sign of respite, by desperate effort my struggles called for all his strength. My screams resounded loud in the room. "Aré! Aré! Murder! Deep the grudge, to seven lives! Nishioka San! The grudge of one dying against Nishioka! Against man and woman who would cut off the life of Shimo and her child. Ah! Her ladyship! The grudge!" The cord had tightened round my throat. The ends were in the strong hands of Nishioka Shintaro[u]. I mocked and stuck out my tongue at him. I know I did so, as the breath came with greater and greater difficulty. His face, that of a demon, grew to huge proportions, bright scarlet. Now heart and lungs were bursting with fullness. Dreadful the agony, dreadful the grudge for this ill deed. Thus I died. Then followed the ruin of the House of Nakakawachi Shu[u]zen. CHAPTER IV THE O'KAGÉ SAMA On the following night all were gathered in the apartments of her ladyship. O'Tsugi was engaged in putting back the _koto_ (harp) into its cover. O'Hagi Dono touched the instrument with no mean skill, and on this night had deigned to please herself and those who heard her. O'Han was engaged in heating the _saké_ bottles. Rarely did her ladyship retire without this indulgence. The old woman, O'Saku, aimlessly moved about the room. She seemed to be awaiting some news. A sound of steps in the corridor, and with pleased countenance she made sign to her ladyship. A moment later and Nishioka Shintaro[u] entered the room. There was not a trace of difference from the ordinary in his composed harsh reverential manner to her ladyship. The latter gave a look at O'Saku. The old women asked the momentous question. "The matter in hand--has all gone well? The wench no longer troubles the peace and future of the _okugata_?"--"Everything to perfection: the _chu[u]gen_ and servants were given tasks to take them far removed. There was barely a struggle. By the hands of this Shintaro[u] the affair was soon carried to completion." With complacence he displayed two lean strong hands, regarded with fondness and admiration by her ladyship. They could bestow a more tender embrace than that suffered by the unfortunate _koshimoto_. "And later; the traces of the deed, these are to be removed?"--"There are none. The time was waited until the body grew cold. It was safe to do so. The weather is yet raw, the room one seldom entered, and the bar key in the hands of Shintaro[u]. But just now the task of dismemberment and disposal has been completed. On pretext of repairs to the _ashigaru_ quarters much plaster was obtained. With this the severed fragments of the hussy and her foetus were mingled, and thus concealed in the wall of the _tokonoma_. The whole new surfaced no trace of the deed appears; nor is there fear of stench from the corpse. Her ladyship can be assured that all is well. O'Shimo no longer will give trouble with her pretensions to his lordship's fondness. In a few days Shintaro[u] will notify the father that the girl has run off with some lover. A worthless jade, thus dismissed the _yashiki_, he will be too ashamed to make inquiry here; and his searches elsewhere are not likely to bear fruit.... How strange!" He brushed away a firefly which had flown into his face. With surprise those present watched the bug flitting here and there in the darkness of the corners and the open corridor. It was barely the middle of the third month (April), and no season for the appearance of those insects of the hottest period of the year. Failing to catch it, O'Tsugi drove it into the outer darkness. Then closed the screens. More lights were brought. Her ladyship would take wine, and talk of nothing but the joy and relief. "For life this deed shall not be forgotten. Always in the ready courage and resource of Nishioka has support been found; many awkward corners turned. If he finds favour with his lord, still greater the regard of this Hagi. A cup--Shintaro[u]!" Herself she offered it, leaning fondly toward him. Her hand trembled in her passion as he took it, with purposed glance and pressure. Always formal in outward seeming, the intimate relations of the pair for past months were more than understood by these immediate attendants and abettors. Nishioka Shintaro[u] long had been the honoured substitute of his lord--the shadow, the O'Kagé Sama, of Nakakawachi Dono. In this case the shadow was the substance. This ugly virile woman was boiling over with passion. In the old O'Saku she had a bawd to her service. She had entered this House as friend or enemy, according as the event would turn out. Neglected by Shu[u]zen, unable to rule him by will or personal attraction, she sought to do so by substitution, to the satisfaction of both. Hence she made Nishioka Shintaro[u] her lover. He was nephew of O'Saku and foster brother of O'Hagi. Once introduced into the house he easily made his way into the confidence of Shu[u]zen Dono, by taking all cares off his shoulders, beyond those of ceremonial attendance and pleasure. The minutest details of everything were looked to by Nishioka. This pleased Shu[u]zen, who placed confidence in the readiness and proved resourcefulness of the man. Nishioka was an infallible guide in all minutiae of the palace service and intrigue; his knowledge gained by a long experience in attendance on the great Doi House. Here he had risen from _chu[u]gen_ to _kyu[u]nin_ (house officer). When he came to the _yashiki_ of Shu[u]zen he soon replaced the _karo[u]_ (minister) of the fief in his lord's intimacy, and the latter official found honourable banishment in continued occupation and residence at the fief in Ko[u]shu[u], where Shu[u]zen played the rôle of a castle lord (_jo[u]shu[u]_), a _fudai daimyo[u]_, a subordinate and spy on his greater neighbours. The new comer was source of congratulation to her ladyship. As O'Saku--and perhaps O'Hagi Dono intended, revenge was sought on Shu[u]zen by promptly throwing the mistress into the arms of Nishioka. Behind the impenetrable shield of the inner apartments--a place that Shu[u]zen only sought to avoid--they could live as husband and wife. Other arrangement now was met by the cold reception meted out to her lord by the lady of the House. Any compunction Shu[u]zen might feel as to what he thought to be the enforced sterility of O'Hagi thus was salved. Merry almost to madness was the progress of the wine feast. Her ladyship went beyond the bonds even of a decent veil of sobriety. Her loving attitude to Nishioka found more open expression than usual in the presence of the others. Her abandonment was undisguised. All rejoiced with her; congratulated the strong man on his ready energy. Only the girl O'Han showed some lack of spirit, which she attributed to headache. In kindness her ladyship forbade further concern with the service of the wine, with the aggravation of its fumes; but she had too little consideration for those about her to relieve the suffering girl from attendance. Then the hour came to retire. According to the decent formula in practice, Nishioka, notified of the fact, rose to take his leave--to the next chamber. Here the O'Kagé Sama did his disrobing. The girl O'Tsugi was the first to leave her ladyship, on some mission. She came behind Shintaro[u], to administer a rousing slap between the shoulders which brought him almost to his knees. Grumbling and gasping he turned to meet her admiring looks. "A fine figure of a man! And one to act as well as pose. For us his lordship has but pretty words. O'Shimo alone profited otherwise. But the O'Kagé Sama of his lordship is of another kind. Deign to favour this Tsugi from time to time." Shintaro[u] volunteered a grimace which could pass for a consenting smile. His shoulders burned under the heat of the lady's passion. In search for a reply the screens again parted, and O'Saku made her appearance. O'Tsugi at once took to flight, somewhat in derision. The old woman followed her with eyes of suspicion. Then she marched straight up to Nishioka--"An impudent jade! Shintaro[u] is to place no confidence in her or her words. She brings nothing but shame, and perhaps worse. There is not a serving man in the _yashiki_ who does not know her. And remember this well. It is this Saku who holds the string of her ladyship's favour. O'Hagi Dono is not so far enamoured as not to accept a substitute at Saku's hands.... But he is a fine figure of a man! Too fine to be spoiled by his lordship's hand." To avoid the threatening lascivious gleam in the eyes of this withered branch Nishioka made pretence of trouble with a knot in his girdle. The whispered invitation grazed a negligent ear, to be interrupted by the sound of her ladyship's voice. O'Saku was in no haste to leave or to say more. O'Han was the last to appear. There were anger and tears in her eyes as the girl stopped a few feet from him. She spoke half turned away, as ready to take flight at expected interruption. "Nishioka Dono keeps faith with her ladyship! Does he keep faith with Han? Earnest was the promise that at all events Han should share his favour with O'Hagi Dono. Nearly a month has passed since he has deigned a visit. Surely her ladyship is not so exacting. Give fair answer. Is will or power lacking?" She waited the reply, eyes cast down on the _tatami_, for she at least had some remains of modesty. Thus the almost despairing gesture of Shintaro[u] escaped her. He spoke in low voice, with emphasis, to this fairest of his bevy of fair ones--"As for the _okugata_, O'Han knows her almost as well as this Shintaro[u]. What would be the fate of both if their treachery were suspected? Deign to be patient. The fountain of plenty has not run dry. Shintaro[u] would go but so far. In this horde of women he must look to himself. The dependence now is on her ladyship and O'Saku Dono. Shu[u]zen Sama is cajoled by having thought for nothing. The _karo[u]_ now is very old. This Shintaro[u] surely will take his place. A break then with her ladyship finds punishment in exile to Ko[u]shu[u]. Then comes the time for O'Han openly to join Shintaro[u], for the happy bond of two lives." The girl's lips barely moved. Both were startled at peremptory call from the neighbouring room. She spoke rapidly--"'Tis small matter, even with her ladyship. But from time to time a visit to this Han? Condescend it."--"Agreed!" was the impatient answer. "But with O'Hagi Dono, O'Tsugi, O'Han.... O'Saku, the occasions must be limited." He suddenly seized her in his arms and silenced her protest in an embrace. Then with hasty steps he passed to her ladyship's bed-chamber, leaving O'Han with wide staring eyes which shifted from the room of the lovers to the door through which she had witnessed the old woman's departure. Such was the vileness of the life in which was engaged Nishioka Shintaro[u]. A week had barely elapsed. There was occasion to make purchases for the _yashiki_. The _chu[u]gen_ Jisuké remained respectfully prostrate before the officer. Nishioka again ran over the list required. "These are to be got at the Owariya in Mikawacho[u]. The month's settlement is yet far off. The order stands sufficient. Now off with you." The man did not budge. Rising to a sitting posture he looked fixedly in the face of Nishioka. "What now?" grumbled the _yo[u]nin_. Answered the _chu[u]gen_ with respect--"Something of a tip will be well."--"A tip!" said Nishioka in astonishment. "For what is the month's wage paid to a _chu[u]gen_? Is he to be given drink money for carrying out his duties? Take the _furoshiki_; and now out with it and yourself." "'Out with it'; just so." Such the answer; but the fellow did not budge. The steady insolence of his attitude made Nishioka straighten up as by a shock. He was too surprised to speak. The _chu[u]gen_ spoke for him. "Yes--out with it. Ah! It is quite private with Shintaro[u]. Jisuké can speak at ease. Drink money is just the thing for Jisuké. Jisuké Dono is fond of drink. The O'Kagé Sama will supply the coin, three _ryo[u]_, in return for the silence of Jisuké." At the suggestive nickname, known only to the few in the secrets of the _oku_ Nishioka fairly gasped. Jisuké did not give time for answer. He drove the matter home. "'Heaven knows, Earth knows, Man knows.' So does this Jisuké, of the doings of Shintaro[u] with the Okusama. Naruhodo! No strange sight. When the honoured Sun (Tento[u] Sama) disappears toward Ko[u]shu[u], the honoured Moon (Tsuki Sama) appears in the ascendant in Musashi. The matter is a most important one, not to be brought to an end by a gesture. Bring the Okusama on the head and shoulders of Jisuké; and Jisuké tells all to his lordship. The proof is easy, and this Jisuké the fitting messenger between these lovers.... Oh! Don't lay hand to sword. Jisuké is active, and the way of retreat is open. The honoured Jisuké is not one to perish by the hand of the low fellow (_yaro[u]_) Shintaro[u]. In plain terms, the rascal is male concubine of her ladyship; who knows little of the even balance with which her paramour shares his favours with her women. Surely Shintaro[u] was born under the sign of the goat. But that is not all. The very walls can talk. At least that in which the unhappy O'Shimo, seven months gone with child, stands walled in. Naruhodo! Such punishment is inflicted on bugs, and worms, and creeping things; not on human beings. How does Jisuké know? Go question the plaster, you coward; or learn that Jisuké is, and has been, everywhere present at council and at deeds. But a word to Cho[u]bei Dono, and Nishioka crouches at the white sand for confession." At first astonishment and incredulity, then wrath, now dismay filled the heart of Nishioka Shintaro[u]. The fellow's insolence, the honorifics bestowed on Jisuké, the vile terms heaped on himself, showed the secure ground on which Jisuké stood in his full knowledge of events. For whom was he spy? He must find out. Jisuké, however, volunteered the information. "Spy? Jisuké Dono is spy for no one's interest but that of Jisuké Sama. He would have warned O'Shimo Dono, but repented in time to have all more completely in his hands. She passed on to her death, carried out under the eyes of Jisuké, and at the hands--Yes, the hands of the low fellow Shintaro[u]. Ah! Did beautiful eyebrows inspire this deed? Was it the love for O'Hagi now, or love for O'Han hereafter? As rival to his lordship the rascal Shintaro[u] had no chance with O'Shimo Dono. The clothes prop is the most useful instrument of the house. It brings things long unseen to light and sight. Jisuké Dono will be the clothes prop for this completed wickedness--unless his silence be well bought. Come! Fifty _ryo[u]_: not down: but ten suffices for the occasion.... Come and demand it of the Okusama? No indeed! Before her ladyship the prescribed etiquette demands obeisance, and off is whipped the head of Jisuké. It is money and--a sword cut. On the contrary, off with Shintaro[u] to beg the needed sum. The tongue of Jisuké Sama is silenced only by the coin which secures his absence." Nishioka could not help himself. "Jisuké is right. It is a matter of importance. But her ladyship alone can supply the sum. Remain here, where safety has been so well secured." Then he betook himself to the inner apartments. At his tale O'Hagi was aghast. She touched the root of the matter at once. "The man must have the money demanded. And afterward...." Nishioka smiled grimly at the kindred thought. "Into the _oku_ he is not to be inveigled. Leave the matter to this Shintaro[u]. After all be is but a _chu[u]gen_, plainly a fellow with two eyes; but despite his long experience he must leave the _yashiki_ or conform to the etiquette of the service. He will not leave a place where lies his future mine of gold, no matter what his insolence in private. All will be well. His ignorance and position offer chance to play upon. Shintaro[u] surely will find a way to kill him." With this solace and the coin he took his way back to the waiting Jisuké. "I say now! His lordship's shadow indeed! This rascal Shintaro[u] has but to shake the tree and the golden fruit falls into his hands. The kind of friend to possess! Ask; and one receives. Sheet metal too! A very thief, he is more generous than the Tono Sama! So far thanks. And now--_sayonara_! Jisuké Dono is off to the pleasant land--the Amatsuki of Fushimicho[u], the land of reed plains (Yoshiwara). The knave Jisuké, values higher than the knave (_yaro[u]_) Shintaro[u]. The Honoured Sir pays for the favours of his queen; his queen pays the _yaro[u]_ Shintaro[u]." With this parting shot Jisuké was up and out into the open. With some surprise he halted for a moment. Nishioka had received the sally in good part. He was laughing, half in amusement, half in vexation. Thought Jisuké--"Truly this rascal of a _yo[u]nin_ matches even the honoured Jisuké. Both spring from the farm, and the jest touches him, and not his rank. Between the two, lord and lady are like to pay dear." Nishioka returned slowly to the inner apartments, to make report as to this rather doubtful progress. For several days nothing was seen of Jisuké. For a time, as one satisfied, he resumed his duties in the old respectful rôle. Only a sly veiled jest would show the wolf lying in wait. Then came further demands, promptly responded to by Nishioka. He began to be curious as to the adventures of Jisuké. He made the _chu[u]gen_ talk; whose experiences were painted in glowing colours. With a sigh Nishioka handed over the cash demanded, granted the leave of absence. Grumbled Jisuké--"'Tis like digging the metal from the ground. Few are the miners of another's hoard. Why grudge this Jisuké what costs Shintaro[u] nothing!" Nishioka grasped at the opening. "What costs nothing, carries no grudge. But Jisuké has the cash at the cost of this Shintaro[u], only obtained in the company of an ugly old woman. With this coin it is Jisuké who commands the selected beauty of Nippon. Come! There has been enough of this. To-night Shintaro[u] takes Jisuké as guide. He too will take his pleasure amid the beauties of the Yoshiwara." He spoke expansively, with far off smile and look, as if the beauties were ranged before his vision. Jisuké stood with mouth wide open. "What! Not even the whole private apartments of a _daimyo[u]_ satisfies this lecher? Ah! The rascal would plant horns on the Okusama. Husband and wife alike adorned! How now: is not her ladyship already something of a demon? Nishioka Dono will be impaled on one or the other." With mock respect he gave advice and bowed before his officer. His interest in this rebellion was plain. Nishioka was seen to hesitate. He looked doubtfully at Jisuké, as if seeking counsel in this questionable matter. To Jisuké the matter was a jest; thus to involve all three victims in a common treachery to one another. The temptation was great, and he was a match for any underhand design on the part of Nishioka. No safer place for him than Yoshiwara, in which his enemy might be still more involved. _Samurai_ were particularly marked in the place. Meanwhile the chamberlain would be his butt for the evening. Jisuké's hints as to his source of revenue were broad enough to the companions of his evening pleasures. They would be delighted at a sight of this generous official. Hence he urged objections to his company, and himself found answers. Said Nishioka--"It is agreed. To-night all is propitious. The old girl has taken cold. She intends a sweating. Such the notice to this Shintaro[u]. It is his time to be fickle. He accompanies Jisuké." His mind was made up, with some evident tear and reluctance. Jisuké aided him in his preparations. Wearing _zukin_ (hood) he passed out the gate with Jisuké. The latter handed in two _chu[u]gen_ tickets to the _momban_, and none knew that the honoured _yo[u]nin_ had left the _yashiki_. In merry company they descended the Gomizaka. Shintaro[u] was as a boy just out of school, so merry was he. He lagged behind, then went ahead. At the top of the Kudanzaka he halted. "On with you, Jisuké. Shintaro[u] stops here a moment." He passed to the side of the road. Jisuké in turn halted. He was standing in the moonlight. Said he, with a touch of his usual insolent jesting--"How explain to the ladies the presence of the honoured chamberlain? Shintaro[u] _yaro[u]_ wears two swords. Jisuké Dono is but a _chu[u]gen_. Odd company! Notable will be the compliment."--"No explanation is required." Terrible the voice from the shadow beside him. "Ei!" Quick as a flash Jisuké made a spring forward, not too soon to prevent arm and back being ripped open by the keen weapon.--"Ah! The low fellow Shintaro[u] is not the one to kill the honoured Jisuké. He has already said it.... The beast! He has cut me. The devil lies between Jisuké and the lights of the O[u]mon. With Cho[u]bei San is found safety and vengeance." With all speed he fled up the Ushinakizaka to seek safety in the darkness of its wood. Nishioka pursued with determination. The rip of cloth and flesh showed him that he had reached his man. Loss of blood would bring him down. Jisuké aimed for the middle of the grove, for the Hachiman shrine, now the site of the Sho[u]konsha. Under the dark shadow of the trees he hoped to escape the pursuer. Alas! A tree root caught his foot and threw him on his face. As he rose the sword ran him through from back to breast. Staggering, grasping at air, he turned on Nishioka; spitting out his grudge with the clots of blood. His last words of hate were mingled with the rumblings of the storm close over head. The moon's brightness had disappeared. Heavy clouds rolled up, illuminated time and again by a glare of dismal light. Big gouts of rain began to wet the clothes of living and of dead in this solitude. For surety Nishioka gave the final thrust through the throat. Just then the bell of Ichigaya Gekkeiji reverberated through the thick wood. In the night hour it sounded sharp and sudden, like a harsh call to men to rise and witness. Nishioka wiped his sword on the dead man's dress. A flash of lightning lit the face, horrible and mocking in the death agony. As the chamberlain leaned over the corpse a voice spoke behind him, harsh and as if half stifled with the blood filling gorge and lungs--"Yai! Shintaro[u] has his way. He murders Jisuké--not once, but twice. Deep the grudge! Deep the grudge!" Then it broke into a wail, chilling in the helplessness of the malice expressed. Nishioka sprang to his feet and whirled around. In the uncertain light close by stood Jisuké. His hair in wild disorder, cheeks fallen in and corpse like with the bluishness of clay, the _chu[u]gen_ grinned and threatened. The living man could match him with his pallor. "Namu Amida Butsu! Get you hence vile spectre, or stay the test of Nishioka's sword." He made a sweep with the weapon. The figure disappeared. A mocking laugh resounded far and wide, followed by the same chilling hopeless wail. In haste, and pursued by the wild laughter, stumbling over stones and roots, Nishioka fled the wood, to make report at the feet of her ladyship. For long the figure of the _chu[u]gen_, crying, wailing in baffled malice, haunted the wood of the Ushinakizaka. Men hastened to pass by, none would enter; and in time the apparition became one of the seven marvels (the Nana-Fushigi) of the Bancho[u]. CHAPTER V THE REPORT TO THE TONO SAMA On the dull evening of the rainy season (June) Nakakawachi Shu[u]zen sat looking out on the dripping plants and trees. The home coming had brought no pleasure. The treachery of the favoured Shimo was assured. The father himself admitted the search made for the lover; wept and grovelled in shame and apology. O'Saku had seen him in person, when he came to the _yashiki_ several weeks before the flight. O'Tsugi had heard him call--"choi! choi!" had overheard O'Shimo's surprised exclamation--"my lover! my lover!" After several mysterious absences, on excuse to see her father lying ill, she had disappeared. On inquiry it was found that Cho[u]bei had never known a day of illness. The excuse was all a lie. "A case of the wild duck; the cock had come." Whose was the child she bore? O'Hagi laughed, and her attendant woman smiled, at his credulity. Shu[u]zen never suspected the deceit. Something of a _dilettante_ for the period he was learned in the Chinese tradition. Seventeen years, and a woman has no heart. This Shimo was a debauched wench. Truly she had foxed him with her superficial charms, picked him up thus easily in the Bancho[u]. With gesture of weariness and disgust he turned to the papers and scrolls on the desk before him. They were house accounts submitted by Nishioka, and none too pleasing. A round sum was missing on the person of the _chu[u]gen_ Jisuké. Sent out to make important payment, he had run off with the money, leaving no sign of his whereabouts. Just then the bell of Gekkeiji struck the hour of the pig (9 P.M.). With impatience Shu[u]zen swept the papers together. Her ladyship as companion of his wine feasts chilled the bottles with freezing glance. The monotonous talk of debts and expenses, exchanged with those around, added a bitter flavour. Always demands, or hints of demands, which made the meal a very time of penance. With some slowness he rose to attend the repast. Then from the garden side came a sad wailing voice. "Grateful the honoured return, so long delayed. Fond the thoughts of the past long weeks. Deep the longing for the honoured presence. Report is to be made to his lordship. Alas! Alas!" A chill went to the very heart of Shu[u]zen. Lamentable and grievous as was the sound, he had no difficulty in recognizing the voice of O'Shimo. Startled he turned in indignant anger to the _ro[u]ka_ whence the sound had come. He looked out into the darkness of the dripping night. Nothing was to be seen. Plainly he had thought too much of the girl, of her condition and the disappointment. He gave his body a violent shake to throw off this cold oppression and foreboding. Then slowly he took his way to the wine feast. The _saké_ would bring warmth. This was not the case. Freely as he drank, it added to powers of vision. His mind now always on the missing girl, the familiarity between spouse and chamberlain seemed strange for the relation between mistress and servant. As usual, with the finish of the last bottle, Nishioka accompanied him to his retirement. Shu[u]zen spoke sharply of the large increase in the expenses of the inner apartments. To meet these the revenues would have to be forestalled, the income anticipated. The smooth fellow met him more than half way in agreement. His lordship was too estranged from the _okugata_. Greater familiarity toward the women's apartments would be the needed restraint. Deign his presence this very night. Nishioka Shintaro[u] spoke in no hypocrisy. The O'Kagé Sama now was longing for the rightful substitution. His nest well feathered, he would seek safer quarters with the softer charms of O'Han. On Shu[u]zen's abrupt gesture and refusal he took his departure, almost betraying his own disgruntlement. Comical was his despairing gesture as he took his way to the bed of her ladyship. The temple bell struck the seventh hour (3 A.M.). It roared and reverberated through the room. Shu[u]zen opened his eyes. He was tormented with the thirst inspired by his copious libations. His head was heavy and whirling. He took a long draft from the jar close by his pillow. Then he rose to tread the corridor. On his return he sought to wash his hands. Turning to find the towel, close by him he saw a woman. Dressed all in white, slender to emaciation, her face concealed by the long hair which hung in heavy disordered masses over shoulders and bosom, she presented to him the desired article. As he would take the towel he spoke in surprise--"Who may this be, awake at this late hour for Shu[u]zen's service?" Again the sad lamentable voice made reply--"Fond the thoughts of his lordship. Long waited his return. Report is to be made." At sight of her face he gave a cry--"Shimo!" At the words the figure faded away. The outstretched towel fell to the ground. A slight rustle of the breeze swept the corridor. "Shimo! Shimo!" In amaze and suspicion came the words. Something had gone wrong here. Shu[u]zen pressed the towel to his lips, as to get rid of the nauseating taste in his mouth. Then came the voice from the garden. With hasty movement he threw back the _amado_. The wind sighed through the pines; a gentle patter of rain came in gusts. Close by the voice spoke again--as from a _yukimido[u]ro_, one of those broad capped stone lanterns, like to some squat figure of a gnome, and so beautiful an ornament with white snow cap or glistening with the dripping mirror of the rain. "Report is to be made. Long has Shimo waited her lord's return. In this Shimo was no treachery of heart. Devoted was her service to her lord. By the hand of Nishioka Shintaro[u], by the malice of O'Hagi Dono, Shimo and her unborn babe met a miserable end. Nor has the ill deed ended there. Go now to the chamber of the wife, and witness the adulterous deed. Deign to learn the truth from Shimo." The voice ceased. Shu[u]zen passed a hand over his wine heated brow. Fox or badger? Did some over bold and infamous apparition seek to delude him? With a bound he sought his chamber and the sword at his pillow. He would deal harshly with such lies. Then came a second thought. Why not ascertain the fact? He was the husband. His presence was a right. Softly he made his way to the inner apartments. At the outer ward he stumbled in the darkness against some object. "Aré! The Tono Sama!" With a cry of alarm up sprang the sleeping O'Han. She would have outstripped him in a race to the inner rooms, but Shu[u]zen was too quick for her. With hand over mouth he dragged her to the garden side. She would have cried out, and made resistance. Then he changed her tune. Lacking confession he held her flat and prostrate under him. Firmly grasping both wrists tight together, he forced his dagger between the hands, and began to twist the keen blade. Unable to resist the torture she soon told all she knew, confessed her own part of watch and ward in the offense. This done, he drove the weapon through her throat and left her pinned to where she lay, the limbs feebly twitching in the last throes. Assured of his suspicions Shu[u]zen now sought to surprise the lovers. Cautiously he approached the sleeping room of her ladyship from the inner side. There was no doubt of it. In the very throes of her passion O'Hagi was without disguise. Shu[u]zen threw back the screens on this vileness. "Lechers! For this disloyalty Shu[u]zen finds revenge! Make ready!" Nishioka Shintaro[u] sprang to his feet, only to sink down in a pool of blood which soaked the bed he had dishonoured. Severed from shoulder to pap he died forthwith. With wild screams O'Hagi fled to the corridor. As she reached it the point of the weapon was thrust through her back, to come out at the navel. As she writhed and twisted on the floor, Shu[u]zen measured the blow and nearly cut the body in twain. "Ah! In good season the old bawd presents herself." In fright the old woman's head had been thrust between the screens into the room close by the master. An easy mark it fell severed to the ground, the blood spouting its powerful streams from the arteries as from a pump. The woman O'Tsugi was a sterner task. Aroused by the noise she came stalking into the middle of the room, still rubbing eyes confused by sleep. "Ah! The villainous cuckold. He has murdered these, and now would add the next (_tsugi_). Not so!" With her wild jest she threw herself upon him. Trained soldier as he was Shu[u]zen found the contest no easy one against this virile woman. Getting the worst of it, she fastened her teeth deep into his hand. Grunting with pain Shu[u]zen flung her off, and quickly brought down the sword. Prostrate she lay, the blood stream pouring over the real lord of this harem. With a long breath Shu[u]zen surveyed his work. It was complete. Then he went to the outer ward of the apartments. To his call no one came. Repeated, in the distance of the _ro[u]ka_ appeared from the outer ward (_omoté_) the old and faithful Nakamura Saisuké. At sight of his lord, dyed in blood from head to foot, he threw up his hands. Without undue haste or any words Shu[u]zen led him to the scene of the punishment. Respectfully Saisuké brought a cushion. Then prostrate he waited for his lord to speak. Long endured the silence. Then said Shu[u]zen briefly--"Caught in the act of adultery this Shu[u]zen has put to death the guilty. The results are most important. The lack of discipline in the House is sure to lead to the honoured punishment by the suzerain. From this there is no escape." Saisuké surveyed the scene with the calm eye of experience. "Be in no haste, my lord. This Saisuké in his long experience has seen many deeds of violence. For the present this matter need not be published. Of the outer apartments (_omoté_), the _chu[u]gen_ and servants need know nothing. In any case they do not count, and can be sent away. The others are not curious; moreover they are loyal, as _samurai_.... Of the inner apartments--a very clean sweep has been made. Deign to leave matters for the present to this Saisuké." With approval the old man examined the handiwork of his lord. It was most thorough, even to the eye of this remnant of the battle field. Then he went to work. The bodies he conveyed to the side of the artificial mound in the garden. Digging out part of the hill, here he buried them; forced in, dove-tailed together, in the smallest space; the old man grumbling at the ground they occupied. Then with water he washed out the blood stains on the wood work. When dry he would plane out tell-tale marks. Meanwhile he would serve his lord, to the exclusion of all others. Would the Tono Sama deign to rest? With sad misgivings the _kyu[u]nin_ (house officer) watched Shu[u]zen as he retired to his room. Himself he mounted guard at the women's entrance, to prevent all intrusion. Nakamura Saisuké's heart was pure. His age beyond recall. For two days he struggled, alone in his task. On one pretext or another the _samurai_ were sent off, one here one there, on lengthy missions. Perhaps the old man's efforts had been too great. In the course of the day a _chu[u]gen_, come on some affair, found him flat on his belly, groaning with pain as in the very last extremities. To the man's inquiries he could but cry out with colic and distress. Aid was brought, but only to find him dead. Then a second discovery was made. Report was necessary to his lordship. Here all was found closed against reception. On making their way into the inner room Shu[u]zen was found, clad all in white, the bloody dirk in hand, the body fallen forward on the ceremonial mats. He had cut his belly open, on retiring for the night. All now was in confusion. Should the _karo[u]_ be awaited. None knew this exile to the Ko[u]shu[u] fief, beyond his reputed morose severity. Official there was none to whom to make report. They were afraid, and took their own part. With everything of value they could lay their hands on they fled in different directions. The open gate and abandonment attracted attention. The dead body of Shu[u]zen was proved a voluntary _seppuku_ (cut belly) for some cause; that of the old man required no explanation. The inquiry set on foot led only to confusion, and was soon lost in the greater question of the heirship. Placed in charge of Yamada Dono, a caretaker was sought for the _yashiki_. A property tangled in a long dispute, this would seem a pleasing task and one to summon many applicants. But this was not the case. Successful candidacy was followed by early exodus. None could endure the frightful sounds heard every night; the cries of pleasure followed by the screams of those in the agony of a painful dying. Spectral lights were seen, the old well in the garden poured forth its confined spirits, all the evil influence of the place was rejuvenated in the minds of people by this last disaster. "Thus the matter rests. 'Tis not this Shimo who is the cause of these nightly scenes of strife and pain. In mad chase Shu[u]zen Dono, the Okusama, the villainous Nishioka and his concubines, act the scene of their cutting off. Shimo has but her part, to find Nirvana in the worship of the upright. Deign this act of kindness." At the fierceness of the voice Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon started. The red light of dawn was pouring into the open room. All sight of the dreadful vision had faded from the wall before him. Vision, or fact? It had been too vivid to doubt. Yet as he came to the mound he passed around it. On the side next to the lake now he noticed that it was all caved in, an obvious depression. The tale then had truth. Thus he took his way from the haunted precincts, determined to secure the _yashiki_ as his own, and the future rest and peace of Nirvana to the unhappy O'Shimo. CHAPTER VI THE SHRINE OF THE O'INARI SAMA Something has been already said of the _chu[u]gen_ Isuké, unwilling guide of Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon to the haunted house of the Go Bancho[u]. Thus is the second person of the name of Shu[u]zen introduced into the traditions and history of the Bancho[u]. Of him and his experiences with its denizens something is to be said. Okumura Shu[u]zen had distinguished himself in the Amakusa uprising of 1637-8. A retainer of Matsudaira Nobutsuna he had not been the last man to force his way into the blazing ruins of Arima castle. He did his very best amid the struggling mass of halt, maimed, and blind, after the real defenders of the castle had died weapons in hand. He was able to present himself before his lord with a reasonable number of his own company with heads on their shoulders; and a phenomenal number of heads minus shoulders, of all ages and sexes--men, women, and children--of the castle inmates. Against the once owners Shu[u]zen had little grudge. So much was to be said of him. In private he railed against the bad rule which had brought him and his fellows into the field against the embattled farmers. But this was a thing to be endured; not cured, except by time. Rebellion against the liege lord, under the leadership of _samurai_ once retainers of the cowardly Konishi Yukinaga, added edge to his sword and point to his spear. His service brought him in the train of his lord's progress to Edo. In the report made Okumura Shu[u]zen figured so well, that request--amounting to command--transferred him to the Tokugawa over-lord. Made _hatamoto_ with fief of four hundred _koku_ he was as well liked by his greater lord as when in the humbler service of a _daimyo[u]_. Five years of faithful work, and the necessities of Government for his _yashiki_ site in Mita received the reward of a liberal grant of another site in the Go Bancho[u], together with the thousand _ryo[u]_ of costs of removal. The work of transfer was pushed forward. The more modest abode of a lord of moderate income, and the massive gateway with its supporting walls and fence of closely woven, sharp pointed, bamboo retiring into the distance now were ready to shut in Shu[u]zen to the privacy of his share in the suzerain's defence. Plainly Shu[u]zen Dono put more confidence in his own prowess, or insignificance, than in the strength of outer defences against sudden attack of those at feud with him. Part of his tract inclosed a shrine of the Inari goddess. This had still its worshippers. On his inspection Shu[u]zen noted the loneliness of the building, its desolation. Yet it was clean swept and kept, and a money box for offerings was proof of attendance at the shrine. Whether this was of man or beast was not so easy to determine, for traces of the latter were plain to the eye. Their tracks swarmed about the building itself. As Shu[u]zen stood in some uncertainty, a woman of the middle class appeared. To inquiries she admitted that the care of the shrine was due to herself and her piety; a care gladly rendered to its efficacy. It had returned to her a son once sent adrift to the provinces; and to her affection a husband who had gone astray much closer home, for the intruding female was a minor member of her own household. Finding excuse in some domestic misdeed, the worthy cit had sent forth the damsel into the wilderness of the world with the fruit of her experience. The relief of this incubus, and the return of a more rightful heir than promised, the good lady attributed to the virtue of her prayers to the Inari Sama. She was urgent to bring support to her views in the general opinion of all the neighbourhood, mainly of the Ko[u]jimachi village. These corroborated what she said as to the shrine's efficacy and petitioned for its continued support. Made the tutelary shrine of the _yashiki_, separated therefrom by a mere brushwood fence, this Inari Jinja of the Bancho[u] continued to exist for the good of the public and the annoyance of the amiable Okumura Shu[u]zen. Its _kannushi_ (Shinto priest) he could never find. The woman and others said that he lived at Ushinakizaka. At least the money contributions were always accounted for, although they had never seen his face. A few days before the formal opening of the _yashiki_ the _chu[u]gen_ Isuké and the workmen stood with puzzled faces before a hole discovered underneath the flooring of the shrine. It led to some passage or cave. None were in humour to investigate, perhaps to the annoyance of the O'Inari Sama. At Isuké's direction, and with difficulty in the cramped space, it was found possible to shove into place the massive granite slab which fitted tightly into the aperture, and plainly belonged to it. "A one time store house of the god," quoth Isuké. With that he and the others betook themselves to their divers tasks of finishing the clearing up of building and surroundings. In the excitement and confusion of moving in there was little thought of the cavity in this twelfth month of Kwanei twentieth year (January 1644), and the idea of making report was lost sight of until other conditions brought up again the subject. The ceremonial visits of the New Year, the congratulations and presents, were to be made to the suzerain by his attendant _hatamoto_ and the _daimyo[u]_ then in Edo town. Every _yashiki_ was in a turmoil of excitement and confusion. Even in the greater _yashiki_ there was demand for outsiders to carry the _hakomochi_ or long boxes, for the _rokushaku_ (six footers) or tall fellows to carry the sedan chair, for others to bear the _kappakago_ or rain-coat boxes. _Samurai_, _ashigaru_, spearholders, _chu[u]gen_, _zo[u]ri_ holders--these were attendant in the _yashiki_. But the minor establishments were mainly dependent on outside aid to swell the lord's train. Hence the rôle of Bandzuin Cho[u]bei and his successors was no sinecure, in addition to the exercise of the art of arranging time and place so that the inferior lords would be least inconvenienced by the necessary and often humiliating deference to their superiors in rank. The guild patron looked well to the interests of his employers--_daimyo[u]_--with small regard to those who shifted for themselves; which was one of the causes of grudge by the _hatamoto_ against Cho[u]bei, later removed from the scene by assassination. Every horse in Edo, destined for the morrow's ceremony, underwent the pampered treatment that the groom Kakunai devoted to his master's nag. On the preceding day Kagé (Fawn colour) had been treated to all the luxuries of horse diet. He must eat for to-day and for to-morrow, and perform all the offices connected there with beforehand. Said Kakunai--"Kagé, be circumspect and constipated. To-morrow the master offers congratulations at the castle. Kagé is stuffed beyond measure to-day, that he be able to fast to-morrow. Show no discontent. For the passage of the sun there is to be no eating, and but a modicum of drinking. Halt not the procession for unseemly purposes." He stroked the horse, and the pleased animal purred and whinnied with the contentment of a cat at being petted. Then harshly said a voice in the ear of the bending Kakunai--"For this feed of the year's end thanks are rendered. Though not exactly of the kind desired, the intent has been good and the stomach filled. Hence congratulations in turn for the New Year season." Kakunai jumped as if some one had thrust the unblunted end of a spear into his posteriors. He looked around, and over, and under the horse. "Who speaks? Where from? And what concerning?... Yai! Yai! It's Kagé!... Is no one hiding hereabouts, to make a fool of Kakunai?" With eyes bolting out he backed away in terror. The horse grinned broadly, showing its ugly yellow teeth in attempt at graciousness--"It is true. Kagé, addresses the honoured _betto[u]_ Kakunai, gives congratulations to his friend." Kakunai did not wait to receive them. Now he bolted forth in person, to burst into the room of the _chu[u]gen_ Isuké, just then struggling to arrange garments and hair for attendance on his lord's progress. Head throbbing from not unliberal potations due to the seasons festivities this was no pleasant task. To Kakunai's report the answer was prompt and sour--"Kakunai is a liar or a fool; or if he would play a jest on Isuké, his own head shall ache as badly." Kakunai accepted the challenge and asseverated the truth of his report. Not at all convinced, and with a gloomy satisfaction of the idea of having it out with Kakunai on failure of the proof, Isuké accompanied the groom to the stable. Kakunai gingerly made up to the horse--"Kakunai has been friend to Kagé. Hence he is called liar or fool or mountebank. Deign to prove his truth, Kagé Dono." Respectfully he bowed to the horse. The latter at once turning to the _chu[u]gen_, brayed into his face--"'Tis fact. Kagé is at least as human as these his brothers. He speaks to whom he wills. Not so with Isuké and Kakunai. A word to the Tono Sama, and Kagé will kill and eat these his friends. Keep his good will by friendship." Gently the horse raised a front hoof. The voice was harsh; and the push, though gentle--for a horse--sent Isuké flat, with reminder of Kagé thus closely applied. Without a word the _chu[u]gen_ wallowed from the floor, none too clean, and took to flight. Kakunai followed after, holding his nose. In the privacy of the _chu[u]gen's_ room Isuké changed to sweeter garb and discussed the matter with Kakunai. Should his lordship be informed? Kakunai, as immediate attendant and in greatest danger, earnestly protested. Isuké at any time might be brought into closest contact with Kagé in his office of _chu[u]gen_ attending his master. They agreed that it would be very disagreeable to be killed and eaten, especially with such evidences of Kagé's powers of disposition. Hence nothing was to be said; or rather each agreed to leave the matter of report to the other. Great was the crush and excitement on this day of the year. Long and continuous were the processions (_gyo[u]retsu_) of _daimyo[u]_ and _hatamoto_ making their way to and from the castle. The rule of the day was to avoid unnecessary collision, as far as possible; not only in the matter of precedence, but of order. Commoners, male and female, old and young, _ro[u]nin_, _samurai_, according to their caste squatted or prostrated themselves in reverential attitude as the palanquin of some lord passed by. Caustic or benign, generally malicious, the comment of the Kidahachi and Yajiro[u]bei--"O[u]kubo Hikoroku Dono; 'tis true he possesses influence, and the roughness of Hikoza Sama, but the keen wit of the honoured father lacks."--"Yet the lord O[u]kubo has much kindness beneath his roughness. The latter is passport to the favour of the suzerain." Iyeyasu Ko[u] ruled by statecraft; Hidétada Ko[u] by benevolence; the third Sho[u]gun Iyemitsu Ko[u], by rough energy. Such the tradition of the personality of these three men handed down in Nippon's history. With the passage of Tadamune Ko[u], of the great Sendai fief, heads went very low. Great his wealth, and greater still was his influence with the Suzerain. Tadamune swept proudly on; the future disasters represented in the boy who rode close to the palanquin, and whose licentious life later threatened to wreck the wealth and position of the great house. At the dismount notice (_geba-fuda_) Okumura Shu[u]zen, accompanied by two pages, donned _zo[u]ri_ (sandals) and betook himself to the palace. He was a small figure in this crush of great nobles, but as _hatamoto_ had his right and duty of being present at the palace; both rigidly enforced, and assuredly with greater regard and welcome than most of the men of much greater rank, always regarded with suspicion. The modest train of a four hundred _koku_ lord was squeezed into a corner of this mass of underlings waiting the return of their masters from audience. Close companion to his beloved and now feared Kagé, the groom Kakunai was well satisfied with his insignificance. Great was his consternation to hear the harsh voice of his equine friend in his ear. A whisper to Kagé meant a roar to the crowd--"Naruhodo! The stench of these humans excels even that of the stable. One is as much confined here as there. His lordship has now departed. Deign, Kakunai San, to indulge in amusement. Let's be off--to the Kwannon of Asakusa, to the Yoshiwara. Here there is naught but press and riot. In the pleasure quarter both convey diversion. Deign so to regard it." With wide open mouths those around turned to the quarter whence came these uncomplimentary terms. Kakunai was sweating with fear--"Shut up!... Rude? Then deign to be silent. Great the press. To withdraw is difficult; to desert his lordship impossible. Silence is the part of the inferior." At this exercise of authority the horse grumbled loudly--"Away from the stinking stable one feels gay and at ease. Quicksilver runs in the veins. At Yoshiwara the _hatsudochu[u]_ will be in progress. Following the processions of the honoured _oiran_, liberal will be the _saké_ offered at the tea houses. Deign, Kakunai San, to reconsider your purpose to remain." At this Kakunai almost melted into the icy puddle on the ground. He shivered as he wiped the cold sweat dripping from his forehead. At first voices said--"Who is speaking in these ribald terms? Kakunai San is it not? Who the companion?... Oya! 'Tis the horse which talks! Asakusa and Yoshiwara? What say the women to the presence of the beast? Eh! Off with you, Kakunai San, to show which is horse and which groom." They crowded around the pair, not daring to come close. Kakunai felt extremely unwell. He could not deny the fact. "Like boys, he boasts beyond his powers. The power of speech runs loose. Yet as a horse it is a wise beast, the treasure of a four hundred _koku yashiki_, since none other possesses his like. Deign to note his own proclamation of his tastes." This was to throw the consequences of discovery on the animal, to file the sharpness of teeth against the promised mauling of Kakunai's flesh. Then he waxed eloquent and proud--"A fine horse indeed! Such a horse in battle is unequalled. Is it not so, Kagé?" And Kagé promptly answered to his friend's praise. "A horse of noble quality, with good deeds to his credit, gains reputation. At the astonishment of the foe the rider runs them through with the spear. Hence gain of heads, and reputation to both steed and master." Kagé spun round, letting fly hoofs in all directions, shaking his head and biting savagely. At this display of battle fire those too close fled in disorder. At a safe distance wonder and advice was expressed. "Deign to be off, Kakunai San. Truly the animal is foxed, and foxes enough are to be found in Yoshiwara. He will find company without fail." Kakunai, as he restrained the beast, now full at ease--"Of that we are assured. Alas! He cannot squat. In that he is clumsy, as is the red haired, green-eyed western barbarian. Otherwise it is not Kakunai who would bring coin to Nakanocho[u], but convey money hence." Some agreed, and some disagreed, and all congratulated. Thus did horse and groom get much advertisement at the O[u]te-mon, to the subsequent profit of both. Shu[u]zen, audience granted, appeared at the castle gate. Respectfully the crowd drew apart, and watched the lord depart with his train. Never had one of the minor _hatamoto_ attracted greater attention; and of these many were notable men for personal exploits. Entirely unconscious of this notice Shu[u]zen rode off to his _yashiki_. In the course of the succeeding days many visits were to be paid, and the wondrous fact had chance to spread from the under world to the surface. At the _yashiki_ of Abé Shiro[u]goro[u] the salutations were exchanged; the spiced _saké_ to preserve life--the _to[u]so_--was brought forth. Shu[u]zen detected in his host a quizzical, even amused attitude. Said Shiro[u]goro[u]--"Shu[u]zen Uji, did he deign to ride, or mount the _kago_ (palanquin)." The question was abrupt, and seemed not over courteous. A _hatamoto_ of four hundred _koku_ possessed steed and spearmen. Abé Shiro[u]goro[u] was a great lord, and Shu[u]zen answered smoothly, seeking any source of offense. To his affirmative, said the host--"Then Shu[u]zen Dono perhaps deigned to mount the favourite and talking horse.... Surely he knows of the animal's great gift.... Congratulations are due, for what is the talk of the castle precincts." Shu[u]zen's astonishment was too great not to be genuine. He was the first to propose to Abé Dono the taking of a look at the noted beast. He was eager to inspect an animal, which, it seemed, he had as yet never seen. The two lords came forth to the _genkwan_ (house entrance). On summons Kakunai brought forward the horse, expecting his lord to mount, not exactly understanding the presence of the lord of the mansion. Shu[u]zen's first words enlightened him unpleasantly. With some severity--"Kakunai, does this horse talk?" Thunderstruck Kakunai did not know what answer to make. Kagé could bite. His master could do worse, if enough angered. He hesitated--"Hai!" Quoth Shu[u]zen--"'Hai' is no answer. Has the horse power of human speech?" Kakunai put his hand to his head, then turned to Kagé, who was obstinately silent. He gave him as hard a blow on the neck as he dared, without result. "The Tono Sama has heard the tale; as has this Kakunai. His head in a whirl, Kakunai knows not whether it be true or not. By an humble groom such matters are not understood. To report idle gossip or the illusions of one's brain, savours of impudence. Deign the question in person. Kagé refuses answer to this Kakunai." Thus skilfully he lied. Kagé eyed him with approval; Shu[u]zen with some doubt. He turned to the horse--"Kagé, it is said you speak. Shu[u]zen is the master. Answer without lying." Kagé spoke, indifferent to rank and without circumlocution of polite society--"'Tis so; and just as does a human being. Truly Shu[u]zen Sama has supplied a most foul smelling place to learn the art." Abé Shiro[u]goro[u] snickered--"Kagé Dono is too precise. Would he learn the art of converse over his master's wine?"--"Not unwillingly," replied the nag. "But in any case he would have Isuké and this lazy groom make better and more frequent use of broom and bucket. The good offices of Abé Dono are requested." By this retort courteous the two noblemen were silenced and amused. Uncertain as to the course of further converse with the beast Okumura made salutation, mounted and departed homewards. As he gave the horse into the groom's charge he said--"It is for Kakunai to keep in mind the words of Kagé." As he vigorously applied broom and water to the stall and vicinity of the favoured animal, Kakunai mentally determined that on the whole Shu[u]zen Dono was the more dangerous of the two. Hence-forward he would be careful to remember all that Kagé said--and make report. CHAPTER VII THE LUCK OF OKUMURA SHU[U]ZEN The first efforts of Shu[u]zen at solving this mystery were not overly successful. A _samurai_, he betook himself to the highest exponent of the caste cult. In search of illumination he hit upon Hayashi Daigaku no Kami Dono. This man, learned in all the lore of Morokoshi (China), head of the certified institute of letters--the University--could but confess his ignorance--vicariously. Rats nesting in the tails of horses formed part of the experience of books, but not of that of men. Of talking horses there was no authenticated case. The whole matter remained without proof. He had never heard of such. Shu[u]zen squatted in a drowsy stupefaction as an incomprehensible learning was poured into his ear. He choked with the dust raised from the ancient volumes, tenderly and reverently pawed over by the learned doctor, who seemed dust-proof. Finally through the mist he heard the asseveration that it must be the work of fox or badger. It was matter for the diviner, not the divinity of the learned. With this Hayashi Dono gave the pile of dusty script before him a mighty thump, and disappeared behind the cloud he had raised. Okumura Shu[u]zen sought the open air and respiration. Where now should he go for counsel? He would sell the beast. Kakunai sought mercy. He was but a groom, and death was easy at his master's hand. At all events easier than the one promised by Kagé, if Kakunai should lead him out to the market, and with fluent lies send him forth to earn the cruel livelihood of his kind between the shafts of a cart. Shu[u]zen was a kindly man; the horse one deserving better treatment. The groom's terror and the beast's threat added a new and interesting element to this search into the unknown. On the next day was to be heard memorial service for the ancestral tablets. This was to be performed in person by the abbot of the Seisho[u]ji of Shiba, Bankei Osho[u] known to fame. Shu[u]zen snoozed and exercised patience as the abbot read and expounded the lengthy _sutra_ scroll. Over the subsequent repast he broached the subject of the talk of beasts, and his own particular difficulties. Bankei Osho[u] was most interested. All animals had speech and memory according to their kind. Food, a master's kindness, their own particular concerns, were matters of great intelligence among them. Why then should speech be aught else than to possess the organ? Such was the case with parrots. Monkeys evidently understood each other well, understood the gestures of men. As to the horse, there were very ancient records of the speech of such; so dim in the memory of men that probably they were mere talk of ignorance. But he would see this wondrous beast. Deign that guidance be supplied. Shu[u]zen grasped at the offer. The abbot spoke with an ease and glibness that only the ecclesiastic on his own ground can show to those ignorant of his subject. He wrapped his lore, made easy for the beginner, in such technical phraseology, that Shu[u]zen could grasp at the meaning without knowing anything about what the abbot said, and hence had all the greater respect for the immense truth which he could see and not understand. Appreciation is as good as knowing--for the one who would pose--and soon Shu[u]zen and the cleric stood at the house entrance, waiting the production of the horse. Isuké in haste had carried the message to Kakunai. Kakunai, assured of his master's forbearance and Kagé's accomplishments, had been none too sober since that happy day. Said he aloud--"A horse is not an ass; and a talking horse is one of his kind. Tip money to see the wondrous beast has flowed into the stable; and wine has flowed into Kakunai. For Kagé there has been soft rice paste (_mochi_) and dumpling (_dango_) in unstinted quantities. The pastry cook has been overworked. Kagé, now seize the opportunity. Speak with fluency and argument. Ah! If you had but the taste of this Kakunai! Wine would be an inspiration."--"Just try me!" chimed in the brute's voice. "Follow up the wine with rice cakes in syrup (_shiruko_). Otherwise Kagé opens not his mouth, except to bite. Grievous is it to exercise speech, and to witness the benefits accruing to the human hog. Henceforth Kakunai must share alike with Kagé." At this rebellion Kakunai was dumbfounded--"Nay, Kagé! _Shiruko_ and _saké_ for a beast? Never would such come to the inside of the belly (mind) of Kakunai. If you did but know its content...."--"Shut up!" was the nag's discourteous response. "Kagé knows it well. You have eaten _takuan_ (pickled radish), and it smells none too sweet. A little further off, good Sir: now--who is this would be interviewer?" Reduced to proper proportion Kakunai made humble reply. "Most fitting company for the honoured Kagé Sama. The abbot Bankei deigns his presence." The horse gave a violent snort, and plunged back to the limit of his halter. "Kagé talks not with a priest, nor henceforth with anyone." Kakunai was all consternation--"But Kagé Dono ... the tips! This refusal is terrific. Why not favour the curiosity of the Osho[u] Sama? Deign to reconsider. The dainties of Kagé, the wine of Kakunai, are at stake. Silent before the Osho[u], the Danna Sama in anger will strike off the head of Kagé. Kakunai loses friend and fortune at a blow." The animal duly mused. "It is so. Shu[u]zen Dono of late has been short tempered. It cannot be avoided. Better had it been for Kakunai to take this Kagé and depart to country fairs and towns; to pick up much coin for wine and dainties. However, all may go well. Delay not past the coming night to join yourself with Kagé. Between the service of Shu[u]zen and that of Kagé this low fellow (_yaro[u]_) Kakunai must not hesitate."--"Just so," agreed the groom. "It is mere matter of gambling anyhow that any ill occurs. Drinking wine, does Kagé also gamble?" A shudder went through the frame of the horse--"Why speak thus? Of horses' bones the dice are made. Would Kagé trifle with the relics of his kind? Make answer, Kakunai." He spoke with a fierce earnestness. Kakunai stammering sought answer. Just then Isuké appeared, to urge all speed. With lowered heads man and beast appeared at the house entrance. Kakunai touched three fingers to the ground. To insure due reverence Kakunai had haltered Kagé so that he could talk, but hardly move a limb. At sight of the beast Bankei Osho[u] took his most severe ecclesiastical pose. Dressed in violet robes, the gold embroidered stole (_kesa_) over his shoulders, the rosary of crystal beads in hand, he approached the horse. With the brush of long white hair which clears away the dust of the world's offences (_hossu_) he swept the circumambient air. Long he observed the nag. Then coming close to it he grasped the forelock. Kagé raised his head, with open mouth as if about to snap. The abbot continued his recitation of the holy _sutra_. Mouth still wide open, clumsily the horse sank on his knees before the priest. Then suddenly and deftly Bankei thrust a bolus into the open mouth, which closed as moved by springs. Sweeping the air with _hossu_ and his rescued arm--"Acquire the heart of virtue. Assume the true nature, and seek Nirvana." He kept on stroking the beast's head with the rosary. Once or twice Kagé opened his mouth as if to speak. Then incontinently the body rolled over lifeless. The bystanders looked on with fear and amazement. Without speaking the abbot took the arm of Shu[u]zen and accompanied him within. Kakunai, left to himself, rolled to the ground as speechless as his four legged charge. Tears of sorrow and anger flowed copiously. "Ah! He is dead! Kagé is dead! Wise was he to advise flight. Alas! This beast of a _bo[u]zu_ (priest), what purge did he use, thus to cut off at once the breath of Kagé? No more gambling, no more wine, with Kagé nicely bedded and asleep in his stable, and Kakunai with equal luck asleep in the pleasure quarter! Alas! Alas! Kagé is no better now than a dead ass--while Kakunai still lives." Thus he vented his grief, to the amusement of his fellows who had shared but little in his fortunes. Meanwhile Shu[u]zen and the abbot were otherwise engaged. Said Bankei--"Deign to relate something of how Shu[u]zen Dono came to this _yashiki_. Honoured Sir, was not the former site in Mita? How came the change?" Shu[u]zen explained the conditions and the time of change to his new site and experiences. If there was aught of grudge, it attached rather to place than person. To this Bankei Osho[u] was agreed. "The fact of the case is plain to Bankei. The spirit directing the actions of the horse is not the spirit of the animal. The possession brought to an end by the exorcism, the alien spirit departed, and the carcass of the animal deprived of this influence, it fell to the ground an inert mass, like to the abandoned shell of the cicada. But the malevolent influence is to be found. This is the task of Shu[u]zen Dono. Deign, honoured sir, then to have memorial rites performed by this Bankei, and no longer will the _yashiki_ be haunted by such unusual and unseemly performance.... Daigaku no Sensei? He is but a Confucianist, bound to the letter of material substance. Nor would he confess the ignorance of the spiritual world he undoubtedly is gifted with, of the law of punishment for deeds performed in a past existence (_ingwai_) as taught by the Lord Buddha. The materialist has his nose to earth, and can see naught else. The idiot has his nose to heaven, and can see naught else. The Buddha's Law comprehends Heaven and Earth. Hence its truth." With this expression of the _odium theologicum_ the worthy abbot departed templewards, accompanied, as gage for further proceedings and profit, by the carcass of the horse. Bankei had this inhumed in the ground behind the main hall of the temple. Kakunai superintended these last obsequies. The abbot's words, as to the malevolence of the influence involved, was proved to Shu[u]zen the next day, when report was brought that the groom had hanged himself at the gratings of the stall once occupied by Kagé. Moved by this strong hint, Kakunai was sent to join his equine friend in one common grave. Warned by the unusual nature of these events Shu[u]zen determined at once to trace out the source of this evil influence. It was his duty as a _samurai_ to suppress such manifestations occurring so close to the suzerain's dwelling. It was to his own interest to free the _yashiki_ from such noxious vapours. The _karo[u]_, Beita Heima, set on foot an investigation. Then it was that Isuké the _chu[u]gen_ had thought of the hole detected under the shrine of the O'Inari Sama. On Shu[u]zen's order the _karo[u]_ undertook the task of examining this suspicious adjunct to the _yashiki_. Torches in hand several _chu[u]gen_, under the direction of the _samurai_, were appointed to the work. The men hesitated a little to violate the precincts of the shrine. Growled Beita--"The carpenters did not hesitate to build it. What they put up, men can destroy. Up with the boarding. Thus the stone easily will be raised." The directions were carried out. There were many tracks of beasts, all of which seemed to converge to this spot. With removal of flooring and joists, soon the massive lid of granite was raised on edge. With a thud and cloud of dust it fell to one side. The men drew away, not only checked by the dark aperture exposed, but by the foul odour which poured up from the confined space. Holding his nose the _karo[u]_ took a lighted torch for further inspection of depth and means of entrance. "Um! A shallow place; not more than a _jo[u]_ (10 feet). Who volunteers to enter? Come! Don't be backward on his lordship's service. Isuké, eh?" Isuké came forward readily enough at the call. He was a brave man, and moreover a little angered at the fate of his one time friend, Kakunai. If the beast of a horse, or the spirit beast, held occupancy here, Isuké would deal with him. The kick of spiritual hoofs and the bite of immaterial teeth had no terrors for Isuké. Carefully inspecting his ground he took the leap. A lighted torch was lowered to him. With this he marched off, the light growing quickly faint in the darkness. "Oya! Oya! 'Tis strange. The stench--it is unendurable. The darkness too thick even for the torch. It fails to burn." For a time his voice was heard rumbling off with increasing distance. To repeated shouts no answer was returned. Said Heima--"Isuké has gone too far, out of range. Some other must bear him aid.... What! All milk livers? You, Gensuké, love the wine cellar. Its care would seem to be your calling. Now down with you! Here is one made to hand for the _yashiki_. Make report of the discovery to his lordship." Gensuké was most unwilling, but his comrades loudly applauded the choice. He was lowered into the hole by hands energetic to lend him assistance in reaching its depths. Provided with a light he too started off on his march into the darkness. "Iya! Iya! What stench! 'Tis past endurance. Ah! There is a loud roaring yonder. Gensuké will investigate. Deign support in necessity." His voice also faded off with the distance. Then all was silence. Those outside now could hear the faint reverberation spoken of. To their shouts there was no answer. All were much alarmed. They looked into each others' faces. At the _karo[u]'s_ order there was now no hesitation, though there was some grumbling at the rashness of those who risked the wrath of the O'Inari Sama by the heedless undertaking. Three or four men at once jumped down into the hole. With dimly burning torches, and holding each other by the hand, they made their way into the blackness of the cavern. Almost at once came a cry, answered by others. Those above leaned eagerly over the aperture. Some took the leap. Soon the men appeared, dragging along the limp and helpless body of Gensuké. The trouble now was clear. The men had been overcome by the vicious air of the cave. Soon Isuké also was brought to the upper air. With the removal all the roar and reverberation was transferred to the surface. The two men lay unconscious, breathing noisily, and to all appearance in great extremity. Beita San at once ordered local aid. While friction and cold water was being applied, the leech summoned, Saito[u] Sensei, came on the ground. Heima questioned anxiously as to the men's condition. The Sensei reassured him--"It is but the noxious air of the cavern which has overcome them. A day or two, and they will be as good as ever." The old man wrinkled his face and chuckled a little as he surveyed the victims of the O'Inari Sama. Greatly was the reputation of the shrine for efficacy added to in this punishment. "Boy and man this aging Saito[u] Genan has known the place. Evil its repute. The cave is very ancient, and in the past much feared by people round about. Failure to worship has been followed by misfortune. Horse or cow has disappeared, house been burned down, or pregnant wife frightened into miscarriage by apparitions. Young girls attending at the shrine have disappeared. Its reputation is as evil as that of the Ko[u]jimachi well yonder." He jerked a finger in the direction indicated, at the neighbouring site beyond the bamboo fence. "A bolus, and these fellows are restored to consciousness." From his wallet he prepared the drug. Gensuké showed signs of life, opened his eyes, uneasily moving first this limb, and then that. Isuké sat bolt upright, with most stentorian snort. He waved both arms with a violence which sent his two supporters to the ground. In wrath he sprang up, but the malign effect was still too powerful. His legs wavered under him, and they had to come again to his aid. However, it was necessary to carry off Gensuké limp and helpless; with the support of the arms on each side of him, Isuké made his way back to the _yashiki_ on his own legs. Heima made report to his lord of what had passed, of the history of the place as reported by Saito[u] Sensei. Shu[u]zen pursed his lips, and inquired as to the condition of Isuké. The _chu[u]gen_ was a favoured attendant; one much trusted. At the end of a week he was summoned to his lord's presence. "And Katai (tough) Isuké, his experience has gone beyond his powers?" Shu[u]zen spoke with that slight jeering condolence which arouses obstinacy. Isuké, prostrate on his hands, expressed gratitude for his lord's reproof. The fault was not his. Overcome by the foul air he became giddy, then lost all sensation of time or place. "And the roaring and noises, these did not frighten Isuké into his faint?"--"Roaring, noise, there were none; beyond the gentle drip of water often heard in such places. The roaring heard must have been due to the snoring of Gensuké. The cowardly fellow still clings to the bed, sucking in the dainty fare of the invalid; not so, Isuké." Shu[u]zen had an idea. All the others were too struck by fear to be of aid--"Then Isuké fears not the work of fox or badger. He will again make the venture?"--"For the Tono Sama; though none too willingly," was the _chu[u]gen's_ reply. "Fox or badger? Let them but come under the knife of Isuké, and he will make soup of them; a better soup than they supply otherwise. But the stench!"--"And the foxes of Nakano (Shinjuku)?" Isuké blushed. His master was far too knowing. At Shu[u]zen's order that night Isuké met his lord at the steps of the Inari Shrine. The adventure pleased Shu[u]zen. He was still young enough to delight in exposure and difficulties. Plainly old Beita was not the man for this task. His retainers readily would obey their lord's direction. But Shu[u]zen hungered for a more direct credit. He stripped to his loin cloth in the cold winter night. Isuké followed his lord's example. The job would be no clean one. Then the two men dropped to the floor of the cavern. Isuké spoke in surprise. "Naruhodo! At night the place seems much brighter than by day." He looked around in some suspicion and astonishment. Then his eye rested on the torches. "Oya! The torch burns brightly, not dimly as before. Pfu! The stench is unaltered, but the air at least is breathable." Preceding his master by some ten paces, Shu[u]zen heard him give a shout. Hastening up, with Isuké he bent over the aperture of what seemed to be a well. What was its depth? "In with you, Isuké," said Shu[u]zen. The _chu[u]gen_ protested--"Nay! The Tono Sama deigns to jest. Is Isuké a bat (_ko[u]mori_), one to fly off into the darkness.... Ah! The depth is terrific. The light hardly shows the blackness of the place. It may reach down to Meido itself." Shu[u]zen lit a second torch, then cast it down into the cavity. He broke into a laugh. The light continued to burn brightly. "Meido then is not far off. The bottom of the well lies not five _shaku_ (feet) below. Now in with you!" Anticipating the _chu[u]gen_ he sprang down himself. Isuké spoke, holding his nose--"Heigh! Tono Sama, deign to go no further. The stink passes beyond measurement. It increases with distance gone. Peugh! It blows from yonder." He pointed to a low aperture in one corner of the roundish space in which they stood. Shu[u]zen could understand better now. The whole cave was due to water; had been formed by water in the loose volcanic soil. The well was a mere passage way by which it once had risen, and been drained off again. Isuké was right. With decuple vigour the stench now rose close to hand. "In with you," was the peremptory order. "Anything found in way of gold and silver belongs to Isuké; and caves are always rich in such finds."--"Is that so?" said the _chu[u]gen_--"It is the tale of old books; which often lie. But in with you, and find out." Under spur of avarice and command Isuké crawled into the passage. He had gone but a bare ten feet when Shu[u]zen heard a most fearful yell, saw the rapid progress outwards of the posteriors of Isuké. The man's face was chalk white--"Deign, Danna Sama, to go no further." He choked for utterance. "How now!" said Shu[u]zen in pretended astonishment. "Fox or badger? They were to be converted into soup for Katai Isuké, soft food for his grinders."--"For fox or badger Isuké cares not. He invites their presence.... Kiya!" Shu[u]zen in sport had placed a cold wet hand on his neck. "Ah! The Danna jests. Of fox and badger soup is made. With human stench it is not savoured. There is a dead body within. Hence the frightful odour." Shu[u]zen at once began to twist his head towel around his nose. With feeblest protest Isuké saw him take the torch and disappear into the passage. Soon his voice was heard. "Isuké! Isuké! Is he milk livered? How about the gold and silver? Would Isuké abandon it?" Isuké would not. In a trice he was on hands and knees, to rejoin his master who was roaring with laughter. "Gold and silver may be here," Shu[u]zen explained. "Otherwise Isuké would have backed out of the undertaking, all the way to the cave's entrance. Turn the body over. See whether it is of man or woman." Much put out Isuké did as he was bid. "Pfugh! Stirring does no good. The very flesh is melting from the bones. The hair of the beard and head show it to be a man." Shu[u]zen turned to a wider passage, plainly due in part to hand. By crouching he could enter into a larger chamber. In wonder and admiration he called to Isuké. In so far, the _chu[u]gen_ would pursue the venture. Besides would he not follow his master to Meido itself? "Look, Isuké! Such groining of the roof is only made by Nature's hand. The cave of Fudo[u] Sama at Meguro shows no finer sight." He pointed to the mass of interlacing roots of some huge _icho[u]_ rising from the ground above. Isuké grumbled assent, without much vigour. He was getting tired of this adventure. It was a satisfaction they could go no further. Shu[u]zen meanwhile was rummaging the place, which evidently had been a kind of dwelling. In a closet were found some coarse cooking utensils and crockery for food. A supply of firewood in one corner, and a box, completed the furniture. With curiosity Shu[u]zen turned over the books in the box. A cry brought Isuké to his side. "Your share, Isuké." He pointed to three shining silver _ryo[u]_ which lay below the scrolls. Isuké looked incredulous at the find. Then he prostrated himself before his master in deepest gratitude. With joy he pocketed the coin and shouldered the scrolls. There was nothing more to do. They sought the open air. The strange sight reported to him, Beita Heima the _karo[u]_ appeared before his master. In the early morning light Shu[u]zen was pouring buckets of cold water over Isuké, having himself undergone the same treatment at the _chu[u]gen's_ hands. "Kan mairi, Heima,"[7] said Shu[u]zen with a laugh. Then he explained matters to the astonished _karo[u]_. Isuké's further ablutions were left to other hands. The affair now was cleared up. The removal of the slab, the fresh air penetrating the cavern, made the removal of the body easy. This was to be sent to Bankei's care for proper burial and rites. Meanwhile Shu[u]zen with interest and increasing gravity examined his prize. The books were all on war. One was in the suspected script of the western barbarian. From its plates, it was a work on fortification, and the art of attack and defence. Shu[u]zen did not understand the Dutch words, but he regarded the find as of importance, at least as adding to his own merit. So likewise did Abé Bungo no Kami, minister for the month, and with a great liking for Shu[u]zen. He saw to it that the affair was to the latter's profit. The _Ometsuké_ inspected the books, inspected the cave, drank Shu[u]zen's wine, and commended the vigilance and energy of the _hatamoto_. The report was worth an added hundred _koku_ to his modest income. Isuké also counted his gains with joy; a means of continued defiance and pursuit of the foxes of the Nakano pleasure quarter. As to Bankei--the funeral rites had been performed, the _sutra_ read, the body inhumed in the same mound with those of Kakunai and the horse. Liberal had been the gift of Okumura Shu[u]zen for all these divers interments, and great the unction of Bankei at the accomplishment and solution of the mystery of the cave in the Bancho[u]. But one thing rested uneasily on his mind. What the identity of the evil spirit which caused these wonders? That night, as the abbot rested in his bed, there appeared at his pillow a man of some thirty odd years, tall, gaunt, hairy, ugly, and much dejected. "His eyes were prominent in his head, his lofty nose showed ability, he had the mouth of a shark." Plainly very great had been his wickedness. Prostrate the apparition gave thanks to the saint. All the spice and joy of evil doing had been exchanged for the insipidity of Paradise. Now he was threatened with Nirvana through the prayers of the saintly abbot. In life he had been the wicked So[u]ja Mushuku (lodgeless). A famous thief, he was the source of the raids on purse and person, on _yashiki_ in particular and the common people in general, which had caused much fear and distress in Edo. The cave of the Inari, a lucky discovery, had been his safe haunt from pursuit. None could betray him, for none of his band knew his lair. He would betray no one; but he would tell the abbot of his fate. It was Isuké who had sealed him up in the cave by thrusting into place the heavy cover. Here he passed miserable days in hunger until the poisonous air, gradually accumulating, had put an end to him. His spirit, however, had haunted the place, with no disposition to leave. With the opportunity he had entered the body of Kagé, in search of human requirements and enjoyments. Betrayed by appetite he had been driven forth by the prayers of the abbot, and solaced by his petitions for the future life. Deign to let the matter rest there, and not pursue him into the inanity, the nothingness of Nirvana. To this the practiced ear of the holy Bankei gave deep thought. This fellow already had forced the unhappy Kakunai to follow in his tracks. What might he not do to others in whom the abbot had far greater interest? "To such wickedness the gift of Nirvana is not likely. Bankei wastes his breath, and Shu[u]zen Dono his substance. Deign to enter Meido, be wholly purified of wickedness, and in a second birth, if in human form, be of a virtuous House. For present and past sins atonement is to be made. For those still living Bankei holds not his lips silent. Off with you at once to these insipid joys." He thrust the rosary of crystal beads into the vision's face. At once it disappeared, and Bankei woke amid a nauseating odour. He stretched himself in weariness--"A dream? Tribulation of the Five Viscera?" Yet he would report it to Shu[u]zen, and on the uncertainty of the truth secure further aid for man and horse. Hence the monument of the Bato[u] (horse-headed) Kwannon, which long stood on its mound behind the _hondo[u]_ of the Seisho[u]ji of Shiba. CHAPTER VIII AOYAMA SHU[U]ZEN These events could not fail to cause comment. It was in the general room of the _hiban_, the fire guard of the castle, that the discussion came to a head. There were a number of these guards for different quarters of the castle inclosure; and for better drill and coordination the officers met, apart from the site of their particular duties. This made the office of the _hiban_ a sort of club of the _hatamoto_, bringing together the members of the more particular cliques, known respectively as the Shiratsukagumi (white handle club), the Kingingumi (gold and silver clubs), the members of which knocked out a conspicuous tooth, replacing it with the metal ensign of their affiliation, and the Kubo no Shiro-oshigumi. These organizations, something like the Otokodaté of the townsmen in the closeness of the relations of their members, had by no means the same worthy object. They were often merely a way of ruffling it through the town, particularly at the amusement quarter of Asakusa; seeking quarrels with _ro[u]nin_, abusing women, and literally gravelling the discomfited townsmen, not seldom left on the ground, subsequently to be put into it. The Otokodaté, or chivalrous band, were indeed needed in this state of early Edo. They could hold their own, inasmuch as the _samurai_ involved dared not bring a quarrel to light. He had the advantage of his training; and by the rules of his caste did not hesitate to have assassinated a plebeian he could not overcome, and chose to regard as impertinent. Collisions with these, however, were rare. _Ro[u]nin_ were the particular object of dislike of the Tokugawa adherents. It was the great exception made, when Hida no Kami (Yagyu[u] Matajuro[u]) admitted Kumé no Heinai to his fencing room and discipleship. The _ro[u]nin_, of course, deserved the proscription, being often the devoted adherents of a lost cause--Hoo[u]jo[u] or Toyotomi--and unwilling to transfer their fealty to a second lord. The most noted and hated of the _ro[u]nin_, though free from any taint of rebellion to the Tokugawa, was this Heinaibei; the vilest assassination, that of his friend Bandzuin Cho[u]bei by Mizuno Juro[u]zaémon aided by other members of the Shiratsukagumi. Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon had related the mishap of his _chu[u]gen_, his own experience in pursuing the offenders. The old fellows, heroes of the Genwa and Kwanei periods, were gathered close to a _hibachi_. Despite the season age sought pretence of warmth or closer company. Said the veteran Matsudaira Montaro[u]--"O[u]kubo, what think you? Surely the ice water of gathering years runs in our veins. Such happenings, so close to the dwelling of the Ue Sama, never would have taken place in former days. But we are old. The stiffened joints and the wrinkles would not deceive such miscreants. 'Twould be a palpable fraud, our presentation."--"True," growled Shichinosuké; "but ice water runs in other veins than those who are old." Kondo[u] Noborinosuké, verging toward his fifties, now chimed in--"Naruhodo! The talk of these young chaps infects one with their own complaints. This one can but thump himself on the chest and speculate as to whether he has one lung, or two of the kind. This other limps and dreams of _kakké_. His tongue hangs out a yard, that he can better inspect its colour; and his legs are black and blue from efforts to detect a dropsy. A third excuses himself by a flux, which he would cure with hot wine; and a fourth is assured of a cold, to lead to all these and other ailments, and hence steeps himself night and day in the hot bath, the one to be most easily excused. Emma Dai-O[u] in Hell[8] could not afflict these fellows more than they grieve over themselves. Only in talk of their ailments do they find company. Plasters and medicaments for their persons, instead of armour and the quietus of the foe, these are the objects of their quest." The two old rascals, and their middle aged abettor, looked slyly over each other's heads at the younger men grouped in the rear, then at each other. Thus it was with these violent fellows of the actual battlefield. They would stir someone to action. "Heigh! Heigh! Not Endo[u] Uji: he at least has proved his mettle. The pressing offices of the day do not call for sleep all night. He is of the stock of Kiémon Dono. Old Hikoza never tired of tales of his father's prowess." Kondo[u] chuckled as he continued--"The old fellow (_oyaji_) spoke well of the dead. The living had need to take care of his praise of them. Witness Torii Dono and Akiyama Dono, at the two extremes of age. Good luck, as well as management, extricated them from the results of a commendation like to cost them much. Alas! His place is not to be filled." O[u]kubo Hikozaémon, governor of these wild fellows, keeper of the suzerain's conscience, had left his seat vacant these past five years. Sorrow for his loss did not prevent Noborinosuké bringing a bright and beady eye on Aoyama Shu[u]zen. O[u]kubo Shichinosuké followed the look. All of the old ones fastened Shu[u]zen with inquisitive glare. The object of their attention neither quailed nor showed undue eagerness. "The honoured ancients favour this Shu[u]zen with the task." His laugh was so cold and purposeful, his look so derisive and comprehending, that the old fellows in some confusion sought comfort in each other. This Aoyama Shu[u]zen was a very devil of a fellow. He had a perspicacity in finesse that the plain, keen, and honest bluntness of former days could not deceive. Aoyama was not one to charge with effeminacy in any form. He had a wife--whom he neglected. He had a page, whom he favoured. He had all the harsh vices and capabilities of the warrior age. Turning to Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon--"Endo[u] Uji has seen the vision, not fox or _tanuki_. This has been the experience of the _chu[u]gen_?" Saburo[u]zaémon did not like the connection; nor did he like Shu[u]zen. "It is fact. Rokuzo was bewitched, not Endo[u]. See to it that Aoyama Dono has better luck." Thus tacitly he would force the mission on Shu[u]zen. The latter suppressed his anger at the assumption. "Endo[u] Dono, as with this Shu[u]zen, is _hatamoto_ of the land. Such vile rascals as these do not make them object of their tricks."--"Don't be too sure of that," replied Endo[u]. "Neither fox nor _tanuki_ would care for the company of the vision. This Saburo[u]zaémon does but seek to give it rest--and himself." He spoke with some gloom. Said Aoyama with decision--"Agreed! What may be the reward?" A chorus of protest went up. "Reward! Reward!... The applause of all.... The interest in the tale, as with that of Endo[u] Dono, just recited." But Shu[u]zen smiled and shook his head--"Endo[u] Dono seeks the good will of an unworshipped demon." Saburo[u]zaémon shot a glance at him. "Shu[u]zen too has his object. Otherwise, let others volunteer." The force of what he said was made plain by the silence of the company. The stories told, none longed for the experience. Thought Montaro[u] testily--"This fellow always has something in his sleeve." With hesitation--"Endo[u] deserves reward, and claims it not. Aoyama would have it in advance. How now: a sword?" All looked inquisitively at Shu[u]zen. They were surprised and disgruntled at his gesture of dissent. He knew the ancients, and could suspect a trap. "Shu[u]zen knows the kind. As with buying radishes at Yanagibara; one good for nothing, and bringing anything but honour.... Shu[u]zen selects his own weapon, nor asks reward apart from the issue." Kondo[u] Noborinosuké clapped his hands. The younger man was a favourite and kindred spirit of his own, near enough in age to be congenial. "The presiding chair at the Endurance Society meeting. We are _samurai_, _hatamoto_ of the land. Gold is not to the purpose. A sword is bought with gold. Let Aoyama Uji make report to the meeting, and on that hang the office." Shu[u]zen was the first to nod eager assent. All agreed; with no great joy at prospect of the coming test, yet afraid of his refusal. Thus the company separated, committed to a meeting of the Gaman Kwai at the house of Noborinosuké, to hear the report of Aoyama Shu[u]zen's venture into the Bancho[u]. His preparations made, the next night, at the hour of the rat (11-1 A.M.), saw Aoyama in his turn climbing the slope of the Gomizaka. Attached to the immediate service of the palace, the place was very desolate and strange to him. At a loss where to look for the objects of his search he sauntered at random, attention drawn to footing in this darkness. Thus it was that the Gekkeiji bell sounded over the moorland, striking the first watch of the hour of the ox (3 A.M.). He stopped to listen his eye fixed at the time on the long line of wall and fine gate of a _besso[u]-yashiki_ (country villa), evidently of a great lord. He had passed from here some little distance, to the turning of the wall, when hasty steps and the hard breathing of one who had just breasted the hill struck his ear. Shu[u]zen standing at the corner was almost knocked down by the dark bulk which bounded out of the shadow. Both parties sprang back in attitude of watchfulness. Shu[u]zen had never seen such a fellow. At least seven feet in height, hairy of arms and legs and face, his eyes shone like bright mirrors. Bulging forth these made him like to the ghost of some huge dragon fly. Did he not have an eye in the middle of his forehead? Shu[u]zen could not have denied it. Of size to inspire fear, decidedly the rascal was to be suspected. Shu[u]zen was the first to question. "Who and where from? Answer at once, or this Aoyama deigns the death cut." The man, or monster, merely opened and shut the plate like eye holes. Then with a roaring derisive lip--"Ha! Ha! This is Tanuki-baké, come hither to find and fetch Aoyama." "Ya! Ya!" Aoyama was in a great rage. In the act of drawing his sword he would cut the rascal down. Thus to insult a _hatamoto_ of the land, lord of twelve hundred _koku_! "Make ready!" Apparition or not, at a bound the man was some ten feet off. Then followed a space, during which Shu[u]zen made every effort known to the fencing room. He would have impaled a real dragon fly more readily. Without attempt to flee the object merely darted hither and thither. Shu[u]zen was dripping with perspiration. He felt badly and discouraged. For a moment he would rest--"To see this Aoyama?" He grunted. "Just so," was the reply. "Fools at close quarters give entertainment. Aoyama is not the clever one to cut down the _tanuki-baké_ (badger-ghost). Get you hence to your quilts, good sir; to your fool companions who wear summer garb in depth of winter, and triple garments in the heats of the sixth and seventh months; stuff themselves with hot food and wine in summer, and freeze the viands and _saké_ in winter. Get you hence to your companions of the Gaman Kwai (Endurance Society). Make report to them of Aoyama's venture, and bray and brag to them of spending a night outside the sheets." Shu[u]zen strove to be calm on receipt of these insults to his kind. In haughty condescension he explained--"Those of the Gaman Kwai wear _katabira_ (light summer wear) in winter, triple gear in summer, to undergo the hardships of the battlefield. In war one regards not heat or cold. He drinks from the puddle on the field, and cooks the rice straw for food in his helmet. This is the great time of peace. The experiences and the hardships of the battlefield are lacking. It is as substitute for these...." He was interrupted by a mighty burst of impolite merriment from the heavy man, who held his sides as like to split from laughter. "Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Naruhodo! These chitterlings; stuffed sausages! 'Sufferings of the battlefield; hardships'! They are not to encountered in such childish sport. He who would face these must practise the art of the inner belly (mind). It is by hardening the belly that the trials of war are met. You fellows practise but the outer cult. Of the inner and secret precepts you are ignorant. Degraded fools (_bakéyaro[u]_)!"--"Shut up!" roared Shu[u]zen. He could take the fellow at a disadvantage in his fit of outrageous merriment. Close to hand he leaped on him. In effort to avoid the blow the miscreant tumbled head over heels into the close deep waving _suzuki_ grass. With satisfaction Aoyama felt the sword sink deep into the resisting substance. Great his disgust to find that he had cleft an old and hidden stump to the very root. He seated himself upon it. At least he was in the centre of disturbance. Should he await further encounter, or depart elsewhere to find it. He had a mind to abandon the lanes and plunge into the waste land. Just then screams and cries were heard; the sound of rapid flying feet coming in his direction. A young woman in flight was now close at hand. Her hair unbound streamed behind her. She was in night clothes, and the knot of the narrow _obi_ or band come loose in her flight, exposed a figure all attraction. On reaching Aoyama she threw herself at his feet, clasping his knees. "Aid! Aid from the honoured _samurai_! Thieves breaking in threaten with death and pillage. Deign, honoured sir, to aid." Shu[u]zen was very willing to do so. The lady was very urgent and very beautiful. He himself was uncertain as to goal, and the matter of the ghost could wait on her extremity. To his inquiry she made reply--"Just yonder." With her he retraced his steps. To his surprise the gate of the _yashiki_, already noticed, was wide open. In all haste she urged him to the entrance, yet in his rapid passage he seemed to have seen this place before. The girl gave a call, then another. Shu[u]zen joined her in chorus and the search. The mansion was thrown wide open and abandoned. Not a soul was to be seen. All had either been killed, or had fled. The wailing of the girl brought him to her side. Prostrate she lay on the bodies of an old man and old woman, who had been put to death without mercy by the miscreants. Great was the pity of Aoyama. "The bodies still smoke in blood; the perpetrators cannot be far off. It would be well to seize them. This lantern ... how now? Is it of the house?" The girl raised her head to observe it. "No," she said. "The house lanterns have not the bow handle. This is of the thieves.... What's that?" A noise was heard above. Aoyama, hand on his sword, sprang to the stairway. The girl, all smiles at the prospective vengeance, followed him. Three fellows were busy at the closets and chests. The contents were scattered over the floor, evidently for purpose of selection. Aoyama burst upon them. "Heigh-ho! Vile rascals! Submit your necks at once to the blow, your arms to the cord." At first the pillagers were greatly astonished and put out. "A _samurai_! Our work is interfered with. Alas! We must away." Said the leader, a determined looking fellow--"Umph! 'Tis nothing but a board wages _samurai_ (_sampin_). He is alone. Kick him down. Teach him the lesson of interference." With yells all made for Shu[u]zen. Disregarding those at the side he delivered his blow at the man in front. Kiya! He split him in two as one would green bamboo. Shu[u]zen drew back with a side sweep which cut another clean across the girdle. He stopped to rub his eyes with amazement. Was it not witchcraft? Not three, but five men now confronted him; and lively rascals they were. Strive as he would Aoyama's blows seemed but to multiply his foes. He was but one man. A kick to this side sent a rascal flying to the wall; an elbow shot sent another through the screens. Then all took to flight. One closely pursued sought the roof, the drying frame its heights. Aoyama was about to cut him down, when the fellow sprang off into the darkness like a flying bird. At the same time came most urgent and piteous cries from below. "Danna Sama! Honoured _Samurai_ Sama! Deign rescue. The thieves! They force me to extremities." Reluctant Shu[u]zen turned back. On reaching the lower stair he came upon the rascals who were gathered round the girl. At sight of him all took to flight. To Shu[u]zen's astonishment the girl in her turn fled in pursuit. Out of the house rushed the whole band, Shu[u]zen joining in the mad race. Down the slope went all. Then dobun!... Shu[u]zen's foot caught in a hole, or root, or some obstacle. Head first he went into the ditch. Struggling, gasping, spitting out the dirty water of the drain, Aoyama scrambled up on the bank. He looked around in amazement. The white light of dawn illuminated the scene; the ill fated tree stump and the dirty drain close by. House there was none. Girl and thieves had disappeared. He stood on the moor, shivering in Nippon's always cool dawn and dripping wet with the filthy fluid of the ditch or stream flowing through these fields and the valley. With discomfiture he took his long way homewards to the Do[u]sanbashi. Plainly he had been bewitched and derided. So believing, he was startled to find himself again before the _yashiki_ gate; but in the light of day it showed the obvious neglect of years. Shu[u]zen at once sought entrance, not by the gate, but over the wall for lack of other means. He recognized the scene of last night's exploit, and its description as given by Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon. Besides, he recognized the place in his own experience of long past years, the favour and support of one to whom he was much indebted. Ah! Truly these were dangerous rascals he had encountered. CHAPTER IX SHU[U]ZEN MEETS SHU[U]ZEN Aoyama Shu[u]zen was not likely to brag of this exploit. All day he sat biting his thumbs, and drinking wine to obviate the effect of his nasty bath. An idea began to crystallize in his brain. But this matter pressed. The preparations for the night were to be made. He hoped for better luck in his vengeance on the miscreants. The watch of the rat again saw him skirting the Ushigafuchi on his way to the Bancho[u]. He had just started up the slope of the Gomizaka when he heard steps behind him. Oya! Oya! Two _chu[u]gen_ and a lady. About these there was nothing suspicious. But the lantern they carried? It was marked with the _mitsuba-aoi_, or triple leaf holly hock crest of the suzerain's House. Plainly the bearers were on mission from one of the San Ke (Princes of the Blood), or perhaps from the palace itself. Reverence must be done to the lantern. On his present mission, and thus arrayed, Aoyama sought to avoid notice. He disappeared into the long _suzuki_ grass at the road side. He could hear the lady express her anxiety and haste. Then with curiosity Aoyama watched their strange behavior. A bare sixty feet beyond they came to a halt. The lady shrank back as in terror. Haténa! Aoyama recognized him by his size, the antagonist and critic of the previous night. Without delay, or giving time for flight, the huge ruffian with one hand grasped the bosom of the lady's dress, with the other the arm of a _chu[u]gen_. A kick sent the other fellow very willingly to the ground. Tremendous was the apparition as he towered over his victims. He seemed taller than ever. His hair stood out like iron wire. His mouth grinned open wide from ear to ear; and now Aoyama could see distinctly the horns sprouting from his temples. Did he not have claws? Aoyama could not remember. He would rescue the lady, beautiful of course. Rapidly passing through the grass Aoyama burst out upon the group. He took aim at the knave's breast bone. "Yai!" The fellow let go. The two prisoners, thrust violently into the knees of Shu[u]zen, brought him to the ground. When he had recovered balance the rascal had disappeared. The lady was in a dead faint. One _chu[u]gen_ seemed to be dead. The other was squatting at some distance, eyes saucer like in fright. He regarded Aoyama with grave suspicion. The _samurai_ called to him. "Here you! Your mistress has fainted. Water at once!" But the fellow did nothing but answer "Hei! Hei!" without sign of motion. "Don't sit and purr like a cat," roared Shu[u]zen. "Off with you, and fetch water." At last the man took courage to approach. "Alas! Danna Sama, this Bancho[u], where the thieves are apparitions, and apparitions turn to women, frightens this Isuké."--"Fear or no fear, water must be had. Such milk livered fellows are not for man's work. Weakness of loins won't do. Off with you."--"But how?"--"In your scabbard, fool." For answer the _chu[u]gen_ made a wry face and tugged at his weapon. As often the case with those men, it was of wood. Shu[u]zen laughed. Then he gave his own scabbard to the _chu[u]gen_. Off the fellow crawled, with gait and speed of a maimed insect. Meanwhile what was to be done. Shu[u]zen put his hand into the bosom of the lady, and rummaged. Women were always dosing and fainting. Doubtless she was provided for such contingency. Surely a perfume reached his nostrils. Ah! Here it was. He drew out the fragrant package. Medicine without doubt. The drug savoured strongly of musk. At last the fellow was on hand with the liquid. Shu[u]zen made a pellet from the drug. "Raise up your mistress. Take her in your arms." But the man drew away in horror. He prostrated himself flat on the ground. "Deign forbearance. To touch with a finger one of the ladies of the palace is not to be ventured."--"Ah! Is that so?" grunted Shu[u]zen. "Circumstances of course don't alter cases. He who will not touch a woman is usually a most lecherous rascal." With this comment he roughly shoved aside the awkward efforts of this meticulous attendant. Taking the operation upon himself, he gently pressed the back of the lady's neck, forcing her to open her mouth. Inserting the drug he poured in water from the scabbard. A sudden slap on the back and down went the bolus. The lady opened and shut her eyes. Then they remained open. "Be firm," commented Aoyama Sensei. "Thanks," replied the dame. "Ah! What fright! With hand on dagger was this Bancho[u] entered on. So near, how suspect misfortune at hand? Truly honoured sir, great your trouble and inconvenience." Aoyama accepted the thanks, to satisfy curiosity. "But so late abroad ... and doubtless of the honoured San Ke...." Replied the lady--"The mission was of Kishu[u] Ke, said to be of grave import. Hence the late hour of the night. This insignificant person is lady in waiting at the San no Ma of the palace; Takigawa by name. The _yashiki_ of Okumura Shu[u]zen, my father, lies close at hand. Great the cowardice shown by this Taki." Shu[u]zen grasped the whole affair. Between Kishu[u] Ke and the parent House the feeling in those days was none too good. Grave suspicion on the part of one, angry resentment on that of the other. He would see more of the matter. It was his duty as _hatamoto_. "To go abroad with _chu[u]gen_ is no safe thing. At this hour and place _samurai_ could well have been taken as company. As for courage--of that kind it is not expected of a woman. Valour was shown in undertaking the mission. And this fellow...." He turned sharply to the _chu[u]gen_ and pointed to his fellow. "Mujina-také."--"What!" roared Shu[u]zen. He looked from _chu[u]gen_ to lady, and from lady to _chu[u]gen_. They seemed surprised. Stammered the man in fright--"It is but a nickname. His name is Také, and he is very worthless. Hence he is called Tanuki-také. I am called Yo[u]kai Isuké (Apparition Isuké), being nothing but wind." Aoyama grunted a ready assent to this self critic. The fellow's ignorance and cowardice was as gross as the material flesh which Shu[u]zen tested with a well applied kick in the buttocks, bringing Isuké in position to render first aid to his companion. This was done by passing on the application. A vigorous snort followed the thump on the back administered to Mujina. He sat up and regarded his mate with astonishment. "Ah! The Yo[u]kai.... No more of that. 'Tis Mujina's turn." This, when his fellow proposed a second application. The return came sooner than anticipated. A terrific sneeze followed. Up came his head sharply, and the _yo[u]kai_ rolled over backwards on the ground. He rose in fury, holding his jaw. Shu[u]zen was laughing, the lady smiling. "The distance is but short? Plainly those fellows are next to worthless. This Shu[u]zen will act as guard." Thus did Aoyama go in company to the _yashiki_ of Okumura Shu[u]zen; and thus was his second night's venture brought to naught. The arrival of the Ojo[u]sama (lady daughter) in company with Aoyama caused much excitement. Okumura was of five hundred _koku_; Aoyama of twelve hundred _koku_. The latter was at once ushered to the inner apartments. The lady wife of Okumura came forward to urge his stay for some entertainment. Aoyama in turn was curious to know more of this mission in connection with a _hatamoto_ like himself. He spoke gravely of the dangers in this neighbourhood, apart from the strange tales told. Okumura Shu[u]zen heartily agreed. The charge being to Kishu[u] Ke was not to be declined. Himself he had many strange tales to relate. Though the hour was late, every effort was made. Aoyama Shu[u]zen was gratified with a beautiful repast. The wine was served in person by Takigawa Dono. The talk passed from personal affairs to tales of war. Here Aoyama was in his element, both from experience and the tales of others heard in the _hiban_ and at the meetings of the Gaman Kwai. This was a first meeting, not to be too long drawn out. Okumura was a new comer in the Bancho[u], his service was in connection with the public works. Aoyama had been of the palace staff until very recently. Both expressed deepest gratification at their encounter. As he took his way home in the morning light, Aoyama Shu[u]zen could but contrast with pleasure his present arrival with that of the previous morning. He had feasted well, and made an acquaintance of some value. The following day he would make his acknowledgments. Aping no great style he walked accompanied by a page and two _chu[u]gen_. Inquiry soon brought him to the _yashiki_. Inquiry soon introduced him to a sitting room. "Lucky fellow!" thought Aoyama. "The influence of Matsudaira Ko[u] lands him in affluence. A modest income; a double _yashiki_!" This part of the house was different from that of his last night's introduction. Then he stated his business to the _karo[u]_. The night before he had accompanied the Ojo[u]san to the _yashiki_. He would make acknowledgment of the courtesy then received. The face of old Beita Heima was a puzzle. Deep the respect due to twelve hundred _koku_ Aoyama, but had he been drunk or dreaming?--"Has not your lordship mistaken the _yashiki_?" Aoyama was a little severe at what seemed gratuitous assumption. "You were not on the guard last night." Beita spoke, prostrate and with great respect, but with an earnestness and obstinacy not to be mistaken. He had been on the guard--from sunset to dawn. Aoyama began to feel uncomfortable. Veiling the sharpness--"Is this not the _yashiki_ of Okumura Dono?" Heima gulped assent. "Is not Takigawa Dono, of the San no Ma, the Ojo[u]san of the House?" Here Heima was on sure ground. "Ojo[u]san of the House there is none. It is very rude; but surely there is mistake as to the _yashiki_." Aoyama now was beginning to see light. He felt very hot and uncomfortable. He ventured a last question for surety. "And Okumura Dono?"--"The Tono Sama absent in Shimosa, the _yashiki_ has been in this Heima's charge for this past month's course." With such grace as he could in his discomfiture Aoyama Shu[u]zen took his leave. The astonished page and _chu[u]gen_, still retaining the intended presents of acknowledgment, with difficulty kept up with their master. Ah! The beasts again had scored. Detestable! Shu[u]zen thought with horror of his repast of the previous night. He had no better fare than Rokuzo the _chu[u]gen_. In rage he sought his room, and swallowed all the purges and emetics to hand. Occupied in retching, and thinking, and other matters germane to his condition, he concocted the plan by which he hoped to bring the foe to book, and himself to the presiding chair which surely he had earned. CHAPTER X THE MEETING OF THE GAMAN KWAI With the fall of O[u]saka castle (1615), and the culmination of the uneasy movements of the years following in the conspiracy of Honda Masazumi, the country entered on a long peace--the Tokugawa Taihei. The Arima rebellion after all was but an affair of farming folk, in far off Kyu[u]shu[u]. Masazumi struck right at the person of the Sho[u]gun himself. A special ceiling was constructed in his castle at Utsunomiya. This was to collapse on the sleeping Iyemitsu Ko[u] sheltered beneath it. Caught between the heavy boulders above and beneath the couch, the Sho[u]gun was to be sent to rest with, not worship of, his divinized grandfather at Nikko[u]. Iyemitsu slept the night at Edo castle, owing to the valour and strength of Ishikawa Hachiémon. Masazumi had failed, and the set field of battle between the factions of the _samurai_ was a thing of the past. The duel, forbidden in theory and compulsory in practice, was to take its place. The substitute always had existed. It tried men's courage, not the sustained endurance of campaigning. How then was the old spirit of the warrior to be maintained? The desire to emulate their sires worked on the younger generation. The relics of the Tensho[u], Keicho[u] and Genwa periods (1573-1623) O[u]kubo Hikozaémon, Matsudaira Montaro[u], Nagasaki Chiyari Kuro[u], were heroes who could boast of having stood before the horse of Iyeyasu in his earlier trials of battles, trials in which the veteran commander would pound with his fist the pommel of the saddle until it was red with the blood from his bruised knuckles. Their tales of actual war, the sly jeers at the softening manners, spurred on younger members to find ways by which to simulate practical experience of campaigning. The result was curious. One of the organizations was the Undameshi Kwai, or Fortune Testing Society. Loaded firelocks were stacked in the middle of the room of meeting. Around them sat the members of the club, squeezed into full armour, from helmet to the warriors shoes of skin. The match was set. The weapons were exploded, sending a shower of balls in every direction. "Ah! Ha! The bullet grazed my helmet."--"The gorgelet caught it."--"The corselet has saved me."--"Congratulations are in order. Surely your pension will be increased during the year."--"Oya! Oya! And Genzaémon Uji?" The unfortunate Genzaémon had not fared so well in the mimic war. At all events he sat the meeting out--if he could. To be reported dead, in the course of duty; or be overcome with regrets at showing such clumsiness in being wounded; or, if actually incapacitated, to go home and die of "illness" (cut belly).[9] The Gaman Kwai, or Endurance Society, was another form the movement took. In the season of great cold its meetings were held as if in the height of the _doyo[u]_ or dog days; vice-versa with the time of great heat. It was the beginning of the seventh month (first half of August). The heat was intense, and had been for the past weeks. The farmer watched the steamy vapour rising from the rice fields and rejoiced. The plants were growing luxuriantly, the leaves of the willow trees were hanging yellow and wilted. Passers by on city or village streets sought the shade under the buildings, walking with languid lagging step, and, home once reached, removing every garment which etiquette--not decency--had hitherto compelled. Great was the dismay of the weaker members of the Gaman Kwai on receipt of a circular letter couched much as follows: "In this season of great cold the continuance of the honoured health is observed with joy. On the seventeenth day it is desired to make offering of a cup of indifferent wine. It is begged that the use of the honoured _kago_ (palanquin) be condescended. This the purport of the missive. With reverence and respect. KONDO[U] NOBORINOSUKÉ. To...." The weaker allowed this missive to float gently and despairingly earthwards. Gasping for breath in the stifling heat they sought to fan themselves into a semi consciousness. "Terrific! Terrific! Yet refusal is out of the question. Ah! This Kondo[u] is a doubtful sort of rascal. He is of the cruel kind. No mercy is to be expected of him. Yet if one fails to attend there will be but jeers and taunts of cowardice. One could not appear in public. Alas! Alas!" The stronger received it with equal impatience, but with the purpose to put in the evil hours with the best possible face, and score on the host--if they could. All left strict orders at home for a cold bath to be in readiness for the return. To this rash step the weaker groaned and yielded. The Nipponese fear and detest cold water--even for drink. Thus they sallied forth--from Ichigaya to Honjo[u] Kameidocho[u], from Shitaya to Shinagawa; some on horseback, some in _kago_; all arrayed in triple set of thickly wadded winter garments, in _hakama_, or trousers with double folds, in shirts and leggings, and fur shoes of the warrior on winter campaign. The gate keeper of the _yashiki_ in Owaricho[u] called their names on arrival--"O[u]kubo Hikoroku Dono, Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon Dono, Abé Shiro[u]goro[u] Dono, Matsudaira Montaro[u] Dono, O[u]kubo Shichinosuké Dono, Mizuno Juro[u]zaémon Dono, Ishikawa Hachiémon Dono,[10] Okumura Shu[u]zen Dono, Kusé Sanshichiro[u] Dono, Aoyama Shu[u]zen Dono...." The list was a long one. One and all were met by Kondo[u] Noborinosuké in person at the entrance. Over his triple winter garb he wore a wadded coat or _kosodé_. Others had donned the longer _kataginu_. These were of the weaker kind. It did not fit so closely; pressed the warmth of its tissue less lovingly to the person. All complained of the intense cold. "Never was such cold felt," blandly agreed Noborinosuké. "An old fellow of the gardeners says that for sixty years such cold has not been experienced. It is a marvellous cold year. The ground will not be thawed this season. Deign to enter. Warmth is provided against this intensity of cold." And his hearers bowed and offered thanks, as well as their unwieldy wrappings would allow. At all events in the room yonder there would be the breeze from the garden side. They knew the place and its delights. Kondo[u] was of the age to provide himself with quiet comforts. With eager stride the banquet room was sought. "Oya! Oya!" The speaker gasped in dismay and for breath. They had been introduced into a furnace. Explained Kondo[u] gently--"Everything has been done to shut out the intense cold. The _amado_ are tight closed, the braziers well supplied.... Heigh-ho! Allow none of these to get dark. More charcoal! More fuel!" The attendants obeyed, urging the fires before each guest. Seated close together to conserve the heat, the sweat poured off in streams. Unable to get breath some groaned and grunted--to pass it off as due to the intensity of cold. Soon they "would be thawed out with the genial warmth." Kondo[u] and Aoyama were immensely pleased in their assent and at their sufferings. But the more discontented sought the fly in the ointment of the content of their hosts. Aoyama really was such. He was the one responsible for the call; Kondo[u] his ready abettor. Said one--"Intense the cold, yet how explain the freaks of Nature. If it were not so freezing the blue clusters hanging in Kondo[u] Dono's garden, just traversed, could well pass for wisteria." They laughed at him--"Wisteria in the seventh month? That would be as great a marvel as the cold."--"Not so the grape," replied another. "Kondo[u] Uji long since promised sight of the new plant. To be sure the barbarian fruits are as ill trained and uncouth as the denizens of the land they grow in. They flower and fruit in winter season. If not wisteria the clusters must be of the grape."--"Not so," promptly put in Aoyama. "Truly it is the green eye of jealousy which colours the vision. They are icicles; and no seasoning for the repast or the conversation of this cold occasion."--"Which brings the sweat to the face of Aoyama Uji." Aoyama turned calmly on the rash interloper. "It is not sweat; 'tis mucous. The intense cold causes flow of mucous. Are not others so affected?" He looked around grimly on the steaming shining faces before him. "Mucous?" questioned a doubter. "Yes: face mucous," was the calm rejoinder. All turned to Kondo[u] Noborinosuké who would explain the more particular purport of the meeting. There was report to make, a new member to introduce. All turned with respect and salutation to Okumura Shu[u]zen. It was a long and painful ceremony in the bulky winter garb. But they were in relays, took turns. Ah! If it was but Aoyama, thus long bent double, murmuring apology and compliment. Then Aoyama Shu[u]zen made his report. He made it as one sure to please his hearers, many of whom regarded him with no particular liking. In fact at the tale of his discomfiture there was some joy, and tendency to show it. "Then, as with us, Aoyama Uji meets Okumura Dono for the first time." Aoyama nodded an amused assent. Said one more malicious, "And the repast? Surely the _hatamoto_ was as well entertained as the _chu[u]gen_?" Shu[u]zen skilfully dodged the issue. "The hour was very late. Such could hardly be expected or offered to this Shu[u]zen without raising doubts. Fortunately it was thus." Said one more persistent--"At least a cup of wine...."--"Without fire or heating? More than rude the implication!"--"Yet beasts know but little of etiquette; and if fox or badger...." Kondo[u] Noborinosuké came in with--"That shall be at once determined. It is time for the repast. The _tanuki_ killed by Aoyama Uji furnishes the soup." At a sign the retainers brought the beast in his own skin. All rose in marvel at the sight. Truly it was a huge fellow. "An old rascal, too. See! The hair on the back is of different colour from that on the rest of the body."--"Showing the great age and wickedness. Many are those he has gulled to their destruction. Now in turn he furnishes forth the repast." Said Kondo[u]--"How did Aoyama Uji secure the beast." "This Shu[u]zen was much put out. Plainly by no ordinary means could these miscreants be eliminated. How meet them in true shape? Against the usual weapons they were secure in their transformations. Only the flying bullet could reach such mark; and the discharge of a gun in Edo town means banishment at the least. Then an idea came to Shu[u]zen. At the hour of the ox again the Bancho[u] was sought. Position of great dejection and weariness was taken, on a stone amid its greatest desolation. The wait was not long. Unexpectedly the sound of a gunshot was heard. This was surprising, for the reasons given. Hardly believing in an apparition, thinking it rather due to some rascally outlaw, his coming was awaited. Slouching along appeared a man in hunter's garb. He carried a fowling piece, and evidently was the criminal. Taught however by past events this Shu[u]zen took no action. Merely hailing him, his purpose and game was inquired. He was ready in answer as to both. Yonder on Matsuyama harboured a huge and dangerous boar. It was this boar he sought. Kindly he gave warning, and advised return to safer quarters. On my part great enthusiasm was expressed for the sport; his company was sought. At this he jeered; then denied attendance as lacking a gun. 'Not so,' quoth I. With these words the punk carried in the hand was touched to the fuse of the fire crackers concealed at one side. 'Kiya!' So startled was he that his gun fell to the ground and he took his proper shape. At once this Shu[u]zen in the act of drawing cut him into two parts. Thus he died. Awaiting dawn another beast appeared, this time in true form. Approaching the prostrate body it wept and wailed. This too 'twas sought to slay, but the beast had the advantage of being forewarned. For the time it has escaped. Meanwhile, returning from its pursuit, was found an admiring crowd of plebeians gathered round the slaughtered _tanuki_. The priest for his exorcisms took cash; the _samurai_ were the ones to act. Their joy and wonder was turned to good account. Under penalty of sharing the fate of the beast two of them shouldered it to the _yashiki_. Such the tale of Shu[u]zen. And now for the results!" Kondo[u] gave a sign, and the gaping wonder of the assembly at the deed was stifled in the wave of heat which poured in from the neighbouring room. "Ah! Truly these are cruel fellows!" Here a furnace had been erected for the cooking of the _tanuki_. It sent its streams of hot air into the already crowded and stifling room. Aoyama in person supervised the cooking. The animal was cut into small portions. Smoking hot the viands were placed under the noses of the gasping guests. With the great age of the beast it had accumulated great toughness. The younger members had the consolation of their jibes at the old fellows. They tore at, struggled with, the leathery fragments. But the latter had no teeth, and the malicious Aoyama would see to it that it stuck in their throats. "How, now, ancients? Is not the meat of this _tanuki_ tender beyond measure? Truly one cannot call this engaging in the practice of war; to enjoy such a delightful mess."--"Just so," grunted Montaro[u]. "One can then eat the knobs off one's helmet. The flesh of this fellow is so tender it sticks in one's throat, as unwilling to allow it passage.... G'up! G'up! G'up!" Said another--"The wine thus steaming hot, the viands sizzling, truly the feed is most beneficial. One even sweats in this intensity of cold."--"Of course," was the matter of fact reply of the wise. "Thus does the heat of spring thaw out the cold ground into a perspiration; thus does the frozen body burst into a sweat with the hot food and drink." All accepted the explanation without argument. They were in haste to end this meeting, even at cost of swallowing whole the _tanuki_ and Aoyama Shu[u]zen with it. Despite the prospect of attendance at his _yashiki_ all rapturously agreed. Aoyama was an original. He would not repeat the experiment of Kondo[u]. They had nearly a six month's respite before them. With this the entertainment was brought to a close. In almost unceremonious haste the guests took their leave, fairly galloping out of the entrance, hanging out of the _kago_ or over the horse's neck, urging attendants to full speed homeward. Here the stifling garments were torn off, the plunge into the cold tub followed; and many paid for this rashness with an illness of days. Meanwhile Aoyama Shu[u]zen had learned one important fact. Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon in application for the _bakémono yashiki_ had met with flat refusal. The field was open to himself. Moreover he had said nothing of the fact that, in the exercise of his new office as magistrate for the apprehension of thieves and fire-bugs, he was in fair way to suppress forever and in great torments the Mujina-baké and his fellows, residuary legatees of the prowess and field of action of the late So[u]ja Mushuku. END OF PART I PART II THE BANCHO[U] SARAYASHIKI OR THE LADY OF THE PLATES WHAT AOYAMA SHU[U]ZEN BECAME. CHAPTER XI THE YOSHIDA GOTEN When Prince Iyeyasu consolidated his power at Edo, more particularly on his becoming Sei-i-tai-Sho[u]gun, some provision had to be made for the great _daimyo[u]_ brought by the necessities of occasion to personal interview with their chief and suzerain. In the suburbs rose beautiful structures devoted to the entertainment of these _kyakubun_--or guests--as the greater _daimyo[u]_ were then termed. The Yatsuyama Goten, the Hakuzan Goten, the Kosugé Goten, the Yoshida Goten, other and elegant, if minor, palaces arose. Their first use disappeared with the compulsory residence of the _daimyo[u]_ under Iyemitsu Ko[u], but some were still maintained as places of resort and entertainment for the Sho[u]gun in his more relaxed moments. Others were devoted to the residences of favoured members of his family. Others were maintained for the entertainment of State or Church dignitaries, on occasion of particular mission from the court in Kyo[u]to to that of Edo. Others were destroyed, or put to temporal uses, or their use granted to favoured retainers or church purposes. One of the most beautiful of these was the Yoshida Goten in the Bancho[u]. The site originally had been covered by the _yashiki_ of Yoshida Daizen no Suké. One of those nobles favouring the Tokugawa against Ishida Mitsunari, as their designs became clearer with the years following Sekigahara, at the attack on Osaka castle he was found within its walls. Thus the "Overseer of the kitchen" fell under the wrath of his suzerain. Hidétada Ko[u] was a man of much kind temperament, but he was a strict disciplinarian and a rough soldier. Whether or not the dishes furnished for his consumption and digestion had anything to do with the matter, there was serious cause enough. With many others the Daizen no Suké was ordered to cut belly, and his tribe suffered extinction--of rank and rations (_kaieki_). Such the reward of this turn-coat. His disappearance from the scene was followed by other removals. Daizen no Suké was head of the Ko[u]sho[u]gumi. With the confiscation of his _yashiki_ site five other Houses of the "company" were ordered to remove to other sites at Akasaka. Thus 2,500 _tsubo_ of ground (24 acres) were obtained for the building of a new _kyakubun goten_. Erected on the ground of Yoshida's old mansion, now waste ([sara]), it got the name of Sarayashiki. Time confused this character [sara] with the events which there took place; and it was written Sara ([sara]) yashiki or Mansion of the Plates. Thus was the unhappy tale of O'Kiku written into the history of Edo and the Yoshida Goten. The second daughter of Hidédata Ko[u], the Nidai Sho[u]gun, had been married to the lord of Echizen, Matsudaira Tadanao. At the time of the Osaka campaign Tadanao sulked. Prince Iyeyasu was very angry with him. However, when finally Echizen Ke did appear, he acted with such bravery, and to such effect in the campaign, that the old captain's anger was dispelled in his appreciation. To this connected House of the Tokugawa he thought to be liberal enough; not to meet the inflated scale of the ideas of Tadanao, who spent the next half dozen years in so misgoverning his lordly fief as to render necessary an adviser, planted at his side by his powerful cousin in Edo. In Genwa ninth year Tadanao rebelled--with the usual result to him who acts too late. He was suppressed, largely by the aid of his own vassals, and exiled to Hita in Bungo province. Here he shaved his head, took the name of Ichihaku. It was of no avail. Promptly he died. It seemed to be a dispensation of Providence--or dispensation of some kind--that exiles usually and early developed alarming symptoms; in the shortest possible time removing themselves and all cause of irritation to the overlord by their transfer to another sphere. The Tokugawa Sho[u]gun was generous to his relations. The exit of Tadanao was promptly followed by the induction of his infant son Mitsunaga into his fief. However, for the child to govern the great district of 750,000 _koku_ appeared to be a doubtful step. Its government actually being invested in the _daimyo[u]_, it was not to be made a breeding ground for trouble through the action of subordinates. Hence the main fief with the seat at Kita no Sho[u] (Fukui) was given to the uncle. Fukui to-day is a dull provincial town, and excellent stopping place for those who would have eyes opened as to the great wealth and wide flat expanse of these three provinces of Kaga, Etchu[u], and Echizen. Their lord was a mighty chieftain, entrenched behind mountain barriers; and the great campaigns, which figure in pre-Tokugawa history, were fought for a great object. The Maéda House, however, had had their wings clipped, and were confined to Kaga. The Matsudaira were established in Echizen. Etchu[u] was much divided up. The reduction of the fief of Echizen Ke to 500,000 _koku_ brought him within reasonable bounds, and he could well be left to ride with his hawks along the pretty Ashibagawa, or to take his pleasure outing on the crest of Asuwayama, the holy place of the city suburbs, and where Hidéyoshi nearly lost life and an umbrella by a stray shot. Then would follow the return, the ride across the wide moat, its waters dotted with the fowl he went elsewhere to shoot, but safe within these precincts. Whether he returned to any better entertainment than that of the present day Tsuki-mi-ro or Moon viewing inn, one can doubt. He certainly did not have the pretty outlook from its river bordered garden front. Sen-chiyo-maru, later Mitsunaga, was relegated to Takata castle in Echigo, with the minor income of 250,000 _koku_. Perhaps this fact, together with his youth, and the more entertaining expenditure of the income at an Edo _yashiki_, rather than in a mountain castle town, brought the Takata no Kata to the capital. Takata Dono, or the Takata no Kata, so named from the fief, is not known to fame or history under other appellation. She is said to have possessed all the beauty of her elder sister, the Senhimégimi, wife of Hidéyori Ko[u], son of the Taiko[u], he who fell at Osaka castle. Furthermore, with the training of the _samurai_ woman, the greatness of her position and personal attraction, she possessed all the obstinacy and energy of the male members of her family, with few of the restraints imposed on them by public service. Takata Dono frankly threw herself into all the pleasures she could find at the capital. Established in the Yoshida Goten, the younger _samurai_ of the _hatamoto_ quickly came under her influence. There was a taint of license in her blood, perhaps inherited from the father who was most unbridled in his passions. The result was a sad falling off from the precepts of Bushido[u] in herself and her paramours. The Bakufu (Sho[u]gunal Government) was compelled to look on, so great was her power at the castle. In the earlier days sentence of _seppuku_ (cut belly) was a common reward for open misconduct. A word from Takata Dono, and the disgraceful quarrels over her favours were perforce condoned; and her lavish expenditures on her favourites were promptly met. Alas! Alas! The up to date histories of Nippon sigh over and salve these matters. "They were the inventions of a later age; were not current in her life-time." Nor likely to be put too bluntly by those tender of their skins. But an old poem has come down to express the popular belief: "_Yoshida to[u]reba nikai kara maneku; Shikamo kano ko no furisode de._" Somewhat irregular, like the lady's conduct, but which can be interpreted, "Passing Yoshida, from above the signal; Furthermore, the waving of long sleeves." Of little deer (or dears) for the style of sleeve, the _kano ko_, can be read young deer. Bah! Was there not a "parc aux cerfs" half way round the world? Nor were such confined to the capital cities of Edo and Paris.[11] The poem refers to the unbridled licentiousness the little lady developed on her translation from her provincial residence; though locally she had not failed to distinguish herself. What follows is part of the tales current. At the time the _himégimi_ (princess) was thrown on her own devices in Takata-jo[u] the _karo[u]_ or chief officer of the household was one Hanai Iki. This fellow owed his position entirely to his good looks and her ladyship's favour. This favour he met, not in the spirit of a loyal vassal, but in that of a professed and bold lady killer. As _karo[u]_ his attendance on her ladyship was constant and intimate, and it took no particular acumen to find out that the intimacy was of a more peculiar relation. Hence great was the under current of comment, and regret at the unbridled conduct of the lady. None, however, dared to interfere with the caprices of one so highly placed; and the only means was to work on the decent feelings of Iki himself. Thus the tale was brought to his wife's ears. It is to be said that with her all jealousy was suppressed. It was for her to find the cure for her husband's unbridled conduct. As Hanai Iki was a mere official, and with no great claim to unusual or able services, it was hoped that his removal or reform in conduct would bring back the _himégimi_ to a befitting conduct. There was no suspicion that her passion was a disease raging in her very blood, and that it was the man, not his personality she sought. The wife first adopted the orthodox method of formal remonstrance. Without chiding, with a smile and great indulgence of one at no particular fault himself, she enlarged upon the subject in the service of the tea. "It is not a matter between Iki Dono and this Chiyo. There is no unseemly jealousy in the wife to bring forward the complaint. In fact the marital relation is not in question. As the husband pleases, so should the wife submit. But great is the talk aroused at these too private meetings with the _himégimi_. It is the House which is at stake. Its influence and prestige is threatened by a mere retainer. This in a short time can but lead to ruin. The caprice of a woman is well known. In some cooler moment the eyes of her ladyship will see another colour. The one to suffer will be Iki Dono, for now he has no other support but in his mistress. Deign to regain the confidence of the household, and no great harm can result beyond neglect. Honoured sir, you stretch out for what is far beyond reach; and in the end can but fail. Deign to be circumspect." If there was any tone of contempt and depreciation in the protest it was in the last few words. At all events the eyes of Iki were opened to the fact that it was sought to reach him through the wife's remonstrance. He expressed surprise and discomfiture at what he asserted had no real basis in fact. His office brought him in close contact with her ladyship; the more so as the management of the fief was in her hands. Matters were to be discussed which necessitated the exclusion of all others. However, if such was the talk of the palace, or even beyond its walls, he could but give thanks for the kindness of the remonstrance. Henceforth he would be more careful, and would trust to her good feeling to believe in his good faith. With joy the wife heard what he said. With all good will she made herself the apostle of this explanation. No one believed her and facts soon belied words. Her ladyship, just entering on her passion, became more exigent in her calls for the _karo[u]'s_ attendance. Iki now seldom appeared at his home. Long absences from the castle town, pressing business, any excuse to hand came to the alarmed ears of the wife. All the rumours gathered were sure to reach her in exaggerated form. Hanai Dono was the constant companion of her ladyship's wine feasts. He was her acknowledged paramour, and lived in the private apartments of the castle as in his own house. All talked--except the ladies in waiting of the _himégimi_. These were selected and trained by her; selected for beauty and trained to discretion. She would have no ugly thing about her; and all was to be for her use. Iki was handsome, and discreet. To her he was an object; as were the maids; the same apart from sex. He filled his rôle admirably, never introduced his favour with her ladyship into the public affairs of the House, or solicited for such personal advancement as made toward outward display. But circumspection of conduct never yet closed the mouth of gossip. There were those who were jealous of what he might do; and jealous of a favour they would gladly share themselves. The _himégimi_ was the prize which all coveted, and which no one should possess to the exclusion of others. Hence the buzz of talk rose loud, and the criticism stung the wife. She determined herself to learn the truth of these tales. Hitherto they were but the scandalous talk of people. Wife of the _karo[u]_, naturally her ladyship did not require her attendance; but as such she had ready access and an intimate acquaintance with the palace routine. Her mind made up, she presented herself on some trifling pretext. Certainly in her manner there was nothing to arouse comment. Received in the inner apartments (_oku_), her plea, the introduction of a page into the service, was readily granted. On retiring she would speak with the superintendent of the _oku_, the old and experienced lady in waiting in charge of the _himégimi's_ service. Thus she found the opportunity to wander the inner precincts, to disappear and to slip into the bed room of the _himégimi_. Here she stepped into a closet, pulled to the screen, and crouched down behind the heaped up quilts. For the companionship of her wandering lord she did not have long to wait; nor for proof of his inconstancy. Iki came into the room, holding by the hand and drawing after him one of palace ladies in waiting, Takeo by name. The girl was by no means unwilling. Her blushes and confusion added to the great beauty which made her the favoured attendant on the _himégimi_. Iki pressed her close and openly. The girl plead ignorance and inexperience. She was ashamed. Iki laughed. "Does not her ladyship set the example for others to follow? Deign...." The plea of his relations with the mistress came quite fit to the coarse feeling of Iki. Not so to the girl, who was warmed into some indignation, and drew all the more from him. He would persist; but just then her ladyship called from the next room--"Takeo! Takeo!" The voice was impatient, as of one in haste. Iki had time to thrust a letter into the girl's hand, which she quickly transferred to her bosom. All the boldness of O'Chiyo was at stake as the maid came to the closet. Close down she crouched; but Takeo had one eye on Iki, and only one careless eye on the heap of _futon_, of which she drew from the top. Iki made a grimace, for the benefit of the one he really loved. Her ladyship's appearance was received with the warm and flattering affection of the favoured lover; and O'Chiyo had proof positive that the relations of the two were kind indeed. The suicide of the wife, the letter of protest she left behind, had more influence on the public than on the conduct of Hanai Iki. It simply removed the last restraint and means of reaching him. All now depended on her ladyship's infatuation. Old vassals sighed with joy when they heard of the proposed removal to Edo. As _karo[u]_ Hanai Iki would be left in charge of the fief. Not so: it was soon learned that his name headed the list of those transferred for household service. The grumbling was as open as it dared to be. The fief was to be contented with the service of two vice-_karo[u]_; no great loss, except in matter of prestige in dealing with other Houses. The _karo[u]_ became a kind of male superintendent of the _oku_! But at all events the fief was rid of him. Nor was Iki particularly pleased. He had been feathering his nest in the material sense. The severance of the connection, without loss of esteem, meant to him a quicker consummation of his wishes with Takeo Dono, whom he would ask for as wife. Their relations had gone forward at a wild pace. Once thrown into the whirl of passion Takeo sought but to meet the wishes of her lover. The passion of the _himégimi_ stood between them. Established in Edo, at the Yoshida Goten, all went mad with content in their beautiful surroundings. The palace gardens were noted. A hint of the fine construction of the buildings is found to-day at the Kugyo[u]ji of Iinuma, built subsequently from the materials. For the use of the Sho[u]gun Ke in entertainment of his visitors, every art had been exhausted in its adornment. The screens were objects of beauty, and separated the large rooms with their fine pillars and ceilings of grained and polished woods. The _rama-sho[u]ji_ were carved by Nature's handiwork, and the polished lacquer and brass reflected a thousand times the beauties roundabout. Whether the garden be viewed from the apartments, or both from the _tsukiyama_ or artificial hill beside the little lake, it was a scene of balanced beauty, showing every nicety of man's hand in Nature's own proportion, and not guided into the geometrical designs of a carpet square or a surveyor's working table. Instead of the dry dullness of a provincial town, in which themselves they had to fill the stage to give it life and pompousness, Edo was close at hand, and they were part of, and actors in, the luxury and magnificence of the Sho[u]gun's court. It is not surprising that the _himégimi_ returned to all this glitter and activity as one long banished from its seductions to a wilderness; added her own dissipation and lavish entertainment to the constant round of festivity and luxury rapidly supplanting the hard military discipline of the first Sho[u]gun's camp; a luxury itself to crystallize into a gorgeous rigid formalism, as deadly to the one not meeting its requirements as the lined and spotted beauty of some poisonous serpent. The wine feast was at its height. The cup passed more freely in this chilly season of the year; and in the tightly closed apartments the warmth of association and the table's cheer were sought. The _himégimi_ was more expansive than usual under the influence of the wine. Iki was positively drunk, and in his state over-estimated the condition of her ladyship. Takeo was serving the wine. Beyond stolen interviews of moments the lovers had found no opportunity for the longed for clinging of soul to soul, of person to person, during the night's long hours. The girl's hands trembled with passion as furtively she sought those of her lover in the passing of the wine cup. Iki was absolutely careless. Her ladyship too far gone to note his conduct? He seized the arms of Takeo and drew her to his side. The display of amorous emotion on the part of both was too open to escape notice. The _himégimi_ rose to her feet as on springs. The beautiful flushed face took on a deeper tint as she scowled on the guilty and now frightened pair. Her breath came hard and with difficulty. Then reaching down she wound the long tresses of Takeo in her hand, and dragged her to her knee. Twisting and twisting, until the agony made the girl cry out, she berated her--"Ah! Wicked jade! Thou too have eyes for a man's person. Disloyal wench, would you aim to make the beloved of your mistress partner of your bed?... What's this?" From the girl's hand she tore the answer to the lover's plaint. The sharp eyes of her ladyship sought the maid's person. A nervous hand fumbled the folds of her _obi_ (sash). "Ah! The treasure house is not far off. Such valued gems are carried on the person." Thrusting her hand into the gentle bosom the _himégimi_ drew forth the guilty complement. Wrote Iki-- "How act to drop the mask; Many the pledges breathed in truth." And the girl made answer: "Ah! The night of meeting, love's consummation; The hindrance, thing or person, object of hate."[12] The words were too plain. There was a certain savage tone of exulting wrath as the _himégimi_ read out loud the contents of the missives. It chilled the hearts of those who heard her. She spoke: at first in low concentrated tones of bitter jesting hate. "Ha! Ha! Disloyalty goes beyond mere thought; would strike at the person of its lord. What lascivious slut is this, who thus would creep into the mistress' bed, to take her place?... Look up! Naruhodo! In that face is too much beauty. Vile huzzy, you would seek the favour of my lover. Hence forth neither he nor any man shall look on you, except with loathing." Close beside her was the _hibachi_, its burden of the hard burning charcoal from Ikéda now a bright cherry red. Dragging the girl to the brazier, twisting both hands more firmly in the long black hair, she forced her, face downwards, into the heated mass, pressing into the back with her knee. In terror the other girls looked away, or hid their faces in their sleeves. Before the towering anger of the princess none dared apology or intercession. The smell of burning flesh rose sickening. Takeo feebly moaned, and writhed a little under the nervous pressure of those delicate powerful hands. Then she was silent. The inhuman punishment had reached its end. Roughly her ladyship threw her aside, face upward on the _tatami_. Those who took a hasty glance turned away in horror from the face, black here, red and swollen there, the mouth filled with ashes, the eyes--one totally destroyed. The _himégimi_ was on her feet. "Iki--here with you!" In fear the man prostrated himself before the vision. "Not yet did the demon's horns sprout from her head; but the eyes injected with blood, the hair standing up to Heaven, converted her ladyship into a veritable demon." In slow and measured wrath she spoke--"Ah, the fool! Admitted to the favour of his mistress, the long continued object of her affection, with all at his command and service, he would sacrifice these for the embraces of a serving wench. Truly the man has gone mad with lust; or rather it is a man's face and a beast's mind. Thus before my very eyes he would dally with his whore and make me cuckold. Of such miscreants one feels no jealousy. Hate and punishment follow the insult." A quick movement backward and her halberd hanging at the wall was in her hand. The scabbard stripped from the shining blade was held over head. "Namu San! Holy the three sacred things!" Iki sprang to his feet, coward and fool he sought not to grapple with her, but to flee. The command of the _himégimi_ rang sharp--"He is not to escape!" In this company of her maids, all _samurai_ women, the discipline was complete. If they would not suffer the punishment of Takeo, they must respond. Whatever the backbiting and division among themselves, in her ladyship's service they would sacrifice life itself. Besides, more than one hated Iki with the heart-whole hate of neglected love and advances. Takeo had been more favoured than her companions, not through any fault of theirs in seeking this lady killer. Hence the alarm was quickly given. Iki was beset by this female army, every one armed, himself with but his dagger. There was no outlet for escape. Then they came to close quarters. The boldest threw themselves on him. Dragged to the ground, bound fast, he was pulled and pushed into the garden. Breathless and dishevelled the female horde parted to allow the approach of the _himégimi_--"Such open insult and vile conduct is difficult to overlook. The disloyalty intended is past pardon. For this, too great the grudge." The keen blade flashed, and the head of Iki rolled some feet distant. Without a glance in the direction of the miserable Takeo, the princess took her way back to her apartment. At last some attention could be given to the suffering and disfigured girl. She was paying the penalty for her treachery and disloyal thoughts. The pains which followed were aggravated by neglect. The face and chest one mass of burns, the wounds soon became putrid. The stench was so frightful that none would go near her. They brought her food; then fled her presence in disgust. As she grew weaker, unable to feed herself, the pangs of starvation were added to her woes. The continued cries of agony grew feebler and feebler, became a mere low moaning; then ceased altogether. "Thus trifles lead to death, and lechery finds its punishment." The bodies of the guilty pair, thrown into the garden well, there found the only interment. Her ladyship was not to escape. Following this scene her passions broke out of all bounds. She took no new lover; it was lovers. Men were beckoned to the Yoshida Goten as to a brothel--with waving sleeves from the upper story. For a night, for a week, for a month they would be entertained. The weaker sort soon displeased her, and were dismissed; to find their end in the well of the willow, the Yanagi no Ido, of the inner garden of the palace. It would seem as if some wicked demon had entered the person of Takata Dono, to lead her into this course of debauchery. CHAPTER XII THE KO[U]JIMACHI WELL One day a toilet dealer came through the Bancho[u]. The sun was already on its decline as he passed the front of the Yoshida Goten on his way to his home in Kanda. It shone, however, on a fellow who at once attracted the attention of the look-out maid. She gave an exclamation--"Ma! Ma! What a handsome man! Such a loveable fellow! Her ladyship...." Then a feeling of pity seemed to close her mouth. But further speech was useless. The _himégimi_ lacked company for her night's feast. Herself she responded to the incomplete summons. A glance and--"Bring him here; without delay. Such a fine specimen is not to be allowed to escape." It could not be helped. At once the beauty, all smiles and gestures, with waving sleeves sought to attract the attention of the itinerant trader. The district was new to him, his sales had been poor. This summons was the direct favour of the Buddha. From this great mansion surely his pack would be much lighter on return. Timidly he approached the _samurai_ at the gate, fearing harsh repulse. The officer, however, was very amenable, transferring him at once to the guidance of the maid already waiting close by. Thus was he brought to the women's apartments; to be surrounded by a bevy of the sex, of a beauty of which he had had no experience. They began looking negligently over his poor stock, and closely over his own person. Then--"'Tis at her ladyship's order that the summons is made. Come this way." At this unusual conduct in a _yashiki_ he had some misgivings. His hesitation met with small consideration. The crowd of women surrounded him and pushed him forward, exercising a violence which astonished and paralysed resistance at being thus exalted above his sphere. Protesting he was taken to the bath. This office completed amid admiring comment, he was dressed in _hakama_ (trousers) and blouse, of stuff perfumed and of silky softness, which made him feel as if he moved in some dream. Thus purified and arrayed he was led through a long range of magnificent rooms, the sight of which sent his heart further and further into his heels. Finally he was introduced into an apartment of no great size, but with dais and bamboo blind. Led before this, his guides drew apart and prostrated themselves in obeisance. The toilet dealer followed the excellent example. The screen slowly rose and the Takata Dono appeared in all her beauty. At this period she was barely thirty years, in the full development of her charms. To the eyes of the poor toilet dealer it seemed as if Benten Sama, the goddess of love, was thus gravely regarding and measuring every line of face and body. Finally she seemed satisfied with this close inspection. A sign and the formality of the scene vanished. "Come closer.... The _saké_ cup!" Anxiously wriggling himself to her very presence, she then questioned him as to age, business, habits. Her voice was as silvery gentle as her face was beautiful. Soon he found himself looking up into it with confidence, as well as with awed respect. The _saké_ utensils brought, she condescended herself to fill the cup. This was filled again; and yet again. When the liquor began to show its influence her manner became more familiar. With a quick movement, which surprised him by the latent strength shown, she drew him close to her side, began openly to show her favour for him. "Such fine figure of a man is no such fool as not to know he can please a woman. The very trade leads him to study women's taste. Now sir: for test of your qualities...." But frightened the toilet dealer disengaged himself, and springing back a little he prostrated himself flat on the ground. "Deign not an unseemly jest. Close to the person of a great lady, such as is the honoured presence, the poor artisan finds but distress. His wares have no market amid this magnificence. Dependent on him for means of life are two aged parents. A bare subsistence is secured for them. Condescend his dismissal, that he may return to relieve their anxieties." The speech met with but poor reception. Gentle was the laugh of the _himégimi_, yet a little wrinkle knitted her brow. She seemed to regard him in a somewhat strange light. "Have no misgivings as to their fate. An ample sum shall be sent to assure them against need. Meanwhile Nature and the occasion has furnished forth the toilet dealer--for the lady's toilet.... Now for the wine feast." In the scene of riot and merriment which followed the one thought of the unfortunate trader was to escape. There was no strict order in the banquet, no formality. The idea of the _himégimi_ was to get the greatest pleasure out of everything to her hand, and all vied with each other, by song and art, with voice and musical accompaniment, by a minute attention to needs of host and guest to make the sensual effect of the scene complete. There was not a jarring element in the well trained bevy of women devoted to pleasure. The toilet dealer was free, yet bound. If he would seek occasion to leave his place, to move uneasily hither and thither in these wide rooms, as did the women with their carelessness and ease, always he found himself balked by their presence. Escape there was none. Soon he found himself again by her ladyship's side, to be plied with the wine until sense and caution gave way before the spell of the beautiful woman. To her it was an amusing game, a stimulant to her passion, the conquest of this reluctance in a man found to lack the brazenness and vulgarity of his caste. In the end he could but murmur at her feet that he was hers--to do with as she would. "Would that this dream could last forever! In this Paradise of the wondrous Presence." The scene was changed. Her ladyship rose. In the company of a few of the women he was led still further into the recesses of the palace. Here he was arrayed for the night, amid the merry jesting and admiring criticism of his attendants. Accompanied to the bed chamber the _fusuma_ (screens) were closed, and he could hear the fall of the bars in the outer passages. Submission now was easy, as inevitable, as taken by the storm of this woman's passion. With but short intervals of dozing she would draw him to her embrace, and intoxicate him with her caresses. "When the poison be taken--let the plate be full." With clearing brain, though under the spell of her beauty he never lost sight of the purpose to flee this doubtful snare. When at dawn she really slept, he rose to seek exit; to run into the ever vigilant guard. "Naruhodo! Truly an early riser the honoured guest. But all has been made ready. The bath is at hand. Deign to enter." Thus surrounded and compelled he began the second day. As the maid dressed him after the bath she broke out in admiration of his physical presence. "The handsome fellow! No wonder her ladyship was seized by the love wind." In the evening's entertainment he had proved himself no fool in interesting anecdote of the town, and a quaint and naive description of the view the lowly take of those who call themselves the great. Under the skilful questioning of one or other this simple fellow--of keen wit and observation--had shown a phase of life unknown to them, beyond the careless view afforded from between the blinds of the curtains of the palanquin. The vulgar boldness of his predecessors was conspicuously lacking, as was the tedious talk of war and discussion of court etiquette of noble and more formal guests. Not only her ladyship, but the maids thoroughly enjoyed him. His astonishment and fearful protest at the gorgeous robe put on him turned them from pity to amusement. Said a bolder wench--"Take and enjoy the gifts of her ladyship as offered. The chance is not likely again to present itself. Put aside all thought of past; seek pleasure in the present, without regard to the future." Though spoken with a smile which showed the whole row of beautiful teeth, there was a menace in the words which came home to him. If he had had some suspicions of his whereabouts, he felt sure of it now. There were but rumours and suspicions, slanders of course, of which he seemed destined to prove the truth. The knowledge seemed to add dignity to his pose. He would await her ladyship's exit from the bath. Conducted to the garden he strolled its beautiful inclosure, noted the high roofs on every side. Standing by the _tsukiyama_ he heard the shuffling of sandals. Turning he prostrated himself before the _himégimi_. Rosy, with sparkling eyes, long flowing black hair, regal presence, she was indeed the goddess Benten Sama in human flesh and blood. Without rising the toilet dealer made request--"Deign the honoured pity. To spend one's life in the service of the honoured Presence, this has been said; and for the words regret there is none. It is for those dependent. Condescend that no harm come to them, no distress from this visitation of gods and the Buddha. Willingly the price is paid for the delicious dream, no grudge felt for what is to follow." The _himégimi_ stopped short. For some time she was lost in thought. This man was keen enough of wit to know the price at which her favours were bought; brave enough not to flinch, or to make abortive effort to avoid his fate. Her whole experience brought feeling of disgust toward men, when once satiated. With this man the chord of pity was touched. The honoured sleeves were wet with the honoured tears as she made answer to the plea. Without slightest effort to deny her once purpose she consoled and reassured him. "It was determined, that granted favour you should never leave this place." Her brow darkened for a moment at the ominous words; than cleared radiant. "Those who enter here ascribe to their good fortune the pleasures they enjoy. Instead of modest gratitude they show the arrogance of possession. Purpose was first shaken by the filial love expressed for those who gave you being, the tender care and anxiety for their welfare. A man like you, one is assured of his faith and silence. At night you shall depart from here unharmed." She took him by the hand, and when he would show respect, with familiarity drew him along with her. Thus they walked the gardens, talking of varying subjects; she listening to his explanations and instances of life in the common world, and questioning him adroitly as to his past and future. Then the return was made to the inner apartments of the palace. From this stray honey bee the little lady sucked the last juices of its nature. The day was spent in the same riotous merriment and feasting. At the order of the _himégimi_ he had withdrawn for the moment from her presence. When the maid came toward him, it was with expectation of another summons that he followed after. She took him to a little room. Here were his coarse garments and his pack. To these were added the gifts heaped on him by her ladyship. The change of garb completed suddenly the girl took him in her embrace, pressing the now soft perfumed hair and warm moist skin of his neck. "Ah! You lucky fellow! But know that silence is golden." With this she as suddenly seized his hand and led him swiftly along the dark corridor. At its end an _amado_ was slipped back, and they were in the garden. To a postern gate she fitted the key. Pack adjusted he would turn to make salutation. Two slender firm hands laid on his shoulders sent him flying into the roadway. The gate closed with a sharp bang, and all sign of this fairy palace disappeared. Every day the toilet dealer had prayed to _kami_ and Buddha, made his offering of "cash" at the favoured shrines, performed such pilgrimages (_sankei_) as his limited means and scanty time permitted. To this alone is to be ascribed his escape. Not so with others: to turn the page to a second instance--One day a maid from above called to the gate guard--"Stop that man!"--"Who?" The guard was at loss, not what to do, but whom to stop. Promptly the highway was roped off. None were allowed to move until inspection was made. As the plebeians lay prostrate with noses on the backs of their hands they marvelled and spoke to each other. "Truly a wondrous event! Some great rascal must have been detected. Thanks to the _kami_ and the Buddhas the heart of this Taro[u]bei is clean."--"And of this Jimbei. To pay the debt to the _saké_ shop he has not hesitated to contract Tama to the Yoshidaya of Yoshiwara."--"Well done!" quoth his friend. "Then credit at the Echigoya is good?"--"Deign to come and drink a glass of poor wine, to the pleasure and good luck of Jimbei." The edifying conversation was interrupted by call for inspection. All passers by but men were summarily motioned on. A maid stood by--"No, not this one ... nor this one ... nor that.... Ah! That big brown fellow, with huge calves. He is the man." At once the "big brown man" with enlarged pediments was cut out from the heap of humanity, with whispering fear and looks the others went about their business. "Truly his crime must be very great. Yet who would suspect it! He is not an ill looking fellow by any means." Others shook their heads as they went away, vowing never again to take this road to work, or home, or pleasure. Before the _yakunin_ the prisoner fell on his knees. "Deign the honoured pardon. Doubtless grave is the offence; but of it there is no remembrance. An humble wheel-wright of Kanda, this worthless fellow is known as Gonjuro[u]. It is work at Nakano which brings him hither." He turned from one officer to the other. They disregarded his prayers, and delivered him over to the maid, directing him to obey her orders, or suffer for it. In dumbfounded surprise and gathering confidence he followed after. Surrounded by the army of maids he more than readily submitted to their ministrations. The freedom of the bath, the donning of the gorgeous robe, pleased him beyond measure. To their quips and words of double meaning he made ready answer, meeting them more than half way with the obscenity of the Yoshiwara. "Taro[u]bei is tricked out like an actor." At this all the greater was their merriment and boisterousness. Introduced into the presence of her ladyship, his first confusion at the magnificence of the surroundings was quickly removed by his cordial reception. The _himégimi_ laughed at sight of him; laughed still louder at his uncouthness. Then she passed to more earnest measures; praised his thickness of limb, the sturdy robustness of neck and loins. To his apologies--she urged him not to be frightened or backward. Pushing the thick shock of hair back from his eyes he eyed her with growing comprehension. After all a woman was a woman. "'Tis no fault of this Taro[u]bei. The _yakunin_ compelled his presence. For such a noble lady he would make any sacrifice." He spoke with bold look and manner, thoroughly understanding now the nature of his summons at the caprice of some great lady. Had he not suffered equal good fortune with the beauties of Yoshiwara? He treated lady and maids with the same free familiarity and sportive roughness as if in one of his favoured haunts. All the more was the _himégimi_ amused at his extravagance. She made no sign of displeasure, and the girls made little resistance to the fellow's boisterous manifestations as he tousled them. Always her ladyship had eyes of the greatest appreciation on this splendid animal. The feast set before him he looked on with small favour. "What then tickles the palate of Juro[u]?" She leaned toward him, her face flushed with this struggle to cage her latest prize. The silvery and enticing voice had for answer--"Také (bamboo); just plain boiled, with syrup and _sho[u]yu_." Then timidly, as he sought her good will--"Just a little wine; two _go_ (a pint) ... say five _go_." She laughed with good humour. His choice among this bevy of beauties at last had fallen spontaneously on herself. The conquest pleased her. Then he was well stuffed with coarse foods, hunted out of the supplies for the grooms and stablemen in the palace kitchen, with _saké_ of a harsh and burning kind--"which had some taste to it." Indeed never had he drank such! The _himégimi_ sipped a drop or two of the acrid liquor, made a wry face, and sought to bring the scene to its climax. With the bath next day he was all grumbling and exigencies. The maids bore this with patience, and glances interchanged. Her ladyship had promised him breakfast to restore exhausted Nature--"And such was promised as that this Taro[u]bei would never need another." He roared his dissatisfaction. The hint was taken up at once. "This way: it is for the _yakunin_ to carry out her ladyship's order, and to stop your gullet." The brusqueness of the _samurai_ was poor exchange for the noisy amorous atmosphere of the inner palace. With indignation the worthy wheelwright obeyed the order to march ahead. "Ah! Just wait my fine fellow. A word to the lady of the mansion, and you shall learn the cost of insult to the man she favours. This _yaro[u]_ Gonjuro[u] has no other wife. Her ladyship takes him as adopted husband." The officer winked and blushed a little at this very crude specimen. By this time he had led the man to the well curb in the inner garden. Harshly--"Now down with you. Favoured by the gods and Buddhas you cannot even hold your tongue. Ladies like not boasting of their favours. 'Tis now the time to express pity for you. Make ready!" Deftly he tripped him up, to send him an all fours. The sword flashed, and the wheelwright's head rolled on the ground. Just as it was the body was cast into the well. Such was the fate of those who found favour with the _himégimi_. More and more suspicious became people of the strange disappearances traced to the precincts of the palace. Strange tales went around, to gather force with numbers. Kwanei 8th year (1635), whether for closer supervision of the lady or actual necessity, she was removed to the castle precincts, and there given quarters. Time doubtless it was, that tempered these crazy outbursts of the _himégimi_. She lived until Kwambun 12th year. On the 2nd month 21st day (12th September 1672) she died at the age of seventy two years. Grand were the obsequies of one so favoured by the Sho[u]gun. The _daimyo[u]_ went up in long processions to condole with the suzerain at the death of a rich aunt, and congratulate him on the possessions seized. On the 24th day the lord of the land sent lavish incense and a thousand pieces of silver, by the hand of Inaba Mimasaka no Kami Masamori, to Matsudaira Echigo Ke the son and heir, doubtless glad enough to get this much out of his lady mother's rich furniture and dower. From the Midai-dokoro, the Sho[u]gun's consort, by the Bangashira (Superintendent) of the women's apartments of the Sho[u]gunal palace, he secured another thousand pieces of silver. All was treasure trove toward the heavy expense of the imposing funeral. On the seventh day of the decease--the 27th day (18th September)--the obsequies took place at the Tentokuji of Shiba, where she was to rest, well weighted down by massive sandstone and an interminable epitaph--of which the posthumous name of Tenso[u]-in can be remembered. The Sho[u]gun Ke was present in his proxy of Tsuchiya Tajima no Kami Kazunao. The Yoshida Goten had shorter shrift than its once occupant. The _daimyo[u]_ were moving into _yashiki_ under the compulsory residence edict. The _kyakubun_ were still met at the outskirts of the city, but the many different palaces for their entertainment became superfluous. The main part of the Yoshida Goten was pulled down, and its magnificent timbers and decoration went to the equipment of the prior's hall of the Kugyo[u]ji of Iinuma. This great temple, situate one _ri_ (2-1/2 miles) to the north of Midzukaido-machi, in the plain at the base of Tsukuba-san, is one of the eighteen holy places of the Kwanto[u], and under the charge of the Jo[u]do[u] sect of Buddhists. In former days the notice board was posted at the Chu[u]mon (middle gate), ordering all visitors to dismount from horse or _kago_. The _bushi_ removed their swords on presenting themselves for worship. The temple itself is of moderately ancient foundation, being established in Oei 21st year (1414) by the two Hanyu lords, Tsunésada and Yoshisada, who built the castles of Yokosomé and Hanyu, close by here in Shimosa. Grand is the _hondo[u]_ (main hall); and grand the magnificent old pines and cedars which surround it and line its avenues. These are set off by the girdle of the flowering cherry, famed among the ancient seven villages of Iimura. Moreover it was the scene of the early labours in youth of the famous bishop--Yu[u]ten So[u]jo[u]; who solved so successfully the blending of the pale maple colour of its cherry blossoms that he gave the name _myo[u]jo[u] no sakura_, a new transcript of the "six characters." Here he grappled with and prevailed over the wicked spirit of the Embukasané. In later writers there is a confusion as to the tale of the Yoshida Goten. The palace material was used for the construction of the prior's hall.[13] In the Genwa period (1615-23) the Senhimégimi, eldest daughter of Hidétada Ko[u] the second sho[u]gun, cut _short_ her beautiful hair and assumed the name of the Tenju-in-Den (as nun). The hair was buried here under an imposing monument; and later one of the ladies-in-waiting of the princess--the Go-tsuboné Iiguchi Hayao. (The name of the princess Tsuruhimé in _kana_ is probably a later and mistaken addition.) Thus were the many adventures of the Takata Dono transferred to her equally well known and beautiful elder sister. The Senhimé, wife of Hidéyori, suffered and did quite enough herself for which to make answer. Meanwhile the site of the Yoshida Goten in the Bancho[u] became more than suspected. Jack-o-lanterns, the ghosts of the victims of the _himégimi_, came forth from the old well to haunt and frighten passers-by. Nor were subsequent attempts to use it encouraging. Thus the ground lay idle and uncalled for, with no one to occupy it until the grant of a large tract in Dosanbashi as site for the _yashiki_ of Matsudaira Higo no Kami compelled removal of several of the _hatamoto_. Among these were O[u]kubo Hikoroku and Aoyama Shu[u]zen.[14] CHAPTER XIII THE SEN-HIMÉGIMI (Princess Sen) The Sen-_himégimi_, eldest daughter of Hidétada the second Sho[u]gun, figures little in our story; enough so, however, to necessitate the telling of one of the not least striking episodes in a life full of event. Married at the mature age of six years to the Udaijin Hidéyori, son of the Taiko[u] Hidéyoshi and lord of O[u]saka castle, those childish years were the happiest of that period. Clouds were rising between Toyotomi and Tokugawa as the princess approached nubile years. On her the Yodogimi, mother of the Udaijin, visited the more personal effects of her resentment. For the growing girl it was a period of tears and affliction. In truth she well knew the weight of her mother-in-law's hand. So wretched was her life that there was some fear of her killing herself. A powerful influence in screening her in these later years was that of the famous Kimura Nagato no Kami. Shigenari and his wife Aoyagi were the guides and friends of the _himégimi_ during this trying period; her councillors to forestall cause of the Yodogimi's wrath. Moreover the pleasant relations between the young husband and wife were an incentive to bear a burden patiently, which time might remove. Nevertheless the Yodogimi was inexorable. The night screens were set up in different chambers. When the Sen-himégimi made her escape from O[u]saka castle she was sixteen years old, and in all likelihood a virgin. As to the stories of her escape from the besieged castle, then in the very throes of the final vigorous and successful assault by the three hundred thousand men surrounding it, these vary. According to one account Iyeyasu Ko[u], brows knit with anxiety as he watched his men pressing to the attack, thumped his saddle bow as vigorously as waning years now permitted--"The Senhimé to wife, to him who brings her safe from the castle!" Not a man in his train moved. They looked at the blazing mass before them, the flying missiles--and staid where they were. Then came forward a Tozama _daimyo[u]_, Sakasaki Dewa no Kami Takachika.[15] Prostrating himself he announced his purpose to make the attempt. Making his way into the blazing pile of the burning castle he found the Senhimé amid her frightened maids. Wrapping her up carefully he took her in his arms, and with great regard for her person, and none for his own, he sought her rescue. The last chance was through the blazing mass of the great gate. Just as he was about to clear it, down came the tottering superincumbent structure almost on their heads. The red hot tiles, the sparks like a fiery deluge, the blazing fragments of wood carried and tossed by the air currents, surrounded them as in a furnace. Nearly all the train perished in the attempt. Dewa no Kami succeeded in presenting himself before the O[u]gosho[u] (Iyeyasu). Even the old captain could but turn with pity from the hideously disfigured man. The Senhimé in all her beauty was saved. Bitter was her resentment against all--father, grandfather, their partisans--who had refused the gift of life to the young husband. Rescue or no rescue, she absolutely refused to carry out the agreement and become the wife of this--mask. Other tales are less romantic. The most prosaic sends Dewa no Kami to Kyo[u]to, on orders of Hidétada Ko[u]. For the princess a second bed was to be found among the Sekké (the five great _kugé_ Houses of the imperial court). The mission was not unsuccessful, but by the time the messenger returned Hidétada had changed his mind.[16] Brusquely he offered her to Dewa no Kami. The Senhimé got wind of these movements. Her resentment toward the Tokugawa House determined her hostile stand. She would not be an instrument to their advancement. Family relations were taken very seriously. It is to be remembered that her uncle Hidéyasu, adopted into the Toyotomi, was so fiercely loyal to that House that his natural father, the O[u]gosho[u] Iyeyasu, poisoned him, by his own hand and a gift of cakes, it is said. Those likely to hitch and hamper the movement against O[u]saka, such as the famous Kato[u] Kiyomasa, found short shrift in the soup bowl. At all events the insult of refusal fell on Dewa no Kami. After all, by the most authentic tale, he seems to have deserved no particular credit. As to the actual escape from O[u]saka-Jo[u] either of the following versions can be accepted. As suicide was the inevitable issue for the defeated, the Yodogimi, with some reluctance, had announced her purpose; and her intent to involve the _himégimi_ in the fate of herself and son. This was but the ethics of the time; and was neither cruel nor unusual. It was thoroughly constitutional. Fortunately the fears of the Lady Dowager made her add--"the time is not yet propitious." She left the keep, intending to ascertain in person how matters went on outside, before going on with the ceremony inside. The maids of the Senhimé at once surrounded her and urged flight. Overpowering any resistance, moral and physical, these energetic _samurai_ women bundled their mistress well into _futon_ (quilts). Then with no particular gentleness they lowered her over the castle wall. Others followed her--to destruction or better luck, without _futon_. Some twenty of them risked the descent. Horiuchi Mondo[u], a gentleman of Kishu[u] Kumano, noticed the unusual group. They besought an aid for the princess he readily gave. Dewa no Kami happened to come on the scene, and promptly took the responsibility of the safety of the princess on his own shoulders. Here the two versions join, for by the other Ono Shuri, captain of the defense and hence most seriously involved, sought the safety of his own daughter. The princess therefore was sent from the castle, under the care of his _karo[u]_ Yonemura Gonémon, to plead for the lives of the Udaijin and his mother the Yodogimi. Ono was careful to include his daughter in the train, and the _karo[u]_ followed his illustrious example. Dewa no Kami met the party outside the castle, and grasped the chance of being agreeable by escorting it to the camp of the O[u]gosho[u]. Honda Sado no Kami here was in charge. His mission to the grandfather was eminently successful. Iyeyasu, overjoyed at the escape of the beloved grandchild, consented; provided that of the actual Sho[u]gun be obtained. All rejoiced, with little thought of Hidétada's harsh feeling. Perhaps the message expressed this; perhaps it was spoken to cover refusal, for he had deep affection for his children. But as in greatest wrath he made answer--"The thing is not to be spoken of. Why did she not die together with Hidéyori?" The Senhimé was safe enough now in his camp; and he did not purpose the escape of his rival Hidéyori, to be a permanent danger to his House. The princess, worn out by many days of suffering, went to sleep in the shed which furnished her with quarters, and never woke until high noon on the following day. By that time she could choose between the tales of her husband's escape to Satsuma; or his suicide and her widowhood, the only proof of which was the finding of the hereditary sword of the Toyotomi House. She clung to the former story, despite the ascertained suicide of the Yodogimi, who hardly would have allowed the escape of the son and her own destruction. Thus disgruntled, later the _himégimi_ was removed to Kyo[u]to, fiercely hostile to all the Kwanto[u] influence. A word in conclusion as to the fate of the attendants, thus skilfully foisted on her. The daughter of Ono Shuri had escaped, with all the sufferings and passions aroused by family disaster. When subsequently the princess was removed to Edo she went in her train. They were companions in misfortune. In the hostile atmosphere she was taken with a consumption, long to undergo its torments. Overcome by homesickness she would return to former scenes, and worship at her father's grave. Permission was now granted. Yonémura accompanied the dying girl to the capital. Here Ono Shuri had lost his head in the bed of the Kamogawa (the execution ground). Here at Kyo[u]to the daughter found her tortured end. Gloomy the old vassal prepared the funeral pyre of his mistress. As the flames shot high and wrapped the corpse, a woman's figure darted forward and sprang into the midst. Unable to distinguish the bones of his daughter from those of the honoured mistress, Gonémon placed the remains of both within the same casket, to rest at the last beneath the pines and cedars of the holy mountain of Ko[u]ya. On June 4th (1615) the castle had fallen. The date is important in connection with one of the current scandals. Later the Senhimé was escorted down to Edo by Honda Mino no Kami Tadamasa, in whose train was his handsome son To[u]nosuké (Tadatoki). He is said to have been like enough in appearance to the Udaijin Hidéyori to act as his substitute in the most intimate sense. The fierce little lady fell violently in love with him. By the time Edo was reached she ought to have married Honda, and in the passage of the months and days would have to. At all events this rather disproportionate marriage was early proposed to the council of the Bakufu, and after some discussion accepted. This decision was not reached until Genwa 2nd year 9th month (October 1616), or more than a full year after the fall of the castle. The failure to carry out the agreement with Dewa no Kami afforded ample reason for the extremity to which this latter's rage was carried. By all accounts he had lost a bride, the acknowledged beauty of the land, apart from the great influence of the connection. Perhaps his own hideous disfigurement was involved. He determined to lie in wait for the journey down to Himeji, Honda's fief; and kill or carry off the lady. The Sho[u]gun's Government got wind of the purpose. The lords were storming with wrath, and a public fracas was feared. All composition had been refused. Dewa refused to see his friend Yagyu[u] Munénori, sent to him as messenger of greatest influence. Secret orders then were sent that Dewa no Kami must be induced to cut belly, or--his vassals ought to send his head to Edo. The Sho[u]gun's word and bond must be saved. The vassals knew their lord, and had not loyalty enough to act otherwise than to sever his head, as he lay sleeping off a drunken fit in broad daylight. It was against rewarding this disloyal act that Honda Masazumi showed open opposition to the council's decision; and Hidétada Ko[u] himself disapproved enough not to inflict extinction (_kaieki_) on the family of the dead lord, the usual process. The continuance of the succession was permitted on the Sho[u]gun's order. All these matters were so public that little credit is to be given to the rôle assigned to Sakasaki Dewa no Kami in the event about to be described; the issue of which was so unfortunate in the carrying out, that Sakasaki, in command of the bridal cortege and keenly feeling the disgrace, cut open his belly in expiation; and that the Government, to hush up talk as to attack on the train of the princess, put forward as explanation the proposed treachery and resultant death of Dewa no Kami. As to the event itself: with greatest reluctance, uncertain as to her former husband's fate, the Senhimé had been forced into agreement with the Honda marriage. From the Nishimaru (western) palace the bridal cortege took its way to the _yashiki_ of Honda near the Hitotsubashi Gomon. Time was at a discount in those days, and by no means was the shortest route to anything taken. The procession filed out of the Sakurada Gomon, to circle with its pompous glitter the outer moat. All went very well. The _yashiki_ walls bordering Tayasumura were slipping by. Then the steadily accumulating clouds poured forth their contents. It was a downpour, blinding in effect. The _rokushaku_ of the Kurokwagumi--stout and tall palanquin bearers, "six footers"--floundered and staggered in the mud. The heavy palanquin came to the ground. Great was the rage of the princess at this unseemly precedent for such an occasion. "Rude ruffians! By this very hand this scum shall die!" _Te-uchi_ was to be the lot of the miserable fellows prostrate in obeisance and seeking pardon in the blinding storm from the lady's dagger, menacing them from the open door of the palanquin. The Lady of O[u]saka was quite capable of carrying out her threat. Abé Shiro[u]goro[u], later the famous Bungo no Kami, was equal to the occasion. With soft words he would soothe her. "Congratulations to the _Himégimi_! May her highness deign to accept the so happy augury of present ill luck bringing good fortune throughout a long and happy life. Deign to regard with future favour the words of Shiro[u]goro[u]." He got as near the mud as he dared in his respectful salutation. The lady's face softened. She was appeased. Then she held up the hand, with the dagger still ready for action. Shiro[u]goro[u] sprang to his feet. Something else than storm was in progress. In the escort ahead there were other sounds than the rumbling and sharp crash of the thunder, the swishing of rain wind driven. The flashes of lightning showed that the cortege was the object of a most determined attack, which sought to make its way to the palanquin of the princess. Abé Shiro[u]goro[u] would have leaped forward, but the flashing eyes and presence of the _himégimi_ held him to her nearer defence. The number of the assailants could not be ascertained in this darkness like to night.[17] The tower of defence was Yagyu[u] Tajima no Kami, greatest master of the sword in Nippon. He had the support of the younger O[u]kubo, of Kondo[u] Noborinosuké, of Mizuno Juro[u]zaémon even then noted as expert with the spear. In general command was the beloved superintendent of the _hatamoto_, O[u]kubo Hikozaémon. In daylight the affair would have been easy. But in this darkness they had to stand to their defence. That it was an attack by O[u]saka _ro[u]nin_, enraged at the marriage of the princess, there was no doubt. But what their numbers? So far the defense was impregnable. There was nothing to fear. Three of the leaders of the _ro[u]nin_ lay on the ground. Their chief, visible in the lightning flashes, could not hope for success. It was the old and still active Hikozaémon, the _oyaji_ (old chap), the hardened warrior of Iyeyasu, who scented out the threatening move. He sprang off into the dark wood, almost as the crack of the musket was heard. They would seek the life of the _himégimi_ with deadly missiles! How contemptible; for great as yet was the scorn of such use. Vigorous was the old man's pursuit of a foe, seeking to ascertain his success and reluctant to flee. "Ah! Ah! Rascal! Just wait! Wait for this Hikozaémon!" The fellow did wait, a little too long. Noting the lessening darkness, the discomfiture of his train, he turned to flee in real earnest. As he did so, Hikozaémon, despairing of success, hurled his dirk. Deep into the fellow's shoulder it went. "Atsu!" Savagely he turned on the old man. Hikozaémon was skilled in defence, but stiffening with age. His opponent showed himself an able warrior. "Ah! Ha! 'Tis Hikozaémon Dono. With him there is no quarrel. Deign to receive a wound." The old fellow's sword dropped helpless under a sharp rap over the wrist from the back of the blade. This was enough for the man's purpose. With laughing and respectful salutation, of short duration, he turned to a more successful flight. The storm cleared away, the cortege was re-formed; to enter in state the _yashiki_ of Honda Sama. It was said that he got but a cold bride--one on whom only "the bed quilt lay light." Time, the ascertained fact of Hidéyori's death, worked a change in the insanity simulated by the princess. Then she was so taken with her lord that she proved fatal to him. He died at the age of thirty-one years, was buried in his castle town of Himeji, leaving but one daughter as issue by the princess. The lady returned to residence at the Takébashi Goten, to be a disgruntling influence in her brother's court. But Honda Ke had not done badly. This consort made him a minister in the Sho[u]gun's household (Nakatsukasa no Tayu), a more likely promotion than one at the age of sixteen years, at this date of the Sho[u]gunate. From 10,000 _koku_ his fief was raised to 150,000 _koku_; and he secured a wife so beautiful that his exodus to the houris of Paradise was a bad exchange. Meanwhile what was the cause of objection, thus expressed by force of arms, to the conduct and nuptials of the Sen-himégimi? CHAPTER XIV SHU[U]ZEN ADOLESCENS The struggle between Toyotomi and Tokugawa was of that embittered character which follows from two diverse theories of political structure. The Taiko[u] Hidéyoshi, by force of military genius and constructive statesmanship, had assumed the pre-eminent position in the land. In doing so he had drawn to himself a sturdy band of followers whose whole faith and devotion lay in the Toyotomi. Such were the "seven captains," so conspicuous in the defence of O[u]saka-Jo[u] in later years. Such were the doughty fighters Susukita Kanéyasu (Iwami Ju[u]taro[u]) and Ban Danémon. The latter unceremoniously shook off allegiance to his lord on the latter's treachery at Sekigahara, and turned _ro[u]nin_. Such were great recalcitrant nobles thumped into complete submission, granted unexpected and favourable terms in their capitulation, devoted henceforth to the Toyotomi House, and of whom the Cho[u]so[u]kabé of Tosa are representative. It is the fashion of modern historians to regard and speak of these brave men as irreconcileables and swashbucklers; thus tamely following after the Tokugawa writers of contemporary times, and imperialistic writers of to-day, to whom all opposition to the favoured "Ins" is high treason. As matter of fact, if men like the Ono were lukewarm and seeking their own advantage; if Obata Kambei Kagemori was a mere traitorous spy of the Tokugawa; Sanada Yukimura and Kimura Nagato no Kami, and in humbler sense Susukita Kanéyasu and Ban Danémon, if they had much to gain by the victory of their lord, yet were willing to endure hardship, face a defeat early seen, and accept the inevitable death which was meted out to him who refused the attempts at bribery and corruption of the victor. The "_ro[u]nin_," of whom the then Tokugawa chronicles and captains spoke so contemptuously, were in the bulk not only "the outs," as opposed to "the ins," but they were too devoted to their party tamely to accept service with the enemy. Large were the bribes actually offered to Sanada and Kimura; and any or all of the seven captains could have made terms of advantage--to themselves. "The scent of the plum, with the flower of the cherry; Blooming on branch of willow 'tis seen."[18] Iyemitsu Ko[u] hung this poem on the flowering plum tree to which he gave the name of Kimura no Ume; a conscious tribute to the chivalry of Shigénari. And O[u]kubo Hikozaémon risked life and favour in the destruction of the plant, and rebuke of the bad taste shown to men who had lost fathers, brothers, gone down before the deadly spear of the young captain. The fall of O[u]saka-Jo[u] decided the fate of the Toyotomi House. Not at once, for the rumour of the Udaijin's escape to Kyu[u]shu[u] kept alive hopeful resentment in the minds of the scattered _samurai_ whose captains had perished in the battles around O[u]saka, had died or cut belly in the final assault, or had lost their heads by the executioner's sword in the bed of the Kamogawa. Among those who found refuge in the hills of Iga was a certain Ogita Kuro[u]ji; a retainer of Nagato no Kami. This man gathered a band of kindred spirits, among whom his favoured lieutenant was Mo[u]ri Munéoki, although he much leaned to the astonishing acumen of Kosaka Jinnai, a mere boy in years, but hiding in his short and sturdy form a toughness and agility, with expertness in all feats of arms, which discomfited would be antagonists. In the discussions as to future movements there was wide difference of opinion. Munéoki, the true partisan, proposed to rejoin Hidéyori in Satsuma. "The prince is now harboured by Higo no Kami; Shimazu Dono of Satsuma, close at hand, will never permit the entrance of the Tokugawa into his borders. It is at Kagoshima-Jo[u] that the prince will reorganize his party; and thither duty calls." But Kosaka Jinnai was equally positive in the opposite sense. He turned Munéoki's own argument against the proposal. The prince could well be left to organize the West. It was for others to see how affairs went in the North. Therefore the first thing was to hasten to Edo, to ascertain the position of Daté Masamuné and the great northern lords at this final triumph of the Tokugawa, when at last their jealousy and fear might be aroused to opposition. Adventurous inclination, the desire to meet rather than run away from the enemy, turned the scale to Edo. Reluctantly Munéoki agreed. With Jinnai he proceeded, to learn the state of affairs as to the great northern House, so devoted to the new creed of Yaso (Jesus) as certain to be angry and alarmed at the savage persecution now entered on by the second Sho[u]gun. They returned to meet Ogita and the other captains at Odawara, and with unpleasant news. Masamuné Ko[u], luckily for his would be interviewers, was absent at Sendai. However there was no difficulty in finding out that far from dreaming of further embassies to Rome from the Prince of O[u]shu[u], he had and was acting so vigorously that probably in no quarter of Nippon was the hostile and treacherous creed so thoroughly stamped out. The watch and ward of the north country was practically left to a loyalty of which the Tokugawa felt assured. Munéoki made this report with bitter joy, and Jinnai could not say him nay. Then the former carried out his first plan. He made his way to Kyu[u]shu[u], to learn the truth as to the Udaijin's fate. Assured of this he harboured with the malcontents of Higo and Hizen, to take his part and perish some years later in the Amakusa uprising. Perhaps the tartness of Mori's criticism made his company unacceptable. Ogita preferred to follow the urging of Jinnai and his own inclination to observe how matters were going in Edo. Most of the company followed him, to establish themselves as best they could in the confusion of the growing town, rendered a thousand times worse by the settlement of the later troubles and the flocking of all classes to this eastern capital. Ogita set up as a doctor in Daikucho[u] (carpenters' street) of the Nihonbashi ward, under the name of Gita Kyu[u]an. His chief lieutenant, Jinnai, settled close to his leader in Kurémasacho[u], figuring as a physiognomist, of near enough relation to excite no comment in the companionship with the older man. His own years were disguised by an ample growth of hair and the past experience of an accomplished rascal. Jinnai could have passed himself off for a man of thirty odd years. The house of a physiognomist was overrun with visitors, whom Jinnai knew how to sift, and who had no particular wish to encounter each other. Hence the presence of the leaders, with his own particular followers, Watanabé Mondo, Ashizuké To[u]suké, Yokoyama Daizo[u], Hyu[u]chi To[u]goro[u], excited no comment among the neighbours. The question of the marriage of the Senhimé, the honoured widow of the Udaijin Ko[u], soon was stirring up a ferment in higher circles than these in Edo town. Sakai Uta no Kami and Doi Oi no Kami of the _ro[u]ju[u]_ (council of state) were keen to urge the match. She was young, and they plead the cruelty of forcing celibacy on her. She was the centre of the ill disposed and most willingly so. The stern old soldier Aoyama Hoki no Kami took the opposite ground. It was for her to cut short her hair and pray for the soul of the husband perished in the flames of O[u]saka-Jo[u]. Such was the precedent, and, he hinted with good ground, the disposition of the princess, then coquetting with Toshitsuné lord of the great Maéda House of Kaga. Besides he knew that Kasuga no Tsuboné, powerful influence in the private apartments of the palace, was urging on the match. The mere fact of her constant interference in the public affairs irritated Hoki no Kami beyond measure. He was acting through sentiment and conservatism. Kasuga and her allies were acting on political motives. They carried the day; to the great indignation of Hoki no Kami, and of an assistance he never dreamed of. Among the band of _ro[u]nin_ the matter was discussed with all the greater heat and bitterness of purpose, inasmuch as they had to do so mouth to ear. Ogita expressed their feeling when he summed up the matter as an outrageous breach of chastity on the part of a princess, who could not positively know whether the husband was yet living, or really had died at O[u]saka--"Hence she is doubly guilty, of treachery and pollution of her living lord; or of shameful lechery in this open neglect of his memory and seeking another bed. Moreover to put her to death will strike terror into the partisans of the Tokugawa, and give courage to all the adherents of the cause, of whom thousands are gathered here in Edo. A display of vigour will maintain those inclined to the new service true to the cause." All rapturously agreed. The occasion of the marriage and procession was settled upon for the attack, in which the leaders and some eighty men were engaged. The result, as told, was disastrous to them. Watanabe and Ashizuké were killed by Tajima no Kami's own hand. Kondo[u] Noborinosuké thrust his spear through the belly of Yokoyama Daizo[u]. Jinnai brought off in safety the bulk of the party. Ogita had tried to bring down the lady princess by a gun shot. In the straggle with Hiko[u]zaémon he purposely did the old man as little injury as possible. Respect for the grand old warrior, an amused interest in one whose influence lay in plain speaking, held his hand. If O[u]kubo Dono was entitled freely to express his opinion of the Sho[u]gun Ke, Kuro[u]ji took it as no insult to endure the same himself. He reached his home with a painful but not dangerous wound in the shoulder, to grunt over the infliction and this latest discomfiture. His nurse was not at all to the taste of Kosaka Jinnai. O'Yoshi was a bare twenty-three years in age. She was a beauty and a flirt. Ogita indulged in the greatest expansion with her; as would the man of fifty years to the girl, a mistress young enough to be a daughter. The months and weeks passed following the attempt on the Senhimé. The effort to hunt out the perpetrators had been given up in despair. The population of Edo as yet was too fluid and shifting to take very exact account of its movements. Doubtless they were _ro[u]nin_, and had promptly scattered on failure of the attack. Then the constant attempts at incendiarism, in many cases successful, began to attract attention. The two _machibugyo[u]_, together with the particular office for detection of thieves and incendiaries, were at their wits end to trace out this gang of fire bugs. One day O'Yoshi was just leaving the bath house in Daikucho[u] called the Cho[u]senya, when she met with an adventure. A young _samurai_ coming along the street attracted her admiring attention. He was barely twenty years of age, of good height and commanding presence. In black garb and wearing _hakama_, his two swords tucked in his girdle, and his cue trimmed high, attended by a _do[u]shin_ and several _yakunin_, the procession greatly flattered a woman's feeling. She tripped along, towel in hand, and her eyes anywhere but on her footing. Suddenly the strap of her clog broke. She was pitched forward, just able to keep her balance. The _samurai_ trod sharply on the discarded _geta_. A cry of pain followed, and O'Yoshi was all discomfiture at sight of the blood staining the white _tabi_ of the young lord. At once she was humble apology for her awkwardness, very badly received by the _do[u]shin_ who scolded her most severely--"Careless wench! Such rudeness is not to be pardoned." He would have laid rough hands on her, but Aoyama Shu[u]zen interfered. The woman was pretty, the injury painful, and he was young. "Don't scold her. It was by accident.... Don't be alarmed.... Ah! It hurts!..." He looked around, as seeking a place to rest. O'Yoshi was very solicitous over the handsome young man. "Deign to pardon the careless action. Alas! The foot of the young master is sadly injured. My husband is a doctor, Gita Kyu[u]an, of wondrous skill in the Dutch practice. Condescend to enter the poor house close by here, and allow drugs to be applied to the wound." Shu[u]zen really was suffering inconvenience and pain from his wound. Besides, as attached to the office of the _machibugyo[u]_, he sought all means of contact with the class whose offences were to be dealt with. He at once agreed. Ogita was absent when they entered. O'Yoshi tended the wound herself. The salve really had wonderful effect. Flow of blood and pain ceased. Cakes and tea, for refreshment, were placed before Shu[u]zen. O'Yoshi entertained him with amusing talk of the wardsmen of Nihonbashi, not the most stupid in Nippon. She retailed the bath house gossip, and Aoyama carefully took in costume, manners, and the conversation of the beauty, which did not at all accord with her station in life. If she was connected with a doctor now, at some time she had been intimate with men of affairs in his own caste. He thanked her graciously and would have forced lavish payment on her. O'Yoshi was all pained surprise and refusal. That her reluctance was genuine he could easily see. "I am Aoyama Shu[u]zen, and live in the _yashiki_ at Surugadai. The kindness shown is not to be forgotten, and perhaps some day this Shu[u]zen can serve his hostess." With compliments he took his leave. O'Yoshi watched the handsome youth well out of sight. She could not hear the remark of Shu[u]zen to the _do[u]shin_--"A suspicious house; no frowsy doctor shows such favour to his dame. Dress, manners, language, betray contact with the _samurai_." The officer nodded admiring assent to his young lord's acumen. Ogita Kuro[u]ji came limping home, to find O'Yoshi--Cho[u]senburo[u] Yoshi, as this adventure dubbed her--overflowing with her experience. At first he was rather pleased at such addition to his acquaintance. O'Yoshi was a bait to all but Jinnai, who would detach him from her. The others sought his favour to secure hers with greater ease. At mention of the _do[u]shin_, subordinate officials of the legal machinery, the official grade of the visitor, his brows knit. "Of official rank--that will never do! Deign Yoshi to be careful in relations with this man, if he should again appear. Engaged as is this Kuro[u]ji, the slightest hint, a suspicion, would be most disastrous."--"Then the affair of the Senhimégimi did not block matters? This Yoshi yet is to ride in palanquin, to be a _daimyo[u]'s_ wife?" The tone was a little jeering, and the laugh as of one sceptical. With thoughts on this new love the reference to this futile scheming annoyed her. She would push this acquaintance to the full effect of her charms. Ogita took some offence. He spoke braggingly, but disastrously to the point--"Assuredly 'tis Yoshi who shall be the lady of a _daimyo[u]_ of high place, not of a meagre fifteen or twenty thousand _koku_. Kaga Ke, Maéda Toshitsuné, is grinding his sword. The great Houses in the west--Hosokawa, Bizen, Kato[u], Mo[u]ri, Satsuma, will follow him. Give them but the opportunity in the disorder of Edo, and the sword will be drawn. In a month, Edo, fired at a hundred points will lie in ashes. Then...." He stopped a little frightened. But she feigned the greatest indifference, teased him into opposition. Sitting down before the wine she got out of him the whole affair. Reverting to the accident--"But yourself, an accident has been deigned. Has another Yoshi encountered Kuro[u]ji Dono?" To the tender solicitude half laughing he made jesting answer. "A Yoshi with beard and wearing two swords. To-day the contract was signed by all with the blood seal. The wine feast followed. The talk was earnest, some of it rash. Interposing in the quarrel, the dagger intended for the belly of one, was sheathed in the thigh of this Kuro[u]ji. A trifling flesh wound; well in a day or two, at present rest is needed."--"A dangerous affair; if it gives rise so easily to dispute." Such her comment. "Not so," answered the infatuated veteran. "They are too far in to withdraw." Before her eyes he unrolled the scroll. Her eye quickly ran along the crowded columns of the names--by the score. Here was indeed a big affair. Out of the corner of one eye she watched him put it away. The salve Ogita Kuro[u]ji used for his wound had no such benefit as that offered Aoyama Shu[u]zen; and perhaps O'Yoshi could have told the reason of its failure. By the next day the wound was inflamed enough to make movement difficult. Feeling the necessity of repair, Kuro[u]ji left all matters to his mistress, and sought early recuperation in complete rest. On plea of needed articles O'Yoshi was out of the house and on her hurried way to the Aoyama _yashiki_ at Suragadai. The distance was short; yet her plan was already laid. Her dislike for the ageing Ogita was sharpened into hate by her love for the handsome young _samurai_. Close to the _yashiki_ on pretext she entered the shop of a tradesman. To her delight she learned that the Waka Dono, Aoyama Shu[u]zen, as yet had no wife. She had a hundred yards to go, and her purpose and ambition had expanded widely in that short distance. Her application for an interview with his lordship was quickly granted. She had often been subject of talk and comment between Shu[u]zen and his subordinate officer. The _do[u]shin_ happened to be present, and the attendant announced her at once. Passed to the inner apartment she found Shu[u]zen as if he had been eagerly awaiting her coming for hours. Her reception was flattering. The ordinary salutations over they passed to most familiar talk, as of oldest friends between man and woman. When Shu[u]zen would go further, and in love making press still greater intimacy, her refusal was of that kind which sought compliance. Said she with a smile--"Make Yoshi the wife of the Waka Dono and she will make the fortune even of one so highly placed as Aoyama Dono." To his incredulity and astonishment she would say no more. Shu[u]zen now was determined not to let her go. He feigned consent, agreement to everything, with much regard for her, and small regard for the promotion at which he jested. Now they were in the very heigh-day of love. She resented his scepticism, and in the heat of her passion gave him everything--including the contract. His mistress by his side, seated in the confidence of an accomplished love affair he listened to her stream of revelation. This "doctor" and "husband" was neither doctor nor husband. His name was Ogita Kuro[u]ji, an O[u]saka _ro[u]nin_. With Kosaka Jinnai and others of the same kidney he had been the head and front of the attempted rape of the Senhimé. Shu[u]zen knew enough to discount all the talk as to Maéda Ko[u], of the Hosokawa, and other great Houses. They were beyond his sphere. But here in his hands lay the web of a most important affair; so important that it frightened him a little. As his brows knit O'Yoshi too grew a little frightened; regretted that she had told so much all at once. She had babbled beyond measure in her transport. She had misgivings. Shu[u]zen reassured her. For her to return to Daikucho[u] would never do. A breath of suspicion, and Ogita's sword would deprive him of his mistress. Safe quarters were to be found in the _yashiki_. He called the _do[u]shin_, one Makishima Gombei, and put her in his charge. The two men exchanged glances as she was led away. The office of the south _machibugyo[u]_ was in a ferment when Aoyama made his report. All available _yakunin_ were at once gathered. The list was carefully gone over with the minister for the month, Hoki no Kami. Despatched on their various missions the squads departed. To Shu[u]zen was assigned the capture of Ogita Kuro[u]ji, leader of the conspiracy. This latter was chafing at the prolonged absence of O'Yoshi. Some accident must have happened to her. Then he remembered. She had gone to Hacho[u]bori. Here lived a sister, whose delivery was daily expected. Doubtless this commonplace event, yet surpassing in interest to every woman, detained her. A confusion outside attracted his attention. There was a crowd, and some disturbance. Hatsu! The people were being kept back by _yakunin_. "The thoughts of Kuro[u]ji were those of the wicked." At once he attributed their presence to himself. A look out at the rear and he quickly shot to the wooden bar. Between the bamboo of the fence men could be seen passing to and fro in numbers; and they were _yakunin_. He had been betrayed. The counsel of Jinnai came to mind, and he ground his teeth as he stood with drawn sword before the empty drawer of the cabinet. The scarlet of the _obi_ of his false mistress flashed before his eyes. He had to die unavenged. "On his lordship's business! On his lordship's business!" The harsh voices sounded at the front. Those who would enter uninvited found themselves face to face in the narrow space with the old Kuro[u]ji, the man who had fought from Sagami to Tosa, from Cho[u]sen to Kyu[u]shu[u]. The more incautious fell severed with a cut from shoulder to pap. A second man put his hand to his side, and rolled over to breathe his last in a pool of blood. Visions of "Go-ban" Tadanobu came to mind. Kuro[u]ji would die, but he would leave his mark on the foe. Shu[u]zen's men could make no progress, except to swell the death roll or their wounds. In rage their lord sprang to the encounter. Shu[u]zen was young, but it is doubtful if the issue would have been successful with this man turned demon by the double injury and treachery. But Ogita amid this horde of assailants had suffered in his turn. In a parry his sword broke off short near the hilt. With a yell he sprang to close quarters, dealing Shu[u]zen a blow with the hilt that sent him reeling senseless to the ground. Then, unable to accomplish more, and taking advantage of the respite caused by the rescue of his foe, he sprang to the ladder leading above. Once on the roof he saw that escape was hopeless. Already they were breaking into the rear. Men were approaching over the neighbouring houses. In the old style of ages past he waved them back with drawn dagger. There was no Shu[u]zen to give command--"Take him alive!" They were only too glad to halt and let him do his will. Stripping to his girdle, before the assembled crowd he thrust his dagger into his left side and drew it across his belly. Then he made the cross cut through the navel. "Splendid fellow! A true _bushi_!" Admiring voices rose in the crowd. The body of Kuro[u]ji fell forward and down into the street. Thus he died. This affair had ended in a way to redound greatly to the credit of Aoyama Shu[u]zen. Others had not been so successful. Of nearly two hundred names only eighteen prisoners were secured. Shu[u]zen stamped with impatience on learning of the escape of Kosaka Jinnai. He had learned much about him from the hate of O'Yoshi. "That man is the real leader of the band, the inspiration of Ogita Kuro[u]ji. Ah! Why could not this Shu[u]zen be in two places at once!" Older officials bowed low, and smiled to themselves and each other at youth's self confidence. O'Yoshi now found short entertainment. Shu[u]zen had no further use for the woman, for the means of his promotion. One day a _chu[u]gen_ led her to the postern gate of the _yashiki_, put a paper containing a silver _ryo[u]_ in her hand, and unceremoniously shoved her into the roadway. The gate closed behind her. At first she hardly comprehended the meaning of this treatment. Then, as it filtered into her mind, her rage passed all measure. "Ah! The beast and liar! Yoshi was not fit to be the wife; nay, not even the female companion of this arrogant lord?" She had been juggled out of the secret of such value to him, then cast forth with the wages of a prostitute summoned to the _yashiki_. The woman was helpless. Broken in spirit she dragged herself off, to undergo a severe illness brought on by despite. Her foul rôle ascertained, friends and family would have nothing to do with her. Once recovered, she found herself deprived of all means of subsistence, even that of beauty, by her disease. Never more would she deal with the noble class, to be left with such a legacy. She would pray for the salvation of the man she had betrayed. On her way to the Asakusa Kwannon she passed the jail, then near the Torigoébashi. Stumbling along just here she raised her head, to confront the long line of rotting heads there set forth. Just facing her was that of her ex-lover Ogita Kuro[u]ji. It took on life. The eyes opened and glared fierce hate. The lips moved, and the teeth ground together. Then the other heads made measured movements. "Atsu!" With the cry she fell fainting to the ground, and it was difficult to restore her to consciousness. For several years the half crazed beggar woman sought alms near the jail, to act as guide and comment on the fresh heads exposed, until as nuisance she was driven off by the guard. Then the shameful swollen corruption of the body was drawn from the canal close by; thus to end on the refuse heap the treachery of Cho[u]senburo no O'Yoshi. CHAPTER XV THE GOD FAVOURS SHU[U]ZEN The influence of a House close to the person of the Sho[u]gun was no drawback to the close attention Aoyama Shu[u]zen gave to official duty throughout his career. The Aoyama stood high in the council of the governing power. Even an old blunderbuss like Hoki no Kami could not shake this influence. When Yukinari tore the mirror from the hands of the young Sho[u]gun Iyemitsu Ko[u], berated him roundly for effeminacy, and dashed the offending object to pieces on the stones of the garden, this wanton treatment of the prince could not be overlooked. "Invited" to cut belly by his intimates and opponents in the council (_ro[u]ju[u]_) he defied them, laid hand to sword, and swore they should join him in a "dog's death." The timely entrance of O[u]kubo Hikozaémon prevented the unseemly spectacle of three old soldiers and statesmen enjoying the fierce and deadly pastime of one of the duels of Keicho[u] (1596-1614). Hoki no Kami in his own way was right--and knew it; and he had the tacit approval of Hidétada Ko[u]. The result was not _harakiri_, but the offending noble was consigned to the care of his brother. He and his were "extinguished"; for the time being, and to the greater glory of his other relatives near the Sho[u]gun's person. Such was the rough discipline in Hidétada's camp of Edo. The second Sho[u]gun, now retired (O[u]gosho[u]--_inkyo[u]_), never lost the manners or the methods of the battle field. The career of Aoyama Shu[u]zen therefore was a steady rise in the Government service; in younger years attached to the immediate train of the prince, in greater maturity to the enforcement of the edicts through the legal machinery of the Bakufu. At this time he ruffled it bravely with the other young blades. The younger _hatamoto_ on their part opposed to the _otokodaté_ of the townsmen the far more splendid _Jingumi_ or divine bands. Yamanaka Gonzaémon knocked out several front teeth and inserted in their places gold ones. Hence the rise of the _Kingumi_ or Gold Band. Aoyama Shu[u]zen did likewise with substitution of silver. Hence the _Gingumi_. They were all of the Mikawa _bushi_; that is, drawn from the native province and closely affiliated to the Tokugawa House. Hence these _hatamoto_ carried themselves high even against the greater _daimyo[u]_, sure of support from their over-lord the Sho[u]gun. As for the town, they did as they pleased, seeking quarrels, distributing blows, and only restrained by wholesome reprisals of _ro[u]nin_ or the _otokodaté_ of the townsmen, who in turn relied on such _daimyo[u]_ as Daté Ko[u] and Maéda Ko[u], valued allies of the Tokugawa House, yet showing no particular liking for the encroachments of the palace clique on their own privileges. The necessity of moving quarters was equally an embarrassment to Aoyama Shu[u]zen and to his intimate and neighbour O[u]kubo Hikoroku. O[u]kubo suggested Honjo[u]--"The water lies close by. Hence in winter the place is warm, in summer cool."--"And of mosquitoes swarms," interjected the practical Aoyama. "If the hillside be cold, it surely is no drawback to Hikoroku Uji." The one named made something of a wry face, and Aoyama smiled apart. He knew that Hikoroku was not so affectioned to the meetings of the Gaman Kwai as himself. However, smoothly--"This matter of the Yoshida Goten coming up offers fair opportunity. The failure of Endo[u] Uji need not discourage O[u]kubo Dono and this Aoyama." Both smiled a little. They could put palace influences better to work. "It is two thousand _tsubo_," said Shu[u]zen. "Just the thing: moreover, it is close to palace duty. On this point Honjo[u] is not in the running. Besides, the site has its own attraction. Of course Shu[u]zen takes the well, in the division." O[u]kubo interposed a lively objection, the shallowness of which Shu[u]zen could detect. He humoured his friend's obstinacy. "Leave it to the lots." In haste the slips were prepared--"Hachiman, god of the bow and feathered shaft, grant your divine aid and bestow the old well ghost haunted on this Aoyama." Okubo laughed at his earnestness. "Aoyama Uji leaves this O[u]kubo no resort but in the Buddha. Good fortune to O[u]kubo, and may the will of the Lord Buddha be done.... Naruhodo! 'Tis yours after all. The shaft of the war god is stronger than the Buddha's staff." He took his disappointment so well as to be the more urgent in securing the transfer. This was granted, with expenses of removal. Aoyama Shu[u]zen superintended in person the preparation of his new residence. This was soon in readiness as little was to be done. O[u]kubo took cash and construction. The former villa, fallen to Shu[u]zen's part, needed mainly air and light, and repairs to its rotten woodwork. When it was time to think of the water supply Aoyama ordered the cleaning out of the old well. The workmen began to talk--"'Tis the old well of the inner garden, the Yanagi-ido of the Yoshida Goten. Danna Sama, deign to order exorcism made, and that the well be filled up and covered from men's sight." The Danna laughed at them, and was obstinate in his purpose. He took upon himself all the wrath of the disturbed and angered spirits. He hoped that they would not furnish material for more. To hearten them, he and his men descended to the level of the water. With headshakes and misgivings the chief ordered his men to the task--"Pfu! It stinks of ghosts, or something. Surely there will be dead men's bones for harvest; and perhaps those of the living. The old well has not seen its last ill deed." As for the dead men's bones, the well refuse was laid aside, and on Aoyama's order buried with no particular reverence in the bowels of the _tsukiyama_ close by. "Let all the spirits of the place find company together," he jeered. The _yashiki_ of Komiyasan in Honjo[u] had its processions of marvels--dead men, frogs, _tanuki_, and fox--to shake its _amado_ at night and divert the monotony of those who lived therein. The portentous foot perhaps he could not match, but he would share in this contest with ghostly visions. Chance had offered him the opportunity. All was prepared. Shu[u]zen had established himself. Nightly with his camp stool he took his seat by the old well, to smoke his pipe and drink his wine--"Now! Out with you, ghosts! Here present is Aoyama Shu[u]zen, _hatamoto_ of the land. He would join in your revels. Deign to hasten.... What! The ghosts would rest this night?" Thus night after night passed with his jeering and no sign of the supernatural objects, not thus to be conjured. Time made the pastime stale--as stale as the waters of the Yanagi-ido which never furnished supply for the house or its tasks. Aoyama had the excuse of drinking wine. As for the household, the women would not even use the water for washing. They said it stunk too badly. In so far Shu[u]zen failed. It was about the time of his entrance on this new possession that more good fortune came to Shu[u]zen. He was made the magistrate whose office covered the detection and punishment of thieves and incendiaries. It showed the estimation in which he was held, and satisfied both the vanity and the hard cold temper of Aoyama Shu[u]zen. Looking to results, more than method, the selection was most satisfactory; if return of the number of criminals was the index assumed. Until a method attracted unfavourable attention by some scandal, only results were regarded by the Bakufu. But his household could not regard with any easiness a devotion of his lordship to the wine cup, which turned his court into a wine feast. Up to this time Aoyama Shu[u]zen in all official duty had shown himself hard, unbending, callous, conscientious. Now the element of cruelty appeared, to develop rapidly with exercise until it was the predominant tone. Some illustrations are to be given from events occurring in these first three years of Sho[u]ho[u] (1644-6). Aoyama would show himself the strict disciplinarian. His chamberlain (_yo[u]nin_) Aikawa Chu[u]dayu close beside him, his _do[u]shin_ seated at either hand, he gave his orders and rebuke to the assembled constables. He scowled at them. Then with voice harsh from the contents of the big wine cup beside him he commanded--"Diligence is to be expected of all. He who fails to make many arrests shows sloth or ill will to his lord. Anyone against whom there is the slightest suspicion, even if he or she be abroad late at night, is to be brought to the jail. No explanation is to be allowed. There must be many arrests. Examination in the court is to follow; and many crimes, discovered under the torture, will be brought to punishment.... Heigh! Call up that old fellow there.... Who? That Ryu[u]suké." At Shu[u]zen's order Ryu[u]suké forthwith came close to the _ro[u]ka_. "You, fellow ... what manner of man to act as constable are you? Days pass without a single prisoner being brought in. This jade, found in the street at the hour of the rat (11 P.M.) pleads excuse of illness and the doctor. This lurking scoundrel, seeking to set half the town on fire, pleads drunkenness as keeping him abroad. Thus many of these villainous characters, whores and fire bugs, find field for their offenses. No more of such leniency. Failure to arrest means dismissal from the service and punishment as an ill-wisher. Oldest and most experienced, the greatest number of prisoners is to be expected at your hands. Shu[u]zen shows mercy. Your age remits the punishment, but dismissal shall afford example to the rest as to the wisdom of showing energy." Thus he cast forth without pity an ageing officer whose only offense was an experience which sought the mission of the night straggler, and allowed the harmless to go free. Ryu[u]suké went forth from the office of the _bugyo[u]_ stripped of the means of living and of reputation, and assured of the unforgiving character of his lord. That night he cut belly, recommending his family to mercy. This was soon found--in debt and the debtor's slavery allowed by the harsh code. Thus was the jail kept full, with the innocent and a sprinkling of the guilty. No one dared to be lax; for life hung on salary, and on zeal the continuance of the salary. Moreover all revelled in the reward of the wine cup liberally bestowed for zealous service--and the more liberally as Shu[u]zen took his turn with his big cup, every time he sent down the _saké_ to his underling. In Bakuracho[u] lived one Zeisuké, a poor but honest fellow who made his living by peddling the smaller kinds of fish and the salted varieties, for his trifling resources allowed no larger outlay for his trays. In this way with greatest difficulty he managed to support an old mother, a wife, a young child. Locally he was known as "Honest Zeisuké" for the not often found quality of representing the antiquity and character of his wares much as they were. When bad weather forbade the opening of the fish market, Zeisuké readily found some task at day labour by which a few _mon_ could be secured, and for which his character for honest service recommended him. One night, when on his way homeward, he was passing the Asakusa Gomon just as the cry of fire was raised. Knowing the alarm of his aged mother Zeisuké at once bolted towards home. When all were running toward the fire this at once attracted attention. By the law it was the strict duty of the citizen to betake himself to his ward, and to be ready for service in preventing spread of the often disastrous conflagration. His action was noted by the ever present myrmidons of Shu[u]zen. In a moment they were after him. Surrounded he was quickly caught. His explanation was not heard. "Say your say at the white sand, under the strokes of the _madaké_," was the rough answer. Thus he was dragged off to the jail. The next day Aoyama's first motion was to reward the captors with the wine cup. Harsh was the vinous scowl he cast on Zeisuké now cringing at the white sand. "Ha! Ah! A notable criminal; a firebug caught in the act, and attempting to escape. Make full confession. Thus much suffering is escaped, and the execution ground soon reached." Zeisuké had no confession to make, and to his explanation Aoyama turned a deaf ear. "Obstinacy is to be over-ruled." He made a sign. At once Zeisuké was seized. His head drawn downward two stout fellows now began to apply in rhythm the _madaké_--strips of bamboo to the thickness of an inch tightly wound together with hempen cord, and making an exceedingly flexible and painful scourge. The blood quickly was spurting from his shoulders. Aoyama and his chamberlain sat enjoying the scene immensely. At the seventieth blow the peddler fainted. "A wicked knave! Off with him until restored." Then he settled himself for the day's pastime; for the torture had come to have the zest of an exhilarating sport. The cries of pain, the distortions of agony under the stones, or the lobster, or suspension, the noting of the curious changes of flesh colour and expression under these punishments, the ready assent to absurdly illogical questions, all this not only amused, but interested Shu[u]zen. The naivété and obstinacy of the fisherman was just of the kind to furnish the best material. The fellow was sturdy of frame, and under skilled hands readily submitted to this dalliance for days without bending from his truth. Meanwhile things went on very badly at the house in Bakuracho[u]. The disaster of the arrest fell like a thunderbolt on the wretched little household. Day after day, hoping for the acquittal and release, one article after another went to the pawn shop. Reduced to absolute misery the house owner and the neighbours came to the rescue with a small sum raised among them. The long continued official suspicion affected even these toward the "Honest Zeisuké," and their support grew cold. Then came the news that Zeisuké had died in the jail under the torture. Tearless, aghast, deprived of all support, the wife and mother long looked in each other's faces. Said the old woman--"Alas! Alas! Neither gods nor the Buddha exist. Faithful and devoted was Zeisuké to this old mother. Unfortunate in his life, he has been equally unlucky in death. What now is to be done!" She put her sleeves over the old and wrinkled face, and bending low concealed tears and a long farewell to the beloved in the person of her grandchild. The wife was in little better case, but had to soothe this grief. A few coins remained. She would buy the necessaries for the evening meal. "But a moment, honoured mother. The return is quick. 'Tis but for the needed meal." Taking the child on her back she started off into the darkness. For a moment she turned to look at the mother. The old woman was following her with eyes tear dimmed in the sunken hollows. Thus they parted. For a moment the wife halted on the bridge over the Edogawa. The dark slimy waters were a solution, but she put it aside in the face of a higher duty. Soon she was on her way back. To her surprise the house was in darkness. Surely a little oil was left in the bottom of the jar. She called, without getting an answer. In alarm she groped her way in the darkness, to stumble over the body of the old woman, lying limp and helpless. Something wet her hand. Now she was in all haste for a light. "Ah! Ah! The honoured mother! What has occurred? Has not ill fortune enough fallen upon the home of Zeisuké?" Alas! the hand was stained with blood. The old woman had intended the parting salute to be the last. Left alone she had bit off her tongue, and thus had died. Rigid, as one stupified, the wife sat; without tears, but thinking. Now she was left alone. But what as to the child? A girl too? Ah! There were enough of her sex in this hard world. She reached out a hand to the long triangular sharp blade close by. She touched edge and point of the _debabo[u]cho[u]_ (kitchen knife) with the finger. Here was the solution. Rapidly she loosed the child and lowered it to the ground. It took but a moment to open the little dress and expose the breast. Then knife in hand she leaned over it. As she did so the child opened its eyes, smiled, then laughing began to finger her bosom seeking sustenance. The feelings of the mother came over the woman. She put aside the knife to give the babe the breast. Alas! Starvation afforded but scant milk. Failing its supply the child cried peevishly. This last stroke of poverty was too much. The original purpose came back in full sway. With quick motion she put the child beside her and held it firmly down. The sharp pointed knife was thrust clean through the little body. A whimpering cry, the spurting of the blood, and the face began to take on the waxen tint. With the same short energetic movements the mother now sought her own end. Guiding its course with the fingers the knife was now thrust deep into her own throat. Both hands on the heavy handle she tore it downward; then fell forward on the mats. The wardsmen made report. CHAPTER XVI THE AFFAIR OF THE ASAKUSA KWANNON Aoyama Shu[u]zen stalked forward to his cushion near the _ro[u]ka_. Carefully adjusting his robes he scowled--most heavily; mainly at the almost boy crouched before him at the white sand. Expectant the _yakunin_ stood by. Their leader stated the case against this outrageous criminal captured in the dead of night on the very steps of the Jizo[u]do[u], in the very shadow of the great temple of the Asakusa Kwannon. The sacred structure, object of his nefarious design guarded his slumbers; the healing Yakushi Nyo[u]rai, Jizo[u] the god of youth and childhood, casting stony glances of benevolence through the closed lattices. "A most hardened wretch, an evident firebug, and probable thief; at once make full confession of the offence. Thus the torture is to be avoided, the punishment in so far mitigated." The voice was harsh and unrelenting, admitting of no explanation. The look accompanying it was without trace of pity, but full of the official scorn and dislike which would anticipate the turns and doubles of its quarry. The hare in this case but thought how best to meet this unforeseen and disastrous turn to events. He had heard much of the Yakujin--the god of disease and pestilence--under which pet name Aoyama Shu[u]zen was known by a certain element of Edo town. He would tell the truth, with the certainty that in the effort enough lie would slip in to make out a good case. The story at root was a simple one. Great of reputation for beauty and attraction in the Yoshiwara was "Little Chrysanthemum"--Kogiku. In company with friends this Masajiro[u], second son of the wealthy Iwakuniya of Kanda Konyacho[u], (dyers street), had met and loved the _oiran_. He had been favoured in turn by the great lady of the pleasure quarter. Hence the displeasure of his father, who learned the fact by the unanticipated and unpleasant presentation of bills he thought had been settled long before by the diligence of Masajiro[u]. Hence the preceding night, on the boy's return from dalliance with his mistress, he had been summarily turned out.... "Ha! Ah!" roared Shu[u]zen. "A self confessed vagrant; a thief! Gentle the face and wicked the heart it conceals. Plainly a case for the jail and torture. The truth is to be learned. The scourges will bring it out. Make full confession...." A sign, and the attendants with their _madaké_ stood forward. In his terror Masajiro[u] crawled toward the _ro[u]ka_. "Confession! Confession!" he bawled out. With grim smile Shu[u]zen signed a halt. The _do[u]shin_ prepared the scroll. Yes: he had been turned out, but not as vagrant. The mother, so severe in the presence of the father, had fondled and wept over him. The Banto[u] Sho[u]bei had grave and kindly words of admonition. All would be well, and forgiveness follow in time. He was to go at once to his nurse at Koshigeyatsu. Such effects as were needed would follow him. Money he was better without; beyond the little needed for the short journey. The father's anger was not to be aggravated. Soon he would enter for his night's draught, so haste was to be made. Thus he was bundled forth, to make his way in the darkness to the distant country village. The Baya's kind aid in the little conspiracy was assured at sight of her once ward. Overwhelmed with advice and woe he departed into the night, his step growing slower and slower with separation from his home. No money! That meant no Kogiku. The idea of never again seeing her face made his stomach turn. It did turn the direction of his footsteps, which now was toward the Yoshiwara. Kogiku was overjoyed at sight of him. He had but just left her, and now returned to her side. What greater proof of love could she have? The favouritism of the Go-Tayu found favour for her lover's presence. Seated together she soon noticed his gloom, which all her efforts failed to lighten. Somewhat nettled she showed displeasure, charged him with the fickleness of satiation. Then he took her hands, and told her that this was the final interview. His dissipated life, the discovery of their relations, had so angered his father that under sentence of banishment from Edo he had come for a last look at her face. "What's to be done! What's to be done!" The lady wrung her hands in genuine grief over the handsome youth thus torn away. She had welcomed his presence as means of escape from her own difficulties. But a few hours before the master of the Uedaya had announced her sale and transfer to a wealthy farmer of Chiba. Ransomed by this country magnate she was to leave the gay life and glitter of the Yoshiwara, for a country life and the veiled hardships of a farm. In exchange for the twenty years of Masajiro[u]--she obtained this settlement and a master passing fifty odd. She was in despair. The brilliant beauty, thus to sink in a few year's course into a farm wench, felt the sacrifice too great. Finding no aid in the boy lover, long she lay weeping, her head on his knees, hands pressed against her temples. Masajiro[u] was at no happier pass. "Up to the arrow point in love" his idea at bottom had been of a temporary separation. To find another Kogiku, a petted _oiran_, whose fame and beauty flattered any lover, was a stroke of good fortune not likely to occur. His own expression showed how little real idea of separation was in his mind. She noted it. Looking steadily in his face--"Constant the vows of this Kogiku, met by the love of Masa San. No matter how remote the prospect, the bond is that of husband and wife. With this old suburban drake Kogiku pollutes not her charms. Condescend to agree to a mutual suicide. Thus the obligation is avoided. Together the lovers pass to Meido (Hades) to wander its shades until the next and happier existence unites them in the flesh." In amazement and discomfiture Masajiro[u] hung down his head. He would conceal the shock to his boyish timidity this proposal gave. His mind was full of such stories. He knew the earnestness of Kogiku. Then and there would she not draw her dagger to accomplish the deed? He was dreadfully frightened. Never would he have sought her presence, if such result had been anticipated. Now he must accompany her in death, or endure her grudge if successful in escaping her insistence. He temporized. Pointing to his plain disordered garb--"As to that--heartily agreed. But there is a seemliness about such procedure. A more befitting, a holiday costume, is to be sought. Then together, as on a joyful occasion, Masajiro[u] and the Oiran will consummate the vows of husband and wife in a joint death." She looked him over, and was easily pacified by the evident truth and good sense. Again herself, in prospect of this avoidance of the unpleasant future she sought to entertain her lover with all the skill and charm she was so noted for. At midnight he left her, to secure an interview with Sho[u]bei on plea of forgotten needs; then he would return in more fitting garb. His course lay through the now silent precincts of the great temple. More than the sun's circuit passed in these excesses, physical and mental, weighed upon him. He would rest a moment and consider his course amid the holy surroundings. Yakushi? The god was the physical healer in his theology and his services the strong and healthy youth did not need. Jizo[u] Sama, or the six Jizo[u] Sama, but a little way off? Probably the gentle divinity no longer regarded him as under tutelage. But the Lady Merciful--Kwannon Sama--why not make his petition to her? It was an inspiration, and earnest was the prayer which followed it--"Lady of Mercy, deign to regard with pity the unfortunate lovers. Grant that some exit be found for their woes, less harsh than the severance of the vital knot, offence to the Lord Buddha. Kwannon Sama! Kwannon Sama!... may the Buddha's will be done!" As he spoke a heavy object fell from above, to graze his shoulder and land at his feet. He stooped and picked it up. With astonished delight he noted the glittering coin within the bag. Ah! Ah! Away with all ideas of self destruction. Here was the means to escape the guilty consequence. Here was the ransom of Kogiku. He had shuddered at thought of return to the side of that woman, in death to wander the paths of Shidéyama (in Hell) with the unhappy ghost--bald headed! Here now was the solution, in wine and the flesh and blood of the living long-tressed Kogiku, a very different person. His thought now turned to Yoshiwara. But--Naruhodo! Here was a second petitioner at this extraordinary hour. With amazement he saw a girl come flying across the tree and lantern dotted space before the great temple. There was something in gait and manner that he recognized, despite the deep _ko[u]so[u]-zukin_ concealing her features. From the shadow of the steps he sprang forward to confront her. It was so! The face beneath the _zukin_ was that of O'Somé the beloved of his brother Minosuké. The great dye house of the Iwakuniya sent much work to the minor establishment of Aizawaya in Honjo[u]. His brother had such matters in his charge. At sight of Masajiro[u] the face of the sixteen year old O'Somé was dyed like unto the maple. "O'Somé San! Here; and at this hour! Is it some visit to the shrine that in such haste...." In place of answer she wrung her hands and plead to be released. She must die. The river was not far off; there to end her woes. The scandal caused in the affair between herself and Minosuké had brought her to shame. Solemn had been the vows passed between them, tender the acknowledgments. By some retribution from a past existence thus she had found pollution with a beast. The heart yet was pure, and there was nothing to do but die. Deign forthwith to release her. In his amazement he nearly did so. Alas! All these young girls, at least the desirable ones, wanted only to die. To become a divinity by death--_Shingami_--seemed to the feminine brain in youth the height of fashion. Very well: but he would seek to dissuade her. His pockets full of gold the present beauty of O'Somé dimmed the past charms of Kogiku. She yielded to force and his urgency in so far as to accompany him to a refreshment stand just opening with the dawn. The mistress greeted them with kindness and affection. She showed them to an inner room. Here he urged his suit; flight and a home with the devoted nurse at Koshigayatsu. But O'Somé was unwilling. She had been "foxed"--herself was but a mere moor-fox. Deign to leave her to her own sad fate. It was the brother that she loved. Since she was deprived of him, she would seek the embraces only of the waters of the river. She urged and plead so prettily that her sadness and gloom entered into his own heart. She should be his companion. Kogiku in despite would join them. Thus the three together would find comfort in the shadow land of Meido. He gave up all attempt to persuade the girl. Briefly and almost harshly--"Be it so. Then we will die together. This Masajiro[u] is under contract to die; and too tired to walk so far to find a partner. Condescend to await the night. Then we will take the shortest course to the river." To this O'Somé joyfully agreed. The day was passed in such harmless dalliance and favour as a young girl can show, who has had her own way; with a young man willing to dispense with thought during the intervening space of time before a not overly agreeable ending; and under the auspices of an honoured hostess fee'd by the glitter of coin into a consenting obtuseness. With the night they set forth in the rain. The river bank was not far off, but such vulgar plunge from the edge of the coarse promiscuity of Hanagawado[u] was not to the taste of either. Then, as now, a ferry not far from the Adzuma bridge crossed to the pretty sounding "Eight hundred Pines." _Yashiki_ then surrounded, a palace to-day covers the site. They watched the ferryman pushing off into the river's darkness. Then hand in hand they strolled up the bank of the stream, under the gloomy trees, seeking the favoured spot of their undoing. Suddenly O'Somé stopped; sank at the feet of Masajiro[u]. His hand sought the handle of the dagger. The weapon raised he was about to plunge it into the tender neck. Then a shout startled his ear. "Rash youths--Wait! Wait!" A powerful grasp was on his arm. With a shiver he came to consciousness. O'Somé, the river, the bag of gold in his bosom, all had disappeared. He was lying on the steps of the Jizo[u]do[u], surrounded by the _yakunin_. All had been a dream! With open mouths the _yakunin_ in the court looked at each other. Lo! They had nabbed a mere dreamer. How would his lordship take it? One more quick witted and thirstier than the rest answered for all--"Ha! Ah! A wretched fellow! Not only thief and firebug, but murderer also!" To the astonished and stammering protest of Masajiro[u] there was the answering scowl of a very Emma Dai-O[u] on the bench. "Miserable wretch! What is in the heart at best comes to the lips. This matter is to be sifted to the dregs, the witnesses examined. For offence so far disclosed he can take the lash. Then off with him to the jail." Masajiro[u], his back torn to ribbons and bloody with the fifty blows, was supported out of the court. Then the wine cup was condescended to the energy and acuteness of his captors. Enlivened by the morning's entertainment and his own big cup Aoyama Shu[u]zen rose and departed. CHAPTER XVII EMMA DAI-O[U] GIVES JUDGMENT Great was the excitement and lamentable the experience of the Aizawaya. The matter of O'Somé had been under discussion with the Iwakuniya. Beyond good words and cold courtesy little satisfaction could be obtained; nor could it be expected. The offence had been the work of a fox, and the jewel of a girl's reputation had been trodden in the mire. Returned to the saddened home, the nurse of O'Somé was found awaiting them. At the news she had hastened from the country to console her old mistress and to take her one time charge in her arms. "Alas! Alas! Is the matter so beyond remedy? Surely with a good dower the Iwakuniya...."--"'Tis no such affair," answered the mistress, wiping away her tears. "As fact the girl is a wretched wench, disregardless of the parents. The little fool fell madly in love with the figure of the eldest son of the dye-shop. It seems that daily she made pilgrimage and prayer to the Ushi no Gozen, to the Gentoku Inari. What more malign influence could be invoked! One day Minosuké came on a mission to the shop. She followed him to the street, and for hours her whereabouts was unknown, until this return in disgrace. Accompanying him to Asakusa, there she exchanged vows and pillows with him at a convenient assignation house. Alas! On the return he was taken with a fit in the street. The prior of the Kido-ku-In, the great priest of the Shu[u]genja (Yamabushi), was passing. His aid invoked, at once he recognized the rascal's disguise. Under the charms recited by the priest the true appearance was assumed, and a huge fox with a long tail darted away from the gathered crowd. No reputation has the girl gained by consorting with such a mate." The nurse listened with amazed horror, turning first to the mother, then intently regarding the damasked face of O'Somé, dyed red at the story of her shame. "Oya! Oya! Possessed by a fox! Alas! Truly it is almost irreparable. If it were mere defloration by the young master of Iwakuniya, that could be endured. But a fox mixed up in the matter.... Truly it would be well to take her off somewhere, to some hot spring in Idzu. There the influence can be removed, and O'Somé San at least restored in mind." With this advice and gossip, with whispered consolation and laughing cheer--"'Tis no great matter after all; in the country--will be found girls a'plenty, quite as lucky or otherwise"--the kind and jovial dame took her leave. The advice as to the hot spring seemed so good that preparations were under way in all haste. The straw baskets with their convenient deep covers to fit the larger or smaller needs of travel (_ko[u]ri_), the _furoshiki_ or large square wrapping cloths, lay in the middle of the room, amid the pile of wraps and clothing for daily and more formal use. Skilled hands of maids and youths (_wakashu[u]-kozo[u]_) employed in the house were fast packing these latter into convenient parcels. Then to the hustle and bustle within the house was added the more unusual murmur of voices and tread of many feet without. The house owner (_ienushi_), accompanied by the head of the house block (_gumigashira_), entered in haste. Close at their heels followed the land owner (_jinushi_), the two bails (_jiuki_ and _tanauki_). All looked with surprise and suspicion at these hurried preparations for departure. "Oya! Oya! This will never do. Honoured Sir of Aizawaya, the _yakunin_ are now at hand from the office of Aoyama Sama. Your daughter in summoned to the white sand. Remove at once these signs of what looks like a flight." Eyes agog the frightened parents watched their neighbours and the servants hustle goods and parcels into the closets. They had hardly done so when the _do[u]shin_, followed by several constables, burst into the room. "The girl Somé, where is she? Don't attempt to lie, or conceal her whereabouts." Eyes ferreting everywhere, the parents too frightened to move, the _yakunin_ soon entered, dragging along the weeping O'Somé. "Heigh! Heigh! The rope! At once she is to be bound and dragged before the honoured presence." Amid the bawling and the tumult at last the father found opportunity to make himself heard. He prostrated himself at the feet of the _do[u]shin_, so close to O'Somé that the process of binding and roping necessarily included his own ample person. "Deign, honoured official, to forbear the rope. There is no resistance. The girl is very young, and ill. We accompany her to the presence of his lordship." Weeping he preferred the request. Iyenushi, Jinushi, Gumi-gashira, in pity added their own petition to the officer. This latter surveyed the slight figure of this fearful criminal. Besides, notoriously she had been foxed. He grumbled and conceded. "The rope can be forborne; not so as to the hands, which must be securely tied to prevent escape. The affair is most important. Delay there cannot be. His lordship is not to be kept waiting." Then he swept them all into his net. _Do[u]shin_, _Yakunin_, _Jinushi_, _Iyenushi_, _Gumi-gashira_, _Ban-gashira_, _Jiuki_, _Tanauki_, debtors, creditors, all and every in the slightest degree connected with the Aizawaya fell into the procession. But Edo town was growing used to these. 'Twas merely another haul of the active officers of the honoured Yakujin. "Kimyo[u] Cho[u]rai"--may the Buddha's will be done, but spare this Taro[u]bei, Jizaémon, Tasuké, or whoever the petitioner chanced to be. Aoyama Shu[u]zen stalked slowly forward to the _ro[u]ka_. Scowling he ran his eye over the crowd, taking in each and every. Then his eyes fell--first on Kogiku, the harlot of the Uedaya; then on the shrinking beauty of O'Somé of the Aizawaya. Shu[u]zen was improving in these days. The Ue-Sama (Sho[u]gun) spoke harshly of those retainers who made no provision for issue to support loyally the fortune of his House. Let him who would seek his lord's favour furnish forth such noble and lusty issue as in the Kamakura days, when Ho[u]jo[u] Tokimasa, Wada Yoshimori Hatakeyama Shigetada, the Kajiwara, Miura, Doi, attended the hunting field of their suzerain followed by a dozen lusty heirs of the line--direct and indirect. Hence of late Shu[u]zen had renewed his matrimonial venture, and taken to his bed a second partner. For side issue and attendance on his household affairs, his office was a fruitful field. The families of those condemned suffered with them, and the more favoured served in Aoyama's household, in all offices, from that of ladies in waiting to menial service--down to the _yatsuho[u]ko[u]nin_. These latter, slaves for life, were more fortunate than their sisters _yatsu yu[u]jo[u]_, who were condemned to be sold for life service as harlots in the Yoshiwara. It was a hard law; but it was the law of the Tokugawa, of before the days of the ruling House. Shu[u]zen profited greatly by it in the domestic sense. The harlot and the girl budding into womanhood would be acceptable addition to the companionship of his then bachelor existence. His manner softened as he took his seat. His robes were more carefully adjusted. His cue bristled more erect. He was strikingly good looking. Dismissing all minor offenders he took up at once the great case of the day. The wretched Masajiro[u], his back bloodily marked by the scourge, was crouching in shame at the white sand before him. Shu[u]zen gave him one savage glare, which added terror to his confusion before those once friends and relations. Then Shu[u]zen began carefully and insistently to scan the faces of the girls. They were well worth attention. O'Somé, sixteen and a beauty, had these aids to her other charms--a _kimono_ of the fine striped silk of Izu, made in the neighbouring island of Hachijo[u] by girls well fitted themselves to give grace to the beautiful tissue, an _obi_ (sash) of fawn and scarlet into which was woven the shadowy figure, here and there, of a landscape--sketchy but suggestive. The belt which girded it within was of egg coloured crape, and the orange tissue broadened and hung down to add its touch of carefully contrasted colour. The hair was built high in the _taka-shimada_ style, tied on top with a five coloured knot of thick crape. The combs and other hair ornaments were beautiful, and befitting the cherished daughter of the well-to-do townsman. Then Shu[u]zen's look wandered to the harlot. Kogiku, Little Chrysanthemum, was noted in Edo town. Her beauty was more experienced, but hardly more mature than that of the town girl. Sedately she met the look, and without movement eyes plead smilingly for gentle treatment. She was dressed[19] in a robe of gauzy water coloured silk. The sleeves were widely patterned--as with her class--but worked with rare harmony into the light grey colour of the robe. The long outer robe thrown over the inner garment (_uchikaku_) in these brilliant colours, in its tamer shades yet harmonized. Taken with the broad sash of the _obi_ it made her rival the peacock in his grandest display. Her hair dressed high, was a bewildering harmony of the costly tortoise shell combs and pins (_kanzashi_) arrayed in crab-like eccentricity. The gold ornamentation glistened and sparkled amid the dark tresses. Truly Shu[u]zen was puzzled in this claim for priority between the unrivalled beauty and the fresher and naiver charms of inexperience. Ah! Both should be the cup-bearers. But the sequel! Benten Sama alone could guide the lot. It was ordered that the confession be read. Once more the judge, Shu[u]zen carefully watched the faces before him of those most concerned. It was not difficult to detect amid the confusion of O'Somé, the growing wrath of Kogiku, an unfeigned astonishment. With some satisfaction he noted this evident discrepancy in the plea. Suave, yet still somewhat harsh, he addressed O'Somé. "The confession of this wicked fellow has been heard. What has Somé to say in answer thereto." For a moment the girl raised her head to that of this Emma Dai-O[u]. Then in confusion she half turned as seeking support--"Mother! Mother!" It was all she could say in her fright, and more than the mother could stand. She was the townswoman; self-assured in her way. She boldly advanced a knee. "With fear and respect: the girl is but of sixteen years, and the white sand has paralysed her thought and utterance. Deign, honoured lord, to pardon the mother's speech." Then she went into details as to the late unfortunate occurrence. With indignant looks at the crushed and unfortunate Masajiro[u], she gave her own testimony which rang with truth. "Well he knows all this matter. For the past six days the girl has not left home or parents caring for her afflicted body. 'Tis only this fellow Masajiro[u] who claims to be the lover, to take the place of his brother Minosuké; a poor exchange in either case, with fellows who do but run after the harlots of Yoshiwara, to the bewitching of innocent girls." Tenderly she took the now weeping O'Somé in her mother arms, and added her own tears to the soothing. Shu[u]zen slowly leaked a smile. He left the pair to themselves and turned to Kogiku. "And you?" Kogiku was not so easily confused. Readily she confessed to the contract between herself and Masajiro[u]. "This affair of the rich purchaser from Kazusa came up suddenly. There seemed no outlet but suicide--if the dreary life away from Edo was to be avoided." Shu[u]zen took her up harshly--"Bound to the Uedaya for a term of years then you would cheat your master out of the money he expended on you. This is theft, and most reprehensible. For such it is hard to find excuse." His roughness puzzled and frightened even the experience of Kogiku. She became confused. Shu[u]zen was satisfied with the impression. He was unwilling further to delay his own prospects. Sending the matter over to the next sitting for final settlement he remanded all the accused--Masajiro[u] to the jail and repeated scourgings for the lies contained in his confession; the girls to his own care. His experiences for the time being would largely condition the final judgment. Shu[u]zen was regular in his irregularities. Promptly, the case again convened, he gave judgment. There was none of the customary roughness in his manner. Even the official harshness was smoothed down. He dilated on the importance of the case, the necessity of making an example of this evident depravity of manners and morals affecting Edo town--"As for the girl Somé, it is matter of question with whom she is involved, Masajiro[u] or Minosuké; both well could be her lovers. Thus she has fallen under strange influences and been foxed. Such a girl is not to be allowed to wander at random. As act of benevolence henceforth charge is continued as in the present conditions. Kogiku is still more reprehensible. The attempt to cheat her master being so brazenly confessed is hard to overlook. Owing to her previous life perhaps the feelings have become blunted. The same benevolence and punishment is awarded to her--with hope of future amendment." The master of the Uedaya, crouching close to his head clerk made a wry face. The two men exchanged glances, and the clerk opened a very big round eye for his master to observe. The latter sighed. Continued Shu[u]zen severely--"As for this Masajiro[u], he is not only liar, but would-be firebug and thief. What is harboured in the mind he would put into deed. It is but chance which has saved the life and purse of the passing citizen, and the sacred structures from the flames. To him the severest punishment is meet. However benevolence shall still hold its sway. Instead of the sword, banishment to the islands for the term of life, to serve as slave therein to the Eta--such his sentence. To this judgment there is no appeal." Abruptly he rose. The weeping father and mother were baffled by the nonchalance of the daughter, who had no chance to give them comfort, but was at once removed in company with the willing lady of pleasure and experience. The huddled form of Masajiro[u] was hustled roughly out with the kicks and blows to which he was becoming accustomed. Two or three years, under the rough charge of his new masters, were pretty sure to witness his body cast out on the moorland to the kites--or into the sea for fishes to knaw. It was the _banto[u]_ (clerk), faint with the hunger of long waiting, who led the parents into the first cook shop encountered on the way. Here over greens and cold water the father sighed, the mother wept apart, the clerk eyed biliously the meagre fare. Then in poured the company of Kogiku--a noisy, merry crowd. There were expressions of amused discomfiture, caught by the sharp ears of the clerk; suggestive references. He watched them; heard the lavish orders for food and wine--"Plenty of wine, and piping hot"--"Respectfully heard and understood." The waiting girls were at their wit's end. The feast in progress the _banto[u]_ came boldly forward. "Honoured sirs, deign to note these parents here, deprived of their daughter. Your honoured selves have lost a girl of much value to your master. How is it then that you thus deign to rejoice? Plainly the grief of these must be out of place." The man addressed more directly looked him over coldly; then cast an eye on the distressed father and mother, at their meagre fare. His manner changed. He became more cordial. "Good sir, the affair is not to be taken thus! Sentence has been given, but...." He laughed--"it can be revoked. Already in the inner room the master is in consultation with the agent of Takai Yokubei San (Mr. Highly Covetous), Aikawa Dono,--the honoured _yo[u]nin_ of Aoyama Sama. A round bribe, and the girl will be released...." The words were not out of his mouth when the father was on his feet. Led by the _banto[u]_ he made the rounds of all--pimps, bawds, and bouncers--soliciting their influence--"Honoured gentlemen of the Yoshiwara, deign to interfere in the matter, to plead with the master of the Uedaya. House, lands, goods, all these are nothing if the cherished daughter be restored." He wept; and they took pity on his inexperience. The first speaker at once sprang up and went to the inner room. The master of the Uedaya cordially desired their presence. Added funds were no drawback to his own petition in the dealings with Yokubei San. The parents introduced he told them--"It is but a matter of cash. Kogiku, within the next three days, must be delivered to the _go[u]shi_ of Kazusa, or else a large forfeit paid. She can kill herself on the day following. 'Tis no affair of the Uedaya. Add your gift of a hundred _ryo[u]_ to the bribe of the Uedaya, and Saisuké San, here present, can assure success. Aikawa Dono surely has not left the court. He awaits report, with as great anxiety as your honoured selves. As for the Tono Sama, he has had the presence of the girls for the six days, and will be all the more easily worked on. But from all accounts the honoured daughter had little to lose in the experience. She would make a splendid Go-Tayu." Seeing no sign of acquiescence he shrugged his shoulders, and continued to the honoured Saisuké San--"A most annoying affair: a hundred _ryo[u]_ to this shark, and only the premium and the debts of the _oiran_ will be paid. But he will take no less?... Be sure she shall learn the use of the _seméba_ (punishment cell) before she finds her new master." Saisuké San with slow smile made answer--"Be sure that by night she will be in your hands, ready for the experience." Rejoicing the parents gave thanks, and betook themselves to their home. Half ruined, again O'Somé would gladden their hearts. But the mother had an eye to the expense, and promised a reception hardly better than that awaiting Little Chrysanthemum. Why show favouritism? There was small difference between the two. But this the father energetically denied. Meanwhile Aoyama Shu[u]zen was preparing for his wine feast, one of a pleasant succession extended over this interval. With misgiving and no pleasure he saw the entrance of Aikawa Chu[u]dayu. The chamberlain brought with him the account books. Shu[u]zen's experience, however, noted past profit as salve to annoyance. He was a bitter hard man in domestic administration; cutting down food, and by fines the wages, of those more regularly employed in the household. This made the threatened loss of women serving by compulsion the more severe. Chu[u]dayu knew how to deal with his master. Affairs in the household were not going well, under the free indulgence of Shu[u]zen toward himself and his pleasures. Besides he was about to deprive him of his new favourites. At a sign Kogiku and O'Somé, already present by the lord's favour, withdrew. The younger girl had aged ten years in experience with this companionship of the week. Chu[u]dayu watched them depart. Then sighed heavily. "Ah! Ha! So it's _that_." Shu[u]zen moved testily, as sharply he regarded his satellite. "Acting under the instructions of your lordship, the box of cakes has duly been received from Saisuké. The affairs of the household require a large sum. Her ladyship's confinement is to be considered, the entertainments required by custom for the expected heir. To return the gift means to your lordship--the sacrifice of two hundred _ryo[u]_. May the Tono Sama deign to consider a moment. Such double good fortune is rare--and the messenger waits upon this trifling sacrifice of a pleasure for which substitutes easily can be found." He drew the _furoshiki_ from the box. Shu[u]zen sighed; but did not hesitate. "Hasten Saisuké off at once; with the exchange." He placed the box in a closet close by. "As for the wine feast, Chu[u]dayu shall be the cup-bearer. Shu[u]zen is in an ill humour." He had an ugly look. Chu[u]dayu, however, did not draw back. Leaning forward with a smile--"This Chu[u]dayu would make report, to the pleasure of the Tono Sama."--"Of what?" asked Aoyama, in some surprise at his chamberlain's earnest manner. "Of the whereabouts and close proximity of Kosaka Jinnai."--"Ah!" The tone of voice had the depth of years of expectant hate. CHAPTER XVIII KOSAKA JINNAI When Takéda Shingen swept down upon the lower provinces in 1571, fought a rear guard action at Mikatagahara, in which he nearly extinguished Tokugawa Iyeyasu, with a taste of the latter's remarkable powers of recuperation, he went on to his real aim of a trial of strength with the main Oda forces in Mikawa and O[u]mi. The great captain lost his life by a stray bullet before Noda castle. His death for long kept secret, until the northern forces had withdrawn into the fastnesses of Kai, the war languished, to be renewed with greater activity under the rash and ignorant leadership of his son. Katsuyori and his tribe cut belly at Temmoku-zan, the last and successful bid of Iyeyasu against his former enemies. Then the Tokugawa standard was planted from Suruga to Mikawa, and Iyeyasu became indisputably the first of Nobunaga's vassals--and one never thoroughly trusted. Among the twenty-four captains of Takéda Shingen was a Kosaka Danjo[u] no Chu[u]den. His son Heima inherited the devotion, as well as the fief, of the father. Unlike many of the Takéda vassals in Kai he clung to Katsuyori Ko[u] through all the bad weather of that unlucky prince. Kai was no longer a safe place for vassals true to the native House. Better luck could be assured with the old enemies, the Uesugi in the North. But Heima would not seek other service than that of his once lord. He only sought a place to live. When the ex-soldier appeared with his wife in the village of Nishi-Furutsuka at the base of Tsukuba, the people thereabouts had more than strong suspicion that he who came so quietly into their midst was not of their kind. However his presence was accepted. His willingness to take up farm labour and another status, to become a _go[u]shi_ or gentleman farmer, his valued aid and leadership in the troubled times which followed, were much appreciated. The year 1599 found the old fox Iyeyasu Ko[u] planted in Edo castle; and Jisuké, as Heima now called himself, leaning over the cradle of a boy just born--a very jewel. Jisuké's wife was now over forty years in age. Hence this unexpected offspring was all the dearer. In the years there had been losses and distress. The new-comer surely was the gift from the Kwannondo[u] nestled on the slopes of the mountain far above the village. To the Lady Merciful many the prayers for such aid. The child grew and prospered. A farmer's boy, yet he was the _bushi's_ son; made plain in every action. Under the tutelage of the priests of the neighbouring Zen temple he learned all that they chose to teach, far outstripped his fellows, and in class room and in sport was their natural leader. Sport was the better test. With years Jinnosuké tired of the clerical teaching. The leader of the village band he was its mainstay in the wars with boys of rival hamlets thereabouts. These were soon driven away, and their own precincts invaded at will. The mountain became distinctively the property of Jinnosuké and his youthful companions, whose whole sport was devoted to mimic warfare. Their leader, thus unchallenged, became more and more reckless; more and more longed to distinguish himself by some feat beyond mere counterfeit war. One day, under his direction, in the storming of the hill which represented the enemy's castle, much brushwood and dried leaves were gathered. "Now then! Set the fire! The foe, blinded by the smoke, perishes under our blows. On! On!" The other children eagerly obeyed. The blazing mass towered up and up. The trees now were on fire. The wind blowing fiercely drove the fire directly on to the Kwannondo[u], which stood for the citadel of the besieged. Soon the temple itself was in flames. Greatly excited the boys swarmed amid the smoke and confusion as if in real battle. "Now--for the plunder!" At Jinnosuké's order the furniture of the temple was made the object of loot, heaped up at a safe distance for future division. Thus engaged loud shouts met their ears. In fright the band of youngsters turned to meet the presence of the enraged incumbent, the _do[u]mori_. The temple was his charge and residence. His small necessities were supplied by visits to the villages below. "Oi! Oi! wretched little villains! Thus to fire the temple in your sport is most scandalous. Surely your heads shall be wrung off--one by one. Terrible the punishment--from Heaven and the Daikwan."[20] The boys in confusion began to slink away. Then the voice of Jinnosuké rose above the tumult. "On! On! This priest stinks of blood. Be not cowards! The commander of the castle would frighten with words. 'Tis he who is afraid. It is his part to cut belly in defeat and die amid the ruins." In a trice the whole pack had faced around. Boldly with staves they set upon the priest. Numbers brought him helpless to the ground. There was a large stone lying close by. Heaving it to his shoulder Jinnosuké stood over the prostrate man. "According to rule the matter is thus to be conducted. This fellow is to be given the finishing stroke; then buried in the castle ruins." He cast down the heavy block with all his force. The priest's brains were spattered on the ground. Under the direction of Jinnosuké the body with feebly twitching limbs was thrown into the now blazing mass of the temple. Then forming in line, and raising the shout of victory, the youthful band of heroes marched off to the village. Under pain of his displeasure--which meant much--Jinnosuké forbade any bragging or reference to the affair. Wisely: a day or two after a peasant came on the scene. In fright the man hastened to make report. At once buzz was most tremendous. Was it accident or the work of thieves, this disaster? Said one man sagely--"The _do[u]mori_ was a great drunkard. Deign to consider. The temple furniture is untouched. Thieves would have carried it off. He carried it out to safety, to fall a victim in a further attempt at salvage. The offence lies with the priest, not with the villagers." The report pleased all, none too anxious to offend the bands of robbers ranging the mountain mass and the neighbouring villages. Thus report was made by the village council to the Daikwan's office. The temple authorities had a severe reprimand for allowing such a drunkard to be in charge of the shrine. Jinnosuké stuck his tongue in his cheek. "Trust to the valour and skill of this Jinnosuké. These constables are fools." But his companions were a little frightened with this late exploit. Their numbers fell off. Many of them now came to the age fit for farm work. Jinnosuké was not long in finding substitutes in the real thieves who haunted the neighbourhood. Their spy, and often engaged in their raids, yet in his own district he was only known as a bad and dissipated boy. Something of this had to come to the ears of Jisuké; but not the full extent of his son's wickedness. He sought a remedy for what he thought mere wild behaviour. Now in the town, years ago, there had lived a poor farmer and his wife; "water drinkers," in the local expression for bitter poverty. The man laboured at day tasks, and the wife laboured as hard with him, bearing her baby girl on her back. Jisuké aided as he could, and as was his wont, and when the pair were taken down and died with a prevailing epidemic disease, it was Jisuké and his wife who took the child to themselves, to bring her up as their own. O'Ichi San grew into a beautiful girl, and at this time Jisuké and his wife trusted to her favour and influence to bring Jinnosuké to the sedateness and regularity of a farmer's life. The girl blushed and looked down as she listened to what was more than request, though put in mildest form. "One so humble is hardly likely to please the young master. Filial duty bids this Ichi to obey, and yield her person at command." The mother was more than gratified at the assent and modesty--"Dutiful you have always been. We parents have no eyes. The whole matter is left to you. If Jinnosuké can be taken by your person, perchance he will devote his time to home and the farm work, now so irksome to his father. Where he goes in these long absences is not known; they can be for no good purpose." Thus the arrangement was made. The girl now busied herself about and with Jinnosuké. She was the one to attend to all his comforts, to await his often late return. Thus used to her he soon began to look on her with anything but brotherly eyes. Was she not the daughter of old Taro[u]bei, the water drinker? He knew the story well. Thus one night he took O'Ichi to himself. She pleased him--as with the parents. No objection was anywhere raised to the connection; a village of Nippon has cognizance of such matters; and in short order public notice was given of the marriage. The influence was not of long duration. With his wife's pregnancy Jinnosuké disappeared. From the age of thirteen years he had been hand in glove with all the rough fellows of the district. These were stirring times in the south. There was something to pick up. After all was not he a _samurai's_ son. Jinnosuké was too late for action. Although but seventeen years old his short sturdy and astonishingly active frame and skill with weapons was a welcome addition to the band that Ogita Kuro[u]ji had gathered after the fall of O[u]saka-jo[u]. Now Jinnosuké figured as Kosaka Jinnai. Here first he came in contact with the law and Aoyama Shu[u]zen. On this failure he betook himself at once to the disguise of his native village; to enter it as quietly as if he never had left it, to find himself the father of a baby girl, Kikujo[u], and to procreate another on his patient wife. But before this second girl, O'Yui, was born Jinnosuké, as the village still knew him, had again disappeared. This was in strict accordance with his principle, of which something is to be said. Of these O[u]saka _ro[u]nin_, determined not to take another master, there were three Jinnai. In council over past failure, said Tomizawa Jinnai.[21] "The ambition of this Tomizawa?" He laughed. Jinnai was no distinctive term in this gathering. "It is to collect all the beautiful costumes of Nippon."--"Admirable indeed!" chimed in Sho[u]ji Jinnai (or Jinémon, as he called himself). "But why stop at the surface? As you know, the ambition of this Sho[u]ji had long been to see gathered together all the most beautiful women of Nippon. And you, Kosaka?"--"To see all distinction done away with between other men's property and my own."--"Splendid indeed! But don't poach on our ground." The two others clapped their hands and laughed. Kosaka Jinnai did not. "Well then--to put the matter to the test," said he callously. Tomizawa Jinnai forthwith took up the collection of old clothing and costumes of divers sorts. He can be said to be the ancestor of the old clothes trade of Edo--To[u]kyo[u]; and the Tomizawacho[u] at Ningyo[u]cho[u] no Yokocho[u], the place of his residence, is his memorial. To this day it is a centre for old clothes shops. Sho[u]ji Jinnai pressed the petition he had once put in (Keicho[u] 17th year--1612) as Jinémon before being finally convinced of the righteousness of a Tokugawa world. He was lucky enough to find oblivion and reward in the permit for a harlot quarter. As its bailiff (_nanushi_) he assembled three thousand beautiful women for the service of the Yoshiwara, then at Fukiyacho[u] near Nihonbashi, and of which O[u]mondori is the chief relic. Kosaka Jinnai, under such encouragement and auspices, betook himself more vigorously than ever to robbery; enhanced by a mighty idea which the years gradually brought to ripeness in his mind. From being a sandal bearer Hidéyoshi the Taiko[u] had risen to rule. He, Jinnai, would emulate the example and rise to rule from being a bandit. He was not, and would not be, the only one of the kind in the political world. Hence his wide travels through the provinces, his seeking out all the most desperate and villainous characters, for he had "trust" in few others, his weaving together of a vast conspiracy of crime, not to be equalled in any time but the closing days of the Ashikaga Sho[u]gunate--and that not so far off. Of this period of Jinnai's life there is a tale to relate. CHAPTER XIX A MATTER OF PEDESTRIANISM Up to the very recent days of Meiji the precincts of the Shiba San-en-zan Zo[u]jo[u]ji, now known more particularly as the most accessible of the burial places of the Tokugawa Sho[u]gun, were an excellent example of the old monastic establishments. The main temple with its wide grounds was completely girdled by a succession of halls or monastic foundations, some of which were famed through the land for their theological teaching of the principles of the Jo[u]do[u] sect. Conspicuous among these were the Tenjingatani and the Mushigatani, seminaries widely sought for the erudition of the professors. In all nearly three thousand students attended the halls, with an eye to an ecclesiastical future. On the dawn of a cold winter morning a priestly clad man, a _shoké_ or one of the lowest clerical order, mainly notable for the vastness and robustness of his proportions, could have been seen leaving the gate of the Tokucho[u]-in. His size alone would have attracted attention, for the mouse coloured _kimono_, the white leggings and mitts (_tekko[u]_), the double soled _waraji_ (sandals) fastened on a pair of big feet, were usual travelling equipment of his kind, made sure by the close woven _ajiro_ or mushroom hat covering his head; admirable shelter against heat in summer, and a canopy--umbrella like--against falling snow in winter. By somewhat devious route he strode along a narrow lane, crossed the Gokurakubashi and halted before the Chu[u]mon on the broad avenue leading up to the temple. A glance thither satisfied him for a leave-taking, which yet displayed some sentiment. A few moments carried him without the entrance gate, and but few more saw him crossing Kanésujibashi, evidently on some long tramp, if the steady swing of a practised walker, in no haste and conserving his strength, is any test. The road in those days passed through a long succession of village houses, the _cho[u]_ of Shiba village, broken very occasionally by a _yashiki_ wall. It was not until he reached the barrier at Takanawa, Kurumacho[u], that he came full out on the bay just lighting up with the coming day--a beautiful stretch of water, now spoiled by the ugliness of the railway and the filling in which has turned the haunt of thousands of wild fowl into a prairie, soon to be covered by hideous factories and other sites of man's superfluous toil. Close by the little saddle at Shinagawa, now a railway cutting, a stream came into the bay from the west. On the bridge the priest Dentatsu stopped for a moment. Throughout, from the time of leaving Kanésujibashi, he had had a feeling of being followed. Now he determined to get a good look at his pursuer, it was not particularly satisfying. "Iya! An ill looking chap--with an eye like a knife." The object of these remarks had halted with him, at the further side of the bridge. He was contemplating the water with one eye, the priest with the other. A short sturdy man of forty odd years, Dentatsu noted the good but thin upper garment, the close fitting leggings, the well chosen _waraji_, the copper handled dagger in his girdle. Furthermore he noted a cold decision in the glance of the eye that he liked least of all in the fellow's equipment. This was a man he would not choose for companion--"Bah! Short Legs, this Dentatsu will soon leave your stumps in the rear. A little speed, and this doubtful fellow is left behind beyond hope." So off started his reverence at the full pace of his huge legs and really great endurance. Through O[u]mori and Kamata, crossing in the same boat at the Rokugo ferry, through Kawasaki and Tsurumigi--totsu-totsu-totsu the stranger's legs kept easy pace with those of the priest. "A most extraordinary fellow," thought Dentatsu. "He moves as on springs. It would be well to settle matters at once with him." Halting he waited for this pursuer to close up the few score feet maintained between them. His frowning manner had a genial greeting. "Ah! Ha! Truly the Go Shukké Sama[22] is no mean walker. But even then company on the road is good. From the Zo[u]jo[u]ji; by that _kesa_ (stole), dress, and carriage? Probably the honoured priest has a long journey before him--to the capital?" Dentatsu duly scanned his company--"To the Chion-In, the parent temple, and none too fond of companionship on the road. Deign, good sir, to spare yours; with such short legs the task of precedence would be out of the question. Drop the useless effort of this pursuit, which becomes an annoyance." Dentatsu's manner was truculent, his grasp on his stick even threatening. The fellow met this rough greeting with the suavest determination. "Oya! Oya! Naruhodo, Go Shukké Sama! A very rude speech indeed! After all the highway is free to all, and I too travel the To[u]kaido[u] toward the capital. Deign to grant your company and the entertainment will be all the better. Don't be deceived by length, or lack of length, in one's legs. The promise will be kept not to detain you.... That you came from Zo[u]jo[u]ji is plain from your garb, if you had not been seen to turn into To[u]kaido[u] from the temple avenue.... I too travel Kyo[u]to way.... See! In our talk already Hodogaya town is passed. This climb.... here is the top of the Yakimochizaka. The mark stands here to bound Sagami and Musashi. Ha! Ha! The Go Shukké Sama has splendid legs, but he is handicapped by his weight. Surely it cannot be less than two thousand _ryo[u]_ in coin that he carries in the pack on his shoulders. That contains no bills on the Sho[u]shidai (Governor) of the capital." Ah! The matter now was fully lighted. The fellow then had known his mission from Zo[u]jo[u]ji to the parent temple, to remit this sum to the capital. Dentatsu had not anticipated difficulty so early in his journey, nor did he much care for the contest which was offered him. He judged the man by his legs, and these were almost miraculous in swiftness, activity, and strength. "Alas! A dangerous fellow indeed. The luck of this Dentatsu is bad. What now is to be done?" The cold sweat at his responsibility gently bedewed his forehead. Yet Dentatsu was a brave man. The tradesman--or robber--laughed lightly. "Don't look so queer, so put out, honoured Shukké Sama. Truth is told in saying there is business on To[u]kaido[u]. Even if highwayman, the last thing thought of would be to meddle with the funds of the honoured Hotoké Sama (Buddha). Be reassured; and as such be more assured in having a companion. The coin? Pure guess, and from the small size of the parcel and the evident difficulty found in carrying it. It weighs too much on one shoulder. Trust not only the thief, but the trader to know the signs of cash.... You would breakfast at Totsuka town? Did they send you forth with empty belly? Surely the monastery kitchen has no such reputation for stinginess among the vulgar." His manner was so reassuring that Dentatsu gained confidence in him and his profession. Gladly now he accepted this failure to relieve him of his precious burden, and this offer of company. He resented however the reflection on the monastery kitchen--"Not so! Nor is this foolish priest so at odds with the cook as not to find a bit of mountain whale (flesh) in the soup. Repletion is the aim and object of a monastic existence."--"Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed the fellow. "Yet the honoured Shukké Sama would breakfast so close to Edo town! Good sir, deign to leave the matter to me. Both are in haste--you to the capital; I almost as far.... This Fujisawa is a wondrous place. As priest you know its temple and its wandering prior, the precious relics of the Hangwan, but the woman Teruté of course the priest despises; yet Oguri owed much to her--life and success in his vendetta. Besides in a copse, just over yonder hill, is the shrine of the other Hangwan--Yoshitsuné. A prayer to his head there buried brings success in warlike adventure, no great affair for cleric or tradesman.... Already the Banyu[u] ferry is close at hand. Surely if we would reach Sumpu (Shizuoka) this day there can be no lunching short of Odawara town." Dentatsu would have stopped short, if such halt had not involved the rapid disappearance of this elastic and now entertaining companion. As it was both had to slow pace to let him get breath taken away by pure amazement. "Odawara town! Sumpu before night! Tradesman, have you gone mad? To Sumpu it is full forty-eight _ri_ (120 miles). You talk like a fool. Who is there, to walk such a stage in a day?"--"The honoured Shukké Sama and this tradesman. In talk and argument the ground flies under the feet of such walkers, and the promise to keep pace will be maintained. Just see--this is Kodzu town; yonder the waters of Sakawagawa. 'Tis early yet, but time can be spared for food. For exercise belly timber is needed. A good lining of wine and food to the inwards is the tonic to more talk and exertion. Now in with you, to this broad space leading to the castle--the keep of O[u]kubo Kaga no Kami, with his hundred thousand _koku_ and the trust of the suzerain worth all his other honours. Ah! Here is the eight roofed Minoya, best of its kind in the town. And what a town. Between wine, food, and singing girls, one loiters as long as a second Odawara conference; at times to one's ruin.... Ah! Ha! A stop for the mid-day meal. Ne[e]san, no more delay than needed. Speed is urgent, yet food and wine of the best. The honoured Shukké Sama is affected toward vegetable food.... What! The Buddha called wine _hannyato_--hot water bringing wisdom? Ne[e]san, the honoured Shukké Sama is a man of sense, no ascetic when unsatiated--or on a journey. He would wear out belly and _waraji_ (sandals) on the same service. Fish boiled with a little salt, _sashimi_ (sliced raw fish)--and _don't_ forget the _kamaboku_ (fish paste). Two bottles for each, with as much more heating. Bring a large bowl, empty. Never mind the change.... And now, honoured Shukké Sama, deign at least to the uninitiated the basis of this wondrous argument." Dentatsu could not take offence at his merry humour. Himself he smiled, as he poured from the second bottle of the wine. "Yes; the Buddha has called wine _hannyato_, thus permitting its use to the initiated; just as stronger foods, properly labelled, are fit for the belly. Thus by the mouth is purified what goes into the belly. If the mouth can perform lustration in the one case, it can do so by its exercise in another and more intimate fashion." The fellow was immensely pleased. Leaning over he had drunk in the countenance of the priest in the course of his argument--"Naruhodo! A big body: 'twas feared the mind would be small. Deign, honoured sir, to wait a moment; a purchase to make...." Off he bolted with the _domburi_ or large bowl, something of a mystery to the priest. It was soon solved by his reappearance with the vessel filled with the small salted squid (_ika_). "There! Honoured Shukké Sama, sample the best of Odawara town, noted for _kamaboku_ and its small fish-salted; and of these the _ika_ is unsurpassed." As they drank the wine, urged on by the savoury relish, he gave few and brief directions. The food was wrapped up by the _ne[e]san_, several bottles of wine put in the package, for use in a journey that must be pressed. "Now--the bill; for you, _ne[e]san_, what is left over. Honoured Shukké Sama, a gentle pace for the time being. The belly full, one loiters to let it do its work. From here to Yumoto is a _ri_ (2-1/2 miles), of most gentle rise. And what a pretty scene; the valley narrowing to its clinging hills hiding the strange and beautiful scenes beyond, yet which cause a little fear even to the stoutest hearts. This river seems alive, twisting, and turning, and pouring in multitudinous and minute falls over the rounded boulders. The greater falls are naught else--on the larger scale. All day one could watch the twists and turns of one spot in a rivulet, white, green, almost black, yet never the same.... Note how the pass narrows. This is Hata, beyond is the monkey's clinging hill--well named. More than one rock from the steep above has torn away the traveller's grasp and crushed a skull as if an egg shell." They breasted the steep hills through forest, came out on the gentler upper slopes covered with the long bamboo grass through which could be seen the rough heaped up surface of volcanic debris. The trader came to a halt. "A request to make." "Ah! Now the fellow's mask is off--in this lonely spot.... He shall have a tussle for it." Dentatsu was as much enraged as scared. Grasping his staff he faced the townsman with harshness and visible irritation. Said the latter testily--"Put off the honoured scowl. Truly the distrust of the Shukké Sama is most uncomplimentary. But--as priest of Zo[u]jo[u]ji, and on its mission, there is a passport. Women or guns with such, and those unfurnished, cannot pass the barrier. I am unfurnished." Dentatsu showed his amazement--"Yet you would journey to the capital! And...."--"Started in great haste, without time even for equipment, as can be seen--in a way. Deign to grant the request of entering in 'companion.' With this favour all will be well, and the obligation greater." Said the priest gravely--"True: and companions for the day, breaking food together, it is no great matter. But a townsman as company--the barrier guards would certainly make question."--"Write the matter in; write the matter in. They shall have answer.... For whom? The name is Jimbei, of Kanda ward; but just now a servant of Zo[u]jo[u]ji. Jimbei will be a credit to the honoured Shukké Sama. Write it in." His manner was so peremptory that the priest drew forth his writing materials. With one hand grinding his tablet of ink, with one eye watching Jimbei, he saw him disappear into the bushes. With misgiving the characters were added to the passport, a gentle forgery easy to the cleric in mind and hand. Who would not cheat barrier and customs, and feel all the better for the deed? To the misgivings were added a gasp of astonishment. From the bush appeared Jimbei clad in full raiment of a temple servant, carrying pole and the two boxes (_ryo[u]gaké_) on his shoulders, and so like to the rôle that Dentatsu felt as travelling in the style of his betters. "But ... in this lonely place how effect such change? How...." Jimbei quietly removed the document dangling from his fingers. "How--and why--and which--and where--all these are for later explanation. Time presses if Sumpu is to be reached at night. Jimbei answers for the credit of the Go Shukké Sama. Now, honoured sir--down the hill with you." They were standing on the crest overlooking the lake far below. Jimbei set the example by starting off at a rapid pace. Never had priest better attendant, or one more skilled in dealing with barrier curiosity. He was loquacious, without giving information. The matter was clear, and Jimbei gave hint as to the mission and the burden. Dentatsu was given early clearance. At the top of Muko[u]zaka Jimbei loyally restored to him the precious burden until then assumed. "Now, sir priest, be assured of Jimbei Dono's good faith. The favour has been great. The acknowledgment shall be as great. In this life the Go Shukké Sama and this Jimbei are bound in brotherhood." If Dentatsu felt grateful, he also felt a little chilled. "A wonderful fellow! Such legs on such a small body have never been seen.... Nor such an eye. This man is as much brains as bulk. Every member is intelligence--Extraordinary!" He kept this opinion to himself. Aloud--"This Dentatsu admits his inferiority. He is worn out. Since Jimbei balks Mishima town, from there onward this foolish priest takes nag or _kago_." Was he speaking truth, or trying to get rid of him? Jimbei stopped and observed him keenly. Bah! His was the master mind over this poor cleric. "The Shukké Sama already has had test of Jimbei's wit and talk. Deign not to spit folly. Leave the matter to Jimbei, and be assured that the passage of time and space will go unobserved." Nor did the priest find it otherwise. The leagues passed on apace. At this rest shed they stopped awhile for tea, and to consume provision. At another Jimbei halted to order _saké_ for himself and companion. The sun was far down as the ferrymen landed them on the further side of the Fujikawa. Okitsu? Mio no Matsubara? No indeed: passing under the walls of the Seikenji, Jimbei spoke with enthusiasm of the place famed for eatables--Sumpu town. To[u]to[u]mi-wan, Suruga-wan, furnished the fish, unsurpassed; the _tai_ (bream) of Okitsu, famed for _sashimi_--all these, including the best _saké_ in Nippon. Dentatsu sighed with weariness and anticipated pleasure of the table set. Passing through the darkness of full night the mass of a castle bulk could be made out. Then they came into the blaze of such light as a large provincial town afforded. Said Jimbei, with some exultation--"Sumpu town, and its inns of note. Eh! Honoured Shukké Sama!" CHAPTER XX THE AFFAIR OF KISHU[U] KE Jimbei, as of one born and bred in the town, at once led his companion off from the castle precincts. The many lanterns hung out in the narrow streets showed this Jinshukucho[u] to be the lodging quarter of the town. Approaching the entrance of one more conspicuous--"The Yorozuya.... Ah! Shelter for the night." The maids kneeling at the entrance chorused their welcome. Keenly they took in the prospective guests, garb mainly, possessions less conspicuous. All Nipponese travel light, and tea money is to be judged by outward appearance. "Deign to enter;" the usual mechanical and none too enthusiastic greeting. Jimbei was at home--"And the eight mat room over looking the street?... Oh! Ne[e]san is without memory." The girl, a little puzzled, admitted the defect and made apology. Alas! The room had been taken for one of the train of Kishu[u] Ke. They were _samurai_, on their lord's business, and would have no near neighbours. Another room of size and suitability was available. "Honoured Shukké Sama, water for the feet." Deftly he stripped off the sandals of Dentatsu, acted the servant to perfection, and attended to his own purification with practised swiftness. Then under the guidance of the maid the room was sought. The host appeared almost as soon with the inn register. "Dentatsu, _shoké_ of Jo[u]jo[u]ji; one companion--from Mishima this day." With grave face Jimbei made the entry; and Dentatsu gave all the approval of an outraged weariness. "And now--the bath? Ne[e]san, the Danna Sama is large of body and liberal of needs. No vegetation as repast for him. Just a...." Jimbei went into a huge order of food and wine to repair their tired bodies. The girl sighed in relief--"The honoured _bo[u]zu_-san (sir priest) is most considerate. He asks but what is easily supplied." To Jimbei's supposed inquiry--"To furnish out of the usual course is never easy. The honoured priests often give trouble." A serving man stuck his nose within the _sho[u]ji_. "For the honoured guests the bath...."--"Danna, the bath." The girl stood expectant. Following her guidance the weary Dentatsu, under the manipulation of his more active companion, underwent this partial renovation. Before the _zen_, well covered with the eatables, Dentatsu sighed--"Ah! Ha! This Dentatsu is weary beyond measure. To-morrow he will rest here. The distance...." Jimbei cut him short--"The Danna deigns to jest. The rest of a night, and all the weariness departs. Wine and food, sleep, will show the folly of such thought. Besides, the temple's important affair...." Dentatsu did not seem to be so solicitous concerning temple matters as his attendant. Jimbei gave him little chance to show it. He prattled and talked, had much to ask of _ne[e]san_. This shortly, and as decided--"With an early start let the beds be laid at once." Off he dragged the unwilling Dentatsu. When they returned from preparation for the night the beds were laid. Dentatsu tumbled incontinently into one, and in a moment was snoring. Jimbei sat smoking, watching him and the girl making the final preparation of the chamber for the night. As she passed close to him suddenly he seized her and drew her down to him--"Ara! Danna, this won't do at all. A maid in the inn, such service must be refused. Condescend to loosen." But Jimbei did not let her go. He drew her very close.--"Ha! Ah! Indeed one is much in love. However don't be alarmed. It is another affair. The Go Shukké Sama has a little soul in a big body. He is wearied beyond measure; yet the temple affairs require an early start. Deign to call us at the seventh hour, but be sure to say it is the sixth. Is it agreed?... For a hair ornament." The maid understood the coin and the innocent deception. Dimming the night light she took her departure. An inn of Nippon never sleeps. Dentatsu was aroused, to find the lamp still burning brightly in the room. The maid, somewhat frightened, was vigorously shaking him. "Oya! Oya! To shake up such a big Danna, 'tis terrific. He may deign to bestow a beating." Said Jimbei, with calm philosophy--"For the _kerai_ to inconvenience his master is not to be permitted. You are of the inn service. Hence not to be reproved by strangers. It is your function to arouse."--"The sixth hour!" grumbled Dentatsu. He rubbed his eyes as one who had just gone to sleep. Jimbei carried him off to the cleaning processes of early morn. The return found the table laid with the meal. With quietness and despatch Jimbei settled all matters with the aplomb of the practised traveller. Before he was well awake Dentatsu found himself following after through the dark streets. "Surely the maid has mistaken the hour.[23] 'Tis yet the darkness of night."--"Not likely," interjected Jimbei, as swiftly he urged him on. "The girl sees to departure every day in the year. It is the darkness of bad weather, and all the more need for haste." He looked around in surprise. They had reached the ferry at the Tegoé crossing of the Abégawa, at the edge of the town. "Naruhodo! Not a coolie has yet appeared. There is no one to carry us across the river. How now! Has the girl really mistaken the hour?... Return? Why so? That would be to look ridiculous, and the woman is not worth scolding. However, this Jimbei knows...." With misgiving and protest Dentatsu followed him a little up stream, toward the Ambai-nai or Nitta crossing. Here the broad middle space is usually left bare of flood. Jimbei began to strip. "Naruhodo! Townsman, surely the crossing is not to be trod without the practised guidance of the coolies? This Dentatsu budges not a step...."--"Deign to be silent," was the reply. Jimbei was already in the water; with the priest's luggage and his own. With fright and interest Dentatsu watched him feel his way through the stream. Surely he was a most surprising fellow. On the other bank doubtless he would disappear at once. The big legs of Dentatsu trembled under him. He had thoughts of entrance, but the impossibility of overtaking these legs of quicksilver prevented him. "Ora pro nobis"; these departing treasures. No! Now he was returning. "Now, Go Shukké Sama, up with you." He made a back for Dentatsu, but the big man backed away. "Jimbei! Are you mad? Is Jimbei one to carry the big...."--"Body in which is lodged such a small soul? Be sure, sir priest, this Jimbei easily could shift double the weight. Up with you!... Don't put the hands over my eyes. A little higher: that's it." Off he started into the flood. The first channel was easy; barely to the thigh. Dentatsu walked across the intervening sand, with more confidence and not a word of doubting protest. Again, and readily, he mounted this surprising conveyance. The second attempt was another affair. The river flowed swift. The legs of Dentatsu were wound around the neck of Jimbei, now in water to his chest. He looked in fright and some pleasure at the waves, flicked here and there with white. Jimbei halted--"A fine sight, sir priest. Note the deep blue. It shows depth, yet this is the ford. Just below it runs far over man's head, with swift undercurrent. He who once is caught in it rises not again until the crossing is reached, far below." Said Dentatsu, scared and annoyed--"Why loiter then in such a dangerous place?"--"Because just now the world is Jimbei's world." The tone of voice, the look up he gave, froze the soul of Dentatsu. "Just consider, sir priest. A movement, and the honoured Go Shukké Sama is food for fishes. His disappearance accounted for, his luggage, the two thousand _ryo[u]_ of the temple, pass to Jimbei as his heir, and none to make report. The honoured Shukké Sama, is he prepared?" Dentatsu was no fool. This man was in earnest for the moment. With all the calmness of a desperate position he made terms--"Life is everything. Deign to place this foolish priest on solid ground. Jimbei takes the coin, goes unscathed, without word now or hereafter. The priest's word for it--and surely Jimbei fears not for himself." He clung fast to Jimbei's neck. The latter had gone off into a most outrageous peal of laughter which almost shook his freight from the perch aloft. Then slowly and carefully he proceeded into the shallows, set down his charge on the further bank--"A magnificent compliment: but no more of this. Perhaps now the Go Shukké Sama will have trust in Jimbei, submit to his guidance. For once in earnest, the escape was a narrow one.... Ah! Ha! Ha! Ha! How scared!" Dentatsu did not deny it--"More than frightened; thoroughly scared." He scanned his companion. "A most surprising fellow! Surely...." He was perplexed. But Jimbei paid no attention to his questioning deferential manner. He was plainly the master--"Come now! All haste is to be made." Urging the pace soon they were amid the hills. The white light of dawn was approaching as they were reaching the top of a difficult climb. "The Utsunoya-to[u]ge (pass)," said Jimbei. A peculiar vibration in his voice made Dentatsu look at him with surprise. His mouth was set. His eyes shone colder than ever. Every faculty of the man was awake and alert. Silent he halted, put down the pack on the steps of a little wayside shrine, drew out his pipe to smoke. "Beyond is the Tsuta no Hosomichi, running along the mountain side for some _cho[u]_; the 'slender road of Ivy,' for it is no wider than a creeper."--"A bad place!" mechanically murmured Dentatsu. "A very bad place!" was the grave reply. Then the sound of steps was heard. A man, puffing, came up on the run. He addressed himself with respect to Jimbei--"Honoured chief, they enter on the pass."--"Good: now--vamoose; but be at hand." The man saluted, to Jimbei and the priest, and disappeared in the direction whence he came. "Vamoose? Vamoose? What and why this word vamoose?"--"Shut up!" was the emphatic reply of Jimbei. His eye turned to wayside shrine, close by at the summit of the pass. "Now, in with you, sir priest. No word or motion, if life be valued.... In with you." Dentatsu looked him all over. In resentment? If he felt it, he did not dare to show it. Mechanically he turned and huddled himself within the grating. Jimbei forced it in on him, for the space would but hold the big body of the priest. He had hardly done so when another man came running up, almost breathless--"Chief! They are at hand."--"Good: vamoose."--"Again 'vamoose'", grumbled Dentatsu openly.[24] "Why such strange words; and at least why not explain them?"--"Ah! Ha! A noisy priest; these clerics can do nothing but clack, clack, like a parcel of geese or women. Even the best of them--who thus consorts with Jimbei. Remember, Bo[u]zu--silence, or the Go Shukké Sama finds Nirvana--not Gion; or was it Chion." With a silent ferocious laugh, or expression of such, he disappeared into the bushes. But few moments passed. Dentatsu wriggled uneasily in his robes, the only motion space permitted. Then was heard the merry sound of bells. A pack train appeared; or rather two horses, one as carrier. A _samurai_ rode in front; another followed on foot. Four or five grooms were in attendance. Close by the shrine, at the top of the ascent, they halted to get wind after this last steep pull. "What a splendid sight! Naruhodo, Gemba Dono! The sun rises from the bosom of the waters. How blue they seem! The hills take shape in the dawn's light. Truly the start, so inconveniently early, is repaid in part. One could stay here forever ... what call you this place?... Tsuta no Hosomichi? And the resort of highwaymen. But the _samurai_ has his sword. Such fellows are not of the kind to trouble. Much more so a _tanka_ couplet to celebrate the beauty of the spot." He laughed, and his companion swaggered to the front of the shrine, with that peculiar hip motion of his caste. Dentatsu held his breath. The grooms chanted the few lines of a song--"The eight _ri_ of Hakoné--the horse's pack; the Oigawa--its wide flood, not so." Slowly they rose to follow the masters. He who walked preceded. The pack horse followed. The rider was well engaged in the narrow way. The grooms were preparing to follow. Then a man burst forth from the bushes at the roadside. "Atsu!" The _samurai_ had but hand on his sword hilt when his assailant had cut deep into shoulder and pap. His companion tried to turn. Then Dentatsu saw the animal he rode stagger and fall. The rider had but time to throw himself to the ground. Before he could rise his head rolled off a dozen paces, then bounded down the steep slope. Striding over the body smoking in blood, Jimbei grasped the rein of the pack horse. The grooms, who had looked on eyes agog, took to flight down the pass as they had come. The whole affair had not taken two minutes. Gasping with fright Dentatsu allowed himself to be dragged from the shrine. "Ah! Ha! Ha! A surprising fellow! Such activity was never shown by man. Truly Jimbei is of the hobgoblin kind." Jimbei was once more transformed. His costume of priests' attendant had been resumed. The carrying boxes, now much heavier, were ready to shoulder. Gravely he indicated the burden. "Four thousand _ryo[u]_ there; a thousand _ryo[u]_ to be carried elsewhere. But now there is need for great haste. Neither Jimbei nor the Go Shukké Sama is to be found in these parts. On with you, sir priest."--"Ah! Jimbei! Jimbei! A strange fellow indeed! What manner of company has this Dentatsu fallen in with?"--"This is no time for questions--or answers," was Jimbei's stern reply. "The relation evidently is for life. Jimbei recognizes it.... Yes, the crest is that of Kishu[u] Ke; the money, funds remitted to his treasury. Hence all the greater need to hasten." Speed they did, by paths and shorter ways unknown to Dentatsu as frequent traveller of this road, and which spared the Hamana bight and rest at the tea sheds of the To[u]kaido[u]. Fright urged on Dentatsu without protest; settled purpose hastened Jimbei. Thus Yoshida post town was reached in good time to inn, for the priest was half dead with fatigue. Jimbei surveyed his charge, critically and with much kindness, as one does what has been of greatest use to him. "Not a step further can this Dentatsu go." It was not refusal; it was plain assertion of fact; and Jimbei agreed. "There is no longer need for haste. Two, three days stoppage, with the best of food and wine shall be the reward of the honoured Shukké Sama. Nay, until thoroughly restored." They had come from the bath and were seated at a table loaded with wine and food. Dentatsu prepared to eat. Just then the landlord stuck his head in between the _sho[u]ji_. His face was anxious and frightened. "Regret is felt. On Utsunoyama, at the crossing of the pass, the honoured money train of Kishu[u] Ke has been held up and robbed. 'Tis a great affair; by some notable robber! At Yoshida none are allowed exit or entrance during the next six days. People and strangers are to undergo strict examination. Deign the honoured pardon, but ... after all the charges are to be met for the detention." The morsel then being conveyed to the mouth of Dentatsu stopped short. A warning look from Jimbei nearly made him choke. The townsman was all suavity and glee--"How fortunate! The honoured Shukké Sama, foot sore, would rest several days. And at no expense! The generosity of Matsudaira Ko[u] passes measure. Are we not lucky, Danna?" To the host--"So it makes no difference. But at this distance...." The host shrugged his shoulders. "It would seem so; but the order is official. The notice came by boat from Oigawa. The whole To[u]kaido[u] is up--from Yoshida to Numazu town."--"And why not to Edo and the capital (Kyo[u]to)," Jimbei laughed. The host laughed too. Well satisfied with his guests' satisfaction he withdrew. Dentatsu did but blink. The meal removed Jimbei sat in apparent thought. "A boat--and Yoshida! Who would have thought it? Ah! The wicked are not to escape punishment. Three feet nearer Heaven--on a stake; and one's belly full of wind holes--from the spears. Go Shukké Sama, the crime was a dastardly one. Five thousand _ryo[u]_! Surely it means crucifixion on the embankment. We will furnish poles for plover--to roost upon."[25] Dentatsu made a sign of frightened repulsion. He could not speak. Jimbei seemed to catch an idea. "Ne[e]san! Ne[e]san! keep the honoured Shukké Sama company over his wine. There is a purchase to make.... By the house? No such trouble asked. It is for _waraji_, with cloth in front and rear, indispensable.... Not found here? Nay, these eyes saw them on entering the town. Someone will get ahead in the purchase--with great regret. The place was seen, but not knowing the streets it is not to be described." When the girl carried out the dishes, to bring in more wine, Dentatsu raised heavy reproachful eyes--"Then Jimbei would run away, leave the priest in the lurch." He cast a look at the hateful _ryo[u]gaké_, stuffed with recent spoil. Jimbei froze him into silence--"From the town there is no escape. Leave the matter to Jimbei. Drink: even if the liquor chokes."--"A means of escape will be found?"--"Truly a big body and a cowardly heart. Why, man this but a difficult place. Jimbei leaves, to find an exit."--"Just so!" was the gloomy answer of the priest. He put his head in his hands. Meanwhile Jimbei betook himself to the front. To avoid annoyance he borrowed an inn lantern. With its broad mark of "Masuya," the name of the inn, he sallied out into the darkness. He was gone nearly a whole watch. Dentatsu, assured of his desertion, was in despair. He had relied on the fertile mind of this scamp. Ah! What a predicament this fellow had got him into. Then the voice of Jimbei sounded at his shoulder. Dentatsu almost leaped up. Instead he gulped down the _saké_, until then barely touched, to the maid's great astonishment. "Surely the Danna Sama must be ill."--"More likely tired, than unwell. But the wine will make it pass. The _waraji_? Here they are." He laughed as he drew them from his bosom. The girl was all astonishment. They were just as described; such as were never seen west of Hakoné. Truly a sharp-sighted guest! When alone Jimbei spoke briefly--"Take courage. The matter is arranged." Said Dentatsu, heavy-eyed--"The mission settled? Has some other lost his life at Jimbei's hand?" Jimbei laughed; then frowned. "Neither blood nor coin does Jimbei spill for mere pastime. He has purpose." He handled the _waraji_. Said Dentatsu in some amaze--"Where did you get them?"--"In Odawara."--"Has Jimbei been to Odawara?"--"Just so: but not now. Jimbei is no Tengu Sama. Did not the Go Shukké Sama take food at Odawara? This kind are only found there; and pretexts are always needed to range a town in darkness. The mission is performed. Be assured that before day these very people will urge departure.... How so? Jimbei is not without friends; and has done his own part as well. The train is laid, and in all quarters of Yoshida town the fire will break out. The wind blows strong, and ... 'tis them or us." His look was so cold as to freeze. Dentatsu, in ecstasy of gratitude did but seize his hands and murmur--"Wonderful man--truly a great captain!" For the first time Jimbei looked a genuine benevolence. Dentatsu pushed the covers partly away and sat up in bed. Severe had been the chiding of Jimbei--"Honoured Shukké Sama, such conduct will never do. Fortunate it is that the event is postponed but an hour or so. Ne[e]san surely is amazed at the sudden abstinence of the Go Shukké Sama from food and drink. Moreover there is work to be done. The body unnourished, it gives way. Deign to rest. Be assured the urging will come from others." These the final words before the townsman-bandit had himself dropped off into soundest slumbers. Dentatsu watched him, with confidence and some awe. Smoothed out in sleep and under the influence of some pleasant dream, Jimbei was as harmless looking as one of the doves in the temple of the war god Hachiman. He leaned over and would wake him. "_Urusai!_ Annoying fellow! Ah! This _bo[u]zu_ is part hare, part ass, part swine. When not braying, he is stuffing, or ears up in fright. Deign to rest, honoured priest. Legs and body will soon have enough to do." Again he turned over; and again the snores rose loud. Dentatsu could not sleep. He lay awake, listening to the diminishing sounds of inn life. The temple bells were striking the sixth hour. The sound was a strange one. The strokes of the hour ran into one continued roar. Jan-jan-jan--pon-pon--gon-gon--cries of men, the racket of wooden clappers and of drums, were now added to the uproar. For a few moments Dentatsu stood the increasing excitement. Through the cracks of the closed _amado_ he could see a reddish glare, becoming brighter and brighter. He sat up and roughly shook Jimbei by the shoulder. "Oh! This rascally cleric. Nothing will satisfy his stupidity, but to carry it to extremes. Honoured Shukké Sama, wait the urgency of others; don't supply it. We at least lack not preparation.... Ah!" The _sho[u]ji_ were thrown hastily back. The host of the inn appeared, his face pale and lips trembling. "Honoured guests! Still in bed? Deign at once to flee. The town is in a blaze. Every quarter has its conflagration which walks apace; and in this gale hopeless to overcome...."--"Don't talk folly," sleepily answered Jimbei. "Is not the town in ward for these six days. Why disturb oneself? Let all burn together?" The host wrung his hands--"Honoured sirs, the blame and punishment falls on this Masuya if injury befall its guests. All lies wide open. Deign at once to leave.... Naruhodo!" His mouth was wide open. Jimbei and Dentatsu rose as on springs, full clad, _waraji_ on their feet. The way "lies wide open." This was the watchword to Jimbei. "Edokko (sons of Edo) always are ready, and need no urging." With this genial explanation he and Dentatsu shouldered past the astonished landlord. If the latter would have had suspicions they were thwarted or postponed by the cries which rose below. His own main house was now in flames. Hands to head in this confusion of ideas he abandoned all thought of his guests and rushed down below. As if in his own home, with no guide but the outer glare Jimbei passed to the inn rear. In the darkness of the passage he had stopped, leaned down and struck a light. The precious _ryo[u]gaké_ on his shoulders, with the priest he took to the fieldpaths in the rear of the town. The ground was level; the land rich rice field with its interspersed and picturesque clumps of trees and bamboo, its verdure bowered villages. From time to time they looked back at the sky, flaming red, and in its darker outer parts a mass of glittering flying sparks "like the gold dashes on aventurine lacquer ware." For two days they had lain at Okazaki town, Dentatsu incapable of movement after the mad run along the classic highway in the darkness of that fearful night. As refugees from the stricken town they met with kind reception. The greater part of Yoshida town lay in ashes; and so great the disaster, so unsuspected the cause, that men looked rather to the hand of Heaven than of human kind for the source of such punishment. Jimbei spoke gravely as the two stood on the long bridge leading to Yahagi across the river. "The luck of one, the misfortune of another--'twas the life of the Go Shukké Sama and of this Jimbei against the lives and fortunes of those wretched people. And is there aught to outweigh life?" The priest nodded a lugubrious and pleased assent to this plain doctrine. "It is just as well the host of Masuya lost life as well as goods. He might have made plaint, and had too long a tongue.... Jimbei could not foresee such weakness in so huge a body." He looked Dentatsu over with a little kindly contempt. "And so the honoured Shukké Sama would ask the name of this Jimbei? Honoured sir, the favour of your ears--for Kosaka Jinnai, son of Heima of that name, descendant of the Kosaka known to fame in service with Shingen Ko[u] of Kai. Times have changed, and misfortune driven Jinnai to seek revenge for his lord's undoing." He mocked a little; the tone was too unctuously hypocritical. Then abruptly--"Sir priest, here we part. Your way lies ahead to Gifu town. Delay not too much, until the lake (Biwa-ko) is reached. Travel in company, for Jinnai, though his men are numbered by the thousand, controls not all the craft. A priest can scent a true priest. Seek out your kind.... Ha! You make a face.... Here: two hundred _ryo[u]_. The monastery is none too generous, and would have you live--abroad. _Sutra_ and prayers are not amusing. By face and years the honoured Shukké Sama loves the sex as well as the best of his kind. The very shadow of a monastery is prolific. More merriment is to be found with the girls of Gion than with those who dance the _kagura_ (sacred dances) at Higashiyama. Besides, these are for your betters. If further off--seek Shimabara (the noted pleasure quarter). Go buy a Tayu; the funds are ample and not to be hoarded.... There need be no hesitation. 'Tis money of no thief. The prince robs the public; and Jinnai robs the princely thief. No trader ever has hung himself from the house beam for act of Jinnai; and more than one owes credit and freedom from a debtor's slavery to his aid." It was with thanks, the parting with a man famed by deed before one's eyes, that Dentatsu slowly passed on to the bridge. From its further end he could see the road leading into the Nakasendo[u] hills. Long he waited until a diminutive figure, hastening along it, appeared from time to time between scattered houses on the outskirts of Okazaki town. Then in earnest he took his own way, partly impelled by fright and anxiety at loss of his companion and being thrown on the resources of his own wits. He felt for a time as a blind man deprived of his staff. It was years after that Yoshida Hatsuémon, he who died so bravely at O[u]saka, accompanied Marubashi Chu[u]ya to the new fencing room opened at Aoyama Edo by the teacher of the _yawatori_--a new style of wrestling introduced from Morokoshi (China)--of spear exercise (_so[u]jutsu_), of ju[u]jutsu. Marubashi Chu[u]ya had tried the new exponent of these arts, and found him master in all but that of the spear, in which himself he was famed as teacher. At this time (Sho[u]ho[u] 3rd year--1646) the crisis of Jinnai's fate and the conspiracy of the famous Yui Sho[u]setsu were both approaching issue. To his amazement Hatsuémon recognized in Osada Jinnai the one time Jimbei of the days when he had journeyed the To[u]kaido[u] in priestly robe and under the name of Dentatsu. The recognition was mutual, its concealment courteously discreet on the part of both men. Sho[u]setsu appreciated the merits, the audacity, and the certain failure ahead of Jinnai's scheme. The better remnants he would gather to himself. Yui Sho[u]setsu Sensei aimed to pose as a new Kusunoki Masashigé, whose picture was the daily object of his prayers and worship. All was grist to the mill of his designs; but not association with such a chief--or lieutenant--as Kosaka Jinnai. Forewarned Marubashi and Yoshida (Dentatsu) held coldly off and sought no intimacy. Thus watched by keen wits of greater comprehension Jinnai rushed on his course into the claws of Aoyama Shu[u]zen and the meshes of the Tokugawa code for criminals of his class. CHAPTER XXI IF OLD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT Thus Kosaka Jinnai, under the name of Osada, at the beginning of Sho[u]ho[u] 2nd year (1645) was established at Aoyama Harajuku-mura. For a gentleman of such abilities his pretensions were modest. It is true that he hung out a gilt sign before his fencing hall, with no boasting advertisement of his qualities as teacher. Yet his fame quickly became such that students flocked to him by the score. In a few months, on plea of being over-stocked, he was turning away all who would seek his instruction. Some he could not refuse--retainers of _yashiki_ in his vicinity. But the generality of his disciples were a very rough lot; and this finer quality of his flock were carefully segregated, came and went at their appointed time apart from the common herd; and as matter of fact profited much from their teacher, and knew very little about him. Which was exactly the aim of Jinnai. This was remembered of him later. There is but one domestic episode connected with this period, so short and purposely obscure in its duration. About the time of his first establishment a villager, on visit to Edo town, chanced upon the practice hour of Jinnai. The years had passed, yet the rustic had no difficulty in recognizing in the Sensei the one time Jinnosuké. When later he sought a more personal interview the great man was found courteous but freezing cold in the reception. The news from Tsukuba district was of that mixed character not to afford any exuberant pleasure. His reputation for bad company had gone abroad, though no great deeds of wickedness had been attributed to him. With the devotion of a daughter his wife had nourished the old folk, brought up her two daughters. On her shoulders during all these years had rested the management of these small affairs. The girls grew toward womanhood. When O'Kiku was in her seventeenth year Jisuké had died--unconsoled at the ill turn fortune had played him in this unfilial son. These grandparents had lingered out the years, crippled and helpless, urging a re-marriage on O'Ichi--always refused on the plea that such relation was for two lives. Jisuké Dono had united them, and he alone could separate her from Jinnai. She sought no second relation herself and plead against it; and Jisuké would not force it on this filial daughter, who thus would block the disinheritance of the son. Thus the farm stood, ready for the master on his return. Truly the whole village wondered, and admired her filial conduct. To most of this Jinnai listened with indifference. "These girls--their looks and age?" Replied the man--"O'Kiku now is seventeen years; O'Yui Dono has fifteen years. Truly they are the village beauties, and rarely found in such life, for they would spare the mother all labour." He spoke with enthusiasm. "Then the mother lives?" The man shook his head--"The grave mound yet is very fresh. When she died she spoke no word of Jinnosuké Dono." Boldly he looked in rebuke at the unfilial man. Jinnai, if anything, showed annoyance. The old woman alive would have kept the inconvenient wife--the three women--at the distance of Tsukuba's slopes. His plans admitted of no possible descent on him at Aoyama Harajuku. Briefly he made request for the favour of bearing a message. Gladly the mission was accepted. With a discouraging cordiality in the leave taking the old acquaintance took his way back to the village. With something of a flutter O'Ichi opened and ran out the scroll he brought--"Unexpected and gratifying the meeting with Taro[u]bei San. The news of the village, not pleasing, is subject of condolence. Deign to observe well the instructions here given. The time will come when a summons to Edo town will be in order. At present the establishment is new and tender, and stands not the presence of strangers to the town. Condescend to show the same care in the present as in the past. The farm and its tenure is left to the hands of Ichi. As for these girls, look well to their care. They are said to be handsome and reputed the daughters of this Jinnai. Obey then his command. These are no mares for the public service, or for the private delectation of some rich plebeian. Service in a _yashiki_ need not be refused, and jumps more with the plans and purposes of Jinnai. Keep this well in mind, and await the ripeness of time. With salutation...." Such the cold greeting through the years. "Reputed the daughters of this Jinnai." Ah! He thought and knew the years turned the beauty Ichi into the worn and wrinkled country hag of nearly forty years, only too ready to market her girls for her own necessities. She was ill and worn in her service. Here Jinnai was to be recognized. He was the man of his caste, with contempt for the plebeian he turned to his uses, but who must have no intimate contact with him or his. Edo town was in a turmoil. North, East, South of the town the lives and purses of men who walked were at hazard. Plainly some band was operating in these quarters of the town. Aoyama Shu[u]zen was hard put to it. His arrests, outrageous and barbarous, increased with his difficulties. Some specimens have been instanced. His bands of _yakunin_ lay out in a wide net around the threatened quarters of the city. On the outskirts of Honjo[u] a country mansion would be fired and plundered. In O[u]kubo a temple (the Jisho[u]-in) was clean gutted of its treasury--without notice to its neighbours. Not a sign of the spoil could be traced until the Sho[u]shidai of Kyo[u]to sent as present to the suzerain a most valued hanging picture (_kakémono_) of Shu[u]bun, picked up for him in O[u]saka town, and worthy of being seen by the eyes of Edo's ruler. Murder and rape were the common accompaniments of these crimes, the doers of which left no witness, if resisted. _Tsujikiri_, cutting down wayfarers merely to test the value of a sword blade, found revival. Such murders in the outward wards of the city were of nightly occurrence. Yet they all centred in Aoyama's own precinct; starting forth from the fencing hall of Osada Jinnai. What a band they were! At this long distant date the names read with that tinge of the descriptive which such nomenclature gives--Yamaguchi Chiyari, Kanagawa Koni, Sendai no O[u]kami, Okayama Koshin, Kumamoto Kondo[u], Tsukuba Endé;[26] their great chief being Kosaka Jinnai. The eleventh month (December) was closing its first decade. The wine shop at Shiba Nihon Enoki was celebrating a first opening, a feast in progress for some hours, and to be maintained for the few ensuing days. The enthusiasm was at its height, and the wine flowed like water. Some few guests, who could, tottered home at midnight. Clerks and domestics--there is little difference in Nipponese practice--shut up the premises as well as their drunken state permitted. Those who had still some trace of sobriety proceeded to guzzle what was left in the opened casks. When the hour of the ox (1 A.M.) struck, not a man in the place knew front from rear. They lay sprawled out dead drunk--as were some of the women. This was the hour watched for and chosen by Jinnai. Such of the females as could give the alarm were bound and gagged by the masked invaders. Then they gutted place and store-houses. With bending backs they betook themselves over the hills the short distance to Harajuku. Here Jinnai, in the unwise benevolence of the bandit chieftain, gave rein to the licentiousness of these favourites of his mature age, to these lieutenants and agents in the great movement for which all this loot was gathered. The circuit was formed. The heads of wine barrels just stolen were broached. The grizzled, tousled member who officiated as cook, and as such had been left behind to his own offices, produced the feast of fish and delicacies in celebration of the great deed and accomplishment. "Now is the turn of this company," said Jinnai in pleasant reference to the victims of the raid. "A real banquet of extreme intoxication.[27] Alas! We have no _tabo_.... Too dangerous a loot," commented Jinnai amid the roar of laughter and approval. "Use and abuse go together; and the necessity to slit the throats of such chattering parrots. For this company the remains would give trouble, and might bring unexpected visitors about our ears. Be virtuous--and spare not the wine." The advice was followed to the letter. Soon the house of Jinnai was a match for that of the looted wine shop. With the light of the December dawn a metal dealer (_doguya_) was trudging his way over the sifted cover of an early snow fall. He lived thereabouts; often had had small jobs of mending the weapons and implements of this sturdy establishment of Jinnai, hence had some good will to its owner, which was more than could be said of most of the neighbours. To his surprise he noted the wide open gate to Jinnai's entrance, the many tracks leading within. Strange sounds were heard. He would venture on a look. "Oya! Oya!" The man stood stock still, half in fright and half in a wondering concupiscence of curiosity, as he took in the riotous vision of the fencing hall. Some twenty men lay scattered in different postures--all dead drunk. The noise arose from their wide open snoring mouths and nostrils. A score of wine casks lay tumbled, the liquor spilled on the _tatami_. Mingled with the remains of food and vomit were stained cups and dirty plates. More suggestive to his frightened eyes was the heap of packages laid out at the side. Some of them had been opened, and displayed the varied assortment of the contents. Most conspicuous was Jinnai, who had gone to sleep with the bag of all the coin found in the wine shop as pillow. Ah! Ha! The scene needed no interpreter. This was a mere band of thieves, the house their den. The man stole to the kitchen. He knew his ground, and that in these bachelor quarters no women would be stirring. Jinnai was a misogynist--on business principles. Hearing a stir he would have fled at the rear, but the body of the drunken cook, the intermediary of their dealings, lay square across the exit. Fearful he made his return. As he passed out the front--"Alas! Alas! What is to be done? The Sensei, so just and prompt in his dealings, so kind in his patronage, is a mere thief. Report is to be made. As witness this Sentaro[u] will send the Sensei to the execution ground. But the honoured mother--no trouble is to be brought on her. By other discovery ... and perchance someone has seen this entrance! What's to be done? What's to be done?" He did one thing in his perplexity. He shut the outside door, closed fast the big gate, and departed by the service gate. Thus no others should intrude on this rash man; and likewise Jinnai had no inkling of his visit. Then the _doguya_ fled to his home, so blue in the face and overcome as to frighten the household. They gathered round the unhappy man with hot water to drink as restorative. "Had he seen a ghost?" All day he pondered. Then he told his story to Aikawa Chu[u]dayu. The officer was indebted to Sentaro[u]; for many a hint in his operations. "Deign somehow, honoured _yo[u]nin_, that the Sensei be allowed to escape. For this Sentaro[u] to appear as witness will bring down the curse of one sure to be visited with execution. Condescend this favour." Chu[u]dayu looked on him with approval, but shook his head in doubt--"Never mind the curse of one dead. The service to the suzerain is most opportune. Thus surely there will be reward, not punishment. For the present you cannot be allowed to leave, but the mother shall suffer no anxiety. There is much serious matter against this man; perchance no testimony will be called for.... Strange he should be caught thus; on both sides, and in accordance." He looked over the scroll he held in his hands, and with it took his way to his master's apartment. Thus it was he could spring on Shu[u]zen the greater affair concerning the long missing man. Making his report of the tale of the _doguya_ he passed over the scroll he held in his hand--"The fellow is caught in both quarters. There are three of these _ro[u]nin_, most intimate. Of this Marubashi Chu[u]ya little favourable is known, but he has the support of Yui Sensei, the noted master of the Ushigomé Enoki fencing room, and favourite of all but Hida no Kami, whom he would rival in attainment. Shibata Saburo[u]bei and this Kato[u] Ichiémon seem honourable men, of clean lives and reputation beyond the fact of being _ro[u]nin_. All experts at arms they live by teaching one form or other of the practice. Curiosity led Chu[u]ya to the encounter of this Osada at his fencing hall, to find him more than his match at everything but his favourite art of the spear. But here lies the point. Later he returned, in company with a one time _shoké_ of the Zo[u]jo[u]ji. As Dentatsu the priest had met with Jinnai, and nearly suffered at his hands. In what way he did not say, but told Chu[u]ya that the man's real name was Kosaka--of the stock of Kosaka Dansho[u] no Chu[u]den of Kai; of him your lordship already has had experience in early days. At last he comes into the net and under such fair terms." Aoyama did know his man; even after all these years. He had ripened much. Why not Jinnai? He would have gone himself, and chafed at not doing so; but his satellites showed him the lack of dignity in such procedure. The magistrate in person to take a common thief! Darkness offered chance of escape; so with dawn a host of _yakunin_ was sent under a _yoriki_[28] and several _do[u]shin_. Aikawa Chu[u]dayu himself volunteered. Jinnai and his men were not yet up. On the previous day awaking amid the unseemly debris of the night's debauch, with no clear recollection of its progress and ending, the chief's first alarm had been dissipated by finding the outer gate locked. The unbarred wicket was attributed to an oversight which hardly would attract notice from the outside. Indeed he had not been the first to rise and take tale of his companions, to ascertain which one had occasion to open it and go without. With such a chief few would admit negligence. The day passed without notice. Confidence was restored. Now from the outside was heard a hum of voices. "On his lordship's business! On his lordship's business!" The cries came together with an irruption of _yakunin_ into the entrance hall, Jinnai and his men promptly sprang to arms. A scattered fight began, with none too great stomach of the officers before the stout resistance offered. It was no great matter to reach a ladder to the loft. Jinnai was the last man up. The more daring to follow was laid low with an arrow shot from above, and the ladder disappeared heavenward. Panels now were thrust back, short bows brought into use, and almost before they had thought to fight or flee the constables had five of their men stretched out on the _tatami_. Before the shower of missiles they could but retreat. At the request for aid Aoyama Shu[u]zen was in a rage. There was now no preventing his departure. Mounting his horse off he rode from Kanda-mura toward Harajuku-mura. But it had taken some little time for the messenger to come; and more for Aoyama with his staff to go. Meanwhile much had taken place. The ward constables had joined the _yakunin_ of Shu[u]zen. The place completely surrounded, _tatami_ were taken from the neighbouring houses for use as shields against the arrows. Then on signal a concerted rush of the hardiest was made. Pouring in, with ladders raised aloft; tumbling each other into the ditches, in the confusion pummelling each other with mighty blows, and in consequence securing stout whacks from the enraged recipients; the unlucky constables were soon indistinguishable in their coating of mud and blood. The outrageous ruffians, however, were soon tumbled from the posts of vantage and precise aim by well directed thrusts. A dozen men poured up the ladders and through broken panels into the loft above. Here in the uncertain light they hesitated. The figures of the foe could be seen, armed and ready for an arrow flight. Then a shout was raised from below. Stifling smoke poured up from every quarter. The scene was illuminated by the blazing figures of the archers, for these were old armour and weapons, lay figures stuffed with straw and meant but to gain precious moments of respite. The _yakunin_ now had themselves to save. The retreat was as disorderly as at their first advent, but their rear was not galled by aught but flying sparks and burning timbers. Discomfited they watched the blazing mass of Jinnai's once establishment; watched it until it was a mere mass of ashes and charred beams. Jinnai had been long prepared for such an adventure. The _yakunin_ at first driven back he followed his company through the tunnel[29] leading to beneath a subsidiary shrine in the grounds of the neighbouring temple of the Zenkwo[u]ji. Here he dismissed them, with hasty division of the raided coin, and instructions to their chiefs to meet him at the festival of the Owari no Tsushima in the fifth month (June). Himself he would go north, to give notice and gather his recruits. Thus exposed at Edo, the great uprising now must centre in O[u]saka. They scattered to their different courses; and thus Jinnai failed to meet the enraged Aoyama Shu[u]zen, now present on the scene. But even the harsh discipline of their master had to yield to the piteous appearance of his men in their discomfiture. Aikawa Chu[u]dayu bent low in most humble apology. They had underestimated the man, had virtually allowed him to escape--"Naruhodo! The figures were of straw, and no wonder yielded so readily to the spear. Only the sight of the flames rising amid the armour betrayed the deceit in the gloom of the loft. Deign to excuse the negligence this once." A _do[u]shin_, an old and experienced officer, spoke almost with tears. Aoyama gave a "humph!" Then looking over this mud stained, blear eyed, bloody nosed, ash dusted band of his confederates he began to chuckle at the battered and ludicrous composition. All breathed again. But when he had re-entered his _yashiki_, and was left to himself, without concubine for service, or Jinnai for prospective amusement, then indeed he stamped his feet, his belly greatly risen. Alas! Alas! How could Yokubei Sama find a substitute for the one; and secure the real presence of the other? CHAPTER XXII THE SHRINE OF THE JINNAI-BASHI It was one of those small Fudo[u] temples, tucked away on a shelf of the hillside just above the roadway, embowered in trees, with its tiny fall and rock basin for the enthusiastic sinner bathing in the waters of this bitterly cold day. The whole construction of shrine, steep stone steps, and priestly box for residence, so compactly arranged with the surrounding Nature as to be capable of very decent stowage into a case--much like those of the dolls of the third or fifth month. The nearest neighbour was the Shichimen-shi--the seven faced Miya--in this district so dotted even to day with ecclesiastical remnants, from Takénotsuka to Hanabatakémura on the north edge of Edo--To[u]kyo[u]. However it was not one of their resident priests who stood at the _ro[u]ka_ of the incumbent cleric seeking a night's lodging. The kindly oldish _do[u]mori_ (temple guardian) looked him over. Nearly fifty years of age, two teeth lacking in the front, his head shaved bald as one of the stones from the bed of the Tonégawa, a tired hard eye, thin cruel and compressed lips added nothing to the recommendation of the rosary (_juzu_) and pilgrim's staff (_shakujo[u]_) grasped in hand; and indeed the whole air of the man savoured of the weariness of debauch, and of strife with things of this world rather than of battles against its temptations. Yet the wayfarer was greeted with kindness, his tale of woe heard. His own quarters--a flourishing tribute to the mercies of the eleven-faced Kwannon, with a side glance at Amida--had gone up in smoke the day before. Naught remained but the store-house, with its treasure of _sutra_ scrolls and hastily removed _ihai_ of deceased parishioners. The disaster was not irreparable. His enthusiastic followers already sought to make good the damage. Himself he would find aid from the cult in Edo. Kosaka Jinnai, for the unfortunate cleric was none else, seated himself in the comfortable quarters of the _do[u]mori_, to earn his shelter by a talk which in interest richly repaid the meagre fare, and made amends for no prepossessing exterior. On his pleading weariness the _do[u]mori_ got out _futon_ and spread a couch for the guest. This suited Jinnai's real purpose, which was not to loiter close to Edo and Aoyama's claws, but to push on that night toward Tsukuba and old friends, and recent ones he knew he would find on its none too savoury slopes. But Heaven does not permit the wicked a continued license in ill deeds. The weariness and indisposition pleaded, in part genuine, rapidly grew worse. The chilled feeling passed into its palpable and physical exposition. With alarm the _do[u]mori_ watched the progress of this ailment. His hot drinks and solicitude would not produce the needed perspiration. Instead the chill was followed by high fever and delirium. The medical man, summoned from the village, was taking leave--"A plain case of ague from Shimosa's swamps. Is he friend or relative of the honoured Shukké Sama? No?... Alas! A case of resting under the shade of the same tree; of drinking from the same stream.[30] Deign to have a care with this fellow. He says strange things, and raves of robbery and strife--'I am Kosaka Jinnai; the famous Jinnai.' Truly you are to be pitied at being saddled with such a guest. Doubtless it is affliction for some deed committed in a previous life, a connection of two worlds between the honoured Shukké Sama and this doubtful guest." The _do[u]mori_ was an old and foolish fellow; but still able to catch the warning tone and manner of the leech. With anxiety he went to his guest. Jinnai was sleeping under influence of the draught administered, and on the word of the medical man was insured for some hours unconsciousness under the drug. Placing food and drink close to hand, out into the darkness went the sturdy old chap. The day saw him at Harajuku-mura, wandering around the site of ashes and charred beams of the late conflagration. No sign of renovation was there found. For satisfaction and a meal he turned to the benches of a near-by eating shed. His inquiries confirmed his own fears and aroused the suspicions of others. "Truly the honoured Bo[u]zu San must live far from this part of Edo. These ruins are of no temple. Here stood the fencing room of one Osada Jinnai, a _ro[u]nin_. This fellow turned out to be a famous bandit and escaped criminal; no less a person than the Kosaka Jinnai engaged in the attempt of years ago to carry off or slay the Tenju-in-Den of the suzerain's House. Heaven's vengeance long since visited the others. Now Aoyama Dono seeks this fellow. Is he friend or relative that thus inquiry is made?" The _do[u]mori_ in fright cut short his meal and questions. Paying his scot he made off in a hurry. Soon after one of Shu[u]zen's spies passing, he was informed of the matter. Then the hue and cry was raised through the ranks to find this suspicious cleric. From Jinnai the _do[u]mori_ got little satisfaction on return at dark. He found him sitting, with natural and restored presence, smoking, and measuring him with the cold cynical glance which froze the marrow in his spine. "Ha! Ah! The honoured Shukké Sama wanders far and long." The priest did not attempt to conceal fright or mission--"Honoured guest, the poor quarters of this foolish cleric are open to the afflicted of his kind. But Kosaka Dono, deign at once to remove from here. Already the _yakunin_ are on the trail. Yourself, in the mad fits, you make no concealment of name and exploits. Found here, discredit is brought upon the Buddha, and ruin to this his follower. Condescend at once to seek other quarters." He looked earnestly and pleadingly at the bandit chief, with squawking groan to lower his head almost to the _tatami_. Jinnai's eye went through him in his cold wrath--"Be assured of it; that I am Kosaka Jinnai; and hence one without fear. Let the _yakunin_ come--to their own destruction. These quarters just suit this Jinnai--for the time. Cowardly and foolish cleric, you would prattle and bring trouble on yourself with that wheel of a tongue. Then get you hence. This Jinnai undertakes the charge and exercise of the weapons of the furious god. Bah! They are but of wood." To the horror of the priest he gave the wooden Fudo[u] which adorned the chamber such a whack that the unfortunate and flawed divinity parted into its aged fragments. "What! You still delay!" A hand of iron was laid on the old fellow's neck. Jinnai bent him to the ground. He looked around for implement. None was better to hand than part of the outraged god. Holding firm his victim, and raising his robes, a vigorous hand applied to the priest's cushions such a drubbing as he had not had since childhood's days. Then grasping him neck and thigh Jinnai cast him out onto the _ro[u]ka_ and down the steps which led to it. The old fellow heard the _amado_ close tight with noise. Thus the unwilling god entered on the service of this new satellite. The hue and cry was loud. In the cold of the night the _do[u]mori_ wandered, afraid in his shame and trouble to approach parishioners; afraid in the chill outside air to sleep. A hail came to his ears--"Sir priest, have you not dropped coin?" Ah! Here was a stranger; and his tale he did unfold. Parlous his case; and for him the sky was upside down. "Most lucky! At our place to-day a prayer of _hyakumanban_ (memorial service) is to be held. Food, sleep, and counsel, wide enough for this weariness and distress are offered. Deign to go in company." Thus the spy led him to his officer, a _yoriki_ established at Fuchiémura in the attempt to net this desperate fellow. With joy the news of Jinnai's close proximity was heard. Entrusting the tired and barely conscious priest to the village head-man, officer, _do[u]shin_, and _yakunin_ set out. Jinnai had overrated his capacity. Again the fit was strong on him. He shook and shivered, helpless under the weight of every covering he could find, and dared not move or turn in fear of the chill aroused. Then at the outside came the shout--"His lordship's business! Make no resistance; submit at once to the rope, in hope to secure grace." The _yakunin_ roughly broke down the doors of the priest's house. They found Jinnai on foot. Growled he--"You are not the kind to face Jinnai. A rush--to freedom; with such of you as stand for carrion." He boasted overmuch. His fit was too strong even for such iron resolution. The crisis of the fever was at hand, and his legs bent under him. A shove from behind sent him weakly sprawling in a heap. Then they all fell on him, bound him hand and foot, and carried him to the village. The cortege halted on its way to Edo town. Loud had been the lamentation of the unfortunate _do[u]mori_. He was a ruined priest. At best a witness, perhaps to be regarded and tortured as the accomplice of this desperate villain; jail or the execution ground awaited him. He plead with this one and with that. With sympathy they heard, but in stolid silence. The spy, who had accosted him, knew the old man well--holy, pure, somewhat simple and guileless of mind, he was object of reverence and gentle derision of the parishioners who sought his service in every trouble. The man spoke to the _do[u]shin_, explained the matter. The _do[u]shin_ took him to the _yoriki_ seated beneath a tea shed. The officer nodded; then called for the report. "There is an error of transcription." Thus he altered the characters [tsujido[u]] to [tsujido[u]]. Instead of _tsujido[u]_ a cross road temple, now it read "taken at the cross roads"--"Call the old man here." To the priest--"Through no fault of yours has this man visited you. Be better advised as to other guests.... But now--take this coin. This man's course is run. He surely will be ordered to the execution ground. Great has been his wickedness, and his grudge is not to be visited on others. Prayers are to be said for his soul in the next world. The _do[u]mori_ of the Fudo[u], his zeal and honesty, his purity of heart and manners are vouched for by those who know. Pray for him.... Now--get you hence!" He put a gold _koban_ in the priest's hand, allowed the joyful reverence, and cut short the protests of inconvenient gratitude. The _do[u]shin_ shoved him off to the rear. The friendly spy carried him apart and pointed to a path running through the fields behind the houses of the hamlet. None cared to observe his departure. Thus Jinnai came to Edo, minus his ghostly purveyor. First carefully was his body nourished for the coming entertainment. With clement genial smile Aoyama Shu[u]zen claimed the acquaintance of this one time antagonist. As to the past and recent events there was no doubt. Aoyama had hazy, but little confirmed, ideas of greater objects; knowing as he did the early nature and history of Jinnai. But the Tokugawa were now so firmly seated. Confession was to be secured in the first place, to legalize the execution; and information in the second place, if such existed. Of confession there was none; not even answer. Jinnai closed tight his lips in scorn. Then first he was scourged; the scourging of he who is already condemned. The stout fellows stood forward with their _madaké_; those thin slips of rattan, two feet in length, wrapped into a bundle an inch in thickness with stout hempen cord. Ah! How flexible and painful! As they laid on quickly the welts and bloody stripes appeared. At the hundred and fiftieth blow the medical man and legal procedure demanded forbearance. He was removed. "Cure his back!" roared Shu[u]zen. "Rub salt into the cuts. Next time the tender surface will force at least words from his lips." But he underestimated his man. Bound to a stake, with arms behind, kneeling on the sharp grids, Jinnai hugged the stones--five, six, seven--Chu[u]dayu leaped down to aid the _do[u]shin_ in pressing down the weight of nearly eight hundred pounds resting between chin and doubled hams. The body of Jinnai grew lobster red, his lips were tinged with bloody foam and gouts appeared. The hours passed. The black colour of the feet rose upwards. Then the sign was given and the man taken away in a dead faint, without the utterance of word or groan. Thus the game went on. Now it was the lobster. Aoyama would not go to the prison, nor miss the sight. For a whole morning with curiosity he watched the progress of the torture. Jinnai lay on a mat. Arms pulled tight to the shoulders and behind the back, the legs drawn together in the front and dragged up to the chin. The body at first had the dark red of a violent fever, but the sweat which covered it was cold as ice. Then the colour darkened to a purple, changed to an ominous blackish green. Suddenly it began to whiten. In alarm the doctor ordered relief. With wrath Shu[u]zen rose from his camp chair close by; still no confession. What was suspension to this? Jinnai hung limp as a dangling fish from the beam. Arms drawn behind his back and upward to the shoulders, a weight added to the feet made any movement of the limbs agony to the whole body. It was a sort of prolonged crucifixion. When blood began to ooze from the toes again removal was ordered. Of the latter part of the torture Jinnai knew little. He was unconscious. This hardy body of his was adding to his torments. Even Shu[u]zen could not help admiring this obstinate courage. He would try one other means--flattery; genuine in its way. "Useless the torture, Jinnai, as is well known with such a brave man. But why prolong this uselessness? Done in the performance of official duty, yet it is after all to our entertainment. Make confession and gain the due meed of the fear of future generations, their admiration and worship of such thorough paced wickedness. Surely Jinnai is no ordinary thief. Shu[u]zen never can be brought to believe him such." He spoke the last somewhat in scorn. At last Jinnai was touched with anger. He opened eyes, and, for the first time, mouth--"Aoyama Dono speaks truth. But why regret past failure? My followers? They number thousands. Why rouse envy or show favour by giving name of this or that lusty fellow? The object? As to that exercise your wits. Fat wits; which in these twenty years could not hunt out this Jinnai. Ah! 'Twas but this unexpected illness which played this evil trick; else Jinnai never would have faced Shu[u]zen; except sword in hand. This Jinnai is a thief, a bandit; the tongue grudges to say. Such is his confession. Not a word more--to Aoyama Uji." He closed his eyes and mouth. Enraged at the failure and familiarity Aoyama shouted out--"The wooden horse! The water torture!" They mounted the man on the sharp humped beast. Lungs, belly, abdomen wide distended, in every physical agony, his body could but writhe, to add to the torture of his seat as they dragged down on his legs. Eyes starting wildly from his head, gasping for air, the unfortunate wretch was given the chance to belch forth the liquid. "Atsu!" The cry was between a sigh and a yelp of agony. Then he fainted. With chagrin at his failure Aoyama Shu[u]zen put official seal to the confession bearing the thumb print of Kosaka Jinnai. Thus ended this phase of the contest between the two men. Jinnai's body was too racked by the torture for immediate sentence. When he was brought in the court Aoyama Shu[u]zen had another wicked surprise to spring upon him. Jinnai's rejuvenating eye noted the band of peasants, the two beautiful girls brought captive in their midst. He knew at once who they were; even if the viciously triumphant look in Shu[u]zen's eyes, the piteous fright and affectionate sympathy in theirs, had not enlightened him. The presence of O'Kiku and O'Yui was due to an ill freak played by fortune. In the fall of the year an illness of the mother--cold?--came to its end and herself with it. What was to be done with farm and girls? To the villagers this question was of serious debate. Of one thing they were in dense ignorance. Three years before a new farm hand appeared in Jisuké's household, and men could well wonder at the favour he found with the old man. With some misgivings they had warned him against recklessly introducing a strange _muko_, without first consent of the village. Jisuké assured them against what was actual fact. Wataru Sampei was a _samurai_, of _samurai_ stock, and liegeman to his own old masters of Kai province. It was with the consent and approval of the dying man that O'Kiku was united to him. The household in Nippon is adamant in its secrets to the outside world--and that against the most prying curiosity anywhere found. O'Kiku lay in of her child and nursed the babe in her own nurse's house. Thus in full ignorance the council met to consider the request made by the girls to communicate with Jinnai--Osada Sensei--at the famous _yashiki_ of Aoyama. Most of them were ready to consent. Then rose one Jinémon, smarting under the sense of having fields adjacent, coupled with flat refusal to his son of the simple girl O'Kiku. He suspected this virginity of nearly twenty years; and with an ill turn to this obstacle might do himself a good one. "Take heed, good sirs, what counsel ye come to. News fresh from Edo couples the name of Osada Sensei with Kosaka Jinnai; makes him out a violent bandit and would be ravisher years ago of the Tenju-in-Den. Surely his fate will be hard. Send them to the _yashiki_ of Aoyama--but to that of Aoyama Shu[u]zen Dono. Thus their request is met; and no blame incurred. The honoured _bugyo[u]_ (magistrate) answers for the district (Aoyama), and the girls will not suspect the destination. Otherwise, look well to yourselves. Aoyama Sama is known as the Yakujin. Great his influence in Edo, and sour his wrath as that of Emma Dai-O[u]. It will fall heavy on you." This intimation, that he would do what they would avoid, soured all the milk of human kindness. Wataru Sampei, departed in all haste to Edo, returned in fright to announce his discovery of the state of affairs. The father Jinnai then was undergoing the harsh tortures of Shu[u]zen. He found the farm in charge of Jinémon and his son; the two girls already sent in all ignorance to the _yashiki_ of Aoyama. Receiving a harsh dismissal he dared not punish, from the house and tears of the old nurse he received as if by theft his infant son. With him he took his way to Edo; to establish himself as gardener at Honjo[u] Koumé; or at Narihira, some say. In daily rounds of the jail the _do[u]shin_ stood over Jinnai. In three days this man was to go to Torigoébashi. Here he was to be crucified and speared--"with many spears" ran the sentence, to indicate the prolongation of the torture. "Jinnai, you have shown yourself brave, have refused to name even one associate. The time passes. Perhaps some wish, not incompatible with duty, comes to mind." Jinnai opened his eyes at the unexpected kindly tone and words. It was as if one soldier looked into the eyes of his compeer on the battle field, as well could be the case with this man older and of more regular experience than himself. The answer came with the measured slowness of an earnest thanks and appreciation--"The offer comes from a kind heart, shown on previous occasions.... There are women held here." He hesitated. "Deign the last cup of cold water at their hands." The officer did not refuse. O'Kiku and O'Yui knelt beside the couch on which lay the broken body of the father. Said Jinnai--"The end is most unseemly; words grudge to speak that mere accident thus should determine the fate of Kosaka Jinnai; he who sought to determine the fate of Tokugawa Ke. A dagger would have secured the fitting ending, that you two should not bear the public service of the town, a certain fate. This remedy Jinnai now forbids. With life changes occur; old scores are wiped out. Hearken well: live with patience; serve well to the hour. Now the last cup of life is to be drained; this first meeting brought to an end." Tears running down her face O'Yui, mere child budding into womanhood, presented to her sister the vessel never used as yet and filled with the cold liquid. From the hand of O'Kiku it was accepted. Jinnai drank, looked long and earnestly into the face of both, then with a wave of the hand dismissed them. He had had his say. The hardness of the man returned, and all his courage with it. Three days later--Sho[u]ho[u] 2nd year 12th month 1st day (17th January 1646)--the procession was formed to move to the execution ground at Torigoébashi. The assembled cits marvelled at sight of the man and rumour of his extraordinary wickedness. There was a concentration of mind and energy in the face of Jinnai, which under any condition would attract attention. The centre of the scene, he bore himself splendidly. Despite the pain he suffered no incapacity was pleaded. Thus he forced nature. The costume of the famed robber at this noted execution in Edo's annals? He wore--"a wadded coat (_kosodé_) of fine silk from Hachijo[u] in Izu, and that of quintuple stripe. The _obi_ (sash) was seamless and of a purple crape. Into brick coloured leggings was twisted bias white thread, and his straw sandals (_waraji_) matched them." The jail had given to a naturally fair colour a somewhat livid greenish tint, rendered more commanding and terrible by the piercing cold eyes. Those far off said--"How mild looking! How tranquil!" Those near at hand shuddered and were glad at the removal of such wickedness. The _yoriki_--informed of the purport--let him speak. Jinnai turned to the crowd. His voice reached far. "Brought to contempt and a punishment words grudge to mention, this Jinnai holds not evil thoughts against those who carry out the law. The ill fortune of unexpected disease made capture easy, and has brought about this vile ending. Hence on death Jinnai will not leave this place; but as an evil spirit remain to answer those who pray for relief from the mischance of this ill disease. Those afflicted with _okori_ (malaria) shall find sure answer to their prayers. Held now in no respect, this later will be bestowed. The last purposes of those about to die are carried out." He ceased speaking. A sign and he was stripped and raised on the implement of torture [ki] ill described as a cross. For hours he hung, revived from time to time with vinegar. Then signal was given for the end. First one, then another, _yakunin_ thrust a spear into his belly, seeking least injury and greatest torture. As he approached the utter prostration of a dissolution the _yoriki_ gave sign. The spear point thrust into the vitals showed through the left shoulder. And Jinnai died. To the north, just beyond the present Torigoébashi, is the Jinnaibashi, relic of this episode. On the north, close by the Torigoé Jinja stands the shrine to Jinnai, the god granting cure to sufferers from ague. No mean resort is it; nor modest the offerings of wine to his service. There it has endured through these hundreds of years. Jinnaibashi, Jigokubashi (Hell Bridge) is a relic of the place of execution soon abandoned. After the fifth year of the period the jail was removed to Temmacho[u]; the execution ground to Kotsukabara. CHAPTER XXIII A WINTER SESSION Aoyama Shu[u]zen was in conference with Chu[u]dayu. Preparations were to be made. It was with something like dismay that the members of the Endurance Society received the missive--"At this season of the great heat your honoured health is matter of solicitude. More and more may it thrive. Hence the condescension of the honoured (your) litter is requested on the coming sixteenth day. The wish is expressed to offer a cup of inferior wine. With fear and respect:-- To...." Alas! Alas! If they could have but reached the ceremonies of the New Year.[31] This rascal Aoyama would have been too occupied with the official visits to press his right to a meeting in the season of extreme cold (the _tai-kan_). But now--on the 16th day of the 12th month (2nd February): Ah! Ha! He was a wicked fellow. The grudge properly lay against Kondo[u] Noborinosuké who had sweated the juice out of them in the intense heat of the hot season. Now Aoyama proposed to freeze it on the surface of their bodies. But to refuse was out of the question. Charged with weakness and effeminacy one would be laughed at as a fool; be unable to show his face. After all perhaps one could escape the ordeal with life. The 15th day, on which the invitations were issued, was threatening. The 16th day fulfilled the promise. Cold blew the blasts down from snow clad Tsukuba, with full sweep across the Shimosa plain. As it caught the unfortunates crossing the Ryo[u]gokubashi in their progress toward the Bancho[u], they shook and shivered with more than anticipation. An occasional flake of snow heralded the heavier fall. At the _yashiki_ of Aoyama all was in readiness to welcome the guests. Shu[u]zen stood at the house entrance to greet them. With thin open silken robe thrown over his _katabira_ or summer robe, lacking shirt, and wearing the wide woven grass cloth _hakama_ (trousers) which sought every breeze, he carried a fan in his hand. The _kerai_ met the guests with ice cold water for such as cared to dip the hands--and none dared refuse. Shu[u]zen fanned himself vigorously; and his guests were zealously supplied with fans, or the heat inspired by their progress was dissipated in the draught raised over them by energetic hands. The door-man (_toritsugi_) monotonously sang out the new arrivals--"Abé Shirogoro[u] Sama, Kondo[u] Noborinosuké Sama, O[u]kubo Hikoroku Sama, Yamanaka Genzaémon Sama, O[u]kubo Jizaémon Sama, Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon Sama, Kanématsu Matashiro[u] Sama, Okumura Shu[u]zen Sama..."; and Shu[u]zen had greeting for all. "Ah! Ha! Such terrific heat! Not for sixty years has such been experienced. An old fellow in the _yashiki_ will answer for it. But be sure all has made ready for comfort. Truly the honoured presence in these dog days in a gratification. The viands, the drink, all have been carefully cooled. Deign to come within, to a cooler place, away from this desolating heat. Condescend to notice how the very leaves have been withered off the trees." With inward groans, their teeth chattering and their bodies shivering, they followed this merciless fellow. "Ha! Ha! For tobacco there will be fire in the braziers. At least one's fingers are assured of warmth." They smirked at the anticipated pleasure. Warm fingers and the heated _saké_! But--Oya! Oya! Bare were swept and wide open thrown the rooms. Screens (inner and outer) had all been taken away. From the garden came the cold blast, blowing icily through this wide bare space. For cushions--the straw _zabuton_; for fire in the braziers--punk! Explained Shu[u]zen in all kindness and suavity--"Fires in the braziers in this heat were too terrific even to think of; so punk (_hinawa_) has been substituted.... No need for thanks; the mere duty of the host. And now--no ceremony: off with the garments of all. A middle cloth answers purposes of decency. Deign the trial. Here is cold water to cool the heated body." Promptly he stripped to the skin. The _kerai_ were bringing to the verandah black lacquered basins filled with water in which ice floated. Before this terrific fellow there could be no hesitation. They followed his example in being soused from head to foot. In the wiping--"Let the rag hang loose. Don't wipe with knotted towel. Stupid fellows! The cool wetness clinging to the skin gives a shiver of delight." Thus shouted Shu[u]zen to his officiating satellites. Then all the guests took seats. The mucous was running from the noses of the old fellows who had fought campaigns at Odawara, Sekigahara, O[u]saka. Aoyama noted it with delight; and even Kondo[u] felt a grudge against him, yet was compelled to laugh. The viands were brought--to send a chill down the spines of all; macaroni in cold water (_hiyamugi_), and the equally heating sea ear in frozen salt water (_mizugai_). Shu[u]zen urged the latter, as better fitted for the season. As piles of _sashimi_ (sliced raw fish), resting on neat beds of shaven ice, were brought eyes looked to heaven--to hide the expression. When the wine appeared, the bottles immersed to the neck in tubs filled with salted ice, the more recondite parts of the room echoed groans. Even Shu[u]zen smiled with complacence. He felt he had scored success. It was Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon who showed no sign of discomfiture. "Naruhodo! Aoyama Uji, in this great heat how explain a thing so strange? Deign, honoured sir, to look. This white substance falling from the sky; if it were not so hot, one would call it snow." Said Aoyama undisturbed--"Not so, Endo[u] Uji. It is but from wild geese fighting in the sky, their feathers; or perchance _kanro_--the sweet dew which falls from heaven when a virtuous lord condescends to rule. Who more virtuous than the honoured suzerain?" All bowed in heartfelt enthusiasm and respect. Then said Saburo[u]zaémon--"'Tis a thing to note closer at hand; a stroll in the garden, to seek its coolness in this heat." He leaped down into the fast accumulating snow. Others too stole away, at least to get protection from the outrageously cold blasts of the exposed rooms, and the further exactions to be anticipated from the ingenuity of their host. Growled Kanématsu--"It is the value of one's life risked with such a fellow as Aoyama. Where Kanématsu sits the snow drifts in on his shoulders. He is without consideration or mercy."--"For any: his women must find service in such a _yashiki_ a substitute for the torments of Emma Dai-O[u]."--"Not so," sneered Kondo[u]. "Even the wife is but a wooden figure; much like Kondo[u]'s fingers." An idea seemed to come to him. He left them for the time being. The others stood sheltered from the wind, to talk and shiver, Endo[u] joined them from his garden stroll. Seeing Kondo[u] on his return, said Abé Shiro[u]goro[u]--"Eh! Naruhodo! The smile of pain relieved! Kondo[u] Uji, has he found means to unbend, to thaw out those fingers? Ha! The rascally fellow knows the way about. There is hot water at hand. Deign to give the hint, Kondo[u] Dono." Kondo[u] leaked a smile, then snickered--"It was but an idea. Hot water in this _yashiki_ on such a day there is none. But it is always to hand for the effort. The fingers of Kondo[u] were turning white, were in danger, and so...." He held out his fingers for inspection. Abé looked with envy. "They fairly steam!" Then suddenly putting his fingers to his nose--"Oh! Oh! The filthy fellow! Kondo[u] Uji! Deign to wash your hands. Indeed hot water is always carried on one's person. But...." All grasped their nasal members and protested. Noborinosuké laughed outright, and submitted to the ablution. Abé in malice gave the hands a copious libation. For the nonce his fingers had been saved and Kondo[u] was satisfied with the outcome. A woman dressed in the summer garb for service came from a room close by. The opening and closing of the _sho[u]ji_ gave Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon a glimpse. At once--"This way...." His tone commanded attention. Abé Shiro[u]goro[u], Kanématsu Matashiro[u], O[u]kubo Hikoroku followed him. It was the maids' sleeping room they entered. "Aré! Aré! Have not the honoured sirs made a mistake? Deign to return to the other apartment. This is the maids' dressing room."--"And in no better place can one be," grumbled Shiro[u]goro[u]. His eyes took in the room with avid curiosity. Here the girls quickly slipped into winter garb, until called to the banquet hall for service. But it was not the glimpse of shoulders of the one so engaged at the moment, as the brazier covered by a quilt and placed in the centre of the room. From this the girls had emerged in confusion. Said he reprovingly--"Eh! Eh! In this great heat to have a brazier--it is more than out of season. Surely it is against the order of the master of the house." The girls, uneasy and at a loss, had but for answer--"It was the idea of O'Kiku...." The beauty, still flushed with the suddenness of her effort, came forward smiling. The attention of all was riveted. A little taller than the average of her sex, very fair of skin, the sparkling eyes in the pure oval of the face framed in tresses reaching almost to her feet, the tiny feet and long fingers appearing from the edge of the robe, the incomparable poise of head and neck, this woman was a beauty, to be rivalled by few in Edo town. The voice too was as musical as were her words to the frozen men--"It is but a water _kotatsu_; so that one can be cooled in this extreme of heat.... Within? Ice--of course. Deign to enter." The suppressed groan of Abé was cut short. He looked fixedly at the bright laughing face before him. The smile was pained and stereotyped, but the sympathy was evident. He understood. "Ho! Ho! Endo[u], Kanématsu, O[u]kubo, deign to try this delicious coolness. Ah! Ha! This water _kotatsu_ is a splendid idea. In this great heat it restores one to life. Truly Kiku is as clever as she is beautiful; one apart from all the others." The men crowded together under the _kotatsu_--"More ice! More ice! The _hibachi_ grows warm." Laughing O'Kiku brought the necessary supply with the tongs, blew it into life with a little bellows. All the time Endo[u] observed her closely. To Abé--"Truly she is a beauty.... Your name is Kiku.... And age?... Twenty years only!... So Kiku is sempstress in the house of Aoyama Uji. So! So!" He and Abé regarded her attentively. They praised her beauty. The crimson blush spread over face and neck, adding to her charm. Thoroughly warmed the men left the room. Said Endo[u]--"Oh, the liar! This Aoyama poses as a misogynist, takes a wife--perforce, and charges those of us who like women with effeminacy. O[u]kubo, how about this Kiku.... The Sempstress? Oh, you stupid fellow! Why--there is no more beautiful woman in Edo. She is the mistress of Aoyama; who deceives and mocks us all. And now--to bring him to open shame." Aoyama Shu[u]zen, quick to note their absence, and the return so refreshed, was much put out. "Where have these fellows been?" Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon was not slow in the attack. "Truly, Aoyama Uji, words do not fit deeds. Are you not a bit of a rascal?"--"Why so?" was the calm reply of Shu[u]zen, always ready to a quarrel. "You pretend to hate women; you charge us with effeminacy who have wives; and take your own but on compulsion. Yet in this very house there is not only a wife, but the most beautiful woman in Edo for concubine." Shu[u]zen's astonishment was too manifest. "Who?" said Endo[u], with some misgiving that he had missed fire. "This Kiku; would you deny it?"--"Surely so," was Shu[u]zen's assured reply. Then seeing the curiosity of those around he added with courtesy--"This Kiku is a slave girl, a criminal under judgment, a _yatsu-ho[u]ko[u]nin_ by favour. Would you know about her? She is daughter to the robber Jinnai, not long since put to death. The law may be harsh, yet it condemns the line of such men to extinction, and sends their issue to the execution ground. Whether through good will, or mistaking the Aoyama Harajuku, the resort of this Jinnai, for this _yashiki_, the villagers brought the two girls Kiku and Yui from near Tsukuba. In pity one was taken into the life service of the _yashiki_. For his business Jinzaémon of the Yoshiwara Miuraya considered the younger Yui as more fitting. To him she was bound as _yatsu-yu[u]jo[u]_.... Husband? No: and thus all posterity of the robber is stamped out. Yui serves for life as harlot in the Yoshiwara, with no recognized issue. Kiku serves for life at the _yashiki_. The case is a pitiable one." All present echoed what he said. "It is the offence, not the person, which is to be hated. Truly it is a hard lot." They were curious to see her. Said Shu[u]zen--"Surely she has been rated too high, but--summon Kiku here." As the girl stood in the midst for all to observe, blushing and panting a little with fright at all these eyes upon her, there was no gaze more intent than that of Aoyama Shu[u]zen. The pity expressed and the praises lavished reached his ears. He studied her from head to foot, heard the caustic criticisms--"Such a beauty, and a serving wench! Aoyama is a fool." CHAPTER XXIV THE TIGER AT THE FRONT GATE; THE WOLF AT THE POSTERN Thus it came about that O'Kiku was an inmate of Aoyama's _yashiki_. He had told the tale, the fatal error drawn by the mother from the peasant's message. It was her own deed. Thus "evil seed produces evil fruit. In one's posterity is punishment found." All knew Kiku's story. Promptly with her appearance in the household she was named Shioki--O'Shioki San, O'Shioki San; when not addressing her these companions called it to each other for her to hear. Shioki? It means "the execution ground." A flower blooms but to wither; and this flowering branch was to be tended by the master's hand. Now she was faced with a new and terrible danger. O'Kiku was quick to note the state of Shu[u]zen's household. Of the _koshimoto_, two were the favoured concubines during the incapacitation of the wife. The lowliness of her own position--menial servant and mere serving wench--would seem to protect her. Moreover she was not brought into contact with the house master. But after all she was the _bushi's_ daughter, brought up by a mother trained from youth at the hand of the _samurai_ grandmother. Thus dragged out into the light by indiscreet curiosity the tiger's eye had fallen upon her. Shu[u]zen marvelled at his stupidity, his oversight. This woman was indeed a beauty, the concubine for long sought, and to hand free of her charms. He stood adjusting his robes; then lost in thought. There were obstacles--in the girl's position. But that night O'Kiku was ordered to serve the wine. The intelligence and training, corresponding to the outward physical charms, aroused in him a very fury for possession. Abrupt, blunt, overbearing he approached her in the coarsest way--"Kiku, first pity and now love has seized upon the heart of Shu[u]zen. With women all his relations have been those of cold formality--the business of connection or the necessity of an heir. Now an entirely different feeling is aroused. The very sight of Kiku's figure inspires fondness, an exclusion of all others of her sex. 'Tis Kiku alone who remains the object, all others are mere lay figures. You are a woman, and by nature know of such things. Is not this truly love? Consent to become the concubine of Shu[u]zen. Let this very night seal the union." He attempted to draw her close to him, but she shrank away in confusion and fright. Shu[u]zen was amazed--"What! You refuse?... Ah! Then it is hate of this Shu[u]zen which is felt. Most unreasonable hate, for he acted but as _bugyo[u]_ of the land. It is a disloyal hate." In his mad and thwarted lust his lips trembled. The girl humbly remained prostrate--"Condescend the honoured forbearance. Such could not be the case. Great the favour of Heaven, of your lordship as its agent, in saving this Kiku from the final punishment, the coarse assault of menials. But deign to consider. Kiku is the daughter of Jinnai. She is a reprieved criminal in the land, can be naught else but of lowest status. Kind the honoured words, great the gratitude inspired; but is not the summons unseemly. Deign forbearance; add not to the offence of Kiku." In her mind was the last scene with her father Jinnai; the tortured, distorted, suffering body of the condemned bandit. Pollute her body with this man who had thus played with the one to whom she owed life and duty; to the man who had sent the father to the execution ground? She would have used her dagger first on herself, rather than on him. His words did inspire uncertainty. He was the officer in the land, the representative of the suzerain, hence guiltless. But that made not the idea of his embraces less repulsive, though she wavered in thoughts of vendetta--between filial duty and loyal service to the suzerain. Her attitude puzzled Aoyama. The unusualness of his proposition he put aside. Her claim to loyalty, in his hopes as the successful lecher, he was disposed to accept. Was there not something deeper? Then the battle began between them, to last for those weeks of the winter months. Force matters he would not. There was a zest in this pursuit, far apart from any mere sensual gratification. The desire he felt for her person was all cruel. It was joined to the desire to humble her, to force her to consent by her own lips and motion and against reason, to grant the gift of herself even if unwilling. There was an enjoyment in soiling the body and mind of this beauty. Thus with refusal love began slowly to turn to a hatred full of malice. One night Aikawa Chu[u]dayu was present. O'Kiku as usual served the wine. Shu[u]zen turned to him impatiently--"The speech of the overlord is without effect. Chu[u]dayu, try your hand, and bend Kiku to consent to my wishes, to become my concubine." Shamed before the whole household? O'Kiku had grown used to this grossness in the determined pursuit of Shu[u]zen. Now openly addressed before the chamberlain and others she looked down; a little flushed, and hearing with astonishment the words which came from such a quarter. Chu[u]dayu spoke slowly; addressed her with a severity of tone which belied his intent. "O'Kiku Dono, why are not thanks given for such condescension on the part of the Tono Sama? Apart from his rank is not the experience of his fifty years, on the battle field of war and love, to count in his favour? Most imposing and strong his figure, despite his age. All bow in respect before the lines marked by the wisdom of years in his lordships face. Why refuse to follow the example of the other women of the household--and share with them? These are indeed _koshimoto_; your promotion to the position, from the vilest status, but a caprice and kindness. You should obey the order of the Tono Sama. His face alone would inspire fear. All regard it with awe, as if in contemplation of that of Emma Dai-O[u]. And who refuses to obey the mandate of the king of hell? Answer--who?" He leaned far over toward her. O'Kiku looked at him; then hid her face in her hands. These were not her only trials in this Jigoku _yashiki_ (Hell mansion). There was her ladyship to take into account. Says the proverb of the Nipponese--"dabble in vermilion, and one is stained red." Contact with Shu[u]zen had developed all the harsher traits in this stern _samurai_ dame. She despised the former character of her husband, and now was mad with jealousy at his unrestrained lechery. However there was some consolation in this new pursuit. Promiscuous in his intercourse with all and every other of her household, she could do but little. These were women of more or less position. Now he threatened to turn all devotion in the one direction of this beautiful girl, to condescend to a serving wench. "The Rangiku: it has a fox's shape."[32] Thus sneered her fellows. O'Kiku now was punished as scapegoat for all the others. The natural harshness of her ladyship's character turned to barbarity. This "slave"--O'Shioki--in no way could satisfy her. The slightest fault, of self or other, was visited on O'Kiku. One day her ladyship in her rage seized her and dragged her by the hair over her knees. A short baton of bamboo was to hand, and with this before all she put the girl to the shame of childhood's punishment, and with a malice and heartiness of will and muscle which left O'Kiku lame, and thus victim in other derelictions of duty. This so pleased the _okugata_ that it became a favourite pastime, whenever the girl was at hand and her own arm had rested. She would have starved her, but the rest contributed of their store out of mere fellowship. Her ladyship recognized the uselessness. She did not dare deface her beauty. Believing in Shu[u]zen's love her vengeance was confined in its exercise. With despair she regarded her bloated disfigured person, the wan faded aspect due to her advanced pregnancy. Ah! If she could but fasten some offence upon her. She would bring about this interloper's death. With delight she noted the signs of dislike and malice in Shu[u]zen. Surely the tales were true that the beauty was holding out for the price of her charms. It should be a case where beauty would not secure pardon. It was at this time that, with Shu[u]zen's consent, she put O'Kiku in charge of ten plates condescended in trust to the House by the To[u]sho[u]gu[u] (Iyeyasu). It was a bid of Shu[u]zen, the mark of the conferrence of position as _koshimoto_ in his household. Only in the madness of love--or lust--would he have risked such impropriety. The regular time for counting had arrived. O'Kiku carefully replaced the beautiful objects, marked with holly hock crest, into their lacquered box. Again Shu[u]zen importuned her with his suit. Then in vexation--"Ah! Truly a rebellious and wicked grudge is held by this Kiku. Attempt at denial is useless, it is not only rebellion against the master, but against the decree of the master of all. Decide at once. Either be the concubine of Shu[u]zen; or suffer the sword cut." Again she plead with him, and Shu[u]zen's eyes opened wide with astonishment. "Condescend the honoured hearing. Kiku has plead as one no longer of this world. 'Tis true. But before now she has already taken the vow of two worlds."--"What!" said Shu[u]zen in amazement. His mind lighted up as she proceeded--"It is true. Under guise of farm hand at the village lived Wataru Sampei, a _samurai_ and _ro[u]nin_ of the Takéda House of Kai. By him there is a child--now three years old. Alas! The father lives in direst poverty. Twice in the month--the 15th day when the festival of the Ichigaya Hachiman shrine is held, the 25th day when that of the Hirakawa Tenjin Sama is held--with the child Jumatsu he is to pass. A wave of the hand--'Is it Kiku?... Is it mother?' The relationship longed for and regarded as enduring to the whiteness of the hair thus is reduced to the wave of a hand. The chaste wife suffers not the embrace of two men. Oh! Husband! Son!" Weeping O'Kiku hid her face in her sleeves as she made her plea. Harsh and triumphant was the voice of Shu[u]zen as he pressed on this newly discovered weakness. "Then you lied; Jinnai lied, in calling you a maid. This Sampei and Jumatsu rightly are gallows-birds, doomed to the execution ground. Shu[u]zen has but to say the word. Seized they are put to the torture; the child to know the bitterness of the scourge. Such a tiny body will be cut to ribbons. Listen well! Obey the command of this Shu[u]zen. 'Tis the choice between the jewelled palanquin of the favoured mistress, or torture for these two. The kind offices of the bed for Shu[u]zen, or the rottenness of the jail for these two criminals. The gift of Kiku's chastity secures for them oblivion.... You would ask time? To-morrow night, after the counting of the plates, the answer will be received." He ceased--to turn to Chu[u]dayu, who for a little time had stood by, as one waiting on a matter of business. O'Kiku, face white and drawn, tottered away to her room. She had played false, and at a cast lost all. Gloomy, the long hair framing the distraught and unhappy face, she sat. "Unhappy the lot of this Kiku. The sisters left without a father's sanction, to witness the shadow on the mother's life; to know that father but as criminal ready to be sent to the execution ground; and now, by rashness of the tongue, to condemn husband and infant son to such a hideous fate! Remedy there is none. Perchance the life of this Kiku in sacrifice for both arouses kindness to pardon; or at least secures them in ignorance." Now she was all decision. Rapidly she loosed the girdle of her sash. The safety of her beloved was at stake, and no father's command held. The feet bound she seated herself before the mirror, took up the dagger and felt its keen point, then the morbid soft flesh of the neck. As she raised her arm it was seized at her side. Noiseless Chu[u]dayu had entered and acted in prevention. With a grunt he bent down and severed the sash cord which restrained her. Then holding the dagger daintily he spoke his will--"Is not this madness, O'Kiku Dono? The Tono Sama has issued his summons, and the heart does not conform. The secret thought is known to this Chu[u]dayu. Turn therefore to a friend. Safety is not to be sought by the drastic method of the steel. Look to flight. Chu[u]dayu aids--nay goes in company. Against him there can be no grudge. If Sampei and this boy exist, they are not to be met within the _yashiki_ of Aoyama Shu[u]zen--either by submission and riding in the jewelled palanquin, or by the argument of the dagger. It is an easy matter for Chu[u]dayu. An error confessed in conducting of the accounts, and with purse well lined with the gold of Shu[u]zen this _yashiki_ is abandoned. O'Kiku Dono goes in company. Between the two known connection there is none, and without the wife this Sampei and Jumatsu go unharmed. In the relationship with Jinnai the link is missing and Edo too wide a mark to pick them out. So much can Chu[u]dayu answer for." "Ah!" At times a Buddha is met in Hell itself. With astonishment and reverence O'Kiku regarded this saintly apparition. Noting the impression made Chu[u]dayu sat close by her. A little disturbed and restive she moved away. "The words of Chu[u]dayu Dono are more than kind; never to be forgotten in this world. By such means are Sampei and Jumatsu really to be saved?"--"Most assuredly," was the smooth reply. "Chu[u]dayu acts at once. Deign but the required pledge...."--"The pledge?" O'Kiku spoke now with misgiving filtering into a sinking heart. Said Chu[u]dayu with impatience--"Pledge: don't feign innocence, O'Kiku Dono. Does Chu[u]dayu sacrifice all for the mere amusement of the affair. Amusement there is indeed for him. O'Kiku must consent to accept this Chu[u]dayu. Deign to change ox for horse. Failing Sampei, it is to Chu[u]dayu she grants her favours. This is to be agreed--and right now, as pledge, a proof offered of her sincerity." Now there was no mistaking the words in invitation made plain by eye and gesture. She wrenched away the detaining hands laid upon her; sprang up. "Ah! Villainous man! You would rob your lord, deceive and betray this Kiku. Such speech is pollution to the ears; the touch of such a creature is loathsome. Chu[u]dayu has the weapon of Kiku; but Kiku can still cry out and bring the household about your ears. Beast--away from here!" Armed as he was Chu[u]dayu was afraid--"'Pollution'--'beast'? Ha! The woman's thought rises after all to the surface in her hate. For this you shall pay. Just wait." He left the room in haste, to betake himself at once to the apartments of the _okugata_. O'Kiku crouched on the _tatami_, her eyes wide open, fastened on the texture of the straw surface, saw nothing but this new and terrible position. She could not die; she could not live; and yet the tiger was at the gate, the wolf at the postern. A maid came to summon her to Shu[u]zen's presence. Knowing her position, her feelings, the solidarity of sex had veered to kindliness for this unwilling rival. The girl was shocked at sight of her. "O'Kiku Dono! Tis but for the counting of the plates--as usual." She aided her to don the ceremonial costume. In all the magnificence of her apparel, with hair dressed high, she followed after the girl. In her beauty a splendid sight, in her heart "she was as the sheep going to the butcher." Her ladyship sat close beside Shu[u]zen. Other _koshimoto_, with Chu[u]dayu and several retainers, were present. Despite the customary nature of this vicarious reverence to the spirit of the To[u]sho[u] Shinkun (Iyeyasu) there was an oppression, a suppressed interest, which seemed to fasten every eye on O'Kiku as slowly and gracefully she bore the box before her lord, made salutation. "Open;" the word from Shu[u]zen's lips came dry and harsh--"One"--"Um"--"Two"--"Um"--"Three, four"--"Um"--"Five"--"Um"--"Six, seven"--"Um"--"Eight"--"Um"--"Nine.... Oya! Oya!" Then in fright--"What shall I do!" With horror O'Kiku gazed at the fragments of the tenth plate lying at the bottom. Shu[u]zen, all moved by his wrath and excitement, leaned forward. The holly hock crest ground to powder was almost indistinguishable. Hardly able to believe her eyes O'Kiku mechanically began to finger the pile of porcelain--One, two, three ... they followed up to nine.... "What shall I do!" The malice and ferocity of Shu[u]zen's tone sent a thrill through those present--"Vicious jade! This is a sample of Kiku's hatred to this Shu[u]zen, through him of her disloyalty to the revered House. What explanation can be offered? What expiation?" Slowly and in despair O'Kiku raised her head. She caught the triumphant glance passed between the _okugata_ and Chu[u]dayu. All was illuminated. This was Chu[u]dayu's threatened vengeance. As of one dying her voice--"This is not the deed of Kiku. Daughter of the criminal Jinnai she holds no grudge against lord or suzerain; would but pray in this world for oblivion of those offences in a future existence. Deign, my lord to believe this Kiku. Malice acts here. But a short time ago Chu[u]dayu...." The man sprang forward--"Lying hussy!... Tono Sama, this woman would save herself by slander. Plain has been her ill feeling against the honoured lord in refusal to obey his summons. Here lies the proof of ill intent and rebellion against the suzerain's House. Surely there is no punishment for such but death!"--"Surely there is no punishment for this but death!" The harsh voice of the _okugata_ was heard in repetition. Shu[u]zen spoke--"'A twig broken on the flowering branch of plum, and the whole is to be cut off.' Such the words of Kuro[u] Hangwan Yoshitsuné. Kiku, you are a vile, treacherous woman; undeserving of Heaven's favour and the kindness shown by Shu[u]zen. Now you lie--with the fancy tale of child and husband, in order to escape the bed of Shu[u]zen; with slanderous insinuation to throw your crime against others.... Here!" At the command the _kerai_ came forward and dragged her within reach. Shu[u]zen seized a hand. "Ten the plates: one broken, the tale destroyed. Apology is to be made. Make full confession. No? For the one, ten are due." There was a _hibachi_ close by his side. He dragged her arm over the brazier, drew his dagger--"One." At the middle joint the finger fell severed into the ashes. "Two"--"Two," faintly answered O'Kiku. "Three"--"Three"--"Four"--"Four"--"Five"--"Five." Shu[u]zen laughed. "Kiku cannot hold grudge as being maimed. The stumps remain." Chu[u]dayu sprang forward at Shu[u]zen's sign. Roughly holding the bleeding stumps he pressed them into the harsh cautery of living coals. A suppressed wailing cry from Kiku, a shuddering and turning away of the frightened women; her ladyship laughed out loud. Kiku raised her head and gave her a long look. Shu[u]zen grasped the other arm. The punishment went on. "Six.... No confession?" One by one the remaining joints fell. Only the thumb remained. Like a demon the _okugata_ sprang forward. She snatched away the keen weapon, and pressing down the edge of the blade triumphant raised the severed digit torn away to the wrist. Shu[u]zen himself rose in astonishment at the act. All were in a wild excitement. The violent woman strove to shriek, but choked in her rage and utterance. They surrounded her and bore her off to her own apartment. A wave of the hand and all but Chu[u]dayu had departed. Shu[u]zen was divided between his hate and the certainty of having been deceived. Besides, only the body was maimed, and in the malice of his heart he would soil this woman's soul. He leaned over the helpless figure. "Your own deed, Kiku: make confession and submission. There is yet life to plead for. Ha! 'Tis true. Vicious wench, you would seek the destruction of Shu[u]zen by temptation; the grudge is to be carried to the end." From far off came the answer--"Alas! To this Kiku are imputed the wet garments. A lie destroys her to whom life is displeasing. Aye! The grudge is to be carried to the end. Against this treacherous Chu[u]dayu, against Aoyama and his House the grudge. Remember well!" In fury Shu[u]zen sprang to his feet--"Chuu[u]dayu, take hold of this woman. Out with her to the garden!" With practised hand the chamberlain bound hands and feet. Then following after Shu[u]zen he dragged her through the snow to the old well. "'Tis here," said Shu[u]zen briefly. Removing the bucket the rope was tied under the arms of O'Kiku. "Your own act and deed, Kiku. In your punishment apology is made to the suzerain House. Go join your father Jinnai at the Yellow Fountain (Kwo[u]sen) in Hell.... Chu[u]dayu, kill her by inches." Seeing the chamberlain's hesitation Shu[u]zen gave the body a push. Swift the descent. The splash of the water was heard. "Heave up!" With eager energy Chu[u]dayu brought O'Kiku to the curb. "No confession yet?"--"Aye! Grudge the last thought; grudge against Chu[u]dayu; against this Aoyama, him and his." The long wet hair hanging about the chalk white face, the bulging glaring eyes, the disordered saturated garments of the half drowned girl, were too much for Chu[u]dayu. The man now was struck with fright. He sought to save her. "Tono Sama, is not the purpose satisfied? A request...."--"Coward! Are you afraid of the ghost? Surely Kiku will visit the couch of Chu[u]dayu--as perhaps to his desire." But Chu[u]dayu now openly was afraid and not ashamed. "Deign to spare her, Tono Sama.... O'Kiku Dono, this is no affair of Chu[u]dayu. As ghost deign to haunt the Tono Sama. 'Tis the Tono Sama who kills you." He plead; but inexorable the whispering voice--"The grudge! Against Chu[u]dayu...." Then in terror Chu[u]dayu sought the end--"Ah! Vile bitch!... Tono Sama, deign to cut short the curse, and with it the breath of this hussy."--"Your act and deed, Chu[u]dayu...." Shu[u]zen took up the rest of the sentence. "Pass your sword into her belly, Chu[u]dayu; the lord's order." Chu[u]dayu hesitated. Then looking away he thrust--once, twice. There was a squishing sound, as of steel entering something soft. A heart rending scream rang through the air. It was like the ripping apart of silk. Shu[u]zen stepped to the curb, looked into the agonized staring eyes. Then he gave the final thrust of his dagger into the windpipe, and cast the weapon to Chu[u]dayu to cleanse. As if an automaton the man went through his task: brought the heavy stone to bind into the long trailing garment. Seeing his helplessness Shu[u]zen shrugged his shoulders with contempt. With his dagger he severed the rope. _Dobun!_ A final splash of water at the end. CHAPTER XXV CHU[U]DAYU WINS HIS SUIT Chu[u]dayu's legs bent under him. "Ah! My lord! O'Kiku grasps my neck!" A cold hand laid upon him he shrieked in fear. Shu[u]zen turned--"Fool! 'Tis a clod of snow from the tree above, fallen on your collar. Off with you to bed. Truly in these days such fellows are good for nothing." Off he strode to the _ro[u]ka_. For a moment he looked out--on the heavy flakes coming down like cotton wadding, at the figure of Chu[u]dayu staggering like a drunken man to his quarters. With a laugh he closed the _amado_, seated himself before the heated wine. Yet the woman would not get out of his thoughts. "What a fool! A matter of no import would have given her position with others and influence with this Shu[u]zen.... Ha! Ha! How frightened was Chu[u]dayu! It is not the shadowy fingers of the dead which do good or ill, but the flesh clad muscles of the living. As to your ghosts...." He snapped his fingers and drank wine in derision. Thus he spent the early hours of the night. "What's that!" He put the bottle down at the sound of voices in excitement, of running feet. Soon an officer appeared. The _okugata_ was threatened with premature delivery. A physician was to be had at once. Shu[u]zen shrugged his shoulders with indifference. Five months--seven months--nine months--what a matter to trouble a man with! So angry was he that they dared not tell him more. Matters were going very badly with her ladyship. In her delirium she raved over the past scene of the punishment. The tortures of this present delivery were added to an hundred fold by the disorders of the over-wrought brain. Then the child was born. The assembled women whispered to each other. A very monster had seen light: perfect in its main parts, but with the face of Emma Dai-O[u] as a foetus--with the fingers lacking on the hands. They dared not let the sick woman see it. She detected their confusion, asked to see the child. She grew more and more excited with refusal, and they were at a loss what to do. Finally the child was brought, to her distress and confusion. Then--as from the ceiling--"Shame on the House of Aoyama Shu[u]zen. A maimed child, a monster is born as its issue." And the voice began to count, followed by the moving lips of her ladyship--"One"--"One"--"Two"--"Two"--"Three"--"Three"--monotonously it went on to--"Nine.... Ah! What shall I do! One is missing. Wa! Wa!" So lamentable the crying voice that a chill went to the hearts of all. Again the count went on; again the failure and the lamentable cry and weeping. Her ladyship sat up. They strove to restrain her, but in her madness she shouted back in answer to the counting--"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.... Ha! One is missing! Vile slut! Thus to maim the child in malice." She raved and tore at the covering. From the disordered hair streaming around face and bust looked out at them the wan face of O'Kiku. In disorder the women fled. Driven back by the necessity of their duty they found her lying dead in a pool of blood. As for the maimed and deformed monster, he took well to the nurse's breast. Such they always do. Where was Chu[u]dayu in all this confusion? Shu[u]zen had men hunting him high and low. Angered at his absence, his own dislike and suspicion of him as possible rival grew with the night and the hours, rendered bitter by these household scenes. He would settle matters with Chu[u]dayu. "Yokubei" he had heard him called; and covetousness turns not only to gold and such like. As fact Chu[u]dayu had good excuse for absence. Much out of sorts he had betaken himself to his own rooms and the care of the old woman in charge, his only female companion in lieu of wife. Ah! What weather! The snow changed to sleet and rain drove into and chilled to the marrow those out in the storm. The _baya_ (old woman) at his entrance was all astonishment--"Danna Sama! The garments are wet through. Condescend at once to make a change." Gruffly Chu[u]dayu accepted her aid. Stripping off first one and then another of the outer garments he too grumbled in his turn--"What a fool the woman was! To lose life against the sacrifice of such a trifling thing. Ah! She was a maddening beauty; of the kind to drive the blood to boiling heat. Never again.... What's that?" Pon-pon: the sound of someone knocking ashes from a pipe into the receiver came from the inner room. The _baya_ was laughing--"Ha! Ah! The Danna Sama is a sly one. He is the one to make friends with the beauties. The lady regretted the Danna's absence, said that she would wait the honoured return.... Who? 'Tis she so sought by the Tono Sama himself; and who instead favours the Danna. O'Kiku Dono...." Before the wild stare of Chu[u]dayu, the clutch on her wrist, the old woman stopped in fright. Then from within came the counting--"One, two, three, four, five"--"Six," Chu[u]dayu mechanically joined in. "Seven"--"Seven"--"Eight"--"Eight"--"Nine"--"Nine"--the words were followed by the chilling lamentable wail of a soul in agony. "What shall I do! What shall I do!" With a yell Chu[u]dayu dashed to the _sho[u]ji_ and threw them back. No one! With astonishment and terror the old woman gazed at him as seeking an explanation which did not come. "The lights in the Butsudan! Namu Amida Butsu! Namu Amida Butsu! Praise to Amida, the Lord Buddha!... Wine! Wine, and much of it; very hot!" He sat, his head in hands, watching the flickering light in the altar stand. "Ha! 'A woman and a man of small comprehension: these are hard to govern.' Ko[u]shi (Confucius) says it. This Chu[u]dayu has played the fool to the Tono Sama's extravagances." The bell of Gekkeiji began to strike the hour of the watch. It came clear and mournful across the snow. "How like a woman's nature," says the native scribe. "One"--"One"--"Two"--"Two"--"Three"--"Three." ... Chu[u]dayu went on, mechanically following the blows hammered into his brain. Then came the heart rending hopeless wail which chilled his very soul. The old woman in amazement and pain gave a howl as the hot wine ran over hands and fingers. Chu[u]dayu on his feet stupidly gazed at the bottle rolling to the end of the room. "'Tis of no import," he muttered. "Now--to get hence. Close up all. To-night Chu[u]dayu returns not."--"But Danna Sama! Condescend to consider! The Danna Sama is not himself. Truly he will be ill. Deign the honoured couch." The couch in that room! He shuddered all over. The old woman wrung and wiped her scalded fingers, and would persuade him to seek rest. She simpered in her blandishment. "Where could she possibly have gone, for _baya_ saw no exit? Perhaps the lady comes again; and in the _yashiki_ there is no greater beauty than O'Kiku Dono. Fortunate the Danna...." Truly she thought him gone mad. "Shut up!" roared Chu[u]dayu. His eyes blazing under the heat of the quantity of his hot stimulant he thrust her, a heap huddled into a corner of the room. Trembling hands adjusted what garments he could lay eyes upon. Over all he threw a long wool cloak with hood and eyelets against the snow. Turning to the entrance he glowered at her, hand on his dagger--"More words of that vile jade, and _baya_ joins her own beneath the stone. This Chu[u]dayu goes to Nakacho[u], to a public woman. If that O'Baké comes again.... Ha! Ha!... Let her lie with Baya.... Why! She's not even rotten yet!" He left the old woman stupefied and quaking, himself to leap out into the storm and darkness. Outside the gate he had a shock. In the shadow he ran into a woman standing by, who turned at his greeting. O'Kiku's face? With clenched fist he would have struck, but the vision faded. "Truly the _baya_ is not wrong. Chu[u]dayu is mad, or drunk." His knuckles had near encounter with the brazen crest fastened into the post. This brought him to himself. Rapid was his descent of Gomizaka. At its foot was a _kago_ stand. "The Danna Sama from the Aoyama _yashiki_--he condescends the _kago_. One all closed? The Danna Sama will lie as snug as in a _koshi_ (_kwanoké_ = hearse)." Chu[u]dayu took the joke badly. The fellow sprawled on the ground under the blow--"Is this a funeral procession? Truly the night itself is bad enough--without the joke."--"A scurvy knave," humbly explained the _kago_ chief. "A country recruit, just to hand. Deign to pardon his impertinence." He edged the fellow off, called up another man--"The Danna stands not on the fare? Truly 'tis such a night as rarely has been seen. With wind and sleet the men can barely stand. But the Danna is in haste. Surely a woman is at the journey's end.... Not a palanquin but with mats." Chu[u]dayu was neatly bundled into the litter. The mats were lowered at the sides and covered with oiled paper. "To Nakanocho[u]; and at good round pace." He hardly heard the functionary's words. "Ah! How she hated this Chu[u]dayu! How she glared into the Tono Sama's eyes as he dealt the blow into her pap!... A vicious jade; yet a beauty. Where could such beauty be encountered? May the _kami_ (gods) grant Chu[u]dayu the same good fortune this night!" More pleasing vision soothed him. He was filled with hot wine and fast grew dazed and sleepy. The gentle motion of the _kago_ rocked him as in a cradle. Yet he could not get sleep. Her voice was in his ears; without, in talk with the _kago_ men? He raised a corner of the mat. With surprise--"Heigh, _kagoya_! What place is this?" He was passing the moat on his right not left; the hill sloped down, not up toward Nakano (Shinjuku). "Danna Sama, it is Suido[u]bashi."--"Suido[u]bashi! And does one go to Nakanocho[u] by Suido[u]bashi? Knaves! About with you, and to the right course as directed." The men, after their kind, grumbled; but to themselves; and in a way their fare should hear. "Naruhodo! What a beast of a night is this! Mate, it is to Nakanocho[u]; but Nakanocho[u] whither? The Danna Sama is testy. He is not to be questioned. He might give a cut. Jubei is lucky. He has changed head for rear. A care there! A care there! What? Again around? What a night, and what a Danna to deal with!" The unconscious Chu[u]dayu was borne onward. Again the vinous fumes passed off. To his amazement be saw the water on the left; but not what he sought. "Heigh! Heigh! _Kago_ men, whither now? What place yonder?"--"Yanagibara, Danna Sama." Chu[u]dayu's voice was big with wrath. "True _kago_ men as guides! Does one go to Yanagibara to go to Nakanocho[u] of Shinjuku."--"Oya! Oya! The Danna always tells us to go this way, that way. Nakanocho[u], Nakacho[u]--is it Yoshiwara, or Fukagawa, or Naito[u] Shinjuku to which the Danna goes? 'Tis but the lady at the pole who has a clear head and forces us to go this way.... Danna, never mind the fare money. Condescend to alight. It is a hard night; too hard for such a baffling task.... Here is your pretty friend again!" Chu[u]dayu raised the mat and looked out. Vaguely outlined in the again whirling snowy darkness stood O'Kiku. With wild cry he sprang out, sword drawn. The _kago_ men dropped the litter and took to their heels. Dazed Chu[u]dayu looked around him. Ah! He was drunk with wine, and visions haunted him. Yanagibara? Let it be Yoshiwara then. Stalking through the O[u]mon he made his way to the Nagatoya, a tea house at which he was known. "Oya! The honoured Danna Sama of the Bancho[u] _yashiki_. In good season Aikawa Dono; the lady awaits the honoured _buké-sama_."--"A lady waiting? Fool! Who brings a woman to this market where he comes to purchase?" The _banto[u]_ (clerk) of the tea house insisted. "Aikawa Sama, is it not fact? She is barely of twenty years; outstripping in beauty the greatest of the Go Tayu.... Her name? O'Kiku San...." In his amazement the man rose from his kneeling salutation, craned his neck to watch the flying figure of Chu[u]dayu disappear. Perhaps the Danna had gone mad. Surely he was mad; and not one to come on foot on such a night and all the way from the Bancho[u]. He sighed at loss of such an eager customer. Chu[u]dayu walked into the first tea house to hand when he had stopped for breath. A first visit, his tea money (_chadai_) was munificent. Such a customer deserved good treatment from the Izuzuya. Hence the attendant guided him to the Miuraya, where was bespoken the presence of the brilliant _oiran_ O'Yodo. The hour was late. The _oiran_ was detained. Chu[u]dayu was sleepy and demanded his room. Hardly had he taken to his couch to await her presence than he was asleep. Leaving her other guest O'Yodo pushed open the _sho[u]ji_ and entered. She deserved her reputation for beauty. A splendid girl, for she was not more than woman yet. A little tall for her sex; fair and with but little powder, an oval face, long trailing hair, and shapely hands and feet for all this business. _Batan-batan_ the sound of the _zo[u]ri_ (sandals). She dropped these on the outside. The stranger was asleep. Sitting beside him she gathered the folds of her crape night robe about her bare feet. With a deft touch she adjusted the knot of the pink sash which confined it; then turned attention to the long silver chased pipe and the face of the sleeping man. Some feeling was aroused she could not understand. There was much she did not yet understand in this bitter toil of hers. Chu[u]dayu began to speak; at first in halting and broken sentences; then in a continued flood--"Ah! Ha! That look of hate! Chu[u]dayu acted most foully. 'Twas he who took the plate, to secure his safety and O'Kiku's death. Deign to pardon. It was not Chu[u]dayu; 'twas the Tono Sama who dealt the fatal blow.... What? The suffering?... Ah! But the suffering of mind.... Now she begins--one--two--three--four--five--six--seven--eight--nine.... Kiya!" The shriek rang through the room, bringing O'Yodo to her feet. Crouched beside the _andon_ was outlined vaguely the figure of her sister O'Kiku. "Ne[e]san! Here! And what...." At the words she turned to meet the wide open frighted gaze of Chu[u]dayu. The matter of fact, gentle tones calmed him. "A first meeting with the honoured guest. Deign to pardon the awkwardness of Yodo." Chu[u]dayu came out of his sleep reassured. He had dreamed; a frightful dream. She told him so, and pressed him curiously as to why he had called out. "The honoured _samurai_ (_buké-sama_), who then favours Yodo?" He spoke, as being again himself--the military man, and no less a person than the chamberlain of Aoyama Shu[u]zen Sama, _hatamoto_ with a _yashiki_ in the Bancho[u]. "Perhaps then a serving maid called O'Kiku is known to the honoured sir." Again Chu[u]dayu's doubts were raised at evident resemblance--to be reassured. "No kin: we knew each other well in early life. The father was a great criminal, and O'Kiku, it was heard, was condemned to be a slave for life. Entered in this business nothing has been seen of each other. She is well--in mind and body?" The question was timid, and Chu[u]dayu did not notice the unnatural eagerness. "In Kiku's place mind and body are assured their lot; to undergo no change." Captivated by this beauty he was now eager for his good fortune. Reluctant and with misgiving she allowed him to draw her close. CHAPTER XXVI SAMPEI DONO He was poor; coarsely and scantily clad as he came on his return through the darkness and snowflakes now coming down wet and moist, whirling and twisting under the increasing gale and gradually turning into a penetrating chilling sleet against which the straw raincoat was poor protection. In this guise Wataru Sampei was the gardener, making a precarious living at which his skill was accidental and vicarious. In his shabby home he was the _samurai_, his two swords treasured, carefully wrapped and put away in the closet; struggling to live in order to bring up this boy Jumatsu in his own cult, to better times and retribution on the upstarts from the South. This night too had been part of his _samurai's_ duty, in its _sankei_ or pilgrimage to the Asakusa Kwannon. O'Kiku believed in efficacy of prayer to the goddess of mercy. A hasty word, implied rather than spoken, as to a passer by during the first sight of her, and the gesture of acquiescence on his part who had little faith. But the gesture was as strong in its obligation as an oath written and signed in blood. On approaching his home with surprise he noted a woman by the door. She seemed to be in the act of coming or going. Surely he could not mistake that figure; nay, throwing the light of his lantern ahead a glimpse of the white wan face startled him. His heart leaped within him--"Is it Kiku? How comes the wife here at this hour? How has exit from the _yashiki_ been permitted?" But the woman answered not. Instead she moved away from him, into the darkness. More and more astonished Sampei called after her and followed. Always she eluded him. Thus he was led away two hundred, three hundred yards. There she was, halted beneath the willow tree on the river bank. His pace broke into a run. Now she did not move or attempt to elude him, but as he came up the figure was but a stela to point the way to a near-by shrine. Sampei passed his hand over his brow. Kiku was too much on his mind; this forced widowerhood with charge of a toddling boy. Ah! If pity and affection would but allow him to transfer the child to others! Better would it be for both. But how face the mother without the child--and then, the lot of one's favoured child in the house of strangers and under their cold glances? Sampei himself could not part with Jumatsu. Easy was it for him to cut belly--and leave mother and child in this desolate condition. Meanwhile his uneasiness of mind at their present outlook was driving him to delusions. Taking off his wet outer garments he stole into the bedroom. Now it was very late in the night; he would not disturb the child. To his surprise he found him sitting up on the quilts, shivering and weeping. "Bo[u]chan! What's gone wrong?" He took the child's hands, anxious to note any sign of distress or fever. But Jumatsu made answer in his turn--"Mother has just been here. She was crying. She said--'Bo[u], the parting is for long. Never again will the mother be seen. Grow up, Bo[u]; grow up to be a fine man.' Then she cried more than ever." A hand seemed to grasp the heart of Sampei--"Mother here, Bo[u]chan!" Surely the child could not lie, even make up the story at this age, so fitting into his own uneasy vision. Continued the little fellow mid his tears--"It was not her fault. Someone broke the holly hock plate and charged mother with the crime. Then the Tono Sama killed her. He wanted her for his concubine; and so came to hate her and easily took the tale. It was not her fault. She said this--then went away."--"Whither?" Sampei's tone was so abrupt and harsh to startle the child into quiescence. He pointed to the house altar on its stand--"Mother just went away; into the Butsudan.... And she hasn't come back--to Bo[u]chan." He ended in a wail and childish weeping. Ah! The hands now grasping at Sampei were of ice. Slowly he approached the Butsudan. Startled he saw the snow within it. This wild tale was taking the hold of certainty on his mind. He lit first one light, then the other in the altar stand. Then sharply of itself rang the little bell. A cold sweat stood out on Sampei's body--"Namu Amida Butsu! Namu Amida Butsu!" Earnest the prayer for some departed soul. Unconvinced, yet feeling the truth of the impression he passed the night with eyes wide open. With dawn he would go forth to make inquiries at the Bancho[u] _yashiki_. This would be the fifteenth day. Anyhow Kiku would be expecting him. He set out early, carrying the boy on his back. Humbly and with experience of such places he approached the gateman. "An inquiry to make."--"What is it?"--"At this _yashiki_ is there not a woman labouring, one O'Kiku?" The man eyed him with the contemptuous tolerance of him who knows--"Woman labouring? In the _yashiki_ there are two score and more. Of Kiku more than one; although those of the men's quarters have nothing to do with such matters. Perhaps the slave girl Kiku is intended.... See her! Good fellow, are you mad? One under condemnation is not to be seen.... You have come far? Even if you had come from O[u]shu[u] or Kyu[u]shu[u] you could not see her.... But all the way from Honjo[u]; it's too bad." The man looked at him with more benevolence. After all he had some heart, and many distressed people came to this _yashiki_; entered into it. "Are you thirsty?... No? In that case entrance there is none; although the water of the well in the _yashiki_ is said to be superior to all other, sovereign to cure thirst.... Ah! You have been dying with thirst all night. Your tongue cleaves to the roof of the mouth. Then the case is altered. For the silver thanks are felt. Just enter. Perhaps some maid will come to the well to draw water. Perhaps this Kiku herself. One so ready--of tongue--can easily excuse his presence and this Yo[u]zaémon, if there be question." With humble thanks and joy Sampei followed the instructions. The well was at the corner of the larger paved space and from it he could see into the inner garden and the greater privacy of the establishment. Here he could note more life at this early hour, and even the stir of excitement. People were running to and fro as under some unusual stimulus. Slowly he drank, delayed as long as he could, unnoticed and unquestioned. He could not thus act too long. Indeed as he moved off a foot soldier (_ashigaru_) passing asked his business. He gave excuse as on mission to a servant, whose name he picked up from one just gone by. As the man had taken a message outside his answer was a safe one. Sharply the _ashigaru_ repeated the fact of absence, and Sampei had no excuse not to leave. The excitement now was spreading to the front quarters of the _yashiki_. Fragments of talk showed him that his visit was most inopportune. Her ladyship had just died, and the household was in a buzz. When he would again speak to the gateman, the functionary's manner did not encourage it, Sampei took the hint of his cold unrecognizing eye and bowed in humble acknowledgment to all in going out the gate. "Chu[u]dayu Dono--where is Aikawa Sama to be found?"--"The honoured chamberlain? He left the _yashiki_ last night in the other watch. There has been no return during this of Yozaémon." So much he caught in passing. Slowly Sampei passed down the Gomizaka and along the moat of the castle. It was with greatest reluctance he left this place. The child began to whimper. "_Otosan_ (father), this Jumatsu is hungry." The little fellow's whimper turned to genuine tears. The father heartened him. Just ahead, on the Kudanzaka, all that should be remedied. Of the number of small shops Sampei noted the sign of the Kikkyo[u]ya--the House of the Full Well Bucket. Bending under the curtain strips hanging at the front he entered the cook shop. "Deign to come up here.... For food? Of the best: clam soup, a stew of vegetables and fish, hot boiled _to[u]fu_ ... and _saké_, none better." The place did not promise much despite the advertisement. Avoiding the doubtful stew Sampei ordered wine for himself and hot boiled bean paste (_to[u]fu_) for Jumatsu. As he fed the child, and at opportunity sipped his wine, a blind shampooer entered; in this tiny place to take a seat close by. Apparently he was well known thereabouts. In bringing wine the host sat down beside him to talk--almost into the ear of Sampei.--"Toku no Ichi San, you are early abroad. Does illness or luxurious idleness summon the honoured _Amma San_ to the couch?... But yourself, you do not look well. Work late into the night goes not with early rising. This is going to excess." The man coughed and drank, turned his sightless eyes on Sampei. What he said made this latter all attention. "It is no early call brings out this Ichibei. Ah! What a night this last!"--"Truly so," replied the matter of fact host. "And no sign of the storm's cessation." He looked out for a moment on the flakes of snow, again coming down thick and heavy. "Drink your wine, Ichibei Dono. In truth you are as white as yonder falling flakes which you do not see. And 'tis said your kind cannot see ghosts."--"See them; no. To those whose eyes are darkened by the night of blindness the gods have granted grace against such visions. But alas! Other faculties have been sharpened. He who cannot see, can hear. Listen Jiro[u]bei San. Last night this Ichibei was called to the _yashiki_ of O[u]kubo Sama. The _okugata_ was in pain and needed his treatment for the limbs. It is a kindly house, one good to go to. The storm kept Ichibei in the _yashiki_: Food and the mat was granted, for his lordship would not send a cur, once granted shelter, out into storm and darkness. But next door it is very different. Here is the _yashiki_ of Aoyama Shu[u]zen Sama--the Yakujin of Edo. Jiro[u]bei San knows of him. His lordship took the _yashiki_ for the old well of the Yoshida Goten. 'Tis said at nights he takes wine and pipe, sits by the well, and in his hardiness and defiance of weather and season challenges the ghosts to appear. Last night.... Ah! The scene rung into the ears appears before the eyes even of the blind. It was the sound of blows--as of a wet cloth striking bare flesh. A woman plead for mercy. 'Vile wench.... Kiku.' These words were heard. Then such a scream--'Kiya!' as of rending silk--that yet it rings into the ears of this Ichibei; to banish sleep and peace of mind for the rest of the night. What could it be? Had the ghosts appeared? Or had some maid displeased the Tono Sama, and hence suffered death at his hand (_te-uchi_)? He is not one to spare suffering.... Ah! How she suffered! All night Ichibei has lain awake and suffered with her. It seems as if her cry never would depart from these ears. With dawn I fled--without food, and doubtless to the astonishment of all. Feeling faint, your shop offered refreshment."--"Another bottle?... O'Kabé! At once: for Toku no Ichi San.... Honoured guest, thanks. Deign again the honoured patronage. Sixty _mon_ the price, _sayonara_." Sampei paid the scot, and with Jumatsu carefully wrapped up against the storm passed out into the open air. Now he was himself again; the _samurai_ of Kai, with the old traditions of his province and his liegeship to the great Takéda House. Against this Aoyama double was the vendetta--for Jinnai, for his wife Kiku. His ears had drunk in the convincing tale of the blind shampooer. His decision was as ready. His steps now were bent to the Miuraya in the Yoshiwara. At his name the _banto[u]_ expressed surprise. "The _oiran_ was about to send a message; most opportune the honoured coming. Deign for the moment to wait." Related to their great attraction Sampei had every attention. Shortly the sound of _zo[u]ri_ was heard, and O'Yui entered the room. Jumatsu viewed her beauty and splendour with grave approval, astonishment, and fear. "Obasan (auntie)? But she is young; beautiful, just like mother. Oh! Just like the pictures of the great Tayu." The two elders listened, preoccupied and with pained smile. "What book; and where seen?... Oya! Oya! In the priest's room at the Fukuganji? That should not be. Priest and _oiran_ are not of kin." O'Yui's laugh was so silvery that Jumatsu in admiration pressed close to her knee. Clasping him she spoke to Sampei. Ah! How great was her anxiety. As she told her tale the heart of Sampei was filled with wrath and certainty--"This Chu[u]dayu is such a strange fellow. The weather still holds him to the place. Hence by good luck it was possible to ask for a consultation. Has not some injury befallen the person of Ne[e]san? The ravings of this man in his drunken sleep, the vision of the sister, the face and garments all dyed with blood, cannot these find confirmation or disproof? In the embrace of this man Yui shudders." She wept. With growing weight and terror at heart she noted the increasing gloom of Sampei's face. "Kiku is no longer of this world. It is true. Herself she told the tale to Jumatsu. At the _yashiki_ all is confusion with the death of the lady of the House. By accident Jumatsu's vision is corroborated by the blind shampooer, led into the cook shop of Kudanzaka by the same hand which led Chu[u]dayu to the arms of the _oiran_ O'Yodo. The evidence is complete for this Sampei. To-night--at the first opportunity--Sampei kills this Aoyama Shu[u]zen; then cuts belly. As for Chu[u]dayu, Kiku has brought him to O'Yui San. Deign to accept the charge. Last night he has been the lover, and the chance of the weather and the charms of O'Yui have kept him here. Let the coming night be his last." He put a restraining hand on the sleeve of O'Yui. In vengeance at once she would have rushed off to poniard this obscene fellow. Be once more the object of his embraces? Alas! Hers indeed was "the bitter toil," which led her to the arms of this scoundrel dripping with a sister's blood. But she listened to the cold and cautious counsel of Sampei, and nodded comprehension and assent. When she re-entered the room where Chu[u]dayu was drinking and roistering there was not a sign of any emotion. Once again she was the harlot, to charm and inveigle him into remaining with her. Ha! Ha! The gods had granted his prayer. "Kiku? She was a beauty--and the impression of childhood would be corroborated by her later appearance. But even thus she is a faded old woman to the honoured _oiran_. A bag of bones!" He roared with drunken laughter; and O'Yui fingered the handle of the dagger in her bosom, in frenzy at the vile jest. "Come now! Kiku has been the object of Chu[u]dayu's love. He confesses it. But now--away with such an O'Baké. He seeks the greater solace of O'Yodo's arms." The wine nearly choked him. His eyes stood out. He gasped and choked. Anxiously the _oiran_ nursed him back to breath. Late that night he had gone to bed very drunk. The ninth hour struck (1 A.M.). O'Yodo, who had sought temporary excuse, entered. Chu[u]dayu again was dreaming, horribly. Ah! This vision would never pass. O'Kiku was standing by him. At first faint, then loud came the voice, and Chu[u]dayu counted with her--"One"--"One"--"Two"--"Two"--"Three"--"Three".... On went the count. Now she was astride of him, pressing him down, throttling him. "O'Kiku Dono! It was not Chu[u]dayu. The treachery was his; but the Tono Sama gave the blow." He writhed and struggled in his sleep. Then O'Yui dealt the thrust, straight downward. "Yai! Yai! Ah!" The scream rang out, startling all around. Alas! A little misdirected the dagger glanced from the bone and pierced the shoulder. As the man rolled her off the girl made one desperate effort. Deep she thrust the blade into his right side, ripped it up and side ways. "Kiya!" Chu[u]dayu staggered and rolled over, hands to his side to hold in the severed liver and guts. When she would strike again her hands were held. The bawd (_yarité_), aroused and passing, saw the shadow of the raised dagger. The _banto[u]_ had come to her aid. While some sought to aid the desperately wounded man, others drew away O'Yodo, again the woman and overcome with tears of regret at her failure. Jinzaémon of the Miuraya questioned her. Was it _shinju[u]_--a mutual suicide to insure happiness together in the next life? Had she really known the man before, and not pretended new acquaintance? Then, without mention of Sampei, she told the story of her vision, her certainty that inquiry would establish the truth of its accusation. Jinzaémon had no recourse. The Yoshiwara _bugyo[u]_, with _do[u]shin_, was soon at hand. "To kill a man on such evidence...." But before applying torture he would question the victim. Chu[u]dayu's case was hopeless. The liver was almost severed. Death was but a matter of an hour or two. During that time his ravings in delirium, his confession in lucid moments, added a new and momentous phase to the case in corroborating the tale of the _oiran_ as to the strange vision. The _bugyo[u]_ did not dare to go further. He must consult those higher in authority. A _hatamoto_ of the land was involved; one just favoured with appointment as _tsukaiban_ (staff officer) to the suzerain. The _machibugyo[u]_ himself had no power in this case. Hence the affair--its nature and its proof--must be submitted to the _waka-toshiyori_, the officer of State in immediate charge of the _hatamoto_, their control and interests. Meanwhile the affair must be smothered and strict search made for the recent visitor Sampei, who had completely disappeared. Jumatsu readily was traced to the care of the house master (_iyenushi_) at Koumé. His tenant, on plea of business in Kai, had left the child with him. Thus they went astray, and thus failed to act. Meanwhile Shinano no Kami at last determined to send for and question Aoyama Shu[u]zen. The seventh day following the retribution was reached--to the great enlightenment of these puzzled magistrates.[33] CHAPTER XXVII AOYAMA WINS HIS SUIT Aoyama's _yashiki_ blazed with light. The guests looked around, at the many lamps, the waiting-women in dainty attire, the ornament of service and of substance; and then looked into each other's faces. The unseemliness of the thing was on the minds of all these dozen to twenty gentlemen. The body of the wife had hardly been carried from the house to the funeral pyre. It was true that grief was to be given no display in the _samurai_ code. The new promotion offered excuse for its celebration. But on the whole this feast seemed an indecent exhibition of rejoicing. "Aoyama Uji is not the Shu[u]zen of old. What has got into the man this past month?" Thus Okumura Shu[u]zen spoke of his namesake. "Bah! It is the shadow of Kiku, the 'sewing girl.' Aoyama rejoices in thus replacing old material. May he get a better heir on her than his last. 'Tis said to be a monster!" Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon whispered, half in jest and half in a savage earnest of disapproval. O[u]kubo Hikoroku first broached the matter openly at table. "Aoyama Uji, is this not a strange meeting? Here we are, all members of the Gaman Kwai; as _hatamoto_, men close to the suzerain's knee and ready for the call to battle. But this--with the glitter of apparel in substance and women, it is show and feast for _kugé_ (court nobles), a meeting to view the moon and its light upon the snow. Deign to explain." Aoyama smiled. He might have made some formal excuse for this eccentricity. Saburo[u]zaémon spoke out for him--"Don't be obtuse, O[u]kubo Uji. The one lacking here is the cause of the feast. O'Kiku Dono still delays. Is it not so, Aoyama Uji?" He spoke with cold certainty, a curious intonation in voice. Aoyama was black with a fury about to burst forth when O[u]kubo sprang up. He looked around. "Just so! Wait but a moment. We'll have her here." Aoyama was turned aside, and would have detained him. "Hikoroku Dono, it is useless. Kiku is not in the _yashiki_." To the dubious look of astonishment--"It is fact. She was a vile disloyal woman. Breaking the holly hock plate, the trust gift of the To[u]sho[u]gu, this Aoyama put her to death. This shall be apology to the suzerain's House." O[u]kubo sat down again in pure amazement--"For what is said one feels regret. The apology is made; but surely...." Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon laughed outright. He seemed with intention to egg him on. O[u]kubo turned indignantly. "Why laugh, Endo[u] Uji? Is the life of a human being to be put against a piece of porcelain?"--"Saburo[u]zaémon laughs at your credulity, O[u]kubo Dono. It is but a ruse to put us from the search. Kiku certainly is not far off." O[u]kubo danced up in a fury. This time he was not to be kept. "'Tis true! But the badger's lurking hole, the place where he keeps her, is known. Soon she shall be here." Defying Shu[u]zen's wrath he and Endo[u] left the room. O[u]kubo was ahead. Throwing open the _sho[u]ji_ of the maid's room he looked within. Ah! Standing by the closet in the dim light was the figure of O'Kiku. "Kiku, why are you here, not joining in the feast? The beauty and the lady, whose love seduces so stern a man as Shu[u]zen to soft ways, is not to neglect the guests. Come to the banquet hall." He seized her sleeve. Said Saburo[u]zaémon from the _ro[u]ka_--"Whom do you address, O[u]kubo Uji?" He looked around the room. "There is no one here.... Kiku? You grasp a garment hanging on the clothes rack." It was true. Dazed and somewhat upset O[u]kubo returned to the banquet room. Aoyama met defiantly the hard look of Endo[u], the inquiring question of O[u]kubo--"Is it true Aoyama? Did you really value a human life against a plate, and kill her?"--"It is plain fact," was the answer. Again the strange looks passed between the guests. Some shrugged their shoulders. Others looked at him and whispered. Some laughed, with glances at the frightened faces of the waiting women. "It's not to be believed," said the emphatic tones of O[u]kubo. Suddenly a breath seemed to go round the room. Every light went out; except the one before Hikoroku. Dimly outlined by Shu[u]zen's side could be seen the figure of O'Kiku. The wan face amid the long disordered dangling hair; the gore smeared face, and neck, and bosom, sent a thrill and shudder through those present. At the exclamations Shu[u]zen turned. He saw her--"Vile jade! You too would reproach Shu[u]zen. A cut for you!" He sprang up, dagger in hand to cut her down. Then followed a wild scene with the raving man. The maids sought to avoid death; happily with success beyond trifling injuries, for sight of a woman made him frantic. Surrounding Shu[u]zen the men drew him on. From behind O[u]kubo, Okumura, Endo[u] rushed upon him. Overpowered he was secured. With the madness of the host the banquet came to an end. As they left O[u]kubo said to Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon--"Really Endo[u] Uji, why so rough in speech with Aoyama? With those of one band quarrels are not to be sought."--"Nor will be," answered Saburo[u]zaémon with a slight tinge of contempt. Then he added slowly--"There is a strange affair in Yoshiwara. The chamberlain of Shu[u]zen, one Chu[u]dayu, is involved; and Shu[u]zen with him. This matter of Kiku threatens grave issue with the _waka-toshiyori_. It is said that the two murdered the woman--because both wanted her for concubine." He laughed harshly--"Why tell these facts to neighbour O[u]kubo?" Said Hikoroku, with his blunt truth--"The sounds and sights from Shu[u]zen's _yashiki_ are not always pleasant. There are tales in the household of a night--that on which Shu[u]zen's wife died. All there was in confusion. It is for fellow-members to protect the reputation of each other." Endo[u] was rebuked in turn. Shu[u]zen was himself again. With the passing of the wine, the guests, the confusion, he was the cold, collected, dreaded master of a few hours ago. Respectfully the _kerai_ withdrew. Left to himself he pondered the events of these hours. He recognized and measured the concentrated dislike expressed in the words and actions of Endo[u] Saburo[u]zaémon, egging on O[u]kubo, irritating himself to desperation. To Shu[u]zen it was a question as to just what was meant. At his age even in his caste men did not seek each other out to draw the sword. The issue was much more serious, involving disgrace. He would like to get at the inner motive of this fellow's action. How invaluable the aid of Chu[u]dayu, who knew the ins and outs of the _yashiki_ of all Edo, and particularly of his lord's intimates. But he had disappeared--as if the earth had swallowed him. Shu[u]zen had condoned too many instances of the chamberlain's free use of his lord's funds, to come upon him harshly for any peculation. The man had been useful in many dubious actions; in bribery, solicitation, pimping, as a useful and facile witness. Chu[u]dayu would worm himself to the bottom of this matter in short order. Thus he went to rest. Despite disordered brain his sleep was sound. It was Gekkeiji's bell striking the ninth hour (1 A.M.) which roused; or else the throat fouled and dried his mouth. He was parched beyond measure; his tongue seemed to fill the whole cavity. Impatiently he called--"Heigh there! Water! Is there no one to attend?"--"At the lord's service...." The gentle tones of a woman made answer. She knelt at his pillow. The water pitcher was offered. He took it and drank greedily. Then--"What maid is this? Does she seek Shu[u]zen's bed? He is in no humour for such favour." And the girl wailed in answer--"Ah! Ah! Harsh his lordship's tone, harsh his words. Has not long since his command been issued? The fault lies not with Kiku. A lying officer stands between the Tono Sama and his handmaid." Shu[u]zen sat bolt upright, glaring. Framed by the long trailing hair there appeared to his eyes the wan, blood smeared face of O'Kiku. With a yell he was on one knee--"Wretched woman! Does Kiku still pursue and solicit Shu[u]zen? Make ready! Again a cut!" He sprang to his feet, grasped and drew the pillow sword. With smothered cry of terror and anguish the figure turned to flee; but he cut her down from shoulder to pap. As he did so the _sho[u]ji_ were flung wide apart. The moonlight from the opened _amado_ flooded the room and lighted up the intruder. Rage and hate growled in the tones of Shu[u]zen--"A bandit thief and doubtful fellow, thus to push himself into the presence of a _hatamoto_ of the land! Fellow, name yourself: who thus by night breaks into Shu[u]zen's presence, intrudes upon his pleasure." Harsh and insulting the laugh of Sampei. He pointed with his drawn sword to the bleeding prostrate corpse of the unfortunate waiting maid, cut down by Shu[u]zen in belief of the apparition of her namesake. "More than one Kiku harbours in the lair of Aoyama. Would he slay them all in sacrifice to his lust? Wataru Sampei comes to ask account of his wife Kiku, daughter of Jinnai, _ro[u]nin_ of Takéda Ke of Kai, as is himself. Now--to the contest! God of the bow and feathered shaft, favour this Sampei!"--"Favour this Shu[u]zen!" Both men made invocation almost in the same breath as they sprang at each other. Sampei was pushed on by rage and vengeance; Aoyama by a savage joy in combat. Here was a worthy antagonist, a true taste of old of the battle field. If Sampei was the younger man, he was also in worse training than Shu[u]zen; and in his poor condition hardly a match for the practised soldier. However Shu[u]zen was compelled to admire a resourcefulness in parrying his own fierce attack, the beauty of his enemy's Muramasa blade, which seemed itself to act and seek his life. "Shu[u]zen's prize--the sword of Sampei!" He shouted in exultation. Sampei was forced back to the _ro[u]ka_. At the sill he tripped and fell. "Now off with you--to Meido and the Yellow Fountain, to join wife and parent thief." Shu[u]zen in joy swung high his blade for the fatal blow. Sampei without sword was helpless at his feet. But the blade did not descend. Shu[u]zen's arm was held fast. By the outraged wife, O'Kiku, as later tradition would assert? At this pass Sampei used his dagger. Plunged straight into the belly of Shu[u]zen with it he disembowelled him. Abandoning hold on his weapon, with a screech Aoyama fell, twisting and writhing in the pool of his blood. When the _kerai_, roused by the disturbance, the shouts and the clashing of swords, fell on Sampei, to disarm and make short work of him, the _karo[u]_ Makishima Gombei prevented them. With difficulty he dragged Shu[u]zen's sword out from the deep cut it had made in the beam of the partition. "Stain not good weapons with the blood of a rascal and thief, who shall undergo the torture and the disgrace of the execution ground. Be sure his lordship will be well avenged. It is better so." Thus with bitter regret Sampei found himself avenged, but still in life. The next day, with the presence of the messengers from Shinano no Kami, the situation changed. With the report from Makishima was demanded the person of Wataru Sampei, whose story fitted into present evidence obtained. Deeper and deeper went the investigation into Aoyama's house affairs. Here was great disorder--harshness, lust, ill discipline. On this latter charge--lack of discipline--official displeasure gladly fell. The tale of the monster, obviously unfit for any service to the suzerain, came out. The _kaieki_ of the House--deprivation of rank and income--followed. As far as posthumous action could disgrace, so far did Shu[u]zen suffer. Much better was the fate of Sampei. The case of the Bancho[u] _yashiki_ no longer could be hid under a bushel. It was the affair of a _hatamoto_, so hated by the _daimyo[u]_. Satsuma no Kami sought and obtained his charge. During the weeks which followed Sampei was the object of respect and solicitude of those who had the care of him. As _ro[u]nin_ of the Takéda House this was all the greater in this _yashiki_ where the Tokugawa were held in no great affection. The breaking into the _yashiki_ of a _hatamoto_, the slaying of its lord, could not be condoned. The official world was glad to combine this with the lack of discipline decision. When the inevitable order came to cut belly it was a chamberlain of Satsuma no Kami who acted as _kaishaku_ (second); and Sampei knew that to this man would fall the possession and adoption of his little son. Thus came he to his end, and his House into this brave heirship. Thus was disappointed the malice of Shu[u]zen, in his last breath denouncing his slayer as the husband of O'Kiku. Announced Horibé Izumi no Kami, the _machibugyo[u]_ who made final disposition of the case--"Between Sampei and Kiku no marriage being proved, the issue belonging to the man, the child Jumatsu is held sinless; for the woman Yui detention for further examination of conduct and condition." This examination never came; nor was intended to come. For some months she was detained in the _yashiki_ of Horibé Sama. Then the third Sho[u]gun died; a general pardon followed of all ordinary offenders. Under this order she was released, and the Miuraya had the hint or good sense not to press for renewed service. A nun, she cut off the long and beautiful hair, to pray in this world for the souls of father, sister, he who had acted as more than brother in the vengeance taken. Thus through the long years to her final and irrevocable release without any earthly condition. CHAPTER XXVIII THE SARAYASHIKI Again the site of the Yoshida Goten lapsed to waste land. Through the years stood the _yashiki_ of Aoyama Shu[u]zen, in wall and roof and beam gradually going to rot and ruin. Passing by on nights of storm wayfarers saw most frightful visions--the sports and processions of spectres issuing forth from the old well of the one time inner garden. Their wailing cries and yells were heard. Conspicuous among them was the sight of the unfortunate Kiku, her wan face framed in the long rank disordered hair; the weird beauty frightful in its expression of horror, as with the stumps of fingers she counted--"One, two, three ... four, five, six ... seven, eight, nine." Then came the haunting fearful cry--"Alas! What's to be done? One lacks. Oh! Oh!" Sight, sound, glare went to the hearts of the stoutest witnesses. Soon the ill fortune of those thus favoured with the vision of the Lady of the Plates was rumoured abroad. Wounds, money losses, even death fell on them or on their households. Men no longer were curious. They fled the neighbourhood of this ill omened gap in Earth's surface, unseemly exit for these foul spirits. On nights of rain and storm none passed that way. Even by day the children were rebuked and forbidden to approach the well. Many are the stories as to the place. To instance one of these: It was Ho[u]ei third year (1706)--the approach of winter in this tenth month (November). Then came to Edo town a wandering pilgrim (_shugenja_) and his wife. Tramping the land all summer to Nippon's varied shrines and sights, now they were on the return to their home in Michinoku (O[u]shu[u]). Much had they heard of Edo, capital seat of Nippon's great lord. Every day busied with its sights they returned wearied to their inn in the Shitaya district. This day they had wandered far. Returning from Renkeiji of Kawagoé they passed the Naito[u] Shinjuku quarter. Almost as great, if of different kind, was the woman's curiosity at sight of the caged beauties, waiting the summons of those far better supplied with cash than her own spouse. Finally in indignation she dragged away the loiterer; and muttering rebuke followed after the jingle of the rings on his pilgrim's staff. They were passing through the Go Bancho[u], along the long stretch of _yashiki_ wall. From a postern gate came forth a woman. The light of her lantern fell on the man and his equipment--"Oya! Oya! Good fortune indeed: honoured _shugenja_, a moment's stay. To-night a memorial service is to be said for the mansion's lord. Condescend to enter and grant service." Willingly husband and wife heard the invitation to rest their wearied bodies. Passing through the garden water was supplied to wash the feet. Then they were seated before an ample feast fit for their kind; of glutinous rice balls coated with the sweet bean paste (_botamochi_), of macaroni the savour of which tickled the nostrils, _saké_ followed, in generous quantity and of quality to match. Said the girl--"It is an all night service that is requested. Deign to undertake the watch and prayer. Ample shall be the reward." Prostrate the _shugenja_ spoke his thanks. The Butsuma, or room containing the little shrine, was close at hand. Seating himself, his woman just behind, he bowed and made reverence. "Thanks for the honoured entertainment so generous and excellent. May the honoured spirit find rest, at once entering Nirvana ... and now, the Hannya Shinkyo[u]--_Sutra_ of the divine intelligence."[34] He began the recitation, accompanied by his wife. Both intoned the _nembutsu_--"Namu Amida Butsu! Namu Amida Butsu! Praise to Amida the Lord Buddha!" Again the recitation of the _Sutra_ was begun. The hours of the night advanced. Man and wife became more and more drowsy; slower and slower came the words of the sacred writing. Then the man nodded off to sleep; as long before had the wife. The hour of the ox struck at Gekkeiji, filling this whole district with its heavy boom. The man woke with a start. What fearful shriek was that? Close by in the next room a woman's voice began counting. But such a voice! "One, two, three...." on it went to "nine.... Ah! Woe is me! One lacks. What's to be done!" Shrill, blood chilling the cry of anguish which followed. Curiosity overcame terror. The man stole to the screens and gently opened the merest slit. Over his shoulder looked the startled wife. A shudder went through both at the sight. Wan, frail, the beautiful anguished evil face of a girl could be seen through the long tangled hair framing it. Slender to the emaciation of great suffering she knelt before the pile of plates she was counting--"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine...." The wild chilling scream froze man and woman. For at the moment in sprang another female, in whose worn emaciated face and figure was displayed such concentrated evil passion of hatred and jealousy as rarely to be seen on human being. Like the flying hateful god Idaten she sprang upon the girl, grasped her long black hair, and hurled her to this side and that. Helpless the victim held up the bloody stumps of fingers. Now the face was seen to be dyed in blood, the garments dyed red with blood, the girl again agonizing in a pool of blood. With horror the pilgrim and the woman hid their faces. The man's hands trembled as he struck the bell and intoned the holy recital. Thus in a daze, amid the counting, the cries and shouts, the weeping and the wailing, he went on. The cry of the cock was heard. As if by magic all the wild sounds ceased. The wanderers looked around in amazement. The altar was the stone curb of a well. The _yashiki_ and its magnificence stood close by; but the building was roofless and in ruins. Chilled to the bone, half dead and half mad with fright, the two fled--to reach their inn. At their tale host and those assembled shook their heads. "It is the Sarayashiki of the Bancho[u], the well that of the old Yoshida Goten, whence ghosts issue; unless by good fortune the vision be a trick of fox or badger. Honoured Sir, have prayers said to avoid ill fortune." But a merry, foul, cynical old fellow--peasant turned townsman--twinkled in his laughter. "Then O'Kiku San has favoured the _shugenja_ and his spouse with feast and gifts?"--"'Twas very strange," naively replied the pilgrim. "Copious and splendid the entertainment. Of the reality there can be no doubt. This Jubei did not feast in a dream on those dainties." The host and other auditors broke into coarse laughter--"Feast! The _botamochi_ was of horse dung, the macaroni was earth-worms, the wine--was urine." All roared in their great joy. The unfortunate pilgrims, much put out, made gesture of discomfiture and fright. Said the peasant-townsman, in sly hit at the host--"Perchance O'Kiku brought the viands from near-by inn or cook shop. Surely these furnish little better." Laughing he left the now angry innkeeper to aid his wretched guests, writhing and retching in all the pains, actual and imagined of such a feast. Command went forth to the holy man--and from the Sho[u]gun Ke himself. A halt must be brought to these unseemly proceedings so close to the suzerain's dwelling. These priests of the Dendzu-In, in the shadow of whose temple rested so many of the Tokugawa dead, were famed for learning and for piety. The founder of the Hall, Ryo[u]yo[u] Sho[u]nin, had set to his successors this standard as necessary accomplishment, bequeathing to them perhaps the ability to meet the demand of his title of Mikatsuki Sho[u]nin. Between his eyes was a mole in shape like to the crescent moon of the third day. Hence the appellation and its meaning application; for as the moon waxed to its full, so did the Sho[u]nin with advancing years wax great in learning, and throw his increasing light upon mankind. Of this first prior there is a tale. It was the period of the Ashikaga wars, and the Sho[u]nin, for safety and on business of his order, was resident for the nonce at Asonuma in Kotsuké province. As he prayed and wrought in the night, without rose violent sound of fighting and disturbance. Rising he looked forth. Two bands of men at direst odds displayed the greatest cruelty to each other. But what men! Emaciated to flesh and bone, weird and unhappy of face, the Sho[u]nin saw that these were not of this world. His determination was at once taken. Rosary in hand and intoning the _nembutsu_ he stepped forth. The strife parted before him; its actors were prostrate in his presence. "What means this fierceness of battle?" asked the prelate. "Surely ye are not of the world, thus without mercy to strive to do such pitiless cruelty."--"Not of this world," said one raising his head; "but no more cruel than men in the flesh. In the Gempei wars, fighting we lost our lives. Our bodies tumbled promiscuously into one common ditch, without rites or worship, the grudge still continues through the decades. Deign, honoured priest, the aid of prayers of one so holy, for the rest of all." Gladly the prior grasped the opportunity--"For such surely is the charm of the Sacred Name--the paper with the sacred characters of the Nembutsu, Namu Amida Butsu. Not this ignorant foolish cleric, but the vow of the Nyo[u]rai, Amida, relieves you from the Hell of fighting (Shurado[u]). Deign to accept the charm and enter Nirvana." Gladly the outstretched hands received it. Then all vanished in a mist. On the following day with discretion and modesty the prior told his experience to his open mouthed and credulous disciples. An ancient man of the place was found to point out where tradition placed the burial and its mound. The bones found on digging were sorted, and with rites found burial. Never after were prior, disciples, or villagers troubled with these visions. But the prior's reputation took an upward bound, to the credit of his sect. Thus it was with his successor--himself a true Mikatsuki Sho[u]nin in the illumination of his learning--"From his youth he had abandoned the world, and all the scripture had passed under his eyes. At eighteen years he knew all the _sutra_ and the doctrines of Shaka (Sakyamuni), and books whether exoteric or esoteric. Moreover he understood thoroughly astrology and almanacs, the poetry of Morokoshi (China) and Nippon, and instrumental music. Truly once heard he knew ten times, so clever he was." It was to this Saint, in his eighty-second year, that the order came to lay the ghost of O'Kiku, to dispel the disorderly spectres of the well of the Yoshida Goten. "A difficult, nay a severe task; but one well within the power and mercy of the Buddha. To-night we go forth to the attempt. Let all exert themselves." His subject clerics bowed low--"Respectfully heard and obeyed." They liked it not. The nights were cold; the place noted for bad company, and bad weather. But the order of their head was not to be disobeyed. With the first watches of the stormy night the Sho[u]nin and some thirty priests were assembled about the well curb. Earnestly the Sho[u]nin read the sacred writing. Vigorously his followers made the responses. Louder the voices and greater their confidence as the night progressed without sign of visions. Then said the Sho[u]nin--"Surely great is the efficacy of the _sutra_. Namu Amida Butsu! Namu Amida Butsu! All evil visions and spectres vanish; to seek the peace and oblivion of Nirvana. Let the event prove the efficacy of the charm."--"Namu Amida Butsu! Namu Amida Butsu!" Loud the voices of the priests, but now in terror. The bell of Gekkeiji was striking the hour of the ox (1 A.M.). Crouching and shivering they saw the spectral lighting up of the well. The blue glittering points began to dot its mouth. Then swarms of spectres began to pour forth, obscene and horrible. Among them appeared the ghost of O'Kiku. Stricken with fear the priests stopped all reading of the holy writ. Flat on their faces, their buttocks elevated high for great concealment, they crouched in a huddled mass. "Namu Amida Butsu! Namu Amida Butsu! Spare us, good ghosts--thus disturbed most rudely in your nightly haunt and revels. Ha! Ah! One's very marrow turns to ice. No more! No more! Away!" But the Sho[u]nin held firm. Surrounded by the jibing menacing mass of spirits, steadily and without fear he hung on to his scroll, read the _sutra_, intoned the _nembutsu_. One by one his company stole away; as did the spectres with approaching dawn. He did not reproach his flock. Said the prior to the shamed assembly--by daylight: "Surely this is a very difficult undertaking. This curse of the dead is no ordinary one. It is a soul without light, of some highly debauched sinner, of some woman vowed to eternal hate. Deep the malignancy; but deeper yet the efficacy of Mida's vow. Seven nights will do it. Let all make every effort." He looked around, with trace of gentle rebuke--"We are men who have left the world (_shukké_). Why then fear the dead; when ye are part and parcel of them? Perhaps greater company is needed." He sought it from his fellow priors. From Shiba to Asakusa they swarmed. With fifty, with seventy, with a hundred and seventy priests, all reciting the _Sutra_, intoning the _nembutsu_, the noise and confusion rose high above the sound of storm and spectre. Sleep was banished far and wide thereabouts. But this could not last. "One, two, three, four...." with the counting of the plates the chilling heart rending shriek, the wail of the unhappy girl, the stoutest volunteers quailed and with their hands shut out the spectral vision. These volunteers disappeared with the second week of recitation entered on by the Sho[u]nin. Even his own band began to fail him. They sent substitutes, in the shape of the temple servants, the lowest grade, the Shoké Sama. When a third week was announced, as sure to accomplish the exorcism, there was open rebellion. It was with sadness and admiration that the Sho[u]nin saw his band thus reduced to a few faithful men, the oldest of his flock, almost as old as himself--and these deaf, blind, and almost dumb. "Ah! It is a tremendous affair. Deep the malignancy of this curse. This foolish priest has overrated his reputation with the Buddha. Great the discredit to the sect and temple at the wide heralded failure." He felt as ill and out of sorts away from the presence of the vision, as did his disciples in its presence. He was old and foolish and over-confident. The prior slept on his cushion, his robes still wet with the storm and rain of the previous night. Then came a woman, dressed in sombre garb. Approaching the sleeping priest she wrote upon his sleeve the character _ki_ [ki], bowed reverently, and disappeared. He awoke seeming to hear her footsteps. How clear was this dream! The character _ki_, what did it portend? The Buddha would not fail his priest. Taking himself to the altar he prostrated himself before the seated figure. Then he prayed. And as he prayed--perhaps resumed his nap--wonderful to say again the character [ki] appeared, this time on the Buddha's sleeve. The Sho[u]nin rubbed his eyes. Was he awake or dreaming? He did not know. "_Ki_," the chance, the opportunity that the successful man in every undertaking grasps, where others fail. He must apply it to his own calling and the crisis. They exercised their brains; he was reputed to be well furnished. This next night was the last of the third seven days. Failing favourable issue he would take up his staff and depart to other place, never to reappear in the beloved precincts of his hall. Thus inspired he thought and thought. The grave, kindly, piercing eyes became brighter and brighter. Then his monks came running in surprise and alarm. The reverend prior was laughing--not in merriment, but with the joy of him who has found the successful issue to be so plain and easy. This last and critical night in storm and riot proved to be the worst of all. Said the Sho[u]nin with grave kindness--"This night the Sho[u]nin goes; others need not accompany." All rejoiced--until they saw his preparation to face the rain and cold. Then they weakened, and all plead to accompany him. Splendid the train assembled around the well curb. Again the reading of the _sutra_ began, the intonation of the _nembutsu_. Again the clerics cursed their ill timed enthusiasm, which brought them out in the storm and to such unseemly company. Again the ghosts issued forth from the old well in their obscene riot. Jeering, menacing they swarmed around the frightened priestly band. Immoveable the prior. Natural and supernatural seemed to hang on the issue between priest and spectres. The figure of O'Kiku, wan, sad, malignant appeared. She counted--"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine...."--"Ten!" shouted the Sho[u]nin, extending the Junen. "Ara! What joy! None lack. Ah! By the Sho[u]nin's virtue this Kiku secures Nirvana. Gratitude and obeisance are due." With the words the figure faded, the spectres disappeared, the storm rumbled and passed off rapidly to the distance, and the stars shone out on the cold clear sky of a perfect fall night with its studded firmament. Thus did the Sho[u]nin find the secret in the _ten_ repetition of the sacred formula--the _ju_ nen. On her finger stumps O'Kiku counted--counted as does the successful man in the business of life. But O'Kiku was maimed. The thumb was lacking. Hence the tale went but to nine. The missing factor once supplied her count found completion. Long had been accomplished her vow of indignant vengeance, but still the plates remained to count for her own release, and this she could not effect. Great was the reputation thus acquired to priest and temple. Probably it was this feat which has confused him with his greater predecessor, the founder of the temple; transferred most anachronistically to this latter the tradition of the actual laying of the ghost. There is an old book[35] in which the matter is discussed--"It was in the old well that Kikujo[u] was drowned, says tradition in Sho[u]ho[u] 3rd year (1646). By the ability, merit, and power of Mikatsuki Sho[u]nin her soul was saved, and at once she became a Buddha. Though such be the story, by the temple register the founder of the Dendzu-In, Ryo[u]yo[u] Sho[u]nin, entered the Hall in O[u]ei 22nd year 9th month 27th day (29th October 1415). One smiles. Ho! The Sho[u]nin lived two hundred and fifty-six years before, and dates do not amalgamate. How many generations had the Sho[u]nin seen when Kikujo[u] became a Buddha! The Mikatsuki Sho[u]nin becomes a bubble Sho[u]nin. The learning of this Mikatsuki Sho[u]nin was notorious, and it has been banded down to people of later generations in matters concerning Ryo[u]yo[u] Sho[u]nin. Deign to take a glance at facts here indicated. The 'Edo Bukkaku Ryakuden' (Epitomised Record of Buddhist teaching in Edo) says under the heading 'Muryo[u]zan Jukyo[u]ji Dendzu-in'-- 'Koishikawa Ji-in: 600 _koku_ (income). The founder was Yurensha Ryo[u]yo[u] Sho[u]nin, early in the Meitoku period (1390-1393). This Sho[u]nin had between his eyebrows the figure of the moon on the third day. Later people called him Mikatsuki Sho[u]nin. Native of Jo[u]shu[u] he was the son of the castle lord of Iwasé in Kujigo[u]ri, Shirayoshi Shima no Kami Yoshimitsu. Through prayer at the Iwasé Myo[u]jin his mother became pregnant. He was born Riaku-O[u] 4th year 1st month 24th day (11th February 1311). Later his father was killed in battle, and the mother took him to the Jo[u]fukuji, at So[u]jiyama. Putting him in charge of Sho[u]jitsu Sho[u]nin his head was shaved. At eight years old he was received at the Mikkyo[u] (Shingon) Ho[u]don-In Yuzon. Taishu[u] (secret cult) was learned through the teaching of Shingen Ho[u]shi. The Zenshu[u] was taught by the aged Tajima no Temmei and Gwatsuryu[u]. Shinto[u] by Jibu no Tayu Morosuké. In the poetry of Nippon he followed Tona, for ancient and modern example. He wrote ten books of importance. Noted for learning, in Eiwa 4th year (1378) he was transferred to Taitei-san O[u]sho[u]-in Nan-ryu[u]bo[u] in Shimotsuké no Kuni. Here he taught the seed of the Law. The son of Chiba Sadatané, Toku Sendai Maru, had a younger brother. It was he who founded the Zo[u]jo[u]ji and became Yu[u]yo[u] Sho[u]nin. Ryo[u]yo[u] Mikatsuki Sho[u]nin died in O[u]ei 27th year 9th month 27th day (3rd November 1420). The San-en-zan Kwo[u]-do[u]-in Zo[u]jo[u]ji had to fief 10540 _koku_. It is the chief seat of the Jo[u]do[u] sect in the Kwanto[u], and its schools swarm with students.' The large hanging bell of this Zo[u]jo[u]ji (_tsurigané_) has the thickness of a foot. At the time it was the largest of all bells. In the temple record it says that the Sho[u]nin of Shiba San-en-zan, generation following generation, were highly noted for learning. From Ryo[u]yo[u] Sho[u]nin the predecessor the principles must have been inherited. Hence in the foolish talk of people the honoured name of the Sho[u]nin was borrowed and adopted into the affair of Kikujo[u], as of the noted and erudite priest Mikatsuki Sho[u]nin; no matter of offence." But no such laboured explanation is required. The sanctity of learning, the inheritance in these bishops and priors of the merits of those who went before, has kept and keeps the appellation in the minds of the generations of the Nipponese. Ryo[u]yo[u] Sho[u]nin, his merits and his nickname, passed in the public mind to his successors. It is the laboured and learned effort of these days which fastens on the prior of Dendzu-in the tales of the long past founder of the temple. It was the learned Osho[u] of the time of Tsunayoshi Ko[u], that fifth Sho[u]gun--the Inu Kubo--basely devout and devoted to the Buddha's Law, when to save the life of a dog (_inu_) the lives of men were sacrificed on the execution ground.[36] The piety and learning of the great priest surely is needed to counterbalance the cruel folly of his master. Both qualities of this later cleric were the needed light in this period so dark for men. In which the wife, more faithful to tradition and the land, drove her dagger into the Sho[u]gun's heart, and kept from his seat and succession the favoured person of his catamite.[37] To be sure the little lady, of _kugé_ not _samurai_ stock, daughter of the Kwampaku (Premier) Takatsukasa Fusasuké, of courage and truly noble stock, then used the dagger on herself; and has kept busy ever since the historians of Nippon, official and other kinds, in explanation of how "it didn't happen." This is but a tale of outside scribes, to explain the taking off between night and morning of a perfectly well man (or divinity)--not sanctified with official and Tokugawal benediction; and no wonder. The tale and the event was not one to brag of. And the lady died too--very shortly. The eagerness to ascribe a local habitat to the story of the Sarayashiki has led to-day to some curious confusions, dovetailing into each other. To follow Ho[u]gyu[u]sha--in the far off quarter of Yanaka Sansaki, near the Negishi cut of the Northern Railway, is the Nonaka well. Despite its far removal this _pool_ is ascribed to O'Kiku, as the one time well of the Yoshida Goten. As fact--in Sho[u]ho[u] a harlot, by name Kashiwaki, ransomed by a guest here established herself. Death or desertion cut her off from the lover, and she turned nun. The place at that time was mere moorland, and the well near by the hut had the name of the Nonaka no Ido--the well amid the moor. In time the lady and her frailty disappeared, and the kindly villagers buried her close to the hut, scene of her penance. "Vain the tranquil water mid the moor--mere surface; Gone, nought remains--of the reflection." Her well? People call it now the _yobi-ido_, the calling well, a pool furnished by springs and some thirty feet in diameter. Now only a few _cho[u]_ (hundred yards) to the north of Sansaki, at the Komizo no Hashi of Sakanoshita, is an old mound called the grave of O'Kiku. "Here a small seven faced monument has been erected. But this is not the O'Kiku of the Sarayashiki. This woman named Kiku died of an incurable disease. As her dying wish she asserted that any who suffered pain from incurable disease had but to pray to her to receive relief. With this vow she died." It is the connection between this Kiku and the _yobi-ido_ which has so transferred the well established site of this old story. * * * * * Thus comes to a finish these tales of the Edo Bancho[u], the story of the Sarayashiki with its cruel fate of the unhappy Kikujo[u], the Lady of the Plates. Long had the distressed figure of the wretched girl ceased its wailing over the never completed tale of the porcelain plates. But the memory of her misfortunes, of the ill-omened well of the Yoshida Goten has remained for centuries in the mind, and thought, and speech of Nippon. Up to the early years of Meiji the Ko[u]jimachi-ido still existed, to be pointed out to the superstitious ever present in this land. The Bancho[u], for many decades of years, had become the crowded Bancho[u] of the proverb which asserts that one born and living out life therein, yet could not be expected to know the windings and intricacies of its many ways and byways. In time the _yashiki_ of _hatamoto_ disappeared; in recent years to make way for a residential quarter of prosperous tradesmen, minor officials; nay, for bigger fish who swim in the troubled waters of court and politics. The old Ko[u]jimachi village, with its bustling street and many shops, remains. True the old well has gone the way of the ruined _yashiki_ of Aoyama Shu[u]zen, of the waste land ([sarado]) on which at one time both stood. But to this very day the tradition remains firm and clear. So much so that those who leave their homes, to fail of reappearance ever after, are spoken of as having met the fate of the unhappy victims of the Ko[u]jimachi-ido. To quote again the very ancient poem in assertion of the verity of its evil influence: "Yoshida: to passers by the token; Long sleeves wave invitation." Yokohama--21st September to 14th November, 1916. --FINIS.-- To follow--The Hizakurige (To[u]kaido[u]) of Jippensha Ikku--in English. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 1: Benincasa hispida (Brinkley).] [Footnote 2: Of about fifteen dollars in terms of present money.] [Footnote 3: Comments the scribe of Nippon (Matsubayashi Hakuen)--"This kind is not the animal known as fox. There are foxes in human shape which extort money. They dwell round about Yoshiwara and Shinagawa. These are found in the Shin-Yoshiwara. In Meiji 33rd year 8th month liberty was granted to give up their occupation. Blowing wide cast a fox fever, the brothels of the Yoshiwara displayed a magnificent confusion. In round terms Tokyo town was in an uncontrolled disorder. Among these human foxes there was a guild, and this was the source of the tumult."] [Footnote 4: Mizuno Juro[u]zaémon Shigemoto, son of Hiuga no Kami Katsunari. He was ordered to commit _seppuku_ (cut belly) for the assassination of Bandzuin Cho[u]bei: Kwanbun 4 year 3 month 27 day (22 April 1664).] [Footnote 5: _Kokorozashi wa matsu no ha to moshimasu_.] [Footnote 6: Second daughter of Hidétada; wife of the Prince of Echizen.] [Footnote 7: At the severest cold, clad in breech clout, or thinnest of white linen, the pilgrim after sunset makes his round of the temples for worship.] [Footnote 8: The Pluto of Indian (Yama), Chinese and Japanese (Emma) mythology. Dai-O[u] (Great King). Cf. Eitel's "Chinese Buddhism," p. 207.] [Footnote 9: Other accounts say that these heroes used--pith bullets.] [Footnote 10: He was of great strength, and is said to have carried the Sho[u]gun in his palanquin on his shoulders himself back to Edo in the flight from Suzume no Miya. With the approval of Iyemitsu he forced his way into the castle gate, thereby incurring official censure and banishment to an island--to Hitotsu no Jima, or the present Ishikawa Jima at the mouth of the Sumidagawa! The sentence was purely formal. His favour with Iyemitsu was very high owing to this Tsuritenjo[u] (hanging ceiling) affair.] [Footnote 11: These stories were not likely to be published under a paternal Government; except in the mouths and tales of the people. Too many scandals have been "excerpted" from the official histories and records of Nippon to have a robust confidence in what is left. The _ko[u]dan_ lecturers and writers make the Senhimégimi, eldest daughter of Hidétada, the heroine of the scandals emanating from the Yoshida Goten. History refers them to the Takata no Kata. But this lady left powerful issue. Not so the Senhimégimi (Princess Sen), in ways a splendid woman. Better known as the Tenju-in-Den she lies buried under a most imposing monument at the Dendzu-in in Tokyo. Tenju-in-Den lived to over eighty years; the Takata no Kata died, aged seventy-two years.] [Footnote 12: _Itsuwari to omoi sutenaba ikani sen; Sue kakete chigiri mo aru wo afu yo sae; Iku sue to fuku chigiru makoto wo._ (1) _Hedatsu koro mono urami to zo omou._ (2)] [Footnote 13: Burned down a few years ago: a fire disastrous to the temple records.] [Footnote 14: Dosanbashi is the site facing the castle and lying just north of the wide avenue facing the main entrance to To[u]kyo[u] station. It ran north to Kanda bridge. It formed part of the Daimyo[u]-koji, which extended from Kandabashi to the Hibiyabashi and the Sukiyabashi at the south. Roughly speaking this Daimyo[u]-koji was the district between the inner and outer moat and the bridges mentioned, now traversed by the elevated railway from Shimbashi to the To[u]kyo[u] station. The Dosan bridge crossed a wide canal which connected the inner and outer moats with the Sumida river. The street running from Gofukubashi to the castle moat covers the site of this canal, and the bridge itself was about where the spur of the elevated railway crosses the present highway (1916). The Embukasané inspired the famous tale of Encho[u]--the "Shinkasané-ga-fuchi"--and, like many Nipponese stories, is founded on actual occurrence.] [Footnote 15: Also called, Naomori, or Narimasa, or Nariyuki.] [Footnote 16: There was great opposition to the introduction of _Kugé_ (court noble) influence into the Sho[u]gun's household at this time. The same reasons of course did not apply to marriage of Tokugawa women into the Kyo[u]to circle. The Sho[u]gunal Court was to be ruled by _samurai_ code and influence.] [Footnote 17: Marriages at that date were performed in daytime. Note in the original.] [Footnote 18: _Ume ka ka wo sakura no hana ni motase tsutsu; Yanagi no eda ni sakashite zo min._] [Footnote 19: Momogawa Jo[u]en: _ko[u]danshi_ differ in their treatment of such detail. Some emphasize it, after the manner of the chronicle; others do not.] [Footnote 20: The _Daikwan_ was the chief representative of the feudal lord in the particular circumscribed district. His authority rarely passed beyond a few miles. Note the Daikwanzaka and the site of his _yashiki_ in Yokohama (_Motomachi_).] [Footnote 21: Momokawa Jo[u]en.] [Footnote 22: Shukké, one who has left the world--turned priest--"Honoured Mr. Recluse."] [Footnote 23: The Nipponese "watches" covered two hours. Hence he had been aroused between 3-5 A.M., not 5-7 A.M. as expected.] [Footnote 24: _Dentatsu_--"Jimbei, mata 'fukeru' to itta na. Nan no kotta (kotoba) sono 'fukeru' to iu no wa." _Jimbei_--"Yai! Yai! Bo[u]zu" etc. To the erudite is left closer approximation to _fukeru_ (in _kana_). This story is told, following the details of Koganei Koshu[u] ("Yui Sho[u]setsu"). Gion, equally known for its _hetairai_.] [Footnote 25: In the vernacular.] [Footnote 26: The first--Yamaguchi etc.--are place names, from Kyu[u]shu[u] to O[u]shu[u]; widely scattered. Otherwise--"Bloody Spear" (Chiyari), "Iron Chin," "Wolf," "Fox-heart," "Iron head," "Monkey hand."] [Footnote 27: He has played on the ideographs--[kyoku-sui no en] and [kyoku-sui no en], _kyoku-sui no en_; the last meaning--"Winding water entertainment," cf. "Benkei" Vol. II. p. 195.] [Footnote 28: The _yoriki_ is hard to place--"commanding officer." He was not of the office, yet as of rank was chosen to lead these more dangerous and trying expeditions, or to act in more important arrests.] [Footnote 29: In the conspiracy of Sho[u]setsu such did exist, directed to the house of one of his followers, placed not far off in another street. [But recently such a tunnel was discovered under the garden of Baron Sakatani at Haramachi, Koishikawa, To[u]kyo[u]; believed to belong to the Hakusan Goten, and dating 250 years back. 20th May, 1917].] [Footnote 30: Brinkley's Dictionary gives it--_Ichiju no kagé ni yadori, ichiga no nagare wo kumu mo, mina kore tasho[u] no en narubeshi_.] [Footnote 31: Sho[u]ho[u] 3rd year the New Year fell on 16th February (1646) of the modern calendar.] [Footnote 32: _Rangiku ya: kitsuné ni no se yo[u] kono sugata. Rangiku_ = Caryopteris mastachantus.] [Footnote 33: In Buddhist theology the seventh day is one of the important dates of the _hotokés_ (deceased spirit) sojourn upon Earth.] [Footnote 34: Pradjna--"highest of the six pâramitâ, principal means of attaining Nirvana, knowledge of the illusory character of all existence." Eitel--p. 119.] [Footnote 35: The quotation and what follows is from Ho[u]gyu[u]sha To[u]ko[u]--"Bancho[u] Sarayashiki." The exactness of these old temple registers in essential dates is worth noting.] [Footnote 36: Tsunayoshi 1646-1709. A vassal of Akita Danjo[u] killed a swallow. He was executed; his children were executed; and he and his are but one case out of many.] [Footnote 37: Or son, by the more respectful account. Yanagizawa Yoshiyasu took the name of Matsudaira. His son Yoshishige, said really to be the son of Tsunayoshi by the wife of Yoshiyasu, was to be adopted by Echizen no Kami Tadanao, brother and heir to the Sho[u]gun. Tadanao "removed," left the field open to the success (and succession) of the powerful premier. Yanagizawa as _tairo[u]_ (premier) was an irregularity in itself.] * * * * * +------------------------------------------------------------+ | Typographical errors corrected in text: | | | | Page v: The modern kanji character has been used for | | yeast (_ko[u]ji_) | | Page 11: crysanthemum amended to chrysanthemum | | Page 22: masterhand amended to master hand; rotten | | amended to rotted | | Page 26: embarassment amended to embarrassment | | Page 29: on amended to an | | Page 41: missing /s/ in gesture added | | Page 47: made amended to make; pallour amended to pallor | | Page 51: villanious amended to villainous | | Page 57: dependant amended to dependent | | Page 59: state raft amended to statecraft | | Page 63: circumambiant amended to circumambient | | Page 69: spoken off amended to spoken of | | Page 73: milklivered amended to milk livered | | Page 95: gallopping amended to galloping | | Page 102: herhaps amended to perhaps | | Page 105 et seq.: superintendant amended to | | superintendent | | Page 132: preceded amended to proceeded | | Page 140: lead amended to led | | Page 143: Aoyoma amended to Aoyama; embarassment amended | | to embarrassment | | Page 147: exhilirating amended to exhilarating | | Page 169: astonishly amended to astonishingly | | Page 171: mits amended to mitts | | Page 173: he amended to be | | Page 175: quid amended to squid | | Page 176: multidinous amended to multitudinous | | Page 182: peel amended to peal | | Page 192: exhuberant amended to exuberant | | Page 212: condescenscion amended to condescension; | | effiminacy amended to effeminacy | | Page 213: icely amended to icily | | Page 214: maccaroni amended to macaroni | | Page 221: conferrence sic, meaning conferring | | Page 227: squshing amended to squishing | | Page 232: yashihi amended to yashiki; impertinance | | amended to impertinence | | Page 239: Ototsan replaced with Otosan | | Page 241: feint amended to faint | | Page 252: maccaroni amended to macaroni | | Page 254: maccaroni amended to macaroni; apellation | | amended to appellation | | Page 260: apellation amended to appellation | | | | Where two different spellings occur an equal number of | | times in the text, both spellings have been retained | | (Koshigeyatsu/Koshigayatsu; Surugadai/Suragadai). | | | | Where there is an equal number of instances of a word | | occurring as hyphenated and unhyphenated, the hyphens | | have been retained: Ban-gashira/Bangashira; | | fire-ward/fireward; go-kenin/gokenin; | | Kanda-bashi/Kandabashi; Mita-mura/Mitamura; | | new-comer/new comer; overlord/over-lord; | | raincoat/rain-coat; Tayasu-mura/Tayasumura; | | wheel-wright/wheelwright; | | yatsu-ho[u]ko[u]nin/yatsuho[u]ko[u]nin. | | | | The Senhimégimi: Hyphenation and/or word separation, as | | well as italicisation, is varied. The variations of Sen | | himégimi, himégimi and Senhimé have been retained as they | | appear in the text. | | | +------------------------------------------------------------+ * * * * * 
32086	----	JAPAN OTHER BEAUTIFUL BOOKS ON JAPAN EACH CONTAINING FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR * * * * * ANCIENT TALES AND FOLK-LORE OF JAPAN BY R. GORDON SMITH, F.R.G.S. 57 ILLUSTRATIONS BY JAPANESE ARTISTS * * * * * THE FLOWERS AND GARDENS OF JAPAN DESCRIBED BY FLORENCE DU CANE 50 ILLUSTRATIONS BY ELLA DU CANE * * * * * "JAPAN" In the "Peeps at Many Lands and Cities" Series BY JOHN FINNEMORE 12 ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR * * * * * PEEPS AT THE HISTORY OF JAPAN BY JOHN FINNEMORE 8 ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR AND NUMEROUS LINE DRAWINGS IN THE TEXT PUBLISHED BY ADAM & CHARLES BLACK, 4, 5 AND 6 SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W. [Illustration: MISS POMEGRANATE] JAPAN · A RECORD IN COLOUR BY MORTIMER MENPES · TRANSCRIBED BY DOROTHY MENPES · PUBLISHED BY ADAM & CHARLES BLACK · SOHO SQUARE · LONDON · W. _Published December 1901 Reprinted May 1902, January 1903, January 1904 January 1905_ TO MY FRIEND THE LADY EDWARD CECIL TO WHOSE ENTHUSIASTIC SYMPATHY MY WORK IN JAPAN OWES SO MUCH OF THE SUCCESS IT HAS ATTAINED Note In this book I endeavour to present, with whatever skill of penmanship I may possess, my father's impressions of Japan. I trust that they will not lose in force and vigour in that they are closely intermingled with my own impressions, which were none the less vivid because they were those of a child,--for it was as a child, keenly interested in and enjoying all I saw, that I passed, four or five years ago, through that lovely flower-land of the Far East, which my father has here so charmingly memorialised in colour. DOROTHY MENPES _November 1901._ Contents CHAPTER I PAGE ART AND THE DRAMA 1 CHAPTER II THE LIVING ART 29 CHAPTER III PAINTERS AND THEIR METHODS 49 CHAPTER IV PLACING 75 CHAPTER V ART IN PRACTICAL LIFE 91 CHAPTER VI THE GARDENS 105 CHAPTER VII FLOWER ARRANGEMENT 113 CHAPTER VIII THE GEISHA 123 CHAPTER IX CHILDREN 135 CHAPTER X WORKERS 151 CHAPTER XI CHARACTERISTICS 199 List of Illustrations 1. Miss Pomegranate _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE 2. An Actor 2 3. Watching the Play 4 4. The Bill of the Play 6 5. A Garden 8 6. The Road to the Temple 10 7. The Street with the Gallery 12 8. Sun and Lanterns 14 9. Summer Afternoon 16 10. Apricot-Blossom Street 18 11. Outside Kioto 20 12. A Blond Day 22 13. A Blind Beggar 24 14. The Giant Lantern 26 15. Sun and Lanterns 32 16. The Scarlet Umbrella 36 17. Leading to the Temple 38 18. By the Light of the Lanterns 40 19. "News" 42 20. A Sunny Temple 44 21. On the Great Canal, Osaka 46 22. After the Festival 52 23. The Lemon Bridge 54 24. Bearing a Burden 58 25. The End of the Day and the End of the Festival 60 26. In Front of the Stall 62 27. The Stall by the Bridge 64 28. Archers 68 29. Reflections 72 30. The Red Curtain 78 31. Flower of the Tea 80 32. A Street in Kioto 82 33. Heavy-laden 84 34. Peach-Blossom 88 35. The Tea-house of the Slender Tree 94 36. Blossom of the Glen 96 37. A Family Group 100 38. The Venice of Japan 102 39. An Iris Garden 108 40. A Sunny Garden 110 41. Iris Garden 112 42. A Wistaria Garden 116 43. Flower-placing 118 44. Wistaria 120 45. Butterflies 126 46. Daughters of the Sun 128 47. By the Light of the Lantern 130 48. A Street Scene, Kioto 132 49. Baby and Baby 138 50. A Jap in Plum-colour 140 51. Sugar-water Stall 142 52. Advance Japan 144 53. Chums 146 54. A Sunny Stroll 148 55. The Child and the Umbrella 150 56. A Little Jap 154 57. A By-canal 156 58. Swinging along in the Sun 158 59. A Metal-worker 160 60. Bronze-workers 162 61. In Theatre Street 164 62. The Carpenter 166 63. Making up Accounts 168 64. Finishing Touches 170 65. A Back Canal, Osaka 172 66. Stencil-makers 174 67. A Sign-painter's 178 68. A Cloisonné Worker 180 69. A Toy-shop 182 70. A Sweet-stuff Stall 184 71. A Canal in Osaka 188 72. Umbrellas and Commerce 190 73. Playfellows 194 74. Youth and Age 202 75. Lookers-on 204 ART AND THE DRAMA [Illustration: AN ACTOR] CHAPTER I ART AND THE DRAMA I always agree with that man who said, "Let me make the nation's songs and I care not who frames her laws," or words to that effect, for, in my opinion, nothing so well indicates national character or so keenly accentuates the difference between individuals and nations as the way in which they spend their leisure hours; and the theatres of Japan are thoroughly typical of the people's character. It would be utterly impossible for the Japanese to keep art out of their lives. It creeps into everything, and is as the very air they breathe. Art with them is not only a conscious effort to achieve the beautiful, but also an instinctive expression of inherited taste. It beautifies their homes and pervades their gardens; and perhaps one never realises this all-dominating power more fully than when in a Japanese theatre, which is, invariably, a veritable temple of art. But here with us in the West it is different. We have no art, and our methods merely lead us to deception, while we do not begin to understand those few great truths which form the basis of oriental philosophy, and without which perfection in the dramatic art is impossible. For example, the philosophy of balance, of which the Japanese are past masters, is to us unknown. The fact that Nature is commonplace, thereby forming a background, as it were, for Tragedy and the spirit of life to work, has never occurred to us; while the background of our Western play is not by any means a plan created by a true artist upon which to display the dramatic picture as it is in Japan, but simply a background to advertise the stage-manager's imitative talent. The result is, of course, that the acting and the environment are at variance instead of being in harmonic unity. But we in the West have not time to think of vague things, such as balance and breadth and the creating of pictures. What we want is realism; we want a sky to look like a real sky, and the moon in it to look like a real moon, even if it travels by clock-work, as it has been known to do occasionally. And so real is this clock-work moon that we are deceived into imagining that it is the moon, the actual moon. But the deception is not pleasant; in fact, it almost gives you indigestion to see a moon, and such a moon, careering over the whole sky in half an hour. In Japan they would not occupy themselves with making you believe that a moon on the stage was a real one--they would consider such false realism as a bit of gross degradation--but they would take the greatest possible pains as to the proper placing of that palpably pasteboard moon of theirs, even if they had to hold it up in the sky by the aid of a broom-stick. [Illustration: WATCHING THE PLAY] In Japan the scenic work of a play is handled by one man alone, and that man is the dramatic author, who is almost invariably a great artist. To him the stage is a huge canvas upon which he is to paint his picture, and of which each actor forms a component part. This picture of his has to be thought out in every detail; he has to think of his figures in relation to his background, just as a Japanese architect when building a house or a temple takes into consideration the surrounding scenery, and even the trees and the hills, in order to form a complete picture, perfect in balance and in form. When a dramatic author places his drama upon the stage, he arranges the colour and setting of it in obedience to his ideas of fitness, which are partly intuitive and partly traditional. It is probably necessary that his background should be a monotone, or arranged in broad masses of colour, in order to balance the brilliancy of the action, and against which the moving figures are sharply defined. And it is only in Japan that you see such brilliant luminous effects on the stage, for the Japs alone seem to have the courage to handle very vivid colours in a masterly way--glorious sweeps of gold and of blue--vivid, positive colour. No low-toned plush curtains and what we call rich, sombre colour, with overdressed, shifted-calved flunkeys, stepping silently about on velvet carpets, shod in list slippers, and looking for all the world like a lot of burglars, only needing a couple of dark lanterns to complete their stealthy appearance. Then, there are no Morris-papered anterooms and corridors in Japan, as we have here--sad bottlegreens and browns leading to a stage that is still sadder in colour--only a sadness lit up by a fierce glare of electric light. The true artistic spirit is wanting in the West. We are too timid to deal in masses for effect, and we have such a craving for realism that we become simply technical imitators like the counterfeiters of banknotes. Our great and all-prevailing idea is to cram as much of what we call realism and detail into a scene as possible; the richer the company, and the more money they have to handle, the more hopeless the work becomes, for the degradation of it is still more forcibly emphasised. Consequently, we always create spotty pictures; in fact, one rarely ever sees a well-balanced scene in a Western theatre, and simply because we do not realise the breadth and simplicity of Nature. There are not the violent contrasts in Nature that our artists are so continually depicting: Nature plays well within her range, and you seldom see her going to extremes. In a sunlit garden the deepest shadow and the brightest light come very near together, so broad and so subtle are her harmonies. We do not realise this, and we sacrifice breadth in the vain endeavour to gain what we propose to call strength--strength is sharp; but breadth is quiet and full of reserve. None understands this simple truth so well as the Japanese. It forms the very basis of oriental philosophy, and through the true perception of it they have attained to those ideas of balance which are so eminent a characteristic of Japanese art. [Illustration: THE BILL OF THE PLAY] When you have balanced force you have reached perfection, and this is of course the true criterion of dramatic art. But here in the West we must be realistic, and if a manager succeeds in producing upon the stage an exact representation of a room in Belgrave Square he is perfectly content, and looks upon his work as a triumph. There is to be no choice: he does not choose his room from the decorative standpoint--such a thing would never occur to him for a moment--but simply grabs at this particular room that he happens to know in Belgrave Square, nicknacks and all, and plants it upon the stage. His wife, he imagines, has a taste for dress, and she dresses the people that are to sit about in this room, probably playing a game of "Bridge," just as you might see it played any day in Belgrave Square. I remember once, when a play of this nature was being acted at one of our leading theatres, hearing a disgusted exclamation from a man at my side--"Well! if that's all," he growled, "we might go and see a game of Bridge played any night"; and it occurred to me as I heard him that the managers will suffer for this foolish realism, the public will soon tire of it, for they, almost unconsciously, want something altogether bigger and finer--let us hope they want art. The Japanese are not led away by this struggle to be realistic, and this is one of the chief reasons why the stage of Japan is so far ahead of our stage. If a horse is introduced into a scene he will be by no means a real horse, but a very wooden one, with wooden joints, just like a nursery rocking-horse; yet this decorative animal will be certain to take its proper place in the composition of the picture. But when realism has its artistic value, the Japs will use it to the full. If a scene is to be the interior of a house, it will be an interior, complete in every detail down to the exquisite bowl of flowers which almost invariably forms the chief decoration of a Japanese room. But suppose they want a garden: they do not proceed, as we do, to take one special garden and copy it literally; that garden has to be created and thought out to form a perfect whole; even the lines of the tiny trees and the shape of the hills in the distance have to be considered in relation to the figures of the actors who are to tell their story there. This is true art. Then, when you go to a theatre in Japan, you are made to feel that you are actually living in the atmosphere of the play: the body of the theatre and the stage are linked together, and the spectator feels that he is contained in the picture itself, that he is looking on at a scene which is taking place in real life just before his very eyes. And it is the great aim of every ambitious dramatic author to make you feel this. To gain this end, if the scene is situated by the seashore, he will cause the sea, which is represented by that decorative design called the wave pattern, to be swept right round the theatre, embracing both audience and stage and dragging you into the very heart of his picture. [Illustration: A GARDEN] For this same reason, a Japanese theatre is always built with two broad passages, called Hanamichi (or flower-paths), leading through the audience to the stage, up which you can watch a Daimio and his gorgeous retinue sweep on his royal way to visit perhaps another Daimio whose house is represented on the stage. This is very dramatic, and greatly forwards the author's scheme of bringing you into touch with the stage. But we in our Western theatres need not trouble ourselves with all this, for we frame our scenes in a vulgar gilt frame; we hem them in and cut them off from the rest of the house. When we go to a theatre here, we go to view a picture hung up on a wall, and generally a very foolish inartistic picture it is too. And even taking our stage from the point of view of a picture, it is wrong, for in a work of art the frame should never have an independent value as an achievement, but be subordinate to, and part of, the whole. All idea of framing the stage must be done away with; else we are in danger of going to the other extreme, as some artists have done, and cause our picture to overlap and spread itself upon the frame. An artist in a realistic mood has been known, when painting a picture of the seaside, to so crave after texture as to sprinkle sand upon the foreground, and becoming more and more enthusiastic he has at last ended in an exuberance of realism by clapping some real shells on to the frame and gilding them over. Thus the picture appeared to pour out on to its frame. This is all very terrible and inartistic; yet it is but an instance of the kind of mistake that we let ourselves in for by the ridiculous method of stage-setting which we practise. Now, built as the Japanese theatres are, with their flower-paths leading from the stage, there is no fear of such a disaster; yet Westerners, who have never been to Japan, on hearing of the construction of a Japanese theatre, are rather inclined to conjure up to their fancies visions of the low comedian who springs through trap-doors, and of the clown who leaves the ring of the circus to seat himself between two maiden ladies in the audience; but if these people were to go to Japan and see a really fine production at a properly conducted theatre, such an idea would never occur to them at all. [Illustration: THE ROAD TO THE TEMPLE] Here and there, however, the unthinking globe-trotter, with more or less the vulgar mind, will be inclined to laugh as he sees a richly-clothed actor sweep majestically through the audience to the stage; he will point out the prompter who never attempts to conceal himself, and the little black-robed supers who career about the stage arranging dresses, slipping stools under actors, and bearing away any little article that they don't happen to want. "How funny and elementary it all is!" they will remark; but there is nothing elementary about it at all; these little supers who appear to them so amusing are perfect little artists, and are absolutely necessary to ensure the success of a scene. Suppose Danjuro, the greatest actor in Japan, appears upon the stage dressed in a most gorgeous costume, and takes up a position before a screen which he will probably have to retain for half an hour: these little people must be there to see that the sweep of his dress is correct in relation to the lines of the screen. The placing of this drapery is elaborately rehearsed by the supers, and when they step back from their work even the globe-trotter is bound to admit that the picture created by Danjuro and the screen is a perfectly beautiful one, and a picture which could not have been brought about by merely walking up and stopping short, or by the backward kick that a leading lady gives to her skirt. These little supers may go, come, and drift about on the stage; they may slip props under the actors and illuminate their faces with torches; yet the refined Japanese gentleman (and he is always an artist) is utterly unconscious of their presence. They are dressed in black: therefore it would be considered as the height of vulgarity in him to see them. Indeed, the audience are in honour bound not to notice these people, and it would be deemed in their eyes just as vulgar for you to point out a super in the act of arranging a bit of drapery, as to enter a temple and smell the incense there. No Japanese ever smells incense: he is merely conscious of it. Incense is full of divine and beautiful suggestion; but the moment you begin to vulgarise it by talking, or even thinking, of its smell, all beauty and significance is destroyed. Everything connected with the stage in Japan is reduced to a fine art: the actor's walk--the dignity of it!--you would never see a man walk in the street as he would on the stage. And then the tone of voice, bearing, and attitude--everything about the man is changed. I remember once in Tokio being introduced to the manager of a local theatre, whose performance so much pleased me that I begged the privilege of making a few studies before the play began, hinting at the same time that I should very much like one or two of the actors to pose for me. Then this little gentleman began to think and frown and pucker his brow, secretly proud that an artist should want to paint his work, and also not unwilling to make a little money. At last, after much deliberation, he decided that I was to have the run of his theatre and ten actors for the afternoon, charging three dollars and a half for the whole concern. This seemed to me to be fairly reasonable; I did not know of any London theatre that I could have hired for three dollars and a half, or even as many pounds, and then the company consisted of ten actors who were all artists, all loving their work as only true artists can. To be sure, it was a suburban theatre, and the acting was not of the finest; probably also there was a great deal of exaggeration in the poses; but still it lent itself to decorative work, and answered my purpose to perfection. They did not act, but merely posed to form a series of pictures, and some of the expressions of the actors were extraordinarily grotesque, just like a Japanese picture-book. But what struck me most of all was the absolute autocracy of the little manager, or whatever he called himself--the Czar of Russia or General Booth was not in it with him for power! He threw his actors about on the stage just as an artist would fling pigment on to a canvas; and his violent whisking of a bit of vermilion and apple-green in against a wave was too dexterous and masterly for anything, and called forth my unfeigned admiration. [Illustration: THE STREET WITH THE GALLERY] The greatest living actor at the present moment in Japan is Danjuro--in fact, I should say that he is one of the greatest actors in the whole world; and in order to give a true insight into the many beauties of the Japanese drama, it seems to me that I cannot do better than describe a day that I once spent with this great master. I was taken to see him by Fukuchi, Japan's most eminent dramatist and the greatest of living writers. We were shown into a small room with spotless mats to await Danjuro's arrival, and my attention was at once attracted towards an exquisite kakemono that hung on the wall, which was the only decoration the room possessed. It was a picture, a masterpiece, that seemed to suggest one of the early Italian masters; it impressed me tremendously, and I told Fukuchi so. "Ah, I am glad!" he exclaimed, "for Danjuro, the great master, when I told him you were coming and that you were a painter, asked me many questions about you. He took much pains to discover the quality of art that appealed to you, and the side of Nature that you liked the best. He also wished to know your favourite flower, and which kind of blossom you loved the most--whether you preferred, as he did, the single cherry-blossom, or the double. This Danjuro was unable to find out; if he had known he would have chosen a kakemono of flowers for you. But I am glad you like the picture." I was amazed at the kindness of this man Danjuro. There was no accident about this picture that I admired so vastly: it had been chosen for a definite reason--to give me pleasure. And I afterwards learnt that there is no end to the amount of trouble a Japanese gentleman will take in the choosing of the picture that is to hang in the room where you are being entertained. When you enter a house in Japan, the first and one idea is to give you pleasure, and the people of the house will take elaborate pains, almost the care that a detective will take in detecting a crime, to find out, as delicately as possible, your taste in regard to this picture. They will send their servant round to your hotel to find out what flower you have expressly asked to have placed on your table, and that will be the flower that you will find adorning either a kakemono or a vase when entering the house of your friend. [Illustration: SUN AND LANTERNS] This room where Fukuchi and I were waiting looked out upon the garden--a miniature garden, no bigger than an ordinary dining-room, yet perfectly balanced, one that held infinite joys: there were the miniature bridges, lakes, and gold-fish, the mountains, the valleys, and the ancient turtles--all correct as to colour and marked by that exquisite taste which only a Japanese landscape-gardener can display. It was a bright sunlit day, and looking from this room with its perfect masterpiece to the little jewel of a garden, you felt that you were living in another world. And it was all so pure and so "right" that I began to feel hopelessly "wrong." It seemed that I was the only blot in these perfect surroundings. And at last I became so shy that I really didn't know what to do with myself, and I felt that the only thing left for me was to take off my clothes and dig a hole in the ground, and then be ashamed that I had left my clothes behind me. However, I controlled my emotions and waited on with Fukuchi until the sliding doors dividing us from the adjoining room were quietly opened and Danjuro appeared. So unlike an actor!--no moving of the eyebrows, no stroking of the hair, but just a simple dignified gentleman, and an old gentleman, quite old. He was a slim, spare man, very refined, with the look of a picture of Buddha by Botticelli. The face was thin and narrow and keen; bright eyes glanced at me from under heavy eyebrows; his manner was magnetic; and I felt at once that he was a great artist. The way his servants saluted him! You could see that they loved him, and yet by the reverence they showed him he might have been a cardinal. I was at once offered exquisite delicacies in little lacquer cups, and we all sat down, on the floor of course, and Danjuro began to talk. One of the first things he said to me, through Fukuchi, who spoke English perfectly, was, "I am told that I have many qualities like your great actor Sir Henry Irving," and even as he spoke I could trace a distinct facial likeness between the two men. His voice was rich and powerful and his enunciation deliberate; he used his hands quietly, and the expression varied very little except when he was anxious to emphasise, and then the change was extraordinary, while the expression and poses were so admirable that I could almost understand what the man was saying. I instinctively felt that the right thing to do was to first talk of the kakemono, and Danjuro, seeing my genuine enthusiasm, smiled and said, without a touch of false modesty, "Yes; it is a great masterpiece!" and then he began to tell me about this picture, and I felt at once that this dignified little gentleman was a true artist. [Illustration: SUMMER AFTERNOON] From the picture we drifted to the Drama, and Danjuro was very curious to know something of our work in London, and now and then, as he plied me with pertinent questions, I thought I detected a glimmer of fun behind his inscrutable demeanour. At last the questions rained around me so rapidly, and were so terribly to the point, that I felt thoroughly ashamed and did not know how to answer him. I knew that he was an artist, looking at his work from purely the artistic standpoint, and as an artist I knew that it would be utterly impossible for him to appreciate our Western methods: so I deftly turned the conversation by returning the fire of questions. I had seen Danjuro in one or two scenes in which I was greatly struck with the remarkable changes of his facial expression. There was one scene in which Danjuro faced the audience, and in a minute, by the complete alteration of his face, changed himself into an entirely different man. This feat was really so remarkable that I was anxious to know how it was done, and suggested that it might have been accomplished by a clever make-up. "No, no!" he exclaimed. "It is a rule of mine to use 'make-up' very rarely. For change of expression we actors have to depend much on the muscles of our faces"; and Danjuro, to illustrate this, quickly changed his face until it was totally different, even to the face markings, and I should have defied Sherlock Holmes himself to have known him to be the same man. Then I saw him act the part of a drunken man. I have seen drunken men on the stage over and over again, and there has always been a touch of vulgarity about them; but this drunken man of Danjuro's was an exquisite triumph of art. I was curious to know how he had perfected this rôle, and suggested that it had perhaps been brought about through a careful study of the habits and actions of a drunkard, using him as a model, as it were. But this Danjuro firmly denied. "No, no, never!" he exclaimed. "I might just as well take a drunken man and stick him on the stage, just as he is, as to imitate any one man. That is not art: it is not a creation. I have seen drunken men all my life, and the drunken man I represented was the aggregate of all the drunkenness I have ever seen. Suppose by chance I had come across a drunken man while I was developing the character, I should perhaps have been tempted to follow that particular man too closely, and the result would have been necessarily inartistic." And Danjuro made it quite clear to me that when creating the character of either a drunken man or a madman, he invariably keeps as far away from Nature as possible. He would not proceed as some of our actors do, to hunt about in the slums until he had found a man sufficiently drunk for his purpose, and then copy him exactly; or, yet again, he would not have attempted to imitate a death-bed scene by watching one particular person die. Such a thing would appear to him as a great degradation. Almost imperceptibly the conversation swerved round again to English acting, and Danjuro gave me a rather humorous, though humiliating, description of a play he had seen in Yokohama. The language was gibberish to him, and all he could do was to study the poses of the players, which struck him as being extremely awkward. "They suggested to me badly modelled statues," he explained; "they never seemed to move gracefully, and their actions were always violent and exaggerated." This, from a Japanese, was frank criticism, for he made it quite clear to me that he had little or no sympathy with our methods. He felt that he was talking to an artist and that he could afford to be natural; but after this very candid opinion there was a slight pause, which I hastened to break by putting a question on the subject of his own drama. [Illustration: APRICOT-BLOSSOM STREET] The drama of Japan, he told me, was greatly improving; the actors nowadays have chances which in the early days they had not, and it is easier for them to create fine scenic effects. They have the chance of studying great masterpieces at museums; they may copy costumes there, and, above all, they have the superb opportunity of studying colour and form. Then, many of the great Japanese actors possess collections of very fine pictures, while the actors of early times could only study from badly printed woodblocks which were nearly all inaccurate. Schools for actors have been occupying his attention, and he hopes that some day they will be established all over Japan. Actors, in his opinion, should be taught when they are quite young the science of deportment and of graceful movement, to be artists as well as actors, and above all to avoid exaggeration. Danjuro prefers as an audience the middle classes. "They are more sympathetic," he said; "the diplomats and politicians who have come in touch with the West, and are dressed in European dress, seem somehow to lose sympathy with us, and are not helpful as an audience. Perhaps it is that they can never entirely divest themselves of the sense of their own importance." After considering Danjuro's views concerning the Japanese drama, I was interested to hear the views of the dramatic author, and Fukuchi and I spent many delightful afternoons together discussing this all-absorbing topic. "What do you claim to be the chief advantages of Japanese as compared with European theatres?" I asked him on one occasion. "Well," replied Fukuchi without a moment's hesitation, "before everything else I should place the Hanamichi (flower-paths). This is absolutely indispensable to the Japanese stage, and allows of endless possibilities. With it we have far greater scope for fine work, and dramatically it is of tremendous advantage. Then there is the revolving stage, which is a great improvement on Western mechanism, for while one scene is being acted, another can be prepared." On this particular afternoon the dramatist and I were sitting in Mr. Fukuchi's own room overlooking the river with a distant view of the sea. Books, all Japanese, were heaped up in an alcove, while the only furniture the room possessed was a very fine kakemono and a little narrow table. While we were talking, one of Fukuchi's little children, a boy of eight, entered, carrying with him his collection of butterflies, which, he thought, might chance to interest me. He showed me a catalogue which he was preparing for them. It was so admirably compiled that it would have been good enough for a special work on the subject. [Illustration: OUTSIDE KIOTO] Fukuchi's ideal actor is Danjuro, and during the conversation he was constantly referring to him. "Of all the actors I like Danjuro the best," he said, "because he is an artist and understands colour, besides having a keen appreciation for harmony in the general arrangements." He told me that Danjuro is the one actor in Japan who can take the part of a woman to perfection. Many actors on the stage can keep the figure of a woman for five minutes at a time, but rarely longer, so painful are the poses, owing to the throwing back of the shoulders and the turning in of the knees. But Danjuro can go on and on indefinitely in this rôle, and so remarkable is he that even a Japanese woman is unable to detect one false move. On one occasion, when taking this part at a theatre in Yokohama before an audience composed chiefly of women, he happened to make a slip and by some slight error proved himself the man. In an instant the whole audience felt it, and the effect produced on them was simply astounding! For once they nearly laughed, an unheard-of thing with a Japanese audience: to see a woman turn so suddenly into a man was too much for their equanimity. Danjuro's finest and most artistic bit of acting is in Japan's greatest tragedy, _The Chushingura_, in the part of Goto, who, returning to his lord intoxicated, falls asleep by the wayside. His master, finding him, fires off a gun close to his ear. "Most actors," said Mr. Fukuchi, "would fall asleep with their backs to the audience, and when waking depend upon 'make-up' for an altered expression. Danjuro sleeps with his face to the audience, and on the gun firing wakes up with an entirely altered expression through the contraction of the facial muscles." I was curious to know from Fukuchi what were the duties of the stage-manager in Japan. For some time he looked thoughtful, as though unable to grasp my meaning. "We have no managers in Japan," he said at length: "the play has to do with the dramatic author: it is for him to arrange everything. He must first think out every detail, and then consult with the chief actor and proprietor. If these disagree, the play is not produced." Mr. Fukuchi maintained that the dramatic author must be absolute master of the situation, interfered with by none. It would be impossible for an actor or manager to have any conception of the picture as a whole; therefore the dramatist must be supreme. If an actor or an actress were permitted a choice as to the colour or form of costumes, the work would of necessity be ruined. There is no such thing as the leading lady insisting upon wearing a puce dress, as she does in England or anywhere on the Continent. The manager does not know what "puce" means, nor, probably, does the lady; but he sees no reason why she should not wear puce if it pleases her. Accordingly puce is worn, irrespective of scene harmony, and the lady is content. In Japan such an occurrence would be out of the question; but our Western stage is already such a jumble that any little eccentricity on the part of the leading lady in favour of puce or anything else she fancies would be scarcely noticeable. [Illustration: A BLOND DAY] "They tell me," put in Mr. Fukuchi, "that there are dramatic authors in England who are not artists--that they do not all understand colour harmonies and line. Can this be true?" I had to tell him that such men were not uncommon with us. Fukuchi looked serious, and was silent for a long while, meditating as to how it would be possible for a dramatic author to produce a play without a scientific knowledge of art and drawing. "I fail to understand this," he said after some minutes' thought; "I cannot understand. When I have finished writing my play, and when I have talked with the chief actor, I make my drawings myself. I must make the pictures, and I must give careful directions to the costumiers and the carpenters. I cannot understand how your dramatic author does this." And the little man was genuinely perturbed. The pictorial side of a Japanese dramatist's work interested me keenly, and I begged Fukuchi to tell me how he, as an author, prepared his drawings for the costumier, stage-painter, and carpenter. "Well, if you like I will show you," he said; "I am now writing a historical play, the scenes of which will be like this," and to my great amazement Fukuchi at once began to draw in a rapid masterly manner the scene of a gentleman's house and garden. No detail, however trivial, was overlooked, and the infinite pains and care with which he executed these delightful little drawings both astonished and charmed me. I could see at once the utter impossibility of any one attempting to interfere with this man, who had a complete grasp of his subject not only from the literary standpoint, but also from the pictorial. To give any idea of the exquisite delicacy and precision with which these sketches of Fukuchi's were carried out, I must describe one or two of the scenes. First of all there was the garden; this was to have on its right a bamboo fence, a pine-tree, and a grass plot. On the left was placed a willow-tree, and stepping-stones leading from the house to the gate. Then the gentleman's house was to be considered. Mr. Fukuchi decided that this was to be thatched and have a projecting floor, while in front he placed a bamboo fence, a well, and a cluster of chrysanthemums. "Now at the back of the house I must have a range of mountains with autumnal tints," said Fukuchi; and no sooner said than done--in a few minutes there stood the range of mountains with their autumnal tints, ranging from orange to brown, noted in the margin, with directions as to the quality of cotton cloth to be used for their construction. Every detail in this garden scene was exact, and no one could have altered so much as a leaf without ruining the picture. Next Fukuchi proceeded to make for the costumier a drawing of a girl. By the dressing of her hair the girl was shown to be not over nineteen years of age, the ornaments being one of red and the other silver. She was to hold a fan, and Fukuchi even decided on the colour of the fan and the way the girl should hold it. It was to have a gold ground with a silvery moon, light and black grass growing in white water. The lady's kimono was of dark purple at the bottom and light purple at the top; this was arranged purely for decorative reasons in order to harmonise with the obi, which was black. As a rule the colours in a dress graduate from the top downwards; but the obi looked best against the light purple, and custom was sacrificed to art. The figures on the kimono were to be all white with silver strings, and a delicate white wave pattern. [Illustration: A BLIND BEGGAR] Mr. Fukuchi next proceeded to consider the handling of historical colour. The scene was that of a lord and his wife, the lord just setting out for the wars and the wife seeking to detain him, holding on to his armour. The armour is red and the clothes are indigo. These colours being fixed historically, it was for the artist to arrange backgrounds that should harmonise with these. In the lady alone were his artistic tastes allowed to expand. He would have her dressed in white, with large chrysanthemums in red, yellow, and purple tones. These exquisitely clothed figures were to be placed before a screen, having sea-rocks and an eagle painted on it with black ink. Yet again another screen was to be of light brown, with glittering birds delicately traced upon it, in order that they should not interfere with the breadth of the whole. "Now, Mr. Fukuchi," I said, "I can quite see that you are an artist, and that your handling of a play from the decorative standpoint is quite perfect. But now tell me something of your literary methods." Then Fukuchi began by telling me that in writing a novel he wrote it as a poem, and when writing a play he thought of it as a picture. But there are periods in writing a novel when it in a way gets the better of him, and develops unconsciously into a drama. Then he told me of one or two stories he had recently published, one of which began as a novel and ended as a play. He said he could not understand the habits of some authors of taking down scraps of conversation, and using them for their finished works. He himself spends his whole life listening to conversations and studying the poses of people; but to take notes of what they were saying would be hopeless; the notes could never be used for fine artistic work. In planning a play he sees it as a whole, as a series of pictures, before beginning to pen a line. [Illustration: THE GIANT LANTERN] I was talking to Fukuchi about realism on the stage, and he told me of the horror they have in Japan of bringing live animals into a play; such a thing has been attempted on one or two occasions, but always with disastrous results. One enterprising actor, he told me, spent much time in training a horse to take part in a very fine production at one of the principal theatres. The horse was trained to perfection, and on the first night that it appeared, being a novelty, it was loudly applauded; but the lights and the confusion so terrified the poor animal that it sat down on the stage and refused to move. Yet again another actor, determined to outdo this former performance in originality, trained a live monkey to take the place of the decorative pasteboard monkey which had always been used on the stage. This animal, unlike the horse, was trained to know the stage as well as his master's room, and grew quite accustomed to the lights and the people surrounding him. So thoroughly at home was this monkey that on its first appearance it swept the stage of all the actors, caused confusion and distress among the audience--in short, it behaved abominably, and did everything but that which it had been so carefully trained to do. After this the pasteboard monkey reigned supreme. Mr. Fukuchi, although he is a brilliant English scholar and has an intense admiration for Shakspeare's works, thoroughly realises how impossible it would be to attempt to put Hamlet on the Japanese stage: it would suit neither the actors nor the public. THE LIVING ART CHAPTER II THE LIVING ART A Japanese authority has boasted that the only living art of to-day is the art of Japan; and the remark is not so much exaggerated as it may appear at first sight to the European. Art in Japan is living as art in Greece was living. It forms part and parcel of the very life of the people; every Jap is an artist at heart in the sense that he loves and can understand the beautiful. If one of us could be as fortunate as the man in the story, who came in his voyages upon an island where an Hellenic race preserved all the traditions and all the genius of their Attic ancestors, he would understand what living art really signifies. What would be true of that imaginary Greek island is absolutely true of Japan to-day. Art is in Europe cultivated in the houses of the few, and those few scarcely know either the beauties or the value of the plant they are cultivating. That is the privilege of a class rather than the rightful inheritance of the many. The world is too much divided into the artist on the one hand and the Philistine on the other. But it is not so in Japan, as it was not so in ancient Greece. In Japan the feeling for art is an essential condition of life. This is why I expect so much from the interest in Japan which is now awakening in England. The report of the Japanese Commission sent to Europe to investigate the conditions of Western art, some years ago, startled Western minds considerably. The Commissioners gave it as their opinion that Japanese art was the only real living art. This surprised, perplexed, and irritated many people, as home truths generally do. Without adopting in integrity every word of the Commission's report, I must confess that I found in it a great deal of truth. The great characteristic of Japanese art is its intense and extraordinary vitality, in the sense that it is no mere exotic cultivation of the skilful, no mere graceful luxury of the rich, but a part of the daily lives of the people themselves. It is all very well to draw gloomy deductions about the decay of Japanese art from the manufacture and the importation of curios destined for the European market. That there is such an importation there can be no doubt, any more than that this condition of things will continue while people fancy that they are giving proof of their artistic taste by sticking up all over their walls anything and everything, good, bad, and indifferent, which professes to come from Japan or to be made on Japanese models. [Illustration: SUN AND LANTERNS] What an educated Jap would think of some of our so-called "Japanese rooms" I shudder to imagine. But let me ask--and this is much more to the purpose--what would an uneducated Jap think? And let me give my own answer. He would be as much surprised by any bad taste or bad art as his educated superior would be. This is the burden of my argument--that art in Japan is universal and instructive, and therefore living; not an artificial production of a special class, and therefore not living. Art was certainly a living thing in the best days of Athens; art has been, in some measure, a living thing elsewhere and in later days. For we must remember that art does not merely consist in the production of a certain number of works of art, or even of masterpieces. A country may produce a great many works of art, and yet as a country be entirely lacking in living artistic feeling. France is a land of works of art; but the works do not appeal to the voyou--still less do they appeal to the ouvrier, to the bourgeois, to the butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker. Now, what I claim for Japan is that in its most real and most important sense it is a living artistic country. The artistic sense is shared by the peasant and the prince, as well as by the carpenter, the fan-maker, the lacquer-worker, and the stateliest daimio whose line dates back to the creation of things. But do not run away with my contention. I do not mean to say that every Jap is a born artist. There are Philistines in Japan, as elsewhere. What I do maintain is that the artistic instinct is more widely diffused, is more common to all classes of the community in Japan, than in any of our European countries. This is no small thing to say of a country. It is full of deep significance to all students of art. Although we are doing our best, with our love for gimcrackeries, to cheapen and degrade the artistic capacity of Japan, our evil influence has been but partially felt, and so but partially successful. Having done all the harm we can do unwittingly, let us pause, if possible, and reflect before we wittingly do further mischief. The problem to the lovers of art is simply this: shall we learn all we can learn--and that is a great deal--from the living art instincts of Japan, or shall we continue to blunt and deaden the productive power of Japan by encouraging the barbarous demand for worthless baubles to make ludicrous the home of the so-called aesthete? If those who are most proud of the Japanese toys and trinkets they have amassed, which, with semi-savage stupidity, they have nailed upon their walls and stuck upon their shelves and tables, could but see what an artistic house in Japan is like, they would learn some startling truths as to the real facts and principles of Japanese decoration and the Japanese ideal of art. If they could only know the contempt with which the truly artistic Jap looks upon the demand for "curios," and upon the kind of "curios" which are turned out wholesale to meet that demand, they would not feel so proud of themselves, and of the rooms which they display to delighted friends as "quite Japanese, you know." The artistic Jap shows nothing in a room--absolutely nothing, except a lovely flower and a screen, and perhaps a beautiful verse or some clever sentence indited in freehand writing, placed beautifully in the room in just relation to its surroundings. There is a curious fact to be noticed in connection with such inscriptions. In conversation a friend might happen to give forth some brilliant and very epigrammatic utterance. The hearers are so delighted that they get him to write down this _mot_ in large characters, and it is mounted and placed in the room. Such a caligraphic maxim, written by the hand of the speaker, they consider a fitting portion of the permanent decoration of a room. You would never know from the rooms of a Jap that he was a great picture-collector. The wealthy collector keeps all his treasures stowed away in what is called a "go-down"--his storehouse--and his pictures are brought up one at a time if any visitor is present or expected. Generally a single picture will be brought in and hung up. You enjoy that beautiful picture by itself. It is very much like bringing a bottle of wine from the cellar--no one would want the whole bin at a time. The Japs have an artistic temperament altogether and the simplest craftsman is an artist in his own way. I was especially struck with this once when I was in want of some frames, and I employed a Jap to make them for me. He could talk English perfectly well, and it was remarkable to watch the development of the frames and the enthusiastic temperament discovered by the carpenter as he proceeded. I myself designed a certain frame, and I would by slight drawings encourage him and his fellows to go on with the work. They all took the greatest possible interest in the refinement of the object--they would place it down and then go off and look at it, and talk to those friends who were looking on about the beauties they saw in it and in its proportions; and the intelligence and pleasure they showed were not only extraordinary but also delightful. This frame-making was quite novel to them, as they do not frame any of their objects; but they were interested in the design of the frame and the placing of the picture within it. Although the matter was not in itself of any remarkable importance, I hold that it fairly proves the artistic temperament of a chance selection of people. Think of a common carpenter making a simple thing and taking a just pride in doing it! The result was that I got one of the most beautiful frames you can conceive, and that I was encouraged in my own work by the sympathy of these workmen. [Illustration: THE SCARLET UMBRELLA] Of course, in Japan there are painters who paint for the market--people who have been destroyed by the British merchant and the American trader. They spend their time in painting pictures of flowers and birds in vivid colourings that appeal to our tastes, solely for exportation to England and America. _Apropos_ of this I must mention a conversation I had with a painter about screens, which struck me as being very curious. I wanted to buy a gold screen, and he took me to a shop where I saw a vast number of screens, nearly all with black grounds and golden birds and fish on them. I told him I did not like them; and he answered, "Neither do we. Here in Japan we would not have them in our houses; but they are what the English and American markets demand. We ourselves never buy them; we nearly always choose screens with light grounds, beautifully painted"--in fact, splendid pieces of decoration. A screen painted by a first-class artist is valued very highly, while the fact of one from the hand of an old Japanese master being for disposal is known all over the country at once, and everybody is prepared to bid for it as one would bid for a Sir Joshua here. A really good screen fetches an enormous price, for it takes the place there of pictures and frescoes with us, and every man of taste requires one or two fine specimens in his house beautiful. One I saw at the house of the Minister for Foreign Affairs was painted with a blue wave--an arrangement, in fact, in blue and gold. I never saw such a gorgeous screen, nor, I verily believe, anything more beautiful as an arrangement of colour--the huge wave, one sweep of blue, and the piece of gold at the top. It was, I was told, by an old master of Japan, and worth an enormous sum. The Japanese perfectly appreciate the value of things like that, and they very rarely let them leave the country, so that it has become very difficult to get hold of anything really fine. An experience which gave me a close insight into Japanese feeling was a meeting of some of the painters of Japan. It was arranged by a Japanese gentleman who, though not an artist himself, is deeply interested in art, and keenly alive to everything touching it. Knowing me personally, he was anxious that I should come in contact with these men whose practice he so much revered, and so he invited several of these artists of different kinds--designers of metal work and designers for manufactures--to his house to meet me. I talked to them with his interpreting help, just a little about art and its principles and so forth, in the hope that the others would be brought to speak freely, and I expressed my readiness to give them what information I could of European art and its practice. They asked me remarkable questions. Most of them, it appeared, were discouraged because "the European required such ugly things." If they made what the Europeans really enjoyed, their productions were looked upon as unsaleable. It appeared to me that it must be extremely difficult for the Japs to hold fast to their artistic instincts, and in the end I expressed my conviction that it would pay them better to adhere to their principles rather than to pander to the foolish demands of the dull American or British merchant who had neither idea nor concern as to the beauty of the work he buys. [Illustration: LEADING TO THE TEMPLE] Unfortunately, to a great extent these traders are lowering the standard of painting in Japan. Not a few of these sixty men who came to meet me would do work they did not care about, not being men of such individuality and independence of character as Kiyosai. With them, as with us, the prize of money-reward is a bait too tempting to be resisted. Two days afterwards some of these friends were good enough to write a long discourse in one of the Japanese papers on my address, saying how much pleased they were to find an artist from England with my ideas of Japanese art--one who condemned the notion so common among them that it was necessary to pander to the tastes of a foreign market. They were especially glad that I had condemned that, and many of the painters, more or less on the strength of my conversation, decided to do thenceforth what they felt to be true to their principles--to go to nature and themselves, to choose their lovely harmony of colour, instead of designing stereotyped screens with gold birds on black backgrounds. Many were determined to give up that kind of art altogether, and one in particular (whose studio I called at the day after) pointed out that he had already quite altered his style. He was an artist by nature, and he told me he felt that having to do this horrible work was going against him, and he had made up his mind that in future he would insist upon doing what he felt to be beautiful, and would be ruled by the merchant no more. I visited the studios of a great many of the artists to whom I had delivered my lecture, and saw their sketch-books and their method of work. In nearly every case their method coincided with the principles laid down by Kiyosai--each having, of course, his own method, but each working in the same broad way of "impression picture." Japan might be said to be as artistic as England is inartistic. In Japan art is not a cause, but a result--the result of the naturalness of the people--and is closely allied with all aspects of their daily life. In the houses, the streets, the gardens, the places of public resort--everywhere is to be found the all-pervading element of art and beauty. A rainy day in Japan is not, as it is in London, a day of gloom and horror, but a day of absolute fascination. What a joy is the spectacle of all those lovely yellow paper umbrellas unfurling themselves beneath a shower like flowers before the sun, so different from the dark shiny respectability of our ghastly gamps at home! John Bunyan has written and talked of the house beautiful; but the Japanese have given to the nation not only the house beautiful, but also (what is even more important to the community at large) the street beautiful, and that is where Japan differs so widely from Europe. As I walk through the London streets at night, how prosaic is the flicker of each gas-jet, within its sombre panes of glass, in some "long unlovely street," and how different from the softened rays that shine from out the dainty ricksha lanterns illuminating the streets in Japan! There a poem meets your eye with each step you take; and how pretty is every street corner, with its little shop, its mellow light and dainty arrangements, with the smiling face of some little child peeping out from the dim shadow beyond! It is a terrible thing to live in a country where art is the luxury of the few, and where the people know as little of what constitutes the beauty of life as a Hindoo knows of skating. What would a Japanese gentleman say, I wonder, if he passed into a room in the depths of winter and saw a quantity of those pretty fans, which in his country help to modify the heat of the golden summer days, viciously nailed, without rhyme or reason, upon a bright red wall, or those fairy-like umbrellas, upon which he has seen the rain-drops glisten so brightly, stuck within the gloomy recess of some lead-black hideous grate, or (with still less sense of the fitness of things or regard for the uses for which it was made) glued to a white-washed ceiling? [Illustration: BY THE LIGHT OF THE LANTERN] We sometimes talk of the deteriorating influence of European ideas upon Japanese art; but we have failed to perceive the ghastly inappropriateness of applying the Japs' delicate flights of fancy to our homes of discomfort. That usefulness is the basis of all righteousness is the moral code by which a man's position is gauged in Japan, and by which things are made. It does not matter how beautiful an article may be, or how trivial--whether it is a penholder, a snuff-box, or a pipe--if it is not useful it is considered inartistic, and will not be accepted by the Japanese public. The form of a vase or a cup, or the shape of a handle, must all be designed with a view to its usefulness; and every little work of art that is made, every cabinet and curio (apart from being decorative), is designed to convey some maxim-like idea, a lesson that will be useful and helpful in one way or another to the beholder. On entering a Japanese tea-house you will see a kakemono hanging on the wall that strikes you at the first glance as being a perfect picture, with the bold but simple Chinese characters on the white silk and the tiny slip of vermilion which is the signature of the artist. It is placed well in the room, and is altogether a thing of beauty; but when, on closer inspection, you read the decorative letters, you will find that they give you some dainty piece of advice to help you through the day, or some pretty idea on which your eye and mind can rest. Then, again, the games that the children play in the streets with sand or pebbles--they are teaching them arithmetic, construction, patience, and innumerable valuable lessons. Usefulness is the basis of the ancient caste system of Japan, which system exists at the present day, and upon which the relative usefulness of a man depends. Take the Samurai. They occupy the premier position as Japanese aristocracy, because, although they wear silk, they give up their lives for their country--and no man can be more useful than that. The agriculturalist ranks next in dignity; for none can do without food, and therefore his usefulness is indisputable. Then come the workmen, and last of all the merchants, who are considered as "no class" in Japan and are greatly looked down upon--producing nothing, they merely turn over articles made by other hands for a profit. [Illustration: "NEWS"] The most beautiful article we possess (one that is entirely our own) is the hansom cab. It is perhaps one of the greatest triumphs that the West has produced in the shape of a conveyance, and simply because it has been designed with a view to its usefulness. Would that we were always ruled by this splendid quality! Unfortunately, we are not. We are ruled by our own tastes, which, I feel bound to admit, are not artistic. Think of the sombre, happy-go-lucky arrangements of our London theatres. How is it that in the best-managed of them an actress will so far forget herself as to lie dying in the middle of a snowy street in the dead of night, pale-faced and wretched-looking, with ten thousand pounds' worth of jewellery on her fingers? Such a scene would drive the artistic and consistent Japanese manager into the nearest lunatic asylum. At the same time he would be unutterably shocked at seeing a red moon (red, let us trust, with the blush of shame at its creator's folly) rising hurriedly behind some stage bank of roses, swiftly and unnaturally hurrying across a purple sky, and shamefacedly setting in the East, in the West, in the North, in the South, within the brief hour of an English stage, as if glad to escape the rapturous applause of an inartistic public. But perhaps nowhere is the difference between European and Japanese art so sharply accentuated as it is in the teaching of it in the great schools of the West and of the East. Let us take the art schools of Paris, which is considered by a vast portion of the artistic world to be the very paradise of art. You enter the crowded studio of some well-known master, and you see before you a large white statue, the first and predominant impression of which is its exceeding whiteness; and to your mingled amusement and amazement you discover that the unfortunate pupils are engaged in a futile endeavour to render an impression of exceeding whiteness by the aid of thick black chalk or charcoal. As to how this is to be done with any degree of verisimilitude you are no less at fault than they are, poor dears, themselves; and therefore you will not be surprised that, dazed and wearied as they must be from the steady contemplation of this never-ending pose, their work at the close of a day resembles the figure from which they have been drawing as closely as the work of Michael Angelo, or any of the great Japanese masters. [Illustration: A SUNNY TEMPLE] From the antique you pass to the life room. Here another shock awaits you. In the middle of the room stands a young girl, strapped up in the attitude of Atalanta of classic fable running her immortal race. These pupils are taught first of all to sketch the figure in the pose of running as a skeleton. When the hideous skeleton has been carefully and laboriously committed to paper, it is with equal care imbued with nerves and muscles and flesh. When all this is done, a light Grecian drapery is flung on her, regardless of the folds and movement that would eventually have resulted from the fluttering of the breeze, and, mind you, she is strapped up all the time. Then, when all is completed, the poor dear lady is expected to run her immortal race. Of course, by this time there is no action in the figure at all. Atalanta appears glued to the spot, and my only wonder is that she does not indignantly chase her unfortunate creators from the studio. On looking at these pictures the spectator would say that he never saw anything so absolutely unsuggestive of the breathless vigour and energy of a healthy young girl engaged in a rapid race as is indicated by the pitiful weariness of that poor strapped-up creature in front of them. Would it not be far better that these students should go out into the street, after the method of the Japs, and watch some girl as she runs and jumps in the bright sunshine, with a soft wind blowing her hair about her head and her gown about her limbs, and then come back, and, with a memory of the beautiful inspiriting scene still fresh in their minds, commit their impressions "hot and hot" upon the canvas before them? [Illustration: ON THE GREAT CANAL, OSAKA] Still, England has not always been so hopelessly inartistic. None would think of denying the perfect taste of the architects who designed such buildings as the Winchester and Durham Cathedrals, and Arundel Castle; but those are buildings wrought in dead days by men a long time dead, and England's days of artistic appreciation are, I fear, as dead as they are. Commerce and so-called civilisation have ruined us, I fear, for ever. Japan is as artistic to-day as we were five hundred years ago, and I rejoice to think that at present there appears to be little fear of so ghastly a fate as has overtaken us. As a nation the Japanese remain faithful to art in all its details, and as individuals they are still a nation of artists. Where else but in Japan would an aged gentleman dream of rising ere the day has well begun, merely that he might bring into harmony with all its surroundings, and present in the best light possible, a little flower placed in a pot--bending it this way and that way, that its attitude might conform with the cabinet in one corner of the room, or a screen in the other? Who but a Japanese chamber-boy would be so impressed with the artistic value of contrast merely that he would feel constrained thereby to place the can of hot water in a different attitude every time he brought it into the room, and thoughtfully step aside to regard its consonance with its immediate surroundings? Art begins, as charity begins, at home; and where the home of the individual is absolutely artistic, it cannot fail that the whole nation should be a nation of artists. I give way to none in my loyalty to my country and my love for that country--I must say that I do not think that there is a country better in the whole world;--but perfection on this earth is not only impossible, but to my idea also absolutely undesirable--a perfect nation would be to the full as dreadful as a perfect man. We are saved from perfection by an almost entire lack of the artistic faculty, and, however great we are in other respects, I am sad to say we are thoroughly inartistic. To whom but the Englishman would the golden dragons that play so recklessly about on black screens with their scarlet drooping tongues, that are sold in the Japanese curio shops, possibly appeal? Who but English-speaking people would crave for those cherry-blossoms embroidered on white silk grounds, which they so gleefully carry away with them? Who but my inartistic countrymen would insist on their cabinets being smothered with endless and miscellaneous carvings? The Japanese are too artistic to admit these things into their own homes; but why are their dealers so inartistic as (blinded by the desire of filthy pelf) to put forth these embroideries for the English and American market? Such things now and then make me tremble for the future of art in Japan. It may be (though I trust not) the thin end of the wedge; it may be "the little rift within the lute that by and by will make the music mute, and, ever widening, slowly silence all." What a tragedy it would be that the music of this most perfect art should ever be silenced in that lovely land, the resting-place and home of the highest and only living art! PAINTERS AND THEIR METHODS CHAPTER III PAINTERS AND THEIR METHODS The methods of painters all over the world are very much alike. In fact, the methods of great masters (no matter of what nationality, and whether of this period or of centuries past) are often precisely similar, while there can be no doubt but that some of the finest masterpieces ever painted very closely resemble one another. I was once taken to see two photographs, one a portion of a figure by Michael Angelo, and the other a portion of a Japanese buddha by one of Japan's greatest masters; and to my surprise I found that it was almost impossible to detect which was which. This particular statue of Michael Angelo's I had studied and knew well; yet here was a portion of a Japanese god that looked exactly the same--the same broad handling, the same everything. In both there was the same curious exaggeration of the bones and muscles, wrong from the anatomical standpoint, yet conveying an impression of terrific strength that is so typical of the work of Michael Angelo--indeed, one masterly hand might have executed both pictures. Yet the little Japanese artist, the creator of this Buddha, was but a modern, and in all probability had never so much as seen Michael Angelo's pictures, much less had he been in the slightest degree influenced by him. Japanese painters have a great admiration for Michael Angelo's work, and for Italian painters in general. If you were to show a Japanese artist, any ordinary little minor artist, some photographs of masterpieces by men such as Velasquez, Rembrandt, and Botticelli, you would find that he would at once spring on to the early Italian work, peer into it, hold it up, devour it, muttering to himself the while--nothing could tear him away. Rembrandt does not appeal to him much; Velasquez not much; but Botticelli--yes. Still, I have often thought that could Hokusai and Velasquez, Kiosi and Whistler, have met and talked, they would have had much in common with one another; for there is in the works of each, although in many senses so widely different, that simplicity, truthfulness, and restraint which render them all so very much alike. [Illustration: AFTER THE FESTIVAL] The broad principles of art are much the same all the world over; but it is between the lesser artists of Japan and the myriads of comparatively unknown artists of Europe that there is so great a gulf fixed. Japanese minor artists are artists indeed. Our minor artists are, I fear, anything but artists. The veriest Japanese craftsman is an artist first and a tradesman afterwards. Ours is a tradesman first and last and altogether; and even as a tradesman he is, I fear, a failure, for the honest tradesman has at least something worth the selling, whilst our men--the jerry builder, the plumber, the furniture maker, and the carpenter--give in return for solid money an article which it would break the heart of the merest artisan in Japan to put forward as the work of his hands. But perhaps nowhere is the difference between European and Japanese art so sharply accentuated as it is in the teaching of it in the great schools of the East and of the West. We Westerners are taught to draw direct from the object or model before us on the platform, whereas the Japanese are taught to study every detail of their model, and to store their brains with impressions of every curve and line, afterwards to go away and draw that object from memory. This is a splendid training for the memory and the eye, as it teaches one both to see and to remember--two great considerations in the art of drawing. You will often see a little child sitting in a garden in Japan gazing attentively for perhaps a whole hour at a bowl of goldfish, watching the tiny bright creatures as they circle round and round in the bowl. Remarking on some particular pose, the child will retain it in its busy brain, and, running away, will put down this impression as nearly as it can remember. Perhaps on this first occasion he is only able to put in a few leading lines; very soon he is at a loss--he has forgotten the curve of the tail or the placing of the eye. He toddles back and studies the fish again and again, until perhaps after one week's practice that child is able to draw the fish in two or three different poses from memory without the slightest hesitation or uncertainty. It is this certainty of touch and their power to execute these bold, sweeping, decided lines that form the chief attraction of Japanese works of art. Their wrists are supple; the picture in their minds is sure; they have learnt it line for line; it is merely the matter of a few minutes for an artist to sketch in his picture. There are no choppy hesitating lines such as one detects in even the finest of our Western pictures, lines in which you can plainly see how the artist has swerved first to the right and then to the left, correcting and erasing, uncertain in his touch. The lines will probably be correct in the end; but when the picture is finished his work has not that bright crisp look so characteristic of the Japanese pictures. Then, again, when a Japanese artist draws a bird, he begins with the point of interest--which, let us say, is the eye. The brilliant black eye of a crow fixed upon a piece of meat attracts his attention; he remembers it, and the first few strokes that he portrays upon his stretched silk is the eye of the bird. The neck, the legs, the body--everything radiates and springs from that bright eye just as it does in the animal itself. [Illustration: THE LEMON BRIDGE] Then, again, let us say a Japanese artist is painting a typical Japanese river-scene, such a one as inspired many of Mr. Whistler's graceful Thames etchings--a quaintly formed bridge under whose dim archway a glimpse of shipping and masses of detail can be seen in the distance. To a Japanese artist the chief charm and interest of such a scene would lie in that little view beneath the bridge, and he would begin by drawing in, line for line, every little mast and funnel just as he sees it, or rather as he remembers it. The picture slowly expands as it reaches the margin, ending in the bridge, which forms, as it were, a frame through which to view the dainty richness of detail of the busy scene beyond. If you were to arrest this picture at any moment during its career you would find that it formed a perfect whole, every line balancing the other; whereas, according to our methods, if we were to draw the bridge first, timidly suggesting the distance and leaving the detail and all the fine lines to be put in afterwards, as so many artists do, the picture until it was completed would appear spotty and uneven. And even when finished there would be no balance, for we neither understand nor realise the importance of that quality without which no work of art can be perfect. The Japanese methods of drawing and painting are entirely opposed to our Western methods, and in order to give a slight insight into the works of the Japanese painters I must describe these methods as minutely and as clearly as is possible. To begin with, the size of an ordinary picture is two feet by four and a half long, and as a rule three times as much space is left at the top as at the bottom of the picture. The brushes consist of a series of round ones; they are flat-ended and vary greatly in breadth, being named after the character of work they are fitted for. Straw brushes are sometimes used for coarse work. The silk that they paint upon is prepared in the following manner. First the edges of the wooden frame are pasted and the silk is rolled loosely over, great care being taken to keep the grain of the silk level. The surface of the silk is prepared with alum and size, the proportion of which is about an egg-spoonful of alum to a small tea-cupful of size. The size is boiled and strained and diluted with water, and the alum is added over the fire; it is again strained, and is then ready for use. Finally, it is put on to the surface while hot with a large brush. It is usual to put on two coats, and a contrivance in the shape of a cross piece of wood at the back of the frame is used for straining the silk more tightly after the first coat of size. The colours that the Japanese use are mixed and prepared in the following manner. Whitening, which is the basis of most colours, is pounded with a pestle and mortar into a very fine powder; then a little size which has been boiled and strained is poured in, and the whole is beaten up and worked into a ball. This ball is thrown over and over again into the mortar until it is well beaten. A little water is poured over the lump, which is then heated over a fire until it breaks and spreads. In this state, after cooling a little, it is well worked up, with perhaps the addition of water, until a white pulpy putty is produced; the artist is very careful all the time to avoid grit. Other colours are principally prepared from powders, which are beaten up in little porcelain cups with small pestles, and are mixed with a little size and water into saucers, stirred all the while with the finger and heated over the fire until dry, or nearly so. When required for use they must be worked up again with the finger and water, and it is a good plan when first mixing the colours to paste paper over the saucers, leaving a small hole for the insertion of the brush. Gamboge and a vegetable red resembling crimson lake are both used without size. The latter is prepared from a woollen material which is torn up into shreds and put into a saucer; then it is mixed with boiling water and afterwards strained through paper. It is drawn off in small quantities into several saucers and carefully dried over the fire. There is a colour which is much used called Taisha, which is like burnt sienna; then there is Tan, a sort of orange, and Shi, a vermilion red. The red is prepared in two different ways, first by being mixed cold in a cup with a pestle, a little size, and water. In this preparation the colour separates into a deep red and orange, the latter floating on the top. The orange is afterwards saved and used instead of Tan--Tan, not being permanent, turns black and disappears; it is used sometimes to shade ladies' faces, but fades very much. In using this preparation of orange and red, the brush must be first dipped in yellow and then the tip of it in the red, so as to take up both portions of the mixture. Another way of preparing Shi is to heat a saucer until the finger can hardly bear the touch, and then pour in some size and put the powdered pigment in it while still on the fire. When it has dried it is taken off and mixed with the finger very hot, a little water being added gradually, until it is of a thickish consistency. Shi thus mixed is of a deep red without any orange precipitate, and is used for upper washes, for, having a great deal of orange in it, it would be too black if used for undertones. In mixing indigo blue from a cake, the saucer is put over the fire to dry, and a little size is added. It is then rubbed with the finger, and water is gradually added. Taisha, when in a cake, is also prepared in this way. Taisha is used for the face and hair. The hair is shaded off with Indian ink, and the muscles of the face are washed in with Taisha having no white but a little black mixed with it; the feet and hands are handled in the same way. Then the face is washed over again with the same colour, only a little lighter. Broad masses of shading are introduced, and the nose, mouth, and edge of the cheek are generally left to be shaded in. It is considered better to use a number of light tones than one dark tone, and the washes on the face are repeated two or three times. The hair also is washed over with a large brush and rather dark ink; the eyebrows are put in in a single wash; also the corners of the eyes and mouth, which are flicked in and then washed off again. The lips are put in with vermilion and shaded off with another brush. A mixture of red, white, and Indian ink forming a dull purple is used for the pupils of the eyes, and the same mixture with a greater proportion of red, and consequently a little lighter, is used for going over the outline, and the ends of some of the lines are washed off with another brush. The same purple colour, but lighter still, is used as a backing to the outline in order to soften the edges, and a few touches of purple are painted in under the eyes and ears. The lips are touched with carmine, and the teeth and eyeballs with a little white. The under-lip and corners of the eyes are touched with lines or dots of light Indian ink, and the top eyelids and tops of lower eyelids are outlined with thin lines. The outline of the pupil is very fine; but the dot of the eye is made very black; the nostrils are painted in in light ink, shaded off afterwards and outlined in black. The hair round the mouth is put in in very light ink with a finely pointed brush. [Illustration: BEARING A BURDEN] There are many ways of painting the hair. Sometimes a fine brush is used with single parallel lines, and sometimes it is washed in with a broad brush with light ink below and darker above. In old silk pictures great depth used to be obtained by painting the hair on the back of the silk as well as on the front. For painting leaves a mixture of indigo and gamboge is generally used with a full brush, the tip of the brush being dipped in indigo. By this method, the dark colour on the tip of the brush being after a time exhausted, the lighter green appears, and thus a natural variety of gradation is given to the colour of the leaves. Trees and rocks, etc., are often scrubbed in with a rather dry brush worked sideways and forming broken lines. Another method of drawing a figure is to outline in charcoal, after which the face with its markings is outlined with a kind of Indian ink. Then with the same Indian ink, but with broader lines and a large brush, the drapery is boldly swept in with lines that should break in parts and form a drag. This drag must come naturally by pressing the brush firmly on the silk or paper; any attempt to force it would end in failure. The hair should then be worked in with a large spread brush, care being taken to give the hairs a radial tendency and not let them cross confusedly. Sometimes this hair is painted with a fine brush and with single lines. For the background two large brushes are used, one fitted with light ink and the other with plain water to shade off the black. The face and the breast are treated in the same way. The outlines of the drapery are sometimes washed in with a lighter tone to project over the edge and soften them. The face is washed with a mixture of red and ink, leaving only the eyes. The work is finished by using a small brush and very black ink for the markings of the mouth, centre of the eyes, under the eyelids, nostrils, and ear-rings. Japanese artists study a great deal from life, and in order to draw a figure full of spirit and action they will often work in this way. Beginning with a very full brush, they sketch in the general swing of the figure with a few well-chosen broad black lines--as, for instance, when drawing the legs of a horse or a lobster they will put them in with one broad wash. Then they strain thin Japanese paper over this spirited sketch, and begin to elaborate on it with finer work, until in the end they produce a picture that has high finish, but possessing all the action and spirit of a first impression. [Illustration: THE END OF THE DAY AND THE END OF THE FESTIVAL] The Japanese system of studying Nature in detail, but not with a view to creating a picture, is perhaps especially noticeable in their drawings of women. It would be considered coarse and vulgar in the extreme to paint a woman in the glaring light of a studio, copying every feature and wrinkle, line for line, as you would copy a man. Kiyosai explains that it is impossible to create a beautiful face by drawing direct from life, especially in line. The only way in which it can be achieved is by suggesting a natural beauty on paper, and by imitating a conventional type away from nature. The Japanese have a conventional type of beauty just as we have, and just as the Greeks had years ago--an ideal that has been evolved from the aggregate of myriads of beautiful women,--and this ideal of theirs must be a woman possessing small lips, with eyelids scarcely showing, and eyebrows far above the eyes. The forehead must be narrow at the top and widening towards the base, looking altogether very like a pyramid with its top cut off; the nose should be aquiline, and the whole woman must appear to be the personification of softness and delicacy. The conventional type of a Japanese man has always the legs and arms placed in impossible positions to denote strength, and the muscles are greatly exaggerated. In the old masters of Japan great importance is attached to flesh markings, more especially in pictures of men. In a sketch of a fat man trying to lift a heavy weight, the action would be suggested in a few swift lines with no shading, but just two small horizontal lines at the back of the neck. Those two little flesh markings portray the fat man to perfection, admirably suggesting both the strain of the action and the bulk of the man. But in talking of the art of Japan and the methods of the Japanese painter, I feel that I cannot do better than describe a day that I once spent with that greatest of all living artists, Kiyosai, at the house of Captain Brinkley. This gentleman invited Kiyosai to come to his house one morning, and I was asked to watch and follow the whole process of his work, and as far as possible to learn from him his theories about painting. It was a splendid chance for me as a painter, especially as Captain Brinkley, who has resided in Japan for many years, and is a Japanese scholar of high attainment, acted as interpreter between Kiyosai and myself. Kiyosai, I may say, is known all over Japan. From the highest noble to the lowest ragged child in the streets, all know the artist and love his work, for the pictures of a popular painter get abroad in Japan much as they get abroad here--Kiyosai's pictures and sketches being reproduced and published in the Japanese papers just as they would be published in Western magazines. When any drawing by Kiyosai appears a rush is made for the paper. These drawings of his are really superb work, and I could not help feeling how great a privilege it was to come into contact with such a man. [Illustration: IN FRONT OF THE STALL] I arrived at my host's quite early in the morning, for I was to have a whole day with my Japanese fellow-worker. I was introduced at once to an old man, grave and very dignified in bearing, and I found it difficult at first to realise that this was the painter of whom I had heard so much. He was sitting on the floor smoking, while his assistant was busy stretching silk and preparing colours. As a rule, to see a Japanese smoke is to get at once a clue to the nature of the people. But Kiyosai was peculiar even in this. He was one of the few men who would take only one draw from his pipe; in the most dignified manner possible he would take that one whiff and then knock out the contents of his pipe, repeating the process as long as he continued to smoke. He had the most remarkable hands, too, ever seen, with long and slim thumbs--more sensitive, artistic, capable hands, from the chiromancer's point of view, could hardly be. He was enthusiastic, but prodigiously dignified, and used his hands just a little, yet in the most impressive way. He never rose from his sitting posture, and every time I said anything that was at all complimentary he received it with charming ceremony, by bowing to the very ground. No sooner was I introduced than his face seemed to light up, his eyes became intensely brilliant, and his conversation not less so. He was enthusiastic in his desire to learn about English painters and English art generally, and eager to tell me his own views of art, and all he felt about it. To my pleased confusion, he seemed to regard me with an interest equalling mine for him. He put many questions about English art, and told me much that was interesting about his own. He spoke of the effect made on him by some English pictures. "I have seen a number of English and European pictures," he said; "but they all appear to me very much alike. I hear that in England and all over Europe they say the Japanese pictures look to them all alike. Why is this?" The explanation was not immediately forthcoming, for at first sight it seemed so extraordinary that to this man English pictures looked all alike. But immediately the truth forced itself upon me, as it will force itself upon the reader. European pictures are all wonderfully alike. It struck me that when, not long before, I was on a "hanging committee," and had passing before me several thousand pictures, it was only here and there that my attention was arrested by the individuality of some of the work. For the most part they were the same pigments, the same high lights, and the same deep shadows; and mentally seeing this procession of pictures pass before me, I could not avoid seeing how grievously alike European pictures were. I had in some sort, indeed, felt this before, and was delighted on having the impression "fixed," so to speak, by the Japanese master. I saw a number of Japanese pictures, and I certainly found them far more individual than our work is. We say these Japanese works are insipid, out of perspective, and all pretty much the same. Here is a painter of Japan who brings a similar charge against our much more complex pictures--this, surely, is a new and a valuable lesson, full of suggestion for the thoughtful painter! [Illustration: THE STALL BY THE BRIDGE] Kiyosai next began to discuss drawing, and, as he was speaking to an Englishman, English drawing in particular. "I hear that when artists in England are painting," he said, "if they are painting a bird, they stand that bird up in their back garden, or in their studio, and begin to paint it at once, then and there, never quite deciding what they are going to paint, never thinking of the particular pose and action of the bird that is to be represented on the canvas. Now, suppose that bird suddenly moves one leg up--what does the English artist do then?" He could not understand how an English painter could paint with the model before him. I naturally told him that they copied what they saw; that they got over the difficulty as best they could. "I do not quite understand that," he said. "In my own practice I look at the bird; I want to paint him as he is. He has got a pose. Good! Then he suddenly puts down his head, and there is another pose. The bare fact of the bird being there in an altered pose would compel me to alter my idea; and so on, until at last I could paint nothing at all." I asked him what, then, was his method. "I watch my bird," he replied, "and the particular pose I wish to copy before I attempt to represent it. I observe that very closely until he moves and the attitude is altered. Then I go away and record as much of that particular pose as I can remember. Perhaps I may be able to put down only three or four lines; but directly I have lost the impression I stop. Then I go back again and study that bird until it takes the same position as before. And then I again try and retain as much as I can of it. In this way I began by spending a whole day in a garden watching a bird and its particular attitude, and in the end I have remembered the pose so well, by continually trying to represent it, that I am able to repeat it entirely from my impression--but not from the bird. It is a hindrance to have the model before me when I have a mental note of the pose. What I do is a painting from memory, and it is a true impression. I have filled hundreds of sketch-books," he continued, "of different sorts of birds and fish and other things, and have at last got a facility, and have trained my memory to such an extent, that by observing the rapid action of a bird I can nearly always retain and produce it. By a lifelong training I have made my memory so keen that I think I may say I can reproduce anything I have once seen." Such, then, is Kiyosai's method of work. It is purely natural, and one that has obtained for generations, and that is the Japanese whole theory of art. Captain Brinkley told me a story, the outcome of that conversation. Kiyosai came one day to work at a screen which Captain Brinkley was very anxious for him to complete; but he could not finish it at the time, do what he would. He said nothing; but it came out that he had a fresh impression in his mind, and he could not go on with the old impression until he had worked off the new one--something he had seen on his way up to the house. The painters always live with fish, and birds, and animals of different sorts. They have fish in bottles and in ponds in their gardens. I went to many studios in Japan, and I found each one with its ponds and fish in the little garden surrounding the studio, and birds as well. They always study nature, and I believe that is the keynote of their art. The technique of Kiyosai's work was most fascinating. I had come away from England with all sorts of theories concerning the technical part of an artist's work, and when I got to Japan I found there was absolutely nothing that was not known to this man. His method of work, too, interested me exceedingly. To begin with, the assistant brought his stretcher of silk--a lovely piece of silk stretched across a wooden frame--and placed it in front of him. Then, taking a long burnt twig, he thought for a few minutes, looking all the while at his silk--thought out his picture, indeed, before he put a single touch on his canvas. How different is this from the man who so often, with us, puts on a lot of hasty touches in the hope that they will suggest the picture! When this artist saw his picture complete in his mind, he began with the little burnt twig to trace a few sure lines. I never saw such facility in my life. A few swift strokes indicated the outline on the silk of two black crows; then he took up his brush and began at once with the Indian ink, with full powerful colour; and in about seven minutes he had completed a picture, superbly drawn and full of character--a complete impression of two black crows, very nearly life-size, resting on the branch of a tree. Kiyosai never amid any circumstances repeats himself: every picture he paints is different, while for his work he asks but a small price. After he had done his crows he painted a coloured picture, beginning with Indian ink. First he tried all his colours, which were ready prepared in different little blue pots and placed around him. These little shallow pots or saucers had each its own liquid, which the assistant had prepared to a certain extent beforehand. They contained flesh tint, drapery colour, tones for hair, gold ornaments, and so forth. These colours had evidently been used before, as they were in their saucers, merely requiring dilution before immediate use. The saucers were arranged chiefly on his right, with a great vessel of water, of which he used a great deal. All his utensils were scrupulously clean. When he began there was no fishing for tones as on the average palette. No accident! All was sure--a scientific certainty from beginning to the end. The picture was the portrait of a woman. It displayed enormous facility and great knowledge, and his treatment of the drapery was remarkable; but altogether it pleased me less. No attempt was there at what is called broken colour. A black dress would be one beautiful tone of black, and flesh one clean tone of flesh, shadows growing out of the mass and forming a part of the whole. As this work was a very simple impression, he finished the coloured picture in a few minutes. But on the whole, in one sense, it was less satisfactory. It appeared as if he had studied his subject less, for it was a little conventional. He was less happy in it; but, of course, he did not admit this to himself. [Illustration: ARCHERS] He did four pictures, and each of them took from about seven to ten minutes, these constituting the finest lesson in water-colour painting I ever received in my life. Here is his idea of finish: once the impression of the detail and the finish of the object is recorded you can do nothing better; so far as the painter's impression of finish goes, so far must the rendering go, and no farther. Artistically he had become exhausted by doing these four pictures--in invention, I mean. You see, the man was heart and soul in the work. He lives, poor fellow, on almost nothing. He is a very independent man, refusing to work for money, and declining to paint for the market. Nearly every artist in Japan has his own favourite stick of Indian ink, which he values as his very life. It is essential that this ink should be of the very finest quality, for they drink so much of it. In order to execute those fine lines ending in a broad sweep that is so characteristic of Japanese pictures, an artist must first fill his brush with Indian ink and then apply it to his lips until the tip becomes pointed. The ink is of course swallowed; but if it is of a good quality, to drink pints of it would not do a man the slightest harm. A practical proof of this can be found in the fact that Kiyosai, who is an old man, has been drinking Indian ink steadily with every picture he has painted all through his lifetime. He possesses a small piece of Indian ink which is hundreds of years old, and which all the money in the world could not buy. It is far too precious for broad washes, and is only used here and there for bright touches. I noticed the tender way in which Kiyosai handled this one precious piece of Indian ink, and that led to a very interesting conversation on blacks, after which I realised that the variations and gradations to be procured with black alone were enormous. Kiyosai told me that when he was very young he was puzzled by the exceedingly rich quality of black in one of his master's pictures. It was a deep, velvety, luminous black, and young Kiyosai struggled for weeks and weeks to match it, but in vain. He came to the conclusion that there must be some work going on at the back of the picture, and at last one night he became so desperate that, stealing into his master's room while he lay asleep, he soaked off the picture which had been pasted on to a board, and looked at the back of it. One glance was enough, and little Kiyosai, with a throb of pleasure, hastily pasted the picture together again and stole away to experiment all that night on silk and on paper, "painting black both on the front and on the back." I inquired of Kiyosai if he had ever painted in oils, and he assured me that he had not; but a few days later Captain Brinkley showed me a little picture painted in lacquer by Kiyosai which, in my opinion, rivalled for brilliancy any oil picture that has ever been painted, or has still to be painted. The surface was as brilliant as glass; yet the picture had a depth which no ordinary oil pigment could hope to reach, while its deep luminous shadows would put to shame the finest of Van Eyck's pictures. An English friend of mine resident in Japan once told me a story of Kiyosai which struck me as being typical of that great master. A friend of his had prepared four magnificent sliding panels covered with the finest silk, and had given them to the painter with the request that he would execute some of his masterpieces on them for him. For eight or nine years Kiyosai had kept those panels, and they still remained bare; but great masters are always erratic, and the would-be purchaser never gave up hope. One day, however, he burst in upon my friend with the terrible intelligence that Kiyosai was dead drunk and had ruined his panels. "He's smashing away at them on the floor, and he is simply crawling over them," he said in a towering rage. My friend agreed to go round with him to Kiyosai's house to try if possible to stop the outrage. When they arrived they found the master in a high state of fever, and looking more like a wild animal than a human being, with his tusk-like teeth and his poor pitted face, sweeping and hacking about all over the silken panels. As they entered, Kiyosai left the room, leaving behind him the panels scattered irregularly over the floor, but each one smothered with work. "Look here," said my friend very generously: "it was I that introduced Kiyosai to you, and it was I that suggested his painting these doors; therefore it is only fair that I should relieve you of them and find you a new set, which I will willingly do." But the owner of the panels, shrewdly guessing that my friend had not made this magnanimous offer without some good reason, changed his mind and said that he could on no account receive so costly a gift. He kept them, and wisely too, for these four panels are now universally considered as some of Kiyosai's greatest masterpieces. [Illustration: REFLECTIONS] Strange to say, Kiyosai, when painting his finest work, is nearly always drunk, and his weakness is often taken a mean advantage of by the people around him. I remember once attending a party given by a Legation person who had invited a dozen or so of Japan's finest artists--among them the great Kiyosai, the master--to paint pictures on the floor for the edification of the assembled guests--a rather vulgar proceeding. Kiyosai resented this indignity with all the force of his passionate nature, but out of kindness allowed himself to be over-persuaded by his host. They made him drink and keep on drinking to build up his enthusiasm; but, boiling over with rage and indignation, he kept on putting off his time until the whole twelve artists had finished the sketches, although, fearing that the effect of the drink would wear off, the guests begged him to start at once. At last Kiyosai's time came. The silk lay prepared on the floor, with the ink and brushes ready for him to begin. Mad with rage and hating his unsympathetic audience, Kiyosai stood, or rather knelt, before his silk, fiercely grasping the brush, holding it downwards with all his fingers round it and thumb turned outwards. He looked like a god as he knelt there, gripping his brush and staring at the silk--he was seeing his picture. He executed a flight of crows, a masterpiece--Kiyosai knew it was a masterpiece--and, proudly drawing himself up to his full height, quivering in every limb, he threw down his brush, skidded the silk along the floor towards the spectators, and, saying "That is Kiyosai," left the house in disgust. The dignity of the little man cowed his spectators. Every one unconsciously felt the magnetism of the man, and realised that a master had been among them. PLACING CHAPTER IV PLACING In Japan there is no such thing as accident. A scene which in its beauty and perfect placing appears to the visitor to be the result of Nature in an unusually generous mood, has in reality been the object of infinite care and thought and anxious deliberation to these little Japanese artists, the landscape gardeners. That temple which seems to place itself so remarkably well in relation to the big lines of Nature, its background, has been carefully built and thought out from that standpoint alone. The great trees by the side of the temple, with their graceful jutting boughs that form the principal feature of the picture, have not grown like that, for all their apparent naturalness; they have been nursed and grafted and forced into shape with the utmost care imaginable. The sense of perfect placing, which is the sense of balance, is the true secret of the Japanese art, by which they attain perfection. All Orientals are more or less possessed of this intuitive sense of balance, and the Japanese carry it into the most minute details of daily life. If you enter a Japanese room you will always find that the bough of blossom is placed in relation to the kakemono and other furniture to form a picture. And the special note of Japanese house decoration is this bough of blossom, with which I was immensely struck. Now, this is an altogether artistic thing. At one party at which I was present I saw a piece of blossom-bough put right out at a curious angle from a beautiful blue jar. Turning to my neighbour, a young Japanese friend who could talk English perfectly well, I said, "How beautiful that is!--although, of course, its quaint curious form is merely accident." "No--no accident at all," he replied. "Do you know, it has been a matter of great care, this placing of the plant in the room in relation to other objects?"--I was afterwards informed that in many a household in Japan the children are trained in the method of placing a branch or a piece of blossom, and they have books with diagrams illustrating the proper way of disposing flowers in a pot. [Illustration: THE RED CURTAIN] The outsides as well as the insides of their houses are decorated in the harmonious principle, even to the painting of signs in the street. They are most particular about placing their richly coloured sign duly in relation to its surroundings. In the same way--whether the subject may be done in a string of lanterns or what not--whatever is done is done harmoniously, and in no case is decoration the result of accident. The sum of it all is that every shop in an ordinary street is a perfect picture. At first you are amazed at the beauty of everything. "How in the world is it," you ask yourself, "that by a series of apparent accidents everything appears beautiful?" You cannot imagine until you know that even the "common man" has acquired the scientific placing of his things, and that the feeling permeates all classes. Perhaps, however, one of the most curious experiences I had of the native artistic instinct of Japan occurred in this way I had got a number of fanholders and was busying myself one afternoon in arranging them upon the walls. My little Japanese servant boy was in the room, and as I went on with my work I caught an expression on his face from time to time which showed that he was not over-pleased with my performance. After a while, as this dissatisfied expression seemed to deepen, I asked him what the matter was. Then he frankly confessed that he did not like the way in which I was arranging my fanholders. "Why did you not tell me so at once?" I asked. "You are an artist from England," he replied, "and it was not for me to speak." However, I persuaded him to arrange the fanholders himself after his own taste, and I must say that I received a remarkable lesson. The task took him about two hours, placing, arranging, adjusting; and when he had finished the result was simply beautiful. That wall was a perfect picture; every fanholder seemed to be exactly in its right place, and it looked as if the alteration of a single one would affect and disintegrate the whole scheme. I accepted the lesson with due humility, and remained more than ever convinced that the Japanese are what they have justly claimed to be, an essentially artistic people instinct with living art. It is, in point of fact, almost impossible to exaggerate the importance attached to the placing of an object by every Japanese, and it would be no exaggeration to say that if a common coolie were given an addressed envelope to stamp he would take great pains to place that little coloured patch in relation to the name and address in order to form a decorative pattern. Can you imagine a tradesman and his family, wife and children, running across the Strand to watch the placing of a saucepan in their window? Yet this is no unusual occurrence in Japan. You will often see a family collected on the opposite side of the road watching their father place a signboard in front of his shop. It might be a grocer's shop, and all--even to the mite strapped to the back of its sister--are eagerly watching the moving about of this board, and are interested to see that it should place itself well in relation to the broad masses around, such as the tea-box, etc. [Illustration: FLOWER OF THE TEA] Now, people who think so much of the details of balance must necessarily approach art in a very different manner from that in which we approach it. Would a tradesman in England hesitate before placing his stamps on a bill? The tradesman in Japan does. Imagine an artist spending three days in anxious thought as to where he should place his signature on his picture! And yet this is what Kiyosai, the greatest of modern painters, actually did before he affixed his red stamp to the hasty sketch of a crow. I have known little Japanese painters to ponder for hours, and sometimes weeks, over the placing of this little vermilion stamp so that it shall form perfect balance, and in all probability the picture itself has only taken a few minutes. Suppose, for instance, a painter has contrived to produce a rapid sketch of a flying crow, or perhaps a fish. That fleeting impression was so strong that he was able to produce it at once without any hesitation; but however vivid and lifelike the picture might be, if the balance were destroyed by the ugly placing of this one little spot of vermilion, from the Japanese standpoint the picture would be utterly worthless. And the proper placing of a thing is really most important. Even the most ignorant and uneducated in matters of art are influenced on seeing a perfect bit of placing. To live with some beautiful thing, a flower or a bough well placed, to watch its delicious curves or the tender buds of a purple iris just bursting, must give joy, and it does, although one may be quite unconscious of its gentle power. The Japanese understand these subtleties as do no other nation. If they are entertaining a guest, their one aim and object is to make him perfectly and deliriously happy; they strive to divine his inmost thoughts and desires; it is their ambition to satisfy them to the best of their ability. [Illustration: A STREET IN KIOTO] A friend of mine, an American, once gave me a description of a week he had spent with a very ancient Japanese gentleman in a little country village; it was a week of intense interest and happiness to him, one which, when he grows to be as old as his host was then, will still remain in his memory with a lingering sweetness as something good to be remembered, something purer and quite apart from the regular routine of his past life. He was a student, a naturalist; and the purity of this Japanese household, the seclusion and dainty decoration of his study, the freedom of it all, and the kindly attention and sympathy that was proffered to him by every member of the family combined to make the quiet recluse feel, for once in his life, almost boisterously happy. Towards the end of his visit he tried to look back and discover what it was that had brought about this unwonted feeling of joy in him, little realising that all this time these dear people had been scheming and planning for no other object than to give him pleasure. It was not until the last day of his stay, however, that it all unfolded itself clearly before his eyes, and that he learnt the reason why he had been so happy. On this last morning he had chanced to rise early--at daybreak, in fact--and as he passed the room that he had been using as a general sitting-room, he saw through the partially-opened sliding doors a sight which caught his breath with amazement, and made tears spring to his eyes. There was his host, the dear ancient Japanese gentleman, kneeling before a bough of pink blossom, which he was struggling to arrange in a fine blue china pot. The naturalist stood and watched him for nearly an hour, as he clipped a bough here, and bent a twig there, leaning back on his heels now and then to view his handiwork through half-closed eyes. He must see that the blossom placed itself well from the decorative standpoint in relation to the kakemono that hung close by; he must also see that the curves of the bough were correct; and the care taken by this old gentleman in the bending of the bough was a lesson to my friend. It became clear to him that every morning his aged host must have risen at daybreak to perform this little act of kindness. Like a flash he remembered that each day there had been some dainty new arrangement of flowers placed in his room for him to enjoy. He had not given it much thought, for it looked more or less like an accident, flowers that had formed themselves naturally into that shape; yet, all unconsciously, this little bit of perfect placing had influenced his work and had gone far towards making the visit so joyous to him. He did not understand placing; but it interested him and gave him an intense amount of pleasure, in the same way that superbly fine work always does even to the most uneducated. The proper placing of objects is not only an exact science, but also it forms almost a religion with the Japanese. When you just arrive in Japan you are at once impressed with the perfect placing of everything about you. You find yourself surrounded by a series of beautiful pictures; every street that you see on your journey from the station to the hotel is a picture; every shop front, the combination of the many streets, the town in relation to the mountains round about it--everything you chance to look at forms a picture. In fact, the whole of Japan is one perfect bit of placing. [Illustration: HEAVY-LADEN] "Nature has favoured this place," says the globe-trotter. "I never found when I lived in Surrey that great trees placed themselves against hill-sides so as to form perfect pictures. I never saw the lines of a bush pick up those of a fence with one broad sweep. Nature never behaved like that in Dorking." Of course Nature didn't; nor does she in Japan. There the whole country, every square inch of it, is thought out and handled by great artists. There is no accident in the beautiful curves of the trees that the globe-trotter so justly admires: these trees have been trained and shaped and forced to form a certain decorative pattern, and the result is--perfection. We in the West labour under the delusion that if Nature were to be allowed to have her own sweet way, she would always be beautiful. But the Japanese have gone much further than this: they realise that Nature does not always do the right thing; they know that occasionally trees will grow up to form ugly lines; and they know exactly how to adapt and help her. She is to them like some beautiful musical instrument, finer than any ever made by human hands, but still an instrument, with harmonies to be coaxed out. And the Japanese play on Nature, not only in a concentrated way as with a kakemono or a flower in a room, but also in the biggest possible form, on landscapes; dragging in mountains, colossal trees, rushing cataracts--nothing is too much or too great an undertaking for these masters of decoration. Any ordinary little baby boy that is born in Japan has almost a greater decorative sense than the finest painter here in the West. All this beauty and perfection that meets one on every side is the result of centuries and centuries of habit, until it has become intuitive to the people. I can safely say there is no point in Japan where an artist cannot stand still and frame between his hands a picture that will be perfect in placing and design. In a Japanese garden, every stepping-stone, every tree, every little miniature out-house, is thought out as a bit of placing to form perfect balance. And it is thought out not as an isolated bit of Nature, but in relation to everything around that you can see, whether it is a temple, a large tree, or the side of a hill; and whatever position you happen to be in, in that garden you will always see a perfectly balanced picture. When you have been pottering about in the towns for some weeks, you eventually become accustomed to the idea that everything is thought out by these brilliant students in order to form a picture, and you begin to feel proud of the knowledge you have gleaned and to make practical use of it. You escort your friends, who are a trifle fresher than yourself, about the towns, pointing out to them that there is no accident in all the beauties that they so much admire--the shops, the signboards, the placing of the flower by the side of the workman--all this has been carefully thought out from the decorative standpoint, to be beautiful. But then, when one travels from the beaten track, away out in the country, even the resident who is by way of being artistic, and has had the fact that the Japanese are an artistic people driven into his stupid head by sheer force, even this poor dear is swept off his feet when he finds that Nature is still going on doing the same thing all these miles away from the town. He has probably come to view the cherry-blossom, and he discovers to his amazement that these huge hill-sides of blossom place themselves perfectly one against the other--colossal trees with jutty boughs frame themselves against the sides of the mountains to form a picture. One huge sweep of blossom is thought out in relation to another sweep that is deeper in tone; near by is a curiously-shaped bare patch of earth which is designed to give value to the brighter colour; and so it continues indefinitely. The whole country is thought out in huge blotches to form a picture perfect in harmony and in design. I once had a very interesting experience of the felling of a tree in Japan, and here again placing formed a very prominent part of the proceedings. Of course this was placing of a nature very different from the artistic placing that I have just described; but as a scientific bit of work it was simply wonderful! It was an enormous tree by the side of a temple; there were two little men sawing away at its base, little mites of men, half hidden by the huge gaping crowd, chiefly composed of children, that stood watching the performance, waiting for the tree to fall. A wall stood close by with an opening cut in it, just large enough to allow the trunk to place itself; and away in the distance strewn about at different angles were a series of huge stone boulders, and these, I soon found out, were to split up the boughs for firewood when the tree fell, thus saving labour. Imagine the science of it--the calculation and the accuracy of their judgment! The men went on sawing, every now and then pausing in their work to look up at the sky with their backs against the wall. At last there came a moment when the excitement was terrific: the trunk was nearly sawed through, and the tree seemed prepared to fall anywhere and everywhere, more particularly in my direction. Presently it began to give slightly, and it was one of the prettiest and most wonderful things I have ever seen in my life, the way that tree began to bend--gently, gracefully, ever so gently, the trunk fitting itself into the wall, and the branches dashing on to those great boulders that were waiting for them, splitting them up into fragments. Those little mites of Japanese handling that giant of a tree was a sight that I shall never forget. Where we would have had twenty men with ropes and paraphernalia, they had nothing but their big heads and their power to place a thing mathematically in the right position to help them. And it all looked so graceful and so easy that it would not have surprised me in the least to have seen one of those little men come sailing down on the branches. But what struck me the most forcibly was the great confidence of the people. They all stood round, almost touching the tree, but quite sure of the success of this venture; the fact that it was possible for the wood-cutter to fail never occurring to them for an instant. [Illustration: PEACH-BLOSSOM] Placing takes a prominent part in everything that the Japanese undertake; it shows itself not only in the arrangement of the landscape and in artistic matters where there is scope for their decorative powers, but also in small, out-of-the-way, inartistic things, as, for instance, photography. I have seen in the Tokio shop-windows photographs taken by native correspondents during the Chinese war, and it was quite extraordinary how their sense of placing showed itself even in this. You never by any chance see a photograph by a Japanese looking in the least like a European. If they photograph a group of men they will be sure to place that group near a great bough that juts across the picture; they cannot help it--it seems to be in the blood of a Japanese to be decorative. Their taste with regard to enjoyment is widely different from ours: a little bit of Nature which would give them intense pleasure would probably be ignored by us altogether. We want parks and stags and moorlands, broad expanses of country and huge avenues, while the Japanese will be content with one exquisite little harmony. They will gaze for whole hours in rapture at a little branch of peach-blossom, only a cluster, just a few inches of rose-red peach-blossom, with a slim grey twig, placing itself against a background of hills that stretch away in the distance indefinitely. At the same time they love expanse of view as well. It is one of their greatest joys to look from the top of a mountain downwards, but only at certain times of the day. A Japanese, holiday-making, will sometimes spend one whole day waiting for an effect that will perhaps last only a few moments, or he will toil for hours up a mountain-side to enjoy the exquisite pleasure of a fleeting colour harmony. ART IN PRACTICAL LIFE CHAPTER V ART IN PRACTICAL LIFE Throughout this book I have talked of Japan purely from the artistic standpoint. I have talked principally of the living art of the country and of its exquisite productions, and I firmly believe that it is because the Japs are a people of imagination that they will at no distant date forge ahead of other nations (who are depending solely upon their muscle) and become a dominating power. At the same time, it must be clearly understood that the artistic is not the only quality in which the Japs excel. Take them from any side, and it will be found that they have achieved remarkable success. Yet the average Westerner, on returning from a visit to Japan, has always the same superficial observation to make on the Japanese people. He has spent a few weeks in the Land of the Rising Sun; he has seen the dainty tea-houses, the miniature bridges, the paper walls and umbrellas, their works of art modelled in lead--everything suggesting the dainty and the exquisite (and therefore, in his opinion, the flimsy); and he tells you that the people over there are all dear little Noah's Ark folk living in tissue-paper houses, very charming as dolls, but useless as men. "These people," he says, "have no physique; they would be incapable of building battleships, for example." For this critic one can entertain only the faintest possible feeling of tender pity. Is he not aware that these Noah's Ark folk are actually building battleships, that they have already a fine army superbly equipped with the finest of swords and guns, and that they have the power to handle these weapons far better than we can handle ours? Every soldier in the Japanese army understands the mechanism of his rifle, and can at any moment pull it to pieces and put it together again, even substituting a missing portion if necessary. Could the same be said of our beloved Tommy? The Japanese officers are no less capable than the privates, and I would guarantee that if by some mischance the sword of a Japanese officer, being badly tempered, should become bent, that officer would be capable of retempering his blade--one of the most difficult and delicate tasks imaginable. [Illustration: THE TEA-HOUSE OF THE SLENDER TREE] But how a certain class of equally ignorant and inconsistent Westerners cried out when it was known to the world that Japan had actually begun to use our rifles and to build battleships! They will lose individuality and degenerate, they are adopting Western methods, and it will kill their art, they complained. How foolish this is! The Japanese have merely changed their tools--exchanged the bow and arrow for the sword; they are just as artistic and just as intelligent as in the bow-and-arrow days; and they have proved themselves to be equal to, if not better than, any other soldiers in the world. Japan is not being Westernised in the smallest degree: she is merely picking our brains. And how quickly the Japs will adopt a Western idea, and improve upon it! The making of matches, and the underselling us in all our common printed cotton and woollen Manchester goods, have not spoilt their faculty for executing that exquisite Eugene dyeing for which the Japanese are famous all the world over; the making of bolts and bars and battleships has not prevented the metal-workers from producing exquisite work in bronze, so delicate as to resemble the finest lace. The manufacture of our vulgar modern monstrosities has been taken up by these people, and they can offer them to us at a cheaper rate and of a better quality than we can produce ourselves, freight included. Japan can produce European work better than the Europeans themselves; but that work has not influenced their art one whit--they hate it; whereas Japanese art has permeated and influenced the whole of the West. All these qualities seem to point one way--Japan must eventually become a ruling power. For one thing, the struggle for life does not exist there as in other countries. The food is simple, and men live easily. Then, again, the Japanese are not over-anxious. They do not waste their energies. Women do not fret because they are looking old; on the contrary, it is their ambition to become old, for then they are more respected. [Illustration: BLOSSOM OF THE GLEN] My first experience in Japan, I being a practical person and of a practical turn of mind, was rather a surprise. I had just arrived at the hotel in Tokio, and, observing from my window that there was a promise of a sunset, I caught up my paint-box, anxious to secure the fleeting effect, and rushed downstairs full-tilt, in my haste almost capsizing an old lady with a monkey on her shoulder standing at the foot of the stairs. Not moving from her position, she said, "Young man, I should like to talk to you." "Delighted, I am sure," I answered hurriedly: my haste to be off, I am afraid, was too apparent just then. Not at all daunted, the lady called after me some directions for finding her in her room that night after dinner, where she would tell me some things that would interest me, and walked slowly up the stairs without once looking round, her monkey on her shoulder. Curiously interested, despite myself, in this strange old lady and her monkey, I did visit her that evening, and was somewhat startled by her greeting of me. "I knew I was going to meet you in Japan to-night. I know all about you. You are going to paint a series of pictures. You are going to exhibit them, and you will make a great success. Some day you will paint children--you are fond of children. All this I knew in America before ever I came here. I saw it all as in a dream." Paralysed, I could only utter the formal words, "Oh, really!" "Ah, you're sceptical! But you are sympathetic too, and after I have talked to you for two or three hours you will see that I am right," quoth my strange new friend, while at the prospect of two or three hours' conversation I experienced a distinctly sinking feeling. But with the next few words she uttered, the sinking feeling vanished, to be superseded by one of deep interest. For some years, she told me, she had been constantly communing in the spirit with her husband and Lord Byron--rival spirits. Her husband was jealous of the poet and of her correspondence with him, and she showed me a series of letters dictated by that great man in the dark--all sorts of beautiful letters on all subjects, ranging from tennis to theology. I sat there I know not how long listening to this wonderful woman; and also--it may seem foolish--I felt strangely comforted and encouraged to hear her say so convincingly that I was to make a success, for at that period I had never painted a picture, and the whole thing was, as it were, an experiment. It was many weeks before I could forget that old lady and her monkey. All through my travels the memory of that monkey's eyes--beady, blinking, never changing--followed me, and stimulated me. With Tokio and Yokohama I was disappointed. I had the privilege of attending the Mikado's garden party; but the pleasure of the really beautiful grounds and the cherry-blossom was spoilt by the Western dress of the guests and of high personages--a hideous substitute for the Japs' own graceful garments. Yokohama I found especially unsympathetic. The bulk of the Europeans I met there seemed to be spending half their time in abusing Japan and everything Japanese. Strange that a colony of such unrefined, uneducated people should presume to criticise these artists! Tokio, with its formal dinners and conventionalities, was much the same; and with epithets such as "Crank" and "Madman" hurled after me, I fled to Kioto, there to lose myself in endless and undreamt-of joys. In Japan there are flowers blooming all the year round: the country is a veritable paradise of flowers. When a certain flower is at its height, whether it be the wistaria, the chrysanthemum, or the azalea, that is a signal for a national holiday, and, dropping business and all such minor considerations, the whole of Japan turns out and streams through the parks and through the country to picnic in the sunshine, under the flowers. I arrived in Japan in the spring, and the country was pink with blossom. Infected with the delightful fever for blossom-dreaming, I drifted aimlessly along with the crowds, drifting only too rapidly into their own restful atmosphere, and accustoming myself to the delicious theory that life is long with plenty of time for everything. And as I sat in the sun among these light-hearted people, watching mountains of pink blossom under a clear blue sky, it did seem ridiculous to think of work and worry. Those first few weeks in Japan come back to me as something to be remembered. To my untravelled mind everything seemed so novel, so quaint, so unexpected. Things were large when I expected them to be small, and _vice versâ_; the houses were made of paper; the women were anxious to make themselves look old. I was fascinated by the pyramids of children gazing in at sweet-stuff shops with their brown, golden, serious faces contrasting so oddly with their gaily-coloured dresses painted to look like butterflies. Every child I saw I felt that I must either pat or give it something. I was surprised to see fowls with tails so long that they had to be wound up into brown-paper parcels; the dogs that mewed like cats; miniature trees hundreds of years old. I was surprised when I dined out to find the room decorated with beautiful ladies in lieu of flowers, a delightful substitute. To be taken to the basement and handed a net with which I was to catch my own carp was also rather a surprise; but when I was expected to eat it as it lay quivering on my plate, I was more than surprised--I was roused. Material for pictures surrounded me at every step. I wanted to make pictures of every pole and signboard that I came across; and the result of this glut of subjects was that I never painted a stroke. Night in Japan fascinated me almost more than anything--the festoons of lanterns crossing from one street to another, yellow-toned with black and vermilion lettering; the gaily-dressed little people passing by on their wooden clogs or in rickshas with swinging paper lanterns drawn by bronze-faced coolies. I shall never forget my first rainy day in Japan. I went out in the wet and stood there, hatless but perfectly happy, watching the innocent shops light up one by one, and the forest of yellow oil-paper umbrellas with the light shining through looking like circles of gold, ever moving and changing in the purple tones of the street. One of the first things I did on arriving in Japan was to hire a servant, and this little man soon became my adviser in artistic as well as in mundane matters. He took a keen interest in my work, and spent the greater part of his spare time in hunting up subjects for me--monograms, suggestions for picture-frames, and what not--he, like every Jap, was an artist. He never said that he liked anything that I ever painted (he was far too truthful for that); but it was quite obvious that he did not, for he could draw infinitely better himself. But he helped me a great deal. [Illustration: A FAMILY GROUP] So did the policemen--and the policeman in Japan is a perfect treasure. They are all gentlemen of family and are very small men, much below the average in height; but they have nearly all learned the art of scientific wrestling, and exercise an absolute and tyrannical power over the people. Luckily for me, I never made the hopeless blunder of attempting to tip them. Altogether I found the policeman the most delightful person in the world. When I was painting a shop, if a passer-by chanced to look in at a window, he would see at a glance exactly what I wanted; and I would find that that figure would remain there, looking in at the shop, as still as a statue, until I had finished my painting; the policeman meanwhile strutting up and down the street, delighted to be of help to an artist, looking everywhere but at my work, and directing the entire traffic down another street. Suddenly there is a fire--there is invariably a fire when one arrives in a foreign country, I notice. Immediately the policemen begin to plant little bamboo sticks round the burning building with twine fixed from one stick to another. This is to act as a barrier to keep the people off. After a time a crowd gathers, and in the swaying of the people their chests sometimes touch the string and bow it; but the thought of breaking through that twine never occurs to them. The bold little firemen inside the enclosure trying to scare away the god of fire by bright clothing, and literally sitting on the flames in their light-coloured coats, form a scene never to be forgotten. They seem to bear charmed lives as they dash among the flames, putting the fire out with their hands, and in a very short time too. It reminds one of the performance of the fire-eating gentlemen at the Aquarium. The power of the policemen over the people in Japan is extraordinary. Even the Westerners obey them. At the treaty ports they often have to deal with English sailors, and, although they try their utmost to smooth things over, they often have to run men in. It is entertaining to see a great blundering sailor, just like a bull, plunging to right and left, while the little policeman, always courteous and polite, constantly gives way, stepping on one side until the time comes when the sailor, puffed and worn out, gives a terrific lunge; the policeman gives him a slight impetus, and the sailor sprawls in an ungainly attitude on the ground. He is then led off triumphantly by a small piece of string attached to his belt behind. [Illustration: THE VENICE OF JAPAN] It was not until I arrived in Osaka, the Venice of Japan, that I gave up dreaming and seriously began to work. Here was scope indeed! Osaka is the city of furnaces, factories, and commerce,--the centre of the modern spirit of feverish activity in manufacturing and commercial enterprise. Western ugliness has invaded certain quarters; yet the artistic feeling predominates. The Ajikawa is still the Ajikawa of the olden time, and on the eastern side of the city is the Kizugawa, into which--thanks to the shallowness of the bar--no steamer ever intrudes, while the city itself is intersected by a vast network of canals and waterways, all teeming with junks and barges, and crossed by graceful wooden bridges which lend themselves admirably to line. The Kizugawa fascinates the painter. Away from the bustle of the factories and the shrieking of the whistles, the great junks from northern Hakodate or the sunny Loochos lie sleepily silent. They are the Leviathans of their kind. Intermingling with them are innumerable barges and fishing-boats, stretching far up the river, their masts and cordage seeming one vast spider's web. Not a single vessel is painted--from the huge sea-going junk to the narrow-prowed barge. Near the water-line the wood has taken a silvery tone; but above, it looks in the sunlight like light gold. And the cargoes of rice in straw bales, piled high over the bulwarks, are also golden. A steam-launch has in tow half a dozen barges, which, with their unpainted woodwork, rice bales, and straw-coloured connecting cable, appear against the dark water as a knotted golden thread. In the endless perspective of junks the golden tone predominates; but it is relieved by the colouring of the buildings on the river banks. There is no monotony, for no two houses are similar either in tint or in design; and there is no stiffness of line. The builders are all artists, to whose instincts repetition would do violence. The quaint roofs, although formed in straight lines, seem to rise and fall in gentle undulations. There is nothing abrupt or rugged; nothing jars. And the colours are as varied as the roofs. In the upper reaches of the rivers the scenes never cease to charm. Clusters of half a dozen boats forming a mass of decorative woodwork, tea-houses with tiny gardens running down to the water's edge and gaily-dressed geishas leaning over the trellised verandahs, light bridges thrown in graceful outline against the purple horizon,--all combine to complete a picture as broad as a study by Rembrandt, as infinite in detail as a masterpiece by Hobbema. THE GARDENS CHAPTER VI THE GARDENS It is not easy to describe the fascination of a Japanese garden. Chiefly it is due to studied neglect of geometrical design. The toy summer-houses dotted here and there, the miniature lakes, and the tiny bridges crossing miniature streams, give an air of indescribable quaintness. Yet, in spite of the smallness of the dimensions, the first impression is one of vastness. "Who discovers that nothingness is law--such a one hath wisdom," says the old Buddhist text. That is the wisdom the Japanese gardener seeks, for he also is an artist. There is no one point on which the eye fastens, and the absence of any striking feature creates a sense of immensity. It is a broad scheme, just as broad as a picture by Velasquez would be, and of infinite detail. It is only accidentally that one discovers the illusion--the triumph of art over space. I saw a dog walk over one of the tiny bridges, and it seemed of enormous height, so that I was staggered at its bulk in proportion to the garden; yet it was but an animal of ordinary size. [Illustration: AN IRIS GARDEN] A Japanese gardener spends his whole life in studying his trade, and just as earnestly and just as comprehensively as a doctor would study medicine. I was once struck by seeing a little man sitting on a box outside a silk-store on a bald plot of ground. For three consecutive days I saw this little man sitting on the same little box, for ever smiling and knocking out the ash from his miniature pipe. All day long he sat there, never moving, never talking--he seemed to be doing nothing but smoking and dreaming. On the third day I pointed this little man out to the merchant who owned the store, and asked what the little man was doing and why he sat there. "He's thinking," said the merchant. "Yes; but why must he think on that bald plot of ground? What is he going to do?" I asked, perplexed. The merchant gazed at me in astonishment, mingled with pity. "Don't you know," he said, "he is one of our greatest landscape gardeners, and for three days he has been thinking out a garden for me?--If you care to come here in a few days," he added, "I will show you the drawings for that garden all completed." I came in a few days, and I was shown the most exquisite set of drawings it has ever been my good fortune to behold. What a garden it would be! There were full-grown trees, stepping-stones, miniature bridges, ponds of goldfish--all presenting an appearance of vastness, yet in reality occupying an area the size of a small room. And not only was the garden itself planned out and designed, but it was also arranged to form a pattern in relation to the trees and the houses and the surrounding hills. This little old man, without stirring from his box or making a single note, had in those three days created this garden in his mind's eye, and on returning home had sketched out the final arrangement. The merchant told me that his garden would be completed in a few weeks, with full-grown trees flourishing in it, and everything planted--all but one stone, which in all probability would be there in a few weeks, while, on the other hand, it might not be placed there for years. On inquiring as to the reason of this strange delay I was told that that one particular stone, though insignificant and unnoticeable in our eyes, occupies a very prominent position, and that upon the proper placing and quality of it the beauty and perfection of a Japanese garden almost entirely depend. Sometimes hundreds and even thousands of dollars are paid for a large stone that happens to be rightly proportioned and of the correct texture of ruggedness to occupy a certain position in a Japanese garden. To see the cherry-blossoms of Yoshino, the plum-trees in full bloom at Sugata, the wistaria at Uyeno, or the iris at Horikiri, the people will travel scores of miles. Then, there is the spacious embankment of the Sumidagawa, at the part known as Mukojima, celebrated for its avenue of cherry-trees. Before the Restoration it was the favourite promenade for the daimio and their retainers, and very picturesque it must have been to see the stately nobles in their gorgeous robes, saluting one another with all the grave ceremonial in which the courtiers delighted. The costumes have vanished; but the ancient residences, with their private waterway approaches to the river, remain; and the avenue is still the fashionable promenade. But it is the iris gardens at Horikiri seen by night that have left an impression which will never fade from my mind. We visited the gardens frequently; but it is one particular visit that I remember above all the others. Leaving the Hotel Metropole late in the afternoon, the ricksha men took us at a rattling pace through the city. After an hour's run we found ourselves far away from the river in the midst of uninviting rice-fields, with a glimpse of the gardens in the distance--a blue and white oasis in a waste of green. If one visits the gardens in the afternoon the changes that the flowers undergo are marvellous. In the full warm rays of the sun, the great petals, turning back towards their stems, are rich and glowing in every shade. Then, as evening comes on and the sunlight fades, the deeper purple blooms lose their richness and grow shadowy, while the white ones take on an icy purity that seems unearthly in its transparency, and they shine as with an internal light. Still a little later, and with the last rays of daylight, all the darker flowers have disappeared, and where a short time ago stood a proud bed of royal colour one can see only the ghastly heads of the pure white petals looming like phantom flowers in the purple night. [Illustration: A SUNNY GARDEN] The effect of the picture was heightened by the atmospheric colouring. As the silver evening gradually changed to purple night--a purple only seen in Japan--the festoons of lanterns which illuminated the summer-houses became of one colour with the landscape, and then, as the night darkened to a deeper purple, the lights changed to bright orange. It would be impossible to put such colours on canvas: the only way to represent them would be by precious stones. We dined in one of the summer-houses off dainty plates served us by little musmés while seated on the white mats. The blooms of the iris appeared softly luminous, emitting a ghostly light. It is this spiritual beauty which makes the flowers such a favourite in temple gardens, and inspires the Japanese to poetry. On the edge of a tiny lake, approached by a winding walk, through an avenue of bamboo trellis-work, was a small shed with a quaint roof. In the shed the model of a junk was placed. Near it were ink and small strips of paper. The junk was designed to receive poems on the beauty of the iris and of the garden. Nothing disturbs in a Japanese landscape. It is the harmonic combination of untouched naturalness and high artistic cultivation. The tea-houses owe much of their charm to the absence of paint. The benches, lintels, the posts, are uncoloured, except by age. The white mats and the paper screens act as a foil to the bright flashes of the musmés--waiting-girls--who move noiselessly through the rooms like gigantic butterflies flitting to and fro. The iris blooms are a rich mass of colour of blue and white, and the gardener has exhausted his art in pruning all the unnecessary growths without leaving a trace of his handiwork. The ride back was delightful. Tokio at night is seen at its best; the river is then more fascinating. Huge junks, with a solitary light at the masthead, glide by--fantastic shadows in the purple haze. The tea-houses, with their festoons of lanterns and orange interiors, in which one caught glimpses of singing girls in their brilliant dresses, gleamed like golden patches in the cool purple. The bridges sparkled with lights; the shops were bright with colour; and all through the city, to enjoy the coolness of the night air, groups of citizens were seated in the streets chattering as gaily and as light-heartedly as only the Japs can. [Illustration: IRIS GARDEN] FLOWER ARRANGEMENT CHAPTER VII FLOWER ARRANGEMENT One of the chief characteristics of the Japanese, which especially distinguishes them from Europeans, is their intense fondness for flowers--not the fondness which many English people affect, but an instinctive love of the beautiful, and a poetical appreciation of symbolism. The Japanese nature is artistic in essence, and in no more delightful manner is the art of the people expressed than in the cultivation of flowers. Flowers to them are a source of infinite and unending joy, of which the chief pleasure lies in their proper placing and arrangement. Every common Japanese workman, every fan-worker or metal-worker, has some little flower carefully placed beside him at his work; he loves and prunes and cares for it. If you dine out with a friend you will be seated, not on the right-hand side of the past-middle-age lady of the house, but near some beautiful flower. The "honoured interior" would never have the presumption to seat you next herself. You are her guest, and must be made happy by being placed in the near neighbourhood of the principal and most beautiful object in the room, which is invariably the arrangement of flowers. And a vase of flowers in a Japanese house is at once a picture and a poem, being always in perfect harmony with the surroundings. The art of arranging flowers is an exact science, in the study of which seven years of constant hard work finds a man but fairly proficient. In fact, to create a really fine arrangement is just as difficult as to paint an equally fine picture. Every leaf and every flower has to be drawn and practically modelled into form, while even so simple a thing as the bending of a twig requires much care and knowledge. To become a master in the art of flower-arrangement a man must study for at least fourteen years, devoting the remainder of his life to perfecting and improving it. [Illustration: A WISTARIA GARDEN] There are scores of different arrangements that one must learn, and volumes upon volumes of designs, showing all the most delicate and subtle forms of placing which a master, in order to create perfect balance, must have at his fingers' ends. These ancient designs are so perfect that it is almost impossible to change them or to insert any original work into them. Here and there, indeed, some great master will make a slight variation in the arrangement of a particular flower, and in a very short time that variation is trumpeted throughout the country and known in all art sections. To a Westerner this seems incredible. He affirms that if he jumbles a bunch of flowers together in a vase he can create a different effect every time. Very probably, and he can also strew roses and cut flowers all over his dining-table if he likes; but he will still be creating nothing more than a jumble. If he were to think out the arrangement of his table from an artistic point of view as a bit of decoration, he would find it impossible to produce such a wealth of inartistic variety. "But," argues the uninitiated Westerner, "these roses strewn carelessly over our tables, and bunches of flowers stuck loosely into vases, are far more natural than the single stiff bough of blossom of Japanese decoration. Flowers grow in Nature carelessly and wildly, and therefore they must be arranged to look like that." Now, it is always difficult to answer these people, for the dining-table of the West begins by being utterly hopeless in decoration and in colour. One cannot possibly compare this meaningless attire, this independent mass of colour forming no pattern, and probably placed upon the table by a servant without care or thought, and with an utter disregard to form and order,--one cannot compare such decoration with the beautiful, scientifically-thought-out flower arrangements of Japan. All that one can say is that one is art and the other is not. Nature grabbed at in this crude Western fashion and stuck into a vase is no longer Nature. Consummate naturalness is brought about only by consummate art, and is not the result of accident. If a bough of blossom growing in the midst of other trees is taken from Nature and placed in a vase, however beautiful it might originally have been, it must necessarily appear awkward and out of place. One of the chief characteristics of Japanese flower arrangement is its resemblance to the flowers in a state of nature. A bough or a tree in a Japanese room looks exactly like a real bit of Nature lifted bodily out of the sunshine and its own particular surroundings, and placed there. Nature appears to be almost commonplace as compared with the work of a great Japanese master in the art of flower arrangement, and almost less natural. A master, after having received a clear impression of the way a certain bough appears in the midst of its background of Nature, is capable of taking that single bough and of twisting it into broad beautiful lines, one picking up with the other in such a way as to convey the same impression to you as it did when growing in its own sunny garden. [Illustration: FLOWER-PLACING] "But why are there so few flowers in this Japanese method of flower decoration?" complains the Westerner. "Why only one branch of blossom in a pot?--why only one?" Because you can see that one and enjoy it, provided that you have the capacity to see at all, which the majority of people have not. One beautiful bough or one beautiful picture should be ample food for enjoyment to last an artist for one whole day. If there were twenty beautiful boughs, or twenty beautiful pictures, you would look from one to the other and would necessarily become confused. You would leave that room feeling thoroughly unhappy, and with the same sort of headache that one gets after spending an afternoon in a picture-gallery. To enjoy one of these pictures or flowers, and to concentrate one's thoughts upon it alone, you would have to frame it between your hands, cutting it off and isolating it from the rest. This the Japanese do for you. They know that you cannot appreciate more than one beautiful object at a time, and they see that that one object is perfectly placed in relation to its surroundings, so as to give rest and enjoyment to the eye. Almost every one in Japan, either young or old, is capable of appreciating a fine arrangement of flowers, and nearly every Japanese woman can practise the art. So many minute descriptions have already been written of the methods of the masters of flower decoration that there is little else to say on that point. However, since decoration by flowers has so much to do with the art of the country, and is so closely connected with the character of the people, I feel that I must give a slight description of some of the marvellous creations in purple irises, lilies, and pines that the greatest master in Tokio once arranged for me at my hotel. He arrived early one morning, and in great good-humour, evidently feeling that, I being an artist, his work would be appreciated and understood. He carried with him his flowers, tenderly wrapped in a damp cloth under one arm, and his vases under another. One of his most promising pupils, a girl of nineteen, accompanied him, acting almost as a servant and evidently worshipping him as her master. He began at once to show us a decoration of lilies and reeds. With the utmost rapidity he took out a bunch of slim reeds, pulled them to different lengths, the large ones at the back, the small ones in front, and caressed the whole into a wooden prong looking like a clothes-peg, and arranged it in a kind of vase made out of a circular section of bamboo. An immense amount of care was taken with the handling of these reeds, the master drawing back now and then in a stooping position with his hands on his knees and his eyes bolting out to view his handiwork critically. Next he took some lilies with their leaves, and arranged them in a metal stand composed of a number of divisions looking like cartridge-cases cut off. Every leaf was twisted and bent and cut to improve its form. The half-open lilies were made to look as though they were growing, and were a great favourite with this master because of the scope for beautiful curves and lines that they allowed. Time after time he would take out a leaf or a flower, putting another in its place, thereby showing that he had absolute command over his subject, and a fixed picture in his mind that he was determined to produce at any cost. The ultimate result of the decoration was perfect naturalness. I never saw lilies growing on the hillside look more natural than they did here; yet each had been twisted and bent into a set design laid down by the artist. Both reeds and lilies were placed in a wooden tray partially lacquered, the unlacquered portion representing old worm-eaten wood; pebbles were placed in the bottom of the tray, and the whole was flooded with water. Then he began his decoration of irises. He took a bundle of iris leaves, cut and trimmed them, washing and drying each leaf separately, and sticking them together in groups of twos and threes. With his finger and thumb he gently pressed each one down the centre, rendering it as pliable as wire. The leaves were cut to a point at the base and placed in a metal stand with consecutive circles. Then an iris bud, with the purple just bursting, was placed in position and caressed into bloom. The whole was syringed with water and carefully placed in a corner of the room. [Illustration: WISTARIA] I have described these few flower arrangements in detail in order to show the exactitude of the work and the immense amount of care taken by professors in flower arrangement. On this particular occasion I had invited some friends to enjoy the professor's masterpieces with me, and he had just completed a most exquisite production, by far the best and finest he had achieved that day. It was an arrangement of pine with one great jutting bough, perfectly balanced--in fact, a veritable work of art. The professor was a true artist; he loved his work, and it was all the world to him. For once he was content, and had just leant back to view his work through half-closed eyes when in a flash an Oxford straw hat was clapped down right on top of it. It was the husband of one of my friends just returned from a walk, full of spirits and boisterously happy. It was a cruel thing to do; but he did not realise the horror of his act. He saw a bough sticking right out of a pot, and it seemed to him a suitable place to hang his hat on: so he hung it there--that was all. The little assistant gave one frightened look at her master, and began to pack up the utensils at once; the professor drew himself up in a very dignified way, bowed profoundly, and left the hotel. I never saw him again, and I knew that I never should--for he went away crushed. THE GEISHA CHAPTER VIII THE GEISHA With all their practical gifts--which, as one of themselves has remarked, will enable them to beat the world with the tips of their fingers--and all the power of assimilating and adapting to their own purposes the best that other nations have to offer them,--the Japanese are essentially and beyond all a nation of artists. It is not only in the work-shop and the studio, but also in the simplest act and detail of daily life, that this sense of the decorative oozes unconsciously forth, and most of all, and most unconsciously, in the Japanese woman--the geisha. The _raison d'être_ of the geisha is to be decorative. She delights in her own delightsomeness; she wants frankly to be as charming as nature and art will allow; she wants to be beautiful; and she honestly and assuredly wants me and you and the stranger artists to think her beautiful. She wants to please you, and she openly sets about pleasing, taking you into her confidence (so to speak) as to her methods. She does it with the simple joy and sincerity of a child dressing up. There is no mock shyness, no fan put up, no screen drawn, no pathetic struggle to deceive you into belief in the reality of an all-too-artificial peach-bloom; there is nothing of the British scheme--no powder-puff hidden in a pocket-handkerchief, no little ivory box with a looking-glass in the lid, no rouge-tablet concealed in a muff to be supplied surreptitiously at some propitious moment. The Japanese woman has the courage to look upon her face purely as so much surface for decoration, a canvas upon which to paint a picture; and she decorates it as one might decorate a bit of bare wall. The white is simple vegetable white; the red is pure vermilion toning with her kimono. The white makes no effort to blend with the natural tone of her neck: it announces itself in a clear-cut, knife-edge pattern above the folds of the kimono. [Illustration: BUTTERFLIES] I remember a little story that I once heard (it was told me by the designer of the waterworks in Tokio)--only a trifling incident; but it struck me as being thoroughly typical of the naïve, almost childish simplicity of the Japanese woman. It was on the day that the waterworks were completed, and the high officials and their wives were being escorted over the works in trucks, in order that they might see and admire this great engineering feat, of which my friend, the architect, was very justly proud. There were two trucks--one for the men and one for their wives. The truck containing the men was wheeled up under a shaft where the light came down from above, and enabled the officials to look up and admire this great work. The men looked up and were duly impressed, and altogether the experiment passed off successfully. Then the idea was that they should move aside so as to allow the women also to enjoy the spectacle. No sooner was the truck-load of women drawn up beneath the shaft than their faces lit up with pleased surprise, and every woman whipped out a looking-glass and a rouge-pot and began to decorate her face. Not one of them looked up, or even attempted to take the slightest notice of the waterworks: all they knew was that it afforded them just sufficient light by which to decorate themselves, and they promptly made use of it. The geisha is the educated woman of Japan. She is the entertainer, the hostess; she is highly educated, and has a great appreciation of art; she is also proficient in the art of conversation. The geisha begins her career at a very early age. When only two or three years old she is taught to sing and dance and talk, and above all to be able to listen sympathetically, which is the greatest art of all. The career of this tiny mite is carved out thus early because her mother foresees that she has the qualities that will develop, and the little butterfly child, so gay and so brilliant, will become a still more gorgeous butterfly woman. Nothing can be too brilliant for the geisha; she is the life and soul of Japan, the merry sparkling side of Japanese life; she must be always gay, always laughing and always young, even to the end of her life. But for the girl who is to become the ordinary domesticated wife it is different. Starting life as a bright, light-hearted little child, she becomes sadder and sadder in colour and in spirits with every passing year. Directly she becomes a wife her one ambition is to become old--in fact, it is almost a craze with her. She shows it in every possible way--in the way she ties her obi, the fashion in which she dresses her hair; everything that suggests the advance of the sere and yellow leaf she will eagerly adopt. When her husband gives a party he calls in the geisha; she herself, poor dear, sits upstairs on a mat and is not allowed to be seen. She is called the "honoured interior," and is far too precious and refined to figure in public life. But, mind you, this little married lady, the "honoured interior," does not ignore her personal appearance altogether: she too will never miss an opportunity to whip out the rouge-pot and mirror that always form part of every Japanese woman's attire in order to decorate her face. And although to our eyes she appears a nonentity as compared with the geisha, her position is in reality a very happy one and greatly to be envied. What if the geisha entertain her husband's guests? Hers is the greater privilege of attending upon him when he returns, tired out from the festivities; she is as a rare jewel set in the background of her home, and the "honoured interior" is perfectly content. [Illustration: DAUGHTERS OF THE SUN] But the idiotic idea so general in the West, that the geisha is a silly giggling little girl with a fan, must really be corrected, although I can quite understand how this opinion has been formed. The geisha in reality is a little genius, perfectly brilliant as a talker, and mistress of the art of dancing. But she knows that the Westerner does not appreciate or understand her fine classical dancing and singing, and she is so refined and so charming that she will not allow you to feel that you are ignorant and more or less vulgar, but will instantly begin to amuse you in some way that she thinks you will enjoy and understand. She will perhaps unfold paper and draw rapid character-sketches of birds and fish, or dance a sort of spirited dance that she feels will entertain you. It is very seldom that they will show you their fine classical dances; but if by good fortune you can over-persuade them, as I have done, the sight is one that you will never forget--the slow, dignified movements, the placing of the foot and the hand, the exquisite curves and poses of the body, forming a different picture every time,--all is a joy and a perfect intellectual treat to the artist and to the lover of beautiful things. There is no rushing about, no accordion skirt and high kick, nothing that in any way resembles the Western dance. Sometimes, if she finds that you appreciate the fine work, the geisha will give you imitations of the dancing on our stage at home, and although it is very funny, the coarseness of it strikes you forcibly. One never dines out or is entertained in Japan without the geisha forming a prominent part of the entertainment; in fact, she herself decorates the room where you are dining, just as a flower or a picture would decorate our dining-rooms at home, only better. And there is nothing more typical of the decorative sense innate in the Japanese than the little garden of geisha girls, which almost invariably forms the background of every tea-house dinner. The dinner itself, with its pretty doll-tables, its curious assortment of dainty viands set in red lacquer bowls, its quaint formalities, and the magnificent ceremonial costumes of its hosts, is an artistic scheme, elaborately thought out and prepared. But when, at the close, the troupe of geishas and maïkos appears, forming (as it were) a pattern of gorgeous tropical flowers, the scene becomes a bit of decoration as daring, original, and whimsically beautiful as any to be seen in the land of natural "placing" and artistic design and effect. The colours of kimonos, obis, fans, and head-ornaments blend, contrast, and produce a carefully-arranged harmony, the whole converging to a centre of attraction, a grotesque, fascinating, exotic figure, the geisha of geishas--that vermilion-and-gold girl who especially seizes me. She is a bewildering symphony in vermilion, orange, and gold. Her kimono is vermilion embroidered in great dragons; her obi is cloth of gold; her long hanging sleeves are lined with orange. Just one little slim slip of apple-green appears above the golden fold of the obi and accentuates the harmony; it is the crape cord of the knapsack which bulges the loops at the back and gives the Japanese curve of grace. The little apple-green cord keeps the obi in its place, and is the discord which makes the melody. [Illustration: BY THE LIGHT OF THE LANTERNS] My vermilion girl's hair is brilliant black with blue lights, and shining where it is stiffened and gummed in loops and bands till they seem to reflect the gold lacquer and coral-tipped pins that bristle round her head. Yes, she is like some wonderful fantastical tropical blossom, that vermilion geisha-girl, or like some hitherto unknown and gorgeous dragon-fly. And she is charming; so sweetly, simply, candidly alluring. Every movement and gesture, each rippling laugh, each fan-flutter, each wave of her rice-powdered arms from out of their wing-like sleeves, is a joyous and naïve appeal for admiration and sympathy. How impossible to withhold either! The geisha-girl is an artist: I am an artist: we understand each other. My geisha-girl brings out her dainty lacquer-box, and under the gaze of all sits down to decorate herself with a frank joy in the pleasure she knows she is going to give. And she knows too what she is about. She knows the value of a tone in a lip. Something suggests to her that you, an artist, may have found the vermilion lip not quite in harmony with the plan, and she changes it to bronze. Three times this evening does my geisha-girl change her lip; she frankly takes it off with a little bit of rice-paper, which she rolls up and tucks into the folds of her kimono, to be thrown away later, and the bronze lip is substituted. By and by it seems to occur to her that the bronze lip has become monotonous, and she will change it again to vermilion. No doubt before the evening is over there will be a series of little bits of rice-paper folded away ready to be got rid of when the bill is paid, the supper eaten, and the festival at an end. It is through the geisha-girls that there is still a living art in Japan at the present day in the designs of the silk dresses that they wear. They are so modern, so up-to-date, and yet so characteristic of Japan. The women are very extravagant in their dress, and some of the leading geisha-girls will often go to the length of having stencils, with elaborate designs and an immense amount of hand-work, specially cut for them, the stencils and designs being destroyed when sufficient material for one dress has been supplied. For such a unique and costly gown the geisha will of course have to pay a fabulous sum, and a sum that would astound the average English woman of fashion. But then when a geisha orders a costume she thinks it out carefully; she does not go, as we do, to a dressmaker, but to an artist. It may be that she has a fancy for apple-blossom at sunset, and this idea she talks out with the artist who is to draw the designs. [Illustration: A STREET SCENE, KIOTO] A Japanese woman chooses her costumes, not according to fashion but to some sentiment or other--apple-blossom because it is spring-time, peach-blossom for a later season,--and many beautiful ideas are thus expressed in the gowns of the women of Japan. But although the geisha has plenty of latitude in which to display her artistic feeling, there are some little details of etiquette and fashion that she must adhere to, which show themselves in a few details of the Japanese women's attire, as, for example, in the thongs of her little wooden shoes and the decoration of her jet-black hair. Not only is the kimono of the geisha, its colour and design, thought out by the artist, but all the accessories of her toilette, such as the obi, the fan, and the ornaments for her hair. It is the artist's ambition that she should be a picture, perfect in every detail, and the geisha is always a picture, beautiful beyond description. How different she is from the geisha of fiction, of operettas, and of story-books, which is the only geisha that the stay-at-home Englishman can know! That she is beautiful to look at all the world agrees; but quite apart from her beauty, or the social position that she happens to occupy in Japan, take her as a woman, a real woman, stripped of all outward appearances and of her own particular nationality--take her as a woman, and she will be found as dainty in mind as in appearance, highly educated, and with a great sense of honour, while her moral code would compare favourably with others of her sex all the world over. CHILDREN CHAPTER IX CHILDREN A cluster of little Japanese children at play somehow suggests to me a grand picture-gallery, a picture-gallery of a nation. Every picture is a child upon which has been expended the subtle decorative sense of its family or neighbours, as expressed in the tint of its dress and sash and in the decoration of its little head. It is in the children that the national artistic and poetic nature of the Japanese people most assuredly finds expression. Each little one expresses in its tiny dress some conception, some idea or thought, dear to the mother, some particular aspect of the national ideals. And just as in the West the character of a man can be gauged by the set and crease of his trousers, so in Japan are the sentiments and ideals of a mother expressed in the design and colouring of her baby's little kimono. Thus, when watching a group of children, maybe on a fête day, one instinctively compares them with a gallery of pictures, each of which is a masterpiece, painted by an artist whose individuality is clearly expressed therein. Each little picture in this gallery of children is perfect in itself; yet on closer study it will be found that the children are more than mere pictures. They tell us of the truths of Japan. One child, in the clearness and freshness of its dress, seems to embody an expression of that unselfish cheerfulness so characteristic of the Japanese, among whose children you can go for days without seeing one cry. Another, in the graceful dignity and rich yet severe colouring of its costume, tells of that faithful spirit of loyalty and pride that has always marked the lives of the Japanese. One tiny baby, in the dainty sombreness of colour and quiet arrangement of the folds of its little kimono, suggests the thoughtful consideration and sweet seriousness of the women of Japan; and another child, dressed in a wonderful combination of red and bronze relieved by glimpses of white, expresses in its rich glowing colour, and the purity of the white within, the fire of Japanese patriotism. [Illustration: BABY AND BABY] But come with me for a walk on any day, in sun or in rain, whether on a gala day or on an ordinary day, and we shall meet little units in the decorative whole, every one of them a colour picture bringing to the mind some characteristic of the people. We shall find one little one who, to the eye of the artist, flashes like a gem, her white kimono, decorated, or rather made vivid, as by the hand of a master, with only three or four great black crosses, each formed of the crisp dexterous drags across the surface of the cloth. Again the black is repeated in the carefully-arranged hair, and the white in the little wooden shoes; but all is toned and touched by just a little old rose in the ribbon that ties her head-dress and the fastening of the thongs at her feet. Such an art in a people is living; it has its root in national spirit and national character, and must continue to foster and strengthen the national ideals. The clothing of her children is a matter of great and serious consideration to the Japanese mother. When a baby is born she gathers together all her friends, and they discuss a scheme of decoration for the set of miniature dresses that the little one is to wear. More care is taken with these baby dresses than with those of any grown person, and if the parents are rich the sums that are spent on silk crepe are sometimes such as would shock any English mother. So much has to be taken into consideration with regard to the design of a child's dress: it might be cherry-blossom or a landscape, according to the month and the circumstances amid which the infant was born. The colouring of the costume is generally suggestive of the ideas and sentiments of the mother. She does not say, "I will take this bough of apple-blossom, and it shall be the dress of my child," or "I will take Fuji at sunset, and the colouring of my baby's dress shall be of old rose and white snow." She does not grab at nature in this crude way; but the artistic and poetical feelings innate in her unconsciously find expression in the little frock. When the mother and her neighbours have finally decided upon a scheme of decoration, the designs are placed in the hands of some great artist, who carries them out in water-colour drawings on silk, which the friends gather together again to examine and generally enjoy. Then the designs are handed over to some expert stencil-cutter, go through the regular elaborate course, and are finally retouched, by the artist himself, directly on to the silk. If the parents are rich enough the stencils are destroyed, and the dress consequently becomes unique. Such a dress will doubtless be an exquisite work of art, and very costly. Indeed, a dress for a Japanese baby can cost quite as much as a picture by a leading Academician, and is of far greater artistic value. But no price can be too great, no colouring too gorgeous, for the dresses of these little butterflies, the children of Japan. The poorest mother will scrape together sufficient money, and the father sacrifice one half of his daily portion of rice, in order that a child may attend a festival in the bright hues befitting its age. The younger the child, the more brilliant is its dress. You will see a mite, a little baby girl that cannot walk or talk, clothed in silk crepe of the most brilliant colour possible--rainbow colour, almost prismatic in its brilliancy. As the child grows older the colours fade, and become duller, until by the time she is a full-grown woman they have sobered down almost to Quaker hues--except here and there, where some tiny edging of colour shows itself. [Illustration: A JAP IN PLUM-COLOUR] The science of deportment occupies quite half the time of the Japanese children's lives, and so early are they trained that even the baby of three, strapped to the back of its sister aged five, will in that awkward position bow to you and behave with perfect propriety and grace. This Japanese baby has already gone through a course of severe training in the science of deportment. It has been taught how to walk, how to kneel down, and how to get up again without disarranging a single fold of its kimono. After this it is necessary that it should learn the correct way to wait upon people--how to carry a tray, and how to present it gracefully; while the dainty handing of a cup to a guest is of the greatest importance imaginable. A gentleman can always tell the character of a girl and the class to which she belongs by the way she offers him a cup of Sake. And then the children are taught that they must always control their feelings--if they are sad, never to cry; if they are happy, to laugh quietly, never in a boisterous manner, for that would be considered vulgar in the extreme. Modesty and reserve are insisted upon in the youth of Japan. A girl is taught that she must talk very little, but listen sympathetically to the conversation of her superiors. If she has a brother, she must look up to him as her master, even although he be younger than herself. She must give way to him in every detail. The baby boy places his tiny foot upon his sister's neck, and she is thenceforth his slave. If he is sad, her one care must be to make him happy. Her ambition is to imitate as nearly as possible the behaviour of her mother towards her own lord and master. Many attempts have been made by enterprising Westerners to "broaden" the minds of the Japanese girls, and to make them more independent, by establishing schools for them, where they can be educated on purely Western principles; but these attempts have always failed. The women turned out from such establishments are always unhappy, and continue to suffer for the rest of their lives, because they are disliked and resented by all their people, and no man will marry any of them. The beautiful side of life seems to have been taken from them; imagination is crushed and spoilt; they are unfitted for the life that every Japanese woman must lead. Naturally they are hated by the men, for the womanly qualities that are most valuable in a Japanese girl are destroyed by this Western "broadening" of their minds: they wear high-heeled shoes, put nosegays on the table, and are altogether demoralised. Sad to say, Western influence is keenly felt within the schools which belong to all classes and conditions of Japanese children, and one trembles lest gradually the simplicity and quaint formality of their bringing-up should become hardened and roughened into the system which has done so much to spoil the child-life of the West. Their own artistic training is perfect; and although Japan is the land of ceremony, and the children are brought up with a certain strictness of propriety unknown in the less ceremonious West, their utter naturalness and absolute freedom from seeking after effects present in them a simplicity of character which helps to make them the most delightful of their kind. A little boy flying a kite is like no other boy you have ever seen in England. There is a curious formality and staidness about him and his companions which never degenerates into shyness. [Illustration: SUGAR-WATER STALL] Once I drifted into a country village in search of subjects for pictures, and I found to my astonishment that every living soul there was flying a kite, from old men down to babies. It was evidently a fête day, dedicated to kites; all business seemed abandoned, and every one either stood or ran about, gazing up in the air at the respective toys. There were kites of every variety--red kites, yellow kites, kites in the shape of fish, teams of fighting kites, and sometimes whole battalions of them at war with kites of a different colour, attempting to chafe each other's strings. It rather surprised me at first to see staid old men keenly interested in so childish an amusement; but in a very short time I too found myself running about with the rest, grasping a string and watching with the greatest joy imaginable the career of a floating thing gorgeously painted, softly rising higher and higher in the air, until it mingled among the canopy of other kites above my head, becoming entangled for a moment, then leaving them and soaring up above the common herd, and side by side with a monstrous butterfly kite; then came the chase, the fight, and the downfall of one or the other. They were all children there, every one of them, from the old men downwards; all care and worry was for the time forgotten in the simple joy of flying kites; and I too, in sympathy with the gaiety about me, felt bubbling over with pure joy. To see these lovely flower-like child faces mingling with the yellow wrinkled visages of very old men, all equally happy in a game in which age played no part, was an experience never to be forgotten. None was too old or too young, and you would see mites strapped to the backs of their mothers, holding a bit of soiled knotted string in their baby fingers, and gazing with their black slit eyes at some tiny bit of a crumpled kite floating only a few inches away. [Illustration: ADVANCE JAPAN] Another game in which both the youth and the age of Japan play equal parts is the game of painting sand-pictures on the roadside. These sand-pictures are often executed by very clever artists; but I have seen little children drawing exquisite pictures in coloured sands. Japanese children seem to have an instinctive knowledge of drawing and a facility in the handling of a paint-brush that is simply extraordinary. They will begin quite as babies to practise the art of painting and drawing, and more especially the art of painting sand-pictures. You will see groups of little children sitting in the playground of some ancient temple, each child with three bags of coloured sand and one of white, competing with one another as to who shall draw the quaintest and most rapid picture. The white sand they will first proceed to spread upon the ground in the form of a square, cleaning the edges until it resembles a sheet of white paper. Then, with a handful of black sand held in the chubby fingers, they will draw with the utmost rapidity the outline of some grotesque figure of a man or an animal, formed out of their own baby imaginations. Then come the coloured sands, filling in the spaces with red, yellow, or blue, according to the taste and fancy of the particular child artist. But the most extraordinary and most fascinating thing of all is to watch the performance of a master in sand-pictures. So dexterous and masterly is he that he will dip his hand first into a bag of blue sand, and then into one of yellow, allowing the separate streams to trickle out unmixed; and then with a slight tremble of the hand these streams will be quickly converted into one thin stream of bright green, relapsing again into the streams of blue and yellow at a moment's notice. A Japanese mother will take infinite pains to cultivate the artistic propensities of her child, and almost the first lesson she teaches it is to appreciate the beauties of nature. She will never miss the opportunity of teaching the infant to enjoy the cherry-blossom on a sunny day in Uyeno Park. Hundreds of such little parties are to be seen under the trees enjoying the blossom, while the mother, seated in the middle of the group, points out the many beauties of the scene. She will tell them dainty fairy stories--to the boys, brave deeds of valour, to strengthen their courage; to the girls, tales of unselfish and honourable wives and mothers. Every story has a moral attached to it, and is intended to educate and improve the children in one direction or another. There is one fairy story which is a universal favourite with both mothers and children, and that is the story of Momotaro. When seeing a mother talking earnestly to her children, I have always discovered that it was the same old story, old yet ever fresh. It is a curiously simple tale about an old woman who goes every day to the river to wash clothes, and an old man who goes to the mountain to fetch wood. The old woman is always unhappy because she has no children, and one day, when she is washing clothes in the river, a large peach comes floating down towards her. On carrying it home, she hears the cry of a child, which appears to come from the inside of the peach. She rapidly cuts it in two, and finds to her amazement a fine baby sitting in the middle of it, which, since it was born in a peach, she afterwards called Momotaro. The story then goes on to tell how the baby grows up to be a fine healthy lad, who, on reaching the age of seventeen, plans an expedition to subjugate an island of the devil. A minute description is given of the food he takes with him--of the corn and rice wrapped in a bamboo leaf--and how on his journey he meets with a wasp, a crab, a chestnut, and a millstone, who all promise to help him if he will give them half of his food. The lad complies, and a beautiful description is given of their journey to the island of the devil, on which journey a very skilful plan is thought out by which to kill him. On arriving at the island, they find that the chief of the devils is not in his own room. They soon take advantage of his absence. The chestnut hops into the ash; the millstone mounts on to the roof; the crab hides in the washing-pan; the wasp settles in a corner; and the lad waits outside. The poor devil comes back, and has a terrible time between them all. He goes to the fireplace to warm his hands; the chestnut cracks in the fire and burns them; he rushes to the water-pan to cool himself, and the crab bites his hand; he flies to a safe place, and is tormented by the wasp; in an agony of pain he tries to leave the room, but the remorseless millstone descends with a crash upon his head, and mortally wounds him. This story is told to the Japanese children over and over again, but is always received with wide-eyed delight and excitement. [Illustration: CHUMS] I have never seen a child in Japan cry; nor have I ever seen one smacked, for what mother can have the heart to touch so dainty a blossom as the child flower of this land of flowers? A group of Japanese children is perhaps the prettiest sight on earth, and they themselves are works of art, the beauty of which can scarcely be imagined. Each head and each piquant face is but a field where the ever-present artist can exercise his ingenuity and his skill in colour and design. Deliberately the child's head and face are treated as subjects fit for the most decorative of design, and the result, though quaint and formal to the last degree, is invariably as pleasing as it is undoubtedly startling and original. And the children themselves are no less full of interest than their heads and faces are full of paint. I once saw a pyramid of children gazing in at a sweet-stuff shop. They looked like three children; but on closer inspection I discovered that one was a doll looking about the age of a child of two, with its great head lolling on the back of its mother, aged three. The three-year-old was a boy, strapped to the back of his sister aged five. The doll and the sister looked very sleepy and tired as they gazed vacantly at the rows of tempting pink sugar-water bottles in the sweet-stuff shop; but what arrested my attention was the alert and intelligent expression of the three-year-old child in the middle, who, just as I took out my notebook to sketch the group, put a lighted cigarette between his lips, holding it between two chubby fingers, eyeing me with the peculiar introspective look of the old hand as he both tests the excellence of the tobacco and gives himself up to its enjoyment. As I sketched him he looked composedly at me out of his big eyes, and posed twice without a particle of artificiality--once with the cigarette in his mouth, and again as if he had just taken it from his lips for a moment while he paid attention to me. [Illustration: A SUNNY STROLL] I remember once passing a temple, an ancient Shinto temple called "Kamogamo"; it was a sacred temple and very popular, being much frequented for picnics. On this particular day there was going on one of the two important picnics or festivals of the year; the great ground of the temple and the playground were enclosed about with straw ropes on bamboo poles, to separate one from another. It was a festival for girls under ten, and there were hundreds of children, all with their kimonos tucked up, showing their scarlet petticoats, and looking for all the world like a mass of poppies. The scarlet in the petticoats was universally repeated in neck and hair; but their kimonos varied much, and were of almost every shade and texture of Japanese cloth and silk crepe imaginable. There were luminous greens, fawns, stripes, golden browns shading into lemon-yellows, harmonies in brown and violet, and dresses striped and chequered in tones of almost every conceivable value. Two rows or armies of these girls were placed several yards distant from each other in this long emerald-green field; and in the space between them stood two servants, each holding a long bamboo pole, fresh and green, being evidently just cut down for the fair, and suspending from its top a flat shallow drum covered with tissue paper. Presently two young men teachers appeared on the scene carrying two baskets of small many-coloured balls, which they threw down on the grass between the children and the drums. Then a signal was given, and all the girls started running down the field at full tilt towards one another, pouncing on the balls as they ran, and throwing them with all their force up at the paper drums. The great majority of them missed their aim altogether, and flew either above or below the drums, some of the mites getting so excited that they threw the balls forty or fifty yards in mid air. After a time, when a perfect shower of balls had passed through the tissue drums, quite demolishing them, a shower of coloured papers, miniature lanterns, paper umbrellas, and flags came slowly fluttering down among the children on to their jet-black bobbing heads, and into their eager outstretched hands. Never have I seen anything more beautiful than these gay, brightly-clad people, packed closely together like a cluster of flowers in the brilliant sparkling sunshine, with their pretty upturned faces watching the softly falling rain of coloured toys. I strolled through the temple grounds, passed this brilliant stream of colour and lovely laughing children, passed the cherry-trees and dainty tea-houses, and in a few minutes found myself in a cool grey-green forest of bamboo, an academic bamboo grove looking like a pillared temple, sunless and silent. It was here that the philosophers of old taught and meditated, and it seemed a place to meditate in--so quiet, so sombre, shut off from the world with its endless lofty pillars of grey luminous green--silent, a world apart. [Illustration: THE CHILD AND THE UMBRELLA] WORKERS CHAPTER X WORKERS It was with a view to decorating my newly-built London house that I paid a second visit to Japan, being convinced that it was possible to handle the labour there at a cheaper rate and with finer results than in Europe. My experience proved that I was right. Before leaving England, however, I was carefully informed by all my friends of the exceedingly bad reputation that the Japanese have gained commercially. I was told that they were treacherous and unscrupulous in their dealings, and that I was, above all, to beware of the Japanese merchant. As it happened, it was through making a friend of one particular little Japanese merchant--through concentrating my attention upon him, and studying him continually--that I was enabled to gain a real insight into the life of the people, and to tear away that impenetrable veil which, to the Westerner's eyes, always hangs before them. When you get to know a Japanese merchant well, a man who has studied our methods, you will find that he talks openly and frankly about his dealings with the European globe-trotter. He will tell you that he cheats you and charges you high prices because the average Westerner has got no eye. The Westerner does not appreciate the really fine and beautiful articles that the Japanese soul worships; therefore the merchant gives him what he thinks the Westerner wants, and asks the price that he thinks the traveller will give. When we first came into touch with the Japanese we began by cheating them and foisting deceptions upon them, and now they simply turn the tables upon us and cheat us to the best of their ability. The only difference is that the Japanese have more intelligence about wrong done them, and their motive for cheating is thus resentingly greater. I have had many dealings with the Japanese myself, and have always found them just. To be sure, I have never come into touch with the treaty-port merchants, who have been more or less tainted by the Westerner; but I have come into touch with, and studied, the genuine workers of Japan. [Illustration: A LITTLE JAP] My first object on arriving in Tokio was to find some Japanese who would be capable of gathering together a series of splendid craftsmen to work for me. As luck would have it, I found my man--a perfect little genius of a fellow--on the evening of my first day in Japan, and in a most unexpected manner. I was sitting in the reading-room of the hotel, with my plans spread out before me, dreaming of the Japanese glories that were to decorate my London house, when my attention was attracted by seeing a little creature, looking like a monkey with a great box on his back, bound suddenly into the room, evidently by aid of the manager's foot in the adjoining hall. Not in the least perturbed, he began to unstrap the box from his back, from which he took out curios, and drifted about the room trying to sell them to the different globe-trotters assembled there. Nothing was too small or too trivial for him: he would sell anything. He was chivied about, insulted, and abused by every one; yet he received it all with a smiling face. Nothing seemed to affect him. He was a typical Japanese, with bright slit-like eyes set as close together as any monkey's--blinking eyes they were, but so intelligent. I could see that he was a keen observer, and that he looked upon these wayfarers as so much material of prey, by the quiet way in which he selected a man with a big pocket, sidling up to him and allowing himself to be insulted, yet always getting the best of the bargain in the end. He tried to sell me some very bad cloisonné, and he was so clever about it, handling his wares in so dexterous a manner,--making his twopenny-halfpenny pots appear of priceless value--that it occurred to me that this little monkey resemblance might have ideas of his own, and be in some small way able to help me. He spoke English a little, and I told him to come up to my room that night, when I should have something to say to him. Glancing at me in a searching way, without asking a single question or showing the slightest surprise, he only said, "I come!" [Illustration: A BY-CANAL] And he came. When I went up to my room after dinner, I found him sitting there, or rather squatting on a chair, waiting for me, blinking his beady little eyes and looking as solemn as an owl. I told him all my schemes. I explained that I was a painter, thoroughly in sympathy with the Japanese, and that I wanted his help to gather together a company of workers--fan-workers, metal-workers, and screen-workers--in order to furnish a house that I had built in London. He grasped my idea in an instant, and very soon entered into the spirit of the plan, taking an enthusiastic interest in all my schemes. Whenever there was anything that needed measuring exactly, this little man would run his finger and thumb over it in the most dexterous manner possible, murmuring to himself, "One inchie, two inchie, three inchie, seven-and-a-half inchie," etc. I talked on and on, expounding and arranging, until it must have been nearly three o'clock in the morning. Japanese people are in the habit of going to bed very early, and soon my little ally became obviously sleepy, although he was far too polite to admit it. Only when midnight struck did he beg that he might be allowed to smoke a pipe, in order, as he said, "to keep himself awake." I gave him permission, and he immediately jumped into the fireplace, crouching right down in the fender, close up against the red-hot coals, and smoked his miniature pipe there. I talked on, and he listened, really interested in everything I said, and gazing at me with his little beady eyes, bright with interest, yet blinking so rapidly that there was almost a mist over them. Then, for the first time, I noticed that the little soul was tired, and, feeling that it would be cruel to keep him up any longer, I bade him good-night and shut the door. For almost an hour after he had gone, I sat on dreaming and brooding. Then I was suddenly aroused by hearing a fumbling noise outside my room, as though some one were tapping at the hall door. I went out to see who the intruder might be, and there I found my little Japanese friend, practically asleep, but running his fingers all over the bolted door, trying to measure it, and murmuring, "one inchie, two inchie, three inchie." From that moment I christened him "Inchie," and now all over Japan at the present time this little man is known as Mr. Inchie. After that night Inchie became my constant companion and friend. Wherever I went he came. Whether it was to theatres, neighbouring towns, metal-workers or fan-workers, Inchie always accompanied me, until in the end it became a daily habit for him to drift about with me in the sunshine, neglecting his business entirely. For Inchie was an artist first and a merchant after. We visited the temples, where Inchie taught me to appreciate the difference between a degenerate Buddha and a perfect Buddha, a difference so subtle as to be quite indistinguishable to the alien. Gradually, bit by bit, as I grew to know him better, this little merchant's true nature revealed itself to me. I began to see the man apart from the merchant, and he proved himself to be a great artist. Here in England we should call him a distinguished genius, and undoubtedly there are scores of equally brilliant men in Japan. I have indeed no reason to believe that there are any men in Japan who are not brilliant, considering that here, the first man I had met, an ordinary little merchant in a hotel for Europeans, was an artist. Every day we wandered about the streets trying to discover the best operators in metal, wood, and bronze to work for me; and in a very short time we had gathered together a bevy of excellent associates, each thoroughly proficient in his own particular direction. Inchie and I talked out our plans during our many walks through Uyeno Park and down the theatre streets, and we came to the conclusion that this Japanese house of mine should be a house of flowers. Each room should be some individual and beautiful flower--such as the peony, the camelia, the cherry-blossom, the chrysanthemum,--and, just as a flower begins simply at the base, expanding as it reaches the top into a full-blown bloom, so my rooms should begin with simple one-coloured walls and carpets, becoming richer and richer as they mounted up, ending as they reached the ceiling in a perfect blaze of detail. [Illustration: SWINGING ALONG IN THE SUN] That was my dream; but, unlike most dreams, it was realised to the full and far beyond my widest expectations. I first of all turned my attention towards the wood-carvers; and, discovering that each man had his favourite flower, which he manipulated more skilfully than any other, I arranged that he should work solely on that particular species. Having found three or four men who had a special fancy for the peony, I allowed them to occupy themselves entirely in the peony room. I gave them the exact measurement of the ceiling, squaring it out into a certain number of panels, with complete measurements of the doors, the frieze, and every portion of the room, allowing them to give bent to their own artistic instincts as to colour and design. These drawings were then handed over to the wood-carvers, to be pasted on to wood panels and carved. In a very short time every workman in Inchie's store, and every artist too, became enthusiastically interested in this work that they were undertaking. In fact, it was not work to them at all, but one long artistic joy. So much rubbishy bric-a-brac has to be made for the European market that when a Japanese is allowed to go his own way and create self-imagined beautiful things, it is an untold personal pleasure to him. I never saw a body of men work together so unselfishly as these. The metal-workers in the peony room went on in sympathy with the wood-carvers from the cherry-blossom hall; the screen-makers were interested in the proceedings of the fan-makers; and the designers were interested in them all. Each individual operative was zealously interested in the success of the results as a whole; and the end is that my house now looks like the product of one man, or rather of one master. It was a revelation to me, after my experience of British workmen, to see the way these little Jap fellows toiled. How they would talk and plan out schemes of decoration for me among themselves, studying peony flowers, for instance, in some celebrated temple garden in order to introduce a new and more natural feeling into their wooden ones; and then the joy with which they would think out every little detail, flying round to my hotel at all times of the day to inform me of some new departure, surprised and pleased me greatly. These men were all brilliant craftsmen and designers, creating work that could not be surpassed in Italy or anywhere else for beauty. Yet the bulk of them were poorly fed, receiving only sevenpence or eightpence a day. Too poor to buy meat, they lived on rice and on the heads and tails of fish twice a week, being unable to afford that which was between. [Illustration: A METAL-WORKER] But although the Japanese workman is very poorly paid, it must also be remembered that his necessities are few and simple. This is roughly the way a workman in Japan lives. He has one meal of rice per day, of the poorest quality, which costs him two sen eight rin. A sen is a tenth part of a penny, and a rin a tenth part of a sen. For a mat to sleep on at night he pays one sen five rin. Three sen he pays for fish or the insides of fowls. Drinking-water costs him two rin, while two rin per day pays for the priest. The total cost of his daily living thus sums up into about five sen three rin. Then, as to be buried at the public expense is considered a deep disgrace, forty sen is always put on one side for the purchase of a coffin, seventy-five sen if the gentleman wishes to be cremated, twenty sen for refreshments for mourners, five rin for flowers, three sen for the fees of the two priests, while, to economise, a Japanese of the lower grade will generally make use of friends as bearers. Apropos of the absurdly small price at which a man can live in Japan, I am reminded of an experience in Kioto. I was walking down the theatre streets one day with a Japanese friend, and we stopped in front of a little stall full of very dainty toys. There were thousands of toys--miniature kitchen utensils exquisitely carved in wood, small pots and pans and dishes, all bound with lacquer and beautifully finished, such as would delight the heart of every housewife of my acquaintance. I asked the stall-holder, a little stolid old man, through the interpretation of my friend, how much he would sell his entire stock for. His excitement was intense, and my friend told me that my simple question had had the effect of an avalanche upon this stolid little toy-seller, and that he was quite unable to grasp my meaning, so startling and gigantic did the transaction seem to him. After a great deal of gesticulation, and much flicking of the beads on his counting machine, the little man came to the conclusion that his entire stock would be worth two yen thirty sen. This ridiculous price quite took my breath away, and I immediately said that I would buy the lot. Then there was another commotion: the little man was thoroughly upset, and could not understand what I meant. In the end I made him carry away his stall bodily and follow me with it to my hotel. I paid him the money, and he quickly disappeared. "You won't see that little gentleman in theatre street again in a hurry," my friend said: "he will be living in luxury now for a week or more on that two dollar thirty sen, and he certainly won't dream of doing any more work until he has spent the lot." Sure enough, I never saw the stolid toy-seller again during the whole of my stay in Kioto, which stretched over more than a month. But although the coolie and the workman in Japan live on next to nothing, the rich man spends very lavishly. If he entertains you, he gives you a dinner which, although you seldom appreciate its splendid qualities (for it does not appeal to the Western palate), is, from the Japanese standpoint, truly regal. There will be four or five different kinds of fish, some of which will be specimens of great value; and a dinner given at a Japanese tea-house by a merchant to a European friend would cost more than the most expensive dinner it is possible to procure at the Carlton or at the Savoy. [Illustration: BRONZE-WORKERS] My men flourished on the heads and tails of fish, and did splendid service. Day by day the decorations for my house grew, as one worker after another was added to the little band. One man recommended another, and gradually the number increased, until at last there were as many as seventy working for me Inchie was my help, my interpreter, my foreman. At first there were many difficulties in the way, for Inchie's knowledge of English was limited, and my knowledge of Japanese was none at all. It thus arose that the only method of making him understand me was pantomime. One day, while discussing a certain measurement, we became so involved that I was determined to demonstrate my meaning. So I borrowed the carpenter's tools and constructed a little model of the house, with its different rooms, showing how the carved ceilings and friezes should be placed. Inchie was astounded that I should have so great a knowledge of his own particular work of carpentry, and respected me the more accordingly. My one great obstacle with the men was in persuading them to make several things alike. They were all artists and hated repeating themselves, and without rhyme or reason I would suddenly find that they had made a red lacquer door twice the size of its fellow by way of variety. When I first employed them I made the grave mistake with my workers of ordering large quantities at a time of required materials. I actually ordered a hundred electric-light fittings--fairy-like lamps daintily wrought in bronze, of which they had made me a model--but they refused me point-blank, and the only way to get them at all was by asking a dozen at a time, and by arranging that each dozen should be varied in some slight respect. It was the same with my picture frames. They were to be a combination of wood and silk, and when I told the master bronze-worker to make me two hundred of them for my next exhibition in London, his face clouded over; he was thoroughly displeased. "No can make," he said decisively: "there is berry much difficulty. Much it cost to make; I must get big shops to do that; I no likee." The little man was quite discouraged, and I was only able to procure my frames by degrees. Now, in England it would be quite the reverse--the larger the order, the more contented the merchant; but in Japan everything is made by hand. The men take an artistic interest in the work. They hate repeating themselves; and in all the panels designed for my carved ceilings there were not two alike, although the entire design formed a complete whole. Why in the world we do not use Oriental labour in Europe is a marvel to me. [Illustration: IN THEATRE STREET] Nothing that these Japanese workmen made for me at the rate of sevenpence or eightpence a day can be approached in London for love or money. I had some gold screens made for me in Japan. They were very beautiful, and were made of gold on silk varnished over and lacquered, with apple-green and vermilion silk borders made from the linings of old dancing dresses. These screens were so brilliant that they were like gold mirrors in which a lady might see her reflection just as accurately as in any Parisian cheval glass. In the passage to England one of the screens became slightly damaged. I was greatly distressed, and took it to a celebrated firm of house-decorators to have it repaired. They undertook the task very confidently; but directly they attempted to match the gold they found that it was impossible to approach to anything like the brilliancy of its surface, although every conceivable method was attempted. They tried putting on gold and then burnishing and varnishing it over to imitate the surface of the lacquer. The result was that, to the present day, that screen stands in my hall with the same dull, sullied patch in the middle of it, a silent testimony to the inferiority of the British house-decorator as compared with his Japanese contemporary. Little Inchie and I, as I have said, soon became great friends. He followed me about wherever I went, and I often lingered in his store, watching him sell curios to English people and British merchants from Kobe. It was often a revelation to observe the subtlety of the man and the masterly way in which he handled these inquiring visitors. He seemed to divine their inner-most thoughts, and to know at a glance exactly what they wanted, and the prices that they would be likely to pay. After a time I learnt the price of nearly every curio in his store. There was never a fixed value for anything: Inchie was always led by his customer. Perhaps an American and his wife would come in, the man saying nothing, the wife remarking on everything. It was, they said, all "beautiful." I noticed that little Inchie was not at all enthusiastic, merely answering their questions, but not attempting to sell. He would not waste an ounce of energy on them, and after a time they would sweep out of the place, the lady gushing to the last moment and saying how beautiful and exquisite everything was. Directly they had gone I would ask Inchie why he had not worked harder to try and sell them something. "Gentleman and lady not got big pocket," he would say. How in the world he knew that they had but little money puzzled me. "Lady berry much talk--American lady always berry much talk. She say 'This curio number one,' but never buy. English daimio lady come to my store no berry much talk; English gentleman no big pocket. When she leave my store I say, 'Me presentie you.'" What little Inchie means by this is that he feels that this English lady is refined and really admires his beautiful things, but cannot afford to buy them. He appreciates her delicacy, and, in his quaint pidgin English, begs to be allowed the privilege of giving her this little inexpensive trifle to take away. [Illustration: THE CARPENTER] Very often, when I was spending a morning in Inchie's little curio store, a Kobe merchant would drop in to buy--a pompous fellow and burly, asking the price of everything he saw. "How much is this? and how much is that?" he would say, and "What do you suppose you'd charge for that?" Inchie would look up at the merchant and blink with almost a scared expression, so meek was it. The merchant, like the great bully that he was, feeling satisfied that he was cowing the little man, would pick up a piece of ivory and say, "How much?" "Four dollars," answers Inchie. "Very dear," replies the merchant sternly. Then Inchie would pick up another piece of ivory, putting away the former, and say with a scared expression, as though the merchant had frightened him down, "I charge two dollars for this." "I will give you one and a half dollar," urges the merchant. And little Inchie, puckering his brow and in a melancholy voice, says, "I takee," the merchant going off highly delighted, convinced that he has been robbing all round. Immediately after he had left the store, the change in Inchie was extraordinary. He was no longer meek and melancholy, but gleeful and triumphant, and longing to tell me what had happened. "The merchant from Kobe he berry much cheat, that man," he said, with a chuckle. "I show him number one curio, I ask him number one cheap price, and he say, 'Berry de-ar.' Then I show him no number one curio and ask him more double price. He say, 'I no pay that; I give half that.' He take away curio at half that price, and that very good for me. I make more money like that than when I sell good curio." Then Inchie explained how very easy it is to deceive the average traveller. He does not stand a chance against the Japanese merchant, and half the collections of curios ticketed and placed in museums in England as fine and unique specimens are in reality worthless imitations. The really fine productions never leave the country at all. Westerners visiting Japan expect to secure fine works of art by paying a small sum for them; but it cannot possibly be done. In that country they know the value of productions, and will not easily part with them. Inchie, becoming very serious and natural, would give me a little lecture on the absurdity of Westerners coming to Japan expecting to buy really fine old curios and pictures at a small price, when no Japanese would part with them for any consideration. "A man," he said, "will come from your country who thinks he understands Japan because he has read some books about it, and has seen some examples of bad art in England. That man has no eyes--he can't see the really beautiful things. He comes to buy the old kakemono. He won't buy the new kakemono by the good man that lives now. He no understand if it good or bad; but it must be old. Well, we make him the old one;" and here Inchie gave me an exact description of how they make the old kakemonos. They first begin by making the paper look old, and every producer has his several methods of bringing about age. This is how Inchie does it. He has eight various stains in eight separate baths, in which he puts his paper, holding the two opposite corners and dashing it from one bath to another in one quick, dexterous sweep. Then the paper is left to dry, and out of about one hundred sheets stained in this way, in all probability only a dozen will be found sufficiently perfect to deceive the buyer. That is the beginning of the manufacture of an imitation old kakemono to be sold to the European connoisseur for hundreds of dollars, afterwards to find its resting-place in some celebrated museum. [Illustration: MAKING UP ACCOUNTS] What chance has a European against a genius like this? and how can he detect deception in objects that have been the result of such minute care and consideration? The Japanese can imitate postage stamps so accurately that the only hope of discovering a fraud lies in analysing the gum at the back of a stamp. When we stain paper in coffee or beer to give it the effect of age, we consider that we have gone far in the art of imposition; but in this direction, as in many others, we are mere babies compared with the Japanese. "But then, Inchie," I said, in reply to his statement that it was child's play to deceive the Westerner, "you too are sometimes deceived by us. I know of a gentleman in England who brought over to Japan a large collection of modern porcelain of English manufacture, and by clever handling he imposed the whole lot on an artist at Osaka in exchange for some rare old Satsuma." Then I enlarged on the hardship of the story. I explained how the Englishman had persuaded the Osaka painter to give up all the rare old Satsuma that he had collected during the course of a lifetime in exchange for this valueless English porcelain, remarking that it was wrong and almost cruel to take such a mean advantage of the poor Osaka merchant. "And what do you say to that for a clever fraud, Inchie?" I asked. Inchie only held his sides and laughed. At last he said, "Oh, he berry number one clever man, that at Osaka"; for, it seemed, he knew all about the Englishman and his porcelain, and also about the Satsuma. The painter, indeed, was known all over Japan by his clever imitations of old Satsuma, and it was also generally known that he had given this English gentleman a collection of imitations that he had painted himself in exchange for the English porcelain, which was interesting to him to study. The person to be pitied in Inchie's estimation was the biter bit; and he was "number one sorry for that Englishman." Whenever any one fresh arrived in Tokio--young, old, pretty, or plain--I always sent him or her to Inchie's store to buy curios. Such streams of people besieged him, all so different and some so quaint, that, although they were good for trade, Inchie was very uncertain as to whether they were good for me, and was anxious to have the matter cleared up. "You have many friends," he would say, eyeing me suspiciously. [Illustration: FINISHING TOUCHES] At length the crisis was reached which broke down the barriers of Inchie's reserve and thoroughly upset him, in the shape of a fair bulbous woman, who was a terror! I was sitting in the reading-room of the hotel one day, believing that I was alone, when a twangy voice broke in upon the silence. "Just fancy, he shot himself for love of me," mentioning a name in Yokohama. "Really," I observed, feeling embarrassed (he must have been mad, I thought). "Yes; he blew his brains out. Have a drink?" she went on, in an exuberance of generosity. I said, "I think not." She replied that if I would not she would, and she did. She wanted to buy curios. I at once suggested Inchie, which was a happy inspiration. Inchie came round, and I left them in the reading-room together discussing cloisonné umbrella handles. My companion was lost to me for three full days, being wholly occupied with the fair visitant. He turned up at last, but in a state of fever, his eyes sparkling and blinking indignantly. He handed me a letter that he had just written to his latest customer, my friend the bulbous fair, who had left for Shanghai that day. "You order me much porcelain; you order me many curios; I no can send. I think you better go porcelain Yokohama. Much cheaper you get Yokohama, more number one," Inchie's letter ran. "Yes; but, Inchie," I remonstrated, "why won't you serve her? She's a good customer for you." He was violent with rage. "I no like the lady," he said; "she no daimio lady. Tea-house lady, I think, with tea-coloured hair. She received me with not a proper dress on; she smoke and drink. I no want to serve lady like that. She no friend of yours?" he added, eagerly looking into my face with his piercing little eyes. "No, no, Inchie! of course not," I replied, for I wasn't going to claim her. "Ah, I thought she no friend of yours," and Inchie smiled, while I felt that I was respected once more and entered into his good graces--it turned out for ever. "Now, Inchie," I said to him one day, "I want to get a good porcelain man, the best in Tokio. Can you manage it?" There was nothing, so far as I knew, that Inchie could not manage, so that in a very short time he had found a little man, a pupil of the most eminent porcelain maker in Tokio, also celebrated for his remarkable glazes, who had just started a business of his own. We drove round to his store to ask him if he would undertake the painting of a dinner-service, and do other things for me. He was a young man, this particular painter, but with the face of a very old one, careworn and haggard, quite an enthusiast, full of interest in his art, and a craftsman of the highest order. When he found that I too was in the same ranks, his sympathies were aroused, and he devoted a whole month solely to the firing and painting of my porcelain. After a time I began to understand the man and his processes. He brought out little bits of choice Chinese-blue porcelain to show me. Whenever there was to be a three-days' firing he would come round to my hotel and inform me of it. Altogether he developed into quite a friend, almost to the dethronement of Inchie. He allowed me to sit among the men while they worked, and, seeing how interested I was, they gave me some clay to model and paint. I ended by painting a whole dinner-service in blue and white. It took me a week to do; but it was perhaps one of the most delightful experiences I have ever had, and I can safely say that I have never worked in a more congenial atmosphere than when sitting on a mat in that little porcelain shop surrounded by those twelve little artists. I shall never forget the anxious moments when my products were being fired. Sometimes I have gone on for twelve or fourteen hours, eating and resting with the men, taking my turn at keeping the furnace alight, and hanging about after the kilns had cooled to see my valuable porcelain dug out. [Illustration: A BACK CANAL, OSAKA] Nothing can be more exciting than the first peep at porcelain after it has been fired. A mass of dead heavy-looking clay is put into the furnace and fired; you peep at it after some hours, and find, to your surprise, a rare paradise of glazed white and blue, so brilliant and sparkling that it seems almost impossible to have been made by mortal hands. But then, of course, it is not always so delightful; there are sometimes vexing surprises awaiting you as you open the oven door. Occasionally you will peep in and see a group of vases looking like drunken men lolling against one another in a disreputable manner, and lurching over at all angles. Surrounded by a series of failures such as these, the finest work is almost invariably found. Although the vases have all been painted by the same hand and fired in the same kiln, only one will be perfect, while the rest are worthless. This is probably brought about by some subtle influence to be found in the placing of the vase in the kiln. There is, however, a great deal of uncertainty in such operations, and it is almost impossible to foretell the fate of any piece of ware after it has been set in the firing kiln. Inchie and I spent much of our time with the bronze-workers, and it amused me to see these artists carrying out designs for the European market, while to hear their comments upon the crude productions of Englishmen was sometimes very funny indeed. The men who were thus engaged were at the same time carrying out exquisite work for me. They complained that the European market insisted upon everything being over-elaborated and very showy, and at the same time very old. This combination is quite impossible. The old Japanese bronze work was always very simple in design, depending for its beauty, not upon the flowery decorations surrounding it, but upon the exquisite proportions of the piece itself. To create the aged appearance necessary in the eyes of the faddy European, the bronzes have to be buried in the earth--in a special kind of earth--for a few days; after which they are dug up and sold to connoisseurs and English people, who are by way of understanding works of art, for fabulous sums. [Illustration: STENCIL-MAKERS] I had occasion to employ many embroiderers; and here, as in every other branch of Japanese art work, I received a series of "eye-openers." Hitherto I had been envious of the many fine old bits of embroidery and temple hangings shown me by the different globe-trotters staying at the hotel. They had all come upon their treasures in some lucky and unexpected manner. By much good fortune every man had secured his own special piece of embroidery, and each by clever manipulation had outwitted the dealer from whom he had managed to wrest this one old temple hanging. But when I went to headquarters, and began to employ the men who actually made the fabric, my envy vanished. I soon found that none of these coveted treasures was old at all. Such large pieces of embroidery are not used in temples, nor have they ever been; they are quite modern introductions, and have been brought about simply to attract and make money out of the credulous strangers. I have spent hour after hour with the embroiderers, watching them manipulate old temple hangings, and have seen them when the task was over wash on gold stains with base metal. Here and there a few little touches would be of real gold, and it was all done so cleverly that none but a Jap could possibly detect that they were modern. It is almost a depressing sight to watch these embroiderers at work--so different are they from the happy boisterous metal-workers talking and laughing amid the clanging of their little hammers. They are sad and silent. You will be in a roomful of these people for perhaps a whole morning, and not one of them will utter a word. They work on and on, with heads bent down, picking up thread after thread of the one piece of embroidery that they have been constantly working on for months, or perhaps for years. Never a word nor a smile; each peering into his own special work with painful red eyes, on which are large bone-rimmed spectacles. They all, as a rule, lose their sight early in thus poring incessantly over this difficult and dainty work. I ordered several pieces of cotton crêpe of a certain design that I had drawn myself, and it was during the execution of this commission that I was brought into touch with the stencil-workers and dyers of the country. Stencil-cutting is one of the most beautiful arts imaginable. To see the stencil-workers cutting fantastic designs from the hard polished cardboard beneath their instruments--so delicate that it is like the tracery of a spider's web in its tenuity--is a sight that one never forgets. Some of the designs are so cobweb-like that single human hairs are used in parts to keep them from breaking to pieces. Dyeing is also an art that is brought to a high degree of perfection in Japan. Sometimes an elaborate design will need such a large number of plates and colours, as well as finishing touches by the hand of the operator, that in the end it looks almost like a water-colour, so closely do the colours mingle one with another. Then there were the carpenters, and here a whole series of surprises awaited me. For example, I found that the teeth of their saws were set in what may be called the opposite direction, and that therefore, when a man pulled his instrument towards him, it cut the wood, rather than when he pushed. In this, as in everything else, the Japanese are perfectly right. One always has more strength to pull than to push, and with this method you are enabled to use saws made of such thin metal that if their teeth were set in the opposite direction they must needs cockle and break. When a carpenter wants to plane some tiny piece of wood, perhaps a portion of a miniature doll's house, he does not run a small plane over it, as we do, but uses a large heavy one, very sharp, and turned upside-down. In this way very delicate work can be achieved. All the Japanese tools are designed with a view to their special fitness. The chisels work in a totally different way from that of our chisels, and lend themselves more readily to delicate work. As to their little wood-carving tools, they are perfect joys! I shall never forget the expressions on the faces of my British workmen as they unpacked the cases of goods that arrived from Japan, and came across saws as thin as tissue paper with their teeth set the wrong way; tiny chisels that almost broke as they handled them; hammers the size of a lady's hat-pin. My foreman's face was a study of disgusted contempt. "Now, how can a man turn out decent work with tools like that?" he exclaimed, looking round appealingly. And it did seem impossible. But not one of them complained when they came across the actual work accomplished by these ridiculously small instruments. The carpenters were loud in their admiration for the wood-carving, and the foreman merely sniffed. He knew that he himself could not approach it. And this was soon clearly proved, for if ever my hands tried to do a bit of patching it was always a failure. All their joining was as child's play when compared with this Japanese triumph. There was a man in Osaka, a perfect genius in wood-carving--the king of carpenters. People journeyed from long distances to pay their respects to him, and he was the most independent person I ever saw in my life. He never dreamt of undertaking service for people unless they appreciated it and understood its value. Very rich Americans have tried to persuade him to engage for them; but, as he always demanded that would-be purchasers should be capable of appreciating his work as that of an accomplished artist, they rarely ever succeeded. Nearly all this man's work is done for his own people at a very low price, and Japanese wood-carvers are continually taking pilgrimages to see him and to buy specimens of his productions. He always demands to know what is going to become of them, and where they are going to be placed, before consenting to part with them. I had the wit not to ask him to sell anything to me, nor to execute anything for me, but simply admired his work as that of a unique artist. [Illustration: A SIGN-PAINTER'S] Most prominent among the toilers of Japan are the workers in lacquer, clean and dainty beyond description, with whom a great portion of my time was taken up. The climate of the country is exactly suited to the making of lacquer, being sufficiently damp. The process is unusually elaborate, and is a tedious matter of painting on a very large number of coats of lacquer, rubbing them down always, and allowing them to dry. When we think of lacquer here in England, we think of it in connection with our tea-trays and like cheap goods which we complain of as being made of bad material that chips and breaks and becomes useless in a distressingly short space of time. "The Japanese have lost the art of creating the fine old lacquer that they used formerly," we say. But it is not so at all; it is purely a question of time. If the Japanese were allowed sufficient leisure, and were not rushed on so by the requirements of the European market, they would be able to turn out just as fine and just as durable lacquer as they did in the days when they worked for the love of their work alone for purchase by their fellow-countrymen. Practical proof of this can be found in the fact that all the doors in my London house, which are composed of the best lacquer, twenty or thirty coats thick, and have been in constant use for years, are still in perfect condition, and will be two hundred years hence. One has no idea before going to Japan of the extensive range of colours in the way of greens, blues, and reds that there is in lacquer, for most of the colours are entirely unknown in the West. There is undoubtedly no surface in the world that is as clear and as brilliant as lacquer, and I have often thought how advantageous it would be if one could only lacquer pictures over instead of varnishing them; it would give to the poorest work a brilliancy and crispness that would be simply invaluable. But this brilliant surface is only brought about by excessive care and cleanliness in its preparation--indeed, it needs almost as much attention as the making of a collotype plate. I was anxious to get some really good cloisonné workers to make some things for me, and by very good luck I hit upon a man who had just discovered an entirely new method of handling gold. Coming across one of his samples at an exhibition in Tokio, I ferreted him out and persuaded him to engage for me. His cloisonné, unlike the ordinary slate-grey work that one must needs peer closely into before discovering its fine qualities, was bold in design, with flower patterns of cherry-blossom just traceable through a fine lacework of gold, and it looked like a brilliant rainbow-hued bubble. One is much inclined to fancy that cloisonné vases with elaborate designs must necessarily be expensive. That, however, is not the case. There are technical obstacles connected with making broad sweeps of colour in cloisonné that render simple designs much more expensive. Japan is the only place in the world that is capable of producing cloisonné, for the patience and skill required would overtax the workers of any other country, and such an attempt would necessarily end in failure. A cloisonné shop is every bit as depressing as the embroidery works. You will see men picking up on the end of their tiny instruments gold wire, which is so microscopic as to be like a grain of dust, and almost as invisible. This tiny morsel has to be placed on the metal vase and fixed there. [Illustration: A CLOISONNÉ WORKER] Talking of the delicate and exquisite tools used by cloisonné workers reminds me of tools that are just as delicate, but used for quite another purpose--namely, those which the Japanese dentists handle so dexterously. However, the stock-in-trade of a Japanese dentist chiefly consists of the proper use of his finger and thumb. The most strongly-rooted tooth invariably gives way to this instrument. A Japanese dentist has only to apply his fingers to a tooth, and out that tooth comes on the instant. It is sometimes very amusing to see a group of dentists' assistants, all mere children, practising their trade by endeavouring to pull nails out of a board, beginning with tin tacks and ending with nails which are more firmly rooted than the real teeth themselves. When I had gathered my team together by the help of my right-hand ally, Inchie, after having chosen the best of them from every branch of art, they continued to go on well and assiduously, and the decorations of my house were in full swing, when suddenly there was a break, a distinct break. I went round to the store early one lovely morning in May, as was my habit, and found, to my surprise, that the whole place was empty. Not a metal-worker or carpenter was to be seen. They had all mysteriously disappeared--where? To view the cherry-blossom! Inchie also, whom I had relied upon as a good steady colleague, had, on the first opportunity, and without any warning, drifted away into the open air with the whole band to view the blossom. The Japanese workmen, who are skilled, and want examples from Nature, evidently adhere to the principle that "all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," and so, whether I liked it or not, when such a glorious day had presented itself, they were not going to miss the opportunity of enjoying it. It was a holiday, or rather the sunshine had declared it to be a holiday, and all Japan, rich and poor, employers and employed, had turned out to picnic in the parks, and feast their eyes upon the cherry-blossom. So universal was the holiday, and so persistently did Inchie implore that I should join them, that I soon found myself sitting under the trees in Uyeno Park, surrounded by my deserters, enjoying things as well as any one of them there. [Illustration: A TOY-SHOP] It was on this day, out of the pure joy of the idea, that Inchie proposed to give me a real Japanese dinner, and at the same time show me some of the fine old classical dances of Japan. I remember that night so well! Inchie invited three other Japanese friends, and we all went down into the basement with rod and line, or, to be exact, with a net, to catch our own fish for dinner. It was to me novel sport chasing those lazy old goldfish round the tank. I secured a monster, which beat Inchie's out and out for size. Inchie was in splendid form on this occasion; it was a field-night for him, and he was quite at his best. He was an enormous eater; he ate anything you chose to give him, and he enjoyed the dinner that followed our half-hour spent below stairs, I must confess, far more than I did. For although the repast was of the very best quality, it was after all Japanese, which statement speaks for itself, as every one knows that Japanese food does not by any means commend itself to the British palate. There was our just-caught fish cooked with bamboo, meat of different sorts, and many varieties in the soup character, some of which were not bad. As for the Sake, it tasted like bad sherry; but it had a most exhilarating effect on Inchie, and in a very short time produced in him a most natural and joyous frame of mind which enabled me to see a side of his disposition that under ordinary conditions would never have come to the surface. One of the courses of this dinner of dinners was a chicken, provided out of deference to my European tastes, and Inchie carved it. It was a muscular bird; but Inchie carved it with a pair of large chopsticks as I have never seen a chicken carved before in any part of the globe. Not even Joseph of the Savoy with his flourish of fork and knife in mid-air could compete with Inchie and his pair of wooden chopsticks. No knives nor fingers were used; but the whole was limbed, cut up, and served in less than the period that Joseph would take in his skilled dexterity. I remarked upon his skill in handling the chopsticks, and Inchie at once suggested that we should all have a competition to see who could pick up the greatest amount of peas with chopsticks in the shortest possible time. Each was given a lacquer tray with carefully numbered green peas, cold and cooked--the number according to the proficiency of the player. Inchie's plate was loaded; the guests and geishas had a fair amount; but I had only three, and the aim was to pick them up one by one and put them into our mouths, the competitor whose plate was empty first being declared the winner. We started, and I was so intent on the manipulation of my three green peas that I was only conscious of a whirl of hands, never having noticed that the rest had finished their pile before I had picked up my second pea. I never undertook such a task before, nor ever will again. The discouragement of it was final. My first pea, after no little exertion and much sleight of hand, I had raised to my lips on the points of the chopsticks, when just at the critical moment it abruptly left its moorings, went like a shot from a catapult across the room, and settled itself on the lap of one of the geishas, who was thereby promptly put out of the contest. I do not know what happened to the second pea, much less of the fate of the third; all I remember is that I came in a very bad last in the chopstick competition. [Illustration: A SWEET-STUFF STALL] What with the Sake, the competition, and the dinner, Inchie became more and more brilliant, until at last an idea sparkled out that was worthy of his distinction. I was to have a piece of wood-carving in my London house that should be as it were the eye of the peacock--the first ever made in Japan! We should go to Osaka together, he remarked, the very next day, choose a great piece of wood 8 or 9 feet in length, 3 feet broad, and about 6 inches through, and have it carved in the most beautiful and magnificent chrysanthemum pattern ever seen--for the hall was of chrysanthemums. His eyes sparkled as he said, "You are going to have berry number one house; must have one big number one piece chrysanthemum carving--better than any other carving, better than temple carving." The Sake passed round, the geishas danced, and Inchie talked, while with every cup he grew brighter and brighter, and his eyes sparkled like jewels. I was beginning to see the real Inchie. Was this really the little man, the laughing-stock of the hotel, bullied and sworn at by every one? He talked of Hookosai, who, he asserted, was not the great master that he is universally considered to be in Europe. Hookosai was too realistic; many other artists were far finer. Yet another cup of Sake was passed round and drained. "I will demonstrate some Hookosai pictures," said little Inchie, in a tone of suppressed excitement; and, stepping behind a screen as he spoke, reappeared almost immediately with a handkerchief rolled round his head and his kimono tucked up, posing in the attitude of one of the most celebrated of Hookosai's pictures. Twenty or thirty pictures were represented, and in each he was a different man merely by changing the muscles of his face. Never have I seen such acting in my life; he was like a gallery of Hookosai's pictures rolled into one, with all their queer exaggeration. More Sake was drunk, and later in the evening Inchie became so excited that, in order to work off his condition, he made the remarkable proposal that he should show me a devil dance. When he emerged from behind the screen, the geishas were frightened and drew back in alarm; for he was no longer the gentle little monkey merchant, but a real devil. As for the dancing, I never saw anything so superbly fine! It almost took my breath away. He seemed almost superhuman, an ethereal creature. The evening ended up in the usual way. Next morning Inchie came round to my hotel, sat down on a chair looking amazingly sheepish, and blinked solemnly at me. "Well, what's up now, Inchie?" I inquired, seeing that he had something to say. "Berry number one bad night last night, Sir," moaned Inchie with a shake of his head. "I no want you to tell people I do the devil dance last night. They no understand and berry much talk. Please, I beg you not tell!" And poor little Inchie went about for days with a drooping head, looking the picture of misery. But in my opinion, he had no reason to be ashamed of his conduct; he had shown himself to be a versatile genius. He had acted as I never before have seen a man act; he had also danced as I have never seen a man dance; and he had drunk as I have never seen a man drink without becoming badly affected. Nevertheless, this was the man who had allowed himself, and was allowing himself, to be sworn at, bullied, and even kicked by the common sorts and by the vulgar globe-trotters. The day following the night of the never-to-be-forgotten dinner, Inchie and I went, as we had intended, to Osaka to choose a fine and sufficiently well-seasoned piece of wood for this famous and all-important wood-carving, the eye of the peacock. I think we must have visited every timber-yard in Osaka in search of a fitting plank, and it was too funny to see the way Inchie would crawl over a piece of wood, like the small monkey that he was, scratching, rubbing, picking it with his nail, and even putting his tongue upon it to test its quality. At last a plank was found that was declared to be "berry number one," and the great undertaking, the work of carving it, began. Five men were at work on it for five months. And now that it is completed and fixed in my chrysanthemum hall, it is a triumph! It is a joy--it is a possession! At the same time, when we were in Osaka, Inchie was struck with another brilliant idea. I must have a gong, he said, a superb gong; and as Inchie himself had once been a metal-worker, he was an excellent judge of gongs and undertook to choose one for me. Before that day I had no notion that there could be such a vast difference in gongs. We went to about twenty or thirty stores in Osaka, at each of which several gongs were produced for our inspection. And Inchie bounded about the shop like a cat or a leopard, from one corner of the room to the other, crouching down on the ground with his hand over his ear, striking each in turn, and listening to its vibration. "No berry good that," he would whisper to me, and then, talking charmingly to the merchant,--for Inchie was always charming--he would bow himself gracefully out of the shop. At each store in turn the same thing happened, until at last we reached a shop which seemed to me still more improbable than the rest, for it was a dirty little hole of a place, with no such thing as a gong in sight. In reply to our usual question the proprietor dived into a tangled bit of garden at the back, and presently reappeared with an old rusty gong, very thin with age and use and exposure to all weathers, and looking not worth twopence. Inchie struck it, and the expression on his face was extraordinary as he looked round at me. The tone was superb. This was the gong of gongs! "That berry number one," he exclaimed in a stage whisper. We secured the gong for a few cents. "Big-pockety man no berry clever, I think," remarked Inchie pensively. It was on the day of my last visit to his store before sailing for England, and Inchie was very sad, very earnest, and very anxious to give me the best possible advice as to what to do in the way of selling when I arrived at my "store," as he termed it, in England. "When big-pocket man come to Japan, every merchant know, and all wait for him," said Inchie, by way of demonstrating to me how very easy it was to entrap a rich man into buying one's goods. Inchie also told me the following story of how two big-pockety men once fared at the hands of a very subtle merchant. He was a Tokio merchant, and directly he heard of their probable arrival he sent experienced guides to almost every port in Japan to waylay these arrivals. They were eventually caught at Kobe, and were led all over Japan by a remarkably efficient guide, in due course reaching Tokio. After visiting many curio stores they were safely landed at the store of the master exactor. Then the trickery developed. The merchant began to flatter and compliment the richer of the two, and knowing that they were anxious to buy gold lacquer he said: "You are a great connoisseur on gold lacquer, I believe. They tell me that you have a quick eye for fine work, and I have heard much of your appreciation of Japanese art." The big-pockety man was thus won over into a limp and restful condition, for no one can flatter to such good advantage as the Japanese. [Illustration: A CANAL IN OSAKA] Meantime the guide was walking about the shop with his mouth wide open and looking silly. He was there to protect the two men, and the keenest observer could never have guessed that he was in reality the agent of this merchant. "I want your guide to take you round to all the gold lacquer shops you can, for I know that that is what you appreciate and love so much. After you have seen all that the merchants can show you, come back to me and see what you think of my specimens." All this time he was toying with a little insignificant-looking gold lacquer tray, turning it about under the rich man's very nose in such a way that he was bound to notice it. "We Japanese are so clever, you know, and we are such good imitators of lacquer that even I, a Japanese, am liable at times to be misled by some of the deceptions. But," continued the merchant in an off-hand manner, "there is one sure test of real gold lacquer, and that is the fire test." So saying he carelessly lit a match and allowed it to play all over the gold lacquer tray; then quietly and without any demonstration he handed it to the rich man and begged him to observe that it was not harmed in any way, taking it for granted that he, the rich man, naturally knew of the fire test. The big-pocket man puckered his fat brow critically--he really knew nothing about it--and rubbed his greasy palm over the surface of the lacquer. The difference between the hands of the two men was a characteristic study--one big and flabby, the other slim and sinuous with fingers that almost turned back in their energy. After examining the tray closely the visitor admitted that it was in truth untouched. The master exactor smiled, and, like the rogue he was, never referred to it again. The two rich men went away with their guide and visited half a dozen other stores in Tokio, trying the fire test on all the gold lacquer they could find, with disastrous consequences. [Illustration: UMBRELLAS AND COMMERCE] They had to pay for damages wherever they went, and wherever they went the merchants were indignant, for real gold lacquer, as every one knows, will not stand such treatment unless it happens to be a flat tray. But the rich men only chuckled at their superior knowledge and paid the damages without a murmur. Then they went back to the store of the evil prompter and did exactly as he expected they would do; they bought ten thousand pounds' worth of gold lacquer, all of which was "berry number one imitation gold lacquer," as Inchie remarked. "Well, but, Inchie, I couldn't treat people like that." I told the little man "I shouldn't know how." "But I will show you how to sell," quoth Inchie: "I show you how to sell two-cent blue porcelain pot in your store for two hundred dollars to big-pockety man"; whereupon Inchie proceeded to give me a lesson in the art of selling. He first brought out a nest of six lacquer boxes that fitted one into the other; then he held up the two-cent porcelain pot,--and the way he handled it made it already begin to appear valuable in my eyes. I truly believe that Inchie could stroke out a piece of newspaper and make it seem as rare as a bank-note. Then this little genius wrapped the worthless blue porcelain in yellow silk, and placed it in the smallest lacquer box, which with its lid he secured inside a larger box, and so on until the entire six boxes and their lids encased his gem. Placing it upon the table, he began to explain how I should sell it, and in order to describe the subtlety of the transaction I must give it in Inchie's own words: "Big-pockety man come your store in England and he say, 'Mr. Menpes, you bought number one curio in Japan?' You say, 'No buy curio in Japan,' but you talk much to him of all the beautiful things you see in Japan. After a time you look on the ground and think--much you show you think. Big-pockety man look at you and he no talk. You look up quick and you say, 'Oh, number one curio I buy Japan, I remember!' He say, 'Please show me curio.' 'Never I show curio,' you tell him. 'I buy number one curio, but I no want to show.' Then you talk to him about Japan, all the streets and the theatres you see in Japan; but all the time he talk of curio--'I ber-ry much want to see,' he say. You say, 'You friend, you number one friend? Very well, I show.'" After having thus given way you must go upstairs and look for the curio, and--Inchie laid a stress upon this last statement--"you must be a long time finding it. When you come back you place the large lacquer box containing the five smaller boxes and the Buddha's eye--the Holy of Holies--upon the table, and much you begin to talk about Japan, berry like American lady talk I think; you no talk to him then about porcelain. After much talk about beautiful blossom you take out one box; then you talk more and take out another box--gentleman he ber-ry much want to see. When you come to final piecee box he berry much excited, and when you take out the porcelain and yellow silk you berry berry quiet--no artistic to talk now. Then you drop the corners of the silk and look at the porcelain. You no talk, big-pockety man no talk; he no understand this--berry funny. Somebody must talk, all quiet; you rest long time no talk, and big-pockety man say, 'Berry much number one curio that I think--how much you sell?' You say, 'I no sell. Berry much money that costee me Japan, much ricksha, much hotel. Number one Chinese porcelain that. Number one glaze. I no sell,'" And to cut the story short I must explain that "the big-pockety man"--that is the millionaire--is by this time in a perfect fever to possess my priceless blue porcelain, and, Inchie says, here I must weaken, and after asking him if he is "daimio gentleman number one," I must allow him to buy my two-cent vase for two hundred dollars. In giving me this important lesson in the art of selling, Inchie considered that he had shown me the truest mark of friendship, and that he had given me the most valuable present in his power, and far more useful than any jewel could be. Towards the end of the work, when the house was nearly completed, and I had entertained mentally almost every friend I knew, and had missed nothing from the door-mat to the red lacquer soup-bowls on the dining-room table, I suddenly remembered the door-knocker. There was no door-knocker! I immediately interviewed Inchie and asked him to help me to design a door-knocker. Seeing that the only doors they have in Japan are sliding ones made of tissue paper, it was some time before Inchie could comprehend my meaning. "I no understand why you want to knock at the door. Very funny that!" he said. I explained that in England it was necessary to have very strong doors which one could not leave open lest people should come in and steal. He blinked his little eyes and looked up at me intelligently: "I understand!" he exclaimed, "berry number one bad Chinaman come and steal." "No," I said, "not Chinaman, but Englishman." "I no understand," he repeated. After much pantomime and talk I at last conveyed to him a fairly good idea of what was needed in the way of a door-knocker, and sent him home to work out some suitable design. Three days after he came back carrying under his arm a huge roll of drawings, which he proceeded to unfold on the floor. A glance was enough to show me that the little fellow had not got hold of the kind of door-knocker I required, and I watched him with a limp and hopeless feeling. "Go on, Inchie: explain it," I said. He was in very good condition this morning--pleased with himself and the world in general, and more especially with his door-knocker design. Drawing in his breath with a little satisfied hiss, he began: "Now, you see, you first put on the door a large chrysanthemum in bronze," and Inchie went through the performance in pantomime. "In the centre of this chrysanthemum a rod of steel must be fixed five inches in length. Suspended from the rod of steel must be a silk cord about five inches in length, and attached to the cord a marble about the size of a child's playing marble. Underneath the large chrysanthemum, and in line with the marble, should be placed another chrysanthemum with a miniature gong in the centre three-quarters of an inch in diameter." "Wait a bit, Inchie," I cried, for this description was too much for me--I must digest it more slowly. I pictured to myself the strings of children that pass and repass my house in Cadogan Gardens on their way to and from school, and their feelings concerning this small metal ball waving in the soft wind of a summer's afternoon on its apple-green cord. It would be too gorgeous an attraction by far! No child could have the heart to destroy so rare a thing at once, it would be far too great a joy; they would save it at least until their return journey from school before even touching it. Seeing that the small man was becoming a little offended, I said, "Fire away, Inchie,--what next?" "Well, when you come home after dinner, you take the marble and hold it five inches from the gong. You shut one eye and take aim; then you let go, and he goes ping! ping! and gentleman he come and open the door." "No, he doesn't, Inchie," I shouted: "you're wrong there--the gentleman doesn't open the door." "I no understand," said little Inchie, his face falling,--"why he no open the door?" "Because," I explained, "when you come home late at night after dinner you must have very sure habits of taking aim in order to strike that miniature gong three-quarters of an inch in diameter." Inchie looked up at me with bright pathetic little eyes, and said, "Berry fine daimio door-knocker this, and it is not difficult for you to strike. I no understand!" Then I took him on one side, not wanting to hurt his feelings, and explained to him how almost impossible it would be for a man coming home after dinner, having walked hurriedly and all that, to take aim at his miniature gong. "You told me you could shoot a rifle," was Inchie's reply. After that there was no more to be said, for I realised that one must necessarily be a rifle shot before you could get home at nights. [Illustration: PLAYFELLOWS] The last I ever saw of poor little Inchie was when he came on board the P. and O. steamer at Yokohama to see me off on my journey to England. The authorities would not allow him to lunch with me in the saloon, and the poor little fellow, who was far more refined and certainly had far more intelligence than any one on board, captain and officers included, was compelled to eat his luncheon standing up in the steward's pantry, which hurt his feelings terribly. The only figure that I seemed to see in the mist that enwrapped Yokohama wharf was poor little Inchie standing there in his blue kimono and quaint bowler hat, watching me with eager blinking eyes that had a suspicion of moisture about them, and lips that twitched slightly; and the last thing I heard was, "I think when you go to England you send me berry many letters--often you send me." And I felt as the steamer moved away that I had lost a good and a true friend. When the decorations for my house arrived in London, the next and all important question to be considered was how to put them up. Everything was finished and ready to fix in its place without nails, and the only thing left to be completed by the British workmen was the slight wooden beams and square framework in which the carved panels were to be fixed. I secured five or six good workmen, and literally taught them how to handle this material, but it took them two years to put up what my Japanese craftsmen had produced in one year. It was all straightforward clean design, and there was no artistic effort needed for it; but the obstacle was that they always struggled to make the woodwork a little thicker than necessary. Their inclinations were always to strengthen things, and it took a great deal of perseverance and patience to uproot their fixed ideas. Then I had a great deal of trouble with the painters. At first they almost refused to put distemper on my walls. Strings upon strings of painters I was compelled to dismiss because they would persist in putting what they called "body" into the paint. Sometimes they would slip it in behind my back; but I always detected it and dismissed the men on the instant. It was the only way. "Well, I've been in the trade for thirty years and I've always used body"--they all said that, and every workman I have ever employed, or is yet to be employed, always says the same. No matter how young or how old they may be, they have always been in the trade for thirty years. One painter I educated sufficiently to allow of him going so far against his principles as to leave out "body," but when I ordered him to mix oil and water by beating them together in a tub he declined and left. The only men whom I was able to persuade to do this for me were my foreman and one of the carpenters. The foreman was a very intelligent little man, whom I had educated to such an extent that his views of life and of workmen in general were entirely changed. He sneered at them, and was altogether so won over to my ideas that I am afraid I totally destroyed him for any other work. The painter, on the other hand, had no intelligence at all, but was equally devoted, and I feel quite sure that those two poor operatives are drifting about now doing anything but their respective trades of carpentry and painting. They undertook the beating of the oil and water very energetically, and kept it up for days, relieved occasionally by the caretaker. Eventually the oil did mix, and the experiment was a great success. Towards the end of their training these men became so accustomed to looking at things, if not feeling them, from the decorative standpoint, that it was no unusual occurrence to overhear such remarks as the following. The foreman would say to his pal as he caught sight of the reflection of his grimy face in a mirror: "I say, Bill, my flesh tone looks well against this lemon yellow, don't it?" or "I suppose I must start and wash off this toney"--toney meaning dirt, but to call it dirt would be to their enlightened minds vulgar in the extreme. Everything with them was "tone." A few days before they left for good I overheard a conversation between Bill and his mate, who had begun to feel the hopelessness of attempting work of a different nature. "What shall we do, Bill, when this blooming job's over?" said the foreman. "I suppose we shall go a-'opping!" replied Bill. It was then just about the hopping season. CHARACTERISTICS CHAPTER XI CHARACTERISTICS Perhaps one of the most admirable features in the character of the Japanese is their great power of self-control. The superficial observer on his first visit to Japan, because of this very quality of theirs, is at first liable to imagine that the Japanese have no emotion. This is a mistake. I have lived with them; I know them through and through; and I know that they are a people of great emotions, emotions that are perhaps all the deeper and stronger because they are unexpressed. Self-control is almost a religion with the Japanese. In their opinion it is wrong and selfish to the last degree to inflict one's sorrows and one's cares upon other people. The world is sad enough, they argue, without being made sadder by the petty emotions of one's neighbour: so the people of Japan all contrive to present a gay and happy appearance to the outside world. You may express your feelings in the solitude of your own room, and there is no doubt that the Japanese suffer terribly among themselves, although a stranger, and especially a European, will never detect a trace of it. I once went to call, with a resident of Japan, on an old Japanese lady, to condole with her on the loss of her husband and her only son, who had both been swept away, with thousands of others, in a great tidal wave only a few days previously. As we neared the house we saw, through the partially-opened sliding door, the old woman rocking herself to and fro in an agony of sorrow, literally contending with emotion, and suffering as I have never seen a human being suffer before. I was terribly shocked, and we naturally hesitated for some time before announcing ourselves; but by the time the mourner appeared at the door to greet us, she was all smiles. It was difficult to believe that she was the same woman. Her face shone with radiant happiness, and all traces of sorrow had disappeared. In the course of the conversation she did not avoid the sore subject, but rather chose it, and talked of the death of her husband and her son with a smiling face and an expression by which one might very pardonably have judged that she had no feelings whatever. This was self-control indeed, and it is only in Japan that one encounters such striking illustrations of superb pluck and endurance. [Illustration: YOUTH AND AGE] In my opinion, this great self-control is an evidence of the very high standard of civilisation of the Japanese. If one is at all observant and really in sympathy with the people, one is continually catching glimpses of their real natures and instances of their magnificent self-command. Once I was talking to a little Japanese merchant, along with some friends whom I had taken round to his store to buy curios. I had made quite a friend of this man, and knew him well. We were all chaffing him about getting married, and one of my friends said to him, "Well, why don't you get married? But perhaps you have already got a wife!" The little man looked up quickly with a smile on his face, and said--"Me married already; me wife die two years past; two children die two years past; all die, I think." The voice was perfectly steady, and the face smiling, as he uttered this amazingly sad statement; but some one chanced to look up and saw two great tears standing in his little monkey-like eyes. Of course he was "no class," and, not being an actual workman, but only a merchant, he was considered to be of rather a low grade. Still, for this slight show of emotion, he had utterly disgraced himself in his own eyes, and would afterwards, no doubt, atone for it by torturing himself in private. I saw many remarkable instances of the self-control of the Japanese people when I visited the scenes of desolation caused from that great tidal wave which destroyed nearly three thousand people. Village after village I visited, some of them with only three or four living inhabitants left; but in no case, with men, women, or children, did I see the slightest trace of emotion. Here and there, indeed, you passed a woman huddled up in a corner muttering and screaming, but only because her mind had become unhinged by the loss of her home, or probably village, and every relation she possessed. No Japanese in his senses would amid the same circumstances be guilty of so much as a murmur or a tear. The Japanese are a brave people--not only the men, but the women too. In fact, the women more especially are brave. Many women destroyed themselves during the China-Japanese war, because their husbands had been killed in battle. There was one Japanese woman in Tokio who felt so deeply the disgrace placed upon her country by the attempt on the life of the present Emperor of Russia some years ago by a common coolie, that she committed suicide. She felt that this great European prince had visited her country as a guest, and that before Japan could raise its head once more the nation must make some great sacrifice. Day after day she visited the Legation, and begged to be allowed admission to some of the high officials--in vain: they were too busy to see her. At last, after some weeks of fruitless effort, she went home in despair and killed herself, leaving a pathetic little letter to the Minister stating that she hoped that the sacrifice of her life might in some way help to cleanse her country from its disgrace. [Illustration: LOOKERS-ON] Patriotism is a strong trait in the character of the Japanese; but perhaps their imagination and their love of Nature are even stronger, and at all events will cause them to bound forward and become a first-rate power. This universal force of the imagination is a quality that no other nation possesses, and it is a quality that will cause her, not so very many years hence, to dominate the world. All the Japanese possess imagination, from the highest to the lowest; it is shown in every action and detail of their daily life. There is no one of them, even to the poorest coolie, who has not some little collection of exquisite works of the art that he loves. Your jinricksha man, if you were ever allowed the privilege of visiting his house, would in all probability be able to show you one or two choice specimens, either in china or in bronze, of his household gods. And so strongly is the love of Nature impressed within him that he cannot pass a beautiful scene--a hillside of blossom, or a sunset--without stopping his ricksha to allow you also the privilege of enjoying it. Often when taking a drive in the country he will suddenly stop in front of some delightful scene, put down your ricksha, and, taking from his kimono sleeve a little roll of rice, wrapped in a dainty bamboo leaf, will sit down and begin to eat it with his chopsticks, continuing to gaze at the scene, every now and then looking up at you for sympathy. If you are an artist, and will look at the scene intelligently and appreciatively, this little ricksha man will be your slave for life and will do anything for you. Men are esteemed in Japan in proportion to their artistic capabilities, and not for their banking accounts. It is in this quality of imagination that we Britishers are deficient. Our lack of imagination will be the cause of the decline of our Empire, if it does decline. Then, the Japanese are a polite people. If you give a present to some little child, a mite strapped to the back of a sister that is scarcely bigger than itself, you are almost sure to find that little child waiting for you on your return to your hotel with some small trifle to offer you; and this little one will bow to you from its rather awkward position with all the grace imaginable. Two coolies sweeping the roads, when meeting for the first time in the day, will lay down their brooms and salute each other before passing on their way to work. I have had many experiences, when sketching the streets of Japan, of the people's politeness. A policeman becoming interested in my work would help to keep clear a space in the road, and never dream of overlooking my work or of embarrassing me in any way. In one street of a village he actually had the traffic turned down another way, so as not to interfere with my sketching. Fancy a policeman in England diverting the traffic simply because an artist wanted to sketch a meat shop! One of the most remarkable illustrations of the native politeness that I have ever witnessed was in Tokio. A man pulling along a cart loaded high up with boughs of trees chanced to catch the roof of a coolie's house in one of his pieces of timber, tearing away a large portion of it (for a roof is a very slim affair in Japan). The owner of the house rushed out thoroughly upset, and began to expostulate, and to explain how very distressing it was to have one's roof torn off in this manner. No doubt if he had been a Britisher he would have used quaint language; but there are no "swear words" in the Japanese language--they are too polite a people. The abused one stood calmly, with arms folded, listening to the harangue, and saying nothing. Only, when the enraged man had finished, he pointed to the towel which in his haste the coolie had forgotten to take off his head. At once the coolie realised the enormity of his offence. Both hands flew to the towel, and tore it off in confusion, the coolie bowing to the ground and offering humble apologies for having presumed to appear without uncovering his head. For in Japan one must always uncover, whether to a sweep or to a Mikado. The two parted the best of friends. One had been impolite enough to forget to uncover; the other had torn away a roof. The rudeness of the one balanced the injury of the other. Thus are offences weighed in Japan. THE END _The illustrations in this impression were engraved and printed by the Carl Hentschel Colourtype Process. The letterpress was printed by Messrs. R. & R. Clark, Limited, Edinburgh._ [Illustration] 
33616	----	produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) THE WAY OF THE GODS _By_ JOHN LUTHER LONG _Author of_ "MADAME BUTTERFLY" "MISS CHERRY BLOSSOM" "THE FOX WOMAN" "HEIMWEH" _Etc._ * * * * THE MACMILLAN COMPANY _NEW YORK MCMVI_ LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD. COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. Set up and electrotyped. Published April, 1906. Norwood Press J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. TO HIM WHO OWNS HIS JOY BECAUSE HE HAS BOUGHT IT WITH SORROW--OR WILL * * * * * * PAGE _TADAIMA!_ (Wait a moment!), 3 CONTENTS PAGE _IMPRIMIS_ 13 I Nippon Denji 19 II The Flying of the August Carp 29 III A Good Lie 37 IV Yet--a Lie Loosens Fealty 47 V Yamato Damashii 55 VI Yoné 65 VII Ping-Yang 75 VIII Dream-of-a-Star 81 IX Isonna 93 X The Task of Jizo 101 XI Angel of the Earth-Heaven 109 XII Impertinent Isonna 119 XIII Only to Take Her 129 XIV The Going of the Soldier 137 XV But What could He Do? 143 XVI The Making of a Goddess 153 XVII The Eta 161 XVIII To the Emperor 169 XIX On Miyagi Field 175 XX Faded Glory 183 XXI In the Andon's Light 195 XXII Tadaima-Tadaima! 203 XXIII The Pity of the Gods 215 XXIV The Land of the Brave 225 XXV Jones 231 XXVI The "Tsarevitch" 241 XXVII The Small White Death 251 XXVIII "Present for Duty" 261 XXIX The Reincarnation of Shijiro Arisuga 269 XXX Zanzi, Lover of Battles 279 XXXI The Tomb of Lord Esas 285 XXXII When the Watch Passed 297 XXXIII Teikoku Banzai 303 XXXIV Afterward 311 TADAIMA I thought I saw the bronze god Asamra (he who may speak but once in a thousand years, and whose friendship I keep by making time stand still for him in the stopping of the clock and its turning back) shake his head in doubt as I put the manuscript into its wrappings and addressed it to the publisher. "Well?" I inquired, testily. "Suppose They do not like it?" sighed the god. "Why should They not?" demanded I, loftily. "It has, among other unusualities, (I hope you like the gentleness of the word!) those dashes which--You ought to have learned by this time that They don't like to read over dashes." "Why not?" asked I, again. "_I_ like them. And, they are my own!" "Well, you know a dash necessitates lucubration. It stands for something which you trust your reader to supply. That is unfair. If you are writing a book and receiving an honorarium for it, do not expect him to do it. It is a bit like eating. One does not go to a restaurant, and pay for his food, then cook it himself." "I have seen it done," cried I, "by particular people!" "Ahem!" murmured the polite god: more polite on this day than I had recently observed him--which meant some sort of propaganda. "It is not an ahem!" I went on in the unregenerate heat which the friction of the god often engendered in me. "Have _you_ never seen it done?" "I have," admitted the effigy, "seen a waiter sorely vexed to bring the materials for a salad--" "Aha!" cried I, triumphantly. "Gomen nasai," begged the deity, "I had not finished. I have seen a waiter, I say, sorely vexed to bring the materials for a salad which the maker has--spoiled!" "Then," demanded I, with icy coldness, "you think that if I permit Them to supply a few thoughts to carry Them over the dashes They will--" "Think something you did not think; perhaps something worse," the effigy finished, calamitously. "Or better?" I suggested, bitterly. "Or better," agreed the god. "There is a small number of people (but, extremely small) who like to supply in full what you suggest in dashes. It tickles Them tremendously to think that you couldn't have done it so well; that you trust Them to do it better. Often They are certain that They have helped you over a place you could not help yourself over--hence the dash." "Sometimes," I mused, diffidently, "that is true." "Ha, ha!" laughed the image, and our mood became more human. "But, do you mean to say," I asked, "that if I leave John and Jane in the upper hall, and take them up again in the lower hall, I must acquaint Them with the fact that John and Jane have been obliged to traverse the stairway to get away from the one and to reach the other? Am I permitted no ellipsis in so patent a matter as that?" "They will expect the stairway," sighed the god. "And a page for each step, I suppose! How can They differ from me? What other thought can They have than that John and Jane descended the stairway to reach the lower hall?" "There may be a back stairway, or a fire escape," chuckled the deity. "Then, I suppose, I must spend some pages in telling Them not only that John and Jane descended the stair, but that they did _not_ descend by the back stair or the fire escape!" "It would be better," said the idol. "They can skip it. But They cannot deny that it is there, as They can if it is not. They would rather skip what you supply than supply what you skip. One is Their judgment of your mental caliber--usually too small--the other is your judgment of Theirs--usually too generous. Ahem! There is a golden mean." "Besides, however bad for literature it may be," laughed I, "at so much a word, it is good for me!" "Well," ventured god, in doubt, "are novels literature?" "I am not the one to say," I retorted, with some asperity. "I manufacture them. But I can swear that they are better literature--if literature at all--than some of the criticisms of them--if literature at all." "Have I touched a broken, perhaps often mended, place in your armor?" laughed the god. "Well," I admitted, crustily, "I have read criticisms of English--no matter whose--the English of which was eminently criticisable. Here is one. The gentleman makes no distinction in the uses of 'which' and 'that,' and he has not a 'who' in his vocabulary." "I have my eye on it," laughed the image, "and I admit that a few whiches and whos for thats, and--even--er--pardon!--a few of your dashes, would make its teaching more grateful." "God," adjured I, happily, "thank you! Now do please stop and think! No speech, no thought, goes on without dashes. When we write the speech which flows mellifluous, we do violence to nature. And in all art the tendency is toward nature." "Recently," began the deity, in that high tone which always meant checkmate to me, "I have seen the statue of an alleged athlete, in which his bunions were reproduced!" "I saw it, too," I laughed. Indeed, the god and I had stared at it together. "Well," the effigy went on, "that was certainly nature!" "There is a golden mean," I re-quoted. "An artistic attitude toward all manifestations of art. If one has this one will appreciate--er--whether to reproduce the bunions. They may, of course, be picturesque bunions. Why, god, if one should reproduce human speech, as it is spoken, there would be a dash after every third word! Mine are quite within bounds." "It would look queer," said the god, "and you would be called eccentric instead of original. Please don't do it! In fact stop it! Placate both your readers and your critics." "Oh, as to that," said I, airily, "the labor would all be lost. Anything which is unusual to the superficial experience of the average person is glibly dubbed eccentric. You know how it is. A reader likes to find the dear old situations in advance of him so that he knows what he is approaching. There is the same fear of the terra incognita in literature that there is in nature. A book or a play which is too novel a tax upon the faculties of a client is not to his liking." "Who, pray, do you write books for?" asked the effigy, with the suspicion of a yawn. "The people who read them," said I, cockily. "Do They include the critics?" "Oh, no," said I, hastily. "Aren't they 'people who read them'?" "Why, they are critics," cried I. "How can they?" "That is hard doctrine," said the god, dully. "If you write for the people who read, you must submit to their verdict. And the critics are a part of them." "A small part. But they pretend to speak for the whole. Permit me to explain--" The god politely waited. "Your critic approaches a book as a lawyer does his case--temperamentally--not judicially--with an opinion of it in advance or upon the first pages, which the book must either justify or fail to justify. The result appears in his published estimate. He states his view as if it were the only one. And, being delivered ex cathedra, the multitude take it as they do their preaching--for the gospel of Literature! But how would you like that in your judge? Who is sworn to decide upon the evidence adduced alone? "So it happens that every book is well cursed and well blessed, according to the humor of the dissector. And the cursing and blessing are usually about equal." "There does seem to be something wrong about criticism which can be unanimous both ways," laughed the god. "There ought to be some tribunal to which criticism could be referred upon appeal as lawsuits are," said I. "But," I went on, hastening a bit to my climax as the god seemed to doze, "the most terrible of all criticism is the modern humorous kind--" "I have heard an odious term used to characterize those who make it," whispered the deity. "The man who can do nothing else--and usually he _can_ do nothing else--can poke fun. It is a peculiarly tasteful form of iconoclasm." Said the god:-- "If I should sleep, do not forget to stop the clock." He pretended to do so. That is his way when I have tired him. J. L. L. IMPRIMIS Four times on earth and once elsewhere Shijiro Arisuga thought the happiest moment of his life had come. But you are to be warned, in two proverbs, concerning the peril of the thing called happiness, in Japan. One has it that happiness is like the tai, the other that it has in it the note of the uguisu. Now, the tai is a very common fish, and the uguisu is a rare bird of one sad note, reputed to be sung only to O-Emma, god of death, in the night, most often when there is a solemn moon. Which, again, is much the same as saying that, in Japan, at least, happiness is the common lot, and easy to get as to catch the lazy perch; but that it has its sad note, which may have to be sung in the darkness, alone, to death. For in the East one is taught to be no more prodigal with one's joy than with one's sorrow. The sum of both joy and sorrow, it is said, are immutably the same in the world from eternity. And of these each soul born is allotted its reasonable share as the gods adjudge it. So that if one takes too much joy out of the common lot, some one, perhaps many ones, must receive less than they ought. Thus, one not only limits the rights of his fellow-men, who has no warrant to do so, but impiously exercises the prerogatives of the gods, than which nothing can be more heinous. For this larceny of joy, therefore, the culprit must suffer more than his share of woe, until the heavenly balance is once more restored. And that may be in this life or another, in this world or another. So you observe that in Japan, among those who yet believe in the old ways of the gods (and they are many!), it is perilous to be over-happy. For one is almost certain to pay for it with over-woe. And this is the happy catching of the tai and the melancholy note of the uguisu which wind through the carols of one's joy in the East. Yet, when one is always happy, as Shijiro Arisuga was before we knew him, it seems difficult to say that here or there was a happier moment. Therefore, you are to learn of each of these five occasions in their order, according to your patience, and, quite at the end, you are to be left to judge for yourself, which was, indeed, the happiest moment of Shijiro Arisuga's life. There will come a time, too,--at the end,--when you will know nothing of Shijiro Arisuga's own views upon the subject: he will not be there to tell them. I shall try to interpret for him. But you are not to be prejudiced by this judgment of mine, since you cannot know Shijiro Arisuga as well as I do until the end is reached--quite the end. And it is nothing--the little story--you are, further, warned, until the woman enters. Indeed; nothing is anything--no story--until woman enters. Try to fancy Eden without Eve! Not that Star-Dream is another Eve; nor that this is like the first love story. But there is a Garden and a Serpent; an Apple and a Woman. And, from that Garden, Shijiro Arisuga is driven with a sword which flames. But here my story differs entirely from that of the first love story. For the woman is left in the garden--alone! And it is eternal night. And she can hardly stay there alone. For the uguisu sings. I wonder if Eve could have been happy in Eden alone? With the singing of the death-bird? You will remember that though they were driven forth, it was together: comrades in misfortune as in joy--yet comrades! NIPPON DENJI I NIPPON DENJI Now, the first of these five great occasions was that day Shijiro was accepted in the haughty Imperial Guards, most of whom had genealogies which would best impress us by the yards of illuminated mulberry paper they covered. Arisuga had many of such yards himself. That was not a question. But his inches raised many questions. The Guards were tall. Shijiro Arisuga was small. Though he was a samurai of the samurai, his ancestors kugé, it seemed impossible to admit him until Colonel Zanzi spoke. "He is a samurai," said Zanzi, gruffly. "Of course all Japanese fight. But the rest, the commoners, are new to it. It is possible in a pinch for them to run away. It happened once to my knowledge. But a samurai goes only in the one direction when he is before an enemy. You all know what direction that is. The commoner may be as good as the samurai in a century. But the samurai is always dependable now. I wish the whole of the Guards were shizoku. His uncles, the Shijiro of Aidzu, though they were shiro men at Kyoto, and so against the emperor, in that old time, were, nevertheless, kugé by rank. I do not see how we can keep him out of the Guards. I don't want to, whether he is tall or small." Now Zanzi was an autocrat who constantly pretended that he was not. He had an iron temper which he nearly always concealed under courteous persistence, until his men understood what must be without his ever having precisely said that it must be. So, in this matter, he pretended to have left it to them. But he had decided upon Shijiro's final admission to the regiment, even though it was a time of peace, when one's qualifications were more strictly scanned than in time of war, simply because he was of the samurai, whom he adored. "Nevertheless," warned Nijin, the recruiting major, "he is considerably below the physical standard." "He is _not_ the stuff for the Guards," alleged Yasuki. And Matsumoto said:-- "I have heard him called 'Onna-Jin.'" "Girl-Boy!" laughed Jokichi. "So have I." "He used to carry a samisen about with him when he was a child--he and little Yoné, Baron Mutsu's daughter." This came from Kitsushima, who added:-- "I have seen them at Mukojima, wandering under the cherry-boughs, hand in hand, and singing childish songs!" "I have seen him doing that later, where the lanterns shine in Geisha street, and the little girl was not Yoné." They all laughed. This was not seriously against him. "Having settled it that he practises the art of music, I will surprise you with the information that he also pretends to the sister art of poesy," laughed Asami. "He is the author of 'The Great Death'!" "What!" From half a dozen of them. And they broke into the song: hoarse, iron, clanging, mongolian! Within the six notes of the old Japanese scale! (Do not be surprised at this. The Japanese army is full of poets. Indeed, the Japanese land is full of them. They will spin you a complete comedy or tragedy between seventeen or thirty-seven syllables. And, to practise poetry is not there as here, heinous to one's friends. I know of a gunner who sat cross-legged under his gun behind Poutuloff and wrote a poem concerning The-Moon-in-a-Moat. It was finished as the Russians got his range and dropped a covey of shrapnel upon him. After the smoke cleared they found him dead. And he is forgotten. But his poem was also found and lived on.) This was "The Great Death" of Shijiro Arisuga. "Yell of metal, Strake of flame! Death-wound spurting In my face! Hail Red Death!" "Banzai!" cried Jokichi. "Teikoku Banzai!" yelled Asami. And, after the tumult, Yasuki, the reserved, himself said:-- "By Shaka, it is the very Yamato Damashii itself! The spirit of young Japan." "Nippon Denji!" laughed jolly Kitsushima. "Yes! The Boys in Blue--as they called them in America in 1864." Matsumoto had been to Princeton. But the thought of war--giving his soul for his emperor--made him as mad as they who had never left their native soil. "I take all back," cried Nijin, into the tumult. "And I," yelled Yasuki, who had agreed with him. "Let him in!" shrilled Matsumoto and Jokichi together. "If he can write songs--" "And let him sing! Let him sing war-songs!" adjured Kitsushima! Still, the happy Nijin, out of propriety of his office, as recruiting-major, pretended to wish to stem the current started by the song. "One moment!" he cried. But they laughed him down and again started the war-song. "I _will_ have a moment!" "Take two!" shouted Jokichi. "Singing and fighting are two very different occupations." "No, they are precisely the same," laughed Kitsushima. "I deny it!" It was a fierce yell from Nijin, who was happiest, to pretend tremendous anger. "I affirm it!" laughed Jokichi, into his face. "Pretender!" cried Asami, shaking a happy fist at his superior. Asami and Nijin stood with Zanzi for his admission. Still, Nijin said in thunder:-- "Remember! poets never practise their preaching." Nevertheless, if he had entered then, Arisuga would have been chosen, by acclaim, because of his song. But enthusiasm cools rapidly, and these stoical orientals could be moved to enthusiasm by but this one thing--war. So that after a month--two--it required another word from grizzled Zanzi, who had been in the war of the Restoration, to let Shijiro in. "Jokoji!" That was the word. "His father is at Jokoji!" And they demanded, and he told, the story of Jokoji--which, pardon me, I do not mean to tell. Save this little, so that you may understand, that it was that last terrible stand of Saigo behind the hills of Kagoshima, where the Shogunate perished and the empire was born again in 1868. And the shoguns you may care to know were that mighty line of feodal chieftains who had usurped the throne from the time of Yoritomo, to that of Keiki. For all these years the imperial power had rioted at Yedo, in the hands of two generals, while the emperor, a prisoner in his palace-hermitage in Kyoto, had been but the high priest of his people. They are there yet, at Jokoji, to the last man, Saigo and his gallant rebels, in a great trench, without their heads, a warning to future rebels. After that other word--Jokoji--Arisuga was chosen. Observe that they finally took him because of his father--though he died a rebel. Indeed, those old insurgents, of 1868, are gradually being canonized with crimson death-names, because they neither knew dishonor, no, nor suffered it. THE FLYING OF THE AUGUST CARP II THE FLYING OF THE AUGUST CARP There was a time, of course, when Shijiro was too young to think of being a soldier--save of the tin-sworded and cocked-hatted kind. And it must be confessed, nay, it was confessed, by his uncles with profound sorrow, that he cared little enough for even that. It is quite true that lighted paper lanterns gleaming in the night, and morning glories with first sun on them, and his small samisen, pleased him more. All this was quite heinous to his samurai uncles and they did what they could to correct it and instil into the little mind of the boy that love for the glory of combat which they had. But, as often happens, their care and their prayers availed them nothing, while their carelessness and their repinings availed much. Of that I shall stop and tell: the picture--the flying of the carp--how all the life of the little boy was changed in one night,--so that he thought no more of Yoné, the lanterns and the flowers, but only of being a soldier. It was that day when he was ten. All his relatives were present and they flew a tremendous number of paper carp. For you are to know that this is the way the gods have of telling one on one's birthday in Japan, whether one is to be as strong and virile as the open-mouthed carp in a swift wind, or as flaccid as they when there is no wind. The gods were kind and sent a propitious day. The carp stood out, straining upon their poles so that some of them broke loose and whirled cloud-ward--whereat the multitude of Arisuga's relatives shouted with joy. For this was an august omen of great good. Arisuga cared nothing for the omen. But the carp eddying upward, and those straining on their poles, were very fine. The tired, happy little boy had been put early to bed, while his uncles remained to smoke and gossip. For one was from Kobé and the other was from Osaka, and they did not meet as often as they could have wished. For a long time there was no sound save the tapping of their pipes against the metal rim of the hibachi as they were emptied of their ashes to be filled again. This is still much the way of ceremonious old men in Japan. They have learned the comradeship of silence. Presently this sound of the tapping pipes woke the little boy from his dreaming; and hearing whisperings in the room beyond he crept from his futons to the fusuma, which he silently parted to look and listen. His small eyes grew greater as he saw that his two uncles were still there, and greater yet as he observed that they gesticulated in the direction of the picture of "The Great Death" while they whispered. Now this was a thing which had always troubled him: that they whispered together about that picture, and that, somehow, he was included in the mystery. It had hung there at the tokonoma since he could remember. He had been taught to reverence it; for nowhere have pictures more influence than in Japan. It was divided in the horizontal middle into two panels. In that below was carnage amazing. On the one side were the hosts of the emperor under the brocade banner (the most ancient Japanese flag of war), yet armed with guns and using cannon. On the other side were the rebel hosts of Saigo with ancient halberds and spears and in bamboo armor, depending upon the gods alone. Dying upon one of the cannon, with a shout upon his lips and ecstasy upon every feature, was a soldier in the uniform of the ancient Imperial Guards. The panel above showed one of the heavens far toward nirvana. There this same soldier appeared glorified and on the way to his reward in Shaka's bosom. Of course! He had died for the emperor! The artist had not spared the glory when he came to write the picture. And yet he had preserved a certain family likeness, so that little Arisuga presently came to know, by the subtle presence and teaching of his uncles, that this was Jokoji, the graveyard-battlefield in Satsuma, and that the figure informed with the ecstasy of the great red death for the emperor, was his father! That no part of the lesson might be lost, the artist had also shown, in that lower panel, the obverse of the reward of fealty. Those who had fought against the emperor were being tossed like dogs into a trench. Their heads were off. And the little boy had been taught to have no pity upon them. Of course! He had none. They had impiously rebelled against that god whose other name is Mutsuhito, Mikado! Moreover, in the lower corner of this panel, in an amazing opening among clouds with blazing edges, was that part of the hells reserved for the souls of traitors; and there the enemies of the emperor, who had died at Jokoji, were being variously tortured, in the intervals of their reincarnations. A GOOD LIE III A GOOD LIE Said Namishima, Arisuga's uncle from Kobé, to Kiomidzu, his uncle from Osaka:-- "The flying of the august carp has been honorably auspicious and doubtless the gods now design to make him, in spirit, unlike his regretted father." "It was the gods' punishment upon him for fighting against his emperor--that his son should miserably be an onna-jin," whispered Kiomidzu. "Nevertheless the honorable picture has aided greatly in making him adore the emperor," protested Namishima. "Yes, the money for its painting was augustly well spent," agreed Kiomidzu, wisely shaking his head. "Some day he will know, notwithstanding, that his father was a rebel. Others know. It cannot unhappily be kept from him always." "No." "Perhaps then we shall be augustly dead--" Both bowed and murmured again. "And beyond his most excellent vengeance." "Nevertheless," said Namishima, finally, "the august conscience within informs me that we have brought him up honorably well!" "There is excellently no doubt of it!" agreed Kiomidzu. They bowed to each other. For a while there was silence and the tapping of the pipes. Then they spoke of a new and weightier matter. Said Namishima--and here the little boy's eyes bulged:-- "If the soul of our brother continues to wander in the Meido, it will not be chargeable, now, in the heavens, to us, but to him. We have kept the lamps alight. We have taught him honor." "We are too aged, also," agreed Kiomidzu, "to redeem him forth unto the way to the heavens by dying in his stead the great death. It is for his son!" "In us, besides," Namishima went on, "the gods could not be augustly deceived. But the child has his name." "Therefore, should he die the great death, the merciful gods may be deceived by the name into thinking it he who died at Jokoji. In that case he would not only be redeemed to the way to the heavens, but on this earth his name would be graciously added to honor." So said he from Kobé. And he from Osaka:-- "For the gods are merciful!" "So merciful, I sometimes abjectly think, that they desire to be deceived, for our peace of mind." "Or, at least," mended Kiomidzu, to whom this was a trifle too much, "they will close their eyes while we augustly do it." Namishima disliked a trifle the correction of his brother:-- "Do not the gods so act upon the minds of their creatures that they remember or forget? Well, then! It is true that now others know that our brother died on the rebel side at Jokoji. But do we not know that, in the course of much time, the gods can make this to be forgotten, and make to be remembered that he died on the emperor's side?" "Yea, if his son should die for the emperor." "Yea! For the name is the same!" "And I have had a sign in a dream," said Kiomidzu, lowering his voice a little more. "Before me stood a tall god--" They both bowed and rubbed their hands. "--I knew neither his august name nor his presence. But his face shone as the sun, so that it is certain he was a god who can see the end from the beginning, and all between. And thus he spake: 'Rise and light the lamps and burn the sweet and bitter incense. For Shijiro Arisuga, he who died at Jokoji, shall have a crimson death-name.'" "How shall that come to pass, augustness?" I asked upon my face. "'Through his son,'" said the god. "'The names are the same. Arise and light the lamps and burn the bitter incense.'" "And the augustness only vanished with the light of the new lamps I lighted before Shijiro's tablet." "Yet," doubted Namishima, though a deity had spoken, "the vengeance of the gods must also first be accomplished--yea, satisfied full! And until he is redeemed by this unhappy onna-jin, must our brother wander in the dark Meido--so think I! The new lamps will be sacrilege." "Nevertheless, one cannot honorably tell," argued the milder uncle from Osaka, himself not convinced by his vision. "His father was no taller nor of a greater spirit than he. He may not always be an onna-jin. And, also, any day the vengeance of the gods may be satisfied and they will permit him to redeem both his own and the spirit of his father. For I believe it true that he was not beheaded by the victors at Jokoji, and cast into the ditch as dogs are cast, but committed the honorable seppuku upon himself. That he would do." "Let it be hoped so. This is our one blot wherefore we cannot speak of our ancestors." And they chafed a prayer from between their hands that it might all be so. The little boy parted the fusuma yet more and looked. He had been taught that his face must always be as expressionless as if it were always under observation. And these old uncles had, more than others, taught him so. Yet now they were not observing their own precepts. Their faces were unmasked, and showed terror and anxiety. And this communicated itself to the boy as he looked. "Does it matter to the gods," asked Kiomidzu, "how fealty to the heaven-born-one is augustly inculcated?" "'The way does not matter when one is arrived!'" said Namishima. "And 'a lie which doeth good,'" quoted Kiomidzu, "'is, manifestly, a good lie.'" "Happy is he," said Namishima, "who, being a liar for the truth, is willing, like us, to abide by its consequences from the unenlightened, to whom there is but one office in a lie--evil!" "Nembutsu!" agreed the brother of Namishima, his hard hands rasping with his prayer as do the soles of worn sandals. And then they went on, to the end of the story of this picture of "The Great Death," which had been painted and hung at the tokonoma when Arisuga was a child to deceive him into thinking that his father had honorably fought and died for his emperor instead of against him, that his soul was probably in Buddha's bosom instead of wandering in the alien dark Meido, unredeemed, that his body had been burned on a pyre instead of left to rot in that great ditch in Jokoji. This these old imperialists fancied their duty. The little boy sobbed there behind the shoji. "Sh!" whispered the uncle from Osaka. "Sh!" echoed the uncle from Kobé. "He wakes. If he should hear, all would be of no avail." They covered the fire of the hibachi and caused a darkness in which they stole away. YET--A LIE LOOSENS FEALTY IV YET--A LIE LOOSENS FEALTY The little boy slept no more. He got forth from his small room and made the offerings, and lighted the incense which he had forgotten that tired, joyous day, and then he took down his father's ihai, and touching to it his forehead, pledged all his lives to make true that which had been made false. For, yes, their names were the same, his father's and his, and the gods are easily deceived--Shijiro Arisuga should be upon the brass of those who had died for the emperor! The gods would attend to the forgetting which must follow. But this was not enough. The filial sin they had let him commit vexed his little soul. Where he had made a dim wisp of fibre to burn in oil before the tablet of his father, he rubbed a prayer from between his small pink palms. "Father and all the augustnesses, I did not know," he said childishly, "that your spirit waited in the dark Meido for me to set it free. There were lies!" Then he stopped and waited, for the tears ran down his face and choked his voice. "It would have been better to teach me truth than lies. For they have not made me wish to fight and die for the emperor--lies. But this, this that you wait, wait always in the cold dark Meido for me to set you on your way to the sleep in Buddha's bosom, this it is which makes me promise, here, now, by all the eight hundred thousand, by my own soul's reincarnations, all of them, that you shall be free; that your name shall yet stand among those on the brass who are not forgotten." "I did not know," he sobbed again. "And so I sang songs and made poems while you wandered there. I did not know. I was only a little boy. But now I am at once a man. It is true, august father, I must not lie to you, that I would rather be at Shiba with Yoné; I would rather walk on the hills with her hand in mine; I would rather sing as she plays the samisen; but I will be a soldier." And then a strange thing happened--and you must not fail to remember that stranger things happen in Japan than here--there came a crackling, ripping noise at the last word of that prayer, and the upper panel of the false picture loosed itself from the brocade to which it was attached and, falling, covered completely the lower panel and blotted out the whole. And that night yet, the little boy got his father's seal, and, where it fell, there he sealed it fast. So that when his uncles again saw it they grew troubled, kowtowed and made a prayer. For suddenly, also, Arisuga, from a child, at ten had become man. All he said to them when they diffidently undertook a question was:-- "I know the samurai commandment: 'Thou shalt not live under the same heavens nor upon the same earth with the enemy of thy lord!'" "The commandments are not for children," said the uncle from Osaka, gently. "That I know well," answered Arisuga. "For I am not a child." Said the terrified one from Kobé, "It does not mean that you must quit the earths and the heavens--" "But, rather," supplemented the one from Osaka, "that they shall--" "That you shall kill many enemies of your lord and live yourself--my child--" "Cease! I am not a child," said Arisuga again, haughtily, "and I know the commandments!" "Nevertheless that," said the one, "is a manifestation from the gods!" He pointed to the picture. "There have been many such," said the other. "It means something." "Yes," said the little boy, significantly, "it means something!" "But were you present when the gods obscured the picture?" ventured Kiomidzu. "I was present," said Arisuga. "And is it that which has changed you?" further ventured Namishima. "No," declared Arisuga, looking upon them both sternly, and without an honorific for either. "I trust," whined Kiomidzu, "that all is well between us?" "All is as well as it ever will be," said the boy. Then, after a silence, he added:-- "And the sun is setting!" Which meant, indeed, that they were driven from the door of their brother's house by his son! When they were in their going the boy said:-- "If I have sinned against the honorable hospitality, remember that a lie loosens fealty!" And when they were in the way, one said to the other:-- "He knows!" After some thought he who was addressed answered:-- "I think it very well. I have no regret. Our brother will now be released from the Meido. He will die for the emperor." "However, we shall be unwelcome in his presence, so that I shall come less often." To this his brother agreed with melancholy. "Our work is now done." Thus, Shijiro was much more alone than before, and had many more thoughts. But all were of war and the great red death, and none of Yoné. And then, presently, he came to join the haughty Imperial Guards, who had never dreamed of being a soldier, but only of poetry, and cherry-blossoms, and his samisen, and the soft satin hand of the little Yoné. For it was true, as Nijin said, and as they all agreed, Arisuga among them, that he was not the stuff out of which the empire made its Imperial Guards--quite. It was in this time, in the presence of the obscured picture, that he wrote his song of "The Great Death." And his years grew faster than his inches. YAMATO DAMASHII V YAMATO DAMASHII And, slowly, that fantasy of a great death which infects every Japanese crept into the life and thought of Shijiro Arisuga. Though it came to him, in whom it had lain latent, hardly. But, perhaps for that reason, as is the case with certain diseases, it came with greater certainty and severity than if it had been always with him. Yet the Yamato Damashii outstripped them both: the spirit of war--the ghost of Japan! He still went with little Yoné to Mukojima sometimes, though less frequently. And the small heart of the small girl wondered and grew hurt at this. So that she asked him one day:-- "Little lord, why is it that we so seldom come here and that you no more sing, no more carry your samisen, and are grown too suddenly for your years a man with a face as serious as the unlaughing barbarians of the West--why is it?" They were at Shiba. And Shijiro laughed again, as he had used to laugh, while he answered:-- "Sing no more! Listen!" "Reign on for a thousand years of peace! Reign on for a myriad years of ease! Till the pebbles are boulders, Moss grows to our shoulders, O heaven-born lord of Nippon!" "The Kimi Gayo!" said the little girl. "You sing the Imperial Hymn with that light in your face who never sang it before--whose face was never before so lighted? You answer my fear with fears." "I sing a war-song, little moon-maid, because I am now a soldier," cried Arisuga, with a certain fanatical ecstasy in spite of his gayety. "I am going to die for the emperor the great death! I am going to set my father free to pursue his way to the heavens or another reincarnation! Think! The gods will love me for such a holy thing! Why do not you?" "Oh, yes," whispered the little girl, "the gods will love you. And I. But who, then, will come with me here? And who will hold my hand?" "My spirit, I promise you that!" A little chill crept over the girl. "Yes," she answered doubtfully, "if I cannot have your body." Shijiro still laughed. "After all, a spirit is a safer comrade than a body. The custodians cannot drive it away from the tombs. And will you wait here for my spirit, as you do for my body?" "Yes," she whispered, in her awe, once more. But he gayly touched her. "I will come like that--that--that!" "I would rather have you so," said the little girl, touching him, as flesh touches flesh, not as spirit touches flesh in the East. Though she suspected that he was laughing at her, it was in a land where both the spirits which loved one and hated one were believed to be always at one's elbow. Now that it had all been decided--his career fixed, the way made clear, and he well in it--much of his absorption had passed away, and he was both gayer and gentler with her. But it was not as before. "There will be others, with bodies," laughed Shijiro. The small maiden shook her head. "No, there will not be others. I know. Oh, how differently you speak to me now! You are suddenly grown a man with great thoughts. But you still think of me as a little girl with small thoughts. Well, perhaps I am. Yet I shall wait for you here. I can do that. The gods may not accept your sacrifice for a time. They may not accept it at all. And there may be no war for you to fight and die in. You may have to come back. No one can know the purposes of the gods. And when you do, I, with my small body and small thought, will be here only to make you happy." "And, suppose," laughed Shijiro, treating her indeed as if he were suddenly become a man and she were still a little girl, "suppose I go away and forget--that often happens--and never come back?" And Arisuga laughed again. "I will wait," said the girl. "What, after I have forgotten?" "Do not tell me. Let no one tell me. Let me wait. Then your spirit may come. It is cruel to wait, always wait. But it is not so cruel as to be forgotten." The soldier still laughed. "The spirit of all the goddesses thrives in you!" And he touched her gently. "But the gods may send it to me soon--the great crimson death." "Then," answered the little girl, "I can die the great death, too, and still be with you--if you should wish!" "What!" laughed Shijiro, anew, "little you--gentle Yoné--in the wild glory of the conflict, with a plunge into the fires of all the hells, in the madness of carnage, with a yell frozen on your lips? Shall little _you_ experience that arch esctasy: your death-wound spurting your own warm blood into your own face? Then out, out, out into the eternal solitude and silence of souls awaiting other reincarnations? To that place called Meido? Ha ha, my fragile Yoné, the great red death--is not for you--not for perfumed little Yoné's. It is a man's death!" At this she was reproved, but as he always reproved her, very gently. Yet it was wonderful that his gentleness held here. She understood well her presumption in wishing to die the great death of a man. "Pardon, small lord," she said humbly. "I spoke when I had not counted three--instead of nine." He laughed happily. "Speak whatever comes to your lips. All is good, because it comes from them--which are all good. But when you speak of the things which are a man's, I look at your stature and--laugh! I tell you what is yours--little Yoné--and what is mine!" She tried to forget that he was not much taller than she. "No, forgive me; I must die only the small, white death of women and children. But, until it comes, I shall be here where you and I were happy together. And if you die, still caring for me, your spirit will come and touch me, as you said. That much I know. You have said it! But if you have forgotten, then there will be no touches; then I will still wait until I die. It will not be long." "Little one," said Arisuga, in pity, "we have lived and loved together here. All has been good. But it is as a splendid summer day which one forgets, in the glow, the madness of glory, the moment the call comes! This we did not know, the madness of glory, and I had never thought to learn. But it has come, and it is greater than all love. Should the call sound now, I would leave you where you stand, and go upon the business of our sovereign. As it is," he laughed, "we shall once more go homeward hand in hand!" And so they did. But still it was not as before. It never could be. As he had said, this madness of glory had obscured all love. YONÉ VI YONÉ The war with China got slowly into the air. Troops were mobilizing. The Guards were being fitted with uniforms for a warmer climate. The army was thrilled with that nameless thing which speaks of action to the soldier. Maps and plans of campaign grew over night. Nurses were gathered where they could be most easily requisitioned. Plans for hospital and transportation service were born and matured as certainly now, as if the army had lived in an atmosphere of war instead of peace for many years. But when the actual going came near, Arisuga thought of Yoné. There would be no more of that. And when it was said, a certain sadness came and stayed with him, when the glory dulled a little. For it had been sweet. And it might be only once again. Marching orders were imminent. So that, though it was even, and Yoné might not go out in the even, he found her one day, when the sadness came, and they stole through the house's rear to that tomb of Esas in Shiba, where they had made a seat of stone and moss. They had never before been alone together in the wood at night, and Yoné was terrified, as a maid ought to be, while Arisuga was brave, as a soldier should be. Yet, notwithstanding these adverse circumstances, it was there--at the tomb of Esas, on this night of nights to Yoné--that they made together that song of "The Stork-and-the-Moon." And it was on this night, while they sang it (without the samisen, for Yoné was reposing too snugly against one of Arisuga's arms for him to play, though they had the samisen with them), that the watchman came with lantern and staff and cried out that he had heard a song in that place of sacred tombs--a foolish, worldly song--and adjured the sinners to come forth and be punished. Now both were frightened suddenly, and Yoné crept deeply into the arms of her soldier for protection. And she did not vacate her place of safety when the watchman had passed on; Arisuga prevented her. For he had not in the least fancied how sweet that might be. And her fancies had fallen short of truth. And yet other things passed there at that tomb of Lord Esas which I shall not stop to tell. Later, perhaps, in this story, there may be occasion to tell what happened there at the tomb of Lord Esas on the seat of stones and mosses they had made: the promises,--if there were any,--the song, and all the joy of that night upon which little Yoné would have to live until Arisuga came again--for this was indeed all he left to her. It was a disgraceful hour when they stole forth. And had the watchman seen them then, the gods alone know what the penalty would have been. They passed the walls safely; but there was yet before them the reëntry to the house of Yoné, which was more terrible. Yet they were strangely happy in their terrors, though Yoné expected, hoped, to be disowned and driven from home, disgraced in the eyes of the world. But also, in that case, Arisuga would marry her. Chivalry would demand it. Of course he had not exactly said so. In order that he might have the opportunity, Yoné protested:-- "I do not regret--not a word, not a thing!" "No, it is my fault--" "If they drive me from home, outcast me, I shall sing in the streets!" "You!" "Or go to Geisha street." "You!" "What, then, will I do, lord?" "You will marry me--a little sooner than we planned, and live with my mother while I fight." "Yes," breathed Yoné, quite content with this. It was more than she had expected. Indeed, she was so filled with content that it was all she could say. Nevertheless, though this event had been arranged there behind the tomb, under the influence of the terror of the watchman, yet its consummation was put a long time off, for the parents of each had to be consulted, cunningly, as if it had not at all been arranged. And this marred Yoné's happiness a trifle; for, if marriage was anything like that behind the tomb, it could not come too soon. And, however soon it might come, it would not be soon enough, for soon enough was now, and that was passing. Besides, she hoped it might happen before his sacrifice; for though she would then be his widow and quite sure of his spirit, that first personal contact by the tomb of old Lord Esas had been sweet. However, there seemed, happily, no way of escape from an outcasting and the consequences they had fixed upon, and this grew upon them more and more as they went homeward, so that as they were yet quite happy in it they came into the vicinity of Yoné's home. Now, by that time all the details had been arranged: Yoné was to go to Arisuga's mother, where a complete confession would be made. Then, on the morrow, the consent of the parents would be asked, which, whether it were or were not obtained, would be the signal for the wedding preparations. For in the one case Yoné would be the daughter of her parents, whose consent would have been obtained, in the other of his whose consent was sure. Then they looked up to find themselves almost in the midst of a great fire which their absorption had kept them from noticing. And it was at once but too plain that Yoné's home was in that part of the district already burned clear. Of course there were parents and brothers to think of at once, and in thought of their safety Yoné forgot the opportunity for her outcasting and the hastening of her happiness. When she remembered, it was too late. She had been pounced upon by her father, and borne in joy to the rendezvous where all the brothers and sisters, as well as the parents of Yoné, were now in prosaic safety and little perturbation. Shijiro Arisuga had, upon the appearance of the father, ignominiously disappeared--which, indeed, was the best thing which could have happened for Yoné, so far as her safety from scandal was concerned, and the worst so far as her wish for an immediate marriage was concerned. There was, now, not the least hope of an outcasting. No one had even seen Shijiro, it appeared, nor knew of their going away or coming back together. "How did you escape, my pleasant daughter?" cried the happy father, embracing her. "I do not know," said Yoné, with some truth, looking furtively about for Arisuga. "And fully dressed?" asked the father again. With a sigh of disgust, Yoné answered again that she did not know. "It was an interposition of the gods." "Yes," sighed Yoné, in her heart, "I suppose it was an interposition of the infernal gods." For Shijiro was undoubtedly gone, not at once to return. "The smell of fire has not even passed upon your garments," pursued the delighted parent. "It is very strange," sighed the daughter. "The gods love you!" declared her father. "I suppose so," answered Yoné, indifferently, thinking of quite another escape and another love. It happened that the next day the _Kowshing_ was sunk and the Guards started for Ping-Yang. PING-YANG VII PING-YANG Arisuga sang for the Guards, and made rhymes and laughter, and they liked him tremendously, as big men are inclined to like little ones, until they reached Ping-Yang, when they liked him still more for something better. You will remember how the first assault of the Japanese was met by the Chinese, who had yet to be taught defeat. The big Satsuma color-bearer was killed, and the flag fell in the polluting Chinese dust. It was little Arisuga who raised it--to such a shout as cost the Chinese the hundred or so men they could spare at that time. And he stayed out there, with the flag, where the Chinese were, when the rest retired, and taunted the enemy with polite epithets, kept his pistol going, and finally came through without a scratch! Thus, the smallest member of the Guards had demonstrated to the greatest, the thing which helped to win their other victories: that though their enemy was not lacking in courage, as they had thought, yet he could neither manoeuvre nor shoot. Afterward, there was a contest for the picturesque office of color-bearer. Some of them wanted Okuma. And Arisuga was willing, of course. He knew how impossible it was to him at his size. But Colonel Zanzi said the colors belonged to Arisuga. "Men get what they win in the army--nothing more, and not less. Here, no honor goes by favor! A man passes for a man until he is proven otherwise, no matter who or what he is, or whether he be five feet or six. In the army there are neither eta nor samurai, only sons of the emperor." After the peace of Shimenoseki there was dull barrack life for little Arisuga, far from Yoné, until he led the allies in their assault upon the gate of the Hidden City. You will remember that the Japanese were conceded the advance. After the first repulse they disentangled Arisuga from a heap of Chinese with the colors still upright in his hands. The wound was in his forehead. The great death had been near. Now it happened that the next day a man with a Japanese name was brought before Colonel Zanzi and desired to know why it was that wounded Japanese soldiers were taken to the houses of the Chinese when there were Japanese houses near where they would be not only welcome but--Well, he had a pretty daughter, and the Chinese annoyed her by their attentions. A Japanese soldier in the house, a flag in the yard, and a pink ticket at the door would be not only glory but protection. "I see," laughed the colonel. "Will a wounded one do?" The visitor thought he would--if he were the young man who had been carried to the house of Han-Hai next door to him, the day before. "Very good," smiled the colonel. "I observe that we are not only glorifying the emperor, but assisting a countryman to humble his Chinese neighbor. Very good!" "It is not that," said the Japanese in China. "My daughter has seen him." "Oh-h! Oh-h! He will have good care!" Without another word the smiling commanding officer wrote the order for his transfer. And the next day Orojii Zasshi was the proudest Japanese in China. For the imperial sun-flag waved over his roof; the pink ticket, to indicate that a soldier was quartered there, was tacked to his door-post; and within, in the most sumptuous room the house afforded, lay Shijiro Arisuga, color-bearer. DREAM-OF-A-STAR VIII DREAM-OF-A-STAR When Arisuga saw the face of "Hoshi-no-Yumé," some days later--and this "Dream-of-a-Star," as he at once called her, was well enough worth seeing--he said first:-- "It is not like what I thought it, angel." Referring, of course, to the great red death, which he thought he had suffered--and what had necessarily followed. "No," answered Hoshiko, comfortingly, remembering what the surgeon had said, that when he came out of his delirium he would probably be a bit queer. "I suppose, after all, that the earth-heavens are much like the earth." "Yes," from Miss Star-Dream. "I don't think you understand me, since you answer only yes and no?" "I understand your _words_ perfectly. I am Japanese!" answered the lips of Hoshiko, while they slowly smiled. "But your thought--" "How lucky! For, I suppose here all peoples are mixed." "Yes. There are all sorts: Russians, Germans, Americans, Frenchmen--" She was thinking of the allies. "It looks like Japan." This was the interior which he was seeing. "But you think it is China?" "Yes! Out there it is precisely like the place where we fought." "Yes," said puzzled Hoshiko. "I suppose the gods surround us in the heavens with the things which have pleased us most on earth." Something made him look at the girl who flitted near, and the same thing made him connect her with this state of celestial bliss. But he sighed and turned from her. In the heavens, of course, she was incorporeal, and, while patent to the eyes, would fail like the air itself to the touch. He looked through the window, then, at the Forbidden City. "But there is no fighting here now," ventured the girl. "Naturally," agreed the soldier. "The Forbidden City is taken." "I am glad to hear it. How long have you been here?" "About thirteen years." "You couldn't have been more than three or four when you died! I don't understand." But, now, Hoshiko at last did. And she laughed. "Excuse my levity," she said. "I am not dead, and you are not. I am not an angel, and this is not a heaven!" "Oh!" said Arisuga; and then, "All right," as if it were a thing to be endured. He ended by also laughing. "But you must excuse the mistake. It seems a good deal like a heaven, and you more like an angel." Still, as he looked about, and at the girl, he was not sure. That is what they were likely to tell a sick man. "Might I touch you?" he asked. "Oh, yes!" cried the girl, with a pleasure which challenged his attention. She put herself within his reach. "It is _not_ a heaven," he agreed, when he had passed his hand along an exquisite arm. "I am honorably glad that you are not dead," breathed the girl, bravely. "Are not you?" And every little atom of her showed that she was glad and begged that he might be. Though the mists were still in the brain of Shijiro Arisuga, he could not help knowing both of these things: her innocence had uncovered them so completely. For a moment he studied her. Then he answered a tardy yes to her question. "For such as you it is good to live--yes--and--" The soldier stopped to sigh. "Good for others to live near you for the little while." "For a little while, lord?" She thought it the mere hyperbole of their race. "Oh, you shall be old, old, old, and beautiful, with long white hair and perhaps a beard, and all the earth shall worship your piety--" Arisuga laughed and caught a hand to stop her. "Lord," she went on, "most vast lord, I will make you. Yes! I have thus far made it to be. When they brought you they said you would die. So said my father and mother. But I--" She turned and summoned her maid with fierce irrelevance. "Isonna, come here!" The maid hastened from the next room, where, it is almost certain, she had lain with her ear to the fusuma, and then Hoshiko's mysterious purpose appeared. "But I--Isonna and me--this is Isonna, my ugly maid--Isonna and me prayed for you--wept for you; you were so beautiful and bloody. And Benten--see, I have Benten always near! Benten loves the tears of sympathy, and to her we prayed, so--" "I owe you and Isonna my life," laughed the soldier. "No, Benten," whispered the girl, now answering his laugh with a smile. "And she will grant other prayers of ours--Isonna and me--will she not, Isonna, you little beast? Why do you not speak?" Isonna corroborated her mistress by a deep prostration. "And so we have asked for long life for you, very long, until the pebbles grow to boulders and the moss grows to your shoulders--" Arisuga laughed, in frank joy of her. "And suppose, you who are so powerful with the goddess of beauty--for which I do not blame the goddess--suppose I have sworn to die the great death, to release my father's soul from the Meido so that he can be born again, and for the glory of the emperor?" "Oh!" gasped the girl. The soldier went on. "--what will the other gods think of me, saving Benten, if I stop here and forget to die because a woman has hands, a voice, and eyes?" "No, no!" cried Isonna, in sudden strange anguish. Then she prostrated herself in abjection. Arisuga rose on his elbow to look at her. "What have I said to cause such sorrow?" he wondered. "Let me see. It was about your hands and voice and eyes." "Yes!" cried mistress and maid together. But it was the maid who went on:-- "And you must not, mighty lord. You must not find any beauty in my mistress's eyes and hands and voice. None anywhere. It is evil for both you and her!" "Who said I found any beauty there?" smiled Arisuga, languidly. "There is a secret, lord--" the maid went on in a frenzy. But Star-Dream, suddenly grasping the place of her heart with both hands, cried out to the maid, as if she were desperately wounded:-- "Go, go, go, little foul beast! What do you do here? Who called you? Go!" The maid disappeared like a spirit. Star-Dream found herself upon her feet, still gasping with ecstasy and terror together. Then she at last turned slowly toward the bed and smiled a sick mechanical smile. "Lord, you said," she prompted. "Say on. Do not listen--do not observe the ugly Isonna. She has a trouble of the head." Hoshiko drooped her own in some sort of gentle guilt. "Ah, but I displeased you also," said Arisuga. "Lord--I--no. I have a distemper. In it I am harsh to Isonna. That is what she is for. That is why my father keeps her. That she may bear my distemper. Presently I will go and put my arms about her, so, and all will be well!" She illustrated with her own person. "So?" asked the soldier, laughing; "certainly all will be well!" and she came with another laugh and knelt at his bed. She touched him. She chattered on helplessly. "Truly, all will be well. She loves me, wicked as I am to her, and with a touch I can win her!" "Yes!" he agreed. "Or any one, I should fancy!" Thus, at least, she had cunningly won him from his wonder at the scene he had just witnessed, if she had not won all else she had hoped for. "May I ask a question?" said the girl. "A hundred," said Shijiro. "Lord, you said--you called me--" "Yes," laughed Arisuga. "The eyes, the hands, the lips--" "I am not beautiful--" "I did not say so." "My hands are not--" She held them out that he might see that they were not. The soldier examined them and then said:-- "No, the maid was right. I find no beauty there." "And my eyes--they are only beast's eyes--" "Let me see," begged the soldier. She came closer, and seriously opened them upon him. It was very hard for Shijiro looking into them to nod his assent that they were beast's eyes. "Then the question is," said the girl, with innocent mirth, "why, if I am not beautiful, if nothing about me is, why did you do so?" "Do what?" demanded the soldier, with a pretence of savagery. "Look so into my eyes, touch so my hands, listen so to my miserable voice?" "I supposed that I was in a heaven, and that you were an--attendant," said Arisuga. "But after you knew that you were not in a heaven?" The soldier gave up with a laugh. "I see that we shall be very good friends," he said. They laughed together. "Lord," she said, "I do not know whether you speak true!" "I," said the soldier, "have the impression that I have lied to you about you." "Shaka!" breathed the girl, between laughter and fear. "Did you wish it--what I did--said?" "Lord," confessed the girl, "I wish to be as beautiful as the sun-goddess, so that you must--do--say--!" She crept closer. It was as if she caressed the soldier. ISONNA IX ISONNA On another day Hoshiko asked:-- "Lord, must it be soon--now--that you die?" "Now," he said, with a pretence of severity. "Is the day fixed?" "Yes. Am I to wait here because your eyes are not exactly a beast's, while my father languishes in the Meido?" "Yea, lord, if you are hap--happy. For the spirits of our augustnesses, no matter where they are, even in the suffering of the hells, are not sad while they make us happy." "In what book did you learn that?" demanded the soldier. "In the Bushido," lied the girl, seriously. "Then I have not read the commandments of the Bushido with sufficient care. I must do it all over. I am glad that there is such a doctrine. One may keep to a holy purpose, but need not hasten it. And to-day I like to linger from the red death; I like it well!" "Yes, lord, that is a filial duty. To die for--for--the repose of your father's soul. But there is no need of--haste?" "No," said the disgraceful young soldier, "there is no need of haste." She laughed and touched his face--where he caught and held her hand. "Perhaps, many many years?" "Perhaps," said Arisuga. "Until you are mi--married?" "Perhaps until I am married." "Beautiful!" cried the girl. "And who would you have me marry?" "Isonna!" laughed Hoshiko, "if you were not so great, lord. Oh, she is most sweet to men! Often I have wondered that men do not marry her! Isonna!" Again the girl plunged from the next room. "Isonna," said her mistress, "ugly little beast, you are to marry the lord soldier when he is a trifle better." Isonna forgot her manners in the violence of another amazement. Arisuga shouted with happy laughter. "Vast lord," wailed the maid, as if she believed it all, "there is the same reason in me as in my mistress, that--" "Sh!" Hoshiko put her two hands violently upon the garrulous mouth of the servant. "You little beast! Is not once enough? I dislike to kill you. But I suppose I must!" When all was well again she turned to Arisuga:-- "Then you will need a servant--and I am very industrious, am I not, Isonna?" Isonna said nothing. This seemed safest. "Is she industrious, Isonna?" asked the mystified young soldier. "We will have no servants who are not industrious!" "No," said the frightened maid to him, and "Yes" to her when she had looked, first, the way of her mistress, then the way of the soldier. "Do I not curl the futons, dress my hair, fill my father's pipe, clean the sand out of his sandals, mend his bed-netting, tie his girdle, cook his rice?" Isonna said yes. "I am convinced," laughed the soldier. "When I marry Isonna you shall serve us." "Go," said the girl to the maid, "and be ready when the lord commander wishes." And when she was gone the young soldier and the girl laughed again together. "Almost," said the girl, "she lost me my place in your household." And one could not be certain from her words that she was not serious. The soldier had again the impression that she had barely prevented some momentous disclosure. It gave his gayety pause and his coquetry caution. "Then I am not in a heaven," said he, "and--_you_ are not a heavenly person?" The girl dropped to her knees beside him and asked:-- "I wish I might make this a heaven to you, and that I might seem--truly--like--a heavenly--person!" "I never knew one on earth who seemed more like one! Be content." "Alas! that is only because you have been ill and I have been kind to you?" "You are very pleasant--very pleasant!" said Arisuga, setting the current of desire away from the peril of her. "What have you been doing with me all the while I have been here?" Nevertheless, and notwithstanding his retreat from sentiment, the wounded soldier possessed himself of one of Hoshiko's hands--quite by an unconscious act of fellowship. But one was not enough; he took the other. As he did it, he remembered and smiled because his hands and his will were at such variance. The Lady Hoshi did not stay him. Indeed, she had always liked the stories of those bandits in the mountains, who took pretty girls and were never heard of again. But she had to get away just then, much to her regret, because, out of her innocent honesty, she was not prepared to answer the question he had asked her--What had she been doing with him during the period of his delirious unconsciousness? And he repeated it! Now to call one a pleasant person is about as far as a Japanese lover ordinarily goes. But Hoshiko was disappointed with it. What had gone before promised more. In her disappointment, her humor became as testy as it was possible for her humor to become, which was, after all, not very testy. And so it remained for the day. THE TASK OF JIZO X THE TASK OF JIZO "Why didn't he take me?" she demanded savagely of Isonna the maid that night as she was putting her mistress to bed in the adjoining room. "And quickly! Like that! I would!" She clapped her hands--and then said: "Sh! Do you think he heard that?" The maid reassured her. "But _why_ is a man satisfied with a hand--even two--when by a strong arm he might have--" she stopped to sigh and to look into the round mirror which the maid was holding up to her--"all!" "All of what?" asked the astonished maid. "Me! This." "Oh!" said the maid. "If a man calls a girl an angel when he thinks he is in heaven, he has no business to call her only--" she stopped and sniffed disdainfully at the word--"_pleasant_ when he finds he is not." "What would you, then, have him to call you on earth?" questioned the puzzled maid. "Angel still." "Permit him a little time, mistress." "Time! Time! What do you call time, you ignorant one? It was fifteen minutes! Yes! We had been talking fifteen minutes when he said I was a _pleasant_ person! After saying I was an angel!" "Oh!" said Isonna--which Hoshiko took for reproof. "I have known him two weeks!" "Yes," agreed the maid. "And if you speak--if you suggest again, that which twice nearly escaped your lips, I will kill you. One night you will lie down, and, into your horrid, tattling mouth, I will pour, as you sleep, a something which will prevent you from ever rising. I have it always ready for you." "But, your father?" whined Isonna. "I, not my father, am speaking now!" "I will be silent," agreed the maid. "What is the use to take the trouble to tell him? Soon he will go and forget both us and that--what is the use?" "I will be silent," said the maid, again. "I do not wish to die." "And then--O Jizo, punish him!" She broke off and addressed another of her goddesses. "And then he had the unparalleled audacity to ask me what I had been doing with him all the while he has been here! After he had said angel repeatedly! O Jizo, punish him!" "Well, well," comforted the maid, "why did you not inform him? Surely that was not difficult!" "Oh! it was not, eh? Well, you blind little beast, do you _know_ what I _have_ been doing?" "You have recovered him from his illness with the utmost tenderness and beauty," said the maid. "Oh, you little fool!" cried her mistress, first striking her, then embracing her; "I have been falling in love with him. It happened that day they carried him into the house of Han-Hai, where live three daughters, all unmarried. You saw it; you were present! Do you not remember how beautiful and bloody he was? His eyes were closed, the sun shone in his face, and that was pale with here and here the windings of a bandage, like an aureole. Oh, how we both wept! He was so young; and we thought that we could heal him with great care! We wept. My father did the one thing which would stop our tears--brought, him here!" "Yes--yes!" agreed Isonna. "Now! Shall I tell him?" "Oh, no, Lady Hoshi, no! That is a dreadful thing to do," sighed the maid. "It is not dreadful. It is beautiful." "But, dear, dear mistress, you must not love a man. That is what your father pays me to prevent!" "Well, you haven't prevented it. And I shall tell my father, and he, also, will kill you and get me some one who is more useful. That is two killings for you!" "But I did not know, mistress! Perhaps I do not know love." "You do not, Isonna. For it has been right under your nose these two weeks. After all, I will not tell my father. For he might give me a maid who would not be as pretty as you," and she hugged Isonna, who was not pretty at all. "And in exchange for my mercy you must not be odious, but recognize that it is too late. Is it a bargain?" Well, any bargain the lovely Hoshi might propose to the plain Isonna would meet with her approval, though it should mean her death the next instant, and so this one was approved. ANGEL OF THE EARTH-HEAVEN XI ANGEL OF THE EARTH-HEAVEN Now, the next day, Arisuga, laughing, greeted her with that very word--"angel"! Perhaps he did hear a bit of their talk. For the walls between them were very thin. This was the way of it: He clapped his hands so early in the morning that he was amazed at the despatch with which she arrived. But we are not. For we know that she was waiting just outside of his screens to be called. She meant to dissemble and pretend that she was at a distance. But you can fancy how instantly she forgot that when he called:-- "Angel! Angel of my earth-heaven!" Though there are no angels in the Japanese heavens. You have seen that, in her presence, he had forgotten his caution! Observe, now, that he did likewise in her absence! What end but one could there be to such recklessness! "Stand there! I want to look at you!" he cried when she came. For the light of the morning was in her face--and the light of love, too! "By your Jizo," he said, then, "I am glad you are _not_ an angel! "Cherry blooms are very pink, But not so pink as you are!" he sang, laughing, and her heart was so choked with ecstasy that she had to put both hands to her face and run from the room hearing him still call "Angel" after her. "O Benten," she cried to the goddess of beauty in her room, "that is different! He is not careful now--he is awake to-day! _We_ must beware of him! There is danger!" And at once she returned--with the water for his bath! For, that was always her way: when he would say something to make her heart leap into her mouth, to fly from him in the direst panic, suborn the goddess, then hasten back to have it happen again. "A heart is a strange thing," she laughed to him. "Sometimes it is here (at the proper place for it), sometimes here (in her throat), and sometimes here (in her sandals)." "And sometimes," laughed the young soldier, "one's heart, which should be here (in his own bosom), is there (in hers)." "And again," she rioted with him, "one's heart, which was here (in herself), is gone--gone--utterly gone--" "That is quite proper," the soldier said. "For if you kept your own, you would have two and I none!" "It is trying to get out!" she cried in mock alarm, holding it in. "Let it come!" But, just then, they heard the sigh of a moving screen, and the acid face of Hoshiko's mother looked in. She said nothing, only let her eyes rove from face to face. But that was very cooling. She closed the shoji and went away--apparently. Now, for the benefit of her mother, whom she knew to be still behind the fusuma, Hoshiko tried to look very severe. She had taken the poppies from behind her ear and had pinned a napkin about her hair, and turned up the sleeves of her kimono, making herself all the lovelier as she very well knew in this fashion of a nurse. "You are to wash your hands in this cold water to refresh you. Then I will take it away and bring you other water for your face." But, in the end, she washed his hands for him, and his face, too, amid a great deal of laughter and splashing. "And now," he said, "I will take every advantage of my defenceless enemy. I will make her give me my breakfast." Though she demurred, Hoshiko was quite mad to do it. "Beware!" she whispered, as she let a persimmon slip from between her chopsticks into his mouth. "In the East, walls have not only ears but eyes!" "And no conscience!" "What would you?" She hoped that he might desire walls without senses, where they might be fearlessly alone. "Another persimmon!" he laughed. "No," she pouted, for his punishment, "nothing but the rice." "Not all the hard hearts," he sighed, "are behind the walls!" Then she gave him the most luscious of the persimmons. "You haven't told me yet," he insisted, "what I did and what you did while I was unconscious. That is always interesting." She filled his mouth with rice. "But what did you do and what did I do?" It came through the rice. "Please drink," she said. "What did you do, what did I do?" he sputtered. "Pardon me while I wipe your mouth." "But what--" "Nothing. I did nothing, you did nothing." "It must have been very dull for you," sighed the defeated soldier. "Jizo--" she was praying to the goddess at her small shrine that night--"I am going to conceal and lie! I pray you to intercede with the Lord Shaka for my pardon. He loves me--and he must not know. It is for happiness, Jizo. _His_ happiness, do you understand, dear Jizo?" She cried out savagely in her further confidences to Jizo that night, when she was ready for bed. "I _was_ very busy--yes, _very_ busy--falling in love with him! And you must intercede with Shaka for my forgiveness. It was a lie. But could I tell him that I was busy falling in love with him?" The maid had come in to put her to bed. "Strange prayers!" she said. The mistress turned, intending to rebuke her. But she laughed. "Come here and stop that laughing. He will hear!" "Mistress, I did not laugh." "Come here!" When the maid was abject before her she said:-- "Why do you stare?" "At the joy." "Where?" As if it were a symptom of disease. "In the face." "I have a trouble of the heart. Feel! That is why!" "Yes!" said the maid, pretending terror. "It will kill me!" "Yes!" "It will not!" "No!" They fell, laughing, together, to the floor. "He does love me!" "I know that much." "But he does not know it--yet." They laughed again. "It WAS for _his_ happiness!" "Certainly!" "Not mine!" "No!" "He shall be told that he loves me!" She shook her fist at her favorite deity, sitting unruffled in her shrine. "Benten! You shall let him know!" "The goddess is too decorous for that," chided the maid. "The only woman who tells a man that she loves him--" "Is me!" cried her mistress to the shocked maid. "Aie!" wailed the maid. "There is a kind of woman who does that, but she is not the lady Hoshi--" "Oh, silence!" laughed the girl. "It would not take me a moment to tell him, if it were not for what he might think! And, perhaps, he is not wise and will not know enough wisdom to think that!" "All men think that!" said Isonna. "But, how can they," argued Hoshiko, "if they are not taught? How can he if I do not teach him?" "It is born in them!" "But how do you know?" "I have studied," said the maid. "Well, at all events, it was not that for which I petitioned the goddess: to tell him--that I loved him, you ignorant little animal. I asked her to tell him that he loved me!" "Oh!" cried the maid, kowtowing. "I misunderstood." "Now go to bed, you little scandal-monger!" Isonna started. Her mistress recalled her. "And--and, if there is a way of letting him know that _he_--" "Yes," answered the maid, understandingly. "And as to letting him know that I love _him_--" "Yes?" "Do you think that necessary?" "I do not know the ways of love," confessed Isonna. "You are a little beast," said her mistress. "That can wait--if he once knows that he loves me. At all events it is too dangerous. Go to bed, wicked one!" IMPERTINENT ISONNA XII IMPERTINENT ISONNA But the next day trouble, though not exactly of the heart, did arrive. It was one of Arisuga's days of retreat from Hoshiko. He asked her why she lived there--in China--when she might live in Japan, where she belonged. She answered him that her father had come there many years before, when she was a child. "I will ask him the reason if you wish." "No, no, no!" laughed Arisuga. "What does it matter, my dear child?" She ran away from him again. And all that day she kept repeating:-- "'My dear _child_'! I am as tall as he!" And at night, again, while the maid was undressing her, it was that still. "Now he shall never know who--what I am. For I _am_ beautiful. The mirror says so. As beautiful as if I were not--what I am. Look, look and tell me!" This the maid, for the hundredth time since he had come, did. "You are, indeed, beautiful, dear mistress, yet, nevertheless, it is your duty to tell him! Otherwise he might wish to marry you. Already he loves you." "I will not! And if you do, I will kill you!" threatened Hoshiko. "I will have these few days of heaven. He will go and not think of me again. He will never know. He will not have been contaminated. But I will have the few days in heaven! To him I am only a child." And she fell to the floor and sobbed for an hour, during which the maid lay like a graven image at her side. Then she sat up and asked: "_Now_ you don't blame me, do you?" "No." "Anyhow, he will go as soon as possible." "No, he will not," said the impertinent Isonna. "He will! You know that he will! Say that he will!" But the maid knew better. "That is what men always do when they find out." "He will not," said Isonna. "You are very impertinent!" And her mistress punished her maid's impertinence by flinging her the amber bracelet she wore. "Now, disobedient one, you shall tell me why you think such a naughty thing. Yet you cannot know. No one can see into his large mind. He keeps it closed. He is as wise as a priest. Not even I can enter it. And you are very ignorant, Isonna." "Nevertheless, his mind is as glass to me!" insisted the maid. "I will tell my father and he shall punish you with whips. Now, you dear little beast, I shall force you to tell me the reason you think in your evil mind the great color-bearer to the prince of heaven stays here!" "You," said the maid, coolly refilling first the pipe of her mistress, then her own. "I shall _not_ tell my father," said Miss Star-Dream, "for I pity you. It is such a great lie that he would make Ozumi whip you to death. Yet it is a lie which makes me happy. Was I ever so happy as I am now--since he came?" "No," said the maid. "But he _will_ go sometime--we agree upon that?" questioned the mistress, once more hoping anything but that they did agree upon that. The maid was not blind to her hope. "Not yet," she answered with a decision which gave joy to the girl's soul. "He will. He must die." "Not yet," declared the maid again. "Do you suppose his love for me--_you_ said it was love, I did not!--is greater than his love for the spirit of his father?" "Yes," answered the maid. "Oh, little beast!" cried her mistress, embracing her. "Benten, but I am happy!" She chattered on:-- "Also have you noticed how beautiful he is? He has hair like the pictures of the gods--though he is a shaven samurai. And those songs he sings he makes himself. I am going to learn a thousand musical instruments so that I may play them all. I wish I could sing! And, Isonna, we never laughed--really--until he came, did we? Always that thing hung over us. But he is not to know it. And we may forget it! And, Isonna, have you noticed that exquisite habit he has of touching me, here, here, here?" She laughed and made the serving-girl the illustrant of this aberration of the soldier. "That he does when he wants me to look at something--often only himself. Or when I am not attending to his words. I used to shudder and go away from it--it was so strange--no one else ever did it. But I now think it very foolish to start and be frightened by such small things." "I have observed you go toward it!" droned the maid. "That is a vile lie!" cried Hoshiko. "Say, do you know what causes that?" "No." "His wife; he does that to his wife, and she--she is not a nice person, and likes it! Aha!" "He has no wife," said the maid. It was this she was hungry to hear. "How do you know? Did he tell you?" "No. But he wears stockings, not tabi. All soldiers do." "Well, you suspicious little beast, what has that got to do with his wife?" "I wash them." "Well?" "There are no darns." "Oh! What then?" "Holes." "Isonna," said her mistress, solemnly, "I believe that you are as wise as you say you are! But, then, how do you suppose he learns it?" "From you!" "Am I so dreadful?" "I have observed you giving those touches." "He will hate me." "Hate is not in the direction he is going," said the wise maid. Hoshiko could have endured more of this ecstasy. But it was very late, and Arisuga had the soldier's habit of early rising. Moreover, the first thing he was wont to do when he rose was to clap his hands, in that way, and call for his earth-angel. So she said to Isonna:-- "You have been a naughty, impertinent, gossiping little beast. Put me to bed." Yet, when this had been done the mistress embraced the maid and would hardly let her go. "What a shame it is that one must sleep when one might talk of him! But, then, if one does not, one is hideous in the morning! And he calls the moment he wakes. Put out the lights and go to bed! I will listen to you no longer!" Isonna had not spoken. But she did as she was commanded. "Isonna!" the mistress called after the maid--who instantly returned--"I have had such a thought! Suppose he should never know! Suppose I should go to some place with him where there is no one who had ever known me? Marry him?" "I should be there." "You! Not unless I should first cut out your gossiping tongue!" "It would be wrong. The gods must punish you!" "How would the gods know? I should lie to them also." "It would be very wrong," the maid repeated. "The only woman who deceives a man--" "Is his _wife_, you naughty little beast! Go straight to bed! I hate you!" ONLY TO TAKE HER XIII ONLY TO TAKE HER It happened precisely as the wise maid had said. He did not go, but, on the contrary, protracted his recovery in a scandalous fashion. For here it was that Arisuga began to suspect, for the second time, that the happiest moment of his life had come. If he had known that he was in love, as he did not, or that there was such a thing as this love he was experiencing, which he did not, he would have been more certain of that happiest moment. But a Japanese must be told when this has happened to him. And it must be in another tongue than his. For in his language there are no words for it--and he knew no other. He really was not quite sure, therefore, why he was lingering in China--only suspected it. How could he know, under the circumstances? No feeling like this had insidiously crept upon him when he had taken Yoné to Mukojima or Shiba--even upon that great night which now began to go more and more out of his memory. And he did not even think of what he had laughingly prophesied to her--that forgetting--her waiting. He simply forgot her. Perhaps if Hoshiko had known of this defect in the character of Arisuga, she might not have loved him. What Arisuga remembered most about his and Yoné's excursions was that when they got hungry they went separately home and ate. But he had the feeling that he would stay here with Hoshiko and starve--or until some one from the regiment came and took him back at the point of a bayonet. For this was a most piquant and unusual condition of affairs between them: that they should be so much alone together, that there should be so little--almost nothing--of Hoshiko's parents, that she should be as frankly intimate as a geisha at a festival, who meant to please at all hazards. It was this volunteer intimacy which puzzled him most about the girl. But who was there to tell him that she had known him two weeks longer than he knew her? And that during all that halcyon time she had had her way with her adoration of him--and saw no reason in his returned consciousness for changing it? Or that she had lived here untaught as a child? That to her, since she frankly adored him, there was only one reason why he might not as frankly know it--the one she had decided never to tell? Before Arisuga became a soldier he had been a poet, a musician, a songster--one who had responded at nature's high behest to all manifestations of beauty. Now, in this time of peace and indolent convalescence, he went back to all that--almost as if the life of the soldier, which intervened, had never been. He had instantly called her "Dream-of-a-Star." And she was all this to him. It was good to lie in his futons and see the perfections of her grace as she moved about intent upon his healing. It was better to hear her pretty voice. It was best of all to feel her touch upon him and to see the lighted eyes which always accompanied it. At first there was the sense of having found a butterfly by the dusty roadside of his duty which might yield a moment of joy. But when he knew that, whether he wished it or not, he must lie here many weeks before he could fight again, the sense that he was sacrificing duty to pleasure disappeared, and he let himself enjoy his nearness to the girl and let his poetic spirit revel in her fragile beauty without further thought of the duty which lay in wait for him. That, he finally decided, would attend to itself. A soldier is not long permitted to forget his duty. But, the thing which continued to stir and puzzle him most was the fancy which now and then came, that he might have this wonderful creature precisely like the butterfly he had thought her. Indeed, he could scarcely get away from the impression that there were times when she offered herself to him. Yet though he was not very learned concerning women himself, he knew that there was only one sort who offered herself to a man. Sometimes her little timorous darings let him believe, for a moment, that she was of this kind. But nearly always the idea was quenched out by some act of such utter innocency as could not be mistaken for coquetry. Still the recurrence of an idea, originally erroneous, is likely to be strengthened by each repetition. And this was what was happening to the sick soldier. Nevertheless he continued to fancy that of all the spirits, from the moon-goddess down, none were so dainty, so fragile, so tender, caressing, and altogether lovely as this Hoshiko, who was not a spirit at all, even though she was there, day after day, at his bedside, suggesting herself to him with either the abandon of a child or the intention of a woman of joy. Had he been as wise about women as he was simple, and she as wise about men as she pretended, who had no wisdom at all concerning them, such a misunderstanding would not have occurred. For she was not offering herself to him at all. She was a child with a toy. And at first the subtraction of this toy, even though the like and fascination of it exceeded any other she had ever had, would have portended little of tragedy. But later it was more serious. Something inside which had never stirred before began to stir now. This contact with a man, these intimacies with one not much more learned in the art of loving than she, had awakened the sleeping thing within which would one day be her womanhood. As for her, one must not forget that at the last she wished to be adored. All women do. But if a woman loves a man too much, he runs away. If she loves him just enough, he stays. If she loves him a little less than enough, he runs after her. "If I were a man," said Isonna, "I would care for only such pretty things as you--not for wars and fightings--even great deaths. For what is the last heaven but a state of bliss! And if one has all the bliss one can bear or understand here on earth, is that not a heaven? And truly if I were a man, it would be extreme bliss to touch you, here, and here, and here, to put an arm about you so, to sit in the andon light, so--" All of which things the adoring maid illustrated, to her saddened mistress, in the light of the night lamp, and to all of them her mistress agreed. THE GOING OF THE SOLDIER XIV THE GOING OF THE SOLDIER For the soldier must go. There was not a vestige of excuse for remaining longer. The terrible mother had entered his chamber, had looked at him, had said briefly that he was quite well. And Hoshiko herself had done everything but ask him flatly to stay. How could she do that? Isonna had warned her constantly of the sort of woman who did that in Japan. The mere asking would be enough--in such a woman--to advertise her as of joy. And for want of this word of asking, the heaven she had made was closing. But Isonna and some of the circumstances of the case had taught her more and more that any more forwardness would be seriously misconstrued by the invalid. "You are awake," said Isonna, mysteriously, who was not blind to the maturing of the thing called womanhood. "Ah," sighed the happy and miserable girl, "if to wake means this, then I wish that I might always have slept." "You did not sleep," said the still mysterious maid. "What did I then, little beast?" "You dreamed." "Then," begged the girl, with a piteous smile, "make me to dream again, and take care that I never wake." "Ah, sweet mistress," said the maid, "there comes to all, in the matter of men, a time to sleep, a time to dream, and a time to wake. The sleep is best. For in that one knows nothing. The dream is sweet. But it never lasts. The waking sometimes is good--sometimes evil. Good it is if all is fair between a man and a woman. Evil it is if all is not. And, mistress dear, all is not fair between you and him. So there is another thing after the waking--which the gods make." "What is that, wise little beast?" laughed Hoshiko. "It is the forgetting which heals," said the maid. "I do not wish to be healed," answered her mistress. "Then must you be always ill of this thing." "So be it. That is better than a forgetting." "But it must go no further," pleaded the servitor. "There must be no touches, no eyes, no beatings of the heart." "Can you stop the beating of the heart? The adoring of the eyes? Can any one?" "Yes. In your room waits always the goddess of tranquillity. Go there. Stay there. She will soothe you." "Yes, when he is gone--quite gone--then we will try for that tranquillity. We had it before he came!" "We shall have it again," cheered the maid. "As soon as he is gone--" "Oh!" A flash of Hoshiko's old manner energized her. "I know a better and happier way to insure that tranquillity." "What is it?" "Ask him to--stay! You!" The maid only gasped. "Yes," said her mistress, more timorously than she had ever spoken of him. "Ask a man to stay?" "Certainly! That is what I said. Am I so hard to understand?" Hoshiko spoke with more pain than asperity. "You may--with honor--" pleaded Hoshiko. "He doesn't love you. You do not love him." "And if the asking of these lips and hands and eyes and this voice, all that are permitted you, are not potent--how shall I be? How shall any one or anything be? Let him go." "Stop!" cried her mistress. "He is a god. We are creatures. What we wish we must petition for as we do the gods. Yet I dare not--will not you?" "No!" said the maid. "I know the penalty. I do not wish you to know it." BUT WHAT COULD HE DO? XV BUT WHAT COULD HE DO? However, it all came out involuntarily when, at last, he began with tremendous difficulty to go away. He was already at the courtyard gate when she sobbed. He was gone--oh, it mattered not now what she did! But Arisuga hearing this, of course, returned. His renewed presence only renewed the Lady Hoshi's tears. "But what can I do?" he kept on asking politely. "Stay!" cried the Lady Hoshi, madly, forgetting everything but that one wish. "Oh!" said Arisuga. "Gods!" breathed Isonna. "Only till to-morrow; that is but one day; to-morrow, lord--lord of my soul!" "Oh!" said Arisuga again, and, at once entirely willing, dismissed his 'rik'sha. The next day he took her to the Forbidden City and showed her the tragic, broken wonders of it, while he puzzled out that scene of the day before. There were times when he had to help her up on broken walls and over fallen sculptures. And more and more as he possessed her thus for one day he wanted to possess her indefinitely. For the hands were very soft, the eyes luminous, the small body where it touched his exquisite. He found it hard to believe--that, like a courtezan, she would beg him to stay. Yet, it was for but one day! No woman of joy would stop there! At last he spoke:-- "Were you educated in Japan--or China, angel of my earth-heaven?" he asked of her. "In China, lord, such things as a girl learns after three years, but in the Japanese way entirely." There was little enlightenment in that. "And have you known many men?" "Yes," she answered at once, thinking that was what he wished. "No!" cried Isonna. The two girls turned together. Hoshiko was about to chastise the maid. But she was terrified at the pallor of her face. Nevertheless she insisted, with a certain pathetic dignity:-- "I said--yes!" "I say no!" stubbornly cried the maid. "None! none!" Arisuga deprecatingly waved his hand, and courteously believed what they disagreed about. "What does it matter?" he said. But the maid whispered tragically to her mistress:-- "See what you have done!" "What?" asked Hoshiko. The maid's whisper was sinister. "Do you wish him to think that you have been any one's? Every one's? That is why he asked." "It is not!" protested Hoshiko. "He asked to learn how many others love me." "And why should he ask that?" "Because _he_ loves me," was Hoshiko's enigmatic answer. There was no time at this moment for further explication. Arisuga had evidently decided something which was in his mind when he asked his first question, and Hoshiko fancied that his decision was against her. For he laughed (not as she would have wished him to laugh), and took an almost rude and assured possession of her. "When the mistress says yes and the maid says no, one must believe his eyes, which say it is improbable that so fair a flower has bloomed unseen even in this arid plain of China!" "You think, then, that I _have_ had--twenty lovers?" asked Hoshiko. "Certainly," laughed Arisuga. "No!" still cried the maid in her terror. "You believe, lord, that she has had none--not one--until you came!" "Certainly," laughed the soldier again. The two girls looked at each other dazedly. Arisuga laughed again in that unpleasant way. "Now he will never know that I love him," chided the mistress, at an opportune moment. "If he had thought that I gave up twenty lovers the moment he came--" The maid had not seen the value of creating such a situation. Hoshiko practised tremendous wisdom. She repeated to Isonna, in the intervals of the day, the very things Isonna had taught her with great pains. "A man will think nothing of you unless he knows that others do. If one has two lovers, one can easily have twenty. If one has one and is truthful--that is all one will ever have. If one has none, how is one to get even one unless she pretends to have many? For if no man cares for you, no man will. If many men care for you, many more will. If a man loves one and he sees that no one else does, he persuades himself that he does not. For he thinks that if no one else loves one, one is not worth loving. But if many love one, he persuades himself that he does, because if many love one it must be right and proper for him to do it. Now, you little beast, you must help, after putting him further off, to bring him nearer by making him think that he loves and desires me more than any of the twenty." These philosophies of her own teaching, changed and informed with the aroma of Hoshiko, went far to convince Isonna. "Sweet mistress," said the repentant servant, "the gods pardon me--and you--you also pardon me--if I have done wrong. But this--this I will do--and swear it on the tablet of my father: If he should offer you marriage, I will go with you to some place where he can never know. I will keep your secret forever. Such things have happened. In another country the gods will not follow. Even to the country of some barbarian people, like America, I will go. What gods are there? Certainly none of our gods--such as know you and him. But I will _not_ say that you have been the creature of twenty lovers!" "But only to make him understand that he loves me--now--here--to-day? We have given him doubt! The rest does not matter." Isonna was repentant but not helpful. "Well--study--think--you little beast! And be more careful next time--then whisper it to me. How to make him understand!" But there was no further communication from the maid. In the evening Arisuga said:-- "If what I have been thinking all day--since the events of last night--is correct, and also meets your approval, I will take you." And the little Lady Hoshi, shocked and stunned and shivering at her heart, answered:-- "Yes, lord." And again that night she wept--not an hour--many hours. For you will have observed that Shijiro Arisuga did not say that he would marry--but only take her. (There is a difference in Japan.) And he did not ask her parents. "You see, he knows!" she sobbed to the faithful maid. "Oh, it was so sweet--so sweet--that I forgot that I must not. And when I thought he loved me I was sure he would say 'I will marry you,' even if he did not mean it. But he only said, 'I will take you.' So--he does not love me--no! Well, Isonna, he shall have me. And I will enter his very soul! And then, some day, he will regret those awful words, and when he does I will die where he can see me afterward. You shall dress my hair in the shimada fashion, with flowers." "He does _not_ know," said the maid. "And he does love you. It is the result of telling him that you have had twenty lovers!" "Ah, Isonna, do not make my sorrow heavier. That would be worse. He would not dare to say that to even me--if I were not what I am." The maid still insisted. "Then to-morrow I will tell him. If he would say that to a lady, who he thinks has dismissed many suitors for him, he shall know that he has said it to one who is not a lady and who has had no suitor but him alone." "And one who has parents to be consulted! Not like one who goes to Geisha street without the leave of parents or uncles," advised the maid, with great severity. "Yes," sobbed the girl. "Geisha street! Refuge of the forsaken! Oh, love exalts, as we do our parents. It does not demean. So, there is no love, no love! No matter what I am, however low, no matter what he is, however high, if he loved me he would ask my parents for leave to marry me--even if he only meant to take me. And I thought he loved me! Do you remember how, only a little while ago, I wished him only to know well that he loved me! Alas, he knows now that I love him, but he has told me odiously, odiously, that he does _not_ love me! Yes, Isonna, he shall have me. Then I will die." THE MAKING OF A GODDESS XVI THE MAKING OF A GODDESS So she said the next day, not now with the aplomb of a lady, but as a servant:-- "Lord, there is a reason why you cannot--even--" she choked in her throat--"take me. Do you not know it?" "Do not call me lord," he said, "as if you were a servant and I your master." "It is right that I should do so, lord." "I won't have it," he laughed. And he had never seemed so beautiful nor the sound of his voice so tender. But she went on as she had planned in her sleepless night. She was kneeling at his feet now--her head upon the mats--reaching out to touch him. "Dear lord, I have deceived you," she said. "My only excuse is that it was sweet. All the sweetness I have had in my small life. Lord, I am young. But I had scarcely smiled until you came. In Japan we were accursed. I was beautiful and my father pitied me and brought me here where no one knew. Lord, I am an eta." Arisuga recoiled from the word. The instant would have been inappreciable to measures of time. But in it the girl's heart leaped and fell with its own understanding. In the same instant Arisuga knew all that had so puzzled him concerning the beautiful creature at his feet. And he understood what his saying must have been to her. For this he would make a soldier's great reparation--and at once! That was the way of Arisuga. "Then you have known no one--no man but me?" "No," whispered the girl. "I thought if I had twenty lovers, you would wish me the more." "And what I have foolishly taken for the advances of experience have been innocencies!" Not she, but Isonna, spoke out:-- "Yes, lord. It was as I said. I am here now, when men might wish her, to see that none approach. There has been no one but you." "Little Lady Hoshi," said Shijiro Arisuga, to her bruised heart, "there is but one reparation I can make for yesterday. It is to wish you to become my wife--to-day." "But, lord, beautiful lord," cried the girl, "you did not hear what I said. I spoke too low. I was at your feet--" and now she deliberately raised her agonized face to his that there might be no mistake--"Lord, I am an eta! The accursed, despised caste! To the samurai we are as lepers! No samurai in all the thousands of years of our empire has ever married an eta! None has ever touched one! Lord, you did not hear!" "I heard. Pray, call me lord no more, but husband." "Li--li--Pardon me, husband, I have been taught that I am not to expect marriage." "Who taught you that?" "Even my father! My mother!" "Gods! It shall be to-morrow." "Yi--yes, li--li--husband," chattered Hoshiko. "And on that day there shall be a new goddess to be worshipped, and her name shall be called Star-Dream! And the first prayer she shall hear will be from a very brutal soldier to be forgiven for a little start upon hearing a certain untrue word. For no goddess can be an eta--even if it were possible for a mortal as beautiful as you to be an eta. So, even to-day, see," as he gathered her from the floor strongly into his arms, "you are my goddess--to-morrow you will be my wife." "Lord, I have no wedding garments! You know that though a Japanese maiden has always ready her garments for death or marriage, an eta maid has only those for death ready. It is presumption to have--the--the others." "Then there shall be no wedding garment but this," and he touched the dainty thing she wore. "Where are your parents that I may ask their consent?" Hoshiko did not know. But Arisuga suspected that they were close behind the fusuma listening with staring eyes and gaping mouths. He suddenly pushed aside the slides--and there they were. "To-morrow I wed your daughter," he said to them with his soldier's savagery. He respectfully gave them time for an answer--but he meant them to understand that they dare not refuse. And together, when they had the breath for it, they bowed to the very earth and said:-- "Yea, august lord!" Arisuga bowed haughtily in return, and closed the slides upon them. "You see," he said to Hoshiko, "there is nothing but the three times three between us and our earth-heaven, goddess!" "Yes, lord," she shivered. She begged for delay, but he would not grant it, so all that night, while he slept near, she and Isonna in the next room strove to make a trousseau out of her shroud. THE ETA XVII THE ETA Now, even when Arisuga had spoken of marriage, he had the thought that it would probably not be longer than for his stay in China. At his going there would be a happy understanding that this meant divorce and that she might marry again. For he was bound by his oath to the great death, that she knew; and if this were to be all, it mattered little that Hoshiko was an eta. In China it was not heinous. Yet even thus early the thought of some one else finding this wild flower when he was gone as he had found it--and, alas! of doing as he was about to do--he did not like that. He did not like his part in it. It haunted his dreams there in the room next to her and he woke. She was sobbing. Then he heard her mother: "Here is the sword," she said, in a voice hard as steel. "Be brave! First pray!" "Yes," sobbed Hoshiko. Arisuga crashed through the paper wall between them like the thunder-god. Before him was Hoshiko, preparing the sword for its work. About her, on the floor, was spread the pitiful evidence that she had tried to improvise a trousseau out of her funeral garments. There was a sheer white kimono of silk, the sleeves of which she had lengthened to the wedding size. (Death and marriage are both white in Japan.) She had just laid it down. It was with this--all useless now--that she had wrapped the sword. Above her stood her mother. "What does this mean?" demanded Arisuga, taking the sword from Hoshiko. "My mother wishes me to die," sobbed the girl. "And you?" asked Arisuga, savagely. "I wish to live. To marry you, lord." "There are no wedding garments," said the mother. "Nor any funeral garments now!" said Arisuga, slashing them with the sword. "You wish my daughter for only a little while--then go!" "That is my affair. I _take_ her!" "O Jizo," Hoshiko whispered within herself, "I thank you! Do not let your mercy stop! Perhaps--perhaps--O Benten!" "You become an eta if you marry her," Hoshiko's mother was saying. "In Japan," admitted Arisuga. "That is the way the unwise men of old worked to prevent the marriage of etas--and so blot out the caste. But this is China." And now as the young soldier looked down upon the pitiful little heap at his side, a great shame rose in his soul that he had ever thought of marrying her for a little while, and, quite like Arisuga, he rushed in his penitence from one extreme to the other. "By all the eight hundred thousand gods, I will marry her for all my lives!" No adjuration, no promise, could be greater than that. Some men had sworn fealty to a woman for two lives--some for three or four--and it was said that once a man had sworn to love a great poetess for seven lives; but no one had ever yet, so it was said, sworn his love, much less marriage, for all his lives. Yet even this did not stop the savage mother of Hoshiko, bent upon her daughter's honorable death rather than her dishonorable marriage. "How will you assure me of this?" demanded she. "By nothing but my word," said Shijiro, with all his samurai's haughtiness. "Gods! Gods! How mighty and wise you are, lord!" sobbed Hoshiko, kissing his feet. "But you will not be satisfied to live in China. You will take her to Japan, where both will be accursed etas," went on the implacable mother. "You are a soldier." "I am a soldier," answered Shijiro Arisuga. "In the army there is neither eta nor samurai. All are equal. All are sons of the emperor. This is Yamato Damashii. The New Japan! And I am Shijiro Arisuga! That is the end!" And it was the end. Here was a soldier who could vanquish the Medusa mother of Hoshiko by the cold process of words. "Witnesses! Saké! I will not leave this lady again until she is my wife!" And so terrible was this Shijiro Arisuga in his wrath that everything happened as he ordered--and they were married. I wish they might have lived happily ever after. But it was only a few glad weeks. Yet, in those little days and hours, she did what she had threatened: crept into his heart so deeply that he was never to dislodge her quite until he died. And it was here Shijiro Arisuga thought for the second time, without suspicion to mar it, that the happiest moment of his life had come. Fancy the joy of it all! Sure, I cannot tell it. I have no fit words. It was infinitely better than either had dreamed. The dainty little creature known as Hoshiko bloomed into splendor as Madame Shijiro--perhaps because she had no thought--absolutely none--for anything but him. And he was daily more and more amazed at the number of thoughts he spent upon her, who, he had once fancied, he could leave behind for some one else--for many others. Indeed, it came to such a state that he had little thought for anything but her. The military death was forgotten--Yoné was. "Now if we dream," he laughed to her one day, "take heed that we do not wake. For this dream is such as I have never dreamed before. In it are perfumes and melodies, caresses and touches, passions and calms, sleeps and wakings, and all delights." "And you," laughed his wife, flinging herself upon him. "And you," he laughed back, not putting her away. "And that thing the foreigners call love." "Grown larger in our sunny East than they know it in their chilly West!" added her husband. TO THE EMPEROR XVIII TO THE EMPEROR But the little paradise she had made for him there was one day invaded by two soldiers with some mysterious order, the command of which was that he must rejoin his regiment at once, though there was now no war. "It is 'on to the emperor,'" laughed Arisuga, "and I must go. I had forgotten--thank _you_! Forgotten the emperor! The death!" "Is it far to the emperor?" asked his little wife. "Yes," sighed and laughed Arisuga, rubbing her cheek against his--you know they were of precisely the same height. "And there is danger?" "Oh, yes," said her husband, indifferently. "If you should be killed, you will let me know at once?" "Certainly, I will tell you myself," laughed he. "For what is that killing to this going away from you!" "Oh--it is not so sad as waiting--waiting--waiting--for you to come again! Have I made you happy?" "As a god," he said. "Then, if you should not be killed--you will come back to be happy again?" "Nothing but death shall keep me from you!" "Swear--by your eyes--by your heart--by your soul--by your mother's, your father's memory!" All of which he did--still laughing. "What more, beloved one?" "Only your own sweet word, my beautiful lord, that you will come back. Say this: 'Beloved who loves me more than the rest in Buddha's bosom, and whom I love as much--' That is true, is it not?" "That is true," he laughed. "'I will come back at the first moment of opportunity, if I live, to my--wife!'" He repeated this after her. "Now go! The waiting will be ecstasy. Go! The sooner you go, the sooner you will return. I am not afraid. I am your wife. You have said it. Here or there, in the earths or the heavens! For all your lives--all, all! And I will be no other man's wife while I live! Or after death. And some day you shall have a son--like you in everything!--to keep the lamps alight when you are dead. For there will be for you a soldier's shrine. Now go or my heart will burst. And remember that in China or America or Germany I am your wife! But in Japan I am an eta--and you. Remember! Some day there will be a son, some day--_soon_!" For if nothing else would bring him back, she thought this untrue promise would! And so they parted--she pulling him back and pushing him off--there by the Sacred City he had helped to win--until she closed her eyes and clenched her hands and flung herself on the ground, face down, and would not touch or speak to him again. When he was out of sight she was sorry, and ran to the roof whence she could see the hills. There he was, walking between the two soldiers! And he turned because she so desperately wished him to--the gods made him do it, of this she was certain--and waved a hand to her; and with both of hers she sent after him all the blessings of the immortal gods. "I will--I will be brave," she cried terribly to Isonna, who had said nothing. "I will be brave as he!" "But how can we when all our life has gone yonder!" And the maid sobbed in utter abandon. "You love him too? You! Isonna, the savage, the eta, the man-hater! The declaimer against him, and me, and love! You! Oh, gods!" "Yes," whined the maid. "Come," cried her mistress, with tears and laughter. "He shall have two widows!" She embraced her maid violently enough for bodily injury. "Oh, is not the world beautiful!" cried Hoshiko. "I, who never hoped to be a wife at all, am the wife of a god. And he who had no thought of one goes yonder leaving two widows! Oh, girl brute, we are his wife for all his dear lives! Yes, we will be brave! We are a soldier's wife!" ON MIYAGI FIELD XIX ON MIYAGI FIELD But the mystery of his summoning was no more than this: One morning the regiment was aligned on Miyagi field, in parade uniforms, and in such a tremendous spirit as was never before known. Yet no one seemed to understand the purpose of it. And, there, at about the centre of all the glory, was Shijiro Arisuga himself, with his beloved colors once more above his head--the same that he had twice fallen and risen with! Pale he was, and ill-looking still. And the bandage on his head yet smelled of drugs--for this excitement was a bit too much for him after the quiet of China. Nevertheless it is not safe to let you fancy how happy little Arisuga was--nor how his heart thumped. You will be likely to fall short of the fact. Now, far away on his right, came a glittering cavalcade, and the regiment began to sing with the bands massed in his front: first, his own exultant song, then the Kimi Gayo--hoarse, iron, terrible--announced the coming of the emperor of Japan. This gave way to acclaim, and, to the mongolian roll of on-coming "Banzais!" the emperor galloped down the line, with all his resplendent suite, and, by all the gods, stopped directly in front of Arisuga and faced the regiment! At that the singing stopped and the playing of the bands, and there was that silence before the sovereign which is more impressive than any acclaim. All the colors of the regiment were trooped in a little square before Arisuga into which the emperor rode--all the colors but his, whereat he wondered. To his last day the little color-guard does not know precisely what happened after his name was called. "Shijiro Arisuga, attention! Forward! To the emperor!" Though choked with amazement, the little color-guard forgot nothing of his mechanical duty. At "Attention!" his flag went straighter, higher, his chest bulged, his legs grew stiff, and his hand flew to his visor. "Forward to the emperor!" and, almost unconscious with his emotion, he yet stepped straightly forward until he stood directly in the Presence. He knew that before him was a white horse with very pink nostrils, which gently raised and lowered a hoof, now and then. That on the horse sat a grave, sad man, the plumes of whose kepi, as he looked kindly down upon the little color-guard, half veiled his eyes. A bit of a smile grew there as his sovereign, for the first time, saw how small he was. Arisuga did not know the reason for that smile, but he felt it all through, and a tear started to his eyes. For you will remember that he was not meant for a soldier, but for simple and beautiful things. Then Mutsuhito spoke to him. "Shijiro Arisuga, the emperor is proud of such sons as you! Let him never regret his pride. It is upon you and such as you that the empire rests and must always rest. Be steadfast in your patriotism. No one in the army bears so great a responsibility as he who guards the colors. With them in sight my sons will follow anywhere--everywhere. When they are down, their guiding-star has set. For your flag is your whole country, all your ancestors, your myriad gods, your emperor--your all! And every eye watches it! Twice in battle, you have raised your flag when it has fallen. The circumstances show great valor. Your emperor has a thousand eyes. He is everywhere, and always he knows and sees all the acts of his sons. He knows and has seen yours. And for them he decorates you with the order--" Shijiro Arisuga's sick head drooped upon his breast and would hold no more. But presently he knew that the glittering cavalcade had wheeled and was out of sight, that the colors had returned to their places, that the regiment singing again his song was marching home, and that, for a very inadequate reason to him, he wore a medal over his heart and was nominated by the emperor himself Hero! Well, that was all. But for the third time Shijiro Arisuga was certain that the happiest moment of his life had come--as well as that he had made a tremendous fool of himself. The tears rolled down his face all the way to the barracks. But after that do you suppose he would ever let the flag go down? Do you suppose that he could love anything more than his colors? Well, you are to judge at the end. For now this last obligation was added to that which first made him a soldier. And the gods, his ancestors, his father, the emperor, the world, looked always on! Whatever we may think, it was true that this tremendous moment blotted out all others. Long ago he had forgotten Yoné. Now he forgot Hoshiko. He saw before him nothing but the sun-gilt path of glory. The emperor, the flag, the gods, the shades, his father's honor, were in his thoughts, and nothing of love. THE FADED GLORY XX THE FADED GLORY But presently the glory faded (alas! nothing fades more quickly than glory!) and Arisuga thought again of Hoshiko. Yet it was still good to be back among those whose trade like his own was war. And there were pretty words to listen to--which made the heart swell--and friends joyously to caress one, and others to recount one's courage--for at least two weeks: then all was as before, and Arisuga had only his medal as a surety that all the heroic splendor of Miyagi Field had ever been. It was then that he began not only to think of but to wish for Hoshiko--her hands--her voice--her laughter. In another week he would have given it all for these! And he had sworn to go back. But how could he--now? It was like open treason. Yea, so it is! Glory may fill our lives for a while, but presently it becomes smaller than a woman's steadfast love--as it is smaller. Then he began to think of bringing Hoshiko to Japan. There was that theory, you will remember, that in the army there were neither samurai nor eta--only soldiers. Only sons of the emperor! Understand what that means--to be a son of the emperor. Yet no one but a Japanese can. Remember that the emperor is a god! The yearning for Hoshiko grew upon him until he knew that he must do something definitive. Either she must come to him, or he must go to her, or he must forget her. Forget her! For three nights he strove to keep her out of his thoughts. When she came he would sing--shout madly. But she came quite easily through the songs. Then he cursed--everything which had conspired to bring about his unhappy status, pausing only before the emperor. She came smiling, seductive, through the curses. Then he remembered the kindly face of the emperor and took a moment's hope. He would understand, and perhaps permit him to live in China. But when he told Zanzi his hope, that officer grew savage:-- "What! After the emperor has decorated you, touched you, you want--actually _want_--to go away from him? Adopt another country? Sir, if he should know that you have such small purposes, I think he would recall your medal." Then he thought it might be looked at differently, if they knew that he was married. Especially if they could see Hoshiko. Of course this was impossible, since she could not come to Japan. But he felt that, if he could interest his colonel in the facts, he could give him an adequate description of Hoshiko. No one, he thought, need know that she was an eta. Having secured so much, he would intimate that he had no intention of adopting another country, but that the air of China was necessary for his recovery; that the retrogression in his convalescence, which all noticed and spoke of, was because of the now unaccustomed air of Japan. He told Colonel Zanzi tentatively, not that he was married--but that he wished to marry. Zanzi was opposed to marriage for soldiers. "I am sorry," grinned the colonel, with a shrug. "Why must you many? It is peace. Are the yoshiwara and Geisha street empty?" "I have given my promise," said Arisuga. "Oh, well," replied the colonel, with the air of dismissing a hopeless and useless topic, "if she is a samurai--" "I have not inquired concerning that," said the color-bearer, untruthfully. "But you must," said the officer, sharply. "The old order is no more," quoted Arisuga against him. "I have heard you say yourself, Colonel Zanzi, that in the army there is neither eta nor samurai,--only sons of the emperor." "In time of war, yes," finished the colonel. "We need them all then. But, these are times of peace. And the old order lives always. I have never said otherwise. You, sir, the son of a samurai who died at Jokoji, even if he died on the wrong side, ought not to need to be told that. Sir, no member of this regiment marries below his caste! If you are thinking of such a thing, I regret it. Your decision lies between this woman and the emperor, who gives you life, and who, when he accepts you as his son, takes back that life again to himself to dispose of at his will. You cannot have forgotten the samurai obligation,--not to live under the same heavens nor to tread the same earth with the enemy of your lord. You must leave it, or the enemy must. This woman, sir, puts herself in opposition to your emperor. She is, therefore, his enemy, and consequently yours. Nevertheless the emperor is gracious. He leaves the choice to his sons. But they must take the consequences. Good morning, sir." But the color-bearer did not move. He stood there still with his hand to his forehead. "Good morning!" thundered the colonel. And even that could not frighten him. He was momentously deciding between the emperor and Hoshiko. "I desire to say, sir, that I shall not marry," said Arisuga. "I am glad to hear it. The soldier who marries is a fool." And therefore the little color-guard set himself to fight again, and to the end, against the invincible thing called love. It makes me smile as I think of it. Who has ever vanquished it? At first he stubbornly thought of other battles he had fought and won. But he was surprised that this brought no courage to the new kind of conflict. She came in the visions of night, like the sappers and miners, when he was least defended against her, smiling, beckoning. He could see her and touch her, and know that she was at his side. Now all things mightily conspired to make that thing he had once thought of in China--a temporary alliance,--a going away, an easy forgetting, another marriage, many--to be more fully than he could have hoped. It was only necessary that he should remain in Japan. Time would do the rest. He used to wonder, in the night, under the stars, how long it would take her to understand, then forget, then to take another husband. He never got over this latter without waking his sleeping comrade by a certain wild violence of passion. He thought of it with a pitying laugh at himself--now mad to go back where he was denied the going--to have her there who must not come--whose coming would be ruin. One night he spoke wildly to this comrade:-- "I tell you that she will never forget, never take another: if she did, I would kill her! But I am the liar and the scoundrel--I. She chose me." Concerning which interruptions of his repose his sleeping-mate continued to complain to headquarters. A dozen times he sat down to write to her. But what comfort was that? It was herself he wanted: the bodily presence which could softly touch him, the voice which could gently speak to him, all the beauty which he might see! A dozen times he threw the unfinished letter from him. And so, finally, this fight against Hoshiko became a rout. Every night, when he should have slept, it came on--like an enemy who knew the time and place of the weakness of his adversary. If there had only been no nights to fight through! At last his bunk-mates so complained of him that the doctor sent him to live out of the barracks, where he would disturb no one. He had a small house to himself. But in this new solitude she came and stayed and possessed him. She made him again to possess her. She was there always. The night mattered no more. He saw her eyes in the dusk, heard her voice in daylight. He often parted the shoji--sometimes to find vacancy--when his mood was practical and he had slept well; but often when he had not eaten or slept, and the visions came--to have her swiftly in his arms. Presently a certain infidelity came and lodged in him, and the knowledge of it spread through the army. "What a spirit must that be of the emperor--the gods--the augustnesses--even a father waiting in the Meido--which would not permit him to have one small woman!" That is what he publicly said. And, worse, he had once thought of throwing his medal into the moat near by and of escaping to China. Of deserting the emperor he had doubly sworn to serve. His gods, his father, the shades. Perhaps there was but one thing in the old days, worse than the eta--the deserter. He thought of this and took terrible pause. Finally it was known in the army that Arisuga was mad--quite mad. The wound in his head had done it. His talk was of a woman: an houri, if ever there was one, should his talk of her be believed. He had cursed the gods, reviled the augustnesses, the spirit of his father, the emperor who had pinned the medal on his coat. Certainly Shijiro Arisuga was mad. He himself heard this, and thought to take a cunning advantage of it. If he were mad, he would be invalided, and then he would see China again. IN THE ANDON'S LIGHT XXI IN THE ANDON'S LIGHT But one night there came a gentle tapping on his shoji--like the dream. He sat up and listened. There was more tapping--still like the dream. And then a whispered voice--not the dream--which woke him to mutiny:-- "Ani-San! Beloved! Do you no more wish me? Oh, it is so long--so long! And we have walked--walked--walked. I would rather know and die. At first I thought you dead--you said nothing but that should keep you from me--death! death! And I could not sleep--I never slept! At last I decided to come and get your body, steal it out of the grave, and take it back with me, where I might weep over it and make the offerings--only your dear, dead body I have loved and which has loved me--lain down by my side, held me in its arms! And so I came with Isonna--faithful Isonna is here--and learned that you are not dead, and all the glory. O beloved! My soul swells with joy of you. You, mine, once mine, so glorious in the eyes of our country! For, oh, Ani-San, it is _my_ country, too! They shall not take that from me, though it makes me an outcast. And my feet touch it now. My country! Nippon! Nippon! After all the evil years of exile. My emperor! My gods! Forgive me, beloved, but it must all come out of my heart, or it will burst. I know you are there. I know you listen! I see--touch--adore--your shadow. I have seen _you_! I have hid in the trees--Isonna and me--for three days, until we are very hungry and have begged rice. Three times--on each day--we have seen you. Three nights we have watched your dear shadow. Once it prayed and then rushed upon the outside and spoke loudly to the heavens--words which we could not hear. Were they of me? Were they hate or love? To-night I touch your shadow--put my lips upon it on the paper. For--yes--I know that is all I am ever to have: the shadow of you. You do not wish me! That is what my mother said; and laughed. She struck me and said her words concerning you had all come true. Ah, pardon, lord. What matter that? It is three days! Three days! We could not die until the moon was dark; for some one, passing, might see and find our bodies. But I am glad for those three days. Now the moon is gone--the moon which sees our deeds and tells them to the gods of night; and, lord, only to-night, when the moon was gone, could I come to you to say farewell--Ani-San, to-night we die--Isonna and I. Unless you still wish me? No! Pardon that. But--if you should! Ah! if you should! Speak one word though it be Go! Only one word, that I may die in the blessed sound of your voice! Oh, it has been so lonely! For you first taught me how to be happy--to laugh, to love. And then you went, and took it all away--all, all away. Beloved, you do not wish us--No? so, to-night we die. We shall not harm you, even in our death. As long as this little paper wall is between us you are not contaminated even while we live. No one will know us in this far land; and we shall die where no one will ever find us; only the gods, only the pitying gods. So we do not harm you in coming here. We would not have come had we known you lived. Ani-San, it is finished--all quite finished; you wish me no more. I hear no blessed word. Lo! I listen--listen with my soul--but I hear no word! All the gods in all the skies bless you. All the gods in all the skies make you happy. All the gods in all the skies make you glorious. Ani-San, beloved, farewell, forever and forever, farewell!" At first the little color-bearer put his hands madly to his ears; but not for long. Could you? And at the end he heard her sink slowly to the earth, slipping, sighing, down the shoji. At that moment he would have had her if the empire itself had fallen for it. He did not wait to part the shoji. He plunged through them as he had done once before in China. And there at his feet was the pitiful little heap. Too numb she was to be wakened by his tumult. He carried her within and laid her in the lamplight. The pretty face was ghastly with starvation. The feet were nearly bare, for walking had worn out her sandals. The kimono was one he knew. But it had been in the rain and had trailed many tired miles in the dust. He did not need the light of the andon to tell him of her sufferings. Nor even her voice. And presently when she woke it was not of that she told. Indeed, of that she never spoke. It was all forgotten in that waking in his arms. And all she said--all she ever said of it--was to ask him, with a breath, if she dreamed. She slept a little, then woke and said with terror:-- "Isonna!" "Yes, beloved," answered Arisuga. "Where is she? You have slept sweetly." "Has the clock struck?" "The clock has struck." "Then she is dead," whispered Hoshiko. "She was to die first--when the clock struck. And I was sleeping--sweetly, you said. Oh, gods! Go to the moat. I will pray." At the moat there was nothing but some pebbles dislodged where small feet might have tracked. Some fresh soil was uncovered, where two large stones had been taken. One was gone, the other waited at the edge of the waters. And in this he knew how the manner of their death had been planned. Each was to take a great stone in her small arms and wade into the moat until--At the piteous picture he who had seen death by thousands choked in his throat and followed Isonna into the water. But it was too late--much too late. And so he left her there, where she had chosen to be, for him and for Hoshiko, quite at rest, with her burden still clasped strongly in her arms, and only a little prayer to Buddha--nembutsu--Isonna! TADAIMA--TADAIMA! XXII TADAIMA--TADAIMA! It was three days before she could smile. Then she said wanly:-- "What will you do with _me_, Ani-San? Must I die, too? You cannot go back to China with me." "By all the gods in all the skies we shall part no more! We can die--yes--together--but part never!" "Alas! that is all we can do now, beloved, for I have harmed you in coming here." "You have brought me the happiness I do not deserve. I will never again put it in jeopardy." But you are to understand that even that, dying together, perhaps, with her obi binding them close to each other, walking arm in arm, into the sea, or the moat, until they could but dimly know that the sun was yet in the heavens, on through the green water, more and more dim unto darkness, peace, sleep--you are to understand that this, death with him, was next in its sweetness to life with him. He meant to go to the colonel; but not yet. You remember how she raped those few days of happiness out of the very hand of fate in China. So now Arisuga said Tadaima! Wait! For again his little wife had to have a trousseau, and she was yet very weak and tired. And on the way she had sold her pretty hair-pins for food--these had to be replaced. But so potent is happiness, that it was not three days more till all her loveliness had returned and bloomed again--just in time to be adorned by the new kimono of blue crêpe, and the new kanzashi of tortoise-shell and gold. Still it was Tadaima! For three days more Arisuga lived in his paradise and then went resolutely to the colonel. "I am married," he said bluntly, with his salute. "What?" roared the colonel. "I was married when I was here before." Finally the officer smiled. That is the way he would have been likely to do it at the color-bearer's age. "I remember that you said you did not mean to marry! You _were_ married! Well, well, if she is a samurai--" "She is an eta," said Arisuga. "That one in China." "Ah! After a little while you can divorce her. No one need know of it." "I beg your pardon." "You will not?" "I cannot." "You understand your position the moment this becomes public?" "You cannot make me an eta in the army. I am a soldier." "You will ask for a furlough. Time indefinite upon recall. It will be granted," said Zanzi, coldly. This was the color-bearer's dismissal from the regiment. For a moment he could not speak. "You are too ill for service," continued the colonel, less coldly. "If, however, you should think it best to take my advice, let me know of your recovery." "I thank you, sir," said Arisuga, chokingly, "it is impossible. The flag--my flag--?" he begged. "Good morning," said the officer; "I will find some one for the flag." But, after he was gone the colonel determined to see what manner of woman this was who could make Arisuga give up his flag. Orojii had said, in China, that she was pretty! He pictured her an Amazon, with tremendous force, and painted cheeks, who had enslaved the little color-bearer, and he meant to exhibit his authority against hers and save Arisuga from her. "It is always so," he was thinking as he arrived at the little house, in some haste to be ahead of Arisuga, "a little fellow like Shijiro is sure to choose some woman twice his size for a wife, and to be under her thumb ever after." You may fancy, therefore, his surprise, when a little flower of a maiden pushed aside the door for him, and, to his question, announced that she was Shijiro's wife. For a moment the colonel did not speak. Tremendous readjustment was necessary. In the meantime she had led him within. "Sit down," she said. "I will bring you some tea. My husband will be here very soon. He has gone to see his colonel. Alas! you must sit on the floor in the Japanese fashion. We have none of the new foreign chairs!" In an instant she had the tea before him. "I do not care for tea," said the soldier. "I am Colonel Zanzi." "His colonel!" gasped the little wife. "And--and--you have come to be--" "As kind to you as I can be," said the soldier, hastily. "Be at peace!" "Oh! Is it true?" The tears ran over her eyes at once. "You know? And yet you will be kind? Oh, Jizo--that is my favorite goddess--look upon you! But you will smoke a little? See, here is my own pipe." She cleansed it and filled it and put it to his lips, and he who smoked only cigars smoked Hoshi's little metal pipe. "And he is not disgraced? I have not ruined him? No! Or you would not be here smoking my pipe. You would be savage. You would wish to kill me. Oh, I know he is the emperor's and you, also, even me! I know how that is. Everything for the emperor! Wives! Children! Even parents! Why, was it not Akima Chinori who killed his child, which was too small to be left alone, so that he might obey the call? 'I have given you life,' so says the imperial call, 'now give it back to me.' But I will not harm him. I will help him to be a soldier. Oh, I am brave! You cannot think how brave. It is only waiting, waiting, waiting, that I cannot endure. Do you know that we were married away down there? And that Arisuga-Sama left me to go to the emperor? Did you know that? And that it was I came to him? He did not bring me. I meant to die here without harm to him. But only Isonna died. He is not to blame." "Who was Isonna?" asked the soldier. "She was my little maid. She was to die first when the clock struck, die there in the moat--then I. But first I came to see his shadow on the shoji--touch it. Say farewell. To hear a word, if there were one. I am afraid I wept, fainted with hunger, and he heard me and took me in and kept me. He _did_ wish me! He _did!_ But Isonna was dead. Yes, while I slept in his arms! Dead for us. The tea is very good, excellency?" And because she put it into his hands with that fear in her great eyes, and because of that shaking of the little hand, and that chattering story in the quavering voice, and those tears, he drank the tea, who drank only hot brandy. "Do you mean to say that Isonna killed herself so that--so that--" Even the grizzled soldier choked at the thought. "So that no disgrace might come to him. And I--I, also, should have died--before he knew. Then he would not have been harmed. As long as the thin paper was between us he was safe--safe as if I were yet in China. But you do not know how sweet that was--to sleep in his arms, to wake in his arms--with the words he spoke that night he married me again in my ears? But while I slept the clock struck. Ah, you know him only as a soldier! I know him as a lover! A husband! A god!" Still this soldier, brought up to the religion of sacrifice, thought of the serving-woman sacrificially dead there in the moat. "Was Isonna an eta, too?" "She was an eta, too," said Hoshiko. "Gods! And we think you lack spirit--courage--devotion!" "No! We are brave!" she said piteously. "We are as ready as you to die for the emperor! If you will only learn to let us!" "I believe you!" said Zanzi. "Shall I tell you?" she begged. "He is not at fault. Let me plead for him!" "Yes, tell me," he said. But she could only repeat the old story:-- "We came because we thought he was dead--he said that only death should keep him from us--to take his body back with us--only his dear, dead body. That would have been no disgrace. For the Lord Buddha does not permit any one to disgrace the dead who cannot help themselves. But when we knew that he was alive, we knew also that, by coming to Japan, we had harmed him. Then we meant to die without him knowing, keeping always the thin wall between us. Where no one could find us after. But I could not without one word of farewell to his shadow--only his shadow! And one word from him--if there was one. That would not harm him. Oh, yes, I knew that I must not touch his body in Japan! But his shadow! Was that harm? And one word? Would not you have touched his shadow? And he _did_ wish me--he _did_! And then--I woke in his arms! "But the clock had struck while I slept. Eight. And that was the signal for Isonna to take a stone in her arms and walk into the moat. And Isonna was faithful. For there he found her afterward, asleep, with the gods, the great stone in her arms. And that one I was to take is still there, on the edge of the moat, waiting. But now I cannot die. He has made my life sweet again. Would you die with life all sweet again, as the morning glories in the morning? So the stone must wait there. Perhaps he and I shall carry it together. For, so he says, we shall die, together, rather than part again." "You shall not part. Would you like to go to America?" asked the officer. "No. Nowhere but here." For America to her was the country of the barbarians--a horrid waste, where no flowers grew. "But if your husband should go there?" "Yes!" It did not matter then. The colonel rose. "Tell him to come to see me again." "And you will be as kind to him as you have been to me?" "No," smiled the colonel. "He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve you." But, then, seeing that she did not quite understand his pleasantry, he added: "I shall be as kind to him as I can be, as I am permitted to be, for your sake. And you are to tell him that!" "Shaka, and all the augustnesses bless you!" He held the tiny hands a moment at parting. "Once I knew a little lady like you. It was long ago, and there is a tomb for her in Asakusa. Perhaps she was _not_ like you, not as lovely. But so it seems now--after the years. If she had not died, I would not have been a soldier." And no one had ever heard the grizzled colonel's voice so soft. She sent Arisuga back. But she did not tell him that. THE PITY OF THE GODS XXIII THE PITY OF THE GODS There seemed little kindness in Colonel Zanzi's greeting when Arisuga arrived. He did not even look up. "You will be transferred to a Hakodate regiment," he said in a monotone; "they are ruffians, but good soldiers. You will report to your new regiment when you are recalled. Your furlough must be spent in America and in communication with headquarters." This was exile, but mitigated by every possible circumstance. "Sir," said Arisuga, with emotion, "I do not deserve this consideration." "No," answered his colonel; "but your wife does." Have I let you suppose that Hoshiko accepted all this perilous happiness without question? No Japanese woman ever does that. It is true that, at first, there was no thought--there could be none. The gods had put them both suddenly into a position from which they could not retreat. But after that, when thought came, and Hoshiko knew that it had all been for her, and how much it was that he had given--then she began to prepare her recompense. To you it would have been a strange one, but it was not so to her. What she had taken beyond her share from the universal happiness, that she would balance with such suffering as came. What she had taken from him, the shade of his father, that she would restore. What he stood in danger of losing because of her, that she would insure against loss. And the gods would help her. For they always heeded such constant and faithful praying as she meant to render. At last she knew that they would. For they sent her a sign. But before I speak of that I must go on and make plain what her purpose came finally to be. Nothing less than to make sure in some way (she waited on the gods to make the way plain to her) that since she prevented Shijiro from dying for his emperor in his father's stead, his reparation should come about in some other way--perhaps some way not thought of as yet--even by the gods. All she could do now was to pray that if he should die the small white death, the gods would send _her_ some sort of reincarnation in which _she_ might accomplish his purpose, though he were dead. And of course, whether she survived him or not, this was possible, to the immortal gods. But I think she had no idea that she--she herself--might herself be the instrument--that the gods meant anything as strange and startling as that--nor that her reincarnation might be in the very form of her husband while she yet lived. She would not be likely to think of precisely that. Until that day of the sign from heaven itself--that day while they were playing as children might do on the mats. Their feet were against the groove which held the fusuma. The little soldier reached upward above his head. "I can touch the other mat," laughed Arisuga. "And I," laughed his wife, doing the same. "What!" cried the soldier. "I am taller than you are." Then Hoshiko understood that she ought not to have said that. It was heinous to make herself the equal of her lord in anything. "No, lord," she hastened to say, "I lied--a little lie--while we sported. I am sorry." "It is no lie," laughed happy Arisuga once more; for you will remember that all her daintiness was then his, and that he was not like other Japanese husbands; "we are exactly the same height." "No, no, no, lord," pleaded Hoshiko, who fearfully knew that it was so, "you are much taller than miserable small me." And, to prove it, she bent her knees within her kimono and stood beside him, for he had risen to prove the matter. But he detected the bent knees and straightened them, and, lo! there was not a shadow of difference in their height. And when the little soldier laughed and was very happy about it, she laughed too, timorously at first, then more joyously than he. For to be his equal in something, and to see him happy about it--well, she supposed that no Japanese girl had ever before such felicity, and perhaps she was right. So, in their playing and laughter, he cried: "And I shall be punished for my haughty spirit in thinking I was, and you shall be rewarded for the humility of yours in thinking you were not." And the manner of this punishment and reward was for him to strip off her kimono and put it on himself, and his uniform and put it on her. Oh, you may be sure that she tried to fly in her terror of him, that she fought and wept and at last utterly exhausted had to let him have his way--even to tucking her splendid hair under his military cap. She lay there happily crushed and disgraced until he had made himself so like her that she hardly knew him. But she would not see herself until he brought the mirror and told her that he was looking at himself. Then she looked, and it was true. With staring eyes she stood upon her feet and passed the mirror up and down. Then suddenly she saw the smiling face of a god in the mirror also, and knew that this was to be the fashion of the reincarnation she had begged of the gods. She whispered her husband to look into the mirror. "There is the face of a god there!" Arisuga looked and laughed, but saw no god. "It is the reflection of your Jizo," he said, pointing to the goddess behind her. But Hoshiko said it was not that. For, you see, she knew what it was, and her husband did not--and must not--the sign. Now after that Shijiro Arisuga was amazed, considering the terrors out of which it had first been accomplished, to find his little wife often in his uniform. And more, to learn that this gentle creature was mad for the learning which is a soldier's. Of course it was great sport in this happy time, and Arisuga taught her all he knew!--how to stand and step and march, to load and fire and intrench herself, and all the hoarse songs and sayings of the army--among others that battle song of his. But most of all he taught her how to carry the sun-flag, and how to keep it, nay, how to retake it if it should be captured--which, however, he instructed her, illogically, must never happen. "Our method of advance," he told her, "is never in thick fat lines--such delectable food for the shrapnel. One at a time we run to a position we have fixed in advance. Then we dig. Sometimes there are as many as five all scattered--never more. After digging holes we make another rapid advance and do the same, and then, again, until there are three chains of holes parallel to the enemy. Then other troops advance. They have the first holes to hide in. They make them deeper and wider and advance as we did until we have a solid line out near the enemy, the holes being joined to form a trench. And by that time there are two such trenches to our rear for those who support us--or to retire to--" Here he laughed, and added impressively:-- "If that should ever become necessary. But a Japanese soldier goes only in one direction--forward where the flag is. And as to the flag," he went on, "that goes forward with the first advance, like this--" He rolled it into a ball. "But, once it is there, the lines formed, the advance ordered, it is raised, like this, so that the artillery know where we are when they fire at the enemy. So," he laughed happily, "when you take my flag forward, you will go like this--" He made her run with bent supple back the length of the apartment. "Drop like this; now there is nothing but a small lump of earth to see; dig like this, lying on the flag, and so on till, out there, in the first trench, you raise it never to return with it. Then you will hear the bursting of the gates of all the hells. For our enemies are stupid and never understand, until they see the flag, what our purpose is, then they waste their ammunition and we _use_ ours. But then it is too late for them and it is ours only to go forward and defeat them, led by the sun-flag." There was nothing of this which the girl did not treasure up. And Arisuga laughed, she laughed, and he never asked or wondered why. THE LAND OF THE BRAVE XXIV THE LAND OF THE BRAVE So, presently, they were in America. On the way over they were quite happy once more. "For there are no etas in America," said Hoshiko. But there _was_ the Japan Society in America, which turned its back on them, etas, whereby they were left in a strange land, with only a strange language and half pay, all of which would have been beggarly enough. However, that is how it happened that Moncure Jones, who had made a sudden fortune and wanted a Japanese butler, became the happy master of Arisuga. He had found them in one of his "raids" upon southern New York, where they had a little room and were starving and studying the language. Arisuga told his small wife one day that the thing called divorce was going on in the Jones household and in the courts. They laughed together about it. Divorce in America meant something very different from what it did in their country. It appeared that it had been preceded by tremendous quarrels in the house of Jones, of which Arisuga was a witness, and an amazed one. For Mrs. Jones had rather the better of the quarrelling. "It is not certain that the divorce will be granted by the judges," said Arisuga. "Do they make people live together who do not wish to?" asked his wife. "So it seems," laughed Shijiro. From day to day Arisuga went with Jones to the courts to testify of the quarrelling. Then one day he told Hoshiko that the divorce would be granted because of the cruel and barbarous treatment of Jones by his wife. But even then the court was many months in doing what would have been executed in a few minutes in their country. Finally the decree was perfect and Jones needed a housekeeper. He asked Arisuga if he knew of one as efficient as he was. He spoke to Hoshiko. An income was more and more needed to provide the money for his return when his summons should come. For it had surprised them, in the auriferous American country, how their expenditures grew and their income failed. Well, it pleased Hoshiko: for there would be only so much more time in her husband's company. Shijiro's time spent with Jones had grown much more than the time spent with her. Indeed, it was here where the rift began to show in the little lute of their joy. For Shijiro also learned some habits in America, save for which they would have had a fair start on their fund for the return: he gambled. Jones, it seemed, was vexed with ennui. To teach Arisuga how to gamble, and even to let him win, gave him both employment and amusement. Indeed, with his little winnings, Arisuga began to feel opulent. He put away, now and then, something for his return, and was more often in good humor. And as he was happy, so was Hoshiko. For she always reflected only him. Her one great unhappiness was that he was so constantly away from her, and more and more so as the time went on, so that often he forgot to come home to her for several days. Then he would explain that he with Jones had been on a gambling tour. So the little unhappiness which had threatened her life fled quite away the moment she knew that Jones wanted an honorary housekeeper. In her innocence she did not reason why he might want to set up such an establishment. Nor did Shijiro. JONES XXV JONES Jones! He had watery gray eyes and thick lips. He stooped a trifle and was not so shockingly firm in his gait as most Americans are. Yet he would smile betimes, and then his mouth seemed armed with yellow fangs. "Like the dragon on Hanayama," breathed Hoshiko, shivering herself into Arisuga's arms the night after she had gone for inspection. "He smiled at me." "A smile is good," said Arisuga. "You did not see that smile! It was not good!" "Hereafter I shall watch it," laughed Shijiro. For Jones's maiyi, or "look-at-meeting," as they called it in their own language, Hoshiko had dressed her hair anew, put her best kanzashi into it, brought out that worn but still beautiful kimono in which she had been married, full still of the flower perfume of her maiden-hood, put her feet into the tall, ceremonious geta of her own land, and so went, quite in oriental state (Shijiro would have it so), in a hansom to Mr. Moncure Jones. No wonder he stared and put on his glasses. In all his sordid life Jones had not had so fresh a sensation as this. In all his life he had seen no creature at once so dainty and fragile and splendid. When they were home again, came that shuddering of which I have spoken. And since Hoshiko did not at once take to his plan, but shuddered anew whenever it was mentioned, Arisuga let her wait, putting Jones off, until he could convince her rather than command her. For more than ever it, presently, became necessary for her to go to Jones. Now, strangely, since that day of the look-at-meeting Arisuga did not often win. On the contrary Jones did, until there was not only nothing for the passage being put aside, but a huge debt which appalled Arisuga. So that, in the end, the only argument he used to Hoshiko was of Jones's wealth. "I shall win yet--Jones-Sama says so--all I have lost and more in one great stake. It is always so, therefore it is lucky to lose. I am not downcast." "But, O beloved, that smile!" pleaded the girl. "Nevertheless Jones is rich," said Arisuga. "Yet a dragon!" cried the girl. "And I kill dragons which frighten little wives," laughed her husband, without fear. "Besides," he said, "it is well to remember that otherwise we shall not have the money for the passage when my call comes! You will go? Yes, you will go. Let us make a friend of this Jones." Suddenly Hoshiko saw the hand of the gods in this, also, and went to Jones. Was not this a part of the way she had prayed to be shown? And she had impiously rebelled! Because of her rebellion she went with a certain alacrity. Jones smiled often at Hoshiko. So often that Arisuga could not but notice it. "The yellow dragon of Hanayama covets the dove of Arisuga," he laughed. "Yet doves are not good for dragons. This will be better." He handed her the small toilet sword which Japanese women carry. "I have heard," said Jones to Shijiro one day, "that Japanese husbands often rent their wives to pay their debts." "That is true, lord," bowed his little butler. "For a year, don't you know, or six months, or something like that?" "It is true, lord," repeated the butler. "And that the wives really like it?" "True, lord," answered Arisuga. "They don't lose caste after the--er--debt has been paid, but go back to their husbands?" "True, lord." "Well, that's a pretty sensible arrangement. You Jap chaps are always sensible; and"--the yellow fangs came out--"I am your creditor for a couple of thousand dollars. Arisuga, I am willing to be so paid and to pay you a couple more thousand than you owe me! Then your passage will be safe. I don't believe, now, it will be otherwise. I have got you in too deep a hole." Jones laughed hoarsely at his own cunning. Arisuga received the suggestion as he would have received an unimportant business proposition. "I will consider and let the enlightened eijinsan know," he said. This, also, as if it were the mere oriental courtesy of bargaining--the sloth which is polite. "I guess it will be all right," laughed Jones. "Take your time. No one is proof against the blandishments of American gold. Even oriental virtue yields to it. Don't you think it will be all right?"--a bit anxiously. "Let the honorable American lord so think," said Arisuga. "I will consider." "I shan't be niggardly, understand. If you are not satisfied with a couple of thousands, we'll make it a quartette. She is about the dearest little morsel I have ever seen." "Ha, ha!" laughed Arisuga, with American politeness, this time. "Ha, ha!" laughed Jones. And Hoshiko, taking her cue, laughed too, out of the palest face she had ever had. For she was present--though she was not thought to know English enough to understand what was said. But that night Jones was awakened by something strange at his throat. It was a steel blade--and an ominous Arisuga. In one hand he had a candle. In the other Hoshiko's sharp little sword--close against his skin. "Ha, ha!" laughed Arisuga. Jones was in no laughing mood. "Laugh!" said Arisuga. Then Jones brought forth a sickly cachinnation which stopped at the first note; for it made the sword to penetrate his skin. "Lie still--quite still!" admonished the Japanese, with deadly quiet, and Jones did not move a muscle for a moment, which seemed years. Then the light went out and Jones expected death. But nothing happened. He waited long. The sweat poured out until his bed was wet. He was certain that he felt that blade still at his throat--and the little stream of blood from it. But there was no more. He was not dead. At last he cautiously put his hand out. It encountered nothing. Then he raised it to his throat. Nothing was there. He leaped out of bed on the other side. Nothing further happened. He did not even call for the police. So the opportunity which Jones had seemed to offer for preparation to return to Japan when the call came vanished, leaving only the vain thing he had taught Arisuga--his little skill at cards. This he still tried to use. But though he sometimes won, he more often lost. Yet he played on, certain of the great luck which would not only recoup all in one night, but establish his circumstances far beyond what they had ever been. It was the old, old gambler's lust. It was the old, old consequence. Luck seemed cruelly delayed, and they fell into desperate poverty. And, worse than all, this--the gambler's fetish--was now the thing which possessed him. But though he loved the life of chance for itself, he never lost sight of the more and more frenzied necessity of providing for his return. For, rumors of war began to hover in the air. Hoshiko saw less and less of him. And he often forgot her for days together. If he were mad, for another reason, in Japan, he was mad equally in America. Yet nothing was saved; always such pittances as he could raise, or she, were spent upon the small gambling devices in which the city abounded, no matter whether he had food or not. Presently his life was that and no more: a vain search for luck. But miserable as it was, there was hope in it, and a certain exhilaration. He was like one who has no doubt of ultimate good fortune, and wakes daily with the uplifting thought that this may be the grateful day. And his hope and happiness in it brought hope and happiness, in the brief whiles it reigned, to Hoshiko, where happiness came of late not often. Nor hope. THE "TSAREVITCH" XXVI THE "TSAREVITCH" So the little exiles lived and starved, and feasted and loved on; happy sometimes, sorrowing more often, while Japan was yet at peace. Always Arisuga kept his address at headquarters, and always he waited--listened almost--for the call. But it was long--very long. And his face grew sharp and his eyes narrow. And more and more in the waiting and listening he forgot, in America, Hoshiko--his Eastern Dream-of-a-Star. For, presently, it was nearly ten years of this exile. Ten years of prayer which grew only more fervid as the years doubled upon themselves, and the hope so long deferred made the heart of Arisuga ill. Ten years of yearning for their own country, which fate denied them and which nothing but war could again give to them! The heart of Hoshiko sickened, too. But it was thus because Arisuga more and more often forgot her rather than with the homesickness which she suffered as he did. Yet she guiltily knew that while there was no war she might keep him, even though he forgot her. So it was he alone at last who prayed for war. It was sacrilege to obstruct the gods; it was impossible to pray to be kept from her own perfumed land, so--she stubbornly prayed not at all. And then it did come: the great war--though not as he had fancied it would. Slowly it got into the air. Every day he spent at the bulletins. But they said Japan would not fight. Russia was getting and would get what she wished. She was too great for Japan. And some of the newspapers began to pour contempt upon his country. She was baying the moon, one said. "What! are there no more samurai in Japan?" Arisuga cried out to his wife that night. She did not reply. Her silence was almost guilt. For as the threat of war went on, and as Arisuga grew older, he valued the more what he had lost for her. "Gods," he proceeded with a hollow laugh, "I am not a samurai myself. And I must wait my call to be even allowed to fight." "Forgive me, dear lord," said his wife. And the words and her attitude recalled that other time she was servilely at his feet. "Rise!" he commanded impatiently. "And do not call me lord. I am no more--nothing more--than you--eta! It cannot be helped. We must suffer it." But there were no caresses--there were never any now. Then it came, quite according to Arisuga's fancy--a thunder-clap from the heavens! Togo had sunk the "Tsarevitch"! "At last," cried Arisuga, that day, "I am a soldier once more, if not a samurai! A son of the emperor! Banzai!" And that night it seemed as if all the old sweetness had come back and she slept in his arms as she had used to sleep. "All that remains now is the call," he said the next day, still happy. He went to the consulate to see that they had his address correctly, but on the way home he remembered that there was no money for the passage. For, strangely, this passion of war had obliterated that other passion of chance! He ran all the way. "I must--I must," he said roughly to Hoshiko, "have money for the passage! When my call comes I shall not be ready. And there is none!" "I have not forgotten it, lord," she answered, giving him the little she had been secretly able to save from his gambling for the purpose. Arisuga counted it. He did not even stop to thank her for this unexpected sacrifice and munificence. "Gods! It is not one-tenth," he accused. "We must have more at once. Jones liked you. Why not?" "Yes, lord," said Hoshiko, growing pale. "Remember the wives of the forty-seven ronins. They gave themselves to harlotry for their husbands' cause." "Yes, lord, to-morrow," answered the trembling little woman. And though each day there was a little more money, she did not go to Moncure Jones. She could not. Some things are impossible! All day she was gone, and he thought her there, with the yellow-fanged dragon, and did not care! Nothing had hurt her heart so much as that. Each night she came back to him with her pitiful wage in her sleeve. Arisuga might have thought this strange had he not ceased all thought of her--that Jones permitted her to come home to him each night with each day's wages. And he might have noticed, if he had still adored the hands of satin, that they were stained: now with red, now with blue, yellow, green. But he never touched the hands any more, and was become impatient when they touched him void of money. But the little wage, the sixty or seventy cents which he seized eagerly and put away--you will want to know how she got them. Try, then, to fancy as she did that this was the beginning of her punishment for the happiness of being his wife. To stay away from the chance of being with him, from early morning until late night. To watch the slow-going clock; the shadows as they crept up the wall to the red stain first, then the blue, then that pale yellow one, scarcely to be seen at seven o'clock; and then still (for her wish always outran the shadow) to wait until the clock in the cathedral struck before she might stop making muslin flowers "for the happy occasions" and go wanly home to unhappiness. She was a flower-maker--this flower of another land made flowers for weddings, christenings, festivals, soiling them only, now and then, with a tear. Yet no one had ever made prettier flowers "for the happy occasions" than she who had, now, no happy occasions. But the war went on, on, and he was not called. "Gods!--yes!" he cried to her in his madness. "I understand. I am an eta! The damned word has passed all through the army. It stands opposite my name. It makes all my oaths, all my obligations before the gods, naught. There is but one hope. They will not call me unless the last man must be put into the field. Then--_then_ they will take the eta. Gods of the skies! Gods of the earth! Gods of the seas and caverns below--let it be so! Let my country be among the dregs at the bottom of the cup of the nations' despair! I--I, Shijiro Arisuga, will bring it--lead it--to victory with my flag! I! For my father's ghosts will fight with me. That is what we need! The ghosts of our ancestors! Who can vanquish them? And, O ye augustnesses,--" he addressed the spirits of his own ancestors,--"bring it about! For ye--ye alone can vanquish this upstart foe. And ye must--ye _must_ permit me to make for my father the red death! Ye must--ye must." Do you not see that he was gone quite mad? Yet every insane word was a stabbing accusation upon the soul of Hoshiko, for whom it had all been. And she fancied that she was no more worth the sacrifice than was one of the morning-glories which were now only a memory. For she was now as pale, as sad, as evanescent and fleeting, as they: those morning-glories in their garden in happy China, unto whose beauty in the dewy morning she had once been wont to liken her life with this mad Arisuga. Unto whose beauty he had used to liken her! THE SMALL WHITE DEATH XXVII THE SMALL WHITE DEATH He was not called. The war went terribly on. The bewildered giant was buffeted, dismembered, at will by the shy pygmy. All about Shijiro fell the pink tickets, everywhere he met his mad, happy countrymen hurrying to the seaports, looking askance, but nothing came to him. Perhaps it was this. Perhaps it was too much work, exposure, and anxiety. Perhaps too little food. Perhaps all of these together. But presently he was in an hospital with his temperature at a hundred and five. Hoshiko was there always. And sometimes he forgot the harshness of his later life and fancied that it was again that day he first saw her by the Forbidden City. So he would live again through all that happy life until he came to the battle--whence he always came. Often in his fancy he was in the very presence of that glorious death he had sworn to die. Then Hoshiko was forgotten again. And presently she went out of his sick mind as she had long since gone out of his shattered life, and nothing but battle lived there. She did not strive to recall herself by so much as a touch. So the gods wished it to be; this was their will. She had entered upon her eternal penance for happiness, and she did not again question its time or place or form. The happiness was gone. It could return no more. But with the sense that she had impiously raped her joy from the heavens themselves came the exultation that not even the gods could ever take that from her. It had been. She had had it. He knew, one day, in a sane moment, that he was not leading armies to battle and himself to the great crimson death, but with an immense horror that he was confined within four deadly white walls, upon a narrow cot, not the damp, blood-stricken earth. That there were no belching cannons in front of him, no hell of hoarse shouts behind him, no curses and death-groans about him, but quiet, terrible, maddening, only the still, small white death of women and children. He leaped up to fly from it and made this small death all the more sure. No prayers to his father, none to the augustnesses, none to the myriad gods availed. There he saw the still small white death of women closing down upon him while he lay inert, bound to his bed. "This is my punishment," he whispered to her in anathema; "this is my punishment for taking you and forgetting him. Yes, even the gate of the Meido will be closed on me. I am not fit to meet my father. He must still wait. And for whom? There is only I! Only I can redeem him! And I must first descend--and cleanse my sinning face in the waters--the hot, hot waters of the hells! And when, after many lives, I meet my father--" His mind could not endure the horror of this. But he turned his fury upon her. "For you," he cried, "such a thing as you! Eta, jigoku onna! Hell woman! Yes, you came to me in the form of a goddess. But the hell woman does that. And now that death is here my vision sees through that and you are a skeleton with talons--with a beak--with hell's hollow laughter--the devils sent you to tempt me and I fell--and am lost--my father's soul is lost--and you laugh--" Alas! she did not laugh--she sobbed. For that was one of the days when the flesh was weak. "Yes," she said, "I tempted you; I am all you say!" He fell into coma then and remembered no more: leaving her here on earth with those fearful words in her heart to remember which had loved him only too well. Sometimes she half believed them. Once she crept from his side to look in the glass. She saw no talons or beak, but a wanness which, indeed, suggested a skeleton. He knew, before his wits left him, that the objective of the Guards was the Yalu. And now he fancied himself gloriously leading them. But half-sane moments came in which he would again suspect the four white walls. "Gods!" he whispered hoarsely, in one of these, "am I going to the small white death of women and children? Have I only dreamed that I was still leading them?" "No," said his wife. "This is the dream--these white walls. You are to die the great red death. God has told me." "Is it so?" He gazed distractedly about and still thought he saw the walls. "It is as I say." He gripped her hands. "By all the gods?" "By all the gods," she swore. Then, again, for the last time, came full delirium--and again it came in red. "You have told me true!" he shouted. "There the devils come! On, on, on! Banzai! On! Nippon Denji! On! Ah, my sword slips at the handle--it is red! And the staff of my flag, too! A little earth!" He rubbed his palms on the bed covers as if they were the ground, and clenched his hands again. "Ah, now we are on them! Mutsushima! Up, up, up! Too early to die! You have not killed enough! Up, Banzai! The gods will not redeem your samurai vow with so few dead enemies of the emperor to your credit!" Then he must have been struck. "Father! Father!" he cried, and held out his hands. After that he lay as one dead for a long time, then woke with slow doubt to find himself still without the heavens. "I have not killed enough. That is it. There must be many more before I can see my father's face. Many more because--because I married an eta--yes, an eta seduced me. Did you know her? She was a hell woman. She kept me from my father. Did you know her?" He stared up at her with half recollection, and then went on to his battles. In one of them he lost his colors. No one has ever suffered a sharper agony than he--until they were retaken. "But--the flag! The flag! I am hit! Here! Not much! Gods in the skies! There it is! They have it! The cursed dogs! They have touched it! Defiled it! Come with me--Kondo--Musima--Tani--Ichimon--now! At them!" And she knew that he had retaken the flag and was bringing it gloriously back; each act was faithfully fought. But then he missed it. He looked in his hands. "Do you see my flag?" "Yes," she cajoled, "it is here." But she did not convince him, and he slept under his opium unhappily. He thought sometimes that the enemy had again taken it. When he awoke next morning, still unhappy and in doubt (he had not forgotten it), the flag was in his hand. There was not one in America for the little wife. But that night she made one. He shouted with sudden strength as he gripped it and kept it in his hands until they could feel no more. And then with it lashed to the foot of his bed he lived the little remnant of his life in its glory, and in sight of its crimson and white went out--mad with the supremest ecstasy a Japanese can know--out in the great red death to another reincarnation, at what, for the fourth time, he must have thought the happiest moment of his life. And then--shall I tell it?--his call came. And a letter from Zanzi, now a general commanding a brigade. Almost as one would write of love, he wrote. "Come back, eta," it said joyously; "we need you now. You shall not go to the Hakodate men. Every one of us clamors for you at the colors. Come! It is war. Your doctrine prevails. There are now neither samurai nor eta, but only sons of the emperor. Come! We are going to a glorious victory. Take your share. Your penance is complete. Your exile is finished. Come, the emperor himself calls his sons to die for him! Come! The flag waits. Come! "ZANZI." "PRESENT FOR DUTY" XXVIII "PRESENT FOR DUTY" OF Hoshiko I do not speak--I have not spoken--in these last days. I cannot. I am near her heart as I write. She for whom everything had been had nothing--was eternally to have nothing. Yet it remained for her now to make all that be which would have been--but for her. The way of the gods was quite plain. There was no oath to this effect, no tragic undertaking before the mysterious gods. It became simply her life. Nothing else was possible with the existences which remained but to make all true which ought to be true--which would have been true--but for her happiness. She had had that, and now was to come the recompense which the gods always demanded. And the plan of it had not consciously grown; it had been there--inside--always. Save that when she knew he was to die the small white death, all the details formulated themselves in her mind there at his side, fixed, she had no doubt, by the gods. We know now that the war was fought to its end in the council chambers in Tokyo long before that torpedo sank the "Tsarevitch." This is the curious fashion of the Eastern mind: to see the end before the beginning. So now all that was to follow formed itself in the mind of Hoshiko as if it were already done and she saw it not from the beginning but from the end. The means to make it be would have puzzled us. They puzzled her not at all. She knew that suffering lay there; but no suffering could matter if the end was achieved and that was safe. In due time General Zanzi received a cable, saying:-- "Keep colors. Coming. "SHIJIRO ARISUGA." Then Hoshiko went to the house of Moncure Jones for the second time. The place of horror to her. That day she dressed once more in her best kimono,--she had always kept the white one,--and put the new kanzashi again in her hair, (which you will remember Arisuga bought for her the day after she had knocked on his shoji,) and painted her face and eyes to hide their hollowness, and put upon her dainty little body the last of the "flower perfume"--which every Japanese girl saves from her marriage for her burial so that she may appear fittingly as a bride indeed before the gods above. In this matter Jones must be propitiated--made sure. She did not forget their last parting. So she went to him arrayed and adorned as she had once meant to go before the gods. And she remembered again, and was repeating their last adjuration to fealty as she stepped upon the sill of Jones's door, those forty-seven ronins whose wives lent themselves to harlotry that their husbands might the better achieve their cause. Are they not upon brass to-day, though a thousand years have passed? Are their wives not properly forgotten? So when she had come to Jones's house she smiled and was very gay, like a woman of joy, as she had often read had been the way of the wives of the forty-seven, and said:-- "You wish me?" "Wish you!" cried the delighted Jones. "I have never wished for anything so much in all my life. I have never missed any one so much. It was beastly of you to go away in that fashion. I haven't married yet." Hoshiko was very impatient inside, but outside she smiled. "You wish me?" she repeated. "Yes! But that beastly husband of yours, with his knives--" "He--is--dead," said the little woman, forcing each word out of her heart with agony, laughing shrilly at the end like a creature of pleasure. "Ha, ha!" laughed Jones. "Ha, ha, ha," echoed Hoshiko. "You're as glad as I am!" "Yes," smiled Hoshiko. "Sure he's dead?" "By your large God!" swore the laughing wife. "Oh! I understand. And believe you, too! All right, my little Japanese doll," cried the delighted Jones. "Here's money." What followed I may not tell: save that Hoshiko made a cold bargain--Jones calls it his Japanese marriage to this day,--whereby she got a great deal of money in a short time. The next day Zanzi got this cable:-- "Keep colors. Starting. "SHIJIRO ARISUGA." Presently (it seemed years, but it was only a little while) the time was come, and Hoshiko cut her hair, rubbed her face each morning with a rough brush, put on Arisuga's uniform, pinned his medal over her heart, and sent her last cable:-- "Keep colors. Aboard. "SHIJIRO ARISUGA." And so it was that the morning the Imperial Guards started for the Yalu, Shijiro Arisuga, though dead in America, answered to his name at Sendai. But how that was accomplished, I must stop my story to tell. THE REINCARNATION OF SHIJIRO ARISUGA XXIX THE REINCARNATION OF SHIJIRO ARISUGA For I think that you will wish to know what Hoshiko did to appear learned in the trade of the soldier before she joined the Guards. But it is not easy. For I am very near her now. And the satin hands must be as leather; the tiny feet must often leave their prints in blood on the snow; the plump, pink cheeks must be pounded into caverns and scarred with wounds; the nails must be deliberately torn and broken from the exquisite hands; the beautiful hair must be shorn. And last and hardest to tell, in her forehead must be made a ragged scar like that Arisuga got at Pekin--the one which had brought him to her. That I shall tell first--the making of the wound. For a long time she studied it. This all men knew and it must be perfect. Once she mistrusted her own skill and went to see a surgeon. She showed him the picture of Arisuga and asked whether he could reproduce his wound upon herself. But immediately the doctor began to be wary. For he was a doctor like all other doctors, and when confronted with a thing unusual--one which no other doctor had put into the books--he was not wise. "Ugly women," he said, "have often asked me to make them pretty. But this is the first time, in a somewhat extended practice, that I have had a pretty one ask me to make her ugly. Tell me the reason for it, and perhaps I can convince you that such beauty as the creator graciously gives us ought to be preserved, not destroyed, for it is more rare than you think." But while he opened his case for some instrument of exploration, Hoshiko fled--so quietly and swiftly that when he turned he wondered if she had ever been there. Yes, there was in the air the flower perfume with which she had anointed her pretty body for his offices. Of course she could run no such risk again. She must do it herself. So for long she thought upon wounds and woundings. How they were made; how they were healed; how that one of Arisuga's had been made; how it was healed: it was a sabre, and it had cut--so. Then it had been stitched so--very carelessly she had thought every time she saw it. She was entirely capable of striking herself with a sabre; but through long reasoning she understood that she would not be likely to reproduce the precise form of Arisuga's wound. Though this was necessary, there was only one chance in many thousands of accomplishing it. She finally knew that she must do it carefully, slowly--very slowly. There would be none of the ecstasy of the battle. Arisuga had often told her that he had never felt the wound until it was healed. That, in fact, he would not have known that he was struck but for the blood in his eyes. But she must do it as one argues a thing. Do you understand the difference? Can you see how a wound received in hot carnage and one slowly carved in one's own flesh may differ? Be sure that Hoshiko understood all this. But she could not in America. It seemed an alien thing to do in a country which would only have misunderstood and perhaps have laughed. It needed her native soil and atmosphere, and ancestors and gods, to make the undertaking simple. Besides, while she was studying the making of the wound, steam and wind were taking her home. It was there, in the little deserted house, still deserted, where they had lived so happily those few days, that everything seemed fortunate. And so there, after much preparation, she did it--all in one tortured day. Early in the morning she sat down before her little round mirror. She knew what she was to suffer. But she neither shrank from it nor sought to mitigate its agony. First she prayed the gods--very long. Then she set his picture before her. Then she washed--very clean. Then she made very sharp the little toilet sword. Then she bound her body with many towels and made the first incision bravely. But she had not well calculated the agony of such slow self-wounding. Her senses slowly left her as if to protest against what she did. It was long before her hands would return to their office of self-mutilation. Yet no matter how weak the flesh was, the spirit always drove the hands back to their office until it was done--and well done--to the stitches--to the anointing--to the binding--the destruction of the quivering parts of herself. Can you fancy her there on the floor before the little mirror which had once told back to her all her loveliness, with that little sword deliberately carving out of her own beautiful flesh with her own hand Arisuga's horrid badge of honor? She knew it so well that she limned it in her forehead as faithfully as had the Chinese sabre in his. You could not--no one could--have told the difference. There was a curious curve upward at the end, and a thickened cicatrice, as if it had been carelessly gathered up by the surgeon's needle. These she made with her own needle. And then for many days she lay clutching her mattress, not moving for fear the contour of the wound might be marred. That was a splendid morning to her--it would have been one of horror to you--when she could crawl from the futons and know by the glass that his wound was set forever in its place on her forehead. She did not observe that her face was vague and shadowy; her eyes saw nothing but that. Why should they see anything more? Yet, and I must tell you this, she did see something else, presently, as she looked, day after day. The face she saw only vaguely, at first, in her weakness, as she watched the growing into beauty of the wound, was gradually not hers. And then it seemed that behind her own a shadow face hovered. Presently she knew it for the face of Shijiro Arisuga. Then slowly her own face passed away and his was there. The difference was quite clear--it was his. And in that way she knew that the pitying gods had fully granted and completed her a reincarnation without death, and that she was no longer Hoshiko, but Arisuga. Shall you be glad to know further that when she answered to the name of Shijiro Arisuga that morning at Sendai, (on that same Miyagi Field, where Shijiro had been decorated!) all that had been the Lady Hoshi was no more? That she was like the rest of them--a ruffian? That she had an oath or two, that her voice was harsh, her words which once flowed like pleasant water few and terrible? But she had to sing his songs, to be gay as he had been, and to be beloved as he had been. And all these things she accomplished, even to his songs, which fled through smiling lips--laughing, shouting lips--over the graves within. For the woman always remained in some subconscious fashion, and it was upon the rebellious singing of his songs more than anything else that this latent Lady Hoshi awoke. Yet I am certain that you will like to be told, since it must have been, that this made no difference; she made no mistakes. That she did no discredit to Shijiro Arisuga. That, in fact, in a fashion difficult to fathom, save by the doctrine of reincarnation, so had she become him in all matters of action that she never even thought of herself as Hoshiko. She was Shijiro Arisuga--when there was to be fighting--and always had been. And this was no easy thing for such a flower as Hoshiko. For Arisuga had been a man. So that, as one thinks on it, one is not irreparably offended at the possibility of Hoshiko, by a living reincarnation, having become another being. How do we know? And, how else could she have accomplished it? But putting aside all possible differences concerning that, in this rejoice: the sun-flag was never borne with greater daring! ZANZI, LOVER OF BATTLES XXX ZANZI, LOVER OF BATTLES At Tokyo there was a contest between the Hakodate regiment and the Guards for the color-bearer who had been decorated by the emperor. Hoshiko wished to go on--mad as Arisuga once was for the fight. (Perhaps we had better call her Arisuga from this on? Yet, you may then forget that she was Hoshiko; you may forget that each moment was a new expiation for happiness. No, we shall continue to call her Hoshiko--that you may remember.) Said General Zanzi:-- "Stay where you are, you little fool. The Guards will move first. We are going to the greatest victory a nation ever won. Do you want to be left behind--come when it is won, and march in parade order over the field? You used to fight, you infernal little eta. What is the matter with you now? Look at me." She did this fearlessly, for the gods were at her elbow. "You--you--What is the matter?" "Nothing," said Hoshiko. "You don't seem quite the Arisuga I banished to America. But then the Americans have changed you, I suppose. They are a melancholy lot and have made you so, eh? Of course, if you are less brave than you were, the Guards don't want you. Go to the Hakodate men." "I am not less brave," smiled Hoshiko, with a salute. "And I prefer the Guards." "Well, I ought to have known that. Come! Drink with me." He produced a bottle of the foreign sort, and poured her a libation of terrible brandy. She drank what she could of it and managed to spill the rest as he drank. "Sing!" But he gave her no opportunity. "Oh, these burly idiots!" he cried, hot and merry with the brandy. "It is only ten years and they have already forgot! They do not know that since Shimenoseki we have prepared for this. They do not know that they have not a secret from us. They do not know that the whole course of the war is already planned here--here--by Japan. And that as it is planned so it will be fought. Their navy first--every ship of it. Port Arthur next. Mukden! Saghalien! Vladivostock! We will meet them at the Yalu--do you hear? At the Yalu, near Wiju, where we met the Chinese in 1894, only to be robbed of victory by these Russian louts! We are decoying them to the tryst now as we did the Chinese. They will not steal our winning this time. They will pay! We shall meet them at the Yalu. And we shall meet but once there. There will not be a battlefield we will not ourselves choose. Nor a time to battle which we shall not fix. Oh, they call us little men--us! But, by the immortal gods, they will know, presently, that souls are measured not by size. They call us few; but they fail to reckon the myriad spirits of our ancestors, all the augustnesses who will fight with us, direct our bullets, lead our assaults with a knowledge which they, born of beasts, cannot have. Eta, we shall meet them at the Yalu. Wait here till you are transferred. Then on with us. Banzai!" They laughed together, and Zanzi went out, singing of carnage as if he were beneath the window of his lady, with a samisen. THE TOMB OF LORD ESAS XXXI THE TOMB OF LORD ESAS It was but two days. Yet in that time Hoshiko hastened to all the dear places where he had gone in the days he had told her of--when he held the hand of Yoné instead of hers. It was on the second day, in the evening, at Shiba, that some one spoke his name behind her. The voice was a woman's--that she at once knew. And also at once, in that strange intelligence which we have of the spirit and not of any teaching, she knew that this was Yoné--and that she had not forgotten all and married (as they had laughingly fancied), but was still waiting, as she had said. And suddenly for a moment, only a moment, she was no longer Arisuga the color-bearer, but again a woman of those who know the terror and weariness of hopeless waiting--such as only women, and never men, know. And she remembered. It was ten years. Yet this faithful one had waited while she had had her happiness. And what should she do? There was little question of that. Here she was confronted with the evidence of how she had destroyed the gods' balance by taking her overdue of joy, leaving to Yoné an overdue of sorrow, and was given the opportunity to restore, in some part, the account. But how? It was quite plain upon the briefest reflection. She must be to her, also, Arisuga. She must touch her as he had done, take her hands as he once did, and then--perhaps--perhaps--Yoné would be comforted and she might go. For that moment she was a woman only--only Hoshiko--and the tears ran down her face. Now she might not turn. What? Tears on the face of a rough soldier! "Shijiro," Yoné was saying to Hoshiko's back, "I have waited--waited all the years. Yet had they been ten times ten they are all blotted out by this moment. Oh, the gods have been true, as they always are! I prayed them, and they let me know that they would bring you to me if I would but wait patiently. Turn and look at me. See whether I am grown too old for you to touch once more. See whether my hands are yet fit for yours. I have prayed Benten to keep me young and make me beautiful against this moment of your coming. And every day--every day, Ani-San--I have come here, whether it rained or the sun shone--every day--here or at Mukojima--or the other dear places of our youth. And yet my sandals are not worn, my kimono is new--see, because ever I renewed them, remembering that you liked me always so. Will you not look, beloved? Yoné will not trouble you if you do not wish. She will let you go and will wait still." Hoshiko slowly turned. Yoné stepped back from her. So they stood a moment at gaze. Hoshiko saw a creature as small and fragile as she herself had once been, and more beautiful she thought--much more beautiful. Yoné saw a soldier whose face she knew, but whose soul, at first, was strange. "I am Shijiro Arisuga," said Hoshiko. "Yes," breathed Yoné, "wait. There is something strange. Something I did not expect. Is it the years? Yes. But your voice is more gentle though less gay." "I can make it harsh," smiled Hoshiko. "Nay!" cried Yoné, still at gaze. "Did you know me? Did you know my voice?" "Yes," said Hoshiko. "And you have a scar--you have fought." "In many battles." "Yet the gods did not send you the great red death, but sent you to me, as I prayed." "Yes." "It is all the gods' will." Twilight had fallen and Yoné came confidently closer. "Will you walk with me as we used? It is the gods' will!" "Yes." "Will you take my hand?" "Yes." As Hoshiko felt the small hand curl in hers the tears fell again from her eyes. But they could not be seen now and she let them fall. Nor need she talk and thus betray herself. Yoné had lost all fear in the giving of her hand and now chattered on. "Come--to the tomb of Lord Esas, where we made the seat of a stone and moss. It is there yet. I have kept it as it was. Often I have sat there. Only once before were we here at night--hiding, as perhaps we shall to-night, when the watchman comes with his lantern and staff. Shall we go to the tomb of Lord Esas, beloved?" "Yes," said Hoshiko. "You speak as if you wept--and, when you turned, your face looked as if you had wept. Oh, it looked for a moment like a woman's--and not a soldier's! Soldiers do not weep." "Soldiers weep. I do." "Ani-San! For me?" "For you." "The waiting?" "The waiting." "But, then, weep no more, Ani-San. I am here--at your side. All the waiting is forgot. Blotted out by this one great moment. And perhaps--Here is the seat. Is it not all as it was? Though it is ten years--ten years of weary waiting. Here you sat, always, here I sat. And we are grown too old now to change." She laughed timorously, and when Hoshiko had seated herself where Arisuga had once sat, she took her place as if there were no years between this and that. Then she went on:-- "--perhaps, to-night, you will be as sweet as you were on that other night--when--Do you remember?" "I remember," said Hoshiko. "But we have no samisen. Yet I can sing--if you ask me--" "Sing." "--the song of 'The Moon-and-the-Stork,' which we ourselves made--here--where the moon looked down upon us. See, it knows. It knows you are come. There it passes above the great criptomeria now. And--and--oh, it is an omen of all good! A stork flies over its face. Or it is a branch of the tree? No matter, the omen is the same, Ani-San; all is as it was, is it not?" "All is as it was, beloved," whispered Hoshiko. Yoné came diffidently closer at the dear word. "When I sang that night I was in your arms--" The arms of Hoshiko closed about the girl at her side almost with violence. "That is it," she cried happily, nesting there. "Yes, that is quite it. Don't you remember how your violence frightened me until you explained that it was love? And we laughed. Now we are sad. We used to laugh then. And you could not play the samisen because I was in your arms. And I would not get out of them. So that I sang without the samisen that night. Therefore, all will be quite the same if I sing to-night without it. You have not forgotten the Moon-and-the-Stork song?" "No"--for Arisuga had often sung it to her. Then she sang:-- "O moon get out of my way," said the stork, "O stork get out of my light," said the moon. "I will not," said the stork, "I will not," said the moon: So that is why the stork is in the light of the moon, And that is why the moon is in the way of the stork. It was a little voice, with no great melody, but well fitted for so frail a theme. Hoshiko joined her, stumbling upon a word, at which Yoné chided her for forgetting, laughed happily and crept yet closer. Then she said, after a silence:-- "Now!" "What?" asked Hoshiko; for that she did not know. "Oh, have you forgotten--have you forgotten? That also? Alas--alas! After the song you spoke of--" Her pretty head was burrowed deeply into the space beneath Hoshiko's chin. "What?" Hoshiko had to ask again. "Of marriage," whispered the girl, in terror. And the terror of Hoshiko was no less than that of Yoné. "You said, you swore by this sacred tomb of a hero, that if the gods did not send you the red death we should be married one to the other--" "But, beloved," breathed Hoshiko, in further terror, "I am still a soldier, still bound to the great red death. I am here but this day. To-morrow, this night yet, I go to battle. Would you wish me to marry you and at once go to the field?" "Yes," whispered the girl. "And, perchance, fall and never return?" "Yes." "So that you will be a widow with blackened teeth?" "Yes." Hoshiko made no other protest. What had been first considered with a certain horror, seemed beautiful and merciful to this love-lorn maiden now. She need never know. She would live and die thinking herself married to Arisuga. At her death she would cut her hair and hang it at a shrine, and always keep the lamps alight, and always pray for the soul of Shijiro Arisuga. It was the way of the gods; and, as always, the way of the gods was best, was beautiful! WHEN THE WATCH PASSED XXXII WHEN THE WATCH PASSED "Sh! sh!" whispered Yoné, suddenly, and crushed her small hand upon Hoshiko's mouth. It was the watchman with staff and lantern, crying weirdly in the night. He passed near. He paused nearer. Yoné drew a bit of shrubbery before them. "I heard a song, by all the gods I heard a foolish song in this sacred place of tombs. Come forth," he cried aloud, "he who sings foolishly in a sacred place, come forth and be punished of the gods so that you may repent! Otherwise your punishment will wait until you are unready for it." Now he moved on. His voice came muttering back:-- "Come forth, come forth! I heard a song, an unholy song in the sacred place of tombs." Yoné let the bush return and laughed happily in the arms of Hoshiko. "Oh, is it not all as it was, beloved? It is the same watchman--older. And they are the same, almost the same, words--more eery. And we are close, close--as we were then. Oh, it is divine to be close with you! So--so, my beloved, another omen! Everything else is as it was. Shall not we be?" Hoshiko was silent. "Be not afraid, beloved," Yoné said. "I will be true always until we meet in the heavens. Always I will be your widow with blackened teeth if you fall--my hair blowing at a shrine. Think! But for me there will be no one to keep the lamps alight before you if you die--but for me. And I--they shall never fail. For, if you fall, I will wait as I have done--keeping the lamps, hoping that you will hold out your hand in the black Meido when I pass to death, and that then we shall, somehow, never part. Oh, beloved, there have been suitors and suitors and always suitors! The nakado has worn bare the mat at the door. But was I not yours? How could I listen to any one else? And the wedding garments are all ready. And there is no one to stay us but the old deaf Hana, who will not even hear. If you must go quickly, to-night, there is the foreign minister--there is the new registry office--" "And for this," said Hoshiko, "the few words of a foreign priest, nine cups of saké, a line in the registry office, you will give up your dear life to me?" "I will give up all my souls--all my hope of a rest at last in Buddha's bosom if I must. Oh, Shijiro Arisuga, for this I have waited until it seemed that I could wait no more. Give it to me now--this night--before you go!" "O love," whispered Hoshiko, "what is like you in all the earths, in all the heavens! There is no other miracle but you alone. Come! My hour is almost here. But were it already past, and though a soldier but obeys the hours, yet you should be a wife before I go." And even to that moment Hoshiko had not known how Yoné yearned for that one word to be added to her. Suddenly she grovelled on the earth and caught the hands and knees of her who had been wife to him they both loved. "All the gods bless you--all the gods--for giving me that one name. For in all the earths and heavens together there is none so sweet as--wife to Shijiro Arisuga." And there, that night, Hoshiko married little Yoné. "Now go and die," she wept at farewell, "and here I will wait--wait, until I, also, die--wait for that touch of your spirit on my arm, wait for your hand in the dark Meido. But if you do not die? if the gods are not ready yet for you--you will come?" "I will come again," said Hoshiko, weeping, too, which was strange for a soldier. And there they parted, only a moment after they were married, and Hoshiko was ordered to join the Guards and hurry to the Yalu, where their prey was fattening. TEIKOKU BANZAI XXXIII TEIKOKU BANZAI Then, at last, after three months of marching and wading and six days of fighting, they faced the Russian intrenchments at that place beyond Wiju, which some call, to this day, Hamatan, but which is Yujuho. And the Imperial Guards were there. Shijiro Arisuga, if he were there, also, must have observed with joy that the Guards had the right of the line and would reach the Russian intrenchments first--perhaps off toward Kiuliencheng, where the battery of six pieces was still stubbornly firing. He would know that the Guards must give many happy ones their opportunity for the great red death. Perhaps he could, then, see far enough into the future to know that his own regiment would have the advance and be cut to pieces. It would hurl itself straight upon those stubborn guns. They would tear bloody lanes in its ranks. And Hoshiko would be in the forefront of it. Kuroki's artillery ceased, Zassuliche's ceased, and that stillness which the soldier knows for the prelude to the assault fell. The two shots from the right was the advance. Zanzi raised his hand, and into the smoke raced Hoshiko with the colors. And she did not forget Arisuga's glory--nor his father's--nor that dream of his when the small white death was closing down upon him. She understood that he was there. And not only he. His ancestors were looking on--the stately samurai. And hers--the humble eta. His father whom she here redeemed. The emperor with his thousand eyes. The myriads of the gods. The army. The world. The heavens! Yet she forgot nothing which Arisuga had taught her. She went forward with two others. To her right, to her left, were other threes zigzagging onward. But always she was in their front--steadily, carefully, almost to where the battery of six pieces had fixed a point to reach her, as she passed. There her three dropped and dug. And there they rested until the battery lost them. Up then and out again till the gunners once more noted her like a moving lump of earth and corrected their elevation in her favor. And so twice more. At the last she dared to look back. Behind her stretched two lines of trenches. In the nearest a little fringe of rifle muzzles already showed. She had brought these there. Further back was a thin line of blue racing for the first trenches. She had set these going. Still further back the army in vast masses of blue was moving into position from behind the willows on the bank of the river. And these waited also upon the little sun-flag on which Hoshiko lay. She felt for the first time the soldier's ecstasy, and she understood better and forgave more the latter years of Arisuga. She and her two had rested, and had made of their chain of holes a shallow trench. They meant to dig this deeper for those who were to come after them. But the two vast armies they had set in motion began to move with accelerated speed toward each other, and they stopped the trench where it was. There would be no more digging. Any one might see that. The Russian battery had again found them. One of the guns was exploding shrapnel over their heads. The rest were trying for the thin blue line further back. The willows which yet hid the army were too far away. The moment was ripe. Hoshiko threw aside the spade and everything else which might impede action, and went toward the battery. From behind her rose the hoarse mongolian yell she had learned to love. There was no need now for concealment. Their own guns had located the battery in her front. A wicked shell had just burst over it. She could hear the song of the fragments. And but three men stood by the gun afterward. The little figure with the sun-flag raced down upon them, firing. It was quite alone. The three gave her a weak, magnanimous cheer and retired, leaving their gun. Her own men answered from the rear. And even amid the "Banzais" she could hear the wild song of Arisuga. One line clanged in her mad brain:-- "Death-wound spurting--" Further up the hill a single rapid-fire gun which knew her only as an enemy came into action. It found her at once and riddled her with bullets, as, flag in hand, she leaped into the first of the Russian trenches. That line was in her last articulate consciousness:-- "Death-wound spurting--" Perhaps it only remained in her ears--Arisuga's song. But she fancied that she could feel her own warm blood spurting into her own face. Was it as glorious as he had thought it? Or was it only terrible? At that moment, first, she knew. Perhaps she became in that last instant all woman once more. Perhaps she saw something not for mortal eyes. Perhaps she was not as brave with death as she had taught herself to be--gentle Hoshiko! Her lips moaned, piteously, when she ought to have been dead, "Arisuga!" So that one of the two who had gone forward with her bent hastily and said to the other, with a pleasant smile:-- "He speaks his own name!" "Nembutsu," answered the other. "Take the flag." The first one tried, but it held fast in her hand. "There is no need," he said; "the battle is won. Let him keep it!" But they covered her face. For the peace, the ecstasy, of a glorious death was not on it! What did she learn in that death-instant? Others caught at the flag. But her hand held it fast. So that when that dense line of blue which she had started from the willows reached her, at first it parted chivalrously at the flag and passed on either side. But at last it could not part. Some one trod upon the little color-bearer. Then many. The thick-massed line passed over her. It could not be helped. Some one took the flag from her hand and planted it on the Russian redoubt. At last she seemed but part of the earth beneath their feet, and they who trod on her did not even look down. AFTERWARD XXXIV AFTERWARD Afterward there was a great funeral. The hillside was a temple. The summer blue was its roof. The jagged mountains were its eaves. Evergreen trees were its walls. A torii made of firs was its gate. Blossoming trees held the gohei strips which pledged purity to the august shades which waited near. The altar was of rifles and a soldier's blanket. The offerings were the vapors of the simple grains and flowers, of the country. Beyond it was the great pyre--not grim, as death is, but more beautiful than that on which Dido perished, adorned, perfumed, with aromatic spring firs and blossoming trees. In the temple, first, the shades of those who had fought with them were worshipped and exalted by the brocaded priests. Then fealty was sworn to those who had just died, and whose shades yet lingered by their greatest incarnation. Last, Nisshi read the names of those who had died with glory. And first among them was that of Shijiro Arisuga. Then with others they put the blackened, riven little body they had found, upon the pyre, and, lighting it, gave Hoshiko's ashes to the earth, her spirit to oblivion, and Arisuga's name to honor. It began the next day. Shijiro Arisuga was in the Tokyo newspapers, upon the dead walls, and in the hoarse voices of the people. It was a story like the terrible courage of their old warriors, and they loved it. His medal was hung in a temple. And to-day there is a record of his heroism, on the brass where it can never fade--though Shijiro Arisuga lies dead, unknown, in America. And that was the fifth time that Shijiro Arisuga must have thought the happiest moment of his life had come. And now we may speculate a little, before we forget, upon this last of the five occasions. For there may be those who think that Shijiro could not have been happy in seeing what he saw that day. But we are to remember that, then, he had knowledge of many things which he had not on earth. And among these was a more intimate knowing of the heart of Hoshiko. And in that, it seems to me, he ought to have been happiest of all. Yet--who knows? Perhaps, too, the merciful gods permitted themselves to be deceived into thinking that the Shijiro Arisuga who died at Hamatan is, indeed, the one who died at Jokoji. For the life name is the same. Or perhaps they are only complaisant, and, in the passing years, will permit the people to think that this is so. Who knows? At all events, Shijiro Arisuga, father and son, will take their way hand in hand from the dark Meido to the heavens. And for these some one will reverently write a splendid death name upon a golden tablet at a beautiful shrine. And before it will burn always the lights and the incense. Perhaps this happiness will be for gentle Yoné. Perhaps the spirit of her who died at Hamatan, in its boundless compassion, will also come and touch the little Yoné on the arm as she wanders, lonely, by the tomb of Lord Esas, so that she, too, may have her heart's desire, and only one, she who bought her happiness with an eternity of obliteration, have nothing. For, who knows? And one wishes it were possible for Shijiro to have defied O-Emma of the hells and to have taken Hoshiko straight from the great red death, past all the lesser heavens, to be forever lost in the bosom of the Lord Buddha in the lotus fields--if the souls of mortals ever fly straight from earth to the last white heaven. But this could not be. There was that eternal penance for over-joy to accomplish. For Hoshiko there never can be again, in the heavens above or on the earth beneath or the hells below, a being. All her existences--all her thousands of years of life--whether of the earths or the heavens or the hells, were given for Shijiro Arisuga, whom she loved--and who once, for a little while, loved her. Shijiro Arisuga lives, and the father in the son will live on the brass forever. The Dream-of-a-Star is forever vanished, save for the moment I write here--save for the moment you read here. Transcriber's note: The following have been changed: Myagi=>Miyagi Damashi=>Damashii 
13831	----	Proofreading Team. EVOLUTION OF THE JAPANESE +----------------------------------------------------------------+ | THE GROWTH OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD | | By | | | | SIDNEY L. GULICK, M.A. | | | | Illustrated with Twenty-six Diagrams _12 mo, Cloth, $1.50_ | | | | "Commends itself to thoughtful, earnest men of any nation as a | | most valuable missionary paper. Mr. Gulick traces the | | Christian religion through history and up to now. The survey | | is calm, patient, thoroughly honest, and quietly assured." | | --_Evangelist_. | | | | FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY | | | | Publishers | | | +----------------------------------------------------------------+ EVOLUTION OF THE JAPANESE _SOCIAL AND PSYCHIC_ BY SIDNEY L. GULICK, M.A. _Missionary of the American Board in Japan_ [Illustration] NEW YORK CHICAGO TORONTO Fleming H. Revell Company LONDON AND EDINBURGH New York: 158 Fifth Avenue Chicago: 63 Washington Street Toronto: 27 Richmond Street, W. London: 21 Paternoster Square Edinburgh: 30 St. Mary Street PREFACE The present work is an attempt to interpret the characteristics of modern Japan in the light of social science. It also seeks to throw some light on the vexed question as to the real character of so-called race-nature, and the processes by which that nature is transformed. If the principles of social science here set forth are correct, they apply as well to China and India as to Japan, and thus will bear directly on the entire problem of Occidental and Oriental social intercourse and mutual influence. The core of this work consists of addresses to American and English audiences delivered by the writer during his recent furlough. Since returning to Japan, he has been able to give but fragments of time to the completion of the outlines then sketched, and though he would gladly reserve the manuscript for further elaboration, he yields to the urgency of friends who deem it wise that he delay no longer in laying his thought before the wider public. To Japanese readers the writer wishes to say that although he has not hesitated to make statements painful to a lover of Japan, he has not done it to condemn or needlessly to criticise, but simply to make plain what seem to him to be the facts. If he has erred in his facts or if his interpretations reflect unjustly on the history or spirit of Japan, no one will be more glad than he for corrections. Let the Japanese be assured that his ruling motive, both in writing about Japan and in spending his life in this land, is profound love for the Japanese people. The term "native" has been freely used because it is the only natural correlative for "foreign." It may be well to say that neither the one nor the other has any derogatory implication, although anti-foreign natives, and anti-native foreigners, sometimes so use them. The indebtedness of the writer is too great to be acknowledged in detail. But whenever he has been conscious of drawing directly from any author for ideas or suggestions, effort has been made to indicate the source. Since the preparation of the larger part of this work several important contributions to the literature on Japan have appeared which would have been of help to the writer, could he have referred to them during the progress of his undertaking. Rev. J.C.C. Newton's "Japan: Country, Court, and People"; Rev. Otis Cary's "Japan and Its Regeneration"; and Prof. J. Nitobe's "Bushido: The Soul of Japan," call for special mention. All are excellent works, interesting, condensed, informative, and well-balanced. Had the last named come to hand much earlier it would have received frequent reference and quotation in the body of this volume, despite the fact that it sets forth an ideal rather than the actual state of Old Japan. Special acknowledgment should be made of the help rendered by my brothers, Galen M. Fisher and Edward L. Gulick, and by my sister, Mrs. F.F. Jewett, in reading and revising the manuscript. Acknowledgment should also be made of the invaluable criticisms and suggestions in regard to the general theory of social evolution advocated in these pages made by my uncle, Rev. John T. Gulick, well known to the scientific world for his contributions to the theory as well as to the facts of biological evolution. S.L.G. MATSUYAMA, JAPAN. CONTENTS INTRODUCTION 13 I. PRELIMINARY CONSIDERATIONS Occidental conceptions of the recent history of Japan--Japan seems to be contradicting our theory of national evolution--Similarities of ancient and modern Japan--Japanese evolution is "natural"--The study of Japanese social evolution is of unusual interest, because it has experienced such marked changes--Because it is now in a stage of rapid growth--And is taking place before our eyes--Also because here is taking place a unique union of Occidental and Oriental civilizations--Comparison between India and Japan, 23 II. HISTORICAL SKETCH Mythology and tradition--Authentic history--Old Japan--The transition from Old to New Japan--New Japan--Compelled by foreign nations to centralize--Ideals and material instruments supplied from abroad--Exuberant Patriotism--"Ai-koku-shin," 35 III. THE PROBLEM OF PROGRESS Is Japan making progress?--Happiness as a criterion--The oppressive rule of militarism--The emptiness of the ordinary life--The condition of woman--"The Greater Learning for Woman"--Divorce--Progress defined--Deficiency of the hedonistic criterion of progress, 52 IV. THE METHOD OF PROGRESS Progress a modern conception and ideal--How was the "cake of custom" broken?--"Government by discussion" an insufficient principle of progress--Two lines of progress, Ideal and Material--The significance of Perry's coming to Japan--Effect on Japan of Occidental ideas--The material element of progress--Mistaken praise of the simplicity of Old Japan, L. Hearn--The significance of the material element of civilization--Mastery of nature--The defect of Occidental civilization, 61 V. JAPANESE SENSITIVENESS TO ENVIRONMENT Our main question--Illustrations--Japanese students abroad--Sensitiveness to ridicule--Advantages and disadvantages of this characteristic--National sensitiveness to foreign criticism--Nudity--Formosa--Mental and physical flexibility--Adjustability--Some apparent exceptions--Chinese ideographs--How account for these characteristics, 72 VI. WAVES OF FEELING--ABDICATION The Japanese are emotional--An illustration from politics--The tendency to run to extremes--Danger of overemphasizing this tendency--Japanese silent dissent--Men of balance in public life--Abdication--Gubbins quoted--Is abdication an inherent trait? 82 VII. HEROES AND HERO-WORSHIP Popular national heroes--The craving for modern heroes--Townsend Harris's insight into Oriental character--Hero-worship an obstacle to missionary work--Capt. Jaynes--An experience in Kumamoto--"The sage of Omi"--"The true hero"--Moral heroes in Japan--The advantage and disadvantage of hero-worship--Modern moral heroes--Hero-worship depends on personality and idealism--The new social order is producing new ideals and new heroes, 89 VIII. LOVE FOR CHILDREN Japanese love for children--Children's festivals--Toys and toy-stores--Do Japanese love children more than Americans do?--Importance in Japan of maintaining the family line--The looseness of the Japanese family tie--Early cessation of demonstrative affection--Infanticide, 96 IX. MARITAL LOVE Affection between husband and wife--Occidental and Oriental estimate of woman contrasted--This a subject easily-misunderstood--Kissing a social habit unknown in Japan--Demonstrative affection a social, not a racial characteristic--Some specific illustrations, Dr. Neesima--A personal experience--Illegitimate children--Fraudulent registration--Adult adoption--Divorce--Monogamy, polygamy, and prostitution--Race character, social order, and affection--Position of women--The social order and affection--The social order and the valuation of man and woman--The new social order and the valuation of man--The spread of Christian ideals and the re-organization of the family, 102 X. CHEERFULNESS--INDUSTRY--TRUTHFULNESS--SUSPICIOUSNESS Japanese cheerfulness--Festivals--Pessimism existent, but easily overlooked--The ubiquity of children gives an appearance of cheerfulness--Industry--Illustrations--Easy-going--Sociological interpretation--Mutual confidence and trustfulness--Relation to communalistic feudalism--Changes in the social order and in character--The American Board's experience in trusting Japanese honor--The Doshisha and its difficulties--Suspiciousness--Necessary under the old social order--The need of constant care in conversation, 115 XI. JEALOUSY--REVENGE--HUMANE FEELINGS Jealousy particularly ascribed to women--How related to the social order--Is jealousy limited to women?--Revenge--Taught as a moral duty--Revenge and the new social order--Are the Japanese cruel?--First impressions--Treatment of the insane--Of lepers--The cruelty and hardness of heart of Old Japan--Buddhistic teaching and practice--Buddhist and Christian Orphan Asylums--Treatment of horses--Torture in Old Japan--Crucifixion and transfixion by spears--Hard-heartedness cultivated under feudalism--Cruelty and the humane feelings in the Occident--Abolition of cruel customs in ancient and in Old Japan--Cruelty a sociological, not a biological characteristic--The rise of humane feelings--Doctors and hospitals--Philanthropy, 127 XII. AMBITION--CONCEIT Ambition, both individual and national--The "Kumamoto Band"--Self-confidence and conceit--Refined in nature--Illustrations in the use of English--Readiness of young men to assume grave responsibilities--A product of the social order--Assumptions of inferiority by the common people--Obsequiousness--Modern self-confidence and assumptions not without ground--Self-confidence and success--Self-confidence and physical size--Young men and the recent history of Japan--The self-confidence and conceit of Western nations--The open-mindedness of most Japanese, 137 XIII. PATRIOTISM--APOTHEOSIS--COURAGE "Yamato-Damashii": "The Soul of Japan"--Patriotism and the recent war with China--Patriotism of Christian orphans--Mr. Ishii--Patriotism is for a person, not for country--National patriotism is modern--Passionate devotion to the Emperor--A gift of 20,000,000 yen to the Emperor--The constitution derives its authority from the Emperor--A quotation from Prof. Yamaguchi--Japanese Imperial succession is of Oriental type--Concubines and children of the reigning Emperor--Apotheosis, Oriental and Occidental--Apotheosis and national unity--The political conflict between Imperial and popular sovereignty--Japanese and Roman apotheosis--Prof. Nash quoted--Courage--Cultivated in ancient times--A peculiar feature of Japanese courage--"Harakiri"--E. Griffis quoted--A boy hero--Relation of courage to social order--Japanese courage not only physical--modern instance of moral courage, 144 XIV. FICKLENESS--STOLIDITY--STOICISM Illustrations of fickleness--Prof. Chamberlain's explanation--Fickleness a modern trait--Continuity of purpose in spite of changes of method--The youth of those on whom responsibility rests--Fluctuation of interest in Christianity not a fair illustration--The period of fluctuation is passing away--Impassiveness--"Putty faces"--Distinguish between stupidity and stoicism--Stupid stolidity among the farmers--Easily removed--Social stolidity cultivated--Demanded by the old social order--The influence of Buddhism in suppressing expression of emotion--An illustration of suppressed curiosity--Lack of emotional manifestations when the Emperor appears in public--Stolidity a social, not a racial trait--A personal experience--The increased vivacity of Christian women--Relations of emotional to intellectual development and to the social order, 159 XV. AESTHETIC CHARACTERISTICS The wide development of the æsthetic sense in Japan--Japanese æsthetic development is unbalanced--The sense of smell--Painting--Japanese art pays slight attention to the human form--Sociological interpretation--The nude in Japanese art--Relation to the social order--Art and immorality--Caricature--Fondness for the abnormal in nature--Abnormal stones--Tosa cocks--Æsthetics of speech--The æsthetic sense and the use of personal pronouns--Deficiency of the æsthetic development in regard to speech--Sociological explanations--Close relation of æsthetics and conduct--Sociological explanation for the wide development of the æsthetic sense--The classes lived in close proximity--The spirit of dependence and imitation--Universality of culture more apparent than real--Defects of æsthetic taste--Defective etiquette--How accounted for--Old and new conditions--"Western taste debasing Japanese art"--Illustration of aboriginal æsthetic defects--Colored photographs--Æsthetic defects of popular shrines--The æsthetics of music--Experience of the Hawaiian people--Literary æsthetic development--Aston quoted--Architectural æsthetic development--Æsthetic development is sociological rather than biological, 170 XVI. MEMORY--IMITATION Psychological unity of the East and the West--Brain size and social evolution--The size of the Japanese brain--Memory--Learning Chinese characters--Social selection and mnemonic power--Japanese memory in daily life--Memory of uncivilized and semi-civilized peoples--Hindu memory--Max Müller quoted--Japanese acquisition of foreign languages--The argument from language for the social as against the biological distinction of races--The faculty of imitation; is not to be despised--Prof. Chamberlain's over-emphasis of Japanese imitation--Originality in adopting Confucianism and Buddhism--"Shinshu"--"Nichirenshu"--Adoption of Chinese philosophy--Dr. Knox's over-emphasis of servile adoption--Our ignorance of Japanese history of thought--A reason for Occidental misunderstanding--The incubus of governmental initiative--Relation of imitation to the social order, 189 XVII. ORIGINALITY--INVENTIVENESS Originality in art--Authoritative suppression of originality--Townsend Harris quoted--Suppression of Christianity and of heterodox Confucianism--Modern suppression of historical research--Yet Japan is not wholly lacking in originality--Recent discoveries and inventions--Originality in borrowing from the West--Quotations from a native paper, 203 XVIII. INDIRECTNESS--"NOMINALITY" "Roundaboutness"--Some advantages of this characteristic--Illustrations--Study of English for direct and accurate habits of thought--Rapid modern growth of directness--"Nominality"--All Japanese history an illustration--The Imperial rule only nominal--The daimyo as a figure-head--"Nominality" in ordinary life--In family relations--Illustrations in Christian work--A "nominal" express train--"Nominality" and the social order, 210 XIX. INTELLECTUALITY Do Japanese lack the higher mental faculties?--Evidence of inventions--Testimony of foreign teachers--Japanese students, at home and abroad--Readiness in public speech--Powers of generalization in primitive Japan--"Ri" and "Ki," "In" and "Yo"--Japanese use of Chinese generalized philosophical terms--Generalization and the social order--Defective explanation of puerile Oriental science--Relation to the mechanical memory method of education--High intellectuality dependent on social order, 218 XX. PHILOSOPHICAL ABILITY Do Japanese lack philosophical ability?--Some opinions--Some distinctions--Japanese interest in metaphysical problems--Buddhist and Confucian metaphysics--Metaphysics and ethics--Japanese students of Occidental philosophy--A personal experience--"The little philosopher"--A Buddhist priest--Rarity of original philosophical ability and even interest--Philosophical ability and the social order in the West, 225 XXI. IMAGINATION Some criticisms of Japanese mental traits--Wide range of imaginative activity--Some salient points--Unbalanced imaginative development--Prosaic matter-of-factness--Visionariness--Impractical idealism--Illustrations--An evangelist--A principal--Visionariness in Christian work--Visionariness in national ambition--Imagination and optimism--Mr. Lowell's opinion criticised--Fancy and imagination--Caricature--Imagination and imitation--Sociological interpretation of visionariness--And of prosaic matter-of-factness--Communalism and the higher mental powers--Suppression of the constructive imagination--Racial intellectual characteristics are social rather than inherent, 233 XXII. MORAL IDEALS Loyalty and filial piety as moral ideals--Quotations from an ancient moralist, Muro Kyuso--On the heavenly origin of moral teaching--On self-control--Knowledge comes through obedience--On the impurity of ancient literature--On the ideal of the samurai in relation to trade--Old Japan combined statute and ethical law--"The testament of Iyeyasu"--Ohashi's condemnation of Western learning for its impiety--Japanese moral ideals were communal--Truthfulness undeveloped--Relations of samurai to tradesman--The business standards are changing with the social order--Ancient Occidental contempt for trade--Plato and Aristotle, 249 XXIII. MORAL IDEALS (_Continued_) The social position of woman--Valuation of the individual--Confucian and Buddhistic teaching in regard to concubinage and polygamy--Sociological interpretation--Japan not exceptional--Actual morality of Old Japan--Modern growth of immorality--Note on the "Social Evil"--No ancient teaching in regard to masculine chastity--Mr. Hearn's mistaken contention--Filial obedience and prostitution--How could the social order produce two different moral ideals?--The new Civil Code on marriage--Divorce--Statistics--Modern advance of woman--Significance of the Imperial Silver Wedding--The Wedding of the Prince Imperial--Relation of Buddhism and Confucianism to moral ideals and practice--The new spirit of Buddhism--Christian influence on Shinto; Tenri Kyo--The ancient moralists confined their attention to the rulers--The Imperial Edict in regard to Moral Education, 258 XXIV. MORAL PRACTICE The publicity of Japanese life--Public bathing--Personal experience at a hot-spring--Mr. Hearn on privacy--Individualism and variation from the moral standard--Standards advancing--Revenge--Modern liberty of travel--Increase of wealth--Increasing luxury and vice--Increase of concubinage--Native discussions--Statistics--Business honesty--A native paper quoted--Some experiences with Christians--Testimony of a Japanese consul--Difference of gifts to Buddhist and to Christian institutions--Christian condemnation of Doshisha mismanagement--Misappropriation of trust funds in the West--Business honesty and the social order--Fitness of Christianity to the new social order--A summary--Communal virtues--Individual Vices--The authority of the moral ideal--Moral characteristics are not inherent, but social, in nature, 273 XXV. ARE THE JAPANESE RELIGIOUS? Prof. Pfleiderer's view--Percival Lowell's definition of religion--Japanese appearance of irreligion due to many facts--Skeptical attitude of Confucius towards the gods--Ready acceptance of Western agnosticism--Prof. Chamberlain's assertion that the Japanese take their religion lightly--Statements concerning religion by Messrs. Fukuzawa, Kato, and Ito--Statements of Japanese irreligion are not to be lightly accepted--Incompetence of many critics--We must study all the religious phenomena--Pilgrimages--Statistics--Mr. Lowell's criticism of "peripatetic picnic parties"--Is religion necessarily gloomy?--God and Buddha shelves universal in Japan--Temples and shrines--Statistics, 286 XXVI. SOME RELIGIOUS PHENOMENA Stoical training conceals religious emotions--The earnestness of many suppliants--Buddhistic and Shinto practice of religious ecstasy--The revolt from Buddhism a religious movement--Muro Kyu-so quoted--"Heaven's Way"--"God's omnipresence"--Pre-Christian teachers of Christian truth--Interpretation of modern irreligious phenomena--Japanese apparent lack of reverence--Not an inherent racial characteristic--Sketch of Japanese religious history--Shinto--Buddhism--Confucianism--Christianity--Roman Catholicism--Protestantism--Religious characteristics are social, not essential or racial, 296 XXVII. SOME RELIGIOUS CONCEPTIONS Japanese conceptions as to deity--The number and relation of the gods to the universe--Did the Japanese have the monotheistic conception?--Attractiveness of Christian monotheism--Confucian and Buddhist monism--Religious conception of man--Conception of sin--Defective terminology--Relation of sin to salvation--"Holy water"--Holy towels and the spread of disease--The slight connection between physical and moral pollution--W.E. Griffis quoted--Exaggerated cleanliness of the Japanese--Public bathing houses--Consciousness of sin in the sixteenth century--A recent experience--Doctrine of the future life--Salvation from fate--"Ingwa"--These are important doctrines--"Mei" (Heaven's decree)--Japan not unique--Sociological interpretations of religious characteristics, 310 XXVIII. SOME RELIGIOUS PRACTICES Loyalty and filial piety as religious phenomena--Gratitude as a religions trait--Hearn quoted--Unpleasant experiences of ingratitude--Modern suppression of phallicism--Brothels and prostitutes at popular shrines--The failure of higher ethnic faiths to antagonize the lower--Suppression of phallicism due to Western opinion--The significance of this suppression to sociological theory--Religious liberty--Some history--Inconsistent attitude of the Educational Department--Virtual establishment of compulsory state religion--Review and summary--The Japanese ready learners of foreign religions--The significance of this to sociology--Japanese future religion is to be Christianity, 322 XXIX. SOME PRINCIPLES OF NATIONAL EVOLUTION Progress is from smaller to larger communities--Arrest of development--The necessity of individualism--The relation of communal to individual development--A possible misunderstanding--The problem of distribution--Personality, 332 XXX. ARE THE JAPANESE IMPERSONAL? Assertion of Oriental impersonality--Quotations from Percival Lowell--Defective and contradictory definitions--Arguments for impersonality resting on mistaken interpretations--Children's festivals--Occidental and Oriental method of counting ages--Argument for impersonality from Japanese art--From the characteristics of the Japanese family--The bearing of divorce on this argument--Do Japanese "fall in love"?--Suicide and murder for love--Occidental approval and Oriental condemnation of "falling in love"--Sociological significance of divorce and of "falling in love," 344 XXXI. THE JAPANESE NOT IMPERSONAL The problem stated--Definitions--Remarks on definitions--Characteristics of a person--Impersonality defined--A preliminary summary statement--Definitions of Communalism and Individualism--The argument for "impersonality" from Japanese politeness--Some difficulties of this interpretation--The sociological interpretation of politeness--The significance of Japanese sensitiveness--Altruism as a proof of impersonality--Japanese selfishness and self-assertiveness--Distinction between communal and individualistic altruism--Deficiency of personal pronouns as a proof of impersonality--A possible counter-argument--Substitutes for personal pronouns--Many personal words in Japanese--Origin of pronouns, personal and others--The relation of the social order to the use of personal pronouns--Japanese conceive Nationality only through Personality--"Strong" and "weak" personality--Strong personalities in Japan--Feudalism and strong personalities, 356 XXXII. IS BUDDHISM IMPERSONAL? Self-suppression as a proof of impersonality--Self-suppression cannot be ascribed to a primitive people--Esoteric Buddhism not popular--Buddhism emphasized introspection and self-consciousness--Mr. Lowell on the teaching of Buddha--Consciousness of union with the Absolute a developed, not a primitive, trait--Buddhist self-suppression proves a developed self--Buddhist self-salvation and Christian salvation by faith--Buddhism does not develop rounded personality--Buddhism attributes no worth to the self--Buddhist mercy rests on the doctrine of transmigration, not on the inherent worth of man--Analysis of the diverse elements in the asserted "Impersonality "--Why Buddhism attributed no value to the self--The Infinite Absolute Abstraction--Buddhism not impersonal but abstract--Buddhist doctrine of illusion--Popular Buddhism not philosophical--Relation of "ingwa," Fate, to the development of personality--Relation of belief in freedom to the fact of freedom--Sociological consequences of Buddhist doctrine, 377 XXXIII. TRACES OF PERSONALITY IN SHINTOISM, BUDDHISM, AND CONFUCIANISM Human illogicalness providential--Some devices for avoiding the evils of logical conclusions--Buddhistic actual appeal to personal self-activity--Practical Confucianism an antidote to Buddhist poison--Confucian ethics produced strong persons--The personal conception of deity is widespread--Shinto gods all persons--Popular Buddhist gods are personal--Confucian "Heaven" implies personality--The idea of personality not wholly wanting in the Orient--The idea of divine personality not difficult to impart to a Japanese--A conversation with a Buddhist priest--Sketch of the development of Japanese personality--Is personality inherent?--Intrinsic and phenomenal personality--Note on the doctrine of the personality of God, 389 XXXIV. THE BUDDHIST WORLD-VIEW Comparison of Buddhist, Greek, and Christian conceptions of God--Nirvana--The Buddhistic Ultimate Reality absolute vacuity--Greek affirmation of intelligence in the Ultimate Reality--Christian affirmation of Divine Personality--The Buddhist universe is partly rational and ethical--The Greek universe is partly rational and ethical--Corresponding views of sin, salvation, change, and history--Resulting pessimism and optimism--Consequences to the respective civilizations and their social orders, 398 XXXV. COMMUNAL AND INDIVIDUAL ELEMENTS IN THE EVOLUTION OF JAPANESE RELIGIOUS LIFE Japanese religious life has been predominantly communal--Shinto provided the sanctions for the social order--Recent abdication of Shinto as a religion--Primitive Shinto world--view--Shinto and modern science--Shinto sanctions for the modern social order--Buddhism is individualistic--Lacks social ideals and sanctions--Hence it could not displace Shinto--Shinto and Buddhism are supplementary--Produced a period of prosperity--The defect of Buddhist individualism--Imperfect acceptance of Shinto--Effect of political history--Confucianism restored the waning communal sanctions--The difference between Shinto and Confucian social ideals and sanctions--The difference between Shinto and Confucian world-views--Rejection of the Confucian social order--An interpretation--The failure of Confucianism to become a religion--Western intercourse re-established Shinto sanctions--Japan's modern religious problem--Difficulty of combining individual and communal religious elements--Christianity has accomplished it--Individualism in and through communalism--A modern expansion of communal religion--Shared by Japan--Some Japanese recognize the need of religion for Japan--Sociological function of individualistic religion in the higher human evolution--Obstacle to evolution through the development of intellect--The Japanese mind is outgrowing its old religious conceptions--The dependence of religious phenomena on the ideas dominating society--Note on National and Universal religions--Buddhism not properly classified as Universal--The classification of religions, 404 XXXVI. WHAT ARE THE ESSENTIAL CHARACTERISTICS OF THE ORIENT The conclusion reached in this work--Contrary to the opinion of tourists, residents, and many sociologists--Professor Le Bon quoted--Social psychic characteristics not inherent--Evolution and involution--Advocates of inherent Oriental traits should catalogue those traits--An attempt by the London _Daily Mail_--Is the East inherently intuitive, and the West logical?--The difficulty of becoming mutually acquainted--The secret of genuine acquaintance--Is the East inherently meditative and the West active?--Oriental unity and characteristics are social, not inherent--Isolated evolution is divergent--Mutual influence of the East and the West--Summary statement, 422 XXXVII. GENERAL CONCLUSIONS Review of our course of thought--Purpose of this chapter--The problem studied in this work--Interrelation of social and psychic phenomena--Heredity defined and analyzed--Evolution defined--Exact definition of our question, and our reply--What would be an adequate disproof of our position--Reasons for limiting the discussion to advanced races--Divergent evolution dependent on segregation--Distinction between racial and social unity--Relation of the individual psychic character to the social order--"Race soul" a convenient fiction--Psychic function produces psychic organism--Causes and nature of plasticity and fixity of society--Relation of incarnate ideas to character and destiny--Valuelessness of "floating" ideas--Progress is at once communal and individual--Personality is its cause, aim, and criterion--Progress in personality is ethico-religious--Japanese social and psychic evolution not exceptional, 438 INTRODUCTION The tragedy enacted in China during the closing year of the nineteenth century marks an epoch in the history of China and of the world. Two world-views, two types of civilization met in deadly conflict, and the inherent weakness of isolated, belated, superstitious and corrupt paganism was revealed. Moreover, during this, China's crisis, Japan for the first time stepped out upon the world's stage of political and military activity. She was recognized as a civilized nation, worthy to share with the great nations of the earth the responsibility of ruling the lawless and backward races. The correctness of any interpretation as to the significance of this conflict between the opposing civilizations turns, ultimately, on the question as to what is the real nature of man and of society. If it be true, as maintained by Prof. Le Bon and his school, that the mental and moral character of a people is as fixed as its physiological characteristics, then the conflict in China is at bottom a conflict of races, not of civilizations. The inadequacy of the physiological theory of national character may be seen almost at a glance by a look at Japan. Were an Oriental necessarily and unchangeably Oriental, it would have been impossible for Japan to have come into such close and sympathetic touch with the West. The conflict of the East with the West, however, is not an inherent and unending conflict, because it is not racial, but civilizational. It is a conflict of world-views and systems of thought and life. It is a conflict of heathen and Christian civilizations. And the conflict will come to an end as soon as, and in proportion as, China awakes from her blindness and begins to build her national temple on the bedrock of universal truth and righteousness. The conflict is practically over in Japan because she has done this. In loyally accepting science, popular education, and the rights of every individual to equal protection by the government, Japan has accepted the fundamental conceptions of civilization held in the West, and has thus become an integral part of Christendom, a fact of world-wide significance. It proves that the most important differences now separating the great races of men are civilizational, not physiological. It also proves that European, American, and Oriental peoples may be possessed by the same great ideals of life and principles of action, enabling them to co-operate as nations in great movements to their mutual advantage. While even we of the West may be long in learning the full significance of what has been and still is taking place in Japan and more conspicuously just now, because more tragically, in China, one thing is clear: steam and electricity have abolished forever the old isolation of the nations. Separated branches of the human race that for thousands of years have been undergoing divergent evolution, producing radically different languages, customs, civilizations, systems of thought and world-views, and have resulted even in marked physiological and psychological differences, are now being brought into close contact and inevitable conflict. But at bottom it is a conflict of ideas, not of races. The age of isolation and divergent evolution is passing away, and that of international association and convergent social evolution has begun. Those races and nations that refuse to recognize the new social order, and oppose the cosmic process and its forces, will surely be pushed to the wall and cease to exist as independent nations, just as, in ancient times, the tribes that refused to unite with neighboring tribes were finally subjugated by those that did so unite. Universal economic, political, intellectual, moral, and religious intercourse is the characteristic of the new æon on which we are entering. What are to be the final consequences of this wide intercourse? Can a people change its character? Can a nation fully possessed by one type of civilization reject it, and adopt one radically different? Do races have "souls" which are fixed and incapable of radical transformations? What has taken place in Japan, a profound, or only a superficial change in psychical character? Are the destinies of the Oriental races already unalterably determined? The answers to these questions have already been suggested in the preceding paragraphs, in regard to what has already taken place in Japan. But we may add that that answer really turns on our conception as to the nature of the characteristics separating the East from the West. In proportion as national character is reckoned to be biological, will it be considered fixed and the national destiny predetermined. In proportion as it is reckoned to be sociological, will it be considered alterable and the national destiny subject to new social forces. Now that the intercourse of widely different races has begun on a scale never before witnessed, it is highly important for us to know its probable consequences. For this we need to gain a clear idea of the nature both of the individual man and of society, of the relation of the social order to individual and to race character, and of the law regulating and the forces producing social evolution. Only thus can we forecast the probable course and consequences of the free social intercourse of widely divergent races. It is the belief of the writer that few countries afford so clear an illustration of the principles involved in social evolution as Japan. Her development has been so rapid and so recent that some principles have become manifest that otherwise might easily have escaped notice. The importance of understanding Japan, because of the light her recent transformations throw on the subject of social evolution and of national character and also because of the conspicuous rôle to which she is destined as the natural leader of the Oriental races in their adoption of Occidental modes of life and thought, justifies a careful study of Japanese character. He who really understands Japan, has gained the magic key for unlocking the social mysteries of China and the entire East. But the Japanese people, with their institutions and their various characteristics, merit careful study also for their own sakes. For the Japanese constitute an exceedingly interesting and even a unique branch of the human race. Japan is neither a purgatory, as some would have it, nor a paradise, as others maintain, but a land full of individuals in an interesting stage of social evolution. Current opinions concerning Japan, however, are as curious as they are contradictory. Sir Edwin Arnold says that the Japanese "Have the nature rather of birds or butterflies than of ordinary human beings." Says Mr. A.M. Knapp: "Japan is the one country in the world which does not disappoint ... It is unquestionably the unique nation of the globe, the land of dream and enchantment, the land which could hardly differ more from our own, were it located in another planet, its people not of this world." An "old resident," however, calls it "the land of disappointments." Few phenomena are more curious than the readiness with which a tourist or professional journalist, after a few days or weeks of sight-seeing and interviewing, makes up his mind in regard to the character of the people, unless it be the way in which certain others, who have resided in this land for a number of years, continue to live in their own dreamland. These two classes of writers have been the chief contributors of material for the omnivorous readers of the West. It appears to not a few who have lived many years in this Far Eastern land, that the public has been fed with the dreams of poets or the snap-judgments of tourists instead of with the facts of actual experience. A recent editorial article in the _Japan Mail_, than whose editor few men have had a wider acquaintance with the Japanese people or language, contains the following paragraph: "In the case of such writers as Sir Edwin Arnold and Mr. Lafcadio Hearn it is quite apparent that the logical faculty is in abeyance. Imagination reigns supreme. As poetic nights or outbursts, the works of these authors on Japan are delightful reading. But no one who has studied the Japanese in a deeper manner, by more intimate daily intercourse with all classes of the people than either of these writers pretends to have had, can possibly regard a large part of their description as anything more than pleasing fancy. Both have given rein to the poetic fancy and thus have, from a purely literary point of view, scored a success granted to few.... But as exponents of Japanese life and thought they are unreliable.... They have given form and beauty to much that never existed except in vague outline or in undeveloped germs in the Japanese mind. In doing this they have unavoidably been guilty of misrepresentation.... The Japanese nation of Arnold and Hearn is not the nation we have known for a quarter of a century, but a purely ideal one manufactured out of the author's brains. It is high time that this was pointed out. For while such works please a certain section of the English public, they do a great deal of harm among a section of the Japanese public, as could be easily shown in detail, did space allow."--_Japan Mail, May 7, 1898_. But even more harmful to the reading public of England and America are the hastily formed yet, nevertheless, widely published opinions of tourists and newspaper correspondents. Could such writers realize the inevitable limitations under which they see and try to generalize, the world would be spared many crudities and exaggerations, not to say positive errors. The impression so common to-day that Japan's recent developments are anomalous, even contrary to the laws of national growth, is chiefly due to the superficial writings of hasty observers. Few of those who have dilated ecstatically on her recent growth have understood either the history or the genius of her people. "To mention but one among many examples," says Prof. Chamberlain, "the ingenious Traveling Commissioner of the _Pall Mall Gazette_, Mr. Henry Norman, in his lively letters on Japan published nine or ten years ago, tells the story of Japanese education under the fetching title of 'A Nation at School'; but the impression left is that they have been their own schoolmasters. In another letter on 'Japan in Arms,' he discourses concerning 'The Japanese Military Re-organizers,' 'The Yokosuka dockyard,' and other matters, but omits to mention that the reorganizers were Frenchmen, and that the Yokosuka dockyard was also a French creation. Similarly, when treating of the development of the Japanese newspaper, he ignores the fact that it owed its origin to an Englishman, which surely, to a man whose object was reality, should have seemed an object worth recording. These letters, so full and apparently so frank, really so deceptive, are, as we have said, but one instance among many of the way in which popular writers on Japan travesty history by ignoring the part which foreigners have played. The reasons for this are not far to seek. A wonderful tale will please folks at a distance all the better if made more wonderful still. Japanese progress, traced to its causes and explained by references to the means employed, is not nearly such fascinating reading as when represented in the guise of a fairy creation, sprung from nothing, like Aladdin's palace."--"_Things Japanese," p. 116_. But inter-racial misunderstanding is not, after all, so very strange. Few things are more difficult than to accommodate one's self in speech, in methods of life, and even in thought, to an alien people; so identifying one's deepest interest with theirs as really to understand them. The minds of most men are so possessed by notions acquired in childhood and youth as to be unable to see even the plainest facts at variance with those notions. He who comes to Japan possessed with the idea that it is a dreamland and that its old social order was free from defects, is blind to any important facts invalidating that conception; while he who is persuaded that Japan, being Oriental, is necessarily pagan at heart, however civilized in form, cannot easily be persuaded that there is anything praiseworthy in her old civilization, in her moral or religious life, or in any of her customs. If France fails in important respects to understand England; and England, Germany; and Germany, its neighbors; if even England and America can so misunderstand one another as to be on the verge of war over the boundary dispute of an alien country, what hope is there that the Occident shall understand the Orient, or the Orient the Occident? Though the difficulty seems insurmountable, I am persuaded that the most fruitful cause of racial misunderstandings and of defective descriptions both of the West by Orientals, and of the East by Occidentals, is a well-nigh universal misconception as to the nature of man, and of society, and consequently of the laws determining their development. In the East this error arises from and rests upon its polytheism, and the accompanying theories of special national creation and peculiar national sanctity. On these grounds alien races are pronounced necessarily inferior. China's scorn for foreigners is due to these ideas. Although this pagan notion has been theoretically abandoned in the West, it still dominates the thought not only of the multitudes, but also of many who pride themselves on their high education and liberal sentiments. They bring to the support of their national or racial pride such modern sociological theories as lend themselves to this view. Evolution and the survival of the fittest, degeneration and the arrest of development, are appealed to as justifying the arrogance and domineering spirit of Western nations. But the most subtle and scholarly doctrine appealed to in support of national pride is the biological conception of society. Popular writers assume that society is a biological organism and that the laws of its evolution are therefore biological. This assumption is not strange, for until recent times the most advanced professional sociologists have been dominated by the same misconception. Spencer, for example, makes sociology a branch of biology. More recent sociological writers, however, such as Professors Giddings and Fairbanks, have taken special pains to assert the essentially psychic character of society; they reject the biological conception, as inadequate to express the real nature of society. The biological conception, they insist, is nothing more than a comparison, useful for bringing out certain features of the social life and structure, but harmful if understood as their full statement. The laws of psychic activity and development differ as widely from those of biologic activity and development as these latter do from those that hold in the chemical world. If the laws which regulate psychic development and the progress of civilization were understood by popular writers on Japan, and if the recent progress of Japan had been stated in the terms of these laws, there would not have been so much mystification in the West in regard to this matter as there evidently has been. Japan would not have appeared to have "jumped out of her skin," or suddenly to have escaped from the heredity of her past millenniums of development. This wide misunderstanding of Japan, then, is not simply due to the fact that "Japanese progress, traced to its causes and explained by reference to the means employed, is not nearly such fascinating reading as when represented in the guise of a fairy creation," but it is also due to the still current popular view that the social organism is biological, and subject therefore to the laws of biological evolution. On this assumption, some hold that the progress of Japan, however it may appear, is really superficial, while others represent it as somehow having evaded the laws regulating the development of other races. A nation's character and characteristics are conceived to be the product of brain-structure; these can change only as brain structure changes. Brain is held to determine civilization, rather than civilization brain. Hampered by this defective view, popular writers inevitably describe Japan to the West in terms that necessarily misrepresent her, and that at the same time pander to Occidental pride and prejudice. But this misunderstanding of Japan reveals an equally profound misunderstanding in regard to ourselves. Occidental peoples are supposed to be what they are in civilization and to have reached their high attainments in theoretical and applied science, in philosophy and in practical politics, because of their unique brain-structures, brains secured through millenniums of biological evolution. The following statement may seem to be rank heresy to the average sociologist, but my studies have led me to believe that the main differences between the great races of mankind to-day are not due to biological, but to social conditions; they are not physico-psychological differences, but only socio-psychological differences. The Anglo-Saxon is what he is because of his social heredity, and the Chinaman is what he is because of his social heredity. The profound difference between social and physiological heredity and evolution is unappreciated except by a few of the most recent sociological writers. The part that association, social segregation, and social heredity take in the maintenance, not only of once developed languages and civilizations, but even in their genesis, has been generally overlooked. But a still more important factor in the determination of social and psychic evolution, generally unrecognized by sociologists, is the nature and function of personality. Although in recent years it has been occasionally mentioned by several eminent writers, personality as a principle has not been made the core of any system of sociology. In my judgment, however, this is the distinctive characteristic of human evolution and of human association, and it should accordingly be the fundamental principle of social science. Many writers on the East have emphasized what they call its "impersonal" characteristics. So important is this subject that I have considered it at length in the body of this work. Sociological phenomena cannot be fully expressed by any combination of exclusively physical, biological, and psychic terms, for the significant element of man and of society consists of something more than these--namely, personality. It is this that differentiates human from animal evolution. The unit of human sociology is a self-conscious, self-determinative being. The causative factor in the social evolution of man is his personality. The goal of that evolution is developed personality. Personality is thus at once the cause and the end of social progress. The conditions which affect or determine progress are those which affect or determine personality. The biological evolution of man from the animal has been, it is true, frankly assumed in this work. No attempt is made to justify this assumption. Let not the reader infer, however, that the writer similarly assumes the adequacy of the so-called naturalistic or evolutionary origin of ethics, of religion, or even of social progress. It may be doubted whether Darwin, Wallace, Le Conte, or any exponent of biological evolution has yet given a complete statement of the factors of the physiological evolution of man. It is certain, however, that ethical, religious, and social writers who have striven to account for the higher evolution of man, by appealing to factors exclusively parallel to those which have produced the physiological evolution of man, have conspicuously failed. However much we may find to praise in the social interpretations of such eminent writers as Comte, Spencer, Ward, Fiske, Giddings, Kidd, Southerland, or even Drummond, there still remains the necessity of a fuller consideration of the moral and religious evolution of man. The higher evolution of man cannot be adequately expressed or even understood in any terms lower than those of personality. EVOLUTION OF THE JAPANESE I PRELIMINARY CONSIDERATIONS Said a well educated and widely read Englishman to the writer while in Oxford, "Can you explain to me how it is that the Japanese have succeeded in jumping out of their skins?" And an equally thoughtful American, speaking about the recent strides in civilization made by Japan, urged that this progress could not be real and genuine. "How can such a mushroom-growth, necessarily without deep roots in the past, be real and strong and permanent? How can it escape being chiefly superficial?" These two men are typical of much of the thought of the West in regard to Japan. Seldom, perhaps never, has the civilized world so suddenly and completely reversed an estimate of a nation as it has that with reference to Japan. Before the recent war, to the majority even of fairly educated men, Japan was little more than a name for a few small islands somewhere near China, whose people were peculiar and interesting. To-day there is probably not a man, or woman, or child attending school in any part of the civilized world, who does not know the main facts about the recent war: how the small country and the men of small stature, sarcastically described by their foes as "Wojen," pygmy, attacked the army and navy of a country ten times their size. Such a universal change of opinion regarding a nation, especially regarding one so remote from the centers of Western civilization as Japan, could not have taken place in any previous generation. The telegraph, the daily paper, the intelligent reporters and writers of books and magazine articles, the rapid steam travel and the many travelers--all these have made possible this sudden acquisition of knowledge and startling reversal of opinion. There is reason, however, to think that much misapprehension and real ignorance still exists about Japan and her leap into power and world-wide prestige. Many seem to think that Japan has entered on her new career through the abandonment of her old civilization and the adoption of one from the West--that the victories on sea and land, in Korea, at Port Arthur, and a Wei-hai-wei, and more recently at Tientsin and Pekin, were solely due to her Westernized navy and army. Such persons freely admit that this process of Westernization had been going on for many years more rapidly than the world at large knew, and that consequently the reputation of Japan before the war was not such as corresponded with her actual attainments. But they assume that there was nothing of importance in the old civilization; that it was little superior to organized barbarism. These people conceive of the change which has taken place in Japan during the past thirty years as a revolution, not as an evolution; as an abandonment of the old, and an adoption of the new, civilization. They conceive the old tree of civilization to have been cut down and cast into the fire, and a new tree to have been imported from the West and planted in Japanese soil. New Japan is, from this view-point, the new tree. Not many months ago I heard of a wealthy family in Kyoto which did not take kindly to the so-called improvements imported from abroad, and which consequently persisted in using the instruments of the older civilization. Even such a convenience as the kerosene lamp, now universally adopted throughout the land of the Rising Sun, this family refused to admit into its home, preferring the old-style andon with its vegetable oil, dim light, and flickering flame. Recently, however, an electric-light company was organized in that city, and this brilliant illuminant was introduced not only into the streets and stores, but into many private houses. Shortly after its introduction, the family was converted to the superiority of the new method of illumination, and passed at one leap from the old-style lantern to the latest product of the nineteenth century. This incident is considered typical of the transformations characteristic of modern Japan. It is supposed that New Japan is in no proper sense the legitimate product through evolution of Old Japan. In important ways, therefore, Japan seems to be contradicting our theories of national growth. We have thought that no "heathen" nation could possibly gain, much less wield, unaided by Westerners, the forces of civilized Christendom. We have likewise held that national growth is a slow process, a gradual evolution, extending over scores and centuries of years. In both respects our theories seem to be at fault. This "little nation of little people," which we have been so ready to condemn as "heathen" and "uncivilized," and thus to despise, or to ignore, has in a single generation leaped into the forefront of the world's attention. Are our theories wrong? Is Japan an exception? Are our facts correct? We instinctively feel that something is at fault. We are not satisfied with the usual explanation of the recent history of Japan. We are perhaps ready to concede that "the rejection of the old and the adoption of Western civilization" is the best statement whereby to account for the new power of Japan and her new position among the nations, but when we stop to think, we ask whether we have thus explained that for which we are seeking an explanation? Do not the questions still remain--Why did the Japanese so suddenly abandon Oriental for Occidental civilization? And what mental and other traits enabled a people who, according to the supposition, were far from civilized, so suddenly to grasp and wield a civilization quite alien in character and superior to their own; a civilization ripened after millenniums of development of the Aryan race? And how far, as a matter of fact, has this assimilation gone? Not until these questions are really answered has the explanation been found, So that, after all, the prime cause which we must seek is not to be found in the external environment, but rather in the internal endowment. An effort to understand the ancient history of Japan encounters the same problem as that raised by her modern history. What mental characteristics led the Japanese a thousand years ago so to absorb the Chinese civilization, philosophy, and language that their own suffered a permanent arrest? What religious traits led them so to take on a religion from China and India that their own native religion never passed beyond the most primitive development, either in doctrine, in ethics, in ritual, or in organization? On the other hand, what mental characteristics enabled them to preserve their national independence and so to modify everything brought from abroad, from the words of the new language to the philosophy of the new religions, that Japanese civilization, language, and religion are markedly distinct from the Chinese? Why is it that, though the Japanese so fell under the bondage of the Chinese language as permanently to enslave and dwarf their own beautiful tongue, expressing the dominant thought of every sentence with characters (ideographs) borrowed from China, yet at the same time so transformed what they borrowed that no Chinaman can read and understand a Japanese book or newspaper? The same questions recur at this new period of Japan's national life. Why has she so easily turned from the customs of centuries? What are the mental traits that have made her respond so differently from her neighbor to the environment of the nineteenth-century civilization of the West Why is it that Japan has sent thousands of her students to these Western lands to see and study and bring back all that is good in them, while China has remained in stolid self-satisfaction, seeing nothing good in the West and its ways? To affirm that the difference is due to the environment alone is impossible, for the environment seems to be essentially the same. This difference of attitude and action must be traced, it would seem, to differences of mental and temperamental characteristics. Those who seek to understand the secret of Japan's newly won power and reputation by looking simply at her newly acquired forms of government, her reconstructed national social structure, her recently constructed roads and railroads, telegraphs, representative government, etc., and especially at her army and navy organized on European models and armed with European weapons, are not unlike those who would discover the secret of human life by the study of anatomy. This external view and this method of interpretation are, therefore, fundamentally erroneous. Never, perhaps, has the progress of a nation been so manifestly an evolution as distinguished from a revolution. No foreign conquerors have come in with their armies, crushing down the old and building up a new civilization. No magician's wand has been waved over the land to make the people forget the traditions of a thousand years and fall in with those of the new régime. No rite or incantation has been performed to charm the marvelous tree of civilization and cause it to take root and grow to such lofty proportions in an unprepared soil. In contrast to the defective views outlined above, one need not hesitate to believe that the actual process by which Old Japan has been transformed into New Japan is perfectly natural and necessary. It has been a continuous growth; it is not the mere accumulation of external additions; it does not consist alone of the acquisition of the machinery and the institutions of the Occident. It is rather a development from within, based upon already existing ideas and institutions. New Japan is the consequence of her old endowment and her new environment. Her evolution has been in progress and can be traced for at least a millennium and a half, during which she has been preparing for this latest step. All that was necessary for its accomplishment was the new environment. The correctness of this view and the reasons for it will appear as we proceed in our study of Japanese characteristics. But we need to note at this point the danger, into which many fall, of ascribing to Japan an attainment of western civilization which the facts will not warrant. She has secured much, but by no means all, that the West has to give. We may suggest our line of thought by asking what is the fundamental element of civilization? Does it consist in the manifold appliances that render life luxurious; the railroad, the telegraph, the post office, the manufactures, the infinite variety of mechanical and other conveniences? Or is it not rather the social and intellectual and ethical state of a people? Manifestly the latter. The tools indeed of civilization may be imported into a half-civilized, or barbarous country; such importation, however, does not render the country civilized, although it may assist greatly in the attainment of that result. Civilization being mental, social, and ethical, can arise only through the growth of the mind and character of the vast multitudes of a nation. Now has Japan imported only the tools of civilization? In other words, is her new civilization only external, formal, nominal, unreal? That she has imported much is true. Yet that her attainments and progress rest on her social, intellectual, and ethical development will become increasingly clear as we take up our successive chapters. Under the new environment of the past fifty years, this growth, particularly in intellectual, in industrial, and in political lines, has been exceedingly rapid as compared with the growths of other peoples. This conception of the rise of New Japan will doubtless approve itself to every educated man who will allow his thought to rest upon the subject. For all human progress, all organic evolution, proceeds by the progressive modification of the old organs under new conditions. The modern locomotive did not spring complete from the mind of James Watt; it is the result of thousands of years of human experience and consequent evolution, beginning first perhaps with a rolling log, becoming a rude cart, and being gradually transformed by successive inventions until it has become one of the marvels of the nineteenth century. It is impossible for those who have attained the view-point of modern science to conceive of discontinuous progress; of continually rising types of being, of thought, or of moral life, in which the higher does not find its ground and root and thus an important part of its explanation, in the lower. Such is the case not only with reference: to biological evolution; it is especially true of social evolution. He who would understand the Japan of to-day cannot rest with the bare statement that her adoption of the tools and materials of Western civilization has given her her present power and place among the nations. The student with historical insight knows that it is impossible for one nation, off-hand, without preparation, to "adopt the civilization" of another. The study of the evolution of Japan is one of unusual interest; first, because of the fact that Japan has experienced such unique changes in her environment. Her history brings into clear light some principles of evolution which the visual development of a people does not make so clear. In the second place, New Japan is in a state of rapid growth. She is in a critical period, resembling a youth, just coming to manhood, when all the powers of growth are most vigorous. The latent qualities of body and mind and heart then burst forth with peculiar force. In the course of four or five short years the green boy develops into a refined and noble man; the thoughtless girl ripens into the full maturity of womanhood and of motherhood. These are the years of special interest to those who would observe nature in her time of most critical activity. Not otherwise is it in the life of nations. There are times when their growth is phenomenally rapid; when their latent qualities are developed; when their growth can be watched with special ease and delight, because so rapid. The Renaissance was such a period in Europe. Modern art, science, and philosophy took their start with the awakening of the mind of Europe at that eventful and epochal period of her life. Such, I take it, is the condition of Japan to-day. She is "being born again"; undergoing her "renaissance." Her intellect, hitherto largely dormant, is but now awaking. Her ambition is equaled only by her self-reliance. Her self-confidence and amazing expectations have not yet been sobered by hard experience. Neither does she, nor do her critics, know how much she can or cannot do. She is in the first flush of her new-found powers; powers of mind and spirit, as well as of physical force. Her dreams are gorgeous with all the colors of the rainbow. Her efforts are sure, to be noble in proportion as her ambitions are high. The growth of the past half-century is only the beginning of what we may expect to see. Then again, this latest and greatest step in the evolution of Japan has taken place at a time unparalleled for opportunities of observation, under the incandescent light of the nineteenth century, with its thousands of educated men to observe and record the facts, many of whom are active agents in the evolution in progress. Hundreds of papers and magazines, native and European, read by tens of thousands of intelligent men and women, have kept the world aware of the daily and hourly events. Telegraphic dispatches and letters by the million have passed between the far East and the West. It would seem as if the modernizing of Japan had been providentially delayed until the last half of the nineteenth century with its steam and electricity, annihilators of space and time, in order that her evolution might be studied with a minuteness impossible in any previous age, or by any previous generation. It is almost as if one were conducting an experiment in human evolution in his own laboratory, imposing the conditions and noting the results. For still another reason is the evolution of New Japan of special interest to all intelligent persons. To illustrate great things by small, and human by physical, no one who has visited Geneva has failed to see the beautiful mingling of the Arve and the Rhone. The latter flowing from the calm Geneva lake is of delicate blue, pure and limpid. The former, running direct from the glaciers of Mont Blanc and the roaring bed of Chamouni, bears along in its rushing waters powdered rocks and loosened soil. These rivers, though joined in one bed, for hundreds of rods are quite distinct; the one, turbid; the other, clear as crystal; yet they press each against the other, now a little of the Rhone's clear current forces its way into the Arve, soon to be carried off, absorbed and discolored by the mass of muddy water around it. Now a little of the turbid Arve forces its way into the clear blue Rhone, to lose there its identity in the surrounding waters. The interchange goes on, increasing with the distance until, miles below, the two-rivers mingle as one. No longer is it the Arve or the old Rhone, but the new Rhone. In Japan there is going on to-day a process unique in the history of the human race. Two streams of civilization, that of the far East and that of the far West, are beginning to flow in a single channel. These streams are exceedingly diverse, in social structure, in government, in moral ideals and standards, in religion, in psychological and metaphysical conceptions. Can they live together? Or is one going to drive out and annihilate the other? If so, which will be victor? Or is there to be modification of both? In other words, is there to be a new civilization--a Japanese, an Occidento-Oriental civilization? The answer is plain to him who has eyes with which to see. Can the Ethiopian change his skin or the leopard his spots? No more can Japan lose all trace of inherited customs of daily life, of habits of thought and language, products of a thousand years of training in Chinese literature, Buddhist doctrine, and Confucian ethics. That "the boy is father to the man" is true of a nation no less than of an individual. What a youth has been at home in his habits of thought, in his purpose and spirit and in their manifestation in action, will largely determine his after-life. In like manner the mental and moral history of Japan has so stamped certain characteristics on her language, on her thought, and above all on her temperament and character, that, however she may strive to Westernize herself, it is impossible for her to obliterate her Oriental features. She will inevitably and always remain Japanese. Japan has already produced an Occidento-Oriental civilization. Time will serve progressively to Occidentalize it. But there is no reason for thinking that it will ever become wholly Occidentalized. A Westerner visiting Japan will always be impressed with its Oriental features, while an Asiatic will be impressed with its Occidental features. This progressive Occidentalization of Japan will take place according to the laws of social evolution, of which we must speak somewhat more fully in a later chapter. An important question bearing on this problem is the precise nature of the characteristics differentiating the Occident and the Orient. What exactly do we mean when we say that the Japanese are Oriental and will always bear the marks of the Orient in their civilization, however much they may absorb from the West? The importance and difficulty of this question have led the writer to defer its consideration till toward the close of this work. If one would gain adequate conception of the process now going on, the illustration already used of the mingling of two rivers needs to be supplemented by another, corresponding to a separate class of facts. Instead of the mingling of rivers, let us watch the confluence of two glaciers. What pressures! What grindings! What upheavals! What rendings! Such is the mingling of two civilizations. It is not smooth and Noiseless, but attended with pressure and pain. It is a collision in more ways than one. The unfortunates on whom the pressures of both currents are directed are often quite destroyed. Comparison is often made between Japan and India. In both countries enormous social changes are taking place; in both, Eastern and Western civilizations are in contact and in conflict. The differences, however, are even more striking than the likenesses. Most conspicuous is the fact that whereas, in India, the changes in civilization are due almost wholly to the force and rule of the conquering race, in Japan these changes are spontaneous, attributable entirely to the desire and initiative of the native rulers. This difference is fundamental and vital. The evolution of society in India is to a large degree compulsory; in a true sense it is an artificial evolution. In Japan, on the other hand, evolution is natural. There has not been the slightest physical compulsion laid on her from without. With two rare exceptions, Japan has never heard the boom of foreign cannon carrying destruction to her people. During these years of change, there have been none but Japanese rulers, and such has been the case throughout the entire period of Japanese history. Their native rulers have introduced changes such as foreign rulers would hardly have ventured upon. The adoption of the Chinese language, literature, and religions from ten to twelve centuries ago, was not occasioned by a military occupancy of Japanese soil by invaders from China. It was due absolutely to the free choice of their versatile people, as free and voluntary as was the adoption by Rome of Greek literature and standards of learning. The modern choice of Western material civilization no doubt had elements of fear as motive power. But impulsion through a knowledge of conditions differs radically from compulsion exercised by a foreign military occupancy. India illustrates the latter; Japan, the former. Japan and her people manifest amazing contrasts. Never, on the one hand, has a nation been so free from foreign military occupancy throughout a history covering more than fifteen centuries, and at the same time, been so influenced by and even subject to foreign psychical environment. What was the fact in ancient times is the fact to-day. The dominance of China and India has been largely displaced by that of Europe. Western literature, language, and science, and even customs, are being welcomed by Japan, and are working their inevitable effects. But it is all perfectly natural, perfectly spontaneous. The present choice by Japan of modern science and education and methods and principles of government and nineteenth-century literature and law,--in a word, of Occidental civilization,--is not due to any artificial pressure or military occupancy. But the choice and the consequent evolution are wholly due to the free act of the people. In this, as in several other respects, Japan reminds us of ancient Greece. Dr. Menzies, in his "History of Religion," says: "Greece was not conquered from the East, but stirred to new life by the communication of new ideas." Free choice has made Japan reject Chinese astronomy, surgery, medicine, and jurisprudence. The early choice to admit foreigners to Japan to trade may have been made entirely through fear, but is now accepted and justified by reason and choice. The true explanation, therefore, of the recent and rapid rise of Japan to power and reputation, is to be found, not in the externals of her civilization, not in the pressure of foreign governments, but rather in the inherited mental and temperamental characteristics, reacting on the new and stimulating environment, and working along the lines of true evolution. Japan has not "jumped out of her skin," but a new vitality has given that skin a new color. II HISTORICAL SKETCH How many of the stories of the Kojiki (written in 712 A.D.) and Nihongi (720 A.D.) are to be accepted is still a matter of dispute among scholars. Certain it is, however, that Japanese early history is veiled in a mythology which seems to center about three prominent points: Kyushu, in the south; Yamato, in the east central, and Izumo in the west central region. This mythological history narrates the circumstances of the victory of the southern descendants of the gods over the two central regions. And it has been conjectured that these three centers represent three waves of migration that brought the ancestors of the present inhabitants of Japan to these shores. The supposition is that they came quite independently and began their conflicts only after long periods of residence and multiplication. Though this early record is largely mythological, tradition shows us the progenitors of the modern Japanese people as conquerors from the west and south who drove the aborigines before them and gradually took possession of the entire land. That these conquerors were not all of the same stock is proved by the physical appearance of the Japanese to-day, and by their language. Through these the student traces an early mixture of races--the Malay, the Mongolian, and the Ural-Altaic. Whether the early crossing of these races bears vital relation to the plasticity of the Japanese is a question which tempts the scholar. Primitive, inter-tribal conflicts of which we have no reliable records resulted in increasing intercourse. Victory was followed by federation. And through the development of a common language, of common customs and common ideas, the tribes were unified socially and psychically. Consciousness of this unity was emphasized by the age-long struggle against the Ainu, who were not completely conquered until the eighteenth century. With the dawn of authentic history (500-600 A.D.) we find amalgamation of the conquering tribes, with, however, constantly recurring inter-clan and inter-family wars. Many of these continued for scores and even hundreds of years--proving that, in the modern sense, of the word, the Japanese were not yet a nation, though, through inter-marriage, through the adoption of important elements of civilization brought from China and India via Korea, through the nominal acceptance of the Emperor as the divinely appointed ruler of the land, they were, in race and in civilization, a fairly homogeneous people. The national governmental system was materially affected by the need, throughout many centuries, of systematic methods of defense against the Ainu. The rise of the Shogunate dates back to 883 A.D., when the chief of the forces opposing the Ainu was appointed by the Emperor and bore the official title, "The Barbarian-expelling Generalissimo." This office developed in power until, some centuries later, it usurped in fact, if not in name, all the imperial prerogatives. It is probable that the Chinese written language, literature, and ethical teachings of Confucius came to Japan from Korea after the Christian era. The oldest known Japanese writings (Japanese written with Chinese characters) date from the eighth century. In this period also Buddhism first came to Japan. For over a hundred years it made relatively little progress. But when at last in the ninth and tenth centuries native Japanese Buddhists popularized its doctrines and adopted into its theogony the deities of the aboriginal religion, now known as Shinto, Buddhism became the religion of the people, and filled the land with its great temples, praying priests, and gorgeous rituals. Even in those early centuries the contact of Japan with her Oriental neighbors revealed certain traits of her character which have been conspicuous in recent times--great capacity for acquisition, and readiness to adopt freely from foreign nations. Her contact with China, at that time so far in advance of herself in every element of civilization, was in some respects disastrous to her original growth. Instead of working out the problems of thought and life for herself, she took what China and Korea had to give. The result was an arrest in the development of everything distinctively native. The native religion was so absorbed by Buddhism that for a thousand years it lost all self-consciousness. Indeed the modern clear demarcation between the native and the imported religions is a matter of only a few decades, due to the researches of native scholars during the latter part of the last and the early part of this century. Even now, multitudes of the common people know no difference between the various elements of the composite religion of which they are the heirs. Moreover, early contact with China and her enormous literature checked the development of the native language and the growth of the native literature. The language suffered arrest because of the rapid introduction of Chinese terms for all the growing needs of thought and civilization. Modern Japanese is a compound of the original tongue and Japonicized Chinese. Native speculative thought likewise found little encouragement or stimulus to independent activity in the presence of the elaborate and in many respects profound philosophies brought from India and China. From earliest times the government of Japan was essentially feudal. Powerful families and clans disputed and fought for leadership, and the political history of Japan revolves around the varying fortunes of these families. While the Imperial line is never lost to sight, it seldom rises to real power. When, in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, Japan's conquering arm reached across the waters, to ravage the coast of China, to extend her influence as far south as Siam, and even to invade Korea with a large army in 1592, it looked as if she were well started on her career as a world-power. But that was not yet to be. The hegemony of her clans passed into the powerful and shrewd Tokugawa family, the policy of which was peace and national self-sufficiency. The representatives of the Occidental nations (chiefly of Spain and Portugal) were banished. The Christian religion (Roman Catholic), which for over fifty years had enjoyed free access and had made great progress, was forbidden and stamped out, not without much bloodshed. Foreign travel and commerce were strictly interdicted. A particular school of Confucian ethics was adopted and taught as the state religion. Feudalism was systematically established and intentionally developed. Each and every man had his assigned and recognized place in the social fabric, and change was not easy. It is doubtful if any European country has ever given feudalism so long and thorough a trial. Never has feudalism attained so complete a development as it did in Japan under the Tokugawa régime of over 250 years. During this period no influences came from other lands to disturb the natural development. With the exception of three ships a year from Holland, an occasional stray ship from other lands, and from fifteen to twenty Dutchmen isolated in a little island in the harbor of Nagasaki, Japan had no communication with foreign lands or alien peoples. Of this period, extending to the middle of the present century, the ordinary visitor and even the resident have but a superficial knowledge. All the changes that have taken place in Japan, since the coming of Perry in 1854, are attributed by the easy-going tourist to the external pressure of foreign nations. But such travelers know nothing of the internal preparations that had been making for generations previous to the arrival of Perry. The tourist is quite ignorant of the line of Japanese scholars that had been undermining the authority of the military rulers, "the Tokugawa," in favor of the Imperial line which they had practically supplanted. The casual student of Japan has been equally ignorant of the real mental and moral caliber of the Japanese. Dressed in clothing that appeared to us fantastic, and armed with cumbersome armor and old-fashioned guns, it was easy to jump to the conclusion that the people were essentially uncivilized. We did not know the intellectual discipline demanded of one, whether native or foreign, who would master the native language or the native systems of thought. We forgot that we appeared as grotesque and as barbarous to them as they to us, and that mental ability and moral worth are qualities that do not show on the surface of a nation's civilization. While they thought us to be "unclean," "dogs," "red-haired devils," we perhaps thought them to be clever savages, or at best half-civilized heathen, without moral perceptions or intellectual ability. Of Old Japan little more needs to be said. Without external commerce, there was little need for internal trade; ships were small; roads were footpaths; education was limited to the samurai, or military class, retainers of the daimyo, "feudal lords"; inter-clan travel was limited and discouraged; Confucian ethics was the moral standard. From the beginning of the seventeenth century Christianity was forbidden by edict, and was popularly known as the "evil way"; Japan was thought to be especially sacred, and the coming of foreigners was supposed to pollute the land and to be the cause of physical evils. Education, as in China, was limited to the Chinese classics. Mathematics, general history, and science, in the modern sense, were of course wholly unknown. Guns and powder were brought from the West in the sixteenth century by Spaniards and Portuguese, but were never improved. Ship-building was the same in the middle of the nineteenth century as in the middle of the sixteenth, perhaps even less advanced. Architecture had received its great impulse from the introduction of Buddhism in the ninth and tenth centuries and had made no material improvement thereafter. But while there was little progress in the external and mechanical elements of civilization, there was progress in other respects. During the "great peace," first arose great scholars. Culture became more general throughout the nation. Education was esteemed. The corrupt lives of the priests were condemned and an effort was made to reform life through the revival of a certain school of Confucian teachers known as "Shin-Gaku"--"Heart-Knowledge." Art also made progress, both pictorial and manual. It would almost seem as if modern artificers and painters had lost the skill of their forefathers of one or two hundred years ago. Many reasons explain the continuance of the old political and social order: the lack of a foreign foe to compel abandonment of the tribal organisation; the mountainous nature of the country with its slow, primitive means of intercommunication; the absence of all idea of a completely centralized nation. Furthermore, the principle of complete subordination to superiors and ancestors had become so strong that individual innovations were practically impossible. Japan thus lacked the indispensable key to further progress, the principle of individualism. The final step in the development of her nationality has been taken, therefore, only in our own time. Old Japan seemed absolutely committed to a thorough-going antagonism to everything foreign. New Japan seems committed to the opposite policy. What are the steps by which she has effected this apparent national reversal of attitude? We should first note that the absolutism of the Tokugawa Shogunate served to arouse ever-growing opposition because of its stern repression of individual opinion. It not only forbade the Christian religion, but also all independent thought in religious philosophy and in politics. The particular form of Confucian moral philosophy which it held was forced on all public teachers of Confucianism. Dissent was not only heretical, but treasonable. Although, by its military absolutism, the Tokugawa rule secured the great blessing of peace, lasting over two hundred years, and although the curse of Japan for well-nigh a thousand preceding years had been fierce inter-tribal and inter-family wars and feuds, yet it secured that peace at the expense of individual liberty of thought and act. It thus gradually aroused against itself the opposition of many able minds. The enforced peace rendered it possible for these men to devote themselves to problems of thought and of history. Indeed, they had no other outlet for their energies. As they studied the history of the past and compared their results with the facts of the present, it gradually dawned on the minds of the scholars of the eighteenth century, that the Tokugawa family were exercising functions of government which had never been delegated to them; and that the Emperor was a poverty-stricken puppet in the hands of a family that had seized the military power and had gradually absorbed all the active functions of government, together with its revenues. It is possible for us to see now that these early Japanese scholars idealized their ancient history, and assigned to the Emperor a place in ancient times which in all probability he has seldom held. But, however that may be, they thought their view correct, and held that the Emperor was being deprived of his rightful rule by the Tokugawa family. These ideas, first formulated in secret by scholars, gradually filtered down, still in secrecy, and were accepted by a large number of the samurai, the military literati of the land. Their opposition to the actual rulers of the land, aroused by the individual-crushing absolutism of the Tokugawa rule, naturally allied itself to the religious sentiment of loyalty to the Emperor. Few Westerners can appreciate the full significance of this fact. Throughout the centuries loyalty to the Emperor has been considered a cardinal virtue. With one exception, according to the popular histories, no one ever acknowledged himself opposed to the Emperor. Every rebellion against the powers in actual possession made it the first aim to gain possession of the Emperor, and proclaim itself as fighting for him. When, therefore, the scholars announced that the existing government was in reality a usurpation and that the Emperor was robbed of his rightful powers, the latent antagonism to the Tokugawa rule began to find both intellectual and moral justification. It could and did appeal to the religious patriotism of the people. It is perhaps not too much to say that the overthrow of the Tokugawa family and the restoration of the Imperial rule to the Imperial family would have taken place even though there had been no interference of foreign nations, no extraneous influences. But equally certain is it that these antagonisms to the ruling family were crystallized, and the great internal changes hastened by the coming in of the aggressive foreign nations. How this external influence operated must and can be told in a few words. When Admiral Perry negotiated his treaty with the Japanese, he supposed he was dealing with responsible representatives of the government. As was later learned, however, the Tokugawa rulers had not secured the formal assent of the Emperor to the treaty. The Tokugawa rulers and their counselors, quite as much as the clan-rulers, wished to keep the foreigners out of the country, but they realized their inability. The rulers of the clans, however, felt that the Tokugawa rulers had betrayed the land; they were, accordingly, in active opposition both to the foreigners and to the national rulers. When the foreigners requested the Japanese government, "the Tokugawa Shogunate," to carry out the treaties, it was unable to comply with the request because of the antagonism of the clan-rulers. When the clan-rulers demanded that the government annul the treaties and drive out the hated and much-feared foreigners, it found itself utterly unable to do so, because of the formidable naval power of the foreigners. As a consequence of this state of affairs, a few serious collisions took place between the foreigners and the two-sworded samurai, retainers of the clan-rulers. The Tokugawa rulers apparently did their best to protect the foreigners, and, when there was no possible method of evasion, to execute the treaties they had made. But they could not control the clans already rebellious. A few murders of foreigners, followed by severe reprisals, and two bombardments of native towns by foreign gunboats, began to reveal to the military class at large that no individual or local action against the foreigners was at all to be thought of. The first step necessary was the unification of the Empire under the Imperial rule. This, however, could be done only by the overthrow of the Tokugawa Shogunate; which was effected in 1867-68 after a short struggle, marked by great clemency. We thus realize that the overthrow of the Shogunate as also the final abolishment of feudalism with its clans, lords, and hereditary rulers, and the establishment of those principles of political and personal centralization which lie at the foundation of real national unity, not only were hastened by, but in a marked degree dependent on, the stimulus and contribution of foreigners. They compelled a more complete Japanese unity than had existed before, for they demanded direct relations with the national head. And when treaty negotiations revealed the lack of such a head, they undertook to show its necessity by themselves punishing those local rulers who did not recognize the Tokugawa headship. With the establishment of the Emperor on the throne, began the modern era in Japanese history, known in Japan as "Meiji"--"Enlightened Rule." But not even yet was the purpose of the nation attained, namely, the expulsion of the polluters of the sacred soil of Japan. As soon as the new government was established and had turned its attention to foreign affairs, it found itself in as great a dilemma as had its predecessors, the Tokugawa rulers. For the foreign governments insisted that the treaties negotiated with the old government should be accepted in full by the new. It was soon as evident to the new rulers as it had been to the old that direct and forcible resistance to the foreigners was futile. Not by might were they to be overcome. Westerners had, however, supplied the ideals whereby national, political unity was to be secured. Mill's famous work on "Representative Government" was early translated, and read by all the thinking men of the day. These ideas were also keenly studied in their actual workings in the West. The consequence was that feudalism was utterly rejected and the new ideas, more or less modified, were speedily adopted, even down to the production of a constitution and the establishment of local representative assemblies and a national diet. In other words, the theories and practices of the West in regard to the political organization of the state supplied Japan with those new intellectual variations which were essential to the higher development of her own national unity. A further point of importance is the fact that at the very time that the West applied this pressure and supplied Japan with these political ideals she also put within her reach the material instruments which would enable her to carry them into practice. I refer to steam locomotion by land and sea, the postal and telegraphic systems of communication, the steam printing press, the system of popular education, and the modern organization of the army and the navy. These instruments Japan made haste to acquire. But for these, the rapid transformation of Old Japan into New Japan would have been an exceedingly long and difficult process. The adoption of these tools of civilization by the central authority at once gave it an immense superiority over any local force. For it could communicate speedily with every part of the Empire, and enforce its decisions with a celerity and a decisiveness before unknown. It became once more the actual head of the nation. We have thus reached the explanation of one of the most astonishing changes in national attitude that history has to record, and the new attitude seems such a contradiction of the old as to be inexplicable, and almost incredible. But a better knowledge of the facts and a deeper understanding of their significance will serve to remove this first impression. What, then, did the new government do? It simply said, "For us to drive out these foreigners is impossible; but neither is it desirable. We need to know the secrets of their power. We must study their language, their science, their machinery, their steamboats, their battle-ships. We must learn all their secrets, and then we shall be able to turn them out without difficulty. Let us therefore restrict them carefully to the treaty ports, but let us make all the use of them we can." This has virtually been the national policy of Japan ever since. And this policy gained the acceptance of the people as a whole with marvelous readiness, for a reason which few foreigners can appreciate. Had this policy been formulated and urged by the Tokugawa rulers, there is no probability that it would have been accepted. But because it was, ostensibly at least, the declared will of the Emperor, loyalty to him, which in Japan is both religion and patriotism, led to a hearty and complete acceptance which could hardly have been realized in any other land. During the first year of his "enlightened" rule (1868), the Emperor gave his sanction to an Edict, the last two clauses of which read as follows: "The old, uncivilized way shall be replaced by the eternal principles of the universe. "The best knowledge shall be sought throughout the world, so as to promote the Imperial welfare." It is the wide acceptance of this policy, which, however, is in accord with the real genius of the people, that has transformed Japan. It has sent hundreds of its young men to foreign lands to learn and bring back to Japan the secrets of Western power and wealth; it has established roads and railways, postal and telegraphic facilities, a public common-school system, colleges and a university in which Western science, history, and languages have been taught by foreign and foreign-trained instructors; daily, weekly, and monthly papers and magazines; factories, docks, drydocks; local and foreign commerce; representative government--in a word, all the characteristic features of New Japan. The whole of New Japan is only the practical carrying out of the policy adopted at the beginning of the new era, when it was found impossible to cast out the foreigners by force. Brute force being found to be out of the question, resort was thus made to intellectual force, and with real success. The practice since then has not been so much to retain the foreigner as to learn of him and then to eliminate him. Every branch of learning and industry has proved this to be the consistent Japanese policy. No foreigner may hope to obtain a permanent position in Japanese employ, either in private firms or in the government. A foreigner is useful not for what he can do, but for what he can teach. When any Japanese can do his work tolerably well, the foreigner is sure to be dropped. The purpose of this volume does not require of us a minute statistical statement of the present attainments of New Japan. Such information may be procured from Henry Norman's "Real Japan," Ransome's "Japan in Transition," and Newton's "Japan: Country, Court, and People." It is enough for us to realize that Japan has wholly abandoned or profoundly modified all the external features of her old, her distinctively Oriental civilization and has replaced them by Occidental features. In government, she is no longer arbitrary, autocratic, and hereditary, but constitutional and representative. Town, provincial, and national legislative assemblies are established, and in fairly good working order, all over the land. The old feudal customs have been replaced by well codified laws, which are on the whole faithfully administered according to Occidental methods. Examination by torture has been abolished. The perfect Occidentalization of the army, and the creation of an efficient navy, are facts fully demonstrated to the world. The limited education of the few--- and in exclusively Chinese classics--has given place to popular education. Common schools number over 30,000, taught by about 100,000 teachers (4278 being women), having over 4,500,000 pupils (over 1,500,000 being girls). The school accommodation is insufficient; it is said that 30,000 additional teachers are needed at once. Middle and high schools throughout the land are rejecting nearly one-half of the student applicants for lack of accommodation. Feudal isolation, repression, and seclusion have given way to free travel, free speech, and a free press. Newspapers, magazines, and books pour forth from the universal printing press in great profusion. Twenty dailies issue in the course of a year over a million copies each, while two of them circulate 24,000,000 and 21,000,000 copies, respectively. Personal, political, and religious liberty has been practically secure now for over two decades, guaranteed by the constitution, and enforced by the courts. Chinese medical practice has largely been replaced by that from the West, although many of the ignorant classes still prefer the old methods. The government enforces Western hygienic principles in all public matters, with the result that the national health has improved and the population is growing at an alarming rate. While in 1872 the people numbered 33,000,000, in 1898 they numbered 45,000,000. The general scale of living for the common people has also advanced conspicuously. Meat shops are now common throughout the land--a thing unknown in pre-Meiji times--and rice, which used to be the luxury of the wealthy few, has become the staple necessity of the many. Postal and telegraph facilities are quite complete. Macadamized roads and well-built railroads have replaced the old footpaths, except in the most mountainous districts. Factories of many kinds are appearing in every town and city. Business corporations, banks, etc., which numbered only thirty-four so late as 1864 are now numbered by the thousand, and trade flourishes as in no previous period of Japanese history. Instead of being a country of farmers and soldiers, Japan is to-day a land of farmers and merchants. Wealth is growing apace. International commerce, too, has sprung up and expanded phenomenally. Japanese merchant steamers may now be seen in every part of the world. All these changes have taken place within about three decades, and so radical have they been,--so productive of new life in Japan,--that some have urged the re-writing of Japanese history, making the first year of Meiji (1868) the year one of Japan, instead of reckoning from the year in which Jimmu Tenno is said to have ascended the throne, 2560 years ago (B.C. 660). The way in which Japanese regard the transformations produced by the "restoration" of the present Emperor, upon the overthrow of the "Bakufu," or "Curtain Government," may be judged from the following graphic paragraph from _The Far East_: "The Restoration of Meiji was indeed the greatest of revolutions that this island empire ever underwent. Its magic wand left nothing untouched and unchanged. It was the Restoration that overthrew the Tokugawa Shogunate, which reigned supreme for over two centuries and a half. It was the Restoration that brought us face to face with the Occidentals. It was the Restoration that pulled the demigods of the Feudal lords down to the level of the commoners. It was the Restoration that deprived the samurai of their fiefs and reduced them to penury. It was the Restoration that taught the people to build their houses of bricks and stones and to construct ships and bridges of iron instead of wood. It was the Restoration that informed us that eclipses and comets are not to be feared, and that earthquakes are not caused by a huge cat-fish in the bottom of the earth. It was the Restoration that taught the people to use the "drum-backing" thunder as their messenger, and to make use of the railroad instead of the palanquin. It was the Restoration that set the earth in motion, and proved that there is no rabbit in the moon. It was the Restoration that bestowed on Socrates and Aristotle the chairs left vacant by Confucius and Mencius. It was the Restoration that let Shakspere and Goethe take the place of Bakin and Chikamatsu. It was the Restoration that deprived the people of the swords and topnots. In short, after the Restoration a great change took place in administration, in art, in science, in literature, in language spoken and written, in taste, in custom, in the mode of living, nay in everything" (p. 541). A natural outcome of the Restoration is the exuberant patriotism that is so characteristic a feature of New Japan. The very term "ai-koku-shin" is a new creation, almost as new as the thing. This word is an incidental proof of the general correctness of the contention of this chapter that true nationality is a recent product in Japan. The term, literally translated, is "love-country heart"; but the point for us to notice particularly is the term for country, "koku"; this word has never before meant the country as a whole, but only the territory of a clan. If I wish to ask a Japanese what part of Japan is his native home, I must use this word. And if a Japanese wishes to ask me which of the foreign lands I am a native of, he must use the same word. The truth is that Old Japan did not have any common word corresponding to the English term, "My country." In ancient times, this could only mean, "My clan-territory." But with the passing away of the clans the old word has taken on a new significance. The new word, "ai-koku-shin," refers not to love of clan, but to love of the whole nation. The conception of national unity has at last seized upon the national mind and heart, and is giving the people an enthusiasm for the nation, regardless of the parts, which they never before knew. Japanese patriotism has only in this generation come to self-consciousness. This leads it to many a strange freak. It is vociferous and imperious, and often very impractical and Chauvinistic. It frequently takes the form of uncompromising disdain for the foreigner, and the most absolute loyalty to the Emperor of Japan; it demands the utmost respect of expression in regard to him and the form of government he has graciously granted the nation. The slightest hint or indirect suggestion of defect or ignorance, or even of limitation, is most vehemently resented. A few illustrations of the above statements from recent experience will not be out of place. In August, 1891, the Minister of Education, Mr. Y. Osaki, criticising the tendency in Japan to pay undue respect to moneyed men, said, in the course of a long speech, "You Japanese worship money even more reverently than the Americans do. If you had a republic as they have, I believe you would nominate an Iwazaki or a Mitsui to be president, whereas they don't think of nominating a Vanderbilt or a Gould." It was not long before a storm was raging around his head because of this reference to a republican form of government as a possibility in Japan. The storm became so fierce that he was finally compelled to resign his post and retire, temporarily, from political life. In October, 1898, the High Council of Education was required to consider various questions regarding the conduct of the educational department after the New Treaties should come into force. The most important question was whether foreigners should be allowed to have a part in the education of Japanese youth. The general argument, and that which prevailed, was that this should not be allowed lest the patriotism of the children be weakened. So far as appears but one voice was raised for a more liberal policy. Mr. Y. Kamada maintained that "patriotism in Japan was the outcome of foreign intercourse. Patriotism, that is to say, love of country--not merely of fief--and readiness to sacrifice everything for its sake, was a product of the Meiji era." In 1891 a teacher in the Kumamoto Boys' School gave expression to the thought in a public address that, as all mankind are brothers, the school should stand for the principle of universal brotherhood and universal goodwill to men. This expression of universalism was so obnoxious to the patriotic spirit of so large a number of the people of Kumamoto Ken, or Province, that the governor required the school to dismiss that teacher. There is to-day a strong party in Japan which makes "Japanism" their cry; they denounce all expressions of universal good-will as proofs of deficiency of patriotism. There are not wanting those who see through the shallowness of such views and who vigorously oppose and condemn such narrow patriotism. Yet the fact that it exists to-day with such force must be noted and its natural explanation, too, must not be forgotten. It is an indication of self-conscious nationality. That this love of country, even this conception of country, is a modern thing will appear from two further facts. Until modern times there was no such thing as a national flag. The flaming Sun on a field of white came into existence as a national flag only in 1859. The use of the Sun as the symbol for the Emperor has been in vogue since 700 A.D., the custom having been adopted from China. "When in 1859 a national flag corresponding to those of Europe became necessary, the Sun Banner naturally stepped into the vacant place."[A] The second fact is the recent origin of the festival known as "Kigensetsu." It occurs on February 11 and celebrates the alleged accession of Jimmu Tenno, the first Emperor of Japan, to the throne 2560 years ago (660 B.C.). The festival itself, however, was instituted by Imperial decree ten years ago (1890). The transformation which has come over Japan in a single generation requires interpretation. Is the change real or superficial? Is the new social order "a borrowed trumpery garment, which will soon be rent by violent revolutions," according to the eminent student of racial psychology, Professor Le Bon, or is it of "a solid nature" according to the firm belief of Mr. Stanford Ransome, one of the latest writers on Japan? This is the problem that will engage our attention more or less directly throughout this work. We shall give our chief thought to the nature and development of Japanese racial characteristics, believing that this alone gives the light needed for the solution of the problem.[B] III THE PROBLEM OF PROGRESS What constitutes progress? And what is the true criterion for its measurement? In adopting Western methods of life and thought, is Japan advancing or receding? The simplicity of the life of the common people, their freedom from fashions that fetter the Occidental, their independence of furniture in their homes, their few wants and fewer necessities--these, when contrasted with the endless needs and demands of an Occidental, are accepted by some as evidences of a higher stage of civilization than prevails in the West. The hedonistic criterion of progress is the one most commonly adopted in considering the question as to whether Japan is the gainer or the loser by her rapid abandonment of old ways and ideas and by her equally rapid adoption of Western ones in their place. Yet this appeal to happiness seems to me a misleading because vague, if not altogether false, standard of progress. Those who use it insist that the people of Japan are losing their former happiness under the stress of new conditions. Now there can be no doubt that during the "Kyu-han jidai," the times before the coming in of Western waves of life, the farmers were a simple, unsophisticated people; living from month to month with little thought or anxiety. They may be said to have been happy. The samurai who lived wholly on the bounty of the daimyo led of course a tranquil life, at least so far as anxiety or toil for daily rice and fish was concerned. As the fathers had lived and fought and died, so did the sons. To a large extent the community had all things in common; for although the lord lived in relative luxury, yet in such small communities there never was the great difference between classes that we find in modern Europe and America. As a rule the people were fed, if there was food. The socialistic principle was practically universal. Especially was emphasis laid on kinship. As a result, save among the outcast classes, the extremes of poverty did not exist. Were we to rest our inquiries at this point, we might say that in truth the Japanese had attained the summit of progress; that nothing further could be asked. But pushing our way further, we find that the peace and quiet of the ordinary classes of society were accompanied by many undesirable features. Prominent among them was the domineering spirit of the military class. They alone laid claim to personal rights, and popular stories are full of the free and furious ways in which they used their swords. The slightest offense by one of the swordless men would be paid for by a summary act of the two-sworded swashbucklers, while beggars and farmers were cut down without compunction, sometimes simply to test a sword. In describing those times one man said to me, "They used to cut off the heads of the common people as farmers cut off the head of the daikon" (a variety of giant radish). I have frequently asked my Japanese friends and acquaintances, whether, in view of the increasing difficulties of life under the new conditions, the country would not like to return to ancient times and customs. But none have been ready to give me an affirmative reply. On detailed questioning I have always found that the surly, domineering methods, the absolutism of the rulers, and the defenselessness of the people against unjust arbitrary superiors would not be submitted to by a people that has once tasted the joy arising from individual rights and freedom and the manhood that comes from just laws for all. A striking feature of those Japanese who are unchanged by foreign ways is their obsequious manner toward superiors and officials. The lordly and oftentimes ruthless manner of the rulers has naturally cowed the subject. Whenever the higher nobility traveled, the common people were commanded to fall on the ground in obeisance and homage. Failure to do so was punishable with instant death at the hands of the retainers who accompanied the lord. During my first stay in Kumamoto I was surprised that farmers, coming in from the country on horseback, meeting me as I walked, invariably got down from their horses, unfastened the handkerchiefs from their heads, and even took off their spectacles if there were nothing else removable. These were signs of respect given to all in authority. Where my real status began to be generally known, these signs of politeness gave place to rude staring. It is difficult for the foreigner to appreciate the extremes of the high-handed and the obsequious spirit which were developed by the ancient form of government. Yet it is comparatively easy to distinguish between the evidently genuine humility of the non-military classes and the studied deference of the dominant samurai. Another feature of the old order of things was the emptiness of the lives of the people. Education was rare. Limited to the samurai, who composed but a fraction of the population, it was by no means universal even among them. And such education as they had was confined to the Chinese classics. Although there were schools in connection with some of the temples, the people as a whole did not learn to read or write. These were accomplishments for the nobility and men of leisure. The thoughts of the people were circumscribed by the narrow world in which they lived, and this allowed but an occasional glimpse of other clans through war or a chance traveler. For, in those times, freedom of travel was not generally allowed. Each man, as a rule, lived and labored and died where he was born. The military classes had more freedom. But when we contrast the breadth of thought and outlook enjoyed by the nation to-day, through newspapers and magazines, with the outlook and knowledge of even the most progressive and learned of those of ancient times, how contracted do their lives appear! A third feature of former times is the condition of women during those ages. Eulogizers of Old Japan not only seem to forget that working classes existed then, but also that women, constituting half the population, were essential to the existence of the nation. Though allowing more freedom than was given to women in other Oriental nations, Japan did not grant such liberty as is essential to the full development of her powers. "Woman is a man's plaything" expresses a view still held in Japan. "Woman's sole duty is the bearing and rearing of children for her husband" is the dominant idea that has determined her place in the family and in the state for hundreds of years. That she has any independent interest or value as a human being has not entered into national conception. "The way in which they are treated by the men has hitherto been such as might cause a pang to any generous European heart.... A woman's lot is summed up in what is termed 'the three obediences,' obedience, while yet unmarried, to a father; obedience, when married, to a husband; obedience, when widowed, to a son. At the present moment the greatest duchess or marchioness in the land is still her husband's drudge. She fetches and carries for him, bows down humbly in the hall when my lord sallies forth on his good pleasure."[C] "The Greater Learning for Women," by Ekken Kaibara (1630-1714), an eminent Japanese moralist, is the name of a treatise on woman's duties which sums up the ideas common in Japan upon this subject. For two hundred years or more it has been used as a text-book in the training of girls. It enjoins such abject submission of the wife to her husband, to her parents-in-law, and to her other kindred by marriage, as no self-respecting woman of Western lands could for a moment endure. Let me prove this through a few quotations. "A woman should look on her husband as if he were Heaven itself and never weary of thinking how she may yield to her husband, and thus escape celestial castigation." "Woman must form no friendships and no intimacy, except when ordered to do so by her parents or by the middleman. Even at the peril of her life, must she harden her heart like a rock or metal, and observe the rules of propriety." "A woman has no particular lord. She must look to her husband as her lord and must serve him with all reverence and worship, not despising or thinking lightly of him. The great life-long duty of a woman is obedience.... When the husband issues his instructions, the wife must never disobey them.... Should her husband be roused to anger at any time, she must obey him, with fear and trembling." Not one word in all these many and specific instructions hints at love and affection. That which to Western ears is the sweetest word in the English language, the foundation of happiness in the home, the only true bond between husband and wife, parents and children--LOVE--does not once appear in this the ideal instruction for Japanese women. Even to this day divorce is the common occurrence in Japan. According to Confucius there are seven grounds of divorce: disobedience, barrenness, lewd conduct, jealousy, leprosy or any other foul or incurable disease, too much talking, and thievishness. "In plain English, a man may send away his wife whenever he gets tired of her." Were the man's duties to the wife and to her parents as minutely described and insisted on as are those of the wife to the husband and to his parents, this "Greater Learning for Women" would not seem so deficient; but such is not the case. The woman's rights are few, yet she bears her lot with marvelous patience. Indeed, she has acquired a most attractive and patient and modest behavior despite, or is it because of, centuries of well-nigh tyrannical treatment from the male sex. In some important respects the women of Japan are not to be excelled by those of any other land. But that this lot has been a happy one I cannot conceive it possible for a European, who knows the meaning of love or home, to contend. The single item of one divorce for every three marriages tells a tale of sorrow and heartache that is sad to contemplate. Nor does this include those separations where tentative marriage takes place with a view to learning whether the parties can endure living together. I have known several such cases. Neither does this take account of the great number of concubines that may be found in the homes of the higher classes. A concubine often makes formal divorce quite superfluous. I by no means contend that the women of Old Japan were all and always miserable. There was doubtless much happiness and even family joy; affection between husband and wife could assuredly have been found in numberless cases. But the hardness of life as a whole, the low position held by woman in her relations to man, her lack of legal rights,[D] and her menial position, justify the assertion that there was much room for improvement. These three conspicuous features of the older life in Japan help us to reach a clear conception as to what constitutes progress. We may say that true progress consists in that continuous, though slow, transformation of the structure of society which, while securing its more thorough organization, brings to each individual the opportunity of a larger, richer, and fuller life, a life which increasingly calls forth his latent powers and capacities. In other words, progress is a growing organization of society, accompanied by a growing liberty of the individual resulting in richness and fullness of life. It is not primarily a question of unreflecting happiness, but a question of the wide development of manhood and womanhood. Both men and women have as yet unmeasured latent capacities, which demand a certain liberty, accompanied by responsibilities and cares, in order for their development. Intellectual education and a wide horizon are likewise essential to the production of such manhood and womanhood. In the long run this is seen to bring a deeper and a more lasting happiness than was possible to the undeveloped man or woman. The question of progress is confused and put on a wrong footing when the consciousness of happiness or unhappiness, is made the primary test. The happiness of the child is quite apart from that of the adult. Regardless of distressing circumstances, the child is able to laugh and play, and this because he is a child; a child in his ignorance of actual life, and in his inability to perceive the true conditions in which he lives. Not otherwise, I take it, was the happiness of the vast majority in Old Japan. Theirs was the happiness of ignorance and simple, undeveloped lives. Accustomed to tyranny, they did not think of rebellion against it. Familiar with brutality and suffering, they felt nothing of its shame and inhumanity. The sight of decapitated bodies, the torture of criminals, the despotism of husbands, the cringing obedience of the ruled, the haughtiness of the rulers, the life of hard toil and narrow outlook, were all so usual that no thought of escape from such an order of society ever suggested itself to those who endured it. From time to time wise and just rulers did indeed strive to introduce principles of righteousness into their methods of government; but these men formed the exception, not the rule. They were individuals and not the system under which the people lived. It was always a matter of chance whether or not such men were at the head of affairs, for the people did not dream of the possibility of having any voice in their selection. The structure of society was and always had been absolute militarism. Even under the most benevolent rulers the use of cruel torture, not only on convicted criminals, but on all suspected of crime, was customary. Those in authority might personally set a good example, but they did not modify the system. They owned not only the soil but practically the laborers also, for these could not leave their homes in search of others that were better. They were serfs, if not slaves, and the system did not tend to raise the standard of life or education, of manhood or womanhood among the people. The happiness of the people in such times was due in part to their essential inhumanity of heart and lack of sympathy with suffering and sorrow. Each individual bore his own sorrow and pain alone. The community, as such, did not distress itself over individuals who suffered. Sympathy, in its full meaning, was unknown in Old Japan. The barbarous custom of casting out the leper from the home, to wander a lonely exile, living on the charity of strangers, is not unknown even to this day. We are told that in past times the "people were governed by such strong aversion to the sight of sickness that travelers were often left to die by the roadside from thirst, hunger, or disease; and householders even went the length of thrusting out of doors and abandoning to utter destitution servants who suffered from chronic maladies." So universal was this heartlessness that the government at one time issued proclamations against the practices it allowed. "Whenever an epidemic occurred the number of deaths was enormous." Seven men of the outcast, "the Eta," class were authoritatively declared equal in value to one common man. Beggars were technically called "hi-nin," "not men." Those who descant on the happiness of Old Japan commit the great error of overlooking all these sad features of life, and of fixing their attention exclusively on the one feature of the childlike, not to say childish, lightness of heart of the common people. Such writers are thus led to pronounce the past better than the present time. They also overlook the profound happiness and widespread prosperity of the present era. Trade, commerce, manufactures, travel, the freest of intercommunication, newspapers, and international relations, have brought into life a richness and a fullness that were then unknown. But in addition, the people now enjoy a security of personal interests, a possession of personal rights and property, and a personal liberty, that make life far more worthy and profoundly enjoyable, even while they bring responsibilities and duties and not a few anxieties. This explains the fact that no Japanese has expressed to me the slightest desire to abandon the present and return to the life and conditions of Old Japan. Let me repeat, therefore, with all possible emphasis, that the problem of progress is not primarily one of increasing light-heartedness, pure and simple, nor yet a problem of racial unification or of political centralization; it is rather a problem of so developing the structure of society that the individual may have the fullest opportunity for development. The measure of progress is not the degree of racial unification, of political centralization, or of unreflective happiness, but rather the degree and the extent of individual personality. Racial unification, political centralization, and increasing happiness are in the attainment of progress, but they are not to be viewed as sufficient ends. Personality, can alone be that end. The wide development of personality, therefore, is at once the goal and the criterion of progress. IV THE METHOD OF PROGRESS Progress as an ideal is quite modern in its origin. For although the ancients were progressing, they did it unconsciously, blindly, stumbling on it by chance, forced to it, as we have seen, by the struggle for existence. True of the ancient civilizations of Europe and Western Asia and Africa, this is emphatically true of the Orient. Here, so far from seeking to progress, the avowed aim has been not to progress; the set purpose has been to do as the fathers did; to follow their example even in customs and rites whose meaning has been lost in the obscurity of the past. This blind adherence was the boast of those who called themselves religious. They strove to fulfill their duties to their ancestors. Under such conditions how was progress possible? And how has it come to pass that, ruled by this ideal until less than fifty years ago, Japan is now facing quite the other way? The passion of the nation to-day is to make the greatest possible progress in every direction. Here is an anomaly, a paradox; progress made in spite of its rejection; and, recently, a total volte-face. How shall we explain this paradox? In our chapter on the Principles of National Evolution,[E] we see that the first step in progress was made through the development of enlarging communities by means of extending boundaries and hardening customs. We see that, on reaching this stage, the great problem was so to break the "cake of custom" as to give liberty to individuals whereby to secure the needful variations. We do not consider how this was to be accomplished. We merely show that, if further progress was to be made, it could only be through the development of the individualistic principle to which we give the more exact name communo-individualism. This problem as to how the "cake of custom" is successfully broken must now engage our attention. Mr. Bagehot contends that this process consisted, as a matter of history, in the establishment of government by discussion. Matters of principle came to be talked over; the desirability of this or that measure was submitted to the people for their approval or disapproval. This method served to stimulate definite and practical thought on a wide scale; it substituted the thinking of the many for the thinking of the few; it stimulated independent thinking and consequently independent action. This is, however, but another way of saying that it stimulated variation. A government whose action was determined after wide discussion would be peculiarly fitted to take advantage of all useful variations of ideas and practice. Experience shows, he continues, that the difficulty of developing a "cake of custom" is far more easily surmounted than that of developing government by discussion; _i.e._, that it is far less difficult to develop communalism than communo-individualism. The family of arrested civilizations, of which China and India and Japan, until recent times, are examples, were caught in the net of what had once been the source of their progress. The tyranny of their laws and customs was such that all individual variations were nipped in the bud. They failed to progress because they failed to develop variations. And they failed in this because they did not have government by discussion. No one will dispute the importance of Mr. Bagehot's, contribution to this subject. But it may be doubted whether he has pointed out the full reason for the difficulty of breaking the "cake of custom" or manifested the real root of progress. To attain progress in the full sense, not merely of an oligarchy or a caste, but of the whole people, there must not only be government by discussion, but the responsibilities of the government must be snared more or less fully by all the governed. History, however, shows that this cannot take place until a conception of intrinsic manhood and womanhood has arisen, a conception which emphasizes their infinite and inherent worth. This conception is not produced by government by discussion, while government by discussion is the necessary consequence of the wide acceptance of this conception. It is therefore the real root of progress. As I look over the history of the Orient, I find no tendency to discover the inherent worth of man or to introduce the principle of government by discussion. Left to themselves, I see no probability that any of these nations would ever have been able to break the thrall of their customs, and to reach that stage of development in which common individuals could be trusted with a large measure of individual liberty. Though I can conceive that Japan might have secured a thorough-going political centralization under the old _régime_, I cannot see that that centralization would have been accompanied by growing liberty for the individual or by such constitutional rights for the common man as he enjoys to-day. Whatever progress she might have made in the direction of nationality it would still have been a despotism. The common man would have remained a helpless and hopeless slave. Art might have prospered; the people might have remained simple-minded and relatively contented. But they could not have attained that freedom and richness of life, that personality, which we saw in our last chapter to be the criterion and goal of true progress. If the reader judges the above contention correct and agrees with the writer that the conception of the inherent value of a human being could not arise spontaneously in Japan, he will conclude that the progress of Japan depended on securing this important conception from without. Exactly this has taken place. By her thorough-going abandonment of the feudal social order and adoption of the constitutional and representative government of Christendom, whether she recognizes it or not, she has accepted the principles of the inherent worth of manhood and womanhood, as well as government by discussion. Japan has thus, by imitation rather than by origination, entered on the path of endless progress. So important, however, is the step recently taken that further analysis of this method of progress is desirable for its full comprehension. We have already noted quite briefly[F] how Japan was supplied by the West with the ideal of national unity and the material instruments essential to its attainment. In connection with the high development of the nation as a whole, these two elements of progress, the ideal and the material, need further consideration. We note in the first place that both begin with imitation, but if progress is to be real and lasting, both must grow to independence. The first and by far the most important is the psychical, the introduction of new ideas. So long as the old, familiar ideas hold sway over the mind of a nation, there is little or no stimulus to comparison and discussion. Stagnation is well-nigh complete. But let new ideas be so introduced as to compel attention and comprehension, and the mind spontaneously awakes to wonderful activity. The old stagnation is no longer possible. Discussion is started; and in the end something must take place, even if the new ideas are not accepted wholly or even in part. But they will not gain attention if presented simply in the abstract, unconnected with real life. They must bring evidence that, if accepted and lived, they will be of practical use, that they will give added power to the nation. Exactly this took place in 1854 when Admiral Perry demanded entrance to Japan. The people suddenly awoke from their sleep of two and a half centuries to find that new nations had arisen since they closed their eyes, nations among which new sets of ideas had been at work, giving them a power wholly unknown to the Orient and even mysterious to it. Those ideas were concerned, not alone with the making of guns, the building of ships, the invention of machinery, the taming and using of the forces of nature, but also with methods of government and law, with strange notions, too, about religion and duty, about the family and the individual, which the foreigners said were of inestimable value and importance. It needed but a few years of intercourse with Western peoples to convince the most conservative that unless the Japanese themselves could gain the secret of their power, either by adopting their weapons or their civilization, they themselves must fade away before the stronger nations. The need of self-preservation was the first great stimulus that drove new thoughts into unwilling brains. There can be no doubt that the Japanese were right in this analysis of the situation. Had they insisted on maintaining their old methods of national life and social order and ancient customs, there can be no doubt as to the result. Africa and India in recent decades and China and Korea in the most recent years tell the story all too clearly. Those who know the course of treaty conferences and armed collisions, as at Shimonoseki and Kagoshima between Japan and the foreign nations, have no doubt that Japan, divided into clans and persisting in her love of feudalism, would long since have become the territory of some European Power. She was saved by the possession of a remarkable combination of national characteristics,--the powers of observation, of appreciation, and of imitation. In a word, her sensitiveness to her environment and her readiness to respond to it proved to be her salvation. But the point on which I wish to lay special emphasis is that the prime element of the form in which the deliverance came was through the acquisition of numerous new ideas. These were presented by persons who thoroughly believed in them and who admittedly had a power not possessed by the Japanese themselves. Though unable to originate these ideas, the Japanese yet proved themselves capable of understanding and appreciating them--in a measure at least. They were at first attracted to that which related chiefly to the externals of civilization, to that which would contribute immediately to the complete political centralization of the nation. With great rapidity they adopted Western ideas about warfare and weapons. They sent their young men abroad to study the civilization of the foreign nations. At great expense they also employed many foreigners to teach them in their own land the things they wished to learn. Thus have the Japanese mastered so rapidly the details of those ideas which, less than fifty years ago, were not only strange but odious to them. Under their influence, the conditions which history shows to be the most conducive to the continuous growth of civilization have been definitely accepted and adopted by the people, namely, popular rights, the liberty of individuals to differ from the past so far as this does not interfere with national unity, and the direct responsibility and relation of each individual to the nation without any mediating group. These rights and liberties are secured to the individual by a constitution and by laws enacted by representative legislatures. Government by discussion has been fairly inaugurated. During these years of change the effort has been to leave the old social order as undisturbed as possible. For example, it was hoped that the reorganization of the military and naval forces of the Empire would be sufficient without disturbing the feudal order and without abolishing the feudal states. But this was soon found ineffectual. For a time it was likewise thought that the adoption of Western methods of government might be made without disturbing the old religious ideas and without removing the edicts against Christianity. But experience soon showed that the old civilization was a unit. No part could be vitally modified without affecting the whole structure. Having knocked over one block in the long row that made up their feudal social order, it was found that each successive block was touched and fell, until nothing was left standing as before. It was found also that the old ideas of education, of travel, of jurisprudence, of torture and punishment, of social ranks, of the relation of the individual to the state, of the state to the family, and of religion to the family, were more or less defective and unsuited to the new civilization. Before this new movement all obstructive ideas, however, sanctioned by antiquity, have had to give way. The Japanese of to-day look, as it were, upon a new earth and a new heaven. Those of forty years ago would be amazed, not only at the enormous changes in the externals, life and government, but also at the transformation which has overtaken every element of the older civilization. Putting it rather strongly, it is now not the son who obeys the father, but the father the son. The rulers no longer command the people, but the people command the rulers. The people do not now toil to support the state; but the state toils to protect the people. Whether the incoming of these new ideas and practices be thought to constitute progress or not will depend on one's view of the aim of life. If this be as maintained in the previous chapter, then surely the transformation of Japan must be counted progress. That, however, to which I call attention is the fact that the essential requisite of progress is the attainment of new ideas, whatever be their source. Japan has not only taken up a great host of these, but in doing so she has adopted a social structure to stimulate the continuous production of new ideas, through the development of individuality. She is thus in the true line of continuously progressive evolution. Imitating the stronger nations, she has introduced into her system the life-giving blood of free discussion, popular education, and universal individual rights and liberty. In a word, she has begun to be an individualistic nation. She has introduced a social order fitted to a wide development of personality. The importance of the second line of progress, the physical, would seem to be too obvious to call for any detailed consideration. But so much has been said by both graceful and able writers on Japan as to the advantages she enjoys from her simple non-mechanical civilization, and the mistake she is making in adopting the mechanical civilization of the West, that it may not be amiss to dwell for a few moments upon it. I wish to show that the second element of progress consists in the _increasing use of mechanisms_. The enthusiastic admirer of Japan hardly finds words wherewith sufficiently to praise the simplicity of her pre-Meiji civilization. No furniture brings confusion to the room; no machinery distresses the ear with its groanings or the eye with its unsightliness. No factories blacken the sky with smoke. No trains screeching through the towns and cities disturb sleepers and frighten babies. The simple bed on the floor, the straw sandal on the foot, wooden chopsticks in place of knives and forks, the small variety of foods and of cooking utensils, the simple, homespun cotton clothing, the fascinating homes, so small and neat and clean--in truth all that pertains to Old Japan finds favor in the eyes of the enthusiastic admirer from the Occident. One such writer, in an elaborate paper intended to set forth the superiority of the original Japanese to the Occidental civilization, uses the following language: "Ability to live without furniture, without impedimenta, with the least possible amount of neat clothing, shows more than the advantage held by the Japanese race in the struggle of life; it shows also the real character of some of the weaknesses in our own civilization. It forces reflection upon the useless multiplicity of our daily wants. We must have meat and bread and butter; glass windows and fire; hats, white shirts, and woolen underwear; boots and shoes; trunks, bags, and boxes; bedsteads, mattresses, sheets, and blankets; all of which a Japanese can do without, and is really better off without."[G] Surely one finds much of truth in this, and there is no denying the charm of the simpler civilization, but the closing phrase of the quotation is the assumption without discussion of the disputed point. Are the Japanese really better off without these implements of Western civilization? Evidently they themselves do not think so. For, in glancing through the list as given by the writer quoted, one realizes the extent of Japanese adoption of these Western devices. Hardly an article but is used in Japan, and certainly with the supposition of the purchaser that it adds either to his health or his comfort. In witness are the hundreds of thousands of straw hats, the glass windows everywhere, and the meat-shops in each town and city of the Empire. The charm of a foreign fashion is not sufficient explanation for the rapidly spreading use of foreign inventions. That there are no useless or even evil features in our Western civilization is not for a moment contended. The stiff starched shirt may certainly be asked to give an account of itself and justify its continued existence, if it can. But I think the proposition is capable of defense that the vast majority of the implements of our Occidental civilization have their definite place and value, either in contributing directly to the comfort and happiness of their possessor, or in increasing his health and strength and general mental and physical power. What is it that makes the Occidental longer-lived than the Japanese? Why is he healthier? Why is he more intelligent? Why is he a more developed personality? Why are his children more energetic? Or, reversing the questions, why has the population of Japan been increasing with leaps and bounds since the introduction of Western civilization and medical science? Why is the rising generation so free from pockmarks? Why is the number of the blind steadily diminishing? Why are mechanisms multiplying so rapidly--the jinrikisha, the railroads, the roads, the waterworks and sewers, the chairs, the tables, the hats and umbrellas, lamps, clocks, glass windows and shoes? A hundred similar questions might be asked, to which no definite answers are needful. Further discussion of details seems unnecessary. Yet the full significance of this point can hardly be appreciated without a perception of the great principle that underlies it. The only way in which man has become and continues to be increasingly superior to animals is in his use of mechanisms. The animal does by brute force what man accomplishes by various devices. The inventiveness of different races differs vastly. But everywhere, the most advanced are the most powerful. Take the individual man of the more developed race and separate him from his tools and machines, and it is doubtless true that he cannot in some selected points compete with an individual of a less developed race. But let ten thousand men of the higher development compete with ten thousand of the lower, each using the mechanisms under his control, and can there be any doubt as to which is the superior? In other words, the method of human progress consists, in no small degree, in the progressive mastery of nature, first through understanding her and then through the use of her immense forces by means of suitable mechanisms. All the machines and furniture, and tools and clothing, and houses and canned foods, and shoes and boots, and railroads and telegraph lines, and typewriters and watches, and the ten thousand other so-called "impedimenta" of the Occidental civilization are but devices whereby Western man has sought to increase his health, his wealth, his knowledge, his comfort, his independence, his capacity of travel--in a word, his well-being. Through these mechanisms he masters nature. He extracts a rich living from nature; he annihilates time and space; he defies the storms; he tunnels the mountains; he extracts precious ores and metals from the rock-ribbed hills; with a magic touch he loosens the grip of the elements and makes them surrender their gold, their silver, and, more precious still, their iron; with these he builds his spacious cities and parks, his railroads and ocean steamers; he travels the whole world around, fearing neither beast nor alien man; all are subject to his command and will. He investigates and knows the constitution of stellar worlds no less than that of the world in which he lives. By his instruments he explores the infinite depths of heaven and the no less infinite depths of the microscopic world. All these reviled "impedimenta" thus bring to the race that has them a wealth of life both physical and psychical, practical and ideal, that is otherwise unattainable. By them he gains and gives external expression to the reality of his inner nature, his freedom, his personality. True, instead of bringing health and long life, knowledge and deep enjoyment, they may become the means of bitterest curses. But the lesson to learn from this fact is how to use these powers aright, not how to forbid their use altogether. They are not to be branded as hindrances to progress. The defect of Occidental civilization to-day is hot its multiplicity of machinery, but the defective view that still blinds the eyes of the multitude as to the true nature and the legitimate goal of progress. Individual, selfish happiness is still the ideal of too many men and women to permit of the ideal which carries the Golden Rule into the markets and factories, into the politics of parties and nations, which is essential to the attainment of the highest progress. But no one who casts his eyes over the centuries of struggle and effort through which man has been slowly working his way upward from the rank of a beast to that of a man, can doubt that progress has been made. The worth of character has been increasingly seen and its possession desired. The true end of effort and development was never more clear than it is at the close of the nineteenth century. Never before were the conditions of progress so bright, not only for the favored few in one or two lands, but for the multitudes the world over. Isolation and separation have passed from this world forever. Free social intercourse between the nations permits wide dissemination of ideas and their application to practical life in the form of social organization and mechanical invention. This makes it possible for nations more or less backward in social and civilizational development to gain in a relatively short time the advantages won by advanced nations through ages of toil and under favoring circumstances. Nation thus stimulates nation, each furnishing the other with important variations in ideas, customs, institutions, and mechanisms resulting from long-continued divergent evolution. The advantages slowly gained by advanced peoples speedily accrues through social heredity to any backward race really desiring to enter the social heritage. Thus does the paradox of Japan's recent progress become thoroughly intelligible. V JAPANESE SENSITIVENESS TO ENVIRONMENT With this chapter we begin a more detailed study of Japanese social and psychic evolution. We shall take up the various characteristics of the race and seek to account for them, showing their origin in the peculiar nature of the social order which so long prevailed in Japan. This is a study of Japanese psychogenesis. The question to which we shall continually return is whether or not the characteristic under consideration is inherent and congenital and therefore inevitable. Not only our interpretation of Japanese evolution, past, present, and future, but also our understanding of the essential nature of social evolution in general, depends upon the answer to this question. We naturally begin with that characteristic of Japanese nature which would seem to be more truly congenital than any other to be mentioned later. I refer to their sensitiveness to environment. More quickly than most races do the Japanese seem to perceive and adapt themselves to changed conditions. The history of the past thirty years is a prolonged illustration of this characteristic. The desire to imitate foreign nations was not a real reason for the overthrow of feudalism, but there was, rather, a more or less conscious feeling, rapidly pervading the whole people, that the feudal system would be unable to maintain the national integrity. As intimated, the matter was not so much reasoned out as felt. But such a vast illustration is more difficult to appreciate than some individual instances, of which I have noted several. During a conversation with Drs. Forsythe and Dale, of Cambridge, England, I asked particularly as to their experience with the Japanese students who had been there to study. They both remarked on the fact that all Japanese students were easily influenced by those with whom they customarily associated; so much so that, within a short time, they acquired not only the cut of coats and trousers, but also the manner and accent, of those with whom they lived. It was amusing, they said, to see what transformations were wrought in those who went to the Continent for their long vacations. From France they returned with marked French manners and tones and clothes, while from Germany they brought the distinctive marks of German stiffness in manner and general bearing. It was noted as still more curious that the same student would illustrate both variations, provided he spent one summer in Germany and another in France. Japanese sensitiveness is manifested in many unexpected ways. An observant missionary lady once remarked that she had often wondered how such unruly, self-willed children as grow up under Japanese training, or its lack, finally become such respectable members of society. She concluded that instead of being punished out of their misbehaviors they were laughed out of them. The children are constantly told that if they do so and so they will be laughed at--a terrible thing. The fear of ridicule has thus an important sociological function in maintaining ethical standards. Its power may be judged by the fact that in ancient times when a samurai gave his note to return a borrowed sum, the only guarantee affixed was the permission to be laughed at in public in case of failure. The Japanese young man who is making a typewritten copy of these pages for me says that, when still young, he heard an address to children which he still remembers. The speaker asked what the most fearful thing in the world was. Many replies were given by the children--"snakes," "wild beasts," "fathers," "gods," "ghosts," "demons," "Satan," "hell," etc. These were admitted to be fearful, but the speaker told the children that one other thing was to be more feared than all else, namely, "to be laughed at." This speech, with its vivid illustrations, made a lasting impression on the mind of the boy, and on reading what I had written he realized how powerful a motive fear of ridicule had been in his own life; also how large a part it plays in the moral education of the young in Japan. Naturally enough this fear of being laughed at leads to careful and minute observation of the clothing, manners, and speech of one's associates, and prompt conformity to them, through imitation. The sensitiveness of Japanese students to each new environment is thus easily understood. And this sensitiveness to environment has its advantages as well as its disadvantages. I have already referred to the help it gives to the establishment of individual conformity to ethical standards. The phenomenal success of many reforms in Japan may easily be traced to the national sensitiveness to foreign criticism. Many instances of this will be given in the course of this work, but two may well be mentioned at this point. According to the older customs there was great, if not perfect, freedom as to the use of clothing by the people. The apparent indifference shown by them in the matter of nudity led foreigners to call the nation uncivilized. This criticism has always been a galling one, and not without reason. In many respects their civilization has been fully the equal of that of any other nation; yet in this respect it is true that they resembled and still do resemble semi-civilized peoples. In response to this foreign criticism, however, a law was passed, early in the Meiji era, prohibiting nudity in cities. The requirement that public bathing houses be divided into two separate compartments, one for men and one for women, was likewise due to foreign opinion. That this is the case may be fairly inferred from the fact that the enforcement of these laws has largely taken places where foreigners abound, whereas, in the interior towns and villages they receive much less attention. It must be acknowledged, however, that now at last, twenty-five years after their passage, they are almost everywhere beginning to be enforced by the authorities. My other illustration of sensitiveness to foreign opinion is the present state of Japanese thought about the management of Formosa. The government has been severely criticised by many leading papers for its blunders there. But the curious feature is the constant reference to the contempt into which such mismanagement will bring Japan in the sight of the world--as if the opinion of other nations were the most important issue involved, and not the righteousness and probity of the government itself. It is interesting to notice how frequently the opinion of other nations with regard to Japan is a leading thought in the mind of the people. In this connection the following extract finds its natural place: In a very large number of schools throughout the country special instructions have been given to the pupils as to their behavior towards foreigners. From various sources we have culled the following orders bearing on special points, which we state as briefly as possible. (1) Never call after foreigners passing along the streets or roads. (2) When foreigners make inquiries, answer them politely. If unable to make them understand, inform the police of the fact. (3) Never accept a present from a foreigner when there is no reason for his giving it, and never charge him anything above what is proper. (4) Do not crowd around a shop when a foreigner is making purchases, thereby causing him much annoyance. The continuance of this practice disgraces us as a nation. (5) Since all human beings are brothers and sisters, there is no reason for fearing foreigners. Treat them as equals and act uprightly in all your dealings with them. Be neither servile nor arrogant. (6) Beware of combining against the foreigner and disliking him because he is a foreigner; men are to be judged by their conduct and not by their nationality. (7) As intercourse with foreigners becomes closer and extends over a series of years, there is danger that many Japanese may become enamored of their ways and customs and forsake the good old customs of their forefathers. Against this danger you must be on your guard. (8) Taking off your hat is the proper way to salute a foreigner. The bending of the body low is not be commended. (9) When you see a foreigner be sure and cover up naked parts of the body. (10) Hold in high regard the worship of ancestors and treat your relations with warm cordiality, but do not regard a person as your enemy because he or she is a Christian. (11) In going through the world you will often find a knowledge of a foreign tongue absolutely essential. (12) Beware of selling your souls to foreigners and becoming their slaves. Sell them no houses or lands. (13) Aim at not being beaten in your competition with foreigners. Remember that loyalty and filial piety are our most precious national treasures and do nothing to violate them. Many of the above rules are excellent in tone. Number 7, however, which hails from Osaka, is somewhat narrow and prejudiced. The injunction not to sell houses to foreigners is, as the _Jiji Shimpo_ points out, absurd and mischievous.[H] The sensitiveness of the people also works to the advantage of the nation in the social unity which it helps to secure. Indeed I cannot escape the conviction that the striking unity of the Japanese is largely due to this characteristic. It tends to make their mental and emotional activities synchronous. It retards reform for a season, to be sure, but later it accelerates it. It makes it difficult for individuals to break away from their surroundings and start out on new lines. It leads to a general progress while it tends to hinder individual progress. It tends to draw back into the general current of national life those individuals who, under exceptional conditions, may have succeeded in breaking away from it for a season. This, I think, is one of the factors of no little power at work among the Christian churches in Japan. It is one, too, that the Japanese themselves little perceive; so far as I have observed, foreigners likewise fail to realize its force. Closely connected with this sensitiveness to environment are other qualities which make it effective. They are: great flexibility, adjustability, agility (both mental and physical), and the powers of keen attention to details and of exact imitation. As opposed to all this is the Chinese lack of flexibility. Contrast a Chinaman and a Japanese after each has been in America a year. The one to all appearances is an American; his hat, his clothing, his manner, seem so like those of an American that were it not for his small size, Mongolian type of face, and defective English, he could easily be mistaken for one. How different is it with the Chinaman! He retains his curious cue with a tenacity that is as intense as it is characteristic. His hat is the conventional one adopted by all Chinese immigrants. His clothing likewise, though far from Chinese, is nevertheless entirely un-American. He makes no effort to conform to his surroundings. He seems to glory in his separateness. The Japanese desire to conform to the customs and appearances of those about him is due to what I have called sensitiveness; his success is due to the flexibility of his mental constitution. But this characteristic is seen in multitudes of little ways. The new fashion of wearing the hair according to the Western styles; of wearing Western hats, and Western clothing, now universal in the army, among policemen, and common among officials and educated men; the use of chairs and tables, lamps, windows, and other Western things is due in no small measure to that flexibility of mind which readily adopts new ideas and new ways; is ready to try new things and new words, and after trial, if it finds them convenient or useful or even amusing, to retain them permanently, and this flexibility is, in part, the reason why the Japanese are accounted a fickle people. They accept new ways so easily that those who do not have this faculty have no explanation for it but that of fickleness. A frequent surprise to a missionary in Japan is that of meeting a fine-looking, accomplished gentleman whom he knew a few years before as a crude, ungainly youth. I am convinced that it is the possession of this set of characteristics that has enabled Japan so quickly to assimilate many elements of an alien civilization. Yet this flexibility of mind and sensitiveness to changed conditions find some apparently striking exceptions. Notable among these are the many customs and appliances of foreign nations which, though adopted by the people, have not been completely modified to suit their own needs. In illustration is the Chinese ideograph, for the learning of which even in the modern common-school reader, there is no arrangement of the characters in the order of their complexity. The possibility of simplifying the colossal task of memorizing these uncorrelated ideographs does not seem to have occurred to the Japanese; though it is now being attempted by the foreigner. Perhaps a partial explanation of this apparent exception to the usual flexibility of the people in meeting conditions may be found in their relative lack of originality. Still I am inclined to refer it to a greater sensitiveness of the Japanese to the personal and human, than to the impersonal and physical environment. The customary explanation of the group of characteristics considered in this chapter is that they are innate, due to brain and nerve structure, and acquired by each generation through biological heredity. If closely examined, however, this is seen to be no explanation at all. Accepting the characteristics as empirical inexplicable facts, the real problem is evaded, pushed into prehistoric times, that convenient dumping ground of biological, anthropological, and sociological difficulties. Japanese flexibility, imitativeness, and sensitiveness to environment are to be accounted for by a careful consideration of the national environment and social order. Modern psychology has called attention to the astonishing part played by imitation, conscious and unconscious, in the evolution of the human race, and in the unification of the social group. Prof. Le Tarde goes so far as to make this the fundamental principle of human evolution. He has shown that it is ever at work in the life of every human being, modifying all his thoughts, acts, and feelings. In the evolution of civilization the rare man thinks, the millions imitate. A slight consideration of the way in which Occidental lands have developed their civilization will convince anyone that imitation has taken the leading part. Japan, therefore, is not unique in this respect. Her periods of wholesale imitation have indeed called special notice to the trait. But the rapidity of the movement has been due to the peculiarities of her environment. For long periods she has been in complete isolation, and when brought into contact with foreign nations, she has found them so far in advance of herself in many important respects that rapid imitation was the only course left her by the inexorable laws of nature. Had she not imitated China in ancient times and the Occident in modern times, her independence, if not her existence, could hardly have been maintained. Imitation of admittedly superior civilizations has therefore been an integral, conscious element of Japan's social order, and to a degree perhaps not equaled by the social order of any other race. The difference between Japanese imitation and that of other nations lies in the fact that whereas the latter, as a rule, despise foreign races, and do not admit the superiority of alien civilizations as a whole, imitating only a detail here and there, often without acknowledgment and sometimes even without knowledge, the Japanese, on the other hand, have repeatedly been placed in such circumstances as to see the superiority of foreign civilizations as a whole, and to desire their general adoption. This has produced a spirit of imitation among all the individuals of the race. It has become a part of their social inheritance. This explanation largely accounts for the striking difference between Japanese and Chinese in the Occident. The Japanese go to the West in order to acquire all the West can give. The Chinaman goes steeled against its influences. The spirit of the Japanese renders him quickly susceptible to every change in his surroundings. He is ever noting details and adapting himself to his circumstances. The spirit of the Chinaman, on the contrary, renders him quite oblivious to his environment. His mind is closed. Under special circumstances, when a Chinaman has been liberated from the prepossession of his social inheritance, he has shown himself as capable of Occidentalization in clothing, speech, manner, and thought as a Japanese. Such cases, however, are rare. But a still more effective factor in the development of the characteristics under consideration is the nature of Japanese feudalism. Its emphasis on the complete subordination of the inferior to the superior was one of its conspicuous features. This was a factor always and everywhere at work in Japan. No individual was beyond its potent influence. Attention to details, absolute obedience, constant, conscious imitation, secretiveness, suspiciousness, were all highly developed by this social system. Each of these traits is a special form of sensitiveness to environment. From the most ancient times the initiative of superiors was essential to the wide adoption by the people of any new idea or custom. Christianity found ready acceptance in the sixteenth century and Buddhism in the eighth, because they had been espoused by exalted persons. The superiority of the civilization of China in early times, and of the West in modern times, was first acknowledged and adopted by a few nobles and the Emperor. Having gained this prestige they promptly became acceptable to the rank and file of people who vied with each other in their adoption. A peculiarity of the Japanese is the readiness with which the ideas and aims of the rulers are accepted by the people. This is due to the nature of Japanese feudalism. It has made the body of the nation conspicuously subject to the ruling brain and has conferred on Japan her unique sensitiveness to environment. Susceptibility to slight changes in the feelings of lords and masters and corresponding flexibility were important social traits, necessary products of the old social order. Those deficient in these regards would inevitably lose in the struggle for social precedence, if not in the actual struggle for existence. These characteristics would, accordingly, be highly developed. Bearing in mind, therefore, the character of the factors that have ever been acting on the Japanese psychic nature, we see clearly that the characteristics under consideration are not to be attributed to her inherent race nature, but may be sufficiently accounted for by reference to the social order and social environment. VI WAVES OF FEELING--ABDICATION It has long been recognized that the Japanese are emotional, but the full significance of this element of their nature is far from realized. It underlies their entire life; it determines the mental activities in a way and to a degree that Occidentals can hardly appreciate. Waves of feeling have swept through the country, carrying everything before them in a manner that has oftentimes amazed us of foreign lands. An illustration from the recent political life of the nation comes to mind in this connection. For months previous to the outbreak of the recent war with China, there had been a prolonged struggle between the Cabinet and the political parties who were united in their opposition to the government, though in little else. The parties insisted that the Cabinet should be responsible to the party in power in the Lower House, as is the case in England, that thus they might stand and fall together. The Cabinet, on the other hand, contended that, according to the constitution, it was responsible to the Emperor alone, and that consequently there was no need of a change in the Cabinet with every change of party leadership. The nation waxed hot over the discussion. Successive Diets were dissolved and new Diets elected, in none of which, however, could the supporters of the Cabinet secure a majority; the Cabinet was, therefore, incapable of carrying out any of its distinctive measures. Several times the opposition went so far as to decline to pass the budget proposed by the Cabinet, unless so reduced as to cripple the government, the reason constantly urged being that the Cabinet was not competent to administer the expenditure of such large sums of money. There were no direct charges of fraud, but simply of incompetence. More than once the Cabinet was compelled to carry on the government during the year under the budget of the previous year, as provided by the constitution. So intense was the feeling that the capital was full of "soshi,"--political ruffians,--and fear was entertained as to the personal safety of the members of the Cabinet. The whole country was intensely excited over the matter. The newspapers were not loath to charge the government with extravagance, and a great explosion seemed inevitable, when, suddenly, a breeze from a new quarter arose and absolutely changed the face of the nation. War with China was whispered, and then noised around. Events moved rapidly. One or two successful encounters with the Chinese stirred the warlike passion that lurked in every breast. At once the feud with the Cabinet was forgotten. When, on short notice, an extra session of the Diet was called to vote funds for a war, not a word was breathed about lack of confidence in the Cabinet or its incompetence to manage the ordinary expenditures of the government; on the contrary, within five minutes from the introduction of the government bill asking a war appropriation of 150,000,000 yen, the bill was unanimously passed. Such an absolute change could hardly have taken place in England or America, or any land less subject to waves of emotion. So far as I could learn, the nation was a unit in regard to the war. There was not the slightest sign of a "peace party." Of all the Japanese with whom I talked only one ever expressed the slightest opposition to the war, and he on religious grounds, being a Quaker. The strength of the emotional element tends to make the Japanese extremists. If liberals, they are extremely liberal; if conservative, they are extremely conservative. The craze for foreign goods and customs which prevailed for several years in the early eighties was replaced by an almost equally strong aversion to anything foreign. This tendency to swing to extremes has cropped out not infrequently in the theological thinking of Japanese Christians. Men who for years had done effective work in upbuilding the Church, men who had lifted hundreds of their fellow-countrymen out of moral and religious darkness into light and life, have suddenly, as it has appeared, lost all appreciation of the truths they had been teaching and have swung off to the limits of a radical rationalism, losing with their evangelical faith their power of helping their fellow-men, and in some few cases, going over into lives of open sin. The intellectual reasons given by them to account for their changes have seemed insufficient; it will be found that the real explanation of these changes is to be sought not in their intellectual, but in their emotional natures. Care must be taken, however, not to over-emphasize this extremist tendency. In some respects, I am convinced that it is more apparent than real. The appearance is due to the silent passivity even of those who are really opposed to the new departure. It is natural that the advocates of some new policy should be enthusiastic and noisy. To give the impression to an outsider that the new enthusiasm is universal, those who do not share it have simply to keep quiet. This takes place to some degree in every land, but particularly so in Japan. The silence of their dissent is one of the striking characteristics of the Japanese. It seems to be connected with an abdication of personal responsibility. How often in the experience of the missionary it has happened that his first knowledge of friction in a church, wholly independent and self-supporting and having its own native pastor, is the silent withdrawal of certain members from their customary places of worship. On inquiry it is learned that certain things are being done or said which do not suit them and, instead of seeking to have these matters righted, they simply wash their hands of the whole affair by silent withdrawal. The Kumi-ai church, in Kumamoto, from being large and prosperous, fell to an actual active membership of less than a dozen, solely because, as each member became dissatisfied with the high-handed and radical pastor, he simply withdrew. Had each one stood by the church, realizing that he had a responsibility toward it which duty forbade him to shirk, the conservative and substantial members of the church would soon have been united in their opposition to the radical pastor and, being in the majority, could have set matters right. In the case of perversion of trust funds by the trustees of the Kumamoto School, many Japanese felt that injustice was being done to the American Board and a stain was being inflicted on Japan's fair name, but they did nothing either to express their opinions or to modify the results. So silent were they that we were tempted to think them either ignorant of what was taking place, or else indifferent to it. We now know, however, that many felt deeply on the matter, but were simply silent according to the Japanese custom. But silent dissent does not necessarily last indefinitely, though it may continue for years. As soon as some check has been put upon the rising tide of feeling, and a reaction is evident, those who before had been silent begin to voice their reactionary feeling, while those who shortly before had been in the ascendant begin to take their turn of silent dissent. Thus the waves are accentuated, both in their rise and in their relapse, by the abdicating proclivity of the people. Yet, in spite of the tendency of the nation to be swept from one extreme to another by alternate waves of feeling, there are many well-balanced men who are not carried with the tide. The steady progress made by the nation during the past generation, in spite of emotional actions and reactions, must be largely attributed to the presence in its midst of these more stable natures. These are the men who have borne the responsibilities of government. So far as we are able to see, they have not been led by their feelings, but rather by their judgments. When the nation was wild with indignation over Europe's interference with the treaty which brought the China-Japanese war to a close, the men at the helm saw too clearly the futility of an attempt to fight Russia to allow themselves to be carried away by sentimental notions of patriotism. Theirs was a deeper and truer patriotism than that of the great mass of the nation, who, flushed with recent victories by land and by sea, were eager to give Russia the thrashing which they felt quite able to administer. Abdication is such an important element in Japanese life, serving to throw responsibility on the young, and thus helping to emphasize the emotional characteristics of the people, that we may well give it further attention at this point. In describing it, I can do no better than quote from J.H. Gubbins' valuable introduction to his translation of the New Civil Code of Japan.[I] "Japanese scholars who have investigated the subject agree in tracing the origin of the present custom to the abdication of Japanese sovereigns, instances of which occur at an early period of Japanese history. These earlier abdications were independent of religious influences, but with the advent of Buddhism abdication entered upon a new phase. In imitation, it would seem, of the retirement for the purpose of religious contemplation of the Head Priests of Buddhist monasteries, abdicating sovereigns shaved their heads and entered the priesthood, and when subsequently the custom came to be employed for political purposes, the cloak of religion was retained. From the throne the custom spread to Regents and high officers of state, and so universal had its observance amongst officials of the high ranks become in the twelfth century that, as Professor Shigeno states, it was almost the rule for such persons to retire from the world at the age of forty or fifty, and nominally enter the priesthood, both the act and the person performing it being termed 'niu do.' In the course of time, the custom of abdication ceased to be confined to officials, and extended to feudal nobility and the military class generally, whence it spread through the nation, and at this stage of its transition its connection with the phase it finally assumed becomes clear. But with its extension beyond the circle of official dignitaries, and its consequent severance from tradition and religious associations, whether real or nominal abdication changed its name. It was no longer termed 'niu do,' but 'in kio,' the old word being retained only in its strict religious meaning, and 'inkyo' is the term in use to-day. "In spite of the religious origin of abdication, its connection with religion has long since vanished, and it may be said without fear of contradiction that the Japanese of to-day, when he or she abdicates, is in no way actuated by the feeling which impelled European monarchs in past times to end their days in the seclusion of the cloister, and which finds expression to-day in the Irish phrase, 'To make one's soul.' Apart from the influence of traditional convention, which counts for something and also explains the great hold on the nation which the custom has acquired, the motive seems to be somewhat akin to that which leads people in some Western countries to retire from active life at an age when bodily infirmity cannot be adduced as the reason. But with this great difference, that in the one case, that of Western countries, it is the business or profession, the active work of life, which is relinquished, the position of the individual vis-à-vis the family being unaffected; in the other case, it is the position of head of the family which is relinquished, with the result of the complete effacement of the individual so far as the family is concerned. Moreover, although abdication usually implies the abandonment of the business, or profession, of the person who abdicates, this does not necessarily follow, abdication being in no way incompatible with the continuation of the active pursuits in which the person-in question is engaged. And if an excuse be needed in either case, there would seem to be more for the Japanese head of family, who, in addition to the duties and responsibilities incumbent upon his position, has to bear the brunt of the tedious ceremonies and observances which characterize family life in Japan, and are a severe tax upon time and energies, while at the same time he is fettered by the restrictions upon individual freedom of action imposed by the family system. That in many cases the reason for abdication lies in the wish to escape from the tyrannical calls of family life, rather than in mere desire for idleness and ease, is shown by the fact that just as in past times the abdication of an Emperor, a Regent, or a state dignitary, was often the signal for renewed activity on his part, so in modern Japanese life the period of a person's greatest activity not infrequently dates from the time of his withdrawal from the headship of his family." The abdicating proclivities of the nation in pre-Meiji times are well shown by the official list of daimyos published by the Shogunate in 1862. To a list of 268 ruling daimyos is added a list of 104 "inkyo." In addition to what we may call political and family abdication, described above, is personal abdication, referred to on a previous page. Are the traits of Japanese character considered in this chapter inherent and necessary? Already our description has conclusively shown them to be due to the nature of the social order. This was manifestly the case in regard to political and family abdication. The like origin of personal abdication is manifest to him who learns how little there was in the ancient training tending to give each man a "feeling of independent responsibility to his own conscience in the sight of Heaven." He was taught devotion to a person rather than to a principle. The duty of a retainer was not to think and decide, but to do. He might in silence disapprove and as far as possible he should then keep out of his lord's way; should he venture to think and to act contrary to his lord's commands, he must expect and plan to commit "harakiri" in the near future. Personal abdication and silent disapproval, therefore, were direct results of the social order. VII HEROES AND HERO-WORSHIP If a clew to the character of a nation is gained by a study of the nature of the gods it worships, no less valuable an insight is gained by a study of its heroes. Such a study confirms the impression that the emotional life is fundamental in the Japanese temperament. Japan is a nation of hero-worshipers. This is no exaggeration. Not only is the primitive religion, Shintoism, systematic hero-worship, but every hero known to history is deified, and has a shrine or temple. These heroes, too, are all men of conspicuous valor or strength, famed for mighty deeds of daring. They are men of passion. The most popular story in Japanese literature is that of "The Forty-seven Ronin," who avenged the death of their liege-lord after years of waiting and plotting. This revenge administered, they committed harakiri in accordance with the etiquette of the ethical code of feudal Japan. Their tombs are to this day among the most frequented shrines in the capital of the land, and one of the most popular dramas presented in the theaters is based on this same heroic tragedy. The prominence of the emotional element may be seen in the popular description of national heroes. The picture of an ideal Japanese hero is to our eyes a caricature. His face is distorted by a fierce frenzy of passion, his eyeballs glaring, his hair flying, and his hands hold with a mighty grip the two-handed sword wherewith he is hewing to pieces an enemy. I am often amazed at the difference between the pictures of Japanese heroes and the living Japanese I see. This difference is manifestly due to the idealizing process; for they love to see their heroes in their passionate moods and tenses. The craving for heroes, even on the part of those who are familiar with Western thought and customs, is a feature of great interest. Well do I remember the enthusiasm with which educated, Christian young men awaited the coming to Japan of an eminent American scholar, from whose lectures impossible things were expected. So long as he was in America and only his books were known, he was a hero. But when he appeared in person, carrying himself like any courteous gentleman, he lost his exalted position. Townsend Harris showed his insight into Oriental thought never more clearly than by maintaining his dignity according to Japanese standards and methods. On his first entry into Tokyo he states, in his journal, that although he would have preferred to ride on horseback, in order that he might see the city and the people, yet as the highest dignitaries never did so, but always rode in entirely closed "norimono" (a species of sedan chair carried by twenty or thirty bearers), he too would do the same; to have ridden into the limits of the city on horseback would have been construed by the Japanese as an admission that he held a far lower official rank than that of a plenipotentiary of a great nation. It is not difficult to understand how these ideals of heroes arose. They are the same in every land where militarism, and especially feudalism, is the foundation on which the social order rests. Some of the difficulties met by foreign missionaries in trying to do their work arise from the fact that they are not easily regarded as heroes by their followers. The people are accustomed to commit their guidance to officials or to teachers or advisers whom they can regard as heroes. Since missionaries are not officials and do not have the manners of heroes, it is not to be expected that the Japanese will accept their leadership. A few foreigners have, however, become heroes in Japanese eyes. President Clark and Rev. S.R. Brown had great influence on groups of young men in the early years of Meiji, while giving them secular education combined with Christian instruction. The conditions, however, were then extraordinarily exceptional, and it is a noticeable fact that neither man remained long in Japan at that time. Another foreigner who was exalted to the skies by a devoted band of students was a man well suited to be a hero--for he had the samurai spirit to the full. Indeed, in absolute fearlessness and assumption of superiority, he out-samuraied the samurai. He was a man of impressive and imperious personality. Yet it is a significant fact that when he was brought back to Japan by his former pupils, after an absence of about eighteen years, during which they had continued to extol his merits and revere his memory, it was not long before they discovered that he was not the man their imagination had created. Not many months were needed to remove him from his pedestal. It would hardly be a fair statement of the whole case to leave the matter here. So far as I know, President Clark and Rev. S.R. Brown have always retained their hold on the imagination of the Japanese. The foreigner who of all others has perhaps done the most for Japan, and whose services have been most heartily acknowledged by the nation and government, was Dr. Guido F. Verbeck, who began his missionary work in 1859; he was the teacher of large numbers of the young men who became leaders in the transformation of Japan; he alone of foreigners was made a citizen and was given a free and general pass for travel; and his funeral in 1898 was attended by the nobility of the land, and the Emperor himself made a contribution toward the expenses. Dr. Verbeck is destined to be one of Japan's few foreign heroes. Among the signs of Japanese craving for heroes may be mentioned the constant experience of missionaries when search is being made for a man to fill a particular place. The descriptions of the kind of man desired are such that no one can expect to meet him. The Christian boys' school in Kumamoto, and the church with it, went for a whole year without principal and pastor because they could not secure a man of national reputation. They wanted a hero-principal, who would cut a great figure in local politics and also be a hero-leader for the Christian work in the whole island of Kyushu, causing the school to shine not only in Kumamoto, but to send forth its light and its fame throughout the Empire and even to foreign lands. The unpretentious, unprepossessing-looking man who was chosen temporarily, though endowed with common sense and rather unusual ability to harmonize the various elements in the school, was not deemed satisfactory. He was too much like Socrates. At last they found a man after their own heart. He had traveled and studied long abroad; was a dashing, brilliant fellow; would surely make things hum; so at least said those who recommended him (and he did). But he was still a poor student in Scotland; his passage money must be raised by the school if he was to be secured. And raised it was. Four hundred and seventy-five dollars those one hundred and fifty poor boys and girls, who lived on two dollars a month, scantily clothed and insufficiently warmed, secured from their parents and sent across the seas to bring back him who was to be their hero-principal and pastor. The rest of the story I need not tell in detail, but I may whisper that he was more of a slashing hero than they planned for; in three months the boys' school was split in twain and in less than three years both fragments of the school had not only lost all their Christian character, but were dead and gone forever. And the grounds on which the buildings stood were turned into mulberry fields. Talking not long since to a native friend, concerning the hero-worshiping tendency of the Japanese, I had my attention called to the fact that, while what has been said above is substantially correct as concerns a large proportion of the people, especially the young men, there is nevertheless a class whose ideal heroes are not military, but moral. Their power arises not through self-assertion, but rather through humility; their influence is due entirely to learning coupled with insight into the great moral issues of life. Such has been the character of not a few of the "moral" teachers. I have recently read a Japanese novel based upon the life of one such hero. Omi Seijin, or the "Sage of Omi," is a name well known among the people of Japan; and his fame rests rather on his character than on his learning. If tradition is correct, his influence on the people of his region was powerful enough to transform the character of the place, producing a paradise on earth whence lust and crime were banished. Whatever the actual facts of his life may have been, this is certainly the representation of his character now held up for honor and imitation. There are also indications that the ideal military hero is not, for all the people, the self-assertive type that I have described above, though this is doubtless the prevalent one. Not long since I heard the following couplet as to the nature of a true hero: "Makoto no Ei-yu; Sono yo, aizen to shite shumpu no gotoshi; Sono shin, kizen to shite kinseki no gotoshi. "The true Hero; In appearance, charming like the spring breeze. In heart, firm as a rock." Another phrase that I have run across relating to the ideal man is, "I atte takakarazu," which means in plain English, "having authority, but not puffed up." In the presence of these facts, it will not do to think that the ideal hero of all the Japanese is, or even in olden times was, only a military hero full of swagger and bluster; in a military age such would, of necessity, be a popular ideal; but just in proportion as men rose to higher forms of learning, and character, so would their ideals be raised. It is not to be lightly assumed that the spirit of hero-worship is wholly an evil or a necessarily harmful thing. It has its advantages and rewards as well as its dangers and evils. The existence of hero-worship in any land reveals a nature in the people that is capable of heroic actions. Men appreciate and admire that which in a measure at least they are, and more that which they aspire to become. The recent war revealed how the capacity for heroism of a warlike nature lies latent in every Japanese breast and not in the descendants of the old military class alone. But it is more encouraging to note that popular appreciation of moral heroes is growing. Education and religion are bringing forth modern moral heroes. The late Dr. Neesima, the founder of the Doshisha, is a hero to many even outside the Church. Mr. Ishii, the father of Orphan Asylums in Japan, promises to be another. A people that can rear and admire men of this character has in it the material of a truly great nation. The hero-worshiping characteristic of the Japanese depends on two other traits of their nature. The first is the reality of strong personalities among them capable of becoming heroes; the second is the possession of a strong idealizing tendency. Prof. G.T. Ladd has called them a "sentimental" people, in the sense that they are powerfully moved by sentiment. This is a conspicuous trait of their character appearing in numberless ways in their daily life. The passion for group-photographs is largely due to this. Sentimentalism, in the sense given it by Prof. Ladd, is the emotional aspect of idealism. The new order of society is reacting on the older ideal of a hero and is materially modifying it. The old-fashioned samurai, girded with two swords, ready to kill a personal foe at sight, is now only the ideal of romance. In actual life he would soon find himself deprived of his liberty and under the condemnation not only of the law, but also of public opinion. The new ideal with which I have come into most frequent contact is far different. Many, possibly the majority, of the young men and boys with whom I have talked as to their aim in life, have said that they desired to secure first of all a thorough education, in order that finally they might become great "statesmen" and might guide the nation into paths of prosperity and international power. The modern hero is one who gratifies the patriotic passion by bringing some marked success to the nation. He must be a gentleman, educated in science, in history, and in foreign languages; but above all, he must be versed in political economy and law. This new ideal of a national hero has been brought in by the order of society, and in proportion as this order continues, and emphasis continues to be laid on mental and moral power, rather than on rank or official position, on the intrinsic rather than on the accidental, will the old ideal fade away and the new ideal take its place. Among an idealizing and emotional people, such as the Japanese, various ideals will naturally find extreme expression. As society grows complex also and its various elements become increasingly differentiated, so will the ideals pass through the same transformations. A study of ideals, therefore, serves several ends; it reveals the present character of those whose ideals they are; it shows the degree of development of the social organism in which they live; it makes known, likewise, the degree of the differentiation that has taken place between the various elements of the nation. VIII LOVE FOR CHILDREN An aspect of Japanese life widely remarked and praised by foreign writers is the love for children. Children's holidays, as the third day of the third moon and the fifth day of the fifth moon, are general celebrations for boys and girls respectively, and are observed with much gayety all over the land. At these times the universal aim is to please the children; the girls have dolls and the exhibition of ancestral dolls; while the boys have toy paraphernalia of all the ancient and modern forms of warfare, and enormous wind-inflated paper fish, symbols of prosperity and success, fly from tall bamboos in the front yard. Contrary to the prevailing opinion among foreigners, these festivals have nothing whatever to do with birthday celebrations. In addition to special festivals, the children figure conspicuously in all holidays and merry-makings. To the famous flower-festival celebrations, families go in groups and make an all-day picnic of the joyous occasion. The Japanese fondness for children is seen not only at festival times. Parents seem always ready to provide their children with toys. As a consequence toy stores flourish. There is hardly a street without its store. A still further reason for the impression that the Japanese are especially fond of their children is the slight amount of punishment and reprimand which they administer. The children seem to have nearly everything their own way. Playing on the streets, they are always in evidence and are given the right of way. That Japanese show much affection for their children is clear. The question of importance, however, is whether they have it in a marked degree, more, for instance, than Americans? And if so, is this due to their nature, or may it be attributed to their family life as molded by the social order? It is my impression that, on the whole, the Japanese do not show more affection for their children than Occidentals, although they may at first sight appear to do so. Among the laboring classes of the %est, the father, as a rule, is away from home all through the hours of the day, working in shop or factory. He seldom sees his children except upon the Sabbath. Of course, the father has then very little to do with their care or education, and little opportunity for the manifestation of affection. In Japan, however, the industrial organization of society is still such that the father is at home a large part of the time. The factories are few as yet; the store is usually not separate from the home, but a part of it, the front room of the house. Family life is, therefore, much less broken in upon by the industrial necessities of civilization, and there are accordingly more opportunities for the manifestation of the father's affection for the children. Furthermore, the laboring-people in Japan live much on the street, and it is a common thing to see the father caring for children. While I have seldom seen a father with an infant tied to his back, I have frequently seen them with their infant sons tucked into their bosoms, an interesting sight. This custom gives a vivid impression of parental affection. But, comparing the middle classes of Japan and the West, it is safe to say that, as a whole, the Western father has more to do by far in the care and education of the children than the Japanese father, and that there is no less of fondling and playing with children. If we may judge the degree of affection by the signs of its demonstrations, we must pronounce the Occidental, with his habits of kissing and embracing, as far and away more affectionate than his Oriental cousin. While the Occidental may not make so much of an occasion of the advent of a son as does the Oriental, he continues to remember the birthdays of all his children with joy and celebrations, as the Oriental does not. Although the Japanese invariably say, when asked about it, that they celebrate their children's birthdays, the uniform experience of the foreigner is that birthday celebrations play a very insignificant part in the joys and the social life of the home. It is not difficult to understand why, apart from the question of affection, the Japanese should manifest special joy on the advent of sons, and particularly of a first son. The Oriental system of ancestral worship, with the consequent need, both religious and political, of maintaining the family line, is quite enough to account for all the congratulatory ceremonies customary on the birth of sons. The fact that special joy is felt and manifested on the birth of sons, and less on the birth of daughters, clearly shows that the dominant conceptions of the social order have an important place in determining even so fundamental a trait as affection for offspring. Affection for children is, however, not limited to the day of their birth or the period of their infancy. In judging of the relative possession by different races of affection for children, we must ask how the children are treated during all their succeeding years. It must be confessed that the advantage is then entirely on the side of the Occidental. Not only does this appear in the demonstrations of affection which are continued throughout childhood, often even throughout life, but more especially in the active parental solicitude for the children's welfare, striving to fit them for life's duties and watching carefully over their mental and moral education. In these respects the average Occidental is far in advance of the average Oriental. I have been told that, since the coming in of the new civilization and the rise of the new ideas about woman, marriage, and home, there is clearly observable to the Japanese themselves a change in the way in which children are being treated. But, even still, the elder son takes the more prominent place in the affection of the family, and sons precede daughters. A fair statement of the case, therefore, is somewhat as follows: The lower and laboring classes of Japan seem to have more visible affection for their children than the same classes in the Occident. Among the middle and upper classes, however, the balance is in favor of the West. In the East, while, without doubt, there always has been and is now a pure and natural affection, it is also true that this natural affection has been more mixed with utilitarian considerations than in the West. Christian Japanese, however, differ little from Christian Americans in this respect. The differences between the East and the West are largely due to the differing industrial and family conditions induced by the social order. The correctness of this general statement will perhaps be better appreciated if we consider in detail some of the facts of Japanese family life. Let us notice first the very loose ties, as they seem to us, holding the Japanese family together. It is one of the constant wonders to us Westerners how families can break up into fragments, as they constantly do. One third of the marriages end in divorce; and in case of divorce, the children all stay with the father's family. It would seem as if the love of the mother for her children could not be very strong where divorce under such a condition is so common. Or, perhaps, it would be truer to say that divorce would be far more frequent than it is but for the mother's love for her children. For I am assured that many a mother endures most distressing conditions rather than leave her children. Furthermore, the way in which parents allow their children to leave the home and then fail to write or communicate with them, for months or even years at a time, is incomprehensible if the parental love were really strong. And still further, the way in which concubines are brought into the home, causing confusion and discord, is a very striking evidence of the lack of a deep love on the part of the father for the mother of his children and even for his own legitimate children. One would expect a father who really loved his children to desire and plan for their legitimacy; but the children by his concubines are not "ipso facto" recognized as legal. One more evidence in this direction is the frequency of adoption and of separation. Adoption in Japan is largely, though by no means exclusively, the adoption of an adult; the cases where a child is adopted by a childless couple from love of children are rare, as compared with similar cases in the United States, so far, at least, as my observation goes. I recently heard of a conversation on personal financial matters between a number of Christian evangelists. After mutual comparisons they agreed that one of their number was more fortunate than the rest in that he did not have to support his mother. On inquiring into the matter, the missionary learned that this evangelist, on becoming a Buddhist priest many years before, had secured from the government, according to the laws of the land, exemption from this duty. When he became a Christian it did not seem to occur to him that it was his duty and his privilege to support his indigent mother. I may add that this idea has since occurred to him and he is acting upon it. Infanticide throws a rather lurid light on Japanese affection. First, in regard to the facts: Mr. Ishii's attention was called to the need of an orphan asylum by hearing how a child, both of whose parents had died of cholera, was on the point of being buried alive with its dead mother by heartless neighbors when it was rescued by a fisherman. Certain parts of Japan have been notorious from of old for this practice. In Tosa the evil was so rampant that a society for its prevention has been in existence for many years. It helps support children of poor parents who might be tempted to dispose of them criminally. In that province from January to March, 1898, I was told that "only" four cases of conviction for this crime were reported. The registered annual birth rate of certain villages has increased from 40-50 to 75-80, and this without any immigration from outside. The reason assigned is the diminution of infanticide. In speaking of infanticide in Japan, let us not forget that every race and nation has been guilty of the same crime, and has continued to be guilty of it until delivered by Christianity. Widespread infanticide proves a wide lack of natural affection. Poverty is, of course, the common plea. Yet infanticide has been practiced not so much by the desperately poor as by small land-holders. The amount of farming land possessed by each family was strictly limited and could feed only a given number of mouths. Should the family exceed that number, all would be involved in poverty, for the members beyond that limit did not have the liberty to travel in search of new occupation. Infanticide, therefore, bore direct relation to the rigid economic nature of the old social order. Whatever, therefore, be the point of view from which we study the question of Japanese affection for children, we see that it was intimately connected with the nature of the social order. Whether we judge such affection or its lack to be a characteristic trait of Japanese nature, we must still maintain that it is not an inherent trait of the race nature, but only a characteristic depending for its greater or less development on the nature of the social order. IX MARITAL LOVE If the Japanese are a conspicuously emotional race, as is commonly believed, we should naturally expect this characteristic to manifest itself in a marked degree in the relation of the sexes. Curiously enough, however, such does not seem to be the case. So slight a place does the emotion of sexual love have in Japanese family life that some have gone to the extreme of denying it altogether. In his brilliant but fallacious volume, entitled "The Soul of the Far East," Mr. Percival Lowell states that the Japanese do not "fall in love." The correctness of this statement we shall consider in connection with the argument for Japanese impersonality. That "falling in love" is not a recognized part of the family system, and that marriage is arranged regardless not only of love, but even of mutual acquaintance, are indisputable facts. Let us confine our attention here to Japanese post-marital emotional characteristics. Do Japanese husbands love their wives and wives their husbands? We have already seen that in the text-book for Japanese women, the "Onna Daigaku," not one word is said about love. It may be stated at once that love between husband and wife is almost as conspicuously lacking in practice as in precept. In no regard, perhaps, is the contrast between the East and the West more striking than the respective ideas concerning woman and marriage. The one counts woman the equal, if not the superior of man; the other looks down upon her as man's inferior in every respect; the one considers profound love as the only true condition of marriage; the other thinks of love as essentially impure, beneath the dignity of a true man, and not to be taken into consideration when marriage is contemplated; in the one, the two persons most interested have most to say in the matter; in the other, they have the least to say; in the one, a long and intimate previous acquaintance is deemed important; in the other, the need for such an acquaintance does not receive a second thought; in the one, the wife at once takes her place as the queen of the home; in the other, she enters as the domestic for her husband and his parents; in the one, the children are hers as well as his; in the other, they are his rather than hers, and remain with him in case of divorce; in the one, divorce is rare and condemned; in the other, it is common in the extreme; in the one, it is as often the woman as the man who seeks the divorce; in the other, until most recent times, it is the man alone who divorces the wife; in the one, the reasons for divorce are grave; in the other, they are often trivial; in the one, the wife is the "helpmate"; in the other, she is the man's "plaything"; or, at most, the means for continuing the family lineage; in the one, the man is the "husband"; in the other, he is the "danna san" or "teishu" (the lord or master); in the ideal home of the one, the wife is the object of the husband's constant affection and solicitous care; in the ideal home of the other, she ever waits upon her lord, serves his food for him, and faithfully sits up for him at night, however late his return may be; in the one, the wife is justified in resenting any unfaithfulness or immorality on the part of her husband; in the other, she is commanded to accept with patience whatever he may do, however many concubines he may have in his home or elsewhere; and however immoral he may be, she must not be jealous. The following characterization of the women of Japan is presumably by one who would do them no injustice, having himself married a Japanese wife (the editor of the _Japan Mail_). "The woman of Japan is a charming personage in many ways--gracious, refined, womanly before everything, sweet-tempered, unselfish, virtuous, a splendid mother, and an ideal wife from the point of view of the master. But she is virtually excluded from the whole intellectual life of the nation. Politics, art, literature, science, are closed books to her. She cannot think logically about any of these subjects, express herself clearly with reference to them, or take an intellectual part in conversations relating to them. She is, in fact, totally disqualified to be her husband's intellectual companion, and the inevitable result is that he despises her."[J] In face of all these facts, it is evident that the emotional element of character which plays so large a part in the relation of the sexes in the West has little, if any, counterpart in the Far East. Where the emotional element does come in, it is under social condemnation. There are doubtless many happy marriages in Japan, if the wife is faithful in her place and fills it well; and if the master is honorable according to the accepted standards, steady in his business, not given to wine or women. But even then the affection must be different from that which prevails in the West. No Japanese wife ever dreams of receiving the loving care from her husband which is freely accorded her Western sister by her husband.[K] I wish, however, to add at once that this is a topic about which it is dangerous to dogmatize, for the customs of Japan demand that all expressions of affection between husband and wife shall be sedulously concealed from the outer world. I can easily believe that there is no little true affection existing between husband and wife. A Japanese friend with whom I have talked on this subject expresses his belief that the statement made above, to the effect that no Japanese wife dreams of receiving the loving care which is expected by her Western sister, is doubtless true of Old Japan, but that there has been a great change in this respect in recent decades; and especially among the Christian community. That Christians excel the others with whom I have come in contact, has been evident to me. But that even they are still very different from Occidentals in this respect, is also clear. Whatever be the affection lavished on the wife in the privacy of the home, she does not receive in public the constant evidence of special regard and high esteem which the Western wife expects as her right. How much affection can be expressed by low formal bows? The fact is that Japanese civilization has striven to crush out all signs of emotion; this stoicism is exemplified to a large degree even in the home, and under circumstances when we should think it impossible. Kissing was an unknown art in Japan, and it is still unknown, except by name, to the great majority of the people. Even mothers seldom kiss their infant children, and when they do, it is only while the children are very young. The question, however, which particularly interests us, is as to the explanation for these facts. Is the lack of demonstrative affection between husband and wife due to the inherent nature of the Japanese, or is it not due rather to the prevailing social order? If a Japanese goes to America or. England, for a few years, does he maintain his cold attitude toward all women, and never show the slightest tendency to fall in love, or exhibit demonstrative affection? These questions almost answer themselves, and with them the main question for whose solution we are seeking. A few concrete instances may help to illustrate the generalization that these are not fixed because racial characteristics, but variable ones dependent on the social order. Many years ago when the late Dr. Neesima, the founder, with Dr. Davis, of the Doshisha, was on the point of departure for the United States on account of his health, he made an address to the students. In the course of his remarks he stated that there were three principal considerations that made him regret the necessity for his departure at that time; the first was that the Doshisha was in a most critical position; it was but starting on its larger work, and he felt that all its friends should be on hand to help on the great undertaking. The second was that he was compelled to leave his aged parents, whom he might not find living on his return to Japan. The third was his sorrow at leaving his beloved wife. This public reference to his wife, and especially to his love for her, was so extraordinary that it created no little comment, not to say scandal; especially obnoxious was it to many, because he mentioned her after having mentioned his parents. In the reports of this speech given by his friends to the public press no reference was made to this expression of love for his wife. And a few months after his death, when Dr. Davis prepared a short biography of Dr. Neesima, he was severely criticised by some of the Japanese for reproducing the speech as Dr. Neesima gave it. Shortly after my first arrival in Japan, I was walking home from church one day with an English-speaking Japanese, who had had a good deal to do with foreigners. Suddenly, without any introduction, he remarked that he did not comprehend how the men of the West could endure such tyranny as was exercised over them by their wives. I, of course, asked what he meant. He then said that he had seen me buttoning my wife's shoes. I should explain that on calling on the Japanese, in their homes, it is necessary that we leave our shoes at the door, as the Japanese invariably do; this is, of course, awkward for foreigners who wear shoes; especially so is the necessity of putting them on again. The difficulty is materially increased by the invariably high step at the front door. It is hard enough for a man to kneel down on the step and reach for his shoes and then put them on; much more so is it for a woman. And after the shoes are on, there is no suitable place on which to rest the foot for buttoning and tying. I used, therefore, very gladly to help my wife with hers. Yet, so contrary to Japanese precedent was this act of mine that this well-educated gentleman and Christian, who had had much intercourse with foreigners, could not see in it anything except the imperious command of the wife and the slavish obedience of the husband. His conception of the relation between the Occidental husband and wife is best described as tyranny on the part of the wife. One of the early shocks I received on this general subject was due to the discovery that whenever my wife took my arm as we walked the street to and from church, or elsewhere, the people looked at us in surprised displeasure. Such public manifestation of intimacy was to be expected from libertines alone, and from these only when they were more or less under the influence of drink. Whenever a Japanese man walks out with his wife, which, by the way, is seldom, he invariably steps on ahead, leaving her to follow, carrying the parcels, if there are any. A child, especially a son, may walk at his side, but not his wife. Let me give a few more illustrations to show how the present family life of the Japanese checks the full and free development of the affections. In one of our out-stations I but recently found a young woman in a distressing condition. Her parents had no sons, and consequently, according to the custom of the land, they had adopted a son, who became the husband of their eldest daughter; the man proved a rascal, and the family was glad when he decided that he did not care to be their son any longer. Shortly after his departure a child was born to the daughter; but, according to the law, she had no husband, and consequently the child must either be registered as illegitimate, or be fraudulently registered as the child of the mother's father. There is much fraudulent registration, the children of concubines are not recognized as legitimate; yet it is common to register such children as those of the regular wife, especially if she has few or none of her own. An evangelist who worked long in Kyushu was always in great financial trouble because of the fact that he had to support two mothers, besides giving aid to his father, who had married a third wife. The first was his own mother, who had been divorced, but, as she had no home, the son took her to his. When the father divorced his second wife, the son was induced to take care of her also. Another evangelist, with whom I had much to do, was the adopted son of a scheming old man; it seems that in the earlier part of the present era the eldest son of a family was exempt from military draft. It often happened, therefore, that families who had no sons could obtain large sums of money from those who had younger sons whom they wished to have adopted for the purpose of escaping the draft. This evangelist, while still a boy, was adopted into such a family, and a certain sum was fixed upon to be paid at some time in the future. But the adopted son proved so pleasing to the adopting father that he did not ask for the money; by some piece of legerdemain, however, he succeeded in adopting a second son, who paid him the desired money. After some years the first adopted son became a Christian, and then an evangelist, both steps being taken against the wishes of the adopting father. The father finally said that he would forego all relations to the son, and give him back his original name, provided the son would pay the original sum that had been agreed on, plus the interest, which altogether would, at that time, amount to several hundred yen. This was, of course, impossible. The negotiations dragged on for three or four years. Meanwhile, the young man fell in love with a young girl, whom he finally married; as he was still the son of his adopting father, he could not have his wife registered as his wife, for the old man had another girl in view for him and would not consent to this arrangement. And so the matter dragged for several months more. Unless the matter could be arranged, any children born to them must be registered as illegitimate. At this point I was consulted and, for the first time, learned the details of the case. Further consultations resulted in an agreement as to the sum to be paid; the adopted son was released, and re-registered under his newly acquired name and for the first time his marriage became legal. The confusion and suffering brought into the family by this practice of adoption and of separation are almost endless. The number of cases in which beautiful and accomplished young women have been divorced by brutal and licentious husbands is appalling. I know several such. What wonder that Christians and others are constantly laying emphasis, in public lectures and sermons and private talks, on the crying need of reform in marriage and in the home? Throughout the land the newspapers are discussing the pros and cons of monogamy and polygamy. In January of 1898 the _Jiji Shimpo_, one of the leading daily papers of Tokyo, had a series of articles on the subject from the pen of one of the most illustrious educators of New Japan, Mr. Fukuzawa. His school, the "Keio Gijiku," has educated more thousands of young men than any other, notwithstanding the fact that it is a private institution. Though not a Christian himself, nor making any professions of advocating Christianity, yet Mr. Fukuzawa has come out strongly in favor of monogamy. His description of the existing social and family life is striking, not to say sickening. If I mistake not, it is he who tells of a certain noble lady who shed tears at the news of the promotion of her husband in official rank; and when questioned on the matter she confessed that, with added salary, he would add to the number of his concubines and to the frequency of his intercourse with famous dancing and singing girls. The distressing state of family life may also be gathered from the large numbers of public and secret prostitutes that are to be found in all the large cities, and the singing girls of nearly every town. According to popular opinion, their number is rapidly increasing. Though this general subject trenches on morality rather than on the topic immediately before us, yet it throws a lurid light on this question also. It lets us see, perhaps, more clearly than we could in any other way, how deficient is the average home life of the people. A professing Christian, a man of wide experience and social standing, not long since seriously argued at a meeting of a Young Men's Christian Association that dancing and singing girls are a necessary part of Japanese civilization to-day. He argued that they supply the men with that female element in social life which the ordinary woman cannot provide; were the average wives and daughters sufficiently accomplished to share in the social life of the men as they are in the West, dancing and singing girls, being needless, would soon cease to be. One further question in this connection merits our attention. How are we to account for an order of society that allows so little scope for the natural affections of the heart, unless by saying that that order is the true expression of their nature? Must we not say that the element of affection in the present social order is deficient because the Japanese themselves are naturally deficient? The question seems more difficult than it really is. In the first place, the affectionate relation existing between husbands and wives and between parents and children, in Western lands, is a product of relatively recent times. In his exhaustive work on "The History of Human Marriage," Westermarck makes this very plain. Wherever the woman is counted a slave, is bought and sold, is considered as merely a means of bearing children to the family, or in any essential way is looked down upon, there high forms of affection are by the nature of the case impossible, though some affection doubtless exists; it necessarily attains only a rudimentary development. Now it is conspicuous that the conception of the nature and purpose of woman, as held in the Orient, has always been debasing to her. Though individual women might rise above their assigned position the whole social order, as established by the leaders of thought, was against her. The statement that there was a primitive condition of society in Japan in which the affectionate relations between husband and wife now known in the West prevailed, is, I think, a mistake. We must remember, in the second place, what careful students of human evolution have pointed out, that those tribes and races in which the family was most completely consolidated, that is to say, those in which the power of the father was absolute, were the ones to gain the victory over their competitors. The reason for this is too obvious to require even a statement. Every conquering race has accordingly developed the "patria potestas" to a greater or less degree. Now one general peculiarity of the Orient is that that stage of development has remained to this day; it has not experienced those modifications and restrictions which have arisen in the West. The national government dealt with families and clans, not with individuals, as the final social unit. In the West, however, the individual has become the civil unit; the "patria potestas" has thus been all but lost. This, added to religious and ethical considerations, has given women and children an ever higher place both in society and in the home. Had this loss of authority by the father been accompanied with a weakening of the nation, it would have been an injury; but, in the West, his authority has been transferred to the nation. These considerations serve to render more intelligible and convincing the main proposition of these chapters, that the distinctive emotional characteristics of the Japanese are not inherent; they are the results of the social and industrial order; as this order changes, they too will surely change. The entire civilization of a land takes its leading, if not its dominant, color from the estimate set by the people as a whole on the value of human life. The relatively late development of the tender affections, even in the West, is due doubtless to the extreme slowness with which the idea of the inherent value of a human being, as such, has taken root, even though it was clearly taught by Christ. But the leaven of His teaching has been at work for these hundreds of years, and now at last we are beginning to see its real meaning and its vital relation to the entire progress of man. It may be questioned whether Christ gave any more important impetus to the development of civilization than by His teaching in regard to the inestimable worth of man, grounding it, as He did, on man's divine sonship. Those nations which insist on valuing human life only by the utilitarian standard, and which consequently keep woman in a degraded place, insisting on concubinage and all that it implies, are sure to wane before those nations which loyally adopt and practice the higher ideals of human worth. The weakness of heathen lands arises in no slight degree from their cheap estimate of human life. In Japan, until the Meiji era, human life was cheap. For criminals of the military classes, suicide was the honorable method of leaving this world; the lower orders of society suffered loss of life at the hands of the military class without redress. The whole nation accepted the low standards of human value; woman was valued chiefly, if not entirely, on a utilitarian basis, that, namely, of bearing children, doing house and farm work, and giving men pleasure. So far as I know, not among all the teachings of Confucius or Buddha was the supreme value of human life, as such, once suggested, much less any adequate conception of the worth and nature of woman. The entire social order was constructed without these two important truths. By a great effort, however, Japan has introduced a new social order, with unprecedented rapidity. By one revolution it has established a set of laws in which the equality of all men before the law is recognized at least; for the first time in Oriental history, woman is given the right to seek divorce. The experiment is now being made on a great scale as to whether the new social order adopted by the rulers can induce those ideas among the people at large which will insure its performance. Can the mere legal enactments which embody the principles of human equality and the value of human life, regardless of sex, beget those fundamental conceptions on which alone a steady and lasting government can rest? Can Japan really step into the circle of Western nations, without abandoning her pagan religions and pushing onward into Christian monotheism with all its corollaries as to the relations and mutual duties of man? All earnest men are crying out for a strengthening of the moral life of the nation through the reform of the family and are proclaiming the necessity of monogamy; but, aside from the Christians, none appear to see how this is to be done. Even Mr. Fukuzawa says that the first step in the reform of the family and the establishment of monogamy is to develop public sentiment against prostitution and plural or illegal marriage; and the way to do this is first to make evil practices secret. This, he says, is more important than to give women a higher education. He does not see that Christianity with its conceptions of immediate responsibility of the individual to God, the loving Heavenly Father, and of the infinite value of each human soul, thus doing away with the utilitarian scale for measuring both men and women, together with its conceptions of the relations of the sexes and of man to man, can alone supply that foundation for all the elements of the new social order, intellectual and emotional, which will make it workable and permanent, and of which monogamy is but one element.[L] He does not see that representative government and popular rights cannot stand for any length of time on any other foundation. X CHEERFULNESS--INDUSTRY--TRUTHFULNESS--SUSPICIOUSNESS Many writers have dwelt with delight on the cheerful disposition that seems so common in Japan. Lightness of heart, freedom from all anxiety for the future, living chiefly in the present, these and kindred features are pictured in glowing terms. And, on the whole, these pictures are true to life. The many flower festivals are made occasions for family picnics when all care seems thrown to the wind. There is a simplicity and a freshness and a freedom from worry that is delightful to see. But it is also remarked that a change in this regard is beginning to be observed. The coming in of Western machinery, methods of government, of trade and of education, is introducing customs and cares, ambitions and activities, that militate against the older ways. Doubtless, this too is true. If so, it but serves to establish the general proposition of these pages that the more outstanding national characteristics are largely the result of special social conditions, rather than of inherent national character. The cheerful disposition, so often seen and admired by the Westerner, is the cheerfulness of children. In many respects the Japanese are relatively undeveloped. This is due to the nature of their social order during the past. The government has been largely paternal in form and fully so in theory. Little has been left to individual initiative or responsibility. Wherever such a system has been dominant and the perfectly accepted order, the inevitable result is just such a state of simple, childish cheerfulness as we find in Japan. It constitutes that golden age sung by the poets of every land. But being the cheerfulness of children, the happiness of immaturity, it is bound to change with growth, to be lost with coming maturity. Yet the Japanese are by no means given up to a cheerful view of life. Many an individual is morose and dejected in the extreme. This disposition is ever stimulated by the religious teachings of Buddhism. Its great message has been the evanescent character of the present life. Life is not worth living, it urges; though life may have some pleasures, the total result is disappointment and sorrow. Buddhism has found a warm welcome in the hearts of many Japanese. For more than a thousand years it has been exercising a potent influence on their thoughts and lives. Yet how is this consistent with the cheerful disposition which seems so characteristic of Japan? The answer is not far to seek. Pessimism is by its very nature separative, isolating, silent. Those oppressed by it do not enter into public joys. They hide themselves in monasteries, or in the home. The result is that by its very nature the actual pessimism of Japan is not a conspicuous feature of national character. The judgment that all Japanese are cheerful rests on shallow grounds. Because, forsooth, millions on holidays bear that appearance, and because on ordinary occasions the average man and woman seem cheerful and happy, the conclusion is reached that all are so. No effort is made to learn of those whose lives are spent in sadness and isolation. I am convinced that the Japan of old, for all its apparent cheer, had likewise its side of deep tragedy. Conditions of life that struck down countless individuals, and mental conditions which made Buddhism so popular, both point to this conclusion. Again I wish to call attention to the fact that the prominence of children and young people is in part the cause of the appearance of general happiness. The Japanese live on the street as no Western people do. The stores and workshops are the homes; when these are open, the homes are open. When the children go out of the house to play they use the streets, for they seldom have yards. Here they gather in great numbers and play most enthusiastically, utterly regardless of the passers-by, for these latter are all on foot or in jinrikishas, and, consequently, never cause the children any alarm. The Japanese give the double impression of being industrious and diligent on the one hand, and, on the other, of being lazy and utterly indifferent to the lapse of time. The long hours during which they keep at work is a constant wonder to the Occidental. I have often been amazed in Fukuoka to find stores and workshops open, apparently in operation, after ten and sometimes even until eleven o'clock at night, while blacksmiths and carpenters and wheelwrights would be working away as if it were morning. Many of the factories recently started keep very long hours. Indeed most of the cotton mills run day and night, having two sets of workers, who shift their times of labor every week. Those who work during the night hours one week take the day hours the following week. In at least one such factory, with which I am acquainted, the fifteen hundred girls who work from six o'clock Saturday evening until six o'clock Sunday morning, are then supposed to have twenty-four hours of rest before they begin their day's work Monday morning; but, as a matter of fact, they must spend three or four and sometimes five hours on Sunday morning cleaning up the factory. In a small silk-weaving factory that I know the customary hours for work were from five in the morning until nine at night, seven days in the week. The wife, however, of the owner became a Christian. Through her intervention time for rest was secured on Sunday long enough for a Bible class, which the evangelist of the place was invited to teach. After several months of instruction a number of the hands became Christian, and all were sufficiently interested to ask that the whole of the Sabbath be granted to them for rest; but in order that the master might not lose thereby, they agreed to begin work at four each morning and to work on until ten at night. With such hours one would have expected them to fall at once into their beds when the work of the day was over. But for many months, at ten o'clock in the evening, my wife and I heard them singing a hymn or two in their family worship before retiring for the night. In certain weaving factories I have been told that the girls are required to work sixteen hours a day; and that on Sundays they are allowed to have some rest, being then required to work but ten hours! The diligence of mail deliverers, who always run when on duty, the hours of consecutive running frequently performed by jin-irikisha men (several have told me that they have made over sixty miles in a single day), the long hours of persistent study by students in the higher schools, and many kindred facts, certainly indicate a surprising capacity for work. But there are equally striking illustrations of an opposite nature. The farmers and mechanics and carpenters, among regular laborers, and the entire life of the common people in their homes, give an impression of indifference to the flight of time, if not of absolute laziness. The workers seem ready to sit down for a smoke and a chat at any hour of the day. In the home and in ordinary social life, the loss of time seems to be a matter of no consequence whatever. Polite palaver takes unstinted hours, and the sauntering of the people through the street emphasizes the impression that no business calls oppress them. In my opinion these characteristics, also, are due to the conditions of society, past and present, rather than to the inherent nature of the people. The old civilization was easy-going; it had no clocks; it hardly knew the time of day; it never hastened. The hour was estimated and was twice as long as the modern hour. The structure of society demanded the constant observance of the forms of etiquette; this, with its numberless genuflections and strikings of the head on the floor, always demanded time. Furthermore, the very character of the footgear compelled and still compels a shuffling, ambling gait when walking the streets. The clog is a well-named hindrance to civilization in the waste of time it compels. The slow-going, time-ignoring characteristics of New Japan are social inheritances from feudal times, characteristics which are still hampering its development. The industrious spirit that is to be found in so many quarters to-day is largely the gift of the new civilization. Shoes are taking the place of clogs. The army and all the police, on ordinary duty, wear shoes. Even the industry of the students is largely due to the new conditions of student life. The way in which the Japanese are working to-day, and the feverish haste that some of them evince in their work, shows that they are as capable as Occidentals of acquiring the rush of civilization. The home life of the people gives an impression of listlessness that is in marked contrast to that of the West. This is partly due to the fact that the house work is relatively light, there being no furniture to speak of, the rooms small, and the cooking arrangements quite simple. Housewives go about their work with restful deliberation, which is trying, however, to one in haste. It is the experience of the housekeepers from the West that one Japanese domestic is able to accomplish from a third to a half of what is done by a girl in America. This is not wholly due to slowness of movement, however, but also to smallness of stature and corresponding lack of strength. On the other hand, the long hours of work required of women in the majority of Japanese homes is something appalling. The wife is expected to be up before the husband, to prepare his meals, and to wait patiently till his return at night, however late that may be. In all except the higher ranks of society she takes entire care of the children, except for the help which her older children may give her. During much of the time she goes about her work with an infant tied to her back. Though she does not work hard at any one time (and is it to be wondered at?) yet she works long. Especially hard is the life of the waiting girls in the hotels. I have learned that, as a rule, they are required to be up before daylight and to remain on duty until after midnight. In some hotels they are allowed but four or five hours out of the twenty-four. The result is, they are often overcome and fall asleep while at service. Sitting on the floor and waiting to serve the rice, with nothing to distract their thoughts or hold their attention, they easily lose themselves for a few moments. Two other strongly contrasted traits are found in the Japanese character, absolute confidence and trustfulness on the one hand, and suspicion on the other. It is the universal testimony that the former characteristic is rapidly passing away; in the cities it is well-nigh gone. But in the country places it is still common. The idea of making a bargain when two persons entered upon some particular piece of work, the one as employer, the other as employed, was entirely repugnant to the older generation, since it was assumed that their relations as inferior and superior should determine their financial relations; the superior would do what was right, and the inferior should accept what the superior might give without a question or a murmur. Among the samurai, where the arrangement is between equals, bargaining or making fixed and fast terms which will hold to the end, and which may be carried to the courts in case of differences, was a thing practically unknown in the older civilization. Everything of a business nature was left to honor, and was carried on in mutual confidence. A few illustrations of this spirit of confidence from my own experience may not be without interest. On first coming to Japan, I found it usual for a Japanese who wished to take a jinrikisha to call the runner and take the ride without making any bargain, giving him at the end what seemed right. And the men generally accepted the payment without question. I have found that recently, unless there is some definite understanding arrived at before the ride, there is apt to be some disagreement, the runner presuming on the hold he has, by virtue of work done, to get more than is customary. This is especially true in case the rider is a foreigner. Another set of examples in which astonishing simplicity and confidence were manifested was in the employment of evangelists. I have known several instances in which a full correspondence with an evangelist with regard to his employment was carried on, and the settlement finally concluded, and the man set to work without a word said about money matters. It need hardly be said that no foreigner took part in that correspondence. The simple, childlike trustfulness of the country people is seen in multiplied ways; yet on the whole I cannot escape the conviction that it is a trustfulness which is shown toward each other as equals. Certain farmers whom I have employed to care for a cow and to cultivate the garden, while showing a trustful disposition towards me, have not had the same feelings toward their fellows apparently. This confidence and trustfulness were the product of a civilization resting on communalistic feudalism; the people were kept as children in dependence on their feudal lord; they had to accept what he said and did; they were accustomed to that order of things from the beginning and had no other thought; on the whole too, without doubt, they received regular and kindly treatment. Furthermore, there was no redress for the peasant in case of harshness; it was always the wise policy, therefore, for him to accept whatever was given without even the appearance of dissatisfaction. This spirit was connected with the dominance of the military class. Simple trustfulness was, therefore, chiefly that of the non-military classes. The trustfulness of the samurai sprang from their distinctive training. As already mentioned, when drawing up a bond in feudal times, in place of any tangible security, the document would read, "If I fail to do so and so, you may laugh at me in public." Since the overthrow of communal feudalism and the establishment of an individualistic social order, necessitating personal ownership of property, and the universal use of money, trustful confidence is rapidly passing away. Everything is being more and more accurately reduced to a money basis. The old samurai scorn for money seems to be wholly gone, an astonishing transformation of character. Since the disestablishment of the samurai class many of them have gone into business. Not a few have made tremendous failures for lack of business instinct, being easily fleeced by more cunning and less honorable fellows who have played the "confidence" game most successfully; others have made equally great successes because of their superior mental ability and education. The government of Japan is to-day chiefly in the hands of the descendants of the samurai class. They have their fixed salaries and everything is done on a financial basis, payment being made for work only. The lazy and the incapable are being pushed to the wall. Many of the poorest and most pitiable people of the land to-day are the proud sons of the former aristocracy, who glory in the history of their ancestors, but are not able or willing to change their old habits of thought and manner of life. The American Board has had a very curious, not to say disastrous, experience with the spirit of trustful confidence that was the prevailing business characteristic of the older civilization. According to the treaties which Japan had made with foreign nations, no foreigner was allowed to buy land outside the treaty ports. As, however, mission work was freely allowed by the government and welcomed by many of the people in all parts of the land, and as it became desirable to have continuous missionary work in several of the interior towns, it seemed wise to locate missionaries in those places and to provide suitable houses for them. In order to do this, land was bought and the needed houses erected, and the title was necessarily held in the names of apparently trustworthy native Christians. The government was, of course, fully aware of what was being done and offered no objection. It was well understood that the property was not for the private ownership of the individual missionary, but was to be held by the Christians for the use of the mission to which the missionary belonged. For many years no questions were raised and all moved along smoothly. The arrangement between the missionaries and the Christian or Christians in whose names the property might be held was entirely verbal, no document being of any legal value, to say nothing of the fact that in those early days the mention of documentary relationships would have greatly hurt the tender feelings of honor which were so prominent a part of samurai character. The financial relations were purely those of honor and trust. Under this general method, large sums of money were expended by the American Board for homes for its missionaries in various parts of Japan, and especially in Kyoto. Here was the Doshisha, which grew from a small English school and Evangelists' training class to a prosperous university with fine buildings. Tens of thousands of dollars were put into this institution, besides the funds needful for the land and the houses for nine foreign families. An endowment was also raised, partly in Japan, but chiefly in America. In a single bequest, Mr. Harris of New London gave over one hundred thousand dollars for a School of Science. It has been estimated that, altogether, the American Board and its constituency have put into the Doshisha, including the salaries of the missionary teachers, toward a million dollars. In the early nineties the political skies were suddenly darkened. The question of treaty revision loomed up black in the heavens. The politicians of the land clamored for the absolute refusal of all right of property ownership by foreigners. In their political furore they soon began to attack the Japanese Christians who were holding the property used by the various missions. They accused them of being traitors to the country. A proposed law was drafted and presented in the National Diet, confiscating all such property. The Japanese holders naturally became nervous and desirous of severing the relationships with the foreigners as soon as possible. In the case of corporate ownership the trustees began to make assumptions of absolute ownership, regardless of the moral claims of the donors of the funds. In the earlier days of the trouble frequent conferences on the question were held by the missionaries of the American Board with the leading Christians of the Empire, and their constant statement was, "Do not worry; trust us; we are samurai and will do nothing that is not perfectly honorable." So often were these sentiments reiterated, and yet so steadily did the whole management of the Doshisha move further and further away from the honorable course, that finally the "financial honor of the samurai" came to have an odor far from pleasant. A deputation of four gentlemen, as representatives of the American Board, came from America especially to confer with the trustees as to the Christian principles of the institution, and the moral claims of the Board, but wholly in vain. The administration of the Doshisha became so distinctly non-Christian, to use no stronger term, that the mission felt it impossible to co-operate longer with the Doshisha trustees; the missionary members of the faculty accordingly resigned. In order to secure exemption from the draft for its students the trustees of the Doshisha abrogated certain clauses of the constitution relating to the Christian character of the institution, in spite of the fact that these clauses belonged to the "unchangeable" part of the constitution which the trustees, on taking office, had individually sworn to maintain. Again the Board sent out a man, now a lawyer vested with full power to press matters to a final issue. After months of negotiations with the trustees in regard to the restoration of the substance of the abrogated clauses, without result, he was on the point of carrying the case into the courts, when the trustees decided to resign in a body. A new board of trustees has been formed, who bid fair to carry on the institution in accord with the wishes of its founders and benefactors, as expressed in the original constitution. At one stage of the proceedings the trustees voted magnanimously, as they appeared to think, to allow the missionaries of the Board to live for fifteen years, rent free, in the foreign houses connected with the Doshisha; this, because of the many favors it had received from the Board! By this vote they maintained that they had more than fulfilled every requirement of honor. That they were consciously betraying the trust that had been reposed in them is not for a moment to be supposed. It would not be fair not to add that this experience in Kyoto does not exemplify the universal Japanese character. There are many Japanese who deeply deplore and condemn the whole proceeding. Some of the Doshisha alumni have exerted themselves strenuously to have righteousness done. Passing now from the character of trustful confidence, we take up its opposite, suspiciousness. The development of this quality is a natural result of a military feudalism such as ruled Japan for hundreds of years. Intrigue was in constant use when actual war was not being waged. In an age when conflicts were always hand to hand, and the man who could best deceive his enemy as to his next blow was the one to carry off his head, the development of suspicion, strategy, and deceit was inevitable. The most suspicious men, other things being equal, would be the victors; they, with their families, would survive and thus determine the nature of the social order. The more than two hundred and fifty clans and "kuni," "clan territory," into which the land was divided, kept up perpetual training in the arts of intrigue and subtlety which are inevitably accompanied by suspicion. Modern manifestations of this characteristic are frequent. Not a cabinet is formed, but the question of its make-up is discussed from the clannish standpoint. Even though it is now thirty years since the centralizing policy was entered upon and clan distinctions were effectually broken down, yet clan suspicion and jealousy is not dead. The foreigner is impressed by the constant need of care in conversation, lest he be thought to mean something more or other than he says. When we have occasion to criticise anything in the Japanese, we have found by experience that much more is inferred than is said. Shortly after my arrival in Japan I was advised by one who had been in the land many years to be careful in correcting a domestic or any other person sustaining any relation to myself, to say not more than one-tenth of what I meant, for the other nine-tenths would be inferred. Direct and perfectly frank criticism and suggestion, such as prevail among Anglo-Americans at least, seem to be rare among the Japanese. In closing, it is in order to note once again that the emotional characteristics considered in this chapter, although customarily thought to be deep-seated traits of race nature, are, nevertheless, shown to be dependent on the character of the social order. Change the order, and in due season corresponding changes occur in the national character, a fact which would be impossible were that character inherent and essential, passed on from generation to generation by the single fact of biological heredity. XI JEALOUSY--REVENGE--HUMANE FEELINGS According to the teachings of Confucius, jealousy is one of the seven just grounds on which a woman may be divorced. In the "Greater Learning for Women,"[M] occur the following words: "Let her never even dream of jealousy. If her husband be dissolute, she must expostulate with him, but never either render her countenance frightful or her accents repulsive, which can only result in completely alienating her husband from her, and making her intolerable in his eyes." "The five worst maladies that afflict the female mind are indocility, discontent, slander, jealousy, and silliness. Without any doubt, these five maladies infest seven or eight out of every ten women, and it is from these that arises the inferiority of women to men ... Neither when she blames and accuses and curses innocent persons, nor when in her jealousy of others she thinks to set herself up alone, does she see that she is her own enemy, estranging others and incurring their hatred." The humiliating conditions to which women have been subjected in the past and present social order, and to which full reference has been made in previous chapters, give sufficient explanation of the jealousy which is recognized as a marked, and, as might appear, inevitable characteristic of Japanese women. Especially does this seem inevitable when it is remembered how slight is their hold on their husbands, on whose faithfulness their happiness so largely depends. Only as this order changes and the wife secures a more certain place in the home, free from the competition of concubines and harlots and dancing girls, can we expect the characteristic to disappear. That it will do so under such conditions, there is no reason to question. Already there are evidences that in homes where the husband and the wife are both earnest Christians, and where each is confident of the loyalty of the other, jealousy is as rare as it is in Christian lands. But is jealousy a characteristic limited to women? or is it not also a characteristic of men? I am assured from many quarters that men also suffer from it. The jealousy of a woman is aroused by the fear that some other woman may supplant her in the eyes of her husband; that of a man by the fear that some man may supplant him in rank or influence. Marital jealousy of men seems to be rare. Yet I heard not long since of a man who was so afraid lest some man might steal his wife's affections that he could not attend to his business, and finally, after three months of married wretchedness, he divorced her. A year later he married her again, but the old trouble reappeared, and so he divorced her a second time. If marital jealousy is less common among men than among women, the explanation is at hand in the lax moral standard for man. The feudal order of society, furthermore, was exactly the soil in which to develop masculine jealousy. In such a society ambition and jealousy go hand in hand. Wherever a man's rise in popularity and influence depends on the overthrow of someone already in possession, jealousy is natural. Connected with the spirit of jealousy is that of revenge. Had we known Japan only during her feudal days, we should have pronounced the Japanese exceedingly revengeful. Revenge was not only the custom, it was also the law of the land and the teaching of moralists. One of the proverbs handed down from the hoary past is: "Kumpu no ada to tomo ni ten we itadakazu." "With the enemy of country, or father, one cannot live under the same heaven." The tales of heroic Japan abound in stories of revenge. Once when Confucius was asked about the doctrine of Lao-Tse that one should return good for evil, he replied, "With what then should one reward good? The true doctrine is to return good for good, and evil with justice." This saying of Confucius has nullified for twenty-four hundred years that pearl of truth enunciated by Lao-Tse, and has caused it to remain an undiscovered diamond amid the rubbish of Taoism. By this judgment Confucius sanctified the rough methods of justice adopted in a primitive order of society. His dictum peculiarly harmonized with the militarism of Japan. Being, then, a recognized duty for many hundred years, it would be strange indeed were not revengefulness to appear among the modern traits of the Japanese. But the whole order of society has been transformed. Revenge is now under the ban of the state, which has made itself responsible for the infliction of corporal punishment on individual transgressors. As a result conspicuous manifestations of the revengeful spirit have disappeared, and, may we not rightly say, even the spirit itself? The new order of society leaves no room for its ordinary activity; it furnishes legal methods of redress. The rapid change in regard to this characteristic gives reason for thinking that if the industrial and social order could be suitably adjusted, and the conditions of individual thought and life regulated, this, and many other evil traits of human character, might become radically changed in a short time. Intelligent Christian Socialism is based on this theory and seems to have no little support for its position. Are Japanese cruel or humane? The general impression of the casual tourist doubtless is that they are humane. They are kind to children on the streets, to a marked degree; the jinrikisha runners turn out not only for men, women, and children, but even for dogs. The patience, too, of the ordinary Japanese under trying circumstances is marked; they show amazing tolerance for one another's failings and defects, and their mutual helpfulness in seasons of distress is often striking. To one traveling through New Japan there is usually little that will strike the eye as cruel. But the longer one lives in the country, the more is he impressed with certain aspects of life which seem to evince an essentially unsympathetic and inhumane disposition. I well remember the shock I received when I discovered, not far from my home in Kumamoto, an insane man kept in a cage. He was given only a slight amount of clothing, even though heavy frost fell each night. Food was given him once or twice a day. He was treated like a wild animal, not even being provided with bedding. This is not an exceptional instance, as might, perhaps, at first be supposed. The editor of the _Japan Mail_, who has lived in Japan many years, and knows the people well, says: "Every foreigner traveling or residing in Japan must have been shocked from time to time by the method of treating lunatics. Only a few months ago an imbecile might have been seen at Hakone confined in what was virtually a cage, where, from year's end to year's end, he received neither medical assistance nor loving tendance, but was simply fed like a wild beast in a menagerie. We have witnessed many such sights with horror and pity. Yet humane Japanese do not seem to think of establishing asylums where these unhappy sufferers can find refuge. There is only one lunatic asylum in Tokyo. It is controlled by the municipality, its accommodation is limited, and its terms place it beyond the reach of the poor." And the amazing part is that such sights do not seem to arouse the sentiment of pity in the Japanese. The treatment accorded to lepers is another significant indication of the lack of sympathetic and humane sentiments among the people at large. For ages they have been turned from home and house and compelled to wander outcasts, living in the outskirt of the villages in rude booths of their own construction, and dependent on their daily begging, until a wretched death gives them relief from a more wretched life. So far as I have been able to learn, the opening of hospitals for lepers did not take place until begun by Christians in recent times. This casting out of leper kindred was not done by the poor alone, but by the wealthy also, although I do hot affirm or suppose that the practice was universal. I am personally acquainted with the management of the Christian Leper Hospital in Kumamoto, and the sad accounts I have heard of the way in which lepers are treated by their kindred would seem incredible, were they not supported by the character of my informants, and by many other facts of a kindred nature. A history of Japan was prepared by Japanese scholars under appointment from the government and sent to the Columbian Exposition in 1893; it makes the following statement, already referred to on a previous page: "Despite the issue of several proclamations ... people were governed by such strong aversion to the sight of sickness that travelers were often left to die by the roadside from thirst, hunger, or disease, and householders even went to the length of thrusting out of doors and abandoning to utter destitution servants who suffered from chronic maladies.... Whenever an epidemic occurred, the number of deaths that resulted was enormous."[N] This was the condition of things after Buddhism, with its civilizing and humanizing influences, had been at work in the land for about four hundred years, and Old Japan was at the height of her glory, whether considered from the standpoint of her government, her literature, her religious development, or her art. Of a period some two hundred years earlier, it is stated that, by the assistance of the Sovereign, Buddhism established a charity hospital in Nara, "where the poor received medical treatment and drugs gratis, and an asylum was founded for the support of the destitute. Measures were also taken to rescue foundlings, and, in general, to relieve poverty and distress" (p. 92). The good beginning made at that time does not seem to have been followed up. As nearly as I can make out, relying on the investigations of Rev. J.H. Pettee and Mr. Ishii, there are to-day in Japan fifty orphan asylums, of which eleven are of non-Christian, and thirty-nine of Christian origin, support, and control. Of the non-Christian, five are in Osaka, two in Tokyo, four in Kyoto, and one each in Nagoya, Kumamoto, and Matsuye. Presumably the majority of these are in the hands of Buddhists. Of the Christian asylums twenty are Roman Catholic and nineteen are Protestant. It is a noteworthy fact that in this form of philanthropy and religious activity, as in so many others, Christians are the pioneers and Buddhists are the imitators. In a land where Buddhism has been so effective as to modify the diet of the nation, leading them in obedience to the doctrines of Buddha, as has been stated, to give up eating animal food, it is exceedingly strange that the people apparently have no regard for the pain of living animals. Says the editor of the _Mail_ in the article already quoted: "They will not interfere to save a horse from the brutality of its driver, and they will sit calmly in a jinrikisha while its drawer, with throbbing heart and straining muscles, toils up a steep hill." How often have I seen this sight! How the rider can endure it, I cannot understand, except it be that revolt at cruelty and sympathy with suffering do not stir within his heart. Of course, heartless individuals are not rare in the West also. I am speaking here, however, not of single individuals, but of general characteristics. But a still more conspicuous evidence of Japanese deficiency of sympathy is the use, until recently, of public torture. It was the theory of Japanese jurisprudence that no man should be punished, even though proved guilty by sufficient evidence, until he himself confessed his guilt; consequently, on the flimsiest evidence, and even on bare suspicion, he was tortured until the desired confession was extracted. The cruelty of the methods employed, we of the nineteenth century cannot appreciate. Some foreigner tells how the sight of torture which he witnessed caused him to weep, while the Japanese spectators stood by unmoved. The methods of execution were also refined devices of torture. Townsend Harris says that crucifixion was performed as follows: "The criminal is tied to a cross with his arms and legs stretched apart as wide as possible; then a spear is thrust through the body, entering just under the bottom of the shoulder blade on the left side, and coming out on the right side, just by the armpit. Another is then thrust through in a similar manner from the right to the left side. The executioner endeavors to avoid the heart in this operation. The spears are thrust through in this manner until the criminal expires, but his sufferings are prolonged as much as possible. Shinano told me that a few years ago a very strong man lived until the eleventh spear had been thrust through him." From these considerations, which might be supported by a multitude of illustrations, we conclude that in the past there has certainly been a great amount of cruelty exhibited in Japan, and that even to this day there is in this country far less sympathy for suffering, whether animal or human, than is felt in the West. But we must not be too quick to jump to the conclusion that in this regard we have discovered an essential characteristic of the Japanese nature. With reference to the reported savagery displayed by Japanese troops at Port Arthur, it has been said and repeated that you have only to scratch the Japanese skin to find the Tartar, as if the recent development of human feelings were superficial, and his real character were exhibited in his most cruel moments. To get a true view of the case let us look for a few moments at some other parts of the world, and ask ourselves a few questions. How long is it since the Inquisition was enforced in Europe? Who can read of the tortures there inflicted without shuddering with horror? It is not necessary to go back to the times of the Romans with their amphitheaters and gladiators, and with their throwing of Christians to wild animals, or to Nero using Christians as torches in his garden. How long is it since witches were burned, not only in Europe by the thousand, but in enlightened and Christian New England? although it is true that the numbers there burned were relatively few and the reign of terror brief. How long is it since slaves were feeling the lash throughout the Southern States of our "land of freedom"? How long is it since fiendish mobs have burned or lynched the objects of their rage? How long is it since societies for preventing cruelty to animals and to children were established in England and America? Is it not a suggestive fact that it was needful to establish them and that it is still needful to maintain them? The fact is that the highly developed humane sense which is now felt so strongly by the great majority of people in the West is a late development, and is not yet universal. It is not for us to boast, or even to feel superior to the Japanese, whose opportunities for developing this sentiment have been limited. Furthermore, in regard to Japan, we must not overlook certain facts which show that Japan has made gradual progress in the development of the humane feelings and in the legal suppression of cruelty. The Nihon Shoki records that, on the death of Yamato Hiko no Mikoto, his immediate retainers were buried alive in a standing position around the grave, presumably with the heads alone projecting above the surface of the ground. The Emperor Suijin Tenno, on hearing the continuous wailing day after day of the slowly dying retainers, was touched with pity and said that it was a dreadful custom to bury with the master those who had been most faithful to him when alive. And he added that an evil custom, even though ancient, should not be followed, and ordered it to be abandoned. A later record informs us that from this time arose the custom of burying images in the place of servants. According to the ordinary Japanese chronology, this took place in the year corresponding to 1 B.C. The laws of Ieyasu (1610 A.D.) likewise condemn this custom as unreasonable, together with the custom in accordance with which the retainers committed suicide upon the master's death. These same laws also refer to the proverb on revenge, given in the third paragraph of this chapter, and add that whoever undertakes thus to avenge himself or his father or mother or lord or elder brother must first give notice to the proper office of the fact and of the time within which he will carry out his intention; without such a notice, the avenger will be considered a common murderer. This provision was clearly a limitation of the law of revenge. These laws of Ieyasu also describe the old methods of punishing criminals, and then add: "Criminals are to be punished by branding, or beating, or tying up, and, in capital cases, by spearing or decapitation; but the old punishments of tearing to pieces and boiling to death are not to be used." Torture was finally legally abolished in Japan only as late as 1877. It has already become quite clear that the prevalence of cruelty or of humanity depends largely upon the social order that prevails. It is not at all strange that cruelty, or, at least, lack of sympathy for suffering in man or beast, should be characteristic of an order based on constant hand-to-hand conflict. Still more may we expect to find a great indifference to human suffering wherever the value of man as man is slighted. Not until the idea of the brotherhood of man has taken full possession of one's heart and thought does true sympathy spring up; then, for the first time, comes the power of putting one's self in a brother's place. The apparently cruel customs of primitive times, in their treatment of the sick, and particularly of those suffering from contagious diseases, is the natural, not to say necessary, result of superstitious ignorance. Furthermore, it was often the only ready means to prevent the spread of contagious or epidemic diseases. In the treatment of the sick, the first prerequisite for the development of tenderness is the introduction of correct ideas as to the nature of disease and its proper treatment. As soon as this has been effectually done, a great proportion of the apparent indifference to human suffering passes away. The cruelty which is to-day so universal in Africa needs but a changed social and industrial order to disappear. The needed change has come to Japan. Physicians trained in modern methods of medical practice are found all over the land. In 1894 there were 597 hospitals, 42,551 physicians, 33,921 nurses and midwives, 2869 pharmacists, and 16,106 druggists, besides excellent schools of pharmacy and medicine.[O] It is safe to say that nearly all forms of active cruelty have disappeared from Japan; some amount of active sympathy has been developed, though, as compared to that of other civilized lands, it is still small. But there can be no doubt that the rapid change which has come over the people during the past thirty years is not a change in essential innate character, but only in the social order. As soon as the idea takes root that every man has a mission of mercy, and that the more cruel are not at liberty to vent their barbarous feelings on helpless creatures, whether man or beast, a strong uprising of humane activity will take place which will demand the formation of societies for the prevention of cruelty and for carrying active relief to the distressed and wretched. Lepers will no longer need to eke out a precarious living by exhibiting their revolting misery in public; lunatics will no longer be kept in filthy cages and left with insufficient care or clothing. The stream of philanthropy will rise high, to be at once a blessing and a glory to a race that already has shown itself in many ways capable of the highest ideals of the West. XII AMBITION--CONCEIT Ambition is a conspicuous characteristic of New Japan. I have already spoken of the common desire of her young men to become statesmen. The stories of Neesima and other young Japanese who, in spite of opposition and without money, worked their way to eminence and usefulness, have fired the imagination of thousands of youths. They think that all they need is to get to America, when their difficulties will be at an end. They fancy that they have but to look around to find some man who will support them while they study. Not only individuals, but the people as a whole, have great ambitions. Three hundred years ago the Taiko, Hideyoshi, the Napoleon of Japan, and the virtual ruler of the Empire, planned, after subjugating Korea, to conquer China and make himself the Emperor of the East. He thought he could accomplish this in two years. During the recent war, it was the desire of many to march on to Pekin. Frequent expression was given to the idea that it is the duty of Japan to rouse China from her long sleep, as America roused Japan in 1854. It is frequently argued, in editorial articles and public speeches, that the Japanese are peculiarly fitted to lead China along the path of progress, not only indirectly by example, as they have been doing, but directly by teaching, as foreigners have led Japan. "The Mission of Japan to the Orient" is a frequent theme of public discourse. But national ambitions do not rest here. It is not seldom asserted that in Japan a mingling of the Occidental and Oriental civilizations is taking place under such favorable conditions that, for the first time in history, the better elements of both are being selected; and that before long the world will sit to learn at her feet. The lofty ambition of a group of radical Christians is to discover or create a new religion which shall unite the best features of Oriental and Occidental religious thought and experience. The religion of the future will be, not Christianity, nor Buddhism, but something better than either, more consistent, more profound, more universal; and this religion, first developed in Japan, will spread to other lands and become the final religion of the world. A single curious illustration of the high-flying thoughts of the people may well find mention here. When the Kumamoto Boys' School divided over the arbitrary, tyrannical methods of their newly secured, brilliant principal, already referred to in a previous chapter, the majority of the trustees withdrew and at once established a new school for boys. For some time they struggled for a name which should set forth the principles for which the school stood, and finally they fixed on that of "To-A Gakko." Translated into unpretentious English, this means "Eastern Asia School"; the idea was that the school stood for no narrow methods of education, and that its influence was to extend beyond the confines of Japan. This interpretation is not an inference, but was publicly stated oil various occasions. The school began with twenty-five boys, if my memory is correct, and never reached as many as fifty. In less than three years it died an untimely death through lack of patronage. The young men of the island of Kyushu, especially of Kumamoto and Kagoshima provinces, are noted for their ambitious projects. The once famous "Kumamoto Band" consisted entirely of Kyushu boys. Under the masterful influence of Captain Jaynes those high-spirited sons of samurai, who had come to learn foreign languages and science, in a school founded to combat Christianity and to upbuild Buddhism, became impressed with the immense superiority of foreign lands, which superiority they were led to attribute to Christianity. They accordingly espoused the Christian cause with great ardor, and, in their compact with one another, agreed to work for the reform of Japan. I have listened to many addresses by the Kumamoto schoolboys, and I have been uniformly impressed with the political and national tendencies of their thought. Accompanying ambition is a group of less admirable qualities, such as self-sufficiency and self-conceit. They are seldom manifested with that coarseness which in the West we associate with them, for the Japanese is usually too polished to be offensively obtrusive. He seldom indulges in bluster or direct assertion, but is contented rather with the silent assumption of superiority. I heard recently of a slight, though capital, illustration of my point. Two foreign gentlemen were walking through the town of Tadotsu some years since and observed a sign in English which read "Stemboots." Wondering what the sign could mean they inquired the business of the place, and learning that it was a steamboat office, they gave the clerk the reason for their inquiry, and at his request made the necessary correction. A few days later, however, on their return, they noticed that the sign had been re-corrected to "Stem-boats," an assumption of superior knowledge on the part of some tyro in English. The multitude of signboards in astonishing English, in places frequented by English-speaking people, is one of the amusing features of Japan. It would seem as if the shopkeepers would at least take the pains to have the signs correctly worded and spelled, by asking the help of some foreigner or competent Japanese. Yet they assume that they know all that is needful. Indications of perfect self-confidence crop out in multitudes of ways far too numerous to mention. The aspiring ambition spoken of in the immediately preceding pages is one indication of this characteristic. Another is the readiness of fledglings to undertake responsibilities far beyond them. Young men having a smattering of English, yet wholly unable to converse, set up as teachers. Youths in school not infrequently undertake to instruct their teachers as to what courses of study and what treatment they should receive. Still more conspicuous is the cool assumption of superiority evinced by so many Japanese in discussing intellectual and philosophical problems. The manner assumed is that of one who is complete master of the subject. The silent contempt often poured on foreigners who attempt to discuss these problems is at once amusing and illustrative of the characteristic of which I am speaking.[P] We turn next to inquire for the explanation of these characteristics. Are they inherent traits of the race? Or are they the product of the times? Doubtless the latter is the true explanation. It will be found that those individuals in whom these characteristics appear are descendants of the samurai. A small class of men freed from heavy physical toil, given to literature and culture, ever depending on the assumption of superiority for the maintenance of their place in society and defending their assumption by the sword--such a class, in such a social order, would develop the characteristics in question to a high degree. Should we expect an immediate change of character when the social order has been suddenly changed? In marked contrast to the lofty assumptions of superiority which characterized the samurai of Old Japan, was the equally marked assumption of inferiority which characterized the rest of the people, or nineteen-twentieths of the nation. I have already sufficiently dwelt on this aspect of national character. I here recur to it merely to enforce the truth that self-arrogation and self-abnegation, haughtiness and humility, proud, high-handed, magisterial manners, and cringing, obsequious obedience, are all elements of character that depend on the nature of the social order. They are passed on from generation to generation more by social than by biological heredity. Both of these sets of contrasted characteristics are induced by a full-fledged feudal system, and must remain for a time as a social inheritance after that system has been overthrown, particularly if its overthrow is sudden. In proportion as the principles of personal rights and individual worth on the basis of manhood become realized by the people and incorporated into the government and customs of the land, will abnegating obsequiousness, as well as haughty lordliness, be replaced by a straightforward manliness, in which men of whatever grade of society will frankly face each other, eye to eye. But what shall we say in regard to the assumption made by young Japan in its attitude to foreigners? Are the assumptions wholly groundless? Is the self-confidence unjustified? Far from it. When we study later the intellectual elements of Japanese character, we shall see some reasons for their feeling of self-reliance. The progress which the nation has made in many lines within thirty years shows that it has certain kinds of power and, consequently, some ground for self-reliance. Furthermore, self-reliance, if fairly supported by ability and zeal, is essential in the attainment of any end whatever. Faint heart never won fair lady. Confidence in self is one form of faith. No less of peoples than individuals is it true, that without faith in themselves they cannot attain their goal. The impression of undue self-confidence made by the Japanese may be owing partly to their shortness of stature. It is a new experience for the West to see a race of little people with large brains and large plans. Especially does it seem strange and conceited for a people whose own civilization is so belated to assume a rôle of such importance in the affairs of the world. Yet we must learn to dissociate physical size from mental or spiritual capacity. The future alone will disclose what Japanese self-reliance and energy can produce. The present prominence of this characteristic in Japan is still further to be accounted for by her actual recent history. The overthrow of the Shogunate was primarily the work of young men; the introduction of almost all the sweeping reforms which have transformed Japan has been the work of young men who, though but partly equipped for their work, approached it with energy and perfect confidence, not knowing enough perhaps to realize the difficulties they were undertaking. They had to set aside the customs of centuries; to do this required startling assumptions of superiority to their ancestors and their immediate parents. The young men undertook to dispute and doubt everything that stood in the way of national re-organization. In what nation has there ever been such a setting aside of parental teaching and ancestral authority? These heroic measures secured results in which the nation glories. Is it strange, then, that the same spirit should show itself in every branch of life, even in the attitude of the people to the Westerners who have brought them the new ways and ideas? The Japanese, however, is not the only conceited nation. Indeed, it would be near the truth to say that there is no people without this quality. Certainly the American and English, French and German nations cannot presume to criticise others. The reason why we think Japan unique in this respect is that in the case of these Western nations we know more of the grounds for national self-satisfaction than in the case of Japan. Yet Western lands are, in many respects, truly provincial to this very day, in spite of their advantages and progress; the difficulty with most of them is that they do not perceive it. The lack of culture that prevails among our working classes is in some respects great. The narrow horizon still bounding the vision of the average American or Briton is very conspicuous to one who has had opportunities to live and travel in many lands. Each country, and even each section of a country, is much inclined to think that it has more nearly reached perfection than any other. This phase of national and local feeling is interesting, especially after one has lived in Japan a number of years and has had opportunities to mingle freely with her people. For they, although self-reliant and self-conceited, are at the same time surprisingly ready to acknowledge that they are far behind the times. Their open-mindedness is truly amazing. In describing the methods of land tenure, of house-building, of farming, of local government, of education, of moral instruction, of family life, indeed, of almost anything in the West that has some advantageous feature, the remark will be dropped incidentally that these facts show how uncivilized Japan still is. In their own public addresses, if any custom is attacked, the severest indictment that can be brought against it is that it is uncivilized. In spite, therefore, of her self-conceit, Japan is in a fairer way of making progress than many a Western nation, because she is also so conscious of defects. A large section of the nation has a passion for progress. It wishes to learn of the good that foreign lands have attained, and to apply the knowledge in such wise as shall fit most advantageously into the national life. Although Japan is conceited, her conceit is not without reason, nor is it to be attributed to her inherent race nature. It is manifestly due to her history and social order past and present. XIII PATRIOTISM--APOTHEOSIS--COURAGE No word is so dear to the patriotic Japanese as the one that leaps to his lips when his country is assailed or maligned, "Yamato-Damashii." In prosaic English this means "Japan Soul." But the native word has a flavor and a host of associations that render it the most pleasing his tongue can utter. "Yamato" is the classic name for that part of Japan where the divinely honored Emperor, Jimmu Tenno, the founder of the dynasty and the Empire, first established his court and throne. "Damashii" refers to the soul, and especially to the noble qualities of the soul, which, in Japan of yore, were synonymous with bravery, the characteristic of the samurai. If, therefore, you wish to stir in the native breast the deepest feelings of patriotism and courage, you need but to call upon his "Yamato-Damashii." There has been a revival in the use of this word during the last decade. The old Japan-Spirit has been appealed to, and the watchword of the anti-foreign reaction has been "Japan for the Japanese." Among English-speaking and English-reading Japanese there has been a tendency to give this term a meaning deeper and broader than the historic usage, or even than the current usage, will bear. One Japanese writer, for instance, defines the term as meaning, "a spirit of loyalty to country, conscience, and ideal." An American writer comes more nearly to the current usage in the definition of it as "the aggressive and invincible spirit of Japan." That there is such a spirit no one can doubt who has the slightest acquaintance with her past or present history. Concerning the recent rise of patriotism I have spoken elsewhere, perhaps at sufficient length. Nor is it needful to present extensive evidence for the statement that the Japanese have this feeling of patriotism in a marked degree. One or two rather interesting items may, however, find their place here. The recent war with China was the occasion of focusing patriotism and fanning it into flame. Almost every town street, and house, throughout the Empire, was brilliantly decked with lanterns and flags, not on a single occasion only, but continuously. Each reported victory, however small, sent a thrill of delight throughout the nation. Month after month this was kept up. In traveling through the land one would not have fancied that war was in progress, but rather, that a long-continued festival was being observed. An incident connected with sending troops to Korea made a deep impression on the nation. The Okayama Orphan Asylum under the efficient management of its founder, Mr. Ishii, had organized the older boys into a band, securing for them various kinds of musical instruments. These they learned to use with much success. When the troops were on the point of leaving, Mr. Ishii went with his band to the port of Hiroshima, erected a booth, prepared places for heating water, and as often as the regiments passed by, his little orphans sallied forth with their teapots of hot tea for the refreshment of the soldiers. Each regiment was also properly saluted, and if opportunity offered, the little fellows played the national anthem, "Kimi-ga yo," which has been thus translated: "May Our Gracious Sovereign reign a thousand years, reign till the little stone grow into a mighty rock, thick velveted with ancient moss." And finally the orphans would raise their shrill voices with the rhythmical national shout, "Tei-koku Ban-zai, Tei-koku Ban-zai"; "Imperial-land, a myriad years, Imperial-land, a myriad years." This thoughtful farewell was maintained for the four or five days during which the troops were embarking for the seat of war, well knowing that some would never return, and that their children would be left fatherless even as were these who saluted them. So deep was the impression made upon the soldiers that many of them wept and many a bronzed face bowed in loving recognition of the patriotism of these Christian boys. It is said that the commander-in-chief of the forces himself gave the little fellows the highest military salute in returning theirs. Throughout the history of Japan, the aim of every rebellious clan or general was first to get possession of the Emperor. Having done this, the possession of the Imperial authority was unquestioned. Whoever was opposed to the Emperor was technically called "Cho-teki," the enemy of the throne, a crime as heinous as treason in the West. The existence of this sentiment throughout the Empire is an interesting fact. For, at the very same time, there was the most intense loyalty to the local lord or "daimyo." This is a fine instance of a certain characteristic of the Japanese of which I must speak more fully in another connection, but which, for convenience, I term "nominality." It accepts and, apparently at least, is satisfied with a nominal state of affairs, which may be quite different from the real. The theoretical aspect of a question is accepted without reference to the actual facts. The real power may be in the hands of the general or of the daimyo, but if authority nominally proceeds from the throne, the theoretical demands are satisfied. The Japanese themselves describe this state as "yumei-mujitsu." In a sense, throughout the centuries there has been a genuine loyalty to the throne, but it has been of the "yumei-mujitsu" type, apparently satisfied with the name only. In recent times, however, there has been growing dissatisfaction with this state of affairs. Some decades before Admiral Perry appeared there were patriots secretly working against the Tokugawa Shogunate. Called in Japanese "Kinnoka," they may be properly termed in English "Imperialists." Their aim was to overthrow the Shogunate and restore full and direct authority to the Emperor. Not a few lost their lives because of their views, but these are now honored by the nation as patriots. There is a tendency among scholars to-day to magnify the patriotism and loyalty of preceding ages, also to emphasize the dignity and Imperial authority of the Emperor. The patriotic spirit is now so strong that it blinds their eyes to many of the salient facts of their history. Their patriotism is more truly a passion than an idea. It is an emotion rather than a conception. It demands certain methods of treatment for their ancient history that Western scholarship cannot accept. It forbids any really critical research into the history of the past, since it might cast doubt on the divine descent of the Imperial line. It sums itself up in passionate admiration, not to say adoration, of the Emperor. In him all virtues and wisdom abound. No fault or lack in character can be attributed to him. I question if any rulers have ever been more truly apotheosized by any nation than the Emperors of Japan. The essence of patriotism to-day is devotion to the person of the Emperor. It seems impossible for the people to distinguish between the country and its ruler. He is the fountain of authority. Lower ranks gain their right and their power from him alone. Power belongs to the people only because, and in proportion as, he has conferred it upon them. Even the Constitution has its authority only because he has so determined. Should he at any time see fit to change or withdraw it, it is exceedingly doubtful whether one word of criticism or complaint would be publicly uttered, and as for forcible opposition, of such a thing no one would dream. Japanese patriotism has had some unique and interesting features. In some marked respects it is different from that of lands in which democratic thought has held sway. For 1500 years, under the military social order, loyalty has consisted of personal attachment to the lord. It has ever striven to idealize that lord. The "yumei-mujitsu" characteristic has helped much in this idealizing process, by bridging the chasm between the prosaic fact and the ideal. Now that the old form of feudalism has been abruptly abolished, with its local lords and loyalty, the old sentiment of loyalty naturally fixes itself on the Emperor. Patriotism has perhaps gained intensity in proportion as it has become focalized. The Emperor is reported to be a man of commanding ability and good sense. It is at least true that he has shown wisdom in selecting his councilors. There is general agreement that he is not a mere puppet in the hands of his advisers, but that he exercises a real and direct influence on the government of the day. During the late war with China it was currently reported that from early morning until late at night, week after week and month after month, he worked upon the various matters of business that demanded his attention. No important move or decision was made without his careful consideration and final approval. These and other noble qualities of the present Emperor have, without doubt, done much toward transferring the loyalty of the people from the local daimyo to the national throne. An event in the political world has recently occurred which illustrates pointedly the statements just made in regard to the enthusiastic loyalty of the people toward the Emperor. In spite of the fact that the national finances are in a distressing state of confusion, and notwithstanding the struggle which has been going on between successive cabinets and political parties, the former insisting on, and the latter refusing, any increase in the land tax, no sooner was it suggested by a small political party, to make a thank-offering to the Emperor of 20,000,000 yen out of the final payment of the war indemnity lately received, than the proposal was taken up with zeal by both of the great and utterly hostile political parties, and immediately by both houses of the Diet. The two reasons assigned were, "First, that the victory over China would never have been won, nor the indemnity obtained, had not the Emperor been the victorious, sagacious Sovereign that he is, and that, therefore, it is only right that a portion of the indemnity should be offered to him; secondly, that His Majesty is in need of money, the allowance granted by the state for the maintenance of the Imperial Household being insufficient, in view of the greatly enhanced prices of commodities and the large donations constantly made by His Majesty for charitable purposes."[Q] This act of the Diet appeals to the sentiment of the people as the prosaic, business-like method of the Occident would not do. The significance of the appropriation made by the Diet will be better realized if it is borne in mind that the post-bellum programme for naval and military expansion which was adopted in view of the large indemnity (being, by the way, 50,000,000 yen), already calls for an expenditure in excess of the indemnity. Either the grand programme must be reduced, or new funds be raised, yet the leading political parties have been absolutely opposed to any substantial increase of the land tax, which seems to be the only available source of increase even to meet the current expenses of the government, to say nothing of the post-bellum programme. So has a burst of sentiment buried all prudential considerations. This is a species of loyalty that Westerners find hard to appreciate. To them it would seem that the first manifestation of loyalty would be to provide the Emperor's Cabinet and executive officers with the necessary funds for current expenses; that the second would be to give the Emperor an allowance sufficient to meet his actual needs, and the third,--if the funds held out,--to make him a magnificent gift. This sentimental method of loyalty to the Emperor, however, is matched by many details of common life. A sentimental parting gift or speech will often be counted as more friendly than thoroughly business-like relations. The prosaic Occidental discounts all sentiment that has not first satisfied the demands of business and justice. Such a standard, however, seems to be repugnant to the average Japanese mind. The theory that all authority resides in the Emperor is also enforced by recent history. For the constitution was not wrung from an unwilling ruler by an ambitious people, but was conferred by the Emperor of his own free will, under the advice of his enlightened and progressive councilors. As an illustration of some of the preceding statements let me quote from a recent article by Mr. Yamaguchi, Professor of History in the Peeresses' School and Lecturer in the Imperial Military College. After speaking of the abolition of feudalism and the establishment of a constitutional monarchy, he goes on to say: "But we must not suppose that the sovereign power of the state has been transferred to the Imperial Diet. On the contrary, it is still in the hands of the Emperor as before.... The functions of the government are retained in the Emperor's own hands, who merely delegates them to the Diet, the Government (Cabinet), and the Judiciary, to exercise the same in his name. The present form of government is the result of the history of a country which has enjoyed an existence of many centuries. Each country has its own peculiar characteristics which differentiate it from others. Japan, too, has her history, different from that of other countries. Therefore we ought not to draw comparisons between Japan and other countries, as if the same principles applied to all indiscriminately. The Empire of Japan has a history of 3000 [!] years, which fact distinctly marks out our nationality as unique. The monarch, in the eyes of the people, is not merely on a par with an aristocratic oligarchy which rules over the inferior masses, or a few nobles who equally divide the sovereignty among themselves. According to our ideas, the monarch reigns over and governs the country in his own right, and not by virtue of rights conferred by the constitution.... Our Emperor possesses real sovereignty and also exercises it. He is quite different from other rulers who possess but a partial sovereignty.... He has inherited the rights of sovereignty from his ancestors. Thus it is quite legitimate to think that the rights of sovereignty exist in the Emperor himself.... The Empire of Japan shall be reigned over and governed by a line of Emperors unbroken for ages eternal. (Constitution, Art. LXXIII.) ... The sovereign power of the state cannot be dissociated from the Imperial Throne. It lasts forever, along with the Imperial line of succession, unbroken for ages eternal. If the Imperial house cease to exist, the Empire falls." In a land where adopted sons are practically equivalent to lineal descendants (another instance of the "yumei-mujitsu" type of thought), and where marriage is essentially polygamous, and where the "yumei-mujitsu" spirit has allowed the sovereignty to be usurped in fact, though it may not be in name, it is not at all wonderful that the nation can boast of a longer line of Emperors than any other land. But when monogamy becomes the rule in Japan, as it doubtless will some day, and if lineal descent should be considered essential to inheritance, as in the Occident, it is not at all likely that the Imperial line will maintain itself unbroken from father to son indefinitely. Although the present Emperor has at least five concubines besides his wife, the Empress, and has had, prior to 1896, no less than thirteen children by them, only two of these are still living, both of them the offspring of his concubines; one of these is a son born in 1879, proclaimed the heir in 1887, elected Crown Prince in 1889, and married in 1900; he is said to be in delicate health; the second child is a daughter born in 1890. Since 1896 several children have been born to the Emperor and two or three have died, so that at present writing there are but four living children. These are all offspring of concubines.[R] In speaking, however, of the Japanese apotheosis of their Emperor, we must not forget how the "divine right of kings" has been a popular doctrine, even in enlightened England, until the eighteenth century, and is not wholly unknown in other lands at the present day. Only in recent times has the real source of sovereignty been discovered by historical and political students. That the Japanese are not able to pass at one leap from the old to the new conception in regard to this fundamental element of national authority is not at all strange. Past history, together with that which is recent, furnishes a satisfactory explanation for the peculiar nature of Japanese patriotism. This is clearly due to the nature of the social order. A further fact in this connection is that, in a very real sense, the existence of Japan as a unified nation has depended on apotheosis. It is the method that all ancient nations have adopted at one stage of their social development for expressing their sense of national unity and the authority of national law. In that stage of social development when the common individual counts for nothing, the only possible conception of the authority of law is that it proceeds from a superior being--the highest ruler. And in order to secure the full advantage of authority, the supreme ruler must be raised to the highest possible pinnacle, must be apotheosized. That national laws should be the product of the unvalued units which compose the nation was unthinkable in an age when the worth of the individual was utterly unrecognized. The apotheosis of the Emperor was neither an unintelligible nor an unreasonable practice. But now that an individualistic, democratic organization of society has been introduced resting on a principle diametrically opposed to that of apotheosis, a struggle of most profound importance has been inaugurated. Does moral or even national authority really reside in the Emperor? The school-teachers are finding great difficulty in teaching morality as based exclusively on the Imperial Edict. The politicians of Japan are not content with leaving all political and state authority to the Emperor. Not long ago (June, 1898), for the first time in Japan, a Cabinet acknowledging responsibility to a political party took the place of one acknowledging responsibility only, to the Emperor. For this end the politicians have been working since the first meeting of the national Diet. Which principle is to succeed, apotheosis and absolute Imperial sovereignty, or individualism with democratic sovereignty? The two cannot permanently live together. The struggle is sure to be intense, for the question of authority, both political and moral, is inevitably involved. The parallel between Japanese and Roman apotheosis is interesting. I can present it no better than by quoting from that valuable contribution to social and moral problems, "The Genesis of the Social Conscience," by Prof. H.S. Nash: "Yet Rome with all her greatness could not outgrow the tribal principle.... We find something that reveals a fundamental fault in the whole system. It is the apotheosis of the Emperors. The process of apotheosis was something far deeper than servility in the subject conspiring with vanity in the ruler. It was a necessity of the state. There was no means of insuring the existence of the state except religion. In the worship of the Cæsars the Empire reverenced its own law. There was no other way in which pagan Rome could guarantee the gains she had made for civilization. Yet the very thing that was necessary to her was in logic her undoing.... The worship of the Emperor undid the definition of equality the logic of the Empire demanded. Again apotheosis violated the divine unity of humanity upon which alone the Empire could securely build."[S] That the final issue of Japan's experience will be like that of Rome I do not believe. For her environment is totally different. But the same struggle of the two conflicting principles is already on. Few, even among the educated classes, realize its nature or profundity. The thinkers who adhere to the principle of apotheosis do so admittedly because they see no other way in which to secure authority for law, whether political or moral. Here we see the importance of those conceptions of God, of law, of man, which Christianity alone can give. From patriotism we naturally pass to the consideration of courage. Nothing was more prized and praised in Old Japan. In those days it was the deliberate effort of parents and educators to develop courage in children. Many were their devices for training the young in bravery. Not content with mere precept, they were sent alone on dark stormy nights to cemeteries, to houses reputed to be haunted, to dangerous mountain peaks, and to execution grounds. Many deeds were required of the young whose sole aim was the development of courage and daring. The worst name you could give to a samurai was "koshinuke" (coward). Many a feud leading to a fatal end has resulted from the mere use of this most hated of all opprobrious epithets. The history of Japan is full of heroic deeds. I well remember a conversation with a son of the old samurai type, who told me, with the blood tingling in his veins, of bloody deeds of old and the courage they demanded. He remarked incidentally that, until one had slain his first foe, he was ever inclined to tremble. But once the deed had been done, and his sword had tasted the life blood of a man, fear was no more. He also told me how for the sake of becoming inured to ghastly sights under nerve-testing circumstances, the sons of samurai were sent at night to the execution grounds, there, by faint moonlight to see, stuck on poles, the heads of men who had been recently beheaded. The Japanese emotion of courage is in some respects peculiar. At least it appears to differ from that of the Anglo-Saxon. A Japanese seems to lose all self-control when the supreme moment comes; he throws himself into the fray with a frenzied passion and a fearless madness allied to insanity. Such is the impression I have gathered from the descriptions I have heard and the pictures I have seen. Even the pictures of the late war with China give evidence of this. But their courage is not limited to fearlessness in the face of death; it extends to complete indifference to pain. The honorable method by which a samurai who had transgressed some law or failed in some point of etiquette, might leave this world is well known to all, the "seppuku," the elegant name for the vulgar term "hara-kiri" or "belly-cutting." To one who is sensitive to tales of blood, unexpurgated Japanese history must be a dreadful thing. The vastness of the multitudes who died by their own hands would be incredible, were there not ample evidence of the most convincing nature. It may be said with truth that suicide became apotheosized, a condition that I suppose cannot be said to have prevailed in any other land. In thus describing the Japanese sentiment in regard to "seppuku," there is, however, some danger of misrepresenting it. "Seppuku" itself was not honored, for in the vast majority of cases those who performed it were guilty of some crime or breach of etiquette. And not infrequently those who were condemned to commit "seppuku" were deficient in physical courage; in such cases, some friend took hold of the victim's hand and forced him to cut himself. Such cowards were always despised. To be condemned to commit "seppuku" was a disgrace, but it was much less of a disgrace than to be beheaded as a common man, for it permitted the samurai to show of what stuff he was made. It should be stated further that in the case of "seppuku," as soon as the act of cutting the abdomen had been completed, always by a single rapid stroke, someone from behind would, with a single blow, behead the victim. The physical agony of "seppuku" was, therefore, very brief, lasting but a few seconds. I can do no better than quote in this connection a paragraph from the "Religions of Japan" by W.E. Griffis: "From the prehistoric days when the custom of 'Junshi,' or dying with the master, required the interment of living retainers with their dead lord, down through all the ages to the Revolution of 1868, when at Sendai and Aidzu scores of men and boys opened their bowels, and mothers slew their infant sons and cut their own throats, there has been flowing a river of suicides' blood having its springs in devotion of retainers to masters, and of soldiers to a lost cause.... Not only a thousand, but thousands of thousands of soldiers hated their parents, wife, child, friend, in order to be disciples to the supreme loyalty. They sealed their creed by emptying their own veins.... The common Japanese novels read like records of slaughter-houses. No Molech or Shivas won more victims to his shrine than has this idea of Japanese loyalty, which is so beautiful in theory but so hideous in practice ... Could the statistics of the suicides during this long period be collected, their publication would excite in Christendom the utmost incredulity."[T] I well remember the pride, which almost amounted to glee, with which a young blood gave me the account of a mere boy, perhaps ten or twelve years old, who cut his bowels in such a way that the deed was not quite complete, and then tying his "obi" or girdle over it, walked into the presence of his mother, explained the circumstances which made it a point of honor that he should commit "seppuku," and forthwith untied his "obi" and died in her presence. These are the ideals of courage and loyalty that have been held up before Japanese youth for centuries. Little comment is needful. From the evolutionary standpoint, it is relatively easy to understand the rise of these ideas and practices. It is clear that they depend entirely on the social order. With the coming in of the Western social order, feudal lords and local loyalty and the carrying of swords were abolished. Are the Japanese any less courageous now than they were thirty years ago? The social order has changed and the ways of showing courage have likewise changed. That is all that need be said. Are we to say that the Japanese are more courageous than other peoples? Although no other people have manifested such phenomena as the Japanese in regard to suicide for loyalty, yet any true appreciation of Western peoples will at once dispel the idea that they lack courage. Manifestations of courage differ according to the nature of the social order, but no nation could long maintain itself, to say nothing of coming into existence, without a high degree of this endowment. But Japanese courage is not entirely of the physical order, although that is the form in which it has chiefly shown itself thus far. The courage of having and holding one's own convictions is known in Japan as elsewhere. There has been a long line of martyrs. During the decades after the introduction of Buddhism, there was such opposition that it required much courage for converts to hold to their beliefs. So, too, at the time of the rise of the new Buddhist sects, there was considerable persecution, especially with the rise of the Nichiren Shu. And when the testing time of Christianity came, under the edict of the Tokugawas by which it was suppressed, tens of thousands were found who preferred death to the surrender of their faith. In recent times, too, much courage has been shown by the native Christians. As an illustration is the following: When an eminent American teacher of Japanese youth returned to Japan after a long absence, his former pupils gathered around him with warm admiration. They had in the interval of his absence become leaders among the trustees and faculty of the most prosperous Christian college in Japan. He was accordingly invited to deliver a course of lectures in the Chapel. It was generally known that he was no longer the earnest Christian that he had once been, when, as teacher in an interior town, he had inspired a band of young men who became Christians under his teaching and a power for good throughout the land. But no one was prepared to hear such extreme denunciations of Christianity and Christian missions and missionaries as constituted the substance of his lectures. At first the matter was passed over in silence. But, by the end of the second lecture, the missionaries entered a protest, urging that the Christian Chapel should not again be used for such lectures. The faculty, however, were not ready to criticise their beloved teacher. The third lecture proved as abusive as the others; the speaker seemed to have no sense of propriety. A glimpse of his thought, and method of expression may be gained from a single sentence: "I have been commissioned, gentlemen, by Jesus Christ, to tell you that there is no such thing as a soul or a future life." Although the missionary members of the faculty urged it, the Japanese members, most of whom were his former pupils, were unwilling to take any steps whatever to prevent the continuation of the blasphemous lectures. The students of the institution accordingly held a mass-meeting, in which the matter was discussed, and it was decided to inform the speaker that the students did not care to hear any more such lectures. The question then arose as to who would deliver the resolution. There was general hesitancy, and anyone who has seen or known the lecturer, and has heard him speak, can easily understand this feeling; for he is a large man with a most impressive and imperious manner. The young man, however, who had perhaps been most active in agitating the matter, and who had presented the resolution to the meeting, volunteered to go. He is slight and rather small, even for a Japanese. Going to the home of the lecturer, he delivered calmly the resolution of the students. To the demand as to who had drawn up and presented the resolution to the meeting, the reply was: "I, sir." That ended the conversation, but not the matter. From that day the idolized teacher was gradually lowered from his pedestal. But the moral courage of the young man who could say in his enraged presence, "I, sir," has not been forgotten. Neither has that of the young man who had acted as interpreter for the first lecture; not only did he decline to act in that capacity any longer, but, taking the first public opportunity, at the chapel service the following day, which proved to be Sunday, he went to the platform and asked forgiveness of God and of men that he had uttered such language as he had been compelled to use in his translating. Here, too, was moral courage of no mean order. XIV FICKLENESS--STOLIDITY--STOICISM A frequent criticism of the Japanese is that they are fickle; that they run from one fad to another, from one idea to another, quickly tiring of each in turn. They are said to lack persistence in their amusements no less than in the most serious matters of life. None will deny the element of truth in this charge. In fact, the Japanese themselves recognize that of late their progress has been by "waves," and not a few lament it. A careful study of school attendance will show that it has been subject to alternate waves of popularity and disfavor. Private schools glorying in their hundreds of pupils have in a short time lost all but a few score. In 1873 there was a passion for rabbits, certain varieties of which were then for the first time introduced into Japan. For a few months these brought fabulous prices, and became a subject of the wildest speculation. In 1874-75 cock-fighting was all the rage. Foreign waltzing and gigantic funerals were the fashion one year, while wrestling was the fad at another time, even the then prime minister, Count Kuroda, taking the lead. But the point of our special interest is as to whether fickleness is an essential element of Japanese character, and so dominant that wherever the people may be and whatever their surroundings, they will always be fickle; or whether this trait is due to the conditions of their recent history. Let us see. Prof. Basil H. Chamberlain says, "Japan stood still so long that she has to move quickly and often now to make up for lost time." This states the case pretty well. Had we known Japan only through her Tokugawa period, the idea of fickleness would not have occurred to us; on the contrary, the dominant impression would have been that of the permanence and fixity of her life and customs. This quality or appearance of fickleness is, then, a modern trait, due to the extraordinary circumstances in which Japan finds herself. The occurrence of wave after wave of fresh fashions and fads is neither strange nor indicative of an essentially fickle disposition. Glancing below the surface for a moment, we shall see that there is an earnestness of purpose which is the reverse of fickle. What nation, for example, ever voluntarily set itself to learn the ways and thoughts and languages of foreign nations as persistently as Japan? That there has been fluctuation of intensity is not so surprising as that, through a period of thirty years, she has kept steadily at it. Tens of thousands of her young men are now, able to read the English language with some facility; thousands are also able to read German and French. Foreign languages are compulsory in all the advanced schools. A regulation going into force in September, 1900, requires the study of two foreign languages. This has been done at a cost of many hundred thousands of dollars. There has been a fairly permanent desire and effort to learn all that the West has to teach. The element of fickleness is to be found chiefly in connection with the methods rather than in connection with the ends to be secured. From the moment when Japan discovered that the West had sources of power unknown to herself, and indispensable if she expected to hold her own with the nations of the world, the aim and end of all her efforts has been to master the secrets of that power. She has seen that education is one important means. That she should stumble in the adoption of educational methods is not strange. The necessary experience is being secured. But for a lesson of this sort, more than one generation of experience is required of a nation. For some time to come Japan is sure to give signs of unsteadiness, of lack of perfect balance. A pitiful sight in Japan is that of boys not more than five or six years of age pushing or pulling with all their might at heavily loaded hand-carts drawn by their parents. Yet this is typical of one aspect of Japanese civilization. The work is largely done by young people under thirty, and vast multitudes of the workers are under twenty years of age. This is true not only of menial labor, but also in regard to labor involving more or less responsibility. In the post offices, for instance, the great majority of the clerks are mere boys. In the stores one rarely sees a man past middle age conducting the business or acting as clerk. Why are the young so prominent? Partly because of the custom of "abdication." As "family abdication" is frequent, it has a perceptible effect on the general character of the nation, and accounts in part for rash business ventures and other signs of impetuosity and unbalanced judgment. Furthermore, under the new civilization, the older men have become unfitted to do the required work. The younger and more flexible members of the rising generation can quickly adjust themselves to the new conditions, as in the schools, where the older men, who had received only the regular training in Chinese classics, were utterly incompetent as teachers of science. Naturally, therefore, except for instruction in these classics, the common-school teachers, during the earlier decades, were almost wholly young boys. The extreme youthfulness of school-teachers has constantly surprised me. In the various branches of government this same phenomenon is equally common. Young men have been pushed forward into positions with a rapidity and in numbers unknown in the West, and perhaps unknown in any previous age in Japan. The rise and decline of the Christian Church in Japan has been instanced as a sign of the fickleness of the people. It is a mistaken instance, for there are many other causes quite sufficient to account for the phenomenon in question. Let me illustrate by the experience of an elderly Christian. He had been brought to Christ through the teachings of a young man of great brilliancy, whose zeal was not tempered with full knowledge--which, however, was not strange, in view of his limited opportunities for learning. His instruction was therefore narrow, not to say bigoted. Still the elderly gentleman found the teachings of the young man sufficiently strong and clear thoroughly to upset all his old ideas of religion, his polytheism, his belief in charms, his worship of ancestors, and all kindred ideas. He accepted the New Testament in simple unquestioning faith. But, after six or eight years, the young instructor began to lose his own primitive and simple faith. He at once proceeded to attack that which before he had been defending and expounding. Soon his whole theological position was changed. Higher criticism and religious philosophy were now the center of his preaching and writing. The result was that this old gentleman was again in danger of being upset in his religious thinking. He felt that his new faith had been received in bulk, so to speak, and if a part of it were false, as his young teacher now asserted, how could he know that any of it was true? Yet his heart's experience told him that he had secured something in this faith that was real; he was loath to lose it; consequently, for some years now, he has systematically stayed away from church services, and refrained from reading magazines in which these new and destructive views have been discussed; he has preferred to read the Bible quietly at home, and to have direct communion with God, even though, in many matters of Biblical or theoretical science, he might hold his mistaken opinions. A surface view of this man's conduct might lead one to think of him as fickle; but a deeper consideration will lead to the opposite conclusion. The fluctuating condition of the Christian churches is not cause for astonishment, nor is it to be wholly, if at all, attributed to the fickleness of the national character, but rather, in a large degree, to the peculiar conditions of Japanese life. The early Christians had much to learn. They knew, experimentally, but little of Christian truth. The whole course of Christian thought, the historical development of theology, with the various heresies, the recent discussions resting on the so-called "higher criticism" of the Bible, together with the still more recent investigations into the history and philosophy of religion in general, were of course wholly unknown to them. This was inevitable, and they were blameless. All could not be learned at once. Nor is there any blame attached to the missionaries. It was as impossible for them to impart to young and inexperienced Christians a full knowledge of these matters as it was for the latter to receive such information. The primary interest of the missionaries was in the practical and everyday duties of the Christian life, in the great problem of getting men and women to put away the superstitions and narrowness and sins springing from polytheism or practical atheism, and getting them started in ways of godliness. The training schools for evangelists were designed to raise up practical workers rather than speculative theologians. Missionaries considered it their duty (and they were beyond question right) to teach religion rather than the science and philosophy of religion. When, therefore, the evangelists discovered that they had not been taught these advanced branches of knowledge, it is not strange that some should rush after them, and, in their zeal for that which they supposed to be important, hasten to criticise their former teachers. As a result, they undermined both their own faith and that of many who had become Christians through their teaching. The dullness of the church life, so conspicuous at present in many of the churches, is only partly due to the fact that the Christians are tired of the services. It is true that these services no longer afford them that mental and spiritual stimulus which they found at the first, and that, lacking this, they find little inducement to attend. But this is only a partial explanation. Looking over the experience of the past twenty-five years, we now see that the intense zeal of the first few years was a natural result of a certain narrowness of view. It is an interesting fact that, during one of the early revivals in the Doshisha, the young men were so intense and excited that the missionaries were compelled to restrain them. These young Christians felt and said that the missionaries were not filled with the Holy Spirit; they accordingly considered it their duty to exhort their foreign leaders, even to chide them for their lack of faith. The extraordinary expectations entertained by the young Japanese workers of those days and shared by the missionaries, that Japan was to become a Christian nation before the end of the century, was due in large measure to an ignorance alike of Christianity, of human nature, and of heathenism, but, under the peculiar conditions of life, this was well-nigh inevitable. And that great and sudden changes in feeling and thought have come over the infant churches, in consequence of the rapid acquisition of new light and new experience, is equally inevitable. These changes are not primarily attributable to fickleness of nature, but to the extraordinary additions to their knowledge. There is good reason to think, however, that the period of these rapid fluctuations is passing away. All the various fads, fancies, and follies, together with the sciences, philosophies, ologies, and isms of the Western world, have already come to Japan, and are fairly well known. No essentially new and sudden experiences lie before the people. Furthermore, the young men are year by year growing older. Experience and age together are giving a soberness and a steadiness otherwise unattainable. In the schools, in the government, in politics, and in the judiciary, and in the churches, men of years and of training in the new order are becoming relatively numerous, and erelong they will be in the majority. We may expect to see Japan gradually settling down to a steadiness and a regularity that have been lacking during the past few decades. The newcomer to Japan is much impressed with the expressionless character of so many Japanese faces. They appear like the images of Buddha, who is supposed to be so absorbed in profound meditation that the events of the passing world make no impression upon him. I have sometimes heard the expression "putty face" used to describe the appearance of the common Japanese face. This immobility of the Oriental is more conspicuous to a newcomer than to one who has seen much of the people and who has learned its significance. But though the "putty" effect wears off, there remains an impression of stoicism that never fades away. These two features, stolidity and stoicism, are so closely allied in appearance that they are easily mistaken, yet they are really distinct. The one arises from stupidity, from dullness of mind. The other is the product of elaborate education and patient drill. Yet it is often difficult to determine where the one ends and the other begins. The stolidity of stupidity is, of course, commonest among the peasant class. For centuries they have been in closest contact with the soil; nothing has served to awaken their intellectual faculties. Reading and writing have remained to them profound mysteries. Their lives have been narrow in the extreme. But the Japanese peasant is not peculiar in this respect. Similar conditions in other lands produce similar results, as in France, according to Millet's famous painting, "The Man with the Hoe." It is an interesting fact, however, that this stolidity of stupidity can be easily removed. I have often heard comments on the marked change in the facial expression of those adults who learn to read the Bible. Their minds are awakened; a new light is seen in their eyes as new ideas are started in their minds. The impression of stolidity made on the foreigner is, due less, however, to stupidity than to a stoical education. For centuries the people have been taught to repress all expression of their emotions. It has been required of the inferior to listen quietly to his superior and to obey implicitly. The relations of superior and inferior have been drilled into the people for ages. The code of a military camp has been taught and enforced in all the homes. Talking in the presence of a superior, or laughter, or curious questions, or expressions of surprise, anything revealing the slightest emotion on the part of the inferior was considered a discourtesy. Education in these matters was not confined to oral instruction; infringements were punished with great rigor. Whenever a daimyo traveled to Yedo, the capital, he was treated almost as a god by the people. They were required to fall on their knees and bow their faces to the ground, and the death penalty was freely awarded to those who failed to make such expressions of respect. One source, then, of the systematic repression of emotional expression is the character of the feudal order of society that so long prevailed. The warrior who had best control of his facial expression, who could least expose to his foe or even to his ordinary friends the real state of his feelings, other things being equal, would come off the victor. In further explanation of this repression is the religion of Buddha. For 1200 years it has helped to mold the middle and the lower classes of the people. According to its doctrine, desire is the great evil; from it all other evils spring. For this reason, the aim of the religious life is to suppress all desire, and the most natural way to accomplish this is to suppress the manifestation of desire; to maintain passive features under all circumstances. The images of Buddha and of Buddhist saints are utterly devoid of expression. They indicate as nearly as possible the attainment of their desire, namely, freedom from all desire. This is the ambition of every earnest Buddhist. Being the ideal and the actual effort of life, it does affect the faces of the people. Lack of expression, however, does not prove absence of desire. Every foreigner has had amusing proof of this. A common experience is the passing of a group of Japanese who, apparently, give no heed to the stranger. Neither by the turn of the head nor by the movement of a single facial muscle do they betray any curiosity, yet their eyes take in each detail, and involuntarily follow the receding form of the traveler. In the interior, where foreigners are still objects of curiosity, young men have often run up from behind, gone to a distance ahead of me, then turned abruptly, as though remembering something, and walked slowly back again, giving me, apparently, not the slightest attention. The motive was the desire to get a better look at the foreigner. They hoped to conceal it by a ruse, for there must be no manifestation of curiosity. Phenomena which a foreigner may attribute to a lack of emotion of, at least, to its repression, may be due to some very different cause. Few things, for instance, are more astonishing to the Occidental than the silence on the part of the multitude when the Emperor, whom they all admire and love, appears on the street. Under circumstances which would call forth the most enthusiastic cheers from Western crowds, a Japanese crowd will maintain absolute silence. Is this from lack of emotion? By no means. Reverence dominates every breast. They would no more think of making noisy demonstrations of joy in the presence of the Emperor than a congregation of devout Christians would think of doing the same during a religious service. This idea of reverence for superiors has pervaded the social order--the intensity of the reverence varying with the rank of the superior. But a change has already begun. Silence is no longer enforced; no profound bowings to the ground are now demanded before the nobility; on at least one occasion during the recent China-Japan war the enthusiasm of the populace found audible expression when the Emperor made a public appearance. Even the stoical appearance of the people is passing away under the influence of the new order of society, with its new, dominant ideas. Education is bringing the nation into a large and throbbing life. Naturalness is taking the place of forced repression. A sense of the essential equality of man is springing up, especially among the young men, and is helping to create a new atmosphere in this land, where, for centuries, one chief effort has been to repress all natural expression of emotion. While touring in Kyushu several years ago, I had an experience which showed me that the stolidity, or vivacity, of a people is largely dependent on the prevailing social order rather than on inherent nature. Those who have much to do with the Japanese have noted the extreme quiet and reserve of the women. It is a trait that has been lauded by both native and foreign writers. Because of this characteristic it is difficult for a stranger, to carry on conversation with them. They usually reply in monosyllables and in low tones. The very expression of their faces indicates a reticence, a calm stolidity, and a lack of response to the stimulus of social intercourse that is striking and oppressive to an Occidental. I have always found it a matter of no little difficulty to become acquainted with the women, and especially with the young women, in the church with which I have been connected. With the older women this reticence is not so marked. Now for my story: One day I called on a family, expecting to meet the mother, with whom I was well acquainted. She proved to be out; but a daughter of whom I had not before heard was at home, and I began to talk with her. Contrary to all my previous experience, this young girl of less than twenty years looked me straight in the face with perfect composure, replied to my questions with clear voice and complete sentences, and asked questions in her turn without the slightest embarrassment. I was amazed. Here was a Japanese girl acting and talking with the freedom of an American. How was this to be explained? Difficult though it appeared, the problem was easily solved. The young lady had been in America, having spent several years in Radcliffe College. There it was that her Japanese demureness was dropped and the American frankness and vivacity of manner acquired. It was a matter simply of the prevailing social customs, and not of her inherent nature as a Japanese. And this conclusion is enforced by the further fact that there is a marked increase in vivacity in those who become Christian. The repressive social restraints of the old social order are somewhat removed. A freedom is allowed to individuals of the Christian community, in social life, in conversation between men and women, in the holding of private opinions, which the non-Christian order of society did not permit. Sociability between the sexes was not allowed. The new freedom naturally results in greater vivacity and a far freer play of facial expression than the older order could produce. The vivacity and sociability of the geisha (dancing and singing girls), whose business it is to have social relations with the men, freely conversing with them, still further substantiates the view that the stolid, irrepressive features of the usual Japanese woman are social, not essential, characteristics. The very same girls exhibit alternately stolidity and vivacity according as they are acting as geisha or as respectable members of society. This completes our direct study of the various elements characterizing the emotional nature of the Japanese. It is universally admitted that the people are conspicuously emotional. We have shown, however, that their feelings are subject to certain remarkable suppressions. It remains to be asked why the Japanese are more emotional than other races? One reason doubtless is that the social conditions were such as to stimulate their emotional rather than their intellectual powers. The military system upon which the social structure rested kept the nation in its mental infancy. Twenty-eight millions of farmers and a million and a half of soldiers was the proportion during the middle of the nineteenth century. Education was limited to the soldiers. But although they cultivated their minds somewhat, their very occupation as soldiers required them to obey rather than to think; their hand-to-hand conflicts served mightily to stimulate the emotions. The entire feudal order likewise was calculated to have the same effect. The intellectual life being low, its inhibitions were correspondingly weak. When, in the future, the entire population shall have become fairly educated, and taught to think independently; and when government by the people shall have become much more universal, throwing responsibility on the people as never before, and stimulating discussion of the general principles of life, of government, and of law, then must the emotional features of the nation become less conspicuous. It is a question of relative development. As children run to extremes of thought and action on the slightest occasion, simply because their intellects have not come into full activity, weeping at one moment and laughing at the next, so it is with national life. Where the general intellectual development of a people is retarded, the emotional manifestations are of necessity correspondingly conspicuous. Even so fundamental a racial trait, then, as the emotional, is seen to be profoundly influenced by the prevailing social order. The emotional characteristics which distinguish the Japanese from other races are due, in the last analysis, to the nature of their social order rather than to their inherent nature or brain structure. XV AESTHETIC CHARACTERISTICS In certain directions, the Japanese reveal a development of æsthetic taste which no other nation has reached. The general appreciation of landscape-views well illustrates this point. The home and garden of the average workman are far superior artistically to those of the same class in the West. There is hardly a home without at least a diminutive garden laid out in artistic style with miniature lake and hills and winding walks. And this garden exists solely for the delight of the eye. The general taste displayed in many little ways is a constant delight to the Western "barbarian" when he first comes to Japan. Nor does this delight vanish with time and familiarity, though it is tempered by a later perception of certain other features. Indeed, the more one knows of the details of their artistic taste, the more does he appreciate it. The "toko-no-ma," for example, is a variety of alcove usually occupying half of one side of a room. It indicates the place of honor, and guests are always urged to sit in front of it. The floor of the "toko-no-ma" is raised four or five inches above the level of the room and should never be stepped upon. In this "toko-no-ma" is usually placed some work of art, or a vase with flowers, and on the wall is hung a picture or a few Chinese characters, written by some famous calligraphist, which are changed with the seasons. The woodwork and the coloring of this part of the room is of the choicest. The "toko-no-ma" of the main room of the house is always restful to the eye; this "honorable spot" is found in at least one room in every house; and if the owner has moderate means, there are two or three such rooms. Only the homes of the poorest of the poor are without this ornament. The Japanese show a refined taste in the coloring and decoration of rooms; natural woods, painted and polished, are common; every post and board standing erect must stand in the position in which it grew. A Japanese knows at once whether a board or post is upside down, though it would often puzzle a Westerner to decide the matter. The natural wood ceilings and the soft yellows and blues of the walls are all that the best trained Occidental eye could ask. Dainty decorations called the "ramma," over the neat "fusuma," consist of delicate shapes and quaint designs cut in thin boards, and serve at once as picture and ventilator. The drawings, too, on the "fusuma" (solid thick paper sliding doors separating adjacent rooms or shutting off the closet) are simple and neat, as is all Japanese pictorial art. Japanese love for flowers reveals a high æsthetic development. Not only are there various flower festivals at which times the people flock to suburban gardens and parks, but sprays, budding branches, and even large boughs are invariably arranged in the homes and public halls. Every church has an immense vase for the purpose. The proper arrangement of flowers and of flowering sprays and boughs is a highly developed art. It is often one of the required studies in girls' schools. I have known two or three men who made their entire living by teaching this art. Miniature flowering trees are reared with consummate skill. An acquaintance of mine glories in 230 varieties of the plum tree, all in pots, some of them between two and three hundred years old. Shinto and Buddhist temples also reveal artistic qualities most pleasing to the eye. But the main point of our interest lies in the explanation of this characteristic. Is the æsthetic sense more highly developed in Japan than in the West? Is it more general? Is it a matter of inherent nature, or of civilization? In trying to meet these problems, I note, first of all, that the development of the Japanese æsthetic taste is one-sided; though advanced in certain respects it is belated in others. In illustration is the sense of smell. It will not do to say that "the Japanese have no use for the nose," and that the love of sweet smells is unknown. Sir Rutherford Alcock's off-quoted sentence that "in one of the most beautiful and fertile countries in the whole world the flowers have no scent, the birds no song, and the fruit and vegetables no flavor," is quite misleading, for it has only enough truth to make it the more deceptive. It is true that the cherry blossom has little or no odor, and that its beauty lies in its exquisite coloring and abounding luxuriance, but most of the native flowers are praised and prized by the Japanese for their odors, as well as for their colors, as the plum, the chrysanthemum, the lotus, and the rose. The fragrance of flowers is a frequent theme in Japanese poetry. Japanese ladies, like those of every land, are fond of delicate scents. Cologne and kindred wares find wide sale in Japan, and I am told that expensive musk is not infrequently packed away with the clothing of the wealthy. But in contrast to this appreciation is a remarkable indifference to certain foul odors. It is amazing what horrid smells the cultivated Japanese will endure in his home. What we conceal in the rear and out of the way, he very commonly places in the front yard; though this is, of course, more true of the country than of large towns or cities. It would seem as if a high æsthetic development should long ago have banished such sights and smells. As a matter of fact, however, the æsthetics of the subject does not seem to have entered the national mind, any more than have the hygienics of the same subject. In explanation of these facts, may it not be that the Japanese method of agriculture has been a potent hindrance to the æsthetic development of the sense of smell? In primitive times, when wealth was small, the only easy method which the people had of preserving the fertilizing properties of that which is removed from our cities by the sewer-system was such as we still find in use in Japan to-day. Perhaps the necessities of the case have toughened the mental, if not the physical, sense of the people. Perhaps the unæsthetic character of the sights and smells has been submerged in the great value of fertilizing materials. Then, too, with the Occidental, the thought is common that such odors are indications of seriously unhealthful conditions. We are accordingly offended not simply by the odor itself, but also by the associations of sickness and death which it suggests. Not so the unsophisticated Oriental. Such a correlation of ideas is only now arising in Japan, and changes are beginning to be made, as a consequence. I cannot leave this point without drawing attention to the fact that the development of the sense of smell in these directions is relatively recent, even in the West. Of all the non-European nations and races, I have no doubt Japan is most free from horrid smells and putrid odors. And in view of our own recent emancipation it is not for us to marvel that others have made little progress. Rather is it marvelous that we should so easily forget the hole from which we have been so recently digged. In turning to study certain features of Japanese pictorial art, we notice that a leading characteristic is that of simplicity. The greatest results are secured with the fewest possible strokes. This general feature is in part due to the character of the instrument used, the "fude," "brush." This same brush answers for writing. It admits of strong, bold outlines; and a large brush allows the exhibition of no slight degree of skill. As a result, "writing" is a fine art in Japan. Hardly a family that makes any pretense at culture but owns one or more framed specimens of writing. In Japan these rank as pictures do or mottoes in the West, and are prized not merely for the sentiment expressed, but also for the skill displayed in the use of the brush. Skillful writers become famous, often receiving large sums for small "pictures" which consist of but two or three Chinese characters. No doubt the higher development of appreciation for natural scenery among the people in general is largely due to the character of the scenery itself. Steep hills and narrow valleys adjoin nearly every city in the land. Seas, bays, lakes, and rivers are numerous; reflected mountain scenes are common; the colors are varied and marked. Flowering trees of striking beauty are abundant. Any people living under these physical conditions, and sufficiently advanced in civilization to have leisure and culture, can hardly fail to be impressed with such wealth of beauty in the scenery itself. In the artistic reproduction of this scenery, however, Japanese artists are generally supposed to be inferior to those of the West. As often remarked, Japanese art has directed its chief endeavor to animals and to nature, thus failing to give to man his share of attention. This curious one-sidedness shows itself particularly in painting and in sculpture. In the former, when human beings are the subject, the aim has apparently been to extol certain characteristics; in warriors, the military or heroic spirit; in wise men, their wisdom; in monks and priests, their mastery over the passions and complete attainment of peace; in a god, the moral character which he is supposed to represent. Art has consequently been directed to bringing into prominence certain ideal features which must be over-accentuated in order to secure recognition; caricatures, rather than lifelike forms, are the frequent results. The images of multitudes of gods are frightful to behold; the aim being to show the character of the emotion of the god in the presence of evil. These idols are easily misunderstood, for we argue that the more frightful he is, the more vicious must be the god in his real character; not so the Oriental. To him the more frightful the image, the more noble the character. Really evil gods, such as demons, are always represented, I think, as deformed creatures, partly human and partly beast. It is to be remembered, in this connection, that idols are an imported feature of Japanese religion; Shinto to this day has no "graven image." All idols are Buddhistic. Moreover, they are but copies of the hideous idols of India; the Japanese artistic genius has added nothing to their grotesque appearance. But the point of interest for us is that the æsthetic taste which can revel in flowers and natural scenery has never delivered Japanese art from truly unæsthetic representations of human beings and of gods. Standing recently before a toy store and looking at the numberless dolls offered for sale, I was impressed afresh with the lack of taste displayed, both in coloring and in form; their conventionality was exceedingly tiresome; their one attractive feature was their absurdity. But the moment I turned away from the imitations of human beings to look at the imitations of nature, the whole impression was changed. I was pleased with the artistic taste displayed in the perfectly imitated, delicately colored flowers. They were beautiful indeed. Why has Japanese art made so little of man as man? Is it due to the "impersonality" of the Orient, as urged by some? This suggests, but does not give, the correct interpretation of the phenomenon in question. The reason lies in the nature of the ruling ideas of Oriental civilization. Man, as man, has not been honored or highly esteemed. As a warrior he has been honored; consequently, when pictured or sculptured as a warrior, he has worn his armor; his face, if visible, is not the natural face of a man, but rather that of a passionate victor, slaying his foe or planning for the same. And so with the priests and the teachers, the emperors and the generals; all have been depicted, not for what they are in themselves, but for the rank which they have attained; they are accordingly represented with their accouterments and robes and the characteristic attitudes of their rank. The effort to preserve their actual appearance is relatively rare. Manhood and womanhood, apart from social rank, have hardly been recognized, much less extolled by art. This feature, then, corresponds to the nature of the Japanese social order. The art of a land necessarily reveals the ruling ideals of its civilization. As Japan failed to discover the inherent nature and value of manhood and womanhood, estimating them only on a utilitarian basis, so has her art reflected this failure. Apparently it has never attempted to depict the nude human form. This is partly explained, perhaps, by the fact that the development of a perfect physical form through exercise and training has not been a part of Oriental thought. Labor of every sort has been regarded as degrading. Training for military skill and prowess has indeed been common among the military classes; but the skill and strength themselves have been the objects of thought, rather than the beauty of the muscular development which they produce. When we recall the prominent place which the games of Greece took in her civilization previous to her development of art, and the stress then laid on perfect bodily form, we shall better understand why there should be such difference in the development of the art of these two lands. I have never seen a Japanese man or youth bare his arm to show with pride the development of his biceps; and so far as I have observed, the pride which students in the United States feel over well-developed calves has no counterpart in Japan--this, despite the fact that the average Japanese has calves which would turn the American youth green with envy. From the absence of the nude in Japanese art it has been urged that Japan herself is far more morally pure than the West. Did the moral life of the people correspond to their art in this respect, the argument would have force. Unfortunately, such does not seem to be the case. It is further suggested as a reason that the bodily form of Oriental peoples is essentially unæsthetic; that the men are either too fat or too lean, and the women too plump when in the bloom of youth and too wrinkled and flabby when the first bloom is over. The absurdity of this suggestion raises a smile, and a query as to the experience which its author must have had. For any person who has lived in Japan must have seen individuals of both sexes, whom the most fastidious painter or sculptor would rejoice to secure as models. It might be thought that a truly artistic people, who are also somewhat immoral, would have developed much skill in the portrayal of the nude female form. But such an attempt does not seem to have been made until recent times, and in imitation of Western art. At least such attempts have not been recognized as art nor have they been preserved as such. I have never seen either statue or picture of a nude Japanese woman. Even the pictures of famous prostitutes are always faultlessly attired. The number and size of the conventional hairpins, and the gaudy coloring of the clothing, alone indicate the immoral character of the woman represented. It is not to be inferred, however, that immoral pictures have been unknown in Japan, for the reverse is true. Until forcibly suppressed by the government under the incentive of Western criticism, there was perfect freedom to produce and sell licentious and lascivious pictures. The older foreign residents in Japan testify to the frequency with which immoral scenes were depicted and exposed for sale. Here I merely say that these were not considered works of art; they were reproduced not in the interests of the æsthetic sense, but wholly to stimulate the taste for immoral things. The absence of the nude from Japanese art is due to the same causes that led to the relative absence of all distinctively human nature from art. Manhood and womanhood, as such, were not the themes they strove to depict. A curious feature of the artistic taste of the people is the marked fondness for caricature. It revels in absurd accentuations of special features. Children with protruding foreheads; enormously fat little men; grotesque dwarf figures in laughable positions; these are a few common examples. Nearly all of the small drawings and sculpturings of human figures are intentionally grotesque. But the Japanese love of the grotesque is not confined to its manifestation in art. It also reveals itself in other surprising ways. It is difficult to realize that a people who revel in the beauties of nature can also delight in deformed nature; yet such is the case. Stunted and dwarfed trees, trees whose branches have been distorted into shapes and proportions that nature would scorn--these are sights that the Japanese seem to enjoy, as well as "natural" nature. Throughout the land, in the gardens of the middle and higher classes, may be found specimens of dwarfed and stunted trees which have required decades to raise. The branches, too, of most garden shrubs and trees are trimmed in fantastic shapes. What is the charm in these distortions? First, perhaps, the universal human interest in anything requiring skill. Think of the patience and persistence and experimentation necessary to rear a dwarf pear tree twelve or fifteen inches high, growing its full number of years and bearing full-size fruit in its season! And second is the no less universal human interest in the strange and abnormal. All primitive people have this interest. It shows itself in their religions. Abnormal stones are often objects of religious devotion. Although I cannot affirm that such objects are worshiped in Japan to-day, yet I can say that they are frequently set up in temple grounds and dedicated with suitable inscriptions. Where nature can be made to produce the abnormal, there the interest is still greater. It is a living miracle. Witness the cocks of Tosa, distinguished by their two or three tail feathers reaching the extraordinary length of ten or even fifteen feet, the product of ages of special breeding. According to the ordinary use of the term, æsthetics has to do with art alone. Yet it also has intimate relations with both speech and conduct. Poetry depends for its very existence on æsthetic considerations. Although little conscious regard is paid to æsthetic claims in ordinary conversation, yet people of culture do, as a matter of fact, pay it much unconscious attention. In conduct too, æsthetic ideas are often more dominant than we suppose. The objection of the cultured to the ways of the boorish rests on æsthetic grounds. This is true in every land. In the matter of conduct it is sometimes hard to draw the line between æsthetics and ethics, for they shade imperceptibly into one another; so much so that they are seen to be complementary rather than contradictory. Though it is doubtless true that conduct æsthetically defective may not be defective ethically, still is it not quite as true that conduct bad from the ethical is bad also from the æsthetical standpoint? In no land have æsthetic considerations had more force in molding both speech and conduct than in Japan. Not a sentence is uttered by a Japanese but has the characteristic marks of æstheticism woven into its very structure. By means of "honorifics" it is seldom necessary for a speaker to be so pointedly vulgar as even to mention self. There are few points in the language so difficult for a foreigner to master, whether in speaking himself, or in listening to others, as the use of these honorific words. The most delicate shades of courtesy and discourtesy may be expressed by them. Some writers have attributed the relative absence of the personal pronouns from the language to the dominating force of impersonal pantheism. I am unable to take this view for reasons stated in the later chapters on personality. Though the honorific characteristics of the language seem to indicate a high degree of æsthetic development, a certain lack of delicacy in referring to subjects that are ruled out of conversation by cultivated people in the West make the contrary impression upon the uninitiated. Such language in Japan cannot be counted impure, for no such idea accompanies the words. They must be described simply as æsthetically defective. Far be it from me to imply that there is no impure conversation in Japan. I only say that the particular usages to which I refer are not necessarily a proof of moral tendency. A realistic baldness prevails that makes no effort to conceal even that which is in its nature unpleasant and unæsthetic. A spade is called a spade without the slightest hesitation. Of course specific illustrations of such a point as this are out of place. Æsthetic considerations forbid. And how explain these unæsthetic phenomena? By the fact that Japan has long remained in a state of primitive development. Speech is but the verbal expression of life. Every primitive society is characterized by a bald literalism shocking to the æsthetic sense of societies which represent a higher stage of culture. In Japan, until recently, little effort has been made to keep out of sight objects and acts which we of the West have considered disagreeable and repulsive. Language alters more slowly than acts. Laws are making changes in the latter, and they in time will take effect in the former. But many decades will doubtless pass before the cultivated classes of Japan will reach, in this respect, the standard of the corresponding classes of the West. As for the æsthetics of conduct in Japan, enough is indicated by what has been said already concerning the æsthetics of speech. Speech and conduct are but diverse expressions of the same inner life. Japanese etiquette has been fashioned on the feudalistic theory of society, with its numberless gradations of inferior and superior. Assertive individualism, while allowed a certain range among the samurai, always had its well-marked limits. The mass of the people were compelled to walk a narrow line of respectful obedience and deference both in form and speech. The constant aim of the inferior was to please the superior. That individuals of an inferior rank had any inherent rights, as opposed to those of a superior rank, seldom occurred to them. Furthermore, this whole feudal system, with its characteristic etiquette of conduct and speech, was authoritatively taught by moralists and religious leaders, and devoutly believed by the noblest of the land. Ethical considerations, therefore, combined powerfully with those that were social and æsthetic to produce "the most polite race on the face of the globe." Recent developments of rudeness and discourtesy among themselves and toward foreigners have emphasized my general contention that these characteristics are not due to inherent race nature, but rather to the social order. How are we to account for the wide æsthetic development of all classes of the Japanese? As already suggested, the beautiful scenery explains much. But I pass at once to the significant fact that although the classes of Japanese society were widely differentiated in social rank, yet they lived in close proximity to each other. There was no spatial gulf of separation preventing the lower from knowing fully and freely the thoughts, ideals, and customs of the upper classes. The transmission of culture was thus an easy matter, in spite of social gradations. Moreover, the character of the building materials, and the methods of construction used by the more prosperous among the people, were easily imitated in kind, if not in costliness, by the less prosperous. Take, for example, the structure of the room; it is always of certain fixed proportions, that the uniform mats may be easily fitted to it. The mats themselves are always made of a straw "toko," "bed," and an "omote," "surface," of woven straw; they vary greatly in value, but, of whatever grade, may always be kept neat and fresh at comparatively small cost. The walls of the average houses are made of mud wattles. The outer layers of plaster consist of selected earth and tinted lime. Whether put up at large or small expense, these walls may be neat and attractive. So, too, with other parts of the house. The utter lack of independent thinking throughout the middle and lower classes, and the constant desire of the inferior to imitate the superior, have also helped to make the culture of the classes the possession of the masses. This subserviency and spirit of imitation has been further stimulated by the enforced courtesy and deference and obedience of the common people. In this connection it should be noted, however, that the universality of culture in Japan is more apparent than real. The appearance is due in part to the lack of furniture in the homes. Without chairs or tables, bedsteads or washstands, and the multitude of other things invariably found in the home of the Occidental, it is easy for the Japanese housewife to keep her home in perfect order. No special culture is needful for this. How it came about that the Japanese people adopted their own method of sitting on the feet, I cannot say; neither have I heard any plausible explanation of the practice. Yet this habit has relieved them of all necessity for heavy furniture. Given the custom of sitting on the feet, and a large part of the furniture of the house will be useless. Already is the introduction of furniture after Western patterns producing changes in the homes of the people; and it will be interesting to see whether the æsthetic sense of the Japanese will be able to assimilate and harmonize with itself these useful, but bulky and unæsthetic, elements of Occidental civilization. That no part of the fine taste of the Japanese is due to the general civilization, rather than to the individual possession of the æsthetic faculty, may be inferred from many little signs. In spite of the fact that, following the long-established social fashions, the women usually display good taste in the choice of colors for their clothing, it sometimes happens that they also manifest not the slightest sense of the harmony of colors. Daughters of wealthy families will array themselves in brilliant discordant hues, yet apparently without causing the wearers or their friends the slightest æsthetic discomfort. Little children are arrayed in clothing that would doubtless put Joseph's coat of many colors quite out of countenance. Combinations and brilliancy that to the Western eye of culture seem crude and gaudy, typical of barbaric splendor, are in constant use, and are apparently thought to be fine. The Japanese display both taste and its lack in the choice of colors for clothing; this contradiction is the more striking in view of the taste manifest in the decorations of the homes of all classes of the people. Few sights are more ludicrously unæsthetic than the red, yellow, and blue worsted crocheted caps and shawls for infants, which shock all our ideas of æsthetic harmony. In connection with Western ways or articles of clothing, the native æsthetic faculty often seems to take its flight. In a foreign house many a Japanese seems to lose his sense of fitness. I have had schoolboys, and even gentlemen, enter my home with hobnailed muddied boots, without wiping their feet on the conspicuous door mat, which is the more remarkable since, in their own homes, they invariably take off their shoes on entering. I have frequently noticed that in railway cars the first comers monopolize the seats, and the later ones receive not the slightest notice, being often compelled to stand for an hour at a time, although, with a little moving, there would be abundant room for all. I have noticed this so often that I cannot think it an exceptional occurrence. I do not believe it to be intentional rudeness, but to be due simply to a lack of real heart politeness. Yet a true and deep æsthetic development, so far at least as relates to conduct, to say nothing of the spirit of altruism, would not permit such indifference to another's discomfort. My explanation for this, and for all similar defects in etiquette, is somewhat as follows. Etiquette is popularly conceived as consisting of rules of conduct, rather than as the outward expression of the state of the heart. From time immemorial rules for the ordinary affairs of life have been formulated by superiors and have been taught the people. In all usual and conventional relations, therefore, the average farmer and peasant know how to express perfect courtesy. But in certain situations, as in foreign houses and the railroad car, where there are no precedents to follow, or rules to obey, all evidence of politeness takes its flight. The old rules do not fit the new conditions. Not being grounded on the inner principles of etiquette, the people are not able to formulate new rules for new conditions. To the Westerner, on the other hand, these seem to follow from the simplest principles of common sense and kindliness. The general collapse of etiquette in Japan, which native writers note and deplore, is due, therefore, not only to the withdrawal of feudal pressure, but also to introduction of strange circumstances for which the people have no rules, and to the fact that the people have not been taught those underlying principles of high courtesy which are applicable on all occasions. An impression seems to have gained currency in the United States that the unæsthetic features seen in Japan to-day are due to the debasing influences of Western art and Occidental intercourse. There can be no doubt that a certain type of tourist, ignorant of Japanese art, by greedily buying strange, gaudy things at high prices, has stimulated a morbid production of truly unæsthetic pseudo-Japanese art. But this accounts for only a small part of the grossly inartistic features of Japan. The instances given of hideous worsted bibs for babes and collars for dogs, combining in the closest proximity the most uncomplementary and mutually repellent colors, has nothing whatever to do with foreign art or foreign intercourse. What foreigner ever decorated a little lapdog with a red-green-yellow-blue-and purple crocheted collar, four or five inches wide? Westerners have been charmed with the exquisite colored photographs produced in Japan. It is strange, yet true, that the same artistic hand that produces these beautiful effects will also, by a slight change of tints, produce the most unnatural and spectral views. Yet the strangest thing is, not that he produces them, but that he does not seem conscious of the defect, for he will put them on sale in his own shop or send them to purchasers in America, without the slightest apparent hesitation. The constant care of the purchaser in selection and his insistence on having only truly artistic work are what keep the Japanese artist up to the standard. If other evidence is needed of æsthetic defect in the still unoccidentalized Japanese taste let the doubter go to any popular second-grade Shinto shrine or Buddhist temple. Here unæsthetic objects and sights abound. Hideous idols, painted and unpainted, big and little, often decorated with soiled bibs; decaying to-rii; ruined sub-shrines; conglomerate piles of cast-off paraphernalia, consisting of broken idols, old lanterns, stones, etc., filthy towels at the holy-water basins, piously offered to the gods and piously used by hundreds of dusty pilgrims; equally filthy bell-ropes hung in front of the main shrines, pulled by ten thousand hands to call the attention of the deity; travel-stained hands, each of which has left its mark on the once beautiful enormous tasselated cord; ex-voto tufts of human hair; scores of pictures, where the few may be counted works of art while the rest are hideous beyond belief; frightful faces of tengu, with their long noses and menacing teeth, decorated with scores of spit-balls or even with mud-balls; these are some of the more conspicuous unæsthetic features of multitudes of popular shrines and temples. And none of these can be attributed to the debasing influence of Western art. And these inartistic features will be found accompanying scrupulous neatness in well-swept walks, new sub-shrines, floral decorations, and much that pleases the eye--a strange compound of the beautiful and the ugly. Truly the æsthetic development of the Japanese is curiously one-sided. A survey of Japanese musical history leads to the conclusion that while the people are fairly developed in certain aspects of the æsthetics of music, such as rhythm, they are certainly undeveloped in other directions--in melody, for example, and in harmony. Their instrumental music is primitive and meager. They have no system of musical notation. The love of music, such as it is, is well-nigh universal. Their solo-vocal music, a semi-chanting in minors, has impressive elements; but these are due to the passionate outbursts and plaintive wails, rather than to the musically æsthetic character of the melodies. The universal twanging samisen, a species of guitar, accompanied by the shrill, hard voices of the geisha (singing girls), marks at once the universality of the love of music and the undeveloped quality of the musical taste, both vocal and instrumental. But in comparing the musical development of Japan with that of the West, we must not forget how recent is that of the former. The conditions which have served to develop musical taste in the West have but recently come to Japan. Sufficient time has not yet elapsed for the nation to make much visible progress in the lines of Occidental music. But it has already done something. The popularity of brass bands, the wide introduction of organs, their manufacture in this land, their use in all public schools, the exclusive use of Occidental music in Christian churches, the ability of trained individuals in foreign vocal and instrumental music--all these facts go to show that in time we may expect great musical evolution in Japan. Those who doubt this on the ground of inherent race nature may be reminded of the evolution which has taken place among the Hawaiians during the past two generations. From being a race manifesting marked deficiency in music they have developed astonishing musical taste and ability. During a recent visit to these islands after an absence of twenty-seven years, I attended a Sunday-school exhibition, which was largely a musical contest; the voices were sweet and rich; and the difficulty of the part songs, easily carried through by children and adults, revealed a musical sense that surpasses any ordinary Sunday school of the United States or England with which I am acquainted. The development of Japanese literature likewise conspicuously reflects the ruling ideas of the social order, and reveals the dependence of literary taste on the order. As in other aspects in Japanese æsthetic development, so in this do we see marked lack of balance. "It is wonderful what felicity of phrase, melody of versification, and true sentiment can be compressed within the narrow limits (of the Tanka). In their way nothing can be more perfect than some of these little poems."[U] The deficiencies of Japanese poetry have been remarked by the foreigners most competent to judge. The following general characterization from the volume just quoted merits attention. "Narrow in its scope and resources, it is chiefly remarkable for its limitations--for what it has not, rather than what it has. In the first place there are no long poems. There is nothing which even remotely resembles an epic--no Iliad or Divina Commedia--not even a Nibelungen Lied or Chevy Chase. Indeed, narrative poems of any kind are short and very few, the only ones which I have met with being two or three ballads of a sentimental cast. Didactic, philosophical, political, and satirical poems are also conspicuously absent. The Japanese muse does not meddle with such subjects, and it is doubtful whether, if it did, the native Pegasus possesses sufficient staying power for them to be dealt with adequately. For dramatic poetry we have to wait until the fourteenth century. Even then there are no complete dramatic poems, but only dramas containing a certain poetical element. "Japanese poetry is, in short, confined to lyrics, and what, for want of a better word, may be called epigrams. It is primarily an expression of emotion. We have amatory verse poems of longing for home and absent dear ones, praise of love and wine, elegies on the dead, laments over the uncertainty of life. A chief place is given to the seasons, the sound of purling streams, the snow of Mount Fuji, waves breaking on the beach, seaweed drifting to the shore, the song of birds, the hum of insects, even the croaking of frogs, the leaping of trout in a mountain stream, the young shoots of fern in spring, the belling of deer in autumn, the red tints of the maple, the moon, flowers, rain, wind, mist; these are among the favorite subjects which the Japanese poets delight to dwell upon. If we add some courtly and patriotic effusions, a vast number of conceits more or less pretty, and a very few poems of a religious cast, the enumeration is tolerably complete. But, as Mr. Chamberlain has observed, there are curious omissions. War songs--strange to say--are almost wholly absent. Fighting and bloodshed are apparently not considered fit themes for poetry."[V] The drama and the novel have both achieved considerable development, yet judged from Occidental standards, they are comparatively weak and insipid. They, of course, conspicuously reflect the characteristics of the social order to which they belong. Critics call repeated attention to the lack of sublimity in Japanese literature, and ascribe it to their inherent race nature. While the lack of sublimity in Japanese scenery may in fact account for the characteristic in question, still a more conclusive explanation would seem to be that in the older social order man, as such, was not known. The hidden glories of the soul, its temptations and struggles, its defects and victories, could not be the themes of a literature arising in a completely communal social order, even though it possessed individualism of the Buddhistic type.[W] These are the themes that give Western literature--poetic, dramatic, and narrative--its opportunity for sustained power and sublimity. They portray the inner life of the spirit. The poverty of poetic form is another point of Western criticism. Mr. Aston has shown how this poverty is directly due to the phonetic characteristics of the language. Diversities of both rhyme and rhythm are practically excluded from Japanese poetry by the nature of the language. And this in turn has led to the "preference of the national genius for short poems." But language is manifestly the combined product of linguistic heredity and the social order, and can in no sense be ascribed to inherent race nature. Thus directly are social heredity and social order determinative of the literary characteristics and æsthetic tastes of a nation. Even more manifestly may Japanese architectural development be traced to the social heredity derived from China and India. The needs of the developing internal civilization have determined its external manifestation. So far as Japanese differs from Chinese architecture, it may be attributed to Japan's isolation, to the different demands of her social order, to the difference of accessible building materials, and to the different social heredity handed down from prehistoric times. That the distinguishing characteristics of Japanese architecture are due to the inherent race nature cannot for a moment be admitted. We conclude that the Japanese are not possessed of a unique and inherent æsthetic taste. In some respects they are as certainly ahead of the Occidental as they are behind him in other respects. But this, too, is a matter of social development and social heredity, rather than of inherent race character, of brain structure. If æsthetic nature were a matter of inherited brain structure, it would be impossible to account for rapid fluctuations in æsthetic judgment, for the great inequality of æsthetic development in the different departments of life, or for the ease of acquiring the æsthetic development of alien races.[X] XVI MEMORY--IMITATION The differences which separate the Oriental from the Occidental mind are infinitesimal as compared with the likenesses which unite them. This is a fact that needs to be emphasized, for many writers on Japan seem to ignore it. They marvel at the differences. The real marvel is that the differences are so few and so superficial. The Japanese are a race whose ancestors were separated from their early home nearly three thousand years ago; during this period they have been absolutely prevented from intermarriage with the parent stock. Furthermore, that original stock was not the Indo-European race. And no one has ventured to suggest how long before the migration of the ancestors of the Japanese to Japan their ancestors parted from those who finally became the progenitors of modern Occidental peoples. For thousands of years, certainly, the Japanese and Anglo-Saxon races have had no ancestry in common. Yet so similar is the entire structure and working of their minds that the psychological textbooks of the Anglo-Saxon are adopted and perfectly understood by competent psychological students among the Japanese. I once asked a professor of psychology in the Matsuyama Normal School if he had no difficulty in teaching his classes the psychological system of Anglo-Saxon thinkers, if there were not peculiarities of the Anglo-Saxon mind which a Japanese could not understand, and if there were not psychological phenomena of the Japanese mind which were ignored in Anglo-Saxon psychological text-books. The very questions surprised him; to each he gave a negative reply. The mental differences that characterize races so dissimilar as the Japanese and the Anglo-Saxon, I venture to repeat, are insignificant as compared with their resemblances. Our discussions shall have reference, not to those general psychological characteristics which all races have in common, but only to those which may seem to stamp the Japanese people as peculiar. We wish to understand the distinguishing features of the Japanese mind. We wish to know whether they are due to brain structure, to inherent race nature, or whether they are simply the result of education, of social heredity. This is our ever-recurring question. First, in regard to Japanese brain development. Travelers have often been impressed with the unusual size of the Japanese head. It has sometimes been thought, however, that the size is more apparent than real, and the appearance has been attributed to the relatively short limbs of the people and to the unusual proportion of round heads which one sees everywhere. It may also be due to the shape of the head. But, after all has been said, it remains true that the Japanese head, as related to his body, is unexpectedly large. Prof. Marsh of Yale University is reported to have said that, on the basis of brain size, the Japanese is the race best fitted to survive in the struggle for existence, or at least in the struggle for pre-eminence. Statements have been widely circulated to the effect that not only relatively to the body, but even absolutely, the Japanese possess larger brains than the European, but craniological statistics do not verify the assertion. The matter has been somewhat discussed in Japanese magazines of late, to which, through the assistance of a Japanese friend, I am indebted for the following figures. They are given in Japanese measurements, but are, on this account, however, none the less satisfactory for comparative purposes. According to Dr. Davis, the average European male brain weighs 36,498 momme, and the Australian, 22,413, while the Japanese, according to Dr. Taguchi weighs 36,205. Taking the extremes, the largest English male brain weighs 38,100 momme and the smallest 35,377, whereas the corresponding figures for Japan are 43,919 and 30,304, respectively, showing an astonishing range between extremes. According to Dr. E. Baelz of the Imperial University of Tokyo, the lower classes of Japan have a larger skull circumference than either the middle or upper classes (1.8414, 1.7905, and 1.8051 feet, respectively), and the Ainu (1.8579) exceed the Japanese. From these facts it might almost appear that brain size and civilizational development are in inverse ratio. Were the Japanese brain larger, then, than that of the European, it might plausibly be argued that they are therefore inferior in brain power. This would be in accord with certain of De Quatrefages's investigations. He has shown that negroes born in America have smaller brains, but are intellectually superior to their African brothers. "With them, therefore, intelligence increases, while the cranial capacity diminishes."[Y] Those who trace racial and civilizational nature to brain development cannot gain much consolation from a comparative statistical study of race brains. De Quatrefages's conclusion is repeatedly forced home: "We must confess that there can be no real relation between the dimension of the cranial capacity and social development."[Z] "The development of the intellectual faculties of man is, to a great extent, independent of the capacity of the cranium and the volume of the brain."[AA] We may conclude at once, then, that Japanese intellectual peculiarities are in no way due to the size of their brains, but depend rather on their social evolution. Yet it will not be amiss to study in detail the various mental peculiarities of the race, real and supposed, and to note their relation to the social order. In becoming acquainted with the Japanese and Chinese peoples, an Occidental is much impressed with their powers of memory, and this especially in connection with the written language, the far-famed "Chinese Character," or ideograph. My Chinese dictionary contains over 50,000 different characters. The task of learning them is appalling. How the Japanese or Chinese do it is to us a constant wonder. We assume at once their possession of astonishing memories. We argue that, for hundreds of years, each generation has been developing powers of memory through efforts to conquer this cumbersome contrivance for writing, and that, as a consequence for the nations using this system, there is now prodigious ability to remember. It is my impression, however, that we greatly overrate these powers. In the first place, few Japanese claim any acquaintance with the entire 50,000 characters; only the educated make any pretense of knowing more than a few hundred, and a vast majority even of learned men do not know more than 10,000 characters. Some Japanese newspapers have undertaken to limit themselves in the use of the ideograph. It is said that between four and five thousand characters suffice for all the ordinary purposes of communication. These are, without doubt, fairly well known to the educated classes. But for the masses, there is need that the pronunciation be placed beside each printed character, before it can be read. Furthermore, we must remember that a Japanese youth gives the best years of his life to the bare memorizing of these symbols.[AB] Were European or American youth to devote to the study of Chinese the same number of hours each day for the same number of years, I doubt if there would be any conspicuous difference in the results. We should not forget also that some Occidentals manifest astonishing facility in memorizing Chinese characters. In this connection is the important fact that the social order serves to sift out individuals of marked mnemonic powers and bring them into prominence, while those who are relatively deficient are relegated to the background. The educated class is necessarily composed of those who have good powers of memory. All others fail and are rejected. We see and admire those who succeed; of those who fail we know nothing and we even forget that there are such. In response to my questions Japanese friends have uniformly assured me that they are not accustomed to think of the Japanese as possessed of better memories than the people of the West. They appear surprised that the question should be raised, and are specially surprised at our high estimate of Japanese ability in this direction. If, however, we inquire about their powers of memory in connection with daily duties and the ordinary acquisition of knowledge and its retention, my own experience of twelve years, chiefly with the middle and lower classes of society, has left the impression that, while some learn easily and remember well, a large number are exceedingly slow. On the whole, I am inclined to believe that, although the Japanese may be said to have good memories, yet it can hardly be maintained that they conspicuously exceed Occidentals in this respect. In comparing the Occidental with the Oriental, it is to be remembered that there is not among Occidental nations that attention to bare memorizing which is so conspicuous among the less civilized nations. The astonishing feats performed by the transmitters of ancient poems and religious teachings seem to us incredible. Professor Max Müller says that the voluminous Vedas have been handed down for centuries, unchanged, simply from mouth to mouth by the priesthood. Every progressive race, until it has attained a high development of the art of writing, has manifested similar power of memory. Such power is not, however, inherent; that is to say, it is not due to the innate peculiarity of brain structure, but rather to the nature of the social order which demands such expenditure of time and strength for the maintenance of its own higher life. Through the art of writing Occidental peoples have found a cheaper way of retaining their history and of preserving the products of their poets and religious teachers. Even for the transactions of daily life we have resorted to the constant use of pen and notebook and typewriter, by these devices saving time and strength for other things. As a result, our memories are developed in directions different from those of semi-civilized or primitive man. The differences of memory characterizing different races, then, are for the most part due to differences in the social order and to the nature of the civilization, rather than to the intrinsic and inherited structure of the brain itself. Since memory is the foundation of all mental operations, we have given to it the first place in the present discussion. And that the Japanese have a fair degree of memory argues well for the prospect of high attainment in other directions. With this in mind, we naturally ask whether they show any unusual proficiency or deficiency in the acquisition of foreign languages? In view of her protracted separation from the languages of other peoples, should we not expect marked deficiency in this respect? On the contrary, however, we find that tens of thousands of Japanese students have acquired a fairly good reading knowledge of English, French, and German. Those few who have had good and sufficient teaching, or who have been abroad and lived in Occidental lands, have in addition secured ready conversational use of the various languages. Indeed, some have contended that since the Japanese learn foreign languages more easily than foreigners learn Japanese, they have greater linguistic powers than the foreigner. It should be borne in mind, however, that in such a comparison, not only are the time required and the proficiency; attained to be considered, but also the inherent difficulty of the language studied and the linguistic helps provided the student. I have come gradually to the conclusion that the Japanese are neither particularly gifted nor particularly deficient in powers of language acquisition. They rank with Occidental peoples in this respect. To my mind language affords one of the best possible proofs of the general contention of this volume that the characteristics which distinguish the races are social rather than biological. The reason why the languages of the different races differ is not because the brain-types of the races are different, but only because of the isolated social evolution which the races have experienced. Had it been possible for Japan to maintain throughout the ages perfect and continuous social intercourse with the ancestors of the Anglo-Saxon race, while still maintaining biological isolation, _i.e._, perfect freedom from intermarriage, there is no reason to think that two distinct languages so different as English and Japanese would have arisen. The fact that Japanese children can accurately acquire English, and that English or American children can accurately acquire Japanese, proves conclusively that diversities of language do not rest on brain differences and brain heredity, but exclusively on social differences and social heredity. If this is true, then the argument can easily be extended to all the features that differentiate the civilizations of different races; for the language of any race is, in a sense, the epitome of the civilization of that race. All its ideas, customs, theologies, philosophies, sciences, mythologies; all its characteristic thoughts, conceptions, ideals; all its distinguishing social features, are represented in its language. Indeed, they enter into it as determining factors, and by means of it are transmitted from age to age. This argument is capable of much extension and illustration. The charge that the Japanese are a nation of imitators has been repeated so often as to become trite, and the words are usually spoken with disdain. Yet, if the truth were fully told, it would be found that, from many points of view, this quality gives reason rather for congratulation. Surely that nation which can best discriminate and imitate has advantage over nations that are so fixed in their self-sufficiency as to be able neither to see that which is advantageous nor to imitate it. In referring to the imitative powers of the Japanese, then, I do not speak in terms of reproach, but rather in those of commendation. "Monkeyism" is not the sort of imitation that has transformed primitive Japan into the Japan of the early or later feudal ages, nor into the Japan of the twentieth century. Bare imitation, without thought, has been relatively slight in Japan. If it has been known at times, those times have been of short duration. In his introduction to "The Classic Poetry of the Japanese" Professor Chamberlain has so stated the case for the imitative quality of the people that I quote the following: "The current impression that the Japanese are a nation of imitators is in the main correct. As they copy us to-day, so did they copy the Chinese and Koreans a millennium and a half ago. Religion, philosophy, laws, administration, written characters, all arts but the very simplest, all science, or at least what then went by that name, everything was imported from the neighboring continent; so much so that of all that we are accustomed to term 'Old Japan' scarce one trait in a hundred is really and properly Japanese. Not only are their silk and lacquer not theirs by right of invention, nor their painting (albeit so often praised by European critics for its originality), nor their porcelain, nor their music, but even the larger part of their language consists of mispronounced Chinese; and from the Chinese they have drawn new names for already existing places, and new titles for their ancient Gods." While the above cannot be disputed in its direct statements, yet I can but feel that it makes, on the whole, a false impression. Were these same tests applied to any European people, what would be the result? Of what European nation may it be said that its art, or method of writing, or architecture, or science, or language even, is "its own by right of invention"? And when we stop to examine the details of the ancient Japanese civilization which is supposed to have been so, slavishly copied from China and India, we shall find that, though the beginnings were indeed imitated, there were also later developments of purely Japanese creation. In some instances the changes were vital. In examining the practical arts, while we acknowledge that the beginnings of nearly all came from Korea or China, we must also acknowledge that in many important respects. Japan has developed along her own lines. The art of sword-making, for instance, was undoubtedly imported; but who does not know of the superior quality and beauty of Japanese swords, the Damascus blades of the East? So distinct is this Japanese production that it cannot be mistaken for that of any other nation. It has received the impress of the Japanese social order. Its very shape is due to the habit of carrying the sheath in the "obi" or belt. If we study the home of the laborer, or the instruments in common use, we shall find proof that much more than imitation has been involved. Were the Japanese mere imitators, how could we explain their architecture, so different from that of China and Korea? How explain the multiplied original ways in which bamboo and straw are used? For a still closer view of the matter, let us consider the imported ethical and religious codes of the country. In China the emphasis of Confucianism is laid on the duty of filial piety. In Japan the primary emphasis is on loyalty. This single change transformed the entire system and made the so-called Confucianism of Japan distinct from that of China. In Buddhism, imported from India, we find greater changes than Occidental nations have imposed on their religion imported from Palestine. Indeed, so distinct has Japanese Buddhism become that it is sometimes difficult to trace its connections in China and India. And the Buddhistic sects that have sprung up in Japan are more radically diverse and antagonistic to each other and to primitive Buddhism than the denominations of Christianity are to each other and to primitive Christianity. In illustration is the most popular of all the Buddhist sects to-day, Shinshu. This has sometimes been called by foreigners "Reformed" Buddhism; and so similar are many of its doctrines to those of Christianity that some have supposed them to have been derived from it, but without the slightest evidence. All its main doctrines and practices were clearly formulated by its founder, Shinrah, six hundred years ago. The regular doctrines of Buddhism that salvation comes only through self-effort and self-victory are rejected, and salvation through the merits of another is taught. "Ta-riki," "another's power," not "Ji-riki," "self-power," is with them the orthodox doctrine. Priests may marry and eat meat, practices utterly abhorrent to the older and more primitive Buddhism. The sacred books are printed in the vernacular, in marked contrast to the customs of the other sects. Women, too, are given a very different place in the social and religious scale and are allowed hopes of attaining salvation that are denied by all the older sects. "Penance, fasting, prescribed diet, pilgrimages, isolation from society, whether as hermits or in the cloister, and generally amulets and charms, are all tabooed by this sect. Monasteries imposing life vows are unknown within its pale. Family life takes the place of monkish seclusion. Devout prayer, purity, earnestness of life, and trust in Buddha himself as the only worker of perfect righteousness, are insisted on. Morality is taught as more important than orthodoxy."[AC] It is amazing how far the Shin sect has broken away from regular Buddhistic doctrine and practice. Who can say that no originality was required to develop such a system, so opposed at vital points to the prevalent Buddhism of the day? Another sect of purely Japanese origin deserving notice is the "Hokke" or "Nicheren." Its founder, known by the name of Nichiren, was a man of extraordinary independence and religious fervor. Wholly by his original questions and doubts as to the prevailing doctrines and customs of the then dominant sects, he was led to make independent examination into the history and meaning of Buddhistic literature and to arrive at conclusions quite different from those of his contemporaries. Of the truth and importance of his views he was so persuaded that he braved not only fierce denunciations, but prolonged opposition and persecution. He was rejected and cast out by his own people and sect; he was twice banished by the ruling military powers. But he persevered to the end, finally winning thousands of converts to his views. The virulence of the attacks made upon him was due to the virulence with which he attacked what seemed to him the errors and corruption of the prevailing sects. Surely his was no case of servile imitation. His early followers had also to endure opposition and severe persecution. Glancing at the philosophical ideas brought from China, we find here too a suggestion of the same tendency toward originality. It is true that Dr. Geo. Wm. Knox, in his valuable monograph on "A Japanese Philosopher," makes the statement that, "In acceptance and rejection alike no native originality emerges, nothing beyond a vigorous power of adoption and assimilation. No improvements of the new philosophy were even attempted. Wherein it was defective and indistinct, defective and indistinct it remained. The system was not thought out to its end and independently adopted. Polemics, ontology, ethics, theology, marvels, heroes--all were enthusiastically adopted on faith. It is to be added that the new system was superior to the old, and so much of discrimination was shown."[AD] And somewhat earlier he likewise asserts that "There is not an original and valuable commentary by a Japanese writer. They have been content to brood over the imported works and to accept unquestioningly politics, ethics, and metaphysics." After some examination of these native philosophers, I feel that, although not without some truth, these assertions cannot be strictly maintained. It is doubtless true that no powerful thinker and writer has appeared in Japan that may be compared to the two great philosophers of China, Shushi and Oyomei. The works and the system of the former dominated Japan, for the simple reason that governmental authority forbade the public teaching or advocacy of the other. Nevertheless, not a few Japanese thinkers rejected the teachings and philosophy of Shushi, regardless of consequences. Notable among those rejecters was Kaibara Yekken, whose book "The Great Doubt" was not published until after his death. In it he rejects in emphatic terms the philosophical and metaphysical ideas of Shushi. An article[AE] by Dr. Tetsujiro Inouye, Professor of Philosophy in the Imperial University in Tokyo, on the "Development of Philosophical Ideas in Japan," concludes with these words: "From this short sketch the reader can clearly see that philosophical considerations began in our country with the study of Shushi and Oyomei. But many of our thinkers did not long remain faithful to that tradition; they soon formed for themselves new conceptions of life and of the world, which, as a rule, are not only more practical, but also more advanced than those of the Chinese." An important reason for our Western thought, that the Japanese have had no independence in philosophy, is our ignorance of the larger part of Japanese and Chinese literature. Oriental speculation was moving in a direction so diverse from that of the West that we are impressed more with the general similarity that prevails throughout it than with the evidences of individual differences. Greater knowledge would reveal these differences. In our generalized knowledge, we see the uniformity so strongly that we fail to discover the originality. As a traveler from the West, on reaching some Eastern land, finds it difficult at first to distinguish between the faces of different individuals, his mind being focused on the likeness pervading them all, so the Occidental student of Oriental thought is impressed with the remarkable similarity that pervades the entire Oriental civilization, modes of thought, and philosophy, finding it difficult to discover the differences which distinguish the various Oriental races. In like manner, a beginner in the study of Japanese philosophy hardly gives the Japanese credit for the modifications of Chinese philosophy which they have originated. In this connection it is well to remember that, more than any Westerner can realize, the Japanese people have been dependent on governmental initiative from time immemorial. They have never had any thought but that of implicit obedience, and this characteristic of the social order has produced its necessary consequences in the present characteristics of the people. Individual initiative and independence have been frowned upon, if not always forcibly repressed, and thus the habit of imitation has been stimulated. The people have been deliberately trained to imitation by their social system. The foreigner is amazed at the sudden transformations that have swept the nation. When the early contact with China opened the eyes of the ruling classes to the fact that China had a system of government that was in many respects better than their own, it was an easy thing to adopt it and make it the basis for their own government. This constituted the epoch-making period in Japanese history known as the Taikwa Reform. It occurred in the seventh century, and consisted of a centralizing policy; under which, probably for the first time in Japanese history, the country was really unified. Critics ascribe it to an imitation of the Chinese system. Imitation it doubtless was; but its significant feature was its imposition by the few rulers on the people; hence its wide prevalence and general acceptance. Similarly, in our own times, the Occidentalized order now dominant in Japan was adopted, not by the people, but by the rulers, and imposed by them on the people; these had no idea of resisting the new order, but accepted it loyally as the decision of their Emperor, and this spirit of unquestioning obedience to the powers that be is, I am persuaded, one of the causes of the prevalent opinion respecting Japanese imitativeness as well as of the fact itself. The reputation for imitativeness, together with the quality itself, is due in no small degree, therefore, to the long-continued dominance of the feudal order of society. In a land where the dependence of the inferior on the superior is absolute, the wife on the husband, the children on the parents, the followers on their lord, the will of the superior being ever supreme, individual initiative must be rare, and the quality of imitation must be powerfully stimulated. XVII ORIGINALITY--INVENTIVENESS Originality is the obverse side of imitation. In combating the notion that Japan is a nation of unreflective imitators, I have given numerous examples of originality. Further extensive illustration of this characteristic is, accordingly, unnecessary. One other may be cited, however. The excellence of Japanese art is admitted by all. Japanese temples and palaces are adorned with mural paintings and pieces of sculpture that command the admiration of Occidental experts. The only question is as to their authors. Are these, properly speaking, Japanese works of art--or Korean or Chinese? That Japan received her artistic stimulus, and much of her artistic ideas and technique, from China is beyond dispute. But did she develop nothing new and independent? This is a question of fact. Japanese art, though Oriental, has a distinctive quality. A magnificent work entitled "Solicited Relics of Japanese Art" is issuing from the press, in which there is a large number of chromo-xylographic and collotype reproductions of the best specimens of ancient Japanese art. Reviewing this work, the _Japan Mail_ remarks: "But why should the only great sculptors that China or Korea ever produced have come to Japan and bequeathed to this country the unique results of their genius? That is the question we have to answer before we accept the doctrine that the noblest masterpieces of ancient Japan were from foreign lands. When anything comparable is found in China or Korea, there will be less difficulty in applying this doctrine of over-sea-influence to the genius that enriched the temples of antique Japan."[AF] Under the early influence of Buddhism (900-1200 A.D.) Japan fairly bloomed. Those were the days of her glory in architecture, literature, and art. But a blight fell upon her from which she is only now recovering. The causes of this blight will receive attention in a subsequent chapter. Let us note here only one aspect of it, namely, official repression of originality. Townsend Harris, in his journal, remarks on the way in which the Japanese government has interfered with the originality of the people. "The genius of their government seems to forbid any exercise of ingenuity in producing articles for the gratification of wealth and luxury. Sumptuary laws rigidly enforce the forms, colors, material, and time of changing the dress of all. As to luxury of furniture, the thing is unknown in Japan.... It would be an endless task to attempt to put down all the acts of a Japanese that are regulated by authority." The Tokugawa rule forbade the building of large ships; so that, by the middle of the nineteenth century, the art of ship-building was far behind what it had been two centuries earlier. Government authority exterminated Christianity in the early part of the seventeenth century and freedom of religious belief was forbidden. The same power that put the ban on Christianity forbade the spread of certain condemned systems of Confucianism. Even in the study of Chinese literature and philosophy, therefore, such originality as the classic models stimulated was discouraged by the all-powerful Tokugawa government. The avowed aim and end of the ruling powers of Japan was to keep the nation in its _status quo_. Originality was heresy and treason; progress was impiety. The teaching of Confucius likewise lent its support to this policy. To do exactly as the fathers did is to honor them; to do, or even to think, otherwise is to dishonor them. There have not been wanting men of originality and independence in both China and Japan; but they were not great enough to break over, or break down, the incrusted system in which they lived--the system of blind devotion to the past. This system, that deliberately opposed all invention and originality, has been the great incubus to national progress, in that it has rejected and repressed every tendency to variation. What results might not the country have secured, had Christianity been allowed to do its work in stimulating individual development and in creating the sense of personal responsibility towards God and man! A curious anomaly still remains in Japan on the subject of liberty in study and belief. Though perfect liberty is the rule, one topic is even yet under official embargo. No one may express public dissent from the authorized version of primitive Japanese history. A few years ago a professor in the Imperial University made an attempt to interpret ancient Japanese myths. His constructions were supposed to threaten the divine descent of the Imperial line, and he was summarily dismissed. Dr. E. Inouye, Professor of Buddhist Philosophy in the Imperial University, addressing a Teachers' Association of Sendai, delivered a conservative, indirectly anti-foreign speech. He insisted, as reported by a local English correspondent, that the Japanese people "were descended from the gods. In all other countries the sovereign or Emperor was derived from the people, but here the people had the honor of being derived from the Emperor. Other countries had filial piety and loyalty, but no such filial piety and loyalty as exist in Japan. The moral attainments of the people were altogether unique. He informed his audience that though they might adopt foreign ways of doing things, their minds needed no renovating; they were good enough as they were."[AG] As a result of this position, scholarship and credulity are curiously combined in modern historical production. Implicit confidence seems to be placed in the myths of the primitive era. Tales of the gods are cited as historical events whose date, even, can be fixed with some degree of accuracy. Although writing was unknown in Japan until early in the Christian era, the chronology of the previous six or eight hundred years is accepted on the authority of a single statement in the Kojiki, written 712 years A.D. This statement was reproduced from the memory of a single man, who remembered miraculously the contents of a book written shortly before, but accidentally destroyed by fire. In the authoritative history of Japan, prepared and translated into English at the command of the government for the Columbian Exposition, we find such statements as these: "From the time that Amaterasu-Omikami made Ninigi-no-mikoto to descend from the heavens and subject to his administrative sway Okini-nushi-no-mikoto and other offspring of the deities in the land, descendants of the divine beings have sat upon the throne, generation after generation in succession."[AH] "Descended in a direct line from the heavenly deities, the Emperor has stood unshaken in his high place through all generations, his prestige and dignity immutable from time immemorial and independent of all the vicissitudes of the world about him."[AI] "Never has there been found a single subject of the realm who sought to impair the Imperial prestige."[AJ] It is true that in a single passage the traditions of the "age of the Deities" are described as "strange and incredible legends," but it is added that, however singular they are, in order to understand the history of the Empire's beginnings, they must be studied. Then follows, without a word of criticism or dissent, the account of the doings of the heavenly deities, in creating Japan and its people, as well as the myriads of gods. There is no break between the age of the gods and the history of men. The first inventions and discoveries, such as those of fire, of mining, and of weaving are ascribed to Amate rasu-Omikami (the Sun Goddess). According to these traditions and the modern histories built upon them, the Japanese race came into existence wholly independently of all other races of men. Such is the authoritative teaching in the schools to-day. Occidental scholars do not accept these statements or dates. That the Japanese will evince historical and critical ability in the study of their own early history, as soon as the social order will allow it, can hardly be doubted. Those few who even now entertain advanced ideas do not dare to avow them. And this fact throws an interesting light on the way in which the social order, or a despotic government, may thwart for a time the natural course of development. The present apparent credulity of Japanese historical scholarship is due neither to race character nor to superstitions lodged in the inherited race brain, but simply to the social system, which, as yet, demands the inviolability of the Imperial line. Now that the Japanese have been so largely relieved from the incubus of the older social order, the question rises whether they are showing powers of originality. The answer is not doubtful, for they have already made several important discoveries and inventions. The Murata rifle, with which the army is equipped, is the invention of a Japanese. In 1897 Colonel Arisaka invented several improvements in this same rifle, increasing the velocity and accuracy, and lessening the weight. Still more recently he has invented a rapid-fire field-piece to superintend whose manufacture he has been sent to Europe. Mr. Shimose has invented a smokeless powder, which the government is manufacturing for its own use. Not infrequently there appear in the papers notices of new inventions. I have recently noted the invention of important improvements in the hand loom universally used in Japan, also a "smoke-consumer" which not only abolishes the smoke, but reduces the amount of coal used and consequently the expense. These are but a few of the ever-increasing number of Japanese inventions. In the, field of original scientific research is the famous bacteriologist, Dr. Kitazato. Less widely known perhaps, but none the less truly original explorers in the field of science, are Messrs. Hirase and Ikeno, whose discoveries of spermatozoids in Ginko and Cycas have no little value for botanists, especially in the development of the theory of certain forms of fertilization. These instances show that the faculty of original thought is not entirely lacking among the Japanese. Under favorable conditions, such as now prevail, there is good reason for holding that the Japanese will take their place among the peoples of the world, not only as skillful imitators and adapters, but also as original contributors to the progress of civilization and of science. Originality may be shown in imitation as well as in production, and this type of originality the Japanese have displayed in a marked way. They have copied the institutions of no single country. It might even be difficult to say which Western land has had the greatest influence in molding the new social order of Japan. In view of the fact that it is the English language which has been most in favor during the past thirty years, it might be assumed that England and America are the favored models. But no such hasty conclusion can be drawn. The Japanese have certainly taken ideas and teachers from many different sources; and they have changed them frequently, but not thoughtlessly. A writer in _The Far East_ brings this points out clearly: "While Japan remained secluded from other countries, she had no necessity for and scarcely any war vessels, but after the country was opened to the free intercourse of foreign powers--immediately she felt the urgent necessity of naval defense and employed a Dutch officer to construct her navy. In 1871 the Japanese government employed a number of English officers, and almost wholly reconstructed her navy according to the English system. But in the matter of naval education our rulers found the English system altogether unsatisfactory, and adopted the American system for the model of our naval academy. So, in discipline, our naval officers found the German principle much superior to the English, and adopted that in point of discipline. Thus the Japanese navy is not wholly after the English system, or the American, or the French, or the German system. But it has been so constructed as to include the best portions of all the different systems. In the case of the army, we had a system of our own before we began to utilize gunpowder and foreign methods of discipline. Shortly before the present era we reorganized our army by adopting the Dutch system, then the English, then the French, and after the Franco-Prussian war, made an improvement by adopting the German system. But on every occasion of reorganization we retained the most advantageous parts of the old systems and harmonized them with the new one. The result has been the creation of an entirely new system, different from any of those models we have adopted. So in the case of our civil code, we consulted most carefully the laws of many civilized nations, and gathered the cream of all the different codes before we formulated our own suited to the customs of our people. In the revision of our monetary system, our government appointed a number of prominent economists to investigate the characteristics of foreign systems, as to their merits and faults, and also the different circumstances under which various systems present their strength and weakness. The investigation lasted more than two years, which finally culminated in our adoption of the gold in the place of the old silver standard." This quotation gives an idea of the selective method that has been followed. There has been no slavish or unconscious imitation. On the contrary, there has been a constant conscious effort to follow the best model that the civilized world afforded. Of course, it may be doubted whether in fact they have always chosen the best; but that is a different matter. The Japanese think they have; and what foreigner can say that, under the circumstances and in view of the conditions of the people, they have not? One point is clear, that on the whole the nation has made great progress in recent decades, and that the conduct of the government cannot fail to command the admiration of every impartial student of Oriental lands. This is far from saying that all is perfection. Even the Japanese make no such claim. Nor is this equivalent to an assertion of Japan's equality with the leading lands of the West, although many Japanese are ready to assert this. But I merely say that the leaders of New Japan have revealed a high order of judicious originality in their imitation of foreign nations. XVIII INDIRECTNESS--"NOMINALITY" The Japanese have two words in frequent use which aptly describe certain striking aspects of their civilization. They are "tomawashi ni," "yumei-mujitsu," the first translated literally signifying "roundabout" or "indirect," the second meaning "having the name, but not the reality." Both these aspects of Japanese character are forced on the attention of any who live long in Japan. Some years ago I had a cow that I wished to sell. Being an American, my natural impulse was to ask a dairyman directly if he did not wish to buy; but that would not be the most Japanese method. I accordingly resorted to the help of a "go-between." This individual, who has a regular name in Japanese, "nakadachi," is indispensable for many purposes. When land was being bought for missionary residences in Kumamoto, there were at times three or even four agents acting between the purchaser and the seller and each received his "orei," "honorable politeness," or, in plain English, commission. In the purchase of two or three acres of land, dealings were carried on with some fifteen or more separate landowners. Three different go-betweens dealt directly with the purchaser, and each of these had his go-between, and in some cases these latter had theirs, before the landowner was reached. A domestic desiring to leave my employ conferred with a go-between, who conferred with his go-between, who conferred with me! In every important consultation a go-between seems essential in Japan. That vexatious delays and misunderstandings are frequent may be assumed. The system, however, has its advantages. In case of disagreeable matters the go-between can say the disagreeable things in the third person, reducing the unpleasant utterances to a minimum. I recall the case of two evangelists in the employ of the Kumamoto station. Each secured the other to act as go-between in presenting his own difficulties to me. To an American the natural course would have been for each man to state his own grievances and desires, and secure an immediate settlement. The characteristic of "roundaboutness" is not, however, confined to Japanese methods of action, but also characterizes their methods of speech. In later chapters on the alleged Japanese impersonality we shall consider the remarkable deficiency of personal pronouns in the language, and the wide use of "honorifics." This substitution of the personal pronouns by honorifics makes possible an indefiniteness of speech that is exceedingly difficult for an Anglo-Saxon to appreciate. Fancy the amount of implication in the statement, "Ikenai koto-we shimashita" which, strictly translated, means "Can't go thing have done." Who has done? you? or he? or I? This can only be inferred, for it is not stated. If a speaker wishes to make his personal allusion blind, he can always do so with the greatest ease and without the slightest degree of grammatical incorrectness. "Caught cold," "better ask," "honorably sorry," "feel hungry," and all the common sentences of daily life are entirely free from that personal definiteness which an Occidental language necessitates. We shall see later that the absence of the personal element from the wording of the sentence does not imply, or prove, its absence from the thought of either the speaker or hearer. The Japanese language abounds in roundabout methods of expression. This is specially true in phrases of courtesy. Instead of saying, "I am glad to see you," the Japanese say, "Well, honorably have come"; instead of, "I am sorry to have troubled you," they say, "Honorable hindrance have done"; instead of "Thank you," the correct expression is, "It is difficult." In a conversation once with a leading educator, I was maintaining that a wide study of English was not needful for the Japanese youth; that the majority of the boys would never learn enough English to make it of practical use to them in after-life, and that it would be wiser for them to spend the same amount of time on more immediately practical subjects. The reply was that the boys needed to have the drill in English in order to gain clear methods of thought: that the sharp distinctness of the English sentence, with its personal pronouns and tense and number, affords a mental drill which the Japanese can get in no other way; and that even if the boys should never make the slightest after-use of English in reading or conversation, the advantage gained was well worth the time expended. I have since noticed that those men who have spent some time in the study of a foreign language speak very much more clearly in Japanese than those who have not had this training. In the former case, the enunciation is apt to be more distinct, and the sentences rounded into more definite periods. The conversation of the average Japanese tends to ramble on in a never-ending sentence. But a marked change has come over vast numbers of the people during the last three decades. The roundaboutness of to-day is as nothing to that which existed under the old order of society. For the new order rests on radically different ideas; directness of speech and not its opposite is being cultivated, and in absolute contrast to the methods of the feudal era, directness of governmental procedure is well-nigh universal to-day. In trade, too, there has come a straightforwardness that is promising, though not yet triumphant. It is safe to assume that in all respectable stores the normal price is charged; for the custom of fixed prices has been widely adopted. If individuals are known to have the "beating down" habit, special prices are added for their sakes. A personal experience illustrates the point. My wife and I had priced several lamps, had made note of the most satisfactory, and had gone home without buying. The next day a domestic was sent to secure the one which pleased us best. He was charged more than we had been, and in surprise mentioned the sum which we had authorized him to pay. The shopkeeper explained by saying that he always told us the true price in the beginning, because we never tried to beat him down. In truth, modern industrial conditions have pretty well banished the old-time custom of haggling. A premium is set on straightforwardness in business unknown to the old social order. Roundaboutness is, however, closely connected with "yumei-mujitsu," the other characteristic mentioned at the beginning of this chapter. This, for the sake of simplicity, I venture to call "nominality." Japanese history is a prolonged illustration of this characteristic. For over a thousand years "yumei-mujitsu" has been a leading feature in governmental life. Although the Emperor has ostensibly been seated on the throne, clothed with absolute power, still he has often reigned only in name.[AK] Even so early as 130 A.D., the two families of Oomi and Omuraji began to exercise despotic authority in the central government, and the feudal system, as thus early established, continued with but few breaks to the middle of the present century. There were also the great families which could alone furnish wives to the Imperial line. These early took possession of the person of the Emperor, and the fathers of the wives often exercised Imperial power. The country was frequently and long disturbed by intense civil wars between these rival families. In turn the Fujiwaras, the Minamotos, and the Tairas held the leading place in the control of the Emperor; they determined the succession and secured frequent abdication in favor of their infant sons, but within these families, in turn, there appeared the influence of the "yumei-mujitsu" characteristic. Lesser men, the retainers of these families, manipulated the family leaders, who were often merely figureheads of the contending families and clans. Emperors were made and unmade at the will of these men behind the scenes, most of whom are quite unknown to fame. The creation of infant Emperors, allowed to bear the Imperial name in their infancy and youth, but compelled to abdicate on reaching manhood, was a common device for maintaining nominal Imperialism with actual impotence. When military clans began to monopolize Imperial power, the people distinctly recognized the nature of their methods and gave it the name of "Bakufu" or "curtain government," a roundabout expression for military government. There has been a succession of these "curtain governments," the last and most successful being that of the Tokugawa, whose fall in 1867-68 brought the entire system to an end and placed the true Emperor on the throne. But this "yumei-mujitsu" characteristic of Japanese life has been by no means limited to the national government. Every daimyate was more or less blighted by it; the daimyo, or "Great Name," was in too many cases but a puppet in the hands of his "kerai," or family retainers. These men, who were entirely out of sight, were, in very many cases, the real holders of the power which was supposed to be exercised by the daimyo. The lord was often a "great name" and nothing more. That this state of affairs was always attended with evil results is by no means the contention of these pages. Not infrequently the people were saved by it from the incompetence and ignorance and selfishness of hereditary rulers. Indeed, this system of "yumei-mujitsu" government was one of the devices whereby the inherent evils of hereditary rulers were more or less obviated. It may be questioned, however, whether the device did not in the long run cost more than it gained. Did it not serve to maintain, if not actually to produce, a system of dissimulation and deception which could but injure the national character? It certainly could not stimulate the straightforward frankness and outspoken directness and honesty so essential to the well-being of the human race. Although "yumei-mujitsu" government is now practically extinct in Japan, yet in the social structure it still survives. The Japanese family is a maze of "nominality." Full-grown young men and women are adopted as sons and daughters, in order to maintain the family line and name. A son is not a legal son unless he is so registered, while an illegitimate child is recognized as a true son if so registered. A man may be the legal son of his grandmother, or of his sister, if so registered. Although a family may have no children, it does not die out unless there has been a failure to adopt a son or daughter, and an extinct family may be revived by the legal appointment of someone to take the family name and worship at the family shrine. The family pedigree, therefore, does not describe the actual ancestry, but only the nominal, the fictitious. There is no deception in this. It is a well-recognized custom of Old Japan. Its origin, moreover, is not difficult to explain. Nor is this kind of family peculiar to Japan. It is none the less a capital illustration of the "yumei-mujitsu" characteristic permeating the feudal civilization, and still exerting a powerful influence. Even Christians are not free from "nominalism," as we have frequently found in our missionary work. A case in mind is of an evangelist employed by our mission station. He was to receive a definite proportion of his salary from the church for which he worked and the rest from the station. On inquiry I learned that he was receiving only that provided by the station, and on questioning him further he said that probably the sum promised by the church was being kept as his monthly contribution to the expenses of the church! Instances of this kind are not infrequent. While in Kyushu I more than once discovered that a body of Christians, whose evangelists we were helping to support proportionately, were actually raising not a cent of their proportion. On inquiry, I would be told that the evangelists themselves contributed out of their salary the sums needed, and that, therefore, the Christians did not need to raise it. The mission, at one time, adopted the plan of throwing upon the local churches the responsibility of deciding as to the fitness of young men for mission aid in securing a theological education. It was agreed by representatives of the churches and the mission that each candidate should secure the approval of the deacons of the church of which he was a member, and that the church should pay a certain proportion of the candidate's school expenses. It was thought that by this method the leading Christians of the young man's acquaintance would become his sponsors, and that they would be unwilling to take this responsibility except for men in whom they had personal confidence, and for whom they would be willing to make personal contributions. In course of time the mission discovered that the plan was not working as expected. The young men could secure the approval of the deacons of their church without any difficulty; and as for the financial aid from the church, that could be very easily arranged for by the student's making a monthly contribution to the church of the sum which the church should contribute toward his expenses. Although this method seems to the average Occidental decidedly deceptive, it seemed to the Japanese perfectly proper. The arrangement, it is needless to state, was not long continued. I am persuaded that the correct explanation of these cases is "yumei-mujitsu." Not long since express trains were put on between Kobe and Tokyo. One morning at Osaka I planned to take the early express to Kyoto, distant about thirty miles. These are the second and third cities of Japan, and the travel between them is heavy. On applying for a ticket I was refused and told there was no train for Kyoto. But as multitudes were buying tickets, and going out upon the platform, I asked an official what the trouble was, and received the explanation that for this express train no tickets could be sold for less than forty miles; but if I would buy a ticket for the next station beyond Kyoto, it would be all right; I could get off at Kyoto. I was assured that I would be allowed to land and leave the station at Kyoto. This I did then, and have repeatedly done since. The same absurd rule is applied, I am told, between Yokohama and Tokyo. But our interest in these illustrations is the light they shed on Japanese character. They indicate the intellectual angle from which the people have looked out on life. What is the origin of the characteristic? Is it due to deep-lying race nature, to the quality of the race brain? Even more clearly than in the case of "roundaboutness," it seems to me that "nominality" is due to the nature of the old social order. Feudalism has always exhibited more or less of these same features. To Anglo-Saxons, reared in a land blessed by direct government of the people, by the people, and for the people, such methods were not only needless but obnoxious. Nominal responsibility without real power has been seen to breed numberless evils. We have learned to hate all nominalism, all fiction in government, in business and, above all, in personal character. But this is due to the Anglo-Saxon social order, the product in large measure of centuries of Christian instruction. Through contact with Westerners and the ideas they stand for, directness and reality are being assimilated and developed by the Japanese. This would be impossible were the characteristic in question due to inherent race nature necessarily bequeathed from generation to generation by intrinsic heredity. XIX INTELLECTUALITY Some writers hold that the Japanese are inherently deficient in the higher mental faculties. They consider mediocre mentality to be an inborn characteristic of Japan and assert that it lies at the root of the civilizational differences distinguishing the East from the West. The puerility of Oriental science in all its departments, the prevalence of superstition even among the cultivated, the lack of historical insight and interpretation of history are adduced as conclusive evidences of this view. Foreign teachers in Japanese employ have told me that Japanese students, as compared with those of the West, manifest deficient powers of analysis and of generalization. Some even assert that the Japanese have no generalizing ability whatever, their progress in civilization being entirely due to their remarkable power of clever imitation. Mr. W.G. Aston, in ascribing the characteristic features of Japanese literature to the fundamental nature of the race, says they are "hardly capable of high intellectual achievement."[AL] While we may admit that the Japanese do not seem to have at present the same power of scientific generalization as Occidentals, we naturally ask ourselves whether the difference is due to natal deficiency, or whether it may not be due to difference in early training. We must not forget that the youth who come under the observation of foreign teachers in Japanese schools are already products of the Japanese system of education, home and school, and necessarily are as defective as it is. In a previous chapter a few instances of recent invention and important scientific discovery were given. These could not have been made without genuine powers of analysis and generalization. We need not linger to elaborate this point. Another set of facts throwing light on our problem is the success of so many Japanese students, at home and in foreign lands, in mastering modern thought. Great numbers have come back from Europe and America with diplomas and titles; not a few have taken high rank in their classes. The Japanese student abroad is usually a hard worker, like his brother at home. I doubt if any students in the new or the old world study more hours in a year than do these of Japan. It has often amazed me to learn how much they are required to do. This is one fair sign of intellectuality. The ease too with which young Japan, educated in Occidental schools and introduced to Occidental systems of thought, acquires abstruse speculations, searching analyses, and generalized abstractions proves conclusively Japanese possession of the higher mental faculties, in spite of the long survival in their civilization of primitive puerility and superstitions and the lack of science, properly so called. Japanese youths, furthermore, have a fluency in public speech decidedly above anything I have met with in the United States. Young men of eighteen or twenty years of age deliver long discourses on religion or history or politics, with an apparent ease that their uncouth appearance would not lead one to expect. In the little school of less than 150 boys in Kumamoto there were more individuals who could talk intelligibly and forcefully on important themes of national policy, the relation of religion and politics, the relation of Japan to the Occident and the Orient, than could be found in either of the two colleges in the United States with which I was connected. I do not say that they could bring forth original ideas on these topics. But they could at least remember what they had heard and read and could reproduce the ideas with amazing fluency. A recent public meeting in Tokyo in which Christian students of the University spoke to fellow-students on the great problems of religion, revealed a power of no mean order in handling the peculiar difficulties encountered by educated young men. A competent listener, recently graduated from an American university and widely acquainted with American students, declared that those Japanese speakers revealed greater powers of mind and speech than would be found under similar circumstances in the United States. The fluency with which timid girls pray in public has often surprised me. Once started, they never seem to hesitate for ideas or words. The same girls would hardly be able to utter an intelligible sentence in reply to questions put to them by the pastor or the missionary, so faint would be their voices and so hesitating their manner. The question as to whether the Japanese have powers of generalization receives some light from a study of the language of the people. An examination of primitive Japanese proves that the race, prior to receiving even the slightest influence from China, had developed highly generalized terms. It is worth while to call attention here to a simple fact which most writers seem to ignore, namely, that all language denotes and indeed rests on generalization. Consider the word "uma," "horse"; this is a name for a whole class of objects, and is therefore the product of a mind that can generalize and express its generalization in a concept which no act of the imagination can picture; the imagination can represent only individuals; the mind that has concepts of classes of things, as, for instance, of horses, houses, men, women, trees, has already a genuine power of generalization. Let me also call attention to such words as "wake," "reason"; "mono," "thing"; "koto," "fact"; "aru," "is"; "oro," "lives"; "aru koto," "is fact," or "existence"; "ugoku koto," "movement"; "omoi," "thought"; this list might be indefinitely extended. Let the reader consider whether these words are not highly generalized; yet these are all pure Japanese words, and reveal the development of the Japanese mind before it was in the least influenced by Chinese thought. Evidently it will not do to assert the entire lack of the power of generalization to the Japanese mind. Still further evidence proving Japanese possession of the higher mental faculties may be found in the wide prevalence and use of the most highly generalized philosophical terms. Consider for instance, "Ri" and "Ki," "In" and "Yo." No complete translation can be found for them in English; "Ri" and "Ki" may be best translated as the rational and the formative principles in the universe, while "In" and "Yo" signify the active and the passive, the male and the female, the light and the darkness; in a word, the poles of a positive and negative. It is true that these terms are of Chinese origin as well as the thoughts themselves, but they are to-day in universal use in Japan. Similar abstract terms of Buddhistic origin are the possession of the common people. Of course the possession of these Chinese terms is not offered as evidence of independent generalizing ability. But wide use proves conclusively the possession of the higher mental faculties, for, without such faculties, the above terms would be incomprehensible to the people and would find no place in common speech. We must be careful not to give too much weight to the foreign origin of these terms. Chinese is to Japanese what Latin and Greek are to modern European languages. The fact that a term is of Chinese origin proves nothing as to the nature of the modern Japanese mind. The developing Japanese civilization demanded new terms for her new instruments and increasing concepts. These for over fifteen centuries have been borrowed from, or constructed out of, Chinese in the same way that all our modern scientific terms are constructed out of Latin and Greek. It is doubtful if any of the Chinese terms, even those borrowed bodily, have in Japan the same significance as in China. If this is true, then the originating feature of Japanese power of generalization becomes manifest. Indeed from this standpoint, the fact that the Japanese have made such extensive use of the Chinese language shows the degree to which the Japanese mind has outgrown its primitive development, demanding new terms for the expression of its expanding life. But mental growth implies energy of acquisition. The adoption of Chinese terms is not a passive but an active process. Acquisition of generalized terms can only take place with the development of a generalizing mind. Foreign terms may help, but they do not cause that development. In a study of the question whether or not the Japanese possess independent powers of analysis and generalization, we must ever remember the unique character of the social environment to which they have been subjected. Always more or less of an isolated nation, they have been twice or thrice suddenly confronted with a civilization much superior to that which they in their isolation had developed. Under such circumstances, adoption and modification of ideas and language as well as of methods and machinery were the most rational and natural courses. The explanation usually given for the puerilities of Oriental science, history, and religion has been short and simple, namely, the inherent nature of the Oriental races, as if this were the final fact, needing and admitting no further explanation. That the Orient has not developed history or science is doubtless true, but the correct explanation of this fact is, in my opinion, that the educational method of the entire Orient has rested on mechanical memorization; during the formative period of the mind the exclusive effort of education has been to develop a memory which acts by arbitrary or fanciful connections and relations. A Japanese boy of Old Japan, for instance, began his education at from seven to eight years of age and spent three or four years in memorizing the thousands of Chinese hieroglyphic characters contained in the Shisho and Gokyo, nine of the Chinese classics. This completed, his teacher would begin to explain to him the meaning of the characters and sentences. The entire educational effort was to develop the powers of observing and memorizing accidental, superficial, or even purely artificial relations. This double faculty of observing trifling and irrelevant details, and of remembering them, became phenomenally and abnormally developed. Recent works on the psychology of education, however, have made plain how an excessive development of a child's lower mental faculties may arrest its later growth in all the higher departments of its intellectual nature; the development of a mechanical memory is well known as a serious obstacle to the higher activities of reason. Now Japanese education for centuries, like Chinese, has developed such memory. It trained the lower and ignored the higher. Much of the Japanese education of to-day, although it includes mathematics, science, and history, is based on the mechanical memory method. The Orient is thus a mammoth illustration of the effects of over-development of the mechanical memory, and the consequent arrest of the development of the remaining powers of the mind. Encumbered by this educational ideal and system, how could the ancient Chinese and Japanese men of education make a critical study of history, or develop any science worthy of the name? The childish physics and astronomy, the brutal therapeutics and the magical and superstitious religions of the Orient, are a necessary consequence of its educational system, not of its inherent lack of the higher mental powers. If Japanese children brought up from infancy in American homes, and sent to American schools from kindergarten days onward, should still manifest marked deficiencies in powers of analysis and generalization, as compared with American children, we should then be compelled to conclude that this difference is due to diverse natal psychic endowment. Generalizations as to the inherent intellectual deficiencies of the Oriental are based on observations of individuals already developed in the Oriental civilization, whose psychic defects they accordingly necessarily inherit through the laws of social heredity. Such observations have no relevancy to our main problem. We freely admit that Oriental civilization manifests striking deficiencies of development of the higher mental faculties, although it is not nearly so great as many assert; but we contend that these deficiencies are due to something else than the inherent psychic nature of the Oriental individual. Innumerable causes have combined to produce the Oriental social order and to determine its slow development. These cannot be stated in a sentence, nor in a paragraph. In the final analysis, however, the causes which produce the characteristic features of Japanese social order are the real sources of the differentiating intellectual traits now characterizing the Japanese. Introduce a new social heredity,--a new system of education,--one which relegates a mechanical memory to the background,--one which exalts powers of rational observation of the profound causal relations of the phenomena of nature, and which sets a premium on such observation, analysis, and generalization, and the results will show the inherent psychic nature of the Oriental to be not different from that of the Occidental. XX PHILOSOPHICAL ABILITY We are now prepared to consider whether or not the Japanese have philosophical ability. The average educated Japanese believe such to be the case. The rapidity and ease with which the upper classes have abandoned their superstitious faiths is commonly attributed by themselves to the philosophical nature of their minds. Similarly the rapid spread of so-called rationalism and Unitarian thought and Higher Criticism among once earnest Christians, during the past decade, they themselves ascribe to their interest in philosophical questions, and to their ability in handling philosophical problems. Foreigners, on the other hand, usually deny them the possession of philosophical ability. Dr. Peery, in his volume entitled "The Gist of Japan," says: "By nature, I think, they are more inclined to be practical than speculative. Abstract theological ideas have little charm for them. There is a large element in Japan that simulates a taste for philosophical study. Philosophy and metaphysics are regarded by them as the profoundest of all branches of learning, and in order to be thought learned they profess great interest in these studies. Not only are the highly metaphysical philosophies of the East studied, but the various systems of the West are looked into likewise. Many of the people are capable of appreciating these philosophies, too; but they do it for a purpose." Other writers make the same general charge of philosophical incompetence. One or two quotations from Dr. Knox's writings were given on this subject, under the head of Imitation.[AM] What, then, are the facts? Do the Japanese excel in philosophy, or are they conspicuously deficient? In either case, is the characteristic due to essential race nature or to some other cause? We must first distinguish between interest in philosophical problems and ability in constructing original philosophical systems. In this distinction is to be found the reconciliation of many conflicting views. Many who argue for Japanese philosophical ability are impressed with the interest they show in metaphysical problems, while those who deny them this ability are impressed with the dependence of Japanese on Chinese philosophy. The discussions of the previous chapter as to the nature of Japanese education and its tendency to develop the lower at the expense of the higher mental faculties, have prepared us not to expect any particularly brilliant history of Japanese philosophy. Such is indeed the case. Primitive Japanese cosmology does not differ in any important respect from the primitive cosmology of other races. The number of those in Old Japan who took a living interest in distinctly metaphysical problems is indisputably small. While we admit them to have manifested some independence and even originality, as Professor Inouye urges,[AN] yet it can hardly be maintained that they struck out any conspicuously original philosophical systems. There is no distinctively Japanese philosophy. These facts, however, should not blind us to the distinction between latent ability in philosophical thought and the manifestation of that ability. The old social order, with its defective education, its habit of servile intellectual dependence on ancestors, and its social and legal condemnation of independent originality, particularly in the realm of thought, was a mighty incubus on speculative philosophy. Furthermore, crude science and distorted history could not provide the requisite material from which to construct a philosophical interpretation of the universe that would appeal to the modern Occidental. In spite, however, of social and educational hindrances, the Japanese have given ample evidence of interest in metaphysical problems and of more or less ability in their solution. Religious constructions of the future life, conceptions as to the relations of gods and men and the universe, are in fact results of the metaphysical operations of the mind. Primitive Japan was not without these. As she developed in civilization and came in contact with Chinese and Hindu metaphysical thought, she acquired their characteristic systems. Buddhist first, and later Confucian, metaphysics dominated the thought of her educated men. In view of the highly metaphysical character of Buddhist doctrines and the interest they have produced at least among the better trained priests, the assertion that the Japanese have no ability in metaphysics cannot be maintained. At one period in the history of Buddhism in Japan, prolonged public discussions were all the fashion. Priests traveled from temple to temple to engage in public debate. The ablest debater was the abbot, and he had to be ready to face any opponent who might appear. If a stranger won, the abbot yielded his place and his living to the victor. Many an interesting story is told of those times, and of the crowds that would gather to hear the debates. But our point is that this incident in the national life shows the appreciation of the people for philosophical questions. And although that particular fashion has long since passed away, the national interest in discussions and arguments still exists. No monks of the West ever enjoyed hair-splitting arguments more than do many of the Japanese. They are as adept at mental refinements and logical juggling as any people of the West, though possibly the Hindus excel them. If it be said that Confucianism was not only non-metaphysical, but uniquely practical, and for this reason found wide acceptance in Japan, the reply must be first that, professing to be non-metaphysical, it nevertheless had a real metaphysical system of thought in the background to which it ever appealed for authority, a system, be it noted, more in accord with modern science and philosophy than Buddhist metaphysics; and secondly, although Confucianism became the bulwark of the state and the accepted faith of the samurai, it was limited to them. The vast majority of the nation clung to their primitive Buddhistic cosmology. That Confucianism rested on a clearly implied and more or less clearly expressed metaphysical foundation may be seen in the quotations from the writings of Muro Kyuso which are given in chapter xxiv. We should note that the revolt of the educated classes of Japan from Buddhism three hundred years ago, and their general adoption of Confucian doctrine, was partly in the interests of religion and partly in the interests of metaphysics. In both respects the progressive part of the nation had become dissatisfied with Buddhism. The revolt proves not lack of religious or metaphysical interest and insight, but rather the reverse. Not a little of the teaching of Shushi (1130-1200 A.D.) and of Oyomei (1472-1528 A.D.), Chinese philosophical expounders of Confucianism, is metaphysical. The doctrine of the former was widely studied and was the orthodox doctrine in Japan for more than two centuries, all other doctrine and philosophy being forbidden by the state. It is true that the central interest in this philosophical instruction was the ethical. It was felt that the entire ethical system rested on the acceptance of a particular metaphysical system. But so far from detracting from our argument this statement rather adds. For in what land has not the prime interest in metaphysics been ethical? A study of the history of philosophy shows clearly that philosophy and metaphysics arose out of religious and ethical problems, and have ever maintained their hold on thinking men, because of their mutually vital relations. In Japan it has not been otherwise. If anyone doubts this he should read the Japanese philosophers--in the original, if possible; if not, then in such translations and extracts as Dr. Knox has given us in his "A Japanese Philosopher," and Mr. Aston in his "Japanese Literature." The ethical interest is primary, and the metaphysical interest is secondary,[AO] to be sure, but not to be denied. Occidental philosophy has found many earnest and capable Japanese students. The Imperial University has a strong corps of philosophical instructors. Occidental metaphysical thought, both materialistic and idealistic, has found many congenial minds. Indeed, it is not rash to say that in the thought of New Japan the distinguishing Oriental metaphysical conceptions of the universe have been entirely displaced by those of the West. Christians, in particular, have entirely abandoned the old polytheistic, pantheistic, and fatalistic metaphysics and have adopted thoroughgoing monotheism. Ability to understand and sufficient interest to study through philosophical and metaphysical systems of foreign lands indicate a mental development of no slight order, whatever may be the ability, or lack of it, in making original contributions to the subject. That educated Japanese have shown real ability in the former sense can hardly be doubted by those who have read the writings of such men as Goro Takahashi, ex-president Hiroyuki Kato, Prof. Yujiro Motora, Prof. Rikizo Nakashima, or Dr. Tetsujiro Inouye. The philosophical brightness of many of Japan's foreign as well as home-trained scholars argues well for the philosophical ability of the nation. A recent conversation with a young Japanese gives point to what has just been said. The young man suddenly appeared at my study door, and, with unusually brief salutations, said that he wished me to talk to him about religion. In answer to questions he explained that he had been one of my pupils ten years ago in the Kumamoto Boys' School; that he had been baptized as a Christian at that time, but had become cold and filled with doubts; that he had been studying ever since, having at one time given considerable attention to the Zen sect of Buddhism; but that he had found no satisfaction there. He accordingly wished to study Christianity more carefully. For three hours we talked, he asking questions about the Christian conception of God, of the universe, of man, of sin, of evolution, of Christ, of salvation, of the object of life, of God's purpose in creation, of the origin and nature of the Bible. Toward the latter part of our conversation, referring to one idea expressed, he said, "That is about what Hegel held, is it not?" As he spoke he opened his knapsack, which I then saw to be full of books, and drew out an English translation of Hegel's "Philosophy of History"; he had evidently read it carefully, making his notes in Japanese on the margin. I asked him if he had read it through. "Yes," he replied, "three times." He also incidentally informed me that he had thought of entering our mission theological training class during the previous winter, but that he was then in the midst of the study of the philosophy of Kant, and had accordingly decided to defer entering until the autumn. How thoroughly he had mastered these, the most profound and abstruse metaphysicians that the West can boast, I cannot state. But this at least is clear; his interest in them was real and lasting. And in his conversation he showed keen appreciation of philosophical problems. It is to be noted also that he was a self-taught philosopher--for he had attended no school since he studied elementary English, ten years before, while a lad of less than twenty. As a sample of the kind of men I not infrequently meet, let me cite the case of a young business man who once called on me in the hotel at Imabari, popularly called "the little philosopher." He wished to talk about the problem of the future life and to ask my personal belief in the matter. He said that he believed in God and in Jesus as His unique son and revealer, but that he found great difficulty in believing in the continued life of the soul after death. His difficulty arose from the problems of the nature of future thinking; shall we continue to think in terms of sense perception, such as time, space, form, color, pleasure, and pain? If not, how can we think at all? And can we then remember our present life? If we do, then the future life will not be essentially different from this, _i.e._, we must still have physical senses, and continue to live in an essentially physical world. Here was a set of objections to the doctrine of the future life that I have never heard as much as mentioned by any Occidental youth. Though without doubt not original with him, yet he must have had in some degree both philosophical ability and interest in order to appreciate their force and to seek their solution. In conversation not long since with a Buddhist priest of the Tendai sect, after responding to his request for a criticism of Buddhism, I asked him for a similarly frank criticism of Christianity. To my surprise, he said that while Christianity was far ahead of Buddhism in its practical parts and in its power to mold character, it was deficient in philosophical insight and interest. This led to a prolonged conversation on Buddhistic philosophy, in which he explained the doctrines of the "Ku-ge-chu," and the "Usa and Musa." Without attempting to explain them here, I may say that the first is amazingly like Hegel's "absolute nothing," with its thesis, antithesis, and synthesis, and the second a psychological distinction between volitional and spontaneous emotions. In discussing Japanese philosophical ability, a point often forgotten is the rarity of philosophical ability or even interest in the West. But a small proportion of college students have the slightest interest in philosophical or metaphysical problems. The majority do not understand what the distinctive metaphysical problems are. In my experience it is easier to enter into a conversation with an educated man in Japan on a philosophical question than with an American. If interest in philosophical and metaphysical questions in the West is rare, original ability in their investigation is still rarer. We conclude, then, that in regard to philosophical ability the Japanese have no marked racial characteristic differentiating them from other races. Although they have not developed a distinctive national philosophy, this is not due to inherent philosophical incompetence. Nor, on the other hand, is the relatively wide interest now manifest in philosophical problems attributable to the inherent philosophical ability of the race. So far as Japan is either behind or in advance of other races, in this respect, it is due to her social order and social inheritance, and particularly to the nature, methods, and aims of the educational system, but not to her intrinsic psychic inheritance. XXI IMAGINATION In no respect, perhaps, have the Japanese been more sweepingly criticised by foreigners than in regard to their powers of imagination and idealism. Unqualified generalizations not only assert the entire lack of these powers, but they consider this lack to be the distinguishing inherent mental characteristic of the race. The Japanese are called "prosaic," "matter-of-fact," "practical," "unimaginative." Mr. Walter Dening, describing Japanese mental characteristics, says: "Neither their past history nor their prevailing tastes show any tendency to idealism. They are lovers of the practical and the real; neither the fancies of Goethe nor the reveries of Hegel are to their liking. Our poetry and our philosophy and the mind that appreciates them are alike the results of a network of subtle influences to which the Japanese are comparative strangers. It is maintained by some, and we think justly, that the lack of idealism in the Japanese mind renders the life of even the most cultivated a mechanical, humdrum affair when compared with that of Westerners. The Japanese cannot understand why our controversialists should wax so fervent over psychological, ethical, religious, and philosophical questions, failing to perceive that this fervency is the result of the intense interest taken in such subjects. The charms that the cultured Western mind finds in the world of fancy and romance, in questions themselves, irrespective of their practical bearings, is for the most part unintelligible to the Japanese."[AP] Mr. Percival Lowell expends an entire chapter in his "Soul of the Far East," in showing how important imagination is as a factor in art, religion, science, and civilization generally, and how strikingly deficient Japanese are in this faculty. "The Far Orientals," he argues, "ought to be a particularly unimaginative set of people. Such is precisely what they are. Their lack of imagination is a well-recognized fact."[AQ] Mr. Aston, characterizing Japanese literature, says: "A feature which strikingly distinguishes the Japanese poetic muse from that of Western nations is a certain lack of imaginative power. The Japanese are slow to endow inanimate objects with life. Shelley's 'Cloud,' for example, contains enough matter of this kind for many volumes of Japanese verse. Such lines as: 'From my wings are shaken The dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest On their mother's breast As she dances about the sun,' would appear to them ridiculously overcharged with metaphor, if not absolutely unintelligible."[AR] On the other hand, some writers have called attention to the contrary element of Japanese mental nature. Prof. Ladd, for instance, maintains that the characteristic mental trait of the Japanese is their sentimentality. He has shown how their lives are permeated with and regulated by sentiment. Ancestral worship, patriotism, Imperial apotheosis, friendship, are fashioned by idealizing sentiment. In our chapters on the emotional elements of Japanese character we have considered how widespread and powerful these ideals and sentiments have been and still are. Writers who compare the Chinese with the Japanese remark the practical business nature of the former and the impractical, visionary nature of the latter. For a proper estimate of our problem we should clearly distinguish between the various forms of imagination. It reveals itself not merely in art and literature, in fantastic conception, in personification and metaphor, but in every important department of human life. It is the tap-root of progress, as Mr. Lowell well points out. It pictures an ideal life in advance of the actual, which ideal becomes the object of effort. The forms of imagination may, therefore, be classified according to the sphere of life in which it appears. In addition to the poetic fancy and the idealism of art and literature generally, we must distinguish the work of imagination in the æsthetic, in the moral, in the religious, in the scientific, and in the political life. The manifestation of the imaginative faculty in art and in literature is only one part of the æsthetic imagination. In studying Japanese æsthetic characteristics, we noted how unbalanced was the development of their æsthetic sense. This proposition of unbalanced development applies with equal force to the imaginative faculty as a whole. Conspicuously lacking in certain directions, it is as conspicuously prominent in others. Rules of etiquette are the products of the æsthetic imagination, and in what land has etiquette been more developed than in feudal Japan? Japanese imagination has been particularly active in the political world. The passionate loyalty of retainers to their lord, of samurai to their daimyo, of all to their "kuni," or clan, in ancient times, and now, of the people to their Emperor, are the results of a vivid political idealizing imagination. Imperial apotheosis is a combination of the political and religious imagination. And in what land has the apotheosizing imagination been more active than in Japan? Ambition and self-conceit are likewise dependent on an active imaginative faculty. There can be no doubt the writers quoted above have drawn attention to some salient features of Japanese art. In the literature of the past, the people have not manifested that high literary imagination that we discover in the best literature of many other nations. This fact, however, will not justify the sweeping generalizations based upon it. Judging from the pre-Elizabethan literature, who would have expected the brilliancy of the Elizabethan period? Similarly in regard to the Victorian period of English literature. Because the Japanese have failed in the past to produce literature equal to the best of Western lands, we are not justified in asserting that she never will and that she is inherently deficient in literary imagination. In regard to certain forms of light fancy, all admit that Japanese poems are unsurpassed by those of other lands. Japanese amative poetry is noted for its delicate fancies and plays on words exceedingly difficult, if not impossible, of translation, or even of expression, to one unacquainted with the language. The deficiencies of Japanese literature, therefore, are not such as to warrant the conclusion that they both mark and make a fundamental difference in the race mind. For such differences as exist are capable of a sociological explanation. The prosaic matter-of-factness of the Japanese mind has been so widely emphasized that we need not dwell upon it here. There is, however, serious danger of over-emphasis, a danger into which all writers fall who make it the ground for sweeping condemnatory criticism. They are right in ascribing to the average Japanese a large amount of unimaginative matter-of-factness, but they are equally wrong in unqualified dogmatic generalizations. They base their inductions on insufficient facts, a habit to which foreigners are peculiarly liable, through ignorance of the language and also of the inner thoughts and life of the people. The prosaic nature of the Japanese has not impressed me so much as the visionary tendency of the people, and their idealism. The Japanese themselves count this idealism a national characteristic. They say that they are theorizers, and numberless experiences confirm this view. They project great undertakings; they scheme; they discuss contingencies; they make enormous plans; all with an air of seriousness and yet with a nonchalance which shows a semi-conscious sense of the unreality of their proposals. In regard to Korea and China and Formosa, they have hatched political and business schemes innumerable. The kaleidoscopic character of Japanese politics is in part due to the rapid succession of visionary schemes. One idea reigns for a season, only to be displaced by another, causing constant readjustment of political parties. Frequent attacks on government foreign policy depend for their force on lordly ideas as to the part Japan should play in international relations. Writing about the recent discussions in the public press over the question of introducing foreign capital into Japan, one contributor to the _Far East_ remarks that "It has been treated more from a theoretical than from a practical standpoint.... This seems to me to arise from a peculiar trait of Japanese mind which is prone to dwell solely on the theoretical side until the march of events compels a sudden leap toward the practical." This visionary faculty of the Japanese is especially conspicuous in the daily press. Editorials on foreign affairs and on the relations of Japan to the world are full of it. I venture to jot down a few illustrations of impractical idealism out of my personal knowledge. An evangelist in the employ of the Kumamoto station exemplified this visionary trait in a marked degree. Nervous in the extreme, he was constantly having new ideas. For some reason his attention was turned to the subject of opium and the evils China was suffering from the drug, forced on her by England. Forthwith he came to me for books on the subject; he wished to become fully informed, and then he proposed to go to China and preach on the subject. For a few weeks he was full of his enterprise. It seemed to him that if he were only allowed the opportunity he could convince the Chinese of their error, and the English of their crime. One of his plans was to go to England and expostulate with them on their un-Christian dealings with China. A few weeks later his attention was turned to the wrongs inflicted on the poor on account of their ignorance about law and their inability to get legal assistance. This idea held him longer than the previous. He desired to study law and become a public pleader in order to defend the poor against unjust men of wealth. In his theological ideas he was likewise extreme and changeable; swinging from positive and most emphatic belief to extreme doubt, and later back again. In his periods of triumphant faith it seemed to him that he could teach the world; and his expositions of truth were extremely interesting. He proposed to formulate a new theology that would dissolve forever the difficulties of the old theology. In his doubts, too, he was no less interesting and assertive. His hold on practical matters was exceedingly slender. His salary, though considerably larger than that of most of the evangelists, was never sufficient. He would spend lavishly at the beginning of the month so long as he had the money, and then would pinch himself or else fall into debt. Mr. ----, the head of the Kumamoto Boys' School during the period of its fierce struggles and final collapse, whom I have already referred to as the Hero-Principal,[AS] is another example of this impractical high-strung visionariness. No sooner had he reached Kumamoto, than there opened before our enchanted eyes the vision of this little insignificant school blooming out into a great university. True, there had been some of this bombast before his arrival; but it took on new and gorgeous form under his master hand. The airs that he put on, displaying his (fraudulent) Ph.D., and talking about his schemes, are simply amusing to contemplate from this distance. His studies in the philosophy of religion had so clarified his mind that he was going to reform both Christianity and Buddhism. His sermons of florid eloquence and vociferous power, never less than an hour in length, were as marked in ambitious thoughts as in pulpit mannerisms. He threw a spell over all who came in contact with him. He overawed them by his vehemence and tremendous earnestness and insistence on perfect obedience to his masterful will. In one of his climactic sermons, after charging missionaries with teaching dangerous errors, he said that while some were urging that the need of the times was to "his back to Luther," and others were saying, that we must "his back to Christ" (these English words being brought into his Japanese sermon), they were both wrong; we must "hie back to God"; and he prophesied a reformation in religion, beginning there in Kumamoto, in that school, which would be far and away more important in the history of the world than was the Lutheran Reformation. The recent history of Christianity in Japan supplies many striking instances of visionary plans and visionary enthusiasts. The confident expectation entertained during the eighties of Christianizing the nation before the close of the century was such a vision. Another, arising a few years later, was the importance of returning all foreign missionaries to their native lands and of intrusting the entire evangelistic work to native Christians, and committing to them the administration of the immense sums thus set free. For it was assumed by these brilliant Utopians that the amount of money expended in supporting missionaries would be available for aggressive work should the missionaries be withdrawn, and that the Christians in foreign lands would continue to pour in their contributions for the evangelization of Japan. Still another instance of utopian idealism is the vision that Japan will give birth to that perfect religion, meeting the demands of both heart and head, for which the world waits. In January, 1900, Prof. T. Inouye, of the Imperial University, after showing quite at length, and to his own satisfaction, the inadequacy of all existing religions to meet the ethical and religious situation in Japan, maintained this ambitious view. Some Japanese Christians are declaring the need of Japonicized Christianity. "Did not the Greeks transform Christianity before they accepted it? And did not the Romans, and finally the Germans, do the same? Before Japan will or can accept the religion of Christ, it must be Japonicized." So they argue; "and who so fit to do it as we?" lies in the background of their thought. Many a Christian pastor and evangelist, although not sharing the ambition of Prof. Inouye, nevertheless glows with the confident expectation that Japonicized Christianity will be its most perfect type. "No one need wonder if Japan should be destined to present to the world the best type of Christianity that has yet appeared in history," writes an exponent of this view, at one time a Christian pastor. In this connection the reader may recall what was said in chapter xiv. on Japanese Ambition and Conceit, qualities depending on the power of seeing visions. We note, in passing, the optimistic spirit of New Japan. This is in part due, no doubt, to ignorance of the problems that lie athwart their future progress, but it is also due to the vivid imaginative faculty which pictures for them the glories of the coming decades when they shall lead not only the Orient, but also the Occident, in every line of civilization, material and spiritual, moral and religious. A dull, unimaginative, prosaic nature cannot be exuberantly optimistic. It is evident that writers who proclaim the unimaginative matter-of-factness of the Japanese as universal and absolute, have failed to see a large side of Japanese inner life. Mr. Percival Lowell states that the root of all the peculiarities of Oriental peoples is their marked lack of imagination. This is the faculty that "may in a certain sense be said to be the creator of the world." The lack of this faculty, according to Mr. Lowell, is the root of the Japanese lack of originality and invention; it gives the whole Oriental civilization its characteristic features. He cites a few words to prove the essentially prosaic character of the Japanese mind, such as "up-down" for "pass" (which word, by the way, is his own invention, and reveals his ignorance of the language), "the being (so) is difficult," in place of "thank you." "A lack of any fanciful ideas," he says, "is one of the most salient traits of all Far Eastern peoples, if indeed a sad dearth can properly be called salient. Indirectly, their want of imagination betrays itself in their everyday sayings and doings, and more directly in every branch of thought." I note, in passing, that Mr. Lowell does not distinguish between fancy and imagination. Though allied faculties, they are distinct. Mr. Lowell's extreme estimate of the prosaic nature of the Japanese mind I cannot share. Many letters received from Japanese friends refute this view by their fanciful expressions. The Japanese language, too, has many fanciful terms. Why "pass" is any more imaginative than "up-down," to accept Mr. Lowell's etymology, or "the being (so) is difficult" than "thank you," I do not see. To me the reverse proposition would seem the truer. And are not "breaking-horns" for "on purpose," and "breaking-bones" for "with great difficulty," distinctly imaginative terms, more imaginative than the English? In the place of our English term "sun," the Japanese have several alternative terms in common use, such as "_hi_," "day," "_Nichirin_," "day-ball," "_Ten-to Sama_," "the god of heaven's light;" and for "moon," it has "_tsuki_," "month," "_getsu-rin_," "month ball." The names given to her men-of-war also indicate a fanciful nature. The torpedo destroyers are named "Dragon-fly," "Full Moon," "The Moon in the Cloud," "Seabeach," "Dawn of Day," "Clustering Clouds," "Break of Day," "Ripples," "Evening Mist," "Dragon's Lamp," "Falcon," "Magpie," "White-naped Crane," and "White Hawk." Surely, it cannot be maintained that the Japanese are utterly lacking in fancy. Distinguishing between fancy as "the power of forming pleasing, graceful, whimsical, or odd mental images, or of combining them with little regard to rational processes of construction," and imagination, in its more philosophical use, as "the act of constructive intellect in grouping the materials of knowledge or thought into new, original, and rational systems," we assert without fear of successful contradiction, that the Japanese race is not without either of these important mental faculties. In addition to the preceding illustrations of visionary and fanciful traits, let the reader reflect on the significance of the comic and of caricature in art. Japanese _Netsuke_ (tiny carvings of exquisite skill representing comical men, women, and children) are famous the world over. Surely, the fancy is the most conspicuous mental characteristic revealed in this branch of Japanese art. In Japanese poetry "a vast number of conceits, more or less pretty," are to be found, likewise manifesting the fancy of both the authors who wrote and the people who were pleased with and preserved their writings.[AT] The so-called "impersonal habit of the Japanese mind," with a corresponding "lack of personification of abstract qualities," doubtless prevents Japanese literature from rising to the poetic heights attained by Western nations. But this lack does not prove the Japanese mind incapable of such flights. As describing the actual characteristics of the literature of the past the assertion of "a lack of imaginative power" is doubtless fairly correct. But the inherent nature of the Japanese mind cannot be inferred from the deficiencies of its past literature, without first examining the relation between its characteristic features and the nature of the social order and the social inheritance. Are the Japanese conspicuously deficient in imagination, in the sense of the definition given above? The constructive imagination is the creator of civilization. Not only art and literature, but, as already noted, science, philosophy, politics, and even the practical arts and prosaic farming are impossible without it. It is the tap-root of invention, of discovery, of originality. It is needless to repeat what has been said in previous chapters[AU] on Japanese imitation, invention, discovery, and originality. Yet, in consideration of the facts there given, are we justified in counting the Japanese so conspicuously deficient in constructive, imagination as to warrant the assertion that such a lack is the fundamental characteristic of the race psychic nature? As an extreme case, look for a moment at their imitativeness. Although imitation is considered a proof of deficient originality, and thus of imagination, yet reflection shows that this depends on the nature of the imitation. Japanese imitation has not been, except possibly for short periods, of that slavish nature which excludes the work of the imagination. Indeed, the impulse to imitation rests on the imagination. But for this faculty picturing the state of bliss or power secured in consequence of adopting this or that feature of an alien civilization, the desire to imitate could not arise. In view, moreover, of the selective nature of Japanese imitation, we are further warranted in ascribing to the people no insignificant development of the imagination. In illustration, consider Japan's educational system. Established no doubt on Occidental models, it is nevertheless a distinctly Japanese institution. Its buildings are as characteristically Japonicized Occidental school buildings as are its methods of instruction. Japanese railroads and steamers, likewise constructed in Japan, are similarly Japonicized--adapted to the needs and conditions of the people. To our eyes this of course signifies no improvement, but assuredly, without such modification, our Western railroads and steamers would be white elephants on their hands, expensive and difficult of operation. What now is the sociological interpretation of the foregoing facts? How are the fanciful, visionary, and idealistic characteristics, on the one hand, and, on the other, the prosaic, matter-of-fact, and relatively unimaginative characteristics, related to the social order? It is not difficult to account for the presence of accentuated visionariness in Japan. Indeed, this quality is conspicuous among the descendants of the military and literary classes; and this fact furnishes us the clew. "From time immemorial," to use a phrase common on the lips of Japanese historians, up to the present era, the samurai as a class were quite separated from the practical world; they were comfortably supported by their liege lords; entirely relieved from the necessity of toiling for their daily bread, they busied themselves not only with war and physical training, but with literary accomplishments, that required no less strenuous mental exertions. Furthermore, in a class thus freed from daily toil, there was sure to arise a refined system of etiquette and of rank distinctions. Even a few centuries of life would, under such conditions, develop highly nervous individuals in large numbers, hypersensitive in many directions. These men, by the very development of their nervous constitutions, would become the social if not the practical leaders of their class; high-spirited, and with domineering ideas and scheming ambitions, they would set the fashion to all their less nervously developed fellows. Freed from the exacting conditions of a practical life, they would inevitably fly off on tangents more or less impractical, visionary. If, therefore, this trait is more marked in Japanese character than in that of many other nations, it may be easily traced to the social order that has ruled this land "from time immemorial." More than any other of her mental characteristics, impractical visionariness may be traced to the development of the nervous organization at the expense of the muscular. This characteristic accordingly may be said to be more inherently a race characteristic than many others that have been mentioned. Yet we should remember that the samurai constitute but a small proportion of the people. According to recent statistics (1895) the entire class to-day numbers but 2,050,000, while the common people number over 40,000,000. It is, furthermore, to be remembered that not all the descendants of the samurai are thus nervously organized. Large numbers have a splendid physical endowment, with no trace of abnormal nervous development. While the old feudal order, with its constant carrying of swords, and the giving of honor to the most impetuous, naturally tended to push the most high-strung individuals into the forefront and to set them up as models for the imitation of the young, the social order now regnant in Japan faces in the other direction. Such visionary men are increasingly relegated to the rear. Their approach to insanity is recognized and condemned. Even this trait of character, therefore, which seems to be rooted in brain and nerve structure is, nevertheless, more subject to the prevailing social order than would at first seem possible. Its rise we have seen was due to that order, and the setting aside of these characteristics as ideals at least, and thus the bringing into prominence of more normal and healthy ideals, is due to the coming in of a new order. Japanese prosaic matter-of-factness may similarly be shown to have intimate relations to the nature of the social order. Oppressive military feudalism, keeping the vast majority of the people in practical bondage, physical, intellectual, and spiritual, would necessarily render their lives and thoughts narrow in range and spiritless in nature. Such a system crushes out hope. From sunrise to sunset, "_nembyaku nenju_," "for a hundred years and through all the year," the humdrum duties of daily life were the only psychic stimuli of the absolutely uneducated masses. Without ambition, without self-respect, without education or any stimulus for the higher mental life, what possible manifestation of the higher powers of the mind could be expected? Should some "sport" appear by chance, it could not long escape the sword of domineering samurai. Even though originally possessing some degree of imagination, cringing fear of military masters, with the continuous elimination by ruthless slaughter of the more idealizing, less submissive, and more self-assertive individuals of the non-military classes, would finally produce a dull, imitative, unimaginative, and matter-of-fact class such as we find in the hereditary laboring and merchant classes. Furthermore, Japanese civilization, like that of the entire Orient, with its highly communalized social order, is an expression of passive submission to superior authority. Although an incomplete characterization, there is still much truth in saying that the Orient is an expression of Fate, the Occident of Freedom. We have seen that a better contrasted characterization is found in the terms communal and individual. The Orient has known nothing of individualism. It has not valued the individual nor sought his elevation and freedom. In every way, on the contrary, it has repressed and opposed him. The high development of the individual culminating in powerful personality has been an exceptional occurrence, due to special circumstances. A communal social order, often repressing and invariably failing to evoke the higher human faculties, must express its real nature in the language, literature, and customs of the people. Thus in our chapter on the Æsthetic Characteristics of the Japanese[AV] we saw how the higher forms of literature were dependent on the development of manhood and on a realization of his nature. A communal social order despising, or at least ignoring the individual, cannot produce the highest forms of literature or art, because it does not possess the highest forms of psychic development. Take from Western life all that rests on or springs from the principles of individual worth, freedom, and immortality, and how much of value or sublimity will remain? The absence from Japanese literature and language of the higher forms of fancy, metaphor, and personification on the one hand, and, on the other, the presence of widespread prosaic matter-of-factness, are thus intimately related to the communal nature of Japan's long dominant social order. Similarly, in regard to the constructive imagination, whose conspicuous lack in Japan is universally asserted by foreign critics, we reply first that the assertion is an exaggeration, and secondly, that so far as it is fact, it is intimately related to the social order. In our discussions concerning Japanese Intellectuality and Philosophical Ability,[AW] we saw how intimate a relation exists between the social order, particularly as expressed in its educational system, and the development of the higher mental faculties. Now a moment's reflection will show how the constructive imagination, belonging as it does to the higher faculties, was suppressed by the system of mechanical and superficial education required by the social order. Religion apotheosized ancestral knowledge and customs, thus effectively condemning all conscious use of this faculty. So far as it was used, it was under the guise of reviving old knowledge or of expounding it more completely. This, however, has been the experience of every race in certain stages of its development. Such periods have been conspicuously deficient in powerful literature, progressive science, penetrating philosophy, or developing political life. When a nation has once entered such a social order it becomes stagnant, its further development is arrested. The activity of the higher faculties of the mind are in abeyance, but not destroyed. It needs the electric shock of contact and conflict with foreign races to startle the race out of its fatal repose and start it on new lines of progress by demanding, on pain of death, or at least of racial subordination, the introduction of new elements into its social order by a renewed exercise of the constructive imagination. For without such action of the constructive imagination a radical and voluntary modification of the dominant social order is impossible. Old Japan experienced this electric shock and New Japan is the result. She is thus a living witness to the inaccuracy of those sweeping generalizations as to her inherent deficiency of constructive imagination. It is by no means our contention that Japanese imagination is now as widely and profoundly exercised as that of the leading Western nations. We merely contend that the exercise of this mental faculty is intimately related to the nature of the whole social order; that under certain circumstances this important faculty may be so suppressed as to give the impression to superficial observers of entire absence, and that with a new environment necessitating a new social order, this faculty may again be brought into activity. The inevitable conclusion of the above line of thought is that the activity and the manifestation of the higher faculties is so intimately related to the nature of the social order as to prevent our attributing any particular mental characteristics to a race as its inherent and unchangeable nature. The psychic characteristics of a race at any given time are the product of the inherited social order. To transform those characteristics changes in the social order, introduced either from without, or through individuals within the race, are alone needful. This completes our specific study of the intellectual characteristics of the Japanese. It may seem, as it undoubtedly is, quite fragmentary. But we have purposely omitted all reference to those characteristics which the Japanese admittedly have in common with other races. We have attempted the consideration of only the more outstanding characteristics by which they seem to be differentiated from other races. We have attempted to show that in so far as they are different, the difference is due not to inherent psychic nature transmitted by organic heredity, but to the nature of the social order, transmitted by social heredity. XXII MORAL IDEALS Even a slight study of Japanese history suffices to show that the faculty of moral discrimination was highly developed in certain directions. In what land have the ideal and practice of loyalty been higher? The heroes most lauded by the Japanese to-day are those who have proved their loyalty by the sacrifice of their lives. When Masashige Kusunoki waged a hopeless war on behalf of one branch of the then divided dynasty, and finally preferred to die by his own hand rather than endure the sight of a victorious rebel, he is considered to have exhibited the highest possible evidence of devoted loyalty. One often hears his name in the sermons of Christian preachers as a model worthy of all honor. The patriots of the period immediately preceding the Meiji era, known as the "Kinnoka," some of whom lost their lives because of their devotion to the cause of their then impotent Emperor, are accorded the highest honor the nation can give. The teachings of the Japanese concerning the relations that should exist between parents, and children, and, in multitudes of instances, their actual conduct also, can hardly be excelled. We can assert that they have a keen moral faculty, however further study may compel us to pronounce its development and manifestations to be unbalanced. Better, however, than generalizations as to the ethical ideals of Japan, past and present, are actual quotations from her moral teachers. The following passages are taken from "A Japanese Philosopher," by Dr. Geo. W. Knox, the larger part of the volume consisting of a translation of one of the works of Muro Kyuso--who lived from 1658 to 1734. It was during his life that the famous forty-seven ronin performed their exploit, and Kyu-so gave them the name by which they are still remembered, Gi-shi, the "Righteous Samurai." The purpose of the work is the defense of the Confucian faith and practice, as interpreted by Tei-shu, the philosopher of China whom Japan delighted to honor. It discusses among other things the fundamental principles of ethics, politics, and religion. Dr. Knox has done all earnest Western students of Japanese ethical and religious ideas an inestimable service in the production of this work in English. "The 'Way' of Heaven and Earth is the 'Way' of Gyo and Shun [semi-mythical rulers of ancient China idealized by Confucius]; the 'Way' of Gyo and Shun is the 'Way' of Confucius and Mencius, and the 'Way' of Confucius and Mencius is the 'Way' of Tei-Shu. Forsaking Tei-Shu, we cannot find Confucius and Mencius; forsaking Confucius and Mencius, we cannot find Gyo and Shun; and forsaking Gyo and Shun, we cannot find the 'Way' of Heaven and Earth. Do not trust implicitly an aged scholar; but this I know, and therefore I speak. If I say that which is false, may I be instantly punished by Heaven and Earth."[AX] "Recently I was astounded at the words of a philosopher: 'The "Way" comes not from Heaven,' he said, 'it was invented by the sages. Nor is it in accord with nature; it is a mere matter of æsthetics and ornament. Of the five relations, only the conjugal is natural, while loyalty, filial obedience, and the rest were invented by the sages, and have been maintained by their authority ever since.' Surely, among all heresies from ancient days until now, none has been so monstrous as this."[AY] "Kujuro, a lad of fifteen years, quarreled with a neighbor's son over a game of _go_, lost his self-control, and before he could be seized, drew his sword and cut the boy down. While the wounded boy was under the surgeon's care, Kujuro was in custody, but he showed no fear, and his words and acts were calm beyond his years. After some days the boy died, and Kujuro was condemned to hara-kiri. The officers in charge gave him a farewell feast the night before he died. He calmly wrote to his mother, took ceremonious farewell of his keeper and all in the house, and then said to the guests: 'I regret to leave you all, and should like to stay and talk till daybreak; but I must not be sleepy when I commit hara-kiri to-morrow, so I'll go to bed at once. Do you stay at your ease and drink the wine.' So he went to his room and fell asleep, all being filled with admiration as they heard him snore. On the morrow he rose early, bathed and dressed himself with care, made all his preparations with perfect calmness, and then, quiet and composed, killed himself. No old, trained, self-possessed samurai could have excelled him. No one who saw it could speak of it for years without tears.... I have told you this that Kujuro may be remembered. It would be shameful were it to be forgotten that so young a boy performed such a deed."[AZ] "We are not to cease obeying for the sake of study, nor must we establish the laws before we begin to obey. In obedience we are to establish its Tightness and wrongness."[BA] "We learn loyalty and obedience as we are loyal and obedient. To-day I know yesterday's short-comings, and to-morrow I shall know to-day's.... In our occupations we learn whether conduct conforms to right and so advance in the truth by practice."[BB] "Besides a few works on history, like the Sankyo Ega Monogatari, which record facts, there are no books worth reading in our literature. For the most part they are sweet stories of the Buddhas, of which one soon wearies. But the evil is traditional, long-continued, and beyond remedy. And other books are full of lust, not even to be mentioned, like the Genji Monogatari, which should never be shown to a woman or a young man. Such books lead to vice. Our nobles call the Genji Monogatari a national treasure, why, I do not know, unless it is that they are intoxicated with its style. That is like plucking the spring blossom unmindful of the autumn's fruit. The book is full of adulteries from beginning to end. Seeing the right, ourselves should become good, seeing the wrong, we should reprove ourselves. The Genji Monogatari, Chokonka, and Seishoki are of a class, vile, mean, comparable to the books of the sages as charcoal to ice, as the stench of decay to the perfume of flowers."[BC] "To the samurai, first of all is righteousness; next life, then silver and gold. These last are of value, but some put them in the place of righteousness. But to the samurai even life is as dirt compared to righteousness. Until the middle part of the middle ages customs were comparatively pure, though not really righteous. Corruption has come only during this period of government by the samurai. A maid servant in China was made ill with astonishment when she saw her mistress, soroban (abacus) in hand, arguing prices and values. So was it once with the samurai. They knew nothing of trade, were economical and content."[BD] "Even in the days of my youth, young folks never mentioned the price of anything; and their faces reddened if the talk was of women. Their joy was in talk of battles and plans for war. And they studied how parents and lords should be obeyed, and the duty of samurai. But nowadays the young men talk of loss and gain, of dancing girls and harlots and gross pleasures. It is a complete change from fifty or sixty years ago.... Said Aochi to his son: 'There is such a thing as trade. See that you know nothing of it. In trade the profit should always go to the other side.... To be proud of buying high-priced articles cheap is the good fortune of merchants, but should be unknown to samurai. Let it not be even so much as mentioned.... Samurai must have a care of their words, and are not to speak of avarice, cowardice, or lust.'"[BE] A point of considerable interest to the student of Japanese ethical ideals is the fact that the laws of Old Japan combined legal and moral maxims. Loyalty and morality were conceived as inseparable. Ieyasu (abdicated in 1605, and died in 1616), the founder of the Tokugawa Shogunate, left a body of laws to his successors as his last will, in accordance with which they should rule the land. These laws were not made public, but were kept strictly for the guidance of the rulers. They are known as the Testament or "Honorable Will" of Ieyasu, and consist of one hundred rules. It will serve our purpose here to quote some of those that refer to the moral ideal. "No one is to act simply for the gratification of his own desires, but he is to strive to do what may be opposed to his desires, _i.e_., to exercise self-control, in order that everyone may be ready for whatever he may be called upon by his superiors to do." "The aged, whether widowers or widows, and orphans, and persons without relations, every one should assist with kindness and liberality; for justice to these four is the root of good government." "Respect the gods [or God], keep the heart pure, and be diligent in business during the whole life." "When I was young I determined to fight and punish all my own and my ancestors' enemies, and I did punish them; but afterwards, by deep consideration, I found that the way of heaven was to help the people, and not to punish them. Let my successors follow out this policy, or they are not of my line. In this lies the strength of the nation." "To insure the Empire peace, the foundation must be laid in the ways of holiness and religion, and if men think they can be educated, and will not remember this, it is as if a man were to go to a forest to catch fish, or thought he could draw water out of fire. They must follow the ways of holiness." "Japan is the country of the gods [or God--'Shinkoku']. Therefore, we have among us Confucianism, Buddhism, and Shintoism, and other sects. If we leave our gods [or God] it is like refusing the wages of our master and taking them from another." "In regard to dancing women, prostitutes, brothels, night work, and all other improper employments, all these are like caterpillars or locusts in the country. Good men and writers in all times have written against them." "It is said that the Mikado, looking down on his people, loves them as a mother does her children. The same may be said of me and my government. This benevolence of mind is called Jin. This Jin may be said to consist of five parts; these are humanity, integrity, courtesy, wisdom, and truth. My mode of government is according to the way of heaven. This I have done to show that I am impartial, and am not assisting my own relatives and friends only."[BF] These quotations are perhaps sufficient, though one more from a recent writer has a peculiar interest of its own, from the fact that the purpose of the book from which the quotation is taken was the destruction of the tendencies toward approval of Western thought. It was published in 1857. The writer, Junzo Ohashi, felt himself to be a witness for truth and righteousness, and, in the spirit of the doctrine he professed, sealed his faith with a martyr's suffering and death, dying (in August, 1868) from the effect of repeated examination by torture for a supposed crime, innocence of which he maintained to the end. It is interesting to note that two of his granddaughters, "with the physics and astronomy of the West, have accepted its religion." "The West knows not the 'Ri'[BG] of the virtues of the heart which are in all men unchangeably the same. Nor does it know that the body is the organ of the virtues, however careful its analysis of the body may be. The adherents of the Western Philosophy indeed study carefully the outward appearances, but they have no right to steal the honored name of natural philosophy. As when 'Ki' is destroyed, 'Ri' too disappears, so, with their analysis of 'Ki,' they destroy 'Ri,' and thus this learning brings benevolence and righteousness and loyalty and truth to naught. Among the Westerners who from of old have studied details minutely, I have not heard of one who was zealous for the Great Way, for benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, and truth, and who opposed the absurdities of the Lord of Heaven [God].'[BH] 'Let then the child make its parent, Heaven; the retainer, his lord; the wife, her husband; and let each give up life for righteousness. Thus will each serve Heaven. But if we exalt Heaven above parent or lord, we shall come to think that we can serve it though they be disobeyed, and like wolf or tiger shall rejoice to kill them. To such fearful end does the Western learning lead."[BI] The foregoing quotations reveal the exalted nature of the ideals held by at least some of the leaders of ethical thought in Japan. Taken as a whole, the moral ideals characterizing the Japanese during their entire historical period have been conspicuously communal. The feudal structure of society has determined the peculiar character of the moral ideal. Loyalty took first rank in the moral scale; the subordination of the inferior to the superior has come next, including unquestioning obedience of children to parents, and of wife to husband. The virtues of a military people have been praised and often gloriously exemplified. The possession of these various ideals and their attainment in such high degree have given the nation its cohesiveness. They make the people a unit. The feudal training under local daimyos was fitting the people for the larger life among the nations of the world on which they are now entering. Especially is their sense of loyalty, as exhibited toward the Emperor, serving them well in this period of transition from Oriental to Occidental social ideals. Let us now examine some defective moral standards and observe their origin in the social order. Take, for instance, the ideal of truthfulness. Every Occidental remarks on the untruthfulness of the Japanese. Lies are told without the slightest apparent compunction; and when confronted with the charge of lying, the culprit often seems to feel little sense of guilt. This trait of character was noted repeatedly by the early negotiators with Japan. Townsend Harris and Sir Rutherford Alcock made frequent mention of it. When we inquire as to the moral ideal and actual instruction concerning truthfulness, we are amazed to find how inadequate it was. The inadequacy of the teaching, however, was not the primal cause of the characteristic. There is a far deeper explanation, yet very simple, namely, the nature of the social order. The old social order was feudal, and not industrial or commercial. History shows that industrial and commercial nations develop the virtue of truthfulness far in advance of military nations. For these virtues are essential to them; without them they could not long continue to prosper. So in regard to all the aspects of business morality, it must be admitted that, from the Occidental standpoint, Old Japan was very deficient. But it must also be stated that new ideals are rapidly forming. Buying and selling with a view to making profit, though not unknown in Old Japan, was carried on by a despised section of the community. Compared with the present, the commercial community of feudal times was mean and small. Let us note somewhat in detail the attitude of the samurai toward the trader in olden times, and the ideals they reveal. The pursuit of business was considered necessarily degrading, for he who handled money was supposed to be covetous. The taking of profit was thought to be ignoble, if not deceitful. They who condescended to such an occupation were accordingly despised and condemned to the lowest place in the social scale. These ideas doubtless helped to make business degrading; traders were doubtless sordid and covetous and deceitful. In the presence of the samurai they were required to take the most abject postures. In addressing him, they must never stand, but must touch the ground with their foreheads; while talking with him they must remain with their hands on the ground. Even the children of samurai always assumed the lordly attitude toward tradesmen. The sons of tradesmen might not venture into a quarrel with the sons of samurai, for the armed children of the samurai were at liberty to cut down and kill the children of the despicable merchant, should they insult or even oppose them. All this, however, has passed away. Commerce is now honored; trade and manufacture are recognized not only as laudable, but as the only hope of Japan for the future. The new social order is industrial and commercial. The entire body of the former samurai, now no longer maintaining their distinctive name, are engaged in some form of business. Japan is to-day a nation of traders and farmers. Accompanying the changes in the social order, new standards as to honesty and business integrity are being formulated and enforced.[BJ] XXIII MORAL IDEALS (_Continued_) An Occidental is invariably filled with astonishment on learning that a human being, as such, had no value in Old Japan. The explanation lies chiefly in the fact that the social order did not rest on the inherent worth of the individual. As in all primitive lands and times, the individual was as nothing compared to the family and the tribe. As time went on, this principle took the form of the supreme worth of the higher classes in society. Hence arose the liberty allowed the samurai of cutting down, in cold blood, a beggar, a merchant, or a farmer on the slightest provocation, or simply for the purpose of testing his sword. Japanese social and religious philosophy had not yet discovered that the individual is of infinite worth in himself, apart from all considerations of his rank in society. As we have seen, the absence of this idea from Japanese civilization resulted in various momentous consequences, of which the frequency of murder and suicide is but one. Another, and this constitutes one of the most striking differences between the moral ideals of the East and the West, is the low estimate put upon the inherent nature and value of woman, by which was determined her social position and the moral relations of the sexes. Japan seems to have suffered somewhat in this respect from her acceptance of Hindu philosophy. For there seems to be considerable unanimity among historians that in primitive times in Japan there prevailed a much larger liberty, and consequently a much higher regard, for woman than in later ages after Buddhism became powerful. With regard, however, to that earlier period of over a thousand years ago, it is of little use to speculate. I cannot escape the feeling, however, that the condition of woman then has been unconsciously idealized, in order to make a better showing in comparison with the customs of Western lands. Be that as it may, the notions and ideals presented by Buddhism in regard to woman are clear, and clearly degrading. She is the source of temptation and sin; she is essentially inferior to man in every respect. Before she may hope to enter Nirvana she must be born again as man. How widely these extreme views of woman have found acceptance in Japan, I am not in a position to state. It is my impression, however, that they never received as full acceptance here as in India. Nevertheless, as has already been shown,[BK] the ideals of what a woman should do and be make it clear that her social position for centuries has been relatively low; as wife she is a domestic rather than a helpmeet. The "three obediences," to parents, to husband, to son, set forth the ideal, although, without doubt, the strict application of the third, obedience to one's son after he becomes the head of the household, is relatively rare. What especially strikes the notice of the Occidental is the slight amount of social intercourse that prevails to-day between men and women. Whenever women enter into the social pleasures of men, they do so as professional singers and dancers, they being mere girls and unmarried young women; this social intercourse is all but invariably accompanied with wine-drinking, even if it does not proceed to further licentiousness. The statement that woman is man's plaything has been often heard in Japan. Confucian no less than Buddhistic ethics must bear the responsibility for putting and keeping woman on so low a level. Concubinage, possibly introduced from China, was certainly sanctioned by the Chinese classics. The Lei-ki allows an Emperor to have in addition to the Empress three consorts, nine maids of high rank, and twenty-seven maids of lower rank, all of whom rank as wives, and, beside these, eighty-one other females called concubines. Concubinage and polygamy, being thus sanctioned by the classics, became an established custom in Japan. The explanation for this ideal and practice is not far to seek. It rests in the communal character of the social order. The family was the social unit of Japan. No individual member was of worth except the legal head and representative, the father. A striking proof of the correctness of this explanation is the fact that even the son is obeyed by the father in case he has become "in kio,"[BL] that is, has abdicated; the son then becomes the authoritative head. The ideals regarding woman then were not unique; they were part of the social order, and were determined by the principle of "communalism" unregulated by the principle of "individualism." Ideals respecting man and woman were equally affected. So long as man is not valued as a human being, but solely according to his accidental position in society, woman must be regarded in the same way. She is valued first as a begetter of offspring, second as a domestic. And when such conceptions prevail as to her nature and function in society, defective ideals as to morality in the narrower sense of this term, leading to and justifying concubinage, easy divorce, and general loose morality are necessary consequences. But this moral or immoral ideal is by no means peculiar to Japan. The peculiarity of Japan and the entire Orient is that the social order that fostered it lasted so long, before forces arose to modify it. But, as will be shown later,[BM] the great problem of human evolution, after securing the advantages of "communalism," and the solidification of the nation, is that of introducing the principle of individualism into the social order. In the Orient the principle of communalism gained such headway as effectually to prevent the introduction of this new principle. There is, in my opinion, no probability that Japan, while maintaining her isolation, would ever have succeeded in making any radical change in her social order; her communalism was too absolute. She needed the introduction of a new stimulus from without. It was providential that this stimulus came from the Anglo-Saxon race, with its pronounced principle of "individualism" wrought out so completely in social order, in literature, and in government. Had Russia or Turkey been the leading influences in starting Japan on her new career, it is more than doubtful whether she would have secured the principles needful for her healthful moral development. Justice to the actual ideals and life of Old Japan forbids me to leave, without further remark, what was said above regarding the ideals of morality in the narrower significance of this word. Injunctions that women should be absolutely chaste were frequent and stringent. Nothing more could be asked in the line of explicit teaching on this theme. And, furthermore, I am persuaded, after considerable inquiry, that in Old Japan in the interior towns and villages, away from the center of luxury and out of the beaten courses of travel, there was purity of moral life that has hardly been excelled anywhere. I have repeatedly been assured that if a youth of either sex were known to have transgressed the law of chastity, he or she would at once be ostracised; and that such transgressions were, consequently, exceedingly rare. It is certainly a fact that in the vast majority of the interior towns there have never, until recent times, been licensed houses of prostitution. Of late there has been a marked increase of dancing and singing girls, of whom it is commonly said that they are but "secret prostitutes." These may to-day be found in almost every town and village, wherever indeed there is a hotel. Public as well as secret prostitution has enormously increased during the last thirty or forty years.[BN] Thanks to Mr. Murphy's consecrated energy, the appalling legalized and hopeless slavery under which these two classes of girls exist is at last coming to light. He has shown, by several test cases, that although the national laws are good to look at they are powerless because set aside by local police regulations over which the courts are powerless! In September, 1900, however, in large part due no doubt to the facts made public by him, and backed up by the public press, and such leaders of Japan's progressive elements as Shimada Sabur, the police regulations were modified, and with amazing results. Whereas, previous to that date, the average monthly suicides throughout the land among the public prostitutes were between forty and fifty, during the two months of September and October there were none! In that same period, out of about five thousand prostitutes in the city of Tokyo, 492 had fled from their brothels and declared their intentions of abandoning the "shameful business," as the Japanese laws call it, and in consequence a prominent brothel had been compelled to stop the business! We are only in the first flush of this new reform as these lines are written, so cannot tell what end the whole movement will reach. But the conscience of the nation is beginning to waken on this matter and we are confident it will never tolerate the old slavery of the past, enforced as it was by local laws, local courts, so that girls were always kept in debt, and when they fled were seized and forced back to the brothels in order to pay their debts! But in contrast to the undoubted ideal of Old Japan in regard to the chastity of women, must be set the equally undoubted fact that the sages have very little to say on the subject of chastity for men. Indeed there is no word in the Japanese language corresponding to our term "chastity" which may be applied equally to men and women. In his volume entitled "Kokoro," Mr. Hearn charges the missionaries with the assertion that there is no word for chastity in Japanese. "This," he says, "is true in the same sense only that we might say that there is no word for chastity in the English language, because such words as honor, virtue, purity, chastity have been adopted into English from other languages."[BO] I doubt if any missionary has made such a statement. His further assertion, that "the word most commonly used applies to both sexes," would have more force, if Mr. Hearn had stated what the word is. His English definition of the term has not enabled me to find the Japanese equivalent, although I have discussed this question with several Japanese. It is their uniform confession that the Japanese language is defective in its terminology on this topic, the word with which one may exhort a woman to be chaste being inapplicable to a man. The assertion of the missionaries has nothing whatever to do with the question as to whether the terms used are pure Japanese or imported Chino-Japanese; nor has it any reference to the fact that the actual language is deficient in abstract terms. It is simply that the term applicable to a woman is not applicable to a man. And this in turn proves sharp contrasts between the ideals regarding the moral duties of men and of women. An interesting point in the Japanese moral ideal is the fact that the principle of filial obedience was carried to such extremes that even prostitution of virtue at the command of the parents, or for the support of the parents, was not only permitted but, under special conditions, was highly praised. Modern prostitution is rendered possible chiefly through the action of this perverted principle. Although the sale of daughters for immoral purposes is theoretically illegal, yet, in fact, it is of frequent occurrence. Although concubinage was not directly taught by Confucius, yet it was never forbidden by him, and the leaders and rulers of the land have lent the custom the authority and justification of their example. As we have already seen, the now ruling Emperor has several concubines, and all of his children are the offspring of these concubines. In Old Japan, therefore, there were two separate ideals of morality for the two sexes. The question may be raised how a social order which required such fidelity on the part of the woman could permit such looseness on the part of the man, whether married or not. How could the same social order produce two moral ideals? The answer is to be found in several facts. First, there is the inherent desire of each husband to be the sole possessor of his wife's affections. As the stronger of the two, he would bring destruction on an unfaithful wife and also on any who dared invade his home. Although the woman doubtless has the same desire to be the sole possessor of her husband's affection, she has not the same power, either to injure a rival or to punish her faithless husband. Furthermore, licentiousness in women has a much more visibly disastrous effect on her procreative functions than equal licentiousness in man. This, too, would serve to beget and maintain different ethical standards for the two sexes. Finally, and perhaps no less effective than the two preceding, is the fact that the general social consciousness held different conceptions in regard to the social positions of man and woman. The one was the owner of the family, the lord and master; to him belonged the freedom to do as he chose. The other was a variety of property, not free in any sense to please herself, but to do only as her lord and master required. An illustration of the first reason given above came to my knowledge not long since. Rev. John T. Gulick saw in Kanagawa, in 1862, a man going through the streets carrying the bloody heads of a man and a woman which he declared to be those of his wife and her seducer, whom he had caught and killed in the act of adultery. This act of the husband's was in perfect accord with the practices and ideals of the time, and not seldom figures in the romances of Old Japan. The new Civil Code adopted in 1898 furnishes an authoritative statement of many of the moral ideals of New Japan. For the following summary I am indebted to the _Japan Mail_.[BP] In regard to marriage it is noteworthy that the "prohibited degrees of relationship are the same as those in England"--including the deceased wife's sister. "The minimum age for legal marriage is seventeen in the case of a man and fifteen in the case of a woman, and marriage takes effect on notification to the registrar, being thus a purely civil contract. As to divorce, it is provided that the husband and wife may effect it by mutual consent, and its legal recognition takes the form of an entry by the registrar, no reference being necessary to the judicial authorities. Where mutual consent is not obtained, however, an action for divorce must be brought, and here it appears that the rights of the woman do not receive the same recognition as those of the man. Thus, although adultery committed by the wife constitutes a valid ground of divorce, we do not find that adultery on the husband's part furnishes a plea to the wife. Ill-treatment or gross insult, such as renders living together impracticable, or desertion, constitutes a reason for divorce from the wife's point of view." The English reviewer here adds that "since no treatment can be worse nor any insult grosser than open inconstancy on the part of a husband, it is conceivable that a judge might consider that such conduct renders living together impracticable. But in the presence of an explicit provision with regard to the wife's adultery and in the absence of any such provision with regard to the husband's, we doubt whether any court of law would exercise discretion in favor of the woman." The gross "insult of inconstancy" on the part of the husband is a plea that has never yet been recognized by Japanese society. The reviewer goes on to say: "One cannot help wishing that the peculiar code of morality observed by husbands in this country had received some condemnation at the hands of the framers of the new Code. It is further laid down that a 'person who is judicially divorced or punished because of adultery cannot contract a marriage with the other party to the adultery.' If that extended to the husband it would be an excellent provision, well calculated to correct one of the worst social abuses of this country. Unfortunately, as we have seen, it applies apparently to the case of the wife only." The provision for divorce by "mutual consent" is striking and ominous. It makes divorce a matter of entirely private arrangement, unless one of the parties objects. In a land where women are so docile, is it likely that the wife would refuse to consent to divorce when her lord and master requests or commands her to leave his home? "There are not many women in Japan who could refuse to become a party to the 'mutual consent' arrangement if they were convinced that they had lost their husband's affection and that he could not live comfortably with them." It would appear that nothing whatever is said by the Code with reference to concubinage, either allowing or forbidding it. Presumably a man may have but one legitimate wife, and children by concubines must be registered as illegitimate. Nothing, however, on this point seems to be stated, although provision is made for the public acknowledgment of illegitimate children. "Thus, a father can acknowledge a natural child, making what is called a 'shoshi,' and if, subsequent to acknowledgment, the father and mother marry, the 'shoshi,' acquires the status of a legitimate child, such status reckoning back, apparently to the time of birth." Evidently, this provision rests on the implication that the mother is an unmarried woman--presumably a concubine. Recent statistics throw a rather lurid light on these provisions of the Code. The Imperial Cabinet for some years past has published in French and Japanese a résumé of national statistics. Those bearing on marriage and divorce, in the volume published in 1897, may well be given at this point. MARRIAGES DIVORCES LEGITIMATE BIRTHS ILLEGITIMATE 1890 325,141 109,088 1,079,121 66,253 1891 325,651 112,411 1,033,653 64,122 1892 349,489 133,498 1,134,665 72,369 1893 358,398 116,775 1,105,119 73,677 1894 361,319 114,436 1,132,897 76,407 1895 365,633 110,838 1,166,254 80,168 1897 395,207 124,075 1,335,125 89,996[BQ] These authoritative statistics show how divorce is a regular part of the Japanese family system, one out of three marriages proving abortive. Morally Japan's weak spot is the relation of the sexes, both before and after marriage. Strict monogamy, with the equality of duties of husband and wife, is the remedy for the disease. This slight sketch of the provision of the new Code as it bears on the purity of the home, and on the development of noble manhood and womanhood, shows that the Code is very defective. It practically recognizes and legalizes the present corrupt practices of society, and makes no effort to establish higher ideals. Whether anything more should be expected of a Code drawn up under the present circumstances is, of course, an open question. But the Code reveals the astonishingly low condition of the moral standards for the home, one of the vital weaknesses of New Japan. The defectiveness of the new Code in regard to the matters just considered must be argued, however, not from the failure to embody Occidental moral standards, but rather from the failure to recognize the actual nature of the social order of New Japan. While the Code recognizes the principle of individualism and individual rights and worth in all other matters, in regard to the home, the most important social unit in the body politic, the Code legalizes and perpetuates the old pre-Meiji standards. Individualism in the general social order demands its consistent recognition in every part. We cannot conclude our discussion of Japanese ideas as to woman, and the consequent results to morality, without referring to the great changes which are to-day taking place. Although the new Civil Code has not done all that we could ask, we would not ignore what it has secured. Says Prof. Gubbins in the excellent introduction to his translation of the Codes: "In no respect has modern progress in Japan made greater strides than in the improvement of the position of woman. Though she still labors under certain disabilities, a woman can now become a head of a family, and exercise authority as such; she can inherit and own property and manage it herself; she can exercise parental authority; if single, or a widow, she can adopt; she is one of the parties to adoption effected by her husband, and her consent, in addition to that of her husband, is necessary to the adoption of her child by another person; she can act as guardian, or curator, and she has a voice in family councils." In all these points the Code marks a great advance, and reveals by contrast the legally helpless condition of woman prior to 1898. But in certain respects practice is preceding theory. We would call special attention to the exalted position and honor publicly accorded to the Empress. On more than one historic occasion she has appeared at the Emperor's side, a thing unknown in Old Japan. The Imperial Silver Wedding (1892) was a great event, unprecedented in the annals of the Orient. Commemorative postage stamps were struck off which were first used on the auspicious day. The wedding of the Prince Imperial (in May, 1900) was also an event of unique importance in Japanese social and moral history. Never before, in the 2600 years claimed by her historians, has an heir to the throne been honored by a public wedding. The ceremony was prepared _de novo_ for the occasion and the pledges were mutual. In the reception that followed, the Imperial bride stood beside her Imperial husband. On this occasion, too, commemorative postage stamps were issued and first used on the auspicious day; the entire land was brilliantly decorated with flags and lanterns. Countless congratulatory meetings were held throughout the country and thousands of gifts, letters, and telegraphic messages expressed the joy and good will of the people. But the chief significance of these events is the new and exalted position accorded to woman and to marriage by the highest personages of the land. It is said by some that the ruling Emperor will be the last to have concubines. However that may be, woman has already attained a rank and marriage an honor unknown in any former age in Japan, and still quite unknown in any Oriental land save Japan. A serious study of Japanese morality should not fail to notice the respective parts taken by Buddhism and Confucianism. The contrast is so marked. While Confucianism devoted its energies to the inculcation of proper conduct, to morality as contrasted to religion, Buddhism devoted its energies to the development of a cultus, paying little attention to morality. A recent Japanese critic of Buddhism remarks that "though Buddhism has a name in the world for the excellence of its ethical system, yet there exists no treatise in Japanese which sets forth the distinctive features of Buddhist ethics." Buddhist literature is chiefly occupied with mythology, metaphysics, and eschatology, ethical precepts being interwoven incidentally. The critic just quoted states that the pressing need of the times is that Buddhist ethics should be disentangled from Buddhist mythology. The great moralists of Japan have been Confucianists. Distinctively Japanese morality has derived its impulse from Confucian classics. A new spirit, however, is abroad among the Buddhist priesthood. Their preaching is increasingly ethical. The common people are saying that the sermons heard in certain temples are identical with those of Christians. How widely this imitation of Christian preaching has spread I cannot say; but that Christianity has in any degree been imitated is significant, both ethically and sociologically. Buddhism is not alone, however, in imitating Christianity. A few years ago Dr. D.C. Greene attended the preaching services of a modern Shinto sect, the "Ten-Ri-Kyo," the Heaven-Reason-Teaching, and was surprised to hear almost literal quotations from the "Sermon on the Mount"; the source of the sentiment and doctrine was not stated and very likely was not known to the speaker. Dr. Greene, who has given this sect considerable study, is satisfied that the insistence of its teachers on moral conduct is general and genuine. When I visited their headquarters, not far from Nara, in 1895, and inquired of one of the priests as to the chief points of importance in their teaching, I was told that the necessity of leading an honorable and correct life was most emphasized. There are reasons for thinking that the Kurozumi sect of Shintoism, with its emphasis on morality, is considerably indebted to Christianity both for its origin and its doctrine. It is evident that Christianity is having an influence in Japan, far beyond the ranks of its professed believers. It is proving a stimulus to the older faiths, stirring them up to an earnestness in moral teaching that they never knew in the olden times. It is interesting to note that this widespread emphasis on ethical truth comes at a time when morality is suffering a wide collapse. An important point for the sociological student of Japanese moral ideals is the fact that her moralists have directed their attention chiefly to the conduct of the rulers. The ideal of conduct as stated by them is for a samurai. If any action is praised, it is said that it becomes a samurai; if condemned, it is on the ground that it is not becoming to a samurai. Anything wrong or vulgar is said to be what you might expect of the common man. All the terms of the higher morality, such as righteousness, duty, benevolence, are expounded from the standpoint of a samurai, that is, from the standpoint of loyalty. The forty-seven ronin were pronounced "righteous samurai" because they avenged the death of their lord, even though in doing so they committed deeds that, by themselves, would have been condemned. Japanese history and literature proclaim the same ideal. They are exclusively concerned with the deeds of the higher class, the court and the samurai. The actual condition of the common people in ancient times is a matter not easily determined. The morality of the common people was more a matter of unreasoning custom than of theory and instruction. But these facts are susceptible of interpretation if we remember that the interest of the historian and the moralist was not in humanity, as such, but in the external features of the social order. Their gaze was on the favored few, on the nobility, the court, and the samurai. In closing our discussion of Japanese moral ideals it may not be amiss to append the Imperial Edict concerning the moral education of the youth of Japan, issued by the Emperor November 31, 1890. This is supposed to be the distilled essence of Shinto and Confucian teaching. It is to-day the only authoritative teaching on morality given in the public schools. It is read with more reverence than is accorded to the Bible in England or America. It is considered both holy and inspired. IMPERIAL EDICT ON MORAL EDUCATION "We consider that the Founder of Our Empire and the ancestors of Our Imperial House placed the foundation of the country on a grand and permanent basis, and established their authority on the principles of profound humanity and benevolence. "That Our subjects have throughout ages deserved well of the state by their loyalty and piety, and by their harmonious co-operation, is in accordance with the essential character of Our nation; and on these very same principles Our education has been founded. "You, Our subjects, be therefore filial to your parents; be affectionate to your brothers; be harmonious as husbands and wives; and be faithful to your friends; conduct yourselves with propriety and carefulness; extend generosity and benevolence toward your neighbors; attend to your studies and follow your pursuits; cultivate your intellects and elevate your morals; advance public benefits and promote social interests; be always found in the good observance of the laws and constitution of the land; display your personal courage and public spirit for the sake of the country whenever required; and thus support the Imperial prerogative, which is coexistent with the Heavens and the Earth. "Such conduct on your part will not only strengthen the character of Our good and loyal subjects, but conduce also to the maintenance of the fame of your worthy forefathers. "This is the instruction bequeathed by Our ancestors and to be followed by Our subjects; for it is the truth which has guided and guides them in their own affairs and their dealings toward aliens. "We hope, therefore, that We and Our subjects will regard these sacred precepts with one and the same heart in order to attain the same ends." XXIV MORAL PRACTICE One noticeable characteristic of the Japanese is the publicity of the life of the individual. He seems to feel no need for privacy. Houses are so constructed that privacy is practically impossible. The slight paper shoji and fusuma between the small rooms serve only partially to shut out peering eyes; they afford no protection from listening ears. Moreover, these homes of the middle and lower classes open upon public streets, and a passer-by may see much of what is done within. Even the desire for privacy seems lacking. The publicity of the private (?) baths and sanitary conveniences which the Occidental puts entirely out of sight has already been noted. I once passed through a village and was not a little amazed to see two or three bathtubs on the public road, each occupied by one or more persons; nor were the occupants children alone, but men and women also. Calling at the home of a gentleman in Kyushu with whom I had some business, and gaining no notice at the front entrance, I went around to the side of the house only to discover the lady of the place taking her bath with her children, in a tub quite out of doors, while a manservant chopped wood but a few paces distant. The natural indifference of the Japanese to the exposure of the unclothed body is an interesting fact. In the West such indifference is rightly considered immodest. In Japan, however, immodesty consists entirely in the intention of the heart and does not arise from the accident of the moment or the need of the occasion. With a fellow missionary, I went some years since to some famous hot springs at the foot of Mount Ase, the smoking crater of Kyushu. The spot itself is most charming, situated in the center of an old crater, said to be the largest in the world. Wearied with a long walk, we were glad to find that one of the public bath tubs or tanks, some fifteen by thirty feet in size, in a bath house separate from other houses, was quite unoccupied; and on inquiry we were told that bathers were few at that hour of the day, so that we might go in without fear of disturbance. It seems that in such places the tiers of boxes for the clothing on either side of the door, are reserved for men and women respectively. Ignorant of this custom, we deposited our clothing in the boxes on the left hand, and as quickly as we could accommodate ourselves to the heat of the water, we got into the great tank. We were scarcely in, when a company of six or eight men and women entered the bath house; they at once perceived our blunder, but without the slightest hesitation, the women as well as the men went over to the men's side and proceeded to undress and get into the tank with us, betraying no consciousness that aught was amiss. So far as I could see there was not the slightest self-consciousness in the entire proceeding. In the tank, too, though it is customary for women to occupy the left side, on this occasion they mingled freely with the men. I suppose it is impossible in England or America to conceive of such a state of unconsciousness. Yet it seems to be universal in Japan. It is doubtless explained by the custom, practiced from infancy, not only of public bathing, but also of living together so unreservedly. The heat of the summer and the nature of Japanese clothing, so easily thrown off, has accustomed them to the greater or less exposure of the person. All these customs have prevented the development of a sense of modesty corresponding to that which has developed in the West. Whether this familiarity of the sexes is conducive to purity of life or not, is a totally different question, on which I do not here enter. In this connection I can do no better than quote from a popular, and in many respects deservedly popular, writer on Japan. Says Mr. Hearn, "There is little privacy of any sort in Japan. Among the people, indeed, what we term privacy in the Occident does not exist. There are only walls of paper dividing the lives of men; there are only sliding screens instead of doors; there are neither locks nor bolts to be used by day; and whenever the weather permits, the fronts and perhaps even the sides of the houses are literally removed, and its interior widely opened to the air, the light, and the public gaze. Within a hotel or even a common dwelling house, nobody knocks before entering your room; there is nothing to knock at except a shoji or a fusuma, which cannot be knocked at without being broken. And in this world of paper walls and sunshine, nobody is afraid or ashamed of fellow-man or fellow-woman. Whatever is done is done after a fashion in public. Your personal habits, your idiosyncrasies (if you have any), your foibles, your likes and dislikes, your loves and your hates must be known to everybody. Neither vices nor virtues can be hidden; there is absolutely nowhere to hide them.... There has never been, for the common millions at least, even the idea of living unobserved." The Japanese language has no term for "privacy," nor is it easy to convey the idea to one who does not know the English word. They lack the term and the clear idea because they lack the practice. These facts prove conclusively that the Japanese individual is still a gregarious being, and this fact throws light on the moral life of the people. It follows of necessity that the individual will conform somewhat more closely to the moral standards of the community, than a man living in a strong segregarious community. The converse of this principle is that in a community whose individuals are largely segregarious, enjoying privacy, and thus liberty of action, variations from the moral standards will be frequent and positive transgressions not uncommon. In the one case, where "communalism" reigns, moral action is, so to speak, automatic; it requires no particular assertion of the individual will to do right; conformity to the standard is spontaneous. In the latter case, however, where "individualism" is the leading characteristic of the community, the acceptance of the moral standards usually requires a definite act of the individual will. The history of Japan is a capital illustration of this principle. The recent increase of immorality and crime is universally admitted. The usual explanation is that in olden times every slight offense was punished with death; the criminal class was thus continuously exterminated. Nowadays a robber can ply his trade continuously, though interrupted by frequent intervals of imprisonment. In former times, once caught, he never could steal again, except in the land of the shades. While this explanation has some force, it does not cover the ground. A better explanation for the modern increase of lawlessness is the change in the social order itself. The new order gives each man wider liberty of individual action. He is free to choose his trade and his home. Formerly these were determined for him by the accident of his birth. His freedom is greater and so, too, are his temptations. Furthermore, the standards of conduct themselves have been changing. Certain acts which would have brought praise and honor if committed fifty years ago, such, for instance, as "kataki uchi," revenge, would to-day soon land one behind prison doors. In a word, "individualism" is beginning to work powerfully on conduct; it has not yet gained the ascendancy attained in the West; it is nevertheless abroad in the land. The young are especially influenced by it. Taking advantage of the liberty it grants, many forms of immorality seem to be on the increase. So far as I can gather by inquiry, there has been a great collapse not only in honesty, but also in the matter of sexual morality. It will hardly do to say dogmatically that the national standards of morality have been lowered, but it is beyond question that the power of the community to enforce those standards has suddenly come to naught by reason of the changing social order. Western thought and practice as to the structure of society and the freedom of the individual have been emphasized; Spencer and Mill and Huxley have been widely read by the educated classes.[BR] Furthermore, freedom and ease of travel, and liberty to change one's residence at will, and thus the ability to escape unpleasant restraints, have not a little to do with this collapse in morality. Tens of thousands of students in the higher schools are away from their homes and are entirely without the steadying support that home gives. Then, too, there is a wealth among the common people that was, never known in earlier times. Formerly the possession of means was limited to a relatively small number of families. To-day we see general prosperity, and a consequent tendency to luxury that was unknown in any former period. To be specific, let us note that in feudal times there were some 270 daimyo living in the utmost luxury. About 1,500,000 samurai were dependent on them as retainers, while 30,000,000 people supported these sons of luxury. In 1863 the farmers of Japan raised 30,000,000 koku of rice, and paid 22,000,000 of it to the government as taxes. Taxed at the same rate to-day the farmers would have to pay 280,000,000 yen, whereas the actual payment made by them is only 38,000,000 yen. "The farmer's manner of life has radically changed. He is now prosperous and comfortable, wearing silk where formerly he could scarcely afford cotton, and eating rice almost daily, whereas formerly he scarcely knew its taste."[BS] It is stated by the _Japan Mail_ that whereas but "one person out of ten was able thirty years ago to afford rice, the nine being content to live from year's end to year's end on barley alone or barley mixed with a modicum of rice, six persons to-day out of ten count it a hardship if they cannot sit down to a square meal of rice daily.... Rice is no longer a luxury to the mass of the people, but has become a necessity." Financially, then, the farming and middle classes are incomparably better off to-day than in olden times. The amount of ready money which a man can earn has not a little to do with his morality. If his uprightness depends entirely or chiefly on his lack of opportunity to do wrong, he will be a moral man so long as he is desperately poor or under strict control. But give him the chance to earn ready cash, together with the freedom to live where he chooses, and to spend his income as he pleases, and he is sure to develop various forms of immorality. I have made a large number of inquiries in regard to the increase or decrease of concubinage during the present era. Statistics on this subject are not to be had, for concubines are not registered as such nor yet as wives. If a concubine lives in the home of the man, she is registered as a domestic, and her children should be registered as hers, although I am told that they are very often illegally registered as his. If she lives in her own home, the concubine still retains the name and registry of her own parents. The government takes no notice of concubinage, and publishes no statistics in regard to it. The children of concubines who live with their own parents are, I am told, usually registered as the children of the mother's father; otherwise they are registered as illegitimate; statistics, therefore, furnish no clew as to the increase or decrease or amount of concubinage and illegitimacy, most important questions in Japanese sociology. But my informants are unanimous in the assertion that there has been a marked increase of concubinage during recent years. The simple and uniform explanation given is that multitudes of merchants and officials, and even of farmers, can afford to maintain them to-day who formerly were unable to do so. The older ideals on this subject were such as to allow of concubinage to the extent of one's financial ability. During the year 1898 the newspapers and leading writers of Japan carried on a vigorous discussion concerning concubinage. The _Yorozu Choho_ published an inventory of 493 men maintaining separate establishments for their concubines, giving not only the names and the business of the men, but also the character of the women chosen to be concubines. Of these 493 men, 9 are ministers of state and ex-ministers; 15 are peers or members of House of Peers; 7 are barristers; 3 are learned doctors; the rest are nearly all business men. The women were, previous to concubinage, Dancing girls, 183; Servants, 69; Prostitutes, 17; "Ordinary young girls," 91; Adopted daughters, 15; Widows, 7; Performers, 7; Miscellaneous, 104. In this discussion it has been generally admitted that concubinage has increased in modern times, and the cause attributed is "general looseness of morals." Some of the leading writers maintain that the concubinage of former times was largely confined to those who took concubines to insure the maintenance of the family line; and also that the taking of dancing girls was unknown in olden times. It is interesting to note in this connection that some of those who defend the practice of concubinage appeal to the example of the Old Testament, saying that what was good enough for the race that gave to Christians the greater part of their Bible is good enough for the Japanese. Another point in the discussion interesting to the Occidental is the repeated assertion that there is no real difference between the East and the West in point of practice; the only difference is that whereas in the East all is open and above board, in the West extra-marital relations are condemned by popular opinion, and are therefore concealed.[BT] A few writers publicly defend concubinage; most, however, condemn it vigorously, even though making no profession of Christian faith. Of the latter class is Mr. Fukuzawa, one of Japan's leaders of public opinion. In his most trenchant attack, he asserts that if Japan is to progress in civilization she must abandon her system of concubinage. That new standards in regard to marital relations are arising in Japan is clear; but they have as yet little force; there is no consensus of opinion to give them force. He who transgresses them is still recognized as in good standing in the community. Similarly, with respect to business honesty, it is the opinion of all with whom I have conversed on the subject that there has been a great decline in the honesty of the common people. In feudal days thefts and petty dishonesty were practically unknown. To-day these are exceedingly common. Foreign merchants complain that it is impossible to trust Japanese to carry out verbal or written promises, when the conditions of the market change to their disadvantage. It is accordingly charged that the Japanese have no sense of honor in business matters. The _Kokumin Shinbun_ (People's News) has recently discussed the question of Japanese commercial morality, with the following results: It says, first, that goods delivered are not up to sample; secondly, that engagements as to time are not kept; thirdly, that business men have no adequate appreciation of the permanent interests of business; fourthly, that they are without ability to work in common; and fifthly, that they do not get to know either their customers or themselves.[BU] "The Japanese consul at Tientsin recently reported to the Government that the Chinese have begun to regard Japanese manufactures with serious distrust. Merchandise received from Japan, they allege, does not correspond with samples, and packing is, in almost all cases, miserably unsubstantial. The consul expresses the deepest regret that Japanese merchants are disposed to break their faith without regard to honor."[BV] In this connection it may not be amiss to revert to illustrations that have come within my own experience. I have already cited instances of the apparent duplicity to which deacons and candidates for the ministry stoop. I do not believe that either the deacons or the candidates had the slightest thought that they were doing anything dishonorable. Nor do I for a moment suppose that the President and the Trustees of the Doshisha at all realized the gravity of the moral aspect of the course they took in diverting the Doshisha from its original purposes. They seemed to think that money, once given to the Doshisha, might be used without regard to the wishes of the donors. I cannot help wondering how much of their thought on this subject is due to the custom prevalent in Japan ever since the establishment of Buddhist temples and monasteries, of considering property once given as irrevocable, so that the individuals who gave it or their heirs, have no further interest or right in the property. Large donations in Japan have, from time immemorial, been given thus absolutely; the giver assumed that the receiver would use it aright; specific directions were not added as to the purposes of the gift. American benefactors of the Doshisha have given under the standards prevailing in the West. The receivers in Japan have accepted these gifts under the standards prevailing in the East. Is not this in part the cause of the friction that has arisen in recent years over the administration of funds and lands and houses held by Japanese for mission purposes? In this connection, however, I should not fail to refer to the fact that the Christians of the Kumiai churches,[BW] in their annual meeting (1898), took strong grounds as to the mismanagement of the Doshisha by the trustees. The action of the latter in repealing the clause of the constitution which declared the six articles of the constitution forever unchangeable, and then of striking out the word "Christian" in regard to the nature of the moral education to be given in all departments of the institution, was characterized as "fu-ho," that is to say, unlawful, unrighteous, or immoral. Resolutions were also passed demanding that the trustees should either restore the expunged words or else resign and give place to men who would restore them and carry out the will of the donors. This act on the part of a large majority of the delegates of the churches shows that a standard of business morality is arising in Japan that promises well for the future. Before leaving this question, it is important for us to consider how widely in lands which have long been both Christian and commercial, the standards of truthfulness and business morality are transgressed. I for one do not feel disposed to condemn Japanese failure very severely, when I think of the failure in Western lands. Then, again, when we stop to think of it, is it not a pretty fine line that we draw between legitimate and illegitimate profits? What a relative distinction this is! Even the Westerner finds difficulty in discovering and observing it, especially so when the man with whom he is dealing happens to be ignorant of the real value of the goods in question. Let us not be too severe, then, in condemning the Japanese, even though we must judge them to be deficient in ideals and conduct. The explanation for the present state of Japan in regard to business morality is neither far to seek nor hard to find. It has nothing whatever to do with brain structure or inherent race character, but is wholly a matter of changing social order. Feudal communalism has given way to individualistic commercialism. The results are inevitable. Japan has suddenly entered upon that social order where the individuals of the nation are thrown upon their own choice for character and life as they have been at no previous time. Old men, as well as young, are thrown off their feet by the new temptations into which they fall. One of the strongest arguments in my mind for the necessity of a rapid introduction into Japan of the Gospel of Christ, is to be built on this fact. An individualistic social order demands an individualizing religion. So far as I know, the older religions, with the lofty moral teachings which one may freely admit them to have, make no determined or even distinct effort to secure the activity of the individual will in the adoption of moral ideals. The place both of "conversion" and of the public avowal of one's "faith" in the establishment of individual character, and the peculiar fitness of a religion having such characteristics to a social order in which "individualism" is the dominant principle, have not yet been widely recognized by writers on sociology. These practices of the Protestant churches are, nevertheless, of inestimable value in the upbuilding both of the individual and of society. And Japan needs these elements at the earliest possible date in order to supplement the new order of society which is being established. Without them it is a question whether in the long run this new order may not prove a step downward rather than upward. This completes our detailed study of Japanese moral characteristics as revealed alike in their ideals and their practices. Let us now seek for some general statement of the facts and conclusions thus far reached. It has become clear that Japanese moralists have placed the emphasis of their ethical thinking on loyalty; subordinated to this has been filial piety. These two principles have been the pivotal points of Japanese ethics. All other virtues flowed out of them, and were intimately dependent upon them. These virtues are especially fitted to upbuild and to maintain the feudal order of society. They are essentially communal virtues. The first group, depending on and growing out of loyalty, was concerned with the maintenance of the larger communal unity, formerly the tribe, and now the nation. The virtues connected with the second principle--filial piety--were concerned with the maintenance of the smaller unit of society--- the family. Righteousness and duty, of which much was made by Japanese moralists, consisted in the observance of these two ideals. The morality of individualism was largely wanting. From this lack sprang the main defects of the moral ideal and of the actual practice. The chief sins of Old Japan--and, as a matter of fact, of all the heathen world, as graphically depicted by Mr. Dennis in his great work on "Christian Missions and Social Progress"--were sins of omission and commission against the individual. The rights of inferiors practically received no consideration at the hands of the moralists. In the Japanese conception of righteousness and duty, the rights and value of the individual, as such, whatever his social standing or sex, were not included. One class of defects in the Japanese moral ideal arose out of the feudal order itself, namely, its scorn of trade. Trade had no vital relation to the communal unity; hence it found and developed no moral sanctions for its guidance. The West conceives of business deceit as concerned not only with the integrity of the community, but also with the rights of the individual. The moral ideals and sanctions for business honesty are therefore doubly strong with us. The old order of Japan was in no way dependent for its integrity on business honor and honesty, and, as we have seen, individuals, as such, were not thought to have inherent rights. Under such conditions, it is difficult to conceive how universal moral ideals and sanctions for business relations could be developed and maintained. One further point demands attention. We naturally ask what the grounds were on which the ethical ideals were commonly supposed to have authority. So far as my knowledge goes, this question received almost no consideration by the ordinary person, and but little from the moralist. Old Japan was not accustomed to ask "Why?" It accepted everything on the authority of the teacher, as children do, and as all primitive peoples do. There was little or no thought as to the source of the moral ideals or as to the nature or the function of the social sanctions. If, as in a few instances, the questions were raised as to their authority, the reply ordinarily would be that they had derived their teachings from ancient times. And, if the matter were pressed, it would be argued that the most ancient times were nearer the beginning of men, and, therefore, nearer to Heaven, which decreed that all the duties and customs of men; in the final resort, therefore, authority would be attributed to Heaven. But such a questioner was rare. Moral law was unhesitatingly accepted on the authority of the teacher, and no uncomfortable questions were asked. It is easy to see that both of the pivotal moral ideals, _i.e._, loyalty and filial piety, would support this unquestioning habit of mind, for to ask questions as to authority is the beginning both of disloyalty to the master and of irreverence to the parents and ancestors. The whole social order, being one of authority, unquestioned and absolute, moral standards were accepted on the ipse dixit of great teachers. In closing, we revert to our ever-recurring question: Are the moral characteristics wherein the Japanese differ from other races inherent and necessary, as are their physiological characteristics, or are they incidental and transient, liable to transformation? Light has been thrown on this problem by every illustration adduced. We have seen in detail that every characteristically Japanese moral trait is due to the nature of her past social order, and is changing With that order. Racial moral traits, therefore, are not due to inherent nature, to essential character, to brain structure, nor are they transmitted from father to son by the mere fact of physical generation. On the contrary, the distinguishing ethical characteristics of races, as seen in their ethical ideals and their moral conduct, are determined by the dominant social order, and vary with it. Ethical characteristics are transmitted by association, transmission is therefore not limited to the relation of parents and children. The bearing of this fact on the problem of the moral transformation of races could be easily shown. XXV ARE THE JAPANESE RELIGIOUS? Said Prof. Pfleiderer to the writer in the winter of 1897: "I am sorry to know that the Japanese are deficient in religious nature." In an elaborate article entitled, "Wanted, a Religion," a missionary describes the three so-called religions of Japan, Buddhism, Confucianism, and Shintoism, and shows to his satisfaction that none of these has the essential characteristics of religion. Mr. Percival Lowell has said that "Sense may not be vital to religion, but incense is."[BX] In my judgment, this is the essence of nonsense, and is fitted to incense a man's sense. The impression that the Japanese people are not religious is due to various facts. The first is that for about three hundred years the intelligence of the nation has been dominated by Confucian thought, which rejects active belief in supra-human beings. When asked by his pupils as to the gods, Confucius is reported to have said that men should respect them, but should have nothing to do with them. The tendency of Confucian ethics, accordingly, is to leave the gods severely alone, although their existence is not absolutely denied. When Confucianism became popular in Japan, the educated part of the nation broke away from Buddhism, which, for nearly a thousand years, had been universally dominant. To them Buddhism seemed superstitious in the extreme. It was not uncommon for them to criticise it severely. Muro Kyu-so,[BY] speaking of the immorality that was so common in the native literature, says: "Long has Buddhism made Japan to think of nothing as important except the worship of Buddha. So it is that evil customs prevail, and there is no one who does not find pleasure in lust.... Take out the lust and Buddhism from that book, and the scenery and emotions are well described.... Had he learned in the 'Way' of the sages, he had not fallen into Buddhism."[BZ] The tendency of all persons trained in Confucian classics was toward thoroughgoing skepticism as to divine beings and their relation to this world. For this reason, beyond doubt, has Western agnosticism found so easy an entrance into Japan. This ready acceptance of Western agnosticism is a second fact that has tended to give the West the impression referred to above. Complete indifference to religion is characteristic of the educated classes of to-day. Japanese and foreigners, Christians and non-Christians, alike, unite in this opinion. The impression usually conveyed by this statement, however, is that agnosticism is a new thing in Japan. In point of fact, the old agnosticism is merely re-enforced by the support it receives from the agnosticism of the West. The Occidental impression of Japanese irreligious race nature is further strengthened by the frequent assertion of it by writers, some of whom at least are neither partial nor ignorant. Prof. Basil H. Chamberlain, for instance, repeatedly makes the assertion or necessitates the inference. Speaking of pilgrimages, he remarks that the Japanese "take their religion lightly." Discussing the general question of religion, he speaks of the Japanese as "essentially undevotional," but he guards against the inference that they are therefore specially immoral. Yet, in the same paragraph, he adds, "Though they pray little and make light of supernatural dogma, the religion of the family binds them down in truly social bonds." Percival Lowell also, as we have seen, makes light of Japanese religion. This conclusion of foreigner observers is rendered the more convincing to the average reader when he learns that such an influential man as Mr. Fukuzawa declares that "religion is like tea," it serves a social end, and nothing more; and that Mr. Hiroyuki Kato, until recently president of the Imperial University, and later Minister of Education, states that "Religion depends on fear." Marquis Ito, Japan's most illustrious statesman, is reported to have said: "I regard religion itself as quite unnecessary for a nation's life; science is far above superstition, and what is religion--Buddhism or Christianity--but superstition, and therefore a possible source of weakness to a nation? I do not regret the tendency to free thought and atheism, which is almost universal in Japan, because I do not regard it as a source of danger to the community."[CA] If leaders of national thought have such conceptions as to the nature and origin of religion, is it strange that the rank and file of educated people should have little regard for it, or that foreigners generally should believe the Japanese race to be essentially non-religious? But before we accept this conclusion, various considerations demand our notice. Although the conception of religion held by the eminent Japanese gentlemen just quoted is not accepted by the writer as correct, yet, even on their own definitions, a study of Japanese superstitions and religious ceremonies would easily prove the people as a whole to be exceedingly religious. Never had a nation so many gods. It has been indeed "the country of the gods." Their temples and shrines have been innumerable. Priests have abounded and worshipers swarmed. For worship, however indiscriminate and thoughtless, is evidence of religious nature. Furthermore, utterances like those quoted above in regard to the nature and function of religion, are frequently on the lips of Westerners also, multitudes of whom have exceedingly shallow conceptions of the real nature of religion or the part it plays in the development of society and of the individual. But we do not pronounce the West irreligious because of such utterances. We must not judge the religious many by the irreligious few. Again, are they competent judges who say the Japanese are non-religious? Can a man who scorns religion himself, who at least reveals no appreciation of its real nature by his own heart experience, judge fairly of the religious nature of the people? Still further, the religious phenomena of a people may change from age to age. In asking, then, whether a people is religious by nature, we must study its entire religious history, and not merely a single period of it. The life of modern Japan has been rudely shocked by the sudden accession of much new intellectual light. The contents of religion depends on the intellect; sudden and widespread accession of knowledge always discredits the older forms of religious expression. An undeveloped religion, still bound up with polytheistic symbolism, with its charms and mementoes, inevitably suffers severely at the hands of exact modern science. For the educated minority, especially, the inevitable reaction is to complete skepticism, to apparent irreligion. For the time being, religion itself may appear to have been discredited. In an advancing age, prophets of religious dissolution are abundant. Such prophecies, with reference to Christianity, have been frequent, and are not unheard even now. Particular beliefs and practices of religion have indeed changed and passed away, even in Christianity. But the essentially religious nature of man has re-asserted itself in every case, and the outward expressions of that nature have thereby only become freer from elements of error and superstition. Exactly this is taking place in Japan to-day. The apparent irreligion of to-day is the groundwork of the purer religion of to-morrow. If the Japanese are emotional and sentimental, we should expect them to be, perhaps more than most peoples, religious. This expectation is not disappointed by a study of their history. However imperfect as a religion we must pronounce original Shinto to have been, consisting of little more than a cultus and a theogony, yet even with this alone the Japanese should be pronounced a religious people. The universality of the respect and adoration, not to say love, bestowed throughout the ages of history on the "Kami" (the multitudinous Gods of Shintoism), is a standing witness to the depth of the religious feeling in the Japanese heart. True, it is associated with the sentiments of love of ancestors and country, with filial piety and loyalty; but these, so far from lowering the religion, make it more truly religious? Unending lines of pilgrims, visiting noted Shinto temples and climbing sacred mountain peaks, arrest the attention of every thoughtful student of Japan. These pilgrims are numbered by the hundreds of thousands every year. The visitors to the great shrine at Kizuki of Izumo number about 250,000 annually. "The more prosperous the season, the larger the number of pilgrims. It rarely falls below two hundred thousand." In his "Occult Japan," Mr. Lowell has given us an interesting account of the "pilgrim clubs," The largest known to him numbered about twelve thousand men, but he thinks they average from one hundred to about five hundred persons each. The number of yearly visitors to the Shinto shrines at Ise is estimated at half a million, and ten thousand pilgrims climb Mt. Fuji every summer. The number of pilgrims to Kompira, in Shikoku, is incredibly large; according to the count taken during the first half of 1898, the first ever taken, the average for six months was 2500 each day; at this rate the number for the year is nearly 900,000. The highest for a single day was over 12,000. These figures were given me by the chief official of this district. The highest mountain in Shikoku, Ishidzuchi San, some six thousand feet in height, is said to be ascended by ten thousand pilgrims each summer. These pilgrims eat little or nothing at hotels, depending rather on what they carry until they return from their arduous three days' climb; nor do they take any prolonged rest until they are on the homeward way. The reason for this is that the climb is supposed to be a test of the heart; if the pilgrim fail to reach the summit, the inference is that he is at fault, and that the god does not favor him. They who offer their prayers from the summit are supposed to be assured of having them answered. But beside these greater pilgranages to mountain summits and national shrines, innumerable lesser ones are made. Each district has a more or less extended circuit of its own. In Shikoku there is a round known as the "Hachi-Ju-hakka sho mairi," or "The Pilgrimage to the 88 Places," supposed to be the round once made by Kobo Daishi (A.D. 774-834), the founder of the Shinton sect of Buddhism. The number of pilgrims who make this round is exceedingly large, since it is a favorite circuit for the people not only of Shikoku, but also of central and western Japan. Many of the pilgrims wear on the back, just below the neck, a pair of curious miniature "waraji" or straw sandals, because Kobo Daishi carried a real pair along with him on his journey. I never go to Ishite Temple (just out of Matsuyama), one of the eighty-eight places of the circuit, without seeing some of these pilgrims. But this must suffice. The pilgrim habit of the Japanese is a strong proof of widespread religious enthusiasm, and throws much light on the religious nature of the people. There seems to be reason for thinking that the custom existed in Japan even before the introduction of Buddhism. If this is correct, it bears powerful testimony to the inherently religious nature of the Japanese race. The charge has been made that these pilgrimages are mere pleasure excursions. Mr. Lowell says, facetiously, that "They are peripatetic picnic parties, faintly flavored with piety; just a sufficient suspicion of it to render them acceptable to the easy-going gods." Beneath this light alliterative style, which delights the literary reader, do we find the truth? To me it seems like a slur on the pilgrims, evidently due to Mr. Lowell's idea that a genuine religious feeling must be gloomy and solemn. Joy may seem to him incompatible with heartfelt religion and aspiration. That these pilgrims lack the religious aspiration characteristic of highly developed Christians of the West, is, of course, true; but that they have a certain type of religious aspiration is equally indisputable. They have definite and strong ideas as to the advantage of prayer at the various shrines; they confidently believe that their welfare, both in this world and the next, will be vitally affected by such pilgrimages and such a faithful worship. It is customary for pilgrims, who make extended journeys, to carry what may be called a passbook, in which seals are placed by the officials of each shrine. This is evidence to friends and to the pilgrim himself, in after years, of the reality of his long and tedious pilgrimage. Beggars before these shrines are apt to display these passbooks as an evidence of their worthiness and need. For many a pilgrim supports himself, during his pilgrimage, entirely by begging. Pilgrims also buy from each shrine of note some charm, "o mamori," "honorable preserver," and "o fuda," "honorable ticket," which to them are exceedingly precious. There is hardly a house in Japan but has some, often many, of these charms, either nailed on the front door or placed on the god-shelf. I have seen a score nailed one above another. In some cases the year-names are still legible, and show considerable age. The sale of charms is a source of no little revenue to the temples, in some cases amounting to thousands of yen annually. We may smile at the ignorance and superstition which these facts reveal, but, as I already remarked, these are external features, the material expression or clothing, so to speak, of the inner life. Their particular form is due to deficient intellectual development. I do not defend them; I merely maintain that their existence shows conclusively the possession by the people at large of a real religious emotion and purpose. If so, they, are not to be sneered at, although the mood of the average pilgrim may be cheerful, and the ordinary pilgrimage may have the aspect of a "peripatetic picnic, faintly flavored with piety." The outside observer, such as the foreigner of necessity is, is quick to detect the picnic quality, but he cannot so easily discern the religious significance or the inner thoughts and emotions of the pilgrims. The former is discernible at a glance, without knowledge of the Japanese language or sympathy with the religious heart; the latter can be discovered only by him who intimately understands the people, their language and their religion. If religion were necessarily gloomy, festivals and merry-making would be valid proof of Japanese religious deficiency. But such is not the case. Primitive religions, like primitive people, are artless and simple in religious joy as in all the aspects of their life. Developed races increasingly discover the seriousness of living, and become correspondingly reflective, if not positively gloomy. Religion shares this transformation. But those religions in which salvation is a prominent idea, and whose nature is such as to satisfy at once the head and the heart, restore joyousness as a necessary consequence. While certain aspects of Christianity certainly have a gloomy look,--which its critics are much disposed to exaggerate, and then to condemn,--yet Christianity at heart is a religion of profound joy, and this feature shows itself in such universal festivals as Christmas and Easter. Even though the Japanese popular religious life showed itself exclusively in festivals and on occasions of joy, therefore, that would not prove them to be inherently lacking in religious nature. But there is another set of phenomena, even more impressive to the candid and sympathetic student. It is the presence in every home of the "Butsu-dan," or Buddha shelf, and the "Kami-dana," or God shelf. The former is Buddhist, and the latter Shinto. Exclusive Shintoists, who are rare, have the latter alone. Where both are found, the "I-hai," ancestral memorial tablets, are placed on the "Butsu-dan"; otherwise they are placed on the "Kami-dana." The Kami-dana are always quite simple, as are all Shinto charms and utensils. The Butsu-dan are usually elaborate and beautiful, and sometimes large and costly. The universality of these tokens of family religion, and the constant and loving care bestowed upon them, are striking testimony to the universality of the religion in Japan. The pathos of life is often revealed by the faithful devotion of the mother to these silent representatives of divine beings and departed ancestors or children. I have no hesitation in saying that, so far as external appearances go, the average home in Japan is far more religious than the average home in enlightened England or America, especially when compared with such as have no family worship. There may be a genuine religious life in these Western homes, but it does not appear to the casual visitor. Yet no casual visitor can enter a Japanese home, without seeing at once the evidences of some sort, at least, of religious life. It is impossible for me to believe, as many assert, that all is mere custom and hollow form, without any kernel of meaning or sincerity. Customs may outlast beliefs for a time, and this is particularly the case with religious customs; for the form is so often taken to involve the very essence of the reality. But customs which have lost all significance, and all belief, inevitably dwindle and fade away, even if not suddenly rejected; they remain them; they leave their trace indeed, but so faintly that only the student of primitive customs can detect them and recognize their original nature and purpose. The Butsu-dan and Kami-dana do not belong to this order of beliefs. The average home of Japan would feel itself desecrated were these to be forcibly removed. The piety of the home centers, in large measure, about these expressions of the religious heart. Their practical universality is a significant witness to the possession by the people at large of a religious nature. If it is fair to argue that the Christian religion has a vital hold on the Western peoples because of the cathedrals and churches to be found throughout the length and breadth of Christendom, a similar argument applies to Japan and the hold of the religions of this land upon its people. For over a thousand years the external manifestations of religion in architecture have been elaborate. Temples of enormous size, comparing not unfavorably with the cathedrals of Europe as regards the cost of erection, are to be found in all parts of the land. Immense temple bells of bronze, colossal statues of Buddha, and lesser ones of saints and worthies innumerable, bear witness to the lavish use of wealth in the expression of religious devotion. It is sometimes said that Buddhism is moribund in Japan. It is seriously asserted that its temples are falling into decay. This is no more true of the temples of Buddhism in Japan, than of the cathedrals Of Christendom. Local causes greatly affect the prosperity of the various temples. Some are falling into decay, but others are being repaired, and new ones are being built. No one can have visited any shrine of note without observing the large number of signboards along either side of the main approach, on which are written the sums contributed for the building or repairing of the temple. These gifts are often munificent, single gifts sometimes reaching the sum of a thousand yen; I have noticed a few exceeding this amount. The total number of these temples and shrines throughout the country is amazing. According to government statistics, in 1894 the Buddhist temples numbered 71,831; and the Shinto temples and shrines which have received official registration reached the vast number of 190,803. The largest temple in Japan, costing several million dollars, the Nishihongwanji in Kyoto, has been built during the past decade. Considering the general poverty of the nation, the proportion of gifts made for the erection and maintenance of these temples and shrines is a striking testimony to the reality of some sort of religious zeal. That it rests entirely on form and meaningless rites, is incredible. XXVI SOME RELIGIOUS PHENOMENA Without doubt, many traits are attributed to the Japanese by the casual observer or captious critic, through lack of ability to read between the lines. We have already seen how the stoical element of Japanese character serves to conceal from the sociologist the emotional nature of the people. If a Japanese conceals his ordinary emotions, much more does he refrain from public exhibition of his deeper religious aspirations. Although he may feel profoundly, his face and manner seldom reveal it. When torn with grief over the loss of a parent or son, he will tell you of his loss with smiles, if not with actual laughter. "The Japanese smile" has betrayed the solemn foreigner into many an error of individual and racial character interpretation. Particularly frequent have been such errors in matters of religion. Although the light and joyous, "smiling" aspect of Japanese religious life is prominent, the careful observer will come incidentally and unexpectedly on many signs of an opposite nature, if he mingle intimately with the people. Japan has its sorrows and its tragedies, no less than other lands. These have their part in determining religious phenomena. The student who takes his stand at a popular shrine and watches the worshipers come and go will be rewarded by the growing conviction that, although many are manifestly ceremonialists, others are clearly subjects of profound feeling. See that mother leading her toddling child to the image of Binzuru, the god of healing, and teaching it to rub the eyes and face of the god and then its own eyes and face. See that pilgrim before a bare shrine repeating in rapt devotion the prayer he has known from his childhood, and in virtue of which he has already received numberless blessings. Behold that leper pleading with merciful Kwannon of the thousand hands to heal his disease. Hear that pitiful wail of a score of fox-possessed victims for deliverance from their oppressor. Watch that tearful maiden performing the hundred circuits of the temple while she prays for a specific blessing for herself or some loved one. Observe that merchant solemnly worshiping the god of the sea, with offering of rice and wine. Count those hundreds of votive pictures, thanksgiving remembrances of the sick who have been healed, in answer, as they firmly believe, to their prayers to the god of this particular shrine. These are not imaginary cases. The writer has seen these and scores more like them. Here is a serious side to Japanese religious life easily overlooked by a casual or unsympathetic observer. In addition to these simpler religious phenomena, we find in Japan, as in other lands, the practice of ecstatic union with the deity. In Shinto it is called "Kami-oroshi," the bringing down of the gods. It is doubtless some form of hypnotic trance, yet the popular interpretation of the phenomenon is that of divine possession. Among Buddhists, the practice of ecstasy takes a different form. The aim is to attain absolute vacuity of mind and thus complete union with the Absolute. When attained, the soul becomes conscious of blissful superiority to all the concerns of this mundane life, a foretaste of the Nirvana awaiting those who shall attain to Buddhahood. The actual attainment of this experience is practically limited to the priesthood, who alone have the time and freedom from the cares of the world needful for its practice. For it is induced only by long and profound "meditation." Especially is this experience the desire of the Zen sect, which makes it a leading aim, taking its name "zen" (to sit) from this practice. To sit in religious abstraction is the height of religious bliss. The practical business man of the West may perhaps find some difficulty in seeing anything particularly religious in ecstasy or mental vacuity. But if I mistake not, this religious phenomenon of the Orient does not differ in essence from the mystical religious experience so common in the middle and subsequent ages in Europe, and represented to-day by mystical Christians. Indeed, some of the finest religious souls of Western lands have been mystics. Mystic Christianity finds ready acceptance with certain of the Japanese. The critical reader may perhaps admit, in view of the facts thus far presented, that the ignorant millions have some degree of religious feeling and yet, in view of the apparently irreligious life of the educated, he may still feel that the religious nature of the race is essentially shallow. He may feel that as soon as a Japanese is lifted out of the superstitious beliefs of the past, he is freed from all religious ideas and aspirations. I admit at once that there seems to be some ground for such an assertion. Yet as I study the character of the samurai of the Tokugawa period, who alone may be called the irreligious of the olden times, I see good reasons for holding that, though rejecting Buddhism, they were religious at heart. They developed little or no religious ceremonial to replace that of Buddhism, yet there were indications that the religious life still remained. Intellectual and moral growth rendered it impossible for earnest and honest men to accept the old religious expressions. They revolted from religious forms, rather than from religion, and the revolt resulted not in deeper superstitions and a poorer life, but in a life richer in thought and noble endeavor. Muro Kyu-so, the "Japanese Philosopher" to whom we have referred more than once, rejected Buddhism, as we have already seen. The high quality of his moral teachings we have also noticed. Yet he had no idea that he was "religious." Those who reject Buddhism often use the term "Shukyo-kusai," "stinking religion." For them religion is synonymous with corrupt and superstitious Buddhism. To have told Muro that he was religious would doubtless have offended him, but a few quotations should satisfy anyone that at heart he was religious in the best sense of the term. "Consider all of you. Whence is fortune? From Heaven. Even the world says, Fortune is in Heaven. So then there is no resource save prayer to Heaven. Let us then ask: what does Heaven hate, and what does Heaven love? It loves benevolence and hates malevolence. It loves truth and hates untruth.... That which in Heaven begets all things, in man is called love. So doubt not that Heaven loves benevolence and hates its opposite. So too is it with truth. For countless ages sun and moon and stars constantly revolve and we make calendars without mistake. Nothing is more certain. It is the very truth of the universe.... I have noticed prayers for good luck, brought year by year from famous temples and hills, decorating the entrances to the homes of famous samurai. But none the less they have been killed or punished, or their line has been destroyed and house extinguished. Or at least to many, shame and disgrace have come. They have not learned fortune, but foolishly depend on prayers and charms. Confucius said: 'When punished by Heaven there is no place for prayer.' Women of course follow the temples and trust in charms, but not so should men. Alas! Now all are astray, those who should be teachers, the samurai and those higher still" (pp. 63-5). "Sin is the source of pain and righteousness of happiness. This is the settled law. The teaching of the sages and the conduct of superior men is determined by principles and the result is left to Heaven. Still, we do not obey in the hope of happiness, nor do we forbear to sin from fear. Not with this meaning did Confucius and Mencius teach that happiness is in virtue and pain in sin. But the 'way' is the law of man. It is said, 'The way of Heaven blesses virtue and curses sin.' That is intended for the ignorant multitude. Yet it is not like the Buddhist 'hoben' (pious device), for it is the determined truth" (p. 66). "Heaven is forever and is not to be understood at once, like the promises of men. Shortsighted men consider its ways and decide that there is no reward for virtue or vice. So they doubt when the good are virtuous and fear not when the wicked sin. They do not know that there is no victory against Heaven when it decrees" (p. 67). "Reason comes from Heaven, and is in men.... The philosopher knows the truth as the drinker knows the taste of _saké_ and the abstainer the taste of sweets. How shall he forget it? How shall he fall into error? Lying down, getting up, moving, resting, all is well. In peace, in trouble, in death, in joy, in sorrow, all is well. Never for a moment will he leave this 'way.' This is to know it in ourselves" (p. 71). One day, five or six students remained after the lecture to ask Kyu-so about his view as to the gods, stating their own dissatisfaction with the fantastic interpretations given to the term "Shinto" by the native scholars. Making some quotations from the Chinese classics, he went on to say for himself: "I cannot accept that which is popularly called Shinto.... I do not profess to understand the profound reason of the deities, but in outline this is my idea: The Doctrine of the Mean speaks of the 'virtue of the Gods' and Shu-shi explains this word 'virtue' to mean the 'heart and its revelation.' Its meaning is thus stated in the Saden: 'God is pure intelligence and justice.' Now all know that God is just, but do not know that he is intelligent. But there is no such intelligence elsewhere as God's. Man hears by the ear and where the ear is not he hears not ...; man sees with his eyes, and where they are not he sees not ...; with his heart man thinks and the swiftest thought takes time. But God uses neither ear nor eye, nor does he pass over in thought. Directly he feels, and directly does he respond.... Is not this the divinity of Heaven and Earth? So the Doctrine of the Mean says: 'Looked for it cannot be seen, listened to it cannot be heard. It enters into all things. There is nothing without it.' ... 'Everywhere, everywhere, on the right and on the left.' This is the revealing of God, the truth not to be concealed. Think not that God is distant, but seek him in the heart, for the heart is the House of God. Where there is no obstacle of lust, there is communion of one spirit with the God of Heaven and Earth.... And now for the application. Examine yourselves, make the truth of the heart the foundation, increase in learning and at last you will attain. Then will you know the truth of what I speak" (pp. 50-52). In the above passage Dr. Knox has translated the term "Shin," the Chinese ideograph for the Japanese word "Kami," by the English singular, God. This lends to the passage a fullness of monotheistic expression which the original hardly, if at all, justifies. The originals are indefinite as to number and might with equal truth be translated "gods," as Dr. Knox suggests himself in a footnote. These and similar passages are of great interest to the student of Japanese religious development. They should be made much of by Christian preachers and missionaries. Such writers and thinkers as Muro evidently was might not improperly be called the pre-Christian Christians of Japan. They prepared the way for the coming of more light on these subjects. Japanese Christian apologists should collect such utterances from her wise men of old, and by them lead the nation to an appreciation of the truths which they suggest and for which they so fitly prepare the way. Scattered as they now are, and seldom read by the people, they lie as precious gems imbedded in the hills, or as seed safely stored. They can bear no harvest till they are sown in the soil and allowed to spring up and grow. The more I have pondered the implications of these and similar passages, the more clear has it become that their authors were essentially religious men. Their revolt from "religion" did not spring from an irreligious motive, but from a deeper religious insight than was prevalent among Buddhist believers. The irrational and often immoral nature of many of the current religious expressions and ceremonials and beliefs became obnoxious to the thinking classes, and were accordingly rejected. The essence of religion, however, was not rejected. They tore off the accumulated husks of externalism, but kept intact the real kernel of religion. The case for the religious nature of modern, educated Japan is not so simple. Irreligious it certainly appears. Yet it, too, is not so irreligious as perhaps the Occidental thinks. Though immoral, a Japanese may still be a filial son and a loyal subject, characteristics which have religious value in Japan, Old and New. It would not be difficult to prove that many a modern Japanese writer who proclaims his rejection of religion--calling all religion but superstition and ceremony--is nevertheless a religious man at heart. The religions he knows are too superstitious and senseless to satisfy the demands of his intellectually developed religious nature. He does not recognize that his rejection of what he calls "religion" is a real manifestation of his religious nature rather than the reverse. The widespread irreligious phenomena of New Japan are, therefore, not difficult of explanation, when viewed in the light of two thousand years of Japanese religious history. They cannot be attributed to a deficient racial endowment of religious nature. They are a part of nineteenth-century life by no means limited to Japan. If the Anglo-Saxon race is not to be pronounced inherently irreligious, despite the fact that irreligious phenomena and individuals are in constant evidence the world over, neither can New Japan be pronounced irreligious for the same reason. The irreligion now so rampant is a recent phenomenon in Japan. It may not immediately pass away, but it must eventually. Religion freed from superstition and ceremonialism, resting in reality, identifying moral and scientific with religious truth, is already finding hearty support from many of Japan's educated men. If appeal is made under the right conditions, the Japanese manifest no lack of a genuine religious nature. That they seem to be deficient in the sense of reverence is held by some to be proof presumptive of a deficient religious nature. A few illustrations will make clear what the critic means and will guide us to an interpretation of the phenomena. Occidentals are accustomed to consider a religious service as a time of solemn quiet, for we feel ourselves in a special sense in the presence of God; His majesty and glory are realities to the believing worshiper. But much occurs during a Christian service in Japanese churches which would seem to indicate a lack of this feeling. It is by no means uncommon for little children to run about without restraint during the service, for mothers to nurse their infants, and for adults to converse with each other in an undertone, though not so low but that the sound of the conversation may be heard by all. I know a deacon occupying a front mat in church who spends a large part of service time during the first two sabbaths of each month in making out the receipts of the monthly contributions and distributing them among the members. His apparent supposition is that he disturbs no one (and it is amazing how undisturbed the rest of the congregation is), but also that he is in no way interfering with the solemnity or value of the service. The freedom, too, with which individuals come and go during the service is in marked contrast to our custom. From our standpoint, there is lack of reverence. I recently attended a young men's meeting at which the places for each were assigned by written quotations, from the Bible, one-half of which was given to the individual and the other half placed at the seat. One quotation so used was the text, "The birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man hath not where to lay his head." It would hardly seem as if earnest Christians could have made such use of this text. Some months ago at a social gathering held in connection with the annual meeting of the churches of Shikoku, one of the comic performances consisted in the effort on the part of three old men to sing through to the end without a break-down the song which to us is so sacred, "Rock of Ages, cleft for me." Only one man succeeded, the others going through a course of quavers and breaks which was exceedingly laughable, but absolutely irreverent. The lack of reverence which has sometimes characterized the social side of the Christmas services in Japan has been the source of frequent regret to the missionaries. In a social gathering of earnest young Christians recently, a game demanding forfeits was played; these consisted of the recitation of familiar texts from the Bible. There certainly seems to be a lack of the sense of the fitness of things. But the question is, are these practices due to an inherent deficiency of reverence, arising from the character of the Japanese nature, or are they due rather to the religious history of the past and the conditions of the present? That the latter seems to me the correct view I need hardly state. The fact that the Japanese are an emotional people renders it probable, a priori, that under suitable conditions they would be especially subject to the emotion of reverence. And when we look at their history, and observe the actual reverence paid by the multitudes to the rulers, and by the superstitious worshipers to the "Kami" and "Hotoke," it becomes evident that the apparent irreverence in the Christian churches must be due to peculiar conditions. Reverence is a subtle feeling; it depends on the nature of the ideas that possess the mind and heart. From the very nature of the case, Japanese Christians cannot have the same set of associations clustering around the church, the service, the Bible, or any of the Christian institutions, as the Occidental who has been reared from childhood among them, and who has derived his spiritual nourishment from them. All the wealth of nineteen centuries of experience has tended to give our services and our churches special religious value in our eyes. The average Christian in Japan and in any heathen land cannot have this fringe of ideas and subtle feelings so essential to a profound feeling of reverence. But as the significance of the Christian conception of God, endowed with glory and honor, majesty and might, is increasingly realized, and as it is found that the spirit of reverence is one that needs cultivation in worship, and especially as it is found that the spirit of reverence is important to high spiritual life and vitalizing spiritual power, more and more will that spirit be manifested by Japanese Christians. But its possession or its lack is due not to the inherent character of the people, but rather to the character of the ideas which possess them. In taking now a brief glance at the nature and history of the three religions of Japan it seems desirable to quote freely from the writings of recognized authorities on the subject. "_Shinto_, which means literally 'the way of the Gods,' is the name given to the mythology and vague ancestor-and nature-worship which preceded the introduction of Buddhism into Japan--Shinto, so often spoken of as a religion, is hardly entitled to that name. It has no set of dogmas, no sacred book, no moral code. The absence of a moral code is accounted for in the writings of modern native commentators by the innate perfection of Japanese humanity, which obviates the necessity for such outward props.... It is necessary, however, to distinguish three periods in the existence of Shinto. During the first of these--roughly speaking, down to A.D. 550--the Japanese had no notion of religion as a separate institution. To pay homage to the gods, that is, to the departed ancestors of the Imperial family, and to the names of other great men, was a usage springing from the same soil as that which produced passive obedience to, and worship of, the living Mikado. Besides this, there were prayers to the wind-gods, to the god of fire, to the god of pestilence, to the goddess of food, and to deities presiding over the sauce-pan, the caldron, the gate, and the kitchen. There were also purifications for wrongdoing.... But there was not even a shadowy idea of any code of morals, or any systematization of the simple notions of the people concerning things unseen. There was neither heaven nor hell--only a kind of neutral-tinted Hades. Some of the gods were good and some were bad; nor was the line between men and gods at all clearly drawn." The second period of Shinto began with the introduction of Buddhism into Japan, in which period Shinto became absorbed into Buddhism through the doctrine that the Shinto deities were ancient incarnations of Buddhas. In this period Shinto retained no distinctive feature. "Only at court and at a few great shrines, such as those of Ise and Idzumo, was a knowledge of Shinto in its native simplicity kept up; and it is doubtful whether changes did not creep in with the lapse of ages. Most Shinto temples throughout the country were served by Buddhist priests, who introduced the architectural ornaments and the ceremonial of their own religion. Thus was formed the Ryobu Shinto--a mixed religion founded on a compromise between the old creed and the new, and hence the tolerant ideas on theological subjects of most of the middle-lower classes, who worship indifferently at the shrines of either faith." The third period began about 1700. It was introduced by the scholarly study of history. "Soon the movement became religious and political--above all, patriotic.... The Shogunate was frowned on, because it had supplanted the autocracy of the heaven-descended Mikados. Buddhism and Confucianism were sneered at because of their foreign origin. The great scholars Mabuchi (1697-1769), Motoori (1730-1801), and Hirata (1776-1843) devoted themselves to a religious propaganda--if that can be called a religion which sets out from the principle that the only two things needful are to follow one's natural impulses and to obey the Mikado. This order triumphed for a moment in the revolution of 1868." It became for a few months the state religion, but soon lost its status.[CB] _Buddhism_ came to Japan from Korea _via_ China in 552 A.D. It was already a thousand years old and had, before it reached Japan, broken up into numerous sects and subsects differing widely from each other and from the original teaching of Sakya Muni. After two centuries of propagandism it conquered the land and absorbed the religious life of the people, though Shinto was never entirely suppressed. "All education was for centuries in Buddhist hands; Buddhism introduced art, and medicine, molded the folklore of the country, created its dramatic poetry, deeply influenced politics and every sphere of social and intellectual activity. In a word, Buddhism was the teacher under whose instruction the Japanese nation grew up. As a nation they are now grossly forgetful of this fact. Ask an educated Japanese a question about Buddhism, and ten to one he will smile in your face. A hundred to one that he knows nothing about the subject and glories in his nescience." "The complicated metaphysics of Buddhism have awakened no interest in the Japanese nation. Another fact, curious but true, is that these people have never been at the trouble to translate the Buddhist canon into their own language. The priests use a Chinese version, and the laity no version at all, though ... they would seem to have been given to searching the Scriptures a few hundred years ago. The Buddhist religion was disestablished and disendowed during the years 1871-74, a step taken in consequence of the temporary ascendency of Shinto." Although Confucianism took a strong hold on the people in the early part of the seventeenth century, yet its influence was limited to the educated and ruling classes. The vast multitude still remained Shinto-Buddhists. As for doctrine, philosophic Buddhism with its dogmas of salvation through intellectual enlightenment, by means of self-perfecting, with its goal of absorption into Nirvana, has doubtless been the belief and aim of the few. But such Buddhism was too deep for the multitudes. "By the aid of hoben, or pious devices, the priesthood has played into the hands of popular superstition. Here, as elsewhere, there have been evolved charms, amulets, pilgrimages, and gorgeous temple services, in which the people worship not only the Buddha, who was himself an agnostic, but his disciple, and even such abstractions as Amida, which are mistaken for actual divine personages."[CC] The deities of Shinto have been more or less confused with those of popular Buddhism; in some cases, inextricably so. _Confucianism_, as known in Japan, was the elaborated doctrine of Confucius. "He confined himself to practical details of morals and government, and took submission to parents and political rulers as the corner stone of his system. The result is a set of moral truths--some would say truisms--of a very narrow scope, and of dry ceremonial observances, political rather than personal." "Originally introduced into Japan early in the Christian era, along with other products of Chinese civilization, the Confucian philosophy lay dormant during the middle ages, the period of the supremacy of Buddhism. It awoke with a start in the early part of the seventeenth century when Iccasu, the great warrior, ruler, and patron of learning, caused the Confucian classics to be printed in Japan for the first time. During the two hundred and fifty years that followed, the intellect of the country was molded by Confucian ideas. Confucius himself had, it is true, labored for the establishment of a centralized monarchy. But his main doctrine of unquestioning submission to rulers and parents fitted in perfectly with the feudal ideas of Old Japan; and the conviction of the paramount importance of such subordination lingers on, an element of stability, in spite of the recent social cataclysm which has involved Japanese Confucianism, properly so-called, in the ruin of all other Japanese institutions."[CD] _Christianity_ was first brought to Japan by Francis Xavier, who landed in Kagoshima in 1549. His zeal knew no bounds and his results were amazing. "The converts were drawn from all classes alike. Noblemen, Buddhist priests, men of learning, embraced the faith with the same alacrity as did the poor and ignorant.... One hundred and thirty-eight European missionaries" were then on the field. "Until the breaking out of the persecution of 1596 the work of evangelization proceeded apace. The converts numbered ten thousand yearly, though all were fully aware of the risk to which they exposed themselves by embracing the Catholic faith." "At the beginning of the seventeenth century, the Japanese Christians numbered about one million, the fruit of half a century of apostolic labor accomplished in the midst of comparative peace. Another half-century of persecution was about to ruin this flourishing church, to cut off its pastors, more than two hundred of whom suffered martyrdom, and to leave its laity without the offices of religion.... The edicts ordering these measures remained in force for over two centuries." Tens of thousands of Christians preferred death to perjury. It was supposed that Christianity was entirely exterminated by the fearful and prolonged persecutions. Yet in the vicinity of Nagasaki over four thousand Christians were discovered in 1867, who were again subject to persecution until the pressure of foreign lands secured religious toleration in Japan. Protestant Christianity came to Japan with the beginning of the new era, and has been preached with much zeal and moderate success. For a time it seemed destined to sweep the land even more astonishingly than did Romanism in the sixteenth century. But in 1888 an anti-foreign reaction began in every department of Japanese life and thought which has put a decided check on the progress of Christian missions. This must suffice for our historical review of the religious life of the Japanese. Were we to forget Japan's long and repeated isolations, and also to ignore fluctuations of belief and of other religious phenomena in other lands, we might say, as many do, that the Japanese have inherently shallow and changeable religious convictions. But remembering these facts, and recalling the persecutions of Buddhists by each other, of Christianity by the state, and knowing to-day many earnest, self-sacrificing and persistent Christians, I am convinced that such a judgment is mistaken. There are other and sufficient reasons to account for this appearance of changeableness in religion. I close this chapter with a single observation on the religious history just outlined. Bearing in mind the great changes that have come over Japanese religious thinking and forms of religion I ask if religious phenomena are the expressions of the race nature, as some maintain, and if this nature is inherent and unchangeable, how are such profound changes to be accounted for? If the religious character of the Japanese people is inherent, how is it conceivable that they should so easily adopt foreign religions, even to the exclusion of their own native religion, as did those who became Buddhist or Confucian or Christian? I conclude from these facts, and they are paralleled in the history of many other peoples, that even religious characteristics are not dependent on biological, but are wholly dependent on social evolution. It seems to me capable of the clearest proof that the religious phenomena of any age are dependent on the general development of the intellect, on the ruling ideas, and on the entire conditions of the civilization of the age rather than on brain structure or essential race nature. XXVII SOME RELIGIOUS CONCEPTIONS The conceptions of the common people in regard to deity are chaotic. They believe in local spirits who are to be worshiped; some of these are of human origin, and some antedate all human life. The gods of the Shinto pantheon are "yaoyorodzu" in number, eight thousand myriads; yet in their "norito," or prayer rituals, reference is made not only to the "yaoyorodzu" who live in the air, but also to the "yaoyorodzu" who live on earth, and even to the "yaoyorodzu" who live beneath the earth. If we add these together there must be at least twenty-four thousand myriads of gods. These of course include sun, moon, stars, and all the forces of nature, as well as the spirits of men. Popular Buddhism accepts the gods of Shinto and brings in many more, worshiping not only the Buddha and his immediate "rakan," disciples, five hundred in number, but numberless abstractions of ideal qualities, such as the varieties of Kwannon (Avelokitesvara, gods and goddesses of mercy), Amida (Amitabha, the ideal of boundless light), Jizo (Kshitigarbha, the helper of those in trouble, lost children, and pregnant women), Emma O (Yama-raja, ruler of Buddhist hells), Fudo (Achala, the "immovable," "unchangeable"), and many others. Popular Buddhism also worships every man dead or living who has become a "hotoke," that is, has attained Buddhahood and has entered Nirvana. The gods of Japan are innumerable in theory and multitudinous in practice. Not only are there gods of goodness but also gods of lust and of evil, to whom robbers and harlots may pray for success and blessing. In the Japanese pantheon there is no supreme god, such, for instance, as the Roman Jupiter, or the Greek Chronos, nor is there a thoroughgoing divine hierarchy. According to the common view (although there is no definite thought about it), the idea seems to be that the universe with its laws and nature were already existent before the gods appeared on the scene; they created specific places, such as Japan, out of already existing material. Neither in Shinto nor in popular Buddhism is the conception formed of a primal fount of all being with its nature and laws. In this respect Japanese thought is like all primitive religious thought. There is no word in the Japanese language corresponding to the English term "God." The nearest approach to it are the Confucian terms "Jo-tei," "Supreme Emperor," "Ten," "Heaven," and "Ten-tei," "Heavenly Emperor"; but all of these terms are Chinese, they are therefore of late appearance in Japan, and represent rather conceptions of educated and Confucian classes than the ideas of the masses. These terms approach closely to the idea of monotheism; but though the doctrine may be discovered lying implicit in these words and ideas it was never developed. Whether "Heaven" was to be conceived as a person, or merely as fate, was not clearly thought out; some expressions point in one direction while others point in the other. I may here call attention to a significant fact in the history of recent Christian work in Japan. Although the serious-minded Japanese is first attracted to Christianity by the character of its ethical thought--so much resembling, also so much surpassing that of Confucius, it is none the less true that monotheism is another powerful source of attraction. I have been repeatedly told by Christians that the first religious satisfaction they ever experienced was upon their discovery of monotheism. How it affected Dr. Neesima, readers of his life cannot have overlooked. He is a type of multitudes. In the earlier days of Christian work many felt that they had become Christians upon rejection of polytheism and acceptance of monotheism. And in truth they were so far forth Christian, although they knew little of Christ, and felt little need of His help as a personal Saviour. The weakness of the Church in recent years is due in part, I doubt not, to the acceptance into its membership of numbers who were, properly speaking, monotheistic, but not in the complete sense of the term Christian. Their discovery later that more was needed than the intellectual acceptance of monotheism ere they could be considered, or even be, truly "Christian," has led many such "believers" to abandon their relations with the Church. This, while on many accounts to be regretted, was nevertheless inevitable. The bare acceptance of the monotheistic idea does not secure that transformation of heart and produce that warmth of living faith which are essential elements in the altruistic life demanded of the Christian. Nor is it difficult to understand why monotheism has proved such an attraction to the Japanese when we consider that through it they first recognized a unity in the universe and even in their own lives. Nature, and human nature took on an intelligibility which they never had had under the older philosophy. History likewise was seen to have a meaning and an order, to say nothing of a purpose, which the non-Christian faiths did not themselves see and could not give to their devotees. Furthermore the monotheistic idea furnished a satisfactory background and explanation for the exact sciences. If there is but one God, who is the fount and cause of all being, it is easy to see why the truths of science should be universal and absolute, rather than local and diverse, as they would be were they subject to the jurisdiction of various local deities. The universality of nature's laws was inconceivable under polytheism. Monotheism thus found a ready access to many minds. Polytheism pure and simple is the belief of no educated Japanese to-day. He is a monist of some kind or other. Philosophic Buddhism always was monistic, but not monotheistic. Thinking Confucianists were also monistic. But neither philosophic Buddhism nor Confucianism emphasized their monistic elements; they did not realize the importance to popular thought of monistic conceptions. But possessing these ideas, and being now in contact with aggressive Christian monotheism, they are beginning to emphasize this truth. As Japan has had no adequate conception of God, her conception of man has been of necessity defective. Indeed, the cause of her inadequate conception of God is due in large measure to her inadequate conception of man, which we have seen to be a necessary consequence of the primitive communal order. Since, however, we have already given considerable attention to Japan's inadequate conception of man, we need do no more than refer to it in this connection. Corresponding to her imperfect doctrines of God and of man is her doctrine of sin. That the Japanese sense of sin is slight is a fact generally admitted. This is the universal experience of the missionary. Many Japanese with whom I have conversed seem to have no consciousness of it whatever. Indeed, it is a difficult matter to speak of to the Japanese, not only because of the etiquette involved, but for the deeper reason of the deficiency of the language. There exists no term in Japanese which corresponds to the Christian word "sin." To tell a man he is a sinner without stopping to explain what one means would be an insult, for he is not conscious of having broken any of the laws of the land. Yet too much stress must not be laid on this argument from the language, for the Buddhistic vocabulary furnishes a number of terms which refer to the crime of transgressing not the laws of the land, but those of Buddha. In Shinto, sin is little, if anything, more than physical impurity. Although Buddhism brought a higher conception of religion for the initiated few, it gave no help to the ignorant multitudes, rather it riveted their superstitions upon them. It spoke of law indeed, and lust and sin; and of dreadful punishments for sin; but when it explained sin it made its nature too shallow, being merely the result of mental confusion; salvation, then, became simply intellectual enlightenment; it also made the consequences of sin too remote and the escape from them too easy. The doctrine of "Don," suddenness of salvation, the many external and entirely formal rites, short pilgrimages to famous shrines, the visiting of some neighboring temple having miniature models of all the other efficacious shrines throughout the land, the wearing of charms, the buying of "o fuda," and even the single utterance of certain magic prayers, were taught to be quite enough for the salvation of the common man from the worst of sins. Where release is so easily obtained, the estimate of the heinousness of sin is correspondingly slight. How different was the consciousness of sin and the conception of its nature developed by the Jewish worship with its system of sin offerings! Life for life. Whatever we may think of the efficacy of offering an animal as an expiation for sin, it certainly contributed far more toward deepening the sense of sin than the rites in common practice among the Buddhists. So far as I know, human or animal sacrifice has never been known in Japan. In response to the not unlikely criticism that sacrifice is the result of profound sense of sin and not its cause, I reply that it is both. The profound sense is the experience of the few at the beginning; the practice educates the multitudes and begets that feeling in the nation. Ceremonial purification is an old rite in Japan. In this connection we naturally think of the "Chozu-bachi" which may be found before every Shinto shrine, containing the "holy water" with which to rinse the mouth and wash the hands. Pilgrims and worshipers invariably make use of this water, wiping their hands on the towels provided for the purpose by the faithful. To our eyes, few customs in Japan are more conducive to the spread of impurity and infectious disease than this rite of ceremonial purification. No better means could be devised for the wide dissemination of the skin diseases which are so common. The reformed religion of New Japan--whether Buddhist, Shinto, or Christian--could do few better services for the people at large than by entering on a crusade against this religious rite. It could and should preach the doctrine that sin and defilement of the hearts are not removed by such an easy method as the rite implies and the masses believe. If retained as a symbol, the purification rite should at least be reformed as a practice. Whether the use of purificatory water is to be traced to the sense of moral or spiritual sin is doubtful to my mind; in view of the general nature of primitive Shinto. The interpretation given the system by W.E. Griffis, in his volume on the "Religions of Japan," is suggestive, but in view of all the facts does not seem conclusive. "One of the most remarkable features of Shinto" he writes, "was the emphasis laid on cleanliness. Pollution was calamity, defilement was sin, and physical purity at least was holiness. Everything that could in any way soil the body or clothing was looked upon with abhorrence and detestation."[CE] The number of specifications given in this connection is worthy of careful perusal. But it is a strange nemesis of history that the sense of physical pollution should develop a religious rite fitted to become the very means for the dissemination of physical pollution and disease. Japanese personal cleanliness is often connected in the descriptions of foreigners with ceremonial purification, but the facts are much exaggerated. In contrast to nearly if not quite all non-Christian peoples, the Japanese are certainly astonishingly cleanly in their habits. But it is wholly unnecessary to exaggerate the facts. The "tatami," or straw-mats, an inch or more in thickness, give to the room an appearance of cleanliness which usually belies the truth. The multitudes of fleas that infest the normal Japanese home are convincing proof of the real state of the "tatami." There are those who declare that a Japanese crowd has the least offensive odor of any people in the world. One writer goes so far as to state that not only is there no unpleasant odor whatever, but that there is even a pleasant intimation of lavender about their exhalations. This exactly contradicts my experience. Not to mention the offensive oil with which all women anoint their hair to give it luster and stiffness, the Japanese habit of wearing heavy cotton wadded clothing, with little or no underwear, produces the inevitable result in the atmosphere of any closed room. In cold weather I always find it necessary to throw open all the doors and windows of my study or parlor, after Bible classes of students or even after the visits of cultured and well-to-do guests. That the Japanese bathe so frequently is certainly an interesting fact and a valuable feature of their civilization; it indicates no little degree of cleanliness; but for that, their clothing would become even more disagreeable than it is, and the evil effect upon themselves of wearing soiled garments would be much greater. In point of fact, their frequent baths do not wholly remove the need of change in clothing. To a Japanese the size of the weekly wash of a foreigner seems extravagant. As to the frequent bathing, its cleanliness is exaggerated by Western thought, for instead of supplying fresh water for each person, the Japanese public baths consist usually of a large tank used by multitudes in common. Clean water is allowed for the face, but the main tank is supplied with clean hot water only once each day. In Kumamoto, schoolgirls living with us invariably asked permission to go to the bath early in the day that they might have the first use of the water. They said that by night it was so foul they could not bear to use it. Each hotel has its own private bath for guests; this is usually heated in the afternoon, and the guests take their baths from four o'clock on until midnight, the waiting girls of the hotel using it last. My only experience with public baths has been mentioned already. At first glance the conditions were reassuring, for a large stream of hot water was running in constantly, and the water in the tank itself was quite transparent. But on entering I was surprised, not to say horrified, to see floating along the margin of the tank and on the bottom of it suggestive proofs of previous bathers. On inquiry I learned that the tank was never washed out, nor the water entirely discharged at a single time; the natural overflow along the edge of the tank being considered sufficient. In the interest of accuracy it is desirable to add that New Japan is making progress in the matter of public baths. In some of the larger cities, I am told, provision is sometimes made for entirely fresh water for each bather in separate bathrooms. In view of these facts--as unpleasant to mention as they are essential to a faithful description of the habits of the people--it is clear that the "horror of physical impurity" has not been, and is not now, so great as some would have us believe. Whatever may have been the condition in ancient times, it would be difficult to believe that the rite of ceremonial purification could arise out of the present practices and habits of thought. One may venture the inquiry whether the custom of using the "purificatory water" may not have been introduced from abroad. But whatever be the present thought of the people, on the general subject of sin, it may be shown to be due to the prevailing system of ideas, moral and religious, rather than to the inherent racial character. In an interesting article by Mr. G. Takahashi on the "Past, Present, and Future of Christianity in Japan" I find the statement that the preaching of the monks who came to Japan in the sixteenth century was of such a nature as to produce a very deep consciousness of sin among the converts. "The Christians or martyrs repeatedly cried out 'we miserable sinners,' 'Christ died for us,' etc., as their letters abundantly prove. It was because of this that their consciences were aroused by the burning words of Christ, and kept awake by means of contrition and confession." Among modern Christians the sense of sin is much more clear and pronounced than among the unconverted. Individual instances of extreme consciousness of sin are not unknown, especially under the earlier Protestant preaching. If the Christians of the last decade have less sense of sin, it is due to the changed character of recent preaching, in consequence of the changed conception of Christianity widely accepted in Protestant lands. Who will undertake to say that Christians in New England of the nineteenth century have the same oppressive sense of sin that was customary in the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries? The sense of sin is due more to the character of the dominant religious ideas of the age than to brain structure or to race nature. I cannot agree with Mr. Takahashi that "To be religious one needs a Semitic tinge of mind." It is not a question of mind, of race nature, but of dominant ideas. In this connection I may refer to an incident that came under my notice some years ago. A young man applied for membership in the Kumamoto Church, who at one time had been a student in one of my Bible classes. I had not known that he had received any special help from his study with me, until I heard his statement as to how he had discovered his need of a Saviour, and had found that need satisfied in Christ. In his statement before the examining committee of the church, he said that when he first read the thirteenth chapter of 1 Corinthians, he was so impressed with its beauty as a poem that he wrote it out entire on one of the fusuma (light paper doors) of his room, and each morning, as he arose, he read it. This practice continued several weeks. Then, as we continued our study of the Bible, we took up the third chapter of John, and when he came to the sixteenth verse, he was so impressed with its statement that he wrote that beside the poem from Corinthians, and read them together. Gradually this daily reading, together with the occasional sermons and other Christian addresses which he heard at the Boys' School, led him to desire to secure for himself the love described by Paul, and to know more vitally the love of God described by John. It occurred to him, that, to secure these ends, he should pray. Upon doing so he said that, for the first time in his life, his unworthiness and his really sinful nature overwhelmed him. This was, of course, but the beginning of his Christian life. He began then to search the Scriptures in earnest, and with increasing delight. It was not long before he wished to make public confession of his faith, and thus identify himself with the Christian community. This brief account of the way in which this young man was brought to Christ illustrates a good many points, but that for which I have cited it is the testimony it bears to the fact that under similar circumstances the human heart undergoes very much the same religious experience, whatever be the race or nationality of the individual. In regard to the future life, Shinto has little specific doctrine. It certainly implies the continued existence of the soul after death, as its ancestral worship shows, but its conception as to the future state is left vague in the extreme. Confucius purposely declined to teach anything on this point, and, in part, for this reason, it has been maintained that Confucianism cannot properly be called a religion. Buddhism brought to Japan an elaborate system of eschatological ideas, and so far as the common people of Japan have any conception of the future life, it may be attributed to Buddhistic teachings. Into their nature I need not inquire at any length. According to popular Buddhism, the future world, or more properly speaking, worlds (for there are ten of them, into any one of which a soul may be born either immediately or in the course of its future transmigrations), does not differ in any vital way from the present world. It is a world of material blessings or woes; the successive stages or worlds are graded one above the other in fantastic ways. Salvation consists in passing to higher grades of life, the final or perfect stage being paradise, which, once attained, can never be lost. Transmigration is universal, the period of life in each world being determined by the merits and demerits of the individual soul. Here we must consider two widely used terms "ingwa" and "mei." The first of these is Buddhistic and the other Confucianistic; though differing much in origin and meaning, yet in the end they amount to much the same thing. "Ingwa" is the law of cause and effect. According to the Buddhistic teaching, however, the "in," or cause, is in one world, while the "gwa," or effect, is in the other. The suffering, for instance, or any misfortune that overtakes one in this present life, is the "gwa" or effect of what was done in the previous, and is thus inevitable. The individual is working off in this life the "gwa" of his last life, and he is also working up the "in" of the next He is thus in a kind of vise. His present is absolutely determined for him by his past, and in turn is irrevocably fixing his future. Such is the Buddhistic "wheel of the law." The common explanation of misfortune, sickness, or disease, or any calamity, is that it is the result of "ingwa," and that there is, therefore, no help for it. The paralyzing nature of this conception on the development of character, or on activity of any kind, is apparent not only theoretically but actually. As an escape from the inexorable fatality of this scheme of thought, the Buddhist faith of the common people has resorted to magic. Magic prayers, consisting of a few mystic syllables of whose meaning the worshiper may be quite ignorant, are the means for overcoming the inexorableness of "ingwa," both for this life and the next. "Namu Amida Butsu," "Namu Myo Ho Ren Ge Kyo," "Namu Hen Jo Kongo," are the most common of such magic formulæ. These prayers are heard on the lips of tens of thousands of pious pilgrims, not only at the temples, but as they pass along the highways. It is believed that each repetition secures its reward. Popular Buddhism's appeal to magic was not only winked at by philosophical Buddhism, but it was encouraged. Magic was justified by religious philosophy, and many a "hoben," "pious device," for saving the ignorant was invented by the priesthood. It will be apparent that while Buddhism has in certain respects a vigorous system of punishment for sin, yet its method of relief is such that the common people can gain only the most shallow and superficial views of salvation. Buddhism has not served to deepen the sense of responsibility, nor helped to build up character. That the more serious-minded thinkers of the nation have, as a rule, rejected Buddhism is not strange. One point of great interest for us is the fact that this eschatological and soteriological system was imported, and is not the spontaneous product of Japan. The wide range of national religious characteristics thus clearly traceable to Buddhistic influence shows beyond doubt how large a part of a nation's character is due to the system of thought that for one reason or another prevails, rather than to the essential race character. The other term mentioned above, "mei," literally means "command" or "decree"; but while the English terms definitely imply a real being who decides, decrees, and commands, the term "mei" is indeterminate on this point. It is frequently joined to the word "Ten," or Heaven; "Ten-mei," Heaven's decree, seeming to imply a personality in the background of the thought. Yet, as I have already pointed out, it is only implied; in actual usage it means the fate decreed by Heaven; that is, fated fate, or absolute fate. The Chinese and the Japanese alike failed to inquire minutely as to the implication of the deepest conceptions of their philosophy. But "mei" is commonly used entirely unconnected with "Ten," and in this case its best translation into English is probably "fate." In this sense it is often used. Unlike Buddhism, however, Confucianism provided no way of escape from "mei" except moral conduct. One of its important points of superiority was its freedom from appeal to magic in any form, and its reliance on sincerity of heart and correctness of conduct. Few foreigners have failed to comment on the universal use by the Japanese of the phrase "Shikataga nai," "it can't be helped." The ready resignation to "fate," as they deem it, even in little things about the home and in the daily life, is astonishing to Occidentals. Where we hold ourselves and each other to sharp personal responsibility, the sense of subjection to fate often leads them to condone mistakes with the phrase "Shikataga nai." But this characteristic is not peculiar to Japan. China and India are likewise marked by it. During the famines in India, it was frequently remarked how the Hindus would settle down to starve in their huts in submission to fate, where Westerners would have been doing something by force, fighting even the decrees of heaven, if needful. But it is important to note that this characteristic in Japan is undergoing rapid change. The spirit of absolute submission, so characteristic of the common people of Old Japan, is passing away and self-assertion is taking its place. Education and developing intelligence are driving out the fear of fate. Had our estimate of the Japanese race character been based wholly on the history of Old Japan, it might have been easy to conclude that the spirit of submission to rulers and to fate was a national characteristic due to racial nature; but every added year of New Japan shows how erroneous that view would have been. Thus we see again that the characteristics of Japan, Old and New, are not due to race nature, but to the prevailing civilization in the broadest sense of the term. The religious characteristics of a people depend primarily on the dominant religious ideas, not on the inherent religious nature. XXVIII SOME RELIGIOUS PRACTICES Among the truly religious sentiments of the Japanese are those of loyalty and filial piety. Having already given them considerable attention, we need not delay long upon them here. The point to be emphasized is that these two principles are exalted into powerful religious sentiments, which have permeated and dominated the entire life of the nation. Not only were they at the root of courage, of fidelity, of obedience, and of all the special virtues of Old Japan, but they were also at the root of the larger part of her religion. These emotions, sentiments, and beliefs have built 190,000 Shinto shrines. Loyalty to the daimyo was the vital part of the religion of the past, as loyalty to the Emperor is the vital part of the popular religion of to-day. Next to loyalty came filial piety; it not only built the cemeteries, but also maintained god-shelves and family ancestral worship throughout the centuries. One of the first questions which many an inquirer about Christianity has put to me is as to the way we treat our parents living and dead, and the tombs and memories of our ancestors. These two religious sentiments of loyalty and filial piety were essential elements of primitive Shinto. The imported religions, particularly Confucianism and Christianity, served to strengthen them. In view of the indubitable religious nature of these two sentiments it is difficult to see how anyone can deny the name of religion to the religions that inculcate them, Shinto and Confucianism. It shows how defective is the current conception of the real nature of religion. Despite the reality of these religious, sentiments, however, many things are done in Japan quite opposed to them. Of course this is so. These violations spring from irreligion, and irreligion is found in every land. Furthermore, many things done in the name of loyalty and piety seem to us Westerners exceedingly whimsical and illogical. Deeds which to us seem disloyal and unfilial receive no rebuke. Filial piety often seems to us more active toward the dead than toward the living. Closely connected with loyalty and filial piety, and in part their expression, is one further religious sentiment, namely, gratitude. In his chapter in "Kokoro" "About Ancestor-Worship," Mr. Hearn makes some pertinent remarks as to the nature of Shinto. "Foremost among the moral sentiments of Shinto is that of loving gratitude to the past." This he attributes to the fact that "To Japanese thought the dead are not less real than the living. They take part in the daily life of the people, sharing the humblest sorrows and the humblest joys ... and they are universally thought of as finding pleasure in the offerings made to them or the honors conferred upon them." There is much truth in these statements, though I by no means share the opinion that in connection with the Japanese belief in the dead there "have been evolved moral sentiments wholly unknown to Western civilization," or that their "loving gratitude to the past" is "a sentiment having no real correspondence in our own emotional life." Mr. Hearn may be presumed to be speaking for himself in these matters; but he certainly does not correctly represent the thought or the feelings of the circle of life known to me. The feeling of gratitude of Western peoples is as real and as strong as that of the Japanese, though it does not find expression in the worship of the dead. That the Japanese are profuse in their expressions of gratitude to the past and to the powers that be is beyond dispute. It crops out in sermons and public speeches, as well as in the numberless temples to national heroes. But it is a matter of surprise to note how often there is apparent ingratitude toward living benefactors. Some years ago I heard a conversation between some young men who had enjoyed special opportunities of travel and of study abroad by the liberality of American gentlemen. It appeared that the young men considered that instead of receiving any special favors, they were conferring them on their benefactors by allowing the latter to help such brilliant youth as they, whose subsequent careers in Japan would preserve to posterity the names of their benefactors. I have had some experience in the line of giving assistance to aspiring students, in certain cases helping them for years; a few have given evidence of real gratitude; but a large proportion have seemed singularly deficient in this grace. It is my impression that relatively few of the scores of students who have received a large proportion of their expenses from the mission, while pursuing their studies, have felt that they were thereby under any special debt of gratitude. An experience that a missionary had with a class to which he had been teaching the Bible in English for about a year is illustrative. At the close of the school year they invited him to a dinner where they made some very pleasant speeches, and bade each other farewell for the summer. The teacher was much gratified with the result of the year's work, feeling naturally that these boys were his firm friends. But the following September when he returned, not only did the class not care to resume their studies with him, but they appeared to desire to have nothing whatever to do with him. On the street many of them would not even recognize him. Other similar cases come to mind, and it should be remembered that missionaries give such instruction freely and always at the request of the recipient. In the case cited the teacher came to the conclusion that the elaborate dinner and fine farewell speeches were considered by the young men as a full discharge of all debts of gratitude and a full compensation for services. This, however, is to be said: the city itself was at that time the seat of a determined antagonism to Christianity and, of course, to the Christian missionary; and this fact may in part, but not wholly, account for the appearance of ingratitude. The Japanese pride themselves on their gratitude. It is, however, limited in its scope. It is vigorous toward the dead and toward the Emperor, but as a grace of daily life it is not conspicuous. Few achievements of the Japanese have been more remarkable than the suppression of certain religious phenomena. Any complete statement of the religious characteristics of the Japanese fifty years ago would have included most revolting and immoral practices under the guise of religion. Until suppressed by the government in the early years of Meiji there were in many parts of Japan phallic shrines of considerable popularity, at which, on festivals at least, sexual immorality seemed to be an essential part of the worship. At Uji, not far from Kyoto, the capital of the Empire, for a thousand years and more, and the center of Buddhism, there was a shrine of great repute and popularity. Thither resorted the multitudes for bacchanalian purposes. Under the auspices of the Goddess Hashihime and the God Sumiyoshi, free rein was given to lust. Since the beginning of the new régime such revels have been forbidden and apparently stopped; the phallic symbols themselves are no longer visible, although it is asserted by the keeper of the shrine that they are still there, concealed in the boxes on the pedestals formerly occupied by the symbols. When I visited the place some years since with a fellow missionary we were told that multitudes still come there to pray to the deities; those seeking divorce pray to the female deity, while those seeking a favorable marriage pray to the male deity; on asking as to the proportion of the worshipers, we were told that there are about ten of the former to one of the latter, a significant indication of the unhappiness of many a home. Prof. Edmund Buckley has made a special study of the subject of phallic worship in Japan; in his thesis on the topic he gives a list of thirteen places where these symbols of phallic worship might be seen a few years since. It is significant that at Uji, not a stone's throw from the phallic shrine, is a temple to the God Agata, whose special function is the cure of venereal diseases. But though phallic worship and its accompanying immorality have been extirpated, immorality in connection with religion is still rampant in certain quarters. Not far from the great temples at Ise, the center of Shintoism and the goal for half a million pilgrims yearly, are large and prosperous brothels patronized by and existing for the sake of the pilgrims. A still more popular resort for pilgrims is that at Kompira, whither, as we have seen, some 900,000 come each year; here the best hotels, and presumably the others also, are provided with prostitutes who also serve as waiting girls; on the arrival of a guest he is customarily asked whether or not the use of a prostitute shall be included in his hotel bill. It seems strange, indeed, that the government should take such pains to suppress phallicism, and allow such immorality to go on under the eaves of the greatest national shrines; for these shrines are not private affairs; the government takes possession of the gifts, and pays the regular salaries of the attending priests. It would appear from its success in the extermination of distinctly phallic worship that the government could put a stop to all public prostitution in connection with religion if it cared to do so. One point of interest in connection with the above facts is that the old religions, however much of force, beauty, and truth we may concede to them, have never made warfare against these obscene forms of worship, nor against the notorious immorality of their devotees. Whatever may be said of the profound philosophy of life involved in phallic worship, for many hundreds of years it has been a source of outrageous immorality. Nevertheless, there has never been any continued and effective effort on the part of the higher types of religion to exterminate the lower. But Japan is not peculiar in this respect. India is even now amazingly immoral in certain forms of her worship. Another point of interest in this connection is that the change of the nation in its attitude to this form of religion was due largely, probably wholly, to contact with the nations of the West. The uprooting of phallic worship was due, not to a moral reformation, but to a political ambition. It was carried out, not in deference to public opinion, but wholly by government command, though without doubt the nobler opinion of the land approved of the government action. But even this nobler public sentiment was aroused by the Occidental stimulus. The success of the effort must be attributed not a little to the age-long national custom of submitting absolutely to governmental initiative and command. Another point of interest is that, in consequence of official pressure, the religious character of a large number of the people seems to have undergone a radical change. The ordinary traveler in Japan would not suspect that phallicism had ever been a prominent feature of Japanese religious life. Only an inquisitive seeker can now find the slightest evidences of this once popular cult. Here we have an apparent change in the character of a people sudden and complete, induced almost wholly by external causes. It shows that the previous characteristic was not so deeply rooted in the physical or spiritual nature of the race as many would have us believe. Can we escape the conclusion that national characteristics are due much more to the circle of dominant ideas and actual practices, than to the inherent race nature? The way in which phallicism has been suppressed during the present era raises the general question of religious liberty in Japan. In this respect, no less than in many others, a change has taken place so great as to amount to a revolution. During two hundred and fifty years Christianity was strictly forbidden on pain of extreme penalties. In 1872 the edict against Christianity was removed, free preaching was allowed, and for a time it seemed as if the whole nation would become Christian in a few decades; even non-Christians urged that Christianity be made the state religion. What an amazing volte-face! Religious liberty is now guaranteed by the constitution promulgated in 1888. There are those who assert that until Christianity invaded Japan, religious freedom was perfect; persecutions were unknown. This is a mistake. When Buddhism came to Japan, admission was first sought from the authorities, and for a time was refused. When various sects arose, persecutions were severe. We have seen how belief in Christianity was forbidden under pain of death for more than two hundred and fifty years. Under this edict, many thousand Japanese Christians and over two hundred European missionaries were put to death. Yet, on the whole, it may be said that Old Japan enjoyed no little religious freedom. Indeed, the same man might worship freely at all the shrines and temples in the land. To this day multitudes have never asked themselves whether they are Shinto or Buddhist or Confucianist. The reason for this religious eclecticism was the fractional character of the old religions; they supplemented each other. There was no collision between them in doctrine or in morals. The religious freedom was, therefore, not one of principle but of indifference. As Rome was tolerant of all religions which made no exclusive claims, but fiercely persecuted Christianity, so Japan was tolerant of the two religions that found their way into her territory because they made no claims of exclusiveness. But a religion that demanded the giving up of rivals was feared and forbidden. New Japan, however, following Anglo-Saxon example, has definitely adopted religious freedom as a principle. First tacitly allowed after the abolition of the edict against Christianity in 1872, it was later publicly guaranteed by the constitution promulgated in 1888. Since that date there has been perfect religious liberty for the individual. Yet this statement must be carefully guarded. If we may judge from some recent decrees of the Educational Department, it would appear that a large and powerful section of the nation is still ignorant of the real nature and significance of "religious liberty." Under the plea of maintaining secular education, the Educational Department has forbidden informal and private Christian teaching, even in private schools. An adequate statement of the present struggle for complete religious liberty would occupy many pages. We note but one important point. In the very act of forbidding religious instruction in all schools the Educational Department is virtually establishing a brand-new religion for Japan, a religion based on the Imperial Educational Edict.[CF] The essentially religious nature of the attitude taken by the government toward this Edict has become increasingly clear in late years. In the summer of 1898 one who has had special opportunities of information told me that Mr. Kinoshita, a high official in the Educational Department, suggested the ceremonial worship of the Emperor's picture and edict by all the schools, for the reason that he saw the need of cultivating the religious spirit of reverence together with the need for having religious sanctions for the moral law. He felt convinced that a national school system without any such sanctions would be helpless in teaching morality to the pupils. His suggestion was adopted by the Educational Department and has been enforced. In this attitude toward the religious character of entirely private schools, the government is materially abridging the religious liberty of the people. It is abridging their liberty of carrying belief into action in one important respect, that, namely, of giving a Christian education. It virtually insists on the acceptance of that form of religion which apotheosizes the Emperor, and finds the sanctions for morality in his edict; it excludes from the schools every other form of religion. It should, of course, be said that this attitude is maintained not only toward Christian schools, but theoretically also toward all religious schools. It, however, operates more severely on Christian schools than upon others, because Christians are the only ones who establish high-grade schools for secular education under religious influences. It is evident, therefore, that in the matter of religious liberty the present attitude of the government is paradoxical, granting in one breath, what, in an important respect, it denies in the next. But throughout all these changes and by means of them we see more and more clearly that even religious tolerance is a matter of the prevailing social ideas and of the dominant social order, rather than of inherent race character. By a single transformation of the social order, Japan passed from a state of perfect religious intolerance to one just the reverse, so far as individual belief was concerned. Taking a comprehensive review of our study thus far, we see that the forms of Japanese religious life have been determined by the history, rather than by any inherent racial character of the people. Although they had a religion prior to the coming of any external influence, yet they have proved ready disciples of the religions of other lands. The religion of India, its esoteric, and especially its exoteric forms, has found wide acceptance and long-continued popularity. The higher life of the nation readily took on in later times the religious characteristics of the Chinese, predominantly ethical, it is true, and only slightly religious as to forms of worship. When Roman Catholic Christianity came to Japan in the sixteenth century, it, too, found ready acceptance. It is true that it presented a view of the nature of religion not very different from that held by Buddhism in many respects, yet in others there was a marked divergence, as for instance, in the doctrine of God, of individual sin, and of the nature and method of salvation. The Japanese have thus shown themselves ready assimilators of all these diverse systems of religious expression. Just at present a new presentation of Christianity is being made to the Japanese; some are urging upon them the acceptance of the Roman Catholic form of it; others are urging the Greek; and still others are presenting the Protestant point of view. Each of these groups of missionaries seems to be reaping good harvests. Speaking from my own experience, I may say, that many of the Japanese show as great an appreciation of the essence of the religious life, and find the ideas and ideals, doctrines and ceremonies, of Christianity as fitted to their heart's deepest needs, as do any in the most enlightened parts of Christendom. It is true that the Christian system is so opposed to the Buddhistic and Shinto, and in some respects to the Confucian, that it is an exceedingly difficult matter at the beginning to give the Buddhist or Shintoist any idea of what Christianity is. Yet the difficulty arises not from the structure of the brain, nor from the inherent race character, but solely from the diversity of hitherto prevailing systems of thought. When once the passage from the one system of thought to the other has been effected, and the significance of the Christian system and life has been appreciated,--in other words, when the Japanese Buddhist or Shintoist or Confucianist has become a Christian,--he is as truly a Christian and as faithful as is the Englishman or American. Of course I do not mean to say that he looks at every doctrine and at every ceremony in exactly the same way as an Englishman or American. But I do say that the different point of view is due to the differing social and religious history of the past and the differing surroundings of the present, rather than to inherent racial character or brain structure. The Japanese are human beings before they are Japanese. For these reasons have I absolute confidence in the final acceptance of Christianity by the Japanese. There is no race characteristic in true Christianity that bars the way. Furthermore, the very growth of the Japanese in recent years, intellectually and in the reorganization of the social order, points to their final acceptance of Christianity and renders it necessary. The old religious forms are not satisfying the religious needs of to-day. And if history proves anything, it proves that only the religion of Jesus can do this permanently. Religion is a matter of humanity, not of nationality. It is for this reason that the world over, religions, though of so many forms, are still so much alike. And it is because the religion of Jesus is pre-eminently the religion of humanity and has not a trace of exclusive nationality about it, that it is the true religion, and is fitted to satisfy the deepest religious wants of the most highly developed as well as the least developed man of any and every race and nation. In proportion as man develops, he grows out of his narrow surroundings, both physical and mental and even moral; he enters a larger and larger world. The religious expressions of his nature in the local provincial and even national stages of his life cannot satisfy his larger potential life. Only the religion of humanity can do this. And this is the religion of Jesus. The white light of religion, no less than that of scientific truth, has no local or national coloring. Perfect truth is universal, eternal, unchangeable. Occidental or Oriental colorations are in reality defects, discolorations. XXIX SOME PRINCIPLES OF NATIONAL EVOLUTION And now, having studied somewhat in detail various distinctive Japanese characteristics, it is important that we gain an insight into the general principles which govern the development of unified, national life. These principles render Japanese history luminous. Let us first fix our attention on the fact that every step in the progress of mankind has been from smaller to larger communities. In other words, human progress has been through the increasing extension of the communal principle. The primitive segregative man, if there ever really was such a being, hardly deserves to be called man. Social qualities he had very slight, if at all; his altruistic actions and emotions were of the lowest and feeblest type. His life was so self-centered--we may not call it selfish, for he was not conscious of his self-centeredness--that he was quite sufficient to himself except for short periods of time. It was a matter of relative indifference to him whether his kinsmen survived or perished. His life was in only the slightest degree involved in theirs. The first step of progress for him depended on the development of some form of communal life. The primary problem of the social evolution of man was that of taking the wild, self-centered, self-sufficient man, and of teaching him to move in line with his fellow-men. And this problem confronted not only mankind at the beginning, but it has also been the great problem of each successive stage. After the individual has been taught to live with, to work with and for, and to love, his immediate kinsmen (in other words to merge his individual interests in those of the family, and to count the family interests of more importance than his own), the next step was to induce the family to look beyond its little world and be willing to work with and for neighboring families. When, after ages of conflict, this step was in a measure secured and the family-tribe was fairly formed, this group in turn must be taught to take into its view a still larger group, the tribal nation. Throughout the ages the constant problem has been the development of larger and larger communal groups. This general process has been very aptly called by Mr. Bagehot the taming process. The selfward thoughts and ambitions of the individual man have been thus far driven more and more into the background of fact, if not of consciousness. The individual has been brought into vital and organic relations with ever-increasing multitudes of his fellow-men. It is, therefore, pre-eminently a process of social or associational development. It not only develops social relations in an ever-increasing scale, but also social qualities and ideals and desires. Now this taming, this socializing process, has been successful because it has had back of it, always enforcing it, the law of the survival of the strongest. What countless millions of men must have perished in the first step! They consisted of the less fit; of those who would not, or did not, learn soon enough the secret of existence through permanent family union. And what countless millions of families must have perished because they did not discover the way, or were too independent, to unite with kindred families in order to fight a common foe or develop a common food supply. And still later, what countless tribes must have perished before the secret of tribal federation was widely accepted! In each case the problem has been to secure the subordination of the interests of the smaller and local community to those of the larger community. Death to self and life to the larger interest was often the condition of existence at all. How slow men always have been and still are to learn this great lesson of history! The method whereby this taming process has been carried on has been through the formation of increasingly comprehensive and rigid customs and ideas. Through the development and continued existence of a common language, series of common customs, and sets of common ideas, unity was secured for the community; these, indeed, are the means whereby a group is transformed into a community. As the smaller community gave way to the larger, so the local languages, customs, and ideas had to break up and become so far modified as to form a new bond of unity. Until this unity was secured the new community was necessarily weak; the group easily broke up into its old constituent elements. We here gain a glimpse into one reason why the development of large composite communities, uniting and for the most part doing away with smaller ones, was so difficult and slow. The process of absorption of smaller groups and their unification into larger ones, when carried out completely in any land, tends to arrest all further growth, not simply because there is no further room for expansion by the absorption of other divergent tribes, but also because the "cake of custom" is apt to become so hard, the uniformity enforced on all the individuals is liable to become so binding, that fruitful variation from within is effectually cut off. The evolution of relatively isolated or segregated groups necessarily produces variety; and the process whereby these divergent types of life and thought and organization are gradually brought together into one large community provides wide elements of variation, in the selection and general adoption of which the evolution of the whole community may be secured. But let the divergent elements of the lesser groups once be entirely absorbed by the composite community and let the "cake of custom" become so rigid that every individual who varies from it is branded as a heretic and a traitor, and the progressive evolution of that community must cease. The great problem, therefore, which then confronts man and seems to threaten all further progress is, how to break the bondage of custom so as to secure local or individual variations. This can be done only through some form of individualism. The individual must be free to think and act as experience or fancy may suggest, without fear of being branded as a traitor, or at least he must have the courage to do so in spite of such fears. And to produce an effect on the community he must also be more or less protected in his idiosyncrasies by popular toleration. He must be allowed to live and work out his theories, proving whether they are valuable or not. But since individualism is just what all previous communal development has been most assiduous in crushing out, how is the rise of individualism possible, or even desirable? If the first and continued development of man depended on the attainment and the maintenance of the communal principle, we may be sure that his further progress will not consist in the reversal of that principle. If, therfore, individualism must be developed, it must manifestly be of a variety which does not conflict with or abrogate communalism. Only as the individualistic includes the communal principle will it be a source of strength; otherwise it can only be a source of weakness to the community. But is not this an impossible condition to satisfy? Certainly, before the event, it would seem to be so. The rarity with which this step in human evolution has been taken would seem to show that it is far more difficult to accomplish than any of the previous steps. To give it a name we may call it communo-individualism. What this variety of individualism is, how this forward step was first actually taken, and how it is maintained and extended to-day, we shall consider in a later chapter. In the present place its importance for us is twofold. First we must realize the logical difficulty of the step--its apparently self-contradictory nature. And secondly we need to see that fully developed and continuously progressive national life is impossible without it. The development of a nation under the communal principle may advance far, even to the attainment of a relatively high grade of civilization. But the fully centralized and completely self-conscious nation cannot come into existence except on the basis of this last step of communo-individualism. The growth of nationalism proper, and the high development of civilization through the rise of the sciences and the arts based upon individualism, all await the dawn of the era of which communo-individualism is the leading, though at first unrecognized, characteristic. This individualistic development of the communal principle is its intensive development; it is the focalizing and centralizing of the consciousness of the national unity in each individual member. The extensive process of communal enlargement must ever be accompanied by the intensive establishment in the individual of the communal ideal, the objective by the subjective, the physical by the psychical, if the accidental association for individual profit is to develop into the permanent association for the national as well as the individual life. The intensive or subjective development of the communal principle does, as a matter of fact, take place in all growing communities, but it is largely unconscious. Not until the final stages of national development does it become a self-conscious process, deserving the distinctive name I have given it here, communo-individualism.[CG] The point just made is, however, only one aspect of a more general fact, too, of cardinal importance for the sociologist and the student of human evolution. It is that, throughout the entire period of the expansion of the community, there has been an equally profound, although wholly unconscious, development of the individual. This fact seems to have largely escaped the notice of all but the most recent thinkers and writers on the general topic of human and social evolution. The fact and the importance of the communal life have been so manifest that, in important senses, the individual has been almost, if not wholly, dropped out of sight. The individual has been conceived to have been from the very beginning of social evolution fully endowed with mind, ideas, and brains, and to be perfectly regardless of all other human beings. The development of the community has accordingly been conceived to be a progressive taming and subduing of this wild, self-centered, primitive man; a process of eliminating his individualistic instincts. So far as the individual is concerned, it has been conceived to be chiefly a negative process; a process of destroying his individual desires and plans and passions. Man's natural state has been supposed to be that of absolute selfishness. Only the hard necessity of natural law succeeded in forcing him to curb his natural selfish desires and to unite with his fellows. Only on these terms could he maintain even an existence. Those who have not accepted these terms have been exterminated. Communal life in all its forms, from the family upward to the most unified and developed nation, is thus conceived as a continued limiting of the individual--a necessity, indeed, to his existence, but none the less a limitation. I am unable to take this view, which at best is a one-sided statement. It appears to me capable of demonstration, that communal and individual development proceed pari passu; that every gain in the communal life is a gain to the individual and vice versa. They are complementary, not contradictory processes. Neither can exist, in any proper sense, apart from the other; and the degree of the development of the one is a sure index of the degree of the development of the other. So important is this matter that we must pause to give it further consideration. Consider, first, man in his earliest stage of development. A relatively segregarious animal; with a few ideas about the nuts and fruits and roots on which he lives; with a little knowledge as to where to find them; the subject of constant fear lest a stronger man may suddenly appear to seize and carry off his wife and food; possessing possibly a few articulate sounds answering to words; such probably was primitive man. He must have been little removed from the ape. His "self," his mind, was so small and so empty of content that we could hardly recognize him as a man, should we stumble on him in the forest. Look next upon him after he has become a family-man. Living in the group, his life enlarges; his existence broadens; his ideas multiply; his vocabulary increases with his ideas and experiences; he begins to share the life and thinking and interests and joys and sorrows of others; their ideas and experiences become his, to his enormous advantage. What he now is throws into the shade of night what he used to be. So far from being the loser by his acceptance of even this limited communal life, he is a gainer in every way. He begins to know what love is, and hate; what joy is, and sorrow; what kindness is, and cruelty; what altruism is, and selfishness. Thus, not only in ideas and language, in industry and property, but also in emotions, in character, in morality, in religion, in the knowledge of self, and even in opportunity for selfishness, he is the gainer. In just the degree that communal life is developed is the life of the individuals that compose it extended both subjectively and objectively. Human psychogenesis takes place in the communal stage of his life. Human association is its chief external cause. It matters not at what successive stage of man's developing life we may choose to look at him, the depth and height and breadth, in a word, the fullness and vigor and character of the inner and private life of the individual, will depend directly on the nature and development of the communal life. As the community expands, taking in new families or tribes or nations, reaching out to new regions, learning new industries, developing new ideas of man, of nature, of the gods, of duty, inventing new industries, discovering new truths, and developing a new language, all these fresh acquirements of the community become the possession of its individual members. In the growing complexity of society the individual unit, it is true, is increasingly lost among the millions of his fellow-units, yet all these successive steps serve to render his life the larger and richer. His horizon is no longer the little family group in which he was born; he now looks out over large and populous regions and feels the thrill of his growing life as he realizes the unity and community of his life and interests with those of his fellow-countrymen. His language is increasingly enriched; it serves to shape all his thinking and thus even the structure of his mind. His knowledge reaches far beyond his own experience; it includes not only that of the few persons whom he knows directly, but also that of unnumbered millions, remote in time and space. He increasingly discovers, though he never has analyzed, and is perhaps wholly unable to analyze, the discovery that he is not a thing among things; his life has a universal aspect. He lives more and more the universal life, subjecting the demands of the once domineering present to decisions of a cool judgment that looks back into the past and carefully weighs the interests of the future, temporal and eternal. Every advance made by the community is thus stored up to the credit of its individual members. So far, then, from the development of the communal principle consisting of and coming about through a limitation of the individual, it is exactly the reverse. Only as the individual develops are communal unity and progress possible. And on the other hand, only where the communal principle has reached its highest development, both extensively and intensively, do we find the most highly developed personality. The one is a necessary condition of the other. The deepest, blackest selfishness, even, can only come into existence where the communal principle has reached its highest development. The preceding statement, however, is not equivalent to saying that when communalism and individualism arose in human consciousness they were both accepted as equally important. The reverse seems always to have been the case. As soon as the two principles are distinguished in thought, the communal is at once ranked as the higher, and the individual principle is scorned if not actually rejected. And the reason for this is manifest. From earliest times the constant foe which the community has had to fight and exterminate has been the wanton, selfish individual. Individualism of this type was the spontaneous contrast to the communal life, and was ever manifesting itself. No age or race has been without it, nor ignorant of it. As soon as the two principles became clearly contrasted in thought, therefore, because of his actual experience, man could conceive of individualism only as the antithesis to communalism; it was felt that the two were mutually destructive. It inevitably followed that communalism as a principle was accepted and individualism condemned. In their minds not only social order, but existence itself, was at stake. And they were right. Egoistic individualism is necessarily atomistic. No society can long maintain its life as a unified and peaceful society, when such a principle has been widely accepted by its members. The social ills of this and of every age largely arise from the presence of this type of men, who hold this principle of life. If, therefore, after a fair degree of national unity has been attained, the higher stages of national evolution depend on the higher development of individualism, and if the only kind of individualism of which men can conceive is the egoistic, it becomes evident that further progress must cease. Stagnation, or degeneration, must follow. This is what has happened to nearly all the great nations and races of the world. They progressed well up to a certain point. Then they halted or fell back. The only possible condition under which a new lease of progressive life could be secured by them was a new variety of individualism, which would unite the opposite and apparently contradictory poles of communalism and egoism, namely, communo-individualism. Inconceivable though it be to those men and nations who have not experienced this type of life, it is nevertheless a fact, and a mighty factor in human and in national evolution. In its light we are able to see that the communal life itself has not reached its fullest development until the individualistic principle has been not only recognized in thought, but exalted, both in theory and in fact, to its true and coordinate position beside the communal principle. Only then does the nation become fully and completely organized. Only then does the national organism contain within itself the means for an endless, because a self-sustained, life. It is important to guard against a misunderstanding of the principles just enunciated which may easily arise. In saying that the development of the individual has proceeded pari passu with that of the community, that every gain by the community has contributed directly to the development of the individual, I do not say that the communal profits are at once distributed among all the members of the group, or that the distribution is at all equal. Indeed, such is far from the case. Some few individuals seem to appropriate a large and unfair proportion of the communal bank account. So far as a people live a simple and relatively undifferentiated life, all sharing in much the same kind of pursuits, and enjoying much the same grade of life,--such as prevailed in a large measure in the earlier times, and decreasingly as society has become industrial,--and so far also as the new acquirements of thought are transformed into practical life and common language, all the members of the community share these acquirements in fairly equal measure. So far, however, as the communal profits consist of more or less abstract ideas, embodied in religious and philosophic thought, and stored away in books and literature accessible only to scholars, they are distributed very unequally. The more highly developed and consequently differentiated the society, the more difficult does distribution become. The very structure of the highly differentiated communal organism forbids the equal distribution of these goods. The literary and ruling minority have exclusive access to the treasures. The industrial majority are more and more rigidly excluded from them. Thus, although it is strictly true that every advance in the communal principle accrues to the benefit of the individual, it is not true that such advance necessarily accrues to the benefit of every individual, or equally to all individuals. In its lowest stages, developing communalism lifts all its individual members to about the same level of mental and moral acquirement. In its middle stages it develops all individuals to a certain degree, and certain individuals to a high degree. In its highest stages it develops among all its members a uniformly high grade of personal worth and acquirement. Now the great problem on whose solution depends the possibility of continued communal evolution is, from this view-point, the problem of distributing the gains of the community to all its members more and more equally. It is the problem of giving to each human unit all the best and truest thought and character, all the highest and noblest ideals and motives, which the most advanced individuals have secured. If we stop to inquire minutely and analytically just what is the nature of the greatest attainments made by the community, we discover that it is not the possession of wealth in land or gold, it is not the accident of social rank, it is not any incident of temporal happiness or physical ease of life. It consists, on the contrary, in the discovery of the real nature of man. He is no mere animal, living in the realm of things and pleasures, limited by the now and the here. He is a person, a rational being. His thoughts and desires can only be expressed in terms of infinity. Nothing short of the infinite can satisfy either his reason or his heart Though living in nature and dependent on it, he is above it, and may and should understand it and rule it. His thoughts embrace all time and all being. In a very real sense he lives an infinite and eternal life, even here in this passing world. The discovery of this set of facts, slowly emerging into consciousness, is the culmination of all past history, and the beginning of all man's higher life. It is the turning point in the history of the human race. Every onward step in man's preceding life, whereby he has united to form higher and higher groups, has been leading onward and upward to the development of strong personality, to the development of individuals competent to make this great discovery. But this is not enough. The next step is to discover the fact, _and to believe it_, that this infinite life is the potential possession of every member of the community; that the bank account which the community has been storing up for ages is for the use not only of a favored few, but also of the masses. That since every man is a man, he has an infinite and an eternal life and value, which no accident of birth, or poverty, can annul. Each man needs to discover himself. The great problem, then, which confronts progressive communal evolution is to take this enlarged definition of the individual and scatter it broadcast over the land, persuading all men to accept and believe it both for themselves and for others. This definition must be carried in full confidence to the lowest, meanest, most ignorant man that lives in the community, and by its help this down-most man must be shown his birthright, and in the light of it he must be raised to actual manhood. He must "come to himself"; only so can he qualify for his heritage. After a nation, therefore, has secured a large degree of unity, of the confederated tribal type, the step which must be taken, before it can proceed to more complete nationalization even, is, first, the discovery of personality as the real and essential characteristic of men, and secondly the discovery that high-grade personality may and can and must be developed in all the members of the community. In proportion as the members of the community become conscious persons, fully self-conscious and self-regulating, fully imbued with the idea and the spirit of true personality, of communo-individualism, in that proportion will the community be unified and centralized, as well as capable of the most complex and differentiated internal structure. The strength of such a nation will be indefinitely greater than that of any other less personalized and so less communalized nation. XXX ARE THE JAPANESE IMPERSONAL? Few phases of the Japanese character have proved so fascinating to the philosophical writer on Japan as that of the personality of this Far Eastern people. From the writings of Sir Rutherford Alcock, the first resident English minister in Japan, down to the last publication that has come under my eye, all have something to say on this topic. One writer, Mr. Percival Lowell, has devoted an entire volume to it under the title of "The Soul of the Far East," in which he endeavors to establish the position that the entire civilization of the Orient, in its institutions, such as the family and the state, in the structure of its language, in its conceptions of nature, in its art, in its religion, and finally in its inherent mental nature, is essentially _impersonal_. One of the prominent and long resident missionaries in Japan once delivered a course of lectures on the influence of pantheism in the Orient, in which he contended, among other things, that the lack of personal pronouns and other phenomena of Japanese life and religion are due to the presence and power in this land of pantheistic philosophy preventing the development of personality. The more I have examined these writings and their fundamental assumptions, the more manifest have ambiguities and contradictions in the use of terms become. I have become also increasingly impressed with the failure of advocates of Japanese "impersonality" to appreciate the real nature of the phenomena they seek to explain. They have not comprehended the nature or the course of social evolution, nor have they discovered the mutual relation existing between the social order and personality. The arguments advanced for the "impersonal" view are more or less plausible, and this method of interpreting the Orient appeals for authority to respectable philosophical writers. No less a philosopher than Hegel is committed to this interpretation. The importance of this subject, not only for a correct understanding of Japan, but also of the relation existing between individual, social, and religious evolution, requires us to give it careful attention. We shall make our way most easily into this difficult discussion by considering some prevalent misconceptions and defective arguments. I may here express my indebtedness to the author of "The Soul of the Far East" for the stimulus received from his brilliant volume, differ though I do from his main thesis. We begin this study with a few quotations from Mr. Lowell's now classic work. "Capability to evolve anything is not one of the marked characteristics of the Far East. Indeed, the tendency to spontaneous variation, Nature's mode of making experiments, would seem there to have been an enterprising faculty that was early exhausted. Sleepy, no doubt, from having got up betimes with the dawn, these inhabitants of the land of the morning began to look upon their day as already far spent before they had reached its noon. They grew old young, and have remained much the same age ever since. What they were centuries ago, that at bottom they are to-day. Take away the European influences of the past twenty years, and each man might almost be his own great-grandfather. In race character, he is yet essentially the same. The traits that distinguished these peoples in the past have been gradually extinguishing them ever since. Of these traits, stagnating influences upon their career, perhaps the most important is the great quality of "impersonality."[CGa] "The peoples inhabiting it [the northern hemisphere] grow steadily more personal as we go West. So unmistakable is this gradation that we are almost tempted to ascribe it to cosmical rather than to human causes.... The sense of self grows more intense as we follow the wake of the setting sun, and fades steadily as we advance into the dawn. America, Europe, the Levant, India, Japan, each is less personal than the one before. We stand at the nearer end of the scale, the Far Orientals at the other. If with us the 'I' seems to be the very essence of the soul, then the soul of the Far East may be said to be 'Impersonality.'"[CH] Following the argument through the volume we see that individual physical force and aggressiveness, deficiency of politeness, and selfishness are, according to this line of thought, essential elements of personality. The opposite set of qualities constitutes the essence of impersonality. "The average Far Oriental, indeed, talks as much to no purpose as his Western cousin, only in his chit-chat politeness takes the place of personalities. With him, self is suppressed, and an ever-present regard for others is substituted in its stead. A lack of personality is, as we have seen, the occasion of this courtesy; it is also its cause.... Considered a priori, the connection between the two is not far to seek. Impersonality, by lessening the interest in one's self, induces one to take an interest in others. Introspection tends to make a man a solitary animal, the absence of it a social one. The more impersonal the people, the more will the community supplant the individual in the popular estimation.... Then, as the social desires develop, politeness, being the means of their enjoyment, develops also."[CI] Let us take a look at some definitions: "Individuality, personality, and the sense of self, are only three aspects of the same thing. They are so many various views of the soul, according as we regard it from an intrinsic, an altruistic, or an egoistic standpoint.... By individuality we mean that bundle of ideas, thoughts, and day-dreams which constitute our separate identity, and by virtue of which we feel each one of us at home within himself.... Consciousness is the necessary attribute of mental action. Not only is it the sole way we have of knowing mind; without it there would be no mind to know. Not to be conscious of one's self is, mentally speaking, not to be. This complex entity, this little cosmos of a world, the 'I,' has for its very law of existence, self-consciousness, while personality is the effect it produces upon the consciousness of others."[CJ] The more we study the above definitions, the more baffling they become. Try as I may, I have not been able to fit them, not only to the facts of my own experience, which may not be strange, but I cannot reconcile them even to each other. There seem to me inherent ambiguities and self-contradictions lurking beneath their scientific splendor. Individuality is stated to be "that bundle of ideas, thoughts, and day-dreams which constitute our separate identity." This seems plain and straightforward, but is it really so? Consciousness is stated to be not only "the necessary attribute of mental action" (to which exception might be taken on the ground of abundant proof of unconscious mental action), but it is also considered to be the very cause of mind itself. Not only by consciousness do we know mind, but the consciousness itself constitutes the mind; "without it there would be no mind to know." "Not to be conscious of one's self is not to be." Do we then cease to be, when we sleep? or when absorbed in thought or action? And do we become new-created when we awake? What is the bond of connection that binds into one the successive consciousnesses of the successive days? Does not that "bundle of ideas" become broken into as many wholly independent fragments as there are intervals between our sleepings? Or rather is not each fragment a whole in itself, and is not the idea of self-continuity from day to day and from week to week a self-delusion? How can it be otherwise if consciousness constitutes existence? For after the consciousness has ceased and "the bundle of ideas," which constitutes the individuality of that day, has therefore gone absolutely out of existence, it is impossible that the old bundle shall be resurrected by a new consciousness. Only a new bundle can be the product of a new consciousness. Evidently there is trouble somewhere. But let us pass on. "The 'I' has for its very law of existence self-consciousness." Is not "self-consciousness" here identified with "consciousness" in the preceding sentence? The very existence of the mind, the "I," is ascribed to each in turn. Is there, then, no difference between consciousness and self-consciousness? Finally, personality is stated to be "the effect it [the "I"] produces on the self-consciousness of others." I confess I gain no clear idea from this statement. But whatever else it may mean, this is clear, that personality is not a quality or characteristic of the "I," but only some effect which the "I" produces on the consciousness of another. Is it a quality, then, of the other person? And does impersonality mean the lack of such an effect? But does not this introduce us to new confusion? When a human being is wholly absorbed in an altruistic act, for instance, wholly forgetful of self, he is, according to a preceding paragraph, quite impersonal; yet, according to the definition before us, he cannot be impersonal, for he is producing most lively effects on the consciousness of the poor human being he is befriending; in his altruistic deed he is strongly personal, yet not he, for personality does not belong to the person acting, but somehow to the person affected. How strange that the personality of a person is not his own characteristic but another's! But still more confusing is the definition when we recall that if the benevolent man is wholly unconscious of self, and is thinking only of the one whom he is helping, then he himself is no longer existing. But in that case how can he help the poor man or even continue to think of him? Perfect altruism is self-annihilation! Knowledge of itself by the mind is that which constitutes it! But enough. It has become clear that these terms have not been used consistently, nor are the definitions such as to command the assent of any careful psychologist or philosopher. What the writer means to say is, I judge, that the measure of a man's personality is the amount of impression he makes on his fellows. For the whole drift of his argument is that both the physical and mental aggressiveness of the Occidental is far greater than that of the Oriental; this characteristic, he asserts, is due to the deficient development of personality in the Orient, and this deficient development he calls "impersonality." If those writers who describe the Orient as "impersonal" fail in their definition of the term "personal," their failure to define "impersonal" is even more striking. They use the term as if it were so well known as to need no definition; yet their usage ascribes to it contrary conceptions. As a rule they conceive of "impersonality" as a deficiency of development; yet, when they attempt to describe its nature, they speak of it as self-suppression. A clear statement of this latter point may be found in a passage already quoted: "Politeness takes the place of personalities. With him [the Oriental], self is suppressed, and an ever-present regard for others is substituted." "Impersonality, by lessening the interest in one's self, induces one to take interest in others." In this statement it will be noted the "_self is suppressed_." Does "impersonality" then follow personality, as a matter of historical development? It would so appear from this and kindred passages. But if this is true, then Japan is _more_ instead of less developed than the Occident. Yet this is exactly the reverse of that for which this school of thought contends. Let us now examine some concrete illustrations adduced by those who advocate Japanese impersonality. They may be arranged in two classes: those that are due wholly to invention, and those that are doubtless facts, but that may be better accounted for by some other theory than that of "impersonality." Mr. Lowell makes amusing material out of the two children's festivals, known by the Japanese as "Sekku," occurring on March 3 and June 5 (old calendar). Because the first of these is exclusively for the girls and the second is exclusively for the boys, Mr. Lowell concludes that they are general birthdays, in spite of the fact which he seems to know that the ages are not reckoned from these days. He calls them "the great impersonal birthdays"; for, according to his supposition, all the girls celebrate their birthdays on the third day of the third moon and all the boys celebrate theirs on the fifth day of the fifth moon, regardless of the actual days on which they may have been born. With regard to this understanding of the significance of the festival, I have asked a large number of Japanese, not one of whom had ever heard of such an idea. Each one has insisted that individual birthdays are celebrated regardless of these general festivals; the ages of children are never computed from these festivals; they have nothing whatever to do with the ages of the children.[CK] The report of the discussions of the Japanese Society of Comparative Religion contains quite a minute statement of all the facts known as to these festivals, much too long in this connection, but among them there is not the slightest reference to the birthday feature attributed to them by Mr. Lowell.[CL] Mr. Lowell likewise invents another fact in support of his theory by his interpretation of the Japanese method of computing ages. Speaking of the advent of an infant into the home he says, that "from the moment he makes his appearance he is spoken of as a year old, and this same age he continues to be considered in most simple cases of calculation, till the beginning of the next calendar year. When that epoch of general rejoicing arrives, he is credited with another year himself. So is everybody else. New Year's day is a common birthday for the community, a sort of impersonal anniversary for his whole world." Now this is a very entertaining conceit, but it will hardly pass muster as a serious argument with one who has any real understanding of Japanese ideas on the subject. The simple fact is that the Japanese does not ordinarily tell you how old the child is, but only in how many year periods he has lived. Though born December 31, on January 1 he has undoubtedly lived in two different year periods. This method of counting, however, is not confined to the counting of ages, but it characterizes all their counting. If you ask a man how many days before a certain festival near at hand he will say ten where we would say but nine. In other words, in counting periods the Japanese count all, including both the first and the last, whereas we omit the first. This as a custom is an interesting psychological problem, but it has not the remotest connection with "personality" or "impersonality." Furthermore, the Japanese have another method of signifying the age of a child which corresponds exactly to ours. You have but to ask what is the "full" age of a child to receive a statement which satisfies our ideas of the problem. The idea of calling New Year's day a great "impersonal" birthday because forsooth all the members of the community and the nation then enter on a new year period, and of using that as an argument for the "impersonality" of the whole race, is as interesting as it is inconclusive. Much is made of the fact that Japanese art has paid its chief attention to nature and to animals, and but little to man. This proves, it is argued, that the Japanese artist and people are "impersonal"--that they are not self-conscious, for their gaze is directed outward, toward "impersonal" nature; had they been an aggressive personal people, a people conscious of self, their art would have depicted man. The cogency of this logic seems questionable to me. Art is necessarily objective, whether it depicts nature or man; the gaze is always and necessarily outward, even when it is depicting the human form. In our consideration of the æsthetic elements of Japanese character[CM] we gave reasons for the Japanese love of natural beauty and for their relatively slight attention to the human form. If the reasons there given were correct, the fact that Japanese art is concerned chiefly with nature has nothing whatever to do with the "impersonality" of the people. If "impersonality" is essentially altruistic, if it consists of self-suppression and interest in others, then it is difficult to see how art that depicts the form even of human beings can escape the charge of being "impersonal" except when the artist is depicting himself. If, again, supreme interest in objective "impersonal" nature proves the lack of "personality," should we not argue that the West is supremely "impersonal" because of its extraordinary interest in nature and in the natural and physical sciences? Are naturalists and scientists "impersonal," and are philosophers and psychologists "personal" in nature? If it be argued that art which depicts the human emotions is properly speaking subjective, and therefore a proof of developed personality, will it be maintained that Japan is devoid of such art? How about the pictures and the statues of warriors? How about the passionate features of the Ni-o, the placid faces of the Buddhas and other religious imagery? Are there not here the most powerful representations possible of human emotions, both active and passive? But even so, is not the gaze of the artist still _outward_ on others, _i.e._, is he not altruistic; and, therefore, "impersonal," according to this method of thought and use of terms? Are European artists who revel in landscape and animal scenes deficient in "personal" development, and are those who devote their lives to painting nude women particularly developed in "personality"? Truly, a defective terminology and a distorted conception of what "personality" is, land one in most contradictory positions. Those who urge the "impersonality" of the Orient make much of the Japanese idea of the "family," with the attendant customs. The fact that marriage is arranged for by the parents, and that the two individuals most concerned have practically no voice in the matter, proves conclusively, they argue, that the latter have little "personality." Here again all turns on the definition of this important word. If by "personality" is meant consciousness of one's self as an independent individual, then I do not see what relation the two subjects have. If, however, it means the willingness of the subjects of marriage to forego their own desires and choices; because indeed they do not have any of their own, then the facts will not bear out the argument. These writers skillfully choose certain facts out of the family customs whereby to illustrate and enforce this theory, but they entirely omit others having a significant bearing upon it. Take, for instance, the fact that one-third of the marriages end in divorce. What does this show? It shows that one-third of the individuals in each marriage are so dissatisfied with the arrangements made by the parents that they reject them and assert their own choice and decision. According to the argument for "impersonality" in marriage, these recalcitrant, unsubmissive individuals have a great amount of "personality," that is, consciousness of self; and this consciousness of self produces a great effect on the other party to the marriage; and the effect on the other party (in the vast majority of the cases women), that is to say, the effect of the divorce on the consciousness of the women, constitutes the personality of the men! The marriage customs cited, therefore, do not prove the point, for no account is taken of the multitudinous cases in which one party or the other utterly refuses to carry out the arrangements of the parents. Many a girl declines from the beginning the proposals of the parents. These cases are by no means few. Only a few days before writing the present lines a waiting girl in a hotel requested me to find her a place of service in some foreign family. On inquiry she told me how her parents wished her to marry into a certain family; but that she could not endure the thought and had run away from home. One of the facts which strike a missionary, as he becomes acquainted with the people, is the frequency of the cases of running away from home. Girls run away, probably not as frequently as boys, yet very often. Are we to believe that these are individuals who have an excessive amount of "personality"? If so, then the development of "personality" in Japan is far more than the advocates of its "impersonality" recognize or would allow us to believe. Mr. Lowell devotes three pages to a beautiful and truthful description of the experience known in the West as "falling in love." Turning his attention to the Orient, because of the fact that marriages are arranged for by the families concerned, he argues that: "No such blissful infatuation falls to the lot of the Far Oriental. He never is the dupe of his own desire, the willing victim of his self-delusion. He is never tempted to reveal himself, and by thus revealing, realize.... For she is not his love; she is only his wife; and what is left of a romance when the romance is left out?" Although there is an element of truth in this, yet it is useless as a support for the theory of Japanese "impersonality." For it is not a fact that the Japanese do not fall in love; it is a well-known experience to them. It is inconceivable how anyone at all acquainted with either Japanese life or literature could make such an assertion. The passionate love of a man and a woman for each other, so strong that in multitudes of cases the two prefer a common death to a life apart, is a not uncommon event in Japan. Frequently we read in the daily papers of a case of mutual suicide for love. This is sufficiently common to have received a specific name "joshi."[CN] So far as the argument for "impersonality" is concerned this illustration from the asserted lack of love is useless, for it is one of those manufactured for the occasion by imaginative and resourceful advocates of "impersonality." But I do not mean to say that "falling in love" plays the same important part in the life and development of the youth in Japan that it does in the West. It is usually utterly ignored, so far as parental planning for marriage is concerned. Love is not recognized as a proper basis for the contraction of marriage, and is accordingly frowned upon. It is deemed a sign of mental and moral weakness for a man to fall in love. Under these conditions it is not at all strange that "falling in love" is not so common an experience as in the West. Furthermore, this profound experience is not utilized as it is in the West as a refining and elevating influence in the life of a young man or woman. In a land where "falling in love" is regarded as an immoral thing, a breaking out of uncontrollable animal passion, it is not strange that it should not be glorified by moralists or sanctified by religion. There are few experiences in the West so ennobling as the love that a young man and a young woman bear to each other during the days of their engagement and lasting onward throughout the years of their lengthening married life. The West has found the secret of making use of this period in the lives of the young to elevate and purify them of which the East knows little. But there are still other and sadder consequences following from the attitude of the Japanese to the question of "falling in love." It can hardly be doubted that the vast number of divorces is due to the defective method of betrothal, a method which disregards the free choice of the parties most concerned. The system of divorce is, we may say, the device of society for remedying the inherent defects of the betrothal system. It treats both the man and the woman as though they were not persons but unfeeling machines. Personality, for a while submissive, soon asserts its liberty, in case the married parties prove uncongenial, and demands the right of divorce. Divorce is thus the device of thwarted personality. But in addition to this evil, there is that of concubinage or virtual polygamy, which is often the result of "falling in love." And then, there is the resort of hopelessly thwarted personality known in the West as well as in the East, murder and suicide, and oftentimes even double suicide, referred to above. The marriage customs of the Orient are such that hopeless love, though mutual, is far more frequent than in the West, and the death of lovers in each other's arms, after having together taken the fatal draught, is not rare. The number of suicides due to hopeless love in 1894 was 407, and the number of murders for the same cause was 94. Here is a total of over five hundred deaths in a single year, very largely due to the defective marriage system. Do not these phenomena refute assertions to the effect that the Japanese are so impersonal as not to know what it is to "fall in love"? If the question of the personality of the Japanese is to be settled by the phenomena of family life and the strength of the sexual emotion, would we not have to pronounce them possessed of strongly developed personality? XXXI THE JAPANESE NOT IMPERSONAL We must now face the far more difficult task of presenting a positive statement in regard to the problem of personality in the Orient. We need to discover just what is or should be meant by the terms "personality" and "impersonality." We must also analyze this Oriental civilization and discover its elementary factors, in order that we may see what it is that has given the impression to so many students that the Orient is "impersonal." In doing this, although our aim is constructive, we shall attain our end with greater ease if we rise to positive results through further criticism of defective views. We naturally begin with definitions. "Individuality" is defined by the Standard Dictionary as "the state or quality of being individual; separate or distinct existence." "Individual" is defined as "Anything that cannot be divided or separated into parts without losing identity.... A single person, animal, or thing." "Personality" is defined as "That which constitutes a person; conscious, separate existence as an intelligent and voluntary being." "Person" is defined as "Any being having life, intelligence, will, and separate individual existence." On these various definitions the following observations seem pertinent. "Individuality" has reference only to the distinctions existing between different objects, persons, or things. The term draws attention to the fact of distinctness and difference and not to the qualities which make the difference, and least of all to the consciousness of identity by virtue of which "we feel each one of us at home within himself." "Personality" properly has reference only to that which constitutes a person. As contrasted with an animal a person has not only life, but also a highly developed and self-conscious intelligence, feeling, and will; these involve moral relations toward other persons and religious relations toward God. Consciousness is not attendant on every act of the person, much less is self-consciousness, although both are always potential and more or less implicit. A person is often so absorbed in thought or act as to be wholly unconscious of his thinking or acting; the consciousness is, so to speak, submerged for the time being. Self-consciousness implies considerable progress in reflection on one's own states of mind, and in the attainment of the consciousness of one's own individuality. It is the result of introspection. Self-consciousness, however, does not constitute one's identity; it merely recognizes it. The foundation for a correct conception of the term "personality" rests on the conception of the term "soul" or "spirit." In my judgment, each human being is to be conceived as being a separate "soul," endowed by its very nature with definite capacities or qualities or attributes which we describe as mental, emotional, and volitional, having powers of consciousness more or less developed according to the social evolution of the race, the age of the individual, his individual environment, and depending also on the amount of education he may have received. The possession of a soul endowed with these qualities constitutes a person; their possession in marked measure constitutes developed personality, and in defective measure, undeveloped personality. The unique character of a "person" is that he combines perfect separateness with the possibility and more or less of the actuality of perfect universality. A "person" is in a true sense a universal, an infinite being. He is thus through the constitution of his psychic nature a thinking, feeling, and willing being. Through his intellect and in proportion to his knowledge he becomes united with the whole objective universe; through his feelings he may become united in sympathy and love with all sentient creation, and even with God himself, the center and source of all being; through his active will he is increasingly creator of his environment. Man is thus in a true sense creating the conditions which make him to be what he is. Thus in no figurative sense, but literally and actually, man is in the process of creating himself. He is realizing the latent and hitherto unsuspected potentialities of his nature. He is creating a world in which to express himself; and this he does by expressing himself. In proportion as man advances, making explicit what is implicit in his inner nature, is he said to grow in personality. A man thus both possesses personality and grows in personality. He could not grow in it did he not already actually possess it. In such growth both elements of his being, the individual and the universal, develop simultaneously. A person of inferior personal development is at once less individual and less universal. This is a matter, however, not of endowment but of development. We thus distinguish between the original personal endowment, which we may call intrinsic or inherent personality, and the various forms in which this personality has manifested and expressed itself, which we may call extrinsic or acquired personality. Inherent personality is that which differentiates man from animal. It constitutes the original involution which explains and even necessitates man's entire evolution. There may be, nay, must be, varying degrees of expression of the inherent personality, just as there may be and must be varying degrees of consciousness of personality. These depend on the degree of evolution attained by the race and by the individuals of the race. It is no part of our plan to justify this conception of the nature of personality, or to defend these brief summary statements as to its inherent nature. It is enough if we have gained a clear idea of this conception on which the present chapter, and indeed this entire work, rests. In discussing the question as to personality in the Orient, it is important for us ever to bear in mind the distinctions between the inherent endowment that constitutes personal beings, the explicit and external expression of that endowment, and the possession of the consciousness of that endowment. For these are three things quite distinct, though intimately related. The term "impersonality" demands special attention, being the most misused and abused term of all. The first and natural signification of the word is the mere negation of personality; as a stone, for instance, is strictly "impersonal." This is the meaning given by the dictionaries. But in this sense, of course, it is inapplicable to human beings. What, then, is the meaning when applied to them? When Mr. Lowell says, "If with us [of the West] the 'I' seems to be of the very essence of the soul, then the soul of the Far East may be said to be 'impersonal,'" what does he mean? He certainly does not mean that the Chinese and Japanese and Hindus have no emotional or volitional characteristics, that they are strictly "impersonal"; nor does he mean that the Oriental has less development of powers of thinking, willing, feeling, or of introspective meditation. The whole argument shows that he means that _their sense of the individuality or separateness of the Ego is so slight that it is practically ignored; and this not by their civilization alone, but by each individual himself_. The supreme consciousness of the individual is not of himself, but of his family or race; or if he is an intensely religious man, his consciousness is concerned with his essential identity with the Absolute and Ultimate Being, rather than with his own separate self. In other words, the term "impersonal" is made to do duty for the non-existent negative of "individual." "Impersonal" is thus equivalent to "universal" and personal to "individual." To change the phraseology, the term "impersonal" is used to signify a state of mind in which the separateness or individuality of the individual ego is not fully recognized or appreciated even by the individual himself. The prominent element of the individual's consciousness is the unity or the universalism, rather than the multiplicity or individualism. Mr. Lowell in effect says this in his closing chapter entitled "Imagination." His thesis seems to be that the universal mind, of which, each individual receives a fragment, becomes increasingly differentiated as the race mind evolves. In proportion as the evolution has progressed does the individual realize his individuality--his separateness; this individualization, this differentiation of the individual mind is, in his view, the measure as well as the cause of the higher civilization. The lack of such individualization he calls "impersonality"; in such a mind the dominant thought is not of the separateness between, but of the unity that binds together, himself and the universal mind. If the above is a correct statement of the conception of those who emphasize the "impersonality" of the Orient, then there are two things concerning it which may be said at once. First, the idea is a perfectly clear and intelligible one, the proposition is definite and tangible. But why do they not so express it? The terms "personality" and "individuality" are used synonymously; while "impersonal" is considered the equivalent of the negative of individual, un-individual--a word which has not yet been and probably never will be used. But the negation of individual is universal; "impersonal," therefore, according to the usage of these writers, becomes equivalent to universal. But, secondly, even after the use of terms has become thus understood, and we are no longer confused over the words, having arrived at the idea they are intended to convey, the idea itself is fundamentally erroneous. I freely admit that there is an interesting truth of which these writers have got a glimpse and to which they are striving to give expression, but apparently they have not understood the real nature of this truth and consequently they are fundamentally wrong in calling the Far East "impersonal," even in their sense of the word. They are furthermore in error, in ascribing this "impersonal" characteristic of the Japanese to their inherent race nature, If they are right, the problem is fundamentally one of biological evolution. In contrast to this view, it is here contended, first, that the feature they are describing is not such as they describe it; second, that it is not properly called "impersonality"; third, that it is not a matter of inherent race nature, of brain structure, or of mind differentiation, but wholly a matter of social evolution; and, fourth, that if there is such a trait as they describe, it is not due to a deficiently developed but on the contrary to a superlatively developed personality, which might better be called super-personality. To state the position here advocated in a nutshell, it is maintained that the asserted "impersonality" of the Japanese is the result of the communalistic nature of the social order which has prevailed down to the most recent times; it has put its stamp on every feature of the national and individual life, not omitting the language, the philosophy, the religion, or even the inmost thoughts of the people. This dominance of the communalistic type of social order has doubtless had an effect on the physical and psychic, including the brain, development of the people. These physical and psychical developments, however, are not the cause, but the product, of the social order. They are, furthermore, of no superlative import, since they offer no insuperable obstacle to the introduction of a social order radically different from that of past millenniums. Before proceeding to elaborate and illustrate this general position, it seems desirable to introduce two further definitions. Communalism and individualism are the two terms used throughout this work to describe two contrasted types of social order. By communalism I mean that order of society, whether family, tribal, or national, in which the idea and the importance of the community are more or less clearly recognized, and in which this idea has become the constructive principle of the social order, and where at the same time the individual is practically ignored and crushed. By individualism I mean that later order of society in which the worth of the individual has been recognized and emphasized, to the extent of radically modifying the communalism, securing a liberty for individual act and thought and initiative, of which the old order had no conception, and which it would have considered both dangerous and immoral. Individualism is not that atomic social order in which the idea of the communal unity has been rejected, and each separate human being regarded as the only unit. Such a society could hardly be called an order, even by courtesy. Individualism is that developed stage of communalism, wherein the advantages of close communal unity have been retained, and wherein, at the same time, the idea and practice of the worth of the individual and the importance of giving him liberty of thought and action have been added. Great changes in the internal structure, of society follow, but the communial unity or idea is neither lost nor injured. In taking up our various illustrations regarding personality in Japan, three points demand our attention; what are the facts? are they due to, and do they prove, the asserted "impersonality" of the people? and are the facts sufficiently accounted for by the communal theory of the Japanese social order? Let us begin, then, with the illustration of which advocates of "impersonality" make so much, Japanese politeness. As to the reality of the fact, it is hardly necessary that I present extended proof. Japanese politeness is proverbial. It is carried into the minutest acts of daily life; the holding of the hands, the method of entering a room, the sucking in of the breath on specific occasions, the arrangement of the hair, the relative places of honor in a sitting-room, the method of handing guests refreshments, the exchange of friendly gifts--every detail of social life is rigidly dominated by etiquette. Not only acts, but the language of personal address as well, is governed by ideas of politeness which have fundamentally affected the structure of the language, by preventing the development of personal pronouns. Now what is the cause of this characteristic of the Japanese? It is commonly attributed by writers of the impersonal school to the "impersonality" of the Oriental mind. "Impersonality" is not only the occasion, it is the cause of the politeness of the Japanese people. "Self is suppressed, and an ever-present regard for others is substituted in its stead." "Impersonality, by lessening the interest in one's self, induces one to take interest in others."[CO] Politeness is, in these passages, attributed to the impersonal nature of the Japanese mind. The following quotations show that this characteristic is conceived of as inherent in race and mind structure, not in the social order, as is here maintained. "The nation grew up to man's estate, keeping the mind of its childhood."[CP] "In race characteristics, he is yet essentially the same.... Of these traits ... perhaps the most important is the great quality of impersonality."[CQ] "The peoples inhabiting it [the earth's temperate zone] grow steadily more personal as we go West. So unmistakable is this gradation that one is almost tempted to ascribe it to cosmical rather than human causes.... The essence of the soul of the Far East may be said to be impersonality."[CR] In his chapter on "Imagination," Mr. Lowell seeks to explain the cause of the "impersonality" of the Orient. He attributes it to their marked lack of the faculty of "imagination"--the faculty of forming new and original ideas. Lacking this faculty, there has been relatively little stimulus to growth, and hence no possibility of differentiation and thus of individualization. If politeness were due to the "impersonal" nature of the race mind, it would be impossible to account for the rise and decline of Japanese etiquette, for it should have existed from the beginning, and continued through all time, nor could we account for the gross impoliteness that is often met with in recent years. The Japanese themselves deplore the changes that have taken place. They testify that the older forms of politeness were an integral element of the feudal system and were too often a thin veneer of manner by no means expressive of heart interest. None can be so absolutely rude as they who are masters of the forms of politeness, but have not the kindly heart. The theory of "impersonality" does not satisfactorily account for the old-time politeness of Japan. The explanation here offered for the development and decline of politeness is that they are due to the nature of the social order. Thoroughgoing feudalism long maintained, with its social ranks and free use of the sword, of necessity develops minute unwritten rules of etiquette; without the universal observance of these customs, life would be unbearable and precarious, and society itself would be impossible. Minute etiquette is the lubricant of a feudal social order. The rise and fall of Japan's phenomenal system of feudal etiquette is synchronous with that of her feudal system, to which it is due rather than to the asserted "impersonality" of the race mind. The impersonal theory is amazingly blind to adverse phenomena. Such a one is the marked sensitiveness of the middle and upper classes to the least slight or insult. The gradations of social rank are scrupulously observed, not only on formal occasions, but also in the homes at informal and social gatherings. Failure to show the proper attention, or the use of language having an insufficient number of honorific particles and forms, would be instantly interpreted as a personal slight, if not an insult.[CS] Now if profuse courtesy is a proof of "impersonality," as its advocates argue, what does morbid sensitiveness prove but highly developed personality? But then arises the difficulty of understanding how the same individuals can be both profusely polite and morbidly sensitive at one and the same time? Instead of inferring "impersonality" from the fact of politeness, from the two facts of sensitiveness and politeness we may more logically infer a considerable degree of personality. Yet I would not lay much stress on this argument, for oftentimes (or is it always true?) the weaker and more insignificant the person, the greater the sensitiveness. Extreme sensitiveness is as natural and necessary a product of a highly developed feudalism as is politeness, and neither is particularly due to the high or the low development of personality. Similarly with respect to the question of altruism, which is practically identified with politeness by expounders of Oriental "impersonality." They make this term (altruism) the virtual equivalent of "impersonality"--interest in others rather than in self, an interest due, according to their view, to a lack of differentiation of the individual minds; the individuals, though separate, still retain the universalism of the original mind-stuff. This use of the term altruism makes it a very different thing from the quality or characteristic which in the West is described by this term. But granting that this word is used with a legitimate meaning, we ask, is altruism in this sense an inherent quality of the Japanese race? Let the reader glance back to our discussion of the possession by the Japanese of sympathy, and the humane feelings.[CT] We saw there marked proofs of their lack. The cruelty of the old social order was such as we can hardly realize. Altruism that expresses itself only in polite forms, and does not strive to alleviate the suffering of fellow-men, can have very little of that sense, which this theory requires. So much as to the fact. Then as to the theory. If this alleged altruism were inherent in the mental structure, it ought to be a universal characteristic of the Japanese; it should be all-pervasive and permanent. It should show itself toward the foreigner as well as toward the native. But such is far from the case. Few foreigners have received a hearty welcome from the people at large. They are suspected and hated; as little room as possible is made for them. The less of their presence and advice, the better. So far as there is any interest in them, it is on the ground of utility, and not of inherent good will because of a feeling of aboriginal unity. Of course there are many exceptions to these statements, especially among the Christians. But such is the attitude of the people as a whole, especially of the middle and upper classes toward the foreigners. If we turn our attention to the opposite phase of Japanese character, namely their selfishness, their self-assertiveness, and their aggressiveness, whether as a nation or as individuals, and consider at the same time the recent rise of this spirit, we are again impressed both with the narrow range of facts to which the advocates of "impersonality" call our attention, and also with the utter insufficiency of their theory to account for the facts they overlook. According to the theory of altruism and "impersonality," these are characteristics of undeveloped races and individuals, while the reverse characteristics, those of selfishness and self-assertiveness, are the products of a later and higher development, marks of strong personality. But neither selfishness nor individual aggressiveness is a necessary element of developed "personality." If it were, children who have never been trained by cultivated mothers, but have been allowed to have their own way regardless of the rights or desires of others, are more highly developed in "personality" than the adult who has, through a long life of self-discipline and religious devotion, become regardless of his selfish interests and solicitous only for the welfare of others. If the high development of altruism is equivalent to the development of "impersonality," then those in the West who are renowned for humanity and benevolence are "impersonal," while robbers and murderers and all who are regardless of the welfare of others are possessed of the most highly developed "personality." And it also follows that highly developed altruistic benefactors of mankind are such, after all, because they are _undeveloped_,--their minds are relatively undifferentiated,--hence their fellow-feeling and kindly acts. There is a story of some learned wit who met a half-drunken boor; the latter plunged ahead, remarking, "I never get out of the way of a fool"; to which the quick reply came, "I always do." According to this argument based on self-assertive aggressiveness, the boor was the man possessed of a strong personality, while the gentleman was relatively "impersonal." If pure selfishness and aggressiveness are the measure of personality, then are not many of the carnivorous animals endowed with a very high degree of "personality"? The truth is, a comprehensive and at the same time correct contrast between the East and the West cannot be stated in terms of personality and impersonality. They fail not only to take in all the facts, but they fail to explain even the facts they take in. Such a contrast of the East and the West can be stated only in the terms of communalism and individualism. As we have already seen,[CU] every nation has to pass through the communal stage, in order to become a nation at all. The families and tribes of which it is composed need to become consolidated in order to survive in the struggle for existence with surrounding families, tribes, and nations. In this stage the individual is of necessity sunk out of sight in the demands of the community. This secures indeed a species of altruism, but of a relatively low order. It is communal altruism which nature compels on pain of extermination. This, however, is very different from the altruism of a high religious experience and conscious ethical devotion. This latter is volitional, the product of character. This altruism can arise chiefly in a social order where individualism to a large extent has gained sway. It is this variety of altruism that characterizes the West, so far as the West is altruistic. But on the other hand, in a social order in which individualism has full swing, the extreme of egoistic selfishness can also find opportunity for development. It is accordingly in the West that extreme selfishness, the most odious of sins, is seen at its best, or rather its worst. So again we see that selfish aggressiveness and an exalted consciousness of one's individuality or separateness are not necessary marks of developed personality, nor their opposite the marks of undeveloped personality--so-called "impersonality." On the contrary, the reverse statement would probably come nearer the truth. He who is intensely conscious of the great unities of nature and of human nature, of the oneness that unites individuals to the nation and to the race, and who lives a corresponding life of goodness and kindness, is by far the more developed personality. But the manifestations of personality will vary much with the nature of the social order. This may change with astonishing rapidity. Such a change has come over the social order of the Japanese nation during the past thirty years, radically modifying its so-called impersonal features. Their primitive docility, their politeness, their marriage customs, their universal adoption of Chinese thoughts, language, and literature, and now, in recent times, their rejection of the Chinese philosophy and science, their assertiveness in Korea and China and their aggressive attitude toward the whole world--all these multitudinous changes and complete reversals of ideals and customs, point to the fact that the former characteristics of their civilization were not "impersonal," but communal, and that they rested on social development rather than on inherent nature or on deficient mental differentiation. A common illustration of Japanese "impersonality," depending for its force wholly on invention, is the deficiency of the Japanese language in personal pronouns and its surplus of honorifics. At first thought this argument strikes one as very strong, as absolutely invincible indeed. Surely, if there is a real lack of personal pronouns, is not that proof positive that the people using the language, nay, the authors of the language, must of necessity be deficient in the sense of personality? And if the verbs in large numbers are impersonal, does not that clinch the matter? But further consideration of the argument and its illustrations gradually shows its weakness. At present I must confess that the argument seems to me utterly fallacious, and for the sufficient reason that the personal element is introduced, if not always explicitly yet at least implicitly, in almost every sentence uttered. The method of its expression, it is true, is quite different from that adopted by Western languages, but it is none the less there. It is usually accomplished by means of the titles, "honorific" particles, and honorific verbs and nouns. "Honorable shoes" can't by any stretch of the imagination mean shoes that belong to me; every Japanese would at once think "your shoes"; his attention is not distracted by the term "honorable" as is that of the foreigner; the honor is largely overlooked by the native in the personal element implied. The greater the familiarity with the language the more clear it becomes that the impressions of "impersonality" are due to the ignorance of the foreigner rather than to the real "impersonal" character of the Japanese thought or mind. In the Japanese methods of linguistic expression, politeness and personality are indeed, inextricably interwoven; but they are not at all confused. The distinctions of person and the consciousness of self in the Japanese _thought_ are as clear and distinct as they are in the English thought. In the Japanese _sentence_, however, the politeness and the personality cannot be clearly separated. On that account, however, there is no more reason for denying one element than the other. So far from the deficiency of personal pronouns being a proof of Japanese "impersonality," _i.e._, of lack of consciousness of self, this very deficiency may, with even more plausibility, be used to establish the opposite view. Child psychology has established the fact that an early phenomenon of child mental development is the emphasis laid on "meum" and "tuum," mine and yours. The child is a thoroughgoing individualist in feelings, conceptions, and language. The first personal pronoun is ever on his lips and in his thought. Only as culture arises and he is trained to see how disagreeable in others is excessive emphasis on the first person, does he learn to moderate his own excessive egoistic tendency. Is it not a fact that the studied evasion of first personal pronouns by cultured people in the West is due to their developed consciousness of self? Is it possible for one who has no consciousness of self to conceive as impolite the excessive use of egoistic forms of speech? From this point of view we might argue that, because of the deficiency of her personal pronouns, the Japanese nation has advanced far beyond any other nation in the process of self-consciousness. But this too would be an error. Nevertheless, so far from saying that the lack of personal pronouns is a proof of the "impersonality" of the Japanese, I think we may fairly use it as a disproof of the proposition. The argument for the inherent impersonality of the Japanese mind because of the relative lack of personal pronouns is still further undermined by the discovery, not only of many substitutes, but also of several words bearing the strong impress of the conception of self. There are said to be three hundred words which may be used as personal pronouns--"Boku," "servant," is a common term for "I," and "kimi," "Lord," for "you"; these words are freely used by the student class. Officials often use "Konata," "here," and "Anata," "there," for the first and second persons. "Omaye," "honorably in front," is used both condescendingly and honorifically; "you whom I condescend to allow in my presence," and "you who confer on me the honor of entering your presence." The derivation of the most common word for I, "Watakushi," is unknown, but, in addition to its pronominal use, it has the meaning of "private." It has become a true personal pronoun and is freely used by all classes. In addition to the three hundred words which may be used as personal pronouns the Japanese language possesses an indefinite number of ways for delicately suggesting the personal element without its express utterance. This is done either by subtle praise, which can then only refer to the person addressed or by more or less bald self-depreciation, which can then only refer to the first person. "Go kanai," "honorable within the house," can only mean, according to Japanese etiquette, "your wife," or "your family," while "gu-sai," "foolish wife," can only mean "my wife." "Gufu," "foolish father," "tonji," "swinish child," and numberless other depreciatory terms such as "somatsu na mono," "coarse thing," and "tsumaranu mono," "worthless thing," according to the genius of the language can only refer to the first person, while all appreciative and polite terms can only refer to the person addressed. The terms, "foolish," "swinish," etc., have lost their literal sense and mean now no more than "my," while the polite forms mean "yours." To translate these terms, "my foolish wife," "my swinish son," is incorrect, because it twice translates the same word. In such cases the Japanese _thought_ is best expressed by using the possessive pronoun and omitting the derogative adjective altogether. Japanese indirect methods for the expression of the personal relation are thus numberless and subtile. May it not be plausibly argued since the European has only a few blunt pronouns wherewith to state this idea while the Japanese has both numberless pronouns and many other delicate ways of conveying the same idea, that the latter is far in advance of the European in the development of personality? I do not use this argument, but as an argument it seems to me much more plausible than that which infers from the paucity of true pronouns the absence, or at least the deficiency, of personality. Furthermore, Japanese possesses several words for self. "Onore," "one's self," and "Ware," "I or myself," are pure Japanese, while "Ji" (the Chinese pronunciation for "onore"), "ga," "self," and "shi" (the Chinese pronunciation of "watakushi," meaning private) are Sinico-Japanese words, that is, Chinese derived words. These Sinico-Japanese terms are in universal use in compound words, and are as truly Japanese as many Latin, Greek and Norman-derived words are real English. "Ji-bun," "one's self"; "jiman," "self-satisfaction"; "ji-fu," "self-assertion"; "jinin," "self-responsibility"; "ji-bo ji-ki," "self-destruction, self-abandonment"; "ji-go ji-toku," "self-act, self-reward"--always in a bad sense; "ga-yoku," "selfish desire"; "ga-shin," "selfish heart"; "ga we oru," "self-mastery"; "muga," "unselfish"; "shi-shin shi-yoku," "private or self-heart, private or self-desire," that is, selfishness"; "shi-ai shi-shin," "private-or self-love, private-or-self heart," _i.e._, selfishness--these and countless other compound words involving the conception of self, can hardly be explained by the "impersonal," "altruistic" theory of Japanese race mind and language. In truth, if this theory is unable to explain the facts it recognizes, much less can it account for those it ignores. To interpret correctly the phenomena we are considering, we must ask ourselves how personal pronouns have arisen in other languages. Did the primitive Occidental man produce them outright from the moment that he discovered himself? Far from it. There are abundant reasons for believing that every personal pronoun is a degenerate or, if you prefer, a developed noun. Pronouns are among the latest products of language, and, in the sphere of language, are akin to algebraic symbols in the sphere of mathematics or to a machine in the sphere of labor. A pronoun, whether personal, demonstrative, or relative, is a wonderful linguistic invention, enabling the speaker to carry on long trains of unbroken thought. Its invention was no more connected with the sense of self, than was the invention of any labor-saving device. The Japanese language is even more defective for lack of relative pronouns than it is for lack of personal pronouns. Shall we argue from this that the Japanese people have no sense of relation? Of course personal pronouns could not arise without or before the sense of self, but the problem is whether the sense of self could arise without or exist before that particular linguistic device, the personal pronoun? On this problem the Japanese language and civilization throw conclusive light. The fact is that the ancestors of the Anglo-Saxon and Japanese peoples parted company so long ago that in the course of their respective linguistic evolutions, not only have all common terms been completely eliminated, but even common methods of expression. The so-called Indo-European races hit upon one method of sentence structure, a method in which pronouns took an important part and the personal pronoun was needed to express the personal element, while the Japanese hit upon another method which required little use of pronouns and which was able to express the personal element wholly without the personal pronoun. The sentence structure of the two languages is thus radically different. Now the long prevalent feudal social order has left its stamp on the Japanese language no less than on every other feature of Japanese civilization. Many of the quasi personal pronouns are manifestly of feudal parentage. Under the new civilization and in contact with foreign peoples who can hardly utter a sentence without a personal pronoun, the majority of the old quasi personal pronouns are dropping out of use, while those in continued use are fast rising to the position of full-fledged personal pronouns. This, however, is not due to the development of self-consciousness on the part of the people, but only to the development of the language in the direction of complete and concise expression of thought. It would be rash to say that the feudal social order accounts for the lack of pronouns, personal or others, from the Japanese language, but it is safe to maintain that the feudal order, with its many gradations of social rank, minute etiquette, and refined and highly developed personal sensitiveness would adopt and foster an impersonal and honorific method of personal allusion. Even though we may not be able to explain the rise of the non-pronominal method of sentence structure, it is enough if we see that this is a problem in the evolution of language, and that Japanese pronominal deficiency is not to be attributed to lack of consciousness of self, much less to the inherent "impersonality" of the Japanese mind. An interesting fact ignored by advocates of the "impersonal" theory is the Japanese inability of conceiving nationality apart from personality. Not only is the Emperor conceived as the living symbol of Japanese nationality, but he is its embodiment and substance. The Japanese race is popularly represented to be the offspring of the royal house. Sovereignty resides completely and absolutely in him. Authority to-day is acknowledged only in those who have it from him. Popular rights are granted the people by him, and exist because of his will alone. A single act of his could in theory abrogate the constitution promulgated in 1889 and all the popular rights enjoyed to-day by the nation. The Emperor of Japan could appropriate, without in the least shocking the most patriotic Japanese, the long-famous saying of Louis XIV., "L'état, c'est moi." Mr. H. Kato, ex-president of the Imperial University, in a recent work entitled the "Evolution of Morality and Law" says this in just so many words: "Patriotism in this country means loyalty to the throne. To the Japanese, the Emperor and the country are the same. The Emperor of Japan, without the slightest exaggeration, can say, 'L'état, c'est moi.' The Japanese believe that all their happiness is bound up with the Imperial line and have no respect for any system of morality or law that fails to take cognizance of this fact." Mr. Yamaguchi, professor of history in the Peeresses' School and lecturer in the Imperial Military College, thus writes in the _Far East_: "The sovereign power of the State cannot be dissociated from the Imperial Throne. It lasts forever along with the Imperial line of succession, unbroken for ages eternal. If the Imperial House cease to exist, the Empire falls." "According to our ideas the monarch reigns over and governs the country in his own right.... Our Emperor possesses real sovereignty and also exercises it. He is quite different from other rulers, who possess but a partial sovereignty." This is to-day the universally accepted belief in Japan. It shows clearly that national unity and sovereignty are not conceived in Japan apart from personality. One more point demands our attention before bringing this chapter to a close. If "impersonality" were an inherent characteristic of Japanese race nature, would it be possible for strong personalities to arise? Mr. Lowell has described in telling way a very common experience. "About certain people," he says, "there exists a subtle something which leaves its impress indelibly upon the consciousness of all who come in contact with them. This something is a power, but a power of so indefinable a description that we beg definition by calling it simply the personality of the man.... On the other hand, there are people who have no effect upon us whatever. They come and they go with a like indifference.... And we say that the difference is due to the personality or the want of personality of the man."[CV] The first thing to which I would call attention is the fact that "personality" is here used in its true sense. It has no exclusive reference to consciousness of self, nor does it signify the effect of self-consciousness on the consciousness of another. It here has reference to those inherent qualities of thinking and feeling and willing which we have seen to be the essence of personality. These qualities, possessed in a marked way or degree, make strong personalities. Their relative lack constitutes weak personality. Bare consciousness of self is a minor evidence of personality and may be developed to a morbid degree in a person who has a weak personality. In the second place this distinction between weak and strong personalities is as true of the Japanese as of the Occidental. There have been many commanding persons in Japanese history; they have been the heroes of the land. There are such to-day. The most commanding personality of recent times was, I suppose, Takamori Saigo, whose very name is an inspiration to tens of thousands of the choicest youth of the nation. Joseph Neesima was such a personality. The transparency of his purpose, the simplicity of his personal aim, his unflinching courage, fixedness of belief, lofty plans, and far-reaching ambitions for his people, impressed all who came into contact with him. No one mingles much with the Japanese, freely speaking with them in their own language, but perceives here and there men of "strong personality" in the sense of the above-quoted passage. Now it seems to me that if "impersonality" in the corresponding sense were a race characteristic, due to the nature of their psychic being, then the occurrence of so many commanding personalities in Japan would be inexplicable. Heroes and widespread hero-worship[CW] could hardly arise were there no commanding personalities. The feudal order lent itself without doubt to the development of such a spirit. But the feudal order could hardly have arisen or even maintained itself for centuries without commanding personalities, much less could it have created them. The whole feudal order was built on an exalted oligarchy. It was an order which emphasized persons, not principles; the law of the land was not the will of the multitudes, but of a few select persons. While, therefore, it is beyond dispute that the old social order was communal in type, and so did not give freedom to the individual, nor tend to develop strong personality among the masses, it is also true that it did develop men of commanding personality among the rulers. Those who from youth were in the hereditary line of rule, sons of Shoguns, daimyos, and samurai, were forced by the very communalism of the social order to an exceptional personal development. They shot far ahead of the common man. Feudalism is favorable to the development of personality in the favored few, while it represses that of the masses. Individualism, on the contrary, giving liberty of thought and act, with all that these imply, is favorable to the development of the personality of all. In view of the discussions of this chapter, is it not evident that advocates of the "impersonal" theory of Japanese mind and civilization not only ignore many important elements of the civilization they attempt to interpret, but also base their interpretation on a mistaken conception of personality? We may not, however, leave the discussion at this point, for important considerations still demand our attention if we would probe this problem of personality to its core. XXXII IS BUDDHISM IMPERSONAL? Advocates of Japanese "impersonality" call attention to the phenomena of self-suppression in religion. It seems strange, however, that they who present this argument fail to see how "self-suppression" undermines their main contention. If "self-suppression" be actually attained, it can only be by a people advanced so far as to have passed through and beyond the "personal" stage of existence. "Self-suppression" cannot be a characteristic of a primitive people, a people that has not yet reached the stage of consciousness of self. If the alleged "impersonality" of the Orient is that of a primitive people that has not yet reached the stage of self-consciousness, then it cannot have the characteristic of "self-suppression." If, on the other hand, it is the "impersonality" of "self-suppression," then it is radically different from that of a primitive people. Advocates of "impersonality" present both conceptions, quite unconscious apparently that they are mutually exclusive. If either conception is true, the other is false. Furthermore, if self-suppression is a marked characteristic of Japanese politeness and altruism (as it undoubtedly is when these qualities are real expressions of the heart and of the general character), it is a still more characteristic feature of the higher religious life of the people, which certainly does not tend to "impersonality." The ascription of esoteric Buddhism to the common people by advocates of the "impersonal" theory is quite a mistake, and the argument for the "impersonality" of the race on this ground is without foundation, for the masses of the people are grossly polytheistic, wholly unable to understand Buddhistic metaphysics, or to conceive of the nebulous, impersonal Absolute of Buddhism. Now if consciousness of the unity of nature, and especially of the unity of the individual soul with the Absolute, were a characteristic of undeveloped, that is, of undifferentiated mind, then all primitive peoples should display it in a superlative degree. It should show itself in every phase of their life. The more primitive the people, the more divine their life--because the less differentiated from the original divine mind! Such are the requirements of this theory. But what are the facts? The primitive undeveloped mind is relatively unconscious of self; it is wholly objective; it is childlike; it does not even know that there is self to suppress. Primitive religion is purely objective. Implicit, in primitive religion without doubt, is the fact of a unity between God and man, but the primitive man has not discovered this implication of his religious thinking. This is the state of mind of a large majority of Japanese. Yet this is by no means true of all. No nation, with such a continuous history as Japan has had, would fail to develop a class capable of considerable introspection. In Japan introspection received early and powerful impetus from the religion of Buddha. It came with a philosophy of life based on prolonged and profound introspection. It commanded each man who would know more than the symbols, who desired, like Buddha, to attain the great enlightenment and thus become a Tathagata, a Blessed one, a Buddha, an Enlightened one, to know and conquer himself. The emphasis laid by thoughtful Buddhism on the need of self-knowledge, in order to self-suppression, is well recognized by all careful students. Advocates of Oriental "impersonality" are not one whit behind others in recognizing it. In this connection we can hardly do better than quote a few of Mr. Lowell's happy descriptions of the teaching of philosophic Buddhism. "This life, it says, is but a chain of sorrows.... These desires that urge us on are really causes of all our woe. We think they are ourselves. We are mistaken. They are all illusion.... This personality, this sense of self, is a cruel deception.... Realize once the true soul behind it, devoid of attributes ... an invisible part of the great impersonal soul of nature, then ... will you have found happiness in the blissful quiescence of Nirvana" [p. 186]. "In desire alone lies all the ill. Quench the desire, and the deeds [sins of the flesh] will die of inanition. Get rid, then, said Buddha, of these passions, these strivings, for the sake of self. As a man becomes conscious that he himself is something distinct from his body, so if he reflect and ponder, he will come to see that in like manner, his appetites, ambitions, hopes, are really extrinsic to the spirit proper.... Behind desire, behind even the will, lies the soul, the same for all men, one with the soul of the universe. When he has once realized this eternal truth, the man has entered Nirvana.... It [Nirvana] is simply the recognition of the eternal oneness of the two [the individual and the universal soul]" [p. 189]. Accepting this description of philosophic Buddhism as fairly accurate, it is plain that the attainment of this consciousness of the unity of the individual self with the universal is the result, according to Buddha, and also according to the advocates of "impersonality," of a highly developed consciousness of self. It is not a simple state of undifferentiated mind, but a complex and derivative one--absolutely incomprehensible to a primitive people. The means for this suppression of self _depends entirely on the development of the consciousness of self_. The self is the means for casting out the self, and it is done by that introspection which ultimately leads to the realization of the unity. If, then, Japanese Buddhism seeks to suppress the self, this very effort is the most conclusive proof we could demand of the possession by this people of a highly developed consciousness of self. It is one of the boasts of Buddhism that a man's saviour is himself; no other helper, human or divine, can do aught for him. Those who reject Christianity in Christian lands are quite apt to praise Buddhism for this rejection of all external help. They urge that by the very nature of the case salvation is no external thing; each one must work out his own salvation. It cannot be given by another. Salvation through an external Christ who lived 1900 years ago is an impossibility. Such a criticism of Christianity shows real misunderstanding of the Christian doctrine and method of salvation. Yet the point to which attention is here directed is not the correctness or incorrectness of these characterizations of Christianity, but rather to the fact that "ji-riki," salvation through self-exertion, which is the boast of Buddhism, is but another proof of the essentially self-conscious character of Buddhism. It aims at Nirvana, it is true, at self-suppression, but it depends on the attainment of clear self-consciousness in the first place, and then on prolonged self-exertion for the attainment of that end. In proportion as Buddhism is esoteric is it self-conscious. Such being the nature of Buddhism, we naturally ask whether or not it is calculated to develop strongly personalized men and women. If consciousness of self is the main element of personality, we must pronounce Buddhism a highly personal rather than impersonal religion, as is commonly stated. But a religion of the Buddhistic type, which casts contempt on the self, and seeks its annihilation as the only means of salvation, has ever tended to destroy personality; it has made men hermits and pessimists; it has drawn them out of the great current of active life, and thus has severed them from their fellow-men. But a prime condition of developed personalities is largeness and intensity of life, and constant intercourse with mankind. Personality is developed in the society of persons, not in the company of trees and stones. Buddhism, which runs either to gross and superstitious polytheism on its popular side or to pessimistic introspection on its philosophical side, may possibly, by a stretch of the term, be called "impersonal" in the sense that it does not help in the production of strong, rounded personality among its votaries, but not in the sense that it does not produce self-consciousness. Buddhism, therefore, cannot be accurately described in terms of personality or impersonality. We would do well in this connection to ponder the fact that although Buddhism in its higher forms does certainly develop consciousness of self, it does not attribute to that self any worth. In consequence of this, it never has modified, and however long it might be allowed to run its course, never could modify, the general social order in the direction of individualism. This is one reason why the whole Orient has maintained to modern times its communal nature, in spite of its high development in so many ways, even in introspection and self-consciousness. This failure of Buddhism is all the more striking when we stop to consider how easy and, to us, natural an inference it would have been to pass from the perception of the essential unity between the separate self and the universal soul, to the assertion of the supreme worth of that separate soul because of the fact of that unity. But Buddhism never seems to have made that inference. Its compassion on animals and even insects depended on its doctrine of the transmigration of souls, not on its doctrine of universal soul unity. Its mercy was shown to animals in certain whimsical ways, but the universal lack of sympathy for suffering man, man who could suffer the most exquisite pains, exposed the shallowness of its solicitude about destroying life. The whole influence of Buddhism on the social order was not conducive to the development of personality in the Orient. The so-called impersonal influence of Buddhism upon the Eastern peoples, then, is not due to its failure to recognize the separateness of the human self, on the one hand, nor to its emphasis on the universal unity subsisting between the separate finite self and the infinite soul, on the other; but only on its failure to see the infinite worth of the individual; and in consequence of this failure, its inability to modify the general social order by the introduction of individualism. The asserted "impersonal" characteristic of Buddhism and of the Orient, therefore, I am not willing to call "impersonality"; for it is a very defective description, a real misnomer. I think no single term can truly describe the characteristic under consideration. As regards the general social order, the so-called impersonal characteristic is its communal nature; as regards the popular religious thought, whether of Shintoism or Buddhism, its so-called impersonality is its simple, artless objectivity; as regards philosophic Buddhism its so-called impersonality is its morbid introspective self-consciousness, leading to the desire and effort to annihilate the separateness of the self. These are different characteristics and cannot be described by any single term. So far as there are in Japan genuine altruism, real suppression of selfish desires, and real possession of kindly feelings for others and desires to help them, and so far as these qualities arise through a sense of the essential unity of the human race and of the unity of the human with the divine soul, this is not "impersonality"--but a form of highly developed personality--not infra-personality, but true personality. We have noted that although esoteric Buddhism developed a highly accentuated consciousness of self, it attributed no value to that self. This failure will not appear strange if we consider the historical reasons for it. Indeed, the failure was inevitable. Neither the social order nor the method of introspective thought suggested it. Both served, on the contrary, absolutely to preclude the idea. When introspective thought began in India the social order was already far beyond the undifferentiated communal life of the tribal stage. Castes were universal and fixed. The warp and woof of daily life and of thought were filled with the distinctions of castes and ranks. Man's worth was conceived to be not in himself, but in his rank or caste. The actual life of the people, therefore, did not furnish to speculative thought the slightest suggestion of the worth of man as man. It was a positive hindrance to the rise of such an idea. Equally opposed to the rise of this idea was the method of that introspective thought which discovered the fact of the self. It was a method of abstraction; it denied as part of the real self everything that could be thought of as separate; every changing phase or expression of the self could not be the real self, it was argued, because, if a part of the real self, how could it sometimes be and again not be? Feeling cannot be a part of the real self, for sometimes I feel and sometimes I do not. Any particular desire cannot be a part of my real self, for sometimes I have it and sometimes I do not. A similar argument was applied to every objective thing. In the famous "Questions of King Melinda," the argument as to the real chariot is expanded at length; the wheels are not the chariot; the spokes are not the chariot; the seat is not the chariot; the tongue is not the chariot; the axle is not the chariot; and so, taking up each individual part of the chariot, the assertion is made that it is not the chariot. But if the chariot is not in any of its parts, then they are not essential parts of the chariot. So of the soul--the self; it does not consist of its various qualities or attributes or powers; hence they are not essential elements of the self. The real self exists apart from them. Now is it not evident that such a method of introspection deprives the conception of self of all possible value? It is nothing but a bare intellectual abstraction. To say that this self is a part of the universal self is no relief,--brings no possible worth to the separate self,--for the conception of the universal soul has been arrived at by a similar process of thought. It, too, is nothing but a bare abstraction, deprived of all qualities and attributes and powers. I can see no distinction between the absolute universal soul of Brahmanism and Buddhism, and the Absolute Nothing of Hegel.[CX] Both are the farthest possible abstraction that the mind can make. The Absolute Soul of Buddhism, the Atman of Brahmanism, and Hegel's Nothing are the farthest possible remove from the Christian's conception of God. The former is the utter emptiness of being; the latter the perfect fullness of being and completeness of quality. The finite emptiness receives and can receive no richness of life or increase in value by its consciousness of unity with the infinite emptiness; whereas the finite limited soul receives in the Christian view an infinite wealth and value by reason of the consciousness of its unity with the divine infinite fullness. The usual method of stating the difference between the Christian conception of God and the Hindu conception of the root of all being is that the one is personal and the other impersonal. But these terms are inadequate. Rather say the one is perfectly personal and the other perfectly abstract. Impersonality, even in its strictest meaning, _i.e._, without "conscious separate existence as an intelligent and voluntary being," only partially expresses the conception of Buddhism. The full conception rejects not only personality, but also every other quality; the ultimate and the absolute of Buddhism--we may not even call it being--is the absolutely abstract. With regard, then, to the conception of the separate self and of the supreme self, the Buddhistic view may be called "impersonal," not in the sense that it lacks the consciousness of a separate self; not in the sense that it emphasizes the universal unity--nay, the identity of all the separate abstract selves and the infinite abstract self; but in the sense that all the qualities and characteristics of human beings, such as consciousness, thought, emotion, volition, and even being itself, are rejected as unreal. The view is certainly "impersonal," but it is much more. My objection to the description of Buddhism as "impersonal," then, is not because the word is too strong, but because it is too weak; it does not sufficiently characterize its real nature. It is as much below materialism, as materialism is below monotheism. Such a scheme of thought concerning the universe necessarily reacts on those whom it possesses, to destroy what sense they may have of the value of human personality; that which we hold to be man's glory is broken into fragments and thrown away. But this does not constitute the whole of the difficulty. This method of introspective thought necessarily resulted in the doctrine of Illusion. Nothing is what it seems to be. The reality of the chariot is other than it appears. So too with the self and everything we see or think. The ignoant are perfectly under the spell of the illusion and cannot escape it. The deluded mind creates for itself the world of being, with all its woes and evils. The great enlightenment is the discovery of this fact and the power it gives to escape the illusion and to see that the world is nothing but illusion. To see that the illusion is an illusion destroys it as such. It is then no longer an illusion, but only a passing shadow. We cannot now stop to see how pessimism, the doctrine of self-salvation, and the nature of that salvation through contemplation and asceticism and withdrawal from active life, all inevitably follow from such a course of thought. That which here needs emphasis is that all this thinking renders it still more impossible to think of the self as having any intrinsic worth. On-the contrary, the self is the source of evil, of illusion. The great aim of Buddhism is necessarily to get rid of the self, with all its illusions and pains and disappointments. Is it now clear why Buddhism failed to reach the idea of the worth of the individual self? It was due to the nature of the social order, and the nature of its introspective and speculative thinking. Lacking, therefore, the conception of individual worth, we see clearly why it failed, even after centuries of opportunity, to secure individualism in the social order and a general development of personality either as an idea or as a fact among any of the peoples to which it has gone. It is not only a fact of history, but we have seen that it could not have been otherwise. The very nature of its conception of self and, in consequence, the nature of its conception of salvation absolutely prohibited it.[CY] We have thus far confined our view entirely to philosophic Buddhism. It is important, therefore, to state again that very few of the Japanese people outside of the priesthood have any such ideas with regard to the abstract nature of the individual, of the absolute self, and of their mutual relations as I have just described. These ideas are a part of esoteric Buddhism, the secret truth, which is an essential part of the great enlightenment, but far too profound for the vulgar multitudes. The vast majority, even of the priesthood, I am told, do not get far enough to be taught these views. The sweep of such conceptions, therefore, is very limited. That they are held, however, by the leaders, that they are the views of the most learned expounders and the most advanced students of Buddhism serves to explain why Buddhism has never been, and can never become, a power in reorganizing society in the direction of individualism. Popular Buddhism contains many elements alien to philosophic Buddhism. For a full study of the subject of this chapter we need to ask whether popular Buddhism tended to produce "impersonality," and if so, in what sense. The doctrine of "ingwa,"[CZ] with its consequences on character, demands fresh attention at this point. According to this doctrine every event of this life, even the minutest, is the result of one's conduct in a previous life, and is unalterably fixed by inflexible law. "Ingwa" is the crude idea of fate held by all primitive peoples, stated in somewhat philosophic and scientific form. It became a central element in the thought of Oriental peoples. Each man is born into his caste and class by a law over which neither he nor his parents have any control, and for which they are without responsibility. The misfortunes of life, and the good fortunes as well, come by the same impartial, inflexible laws. By this system of thought moral responsibility is practically removed from the individual's shoulders. This doctrine is held in Japan far more widely than the philosophic doctrine of the self, and is correspondingly baleful. This system of thought, when applied to the details of life, means that individual choice and will, and their effect in determining both external life and internal character have been practically lost sight of. As a sociological fact the origin of this conception is not difficult to understand. The primitive freedom of the individual in the early communal order of the tribe became increasingly restricted with the multiplication and development of the Hindu peoples; each class of society became increasingly specialized. Finally the individual had no choice whatever left him, because of the extreme rigidity of the communal order. As a matter of fact, the individual choice and will was allowed no play whatever in any important matter. Good sense saw that where no freedom is, there moral responsibility cannot be. All one's life is predetermined by the powers that be. Thus we again see how vital a relation the social order bears to the innermost thinking and belief of a people. Still further. Once let the idea be firmly grounded in an individual that he has no freedom of belief, of choice, or of act, and in the vast majority of cases, as a matter of fact, he will have none. "As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he." "According to your faith be it unto you." This doctrine of individual freedom is one of those that cannot be forced on a man who does not choose to believe it. In a true sense, it is my belief that I am free that makes me free. As Prof. James well says, the doctrine of the freedom of the will cannot be rammed down any man's intellectual throat, for that very act would abridge his real freedom. Man's real freedom is proved by his freedom to reject even the doctrine of his freedom. But so long as he rejects it, his freedom is only potential. Because of his belief in his bondage he is in bondage. Now this doctrine of fate has been the warp and woof of the thinking of the bulk of the Japanese people in their efforts to explain all the vicissitudes of life. Not only, therefore, has it failed to stimulate the volitional element of the psychic nature, but in the psychology of the Orient little if any attention has been given to this faculty. Oriental psychology practically knows nothing of personality because it has failed to note one of its central elements, the freedom of the will. The individual, therefore, has not been appealed to to exercise his free moral choice, one of the highest prerogatives of his nature. Moral responsibility has not been laid on his individual shoulders. A method of moral appeal fitted to develop the deepest element of his personality has thus been precluded. It thus resulted that although philosophic Buddhism developed a high degree of self-consciousness, yet because it failed to discover personal freedom it did not deliver popular Buddhism from its grinding doctrine of fate, rather it fastened this incubus of social progress more firmly upon it. Philosophic and popular Buddhism alike thus threw athwart the course of human and social evolution the tremendous obstacle of fatalism, which the Orient has never discovered a way either to surmount or evade. Buddhism teaches the impotence of the individual will; it destroys the sense of moral responsibility; it thus fails to understand the real nature of man, his glory and power and even his divinity, which the West sums up in the term personality. In this sense, then, the influence of Buddhism and the condition of the Orient may be called "impersonal," but it is the impersonality of a defective religious psychology, and of communalism in the social order. Whether it is right to call this feature of Japan "impersonality," I leave with the reader to judge. We draw this chapter to a close with a renewed conception of the inadequacy of the "impersonal" theory to explain Japanese religious and social phenomena. Further considerations, however, still merit attention ere we leave this subject. XXXIII TRACES OF PERSONALITY IN SHINTOISM, BUDDHISM, AND CONFUCIANISM Regret as we sometimes must the illogicalness of the human mind, yet it is a providential characteristic of our as yet defective nature; for thanks to it few men or nations carry out to their complete logical results erroneous opinions and metaphysical speculations. Common sense in Japan has served more or less as an antidote for Buddhistic poison. The blighting curse of logical Buddhism has been considerably relieved by various circumstances. Let us now consider some of the ways in which the personality-destroying characteristics of Buddhism have been lessened by other ideas and influences. First of all there is the distinction, so often noted, between esoteric and popular Buddhism. Esoteric Buddhism was content to allow popular Buddhism a place and even to invent ways for the salvation of the ignorant multitudes who could not see the real nature of the self. Resort was had to the use of magic prayers and symbols and idols. These were bad enough, but they did not bear so hard on the development of personality as did esoteric Buddhism. The doctrine of the transmigration of the soul was likewise a relief from the pressure of philosophic Buddhism, for, according to this doctrine, the individual soul continues to live its separate life, to maintain its independent identity through infinite ages, while passing through the ten worlds of existence, from nethermost hell to highest heaven; and the particular world into which it is born after each death is determined by the moral character of its life in the immediately preceding stage. By this doctrine, then, a practical appeal is made to the common man to exert his will, to assert his personality, and so far forth it was calculated to undo a part of the mischief done by the paralyzing doctrine of fate and illusion. But a more important relief from the blight of Buddhistic doctrine was afforded by its own practice. At the very time that it declared the worthlessness of the self and the impotence of the will, it declared that salvation can come only from the self, by the most determined exercise of the will. What more convincing evidence of powerful, though distorted, wills could be asked than that furnished by Oriental asceticism? Nothing in the West exceeds it. As an _idea_, then, Buddhism interfered with the development of the conception of personality; but by its _practice_ it helped powerfully to develop it as a fact in certain phases of activity. The stoicism of the Japanese is one phase of developed personality. It shows the presence of a powerful, disciplined will keeping the body in control, so that it gives no sign of the thoughts and emotions going on in the mind, however fierce they may be. That in Japan, however, which has interfered most powerfully with the spread and dominance of Buddhism has been the practical and prosaic Confucian ethics. Apparently, Confucius never speculated. Metaphysics and introspection alike had no charm for him. He was concerned with conduct. His developed doctrine demanded of all men obedience to the law of the five relations. In spite, therefore, of the fact that he said nothing about individuality and personality, his system laid real emphasis on personality and demanded its continuous activity. In all of his teachings the idea of personality in the full and proper sense of this word is always implicit, and sometimes is quite distinct. The many strong and noble characters which glorify the feudal era are the product of Japonicized Confucianism, "Bushido," and bear powerful witness to its practical emphasis on personality. The loyalty, filial piety, courage, rectitude, honor, self-control, and suicide which it taught, defective though we must pronounce them from certain points of view, were yet very lofty and noble, and depended for their realization on the development of personality. Advocates of the "impersonal" interpretation of the Orient have much to say about pantheism. They assert the difficulty of conveying to the Oriental mind the idea of the personality of the Supreme Being. Although some form of pantheism is doubtless the belief of the learned, the evidence that a personal conception of deity is widespread among the people seems so manifest that I need hardly do more than call attention to it. This belief has helped to neutralize the paralyzing tendency of Buddhist fatalistic pantheism. Shinto is personal from first to last. Every one of its myriads of gods is a personal being, many of them deified men. The most popular are the souls of men who became famous for some particularly noble, brave, or admirable deed. Hero-worship is nothing if not personal. Furthermore, in its doctrine of "San-shin-ittai," "three gods, one body," it curiously suggests the doctrine of the Trinity. Popular Buddhism holds an equally personal conception of deity. The objects of its worship are personifications of various qualities. "Kwannon," the goddess of mercy; "Jizo," the guardian of travelers and children; "Emma O," "King of Hell," who punishes sinners; "Fudo Sama," "The Immovable One," are all personifications of the various attributes of deity and are worshiped as separate gods, each being represented by a uniform type of idol. It is a curious fact that Buddhism, which started out with such a lofty rejection of deity, finally fell to the worship of idols, whereas Shinto, which is peculiarly the worship of personality, has never stooped to its representation in wood or stone. Confucianism, however, surpasses all in its intimations of the personality of the Supreme Being. Although it never formulated this doctrine in a single term, nor definitely stated it as a tenet of religion, yet the entire ethical and religious thinking of the classically educated Japanese is shot through with the idea. Consider the Chinese expression "Jo-Tei," which the Christians of Japan freely use for God; it means literally "Supreme Emperor," and refers to the supreme ruler of the universe; he is here conceived in the form of a human ruler having of course human, that is to say, personal, attributes. A phrase often heard on the lips of the Japanese is: "Aoide Ten ni hajizu; fushite Chi ni hajizu." "Without self-reproach, whether looking up to Heaven, or down to Earth." This phrase has reference to the consciousness of one's life and conduct, such that he is neither ashamed to look up in the face of Heaven nor to look about him in the presence of man. Paul expressed this same idea when he wrote "having a conscience void of offense to God and to man." Or take another phrase: "Ten-mo kwaikwai so ni shite morasazu." "Heaven's net is broad as earth; and though its meshes are large, none can escape it." This is constantly used to illustrate the certainty that Heaven punishes the wicked. "Ten ni kuchi ari; kabe ni mimi ari." "Heaven has a mouth and even the wall has ears," signifies that all one does is known to the ruler of heaven and earth. Another still more striking saying ascribing knowledge to Heaven is the "Yoshin no Shichi," "the four knowings of Yoshin." This sage was a Chinaman of the second century A.D. Approached with a large bribe and urged to accept it with the assurance that no one would know it, he replied, "Heaven knows it; Earth knows it; you know it; and I know it. How say you that none will know it?" This famous saying condemning bribery is well known in Japan. The references to "Heaven" as knowing, seeing, doing, sympathizing, willing, and always identifying the activity of "Heaven" with the noblest and loftiest ideals of man, are frequent in Chinese and Japanese literature. The personality of God is thus a doctrine clearly foreshadowed in the Orient. It is one of those great truths of religion which the Orient has already received, but which in a large measure lies dormant because of its incomplete expression. The advent of the fully expressed teaching of this truth, freed from all vagueness and ambiguity, is a capital illustration of the way in which Christianity comes to Japan to fulfill rather than to destroy; it brings that fructifying element that stirs the older and more or less imperfectly expressed truths into new life, and gives them adequate modes of expression. But the point to which I am here calling attention is the fact that the idea of the personality of the Supreme Being is not so utterly alien to Oriental thought as some would have us think. Even though there is no single word with which conveniently to translate the term, the idea is perfectly distinct to any Japanese to whom its meaning is explained. The statement is widely made that because the Japanese language has no term for "personality" the people are lacking in the idea; that consequently they have difficulty in grasping it even when presented to them, and that as a further consequence they are not to be criticised for their hesitancy in accepting the doctrine of the "Personality of God." It must be admitted that if "personality" is to be defined in the various ambiguous and contradictory ways in which we have seen it defined by advocates of Oriental "impersonality" much can be said in defense of their hesitancy. Indeed, no thinking Christian of the Occident for a moment accepts it. But if "personality" is defined in the way here presented, which I judge to be the usage of thoughtful Christendom, then their hesitancy cannot be so defended. It is doubtless true that there is in Japanese no single word corresponding to our term "personality." But that is likewise true of multitudes of other terms. The only significance of this fact is that Oriental philosophy has not followed in exactly the same lines as the Occidental. As a matter of fact I have not found the idea of personality to be a difficult one to convey to the Japanese, if clear definitions are used. The Japanese language has, as we have seen, many words referring to the individuality, to the self of manhood; it merely lacks the general abstract term, "personality." This is, however, in keeping with the general characteristics of the language. Abstract terms are, compared with English, relatively rare. Yet with the new civilization they are being coined and introduced. Furthermore, the English term "personality" is readily used by the great majority of educated Christians just as they use such words as "life," "power," "success," "patriotism," and "Christianity." In the summer of 1898, with the Rev. C.A. Clark I was invited to speak on the "Outlines of Christianity" in a school for Buddhist priests. At the close of our thirty-minute addresses, a young man arose and spoke for fifty minutes, outlining the Buddhist system of thought; his address consisted of an exposition of the law of cause and effect; he also stated some of the reasons why the Christian conception of God and the universe seemed to him utterly unsatisfactory; the objections raised were those now current in Japan--such, for example, as that if God really were the creator of the universe, why are some men rich and some poor, some high-born and some low-born. He also asked the question who made God? In a two-minute reply I stated that his objections showed that he did not understand the Christian's position; and I asked in turn what was the origin of the law of cause and effect. The following day the chief priest, the head of the school and its most highly educated instructor, dined with us. We of course talked of the various aspects of Christian and Buddhist doctrine. Finally he asked me how I would answer the question as to who created God, and as to the origin of the law of cause and effect. I explained as clearly as I could the Christian view of God, in his personality and as being the original and only source of all existence, whether of physical or of human nature. He seemed to drink it all in and expressed his satisfaction at the close in the words, "Taihen ni man zoku shimashita," "That is exceedingly satisfactory"; these words he repeated several times. This is not my first personal proof of the fact that the idea of personality is not alien or incomprehensible to the Orient, nor even to a Buddhist priest, steeped in Buddhist speculation, provided the idea is clearly stated. Before bringing to a close this discussion of the problem of personality in Japan, it would seem desirable to trace the history of the development of Japanese personality. In view of all that has now been said, and not forgetting what was said as to the principles of National Evolution,[DA] this may be done in a paragraph. The amalgamation of tribes, the development of large clans, and finally the establishment of the nation, with world-wide relations, has reacted on the individual members of the people, giving them larger and richer lives. This constitutes one important element of personal development. The subordination of individual will to that of the group, the desire and effort to live for the advantage, not of the individual self, but of the group, whether family, tribe, clan, nation, or the world, is not a limitation of personality. On the contrary, it is its expansion and development. Shinto and Japonicized Confucianism contributed powerful motives to this subordination, and thus to this personal development. These were attended, however, by serious limitations in that they confined their attention to the upper and ruling classes. The development of personality was thus extremely limited. Buddhism contributed to the development of Japanese personality in so far as it taught Japanese the marvels revealed by introspection and self-victory. Its contribution, however, was seriously hampered by defects already sufficiently emphasized. Japan has developed personality to a high degree in a few and to a relatively low degree in the many. The problem confronting New Japan is the development of a high degree of personality among the masses. This is to be accomplished by the introduction of an individualistic social order. One further topic demands our attention in closing. What is the nature of personal heredity? Is it biological and inherent, or, like all the characteristics of the Japanese people thus far studied, is personality transmitted by social heredity? Distinguishing between intrinsic or inherent personality,[DB] which constitutes the original endowment differentiating man from animal, and extrinsic or acquired personality, which consists of the various forms in which the inherent personality has manifested itself in the different races of men and the different ages of "history, it is safe to say that the latter is transmitted according to the laws of association or social heredity. Intrinsic personality can be inherited only by lineal offspring, passing from father to son. Extrinsic personality may fail to be inherited by lineal descendants and may be inherited by others than lineal descendants. It is transmitted and determined by social inheritance. Yet it is through personality that the individual may break away from the dominant currents of the social order, and become thus the means for the transformation of that order. The secret of social progress lies in personality. In proportion as the social order is fitted, accordingly, widely to develop high-grade personality,[DC] is its own progress rapid and safe. Does acquired personality react on intrinsic personality? This is the problem of "the inheritance of acquired characteristics." Into this problem I do not enter further than to note that in so far as newly developed personal traits produce transformations of body and brain transmittable from parent to offspring by the bare fact of parentage, in that degree does acquired pass over into intrinsic personality and thereby become intrinsic. In regard to the degree in which acquired has passed over into intrinsic personality, thus differentiating the leading races of mankind, we contend that it is practically non-existent. The phenomena of personality characterizing the chief races of men are due, not to intrinsic, but to acquired personality; in other words they are the products of the respective social orders and are transmitted from generation to generation by social rather than by biological heredity. XXXIV THE BUDDHIST WORLD-VIEW Fully to comprehend the genius and history of Japan and her social order, we need to gain a still more thorough insight into the various conceptions of the universe that have influenced the people. What have been their views as to the nature of the ultimate reality lying behind all phenomena? What as to the relation of mankind to that Ultimate Reality? And what has been the relation of these world-views to the social order? To prepare the way for our final answer to these questions, we confine ourselves in this chapter to a study of the inner nature of the Buddhist world-view. Since the Buddhist conception of the Ultimate Reality and of the universe is one of the three important types of world-views dominating the human mind, a type too that is hardly known in Western lands, in order to set it forth in terms intelligible to the Occidental and the Christian, it will be necessary in expounding it to contrast it with the two remaining types; namely, the Greek and the Christian. As already pointed out, according to the Buddhistic conception, the Ultimate is a thoroughgoing Abstraction. All the elements of personality are denied. It is perfectly passionless, perfectly thoughtless, and perfectly motionless. It has neither feeling, idea, nor will. As a consequence, the phenomena of the universe are wholly unrelated to it; all that is, is only illusion; it has no reality of being. Human beings who think the world real, and who think even themselves real, are under the spell. This illusion is the great misery and source of pain. Salvation is the discovery of the illusion; and this discovery is the victory over it; for no one fears the lion's skin, however much he may fear the lion. This discovery secures the dropping back from the little, limited, individual self-line, into the infinite passionless, thoughtless, and motionless existence of the absolute being, Nirvana. The Ancient Greek and not a little modern thought, conceived of the Ultimate as a thorough-going intellectualism. One aspect of personality was perceived and emphasized. God was conceived as a thinker, as one who contemplates the universe. He does not create matter, nor force, nor does he rule them. They are eternal and real, and subject to fate. God simply observes. He is absolute reason. The Greek view is thus essentially dualistic. Sin, from the Greek point of view, is merely ignorance, and salvation the attainment of knowledge. In vital and vitalizing contrast to both the Buddhist and Greek conceptions is the Judæo-Christian. To the Christian the Ultimate is a thoroughgoing personality. To him the central element in God is will, guided by reason and controlled by love and righteousness. God creates and rules everything. There is nothing that is not wholly subject to him. There is no dualism for the Christian, nor any illusion. Sin is an act of human will, not an illusion nor a failure of intellect. Salvation is the correction of the will, which comes about through a "new birth." The elemental difference, then, between these three conceptions of the Ultimate is that in Buddhism the effort to rationalize and ethicize the universe of experience is abandoned as a hopeless task; the world entirely and completely resists the rational and ethical process. The universe is pronounced completely irrational and non-moral. Change is branded as illusion. There is no room for progress in philosophic, thoroughgoing Buddhism. In the Greek view the universe is subject in part to the rationalizing process; but only in part. The effort at ethicization is entirely futile. The Greek view, equally with the Buddhistic, is at a loss to understand change. It does not brand it as unreal, but change produced by man is branded as a departure from nature. Greeks and Hindus alike have no philosophy of history. In the Christian view the universe is completely subject to the rational and ethical process. God is creator of all that is and it is necessarily good. God is an active will and He is, therefore, still in the process of creating; hence change, evolution, is justified and understood. History is rational and has a philosophy. Evolution and revelation have their place at the very heart of the universe. Hence it is that science, philosophy, and history, in a word a high-grade civilization, finds its intellectual justification, its foundation, its primary postulates, its possibility, only in a land permeated with the Christian idea of God. In the Buddhistic conception God is an abstract vacuity; in the Greek, a static intellect; in the Christian, a dynamic will. As is the conception of God, so is the conception and character of man. The two are so intimately interdependent that it is useless at this time to discuss which is the cause and which the result. They are doubtless the two aspects of the same movement of thought. The following differences are necessary characteristics of the three religions: The Buddhist seeks salvation through the attainment of vacuity--Nirvana--in order to escape from the world in which he says there is no reason and no morality. The Greek seeks salvation through the activity of the intellect; all that is needful to salvation is knowledge of the truth. The Christian seeks salvation through the activity of the will; this is secured through the new birth. The Buddhist leaves each man to save himself from his illusion by the discovery that it is an illusion. The Greek relies on intellectual education, on philosophy--the Christian recreates the will. The Buddhist and Greek gods make no effort to help the lost man. The Christian God is dominated by love; He is therefore a missionary God, sending even His only begotten Son to reconcile and win the world of sinning, willful children back to Himself. In Buddhism salvation is won only by the few and after ages of toil and ceaseless re-births. In the Greek plan only the philosopher who comes to full understanding can attain salvation. In the Christian plan salvation is for all, for all are sons of God, in fact, and may through Christ become so in consciousness. In the Buddhistic plan the hopeless masses resort to magic and keep on with their idolatry and countless gross superstitions. In the Greek plan the hopeless resort to the "mysteries" for the attainment of salvation. In the Christian plan there are no hopeless masses, for all may gain the regenerated will and become conscious sons of God. The Buddhist mind gave up all effort to grasp or even to understand reality. The Greek mind thought it could arrive at reality through the intellect. But two thousand years of philosophic study and evolution drove philosophy into the absurd positions of absolute subjective idealism on the one hand and sensationalism and absolute materialism on the other. The Christian mind lays emphasis on the will and accordingly is alone able to reach reality, a reality justifiable alike to the reason and to the heart. For will is the creative faculty in man as well as in God. As God through His will creates reality, so man through his will first comes to know reality. Mere intellect can never pass over from thought to being. Being can be known as a reality only through the will. In consequence of the above-stated methods of thought, the Buddhist was of necessity a pessimist; the Greek only less so; while the Jew and the Christian could alone be thoroughgoing optimists. The Buddhist ever asserts the is-not; the Greek, the is; while the Jew and Christian demand the ought-to be, as the supreme thing. Hence flows the perennial life of the Christian civilization. Those races and civilizations whose highest and deepest conception of the ultimate is that of mere reason, no less than those races and civilizations whose highest and deepest conception of reality is that of an abstract emptiness, must be landed in an unreal world, must arrive at irrational results, for they have not taken into account the most vital element of thought and life. Such races and civilizations cannot rise to the highest levels of which man is capable; they must of necessity give way to those races and that civilization which build on larger and more complete foundations, which worship Will, Human and Divine, and seek for its larger development both in self and in all mankind. But I must not pause to trace the contrasts further. Enough has been said to show the source of Occidental belief in the infinite worth of man. In almost diametrical contrast to the Buddhist conception, according to the Christian view, man is a real being, living in a real world, involved in a real intellectual problem, fighting a real battle, on whose issue hang momentous, nay, infinite results. So great is man's value, not only to himself, but also to God, his Father, that the Father himself suffers with him in his sin, and for him, to save him from his sin. The question will be asked how widely the Buddhistic interpretation of the universe has spread in Japan. The doctrine of illusion became pretty general. We may doubt, however, whether the rationale of the philosophy was very generally understood. One Sutra, read by all Japanese sects, is taught to all who would become acquainted with the essentials of Buddhist doctrine. It is so short that I give it in full.[DD] THE SMALLER-PRAGNA-PARAMITA-HRIDYA-SUTRA "Adoration to the Omniscient. The venerable Bodhisattva Avalokitesvara performing his study in the deep Pragna-paramita [perfection of Wisdom] thought thus: There are the five Skandhas, and these he considered as by their nature empty [phenomenal]. O Sariputra, he said, form here is emptiness, and emptiness indeed is form. Emptiness is not different from form, and form is not different from emptiness. What is form that is emptiness, what is emptiness that is form. The same applies to perception, name, conception, and knowledge. "Here, O Sariputra, all things have the character of emptiness; they have no beginning, no end, they are faultless and not faultless, they are not imperfect and not perfect. Therefore, O Sariputra, in this emptiness there is no form, no perception, no name, no concepts, no knowledge. No eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, mind. No form, sound, smell, taste, touch, objects.... There is no knowledge, no ignorance, no destruction of knowledge, no destruction of ignorance, etc., there is no decay and death, no destruction of decay and death; there are not the four truths, viz., that there is pain, the origin of pain, stopping of pain, and the path to it. There is no knowledge, no obtaining of Nirvana. "A man who has approached the Pragna-paramita of the Bodhisattva dwells enveloped in consciousness. But when the envelop of consciousness has been annihilated, then he becomes free of all fear, beyond the reach of change, enjoying final Nirvana. All Buddhas of the past, present, and future, after approaching the Pragna-paramita, have awakened to the highest perfect knowledge. "Therefore one ought to know the great verse of the Pragna-paramita, the verse of the great wisdom, the unsurpassed verse, the peerless verse, which appeases all pain; it is truth because it is not false; the verse proclaimed in the Pragna-paramita: 'O wisdom, gone, gone, gone, to the other shore, landed at the other shore, Shava.' "Thus ends the heart of the Pragna-paramita." A study of this condensed and widely read Buddhist Sutra will convince anyone that the ultimate conceptions of the universe and of the final reality, are as described above. However popular Buddhism might differ from this, it would be the belief of the thoughtless masses, to whom the rational and ethical problems are of no significance or concern, and who contribute nothing to the development of thought or of the social order. Those nobler and more earnestly inquiring souls whose energy and spiritual longing might have been used for the benefit of the masses, were shunted off on a side track that led only into the desert of atomistic individualism, abandonment of society, ecstatic contemplation, and absolute pessimism. The Buddhist theory of the universe and method of thought denied all intelligible reality, and necessitated the conclusion that the universe of experience is neither rational nor ethical. The common beliefs of the unreflective and uninitiated masses in the ultimate rationality and morality of the universe were felt to have no foundation either in religion or philosophy and were accordingly pronounced mere illusions. XXXV COMMUNAL AND INDIVIDUAL ELEMENTS IN THE EVOLUTION OF JAPANESE RELIGIOUS LIFE Our study of Japanese religion and religious life thus far has been almost, if not exclusively, from the individualistic standpoint. An adequate statement, however, cannot be made from this standpoint alone, for religion through its mighty sanctions exerts a powerful influence on the entire communal life. Indeed, the leading characteristic of primitive religions is their communal nature. The science of religion shows how late in human history is the rise of individualistic religions. In the present chapter we propose to study Japanese religious history from the communal standpoint. This will lead us to study her present religious problem and the nature of the religion required to solve it. The real nature of the religious life of Japan has been and still is predominantly communal. Individualism has had a place, but, as we have repeatedly seen, only a minor place in forming the nation. From the communo-individualistic standpoint, in the study of Japan's religious and social evolution, not only can we see clearly that the three religions of Japan are real religions, but we can also understand the nature of the relations of these three religions to each other and the reasons why they have had such relations. Japanese religious history and its main phenomena become luminous in the light of communo-individualistic social principles. Shinto, the primitive religion of Japan, corresponded well with the needs of primitive times, when the development of strong communal life was the prime problem and necessity. It furnished the religious sanctions for the social order in its customs of worshiping not only the gods, but also the Emperor and ancestors. It gave the highest possible justification of the national social order in its deification of the supreme ruler. Shinto was so completely communal in its nature that the individual aspect of religion was utterly ignored. It developed no specific moral code, no eschatological and soteriological systems, no comprehensive view of nature or of the gods. These deficiencies, however, are no proofs that it was not a religion in the proper sense of the term. The real question is, did it furnish any supra-mundane, supra-legal, supra-communal sanctions both for the conduct of the individual in his social relations and for the fact and the right of the social order. Of this there can be no doubt. Those who deny it the name of a religion do so because they judge religion only from the point of view of a highly developed individualistic religion. In view of this undoubted fact, it is a strange commentary on the failure of Shinto leaders to realize the real function of the faith they profess that they have sought and obtained from the government the right to be considered and classified no longer as a religion, but only as a society for preserving the memories and shrines of the ancestors of the race. Thus has modern Shinto, so far as it is organized and has a mouth with which to speak, following the abdicating proclivities of the ancient social order, excommunicated itself from its religious heritage, aspiring to be nothing more than a gate-keeper of cemeteries. The sources of the power of the Shinto sanctions lies in the nature of its conception of the universe. Although it attempted no interpretation of the universe as a whole, it conceived of the origin of the country and people of Japan as due to the direct creative energy of the gods. Japan was accordingly conceived as a divine land and the people a divine people. The Emperor was thought to have descended in direct line from the gods and thus to be a visible representative of the gods to the people, and to possess divine power and authority with which to rule the people. Whenever Japanese came into contact with foreign peoples, it was natural to consider them outside of the divine providence, aliens, whose presence in the divine land was more or less of a pollution. This world-view was well calculated to develop a spirit of submissive obedience and loyal adherence to the hereditary rulers of the land, and of fierce antagonism to foreigners. This view constituted the moral foundation for the social order, the intellectual framework within which the state developed. Paternal feudalism was the natural, if not the necessary, accompaniment of this world-view. Even to this day the scholars of the land see no other ground on which to found Imperial authority, no other basis for ethics and religion, than the divine descent of the Emperor.[DE] The Shinto world-view, conceiving of men as direct offspring of the gods, has in it potentially the doctrine of the divine nature of all men, and their consequent infinite worth. Shinto never developed this truth, however. It did not discover the momentous implications of its view. Failing to discover them, it failed to introduce into the social order that moral inspiration, that social leaven which would have gradually produced the individualistic social order. No attempt has been made either in ancient or modern times to square this Shinto world-view with advancing knowledge of the world, particularly with the modern scientific conception of the universe. Anthropology, ethnology, and the doctrine of evolution both cosmic and human, are all destructive of the primitive Shinto world-view. It would not be difficult to show, however, that in this world-view exists a profound element of truth. The Shinto world-conception needs to be expanded to take the universe and all races of men into its view; and to see that Japan is not alone the object of divine solicitude, but that all races likewise owe their origin to that same divine power, and that even though the Emperor is not more directly the offspring of the gods than are all men, yet in the providence of Him who ruleth the affairs of men, the Emperor is in fact the visible representative of authority and power for the people over whom he reigns. With this expansion and the consequences that flow from it, the world-view that has cradled Old Japan will come into accord with the scientific Christian world-view, and become fitted to be the foundation for the new and individualistic social order, now arising in Japan, granting full liberty of thought and action, knowing that only so can truth come out of error, and assured that truth is the only ground of permanent welfare. Throughout the centuries including the present era of Meiji, it is the Shinto religion that has provided and that still provides religious sanctions for the social order--even for the new social order that has come in from the West. It is the belief of the people in the divine descent of the Emperor, and his consequent divine right, that to-day unifies the nation and causes it to accept so readily the new social order; desired by him, they raise no questions, make no opposition, even though in some respects it brings them trouble and anxiety. Our study of Buddhism has brought to light its extremely individualistic nature, and its lack of asocial ideal. Its world-view we have sufficiently examined in the preceding chapter. We are told that when Buddhism came to Japan it made little headway until it adopted the Shinto deities into its theogony. What does this mean? That only on condition of accepting the Shinto sanctions for the communal order of society was it able to commend itself to the people at large. And Buddhism had no difficulty in fulfilling this condition, because it had no ideal order of society to present and no religious sanctions for any kind of social order; in this respect Buddhism had no ground for conflict with Shinto. Shinto had the field to itself; and Buddhism was perfectly at liberty to adopt, or at least to allow, any social order that might present itself. Furthermore, by its doctrines of incarnation and transmigration, according to which noble souls might appear and reappear in different worlds and different lands, Buddhism could identify Shinto deities with its own deities of Hindu origin, asserting their pre-incarnation. Having accepted the Shinto deities, ideals, and sanctions for the social order, Buddhism became not only tolerable to the people, but also exceedingly popular. The Shinto-Buddhistic was in truth a new religion, each of the old religions supplying an essential element. One real reason, beside its accommodation to Shintoism, why Buddhism was so popular was that it brought an indispensable element into the national life. For the first time emphasis began to be laid on the individual. Introspection and deliberate meditation were brought into play. Arts demanding individual skill were fostered. A gorgeous ritual, elaborate architecture, complex religious organism, letters and literature, all gave play to individual activity and development whether in manual, in mental, or in æsthetic lines. The hitherto cramped and primitive life of the Japanese responded to these appeals and opportunities with profound joy. The upper classes especially felt themselves growing in richness and fullness of life. They felt the stimulus in many directions. The reason, then, why Buddhism flourished so mightily, and at the same time caused the nation to bloom, was because it helped develop the individual. The reason, on the other hand, why it failed to carry the nation on from its first bloom into full fruitage was because it failed to develop individualism in the social order. Its religious individualism was, as we have seen, in reality defective. It was abstract and one-sided. It did not discover the whole of the individual. It did not know anything of personality, either human or divine. It accordingly could not recognize the individual's worth, but only his separateness and his weakness. It taught an abstract impoverished idea of self, and made, as the whole aim of the salvation it offered, the final annihilation of all separateness of this individual self. We can now see that its individualism was essentially defective in that it poured contempt on the self, and that if its individualizing salvation were consistently carried out, it was not only no help to the social order, but a positive injury to it. Its individualism was of a nature which could not become an integral part of any social order. This character led to another inevitable difficulty. Although Buddhism ostensibly adopted Shinto deities and the Shinto sanctions for the social order, it could not wholeheartedly accept the sanctions nor take the deities into full and legitimate partnership. It found no place in its circle of doctrine to teach the important tenets of Shintoism. It left them to survive or perish as chance would have it. In proportion as Buddhism absorbed the life and love of the people, Shinto fell into decay and with it its sanctions. Then came the centuries of civil war during which Imperial power and authority sank to a minimum, and Japan's ignominy and disorder reached their maximum. What the land now needed was the re-introduction, first, of social order, even though it must be by the hand of a dictator, and second, the development of religious sanctions for the order that should be established. The first was secured by those three great generals of Japan, Oda Nobunaga, the Taiko Hideyoshi, and Tokugawa Ieyasu. "The first conceived the idea of centralizing all the authority of the state in a single person; the second, who has been called the Napoleon of Japan, actually put the idea into practice," but died before consolidating his work; the third, by his unsurpassed skill as a diplomat and administrator, carried the idea completely out, arranging the details of the new order so that, without special military genius or power on the part of his successors, the order maintained itself for 250 years. Yet it is doubtful if this long maintenance of the social order introduced by Ieyasu would have been possible had he not found ready to hand a system of essentially religious sanctions for the social order he had established by force. Confucianism had lain for a thousand years a dormant germ, receiving some study from learned men, but having no special relation to the education of the day or to the political problems that became each century more pressing. In the Confucian doctrines of loyalty to ruler and piety to parents, a doctrine sanctioned by Heaven and by the customs of all the ancients, Ieyasu, with the insight of a master mind, found just the sanctions he desired. He had the Confucian classics printed--it is said for the first time in Japan--"and the whole intellect of the country became molded by Confucian ideas." The classics, edited with diacritical marks for Japanese students, "formed the chief vehicle of every boy's education." These were interpreted by learned Chinese commentators. The intelligence of the land drank of this stream as the European mind refreshed itself with the classic waters of the Renaissance. The Japanese were weary of Buddhistic puerilities and transcendental doctrines that led nowhere. They demanded sanctions for the moral life and the social order; in response to this need Buddhism gave them Nirvana--absolute mental and moral vacuity. Confucianism gave them principles whose working and whose results they could see and understand. Its sanctions appealed both to the imagination and to the reason, antiquity and learning and piety being all in their favor. The sanctions were also seen to be wholly independent of puerile superstitions and foolish fears. The Confucian ideals and sanctions, moreover, coincided with the essential elements of the old Shinto world-view and sanctions. In a true sense, the doctrines of Confucius were but the elaborated and succinctly stated implications of their primitive faith. Confucianism, therefore, swept the land. _It was _accepted as the groundwork and authority for the most flourishing feudal order the world has ever seen. Japan bloomed again.[DF] This difference, however, is to be noted between the Shinto ideal social order and the Confucian, or rather that development of Confucian ethics and civics which arose during the Tokugawa Shogunate; Shinto appears to have been, properly speaking, nationalistic, while feudal Confucianism was tribal. Although in Confucian theory the supreme loyalty may have been due the Emperor, in point of fact it was shown to the local daimyo. Confucian ethics was communal and might easily have turned in the direction of national communalism; it would then have coincided completely with Shinto in this respect. But for various reasons it did not so turn, but developed an intensely local, a tribal communalism, and pushed loyalty to the Emperor as a vital reality entirely into the background. This was one of the defects of feudal Confucianism which finally led to its own overthrow. Shinto, as we have seen, had long been pushed aside by Buddhism and was practically forgotten by the people. The zeal for Confucian doctrine brought, therefore, no immediate revival to the Shinto cultus, although it did revive the essential elements of the old communal religion. We might say that the old religion was revived under a new name; having a new name and a new body, the real and vital connection between the two was not recognized. We thus discern how the religious history of Japan was not a series of cataclysms or of disconnected leaps in the dark, but an orderly development, one step naturally following the next, as the sun follows the dawn. The different stages of Japan's religious progress have received different names, because due to specific stimuli brought from abroad; the religious life itself, however, has been a continuous development. Another difference between Shinto and Confucianism as it existed in Japan should not escape our attention, namely, in regard to their respective world-views. Shinto was confessedly a religion; it frankly believed in gods, whom it worshiped and on whose help it relied. Confucianism, or to use the Japanese name, Bushido, was confessedly agnostic. It did not assume to understand the universe, as Buddhism assumed. Nor did it admit the practical existence of gods or their power in this world, as Shinto believed. It maintained that, "if only the heart follows the way of truth, the gods will protect one even though he does not pray." It laid stress on practical moralities, regardless of their philosophical presumptions, into which it would not probe. When pressed it would ascribe all to "Heaven," and, as we have seen, it had many implications that would lead the inquiring mind to a belief in the personal nature of "Heaven." Had it developed these implications, Bushido would have become a genuine religion. It was indeed a system of ethics touched with emotion, it was religious, but it failed to become the religion it might have become because it insisted on its agnosticism and refused to worship the highest and best it knew. It is interesting to observe that the ideals and sanctions of Confucianism produced effects which proved its ruin. They did this in two ways; first, by developing the prolonged peace necessary for a high grade of scholarship which, turning its attention to ancient history, discovered that the Shogunate was assuming powers not in accord with the primitive practice nor in accord with the theory of the divine descent of the Imperial house. Imperialistic patriots arose, whose aim was to overthrow the Shogunate and restore the Emperor. They felt that, doing this, they were right; that is to say, they became inspired by the Shinto sanctions for a national life. They thus discovered the defect of the disjointed feudal system sanctioned by feudal Confucianism. The second cause of its undoing grew out of the first. The scholarship which led the patriots against the usurper in political life led them also against all foreign innovations such as Buddhism and Confucianism, which they scorned as modern and anti-imperial. The Shinto cultus thus received a powerful revival. With the overthrow of the Shogunate in 1868 Confucianism naturally went with it, and for a time Shinto was the state religion. But its poverty in every line, except the communal sanctions, caused it in a short time to lose its place. The two causes just assigned for the fall of Bushido, however, could hardly have wrought its ruin had it been more than a utilitarian and agnostic system of morality, calculated to maintain the social ascendency of a small fraction of the nation. As a religion, Bushido would have secured a conservative power enabling it to survive, by adapting itself to a changed social order. As it was, Bushido was snuffed out by a single breath of the breeze that began to blow from foreign lands. As an ethical system it has conferred a blessing on Japan that should never be forgotten. But its identification with a class and a clan social order rendered it too narrow for the national and international life into which the nation was forced by circumstances beyond its control, and its agnostic utilitarianism did not provide it with sufficient moral power to cope with the problems of the new individualistic age that had suddenly burst upon it. In all Japan there remains to the present day only one of those old Confucian schools with its temple to Confucius. All the rest have fallen into ruins or have been used for other purposes, while the gold-covered statues of the once deified teacher have been sold to curio-dealers or for their bullion value. In the worship of Confucius, Bushido almost became a religion, but it worshiped the teacher instead of the Creator, maintaining its agnosticism as to the Creator, as to "Heaven," to the end, and thus lapsed from the path of religious evolution. This brings us down to modern times--into the seventies. Already in the sixties Japan had discovered herself in a totally new environment. She found that foreign nations had made great progress in every direction since she shut them out two hundred and fifty years before. She discovered her helplessness, she discovered, too, that the social order of Western peoples was totally distinct from hers. These discoveries served to break down all the remaining sanctions for her particular type of social order--Confucianistic feudalism. The whole nation was eager to know the political systems of the West. So long as the Shinto ideal of nationalism was not interfered with, the nation was free to adopt any new social order. Japan's political and commercial intercourse being with England and America, the social order of the Anglo-Saxon had the greatest influence on the Japanese mind. Japan accordingly has become predominantly Anglo-Saxon in its social ideas. Much has been made of the fact that the new social order has come in so easily; that the people have gained rights without fighting for them; and this has been attributed to the peculiarity of Japanese human nature. This is an error. The real reason for the ease with which the individualistic Anglo-Saxon social order has been introduced has been the collapse of the sanctions for the Confucian order. No one had any ground of duty on which to stand and fight. The national mind was open to any newcomer that might have appeared. I am referring, of course, to the thinking classes. All the rest, accustomed to submissive obedience, never thought of any other course than to accept the will of superiors. Furthermore, the new social order in one important respect fell in with and helped to re-establish the old Shinto ideal, that, namely, of nationalism. In the treaty negotiations, the West would deal with no intermediaries, only with the responsible national head. Western ideals, too, demanded a strong national unity. In this respect, then, the foreign ideals and foreign social order were powerful influences in building up the new patriotism, in re-enforcing the old Shinto social sanctions. Thus has Japan come to the parting of the ways. What Japan needs to-day is a religion satisfying the intellect as to its world-view, and thus justifying the sanctions it holds out. These must be neither exclusively communal, like those of Shinto, nor exclusively individual, like those of Buddhism. While maintaining at their full value the sanctions for the social life, it must add thereto the sanctions for the individual. It must not look upon the individual as a being whose salvation depends on his being isolated from, taken out of the community, as Buddhism did and does, nor yet as a mere fraction of the community, as Confucianism did, but as a complete, imperishable unit of infinite worth, necessarily living a double life, partly inseparable from the social order and partly superior to it. This religion must provide not only sanctions, but ideals, for a perfect social order in which, while the most complex organization of society shall be possible, the freedom and the high development of the individual's personality shall also be secured. The fulfillment of such conditions would at first thought seem to be impossible. How can a religion give sanctions which at the very time that they authorize the fullest development and organization of society, apparently making society its chief end, also assume the fullest liberty and development of the individual, making him and his salvation its chief end? Are not these ends incompatible? What has been said already along this general line of thought has prepared us to see that they are not. The great, though unconscious, need of the ages, and the unconscious effort of all religious evolution has been the development of just such a religion. As the "cake" of social custom was at first the great need for, and afterwards the great obstacle in the way of, social evolution, so the sanctions of a communal religion were at first the great need for, and afterwards the great obstacle in the way of, religious evolution and of personal development. Through its sanctions religion is the most powerful of all the factors of the higher human evolution, either helping it onward or holding it back. Has, then, any religion secured such a dual development as we have just seen to be necessary? As a matter of fact, one and only one has done so, Christianity. This religion clearly attains and maintains the apparently impossible combination of individualism and communalism by the nature of its conception of the method of individual salvation. Its communalism is guaranteed by, because it rests on, its individualism. At the very moment that it pronounces the individual of inestimable worth,--a son of God,--it commands him to show that sonship by loving all God's other sons, and by serving them to the extent of self-sacrifice, and of death if need be. Its communalism is thus inseparable from its individualism and its individualism from its communalism. Christian individualism embraces and includes thoroughgoing communalism. True and full Christians are the most devoted patriots. As the acorn sends forth far-reaching; roots into the soil for moisture and nourishment, and a mighty trunk and spreading branches upward for air and sunlight, so the seed of Christian life develops in two directions, individualism as the root and communalism as the beautiful tree. They are not contradictory, but supplementary principles. While his own final gain is a real aim of the individual, it is only a part of his aim; he also desires and labors for the gain of all; and even the individual gain, he well knows, can be secured only through the communal principle, through service to his fellow-men. His own welfare, whether temporal or eternal, is inseparably bound up with that of his fellows. The Christian religion finds the sanctions for any and every social order that history knows, in the fact that all physical and social laws and organisms are part of the divine plan. Because any particular social order is the association of imperfect men and women, it must be more or less imperfect. But the Christian, even while he is seeking to reform the social order and to bring it up to his ideal, must be loyal to it. And for this loyalty to fellow-men and to God, the highest conceivable sanctions are held out, namely, an endless and infinite life of conscious, joyous fellowship with souls made perfect in the Kingdom of God, and with God himself. A comprehensive study, therefore, of the real nature and the true function of religion in relation to man's development, whether individual or communal, shows that Christianity fulfills the conditions. A comparative study would show that, of all the existing religions, Christianity alone does this. It alone combines in perfect proportion the individual and the communal elements, and the requisite sanctions. An expansion of communal religion is taking place in modern times. The community now arising is international in scope, interracial and universal in character. Cultivated men and women the world around are beginning to talk of national rights and national duties. Europe is thought to be justified in suppressing the slave trade and its accompanying horrors in Africa, and condemned for not preventing the Turk from carrying on his wholesale slaughter of innocent Armenians. The Spaniard is despised and condemned for his prolonged inhumanities in Cuba and the Philippines, and the American is approved in warring for humanity and justified in interfering with Spain's sovereignty. The conscience of the world is beginning to discover that no nation, though sovereign, has an absolute right over its people. Right is only measured by righteousness. International righteousness, duty and rights, regardless of military power, are coming to the forefront of the thinking of advanced nations. Looked at closely, and studied in its implications, what is this but a developing form of communal religion? No nation is conceived as existing apart; each exists as but one fraction of the world-wide community; in its relations it has both rights and duties. Does this not mean that appeal has been made from the communal sanctions of might to the supra-communal sanctions of right? We do not simply ask what do other nations think of this or that national act, but what is right, in view of the whole order of the nature which has brought man into being and set him in families and nations. In other words, national rights and duties are felt to flow from the supra-mundane source, God the Creator of heaven and earth and all that in them is. The sanctions for national rights and duties are religious sanctions and rest on a religious world-view. Now the point, of interest for us is the fact that Japan has entered into this universal community and is feeling the sanctions of this universal communal religion. The international rights and duties of Japan are a theme of frequent discourse and conversation. Japan stoutly maintained that the war with China was a "gi-sen," a righteous war, waged primarily for the sake of Korea. Many a Japanese waxes indignant over the cruelty of the Turk, the savage barbarity of the Spaniard, and the impotence and supineness of England and Europe. I have already spoken of the young man who became so indignant at England's compelling China to take Indian opium, that he proposed to go to England to preach an anti-opium crusade. Japan is beginning to enter into the larger communal life of the world, although, of course, she has as yet little perception of its varied implications. Many a student of New Japan perceives that she is abandoning her old religious conceptions, and that many moral and social evils are entering the land, who yet does not see that the wide acceptance of some new religion by the people is important for the maintenance of the nation. Some earnest Japanese thinkers are beginning to realize that religion is, indeed, needful to steady the national life, but they fail to see that Christianity alone fulfills the condition. Many are saying that a religion scientifically constructed must be manufactured especially for Japan. The reason why individualistic religion takes such an important part in the higher evolution of man is, in a word, because the religious sanctions are so much more powerful than all others, either legal or social. For the legal sanctions are chiefly negative; they are also partial and uncertain, and easily evaded by the selfish individual. The social sanctions, too, are often far from just or impartial or wise. Furthermore, the rise of individualism in the social order secures privacy for the individual, and so far forth removes him from the restraints and stimuli of the social sanctions. It is the religious sanctions alone that follow the man in every waking moment. Not one of all his acts escapes the eye of the religious judgment. He is his own judge, and he cannot escape bearing witness against himself. Now, it is manifest that where superior beings and man's relation to these and the corresponding religious sanctions are defectively conceived, as, for instance, quite apart either from the individual or the communal life, they are valueless to the higher evolution of man and have little interest for the student of social evolution. In proportion, however, as man advances in intellectual grasp of religious truths and in susceptibility to the moral ideas and religious sanctions they provide, conceiving of morality and religion as inseparable parts of the same system, the more powerfully does religion enter into and promote man's higher evolution. An individualistic social order demands the religious sanctions more imperatively than a communal social order; for, in proportion as it is individualistic, the social order is weak in compelling, through the legal and social sanctions alone, the communal or altruistic activity of the individual. Altruistic spirit and action, however, are essential to the maintenance even of that individualistic order. The more highly society develops, therefore, the more religious must each member of the society become. The same truth may be stated from another standpoint. The higher man develops, the more impatient he becomes with illogical reasonings and defective conceptions; he thus becomes increasingly skeptical in regard to current traditional religions with their crude, primitive ideas; he is accordingly increasingly freed from the restraints they impose. But unless he finds some new religious sanctions for the communal life, for social conduct, and for the individual life,--ideals and sanctions that command his assent and direct his life,--he will drop back into a thoroughgoing atomic, individualistic, selfish life, which can be only a hindrance to the higher development both of society and of the individual. In order that men advancing in intellectual ability may remain useful members of society, they must remain subject to those ideals and sanctions which will actually secure social conduct. While disregarding the chaff of primitive religious superstitions and ceremonials man must retain the wheat; he must feel the force of the religious spirit in a deeper and profounder, because more personal way than did his ancestors. Increasing intellectual power and knowledge must be balanced by increasing individual experience of the religious motives and spirit. This is the reason why each advancing age should study afresh the whole religious problem, and state in the terms of its own experience the prominent and permanent religious truths of all the ages and the sanctions that flow from them. Hence it is that a religion only traditional and ceremonial is quite unfitted for a developing life. Japan is no exception to the general laws of human evolution. As her intellectual abilities increase, the forms of her old religious life will become increasingly unacceptable to the people at large. If, in rejecting the obsolete forms of religious thought, she rejects religion and its sanctions altogether, atomistic individualism can be the only result, and with it wide moral corruption will eat out the vitality of the national life. That Christianity alone, of all the religions of the world, fulfills the conditions will not need many words to prove. As a matter of fact Christianity alone has succeeded in surviving the criticism of the nineteenth century. In Christendom, all religions but Christianity have perished. This is a mere matter of fact. As for the reason, Christianity alone gives complete intellectually satisfactory sanctions for both the communal and the individualistic principles of social progress. Christianity, as we have sufficiently shown, has both principles not unrelated to each other, but vitally interrelated. For these reasons it is safe to maintain not only that Japan needs to find a new religion, but that the religion must be Christianity in substance, whatever be the name given it. The Japanese have been described as essentially irreligious in nature. We have seen how defective such a description is. But have we not now traced one root of this seeming characteristic of New Japan? The old religious conceptions have been largely outgrown by the educated. They have come to the conclusion that the old religious forms constitute the whole of religion, and that consequently they are unworthy of attention. The spirit of New Japan is indifferent to religion; but this is not due to an inherently non-religious or irreligious nature, but to the empty externalism and shallow puerilities of the only religions they know. How can they be zealous for them or recognize any authority in them? Those few Japanese who have come within the influence of the larger conception of religion brought to Japan by Christianity are showing a religious zeal and power supporting the contention that the generally asserted lack of a religious nature is only apparent and temporary. Preaching the right set of ideas, those which appeal to the national sense of communal needs, by supplying the demand for sanctions for the social order; ideas which appeal to intellects molded by modern thought, by supplying such an intellectual understanding of the universe as justifies the various supra-communal sanctions; and ideas which appeal to the heart, by supplying the personal demand of each individual for a larger life, for intercourse with the Father of all Spirits and for strength for the prolonged battle of life--preach these and kindred ideas, and the Japanese will again become as conspicuously a religious people as they were when Buddhism came to Japan a thousand years ago.[DG] But if the real nature of a full and perfect religion is to save not only the individual, providing sanctions for his conduct, but also to justify the social order, and to provide sanctions that shall secure its maintenance, any religion which fails to have both characteristics can hardly claim the name universal. We have seen that Buddhism lacks one of these elements. In my judgment it is not properly universal. So long as it exists in or goes to a land already provided with other religions securing the social order, it may continue to thrive. But, on the one hand, it can never become the exclusive religion of any land for it cannot do without and therefore it cannot depose the other religions; and, on the other hand, it must give way before the stronger religion which has both the individual and communal elements combined. Buddhism, therefore, lacks a vital characteristic of a universal religion. It may better be called a non-local, or an international religion. We now see another reason why Buddhism, although found in many Oriental lands, has never annihilated any of the pre-existing religions, but has only added one more to the many varieties already existing. It is so in Thibet, in China, in Burmah, and in Japan. And in India, its home, it has utterly died out. Many of the efforts made by students of comparative religion to classify the various religions, seem to the writer defective through lack of the perception that social and religious evolution are vitally connected. From this point of view, the classification of religions as communal, individual, and communo-individual, would seem to be the best. XXXVI WHAT ARE THE ESSENTIAL CHARACTERISTICS OF THE ORIENT? We have now passed in rather detailed review the emotional, æsthetic, intellectual, moral, and religious characteristics of the Japanese race. We have, furthermore, given considerable attention to the problem of personality. We have tried to understand the relation of each characteristic to the Japanese feudal system and social order. The reader will perhaps feel some dissatisfaction with the results of this study. "Are there, then," he may say, "no distinctive Japanese psychical characteristics by which this Eastern race is radically differentiated from those of the Occident?" "Are there no peculiar features of an Oriental, mental and moral, which infallibly and always distinguish him from an Occidental?" The reply to this question given in the preceding chapters of this work is negative. For the sake, however, of the reader who may not yet be thoroughly satisfied, it may be well to examine this problem a little further, analyzing some of the current characterizations of the Orient. That Oriental and Occidental peoples are each possessed of certain unique psychic characteristics, sharply and completely differentiating them from each other, is the opinion of scientific sociologists as well as of more popular writers. An Occidental entering the Orient is well-nigh overwhelmed with amusement and surprise at the antipodal characteristics of the two civilizations. Every visible expression of Oriental civilization, every mode of thought, art, architecture; conceptions of God, man, and nature; pronunciation and structure of the language--all seem utterly different from their corresponding elements in the West. Furthermore, as he visits one Oriental country after another, although he discovers differences between Japanese, Koreans, Chinese, and Hindus, yet he is impressed with a strange, a baffling similarity. The tourist naturally concludes that the unity characterizing the Orient is fundamental; that Oriental civilization is due to Oriental race brain, and Occidental civilization is due to Occidental race brain. This impression and this conclusion of the tourist are not, however, limited to him. The "old resident" in the East becomes increasingly convinced with every added year that an Oriental is a different kind of human being from a Westerner. As he becomes accustomed to the externals of the Oriental civilization, he forgets its comical aspects, he even comes to appreciate many of its conveniences. But in proportion as he becomes familiar with its languages, its modes of thought and feeling, its business methods, its politics, its literature, its amusements, does he increasingly realize the gulf set between an Oriental and an Occidental. The inner life of the spirit of an Oriental would be utterly inane, spiritless to the average Occidental. The "old resident" accordingly knows from long experience what the tourist only guesses from a hasty glance, that the characteristic differences distinguishing the peoples of the East and the West are racial and ineradicable. An Oriental is an Oriental, and that is the ultimate, only thoroughgoing explanation of his nature. The conception of the tourist and the "old resident" crops up in nearly every article and book touching on Far Eastern peoples. Whatever the point of remark or criticism, if it strikes the writer as different from the custom of Occidentals, it is laid to the account of Orientalism. This conception, however, of distinguishing Oriental characteristics, is not confined to popular writers and unscientific persons. Even professed and eminent sociologists advocate it. Prof. Le Bon, in his sophistic volume on the "Psychology of Peoples," advocates it strenuously. A few quotations from this interesting work may not be out of place. "The object of this work is to describe the psychological characteristics which constitute the soul of races, and to show how the history of a people and its civilization is determined by these characteristics."[DH] "The point that has remained most clearly fixed in mind, after long journeys through the most varied countries, is that each people possesses a mental constitution as unaltering as its anatomical characteristics, a constitution which is the source of its sentiments, thoughts, institutions, beliefs, and arts."[DI] "The life of a people, its institutions, beliefs, and arts, are but the visible expression of its invisible soul. For a people to transform its institutions, beliefs, and arts it must first transform its soul."[DJ] "Each race possesses a constitution as unvarying as its anatomical constitution. There seems to be no doubt that the former corresponds to a certain special structure of the brain."[DK] "A negro or a Japanese may easily take a university degree or become a lawyer; the sort of varnish he thus acquires is, however, quite superficial and has no influence on his mental constitution. What no education can give him, because they are created by heredity alone, are the forms of thought, the logic, and above all the character of the Western man."[DL] "Cross-breeding constitutes the only infallible means at our disposal of transforming in a fundamental manner the character of a people, heredity being the only force powerful enough to contend with heredity. Cross-breeding allows of the creation of a new race, possessing new physical and psychological characteristics."[DM] Such, then, being the opinion of travelers, residents, and professional sociologists, it is not to be lightly rejected. Nor has it been lightly rejected by the writer. For years he agreed with this view, but repeated study of the problem has convinced him of the fallacy of both the conception and the argument, and has brought him to the position maintained in this work. The characteristics differentiating Occidental and Oriental peoples and civilizations are undoubtedly great. But they are differences of social evolution and rest on social, not on biological heredity. Anatomical differences are natal, racial, and necessary. Not so with social characteristics and differences. These are acquired by each individual chiefly after birth, and depend on social environment which determines the education from infancy upward. Furthermore, an entire nation or race, if subjected to the right social environment, may profoundly transform its institutions, beliefs, and arts, which in turn transform what Prof. Le Bon and kindred writers call the invisible "race soul." Racial activity produces race character, for "Function produces organism." I cannot agree with these writers in the view that the race soul is a given fixed entity. Social psychogenesis is a present and a progressive process. Japan is a capital illustration of it. In the development of races and civilizations involution is as continuous a process as evolution. Evolution is, indeed, only one-half of the process. Without involution, evolution is incomprehensible. And involution is the more interesting half, as it is the more significant. In modern discussion much that passes by the name of evolution is, in reality, a discussion of involution. The attentive reader will have discovered that the real point of the discussion of Japanese characteristics given in the preceding chapters has been on the point of involution. How have these characteristics arisen? has been our ever-recurring question. The answer has invariably tried to show their relation to the social order. In this way we have traversed a large number of leading characteristics of the Japanese. We have seen how they arose, and also how they are now being transformed by the new Occidentalized social order. We have seen that not one of the characteristics examined is inherent, that is, due to brain structure, to biological heredity. We have concluded, therefore, that the psychical characteristics which differentiate races are all but wholly social. It is incumbent on advocates of the biological view to point out in detail the distinguishing inherent traits of the Orient. Let them also catalogue the essential psychic characteristics of Occidentals. Such an attempt is seldom made. And when it is made it is singularly unconvincing. Although Prof. Le Bon states that the mental constitution of races is as distinctive and unaltering as their anatomical characteristics, he fails to tell us what they are. This is a vital omission. If the differences are as distinct as he asserts, it would seem to be an easy matter to describe them. Whatever the clothing adopted, it is an easy matter for one to distinguish a European from an Asiatic, an Englishman from an Italian, a Japanese from a Korean, a Chinaman from a Hindu. The anatomical characteristics of races are clear and easily described. If the psychic characteristics are equally distinct, why do not they who assert this distinctness describe and catalogue these differences? Occasionally a popular writer makes something of an attempt in this direction, but with astonishingly slight results. A recent writer in the London _Daily Mail_ has illustrated afresh the futility of all attempts to catalogue the distinguishing characteristics of the Oriental. He names the inferior position assigned to women, the licentiousness of men, licensed prostitution, lack of the play instinct among Oriental boys, scorn of Occidental civilization, and the rude treatment of foreigners. Many of his statements of facts are sadly at fault. But supposing them to be true, are they the differentiating characteristics of the Orient? Consider for a moment what was the position of woman in ancient times in the Occident, and what was the moral character of Occidental men? Is not prostitution licensed to-day in the leading cities of Europe? And is there not an unblushing prostitution in the larger cities of England and America which would put to shame the licensed prostitution of Japan? Are Orientals and their civilization universally esteemed and considerately treated in the Occident? Surely none of these are uniquely Oriental characteristics, distinguishing them from Occidental peoples as clearly as the anatomical characteristics of oblique eyes and yellow skin. Mr. Percival Lowell has made a careful philosophical effort to discover the essential psychic nature of the Orient. He describes it, as we have seen, as "Impersonality." The failure of his effort we have sufficiently considered. There remain a few other characterizations of the Orient that we may well examine briefly. It has been stated that the characteristic psychic trait distinguishing the East from the West is that the former is intuitive, while the latter is logical. In olden times Oriental instruction relied on the intuitions of the student. No reliance was placed on the logical process. Religion, so far as it was not ceremony and magic, was intuitional, "Satori," "Enlightenment," was the keyword. Each man attains enlightenment by himself--through a flash of intuition. Moral instruction likewise was intuitional. Dogmatic statements were made whose truth the learner was to discover for himself; no effort was made to explain them. Teaching aimed to go direct to the point, not stopping to explain the way thither. That this was and is a characteristic of the Orient cannot be disputed. The facts are abundant and clear. But the question is whether this is a racial psychic characteristic, such that it inevitably controls the entire thinking of an Oriental, whatever his education, and also whether the Occident is conspicuously deficient in this psychic characteristic. Thus stated, the question almost answers itself. Orientals educated in Western methods of thought acquire logical methods of reasoning and teaching. The old educational methods of Japan are now obsolete. On the other hand, intuitionalism is not unknown in the West. Mystics in religion are all conspicuously intuitional. So too are Christian scientists, faith-healers, and spiritualists. Great preachers and poets are intuitionalists rather than logicians. Furthermore, if we look to ancient times, we shall see that even Occidentals were dominated by intuitionalism. All primitive knowledge was dominated by intuitions, and was as absurd as many still prevalent Oriental conceptions of nature. The bane of ancient science and philosophy was its reliance on a priori considerations; that is, on intuition. Inductive, carefully logical methods of thought, of science, of philosophy, and even of religion, are relatively modern developments of the Occidental mind. We have learned to doubt intuitions unverified by investigation and experimental evidence. The wide adoption of the inductive method is a recent characteristic of the West. Modern progress has consisted in no slight degree in the development of logical powers, and particularly in the power of doubting and examining intuitions. To say that the East is conspicuously intuitional and the West is conspicuously logical is fairly true, but this misses the real difference. The West is intuitional plus logical. It uses the intuitional method in every department of life, but it does not stop with it. An intuition is not accepted as truth until it has been subjected by the reason to the most thorough criticism possible. The West distrusts the unverified and unguided intuitive judgment. On the other hand, the East is not inherently deficient in logical power. When brought into contact with Occidental life, and especially when educated in Occidental methods of thought, the Oriental is not conspicuously deficient in logical ability. This line of thought leads to the conclusion that the psychic characteristics distinguishing the East from the West, profound though they are, are sociological rather than biological. They are the characteristics of the civilization rather than of essential race nature. A fact remarked by many thoughtful Occidentals is the astonishing difficulty--indeed the impossibility--of becoming genuinely and intimately acquainted with the Japanese. Said a professor of Harvard University to the writer some years ago: "Do you in Japan find it difficult to become truly acquainted with the Japanese? We see many students here, but we are unable to gain more than a superficial acquaintance. They seem to be incrusted in a shell that we are unable to pierce." The editor of the _Japan Mail_, speaking of the difficulty of securing "genuinely intimate intercourse with the Japanese people," says: "The language also is needed. Yet even when the language is added, something still remains to be achieved, and what that something is we have never been able to discover, though we have been considering the subject for thirty-three years. No foreigner has ever yet succeeded in being admitted into the inner circle of Japanese intercourse." Is this a fact? If not, why is it so widespread a belief? If it is a fact, what is the interpretation? Like most generalizations it expresses both a truth and an error. As the statement of a general experience, I believe it to be true. As an assertion of universal application I believe it to be false. As a truth, how is it to be explained? Is it due to difference of race soul, and thus to racial antipathy, as some maintain? If so, it must be a universal fact. This, however, is an error, as we shall see. The explanation is not so hard to find as at first appears. The difficulty under consideration is due to two classes of facts. The first is that the people have long been taught that Occidentals desire to seize and possess their land. Although the more enlightened have long since abandoned this fear and suspicion, the people still suspect the stranger; they do not propose to admit foreigners to any leading position in the political life of the land. They do not implicitly trust the foreigners, even when taken into their employ. That foreigners should not be admitted to the inner circle of Japanese political life, therefore, is not strange. Nor is it unique to Japan. It is not done in any land except the United States. Secondly, the diverse methods of social intercourse characterizing the East and the West make a deep chasm between individuals of these civilizations on coming into social relations. The Oriental bows low, utters conventional "aisatsu" salutations, listens respectfully, withholds his own opinion, agrees with his vis-à-vis, weighs every word uttered with a view to inferring the real meaning, for the genius of the language requires him to assume that the real meaning is not on the surface, and chooses his own language with the same circumspection. The Occidental extends his hand for a hearty shake--if he wishes to be friendly--looks his visitor straight in the eye, speaks directly from his heart, without suspicion or fear of being misunderstood, expresses his own opinions unreservedly. The Occidental, accustomed to this direct and open manner, spontaneously doubts the man who lacks it. It is impossible for the Occidental to feel genuinely acquainted with an Oriental who does not respond in Occidental style of frank open intercourse. Furthermore, it is not Japanese custom to open one's heart, to make friends with everyone who comes along. The hail-fellow-well-met characteristic of the Occident is a feature of its individualism, that could not come into being in a feudal civilization in which every respectable man carried two swords with which to take instant vengeance on whoever should malign or doubt him. Universal secretiveness and conventionality, polite forms and veiled expressions, were the necessary shields of a military feudalism. Both the social order and the language were fitted to develop to a high degree the power of attention to minutest details of manner and speech and of inferring important matters from slight indications. The whole social order served to develop the intuitional method in human relations. Reliance was placed more on what was not said than on what was clearly expressed. A doubting state of mind was the necessary psychological prerequisite for such an inferential system. And doubt was directly taught. "Hito wo mireba dorobo to omoye," "when you see a man, count him a robber," may be an exaggeration, but this ancient proverb throws much light on the Japanese chronic state of mind. Mutual suspicion--and especially suspicion of strangers--was the rule in Old Japan. Among themselves the Japanese make relatively few intimate friends. They remark on Occidental skill in making friends. That the foreigner is not admitted to the inner social life of the Japanese is likewise not difficult of explanation, if we bear in mind the nature of that social life. Is it possible for one who keeps concubines, who takes pleasure in geisha, and who visits houses of prostitution, to converse freely and confidentially with those who condemn these practices? Can he who stands for a high-grade morality, who criticises in unsparing measure the current morality of Japanese society, expect to be admitted to its inner social circles? Impossible. However friendly the relations of Japanese and foreigners may be in business and in the diplomatic corps, the moral chasm separating the social life of the Occident from that of the Orient effectually prevents a foreigner from being admitted to its inner social life. It might be thought that immoral Occidentals would be so admitted. Not so. The Japanese distinguish between Occidentals. They know well that immoral Occidentals are not worthy of trust. Although for a season they may hobnob together, the intimacy is shallow and short-lived; it rests on lust and not on profound sympathies of head and heart. And this suggests the secret of genuine acquaintance. Men become profoundly acquainted in proportion as they hold in common serious views of life, and labor together for the achievement of great moral ends. Now a gulf separates the ordinary Japanese, even though educated, from the serious-minded Occidental. Their views of life are well-nigh antipodal. If their social intercourse is due only to the accident of business or of social functions, what true intimacy can possibly arise? The acquaintance can only be superficial. Nothing binds the two together beyond the temporary and accidental. Let them, however, become possessed of a common and a serious view of life; let them strive for the attainment of some great moral reform, which they feel of vital importance to the welfare of the nation and the age, and immediately a bond of connection and intercourse will be established which will ripen into real intimacy. I dispute the correctness of the generalization above quoted, however, not only on theoretical considerations, but also as a matter of experience. Among Christians, the conditions are fulfilled for intimate relations between Occidentals and Orientals which result, as a matter of fact, in genuine and intimate friendship. The relations existing between many missionaries and the native Christians and pastors refute the assertion of the editor of the _Japan Mail_ that, "no foreigner has ever yet succeeded in being admitted into the inner circle of Japanese intercourse." This assertion is doubtless true in regard to the relation of foreigners to non-Christian society. The reason, for the fact, however, is not because one is Occidental and the other Oriental in psychic nature, but solely because of diverse moral views, aims, and conduct. It is not the contention of these pages, however, that intimate friendships between Occidental and Oriental Christians are as easily formed as between members of two Occidental nations. Although common views of life, and common moral aims and conduct may provide the requisite foundations for such intimate friendships, the diverse methods of thought and of social intercourse may still serve to hinder their formation. It is probably a fact that missionaries experience greater difficulty in making genuine intimate friendships with Japanese Christians than with any other race on the face of the globe. The reasons for this fact are manifold. The Japanese racial ambition manifests itself not only in the sphere of political life; it does not take kindly to foreign control in any line. The churches manifest this characteristic. It is a cause of suspicion of the foreign missionary and separation from him; it has broken up many a friendship. Intimacy between missionaries and leading native pastors and evangelists was more common in the earlier days of Christian work than more recently, because the Japanese church organization has recently developed a self-consciousness and an ambition for organic independence which have led to mutual criticisms. Furthermore, Japanese Christians are still Japanese. Their methods of social intercourse are Oriental; they bow profoundly, they repeat formal salutations, they refrain from free expression of personal opinion and preference. The crust of polite etiquette remains. The foreigner must learn to appreciate it before he can penetrate to the kindly, sincere, earnest heart. This the foreigner does not easily do, much to the detriment of his work. And on the other hand, before the Oriental can penetrate to the kindly, sincere, and earnest heart of the Occidental, he must abandon the inferential method; he must not judge the foreigner by what is left unsaid nor by slight turns of that which is said, but by the whole thought as fully expressed. In other words, as the Occidental must learn and must trust to Oriental methods of social intercourse, so the Oriental must learn and must trust to the corresponding Occidental methods. The difficulty is great in either case, though of an opposite nature. Which has the greater difficulty is a question I do not attempt to solve. Another generalization as to the essential difference marking Oriental and Occidental psychic natures is that the former is meditative and appreciative, and the latter is active. This too is a characterization of no little truth. The easy-going, time-forgetting, dreaming characteristics of the Orient are in marked contrast to the rush, bustle, and hurry of the Occident. One of the first and most forcible impressions made on the Oriental visiting the West is the tremendous energy displayed even in the ordinary everyday business. In the home there is haste; on the streets men, women, and children are "always on the run." It must seem to be literally so, when the walk of the Occidental is compared with the slow, crawling rate at which the Oriental moves. Horse cars, electric cars, steam cars, run at high speed through crowded streets. Conversation is short and hurried. Visits are curtailed--hardly more than glimpses. Everyone is so nervously busy as to have no time for calm, undisturbed thought. So does the Orient criticise and characterize the Occident. In the Orient, on the contrary, time is nothing. Walking is slow, business is deliberate, visiting is a fine art of bows and conventional phrases preliminary to the real purpose of the call; amusements even are long-drawn-out, theatrical performances requiring an entire day. In the home there is no hurry, on the street there is no rush. To the Occidental, the Oriental seems so absorbed in a dream life that the actual life is to him but a dream. If the characterization we are considering is meant to signify that the Orient possesses a power of appreciation not possessed by the West, then it seems to me an error. The Occident is not deficient in appreciation. A better statement of the difference suggested by the above characterization is that Western civilization is an expression of Will, whereas Eastern civilization is an expression of subordination to the superior--to Fate. This feature of Oriental character is due to the fact that the Orient is still as a whole communal in its social order, whereas the Occident is individualistic. In the West each man makes his own fortune; his position in society rests on his own individual energy. He is free to exert it at will. Society praises him in proportion as he manifests energy, grit, independence, and persistence. The social order selects such men and advances them in political, in business, in social, and in academic life. The energetic, active characteristics of the West are due, then, to the high development of individualism. The entire Occidental civilization is an expression of free will. The communal nature of the Orient has not systematically given room for individual progress. The independent, driving man has been condemned socially. Submission, absolute and perpetual, to parents, to lord, to ancestors, to Fate, has been the ruling idea of each man's life. Controlled by such ideas, the easy-going, time-ignoring, dreaming, contemplative life--if you so choose to call it--of the Orient is a necessary consequence. But has this characteristic become congenital, or is it still only social? Is dreamy appreciation now an inborn racial characteristic of Oriental mind, while active driving energy is the corresponding essential trait of Occidental mind? Or may these characteristics change with the social order? I have no hesitancy whatever in advocating the latter position. The way in which Young Japan, clad in European clothing, using watches and running on "railroad time," has dropped the slow-going style of Old Japan and has acquired habits of rapid walking, direct clear-cut conversation, and punctuality in business and travel (comparatively speaking) proves conclusively the correctness of my contention. New Japan is entering into the hurry and bustle of Occidental life, because, in contact with the West, she has adopted in a large measure, though not yet completely, the individualism of the West. As time goes on, Japanese civilization will increasingly manifest the phenomena of will, and will proportionally become assimilated to the civilization of the West. But the ultimate cause of this transformation in civilization will be the increasing introduction of individualism into the social order. And this is possible only because the so-called racial characteristics are sociological, and not biological. The transformation of "race soul" therefore does not depend on the intermarriage of diverse races, but only on the adoption of new ideas and practices through social intercourse. We conclude, then, that the only thoroughgoing interpretation of the differences characterizing Eastern and Western psychic nature is a social one, and that social differences can be adequately expressed only by contrasting the fundamental ideas ruling their respective social orders, namely, communalism for the East and individualism for the West. The unity that pervades the Orient, if it is not due to the inheritance of a common psychic nature, to what is it due? Surely to the possession of a common civilization and social order. It would be hard to prove that Japanese, Koreans, Chinese, Siamese, Burmese, Hindus (and how many distinct races does the ethnologist find in India), Persians, and Turks are all descendants from a common ancestry and are possessed therefore by physical heredity of a common racial psychic nature. Yet such is the requirement of the theory we are opposing. That the races inhabiting the Asiatic continent have had from ancient times mutual social intercourse, whereby the civilization, mental, moral, and spiritual, of the most developed has passed to the other nations, so that China has dominated Eastern Asia, and India has profoundly influenced all the races inhabiting Asia, is an indisputable fact. The psychic unity of the Orient is a civilizational, a social unity, as is also the psychic unity of the Occident. The reason why the Occident is so distinct from the Orient in social, in psychic, and in civilizational characteristics is because these two great branches of the human race have undergone isolated evolution. Isolated biological evolution has produced the diverse races. These are now fixed physical types, which can be modified only by intermarriage. But although isolated social evolution has produced diverse social and psychic characteristics these are not fixed and unalterable. To transform psychic and social characteristics, intimate social intercourse, under special conditions, is needful alone. If the characteristics differentiating the Eastern from the Western peoples are only social, it might be supposed that the results of association would be mutual, the East influencing the West as much as the West influences the East, both at last finding a common level. Such a result, however, is impossible, from the laws regulating psychic and social intercourse. The less developed psychic nature can have no appreciable effect on the more highly developed, just as undeveloped art cannot influence highly developed art, nor crude science and philosophy highly developed science and philosophy. The law governing the relations of diverse civilizations when brought into contact is not like the law of hydrostatics, whereby two bodies of water of different levels, brought into free communication, finally find a common level, determined by the difference in level and their respective masses. In social intercourse the higher civilization is unaffected by the lower, in any important way, while the lower is mightily modified, and in sufficient time is lifted to the grade of the higher in all important respects. This is a law of great significance. The Orient is becoming Occidentalized to a degree and at a rate little realized by travelers and not fully appreciated by the Orientals themselves. They know that mighty changes have taken place, and are now taking place, but they do not fully recognize their nature, and the multitudes do not know the source of these changes. In so far as the East has surpassed the West in any important direction will the East influence the West. In saying, then, as we did in our first chapter, that the Japanese have already formed an Occidento-Oriental civilization, we meant that Japan has introduced not only the external and mechanical elements of Western civilization into her new social order, but also its inner and determinative principle--individualism. In saying that, as the Ethiopian cannot change his skin nor the leopard his spots, so Japan will never become thoroughly Occidentalized, we did not intend to say that she was so Oriental in her physiological nature, in her "race soul," that she could make no fundamental social transformation; but merely that she has a social heredity that will always and inevitably modify every Occidental custom and conception that may be brought to this land. Although in time Japan may completely individualize her social order, it will never be identical with that of the West. It will always bear the marks of her Oriental social heredity in innumerable details. The Occidental traveler will always be impressed with the Orientalisms of her civilization. Although the Oriental familiar with the details of the pre-Meiji social order will be impressed with what seems to him the complete Occidentalization of her new civilization and social order, although to-day communalism and individualism are the distinguishing characteristics respectively of the East and the West, they are not necessary characteristics due to inherent race nature. The Orient is sure to become increasingly individualistic. The future evolution of the great races of the earth is to be increasingly convergent in all the essentials of individual and racial prosperity, but in countless non-essential details the customs of the past will remain, to give each race and nation distinctive psychic and social characteristics. XXXVII GENERAL CONCLUSIONS The aim of the present work has been to gain insight into the real nature of both Japanese character and its modern transformation. In doing this we have necessarily entered the domain of social science, where we have been compelled to take issue with many, to us, defective conceptions. Our discussions of social principles have, however, been narrowly limited. We have confined our attention to the interpretation of those social and psychic characteristics differentiating the Japanese from other races. Our chief contention has been that these characteristics are due to the nature of the social order that has prevailed among them, and not to the inherent nature of the people; and that the evolution of the psychic characteristics of all races is due to social more than to biological evolution. This position and the discussions offered to prove it imply more than has been explicitly stated. In this closing chapter it seems desirable to state concisely, and therefore with technical terminology, some of the more fundamental principles of social philosophy assumed or implied in this work. Brevity requires that this statement take the form of dogmatic propositions and unillustrated abstractions. The average reader will find little to interest him, and is accordingly advised to omit it entirely. Let us first clearly see that we have made no effort to account for the origin or inherent nature of psychic life. That association or the social order is the original producing cause of psychic life is by no means our contention. Given the psychic nature as we find it in man, the problem is to account for its diverse manifestation in the different races and civilizations. This, and this alone, has been our problem. Psychic nature is the sole and final cause of social life. Without psychic nature there could be no association. Personalized psychic nature is the sole and final cause of human social life. Numberless conditions determine by stimulation or imitation the manifestation of psychic life. These conditions differ for different lands, peoples, ages, and political relations, producing diverse social orders for each separated group. These diverse social orders determine the psychic characteristics differentiating the various groups. Social life and social order are objective expressions of a reality of which psychic nature is the subjective and therefore deeper reality. The two cannot be ruthlessly torn apart and remain complete, nor can they be understood, or completely interpreted, apart from each other. They are correlative and complementary expressions for the same reality. Similarly physical and psychical life are to be conceived as profoundly interrelated, being respectively objective and subjective expressions of a reality incapable of separate interpretation. Yet each has markedly distinct characteristics and is the subject of distinct laws of activity and development. Heredity is of two kinds, biological heredity, transmitting innate characters, and social heredity, transmitting acquired habits and their physiological results. The innate characters transmitted by biological heredity are either physiological, anatomical, or psychical. The acquired habits transmitted by social heredity are essentially psychical: but they may result in acquired physiological, or even anatomical, characters. Here belong the physiological effects of diet, housing, clothing, occupation, education, etc., which have not yet been taken up and incorporated into the innate physiological constitution by biological heredity. The physiological effects of social heredity are through the daily physical life and activity of each individual, in accordance with the requirements of the social order in which he is reared; and these are reached through its influence on the acquired psychical habits, which are transmitted through association, imitation, and the control of activities by language and education. In biological heredity the transmission is exclusively prior to birth, while in social heredity it is chiefly, if not entirely, after birth. In social heredity the transmission is not determined by consanguinity, and therefore extends to members of alien races when they are incorporated in the social organization. While the transmission of biological inheritance to each offspring is inevitable and complete, that of social inheritance is largely voluntary. It is also more or less complete, according to the knowledge, purpose, and effort of the individuals concerned. The transmission of acquired social and psychic characteristics even from parents to offspring depends on their association, and the imposition on their offspring by parents of their own modes of life. Sharing with parents their bodily activities, their language and their environment, both social and psychical, the offspring necessarily develop psychic and social characteristics similar to those of the parents. Evolution takes place through the transformation of inheritance. The evolution of _innate_ physiological, anatomical, and psychical characters takes place through the transformation of biological inheritance; and the evolution of society and of _acquired_ characters chiefly through the transformation of social inheritance. Nearly all biologists admit that change in the form of natural selection is one of the principles transforming biological inheritance; but whether the _acquired_ characters of parents are even in the least degree inherited by the offspring, thus becoming _innate_ characters, is one of the important biological problems of recent years. Into this problem we have not entered, though we recognize that it must have important bearings on sociological science. Briefly stated, it is this: Do social and psychic characteristics, acquired by individuals or by groups of individuals, affect the intrinsic inherited and transmissible psychic nature in such ways that offspring, by the mere fact of being offspring, necessarily manifest those characteristics, regardless of the particular social environment in which they may be reared? Into this problem, thus broadly stated, we do not enter. Limiting our view to those advanced races which manifest practically equal physiological development, we ask whether or not their differentiating psychic characteristics are due to modifications of their inherited and intrinsic psychic nature, such that those characteristics are necessarily transmitted to offspring through intrinsic biological heredity. Current popular and scientific sociology seems to give an affirmative answer to this question. The reply of this work emphasizes the negative. Although it is not maintained that there is absolutely no difference whatever in the psychic nature of the different races, or that the psychic differences distinguishing the races are entirely transmitted by social heredity, it is maintained that this is very largely the case--far more largely than is usually perceived or admitted. Such inherent differences, if they exist, are so vague and intangible as practically to defy discovery and clear statement, and may be practically ignored. The only adequate disproof of the position here maintained would be about as follows. Let a Japanese infant be reared in an American home from infancy, not only fed and clothed as an American, but loved as a member of the family and trained as carefully and affectionately as one's own child. The full conditions require that not only the child himself, but everyone else, be ignorant of his parentage and race in order that he be thought to be, and be treated as though he were, a genuine member of his adopting home and people. What would be the psychic characteristics of that child when grown to manhood? If he should manifest psychic traits like those of his Japanese parents, if he should think in the Japanese order, if he should have a tendency to use prepositions as postpositions, if he should drop pronouns and should use honorific words in their place, if he should be markedly suspicious and inferential, if he should bow in making his salutations rather than shake hands, if he should show marked preference for sitting on the floor rather than on chairs, and for chopsticks to knives and forks, and if developing powers as an artist he should naturally paint Japanese pictures, Japanese landscapes, and Japanese faces, finding himself unable to draw according to the canons of Western art, if on developing poetic tastes he should find special pleasure in seventeen syllable or thirty-one syllable exclamatory poems, finding little interest in Longfellow or Shakespeare, if, in short, he should develop a predilection for any distinctive Japanese custom, habit of thought, method of speech, emotion or volition, it would evidently be due to his intrinsic heredity. If in all these matters, however, he should prove to be like an American, acquiring an American education like any American boy, and if on being brought to Japan, at, say, thirty years of age, still supposing himself to be an American, he should have equal difficulty with any American in mastering the language and adapting himself to and understanding the Japanese people, then it would follow that his psychic characteristics have been inherited socially and he is what he is, nationally, because of his social heritage. Such a result would show that the psychic traits differentiating races are social and not intrinsic. We have limited our discussion to the advanced races because the problem is then relatively simple, the material abundant, and the issue clear. Much discussion in theology, psychology, and sociology is futile because it concerns that practically mythical being, the aboriginal man, about whose social and psychic life no one knows anything, and any theorizer can say what he chooses without fear of shipwreck on incontrovertible facts. Whether the lowest races known to-day are differentiated from the highest only by acquired social and psychic characteristics, or also by differences of psychic nature, may perhaps be an open question. However this may be, the case is fairly clear in regard to the higher races inhabiting the earth. Their differentiating psychic characteristics are, for the most part, not due to diverse psychic nature, but to diverse social orders, while the transmission of these characteristics takes place, as a matter of observation, through social heredity. The discussions of this work are exclusively concerned with the evolution of society and of psychic characteristics. But even in this limited field we have not attempted to cover the whole ground. We have given our chief attention to the interdependence of social phenomena and psychic characteristics. The causes of evolution in the social order have not been the main subject under discussion. Segregation is the essential condition on which divergent evolution is dependent. Many forms of segregation may be specified, under each of which evolution proceeds on a different principle. In brief, it may be said that biological segregation prevents the swamping of incipient organic divergences, by preventing the intermarriage of those possessing such divergences, while social segregation prevents the swamping of incipient social divergences and their corresponding incipient psychic characteristics by preventing the inter-association of those having such tendencies. Biologically segregated groups undergo divergent biological evolution through segregated marriage, producing distinct physiological unities or racial types. These racial types are now relatively fixed and can be appreciably modified only by the intermarriage of different races. Socially segregated groups undergo divergent social evolution through the segregated social intercourse of the members of each group, producing distinct civilizational and psychic unities. The differences between these social or psychic groups are relatively plastic and are the subject of constant variation. The modification of the social and psychic characteristics of a group takes place through a change in the physical or social environment of the group, or through the rise of strong personalities within the group. Biologically distinct groups may thus be unified biologically only by intermarriage, while socially physically distinct groups may be unified socially and psychically without intermarriage, but exclusively through association. The psychic defects of the offspring of interracial marriages may be largely due to the defective social heredity transmitted by the parents, rather than to mixed intrinsic inheritance. The term "race soul" is a convenient, though delusive, because highly figurative, expression for the psychic unity of a social group. The unity is due entirely to the more or less complete possession by the individual members of the group, of common ideas, ideals, methods of thought, emotions, volitions, customs, institutions, arts, and beliefs. Each individual is molded psychically to the type of the social group in which he is reared. The "race soul" is thus imposed on the individual by conscious and unconscious education. The psychic evolution of social groups is divergent so long as isolation is fairly complete, but becomes convergent in proportion to association. Perfect association produces complete psychic unity, though it should be noted that perfect association of geographically separated social groups is practically unattainable. The essential elements constituting national unity are psychic and social, not biological. Racial unity is biological. The same race may accordingly separate into different social and psychic groups. And members of different races may belong to the same social psychic group. The so-called "race soul" of many sociologists is, therefore, a fiction and indicates mental confusion. The term refers not to the racial unity of inherent psychic nature, but only to the social unity of socially inherited psychic characteristics. Groups thus socially unified may or may not be racially homogeneous. In point of fact no race is strictly homogeneous biologically, nor is any social group completely unified psychically. In sociology as in biology function produces organism, that is to say, activity produces the organ or faculty fitted to perform the activity.[2] The psychic characteristics differentiating social groups are chiefly, and perhaps exclusively, due to diverse social activities. These activities are determined by innumerable causes, geographical, climatic, economic, political, intellectual, emotional, and personal. The plasticity of a psychic group is due to the plasticity of the infant mind and brain, which is wonderfully capable of acquiring the language, thought forms, and differentiating characteristics of any group in which it may be reared. To what extent this plasticity extends only carefully conducted experiments can show. In the higher Asiatic and European races we find it to be much greater than is generally supposed to be the case, but it is not improbable that the lowest races possess it in a much lower degree. The relative fixity of a psychic group is due to the fact that in full-grown adults, who form the majority of every group, function has produced structure. Body, brain, and mind have "set" or crystallized in the mold provided by the social order. Influences sufficiently powerful to transform the young have little effect on the adult. The relative fixity of a psychic group is also due to the difficulty--well-nigh impossibility--of bringing new psychic influences to bear on all members of the group simultaneously. The majority, being oblivious to the new psychic forces, maintain the old psychic régime. The difficulty of reform, of transforming a social order, is principally due to these two causes. The "character" of a people (psychic group) consists of its more or less unconscious, because structuralized or incarnate, ideas, emotions, and volitions. Chief among them are those concerning the character of God, the nature and value of man and woman, the necessary relation of character to destiny, the nature and meaning of life and death, and the nature and the authority of moral law. In proportion as the social order incorporates high or low views on these vital subjects, is the character of the people elevated and strong, or debased and weak. The destiny of a people, and the rôle it plays in history, are determined not by chance nor yet by environment, but in the last analysis by its own character. Yet this character is not something given it complete at the start, an intrinsic psychical inheritance, nor is it dependent for transmission on biological heredity, passing only from parents to offspring. Character belongs to the sphere of social psychic life and is the subject of social heredity. Through social intercourse the moral character dominating a psychic group may be transmitted to members of an alien psychic group. This usually takes place through missionary activity. The moral character of a psychic group may in this way be fundamentally transformed, and with character, destiny. Floating ideas, not yet woven into the warp and woof of life, not yet incarnate in the individual or in the social order, have little influence on the character of the individual or the group, however beautiful, true, or elevating such ideas may be in themselves. The character of a people is to be judged, therefore, not by the beauty or elevation of every idea that may be found in its literature, but only by those ideas that have been assimilated, that have become incorporated into the social order. These determine a people's character and destiny. According as these ideas persist in the social order, is its character permanent. Progress consists of expanding life, communal and individual, extensive and intensive, physical and psychical. True progress is balanced. High communal development, that is, highly organized society, is impossible without the wide attainment of highly developed individuals. Progressive mastery of nature likewise is impossible apart from growing psychic development in all its branches, emotional, intellectual and volitional, communal and individual. Historically, communalism is the first principle to emerge in consciousness. To succeed, however, it must be accompanied by at least a certain degree of individualism, even though it be quite implicit. The full development of the communal principle is impossible apart from the correspondingly full development of the individual principle. These are complementary principles of progress. Each alone is impossible. In proportion as either is emphasized at the expense of the other, is progress impeded. Arrested civilizations are due to the disproportionate and excessive development of one or the other of these principles. Personality, expressing and realizing itself in communal and individual life, in objective and subjective forms, is at once the cause and the goal of progress. Social and psychic evolution are, therefore, in the last analysis, personal processes. The irreducible and final factor in social evolution and in social science is personality; for personality is the determinative factor of a human being. Progress in personal development consists of increasing extent and accuracy of knowledge, refinement and elevation of emotions, and nobility and reliability of volitions. Progress in personal development requires the individual to pass from objective heterocratic to subjective autocratic or self-regulative ethical life. He must pass from the traditional to the enlightened, from the communal to the individualistic stage in ethics and religion. He must feel with increasing force the binding nature of the supra-communal sanctions for communal and individual life, accepting the highest dictates of the enlightened moral consciousness as the laws of the universe. But this means that the individual must secure increasing insight into the immutable and eternal laws of spiritual being and must identify his personal interests, his very self with those laws, with the Heart of the. Universe, with God himself. Only so will he become completely autonomous, self-regulative. Only thus will the individual become and remain an altruistic communo-individual, fitted to meet and survive the relaxation of the historic communal and supra-communal sanctions for communal and individual life, a relaxation induced by growing political liberty and growing intellectual rejection of primitive or defective religious beliefs. Progress in personality is thus at bottom an ethico-religious process. The wide attainment of developed personality permits the formation of enlarging highly organized psychic groups, accompanied by increasing specialization of its individual members. This communal expansion, ramifying organization and individual specialization, secures increasing extensive and intensive intellectual understanding of the universe, and this in turn active mastery of nature, with all the consequences of growing ease and richness of life. Ethico-religious, autonomous personality is thus the tap-root of highly developed and permanently progressive civilizations. Personality is, therefore, the criterion of progress. Mere ease of physical life, freedom from anxiety, light-hearted, care-free happiness, mastery of nature, material civilization, highly developed art, literature, and music, or even refined culture, are partial and inadequate, if not positively false, criteria. Personality, as a nature, is an inherent psychic heritage shared by all human beings. It is transmitted only from parents to offspring, and its transmission depends only on that relation. Personality, as a varying psychic characteristic, is a matter of social inheritance, and is profoundly dependent, therefore, on the nature of the social order and the social evolution. Religion, as incorporated in life, is the most important single factor determining the personality and character of its adherents, either hindering or promoting their progress. Japanese social and psychic evolution have in no respects violated the universal laws of evolution. Japanese personal and other psychic characteristics are the product not of essential, but of social inheritance and social evolution. Japan has recently entered into a new social inheritance from which she is joyfully accepting new conceptions and principles of communal and individual life. These she is working into her social organism. Already these are producing profound, and we may believe permanent, transformations in her social order and correspondingly profound and permanent transformations of her character and destiny. THE END INDEX "Abdication": in church work, 84; due to past social conditions, 86; explains prominence of young men, 86, 161 Æsthetic characteristics: development unbalanced, 174; speech and conduct, 178; development of masses, 180; development, social not racial, 188 Adoption; family maintained, 215 Affection: post-marital, 102; its expression, 105 Agnosticism, old not new, 247 Alcock, Sir Rutherford: quotation misleading, 172; on untruthfulness, 255 Altruism, social or racial? 365 Ambition, 137 Ancestral worship and the importance of sons, 98 Apotheosis, 147; "Divine right of kings," 151; in Japan expresses unity, 152 Architectural development and social heredity, 188 Arisaka, Colonel, inventions, 207 Arnold, Sir Edwin, 16, 17 Art; simplicity its characteristic, 173; lacking the nude, 175-177; its ideal in representing gods and men, 174; defects, 184; original or imitative? 203; not "impersonal," 351 Artistic and inartistic contrasts, 184 Aston, Mr. W.G.: on poetic form, 187; intellectual inferiority of Japanese claimed, 218; "Japanese Literature," 228 Baelz, Dr. E., measurements of skull, 191 "Bakufu," "curtain government," 214 Bargaining, a personal experience, 212 Baths, public, 274; cleanliness, 316 Birthday festivals, 349; method of reckoning age, 350 Brain weights, comparative figures, 190 Brown, Rev. S.R., 90 Buckley, Prof. E., Phallic worship, 325 Buddhism: relation to the family, 112; suppression of emotion, 166; modified in Japan, 197; early influence, 204; teachings about woman, 259; lack of moral teachings, 269; religious ecstasy, 297; nature and history, 306, 307; terms "ingwa" and "mei," 319; "impersonal"? 377-388; introspection, 378; salvation through self, 379; consciousness of self, highly developed, 379-380; attributes no worth to self, 380; failure of its influence, 381; mercy to animals and shallow reasoning, 381; thought of self an intellectual abstraction, 383; not impersonal, but abstract, 384; doctrine of illusion, 384; failure of social order, 385; popular acceptance not philosophical, 386; not logically carried out, 389-390. appeal to personal activity, 390. conversion of a priest to Christianity, 394. conception of God, 398. the universe characterized, 400. Nirvana, 400. supplementary to Shintoism, 407. popularity explained, 408. individualism defective, 408. not exclusive in any land, 421. Buddhistic doctrines and sociological consequences, 388. Caricature in art: its prominence, 177. Cary's, Rev. Otis, "Japan and Its Regeneration," 10. Chamberlain, Prof. B.H., 17, 55, 159. quotation on imitation,--over-emphasis, 196. people irreligious, 287. Character and destiny, 445. how judged, 446 Children: their festivals, 96. love for the young in Occident and Orient compared, 97. infanticide, 100. Chinese characters and the common schools, 192. Chinese philosophy not accepted without question, 200. Christianity: relation to the family, 111-114. the support of new ideals, 112. fluctuating interest in, 162, 163. influence on woman, 168. criticised by a Japanese, 231. relation to new social order, 282. its growth in Japan, 308. monotheism, its attraction, 311. its view of the universe, 399. involving communalism and individualism, 415. Civilization: two types in conflict, 13. social not racial, 28. its rapid modernization, 30. Clark, Pres., 90 Cleanliness: exaggerated reputation, 315, 316. Cocks of Tosa: the abnormal, 178. Communalism: and human progress, 332, 333. defined, 361. its altruism, 367. throws light on religious history, 404. difficulty of combining it with individualistic religious elements, 414. Japan appreciates its spirit, 417 Comte, 22. Conceit, 139. not the only conceited nation, 142. Concubinage: children of the Emperor, 151. Buddhistic and Confucian teaching, 259. its sociological interpretation, 260. increase of, 278. statistics of, 279. Confidence and suspicion, 120. feudal explanation, 121. Confucian ethics: leave gods alone, 286, 287. antidote to Buddhism, 390. Confucianism: its relation to the family, 112. modified in Japan, 197. metaphysical foundation of, 228. its relation to morality, 269. nature and history of, 307, 308. its doctrines restored, 409. its limitations, 410. not a religion, 411. cause of failure, 412. Confucius and Lao-tse about returning good for evil, 128. influence opposed to progress, 204. Constitution, authority from Emperor, 149. Conversation: realistic baldness, 179. Courtesy: conventional not racial, 182. phrases of, 211. not proof of "impersonality," 362, 363. Culture: more apparent than real, 181. Curiosity: real though concealed,--illustration, 166. "Curtain government," its significance, 214. Daimyo, a figurehead, 214. Darwin, 22 Decoration of rooms, 171 Dening, Mr, Walter, lack of idealism, 233 De Quatrefages, African brains, 191 Deity: conception of, 310; monotheistic terms, 311; common people, 391 Disposition: apparently cheerful, 115; pessimists out of sight, 116 Divorce: grounds for, 56; frequency of, 99; Civil Code of 1898, 265; statistics, 267; divorce and "impersonality," 352, 355 Doshisha, endangered, 123, 124; American benefactors of, 281 Drama and novel: weakness explained, 187 Drummond, 22 Dwarfed plants,--delight in the abnormal, 177 Eastern and Western civilizations blending, 30-32 Educational Department and Imperial Edict, 328 Emotional nature, 82-84; due to social order, 169 Emperor: concubines and children of, 151 English study and methods of thinking, 212 Ethics: pivotal points, 283 Etiquette: superficial not radical requirements, 183; its collapse explained, 183; relation to imagination, 235 Evolution: real explanation of progress, 24-27, 33-34; national, 332-343; intellectual, 419; Involution one half the process, 425; defined, 440 Express train, "nominal" destination, 216 Fairbanks, Prof., 20 "Falling in love" not recognized, 102 Family life: false registration checks affection, 107 _Far East_: quotation from, adaptation of foreign systems, 208 Farmer, higher rank than merchant, 257 (note) Fate: "Ingwa," in development of personality, 386 Feudal times: moderation, 118; courage cultivated, 153, 154; trade, 284 Fickleness: its manifestation, 159; a modern trait, 160; shown chiefly in methods, 160; among Christians, apparent not real, 161 Filial obedience: extreme application, 263; piety, moral ideal, 249; piety and religion, 322 Fiske, 22 Flexibility of mental constitution, 77-78 Flowering trees, 171 Forty-seven Ronin, 89, 250 Freedom: relation of belief to the fact, 387 Fukuzawa, Mr., on monogamy, 109, 112; condemning concubinage, 279; on religion, 287 Furniture; recent introduction, 181 Future life: Shinto, Confucian, 318; Buddhistic, 319 "Geisha," dancing girl, vivacity, 168 Generalization, capacity for, 220; use of philosophical terms, 221 Giddings, Prof., 19, 22 "Go-between," illustrations, 210; advantages, 211 God: Greek, Buddhist, Christian, 399; conceptions compared, 400 Governmental initiative: explains rapid reforms, 201 Gratitude: religious sentiment, 323; ingratitude shown 324 Greek universe characterized, 400 Green, T.H., 397 (note) Greene, Dr. D.C., teaching of Shinto sect, 269 Griffis, W.E., on suicide, 155; on religions, 315 Gubbins, introduction to translation of New Civil Code of Japan, 86; on woman's position, 268 Harris, Townsend, quoted, 132; regulation by authority, 204; as to untruthfulness, 256 Hawaii, musical development, 185 Head, size of, 190 Hearn, Mr. Lafcadio, 16, 17, 68; mistaken contention, 263; privacy, 275; gratitude, 323 Hegel, 345; "Nothing" and Universal Soul of Buddhism, 383 (note) Heredity: social and physiological contrasted, 21; defined and analyzed, 439 Heroes and hero-worship, 89-95; "The forty-seven Ronin" as heroes, 89; craving for modern heroes, 90-92; Omi Sajin, 93; Dr. Neesima, 375 Hirase, Mr., scientist, 207 History, research suppressed, 205; its claims, 206; apparent credulity of scholars due to social system, 207 "Holy towels," physical disease, 314 Honesty: decline of, 280; explanation, 282 "Honorifics," shades of courtesy, 179; indefiniteness of speech, 211 Houses, privacy impossible, 273 Housewife, simple requirements, 181 Idealizing tendency, 94, 236 Idols, imported feature of Japanese religion, 174 Ikeno, Mr., scientific discovery, 207 Illusion, 398 Imagination: is it lacking? 233; shown in etiquette, political life, ambition, self-conceit, etc., 235; seen in optimism, 240; related to fancy,--caricature, 241; not disproved by imitation, 242; sociological explanation, 243; constructive, 246; suppression of, 246 Imitation in Japanese progress, 78-81; creditable characteristic, 196 Immorality, increase of, 261 Impassiveness, "putty-face," 164 Imperial and popular sovereignty, conflict between, 152-153 Imperial Edict, 328 Imperialists during the Shogunate, 146 Imperial succession of Oriental type, 150 "Impersonality": Hegel, 345: definitions contradictory, 347, 348; related, to art, 351; family life, 352; divorce, 352; "falling in love," 354; definition, 359, 360; outcome of social order, 361; not proved by courtesy of people, 362, 363, nor by lack of personal pronouns, 368; arguments against, 377; diverse elements analyzed, 381; objection to term, 385 "Impersonality" and altruism, 365 Impractical idealism: claimed by Japanese, 236; illustrations, 237, 238 "In," and "Yo," significance of, 221 India and Japan contrasted, 32-34 Indirectness, 210 Individual, small value, 258 Individualism: expressed, 245, 246; changing social order and honesty, 282; importance of, 334; how possible, 335; defined, 361; easy acceptance explained, 413 Individualistic religion as a sociological factor in higher, human evolution, 418 Infanticide, 100-101 "Ingwa," fate, 386 Inouye, Dr. T., Japonicized Christianity, 39; claims for Japanese, 205; philosophical writer, 229 Intellectual characteristics, social, 244 Inventions: originality, 207 Irreligious phenomena explained, 302, 303 Ishii, Mr., father of orphan asylums in Japan, 94, 131, 145 Isolation of nations impossible, 71 Ito, Marquis, on religion, 288 Iyeyasu: his testament, 253; use of Confucian doctrines, 409 Japanese people: international responsibility, 13; need of understanding them, 15-20; change of opinion regarding, 23-25; defects, conscious of, 143; acquaintance with, 428; reasons for difficulty in, acquaintance with, 429, 430; secret of acquaintance, 431 _Japan Mail_: quotation, 130; originality of Japanese art, 203: on wealth, 277; on honesty, 280; on acquaintance, 428 Jealousy and women, 127-128 Kato, Mr. H., 229; on religion, 288; patriotism is loyalty to throne, 373 "Ki," defined, 221 Kidd, 22 Kissing unknown, 105 Kitazato, Dr., scientific research, 207 Knapp, Mr. A.M., 16 Knox, Dr. G.W., quotation, 199; "A Japanese Philosopher," 228; translator of Muro Kyuso, 249 Ladd, Prof. G.T., 94; sentimentality of Japanese, 234 Language: its acquirement and Japanese students, 194; diversities of, not due to diversities in brain type, 195 Lao-tse, on doing good in return for evil, 128 Le Bon's physiological theory of character inadequate, 13-20; quotation, 51; dissent from opinion, 168; quotation, 424 Le Conte, 22 Literature, ancient, its impurity, 253 Lowell, Mr. Percival, "The Soul of the Far East," 103, 344; Japanese unimaginative, 234; opinion criticised, 241; "sense and incense," 286; pilgrimages, 291; "impersonality," 359, 363, 374; teaching of philosophic Buddhism, 378 Loyalty and religion, 322; sentimental, 148, 149 Lunatics and lepers, cruel treatment, 130 Magic formulæ, 320 Man and nature: differing artistic treatment of, 175 Manners; influenced by Western ways, 182 Marriage, Civil Code of 1898, 265 Marsh, Prof., size of Japanese brain, 190 "Matter-of-factness" explained, 245 Memorizing: mechanical, 222; defective method, 223; as related to higher mental powers, 223 Memory; power overrated, 192; in daily affairs not exceedng Occidental, 193; characteristics sociological, not biological, 194 Mnemonic power and social selection, 193 Mencius, teaching, the "Way" of Heaven and Earth, 250 Mental faculties: are the Japanese deficient? 218; power of generalization, 221 Metaphysical tendencies, 227: denial of ability unjustifiable, 227 Metaphysics and ethics, 228 Monotheism, why attractive, 312 Morality: courage in persecucution, 156; illustration, 158; discrimination developed, 249; parents, children, patriots, 249; ideals communal, 255; standards differing for men and women, 263; teaching focused on rulers, 270; Imperial Edict, 271; standards of, and individualism, 275, 276; social, not racial, 283; on authority, 284; morality and Old Japan, 261, 264 Motora, Prof. Y., 229 Müller, Prof. Max, statement about Vedas, 193 Murata rifle, invention of, 207 Muro Kyuso, philosopher, 249; ancient books condemned, 252; on immorality, 286; teachings, 299, 300 Music, Japanese deficiency, 185 Nakashima, Prof. Rikizo, 229 Nash, Prof. H.S., on Apotheosis in Rome, 153 National life, stimulus from the West, 43-48 Natural scenery in art, 173 Neesima, Dr., founder of the Doshisha, 94; monotheism, 311; his character, 375 "Netsuke," comical carvings, 241 New æon, characterized, 14; the consequences, 15 Newton's, Rev. J.C.E., "Japan: Country, Court, and People" 10, 46 "Nichiren," a sect, 198 Nirvana characterized, 400 Nitobe's, Prof. J., "Bushido: The Soul of Japan," 10 "Nominal": Pedigree, 215; church contributions, 216; express train, 216 "Nominality": illustrated in history, 213; in family life, 214; in Christian work, 216; explained by old order, 217; giving way under Western influence, 217 Norman, Mr. Henry, 17; his "Real Japan," 46 Nude in art: its lack, 175-177 Obsequiousness, 140 Occident and Orient: conflict not unending, 13; social intercourse and mutual influence, 436 Occidental civilization; a defect in, 71 Ohashi, Junzo, opposed to Western thought, 254 Old Japan, 35-37; its oppression, 53, 54; emptiness of common life, 54; condition of woman, 54, 56; divorce, 56, 57; moral and legal maxims, 252, 253; its morality, 244, 261 "Omi Sajin," Sage of Omi, 93 Oriental characteristics: are they distinctive? 422; general opinion of, 423; view of author, 425; social, not racial, 425, 434 Originality in art, 203; judicious imitation, 209 Orphan asylums, 131 Oyomei, 228 Patriotism, 48-51; relation to apotheosis, 144, 158; to war, 145; Christian orphans, 145 Peasants, stolidity, 165 Pedigree, "nominal" not actual ancestry, 215 Peery, Dr., Japanese philosophical incompetence, 225 Personality: 21-22; importance of, 342; defined, 356-357; characteristics of, 358; "strong" and "weak," 374, 375; Confucian ethics, 390; Supreme Being, 391; gods of popular Buddhism, 391; idea grasped by Japanese, 393; sketch of development, 394; racial or social inheritance, 395; progress in ethico-religious process, 447; the criterion of progress, 447 Personality in conception of nationality, 373 Personal pronouns, their lack possible proof of personality, 369; "honorific" particles, 368; substitutes, 370, 371 Pfleiderer, Prof., religious deficiency of Japanese, 286 Phallicism: its suppression, 325; Western influence, 326 Philosophy: Occidental ignorance of its history in Japan, 200; terms used, 221; Japanese students of, 229; individuals interested, 229 Philosophical ability, 225-232; Japanese claims, 225; constructive power, 226; writers mentioned, 229; East and West compared, 231 Pilgrimages: statistics, 290-291; immorality, 326 Poetry characterized, 186 Powder, smokeless, invention of, 207 Pride, sociological explanation, 19, 21 Progress, modern characteristic, 52-60; defined, 57; light-heartedness no proof of, 59; its method, 61-71; recognition of individual worth, 63-67; knowledge of implements and methods, 67-70; imitation, 78-81; passion for it, 143 Psychic nature and social life, 439 Psychic evolution, 444 Psychic function and psychic organism, 445 Psychological similarities, Japanese and Anglo-Saxon, 189 Public speaking, fluency, 219 "Putty-face," 164 "Race-soul," 444 Ransome, Mr. Stanford, quoted, 51; "Japan in Transition," 46 Reforms, governmental initiative, 201 Religion: its characteristics social, not racial, 309; loyalty and filial piety, 322; liberty in belief, 327; the Imperial Edict, 328; forms determined by history, 329; the problem of to-day, 414; Religions classified, 421 Religious or not? appearances explained, 286; judged by phenomena, 288; prayer, shrines, charms, 292; Buddha-shelves, God-shelves, 293; emotion and social training, 296; emotion shown in abstraction, 297 Religious life, 404, 421; communal, 404; present difficulty in Japan, 420 Renaissance of Japan, 29-30 Revenge: the ancient law, 128; teachings of Confucius and Lao-tse, 128-129 Reverence, apparent lack of, 304 "Ri" defined, 221 Roman alphabet: adoption recommended by many, 192 "Roundaboutness": characteristic of speech and action, 211; recent improvement, 212 Sadness and isolation of many, 116 Sage of Omi, _see_ "Omi Sajin." Salvation and sin, 314; Buddhist and Christian, 379 Samurai: high mental power, social leaders, impractical, 244; their relation to trade, 252; new ideals, 256; revolt from religious forms, 298 Segregation and divergent evolution, 443 Self-confidence not without grounds, 141, 143; reorganization by young men, 141-142 Self-control: moral teaching, 250; Kujuro, the self-controlled, 251 Sensitiveness to environment, 72, 81; illustrated by students abroad, 73, by life in Japan, 73-77 Shimose, Mr., invention, smokeless powder, 207 "Shinshu," "Reformed" Buddhism, 198 Shinto: nature and history, 305, 306; personal gods, 391; communal, 405; no longer a religion, 405; world view, 406; religious sanction for social order, 407; revived, 412 Sin, terminology, 313; consciousness of, 317; instance of conversion, 318 Shusi, 228 Social evil, the, 261 (note) Social segregation and social divergence, 21 Social and racial unity distinguished, 443 Social evolution convergent, 14; principle revealed, 15; personal process, 446 Social heredity, transmitting results of toil, 71 Social intercourse of Occident and Orient, 436 Social order from the West, 413; the parting of the ways, 414 Sociological theory of: character, 14, 446; pride, 30; fear of ridicule, 73; cruelty, 135; kindness, 136; stolidity, 163; power of generalization, 222; philosophical development, 231; apparent deficiency in imagination, 236; differences characterizing Eastern and Western psychic nature, 247, 435; untruthfulness, 256; concubinage, 260; religious characteristics, 309, 321; the suppression of Phallicism, 327; religious tolerance, 329; divorce and "falling in love," 355; courtesy, 363, 364; the personal pronoun, 372; the failure of Buddhism, 385; the conception of Fate, 387 Sociology and individual religion, 405; and Shintoism, 407 Southerland, 23 "Soul of Japan," the, 144 "Soul of the Far East," quotation, 234 Spencer, 22 Stolidity: easily distinguished from stoicism, 164, 165; the peasants, 165; social, not racial, 167; cultivated, 168 Students: testimony of foreign teachers, 218; at home and abroad, 219 Suicide, a matter of honor, 154-156 Sutra, translation of, 402 Suspiciousness and military feudalism, 125-126 Taguchi, Dr., brain statistics, 190 Tai-ku Reform, epoch-making period, 201 Takahashi, Mr. G., 229; the monks and consciousness of sin, 317 Taste and lack of taste in woman's dress, 182 Temples, statistics, 296 Tokugawa Shogunate, 38-40; how overthrown, 40-43; prohibitive of progress, 204; last of "Curtain governments," 214 Torture, in Japan, 132; in Europe, 133 Toys and toy-stores, 96 Trade estimates, 256; Old Japan, the Greeks, the Jews compared, 257, note; trade and the feudal order, 284 Transmigration, 319; theory illogical, but helpful, 389 Truthfulness, undeveloped, 255 Tyranny and Western wives 106 Unæsthetic phenomena, 179 Verbeck, Dr. G.F., 91 Visionary tendency, 236, 237 Vivacity, Geisha girl, 168 Wallace, 22 Ward, 22 "Way," _see_ Muro Kyuso, 250; reference to, 287 Wealth increasing, 277 Wedding, Prince Imperial, 268; Imperial silver wedding, 268 Woman: obedience, 55, 56; estimates of East and West contrasted, 102-103; Western estimates, recent growth, 111, 113 (note); Buddhist and Confucian teaching, 112, 259; jealousy, 127; her position, 258; influenced by Hindu philosophy, 258; improvement, 268 Writing, a fine art, 173 Xavier, Francis, 308 Yamaguchi, Mr., quotation, 149; the Imperial throne, 373 "Yamato Damashii," _see_ "The Soul of Japan." "Yumei-mujitsu," _see_ "Nominality." FOOTNOTES: [Footnote A: "Things Japanese," p. 156.] [Footnote B: Let not the reader gather from the very brief glance at the attainments of New Japan, that she has overtaken the nations of Christendom in all important respects; for such is far from the case. He needs to be on his guard not to overestimate what has been accomplished.] [Footnote C: Prof. B.H. Chamberlain.] [Footnote D: Only since the coming of the new period has it become possible for a woman to gain a divorce from her husband.] [Footnote E: Chapter xxix. Some may care to read this chapter at this point.] [Footnote F: _Cf._ chapter ii.] [Footnote G: "Kokoro," by L. Hearn, p. 31.] [Footnote H: _Japan Mail_, September 30, 1899.] [Footnote I: Part II. p. xxxii.] [Footnote J: _Japan Mail_, June 4, 1898, p. 586.] [Footnote K: If all that has been said above as to the relative lack of affection between husband and wife is true, it will help to make more credible, because more intelligible, the preceding chapter as to the relative lack of love for children. Where the relation between husband and wife is what we have depicted it, where the children are systematically taught to feel for their father respect rather than love, the relation between the father and the children, or the mother and the children, cannot be the same as in lands where all these customs are reversed.] [Footnote L: The effect of Christian missions cannot be measured by the numbers of those who are to be counted on the church rolls; almost unconsciously the nation is absorbing Christian ideals from the hundreds of Christian missionaries and tens of thousands of Christian natives. The necessities of the new social order make their teachings intelligible and acceptable as the older social order did not and could not. This accounts for the astonishing change in the anti-Christian spirit of the Japanese. This spirit did not cease at once on the introduction of the new social order, nor indeed is it now entirely gone. But the change from the Japan of thirty years ago to the Japan of to-day, in its attitude toward Christianity, is more marked than that of any great nation in history. A similar change in the Roman Empire took place, but it required three hundred years. This change in Japan may accordingly be called truly miraculous, not in the sense, however, of a result without a cause, for the causes are well understood. Among the Christians, especially, the old order is rapidly giving way to the new. Christianity has brought a new conception of woman and her place in the home and her relation to her husband. Japanese Christian girls, and recently non-Christian girls, are seeking an education which shall fit them for their enlarging life. Many of the more Christian young men do not want heathen wives, with their low estimate of themselves and their duties, and they are increasingly unwilling to marry those of whom they know nothing and for whom they care not at all. Already the idea that love is the only safe foundation for the home is beginning to take root in Japan. This changing ideal is bringing marked social changes. In some churches an introduction committee is appointed whose special function is to introduce marriageable persons and to hold social meetings where the young people may become acquainted. Here an important evolution in the social order is taking place before our eyes, but not a few of the world's wise men are too exalted to see it. Love and demonstrative affection between husband and wife will doubtless become as characteristic of Japan in the future as their absence has been characteristic in the past. To recapitulate: these distinctive characteristics of the emotional life of the Japanese might at first seem to be so deep-rooted as to be inherent, yet they are really due to the ideas and customs of the social order, and are liable to change with any new system of ideas and customs that may arise. The higher development of the emotional life of the Japanese waits now on the reorganization of the family life; this rests on a new idea as to the place and value of woman as such and as a human being; this in turn rests on the wide acceptance of Christian ideals as to God and their mutual relations. It involves, likewise, new ideals as to man's final destiny. In Japan's need of these Christian ideals we find one main ground and justification, if justification be needed, for missionary enterprise among this Eastern people.] [Footnote M: Chapter v. p. 82.] [Footnote N: P. 133] [Footnote O: "Résumé Statistique l'Empire du Japan," published by the Imperial Cabinet, 1897.] [Footnote P: As illustrating the point under discussion see portions of addresses reported in "The World's Parliament of Religions," vol. ii. pp. 1014, 1283.] [Footnote Q: _Japan Mail_, December 10, 1898.] [Footnote R: I have found it difficult to secure exact information on the subject of the Imperial concubines (who, by the way, have a special name of honor), partly for the reason that this is not a matter of general information, and partly because of the unwillingness to impart information to a foreigner which is felt to tarnish the luster of the Imperial glory. A librarian of a public library refused to lend a book containing the desired facts, saying that foreigners might be freely informed of that which reveals the good, the true, and the beautiful of Japanese history, customs, and character, but nothing else. By the educated and more earnest members of the nation much sensitiveness is felt, especially in the presence of the Occidental, on the subject of the Imperial concubinage. It is felt to be a blot on Japan's fair name, a relic of her less civilized days, and is, accordingly, kept in the background as much as possible. The statements given in the text in regard to the number of the concubines and children are correct so far as they go. A full statement might require an increase in the figures given.] [Footnote S: P. 59.] [Footnote T: P. 119.] [Footnote U: Aston's "Japanese Literature," p. 29.] [Footnote V: "Japanese Literature," p. 24.] [Footnote W: _Cf._ chapter xxxiii.] [Footnote X: Gustave Le Bon maintains, in his brilliant, but sophistical, work on "The Psychology of Peoples," that the "soul of a race" unalterably determines even its art. He states that a Hindu artist, in copying an European model several times, gradually eliminates the European characteristics, so that, "the second or third copy ... will have become exclusively Hindu." His entire argument is of this nature; I must confess that I do not in the least feel its force. The reason the Hindu artist transforms a Western picture in copying it is because he has been trained in Hindu art, not because he is a Hindu physiologically. If that same Hindu artist, taken in infancy to Europe and raised as a European and trained in European art, should still persist in replacing European by Hindu art characteristics, then the argument would have some force, and his contention that the "soul of races" can be modified only by intermarriage of races would seem more reasonable.] [Footnote Y: "The Human Species," p. 283.] [Footnote Z: _Ibid._, p. 282.] [Footnote AA: _Ibid._, p. 384.] [Footnote AB: The manuscript of this work was largely prepared in 1897 and 1898. Since writing the above lines, a vigorous discussion has been carried on in the Japanese press as to the advantages and disadvantages of the present system of writing. Many have advocated boldly the entire abandonment of the Chinese character and the exclusive use of the Roman alphabet. The difficulties of such a step are enormous and cannot be appreciated by anyone not familiar with the written language of Japan. One or the strongest arguments for such a course, however, has been the obstacle placed by the Chinese in the way of popular education, due to the time required for its mastery and the mechanical nature of the mind it tends to produce. In August of 1900 the Educational Department enacted some regulations that have great significance in this connection. Perhaps the most important is the requirement that not more than one thousand two hundred Chinese characters are to be taught to the common-school children, and the form of the character is not to be taught independently of the meaning. The remarks in the text above are directed chiefly to the ancient methods of education.] [Footnote AC: Griffis' "Religions of Japan," p. 272.] [Footnote AD: P. 24.] [Footnote AE: _Far East_ for January, 1898.] [Footnote AF: January 20, 1900.] [Footnote AG: _Japan Mail_, November 12, 1898.] [Footnote AH: P. 17.] [Footnote AI: P. 18.] [Footnote AJ: P. 18.] [Footnote AK: "History of the Empire of Japan," compiled and translated for the Imperial Japanese Commission of the World's Columbian Exposition.] [Footnote AL: "Japanese Literature," p. 4.] [Footnote AM: _Cf._ chapter xvi. p. 199.] [Footnote AN: _Cf._ chapter xvii.] [Footnote AO: Quotations from "A Japanese Philosopher" will be found in chapters xxiv. and xxvi.] [Footnote AP: "Things Japanese," p. 133.] [Footnote AQ: P. 213.] [Footnote AR: P. 30.] [Footnote AS: _Cf._ chapter vii.] [Footnote AT: _Cf._ chapter xv. pp. 186, 187.] [Footnote AU: _Cf._ chapters xvi. and xvii.] [Footnote AV: Chapter xv.] [Footnote AW: Chapters xix. and xx.] [Footnote AX: P. 39.] [Footnote AY: P. 36.] [Footnote AZ: Pp. 42, 43.] [Footnote BA: P. 45.] [Footnote BB: P. 61.] [Footnote BC: P. 120.] [Footnote BD: P. 129.] [Footnote BE: P. 130.] [Footnote BF: Dickenson's "Japan," chapter vii.] [Footnote BG: _Cf._ chapter xxi.] [Footnote BH: P. 163.] [Footnote BI: P. 169.] [Footnote BJ: It is interesting to observe that the contempt of Old Japan for trade, and the feeling that interest and profit by commerce were in their nature immoral, are in close accord with the old Greek and Jewish ideas regarding property profits and interest. Aristotle held, for instance, that only the gains of agriculture, of fishing, and of hunting are natural gains. Plato, in the Laws, forbids the taking of interest. Cato says that lending money on interest is dishonorable, is as bad as murder. The Old Testament, likewise, forbids the taking of interest from a Jew. The reason for this universal feeling of antiquity, both Oriental and Occidental, lies in the fact that trade and money were not yet essential parts of the social order. Positive production, such as hunting and farming, seemed the natural method of making a living, while trade seemed unnatural--living upon the labor of others. That Japan ranked the farmer higher in the social scale than the merchant is, thus, natural. In moral character, too, it is altogether probable that they were much higher.] [Footnote BK: _Cf_. chapter ix. p. 103.] [Footnote BL: Chapter vi.] [Footnote BM: Chapter xxix. p. 339.] [Footnote BN: An anonymous writer, in a pamphlet entitled "How the Social Evil is Regulated in Japan," gives some valuable facts on this subject. He describes the early history of the "Social Evil," and the various classes of prostitutes. He distinguishes between the "jigoku" (unlicensed prostitutes), the "shogi" (licensed prostitutes), and the "geisha" (singing and dancing girls). He gives translations of the various documents in actual use at present, and finally attempts to estimate the number of women engaged in the business. The method of reaching his conclusions does not commend itself to the present writer and his results seem absurdly wide of the mark, when compared with more carefully gathered figures. They are hardly worth quoting, yet they serve to show what exaggerated views are held by some in regard to the numbers of prostitutes in Japan. He tells us that a moderate estimate for licensed prostitutes and for geisha is 500,000 each, while the unlicensed number at least a million, making a total of 2,000,000 or 10 per cent. of the total female population of Japan! A careful statistical inquiry on this subject has been recently made by Rev. U.G. Murphy. His figures were chiefly secured from provincial officers. According to these returns the number of licensed prostitutes is 50,553 and of dancing girls is 30,386. Mr. Murphy's figures cannot be far astray, and furnish us something of a basis for comparison with European countries. Statistics regarding unlicensed prostitutes are naturally not to be had.] [Footnote BO: P. 148.] [Footnote BP: June 25, 1898.] [Footnote BQ: The last line of figures, those for 1897, is taken from Rev. U.G. Murphy's statistical pamphlet on "The Social Evil in Japan."] [Footnote BR: It is stated that Mill's work on "Representative Government," which, translated, fills a volume of five hundred pages in Japanese, has reached its third edition.] [Footnote BS: The _Japan Mail_ for February 5, 1896; quoting from the _Jiji Shimpo_.] [Footnote BT: The best summary of this discussion which I have seen in English is found in the _Japan Mail_ for February 4, 1899.] [Footnote BU: _Japan Mail, _January 14, 1899.] [Footnote BV: _Japan Mail, _June 24, 1898.] [Footnote BW: The constituency of the Doshisha consists principally of Kumiai Christians.] [Footnote BX: "Occult Japan," p. 23.] [Footnote BY: _Cf._ chapter xxiv.] [Footnote BZ: "A Japanese Philosopher," p. 120.] [Footnote CA: In immediate connection with this oft-quoted statement, however, I would put the following, as much more recent, and probably representing more correctly the Marquis's matured opinion. Mr. Kakehi, for some time one of the editors of the Osaka _Mainichi Shinbun_ (Daily News), after an interview with the illustrious statesman in which many matters of national importance were discussed, was asked by the Marquis where he had been educated. On learning that he was a graduate of the Doshisha, the Marquis remarked: "The only true civilization is that which rests on Christian principles, and that consequently, as Japan must attain her civilization on these principles, those young men who receive Christian education will be the main factors in the development of future Japan."] [Footnote CB: Chamberlain's "Things Japanese," p. 358.] [Footnote CC: "Things Japanese," p. 70, and Murray's "Hand-book for Japan," p. 37.] [Footnote CD: "Things Japanese," p. 93.] [Footnote CE: P. 85.] [Footnote CF: _Cf._ chapter xxiii. p. 271.] [Footnote CG: By the term "centralization" I mean personal centralization. Political centralization is the gathering of all the lines of governmental authority to a single head or point. Personal centralization, on the contrary, is the development in the individual of enlarging and joyous consciousness of his relations with his fellow-countrymen, and the bringing of the individual into increasingly immediate relations of interdependence with ever-increasing numbers of his fellow-men, economically, intellectually, and spiritually. These enlarging relations and the consciousness of them must be loyally and joyfully accepted. They should arouse enthusiasm. The real unity of society, true national centralization, includes both the political and the personal phase. The more conscious the process and the relation, the more real is the unity. By this process each individual becomes of more importance to the entire body, as well as more dependent upon it. While each individual becomes with increasing industrial development more specialized in economic function, if his personal development has been properly carried on, he also becomes in mind and in character a micro-community, summing up in his individual person the national unity with all its main interests, knowledge, and character.] [Footnote CGa: P. 14.] [Footnote CH: P. 15.] [Footnote CI: Pp. 88, 89.] [Footnote CJ: Pp. 203, 204.] [Footnote CK: _Cf._ chapter viii.] [Footnote CL: See the _Rikugo Zasshi_ for March, 1898.] [Footnote CM: _Cf._ chapter xv.] [Footnote CN: Buddhism is largely responsible for the wide practice of "joshi," through its doctrine that lovers whom fate does not permit to be married in this world may be united in the next because of the strength of their love.] [Footnote CO: P. 88.] [Footnote CP: P. 12.] [Footnote CQ: P. 14.] [Footnote CR: P. 15.] [Footnote CS: In their relations with foreigners, the people, but especially the Christians, are exceedingly lenient, forgiving and overlooking our egregious blunders both of speech and of manner, particularly if they feel that we have a kindly heart. Yet it is the uniform experience of the missionary that he frequently hurts unawares the feelings of his Japanese fellow-workers. Few thoughts more frequently enter the mind of the missionary, as he deals with Christian workers, than how to say this needful truth and do that needful deed so as not to hurt the feelings of those whom he would help. The individual who feels slighted or insulted will probably give no active sign of his wound. He is too polite or too politic for that. He will merely close like a clam and cease to have further cordial feelings and relations with the person who has hurt him.] [Footnote CT: _Cf._ chapter xiii.] [Footnote CU: See chapter xxix.] [Footnote CV: P. 201.] [Footnote CW: _Cf._ chapter vii.] [Footnote CX: It seems desirable to guard against an inference that might be made from what I have said about Hegel's "Nothing." Hegel saw clearly that his "Nothing" was only the farthest limit of abstraction, and that it was consequently absolutely empty and worthless. It was only his starting point of thought, not his end, as in the case of Brahmanism and of Buddhism. Only after Hegel had passed the "Nothing" through all the successive stages of thesis, antithesis, and synthesis, and thus clothed it with the fullness of being and character, did he conceive it to be the concrete, actual Absolute. There is, therefore, the farthest possible difference between Hegel's Absolute Being and Buddha's Absolute. Hegel sought to understand and state in rational form the real nature of the Christian's conception of God. Whether he did so or not, this is not the place to say.] [Footnote CY: I remark, in passing, that Western non-Christian thought has experienced, and still experiences, no little difficulty in conceiving the ultimate nature of being, and thus in solving the problem, into which, as a cavernous tomb, the speculative religions of the Orient have fallen. Western non-Christian systems, whether materialism, consistent agnosticism, impersonal pantheism, or other systems which reject the Christian conception of God as perfect personality endowed with all the fullness of being and character, equally with philosophic Buddhism, fail to provide any theoretic foundation for the doctrine of the value of man as man, and consequently fail to provide any guarantee for individualism in the social order and the wide development of personality among the masses.] [Footnote CZ: _Cf._ chapter vi.] [Footnote DA: Foot of chapter xxix.] [Footnote DB: Chapter xxxiii. p. 498.] [Footnote DC: It seems desirable to append a brief additional statement on the doctrine of the "personality of God," and its acceptability to the Japanese. I wish to make it clear, in the first place, that the difficulties felt by the Japanese in adopting this doctrine are not due primarily to the deficiency either of the Japanese language or to the essential nature of the Japanese mind, that is to say, because of its asserted structural "impersonality." We have seen how the entire thought of the people, and even the direct moral teachings, imply both the fact of personality in man, and also its knowledge. The religious teachings, likewise, imply the personality even of "Heaven." That there are philosophical or, more correctly speaking, metaphysical difficulties attending this doctrine, I am well aware; and that they are felt by some few Japanese, I also know. But I maintain that these difficulties have been imported from the West. The difficulties raised by a sensational philosophy which results in denying the reality even of man's psychic nature, no less than the difficulties due to a thoroughgoing idealism, have both been introduced among educated Japanese and have found no little response. I am persuaded that the real causes of the doubt entertained by a few of the Christians in Japan as to the personality of God are of foreign origin. These doubts are to be answered in exactly the same way as the same difficulties are answered in other lands. It must be shown that the sensational and "positive" philosophies, ending in agnosticism as to all the great problems of life and of reality, are essentially at fault in not recognizing the nature of the mind that knows. The searching criticism of these assumptions and methods made by T.H. Green and other careful thinkers, and to which no answer has been made by the sensational and agnostic schools of thought, needs to be presented in intelligible Japanese for the fairly educated Japanese student and layman. So, too, the discussions of such writers and philosophical thinkers as Seth, and Illingworth, and especially Lotze, whose discussions of "personality" are unsurpassed, should be presented to Japanese thinkers in native garb. But, again I repeat, it seems to me that the difficulty felt in Japan on these subjects is due not to the "impersonality" of the language or the native mind, or to the hitherto prevalent religions, but wholly to the imported philosophies and sciences. The individuals who feel or at least express any sense of difficulty on these topics--so far at least as my knowledge of the subject goes--are not those who know nothing but their own language and their own native religions, but rather those who have had exceptional advantages in foreign study, many of them having spent years abroad in Western universities. They furnish a fresh revelation of the quickness with which the Japanese take up with new ideas. They did not evolve these difficulties for themselves, but gathered them from their reading of Western literature and by their mingling with men of unevangelical temper and thought in the West.] [Footnote DD: "Sacred Books of the East," vol. xlix, part ii. p. 147.] [Footnote DE: _Cf._ chapters xiii. and xxxi.] [Footnote DF: It is not strange that in all the centers of this new learning Confucius was deified and worshiped. In connection with many schools established for the study of his works, temples were built to his honor, in which his statue alone was placed, before which a stately religious service was performed at regular intervals. Thus did Confucianism become a living and vitalizing, although, as we shall soon see, an incomplete religion.] [Footnote DG: Writers on the history and philosophy of religion have much to say about the differences between national and universal religions. The three religions which they pronounce universal are Mahomedanism, Buddhism, and Christianity. The ground for this statement is the fact that each of these religions has developed strong individualistic characteristics. They are concerned with individual salvation. The importance of this element none will deny, least of all the writer. But I question the correctness of the descriptive adjective. Because of their individualistic character they are fitted to leap territorial boundaries and can find acceptance in every community; for this they are not dependent on the territorial expansion of the communities in which they arose.] [Footnote DH: P. xvii.] [Footnote DI: P. xviii.] [Footnote DJ: P. 19.] [Footnote DK: P. 6.] [Footnote DL: P. 37.] [Footnote DM: P. 83.] [Footnote 2: Whether or not the activity modifies the transmissible nature is the problem as to the inheritance of acquired characteristics. The dictum that function produces organism does not say whether that organism is transmissible or not, either in biology or sociology.] 
34341	----	THE JAPANESE SPIRIT BY OKAKURA-YOSHISABURO WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY GEORGE MEREDITH NEW YORK JAMES POTT & CO. 1905 TO MY BROTHER _Bellario_ Sir, if I have made A fault in ignorance, instruct my youth: I shall be willing, if not able, to learn: Age and experience will adorn my mind With larger knowledge; and if I have done A wilful fault, think me not past all hope For once. _Philaster_, Act. II. Sc. I. PREFACE The following pages owe their existence to Mr. Martin White, whose keen interest in comparative sociology led to the opening of special courses for its investigation in the University of London. My thanks are due to Mr. P.J. Hartog, Academic Registrar of the University, as well as to Dr. and Mrs. E.R. Edwards, who inspired me with the courage to take the present task on my inexperienced shoulders. But above all I render the expression of my deepest obligation to Professor Walter Rippmann. Had it not been for his friendly interest and help, I would not have been able thus to come before an English public. For the peculiarities of thought and language, which, if nothing else, might at least make the booklet worthy of a perusal, I naturally assume the full responsibility myself. With these prefatory words, I venture to submit this essay to the lenient reception of my readers. INTRODUCTION We have had illuminating books upon Japan. Those of Lafcadio Hearn will always be remembered for the poetry he brought in them to bear upon the poetic aspects of the country and the people. Buddhism had a fascination for him, as it had for Mr. Fielding in his remarkable book on the practice of this religion in Burma.[1] There is also the work of Captain Brinkley, to which we are largely indebted. These Lectures by a son of the land, delivered at the University of London, are compendious and explicit in a degree that enables us to form a summary of much that has been otherwise partially obscure, so that we get nearer to the secret of this singular race than we have had the chance of doing before. He traces the course of Confucianism, Laoism, Shintoism, in the instruction it has given to his countrymen for the practice of virtue, as to which Lao-tze informs us with a piece of 'Chinese metaphysics' that can be had without having recourse to the dictionary: '_Superior virtue is non-virtue. Therefore it has virtue. Inferior virtue never loses sight of virtue. Therefore it has no virtue. Superior virtue is non-assertive and without pretension. Inferior virtue asserts and makes pretensions._' It is childishly subtle and easy to be understood of a young people in whose minds Buddhism and Shintoism formed a part. The Japanese have had the advantage of possessing a native Nobility who were true nobles, not invaders and subjugators. They were, in the highest sense, men of honor to whom, before the time of this dreadful war, Hara-kiri was an imperative resource, under the smallest suspicion of disgrace. How rigidly they understood and practised Virtue, in the sense above cited, is exemplified in the way they renounced their privileges for the sake of the commonweal when the gates of Japan were thrown open to the West. Bushido, or the 'way of the Samurai,' has become almost an English word, so greatly has it impressed us with the principle of renunciation on behalf of the Country's welfare. This splendid conception of duty has been displayed again and again at Port Arthur and on the fields of Manchuria, not only by the Samurai, but by a glorious commonalty imbued with the spirit of their chiefs. All this is shown clearly by Professor Okakura in this valuable book. It proves to general comprehension that such a people must be unconquerable even if temporarily defeated; and that is not the present prospect of things. Who could conquer a race of forty millions having the contempt of death when their country's inviolability is at stake! Death, moreover, is despised by them because they do not believe in it. 'The departed, although invisible, are thought to be leading their ethereal life in the same world in much the same state as that to which they had been accustomed while on earth.' And so, 'when the father of a Japanese family begins a journey of any length, the raised part of his room will be made sacred to his memory during his temporary absence; his family will gather in front of it and think of him, expressing their devotion and love in words and gifts in kind. In the hundreds of thousands of families that have some one or other of their members fighting for the nation in this dreadful war, there will not be even one solitary house where the mother, wife, or sister is not practising this simple rite of endearment for the beloved and absent member of the family.' Spartans in the fight, Stoics in their grief. Concerning the foolish talk of the Yellow Peril, a studious perusal of this book will show it to be fatuous. It is at least unlikely in an extreme degree that such a people, reckless of life though they be in front of danger, but Epicurean in their wholesome love of pleasure and pursuit of beauty, will be inflated to insanity by the success of their arms. Those writers who have seen something malignant and inimical behind their gracious politeness, have been mere visitors on the fringe of the land, alarmed by their skill in manufacturing weapons and explosives--for they are inventive as well as imitative, a people not to be trifled with; but this was because their instinct as well as their emissaries warned them of a pressing need for the means of war. Japan and China have had experience of Western nations, and that is at the conscience of suspicious minds. It may be foreseen that when the end has come, the Kaiser, always honourably eager for the influence of his people, will draw a glove over the historic 'Mailed Fist' and offer it to them frankly. It will surely be accepted, and that of France, we may hope; Russia as well. England is her ally--to remain so, we trust; America is her friend. She has, in fact, won the admiration of Friend and Foe alike. GEORGE MEREDITH. [1] _The Soul of a People._ THE JAPANESE SPIRIT. Since the end of the thirteenth century, when Marco Polo, on his return to Venice, wrote about 'Cipango,' an island, as he stated, '1500 miles off the coast of China, fabulously rich, and inhabited by people of agreeable manners,' many a Western pen has been wielded to tell all kinds of tales concerning the Land of the Rising Sun. Her long seclusion; her anxious care to guard inviolate the simple faith which had been gravely threatened by the Roman Church; her hearty welcome of the honoured guests from the West, after centuries of independent growth; the sudden, almost pathetic, changes she has gone through in the past forty years in order to equip herself for a place on the world's stage where powers play their game of balance; the lessons she lately taught the still slumbering China through the mouths of thundering cannon: all this has called into existence the expression of opinions and comments of very varying merit and tone; and especially since the out-break of the present war, when the daily news from the scenes of action, where my brethren are fighting for the cause of wronged justice and menaced liberty, is showing the world page after page of patriotism and loyalty, written unmistakably in the crimson letters of heroes' blood,--all this has given occasion to Europe and America to think the matter over afresh. Here you have at least a nation different in her development from any existing people in the Occident. Governed from time immemorial by the immediate descendants of the Sun-Goddess, whose merciful rule early taught us to offer them our voluntary tribute of devotion and love, we have based our social system on filial piety, that necessary outcome of ancestor-worship which presupposes altruism on the one hand, and on the other loyalty and love of the fatherland. Different doctrines of religion and morality have found their way from their continental homes to the silvery shores of the Land of the Gods, only to render their several services towards consolidating and widening the so-called 'Divine Path,' that national cult whose unwritten tenets have lurked for thousands of years hidden in the most sacred corner of our hearts, whose pulse is ever beating its rhythm of patriotism and loyalty. Buddhist metaphysics, Confucian and Taoist philosophy, have been fused together in the furnace of Shintoism for fifteen centuries and a half, and that apart from the outer world, in the island home of Japan, where the blue sky looks down on gay blossoms and gracefully sloping mountains. The final amalgamation of these forces produces, among other results, the works of art and the feats of bravery now before you, each bearing the ineffaceable hall-marks of Japan's past history. Surely here you are face to face with a people worthy of serious investigation, not only from the disinterested point of view of a folk-psychologist. It is a study which will open to any impartial observer a new horizon, more so than would be the case if he attempted the sociological interpretation of a nation the history of whose development was almost identical with that of his own. Here he meets totally different sets of things with totally different ways of looking at them; and this gives him ample occasion to realise the fact that human thought and action may evolve in several forms and through several channels before they reach their respective culmination where they all, regardless of their original differences, melt into the common sea of truth. But this simple fact that 'God fulfills Himself in many ways,' as your Tennyson has it, so necessary to ensure freedom from national bigotry and conventional ignorance, so necessary too for a proper understanding of oneself as the cumulative product of a nation's history, has not always been kept in mind, even by those otherwise well-meaning authors, whose works have some charm as descriptive writing, but give only a superficial and often misleading account of the inner life of the nation. True, a great deal of excellent work has been achieved by a number of scholars of lasting merit, from Kaempfe's memorable work first published in its English translation as early as 1727, down to the admirable _Interpretation_ written last year by the late Mr. Lafcadio Hearn, in whose death Japan lost one of her most precious friends, possessing as he did the scholar's insight and the poet's pen, two heavenly gifts seldom found united in a single man. It is mainly through the remarkable labour of two learned bodies, the Asiatic Society of Japan, and the _Deutsche Gesellschaft für Natur- und Völkerkunde Ostasiens_, both with their headquarters in Tôkyô--in whose indefatigable researches the 'Japan Society' in this city has ably joined since 1892--that most valuable data have been constantly brought to light, furnishing for future students sure bases for wider generalizations. But owing to the numerous hindrances--some of which look almost insurmountable to the Western investigator--a fair synthetic interpretation of Japan as a nation, explaining all the important forces that underlie the psychic and physical phenomena, still remains to be written. The most formidable of the difficulties which meet a European or American student at the very threshold of his researches is the totally different construction of Japanese society, a difficulty which makes it impossible to understand properly any set of the phenomena belonging to it apart from the others which surround them. One could as well cut a single mesh from a net without prejudice to the neighbouring ones! The proper understanding of things Japanese therefore presupposes freedom from your conventional philosophy of life, and the power of viewing things through other people's eyes. Besides this obstacle, there are many others; for example, that of the language. Like most other nations in the East, we have been accustomed, up to this very day, to use a written language, divided within itself into several styles, which is considerably different from the vernacular. To make this state of things still more complicated, Chinese characters are profusely resorted to in the native writings, and are used not only as so many ideographs for words of Chinese origin, but also to represent native words. To make confusion worse confounded, they are not infrequently used as pure phonetic symbols without any further meaning attaching to them. So one and the same sign may be read in half a dozen different ways, according to the hints, more or less sure, given by the context. All this makes the study of Japanese immensely difficult. It is difficult even for a Japanese with the best opportunities; a hundred times more so, then, for a Western scholar who, if he cares to study the subject at first hand at all, begins this study, comparatively speaking, late in life, when his memory has well-nigh lost the capacity of bearing such an enormous burden! Still, there have been many Western scholars who, nothing daunted by the above-mentioned hindrances, have done much valuable work. English names like those of Sir E. Satow, G.W. Aston, B.H. Chamberlain, Lafcadio Hearn are to be gratefully remembered by all future students in this field of inquiry, as well as such German scholars as Dr. Baelz and Dr. Florenz. Leaving the enumeration of general works on Japan, whose name is legion, for some other time, let me mention one or two of those works of reference which a would-be English scholar of Japanese matters might find very useful. First of all Mr. B.H. Chamberlain's _Things Japanese_--a book which gave birth to Mr. J.D. Hall's equally indispensable _Things Chinese_--containing in cyclopædic form a mine of information about Japan. Dr. Wenckstern's painstaking _Japanese Bibliography_, with M. de Losny's earlier attempt as a supplement, gives you the list of all writings on Japan in European tongues that have appeared up to 1895. For those who want good books on the Japanese language, Mr. Aston's _Grammar of the Japanese Written Language_, Mr. Chamberlain's _Handbook of Colloquial Japanese_, as well as the same author's _Monzi-no-Shirubi, a Practical Introduction to the Study of the Japanese Writing_, are the best. As for books on the subject from the pen of the Japanese themselves, Dr. Nitobe's _Bushido, Explanations of the Japanese Thought_, and my brother K. Okakura's _Ideals of the East_, besides a volume by several well-known Japanese, entitled _Japan by the Japanese_, are to be specially mentioned.[1] [1] Professor T. Inouye's little pamphlet, published first in French, entitled _Sur le Développement des Idées Philosophiques au Japon avant l'Introduction de la Civilisation Européenne_, will give you some idea of our philosophic systems. For a serious perusal, its German translation, annotated and amplified, by Dr. A. Gramatzky (_Kurze Übersicht über die Entwicklung der philosophischen Ideen in Japan_, Berlin, 1897), is to be preferred. What I myself propose to do in this essay is to give to the best of my ability, and so far as is possible with the scanty knowledge and the limited space at my disposal, a simple statement in plain language of what I think to be the fundamental truths necessary for the proper understanding of my fatherland. I am not vain enough to attempt any original solution of the old difficulty; knowing as I do my own deficiencies, I should be well satisfied if I could manage to give you some kind of general introduction to the Japanese views of life. So much for the preliminary remarks. Let us now take a step further and see what factors are to be considered as the bases of modern Japan. 'To which race do the Japanese belong?' is the first question asked by any one who wants to approach our subject from the historical point of view. Unfortunately not much is known as yet about our place in racial science. If we do not take into account the inhabitants of the newly annexed island of Formosa, we have, roughly speaking, two very different races in our whole archipelago--the hairy Aino and the ruling Yamato race, the former being the supposed aborigines, physically sturdy and well developed, with their characteristic abundant growth of hair, who are at present to be found only in the Yezo island in the northern extremity of Japan, and whose number, notwithstanding all the care of our government, is fast dwindling, the sum total being not much more than 15,000. The Aino have a tradition that the land had been occupied before them by another race of dwarfish stature called Koropokguru, who are identified by some scholars with those primitive pit-dwellers known in our history as Tuchigumo,[2] whose traces, although scanty, are still to be met with in various parts of Yezo. Anyhow, we see at the first dawn of history the aborigines gradually receding before the conquering Yamato race, who are found steadily pushing on towards the northeast, and who finally established themselves as a ruling body under the divine banner of the first emperor Jimmu, from whose accession we reckon our era, the present year being the 2565th, according to our recognised way of counting dates. [2] Professor Milne, _Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan_, vol. viii. p. 82. Suggestions, audacious rather than strictly scientific, have been put forward as to the original home both of the Aino and the Japanese. The Rev. I. Dooman, for instance, proposed in his paper read before the meeting of the Asiatic Society of Japan in 1897 to derive both from the people who had been living, according to him, on both sides of the great Himalayan range. 'The Aino,' he says, 'the first inhabitants of these (Japanese) islands, belong to the South Himalayan Centre; while the Japanese, the second comers, belong to the North Himalayan, commonly called Altaic races.'[3] But in face of the scanty knowledge at our command about the respective sets of people in question, such wholesale conjecture had better be postponed until some later time, when further research shall have supplied surer data for our speculations. As regards the Aino, we must for the present say, on the authority of Mr. Chamberlain, that, remembering how the Aino race is isolated from all other living races by its hairiness and by the extraordinary flattening of the tibia and humerus, it is not strange to find the language isolated too.[4] [3] _Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan_, vol. xxv. With respect to the Japanese proper, the only thing known about their racial affinity is the theory proposed by the German scholar Dr. Baelz, as the result of his elaborate measurements both of living specimens and skeletons.[5] He considers the Yamato race to belong to the Mongolian stock of the Asiatic continent, from where they proceeded to Japan by way of the Corean peninsula. There are two distinct types noticeable among them at present, one characterised by a delicate, refined appearance, with oval face, rather oblique eyes, slightly Roman nose, and a frame not vigorous yet well proportioned; the other marked out by broader face, projecting cheek bones, flat nose, and horizontal eyes, while the body is more robust and muscular, though not so well proportioned and regular. The former is to be met with among the better classes and in the southern parts of Japan, while the specimens of the latter are found rather among the labouring population, and are more abundant in the northern provinces. This difference of types, aristocratic and plebeian, which is still more conspicuous among the fair sex, is with good reason attributed to the two-fold wave of Mongolian emigration which reached our island in prehistoric times. The first emigrants, consisting of coarser tribes of the Mongolian race, landed most probably on the northern coast of the main island somewhere in the present Idzumo province, and settled down there, while the second wave broke on the shores of Kyûshû. These emigrants seem to have belonged to the more refined branch of the great Mongolian stock. This hypothesis is borne out by our mythology, which divides itself into two cycles, one centring at Idzumo and the other at Kyûshû, and which tell us how the great-grandfather of the first great emperor Jimmu descended from heaven on to the peak of the mountain Takachiho in Hyûga in Kyûshû. Accompanied by his brother, he started from this spot on his march of conquering migration to Yamato, fighting and subduing on his way tribes who on the continent were once his kith and kin. [4] _Memoirs of the Literary Department of the University of Tôkyô_, vol. i. [5] _Die körperlichen Eigenschaften der Japaner_, vols. xxviii. and xxxii. of _Mittheilungen der Gesellschaft für die Natur- und Völkerkunde Ostasiens_. It might perhaps interest you to know something of our prevailing idea of personal beauty, especially as, in such a homogeneous nation as the Japanese, ruled from time immemorial by one and the same line of dynasty, it may help us to make some vague conjectures as to the physical appearances of at least one of those continental tribes out of which our nation has been formed. The standard of beauty naturally fluctuates a little according to sex and locality. In a lady, for example, mildness and grace are, generally speaking, preferred to that strength or manliness of expression which would be thought more becoming in her brother. Tôkyô again does not put so much stress on the fleshiness of limbs and face as does Kyôto. But, as a whole, there is only one ideal throughout the Empire. So let me try to enumerate all the qualities usually considered necessary to make a beautiful woman. She is to possess a body not much exceeding five feet in height, with comparatively fair skin and proportionately well-developed limbs; a head covered with long, thick, and jet-black hair; an oval face with a straight nose, high and narrow; rather large eyes, with large deep-brown pupils and thick eyelashes; a small mouth, hiding behind its red, but not thin, lips, even rows of small white teeth; ears not altogether small; and long and thick eyebrows forming two horizontal but slightly curved lines, with a space left between them and the eyes. Of the four ways in which hair can grow round the upper edge of the forehead, viz., horned, square, round, and Fuji-shaped, one of the last two is preferred, a very high as well as a very low forehead being considered not attractive. Such are, roughly speaking, the elements of Japanese female beauty. Eyes and eyebrows with the outer ends turning considerably upwards, with which your artists depict us, are due to those Japanese colour prints which strongly accentuate our dislike of the reverse, for straight eyes and eyebrows make a very bad impression on us, suggesting weakness, lasciviousness, and so on. It must also be understood that in Japan no such variety of types of beauty is to be met with as is noticed here in Europe. Blue eyes and blond hair, the charms of which we first learn to feel after a protracted stay among you, are regarded in a Japanese as something extraordinary in no favourable sense of the term! A girl with even a slight tendency to grey eyes or frizzly hair is looked upon as an unwelcome deviation from the national type. If we now consider our mythology, with a view to tracing the continental home of the Yamato race, we find, to our disappointment, that our present knowledge is too scanty to allow us to arrive at a conclusion. Indeed, so long as the general science of mythology itself remains in that unsettled condition in which its youth obliges it to linger, and especially so long as the Indian and Chinese bodies of myths--by which our mythology is so unmistakably influenced--do not receive more serious systematic treatment, the recorded stories of the Japanese deities cannot be expected to supply us with much indication as to our continental home. One thing is certain about them, that they were not free from influences exerted by the different myths prevalent among the Chinese and the Indians at the time when they were written down in our earliest history, the _Ko-ji-ki_ or _Records of Ancient Matter_, completed in A.D. 712. There is an excellent English translation of the book, with an admirable introduction and notes, by Mr. B.H. Chamberlain. According to this book, the original ethereal chaos with which the world began gradually congealed, and was finally divided into heaven and earth. The male and female principles now at work gave birth to several deities, until a pair of deities named Izanagi and Izanami, or the 'Male-who-invites' and the 'Female-who-invites,' were produced. They married, and produced first of all the islands of Japan big and small, and then different deities, until the birth of the Fire-God cost the divine mother her life. She subsequently retired to the Land of Darkness or Hades, where her sorrowful consort descended, Orpheus-like, in quest of his spouse. He failed to bring her back to the outer world, for, like the Greek musician, he broke his promise not to look at her in her more profound retirement. The result was disastrous. Izanagi barely escaped from his now furious wife, and on coming back to daylight he washed himself in a stream, in order to purify himself from the hideous sights and the pollution of the nether-world. This custom of lustration is, by the way, kept up to this day in the symbolic sprinkling of salt over persons returning from a funeral--salt representing pure water, as our name for it, 'the flower of the waves,' well indicates. Our love of cleanliness and of bathing might be also recognised in this early custom. Impurity, whether mental or corporal, has always been regarded as a great evil, and even as a sin. Now one of the most important results of the purification of the god Izanagi was the birth of three important deities through the washing of his eyes and nose. The Moon-God and the Sun-Goddess emerged from his washing his right and left eyes, while Susanowo, their youngest brother, owed his existence to the washing of his nose; three illustrious children to whom the divine father trusted the dominion of night, day, and the seas. The last-mentioned deity, whose name would mean in English 'Prince Impetuous,' lost his father's favour by his obstinate longing to see Izanami, the divine mother, in Hades, and was expelled from the father's presence. He eventually went up to heaven to pay a visit to his sister, the Sun-Goddess, whom he gravely offended by his monstrous outrages on her person, and who was consequently so angry that she shut herself up in a rocky chamber, thus causing darkness in the world outside. In accordance with the deliberate plans worked out by an assembly of a myriad gods, she was at last allured from her cavern by the sounds of wild merriment caused by the burlesque dancing of a female deity, and day reigned once more. The now repenting offender was driven down from heaven, and he wandered about the earth. It was during this wandering that in Idzumo he, like Perseus, rescued a beautiful young maid from an eight-headed serpent. He won her hand and lived very happily with her ever after. In the meantime the state of things in the 'High Plain of Heaven' ripened to the point that the Sun-Goddess began to think of sending her august child to govern the 'Luxuriant-Reed-Plain-Land-of-Fresh-Rice-Ears,' that is to say, Japan. Messages were previously sent to pacify the land for the reception of the divine ruler. This took much time, during which a grandson was born to the Sun-Goddess, and in the end it was this grandson who was designated to come down to earth instead of his father. On his departure a formal command to descend and rule the land now placed under his care was accompanied by the present of a mirror, a sword, and a string of crescent-shaped jewels. These treasures, still preserved in our imperial household as regalia, are generally interpreted to mean the three virtues of wisdom, courage, and mercy--necessary qualities for a perfect ruler. It was on the high peak of Mount Takachiho that the divine ruler descended to earth. He settled down in the country until his great-grandson, known in history as Emperor Jimmu, founded the empire and began that unique line of rulers who have governed the 'Land of the Gods' for more than two thousand years, the present emperor being the hundred and twenty-first link in the eternal chain. Such is, in brief, the story about my country before it was brought under the rule of one central governing body. Subjected to scientific scrutiny the whole tale presents many gaps in logical sequence. It betrays, besides, traces of an intermingling of the early beliefs of other nations. Still, it must be said that the divine origin of our emperors has invested their throne with the double halo of temporal and of spiritual power from the earliest days of their ascendancy; and the people, themselves the descendants of those patriarchs who served under the banners of Emperor Jimmu, or else of those who early learned to bow themselves down before the divine conqueror, have looked up to this throne with an ever-growing reverence and pride. In primitive Japan, as in every other primitive human society, ancestor-worship was the first form of belief. Each family had its own departed spirits of forefathers to whom was dedicated a daily homage of simple words and offerings in kind. The guardian ghosts demanded of their living descendants that they should be good and brave in their own way. As these families of the same race and language gathered themselves around the strongest of them all, imbued with a firm belief in its divine origin, they contributed in their turn their own myths to the imperial ones, thus eventually forming and consolidating a national cult; and it was but natural that the people's heart should come in course of time to re-echo in harmony with the keynote struck by the one through whom the gods breathe eternal life. The whole nation is bound by that sacred tie of common belief and common thought. Here lies the great gap that separates, for example, the Chinese cult of fatalism from our Path of Gods as a moral force. The Chinese have believed from the earliest times in one supreme god whom they called the Divine Presider (_Shang-ti_) or the August Heaven (_Hwang-t'ien_ or simply _T'ien_), who, according to their notion, carefully selects a fit person from among swarming mankind to be the temporary ruler of his fellow-countrymen, but only for so long as it pleases the god to let him occupy the throne. At the expiration of a certain period, the heavenly mission (_T'ien-ming_) is transferred through bloodshed and national disaster to another mortal, who exercises the earthly rule until he or his descendants incur the disfavour of the 'Heaven above.' To this day the Chinese word for revolution means the 'renovation of missions' (_kweh-ming_). This fatalistic idea, which is but a natural outcome of the almost too democratic nature of the people of the Celestial Empire and of the frequent changes of dynasties it has had to go through, is almost unknown in our island home in its gravest aspects; more than that, ever since its introduction into Japan, this idea, along with the Indian doctrine of pitiless fate, has gradually taught us to offer a more resigned and determined service to our respective superiors who culminate in the divine person of the Emperor himself. This is well illustrated by the fact that no attempt at the formal occupation of the throne has ever been made, even on the part of those powerful Shoguns who were the real rulers of our country; they knew full well how dangerous and fatal for themselves it would be to tamper with that hinge on which the nation's religious life turns. Only once in our long history is there an example of an unsuccessful attempt (and it is the highest treason a Japanese subject can think of), when a Buddhist monk named Dôkyô, encouraged by the undue devotion of the ruling empress, tried to ascend the throne by means of the recognition of the higher temporal rank of the Buddhist priesthood over the imperial ministry of the native cult. This imminent danger was averted by the bold and resolute patriotism of a Shinto priest, Wake-no-Kiyomaro, who, in Luther-like defiance of all peril and personal risks, declared fearlessly, in the very presence of the haughty and menacing head of the Buddhist Church, the divine will, 'Japan is to know no emperor except in the person of the divine descendants of the Sun-Goddess!' Turning now to the question of language, we must confess that the linguistic affinities of Japanese are as little cleared up as the other problems we have been considering. The only thing we know about the Japanese language amounts to this: it belongs, morphologically speaking, to the so-called agglutinative languages, _e.g._, those which express their grammatical functions by the addition of etymologically independent elements--prefixes and suffixes--to the unchangeable roots or base forms. Genealogically, to follow the classification expounded by Friedrich Müller in his _Grundriss der Sprachwissenschaft_, who based his system on Haeckel's division of the human race by the nature and particularly the section of the hair, Japanese is one of the languages or groups of languages spoken by the Mongolian race. But this characterisation of our tongue does not help us much. One could as well point to the East at large to show where Japan lies! Notwithstanding the general uncertainty as regards the exact position of our language, this much is sure, that Japanese has, in spite of the immense number of loan-words of Chinese origin, no fundamental connection with the monosyllabic language of China, whose different syntactical nature and want of common roots baffles the attempts on the part of some speculative Europeans to connect it with our own tongue. At the same time, it is well known among competent scholars that Japanese, with its most distant dialect Luchuan, bears great kinship to the Corean, Manchurian, and Mongolian languages. It shares with them, besides the dislike of commencing a word with a trilled sound or with a sonant, almost the same rules for the arrangement of the component elements of a sentence. According to the Japanese syntax, the following rules can, for instance, be applied to Corean without alteration:-- 1. All the qualifying words and phrases are put before those they qualify. Attributive adjectives and adverbs, and their equivalents, are placed before nouns and verbs they modify. 2. The grammatical subject stands at the beginning of the sentence. 3. Predicative elements are at the end of a sentence. 4. Direct and indirect objects follow the subject. 5. Subordinate sentences precede the principal ones. One thing worthy of notice is the fact that, notwithstanding the most convincing structural similarity that exists between these affiliated languages, they contain, comparatively speaking, few words in common, even among the numerals and personal pronouns, which have played such an important part in Indo-European philology. We must still wait a long time before a better knowledge of linguistic affinity reveals such decisive links of connection as will enable us to trace our Japanese home on the continent. Let us now consider what were the effects of the continental civilisation on the mental development of the Japanese within their insular home. Before entering into details about the various continental doctrines implanted in our country from China and India, it may be well to tell you something of the mental attitude of the Japanese in facing a new form of culture, in many senses far superior to their own. Nothing definite can perhaps be said about it; but when we grope along the main cord of historical phenomena we think we find that the Japanese as a whole are not a people with much aptitude for deep metaphysical ways of thinking. They are not of the calibre from which you expect a Kant or a Schopenhauer. Warlike by nature more than anything else, they have been known from the very beginning to have had the soldier-like simplicity and the easy contentment of men of action--qualities which the practical nature of Confucian ethics had ample chance to develop. The abstruse conceptions of Chinese or Indian origin have been received into the Japanese mind just as they were preached, and usually we have not troubled ourselves to think them out again; but in accordance with our peculiarly quick habit of perceiving the inner meaning of things, we have generalised them straight away and turned them immediately into so many working principles. There are any number of instances of slight hints given by some people on the continent and worked out to suit our own purposes into maxims of immediate and practical value. Ideals in their original home are ideals no longer in our island home. They are interpreted into so many realities with a direct bearing on our daily life. We have been and are, even to this day, always in need of some new hints and suggestions to work up into so many dynamic forces for practical use. Upon Europe and America the full power of our mental searchlight is now playing, in quest of those new ideas for future development for which we have been accustomed to draw mainly on China and India. Even such a commonplace thing as the drinking of a cup of tea becomes in our hands something more: it becomes a training in stoic serenity, in the capacity of smiling at life's troubles and disturbances. Some day you might learn from us a new philosophy based on the use of motor cars and telephones as applied to life and conduct! This, as you will see, explains why we have failed to produce any original thinkers; this is why we have to recognise our indebtedness for almost all the important ideas which have brought about social innovation either to China or to India, or else to the modern Western nations; and this notwithstanding so many national idiosyncrasies and characteristics which are to be found in the productions of our art and in our life and ways, and which are even as handfuls of grain gathered in foreign fields and brewed into a national drink of utterly Japanese flavour. We are, I think, a people of the Present and the Tangible, of the broad Daylight and the plainly Visible. The undeniable proclivity of our mind in favour of determination and action, as contrasted with deliberation and calm, makes it an uncongenial ground for the sublimity and grandeur of that 'loathed melancholy, of Cerberus and blackest midnight born,' to take deep root in it. Pure reasoning as such has had for us little value beyond the help it affords us in harbouring our drifting thought in some nearest port, where we can follow any peaceful occupation rather than be fighting what we should call a useless fight with troubled billows and unfathomable depths. Such, according to my personal view, are the facts about our mentality considered generally. And now it is necessary to speak of the main waves of cult and culture that successively washed our shores. The first mention in our history of the introduction of the Chinese learning into the imperial household places it in the reign of the fifteenth emperor Ô-jin, in the year 284 after Christ according to the earliest native records, but according to more trustworthy recent computation[6] considerably later than that date. We are told that a certain prince was put under the tutorship of a learned Corean scholar of Chinese, who, at the request of the emperor, came over to Japan with the _Confucian Analects_ (_Iun-yü_) and some other Chinese classics as a tribute from the King of Kudara. But long before the learning of the Celestial Empire found its way through Corea into our imperial court, it had in all probability been making its silent influence felt here and there among the Japanese people. Great swarms of immigrants had sought a final place of rest in our sea-girt country from many parts of China, where raging tyranny and menacing despotism made life intolerable even for Chinese meekness; these, and the bands of daring invaders which Japan sent out from time to time to the Corean and Chinese coasts, had given us many opportunities of coming into contact with the learning prevalent among our continental neighbours. In this manner Chinese literature, with its groundwork of Confucian ethics, surrounded by the strange lore derived from Taoism, and perhaps also from Hindu sources, had been gradually but surely attracting the ever-increasing attention of our warlike forefathers, who were to become in course of time its devoted admirers. [6] Cp. Bramsen's _Japanese Chronological Tables_. Now, Confucianism pure and simple, as taught by the sage Kung-foo-tsze (551-478 B.C.), from whom the doctrine derived its name, was, notwithstanding the contention of the famous English sinologue Dr. Legge, nothing more and nothing less than an aggregate of ethical ideas considered in their application to the conduct and duties of our everyday life. 'The great teacher never allowed himself to be considered an expounder of any new system of either religious or metaphysical ideas. He was content to call himself 'a transmitter and not a maker, believing in and loving the ancients.' True to the spirit of these words, and most probably having no other course open to him on account of his extremely utilitarian turn of mind, he devoted his whole life to the elucidation of the True Path of human life, as exemplified by those half-mythical rulers of old China, Yaô, Shun, etc., from whom he derived his ideals and his images of perfect man in flesh and blood. These early kings were of course no creation of Confucius himself; the only thing he did was to place the forms, which popular tradition had handed down surrounded by legendary halos, in high relief before the people, as perfect models to regulate the earthly conduct of the individuals as members of a society. His attitude towards the ancient classics which he compiled and perpetuated was that of one transmitting faithfully. He studied them, and exhorted and helped his disciples to do the same, but he did not alter them, nor even digest them into their present form.'[7] In order to find concrete examples to show his ethical views more positively, he wrote a history of his native state Loò from 722 to 484 B.C., in which, while faithfully recording events, he took every opportunity to jot down his moral judgment upon them in the terse words and phrases he knew so well how to wield. As abstract reasoning had little charm for his practical mind, he systematically avoided indulging in discussions of a metaphysical nature. 'How can we know anything of an After-life, when we are so ignorant even of the Living,' was his answer when asked by one of his disciples about Death. Ancestor-worship he sanctioned, as might naturally be expected from his enthusiastic advocacy of things ancient, and also from the importance he attached to filial piety, which strikes the keynote of his ethical ideas. But here too his indifference to the spiritual side of the question is very remarkable. Perhaps he found the holy altar of his day so much encumbered by the presence of innumerable fetishes and demons, that he felt little inclination to approach and sweep them away. 'To give oneself,' he said on one occasion, 'to the duties due to men, and while respecting spiritual things to keep aloof from them, may be called wisdom.' [7] Legge's _The Religion of China_, p. 137. The main features which he advocated are found well reflected in the first twelve out of sixteen articles of the so-called sacred Edict, published by the famous K'ang Hsi (1654-1722), the second emperor of the present Manchu dynasty, in 1670 A.D., which embody the essential points of Confucianism, as adapted to the requirements of modern everyday Chinese life. 1. Esteem most highly filial piety and brotherly submission, in order to give due prominence to the social relations. 2. Behave with generosity to the branches of your kindred, in order to illustrate harmony and benignity. 3. Cultivate peace and concord in your neighbourhood, in order to prevent quarrels and litigation. 4. Recognise the importance of husbandry and the culture of the mulberry-tree, in order to ensure sufficiency of food and clothing. 5. Show that you prize moderation and economy, in order to prevent the lavish waste of your means. 6. Make much of the colleges and seminaries, in order to make correct the practice of the scholars. 7. Discountenance and banish strange doctrines, in order to exalt correct doctrines. 8. Describe and explain the laws, in order to warn the ignorant and obstinate. 9. Exhibit clearly propriety and gentle courtesy, in order to improve manners and customs. 10. Labour diligently at your proper callings, in order to give well-defined aims to the people. 11. Instruct sons and younger brothers, in order to prevent them doing what is wrong. 12. Put a stop to false accusations, in order to protect the honest and the good. Here too you see what an important place filial piety occupies, which Confucius himself prized so highly. The Hsiao King, or the 'Sacred Book of Filial Piety,' which is supposed to record conversations held between Confucius and his disciple Tsang Ts'an on that weighty subject, has the following passage: 'He who (properly) serves his parents in a high situation will be free from haughtiness; in a low situation he will be free from insubordination; whilst among his equals he will not be quarrelsome. In a high position haughtiness leads to ruin; among the lowly insubordination means punishment; among equals quarrelsomeness tends to the wielding of weapons.' These words, naïve as they are, express the exalted position filial affection occupies in the eyes of Confucianism. 'Dutiful subjects are to be found in the persons of filial sons,' and again, 'Filial piety is the source whence all other good actions take their rise,' are other sayings expressing its importance. Along with this virtue, other forms of moral force, such as mercy, uprightness, courage, politeness, fidelity, and loyalty, have been duly considered and commended by the great teacher himself and his disciples. Among these, Mencius (373-289 B.C.) is most enterprising and attractive, digesting and systematising with a great deal of philosophic talent the rather fragmentary ideas of his great master. It is he who, among other things, informs us, on the assumed authority of a passage in the Shu-King, how the sage Shun made it a subject of his anxious solicitude to teach the five constituent relationships of society, viz., affection between father and son; relations of righteousness between ruler and subject; the assigning of their proper spheres to husband and wife; distinction of precedence between old and young; and fidelity between friend and friend--an idea which has played such an important part in the history of the development of the Oriental mind. Such were the main features of Confucianism when it first reached Japan, some centuries after the Christian era. But it was not until some time after the introduction of Buddhism from Corea during the reign of the Emperor Kimmei, in 552 A.D., that Confucianism and Chinese learning began to take firm root and make their influence felt among us. Paradoxical as it looks, it is Buddhism that so greatly helped the teaching of the Chinese sage to establish itself as a ruling factor in Japanese society. This curious state of things came about in this way. The gospel of Shâkya-muni has, ever since its introduction into our country, been made accessible only through the Chinese translation, which demanded a considerable knowledge of the written language of the Middle Kingdom. The keen and far-reaching spiritual interest aroused by Buddhism gave a fresh and vigorous impulse to the study of Chinese literature, already increasingly cultivated for some centuries. Now, the knowledge of Chinese in its written form has, until quite recently, always been imparted by a painful perusal of the Chinese classics and Chinese books deeply imbued with Confucianism. It was only after a considerable amount of knowledge of this difficult language had been obtained in this unnatural way, that one came in contact with the works of authors not strictly orthodox. This way of teaching Chinese through Confucian texts, which we adopted from China's faithful agent, Corea, necessarily led from the very beginning to an intimate acquaintance with the main aspects of the Confucian morals in our upper classes, among whom alone the study was at first pursued with any seriousness. Although skilled in warlike arts, gentle and loyal in domestic life, our forefathers were simple in manners and thought in those olden days when book-learned reasons of duty had not yet superseded the naïve observance of the dictates of the heart and of responsibility to the ancestral spirits. They possessed no letters of their own, and consequently no literature, except in unwritten songs and legendary lore sung from mouth to mouth, telling of the gods and men who formed the glorious past of the Yamato race. So it is not difficult to imagine the dazzling effect which the Chinese learning, with its richness and its pedantry, with its elaborate system of civil government and its philosophy, produced upon our untrained eyes. Gradually but steadfastly it had been gaining ground, and making its slow way from the topmost rung to the bottom of the social ladder, when the introduction of Buddhism quickened the now resistless progress. The would-be priests and advocates of the Indian creed felt a fresh impulse and spiritual need to learn the Chinese language, for which they had long entertained a high estimation. Owing to the extremely secular character of the Confucian ethics on the one hand, and on the other, to the fact that Buddhists deny the existence of a personal god, and are eager to minister salvation through any adequate means so long as it does not contradict the Law of the Universe upon which the whole doctrine is based, Buddhism found in the teaching of the Chinese sage and his followers not only no enemy, but, on the contrary, a helpful friend. It found that the sacred books of Confucian doctrine contained only in a slightly different form the five commandments laid down by Shâkya-muni himself for the regulation of the conduct of a layman, viz.:-- 1. Not to destroy life nor to cause its destruction. 2. Not to steal. 3. Not to commit adultery. 4. Not to tell lies. 5. Not to indulge in intoxicating drinks; or the Buddhist warning against the ten sins; three of the body--taking life, theft, adultery; four of speech--lying, slander, abuse, and vain conversation; three of the mind--covetousness, malice, and scepticism. It saw also that Confucian writings embraced its fifty precepts[8] detailed under the five different secular relationships of 1. Parents and children. 2. Pupils and teachers. 3. Husbands and wives. 4. Friends and companions. 5. Masters and servants. Our early Buddhists therefore did not see why they should try to suppress the existing Confucian moral code and supplant it with their own which breathed the same spirit, only because it had not grown on Indian soil. [8] Cp. Rhys Davids' _Buddhism_, p. 144. Thus encouraged by the now influential advocates of the teaching of Buddha, themselves admirers of the Chinese learning, Confucianism began with renewed vigour to exercise a great influence on the future of the Japanese. This took place during the seventh century, when the reorganisation of the Japanese government after the model of that of the Celestial Empire made our educational system quite Chinese. In addition to a university, there were many provincial schools where candidates for the government service were instructed. Medicine, mathematics, including astronomy and law, taught through Chinese books, along with the all-important teaching in the Confucian ethics and in Chinese literature generally, were the branches of study cultivated under the guidance of professors whose calling had become hereditary among a certain number of learned families. In the course of the next two centuries we see several private institutions founded by great nobles of the court, with an endowment in land for their support. The native system of writing which had gradually emerged out of the phonetic use of Chinese ideographs made it possible for Japanese thought, hitherto expressed only in an uncongenial foreign garb, to appear in purely Japanese attire. Thus we find the dawn of Japanese civilisation appearing at the beginning of the tenth century after Christ. The air was replete with the Buddhist thought of after-life and the Confucian ideas of broad-day morality. The sonorous reading of the Book of Filial Piety was heard all over the country, echoing with the loud recital of the _Myôhô-renge-kyô_ (or _Saddharma Pundarika Sûtra_). During the dark and dreary Middle Ages which followed this golden period, and which were brought about by the degeneration of the ruling nobles and by the gradually rising power of the military class, Chinese learning fled to the protecting hands of Buddhist priests; and in its quiet refuge within the monastery walls it continued to breathe its humble existence, until it found at the beginning of the sixteenth century a powerful patron in the great founder of the Tokugawa Shogunate. The education of the common people, too, seems to have been kept up by the monks--a fact still preserved in the word _tera-koya_, 'church seminary,' a term used, until forty years ago, to express the tiny private schools for children. It must be remembered that the education thus given was always of an exclusively secular character, basing itself on the Confucian morals. Before passing on to the consideration of Laoism, let me say something about the so-called orthodox form of the teaching of Confucius, which is one of the latest developments of that doctrine. Orthodox Confucianism, as represented by the famous Chinese philosopher and commentator of the Confucian canon, Chu-Hsi (1130-1200), found its admirer in a Japanese scholar, Fujiwara-no-Seigwa (1560-1619), who in his youth had joined the priesthood, which however he afterwards renounced. He gave lectures on the Chinese classics at Kyôto. He was held in great esteem by Tokugawa Iyeyasu, the founder of the Tokugawa line of Shoguns, who embraced the Chinese system of ethics as preached by Chu-Hsi. During the two hundred and fifty years of the Tokugawa rule, this system, under the hereditary direction of the descendants of Hayashi Razan (1583-1657), one of the most distinguished disciples of Seigwa, was recognised as the established doctrine. According to the somewhat hazy ideas of Chu-Hsi's philosophy, which I ask your permission to sketch here on account of the high public esteem in which we have held them for the last three centuries, the ultimate basis of the universe is Infinity, or _Tai Kieh_, which, though containing within itself all the germs of all forms of existence and excellence, is utterly void of form or sensible qualities. It consists of two qualities, _li_ and _chi_, which may be roughly rendered into 'force-element' and 'matter-element.' These are self-existences, are present in all things, and are found in their formation. The 'force-element,' or _li_, we are told, is the perfection of heavenly virtue. It is in inanimate things as well as in man and other animate beings, and pervades all space. The 'matter-element,' or _chi_, is endowed with the male and the female principles, or positive and negative polarities, as we might call them. It is, moreover, characterised by the five constituent qualities of _wood_, _fire_, _earth_, _metal_, and _water_. Hence its other name, _Wu-hsieng_, or 'Five Qualities.' Things and animals, except human beings, get only portions of the force-element, but man receives it in full, and this becomes in his person _sing_, or real human nature. He has thus within him the perfect mirror of the heavenly virtue and complete power of understanding. There is no difference in this respect between a sage and an ordinary man. To both the force-element is uniformly given. But the matter-element, from which is derived his form and material existence, and which constitutes the basis of his mental disposition, is different in quality in different men. Man's real nature, or _sing_, although originally perfect, becomes affected on entering into him, or is modified by his mental disposition, which differs according to the different state of the matter-element. Thus a second nature is formed out of the original. It is through this second and tainted human nature that man acts well or ill. When a man does evil, that is the result of his mental disposition covering or interfering with his original perfect nature. Wipe this vapour of corrupted thought from the surface of your mental mirror and it will shine out as brightly as if it had never been covered by a temporary mist.[9] [9] Cp. T. Haga's _Note on Japanese Schools of Philosophy. T.A.S.J._, vol. xx. pt. i. p. 134. Synoptically expressed and applied to the microcosm Chu-Hsi's system will be as follows:-- MAN {Force-Element=_Original Nature of Man_. Different Human Characters. Infinity {Male-Principle }Wood-quality. }Fire- " {Matter-Element }Earth-" }Metal-" {Female-Principle}Water-" _Dispositions latent in Matter._ Such is, in its outline, Chu-Hsi's view, which received the sanction of the ruling Tokugawa family. But it was not without its opponents in Japan as well as in China. Already in his own time, Lu-Shang-Shan (b. 1140 A.D.) maintained, in opposition to the high-sounding erudition of Chu-Hsi, that the purification of the heart was the first and main point of study.[10] The same protest was more systematically urged against it by his great follower, Wang Yang-ming (1472-1528 A.D.), who found warm and able admirers in Japan in such scholars as Nakae Tôju (1603-1678), Kumazawa Hanzan (1619-1691), and Oshio Chûsai (1794-1837). Among other great opponents of the orthodox philosophy, such names as Itô Jinsai (1625-1706) and his son Tôgai (1670-1736), Kaibara Ekken (1630-1714), Ogyû Sorai (1666-1728), are to be mentioned. These scholars, getting their fundamental ideas from other Chinese thinkers, and eager to remain faithful to the true spirit of Confucianism itself, pointed out many inconsistencies in Chu-Hsi's theory, and were of the opinion that more real good was to be achieved in proceeding straight to action under the guidance of conscience which was heaven and all, than in indulging in idle talk about the subtlety of human nature. [10] Faber's _Doctrines of Confucius_, p. 33. The philosophy of Chu-Hsi, although he calls himself the true exponent of Confucianism, is not at all Confucian. It is greatly indebted to Buddhism and Taoism, or better, Laoism, that is to say, to the philosophy originated by Lao-tze (b. 604 B.C.), one of the greatest thinkers that China has ever produced. Since Laoism, through the wonderful _Tao-teh-king_, a small book by Lao-tze himself, but especially through _Chwang-tze_, a work in ten books by his famous follower Chwang-chow, has exercised considerable influence on our thought for twelve centuries, a word about it may not be out of place before we go on to consider the doctrine of Shâkya-muni. In Lao-tze we find the perfect opposite of Confucius, both in the turn of his mind and in his views and methods of saving the world. Lao-tze endeavoured to reform humanity by warning them to cast off all human artifice and to return to nature. This may be taken as the whole tenor of his doctrine: Do not try to do anything with your petty will, because it is the way to hinder and spoil the spontaneous growth of the true virtue that permeates the universe. To follow Nature's dictates, while helping it to develop itself, is the very course sanctioned and followed by all the sages worthy of the name. Make away with your 'Ego' and learn to value simplicity and humiliation; for in total 'altruism' exists the completion of self, and in humble contentment and yielding pliancy are to be found real grandeur and true strength. Under the title 'Dimming Radiance' he says:[11]-- 'Heaven endures and earth is lasting. And why can heaven and earth endure and be lasting? Because they do not live for themselves. On that account can they endure. 'Therefore the True Man puts his person behind and his person comes to the front. He surrenders his person and his person is preserved. Is it not because he seeks not his own? For that reason he accomplishes his own.' Again we hear him 'Discoursing on Virtue':-- 'Superior virtue is non-virtue. Therefore it has Virtue. Inferior virtue never loses sight of virtue. Therefore it has no virtue. Superior virtue is non-assertive and without pretension. Inferior virtue asserts and makes pretensions.' [11] Cp. Dr. P. Carus's _Lao-tze Tao-teh-king_. He talks about 'Returning to Simplicity': 'Quit the so-called saintliness; leave the so-called wisdom alone; and the people's gain will be increased by a hundredfold. `Abandon the so-called mercy; put away the so-called righteousness; and the people will return to filial devotion and paternal love. `Abandon your scheming; put away your devices; and thieves and robbers will no longer exist.' Such is the general purport of the doctrine expounded by Lao-tze. It is well to remember that this doctrine, which we may call for distinction's sake Laoism, has intrinsically very little to do with that form of belief now so prevalent among the Chinese, and which is known under the name of Taoism. Although this name itself is derived from Lao-tze's own word _Tao_, meaning Reason or True Path, and although the followers of Taoism see in the great philosopher its first revealer, it is in all probability nothing more than a new aspect and new appellation assumed by that aboriginal Chinese cult which was based on nature- and ancestor-worship. Ever since their appearance in history the Chinese have had their belief in Shang-ti, in spirits, and in natural agencies. This cult found, at an early date, in the mystic interpretation and solution of life as expressed by Lao-tze and his followers, the means of fresh development. The philosophical ideas of these thinkers were not properly understood, and words and phrases mostly metaphorical were construed in such a manner that they came to mean something quite different from what the original writers wished to suggest. Such an idea, for instance, as the deathlessness of a True Man by virtue of his incorporation with the grand Truth _Tao_ that pervades Heaven and Earth, breathing in the eternity of the universe, was easily misinterpreted in a very matter-of-fact manner, _e.g._, anybody who realised _Tao_ could then enjoy the much-wished-for freedom from actual death. You see how easy it is for an ordinary mind to pass from one to the other when it hears Chwang-tze say:-- 'Fire cannot burn him who is perfect in virtue, nor water drown him; neither cold nor heat can affect him injuriously; neither bird nor beast can hurt him.'[12] Or again:-- 'Though heaven and earth were to be overturned and fall, they would occasion him no loss. His judgment is fixed on that in which there is no element of falsehood, and while other things change, he changes not.'[13] [12] Cp. _Sacred Books of the East_, vol. xxix. [13] Cp. _Sacred Books of the East_, vol. xxix. We want no great flight of imagination therefore to follow the traces of development of the present form of Taoism with its occult aspects. The eternity attributed to a True Man in its Laoist sense begot the idea of a deathless man in flesh and blood endowed with all kinds of supernatural powers. This in turn produced the notion that these superhuman beings knew some secret means to preserve their life and could work other wonders. Herbalism, alchemy, geomancy, and other magic arts owe their origin to this fountain-head of primitive superstition. There is little room for reasonable doubt that in this way Taoism, although the name itself was of later development, has been in its main features the religion of China _par excellence_ from the very dawn of its history. It has from the beginning found a congenial soil in the heart of the Chinese people, who still continue to embrace the cult with great enthusiasm, and in whose helpless credulity the Taoist priests of to-day, borrowing much help from the occult sides of Buddhism and Hinduism, still find an easy prey for their necromantic arts. Not so with Laoism. One may well wonder how such an uncongenial doctrine ever came to spring from the soil of materialistic China. Some suggest that Lao-tze was a Brahman, and not a Chinese at all. Another explanation of this anomaly is to be found in the attempted division of the whole Chinese civilisation into two geographically distinct groups, the rigid Northern and the more romantic Southern types: Laoism belonging to the latter, while Confucianism belongs to the former. In any case, the resemblance in many respects between the doctrine introduced by Lao-tze and the higher form of Buddhism is very striking. Let me take this opportunity of saying something about the religion of Shâkya-muni, which has occupied our mind and heart for the past fifteen centuries. But, first of all, let me say that I am not unaware of the absurdity of trying to give you anything like a fair idea of a many-sided and extremely complicated system of human belief such as Buddhism in the short space which is at my disposal. Very far from it. Even a brief summary of its main features would take an able speaker at least a couple of hours. So I humbly confine myself to giving you some hints on the belief, about which most of you, I presume, have already had occasion to hear something, the religion which took its origin among the people who claim their descent from the same Aryan stock to which you yourselves belong. Those who would care to read about it will find an excellent supply of knowledge in two little books called _Buddhism_ and _Buddhism in China_, written respectively by Dr. Rhys Davids and the late Rev. S. Beal, not to mention the late Sir Monier Williams' standard work. A perusal of the Rev. A. Lloyd's paper read before the Asiatic Society of Japan in 1894, entitled 'Developments of Japanese Buddhism,' is very desirable. There are also two chapters devoted to this doctrine in Lafcadio Hearn's last work, _Japan_. This enumeration might almost exempt me from making any attempt to describe it myself. Buddhism has, to begin with, two distinct forms, philosophical and popular, which may practically be taken as two different religions. Philosophical Buddhism--or at least the truest form of it--is a system based upon the recognition of the utter impermanency of the phenomenal world in all its forms and states. It believes in no God or gods whatever as a personal motive power. The only thing eternal is matter, or essence of matter, with the Karma, or Law of cause and effect, dwelling incorporated in it. Through the never-ceasing working of this law innumerable forms of existence develop, which, notwithstanding the appearance of stability they temporarily assume, are, in consequence of the action and reaction of the very law to which they owe their existence, constantly subject to everlasting changes. Constancy is nowhere to be found in this universe of phenomena. It is therefore an act of unspeakable ignorance on the part of human beings, themselves a product of the immutable Karma, to attach a constant value to this dreamy world and allow themselves to lose their mental harmony in the quest of shadowy desires and of their shadowy satisfaction, thus plunging themselves into the boundless sea of misery. True salvation is to be sought in the complete negation of egoism and in the unconditional absorption of ourselves in the fundamental law of the universe. Shâkya-muni was no more than one of a series of teachers whose mission it is to show us how to get rid of our fatal ignorance of this grand truth, an ignorance which is at the root of all the discontent and misery of our selfish existence. Very different from this is the aspect assumed by the popular form of Buddhism. This is a system built up on the blind worship of personified psychic phenomena, originally meant merely as convenient symbols for their better contemplation, and in the transformation of the human teachers of truth into so many personal gods. This is the reason why Buddhism, so essentially atheistic, has come to be regarded by the ordinary Christian mind as polytheism, or as a degraded form of idolatry. Now, in all the many sects of Buddhism which have been planted in the soil of Japan since the middle of the seventh century, some of which soon withered, while others took deep root and grew new branches, these two phases have always been recognised and utilised in their proper sphere as means of salvation. For the populace there was the lower Buddhism, while the more elevated classes found satisfaction in the higher form and in an explanation of that True Path which lies hidden beneath the complicated symbolic system. Of the sects which have exercised great influence on Japanese mentality, the following are specially to be mentioned: the Tendai, the Shingon, the Zen, the Hokke, and the Jodo, with its offspring the Ikkô sect. Each of these chose its own means of reaching enlightenment from among those indicated by Shâkya-muni, but did not on that account entirely reject the means of salvation preferred by the others. Some give long lists of categories and antitheses, and seek to define the truth with a more than Aristotelian precision of detail, while others think it advisable to realise it by dint of faith alone. But among these means of salvation the practice advocated by the Zen sect is worthy of special consideration in this place, as it has exercised great influence in the formation of the Japanese spirit. _Zen_ means 'abstraction,' standing for the Sanskrit Dhyâna. It is one of the six means of arriving at Nirvâna, namely, (1) charity; (2) morality; (3) patience; (4) energy; (5) contemplation; and (6) wisdom. This practice, which dates from a time anterior to Shâkya himself, consists of an 'abstract contemplation,' intended to destroy all attachment to existence in thought and wish. From the earliest time Buddhists taught four different degrees of abstract contemplation by which the mind frees itself from all subjective and objective trammels, until it reaches a state of absolute indifference or self-annihilation of thought, perception, and will.[14] [14] E. J. Eitel's _Handbook of Chinese Buddhism_, p. 49. You might perhaps wonder how a method so utterly unpractical and speculative as that of trying to arrive at final enlightenment by pure contemplation could ever have taken root in Japan, among a people who, generally speaking, have never troubled themselves much about things apart from their actual and immediate use. An explanation of this is not far to seek. Eisai, the founder of the Rinzai school, the branch of the Contemplative sect first established on our soil, came back to Japan from his second visit to China in 1192 A.D.[15] This was the time when the short-lived rule of the Minamoto clan (1186-1219) was nearing the end of its real supremacy. Only fifteen years before that the world had seen the downfall of another mighty clan. The battle of Dannoura put an end to the Heike ascendancy after an incessant series of desperate battles extending over a century, giving our soldier-like qualities enough occasion for an excellent schooling. The whole country during this period had been under the raging sway of Mars, who swept with his fiery breath the blossoms of human prosperity, and the people high and low were obliged to recognise the folly of clinging to shadowy desires and to learn the urgent necessity for facing every emergency with something akin to indifference. To pass from glowing life into the cold grasp of death with a smile, to meet the hardest decrees of fate with the resolute calm of stoic fortitude, was the quality demanded of every man and woman in that stormy age. In the meanwhile, different military clans had been forming themselves in different parts of Japan and preparing to wage an endless series of furious battles against one another. In half a century too came the one solitary invasion of our whole history when a foreign power dared to threaten us with destruction. The mighty Kublei, grandson of the great Genghis Khan, haughty with his resistless army, whose devastating intrepidity taught even Europe to tremble at the mention of his name, despatched an embassy to the Japanese court to demand the subjection of the country. The message was referred to Kamakura, then the seat of the Hôjô regency, and was of course indignantly dismissed. Enraged at this, Kublei equipped a large number of vessels with the choicest soldiers China could furnish. The invading force was successful at first, and committed massacres in Iki and Tsushima, islands lying between Corea and Japan. The position was menacing; even the steel nerves of the trained Samurai felt that strange thrill a patriot knows. Shinto priests and Buddhist monks were equally busy at their prayers. A new embassy came from the threatening Mongol leader. The imperious ambassadors were taken to Kamakura, to be put to death as an unmistakable sign of contemptuous refusal. A tremendous Chinese fleet gathered in the boisterous bay of Genkai in the summer of 1281. At last the evening came with the ominous glow on the horizon that foretells an approaching storm. It was the plan of the conquering army victoriously to land the next morning on the holy soil of Kyûshû. But during this critical night a fearful typhoon, known to this day as the 'Divine Storm,' arose, breaking the jet-black sky with its tremendous roar of thunder and bathing the glittering armour of our soldiers guarding the coastline in white flashes of dazzling light. The very heaven and earth shook before the mighty anger of nature. The result was that the dawn of the next morning saw the whole fleet of the proud Yuan, that had darkened the water for miles, swept completely away into the bottomless sea of Genkai, to the great relief of the horror-stricken populace, and to the unspeakable disappointment of our determined soldiers. Out of the hundred thousand warriors who manned the invading ships, only three are recorded to have survived the destruction to tell the dismal tale to their crestfallen great Khan! [15] Four years later the first temple of this school was opened in Hakata under the patronship of the Emperor Gotoba. Then after a short interval of a score of peaceful years, Japan was plunged again into another series of internal disturbances, from which she can hardly be said to have emerged until the beginning of the seventeenth century, when order and rest were brought back by the able hand of Tokugawa Iyeyasu. During all these troublous days, the original Contemplative sect, paralleled soon after its establishment in Japan by a new school called _Sôtô_, as it was again supplemented by another, the _Ôbaku_ school, five centuries afterwards, found ample material to propagate its special method of enlightenment. This sect, which drew its patrons from the ruling classes of Japan, was unanimously looked up to as best calculated to impart the secret power of perfect self-control and undisturbable peace of mind. It must be remembered that the ultimate riddance in the Buddhist sense, the entrance into cold Nirvâna, was not what our practical mind wanted to realise. It was the stoic indifference, enabling man to meet after a moment's thought, or almost instinctively, any hardships that human life might impose, that had brought about its otherwise strange popularity. Another charm it offered to the people of the illiterate Middle Ages, when they had to attend to other things than a leisurely pursuit of literature, was its systematic neglect of book-learning. Truth was to be directly read from heart to heart. The intervention of words and writing was regarded as a hindrance to its true understanding. A rudimentary symbolism expressed by gestures was all that a Zen priest really relied upon for the communication of the doctrine. Everybody with a heart to feel and a mind to understand needed nothing further to begin and finish his quest of the desired freedom from life's everlasting torments. The self-control that enables us not to betray our inner feeling through a change in our expression, the measured steps with which we are taught to walk into the hideous jaws of death--in short, all those qualities which make a present Japanese of truly Japanese type look strange, if not queer, to your eyes, are in a most marked degree a product of that direct or indirect influence on our past mentality which was exercised by the Buddhist doctrine of Dhyâna taught by the Zen priests. Another benefit which the Zen sect conferred on us is the healthy influence it exercised on our taste. The love of nature and the desire of purity that we had shown from the earliest days of our history, took, under the leading idea of the Contemplative sect, a new development, and began to show that serene dislike of loudness of form and colour. That apparent simplicity with a fulness of meaning behind it, like a Dhyâna symbol itself, which we find so pervadingly manifested in our works of art, especially in those of the Ashikaga period (1400-1600 A.D.), is certainly to be counted among the most valuable results which the Zen doctrine quickened us to produce. In short, so far-reaching is the influence of the Contemplative sect on the formation of the Japanese spirit as you find it at present, that an adequate interpretation of its manifestations would be out of the question unless based on a careful study of this branch of Buddhism. So long as the Zen sect is not duly considered, the whole set of phenomena peculiar to Japan--from the all-pervading laconism to the hara-kiri--will remain a sealed book. This fact is my excuse for having detained you for so long on the subject. I now pass on to the consideration of our own native cult. Shinto, or the 'Path of the Gods,' is the name by which we distinguish the body of our national belief from Buddhism, Christianity, or any other form of religion. It is remarkable that this appellation, like Nippon (which corresponds to your word Japan), is no purely Japanese term. Buddhism is called Buppô (from _Butsu_, Buddha, and _hô_, doctrine) or Bukkyô (_kyô_, teaching); Confucianism is known as Jukyô (_Ju_, literati); and both terms are taken from the Chinese. In keeping with these we have Shinto (_Shin_, deity, and _to_, way). This state of things in some measure explains the rather unstable condition in which Buddhism on its first arrival found our national cult. It has ever since remained in its main aspects nothing more than a form of ancestor-worship based on the central belief in the divine origin of the imperial line. A systematised creed it never was and has never become, even if we take into consideration the attempts at its consolidation made by such scholars as Yamazaki-Ansai (1618-1682), who in the middle of the seventeenth century tried to formalise it in accordance with Chu-Hsi's philosophy, or, later still, by such eager revivalists as Hirata-Atsutane (1776-1843), etc. At the time when Shintoism had to meet its mighty foe from India, its whole mechanism was very simple. It consisted in a number of primitive rites, such as the recital of the liturgy, the offering of eatables to the departed spirits of deified ancestors, patriarchal, tribal, or national. This naïve cult was as innocent of the cunning ideas and subtle formalisms of the rival creed as its shrines were free from the decorations and equipments of an Indian temple. So, although at the start Buddhism met with some obstinate resistance at the hand of the Shintoists, who attributed the visitations of pestilence that followed the introduction of the foreign belief to the anger of the native gods, its superiority in organisation soon overcame these difficulties; especially from the time when the great Buddhist priest Kûkai (774-835 A.D.) hit upon the ingenious but mischievous idea of solving the dilemma by the establishment of what is generally known in our history as Ryôbu-Shinto, or double-faced Shinto. According to this doctrine, a Shinto god was to be regarded as an incarnation of a corresponding Indian deity, who made his appearance in Japan through metamorphosis for Japan's better salvation--a doctrine which is no more than a clever application of the notion known in India as Nirmanakâya. This incarnation theory opened a new era in the history of the expansion of Buddhism in Japan, extending over a period of eleven centuries, during which Shintoism was placed in a very awkward position. It was at last restored to its original purity at the beginning of the present Meiji period, and that only after a century of determined endeavour on the part of native Shintoist scholars. From these words you might perhaps conclude that Buddhism succeeded in supplanting the native cult, at least for more than a thousand years. But, strange to say, if we judge the case not by outward appearances, but by the religious conviction that lurks in the depth of the heart, we cannot but recognise the undeniable fact that no real conversion has ever been achieved during the past eleven centuries by the doctrine of Buddha. Our actual self, notwithstanding the different clothes we have put on has ever remained true in its spirit to our native cult. Speaking generally, we are still Shintoists to this day--Buddhists, Christians, and all--so long as we are born Japanese. This might sound to you somewhat paradoxical. Here is the explanation:-- For an average Japanese mind in present Japan, thanks to the ancestor-worship practised consciously or unconsciously from time immemorial, it is not altogether easy to imagine the spirit of the deceased, if it believes in one at all, to be something different and distant from our actual living self. The departed, although invisible, are thought to be leading their ethereal life in the same world in much the same state as that to which they had been accustomed while on earth. Like the little child so touchingly described by Wordsworth, we cannot see why we should not count the so-called dead still among the existing. The difference between the two is that of tangibility or visibility, but nothing more. The _raison d'être_ of this illusive notion is, of course, not far to seek. Any book on anthropology or ethnology would tell you how sleep, trance, dream, hallucination, reflection in still water, etc., help to build up the spirit-world in the untaught mind of primitive man. Yet it must be remembered that these origins have led to something far higher, to something of real value to our nation, and to something which is a moral force in our daily lives that may well be compared to what is efficacious in other creeds. Notice the fact that Buddhism from the moment of its introduction in the sixth century after Christ to this very day has on the whole remained the religion, so to say, of night and gloomy death, while Shintoism has always retained its firm hold on the popular mind as the cult, if I might so express it, of daylight and the living dead. From the very dawn of our history we read of patriarchs, chieftains, and national heroes deified and worshipped as so many guardian spirits of families, of clans, or of the country. Nor has this process of deification come to an end yet, even in this age of airship and submarine boat. We continue to erect shrines to men of merit. This may look very strange to you, but is not your poet Swinburne right when he sings-- 'Whoso takes the world's life on him and his own lays down, He, dying so, lives.' Might not these lines explain, when duly extended, the subtle feeling that lurks behind our apparently incomprehensible custom of speaking with the departed over the altar? The present deification, is, like your custom of erecting monuments to men of merit, a way of making the best part of a man's career legible to the coming generations. The numberless shrines you now find scattered all over Japan are only so many chapters written in unmistakable characters of the lessons our beloved and revered heroes and good men have left us for our edification and amelioration. It is in the sunny space within the simple railing of these Shinto shrines, where the smiling presence of the patron spirit of a deified forefather or a great man is so clearly felt, that our childhood has played for tens of centuries its games of innocent joy. Monthly and yearly festivals are observed within the divine enclosure of a guardian god, when a whole community under his protection let themselves go in good-natured laughter and gleeful mirth before the favouring eyes of their divine patron. How different is this jovial feeling from that gloomy sensation with which we approach a Buddhist temple, recalling death and the misery of life from every corner of its mysterious interior. Such seriousness has never been congenial to the gay Japanese mind with its strong love of openness and light. Until death stares us right in the face, we do not care to be religious in the ordinary sense of the term. True, we say and think that we believe in death, but all the while this so-called death is nothing else than a new life in this present world of ours led in a supernatural way. For instance, when the father of a Japanese family begins a journey of any length, the raised part of his room will be made sacred to his memory during his temporary absence; his family will gather in front of it and think of him, expressing their devotion and love in words and gifts in kind. In the hundreds of thousands of families that have some one or other of their members fighting for the nation in this dreadful war with Russia, there will not be even one solitary house where the mother, wife, or sister is not practising this simple rite of endearment for the beloved and absent member of the family. And if he die on the field, the mental attitude of the poor bereaved towards the never-returning does not show any substantial difference. The temporarily departed will now be regarded as the forever departed, but not as lost or passed away. His essential self is ever present, only not visible. Daily offerings and salutations continue in exactly the same way as when he was absent for a time. Even in the mind of the modern Japanese with its extremely agnostic tendencies, there is still one corner sacred to this inherited feeling. You could sooner convince an ordinary European of the non-existence of a personal God. When it gets dusk every bird knows whither to wing its way home. Even so with us all when the night of Death spreads its dark folds over our mortal mind! But ask a modern Japanese of ordinary education in the broad daylight of life, if he believes in a God in the Christian sense; or in Buddha as the creator; or in the Shinto deities; or else in any other personal agency or agencies, as originating and presiding over the universe; and you would immediately get an answer in the negative in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. Do you ask why? First, because our school education throughout its whole course has, ever since its re-establishment thirty-five years ago, been altogether free from any teaching of a denominational nature. The ethical foundations necessary for the building up of character are imparted through an adequate commentary on the moral sayings and maxims derived mostly from Chinese classics. Secondly, because the little knowledge about natural science which we obtain at school seems to make it impossible to anchor our rational selves on anything other than an impersonal law. Thirdly, because we do not see any convincing reason why morals should be based on the teaching of a special denomination, in face of the fact that we can be upright and brave without the help of a creed with a God or deities at its other end. So, for the average mind of the educated Japanese something like modern scientific agnosticism, with a strong tendency towards the materialistic monism of recent times, is just what pleases and satisfies it most. If not so definitely thought out, and if expressed with much less learned terminology, the thought among our educated classes as regards supernatural agencies has during the past three centuries been much the same. The Confucian warning against meddling with things supernatural, the atheistic views and hermit-like conduct of the adherents of Laoism, and the higher Buddhism, all contributed towards the consolidation of this mental attitude with a conscious or unconscious belief in the existing spirit-world. Except for the philosophy which they knew how to utilise for their practical purposes, the educated felt no charm in religion. The lower form of Buddhism with its pantheon has been held as something only for the aged and the weak. For the execution of the religious rites, at funerals or on other occasions (except in the rare instances when some families for a special reason of their own preferred the Shintoist form), we have unanimously drawn on the Buddhist priesthood, just in the same way as you go to your family doctor or attorney in case of a bodily or legal complication, knowing well that religion as we have understood it is something as much outside the pale of the layman as medicine and law. For the proper conduct of our daily life as members of society, the body of Confucian morality resting on the tripod of loyalty, filial piety, and honesty, has been the only standard which high and low have alike recognised. These ethical ideals, when embraced by that formidable warrior caste who played such an important part in feudal Japan, form the code of unwritten morality known among us as Bushido, which means the Path of the Samurai. This last word, which has found its way into your language, is the substantival derivative from the verb _samurau_ (to serve), and, like its English counterpart 'knight' (Old English _cniht_), has raised itself from its original sense of a retainer (cp. German _Knecht_) to the meaning in which it is now used. To be a Samurai in the true sense of the word has been the highest aspiration of a Japanese. Your term 'gentleman,' when understood in its best sense, would convey to you an approximate idea if you added a dash of soldier blood to it. Rectitude, courage, benevolence, politeness, veracity, loyalty, and a predominating sense of honour--these are the chief colours with which a novelist in the days of yore used to paint an ideal Samurai; and his list of desirable qualities was not considered complete without a well-developed body and an expression of the face that was manly but in no way brutal. No special stress was at first laid on the cultivation of thinking power and book-learning, though they were not altogether discouraged; it was thought that these accomplishments might develop other qualities detrimental to the principal character, such as sophistry or pedantry. To have good sense enough to keep his name honourable, and to act instead of talking cleverly, was the chief ambition of a Samurai. But this view gradually became obscured. It lost its fearful rigidity in course of time, as the world became more and more sure of a lasting peace. Literature and music have gradually added softening touches to its somewhat brusque features. It must, however, be always remembered that the keynote of Bushido was from the very beginning an indomitable sense of honour. This was all in all to the mind of the Samurai, whose sword at his side reminded him at every movement of the importance of his good name. The care with which he preserved it reached in some cases to a pathetic extreme; he preferred, for example, an instant suicide to a reputation on which doubt had been cast, however falsely. The very custom of seppuku (better known as hara-kiri), a form of suicide not known in early Japan,[16] is an outcome of this love of an unstained name, originating, in my opinion, in the metaphorical use of the word _hara_ (abdomen), which was the supposed organ for the begetting of ideas. In consequence of this curious localisation of the thinking faculty, the word _hara_ came to denote at the same time intention or idea. Therefore, in cutting open (_kiru_) his abdomen, a person whose motives had come to be suspected meant to show that his inside was free from any trace of ideas not worthy of a Samurai. This explanation is, I think, amply sustained by the constant use to this very day of the word _hara_ in the sense of one's ideas. [16] The first mention in books of a similar mode of death dates from the latter part of the twelfth century. But it does not seem that the custom became universal until a considerably later period. So Bushido, as you will now see, was itself but a manifestation of those same forces already at work in the formation of Japanese thought, like Buddhism, Confucianism, etc. But as it has played a most important part in the development of modern Japan, I thought it more proper to consider it as an independent factor in the history of our civilisation. Had it not been for this all-daring spirit of Bushido, Japan would never have been able to make the gigantic progress which she has been achieving in these last forty years. As soon as our ports were flung open to the reception of Western culture, Samurai, now deeply conscious of their new mission, took leave of those stern but faithful friends, their beloved swords, not without much reluctance, even as did Sir Bedivere, in order to take up the more peaceful pen, which they were determined to wield with the same knightly spirit. It is, in short, Bushido that has urged our Japan on for the last three centuries, and will continue to urge her on, on forever, onward to her ideals of the true, the good, and the beautiful. Look to the spot where every Japanese sabre and every Japanese bayonet is at present pointing with its icy edge of determined patriotism in the dreary fields of Manchuria, or think of the intrepid heroes on our men-of-war and our torpedo-boats amid blinding snowstorms and the glare of hostile searchlights, and your eyes will invariably end at the magic Path of the Samurai. Having thus far followed my enumeration of the various factors in the formation of the present thought in Japan, some of you might perhaps be curious to know what Christianity has contributed towards the general stock of modern Japanese mentality. It must surely have exercised a very healthy influence on our mind since its re-introduction at the beginning of the present Meiji period. Some have indeed gone so far as to say that we owe the whole success we have up to now achieved in this remarkable war to the holy inspiration we drew from the teaching of Jesus Christ. I indorse this opinion to its full extent, but only if we are to understand by His teaching that whole body of truth and love which are of the essence of Christianity, and which we used in former days to call by other names, such as Bushido, Confucianism, etc. But if you insist on having it understood in a narrow sectarian sense, with a personal God and rigid formalities as its main features, then I should say that I cannot agree with you, for this Christianity occupies rather an awkward place in our Japanese mind, finding itself somewhere between the national worship of the living dead, and modern agnosticism, or scientific monism. In our earlier fishery for new knowledge in the Western seas, fish other than those fit for our table were caught and dressed along with some really nourishing; the result was disastrous, and we gradually came to learn more caution than at first. The Roman Catholics, more enthusiastic than discreet, committed wholesale outrages on our harmless ways of faith in the early days of the seventeenth century, which did much to leave in bad repute the creed of Jesus Christ. And since the prohibition against Christianity was removed, many a missionary has been so particular about the plate in which the truth is served as to make us doubt, with reason, if that be the spirit of the immortal Teacher. The truth and poetry that breathe in your Gospels have been too often paraphrased in the senseless prose of mere formalism. Otherwise Christianity would have rendered us better help in our eternal march towards the ideal emancipation. There remains still one highly important thing to be considered as a formative element of the Japanese spirit. I mean the landscape and the physical aspects of Japan in general. It is well known that an intimate connection exists between the mind and the nature which surrounds it. A moment's consideration of the development of Hellenic sculpture and of the Greek climate, or of the Teutonic mythology and the physical condition of Northern Europe, will bring conviction on that point. Is not the effect of the blue sky on Italian painting, and the influence of the dusky heaven on the, pictorial art of the Netherlands, clearly traceable in the productions of the old masters? A study of London psychology at the present moment will never be complete without special chapters on your open spaces and your fogs. In order to convey anything like an adequate idea of the physical aspects of Japan from the geographical and meteorological points of view, it would be necessary to furnish a detailed account of the country, with a long list of statistical tables and the ample help of lantern slides. But on this occasion I must be content with naming some of the typical features of our surroundings. Japan, as you know, is a long and narrow series of islands, stretching from frigid Kamchatka in the north to half-tropical Formosa in the south. The whole country is mountainous, with comparatively little flat land, and is perforated with a great number of volcanoes, the active ones alone numbering above fifty at present. With this is connected the annoying frequency of earthquakes, and the agreeable abundance of thermal springs--two phenomena that cannot remain without effect on the people's character. There are two other natural agencies to be mentioned in this connection. One is the Kuro-shio, or Black Stream, so called on account of the deep black colour which the ocean current displays in cloudy weather. This warm ocean river, having a temperature of 27° centigrade in summer, begins its course in the tropical regions near the Philippine Islands, and on reaching the southern isles is divided by them into two unequal parts. The greater portion of it skirts the Japanese islands on their eastern coast, imparting to them that warm and moist atmosphere which is one source of the fertility of the soil and the beauty of the vegetation. The effect of the Kuro-shio upon the climate and productions of the lands along which it flows may be fairly compared with that of the Gulf Stream in the Atlantic Ocean, which in situation, direction, and volume it resembles. To this most noticeable cause of the climatic condition of the Japanese islands must be added another agency closely related to it in its effect. Our archipelago lies in the region of the northeast monsoon, which affects in a marked degree the climate of all those parts over which the winds blow. Although the same monsoon blows over the eastern countries of the Asiatic continent, the insular character of Japan, and the proximity of the above-mentioned warm current on both sides of the islands, give to the winds which prevail a character they do not possess on the continent. Although the effect of the chill and frost of the northern part of Japan, with its heavy snowfall and covered sky, cannot be without its depressing influence on human nature in that part of the island, this has not played any serious role in the formation of the Japanese character as a whole. It is only at a rather recent date that the northern provinces began to contribute their share to the general progress of the country. This can very easily be explained by the gradual advance of Japanese civilisation from the southwest to the northeast. Until comparatively lately the colder region of Japan north of the 37th degree of latitude has remained very nearly inactive in our history. It is almost exclusively in the more sunny south, extending down to the 31st degree, that the main activity of the Japanese mind and hand has been shown. And the effect is the sunniness of character and rather hot temperament which we, as a whole, share in a marked degree with the southern Europeans, as contrasted with the somewhat gloomy calm and deliberation noticed both among oriental and occidental northerners. Notwithstanding the comparatively high amount of rainfall, the fact remains that as a nation we have spent most of our life under the serene canopy of blue sky characteristic of a volcanic country. Mountains, graceful rather than sublime, and fertile plains with rich verdure, its beauties changing slowly from the white blossoms of spring to the crimson leaves of autumn, have afforded us many welcome sights to rest our eyes upon; while the azure stretch of water, broken agreeably by scattered isles, washes to-day as it did in the days of the gods the white shore, rendered conspicuous by the everlasting green of the pine trees, which skirts the Land of the Rising Sun. The winter, though it begins its dreary course with a short period of warm days known as the Little Spring, is of course not without its bleak mornings with cutting winds and icy wreaths. But the fact that even as far north as Tôkyô no elaborate system of warming rooms is at all developed, and that the occasional falling of snow is hailed even by aged men of letters, and still more by the numerous poetasters, as a fit occasion for a pedestrian excursion to some neighboring localities for a better appreciation of the silvery world, serves to show how mild the cold is in south Japan. A people on whom the surrounding nature always smiles so indulgently can be little expected to be driven to turn their thoughts in the direction of their own self, and thus to develop such a strong sense of individuality as characterises the rigid northerners; nor are the nations panting under a scorching sun likely to share our friendly feelings towards nature, for with them Father Sun is too rigorous to allow a peaceful enjoyment of his works. All through the four seasons, which are almost too varied even for a Thomson's pen, eventful with the constant calls of one after another of our flowery visitors--beginning with the noble plum that peeps with its tiny yellowish-white eyes from under the spotless repose of fleecy snow, and ending in the gay variety of the chrysanthemum--we have too many allurements from outside not to leap into the widespread arms of Mother Nature and dream away our simple, our contented life in her lap. True, there also are in Japan many instances of broken hearts seeking their final rest under the green turf of an untimely grave, or else in the grey mantle of the Buddhist monkhood. But in them, again, we see the characteristic determination and action of a Japanese at work. To indulge in Hamlet-like musing, deep in the grand doubt and sublime melancholy of the never-slumbering question 'To be, or not to be?' is something, so to say, too damp to occur in the sunny thought of our open-air life. If asked to name the most conspicuous of those physical phenomena which have exercised so great an influence on our mind, no Japanese will hesitate to mention our most beloved Fuji-no-yama. This is the highest and the most beautiful of all the great mountains in the main group of the Japanese islands. Gracefully conical in shape, lifting its snowclad head against a serene background 12,365 feet above the sea, it has from the earliest time been the object of unceasing admiration for the surrounding thirteen provinces, and where it stands out of the reach of the naked eye, winged words from the poet's lyre, and flying leaves from the artist's brush, have carried its never-tiring praise to all the nooks and corners of the Land of the Gods. Here is one of the earliest odes to Fujiyama, contained in a collection of lyrical poems called Man-yô-shû, or 'Myriad Leaves,' by Prince Moroe (died A.D. 757), somewhere in the first half of the eighth century:-- There on the border, where the land of Kahi Doth touch the frontier of Suruga's land, A beauteous province stretched on either hand, See Fujiyama rear his head on high! The clouds of heav'n in rev'rent wonder pause, Nor may the birds those giddy heights essay, Where melt thy snows amid thy fires away, Or thy fierce fires lie quench'd beneath thy snows. What name might fitly tell, what accents sing, Thy awful, godlike grandeur? 'Tis thy breast That holdeth Narusaha's flood at rest, Thy side whence Fujikaha's waters spring. Great Fujiyama, tow'ring to the sky! A treasure art thou giv'n to mortal man, A god-protector, watching o'er Japan: On thee for ever let me feast mine eye! This now extinct volcano, besides inspiring poetical efforts, has been an inexhaustible subject for our pictorial art; it is enough to mention the famous sets of colour prints, representing the thirty-six or the hundred aspects of the favourite mountain, by Hiroshige, Hokusai, etc. The groups of rural pilgrims that annually swarm from all parts of Japan during the two hottest months of the year to pay their pious visit to the Holy Mount Fuji, return to their respective villages deeply inspired with a feeling of reverence and of love for the wonders and beauty of the remarkable dawn they witnessed from its summit. There is many another towering mountain with its set of pilgrims, but none can vie with Fujiyama for majestic grace. More beautiful than sublime, more serene than imposing, it has been from time immemorial a silent influence on the Japanese character. Who would deny that it has reflected in its serenity and grace as seen on a bright day all the ideals of the Japanese mind? Another favourite emblem of our spirit is the cherry blossom. The cherry tree, which we cultivate, not for its fruit, but for the annual tribute of a branchful of its flowers, has done much, especially in the development of the gay side of our character. Its blossoms are void of that sweet depth of scent your rose possesses, or the calm repose that characterizes China's emblematic peony. A sunny gaiety and a readiness to scatter their heart-shaped petals with a Samurai's indifference to death are what make them so dear to our simple and determined view of life. There is an ode known to every Japanese by the great Motoori Norinaga (1730-1801 A.D.) which runs as follows:-- _Shikishima no_ _Yamata-gokoro wo_ _Hito toha ba,_ _Asahi ni nihofu_ _Jamazakura-bana._ (Should any one ask me what the spirit of Japan is like, I would point to the blossoms of the wild cherry tree bathing in the beams of the morning sun.) These words, laconic as they are, represent, in my opinion, the fundamental truth about the Japanese mentality--its weak places as well as its strength. They give an incomparable key to the proper understanding of the whole people, whose ideal it has ever been to live and to die like the cherry blossoms, beneath which they have these tens of centuries spent their happiest hours every spring. The mention of a Japanese poem gives me an opportunity to say something about Japanese poetry. Like other early people, our forefathers in archaic time liked to express their thoughts in a measured form of language. The whole structure of the tongue being naturally melodious, on account of its consisting of open syllables with clear and sonorous vowels and little of the harsh consonantal elements in them, the number of syllables in a line has been almost the only feature that distinguished our poetry from ordinary prose composition. The taste for a lengthened form of poems had lost ground early, and already at the end of the ninth century after Christ the epigrammatic form exemplified above, consisting of thirty-one syllables, established itself as the ordinary type of the Japanese odes. This form subdivides itself into two parts, viz., the upper half containing three lines of five, seven, and again five syllables, and the lower half consisting of two lines of seven syllables each. This simplicity has made it impossible to express in it anything more than a pithy appeal to our lyrical nature; epic poetry in the strict sense of the word has never been developed by us. But it must be noticed that it is this simplicity of form of our poetical expression that has put it within the reach of almost everybody. To all of us without distinction of class and sex has been accorded the sacred pleasure of satisfying and thus developing our poetical nature, so long as we had a subject to sing and could count syllables up to thirty-one. The language resorted to in such a composition was at first the same as that in use in everyday life. But afterwards as succeeding forms of the vernacular gradually deviated from the classical type, a special grammar along with a special vocabulary had to be studied by the would-be poet. This was avoided, however, by the development in the sixteenth century of a popular and still shorter form of ode called _Hokku_, with much less strict regulations about syntax and phraseology. This ultra-short variety of Japanese poetry, consisting only of seventeen syllables, is in form the upper half of the regular poem. Here is an example:-- _Asagaho ni_ _Tsurube torarete_ _Morai-midzu._ Sketchy as it is, this tells us that the composer Chiyo, 'having gone to her well one morning to draw water, found that some tendrils of the convolvulus had twined themselves around the rope. As a poetess and a woman of taste, she could not bring herself to disturb the dainty blossoms. So, leaving her own well to the convolvuli, she went and begged water of a neighbor'--a pretty little vignette, surely, and expressed in five words. This new movement, which owes its real development to a remarkable man called Bashô (1644-1649), a mystic of the Zen sect to the tip of his fingers, had an aim that was strictly practical. 'He wished to turn men's lives and thoughts in a better and a higher direction, and he employed one branch of art, namely poetry, as the vehicle for the ethical influence to whose exercise he devoted his life. The very word poetry (or _haikai_) came in his mouth to stand for morality. Did any of his followers transgress the code of poverty, simplicity, humility, long-suffering, he would rebuke the offender with a "This is not poetry," meaning "This is not right." His knowledge of nature and his sympathy with nature were at least as intimate as Wordsworth's, and his sympathy with all sorts and conditions of men was far more intimate; for he never isolated himself from his kind, but lived cheerfully in the world.'[17] Now, this form of popular literature by virtue of its accessibility even to the poorest amateurs from the lowest ranks of the people, was markedly instrumental, as the now classical form of poetry had been during the Middle Ages, in the cultivation of taste and good manners among all classes of the Japanese nation. Even among the ricksha men of to-day you find many such humble poets, taking snapshots as they run along the stony path of their miserable life. I wonder if your hansom drivers are equally aspiring in this respect. [17] B.H. Chamberlain's _Bashô and the Japanese Epigram, T.A.S.J._, vol. xxx. pt. ii. In all these phases of the development of our poetry, we notice, as one of its peculiarities, a strong inclination to the exercise of the witty side of our nature. Even if we leave out of consideration the so-called 'pillow word' (_makura-kotoba_), so profusely resorted to in our ancient poems, part of which were nothing but a naïve sort of _jeu de mots_, and the abundant use of other plays on words of later development, known as _kakekotoba_, _jo_, _shûku_, etc. (_haikai-no-uta_), it is noteworthy that poems of a comic nature found a special place in the earliest imperial collection of Japanese odes named Kokinshifu,' which was compiled in the year A.D. 908. This species has flourished ever since under the name of Kyôka, and also gave rise to a shortened form in seventeen syllables, called _haikai-no-hokku_. When in the hand of Bashô this latter form developed itself into something higher and more serious, the witty and satirical Senryû, also in seventeen syllables, came to take its place. One thing to be specially noted in this connection is the introduction from China of the idea of poetic tournaments, the beauty of which consisted in the offhand and quick composition of one long series of odes by several persons sitting together, each supplying in turn either the upper half or the lower half as the case might be, the two in combination giving a poetical sense. This usage of capping verses known as _renga_ came to be very popular, from the Court downward, as early as the thirteenth century. After a while the same practice was applied to comic poetry, thus producing the so-called _haikai-no-renga_, or comic linked verses. This coupling of verses gave plenty of occasion for sharpening one's wit as well as one's skill in extemporising. It is to a later attempt to express all these subtleties in the upper half of the poem composed by one person that the present _kokku_ owed its origin. You can easily imagine the effect such an exercise produced on the popular mind. Besides the moral good which this literary pursuit has brought to the populace, it has given a fresh opportunity for the cultivation of our habit of attaching sense to apparently meaningless groups of phenomena, and our fondness of laconic utterance and symbolic representation, not to say anything about our love of nature and simplicity. All this tends in my view to show that we Japanese have a strong liking for wit in the wider sense of the word. We try to solve a question, not by that slower but surer way of calm deliberation and untiring labour like the cool-headed Germans, but by an incandescent flash of inspiration like the hot-blooded Frenchmen. This fact is singularly preserved in the earlier sense of the now sacred word _Yamato-damashî_, which had not its present meaning, viz., 'the spirit of Japan' in the most elevated sense of that term, but signified 'the wit of the Japanese' as contrasted with the 'learning of the Chinese' (_wakon_ as opposed to _kansai_). The word _tamashî_, which now expresses the idea of 'spirit,' corresponds in the compound in question to the French _esprit_ in such combinations as _homme d'esprit_ or _jeu d'esprit_. Turning now to the consideration of other sets of phenomena, as an illustration of the Japanese character, let me tell you something about the tea-ceremony and kindred rites. To begin with the _Cha-no-e_ (or _Cha-no-yu_), or tea-meeting, this much-spoken-of art originated among the Buddhist priests, who learned to appreciate the beverage from the Chinese. Indeed, the tea-plant itself was first introduced into Japan along with the name _Cha_ (Chinese _Ch'a_) from the Celestial Empire, in the tenth century after Christ. During the following centuries its cultivation and the preparation of the drink was monopolised by the priesthood, if we except the cases of a few well-to-do men of letters. This fact is gathered from the frequent mention of tea-cups offered to the emperor on the occasion of an imperial visit to a Buddhist monastery. During all this time a sense of something precious and aristocratic was attached to this aromatic beverage, which had been regarded as a kind of rare drug of strange virtue in raising depressed spirits, and even of curing certain diseases. This high appreciation of the drink, as well as the need of ceremony in offering it to exalted personages, gradually developed in the hands of monks with plenty of leisure and a good knowledge of the high praise accorded to its virtues by the Chinese savants, into a very complicated rite as to the way of serving, and of being served with, a cup of tea. A print representing a man clad as a Buddhist priest in the act of selling the beverage in the street at a penny a cup is preserved from a date as early as the fourteenth century, showing that the drink had then come to find customers even among the common people. But the ceremony of Cha-no-e, as such, never made its way among them until many centuries after. It was at first fostered and elaborated only among the aristocracy. Already in the fifteenth century, when the luxury and extravagance of the Ashikaga Shogunate reached its zenith in the person of Yoshimasa (1435-1490), the tea-ceremony was one of the favourite pastimes of the highest classes. Yoshimasa himself was a great patron and connoisseur of the complicated rite, as well as of other branches of art, such as landscape gardening and the arrangement of flowers. There are two different phases of the tea-ceremony, the regular course and the simplified course, known among us as the 'Great Tea' and the 'Small Tea.' In either case, it might be defined in its present form as a system of cultivating good manners as applied to daily life, with the serving and drinking of a cup of tea at its centre. The main stress is laid on ensuring outwardly a graceful carriage, and inwardly presence of mind. As with the national form of wrestling known as _ju-jitsu_, with its careful analysis of every push and pull down to the minutest details, so with the Cha-no-e, every move of body and limb in walking and sitting during the whole ceremony has been fully studied and worked out so as to give it the most graceful form conceivable. At the same time the calm and self-control shown by the partaker in the rite is regarded as an essential element in the performance, without which ultimate success in it will be quite impossible. So it is more a physical and moral training than a mere amusement or a simple quenching of thirst. But this original sense has not always been kept in view even by the so-called masters of the tea-ceremony, who, like your dancing-masters, are generally considered to be the men to teach us social etiquette. Thus, diverted from its original idea, the Cha-no-e is generally found to degenerate into a body of conventional and meaningless formalities, which, even in its most abbreviated form as the 'Small Tea,' is something very tiresome, if not worse. To sit _à la japonaise_ (not _à la turque_, which is not considered polite) for an hour, if not for hours together, on the matted floor to see the celebration of the monotonous rite, daring to talk only little, and even then not above a whisper, in the smallest imaginable tea-room, is not what even a born Japanese of the present day can much appreciate, much less so Europeans, who would prefer being put in the stocks, unless they be themselves Cha-jin or tea-ceremonialists, that is to say, eccentrics. How to open the sliding-door; how to shut it each time; how to bring and arrange the several utensils, with their several prescribed ways of being handled, into the tea-room; how to sit down noiselessly in front of the boiling kettle which hangs over a brasier; how to open the lid of the kettle; how to put tea-powder in the cup; how to pour hot water over it; how to stir the now green water with a bamboo brush; how to give the mixture a head of foam; how and where to place the cup ready for the expecting drinker--this on the part of the person playing the host or hostess; and now on the part of the guest--how to take a sweet from the dish before him in preparation for the coming aromatic drink; how to take up the cup now given him; how to hold it with both hands; how to give it a gentle stir; how to drink it up in three sips and a half; how to wipe off the trace of the sipping left on the edge of the cup; how to turn the cup horizontally round; how to put it down within the reach of his host or hostess, etc., etc., _ad infinitum_--these are some of the essential items to be learned and practised. And for every one of them there is a prescribed form even to the slightest move and curve in which a finger should be bent or stretched, always in strict accordance with the attitude of other bodies in direct connection with it. The whole ceremony in its degenerated form is an aggregate of an immense number of _comme il faut_'s, with practically no margin for personal taste. But even behind its present frigidity we cannot fail to discern the true idea and the good it has worked in past centuries. It has done a great deal of good, especially in those rough days at the end of the sixteenth century, when great warriors returning blood-stained from the field of battle learned how to bow their haughty necks in admiration of the curves of beauty, and how to listen to the silvery note of a boiling tea-kettle. They could not help their stern faces melting into a naïve smile in the serene simplicity of the tea-room, whose arrangement, true to the Zen taste to the very last detail of its structure, showed a studied avoidance of ostentation in form and colour. To this day it is always this Zen taste that rules supreme in the decoration of a Japanese house. Visit a Japanese gentleman whose taste is not yet badly influenced by the Western love of show and symmetry in his dwelling: you will find the room and the whole arrangement free from anything of an ostentatious nature. The colour of the walls and sliding-doors will be very subdued, but not on that account gloomy. In the niche you will see one or a single set of _kakemono_, or pictures, at the foot of which, just in the middle of the slightly raised floor of the niche, we put some object of decoration--a sculpture, a vase with flowers, etc. These are both carefully changed in accordance with the season, or else in harmony with the ruling idea of the day, when the room is decorated in celebration of some event or guest. This rule applies to the other objects connected with the room--utensils, cushions, screens, etc. The European way of arranging a room is, generally speaking, rather revolting to our taste. We take care not to show anything but what is absolutely necessary to make a room look agreeable, keeping all other things behind the scenes. Thus we secure to every object of art that we allow in our presence a fair opportunity of being appreciated. This is not usually the case in a European dwelling. I have very often felt less crowded in a museum or in a bazaar than in your drawing-rooms. 'You know so well how to expose to view what you have,' I have frequently had occasion to say to myself, 'but you have still much to learn from us how to hide, for exposition is, after all, a very poor means of showing.' To return to the main point, we owe to the Cha-no-e much of the present standard of our taste, which is, in its turn, nothing more than the Zen ways of looking at things as applied to everyday life. This is no wonder, when we remember that it was in the tasteful hands of the Zen priests that the whole ceremony reached its perfection. Indeed, the word _cha_ is a term which conveys to this day the main features of the Contemplative sect to our mind. In connection with the tea-ceremony, there are some sister arts which have been equally effective in the proper cultivation of our taste. Landscape gardening, in which our object is to make an idealised copy of some natural scene, is an art that has been loved and practised among us for more than a thousand years, although it was not indigenous like most things Japanese. This practice of painting with tree and stone soon gave rise to another art, the miniature reproduction of a favourite natural scene on a piece of board, and this is the forerunner of the later _bonkei_, or the tray-landscape, and its sister _bonsai_, or the art of symbolising an abstract idea, such as courage, majesty, etc., by means of the growth of a dwarf tree. The same love that we feel for a symbolic representation is also to be traced in the arrangement of flowers. The practice of preserving cut branches, generally of flowering trees, in a vase filled with water is often mentioned in our classical literature. But it was first in the sixteenth century that it assumed its present aspect, when, in conjunction with the Cha-no-e, it found a great patron in that most influential dilettante Shogun Yoshimasa. Already in his time there were a great many principles to be learned concerning the way to give the longest life and the most graceful form to the branches put in a vase, besides investing the whole composition with a symbolic meaning. Up to this day we look upon this art as very helpful for the cultivation of taste among the fair sex, who receive long courses of instruction by the generally aged masters of floral arrangement, who, along with their teaching in the treatment of plants, know how to instil ethics in their young pupils, taking the finished vase of flowers as the subject of conversation. The masters of the tea-ceremony are also well versed in arranging flowers in that simple manner which is yet full of meaning called _cha-bana_, or the 'Zen type of floral art.' You see how much all these arts have contributed to the production of our taste, whose ideals are the dislike of loudness and love of symbolic representation, with a delicate feeling for the beauty of line as seen in things moving or at rest. This last quality must have been immensely augmented by the linear character of our drawing, and also by the great importance we are accustomed to attach to the shape and the strokes of the characters when we are learning to write. All these qualities you will see exemplified in any Japanese work of art--from a large picture down to a tiny wooden carving. Take up a girl's silk dress and examine it carefully, and note how the lining is dyed and embroidered with as great, if not greater care, in order to make it harmonise in colour and design with the visible surface and add some exquisite meaning. Do not forget to look at the back when you come across a lacquered box, for it is not only the surface that receives our careful attention. And above all, you must always keep in mind that our artists think it a duty to be suggestive rather than explicit, and to leave something of their meaning to be divined by those who contemplate their works. * * * * * The time is now come to conclude my essay at an exposition of the Japanese spirit. I think I have given you occasion to see something of both the strong and the weak sides of my countrymen; for it is just where our favourable qualities lie that you will also find the corresponding weaknesses. The usual charges brought against us, that we are precocious, unpractical, frivolous, fickle, etc., are not worthy of serious attention, because they are all of them easily explained as but the attendant phenomena of the transitory age from which we are just emerging. Even the more sound accusation of our want of originality must be reconsidered in face of so many facts to the contrary, facts which show us to be at least in small things very original, almost in the French sense of that word. That we have always been ready to borrow hints from other countries is in a great measure to be explained by the consideration that we had from the very beginning the disadvantage and the advantage of having as neighbours nations with a great start in the race-course of civilisation. The cause of our being small in great things, while great in small things, can be partly found in the financial conditions of the country and in the non-individual nature of the culture we have received. These delicate questions will have to be raised again some centuries hence, when a healthy admixture of the European civilisation has been tried--a civilisation the effect of which has been, on the whole, so beneficial to our development, that we feel it a most agreeable duty gratefully to acknowledge our immense obligation to the nations of the West. 
28690	----	THE EMPIRE OF THE EAST BY H. B. MONTGOMERY "THIS NATION IS THE DELIGHT OF MY SOUL" ST. FRANCIS XAVIER WITH NINETEEN ILLUSTRATIONS METHUEN & CO. 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. LONDON _First Published in 1908._ [Illustration: A STAR OF THE EAST FROM A PRINT BY TOSHIKATA] PREFACE On my return from another visit to Japan a few months ago I found those persons in this country with whom I was brought into close association extremely curious and strangely ignorant regarding that ancient Empire. Despite the multitude of books which have of late years been published about Japan and things Japanese a correct knowledge of the country and the people is, so far as I can judge, altogether lacking in England. Indeed the multiplicity of books may have something to do with that fact, as many of them have been written by persons whose knowledge, acquired in the course of a flying visit, was, to say the least, perfunctory, and who had no opportunities for viewing the life of the people from within and forming a sound judgment on many matters upon which the writers have dogmatically pronounced. I, accordingly, came to the conclusion not only that there was room for one more book on Japan, but that another book was greatly needed--a book not technical, historical, abstruse or recondite, but a book describing in simple language Japan as it was, is, and will be. This is the task I set before myself when I commenced to write this volume, and the reader must be the judge to what extent I have been successful in the accomplishment thereof. I have touched but lightly on the material development of the country of recent years. I know from experience that though statistics are the fad of a few they are caviare to the great mass of the public. Nor have I dealt at all with politics or political parties in new Japan. It is, I think, unfortunate that the Japanese people, in adopting or adapting English institutions, should have introduced the political party system so much in evidence in Great Britain and other European countries. Whether that system works well in the West, where it has been in existence for centuries and is not always taken over-seriously by party politicians themselves, is a question upon which I shall express no opinion. But I think it is problematical whether such a system is well adapted for an Oriental people, possessed of and permeated by an ancient civilisation--a people whose feelings, sentiments, modes of thought, prejudices and passions are so essentially different from those of Western nations. Be that as it may, Japanese politics find no place in this work. The morality or otherwise of the Japanese is a matter which has been much discussed and written about. The views of speakers and writers in regard thereto, so far as I have been able to ascertain them, have been largely affected by their prejudices or the particular standpoint from which they have regarded the matter. The result, in my opinion, has been that an entirely erroneous conception of the whole subject of Japanese morality has not only been formed but has been set forth in speech or writing, and a grave injustice has been done to the Japanese in this matter, to say nothing of the entirely false view of the whole question which has been promulgated. In this book I have endeavoured to deal with this thorny subject, so far as it can be dealt with in a book, free from prejudice or preconceived ideas of any kind. I have simply confined myself to facts, and have endeavoured to represent the whole matter as it appears to the Japanese and to morality according to the Japanese standard. I have deemed it necessary to deal at some length with the various phases of Japanese art, which it is no exaggeration to say has permeated the whole nation so that the Japanese may truthfully be termed the most artistic people in the world. Of course it is impossible to deal exhaustively in a work of this kind with Japanese art. I have, however, endeavoured to describe the principal art industries of the country and to set forth what I may term the catholicity of art in Japan. I have also dealt with the question how far art has been affected by the Europeanising of the nation which has taken place of recent years, and the effect thereof. The religion of the Japanese, the Constitution, the home life of the people, the Army and Navy, the financial position of the country are all subjects treated as fully as possible, inasmuch as they are matters essential to be understood in order to realise the Japan of to-day. The Japan of the future I have attempted to forecast in two final chapters. But the Japan of to-day and the Japan of the future can neither be understood nor realised unless the reader have in his mind some idea as to the Japan of the past--not the barbaric or uncivilised Japan brought into contact with civilisation and suddenly discarding its barbarism, which is, I fear, the conception many persons still have, but, as I have sought to show, a highly civilised country holding itself aloof from European influences and excluding, so long as possible, the European invasion of its shores just because it had convinced itself by painful experience that European ideas and manners and methods were undesirable and unsuitable for a great island nation which possessed and cherished a civilisation of its own, had high artistic ideas and ideals, had its own code of morals, its own conception of chivalry, and was, on the whole, undoubtedly happy, contented, and prosperous. I trust the chapter I have written on this subject will tend to dispel many erroneous ideas. The book is the result of my own investigations, and the opinions expressed therein are entirely my own. I have, however, read nearly every work on Japan that has appeared in recent years, and when the views put forward in any of these have not coincided with my own I have endeavoured, by impartial investigation and inquiry, to arrive at a correct conclusion in the matter. No doubt some of my views and opinions will be questioned and criticised, but I claim to have written this book with a mind free from prejudices of any kind. I have sought to depict Japan as it really is, not the Japan seen through glasses of various colours, of which, I think, the public has had enough. H. B. M. CONTENTS PAGE PREFACE v CHAPTER I. A GLIMPSE AT THE PAST 1 II. THE COUNTRY: ITS PHYSICAL FEATURES--PRODUCTS--FAUNA--FLORA, ETC. 17 III. THE JAPANESE RACE AND ITS LANGUAGE 29 IV. THE RELIGIONS OF JAPAN, THEIR INFLUENCES AND EFFECTS 39 V. THE CONSTITUTION--THE CROWN AND THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT 49 VI. THE PEOPLE, THEIR LIFE AND HABITS 63 VII. TRADE, COMMERCE, AND INDUSTRIES 80 VIII. JAPAN'S FINANCIAL BURDENS AND RESOURCES 90 IX. EDUCATION 102 X. THE JAPANESE ARMY AND NAVY 117 XI. JAPANESE ART--INTRODUCTORY--LACQUER AND PORCELAIN 131 XII. JAPANESE ART--SCULPTURE--METAL WORK--PAINTING 149 XIII. JAPANESE ARCHITECTURE 167 XIV. POSTAL AND OTHER MEANS OF COMMUNICATION 176 XV. LAW AND ORDER 185 XVI. LITERATURE AND THE DRAMA 193 XVII. NEWSPAPERS IN JAPAN 202 XVIII. JAPANESE MORALITY 211 XIX. JAPAN AND CHINA 221 XX. EUROPEANS IN JAPAN 231 XXI. A VISIT TO SOME BUDDHIST TEMPLES 244 XXII. THE AINOS 250 XXIII. JAPAN AS IT IS TO-DAY 258 XXIV. THE FUTURE OF JAPAN--PHYSICAL--MORAL--MENTAL 276 XXV. THE FUTURE OF JAPAN--NATIONAL--POLITICAL--ITS INFLUENCE ON THE WORLD 288 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS A STAR OF THE EAST _Frontispiece_ From a Print by Toshikata FACING PAGE THE SWEET SCENT OF THE CHERRY BLOSSOM 30 From a Print by Hiroshige A CHERRY BLOSSOM PARTY 48 From a Print by Hiroshige STREET SCENE ON NEW YEAR'S DAY 72 From a Print by Hiroshige RICE PLANTING, PROVINCE OF HOKI 89 From a Print by Hiroshige AMATEUR CONCHOLOGISTS 110 From a Print by Hiroshige VIEW OF FUSI-YAMA FROM A TEA HOUSE 138 From a Print by Hiroshige KUTANI EARTHENWARE, DECORATED WITH POLYCHROME } ENAMELS. EARLY EIGHTEENTH CENTURY } 146 } INCENSE-BURNER, AWATA FAYENCE. EIGHTEENTH CENTURY } From "The Arts of Japan," by Edward Dillon BRONZE INCENSE-BURNER AND SMALL FLOWER-VASE. EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 154 From "The Arts of Japan," by Edward Dillon KAKEMONO ON PAPER. ATTRIBUTED TO MATAHEI } } KAKEMONO ON PAPER. ATTRIBUTED TO SHIMMAN, UKIYO } 160 SCHOOL. EIGHTEENTH CENTURY } From "The Arts of Japan," by Edward Dillon TEA HOUSE, NEAR TOKIO 170 From a Print by Hiroshige ÆRIAL TRANSPORT: BASKET SLUNG ON ROPES, PROVINCE OF HIDA 182 From a Print by Hiroshige A LABOUR OF LOVE 198 From a Print by Toshikata THE ETERNAL FEMININE 218 From a Print by Toshikata A MINISTERING ANGEL 242 From a Print by Toshikata FIREWORKS IN TOKIO (SUMMER) 264 From a Print by Hiroshige A SIGN OF THE TIMES 278 THE EMPIRE OF THE EAST CHAPTER I A GLIMPSE AT THE PAST I have seen it stated in a popular handbook that Japan possesses a written history extending over two thousand five hundred years, while its sovereigns have formed an unbroken dynasty since 660 B.C., but that the "authentic history begins about 400 A.D." "Authentic history" is, I consider, not a very apt phrase in this connection. Most Japanese history is legendary, and authenticity in history, Japanese or European, even much later than 400 A.D., is hopeless to look for. I have no intention of leading my readers into, as I should find a difficulty in extricating them from, the mazes of Japanese history at any date. I simply propose to give them a glimpse of Japan as it has appeared to Europeans since it was first "discovered" by three storm-tossed Portuguese sailors about the year 1542. I say "discovered" with full knowledge of the fact that Marco Paolo, as early as 1275, dictated to a friend when imprisoned at Genoa that stirring narrative, "Maravigliose Cose," which, by the way, was not printed for nearly two centuries later. That narrative was read by and, it is stated, so fired the imagination of Christopher Columbus as to lead him to set out on that voyage of exploration which ended in the discovery of America. Marco Paolo's narrative must, however, be received with caution. I regard it as largely legendary. He never himself visited Japan, and his glowing description of the "Isles washed by stormy seas and abounding in gold and pearls" was founded on what he had been told by the Chinese he had met during his Eastern travels. The commencement of European intercourse with Japan may, as I have said, be taken to be 1542, when three Portuguese adventurers in a Chinese junk were driven by stress of weather on a part of the Japanese coast under the authority of the Prince of Bungo. The Portuguese were kindly received by the natives, and a treaty or arrangement seems to have been entered into whereby a Portuguese vessel was to be annually despatched to Japan laden with "woollen cloths, furs, silks, taffetas," and other articles. Some years later a Japanese noble, Hansiro by name, murdered another Japanese and fled the country. He found his way to Goa, where he came under the influence of some Portuguese priests, and was eventually converted to Christianity and baptized. He was, if the records of his career are correct, desirous to bring to his fellow-countrymen not only the knowledge of the Christian religion but many articles of European commerce. The great Apostle of the East and disciple of Ignatius Loyola, St. Francis Xavier, had then recently arrived in Goa, where he appears to have taken up with ardour the project of converting Japan. Both enterprises, the material and the spiritual, seem to have been organised about the same time. A ship was loaded with articles likely to be in demand in Japan, and Francis Xavier embarked in another vessel, with the Japanese refugee and a number of Jesuit priests as missionaries. The vessels in due course arrived at Bungo, and both priests and traders were cordially, not to say enthusiastically, received. Foreigners were evidently not then excluded from Japan, and no objection whatever was made to the Christian propaganda in any part of the country. The efforts of the Jesuit missionaries were crowned with remarkable success. All ranks and classes, from priest to peasant, embraced the Catholic faith. Churches, schools, convents, and monasteries sprang up all over the country. The only opposition came from the Bonzes, or native priests, who felt their influence and power declining. They appealed to the Emperor to banish the Roman Catholic priests, but the imperial edict simply was, "Leave the strangers in peace." For forty years or thereabouts Catholicism not only flourished but was triumphant. Indeed, a Japanese mission of three princes was despatched to Pope Gregory XIII. laden with valuable presents. The arrival of this mission was acclaimed as a veritable triumph throughout Catholic Europe. By a stroke of irony its advent there was almost contemporaneous with not only the overthrow but the almost total extinction of Christianity in Japan. The edict for the banishment of the missionaries was published in 1587. It was followed by persecutions, martyrdoms, and the rasing of all the Christian churches and buildings--the destruction, in a word, of Christianity in Japan. This was in due course followed by not only the expulsion of all foreigners from the country--with the exception of the Dutch, who were allowed to have a factory at Nagasaki--but the enactment of a law, rigidly observed for two and a half centuries, that no Japanese should leave his country on any pretence whatever, and no foreigner be permitted to land therein. Prior to this edict the Japanese had been enterprising sailors and had extended their voyages to many distant lands. What, it might be asked, was the reason of or occasion for this violent change in the attitude of the Japanese to Christianity and the presence of Europeans in their midst? It is impossible, at this length of time, to arrive at a correct answer to this question, largely mixed up as it has been with the _odium theologicum_. We have been told that the result was greatly or altogether due to the pride, arrogance, and avarice of the Roman Catholic priests; to the pretensions of the Pope, which came to be regarded with suspicion by the feudatory princes of Japan, as also to the cupidity and cunning of the traders. How far any or all of these alleged causes were responsible for the change in Japanese opinion I shall not venture to pronounce. Suffice it to remark that, whatever the cause, there must have been some powerful, impelling influence at work to induce the nation not only to cast out the stranger within its gates, but to exclude him for two and a half centuries, and veto any inhabitant of Japan leaving its shores and thus being brought into contact with, and stand the chance of being contaminated by, the foreigner. We may regret the destruction of Christianity in Japan, but at the same time we may, I think, accept the fact that the uprising of Japan against the foreigner at the close of the sixteenth century was simply the result of the gorge which had arisen in the nation against the foreigner's manners, methods, and morals, his trampling underfoot of national prejudices and ideas, his cupidity, his avarice, his cruelty, his attempt to impose on Japanese civilisation a veneer which it did not desire and deemed it was much better without. It must be remembered that the missionaries and the traders had a common nationality, and that the Japan of the sixteenth century did not find it possible to differentiate between them. Down to the nineteenth century we have to rely for our knowledge of Japan and the Japanese on the narratives of the few travellers who managed to visit that country more or less by stealth, or from the information derived from Europeans serving in the Dutch factory at Nagasaki. Every Englishman has heard of Will Adams and his Japanese wife, but though his career was romantic and interesting it has added but little to our knowledge of Japan at the time of his visit thereto. In 1727 Dr. Kaemfer's work on Japan was published. Kaemfer had been physician to the Dutch factory at Nagasaki, and, accordingly, had some opportunities of studying Japanese life and character. His book in the original form is rare, but I am glad to say that a cheap edition, a reprint of the English edition produced by the Royal Society in 1727, has recently been published in this country. Kaemfer's work is spoiled and its utility or reliability largely impaired by the fanciful theories put forward by the author respecting the origin of the Japanese. Much of his information is, of course, mere hearsay, and a great deal of it, by the light of what we now know, is not only misleading but nonsensical. A considerable amount of space is devoted by Kaemfer to chimerical animals, and he dilates upon the awful sanctity that surrounds the person of the Emperor. "There is," he remarks, "such a Holiness ascribed to all the parts of his Body that he dares not cut off neither his hair, nor his beard, nor his nails. However, lest he should grow too dirty, they may clean him in the night when he is asleep; because they say that what is taken from his Body at that time had been stolen from him, and that such a theft does not prejudice his Holiness or Dignity." In a notice of this new edition of Kaemfer's work I have seen it asserted that the book is the foundation of nearly all that was known or written of Japan till the last twenty-five years. How such a statement as this came to be published I quite fail to comprehend. There was plenty of literature in reference to Japan far more reliable than Kaemfer's whimsical "yarns" at a much earlier period than twenty-five years back. Sir Rutherford Alcock's "The Capital of the Tycoon" was, I think, published in 1863. Sir Rutherford was the first resident British Minister in Japan, and his book remains a stirring and, making allowance for the author's prejudices on various matters, on the whole a vivid picture of Japan as it was in the early sixties. Alcock's book was followed by many others, and twenty-five years ago the world was so far from being dependent on Kaemfer for its knowledge of Japan that, as I have said, it had even then quite a library of recent and reliable books in regard to that country. Following Kaemfer, a little later in the eighteenth century, a Swedish physician, Thunberg by name, who also had been attached to the Dutch factory at Nagasaki, wrote a book undoubtedly interesting and of great value. That country, he remarks, is "in many respects a singular country, and with regard to customs and institutions totally different from Europe, or, I had almost said, from any other part of the world. Of all the nations that inhabit the three largest parts of the globe, the Japanese deserve to rank the first, and to be compared with the Europeans; and although in many points they must yield the palm to the latter, yet in various other respects they may with great justice be preferred to them. Here, indeed, as well as in other countries, are found both useful and pernicious establishments, both rational and absurd institutions; yet still we must admire the steadiness which constitutes the national character, the immutability which reigns in the administration of their laws and in the exercise of their public functions, the unwearied assiduity of this nation to do and to promote what is useful, and a hundred other things of a similar nature. That so numerous a people as this should love so ardently and so universally (without even a single exception to the contrary) their native country, their Government, and each other--that the whole country should be, as it were, enclosed, so that no native can get out, nor foreigner enter in, without permission--that their laws should have remained unaltered for several thousand years--and that justice should be administered without partiality or respect of persons--that the Governments can neither become despotic nor evade the laws in order to grant pardons or do other acts of mercy--that the monarch and all his subjects should be clad alike in a particular national dress--that no fashions should be adopted from abroad, nor new ones invented at home--that no foreign war should have been waged for centuries past--that a great variety of religious sects should live in peace and harmony together--that hunger and want should be almost unknown, or at least known but seldom,--all this must appear improbable, and to many as impossible as it is strictly true, and deserving of the utmost attention." He goes on to say, "If the laws in this country are rigid, the police are equally vigilant, while discipline and good order are scrupulously observed. The happy consequences of this are extremely visible and important, for hardly any country exhibits fewer instances of vice. And as no respect whatever is paid to persons, and at the same time the laws preserve their pristine and original purity, without any alterations, explanations, and misconstructions, the subjects not only imbibe, as they grow up, an infallible knowledge of what ought or ought not to be done, but are likewise enlightened by the example and irreproachable conduct of their superiors in age. "Most crimes are punished with death--a sentence which is inflicted with less regard to the magnitude of the crime than to the audacity of the attempt to transgress the hallowed laws of the empire, and to violate justice, which together with religion they consider as the most sacred things in the whole land. Fines and pecuniary mulcts they regard as equally repugnant to justice and reason, as the rich are thereby freed from all punishment--a procedure which to them appears the height of absurdity. "In the towns it often happens that the inhabitants of a whole street are made to suffer for the malpractice of a single individual, the master of a house for the faults of his domestics, and parents for those of their children, in proportion to the share they may have had in the transaction. In Europe, which boasts a purer religion and a more enlightened philosophy, we very rarely see those punished who have debauched and seduced others, never see parents and relatives made to suffer for neglecting the education of their children and kindred, at the same time that these heathens see the justice and propriety of such punishment." Dealing with agriculture, the Swedish physician remarked: "Agriculture is in the highest esteem with the Japanese, insomuch that (the most barren and untractable mountains excepted) one sees here the surface of the earth cultivated all over the country, and most of the mountains and hills up to their very tops. Neither rewards nor encouragements are necessary in a country where the tillers of the ground are considered as the most useful class of citizens and where they do not groan under various oppressions, which in other countries have hindered, and ever must hinder, the progress of agriculture. The duties paid by the farmer of his corn in kind are indeed very heavy, but in other respects he cultivates his land with greater freedom than the lord of a manor in Sweden. He is not hindered two days together at a time, in consequence of furnishing relays of horses, by which he perhaps earns a groat and often returns with the loss of his horses; he is not dragged from his field and plough to transport a prisoner or a deserter to the next castle; nor are his time and property wasted in making roads, building bridges, almshouses, parsonage-houses, and magazines. He knows nothing of the impediments and inconveniences which attend the maintenance and equipments of horses and foot soldiers. And what contributes still more to his happiness, and leaves sufficient scope for his industry in cultivating his land is this--that he has only one master, viz., his feudal lord, without being under the commands of a host of masters, as with us. No parcelling out of the land forbids him to improve to the least advantage the portion he possesses, and no right of commonage, belonging to many, prevents each from deriving profit from his share. All are bound to cultivate their land, and if a husbandman cannot annually cultivate a certain portion of his fields he forfeits them, and another who can is at liberty to cultivate them. Meadows are not to be met with in the whole country; on the contrary, every spot of ground is made use of either for corn-fields or else for plantations of esculent-rooted vegetables: so that the land is neither wasted upon extensive meadows for the support of cattle and saddle-horses, nor upon large and unprofitable plantations of tobacco; nor is it sown with seed for any other still less necessary purpose; which is the reason that the whole country is very thickly inhabited and populous, and can without difficulty give maintenance to all its innumerable inhabitants." Let us now take a step, a long step, forward in time from the Swedish physician relating his impressions in the seventeenth century, to an American in the eighteenth century delivering his opinions on Japan and the Japanese as viewed from the American standpoint at that period. "The sitter is the same, and, what is more, he sits on his heels to-day just as his grandfather did to Thunberg, yet it is hard to see any points of resemblance--a lesson to all theologians and politicians who still indulge the dreams that uniformity of opinion on the plainest matters of fact and observation can ever be attained among men, however honest and conscientious they may be in their efforts after unity. The Chinese proverb with more wisdom declares, 'Truth is one, but opinions are many.' "All officials serve in pairs, as spies upon each other, and this pervades the entire polity of Japan. It is a government of espionage. Everybody is watched. No man knows who are the secret spies around him, even though he may be and is acquainted with those that are official. The emperors themselves are not exempt; governors, grand councillors, vassal princes, all are under the eye of an everlasting unknown police. This wretched system is even extended to the humblest of the citizens. Every town is divided into collections of five families, and every member of such a division is personally responsible for the conduct of the others; everything which occurs, therefore, out of the ordinary course in any one of these is instantly reported by the other four to save themselves from censure. The Ziogoon (Tycoon) has his minions about the Mikado and the Grand Council have theirs about the Ziogoon. And the cowardice engendered by such ceaseless distrust necessarily leads to cruelty in penalties. When an official has offended, or even when in his department there has been any violation of law, although beyond his power of prevention, so sure is he of the punishment of death, that he anticipates it by ripping up his own body rather than be delivered over to the executioner and entailing disgrace and ruin on all his family. There cannot under such a system be anything like judicious legislation founded on enquiry and adapted to the ever-varying circumstances of life. As Government functionaries they lie and practise artifice to save themselves from condemnation by the higher powers: it is their vocation. As private gentlemen they are frank, truthful, and hospitable." Taking a further step and coming down to the year 1877, I have before me, as I write, the private letter of a naval officer of an impressionable age visiting Japan for the first time and giving his opinions thereof, at a period when Japan was just beginning to feel really at work the distinct influences of Western civilisation--the beginning, in fact, of the extraordinary metamorphosis which has been witnessed of recent years. He remarks: "Probably to the traveller seeking the marvellous and desiring the beautiful, there is no more interesting country to pay a visit to than Japan. In something under a decade that country astonished, and, at first, rather amused the civilised world by emerging from the acme of barbarism to the extremes of civilisation. It was but a very few years ago that a foreigner could not land in the country unless accompanied by a Government escort. But now that is all changed. The foreigner is welcomed, his habits and religion are not alone tolerated but respected; his dress is copied to an extreme that indeed proves imitation to be the sincerest flattery, and but for the olive complexion, flat nose and dark hair, a Japanese gentleman of the period is very little different from his English contemporary. There is a tendency I find among a good many persons, whose ideas on the subject of race and geography are slightly mixed, to confound the Japanese with the Chinese, and to imagine that the two names indicate no greater difference than at present exist between an Englishman and an Irishman. The fact, however, is that a greater difference exists among these two nationalities than can be either imagined or described, and, considering their contiguity, it is indeed surprising that they have scarcely a habit or a pursuit in common. The mind of the modern Japanese is progressive and acquisitive. The mind of the Chinaman of the nineteenth century, as far as he allows it to be seen, is as torpid and retrogressive as his ancestors of the Confucian period. "Up to the year 1868 Japan was governed jointly by a Tycoon and a Mikado together with a council of the Daimios, or great feudal princes, in whose hands all real power rested. The spiritual sovereign was the Mikado, nominally the chief ruler, the Tycoon being considered his first subject. All enactments required his sanction. The office of the Tycoon was hereditary and he gradually absorbed all the powers of the State. In 1868 a revolution occurred which culminated in the overthrow of the spiritual head and the seating of the Tycoon on the throne as an hereditary prince with the title of Mikado. There is now no such person as a Tycoon in Japan. The insurrection of 1868 also saw the downfall of the Daimios or feudal princes of Japan. These princes had each standing armies of their own, and administered justice in their own territories. Their retainers were the famous two-sworded men so long a terror to Europeans, and who strongly objected to any intercourse with foreigners, probably foreseeing its inevitable result. In 1868 the whole of these ferocious men were disarmed, and a standing army modelled on the French fashion established for the defence of the Empire. The Japanese Navy was organised about the same time by an English officer, and at first consisted of a few obsolete American and English men-of-war. That, however, is now a thing of the past, the Japanese Government having during the past few years spent many millions in purchasing modern ironclads and other vessels of the most approved type, and the Japanese Navy bids fair before long to become a power in the Far East. "Concerning the oft-debated question of Japanese morality I can say little. Their ideas on the subject are, to put it mildly, somewhat lax, and would no doubt shock any one strongly imbued with morality as it is in vogue (theoretically) in European countries. That there is not that privacy between the sexes which prevails in other countries may be indicated by the fact that men and women make their ablutions together in the public wash-houses. Nevertheless the Japanese have a code of morality peculiar to themselves, and any infidelity on the part of a woman to her husband is punished with severity. "The great drawback to the prosperity of Japan is a matter that prevails in some more ancient civilised lands, viz., an enormous issue of paper-money. Young Japan, finding it easy to print notes to pay its obligations, printed them to the extent of twenty millions sterling in all sizes from 5 cents to 100 dollars. The consequence is that this paper-money has depreciated in value to the extent of 15 per cent. The Government, however, have seen their mistake, and are gradually calling it in, and have established a very fine mint with a gold and silver coinage. Insurrections have also been a drag on Japan in its progress. The Prince of Satsuma, one of the most powerful of the ancient Daimios, has never acknowledged the present system of government and has periodically rebelled against it. This year a serious rebellion broke out at Kagoshima, and was not quelled without great loss of life and a heavy expenditure. His followers behaved with great fanaticism, many of them loading themselves with gunpowder rushing into the midst of the enemy and setting fire to the powder, killing themselves by so doing, but also, to the admiration of their less ardent comrades, killing numbers of the enemy. "Against no ancient custom has the Japanese Government more set its face than tattooing. Any persons in Japan now either allowing themselves to be tattooed or performing the operation on any one else are liable to imprisonment. Blacking the teeth, a custom prevalent among the women on being married, is rapidly dying out, being discouraged by the authorities." The glimpses of Japan shown us by Thunberg and the American I have quoted prove clearly enough, even were it not amplified by a host of other testimony I have not space to refer to, that the Japan of the sixteenth, seventeenth, eighteenth, and early part of the nineteenth centuries was a highly civilised country in which law and order reigned supreme, where respect for authority was marked, the standard of comfort, if not high, was at any rate sufficient, the domestic relations and family life were almost ideal, clean living was the custom, crime was at a minimum, education was universal, amusements were plentiful, the artistic feeling and instincts were not the cult of a class but were shared by the common people. This was the nation, self-contained and self-satisfied, that some persons, like the young naval officer from whom I have quoted, gravely affirm to have been steeped in barbarism until it came under Western influences and went in for frock-coats and silk hats for the men, Paris costumes for the women, and an Army and Navy on European lines. If these be the factors which constitute civilisation I admit that Japan has only recently been civilised. Being of opinion, however, that civilisation does not consist in costumery, but is a refining and educating influence, I prefer to regard Japan as a country of more ancient civilisation than Great Britain, which has of recent years determined to tack on to that civilisation some Western manners and customs and facilities. Many of Japan's greatest thinkers, a few Western philosophers who can look beyond a costume, the telegraph or the telephone, are strongly of opinion that in the process of modern development Japan has not improved either morally or materially, and that, regarded through the dry light of philosophy, her pretensions to be considered a highly civilised nation were greater half a century back than they are at the present moment. Upon that matter my readers must form their own opinion. It is a question, the answer to which largely depends upon the point of view from which it is regarded and the factors taken into or left out of account. In the first year of the Meiji (1868) the Emperor, in an edict, laid down clearly and concisely the lines on which he and his advisers had determined that Japan should for the future be governed. "The old uncivilised way shall be replaced by the eternal principles of the universe." "The best knowledge shall be sought throughout the world so as to promote the imperial welfare." "The eternal principles of the universe" is a resonant phrase needing interpretation. The rulers of Japan to-day, if they were interrogated on the subject, would probably reply that the record of Japan for over thirty-eight years past is the practical interpretation of the Emperor's cryptic utterance. Be that as it may, the ink was hardly dry on the Imperial edict before Japan laid herself out with earnestness, not to say enthusiasm, to carry into effect the principles enunciated in the edict. The whole country was quickly in a positive ferment of energy. The brightest intellects among its youth were despatched to foreign lands to acquire knowledge and wisdom to be applied at home in due course, education was taken in hand, so also was the reorganisation of the Army and Navy, and railways, telegraphs, and various other accessories of European civilisation were introduced into the country. Japan, in a word, became quickly transformed and, being unable any longer to keep the foreigner out, she determined to utilise him and in the future fight him, should fighting be necessary, with his own weapons, intellectual rather than material, but not omitting the material. Thirty-eight years and more have elapsed since the issue of the Imperial edict referred to, and this book is designed to show what results have flowed therefrom, along what lines the development of Japan has proceeded, and what are the position and prospects of that country to-day. CHAPTER II THE COUNTRY--ITS PHYSICAL FEATURES--PRODUCTS--FAUNA--FLORA, ETC. The Empire of Japan (a corruption of Nippon, the native name) is composed of four large islands--Honshiu, Shikoku, Kiushiu, and Yesso, besides some thousands of smaller isles. The Kurile Isles, north of Yesso, and in the neighbourhood of Kamschatka, have been incorporated in the Empire since 1875, and the Loo-Choo Islands, some 500 miles south-west of Japan's southern extremity, since 1876. The great island of Formosa, situated off the coast of China, was ceded to Japan as the outcome of the Chino-Japanese War in 1895, while as the result of the recent conflict with Russia, Japan has obtained back the southern half of the large island of Sakhalin, which formerly entirely belonged to her, as well as Port Arthur and Dalny on the mainland, not to speak of the preponderating influence she has obtained in Korea, which is now practically under the suzerainty of Japan. The population of the Empire according to the last census was about forty-seven millions, and, like that of Great Britain, it is annually increasing. The proximity of Japan to the Asiatic Continent, despite the lessons in geography which the late war afforded, is not, I think, generally understood. The nearest point of the Japanese coast is only 100 miles distant from Korea, while between the two lies the important island of Tsu-shima, which Japan found so useful as a strategic position during the war with Russia. The island of Sakhalin, the southern portion of which, as I have said, has lately passed into the possession of Japan, is about 20 miles distant from the northern part of Yesso, while at some places the island is only separated from the Russian mainland by 5 or 6 miles of water. The distance between Hakodate, in Yesso, and the great Russian port of Vladivostock is somewhere about 200 miles. This contiguity of Japan to the Asiatic Continent has already had a marked effect on the politics of the world, and in the future, if I mistake not, is likely to be a preponderating factor therein. The area of Japan is about half as large again as that of the United Kingdom. The southern extremity of the country is in latitude 31° N., the northern in latitude 45½° N. The Japanese islands are undoubtedly of volcanic origin, and many of the volcanoes in the country are still more or less active. The general conformation of the land leads one to suppose that the islands are the summits of mountain ranges which some thousands of years back had their bases submerged by the rising of the sea or else had by degrees settled down beneath the surface of the ocean. The general characteristic of the country is mountainous, and only about one-sixth of the total area is in cultivation. Fuji-yama, the loftiest mountain, for which the Japanese have a peculiar veneration and which has been immortalised in the art of the country, has an altitude of 12,730 feet. The next in height, Mount Mitake, ascends some 9,000 feet, and there are many others of 5,000 feet or more. Japan has from time to time been ravaged by, and indeed still is subject to, terrible earthquakes. These dire calamities seem to recur at regular intervals. The Japanese islands appear to be in the centre of great volcanic disturbances--a fact which probably accounts for those seismic outbreaks which periodically devastate considerable tracts of the country and cause tremendous havoc to life and property. The written records, extending back some 1,400 or 1,500 years, clearly prove that earthquakes even more terrible in their effects than any that have taken place in recent times were of frequent occurrence. It is, of course, possible that these records may be inaccurate or have been largely exaggerated, but they at any rate tend to show that those great cosmic forces which are popularly termed earthquakes have been constantly at work in Japan ever since any written records have been preserved and no doubt long anterior to that time. As the islands are narrow and mountainous there are no great rivers and none available for important navigation. None of the rivers exceed 200 miles in length. Although Japan is situated much further south than Great Britain, its northern extremity being in about the same latitude as Cornwall, its climate is, on the whole, not unlike that of this country. Of course the climate of such a mountainous country and one extending over 14 degrees of latitude varies considerably. That of the island of Yesso, for example, is in winter rigorous to a degree, a fact in some measure caused by a cold current which flows down its eastern shores from the Sea of Okohotsk. Professor Rein, who has given great attention to the matter of the Japanese climate, has remarked in reference thereto: "The climate of Japan reflects the characteristics of that of the neighbouring continent, and exhibits like that two great annual contrasts--a hot, damp summer and a cold relatively dry winter; these two seasons lie under the sway of the monsoons, but the neighbouring seas weaken the effects of these winds and mitigate their extremes in such a manner that neither the summer heat nor the cold of winter attain the same height in Japan as in China at the same latitudes. Spring and autumn are extremely agreeable seasons; the oppressive summer heat does not last long, and in winter the contrast between the nightly frosts and the midday heat, produced by considerable insulation but still more by the raw northerly winds, causes frequent chills, though the prevailing bright sky makes the season of the year much more endurable than in many other regions where the winter cold is equal. As a fact the climate of Japan agrees very well with most Europeans, so that people have already begun to look upon certain localities as climatic watering-places where the inhabitant of Hong Kong and Shanghai can find refuge from the oppressive heat of summer and invigorate his health." The mean annual temperature of Tokio is about 56°. The lowest temperature is in January or February, when the thermometer seldom falls below 25°, the highest in August, when it sometimes rises to 95° or 100° in the shade, the average being 82°. The Japanese suffer a good deal from the effects of the wintry weather, bronchial, chest, and rheumatic affections being prevalent. The dwellings of the people, somewhat flimsy in construction as they are, are not well adapted to withstand the effects of a low temperature. On the whole the people must be pronounced to be extremely healthy--a fact probably due to their scrupulous cleanliness, to the excellent ventilation of their houses, and, as regards those living in the towns, to the wide and well-kept streets where nothing offensive is allowed to remain. The country has, however, from time to time been subject to epidemics introduced from without, cholera and the plague having more than once carried death throughout the length and breadth of the land. Those circular storms known as cyclones in the Indian Ocean and typhoons in further Eastern seas have from time to time wrought great devastation in Japan. Fortunately these revolving storms are of brief duration, and in the neighbourhood of Japan they do not so frequently occur as in the China Sea. Japan is well provided with good harbours, that of Nagasaki in especial being one of the finest in the world. Sheltered completely by lofty and beautiful hills, with deep water throughout, it is an ideal anchorage. Until recently foreign trade was confined to the treaty ports; but as the country has now been completely thrown open, there is no doubt that the many fine harbours which Japan possesses, and which so far have hardly been utilised at all, will in due course become the centres of great commercial activity. The Inland Sea--the beautiful Mediterranean of Japan--abounds with excellent anchorages, most of which have hitherto been only entered by an occasional junk. Regarding the mineral wealth of the country, it is impossible to speak with any precision. It was not until after the Revolution of 1868 that the mining industry assumed importance in Japan. At first the Government itself owned several mines, but these were not financially successful, and they were after a time disposed of to private owners. The old mining regulations have recently been superseded by a new mining law. In accordance with this the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce is the official who permits, approves, cancels, or suspends the right of mining, whether permanently or on trial. I may, however, at once remark that the Japanese Government has not up to the present held out much encouragement to the speculative prospector. Gold is believed to exist in considerable quantities in Yesso, and as a matter of fact, although the amount mined is still small, it is annually increasing. Coal is abundant in various parts of the country and the mines are extensively worked. In 1903 there were over ten million tons of coal produced, and the quantity is at the present time assuredly very much greater. The coal is not of such a good quality as either Welsh or North Country, but there is a large and growing demand for it in the East, and coal is undoubtedly a highly important part of Japan's latent wealth. Copper, a metal which is in increasing demand, exists in Japan in enormous quantities, and she promises at no very far-distant date to be the chief copper-producing country of the world. Iron and sulphur are also found, and there are many other minerals, some of which are more or less worked. The Japanese Mining Law, it may be interesting to relate, recognises the following minerals and mineral ores, which may accordingly be taken as existing in the country: Gold, silver, copper, lead, tin, hematite, antimony, quicksilver, zinc, iron, manganese and arsenic, plumbago, coal, kerosene, sulphur, bismuth, phosphorus, peat. Whatever the mineral wealth of Japan--and the extent and variety thereof are probably yet not fully realised--there can be no question as to the value of its arboreal products. The lacquer-tree (_rhus vernicifera_), which furnishes the well-known Japanese lacquer, the paper mulberry, the elm, oak, maple, bamboo, camphor, and many other descriptions of trees, grow in abundance. The forests of Japan cover nearly 60 per cent. of the land. For some years after the Revolution there was a reduction in the wooded area, nearly four million acres having been cleared for occupation. Of late years, however, forestry has been scientifically taken in hand, and about one and a half million acres have been replanted in districts which have not been found suitable for farming. The climate of Japan varies so greatly that there is a corresponding variety in its trees. About eight hundred kinds of forest trees are suitable for cultivation in Japan, varying from the palm and the bamboo to the fir and many other trees with which we are familiar in this country. The Japanese are above all things an agricultural people. The tobacco plant, the tea shrub, potatoes, rice, wheat, barley, millet, cotton, rape, and many cereals other than those I have mentioned are extensively cultivated. The great mass of the people of Japan live on the land, and though I think the tendency, as in Great Britain, is for the large towns to magnetically draw the dwellers in the country, nevertheless agriculture is still held in high esteem, and the peasant is content to dwell on the land and live by it. Rice is the staple food of the people, and it is grown everywhere; indeed the yearly harvest of it affects the Japanese economy quite as much as, if not even more than, the wheat crop does that of Europe. The Japanese peasant is almost as dependent on rice as the Irish peasant used to be on potatoes. The water, so necessary for irrigating the land, is supplied by the streams and rivulets which are plentiful in the country. The Japanese agriculturist has long been famous for the admirable manner in which he keeps and tills his farm. The fields are clean as regards weeds, and order and neatness are perceptible everywhere. The labour is almost entirely manual, and men, women, and children all take part in the work. Fruit is abundant in Japan, but it is for the most part of an inferior quality. Grapes, apples, pears, plums, peaches, chestnuts, persimmons, oranges, figs, lemons, citrons, melons, and wild strawberries are all grown, but except as regards the grapes I cannot speak in laudatory terms of Japanese fruit. The flowers of many fruit trees seem more appreciated than the fruit itself. The floral kingdom is rich, beautiful and varied. Probably in no other part of the world are flowers so greatly appreciated as in Japan. They enter largely into various popular festivals. The Japanese, as most people know, excel in the art of gardening and the dwarfing of trees and shrubs. The flower vendor is a familiar sight, and there is never any lack of buyers. The poorest householder will do without anything almost rather than deprive himself of flowers. These enter largely into the religious services of the people, and are also extensively placed on the graves of the departed. Flowers, indeed, play an important part in the lives of the Japanese. Japan has long been famous for the great number of its evergreens. A large number of the plants growing wild are of this class, so that even in winter the land has not the bare appearance characteristic of European countries at that time of the year. Coniferous plants are abundant, many of them being peculiar to Japan. The coasts abound with fish of an excellent quality, and this, with rice, forms the staple diet of the people. Tea is, as I have said, largely cultivated, and indeed may be regarded as the national beverage. It has been cultivated in the country for over two thousand years. It is an article of faith in Japan that tea strengthens the body. It is drunk everywhere and at all times, without either milk or sugar--the true way, I think, in which to appreciate its flavour. The tea-house in Japan occupies the same position as the public-house in this country, but it has many advantages over the latter. In the towns and some other parts of Japan, saké--a spirit distilled from rice--is drunk, and when the Japanese has to any extent been Europeanised or brought into contact with Europeans, he affects a taste for European varieties of alcohol. On the whole, however, the people are distinctly a sober race. The principal towns are Tokio, the capital, with a population of about one and half millions, Osaka, having a population nearly as great, Kyoto, the ancient capital, Nagoya, Kobé, Yokohama, and Nagasaki. Yokohama may be regarded as the European headquarters; indeed it is largely a European town, while Nagasaki has more than any other been under European influences, the Dutch having, as I have already stated, had a factory there, in the suburb of Decima, continuously ever since the expulsion of foreigners from the country in the sixteenth century. Railway communication in Japan is a subject upon which much might be written. For many years there was only one line in the country--that between Yokohama and Tokio, about 22 miles in length. At the present time there are some 4,500 miles of railway open, and extensions are either in progress or in contemplation. Of the lines now being worked, about one-third are the property of the Government, the rest having been constructed by private enterprise. This dual system of ownership has its disadvantages, and it will doubtless not be permitted to last. Railway construction has already had a considerable effect on the opening up of the country, and as the construction is extended the development of Japan will doubtless proceed in an increasing ratio. The scenery of Japan has provided a theme for so many pens that I do not feel inclined to do more than refer to it in passing. Much of the scenery is sublime but, truth to tell, its beauty, or perhaps it would be more correct to say the effect thereof on the sightseer, has been somewhat marred of recent years by the influx of those persons colloquially known as "globe trotters," the railway extensions to which I have referred, and the erection of large hotels run on European lines. Nikko, the incomparable, with its glorious scenery and its still more glorious temples, the meandering Daynogawa, the beauteous Lake Chiuzenji, on which a quarter of a century or so ago a European provided with a passport and having his headquarters at a neighbouring tea-house might gaze at his leisure, and meditate in a glorious silence broken only by the sound of the ripples of the water or the cry of the birds from the neighbouring woods, all are now vulgarised. The personally conducted tourist is there and very much in evidence. He wanders carelessly, often contemptuously, through the ancient temples, regarding temples, scenery, river, lakes, merely as "something to be done." The change was, I suppose, inevitable, but the change is one that I think is in some respects to be regretted. The tourist brings money and spends it freely, and the country no doubt reaps the advantage thereof, but the effect on the Japanese brought into contact with the European under such conditions is not, in my opinion, always, or often, beneficial. I have not much to remark in regard to the fauna of Japan. The domestic animals are comparatively few. The fact of the inhabitants not eating animal food has led to their paying little or no attention to the breeding of those animals which are largely in request in foreign countries. Horses, however, are fairly plentiful, though small. Japan, as I have elsewhere remarked, has been handicapped in the organisation of her cavalry by the lack of a proper supply of suitable horses, and she has recently despatched a commission to Europe to effect purchases with a view of putting this matter right, and improving the breed of horses in the county. Oxen and cows were till recently entirely, and are still largely, used for purposes of draught only. Sheep and pigs have been introduced from abroad, but they have not been generally distributed, and in many parts of Japan have never been seen. The wild animals of Japan are neither numerous nor important. The black bear and the wolf still exist, chiefly in the Northern Island, but it is certain that at no far-distant date they will, unless artificially preserved, go the way of all wild animals in civilised countries. The red-faced monkey is there, the only kind found in Japan, and snakes exist, but they are for the most part harmless. The art of the country will have familiarised Europeans with the presence of the crane and the stork, which play such a prominent part therein. Indeed the wild birds of the country are more numerous than the animals. I am not aware whether geological research in Japan has been sufficiently extensive or systematic to ascertain whether, and if so what, any species of animals have ever existed there other than those at present found in the country. It certainly is in some respects extraordinary that a country so close to the Asiatic Continent and possessing such a variety of climates should, as regards the animal kingdom from the standpoint of the zoologist, be put down as distinctly poor. The fact, or supposed fact, to which I have previously referred, that the Japanese islands are the summits of mountain ranges which many thousand years ago had their bases submerged by the rising of the sea or had gradually settled down beneath the surface of the ocean, may, of course, account for the poverty of Japan in regard to the animals therein. I must leave other pens than mine to descant on that interesting if highly speculative matter. Be that as it may, if the fauna of Japan is poor, the country certainly makes up for it by the variety and magnificence of its flora--a flora which deserves to be studied, and which has done so much to brighten not only the appearance of the country but the lives of its inhabitants. CHAPTER III THE JAPANESE RACE AND ITS LANGUAGE There are, I have always thought, two ways in which any race should be considered if it is desired to form a correct idea in regard to it, viz., from an ethnological and philological standpoint. No race deserves to be closer studied in these matters than the Japanese. Indeed, I am of opinion that it is impossible to arrive at any clear or correct opinion concerning it without having, however slightly, investigated its racial descent and the language which, among Eastern dialects, has so long been as great a puzzle to the philologist as has Basque among the European languages. Respecting the origin of the Japanese we know practically nothing--at any rate nothing authentic. The native legends and histories afford us neither guide nor clue in the matter. These legends and histories tell us that the Japanese are descended from the gods, but I am quite certain that the modern Japanese receives that fact (?) with something more than the proverbial grain of salt. According to the old legend Ninigi-no-Nikoto was a god despatched by his grandmother the Sun-goddess to take possession of Japan, and the land was peopled by him and his entourage. This god-man, it is stated, lived over 300,000 years; his son, Hohoderni, attained to twice that period of longevity, while a grandchild, Ugaya by name, reached the respectable old age of 836,042 years. Ugaya was, it is stated, the father of Jimmu, the first Emperor. It is not necessary to seriously notice fables or legends or poetic imagery, or whatever these tales may be deemed to be, although I may remark that the divine descent of the sovereign of Japan has, so far as I know, never been formally repudiated, and it is still explicitly, if not implicitly, held. Dr. Kaemfer, whose great work I have already referred to, propounded therein the somewhat fanciful theory that the Japanese are really the direct descendants of the ancient Babylonians, and that their language "is one of those which Sacred Writ mentions the all-wise Providence thought fit to infuse into the minds of the vain builders of the Babylonian Tower." According to his theory, which to me seems absolutely ludicrous, the Japanese came through Persia, then along the shores of the Caspian Sea and by the bank of the Oxus to its source. From there, he suggests, they crossed China, descended the Amoor, proceeded southwards to Korea, and found their way across the intervening sea to the Japanese islands. Another theory, which has found many supporters, is that the Japanese are descended from the Ainos, the hairy race still to be found in the island of Yesso. An advocate of this view seeks to bolster up his faith by the evidences of an aboriginal race still to be found in the relics of the Stone Age in Japan. "Flint arrows and spear-heads," he remarks, "hammers, chisels, scrapers, kitchen refuse, and various other trophies are frequently excavated, or may be found in the museum or in homes of private persons. Though covered with the soil for centuries, they seem as though freshly brought from an Aino hut in Yesso. In scores of striking instances the very peculiar ideas, customs, and superstitions of both Japanese and Aino are the same, or but slightly modified." [Illustration: THE SWEET SCENT OF THE CHERRY BLOSSOM FROM A PRINT BY HIROSHIGE] This seems to me to be no evidence at all. Flint arrows, spear-heads, hammers, and so on are to be found in every part of the world. Mankind all over the globe seems to have evolved its civilisation, or what passes for it, in very much the same way, viz., by process of experiment. Another authority has asserted that the short, round skull, the oblique eyes, the prominent cheek-bones, the dark, black hair, and the scanty beard all proclaim the Manchus and Koreans as the nearest congeners of the Japanese. This authority considers it positive that the latter are a Tungusic race, and that their own traditions and the whole course of their history are incompatible with any other conclusion than that Korea is the route by which the immigrant tribes made their entry into Kiushiu from their original Manchurian home. While accepting this theory with some reservations, I may remark that I altogether fail to see what the "whole course" of Japanese history has to do with the matter. Japanese history, as I have previously observed, is almost altogether legendary, and proves nothing except the credulity of those who have accepted it as statements of fact. Ethnology, I admit, is a most interesting field for speculation. It is one in which the mind can positively run riot and the imagination revel. The wildest theories have been put forward in regard to many of the world's races, and philological arguments of the thinnest possible kind have been used to bolster them up. For example, one very able writer on this matter has broached a theory respecting the origin of the Japanese, and supported it by what seems to be very plausible evidence. He assumes, on what grounds I know not, that there was a white race earlier in the field of history than the Aryans, and that the seat of this white race was in High Africa. That it was from Africa that migrations were made to North, Central, and South America, as well as to Egypt, and subsequently to Babylonia and, apparently, to India. In due course, according to this authority, Syria and Babylonia were conquered by the Semites, while the Aryans became masters of Europe, Asia Minor, and India. The suggestion is that the conquerors of the Japanese islands and the founders of the Japanese language and mythology were of the Turano-African type. That these invaders intermarried with a mixed short race, and that the new dominating Japanese race maintained and propagated their dialect of the language and their sect of the religion, and displaced the pure natives. The same authority suggests that when the Pacific route to America was closed by the weakness of the Turano Africans and the rising of cannibals and other savages (where did they rise from?) the Japanese were isolated on the east. On their west the Turano-African dynasties in China and Korea fell, and were replaced by natives, the same series of events taking place as in Egypt, Peru, Mexico, &c. The principal evidence in support of this somewhat startling theory is the similarity between the words in use in Japanese and in certain African languages. But if evidence of that nature is to be accepted in proof of somewhat improbable theories, it will be possible to prove almost anything in regard to the origin of races. I utterly reject all these far-fetched theories. Any unprejudiced man looking at the Japanese, the Chinaman, and the Korean will have no doubt whatever in his own mind as to their racial affinity. Differences there most certainly are, just as there are between the Frenchman and the Englishman, or even the Englishman and the Scotchman, but what I may term the pronounced characteristics are the same--the colour of the skin, the oblique eyes, the dark hair, and the contour of the skull. These people, whatever the present difference in their mental, moral, and physical characteristics, have quite evidently all come from the same stock. They are, in a word, Mongolians, and any attempt to prove that one particular portion of this stock is Turano-African, or something else equally absurd from an ethnological point of view, seems to me to be positively childish. There was probably originally a mixture of races, Malay as well as others, which has had its effect on the peculiar temperament of the Japanese as he is to-day compared with the Chinaman. Of course language cannot be left out of account in the question of the racial origin of any people, and the Japanese language has, as I have said, long been a puzzle for the philologist. In the early times we are told the Japanese had no written language. The language in use before the opening up of communications with Korea and China stood alone. Indeed there is only one language outside Japan which has any affinity therewith, that is the language of the inhabitants of the Loo-Choo Islands. Philologists have excluded the language from the Aryan and Semitic tongues, and included it in the Turanian group. It is said to possess all the characteristics of the Turanian family being agglutinated, that is to say, maintaining its roots in their integrity without formative prefixes, poor in conjunctions, and copious in the use of participles. It is uncertain when alphabetical characters were introduced into Japan, but it is believed to have happened when intercourse with Korea was first opened about the commencement of the Christian Era. The warrior Empress, Jungu-kogo, is said to have carried away from Korea as many books as possible after the successful invasion of that country. In the third century the son of the Emperor Ojin learned to read Chinese works, and henceforward the Chinese language and literature seem to have been introduced into Japan. A great impetus was given to the spread of Chinese literature by the introduction of Buddhism and Buddhist writings in the sixth century, and the effect thereof is now apparent in the number of Chinese words in the Japanese language. The question as to the origin of the earliest written characters employed in Japan is one that has produced, and probably will continue to produce, much controversy. These are known as Shinji letters of the God Age, but they have left no traces in the existing alphabet. There is a remarkable difference between the written and spoken dialects of Japan. The grammars of the two are entirely different, and it is possible to speak the language colloquially and yet not be able to read a newspaper, book, or letter; while, on the other hand, it is possible to know the written language thoroughly, and yet be unable to carry on a conversation with a Japanese. The spoken language, as a matter of fact, is not difficult except in regard to the complicated construction of the words. The difficulty is in reference to the written language. There are really three modes or systems of writing: the first consists of the use of the Chinese characters, the second and third of two different alphabets. Although the Japanese have adopted the Chinese characters and learned to attach to them the same meaning as obtains in China, the construction of sentences is sometimes so totally different that it is difficult for a Chinaman to read a book written by a Japanese in the Chinese characters, while the Japanese cannot read Chinese books unless he has specially studied Chinese. It is evident from what I have said that it is difficult to obtain a complete knowledge of the written language of Japan in its Chinese form. There is a certain school of thought in Japan which is enthusiastic for the replacement of the present complicated system by the introduction of a Roman alphabet, but I feel bound to say that this school has not made much progress, and it is not likely to be successful. Although the present system has its disadvantages, it has its advantages likewise. The written characters are those common to about 450 millions of the world's people, and I think that the use of the Chinese characters in Japan will be a factor of considerable importance in the future history of the world, because I am convinced that Japan is destined to exercise a preponderating influence in and over China, and that the exercise of that influence will be greatly facilitated by the written characters which both nations have in common. I may at once candidly confess that I have no theory to broach in respect of the origin of the Japanese people or the language that they speak. In such matters theorising appears to me to be a pure waste of time. One has only to look round the world as it is to-day, or for the matter of that within the confines of one's own country, to see how rapidly the people living for long periods in a certain part of the country develop distinct characteristics not only in physiognomy but in dialect. It is only the existence of the printing press which has, so to speak, stereotyped the languages of nations and prevented variations becoming fixed, variations and dialects which in days prior to the existence of printing presses were evolved into distinct languages. Take the British Isles for example, any part of them, Yorkshire, Scotland, Ireland, London, and note the difference between the spoken language of certain classes and the language as printed in newspapers and books. Given a nation isolated, or comparatively isolated, for many hundreds of years, it is difficult to say to what extent its language might be evolved or in what degree the few chance visitors thereto may introduce words which are readily adapted to or adopted in the language and influence it for all time. Take, for example, a word which any visitor to China or Japan must have heard over and over again, viz., "Joss," as applied to God. This is, as most people know, simply a corruption of the Portuguese name for the deity. I hope some philologist a few thousand years hence who may trace that word to its original source will not adduce therefrom that either the Chinese or the Japanese sprang from a Latin race. The most ancient Japanese writings date from the eighth century. These are Japanese written in Chinese characters, but the Chinese written language as also its literature and the teachings of the great Chinese philosopher, Confucius, are believed to have been introduced several hundreds of years previously. This contact with and importation from China undoubtedly had a marked effect in inducing what I may term atrophy in the development of the Japanese language as also the growth of its own literature, that is a literature entirely devoid of Chinese influences. Indeed it is impossible to speculate on what might have been the development of Japan and in what direction that development would have proceeded had she never come under the influence of the Chinese language, literature, religion, and artistic principles. I have not the slightest doubt myself, as I have said before, that the Japanese are of the same stock as the Chinese and Koreans. I have no theory in regard to the origin of the Ainos, who are most likely the aboriginal inhabitants. They are quite evidently a distinct race from the Japanese proper, although of course there has been some interbreeding between them. The language of Japan naturally suggests some reference to its literature, of which there is no lack, either ancient or modern. I have dealt with this matter in some detail in a subsequent chapter. The old literature of Japan is but little known to Europeans, and probably most Europeans would be incapable of appreciating or understanding it. It abounds in verbal artifices, and the whole habits of life and modes of thought and conception of things, material and spiritual, of the Japanese of those days were so totally different to those of the European as to render it almost unintelligible to the latter. There are, however, scholars who have waded through this literature as also through the poetry of Japan and have found great delight therein. In the process of translating an Oriental language, full of depths of subtlety of thought and expressing Oriental ideas in an Oriental manner, much, if not most, of its beauty and charm must be lost. That is, I think, why the Japanese prose and poetry when translated into English seem so bald and lifeless. We know by experience that even a European language loses in the process of translation which is, except in very rare instances, a purely mechanical art. How much more so must be the case in regard to an Oriental language with its depths of hyperbole and replete with imagery, idealism, and flowery illustrations. I have referred to the literature of modern Japan, the ephemeral literature, in a chapter on its newspaper press. The modern literature, whether ephemeral or otherwise, is distinctly not on Oriental lines. The influence of the West permeates it. Distinctive Japanese literature is, I imagine, a thing of the past, and I fear it will be less and less studied as time goes on. Young Japan is a "hustler," to use a modern word, and it has no time and mayhap not much inclination for what it perhaps regards as somewhat effete matter. It thinks hurriedly and acts rapidly, and it, accordingly, aspires to express its thoughts and ideas through a medium which shall do so concisely and effectively. Whatever the origin of the Japanese race or the Japanese language, whether the former came from the plains of Babylon, the heights of Africa, or from some part of the American Continent, or was evolved on the spot, one thing is certain--that the Japanese race and the Japanese language have been indelibly stamped on the world's history. The ethnologist may still puzzle himself as to the origin of these forty-seven millions of people and feel annoyed because he cannot classify them to his own satisfaction. The philologist may feel an equal or even a greater puzzle in reference to their language. These are merely speculative matters which may interest or amuse the man who has the time for such pursuits, but they are, after all, of no great practical importance. The future of a race is of more concern than its past, and, whatever the origin of a language may have been, if that language serves in the processes of development to give expression to noble thoughts, whether in prose or poetry, to voice the wisdom of the people, to preach the gospel of human brotherhood, it matters little how it was evolved or whence it came. It is because I believe that the Japanese race and the Japanese language have a great future before them in the directions I have indicated that I have dealt but lightly, I hope none of my readers will think contemptuously, with the theories that have been put forward in reference to the origin of both. CHAPTER IV THE RELIGIONS OF JAPAN, THEIR INFLUENCES AND EFFECTS Most persons in this country if they were asked what was the religion of the Japanese people would probably answer Buddhism. As a matter of fact, though Buddhism was introduced into Japan from Korea as far back as 552 A.D., it is not and never has been the preponderating religion in Japan. At the same time I quite admit that it has had a marked effect on the religious life of the people, and that it again has been influenced by the ancient Shinto (literally, "The way of the gods") belief of the Japanese people. This belief, a compound of mythology and ancestral worship, was about the first century largely encrusted by Confucian doctrines or maxims, mostly ethical, imported from China. Of the precise doctrines of Shintoism but little is even now known. It has apparently no dogmas and no sacred book. I am aware that there are the ancient Shinto rituals, called Nurito, and that in reference to them a vast amount of more or less erudite commentary has been written. The result, however, has not been very enlightening. I think that Kaemfer succinctly summed up the Shinto faith in reference to the Japanese people when he remarked, "The more immediate end which they propose to themselves is a state of happiness in this world." In other words, if this assertion be correct, Shintoism preaches utilitarianism. As to the origin of this religion there is very much the same uncertainty and quite as large an amount of theorising as is the case in reference to the Japanese race and language. The most generally received opinion is that Shintoism is closely allied with, if not an offshoot of, the old religion of the Chinese people prior to the days of Confucius. Originally Shinto was in all probability a natural religion, but, like all religious systems, it has developed or suffered from accretions until the ancient belief is lost in obscurity. The author of a now somewhat out-of-date book, entitled "Progress of Japan," asserts that the religion of the Japanese consists in a "belief that the productive ethereal spirit being expanded through the whole universe, every part is in some degree impregnated with it and therefore every part is in some measure the seat of the Deity; whence local gods and goddesses are everywhere worshipped and consequently multiplied without end. Like the ancient Romans and Greeks they acknowledge a supreme being, the first, the supreme, the intellectual, by which men have been reclaimed from rudeness and barbarism to elegance and refinement, and been taught through privileged men and women not only to live with more comfort but to die with better hope." Such a religion, however it may be described, seems to me to be in effect Pantheism. When Buddhism was introduced into Japan the Buddhist priesthood seems to have made no difficulty about receiving the native gods into their Pantheon. Gradually the greater number of the Shinto temples were served by Buddhist priests who introduced into them the elaborate ornaments and ritual of Buddhism. The result was a kind of hybrid religion, the line of demarcation between the ancient and the imported faith not being very clearly defined. Hence perhaps the religious tolerance of the Japanese for so many centuries, even to Christianity when first introduced by St. Francis Xavier. About the beginning of the eighteenth century there was something akin to a religious reformation in Japan in the direction of the revival of pure Shintoism. For a century and a half subsequently Shintoism held up its head, and eventually, as the outcome of the Revolution of 1868, which marked a turning-point in the history of Japan, Buddhism was disestablished and disendowed and Shinto was installed as the State religion. Simultaneously many thousand of Buddhist temples were stripped of their magnificent and elaborate ornaments and handed over to Shinto keeping; but the downfall of Buddhism was merely of a temporary nature. Nevertheless Shinto is, ostensibly at any rate, still the State religion. Certain temples are maintained from public funds and certain official religious functions take place in Shinto edifices. Buddhism, acclimatised though it has been in Japan for thirteen centuries, is still a foreign religion, but it has played, and to some extent still plays, an important part in the life and history of the nation, and it has, as I have said, materially influenced the ancient faith of Japan and in turn been influenced by it. I have no intention of describing, much less tracing, the history of Buddhism, whether in Japan or elsewhere. It is a subject on which many writers have descanted and in regard to which much might still be written. There is no doubt whatever that Buddhism as it exists to-day, whether in Ceylon, India, China, or Japan, is widely different from the religion of its founder. Many of its original doctrines were purely symbolical and poetical. These have been evolved into something they were certainly never intended to mean. That the principles of the Buddhist religion are essentially pure and moral no one who has any knowledge of it can deny. It preaches above all things the suppression of self, and it inculcates a tenderness and fondness for all forms of life. According to Griffis, "Its commandments are the dictates of the most refined morality. Besides the cardinal prohibitions against murder, stealing, adultery, lying, drunkenness and unchastity, every shade of vice, hypocrisy, anger, pride, suspicion, greediness, gossiping, cruelty to animals is guarded against by special precepts. Among the virtues recommended we find not only reverence of parents, care of children, submission to authority, gratitude, moderation in times of prosperity, submission in times of trial, equanimity at all times, but virtues such as the duty of forgiving insults and not rewarding evil with evil." This is a pretty exhaustive moral code, and though Buddhism has often been taunted with the fact that its followers do not practically carry out its precepts and live up to the level of its high moral teaching, Buddhism is not, I would suggest, the only religion against which such taunts can be levelled. The history of Buddhism ever since its introduction into Japan has been an eventful one. It has had its ups and its downs. It came into the country under royal auspices, it has nearly always enjoyed the royal favour, and I think its existence, during at any rate the first few centuries it was in the country, has been due to that fact rather than to any pronounced affection on the part of the mass of the people for it. One Emperor, Shirakawa by name, is recorded to have erected more than 50,000 pagodas and statues throughout the country in honour of Buddha. Many of these works are still, after many centuries, in an excellent state of preservation, and are of deep interest not only to the antiquarian but to any student of the religious history of a nation. The Buddhist priests, like the Jesuits in European countries, during many centuries captured and controlled education in Japan and showed themselves thoroughly progressive in their methods and the knowledge they inculcated. Art and medicine were introduced under their auspices and, whatever one may think of, or whatever criticism may be passed on the religion itself, it is impossible, in my opinion, to deny that Buddhism on the whole has had a vast and, I venture to think, not an unhealthy influence on every phase of Japanese national and domestic life. The strength and weakness of Buddhism have undoubtedly lain in the fact that it possessed and possesses no dogmatic creed. It concerned itself almost entirely with self-mastery, self-suppression, the duty of doing good in this world without looking forward to any reward for the same in the next. It preached benevolence in the true meaning of that word in every shape and form. It taught that benevolence was the highest aspiration of a noble spirit. Benevolence was, indeed, the master virtue, the crown, the coping stone, of all virtues. As the term is used in Buddhist teaching, it may be regarded as the synonym of love and a close study of the teaching of Buddhism on this subject must impress any thinking man strongly with the idea that it was very much the teaching of Christ in reference to the love of one's neighbour. Buddhism in Japan at any rate has not been conservative; it has gone the way of most religious systems, has been subject to development and has evolved from time to time different sects, some of which have held and preached dogmas which would, I think, have astounded, and I feel certain would have been anathematised by, the founder of Buddhism. The principal of the sects now existing in Japan are the Tendai, Shingon Yoko and Ken, all of which, I may observe, are of Chinese origin. Besides these there are the Shin and the Nichiren evolved in Japan and dating from the thirteenth century. Respecting the metaphysics of Buddhism and their effect on the Japanese people I cannot, I think, do better than quote from that great authority on all things Japanese, Mr. Basil Hall Chamberlain, whose writings have done so much, not only to awaken an interest in Japan but to give correct ideas respecting the life of the people. He remarks, in this connection, "The complicated metaphysics of Buddhism have awakened no interest in the Japanese nation. Another fact, curious but true, is that these people have never been at the trouble to translate the Buddhist canon into their own language. The priests use a Chinese version, the laity no version at all nowadays, though to judge from the allusions scattered up and down Japanese literature they would seem to have been more given to searching the Scriptures a few hundred years ago. The Buddhist religion was disestablished and disendowed during the years 1871-4--a step taken in consequence of the temporary ascendency of Shinto. At the present time a faint struggle is being carried on by the Buddhist priesthood against rivals in comparison with whom Shinto is insignificant: we mean the two great streams of European thought--Christianity and physical science. A few--a very few--men trained in European methods fight for the Buddhist cause. They do so, not as orthodox believers in any existing sect, but because they are convinced that the philosophical contents of Buddhism in general are supported by the doctrine of evolution, and that this religion needs therefore only to be regenerated on modern lines in order to find universal acceptance." The "Reformation" of 1868 in Japan followed much the same course in regard to religious matters as the Reformation in England. It laid vandal hands on Buddhist temples and ornaments of priceless value. The objective point of this religious Reformation was presumably very much the same as that which occurred in this country, viz., a reversion to simplicity in religion. The Shinto Temple which is invariably thatched is a development of the ancient Japanese hut, whereas the Buddhist Temple, which is of Indian origin, is tiled, and as regards its internal fittings and ornamentation is elaborate in comparison with the plain appearance of the Shinto edifice. So far as the Japan of to-day is concerned these two religions may be regarded as moribund, although their temples are still thronged by the lower classes of the people. They exist because they are there, but they have no vitality, no message for the people, and it is questionable whether any of Japan's great thinkers or the educated classes in the country, whichever religion they may nominally belong to, have faith or belief in it. A man may have, or for sundry reasons profess, a creed in Japan as in other countries without believing in it. Custom and prejudices are as strong there as elsewhere, and it is often easier to appear to acquiesce in a religion than to openly reject it. There are, I know, some optimistic persons who believe, or affect to believe, that Christianity is in due course destined to replace the ancient faiths in Japan. They point to what was effected by St. Francis Xavier in the sixteenth century, and they imagine that the Japan of the twentieth century is only waiting to finally unshackle itself from Shintoism and Buddhism before arraying itself in the garb of Christianity. Well, Christian missions have had a fair field in Japan for many years past, and though many members of those missions have been men of great piety, zeal, and learning, they have made comparatively little headway among and have exercised extremely little influence on the mass of the Japanese people. Indeed, the fair field that all Christian missions without distinction have had, in my opinion, accounts for the small amount of progress they have made. Because all the leading Christian denominations are there--Roman Catholicism, Church of England, Greek Church, Congregationalists, Methodists, Baptists, Salvation Army, Society of Friends, and others--all preaching and proclaiming their own particular dogmas and all lumped together by the Japanese under the generic title of Christians. The Japanese may, I think, be excused if he fails to differentiate between them. He views and hears their differences in dogma. He observes that there is no bond of union, and frequently considerable jealousy among these numerous sects. Each claims to preach the truth, and the Japanese concludes that as they cannot all be right they may possibly all be wrong. It is only on this assumption that it is possible to account for the little headway made by Christianity in Japan in view of the labour and money devoted by different religious bodies to its propagation for many years past. There is, let me add, no marked hostility to Christianity in Japan--only indifference. The educated Japanese of to-day is, I believe, for the most part an agnostic, and he views Shintoism, Buddhism, Christianity alike, except in so far as he regards the first two as more or less national and the last as an exotic. At the commencement of the seventeenth century the Japanese Christians are stated to have amounted in numbers to one million. At the present time it is doubtful if they total up to one hundred thousand. And this despite the splendid religious organisations that exist, the facilities that are given for the propagation of the Christian faith, and the opportunities which were certainly not in existence three hundred years ago. Into the causes of this comparative failure of Christianity in Japan to-day as compared with its marvellous progress in the sixteenth century, I do not propose to enter. The enthusiasm of a Francis Xavier is not an everyday event, and the Japanese of the sixteenth century was, mayhap, more impressed by the missionaries of those days, arriving in flimsy and diminutive vessels after undergoing the perils and hardships of long voyages, having neither purse nor scrip nor wearing apparel except what they stood up in, than he is by the modern missionary arriving as a first-class passenger in a magnificent steamer and during his residence in the country lacking none of the comforts or amenities of life. Or it may be that the Japanese mind has advanced and developed during the past three centuries, has now less hankering after metaphysical subtleties, and fails to comprehend or to sympathise with abstruse theological dogmas and doctrines. If Christianity appealed to him as in the days of Francis Xavier as the one faith professed by the Western world, it would probably impress him to a far greater extent than it does at present when, as I have before said, he views Christianity as a disorganised body composed of hundreds of sects each rejecting, and many of them anathematising, what the others teach. He considers there is no need for investigation until Christianity has itself determined what is the precise truth that non-Christian countries are to be asked to accept. Regarding the influence of the Buddhist and Shinto religions during the many centuries they have existed in the country on the lives of the people, I propose to make a few remarks. Too often one hears or reads of speakers and writers describing Japan as a country steeped in paganism and addicted to pagan habits and customs with all (somewhat indefinite this!) that they involve. To describe Buddhism as paganism merely shows a lamentable amount of ignorance; nor should I be inclined to include Shintoism in a term which, whatever its precise meaning, is invariably intended to be opprobrious! After all, any religion must be largely judged by its effects on the lives of its adherents, and judged by that standard I do not think, as regards the Japanese, either Buddhism or Shintoism ought to be sweepingly condemned. If many of the customs and practices of both religions seem silly or absurd; if either or both inculcate or lead to superstition, it can at least be said of both that they teach a high moral code, and that the average Japanese in his life, his family relations, his philosophy, his patriotism, his bodily cleanliness, and in many other respects, offers an example to other nations which deem themselves more highly civilised, which possess a purer religion and too often, with that lack of charity which is frequently the result of an excess of ignorance, unsparingly condemn the Japanese as "pagans" or "heathens." [Illustration: A CHERRY BLOSSOM PARTY FROM A PRINT BY HIROSHIGE] CHAPTER V THE CONSTITUTION--THE CROWN AND THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT A Constitution, if we are to accept the dogmatic assertions of those who have written with a show of learning on the subject, ought to be evolved rather than established by any parliamentary or despotic act. The history of the world certainly tends to prove that paper Constitutions have not been over-successful in the past. There assuredly has been no lack of them in the last century or so, and although some, if not all, of them have been practically tried, a very few have attained any considerable measure of success. The English Constitution has long been held up to the rest of the world by writers on Constitutional history as a model of what a Constitution ought to be, for the somewhat paradoxical reason that it is nowhere clearly, if indeed at all, defined. It is largely the outcome of custom and usage, and it is claimed for it that on the whole it has worked better than any cut-and-dried paper Constitution would have done. Nevertheless there does not appear to be any good and valid reason why a Constitution should not be as clearly defined as an Act of Parliament. Undefined Constitutions have worked well at certain periods when there was a tacit general consent as to their meaning, but they have not always been able to withstand the strain of fierce controversy and the coming into existence of factors which were undreamt of when these Constitutions were originally evolved, and definitions or additions or amendments thereto have, accordingly, become necessary. The promulgation of a Constitution for Japan in February, 1889, was an event of great interest to the civilised world. There were, of course, at the time a large number of persons who prophesied that this Constitution would go the way of many others that had preceded it--that it would, in fact, be found unworkable and, being so found, Constitutional Government in Japan would eventuate, as it had elsewhere, in the resumption of autocratic rule as the only alternative to anarchy. It is pleasing to be able to record that these prophecies have, after nearly eighteen years' experience, not been fulfilled, and that the Japanese Constitution, well thought out and devised as it was, seems not only likely to endure but is admirably adapted to all the circumstances and needs of the country. In order to fully comprehend the events that gradually led up to the establishment of Constitutional government in Japan, and the precise place of the Crown and aristocracy in that government, it is, I think, essential to make a rapid review of past events in that country. In ancient times the Mikado was both the civil ruler and the military leader of his people. Under him there were exercising authority throughout the land about 150 feudal lords. Feudalism of one kind or another prevailed in Japan until 1868. Towards the end of the sixteenth century the feudal principle was apparently on the decline. In the year 1600, however, Tokagawa Iyoyasu, with an army composed of the clans of the east and north defeated the combined forces of those of the west and south at the battle of Sakigahara and proclaimed himself Shogun. The feudal lords of the various clans throughout the country then became his vassals and paid homage to him. The Tokagawa family practically governed the country till the Revolution of 1868, when the present Emperor took the reins of government into his own hands and finally abolished feudalism and with it the authority of the Daimios. Many persons even now believe that the Shogun, or Tycoon as he was usually called in Europe, was a usurper. As a matter of fact he received investiture from the Mikado, and his authority was, nominally at any rate, a derived one. At the same time there is no doubt that the real power of the State was in his hands while the _de jure_ ruler lived in the capital in complete seclusion surrounded by all the appanages and ceremonial of royalty. Up to the year 1868 Japan was divided into numerous provinces governed by Daimios, or territorial lords, each of whom maintained large standing armies. They were all subject to the Shogun, while retaining the right to rule their particular provinces in ordinary matters. In 1868 the Shogun fell, and there can be little doubt his fall was to some extent brought about by the concessions which had been made to foreign Powers in regard to the opening of the country to foreign trade. In 1868 the Shogun repaired to Kyoto, the first time for 250 years, and paid homage to the Mikado. Feudalism was then, as I have said, abolished, the Emperor took the reins of authority into his own hands, formed a central Government at Tokio and reigned supreme as an absolute monarch. "The sacred throne was established at the time when the heavens and earth became separated." This has long been an axiom of Japanese belief, but it has been somewhat modified of late years, even the assertion of it by the Sovereign himself. A leading Japanese statesman who has written an article on the subject of the Emperor and his place in the Constitution has asserted that he is "Heaven descended, sacred and divine." I do not think that the modern Japanese entertains this transcendental opinion nor, indeed, do I find that the Emperor himself has of late years put forward any such pretensions. For example, in the Imperial proclamation on the Constitution of the Empire on February 11, 1889, the Emperor declared that he had "by virtue of the glories of our ancestors ascended the Throne of a lineal succession unbroken for _ages eternal_." Whereas in the Imperial Rescript declaring war against China on August 1, 1894, he contented himself with asserting that he was "seated on a Throne occupied by the same dynasty from _time immemorial_." The italics are mine, and the difference in the pretensions which I desire to emphasise is certainly remarkable. When granting a Constitution the Emperor, as has been and probably will be the custom of all monarchs so acting, declared that the legislative power belonged to him but that he intended to exercise it with the consent of the Imperial Diet. The convocation of the Diet belongs exclusively to the Emperor. It has no power to meet without his authority, and if it did so meet its acts and its actions would be null and void. In this respect the Diet is on precisely the same basis as the English Parliament. According to the Constitution the Emperor, when the Diet is not sitting, can issue Imperial ordinances which shall have the effect of law so long as they do not contravene any existing law. The article authorising these ordinances defines that they shall only be promulgated in consequence of an urgent necessity to maintain public safety or to avert public calamities, and all such ordinances must be laid before the Diet at its next sitting, and in the event of the same not being approved they become null and void. To my mind, one of the most interesting portions of the Constitution is that which lays down succinctly and tersely the rights and duties of Japanese subjects. In this section there are contained within about fifty lines the declaration of innumerable rights for which mankind in various parts of the world during many hundreds of years fought and bled and endured much suffering. Just let me mention a few of them. No Japanese subject shall be arrested, detained, tried or punished unless according to law. Except as provided by law the house of no Japanese subject shall be entered or searched without his consent. Except in the cases provided by law, the secrecy of the letters of every Japanese subject shall remain inviolate. The right of property of every Japanese subject shall remain inviolate. Japanese subjects shall enjoy freedom of religious belief. Japanese subjects shall enjoy liberty of speech, writing, publication, public meetings and associations. Japanese subjects may present petitions. We have in these few brief provisoes the sum total of everything that, in effect, constitutes the liberty of the subject. The Diet of Japan, like the Parliament of Great Britain, consists of two Houses--a House of Peers and a House of Representatives. The House of Peers is composed of (1) the members of the Imperial family, (2) Princes and Marquises, (3) Counts, Viscounts and Barons who are elected thereto by the members of their respective orders, (4) persons who have been specially nominated by the Emperor on account of meritorious service or by reason of their erudition, (5) persons who have been elected, one member for each city and prefecture of the Empire, by and from among the taxpayers of the highest amount of direct national taxes on land, industry, or trade, and who had subsequently received the approval of the Emperor. It will be seen that the members of the Imperial family, the Princes and Marquises, have an inalienable right to sit in the House of Peers, the latter rank on attaining the age of 25 years. In regard to Counts, Viscounts, and Barons there is no such right. Those ranks, like the Peers of Scotland and Ireland, meet together and select one-fifth of their number to represent them in the House of Peers for a term of seven years. Any subject over thirty years of age nominated by the Emperor for meritorious service or erudition remains a life member. Those returned by the cities and prefectures remain members for a period of seven years. It is provided by the Constitution that the number of members of the House of Peers who are not nobles shall not exceed the number of the members bearing a title of nobility. The question of the necessity for the existence of a second chamber and the composition thereof has been keenly debated in this and other countries of recent years. It seems to me that in this matter Japan has hit upon the happy mean. She has combined in her House of Peers the aristocratic or hereditary element in a modified degree with the principle of life membership by which she secures the services and counsel of the great intellects of the land, and such as have done the State good service in any capacity. At the same time she has not excluded the representative element from her second chamber--a fact which must largely obviate any possibility of the House of Peers becoming a purely class body. A second chamber so constituted must obviously serve an extremely useful purpose in preserving an equilibrium between political parties, in preventing the rushing through and passing into law of hastily considered measures. For the composition of her second chamber, Japan has taken all human means possible to obtain whatever is representative of the stability, the intellect, the enterprise and the patriotism of the country. The composition of the House of Representatives, which answers to our House of Commons, is as interesting as that of the Upper Chamber. When the Constitution was first promulgated the principle of small electoral districts obtained, one member being elected for each district. This system was found or believed to be faulty, and hence, after some years' experience, large electoral districts combined with a single vote have been instituted. It may be interesting to relate that both systems, the large and the small districts, were drafted by an Englishman, Mr. Thomas Hair. Cities whose population exceeds 30,000 are formed into separate electoral districts while a city with less than 30,000 inhabitants is, with its suburbs, constituted a district. The number of members allowed to each district depends on the population. For a population of 130,000 or under one member is allowed, and for every additional 65,000 persons above the former number an additional member is allotted. The number of members in the House of Representatives is 381, or little over half that of which our House of Commons consists. The population of the two countries is almost identical, and experience serves to show that the number of Members of Parliament in Japan is sufficiently numerous for all practical purposes and that any material addition thereto would be more likely to impede than to accelerate the wheels of legislative progress. Neither the Japanese Constitution nor the Electoral Law makes any provision for the representation of minorities, that aim of so many well-meaning persons in different countries. In Japan the majority rules as everywhere, and minorities must submit. Manhood suffrage is not yet a _fait accompli_ in Japan. Under the present law to qualify a Japanese subject to exercise the franchise he must pay 15 yen (about 30s.) or more, indirect taxation. Only a Japanese subject can vote at elections. No foreigner has any electoral rights, but if he becomes a naturalised Japanese subject he obtains all the privileges appertaining to that position. Each House of Parliament in Japan possesses a president and vice-president, who are elected by the members. The president of each House receives an annual allowance of 4,000 yen (about £400) and the vice-president 2,000 yen (about £200). The payment of Members of Parliament is in vogue in Japan. The elected and nominated, but not the hereditary, members of the House of Peers, and each member of the House of Representatives, receives an annual allowance of 800 yen (about £80). They are also paid travelling expenses in accordance with the regulations on the subject. It may be interesting to state that there is a clause in the Constitution which enacts that the president, vice-president, and members of the two Houses who are entitled to annual allowances shall not be permitted to decline the same! It says much for the estimate of patriotism entertained in Japan when the Constitution was promulgated that such a clause as this should have been considered necessary. Debate in both the Japanese Houses of Parliament is free and the proceedings public. There will be no occasion for the uprising of a Wilkes in Japan to obtain permission to publish Parliamentary Debates. The Constitution, however, contains a proviso for the sitting of either House with closed doors upon the wish of the president or of not less than ten members, the same being agreed to by the House, or upon the demand of the Government with or without the consent of the House. When in the former event a motion for a secret sitting is made, strangers have to withdraw from the House and the motion is voted on without debate. The proceedings of a secret meeting of either Chamber are not allowed to be published. The Japanese Constitution, which is certainly a document containing not only provisions of an epoch-making nature but most elaborate details in regard to even minor matters, includes in seven or eight lines one or two excellent rules in regard to what is termed "The Passing of the Budget." Under these rules, when the Budget is introduced into the House of Representatives the Committee thereon must finish the examination of it within fifteen days and report thereon to the House, while no motion for any amendment in the Budget can be made the subject of debate unless it is supported by at least thirty members. The Constitution of Japan, as I have remarked, contains a vast amount of detail. The framers of that Constitution seem to have been endowed with an abnormal amount of prevision. In fact they foresaw the possibility of occurrences and made provision for those occurrences that nations which are, or which consider themselves to be, more highly civilised have not yet taken any adequate steps to deal with. For example, Article 92 of the Constitution enacts that in neither House of Parliament shall the use of coarse language or personalities be allowed, while Article 93 declares that when any member has been vilified or insulted either in the House or in a meeting of a Committee he shall appeal to the House and demand that proper measures shall be taken. There shall, it is decreed, be no retaliation among members. The Constitution also contains several salutary regulations in reference to the disciplinary punishment of members. The establishment of a Parliament in Japan has produced parties and a party system. I suppose that was inevitable. In every country there is, and as human nature is constituted there always will be, two parties representative of two phases of the human mind: the party in a hurry to effect progress because it deems progress desirable, and the party that desires to cling as long as possible to the ancient ways because it knows them and has had experience of them and looks askance at experiments--experiments for which that somewhat hackneyed phrase a "leap in the dark" has long done service. I have no intention, as I said in the Preface, of dealing at all with Japanese politics. There is no doubt a good deal of heat, and the resultant friction, evoked in connection with politics in Japan as elsewhere. Perhaps this young nation--that is, young from a parliamentary point of view--takes politics too seriously. Time will remedy that defect, if it be a defect. At the same time, I may express the opinion that, however severe party strife may be in Japan, and though the knocks given and received in the course thereof are hard and some of the language not only vigorous but violent, the members of all parties have at heart and as their objective point the advancement of Japan and the good of the country generally. The Japanese Constitution, though not a very lengthy, is such an all-embracing document that in a hurried survey of it, it is possible to overlook many important features. It provides for the establishment of a Privy Council to deliberate upon important matters of State, but only when consulted by the Emperor. It enforces the responsibility of the Ministers of State for all advice given to the Emperor and decrees that all laws, Imperial ordinances and Imperial rescripts of any kind relating to affairs of State, must be countersigned by a Minister of State. The Constitution also defines the position, authority, and independence of the judges. That Constitution contains a proviso all-important in reference to the upright administration of the law, a proviso which it took years of agitation to obtain in this country, that no judge shall be deprived of his position unless by way of criminal sentence or disciplinary punishment. All trials and judgments of the court of law are to be conducted publicly. Provision is made, when there exists any fear of a trial in open court being prejudicial to peace and order or to the maintenance of public morality, for the same to be held in camera. I may add, before I take leave of the Constitution, with a view of showing how all-embracing as I have said are the various matters dealt with therein, that it defines and declares that the style of address for the Emperor and Empress shall be His, Her, or Your Majesty, while that for the Imperial Princes and Princesses shall be His, Her, Their, or Your Highness or Highnesses. In regard to no matter connected with Japan have I found so large an amount of misconception prevalent as in reference to the position of the Emperor of that country. The divine descent which is still sometimes claimed for the sovereigns of Japan and which has never, so far as I know, been officially repudiated, has caused some persons to regard the Emperor from a somewhat ludicrous standpoint. In this very prosaic and materialistic age, when very few persons have profound beliefs on any subject, the spectacle of one of the sovereigns of the earth still claiming a divine origin is one that appeals to the ludicrous susceptibilities of that vague entity "the man in the street." It is not well, however, that people should criticise statements in royal proclamations or in royal assertions too seriously. Even in this country there are documents issued from time to time bearing the royal sign manual which every one regards as interesting but meaningless formalities--interesting because they are a survival of mediæval documents which meant something some hundreds of years ago and still remain though their meanings have long since lapsed. And yet there are persons in this country who peruse such documents and know that they are simply words signifying practically nothing, who severely criticise the assertion of a long-used title by the Japanese Emperor upon issuing a royal proclamation. I am not aware whether his Imperial Majesty or his Ministers of State implicitly accept his divine descent, but this I do know--that those persons who regard the present Emperor of Japan as a State puppet, arrogating more or less divine attributes, are labouring under a profound delusion. There is no abler man in Japan at the present moment. There is no abler man among the sovereigns of the world. In fact, I should be inclined to place the Emperor of Japan at the head of the world's great statesmen. He is no monarch content to reign but not to govern, concerned simply about ceremonial and the fripperies and gew-gaws of royalty. He is a constitutional sovereign certainly. He has always shown the deepest respect for the Constitution ever since its promulgation, and never in the slightest degree attempted to infringe or override any portion of it. At the same time he is an effective force in the Government of Japan. There is nothing too great or too little in the Empire or in the relations of the Empire with foreign Powers for his ken. He, in a word, has the whole reins of government in his hands, and he exercises over every department and detail of it a minute and rigid supervision which is, in my opinion, largely responsible for the efficiency of the internal administration of the country as also for the place that Japan holds among the Great Powers of the world. I cannot leave a consideration of this subject without referring to the assistance rendered to the Emperor by, as also to the debt Japan owes to, some six or seven great men in that country whose names I shall not inscribe here because to do so would be to some extent invidious, several of whom do not, as a matter of fact, hold any formal position in the Government of the country. The wisdom of these men has been a great boon for such a country as Japan, and if she is not now as sensible of it as she ought to be future ages will, I feel sure, recognise the debt that Japan owes to them. Some persons with an intimate knowledge of Japan have told me that it is not, after all, a constitutional State but in effect, though not in name, an oligarchy. This word has in the past often had unpleasant associations, and one does not like to apply it in reference to the Government of a progressive and enlightened country. Still the word strictly means government by a small body of men, and if in those men is included the larger part of the wisdom of the country, and they exercise their power solely and exclusively for the benefit of the country, I am not certain that such a form of government is not the best that could be devised. Of course, humanity being as it is, an oligarchy, has its dangers and its temptations. I will say, however, of the wise men of Japan, the men to whom I have been referring and who whether in office or out of office have exercised, and must continue to exercise, a marked and predominant influence on the government of the country, that their patriotism has never been called in question, and no one has at any time suggested that they were influenced by self-seeking or other unworthy motives, or had any aspirations save the material and moral advancement of Japan and her elevation to a prominent position among the Great Powers of the world. CHAPTER VI THE PEOPLE--THEIR LIFE AND HABITS After all, the life of the people is the most interesting, as I think it is the most instructive, matter connected with any country. It is assuredly impossible to form a clear or indeed any correct idea in regard to a nation unless we know something of the manners and customs, the daily life, the amusements, the vices of its people. Unless we can, as it were, take a bird's-eye view of the people at work and at play, at their daily avocations in their homes, see them as they come into the world, as they go through life's pilgrimage, and, finally, as they pay the debt of nature and are carried to their last resting-place in accordance with the national customs, with the respect or the indifference the nation shows for its dead. If one is to arrive at a correct idea regarding the life and habits of the Japanese people it is, I think, essential to get away from the ports and large towns where they have been influenced by or brought much into contact with Europeans, and see them as they really are, free from conventionalities, artificialities, and the effects of Western habits and customs which have undoubtedly been pronounced in those centres where Europeans congregate. The house in Japan does not play the important part it does in this country. When a man in England, whatever his station in life may be, contemplates taking a wife and settling down, as the phrase goes, the home and the contents thereof become an all-important matter and one needing much thought and discussion. In Japan there is no such necessity. A Japanese house is easily run up--and taken down. The "walls" are constructed of paper and slide in grooves between the beams of the floor which is raised slightly above the ground. The partitions between the rooms can easily be taken down and an additional room as easily run up. The house is, as a rule, only one storey high. The carpets consist of matting only, and practically no furniture is necessary. A witty writer on Japan has aptly and wittily remarked that "an Englishman's house may be his castle, a Japanese's house is his bedroom and his bedroom is a passage." The occupant of this house sits on the floor, sleeps on the floor, and has his meals on the floor. The floor is kept clean by the simple process of the inhabitants removing their boots, or what do duty for boots, and leaving them at the entrance, so as to avoid soiling the matting with which the floor of each room is covered. This is a habit which has much to commend it, and is, I suggest, worthy of imitation by other countries. After all, the Japanese mode of life has a great deal to be said in its favour. It seems strange at first, but after the visitor to the country has got over his initial fit of surprise at the difference between the Japanese domestic economy and his own, he will, if he be a man of unprejudiced mind, admit that it certainly has its "points." The bulk of the population is poor, very poor, but that poverty is not emphasised in their homes to the same extent as in European countries. The house--a doll's house some irreverent people term it--with paper partitions doing duty for walls, white matting, a few cooking utensils costs only a few shillings. It can, as I have said, be taken down and run up easily, and enlarged almost indefinitely. The inhabitants sleep on the floor, and the bedding consists not as with us of mattresses, palliasses, and other more or less insanitary articles, but of a number, great or small, and elaborate or otherwise, in accordance with the means of the owner, of what I will term quilts. The Japanese pillow is a fearful and wonderful article. I can never imagine how it was evolved and why it has remained so long unimproved. It is made of wood and there is a receptacle for the head. The European who uses it finds that it effectually banishes sleep, while the ordinary Japanese is apparently unable to sleep without it. In most houses, however poor, a kakemono, or wall picture, is to be seen. It is usually the only decoration save an occasional vase containing flowers, and of course flowers themselves, which are in evidence everywhere. Light is, or used to be, given by a "lamp," a kind of Chinese lantern on a lacquer stand, the light being given by a rush candle. I am sorry, however, to say that these in some respects artistic lanterns are being generally replaced by hideous petroleum or kerosene lamps, not only ugly but a constant source of danger in these flimsy houses. The most important accessory of nearly all Japanese houses is the bath-room, or wash-house, to use a more appropriate term. The hot bath is a universal institution in the country, and nearly every Japanese man and woman, whatever his or her station in life, washes the body thoroughly in extremely hot water more than once daily. The Japanese, as regards the washing of their persons, are the cleanest race in the world, but many hygienic laws are set at defiance possibly because they are not understood. A gradual improvement is, however, taking place in these matters, and the cleanliness as regards the body and their houses, which is such a pleasing feature of the people, will no doubt extend in other directions also. Japanese houses are habitable enough in warm weather, but in winter-time they are, as might be expected, exceedingly cold, especially as the arrangements for warming them are of an extremely primitive nature. Those complaints which are induced or produced by cold are prevalent in the country. The food of the people is as simple as their houses, and as inexpensive. A Japanese family it has been calculated can live on about £10 a year. A little fish, rice, and vegetables, with incessant tea, is the national dietary. The people living on this meagre fare are, on the whole, a strong and sturdy race, but it is questionable if the national physique would not be vastly improved were the national diet also. I have touched on this matter elsewhere, so I need not refer to it further here. Tobacco is the constant consoler of the Japanese in all his troubles. Why he smokes such diminutive pipes I have never been able to understand. They only hold sufficient tobacco for a few whiffs, and when staying in a Japanese house the constant tap, tap, tap of the owner's pipe as he empties the ashes out prior to refilling it reminds one of the woodpecker. There are doubtless some persons, especially those persons who consider that to enjoy life a superabundance or even a plethora of material comforts are necessary, who, after reading a description of the home and fare of the Japanese peasant, will assume that his life is a burden and that he derives no enjoyment whatever from it. Nothing could be more erroneous. There is probably not a more joyous being on the face of the globe than the Japanese. His wants are few, and in that fact probably lies his happiness. He does not find his enjoyment in material things, but he has his enjoyment all the same, and I think on the whole that he probably gets more out of life and has more fitting ideas regarding it than the Englishman who considers an abundance of beef and beer its objective point. To me one of the most pleasing features of Japan is the fondness and tenderness of the Japanese of all ranks and classes for children. The Japanese infant is the tyrant of Japan, and nothing is good enough for it. The women, as most people know, carry their babies on their backs instead of in their arms. A baby is, however, not so for very long in Japan. Very young Japanese girls may be seen carrying their little baby brothers and sisters behind their backs, and thus learning their maternal duties in advance. The position of women in Japan, married women, is not so satisfactory as it ought to be. The laws in regard to divorce are, I think, too easy, and a Japanese possesses facilities for getting rid of his wife which does not tend to the conservation of home-life. The custom, which was at one time universal, of women blackening their teeth, has largely diminished, and will no doubt in due course become obsolete. The idea which underlay it was that the woman should render herself unattractive to other men. There was no object in having such an adventitious attraction as pearly teeth for her husband, who might be presumed to know what her attractions really were. The Japanese woman in her education has inculcated three obediences, viz., obedience to parents, obedience to husband, and after the death of the latter obedience to son. Although the Japanese girl comes of age at 14 she cannot marry without her father's consent until she is 25. The dress of the Japanese people is so well known that it is not necessary for me to describe it. The kimono is, I think, a graceful costume, and I am very sorry that so many women in the upper classes have discarded the national dress for European garments. Japanese women who wear the national costume do not don gloves. If their hands are cold they place them in their sleeves, which are long and have receptacles containing many and various things, including a pocket-handkerchief, which is usually made of paper, and sometimes a pot of lip-salve to colour the lips to the orthodox tint. The poorer classes, of course, do not go in for such frivolities. Talking of paper handkerchiefs reminds me of the innumerable uses to which paper is put in Japan; it serves for umbrellas and even for coats, and is altogether a necessity of existence almost for the great mass of the people. I have referred to the lack of what may be deemed material comforts in Japan, as also to the fact that the Japanese are a joyous race but that their enjoyment is not of a material nature. They are, in fact, easily amused, and their enjoyment takes forms which would hardly appeal to a less emotional people. In the large towns the theatre is a perennial source of amusement. I have referred to the theatre in the chapter dealing with the drama, and remarked therein that the excess of by-play, irrelevant by-play, in a Japanese drama was rather wearisome to the European spectator. Not so to the Japanese. He positively revels in it. The theatre is for him something real and moving. He has, whatever his age, all the zest of a youth for plays and spectacles. How far the Europeanising of the country, which is having, and is bound still further to have, an effect on dramatic art, will affect the amusements of the people and their proneness for the theatre remains to be seen. There is so far nothing approaching the English music-hall in Japan. Let me express a hope that there never will be. It is a long cry from the graceful Geisha to the inanities and banalities which appear to be the stock-in-trade of music-hall performances in this country. These appear to meet a home want, but I sincerely trust they will be reserved for home delectation and not be inflicted in any guise upon Japan. The matter of music-halls suggests some reference to the ideas of the Japanese in respect of music. The educated classes appear to have an appreciation of European music, but Japanese music requires, I should say, an educational process. Some superficial European writers declare that the Japanese have not the least conception of either harmony or melody, and that what passes for music in the country is simply discord. It might have struck these writers that criticism of this kind in reference to a most artistic people could hardly be correct. Any one who has listened to the Geisha or heard the singing of trained Japanese would certainly not agree in such statements as I have referred to. Japanese music is like Japanese art--it has its own characteristics and will, I am sure, repay being carefully studied. Festivals and feasts, religious and otherwise, which are many and varied, afford some relaxation for the people. There are, according to a list compiled, some 28 religious festivals, 16 national holidays, and 14 popular feast-days. New Year's Day is termed Shihohai, and on it the Emperor prays to all his ancestors for a peaceful reign. Two days subsequently, on Genjisai, he makes offerings to him and all his Imperial ancestors, while two days later still all Government officers make official calls. These are legal holidays. The 11th of February (Kigen Setsu) and the 3rd of April (Jimmu-Tenno-sai) are observed as the anniversaries respectively of the accession to the throne and the death of Jimmu-Tenno, the first Emperor. The 17th of October (Shinsho-sai) is the national harvest festival. On this day the Emperor offers the first crop of the year to his divine ancestor, Tenshoko Daijin. It may be interesting to record that the 25th of December (Christmas Day), is observed as a holiday by the Custom-house department "for the accommodation of foreign employees." The popular festivals are equally interesting and curious. The 3rd of March (Oshinasama), is the girls' or dolls' festival, while the 5th of May (Osekku), is the boys' festival, or Feast of Flags. A three days' festival, 13th-15th of July (Bon Matsuri), is the All Souls' Day of Japan in honour of the sacred dead. The 9th of September (Kikku No Sekku), is the festival of chrysanthemums, the national flower, and the 20th of November, appropriately near the Lord Mayor of London's day, is the festival held by the merchants in honour of Ebisuko, the God of Wealth. The Feast of Flags--the boys' festival--is one much esteemed by the Japanese people. On the occasion of it every house the owner of which has been blessed with sons displays a paper carp floating from a flagstaff. If a male child has come to the establishment during the year the carp is extra large. It is considered a reproach to any married woman not to have this symbol flying outside the house on the occasion of this feast. Why the carp has been selected as a symbol is a matter upon which there is much difference of opinion. The carp, it is said, is emblematic of the youth who overcomes all the difficulties that lie in his path during life, but I confess I rather fail to see what connection there is between this fish and such an energetic youth. On this day the boys have dolls representative of Japanese heroes and personages of the past as well as toy swords and toy armour. On the girls' festival--the Feast of Dolls--there is no outward and visible display. The fact of a girl having been born in the family is not considered a matter to be boasted of. On this feast there is a great display indoors of dolls. As a matter of fact dolls form a very important part of the heirlooms of every Japanese family of any importance. When a girl is born a pair of dolls are procured for her. Dolls are much more seriously treated than they are in European countries, where they are bought with the full knowledge that they will quickly be destroyed. In Japan the dolls are packed away for nearly the whole of the year in the go-down, and are only produced at this particular festival. I may add that not only the dolls themselves but furniture for them are largely in request in Japan, and that this dolls' festival is really a very important function in the national life. New Year's festival is the great day of the year in Japan. In this respect it approximates to our Christmas. Not only the houses but the streets are decorated, and every town in the land has at this particular season an unusually festive appearance. At this period visits are exchanged, and New Year's presents are the correct thing. On the Bon Matsuri, or All Souls' Day, the Japanese have a custom somewhat similar to that which obtains in Roman Catholic countries on the 2nd of November. On the first night of the feast the tombs of the dead during the past year are adorned with Japanese lanterns. On the second night the remaining tombs are likewise decorated, while on the third night it is the custom, although it is now somewhat falling into desuetude, for the relatives of the dead to launch toy vessels made of straw laden with fruit and coins as well as a lantern. These toy ships have toy sails, and the dead are supposed to sail in them to oblivion until next year's festival. These toy ships, of course, catch fire from the lanterns. Not so very many years ago the spectacle of these little vessels catching fire on some large bay was a very pretty one. I am afraid this feast has a tendency to die out--a fact which is greatly to be regretted, as there is behind it much that is poetical and beautiful. Wrestling, as most people know, is a favourite amusement of the Japanese, and wrestling matches excite quite as much interest as boxing used to do in this country. Of late years English people have taken much interest in Ju Jitsu. The Japanese style of wrestling is certainly peculiar, and training does not apparently enter so much into it as is considered essential in reference to displays of strength or skill in this country. One sometimes sees very expert Japanese wrestlers who are not only fat but bloated. The Japanese have long been celebrated archers, and archery, though it is largely on the wane, is much more in evidence than is the case in this country. It is an art in which a great many of the people excel, and archery grounds still exist in many of the towns. Marriages and christenings have important parts in the social life of the people. These ceremonies, however, are not quite so obtrusive as they are in Western lands. As regards christenings, if I may use such a term in reference to a non-Christian people, the first, or almost the first, ceremony in reference to the infant in Japan is, or used to be, the shaving of its head thirty days after birth, after which it was taken to the temple to make its first offering, a pecuniary one, to the gods. This shaving of babies is no doubt diminishing, at any rate in the large towns. Indeed, everything in regard to the dressing of and dealing with the hair in Japan is, if I may use the term, in a state of transition. [Illustration: STREET SCENE ON NEW YEAR'S DAY FROM A PRINT BY HIROSHIGE] Some writers on Japan have been impressed by the fact that the Japanese appear to be more concerned about the dead than the living. Ancestor worship plays an important part in the religious economy of Japanese life, and, as I have shown, the All Souls' Day in Japan is an important national festival. But the respect that these people have for their dead is not shown only on one or two or three days of the year; it may be deduced from a visit to any of their cemeteries. These are nearly always picturesquely situated, adorned with beautiful trees, and exquisitely kept in order. Indeed, the cemeteries are in striking contrast to those of European countries. The hideous and inartistic tombstones and monuments, the urns and angels, and the stereotyped conventionalities of graveyards in this country are all absent. There is usually only a simple tablet over each grave bearing the name of the deceased and the date of his death, and occasionally some simple word or two summing up succinctly those qualities he had, or was supposed to have, possessed. Near each grave is usually a flower-vase, and it is nearly always filled with fresh flowers. As I have remarked, flowers play an important part in the lives of the Japanese people, and with them no part is more important than the decoration of the graves of their dead. In England flowers also play an important part in connection with the dead--on the day of the funeral. It is then considered the correct thing for every one who knew the deceased to send a wreath to be placed upon his coffin. These wreaths, frequently exceedingly numerous, are conveyed to the cemetery, where they are allowed to rot on top of the grave. To me there is no more mournful sight than a visit to a great London cemetery, where one sees these rotting emblems, which quite palpably meant nothing save the practice of a conventionality. The Japanese, however poor his worldly circumstances may be, is not content with flowers, costly flowers on the day of the funeral; he places his vase alongside the grave of the departed, and by keeping that vase filled with fresh and beautiful flowers he sets forth as far as he possibly can his feeling of respect for the dead and the fact that the dead one still lives in his memory. One cannot study, however cursorily, the lives of the Japanese people on the whole without being convinced of the fact that there is among them not only a total absence of but no desire whatever for luxury. The whole conception of life among these people seems to me to be a healthy and a simple one. It is not in any way, or at any rate to any great extent, a material conception. The ordinary Japanese--the peasant, for example--does not hanker after a time when he will have more to eat and more to drink. He finds himself placed in a certain position in life, and he attempts to get the best out of life that he can. I do not suggest, of course, that the Japanese peasant has ever philosophically discussed this matter with himself or perhaps thought deeply, if at all, about it. I am merely recording what his view of life is judging by his actions. He, I feel confident, enjoys life. In some respects his life no doubt is a hard one, but it has its alleviations, and if I judge him aright the ordinary Japanese does not let his mind dwell overmuch on his hardships, but is content to get what pleasure he can out of his surrounding conditions. One very pleasing characteristic of the Japanese men and women to which I have already referred is the habit of personal cleanliness. In every town in the country public baths are numerous, and every house of any pretensions has a bath-room. The Japanese use extremely hot water to wash in. The women do not enter the bath immediately upon undressing, but in the first instance, throwing some pailsful of water over the body, they sit on the floor and scrub themselves with bran prior to entering the bath, performing this operation two or three times. Men do not indulge in a similar practice, and I have never been able to understand why this different mode of bathing should obtain in reference to the two sexes. In houses possessing a bath-room the bath consists merely of a wooden tub with a stove to heat the water. The bath is used by the whole family in succession--father, mother, children, servants. Shampooing also forms an important part of the Japanese system of cleanliness. It is not, as in this country, confined to the head, but approximates to what we term massage, and consists in a rubbing of the muscles of the body--a fact which not only has a beneficial effect physically, but is also efficacious in the direction of cleanliness. Nearly every house in Japan possesses a garden, and the garden is a source of perpetual delight to every Japanese. He is enabled to give full vent therein to his love of flowers. Some critics have found fault with Japanese gardens on account of their monotony. Miniature lakes, grass plots, dwarfed trees, and trees clipped and trained into representations of objects animate and inanimate are the prevailing characteristics. A similar remark might, however, be made in regard to the gardens of, say, London suburban houses, with this exception--that the Japanese gardens show infinitely more good taste on the part of the cultivators of them. These little gardens throw a brightness into the life of the people which it is impossible to estimate. In the chapter which I have devoted to the religions of the Japanese people, I have remarked that religion appears to be losing its influence upon the educated classes of the country, who are quickly developing into agnostics. No such remark can, however, be made in reference to the great mass of the Japanese people. For them religion is an actuality. Take it out of their lives and you will take much that makes their lives not only enjoyable but endurable. As a writer on Japan has somewhat irreverently observed, the Japanese "is very chummy with heaven. He just as readily invokes the aid of his household gods in the pursuit of his amours as in less illegitimate aspirations. He regards them as kind friends who will help, rather than as severe censors who have to be propitiated." The spiritual aspect of the Deity has not, I think, entered at all into the conceptions of the ordinary Japanese. His ideas in regard to God or the gods--his pantheon is a large and a comprehensive one--are altogether anthropomorphic. Every action of his life, however small, is in some way or other connected with an unseen world. In this matter, Buddhism and Shintoism have got rather mixed, and, as I have elsewhere said, if the founder of Buddhism were reincarnated in Japan to-day, he would find it difficult to recognise his religion in some of the developments of Buddhism as it exists in Japan. Nevertheless, this anthropomorphic idea of God, however it may fit the Japanese for the next world, undoubtedly comforts him in this. The religious festivals, which are numerous, are gala days in his life, and the services of religion bring him undoubtedly much consolation. But he does not of necessity go to a temple to conduct that uplifting of the heart which is, after all, the best service of man to the Creator. Every house has its little shrine, and although some superior persons may laugh at the act of burning a joss-stick, or some other trivial act of worship, as merely ignorant superstition, I think the unprejudiced man would look rather at the motive which inspired the act. If this poor ignorant native burns his joss-stick, makes his offering of a cake, lights a lamp in front of an image, or takes part in any other act which in effect means the lifting up of his soul to something higher and greater than himself that he can now only see through a glass darkly, surely he ought not to be condemned. At any rate I will pass no condemnation on him. Outside the accretions which have undoubtedly come upon Buddhism and Shintoism in the many centuries they have existed in Japan, I desire once more to emphasise the fact, to which I have previously made reference, that both these religions have had, and I believe still have, a beneficial effect, from a moral point of view, on the Japanese people. There is nothing in their ethical code to which the most censorious person can raise the slightest objection. They have inculcated on the Japanese people through all the ages, not only the necessity, but the advisability of doing good. Buddhism, in particular, has preached the doctrine of doing good, not only to one's fellow-creatures but to the whole of animate nature. These two religions have, in my opinion, placed the ethical conceptions of the Japanese people on a high plane. In my remarks on the people of Japan I do not think I can more effectually sum up their salient characteristics than has been done by the writer of a guide to that country. "The courtly demeanour of the people," he says, "is a matter of remark with all who visit Japan, and so universal is the studied politeness of all classes that the casual observer would conclude that it was innate and born of the nature of the people; and probably the quality has become somewhat of a national characteristic, having been held in such high esteem, and so universally taught for so many centuries--at least, it seems to be as natural for them to be polite and formal as it is for them to breathe. Their religion teaches the fundamental tenets of true politeness, in that it inculcates the reverence to parents as one of the highest virtues. The family circle fosters the germs of the great national trait of ceremonious politeness. Deference to age is universal with the young. The respect paid to parents does not cease when the children are mature men and women. It is considered a privilege as well as an evidence of filial duty to study the wants and wishes of the parents, even before the necessities of the progeny of those who have households of their own." I do not think that it is necessary for me to add much to these wise and pregnant remarks. The more one studies the Japanese people, the more I think one's admiration of them increases. They have, in my opinion, in many respects arrived, probably as the result of the accumulated experience of many ages, at a right perception and conception of the philosophy of life. Judged from the highest, and as I think only true, standpoint, that is the standpoint of happiness not in a merely material but in a spiritual form, they have reached a condition that but few nations have yet attained. They may provoke the pity of the man who believes in full diet and plenty of it, and who fails to comprehend how a people living on a meagre fare of fish and rice can be contented, much less happy, but the Japanese in his philosophy has realised a fact that happiness is something other than material, and that a man or woman can be largely independent of the accidentals of life and can attain a realisation of true happiness by keeping under the, too often, supremacy of matter over mind in the average human being. CHAPTER VII TRADE--COMMERCE--AND INDUSTRIES Nothing is perhaps so strongly indicative of the progress that Japan has made as the record of her trade and commerce. I have no intention of inflicting on my readers a mass of figures, but I shall have to give a few in order to convey some idea as to the country's material development of recent years. Japan, it must be recollected, is in her youth in respect of everything connected with commerce and industry. When the country was isolated it exported and imported practically nothing, and its productions were simply such as were necessary for the inhabitants, then far less numerous than at present. When the Revolution took place trade and commerce were still at a very low ebb, and the Japanese connected with trade was looked upon with more or less of contempt, the soldier's and the politician's being the only careers held much in esteem. For innumerable centuries the chief industry of Japan was agriculture, and even to-day more than half of the population is engaged thereon. Partly owing to religious influences, and partly from other causes, the mass of the people have been, and still are in effect, vegetarians. The present trade of Japan is in startling contrast with that of her near neighbour China, which, with an area about twenty-three times greater, and a population nearly nine times as large, has actually a smaller volume of exports. All the statistics available in reference to Japan's trade, commerce, and industries point to the enormous and annually increasing development of the country. Indeed, the trade has marvellously increased of recent years. Since 1890 the annual value of Japan's exports has risen from £5,000,000 to £35,000,000, the imports from £8,000,000 to £44,000,000. That the imports will continue in similar progression, or indeed to anything like the same amount, I do not believe. Japan of recent years has imported machinery, largely from Europe and America, and used it as patterns to be copied or improved upon by her own workmen. Out of 25 cotton-mills, for example, in Osaka, the machinery for one had been imported from the United States. The rest the Japanese have made themselves from the imported pattern. There were also in Osaka recently 30 flour-mills ready for shipment to the wheat regions of Manchuria. One of these mills had been imported from America, while the remaining 29 have been constructed in Osaka at a cost for each of not more than one-fifth that paid for the imported mill. Shortly after peace had been declared between Russia and Japan, the Marquis Ito is reported to have said to Mr. McKinley: "You need not be afraid that we will allow Japanese labourers to come to the United States. We need them at home. In a couple of months we will bring home a million men from Manchuria. We are going to teach them all how to manufacture everything in the world with the best labour-saving machinery to be found. Instead of sending you cheap labour we will sell you American goods cheaper than you can manufacture them yourselves." The Japanese Government seems to some extent to be going in for a policy of State Socialism. The tobacco trade in the Empire is now entirely controlled by the Government. The Tobacco Law extinguished private tobacco dealers and makers, the Government took over whatever factories it deemed suitable for the purpose, built others, and now makes a profit of about £3,000,000 sterling annually, while the tobacco is said to be of a superior quality and the workmen better paid than was the case under private enterprise. How far Japan intends to go in the direction of State Socialism I am not in a position to say. Many modern Japanese statesmen are quite convinced of the fact that the private exploitation of industry is a great evil and one that ought to be put a stop to. On the other hand, there are Japanese statesmen who are firmly convinced that the State control of industries can only result in the destruction of individual initiative and genius, with the inevitable result of reducing everybody to a dead level of incompetence. In this matter Japan will have, as other nations have had, to work out her own salvation. In the process of experiment many mistakes will no doubt be made, but Japan starts with this advantage in respect of State Socialism, precisely as in regard to her Army and Navy--that her statesmen, her leading public men, her great thinkers, have no prejudices or preconceived ideas. All they desire is that the nation as a whole shall boldly advance on that path of progress by the lines which shall best serve to place the country in a commanding position among the Great Powers of the world, and at the same time to promote the happiness, comfort, and prosperity of the people. The Japanese are great in imitation, but they are greater perhaps in their powers of adaptation. They have so far shown a peculiar faculty for fitting to Japanese requirements and conditions the machinery, science, industry, &c., necessary to their proper development. Japan is without doubt now keenly alive, marshalling all her industrial forces in the direction of seeking to become supreme in the trade and commerce of the Far East. The aim of Japanese statesmen is to make their country self-productive and self-sustaining. We may, I think, accordingly look forward to the time, not very far distant, when Japan will cease to import machinery and other foreign products for which there has hitherto been a brisk demand, when she will build her own warships and merchant steamers, as she now partially does, and generally be largely independent of those Western Powers of which she has heretofore been such a good customer. At the present time the chief manufactures of the country are silk, cotton, cotton yarn, paper, glass, porcelain, and Japan ware, matches and bronzes, while shipbuilding has greatly developed of recent years. The principal imports are raw cotton, metals, wool, drugs, rails and machinery generally, as well as sugar and, strange to say, rice. Japan exports silk, cotton, tea, coal, camphor and, let me add, matches and curios. The trade in the latter has assumed considerable proportions, and I fear I must add that much of what is exported is made exclusively for the European market. According to the latest figures, the country's annual exports amounted to about £35,000,000, and its imports to about £44,000,000. I venture to prophesy that these figures will ere long be largely inverted. Silk is the most important item of Japan's foreign trade. The rearing of silkworms has been assiduously undertaken from time immemorial, or "the ages eternal" according to some Japanese historians. Like so many other arts and industries of the country, silkworms are believed to have been introduced from China. For some time prior to the opening of Japan to European trade and influences the silk industry had rather languished owing to the enforcement of certain sumptuary laws confining the wearing of silk garments to a select class of the community, but so soon as Japan discarded her policy of isolation from the rest of the world the production of and demand for silk rapidly increased, and the trade in it has now assumed considerable dimensions. Strange to say, silk is still in Japan what linen was at one time in the North of Ireland--a by-industry of the farmer, a room in his house being kept as a rearing chamber for the silkworms, which are carefully looked after by his family. According to official returns, there are rather more than two and a half million families so engaged, and nearly half a million silk manufacturers. The largest part of the silk exported goes to the United States of America. Closely allied with the production of silk is the mulberry-tree, the leaves of which form the staple food of the silkworm. This plant is cultivated with great care throughout the country, and indeed there are many mulberry farms entirely devoted to the culture of the tree and the conservation of its leaves. Rice, as I have elsewhere stated, forms the principal article of food of the Japanese people. Japan at present does not produce quite sufficient rice for the consumption of her population, and a large quantity has, accordingly, to be imported. The danger of this for an island country has been quite as often emphasised by Japanese statesmen as the similar danger in respect of the wheat supply of Great Britain has been by English economists. Many practical steps have been taken on the initiative of the Japanese Government in the direction of improving the cultivation of rice, the irrigation of the fields, &c. As time goes on no doubt the food of the people will become more varied. Indeed, there has been a movement in that direction, especially in the large towns. A nation which largely lives on one article of diet, the production of which is subject to the vicissitudes of good and bad harvests, is, it must be admitted, not in a satisfactory position in reference to the food of its people. If rice is the national food, tea is emphatically the national beverage, despite the large consumption of saké and the increasing consumption of the really excellent beer now brewed in Japan. Like most other things, the tea-shrub is said to have been imported into Japan from China. Almost since the opening of the country, the United States has been Japan's best customer in respect of tea, and she has from time to time fallen into line with the requirements of the United States Government in regard to the quality of tea permitted to be imported into that country. For instance, when, in 1897, the United States Legislature passed a law forbidding the importation of tea of inferior quality and providing for the inspection of all imported tea by a fixed standard sample, the Tea Traders Association of Japan established tea inspection offices in Yokohama and other ports, and all the tea exported from the country was and still is passed through these offices. The tea is rigidly tested, and if it comes up to the required standard is shipped in bond to the United States. The quality of the tea is thus amply guaranteed, and it, accordingly, commands a high price in the American Continent. The value of the tea exported to the United States amounts to something like £1,200,000, and there are no signs of any falling off in the demand for it. Canada is also a good customer of Japan for the same article, but Great Britain and the other European countries at present take no Japanese tea. I do not know why this is the case as the tea is really excellent, and it has, as regards what is exported, the decided advantage of being inspected by experts and the quality guaranteed. The tea industry is undoubtedly one of great national importance, the total annual production amounting to about 65,000,000 pounds, the greater portion of which is, of course, consumed in the country. I have already referred to the importance of Japanese arboriculture, and to the steps taken by the Japanese Government in reference to the administration of forests and the planting with trees of various parts of the country not suitable for agriculture. The State at the present time owns about 54,000,000 acres of forests, which are palpably a very great national asset. I may mention that the petroleum industry is growing in Japan. The quantity of petroleum in the country is believed to be very great, and every year new fields are being developed. The consumption of oil by the people is considerable, and it is hoped that ere long Japan will be able to produce all that she requires. The petroleum is somewhat crude, providing about 50 per cent. of burning oil. Tobacco, as I have elsewhere remarked, is now a State monopoly, and forms a considerable item in the State revenue. The quality has much improved since the manufacture of it has ceased to be a private industry. The Japanese are inveterate smokers, and the intervention of the State in this matter, although it has been criticised by political economists in the country and out of it, and is undoubtedly open to criticism from some points of view, has, I think, been justified by results. The making of sugar from beetroot has been attempted in Japan, but the results have not been over-successful. The efforts in this direction are, however, being persisted in, and it is hoped that, especially in Formosa, the beet--sugar industry may develop in importance. The manufacture of paper in Japan has long been an important national industry. Paper has been and still is used there for many purposes for which it has never been utilised in European countries. Originally it was largely made from rice, and the mulberry shrub has also been used for paper manufacture. The rise and development of a newspaper press in Japan and the impetus given to printing has, of course, largely increased the demand for paper. This is being met by the adaptation of other vegetable products for the purpose of making paper, and it seems quite certain that Japan will be totally independent of any importation of foreign paper to meet the great and greatly increasing demand for that article in the country. Salt is, I may remark, a Government monopoly in Japan. No one except the Government, or some person licensed by the Government, is allowed to import salt from abroad, while no one can manufacture salt without Government permission. Salt made by salt manufacturers is purchased by the Government, which sells it at a fixed price. This particular monopoly has only recently been established, and the reason put forward for it is a desire to improve and develop the salt industry and at the same time to add to the national revenue. Whether a monopoly in what is a necessary of life is economically defensible is a question, to my mind, hardly open to argument. That the revenue of the country will benefit by the salt monopoly is unquestionable. As might have been expected, the opening up of Japan to Western influences has induced or produced, _inter alia_, some Western forms of political and social and, indeed, socialistic associations. The antagonism between capital and labour and the many vexed and intricate questions involved in the quarrel are already beginning to make themselves felt in Japan. It was, I suppose, inevitable. Labour is an important factor in an industrial nation like Japan, and there is already heard the cry--call it fact or fallacy as you choose--with which we are now so familiar in this country and on the Continent, that labour is the source of all wealth. Japan will no doubt, like other countries, sooner or later have to face a solution of the problems involved in these recurring disputes and this apparently deep-rooted antagonism between the possessors of wealth and the possessors of muscle. Already many associations have been established whose aim and object is to voice the sentiments of labour and assert its rights. Indeed, there is a newspaper, the _Labour World_, the champion of the rights of the Japanese workmen. So far the law in Japan does not regard with as tolerant an eye as is the case in this country labour demonstrations and the occasionally reckless oratory of labour champions. The police regulations forbid the working classes embarking in collective movements and demonstrating against their employers in the matter of wages and working hours. A suggestion of a strike of workmen is officially regarded with an unfriendly eye, and strikes themselves, picketing, and various other Western methods of coercing employers to come round to the views of the employed, would not at present be tolerated in Japan. No doubt these Western devices will assert themselves in time. The attempt to keep down the effective outcome of labour organisation in a country with an enormous labour population is not likely to be successful for long. Socialism is making great progress in Japan, and the State has, whether consciously or not, given it a certain amount of countenance by the steps it has taken in reference to the tobacco and salt industries, &c. The extent to which newspapers are now read in Japan--a matter I refer to more fully in another chapter--will undoubtedly tend to mould public opinion to such a degree that no Government could afford to resist it. [Illustration: RICE PLANTING, PROVINCE OF HOKI FROM A PRINT BY HIROSHIGE] The trade, commerce, and industries of Japan appear to me to be, on the whole, in a healthy and flourishing condition. In them, and of course in her industrious population, Japan possesses a magnificent asset. The country is rich in undeveloped resources of various kinds, the people are patriotic to a degree, and I feel sure that the additional burdens which the recent war with Russia has for the time entailed will be cheerfully borne. I am confident, moreover, that under the wise guidance of the Emperor and her present statesmen Japan will make successful efforts to liquidate her public debt, to relieve herself of her foreign liabilities, and generally to proceed untrammelled and unshackled on that path of progress and material development that, I believe, lies before her, and which will, I am sure, at no far-distant date place her securely and permanently in the position of one of the Great World Powers. CHAPTER VIII JAPAN'S FINANCIAL BURDENS AND RESOURCES There are a good many people, some so-called financial experts among the number, who are of opinion, and have expressed themselves to that effect, that the financial position of Japan is an unsound one. They depict that country as weighed down with a load of debt, mostly incurred for her warlike operations against Russia, and the revenue as largely mortgaged for the payment of the interest on that debt. Some of these experts have told us that the facility with which Japan was able to raise loans on comparatively moderate terms in the European money-markets, and the rush that was made by investors to subscribe to her loans, are matters which must have a baneful effect on the rulers of Japan. These latter, we are assured, found themselves in the position not only of being able to raise money easily, but of positively having to refuse money which was forced upon them by eager investors when the Japanese loans were put upon the market. The result was, so it has been said, to encourage extravagance in expenditure and to lead Japan to suppose that whenever she wanted money for any purpose she had only to come to Europe and ask for it. The financial experts who so argue, if such puerile assertions can be dignified by the name of argument, talk as if Japan were like a child with a new toy. The Japanese statesmen--in which term I of course include the Mikado, one of the world's greatest statesmen--are by no means so simple as some of these financial experts would have us believe. Indeed, I will go further, and venture to assert that the statesmen are far more astute than the experts. The former emphatically know what they are about, financially and otherwise, and they are assuredly in no need of any Occidental giving them a lead in the matter. If I desired to adduce any evidence on that head I need only point to the _Financial and Economical Annual of Japan_, published every year at the Government printing office in Tokio. This exhaustive work deals with the different departments of Government. The section I have before me, which is for the year 1905, treats of the Department of Finance and it certainly serves, and very effectively serves, to show that the Japanese are not, as they so often have been depicted, children in matters of this kind. This Government handbook is not only exhaustive but illuminative. Published in English, everything of which it treats is explained in simple and concise language. There is an entire absence of that official jargon which tends, even if it is not intended, to render Government publications in this country unintelligible to the ordinary reader. The plain man who peruses this Japanese year-book can at least understand it, and he will, among other things, grasp the fact that the Japanese have got the whole question of finance in all its ramifications at their fingers' ends. The total National Debt of Japan in 1905 amounted to 994,437,340 yen, or, roughly, £100,000,000 sterling--a sum which the publication I have referred to works out to be at the rate of 19.548 yen, or about 39s. per head of the population. Of the debt some £43,000,000 was incurred to defray a part of the cost of the war with Russia. As an indication of the estimate of the credit of Japan within her own territory as well as abroad, I may record the fact that the Exchequer Bonds which were issued in the country in 1904 and 1905 for the purpose of defraying the extraordinary expenses of the war were largely over-subscribed, the first issue to the extent of 452 per cent., the second 322 per cent., the third 246 per cent., and the fourth 490 per cent.--a record surely! Abroad Japan's loans were no less successful. The three issues made in Europe during the war were literally rushed for by the investing public, with the result that whereas in May, 1904, Japan offered for subscription a loan of £10,000,000, the issue price being £93 10s. and the rate of interest 6 per cent., in March, 1905, despite the fact of two previous loans and the exhaustion of the country incidental to a long and expensive war, she was able to place on the market a loan of thirty millions at 4½ per cent. interest, the issue price being £90. A National Debt which amounts to less than £2 per head of the population compares very favourably with that of Great Britain, which totals up to something like £19 per head, leaving out of account the immense and yearly growing indebtedness of our great cities and towns. Furthermore, almost the whole of the National Debt of this country, as of the European Powers generally, has been incurred not only for unproductive, but as a matter of fact for destructive purposes. The vast loans of Europe have been raised for the purpose of waging bloody wars, some at least of which history has pronounced to have been gigantic, not to say wicked, blunders. Much of the National Debt of Japan, on the contrary, has been incurred for useful, productive, and even remunerative purposes--improving the means of transport, constructing railways, &c. The various loans outstanding up to the year 1887, on which Japan was paying very high rates of interest, as much as 9 per cent. on one foreign loan, were in that year converted and consolidated by the issue of a loan bearing interest at the rate of 5 per cent. per annum--a proceeding which materially improved Japan's financial position and demonstrated that her credit stood high. The war with China in 1894-5 necessitated fresh borrowing to the amount of over £12,000,000. Subsequent loans were issued in order to extend the railway system of the country and so develop its trade, for such public works as the establishment of a steel foundry, the extension of the telephone system, the introduction of the leaf tobacco monopoly, for the development of Formosa and, another most important matter, the redemption of paper-money. In the early days of her expansion Japan suffered greatly from the evils of inconvertible paper-money and strenuous efforts had for a long time been made by the Government for the redemption of the paper-money and the improvement of the general financial condition. In 1890 it was found that the reserve fund kept in the Treasury for the exchange of paper-money of 1 yen and upwards was insufficient to meet the demand. To meet this emergency, the maximum amount of convertible bank-notes issued by the Bank of Japan against securities was increased from 70,000,000 yen (£7,169,927) to 85,000,000 yen (£8,706,340), of which sum 22,000,000 yen were advanced to the Government without interest. This sum added to the original reserve fund of 10,000,000 yen (£1,024,275) was employed for completing the redemption of paper-money of 1 yen and upward. Subsequent loans for the purposes of the war with Russia I have already referred to. Besides funded Japan has also, like this country, had experience of unfunded debt in the shape of Treasury Bills, temporary loans from the Bank of Japan, &c. Financial operations of this kind are, however, I imagine, necessary for all Governments to meet current expenses. To briefly recapitulate Japan's indebtedness and borrowings generally up to the end of March, 1905, these amounted to, in all, £140,045,030, of which sum £38,187,369 has from time to time been paid off, leaving a balance of £101,857,661 owing by the nation. When we consider that for this large, but not unduly large, sum Japan has waged two considerable wars, and raised herself to the position of a great naval and military Power, that she has developed and organised a magnificent Army, provided herself with a strong, efficient, and thoroughly up-to-date Navy, has constructed railways and public works, and generally has placed herself in a capital position to work out her own destiny free from the fear of foreign interference, I altogether fail to see how she can be accused of financial extravagance. There is certainly no extravagance in the administration of her finances. London might, I suggest, learn much from Tokio in this matter. The system of financial check and thorough and rapid audit of public accounts is in Japan as near perfection as anything of the kind can be. Though the late war did produce, as I suppose all wars do, peculation, most of it was discovered and the punishment of the culprits was sharp and decisive. There was no opportunity for financial scandals in the campaign with Russia such as occurred during the South African War. Every country, of course, produces rogues, and war seems, _inter alia_, to breed roguery on a large scale, but in the Japanese methods of finance the checks are so effective that roguery in the public services has a bad time of it in war as well as in peace. As I have already remarked, I am of opinion the debt of Japan is by no means excessive, especially in view of the fact that a large part of it has been devoted to purposes which are profitable. The debt works out, as I have shown, at something under £2 per head of the population, and that population is steadily increasing. That Japan is well able to pay the interest on her debt there can be no question whatever, and that when the present debt becomes due for redemption she will be able to raise the necessary funds for that purpose on terms even more favourable than those at which she has hitherto placed her loans I am confident. I must emphasise the fact, since so many persons seem to be oblivious of it, that this is no mushroom South American Republic borrowing money merely for the purpose of spending it on very unproductive and occasionally very doubtful objects, but a Great World Power sensible of its obligations, sensible likewise of the policy and necessity of maintaining the national credit, and confident that the national resources and the patriotism of its people will enable it not only to bear the present financial burdens but even greater, should these be found necessary for the defence of the country or for its development. The ability of a nation as of an individual to discharge its debts depends of course upon its resources. No man possessing even a perfunctory knowledge of the resources of Japan would surely venture to express alarm at the increase in her debt and scepticism as to her being able to meet the annual interest on that debt as well as the constantly increasing expenses of administration. The resources of the country have, in my opinion, as yet scarcely been realised, and certainly have not been anything like fully developed. And when I use the word resources I do not employ it as it is so often employed in respect of minerals, although the mineral wealth of Japan is considerable. Her resources, as I estimate them, are to be found in her large and rapidly increasing population--a population perhaps the most industrious in the world, persevering, enterprising, methodical, and performing, whatever be its appointed task, that task with all its might as a labour of love, in fact, not as the irksome toil of the worker who is a worker simply because he can be nothing else. It is this great industrial hive which in the near future will supply China and other Eastern countries with all, or nearly all, those articles they now obtain elsewhere. What I may term the European industries of Japan have of recent years been largely developed or evolved. Take, for example, an item, insignificant in one way--that of matches. In 1904 matches to the value of 9,763,860 yen, or, roughly, one million sterling, were exported, and, strange to relate, European clothing to the value of 287,464 yen. The glib people who talk about Japan biting off more than she can chew, and with a light heart borrowing money she will find a difficulty in repaying, have apparently not grasped the fact that Japan possesses many very eminent financiers who have quite as much, if not more, claim to be considered financial experts than some of those gentlemen who pose in that capacity here in England. The Japanese financiers have, moreover, the advantage of an intimate knowledge of their own country and its potentialities. The Japanese Government has always had the benefit of the advice of these singularly able men, and the result has been that its financial operations of recent years at any rate have invariably been well organised and skilfully and economically effected. I cannot speak too highly of the capacity shown by the Japanese in everything relating to banking. The Banks--of course I refer to the National Banks and not to the European Banks having branches in the country--have very quickly attained a high status in the International Banking world, and are undoubtedly on a very firm financial basis. And there are many great houses in Japan which, although not ostensibly bankers, cannot be left out of consideration in any remarks on this head. They occupy a position somewhat analogous to that of the Rothschilds in this country. Let me take for example the house of Mitsui, the name of which constantly crops up in Japanese finance. The history of this ancient house has much that is picturesque about it, reminding one of the old merchant princes of Venice. The family originally belonged to the Jujiwara clan, and its origin is traced back to a certain Mitsui who lived as a feudal lord in the fifteenth century. At the time of the fall of the Ashikaja Shogun he lived in a state of perpetual war, and the god of war was not propitious to him. He retired to a neighbouring village and became the overlord of the district. He was succeeded by his son, who removed to Matsusuzaka, where he settled down as a private citizen and man of business, and laid the foundations of the present Mitsui house. In the middle of the sixteenth century his descendant became a merchant. His son moved to Kyoto, where he started a large goods store, which is represented in Tokio to-day by the Mitsui Hofukuten. Subsequently, at the beginning of the seventeenth century, a member of the same house invented and introduced the system of retailing for cash, which was an absolute revolution of business methods at that time in Japan. In addition to that he organised an excellent system for the remittance of money from one part of the country to the other, as also a carrier's business--two very remarkable facts when one remembers in what a primitive and elementary condition of development the monetary business of Japan was at that period. In the year 1687 the Mitsuis were appointed by the Government purveyors and controllers of the public exchange, and in recognition of the excellent manner in which the duties were performed, they were given the grant of a large estate in Yeddo. In 1723 the head of the family, carrying out the verbal wishes of his father, assembled his brothers and sisters and then and there drew up in writing a set of family rules which have ever since been practically the articles of association of the house of Mitsui. These rules embodied on business-like lines and in business-like language the principle that the family and not the individual forms the ultimate union in Eastern life. It was not one or the other of the six brothers of which the family consisted when these rules were drawn up that was to trade, but the whole family as one unit. There was to be unlimited liability as far as the property of each one was concerned, and the profits of all were to be divided. This agreement is the identical one under which the great house of Mitsui is run to-day. Under it the family prospered exceedingly, so that when Japan decided to take on some portion of Western civilisation, the Mitsuis acted as the principal financial agents of the Government, and it was mainly owing to the enormous financial resources of the house placed by them at the disposal of the Government that the country was enabled at the period of the revolution to pass successfully through what might have been a most disastrous crisis. As some reward for the great services rendered at the time, the present head of the house was created a peer. Since the opening of Japan to Western influence the business of the Mitsuis has enormously increased, and has been extended in various directions. In 1876 their money exchange business was converted into a Bank on the joint stock system, but with unlimited liability as far as the Mitsui family was concerned. In the same year, for the purpose of engaging in general foreign trade, the Mitsui Bussan Kwiasha was formed, better known in Europe and America as Mitsui & Co. In 1899 the family acquired from the Government the concession of the Meike coal-mines, and there was then formed the Mitsui Kaishan, or Mining Department, which has the management of this mining concession together with many others which have since been acquired. To-day the house of Mitsui consists of eleven families under a system of joint liability bound together by the old rules drawn up close upon two centuries back. The wealth of the collective families is unquestionably great, and the confidence of the people of Japan in this great financial firm is shown by the immense amount of money it holds on deposit. In one or other branches of their varied businesses they give employment to a very large number of persons. They have initiated an exceedingly interesting system of insurance for their employees. Each is allowed 10 per cent. interest on his wages up to three years on condition of its being deposited in the Mitsui Bank, with the proviso that the sum shall be forfeited in case of the embezzlement of any of the Company's money. During the late war, as well as in that with China, the Mitsui house had immense transactions with the Government in providing war material, steamers for transport, supplies, &c., and their magnificent organisation enabled them to carry out their various undertakings without the slightest hitch. I may also add that the name of Mitsui headed the various charitable funds which were started in the country in connection with the war. I am sure that this necessarily imperfect sketch of this famous Japanese house will convince my readers of the fact that in finance, as in other respects, Japan has already shown a capacity for holding her own with Western nations. I have headed this chapter "Japan's Financial Burdens and Resources," but I am not quite sure that the word "burdens" is not a misnomer. Japan appears to me--and I may claim to have studied the matter with some little attention--to have no financial burdens, if burdens be taken to mean something that is inconveniently felt, that is difficult to carry. There is here no people weighed down under the crushing incubus of debt. There is a springiness and alertness, a go-ahead energy about the nation--symptoms not usually connected with the carrying of burdens. Japan seems to me to be in somewhat the same position in regard to finance as France was after the close of the war with Germany when the former nation found itself saddled with a tremendous debt incurred for war expenditure and the indemnity which had to be paid to the conquering nation. The fact, however, as we all know, instead of depressing the French people seems to have put the whole country on its mettle, with the result that the heavy interest of the enormous debt was easily met and effective steps taken to reduce the principal. The borrowings of Japan in Europe in the future are likely to be small, because she will be able to obtain what she needs at home, and provided she is not drawn into any war she will find her expanding revenue sufficient not only for the current expenses of administration as well as for the interest on her debt, but over and above all this enabling her year by year to provide a sinking fund which will in due course materially reduce even if it does not entirely extinguish the national indebtedness. In my opinion Japan can look forward to its financial future with equanimity. In regard to its financial past it has the satisfaction of thinking that heavy in one sense though its financial obligations be they have not at any rate been squandered for unworthy purposes. CHAPTER IX EDUCATION In England a vast amount was last year heard respecting education. Speakers on platforms and writers in newspapers and other periodical literature day by day and week by week for many months kept pouring forth words, words, words on this matter. It is not my intention to refer at all beyond what I have said to the somewhat lively education controversy in England which even as I write is by no means ended. Any such reference would be out of place in a book of this kind, and even were it not I confess I have no inclination whatever to rush into this particular fray. But it seems to me a curious fact that other countries, Japan amongst the number, have long since settled, and apparently settled satisfactorily, a problem which here in England is still under discussion, acrid discussion, and is yet quite evidently far from being permanently solved. The provisions and arrangements a nation has made for the education of its youth are, to my mind, an excellent test of the precise standard to which its civilisation has attained; because the future of a nation is with its youth, and that future must largely depend on the extent to and the manner in which its youth have been taught not only all those subjects which are commonly classified as knowledge but their duties and responsibilities as citizens. Judged by this test, Japan has every right to rank high among the nations of the world. And it can also be said of her in this matter that the education of her people is no new thing. It is not one among the many things she has learned from the West. Education was in vogue in Japan when that country was isolated from the rest of the world. Certainly Japan's contact with Europe and America has vastly improved her educational system, enabling her, as it has done, to utilise to the full the great advance there has been in scientific knowledge of every description during the last half-century or so. But, as far back as the seventh century, if history or tradition be correct, an educational code was promulgated in Japan. Certainly this code was limited in its application to certain classes, but education was gradually extended throughout the country, and even in days somewhat remote from the present time every member of the Samurai class was expected to include the three R's, or the Japanese equivalent of them, in his curriculum. The ordinary Samurai was, in fact, as regards reading and writing an educated man at a time when British Generals and even British Sovereigns were somewhat hazy in regard to their orthography and caligraphy. Soon after the Revolution of 1868 a Board of Education was instituted in Japan, and the whole educational system of the country--because one had existed under the rule of a Tycoon--was taken in hand and reorganised. Three years later a separate Department of Education was formed at a time almost synonymous with the setting up of School Boards in England. As soon as it got itself into working order the Education Department despatched a number of specially selected Japanese to various European countries as well as to the United States of America to inquire into and report upon the system of education in existence and its suitability for adaptation or adoption in Japan. When these representatives returned from their mission and sent in their reports a code was compiled and the Mikado, in promulgating it, declared the aims of his Government to be that education should be so diffused throughout the country that eventually there might not be a village with an ignorant family nor a family with an ignorant member. It was a noble ideal, and I may remark that, though of course it has not been realised in all its fulness and probably will not be for very many years to come, it has been to a larger extent attained than a somewhat similar ideal which the late Mr. Forster is supposed to have entertained in reference to the effect of the Education Act which established a system of compulsory education for England and Wales. In succeeding years various changes were made in the system of national education, and in 1883 that which now exists was brought into force. This is in effect compulsory education. Since education was first organised on any plan in Japan the number under instruction has steadily risen, and at present more than 90 per cent. of the children regularly attend school. In 1873 the number was 1,180,000; it is now over 5,000,000. There are about 29,000 primary schools, of which about 6,500 are higher primary schools with a million pupils. The total cost of the primary schools is somewhere about £3,000,000. The question will no doubt be asked, What kind of education do these 5,000,000 pupils receive, and to what extent is it adapted to make them good citizens of a great Empire? The subjects taught in the ordinary primary schools embrace morals, the Japanese language, arithmetic and gymnastics. One or more subjects, such as drawing, singing, or manual work may be added, and, in schools for females, sewing. In the higher primary schools the subjects of instruction include morals, the Japanese language, arithmetic, Japanese history, geography, science, drawing, singing, and gymnastics, and, in schools for females, sewing. Besides these agriculture, commerce, and manual work, as well as the English language, are optional subjects. The moral lessons taught in these schools, I may remark, are not based upon any particular religious doctrines or dogmas, but are entirely and absolutely secular. Children have to be 6 years of age before commencing their scholastic education, and have to remain at school until they have attained 14 years. The parents or guardians of children are compelled to send them to school to complete, as a minimum of education, the ordinary primary school course. Education in the higher primary schools is not compulsory, and it is, accordingly, a pleasing fact that 60 per cent. of those children who have passed through the ordinary schools voluntarily go to the higher primary schools. Every municipal or rural community is compelled to maintain one or more primary schools sufficient, as regards size and the number of the staff, to educate all the children in the district. The establishment of higher primary schools is voluntary, and that so many of them are in existence is ample proof that the benefit of higher education is fully appreciated in Japan. Instruction in all the schools is practically free. No fee may be charged save with the consent of the local governor, and when one is imposed it must not exceed the equivalent of 5d. per month in a town school and half that sum in a rural school. As regards secondary education, it is compulsory for one school to be established in each of the forty-seven prefectures into which Japan is divided. The course of study at the secondary schools extends over five years, with an optional supplementary course limited to twelve months. The curriculum of the secondary school embraces morals, the Japanese and Chinese languages, one foreign language, history and geography, mathematics, natural history, physics and chemistry, the elements of law and political economy, drawing, singing, gymnastics, and drills. The course of study is uniform in all Japanese schools. Candidates for admission to the secondary schools must be over 12 years of age, and have completed the second year's course of the higher primary school. There are about three hundred of the secondary schools in existence--a number, as will be seen, six times as large as that obliged to be established by law. The pupils number over a hundred thousand and the cost approximates £500,000. There are also 170 high schools for girls besides normal schools in each prefecture designed to train teachers for the primary and secondary schools. The course of study in these schools is for men four years, for women three years. The whole of the pupils' expenses, including the cost of their board and lodging, is paid out of local funds. There are also higher normal schools designed to train teachers for the ordinary normal schools. It will thus be seen that there is a systematic course of education for what I may term the common people in Japan, extending from the higher normal to the ordinary primary school. There are besides in Japan higher schools, the object of which is to prepare young men for a University education. The expense of these schools is entirely borne by the State. Japan prides herself, and justly, in being unique in the possession of such schools. The course of study in them extends over three years and is split up into three departments. The pupils select the particular department into which they desire to enter, and their selection, of course, depends on the precise course of study they intend to take up on entering the University. The first department is for those who propose to study law or literature, the second for those who mean to go in for engineering, science, or agriculture, and the third for aspirants as medical men. Candidates for admission to these schools must be over 17 years of age and have completed the secondary school course. A reference to these higher schools naturally leads up to the Imperial University of Tokio, as well as the kindred University at Kyoto. There are six colleges in the former, viz., law, medicine, engineering, literature, science, and agriculture, while Kyoto University possesses four colleges, viz., law, medicine, literature and science, and engineering. When the Imperial University was established almost all the Professors therein were Europeans or Americans, but there has been a material alteration in this respect, and now the foreign Professors are few. Most of the Japanese instructors have, however, been educated abroad. The course of study extends over four years in the case of students of law and medicine, and three years in the case of students of other subjects. There is not the same freedom in regard to study as exists at Oxford, Cambridge, and some other more or less leisurely seats of learning. In the Japanese Universities the students have to enter upon a regular prescribed course of study with some few optional subjects. The Universities confer degrees in law, medicine, engineering, literature, science, and agriculture. The examinations leading up to and for the degrees are much more severe than those in any University in this country, with the possible exception of that of London. It may interest my readers to learn that the largest number of degrees are taken in law, the smallest in science. We have heard a great deal of recent years respecting technical education in Great Britain, which many persons suggest is at a very low ebb. For what is in one sense a new country, Japan seems to have taken steps to provide an excellent system of technical education. There are a small number of State higher technical schools, agricultural, commercial, and industrious. Technical schools of lower grades are maintained by prefectures and urban bodies, and they receive grants in aid from national funds. There are in all about four hundred technical schools in the country. The few facts respecting education in Japan which I have put as tersely as possible before my readers, should, I think, convince them of the fact that in regard to this all-important question Japan has made and is making vigorous efforts--and efforts all of which are in the right direction. It must be remembered that in the education of her youth she has to face difficulties which are altogether unknown in this as in other European countries. One of these difficulties is the fact that Japanese literature is more or less mixed up with Chinese literature, and, accordingly, it is necessary for the Japanese to learn Chinese as well as Japanese characters, and also to study the Chinese classics. Another difficulty is the one I touched on in my remarks on the Japanese language, viz., the difference between the written and spoken languages of Japan. In old times the written and spoken languages were no doubt identical, but Chinese literature influenced the country to so great an extent that the written language in time became more and more Chinese, while the spoken dialect remained Japanese. The consequence is that the written language is more or less a hotch-potch of Chinese characters and the Japanese alphabet. Whether it will be possible to overcome these obvious difficulties remains to be seen. Several remedies have been proposed but none has so far been adopted. One remedy was the use of the Japanese alphabet alone for the written language, another the introduction and adoption of the European alphabet. Manifestly the difficulty of effecting such a change as the adoption of either of these plans would involve would be enormous. Still the retention of the present complicated system is without doubt the great obstacle in the way of educational progress in Japan, and it speaks eloquently for the patience and pertinacity of the youth of that country that they have effected so much in so short a time in view of the difficulties that have had to be encountered. The strong points of the youth of Japan in the matter of education are, in my opinion, their great powers of concentration and their indomitable application to study and perseverance in whatever they undertake. Of their powers of absorption of any subject there can be no question. It has been urged, as against this, that the Japanese possess the defect not uncommon among people of any race, viz., that the capacity for rapidly assimilating knowledge is to some extent counteracted or rendered abortive by an incapacity to practically apply that knowledge. I may say for myself that though I have often heard this objection urged I have not seen any indications of this lack of ability to practically apply knowledge on the part of the Japanese. I should have thought that the Russo-Japanese war would have afforded ample demonstration of the ability of the Japanese to put to good account the knowledge they had acquired and assimilated in their seminaries. I certainly think that the system of education, as it exists in Japan to-day, is one not only admirably adapted for the people of that country, but one from which some Western nations might learn a few things. Japan has, in her education system, settled the religious question simply by ignoring it. Her morality as inculcated in every school in the country, is a purely secular morality. I know that there are some persons who will deem secular morality a contradiction in terms. Indeed there are many eminent Japanese who do not approve of the present system. Count Okuma, for example, one of the ablest men in the country, bewails the lack of a moral standard. The upper classes have, he remarks, Chinese philosophy, the great mass of the people have nothing. In the Western world, he points out, Christianity supplies the moral standard, while in Japan some desire to return to old forms, others prefer Christianity; some lean on Kant, others on other philosophers. Christianity may supply the moral standard in the Western world, as Count Okuma asserts, but if he has studied recent politics in a particular part of the Western world, he must have seen that Christianity in that part is by no means in accord as to the teaching of religion in its schools, or what moral code, if any, should be substituted for dogmatic instruction. Perhaps, after all, Japan has not decided amiss in for the present at any rate deciding that secular morality shall be the only ethical instruction given in her schools. That code which she teaches, so far as I have had an opportunity of studying it, is one which contains nothing that could be in the slightest degree objected to by the votaries of any religious system either in the East or in the West. [Illustration: AMATEUR CONCHOLOGISTS FROM A PRINT BY HIROSHIGE] Although it has no direct connection with morality, secular or otherwise, it may be of interest if I give here a synopsis of the teaching given in Japanese schools in reference to the behaviour of the pupils towards foreigners. These rules have been collected by an English newspaper in Japan, and they certainly serve to show that the youth of Japan are in this matter receiving instruction which, whether regarded from an ethical standpoint or merely that of good manners, cannot be too highly commended. "Never call after foreigners passing along the streets or roads. "When foreigners make inquiries, answer them politely. If unable to make them understand, inform the police of the fact. "Never accept a present from a foreigner when there is no reason for his giving it, and never charge him anything above what is proper. "Do not crowd around a shop when a foreigner is making purchases, thereby causing him much annoyance. The continuance of this practice disgraces us as a nation. "Since all human beings are brothers and sisters, there is no reason for fearing foreigners. Treat them as equals and act uprightly in all your dealings with them. Be neither servile nor arrogant. "Beware of combining against the foreigner and disliking him because he is a foreigner; men are to be judged by their conduct and not by their nationality. "As intercourse with foreigners becomes closer and extends over a series of years, there is danger that many Japanese may become enamoured of their ways and customs and forsake the good old customs of their forefathers. Against this danger you must be on your guard. "Taking off your hat is the proper way to salute a foreigner. The bending of the body low is not to be commended. "When you see a foreigner be sure and cover up naked parts of the body. "Hold in high regard the worship of ancestors and treat your relations with warm cordiality, but do not regard a person as your enemy because he or she is a Christian. "In going through the world you will often find a knowledge of a foreign tongue absolutely essential. "Beware of selling your souls to foreigners and becoming their slaves. Sell them no houses or lands. "Aim at not being beaten in your competition with foreigners. Remember that loyalty and filial piety are our most precious national treasures and do nothing to violate them." It seems to me a pity that education on somewhat similar lines to that embodied in these interesting rules cannot be imparted to the youth of this and other European countries. It would certainly tend, I think, in the direction of good manners which are, I fear, sadly lacking in many of the pupils who have undergone a course of School Board instruction in England. A question that may arise in regard to the details of Japanese education is how far and in what degree do the pertinacity and zeal of the youth of Japan for knowledge affect their physique. We know that _mens sana in corpore sano_ is the ideal at which every one concerned with the education of young people of both sexes ought to strive. There is no doubt whatever that too close an attention to study of any kind, too constant an exercise of the mental faculties, unless it is accompanied by a corresponding exercise of the body, very often has an injurious effect upon the human frame. Count Okuma, in referring to this matter, has pointed out that the great difficulty of the difference between the written and spoken languages is a very serious tax upon the pupils in all the schools, necessitating, as it does, the duplicating of their work. So much time, he considers, has to be spent by them in study on account of this duplicating that it is quite impossible for students to have sufficient physical exercise, while if it were decided to devote more time to exercise, the years allotted to education would have to be lengthened--a fact which must involve a serious loss in regard to the work of the nation. I do not take quite such a pessimistic view of the lack of physical education of the youth of Japan. In the first place, gymnastics form part, an important part, of the course of instruction in all schools throughout the country, and in the next place the young people of Japan, so far as I have been able to arrive at an opinion in the matter, are almost if not quite as enthusiastic in regard to various forms of outdoor sport as are those of this country. The buoyancy and enthusiasm of youth are, indeed, very much the same all over the world. It is only when youth comes to what are very often erroneously described as years of discretion that artificiality begins to assert itself. Base-ball, lawn-tennis, bicycling, and rowing are all extensively patronised by the young men of Japan, and cricket has of recent years come considerably into vogue. The students of the Imperial University have not only shown no disinclination, but, on the contrary, an avidity to combine athletics with their studies, and in base-ball especially they have more than held their own against the foreigner. I confess I have no desire to see the craze for outdoor sports which is so much in evidence in this country extending to Japan. Some of the public schools in England are much more famous for their cricket, football, and other teams than for the education imparted in them. Many a young man leaves those schools an excellent cricketer or football player, but, from an educational point of view, very badly equipped for the battle of life. The happy mean is surely the best in this as in other matters, and I venture to think that the youth of Japan in regarding education as the essential matter and outdoor sport as merely a subsidiary one have shown sound judgment. In my remarks on education in Japan I have dealt principally with the schools for boys. I may, however, remark that in the arrangements she has made for the education of the other sex she has shown the same thoroughness. In the primary schools the boys and girls are taken in without any distinction, though separate classes are usually formed. There are subsequently higher schools for girls. The percentage of the female sex attending these schools is less than that of the other. There are in all about seventy-five of these schools in Japan with some twenty thousand pupils. The course of instruction in them is moral precepts, Japanese language, a foreign language, history, geography, mathematics, science, drawing, training for domestic affairs, cutting-out and sewing, music and gymnastics. I think in regard to these schools the Japanese authorities have shown sound judgment in decreeing that music shall not necessarily form part of the education of every young girl, but may be omitted for those pupils for whom the art may be deemed difficult. Were a similar rule to be adopted in this country quite a number of people would be saved a large amount of unnecessary torture. There is also a higher normal school for women at Tokio, as likewise an Academy of Music. The Tokio Jiogakkwan is an institution established by some foreign philanthropists for the purpose of educating Japanese girls of a respectable class in Anglo-Saxon attainments. This institution has between two and three hundred pupils, but I am not in a position to state what measure of success, if any, it has achieved, nor indeed do I know what "Anglo-Saxon attainments" are supposed to be. Many of them I should have thought were quite unsuitable for the ordinary Japanese girl, tending, as they must, to destroy her national individuality. There is also a girls' college in Tokio called the Women's University. It does not confer degrees, but it gives a very high education, and it is largely patronised. I stated at the commencement of this chapter that I was of opinion the provisions and arrangements a nation had made for the education of its youth were an excellent test of the standard to which its civilisation has attained. I hope the slight sketch I have given my readers of the system of education in existence in Japan will enable them to form an estimate as to the place Japan should occupy if judged by the standard referred to. In my opinion, seeing that it is less than forty years since the country passed through a drastic revolution--a revolution which destroyed all these social forces which had been in existence and had exercised a tremendous influence on the life of the people for many centuries--it is, I think, not only extraordinary but highly creditable to her rulers that Japan should have in that short interval organised and perfected such a system of education as exists in the country to-day. Under that system every boy and girl in the land receives an admirable course of instruction, and is afforded facilities for still further extending and enlarging that course, and, if his or her abilities, ambitions, and opportunities incline them that way, to proceed steadily onward in the acquisition of knowledge, until they obtain as a coping stone, that final course, in the capital either at the Imperial University or the Women's University where the sum of all the knowledge of the world is at the disposal of those who have the capacity and the aspiration to acquire it. CHAPTER X THE JAPANESE ARMY AND NAVY A work on Japan which did not include some reference to the Army and Navy would manifestly be incomplete. It is hardly any exaggeration to assert that nothing in regard to the metamorphosis of Japan has so impressed the Western mind as the extraordinary progress of its naval and military forces. Both in this country and on the Continent it was, of course, known that Japan had been for years evolving both an Army and Navy, but I imagine most persons thought that this action on her part was merely a piece of childish extravagance, and that her land and sea forces would, if they were ever pitted against Europeans, prove as impotent as Orientals nearly always have proved. I am quite aware that naval and military experts of various nationalities who had studied matters on the spot were of a different opinion. They witnessed the high state of efficiency of both the Japanese Army and Navy, the patriotic spirit of the officers and men, their enthusiasm for their work, and that universal feeling of bravery, if it be bravery, which consists in an absolute contempt of life. Still I think, even to the experts, the splendid organisation and overwhelming superiority of Japan in her encounter with China came as somewhat of a surprise. The complete victory of the Island Nation in that struggle was, I know, to a certain extent discounted in some quarters by the stories that were published as to the wretched condition of both the Chinese Army and Navy, their utter unfitness and unpreparedness for war, the incompetence and corruption of the officers, and so on. There were many otherwise well informed persons who felt confident that though Japan had experienced little or no difficulty in mastering China, the case would be different when, if ever, she was involved in war with a European power. I do not think these doubts were prevalent or indeed present at all, in the minds of the naval and military authorities. No responsible statesman or official in Japan desired war. The Japanese are not in any sense a bellicose people. Still, the statesmen of the country were fully alive to the fact that it might be necessary to fight for the national existence. They had had experience in the past of the ambition of Russia to aggrandise herself at the expense of Japan. They saw, or thought they saw, that Russia had designs on Korea, and they were determined to frustrate those designs, and so perhaps obviate in the best manner possible future attempts on the independence of Japan itself. And hence it came about that serious efforts were directed to create an Army and Navy strong and efficient. The creation, or perhaps it would be more correct to say the reorganisation, of the Army was entrusted, soon after the Revolution of 1868, to a few European officers, and it has proceeded throughout on European lines. The task was not so difficult as might have been expected. In old Japan the terms "soldier" and "Samurai" were synonymous, and the security of the territory of each of the great feudal princes depended on the strength of his army. The Continental system of conscription was adopted and still obtains. All Japanese males between the ages of 17 and 40 are liable to military service. The Service is divided into Active, Landwehr, Depôt, and Landsturn services. The Active service is divided into service with the colours and service with the first reserve. The former is obligatory for all who have reached the full age of 20 years, and such service is for a period of three years. Service in the first reserve is compulsory for all who have finished service with the colours, and lasts for a period of four years and four months. The Landwehr reserve is comprised of those who have finished the first reserve term, and it continues for a period of five years. The Depôt service is divided into two sections. The first, which lasts seven years and four months, is made up of those who have not been enlisted for Active service, while the second, extending over one year and four months, consists of those who have not been enlisted for first Depôt service. The Landsturn is in two divisions--one for those who have completed the term of Landwehr service and the first Depôt service, and the second for all who are not on the other services. This system of conscription, of course, lends itself to criticism, and it has been criticised by the military experts of great military nations, but on the whole it has been proved by the experience of the two wars in which Japan has been involved during the last twelve years to have worked well, and it probably answers as well as any system that could be devised, the needs of the country, and the characteristics of the people thereof. The Japanese are, as these recent wars amply demonstrated, patriotic to a degree. They not only have great powers of perseverance, but great capacities for assimilation and adaptation, and are considered by many military authorities probably the very best raw material in the world out of which to make soldiers. Conscription may not be an ideal system for any country. It is, of course, better from one point of view that the armed forces of a nation should voluntarily enlist rather than be pressed men. But conscription in Japan has never been, and is not likely to be, such a burden as is the case among some European nations. The Japanese idea of patriotism is something totally different to that which obtains in the West. The late war afforded ample evidence of that, were any needed. The war with Russia has been so recently concluded that it is not necessary to enter at any length into a consideration of the Japanese Army. The history of that war gave ocular demonstration to the European nations, however incredulous they may previously have been on the subject, that Japan was in fact a great military Power. In the course of that war she put in the field somewhere about 700,000 men, conveyed them across the sea to a foreign country, and showed throughout the struggle a capacity for the most wonderful military organisation. The smallest details were most carefully attended to; there was an entire absence of that muddle so much in evidence when European nations are engaged in hostilities. Respecting the fighting qualities of the Japanese soldier it is hardly necessary to say anything. On the field of battle or during the long, arduous and monotonous work of a siege he has shown himself alike a model soldier. Perhaps he has shone most in the hour of victory by his moderation. Every foreign officer who saw the work done by the Japanese Army throughout the various incidents of the Russian War was lost in admiration. To me the most pleasing feature of that war was the ease with which the soldier, on coming back to Japan, returned to the peaceful pursuits of civil life. The bumptious braggadocio that European military nations have developed has no counterpart in Japan. The war was, in the estimation of the people, a sacred duty. The burdens which it entailed were cheerfully borne. The Japanese soldier bore his hardships or gave up his life equally cheerfully. At the same time the conclusion of the war came as a relief, and the mass of the soldiery gladly went through the Japanese equivalent of turning their swords into ploughshares. Japan has demonstrated that she is a great military nation, and the organisation of her Army is one that might well be studied by the military authorities of other countries. The weak point of the Japanese Army is its cavalry. Whether cavalry in the warfare of the future will play the important part that it has played in that of the past is a matter upon which I do not care to dogmatically pronounce, especially as military authorities are by no means in agreement in regard thereto, or indeed as to the precise functions of cavalry in military warfare. The difficulties of Japan in regard to organising an efficient cavalry have been largely, if not altogether, owing to the lack of good horses in the country. The Japanese horses have not been conspicuous for quality, while the number available has not been anything like sufficient to enable the cavalry to be brought up to a proper condition of strength and efficiency. The Japanese military authorities have long been sensible of this fact, and the late war amply demonstrated it. With its usual thoroughness, the Government has, as soon as possible after the close of the war, taken steps to remedy this weak point in its military system, and quite recently two delegates of the Ministry of Agriculture have been despatched to Europe on a horse-purchase mission. Ten million yen have, I understand, been apportioned for the purpose of improving the national breed of horses, and the delegates have been instructed to purchase suitable animals for breeding. The Japanese Government has almost invariably been successful in anything it has undertaken, and I venture to predict--it is scarcely a hazardous prophesy--that the horse supply of the country will ere long be put on a satisfactory footing and the cavalry be rendered as efficient as every other branch of the Japanese Army. There is no fear of a military autocracy in Japan. The recent war proved not only the bravery of the rank and file of the Army, but the high military talent of the officers. The art of war had evidently been studied from every point of view, and was diligently applied. The Japanese talent, in my opinion, consists not in a mere mechanical copying, but in a practical adaptation of all that is best in Western civilisation. The tactics and strategy displayed during the war with Russia showed originality in conception, brilliancy and daring. If that war did not discover a Napoleon among the Japanese generals, it can at least be said that Japan has no need of a Napoleon. As I have said, there is no fear of the development of a military autocracy in that country or the uprising of a general with Napoleonic ideas and ambition. The generals who justly earned distinction during the recent war are singularly modest men, with no capacity for self-advertising and no desire whatever for self-aggrandisement. They are not only content but anxious, now that the war is over, to sink into obscurity. History will, however, not permit of that. Their achievements in the recent campaign will long afford subject-matter for study and the instruction of the military students of the future. In this book I have as far as possible avoided mentioning names, otherwise I would gladly inscribe on its pages the names of those many generals who earned fame in the Russo-Japanese War. I feel perfectly certain that every endeavour will be made to maintain the Japanese Army in the high state of efficiency it has reached. At the same time I would emphasise the fact that that Army is intended solely for defence. Japan has, in a word, no military ambitions outside her own territory. And as of the Army, so of the Navy. Perhaps the prowess of Japan's Fleet impressed the English people even more than the victories of her soldiers. Because the Navy, as it is to-day, is largely the outcome of English training and the application of English ideas. In the first instance Japan borrowed from the British Government the services of some of its best naval officers to develop the Japanese Navy. A naval college was established in the capital, modelled on the English system of training. A dockyard was also constructed at Yokosko under French guidance. It is, however, a mistake to suppose that Japan had no Navy or no ambitions in the direction of creating one prior to English naval officers being lent to the Japanese Government to assist in the reorganisation of the Navy. The determination to create a fleet on European lines was entertained by Japanese statesmen as far back as the 'fifties, when the European Powers and the United States of America were bringing pressure to bear on Japan with a view of obtaining trading facilities and the opening up of the country generally. The Japanese statesmen of those days were wise enough to see that unless Japan was to be permanently under the tutelage of the European Powers, it was necessary for her to construct a fleet and army on European lines. Soon afterwards a naval school, under Dutch instructors, was established at Nagasaki, and a certain number of selected officers and men were sent to Europe to undergo a course of instruction, and several war-vessels were ordered from Holland. In 1854 a two-masted ship was built in Japan from an English model, and subsequently two others. During the war between Russia and Great Britain a Russian sloop was wrecked on the Japanese coast, and permission was obtained for Japanese workmen to be employed in the repairs of the vessel, with a view of giving them an opportunity of gaining some practical knowledge of naval architecture. In 1855 the King of Holland presented a steam corvette to the Tycoon. In this year the now familiar Japanese ensign--a red ball on a white ground--was introduced, and has since remained the national flag. On the arrival of Lord Elgin in Japan on a mission in 1857 a sailing vessel at Nagasaki was flying the flag of an Admiral of the Japanese Navy. In the same year a steam yacht was presented to the Tycoon by the late Queen Victoria, and was formally handed over to the Japanese Government by Lord Elgin. His secretary relates that the yacht got under way, commanded by a Japanese captain and manned by Japanese sailors, while her machinery was worked by Japanese engineers. The secretary, in his account of the incident, relates that "notwithstanding the horizontal cylinders and other latest improvements with which her engines were fitted, the men had learnt their lesson well, and were confident in their powers, and the yacht steamed gallantly through and round the Fleet, returning to her anchorage without a hitch." This authoritative statement ought to dispose of the absurd story which has long been a chestnut among the English community in Japan and the English naval officers on the China station, that when the old Confederate Ram, the _Stonewall Jackson_, was purchased in America and brought to Yokohama a somewhat ludicrous incident occurred. According to the story, which, I may observe, is one of the _ben trovato_ order, when steam was got up in the vessel for trial purposes it had to steam round and about Yokohama Harbour, to the great danger of the foreign warships and merchant steamers there, until the steam was in due course exhausted and the machinery automatically stopped through the lack of any motive power to drive it, as the Japanese engineer in charge did not know how to shut off steam. The _Stonewall Jackson_, I may observe, did not take part in the now almost forgotten battle of Hakodate, which took place at the time of the Revolution, and may be regarded as the expiring effort of old Japan to stay the march of events in that country. In the battle of Hakodate the rebel fleet was totally destroyed, and the various clans in the country who possessed war-vessels of one kind or other presented them to the central Government. These vessels, it must be confessed, were not of much, if any, utility in the direction of forming a Navy, and I am not aware how many of them, or indeed whether any of them, were utilised for the purpose of inaugurating that Navy which has now become world-famous. In 1858 the naval school, which, as I have already stated, had been established at Nagasaki, was transferred to Yeddo, and a few years later the Japanese Government determined to obtain the assistance of some English naval officers with a view of giving instruction in the school. Application was accordingly made to the British Government through the Minister in Yeddo, and the sanction of the Admiralty having been obtained, a number of English naval officers were selected, and despatched to Japan as instructors in the Yeddo Naval College. Amongst these officers, it may be interesting to state, was Admiral Sir A. K. Wilson, V.C., G.C.B., the late Commander-in-Chief of the Channel Fleet. In the year 1873 a number of other naval officers were sent out from England, the previous staff having been withdrawn on the outbreak of the Civil War. This staff was in charge of Admiral Sir A. L. Douglas, till recently Commander-in-Chief at Portsmouth, and for some years subsequently an English naval officer was at the head of the instructing staff of the college. Japan was fortunate in one respect--in the Englishmen she entrusted with the evolution of her Navy. She was fortunate in attracting the men best fitted for the work, and also in inspiring them with a high conception of their task. Some Englishmen are of opinion that Japan has somewhat forgotten her obligations in this matter. Young Japan, they suggest, desires to forget the influences to which the country mainly owes its present magnificent fleet. That fleet is undoubtedly, for the most part, the outcome of English conceptions and English training. There is one man whose name, I think, deserves to be recorded in connection therewith. I refer to the late Lieutenant A. G. S. Hawes, of the Royal Marine Light Infantry, who left the English Service and worked strenuously, enthusiastically, and earnestly to build up the _personnel_ of the Japanese Navy in the early 'seventies. There were others whose efforts in the same direction assisted in that consummation, but Hawes's services were unique and splendid. He believed in Japan, and he threw himself into his work with a zeal and ardour which were beyond praise. His services were dispensed with, as were those of the other English officers and men, when it was felt that Japan had learnt sufficient to work out her own destiny as a naval Power. The labours of these men may not have been adequately recognised at the time, but their work remains, and is in evidence to-day. Hawes received a decoration from the Mikado, and the British Government gave him a consular appointment in some obscure quarter of the globe, where he died a disappointed man, fully sensible of the value of the work he had performed and inspired, a firm believer in the future of Japan as a great naval Power, but disgusted with the non-recognition of his labours. The Navy of Japan as it is to-day is a triumph of organisation. Discussing a short time ago the question with an ex-officer of the Mercantile Marine who had, by a curious chance, served as a Naval Reserve officer in both the English and Japanese Navies, he explained to me the wonderful progress of the latter by pointing out that it had been, as it were, called instantaneously into existence. The Japanese Navy, he observed, had no past and no traditions to hamper its development; its officers and administrators had only one desire--to get the best of everything in modern naval science from anywhere. There was no cult of seamanship, no dead wall of prejudice to trammel modern naval developments. There was no prejudice at the Japanese Admiralty against anything--save stagnation. Progress was the keynote and watchword of the Japanese Navy. My friend assured me that it was, as regards equipment, organisation, and general efficiency, the finest fighting force the world has ever seen. So far as my own knowledge of the matter goes, and so far as I am competent to express an opinion on the subject, I fully endorse these observations. A visit to a Japanese vessel-of-war, however perfunctory the knowledge of the visitor may be on matters naval, very soon convinces him of the fact that the Japanese naval officers and men are filled not only with ardour but enthusiasm for their profession, that efficiency and proficiency are the watchwords, and that the desire of every one connected with the Navy, from the Admiral downwards, is to maintain the _personnel_ and _materiel_ of the Fleet in the highest possible condition of efficiency. If, as some Englishmen imagine is the case, there is a tendency on the part of young Japan to be oblivious of the fact that the Navy of the country is greatly indebted for its present state of efficiency to the zeal and efforts of English naval officers in its early days, there is no question that the feeling of the officers and men of the Japanese Navy to their English comrades is of a very hearty nature. The formal alliance with Great Britain was highly popular in the Japanese Fleet, and I have never heard any officer connected therewith speak in any but the highest and most cordial terms of their English _confréres_. It is not, I think, necessary for me to refer to the deeds of and the work done by the Japanese Navy in the course of the war with Russia; very much the same remarks that I have made in regard to the Army apply here. Nothing was lost sight of or omitted that could in the slightest degree tend to ensure or secure success. Everything seems to have been foreseen. Nothing was left to chance. The results were precisely what might have been expected, and what indeed were expected, by those who had an intimate knowledge of the manner in which the Japanese Navy was organised for war. I regard it especially in alliance with the English Fleet, as one of the greatest safeguards for the peace of the world. I trust the alliance between this country and Japan may be of a permanent nature. I may remark in respect of the Fleet, as I have of the Army, that Japan has no unworthy ambitions. Her desire is to conserve what she possesses and to render her Island Empire secure from invasion or molestation. Closely connected with the development of Japan's Navy is that of her Mercantile Marine. A few words in regard to it may therefore not be out of place here. The insular position and the mountainous condition of the country, as well as its extent of seaboard, early impressed on the makers of new Japan the necessity for creating not only a great mercantile fleet but also for developing the shipbuilding industry. Both these ambitions have been largely realised. At first their consummation was attended with many difficulties. The Japanese, as I have already remarked in this book, were many centuries ago enterprising sailors, but when the country was closed voyages of discovery or trade automatically came to an end. With the awakening of Japan a change immediately took place, and steps were taken to create and develop the Mercantile Marine. A Japanese gentleman, Mr. Iwasaki, in 1872 started a line of steamers, subsidised by the Government, the well-known Mitsu Bishi Company. Shortly afterwards another company was formed to compete against it. This line was also subsidised by the Government, but as the rivalry did not prove profitable to either the two lines were amalgamated in 1885 under the title of Nippon Yusen Kaisha. Since then a number of other shipping companies have been formed in Japan, and the Nippon Yusen Kaisha has largely extended its operations, opening up communication with Bombay, England, and the Continent, Melbourne, &c. In fact, the Japanese flag is now seen in many parts of the world, while the Japanese Mercantile Marine has advanced by leaps and bounds, and is still annually increasing. At the end of 1904 there were about 240 steamers flying the Japanese flag, with a gross tonnage of over 790,000. Japan now ranks high among the maritime nations of the world, and her position therein, unless I am very much mistaken, will still further advance in the years to come. There are, I know, a great number of worthy people, both in this country and Japan, who regard the expenditure on an Army and Navy as entirely unproductive, and look forward to the halcyon days when all such expenditure shall cease and the taxation now devoted to these purposes shall be diverted to more worthy objects. I am afraid, as the world is at present constituted, there is no prospect of such a, in some respects, desirable consummation being effected. Nowadays the most effective means a nation can possess in the direction of the maintenance and enjoyment of peace is to be well prepared for war. That is a fact of which I am sure the men responsible for the government of Japan are firmly convinced; and I believe they are right. I am certain, as I have said before, that the world has nothing to fear from the armed strength of Japan by land or sea. CHAPTER XI JAPANESE ART--INTRODUCTORY--LACQUER WARE, POTTERY AND PORCELAIN Japanese art is a subject which invites exhaustive treatment. To deal with it adequately in two or three chapters of a general work on Japan is obviously impossible. Still it is, I think, possible, within the limits at my disposal, to give my readers some conception of that art to which Japan is so greatly indebted for the extraordinary way in which she has impressed the world. The art of Japan is in a sense unique, and it may be that to some extent the Japanese atmosphere, so to speak, is essential in order to fully appreciate it. Mr. Chamberlain, in his "Things Japanese," has observed that "To show a really fine piece of lacquer to one of the uncultivated natives of Europe or America is, as the Japanese proverb says, like giving guineas to a cat." Much the same remark might, however, be made in reference to the art products of any country. Be that as it may, the Japanese people are now largely dependent on the foreigner for art patronage. It may be that this has resulted in art-artisans abandoning their old standard and devoting themselves to the manufacture of whatever pays best, prostituting the spirit of art to the promptings of gain, and compelling the native to cater for foreign taste rather than to adhere to Japanese canons of art. I am afraid that the commercial spirit is fatal to art of any kind. The true artist, like the poet, in an ideal state of existence would only work under inspiration, but, unfortunately, the artist, like the poet, is daily faced by that necessity which knows no law and demands the subsistence of the body as an essential for work of any kind. Perhaps some of my readers might desire a definition of art. There are, I know, people in this world who can never approach the consideration of or deal with any subject unless the subject itself and every term in connection therewith is precisely defined. In reference to Japanese art I am inclined to employ the words of Mr. Walter Crane in opening, many years ago, the annual exhibition of the Arts and Crafts Society. He remarked: "The true root and basis of all art lies in the handicrafts. If there is no room or chance of recognition for really artistic power and feeling in design and craftsmanship--if art is not recognised in the humblest object and material, and felt to be as valuable, in its own way, as the more highly rewarded pictorial skill--the art cannot be in a sound condition. And if artists cease to be found among the crafts, there is great danger that they will vanish from the arts also, and become manufacturers and salesmen instead." Japanese art is unquestionably of that kind which requires a certain educational process. It does not, for instance, at once appeal to that vague entity the "man in the street." There is a grotesqueness about some of it, a lack of perspective in much of it, which is caviare to a large number of persons. This much, however, can be said about Japanese art--that it is original. It is almost altogether the outcome of the artistic instincts of the people. Undoubtedly it has been to a large extent influenced by Buddhism, and, as we have seen, Buddhism is a foreign religion; but at the same time I think it may fairly be asserted that, though the Buddhist religion may have influenced and utilised Japanese art, it has never killed, or indeed affected to any degree, what I may term the individualistic artistic instincts of the nation. Japanese art requires to be closely studied. It is something that grows upon one, and the closer it is studied the greater its influence. To me one of its most pleasing features is what I have termed in the Preface its catholicity. It is not, as art is in so many European countries, the cult of a few, a sort of Eleusynian mystery into which a select number of persons have been initiated. It has, on the contrary, permeated, and exercised an influence upon, the whole nation, and been employed for even the most humble purposes. It is for this reason that, as I have previously observed, I am of opinion the Japanese may be considered and described as the most artistic people in the world. I have referred to the grotesqueness and lack of perspective incidental to some descriptions of Japanese art. It certainly neglects chiaroscuro and linear perspective, and it displays an entire lack of form knowledge. The human figure and face have apparently never been studied at all. The colouring is frequently splendid, while the figures are for the most part anatomically incorrect. One would think that Japanese artists had never seen their own or any other human bodies. A rigid adherence to conventionality is, in my opinion, a defect of all Japanese art. By conventionality I do not, of course, mean what I may term the individuality of the art itself, but the fact that Japanese artists have felt themselves largely bound by the traditions of their art to treat the human and other figures not in accordance with nature, but altogether in accordance with the conventions of that art, and to entirely ignore perspective. I am quite aware that some enthusiastic lovers of things Japanese admire, or affect to admire, these defects. They have been described as a protest against the too rigid rules exacted in Western art. I suggest, however, that art in its highest form should seek to be true to nature, and in so far as Japanese art fails in this respect it is, I think, defective. At the same time I cordially admit that its defects are more than compensated by its splendid workmanship, its gorgeous colouring, and its striking originality. It was only about forty or fifty years ago that Japanese art became known to any extent in Europe. Certainly the Portuguese missionaries introduced by Francis Xavier and the traders in the Dutch factory at Nagasaki were in the habit of exporting a few articles to Europe, chiefly porcelain ware made to order. I fear both missionaries and merchants regarded Japanese art, as we now know it, as barbaric, and never in the slightest degree realised either its beauties or its originality. Neither they nor the many millions of art-lovers in Europe dreamt that Japan was a country where art was universal, not esoteric--an art with schools, traditions, masters, and masterpieces. Probably the Paris Exhibition of 1867, to which the Prince of Satsuma sent a collection of Japanese artistic treasures, was the occasion when the true inwardness of Japanese art burst upon the Western world as a whole. It was a veritable revelation. It at once aroused enthusiasm and curiosity, and I fear cupidity, among European artists and art collectors. Europe was awakened to the possibilities of Japan as an art nation, and Japan, failing to realise or properly appreciate the artistic accumulated wealth it possessed, commenced to part with it in a truly reckless manner. The depletion of the art treasures of the country commenced about this time, and though that depletion has been largely arrested, it is nevertheless still, to some extent, going on. Japanese art, as it has come under the cognisance of a foreigner, may be considered in connection with four or five purposes to which it has been employed or adapted. First amongst these I place lacquer, next pottery and porcelain, then carving in wood and iron, metal-work and painting. The lacquer industry has been in existence in Japan so long as we have any authoritative history of the country. If any credence is to be given to tradition, long before the Christian era there was an official whose sole duty it was to superintend the production of lacquer for the Imperial Court, and specimens over a thousand years old, though rare, still exist. The process of lacquering is a somewhat intricate one, and varies, of course, in accordance with the time and labour spent on the article to be lacquered, and the cost of the same. After the article has been carefully made from specially selected wood--in the case of the choicest specimens of lacquer work this is usually a pine-wood of fine grain--it is first coated with a preparation composed of clay and varnish, which, after being permitted to dry, is smoothed down with a whetstone. When this operation has been concluded, the article proposed to be lacquered is covered with some substance, either silk, cloth, or paper. It is then given from one to five coats of the foregoing mixture, each coat being permitted to dry before the next is applied. After this has been effected, the whetstone is again employed with a view of obtaining a perfectly smooth surface when the lacquering proper commences. This may be a perfunctory or it may be a very complicated operation, according to the value of the article, layer after layer of the varnish--from one to fifty coats--being laid upon the material at intervals. After the final coat has been applied, the smoothing process commences. The whole of these operations are, however, only the preliminaries to the scheme of decoration, which is often very elaborate. The dusts of powders used for this purpose are of various kinds and of varying cost. When the ornamentation which often consists in colouring the groundwork with particles of gold dust has been completed, sometimes as many as a dozen coatings of transparent lacquer are imposed upon the same. The art of lacquering in Japan dates back at least 1,200 or 1,300 years, and tradition assigns it a period more ancient still. There are, however, few if any articles of lacquer ware now in the country, whose origin can be traced back so many years. At any rate, there is no satisfactory evidence in regard to the antiquity of any specimens of lacquer ware dating back more than seven or eight centuries. In old Japan the manufacturer of lacquer work was intimately associated with the domestic life of the upper classes. Griffis tells us that nearly every Daimio had his Court lacquerer, and that a set of household furniture and toilet utensils was part of the dowry of a noble lady. On the birth of a daughter, he relates, it was common for the lacquer artist to begin the making of a mirror case, a washing bowl, a cabinet, a clothes rack, or a chest of drawers, often occupying from one to five whole years on a single article. An inro, or pill-box, might require several years for perfection, though small enough to go into a fob. By the time the young lady was marriageable, her outfit of lacquer was superb. The names of many of the great lacquer artists of Japan are still venerated. The masterpieces of Hoyami Koyetsu who flourished in the sixteenth century, are still, though rare, procurable. Japan numbers on her roll of fame twenty-eight great lacquer artists. There have, of course, been many hundreds, and indeed thousands, in the past centuries whose work was superb, but the twenty-eight are deemed to be the immortals of this particular art. One of these great men, Ogawa Ritsuo, is famous for the number and variety of the materials--mother-of-pearl, coral, tortoise-shell, &c. &c., he used in his work. A profuse richness is its chief characteristic. One of his pupils imitated in his work various materials--pottery and wood-carving, and bronzes. The last famous artist in lacquer, Watanobe Tosu, died about thirty years ago. Whether he is destined to have a successor or successors remains to be seen. These lacquer artists, as I have indicated, worked not for lucre, but for love. Attached to some Daimios household, they devoted their lives, their energies, their imagination, their artistic instincts to the devising of splendid work and the making of beautiful, ingenious, absolutely artistic and, at the same time, entirely useful articles. It is impossible within the space at my disposal to deal in detail with the large variety of lacquer work produced in Japan with the various kinds of lacquer, or with what I may term the artistic idiosyncrasies of Japanese lacquer work. One can now hardly believe that until the opening up of Japan half a century or so ago, few specimens of lacquer found their way to Europe, although Japanese porcelain had been largely imported and was highly prized. Even at the present time I do not think that the artistic beauties of Japanese lacquer work have been appreciated in this country to anything like the extent they deserve to be. I have heard people remark, for example, that they failed to understand the perpetual reproduction of the great snow-covered mountain Fusi-Yama in Japanese designs, while they could see nothing in these storks, bewildering landscapes, and grotesque figures. Perhaps the best explanation of the constant appearance of Fusi-Yama in all Japanese work is that which De Fonblanque gives. He says: "If there is one sentiment universal amongst all Japanese, it is a deep and earnest reverence for their sacred mountain. It is their ideal of the beautiful in nature, and they never tire of admiring, glorifying, and reproducing it. It is painted, embossed, carved, engraved, modelled in all their wares. The mass of the people regard it not only as the shrine of their dearest gods, but the certain panacea for their worst evils, from impending bankruptcy or cutaneous diseases to unrequited love or ill-luck at play. It is annually visited by thousands and thousands of pilgrims." The Japanese artist in constantly reproducing Fusi-Yama has merely voiced national sentiment and feeling. [Illustration: VIEW OF FUSI-YAMA FROM A TEA HOUSE FROM A PRINT BY HIROSHIGE] The substance applied to wood to produce what is called lacquer, is not what is generally known in England as varnish. It is really the sap of the _rhus vernicifera_ which contains, among other ingredients, about 3 per cent. of a gum soluble in water. It has to undergo various refining processes before being mixed with the colouring matter, while the greatest care is exercised throughout with a view of obviating the possibility of dust or any other foreign matter finding its way into the mixture. The fine polish usually seen on lacquer work is not actually the result of the composition applied, but is produced by incessant polishing. The lacquered articles in old Japan were used for various purposes--mirror cases, fans, letter-carriers, the inro, which was at one time a necessary part of every Japanese gentleman's attire; it was secured to the sash, and utilised to hold medicine powders, for perfumes, as a seal-box, &c., seals being at one time, as indeed they are to some extent still, in use in place of a signature. But the amount of ancient lacquer ware now in Japan, or, indeed, of artistic articles made solely for use and not merely to sell, is, as I have said, small. European collectors have denuded the country; the treasures of the Daimios, which were almost recklessly sold when they were disestablished, and to a large extent disendowed, have been distributed all over the globe, and a large quantity, perhaps the largest quantity, of the lacquer work now made in the country is manufactured solely for the purpose of being sold as curios either at home or abroad. That this fact has largely lowered the artistic ideals and debased the artistic taste in Japan appears to be the general opinion. Much of the present-day work of Japan in lacquer, as in other articles, is certainly to my mind artistic and beautiful in the extreme, but obviously, men working almost against time to turn out "curios," for which there is a persistent demand on the part of visitors who are not always by temperament or training fitted to appreciate the artistic or the beautiful, are unlikely to produce such fine or original work as the artisan of old leisurely employed at his craft and pluming himself, not on the amount of his earnings or the extent of his output, but on the quality and artistic merits of his work. Next to lacquer in importance amongst the Japanese arts, I think, comes ceramic ware, which has long had a great vogue in Europe, and indeed was highly prized here many years before the artistic skill of the Japanese in lacquer was generally known. That decorative art, as expressed in the pottery and porcelain of Japan, has been largely influenced by China and Korea seems to be unquestionable. The Japanese have nevertheless imparted to it a peculiar charm of their own, the outcome of originality in ideas, while the art has, through many centuries, been fortunate enough to have been fostered and encouraged by the great and powerful of the land. As a people the Japanese are entirely free from anything that savours of ostentation, and this fact is emphasised in their art just as it is in their homes. The charm of the ceramic ware of Japan, in my opinion, consists in the beauty of its colouring rather than in its figuring. This ceramic ware, as my readers probably know, differs greatly in appearance, quality, and, I may add, in price according to the particular part of the country in which it is produced. It is not necessary to be an art connoisseur to grasp the fact that, say, the famous Satsuma ware is distinct in almost every respect from that of Imari, Kaga, Ise, Raku, Kyoto, &c. All these different wares have charms peculiar to each. It is really marvellous to think that a country with such a comparatively small area as Japan should have produced so many different kinds of ceramic ware, each possessing distinct and pronounced characteristics, and having indeed little affinity with each other save in regard to the general excellence of the workmanship and the artistic completeness of the whole. As I have said, both Korea and China have had a marked influence on the manufacture of pottery and porcelain in Japan. Korean potters appear to have settled there prior to the Christian era, and to have imparted to the Japanese the first rudiments of knowledge in regard to working in clay, but the development of the process was greatly due to Chinese influences. During the thirteenth century, one Toshiro paid a visit to China, where he exhaustively studied everything relating to the potter's art. On his return to his own country he introduced great improvements, both in manufacture and decoration, and made, it is believed, for the first time, glazed pottery. Soon afterwards household utensils of lacquer began to go out of use, being replaced by those made of clay, and a great impetus was accordingly given to the trade of the potter. Tea, which is believed to have been introduced into Japan from China in the year 800 does not appear to have come into general use till the sixteenth century. The "tea ceremonies" known as the Cha-no-yu came into vogue about the same time, and undoubtedly had an immense influence on the ceramic art. The articles used in the "tea ceremonies" included an iron kettle resting on a stand; a table or stand of mulberry wood 2 feet high; two tea-jars containing the tea; a vessel containing fresh water; a tea-bowl. It is not my purpose to describe the many interesting details of these "tea ceremonies." Suffice it to observe that they gave a great impetus to the manufacture of costly and elaborate china. The leaders of society, as we should term them, who took part in these ceremonies exercised a judicious and enlightened patronage of the ceramic art. They encouraged rising talent, and welcomed new developments. There can, I think, be no doubt that Japan, in an artistic sense, owes much to the frequenters of these "tea ceremonies." Tea-jars and tea-bowls especially became, under the patronage and guidance of these men, choice works of art, and were bestowed by the great and powerful on their friends, by whom they were greatly cherished and handed down as heirlooms. Some of these treasures still remain in the country, a large number have been purchased by art connoisseurs and taken to various parts of the world, while many, of course, have from various causes perished. Under the conditions of life which obtained in old Japan the ceramic art reached a pitch of excellence, not to say glory, which it is never likely to attain either in Japan or elsewhere. It was emphatically a period of art for art's sake. The patronage, if I may use a word perhaps not strictly accurate, of the great artists of those days was exercised in such a manner as to enable them to employ all their talents, artistic ideals, and enthusiasm in the direction of producing masterpieces of their craft. The secrets of porcelain manufacture are believed to have been brought to Japan from China about the beginning of the sixteenth century. In the year 1513, Gorodayu, Shonsui, of Ise, returned from China and settled in Arita, in the province of Hizen, which at once became and still remains the headquarters of the famous Imari ware. The porcelain produced here is chiefly, but not altogether, the blue and white combination, but Arita also makes porcelain ware decorated in various colours and exceedingly ornate in appearance. It is, however, stated that this ornate Imari ware was first made for exportation to China to supply the Portuguese market at Macao, and that it was afterwards fostered by the Dutch at Nagasaki, whose exportations of the ware to Europe were on a considerable scale. This peculiar style of decoration is believed to have been due to the demands of the Dutch, whose patrons in Europe would have none other. One remark I may make in this connection, viz., that those enormous vases and other similar articles of Japanese ware which have long been so greatly prized in Europe, and many of which are magnificent specimens of decorative art, are not, in one sense, characteristically Japanese. The Japanese has always, if I may so express it, used art as the handmaiden of utilitarianism. Every article intended for the Japanese home had to be not merely a thing of beauty but a thing for use. It never entered the minds of the Japanese to hang beautiful specimens of their porcelain ware on their walls, or what did duty for walls, to collect dust. They used vases certainly of a moderate size to hold flowers, tea-pots and tea-cups for the purpose of making and drinking tea, water-bottles and various other articles for domestic use; everything in fact was, as I have said, designed not only from an artistic but a utilitarian standpoint, and hence it is, I think, that art, as I have already remarked, has permeated the whole people. Even in the poorest house in Japan it is possible to see, in the ordinary articles in domestic use, some attempt at art, and, I may add, some appreciation of it on the part of the users of those articles. In my opinion when art is not applied to articles of general utility but is confined to articles not intended for use, art becomes, as is largely the case in this country, either the cult of a class or the affectation of a class, and its beauties and inward meaning cease to have any effect upon, just because they are not understood by, the great mass of the people. Satsuma ware is probably the most widely known, and the most esteemed among foreigners, of Japanese porcelain. Its soft, cream-like colour is now known in every part of the world, while the delicate colour decorations imposed upon the cream-like background, certainly give a most effective appearance. I question however whether, from a purely artistic standpoint, Satsuma is worthy of being compared with many of the other porcelains in Japan. Much of it as seen in Europe was specially made for Europe, and having been so is, I suggest, not in the true sense artistic. As a matter of fact Satsuma ware was introduced from Korea, and was made in the first instance solely for the use of the Prince of Satsuma and his friends. The kilns were originally built on Korean models, and the potters in Satsuma remained a class apart, not being allowed to marry with the outside world. Kaga ware is well known to all art connoisseurs. This porcelain is rare. The masters of the art of Kaga ware, with its exquisite colouring and elaborate ornamentation in gold and silver, have left no successors, while their output was small. The ware is of course still made, and as the clay of the district is of a dark red colour, the ware has a uniform tint. Bizen ware reached the apotheosis of its perfection just before the Revolution. It is made in the province of Bizen. The better kind is made of a white or light bluish clay, and well baked in order to receive the red-brown colour, whereas the commoner kind is of a red clay. The various Kyoto wares are remarkable for their quaint forms, and some of them are highly prized. It would, of course, be impossible for me to attempt in detail a description of the other very numerous ceramic wares of Japan. Undoubtedly, as I have said, Satsuma is the most popular with Europeans, but it is not, and I do not think it deserves to be, the most highly prized by art connoisseurs. The ceramic wares of Japan may be classified under three headings: (1) Pottery, ornamented by scoring and glazing; (2) A cream-coloured faience with a glaze often crackled and delicately painted; (3) Hard porcelain. Under the first of these classifications may be included Bizen, Seto, Raku, and some other wares. Under the second I place Satsuma and some less important similar products. Among the porcelains the most famous are those of Kutania, Hizen, and Kyoto. In regard to decorations, the Japanese have utilised the seven gods of good fortune, many landscapes, a few of the domestic animals--the dragon, phoenix, an animal with the body and hoofs of a deer, the tail of a bull, and with a horn on its forehead, a monster lion, and the sacred tortoise. Trees, plants, grasses, and flowers of various kinds, and some of the badges in Japanese heraldry are also largely made use of. However grotesque some of these objects may be, or however grotesque the representations of animals and even landscapes may be, no one who has closely studied it can deny the fact that the effect of Japanese decorative art as applied to the ceramic ware of the country is, on the whole, magnificent. The more one studies it the more impressed one is with its marvellous beauty and the originality which has been brought to bear upon it. I defy any man or woman, who possesses the artistic sensibilities, even in a latent degree, to visit a gallery containing the masterpieces of Japanese ceramic art, closely study them in all their details, and minutely examine the attention which the artist has given to even the smallest of those details without being impressed by its power. It is, I consider, a liberal education to any person who has the slightest prepossession for art to wander through such a gallery and admire the masterpieces of these wonderful art-workers of Japan. The demand for the various art products of Japan in both Europe and America has had its perhaps inevitable result in not only the manufacture of articles simply and solely for the foreign market, but in the what I may term faking of modern to represent ancient art productions. "Old" Satsuma, for example, is a case in point. The genuine old Satsuma ware, by constant use, obtained, like meerschaum, a delightful tint. Modern Satsuma is comparatively white, and so, in order to pander to the taste of the European collector of the ancient article, the modern is stained to the required shade. The article itself is genuine, and indeed beautiful, but this "faking" of it to meet European and American tastes is one of the results, I fear, of Western influences. What the precise effect of European influences may be on the old porcelain art of Japan it is impossible to say. So far as I am concerned, I have no hesitation in expressing my own opinion that it will not be a healthy influence. Art for art's sake is, I admit, difficult when the plutocrats of the West, with a craze or a fad for Eastern art, are pouring out their wealth in order to obtain specimens thereof. Demand usually induces supply, and the Japanese artisan of to-day would be more than human did he not respond to the demand of the West for "Old Satsuma" and other specimens of the artistic treasures in pottery and porcelain of Japan. The spirit of commercialism is, as I have said before, fatal to art. If the artist is forced to work quickly and cheaply he quite evidently cannot bring his individuality into play. He must transform his studio into a workshop, and ponder only, or chiefly, upon the possibility of his output. I have been much struck in this connection with the remarks of a writer in regard to orders for art work sent from New York to Japan. "I can remember," he said, "one of our great New York dealers marking on his samples the colours that pleased most of his buyers, who themselves were to place the goods. All other colours or patterns were tabooed in his instructions to the makers in Japan. This was the rude mechanism of the change, the coming down to the worst public taste, which must be that of the greatest number at any time." [Illustration: KUTANI EARTHENWARE, DECORATED WITH POLYCHROME ENAMELS EARLY EIGHTEENTH CENTURY] [Illustration: INCENSE BURNER AWATA FAYENCE. EIGHTEENTH CENTURY] As regards the modern porcelain of Japan I need say but little. Originality is apparently dead, and the makers of to-day are content to copy the past. No doubt the purely mechanical processes of manufacture have been greatly improved, and much, if not most, of the modern ceramic ware of Japan is extremely beautiful. At the same time some of it, especially that which is made solely for the foreign market, is to my mind neither artistic nor beautiful. It is decorated, if I may use such a term, in most of the colours of the rainbow, and rendered more gaudy still by a plethora of very poor gilding. There is in Japan a certain school of progressive ideas in reference to the art of the country. This school is of opinion that Japanese art should not, so to speak, remain stereotyped, but that it should assimilate and adapt and apply all that is good and beautiful in Western art. The objects that this school has in view are no doubt laudable, but I confess I hope with all my heart that those objects will fail of accomplishment. There has been already far too much Europeanising of Japanese art, and the result, so far as I have been able to judge, is not encouraging in respect of any further advance or development in that direction. Japanese art, and especially the ceramic art, possesses, as I have before said, an individuality which can only be spoiled, even if it be not destroyed, by adding on to or mixing up with it the totally distinct art and art methods of Western civilisation. Were this done it would become a bastard or a mongrel art, and, as history affords abundant evidence, would in due course lapse into a condition of utter decadence. Quite a volume might be written on the subject of marks on Japanese pottery and porcelain. These have long interested and frequently misled the collector. They are of various kinds. Sometimes there is a mark signifying the reign or part of the reign of an emperor, or the name of a place at which the article was made, or, more frequently still, the name of the particular potter whose handicraft it was. Sometimes Chinese dates are found impressed on the article without any regard to chronological correctness. Indeed, Chinese dates are to be found on Japanese porcelain indicating a period long anterior to that in which the manufacture of porcelain was known in Japan. These spurious dates have proved pitfalls for collectors. The mark is sometimes impressed with a seal or painted; occasionally it is merely scratched. The investigation of these marks is a recondite study assuredly full of interest, but, as I have said, prolific in pitfalls for the unwary or the too-credulous. CHAPTER XII JAPANESE ART (_continued_)--SCULPTURE--METAL WORK--PAINTING Probably of all the Japanese arts there is none more interesting or instructive than that of sculpture in wood and ivory. The sculpture of Japan undoubtedly had its origin in the service of the Buddhist religion. That religion, as I have attempted to show, has always utilised art in the decoration of its temples and shrines as well as in the perpetuation of the image of Buddha himself. At the beginning of the seventeenth century an edict was promulgated directing that every house should contain a representation of Buddha, and, as the result of this, the sculpture trade received a considerable impetus. Tobacco was introduced into the country in the same century, and the smoking thereof soon came greatly into vogue among the Japanese people. Tobacco necessitated a pouch or bag to contain the same, and this in turn induced or produced the manufacture of something wherewith to attach the bag to the girdle. Hence the evolution of the netsuké, now as famous in Europe as in Japan. The carving of netsukés developed into a very high art; indeed, there is perhaps no branch of Japanese art which has aroused more enthusiasm among foreign collectors and connoisseurs. Quite recently I attended a sale of netsukés in London at which the bidding was both fast and furious, while the prices realised were enormous. The netsuké, strictly speaking, was the toggle attached by a cord to the tobacco pouch, inro, or pipe of the Japanese man, with the object of preventing the article slipping through the girdle or sash, but the word has been more loosely employed by foreigners until, in popular parlance, it has come to embrace all small carvings. Netsukés were nearly always representations of the human figure, and various reasons have been advanced to account for this fact. I need not consider those reasons in these pages, as they, as well as the arguments by which they are attempted to be supported, are almost entirely speculative. The distinguishing characteristic of the true netsuké is two holes admitting of a string being run through them. These holes were often concealed behind the limbs of the figure. The material of which netsukés were made varied, and consisted of ivory, wood horns, fish-bones, and stones of various kinds. Those made of wood are undoubtedly the most ancient, ivory being of comparatively recent importation into Japan. Nevertheless, the netsukés made of ivory now command the highest price. The names of many of the great netsuké-makers are still famous, and much of their work is certainly artistic and beautiful to a degree. I am afraid that in the collecting of netsukés many European lovers of Japanese art have burnt their fingers. The genuine old artistic productions are now extremely rare, but a brisk trade has sprung up in reproductions which are skilfully coloured to give them the appearance of age. The netsuké, I must reiterate, was an almost indispensable adjunct to the costume of every Japanese man, and it was, accordingly, made for use and not for ornament alone. Of late years wood and ivory sculpture in Japan has largely degenerated and deteriorated owing to the output of articles not of utility, but made for the foreign market--"curios," in fact. No one who has visited Japan can have failed of being impressed by those gigantic statues of Buddha which have been erected in different parts of the country. The largest and best known is the Dai Butsu, at Kamakura, a few miles from Yokohama. The height of this great statue is nearly 50 feet, in circumference it is 97 feet. The length of the face is 8 feet 5 inches, the width of mouth 3 feet 2 inches, and it has been asserted--though I do not guarantee the accuracy of the calculation--that there are 830 curls upon the head, each curl 9 inches long. The statue is composed of layers of bronze brazed together. It is hollow, and persons can ascend by a ladder into the interior. The Dai Butsu at Nara is taller than the one at Kamakura. It is dissimilar to most of the others in the country in having a black face of a somewhat African type. This image is stated to have been erected in the year 750 A.D., and the head has, I believe, been replaced several times. In the Kamakura Dai Butsu both hands rest upon the knees, while in the one at Nara the right arm is extended upward with the palm of the hand placed to the front. The statue at Nara is made of bronze which is stated to be composed of gold 500, mercury 1,950, tin 16,827, and copper 986,080 lbs., the total weight of the statue being about 480 tons. Nearly all the Dai Butsus in the country are of ancient workmanship. There is a modern one constructed of wood erected in the year 1800 at Kyoto, 60 feet high. As a work of art it has, however, no pretensions, which rest entirely upon its size. Criticisms in regard to the artistic merits of these immense images have been numerous and by no means unanimous. To my mind they are superb specimens of the work of the old metallurgists of Japan, and they are, moreover, deeply interesting as indicative of the ideas of their designers in regard to the expression of placid repose of Nirvana. Mr. Basil Chamberlain has appositely remarked in reference to the great statue at Kamakura: "No other gives such an impression of majesty or so truly symbolises the central idea of Buddhism, the intellectual calm which comes of perfected knowledge and the subjugation of all passion." And Lafcadio Hearn, that learned authority on everything Japanese, who has brought into all his writings a poetical feeling which breathes the very spirit of old Japan, has observed in regard to the same statue: "The gentleness, the dreamy passionlessness of those features--the immense repose of the whole figure--are full of beauty and charm. And, contrary to all expectations, the nearer you approach the giant Buddha the greater the charm becomes. You look up into the solemnly beautiful face--into the half-closed eyes, that seem to watch you through their eyelids of bronze as gently as those of a child; and you feel that the image typifies all that is tender and solemn in the soul of the East. Yet you feel also that only Japanese thought could have created it. Its beauty, its dignity, its perfect repose, reflect the higher life of the race that imagined it, and, though inspired doubtless by some Indian model, as the treatment of his hair and various symbolic marks reveal, the art is Japanese. "So mighty and beautiful is the work that you will for some time fail to notice the magnificent lotus plants of bronze, fully 15 feet high, planted before the figure on another side of the great tripod in which incense rods are burning." Kaemfer, writing in the seventeenth century, remarked of the Japanese: "As to all sorts of handicraft, they are wanting neither proper materials nor industry and application, and so far is it that they should have any occasion to send for masters abroad, that they rather exceed all other nations in ingenuity and neatness of workmanship, particularly in brass, gold, silver, and copper." In metal work the Japanese have certainly cultivated art to a high degree. Much of that metal work was, of course, employed in connection with articles which modern conditions of life in Japan have rendered absolutely or almost entirely obsolete. The bronze workers of Japan were and indeed are still famous. Their work as displayed in braziers, incense-holders, flower-vases, lanterns, and various other articles evinces great skill, while the effects often produced by the artists in the inlaying and overlaying of metals with a view of producing a variegated picture has long been the wonder and admiration of the Western world. It is almost safe to assert that the finest specimens of work of this kind can never be reproduced. In casting, too, there was no lack of skill in old Japan. The big bell at Kyoto, which is 14 feet high by over 9 feet in diameter, is a sufficient object-lesson as to the proficiency attained in casting in bygone days. Much of the bronze work of Japan, especially in birds and insects, is to me incomparable. The modern bronze work of the country, though certainly beautiful, does not in any respect or any degree approach that of the masters of two or three hundred years ago. In the manipulation of metals and amalgams these men have reached a higher standard of perfection than had previously or has since been attained. The bronze work of Japan is not, in my opinion, as generally appreciated as it deserves to be. There is, I think, nothing of the same kind in the world to be compared with it when it was at its best. Like much of the other art of Japan modern conditions are, as I have said, not conducive either to its progress or development. Still, there is no lack of skill in this particular branch of art in Japan at the present time, and I have seen some very admirable, not to say magnificent, specimens of modern bronze work. [Illustration: BRONZE INCENSE-BURNER AND SMALL FLOWER-VASE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY] Armour is now nearly as effete in Japan as in this country, and yet in the decoration of armour the Japanese artist in metal was in the past not only skilful but beautiful. Fine specimens of armour are now extremely rare. That particular kind of work has, of course, gone never to return. Next in importance to armour came the sword. Some of us can remember when the two-sworded men of Japan were still actualities, not, as they have now become, historical entities, the terror of the foreign community there. The sword was an important and, indeed, an essential weapon in the conditions of society that obtained in old Japan, not only for self-defence but for offensive purposes, either in respect of family feuds or individual quarrels, which were almost invariably settled by the arbitrament of the sword. That weapon was also used for those suicides known as hara-kiri, the outcome of wounded honour or self-respect, which were such prominent features in the Japanese life of the past. Some Western writers have attempted to poke a mild kind of fun at this proneness of the Japanese for the "happy despatch" on what seemed to the writers very flimsy or trivial grounds. To me, on the contrary, the practice of hara-kiri, indefensible as it may be in some respects, indicates the existence of a high code of honour, the slightest infringement of which rendered life intolerable. The sword then had innumerable functions, and, like almost every article of utility in Japan, it became the subject of elaborate ornamentation. The blade itself was brought to a high state of perfection, and as regards the tempering of the steel has been the admiration of cutlers in every part of the globe. Indeed the sword-makers of Japan are famous from the tenth century downwards. Many of the sword-blades had mottoes inscribed on them, and most had designs ornate and often elaborate. The accessories of the blade and the ornamentation thereof lent full scope for that artistic adornment which has for ages past, as I have more than once remarked, been characteristic of almost every article used in Japan. The wearing of the sword was confined to persons of a certain rank, and different classes wore different kinds of swords. About the sixteenth century the custom of wearing two swords, one large, the other about the size of a dirk, came into fashion. The two-handed sword was essentially a war sword. The colour of the scabbard was almost invariably black with a tinge of red or green, and it was in most instances beautifully lacquered. The possessor of a sword gave full vent to his tastes in regard to the size and decoration of his weapon. According to Griffis: "Daimios often spent extravagant sums upon a single sword and small fortunes upon a collection. A Samurai, however poor, would have a blade of sure temper and rich mountings, deeming it honourable to suffer for food that he might have a worthy emblem of his rank." On January 1, 1877, the wearing of swords was abolished by an Imperial decree, and foreigners visiting or resident in Japan in that and the following years were able to pick up magnificent swords for a few dollars each. I have not space to describe in detail the many accessories which went to form the complete sword for the strong man armed in old Japan, or the elaborate and artistic ornamentation of every detail. In many of the small pieces of metal work which adorned the swords gold, silver, platina, copper, iron, steel, zinc, besides numerous alloys were used. The abolition of sword-wearing gave a death-blow to the industry in connection with the making of swords except in so far as it has been continued for the purpose of turning them out for the European market. But during the many centuries the art of metal work, as exemplified in sword manufacture and the ornamentation of the sword and the various accessories of it, existed in Japan it reached a magnificent height of perfection. Dealing only with one period of it a French writer has remarked: "What a galaxy of masters illuminated the close of the eighteenth century! What a multitude of names and works would have to be cited in any attempt to write a monograph upon sword furniture! The humblest artisan, in this universal outburst of art, is superior in his mastery of metal to any one we could name in Europe. How many artists worthy of a place in the rank are only known to us by a single piece, but which is quite sufficient to evidence their power! From 1790 to 1840 art was at fever heat, the creative faculty produced marvels." Besides the making and ornamentation of swords the metal workers in Japan attained great skill in the design and finish of many other articles which were in constant use by the people--pipes, cases to hold the Indian ink which formed the writing material, the clasps and buttons of tobacco pouches, besides vases, &c. In reference to the making of alloys these metal workers showed considerable ingenuity, the alloys used, amalgams of gold, silver, copper, and other metals in deft proportions, resulting in magnificent effects as regards ornamentation and permanency. Japan has undoubtedly been greatly aided in the height to which the art of the country of various kinds has attained by the plentifulness of minerals therein. Gold, silver, copper, iron, lead, tin, and many other minerals exist. Strange to say, gold at one time was considered no more valuable than silver--a fact which may account for the lavish manner in which it was used for decorative purposes in art of all descriptions. I fear that an inevitable result of Western influences and the great, indeed drastic, changes which have been effected thereby in the ideas, manners, and customs of the Japanese people has been the decay, if not the destruction, of the art connected with metal work. Sword manufacture and everything relating thereto is, of course, gone; other metal industries are following suit. The result, as I have said, was inevitable, but it is none the less deplorable. Although it requires an expert to deal with and describe in all its infinite detail the metal work of Japan, it does not need an expert's knowledge to profoundly admire it and be lost in admiration at the skill displayed and the pains taken in respect of every part of it. The workers in this, as indeed in all the other art industries of Japan in the past, were quite evidently not men in a hurry or much exercised concerning their output, and scamping their work in order to establish a record. Their hearts must have been in everything they undertook, and their sole aim, whatever they did, to put into their work all their skill and knowledge and love of the beautiful. They, in fact, worked not for pelf but for sheer love of art, and so long as the work of these artists of various kinds endures the world will assuredly never cease to admire it. Painting has, in Japan, long been greatly cultivated, and in some respects highly developed. There are various recognised schools of painting, but I shall not weary my readers with any attempt, necessarily imperfect as it would be, to describe them in detail. China and the Buddhist religion have profoundly influenced painting as the other arts of Japan. Indeed, the early painters of Japan devoted themselves almost entirely to religious subjects. Most of their work was executed on the walls, ceilings, and sliding screens of the Buddhist temples, but some of it still exists in kakemonos, or wall pictures, and makimonos, or scroll pictures. In the ninth century painting, as well as the arts of architecture and carving, flourished exceedingly. Kyoto appears to have been the great artistic centre. The construction of temples throughout the country proceeded apace, and it is related that no less than 13,000 images were carved and painted during the reign of one emperor. Kyoto was, in fact, the centre of religious art. We are told that the entire city was in a constant artistic ferment, that whole streets were converted into studios and workshops, and that the population of idols and images was as numerous as the human habitation. Nearly all the temples then constructed and adorned have vanished, but that at Shiba still remains to convey to us some idea of the artistic glories of this period of intense religious belief, which gave expression to its fervour and its faith in architecture, carving, and painting. About the thirteenth century flower and still-life painting came into vogue. Almost simultaneously religious fervour, as expressed in art, began to grow cold. The artist became the hanger-on of the Daimio, who was too often employed in burning temples and destroying their artistic treasures. The painter then painted as his fancy led him, and if he treated of religious subjects did not invariably do so in a reverential spirit. From time to time new schools of painting arose, culminating, in the eighteenth century, in the Shijo school, which made a feature of painting animals, birds, fishes, flowers, &c., from nature, instead of adhering to the conventional style which had previously prevailed. The colouring of some of the work of this school is superb and is greatly in request among art collectors. Of late years painting in Japan seems, to some extent, to have come under Western influences. There is, indeed, a progressive party in painting which not only does not resist these Western influences but actually advocates the utilisation of Western materials and methods in painting and the discarding of all that had made Japanese painting essentially what it is. I confess to a hope that this progressive school will not make quite so much progress as its disciples desire. To introduce European pigments, canvas, brushes, &c., and discard the materials formerly in use, to get rid of the Japanese method of treating subjects, whether landscapes, country scenes, the life of the people, representations of animals, and so on, and replace that method by imitations of European schools of painting, must simply involve the destruction of all that is essentially and characteristically Japanese and the replacing of it by something that is not Japanese or indeed Oriental. The essence of art is originality. I admit that art may come under foreign influences and be improved, just as it may be degraded, by them. If the influences of foreign art are to be advantageous that art must, I suggest, be in some measure akin to the style of the art which is affected by it. For example, the influence in the past of China or Korea upon an analogous style of art in Japan. But for Japanese painters to remodel their peculiar style upon that of Europe must prove as fatal to Japanese painting as an art as any similar endeavour of European painters to remodel their style upon that of Japan would be fatal to the distinctive art of Europe. I make this statement with full knowledge of the fact that some art critics in this country declare that Mr. Whistler and other artists have been largely affected or influenced in their style by a study of Japanese art in painting and its methods. I have referred to kakemonos, those wall pictures which are such a pleasing feature of the simple decoration of Japanese houses. Many of these are superb specimens of art, and the same remark may be made in reference to the makimonos, or scroll pictures. It may be that not every Western eye can appreciate these Japanese paintings fully at a first glance, but they certainly grow upon one, and I hope the time is far distant when kakemonos will be replaced in Japanese homes by those mural decorations, if I may so term them, to be seen in so many English houses, which are a positive eyesore to any person with even the faintest conception of art. The work of the old painters of Japan, as it appears on kakemonos and makimonos, is now rare. Much of it, as is the case with the other art treasures of the country, has gone abroad. I am, however, of opinion that painting has not deteriorated to anything like the same extent as some of the other Japanese arts. The subjects depicted by the artists have during the centuries from time to time changed, but the technique has altered but little. It does not, I know, appeal to everybody, but it is the kind of art, I reiterate, that grows upon one. No person who has interested himself in painting in modern Japan, especially on kakemonos, can, I think, have failed to be impressed by the exquisite and beautiful work which the Japanese artists in colour to-day produce. [Illustration: KAKEMONO ON PAPER ATTRIBUTED TO MATAHEI] [Illustration: KAKEMONO ON PAPER ATTRIBUTED TO SHIMMAN, UKIYO SCHOOL. EIGHTEENTH CENTURY] Silk and satin embroidery as an industry and an art at one time attained considerable importance in Japan, but of recent years has greatly declined. The craze among the upper classes for European dress has, of course, seriously affected the demand for elaborately embroidered silk and satin garments, and is bound to affect it to an even greater extent in the future as the custom of wearing European garb spreads among the people. No one with any artistic sensibilities can help regretting the fact that Japan is gradually but surely discarding the distinctive costume of her people. That costume was in every respect appropriate to their physique and facial characteristics. The same certainly cannot be said of European attire. However, it is now, I suppose, hopeless to arrest the movement in this direction, and in a comparatively few years, no doubt, the ancient and historic dress of the Japanese people will be as obsolete as the silks, satins, ruffles, &c., of our forefathers. And what remark shall I make of Japanese curios, the trade in which has assumed such very large dimensions? Have they no claim, some of my readers may ask, to be included in a chapter on art? There is no doubt that many purchasers of them would be shocked were they to be told that there was nothing artistic in many, if not most, of these articles, that they were made simply and solely for the European market, and that the manufacture of curios for this purpose was now just as much a trade as is the making of screws in Birmingham. I am quite prepared to admit that some of the articles included in the generic term "curios," which can now be purchased in every large town in Great Britain, are pretty and effective, but as regards many of them there is certainly nothing artistic or indeed particularly or peculiarly Japanese. This making of curios for the foreign market has, as I have said, assumed considerable dimensions in Japan of recent years, and in connection therewith the Japanese has certainly assimilated many Western ideas in reference to pushing his wares. As an example in point of this I will quote here an anecdote told me by a friend who had a considerable knowledge of Japan in the 'seventies. During one of his journeyings inland, when staying at a Japanese tea-house, he was initiated into the use of Japanese tooth-powder, which is in pretty general use among the lower classes. On leaving Japan he purchased and brought to England a considerable quantity of this tooth-powder, and on settling down in London he discovered a Japanese shop where it was on sale. For some seventeen or eighteen years he purchased the tooth-powder at the shop, sold in the little boxes in which it was vended in Japan, not only using it himself but introducing it to a large number of his acquaintances. One day last year, on going into the shop referred to to make a further purchase, he was informed that they were run out of tooth-powder and did not quite know if they would have any more. My friend returned a month or two later to the same shop on the same errand bent, and asked if they had received a fresh supply. He was told that a further supply had come to hand of very much the same description, but at double the price. He purchased a box, the outside of which bore the following inscription in English: "Japanese Sanitary Dentifrice; Superior Quality. Apply the powder to the teeth by means of a brush, using moderate friction over the whole surface." On opening the box my friend found the powder was perfumed--perfumed for the European market! Now tooth-powder is, of course, not a curio, nor is the expression "moderate friction over the whole surface," I may remark, characteristically Japanese. The little anecdote is, I think, typical of the change that has come over and is still actively in progress in Japan--a change which, however inevitable, and beneficial though in many respects I believe it to be, is most assuredly not beneficial to the interests of art of any kind. The fact of the matter is that the hurry-scurry of modern civilisation is not conducive to artistic work of any description. The man in a hurry is unlikely to accomplish anything of permanent value. Working against time is utterly subversive of the realisation of artistic ideals. The past, whether in the West or the East, when railways, telegraphs, telephones, newspapers, and all the adjuncts of modern progress were unknown, was the period when men did good and enduring work. They could then concentrate their minds upon their art free from those hundred-and-one discomposing and disconcerting influences which are the concomitants of modern civilisation. The true artist thinks only of his art; for him it is not merely a predominant, but his sole interest. He brings to it all his mind, his ideas and ideals, his energy, enthusiasm, pertinacity; in it is concentrated all his ambition. Extraneous matters can only distract his mind from his art, and accordingly are to be abjured. I fear this exclusiveness, this aloofness, is rare nowadays in the West; it is perhaps less rare in the East, but it is becoming rarer there as Western influences, Western ideas, and Western modes of life and method of regarding life make progress. The poet, the painter, the sculptor, the novelist, the dramatist, if their work is to be other than ephemeral, need an atmosphere of repose and quietude wherein the mind can work and fashion those ideas which are to be given material expression free from all distracting and disturbing influences. Where can the aspiring artist, under modern conditions of life, find such a haven of rest? And even if he find it I fear he too often has no desire to cast anchor there. The distractions of life are frequently alluring, and the embryonic artists of to-day assure us that they must, in modern jargon, keep "in touch" with modern thought with a view of, in modern slang, being "up-to-date." Ideas such as these--and they seem to me to be not only largely prevalent but almost universal--are in my opinion fatal, not only to the development but to the very existence of art. We see in this country the effect upon every department thereof. Poetry, painting, sculpture, literature, the drama, are by almost general consent in a state of utter decadence. The great poet or painter, the great artist in words, on canvas, in marble, or in wood--where is he? Are there any signs or portents of his advent? None. Modern conditions of life have killed the artist, and replaced him by artistic mediocrities or mechanicians who labour not for love but for lucre, and are more concerned about the amount of their output than the quality thereof. And as of England and Europe so I fear is it, and will it be to a greater extent, in the near future in Japan. The artist in lacquer, porcelain, metal, painting, embroidery, cannot exist under the conditions of modern progress. He may still produce good and beautiful work, but it will be no longer artistic in the higher sense of that word, just because those ideas and ideals which make the artist and connote art cannot exist in their fulness and purity amidst the hurry and bustle and turmoil and desire for wealth which are the essential characteristics of the civilisation of Europe and America to-day--a civilisation which Japan has imported, and to a large degree assimilated, and which she must accept with its defects as well as its advantages. We may, and must, regret the effect of this civilisation upon the art of old Japan, but there is no good shutting one's eyes to obvious facts or affecting to believe that in due course we shall witness a renaissance in Japan, a new birth of all that is great and grand and magnificent in her past history. There has for some years been a movement to prevent, as far as possible, the passing out of Japan of its art treasures. The Government has diligently catalogued all that remain in the temples and public buildings to obviate their being sold, and museums have been built for the purpose of collecting and exhibiting all that is best and representative of Japanese art There has also been a movement among the noblemen and the upper classes in the direction of forming private collections. It was time that steps such as these should be taken. It is a thousand pities they were not taken earlier. The drain of Japan's art treasures went on unchecked year after year, and it is probable that the private and public collections of Europe and America contain more Japanese art treasures than are now to be found in Japan itself. I am aware that in these collections are also to be found no little of the spurious, and many articles with no claim to be considered artistic in any sense of the word, but at the same time there is no doubt that, as I have said, for years, there was a constant export of artistic wealth from Japan. The Revolution of 1868, with its consequent cataclysms, caused the treasures of many of the great families to come on the market, with the result that they were bought up at prices often greatly below their intrinsic value and shipped from the country. They are of course gone for ever, and the only thing that now remains to Japan is to prevent as far as possible any of the treasures which she possesses meeting with a similar fate. I know perfectly well that art, like music, knows nothing of nationality, and that there is no reason why the resident of London or New York should not enjoy the beauties of Japanese art, and feast his eyes on the work of some great Japanese artist of three or four hundred years back just as much as the citizen of Tokio. This is in one sense true, but at the same time one cannot help sympathising with the patriotic desire of a people to retain in their midst specimens of the artistic conceptions and the artistic work of those famous men who are now ashes, but whose work remains as a symbol and an incentive to their countrymen to maintain a high standard, and to practise art simply and solely for the love of it. CHAPTER XIII JAPANESE ARCHITECTURE There are, perhaps, some superior persons who may consider that Japanese architecture has no claim to be regarded as art. These persons have no conception of art in architecture unless it be Doric, Gothic, Byzantine, Early English, or something of the kind, and unless it be expressed in bricks and mortar. Now Japanese architecture is only wood, but though only wood, as regards its majestic beauty, seemliness, and adaptability to the purposes for which it is intended, it stands unique. Moreover, it is the only timber architecture in the world that has attained in any degree artistic importance. Almost every building in Japan is, or, to speak more accurately, was, constructed of wood--a fact possibly due to the interminable earthquakes to which the country was long, and is still occasionally, subjected. In Japanese architecture no brick or stone is used unless it be for foundations; nevertheless, this restriction to wood material has not prevented the Japanese architects of the past raising stupendous structures which in beauty of adornment and durability have long been the admiration of the Western world. The Temple of Nara, for example, was constructed three hundred years before the foundations of Westminster Abbey were laid. As Dr. Dresser has pertinently remarked in this connection: "What buildings can we show in England which have existed since the eighth century and are yet almost as perfect as when first built? and yet our buildings rest on a solid foundation, and not on earth which is constantly rocked by natural convulsions." The porch of the temple of Todaji is erected upon pillars 100 feet high by 12 feet in circumference, and yet this porch is merely the entrance to another porch equally large, which again is itself the approach to the temple containing an image of Buddha 53 feet high with a halo 83 feet in diameter. The sanctuary of the ancient temple at Nara, already referred to, has columns quite 100 feet high consisting of a single stem. These ancient fanes are not bald architectural ruins. Their decoration, as ancient as the building itself, is quite as permanent. They are ablaze in every part with majestic decorations in gold and all the colours of the rainbow, as gorgeous and impressive now as they were when first applied by the hands of the decorators more than a thousand years ago. As a recent writer on this subject has appositely remarked: "It is in detail the Japanese architect most excels, for if he conceives like a giant he invariably finishes like a jeweller. Every detail to the very nails, which are not dull surfaces but rendered exquisite ornaments, is a work of art. Everywhere we encounter friezes and carvings in relief, representing in quaint colour harmonies flowers and birds, or heavenly spirits playing upon flutes and stringed instruments." It must often strike the thinking man as a curious fact that these old religious edifices, whether in Europe or the Far East, seem to have a permanence about them such as is not characteristic of modern buildings of the same kind. The reason, I think, must have been that the men who were employed in the designing and construction of these ancient buildings, whether in the East or West, were not mere mercenaries employed for a particular purpose, but men full of faith in their religion, a building in whose honour and for whose services they were employed to erect, and who threw into their work their whole souls, so to speak--gave, in fact, the best of what they had, and employed all their zeal, energy, and enthusiasm with a view of perpetuating, whether in stone, brick, or wood, the faith they so firmly held and so dearly loved. Some of the problems that the Japanese builders of the past had to face in the erection of a few of the great temples which still adorn the country have proved insoluble to many European engineers and architects. The erection and support of the magnificent pagoda at Nikko is an example in point. Dr. Dresser has referred to this and pointed out what he deemed a great waste of material in connection therewith. He failed to understand for what reason an enormous log of wood ascended in the centre of a structure from its base to the apex--a log of wood about 2 feet in diameter--while near the lower end one equally large was bolted to each of the four sides of the central mass. When Dr. Dresser expressed surprise on the subject he was told that the walls must be strong enough to support the central block; and on his pointing out that the central block was not supported by the sides, he was taken up to the top of the building and the fact demonstrated to him that the huge central mass was suspended like the clapper of a bell. On descending again, while lying on the ground, he saw that there was quite an inch of space between the soil and the great pendulum--a safeguard against damage by earthquake. For many hundreds of years the centre of gravity of this building has, by its swinging, been kept within the base, and the fact shows, were evidence needed, that the Japanese architects who designed this great Nikko Pagoda and similar structures were men of scientific capacities who had thought out every problem connected with the safety and permanence of the building they were employed to design. The domestic dwellings of the great mass of the Japanese people are of the simplest possible type. They are no doubt evolved from the hut of the Ainos, probably the aborigines of the islands, still to be found in the island of Yesso. There are no walls as we understand the term, the sides being composed, in winter, of amado, or sliding screens made of wood, and in summer of shoji, or oil-paper slides. This enables, in hot weather, the whole of the side of the house to be moved, and the air to be given free ingress and egress. Nor are these habitations divided off into permanent rooms, as in this and other European countries. Paper screens which slide into grooves divide the space according to requirements. The wood-work of these dwellings, which are largely composed of camphor-wood, is both within and without left unpainted, and they generally present a neat and alluring appearance. When one compares the dwelling-places of the poorest inhabitants of Japan with the hovels in this country, and more especially in Ireland, occupied by the peasants, one is really lost in wonder at the ignorance of those persons who call Japan, and no doubt still believe it to have been, an uncivilised country until it was brought intimately into association with Occidental nations. [Illustration: TEA HOUSE, NEAR TOKIO FROM A PRINT BY HIROSHIGE] As we ascend in the social scale in Japan we find, of course, a difference in architecture. The principle remains very much the same, but, as might be expected, the buildings are more elaborate and there is a wealth of ornamentation which is absent from those of the lower classes. I am inclined to think that what I may call ecclesiastical art has largely influenced the decoration of the houses of the nobles and upper classes in Japan. Many of the old feudal castles, which were gems of Japanese architecture, no longer exist, but some of those which still remain are exceedingly beautiful specimens of wooden architecture. The castle of Nagoya, built in the early part of the seventeenth century, is supposed to be the finest specimen of the kind in Japan. But the Japanese never seems to have been overmuch concerned respecting his dwelling. To comprehend the beauty of Japanese architecture, to see it in its purity and to realise all the grandeur that can be crowded into it, it is necessary to study it in the religious edifices of the country. Plainness is the characteristic of the Shinto temple; built as a rule of pine, it has a thatched roof. The fact of its being an edifice of the Shinto religion is self-evident from the torii which stand before every Shinto temple. There are no idols or exterior ornamentation of any kind. The walls are left untouched by either the painter or the lacquerer. In the Buddhist temples, on the contrary, the Japanese artist has had afforded him full scope for the exercise of his ornamental ingenuity. Numerous courtyards have to be traversed before reaching the temple itself. These courtyards contain many small buildings, bronze or stone lanterns, belfries, pavilions, pagodas, &c., &c., all elaborately decorated. Amongst the supplementary buildings connected with, but occasionally independent of, Buddhist temples, none is more interesting than the pagoda so intimately associated with Buddhism in every part of the Far East and so typically Oriental in its architecture. What may have been the precise origin of these five- or seven-storied erections, for what purpose they were intended, or what symbolism, if any, they were the expression of, is now largely a matter of conjecture. No one who has visited the East can at any rate have failed to be impressed by them. In Japan where, save the lower storey, the whole is lacquered red, they are a striking feature of the country. The lower storey, by the way, is decorated with numerous painted carvings. Topping the whole building is the twisted spire of bronze. Like most other things in Japan, the origin and development of the architecture of the country is lost in the twilight of obscurity. Korea appears to have influenced Japanese architecture, just as it has Japanese art of various kinds. It is an extraordinary fact that this portion of Asia contiguous to the Japanese islands, which has for so many hundreds of years past exercised such a subtle influence on the art and industries of Japan, should at the commencement of the twentieth century have passed under the suzerainty of that country. When one fully comprehends the connection in various ways of Korea with Japan in all the past centuries, one begins to understand the sentimental feeling which has influenced the whole nation in regard to the possibility of Korea passing under the domination of any other Power. At the beginning of the third century Korea was invaded by Japan and, although the country was then conquered, it, as has not infrequently under similar circumstances happened in history, exercised a potent effect on both the art and architecture of Japan. Korean architecture, of course, was not original; it was based on that of China, which in its turn came from Burmah, and that again probably from India. In the course of the seventh century, however, the imported architecture more or less assumed the general style which has since remained distinctly Japanese and although it undoubtedly embodies everything that was best in the architecture of the countries from which it derived its essential features, appears to me to have an originality of its own. No man who has not visited the great temples at Shiba and Nikko can understand to what heights of sublimity wooden architecture can rise, what a gorgeous _tout ensemble_ can be accomplished by harmonious colour schemes deftly blended by artists who had made a study of colour and all the details connected therewith, and knew how to render a picturesque effect which should be imposing without being either gaudy or glaring. I am afraid that the results of Western civilisation have been, and will continue to be, fatal to Japanese architects. Judging by the buildings which have been erected in the country since Western influences have reigned supreme Japanese architecture is not only dead but buried. These edifices--hotels, Government buildings, railway stations and so on, are an attempt to combine Western and Japanese styles. The result is an incongruity, to express it mildly, sufficient to cause the artistic mind to shudder. The men who built the temples at Shiba, at Nikko, and in various other parts of the country, and the pagodas which dot the land, are dead, and have left no successors. There is nothing, in my opinion, that is more likely to be influenced, and more injuriously influenced, by Western ideas than the architecture of Japan. There is a tendency in the country to erect European buildings, and I suppose it is one that it is impossible to complain of. The Japanese houses, although they have advantages in the summer-time, are undoubtedly not well fitted to withstand the rigours of winter; and I have no doubt that, from the standpoint of material comfort, a replacement of them by buildings erected on European lines might be an advantage. But from the artistic point of view such a change is one impossible to contemplate without a feeling of regret. There is, of course, no human possibility of temples such as those at Shiba and Nikko ever again being erected in Japan. As I have previously remarked, buildings such as these are something more than mere material constructions; they are the embodiment in material form of a living faith which the designers and builders attempted to set forth in their work. An age of disbelief, of indifference, of agnosticism, is not conducive to the construction of such edifices. We need not go to Japan for evidence of that obvious fact. The hideous monstrosities in the shape of cathedrals, churches, and chapels that have been built in this country during the past century or two are abundant proof, were any needed, that the faith and piety whose outward and visible manifestation is to be seen in Westminster Abbey, Canterbury Cathedral, York Minster, and various other noble architectural fanes is no longer with us; it has gone, and, apparently, inspiration with it. We can now only construct walls, and put roofs on them--admirable edifices, no doubt, to keep out the rain, but signifying nothing from an artistic or idealistic point of view. And so it is in regard to Japan. Architecture there, considered as an art, is dead. It may be imitated or reproduced, but the reproduction will impose on no person of artistic sensibilities or knowledge, any more than a Sheraton reproduction hailing from the Tottenham Court Road would impose on a connoisseur as the genuine work of that great artist in furniture. The art of Japan has, especially since the opening up of the country, been closely studied and investigated, and many learned tomes have been written concerning it. I do not, however, think that the art of the country as expressed in its architecture has received anything like the attention it deserves. This may possibly arise from the fact, to which I have already referred, that many people have what I may term a restricted definition or conception of art. Others there are, again, who consider wooden architecture to be almost a contradiction in terms. Words or definitions in a matter of this kind seem to me to be childish. The lover of the beautiful, the admirer of the historic, the investigator of the ebb and flow of religious systems and of the sentiments and spirit that have influenced and moulded them at different periods of their existence, can in the ancient wooden temples of Japan find abundant material for enjoyment, instruction, reflection. I have no hesitation in including these buildings in that surely expansive and comprehensive term, Art. CHAPTER XIV POSTAL AND OTHER MEANS OF COMMUNICATION The advancement of a nation, may, I think, be accurately gauged by the facilities it possesses or has developed for the communication of its inhabitants, either by personal intercourse or those other means which science has of late years discovered or evolved for the transmission of thought, whether on business or otherwise--the letter post, the telegraph, and the telephone. I accordingly purpose briefly describing the extent to which, in these respects, Japan has assimilated and utilised Western ideas. I have already touched on the matter of railway communication, so I will not again refer to it in any detail. I may, however, remark that although railways in Japan have done much to open up the country and provide for more frequent and rapid intercourse between man and man, they still lack much in the matter of European ideas of comfort. There are three classes of carriages, and the fares of each are extremely low. The gauge is narrow; the carriages are open, as in America, with one long seat running down each side and a shorter one at the end. In the first-class carriages tea is provided, a kettle and tea-pot wherein to make the beverage being placed on the floor between the seats for the use of passengers. No doubt ere long the Japanese will be more impressed than they appear to be at present as to the necessity for express trains, high speeds, Pullman and restaurant cars, as well as for other now indispensable characteristics of English and American railways. The initial railway line in Japan was that between Yokohama and the capital. It was popular and well patronised from the first, in contradistinction to the record of railways in China, where the initial line--that between Shanghai and Wusung--had to be bought up and pulled up by the Chinese authorities, in view of the number of Chinamen who persisted in committing suicide by placing themselves in front of the train as a protest--and a most effective protest, it must be admitted--against the introduction into their country of this contrivance of the "foreign devils." The contrast in the manner in which the introduction of railways was received in China and Japan respectively is, I think, characteristic of the difference in the disposition and mental attitude of the people of the two countries. A postal service modelled on that of Europe was inaugurated in Japan in 1871 by the introduction of a Government letter post between Tokio, Kyoto, Osaka, and Yokohama. Arrangements had, of course, long previously existed for the transmission of official correspondence throughout the country, but private letters were conveyed by private carriers. The following year the official postal service was extended to the whole of Japan, but not till twelve months later were private carriers abolished and the post-office, with all its various ramifications, constituted a State monopoly. Postcards, embossed envelopes, newspaper wrappers, and all the paraphernalia--so far as they had then been developed--of European post-offices were adopted by the Japanese postal authorities, and caught on with the people with surprising rapidity. In 1875 mail steamers were established between Japan and the Chinese ports, and the next year Japan, which at that time had, as I have elsewhere mentioned, to view post-offices established in the treaty ports, herself planted Japanese post-offices in both China and Korea. The Postal Union was joined in 1877, and from that time the Japanese post-office has developed, _pari passu_ with the post-offices of European countries until at the present time it is in some respects ahead of them in the matter of enterprise and the facilities it affords. The Inland Parcel Post was established in 1892, and it has had a marked effect in the opening up of the country and the familiarising of the people with many commodities, principally European, of which they had previously no knowledge. At the present time there are considerably over 6,000 post-offices. About a thousand millions of letters and postcards--a favourite means of communication--are handled yearly. The number of parcels at present sent through the post amounts to about eleven millions annually. Every description of post-office business as known in Europe is not only transacted in Japan, but, so far as results go to show, each new phase seems to fill a distinct want on the part of the people. Take the matter of postal orders for example, the introduction of which in this country was so vigorously opposed by the banking community, but a facility which has proved of incalculable utility and convenience to the mass of the public. Postal orders, when introduced into Japan, quickly came into favour. In the first year only a certain number of offices were authorised to issue and to pay these orders. This number has now been largely increased, and many millions of postal orders are at present annually sold in Japan. The International Postal Order Service has also assumed considerable dimensions, and has largely aided, I think, in the industrial and commercial development of the country. Post Office Savings Banks were established in Japan as far back as 1875. The object, as in this country, was to encourage thrift among the mass of the people. The maximum deposit in one year of any depositor is limited to 500 yen (about £50). The Post Office Savings Bank has been largely utilised, and both the number of depositors and the sums deposited continue to grow on a scale which shows that the utility and benefit of this institution are greatly appreciated by the Japanese people. At first the Savings Bank was worked at a loss; it took time to develop, while in its infancy banking methods were probably not as well understood by the Japanese authorities as they now are. At the present time the Post Office Savings Bank in Japan is so worked that it not only pays all its expenses but returns a profit to the national exchequer. In this respect it very favourably compares with the Post Office Savings Bank as administered in this country, which is not only worked at a loss, but, owing to various causes, has entailed a liability, nominal though it be, on the British taxpayer. Telegraphs were first introduced into Japan in 1869, and, as was the custom at that time in almost all countries, the telegraph followed the railway. The first line was between the capital and Yokohama. As time progressed some steps were taken in the direction of developing the system, but it was not until 1878 that the telegraph service in Japan was placed on a proper footing. In 1879 the International Telegraph Union was entered. At the present time Japan is covered by a network of telegraph wires, and every important island is in communication with the capital. Telegrams may be sent either in the Japanese or European languages. Like every other means of communication, the telegraph has been rapidly adopted by the Japanese people, and it now forms such a part of the national life that it is almost impossible to imagine the country without a telegraph system. There are about 2,600 telegraph offices in Japan, and over twenty million messages are annually despatched therefrom. I think it will be admitted that--especially in view of the difficulties occasioned by the necessity of the operators in the telegraph offices being conversant to some extent with the characteristics of two absolutely different descriptions of languages--the progress made by Japan, and the development and extension of the telegraph service of the country, have been really remarkable. When the question of introducing telephones into Japan came up for consideration it was treated somewhat more practically than was the case with reference to a similar matter in this country. There was there as here a difference of opinion as to whether telephonic communication should be left to private enterprise or be constituted a Government monopoly. After somewhat prolonged investigation it was decided that the telephone service should be set up and worked by the Government, and in the year 1890 the first telephone, that between Tokio and Yokohama, was opened. At first, strange to say, this new device of Western civilisation appears somewhat to have hung fire, and no general demand sprung up for the fitting of the telephone to private houses. It required, as indeed was the case in this country, some education of the people in regard to the paramount advantages of always having this means of communication at hand. The process of education in this respect was not prolonged. Before the telephone had been many years in the country the demand for its installation in houses and offices became so great that the Government had to obtain a special grant of money in order to carry out the necessary work. According to the latest returns there are somewhere about 350 telephone offices open to the public, while the approximate number of messages transmitted is about 150,000,000. The time is not far distant when, as I think will also be the case in this country, the telephone will be deemed to be an indispensable adjunct of almost every house in the towns of Japan. In connection with the means of communication one or two remarks in reference to tramways may not be out of place. These are entirely, or almost entirely, electric, and have certainly, if we are to judge by the patronage accorded to them, been very favourably received by the Japanese people. According to the latest returns I have available there were twenty-two tramway companies in Japan, which between them, in the year 1904, carried the very respectable total of over 73,000,000 passengers. All of these lines save one are electric. The first electric tramway, that in Kyoto, was opened in 1895, so that the development of the country in this direction has proceeded rapidly. The Tokio Electric Tramway Company pays a dividend of 11 per cent., and although this is a record which some of the other lines have not yet attained, and may not possibly attain, nevertheless these matters must not be altogether looked at from the point of view of dividends. The shareholder very probably regards them from that standpoint, but I suggest that the facilities given to a town may be as great or even greater by a tramway paying 2, or 3, or 5 per cent. as by one paying double that figure. Indeed, large dividends are often earned by cutting down expenditure or abstaining from expenditure designed to increase the facilities of passengers. There is every prospect of electric tramways being extended to every town of any importance in Japan, and I am confident they will greatly aid in the industrial development of the land. [Illustration: ÆRIAL TRANSPORT; BASKET SLUNG ON ROPES, PROVINCE OF HIDA FROM A PRINT BY HIROSHIGE] I cannot leave a consideration of the means of communication in Japan without making some reference to that somewhat peculiar vehicle which is by so many persons deemed to be essentially characteristic of the country, although, as a matter of fact, I believe it is of comparatively recent introduction, having been introduced either by a European or an American; I refer, of course, to the jinricksha. Before Japan became to so great an extent the objective point of the globe-trotter, and Europe, through the medium of numerous books, was rendered conversant with everything relating to the country, nothing more struck the imagination of the new arrival in Japan than the sight of this extraordinary vehicle--a kind of armchair on wheels with two shafts, pulled by a man scantily clad and with extremely muscular legs. Whoever was the individual responsible for the invention of the jinricksha, he certainly conferred a great boon on all foreigners resident in Japan before railways and tramways and other means of communication became as prevalent as they now are. The long distances traversed by the man between the shafts of a jinricksha and the speed he attained and maintained were almost a marvel to the foreign visitor. It was possible to get about the country in one of these vehicles quite as fast as any horse-drawn vehicle could convey one, and quite as comfortably. I have heard it stated that the men who pull these vehicles unduly develop their legs at the expense of other portions of their body, and that the speed at which they run and which they certainly keep up for extraordinarily long periods has extremely injurious effects on their constitution, so that they are, as a rule, not long-lived. I am not aware, nor have I been able to ascertain, whether such statements are mere theories or have any foundation in fact. This much I will say, that the Japanese jinricksha-runners are an extraordinary class in reference to the speed which they attain dragging a goodly weight for a very long distance. It does not seem likely that the jinricksha, acclimatised as it has been in Japan, will be ousted by other modern contrivances for getting about the country. It is still very much in evidence, and it is universally admitted by those who have had experience of it to be a most comfortable means of locomotion. Why it has never come into favour, at least to any extent, elsewhere than in Japan I have never been able to understand. Certainly jinrickshas can be hired at Shanghai, and they are to be seen at one or two other places in the Far East, but it may be regarded as a distinctly Japanese vehicle, although, as I have said, there is nothing Japanese about it excepting its adaptation in the country. I remarked at the commencement of this chapter that we may properly gauge the progress of a nation by the facilities it possesses or has developed for inter-communication personally and otherwise. I hope the few remarks I have made on this head may enable my readers to form some idea as to the position of Japan in this matter. I have not wearied them with statistics, but I have, I think, said enough to show that in everything relating to communication, whether it be the locomotion of the individual or the facilities given to him to communicate his wishes, desires, aspirations, sentiments, Japan is now well in line with all the other great civilised Powers, and has reason to be proud of the progress she has made and the manner in which she has adapted to the requirements of her people the ideas and inventions she has obtained from Europe and America. CHAPTER XV LAW AND ORDER In every nation which aspires to be regarded as civilised the supremacy of the law and the maintenance of order are matters of supreme importance. The most perfect code of law ever devised is quite evidently of no importance unless adequate means exist for enforcing its provisions, and although justice may be lauded as a most admirable object of attainment, yet, unless the courts of the country are independent, hold the scales evenly and use the sword with impartiality, justice will remain merely a sentiment, and there will be no practical exemplification of it. I have considered in this book as tersely as possible most of the factors of civilisation in Japan. Let me briefly deal with this matter of law and order. When the Revolution was effected in 1868 the whole legal procedure of the country was thrown more or less into a condition of disorganisation. Prior to 1868, as my readers will have seen, feudal principles prevailed in Japan. The feudal lords, or Daimios, administered justice, or what passed for it, within their own territories, and they were answerable to the central authority. In theory the feudal lords were commissioners of the ruling sovereign from whom they derived their authority; in practice they were very largely a law unto themselves, and their subjects had little or no practical chance of redress in the event of their suffering any injustice. It is very difficult to ascertain whether there was in reality a legal code of any kind in existence and under the ken of these feudal lords. The legal system then in vogue appears to have been based for the most part on custom and usage. A writer on the subject has remarked that the few written laws were of a thoroughly practical character. Unfortunately I have not had an opportunity of acquainting myself with the nature of these laws. They were probably, like everything else in the country, imported from China, and indeed the Chinese legal system has been supreme in Japan until recently, and even now I am not quite certain that much of its influence does not remain. I have read that the fundamental principle underlying the written laws referred to was that: "The people should obey the law, but should not know the law." The code was accordingly a secret one. I have not space, nor indeed have I any inclination, to deal with what is, after all, an academical question as to the law prevalent in Japan prior to the Revolution. It was probably for the most part, just as in other countries when feudalism existed, a kind of rough-and-ready justice, which perhaps served its purpose well at the time, and depended more as regards the matter of justice upon the administrator of it than upon the code itself. Though the Revolution took place in 1868, it was not until 1871 that the Daimios were deprived of all their administrative authority. The whole of the country was then divided into districts under the control of the central Government, and all relics of feudalism and class privileges, which had been numerous, were ruthlessly swept away. In due course a civil code, commercial code, code of civil procedure, and code of criminal procedure were issued. One or two of these codes were found not to work well in practice, and they have been submitted to and revised by committees specially appointed for that purpose. As I stated in the chapter on the Constitution the independence of the judges is recognised and provided for. The legal system of Japan at the present time is eclectic. As I have said, the Chinese system of legal procedure long obtained, and its influences may perhaps to some extent still remain. Nevertheless Japan has gone to various countries and selected what she deemed good in each for her present legal system. The jurisprudence of both France and England have been largely drawn on. In reference to the civil law custom is, as might have been expected in view of the circumstances of the country, still strongly relied on. There has often been a difficulty in ascertaining custom owing to the changed and changing conditions of the nation, and in reference thereto very much the same procedure has followed as in this country where the question of custom is so frequently pleaded in the courts of law. Some of the German system of jurisprudence has also been included in the Japanese legal system. As I have elsewhere observed, the suggestion to abolish extra-territoriality, and with it the foreign courts in Japan, met with a considerable amount of opposition from the foreign community there who believed that they would not be able to obtain justice in the Japanese courts. These fears have been shown to be groundless, and it is now generally recognised that the foreigner in Japan need have no fear of going into a Japanese court where he is, whether it be a civil or criminal matter, certain to obtain a perfectly fair trial. Closely connected with law is the matter of police. In Japan the police of the country are entirely under the control of the State, just as are the constabulary in Ireland. The police are under the orders of the Minister of the Interior, who has a special office for dealing with the matter. The cost of the force is, however, paid by each prefecture, the State granting a small subsidy. According to the latest statistics, the police force of Japan amounted to something under 35,000 officers and men. When we consider that this body of men is responsible for the enforcement of the law and the preservation of order among some 47,000,000 people, it will, I think, be admitted that the number is not excessive. The social condition of the Japanese police, if I may use such a term, is higher than that of the police in this and other countries. In Japan the police force had its genesis after the abolition of feudalism, and, as a matter of fact, a large proportion of the first members thereof belonged to the Samurai class. The social position and intellectual attainment of these young men gave what I may term a standing to the police force in Japan which it has not yet lost. Of course, nothing like the same class of men is now attracted to it, the salaries are comparatively small and the work is not over-congenial for people whose ideas are such as those of the Japanese. I may mention, as an interesting feature in this connection, that the Government have established a police and prison college in Tokio, where both police and prison officials are effectively trained for the discharge of their duties. This college was established when extra-territoriality was abolished, with the view of ensuring a higher training in view of the additional responsibilities that would devolve upon the police and prison officials. From police I naturally come to some consideration of prisons. There are a large number of people in this country who have the idea in their mind that prisons are a weak point in all foreign countries, and that it is only in England that these regrettable institutions are properly managed. In fact the idea now seems to be prevalent here that we have gone too far in the direction of making prisons comfortable, and that excellent alliteration "Coddled Criminals" has more than once done duty in print in this connection. I consider that the present prison system in Japan is regulated and administered on sounder principles than those that obtain in this country. There are in all about 140 prisons in Japan. All the old prisons in the country were constructed of wood and arranged on the associate system. A separate cell system is, however, specially provided for foreign criminals, who are given clothes, bedding, and other articles to which they are used. The Government, a few years ago, commenced the construction of a number of new prisons, for the most part built of brick, in which a mixed system of separation and association, according to the offences of the prisoners, will be employed. The windows of these prisons were directed to be made especially large, so that the prisoners might have plenty of light and air. This is a matter in which some foreign Governments, that of this country included, might well take a lesson from Japan. It is pleasing to be able to state that since 1899 the inmates of the prisons have been decreasing in number. There is nothing quite analogous to the ticket-of-leave system in this country. Parole is suggested by a prison governor to the Minister of Justice in reference to any prisoner whom he may deem worthy of the privilege, provided that prisoner has completed three-fourths of the sentence imposed upon him and has shown a disposition to live more worthily. I do not quite know how this latter fact is made plain in gaol, but at any rate the prison governor has to be convinced of it. A prisoner thus released remains under police supervision during the remainder of his sentence. In Japan the death penalty is not confined to murder. It may be inflicted for robbery with violence, homicide, wounds inflicted by children upon their fathers, mothers, and grand-parents, as well as for arson. This sounds a somewhat drastic blood code, but when I state that the average number of persons executed in Japan does not exceed thirty a year, it will be seen that either the crimes mentioned are infrequent or that the punishment of death is only inflicted in extreme cases. One interesting feature of the Japanese prison system is the granting of medals to criminals who have shown an amendment of their lives by good conduct and diligence at their work. The privileges enjoyed by persons possessing these medals are so interesting that I will transcribe them here:-- 1. All medallists are supplied with superior kinds of garments and other articles. 2. Each medallist is allowed to send out two letters per month. 3. Medallists enjoy the privilege of bathing prior to other prisoners, hot water being used in accordance with the general custom of the Japanese people. 4. The supply of accessories is increased in quantity every week for medallists, according to the number of medals granted, to the extent of an increased expense of two sen or less for one meal per person. This increase is granted once a week to the possessor of two medals, and three times a week for each possessor of three medals. 5. The allotment of earnings is made in the following proportion, the remainder being applied to prison expenses:-- Three-tenths to each felon to whom one medal has been granted. Four-tenths to each misdemeanant to whom one medal has been awarded. Four-tenths to each felon having been granted two medals. Five-tenths to each felon possessing three medals. Six-tenths to each misdemeanant granted three medals. There is no need for me to deal with the question of punishment of criminals in Japanese prisons. I may, however, remark that in respect of foreign criminals every effort is made to treat them in accordance with their conditions of national life in regard to bathing, food, &c. In reference to the question of prison labour, which has become somewhat of a vexed economic problem in this country, the Japanese authorities do not appear to experience much difficulty. The object of the prison system of labour is to give the prisoners a careful training, and to encourage diligence, so that on their return to the world they may not experience difficulty in obtaining employment. The labour is of two kinds--Government, and for private individuals. In the latter case the necessary labour is obtained from the prisons direct, the employers supplying the material. I think this part of the system is perhaps open to question, as it has been found in other countries productive of grave abuses. The discharged prisoner in Japan, as in other countries, finds a difficulty in obtaining employment, and several societies similar to those in existence here have been established with a view of assisting discharged prisoners. I have not sufficient information to enable me to say what measure of success these societies have achieved. In a country like Japan, which is endeavouring to perfect all her institutions, I hope that the discharged prisoner problem will be solved otherwise than by philanthropic societies. The criminal who has completed his sentence ought to be deemed to have purged his offence, and has a right to return to the community and obtain work until, if ever, he again misconducts himself. I hope my few remarks on the subject of the means taken in Japan to maintain law and order will tend to convince my readers that in every detail of her administration Japan has shown a capacity for adapting what is good in foreign nations and moulding it for her own purposes. The foreign community in Japan has long since got over its state of panic in regard to the danger of suing and being sued in Japanese courts, and the possibility of being an inmate of a Japanese gaol. The years that have elapsed since the treaties were revised have demonstrated clearly that, if anything, extra consideration is shown to the foreigner in all the details of the administration of the law in Japan. I remarked at the beginning of this chapter that the supremacy of the law and the maintenance of order are matters of supreme importance in every civilised country. Japan has recognised this fact, and she has acted upon the recognition thereof with most admirable results. CHAPTER XVI LITERATURE AND THE DRAMA The literature of Japan is a somewhat recondite subject, while the Japanese drama is at present, like many other things in the country, to a great extent in a state of transition. Still, some remarks on these two matters are, I consider, absolutely essential in order that my readers may form some idea of two important phases of Japanese life. The literature of Japan is indeed largely mixed up with the national life through many centuries--a reflection, in fact, of it. The late Sir Edwin Arnold, whose great authority on everything connected with Japan is generally admitted, has observed in reference to the literature of that country: "The time will come when Japan, safe, famous, and glad with the promise of peaceful years to follow and to reward this present period of life and death conflict, will engage once again the attraction of the Western nations on the side of her artistic and intellectual gifts. Already in this part of the globe persons of culture have become well aware how high and subtle is her artistic genius; and by and by it will be discovered that there are real treasures to be found in her literature. Moreover, England, beyond any other European country, is likely to be attracted to this branch, at present naturally neglected, of what may be called the spiritual side of Japanese life." The drawback to the fulfilment of the somewhat optimistic forecast of Sir Edwin Arnold is the great difficulty experienced by the Western nations in acquiring a sufficient knowledge of the language in which the treasures of Japanese literature are embedded if not entombed. No man can ever grasp the beauties of a literature, and especially an Oriental literature, through the medium of a translation, however well done. A translation is like a diamond with the brilliancy removed, if we can imagine such a thing. It may be faultlessly correct in its rendering, and yet absolutely misleading in its interpretation of the original. Japanese literature embraces poetry, history, fiction, books of ceremony and travel, as well as many works of an ethical nature. Poetry is supposed to have reached its most brilliant period in Japan a long way back--long even before Geoffrey Chaucer took up his pen to write those immortal lines which I fear but comparatively few Englishmen now read. In reference to this poetry of twelve hundred years ago, Mr. Aston--perhaps the greatest authority on the subject--remarks: "While the eighth century has left us little or no prose literature of importance, it was emphatically the golden age of poetry. Japan has now outgrown the artless effusions described in the preceding chapter, and during this period produced a body of verse of an excellence which has never since been surpassed. The reader who expects to find this poetry of a nation just emerging from the barbaric stage of culture characterised by rude, untutored vigour, will be surprised to learn that, on the contrary, it is distinguished by polish rather than power. It is delicate in sentiment and refined in language, and displays exquisite skill of phrase with a careful adherence to certain canons of composition of its own." I confess my knowledge of the language is insufficient to enable me to read Japan's literary treasures in the original, and as I have remarked, no man through the medium of a translation can adequately form a correct opinion respecting any description of foreign literature. I fear, however, that modern Japan is as little concerned with its eighth-century poetry as the modern Englishman is with that of Chaucer, not to speak of those great poets, most of whom are now forgotten, who lived long before Chaucer and whose verses were not only read but sung throughout the length and breadth of the land. In a much later period of the history of the country, literature was undoubtedly greatly in vogue. There was evolved what I may term a distinct literary class, the language and literature of China were diligently studied, and very much of the literature of this time is written in Chinese. That language, indeed, seems to have been at one period regarded in Japan very much as Latin was, and in some quarters is even still, regarded in Europe as the appropriate medium for expressing the most sublime thoughts of the brightest intellects. The fiction of this period, usually termed the Heian--and there is plenty of it still in existence--was for the most part written by women, so that it will be seen the female novelist is not, as some persons appear to imagine, a comparatively modern development. After the twelfth century--and most of the literature I have referred to is anterior to that--petty wars between the feudal princes appear to have been incessant, and the whole country was for a great number of years more concerned with fighting than with literature. History or historical romance seems to have been the favourite literary exercitation during this period. A good deal of the literature thereof is still, I understand, read in Japan, especially by its youth, for whom the stirring episodes embodied in the history and historical romances of these bellicose times seem to have an especial fascination. The Tokugawa period, covering the 270 years during which the Government of the Tycoon was installed in Yeddo, was one during which literature made great progress in Japan. Those years were a time of profound peace; the country was cut off from the rest of the world, thrown in upon itself, and accordingly had ample leisure, and possibly much inclination, to develop its artistic side, especially in literature. The study of books was prevalent everywhere, and quite a band of teachers arose in the land whose mission it was to expound its ancient literature, and exhume for public edification and delectation many of the buried literary treasures of the past. These teachers were not content with mere oral description; they wrote what would now be termed treatises or commentaries, many of which show great depth of learning, by way of expounding and explaining the classics of Japan with a view of bringing them within the ken of the great mass of the people. This period (the Tokugawa) also had its works of fiction; it produced many dramas and, I believe, some, if not much, poetry. The romances of this time are, I am told, written principally for or down to the level of the common people. The classics of Japan were, and probably still are, like the classics of Greece and Rome in respect of the mass of the people of this country, not understood, and most likely were they, would not be appreciated. And hence in the Tokugawa period what I may term the popular writer was evolved, and he turned out, under a _nom-de-plume_ for the most part, books for the lower orders. These works are now regarded as somewhat vulgar, but they are in many respects a mirror of the age in which they were written, and it is doubtful if they are much coarser in style than some of the novels published in England in the eighteenth century. Vulgarity, it must be remembered, is largely a matter of opinion, and because either the Japanese of to-day or the foreigner who has perused, perhaps in a translation, this fiction of a couple of centuries back, dubs it according to the opinion of to-day vulgar, it by no means follows that it was so considered in Japan two hundred years back. Since the Revolution of 1868 it is doubtful if Japan has produced any distinctive literature. The whole country and all the national modes of thought have been in a state of transition, a condition of unrest--circumstances not conducive to the production of classical literature; moreover, literary ideas and conceptions have changed and are still changing--changing rapidly. The development of a powerful newspaper press must have a marked and far-reaching effect on Japanese literature. So also must the study of Western literature by the educated classes--a study which is both extensive and increasing. Japanese literature is now undoubtedly in the melting-pot, so to speak, and what will be the precise result it is impossible to determine. It must be confessed that the modern Japanese who has been educated according to Western methods, and is adequately acquainted with the languages and literature of Europe, is infrequently an admirer of the peculiar literature of his own country. Possibly it suffers by comparison. Japan has produced no Dante, or Shakespeare, or Milton. The moods of her people, and probably the limitations and peculiarities of the language, have prevented the possibility of the appearance of such divine geniuses. There is, its critics declare, an absence of sustained power and sublimity in Japanese literature generally, while the didactic and philosophical, if not altogether lacking, is extremely rare therein. But it seems to me the height of absurdity to compare the literature of a country like Japan with the literature of some other land where everything is, and always has been, essentially different. To properly comprehend, and probably to be able to appreciate Japanese literature, it would be necessary to get, so to speak, into the atmosphere in which it was produced. To judge it by twentieth-century standards and canons of criticism and from European standpoints is not only unfair but must create a totally false impression. [Illustration: A LABOUR OF LOVE FROM A PRINT BY TOSHIKATA] In every country which has attained any degree of civilisation, and even in some countries whose civilisation is still imperfect, the drama has played an important part, and Japan has been no exception to the rule. Its dramatic literature is, I believe, of considerable extent, and to understand, much less appreciate it properly would require very profound study. Many of the more or less ancient dramas are works not only containing the dialogue of the play but much descriptive matter. They were, as a matter of fact, written for theatres in which there were to be not actors but marionettes, singers being engaged to sing the lines out of sight while the puppets depicted the characters. Some of these dramas have, since they were written, been adapted for the ordinary stage and the characters portrayed by Japan's most famous actors. The theatre was long looked down upon and it is only of comparatively recent years that it has been looking up. A large number of persons in this country still appear to be under the impression that there are no actresses on the Japanese stage. This is, of course, a mistake, caused no doubt by the fact that in Japanese theatres the female characters in a play are so often impersonated by men. Some two or three centuries back actors and actresses used, as in Europe, to play in the same piece, but this was for some reason or other interdicted, and ever since there have been companies composed of men and women respectively. In the male companies some of the female parts naturally fell to men and in the female companies the male parts were of necessity depicted by women. Of recent years the tendency is to revert to the ancient practice and to come into line with the custom of European countries in this matter, and ere long, no doubt in Japanese theatres the female characters will be taken by women and the male characters by men. The theatre has always been a popular institution in Japan, and the pieces usually played have very much the same _motif_ as the dramas formerly so popular in this country--the discomfiture of the villain and the triumph of virtue. The Japanese theatre does not appeal to the ordinary European visitor, or indeed to many Europeans living in the country. In the first place, the performance is too long for the European taste, and in the next, most Japanese plays are of one kind, and concerned with one period--the feudal. There is, moreover, a plethora of by-play--sword exercise and acrobatic performances--which have nothing whatever to do with the plot of the piece. In fact, irrelevancy appears to the European the chief characteristic of what he sees on the stage of a Japanese theatre. Nor does the play, as is usual in serious dramas in this country, revolve round one character, the hero or heroine. Indeed it is not always easy to earmark, so to speak, the leading character, and it is occasionally doubtful in many Japanese plays whether there is any hero or heroine. But the same remark may be made here as in reference to the literature of the country. It is probably essential to get into the Japanese atmosphere in order to properly appreciate a Japanese play. The drama in Japan at any rate serves, and so far as I have had an opportunity of forming an opinion in the matter, serves well, its purpose to interest and amuse the frequenters of the theatres, besides which the lessons it inculcates are for the most part of a moral nature. The high art of the Japanese theatre is represented by the "Nô," which I suppose fills much the same position as does the Italian opera in this country. The "Nô" is, I believe, very ancient. The written text is sung; there is a principal and a secondary character and a chorus. The dialogue is as ancient, some critics say as archaic, as the time in which the play was written, and I understand it requires being educated up to it in order to fully appreciate the "Nô." The ordinary Japanese would probably just as much fail to comprehend or like it as would the Englishman from Mile End, were he taken to Covent Garden, and invited to go into raptures over one of Mozart's or Meyerbeer's masterpieces. A performance of the "Nô" would probably interest those who find excitement in a representation of "Oedipus Tyrannus," or some Greek play. Still, the "Nô" is appreciated by a large number of the intellectual classes in Japan, who find an interest in the representation of this Japanese opera, as I suppose it may be termed. As I have already said, very much the same remarks made in reference to the literature of Japan apply to its drama. That country is still in the transition stage, and both its drama and its literature will undoubtedly be profoundly modified in future years. Western literature and Western dramatic art have already exercised considerable influence, and there are movements on foot whose object is to replace the old ideas and methods, especially in the matter of the representation of dramatic works by those which obtain in Europe and America. Whether these movements will be successful or not remains to be seen. There is certainly a large body of public opinion not only opposed but antagonistic to them. In spite of the rapid development of Japan in recent years, there is a very strong conservative party in the country--a party which, though it recognises or acquiesces in the desirability of change in many directions, is not prepared to throw overboard everything because it is old. I sincerely hope that the distinctive literature and dramatic art of the country will not be allowed to die out. Japan cannot afford to forget the past with its influences on the national life and character, influences at work for many ages which have assuredly had a material effect in elevating her to the position she at present occupies. CHAPTER XVII NEWSPAPERS IN JAPAN Japan having taken on most of the characteristics and some of the idiosyncracies of Western civilisation, has naturally developed a newspaper press of its own. Of course newspapers in Japan are no new thing. Mr. Kumoto, editor of the _Japan Times_, claims for Japanese journalism an origin as far back as the early part of the seventeenth century. "Long before," he remarks, "our doors of seclusion were forced open by the impatient nations of the West, our ancestors had found a device by which they kept themselves in touch with current events and news. The news-sheets of those days were roughly got up, being printed from wooden blocks hastily purchased for each issue. They were meagre in news, uncouth in form, and quite irregular in appearance, there being no fixed date for publication. Neither were they issued by any particular and fixed publisher. Anybody could issue them, and at any time they pleased. These sheets were called Yomuri, which, being translated, means 'sold by hawking.'" These ancient newspapers had, however, palpably nothing in common with modern journalism, and anything in the shape of criticism or comment, or any attempt to guide or mould public opinion was, of course, not to be found therein. He would have been a bold man at the beginning of the seventeenth century, or indeed very much later, who would have ventured to print and publish anything tending to influence public opinion, or having the appearance of being a criticism on those in authority. We may take it that for all practical purposes the rise of the native newspaper press of Japan did not take place till some time after the Revolution of 1868. If its rise has been recent its progress has certainly been rapid. There can be no question that both the rise and development of the vernacular press has been largely influenced by English journalism. There have always, since the opening of the country, been English newspapers in Japan, and very admirable newspapers too. One or more Englishmen have started papers printed in Japanese, and although these ventures were not commercially successful, they, at any rate, showed the way for Japanese journalism. Mr. Kumoto in his very interesting remarks published in Stead's "Japan and the Japanese," gives an amusing illustration of the somewhat amateur business lines on which the native Japanese newspapers were at first produced. He quotes the following notice which appeared in one of them: "The editors note with satisfaction the growing prosperity of their venture, and notify their subscribers that in view of the increased labour and trouble entailed on them by their increasing circulation, the gracious subscribers will kindly spare them the trouble by sending for their copies instead of having them delivered to them as before." There has certainly been a remarkable development in the Japanese newspaper press since this somewhat jejune announcement was published. Tokio at the present time possesses about forty daily newspapers, and there is hardly a town in the country of any importance that has not one or two papers of its own. There are now more than a thousand magazines and newspapers of various kinds published in the country--a number which yearly increases, and is certain to increase in the near future to a very much greater extent. But besides newspapers, Japan possesses news agencies on somewhat similar lines to those that exist in this country, whose function it is to supply the press with the latest news on every matter of public and, I am afraid, sometimes of merely private importance. Whether these news agencies perform useful functions either in this country or in Japan, is a matter upon which I shall express no opinion. News acquired in a hurry in competition with other agencies which exist for a similar purpose, and purveyed to journals printed in a hurry and read in a hurry, does not often allow of discrimination being exercised in regard to its circulation. The sensational element in the native press in Japan is quite as much in evidence as in that of this country. In regard to this kind of literary fare, the appetite increases with feeding, if I may vary an old French proverb, and the sensational journals of the Japanese capital are increasing in demand from every part of the country. As to the part which the press of Japan exercises in moulding public opinion, I confess I have not formed any clear idea; indeed, it is one upon which it is difficult to come to any conclusion. How far the press there moulds, and how far it follows public opinion is somewhat problematical. Be that as it may, many of the native papers are vigorously and effectively written, and indeed many eminent men in Japan have been either directly or indirectly connected with the press. The newspapers of Japan differ in this respect from those of this country--that there is a press law there, and newspapers are in theory, at any rate, somewhat more hampered in their criticisms and the publication of news than is the case here. This press law seems to have irritated the English more than the vernacular press of Japan, especially during the late war. Under the provisions of the law, a warning is always given to an offending newspaper before any official action is taken. The English journals in Japan have, perhaps not unnaturally, not so far been able to divest themselves of the idea that they have still extra-territorial rights, and are consequently justified in publishing any criticisms or news irrespective of the provisions of the press law. Newspapers in Japan do not of course attain such large circulations as some of those in England. I do not think there is any paper in the country with a circulation exceeding 100,000, and there are only one or two which reach anything like that figure. Advertising in Japan in papers has not attained the same importance as in this country. Of course all the journals, whether daily or weekly, have a large number of advertisements, but the non-advertisement portion of the paper forms a greater portion of the whole than is the case here. It may interest some of my readers to know that poetry which has long been tabooed by the press of this country is still a feature in that of Japan, and that the novel "to be continued in our next," is also served up for the delectation of Japanese readers. A free press in a free country is no doubt an admirable institution, but it has its disadvantages. I need not enumerate them, as my readers probably know them as well as I do myself. Indeed, both in England and America of late years we have had plenty of object-lessons, were any needed, in regard to these disadvantages. "The yellow press" is a phrase which has now come into general use to denote the certain kind of journalism which lives and thrives by pandering to the desire that so many persons in this world have for morbid sensationalism and the publication of nauseating and shocking details. People who have appetites of this kind are in need of having them perennially gratified, and accordingly it naturally comes about that the conductors of journals such as I have referred to, if they cannot provide a sufficient quantity of sensationalism true or partly true, have either to invent it or exaggerate some perhaps innocent or innocuous incident. I am sorry to say that yellow journalism is not only not unknown in Japan, but is apparently in a very flourishing condition there. I regret the fact all the more because the people of Japan are not yet sufficiently educated or enlightened to receive what they read in the newspaper in a sceptical spirit. That educational and enlightening process is only effected by a long course of newspaper reading. Even in this country we can remember the time when any statement was implicitly believed because it was "in the papers." Now some other and better evidence of the truth of any report is needed than the publication thereof in a newspaper. Young Japan will no doubt ere long assimilate this fact, and when it does the yellow press of Japan will probably find its _clientéle_ a diminishing quantity. I hope my readers will not deduce from these remarks that I entertain, on the whole, a poor opinion of the native press of Japan. Considering the difficulties it has had to contend with, I consider that the progress it has made during the comparatively few years it has been in existence is as wonderful as anything in the country. And I am furthermore of opinion that the influence it exercises is, on the whole, a healthy one. It has done a great work in the education of the mass of the Japanese people in the direction of taking a broader view of life and teaching them that there is a world outside their own particular locality and beyond their own country. And while referring to the newspaper press I may also give a meed of praise to the large number of journals and magazines of a literary, scientific, and religious nature. The effect of these ably conducted periodicals as an educational influence must be immense. The number of them is gradually growing, and the support rendered to them serves to show, were any proof needed, how profoundly interested the Japan of to-day is in all those questions, whether political, scientific, religious, or literary, which are not the possession of or the subject of discussion among any particular nation but are exercising the minds and consciences of the civilised world. One pleasing feature of the native press of Japan I cannot help referring to, and that is the friendly sentiments which it almost invariably expresses in regard to Great Britain. As I have before remarked, it was this country which in some degree influenced at first the Japanese press. I am pleased that of late at any rate, since the somewhat heated agitation in reference to the revision of the treaties has come to an end, its tone has been almost universally friendly to this country, and its approval of the alliance between Japan and Great Britain was not only unanimous but enthusiastic. The English newspapers in Japan are still, as they have always been, ably conducted journals. Captain Brinkley, the editor of one of them, is a great authority on everything connected with Japan, and the paper he edits is worthy of all that is best in English journalism. At the same time it is hardly necessary to remark that the English press in Japan exercises little or no influence outside the immediate circle it represents. It very naturally looks at everything, or almost everything, not from the point of view of the Japanese but from that of the foreigner in Japan. It may be truthfully averred of the foreign press that, considered as a whole, it has never done anything or attempted to do anything to break down the barriers caused by racial differences. The European press in Japan has in tone always been distinctly anti-Japanese, and the sentiments which it has expressed and the vigorous, not to say violent, language in which those sentiments have been expressed has undoubtedly in the past occasioned much bitterness of feeling among the Japanese people or that portion of it which either read or heard of those sentiments. The characteristics or idiosyncracies of the people of Japan were either exaggerated or misrepresented, and there were not unnaturally reprisals quite as vigorous in the native newspapers. During the war with China, for example, the attitude of the European press was exasperating to a degree--that is, exasperating to the Japanese people. There were journals which avowedly took the part of China and expressed a desire for China's success. The victories of Japan in the course of the war were sneered at and at first belittled. Subsequently, when the success of Japan was self-evident, it was suggested by some of these newspapers that she was suffering from swelled head and was in need of being put in her place and kept there. And, accordingly, when certain of the European Powers stepped in and deprived Japan of the fruits of her victories, the action of those Powers was applauded, and the undoubted sympathy of the English people in England with Japan in the matter was derided by English editors in Japan as mere maudlin sentimentality. Language of this kind occasioned deep resentment among the people of the country. The foreign press is now, I am glad to say, saner, inasmuch as it to some extent recognises facts and the trend of events, but I fear it even still is for the most part representative of a community which regards the Japanese from the standpoint that most Europeans in the Far East regard the Eastern races with whom they are brought in contact. The position of the English papers in Japan has, I should say, been considerably affected of recent years by the development of the vernacular press. Twenty-five years or so ago they were practically the only organs that voiced public opinion of any kind in the country. Now they only voice the opinion of a section of the foreign community. A reference to a quarter of a century ago brings up memories of a gentleman connected to some extent with the newspaper press in Japan of those days. I refer to the late Mr. Wergman, who owned and edited and filled--I am not quite certain he did not print--that somewhat extraordinary journal, the Yokohama _Punch_. It appeared at uncertain intervals, and it dealt both in print and illustration with various members of the foreign community in Yokohama and its neighbourhood with a vigour and freedom, not to say licence, which would now hardly be tolerated. Its proprietor is long since dead, and so I believe is the journal which he owned and whose fitful appearances used to create such a mild excitement among the foreign community in Yokohama. The functions of the press as a mirror of the times, as a censor of men and things, and as a guide and a leader of public opinion are of considerable importance. As I have before remarked the press of Japan is at present if not in its infancy at any rate in its youth. It is accordingly ebullient, energetic, optimistic. Time will no doubt correct many of its failings. Be that as it may, I certainly am of opinion that, considering everything, it has attained a wonderful degree of development, that it has reached a position of great importance in the country as an educational and enlightening influence, and that all who wish well to Japan may look upon its future with hope. It will no doubt play an important part as the years roll by in the development of the country and in the holding up before the people of worthy ideals in reference to economic conditions, material progress, and the conservation of the prestige and security of the Japanese Empire. CHAPTER XVIII JAPANESE MORALITY In the Preface I remarked that Japanese morality was a thorny subject. I use the word morality in its now generally accepted rather than in its absolutely correct meaning. Morality, strictly speaking, is the practice of moral duties apart from religion or doctrine; it treats of actions as being right or wrong--is, in brief, ethics. The old "morality" play, for example, was not, as some people seem to suppose, especially concerned with the relations of the sexes; it was a drama in which allegorical representations of all the virtues and vices were introduced as _dramatis personæ_. However, words, like everything else in this world, change their meaning, and, though the dictionary interpretation of morality is, as I have stated it, colloquially at any rate, the word has now come for the most part to signify sexual conduct, and it is in that sense, as I have said, I use it. The subject of the morality of the Japanese is one that has been much discussed for many years past, and accordingly is one in regard to which it may be urged that there is little or nothing more to be said. I am not of that opinion. In the first place, much of the discussion has been simply the mere assertions of men, or sometimes of women, who either did not have the opportunity, or else had not the inclination, to investigate matters for themselves, and were therefore largely dependent on the hearsay evidence of not always unprejudiced persons. Or they sometimes jumped to very pronounced and erroneous conclusions from extremely imperfect observation or information. Let me take as an example in point, a lady, now dead, who wrote many charming books of travel--the late Mrs. Bishop, better known as Miss Bird. In her journeyings through the country Miss Bird relates in "Unbeaten Tracks in Japan," that she passed through a wide street in which the houses were large and handsome and open in front. Their highly polished floors and passages, she remarks, looked like still water, the kakemonos, or wall pictures, on their side-walls were extremely beautiful, and their mats were very fine and white. There were large gardens at the back with fountains and flowers, and streams, crossed by light stone bridges, sometimes flowed through the houses. The lady, who was on the look-out for a resting-place, not unnaturally expressed a desire to put up at one of these delightful sylvan retreats, but her native attendant informed her that was impossible, as they were kashitsukeyas, or tea-houses of a disreputable character. Miss Bird, on the strength of this information, thought it incumbent upon herself to pronounce the somewhat sweeping judgment that "there is much even on the surface to indicate vices which degrade and enslave the manhood of Japan." Such a statement is, of course, the merest clap-trap, but even were it true, it might be permissible to remark that if vice exists it is surely better for it to be on than beneath the surface. Such vice as does exist in Japan is, in my opinion, distinctly on the surface, and I have no hesitation in describing the morals of the Japanese people to be, on the whole, greatly superior to those of Western nations. There can, I think, be no question that a large number of European people have formed their estimate of Japanese women either from a visit to a comic opera such as "The Geisha," or from a perusal of a book like Pierre Loti's fascinating work, "Madame Chrysanthéme." This is in effect the story of a _liaison_ between a man and a Japanese girl of the lower classes, with, of course, a large amount of local colouring, and rendered generally charming by the writer's brilliant literary style. Unfortunately, that large number of Europeans who have never visited Japan have taken the French academician's study of a girl of a certain class as a life picture of the typical Japanese woman who is, accordingly, deemed to be more or less, to use an accepted euphemism, a person of easy virtue. Nothing could, of course, be more erroneous, no conclusion further from the truth. The remarks of Mr. Arthur Diosy in his book, "The New Far East," on this head are so much to the point in reference to the utter misconception of even many visitors to Japan in the matter of the chastity of the average Japanese women that I venture to transcribe them: "Has it not been repeated to him (the globe-trotter) that these people have no conception of virtue or of modesty? So he frequently treats the maids at the inn, the charming human humming-birds who wait upon him at the tea-house, and the Geisha summoned to entertain him, with a cavalier familiarity that would infallibly lead to his summary expulsion from any well-regulated hotel or public-house, or other places of public entertainment at home, did he dare to show such want of respect to a chambermaid or to one of the haughty fair ones serving at a bar. He means no harm in nine cases out of ten; he has been told that Japanese girls don't mind what you say to them, and as to the tea-house girls, well, they are no better than they should be ... but they are good little women, as capable of guarding their virtue as any in the world, and it saddens one to think how often they endure, from a feeling of consideration for the foreigner who does not know any better, they pityingly think, cavalier treatment they would not submit to from a Japanese." Having said so much I feel I am free to admit that a somewhat different standard of morality does obtain in Japan to that which exists, or is supposed to exist, among Occidental nations. After all, morality is to some extent a matter of convention, and a people must, I suggest, be judged rather by the way in which it lives up to its standard than by the standard itself, which among some Western nations is not always strictly observed. The whole subject of morality between the sexes is one upon which a portly volume might be written. The sexual relations have been affected by many circumstances, some of them entirely conventional and having little or nothing to do with morality as such, while poetry and romance and sentiment have been allowed to complicate, and still render difficult a dispassionate consideration of the whole matter. Macaulay in one of his essays has observed that "the moral principle of a woman is frequently more impaired by a single lapse from virtue than that of a man by twenty years of intrigue." He explains this seeming paradox by asserting that "a vice sanctioned by the general opinion is merely a vice, while a vice condemned by the general opinion produces a pernicious effect on the whole character." "One," says Macaulay, "is a local malady, the other is a constitutional taint." I have quoted the famous historian in this connection because his observations are, I think, illustrative of my contention, viz., that morality is largely a matter of convention, sanctioned or condemned by what Macaulay terms "the general opinion." I frankly admit that prostitution has never been regarded in Japan as it is, or is affected to be, in this and other European countries. In ancient days the public women of the capital and the large towns were as famous as in Athens of old, and were regarded as amongst the best educated and best mannered of their sex. The Japanese have ever looked upon prostitution as what is termed a necessary evil, and they have always sought to regulate and supervise it with a view of obviating those evils, terrible in their consequences, which are frequently the result of permitting it to go unchecked. And accordingly the Yoshiwara has long been a recognised institution in every considerable town in the country, the Yoshiwara being that particular portion of the town in which prostitutes are alone permitted to reside. There is, so far as I know, no prostitution outside the Yoshiwara, and the inmates thereof are subject to a rigorous supervision and inspection, medical and otherwise, which has produced excellent results. The inmates of the Yoshiwara are not recruited as are the similar class in the West. Here the "unfortunate" usually plies her trade as a _dernier ressort_. In a moment of temptation she has "gone wrong," as the phrase goes, the fact becomes public, she is too often cold-shouldered and hustled even by her immediate relations, and her downward progress is swift and certain. Nor is there for her, except in rare cases, any chance of rehabilitation. She is too hopeless to exclaim "Resurgam!" and if in an optimistic frame of mind she did so purpose she would find the consummation difficult if not impossible. She is, in a word, on the way to irretrievable ruin and a shameful end, and she knows it. Such is, as I have said, not the case in Japan. The lot of the prostitute there has never been regarded with the loathing which it excites in this country. Houses of ill-fame were, and are still, recruited not from those whose previous lapse from virtue has rendered no other mode of livelihood possible than that from immorality, but by those whom stern necessity has driven to the step as a means either of supporting themselves or of assisting parents or their near relatives. Such a sacrifice--a terrible sacrifice, I admit--has in Japan never been regarded with horror, but as in a sense laudable. The finger of scorn must not be pointed at a woman who has voluntarily sacrificed what women hold most dear, not from lust or from the desire of leading a gay life or pampering or adorning the body, but perhaps to save father or kin from ruin or starvation. The Yoshiwara has, of course, other recruits, but in the main its inmates are not the victims of lust but of self-sacrifice. There is too often a whole tragedy in the story of a Japanese girl of this kind, and it is deplorable when the self-righteous European comes along and points the finger of scorn at her. I am aware that though not despised, as in this country, the lot of the inmate of the Yoshiwara is often, if not always, a horrible one. She is, as a rule, sold, or sells herself, for a lump sum of money to which amount is added the cost of her outfit, usually as much as the price paid to the woman or her relatives. Until this amount was worked off--and the accounts were, of course, not over accurately kept--the woman was to all intents the chattel of her master. This has, undoubtedly, for many centuries been the custom of the country. I am glad, however, to be able to state that quite recently the highest court in Japan has decided that, whatever custom may have decreed, the law gives, and will give, no sanction to any such custom. A girl confined in the Yoshiwara was forcibly taken away therefrom. The owner of the house in which she resided, as her debt had not been liquidated, considered he had a lien upon her, and he invoked the aid of the law to assist him to assert what he considered to be his rights and retake possession of the girl. The case was strenuously fought and taken to several courts, with the result I have stated. This decision will probably have far-reaching effects and declaring, as it does, that the inmates of the Yoshiwara are not slaves or chattels, it is to be cordially welcomed. The assertion of Miss Bird, already referred to, that the manhood of Japan is enslaved and degraded by vice is one which I have no hesitation in describing as gross exaggeration. Vice, of course, there is in Japan, vice of various kinds and degrees, but the ordinary Japanese man is not, in my opinion, nearly so immoral as the average European. The chastity of the Japanese woman I place still higher. The fact, already stated, that the inmates of the Yoshiwara are not generally recruited from those who have lapsed from virtue might be urged in proof of this. Nor is the fact that prostitution is not in Japan regarded with the same loathing as in this country, in my opinion, to be taken as any evidence of an immoral tone. The ideas that obtain on the matter, in Japan at any rate, hold out the possibility of moral redemption for the inmates of the Yoshiwara, and as a matter of fact many women in Japan who, through the force of compulsion, have entered this place, frequently marry, and marry well, and subsequently live absolutely chaste lives. The standard of morality among the married women of Japan is, I may remark, high, and is rarely lowered. I hope I shall not shock my readers if I remark that I consider the stringent regulations that exist in Japan as to the supervision of the Yoshiwara in many respects admirable. It will probably surprise many persons to learn that the high state of organisation in regard to everything connected with the superintendence of these places, as also the development of lock hospitals, is largely due to the zeal and exertions of the late Dr. G. Birnie Hill, of the Royal Navy, who was for many years lent by the Admiralty to the Japanese Government for that purpose. Under his auspices a stringent system of medical supervision was organised, which has been attended with excellent results in the direction of stamping out and obviating diseases which, I may observe, are of foreign importation. I know that the existence of any system of medical inspection will, in the estimate of a large number of estimable men and women in this country, be regarded as proof positive of the immorality of the Japanese. "We mustn't recognise vice," is their contention. I am of opinion, on the contrary, that we should either recognise vice and restrict, restrain, and regulate it, or else make vice illegal, as the Puritans did, and fine or imprison both men and women addicted to it. I could understand either of these two courses, but I must confess that I altogether fail to fathom the state of mind of those persons who adopt neither opinion, but either assert or infer that in the name of religion, morality, modesty, and many other commendable things, we should permit our streets and thoroughfares to be infested by women plying their immoral trade with all the resultant consequences. [Illustration: THE ETERNAL FEMININE FROM A PRINT BY TOSHIKATA] As I stated at the commencement of this chapter, a nation should be judged not only by its standard of morality but by the degree in which it lives up to or falls short of that standard. Judged by this, surely the fairest, the only fair, rule, Japan has every reason to be considered a moral country. Those shocking crimes which appear to be the outcome of either the aberration or the inversion of the sexual instincts are almost unknown there. Nor do I consider that the public estimate of prostitution on the whole makes for immorality. If an evil exist, and prostitution is undoubtedly an evil, it is surely better to regulate it than to affect to be oblivious of it. The Japanese attitude towards prostitution at any rate leaves a door open for the woman who has, from whatever the reason, lapsed from the paths of virtue to return thereto. This appears to my mind to be a more satisfactory state of things than the continual harrying and worrying of prostitutes in the name of indignant virtue and the driving of them on the streets. The aspect of the great thoroughfares of London, especially by night, does not give the Oriental visitor thereto a high idea of English morality. It is, nevertheless, an extraordinary fact that the Englishman or the Englishwoman who has mayhap lived in London most of his or her life, when he or she visits Japan in the course of, perhaps, "a round the world trip" in ninety days, and learns that there is in each Japanese town a Yoshiwara, the inmates of which are subject to supervision and regulation, lifts up his or her hands in holy horror, returns home with a virtuous indignation, and has no hesitation in henceforth declaring, whether in speech or writing, that the Japanese are a grossly immoral people. The average Japanese is, very rightly in my opinion, indignant at the constant assertions of writers, well or ill-informed, that his country is essentially immoral. He is not only indignant but astounded. He has, if he has been to this country, seen here much that has not tended to impress him with the belief that the English people are themselves in a position to dogmatise on this vexed question of morality. He is, if he has visited the great cities and towns of Great Britain, by no means convinced that the action of Japan in establishing a Yoshiwara whose inmates are under proper supervision, medical and otherwise, is not better from every point of view, that of morality included, than turning loose women into the streets to accost every passer-by and place temptations in the way of youth. On the other hand, the Japanese who has not left his own country, but is of an observant nature and of a logical disposition, fails to comprehend why the European in Europe should dogmatise upon and affect to be disgusted with what he terms the immorality of the Japanese. The Japanese who has lived all his life in his own country has had ample opportunities for studying the Europeans resident there, and I fear he has not always been impressed by their high moral tone or their ultra-moral conduct. I might say much more upon that head, but I shall refrain. I conclude this chapter by reiterating the expression of my belief that the Japanese are, when rightly considered, a moral people. They have their own code of morals, and they act up to it. There are few nations of whom as much could be said. CHAPTER XIX JAPAN AND CHINA The results of the war between Russia and Japan seem to have caused a large number of persons to work themselves into a state of incipient panic regarding what has been graphically, if not quite correctly, termed "the yellow peril." Japan, a nation of some 47,000,000 people, had thrown down the gauntlet and totally defeated, both by land and sea, one of the great military Powers of the world. Japan had done all this as a result of some quarter of a century spent in modelling and training her Army and Navy on European lines, and adopting European arms of destruction. Of course, so argued the panic-mongers, China must be impressed by such an object-lesson--China, which has for so many years past been, and is still being, squeezed by the European Powers. The result of Japan's triumph would inevitably be, so we were asked to believe, that China would invite the former to organise the Chinese Army and Navy on Japanese lines. As the outcome thereof, a nation, not of forty, but of four hundred millions, would be trained to arms, and, if the Chinese raw material proved as good as the Japanese, a nation so powerful, if it proceeded West on conquest bent, would carry everything before it, and, unlike the last Eastern invaders of Europe, the Turks, would be unlikely to be stopped on its onward course at Vienna. The German Emperor was amongst those who have voiced the cry of "the yellow peril." He does not, however, appear to have cast himself for the part of John Sobieski, with Berlin instead of Vienna as the decisive battle-ground. The persons who have so argued and have attempted to raise this silly cry of "the yellow peril," with a view of alarming Europe were, I think, merely the victims of an exuberant imagination. Their facts have no existence save in the realms of fancy, and as they reasoned from faulty premises on imperfect or erroneous information, their conclusions were, as might have been expected, not only inaccurate, but absurdly ludicrous. There is no "yellow peril," no prospect whatever of it, either present or remote. The attitude of China, that vast though heterogeneous nation, is, since the close of the Russo-Japanese War, I admit, one of the most intense interest. Some persons may consider that in a book about Japan any other than a passing reference to China is out of place, and that, moreover, for me to deal with the attitude of China is to wander into political regions--a peripatetic proceeding I deprecated in the Preface. I am of opinion, however, that it is impossible to thoroughly understand Japan and to appreciate the attitude of that country to the Western Powers without some remarks respecting the present and prospective relations of China and Japan. I also think that some consideration of this bogey of "the yellow peril" is not only out of place but indispensable in order to form a correct idea of the precise effect of recent events in the Far East and the possible outcome of them. To any person who has closely studied Far Eastern problems the attitude of China since the close of the war between Japan and Russia is in no way surprising; the forces that have long been steadily at work in that ancient Empire are now only attaining any degree of development. There is nothing, in my opinion, in the history of the world more dramatic than the way in which China has waited. That country is now, I believe, about to show that the waiting policy has been a sound one, and I am confident it will eventually prove triumphant. In 1900 I expressed in print the opinion that not a single acre of Japanese soil would ever be permitted to be annexed by a foreign country; I spoke of the policy of China for the Chinese, and remarked that that principle and policy had been repeated throughout the length and breadth of that vast Empire, and had been absorbed, as it were, into the very marrow of its people. It is in many respects interesting and curious, indeed almost comical, the manner in which that lesson has been driven home upon the Chinese. Russia has always been to them a powerful, persistent, and aggressive neighbour, a more formidable aggressor, indeed, because perhaps nearer, than any of the other Powers of Europe, whom I am sorry to say China has always looked upon very much as the substantial householder regards the burglar. Now that Japan has tried conclusions with Russia and has soundly thrashed the latter, great, slumbering China, proud, conservative, but supremely conscious of its latent resources, has been waking up. The Chinese, as a matter of fact, have very little veneration, respect, or esteem, for their Japanese neighbours. The former plume themselves on being the aristocrats of the East, and they reason, with some show of plausibility, that if the upstart Japanese have been able to so thoroughly rout the Russian forces the potential possibilities of China on the warpath are enormous. Every thoughtful student of the East has looked forward to what I may term the Japanisation of China as one of the inevitable results of the recent conflict in the Far East. To a certain extent the Japanisation of China has commenced, but at the same time one cannot be oblivious of the fact that the Chinese, with their traditions and sense of self-importance, have not the slightest intention of slavishly following in the lead of those islanders whom they have always contemned, but mean to strike out a line for themselves. If what we believe to be civilisation is to be developed in China, it will be developed by the Chinese themselves. If they are going to possess railways, telegraphs, telephones, and all the machinery of that material advancement which we call progress, and sometimes civilisation, the Chinese themselves will be the importers and adapters and, in due course, the manufacturers thereof. Now that the great fight in the Far East is over, it certainly looks as if the Chinese at last realised the fact that development is an inevitable necessity. The master-spirits in the country have assuredly come to the conclusion, possibly with regret, that China can no longer remain in that delightful state of isolation which permitted every man in the Empire to spend the arc of his life, from his cradle to his grave, in a state of restful security. China is, in spite of herself, and certainly against the inclinations of the mass of the populace, being swept into the maelstrom of struggle now that the people, or rather their leaders, realise the position. Their attitude seems to me to be magnificent. If railways have to be made they will be made by the Chinese; the concessions already granted must--this is the universal feeling--be bought back, even at a profit, from those who have acquired them, by the Chinese themselves. Not one new concession must, on any pretence whatever, ever again be granted to a foreigner. And if this Western civilisation is to be forced upon the Chinese, they intend to take it with all its attendant precautions. They are naturally a peaceful and unaggressive people, but they have grasped the fact that, as a strong man armed is in the best position to safeguard his house, however peaceful his individual proclivities may be, so too, if a nation is to defend its territory and its territorial wealth against spoliation, it must be armed for that purpose. For many years past Great Britain and France and other countries have been sending missionaries to China to expound to the Chinese people those sublime doctrines enunciated in the Sermon on the Mount. The Chinese have diagnosed, from the acts of the European Powers generally as well as from the actions of individual Europeans resident in China, the precise value to be attached to Christianity. For purely defensive purposes China will have almost immediately an Army which has been effectively described by the _Times_ correspondent as being able to relieve the European Powers of any anxiety respecting the integrity of the Chinese Empire. People who have not visited the Far East, and who entirely derive their opinions and information in regard thereto from the newspapers, cannot possibly realise what effect the policy of the European Powers has had upon nations like China and Japan. A professedly Christian country like Great Britain going to war to force the sale of opium on a people who did not want to be debauched; a power like Germany annexing Kiaochao as a golgotha for two murdered priests--proceedings such as these, and there have been many such during the last forty or fifty years, have been taken seriously to heart by the Far Eastern races, whether in China or Japan. All the time the Occidental Powers, with a total lack of any sense of humour, have persisted in sending missionaries to these people to inculcate doctrines which are the very antitheses of the practices of European nations to these people whom it is sought to convert. It would be, in my opinion, nothing more than the outcome of eternal justice if this great big, old, sleepy China, which has been for so many years pricked and prodded and despoiled, were at length to take up arms for a great revenge. But China, if my prevision be correct, is going to do nothing of the kind. What she does mean to do is simply to keep China for the Chinese. She is not, as so many persons imagined and still imagine would be the case, going to be led as a powerful ox with a Japanese driver. Chinese students are in hundreds in Japan, learning from that country all that the Japanese have acquired from Europe. Young, alert, capable men I found them without exception, sucking the brains of all that is best in Japan precisely as the Japanese have sucked the brains of all that is best in Europe for their own objects and to their own advantage. The immediate danger in China seems, so far as I can judge, to be that the anti-foreign feeling, which is undoubtedly intense especially in the south of the Empire, may come to a head any day and prematurely explode. The nincompoops and quidnuncs and newspaper men ravenous for copy who prate about a "yellow peril" may, in this latter fact, find some slight excuse for their blatant lucubrations. There is no real "yellow peril." Poor old China, which has been so long slumbering, is just rousing herself and making arrangements for defence against the "white peril," materialistic civilisation, and misrepresented Christianity. The only "yellow peril" that I have been able to diagnose is the peril to the trade of Europe and the United States of America with China--a peril that appears to me to be imminent. That Japan intends to capture a large, indeed the largest, proportion of that trade I am firmly convinced. That she will succeed in effecting her object I have not the slightest doubt. At the present moment only about 5 per cent. of the imports into China are from Japan, the remainder being either from India, Europe, or America. Situated in close contiguity to China, having assimilated everything of importance not only in regard to the employment but the manufacture of machinery from Europe and the United States, possessing an industrious and intelligent population, Japan is quite obviously in a magnificent position to supply China, and supply her on much better terms, with the greater number of those commodities which China now has to import either from Europe or America. Japan, as I have said, intends to lay herself out to capture the major portion of this trade; she is quite justified in doing so, and there is every reason to suppose that she will attain her object. That the Chinese students who have come to Japan and are flocking there month by month in increasing numbers, with a thirst for knowledge and a desire to assimilate all those Western influences and ideas and aids that have placed Japan in her present prominent position among the nations, when they, in due course, return to their own country, will of a certainty exercise a considerable influence therein, there can be no doubt. I also feel sure that Japan will render considerable assistance to China in regard to the remodelling and reorganisation of the Chinese Army and Navy. It is as certain as anything in this uncertain world that before very many years have elapsed the naval and military forces of China will undergo as great a transformation as those of Japan have undergone. I believe, and I may say that this belief is shared by a number of naval and military men who have had practical opportunities for forming an opinion in the matter, that the raw material existing in China for the making of an effective and efficient Army and Navy is as good as that in Japan. We know that the late General Gordon, who had excellent opportunities for arriving at a sound conclusion in the matter, expressed himself in glowing terms in regard to the capabilities of the Chinaman as a soldier were he properly trained, organised, and officered. But that China, any more than Japan, entertains ambitious military projects I utterly disbelieve. The only aspiration of China as regards Europe is--to be let alone. She fears, as she has every reason to fear, European aggression. She has had ample experience in the past that the flimsiest pretexts have been utilised for the purpose of filching her territory and exacting from her pecuniary fines under the name of indemnities. We know by a recent incident that the indemnity exacted from China by this country in respect of the Boxer rebellion was not really required for the ostensible purposes for which it was imposed. A large proportion of it lay at the Bank of England unappropriated, and eventually was attached by a rapacious Chancellor of the Exchequer for the purpose of alleviating the burdens of the British taxpayer. China is determined to have no more incidents such as this in the future, and the Russo-Japanese War has given her occasion for serious thought in the matter as well as pointed an obvious moral. As a result of her cogitations, she has concluded that the most effective means she can take in the direction of preserving the inviolability of her territory and preventing the exaction of periodical monetary tributes on the part of foreign Powers, is to establish a strong and efficient Army and Navy. As a matter of fact, I consider that in so determining China is acting not only in her own interests, but in the interests of the Great Powers of Europe. Not very many years ago that excellent sailor, Lord Charles Beresford, wrote a book entitled, somewhat too previously, "The Break-up of China." In selecting a title for his work Lord Charles without doubt voiced the opinion prevalent, not only in this country but in Europe, at the time he wrote it. The statesmen of nearly all the foreign Powers then seemed to have arrived at the conclusion that the scramble for China was imminent and, utilising their experience from what took place when the scramble for Africa was effected twenty years ago, they began apportioning in advance the territory that ought to fall to their lot. In this matter, however, they were wofully mistaken; the diplomatic physicians of the world may have diagnosed the symptoms quite accurately, but the patient surprised them all in regard to the course of the disease and her recuperative powers. There will be no "break-up" of China, and consequently we are not likely to witness any scramble for China. There has undoubtedly been an awakening of China, an awakening to her danger, to a sense of the extent to which her interests were imperilled. She wants, as I have said, to be severely left alone, and she is determined as far as possible to effect that consummation. The men of light and leading in China know perfectly well that they cannot now, even if they would, shut their country against European trade, European residents, European visitors. They are prepared to accept all these, but they will not have European interference. China is determined to work out her own destiny or salvation, call it which you will, and Japan is both willing and anxious to give her all possible assistance in that direction. The "yellow peril" bogey is, in my opinion, the silliest and most absurd cry that has ever been put forward by responsible persons. CHAPTER XX EUROPEANS IN JAPAN Like everything else in Japan, the status and position of the foreigner have been materially changed, in fact revolutionised, of recent years. When the country was, in the first instance, opened after its long period of isolation from the rest of the world, treaties were signed with Great Britain, the United States, France, and nearly all the other European Powers, whereby Japan agreed to open seven ports, subsequently known as "treaty ports," to foreign trade in which ports foreigners were to be permitted to reside and to carry on their business. Foreigners were at the same time--not by the wish of the Japanese Government, but as the outcome of the pressure put upon Japan by the various Powers--granted extra-territorial rights, that is to say they were exempt from the jurisdiction of the Japanese courts of law. This being the case foreign courts were constituted in Japan with jurisdiction over the subjects of the nation which set up the court. In these courts foreigners sued and were sued, and crimes committed by and against foreigners were tried. As regards Great Britain a Supreme Court for China and Japan was constituted whose headquarters were at Shanghai. There were Consular Courts and a very involved kind of legal procedure generally established, mostly by Order in Council, which I need not consider in detail as it is now effete. There was, moreover, as regards Great Britain at any rate, a Bar practising in these courts, one member of which, Mr. F. V. Dickins, is justly remembered not for his forensic but for his literary efforts in the direction of depicting the inner life of the Japanese people. Into these foreign courts all the jargon, the quips and quibbles of English law were imported. These courts were, not unnaturally, an eyesore to the Japanese people. I may observe in passing that these extra-territorial courts still exist in China, and though the Supreme Court of China and Japan has been shorn of that part of its title which refers to Japan it remains, and is likely for some time longer to remain, the supreme legal tribunal of the English residents in the Chinese Empire. But besides extra-territorial courts there were extra-territorial post-offices. The English, the American, and, I think, the French Governments had post-offices in Japan which transacted postal duties of all kinds just as if they had been in London, New York, and Paris instead of in a foreign country. There may have been some excuse for this in the early days; but these foreign post-offices remained until quite recently, depriving Japan of a portion of her revenue at a time when she had developed a magnificent postal service of her own. Over and above foreign courts and post-offices there were actually foreign municipal bodies. A certain amount of ground at the treaty ports was constituted a foreign settlement wherein the foreigners resided. Within these settlements a municipal council was formed, which regulated everything therein. In these settlements the Japanese Government had no more power or authority than they had in Battersea. These settlements were in effect foreign territory on the Japanese soil, to use what seems to be a paradox. In exchange for the privilege of extra-territoriality granted to foreign residents in Japan, they were placed under restrictions. These included not being able to travel in the country outside a radius of 25 miles from the treaty ports unless provided with passports, which, I may remark, there was never any difficulty in obtaining, and not being permitted to live beyond the same radius. Foreigners engaged in trade in Japan had a great advantage in regard to a very low scale of customs duties, not more than 5 per cent. _ad valorem_, but they were strictly prohibited from owning land. This system of extra-territoriality was extremely unpopular with the whole of the Japanese people, and a constant movement was in force in the country for the abrogation of what the Japanese considered an invidious distinction and in the direction of making every person who voluntarily took up residence in Japan answerable to the law of the land and under the jurisdiction of the Japanese courts. The revenue of the country was also, of course, injuriously effected by the post-office privileges already referred to as well as by the differential treatment of foreigners in regard to import duties. As was to be expected, any proposal for the abolition of extra-territorial rights and the revision of the regulations in regard to import duties met with a strenuous opposition from the foreign residents in Japan. On the other hand, it must be confessed that the Japanese people opposed any compromise in the direction of granting foreigners facilities in return for the privileges that were asked to be waived. The proposal to allow foreigners to own land was vigorously inveighed against. So was a suggestion to establish mixed courts--the kind of compromise, by the way, which would probably have equally irritated foreigners and natives. It is, I think, satisfactory to be able to relate that in the end and after many years of agitation it was the British Government which took the initiative in the matter, and some ten or twelve years ago concluded a treaty with Japan wherein the privileges of English courts, European municipalities, and differential import duties were abandoned, while in return proprietary rights, except in regard to land, were granted to foreigners. There are, mayhap, some persons at the present day who are not aware of the fact that for a good many years after Japan was to a limited extent opened to foreigners several of the Powers retained an armed force in that country for the protection of foreign residents. Great Britain, for instance, had a large number of marines at Yokohama. The presence of these troops was extremely unpalatable to the Japanese authorities, but of course pleasing to the foreign residents, who opposed their withdrawal just as they opposed the abrogation of extra-territoriality. I am afraid the reason for the removal of this armed force as far as Great Britain was concerned was economic rather than founded on any particular principle. Be that as it may, in 1873 Japan was successful in assuring the British Government that she was able and prepared to protect all foreigners residing in the country, and in that year the last foreign soldier was withdrawn from Japanese territory. Those who remember the agitation--and a very fierce and noisy and provocative agitation it was--in opposition to the revision of Japan's treaties with the foreign Powers with a view of getting rid of extra-territoriality will have a lively recollection of the pessimistic forebodings of the speakers and writers in reference to the future of the foreign community in that country were the exclusive privileges they then enjoyed taken away from them. The gentlemen who uttered these sentiments were no doubt sincerely convinced of their truth, but I am glad to be able to relate that time has shown them to have been false prophets. There may be, and no doubt are, foreigners in Japan who bemoan the good old days, but I am confident that the great mass of the foreign community now recognises the fact that the revision of the treaties and the withdrawal of extra-territorial privileges were inevitable and that no evil results have ensued in consequence. The Japanese courts of law have neither terrorised nor oppressed foreigners. They have, on the contrary, sought to hold the scales of justice evenly, and I believe that these courts now enjoy, as I am sure they deserve, the fullest confidence in their integrity and justice of every foreigner residing in the country. I have noticed a tendency on the part of writers on Japan to refer to the foreign community in that Empire as if it were a community bound together by some particular principle and working in unison for some definite object. Of course such a view is nonsensical. The foreign community in Japan, in which for the purpose of my remarks I do not include the Chinese, is one composed of a large number of nationalities which have very little in common, and amongst whom a good deal of rivalry prevails. It may have been that when the question of revising the treaties was being keenly agitated, self-interest, or what was deemed to be self-interest, occasioned a sort of fictitious unity among foreigners, but at the present time, so far as my observation has gone, there is very little real unity among the foreigners in Japan. The English, of course, predominate in numbers, and they have also the major portion of the trade in their hands. Whether such a condition of things will much longer obtain is a moot question. I am of opinion, as I have elsewhere indicated, that the trade of Japan will very largely pass into the hands of the Japanese themselves, and that the foreign element in Japan is accordingly not only unlikely to increase in number but is almost certain to diminish. In the early days when Japan was first opened to the Western world and English traders went there to push their commodities, we heard a good deal about the peculiar ethics of Japanese commercial morality. The European merchant either was, or affected to be, shocked at the loose commercial code of honour of those with whom he was brought into contact in Japan, and he expressed himself accordingly. However much or little ground there may have been for these accusations many years ago I am not in a position to judge. In forming any opinion in this matter, if that opinion is to be correct, it is, I think, essential to remember the conditions of society in Japan when it was first opened to European trade. In old Japan there were four recognised classes of society--the Samurai, the farmers, the artisans, and the merchants. The last two were somewhat looked down upon by the others. It is, accordingly, hardly to be wondered at that the condition of industry and commerce was the least satisfactory feature in the initial stages of national development. Despised alike by the gentry and the peasantry, the traders were in a somewhat sorry plight when Japan was thrown open. The low social status of the trading class in Japan was due to the feudal ideas which prevailed for so many centuries. The people were impressed with the productive power of the soil, and jumped at the conclusion that the merchant class must necessarily be immoral, since it purchased the produce of the soil at a low price and sold it at a profit. Very similar ideas have prevailed in countries other than Japan. It is not so very many years ago that in England a man of good family, much less a member of the aristocracy, going into trade was looked upon with no very favourable eyes. We know that the ideas that not so very many years ago obtained in this country in reference to this matter have entirely altered. Trade is now considered to furnish most excellent scope and opportunities for the energy and capital of all classes of the community. And the same ideas have been working in Japan. The merchant there is no longer a member of a despised class. The scions of the most ancient families in Japan, as in England, have embarked in trade and brought to their business those high ideals which they have derived from their ancestors. The criticisms of commercial morality in Japan which were so prevalent not very many years ago are now entirely obsolete. I fear, however, that the effect of them still to some extent remains, and that there are a large number of people in this country who even now believe that the Japanese, from a commercial point of view, are what is termed "tricky." I hope my remarks on this head may serve to disabuse the minds of some of those persons who still entertain these extremely erroneous ideas. I do not think that there is a very large amount of social intercourse between the Europeans in Japan and the Japanese themselves. The European in the East, or at any rate the Englishman in the East, so far as I have been able to judge, always appears to me to assume an air--it may be an unconscious air--of superiority to the inhabitants of the country in which he resides. That this is frequently extremely galling to them there can be no question. Any one who has conversed with the intelligent native of India must be aware of that fact. Whether the greatness of the Anglo-Saxon race be in some degree or in a large measure due to the belief that the Anglo-Saxon has in himself is a question I need not consider. But I think there can be no doubt of the fact that this sense of superiority, however much or little justification there may be for it, is a characteristic not likely to be appreciated by foreigners, and especially Orientals, and I think I am justified in remarking that the Japanese do not at all appreciate it. The European may impress the Oriental in one of several ways; he has for the most part done so by his great military or naval prowess. That is the way in which Great Britain has impressed the natives of India. The English are in that country as a conquering race. They have practically never been defeated, and the respect which they have obtained is the respect that the weak have for the strong. In Japan such a state of things is no longer possible. The results of the Russian War have rendered it impossible for all time. An Oriental nation has met a European Power on the field and on the high seas, and soundly thrashed it. There is, however, another way in which the European might impress the Oriental. The former professes to have a purer religion and a higher code of morals. He has sought to impose his religion upon every race with which he has been brought into contact, and if he has not sought to impose his moral system, he has, at any rate, severely criticised that of the people with whom he has been brought into contact, and compared it with his own to their disadvantage. In Japan, where there is a large foreign community, the thinking, logical Japanese has had abundant opportunities for studying not only the principles of Western religions and Western morality, but also the practice of them by Western residents in his own land. The result has been to give him much food for reflection. He reads the criticisms of Europe upon the Yoshiwara and the Japanese attitude generally towards prostitution, while he has ample evidence of the fact that many of the patrons of the Yoshiwara are to be found among the European community in Japan. And so of religion. The various Christian denominations of the Western world aspire to convert Japan, and send missionaries there for that purpose. The Japanese gives them a fair field, and he has shown no aversion to investigate their dogmas. At the same time he sees that a large proportion, I might perhaps say the majority, of the European residents in Japan do not trouble to attend the Christian places of worship, while many of them make no disguise of their contempt for Christianity in general and the missionaries in particular. What conclusion, may I ask, can the logical, reasoning Japanese come to in these matters? There can be no doubt whatever that the foreign residents in Japan have accomplished a great work in regard to the development of the country. The settlements established by them at the various treaty ports and the administration of those settlements as municipalities reflected great credit upon all those concerned, and was a splendid object-lesson for the Japanese people. Great Britain, too, may, I think, be congratulated on the men she has selected to represent her at the Japanese Court. There is no man to whom both Great Britain and Japan are more indebted than the late Sir Harry Parkes. I cannot remember during how many years he was the British Minister at Tokio, but during the whole of his term of office he used his best endeavours in the direction of showing Japan the way she ought to go in the path of progress, and in rendering her all the assistance possible in that direction by procuring for her the very best assistance of every description. I strongly advise every person interested in Japan and its development to peruse the Life of Sir Harry Parkes, by Mr. F. V. Dickins and Mr. Stanley L. Poole. One interesting feature in Sir Harry Parkes's career I may record here, as I have had it on the authority of a gentleman conversant with the facts. Sir Harry was always a _persona gratissima_ with the Japanese Government, and about the year 1877 he and the late Admiral Sir A. P. Ryder, then Commander-in-Chief on the China station, had a conversation respecting, in view of the aggressive policy of Russia in the Far East, obtaining a British coaling station much further north than Hong Kong. Admiral Ryder mentioned as an appropriate place the island of Tsu-shima, so famous in the recent war with Russia. Sir Harry Parkes promised to use his good offices with the Japanese Government to obtain permission to occupy this island with a view of its ultimate cession to Great Britain. The permission was duly obtained, and Admiral Ryder thereupon cabled home to the Admiralty for the necessary permission to take over the island. His request was promptly vetoed, and Great Britain, accordingly, lost for ever the opportunity of obtaining an admirable coaling station and a splendid strategical position in the Far East. It is quite certain that Japan does not now regret the refusal of Great Britain to accept her too generous offer. Europeans have been in Japan, and very much in evidence, during the past half-century or so, but I do not think that the residents in the country have exercised much influence upon Japan. During that period there have been enormous changes; the whole life of the nation has, in fact, been revolutionised. But these changes have not been wrought, or indeed greatly affected, by the European residents in the country. The changes have emanated from Europe and America--not that portion of Europe and America which went to Japan for its own objects. I make, of course, a particular exception in regard to those naval and military and scientific men to whose exertions Japan owes so much of her advancement. But I do say of the ordinary trader or merchant that he has come to Japan, and left it without producing much effect, if any, on the development of the nation, or leaving behind him any influences of a useful nature. The European in Japan necessarily suggests some allusion to that large and annually increasing number of persons who visit the country. Their residence in Japan is usually of very limited duration, but, however short it may be, it is apparently quite long enough to enable them to form pronounced views upon many and varied matters connected with the country and the people. I have no hesitation in asserting that the erroneous opinions so prevalent in Europe in regard to Japan and the Japanese people are largely the outcome of the far too numerous books that have been written and published in reference to that country of recent years. "Ten Days in Japan" may be an alluring title for a book of travel, but quite evidently ten days are not sufficient to form an opinion and promulgate it upon every phase of Japanese life, nor for the solution of many vexed problems. And yet, so far as my perusal of these books has gone, the shorter the period a man or woman has spent in Japan the more pronounced his or her views in regard to the country. The matter is hardly worth referring to were it not that these opinions, hastily arrived at and apparently as hurriedly rushed into print, have been accepted by some people as incontrovertible facts. Another class of work that I think a reader should be warned against is the book of the man who has lived in Japan for a time and seen life only from a certain standpoint. The book of a bishop or a missionary may be and often is of undoubted value in reference to his work and matters connected with his work, but when the writer gets outside this particular province and deals with subjects his knowledge of which must be at the best second-hand he is almost certain to perpetrate some flagrant mistakes, and occasionally indite the most egregious nonsense. I shall not particularly apply these remarks, but I think it necessary to utter this word of warning as the literary effusions of some very estimable men and women in regard to Japan have given occasion for many false misconceptions being entertained in regard to that country. [Illustration: A MINISTERING ANGEL FROM A PRINT BY TOSHIKATA] The cry of "Japan for the Japanese" has undoubtedly been heard in that land, and during the agitation over the revision of the treaties the foreign community appeared to be under the impression that the policy emphasised in that cry was the one which Japan desired to attain. For myself I do not believe it. I am positive that Japan to-day has no desire to exclude foreigners, or to revert into her old position of isolation. I believe, on the contrary, that she desires to welcome foreigners and to give them every facility within proper limits for pursuing their enterprises. At the same time she has no desire for the foreign adventurer, prospector, or embryo company promoter. She does not wish, in fact, that Japan shall be exploited either in respect of minerals or any other purpose with the object of directly or indirectly pouring wealth into London or any other city. The enterprising gentlemen from England and other countries who have sought to obtain concessions of various kinds in Japan have failed in their object. Their efforts would probably only have brought discredit on the country, and could hardly by any possibility have aided in its material advancement. There is only one word of advice that I should feel inclined to proffer the European in Japan, and that is to refrain less from exercising his caustic wit at the expense of the Japanese people. A nation which has passed through such drastic changes as have characterised Japan in the last two or three decades can no doubt furnish abundant opportunities for the jibes of the flippant, and the humour of those who consider they are endowed with a pretty wit. But the exercise of sardonic humour and an excessive sarcasm tends to promote ill-feeling and serves no useful purpose. The right spirit, in my opinion, for any man to regard Japan is as a nation struggling to obtain and assimilate all that is best in the world and aspiring to be in fact an eclectic power. It can at least be said of Japan that it is the only nation in the world's history which has entertained such aspirations and has sought to give effect to them. CHAPTER XXI A VISIT TO SOME BUDDHIST TEMPLES I was lying awake in my room in the Myako Hotel, the window looking out across the town below towards the eastern hills and framed with clusters of red maple. It was the clear stillness of a frosty morning before dawn, not motion enough in the autumn air to stir a ripe red maple leaf, and as I lay in bed suddenly the air itself seemed to heave a sigh of music mellow, soft, and yet full, gradual in its coming as in its going, all-pervading, strange and wonderful. Stillness again, and then it came again, or rather not so much came as was there, and then was not there; for it seemed to come from no whither, and to leave not even the footprint of an echo in the air behind. There was sanctity in the very sound itself. Its music was like vocal incense arising before the "awful rose of dawn," beyond those purple eastern hills. How unlike, I thought, the jar and clangour of our church bells in London on a Sunday morning rattling like a fire alarm, whose only possible religious suggestion is to tumble out of bed to escape the flames of hell. The musical summons of this bell was sufficient, however, to induce me to go out for a stroll through the temples in the morning twilight. All on the crest of the hill behind the hotel is a row of temples crowning the height. One mounts a flight of steps and then comes on avenues with rows of ancient trees on either side that make the avenues look like great aisles of which the immense trees are the columns supporting the deep, blue roof. Nothing is more striking about these temples than the delightful harmony between their natural surroundings and the buildings themselves. They blend so perfectly that one loses sight of the meeting between nature and art. From the steps onward all seems a harmonious part of the sanctified whole. Trees, creepers, and natural flowers peep in and almost entwine themselves with the marvellously painted or carved foliage of the temple itself. The rich lichens and mosses of the tree-trunks vie in depth and beauty of colour with the inlaid traceries of the columns. Early as the hour was I was not alone in the first temple I came to. With tinkling steps of wooden shoes a little woman pattered up the stone stairs to one of the shrines, pulled the heavy cord of the small bell above her head to awaken the attention of the Deity, and then with joined hands encircled with beads and with bowed head whispered her morning prayer. I just caught in soft, supplicatory accents the opening words, "Namu Amida Butsu"--"Hear me, compassionate Lord Buddha"--words that soon become familiar as one visits these temples; the great refrain of these people's prayers when they pray before the image of "Him, honoured, wisest, best, most pitiful, whose lips comfort the world." And then, having finished her prayers, the little woman pattered back to her home in the town below, while others come and make their devotions likewise, all leaving the temple as if that placid, inscrutable image had whispered in the ear of each some word of comfort. In the courtyard beyond the great Temple of Kiomidyu I came upon a wonderful bell. There was room for over a dozen men to stand inside the great bronze shell. It was hung just above the ground between plain timber uprights, and the mellow softness of tone was accounted for by the way in which it was struck. Instead of metal striking against metal a great tree-trunk is suspended horizontally outside; this is swung backwards and forwards and then allowed to strike against the metal. Even when standing close to it there is nothing one would call noise, but a great, full, rich sound fills the air in a manner impossible to describe. I passed on to the latticed shrine dedicated to Kamnoshut No Kami, the goddess of lovers. As I waited there three little Japanese girls came up the steps. Each had a small piece of paper in her hand, and winding them up they deftly placed the papers in the lattice with the thumb and little finger of their hands. On these were written their petitions. One of them held a bunch of brilliant maple leaves in her hand, and judging from their faces--plain little faces all of them--it was easy to understand they wanted divine assistance in their love affairs. It was difficult to understand the goddess retaining any reputation for compassion if their prayers were not answered. After they had gone next came a dainty little geisha, a pretty girl, whose lover must have been a sad worry to her, judging by the look on her anxious little face, as she placed her petition between the bars. All through these temples it was obvious that the agnosticism, or indifference, or attitude of "politeness towards possibilities," which has apparently taken possession of the upper classes in Japan, possibly as the result of contact with the West, is in no way prevalent among the masses. In all the country parts that I visited and in the large temples in the great cities there was everywhere evidence of faith as sincere and devout as can be found in the churches of the most Christian country in Europe. Unlike China, there was nowhere any sign of the temples falling into decay. Every temple in China looks like a neglected mausoleum decaying over the corpse of a dead religion, and the priests look like sextons of a neglected graveyard. But here in Kyoto two of the largest temples were undergoing elaborate repairs, and in Tokio an immense new temple is being erected in the heart of the city. In Kyoto at the Temple of Nishi Hong Wangi I was present at a great seven days' religious festival. From nine o'clock in the morning until six o'clock in the evening the temple was perpetually thronged with people. I visited it in the afternoon. In one large room a priest was preaching. His congregation was largely composed of country people from all the districts round, who had journeyed in with their wives and families. There had been an abundant harvest, it was over and stored, and the people had come to give thanks. A great part of the congregation were blue-clad peasants with white handkerchiefs around their heads. Many of them had brought their children with them. The priest preached sitting down, in a quiet conversational tone. From what a Japanese friend was kind enough to translate for me, there was nothing esoteric in the Buddhism he was teaching. It was simply plain lessons to the people, how to make good their simple lives interspersed with stories and anecdotes that occasionally amused his congregation. Following the crowd that kept streaming out from his hall towards the larger temple, I passed under a plain portico of huge wooden columns, severe and simple on the outside, but gorgeous with rich carvings of gold lacquer panels and hangings of richly wrought embroideries within. The entire floor of the great building was crowded, and the overflow of the congregation knelt upon the flags outside the door. With difficulty I picked my way inside. Two rows of priests in brilliantly coloured vestments were arranged on either side of the central figure of Buddha. Between them was the chief priest. Behind the altar screen was an invisible choir. In alternating numbers the solemn, supplicating chant was led by either row of priests. In a way it reminded one of the Gregorian chant one often hears in Catholic churches, but in this Buddhist chanting there was that curious Oriental strain of semi-tones that gave a strange and peculiar plaint to the chorus. Faint blue columns of incense were streaming slowly from bronze censors towards the carved roof, and diffusing a delightful aromatic odour throughout the building. The congregation was composed of all sorts and conditions of the population, although the majority were peasants; there were a number of Japanese ladies who came accompanied by their maids, and here and there the brighter costume of a Geisha was to be seen among the crowd. The series of services lasted for seven days. This was the fifth. Beginning at six o'clock in the morning, it went on till six o'clock in the evening. It was just at its conclusion while I was there. Mingling with the chorus from the priests and the choir ran a low murmur from the crowd. The old country men and women said their prayers aloud, and the refrain of "Namu Amida Butsu" seemed perpetually in one's ears. As the conclusion of the service approached, the voices of the choir, the priests, and the congregation increased in strength and volume, and ceased suddenly in a final chord of supplication. For a few moments there was stillness over the bowed heads of the congregation, and then the priests rose and the crowd began to stream down the great flight of steps. In the streets outside were rows of booths, where printed prayers and brightly embroidered triangular cloths, beads and images were being sold as mementoes of these services. The whole congregation, even old men and women, as they toddled down the steps at the base of which they put on their shoes, reminded one forcibly of a lot of children coming out from school. Laughing, chattering, and joking, there was a look of satisfaction and contentment on all their faces, returning homewards, as if they felt that in reply to their prayer, "Namu Amida Butsu," the compassionate Lord Buddha, had listened to their prayer, and whispered in answer to the heart of each, "Comfort ye, my people." CHAPTER XXII THE AINOS A book on Japan would be incomplete without some reference to the Ainos, that mysterious race found, and found only, in the northern island of Yesso. The Ainos have long been the puzzle of the ethnologist. Where the Ainos came from or to what other race they are akin are problems that have given occasion for much learned dissertation, but are still as far off solution as ever. Mr. Basil Chamberlain, all of whose writings upon Japan are replete with erudition and information, has observed that the Aino race deserves to be studied because "its domain once extended over the entire Japanese Archipelago," and also "because it is, so to speak, almost at its last gasp." Unfortunately the evidence for the latter fact is more conclusive than for the former. The Ainos are, it seems, to be no exception to that mysterious law of the survival of the fittest, which decrees that an inferior race shall go down before the superior, and in due course become merely a name. I have called this a mysterious law because such disappearance is not necessarily the result of conquest or of ruthless destruction. When the inferior race is brought into contact with the superior it seems, by some mysterious process, to be infected with the elements of decay, to be impregnated with the germs of annihilation. And, accordingly, it comes about, in accordance with the dictates of the law I have referred to, that although a society has been founded in Japan very much on the lines of our Aborigines Protection Society, an Aino Preservation Society, the Ainos seem doomed to extinction at no far-distant date. Whether or not the Ainos once inhabited the whole of the Japanese islands and trekked north to get away from their conquerors, there can be no doubt of the fact that they are in almost every respect the very antithesis of the Japanese. The latter are a smooth-skinned race, the Ainos an extremely hairy one. The Japanese are essentially a clean, a scrupulously clean people, the Ainos just as essentially dirty. The long beards and general facial appearance of the latter are altogether in startling contrast to the physiognomy of the average Japanese. When ethnology fails to place a race, philology often steps in with more or less of success. The Aino language has been profoundly studied by many eminent philologists, but I do not think the results have tended to throw much, if any, light on the mystery as to the origin and racial affinities of the Ainos. In general structure the language is not unlike that of the Japanese, but this might be expected as the result of centuries of intercourse between the two people. The Ainos live almost solely by fishing and hunting. The Japanese laws, which have year by year been made more stringent, have somewhat interfered with the sporting proclivities of the people. Nets and fish traps are now forbidden, and fishing for the most part is effected by means of a spear or harpoon, either from the shore or from the somewhat primitive canoes used by the people. Poisoned arrows were once largely used for the purpose of capturing game, but they are now forbidden by law. Originally the _modus operandi_ in hunting was to set a trap with one of these arrows placed in it, and drive the game on to the same. The head of the arrow was only loosely fastened, and broke, leaving the poison inside even if the animal managed to pull out the shaft. The bear is found in Yesso, and that animal has entered very largely into every phase of Aino life, somewhat circumscribed though this is. That animal was, or used to be, the objective point of Aino festivals, and seems, to some extent at any rate, to have had a part in their crude religious ideas. Bears, are, however, becoming rare in Yesso, and the Japanese Government, which is paternal even in regard to the fauna of the islands, has from time to time interfered with many venerable Aino customs. The religion of this interesting race is almost as mysterious as everything else appertaining to it. The Ainos have no idols and no temples, and their religious rites are of a decidedly simple nature. They, however, seem to believe in an infinity of spirits inhabiting various and varied things, and their pantheon is seemingly a crowded one. I have said seemingly, because the beliefs of a people such as this are difficult to get at, and even when one has got at them almost impossible to comprehend. One writer has termed the religion of the Ainos, "a very primitive nature-worship," and their gods "invisible, formless conceptions." Such definitions do not convey much information. Nature-worship is a vague description and "invisible, formless conceptions" of the deity or deities are not confined to the Ainos. Possibly, like all peoples but little advanced or developed mentally, their religious conceptions are of the vaguest and have assumed no definite shape. A fear of the unknown, a blind groping in the dark are, mayhap, all that the Aino possesses in reference to the spiritual world. Although the religion of the Aino when living is somewhat incomprehensible his religious ceremonies in reference to the dead are of a somewhat elaborate nature. After life has become extinct the first proceeding is to light an enormous fire in the house. The corpse is then dressed in its best clothes and laid beside the fire, where are also placed dishes, a drinking-cup, and the implements of the chase. In the case of a woman, instead of these, her beads and other ornaments are laid alongside of her; for both sexes a pipe and a tobacco-box, so greatly used during life, are considered essentials when dead. Cakes made of rice or millet and a cup of saké, are also put upon the floor. A kind of wake or funeral feast follows, at which the mourners throw some saké on the corpse as a libation to its departed spirit, break off pieces of the cake and bury it in the ashes. The body is covered with a mat slung upon a pole and carried to the grave, followed by the mourners, each of whom places something in the grave, which, it is believed, will be carried to the next world with the spirit of the deceased person. At the conclusion of the ceremony the mourners wash their hands in water which has been brought for the purpose. This is then thrown on the grave and the vessel which conveyed it is broken in pieces and also thrown on the grave. The widow of the deceased shaves her head, while the man cuts his beard and hair, as outward symbols of grief. Many of these ceremonies, it will be seen, are such as are more or less common to all primitive races. There is, indeed, a marked resemblance between the habit of the Ainos in burying articles with the deceased for his use in the next world and that of the North American Indians. But I am not inclined to deduce any theory in reference to the origin of the Ainos from the existence of these customs. Mankind, in every part of the world, seems to have evolved his religious beliefs in very much the same way. His conception of the hereafter appears to have proceeded on precisely similar lines. The higher his scale in civilisation the more spiritual and the less material his conception of the future. The lower his scale precisely the reverse is the fact. The savage, which of course the Aino really is, cannot imagine a future state where there is no eating and drinking and hunting, and he, accordingly, thinks it incumbent on him, in order to show his respect for the dead, to provide the corpse with those articles which he deems essential in that unknown world where, according to his conception, eating and drinking and hunting will be as prevalent as in this. The Ainos have a great respect for the graves of their dead, and Japanese legislation has taken the necessary steps to prevent any tampering therewith. Some years ago a few scientists from Europe went on an expedition from Hakodate with a view of obtaining information respecting the manners and customs of the Ainos. In the course of this expedition some graves were broken into and skulls and limbs extracted therefrom for the purpose of being taken to Europe for scientific research. This proceeding occasioned an angry outburst on the part of this usually placid people, and the Japanese authorities gave the necessary instructions to prevent the possibility of such an occurrence in future. I suppose the scientists, in the ardour of their enthusiasm, are hardly to be blamed. Science too frequently overlooks sentiment, which is, after all, one of the most potent forces in the world. The dwellings of the Japanese are supposed to have been evolved from those of the Ainos. Both build their houses roof first, making the framework and placing the supports with shorter pieces for rafters, all being tied together with a rope made of some kind of fibre. Poles, 5 or 6 feet high at regular intervals are then placed in the ground, each pole having a fork at the top and short horizontal pieces from one to the other, the roof frame is then erected on and secured to the poles and subsequently thatched with straw. The floor is of earth, with the fireplace in the centre. As in Japanese houses, mats are used for sitting and sleeping purposes. The utensils of the Ainos are much more primitive than those in use by the Japanese people, and generally it may be remarked of the Ainos that their wants are few and that the people are content to live their own life in their own way and only desire to be severely left alone. The dress is very similar to that of the Japanese peasant. The men, however, wear at certain seasons thick rain-coats made of salmon skin, as also leggings made of a fibre peculiar to themselves, and high boots constructed of straw. I am sorry to have to relate that the Ainos have a fondness for saké, and there is a good deal of intoxication among them. The climate of the island of Yesso, as I have already remarked, is extremely severe in the winter-time, and there can be little doubt that many of the Ainos suffer extreme privations. There have been a few cases of intermarriage between the two races, but unions of this nature are not looked on with any favour by either. Attempts have been made by some of the missionaries in Japan to convert the Ainos to Christianity, but I fear the attempts made in this direction have been attended with a very scant measure of success. A people such as this possesses minds of childlike simplicity, and to endeavour to get it to comprehend the abstruse doctrines and dogmas of Christianity is an almost hopeless task. The climate of Yesso is such as to render it possible for missionary efforts to take place only at certain seasons of the year, and I do not think there has been, so far as my information goes, any systematic propaganda of Christianity among this interesting race. It is certainly a somewhat extraordinary fact that while the other islands of Japan have been rapidly assimilating and are being steadily influenced by the civilisation of Europe and America, the northern island appears to be, except possibly at Hakodate, in a state of complete isolation from all these influences and effects. Whether the Ainos have any conception of the influences at work in and the progress being made by the Empire of which they are subjects, I do not know, but to me it is both interesting and curious to regard this ancient and decaying race, either indifferent to or ignorant of all the bustle and hurry and worry of modern civilisation so close to them and yet so far removed from their childlike minds and ideas. The question may be asked, How comes it that a highly civilised people such as the Japanese have been for many hundreds of years, have exercised practically no influence upon this subject race inhabiting a portion of their territory? A nation such as Japan, with a literature and an art of its own, with two highly developed religious systems, and with many of those other characteristics which are included in the term civilisation? How is it that neither art nor literature nor religion, nor any other characteristic of civilisation has, in the slightest degree, influenced this aboriginal race? Indeed, if the theories of ethnologists in regard to the Ainos be correct, and we are to judge by the ancient remains that have been found throughout Japan, the Ainos, when they were in undisputed possession of the Japanese Archipelago, were in a much more advanced condition of civilisation than they are to-day. The questions that I have put afford food for reflection, but they are difficult, if not impossible, to answer. I am certain, however, that the Japanese Government desires to, if possible, preserve the Aino race from extinction, and that it aspires to give this ancient people all the advantages of education and civilisation generally. Unfortunately the Ainos themselves are the obstacle to the carrying into effect of this project. They desire to live their own life in their own way. They have not only no wish to be, but they resent any effort to make them, either educated or civilised. They are what some people would term children of nature, out of place decidedly in a modern go-ahead eclectic Power like Japan, but an interesting survival of the past, and likewise an interesting reminder that the highly civilised races of to-day have, in their time, been evolved from very similar children of nature. CHAPTER XXIII JAPAN AS IT IS TO-DAY "In the Japan of to-day the world has before it a unique example of an Eastern people displaying the power to assimilate and to adopt the civilisation of the West, while preserving its own national dignity unimpaired," aptly remarks a modern writer. It is, indeed, in its powers of assimilation and adaptation that Japan, I think, stands unique among not only the nations of the world at the present time, but amongst the nations of whom we have any historical record. In one of his books on Japan--books which I may, in passing, remark give a more vivid insight into the life of the Japanese people than the works of any other writer--Mr. Lafcadio Hearn remarks that the so-called adoption of Western civilisation within a term of comparatively few years cannot mean the addition to the Japanese brain of any organs or powers previously absent from her, nor any sudden change in the mental or moral character of the race. Changes of that kind cannot be made in a generation. The Europeanising of Japan, Mr. Hearn in fact suggests, means nothing more than the rearrangement of a part of the pre-existing machinery of thought, while the mental readjustments effected by taking on Western civilisation, or what passes for it, have given good results only along directions in which the Japanese people have always shown special capacity. There has, in a word, he asserts, been no transformation--nothing more than the turning of old abilities into new and larger channels. Indeed the tendency of the people of Japan, when dispassionately investigated, will be seen to have been always moving in the same direction. A slight retrospect will, I think, clearly prove the truth of this assertion. It is now about fifty years since Japan was first awakened, perhaps rudely awakened, from her slumber of two and a half centuries. When the European Powers and the United States of America knocked, perhaps somewhat rudely, at her door, it turned slowly on its hinges and creaked owing to the rust of many long years. How came it that a country which had imported its art, literature, religion, and civilisation, a country which until 1868 had a mediæval feudalism for its social basis, a country which until then was notorious for the practice of hara-kiri and the fierceness of its two-sworded Samurai should so suddenly take on Western attributes and become a seat of liberty and the exponent of Western civilisation in the Far East? All this is to some persons a rather perplexing problem. But the reasons are not, I think, far to seek. If we go back many centuries we shall find that Japan, though always tenacious of her national characteristics, never evinced any indisposition to mingle with or adopt what was good in other races. The national character for many hundreds of years has always displayed what I may term the germs of liberalism, and has not been influenced by narrow and petty national ideals concerning the customs, religion, art, or literature of other countries. As against this statement may be urged the action of Japan in expelling the Portuguese missionaries, destroying thoroughly Christianity, both buildings and converts, and effectually and effectively shutting the country against all intercourse with Europe and America for over two centuries. The answer of the Japanese of to-day to this question is simple enough. They point out that, although the object of St. Francis Xavier and his missionaries was essentially spiritual, viz., to convert Japan to Christianity, that of many of the foreigners who accompanied or succeeded him was not in any sense spiritual, but on the contrary was grossly and wickedly material. Accordingly Japan, having rightly or wrongly concluded that not only her civilisation but her national life, her independent existence, were menaced by the presence and the increasing number of these foreigners, she decided, on the principle that desperate diseases require desperate remedies, to expel them and to effectually seal her country against any possibility of future foreign invasions. I am not, I may remark, defending her action in the matter; I am only putting forward the views of Japanese men of light and leading of to-day in regard thereto. When, many centuries ago, the Koreans brought to Japan the religion, laws, literature, and art of China, these were adopted and assimilated. Both Buddhism and Confucianism existed side by side in the country with the old Shinto religion. And, accordingly, during the many centuries which have elapsed since the religion of China and the ethical doctrines of her great teacher were introduced into Japan, there has never been a violent conflict between them and the ancient religion of the country. Had the Portuguese invaders confined themselves to a religious propaganda only, the Christian converts they made would not have been interfered with and the Christian religion, strong and vigorous, would have existed uninterruptedly in Japan until to-day side by side with Buddhism and Shintoism. When St. Francis Xavier came to Japan Buddhism was the prevailing religion, and it undoubtedly had, as it still has, a great hold upon the people. But the preaching of the intrepid Jesuit and the missionaries he brought with him had an enormous success. The Christian religion was embraced by representatives of every class. In the year 1550 St. Francis, writing to Goa, placed on record for all time his opinion of the Japanese. "The nation," writes he, "with which we have to deal here surpasses in goodness any of the nations ever discovered. They are of a kindly disposition, wonderfully desirous of honour, which is placed above everything else. They listen with great avidity to discourse about God and divine things. In the native place of Paul they received us very kindly, the Governor, the chief citizens, and indeed the whole populace. Give thanks to God therefore that a very wide and promising field is open to you for your well-roused piety to spend its energies in." It certainly was a remarkable fact that a nation which had for so many centuries been under the influences of Buddhism should have welcomed these Portuguese missionaries. But it must be remembered that Japan had not that prejudice against foreigners which is very often the outcome of foreign conquest and foreign oppression. No foreign Power had ever conquered or indeed set its foot in the land. Both China and Korea had made various attempts on the independence of Japan, but unsuccessfully. Japan had never had to endure any humiliation at the hands of foreign invaders, consequently her nationalism had no narrow, selfish meaning, and accordingly she saw no reason for putting any obstacle in the way of St. Francis Xavier and his followers until she concluded, however much or little reason there may have been for her conclusions, that the incoming of these foreigners in some measure menaced her national existence. Before she arrived at that conclusion she was apparently prepared to welcome all that was good in the ethical teaching of the Portuguese missionaries, and, if a section of her population desired to embrace a religion to whose ethical teaching she had no objection; there was no reason, in her opinion, why that religion should not exist side by side with those more ancient religions which had lived amicably together during many centuries. For nearly two hundred and fifty years Japan resolved to remain in a state of isolation. Then, as I have said, European Powers and the great Republic of the West came knocking and knocking loudly at her doors, and as a result thereof her thinking men came to realise that in a state of isolation a continued civilised existence is impossible. Accordingly Japan, tentatively at first, opened certain portions of her country to European intercourse, and as an inevitable consequence thereof found it necessary to adopt European ideas--and European armaments. The country had kept out the aggressor for some two thousand years or thereabouts, and Japan clearly saw that if the aggressor was to be kept out in the future, the near future, she would probably have to fight to maintain her national existence. The war with China was the outcome of the feeling that Korea under the suzerainty of China was a constant menace to not only the prosperity but the existence of the Empire. The same feeling undoubtedly led to the war with Russia, as Japan considered, and rightly in my opinion, that the possession of Korea by Russia meant the loss of national independence. That war was not as so many wars have been, the result of a racial hatred, the outcome of a spirit of revenge, or waged for aggressive designs. It was forced upon Japan, and was in every sense purely defensive. Japan waged it confident in her own strength from the fact that in the two thousand years of her history she had, in all the conflicts in which she had engaged, kept in view the one ideal--the conservation of the national existence, an ideal which she has consistently realised. The position of Japan at the present moment is not only extremely interesting but extraordinary in a degree. She is the cynosure for the eyes of the civilised world, and for some years she has been subjected at the hands of experts and amateurs of all descriptions to the most minute investigation. Every phase of her national life has been rigidly scrutinised and exhaustively written about. The national character and characteristics have undergone the most intricate psychological examination, and if the world does not now know the real Japan it is certainly not from lack of material, literary material, whereon to form a judgment. Indeed the attention Japan has received has been sufficient to turn the head of any people. I am not sure that this large output of literature on matters Japanese has effected very much in the direction of enabling a sound judgment to be formed regarding the country and the people. Many writers who have dissertated upon Japan during the past couple of decades seem to have imagined that they had discovered it, and their impressions have been penned from that standpoint. There used some years ago to be an advertisement of a "Popular Educator" in which a youth with a curly head of hair and a face of delightful innocence was depicted. Underneath the portrait the inquiry was printed, "What will he become?" And there was then given an illustrated alternative as to the appearance of this innocent youth at different ages in his career according to the path he trod in life. One alternative eventuated in the final evolution of an ancient and, from his appearance, very palpable villain, the other of a benevolent-looking old gentleman who quite evidently only lived to do good. It seems to me that a large number of persons in various parts of the world are to-day, as they have been for some time past, asking the question in reference to Japan, "What will she become?" It is without doubt a highly interesting inquiry, but the answer to it, so far as my knowledge goes, is not like the advertisement I have referred to, one of two courses--the one leading to perdition, the other to prosperity. On the contrary, the answers seem to be as numerous and varied as the answerers, and most of the answers would appear to have been arrived at simply and merely by the false premises and very often the entirely erroneous "facts" of the inquirers. A favourite and fallacious method of dealing with Japan is that of regarding it as an Oriental nation, essentially Oriental with a thin veneer of Occidentalism. People who so reason, or occasionally do not reason at all but confine themselves to mere assertions, suggest that the difference between the Oriental and the Occidental is such that not a few years of perfunctory contact but centuries of time are necessary to bring about a real transmogrification. Persons who so think point not only to the difference in everything material in respect of East and West, but to a radical difference in psychology, an entire distinction in the mental outlook of each. They accordingly conclude that the differences so evident on all sides are not mere accidentals but fundamental, ineradicable. Scratch the Japanese, they in effect say, and beneath his veneer of civilisation you will find the barbarian, barbarism and Orientalism being with these persons synonymous terms. And if any incredulity in the matter be expressed they will triumphantly point to the recurrence of hara-kiri among the soldiers and sailors in the late war. A well-known writer on racial psychology has expressed himself dogmatically on this very point. I will quote two or three of his pronouncements in the matter. [Illustration: FIREWORKS IN TOKIO (SUMMER) FROM A PRINT BY HIROSHIGE] "Each race possesses a constitution as unvarying as its anatomical constitution. There seems to be no doubt that the former corresponds to a certain special structure of the brain. "A negro or a Japanese may easily take a university degree or become a lawyer; the sort of varnish he thus acquires is, however, quite superficial, and has no influence on his mental constitution.... What no education can give him because they are created by heredity alone, are the forms of thought, the logic, and, above all, the character of the Western man. "Cross-breeding constitutes the only infallible means at our disposal of transforming in a fundamental manner the character of a people, heredity being the only force powerful enough to contend with heredity. Cross-breeding allows of the creation of a new race, possessing new physical and psychological characteristics." Now, whether these views be correct in the main or partially correct as regards other races, I have no hesitation in describing them as inaccurate to a degree in reference to the Japanese. Not peculiar brain formation, but social evolution, environment, education are responsible for the traits which distinguish the Japanese from other Eastern nations. To assert, as do some psychological experts, that the mental constitution of races is as distinct and unchangeable as their physiological or anatomical characteristics is, to my mind, a fact not borne out by the history of the world. Physiological or anatomical distinctions are apparent, and can be classified; mental idiosyncrasies do not lend themselves to cataloguing. It is, I know, possible to draw up at any particular period a list of what I may term the idiosyncrasies of any race at that period. A writer in a London newspaper some little time back attempted to do so in reference to Oriental races generally. He enumerated the degraded position of women, the licentiousness of the men, the recognition and prevalence of prostitution, the non-desire of the youth for play, contempt for Western civilisation, and general hatred of foreigners. Admitting these charges to be correct, the characteristics detailed are, I may point out, merely ephemeral incidents. A contempt for Western civilisation and hatred of the foreigner, for example, which was certainly at one time pronounced in Japan, are rapidly passing away. The position of women in that country has also greatly improved, just as it has improved in Europe, while as regards prostitution and licentiousness Europe has, in my opinion, no need to throw stones. There are undoubtedly a large number of persons who are convinced, or have been convinced, by the arguments of others, that the progress of Japan is a mere mushroom growth which cannot last. A few years ago one of the leading English papers in Japan attempted, to some extent, to voice this opinion in an article striking the note of warning for the benefit of the West against putting too much faith in those writers who had intimately studied Japan from within, and whose works were in general appreciation not only for their literary style, but for the vivid insight they gave into everything respecting the country. Quoth the journal in question:-- "In the case of such writers as Sir Edwin Arnold and Mr. Lafcadio Hearn, it is quite apparent that the logical faculty is in abeyance. Imagination reigns supreme. As poetic flights or outbursts the works of these authors on Japan are delightful reading. But no one who has studied the Japanese in a deeper manner, by more intimate daily intercourse with all classes of the people than either of these writers pretends to have had, can possibly regard a large part of their description as anything more than pleasing fancy. Both have given rein to the poetic fancy, and thus have, from a purely literary point of view, scored a success granted to few.... But as exponents of Japanese life and thought they are unreliable.... They have given form and beauty to much that never existed, except in vague outline or in undeveloped germs in the Japanese mind. In doing this they have unavoidably been guilty of misrepresentation.... The Japanese nation of Arnold and Hearn is not the nation we have known for a quarter of a century, but a purely ideal one manufactured out of the author's brains. It is high time that this was pointed out. For while such works please a certain section of the English public, they do a great deal of harm among a section of the Japanese public, as could be easily shown in detail did space allow." I quite admit the fact that many Japanese themselves are quite convinced that there is a great gulf fixed between the ideas and the philosophy of Europe and those of the East, their own country included. In a book dealing particularly with the art of Japan, written in English by a Japanese, he attempts to emphasise this matter. He remarks: "Asia is one. The Himalayas divide only to accentuate two mighty civilisations--the Chinese, with its communism of Confucius, and the Indian, with its individualism of the Vedas. But not even the snowy barriers can interrupt for one moment that broad expanse of love for the Ultimate and Universal which is the common-thought inheritance of every Asiatic race, enabling them to produce all the great religions of the world, and distinguishing them from those maritime people of the Mediterranean and the Baltic who loved to dwell on the particular, and to search out the means not the end of life." Indeed, the writer of this book appears to be in a condition of transcendentalism in reference to the East. In another portion of it he waxes eloquent in regard to what he terms the glory of Asia, in language which I will briefly quote. He remarks:-- "But the glory of Asia is something more positive than these. It lies in that vibration of peace that beats in every heart; that harmony which brings together emperor and peasant; that sublime intuition of oneness which commands all sympathy, all courtesy, to be its fruits, making Takakura, Emperor of Japan, remove his sleeping robes on a winter night because the frost lay cold on the hearths of his poor; or Taiso of Tang forego food because his people were feeling the pinch of famine; ... it lies in that worship of feeling which casts around poverty the halo of greatness, impresses his stern simplicity of apparel on the Indian prince, and sets up in China a throne whose imperial occupant--alone amongst the great secular rulers of the world--never wears a sword." It were unkind to criticise eloquence of this description too seriously. The fact, if it be a fact, that the Emperor of China never wears a sword is in one sense interesting but it proves nothing. It is well to get down from eloquence of this kind to concrete facts, to come back to the point whence we started, viz., What will Japan become? What is her present condition? Any one who compares the Japan of to-day with the Japan of, say, thirty or forty years ago will, I think, impatiently sweep aside some of the absurd theories to which I have referred, psychological and otherwise. The unprejudiced man, letting his mind indulge in retrospect, and comparing that retrospective view with the present actuality, will, I believe, have no difficulty in determining that though Japan is and must remain an Oriental nation, what she has acquired of recent years is neither veneer or varnish, but has been assimilated into the very system of the people. Very probably Japan will never become thoroughly Occidentalised. There are many of us who hope she never may. I believe, however, that in adopting many Occidental customs and habits she will adapt and modify them to her own needs, and in due course evolve a race neither distinctly Occidental nor Oriental while retaining many of her past customs and her ancient characteristics. She will, in a word, be as far as possible an eclectic nation, and it is, so far as I know, the first time in the history of the world that an attempt has been made to develop such. There are, I know, many people in Europe as well as in Japan who feel and express some apprehension in regard to what they term young Japan. This term, like many other terms, has never been accurately defined, but I take it to mean that portion of the country consisting of the young or younger men who have been educated according to Western ideas, have acquired Western modes of thought, and have developed--I do not use the word in an opprobrious sense--a bumptiousness. It is assumed, on what grounds I know not, that this section--it must after all be a small section--of the population of the country has aspirations to make things "hum," if I may use an expressive bit of American slang. Young Japan, we are led to believe, is intensely ambitious and extremely cocksure. It cannot and will not go slow; on the contrary, it is in a fearful hurry, and is in reference to every matter political, commercial, religious, a hustler. It has no doubts upon any subject, and no difficulty in regard to making up its mind on any matter. This is what we hear and read. How much of it all is true I know not. I am very largely of opinion that this representation of young Japan is altogether a caricature. Youth we know in every clime is impulsive and impetuous. There is no need to go to Japan to convince ourselves of that fact. But youth, if it have these defects, also possesses enthusiasm, and I should be inclined to describe that as one of the most pleasing characteristics of the youth of Japan. After all, time will cure Young Japan of some of its defects. Young Japan will grow old, and if it loses its enthusiasm it will gain experience. I not only have no fear of these vivacious young men who love their country and are proud of it. I regard them not as a danger, but as a pleasing feature in the progress of Japan, and a potent factor in its future prosperity. The writers and critics to whom I have referred in this chapter seem to be oblivious of the fact that progress is the law of nature. It has nothing to do with either climate or race. I admit that it may be affected by environment or other causes of a temporary nature. The Occidental visiting the East sees things that are strange to him--a people, the colour of whose skin and the contour of whose features are different to his own; costume, style of architecture, and many other matters entirely dissimilar to what he has viewed in his own country. He accordingly jumps to the absolutely erroneous conclusion that these people are uncivilised, and that their lack of civilisation is due to some mental warp or some defect in either the structure or the size of their brain. Of course such a conception is entirely erroneous, and yet it is marvellous to what an extent it prevails. These people are for all practical purposes the same as himself, except that they have been affected by various matters and circumstances that I have called ephemeral. What a nation, like an individual, needs is the formation of a distinct character. Now, the character of a nation depends, in my opinion, on the high or low estimate it has formed as to the meaning and purpose of life, and also the extent to which it adheres to the unwritten moral law, which is, after all, something superior to, because higher than, mere legal enactments. I confess that as I wander about this marvellous country of Japan, as I mingle with its common people and see them in various phases of their lives I say to myself, as St. Francis Xavier said of them more than three hundred years ago, "This nation is the delight of my soul." The critic, the hypercritic, is everywhere. He suspects everybody and everything. He can find occult motives and psychological reasons for everything. I confess I am a trifle tired of the critic, especially the psychological critic, in reference to Japan. I view the people there as they are to-day, and I have satisfied myself that we can see at work in Japan the formation of a nation with a character. I care not to investigate the mental processes at work, or the difference between the brain of the Japanese and the brain of the European. I do see this, however, that the leaders of the people, the educated and cultured classes of the land, are intent on cutting out of the national character anything which is indefensible, or has been found unserviceable, and equally intent on adopting and adapting from any and every nation such qualities as it is considered would the better enable Japan to advance on the paths of progress and freedom, illuminating her way as a nation and as a people by a shining illustration of all that is best in the world, having sloughed off voluntarily and readily every characteristic, however ancient, which reason and justice and experience had shown to be unworthy of a power aspiring to stand out prominently before the world. In Sir Rutherford Alcock's work on Japan, "The Capital of the Tycoon," published some forty-four years ago, a work which, as I have elsewhere said, is of undoubted value though somewhat marred by the prejudices of the author, he attempted a forecast of the future of the country, but, like so many prophets, his vaticinations have proved highly inaccurate. "Japan," he remarked, "is on the great highway of nations, the coveted of Russia, the most absorbing, if not the most aggressive of all the Powers; and a perpetual temptation alike to merchant and to missionary, who, each in different directions, finding the feudalism and spirit of isolation barriers to their path, will not cease to batter them in breach, or undermine them to their downfall. Such seems to be the probable fate of Japan, and its consummation is little more than a question of time. When all is accomplished, whether the civilising process will make them as a people wiser, better, or happier, is a problem of more doubtful solution. One thing is quite certain, that the obstructive principle which tends to the rejection of all Western innovations and proselytism as abominations, is much too active and vigorous in the Japanese mind to leave a hope that there will not be violent and obstinate resistance; and this inevitably leading to corresponding violence in the assault, there must be a period of convulsion and disorder before the change can be effected, and new foundations laid for another social edifice." Whether the civilising process will make the Japanese people wiser, better, or happier is the problem the answer to which can only be given in the future. Obviously we are not in a position to completely answer this question to-day. Indeed, before answering it at any time it might be advisable to invite the definition of wisdom and happiness. There were wisdom and happiness long prior to the time when the merchant and the missionary to whom Sir Rutherford Alcock refers battered and undermined Japan's feudalism and spirit of isolation. But, _mirable dictu_, Japan, instead of developing that obstructive principle which Sir Rutherford considered was so active and vigorous in the Japanese mind has, on the contrary, developed a spirit of adaptation and assimilation of Western innovations, and in so doing has in all probability saved herself from the cupidity not only of Russia, but of other Western Powers. Sir Rutherford Alcock was not a psychologist, but quite evidently he too misread the Japanese mind and its workings. Truth to tell, Japan as it is to-day gives the lie to nearly all the prophets, and demonstrates that the psychologist is merely a charlatan. Her development, her evolution has proceeded along no particular lines. The fearful and awful rocks in the way, mediævalism and feudalism, were got rid of almost with a stroke of the pen, and everybody in Japan, from the Emperor to the peasant, has adapted himself to the changed order of things. It is the most wonderful transformation scene in the history of the world, and it is still in progress. What the end of it all will be I have, bearing the dangers of prophecy well in mind, attempted to show in a final chapter. But I may remark that nothing in regard to the forces at work in Japan of recent years, and the outcome of the same so far gives me at any rate more unmixed pleasure than the way in which the theorists have been confounded, those men who cut and carve and label human beings, whether individually or in the aggregate, as if they were mere blocks of wood. The Oriental mind, we have been told, cannot do this; Oriental prejudices and idiosyncrasies and modes of thought and hereditary influences will not admit of that; the traditions of the Far East, that mysterious thing, will prevent the other--we have been told all this, I repeat, and told it _ad nauseam_. Japan as it is to-day refutes these prophecies, these dogmatic pronouncements, psychical and ethnological. The Japanese race, when regarded from what I deem to be the only correct standpoint for forming a sound judgment as to the position it holds among the races of the world, namely, in respect of the size and convolution of the brain, occupies in my opinion a high, a very high place. All other factors, often given such undue prominence in forming an estimate as to the character of any people I regard as mere accidentals. The story of Japan during the last thirty or forty years affords ample proof of what I have said; the position of the country to-day offers visible demonstration of it. Japan has reached and will keep the position of a great Power, and the Japanese that of a great people, just because of the preponderating mental abilities of the population of the country, its capacity for assimilation, its desire for knowledge, its pertinacity, strenuousness, and aspirations to possess and acquire by the process of selection the very best the world can give it. CHAPTER XXIV THE FUTURE OF JAPAN--PHYSICAL--MORAL--MENTAL I know by experience, even if the history of the world had not furnished many examples to prove it, that prophecy is risky. It is a fascinating pastime inasmuch as it affords the imaginative faculties full scope, but at the same time it is a mistake to let the imagination run riot. I have no intention, in considering the future of Japan, of depicting an Arcadia or a Utopia the outcome of one's desire rather than of the knowledge that one possesses of the possibilities of the country and the belief that in due course those possibilities will become actualities. Of course I admit that I may be mistaken in my estimate of the future, but I think an estimate of the future can only be based on a knowledge of the present, and it is upon that knowledge that I mean to attempt some forecast of what I believe to be the destiny of Japan. "The Future of Japan" is a theme that has exercised the pens of many writers, who have given to the world many and most divergent views in regard thereto--the result, I think, of regarding the subject from a narrow or single point of view, instead of looking at it broadly, boldly, and dispassionately. In respect of a population of between forty and fifty millions in rapid process of transformation and taking on perhaps rather hurriedly, and, it may be, some superfluous or unnecessary attributes of Western civilisation, it is not only possible but easy to light on many ludicrous incidents and draw absolutely false conclusions from them. One visitor to Japan, for example, who wrote a series of essays on that country, since produced in book form, the laudable object of which was to present to the British public the real Japan with a view of counteracting the effects of those "superficial narratives to be found by the dozen in circulating libraries of the personal views and experiences of almost every literary wayfarer who has crossed the Pacific," has followed this bad plan in his remarks on "The Future of Japan." Imitation for imitation's sake is, or was, in his opinion, a growing evil in Japan. A certain gentleman, he relates, a wealthy merchant of Osaka, desired to celebrate the two hundredth anniversary of a copper mine coming into the possession of his family. The plan he finally decided to adopt was to present each of his three hundred employees with a swallow-tail coat. Another Japanese gentleman, who had fallen in with the habit of the New Year's Day call imitated from the Americans, improved upon it by leaving on his doorstep a large box with a lid and this notice above it: "To Visitors. I am out, but I wish you a Happy New Year all the same. N.B.--Please drop your New Year's Presents into the box." Over a well-known tobacconist's shop the writer of the book in question observed the following notice: "When we first opened our tobacco store at Tokio our establishment was patronised by Miss Nakakoshi, a celebrated beauty of Inamato-ro, Shin-yoshiwara, and she would only smoke tobacco purchased at our store. Through her patronage our tobacco became widely known, so we call it by the name of Ima Nakakoshi. And we beg to assure the public that it is as fragrant and sweet as the young lady herself. Try it and you will find our words prove true." Finally, over a pastry-cook's shop in Tokio he read and made a note of the following: "Cakes and Infections." Now what do these several trivial, indeed contemptible, anecdotes prove? What arguments in regard to a nation of forty-seven millions of people can be bolstered up by instancing the imperfect acquaintance of a Japanese pastry-cook with the English language? The writer does not in so many words delineate the future of Japan as it appears to him, but he suggests it, and his Japan of the future is quite evidently to be nothing more or less than a kind of international dustheap whereon Europe and America have dumped all that is bad and rotten and deplorable in their modern social and political life. Here is the inferential forecast of the gentleman in question: "When Japan rings with the rattle of machinery; when the railway has become a feature of her scenery; when the boiler-chimney has defaced her choicest spots, as the paper-makers have already obliterated the delights of Oji; when the traditions of yashiki and shizoku alike are all finally engulfed in the barrack-room; when her art reckons its output by the thousand dozen; when the power in the land is shared between the politician and the plutocrat; when the peasant has been exchanged for the 'factory hand,' the kimono for the slop-suit, the tea-house for the music-hall, the geisha for the lion comique, and the daimio for the beer-peer--will Japan then have made a wise bargain, and will she, looking backward, date a happier era from the day we forced our acquaintance upon her at the cannon's mouth?" [Illustration: A SIGN OF THE TIMES] Criticism of this kind, if it may be dignified by that term, no doubt affords opportunity for what is considered smart writing, and enables the persons indulging in it to air their witticisms and show their sense of the humorous, but it not only serves no useful purpose, but, on the contrary, is pernicious in its effects, inasmuch as it occasions, not unnaturally, a feeling of soreness on the part of those, whether individuals or a nation, who are made the subject of it. Japan has too often been the butt of the humourist. I have no desire to deprecate humour, which no doubt gives a savour to life, but that humour which is only exercised at the expense of others, in my opinion, needs reprobation. As I have said, Japan among nations has been subjected to too much of it, and it is to be hoped that in future writers about the country will endeavour to avoid making their little jokes, or serving up afresh the antiquated chestnuts of the foreign community. The future of Japan may, I think, be considered under some half-dozen headings: The physical improvement of the Japanese race; Its moral advancement; Its intellectual advancement; Japan's national future; Her political future; and finally, The influence of the Japanese Empire on other Far Eastern races and on the world generally. As regards the physical improvement of the race, I admit this is a somewhat difficult subject in regard to which to make any forecast. The stature of the Japanese is undoubtedly small, and the chest measurement small likewise. At the same time, any one moving about Japan must have noticed the fact that there are quite a large number of very tall men and women in the country, and that a goodly proportion of the inhabitants compare favourably in their physical attributes with European people. As I have observed elsewhere in this book, the dietary of the Japanese race has for many centuries back been almost entirely a vegetarian one. I know very well that vegetarianism has its advocates, and some of the arguments put forward in support of it are plausible if not convincing. At the same time, I think, it cannot be denied that those races which have been in the habit of eating meat for many centuries have, as regards physique, demonstrated that whether man was or was not intended to be a carnivorous animal, his development into a carnivorous animal has at any rate succeeded in enhancing and developing his physical powers. Of late years there has been possibly as the result of intercourse with Europeans, a large increase in the number of the inhabitants of Japan who eat meat. This tendency on the part of the population is growing, and I believe in the course of comparatively few years there will be a radical change in the dietary of the people. This change, if it be effected, must, I would suggest, have a material influence on their physique. We all know that food is essential for the building up of the human frame and its maintenance, and I think there are few people who would question the fact that the condition of the human frame, whether in individuals or the aggregates of individuals that we term nations, must be largely affected by the food partaken of. I, accordingly, look forward, not immediately of course, to a material change in the general physique of the Japanese people. I am not, as I know some persons are, of opinion that that change is likely to be brought about by intermarriage or unions of a temporary nature between Japanese and Europeans. There have been a few marriages, and there have no doubt been a good many unions, but the effect on the national breed has been small, and though it may be to some extent greater in the future, I do not look in this direction for any alteration in the physical characteristics of the Japanese people. That alteration will, in my opinion, be brought about by a change in the food of the people. As regards the moral advancement of the Japanese race I shall say little, for the somewhat paradoxical reason that it is a matter on which so much might be said. Indeed, this is a subject on which a definition of the term moral might be advisable before entering into any prolonged consideration of it. I shall not attempt that definition, simply because I feel convinced that to do so would be to provoke controversy. As I have said in this book, moral, morality, and immorality are all terms that have to some extent lost their original meaning. I may say briefly in this connection that I use the term moral advancement simply and solely in respect of the practice of the duties of life from a high ethical point of view. That is, I know, a somewhat vague definition, but I think it will serve its purpose. Ever since Japan has been thrown open to foreigners we have heard a good deal about morality and immorality, both in the strict and the perverted sense of those words. The European who came there, male and female, was, or affected to be, shocked at the relations between the sexes he found prevailing. He saw prostitution recognised and regulated. He heard of, and in the old days possibly saw, something of phallic worship. He witnessed or heard of men and women making their ablutions together in public wash-houses, and he--sometimes it was a she--affected to be horrified at such a proceeding. Better, much better, it was inferred, the custom of the lower classes in England, never to wash at all, than this horrible outrage on public decency. And then the merchant or the trader who came to Japan, he also prated about commercial immorality, and the prevalence of untruthfulness among the Japanese with whom he did business. And in other directions too there were criticisms passed upon Japanese manners and customs, and many of these were condemned and denounced as immoral or wicked very often for no better reason than that they differed from those that obtained in Europe. However much or little ground there may have been for these charges against the Japanese people, I am not now concerned to discuss. One thing I will remark--that the Japanese possess two religions which, whatever their effects and no matter to what extent superstition may have been engrafted on them, have always held up a high moral standard. And if one dips even cursorily into the writings of the ethical teachers of Japan in the past, we invariably find the inculcation of an exalted standard of morals. Indeed, the practice of the Japanese people at the present time, as in all times in regard to the relations between parents and children, of wife to husband, of the people to the State, have been beyond criticism. In these matters Western nations have much to learn from them. Since the opening of the country to Europe, the Japanese Government has shown itself alive to European criticism on many points. It has effectually stamped out phallic worship; it has, in deference to European susceptibilities, abolished mixed bathing in the public wash-houses; and in various other ways it has striven in the direction of raising the standard of moral conduct throughout the country. That it has not attempted to put down prostitution, but, on the contrary, has recognised and regulated it, has been made a charge against it. The Japanese Government has most likely come to the conclusion that prostitution cannot be put down, and such being the case it has decided that, with a view of obviating those evils which are the outcome of it, the only alternative is to regulate it. I admit that in an ideal state of existence prostitution would not exist, but no country in the world has yet reached or approximated that ideal state. The evil of prostitution is just as flagrant in Europe as in the East, but Japan so far alone among the Great Powers of the world has seen fit to tackle this difficult and delicate matter, and to some extent regulate it. That her rulers look forward to the time when the Yoshiwara shall have ceased to exist I firmly believe, and I am convinced that they mean to do everything possible towards that consummation. But the rulers of Japan are not mere sentimentalists; they have to recognise facts, and recognising facts they have done what seems best to them under the circumstances. As regards commercial morality, I believe even the European merchants and traders in the country admit that there has of late years been a marked improvement. In old Japan commercialism was looked down upon. Making a profit out of buying and selling was regarded as degrading; those who indulged in such practices were despised, and not unnaturally the trader, finding himself a member of a contemned class, lived down to the low level on which he had been placed. In old Japan traders, in the presence of the Samurai, were, when addressing him, required to touch the ground with their foreheads; when talking to him they had to keep their hands on the ground. Such a state of things, of course, has long been effete, but the influences thereof remained for a considerable time after the acts had ceased. There has now been effected a revulsion of feeling in such matters. Commerce is honoured, trade is esteemed, and the Japan of to-day is convinced of the fact that on her commerce, trade, and industries the future of the country largely depends. Men of the highest rank, men of the greatest culture, men of the deepest probity are now embarked in trade and commerce in Japan; the whole moral atmosphere connected with trade has changed, and there are at the present time no more honourable men in the whole commercial world than those of Japan. In this matter there has undoubtedly been an enormous advance in ideas and ideals. This advance, I believe, is destined to extend in other directions--indeed, in every direction. The Japan of to-day has, I think, so far as I have been able to gauge it, a feeling--a deep feeling, which perhaps I can best describe as _noblesse oblige_. It is sensible of the position the country has attained; it is full of hope and enthusiasm for the future thereof; it believes implicitly that it is incumbent on it not only to attain but to maintain a high moral standard in every direction. It has been urged as against the Japan of to-day by a writer on the subject that Spencer and Mill and Huxley have been widely read by the educated classes, and that Western thought and practice as to the structure of society and the freedom of the individual have been emphasised throughout the country. I confess to feeling no alarm in regard to the moral future of Japan because it has perused the works of the three philosophers named. It gives me no trepidation to read that Mill's work on "Representative Government" has been translated into a volume of five hundred pages in Japanese and reached its third edition. I am, on the contrary, pleased to learn that Japan of to-day is concerned about culture, desirous of reading the works of those great philosophers whose names are among the immortal. There are no principles enunciated in any of the books of Spencer, Mill, or Huxley that, so far as I know, can undermine the moral character of the Japanese. On the contrary, I believe that a perusal of the writings of those great men will tend to assist the Japanese into a clearer understanding of moral principles, and in a desire to apply them to the duties of life. I look forward with great hope and a pronounced confidence to the moral future of Japan. Everything that I have seen in the country, everything that I have been able to learn respecting the people thereof--the ideas prevailing, the teaching given in its schools and universities, the whole trend of thought in the land, the literature read and produced, the aspirations, in fact, of the Japanese people to-day--lead me to think and to believe most firmly that in the Japan of the future we shall witness a nation on a higher moral plane than any of those with which the history of the world acquaints us. Closely connected with the moral advancement of Japan is its intellectual advancement. I have referred to the statement made by a writer that the Japan of to-day is addicted to reading the works of certain English philosophers, and that one of these books translated into Japanese had run through several editions. This fact is typical of the intellectual ferment, the thirst for knowledge of all kinds that exists in the country to-day. That craving is not for philosophical works alone; it extends to and embraces every form of literature of an instructive or enlightening character. It is in evidence in the higher schools and the universities of the country; it is to be witnessed in the many periodicals which exist for the promotion of culture and the spread of knowledge. This intellectual ferment, as I have, I think, appropriately termed it, is extending rapidly, and is, I believe, destined to assume much greater proportions. The literature of the world is at the present time literally being devoured by Young Japan. I do not regard this literary voracity as the mere outcome of curiosity, or as in any way symptomatic of mere mental unrest. Young Japan appears, like Lord Bacon, to take all knowledge for its field of study, and in accord with the philosophical principles of that great man, the principles of utility and progress, to be concerned with everything that can alleviate the sufferings and promote the comforts of mankind. Of course, at the present time this condition of craving for knowledge is confined, from the point of view of numbers, to a small portion of the people. But the intellectuals of every country are in a minority--in some countries in a miserable minority--and the influence they exercise is never proportionate to their numbers. At the same time the intellectuals of Japan are, in view of the fact that the country has for some short time been open to Western influences, an amazingly large proportion of the population. I am of opinion that this intellectual movement in Japan is destined to widen considerably, and that its influence on the people will be immense. During the whole history of the world the potency of mind over matter has been the greatest wonder. In these present days this potency is even more pronounced, and mere brute force is nowadays only made effective when it is influenced and regulated and organised by mind. I regard the intellectual development of Japan as one of the most pleasing features that have accrued from its contact with Western civilisation. I do not mean to suggest that there was an intellectual atrophy in the country prior to those influences making themselves felt, but there was an isolation which is never good for intellectual development. The broader the sympathies of nations, as of individuals, the wider their outlook, the better for their mental progress. When Japan was in a condition of isolation the literature available for her people was limited both in style and quantity. Her people now have at their disposal the intellect of the whole civilised world, the great thoughts of the great men of all ages. And it is pleasing to be able to relate that no more appreciative readers of the world's classics are to be found than the young intellectuals of Japan to-day. I have said that I regard this intellectual enthusiasm as one of the most pleasing features of modern Japan. That it is destined to have great results I am firmly convinced. I believe, and I am not naturally an optimist, that in the Japan of the future, the not far-distant future, the world is destined to see a nation not only morally but mentally great, a nation which will develop in conjunction those high moral qualities which will give it what I may term a pronounced, a well-defined character, and an intellectual greatness superior to that of ancient Greece and Rome, because restrained and illumined by the predominance and potency of moral characteristics which those great nations did not possess. CHAPTER XXV THE FUTURE OF JAPAN--NATIONAL--POLITICAL--ITS INFLUENCE ON THE WORLD I have now come to my final chapter, in which I propose to offer some remarks embodying my opinion as to the future of Japan from a national and political standpoint, as also her influence upon the world generally. The theme is a great one, and would require a volume for its proper treatment. Obviously, therefore, it cannot be dealt with other than cursorily in the few pages I am about to devote to it. Readers of this book will, I think, have had borne in upon them the fact that I am not only an ardent admirer of, but a believer in Japan and the Japanese. I utterly scout the idea put forward by some writers that what they have taken on of Western civilisation is either a veneer or a varnish, or that the advancement of the nation resembles the growth of the mushroom and is no more stable. I regard the Japanese as a serious people and the nation as having a serious purpose. If I did not there would be no need for me to dilate upon its future, for the simple reason that its future would be incomprehensible, and accordingly be absolutely impossible to forecast. As it is, it appears to me that the future of Japan is as plain as the proverbial pike-staff. I say this with a full knowledge of the dangers attendant on prophecy and the risk to the reputation of the vaticinator should events prove that he was mistaken in his prevision or erroneous in his conclusions. I have traced in these pages what I may term the national development of Japan; how, after two and a half centuries of isolation, it, recognising the force of circumstances, determined to impose upon its own ancient civilisation all that was best in that of the West, and, having so determined, took practical and effective steps to that end. What is to be the result of it all, the result, that is to say, not upon a few thousands, or hundreds of thousands, of Japanese, but upon the nation as a whole? Will these accretions on the old civilisation of the land mould and influence and alter the people generally, or will the effect be circumscribed and merely develop a class standing out apart from the great body of the people and affecting a superiority because of its Western culture? In my opinion the result will be not partial, but universal, though not immediate. There are, of course, large portions of Japan, many millions of its population, upon whom the opening up of the country has, as yet had little, if any, effect. Many of the Japanese people have hardly ever seen a foreigner, or, if they have, have viewed him with no little curiosity. They certainly have not realised, and possibly have not suspected, the effect which foreign influences are likely to have upon this Land of the Rising Sun. But influences, we know, may be effective without being felt, and I am convinced, from what I have seen and heard and the investigations I have been enabled to make, that the Japan of to-day is not only in transition--in rapid transition--but that its evolution is sure and certain, and that the result thereof will be the ultimate development of a nation which will assuredly impress the world and will very probably have a much more potent effect upon it than mere numbers would account for. It is the building up of a nation such as this that I confidently look forward to in the future. We of this generation may not, probably will not, live to see it--we certainly shall not in its ultimate development--but we can already see at work the forces which are to produce it, and the eye of faith, of a reasonable faith, built not on mere surmise or ardent hopes, but upon the expectation of a reasonable issue to the factors at work producing it, assures us that the Japan of the future will, as I have said, be a nation whose light will shine, and shine brilliantly, before the whole world. And as regards the political future of this wonderful country, I feel I can speak with equal confidence. What a marvellous change has come over this land, or our conception of this land, since the first British Minister resident there penned his impressions on approaching it. "A cluster of isles," he remarked, "appeared on the farthest verge of the horizon, apparently inhabited by a race at once grotesque and savage--not much given to hospitality, and rather addicted to martyrising strangers of whose creed they disapproved. Thus much stood out tolerably distinctly, but little else that was tangible. Severance from all social ties, isolation from one's kind, and a pariah existence, far away from all centres of civilisation--far beyond the utmost reach of railroad or telegraph--came much more vividly before me; and in Rembrandt masses of shade, with but one small ray of light, just enough to give force and depth to the whole--a sense of duty, a duty that _must_ be done, whether pleasant or otherwise, and about which there was no choice. What a world of anxiety and doubt the consciousness of this saves us!" This exordium reads more like the utterance of a man being led out to execution than a Minister going to a country possessing an ancient civilisation--a civilisation which had had its effect on every phase of the national life. What would not many of us now give to have been in the place of Sir Rutherford Alcock, visiting this land shortly after it had been opened after 250 years of isolation! How we should revel in its artistic treasures, which had not then been dispersed all over the world; and what pleasure we should have taken in seeing feudalism otherwise than in the pages of history! And yet Sir Rutherford Alcock was only expressing the opinions of his time. He could see nothing in Japan but a grotesque and uncivilised people whom the Western nations had to deal with in a peremptory manner. What a change there has been in the intervening forty-four years! Japan now stands out prominently among the nations, her political future appears to be secure, and it is none the less secure because of the difficulties she has encountered and overcome in attaining her present position. I emphasise all the more readily her present and future political position since, as I have previously observed in this book, I believe that that position will be one exercised for the good of the world. I look upon Japan as a great civilising factor in the future of the human race because, strong though she is and stronger though she will become, I am positive that her strength will never be put forward for any selfish aims or from any improper motives. It is for this reason that I welcome the alliance with Great Britain. I hope that alliance will not be limited to any term of years, but will be extended indefinitely, because in it I see a prospect and an assurance for the peace of the world. Inseparable from any allusion to the political future of Japan is some consideration of the influence that she is likely to exercise upon the world generally. Any person taking up an atlas and looking at the position occupied by Japan must, if he is of a thoughtful disposition, be impressed by it. Take the question of the Pacific--one which, in view of the change in the policy of the United States of recent years, must assume considerable importance in the future. There are various factors which must be taken into account here. The construction of the Panama Canal is one, the completion of the Siberian Railway another, the development of Canada and the completion of the railway lines that now penetrate nearly every part of that vast dominion is a third. Japan is now, in fact, the very centre of three great markets--those of Europe, Asia, and America. In the struggle for the mastery of the Pacific, which appears certain to come, and will probably come sooner than many people suppose, Japan is certain to take a momentous part. Not only in respect of her own islands, but in reference to the great island of Formosa, ceded to her by China as the outcome of the war with that Power, Japan occupies a unique and a most important position in the Pacific. As regards the mastery of the Pacific, in reference to which so much has been written and so much speculation, a large amount of it unprofitable, has been indulged, I shall say but little. On the shores of the Pacific Russia still remains a power, which, though defeated by Japan, is still one of considerable importance. On the other side of the ocean there is the United States, which, as some persons think, has given hostages to fortune by annexing the Philippine Islands. England, moreover, claims consideration in respect not only of her possessions in the Straits Settlements, Hong Kong, &c., but by reason of her great Navy and, I may add, her alliance with Japan. Then, too, there are China, and, if of less importance, France and Germany. Of all these Japan, in my opinion, occupies the commanding position. She not only occupies the commanding position, but she is, I think, from various causes, bound to play a great part in the future mastery of the Pacific. It is apparent that in the attainment and assertion of that mastery naval power must have a great and predominant part, and it is to the development of her naval power that Japan is devoting all her energies. Like Great Britain, from whom she has learned many lessons in this respect, she sees that an island empire can only maintain its position by possessing an overpowering naval force. As I have said before, I am fully convinced of the fact that in the development of her Navy, as of her Army, Japan has no aggressive designs. Her aspiration is the security and prevention from invasion of her island and the preservation of her national independence. At the same time, situated as she is in the great Pacific Ocean, she has palpably, from her position, rights and responsibilities and duties outside the immediate confines of her Empire. That, I think, will be admitted by any one. The phrase, "spheres of influence" has become somewhat hackneyed of recent years, and it has occasionally been used to give colour to aggressive designs. There may, too, be people who would say that spheres of influence is not a term that can properly be applied to a great water-way such as the Pacific. I am not, however, on the present occasion arguing with pedants. What I desire is to broadly emphasise the fact that in the future of the Pacific--those innumerable isles dotted here and there over its surface, Japan is a factor that cannot be left out of account. Year by year her position there is increasing in importance. Steamers ply to her ports weekly from Vancouver and San Francisco. The Japanese population are emigrating to the Pacific shores of America, the trade and commerce of Japan with the American Continent are growing and broadening. Everything in fact tends to show that within a comparatively short space of time Japan will have asserted her position, not only as a Great World Power, but as a great commercial nation in the Pacific. What is to be the outcome of it all? is the question that will naturally arise to the mind. I think that one outcome of it will be, as I have shown, the capture by Japan of the Chinese trade, if not in its entirety, at any rate in a very large degree. Another outcome will, I believe, be the enormous development of Japanese trade with both the United States and Canada. Some people may remark that these are not essentially political matters, and that I am somewhat wandering from my point in treating of them in connection with the influence of Japan upon the world generally. I do not think so. A nation may assert its influence and emphasise its importance to just as great an extent by its trade as by the double-dealings of diplomacy or by other equally questionable methods. Of one thing I am convinced, and that is that the influence of Japan upon the rest of the world will be a singularly healthy one. That country has fortunately struck out for itself, in diplomacy as in other matters, a new line. It has not behind it any traditions, nor before it prejudices wherewith to impede its progress. The diplomacy of Japan will, accordingly, be conducted in a straightforward manner, and its record so far in this respect has, I think, provided a splendid object-lesson for the rest of the world. The influence of Japan upon the other nations will I hope, as I believe, continue to be of a healthy nature. If that country sets forth prominently the fact that while aspiring to be great, it possesses none of those attributes that we have previously associated with great nations, the attributes of greed, covetousness, aggressiveness, and overbearing--an arrogant attitude in regard to weaker Powers, it will have performed a notable service in the history of the world. For myself I have no doubt whatever that Japan will teach this lesson, and in teaching it will have justified the great place that she has attained among the nations of the earth. I have now concluded the task that I set before myself. My readers must be judges as to the measure of success, if any, I have attained in it. To attempt a survey of the past, present, and future of a great and ancient nation within the limited space at my disposal has been by no means easy. Every subject I have had under consideration has invited discursiveness, and tempted me to linger and dilate upon it, and it alone. The fascination of Japan must be upon every one, or almost every one, who writes about it, and that fascination is, I may observe, like the art of the country, catholic. Whether we deeply and exhaustively investigate one subject and one subject only, or take a hurried glance at every or almost every subject, we feel a glamour in respect of this wonderful country and its equally wonderful people. While I have endeavoured to prevent this fascination, this glamour, affecting my judgment, I am not ashamed to plead guilty to, but am, in fact, rather proud of it. Indeed, I shall feel gratified if a perusal of this book induces a few persons here and there to study still more deeply the history, the religion, the art of Japan, and the whole trend of events in that country during the past forty years. Every phase of the national life lends itself to investigation, and will, I feel sure, reward the investigator. He will, unless he be a person of a singularly unemotional disposition, utterly lacking in all those finer feelings which especially distinguish man from the brutes, hardly fail of being, before he has proceeded far in his investigations, quickly under the alluring influences of this Far Eastern land, entering heartily, zealously, and enthusiastically into its national life and the developments thereof in all their various ramifications. The fascination that Japan has exercised upon writers such as Arnold and Hearn is what it does, though no doubt in a smaller degree, upon less gifted men. It is given to few to drink in and absorb the subtle charm of the country so thoroughly and express it so graphically and delicately, with such beauty and power and withal so much truth as have those brilliant men. I regard this great and growing fascination of Occidentals for this fair Eastern land and its inhabitants as a long step in the direction of the realisation of the brotherhood of man; that ideal state of things which we hope for so expectantly, longingly, perhaps too often sceptically; that happy time when national prejudices, jealousies, and animosities will have faded into oblivion, when nations by the simple process of studying one another, as Japan has been studied of recent years, will get to understand one another, when the literature and art of nations will be no longer merely national, but world possessions, when wars shall have ceased and the policy of aggression have come to be regarded as an evil thing, when, in a word, the brotherhood of man shall be no longer an idle dream, a mere speculative aspiration which no practical person ever expected to see realised, but an actuality within measurable distance of being accomplished. All these things may as yet be dreams, but let us dream them. The more they are dreamed, the more likely is the prospect of their realisation. One thing at least fills me with ardent hope, and that is the Japan, as I see it to-day, compared with the Japan of forty years ago. If such an upheaval is possible for one nation, who shall put any bounds to the potentialities of the world? So let us dream our dreams, and in our waking moments cast afar our eyes upon the land of the Rising, aye, now the Risen Sun, take heart and dream again in quiet confidence that some day, in some future reincarnation, mayhap, we shall witness the realisation of our hopes, and see that after all our dreams were merely an intelligent anticipation of the glad time coming. INDEX A Acrobatic performances, 199 Actresses, 199 Adams, Will, 5 Advancement, Intellectual, 279, 285 Physical, 279 Moral, 279, 281 Advertising in newspapers, 205 Agriculture, Thunberg's account of, 8 System of, 23 Ainos, the, 37, 170, 250 Aino Preservation Society, 251 Alcock, Sir Rutherford, 6, 272, 273, 291 Alloys, making of, 157 America, United States of, 293 Amusements of Japanese, 68 Ancestor worship, 73 Arboriculture, 86 Archery, 72 Architecture, 167 Art in, 167, 175 Modern, 173 Korean, 172 Arita, 142 Army, Japanese, 117 Armour, 154 Arnold, Sir Edwin, 193, 194, 267, 296 Art, Japanese, 131, 149 Art in Architecture, 175 Art Treasures, 165 Artistic ideals, 163 Artists, Japanese, 133 Lacquer 137 Asiatic Continent, proximity to, 17 Aston, Mr., 194 Athletics, 113 B Banks, Japanese, 97 European, 97 Baths, 65, 75 Bathing, mixed, abolished, 282 Bear, black, 27 Bedding, 65 Bells, 153 Beresford, Lord Charles, 229 Bills, Treasury, 94 Bird, Miss, 212, 217 Birds, 27 Bizen ware, 144, 145 Bon Matsuri, 71 "Break-up of China," 229 Brinkley, Captain, 207 Bronze work, 153 Bungo, Prince of, 2 Buddha, statues of, 151 Buddhism, 39, 40, 41 Influences of, 48, 77 Buddhist religion, commandments of, 42 C "Capital of the Tycoon," 6, 272, 273 Canada, 292 Castles, feudal, 171 Cavalry, 171 Lack of horses, 26 Cemeteries, 73 Ceramic ware, 140 Decoration of, 145 Cereals, 23 Ceremonies, tea, 141 Chamberlain, Basil Hall, 44, 131, 152, 250 Chastity of women, 217 Children, 67 Attendance at school, 104 China, 221 War with, 93, 208 Japanisation of, 224 Awakening of, 229 China ware, _see_ Porcelain and Pottery Chinese indemnity, 228 legal system, 186 Chiuzenji, Lake, 26 Christenings, 72 Christian Missions, 46, 47, 239, 256 Christianity, conversion of Japanese to, 3, 261 Cleanliness of people, 75 Climate, 19 Clothing of Japanese, 68 Coal, 22 College, Police, and Prison, 188 Commerce, 80 Commercial morality, 236 Community, foreign, 235, 239 Confucianism, 39 Conscription, system of, 119 Constitution of Japan, 49, 58, 59 Copper, 157 Copper ware, 153 Costume, Japanese, 161 Cotton, 23 Court, Supreme, of China and Japan, 231 Courts, Consular, 231 Courts, Japanese, 234, 235 Crane, Walter, 132 Curios, 161 Curriculum, school, 105 D Dai Butsus, 151 Daimios, 51, 139, 155, 158, 185 Dalny, 17 Daynogawa, River, 26 Death penalty, 190 Debates, parliamentary, 57 Debt, National, 91, 95 Decoration of ceramic ware, 145 De Fonblanque, 138 Descent of Japanese Sovereigns, 52 Development of Japan, 289 Dickins, F. V., 232, 240 Diet, Imperial Japanese, 52, 53 Diosy, Mr. Arthur, 213 Diplomacy, methods of, 294 Diseases, 20, 66 Douglas, Admiral Sir A. L., 126 Drama, the Japanese, 193, 198 Dress of the Japanese, 68 Dresser, Dr., 168, 169 Dutch, their settlement at Decima, 3, 25, 134, 142 Duties, Customs, 233 E Earthenware, _see_ Pottery and Porcelain Earthquakes, 19 Education, 102 Education, Board of, 103 Electors, Japanese, qualifications of, 55 Electoral districts, 55 Elgin, Lord, 124 Embroidery, silk and satin, 161 Emperor, 51, 52 Position of, 60 English officers, 125 Espionage, elaborate system of, 10 Europeans in Japan, 230 Europeanising of Japan, 230 Evergreens, Japanese, 24 Exports and Imports, 81, 83 Expulsion of foreigners from Japan, 3 F Fascination of Japan, 295, 296 Fauna of Japan, 27 Feast of Dolls, 71 of Flags, 70 Festivals and feasts, 69 Feudal system in Japan, 50 _Financial and Economical Annual_, 91 Fish, 24 Flora of Japan, 24 Flowers, 73 Food, 66 Foreigners in Japan, 231 Foreign community, 235, 239 Foreign market, manufacture of articles for, 146 Foreign troops in Japan, 234 Forests, 22, 86 Formosa, 17, 292 France, 293 Fruit, Japanese, 23 Fuji-yama, 18, 138 Furniture, household, 65 Future of Japan, 274 Political, 279, 288, 290 National, 288 G Gardens, Japanese, 75 Geisha, the, 213 Generals, Japanese, 122 Germany, 225, 293 German Emperor, 222 Girls, schools for, 106, 114 Gold, 157 Gordon, General, 228 Government, constitution of, 52 Great Britain, 207, 293 Gregory XIII., mission from Japan to, 3 Griffis, 155 Grotesque in Japanese art, 135, 145 H Hair, Mr. Thomas, 55 Hakodate, 18, 254, 256 Battle of, 125 Hara-kiri, 154, 265 Harbours, 21 Harvest festival, 70 Hawes, Lieut. A. G. S., R.M.L.I., 126 Health of the people, 20 Hearn, Lafcadio, 152, 258, 267, 296 Heian period, 195 Hill, Dr. G. Birnie, R.N., 128 History, Japanese, 1 Hizen ware, 145 Holidays in Japan, 69 Hong-Kong, 292 Honshiu, 17 Horses, 26, 121 Houses, Japanese, 64, 170 I Images, carving of, 158 Imari ware, 140, 142 Industries, 80 Influence of Japan, 279, 288 Inland Sea, 21 Intellectual advancement, 279, 285 Iron, 157 Irrigation, 23 Ise ware, 140 Ito, Marquis, 81 Ivory, carvings in, 149 Iwasaki, Mr., 129 J Japan, Constitution of, 49, 58, 59 Development of, 289 English newspapers in, 207 Europeans in, 230 Europeanising of, 230 Expulsion of foreigners from, 3 Fascination of, 295, 296 Fauna of, 27 Feudal system in, 50 Flora of, 24 for the Japanese, 242 Foreigners in, 231 Foreign troops in, 234 Future of, 274, 279, 288, 290 Holidays in, 69 Missionaries in, 46, 47, 239, 256 Naval Officer's description of, 11 Occidentilation of, 269 Portuguese visits to, 2 Present position of, 263 Press, "Yellow," in, 206 Religions of, 39 Tourists in, 26, 241 Trade of China, capture by, 227, 294 Transition of, 274 Vice in, 212, 217 Young, 270, 287 _Japan Times_, the, 202 Japanese, amusements of, 68 Army, 117 art, 131, 149 artists, 133 banks, 97 Conversion of, to Christianity, 3, 261 Clothing of, 68 Constitution of, 49, 58, 59 costume, 161 courts, 234, 235 Descent of Sovereigns, 52 Diet, Imperial, 52, 53 drama, 193, 198 Dress of, 68 electors, qualifications of, 55 evergreens, 24 fruit, 23 gardens, 75 Generals, 122 grotesque in art, 135, 145 history, 1 houses, 64, 170 language, 33, 34, 109 legal system, 187 literature, 37, 193 morality, 13, 211 commercial, 236, 283 Navy, 117, 123 oligarchy, 61 paper, 87 Parliament, 56 people, 63 pictures, 158 pillow, 65 plays, 199 Psychology of, 264 race, 29, 30 schools, 104 subjects, 53 Jinrickshas, 182 K Kaemfer, 5, 30, 39, 153 Kaga ware, 140, 144 Kakemonos, 65, 160 Ken sect, 44 Kiushiu, 17 Kobé, 25 Korea, 172, 262 Korean architecture, 172 potters, 141 Kumoto, Mr., 202, 203 Kurile Isles, 17 Kutania ware, 145 Kyoto, 25, 158, 181 Kyoto ware, 140, 144, 145 L Labour question, 88 organisations, 88 _Labour World_ newspaper, 88 Lacquer, 135 artists, 137 Language, Japanese, characteristics of, 33 Origin of, 34 Educational difficulties, 109 Law and order, 185 Legal system, Japanese, 187 Letters, number posted, 178 Literature, Japanese, 37, 193 Loans, 90, 92 Loo-Choo Islands, 17 Loti, Pierre, 213 Luxury, absence of, 74 M Macao, 142 Machinery, manufacture of, 81 "Madame Chrysanthéme," 213 Magazines, 207 Makimonos, 160 Manufactures, 83 Marco Paolo, 1 Marks on pottery and porcelain, 148 Marriages, 72 Matches, 96 Mercantile Marine, 129 Metals, 21, 157 Metal work, 153 workers, 156 industries, decline in, 157 Metallurgists, 152 Mikado, 50, 51; also _see_ Emperor Mineral wealth, 21, 157 Minister, British, at Japanese Court, 239 Missionaries in Japan, 46, 47, 239, 256 in China, 225 Mitake, Mount, 18 Mitsui, house of, 97 Mitsui Bussan Kwiasha, 99 Mitsu Bishi Company, 129 Monkey, red-faced, 27 Morality, Japanese, 13, 211 Commercial, 236, 283 Moral advancement, 279, 281 Moral code, educational, 110 Mountains, 18 Municipalities, European, 232 Music, 69 N Nagasaki, 21, 25 Nagoya, 25 Castle at, 171 Nara, Temple of, 167 Navy, Japanese, 117, 123 Naval officer's description of Japan, 11 Netsukés, 149, 150 "New Far East," 213 New Year's Day, 69 Newspapers, 89, 200 Circulation of, 205 English, in Japan, 207 News agencies, 204 Nikko, 26 Pagoda at, 169 Temples at, 173, 174 Nippon, 17 Nippon Yusen Kaisha, 129 "Nô," the, 200 Notes, bank, 93 O Oligarchy, Japanese, 61 Oxen, 27 P Pacific, mastery of, 292 Pagodas, 171 Painting, 158 Schools of, 159 Western influences on, 159 Panama Canal, 292 Paper, Japanese, 87 Paper money, 13 Parkes, Sir Harry, 240 Life of, 240 Parliament, Japanese, 56 Parties and party system, 58 Passports, 233 Peers, House of, 53 People, Japanese, life and habits, 63 Petroleum, 86 Phallic worship, 281 Philippine Islands, 292 Philologists and Japanese language, 33 Philosophers, English, widely read, 284, 285 Philosophy of life, 78 Physical advancement, 279 Physical features of country, 17 Physique, 112 Pictures, Japanese, 158 Pigs, 27 Pillow, Japanese, 65 Plays, Japanese, 199 Poetry, 194 in newspapers, 205 Police, 188 Political future, 279 Population, 17 Porcelain, 140, 142, 145 Modern, 147 Marks on, 148 Port Arthur, 17 Portuguese visits to Japan, 2 Postal service, 177 orders, 178 Post-office business, 178 Savings Bank, 179 Post-offices, foreign, 232 Potters, Korean, 141 Pottery, 140 Marks on, 148 Press, "Yellow," in Japan, 206 Functions of, 210 Newspaper, 202 Prisons, 189 Prison system, 190 Privy Council, 59 Prostitution, 215, 283 _Punch_, Yokohama, 209 Punishments, 190 Psychology of Japanese, 264 R Race, Japanese, its origin, 29 Theories regarding, 30 Railways, 25, 176 Raku ware, 140, 145 Rein, Professor, 19 Religions of Japan, 39 influence on people, 76 Representatives, House of, 53, 55 Resources of country, 90 Revenue, 101 Revolution of 1868, 21, 165, 186, 197, 203 _Rhus Vernicifera_, 22, 138 Rice, 23, 84 Rivers, 19 Royal Family, style and address of, defined, 59 Russia, 292 Russia, war with, 120, 127, 221 Ryder, Admiral Sir A. P., 240 S Saké, 25 St. Francis Xavier, 2, 41, 45, 47, 134, 260, 261, 271 Sakhalin, 17, 18 Salt, 87 Samurai, 155, 236, 283 San Francisco, 294 Satin embroidery, 161 Satsuma, Prince of, 134 ware, 140, 143, 144, 145 Savings Banks, Post-office, 179 Scabbards, sword, 155 Scenery, 25 Schools, Japanese, 104 for girls, 106, 114 Higher, 107 Technical, 108 of painting, 159 of progressive art, 147 Sculpture, 149 Seto ware, 145 Shampooing, 75 Sheep, 27 Shiba, temples at, 158, 173, 174 Shikoku, 17 Shingon Yoko sect, 44 Shinto temples, 45 Shintoism, 39, 40, 41 Influences of, 48, 77 Shirakawa, Emperor, 42 Shogun, 51 Shrines, 77 Siberian railway, 292 Silk, 83 embroidery, 161 -worms, 84 Silver, 157 Smoking, 66 Snakes, 27 Social intercourse, 237 Socialism, 89 State, 82 Spheres of influence, 293 _Stonewall Jackson_, 125 Straits Settlements, 292 Sugar, 87 Subjects, Japanese, rights and duties of defined, 53 Swords, 154 Abolition of wearing of, 155 Accessories, 156 Sword-makers, 155 T Tea, 24, 95 ceremonies, 141 houses, 24 industry, 86 Tea Traders' Association, 85 Telegrams, 180 Telegraphs, 179 Telephones, 180 Temperature of Japan, 20 Temples, Buddhist, 171, 173, 174 Shinto, 171 Some Buddhist, a visit to, 244 Construction of, 158 Tendai sect, 44 Territoriality, extra, 232, 235 Theatre, 68, 199 "Things Japanese," 131 Thunberg, 6 Tin, 157 Tobacco, 66, 82, 86, 149 Tokio, 20, 25, 181 Tokugawa period, 191 Tooth-powder, 162 Tourists in Japan, 26, 241 Trade, 80 Chinese, capture by Japan, 227, 294 Traders, 236, 237 Tramways, 181 Transition of Japan, 274 Treasures, art, 165, 168 Trees, 22 Tsu-shima, 18, 240 Turanian race, 33 Tycoon, 11, 12, 13, 51 Typhoons, 21 U Utilitarianism in art, 143 "Unbeaten Tracks in Japan," 212 United States of America, 293 export of tea to, 85 University, Imperial, 107 Universities, 107, 116 V Vancouver, 294 Vice in Japan, 212, 217 Vladivostock, 18 Volcanoes, 18 W War with China, 93, 208 Russia, 120, 127, 221 Ware, ceramic, 140 Wergman Mr., 209 Whistler, Mr., 160 White peril, 227 Wild animals, 27 Wild birds, 27 Wilson, Admiral Sir A. K., 126 Wolf, 27 Women, position of, 67 Wrestling, 72 X Xavier, St. Francis, 2, 41, 45, 47, 134, 260, 261, 271 Y "Yellow peril," the, 222, 226 Yesso, 17, 250 Yokohama, 25, 234 Yokosko, dockyard at, 123 Yomuri, 202 Yoshiwara, 215, 216, 218, 220, 239 Young Japan, 270, 287 The Gresham Press, UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED. WOKING AND LONDON. Transcriber's Note Minor punctuation errors have been repaired. Hyphenation and use of accents has been made consistent. Archaic spelling has been preserved as printed. Index items have been made consistent with the main text. The following amendments have been made: Page 17--Kiusiu amended to Kiushiu--"... Honshiu, Shikoku, Kiushiu, and Yesso, besides some thousands of smaller isles." Page 22--aboreal amended to arboreal--"... there can be no question as to the value of its arboreal products." Page 48--opprobious amended to opprobrious--"... whatever its precise meaning, is invariably intended to be opprobrious!" Page 202--Zumoto amended to Kumoto--"Mr. Kumoto, editor of the _Japan Times_, ..." Page 245--whisperered amended to whispered--"... and with bowed head whispered her morning prayer." Illustrations have been moved where necessary so that they are not in the middle of a paragraph. The frontispiece illustration has been moved to follow the title page. 
31571	----	Transcribers Notes: 1. Passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_. 2. 4 minor spelling corrections have been made. See list at end of text. Édition d'Élite Historical Tales The Romance of Reality By CHARLES MORRIS _Author of "Half-Hours with the Best American Authors," "Tales from the Dramatists," etc._ IN FIFTEEN VOLUMES Volume XII Japanese and Chinese J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON Copyright, 1898, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. Copyright, 1904, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. Copyright, 1908, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. [Illustration: GREAT GATE NIKKO.] _CONTENTS._ PAGE THE FIRST OF THE MIKADOS 5 HOW CIVILIZATION CAME TO JAPAN 12 YAMATO-DAKÉ, A HERO OF ROMANCE 19 JINGU, THE AMAZON OF JAPAN 27 THE DECLINE OF THE MIKADOS 35 HOW THE TAIRA AND THE MINAMOTO FOUGHT FOR POWER 41 THE BAYARD OF JAPAN 51 THE HOJO TYRANNY 59 THE TARTAR INVASION OF JAPAN 67 NOBUNAGA AND THE FALL OF THE BUDDHISTS 73 HOW A PEASANT BOY BECAME PREMIER 80 THE FOUNDER OF YEDO AND OF MODERN FEUDALISM 86 THE PROGRESS OF CHRISTIANITY IN JAPAN 97 THE DECLINE AND FALL OF CHRISTIANITY IN JAPAN 106 THE CAPTIVITY OF CAPTAIN GOLOWNIN 113 THE OPENING OF JAPAN 123 THE MIKADO COMES TO HIS OWN AGAIN 133 HOW THE EMPIRE OF CHINA AROSE AND GREW 142 CONFUCIUS, THE CHINESE SAGE 150 THE FOUNDER OF THE CHINESE EMPIRE 156 KAOTSOU AND THE DYNASTY OF THE HANS 172 THE EMPRESS POISONER OF CHINA 180 THE INVASION OF THE TARTAR STEPPES 186 THE "CRIMSON EYEBROWS" 192 THE CONQUEST OF CENTRAL ASIA 197 THE SIEGE OF SINCHING 202 FROM THE SHOEMAKER'S BENCH TO THE THRONE 205 THREE NOTABLE WOMEN 212 THE REIGN OF TAITSONG THE GREAT 217 A FEMALE RICHELIEU 223 THE TARTARS AND GENGHIS KHAN 228 HOW THE FRIARS FARED AMONG THE TARTARS 236 THE SIEGE OF SIANYANG 242 THE DEATH-STRUGGLE OF CHINA 249 THE PALACE OF KUBLAI KHAN 255 THE EXPULSION OF THE MONGOLS 264 THE RISE OF THE MANCHUS 272 THE MANCHU CONQUEST OF CHINA 281 THE CAREER OF A DESERT CHIEF 290 THE RAID OF THE GOORKHAS 299 HOW EUROPE ENTERED CHINA 306 THE BURNING OF THE SUMMER PALACE 315 A GREAT CHRISTIAN MOVEMENT AND ITS FATE 323 COREA AND ITS NEIGHBORS 330 THE BATTLE OF THE IRON-CLADS 339 PROGRESS IN JAPAN AND CHINA 347 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. JAPANESE AND CHINESE. PAGE GREAT GATE, NIKKO _Frontispiece._ FUJIYAMA 10 SHUZENJI VILLAGE, IDZU 36 FARMERS PLANTING RICE SPROUTS, JAPAN 52 LETTER-WRITING IN JAPAN 63 KARAMO TEMPLE, NIKKO 78 RETURNING FROM MARKET, JAPAN 98 MAIN STREET, YOKOHAMA 108 CHUSENJI ROAD AND DAIYA RIVER 132 A CHINESE IRRIGATION WHEEL 165 AN ITINERANT COBBLER, CANTON, CHINA 180 A CHINESE PAGODA 197 WATER CART, PEKIN, CHINA 210 SHANGHAI, FROM THE WATER-SIDE 222 MARKET SCENE IN SHANGHAI 255 CHINESE GAMBLERS 281 CHAIR AND CAGO CARRIERS 306 STREET SCENE, PEKIN, CHINA 318 A BRONZE-WORKER'S SHOP 330 THE PEKIN GATE 347 * * * * * _THE FIRST OF THE MIKADOS._ The year 1 in Japan is the same date as 660 B.C. of the Christian era, so that Japan is now in its twenty-sixth century. Then everything began. Before that date all is mystery and mythology. After that date there is something resembling history, though in the early times it is an odd mixture of history and fable. As for the gods of ancient Japan, they were many in number, and strange stories are told of their doings. Of the early men of the island kingdom we know very little. When the ancestors of the present Japanese arrived there they found the islands occupied by a race of savages, a people thickly covered with hair, and different in looks from all the other inhabitants of Asia. These in time were conquered, and only a few of them now remain,--known as Ainos, and dwelling in the island of Yezo. In the Japanese year 1 appeared a conqueror, Jimmu Tenno by name, the first of the mikados or emperors. He was descended from the goddess of the Sun, and made his home at the foot of Kirishima, a famous mountain in the island of Kiushiu, the most southerly of the four large islands of Japan. As to the smaller islands of that anchored empire, it may be well to say that they form a vast multitude of all shapes and sizes, being in all nearly four thousand in number. The Sea of Japan is truly a sea of islands. By way of the sailing clouds, and the blue sky which rests upon Kirishima's snowy top, the gods stepped down from heaven to earth. Down this celestial path came Jimmu's ancestors, of whom there were four between him and the mighty Sun goddess. Of course no one is asked to accept this for fact. Somewhat too many of the fathers of nations were sons of the gods. It may be that Jimmu was an invader from some foreign land, or came from a band of colonists who had settled at the mountain's foot some time before, but the gods have the credit of his origin. At any rate, Hiuga, as the region in which he dwelt was called, was not likely to serve the ends of a party of warlike invaders, there being no part of Japan less fertile. So, as the story goes, Jimmu, being then fifty years old, set out to conquer some richer realm. He had only a few followers, some being his brothers, the others his retainers, all of them, in the language of the legends, being _kami_, or gods. Jimmu was righteous; the savages were wicked, though they too had descended from the gods. These savages dwelt in villages, each governed by a head-man or chief. They fought hard for their homes, and were not easily driven away. The story of Jimmu's exploits is given in the _Kojiki_, or "Book of Ancient Traditions," the oldest book of Japan. There is another, called the _Nihongi_, nearly as old, being composed in 720 A.D. These give us all that is known of the ancient history of the island, but are so full of myths and fables that very little of the story is to be trusted. Histories of later times are abundant, and form the most important part of the voluminous literature of Japan. The islanders are proud of their history, and have preserved it with the greatest care, the annals of cities and families being as carefully preserved as those of the state. Jimmu the conqueror, as his story is told in the _Kojiki_, met strange and frightful enemies on his march. Among them were troops of spiders of colossal size and frightful aspect, through whose threatening ranks he had to fight his way. Eight-headed serpents had also to be dealt with, and hostile deities--wicked gods who loved not the pious adventurer--disputed his path. Some of these he rid himself of by strength of arm and sharpness of sword, some by shrewdness of wit. His line of march lay to Usa, in the district of Buzen; thence to Okada, where he took ship and made his way through the windings of the Suwo Nada, a part of the Inland Sea of Japan. Landing in Aki, Jimmu built himself a palace, and dwelt there for seven years, after which he sought the region of Bizen, where for eight years more he lived in peace. Then, stirred once more by his in-dwelling love of adventure, he took to the sea again with his faithful band and sailed to the eastward. Rough waves and swift currents here disputed his way, and it was with difficulty that he at length landed on Hondo, the main island of Japan, near where the city of Osaka now stands. He named the spot _Nami Haya_ ("swift waves"). Jimmu Tenno, the name of the conqueror, means "spirit of war," and so far victory had perched upon his banners as he marched. But now defeat came. The people of the great island fought fiercely for their homes and liberties, a brother of Jimmu was wounded, and he and his band of followers were driven back with loss. The gods surely had something to do with this,--for in those days the gods were thought to have little to do besides busying themselves with the affairs of men,--and the cause of the defeat was sought by means of sacred ceremonies and invocations. It proved to be an odd one. The legend states they had offended the Sun goddess by presuming to travel to the east, instead of following the path of the sun from east to west. This insult to the gods could be atoned for only by a voyage to the west. Taking to their ships again, they sailed westward around Kii, and landed at Arasaka. Jimmu had expiated his fault, and was again in favor with the gods. The chief whom he now faced surrendered without a blow, and presented the conquering hero with a sword. A picture of this scene, famous in the early history of Japan, is printed on one of the Japanese greenback notes issued in 1872. The victor next sought the mountain-defended land of Yamato, which was to be reached only by difficult mountain-passes, unknown to the chief and his followers. But the gods had taken him in charge and came to his aid, sending a giant crow, whose wings were eight feet long, to guide him to the fertile soil of Yamato. A crow with smaller spread of wing might have done the work as well, but would have been less satisfactory to the legend-makers. Fierce was the conflict now impending, and stern the struggle of the natives for life and liberty. Here were no peaceful chiefs, like the one met at Arasaka, and only by dint of trenchant blows was the land to be won. On went the fight, victory now inclining to one side, now to the other, until in the midst of the uncertain struggle the gods sent down a deep and dark cloud, in whose thick shadow no man could see his foe, and the strife was stayed. Suddenly, through the dense darkness, a bird in the shape of a hawk came swooping down from the skies, enveloped in a flood of golden light, and, dispersing the cloud, rested upon the hero's bow. The light shed by his refulgent wings struck like the glare of lightning upon the eyes of the enemy, so dazzling them with its radiance that they broke into panic flight. A victory gained in such a fashion as this does not seem quite satisfactory to modern ideas. It is not fair to the other side. Yet it was in this way that the Greeks won victory on the plains of Troy, and that many other legendary victories were obtained. One cannot help wishing that the event of battle had been left to the decision of brave hearts and strong hands, instead of depending upon the interposition of the gods. But such was the ancient way,--if we choose to take legend for truth,--and we must needs receive what is given us, in default of better. At any rate, Jimmu was now lord of the land, and built himself a capital city at Kashiwabara, near the site of the modern Kioto, from which he governed the wide realms that the sword had made his own. The gods were thanked for their aid by imposing religious ceremonies, and the people rejoiced in the peace that had come upon the land. The soldiers who had followed the hero to victory were amply rewarded, and his chiefs made lords of provinces, for the control over which they were to pay in military service. Thus early a form of feudal government was established in Japan. [Illustration: FUJIYAMA.] All being now at peace within the realm, the weapons of war were hung up in home and temple, sacrifices were offered to the goddess of the Sun, and the three sacred emblems of the new kingdom, the mirror, the sword, and the ball, were deposited with solemn ceremonies in the palace of the emperor. The remainder of Jimmu's story may be briefly told. He took for bride the princess Tatara, the daughter of one of his chiefs, and the most beautiful woman in all the land. The rest of his life was spent in strengthening his rule and extending the arts of civilization throughout his realm. Finally he died, one hundred and thirty-seven years old, as the _Kojiki_ states, leaving three children, one of whom he had chosen as the heir of the throne. That there was an actual Jimmu Tenno is more than any one can say. Of course the crow and kite, serpents and spiders, are myths, transformed, perhaps, from some real incidents in his career, and the gods that helped and hindered were doubtless born in men's fancies in later days. The Chinese have their story of how Japan was settled. Taiko, grandfather of the first emperor of the Shu dynasty, had three sons, and, loving the youngest most, wished to leave him his title and estate. These by law and custom belonged to the eldest, and the generous young prince, not wishing to injure his brother, secretly left home and sailed to the south. Leaving Southern China with a colony, he landed in Japan. This took place about forty-six years before the beginning of Jimmu's conquering career, so that the dates, at least, agree. Whether there ever was a Jimmu or not, the Japanese firmly believe in him. He stands on the list as the first of the mikados, and the reigning emperor claims unbroken descent from him. April 7 is looked upon as the anniversary of his accession to the throne, and is the Japanese national holiday, which is observed with public rejoicings and military and naval salutes. The year 1 was the year in which Jimmu ascended the throne. _HOW CIVILIZATION CAME TO JAPAN:_ There is not much of absorbing interest in early Japanese history. For a period of some twelve hundred years nearly all that we know of the mikados is that they "lived long and died happy." No fewer than twelve of these patriarchs lived to be over one hundred years old, and one held the throne for one hundred and one years. But they were far surpassed in longevity by a statesman named Takénouchi, who served five mikados as prime minister and dwelt upon the earth for more than three hundred and fifty years. There was not much "rotation in office" in those venerable times. We must come down for six hundred years from the days of Jimmu to find an emperor who made any history worth the telling. In truth, a mist of fable lies over all the works of these ancient worthies, and in telling their stories we can never be sure how much of them is true. Very likely there is sound history at the bottom, but it is ornamented with a good deal that it is not safe to believe. The first personage after Jimmu upon whom we need dwell was a wise and worthy mikado named Sujin, who spent his days in civilizing his people, probably no easy task. The gap of six centuries between Jimmu's time and his had, no doubt, its interesting events, but none of particular importance are upon record. As a boy Sujin displayed courage and energy, together with the deepest piety. As a man he mourned over the sinfulness of his people, and earnestly begged them to give up their wicked ways and turn from sin to the worship of the gods. He was not at first very successful. The people were steeped in iniquity, and continued so until a pestilence was sent to change the current of their sinful thoughts. The pious monarch called upon the gods to stay the plague, doing penance by rising early, fasting, and bathing,--possibly an unusual ceremony in those days. The gods at length heard the voice of the king, and the pestilence ceased. It had done its work. The people were convinced of the error of their ways and turned from wantonness to worship, and everywhere religious feeling revived. As yet Japan possessed no temples or shrines, all worship being conducted in the open air. The three holy emblems of the nation, the mirror, the sword, and the ball, had thus far been kept within the palace. Wherever they were the divine power dwelt, and the mikado, living within their influence, was looked upon as equal to a god. But the deities taught Sujin--or at least he thought they did--that this was not the proper place for them. A rebellion broke out, due, doubtless, to the evil spirit of men, but arising, in his opinion, from the displeasure of the gods, who were not pleased with his keeping these sacred objects under his own roof, where they might be defiled by the unholiness of man. He determined, therefore, to provide for them a home of their own, and to do so built the first temple in his realm. The sacred symbols were placed under the care of his daughter, who was appointed priestess of the shrine. From that day to this a virgin princess of imperial blood has been chosen as custodian of these emblems of deific power and presence. The first temple was built at Kasanui, a village in Yamato. But the goddess Amaterasu warned the priestess that this locality was not sufficiently holy, so she set off with the mirror in search of a place more to the taste of the gods, carrying it from province to province, until old age overtook her, yet finding no spot that reflected the clear light of holiness from the surface of the sacred mirror. Another priestess took up the task, many places were chosen and abandoned, and finally, in 4 A.D., the shrine of Uji, in Isé, was selected. This apparently has proved satisfactory to the deities of Japan, for the emblems of their divinity still rest in this sacred shrine. Sujin had copies made of the mirror and the sword, which were kept in the "place of reverence," a separate building within the palace. From this arose the imperial chapel, which still exists within the palace bounds. We speak of the "palace" of the mikado, but we must warn our readers not to associate ideas of splendor or magnificence with this word. The Emperor of Japan dwells not in grandeur, but in simplicity. From the earliest times the house of the emperor has resembled a temple rather than a palace. The mikado is himself half a god in Japanese eyes, and is expected to be content with the simple and austere surroundings of the images of the gods. There are no stateliness, no undue ornament, no gaudy display such as minor mortals may delight in. Dignified simplicity surrounds the imperial person, and when he dies he is interred in the simplest of tombs, wonderfully unlike the gorgeous burial-places in which the bodies of the monarchs of continental Asia lie in state. When Sujin came to the throne the people of Japan were still in a state of barbarism, and there was scarce a custom in the state that did not call for reform. A new and better system of arranging the periods of time was established, the year being divided into twenty-four months or periods, which bear such significant names as "Beginning of Spring," "Rain-water," "Awakening of the Insects," "Clear Weather," "Seed-rain," etc. A census was ordered to be taken at regular intervals, and by way of taxation all persons, men and women alike, were obliged to work for the government for a certain number of days each year. To promote commerce, the building of boats was encouraged, and regular communication was opened with Corea, from which country many useful ideas and methods were introduced into Japan. Even a prince of one of the provinces of Corea came to the island empire to live. Agriculture was greatly developed by Sujin, canals being dug and irrigation extensively provided for. Rice, the leading article of food, needs to be grown in well-watered fields, and the stealing of water from a neighbor's field is looked upon as a crime of deepest dye. In old times the water-thief was dealt with much as the horse-thief was recently dealt with in some parts of our own country. Sujin's work was continued by his successor, who, in 6 A.D., ordered canals and sluices to be dug in more than eight hundred places. At present Japan has great irrigating reservoirs and canals, through which the water is led for miles to the farmers' fields. In one mountain region is a deep lake of pure water, five thousand feet above the sea. Many centuries ago a tunnel was made to draw off this water, and millions of acres of soil are still enriched by its fertilizing flood. Such are some of the results of Sujin's wise reforms. Another of the labors of Sujin the civilizer was to devise a military system for the defence of his realm. In the north, the savage Ainos still fought for the land which had once been all their own, and between them and the subjects of the mikado border warfare rarely ceased. Sujin divided the empire into four military departments, with a shogun, or general, over each. At a later date military magazines were established, where weapons and rations could be had at any time in case of invasion by the wild tribes on the border or of rebellion within the realm. In time a powerful military class arose, and war became a profession in Japan. Throughout the history of the island kingdom the war spirit has been kept alive, and Japan is to-day the one nation of Eastern Asia with a love of and a genius for warlike deeds. So important grew the shoguns in time that nearly all the power of the empire fell into their hands, and when the country was opened to foreign nations, one of these, calling himself the Tai Kun (Tycoon), posed as the emperor himself, the mikado being lost to sight behind the authority of this military chief. At length old age began to weigh heavily upon Sujin, and the question of who should succeed him on the throne greatly troubled his imperial mind. He had two sons, but his love for them was so equally divided that he could not choose between their claims. In those days the heirship to the throne seems to have depended upon the father's will. Not being able to decide for himself, he appealed to fate or divination, asking his sons one evening to tell him the next morning what they had dreamed during the night. On their dreams he would base his decision. The young princes washed their bodies and changed their clothes,--seemingly a religious rite. Visions came to them during the still watches of the night, and the next morning they eagerly told their father what dreams the gods had sent. "I dreamed that I climbed a mountain," said the elder, "and on reaching its summit I faced the east, and eight times I cut with the sword and thrust with the spear." "I climbed the same mountain," said the younger, "and stretched snares of cords on every side, seeking to catch the sparrows that destroy the grain." The emperor listened intently, and thus sagely interpreted the visions of his sons. "You, my son," he said to the elder, "looked in one direction. You will go to the east and become its governor. You looked in every direction," he said to the younger. "You will govern on all sides. The gods have selected you as my heir." His words came true. The younger became ruler over all the land; the elder became a warrior in the east and governor over its people. And Sujin the civilizer, having lived long and ruled wisely, was gathered to his fathers, and slept death's dreamless sleep. _YAMATO-DAKÉ, A HERO OF ROMANCE._ We have now to deal with the principal hero of Japanese legend, Yamato-Daké, the conqueror. His story is full of myth and fable, but there is history in it, too, and it is well worth the telling. Every ancient nation has its legendary hero, who performs wonderful feats, dares fearful perils, and has not only the strength of man but the power of magic and the wiles of evil spirits to contend against. We give the story as it stands, with all its adventures and supernatural incidents. This Japanese hero of romance, born 71 A.D., was the son of Keiko, the twelfth in line of the mikados. In form he was manly and graceful, fair of aspect, and of handsome and engaging presence. While still a youth he led an army to Kiushiu, in which island a rebellion had broken out. In order to enter the camp of the rebel force, he disguised himself as a dancing-girl, a character which his beardless face and well-rounded figure enabled him easily to assume. Presenting himself before the sentinel, his beauty of face and form disarmed the soldier of all doubt, and he led the seeming damsel to the presence of the rebel chief, from whom he hoped for a rich reward. Here the visitor danced before the chief and his guests with such winning grace that they were all captivated, and at the end of the dance the delighted chief seized his prize by the hand and drew the seemingly coy damsel into his own tent. Once within its folds, the yielding girl suddenly changed into a heroic youth who clasped the rebel with a vigorous embrace and slew him on the spot. For this exploit the youthful prince received his title of Yamato-Daké, or "Yamato the Warlike." Thirteen years later a revolt broke out among the wild tribes of Eastern Japan, and the young hero marched with an army to subdue them. His route led him past the shrine of the Sun goddess, in Isé, and here the priestess presented him with the sacred sword, one of the holy emblems of the realm. His own sword was left under a neighboring pine. Armed with this magical blade, he continued his march into the wilds of Suruga, the haunt of the insurgent Ainos. But he found it no easy matter to bring these savage foes to an open fight. Fleeing before his army into the woods and mountains, they fought him from behind rocks and trees, it being their policy of warfare to inflict damage upon the enemy with as little loss as possible to themselves. Like the American Indians, these savages were used to all the forest wiles, quick to avail themselves of every sound or sign, able to make their way with ease through tangled thickets and pathless forests, and adepts in all the lore of wood and wild. As the army of Yamato pressed them too closely, they set fire to the dry underbrush which densely surrounded their lurking-place. The high wind carried the flames in roaring waves towards the Japanese army, which was in the most serious danger, for it was encamped amid tall, dry grass, which quickly became a sea of soaring flame. With yells of delight the Ainos gazed upon the imminent peril of their foes; but suddenly their exultation was changed to dismay. For at this moment of danger the Sun goddess appeared to Yamato, and at her suggestion he drew the sacred sword--Murakumo, or "Cloud Cluster"--and cut the grass that thickly rose around him. Before the magic of the blade fire itself was powerless, and the advancing flames turned and swept towards the enemy, many of whom were consumed, while the others fled in panic fear. Grateful to the gods for this timely aid, the hero changed the name of the sword, decreeing that thenceforth it should be known as Kusanagi, or "Grass-Mower." His route now led, by a mountain pathway, into the great plain of Eastern Japan, afterwards known as the Kuanto, which extends from the central ranges to the Pacific coast. Reaching the shores of the Bay of Yedo, he looked across from its southern headland to the opposite peninsula of Awa, whose hills seemed very close at hand. "It will be easy to cross that channel," he said: "it is but a trifle. Let the army embark." He did not know how treacherous was the navigation of this strait, whose weather is never to be trusted, and whose winds, tides, and currents are baffling and perilous. Embarking with his followers, he looked for an easy and rapid progress; but a terrible storm arose, tossing the boats so frightfully that death seemed their sure fate. Yamato was not at a loss to know what was amiss. He was familiar with the ways of the gods, and knew that some hostile deity was at work to ruin him. His contemptuous remark about the ease of the passage had given deep offence to the Japanese Neptune, the god of the Sea, who was punishing him for his lack of reverence. There was only one way by which the angry deity might be appeased,--the sacrifice of a victim to his wrath. But who among them was ready to yield life for duty? The question was answered by Tachibana, the youthful wife of the chief, who was in the boat with her lord. With a hurried farewell, the devoted woman sprang into the wild waves, which in a moment swept her far away. It was an acceptable sacrifice. The winds fell, the waves went down, the clouds broke, and soon the sun was serenely shining on ruffled sea and tranquil shore. All that Yamato saw again pertaining to his wife was her perfumed wooden comb, which floated ashore and was dedicated by him as a precious relic in a shrine which he built to the gods. A shrine still stands on the spot, which is within the modern city of Tokio, and there to-day fishermen and sailors worship the spirits of Yamato and his sainted wife. Thence the hero sailed along the shore, subduing the tribes as he went, until the northern boundary of the empire was reached. Here the leaders of the Ainos had gathered a great army to repel the invader. But on seeing the ships, which were new objects to their eyes, awe and consternation overwhelmed them. "They are living things," they said,--"strange moving monsters who glide over the sea and bring our foes to our undoing. The gods must have sent them, and will destroy us if we draw bow against these works of their hands." Throwing down their arms, they surrendered to Yamato when he sprang ashore, and agreed to pay tribute to the state. Taking their leaders as hostages for their good conduct, the hero turned homeward, eager to reach again the capital from which he had been so long away. His route was now overland, and to entertain himself on the long journey he invented a form of poetic verse which is still much in use by the poets of Japan. As yet all his work had been done on the plain near the shores of the sea. Now, marching inland, he ascended to the great table-land of Shinano, from twenty-five hundred to five thousand feet above the sea, around and within which lie the loftiest mountains of Japan. From this height could be obtained a magnificent view of the Bay of Yedo, the leafy plains surrounding, and the wide-extending ocean. Japan has no more beautiful scene, and Yamato stood silently gazing over its broad expanse, the memory of his beloved wife, who had given her life for his, coming back to him as he gazed. "Adzuma, adzuma" ("my wife, my wife"), fell in sad accents from his lips. These words still haunt that land. In the poet's verse that broad plain is to-day called Adzuma, and one of the great ships of the new navy of Japan is named Adzuma-kuan. It was no light task which now lay before the army and its chief. Even to-day the mountains of Shinano are far from easy to cross. Then they were unknown, and their crossing was a work of the greatest difficulty and risk. There were rocky defiles and steep ascents to climb, river torrents to pass, rugged paths to mount, without a road to follow or a guide to conduct, and with clouds and fogs to double the dangers of the way. Here, to their fancy, in caves and ravines hostile spirits lurked; every mountain had its tutelary god; at every step the deities of good and evil seemed to be at strife for their destiny, and with all the perils of the way the gods were thought to have something to do. Thus on one day the god of the mountain came to Yamato in the form of a white deer, with purpose to work him evil. The hero, on the alert against the hostile spirits, threw wild garlic in the animal's eyes, causing so violent a smarting pain that it died. At once a dense mist descended upon the hill-slopes and the path vanished, leaving the army to grope onward in danger and dismay. But at this moment of dread a white dog appeared--a god again, but a friendly one this time--who led the bewildered soldiers in safety to the plains of Mino. But they were not yet free from the wiles of the white deer. Its spirit now appeared, discharging among them poisonous gases, before whose stupefying influence they fell helpless to the ground. The wild garlic again was their salvation. Some one ate of it with happy effect, and gave it to all the men and animals, so that all got well again. Wild garlic is still looked upon in Japan as a specific against disease and as a safeguard against witches. For this purpose it is hung up before gates and doorways in times of epidemic or superstitious fear. The hero next came to Ibuki yama, a cone-shaped mountain whose flattened summit seemed to pierce the skies. Here too dwelt a hostile spirit, who disputed the way, and against whom Yamato advanced unarmed, leaving his sword, "Grass-Mower," under a tree at the mountain's foot. The gods of Japan, perhaps, were proof against weapons of steel. Not far had the hero gone before the deity appeared upon his path, transformed into a threatening serpent. Leaping over it, he pursued his way. But now the incensed deity flung darkness on the mountain's breast, and the hero, losing his path, swooned and fell. Fortunately, a spring of healing water bubbled beside him, a drink from which enabled him to lift his head. Onward he went, still feeble, for the breath of the serpent god was potent for ill, and at length reached Otsu, in the district of Isé, where, under the pine-tree, he found the sword which he had left there on setting out, three years before. His gladness found vent in a poem composed of these words: "O pine, if you were a man, I should give you this sword to wear for your fidelity." The conquering prince was now near the end of his career. Still sick unto death from his adventure upon the mountain, he told before the shrine of the gods the tale of his victories and perils, offered to them his weapons and prisoners, and thanked them piously for their care. Then he sent a report of his doings to his father, the mikado, and begged to see him. Keiko, the father, sent a messenger with words of comfort, but when he arrived the heroic Yamato-Daké was dead. He was buried near where he died, and from his tomb a white bird was seen to fly. On opening the tomb nothing was found but the dead hero's chaplet and robes. The place where the bird was seen to alight bears still a name signifying Imperial Tomb of the White Bird. Thus ended the career of the leading Japanese hero of romance. His story sounds like a fairy-tale, though it may well be that Yamato-Daké was a real person and that many of the things told of him actually occurred. _JINGU, THE AMAZON OF JAPAN._ To-day the women of Japan are kept in seclusion and take no part in affairs of state. This does not seem to have been always the case. In the far past, we are told, women often rose to posts of honor and dignity, and some even filled the mikado's throne. Nor is this all. To a woman is given the glory of the greatest event in the history of ancient Japan, the conquest of Corea, from which land civilization, literature, and a new religion subsequently came to the island realm. The name of this Japanese heroine was Okinaga Tarashi himé, but she is best known under the title of Jingu, or "warlike deed." The character given her in tradition is an attractive one, combining beauty, piety, intelligence, energy, and valor. The waves of the sea, the perils of the battle-field, and the toils or terrors of war alike failed to fill the soul of this heroine with fear, and the gods marched with her and aided her in her enterprises. Great as she was in herself, the Japanese give her higher honor still, as the mother of their god of war. This imperial Amazon was the wife of the mikado Chinai, who in 193 A.D. set out at the head of his army for Kiushiu, a rebellion having broken out at Kumaso, in that island. His courageous wife took ship and followed him to the seat of war. On her voyage thither she stopped at one of the islands of the Inland Sea to offer worship to the gods. And as she did so the voice of the deity of the shrine came to her ears. "Why do you trouble yourself to conquer Kumaso?" spoke the mysterious voice. "It is but a poor and barren spot, not worth your labor nor the work of your army. There is a country, larger and richer by far, a land as lovely as the face of a fair virgin, dazzlingly bright with gold, silver, and rare colors, and rich with treasures of every kind. Such a noble region is Shiraki [Corea]. Continue to worship me, and this rich land shall be yours without the shedding of blood. As for Kumaso, my help and the glory of your conquest will cause it to yield." On joining the emperor, Jingu repeated to him the words of the god, but she found in him a doubting listener. There was a high mountain near the camp, and to the summit of this he climbed and looked far out over the westward sea. No land was visible to his eyes where she had declared the rich realm of Shiraki lay, and he was confirmed in his doubts. On returning to her he said,-- "I looked everywhere, and saw water alone; no land was to be seen. Is there a country in the sky? If not, your words are false. And my ancestors worshipped all the gods; or if there are any they did not worship, I know them not. Why, then, should they not speak to me?" "If you credit only your doubts," answered the god through the lips of the empress, "and declare that there is no country where I have said a country exists, you blaspheme, and shall never see this land, but the empress, your wife, shall have the glory of its conquest." Even this was not enough to overcome the doubts of the emperor. He was not ready to believe that a god could speak through a woman, and refused to risk his army on an unknown sea. On the contrary, he led it against Kumaso, from which the rebels drove him back in defeat. Soon after he died suddenly in camp, or, as some declare, was slain in battle by an arrow. Takénouchi, his minister, kept his death a secret from the soldiers, while the valiant Jingu continued the war and soon brought the rebellion to an end. The death of the mikado had left the power of the state and the command of the army in the hands of his wife, who had shown her valor and ability in the conquest of Kumaso. Her mind was now filled with the promise of the god and the hope of new glory to be won beyond the sea. But first she deemed it wise to obtain further signs from the celestial powers. Going to the shore of the sea, she baited a hook with a grain of rice and threw it into the water, saying, "If a fish be caught with this grain of rice, then the conquest of a rich country shall indeed be mine." When she drew up the line, to her delight she saw a fish on the hook. "_Medzurashiki mono!_" ("wonderful thing!"), she exclaimed, viewing the marvel as a sure signal that the gods approved her design. Her words have been corrupted into Matsura, which is the name of the place to this day, and here, every year, at the opening of the fourth Japanese month, the women of the vicinity go fishing, no men being permitted to cast in their lines on that day. The pious empress, as if some of the doubts of the mikado had clung to her mind, sought still another sign from the gods. She now let her long hair fall into the water, saying that if the gods favored her design her tresses would come out of the water dry and parted in two divisions. Again the celestial powers heard. Her abundant black locks left the water dry and neatly parted as by a comb. Doubt no longer troubled her soul. She at once ordered the generals of the army to recruit new forces, build ships, and prepare for an ocean enterprise. "On this voyage depends the glory or the ruin of our country," she said to them. "I intrust its details to you, and will hold you to blame if anything goes amiss through lack of care. I am a woman, and am young. But I shall undertake this enterprise, and go with you disguised as a man, trusting to you and my army, and, above all, to the gods. If we are wise and valiant, a wealthy country shall be ours. If we succeed, the glory shall be yours; if through evil fortune we fail, on me shall lie all the guilt and disgrace." The enthusiasm of the empress infected the commanders, who promised her their full support in her enterprise, which was by far the greatest that Japan had ever ventured upon. The ships were built, but the perils of the voyage frightened the people, and the army increased but slowly. Impatient at the delay, but with no thought of giving up her task, the empress again appealed to the gods. A shrine of purification was built, lustrations were made, sacrifices offered, and prayers for speedy success sent up to the celestial hosts. The Kami, or gods, proved favorable still. Troops now came rapidly in. Soon a large army was assembled and embarked, and all was ready for the enterprise. It was the year 201 A.D., the first year of the third Christian century. Jingu now issued her final orders, to the following effect: "There must be no plundering. "Despise not a few enemies, and fear not many. "Give mercy to those who yield, but no quarter to the stubborn. "The victors shall be rewarded; deserters shall be punished." Then through her lips the gods spoke again: "The Spirit of Peace will always guide and protect you. The Spirit of War will guide your ships across the seas." It must here be remarked that the annals of Japan do not seem to be in full harmony. In the days of Sujin the civilizer, a century and a half earlier, we are told that there was regular communication between Corea and Kiushiu, and that a prince of Corea came to Japan to live; while the story of Jingu seems to indicate that Corea was absolutely unknown to the islanders. There were none to pilot the fleet across the seas, and the generals seemed ignorant of where Corea was to be found, or of the proper direction in which to steer. They lacked chart and compass, and had only the sun, the stars, and the flight of birds as guides. As Noah sent out birds from his ark to spy out the land, so they sent fishermen ahead of the fleet, and with much the same result. The first of these messengers went far to the west, and returned with the word that land was nowhere to be seen. Another messenger was sent, and came back with cheering news. On the western horizon he had seen the snowy peaks of distant mountains. Inspired by this report, the adventurers sailed boldly on. The winds, the waves, the currents, all aided their speed. The gods even sent shoals of huge fishes in their wake, which heaped up the waves and drove them forward, lifting the sterns and making the prows leap like living things. At length land was seen by all, and with shouts of joy they ran their ships ashore upon the beach of Southern Corea. The sun shone in all its splendor upon the gallant host, which landed speedily upon the new-found shores, where it was marshalled in imposing array. The Coreans seem to have been as ignorant of geography as the Japanese. The king of this part of the country, hearing that a strange fleet had come from the east and a powerful army landed on his shores, was lost in terror and amazement. "Who can these be, and whence have they come?" he exclaimed. "We have never heard of any country beyond the seas. Have the gods forsaken us, and sent this host of strangers to our undoing?" Such was the fear of the king that he made no resistance to the invaders. Corean envoys were sent to them with the white flags of peace, and the country was given up without a fight. The king offered to deliver all his treasures to the invading host, agreed to pay tribute to Japan, and promised to furnish hostages in pledge of his good faith. His nobles joined with him in his oath. The rivers might flow backward, they declared, or the pebbles in the river-beds leap up to the stars, but they would never break their word. Jingu now set up weapons before the gate of the king in token of her suzerainty and of the peace which had been sworn. The spoils won from the conquered land consisted of eighty ships well laden with gold and precious goods of every kind the country possessed, while eighty noble Coreans were taken as hostages for the faith of the king. And now, with blare of trumpet and clash of weapons, with shouts of triumph and songs of praise to the gods, the fleet set sail for home. Two months had sufficed for the whole great enterprise. Nine empresses in all have sat upon the throne of Japan, but of these Jingu alone won martial renown and gained a great place in history. The Japanese have always felt proud of this conquest of Corea, the first war in which their armies had gone to a foreign country to fight. They had, to use their common phrase, made "the arms of Japan shine beyond the seas," and the glory of the exploit descended not only on the Amazon queen, but in greater measure upon her son, who was born shortly after her return to Japan. The Japanese have given more honor to this son, still unborn when the conquest was achieved, than to his warlike mother. It was in him, not in his mother, they declare, that the Spirit of War resided, and he is now worshipped in Japan as the God of War. Ojin by name, he became a great warrior, lived to be a hundred and ten years old, and was deified after his death. Through all the centuries since he has been worshipped by the people, and by soldiers in particular. Some of the finest temples in Japan have been erected in his honor, and the land is full of shrines to this Eastern Mars. He is represented with a frightful and scowling countenance, holding in his arms a broad, two-edged sword. In all periods of Japanese art a favorite subject has been the group of the snowy-bearded Takénouchi, the Japanese Methuselah, holding the infant Ojin in his arms, while Jingu, the heroic mother, stands by in martial robes. _THE DECLINE OF THE MIKADOS._ Our journey through Japanese history now takes us over a wide leap, a period of nearly a thousand years, during which no event is on record of sufficient interest to call for special attention. The annals of Japan are in some respects minute, but only at long intervals does a hero of importance rise above the general level of ordinary mortals. We shall, therefore, pass with a rapid tread over this long period, giving only its general historical trend. The conquest of Corea was of high importance to Japan. It opened the way for a new civilization to flow into the long isolated island realm. For centuries afterwards Corea served as the channel through which the arts and thoughts of Asia reached the empire of the mikados. We are told of envoys bearing tribute from Corea of horses, and of tailors, and finally a schoolmaster, being sent to Japan. The latter, Wani by name, is said to have introduced the art of writing. Mulberry-trees were afterwards planted and silk-culture was undertaken. Then came more tailors, and after them architects and learned men. At length, in the year 552, a party of doctors, astronomers, astrologists, and mathematicians came from Corea to the Japanese court, and with them a number of Buddhist missionaries, who brought a new religion into the land. Thus gradually the arts, sciences, letters, and religions of Asia made their way into the island kingdom, and the old life of Japan was transformed. A wave of foreign civilization had flowed across the seas to give new life and thought to the island people, and the progress of Japan from the barbarism of the far past towards the civilization of the present day then fairly began. [Illustration: Shuzenji Village, Idzu] Meanwhile, important changes were taking place in the government. From the far-off days of Jimmu, the first emperor, until a century after Buddhism was introduced, the mikados were the actual rulers of their people. The palace was not a place of seclusion, the face of the monarch was visible to his subjects, and he appeared openly at the head of the army and in the affairs of government. This was the golden age of the imperial power. A leaden age was to succeed. The change began in the appointment by Sujin of shoguns or generals over the military departments of the government. Gradually two distinct official castes arose, those in charge of civil affairs and those at the head of military operations. As the importance of these officials grew, they stood between the emperor and his subjects, secluding him more and more from the people. The mikado gradually became lost to view behind a screen of officialism, which hid the throne. Eventually all the military power fell into the hands of the shoguns, and the mikado was seen no more at the head of his army. His power decayed, as he became to the people rather a distant deity than a present and active ruler. There arose in time a double government, with two capitals and centres of authority; the military caste became dominant, anarchy ruled for centuries, the empire was broken up into a series of feudal provinces and baronies, and the unity of the past was succeeded by the division of authority which existed until far within the nineteenth century. The fact that there were two rulers, in two capitals, gave the impression that there were two emperors in Japan, one spiritual and one secular, and when Commodore Perry reached that country, in 1853, he entered into a treaty with the shogun or "tycoon," the head of the military caste, under the belief that he was dealing with the actual ruler of Japan. The truth is, there has never been but one emperor in Japan, the mikado. His power has varied at times, but he is now again the actual and visible head of the empire, and the shoguns, who once lorded it so mightily, have been swept out of existence. This explanation is necessary in order that readers may understand the peculiar conditions of Japanese history. Gradually the mikado became surrounded by a hedge of etiquette which removed him from the view of the outer world. He never appeared in public, and none of his subjects, except his wives and his highest ministers, ever saw his face. He sat on a throne of mats behind a curtain, even his feet not being allowed to touch the earth. If he left the palace to go abroad in the city, the journey was made in a closely curtained car drawn by bullocks. To the people, the mikado became like a deity, his name sacred and inviolable, his power in the hands of the boldest of his subjects. Buddhism had now become the official religion of the empire, priests multiplied, monasteries were founded, and the court became the chief support of the new faith, the courtiers zealously studying the sacred books of India, while the mikado and his empress sought by every means to spread the new belief among their people. An emperor thus occupied could not pay much attention to the duties of government, and the power of the civil ministers and military chiefs grew accordingly. The case was like that of the Merovingian monarchs of France and the Mayors of the Palace, who in time succeeded to the throne. The mikados began to abdicate after short reigns, to shave off their hair to show that they renounced the world and its vanities, to become monks and spend the remainder of their days in the cloister. These short reigns helped the shoguns and ministers in their ambitious purposes, until in time the reins of power fell into the hands of a few great families, who fought furiously with one another for the control. It is with the feuds of these families that we have now to do. The mikados had sunk out of sight, being regarded by the public with awe as spiritual emperors, while their ministers rose into power and became the leaders of life and the lords of events in Japan. First among these noble families to gain control was that of the Fujiwara (Wistaria meadow). They were of royal origin, and rose to leading power in the year 645, when Kamatari, the founder of the family, became regent of the empire. All the great offices of the empire in time fell into the hands of the Fujiwaras: they married their daughters to the mikados, surrounded them with their adherents, and governed the empire in their name. In the end they decided who should be mikado, ruled the country like monarchs, and became in effect the proprietors of the throne. In their strong hands the mikado sank into a puppet, to move as they pulled the strings. But the Fujiwaras were not left to lord it alone. Other great families sought a share of the power, and their rivalry often ended in war and bloodshed. The most ancient of these rivals was the family of the Sugawara. Greatest in this family was the renowned Sugawara Michizané, a polished courtier and famous scholar, whose talents raised him to the highest position in the realm. Japan had no man of greater learning; his historical works became famous, and some of them are still extant. But his genius did not save him from misfortune. His rivals, the Fujiwara, in the end succeeded in having him banished to Kiushiu, where, exposed to dire poverty, he starved to death. This martyr to official rivalry is now worshipped in Japan as a deity, the patron god of literature and letters. Temples have been erected to him, and students worship at his shrine. At a later date two other powerful families became rivals for the control of the empire and added to the anarchy of the realm. The first of these was the Taira family, founded 889 A.D., whose members attained prominence as great military chiefs. The second was the Minamoto family, founded somewhat later, which rose to be a powerful rival of the Taira, their rivalry often taking the form of war. For centuries the governmental and military history of Japan was made up of a record of the jealousies and dissensions of these rival families, in whose hands lay war and peace, power and place, and with whose quarrels and struggles for power our next tales will be concerned. _HOW THE TAIRA AND THE MINAMOTO FOUGHT FOR POWER._ In the struggle of the great families of Japan for precedence, the lords of the Fujiwara held the civil power of the realm, while the shoguns, or generals, were chosen from the Taira and Minamoto clans. Bred to arms, leading the armies of the empire in many a hard-fought war, making the camp their home, and loving best the trumpet-blast of battle, they became hardy and daring warriors, the military caste of Japan. While war continued, the shoguns were content to let the Fujiwara lord it at court, themselves preferring the active labors of the field. Only when peace prevailed, and there were no enemies to conquer nor rebels to subdue, did these warriors begin to long for the spoils of place and to envy the Fujiwara their power. Chief among those thus moved by ambition was Kiyomori, the greatest of the Taira leaders. As a boy he possessed a strong frame and showed a proud spirit, wearing unusually high clogs, which in Japan indicates a disposition to put on lordly airs. His position as the son of a soldier soon gave him an opportunity to show his mettle. The seas then swarmed with pirates, who had become the scourge alike of Corea and of Japan and were making havoc among the mercantile fleets. The ambitious boy, full of warlike spirit, demanded, when but eighteen years of age, to be sent against these ocean pests, and cruised against them in the Suwo Nada, a part of the Inland Sea. Here he met and fought a shipload of the most desperate of the buccaneers, capturing their vessel, and then attacking them in their place of refuge, which he destroyed. For years afterwards Kiyomori showed the greatest valor by land and sea, and in 1153, being then thirty-six years of age, he succeeded his father as minister of justice for Japan. Up to this time the families of the Taira and the Minamoto had been friendly rivals in the field. Now their friendship came to an end and was succeeded by bitter enmity. In 1156 there were rival claimants for the throne, one supported by each of these great families. The Taira party succeeded, got possession of the palace, and controlled the emperor whom they had raised to the throne. Kiyomori soon attained the highest power in the realm, and in him the military caste first rose to pre-eminence. The Fujiwara were deposed, all the high offices at court were filled by his relatives, and he made himself the military chief of the empire and the holder of the civil authority, the mikado being but a creature of his will. History at this point gives us a glimpse of a curious state of affairs. Go-Shirawaka, the emperor whom Kiyomori had raised to the throne in 1156, abdicated in 1159, shaved off his hair, and became a Buddhist monk, professing to retire from the world within the holy cloisters of a monastery. But nothing was farther from his thoughts. He was a man of immoral desires, and found his post on the throne a check to the debaucheries in which he wished to indulge. As a monk he exercised more power than he had done as a mikado, retaining the control of affairs during the reigns of his son and his two grandsons. The ranks and titles of the empire were granted by him with a lavish hand, and their disposition was controlled by Kiyomori, his powerful confederate, who, in addition to raising his relatives to power, held himself several of the highest offices in the realm. The power of the Taira family increased until sixty men of the clan held important posts at court, while their lands spread over thirty provinces. They had splendid palaces in Kioto, the capital, and in Fukuwara, overlooking the Inland Sea. The two sons of Kiyomori were made generals of high rank, and his daughter became wife of the emperor Takakura, a boy eleven years of age. The Taira chief was now at the summit of power, and his foes in the depths of distress. The Fujiwara, who had no military power, were unable to contend with him, and his most dangerous rivals, the Minamoto, were slain or driven into exile. Yoshitomo, the head of the house, was assassinated by a traitor bribed by Kiyomori, his oldest son was beheaded, and the others--whom he thought to be the last of the Minamoto--were either banished or immured in monasteries. All the reins of power seemed to be in the regent's grasp. The story is here diversified by a legend well worth repeating. One of the Minamoto, Tametomo by name, was an archer of marvellous powers. His strength was equal to that of fifty ordinary men, and such was the power of his right arm, which was shorter than his left, that he could draw a bow which four common archers could not bend, and let fly a shaft five feet long, with an enormous bolt as its head. This Japanese Hercules was banished from the court at the instigation of the Taira, the muscles of his arm were cut, and he was sent in a cage to Idzu. Escaping from his guards, he fled to one of the smaller islands, and remained in concealment until his arm had healed. Here the great archer became governor of the people, and forbade them to pay tribute to the throne. A fleet of boats was despatched against him, but, standing on the strand, he sent an arrow hurtling through the timbers of the nearest vessel and sunk it beneath the waves. Then, shouting defiance to his foes, he shut himself up in his house, set fire to it, and perished in the flames. But another legend relates that he fled to the Loochoo Islands, where he became ruler and founder of their dynasty of kings. On the Japanese greenback notes is a picture of this mighty archer, who is shown grasping his bow after sinking the ship. It was the purpose of Kiyomori to exterminate the family of his foes. In two instances he was induced to let sons of that family live, a leniency for which the Taira were to pay bitterly in the end. The story of both these boys is full of romance. We give one of them here, reserving the other for a succeeding tale. Yoritomo, the third son of Yoshitomo, was twelve years of age at the date of his father's defeat and death. During the retreat the boy was separated from his companions, and fell into the hands of an officer of the opposite party, who took him as prisoner to Kioto, the capital. Here the regent sentenced him to death, and the day for his execution was fixed. Only the tender heart of a woman saved the life of one who was destined to become the avenger of his father and friends. "Would you like to live?" the boy's captor asked him. "Yes," he replied; "my father and mother are both dead, and who but I can pray for their happiness in the world to come?" The feelings of the officer were touched by this reply, and, hoping to save the boy, he told the story to the step-mother of Kiyomori, who was a Buddhist nun. The filial piety of the child affected her, and she was deeply moved when the officer said, "Yoritomo is much like Prince Uma." Uma had been her favorite son, one loved and lost, and, her mother's heart stirred to its depths, she sought Kiyomori and begged him to spare the boy's life. He was obdurate at first, worldly wisdom bidding him to remove the last scion of his foes, but in the end he yielded to his mother's prayer and consented to spare the child, condemning him, however, to distant exile. This softness of heart he was bitterly to regret. Yoritomo was banished to the province of Idzu, where he was kept under close guard by two officers of the Taira. He was advised by a friend to shave off his hair and become a monk, but a faithful servant who attended him counselled him to keep his hair and await with a brave heart what the future might bring forth. The boy was shrewd and possessed of high self-control. None of the remaining followers of his father dared communicate with him, and enemies surrounded him, yet he restrained all display of feeling, was patient under provocation, capable of great endurance, and so winning in manner that he gained the esteem even of the enemies of his family. The story of Yoritomo's courtship and marriage is one of much interest. Hojo Tokimasa, a noble with royal blood in his veins, had two daughters, the elder being of noted beauty, the younger lacking in personal charms. The exiled youth, who wished to ally himself to this powerful house and was anxious to win the mother's favor in his suit, was prudent enough to choose the homely girl. He sent her a letter, asking her hand in marriage, by his servant, but the latter, who had ideas of his own and preferred the beauty for his master's wife, destroyed the letter and wrote another to Masago, the elder daughter. That night the homely sister had a dream. A pigeon seemed to fly to her with a box of gold in its beak. She told her vision to her sister, whom it deeply interested, as seeming to be a token of some good fortune coming. "I will buy your dream," she said. "Sell it to me, and I will give you my toilet mirror in exchange. The price I pay is little," she repeated, using a common Japanese phrase. The homely sister willingly made the exchange, doubtless preferring a mirror to a dream. But she had hardly done so when the messenger arrived with the letter he had prepared. Masago gladly accepted, already being well inclined towards the handsome youth, but her father had meanwhile promised her hand to another suitor, and refused to break his word. The marriage was solemnized. But an understanding had been reached between the lovers, and early on the wedding-night Masago eloped with the waiting youth. In vain the husband sought for the fleeing pair. The father, seemingly angry, aided him in his search, though really glad at the lovers' flight. He much preferred Yoritomo, though he had been bound by his word, and in later years he became one of his ablest partisans. Masago rose to fame in Japanese history, aided in the subsequent triumph of her spouse, and did much to add to the splendor and dignity of his court. During this period Kiyomori was making enemies, and in time became so insolent and overbearing that a conspiracy was formed for his overthrow. At the head of this was one of the royal princes, who engaged Yoritomo in the plot. The young exile sent out agents right and left to rouse the discontented. Many were won over, but one of them laughed the scheme to scorn, saying, "For an exile to plot against the Taira is like a mouse plotting against a cat." But a conspiracy cannot be killed by a laugh. Yoritomo was soon in the field at the head of a body of followers. A fierce fight took place in the mountains, in which the young rebel fought bravely, but was defeated and forced to flee for his life. Pursuit was sharp, and he escaped only by hiding in a hollow log. He afterwards reached a temple and concealed himself in the priests' wardrobe. At length he succeeded in crossing the Bay of Yedo to Awa, on its northern side. Here he found friends, sent out agents, and was not long in gathering a new army from the old friends of the Minamoto and those who hated the tyrant. In a few months he was at the head of a large and well-drilled force, with many noted generals in command. The country was fertile and food abundant, and day by day the army became larger. But the Taira were not idle. Kiyomori quickly gathered a large army, which he sent to put down the rebellion, and the hostile forces came face to face on opposite sides of the Fuji River, the swiftest stream in Japan. Between them rolled the impetuous flood, which neither party dared to cross in the face of the foe, the most they could do being to glare at one another across the stream. The story goes that one of the Taira men, knowing that the turn of the tide would favor their enemies, went to the river flats at night and stirred up the flocks of wild fowl that rested there. What he hoped to gain by this is not very clear, but it told against his own side, for the noise of the flocks was thought by the Taira force to be due to a night attack from their foes, and they fled in a sudden panic. After this bloodless victory Yoritomo returned to his chosen place of residence, named Kamakura, where he began to build a city that should rival the capital in size and importance. A host of builders and laborers was set at work, the dense thickets were cleared away, and a new town rapidly sprang up, with streets lined with dwellings and shops, store-houses of food, imposing temples, and lordly mansions. The anvils rang merrily as the armorers forged weapons for the troops, merchants sought the new city with their goods, heavily laden boats flocked into its harbor, and almost as if by magic a great city, the destined capital of the shoguns, rose from the fields. The site of Kamakura had been well chosen. It lay in a valley facing the open sea, while in the rear rose a semicircle of precipitous hills. Through these roadways were cut, which might easily be defended against enemies, while offering free access to friends. The power of the Minamoto had suddenly grown again, and the Taira saw fronting them an active and vigorous foe where a year before all had seemed tranquil and the land their own. To the proud Kiyomori this was a bitter draught. He fell sick unto death, and the high officials of the empire gathered round his bed, in mortal fear lest he to whom they owed their power should be swept away. With his last breath the vindictive old chief uttered invectives against his foes. "My only regret is that I am dying," he said, "and have not yet seen the head of Yoritomo of the Minamoto. After my decease do not make offerings to Buddha on my account; do not read the sacred books. Only cut off the head of Yoritomo of the Minamoto and hang it on my tomb. This is my sole command: see that it be faithfully performed." This order was not destined to be carried out. Yoritomo was to die peacefully, eleven years afterwards, in 1199, with his head safe on his shoulders. Yet his bedchamber was nightly guarded, lest traitors should take his life, while war broke out from end to end of the empire. Kiyomori's last words seemed to have lighted up its flames. Step by step the forces of Yoritomo advanced. Victory followed their banners, and the foe went down in death. At length Kioto, the capital of the mikado, was reached, and fell into their hands. The Taira fled with the young mikado and his wife, but his brother was proclaimed mikado in his stead, and all the treasures of the Taira fell into the victors' hands. Though the power of Yoritomo now seemed assured, he had a rebellion in his own ranks to meet. His cousin Yoshinaka, the leader of the conquering army, was so swollen with pride at his success that he forced the court to grant him the highest military title, imprisoned the old ex-mikado Go-Shirakawa, who had long been the power behind the throne, beheaded the Buddhist abbots who had opposed him, and acted with such rebellious insolence that Yoritomo had to send an army against him. A battle took place, in which he was defeated and killed. Yoritomo was now supreme lord of Japan, the mikado, for whom he acted, being a mere tool in his hands. Yet one great conflict had still to be fought by the shogun's younger brother, whose romantic story we have next to tell. _THE BAYARD OF JAPAN._ Yoritomo was not the only son of the Minamoto chief whom the tyrant let live. There was another, a mere babe at the time, who became a hero of chivalry, and whose life has ever since been the beacon of honor and knightly virtue to the youth of Japan. When Yoshitomo fled from his foes after his defeat in 1159, there went with him a beautiful young peasant girl, named Tokiwa, whom he had deeply loved, and who had borne him three children, all boys. The chief was murdered by three assassins hired by his foe, and Tokiwa fled with her children, fearing lest they also should be slain. It was winter. Snow deeply covered the ground. Whither she should go or how she should live the poor mother knew not, but she kept on, clasping her babe to her breast, while her two little sons trudged by her side, the younger holding her hand, the older carrying his father's sword, which she had taken as the last relic of her love. In the end the fleeing woman, half frozen and in peril of starvation, was met by a soldier of the army of her foes. Her pitiable condition and the helplessness of her children moved him to compassion, and he gave her shelter and food. Her flight troubled Kiyomori, who had hoped to destroy the whole family of his foes, and had given strict orders for her capture or death. Not being able to discover her place of retreat, he conceived a plan which he felt sure would bring her within his power. In Japan and China alike affection for parents is held to be the highest duty of a child, the basal element of the ancient religion of both these lands. He therefore seized Tokiwa's mother, feeling sure that filial duty would bring her to Kioto to save her mother's life. Tokiwa heard that her mother was held as a hostage for her and threatened with death unless she, with her children, should come to her relief. The poor woman was in an agony of doubt. Did she owe the greatest duty to her mother, or to her children? Could she deliver up her babes to death? Yet could she abandon her mother, whom she had been taught as her first and highest duty to guard and revere? In this dilemma she conceived a plan. Her beauty was all she possessed; but by its aid she might soften the hard heart of Kiyomori and save both her mother and her children. [Illustration: Reproduced by permission of The Philadelphia Museums. FARMERS PLANTING RICE SPROUTS. JAPAN.] Success followed her devoted effort. Reaching the capital, Tokiwa obtained an audience with the tyrant, who was so struck with her great beauty that he wished to make her his mistress. At first she refused, but her mother begged her with tears to consent, and she finally yielded on Kiyomori's promise that her children should be spared. This mercy did not please the friends of the tyrant, who insisted that the boys should be put to death, fearing to let any one live who bore the hated name of Minamoto. But the beauty of the mother and her tearful pleadings won the tyrant's consent, and her sacrifice for her children was not in vain. The youngest of the three, the babe whom Tokiwa had borne in her arms in her flight, grew up to be a healthy, ruddy-cheeked boy, small of stature, but fiery and impetuous in spirit. Kiyomori had no intention, however, that these boys should be left at liberty to cause him trouble in the future. When of proper age he sent them to a monastery, ordering that they should be brought up as priests. The elder boys consented to this, suffering their black hair to be shaved off and the robes of Buddhist neophytes to be put on them. But Yoshitsuné, the youngest, had no fancy for the life of a monk, and refused to let the razor come near his hair. Though dwelling in the monastery, he was so merry and self-willed that his pranks caused much scandal, and the pious bonzes knew not what to do with this young ox, as they called the irrepressible boy. As Yoshitsuné grew older, his distaste at the dulness of his life in the cloister increased. The wars in the north, word of which penetrated even those holy walls, inspired his ambition, and he determined in some way to escape. The opportunity to do so soon arose. Traders from the outer world made their way within the monastery gates for purposes of business, and among these was an iron-merchant, who was used to making frequent journeys to the north of the island of Hondo to obtain the fine iron of the celebrated mines of that region. The youth begged this iron-merchant to take him on one of his journeys, a request which he at first refused, through fear of offending the priests. But Yoshitsuné insisted, saying that they would be glad enough to be rid of him, and the trader at length consented. Yoshitsuné was right: the priests were very well satisfied to learn that he had taken himself off. On the journey the youthful noble gave proofs of remarkable valor and strength. He seized and held prisoner a bold robber, and on another occasion helped to defend the house of a man of wealth from an attack by robbers, five of whom he killed. These and other exploits alarmed a friend who was with him, and who bade him to be careful lest the Taira should hear of his doings, learn who he was, and kill him. The boy at length found a home with the prince of Mutsu, a nobleman of the Fujiwara clan. Here he spent his days in military exercises and the chase, and by the time he was twenty-one had gained a reputation as a soldier of great valor and consummate skill, and as a warrior in whom the true spirit of chivalry seemed inborn. A youth of such honor, virtue, courage, and martial fire Japan had rarely known. In the war that soon arose between Yoritomo and the Taira the youthful Bayard served his brother well. Kiyomori, in sparing the sons of the Minamoto chief, had left alive the two ablest of all who bore that name. So great were the skill and valor of the young warrior that his brother, on the rebellion of Yoshinaka, made Yoshitsuné commander of the army of the west, and sent him against the rebellious general, who was quickly defeated and slain. But the Taira, though they had been driven from the capital, had still many adherents in the land, and were earnestly endeavoring to raise an army in the south and west. Unfortunately for them, they had a leader to deal with who knew the value of celerity. Yoshitsuné laid siege to the fortified palace of Fukuwara, within which the Taira leaders lay intrenched, and pushed the siege with such energy that in a short time the palace was taken and in flames. Those who escaped fled to the castle of Yashima, which their active enemy also besieged and burned. As a last refuge the Taira leaders made their way to the Straits of Shimonoseki, where they had a large fleet of junks. The final struggle in this war took place in the fourth month of the year 1185. Yoshitsuné had with all haste got together a fleet, and the two armies, now afloat, met on the waters of the strait for the greatest naval battle that Japan had ever known. The Taira fleet consisted of five hundred vessels, which held not only the fighting men, but their mothers, wives, and children, among them the dethroned mikado, a child six years of age. The Minamoto fleet was composed of seven hundred junks, containing none but men. In the battle that followed, the young leader of the Minamoto showed the highest intrepidity. The fight began with a fierce onset from the Taira, which drove back their foe. With voice and example Yoshitsuné encouraged his men. For an interval the combat lulled. Then Wada, a noted archer, shot an arrow which struck the junk of a Taira chief. "Shoot it back!" cried the chief. An archer plucked it from the wood, fitted it to his bow, and let it fly at the Minamoto fleet. The shaft grazed the helmet of one warrior and pierced the breast of another. "Shoot it back!" cried Yoshitsuné. "It is short and weak," said Wada, plucking it from the dead man's breast. Taking a longer shaft from his quiver, he shot it with such force and sureness of aim that it passed through the armor and flesh of the Taira bowman and fell into the sea beyond. Yoshitsuné emptied his quiver with similar skill, each arrow finding a victim, and soon the tide of battle turned. Treason aided the Minamoto in their victory. In the vessel containing the son, widow, and daughter of Kiyomori, and the young mikado, was a friend of Yoshitsuné, who had agreed upon a signal by which this junk could be known. In the height of the struggle the signal appeared. Yoshitsuné at once ordered a number of captains to follow with their boats, and bore down on this central vessel of the Taira fleet. Soon the devoted vessel was surrounded by hostile junks, and armed men leaped in numbers on its deck. A Taira man sprang upon Yoshitsuné, sword in hand, but he saved his life by leaping to another junk, while his assailant plunged to death in the encrimsoned waves. Down went the Taira nobles before the swords of their assailants. The widow of Kiyomori, determined not to be taken alive, seized the youthful mikado and leaped into the sea. Munemori, Kiyomori's son and the head of the Taira house, was taken, with many nobles and ladies of the court. Still the battle went on. Ship after ship of the Taira fleet, their sides crushed by the prows of their opponents, sunk beneath the reddened waters. Others were boarded and swept clear of defenders by the sword. Hundreds perished, women and children as well as men. Hundreds more were taken captive. The waters of the sea, that morning clear and sparkling, were now the color of blood, and the pride of the Taira clan lay buried beneath the waves or were cast up by the unquiet waters upon the strand. With that fatal day the Taira vanished from the sight of men. Yoritomo gave the cruel order that no male of that hated family should be left alive, and armed murderers sought them out over hill and vale, slaying remorselessly all that could be traced. In Kioto many boy children of the clan were found, all of whom were slain. A few of the Taira name escaped from the fleet and fled to Kiushiu, where they hid in the lurking-places of the mountains. There, in poverty and pride, their descendants still survive, having remained unknown in the depths of their covert until about a century ago. The story of Yoshitsuné, which began in such glory, ends in treachery and ingratitude. Yoritomo envied the brother to whose valor his power was largely due. Hatred replaced the love which should have filled his heart, and he was ready to believe any calumny against the noble young soldier. One Kajiwara, a military adviser in the army, grew incensed at Yoshitsuné for acting against his advice, and hastened to Yoritomo with lies and slanders. The shogun, too ready to believe these stories, forbade Yoshitsuné to enter the city on his return with the spoils of victory. The youthful victor wrote him a touching letter, which is still extant, recounting his toils and dangers, and appealing for justice and the clearance from suspicion of his fair fame. Weary of waiting, he went to Kioto, where he found himself pursued by assassins. He escaped into Yamato, but was again pursued. Once more he escaped and concealed himself, but spies traced him out and the son of his host tried to murder him. What finally became of the hero is not known. The popular belief is that he killed himself with his own hand, after slaying his wife and children. Some believe that he escaped to Yezo, where for years he dwelt among the Ainos, who to-day worship his spirit and have erected a shrine over what they claim to be his grave. The preposterous story is even advanced that he fled to Asia and became the great Mongol conqueror Genghis Khan. Whatever became of him, his name is immortal in Japan. Every Japanese youth looks upon the youthful martyr as the ideal hero of his race, his form and deeds are glorified in art and song, and while a martial thought survives in Japan the name of this Bayard of the island empire will be revered. _THE HOJO TYRANNY._ Under the rule of Yoritomo Japan had two capitals and two governments, the mikado ruling at Kioto, the shogun at Kamakura, the magnificent city which Yoritomo had founded. The great family of the Minamoto was now supreme, all its rivals being destroyed. A special tax for the support of the troops yielded a large revenue to the shoguns; courts were established at Kamakura; the priests, who had made much trouble, were disarmed; a powerful permanent army was established; a military chief was placed in each province beside the civil governor, and that military government was founded which for nearly seven centuries robbed the mikado of all but the semblance of power. Thus it came that the shogun, or the tycoon as he afterwards named himself, appeared to be the emperor of Japan. We have told how Yoritomo, once a poor exile, became the lord of the empire. After conquering all his enemies he visited Kioto, where he astonished the court of the mikado by the splendor of his retinue and the magnificence of his military shows, athletic games, and ceremonial banquets. The two rulers exchanged the costliest presents, the emperor conferred all authority upon the general, and when Yoritomo returned to his capital city he held in his control the ruling power of the realm. All generals were called shoguns, but he was _the_ shogun, his title being Sei-i Tai Shogun (Barbarian-subjugating Great General). Though really a vassal of the emperor, he wielded the power of the emperor himself, and from 1192 until 1868 the mikados were insignificant puppets and the shoguns the real lords of the land. Such was the strange progress of political evolution in Japan. The mikado was still emperor, but the holders of this title lay buried in sloth or religious fanaticism and let their subordinates rule. And now we have another story to tell concerning this strange political evolution. As the shoguns became paramount over the mikados, so did the Hojo, the regents of the shoguns, become paramount over them, and for nearly one hundred and fifty years these vassals of a vassal were the virtual emperors of Japan. This condition of affairs gives a curious complication to the history of that country. In a previous tale it has been said that the father of Masago, the beautiful wife of the exiled prince, was named Hojo Tokimasa. He was a man of ability and was much esteemed and trusted by his son-in-law. After the death of Yoritomo and the accession of his son, Tokimasa became chief of the council of state, and brought up the young shogun in idleness and dissipation, wielding the power in his name. When the boy reached manhood and began to show ambition to rule, Tokimasa had him exiled to a temple and soon after assassinated. His brother, then twelve years old, succeeded as shogun. He cared nothing for power, but much for enjoyment, and the Hojo let him live his life of pleasure while they held the control of affairs. In the end he was murdered by the son of the slain shogun, who was in his turn killed by a soldier, and thus the family of Yoritomo became extinct. From that time forward the Hojo continued preeminent. They were able men, and governed the country well. The shoguns were chosen by them from the Minamoto clan, boys being selected, some of them but two or three years old, who were deposed as soon as they showed a desire to rule. The same was the case with the mikados, who were also creatures of the Hojo clan. One of them who had been deposed raised an army and fought for his throne. He was defeated and exiled to a distant monastery. Others were deposed, and neither mikados nor shoguns were permitted to reign except as puppets in the hands of the powerful regents of the realm. None of the Hojo ever claimed the office of shogun. They were content to serve as the power behind the throne. As time went on, the usual result of such a state of affairs showed itself. The able men of the Hojo family were followed by weak and vicious ones. Their tyranny and misgovernment grew unbearable. They gave themselves up to luxury and debauchery, oppressed the people by taxes to obtain means for their costly pleasures, and crushed beneath their oppressive rule the emperor, the shogun, and the people alike. Their cup of vice and tyranny at length overflowed. The day of retribution was at hand. The son of the mikado Go-Daigo was the first to rebel. His plans were discovered by spies, and his father ordered him to retire to a monastery, in which, however, he continued to plot revenge. Go-Daigo himself next struck for the power of which he possessed but the name. Securing the aid of the Buddhist priests, he fortified Kasagi, a stronghold in Yamato. He failed in his effort. In the following year (1331) an army attacked and took Kasagi, and the emperor was taken prisoner and banished to Oki. Connected with his exile is a story of much dramatic interest. While Go-Daigo was being borne in a palanquin to his place of banishment, under a guard of soldiers, Kojima, a young noble of his party, attempted his rescue. Gathering a party of followers, he occupied a pass in the hills through which he expected that the train would make its way. But another pass was taken, and he waited in vain. Learning their mistake, his followers, disheartened by their failure, deserted him. But the faithful vassal cautiously followed the train, making various efforts to approach and whisper hope to the imperial exile. He was prevented by the vigilance of the guard, and finally, finding that either rescue or speech was hopeless, he hit upon a plan to baffle the vigilance of the guards and let the emperor know that friends were still at work in his behalf. Under the shadows of night he secretly entered the garden of the inn where the party was resting, and there scraped off the outer bark of a cherry-tree, laying bare the smooth white layer within. On this he wrote the following stanza: "O Heaven, destroy not Kosen While Hanrei still lives." The next morning the soldiers noticed the writing on the tree. Curious to learn its meaning, but unable to read, they showed it to their prisoner, who, being familiar with the quotation, caught, with an impulse of joy, its concealed significance. Kosen was an ancient king of China who had been deposed and made prisoner, but was afterwards restored to power by his faithful follower Hanrei. Glad to learn that loyal friends were seeking his release, the emperor went to his lonely exile with renewed hope. Kojima afterwards died on the battle-field during the war for the restoration of the exiled mikado. [Illustration: LETTER-WRITING IN JAPAN.] But another valiant soldier was soon in the field in the interest of the exile. Nitta Yoshisada, a captain of the Hojo forces, had been sent to besiege Kusunoki, a vassal of the mikado, who held a stronghold for his imperial lord. Nitta, roused by conscience to a sense of his true duty, refused to fight against the emperor, deserted from the army, and, obtaining a commission from Go-Daigo's son, who was concealed in the mountains, he returned to his native place, raised the standard of revolt against the Hojo, and soon found himself at the head of a considerable force. In thirteen days after raising the banner of revolt in favor of the mikado he reached the vicinity of Kamakura, acting under the advice of his brother, who counselled him to beard the lion in his den. The tyranny of the Hojo had spread far and wide the spirit of rebellion, and thousands flocked to the standard of the young general,--a long white pennant, near whose top were two bars of black, and under them a circle bisected with a zone of black. On the eve of the day fixed for the attack on the city, Nitta stood on the sea-shore in front of his army, before him the ocean with blue islands visible afar, behind him lofty mountain peaks, chief among them the lordly Fusiyama. Here, removing his helmet, he uttered the following words: "Our heavenly son [the mikado] has been deposed by his traitorous subject, and is now an exile afar in the west. I have not been able to look on this act unmoved, and have come to punish the traitors in yonder city by the aid of these loyal troops. I humbly pray you, O god of the ocean waves, to look into the purposes of my heart. If you favor me and my cause, then bid the tide to ebb and open a path beside the sea." With these words he drew his sword and cast it with all his strength into the water. For a moment the golden hilt gleamed in the rays of the setting sun, and then the blade sank from sight. But with the dawn of the next day the soldiers saw with delight that there had been a great ebb in the tide, and that the dry strand offered a wide high-road past the rocky girdle that enclosed Kamakura. With triumphant shouts they marched along this ocean path, following a leader whom they now believed to be the chosen avenger of the gods. From two other sides the city of the shogun was attacked. The defence was as fierce as the assault, but everywhere victory rested upon the white banner of loyalty. Nitta's army pressed resistlessly forward, and the Hojo found themselves defeated and their army destroyed. Fire completed what the sword had begun, destructive flames attacked the frame dwellings of the city, and in a few hours the great capital of the shoguns and their powerful regents was a waste of ashes. Many of the vassals of the Hojo killed themselves rather than surrender, among them a noble named Ando, whose niece was Nitta's wife. She wrote him a letter begging him to surrender. "My niece is the daughter of a samurai house," the old man indignantly exclaimed. "How can she make so shameless a request? And why did Nitta, who is himself a samurai, permit her to do so?" Wrapping the letter around his sword, he plunged the blade into his body and fell dead. While Nitta was winning this signal victory, others were in arms for the mikado elsewhere, and everywhere the Hojo power went down. The people in all sections of the empire rose against the agents of the tyrants and put them to death, many thousands of the Hojo clan being slain and their power utterly destroyed. They had ruled Japan from the death of Yoritomo, in 1199, to 1333. They have since been execrated in Japan, the feeling of the people being displayed in their naming one of the destructive insects of the island the Hojo bug. Yet among the Hojo were many able rulers, and under them the empire was kept in peace and order for over a century, while art and literature flourished and many of the noblest monuments of Japanese architecture arose. Go-Daigo was now recalled from exile and replaced on the imperial throne. For the first time for centuries the mikado had come to his own and held the power of the empire in his hands. With judgment and discretion he might have restored the old government of Japan. But he lacked those important qualities, and quickly lost the power he had won. After a passing gleam of its old splendor the mikadoate sank into eclipse again. Go-Daigo was ruined by listening to a flatterer, whom he raised to the highest power, while he rewarded those who had rescued him with unimportant domains. A fierce war followed, in which Ashikaga, the flatterer, was the victor, defeating and destroying his foes. Go-Daigo had pronounced him a rebel. In return he was himself deposed, and a new emperor, whom the usurper could control, was raised to the vacant throne. For three years only had the mikado remained supreme. Then for a long period the Ashikagas held the reins of power, and a tyranny like that of the Hojo existed in the land. _THE TARTAR INVASION OF JAPAN._ In all its history only one serious effort has been made to conquer the empire of Japan. It ended in such dire disaster to the invaders that no nation has ever repeated it. During the thirteenth century Asia was thrown into turmoil by the dreadful outbreak of the Mongol Tartars under the great conqueror Genghis Khan. Nearly all Asia was overrun, Russia was subdued, China was conquered, and envoys were sent to Japan demanding tribute and homage to the great khan. Six times the demand was made, and six times refused. Then an army of ten thousand men was sent to Japan, but was soon driven from the country in defeat. Kublai Khan, the Mongol emperor of China, now sent nine envoys to the shogun, bidding them to stay until they received an answer to his demand. They stayed much longer than he intended, for the Hojo, who were then in power, cut off their heads. Once again the Chinese emperor sent to demand tribute, and once again the heads of the envoys were severed from their bodies. Acts like these could have only one result, and the Japanese made rapid preparations to meet the great power which had conquered Asia. A large army was levied, forts and defences were put in order, stores gathered in great quantities, and weapons and munitions of war abundantly prepared. A fleet of junks was built, and all the resources of the empire were employed. Japan, though it had waged no wars abroad, had amply learned the art of war from its frequent hostilities at home, and was well provided with brave soldiers and skilful generals. The khan was not likely to find its conquest an easy task. While the islanders were thus busy, their foes were as actively engaged. The proud emperor had made up his mind to crush this little realm that so insolently defied his power. A great fleet was made ready, containing thirty-five hundred vessels in all, in which embarked an army of one hundred thousand Chinese and Tartars and seven thousand Corean troops. It was the seventh month of the year 1281 when the expectant sentinels of Japan caught the glint of the sun's rays on the far-off throng of sails, which whitened the seas as they came on with streaming banners and the warlike clang of brass and steel. The army of Japan, which lay encamped on the hills back of the fortified city of Daizaifu, in the island of Kiushiu, and gathered in ranks along the adjoining coast, gazed with curiosity and dread on this mighty fleet, far the largest they had ever seen. Many of the vessels were of enormous size, as it seemed to their unaccustomed eyes, and were armed with engines of war such as they had never before beheld. The light boats of the Japanese had little hope of success against these huge junks, and many of those that ventured from shelter were sunk by the darts and stones flung from the Mongol catapults. The enemy could not be matched upon the sea; it remained to prevent him from setting foot upon shore. Yet the courage and daring of the island warriors could not be restrained. A party of thirty swam out and boarded a junk, where their keen-edged swords proved more than a match for the Tartar bows and spears, so that they returned with the heads of the crew. A second party tried to repeat a like adventure, but the Tartars were now on the alert and killed them all. One captain, with a picked crew, steered out in broad daylight to a Chinese junk, heedless of a shower of darts, one of which took off his arm. In a minute more he and his men were on the deck and were driving back the crew in a fierce hand-to-hand encounter. Before other vessels of the fleet could come up, they had fired the captured junk and were off again, bearing with them twenty-one heads of the foe. To prevent such attacks all advanced boats were withdrawn and the fleet was linked together with iron chains, while with catapults and great bows heavy darts and stones were showered on approaching Japanese boats, sinking many of them and destroying their crews. But all efforts of the Tartars to land were bravely repulsed, and such detachments as reached the shore were driven into the sea before they could prepare for defence, over two thousand of the enemy falling in these preliminary attempts. With the utmost haste a long line of fortifications, consisting of earthworks and palisades, had been thrown up for miles along the shore, and behind these defences the island soldiers defied their foes. Among the defenders was a captain, Michiari by name, whose hatred of the Mongols led him to a deed of the most desperate daring. Springing over the breastworks, he defied the barbarians to mortal combat. Then, filling two boats with others as daring as himself, he pushed out to the fleet. Both sides looked on in amazement. "Is the man mad?" said the Japanese. "Are those two little boats coming to attack our whole fleet?" asked the Mongols. "They must be deserters, who are coming to surrender." Under this supposition the boats were permitted to approach unharmed, their course being directed towards a large Tartar junk. A near approach being thus made, grappling-irons were flung out, and in a minute more the daring assailants were leaping on board the junk. Taken by surprise, the Tartars were driven back, the two-handed keen-edged swords of the assailants making havoc in their ranks. The crew made what defence they could, but the sudden and unlooked-for assault had put them at disadvantage, and before the adjoining ships could come to their aid the junk was in flames and the boats of the victors had put off for land. With them as prisoner they carried one of the highest officers in the invading fleet. Yet these skirmishes did little in reducing the strength of the foe, and had not the elements come to the aid of Japan the issue of the affair might have been serious for the island empire. While the soldiers were fighting the priests were praying, and the mikado sent a priestly messenger to the shrines at Isé, bearing his petition to the gods. It was noonday, and the sky perfectly clear, when he offered the prayer, but immediately afterwards a broad streak of cloud rose on the horizon, and soon the sky was overcast with dense and rolling masses, portending a frightful storm. It was one of the typhoons that annually visit that coast and against whose appalling fury none but the strongest ships can stand. It fell with all its force on the Chinese fleet, lifting the junks like straws on the great waves which suddenly arose, tossing them together, hurling some upon the shore, and forcing others bodily beneath the sea. Hundreds of the light craft were sunk, and corpses were heaped on the shore in multitudes. Many of the vessels were driven to sea, few or none of which ever reached land. Many others were wrecked upon Taka Island. Here the survivors, after the storm subsided, began cutting down trees and building boats, in the hope of reaching Corea. But they were attacked by the Japanese with such fury that all were slain but three, whose lives were spared that they might bear back the news to their emperor and tell him how the gods had fought for Japan. The lesson was an effective one. The Chinese have never since attempted the conquest of Japan, and it is the boast of the people of that country that no invading army has ever set foot upon their shores. Six centuries afterwards the case was to be reversed and a Japanese army to land on Chinese soil. Great praise was given to the Hojo then in control at Kamakura for his energy and valor in repelling the invaders. But the chief honor was paid to the gods enshrined at Isé, who were thenceforward adored as the guardians of the winds and the seas. To this day the invasion of the Mongols is vividly remembered in Kiushiu, and the mother there hushes her fretful babe with the question, "Little one, why do you cry? Do you think the Mogu are coming?" It may be well here to say that the story of this invasion is told by Marco Polo, who was at the court of Kublai Khan, the Mongol conqueror of China, at the time it took place, and that his tale differs in many respects from that of the Japanese historians. Each party is apparently making the best of its side of the affair. According to Marco Polo's account, the failure of the expedition was due to jealousy between the two officers in command. He states that one Japanese fortification was taken and all within put to the sword, except two, whose flesh was charmed against the sword and who could be killed only by being beaten to death with great clubs. As for those who reached Taka Island, they contrived by strategy to gain possession of the boats of the assailing Japanese, by whose aid, and that of the flags which the boats flew, they captured the chief city of Japan. Here for six months they were closely besieged, and finally surrendered on condition that their lives should be spared. _NOBUNAGA AND THE FALL OF THE BUDDHISTS._ For more than two centuries the Ashikaga lorded it over Japan, as the Hojo had done before them, and the mikados were tools in their strong hands. Then arose a man who overthrew this powerful clan. This man, Nobunaga by name, was a descendant of Kiyomori, the great leader of the Taira clan, his direct ancestor being one of the few who escaped from the great Minamoto massacre. The father of this Taira chief was a soldier whose valor had won him a large estate. Nobunaga added to it, built himself a strong castle, and became the friend and patron of the last of the Ashikaga, whom he made shogun. (The Ashikaga were descendants of the Minamoto, who alone had hereditary claim to this high office.) But Nobunaga remained the power behind the throne, and, a quarrel arising between him and the shogun, he deposed the latter, and became himself the ruler of Japan. After two hundred and thirty-eight years of dominion the lordship of the Ashikaga thus came to an end. Of this great Japanese leader we are told, "He was a prince of large stature, but of weak and delicate complexion, with a heart and soul that supplied all other wants; ambitious above all mankind; brave, generous, and bold, and not without many excellent moral virtues; inclined to justice, and an enemy to treason. With a quick and penetrating wit, he seemed cut out for business. Excelling in military discipline, he was esteemed the fittest to command an army, manage a siege, fortify a town, or mark out a camp of any general in Japan, never using any head but his own. If he asked advice, it was more to know their hearts than to profit by their advice. He sought to see into others and to conceal his own counsel, being very secret in his designs. He laughed at the worship of the gods, being convinced that the bonzes were impostors abusing the simplicity of the people and screening their own debauches under the name of religion." Such was the man who by genius and strength of will now rose to the head of affairs. Not being of the Minamoto family, he did not seek to make himself shogun, and for forty years this office ceased to exist. He ruled in the name of the mikado, but held all the power of the realm. The good fortune of Nobunaga lay largely in his wise choice of men. Under him were four generals, so admirable yet so diverse in military ability that the people gave them the distinctive nicknames of "Cotton," "Rice," "Attack," and "Retreat." Cotton, which can be put to a multitude of uses, indicated the fertility in resources of the first; while the second made himself as necessary as rice, which people cannot live a day without. The strength of the third lay in the boldness of his attacks; of the fourth, in the skill of his retreats. Of these four, the first, named Hideyoshi, rose to great fame. A fifth was afterwards added, Tokugawa Iyeyasu, also a famous name in Japan. It was through his dealings with the Buddhists that Nobunaga made himself best known in history. He had lived among them in his early years, and had learned to hate and despise them. Having been educated in the Shinto faith, the ancient religion of Japan, he looked on the priests of Buddhism as enemies to the true faith. The destruction of these powerful sectaries was, therefore, one of the great purposes of his life. Nobunaga had other reasons than these for destroying the power of the bonzes. During the long period of the Ashikagas these cunning ecclesiastics had risen to great power. Their monasteries had become fortresses, with moats and strong stone walls. Internally these were like arsenals, and an army could readily be equipped from them with weapons, while many of the priests were daring leaders. During the civil wars they served the side that promised them the most spoil or power. Rivals among them often fought battles of their own, in which hundreds were killed and towns and temples burned. So great were their authority, their insolence, and their licentiousness that their existence had become an evil in the land, and Nobunaga determined to teach them a lesson they would not soon forget. Of the monasteries, the most extensive was that of Hiyeizan, on Lake Biwa. Within its territory lay thirteen valleys and more than five hundred temples, shrines, and dwellings, the grounds of which were adorned in the highest style of landscape art. The monks here were numbered by thousands, with whom religious service was a gorgeous ceremonial mockery, and who revelled in luxury, feasted on forbidden viands, drank to inebriety, and indulged in every form of licentiousness. They used their influence in rousing the clans to war, from which they hoped to draw new spoils for their unrighteous enjoyments, while screening themselves from danger behind the cloak of the priesthood. It was against this monastery that the wrath of Nobunaga was most strongly aroused. Marching against it in 1571, he bade his generals set it on fire. The officers stood aghast at the order, which seemed to them likely to call down the vengeance of Heaven upon their heads. With earnest protests they begged him not to do so unholy an act. "Since this monastery was built, now nearly a thousand years ago," they said, "it has been vigilant against the power of the spirits of evil. No one has dared in all that time to lift a hand against these holy buildings. Can you design to do so?" "Yes," answered Nobunaga, sternly. "I have put down the villains that distracted the country, and I intend to bring peace upon the land and restore the power of the mikado. The bonzes have opposed my efforts and aided my enemies. I sent them a messenger and gave them the chance to act with loyalty, but they failed to listen to my words, and resisted the army of the emperor, aiding the wicked robbers. Does not this make them thieves and villains? If I let them now escape, this trouble will continue forever, and I have allowed them to remain on this mountain only that I might destroy them. That is not all. I have heard that these priests fail to keep their own rules. They eat fish and the strong-smelling vegetables which Buddha prohibited. They keep concubines, and do not even read the sacred books of their faith. How can such as these put down evil and preserve holiness? It is my command that you surround and burn their dwellings and see that none of them escape alive." Thus bidden, the generals obeyed. The grounds of the monastery were surrounded, and on the next day the temples and shrines were set on fire and the soldiers remorselessly cut down all they met. The scene of massacre and conflagration that ensued was awful to behold. None were spared, neither young nor old, man, woman, nor child. The sword and spear were wielded without mercy, and when the butchery ended not a soul of the multitude of inmates was left alive. One more great centre of Buddhism remained to be dealt with, that of the monastery and temple of Houguanji, whose inmates had for years hated Nobunaga and sided with his foes, while they made their stronghold the hiding-place of his enemies. Finally, when some of his favorite captains had been killed by lurking foes, who fled from pursuit into the monastery, he determined to deal with this haunt of evil as he had dealt with Hiyeizan. But this place was not to be so easily taken. It was strongly fortified, and could be captured only by siege. Within the five fortresses of which it was composed were many thousands of priests and warriors, women and children, and a still more frightful massacre than that of Hiyeizan was threatened. The place was so closely surrounded that all escape seemed cut off, but under cover of the darkness of night and amid a fierce storm several thousand of the people made their way from one of the forts. They failed, however, in their attempt, being pursued, overtaken, and slaughtered. Soon after a junk laden with human ears and noses came close under the walls of the castle, that the inmates might learn the fate of their late friends. Vigorously the siege went on. A sortie of the garrison was repelled, but a number of Nobunaga's best officers were killed. After some two months of effort, three of the five fortresses were in the assailants' hands, and many thousands of the garrison had fallen or perished in the flames, the odor of decaying bodies threatening to spread pestilence through camp and castle alike. In this perilous condition of affairs the mikado sent a number of his high officials to persuade the garrison to yield. A conference was held and a surrender agreed upon. The survivors were permitted to make their way to other monasteries of their sect, and Nobunaga occupied the castle, which is still held by the government. These two great blows brought the power of the bonzes, for that age, to an end. In later years some trouble was made by them, but Nobunaga had done his work so thoroughly that there was little difficulty in keeping them under control. [Illustration: KARAMO TEMPLE, NIKKO.] There remains only to tell the story of this great captain's end. He died at Kioto, the victim of treason. Among his captains was one named Akechi, a brave man, but proud. One day, in a moment of merriment, Nobunaga put the head of the captain under his arm and played on it with his fan, saying that he would make a drum of it. This pleasantry was not to the taste of the haughty captain, who nursed a desire for revenge,--behind which perhaps lay a wish to seize the power of the chief. The traitor did not have long to wait. Nobunaga had sent most of his forces away to quell a rebellion, keeping but a small garrison. With part of this Akechi was ordered to Kiushiu, and left the city with seeming intention to obey. But he had not gone far when he called his officers together, told them of his purpose to kill Nobunaga, and promised them rich booty for their assistance in the plot. The officers may have had reasons of their own for mutiny, for they readily consented, and marched back to the city they had just left. Nobunaga resided in the temple of Hounoji, apparently without a guard, and to his surprise heard the tread of many feet and the clash of armor without. Opening a window to learn what this portended, he was struck by an arrow fired from the outer darkness. He saw at once what had occurred, and that escape was impossible. There was but one way for a hero to die. Setting fire to the temple, he killed himself, and before many minutes the body of the great warrior was a charred corpse in the ashes of his funeral pile. _HOW A PEASANT BOY BECAME PREMIER._ In the history of nations there have been many instances of a man descended from the lowest class of the populace reaching the highest rank. Kings, conquerors, emperors, have thus risen from the ranks of peasants and laborers, and the crown has been worn by men born to the beggar's lot. In the history of Japan only one instance of this kind appears, that of one born a peasant who supplanted the noble families and became lord of the people and the emperor alike. Such a man was Hideyoshi, the one of Nobunaga's generals who bore the popular nickname of "Cotton," from his fertility of resources and his varied utility to his chief. Born in 1536, the son of a peasant named Yasuké, as a baby he had almost the face of a monkey, while as a boy he displayed a monkey-like cunning, restlessness, and activity. The usual occupations of the sons of Japanese peasants, such as grass-cutting and rice-weeding, were not to the taste of young Monkey-pine, as the villagers called him, and he spent his time in the streets, a keen-witted and reckless young truant, who feared and cared for no one, and lived by his wits. Fortune favored the little vagrant by bringing him under the eyes of the great soldier Nobunaga, who was attracted by his wizened, monkeyish face and restless eyes and gave him occupation among his grooms. As he grew older his love of war became pronounced, he took part in the numerous civil turmoils in which his patron was engaged, and manifested such courage and daring that Nobunaga rapidly advanced him in rank, finally making him one of his most trusted generals. No man was more admired in the army for soldierly qualities than the peasant leader, and the boldest warriors sought service under his banner, which at first bore for emblem a single gourd, but gained a new one after each battle, until it displayed a thick cluster of gourds. At the head of the army a golden model of the original banner was borne, and wherever it moved victory followed. Such was the man who, after the murder of Nobunaga, marched in furious haste upon his assassin and quenched the ambition of the latter in death. The brief career of the murderer has given rise to a Japanese proverb, "Akechi ruled three days." The avenger of the slain regent was now at the head of affairs. The mikado himself dared not oppose him, for the military power of the empire lay within his grasp. There was only one man who ventured to resist his authority, and he for no long time. This was a general named Shibata, who took the field in defence of the claim of Nobutaka, a son of the slain regent. He did not realize with whom he had to deal. The peasant general was quickly in the field at the head of his veteran army, defeated Shibata at every encounter, and pursued him so hotly that he fled for refuge to a fortified place now known as Fukui. This stronghold Hideyoshi besieged, establishing his camp on the slope of a neighboring mountain, from which he pushed his siege operations so vigorously that the fugitive gave up all hope of escape. In this dilemma Shibata took a resolution like that of the Epicurean monarch of Assyria, the famed Sardanapalus. He gave a grand feast in the palace, to which all the captains and notables of his party were invited, and at which all present danced and made merry as though victory hung over their banners. Yet it was their funeral feast, to be followed by a carnival of death. In the midst of the banquet, Shibata, rising cup in hand, said to his wife,-- "We are men, and will die. You are a woman, and have the right to live. You may gain safety by leaving the castle, and are at liberty to marry again." The brave woman, the sister of Nobunaga, was too high in spirit to accept this offer. Her eyes filled with tears, she thanked her lord for his kindness, but declared that the world held no other husband for her, and that it was her sole wish to die with him. Then, reciting a farewell stanza of poetry, she calmly stood while her husband thrust his dirk into her heart. All the women and children present, nerved by this brave example, welcomed the same fate, and then the men committed _hara-kiri_, the Japanese method of suicide, Shibata having first set fire to the castle. Soon the flames curled upward round the dead and the dying, and the conqueror found nothing but the ashes of a funeral pile upon which to lay hand. Hideyoshi, all resistance to his rule being now at an end, set himself to tranquillize and develop Japan. Iyeyasu, one of Nobunaga's favorite generals, became his friend and married his sister; Mori, lord of the West, came to the capital and became his vassal, and no man in the empire dared question his power. His enemies, proud nobles who were furious at having to bend their haughty heads before a peasant, privately called him Sava Kuan ja ("crowned monkey"), but were wise enough not to be too open in their satire. Their anger was especially aroused by the fact that the mikado had conferred upon this parvenu the lofty office of kuambaku, or prime minister of the empire, a title which had never before been borne by any one not a noble of the Fujiwara clan, for whom it had been expressly reserved. He was also ennobled under the family name of Toyotomi Hideyoshi. The new premier showed as great an activity in the works of peace as he had shown in those of war, putting his soldiers to work to keep their minds employed. Kioto was improved by his orders, splendid palaces being built, and the bed of the river Kamo paved with flat stones. Ozaka was greatly developed, an immense fortress being built, the river widened and deepened, and canals dug in great profusion, over which were thrown more than a thousand bridges. Various other cities were improved, great towers and pagodas built, and public works erected in many parts of the realm. In addition Hideyoshi won popularity by his justice and mercy, pardoning his opponents, though the rule had hitherto been to put the adherents of opposite parties to death, and showing no regard for rank, title, or service to himself in his official duty as judge. He had married a peasant girl while a peasant himself, but as he rose in rank he espoused new wives of increasingly high station, his last being of princely descent. In the end he had as many wives as the much-married Henry VIII., but not in the same fashion, as he kept them all at once, instead of cutting off the head of one to make room for the next. Hideyoshi had one great ambition, born in him when a boy, and haunting him as a man. This was to conquer Corea, and perhaps China as well. He had begged Nobunaga to aid him in this great design, but had only been laughed at for his pains. Now that he was at the head of affairs, this plan loomed up in large proportions in his mind. Corea had long ceased to pay tribute, and Corean pirates ravaged the coast. Here was an excuse for action. As for China, he knew that anarchy ruled there, and hoped to take advantage of this state of affairs. Patting the back of a statue of Yoritomo in a patronizing fashion, he humorously said, "You are my friend. You took all the power in Japan, a thing which only you and I have been able to do. But you came from a noble family, and were not, like me, the son of a peasant. I propose to outdo you, and conquer all the earth, and even China. What say you to that?" To test the feeling of the gods about his proposed expedition, he threw into the air before a shrine a hundred "cash," or Japanese small coin, saying, to translate his words into the American vernacular, "If I am to conquer China, let these come up head." They all came up "head," or what in Japan answers to that word, and soldiers and ruler were alike delighted, for this omen seemed surely to promise success. Nearly fourteen hundred years had elapsed since the previous conquest of Corea by the famous empress Jingu. Now an army said to have been five hundred thousand strong was sent across the ocean channel between Kiushiu and the Corean coast. Hideyoshi was at this time sixty years of age and had grown infirm of body, so that he felt unable to command the expedition himself, which was therefore intrusted to two of his ablest leaders, Kato, of noble birth, and Konishi, the son of a druggist, who disgusted his proud associate by representing on his banner a paper medicine-bag, the sign of his father's shop. Notwithstanding the ill feeling between the leaders, the armies were everywhere victorious, Corea was overrun and the king driven from his capital, and the victors had entered into serious conflict with the armies of China, when word came from Japan (in 1598) that Hideyoshi was dead. A truce was at once concluded and the army ordered home. Thus ended the second invasion of Corea, the second of the events which gave rise to the claim in Japan that Corea is a vassal state of the island empire and were used as warrants to the nineteenth century invasion. _THE FOUNDER OF YEDO AND OF MODERN FEUDALISM._ The death of the peasant premier left Iyeyasu, the second in ability of Nobunaga's great generals, as the rising power in Japan. Hideyoshi, in the hope of preserving the rule in his own family, had married his son, a child of six, to Iyeyasu's granddaughter, and appointed six ministers to act as his guardians. He did not count, in cherishing this illusory hope, on the strength of human ambition. Nor did he give thought to the bitter disgust with which the haughty lords and nobles had yielded to the authority of one whom they regarded as an upstart. The chances of the child's coming to power were immeasurably small. In truth, the death of the strong-willed premier had thrown Japan open to anarchy. The leaders who had returned from the Corean war, flushed with victory, were ambitious for power, and the thousands of soldiers under their command were eager for war and spoils. Hidenobu, a nephew of Nobunaga, claimed the succession to his uncle's position. The five military governors who had been appointed by the late premier were suspicious of Iyeyasu, and took steps to prevent him from seizing the vacated place. The elements of anarchy indeed were everywhere abroad, there was more than one aspirant to the ruling power, and armies began to be raised. Iyeyasu keenly watched the movements of his enemies. When he saw that troops were being recruited, he did the same. Crimination and recrimination went on, skirmishes took place in the field, the citadel of Ozaka was successively taken and retaken by the opposing parties, the splendid palace of Hideyoshi at Fushimi was given to the flames, and at length the two armies came together to settle in one great battle the fate of Japan. The army of the league against Iyeyasu had many leaders, including the five governors, most of the generals of the Corean war, and the lords and vassals of Hideyoshi. Strong as it was, one hundred and eighty thousand in all, it was moved by contrary purposes, and unity of counsel was lacking among the chiefs. The army of Iyeyasu, while far weaker, had but one leader, and was inspired by a single purpose. On the 1st of October, 1600, the march began, over the great highway known as the Tokaido. The white banner of Iyeyasu was embroidered with hollyhocks, his standard a golden fan. "The road to the west is shut," prophesied the diviners. "Then I shall knock till it opens," the bold leader replied. As they marched onward, a persimmon (_ogaki_ in Japanese) was offered him. He opened his hand to receive it, saying, as it fell into his palm, "Ogaki has fallen into my hand." (The significance of this remark lies in the fact that the camp of the league lay around the castle of Ogaki). Learning of the near approach of Iyeyasu's force, the opposing army broke camp and marched to meet him through a sharp rain that wet them to the skin. Their chosen field of battle, Sekigahara ("plain of the barrier") by name, is in Omi, near Lake Biwa. It is an expanse of open, rolling ground, bisected by one of the main roads between Tokio and Kioto and crossed by a road from Echizen. On this spot was to be fought one of the greatest battles Japan had ever known, whose result was destined to settle the fate of the empire for two hundred and fifty years. In the early morning of the eventful day one of the pickets of Iyeyasu's host brought word that the army of the league was in full march from the castle of Ogaki. This important news was soon confirmed by others, and the general joyfully cried, "The enemy has indeed fallen into my hand." Throwing aside his helmet, he knotted a handkerchief over his forehead, saying that this was all the protection he should need in the coming battle. His army was seventy-five thousand strong. That opposed to him exceeded his in strength by more than fifty thousand men. But neither as yet knew what they had to encounter, for a fog lay heavy on the plain, and the two armies, drawn up in battle array, were invisible to each other. To prevent surprise, Iyeyasu sent in front of his army a body of guards bearing white flags, to give quick warning of an advance. At length, at eight o'clock, the fog rose and drifted away, revealing the embattled hosts. Hardly had it vanished before the drums beat their battle peal and the martial conchs sounded defiance, while a shower of arrows from each army hurtled through the opposing ranks. In a short time the impatient warriors met in mid field, and sword and spear began their deadly work. The great weight of the army of the league at first gave it the advantage, and for hours the result was in doubt, though a corps of the league forces deserted to the ranks of Iyeyasu. At length unity and discipline began to prevail, the intrepidity of Iyeyasu and his skill in taking advantage of every error of his enemy giving confidence to his men. By noon they were bearing back the foe. Ordering up the reserves, and bidding the drummers and conch-blowers to sound their most inspiriting appeal, Iyeyasu gave order for the whole army to charge. Before the impetuous onset that followed, the enemy wavered, broke, and fled, followed in hot pursuit by the victorious host. And now a frightful scene began. Thousands of heads of the flying were cut off by the keen-edged blades of their pursuers. Most of the wounded and many of the unhurt killed themselves upon the field, in obedience to the exaggerated Japanese sense of honor. The defeat became a butchery. In Japanese battles of the past quarter was a mercy rarely craved or granted, and decapitation the usual mode of death when the sword could be brought into play, so that the triumph of the victors was usually indicated by the dimensions of the ghastly heap of heads. In this frightful conflict the claim was made by the victors (doubtless an exaggeration) that they had taken forty thousand heads of the foe, while their own loss was only four thousand. However that be, a great mound of heads was made, one of many such evidences of slaughter which may still be seen in Japan. Throughout the battle a knotted handkerchief was the only defence of Iyeyasu's head. The victory won, he called for his helmet, which he put on, carefully tying the strings. As all looked on with surprise at this strange action, he, with a smile, repeated to them an old Japanese proverb, "After victory, knot the cords of your helmet." It was a suggestion of vigilance wisely given and alertly acted upon. The strongholds of the league were invested without delay, and one by one fell into the victors' hands. The fragments of the beaten army were followed and dispersed. Soon all opposition was at an end, and Iyeyasu was lord and master of Japan. The story of the victor in the most decisive victory Japan had ever known, one that was followed by two and a half centuries of peace, needs to complete it a recital of two important events, one being the founding of Yedo, the great eastern capital, the other the organization of the system of feudalism. For ages the country around the Bay of Yedo, now the chief centre of activity and civilization in Japan, was wild and thinly peopled. The first mention of it in history is in the famous march of Yamato-Daké, whose wife leaped here into the waves as a sacrifice to the maritime gods. In the fifteenth century a small castle was built on the site of the present city, while near it on the Tokaida, the great highway between the two ancient capitals, stood a small village, whose chief use was for the refreshment and assistance of travellers. Ota Dagnan, the lord of the castle, was a warrior of fame, whose deeds have gained him a place in the song and story of Japan. Of the tales told of him there is one whose poetic significance has given it a fixed place in the legendary lore of the land. One day, when the commandant was amusing himself in the sport of hawking, a shower of rain fell suddenly and heavily, forcing him to stop at a house near by and request the loan of a grass rain-coat,--a _mino_, to give it its Japanese name. A young and very pretty girl came to the door at his summons, listened to his polite request, and stood for a moment blushing and confused. Then, running into the garden, she plucked a flower, handed it with a mischievous air to the warrior, and disappeared within the house. Ota, angrily flinging down the flower, turned away, after an impulse to force his way into the house and help himself to the coat. He returned to the castle wet and fuming at the slight to his rank and dignity. Soon after he related the incident to some court nobles from Kioto, who had stopped at the castle, and who, to his surprise, did not share his indignation at the act. "Why, the incident was delightful," said one among them who was specially versed in poetic lore; "who would have looked for such wit and such knowledge of our classic poetry in a young girl in this uncultivated spot? The trouble is, friend Ota, that you are not learned enough to take the maiden's meaning." "I take it that she meant to laugh at a soaked fowler," growled the warrior. "Not so. It was only a graceful way of telling you that she had no _mino_ to loan. She was too shy to say no to your request, and so handed you a mountain camellia. Centuries ago one of our poets sang of this flower, 'Although it has seven or eight petals, yet, I grieve to say, it has no seed' (_mino_). The cunning little witch has managed to say 'no' to you in the most graceful way imaginable." Here, where the castle stood, Iyeyasu started to build a city, at the suggestion of his superior Hideyoshi. Thus began the great city of Yedo,--now Tokio, the eastern capital of Japan. In 1600, Iyeyasu, then at the head of affairs, pushed the work on his new city with energy, employing no less than three hundred thousand men. The castle was enlarged, canals were excavated, streets laid out and graded, marshes filled, and numerous buildings erected, fleets of junks bringing granite for the citadel, while the neighboring forests furnished the timber for the dwellings. An outer ditch was dug on a grand scale, and gates and towers were built with no walls to join them and no dwellings within many furlongs of their site. But to those who laughed at the magnificent plan on which the young city had been laid out, the founder declared that the coming time would see his walls built and the dwellings of the city stretching far beyond them. Before a century his words were verified, and Yedo had a population of half a million souls. To-day it is the home of more than a million people. It is for his political genius that Iyeyasu particularly deserves fame. Once more, in 1615, he was forced to fight for his supremacy, against the son of the late premier. A bloody battle followed, ending in victory for Iyeyasu and the burning of the castle of Ozaka, in whose flames the aspirant for power probably met his doom. No other battle was fought on the soil of Japan for two hundred and fifty-three years. Iyeyasu had the blood of the Minamoto clan in his veins. He had therefore an hereditary claim to the shogunate, as successor to the great Yoritomo, the founder of the family and the first to bear the title of Great Shogun. This title, Sei-i Tai Shogun, was now conferred by the mikado on the new military chief, and was borne by his descendants, the Tokugawa family, until the great revolution of 1868, when the mikado again seized his long-lost authority. Before this period, civil war had for centuries desolated Japan. After 1615 war ceased in that long distracted land and peace and prosperity prevailed. What were the steps taken by the new shogun to insure this happy result? It arose through the establishment of a well-defined system of feudalism, and the bringing of the feudal lords under the immediate control of the shogun. Japan was already organized on a semi-feudal system. The land was divided between the great lords or daimios, who possessed strong castles and large landed estates, with a powerful armed following, and into whose treasuries much of the revenue of the kingdom flowed. These powerful princes of the realm were conciliated by the conqueror. Under them were daimios of smaller estate, many of whom had joined him in his career; and lower still a large number of minor military holders, whose grants of land enabled them to bring small bodies of followers into the field. Iyeyasu's plan was one of conciliation and the prevention of hostile union. He laid his plans and left it to time to do his work. Some of the richest fiefs of the empire were conferred upon his sons, who founded several of its most powerful families. The possessions of the other lords were redistributed, the land being divided up among them in a way to prevent rebellious concentration, vassals and adherents of his own being placed between any two neighboring lords whose loyalty was in doubt. To prevent ambitious lords from seizing Kioto and making prisoner the mikado, as had frequently been done in the past, he surrounded it on all sides with strong domains ruled by his sons or friends. When his work of redistribution was finished, his friends and vassals everywhere lay between the realms of doubtful daimios. A hostile movement in force had been rendered nearly impossible. Below the daimios came the _hatamoto_, or supporters of the flag, direct vassals of the shogun, of whom there were eighty thousand in Japan, mostly descendants of proved warriors and with a train of from three to thirty retainers each. These were scattered throughout the empire, but the majority of them lived in Yedo. They formed the direct military dependence of the shogun, and held most of the military and civil positions. Under them again were the _gokenin_, the humbler members of the Togukawa clan, and hereditary followers of the shogun. All these formed the _samurai_, the men privileged to wear two swords and exempted from taxes. Their number and readiness gave the shogun complete military control of the empire, and made him master of all it held, from mikado to peasant. Such was the method adopted by the great statesman to insure peace to the empire and to keep the power within the grasp of his own family. In both respects it proved successful. A second important step was taken by Iyemitsu, his grandson, and after him the ablest of the family. By this time many of the noted warriors among the daimios were dead, and their sons, enervated by peace and luxury, could be dealt with more vigorously than would have been safe to do with their fathers. Iyemitsu suggested that all the daimios should make Yedo their place of residence for half the year. At first they were treated as guests, the shogun meeting them in the suburbs and dealing with them with great consideration. But as the years went on the daimios became more and more like prisoners on parole. They were obliged to pay tribute of respect to the shogun in a manner equivalent to doing homage. Though they could return at intervals to their estates, their wives and children were kept in Yedo as hostages for their good behavior. When Iyemitsu died, the shoguns had cemented their power beyond dispute. The mikados, nominal emperors, were at their beck and call; the daimios were virtual prisoners of state; the whole military power and revenues of the empire were under their control; conspiracy and attempted rebellion could be crushed by a wave of their hands; peace ruled in Japan. Iyemitsu was the first to whom the title of Tai Kun (Tycoon), or Great King, was ever applied. It was in a letter written to Corea, intended to influence foreigners. It was employed in a larger sense for the same purpose at a later date, as we shall hereafter see. Suffice it here to say that the Tokugawas remained the rulers of Japan until 1868, when a new move in the game of empire was made. _THE PROGRESS OF CHRISTIANITY IN JAPAN._ The fact that such a realm as that of Japan existed remained unknown in Europe until about six centuries ago, when Marco Polo, in his famous record of travel and adventure, first spoke of it. He knew of it, however, only by Chinese hearsay, and the story he told contained far more of fable than of fact. The Chinese at that time seem to have had little knowledge of their nearest civilized neighbor. [Illustration: Reproduced by permission of The Philadelphia Museums. RETURNING FROM MARKET. JAPAN.] "Zipangu"--the name he gives it--is, he says, "an island in the Eastern Ocean, about fifteen hundred miles [Chinese miles] from the mainland. Its people are well made, of fair complexion, and civilized in manner, but idolaters in religion." He continues, "They have gold in the greatest abundance, its sources being inexhaustible. To this circumstance we are to attribute the extraordinary richness of the sovereign's palace according to what we are told by those who have access to the place. The entire roof is covered with a plating of gold, in the same manner as we cover houses, or more properly churches, with lead. The ceilings of the halls are of the same precious metal; many of the apartments have small tables of pure gold, of considerable thickness; and the windows have also golden ornaments. So vast, indeed, are the riches of the palace that it is impossible to convey an idea of them. In this island there are pearls also, in large quantities, of a pink color, round in shape and of great size, equal in value to, or even exceeding, that of the white pearls. There are also found there a number of precious stones." This story is as remote from truth as some of those told by Sindbad the Sailor. Polo, no doubt, thought he was telling the truth, and knew that this cascade of gold and pearls would be to the taste of his readers, but anything more unlike the plainness and simplicity of the actual palace of the mikado it would be hard to find. For the next European knowledge of Japan we must step forward to the year 1542. Columbus had discovered America, and Portugal had found an ocean highway to the spice islands of the East. A Portuguese adventurer, Mendez Pinto by name, ventured as far as China, then almost unknown, and, with two companions, found himself on board a Chinese junk, half trader, half pirate. In a sea-fight with another corsair their pilot was killed, and soon after a fierce storm blew them far off shore. Seeking to make the Loochoo Islands, they lost them through lack of a pilot, and were tossed about at the ocean's will for twenty-three days, when they made harbor on Tané, a small island of Japan lying south of Kiushiu. Pinto, after his return to Europe, told so many marvellous stories about Japan that people doubted him as much as they had doubted Marco Polo. His very name, Mendez, was extended into "mendacious." Yet time has done justice to both these old travellers, who either told, or tried to tell, the truth. The Portuguese travellers were well received by the islanders,--who knew not yet what firebrands they were welcoming. It took a century for Europeans to disgust the Japanese so thoroughly as to force the islanders to drive them from the land and put up the bars against their return. What interested the Japanese even more than their visitors were the new and strange weapons they bore. Pinto and his two comrades were armed with arquebuses, warlike implements such as they had never before seen, and whose powers filled them with astonishment and delight. It was the era of civil war in Japan, and the possession of a new and deadly weapon was eagerly welcomed by that martial people, who saw in it visions of speedy success over their enemies. Pinto was invited to the castle of the daimio of Bungo, whom he taught the arts of making guns and gunpowder. The Japanese, alert at taking advantage of the discoveries of other people, were quick to manufacture powder and guns for themselves, and in the wars told of in our last few tales native cannon were brought into use, though the razor-edged sword continued the most death-dealing of their weapons. As for the piratical trader which conveyed Pinto to Japan, it sold its cargo at an immense profit, while the three Portuguese reached China again rich in presents. This was not Pinto's only visit to Japan. He made three other voyages thither, the last in 1556, as ambassador from the Portuguese viceroy in the East. On this occasion he learned that the islanders had made rapid progress in their new art of gun-making, they claiming to have thirty thousand guns in Fucheo, the capital of Bungo, and ten times that number in the whole land of Japan. The new market for European wares, opened by the visit of Pinto, was quickly taken advantage of by his countrymen, and Portuguese traders made their way by hundreds to Japan, where they met with the best of treatment. Guns and powder were especially welcome, as at that time the power of the Ashikaga clan was at an end, anarchy everywhere prevailed, and every local chief was in arms to win all he could from the ruins of the state. Such was the first visit of Europeans to Japan, and such the gift they brought, the fatal one of gunpowder. The next gift of Europe to Japan was that of the Christian faith. On Pinto's return to Malacca he met there the celebrated Francis Xavier, the father superior of the order of the Jesuits in India, where he had gained the highest reputation for sanctity and the power of working miracles. With the traveller was a Japanese named Anjiro, whom he had rescued from enemies that sought his death, and converted to Christianity. Xavier asked him whether the Japanese would be likely to accept the religion of the Christians. "My people will not be ready to accept at once what may be told them," said Anjiro, "but will ask you a multitude of questions, and, above all, will see whether your conduct agrees with your words. If they are satisfied, the king, the nobles, and the people will flock to Christ, since they constitute a nation that always accepts reason as a guide." Thus encouraged, Xavier, whose enthusiasm in spreading the gospel was deterred by no obstacle, set sail in 1549 for Japan, accompanied by two priests and Anjiro, the latter with a companion who had escaped with him in his flight from Japan. The missionary party landed at Kagoshima, in Satsuma. Here they had little success, only the family and relatives of Anjiro accepting the new faith, and Xavier set out on a tour through the land, his goal being Kioto, the mikado's capital. Landing at Amanguchi, he presented himself before the people barefooted and meanly dressed, the result of his confessed poverty being that, instead of listening to his words, the populace hooted and stoned him and his followers. At Kioto he was little better received. Finding that a display of poverty was not the way to impress the Japanese, the missionary returned to the city of Kioto richly clothed and bearing presents and letters from the Portuguese viceroy to the emperor. He was now well received and given permission to preach, and in less than a year had won over three thousand converts to the Christian faith. Naturally, on reaching Kioto, he had looked for the splendor spoken of by Marco Polo, the roof and ceilings of gold and the golden tables of the emperor's palace. He was sadly disenchanted on entering a city so desolated by fire and war that it was little more than a camp, and on beholding the plainest and least showy of all the palaces of the earth. Returning to the port of Fucheo for the purpose of embarking for India, whence he designed to bring new laborers to the virgin field, Xavier preached with such success as to alarm the Buddhist bonzes, who made futile efforts to excite the populace against him as a vagabond and an enchanter. From there he set out for China, but died on the way thither. He had, however, planted the seed of what was destined to yield a great and noble harvest. In fact, the progress of Christianity in Japan was of the most encouraging kind. Other missionaries quickly followed the great Jesuit pioneer, and preached the gospel with surprising success. In less than five years after the visit of Xavier to Kioto that city possessed seven Christian churches, while there were many others in the southwest section of the empire. In 1581, thirty years after Xavier's death, there were in Japan two hundred churches, while the number of converts is given at one hundred and fifty thousand. Several of the daimios were converted to the new faith, and Nobunaga, who hated and strove to exterminate the Buddhists, received the Christians with the greatest favor, gave them desirable sites for their churches, and sought to set them up as a foil to the arrogance of the bonzes. The Christian daimios went so far as to send a delegation to the pope at Rome, which returned eight years afterwards with seventeen Jesuit missionaries, while a multitude of mendicant friars from the Philippine Islands and elsewhere sought the new field of labor, preaching with the greatest zeal and success. It is claimed that at the culminating point of proselytism in Japan the native Christians numbered no less than six hundred thousand, among them being several princes, and many lords, high officials, generals, and other military and naval officers, with numerous women of noble blood. In some provinces the Christian shrines and crosses were as numerous as the Buddhist shrines had been before, while there were thousands of churches, chapels, and ecclesiastical edifices. This remarkable success, unprecedented in the history of Christian missionary work, was due in great measure to certain conditions then existing in Japan. When Xavier and his successors reached Japan, it was to find the people of that country in a state of the greatest misery, the result of a long era of anarchy and misrule. Of the native religions, Shintoism had in great measure vanished, while Buddhism, though affecting the imaginations of the people by the gorgeousness of its service, had little with which to reach their hearts. Christianity came with a ceremonial more splendid than that of Buddhism, and an eloquence that captivated the imaginations of the Japanese. Instead of the long series of miseries of Buddhist transmigration, it offered admission to the glories of heaven after death, a doctrine sure to be highly attractive to those who had little to hope for but misery during life. The story of the life and death of Christ strongly impressed the minds of the people, as compared with the colder story of Buddha's career, while a certain similarity between the modes of worship of the two religions proved of the greatest assistance to the advocates of the new creed. The native temples were made to serve as Christian churches; the images of Buddha and his saints were converted into those of Christ and the apostles; and, aside from the more attractive doctrines of Christianity, there were points of resemblance between the organization and ceremonial of the two religions that aided the missionaries in inducing the people to change from their old to the new faith. One of the methods pursued in the propagation of Christianity had never been adopted by the Buddhists, that of persecution of alien faiths. The spirit of the Inquisition, then active in Europe, was brought to Japan. The missionaries instigated their converts to destroy the idols and desert the old shrines. Gold was used freely as an agent in conversion, and the Christian daimios compelled their subjects to follow them in accepting the new faith. In whole districts the people were ordered to accept Christianity or to exile themselves from their homes. Exile or death was the fate of many of the bonzes, and fire and the sword lent effect to preaching in the propagation of the doctrine of Christianity. To quote a single instance, from Charlevoix's "History of the Christianizing of Japan," "In 1577 the lord of the island of Amacusa issued his proclamation, by which his subjects--whether bonzes or gentlemen, merchants or traders--were required either to turn Christians, or to leave the country the very next day. They almost all submitted, and received baptism, so that in a short time there were more than twenty churches in the kingdom. God wrought miracles to confirm the faithful in their belief." Miracles of the kind here indicated and others that might be quoted were not of the character of those performed by Christ, and such methods of making proselytes were very likely to recoil upon those that indulged in them. How the result of the introduction of European methods manifested itself in Japan will be indicated in our next tale. _THE DECLINE AND FALL OF CHRISTIANITY IN JAPAN._ We have described in the preceding tale the rise of Christianity in Japan, and the remarkable rapidity of its development in that remote land. We have now to describe its equally rapid decline and fall, and the exclusion of Europeans from Japanese soil. It must be said here that this was in no sense due to the precepts of Christianity, but wholly to the hostility between its advocates of different sects, their jealousy and abuse of one another, and to the quarrels between nations in the contest to gain a lion's share of the trade with Japan. At the time when the Portuguese came to Japan all Europe was torn with wars, civil, political, and religious. These quarrels were transferred to the soil of Japan, and in the end so disgusted the people of that empire that Europeans were forbidden to set foot on its shores and the native Christians were massacred. Traders, pirates, slave-dealers, and others made their way thither, with such a hodge-podge of interests, and such a medley of lies and backbitings, that the Japanese became incensed against the whole of them, and in the end decided that their room was far better than their company. The Portuguese were followed to Japan by the Spaniards, and these by the Dutch, each trying to blacken the character of the others. The Catholics abused the Protestants, and were as vigorously abused in return. Each trading nation lied with the most liberal freedom about its rivals. To the seaports of Hirado and Nagasaki came a horde of the outcasts of Europe, inveterately hostile to one another, and indulging in quarrels, riots, and murders to an extent which the native authorities found difficult to control. In addition, the slave-trade was eagerly prosecuted, slaves being so cheap, in consequence of the poverty and misery arising from the civil wars, that even the negro and Malay servants of the Portuguese indulged in this profitable trade, which was continued in spite of decrees threatening all slave-dealers with death. This state of affairs, and the recriminations of the religious sects, gave very natural disgust to the authorities of Japan, who felt little respect for a civilization that showed itself in such uncivilized shapes, and the disputing and fighting foreigners were rapidly digging their own graves in Japan. During the life of Nobunaga all went on well. In his hatred to the Buddhist bonzes he favored the Jesuits, and Christianity found a clear field. With the advent of Hideyoshi there came a change. His early favor to the missionaries was followed by disgust, and in 1587 he issued a decree banishing them from the land. The churches and chapels were closed, public preaching ceased, but privately the work of conversion went actively on, as many as ten thousand converts being made each year. The Spanish mendicant friars from the Philippines were bolder in their work. Defying the decree, they preached openly in the dress of their orders, not hesitating to denounce in violent language the obnoxious law. As a result the decree was renewed, and a number of the priests and their converts were crucified. But still the secret work of the Jesuits continued and the number of converts increased, among them being some of the generals in the Corean war. [Illustration: MAIN STREET, YOKOHAMA.] With the accession of Iyeyasu began a rapid downfall of Christianity in Japan. In the great battle which raised him to the head of affairs some of the Christian leaders were killed. Konishi, a Christian general, who had commanded one division of the army in Corea, was executed. On every side there was evidence of a change in the tide of affairs, and the Christians of Japan began to despair. The daimios no longer bade their followers to become Christians. On the contrary, they ordered them to renounce the new faith, under threat of punishment. Their harshness resulted in rebellion, so new a thing among the peasantry of Japan that the authorities felt sure that they had been secretly instigated to it by the missionaries. The wrath of the shogun aroused, he sent soldiers against the rebels, putting down each outbreak with bloodshed, and in 1606 issued a decree abolishing the Christian faith. This the Spanish friars defied, as they had that of his predecessor. In 1611, Iyeyasu was roused to more active measures by the discovery of a plot between the foreigners and the native converts for the overthrow of the government. Sado, whose mines were worked by thousands of Christian exiles, was to be the centre of the outbreak, its governor, Okubo, being chosen as the leader and the proposed new ruler of the land. Iyeyasu, awakened to the danger, now took active steps to crush out the foreign faith. A large number of friars and Jesuits, with native priests, were forcibly sent from the country, while the siege and capture of the castle of Ozaka in 1615 ended the career of all the native friends of the Jesuits, and brought final ruin upon the Christian cause in Japan. During the reigns of the succeeding shoguns a violent persecution began. The Dutch traders, who showed no disposition to interfere in religious affairs, succeeded in ousting their Portuguese rivals, all foreigners except Dutch and Chinese being banished from Japan, while foreign trade was confined to the two ports of Hirado and Nagasaki. This was followed by a cruel effort to extirpate what was now looked on as a pestilent foreign faith. Orders were issued that the people should trample on the cross or on a copper plate engraved with the image of Christ. Those who refused were exposed to horrible persecutions, being wrapped in sacks of straw and burnt to death in heaps of fuel, while terrible tortures were employed to make them renounce their faith. Some were flung alive into open graves, many burned with the wood of the crosses before which they had prayed, others flung from the edge of precipices. Yet they bore tortures and endured death with a fortitude not surpassed by that of the martyrs of old, clinging with the highest Christian ardor to their new faith. In 1637 these excesses of persecution led to an insurrection, the native Christians rising in thousands, seizing an old castle at Shimabara, and openly defying their persecutors. Composed as they were of farmers and peasants, the commanders who marched against them at the head of veteran armies looked for an easy conquest, but with all their efforts the insurgents held out against them for two months. The fortress was at length reduced by the aid of cannon taken from the Dutch traders, and after the slaughter of great numbers of the garrison. The bloody work was consummated by the massacre of thirty-seven thousand Christian prisoners, and the flinging of thousands more from a precipice into the sea below. Many were banished, and numbers escaped to Formosa, whither others had formerly made their way. The "evil sect" was formally prohibited, while edicts were issued declaring that as long as the sun should shine no foreigner should enter Japan and no native should leave it. A slight exception was made in favor of the Dutch, of whom a small number were permitted to reside on the little island of Deshima, in the harbor of Nagasaki, one trading ship being allowed to come there each year. Thus ended the career of foreign trade and European residence in Japan. It had continued for nearly a century, yet left no mark of its presence except the use of gunpowder and fire-arms, the culture of tobacco and the habit of smoking, the naturalization of a few foreign words and of several strange diseases, and, as an odd addition, the introduction of sponge-cake, still everywhere used as a favorite viand. As for Christianity, the very name of Christ became execrated, and was employed as the most abhorrent word that could be spoken in Japan. The Christian faith was believed to be absolutely extirpated, and yet it seems to have smouldered unseen during the centuries. As late as 1829 seven persons suspected of being Christians were crucified in Ozaka. Yet in 1860, when the French missionaries were admitted to Nagasaki, they found in the surrounding villages no fewer than ten thousand people who still clung in secret to the despised and persecuted faith. The French and English had little intercourse with Japan, but the career of one Englishman there is worthy of mention. This was a pilot named Will Adams, who arrived there in 1607 and lived in or near Yedo until his death in 1620. He seems to have been a manly and honest fellow, who won the esteem of the people and the favor of the shogun, by whom he was made an officer and given for support the revenue of a village. His skill in ship-building and familiarity with foreign affairs made him highly useful, and he was treated with great respect and kindness, though not allowed to leave Japan. He had left a wife and daughter in England, but married again in Japan, his children there being a son and daughter, whose descendants may still be found in that country. Anjin Cho (Pilot Street) in Yedo was named from him, and the inmates of that street honor his memory with an annual celebration on the 15th of June. His tomb may still be seen on one of the hills overlooking the Bay of Yedo, where two neat stone shafts, set on a pediment of stone, mark the burial-place of the only foreigner who in past times ever attained to honor in Japan. _THE CAPTIVITY OF CAPTAIN GOLOWNIN._ Japan was persistent in its policy of isolation. To its people their group of islands was the world, and they knew little of and cared less for what was going on in all the continents outside. The Dutch vessel that visited their shores once a year served as an annual newspaper, and satisfied their curiosity as to the doings of mankind. The goods it brought were little cared for, Japan being sufficient unto itself, so that it served merely as a window to the world. Once a year a delegation from the Dutch settlement visited the capital, but the visitors travelled almost like prisoners, and were forced to crawl in to the mikado on their hands and knees and to back out again in the same crab-like fashion. Some of these envoys wrote accounts of what they had seen, and that was all that was known of Japan for two centuries. This state of affairs could not continue. With the opening of the nineteenth century the ships of Europe began to make their way in large numbers to the North Pacific, and efforts were made to force open the locked gates of Japan. Some sought for food and water. These could be had at Nagasaki, but nowhere else, and were given with a warning to move on. In some cases shipwrecked Japanese were brought back in foreign vessels, but according to law such persons were looked upon as no longer Japanese, and no welcome was given to those who brought them. In other cases wrecked whalers and other mariners sought safety on Japanese soil, but they were held strict prisoners, and rescued only with great difficulty. The law was that foreigners landing anywhere on the coast, except at Nagasaki, should be seized and condemned to perpetual imprisonment, and that those landing at Nagasaki must strictly abstain from Christian worship. Meanwhile the Russians had become, through their Siberian ports, near neighbors of Japan, and sought to open trade with that country. In 1793 Lieutenant Laxman landed at Hakodate and travelled overland to Matsumai, bringing with him some shipwrecked Japanese and seeking for commercial relations with Japan. He was treated with courtesy, but dismissed without an answer to his demand, and told that he could take his Japanese back with him or leave them as he pleased. In 1804 the Russians came again, this time to Nagasaki. This vessel also brought back some shipwrecked Japanese, and had on board a Russian count, sent as ambassador from the czar. But the shogun refused to receive the ambassador or to accept his presents, and sent him word that Japan had little need of foreign productions, and got all it wanted from the Dutch and Chinese. All this was said with great politeness, but the ambassador thought that he had been shabbily treated, and went away angry, reproaching the Dutch for his failure. His anger against the Japanese was shown in a hostile fashion. In 1805 he sent out two small vessels, whose crews landed on the island of Saghalien, plundered a Japanese settlement there, carried off some prisoners, and left behind a written statement that this had been done to revenge the slights put upon the Russian ambassador. This violence was amply repaid by the Japanese. How they did so we have now to tell. In 1811 Captain Golownin, an intelligent and educated officer of the Russian navy, was sent in command of the sloop-of-war Diana to explore the Kurile Islands. These belonged to Japan, and were partly settled. At the south end of Kunashir, one of these islands, was a Japanese settlement, with a garrison. Here Golownin, having landed with two officers, four men, and an interpreter, was invited into the fort. He entered unsuspectingly, but suddenly found himself detained as a prisoner, and held as such despite all the efforts of the Diana to obtain his release. The prisoners were at once bound with small cords in a most painful way, their elbows being drawn behind their backs until they almost touched, and their hands firmly tied together, the cords being also brought in loops around their breasts and necks. A long cord proceeded from these fastenings and was held by a Japanese, who, if an attempt were made to escape, had only to pull it to bring the elbows together with great pain and to tighten the loop around the neck so as nearly to strangle the prisoner. Their ankles and knees were also firmly bound. In this condition they were conveyed to Hakodate, in the island of Yeso, a distance of six or seven hundred miles, being carried, on the land part of the route, in a sort of palanquin made of planks, unless they preferred to walk, in which case the cords were loosened about their legs. At night they were trussed up more closely still, and the ends of their ropes tied to iron hooks in the wall. The cords were drawn so tight as in time to cut into the flesh, yet for six or seven days their guards refused to loosen them, despite their piteous appeals, being fearful that their prisoners might commit suicide, this being the favorite Japanese method in extremity. The escort consisted of nearly two hundred men. Two Japanese guides, changed at each new district, led the way, carrying handsomely carved staves. Three soldiers followed. Then came Captain Golownin, with a soldier on one side, and on the other an attendant with a twig to drive off the gnats, from whose troublesome attacks he was unable to defend himself. Next came an officer holding the end of the rope that bound him, followed by a party carrying his litter or palanquin. Each of the prisoners was escorted in the same manner. In the rear came three soldiers, and a number of servants carrying provisions and baggage. Aside from their bonds, the captives were well treated, being supplied with three meals a day, consisting of rice gruel, soup made of radishes or other roots, a kind of macaroni, and a piece of fish. Mushrooms or hard-boiled eggs were sometimes supplied. Golownin's bitter complaints at length had the effect of a loosening of their bonds, which enabled them to get along more comfortably. Their guards took great care of their health, making frequent halts to rest, and carrying them across all the streams, so that they should not wet their feet. In case of rain they furnished them with Japanese quilted gowns for protection. In all the villages the inhabitants viewed them with great curiosity, and at Hakodate the street was crowded with spectators, some with silk dresses and mounted on richly caparisoned horses. None of the people showed any sign of malice or any disposition to insult the prisoners, while in their journey they were cheered by many displays of sympathy and piety. At Hakodate they were imprisoned in a long, barn-like building, divided into apartments hardly six feet square, each formed of thick spars and resembling a cage. Outside were a high fence and an earthen wall. Here their food was much worse than that on the journey. While here they were several times examined, being conducted through the streets to a castle-like building, where they were brought into the presence of the governor and several other officials, who put to them a great variety of questions, some of them of the most trivial character. A letter was also brought them, which had been sent on shore from the Diana along with their baggage, and which said that the ship would return to Siberia for reinforcements, and then would never leave Japan till the prisoners were released. Some time afterwards the captives were removed to Matsumai, being supplied with horses on the journey, but still to some extent fettered with ropes. Here they were received by a greater crowd than before, Matsumai being a more important town than Hakodate. Their prison was similar to the preceding one, but their food was much better, and after a time they were released from their cage-like cells and permitted to dwell together in a large room. They were, as before, frequently examined, their captors being so inquisitive and asking such trifling and absurd questions that at times they grew so annoyed as to refuse to answer. But no display of passion affected the politeness of the Japanese, whose coolness and courtesy seemed unlimited. Thus the first winter of their captivity was passed. In the spring they were given more liberty, being allowed to take walks in the vicinity of the town. Soon after they were removed from their prison to a dwelling of three apartments, though they were still closely watched. This strict confinement, of which they could see no end, at length became so irksome that the prisoners determined to escape. Their walks had made them familiar with the character of the surrounding country, and enabled them also to gain possession of a few tools, with which they managed to make a tunnel to the outer air. Leaving their cells at night, they succeeded in reaching the mountains back of the town, whence they hoped to find some means of escaping by sea. But in the flight Golownin had hurt his leg severely, the pain being so great that he was scarcely able to walk. This prevented the fugitives from getting far from the town, while their wanderings through the mountains were attended with many difficulties and dangers. After a week thus spent, they were forced to seek the coast, where they were seen and recaptured. The captives were now confined in the common jail of the town, though they were not treated any more harshly than before, and no ill will was shown them by the officials. Even the soldier who was most blamed for their escape treated them with his former kindness. They were soon sent back to their old prison, where they passed a second winter, receiving while there visits from a Japanese astronomer and others in search of information. One old officer, who was very civil to them, at one time brought them portraits of three richly dressed Japanese ladies, telling them to keep them, as they might enjoy looking at them when time hung heavy on their hands. Meanwhile their countrymen were making earnest efforts to obtain their release. Some months after their capture the Diana, now under Captain Rikord, returned to Kunashir, bringing one of the Japanese who had been taken prisoner in the descent on Saghalien. The other had died. Six other Japanese, who had been lately shipwrecked, were brought, in the hope of exchanging these seven for the seven prisoners. Efforts were made to communicate with the Japanese, but they refused to receive the Russian message, and sent back word that the prisoners were all dead. Two of the Japanese sent ashore failed to return. Rikord, weary of the delay and discourtesy shown, now resolved to take more vigorous action, and seized upon a large Japanese ship that entered the bay, taking prisoner the captain, who seemed to be a person of distinction, and who told them that six of the Russians were in the town of Matsumai. Not fully crediting this, Rikord resolved to carry his captive to Kamchatka, hoping to obtain from him some useful information concerning the purposes of the Japanese government. At Rikord's request the merchant wrote a letter to the commander of the fort at Kunashir, telling him what was proposed. No answer was returned, and when the boats tried to land for water they were fired upon. The guns were also turned upon the Diana whenever she approached the shore, but with such wretched aim that the Russians only laughed at it. In the following summer the Diana returned to Kunashir, bringing Kachi, the merchant, who had been seriously ill from homesickness, and two of his attendants, the others having died. The two attendants were sent on shore, Kachi bidding them to tell that he had been very well treated, and that the ship had made an early return on account of his health. On the next day Rikord unconditionally set free his captive, trusting to his honor for his doing all he could to procure the release of the prisoners. Kachi kept his word, and soon was able to obtain a letter in the handwriting of Golownin, stating that he and his companions were all alive and well at Matsumai. Afterwards one of the Russian sailors was brought to Kunashir and sent on board the Diana, with the understanding that he would return to the fort every night. Despite the watchfulness of the Japanese, he succeeded in bringing a letter from Golownin, which he had sewed into his jacket. This advised Rikord to be prudent, civil, and patient, and not to send him any letters or papers which would cause him to be tormented with questions or translations. In truth, he had been fairly tortured by the refinements of Japanese curiosity. Finally an ultimatum was obtained from the Japanese, who refused to deliver up their prisoners until they received from the authorities at Okhotsk a formal written statement that they had not ordered the hostile proceedings at Saghalien. The Diana returned for this, and in October made her appearance at Hakodate, bearing the letter required and another from the governor of Irkutsk. The ship had no sooner entered the harbor than it was surrounded by a multitude of boats, of all kinds and sizes, filled with the curious of both sexes, many of whom had never before set eyes on a European vessel. They were in such numbers that the watch-boats, filled with soldiers, had great ado to keep them back. Kachi came on board the next morning, and was given the letter from the governor of Okhotsk. The other Rikord would not deliver except in person, and after much delay an interview with the governor was arranged, at which Rikord was received with much state and ceremony. The letter of the governor of Irkutsk was now formally delivered, in a box covered with purple cloth, its reception being followed by an entertainment composed of tea and sweetmeats. Meanwhile Golownin and his companions, from the time the Diana set out for Okhotsk, had been treated rather as guests than as prisoners. They were now brought to Hakodate and delivered to Rikord, after an imprisonment of more than two years. With them was sent a paper reiterating the Japanese policy of isolation, and declaring that any ships that should thereafter present themselves would be received with cannon-balls instead of compliments. In all this business Kachi had worked with tireless energy. At first he was received with reserve as having come from a foreign country. He was placed under guard, and for a long time was not permitted to see Golownin, but by dint of persistence had done much in favor of the release of the prisoners. His abduction had thrown his family into the greatest distress, and his wife had made a pilgrimage through all Japan, as a sort of penitential offering to the favoring gods. During his absence his business had prospered, and before the departure of the Diana he presented the crew with dresses of silk and cotton wadding, the best to his favorites, the cook being especially remembered. He then begged permission to treat the crew. "Sailors are all alike," he said, "whether Russian or Japanese. They are all fond of a glass; and there is no danger in the harbor of Hakodate." So that night the crew of the Diana enjoyed a genuine sailors' holiday, with a plentiful supply of saki and Japanese tobacco. _THE OPENING OF JAPAN._ On the 8th of July, 1853, the Japanese were treated to a genuine surprise. Off Cape Idsu, the outer extremity of the Bay of Yedo, appeared a squadron of war-vessels bound inward under full sail, in bold disregard of the lines of prohibition which Japan had drawn across the entrance of all her ports. Rounding the high mountains of the promontory of Idsu, by noon the fleet reached Cape Sagami, which forms the dividing line between the outer and inner sections of the Bay of Yedo. Here the shores rose in abrupt bluffs, furrowed by green dells, while in the distance could be seen groves and cultivated fields. From the cape a number of vessels put out to intercept the squadron, but, heedless of these, it kept on through the narrow part of the bay--from five to eight miles wide--and entered the inner bay, which expands to a width of more than fifteen miles. Here the ships dropped anchor within full view of the town of Uragawa, having broken through the invisible bonds which Japan had so long drawn around her coasts. During the period between the release of the Russian captives and the date of this visit various foreign vessels had appeared on the coast of Japan, each with some special excuse for its presence, yet each arbitrarily ordered to leave. One of these, an American trading vessel, the Morrison, had been driven off with musketry and artillery, although she had come to return a number of shipwrecked Japanese. Some naval vessels had entered the Bay of Yedo, but had been met with such vigorous opposition that they made their visits very short, and as late as 1850 the Japanese notified foreign nations that they proposed to maintain their rigorous system of exclusion. No dream came to them of the remarkable change in their policy which a few decades were to bring forth. They did not know that they were seeking to maintain an impossible situation. China had adopted a similar policy, but already the cannon-balls of foreign powers had produced a change of view. If Japan had not peaceably yielded, the hard hand of war must soon have broken down her bars. For in addition to Russia there was now another civilized power with ports on the Pacific, the United States. And the fleets of the European powers were making their way in growing numbers to those waters. In a period when all the earth was being opened to commercial intercourse, Japan could not hope long to remain a little world in herself, like a separate planet in space. It was the settlement of California, and the increase of American interests on the Pacific, that induced the United States to make a vigorous effort to open the ports of Japan. Hitherto all nations had yielded to the resolute policy of the islanders; now it was determined to send an expedition with instructions not to take no for an answer, but to insist on the Japanese adopting the policy of civilized nations in general. It was with this purpose that the fleet in question had entered the Bay of Yedo. It was under command of Commodore Matthew C. Perry, who bore a letter from the President of the United States to the Emperor of Japan, suggesting the desirability of commercial relations between the two countries, requesting the supply of American vessels with coal and provisions, and demanding the kind treatment and prompt return of shipwrecked mariners. This letter, splendidly engrossed, was enclosed in a golden box of a thousand dollars in value, and was accompanied by numerous presents. The fleet consisted of the steam-frigates Susquehanna and Mississippi and the sloops-of-war Plymouth and Saratoga, being the most imposing armament that had ever entered a Japanese port. Perry was determined to maintain his dignity as a representative of the United States, and to demand as a right, instead of soliciting as a favor, the courtesies due from one civilized nation to another. The ships had no sooner dropped anchor in the bay than several guns were fired from a neighboring point and a number of boats put off from the shore. In the stern of each were a small flag and several men wearing two swords, evidently persons in authority. These boats were stopped at the ships' sides, and their inmates told that no person could be admitted on board except the principal official of the town, the high rank of the commodore forbidding him to meet any lesser dignitary. As one of the visitors represented that he was second in rank in the town, he was finally received on board the flag-ship, but the commodore declined to see him, turning him over to Mr. Contee, the flag lieutenant. A long interview followed, in which the official was made to understand that the expedition bore a letter from the President of the United States to the emperor, a message of such importance that it could be delivered only to an officer of high rank. He was also told, through the interpreters, that the squadron would not submit to be placed under guard, and that all the guard-boats must withdraw. The official displayed much of the inquisitive curiosity for which the Japanese had made themselves notable on former occasions, and asked a variety of unimportant questions which the lieutenant refused to answer, saying that they were impertinent. The Japanese officer had brought with him the ordinary notifications, warning all ships against entering their ports, but these the lieutenant refused to receive. Returning to the shore, in about an hour the officer came back, saying that his superior could not receive the letter addressed to the emperor, and stating that Nagasaki was the proper place for foreign ships to stop. As for the letter, he doubted if it would be received and answered. He was at once given to understand that if the governor of the town did not send for the letter, the ships would proceed up the bay to Yedo and deliver it themselves. At this he withdrew in a state of great agitation, asking permission to return in the morning. During the night watch-fires blazed at points along the coast, and bells sounded the hours. The watch-boats remained around the fleet, but kept at a respectful distance from the perilous intruders. The next morning the highest official of the town came on board, but did his utmost to avoid receiving the letter. In the end he offered to send to Yedo for permission, and was granted three days for this purpose. While awaiting an answer the ships were not idle. Surveying parties were sent four miles up the bay, sounding, and finding everywhere a depth of from thirty to forty fathoms. As they approached the forts armed soldiers came out, but retired again when the boats drew nearer. The forts, five in number, were very feeble, their total armament consisting of fourteen guns, none larger than nine-pounders. Many of the soldiers were armed with spears. Canvas screens were stretched from tree to tree, as if with the idea that these would keep back cannon-balls. In truth, the means of defence were so slight that Yedo lay at the mercy of the American fleet. Villages seemed to line the shores in an unbroken series, and numerous small craft lay in the harbor, while trading vessels came in and out with little regard to the presence of the foreign ships. Every day there passed up and down the bay nearly a hundred large junks and a great number of fishing and other boats. Yezaimon, the governor of the town, protested earnestly against the survey of the waters by the ships, saying that it was against the laws of Japan. He was told that it was commanded by the laws of America, and the soundings went steadily on. On the second day the surveying party proceeded some ten miles up the bay, the Mississippi steaming in their wake. This roused new agitation in the Japanese, government boats meeting them at every point and making earnest signs to them to return. But no notice was taken of these gestures, and the survey was continued, deep soundings and soft bottom being found throughout. In the evening Yezaimon came on board with a cheerful countenance, saying that he expected good news from Yedo, though he protested still against the doings of the boats. One of the officers speaks of him as a "gentleman, clever, polished, well informed, a fine, large man, about thirty-four, of most excellent countenance, taking his wine freely, and a boon companion." On the 12th word came that the emperor would send a high officer to receive the letter. No immediate answer would be given, but one would be forwarded through the Dutch or the Chinese. This offer the commodore rejected as insulting. But, fearing that he might be detained by useless delay, he agreed to withdraw for a proper interval, at the end of which he would return to receive the answer. On the 14th the reception of the letter took place, the occasion being made one of much ceremony. The commodore landed with due formality, through a line of Japanese boats, and with a following of three hundred and twenty officers and sailors from the fleet. Passing through a large body of soldiers, behind whom stood a crowd of spectators, the building prepared for the reception was reached. It was a temporary structure, the reception-room of which was hung with fine cloth, stamped with the imperial symbols in white on a violet background. The princes of Idsu and Iwami awaited as the envoys of the shogun, both of them splendidly attired in richly embroidered robes of silk. A large scarlet-lacquered box, on gilded feet, stood ready to receive the letter, which, after being shown in its rich receptacle, was placed on the scarlet box, with translations in Dutch and Chinese. A formal receipt was given, ending with the following words: "Because the place is not designed to treat of anything from foreigners, so neither can conference nor entertainment take place. The letter being received, you will leave here." "I shall return again, probably in April or May, for an answer," said the commodore, on receiving the receipt. "With all the ships?" asked the interpreter. "Yes, and probably with more," was the reply. This said, the commodore rose and departed, the commissioners standing, but not another word being uttered on either side. As if to indicate to his hosts how little he regarded the curt order to leave, the commodore proceeded in the Susquehanna up the bay to the point the Mississippi had reached. Here he dropped anchor, the spot being afterwards known as the "American anchorage." On the following day he sent the Mississippi ten miles higher up, a point being reached within eight or ten miles of the capital. Three or four miles in advance a crowded mass of shipping was seen, supposed to lie at Sinagawa, the southern suburb of Yedo. On the 16th the vessels moved down the bay, and on the following day they stood out to sea, no doubt greatly to the relief of the Japanese officials. In consequence of the death of the shogun, which took place soon after, Perry did not return for his answer until the following year, casting anchor again in the Bay of Yedo on February 12, 1854. He had now a larger fleet, consisting of three steam-frigates, four sloops-of-war, and two store-ships. Entering the bay, they came to anchor at the point known as the "American anchorage." And now a debate arose as to where the ceremonies of reception should take place. The Japanese wished the commodore to withdraw to a point down the bay, some twenty miles below Uragawa. He, on the contrary, insisted on going to Yedo, and sent boats up to within four miles of that city to sound the channel. Finally the village of Yokohama, opposite the anchorage of the ships, was fixed upon. On the 8th of March the first reception took place, great formality being observed, though this time light refreshments were offered. Two audiences a week were subsequently held, at one of which, on March 13, the American presents were delivered. They consisted of cloths, agricultural implements, fire-arms, and other articles, the most valuable being a small locomotive, tender, and car, which were set in motion on a circular track. A mile of telegraph wire was also set up and operated, this interesting the Japanese more than anything else. They had the art, however, of concealing their feelings, and took care to show no wonder at anything displayed. In the letter of reply from the shogun it was conceded that the demands in relation to shipwrecked sailors, coal, provisions, water, etc., were just, and there was shown a willingness to add a new harbor to that of Nagasaki, but five years' delay in its opening were asked. To this the commodore would not accede, nor would he consent to be bound by the restrictions placed on the Dutch and Chinese. He demanded three harbors, one each in Hondo, Yezo, and the Loochoo Islands, but finally agreed to accept two, the port of Simoda in Hondo and that of Hakodate in Yezo. An agreement being at length reached, three copies of the treaty were exchanged, and this was followed by an entertainment on the fleet to the Japanese officials, in which they did full justice to American fare, and seemed to be particularly fond of champagne. One of them became so merry and familiar under the influence of this beverage that he vigorously embraced the commodore, who bore the infliction with good-humored patience. At the new treaty ports the restrictions which had been thrown around the Dutch at Nagasaki were removed, citizens of the United States being free to go where they pleased within a limit of several miles around the towns. The success of the Americans in this negotiation stimulated the other maritime nations, and in the same year a British fleet visited Nagasaki and obtained commercial concessions. In 1858 the treaties were extended, the port of Yokohama replacing that of Simoda, and the treaty ports being opened to American, British, French, and Dutch traders. Subsequently the same privileges were granted to the other commercial nations, the country was made free to travellers, and the long-continued isolation of Japan was completely broken down. A brief experience of the advantages of commerce and foreign intercourse convinced the quick-witted islanders of the folly of their ancient isolation, and they threw open their country without restriction to all the good the world had to offer and to the fullest inflow of modern ideas. [Illustration: CHUSENJI ROAD AND DAIYA RIVER.] _THE MIKADO COMES TO HIS OWN AGAIN._ The visit of Commodore Perry to Japan and the signing of a treaty of commerce with the United States formed a great turning-point in the history of that ancient empire. Through its influence the mikado came to his own again, after being for seven centuries virtually the vassal of the shogun. So long had he vanished from sight that the people looked upon him as a far-off spiritual dignitary, and had forgotten that he was once the supreme lord of the land. During all this time the imperial court had been kept up, with its prime minister, its officials and nobles,--with everything except authority. The court dignitaries ranked, in their own conceit and their ancient titles, far above the shogun and daimios, the military leaders, but they were like so many actors on the stage, playing at power. The shogun, with the power at his command, might have made himself the supreme dignitary, but it was easier to let the sleepy court at Kioto alone, leaving them the shadow of that power of which the substance was in the shogun's hands. Yet there was always a risk in this. The sleeping emperor might at any time awake, call the people and the army to his aid, and break through the web that the great spider of military rule had woven about his court. Some great event might stir Japan to its depths and cause a vital change in the state of affairs. Such an event came in the visit of the American fleet and the signing of a treaty of commerce and intercourse by the Tai Kun, or great sovereign of Japan, as the shogun signed himself. For two centuries and a half Japan had been at peace. For nearly that length of time foreigners had been forbidden to set foot on its soil. They were looked upon as barbarians, "foreign devils" the islanders called them, the trouble they had caused long before was not forgotten, and throughout the island empire they were hated or despised. The visit of the American fleet was, therefore, sure to send a stir of deep feeling throughout the land. During this period of excitement the shogun died, and the power was seized by Ii, the regent, a daring and able man, who chose as shogun a boy twelve years old, imprisoned, exiled, or beheaded all who opposed him, and was suspected of an intention to depose the mikado and set up a boy emperor in his place. All this aroused new excitement in Japan. But the opposition to these acts of the regent would not have grown to revolution had no more been done. The explosion came when Ii signed a treaty with the foreigners, a right which belonged only to the mikado, and sent word to Kioto that the exigency of the occasion had forced him to take this action. The feeling that followed was intense. The country became divided into two parties, that of the mikado, which opposed the foreigners, and that of the shogun, which favored them. "Honor the mikado and expel the barbarians," became the patriot watchword, and in all directions excited partisans roamed the land, vowing that they would kill the regent and his new friends and that they were ready to die for the true emperor. Their fury bore fruit. Ii was assassinated. At the moment when a strong hand was most needed, that of the regent was removed. And as the feeling of bitterness against the foreigners grew, the influence of the shogun declined. The youthful dignitary was obliged by public opinion to visit Kioto and do homage to the mikado, an ancient ceremony which had not been performed for two hundred and thirty years, and whose former existence had almost been forgotten. This was followed by a still more vital act. Under orders from the mikado, the shogun appointed the prince of Echizen premier of the empire. The prince at once took a remarkable step. For over two centuries the daimios had been forced to reside in Yedo. With a word he abolished this custom, and like wild birds the feudal lords flew away. The cage which had held them so long was open, and they winged their way to their distant nests. This act was fatal to the glory of Yedo and the power of its sovereign lord. In the words of the native chronicler, "the prestige of the Tokugawa family, which had endured for three hundred years, which had been as much more brilliant than Kamakura in the age of Yoritomo as the moon is more brilliant than the stars, which for more than two hundred and seventy years had forced the daimios to take their turn of duty in Yedo, and which had, day and night, eighty thousand vassals at its command, fell to ruin in the space of a single day." In truth, the revolution was largely completed by this signal act. Many of the daimios and their retainers, let loose from their prison, deserted the cause of their recent lord. Their place of assemblage was now at Kioto, which became once more populous and bustling. They strengthened the imperial court with gold and pledged to it their devotion. Pamphlets were issued, some claiming that the clans owed allegiance to the shogun, others that the mikado was the true and only emperor. The first warlike step in support of the new ideas was taken in 1863, by the clan of Choshiu, which erected batteries at Shimonoseki, refused to disarm at the shogun's order, and fired on foreign vessels. This brought about a bombardment, in the following year, by the ships of four foreign nations, the most important result of which was to teach the Japanese the strength of the powers against which they had arrayed themselves. Meanwhile the men of Choshiu, the declared adherents of the mikado, urged him to make a journey to Yamato, and thus show to his people that he was ready to take the field in person against the barbarians. This suggestion was at first received with favor, but suddenly the Choshiu envoys and their friends were arrested, the palace was closely guarded, and all members or retainers of the clan were forbidden to enter the capital, an order which placed them in the position of outlaws. The party of the shogun had made the mikado believe that the clan was plotting to seize his person and through him to control the empire. This act of violence led to civil war. In August, 1864, the capital was attacked by a body of thirteen hundred men of the Choshiu and other disaffected clans. It was defended by the adherents of the shogun, now the supporters of the mikado. For two days the battle raged, and at the end of that time a great part of the city was a heap of ashes, some thirty thousand edifices being destroyed by the flames. "The Blossom Capital became a scorched desert." The Choshiu were defeated, but Kioto lay in ruins. A Japanese city is like a house of card-board, easily destroyed, and almost as easily rebuilt. This conflict was followed by a march in force upon Choshiu to punish its rebellious people. The expedition was not a popular one. Some powerful feudal lords refused to join it. Of those mustered into the ranks many became conveniently sick, and those who marched were disorganized and without heart for the fight. Choshiu, on the contrary, was well prepared. The clansmen, who had long been in contact with the Dutch, had thrown aside the native weapons, were drilled in European tactics, and were well armed with rifles and artillery. The result was, after a three months' campaign, the complete defeat of the invading army, and an almost fatal blow to the prestige of the shogun. This defeat was immediately followed by the death of the young shogun, who had been worn out by the intense anxiety of his period of rule. He was succeeded by the last of the shoguns, Keiki, appointed head of the Tokugawa family in October, 1866, and shogun in January, 1867. This position he had frequently declined. He was far too weak and fickle a man to hold it at such a time. He was popular at court because of his opposition to the admission of the foreigners, but he was by no means the man to hold the reins of government at that perilous juncture of affairs. In fact, he had hardly accepted the office when a vigorous pressure was brought upon him to resign, in which a number of princes and powerful noblemen took part. It was their purpose to restore the ancient government of the realm. Keiki yielded, and in November, 1867, resigned his high office of Sei-i Tai Shogun. During this critical interval the mikado had died, and a new youthful emperor had been raised to the throne. But the imperial power was not so easily to be restored, after its many centuries of abrogation. The Aidzu, the most loyal of all the clans to the shogun, and the leaders in the war against the Choshiu, guarded the palace gates, and for the time being were masters of the situation. Meanwhile the party of the mikado was not idle. Gradually small parties of soldiers were sent by them to the capital, and a quiet influence was brought to bear to induce the court to take advantage of the opportunity and by a bold movement abolish the office of shogun and declare the young emperor the sole sovereign of the realm. This _coup-d'état_ was effected January 3, 1868. On that day the introduced troops suddenly took possession of the palace gates, the nobles who surrounded the emperor were dismissed and replaced by others favorable to the movement, and an edict was issued in the name of the mikado declaring the office of shogun abolished, and that the sole government of the empire lay in the hands of the mikado and his court. New offices were established and new officials chosen to fill them, the clan of Choshiu was relieved from the ban of rebellion and honored as the supporter of the imperial power, and a completely new government was organized. This decisive action led to civil war. The adherents of the Tokugawa clan, in high indignation at this revolutionary act, left the capital, Keiki, who now sought to seize his power again, at their head. On the 27th of February he marched upon Kioto with an army of ten thousand, or, as some say, thirty thousand, men. The two roads leading to the capital had been barricaded, and were defended by two thousand men, armed with artillery. A fierce battle followed, lasting for three days. Greatly as the defenders of the barriers were outnumbered, their defences and artillery, with their European discipline, gave them the victory. The shogun was defeated, and fled with his army to Ozaka, the castle of which was captured and burned, while he took refuge on an American vessel in the harbor. Making his way thence to Yedo in one of his own ships, he shut himself up in his palace, once more with the purpose of withdrawing from the struggle. His retainers and many of the daimios and clans urged him to continue the war, declaring that, with the large army and abundant supplies at his command, and the powerful fleet under his control, they could restore him to the position he had lost. But Keiki had had enough of war, and could not bear the idea of being a rebel against his liege lord. Declaring that he would never take up arms against the mikado, he withdrew from the struggle to private life. In the mean time the victorious forces of the south had reached the suburbs of Yedo, and were threatening to apply the torch to that tinder-box of a city unless it were immediately surrendered. Their commander, being advised of the purpose of the shogun, promised to spare the city, but assailed and burned the magnificent temple of Uyeno, in which the rebels still in arms had taken refuge. For a year longer the war went on, victory everywhere favoring the imperial army. By the 1st of July, 1869, hostilities were at an end, and the mikado was the sole lord of the realm. Thus ended a military domination that had continued for seven hundred years. In 1167, Kiyomori had made himself military lord of the empire. In 1869, Mutsuhito, the one hundred and twenty-third mikado in lineal descent, resumed the imperial power which had so long been lost. Unlike China, over which so many dynasties have ruled, Japan has been governed by a single dynasty, according to the native records, for more than twenty-five hundred years. The fall of the shogun was followed by the fall of feudalism. The emperor, for the first time for many centuries, came from behind his screen and showed himself openly to his people. Yedo was made the eastern capital of the realm, its name being changed to Tokio. Hither, in September, 1871, the daimios were once more summoned, and the order was issued that they should give up their strongholds and feudal retainers and retire to private life. They obeyed. Resistance would have been in vain. Thus fell another ancient institution, eight centuries old. The revolution was at an end. The shogunate and the feudal system had fallen, to rise no more. A single absolute lord ruled over Japan. As regards the cry of "expel the barbarians," which had first given rise to hostilities, it gradually died away as the revolution continued. The strength of the foreign fleets, the advantages of foreign commerce, the conception which could not be avoided that, instead of being barbarians, these aliens held all the high prizes of civilization and had a thousand important lessons to teach, caused a complete change of mind among the intelligent Japanese, and they quickly began to welcome those whom they had hitherto inveterately opposed, and to change their institutions to accord with those of the Western world. _HOW THE EMPIRE OF CHINA AROSE AND GREW._ From the history of Japan we now turn to that of China, a far older and more extensive kingdom, so old, indeed, that it has now grown decrepit, while Japan seems still in the glow of vigorous youth. But, as our tales will show, there was a long period in the past during which China was full of youthful energy and activity, and there may be a time in the future when a new youth will come to that hoary kingdom, the most venerable of any existing upon the face of the earth. Who the Chinese originally were, whence they came, how long they have dwelt in their present realm, are questions easier to ask than to answer. Their history does not reach back to their origin, except in vague and doubtful outlines. The time was when that great territory known as China was the home of aboriginal tribes, and the first historical sketch given us of the Chinese represents them as a little horde of wanderers, destitute of houses, clothing, and fire, living on the spoils of the chase, and on roots and insects in times of scarcity. These people were not sons of the soil. They came from some far-off region. Some think that their original home lay in the country to the southeast of the Caspian, while later theorists seek to trace their origin in Babylonia, as an offshoot of the Mongolian people to whom that land owed its early language and culture. From some such place the primitive Chinese made their way by slow stages to the east, probably crossing the head-waters of the Oxus and journeying along the southern slopes of the Tian-Shan Mountains. All this is conjecture, but we touch firmer soil when we trace them to the upper course of the Hoang-ho, or Yellow River, whose stream they followed eastward until they reached the fertile plains of the district now known as Shan-se. Here the immigrants settled in small colonies, and put in practice those habits of settled labor which they seem to have brought with them from afar. Yet there is reason to believe that they had at one time been nomads, belonging to the herding rather than to the agricultural races of the earth. Many of the common words in their language are partly made up of the characters for sheep and cattle, and the Chinese house so resembles the Tartar tent in outline that it is said that the soldiers of Genghis Khan, on taking a city, at once pulled down the walls of the houses and left the roof supported by its wooden columns as an excellent substitute for a tent. However that be, the new-comers seem to have quickly become farmers, growing grain for food and flax for their garments. The culture of the silk-worm was early known, trade was developed, and fairs were held. There was intellectual culture also. They knew something of astronomy, and probably possessed the art of hieroglyphic writing,--which, if they came from Babylonia, they may well have brought with them. This took place five thousand years or more ago, and for a long time the history of the Chinese was that of the conquest of the native tribes. They name themselves the "black-haired race," but their foes are classed as "fiery dogs" in the north, "great bowmen" in the east, "mounted warriors" in the west, and "ungovernable vermin" in the south. Against these savages war was probably long continued, the invaders gradually widening their area, founding new states, driving back the natives into the mountains and deserts, and finally so nearly annihilating them that only a small remnant remained. The descendants of these, the Meaou-tsze, mountain-dwellers, still remain hostile to China, and hold their own in the mountain strongholds against its armies. Such was the China with which history opens. Ancient Chinese writers amuse themselves with a period of millions of years in which venerable dynasties reigned, serving to fill up the vast gap made by their imagination in the period before written history began. And when history does appear it is not easy to tell how much of it is fact and how much fiction. The first ruler named, Yew-chaou She (the Nest-having), was the chief who induced the wanderers to settle within the bend of the Yellow River and make huts of boughs. After him came Suy-jin She (the Fire-maker), who discovered the art of producing fire by the friction of two pieces of dry wood, also how to count and register time by means of knots tied in cords. Fuh-he discovered iron by accident, and reigned one hundred and fifteen years. Chin-nung invented the plough, and in one day discovered seventy poisonous plants and as many antidotes. Under Hoang-ti the calendar was regulated, roads were constructed, vessels were built, and the title of _Ti_, or Emperor, was first assumed. Hoang-ti means "Yellow Emperor," and became a favorite name with the founders of later dynasties. His wife, Se-ling-she, was the first to unravel silk from cocoons and weave it into cloth. Several others followed, all partly or wholly fabulous, until Yao ascended the throne in 2356 B.C. With this emperor history begins to throw off some little of the mist of legend and mythology. With the reign of Yao the historical work of Confucius begins. His narrative is not trustworthy history, but it is not pure fable. Yao and Shun, his successor, are two of the notable characters in the ancient annals of China. Under them virtue reigned supreme, crime was unknown, and the empire grew in extent and prosperity. The greatest difficulty with which they had to contend was the overflow of the Hoang-ho, an unruly stream, which from that day to this has from time to time swept away its banks and drowned its millions. Yu, the next emperor, drained off the waters of the mighty flood,--which some have thought the same as the deluge of Noah. This work occupied him for nine years. His last notable act was to denounce the inventor of an intoxicating drink made from rice, from which he predicted untold misery to the people. All this comes to us from the Confucian "Book of History," which goes on with questionable stories of many later emperors. They were not all good and wise, like most of those named. Some of the descendants of Yu became tyrants and pleasure-seekers, their palaces the seats of scenes of cruelty and debauchery surpassing the deeds of Nero. Two emperors in particular, Kee and Chow, are held up as monsters of wickedness and examples of dissoluteness beyond comparison. The last, under the influence of a woman named Ta-Ke, became a frightful example of sensuality and cruelty. Among the inventions of Ta-Ke was a cylinder of polished brass, along which her victims were forced to walk over a bed of fire below, she laughing in great glee if they slipped and fell into the flames. In fact, Chinese invention exhausts itself in describing the crimes and immoral doings of this abominable pair, which, fortunately, we are not obliged to believe. Of the later emperors, Mou Wang, who came to the throne about 1000 B.C., was famed as a builder of palaces and public works, and was the first of the emperors to come into conflict with the Tartars of the Mongolian plains, who afterwards gave China such endless trouble. He travelled into regions before unknown, and brought a new breed of horses into China, which, fed on "dragon grass," were able to travel one thousand _li_ in a day. As this distance is nearly four hundred miles, it would be well for modern horsemen if some of that dragon grass could yet be found. It is not worth while going on with the story of these early monarchs, of whom all we know is so brief and unimportant as not to be worth the telling, while little of it is safe to believe. In the "burning of the books," which took place later, most of the ancient history disappeared, while the "Book of History" of Confucius, which professes to have taken from the earlier books all that was worth the telling, is too meagre and unimportant in its story to be of much value. Yet, if we can believe all we are told, the historians of China were at any time ready to become martyrs in the cause of truth, and gave the story of the different reigns with singular fidelity and intrepidity. Mailla relates the following incident: "In the reign of the emperor Ling Wang of the Chow dynasty, 548 B.C., Chang Kong, Prince of Tsi, became enamoured of the wife of Tsouichow, a general, who resented the affront and killed the prince. The historians attached to the household of the prince recorded the facts, and named Tsouichow as the murderer. On learning this the general caused the principal historian to be arrested and slain, and appointed another in his place. But as soon as the new historian entered upon his office he recorded the exact facts of the whole occurrence, including the death of his predecessor and the cause of his death. Tsouichow was so much enraged at this that he ordered all the members of the Tribunal of History to be executed. But at once the whole literary class in the principality of Tsi set to work exposing and denouncing the conduct of Tsouichow, who soon perceived that his wiser plan would be to reconstitute the Tribunal and to allow it to follow its own devices." Other stories to the same effect are told. They are very likely exaggerated, but there is good reason to believe that the literary class of China were obstinate to the verge of martyrdom in maintaining the facts and traditions of the past, and that death signified to them less than dishonor. We shall see a striking instance of this in the story of Hoang-ti, the burner of the books. In the period to which we have now come, China was far from being the great empire it is to-day. On the south it did not extend beyond the great river Yang-tse-Kiang, all the region to the south being still held by the native tribes. On the north the Tartar tribes occupied the steppes. At the fall of the Chow dynasty, in 255 B.C., the empire extended through five degrees of latitude and thirteen of longitude, covering but a small fraction of its present area. And of this region only a minor portion could fairly be claimed as imperial soil. The bulk of it was held by feudal princes, whose ancestors had probably conquered their domains ages before, and some of whom held themselves equal to the emperor in power and pride. They acknowledged but slight allegiance to the imperial government, and for centuries the country was distracted by internal warfare, until the great Hoang-ti, whose story we have yet to tell, overthrew feudalism, and for the first time united all China into a single empire. The period that we have so rapidly run over embraces no less than two thousand years of partly authentic history, and a thousand or more years of fabulous annals, during which China steadily grew, though of what we know concerning it there is little in which any absolute trust can be placed. Yet it was in this period that China made its greatest progress in literature and religious reform, and that its great lawgivers appeared. With this phase of its history we shall deal in the succeeding tale. _CONFUCIUS, THE CHINESE SAGE._ In the later years of the Chow dynasty appeared the two greatest thinkers that China ever produced, Laoutse, the first and ablest philosopher of his race, and Confucius, a practical thinker and reformer who has had few equals in the world. Of Laoutse we know little. Born 604 B.C., in humble life, he lived in retirement, and when more than a hundred years old began a journey to the west and vanished from history. To the guardian of the pass through which he sought the western regions he gave a book which contained the thoughts of his life. This forms the Bible of the Taouistic religion, which still has a large following in China. Confucius, or Kong-foo-tse, born 551 B.C., was as practical in intellect as Laoutse was mystical, and has exerted an extraordinary influence upon the Chinese race. For this reason it seems important to give some account of his career. The story of his life exists in some detail, and may be given in epitome. As a child he was distinguished for his respect to older people, his gentleness, modesty, and quickness of intellect. At nineteen he married and was made a mandarin, being appointed superintendent of the markets, and afterwards placed in charge of the public fields, the sheep and cattle. His industry was remarkable, and so great were his improvements in agriculture that the whole face of the country changed, and plenty succeeded poverty. At twenty-two he became a public teacher, and at thirty began the study of music, making such remarkable progress in this art that from the study of one piece he was able to describe the person of the composer, even to his features and the expression of his eyes. His teacher now gave him up. The pupil had passed infinitely beyond his reach. At the next important epoch in the life of Confucius (499 B.C.) he had become one of the chief ministers of the king of Loo. This potentate fell into a dispute with the rival king of Tsi, and an interview between the two kings took place, in which a scheme of treachery devised by the king of Tsi was baffled by the vigilance and courage of the learned minister of Loo. But, the high precepts of Confucius proving too exalted for the feeble virtue of his kingly employer, the philosopher soon left his service, and entered upon a period of travel and study, teaching the people as he went, and constantly attended by a number of disciples. His mode of illustrating his precepts is indicated in an interesting anecdote. "As he was journeying, one day he saw a woman weeping and wailing by a grave. Confucius inquired the cause of her grief. 'You weep as if you had experienced sorrow upon sorrow,' said one of the attendants of the sage. The woman answered, 'It is so: my husband's father was killed here by a tiger, and my husband also; and now my son has met the same fate.' 'Why do you not leave the place?' asked Confucius. On her replying, 'There is here no oppressive government,' he turned to his disciples and said, 'My children, remember this,--oppressive government is more cruel than a tiger.'" On another of their journeys they ran out of food, and one of the disciples, faint with hunger, asked the sage, "Must the superior man indeed suffer in this way?" "The superior man may have to suffer want," answered Confucius, "but the mean man, when he is in want, gives way to unbridled license." The last five years of his life were spent in Loo, his native state, in teaching and in finishing the works he had long been writing. Confucius was no philosopher in the ordinary sense. He was a moral teacher, but devised no system of religion, telling his disciples that the demands of this world were quite enough to engage the thoughts of men, and that the future might be left to provide for itself. He cared nothing about science and studied none of the laws of nature, but devoted himself to the teaching of the principles of conduct, with marked evidence of wisdom and practical common sense. Of all the great men who have lived upon the earth, conquerors, writers, inventors, and others, none have gained so wide a renown as this quiet Chinese moral teacher, whose fame has reached the ears of more millions of mankind than that of any other man who has ever lived. To-day his descendants form the only hereditary nobility in China, with the exception of those of his great disciple Mencius, who proved a worthy successor to the sage. It is to Confucius that we owe nearly all we possess of the early literature of China. Of what are known as the "Five Classics," four are by his hand. The "Book of Changes," the oldest classic, was written by a mystic named Wan Wang, who lived about 1150 B.C. It is highly revered, but no one pretends to understand it. The works of Confucius include the "Book of History," the "Book of Odes," the "Book of Rites," and the "Spring and Autumn Annals," all of them highly esteemed in China for the knowledge they give of ancient days and ways. The records of the early dynasties kept at the imperial court were closely studied by Confucius, who selected from them all that he thought worth preserving. This he compiled into the _Shoo King_, or "Book of History." The contents of this work we have condensed in the preceding tale. It consists mainly of conversations between the kings and their ministers, in which the principles of the patriarchal Chinese government form the leading theme. "Do not be ashamed of mistakes, and thus make them crimes," says one of these practical ministers. The _Le-ke_, or "Book of Rites," compiled from a very ancient work, lays down exact rules of life for Chinamen, which are still minutely obeyed. The _Chun Tsew_, or "Spring and Autumn Annals," embraces a mere statement of events which occurred in the kingdom of Loo, and contains very little of historical and less of any other value. The "Book of Odes," on the contrary, possesses a great literary value, in preserving for us the poetic remains of ancient China. Literature in that country, as elsewhere, seems to have begun with poetry, and of the songs and ballads of the early period official collections of considerable value were made. Not only at the imperial court, but at those of the feudal lords, there were literati whose duty it was to collect the songs of the people and diligently to preserve the historical records of the empire. From the latter Confucius compiled two of the books already named. There also fell into his hands an official collection of poems containing some three thousand pieces. These the sage carefully edited, selecting such of them as "would be serviceable for the inculcation of propriety and righteousness." These poems, three hundred and eleven in number, constitute the _She King_, or "Book of Odes," forming a remarkable collection of primitive verses which breathe the spirit of peace and simple life, broken by few sounds of war or revelry, but yielding many traces of family affection, peaceful repose, and religious feeling. These are not the only remains of the ancient Chinese literature. There are four more books, which, with the five named, make up the "Nine Classics." These were written by the pupils and disciples of Confucius, the most important being the _Mang tsze_, or "Works of Mencius." They are records of the sayings and doings of the two sages Confucius and Mencius, whose remarkable precepts, like those of the Greek sage Socrates, would have been lost to the world but for the loving diligence of their disciples. All this is not history in the ordinary sense. But the men described, and particularly Confucius, have had so potent an influence upon all that relates to Chinese life and history, that some brief account of them and their doings seemed indispensable to our work. _THE FOUNDER OF THE CHINESE EMPIRE._ In the year 246 B.C. came to the throne of China the most famous of all the monarchs of that ancient empire, the celebrated Hoangti,--Tsin Chi Hoang-ti, or "first sovereign emperor of the Tsins," to give him his full title. Various stories are told by Chinese historians of the origin of this great monarch, they denying that he was of royal blood. They say that he was the son of a woman slave who had been bought by the emperor, and that the boy's real father was a merchant, her former master. This story, whether true or false, gave the young emperor much trouble in later years. His mother, after he came to the throne, grew so dissipated that he was forced to punish her lover and banish her. And the merchant, his reputed father, being given a place at court, became eager for a higher position, and sought to influence the emperor by hints and whisperings of the secret hold he possessed over him. Hoangti was not the man to be dealt with in such a fashion, and the intriguing merchant, finding a storm of vengeance coming, poisoned himself to escape a worse fate. Such are the stories told of the origin of the famous emperor. They may not be true, for the historians hated him, for reasons yet to be given, and made the most of anything they could say against him. All we are sure of is that he ascended the throne at the youthful age of thirteen, and even at that age quickly made his influence widely felt. What lay before him was practically the conquest of China, whose great feudal lords were virtually independent of the throne, and had, not long before, overwhelmed the imperial armies. Fortunately for the young emperor, the great princes, having no fear of a boy, either disbanded their forces or quarrelled among themselves, two of the most powerful of them declaring war upon each other. Taking advantage of these dissensions, Hoangti gained, step by step, the desired control of his foes. Ouki, a great general in the interest of the princes, was disgraced by the aid of bribery and falsehood, several of the strong cities of the princes were seized, and when they entered the field against the emperor their armies, no longer led by the able Ouki, were easily defeated. Thus steadily the power of the youthful monarch increased and that of his opponents fell away, the dismembered empire of China slowly growing under his rule into a coherent whole. Meanwhile war arose with foreign enemies, who appeared on the western and northern boundaries of the empire. In this quarter the Tartar tribes of the desert had long been troublesome, and now a great combination of these warlike nomads, known as the Heung-nou,--perhaps the same as the Huns who afterwards devastated Europe,--broke into the defenceless border provinces, plundering and slaughtering wherever they appeared. Against this dangerous enemy the emperor manifested the same energy that he had done against his domestic foes. Collecting a great army, three hundred thousand strong, he marched into their country and overthrew them in a series of signal victories. In the end those in the vicinity of China were exterminated, and the others driven to take refuge in the mountains of Mongolia. This success was followed by a remarkable performance, one of the most stupendous in the history of the world. Finding that several of the northern states of the empire were building lines of fortification along their northern frontiers for defence against their Tartar enemies, the emperor conceived the extraordinary project of building a gigantic wall along the whole northern boundary of China, a great bulwark to extend from the ocean on the east to the interior extremity of the modern province of Kan-suh on the west. This work was begun under the direct supervision of the emperor in 214 B.C., and prosecuted with the sleepless energy for which he had made himself famous. Tireless as he was, however, the task was too great for one man to perform, and it was not completed until after his death. This extraordinary work, perhaps the greatest ever undertaken by the hand of man, extends over a length of twelve hundred and fifty-five miles, the wall itself, if measured throughout its sinuous extent, being fully fifteen hundred miles in length. Over this vast reach of mountain and plain it is carried, regardless of hill or vale, but "scaling the precipices and topping the craggy hills of the country." It is not a solid mass, but is composed of two retaining walls of brick, built upon granite foundations, while the space between them is filled with earth and stones. It is about twenty-five feet wide at base and fifteen at top, and varies from fifteen to thirty feet in height, with frequent towers rising above its general level. At the top a pavement of bricks--now overgrown with grass--forms a surface finish to the work. How many thousands or hundreds of thousands of the industrious laborers of China spent their lives upon this stupendous work history does not tell. It stands as a striking monument of the magnificent conceptions of Hoangti, and of the patient industry of his subjects, beside which the building of the great pyramid of Egypt sinks into insignificance. Yet, as history has abundantly proved, it was a waste of labor so far as answering its purpose was concerned. In the hands of a strong emperor like Hoangti it might well defy the Tartar foe. In the hands of many of his weak successors it proved of no avail, the hordes of the desert swarming like ants over its undefended reaches, and pouring upon the feeble country that sought defence in walls, not in men. While this vast building operation was going on, Hoangti had his hands so full with internal wars that he adopted the custom of sitting on his throne with a naked sword in his hand, significant of his unceasing alertness against his foes. Not until his reign was near its end was he able to return this emblem of war to its scabbard and enjoy for a few years the peace he had so ably won. No sooner had the great emperor finished his campaign of victory against the Heung-nou Tartars than he found himself confronted by enemies at home, the adherents of the remaining feudal princes whose independent power was threatened. The first with whom he came in contact was the powerful prince of Chow, several of whose cities he captured, the neighboring prince of Han being so terrified by this success that he surrendered without a contest. In accordance with Hoangti's method, the prince was forced to yield his power and retire to private life in the dominions of the conqueror. Chow still held out, under an able general, Limou, who defied the emperor and defeated his armies. Hoangti, finding himself opposed by an abler man than any he had under his command, employed against him the same secret arts by which he had before disposed of the valiant Ouki. A courtier was bribed to malign the absent general and poison the mind of the prince against the faithful commander of his forces. The intrigue was successful, Limou was recalled from his command, and on his refusing to obey was assassinated by order of the prince. Hoangti had gained his end, and his adversary soon paid dearly for his lack of wisdom and justice. His dominions were overrun, his capital, Hantan, was taken and sacked, and he and his family became prisoners to one who was not noted for mercy to his foes. The large province of Chow was added to the empire, which was now growing with surprising rapidity. This enemy disposed of, Hoangti had another with whom to deal. At his court resided Prince Tan, heir of the ruler of Yen. Whether out of settled policy or from whim, the emperor insulted this visitor so flagrantly that he fled the court, burning for revenge. As the most direct way of obtaining this, he hired an assassin to murder Hoangti, inducing him to accept the task by promising him the title of "Liberator of the Empire." The plot was nearly successful. Finding it very difficult to obtain an audience with the emperor, Kinkou, the assassin, succeeded in an extraordinary way, by inducing Fanyuki, a proscribed rebel, to commit suicide. In some unexplained way Kinkou made use of this desperate act to obtain the desired audience. Only the alertness of the emperor now saved him from death. His quick eye caught the attempt of the assassin to draw his poniard, and at once, with a sweeping blow of his sabre, he severed his leg from his body, hurling him bleeding and helpless to the floor. Hoangti's retribution did not end with the death of the assassin. Learning that Prince Tan was the real culprit, he gave orders for the instant invasion of Yen,--a purpose which perhaps he had in view in his insult to the prince. The ruler of that state, to avert the emperor's wrath, sent him the head of Tan, whom he had ordered to execution. But as the army continued to advance, he fled into the wilds of Lea-vu-tung, abandoning his territory to the invader. In the same year the kingdom of Wei was invaded, its capital taken, and its ruler sent to the Chinese capital for execution. Only one of the great principalities now remained, that of Choo, but it was more formidable than any of those yet assailed. Great preparations and a large army were needed for this enterprise, and the emperor asked his generals how many men would be required for the task of conquest. "Two hundred thousand will be abundant," said Lisin; "I will promise you the best results with that number of men." "What have you to say?" asked the emperor of Wang Tsein, his oldest and most experienced commander. "Six hundred thousand will be needed," said the cautious old general. These figures, given in history, may safely be credited with an allowance for the exaggeration of the writers. The emperor approved of Lisin's estimate, and gave him the command, dismissing the older warrior as an over-cautious dotard. The event told a different tale. Lisin was surprised during his march and driven back in utter defeat, losing forty thousand men, as the records say, in the battle and the pursuit. What became of the defeated braggart history fails to state. If he survived the battle, he could hardly have dared to present himself again before his furious master. Hoangti now sent for the veteran whom he had dismissed as a dotard, and asked him to take command of the troops. "Six hundred thousand: no less will serve," repeated the old man. "You shall have all you ask for," answered the emperor. This vast host collected, the question of supplies presented itself as a serious matter. "Do not let that trouble you," said the emperor to his general. "I have taken steps to provide for that, and promise you that provisions are more likely to be wanting in my palace than in your camp." The event proved the soundness of the old warrior's judgment and his warlike skill. A great battle soon took place, in which Wang Tsein, taking advantage of a false movement of the enemy, drove him in panic flight from the field. This was soon followed by the complete conquest of the principality, whose cities were strongly garrisoned by imperial troops, and its rulers sent to the capital to experience the fate of the preceding princely captives. The subjection of several smaller provinces succeeded, and the conquest of China was at length complete. The feudal principalities, which had been the successors of the independent kingdoms into which the Chinese territory was originally divided, were thus overthrown, the ancient local dynasties being exterminated, and their territories added to the dominion of the Tsins. The unity of the empire was at length established, and the great conqueror became "the first universal emperor." Hoangti the Great, as we may justly designate the man who first formed a united Chinese empire, and to whom the mighty conception of the Great Wall was due, did not exhaust his energies in these varied labors. Choosing as his capital Heenyang (now Segan Foo), he built himself there a palace of such magnificence as to make it the wonder and admiration of the age. This was erected outside the city, on so vast a scale that ten thousand men could be drawn up in order of battle in one of its courts. Attached to it were magnificent gardens, the whole being known as the Palace of Delight. Within the city he had another palace, of grand dimensions, its hall of audience being adorned with twelve gigantic statues made from the spoils of his many campaigns, each of them weighing twelve thousand pounds. The capital was otherwise highly embellished, and an edict required that all weapons should be sent to the arsenal in that city, there being no longer danger of civil war, and "peace being universal." This measure certainly tended to prevent war, and "the skilful disarming of the provinces added daily to the wealth and prosperity of the capital." The empire of China thus being, for the first time in its history, made a centralized one, Hoangti divided it into thirty-six provinces, and set out on a tour of inspection of the vast dominions which acknowledged him as sole lord and master. Governors and sub-governors were appointed in each province, the stability of the organization adopted being evidenced by the fact that it still exists. The most important result of the imperial journey was the general improvement of the roads of the empire. It was the custom, when a great man visited any district, to repair the roads which he would need to traverse, while outside his line of march the highways were of a very imperfect character. Hoangti was well aware of this custom, and very likely he may have convinced himself of the true condition of the roads by sudden détours from the prescribed route. At all events, he made the following notable remarks: "These roads have been made expressly for me, and are very satisfactory. But it is not just that I alone should enjoy a convenience of which my subjects have still greater need, and one which I can give them. Therefore I decree that good roads shall be made in all directions throughout the empire." In these few words he set in train a far more useful work than the Great Wall. High-roads were laid out on a grand scale, traversing the empire from end to end, and the public spirit of the great emperor is attested by the noble system of highways which still remain, more than two thousand years after his death. [Illustration: A CHINESE IRRIGATION WHEEL.] Having said so much in favor of Hoangti, we have now to show the reverse of the shield, in describing that notable act which has won him the enmity of the literary class, not only in China but in the whole world. This was the celebrated "burning of the books." Hoangti was essentially a reformer. Time-honored ceremonies were of little importance in his eyes when they stood in the way of the direct and practical, and he abolished hosts of ancient customs that had grown wearisome and unmeaning. This sweeping away of the drift-wood of the past was far from agreeable to the officials, to whom formalism and precedent were as the breath of life. One of the ancient customs required the emperors to ascend high mountains and offer sacrifices on their summits. The literary class had ancient rule and precedent for every step in this ceremony, and so sharply criticised the emperor's disregard of these observances that they roused his anger. "You vaunt the simplicity of the ancients," he impatiently said; "you should then be satisfied with me, for I act in a simpler fashion than they did." Finally he closed the controversy with the stern remark, "When I have need of you I will let you know my orders." The literati of China have always been notable for the strength of their convictions and the obstinate courage with which they express their opinions at all risks. They were silenced for the present, but their anger, as well as that of the emperor, only slumbered. Five years afterwards it was reawakened. Hoangti had summoned to the capital all the governors and high officials for a Grand Council of the Empire. With the men of affairs came the men of learning, many of them wedded to theories and traditions, who looked upon Hoangti as a dangerous iconoclast, and did not hesitate to express their opinion. It was the most distinguished assembly that had ever come together in China, and, gathered in that magnificent palace which was adorned with the spoils of conquered kingdoms, it reflected the highest honor on the great emperor who had called it together and who presided over its deliberations. But the hardly concealed hostility of the literati soon disturbed the harmony of the council. In response to the emperor, who asked for candid expressions of opinion upon his government and legislation, a courtier arose with words of high praise, ending with, "Truly you have surpassed the very greatest of your predecessors even at the most remote period." The men of books broke into loud murmurs at this insult to the heroes of their admiration, and one of them sprang angrily to his feet, designating the former speaker as "a vile flatterer unworthy of the high position which he occupied," and continuing with unstinted praise of the early rulers. His oration, which showed much more erudition than discretion, ended by advocating a reversal of the emperor's action, and a redivision of the empire into feudal principalities. Hoangti, hot with anger, curtly reminded the speaker that that point was not open to discussion, it having already been considered and decided. He then called on Lisseh, his minister, to state again the reasons for the unity of the empire. The speech of the minister is one of high importance, as giving the ostensible reasons for the unexampled act of destruction by which it was followed. "It must be admitted," he said, "after what we have just heard, that men of letters are, as a rule, very little acquainted with what concerns the government of a country,--not that government of pure speculation, which is nothing more than a phantom, vanishing the nearer we approach to it, but the practical government which consists in keeping men within the sphere of their practical duties. With all their pretence of knowledge, they are, in this matter, densely ignorant. They can tell you by heart everything which has happened in the past, back to the most remote period, but they are, or seem to be, ignorant of what is being done in these later days, of what is passing under their very eyes. Incapable of discerning that the thing which was formerly suitable would be wholly out of place to-day, they would have everything arranged in exact imitation of what they find written in their books." He went on to denounce the men of learning as a class uninfluenced by the spirit of existing affairs and as enemies of the public weal, and concluded by saying, "Now or never is the time to close the mouths of these secret enemies, to place a curb upon their audacity." He spoke the sentiments of the emperor, who had probably already determined upon his course of action. Having no regard for books himself, and looking upon them as the weapons of his banded foes, he issued the memorable order that all the books of the empire should be destroyed, making exception only of those that treated of medicine, agriculture, architecture, and astronomy. The order included the works of the great Confucius, who had edited and condensed the more ancient books of the empire, and of his noble disciple Mencius, and was of the most tyrannical and oppressive character. All books containing historical records, except those relating to the existing reign, were to be burned, and all who dared even to speak together about the Confucian "Book of Odes" and "Book of History" were condemned to execution. All who should even make mention of the past, so as to blame the present, were, with all their relatives, to be put to death; and any one found, after thirty days, with a book in his possession was to be branded and sent to work for four years on the Great Wall. Hoangti did not confine himself to words. The whole empire was searched for books, and all found were burned, while large numbers of the literati who had disobeyed the edict were arrested, and four hundred and sixty of them were buried alive in a great pit dug for that purpose. It may well be that Hoangti had his own fame largely in view in this unprecedented act, as in his preceding wall-building and road-making. He may have proposed to sweep away all earlier records of the empire and make it seem to have sprung into existence full-fledged with his reign. But if he had such a purpose, he did not take fully into account the devotion of men of learning to their cherished manuscripts, nor the powers of the human memory. Books were hidden in the roofs and walls of dwellings, buried underground, and in some cases even concealed in the beds of rivers, until after the tyrant's death. And when a subsequent monarch sought to restore these records of the past, vanished tomes reappeared from the most unlooked-for places. As for the "Book of History" of Confucius, which had disappeared, twenty-eight sections of the hundred composing it were taken down from the lips of an aged blind man who had treasured them in his memory, and one was obtained from a young girl. The others were lost until 140 B.C., when, in pulling down the house of the great philosopher, a complete copy of the work was found hidden in its walls. As for the scientific works that were spared, none of them have come down to our day. We shall now briefly complete our story of the man who made himself the most thoroughly hated of all Chinese monarchs by the literati of that realm. Organizing his troops into a strong standing army, he engaged in a war of conquest in the south, adding Tonquin and Cochin China to his dominions, and carrying his arms as far as Bengal. In the north he again sent his armies into the desert to chastise the troublesome nomads, and then, conceiving that no advantage was to be gained in extending his empire over these domains of barbarism, he employed the soldiers as aids in the task of building the Great Wall, adding to them a host of the industrial population of the north. In 210 B.C. Hoangti was seized with some malady which he failed to treat as he did his enemies. Neglecting the simplest remedial measures, he came suddenly to the end of his career after a reign of fifty-one years. With him were buried many of his wives and large quantities of treasure, a custom of barbarous origin which was confined in China to the chiefs of Tsin. Magnificent in his ideas and fond of splendor, he despised formality, lived simply in the midst of luxury, and distinguished himself from other Chinese rulers by making walking his favorite exercise. While not great as a soldier, he knew how to choose soldiers, and in his administration was wise enough to avail himself of the advice of the ablest ministers. Yet with all his greatness he could not provide for the birth of a great son. Upon his death disturbances broke out in all quarters of the realm, with which his weak successor was unable to cope. In three years the reign of his son was closed with assassination, while the grandson of Hoangti, defeated in battle after a six weeks' nominal reign, ended his life in murder or suicide. With him the dynasty of the Tsins passed away and that of the Han monarchs succeeded. Hoangti stands alone as the great man of his race. _KAOTSOU AND THE DYNASTY OF THE HANS._ After the death of the great Hoangti, two of his generals fought for the throne of China,--Lieou Pang, who represents, in the Chinese annals, intellect, and Pa Wang, representing brute force, uninspired by thought. Destiny, if we can credit the following tale, had chosen the former for the throne. "A noted physiognomist once met him on the high-road, and, throwing himself down before him, said, 'I see by the expression of your features that you are destined to be emperor, and I offer you in anticipation the tribute of respect that a subject owes his sovereign. I have a daughter, the fairest and wisest in the empire; take her as your wife. So confident am I that my prediction will be realized that I gladly offer her to you.'" However that be, the weak descendants of Hoangti soon vanished from the scene, Pa Wang was overcome in battle, and the successful general seized the imperial throne. He chose, as emperor, the title of Kaotsou, and named his dynasty, from his native province, the Han. It was destined to continue for centuries in power. The new emperor showed himself a worthy successor of the builder of the Great Wall, while he made every effort to restore to the nation its books, encouraging men of letters and seeking to recover such literature as had survived the great burning. In this way he provided for his future fame at the hands of the grateful literati of China. Amnesty to all who had opposed him was proclaimed, and regret expressed at the sufferings of the people "from the evils which follow in the train of war." The merit of Kaotsou lay largely in the great public works with which he emulated the policy of his energetic predecessor. The "Lofty and August Emperor" (_Kao Hoangti_), as he entitled himself, did not propose to be thrown into the shade by any who had gone before. On taking the throne he chose as his capital the city of Loyang (now Honan), but subsequently selected the city of Singanfoo, in the western province of Shensi. This city lay in a nest of mountains, which made it very difficult of approach. It was not without advantages from its situation as the capital of the empire, but could not be reached from the south without long détours. Possibly this difficulty may have had something to do with its choice by the emperor, that he might display his genius in overcoming obstacles. To construct roads across and to cut avenues through the mountains an army of workmen, one hundred thousand in number, became necessary. The deep intervening valleys were filled up to the necessary level by the spoils rent from the lofty adjoining mountains, and where this could not be done, great bridges, supported on strong and high pillars, were thrown across from side to side. Elsewhere suspension bridges--"flying bridges," as the Chinese call them--were thrown across deep and rugged ravines, wide enough for four horsemen to travel abreast, their sides being protected by high balustrades. One of these, one hundred and fifty yards long, and thrown over a valley more than five hundred feet deep, is said to be still in perfect condition. These suspension bridges were built nearly two thousand years before a work of this character was attempted in Europe. In truth, the period in question, including several centuries before Christ, was the culminating age of Chinese civilization, in which appeared its great religious reformers, philosophers, and authors, its most daring engineers, and its monarchs of highest public spirit and broadest powers of conception and execution. It was the age of the Great Wall, the imperial system of highways, the system of canals (though the Great Canal was of later date), and other important works of public utility. By the strenuous labors described Kaotsou rendered his new capital easy of access from all quarters of the kingdom, while at frequent intervals along the great high-roads of the empire there were built post-houses, caravansaries, and other conveniences, so as to make travelling rather a pleasure than the severe task it formerly had been. The capital itself was made as attractive as the means of reaching it were made easy. Siaho, at once an able war minister and a great builder, planned for the emperor a palace so magnificent that Kaotsou hesitated in ordering its erection. Siaho removed his doubts with the following argument: "You should look upon all the empire as your family; and if the grandeur of your palace does not correspond with that of your family, what idea will it give of its power and greatness?" This argument sufficed: the palace was built, and Kaotsou celebrated its completion with festivities continued for several weeks. On one occasion during this period, uplifted with a full sense of the dignity to which he had attained, his pride found vent in the grandiloquent remark, "To-day I feel that I am indeed emperor, and perceive all the difference between a subject and his master." His fondness for splendor was indicated by magnificent banquets and receptions, and his sense of dignity by a court ceremonial which must have proved a wearisome ordeal for his courtiers, though none dared infringe it for fear of dire consequences. Those who had aided him in his accession to power were abundantly rewarded, with one exception, that of his father, who seems to have been overlooked in the distribution of favors. The old man, not relishing thus being left at the foot of the ladder, took prompt occasion to remind his son of his claims. Dressing himself in his costliest garments, he presented himself at the foot of the throne, where, in a speech of deep humility, he designated himself as the least yet the most obedient subject of the realm. Kaotsou, thus admonished, at once called a council of ministers and had the old man proclaimed "the lesser emperor." Taking him by the hand, he led him to a chair at the foot of the throne as his future seat. This act of the emperor won him the highest commendation from his subjects, the Chinese looking upon respect to and veneration of parents as the duty surpassing all others and the highest evidence of virtue. Siaho, the palace-builder and war minister, had been specially favored in this giving of rewards, much to the discontent of the leading generals, who claimed all the credit for the successes in war, and were disposed to look with contempt on this mere cabinet warrior. Hearing of their complaints, Kaotsou summoned them to his presence, and thus plainly expressed his opinion of their claims: "You find, I am told, reason to complain that I have rewarded Siaho above yourselves. Tell me, who are they at the chase who pursue and capture the prey? The dogs.--But who direct and urge on the dogs? Are they not the hunters?--You have all worked hard for me; you have pursued your prey with vigor, and at last captured and overthrown it. In this you deserve the credit which one gives to the dogs in the chase. But the merit of Siaho is that of the hunter. It is he who has conducted the whole of the war, who regulated everything, ordered you to attack the enemy at the opportune moment, and by his tactics made you master of the cities and provinces you have conquered. On this account he deserves the credit of the hunter, who is more worthy of reward than are the dogs whom he sets loose upon the prey." One further anecdote is told of this emperor, which is worth repeating, as its point was aptly illustrated in a subsequent event. Though he had won the empire by the sword, he was not looked upon as a great general, and on one occasion asked Hansin, his ablest officer, how many men he thought he (the emperor) could lead with credit in the field. "Sire," said the plain-spoken general, "you can lead an army of a hundred thousand men very well. _But that is all._" "And how many can you lead?" "The more I have the better I shall lead them," was the self-confident answer. The event in which the justice of this criticism was indicated arose during a subsequent war with the Tartars, who had resumed their inroads into the empire. The Heung-nou were at this period governed by two leading chiefs, Mehe and Tonghou, the latter arrogant and ambitious, the former well able to bide his time. The story goes that Tonghou sent to Mehe a demand for a favorite horse. His kinsmen advised him to refuse, but Mehe sent the horse, saying, "Would you quarrel with your neighbor for a horse?" Tonghou soon after sent to demand of Mehe one of his wives. Mehe again complied, saying to his friends, "Would you have me undertake a war for the sake of a woman?" Tonghou, encouraged by these results of his insolence, next invaded Mehe's dominions. The patient chief, now fully prepared, took the field, and in a brief time had dispersed Tonghou's army, captured and executed him, and made himself the principal chief of the clans. This able leader, having punished his insolent desert foe, soon led his warlike followers into China, took possession of many fertile districts, extended his authority to the banks of the Hoang-ho, and sent plundering expeditions into the rich provinces beyond. In the war that followed the emperor himself took command of his troops, and, too readily believing the stories of the weakness of the Tartar army told by his scouts, resolved on an immediate attack. One of his generals warned him that "in war we should never despise an enemy," but the emperor refused to listen, and marched confidently on, at the head of his advance guard, to find the enemy. He found him to his sorrow. Mehe had skilfully concealed his real strength for the purpose of drawing the emperor into a trap, and now, by a well-directed movement, cut off the rash leader from his main army and forced him to take refuge in the city of Pingching. Here, vastly outnumbered and short of provisions, the emperor found himself in a desperate strait, from which he could not escape by force of arms. In this dilemma one of his officers suggested a possible method of release. This was that, as a last chance, the most beautiful virgin in the city should be sent as a peace-offering to the desert chief. Kaotsou accepted the plan,--nothing else presenting itself,--and the maiden was chosen and sent. She went willingly, it is said, and used her utmost arts to captivate the Tartar chief. She succeeded, and Mehe, after forcing Kaotsou to sign an ignominious treaty, suffered his prize to escape, and retired to the desert, well satisfied with the rich spoils he had won. Kaotsou was just enough to reward the general to whose warning he had refused to listen, but the scouts who had misled him paid dearly for their false reports. This event seems to have inspired Kaotsou with an unconquerable fear of his desert foe, who was soon back again, pillaging the borders with impunity and making such daring inroads that the capital itself was not safe from their assaults. Instead of trusting to his army, the emperor now bought off his enemy in a more discreditable method than before, concluding a treaty in which he acknowledged Mehe as an independent ruler and gave him his daughter in marriage. This weakness led to revolts in the empire, Kaotsou being forced again to take the field against his foes. But, worn out with anxiety and misfortune, his end soon approached, his death-bed being disturbed by palace intrigues concerning the succession, in which one of his favorite wives sought to have her son selected as the heir. Kaotsou, not heeding her petition, chose his eldest son as the heir-apparent, and soon after died. The tragic results of these intrigues for the crown will be seen in the following tale. [Illustration: Reproduced by permission of The Philadelphia Museums. AN ITINERANT COBBLER. CANTON, CHINA.] _THE EMPRESS POISONER OF CHINA._ About two centuries before Christ a woman came to the head of affairs in China whose deeds recall the worst of those which have long added infamy to the name of Lucretia Borgia. As regards the daughter of the Borgias tradition has lied: she was not the merciless murderess of fancy and fame. But there is no mitigation to the story of the empress Liuchi, who, with poison as her weapon, made herself supreme dictator of the great Chinese realm. The death of the great emperor Kaotsou left two aspirants for the throne, the princes Hoeiti, son of Liuchi, and Chow Wang, son of the empress Tsi. There was a palace plot to raise Chow Wang to the throne, but it was quickly foiled by the effective means used by the ambitious Liuchi to remove the rivals from the path of her son. Poison did the work. The empress Tsi unsuspiciously quaffed the fatal bowl, which was then sent to Chow Wang, who innocently drank the same perilous draught. Whatever may have been the state of the conspiracy, this vigorous method of the queen-mother brought it to a sudden end, and Hoeiti ascended the throne. The young emperor seemingly did not approve of ascending to power over the dead bodies of his opponents. He reproved his mother for her cruel deed, and made a public statement that he had taken no part in the act. Yet under this public demonstration secret influences seem to have been at work within the palace walls, for the imperial poisoner retained her power at court and her influence over her son. When the great princes sought the capital to render homage to the new emperor, to their surprise and chagrin they found the unscrupulous dowager empress at the head of affairs, the sceptre of the realm practically in her hands. They were to find that this dreadful woman was a dangerous foe to oppose. Among the potentates was Tao Wang, Prince of Tsi, who, after doing homage to the young emperor, was invited to feast with him. At this banquet Liuchi made her appearance, and when the wine was passed she insisted on being served first. These unpardonable breaches of etiquette--which they were in the Chinese code of good manners--were looked upon with astonishment by the visiting prince, who made no effort to conceal his displeasure on seeing any one attempt to drink before the emperor. Liuchi, perceiving that she had made an enemy by her act, at once resolved to remove him from her path, with the relentless and terrible decision with which she had disposed of her former rivals. Covertly dropping the poison, which she seems to have always had ready for use, into a goblet of wine, she presented it to the prince of Tsi, asking him to pledge her in a draught. The unsuspicious guest took the goblet from her hand, without a dream of what the courtesy meant. Fortunately for him, the emperor, who distrusted his mother too deeply to leave her unobserved, had seen her secret act and knew too well what it meant. Snatching the fatal bowl from the prince's hand, he begged permission to pledge his health in that wine, and, with his eyes fixed meaningly on his mother's face, lifted it in turn to his royal lips. The startled woman had viewed the act with wide eyes and trembling limbs. Seeing her son apparently on the point of drinking, an involuntary cry of warning burst from her, and, springing hastily to her feet, she snatched the fatal cup from his hand and dashed it to the floor. The secret was revealed. The prince of Tsi had been on the very point of death. With an exclamation of horror, and a keen invective addressed to the murderess, he rushed from that perilous room, and very probably was not long in hastening from a city which held so powerful and unscrupulous a foe. The Chinese Borgia's next act of violence found a barbarian for its victim. The Tartar chief Mehe sent an envoy to the capital of China, with a message which aroused the anger of the empress, who at once ordered him to be executed, heedless of the fact that she thus brought the nation to the brink of war. Four years afterwards Hoeiti, the emperor, died, leaving vacant the throne which he had so feebly filled. It is not to be supposed that Liuchi had any hand in this closing of a brief and uneventful reign. Her son was in no sense in her way, and served as a useful shield behind which she held the reins of government. But she was in no haste to fill the vacant throne, preferring to rule openly as the supreme power in the realm. In order to consolidate her strength, she placed her brothers and near relations in the great posts of the empire, and strengthened her position by every means fair and foul. It soon became evident, however, that this ambitious scheme could not be carried through. Throughout the land went up a cry for a successor to the dead emperor. In this dilemma the daring woman adopted a bold plan, bringing forward a boy who she declared was the offspring of her dead son, and placing this child of unknown parents upon the vacant throne. As a regent was needed during the minority of her counterfeit grandson, she had herself proclaimed as the holder of this high office. All this was very little to the taste of the ministers of the late emperor. Never before had the government of China been in the hands of a woman. But they dared not make an effort to change it, or even to speak their sentiments in too loud a tone. Liuchi had ways of suppressing discontent that forced her enemies to hold their peace. The only one who ventured to question the arbitrary will of the regent was the mother of the nominal emperor, and sudden death removed her from the scene. Liuchi's ready means of vengeance had been brought into play again. For years now the imperious empress ruled China unquestioned. Others who ventured on her path may have fallen, but the people remained content, so that the usurper seems to have avoided any oppression of her subjects. But these years brought the child she had placed on the throne well on towards man's estate, and he began to show signs of an intention to break loose from leading-strings. He was possessed of ability, or at least of energy, and there were those ready to whisper in his ear the bitter tale of how his mother had been forced to swallow Liuchi's draught of death. Stirred to grief and rage by these whispers of a fell deed, the youthful ruler vowed revenge upon the murderess. He vowed his own death in doing so. His hasty words were carried by spies to Liuchi's ears, and with her usual promptness she caused the imprudent youth to be seized and confined within the palace prison. The puppet under whom she ruled had proved inconvenient, and there was not a moment's hesitation in putting him out of the way. What became of him is not known, the prison rarely revealing its secrets, but from Liuchi's character we may safely surmise his fate. The regent at once set to work to choose a more pliant successor to her rebellious tool. But her cup of crime was nearly full. Though the people remained silent, there was deep discontent among the officials of the realm, while the nobles were fiercely indignant at this virtual seizure of the throne by an ambitious woman. The storm grew day by day. One great chief boldly declared that he acknowledged "neither empress nor emperor," and the family of the late monarch Kaotsou regained their long-lost courage on perceiving these evidences of a spirit of revolt. Dangers were gathering around the resolute regent. But her party was strong, her hand firm, her courage and energy great, and she would perhaps have triumphed over all her foes had not the problem been unexpectedly solved by her sudden death. The story goes that, while walking one day in the palace halls, meditating upon the best means of meeting and defeating her numerous foes, she found herself suddenly face to face with a hideous spectre, around which rose the shades of the victims whom she had removed by poison or violence from her path. With a spasm of terror the horrified woman fell and died. Conscience had smitten her in the form of this terrific vision, and retribution came to the poisoner in the halls which she had made infamous by her crimes. Her death ended the hopes of her friends. Her party fell to pieces throughout the realm, but a strong force still held the palace, where they fiercely defended themselves against the army brought by their foes. But their great empress leader was gone, one by one they fell in vain defence, and the capture of the palace put an end to the power which the woman usurper had so long and vigorously maintained. _THE INVASION OF THE TARTAR STEPPES._ Many as have been the wars of China, the Chinese are not a warlike people. Their wars have mostly been fought at home to repress rebellion or overcome feudal lords, and during the long history of the nation its armies have rarely crossed the borders of the empire to invade foreign states. In fact, the chief aggressive movements of the Chinese have been rather wars of defence than of offence, wars forced upon them by the incessant sting of invasions from the desert tribes. For ages the Tartars made China their plunder-ground, crossing the borders in rapid raids against which the Great Wall and the frontier forces proved useless for defence, and carrying off vast spoil from the industrious Chinese. They were driven from the soil scores of times, only to return as virulently as before. Their warlike energy so far surpassed that of their victims that one emperor did not hesitate to admit that three Tartars were the equal of five Chinese. They were bought off at times with tribute of rich goods and beautiful maidens, and their chief was even given the sister of an emperor for wife. And still they came, again and again, swarms of fierce wasps which stung the country more deeply with each return. This in time became intolerable, and a new policy was adopted, that of turning the tables on the Tartars and invading their country in turn. In the reign of Vouti, an emperor of the Han dynasty (135 B.C.), the Tartar king sent to demand the hand of a Chinese princess in marriage, offering to continue the existing truce. Bitter experience had taught the Chinese how little such an offer was to be trusted. Wang Kue, an able general, suggested the policy "of destroying them rather than to remain constantly exposed to their insults," and in the end war was declared. The hesitation of the emperor had not been without abundant reason. To carry their arms into the wilds of Central Asia seemed a desperate enterprise to the peaceful Chinese, and their first effort in this direction proved a serious failure. Wang Kue, at the head of an army of three hundred thousand men, marched into the desert, adopting a stratagem to bring the Tartars within his reach. His plan failed, the Tartars avoided an attack, and Wang Kue closed the campaign without a shred of the glory he had promised to gain. The emperor ordered his arrest, which he escaped in the effective Eastern fashion of himself putting an end to his life. But, though the general was dead, his policy survived, his idea of aggression taking deep root in the Chinese official mind. Many centuries were to elapse, however, before it bore fruit in the final subjection of the desert tribes, and China was to become their prey as a whole before they became the subjects of its throne. The failure of Wang Kue gave boldness to the Tartars, who carried on in their old way the war the Chinese had begun, making such bold and destructive raids that the emperor sent out a general with orders to fight the enemy wherever he could find them. This warrior, Wei Tsing by name, succeeded in catching the raiders in a trap. The Tartar chief, armed with the courage of despair, finally cut his way through the circle of his foes and brought off the most of his men, but his camp, baggage, wives, children, and more than fifteen thousand soldiers were left behind, and the victorious general became the hero of his age, the emperor travelling a day's journey from the capital to welcome him on his return. This, and a later success by the same general, gave the Chinese the courage they so sadly needed, teaching them that the Tartars were not quite beyond the power of the sword. A council was called, a proposal to carry the war into the enemy's country approved, and an army, composed mostly of cavalry, sent out under an experienced officer named Hokiuping. The ill fortune of the former invasion was now replaced by good. The Tartars, completely taken by surprise, were everywhere driven back, and Hokiuping returned to China rich in booty, among it the golden images used as religious emblems by one of the Tartar princes. Returning with a larger force, he swept far through their country, boasting on his return that he had put thirty thousand Tartars to the sword. As a result, two of the princes and a large number of their followers surrendered to Vouti, and were disarmed and dispersed through the frontier settlements of the realm. These expeditions were followed by an invasion of the Heung-nou country by a large army, commanded by the two successful generals Wei Tsing and Hokiuping. This movement was attended with signal success, and the Tartars for the time were thoroughly cowed, while the Chinese lost much of their old dread of their desert foe. Years afterwards (110 B.C.) a new Tartar war began, Vouti himself taking command of an army of two hundred thousand men, and sending an envoy to the Tartar king, commanding him to surrender all prisoners and plunder and to acknowledge China as sovereign lord of himself and his people. All that the proud chief surrendered was the head of the ambassador, which he sent back with a bold defiance. For some reason, which history does not give, Vouti failed to lead his all-conquering army against the desert foe, and when, in a later year, the steppes were invaded, the imperial army found the warlike tribes ready for the onset. The war continued for twenty years more, with varied fortune, and when, after fifty years of almost incessant warfare with the nomad warriors, Vouti laid down his sword with his life, the Tartars were still free and defiant. Yet China had learned a new way of dealing with the warlike tribes, and won a wide reputation in Asia, while her frontiers were much more firmly held. The long reign of the great emperor had not been confined to wars with the Tartars. In his hands the empire of China was greatly widened by extensions in the west. The large provinces of Yunnan, Szchuen, and Fuhkien were conquered and added to the Chinese state, while other independent kingdoms were made vassal states. And "thereby hangs a tale" which we have next to tell. Far west in Northern China dwelt a barbarian people named the Yuchi, numerous and prosperous, yet no match in war for their persistent enemies the Tartars of the steppes. In the year 165 B.C. they were so utterly beaten in an invasion of the Heung-nou that they were forced to quit their homes and seek safety and freedom at a distance. Far to the west they went, where they coalesced with those warlike tribes of Central Asia who afterwards became the bane of the empire of Rome. The fate of this people seemed a bitter one to Vouti, when it was told to his sympathetic ear, and, in the spirit in which King Arthur sent out his Round Table Knights on romantic quests, he turned to his council and asked if any among them was daring enough to follow the track of these wanderers and bring them back to the land they had lost. One of them, Chang Keen, volunteered to take up the difficult quest and to traverse Asia from end to end in search of the fugitive tribes. This knight of romance was to experience many adventures before he should return to his native land. Attended by a hundred devoted companions, he set out, but in endeavoring to cross the country of the Heung-nou the whole party were made prisoners and held in captivity for ten long years. Finally, after a bitter experience of desert life, the survivors made their escape, and, with a courage that had outlived their years of thraldom, resumed their search for the vanished tribes. Many western countries were visited in the search, and much strange knowledge was gained. In the end the Yuchi were found in their new home. With them Chang Keen dwelt for a year, but all his efforts to induce them to return were in vain. They were safe in their new land, and did not care to risk encounter with their old foes, even with the Emperor of China for their friend. Finally the adventurous envoy returned to China with two of his companions, the only survivors of the hundred with whom he had set out years before. He had an interesting story to tell of lands and peoples unknown to the Chinese, and wrote an account of his travels and of the geography of the countries he had seen. Chang Keen was subsequently sent on a mission to the western kingdom of Ousun, where he was received with much honor, though the king declined to acknowledge himself a vassal of the ruler of China. From here he sent explorers far to the south and north, bringing back with him fresh information concerning the Asiatic nations. Of the Yuchi later stories are told. They are said to have come into collision with the Parthians, whom they vanquished after a long-continued struggle. They are also credited with having destroyed the kingdom of Bactria, a far-eastern relic of the empire of Alexander the Great. Several centuries later they may have combined with their old foes to form the Huns, who flung themselves in a devastating torrent upon Europe, and eventually became the founders of the modern kingdom of Hungary. _THE "CRIMSON EYEBROWS."_ With the opening of the Christian era a usurper came to the Chinese throne. In the year 1 B.C. the emperor Gaiti died, and Wang Mang, a powerful official, joined with the mother of the dead emperor to seize the power of the state. The friends and officials of Gaiti were ruined and disgraced, and in the year 1 A.D. a boy of nine years was raised to the throne as nominal emperor, under whose shadow Wang Mang ruled supreme. Money was needed for the ambitious upstart, and he obtained it by robbing the graves of former monarchs of the jewels and other valuables buried with them. This, from the Chinese point of view, was a frightful sacrilege, yet the people seem to have quietly submitted to the violation of the imperial tombs. Five years passed away, and the emperor reached the age of sixteen. He might grow troublesome in a year or two more. Wang Mang decided that he had lived long enough. The poisoned cup, which seems to have been always ready in the Chinese palace, was handed to the boy by the usurper himself. Drinking it unsuspiciously, the unfortunate youth was soon lying on the floor in the agonies of death, while the murderer woke the palace halls with his cries of counterfeit grief, loudly bewailing the young emperor's sad fate, and denouncing heaven for having sent this sudden and fatal illness upon the royal youth. To keep up appearances, another child was placed upon the throne. A conspiracy against the usurper was now formed by the great men of the state, but Wang Mang speedily crushed plot and plotters, rid himself of the new boy emperor in the same arbitrary fashion as before, and, throwing off the mask he had thus far worn, had himself proclaimed emperor of the realm. It was the Han dynasty he had in this arbitrary fashion brought to an end. He called his dynasty by the name of Sin. But the usurper soon learned the truth of the saying, "uneasy lies the head that wears a crown." The Tartars of the desert defied his authority, broke their long truce, and raided the rich provinces of the north, which had enjoyed thirty years of peace and prosperity. In this juncture Wang Mang showed that he was better fitted to give poison to boys than to meet his foes in the field. The Tartars committed their ravages with impunity, and other enemies were quickly in arms. Rebellions broke out in the east and the south, and soon, wherever the usurper turned, he saw foes in the field or lukewarm friends at home. The war that followed continued for twelve years, the armies of rebellion, led by princes of the Han line of emperors, drawing their net closer and closer around him, until at length he was shut up within his capital city, with an army of foes around its walls. The defence was weak, and the victors soon made their way through the gates, appearing quickly at the palace doors. The usurper had reached the end of his troubled reign, but at this fatal juncture had not the courage to take his own life. The victorious soldiers rushed in while he was hesitating in mortal fear, and with a stroke put an end to his reign and his existence. His body was hacked into bleeding fragments, which were cast about the streets of the city, to be trampled underfoot by the rejoicing throng. It is not, however, the story of Wang Mang's career that we have set out to tell, but that of one of his foes, the leader of a band of rebels, Fanchong by name. This partisan leader had shown himself a man of striking military ability, bringing his troops under strict discipline, and defeating all his foes. Soldiers flocked to his ranks, his band became an army, and in the crisis of the struggle he took a step that made him famous in Chinese history. He ordered his soldiers to paint their eyebrows red, as a sign that they were ready to fight to the last drop of their blood. Then he issued the following proclamation to the people: "If you meet the 'Crimson Eyebrows,' join yourselves to them; it is the sure road to safety. You can fight the usurper's troops without danger; but if you wish for death you may join Wang Mang's army." The end of the war was not the end of the "Crimson Eyebrows." Fanchong was ambitious, and a large number of his followers continued under his flag. They had aided greatly in putting a Han emperor on the throne, but they now became his most formidable foes, changing from patriots into brigands, and keeping that part of the empire which they haunted in a state of the liveliest alarm. Against this thorn in the side of the realm the new emperor sent his ablest commander, and a fierce campaign ensued, in which the brigand band stubbornly fought for life and license. In the end they suffered a crushing defeat, and for the time sank out of sight, but only to rise again at a later date. The general who had defeated them, an able prince of the Han family, followed up his victory by seizing the throne itself and deposing the weak emperor. The latter fled to the retreat of the remnant of the brigand band, and begged their aid to restore him to the throne, but Fanchong, who had no idea of placing a greater than himself at the head of his band, escaped from the awkward position by putting his guest to death. Soon after the "Crimson Eyebrows" were in the field again, not as supporters of an imperial refugee, but as open enemies of the public peace, each man fighting for his own hand. While the new ruler was making himself strong at Loyang, the new capital, Fanchong and his brigands seized Changnan, Wang Mang's old capital, and pillaged it mercilessly. Making it their head-quarters, they lived on the inhabitants of the city and the surrounding district, holding on until the rapid approach of the army of the emperor admonished them that it was time to seek a safer place of retreat. The army of the brigand chief grew until it was believed to exceed two hundred thousand men, while their excesses were so great that they were everywhere regarded as public enemies, hated and execrated by the people at large. But the career of the "Crimson Eyebrows" was near its end. The emperor sent against them an army smaller than their own, but under the command of Fongy, one of the most skilful generals of the age. His lack of numbers was atoned for by skill in manoeuvres, the brigands were beaten in numerous skirmishes, and at length Fongy risked a general engagement, which ended in a brilliant victory. During the crisis of the battle he brought up a reserve of prisoners whom he had captured in the previous battles and had won over to himself. These, wearing still the crimson sign of the brigands, mingled unobserved among their former comrades, and at a given signal suddenly made a fierce attack upon them. This treacherous assault produced a panic, and Fanchong's army was soon flying in disorder and dismay. Terms were now offered to the brigand chief, which he accepted, and his army disbanded, with the exception of some fragments, which soon gathered again into a powerful force. This Fongy attacked and completely dispersed, and the long and striking career of the "Crimson Eyebrows" came to an end. [Illustration: A CHINESE PAGODA.] _THE CONQUEST OF CENTRAL ASIA._ The Chinese are the most practical and the least imaginative of the peoples of the earth. During their whole four thousand years and more of historical existence the idea of military glory seems never to have dawned upon their souls. They have had wars, abundance of them, but these have nearly all been fought for the purpose of holding on to old possessions, or of widening the borders of the empire by taking in neighboring lands. No Alexander, Cæsar, or Napoleon has ever been born on Chinese soil; no army has ever been led abroad in search of the will-of-the-wisp called glory; the wild fancy of becoming lords of the world has always been out of touch with their practical minds. If we consider closely the wars of China the truth of what is here said will appear. The great bulk of them have been fought within the limits of the empire, for the purposes of defence against invasion, the suppression of revolt, the overthrow of the power of feudal lords, or in consequence of the ambition of successful generals who coveted the throne. The wars of external conquest have been singularly few, consisting principally in the invasion of the domain of the Tartars, to which the Chinese were driven by the incessant raids of the desert hordes. In addition, there have been invasions of Corea and Indo-China, but merely as passing incidents in the long era of Chinese history, not as inaugurating a career of conquest. The great invasion of Japan in the thirteenth century, the only pure war of conquest of China, was made by Kublai Khan, a Tartar emperor, and largely with Tartar troops. In brief, the Chinese have shown themselves in disposition one of the most peaceful of nations, only asking to be let alone, and are very unlikely to begin the war of conquest which some modern military writers fear. Yet there is one instance in Chinese history which seems to contradict what has here been said, that of the career of a great conqueror who carried the arms of China over the whole width of Asia, and who seemed actuated by that thirst for military glory which has inspired most of the great wars of the world and brought untold misery upon mankind. This was the great leader Panchow, who lived under three emperors of the Han dynasty, and whose career is full of interest and event. Panchow first appears in the reign of the emperor Mingti, who came to the throne in 57 A.D. His victories were won in the west, in the region of Kokonor, where he brought to an end the invasions of the Tartar tribes. Under Changti, the succeeding emperor, Panchow continued his work in the west, carrying on the war at his own expense, with an army recruited from pardoned criminals. Changti died, and Hoti came to the throne, a child ten years of age. It was under his reign that the events to be described took place. During the preceding reigns Panchow had made the power of China felt in regions far west of that realm, bringing several small kingdoms and many tribes under subjection, conquering the city of Kashgar, and extending the western borders of China as far into the interior of Asia as the great upland region of the Pamir. The power of his arms had added Eastern Turkestan to the Chinese empire, a region which it continues to hold to-day. But these conquests were not enough to satisfy the ambition of the veteran general. Under the boy emperor Hoti he was free to carry out his designs on a much larger scale. With a powerful army he set out on the only campaign of ambitious warfare in which China ever indulged. His previous victories had carried the terror of his name far over the kingdoms of the west, and he now led his army to conquest after conquest in the great oases of Western Turkestan, subduing kingdom after kingdom until no less than fifteen had submitted to the power of his arms, and his victorious army stood on the far-distant shores of the Caspian Sea,--the Northern Sea, as it is named in Chinese annals. To cross this sea would have brought him into Europe, which continent had never dreamed of invasion from the mysterious land of Cathay, on the eastern horizon of the world. Panchow's ambition was not yet satiated. There came to his mind the idea of crossing this seeming great barrier to his victorious career. He had, with his army, overcome innumerable difficulties of waterless deserts, lofty mountain ranges, great rivers, and valiant enemies. Thus far his progress had been irresistible, and should a mere expanse of water put an end to his westward march? He was checked by dread of perils in the unknown land beyond. The people on the borders of the Caspian represented that salt sea as being far more formidable than it really was. They dilated on its width, the vast mountains which lay beyond, the fierce tribes who would render a landing difficult and dangerous, and the desert regions beyond the mountains, until Panchow reluctantly gave up his scheme. He had already been for several years warring with savage nature and barbarous man, and had extended the dominions of his emperor much farther than any Chinese general had ever dreamed of before. It was time to call a halt, and not expose his valiant followers to the unknown perils beyond the great inland sea. The army remained long encamped on the Caspian, coming into communication through its envoys with the Roman empire, whose eastern borders lay not far away, and forming relations of commerce with this rich and powerful realm. This done, Panchow led his ever-victorious warriors back to their native land, to tell the story of the marvels they had seen and the surprising adventures they had encountered. That Panchow was moved by the mere thirst for military fame may well be doubted in view of what we know of the character of the Chinese. His purpose was perhaps the more practical one of opening by force of arms new channels of trade, and overcoming the obstacles placed by the Parthians and other nations of Asia in the way of freedom of commerce. On his return to China he found himself the idol of the people, the trusted friend of the emperor, and the most revered and powerful subject of the empire. He died in his eightieth year, enjoying a fame such as no general of his race had ever before attained. _THE SIEGE OF SINCHING._ When the great dynasty of the Hans, which had held supreme rule in China for more than four hundred years, came to an end, it left that country divided up into three independent kingdoms. The emperors who had once ruled over all China found themselves now lords of its smallest division, while the kingdom of Wei included the largest and most populous districts in the realm. A war for supremacy arose between these three kingdoms, which ended in the kings of Wei becoming supreme over the whole empire and establishing a new dynasty, which they named the dynasty of Tsin. Of this war we have only one event to relate, an interesting example of Chinese fortitude and valor. Shortly after 250 A.D. an army of the Han emperor, led by a general named Chukwoko, settled down to the siege of a small walled town named Sinching, held by three thousand men under the command of a leader named Changte, whose fortitude and energy alone saved this place for the king of Wei. For ninety days the siege went on, the catapults of the besieging force playing incessantly upon the walls, which, despite the activity of the garrison, were in time pierced in many places, while several gaping breaches lay open to the foe. Changte had defended the place vigorously, no commander could have done more, and, as no sign of a relieving force appeared, he could with all honor have capitulated, thrown open the gates, and marched out with such dignity as the victorious enemy would permit. But this was not the view of his duty held by the valorous soldier. He was one of the kind who die but do not surrender, and in his extremity had recourse to the following ruse. He sent word to Chukwoko that, as the place was clearly untenable, he was willing to surrender if he were granted ten days more of grace. "It is a law among the princes of Wei," he said, "that the governor of a place which has held out for a hundred days, and then, seeing no prospect of relief, surrenders, shall not be held guilty of dereliction of duty." Chukwoko gladly accepted this offer, being weary of his long delay before this small post, and quite willing to save his men from the perils of an assault. But, to his astonishment, a few days later he saw fresh bulwarks rising above those which had been ruined by his engines, while the breaches were rapidly repaired, new gates replaced those that had been destroyed, and Sinching seemed suddenly to regain the appearance it had presented three months before. Inside the walls a new spirit prevailed, the courage of the bold commander reanimating his troops, while the sentinels on the ramparts shouted messages of disdain to the besieging force. Indignant at this violation of the terms of the agreement, Chukwoko sent a flag of truce to the gate, demanding angrily what these proceedings meant, and if this was Changte's way of keeping his word. "I am preparing my tomb," replied the bold commander. "I propose to bury myself under the ruins of Sinching." The tomb remained untenanted by the daring commandant. The long-delayed relief appeared, and Chukwoko was obliged to make a hasty retreat, with the loss of half his army. It is safe to say that in the pursuit Changte and his faithful three thousand played a leading part. _FROM THE SHOEMAKER'S BENCH TO THE THRONE._ At the beginning of the fifth century of the Christian era China had fallen into a state of decrepitude. The second dynasty of the Tsins was near its end. For a century and a half it had held the imperial power, but now it had fallen a prey to luxury, one of its latest emperors dying from prolonged drunkenness, another being smothered in bed by his wife, whom he had insulted while intoxicated. The empire which the founder of the dynasty had built up showed signs of falling to pieces. In the south the daring pirate Sunghen was making the great rivers the scenes of his merciless activity, spreading terror along their banks, and extending his desolating raids far over the surrounding provinces. In the north had arisen a new enemy, the Geougen Tartars, whose career had begun in the outbreak of a hundred rebels, but who had now become so powerful that their chief assumed in the year 402 the proud title of Kagan, or Great Lord. Falling upon the northern boundaries of the empire, these dangerous foes made daring inroads into the realm. As for the provinces of the empire, many of them were in a rebellious mood. At this critical period in Chinese history a child of the people came forward as the savior of his country. This was a poor boy for whom his parents had done little more than give him his name of Lieouyu, having been forced by poverty to desert him to the cold comfort of charity. He was cared for by a kind woman, as poor as they, and as he grew older learned the humble trade of shoemaking, which he followed for some time as an occupation, though he chafed in spirit at its wearisome monotony. The boy had in him the seeds of better things, showing in his early years a remarkable quickness in learning, and an energy that was not likely to remain content with a humble position. Seeing that his only chance of advancement lay in the military career, and burning with spirit and courage, the ambitious boy soon deserted the shoemaker's bench for the army's ranks. Here he showed such valor and ability that he rapidly rose to the command of a company, and was in time intrusted with a small independent body of troops. It was against the pirate Sunghen that the young soldier was pitted, and during three years he vigorously opposed that leader in his devastating raids. In this field of duty he was repeatedly victorious, breaking the reputation of the corsair, and so weakening him that his overthrow became easy. This was performed by another leader, the defeat of Sunghen being so signal that, despairing of escape, he leaped overboard and was drowned. Lieouyu, having abundantly proved his ability, was now rapidly promoted, rising in rank until he found himself in command of an army, which he handled with the greatest skill and success. His final victory in this position was against a formidable rebel, whom he fought both on land and on water with a much smaller force, completely defeating him. The emperor showed his sense of gratitude for this valuable service by raising the shoemaker's boy to the rank of commander-in-chief of all the armies of the empire. In this exalted position Lieouyu displayed the same energy and ability that he had shown in humbler commands. Marching from province to province and from victory to victory, he put down the rebels whom the weakness of the government had permitted to rise on every side. He had not only rebellious bands, but disloyal princes of the empire, to contend with. In one of his marches it was necessary to cross the great province of Wei, north of the Hoang-ho, a movement to which Topa, prince of the province, refused permission. Lieouyu, indignant at this disloyalty, forced the passage of the stream, routed the army of the prince, and pursued his march without further opposition, sending one of his generals, named Wangchinon, against the city of Changnan, the capital of the prince of Chin, who had hoisted the flag of rebellion against the emperor. Lieouyu had chosen his substitute well. Conveying his army by water as far as possible, Wangchinon, on leaving his ships, ordered them to be cast adrift. To the soldiers he made the following Napoleonic oration: "We have neither supplies nor provisions, and the swift waters of the Weiho bear from us the ships in which we came. Soldiers of the empire, only two things lie before us. Let us beat the enemy, and we will regain a hundredfold all we have lost, besides covering ourselves with glory. If the enemy beat us, there is no escape; death will be the lot of us all. To conquer or to die,--that is our destiny. You have heard; prepare to march against the enemy." With so resolute a commander victory was almost assured. Changnan, vigorously assailed, quickly surrendered, and the captive prince of Chin was executed as a rebel taken in arms. Lieouyu, who had been winning victories elsewhere, now arrived, having marched in all haste to the aid of his valorous lieutenant. Praising Wangchinon for the brilliancy of his achievement, the commander was about putting his forces on the march for new victorious deeds, when peremptory orders recalled him to the capital, and his career of conquest was for the time checked. The absence of the strong hand was quickly felt. The rebels rose again in force, Changnan was lost and with it all the conquests Lieouyu had made, and the forces of the empire were everywhere driven back in defeat. Meanwhile Lieouyu, at the capital, found himself in the midst of political complications that called for decisive measures. The weakness of the emperor troubled him, while he felt a deep resentment at what he considered ill treatment on the part of the throne. He had, as Prince of Song, been raised to the third rank among the princes of the realm, but he thought his deeds entitled him to rank among the first; while the success of the rebels in the absence of his master had redoubled his reputation among the people. Ganti, the emperor, was destined to experience the dangerous consequences of raising a subject to such a height and yet leaving him below the rank to which he aspired. Lieouyu, now all-powerful in military circles, and virtually master of the realm, caused the emperor to be strangled, and named his brother Kongti as successor to the throne. But the ambition of the shoemaker's boy had not reached its summit. This was but a provisional step, and the throne itself lay before him as an alluring prize. Having skilfully laid his plans, Lieouyu, at the end of two years, gave the weak Kongti to understand that his reign was at an end, and that he must step down from the throne which a stronger than he proposed to ascend. Kongti made no resistance to this arbitrary demand. He knew that resistance would be useless, and resigned his imperial dignity in favor of the peasant who by his sword had carved his way to the throne. The ceremony was an interesting one. A broad scaffold was erected in a field adjoining the capital, and on it was placed a gorgeously decorated imperial throne, which Kongti occupied, while Lieouyu, attired in royal garb, stood below. In the presence of the assembled thousands of Kienkang, the capital, Kongti descended from the seat which he had so feebly filled, while his strong successor seated himself on the throne amid the plaudits of the approving multitude. In the presence of the great officials of the realm Kongti paid homage to Lieouyu, thus completing a ceremony which was without parallel in the history of the Chinese empire. With this act the dynasty of the Tsins came to an end, and was replaced by that of the Songs, of which Lieouyu was the first and worthiest representative. Of the ceremony of investiture the principal feature was the assumption of the imperial cap or crown, which has long been the chief mark of royalty worn by the Chinese emperor. This is a cap of peculiar shape, round in front and straight behind, and ornamented with one hundred and forty-four precious stones. From it hang twelve pendants consisting of strings of pearls, of which four are so arranged as to hang over the emperor's eyes. This is done, it is said, in order that the emperor may not see the accused who are brought before him for trial. [Illustration: Reproduced by permission of The Philadelphia Museums. WATER CART. PEKIN, CHINA.] It was in the year 420 A.D. that Lieouyu ascended the throne, assuming with the imperial dignity the name of a former emperor of renown, Kaotsou, and naming his dynasty the Song, from his princely title. As for the deposed emperor, the new monarch had no thought of leaving any such dangerous element in his path, and Kongti was called upon "to drink the waters of eternal life," the Chinese euphuism for swallowing poison. Kongti, a devoted Buddhist, declined the fatal draught, on the ground that self-murder was in opposition to his religious sentiments. This is the only instance in Chinese history in which a deposed ruler refused to accept the inevitable fate of the unfortunate. To quaff the poisoned cup is the time-honored way of getting rid of an inconvenient ex-monarch. This refusal of the deposed emperor led to sterner measures, and he was murdered by the guard which had been placed over him in his palace. Lieouyu was not destined long to occupy the throne which he had thus secured. He was already growing old, and a short reign of three years ended his career. As a monarch and a man alike he displayed sterling and admirable qualities. His courage on the field of battle, his frugality and earnest devotion to duty in every position which he reached, won him the widest commendation, while he was still more esteemed by his subjects for his kindness and devotion to the foster-mother who had nourished him when deserted by his own parents, and who had the remarkable fortune of seeing the poor child who had been abandoned to her charitable care seated on the imperial throne of the realm. _THREE NOTABLE WOMEN._ In the year 503 began a long war between the princes of Wei and the emperors of China, which continued for nearly half a century. Of this protracted contest we have only three incidents to relate, in which, within a few years, three heroines rose to prominence and in various ways showed an ability surpassing that of the men of their age. It is the story of these three women that we propose to tell. Chanyang, a stronghold of Wei, had been placed in charge of Ginching, one of the ablest soldiers of that kingdom. But the exigencies of the war obliged that officer to make an excursion beyond its walls, taking with him the main body of the garrison, and leaving the place very weakly defended. Taking advantage of this opportunity, one of the Chinese generals marched quickly upon the weakened stronghold, surrounded it with a large army, and made so rapid and vigorous an assault that all the outer defences fell into his hands without a blow in their defence. At this perilous juncture, when the place was almost in the hands of its foes, and the depressed garrison was ready to yield, Mongchi, the wife of the absent commander, appeared upon the ramparts, called upon their defenders to make a bold and resolute resistance to the enemy, and by her courage and animation put new spirit into the troops. Inspired by her, they bravely resisted the further advance of the assailants and held the walls, which, but for the valor of the heroine, must inevitably have been lost. Having thus checked the first onslaught of the enemy, Mongchi went vigorously to work. The inhabitants of the place were armed and sent to reinforce the garrison, the defences of the gate were strengthened, and by promises of reward as well as by her presence and inspiriting appeals the brave woman stirred up the defenders to such vigorous resistance that the imperial forces were on every side repelled, and in the end were forced to abandon the prize which they had deemed safely their own. Not till after Chanyang was saved did Ginching return from an important victory he had won in the field, to learn that his brave wife had gained as signal a success in his absence. The second woman whom we shall name was Houchi, wife of the king of Wei, whose husband came to the throne in 515, but became a mere tool in the hands of his able and ambitious wife. After a short period Houchi was so bold as to force her husband to vacate the throne, naming her infant son as king in his place, but exercising all the power of the realm herself. She went so far as to declare war against the empire, though the contest that followed was marked by continual disaster to her troops, except in one notable instance. As in the case above cited, so in this war a stronghold was successfully held by a woman. This place was Tsetong, whose commandant was absent, leaving the command to his wife Lieouchi, a woman of the highest courage and readiness in an emergency. As before, the imperial troops took advantage of the occasion, and quickly invested the town, while Lieouchi, with a valor worthy of a soldier's wife, made rapid preparations for defending it to the last extremity. Her decisive resolution was shown in an instance that must have redoubled the courage of her men. Discovering, after the siege had gone on for several days, that one of the officers of her small force was playing the traitor by corresponding with the enemy, she called a general council of the officers, with the ostensible purpose of deliberating on the management of the defence. The traitor attended the council, not dreaming that his proposed treason was suspected. He was thunderstruck when Lieouchi vehemently accused him before his fellow-officers of the crime, showing such knowledge of his purpose that he was forced to admit the justice of the charge. The energetic woman wasted no time in this critical state of affairs, but, drawing her sword, severed the head of the traitor from his body with one vigorous blow. This act put an end to all thoughts of treason in the garrison of Tsetong. The courage of Lieouchi was not greater than her judgment and decision in an emergency. There was but a single well to supply the garrison with water, and this the enemy succeeded in cutting off. The ready wit of the woman overcame this serious loss. It was the rainy season, and she succeeded in collecting a considerable supply of rain-water in vases, while linen and the clothes of the soldiers were also utilized as water-catching devices. In the end the imperial forces, baffled in their every effort by this heroic woman, abandoned the siege in disgust. As for Houchi, the ruler of Wei, her ability was of a different kind, yet in her ambitious designs she displayed unusual powers. Deposed and imprisoned on account of the failure of the war, she soon overthrew her enemies and rose to the head of affairs again, and for several years continued to wage war with the emperor. But the war went against her, and trouble arose within her kingdom. Here and there were movements of rebellion, and the generals of the realm were at daggers' points to supplant one another. Amid these distractions the queen balanced herself with marked skill, playing off one enemy against another, but her position daily grew more insecure. Her power was brought to an end by her final act, which was to depose her son and place herself in sole control of the realm. Erchu Jong, a general of ability and decision, now rose in revolt, marched on the capital, made Houchi his prisoner, and in the same moment ended her reign and her life by drowning her in the waters of the Hoang-ho. Then, gathering two thousand of the notables of the city, her aids and supporters, on a plain outside the walls, he ordered his cavalry to kill them all. Other steps of the same stern character were taken by this fierce soldier, whose power grew so great as to excite official dread. A general sent against him by Vouti, the emperor, who boasted of having gained forty-seven victories, was completely defeated, and all the results of his campaign were lost. Erchu Jong now formed the design of reuniting the empire and driving Vouti from the throne, but his enemies brought this ambitious scheme to an end. Invited to the palace on some pretence, he was cut down in the audience-hall, the Prince of Wei, whom he had placed on the throne, giving his consent to this act of treachery. Thus was the death of Houchi quickly avenged. _THE REIGN OF TAITSONG THE GREAT._ The history of China differs remarkably from that of Japan in one particular. In the latter a single dynasty of emperors has, from the beginning, held the throne. In the former there have been numerous dynasties, most of them brief, some long extended. In Japan the emperors lived in retirement, and it was the dynasties of shoguns or generals that suffered change. In China the emperors kept at the head of affairs, and were exposed to all the perils due to error or weakness in the ruler and ambition in powerful subjects. The fall of the great dynasty of the Hans left the way clear for several brief dynasties, of whose emperors Yangti, the last, was a man of great public spirit and magnificent ideas. His public spirit was expressed in a series of great canals, which extended throughout the empire, their total length being, it is said, more than sixteen hundred leagues, Several of these great works still remain. His magnificence of idea was shown in the grand adornments of Loyang, his capital, where two million of men were employed upon his palace and the public buildings. Yangti's son was deposed by Liyuen, Prince of Tang, and a new dynasty, that of the Tang emperors, was formed, which continued for several centuries at the head of affairs. The new emperor assumed the name of Kaotsou, made famous by the first emperor of the Hans. But the glory of his reign belongs to his son, not to himself, and it is with this son, Lichimin by name, that we have now to do. It had been the custom of the founders of dynasties to begin their reign by the destruction of the families of their deposed rivals. The new emperor showed himself more merciful, by pensioning instead of destroying his unfortunate foes. His only vengeance was upon inanimate objects. Lichimin, on capturing Loyang, ordered the great palace of Yangti, the most magnificent building in the empire, to be set on fire and destroyed. "So much pomp and pride," he said, "could not be sustained, and ought to lead to the ruin of those who considered their own love of luxury rather than the needs of the people." While his father occupied the throne the valiant Lichimin went forth "conquering and to conquer." Wherever he went victory went with him. The foes of the Tangs were put down in quick succession. A great Tartar confederacy was overthrown by the vigorous young general. Four years sufficed for the work. At the end of that time Lichimin was able to announce that he had vanquished all the enemies of the empire, both at home and abroad. His victories were followed by a triumph which resembled those given to the great generals of ancient Rome. The city of Singan was the capital of the new dynasty, and into it Lichimin rode at the head of his victorious legions, dressed in costly armor and wearing a breastplate of gold. His personal escort consisted of ten thousand picked horsemen, among them a regiment of cuirassiers dressed in black tiger-skins, who were particularly attached to his person and the most distinguished for valor of all his troops. Thirty thousand cuirassiers followed, with a captive king of the Tartars in their midst. Other captives testified to the glory of the conqueror, being the vanquished defenders of conquered cities, whose abundant spoils were displayed in the train. Into the city wound the long array, through multitudes of applauding spectators, Lichimin proceeding in state to the Hall of his Ancestors, where he paid obeisance to the shades of his progenitors and detailed to them the story of his victorious career. Unlike the more cruel Romans, who massacred the captives they had shown in their triumphs, Lichimin pardoned his. The principal officers of the army were richly rewarded, and the affair ended in a great banquet, at which the emperor gave his valiant son the highest praise for his services to the country. The rejoicings ended in a proclamation of general amnesty and a reduction of the taxes, so that all might benefit by the imperial triumph. Yet there was poison in the victor's cup of joy. His brothers envied him, intrigued against him, and succeeded in instilling such doubts in the emperor's mind that Lichimin fell into disgrace and was strongly tempted to leave the court. The intrigues, which had first dealt with his good name, were next directed against his life, a plot to murder him being devised. Fortunately it was discovered in time, and the death they had planned for their brother fell upon themselves, leaving him the emperor's unquestioned heir. The same year (626 A.D.) the emperor retired to private life and raised his great son to the throne. Lichimin, as emperor, assumed the name of Taitsong, a title which he made so famous that he fully earned the designation of Taitsong the Great. The empire was surrounded with enemies, the nomads of the north, extending from Corea to Kokonor, and the warlike people of the south, from Thibet to Tonquin. During the remainder of his life he was engaged in incessant conflict with these stinging wasps, whose onslaughts left him no peace. Scarcely was he settled on the throne when the Tartar invasions began. Their raids were repelled, but they instigated Taitsong to an important measure. It had always been evident that the Chinese troops, hitherto little more than a raw militia, were unable to cope with the sons of the desert, and the shrewd emperor set himself to organize an army that should be a match in discipline and effectiveness for any of its foes. The new army embraced three ranks, each corps of the superior rank consisting of twelve hundred, and those of the others respectively of one thousand and eight hundred men. The total force thus organized approached nine hundred thousand men, of whom a large portion were used for frontier duty. These troops were carefully trained in the use of the bow and the pike, Taitsong himself inspecting a portion of them daily. This innovation roused bitter opposition from the literati, whose books told them that former emperors did not engage in such work. But Taitsong, on the theory that in time of peace we should prepare for war, went on with his reforms regardless of their cited precedents. Taitsong's new army was soon put to the proof. The Tartars were in arms again, a powerful confederacy had been formed, and China was in danger. Marching into the desert with his disciplined forces, he soon had his enemies in flight, forced several of the leading khans to submit, and spread the dread of his arms widely among the tribes. To his title of Emperor of China he now added that of Khan of the Tartars, and claimed as subjects all the nomads of the desert. The next great war was with Thibet, whose tribes had become subdued under one chief, called the Sanpou, or "brave lord." This potentate, who deemed himself the peer of his powerful neighbor, demanded a Chinese princess in marriage, and when this favor was refused he invaded a province of the empire. Taitsong at once put his army in motion, defeated the forces of Thibet, and made the Sanpou acknowledge himself a vassal of China and pay a fine of five thousand ounces of gold. Then the princess he had sought to win by force was granted to him as a favor. The Sanpou gave up his barbarian ways, adopted Chinese customs, and built a walled city for his princess wife. The next act of the great emperor was to bring Eastern Turkestan, conquered by Panchow more than five centuries before, under Chinese rule. This country had admitted the supremacy of the emperor, but not until now did it become part of the empire, which it has since remained. The last warlike act of Taitsong's life was the invasion of Corea. Here he won various great battles, but was at length baffled in the siege of a Corean town, and lost all he had gained, the gallant commandant of the town wishing the troops "a pleasant journey" as they began their retreat. Taitsong did not confine himself to deeds of war. Under the advice of his wife Changsungchi, a woman as great in her way as he was in his, and celebrated for her domestic virtues, talent, and good sense, he founded the Imperial Library and the great College, decreased the taxes, and regulated the finances of the realm. The death of this good woman was to him a severe blow, and he ordered that she should receive the funeral honors due to an emperor. His last days were spent in drawing up for the instruction of his son a great work on the art of government, known as the Golden Mirror. He died in 649 A.D., having proved himself one of the ablest monarchs, alike in war and in peace, that ever sat on the Chinese throne. [Illustration: SHANGHAI, FROM THE WATER-SIDE.] _A FEMALE RICHELIEU._ Five years after the death of the great Taitsong, his son Kaotsong, Emperor of China, fell in love with a woman, a fact in no sense new in the annals of mankind, but one which was in this case destined to exert a striking influence on the history of an empire. This woman was the princess Wou, a youthful widow of the late emperor, and now an inmate of a Buddhist convent. So strong was the passion of the young ruler for the princess that he set aside the opposition of his ministers, divorced his lawful empress, and, in the year 655, made his new love his consort on the throne. It was a momentous act. So great was the ascendency of the woman over her lover that from the start he became a mere tool in her hands and ruled the empire in accordance with her views. Her first act was one that showed her merciless strength of purpose. Fearing that the warm love of Kaotsong might in time grow cold, and that the deposed empress or some other of the palace women might return to favor, she determined to sweep these possible perils from her path. At her command the unhappy queens were drowned in a vase of wine, their hands and feet being first cut off,--seemingly an unnecessary cruelty. This merciless act of the empress, and her dominant influence in the government, soon made her many enemies. But they were to find that she was a dangerous person to plot against. Her son was proclaimed heir to the throne, and the opposing officials soon found themselves in prison, where secret death quickly ended their hostility. Wou now sought to make herself supreme. At first assisting the emperor in the labors of government, she soon showed a quickness of apprehension, a ready wit in emergencies, and a tact in dealing with difficult questions that rendered her aid indispensable. Step by step the emperor yielded his power to her more skilful hands, until he retained for himself only the rank while she held all the authority of the imperial office. Under her control China retained abroad the proud position which Taitsong had won. For years war went on with Corea, who called in the Japanese to their aid. But the allies were defeated and four hundred of the war-junks of Japan given to the flames. The desert nomads remained subdued, and in Central Asia the power of China was firmly maintained. Now was the era of a mighty commotion in Southern Asia and the countries of the Mediterranean. Arabia was sending forth its hosts, the sword and the Koran in hand, to conquer the world and convert it to the Mohammedan faith. Persia was in imminent peril, and sent envoys to China begging for aid. But the shrewd empress had no thought of involving her dominions in war with these devastating hordes, and sent word that Persia was too far away for an army to be despatched to its rescue. Envoys also came from India, but China kept carefully free from hostilities with the conquerors of the south. Kaotsong died in 683, after occupying the throne for thirty-three years. His death threatened the position of the empress, the power behind the throne. But she proved herself fully equal to the occasion, and made herself more truly the ruler of China than before. Chongtsong, son of the late emperor, was proclaimed, but a few days ended his reign. A decree passed by him in favor of his wife's family roused Wou to action, and she succeeded in deposing him and banishing him and his family, taking up again the supreme power of which she had been so brief a time deprived. She now carried matters with a high hand. A nominal emperor was chosen, but the rule was hers. She handled all the public business, disposed of the offices of state, erected temples to her ancestors, wore the robes which by law could be worn only by an emperor, and performed the imperial function of sacrificing to Heaven, the supreme deity of the Chinese. For once in its history China had an actual empress, and one of an ability and a power of maintaining the dignity of the throne which none of its emperors have surpassed. Her usurpation brought her a host of enemies. It set aside all the precedents of the empire, and that a woman should reign directly, instead of indirectly, stirred the spirit of conservatism to its depths. Wou made no effort to conciliate her foes. She went so far as to change the name of the dynasty and to place members of her own family in the great offices of the realm. Rebellious risings followed; plots for her assassination were formed; but her vigilance was too great, her measures were too prompt, for treason to succeed. No matter how great the rank or how eminent the record of a conspirator, death ended his career as soon as her suspicions were aroused. The empire was filled with her spies, who became so numerous as largely to defeat their purpose, by bringing false accusations before the throne. The ready queen settled this difficulty by an edict threatening with death any one who falsely accused a citizen of the realm. The improbable story is told that in a single day a thousand charges were brought of which eight hundred and fifty proved to be false, those who brought them being at once sent to the block. Execution in the streets of Singan, the capital, was her favorite mode of punishment, and great nobles and ministers died by the axe before the eyes of curious multitudes. A Richelieu in her treatment of her enemies, she displayed the ability of a Richelieu in her control of the government. Her rule was a wise one, and the dignity of the nation never suffered in her hands. The surrounding peoples showed respect for her power, and her subjects could not but admit that they were well and ably ruled. And, that they might the better understand this, she had books written and distributed describing her eminent services to the state, while the priesthood laid before the people the story of her many virtues. Thus for more than twenty years after the death of Kaotsong the great empress continued to hold her own in peace and in war. In her later years wars broke out, which were handled by her with promptness and success. But age now weighed upon her. In 704, when she was more than eighty years old, she became so ill that for several months she was unable to receive her ministers. This weakening of the strong hand was taken advantage of by her enemies. Murdering her principal relatives, they broke into the palace and demanded her abdication. Unable to resist, she, with unabated dignity of mien, handed to them the imperial seal and the other emblems of power. In the following year she died. For more than forty years she had been the supreme ruler of China, and held her great office with a strength and dignity which may well be called superb. _THE TARTARS AND GENGHIS KHAN._ In the northern section of the vast Mongolian plateau, that immense outreach of pasture-lands which forms the great abiding-place of the shepherd tribes of the earth, there long dwelt a warlike race which was destined to play an extraordinary part in the world's history. The original home of this people, who at an early date had won the significant name of Mongol, or "the brave," was in the strip of territory between the Onon and the Kerulon, tributaries of the upper Amur River, the great water artery of East Siberia. In this retreat, strongly protected from attack, and with sufficient herbage for their flocks, the Mongols may have dwelt for ages unknown to history. We hear of them first in the ninth century, when they appeared as a section of the great horde of the Shiwei, attracting attention by their great strength and extraordinary courage, characteristics to which they owed their distinctive title. For two or three centuries they were among the tribes that paid tribute to China, and there was nothing in their career of special interest. Then they suddenly broke into startling prominence, and sent a wave of terror over the whole civilized world. The history of China is so closely connected with that of the nomad tribes that one cannot be given without the other, and before telling the story of the Mongols a brief outline of the history of these tribes is desirable. China is on three sides abundantly defended from invasion, by the ocean on the east, and by mountains and desert on the south and west. Its only vulnerable quarter is in the north, where it joins on to the vast region of the steppes, a country whose scarcity of rain unfits it for agriculture, but which has sufficient herbage for the pasturage of immense herds. Here from time immemorial has dwelt a race of hardy wanderers, driving its flocks of sheep, cattle, and horses from pasture to pasture, and at frequent intervals descending in plundering raids upon the settled peoples of the south. China in particular became the prey of these warlike horsemen. We hear little of them in the early days, when the Chinese realm was narrow and the original barbarians possessed most of the land. We hear much of them in later days, when the empire had widened and grown rich and prosperous, offering an alluring prize to the restless and daring inhabitants of the steppes. The stories we have already told have much to say of the relations of China with the nomads of the north. Against these foes the Great Wall was built in vain, and ages of warfare passed before the armies of China succeeded in subduing and making tributary the people of the steppes. We first hear of Tartar raids upon China in the reign of the emperor Muh Wang, in the tenth century B.C. As time went on, the tribes combined and fell in steadily greater numbers upon the southern realm. Of these alliances of tribes the first known was named by Chinese historians the Heung Nou, or "detestable slaves." Under its chiefs, called the Tanjous, it became very formidable, and for a thousand years continued a thorn in the side of the Chinese empire. The Tanjous were dominant in the steppes for some three hundred years, when they were overthrown by a revolt of the tribes, and were succeeded by the Sienpi, who under their chiefs, the Topas, or "masters of the earth," grew formidable, conquering the northern provinces of China, which they held for a century and a half. Finally a slave of one of the Topa chiefs, at the head of a hundred outlaws, broke into revolt, and gathered adherents until the power of the Sienpi was broken, and a new tribe, the Geougen, became predominant. Its leader, Cehelun by name, extended his power over a vast territory, assuming the title of Kagan, or Khan. The next revolt took place in the sixth century A.D., when a tribe of slaves, which worked the iron forges of the Altai Mountains for the Great Khan, rebelled and won its freedom. Growing rapidly, it almost exterminated the Geougen in a great battle, and became dominant over the clans. Thus first came into history the great tribe of the Turks, whose later history was destined to be so momentous. The dominion of the Khan of the Turks grew so enormously that in time it extended from Central Siberia on the north to Persia on the south, while he made his power felt by China on the east and by Rome on the west. Ambassadors from the Khan reached Constantinople, and Roman envoys were received in return in his tent at the foot of the Altai range. The Turks were the first of the nomad organizations who made their power felt throughout the civilized world. On the eastern steppes other tribes came into prominence. The Khitans were supreme in this region from 900 to 1100 A.D., and made serious inroads into China. They were followed by the Kins, or Golden Tartars, a tribe of Manchu origin, who proved a terrible foe, conquering and long holding a large section of Northern China. Then came the Mongols, the most powerful and terrible of all, who overthrew the Kins and became sole lords of the empire of the steppes. It is with the remarkable career of this Mongol tribe that we are here particularly concerned. The first of the Mongol chiefs whose name is preserved was Budantsar, who conquered the district between the Onon and the Kerulon, the earliest known home of the Mongol race. His descendants ruled over the clan until about the year 1135, when the first step of rebellion of the Mongols from the power of the Kins took place. This was under Kabul, a descendant of Budantsar. The war with the Kins continued under later leaders, of whom Yissugei captured a powerful Tartar chief named Temujin. On returning home he learned that his wife had given birth to a son, to whom he gave his captive's name of Temujin. This child, born probably in 1162 A.D., afterwards became the famous conqueror Genghis Khan. The birthplace of the future hero was on the banks of the Onon. His father, chief over forty thousand families, died when he was still young, and many of the tribesmen, refusing to be governed by a boy, broke loose from his authority. His mother, a woman worthy of her race, succeeded in bringing numbers of them back to their allegiance, but the young chief found himself at the head of but half the warriors who had followed his father to victory. The enemies of Temujin little knew with whom they had to deal. At first misfortune pursued the youth, and he was at length taken prisoner by his enemies, who treated him with great indignity. He soon escaped, however, and rallied his broken forces, shrewdly baffling his foes, who sought to recapture him by a treacherous invitation to a feast. In the end they attacked Temujin in his own country, where, standing on the defensive, he defeated them with great loss. This victory brought the young chief wide renown, and so many allies gathered under his banner that he became a power in the steppes. "Temujin alone is generous and worthy of ruling a great people," was the decision in the tents of the wandering tribes. The subsequent career of the Mongol chief was one of striking vicissitudes. His power grew until the question of the dominion of the steppes rested upon a great battle between the Mongols and the powerful tribe of the Keraits. The latter won the victory, the Mongols were slain in thousands, and the power which Temujin had gained by years of effort was in a day overthrown. Nothing remained to him but a small band of followers, whose only strength lay in their fidelity and discipline. Yet a man of the military ability of Temujin could not long remain at so low an ebb of fortune. In a brief time he had surprised and subdued the Keraits, and next met in battle the powerful confederacy of the Naimans, whom he defeated in a stubborn and long-contested battle. This victory made him the unquestioned lord of the steppes, over all whose inhabitants the Mongols had become supreme. And now Temujin resolved to indicate his power by some title worthy of the great position he had gained. All the Mongol chiefs were summoned to the grand council or Kuriltai of the tribe, and around the national ensign, composed of nine white yak-tails, planted in the centre of the camp, the warriors gathered to hear the opinion of their chief. It was proclaimed to them that Temujin was not content with the title of Gur Khan, to which its former bearers had not given dignity, but would assume the title of Genghis Khan (Very Mighty Khan). It may be said here that there are almost as many spellings of this name as there are historians of the deeds of him that bore it. Genghis made princes of his two principal generals, rewarded all other brave officers, and in every available way cemented to his fortunes the Mongol chiefs. He was now about forty-five years of age, yet, instead of being at the end, he was but little beyond the beginning of his career. The Kins, who had conquered Northern China, and whose ruler bore the proud title of emperor, were the next to feel the power of his arms. The dominions of the king of Hia, a vassal of the Kin emperor, were invaded and his power overthrown. Genghis married his daughter, made an alliance with him, and in 1210 invaded the territory so long held by the Kins. The Great Wall, which had so often proved useless as a barrier of defence, failed to check the march of the great Mongol host, the chief who should have defended it being bribed to desert his charge. Through the opening thus offered the Mongols poured into the territory of the Kins, defeated them in every engagement in the field, overran the rich provinces held by them, and obtained a vast wealth in plunder. Yet the war was now waged against a settled and populous state, with strong walled cities and other fortified places, instead of against the scattered clans of the steppes, and, despite the many victories of the invading horde, it took twenty years of constant fighting to crush the Tartar emperor of Northern China. In truth, the resistance of the emperor of the Kins was far more stubborn and effective than that of the nations of the south and west. In 1218 Genghis invaded Central Asia, conquered its oases, and destroyed Bokhara, Samarcand, and other cities. He next subjected the whole of Persia, while the westward march of the armies under his lieutenants was arrested only at the mountain barrier of Central Europe, all Russia falling subject to his rule. In four years the mighty conqueror, having established his rule from Armenia to the Indus, was back again and ready to resume his struggle with the Kins of China. He found the kingdom of Hia in revolt, and in 1225 assembled against it the largest army he had ever employed in his Chinese wars. His success was rapid and complete. The cities, the fortresses, the centres of trade, fell in rapid succession into his hands, and in a final great battle, fought upon the frozen waters of the Hoang-ho, the army of Hia was practically exterminated. This was the last great event in the life of Genghis Khan. He died in 1227, having by his ruthless warfare sent five millions of victims to the grave. With his last words he deplored the wanton cruelty with which his wars had been fought, and advised his people to refrain in future from such sanguinary acts. Thus died, at the age of about sixty-five years, one of the greatest conquerors the world has known, the area of whose conquests vastly exceeded those of Cæsar and Napoleon, and added to the empire won by Alexander a still greater dominion in the north. The Chinese said of him that "he led his armies like a god;" and in truth as a military genius he has had no superior in the history of the world. The sphere of no other conqueror ever embraced so vast a realm, and the wave of warfare which he set in motion did not come to rest until it had covered nearly the whole of Asia and the eastern half of the European continent. Beginning as chief of the fragment of a tribe, he ended as lord of nearly half the civilized world, and dozens of depopulated cities told the story of his terrible career. He had swept over the earth like a tornado of blood and death. _HOW THE FRIARS FARED AMONG THE TARTARS._ The sea of Mongol invasion which, pouring in the thirteenth century from the vast steppes of Asia, overflowed all Eastern Europe, and was checked in its course only by the assembled forces of the German nations, filled the world of the West with inexpressible terror. For a time, after whelming beneath its flood Russia, Poland, and Hungary, it was rolled back, but the terror remained. At any moment these savage horsemen might return in irresistible strength and spread the area of desolation to the western seas. The power of arms seemed too feeble to stay them; the power of persuasion, however, might not be in vain, and the pope, as the spiritual head of Europe, felt called upon to make an effort for the rescue of the Christian world. Tartar hordes were then advancing through Persia towards the Holy Land, and to these, in the forlorn hope of checking their course, he sent as ambassadors a body of Franciscan friars composed of Father Ascelin and three companions. It was in the year 1246 that these papal envoys set out, armed with full powers from the head of the Church, but sadly deficient in the worldly wisdom necessary to deal with such truculent infidels as those whom they had been sent to meet. Ascelin and his comrades journeyed far through Asia in search of a Tartar host, and at length found one on the northern frontier of Persia. Into the camp of the barbarians the worthy Franciscan boldly advanced, announcing himself as an ambassador from the pope. To his surprise, this announcement was received with contempt by the Tartars, who knew little and cared less for the object of his deep veneration. In return he showed his feeling towards the infidels in a way that soon brought his mission into a perilous state. He was refused an audience with the Mongol general unless he would perform the _ko-tou_, or three genuflections, an act which he and his followers refused as an idolatrous ceremony which would scandalize all Christendom. Finally, as nothing less would be accepted, they, in their wise heads, thought they might consent to perform the _ko-tou_, provided the general and all his army would become Christians. This folly capped the climax. The Tartars, whom they had already irritated, broke into a violent rage, loaded the friars with fierce invectives, and denounced them and their pope as Christian dogs. A council was called to decide what to do with these insulting strangers. Some suggested that the friars should be flayed alive, and their skins, stuffed with hay, sent to the pope. Others wished to keep them till the next battle with the Christians, and then place them in front of the army as victims to the god of war. A third proposition was to whip them through the camp and then put them to death. But Baithnoy, the general, had no fancy for delay, and issued orders that the whole party should at once be executed. In this frightful predicament, into which Ascelin and his party had brought themselves, a woman's pity came to the rescue. Baithnoy's principal wife endeavored to move him to compassion; but, finding him obdurate, she next appealed to his interest. To violate in this way the law of nations would cover him with disgrace, she said, and stay the coming of many who otherwise would seek his camp with homage and presents. She reminded him of the anger of the Great Khan when, on a former occasion, he had caused the heart of an ambassador to be plucked out and had ridden around the camp with it fastened to his horse's tail. By these arguments, reinforced with entreaties, she induced him to spare the lives of the friars. They were advised to visit the court of the Great Khan, but Ascelin had seen as much as he relished of Tartar courts, and refused to go a step farther except by force. He was then desired, as he had been so curious to see a Tartar army, to wait until their expected reinforcements arrived. He protested that he had seen enough Tartars already to last him the rest of his life; but, despite his protest, he was detained for several months, during which the Tartars amused themselves by annoying and vexing their visitors. At length, after having been half starved, frequently threatened with death, and insulted in a hundred ways, they were set free, bearing letters to the pope ordering him to come in person and do homage to Genghis Khan, the Son of God. At the same time that Ascelin set out for the south, another party, headed by John Carpini, set out for the north, to visit the Tartars then in Russia. Here they were startled by the first act demanded of them, they being compelled to pass between two large fires as a purification from the suspicion of evil. On coming into the presence of Bathy, the general, they, more terrified perhaps than Ascelin, did not hesitate to fall upon their knees. To heighten their terrors, two of them were sent to the court of the Great Khan, in the heart of Tartary, the other two being detained on some pretext. The journey was a frightful one. With no food but millet, no drink but melted snow, pushing on at a furious speed, changing horses several times a day, passing over tracts strewn with human bones, and the weather through part of their journey being bitterly cold, they at length reached the court of the Mongols on July 22, 1246. They arrived at an interesting period. The election of Kujak, a new khan, was about to take place, and, in addition to great Tartar lords from all quarters of the Mongol empire, ambassadors from Russia, Persia, Bagdad, India, and China were at hand with presents and congratulations. The assembled nobles, four thousand in all, dazzled Carpini with their pomp and magnificence. The coronation was attended with peculiar ceremonies, and a few days afterwards audience was given to the ambassadors, that they might deliver their presents. Here the friars were amazed at the abundance and value of the gifts, which consisted of satin cloths, robes of purple, silk girdles wrought with gold, and costly skins. Most surprising of all was a "sun canopy" (umbrella) full of precious stones, a long row of camels covered with Baldakin cloth, and a "wonderful brave tent, all of red purple, presented by the Kythayans" (Chinese), while near by stood five hundred carts "all full of silver, and of gold, and of silk garments." The friars were now placed in an embarrassing position by being asked what presents they had to give. They had so little that they thought it best to declare "that they were not of ability so to do." This failure was well received, and throughout their visit they were treated with great respect, the khan cajoling them with hints that he proposed publicly to profess Christianity. These flattering hopes came to a sudden end when the great Mongol ruler ordered the erection of a flag of defiance against the Roman empire, the Christian Church, and all the Christian kingdoms of the West, unless they would do homage to him; and with this abrupt termination to their embassy they were dismissed. After "travailing all winter long," sleeping on snow without shelter, and suffering other hardships, they reached Europe in June, 1247, where they were "rejoiced over as men that had been risen from death to life." Carpini was the first European to approach the borders of China, or Cathay, as it was then called, and the story he told about that mysterious empire of the East, gathered from the Tartars, was of much interest, and, so far as it went, of considerable accuracy. He was also the first to visit the court of those terrible warriors who had filled the world with dismay, and to bring to Europe an account of their barbaric manners and customs. Shortly after (in 1253) a friar named Rubruquis, with two companions, was sent to Tartary by Louis IX. of France to search for Prester John, an imaginary Christian potentate supposed to reign in the centre of Asia, to visit Sartach, a Tartar chief also reported a Christian, and to teach the doctrines of Christianity to all the Tartars he should find. Rubruquis did his work well, and, while failing to find Prester John or to convert any of the Tartars, he penetrated to the very centre of the Mongol empire, visited Karakorum, the capital of the Great Khans, and brought back much valuable information, giving a clear, accurate, and intelligent account of the lands he had seen and the people he had met, with such news of distant China as he could obtain without actually crossing the Great Wall. After his visit information concerning these remote regions ceased until the publication of the remarkably interesting book of Marco Polo, the first to write of China from an actual visit to its court. The story of his visit must be left for a later tale. _THE SIEGE OF SIANYANG._ In the year 1268 the army of Kublai Khan, grandson of Genghis the famous conqueror, made its appearance before the stronghold of Sianyang, an important city of China on the southern bank of the Han River. On the opposite side of the stream stood the city of Fanching, the two being connected by bridges and forming virtually a single city. Sianyang, the capital of a populous and prosperous district, was the most important stronghold left to China, and its fall would be almost fatal to that realm. Hence Kublai, who had succeeded to the empire of the Kins in Northern China, and was bent on making the rest of that country his own, made his first move against this powerful city, which the Chinese prepared with energy to defend. In all the history of its wars China showed no greater courage and resolution than in the defence of this important place. The army of Kublai consisted of sixty thousand veterans of the Mongol wars, with a large body of auxiliary troops, an army large enough to occupy all the neighboring heights and form an intrenched camp around the city ten miles in length. This done, and all communication by land cut off, steps were taken to intercept all supplies sent by water. The Mongols had no vessels, but they set themselves with their usual activity to build a fleet, and in a short time had launched upon the Han fifty junks larger than those used by the Chinese. Meanwhile Lieouwen Hoan, governor of the two cities, was strengthening their works and vigorously repelling every assault of his foes. The city was surrounded by thick and lofty walls and a deep fosse, was amply garrisoned, and was abundantly supplied with provisions, having food-supplies, it was said, sufficient "for a period of ten years." Thus provided, the gallant commandant, confident in his strength and resources, defied the efforts of the enemy. Threatened by the Mongols with massacre if he should continue a vain defence, he retorted by declaring that he would drag the renegade general in command of their troops in chains into the presence of the master to whom he had proved a traitor. These bold words were sustained by brave deeds. All the assaults of the Mongols were valiantly repulsed, and, although their army was constantly reinforced by fresh troops, the siege made very slow progress. The position of the besiegers was several times changed, their lines were here extended and there withdrawn, but all their efforts proved vain, they being baffled on every side, while the governor held out with unyielding fortitude. A flotilla of store-ships on the Han was met by the Mongol fleet and driven back with serious loss, but this success was of no great service to the besiegers, since the cities were still well supplied. Thus for three years the siege went on, and it was beginning to languish, when new spirit was given it by fresh preparations on the part of the two contestants. Kublai, weary of the slow progress of his armies, resolved to press the siege with more vigor than ever, while the Chinese minister determined to do something for the relief of the garrison. A large Chinese army was put into the field, but it was placed under the command of an incapable officer, whose dilatory movements promised little for the aid of the valiant defenders. Nothing would have been done had not abler and bolder spirits come to the assistance of the beleaguered host. Litingchi, governor of Ganlo, a town on the Han south of Sianyang, incensed by the tardy march of the army of relief, resolved to strike a prompt and telling blow. Collecting a force of three thousand men, from which he dismissed all who feared to take part in the perilous adventure, he laid his plans to throw into Sianyang this reinforcement, with a large convoy of such supplies as he had learned that the garrison needed. The attempt was made successful through the valor of the Chinese troops. Several hundred vessels, escorted by the band of devoted warriors, sailed down a tributary of the Han towards Sianyang. The Mongols had sought by chains and other obstacles to close the stream, but these were broken through by the junks, whose impetuous advance had taken the besiegers by surprise. Recovering their spirit, and taking advantage of the high ground above the stream, the Mongols soon began to regain the ground they had lost and to imperil the success of the expedition. Seeing this, and fearing the defeat of the project, Changchun, at the head of one division of the escort of troops, devoted himself and his men to death for the safety of the fleet, charging so vigorously as to keep the Mongols fully occupied for several hours. This diversion gave the other Chinese leader an opportunity to push on to Sianyang with the store-ships, where they were joyfully received by the people, who for three years had been cut off from communication with the outside world. So great were the excitement and joy of the garrison that they flung open the city gates, in bold defiance of their foes, or as if they thought that the Mongols must be in full retreat. Their enthusiasm, however, was somewhat dampened when the mutilated body of the heroic Changchun came floating down the stream, in evidence of the continued presence and barbarity of their foes. The work of reinforcement done, Changkone, the other leader of the party of relief, who had succeeded in bringing to the garrison certain needed supplies, felt that he was not wanted within its walls. Outside, Litingchi was hovering near the enemy with a force of five thousand men, and the gallant admiral of the fleet resolved to cut his way out again and join this partisan band. Calling together his late followers, he extolled the glory they had won and promised them new fame. But in the midst of his address he perceived that one of the men had disappeared, and suspected that he had deserted to the Mongols with a warning of what was intended. Changkone, however, did not let this check him in his daring purpose. Gathering the few war-junks that remained, he set sail that night, bursting through the chains that crossed the stream, and cutting his way with sword and spear through the first line of the Mongol fleet. Before him the river stretched in a straight and unguarded course, and it seemed as if safety had been won. But the early light of the dawning day revealed an alarming scene. Before the daring band lay another fleet, flying the Mongol flag, while thousands of armed foes occupied the banks of the stream. The odds were hopelessly against the Chinese, there was no choice between death and surrender, but the heroic Changkone unhesitatingly resolved to accept the former, and was seconded in his devotion by his men. Dashing upon the Mongol fleet, they fought on while a man was left to bend bow or thrust spear, continuing the struggle until the blood of the whole gallant band reddened the waters of the stream. The Mongol leader sent the body of Changkone into the city, either as a threat or as a tribute of admiration. It was received with loud lamentations, and given a place in burial beside that of Changchun, his partner in the most gallant deed that Chinese history records. This incident, while spurring the garrison to new spirit in their defence, roused the Mongols to a more resolute pressure of the siege. As yet they had given their attention mainly to Sianyang, but now they drew their lines around Fanching as well. The great extent of the Mongol dominion is shown by the fact that they sent as far as Persia for engineers skilful in siege-work and accustomed to building and handling the great catapults with which huge stones were flung against fortified places in the warfare of that age. By the aid of these powerful engines many of the defences of Sianyang were demolished and the bridge between the two cities was destroyed. This done, the siege of Fanching was vigorously pressed, and, after a severe bombardment, an assault in force was made. Despite the resolute resistance of the garrison, the walls were forced, and the streets became the scene of a fierce and deadly fight. From street to street, from house to house, the struggle continued, and when resistance had become utterly hopeless the Chinese officers, rather than surrender, slew themselves, in which they were imitated by many of their men. It was a city of ruins and slaughtered bodies that the Mongols had won. The engines were now all directed against the fortifications of Sianyang, where the garrison had become greatly dispirited by the fall of Fanching and the failure of the army of relief to appear. Lieouwen Hoan still held out, though he saw that his powers of defence were nearly at an end, and feared that at any moment the soldiers might refuse to continue what seemed to them a useless effort. Kublai at this juncture sent him the following letter: "The generous defence you have made during five years covers you with glory. It is the duty of every faithful subject to serve his prince at the expense of his life; but in the straits to which you are reduced, your strength exhausted, deprived of succor, and without hope of receiving any, would it be reasonable to sacrifice the lives of so many brave men out of sheer obstinacy? Submit in good faith, and no harm shall come to you. We promise you still more, and that is to provide all of you with honorable employment. You shall have no grounds for discontent: for that we pledge you our imperial word." This letter ended the struggle. After some hesitation, Lieouwen Hoan, incensed at the failure of the army to come to his relief and at the indifference of the emperor to his fate, surrendered, and thenceforth devoted to the service of Kublai the courage and ability of which he had shown such striking evidence in the defence of Sianyang. _THE DEATH-STRUGGLE OF CHINA._ Never in its history has China shown such unyielding courage as it did in its resistance to the invasion under Kublai Khan. The city of Sianyang alone held back the tide of Mongol success for full five years. After its fall there were other strongholds to be taken, other armies to be fought, and for a number of years the Chinese fought desperately for their native land. But one by one their fortified cities fell, one by one their armies were driven back by the impetuous foe, and gradually the conquest of Southern China was added to that of the north. Finally the hopes of China were centred upon a single man, Chang Chikie, a general of unflinching zeal and courage, who recaptured several towns, and, gathering a great fleet, said to have numbered no fewer than two thousand war-junks, sailed up the Yang-tse-Kiang with the purpose of attacking the Mongol positions below Nanking. The fleet of the Mongols lay at that point where the Imperial Canal enters the Kiang on both sides. Here the stream is wide and ample and presents a magnificent field for a naval battle. The attack of the Chinese was made with resolution and energy, but the Mongol admiral had prepared for them by sending in advance his largest vessels, manned with bowmen instructed to attach lighted pitch to their arrows. The Mongol assault was made before the Chinese fleet had emerged from the narrow part of the river, in which comparatively few of the host of vessels could be brought into play. The flaming arrows set on fire a number of the junks, and, though the Chinese in advance fought bravely, these burning vessels carried confusion and alarm to the thronging vessels in the rear. Here the crews, unable to take part in the fight and their crowded vessels threatened with the flames, were seized with a fear that soon became an uncontrollable panic. The result was disastrous. Of the great fleet no less than seven hundred vessels were captured by the Mongols, while a still greater number were burnt or sunk, hardly a fourth of the vast armament escaping from that fatal field. The next events which we have to record take us forward to the year 1278, when the city of Canton had been captured by the Mongol troops, and scarcely a fragment of the once great empire remained in the hands of the Chinese ruler. The incompetent Chinese emperor had died, and the incapable minister to whose feebleness the fall of Sianyang was due had been dismissed by his master and murdered by his enemies. The succeeding emperor had been captured by the Mongols on the fall of the capital. Another had been proclaimed and had died, and the last emperor of the Sung dynasty, a young prince named Tiping, was now with Chang Chikie, whose small army constituted his only hope, and the remains of the fleet his only empire. The able leader on whom the last hopes of the Chinese dynasty now rested selected a natural stronghold on an island named Tai, in a natural harbor which could be entered only with a favorable tide. This position he made the most strenuous efforts to fortify, building strong works on the heights above the bay, and gathering troops until he had an army of nearly two hundred thousand men. So rapidly did he work that his fortifications were completed before the Mongol admiral discovered his locality. On learning what had been done, the Mongols at once hurried forward reinforcements and prepared for an immediate and vigorous assault on this final stronghold of the empire of China. The attack was made with the impetuous courage for which the Mongols had become noted, but the works were bravely held, and for two days the struggle was maintained without advantage to the assailants. On the third day the Mongol admiral resumed his attack, and a fiercely contested battle took place, ending in the Chinese fleet being thrown into confusion. The result would have been utterly disastrous had not a heavy mist fallen at this opportune moment, under cover of which Chang Chikie, followed by sixteen vessels of his fleet, made his way out to sea. The vessel which held the young emperor was less fortunate. Caught in the press of the battle, its capture was inevitable, and with it that of the last emperor of the Sung dynasty. In this desperate emergency, a faithful minister of the empire, resolved to save the honor of his master even at the sacrifice of his life, took him in his arms and leaped with him into the sea. This act of desperation was emulated by many of the officers of the vessel, and in this dramatic way the great dynasty of the Sung came to an end. But the last blow for the empire had not been struck so long as Chang Chikie survived. With him had escaped the mother of the drowned prince, and on learning of his loss the valiant leader requested her to name some member of the Sung family to succeed him. But the mother, overwhelmed with grief at the death of her son, was in no mood to listen to anything not connected with her loss, and at length, hopeless and inconsolable, she put an end to her own existence by leaping overboard from the vessel's side. Chang Chikie was left alone, with the destinies of the empire dependent solely upon him. Yet his high courage sustained him still; he was not ready to acknowledge final defeat, and he sailed southward in the double hope of escaping Mongol pursuit and of obtaining means for the renewal of the struggle. The states of Indo-China were then tributary to the empire, and his small fleet put in to a port of Tonquin, whose ruler not only welcomed him, but aided him to refit his fleet, collect stores, and enlist fresh troops. Thus strengthened, the intrepid admiral resolved to renew the war without delay, his project being to assault Canton, which he hoped to take by a sudden attack. This enterprise seemed desperate to his followers, who sought to dissuade him from what might prove a fatal course; but, spurred on by his own courage and a hope of retrieving the cause of the Sungs, he persisted in his purpose, and the fleet once more returned to the seas. It was now 1279, a year after Tiping's death. The Mongols lay in fancied security, not dreaming that there was in all China the resolution to strike another blow, and probably unsuspicious that a fleet was bearing down upon one of their captured ports. What would have been the result had Chang Chikie been able to deliver his attack it is impossible to say. He might have taken Canton by surprise and captured it from the enemy, but in any event he could not have gained more than a temporary success. As it was, he gained none. Fate had destined the fall of China, and the elements came to the assistance of its foes. A sudden and violent tempest fell upon the fleet while near the southern headland of the Kwantung coast, hurling nearly or quite all the vessels on the shore or sinking them beneath the waves. The bold leader had been counselled to seek shelter from the storm under the lee of the shore, but he refused, and kept on despite the storm, daring death in his singleness of purpose. "I have done everything I could," he said, "to sustain the Sung dynasty on the throne. When one prince died I had another proclaimed. He also has perished, and I still live. Should I be acting against thy decrees, O Heaven, if I sought to place a new prince on the throne?" It appeared so, for the winds and the waves gave answer, and the last defender of China sank to death beneath the sea. The conquest of China was thus at length completed after seventy years of resistance against the most valorous soldiers of the world, led by such generals as Genghis, Kublai, and other warlike Mongol princes. In view of the fact that Genghis had overrun Southern Asia in a few years, this long and obstinate resistance of China, despite the incompetence of its princes and ministers, places in a striking light the great military strength of the empire at that period of its history. [Illustration: MARKET SCENE IN SHANGHAI.] _THE PALACE OF KUBLAI KHAN._ In the middle of the thirteenth century two eminent Venetian merchants, Nicolo and Matteo Polo, of noble birth and adventurous spirit, left their native city for a long journey to the East, their purposes being those of ordinary travel and also of barter, for which they took with them a stock of jewels, as the commodity of most worth with least weight. Visiting Constantinople and several Russian cities, they journeyed to the capital of the khan of Kaptchak, where they remained three years, trading and studying the Mongol language. Subsequently they met in Bokhara a Persian ambassador on the way to the court of Kublai Khan, and were persuaded to keep him company as far as Kambalu (the modern Peking), the capital of the Mongol emperor of Cathay, or China. Their journey led them through Samarcand, Cashgar, and other cities of the far East, a whole year passing before they reached the capital of the great potentate, by whom they were graciously received. Kublai asked them many questions about their country, and was very curious about the pope, to whom he in the end sent them as ambassadors, bidding them return to him with a hundred Europeans learned in the arts and sciences, for the instruction of his people. They reached Venice in 1269, after an absence of fifteen years. In 1271 they set out again for China, bearing despatches from the pope, but without the learned Europeans they were to bring. Marco, the young son of Nicolo, accompanied them on their journey, which occupied three and a half years. Kublai, though he had nearly forgotten their existence, received them as graciously as before, and was particularly pleased with young Marco, giving him a high office and employing him on important missions throughout the empire. In truth, he took so strong a fancy to his visitors that they were not suffered to leave China for years, and finally got away in 1291 only as escort to a Mongol princess who was sent as a bride to Persia. Twenty-four years had elapsed from the time they left Venice before they appeared in that city again. They were quite forgotten, but the wealth in precious stones they brought with them soon freshened the memory of their relatives, and they became the heroes of the city. Marco took part in a war then raging with Genoa, was taken prisoner, and long lay in a dungeon, where he dictated to a fellow-prisoner the story of his adventures and the wonderful things he had seen in the dominions of the Great Khan of Cathay. This was afterwards published as "Il Milione di Messer Marco Polo Veneziano," and at once gained a high reputation, which it has preserved from that day to this. Though long looked on by many as pure fable, time has proved its essential truth, and it is now regarded as the most valuable geographical work of the Middle Ages. We cannot undertake to give the diffuse narrative of Marco Polo's book, but a condensed account of a few of his statements may prove of interest, as showing some of the conditions of China in this middle period of its existence. His description of the great palace of Kublai, near his capital city of Kambalu, much the largest royal residence in the world, is of sufficient interest to be given in epitome. The palace grounds included a great park, enclosed by a wall and ditch eight miles square, with an entrance gate midway of each side. Within this great enclosure of sixty-four square miles was an open space a mile broad, in which the troops were stationed, it being bounded on the interior by a second wall six miles square. This space, twenty-eight square miles in area, held an army of more than a hundred thousand men, nearly all cavalry. Within the second wall lay the royal arsenals and the deer-park, with meadows and handsome groves, and in the interior rose a third wall of great thickness, each side of which was a mile in length, while its height was twenty-five feet. This last enclosure, one square mile in area, contained the palace, which reached from the northern to the southern wall and included a spacious court. Though its roof was very lofty, it was but one story in height, standing on a paved platform of several feet elevation, from which extended a marble terrace seven feet wide, surrounded by a handsome balustrade, which the people were allowed to approach. Carved and gilt dragons, figures of warriors and animals, and battle-scenes ornamented the sides of the great hall and the apartments, while the roof was so contrived that only gilding and painting were to be seen. On each side of the palace a grand flight of marble steps ascended to the marble terrace which surrounded the building. The interior contained an immense hall, capable of serving as a banqueting-room for a multitude of guests, while the numerous chambers were all of great beauty and admirably arranged. The roof on the exterior was painted red, green, azure, and violet, the colors being highly durable, while the glazing of the windows was so neatly done that they were transparent as crystal. In the rear of the palace were arranged the treasure-rooms, which contained a great store of gold and silver bullion, pearls and precious stones, and valuable plate. Here also were the family apartments of the emperor and his wives. Opposite the grand palace stood another, very similar in design, where dwelt his eldest son, the heir to the throne. On the north side, between the palace and the adjoining wall, rose an artificial mound of earth, a hundred paces high and a mile in circuit at its base. Its slopes were planted with beautiful evergreen trees, which had been transported thither, when well grown, by the aid of elephants. This perpetual verdure gave it the appropriate name of the Green Mount. An ornamental pavilion crowned the summit, which, in harmony with the sides, was also made green. The view of the mount, with its ever-verdant trees and the richly decorated building on its summit, formed a scene delightful to the eyes of the emperor and the other inmates of the palace. This hill still exists, and is yet known by its original title of Kinshan, or the Green Mount. The excavation made to obtain the earth for the mount was filled with water from a small rivulet, forming a lake from which the cattle drank, its overflow being carried by an aqueduct along the foot of the Green Mount to fill another great and very deep excavation, made in the same manner as the former. This was used as a fish-pond, containing fish in large variety and number, sufficient to keep the table of the emperor constantly supplied. Iron or copper gratings at the entrance and exit prevented the escape of the fish along the stream. The pond was also stocked with swans and other aquatic birds, and a bridge across its width led from one palace to the other. Such was the palace. The city was correspondingly great and prosperous, and had an immense trade. A thousand pack-horses and carriages laden with raw silk daily entered its gates, and within its workshops a vast quantity of silk and gold tissues was produced. As Hoangti made himself famous by the Great Wall, so Kublai won fame by the far more useful work of the Great Canal, which was largely due to his fostering care, and has ever since been of inestimable value to China, while the Wall never kept out a Tartar who strongly desired to get over its threatening but useless height. Having said so much about the conditions of palace and capital, it may be of interest to extract from Polo's narrative some account of the method pursued in war during Kublai's reign. The Venetian attended a campaign made by the emperor against one of his kinsmen named Nayan, who had under him so many cities and provinces that he was able to bring into the field an army of four hundred thousand horse. His desire for sovereignty led him to throw off his allegiance, the more so as another rebel against the Grand Khan promised to aid him with a hundred thousand horsemen. News of this movement soon reached Kublai, and he at once ordered the collection of all the troops within ten days' march of Kambalu, amounting in all to four hundred and sixty thousand men. By forced marches these were brought to Nayan's territory in twenty-five days, reaching there before the rebel prince had any warning of their approach. Kublai, having given his army two days' rest, and consulted his astrologers, who promised him victory, marched his army up the hill which had concealed them from the enemy, the great array being suddenly displayed to the astonished eyes of Nayan and his men. Kublai took his station in a large wooden castle, borne on the backs of four elephants, whose bodies were protected with coverings of thick leather hardened by fire, over which were spread housings of cloth of gold. His army was disposed in three grand divisions, each division consisting of ten battalions of horsemen each ten thousand strong, and armed with the great Mongol bow. The right and left divisions were disposed so as to outflank the army of Nayan. In front of each battalion were stationed five hundred infantry, who, whenever the cavalry made a show of flight, were trained to mount behind them, and to alight again when they returned to the charge, their duty being to kill with their lances the horses of the enemy. As soon as the order of battle was arranged, wind instruments of various kinds and in great numbers were sounded, while the host of warriors broke into song, as was the Tartar practice before engaging in battle. The battle began with a signal from the cymbals and drums, the sound of the instruments and the singing growing deafening. At the signal both wings advanced, a cloud of arrows filling the air, while on both sides numbers of men and horses fell. Their arrows discharged, the warriors engaged in close combat with lances, swords, and iron-shod maces, while the cries of men and horses were such as to inspire terror or rouse all hearers to the battle-rage. For a long time the fortune of the day remained undecided, Nayan's people fighting with great zeal and courage. But at length their leader, seeing that he was almost surrounded, attempted to save himself by flight. He was made prisoner, however, and brought before Kublai, who ordered him to be put to death on the spot. This was done by enclosing him between two carpets, which were violently shaken until the spirit departed from the body, the dignity of the imperial family requiring that the sun and the air should not witness the shedding of the blood of one who belonged to the royal stock. These extracts from the narrative of the Venetian traveller may be fitly followed by a portion of Coleridge's remarkable dream-poem on the subject of Kublai's palace. The poet, having been reading from "Purchas's Pilgrimage" a brief description of the palace of the Great Khan,--not the one above described, but a pleasure-retreat in another section of his dominions,--fell asleep, and his dreams took the form of an extended poem on the subject. On waking he hastened to write it down, but was interrupted by a visitor in the midst of his task, and afterwards found himself unable to recall another line of the poem, only a shadowy image of which remained in his mind. The part saved is strangely imaginative. In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree, Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round; And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon lover! And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced, Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail; And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean: And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices prophesying war. _THE EXPULSION OF THE MONGOLS._ While the descendants of Kublai Khan, the Mongol emperor, still held the reins of power in China, there was born in humble life in that empire a boy upon whose shoulders fortune had laid the task of driving the foreigners from the soil and restoring to the Chinese their own again. Tradition says that at his birth the room was several times filled with a bright light. However that be, the boy proved to be gifted by nature with a fine presence, lofty views, and an elevated soul, qualities sure to tell in the troubled times that were at hand. When he was seventeen years of age the deaths of his father and mother left him a penniless orphan, so destitute of means that he felt obliged to take the vows of a priest and enter the monastery of Hoangkiose. But the country was now in disorder, rebels were in the field against the Mongol rule, and the patriotic and active-minded boy could not long endure the passive life of a bonze. Leaving the monastery, he entered the service of one of the rebel leaders as a private soldier, and quickly showed such enterprise and daring that his chief not only made him an officer in his force but gave him his daughter in marriage. The time was ripe for soldiers of fortune. The mantle of Kublai had not fallen on the shoulders of any of his successors, who proved weak and degenerate monarchs, losing the firm hold which the great conqueror had kept upon the realm. It was in the year 1345 that Choo Yuen Chang, to give the young soldier his full name, joined the rebel band. Chunti, one of the weakest of the Mongol monarchs, was now upon the throne, and on every side it was evident that the empire of Kublai was in danger of falling to pieces under this incapable ruler. Fortune had brought its protégé into the field at a critical time. Choo was not long in proving himself "every inch a soldier." Wherever he fought he was victorious. In a year's time he had under him seven hundred men of his own enlistment, and was appointed the lieutenant of his chief. Soon after the latter died, and Choo took his place at the head of the rebel band. In it enlisted another young man, Suta by name, who was before many years to become China's greatest general and the bulwark of a new dynasty. Choo was now able to prove his powers on a larger scale. One of his first exploits was the capture of the town of Hoyan, where he manifested a high order of courage and political wisdom in saving the inhabitants from rapine by his ill-paid and hungry soldiers. Here was a degree of self-restraint and power of command which none of the Chinese leaders had shown, and which seemed to point out Choo as the man destined to win in the coming struggle for a rejuvenated China. Meanwhile a rival came into the field who for a time threw Choo's fortunes into the shade. This was a young man who was offered to the people as a descendant of the dynasty of the Sungs, the emperors whom the Mongol invaders had dethroned. His very name proved a centre of attraction for the people, whose affection for the old royal house was not dead, and they gathered in multitudes beneath his banner. But his claim also aroused the fear of the Mongols, and a severe and stubborn struggle set in, which ended in the overthrow of the youthful Sung and the seeming restoration of the Mongol authority. Yet in reality the war had only cleared the way for a far more dangerous adversary than the defeated claimant of the throne. Masked by this war, the strength and influence of Choo had steadily grown, and in 1356 he made a daring and masterly move in the capture of the city of Nanking, which gave him control of some of the wealthiest provinces of the land. Here he showed the same moderation as before, preserving the citizens from plunder and outrage, and proving that his only purpose was to restore to China her old native government. With remarkable prudence, skill, and energy he strengthened his position. "The time has now come to drive the foreigners out of China," he said, in a proclamation that was scattered far and wide and brought hosts of the young and daring to his ranks. Elsewhere the so-called Chinese patriots were no better than brigands, all the horrors of war descending upon the districts they occupied and the cities which fell into their hands. But where Choo ruled discipline and security prevailed, and as far as his power reached a firm and orderly government existed. Meanwhile the Mongols had a host of evils with which to contend. Rebel leaders had risen in various quarters, some of them making more progress than Choo, but winning the execration rather than the love of the people by their rapine and violence. On the contrary, his power grew slowly but surely, various minor leaders joining him, among them the pirate Fangkue Chin, whose exploits had made him a hero to the people of the valley of the Kiang. The events of the war that followed were too many to be here detailed. Suffice it to say that the difficulties of the Mongol emperor gradually increased. He was obliged to meet in battle a Mongol pretender to his throne; Corea rose in arms and destroyed an army sent to subdue it; and Chahan Timour, Chunti's ablest general, fell victim to an assassin. Troubles were growing thick around his throne. In the year 1366, Choo, after vanquishing some leaders who threatened his position, among them his late pirate ally Fangkue Chin, saw that the time had arrived for a vigorous effort to expel the foreign rulers, and set out at the head of his army for a general campaign, at the same time proclaiming to the people that the period was at hand for throwing off the Mongol yoke, which for nearly a century had weighed heavily upon their necks. Three armies left Nanking, two of them being sent to subdue three of the provinces of the south, a result which was achieved without a blow, the people everywhere rising and the Mongol garrisons vanishing from sight,--whether by death or by flight history fails to relate. The third army, under Suta, Choo's favorite general, marched towards Peking, the Mongol garrisons, discouraged by their late reverses, retreating as it advanced. At length the great Mongol capital was reached. Within its walls reigned confusion and alarm. Chunti, panic-stricken at the rapid march of his enemies, could not be induced to fight for his last hold upon the empire of China, but fled on the night before the assault was made. Suta at once ordered the city to be taken by storm, and though the Mongol garrison made a desperate defence, they were cut down to a man, and the victorious troops entered the Tartar stronghold in triumph. But Suta, counselled by Choo to moderation, held his army firmly in hand, no outrages were permitted, and the lives of all the Mongols who submitted were spared. The capture of Peking and the flight of Chunti marked the end of the empire of the Mongols in China. War with them still went on, but the country at large was freed from their yoke, after nearly a century of submission to Tartar rule. Elsewhere the vast empire of Genghis still held firm. Russia lay under the vassalage of the khans. Central and Southern Asia trembled at the Mongol name. And at the very time that the Chinese were rising against and expelling their invaders, Timour, or Tamerlane, the second great conqueror of his race, was setting out from Central Asia on that mighty career of victory that emulated the deeds of the founder of the Mongol empire. Years afterwards Timour, after having drowned Southern Asia in a sea of blood, returned to Samarcand, where, in 1415, he ordered the collection of a great army for the invasion of China, with which he proposed to revenge the wrongs of his compatriots. The army was gathered; it began its march; the mountains of Khokand were reached and passed; threats of the coming danger reached and frightened China; but on the march the grim old conqueror died, and his great expedition came to an end. All that reached China to represent the mighty Timour was his old war-horse, which was sent as a present four years afterwards when an embassy from Central Asia reached Peking. With the fall of the Mongols in China the native rule was restored, but not with it the old dynasty. Choo, the conqueror, and a man whose ability and nobleness of mind had been remarkably displayed, was everywhere looked upon as the Heaven-chosen successor to the throne, the boy who had begun his career as a penniless orphan having risen through pure power of intellect and loftiness of soul to the highest position in the realm. He was crowned emperor under the title of Hongwou, and instituted the Ming dynasty, which held the throne of China until three centuries afterwards, when another strange turn in the tide of affairs again overthrew Chinese rule and brought a new dynasty of Tartar emperors to the throne. As regards the reign of Hongwou, it may here be said that he proved one of the ablest monarchs China ever knew, ruling his people with a just and strong hand, and, by the aid of his able general Suta, baffling every effort of the Mongols to regain their lost dominion. Luxury in the imperial administration was brought to an end, the public money was used for its legitimate purpose, and even some of the costly palaces which the Mongol emperors had built were destroyed, that the people might learn that he proposed to devote himself to their good and not to his own pleasure. Steps were taken for the encouragement of learning, the literary class was elevated in position, the celebrated Hanlin College was restored, and the great book of laws was revised. Schools were opened everywhere, orphanages and hospitals were instituted, and all that could be was done for the relief of the sick and the poor. All this was performed in the midst of bitter and unceasing wars, which for nearly twenty years kept Suta almost constantly in the field. The Mongols were still strong in the northwest, Chungti continued to claim imperial power, and the army was kept steadily employed, marching from victory to victory under the able leadership of Suta, who in his whole career scarcely learned the meaning of defeat. His very appearance on the field on more than one occasion changed the situation from doubt to victory. In time the Mongols were driven beyond the Great Wall, the ex-emperor died, and the steppes were invaded by a great army, though not a successful one, Suta meeting here his first and only reverse. The war ended with giving the Chinese full control of all the cultivated country, while the Tartars held their own in the desert. This done, Suta returned to enjoy in peace the honors he had won, and soon after died, at the age of fifty-four years, thirty of which had been spent in war. The death of the great general did not leave China free from warlike commotion. There were rebellious risings both in the south and in the north, but they all fell under the power of Hongwou's victorious arms, the last success being the dispersal of a final Mongol raid. The closing eight years of the emperor's reign were spent in peace, and in 1397 he died, after an administration of thirty years, in which he had freed China from the last dregs of the Mongol power, and spread peace and prosperity throughout the realm. _THE RISE OF THE MANCHUS._ Twice had a Tartar empire been established in China, that of the Kin dynasty in the north, and that of their successors, the Mongols, over the whole country. A third and more permanent Tartar dynasty, that of the Manchus, was yet to come. With the striking story of the rise and progress of these new conquerors we are now concerned. In the northeast of China, beyond the Great Wall and bordering on Corea, lies the province of Liautung. Northward from this to the Amur River extends the eastern section of the steppes, known on modern maps as Manchuria. From these broad wilds the Kins had advanced to their conquest of Northern China. To them they fled for safety from the Mongol arms, and here lost their proud name of Kin and resumed their older and humbler one of Niuche. For some five centuries they remained here unnoticed and undisturbed, broken up into numerous small clans, none of much strength and importance. Of these clans, which were frequently in a state of hostility to one another, there is only one of interest, that of the Manchus. The original seat of this small Tartar clan lay not far north of the Chinese border, being on the Soodsu River, about thirty miles east of the Chinese city of Moukden. Between the Soodsu and Jiaho streams, and south of the Long White Mountains, lies the valley of Hootooala, a location of rugged and picturesque scenery. This valley, protected on three sides by water and on the fourth by a lofty range of mountains, the whole not more than twelve miles long, formed the cradle of the Manchu race, the narrow realm from which they were to emerge to victory and empire. In a certain respect it resembled the native home of the Mongols, but was far smaller and much nearer the Chinese frontier. In this small and secluded valley appeared, about the middle of the fourteenth century, when the emperor Hongwou was fighting with the Mongols, a man named Aisin Gioro. Tradition attributes to him a miraculous birth, while calumny asserts that he was a runaway Mongol; but at any rate he became lord of Hootooala and ancestor of its race of conquerors. Five generations from him came a chief named Huen, who ruled over the same small state, and whose grandson, Noorhachu by name, born in 1559, was the man upon whom the wonderful fortunes of the Manchus were to depend. Like many other great conquerors, his appearance predicted his career. "He had the dragon face and the phoenix eye; his chest was enormous, his ears were large, and his voice had the tone of the largest bell." He began life like many of the heroes of folk-lore, his step-mother, when he was nineteen years of age, giving him a small sum of money and turning him out into the world to seek his fortune. She repented afterwards, and bade him come home again or accept further aid, but the proud youth refused to receive from her any assistance, and determined to make his own way in the world. Noorhachu first came into notice in 1583. In that year Haida, chief of a small district south of Hootooala, made an attack, assisted by the Chinese, on some neighboring clans. One of these was governed by a relative of the old Manchu chief Huen, who, with his son and a small force, hurried to his aid and helped him to defend his town. Haida and his allies, finding the place too strong for them, enticed a part of the garrison outside the walls, and then fell upon and treacherously massacred them. Among the slain were Huen and his son. This brutal murder left Noorhachu chief of his clan, and at the same time filled him with a fierce desire for revenge, both upon Haida and upon the Chinese. He was forced to bide his time, Haida gaining such influence with his allies that he was appointed by them chief of all the Niuche districts. This act only deepened the hatred of Noorhachu, who found himself made one of the vassals of the murderer, while many of his own people left him and attached themselves to the fortunes of Haida. Fortunately for the youthful chief, the Chinese did not strongly support their nominee, and Noorhachu pursued his rival so persistently that the assassin did not feel safe even within his stockaded camp, but several times retreated for safety into Liautung. The Chinese at length, tired of supporting a man without the courage to defend himself, seized him and handed him over to Noorhachu, who immediately put him to death. The energy and success of Noorhachu in this scheme of vengeance gave him a high reputation among the Niuche. He was still but twenty-seven years of age, but had probably laid out his life-work, that of making himself chief of a Niuche confederacy, and employing his subjects in an invasion of Chinese soil. It is said that he had sworn to revenge his father's death by the slaughter of two hundred thousand Chinese. He began by building himself a stronghold. Selecting a site in the plain where water was abundant, he built a town and surrounded it with a triple wall. This done, he began the work of uniting the southern clans under his sway, a task which proved easy, they being much impressed by his victory over Haida. This peaceful progress was succeeded by a warlike movement. In 1591 he suddenly invaded the district of Yalookiang, which, taken by surprise, was forced to submit to his arms. This act of spoliation roused general apprehension among the chiefs. Here was a man who was not satisfied with petty feuds, but evidently had higher objects in view. Roused by apprehension of danger, seven of the neighboring chiefs gathered their forces, and with an army of thirty thousand Niuche and Mongols invaded the territory of the daring young leader. The odds against him seemed irresistible. He had but four thousand men to oppose to this large force. But his men had been well chosen and well trained, and they so vigorously resisted the onset of the enemy that the principal Niuche chief was killed and the Mongol leader forced to flee. At this juncture Noorhachu charged his foes with such vigor that they were broken and put to flight, four thousand of them being slain in the pursuit. A number of chiefs were taken prisoners, while the spoils included several thousand horses and plaited suits of armor, material of great value to the ambitious young victor. Eight years passed before Noorhachu was ready for another move. Then he conquered and annexed the fertile district of Hada, on the north. In 1607 he added to this the state of Hwifa, and in the following year that of Woola. These conquests were preliminary to an invasion of Yeho, the most powerful of the Niuche states. His first attack upon this important district failed, and before repeating it he deemed it necessary to show his strength by invading the Chinese province of Liautung. He had long been preparing for this great enterprise. He had begun his military career with a force of one hundred men, but had now an army forty thousand strong, well drilled and disciplined men, provided with engines of war, and of a race famed for courage and intrepidity. Their chief weapon consisted of the formidable Manchu bow, while the horsemen wore an armor of cotton-plaited mail which was proof against arrow or spear. The invasion was preceded by a list of grievances drawn up against the Chinese, which, instead of forwarding it to the Chinese court, Noorhachu burnt in presence of his army, as an appeal to Heaven for the justice of his cause. The Chinese had supinely permitted this dangerous power to grow up among their tributaries on the north. In truth, the Ming dynasty, which had begun with the great Hongwou, had shared the fate of Chinese dynasties in general, having fallen into decadence and decay. With a strong hand at the imperial helm the Manchu invasion, with only a thinly settled region to draw on for recruits, would have been hopeless. With a weak hand no one could predict the result. In 1618 the Manchus crossed their southern frontier and boldly set foot on the soil of China, their movement being so sudden and unexpected that the border town of Fooshun was taken almost without a blow. The army sent to retake it was hurled back in defeat, and the strong town of Tsingho was next besieged and captured. The progress of Noorhachu was checked at this point by the clamor of his men, who were unwilling to march farther while leaving the hostile state of Yeho in their rear. He therefore led them back to their homes. The Chinese were now thoroughly aroused. An army of more than one hundred thousand men was raised and sent to attack Noorhachu in his native realm. But it was weakly commanded and unwisely divided into three unsupported sections, which the Manchus attacked and routed in detail. The year's work was completed by the conquest and annexation of Yeho, an event which added thirty thousand men to Noorhachu's resources and completed the confederation of the Niuche clans, which had been his original plan. The old Chinese emperor was now near his life's end. But his last act was one of his wisest ones, it being the appointment of Tingbi, a leader of skill and resolution, to the command in Liautung. In a brief time this energetic commander had placed the capital and the border towns of the province in a state of defence and collected an army of one hundred and eighty thousand men on the frontier. Two years sufficed to make the province impregnable to Manchu attack. During this period of energy Noorhachu wisely remained quiet. But the Chinese emperor died, and was succeeded by his son, who quickly followed him to the grave. His grandson, a boy of sixteen, succeeded, and the court enemies of Tingbi now had him recalled and replaced by a man who had never seen a battle. The result was what might have been expected. Noorhachu, who had been waiting his opportunity, at once led his army across the borders (1621), marching upon the strong town of Moukden, whose commandant, more brave than wise, left the shelter of his walls to meet him in the field. The result was a severe repulse, the Manchus entering the gates with the fugitives and slaughtering the garrison in the streets. Three armies were sent to retake Moukden, but were so vigorously dealt with that in a few weeks less than half Tingbi's strong army remained. Liauyang, the capital of the province, was next besieged and taken by storm, the garrison falling almost to a man, among them Tingbi's incapable successor meeting his death. No further resistance was made, the other towns, with one exception, opened their gates, and in a brief time Noorhachu completed the conquest of the province of Liautung. Only one thing kept the Manchus from crossing the Great Wall and invading the provinces beyond. This was the stronghold of Ningyuen, which a Chinese officer named Chungwan had reinforced with a small party, and which resolutely resisted all assaults. Noorhachu, not daring to leave this fortified place in his rear, besieged it with a strong army, making two desperate assaults upon its walls. But Chungwan, assisted by some European cannon, whose noise proved more terrible to the Manchus than their balls, held out so vigorously that for the first time in his career the Manchu chief met with defeat. Disappointed and sick at heart, he retraced his steps to Moukden, then his capital, there to end his career, his death taking place in September, 1626. Such was the adventurous life of the man who, while not conquering China himself, made its conquest possible to his immediate successors, who acknowledged his great deeds by giving him the posthumous title of Emperor of China, the Manchu dynasty dating its origin back to 1616. His son, Taitsong, who succeeded him, renewed the attack on Ningyuen, but found the heroic Chungwan more than his match. A brilliant idea brought him final success. Leaving the impregnable stronghold in his rear, he suddenly marched to the Great Wall, which he crossed, and was far on the road to Peking before Chungwan knew of his purpose. At once abandoning the town, the Chinese general hurried southward, and, having the best road, succeeded in reaching the capital in advance of the Manchus. But he came only to his death. Tingbi, the one man feared by Noorhachu, had been executed through the machinations of his enemies, and now Chungwan suffered the same fate, Taitsong, not being able to defeat him in the field, having succeeded in forming a plot against him in the palace. But Peking, though in serious peril, was not taken. A truce was arranged, and Taitsong drew off his troops--for reasons best known to himself. He was soon back in China, but did not again attack Peking, devoting himself to raids through the border provinces. In 1635 he assumed the title of Emperor of China, in consequence of the seal of the Mongol dynasty, which had been lost in Mongolia two centuries before, being found and sent to him. But Ningyuen still held out, under an able successor to Chungwan, and in September, 1643, this second of the Manchu leaders came to his death. The conquest of China was reserved for a later leader. [Illustration: CHINESE GAMBLERS.] _THE MANCHU CONQUEST OF CHINA._ Long years of misgovernment in China produced their natural result. Evils stalked abroad while worthless emperors spent their days in luxury at home. The land ceased to be governed, local rebellions broke out in a dozen quarters, and the Manchu invasion was but one event in the series of difficulties that environed the weakened throne. From the midst of these small rebellions emerged a large one before which the Ming dynasty trembled to its fall. Its leader, Li Tseching, was a peasant's son, who had chosen the military career and quickly gained renown as a daring horseman and skilful archer. In 1629 he appeared as a member of a band of robbers, who were defeated by the troops, Li being one of the few to escape. A year afterwards we hear of him as high in rank in a rebel band almost large enough to be called an army. The leader dying after a few years, Li succeeded him in command. His progress to power was rapid, cunning and duplicity aiding him, for often when in a dangerous situation he escaped by pretending a desire to come to terms with the authorities. Other rebels rose, won victories, and sank again; but Li held his own and steadily grew stronger, until, in 1640, he was at the head of an army of nearly half a million of men and in a position to aspire to the throne of Peking itself. Town after town fell into his hands, frightful outrages being perpetrated in each, for Li was a brigand in grain and merciless at heart. The efforts of the emperor to overthrow him proved futile, the imperial army being sent against him in four divisions, which he attacked and defeated in detail. The court had learned nothing from the failure of similar tactics in the war with Noorhachu. After this pronounced success Li laid siege to Kaifong, an important city which had once been the capital of China. He was twice repulsed, but a third time returned to the siege, finally succeeding through a rise in the Hoang-ho, which washed away the defences of the city, drowned thousands of its people, and left it at the mercy of the besieging troops. Li's next effort was made against the city of Tunkwan, the most formidable of Chinese fortresses. Situated in the mountains between the provinces of Honan and Shensi, it was strong by position, while the labor of centuries had added enormously to its strength. Here fortune aided him, his army following into the city a fugitive force which had been beaten outside. By this time the rebel chief had made himself so dreadful a record by the massacres and outrages committed in conquered cities that terror began to fill the minds of garrisons, and towns and cities opened their gates to him without venturing resistance. No longer a mere rebel chief, but master of more than a third of China, and feared through all the rest, Li now assumed the title of emperor, and, capturing every stronghold as he advanced, began his march upon Peking, then a scene of unimaginable terror and confusion. The emperor, who had hesitated to flee, found flight impossible when Li's great army invested the capital. Defence was equally impossible, and the unhappy weakling, after slaying all the women of the palace, ended the career of the Ming dynasty by hanging himself. Li was quickly master of the city, where the ancestral temple of the Mings was plundered and levelled with the ground, and all the kinsmen of the royal family he could seize were summarily put to death. Thus was completed the first phase of a remarkable career, in which in a few years the member of a band of robbers became master of the most populous empire of the earth. The second phase was to be one of a decline in fortune still more rapid than had been the growth of the first. And with it is connected the story of the Manchu invasion and conquest of China. We have seen in the preceding tale how the heroic Chungwan held the fortress of Ningyuen against all the efforts of Noorhachu, the Manchu chief. After his death Wou Sankwei, a man of equal valor and skill, repelled Taitsong and his Manchus from its walls. This city, with the surrounding territory, was all of Northern China that had not submitted to Li, who now made earnest efforts by lavish promises to win Wou over to his side. But in the latter he had to deal with a man who neither feared nor trusted him, and to whose mind it seemed preferable that even the Tartars should become lords of the empire than that it should be left to the mercy of a brutal robber like Li Tseching. Wou's position was a delicate and difficult one. The old dynasty was at an end. Those loyal to it were powerless. He had no means of his own enabling him to contend against the great force of Li. He must surrender or call in foreigners to his aid. In this dilemma he made overtures to the Manchus, asking their aid to put down the rebellion and restore tranquillity to the empire,--seemingly with the thought that they might be dispensed with when no longer of use. Not for a moment did the Manchu leaders hesitate to avail themselves of the promising offer. The man who for years had stood resolutely in the way of their invasion of China was now voluntarily stepping from their path, and even offering them his aid to accomplish their cherished project. The powerful fortresses which had defied their strength, the Great Wall which in Wou's hands might have checked their progress, had suddenly ceased to be obstacles to their advance, and throughout the camps and towns of the Tartars an enthusiastic response was made to the inspiriting cry of "On to Peking!" Wou Sankwei did not wait for their coming. Li had sent a strong force to meet him, with instructions either to negotiate or to fight. Wou chose the latter, and delivered battle with such energy and success that more than twenty thousand of the opposing force were laid in death upon the field, no quarter being given to the flying host. News of this perilous reverse roused Li to vigorous action. Knowing nothing of the approach of a Tartar army, he imagined that he had only Wou with whom to deal, and marched against him in person with sixty thousand men, the pick of his victorious army. This large force, perhaps three times the number that the loyal leader could put in the field, reached Wou's station on the river Lanho before the vanguard of the Manchus had appeared. It was obviously Wou's policy to defer the action, but Li gave him no opportunity, making at once an impetuous attack, his line being formed in the shape of a crescent, with the design of overlapping the flanks of the foe. Skilled and experienced as Wou was, the smallness of his force made him unable to avoid this movement of his enemy, who, from a hill where he had taken his station to overlook the battle, had the satisfaction of seeing the opposing army completely surrounded by his numerous battalions. Wou and his men fought with desperate courage, but it was evident that they could not long hold out against such odds. Fortunately for them, at this critical moment a strong Manchu corps reached the field, and at once made a furious charge upon the nearly victorious troops. This diversion caused a complete change in the situation. Li's troops, filled with terror at the vigorous and unexpected assault, broke and fled, pursued by their foes with such bloodthirsty fury that thirty thousand of them were slain. Li escaped with a few hundred horsemen from the disastrous field which was to prove the turning-point in his career. The delayed Manchus soon after appeared in numbers, and Wou lost no time in following up his signal success. Peking was quickly reached, and there, on the eastern ramparts, the victor was greeted with the spectacle of his father's head on the wall, Li having thus wreaked what vengeance he could upon his foe. It was an unwise act of ferocity, since it rendered impossible any future reconciliation with his opponent. Li made no effort to defend the city, but fled precipitately with all the plunder he could convey. Wou, marching round its walls, pressed hard upon his track, attacking his rear-guard in charge of the bulky baggage-train, and defeating it with the slaughter of ten thousand troops. Li continued to retreat, collecting the garrisons he had left in various cities as he fled, until, feeling strong enough to hazard another battle, he took his stand near the city of Chingtung. Wou did not hesitate to attack. Eighty thousand Manchus had joined him, and abundant Chinese levies had raised his forces to two hundred thousand men. The battle was fierce and obstinate, Li fighting with his old skill and courage, and night closed without giving either party the victory. But under cover of the darkness the rebel leader, having lost forty thousand men, including some of his ablest officers, deemed it necessary to resume his retreat. The remainder of Li's career may be briefly told. Wou followed him with unyielding persistency, fighting at every opportunity and being always the victor in these encounters. This rapid flight, these repeated defeats, at length so discouraged the rebel troops that on Li's making a final stand they refused to fight, and insisted on coming to terms with their pursuer. Finding that all was at an end, Li fled to the neighboring mountain region with a small body of men, and there returned to the robber state from which he had emerged. But his foe was implacable; pursuit was kept up, his band lost heavily in various encounters, and at length, while on a foraging trip in search of food, he was surprised in a village by a superior force. A sharp combat followed, in which Li was the first to fall, and his head was carried in triumph to the nearest mandarin. Thus ended the career of a remarkable man. Whatever the Chinese thought of the Manchus, they could not but detest the cruel bandit whom they supplanted, and who, but for their aid and the courage of a single opponent, would have placed himself upon the throne of China. Wou Sankwei, having rid himself of his great enemy, now became anxious for the departure of his allies. But he soon found that they had no intention of leaving Peking, of which they were then in full control. At their head was Taitsong's young son, still a child, yet already giving evidence of much sagacity. His uncle, Prince Dorgan,--or Ama Wang (Father Prince), as his nephew called him,--was made regent, and hastened to proclaim the youth emperor of China, under the name of Chuntche. Every effort was made to obtain the support of Wou Sankwei: honors and titles were conferred upon him, and the new government showed such moderation and sound judgment in dealing with the people as to win him to its support,--especially as no Chinese candidate for the throne appeared whose ability promised to equal that of the young Manchu prince. The Manchus, indeed, were far from being rulers of the kingdom as yet. They held only a few provinces of the north, and a prince of the late native dynasty had been set up in the south, with his capital at Nanking. Had he been a capable ruler, with qualities suited to call Wou Sankwei to his support and enlist the energies of the people, the tide of Manchu conquest would very probably have been stayed. But he proved worthless, and Nanking was soon in the hands of his foes, its officials being spared, but required to shave their heads,--the shaved head and the pigtail of the modern Chinaman being the badge of submission to Tartar supremacy. A succession of new emperors was set up, but all met the same fate, and in the end the millions of China fell under the Manchu yoke, and the ancient empire was once more subjected to Tartar rule. The emperor Chuntche died young, and his son, Kanghi, came to the throne when but nine years of age. He was destined to reign for more than sixty years and to prove himself one of the best and greatest of the emperors of China. We cannot close without a mention of the final events in the career of Wou Sankwei, to whom China owed her Manchu dynasty. Thirty years after he had invited the Manchus into the country, and while he was lord of a large principality in the south, he was invited by the emperor to visit Peking, an invitation which he declined on the plea of old age, though really because he feared that Tartar jealousy of his position and influence lay behind it. Envoys were sent to him, whom he treated with princely courtesy, though he still declined to visit the court, and plainly stated his reasons. The persistence of the emperor at length drove him into rebellion, in which he was joined by others of the Chinese leaders, and for a time the unwisdom of Kanghi in not letting well enough alone threatened his throne with disaster. One by one, however, Wou's allies were put down, until he was left alone to keep up the war. The Manchus hesitated, however, to attack him, knowing well his great military skill. But disunion in his ranks did what the Tartar sword could not effect. Many of his adherents deserted him, and the Chinese warrior who had never known defeat was brought to the brink of irretrievable disaster. From this dilemma death extricated him, he passing away at the head of his men without the stigma of defeat on his long career of victory. In the end his body was taken from the tomb and his ashes were scattered through the eighteen provinces of China, to testify that no trace remained of the man whom alone the Manchus had wooed and feared. _THE CAREER OF A DESERT CHIEF._ In looking upon a modern map of the empire of China, it will be seen to cover a vast area in Asia, including not only China proper but the wide plains of Mongolia and the rock-bound region of Thibet. Yet no such map could properly have been drawn two hundred years ago. Thibet, while a tributary realm, was not then a portion of China, while the Mongolian herdsmen were still the independent warriors and the persistent enemies of China that they had been from time immemorial. It is to the Manchu emperors that the subjection of these countries and their incorporation in the Chinese empire are due. To-day the far-reaching territory of the steppes, the native home of those terrible horsemen who for ages made Europe and Asia tremble, is divided between the two empires of China and Russia, and its restless hordes are held in check by firm and powerful hands, their period of conquest at an end. It was to two of the Manchu monarchs, Kanghi and Keen Lung,--whose combined reigns covered more than a hundred and twenty years,--that the subjection of these long turbulent regions was due, enabling China to enter the nineteenth century with the broad territorial expanse now marked on our maps. The story of how the subjection of the nomads came about is a long one, much too long for the space at our command, yet a brief synopsis of its leading events will prove of interest and importance to all who desire to follow the successive steps of Chinese history. Kanghi, the second Manchu emperor, and one of the greatest of the rulers of China, having completed the conquest of the Chinese themselves, turned his attention to the nomadic hordes who threatened the tranquillity of his reign. He was one of their own race, a man of Tartar blood, and many of the desert tribes were ready to acknowledge his supremacy, among them the Khalkas, who prided themselves on direct descent from Ghengis and his warriors, but had lost all desire to rule the earth and were content to hold their own among the surrounding tribes. They dwelt on those streams which had watered the birthplace of the Mongol tribe, and their adhesion to the Manchu cause kept all the Mongols quiet. But west of these dwelt another nomad race, the Calmucks, divided into four hordes, of which the Eleuths were by no means content to yield to Chinese or Manchu control. Their independence of spirit might have been of little importance but that it was sustained by an able and ambitious leader, who not only denied Kanghi's supremacy but disputed with him the empire of the steppes. Galdan was the younger son of the most powerful chief of his tribe. Full of ambition, and chafing at the subordinate position due to his birth, he quarrelled with some of his brothers and killed one of them. Being forced to flee, he made his way to Thibet, where he sought to obtain admission to the ranks of the Buddhist clergy, but was refused by the Dalai Lama on account of his deed of blood. But on his return to the tents of his tribe he found himself in a new position. His crime was forgotten or condoned, and the fact that he had dwelt in the palace and under the holy influence of the Dalai Lama, the supreme religious power in Buddhist Asia, gave him a high standing among his fellow-tribesmen. The influence thus gained and his boldness and ruthlessness completed the work he had in mind. The ruling khan was deposed, all members of his family whose hostility was feared by Galdan were slain, and he found himself at the head of the tribe, whose members were terrified into submission. His thirst for power now showed itself in encroachments upon the lands of neighboring clans. The Manchus were at that time embarrassed by the rebellion of Wou Sankwei, and the opportunity seemed excellent for an invasion of the district of the Khalkas, firm friends of the Manchu power. He also sent troops towards the Chinese frontier, fear of whom forced many of the tribesmen to cross the border and seek the emperor's aid. Kanghi could then only give them lands within his realm, being too much occupied at home to be able to do more than send spies into the steppes. From these he learned that Galdan had built up a formidable power and that he evidently had in view the subjection of all the tribes. Kanghi, anxious to settle these difficulties amicably, spent a number of years in negotiations, but his rival showed as much ability in diplomacy as in the field, and succeeded in masking his designs while he was strengthening his position and preparing for open hostilities. Finally, with an army of thirty thousand men, he invaded the country of the Khalkas, and in 1690 took his first open step of hostility against China, by arresting the envoys who had been sent to his camp. This insult put an end to all Kanghi's efforts to maintain peace. The diplomatic movements were followed by a display of military energy and activity, and the whole northern army, consisting of the eight Manchu Banners, the forty-nine Mongol Banners, and a large force of Chinese auxiliaries, was set in motion across the steppes. Meanwhile Galdan, alarmed by the hostility he had provoked, sought to make an alliance with the Russians, an effort which brought him hollow promises but no assistance. Without waiting for the coming of all his foes, he made a vigorous attack on the Chinese advance force and drove it back in defeat, remaining master of the field. Yet, recognizing that the enemy was far too strong for him, he sent an envoy to Peking, offering concessions and asking for peace. The emperor listened, but the army pushed on, and an attack in force was made upon the Eleuth camp, which was located at the foot of a mountain, between a wood and a stream. The post was a strong one, and the Eleuths fought stubbornly, but they were too greatly outnumbered, and in the end were put to flight, after having inflicted severe loss on their foes, an uncle of the emperor being among the slain. Galdan now, finding that the war was going against him, offered fealty and obedience to the emperor, which Kanghi, glad to withdraw his army from its difficult position in the desert, accepted, sending the chieftain a letter of forgiveness. Thus ended the campaign of 1690. It was a truce, not a peace. Galdan's ambition remained unsatisfied, and Kanghi put little confidence in his promises. He was right: the desert chief occupied himself in sowing the seeds of dissension among the hordes, and in 1693, finding the Dalai Lama his opponent, took the step of professing himself a Mohammedan, in the hope of gaining the assistance of the Mussulman Tartars and Chinese. Yet he kept up negotiations with the Dalai Lama, with the purpose of retaining the Buddhist support. Meanwhile conflicts between the tribes went on, and in 1695 Kanghi, incensed at the constant encroachments of the ambitious chief, which failed to sustain his peaceful professions, resolved to put an end to the trouble by his complete and irretrievable overthrow. The despatch of a large army into the recesses of Central Asia was a difficult and hazardous enterprise, yet it seemed the only means of ending the strained situation, and by 1696 a large force was got ready for a protracted desert war, the principal command being given to a frontier soldier named Feyanku, who in the preceding troubles had shown marked ability. On the eve of the great national holiday of China, the Feast of Lanterns, the imperial court reviewed a section of the army, drawn up in military array along the principal street of Peking. The emperor, surrounded by the principal functionaries of the government, occupied a throne on a raised platform from which the whole scene could be surveyed, while strains of martial music filled the air. The culminating scene in the ceremony took place when Feyanku approached the throne, received on his knees from the emperor's hand a cup of wine, and retired down the steps, at whose foot he quaffed the wine amid the shouts of thousands of spectators. This ceremony was repeated with each of the subordinate generals, and then with the lower officers of the army, ten at a time. Success being thus drunk to the army, Feyanku left the capital to assume the active command in the field, while Kanghi, bent on complete success, set to work to recruit in all haste a second army, which he proposed to command himself. The whole force raised was an immense one, considering the character of the country to be traversed and the limited resources of the enemy. It marched in four divisions, of which that under Feyanku numbered about thirty-five thousand men. Despite the great distance to be traversed, the desert-like condition of much of the country, and the fact that deficiency of resources cost thousands of lives and forced many detachments to retreat, a powerful force at length reached the borders of Galdan's territory. After a march of more than three months' duration Feyanku pitched his camp near the sources of the Tula, his army being reduced to twelve thousand available men. These were placed in a fortified position within the Mongol camping-ground of Chowmodo. Meanwhile how was Galdan engaged? He had sought, but in vain, to win the alliance of a powerful Mongol tribe, and had conducted fruitless negotiations with the Russians of Siberia. His only remaining hope lay in the desert barrier which lay between him and his great enemy, and this vanished when the Chinese army made its appearance in his territories, though its success had been gained at a frightful loss of life. The situation of the desert chief had become desperate, his only hope lying in an attack on the advance body of the Chinese before it could be joined by the other detachments, and while exhausted by its long march across the desert of Gobi. He therefore made a rapid march and vigorously assailed the Chinese intrenchments at Chowmodo. In the interval the Chinese commanders had found themselves in a perilous position. Their supplies had run low, they could not be replenished in that situation, farther advance had become impossible, and it seemed equally impossible to maintain their position. Retreat seemed their only means of extricating themselves from their dilemma, and the question of doing so was under discussion when the sudden assault of Galdan happily relieved Feyanku from a situation which threatened the loss of his military renown. Of the battle that followed we know only that Feyanku remained on the defensive and sustained Galdan's attacks for three hours, when he gave the signal for a charge. The wearied Eleuths soon broke before the determined onset, a disordered flight began, and Galdan, seeing that the day was lost, fled with a small body of followers, leaving his camp and baggage to the victors and two thousand of his men dead on the field. This victory ended the war. Kanghi, on hearing of it, returned to Peking, having sent word to Feyanku to pursue Galdan with unrelenting vigor, there being no security while he remained at large. The recent powerful chief was now at the end of his resources. He fled for safety from camp to camp. He sent an envoy to Peking with an abject offer to surrender. He made new overtures to the Russians, and sought in a dozen ways to escape from his implacable enemies. But Feyanku kept up the pursuit, ceasing only when word came to him that the fugitive was dead. Anxiety, hardships, chagrin, or, as some say, the act of his own hand, had carried off the desert chief, and relieved the emperor of China from the peril and annoyance which had so long troubled him. In Galdan died a man who, under more fortunate circumstances, might have emulated some of the famous Tartar chiefs, a warrior of the greatest skill, courage, and daring, a "formidable enemy" to the Chinese empire, and one who, had the government of that empire been as weak as it proved strong, might have gathered all the nomads under arms and overthrown the dynasty. A few words must suffice to end the story of the Eleuths. The death of Galdan did not bring them to submission, and years afterwards we find them hostile to Chinese rule, and even so daring as to invade Thibet, which Kanghi had added to his empire, they taking its central city of Lhassa, and carrying to the steppes a vast wealth in spoil. Eventually they were subjected to Chinese rule, but before this took place an event of much interest occurred. The Tourguts, an adjoining Kalmuck tribe, were so imperilled by the enmity of the Eleuths that they took the important resolution of migrating to Russia, marching across the Kirghiz steppes and becoming faithful subjects of the czar, who gave them a new abiding-place on the banks of the Volga. Many years afterwards, in 1770, this tribe, inspired by a strong desire to return to their own home, left the Volga and crossed Asia, despite all efforts to check their flight, until they reached again their native soil. For the interesting story of this adventurous flight see Volume VIII. _THE RAID OF THE GOORKHAS._ During the past two and a half centuries the great empire of China has been under foreign rule, its emperors, its state officials, its generals and trusted battalions, being of Tartar blood, and the whole nation being forced to wear, in the shaved head and pigtail of every man from the highest to the lowest, a badge of servitude. The firm position gained by the Manchu dynasty was largely due to the ability of two emperors, Kanghi and Keen Lung, who stamped out the spirit of rebellion in China, added Thibet to the empire, and conquered Mongolia, subduing those restless tribes which for so many centuries had been a sword in the side of the great empire of the East. Their able administration was aided by their long reigns, Kanghi being on the throne for sixty-one years, while Keen Lung abdicated after a reign of sixty years, that he might not take from his esteemed grandfather the honor of the longest reign. Keen Lung died three years afterwards, in 1799, thus bringing up the history of China almost to the opening year of the nineteenth century. His eventful life was largely devoted to the consolidation of the Tartar authority, and was marked by brilliant military exploits and zeal in promoting the interests of China in all directions. It is our purpose here to tell the story of one of the famous military exploits of his reign. The conquest of Thibet had brought the Chinese into contact with the bold and restless hill-tribes which occupy the region between China and India. South of the Himalaya range there existed several small mountain states, independent alike of Mogul and of British rule, and defiant in their mountain fastnesses of all the great surrounding powers. Of these small states the most important was Nepal, originally a single kingdom, but afterwards divided into three, which were in frequent hostility with one another. West of Nepal was a small clan, the Goorkhas, whose people were noted for their warlike daring. It is with these that we are here concerned. In 1760 the king of Bhatgaon, one of the divisions of Nepal, being threatened by his rival kings, begged aid from the Goorkha chief. It was readily given, and with such effect as to win the allies a signal triumph. The ease of his victory roused the ambition of Narayan, the leader of the Goorkhas, and by 1769 the three kings of Nepal were either slain or fugitives in India and their country had fallen under the dominion of its recently insignificant and little-considered neighbor. The Goorkhas differed essentially from the Nepalese in character. They despised commerce and disliked strangers. War was their trade, and their aggressions soon disturbed conditions along the whole Himalaya range. The flourishing trade which had once existed between India and Thibet by way of Nepal was brought to an end, while the raids of the dominant clan on neighboring powers excited general apprehension. Twenty years after their conquest of Nepal the incursions of the Goorkhas into Thibet became so serious as to demand the attention of the Chinese emperor, though no decided action was taken for their suppression. But in 1790 an event occurred that put a sudden end to this supine indifference. The temples and lamasaries of Thibet were widely believed to contain a great store of wealth, the reports of which proved highly alluring to the needy and daring warriors of the Goorkha clan. The Chinese had shown no disposition to defend Thibet, and this rich spoil seemed to lie at the mercy of any adventurous band strong enough to overcome local opposition. In consequence, the Goorkhas prepared for an invasion in force of the northern state, and, with an army of about eighteen thousand men, crossed the Himalayas by the lofty passes of Kirong and Kuti and rapidly advanced into the country beyond. The suddenness of this movement found the Thibetans quite unprepared. Everything gave way before the bold invaders, and in a short time Degarchi, the second town of the state, fell into their hands. This was the residence of the Teshu Lama, ranking next to the Dalai in authority, and possessed the vast lamasary of Teshu Lumbo, rich in accumulated wealth, which fell into the hands of the invaders. A farther advance would undoubtedly have given them the chief city of Lhassa, since the unwarlike population fled in terror before their advance, but their success at Degarchi had been so great as to check their march, many weeks being spent in counting their spoil and subduing the surrounding country. Meanwhile urgent petitions were sent to Peking, and the old emperor, aroused to the necessity for prompt and decisive action, gave orders that all available troops should at once be despatched to Lhassa and vigorous preparations made for war. Within a few months a Chinese army of seventy thousand men, armed with several pieces of light artillery, had reached Thibet, where the Goorkhas, alarmed by the numbers of their opponents, made hasty preparations for a retreat. But their spoil was so abundant and bulky as to delay their march, and the Chinese, who were well commanded, succeeded in coming up with them before they had crossed the mountain passes. The movements of the Chinese commander were so skilfully made that the retreat of the Goorkhas without a battle for the safety of their treasures became impossible. Sund Fo, the Chinese general, according to the usual practice of his people, began by the offer of terms to the enemy, these being the surrender of all their spoil and of a renegade lama whose tale of the wealth of Thibet had led to the invasion. Probably also pledges for better conduct in future were demanded, but the proud chief of the Goorkhas haughtily refused to accept any of these conditions and defied his foes to do their worst. Of the battle that followed nothing is known except its result, which was the defeat and hasty retreat of the invaders, much of whose baggage was left behind. The Chinese do not seem to have suffered greatly, to judge from the promptness of their pursuit, which was made with such rapidity that the Goorkhas were overtaken and again defeated before they had reached the Kirong pass, they being now obliged to abandon most of their baggage and spoil. The pursuit continued with an energy remarkable for a Chinese army, the Goorkhas, bold as they were by nature, growing demoralized under this unlooked-for persistence. Every encounter resulted in a defeat, the forts which commanded the mountain passes and defiles were taken in succession by Sund Fo's army, and he still pressed relentlessly on. At a strong point called Rassoa the Goorkhas defended for three days a passage over a chasm, but they had grown faint-hearted through their successive defeats, and this post too fell into the hands of their enemy. The triumphs of the Chinese had not been won without severe loss, both in their frequent assaults upon mountain strongholds and a desperate foe, and from the passage of the snow-clad mountains, but they finally succeeded in reaching the southern slopes of the Himalayas with an effective force of forty thousand men. Khatmandu, the Goorkha capital, lay not far away, and with a last effort of courage and despair the retreating army made a stand for the defence of the seat of their government. Their position was a strong one, their courage that of desperation, and their valor and resolution so great that for a time they checked the much stronger battalions of their foes. The Chinese troops, disheartened by the courage with which the few but brave mountaineers held their works, were filled with dismay, and might have been repulsed but for the ruthless energy of their leader, who was determined at any cost to win. Turning the fire of his artillery upon his own troops, he drove them relentlessly upon the foe, forcing them to a charge that swept them like a torrent over the Goorkha works. The fire of the guns was kept up upon the mingled mass of combatants until the Goorkhas were driven over a precipice into the stream of the Tadi that ran below. By this decisive act of the Chinese commander many of his own men were slain, but the enemy was practically annihilated and the war brought to an end. The Goorkhas now humbly solicited peace, which Sund Fo was quite ready to grant, for his own losses had been heavy and it was important to recross the mountains before winter set in. He therefore granted them peace on humiliating terms, though these were as favorable as they could expect under the circumstances. Any further attempt at resistance against the overwhelming army of their foes might have ended in the complete destruction of their state. They took an oath to keep the peace with Thibet, to acknowledge themselves vassals of China, to send an embassy with tribute to Peking every five years, and to restore all the plunder taken from Teshu Lumbo. Of the later history of the Goorkhas some words may be said. Their raids into India led to a British invasion of their country in 1814, and in 1816 they were forced to make peace. The celebrated Jung Bahadur became their ruler in 1846 through the summary process of killing all his enemies, and in 1857, during the Indian mutiny, he came with a strong force to the aid of the British, whose friend he had always remained. In more recent wars the Goorkhas have proved themselves among the bravest soldiers in the Indian army, and in the late war with the hill-tribes showed an intrepidity which no part of the army surpassed. The independence of their state is still maintained. [Illustration: CHAIR AND CAGO CARRIERS.] _HOW EUROPE ENTERED CHINA._ For four or five thousand years China remained isolated from the rest of the civilized world, its only relations being with the surrounding peoples of its own race, notably with the Tartars of the steppes. Then, in the nineteenth century, the wall of isolation suddenly broke down, and it was forced to enter into relations of trade and amity with Europe and America. This revolution did not come about peacefully. The thunder of cannon was necessary to break down the Chinese wall of seclusion. But the result seems likely to prove of the greatest advantage to the so-called Celestial Kingdom. It has swung loose from its moorings in the harbor of conservatism, and it is not safe to predict how far it will drift, but it is safe to say that a few years of foreign war have done as much for it as hundreds of years of peace and isolation. From time to time in the past centuries Europeans made their way to China. Some were priestly envoys, some missionaries, some, as in the case of the Polos, traders. Afterwards came the Jesuit missionaries, who gained an important standing in China under the early Manchu emperors, and were greatly favored by the emperor Kanghi. After his death a change took place, and they were gradually driven from the land. The first foreign envoy reached China from Russia in 1567. Another came in 1653, his purpose being to establish freedom of trade. A century later a treaty was made establishing a system of overland trade between Russia and China, and since then a Russian missionary station has existed in Peking. In 1516 came the first vessel to China under a European flag, a Portuguese trader. Others followed, and trade began through Canton and other ports. But the foreign traders soon began to act rather as pirates than as peaceful visitors, and in the end the Chinese drove them all away. About the middle of the sixteenth century a foreign settlement was begun at Macao, on an island near the southeast boundary of the empire, and here the trade grew so brisk that for a time Macao was the richest trading-mart in Eastern Asia. But so hostile were the relations between the Portuguese, Spanish, and Dutch, and so brigand-like their behavior, that the Chinese looked upon them all as piratical barbarians, and intercourse did not grow. The English had their own way of opening trade relations. A fleet under Captain Weddell came to Canton in 1637, and, as the Chinese fired upon a watering boat, attacked and captured the forts, burnt the council-house, carried off the guns from the forts, and seized two merchant junks. About fifty years afterwards they were accorded trading privileges at Canton and Ning-po. To England, indeed, is due the chief credit of opening up China to the world, though the way in which it was done is not much to England's credit. This was by the famous--or infamous--opium war. But in another way England was the first to break through the traditional ceremonies of the Chinese court. All who approached the emperor's throne, foreign ambassadors as well as Chinese subjects, were required to perform the _kotow_, which consisted in kneeling three times before the emperor, or even before his empty throne, and each time bowing the head until the forehead three times touched the marble flooring. This was done by the Russians and the Dutch, but the Earl of Macartney, who came as English ambassador in 1792, refused to perform the slavish ceremony, and was therefore not permitted to see the emperor, though otherwise well received. The first event of importance in the nineteenth century, that century so vital in the history of China, was the hoisting of the American flag at Canton in 1802, which marked the beginning of American trade with the Celestial empire. From this time the trade of Canton rapidly grew, until it became one of the greatest commercial cities of the world, while its mercantile activity gave employment to millions of natives in all parts of the empire in preparing articles of commerce, particularly tea. It was also of great importance to the imperial government from the revenue it furnished in the way of duty and presents. It is of interest to note, however, that the emperor and his court looked upon these presents as the payment of tribute, and the nations that sent them, unknown to themselves, were set down as vassals of the Chinese crown. We have now an important feature of the Chinese trade to record. Opium was a favorite article of consumption in China, and its use there had given rise to an important industry in British India, in the growth of the poppy. In the year 1800 the emperor, perceiving the growing evil in the use of opium by his people, issued an edict forbidding its introduction into China. This did not check the trade, its only effect being to convert legitimate into smuggling traffic. The trade went on as briskly as before, the smugglers being openly aided by venal officials not only at Canton but at other points along the coast. By 1838 the disregard of the law, and the quantity of opium smuggled into the empire by small boats on the Canton River, had become so great that the Peking government determined to take more active steps for the suppression of the illicit trade. At this time there were more than fifty small craft plying on the river under the English and American flags, most of them smugglers. Some of these were seized and destroyed, but as the others were then heavily manned and armed the revenue officers declined to interfere with them, and the contraband trade went briskly on. At length the difficulty reached a climax. Arrests and punishments for the use of opium became common throughout the empire, three royal princes were degraded for this practice, a commissioner with large powers was sent from Peking to Canton, and the foreigners were ordered to deliver up every particle of opium in their store-ships and give bonds to bring no more, on penalty of death. As a result, somewhat more than one thousand chests were tendered to the commissioner, but this was declared to be not enough, and that official at once took the decisive measure of cutting off the food-supply from the foreign settlement. This and other active steps brought about the desired result. Captain Elliot, the British superintendent of commerce, advised a complete delivery of all opium under British control, and before night more than twenty thousand chests of the deleterious drug were surrendered into his hands, and were offered by him to the commissioner the next day. News of this event was sent to Peking, and orders came back that the opium should be all destroyed; which was done effectively by mixing it with salt water and lime in trenches and drawing off the mixture into an adjacent creek. Care was taken that none should be purloined, and one man was executed on the spot for attempting to steal a small portion of the drug. Thus perished an amount of the valuable substance rated at cost price at nearly eleven million dollars. We have described this event at some length, as it led to the first war between China and a foreign power. The destruction of the opium deeply offended the British government, and in the next year (1840) Captain Elliot received an official letter to the effect that war would be declared unless China should pay for the goods destroyed. As China showed no intention of doing so, an English fleet was sent to Chinese waters in the summer of 1841, whose admiral declared a blockade of the port of Canton, and, on July 5, bombarded and captured the town of Ting-hai. Various other places were blockaded, and, as the emperor rejected all demands, the fleet moved upon Canton, taking the forts along the river as it advanced. In the end, when an attack had become imminent, the authorities ransomed their city for the sum of six million dollars. But the emperor did not know yet the strength of the power with which he had to deal, and still continued silent and defiant. The fleet now sailed northward, capturing in succession Amoy, Chin-hai, and Ning-po. Cha-pu was the next to fall, and here the Manchu Tartars for the first time came into conflict with the English. When defeated, great numbers of them killed themselves, first destroying their wives and children. The forts at the mouth of the Yang-tse-Kiang were next taken. Here the governor-general took care to post himself out of danger, but in a grandiloquent despatch declared that he had been in the hottest of the fight, "where cannon-balls innumerable, flying in awful confusion through the expanse of heaven, fell before, behind, and on every side, while in the distance were visible the ships of the rebels standing erect, lofty as mountains. The fierce daring of the rebels was inconceivable; officers and men fell at their posts. Every effort to resist the onset was in vain, and a retreat became inevitable." The result was the capture of Shanghai. The British now determined on a siege of the important city of Nanking, the ancient capital of China. The movement began with an attack on Chin-Kiang-fu, the "Mart-river city." Here a fierce assault was made, the Manchu garrison resisting with obstinate courage. In the end, of the garrison of four thousand only five hundred remained, most of the others having killed themselves. This victory rendered the capture of Nanking certain, its food-supply was already endangered by the English control of the river, and the authorities gave way. The emperor was now convinced that further resistance was hopeless, and the truce ended in a treaty of peace, the Chinese government agreeing to pay twenty-one million dollars indemnity, to open to British trade and residence the ports of Canton, Amoy, Foo-Chow, Ning-po, and Shanghai, and to cede to the English the island of Hong-Kong, with various minor stipulations. This war, which was fought with the discreditable purpose of forcing upon China an injurious drug against her will, had nevertheless several very useful results. Other European nations hastened to claim the same privileges of trade that were given the English, and in 1844 a commercial treaty was signed between China and the United States, in the conduct of which a favorable disposition towards Americans was shown. The eventual result was the breaking down of the barriers of intolerance which had been so long maintained, that ancient and self-satisfied government being at last forced to throw open its gates for the entrance of the new ideas of international amity and freedom of commerce. But much had still to be done before these desirable results could be fully achieved. Hostile relations were not yet at an end, annoying restrictions being placed on the promised intercourse. In 1856 a native vessel flying the British flag was seized by the Chinese, who refused to apologize to the British for the act. As a result, the city of Canton was bombarded and the forts were destroyed. A warlike demonstration was decided upon by Great Britain and France, the first result being the total destruction of the Chinese fleet and the capture of Canton. A revision of the former treaty and the concession of greater privileges were demanded, which China, warned by the lesson of the opium war, found itself obliged to grant. The English and French, however, refused to treat at Canton, as the Chinese desired, but sailed to the mouth of the Pei-ho, the port of Peking, up which stream their fleets proceeded to the city of Tien-tsin. Here arrangements for a new treaty of commerce and the opening of new ports were made, Russia and the United States taking part in the negotiations. But on proceeding to the mouth of the Pei-ho in 1859 to ratify the treaty, the river was found to be obstructed and the forts strongly armed. The American and Russian envoys were willing to go to Peking overland, in accordance with the Chinese request, but the British and French determined to force their way up the stream and to take as many soldiers with them as they pleased. They attacked the forts, therefore, but, to their disgust, found themselves defeated and forced to withdraw. This repulse could have but one result. It gave the Chinese for the first time confidence in their ability to meet the foreigner in war. It humiliated and exasperated the English and French. They determined now to carry the war to the gates of Peking and force the Chinese to acknowledge the supremacy of the nations of the West. The events of this war we can give only in outline. In the summer of 1860 a new attack was made on the Taku forts, troops being landed to assail them in the rear, in which direction no arrangement for defence had been made. As a result the forts fell, a large body of Tartar cavalry, which sought to stop the march of the allies with bows, arrows, and spears, being taught a lesson in modern war by the explosion of shells in their ranks. The capture of the forts left the way clear for a march on the capital, which was at once made, and on the 5th of October, 1860, a European army first came within view of this long-hidden and mysterious city. _THE BURNING OF THE SUMMER PALACE._ The "sublime" emperor, the supreme head of the great realm of China and its hundreds of millions of people, dwells in a magnificence and seclusion unknown to the monarchs of other lands. His palace enclosure within the city of Peking, the "Purple Forbidden City," as it is called, covers over half a square mile of ground, and is surrounded by a wall forty feet high and more than forty feet thick. Within this sacred enclosure the Chinese ideas of beauty and magnificence have been developed to the fullest extent, and the emperor resides in unapproachable grandeur and state. Outside the city, a few miles to the north, lies the Summer Palace, another locality on which the Celestial architects and landscape artists have exhausted their genius in devising scenes of beauty and charm, and which is similarly walled in from the common herd. Beyond the Great Wall, on the borders of Tartary, exists another palatial enclosure, the hunting and pleasure grounds of the emperor, in the midst of an immense forest abundantly stocked with game. To the latter his supreme majesty made his way with all haste on hearing of the rapid approach of the English and French armies. In truth, the great monarchs of the Manchu dynasty had passed away, and the feeble reigning emperor lacked the courage to fight for his throne. On the 5th of October, 1860, the allied armies of England and France approached the Celestial capital, the officers obtaining their first view of its far-stretching wall from the tops of some grass-grown brick-kilns. On the next day the march was resumed, the French force advancing upon the Summer Palace, where it was hoped the emperor would be found, the English directing their course towards the city, where a Tartar picket was driven in and preparations were begun for an assault in force. The Summer Palace was found in charge of some three hundred eunuchs, whom Prince Kung, who had left in all haste the evening before, had ordered to make a gallant defence. But the entrance gave way before the impetuous assault of the French, a few of the defenders fell dead or wounded, and the remainder beat a hasty retreat, leaving the grand entrance to the Yuen-ming-yuen, the famous imperial residence, in the hands of the daring and disrespectful "barbarians." Into the grand reception-hall, which none had heretofore entered except in trembling awe, the irreverent foreigners boldly made their way, their spurred heels ringing on the broad marble floor before the emperor's sacred throne, their loud voices resounding through that spacious hall where silence and ceremony so long had reigned supreme, as the awed courtiers approached with silent tread and voiceless respect the throne of the dreaded Brother of the Sun and Moon. "Imagine such a scene," says Swinhoe. "The emperor is seated on his ebony throne, attired in a yellow robe wrought over with dragons in gold thread, his head surmounted with a spherical crown of gold and precious stones, with pearl drops suspended round on light gold chains. His eunuchs and ministers, in court costume, are ranged on either side on their knees, and his guard of honor and musicians drawn up in two lines in the court-yard without. The name of the distinguished person to be introduced is called out, and as he approaches the band strikes up. He draws near the awful throne, and, looking meekly on the ground, drops on his knees before the central steps. He removes his hat from his head, and places it on the throne floor with its peacock feather towards the imperial donor. The emperor moves his hand, and down goes the humble head, and the forehead strikes on the step three times three. The head is then raised, but the eyes are still meekly lowered, as the imperial voice in thrilling accents pronounces the behest of the great master. The voice hushed, down goes the head again and acknowledges the sovereign right, and the privileged individual is allowed to withdraw. The scene described is not imaginary, but warranted by the accounts of natives. "How different the scene now! The hall filled with crowds of a foreign soldiery, and the throne floor covered with the Celestial emperor's choicest curios, but destined as gifts for two far more worthy monarchs. 'See here,' said General Montauban, pointing to them. 'I have had a few of the most brilliant things selected to be divided between the Queen of Great Britain and the Emperor of the French!'" [Illustration: STREET SCENE. PEKIN, CHINA.] General Montauban had declared that no looting should take place until the British came up, that all might have their equal share, but the fierce desire of the French soldiers for spoil could not easily be restrained. Even the officers were no better, and as the rooms of the palace were boldly explored, "gold watches and small valuables were whipped up by these gentlemen with amazing velocity, and as speedily disappeared into their capacious pockets." Into the very bedroom of the emperor the unawed visitors made their way, and gazed with curious eyes on the imperial couch, curtained over and covered with silk mattresses. Under the pillow was a small silk handkerchief, with sundry writings in the vermilion pencil concerning the "barbarians," while on a table lay pipes and other articles of daily use. On another table was found the English treaty of 1858, whose terms were soon to be largely modified. Meanwhile the nimble-fingered French soldiers had not been idle, and the camp was full of articles of value or interest, silks and curios, many of them rare prizes, watches, pencil-cases set with diamonds, jewelled vases, and a host of other costly trifles, chief among which was a string of splendid pearls exhibited by one officer, each pearl of the size of a marble and the whole of immense value. On Sunday morning, the 7th of October, the orders against looting were withdrawn, and officers and men, English and French alike, rushed excitedly about the place, appropriating every valuable which it was within their power to carry. What could not be carried away was destroyed, a spirit of wanton destruction seeming to animate them all. Some amused themselves by shooting at the chandeliers, others by playing pitch-and-toss against large and costly mirrors, while some armed themselves with clubs and smashed to pieces everything too heavy to be carried, finishing the work by setting on fire the emperor's private residence. Those who paid more heed to observation than to destruction have given us interesting accounts of the Summer Palace and its surroundings, whose vast enclosure extended from the place where the French entered to the foot of the first range of hills north of Peking, six or seven miles away. Over this broad extent were scattered gardens, palaces, temples, and pagodas on terraces and artificial hills. Some of these were like the one seen by Marco Polo in the palace enclosure of Kublai Khan, being from three hundred to four hundred feet in height, their sides covered with forest-trees of all kinds, through whose foliage the yellow-tiled palace roofs appeared. In the midst of these hills lay a large lake, containing two or three islands, on which were picturesque buildings, the islands being reached by quaint and beautiful stone bridges. On one side of the lake ran the favorite walk of the emperor and his court, winding in and out for more than two miles among grottos and flower-gardens, roofed in by flowering creepers. Where palaces touched the water's edge the walk was carried past on light but beautiful stone terraces built over the lake. Grandeur was added to the general beauty of the scene by the high mountains of Tartary which rose in the rear. The work of looting was followed by a sale of the spoil under the walls of Peking, the auction continuing for three days, during which a large quantity of valuable plunder was disposed of. Many of the French officers had acquired considerable fortunes, and numbers of their men were nearly as well supplied. For several days intoxication and disorder prevailed, while the disposition to plunder was extended from the palace to the neighboring villages. Meanwhile the preparations for an assault on Peking had gone forward. The Anting gate was the point selected, the Chinese being given until the 12th for a peaceful surrender. As noon of that day drew near, the gunners stood by their pieces, a storming party excitedly awaited the order to charge as soon as a breach had been made, and General Napier, watch in hand, timed the slow minutes. Five minutes to twelve arrived. The general was almost on the point of giving the order, the gunners were growing eager and excited, when Colonel Stephenson came galloping hastily up with the news that the gate had been surrendered. In a few minutes more it was thrown open, a party of British marched in and took possession, and the French followed with beating drums and flying flags, forcing the natives back as they advanced. That afternoon several prisoners were restored to the allies. They proved to have been inhumanly treated and were in a condition of fearful emaciation, while the bodies of several who had died were also given up, among them that of Mr. Bowlby, correspondent of the London _Times_. This spectacle aroused the greatest indignation in the British camp. A terrible retribution might have been inflicted upon Peking had not a promise of its safety been given if the gate were surrendered. But the emperor's rural retreat lay at the mercy of the troops, and Lord Elgin gave orders that its palaces should be levelled with the ground. The French refused to aid in this act of vandalism, which they strongly condemned,--a verdict which has since been that of the civilized world. But Lord Elgin was fixed in his purpose, and the work of destruction went on. Soon flames appeared above the devoted structures, and long columns of smoke rose to the sky, increasing in width and density as the day waned, until the canopy of smoke hung like a vast storm-cloud over Peking, and the sorrowful eyes of those on the walls saw the flashing fire that told of the swift destruction of what it had taken centuries to build. For two days the work of ruin in the imperial grounds went on, the soldiers carrying away what they could from the burning buildings, though a vast amount of property was destroyed, the loss being estimated at a value of over ten million dollars. Threats were now made that unless compensation should be paid for the British subjects maltreated and murdered, and the treaty signed within a fixed period, the palace in Peking would be seized and other steps of violence taken. There was no redress for the Chinese. They were in the grasp of their foes and were obliged to submit. On the 24th, Lord Elgin was carried in state in his green sedan-chair through the principal street of the city, attended by a force of about eight thousand soldiers, while multitudes of Chinese viewed the procession with curious eyes. Prince Kung awaited him in a large hall, and here the Treaty of Tien-tsin, to obtain a ratification of which the allies had come to Peking, was formally executed. At the close of the ceremonies the prince tendered a banquet, but the British declined the proffered honor, fearing that they might be poisoned by the Chinese cooks. A similar banquet offered to the French on the following day was readily accepted, and none of them suffered through their faith in the honor of their host. Since the date of this war the process of opening China to the nations of the West has gone unceasingly on, the policy of exclusion of that old nation slowly but steadily giving way. In 1873, on the young emperor Tung-chi attaining his majority, the long-refused audience with the emperor without performing the _kotow_ was granted, the ambassador of Japan being first received, and after him those of the United States, Russia, Great Britain, France, and the Netherlands. For the first time foreigners were permitted to stand erect and gaze with uplifted eyes on "the sacred countenance," and the equality with the emperor of the monarchs of the West was acknowledged by the Celestial court. _A GREAT CHRISTIAN MOVEMENT AND ITS FATE._ The Chinese are a peculiar people, and have odd ideas of the power and duty of their monarchs and of their own rights and duties. In their country no son has the right to resist his father, even if he be treated with tyrannical cruelty. But in regard to the emperor, though they look upon him as the father of his people, they claim the right to depose him and put him to death if he plays the tyrant. So long as he rules with justice and wisdom both man and nature acknowledge his authority, but if he violates the principles of justice and goodness the Chinaman claims the right to rebel, while such evils of nature as pestilence and famine, destructive storms and earthquakes, are held as proofs that Heaven is withdrawing from the weak or wicked emperor the right to rule. The history of the empire is full of instances of popular rebellions against offending rulers, some quelled, others hurling the monarch from his throne, and in this way most of the old dynasties ended and new ones began. The course of events brought about such a state of affairs in the nineteenth century. Though the Chinese have never been content with their Manchu rulers, they submitted to them as long as they were just and public-spirited. But in time this dynasty suffered the fate of all others, weak emperors following the strong ones, and in the reign of the incompetent Kea-king, who succeeded Keen Lung, rebellions broke out in a dozen quarters, pirates ravaged the coast, and the disaffection extended throughout the realm. In 1820 this weak emperor died, and was succeeded by Taou-kwang, who proved even less fit to rule than his father, devoting himself to the pursuit of pleasure and leaving the empire to take care of itself. Soon new rebels were in the field, whom the armies proved unable to put down, and the disorganization of the empire made rapid progress. Even the Meaou-tsze, or hill-tribes, the descendants of the first inhabitants of the country, rose in arms and defeated an army of thirty thousand men. War with the English added to the discontent, which grew greater until 1850, when the emperor died and his son Heen-fung ascended the throne. This was going from bad to worse. The new emperor was still more selfish and tyrannical than his father, and under the control of his craving for sensual pleasures paid no heed to the popular cry for reform. The discontent was now coming to a head. In the south broke out a revolt, whose leaders proclaimed as emperor a youth said to be a descendant of the Ming dynasty, who took the royal name of Teen-tih, or "Heavenly Virtue." But he and his followers soon vanished before another and abler aspirant to the throne, the first man with a genius for command who had headed any of these rebel outbreaks. The leader of this remarkable movement sprang from the lowest ranks of the people, being the son of a peasant dwelling in a village near Canton. Hung Sew-tseuen was a man of ardent imagination and religious enthusiasm. Strange visions came to him, and held him captive for some forty days, in which the visitors of his dreaming fancy urged him to destroy the idols. Some years afterwards he read a Christian pamphlet containing chapters from the Scriptures, and found it to correspond closely with what he had seen and heard in his vision. Inspired by these various influences, he felt himself divinely commissioned to restore his country to the worship of the true God, and set out on a mission to convert the people to his new faith. Fung-Yun-san, one of his first converts, ardently joined him, and the two traversed the country far and wide, preaching the religion of the Christian God. Their success was great, their converts all giving up the worship of Confucius and renouncing idolatry. Some of them were arrested for destroying idols, among them Fung-Yun-san, but on the way to prison he converted the soldiers of his guard, who set him free and followed him as disciples. Many of the converts were seized with convulsions, some professed to have the gift of healing, and the movement took on the phase of strong religious ecstasy and enthusiasm. It was in 1850 that this effort assumed a political character. A large force of pirates had been driven by a British fleet from the sea, and on shore they joined the bandits of the south, and became rebels against the Manchu rule. Hung's converts were mostly among this people, who soon took a strong stand against the misrule of the Tartars. The movement grew rapidly. From all sides recruits came to the rebel ranks, among them two women chiefs, each at the head of about two thousand men. Hung now proclaimed himself as sent by Heaven to drive out the Tartars--whom he declared to be examples of all that was base and vile--and to place a Chinese emperor on his country's throne. Putting his forces in march, Hung made a remarkable progress of about one thousand miles to Woo-chang on the Yang-tse-Kiang and down that stream, the army fighting its way through all opposition. When towns and cities submitted their people were spared. Slaughter awaited those who resisted. Food and clothing were obtained by requisition on the people. The imperial troops were hurled back in defeat wherever met. Before battle it was the custom of the insurgents to kneel down and invoke the protection of God, after which they would charge their enemies with resistless zeal. City after city fell before them, and the whole empire regarded their march with surprise and dismay. The converts professed faith in the Christian Scriptures, of which an imperfect translation was distributed among them. Hung announced that in case of success the Bible would be substituted for the works of Confucius. The Sabbath was strictly observed among them, forms of prayer to the Supreme Being were in constant use, and Englishmen who came among them spoke in the highest terms of their pious devotion and their great kindliness of feeling. They welcomed Europeans as "brethren from across the sea" and as fellow-worshippers of "Yesu." From Woo-chang Hung led his army in 1852 down the river towards Nanking, which he had fixed upon as the capital of his new empire. The disaffection of the people of Nanking was so great that little resistance was made except by the Tartar garrison, who were all put to death when the city fell. Being now in possession of the ancient capital of the kingdom, Hung proclaimed himself emperor under the name of Teen Wang, or "Heavenly King," giving to his dynasty the title of the Tai-ping. And now for a number of years victory followed every movement of the Tai-ping army. Four leading cities of Central China were quickly occupied, and a brilliant march to the north was begun, in which, cutting loose from its base of supplies, the rebel host forced its way through all obstacles. The army penetrated as far north as Tien-tsin, and Peking itself was in imminent peril, being saved only by a severe repulse of the rebel forces. The advance of the British and French upon Peking aided the cause of the insurgents, and fear of them had much to do with the prompt surrender of the city to the foreign invaders. After the war the tide of the insurrection turned and its decline began, mainly through the aid given by the English to the government forces. Ignoring the fact that the movement was a Christian one, and might have gone far towards establishing Christianity among the Chinese, and friendly relations with foreign peoples, the English seemed mainly governed by the circumstance that opium was prohibited by the Tai-ping government at Nanking, the trade in this pernicious drug proving a far stronger interest with them than the hopeful results from the missionary movement. Operations against the insurgents took place through the treaty ports, and British and French troops aided the imperial forces. The British cruisers treated the Tai-ping junks as pirates, because they captured Chinese vessels, and the soldiers and sailors of Great Britain took part in forty-three battles and massacres in which over four hundred thousand of the Tai-pings were killed. More than two millions of them are said to have died of starvation in the famine caused by the operations of the Chinese, British, and French allies. General Ward, an American, led a force of natives against them, but their final overthrow was due to the famous Colonel Gordon, "Chinese Gordon," as he was subsequently known. He was not long in organizing the imperial troops, the "Ever-Victorious Army," into a powerful force, and in taking the field against the rebels. From that day their fortunes declined. City after city was taken from their garrisons, and in July, 1864, Nanking was invested with an immense army. Its fall ended the hopes of the Tai-ping dynasty. For three days the slaughter continued in its streets, while the new emperor avoided the sword of the foe by suicide. Those who escaped fled to their former homes, where many of them joined bands of banditti. Thus came to a disastrous end, through the aid of foreign arms, the most remarkable insurrectionary movement that China has ever known. What would have been its result had the Chinese been left to themselves it is not easy to say. The indications are strong that the Manchu dynasty would have fallen and the Chinese regained their own again. And the Christian faith and worship of the rebels, with their marked friendliness to foreigners, might have worked a moral and political revolution in the Chinese empire, and lifted that ancient land into a far higher position than it occupies to-day. But the interests of the opium trade were threatened, and before this all loftier considerations had to give way. [Illustration: A BRONZE-WORKER'S SHOP.] _COREA AND ITS NEIGHBORS._ We have thus far followed the course of two distinct streams of history, that of Japan and that of China, flowing near each other, yet touching at very few points in their course. Near the end of the nineteenth century these two streams flowed together, and the histories of the two countries became one, in the war in which their difference in military skill was so strikingly displayed. Japan made use of the lessons which it had well learned in its forty years of intercourse with Europe. China fought in the obsolete fashion of a past age. As a result, the cumbersome mediæval giant went down before the alert modern dwarf, and the people of Eastern Asia were taught a new and astounding lesson in the art of war. Between China and Japan lies the kingdom of Corea, separated by a river from the former, by a strait of the ocean from the latter, claimed as a vassal state by both, yet preserving its individuality as a state against the pair. It has often been invaded by China, but never conquered. It has twice been invaded by Japan, as described in preceding tales, and made tributary, but not conquered. Thus it remained until the end of the nineteenth century, when it was to become the cause of a war between the two rival empires. During the long history of China and Japan these countries very rarely came into conflict with each other. Only once has China invaded Japan, when Kublai Khan, the Mongol emperor, attempted its conquest with a great fleet, the fate of which we have already told. This effort had its influence upon Japan, for during the succeeding three centuries pirates from the island empire boldly raided the coast of China, devastating the maritime provinces and causing immense loss and suffering. They often built forts on the shore, from which they sallied forth to plunder and burn, keeping their ships at hand ready to fly if defeated. Thus they went on, plundering and destroying, their raids reaching a ruinous stage in 1553 and the succeeding years. They defeated the Chinese troops in several battles, ravaged the whole surrounding country, carried off immense quantities of spoil, sold multitudes of prisoners into slavery, and in seven or eight years slaughtered over one hundred thousand soldiers and citizens of China. The raids resembled those made at an earlier date by the Normans on the coast of France and the Danes on that of England, the sea-rovers pouncing down at unexpected times and places and plundering and burning at will. These forays of the pirates, in which the government took no part, were followed in 1592 by an invasion in force of the kingdom of Corea. In this the invaders rapidly swept all before them, quickly overrunning the southern half of the kingdom and threatening China. The Chinese then came to the aid of their helpless neighbors, and for six years the war went on, the Japanese being usually successful in the field, but gradually forced back from want of supplies, as the country was devastated and their own land distant. In the end Hideyoshi, the shogun, died, and the army was withdrawn, Japan holding the port of Fusan as the sole result of its costly effort. This Corean port it still retains. And now three hundred years passed away in which Corea remained free and isolated from the world. It wanted no more intercourse with foreigners. Once a year a fair was held in the neutral zone between China and Corea, but any Chinaman found on Corean soil after the fair ended was liable to be put to death. The Japanese were kept out by laws as severe. In fact, the doors of the kingdom were closed against all of foreign birth, the coasts carefully patrolled, and beacon-fires kindled on the hill-tops to warn the capital whenever any strange vessel came within sight. All foreigners wrecked on the coast were to be held as prisoners until death. Such was the threatened fate of some Dutch sailors wrecked there during the seventeenth century, who escaped after fourteen years' confinement. Dread of China and Japan induced the king to send envoys with tribute to Peking and Yedo, but the tribute was small, and the isolation was maintained, Corea winning for itself the names of the Hermit Nation and the Forbidden Land. It was not until within recent years that this policy of isolation was overthrown and Corea opened to the world. How this was done may be briefly told. In spite of the Corean watchfulness, some French missionaries long ago penetrated into the land and made many converts, who were afterwards severely persecuted. French fleets were sent there in 1866 and later, and a fight took place in which the French were repulsed. In consequence the persecution of the Christians grew more severe. War-ships were sent by different nations to try to open trade, but in vain, and finally an American trading vessel was destroyed and its crew massacred. This affair brought a fleet from the United States to the coast of Corea in 1871, which, being fired on from the shore, attacked and captured five Corean forts. The opening of Corea was finally due to Japan. In 1876 the Japanese did what Commodore Perry had done to themselves twenty-two years before. A fleet was sent which sailed up within sight of Seoul, the capital, and by a display of men and guns forced the government to sign a treaty opening the country to trade through the port of Fusan. In 1880 Chemulpo was also made an open port. Two years afterwards a United States fleet obtained similar concessions, and within a short time most of the countries of Europe were admitted to trade, and the long isolation of the Hermit Kingdom was at an end. These events were followed by a rivalry between China and Japan, in which the latter country showed itself much the more active and alert. Imposing Japanese consulates were built in Seoul, flourishing settlements were laid out, and energetic steps taken to make Japan the paramount power in Corea. As a result, the Coreans became divided into two factions, a progressive one which favored the Japanese, and a conservative one which was more in touch with the backwardness of China and whose members hated the stirring islanders. In 1882 a plot was formed by the Min faction, the active element in the conservative party, to drive the Japanese out of Seoul. The intruders were attacked, a number of them were murdered, and the minister and others had to fight their way to the sea-shore, where they escaped on a junk. Two years afterwards a similar outbreak took place, and the Japanese were once more forced to fight for their lives from Seoul to the sea. On this occasion Chinese soldiers aided the Coreans, an act which threatened to involve Japan and China in war. The dispute was settled in 1885 by a treaty, in which both countries agreed to withdraw their troops from Corea and to send no officers to drill the Corean troops. If at any future time disturbances should call for the sending of troops to Corea, each country must notify the other before doing so. And thus, for nine years, the rivalry of the foreign powers ceased. Meanwhile internal discontent was rife in the Corean realm. The people were oppressed by heavy taxes and the other evils of tyranny and misgovernment, excited by the political questions described, and stirred to great feeling by the labors of the Christian missionaries and the persecution of their converts. One outcome of this was a new religious sect. At the same time that the Tai-ping rebels were spreading their new doctrines in China, a prophet, Choi-Chei-Ou by name, arose in Corea, who taught a doctrine made up of dogmas of the three religions of China, with some Christian ideas thrown in. This prophet was seized as a Roman Catholic in 1865 and executed, but his followers, known as the Tong-Haks, held firm to their faith. In 1893 some of them appeared with complaints of ill usage at the king's palace, and in March, 1894, they broke out in open revolt, and increased in numbers so rapidly that by May they were said to be twenty thousand strong. The government troops drove them back into a mountain region, but here the pursuers were cunningly led into an ambuscade and routed with severe loss. This victory of the rebels filled the government with consternation, which became greater when the insurgents, on June 1, took the capital of the province of Chölla. It was now feared that they would soon be at the gates of Seoul. This insurrection of the Tong-Haks was the inciting cause of the war between China and Japan. The Min faction, then at the head of affairs, was so alarmed that aid from China was implored, and a force of about two thousand Chinese troops was sent to the port of Asan. Some Chinese men-of-war were also despatched. This action of China was quickly followed by similar action on the part of Japan, which was jealous of any Chinese movement in Corea. The Japanese minister, who had been absent, returned to Seoul with four hundred marines. Other troops quickly followed, and in a short time there were several thousand Japanese soldiers stationed around the Corean capital. The sending of troops to Corea was succeeded by disputes between the two foreign powers. China claimed to be suzerain of Corea, a claim which Japan sternly denied. On the other hand, the Japanese government declared that the Tong-Hak movement was a natural result of the prevailing misgovernment, and could not be overcome unless radical reforms were carried out. China was asked to take part in instituting a series of reforms, but declined. The situation quickly grew serious. The Mins, who controlled the government, declared that the Japanese troops must be withdrawn before the reforms could be instituted. The Japanese refused. Neither China nor Japan would yield, but the latter held the capital and had the controlling position. It was not long before a crisis came. On July 20, Otori, the Japanese minister, made certain demands on the Corean government, and stated that the presence of the Chinese soldiers was a threat to the independence of the country, their general having proclaimed that Corea was a vassal state. On the 22d the officials answered that the Chinese had come at their request and would stay until asked to leave. The next step of the Japanese was a warlike one. On the early morning of the 23d two battalions marched from their camp, stating that they were going to attack the Chinese at Asan. But they quickly changed the direction of their march, advanced upon the palace, drove out the Corean guard, and took possession both of the palace and of the king. They declared they had come to deliver him from an obnoxious faction and restore his freedom of action. The Min party was at once driven out and replaced by new officials chosen from the progressive faction. With a feeble resistance, in which only two men were killed and a few wounded, a revolution had been accomplished and a government which favored Japan established. The new authorities at once declared the Chinese at Asan to be intruders instead of defenders, and requested the aid of the Japanese to drive them out. War between China and Japan was at hand. Hostilities were precipitated by a startling event. On July 25 three Japanese men-of-war, cruising in the Yellow Sea, sighted two ships of the Chinese navy convoying a transport which had on board about twelve hundred troops. They were a portion of a large force which was being sent to Corea with the purpose of reinforcing the troops at Asan and expelling the Japanese. The Chinese ships were cleared for action, and, though the Japanese were ignorant of the late event at Seoul, they at once accepted the wager of battle, and attacked the ships of the enemy with such effect that they were quickly crippled and put to flight. The Naniwa, the Japanese flag-ship, now approached the transport, a chartered British vessel named the Kowshing and flying the British flag. A boat was sent from the Japanese cruiser to the steamer, her papers were examined, and orders given that she should follow the Naniwa. This the Chinese generals refused to do, excitedly declaring that they would perish rather than be taken prisoners. Their excitement was shared by the troops, who ran wildly about the deck, threatening the officers and the Europeans on board with death if they attempted to obey the order of the enemy. They trusted to the protection of the British flag, but it proved of no avail, for the captain of the Naniwa, finding his orders defied, opened fire on the transport, with such effect that in half an hour it went to the bottom, carrying down with it over one thousand souls. The officers, the Europeans, and many of the Chinese sprang overboard, but numbers of these were shot in the water by the frantic soldiers on board. In all only about one hundred and seventy escaped. This terrible act of war at sea was accompanied by a warlike movement on land, the Japanese forces leaving Seoul on the same day to march on Asan and expel the Chinese. On the 29th they attacked the enemy in their works and quickly drove them out, little resistance being made. These events preceded the declaration of war, which was made by both countries on August 1, 1894. The story of the war that followed was one of unceasing victory for the Japanese, their enemy making scarcely an effort at resistance, and fleeing from powerful strongholds on which they had expended months of hard labor with scarcely a blow in their defence. Such was the case with Port Arthur, which in other hands might have proved a Gibraltar to assailing troops. The war continued until April 17, 1895, when a treaty of peace was signed, which remarkably changed the relative positions of the two powers before the world, China having met with utter and irretrievable defeat. The war yielded but a single event of novel interest, the famous naval battle of Hai-yang, which we shall describe more at length. _THE BATTLE OF THE IRON-CLADS._ In these latter days the world seems overturned. Events of startling interest are every year taking place, new discoveries are made, new inventions produced, new explorations completed, peoples and tribes formerly not even known by name are becoming prominent in daily history, and nations which seemed sunk in a death-like slumber are awakening and claiming a place among the leading powers of the world. And of all these events perhaps the most astounding is that which took place in September, 1894, the battle of iron-clads in the Yellow Sea. About forty years before there had begun among Western nations a remarkable revolution in naval warfare, the substitution of the iron-clad for the wooden man-of-war. During the interval this evolution of the iron-clad had gone briskly on, until by 1894 the nations of Europe and America possessed fleets of such wonderful powers of resistance that the naval artillery of the past would have had no more effect upon them than hailstones upon an iron roof. But a revolution in artillery had also taken place. The old smooth-bore guns had been replaced by great rifled cannon capable of sending a heavy ball for ten or twelve miles and of piercing through steel plates of moderate thickness as through so much paper. With these came the quick-fire guns, from whose gaping mouths cannon-balls could be rained like the drops of a rapid shower, and the torpedoes, capable of tearing ruinous holes in the sides and bottoms of the mightiest ships. Such was the work that was doing in the West while the East slept calmly on. But no occasion had arisen for putting to the proof these great floating engines of war. Theories in abundance were offered of the probable effect upon one another of two modern fleets, but the dread of terrible results had a potent influence, and fear of the destructive powers of modern ships and armies had proved the strongest of arguments in keeping the nations of the world at peace. The astounding event spoken of is the fact that the iron-clad battle-ship of the present day was first put to proof in the waters of the Yellow Sea, in a war between two nations which half a century before were hardly beyond the bow-and-arrow stage of warfare, and were still novices in the modern art of war. The naval inventions made in Europe and America had their first trial in a conflict between China and Japan, and the interest with which maritime nations read of the doings of these powerful engines of war in those far-off waters was intense. Japan had been alert in availing itself of all the world knew about war, providing its army with the best modern weapons and organizing them in the most effective European method, while purchased iron-clads replaced its old fleet of junks. China, though doing little for the improvement of its army, had bought itself a modern fleet, two of its ships, the Ting-yuen and Chen-yuen, having fourteen inches of iron armor, and surpassing in size and strength anything that Japan had to show. These vessels were all armed with the most effective of modern weapons, were handled by men trained in the theories of European war, and seemed capable of the most destructive results. On the 17th of September, 1894, an epoch-making battle of these iron-clads took place. It was a remarkably different event from the first engagement of this sort, that between the Monitor and the Merrimac in Hampton Roads, for the guns now brought into play would have pierced the armor of those vessels as if it had been made of tin. The Japanese squadron had just convoyed a fleet of transports, bearing ten thousand troops and thirty-five hundred horses, to Chemulpo, near the Corean capital. The Chinese squadron had similarly convoyed four thousand troops to the Yalu River. These were landed on the 16th, and on the morning of the 17th the fleet started on its return. On the same morning the Japanese fleet reached the island of Hai-yang, leaving their torpedo-boats behind, as there was no thought of fighting a battle. About nine o'clock smoke was seen in the distance, and at eleven-forty the Chinese fleet came into sight. The Japanese fleet consisted of ten vessels, the First Flying Squadron, consisting of four fine cruisers of high speed, and the Main Squadron, composed of six vessels of lower speed. There were two smaller ships, of no value as fighting vessels. The Chinese fleet was composed of twelve vessels and six torpedo-boats, though two of the vessels and the torpedo-boats were at a distance, so that the effective fighting force on each side was composed of ten ships-of-war. The Chinese fleet included the two great ships already named, the Ting-yuen and Chen-yuen. The latter, as has been said, were heavily armored. The other Chinese ships were lightly protected, and some of them not at all. None of the Japanese vessels had external armor, their protection consisting of steel decks and internal lining down to the water-line. On perceiving the enemy's ships, Admiral Ito, of the Japanese fleet, at once gave orders to his captains to prepare for action. Ting, the Chinese admiral, did the same, drawing up his fleet in a single line, with the large ships in the centre and the weaker ones on the wings. Ito, who proposed to take advantage of the superior speed of his ships and circle round his adversary, drew up his vessels in a single column with the Flying Squadron at the head. The action began at 1 P.M., the Chinese opening fire at about six thousand yards, the Japanese reserving their fire until at half that distance. Ito headed his ships straight for the centre of the Chinese line, but on drawing near they swerved so as to pass the Chinese right wing, their speed being at the same time increased. As the Yoshino, which led the movement, came up, she became a target for the whole Chinese fleet, but her speed soon carried her out of danger, the Flying Squadron sweeping swiftly past the Chinese right wing and pouring a deadly fire on the unprotected vessels there posted as they passed. The stream of shells from the rapid-fire guns tore the wood-work of these vessels into splinters and set it on fire, the nearest ship, the Yang Wei, soon bursting into flames. The Japanese admiral, keeping at a distance from the large central vessels with their heavy guns, and concentrating his fire on the smaller flanking ships, continued his evolution, the Main Squadron following the Flying Squadron past the Chinese right wing and pouring its fire on the second ship in the line, the Chao-yung, which, like its consort, was soon in flames. This movement, however, proved a disadvantage to the slower vessels of the Japanese fleet, which could not keep pace with their consorts, particularly to the Hiyei, which lagged so far in the rear as to become exposed to the fire of the whole Chinese fleet, now rapidly forging ahead. In this dilemma its commander took a bold resolve. Turning, he ran directly for the line of the enemy, passing between the Ting-yuen and the King-yuen at five hundred yards' distance. Two torpedoes which were launched at him fortunately missed, but he had to bear the fire of several of his antagonists, and came through the line with his vessel in flames. The Akagi, a little Japanese gunboat, hurried to his aid, though seriously cut up by the fire of the Lai-yuen, which pursued until set on fire and forced to withdraw by a lucky shot in return. Meanwhile the Flying Squadron had wheeled to meet the two distant Chinese ships, which were hastily coming up in company with the torpedo-boats. On seeing this movement they drew back and kept well out of reach. Somewhat later these vessels took part in the action, though not an important one. At 2.23 P.M. the Chao-yang, which had been riddled by the fire of the Main Squadron, sank, the cries of the drowning men sounding above the roar of the cannon as she went down. As a result of the Japanese evolution, the two squadrons finally closed in on the Chinese fleet on both sides and the battle reached its most furious phase. The two flag-ships, the Japanese Matsushima and the Chinese Ting-yuen, poured the fire of their great guns upon each other with terrible effect, the wood-work of the Chinese iron-clad being soon in flames, while a shell that burst on the Matsushima exploded a heap of ammunition and killed or wounded eighty men. Fire broke out, but it was soon extinguished. Almost all the Japanese gunners were killed, but volunteers pressed forward to take their place, among them even the band-players. On the Chinese flag-ship the flames drove the gunners from their pieces, and she would probably have been destroyed had not the Chen-yuen come bravely to her aid. The fire was finally extinguished by the aid of some foreigners who were on board. It may be said here that the fire-drill of the Japanese was far superior to that of their foes. The Japanese continued their circling movement around their slower antagonists, pouring a concentrated fire upon the weaker vessels, of which the Chih-yuen was sunk at about 3.30 P.M. and the King-yuen at 4.48. By this time the Chinese fleet was in the greatest disorder, its line broken, some of its vessels in full flight, and all coherence gone. The fire of the Japanese fleet was now principally directed against the two large iron-clads, but the fourteen-inch armor of these resisted the heaviest guns in the Japanese fleet, and, though their upper works were riddled and burnt, they were able to continue the battle. In the fight here described the Japanese had shown a discipline and a skill in naval tactics far superior to those of their foes. They had kept at a distance of about four thousand yards from their antagonists, so as to avoid their heavy fire and make the most advantageous use of their larger number of rapid-fire guns and also of their much better marksmanship. The result of the battle was not due to greater courage, but to superior skill and more effective armament. At nightfall, as the torpedo-boats had now joined the Chinese fleet, the Japanese drew off, not caring to risk the perils of a battle at night with such antagonists, both sides being also exhausted by the long fight. The next morning the Chinese fleet had disappeared. It had lost four vessels in the fight, and a fifth afterwards ran ashore and was blown up. Two of the Japanese ships were badly damaged, but none were lost, while the total loss in killed and wounded was two hundred and eighteen, nearly half of them on the flag-ship. The Chinese lost far more heavily, from the sinking of a number of their ships. Thus ended the typical battle of modern naval warfare, one whose result was mainly due to the greater speed and rapid evolutions of the Japanese ships and the skill with which they concentrated a crushing fire on the weak points of the enemy's line. The work of the quick-firing guns was the most striking feature of the battle, while the absence of torpedo-boats prevented that essential element of a modern fleet from being brought into play. An important lesson learned was that too much wood-work in an iron-clad vessel is a dangerous feature, and naval architects have since done their best to avoid this weak point in the construction of ships-of-war. But the most remarkable characteristic of the affair is that the battle was fought by two nations which, had the war broken out forty years before, would have done their naval fighting with fleets of junks. It may be said in conclusion that the Chinese fleet was annihilated in the later attack on the port of Wei-hai-wei, many of the vessels being destroyed by torpedo-boats, and the remainder, unable to escape from the harbor, being forced to surrender to the Japanese. Thus ended in utter disaster to China the naval war. [Illustration: THE PEKIN GATE.] _PROGRESS IN JAPAN AND CHINA._ We have in the preceding tales brought down from a remote period the history of the two oldest nations now existing on the face of the earth. There are peoples as old, but none others which have kept intact their national organization and form of government for thousands of years. Invasion, conquest, rebellion, revolution, have kept the rest of the world in a busy stir and caused frequent changes in nations and governments. But Japan and China lay aside from the broad current of invasion, removed from the general seat of war, and no internal convulsion or local invasion had been strong enough to change their political systems or modes of life. And thus these two isolated empires of the East drifted down intact through the ages to the middle of the nineteenth century, when their millennial sleep was rudely broken and their policy of isolation overthrown. This was due, as has been shown, to the coming of the navies of Europe and America, bent on breaking down the barriers that had been raised against the civilization of the West and forcing these remote empires to enter the concert of the nations and open their ports to the commerce of the world. Concerning all this we have no tales to tell, but a brief account of the effect of foreign intercourse upon China and Japan will fitly serve to close our work and outline the recent history of these two great powers of the East. There are marked differences of character between the Chinese and the Japanese, and these differences have had a striking effect upon their recent history. In the Japanese we find a warlike and aggressive people, a stirring and inquisitive race, not, like their neighbors on the continent, lost in contemplation of their ancient literature and disdainful of any civilization but their own, but ready and eager to avail themselves of all that the world has to offer worth the having. In the Chinese we find a non-aggressive people, by nature and custom disinclined to war, asking only, so far as outer nations are concerned, to be let alone, and in no sense inquisitive concerning the doings of the world at large. Of their civilization, which goes back beyond the reputed date of the Deluge, they are intensely proud, their ancient literature, in their conception, is far superior to the literatures of all other nations, and their self-satisfaction is so ingrained that they still stand aloof in mental isolation from the world, only the most progressive among them seeing anything to be gained from foreign arts. These differences in character have given rise to a remarkable difference in results. The Japanese have been alert in availing themselves of all things new, the Chinese torpid and slow, sluggishly resisting change, hardly yielding even to the logic of war. There is nothing in the history of the world to match the phenomenal progress of Japan since the visit of Commodore Perry in 1853. If it had been the people of the United States, instead of those of that archipelago of the Eastern seas, that in this way first gained a knowledge of the progress of the outer world, they could not have been readier in changing their old institutions and ideas and accepting a new and strange civilization offered them from afar than have been the alert islanders of the East. When the American fleet entered the Bay of Yedo it found itself in the heart of a civilization and institutions a thousand years and more of age. The shogun, the military chief, was the actual ruler of Japan, as he had been for many centuries before, the mikado, the titular ruler, being still buried in that isolation into which he had long since withdrawn. It was only a dim tradition with the people that the mikado had ever been emperor in fact, and they looked on him as a religious potentate to be worshipped, not as a ruler to be obeyed. The feudal system, established in the past centuries, was still intact, the provincial lords and princes being held in strict vassalage by the shogun, or tai-kun (great king), as he then first termed himself. In truth, Japan was still in its mediæval state, from which it showed scarcely a sign of emerging. The coming of the foreigners made a sudden and decided change in the situation. Within less than twenty years the whole condition of affairs had been overturned; the shogun had been deposed from his high estate, the mikado had come to his own again, the feudal system had been abolished, and the people beheld with surprise and delight their spiritual emperor at the head of the state, absolute lord of their secular world, while the military tyranny under which they so long had groaned was irremediably annulled. Such was the first great step in the political revolution of Japan. It was followed by another and still greater one, an act without a parallel in the history of autocratic governments. This was the voluntary relinquishment of absolutism by the emperor, the calling together of a parliament, and the adoption of a representative government on the types of those of the West. In all history we can recall no similar event. All preceding parliaments came into existence through revolution or gradual growth, in no other instance through the voluntary abdication of autocratic power and the adoption of parliamentary rule by an emperor moved alone by a desire for the good of his people and the reform of the system of government. Japan had learned the lesson of civilization swiftly and well, her ablest sons devoting themselves to the task of bringing their country to the level of the foremost nations of the earth. Young men in numbers were sent abroad to observe the ways of the civilized world, to become familiar with its industries, and to study in its universities, and these on their return were placed at the head of affairs, industrial, educational, and political. No branch of modern art and science was neglected, the best to be had from every nation being intelligently studied by the inquisitive and quick-witted island youth. The war with China first revealed to the world the marvellous progress of Japan in the military art. Her armies were armed and disciplined in accordance with the best system of the West, and her warlike operations conducted on the most approved methods, though only native officers were employed. The rapidity with which troops, amounting to eighty thousand in all, and the necessary supplies were carried across the sea, and the skilful evolution, under native officers, of a fleet of vessels of a type not dreamed of in Japan thirty years before, was a new revelation to the observing world. And in another direction it was made evident that Japan had learned a valuable lesson from the nations of Christendom. Instead of the massacres of their earlier wars, they now displayed the most humanitarian moderation. There was no ill treatment of the peaceful inhabitants, while ambulances and field hospitals were put at the disposal of the wounded of both sides, with a humane kindness greatly to be commended. But the lessons taught in this war were of minor interest and importance in comparison with those of a much greater war ten years later. In those ten years the progress of Japan had been proceeding with accelerated rapidity. There was little of leading value in the arts and industries of the West which had not been introduced into this island empire, the equipment of her army vied with that of the most advanced powers, her navy possessed a number of the most powerful type of steel-clad battle-ships, she had been admitted into the family of the great nations by a compact on equal terms with Great Britain, and she had become adapted to cope with powers vastly more capable in the arts of war than China, to deal, indeed, with one of the greatest and much the most populous of European nations. This was soon to be shown. The Boxer outbreak of 1900 in China ended with Manchuria practically possessed by Russia, a possession which that nation seemed disposed to maintain in defiance of treaty obligations to China and of the energetic protest of Japan. As a result, to the surprise, almost to the consternation of the world, Japan boldly engaged in war with the huge colossus which bestrode Asia and half of Europe, and to the amazement of the nations showed a military aptitude and preparation and a command of resources which enabled her to defeat the armies of Russia in every engagement, to capture the great stronghold of Port Arthur, to win victories on the sea as notable as those on the land, and in the end to impose upon Russia a treaty of peace humiliating in its provisions to the proud Muscovite court. This victorious war settled the status of Japan so far as the decision of the nations was concerned. The island empire was definitely accepted as one of the great powers of the world. Its standing in war had been established, and was rapidly being matched by its standing in peace, its progress in commerce, industry, and science promising to raise it to the plane of the most advanced nations. While little Japan was thus forging swiftly ahead, great China was stolidly holding back. This was not from lack of intelligence or the disposition to avail itself of material advantages, but from the pride of its people and scholars in their own civilization and their belief in the barbarism of the outer world. This sentiment was so deeply ingrained as to make it hard to eradicate. China was not without its reformers, and such progressive men as Li Hung Chang had their influence. Steamships made their appearance upon the inland waters of the empire, the telegraph was widely extended, and a navy of modern war-ships was bought abroad. But the army, organized on mediæval principles, went to pieces before that of Japan, while the ships, though their crews fought with courage and resolution, proved unable to bear the impact of the better handled Japanese fleet. Aside from its shipping and the telegraph, China at that time showed little disposition to accept modern improvements. The introduction of the railroad was strongly resisted, and commerce, industry, mining, etc., continued to be conducted by antiquated methods. Nothing of value seemed to have been learned from the war with Japan, and even the seizure of parts of its territory by the powers of Europe and the threat to dismember and divide it up among these powers seemed insufficient to arouse it from its sluggish self-satisfaction. Yet thought was stirring in the minds of many of the statesmen of China, and the small band of reformers began to grow in numbers and influence. The events of the twentieth century--the Boxer insurrection, the capture of Peking by foreign armies, the retention of Manchuria by Russia, and above all the mighty lesson of the Manchurian war, which demonstrated admirably the revolution which modern methods had made in Japan--proved more than even the conservatism of China could endure. Within the few years since the dawn of the twentieth century the torpid leviathan of the East has shown decided signs of awakening. Most prominent among these indications is the fact that the ruling empress, but recently a mainstay of the conservative party, has entered the ranks of reform and given her imperial assent to radical changes in Chinese methods and conditions. Everywhere in China are now visible indications of the dawning of a new era. The railroad is making its way with encouraging rapidity over the soil of the celestial realm. New and improved methods in mining and manufacture are being adopted. Other evidences of progress in material things are seen in various directions. But most promising of all is the fact that the time-honored method of restricting education to the ethical dogmas of Confucius has been overthrown and modern science is being taught in the schools and made part of the requirements of the annual examinations for positions in the civil service of the empire. A new race of scholars is being made in China, one which cannot fail to use its influence to bring that old empire into the swing of modern progress. Equally significant with this revolution in the system of education is the seemingly coming change in the system of government. Statesmen of China are now engaged, under the sanction of the empress, in studying the governmental systems of other nations, with a view of a possible adoption of representative institutions and the overthrow of the absolutism which has for ages prevailed. And this is being done at the instance of the government itself, not in response to the demands of insistent reformers. Back of the study of Western methods lies the power to introduce them, and the probability is that before another generation has passed China will be classed among the limited monarchies of the world, even if it be not admitted to the circle of the republics. These radical changes are of very recent introduction. They are results of the developments of the past few years. But when we see the ball of progress rolling so swiftly and gathering new material so rapidly, we may well conjecture that before many years the China of the past will be buried under its mass and modern China, like modern Japan, take rank among the most progressive nations of the world. * * * * * Transcribers Notes: 1. Passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_. 2. "Tenno" on pg's 5, 8 and 10 in original text appears with an macron (straight line) over the "o". 3. An oe ligatgure appears in the original text in the words "manoeuvres" (pg. 196) and "phoenix" (pg. 273). Spelling: 4 corrections made based on (multiple) correct spellings elsewhere in text. pg. 12 "Takenouchi" to "Takénouchi" (2) (statesman named Takénouchi) pg. 148 "Yang-tsze Kiang" to "Yang-tse-Kiang" (3) (river Yang-tse-Kiang,) pg. 280 "sufered" to "suffered" (now Chungwan suffered) pg. 337 "flagship" to "flag-ship" (4) (the Japanese flag-ship,) 
34324	----	============================================================== This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License, http://creativecommons.org/ ============================================================== ZEN CULTURE Anyone who examines the Zen arts is immediately struck by how modern they seem. The ceramics of 16th-century Zen artists could be interchanged with the rugged pots of our own contemporary crafts movement; ancient calligraphies suggest the monochromes of Franz Kline or Willem de Kooning; the apparent nonsense and illogic of Zen parables (and No theater and Haiku poetry) established the limitations of language long before the theater of the absurd; 400-year-old Zen architecture seems to be a copy of modern design ideas such as modular sizing, exposed woods, raw materials, bare walls, uncluttered space and a California marriage of house and garden. Zen values experiencing things over analyzing them. Perhaps if we can take the power of direct perception, sharpened by the devices of Zen art, back to everyday activities, we will find a beauty in common objects that we previously ignored. Selected Reviews _The notoriously grumpy _Kirkus Reviews _said, "Thomas Hoover has a considerable gift for expressing his appreciation and understanding of various arts associated with Zen. . . . These are deftly treated, with a concise synopsis of the historical development of each; and together Hoover's discussions provide an excellent introduction to the aesthetics of Japanese culture." _Library Journal _said, "Hoover covers the ground in an easy and informative way, describing the origins of Zen itself and the Zen roots of swordsmanship, architecture, food, poetry, drama, ceramics, and many other areas of Japanese life. The book is packed with facts, the bibliography is excellent, the illustrations few but most appropriate, and the style clear and smooth. A most useful book for all collections." _Asian Studies _declared, "Highly recommended. ZEN CULTURE moves easily from the political climate that gave rise to Zen to the cultural areas - art, architecture, theatre, literature, flower arrangement, design, archery, swordsmanship - where Zen has manifested itself." As for the influence of the Zen aesthetic, the_ Houston Chronicle _said, "Hoover suggests we need only look around. Modern furniture is clean, simple lines in unstained, unadorned woods. And that old fad became a habit, houseplants. These are all expressions of ideas born with Zen: understatement, asymmetry, intuitive perception, nature worship, disciplined reserve." "Highly recommended," said _The Center for Teachers of Asian Studies._ "Western intellectuals have tried to represent the height of Buddhist mysticism within the pages of mere books, reducing an ineffable experience into a written report. Predictably such attempts have failed miserably. ZEN CULTURE by Thomas Hoover comes the closest to succeeding," said_ Hark Publishing_. "ZEN CULTURE, concerned as it is with the process of perception as much as with actual works of art, can open our sense so that we experience anew the arts of both East and West, ancient and modern." declared the _Asian Mail_. And to go multi-media, _NYC-FM _in New York said, "Hoover takes us on a grand tour of Zen archery and swordsmanship, flower arranging, drama, food, gardening, painting, poetry, architecture. His book is essentially one by a connoisseur." BOOKS BY THOMAS HOOVER Nonfiction Zen Culture The Zen Experience Fiction The Moghul Caribbee Wall Street _Samurai_ (The _Samurai_ Strategy) Project Daedalus Project Cyclops Life Blood Syndrome All free as e-books at www.thomashoover.info Throughout the entire Far East of China, Korea, and Japan, we see the system of a unique culture which originated in the sixth century, reached its meridian in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries and began to decline in the seventeenth century, but which is still kept up in Japan even in this day of materialism and mechanization. It is called _Zen Culture_." SOHAKU OGATA,_ Zen for the West _ ZEN CULTURE Thomas Hoover Random House New York Copyright © 1977 by Thomas Hoover All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto. ISBN 0-394-41072-6 Manufactured in the United States of America Key Words: Author: Thomas Hoover Title: Zen Culture Zen History, Haiku, Zen, Ceramics, Archery, Landscape Garden, Stone Garden, Ink Landscape, Zen Architecture, Sword, Katana, No Theater, Noh Theater, Japanese Tea Ceremony, Tea Ceremony, Flower arranging, Ikebana, Zen Ceramic Art, Raku, Shino, Ryoanji-ji PERMISSIONS Grateful acknowledgment is made to the following for permission to reprint previously published material: AMS Press, Inc.: Two three-line poems from page 75 of Diaries of Court Ladies of Old Japan; Doubleday & Company, Inc.: Eight Haiku poems from An Introduction to Haiku by Harold G. Henderson. Copyright © 1958 by Harold G. Henderson; The Hokuseido Press Co. Ltd.: Poem on page 35 of The Kobin Waka-Shu, translated by H. H. Honda. Poem on page 82 of History of Haiku, Vol. II by R. H. Blyth; Penguin Books Ltd.: A tanka from 'Ise Monogatari' by Ariwara Narihira. Reprinted from page 71 of The Penguin Book of Japanese Verse, translated by Geoffrey Bownas and Anthony Thwaite (1964). Copyright © 1974 by Geoffrey Bownas and Anthony Thwaite; Shambala Publications, Inc. (Berkeley, California): Poems on pages 15 and 18 of The Sutra of Hui-Neng; Stanford University Press: Poem on page 91 of An Introduction to Japanese Court Poetry by Earl Miner; Charles E. Tuttle Company, Inc.: Three lines of verse from page 130 of The Noh Drama; University of California Press: Four-line Haiku poem from page 104 of The Year of My Life: A Translation of Issa's Oraga Haru, translated by Nobuyuki Yuasa. Copyright © I960, 1972 by The Regents of the University of California. Acknowledgments THE AUTHOR'S THANKS go to Anne Freedgood for editing the manuscript and for her many helpful suggestions; to Professor Ronald F. Miller for critical advice on things Western, ranging from art to aesthetics; to Professor Gary D. Prideaux for introducing the author to both Japan and Japanese linguistics; to Tatsuo and Kiyoko Ishimoto for assistance in interpreting Japanese architecture; and to others who have graciously reviewed the manuscript at various stages and provided helpful suggestions, including Julie Hoover, Lynn Grifo, Anna Stern and Ellen O'Hara. I am also grateful for guidance from Professors Shigeru Matsugami and Takashi Yoshida, formerly of Tottori University, and from the garden artist Masaaki Ueshima. The insights of yet others, lost in years of questioning and research, are acknowledged here in spirit if not, unfortunately, in name. Japanese Chronology JOMON CULTURE (2000 B.C. [?]-ca. 300 B.C. ) YAYOI PERIOD (ca. 300 B.c-ca. A.D. 300) MOUND TOMB ERA (ca. A.D. 300-552) ASUKA PERIOD (552-645) Buddhism introduced (552) Chinese government and institutions copied EARLY NARA PERIOD (645-710) LATE NARA PERIOD (710-794) Japan ruled from replica of Chinese capital of Ch'ang-an built at Nara (710) Bronze Buddha largest in world dedicated at Nara (752) Compilation of early poetry anthology Manyoshu (780) Scholarly Buddhist sects dominate Nara HEIAN PERIOD (794-1185) Capital established at Heian-kyo (Kyoto) (794) Saicho (767-822) introduces Tendai Buddhism from China (806) Kukai (774-835) introduces Shingon Buddhism from China (808) Last mission to Tang court ends direct Chinese influence (838) Tale of Genji written by Lady Murasaki (ca. 1002-1019) Honen (1133-1212) founds Pure Land, or Jodo, sect (1175) Taira clan takes control of government, ousting aristocracy (1159) Minamoto clan replaces Taira (1185) KAMAKURA PERIOD (1185-1333) Warrior outpost in Kamakura becomes effective capital (1185) Eisai (1141-1215) introduces _koan_-oriented Rinzai sect of Zen on Kyushu (1191) Minamoto Yoritomo (1147-1199) becomes shogun (1192) Hojo clan assumes real power in Kamakura (1205) Shinran (1173-1262) founds rival Amidist sect called True Pure Land, or Jodo Shin (1224) Dogen (1200-1253) founds _zazen_-oriented Soto Zen (1236) Nichiren (1222-1282) founds new sect stressing chants to Lotus Sutra (1253) ASHIKAGA PERIOD (1133-1573) Hojo regency ended; Kamakura destroyed (1333) Emperor Godaigo briefly restores imperial rule (1334) Ashikaga Takauji (1305-1358) ousts Godaigo, who establishes rival court (1336) Takauji becomes shogun, beginning Ashikaga era proper (1338) Muso Soseki (1275-1351) convinces Takauji to found sixty-six Zen temples throughout Japan (1338) Landscape gardens evolve to reflect Zen aesthetic ideals Ashikaga Yoshimitsu (1358-1408) establishes relations with Ming China (1401) Zeami (1363-1443), encouraged by Yoshimitsu, creates No theater Golden Pavilion built by Yoshimitsu (begun 1394) Sung monochromes imported, inspiring re-creation of Chinese schools (fourteenth century) Yoshimasa (1435-1490) becomes shogun (1443) Onin War begins, to devastate Kyoto for ten years (1467) Silver Pavilion built by Yoshimasa; Zen architecture (1482) Tea ceremony begins to take classic shape as a celebration of Zen aesthetics Sesshu Toyo (1420-1506), greatest Japanese landscape artist Abstract stone gardens appear (ca. 1490) General anarchy envelops country (ca. 1500) Portuguese discover Japan, introduce firearms (1542) Francis Xavier arrives to preach (1549) Ashikaga shogunate overthrown by Oda Nobunaga (1534-1582) MOMOYAMA PERIOD (1573-1615) Nobunaga begins unification of Japan (1573) Nobunaga assassinated (1582) Hideyoshi (1536-1598) assumes control and continues unification (1582) Sen no Rikyu (1520-1591) propagates Zen aesthetics through tea ceremony City of Edo (Tokyo) founded (1590) Hideyoshi unsuccessfully invades Korea, returns with Korean ceramic artists (1592) Momoyama Castle built by Hideyoshi, giving name to the age (1594) Rise of elaborate arts in opposition to Zen aesthetic ideals Tokugawa Ieyasu (1542-1616) appointed shogun (1603) Ieyasu defeats forces supporting Hideyoshi's heir (1615) TOKUGAWA PERIOD (1615-1868) Ieyasu founds Tokugawa shogunate (1615) _Daimyo_ forced to begin system of attendance on Tokugawa in Edo Basho (1644-1694), greatest Haiku poet Popular arts of Kabuki and woodblock prints arise in Edo Classic Zen culture no longer supported by shogunate Hakuin (1685-1768) revives Zen and broadens appeal Zen culture influences popular arts and crafts MAJOR CHINESE PERIODS Han dynasty (206 B.C.-A.D. 220) Six Dynasties (220-589) Sui dynasty (589-618) Tang dynasty (618-907) Five Dynasties (907-960) Northern Sung dynasty (960-1127) Southern Sung dynasty (1127-1279) Yuan (Mongol) dynasty (1279-1368) Ming dynasty (1368-1644) ZEN CULTURE Foreword ANYONE WHO EXAMINES the Zen arts is immediately struck by how modern they seem. Many of the most famous stone gardens are abstract expressionism pure and simple, created out of found objects. The ceramics of the sixteenth-century Zen artists could be interchanged with the rugged pots of our own contemporary crafts movement and few people would notice a difference. Ancient Zen calligraphies, bold and slashing, suggest the monochromes of Franz Kline or Willem de Kooning, and if the word "impressionistic" has any real meaning left, the spontaneous, intuitive, impulsive Zen painters should have first claim to it. The apparent nonsense and illogic of Zen parables established the limitations of language long before the theater of the absurd decided to ridicule our modern doublespeak; indeed, our new-found skepticism about language as a medium for communication was a commonplace to Japanese artists who created both a drama (the No) and a poetry (the Haiku) that neatly circumvent reliance on mere words for expression--and in two entirely different ways. Four-hundred-year-old Zen architecture appears to be virtually a copy of contemporary design ideas: modular sizing, exposed woods and materials, movable partitions, multifunctional rooms, bare walls and uncluttered space, indirect lighting effects, and a California marriage of house and garden. The celebrated tea ceremony might be considered an early form of Japanese group therapy, while Zen landscape gardens are nothing less than a masterful deception masquerading as the "natural" look. If all this were not coincidence enough, consider for a moment our present-day artistic conventions and aesthetic ideals. Like much of what we consider "modern," Zen arts tend to be as simple as possible, with clean, even severe, lines. Decoration for its own sake is virtually nonexistent; Zen artists had no more taste for the ornate than we do today. The works of medieval Zen artists were rough and asymmetrical, with a skillful exploitation of deliberate imperfections and blemishes to make the viewer aware of both the materials used and the process of creation. If it is true that classic art makes one aware of the form and romantic art makes one aware of the artist, Zen art makes one aware of the work of art itself. We have absorbed into our Western culture almost unawares such Zen cultural forms and aesthetic principles as Japanese ideas of architecture, gardens, and flower arranging. Other forms, such as Haiku poetry and Zen-style ceramics, we have borrowed in a more open-handed way, freely acknowledging the source. Actually, none of the Zen arts is really out of our reach, and a critical following has developed in the West for almost all of them. The great Irish poet and dramatist William Butler Yeats embraced the Zen-inspired No drama, although he probably knew next to nothing about Zen. (For that matter, we should recall that no English-language books were written on Zen until well into the twentieth century.) It seems fair to say that the Zen arts have touched us because they express some view of the world that we have, several hundred years later, quite independently come to share. Yet for all the seeming familiarity, there remains an alien quality. We are not always aware of the really quite extraordinary mind manipulation inherent in Zen art. Why, for instance, does a Japanese garden often seem much larger than it really is? How does the Japanese- style room alter human perception in such a way that people's experience of each other is intensified? Why do Zen ceramics always manage to make one take special notice of their surface? This subtle manipulation of perception is all done by ingenious but carefully hidden tricks. But since the Zen arts appear so modern, we are lulled out of looking below the surface to find the fundamental differences. Most important of all, it is easy to miss what is surely the most significant quality of Zen arts--their ability to unlock our powers of direct perception. Since Zen teaches that categories and systematic analysis hinder real understanding of the outer (or inner) world, many Zen arts are specifically designed to awaken our latent ability to perceive directly. They appear innocent enough on the surface, but they involve a subtle mind- massage not obvious to a casual observer. It is this added dimension of Zen art that truly sets it apart from anything we have produced in the twentieth century. In these pages I will attempt to trace the history and characteristics of both Zen and the Zen arts--to explain where they came from, why they arose, what they were intended to do, and how they go about doing it. I have also included some Western-style analysis of their very non- Western qualities. The aesthetic ideas embedded in Zen culture and its perception-inducing works of art are among the most stunning achievements in world art history. Zen culture, concerned as it is with the process of perception as much as with actual works of art, can open our senses so that we experience anew the arts of both East and West, ancient and modern. Contents PART I: The Beginnings: Prehistory to 1333 1. Zen Culture and the Counter Mind 2. 3. The Prelude to Zen Culture 4. 5. The Rise of Japanese Buddhism 6. 7. The Chronicles of Zen 8. 9. Zen Archery and Swordsmanship 10. PART II: The Age of High Culture: Ashikaga (1333-1573) 11. The Great Age of Zen 12. 13. Zen and the Landscape Garden 14. 8. The Stone Gardens of Zen 9. Zen and the Ink Landscape 10. The Zen Aesthetics of Japanese Architecture 11. 12. The No Theater 13. PART III: The Rise of Popular Zen Culture: 1573 to the Present 14. Bourgeois Society and Later Zen 15. 16. The Tea Ceremony 17. 18. Zen Ceramic Art 19. 20. Zen and Haiku 21. 22. Private Zen: Flowers and Food 23. 24. The Lessons of Zen Culture 25. REFERENCES BIBLIOGRAPHY GLOSSARY Part I THE BEGINNINGS: PREHISTORY TO 1333 CHAPTER ONE Zen Culture and the Counter Mind _ Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow. _Matthew 6:28 _Pre-Buddhist clay figure _(haniwa) THE ZEN TRADITION extends back some fifteen hundred years to a wandering Indian teacher of meditation named Bodhidharma. As Indian gurus are fond of doing, Bodhidharma left his homeland and journeyed abroad, following what was in those days a well-beaten trail to China. Upon reaching Nanking, he paused to visit the Chinese Emperor Wu, a man known to be a particularly devout Buddhist. The emperor was delighted to receive his famous Indian guest and proceeded immediately to boast of his own accomplishments. "I have built many temples. I have copied the sacred _sutras_. I have led many to the Buddha. Therefore, I ask you: What is my merit: What reward have I earned?" Bodhidharma reportedly growled, "None whatsoever, your Majesty." The emperor was startled but persisted, "Tell me then, what is the most important principle or teaching of Buddhism?" "Vast emptiness," Bodhidharma replied, meaning, of course, the void of nonattachment. Not knowing what to make of his guest, the emperor backed away and inquired, "Who exactly are you who stands before me now?" To which Bodhidharma admitted he had no idea. Sensing that the emperor was not yet prepared for such teachings, Bodhidharma left the palace and traveled to a mountain monastery to begin a long career of meditation. Over the years his reputation for wisdom gradually attracted many followers--dissident Chinese who rejected classical Buddhism and all its rigmarole in favor of Bodhidharma's meditation, or _dhyana_, a Sanskrit term they pronounced as Ch'an--later to be called Zen by the Japanese. This teaching of meditation and vast emptiness shared very little with other branches of Chinese Buddhism. Ch'an had no sacred images because it had no gods to worship, and it de-emphasized the scriptures, since its central dogma was that dogma is useless. Handed down from master to pupil was the paradoxical teaching that nothing can be taught. According to Ch'an (and Zen), understanding comes only by ignoring the intellect and heeding the instincts, the intuition. Thus Zen became the religion of the antirational, what might be called the counter mind. The counter mind has taken on more concrete significance in recent years with the discovery that the human mind is not a single entity but is divided into two quite different functional sections. We now know that the left hemisphere of the brain governs the logical, analytical portion of our lives, whereas the right hemisphere is the seat of our intuitive, nonverbal perception and understanding. As far back as the ancient Greeks, we in the West have maintained an almost unshakable belief in the superiority of the analytical side of the mind, and this belief may well be the most consistent distinguishing quality of Western philosophy. By contrast, the East in general and Zen in particular have advanced the opposite view. In fact, Zen masters have deliberately developed techniques (like illogical riddles or _koan_) to discredit the logical, verbal side of the mind so that the intuitive perceptions of the right hemisphere, the counter mind, may define reality. What is the counter mind really like? What is there about it that has caused Western thinkers to disavow its functions for so many centuries? The answer to these questions is not simple, but the path leading to it is directly before us. Zen has produced a rich culture which we may now examine at length. As the scholar-diplomat Sir George Sansom has pointed out, "The influence of [Zen] upon Japan has been so subtle and pervading that it has become the essence of her finest culture." And in the classical culture of Japan it is possible to find the most revealing examples of the arts of the counter mind. Zen culture invites us to experience reality without the intervening distractions of intellect, categories, analysis. Here we may find the best evidence of what the intuitive side of the mind can produce--evidence all the more fascinating because it repudiates many of the most cherished assumptions of Western civilization. When examined closely, Zen culture in Japan reveals at least three interrelated aspects or faces. First there are the fine arts, creations of beauty but also devices whereby the Zen masters transmit otherwise inexpressible insights. Interestingly enough, the Zen masters did not trouble to invent new art forms but rather co-opted existing Japanese (and sometimes Chinese) forms and revised them to suit Zen purposes. During medieval times, the Chinese-style gardens so favored by the Japanese aristocracy were adopted for use around Zen temples, but not before they were first converted into small-scale landscape "paintings" and later into monochrome abstractions. Chinese ink painting, both that of the Sung academy and that of eccentric Chinese Ch'an monks, was imported and made the official art of Zen. Ideas from Shinto architecture were combined with design details from mainland Ch'an monasteries to produce the Zen-inspired classic Japanese house. Various types of rustic dramatic skits popular among the Japanese peasants were converted by Zen aesthetes into a solemn theater experience called the No, whose plays and narrative poetry are so austere, symbolic, and profound as to seem a kind of Zen Mass. In the later years of popular Zen culture, poets revised the standard Japanese poetic form, which might be compared loosely to the Western sonnet, into a shorter, epigrammatic expression of the Zen outlook--the seventeen-syllable Haiku. Zen ceramics are a curious mixture of Japanese folk craft and Chinese technical sophistication; flower arranging is a link between Zen and the Japanese love of nature, blossoms and beauty; even formal Japanese cuisine is often more a celebration of Zen ideals than a response to hunger. The famous Japanese tea ceremony evolved from a Chinese party game into a solemn episode for the celebration of ideal beauty, inner calm, and the Zen concept of living. The second face of Zen culture is best seen in the way in which Japanese life differs from our own. This is not to suggest that every Japanese is a living exemplar of Zen, but rather that many of the peculiarities--both good and bad--of the way of life we now think of as Japanese are traceable to attitudes stemming from Zen. In the military sphere, Zen influence began as a special approach to swordsmanship and archery and ended as a disciplined contempt for death beyond what any other religion has inspired, save possibly in a few saints. In the military arts, as in other areas of life, Zen both led and followed Japanese culture--molding that culture and also presenting a vehicle for the expression of tendencies far older than Zen, among them the historic Japanese love of nature, the acceptance of hardship as uplifting to the spirit, the refusal to distinguish between the religious and the secular, and the capacity for the most unpleasant sorts of self-discipline. It might be said that the ideals of Zen struck a respondent chord in the Japanese character, bringing harmony where once there had been random notes. Zen also brought something new to the Japanese which might be described as a religion of tranquility, or the idea that tranquility is the main objective of religion. The underside of this tranquility is its sense of humor. Zen, with its absurdist _koan_, laughs at life much the way the Marx brothers did. What exactly can you make of a philosophical system whose teacher answers the question, "How do you see things so clearly?" with the seeming one-liner, "I close my eyes"? Zen has long used the comic view of life to deflate those who start believing in their own systems and categories. It is easier to be tranquil about existence when you recognize the pointlessness of solemnity. The other side of the religion of tranquility is the need to maintain peace of mind in the face of chaos. Sitting quietly in meditation is the traditional mainstay of Eastern religion, but Zen manages to carry the mental repose born of meditation back into daily life. This equanimity is the product of inner resources brought into being by spiritual training. You need not study Zen to have it, but it is Zen's most tangible goal. The Japanese, whose ability to ignore external distractions in a hectic world is possibly their best-known national trait, have deliberately used Zen and Zen arts (such as the tea ceremony, flower arranging, or ink painting) to counteract the stresses of modern life. The follower of Zen is protected from the incursions of the world by an inverted (in our Western terms) understanding of what is real and what illusory. One of the all-time favorite _koan_ helps to make this clear. The _koan_ describes three monks watching a banner flutter in the breeze. One monk observes, "The banner is moving," but the second insists, "The wind is moving." Finally, the third monk says, "You are both wrong. It is your mind that is moving." The point here is that, in modern times, most Westerners view the physical world as the operative reality and the unseen, nonphysical world as an abstraction (comforting or not, depending upon our beliefs or immediate needs, the spiritual world is said to grow less abstract to those in foxholes). But Zen takes the opposite tack; it holds that true reality is the fundamental unity of mind and matter, inner spirit and external world. When life is viewed in such terms, there can be no success or failure, happiness or unhappiness; life is a whole, and you are simply part of it. There are no dualities, hence there is nothing to worry about. The result is perfect tranquility. Of course, one small thread remains to be tied. What do you do about daily life, where the world carries on as though it really does exist, dualities and all? Quite simply, Zen would have you treat the physical world exactly as followers of Western religions sometimes treat the spiritual world--as a convenient fiction whose phenomena you honor as though they existed, although you know all the while that they are illusions. The world of strife and relative values may trouble those who mistake it for the real thing, but the Zen-man echoes the words of Hamlet, "We that have free souls, it touches us not." The world is in fact meaningless. It is one's mind that is moving. However startling such a doctrine may be to Western rationalists, it has engendered such Japanese phenomena as the _samurai_ swordsmen and the kamikaze pilot, both of whom could, in the Japanese phrase, live as if already dead. On a less dramatic scale, it allows the modern Japanese to be spiritually content and enjoy mental repose in a crowded subway, or to find solitude in a paper-walled house amid noisy neighbors. They wrap their cocoon of tranquility about them and become spiritually apart. Again, it is possible to enjoy this inner repose without Zen, but only in a Zen culture could it become a national trait. The third face of Zen, the deep concern with and understanding of what constitutes beauty, also preceded Zen culture in Japan to some degree. As with many of the existing Japanese art forms, the native sense of taste was co-opted by Zen culture and bent to the rules of Zen. Aesthetic discernment was as important for social advancement in medieval, pre-Zen Japan as good grammar is in the West today, and the characteristic attention to small details, the genuine ability to notice things, from the feathered pastel hues of a partially opened blossom to the colored refractions in a drop of dew, was already well developed. In the centuries before Zen, the notion that aesthetics in Japan could reflect a philosophical point of view would have seemed strange. But to the taste-makers of Zen culture the arts were the handmaiden of spiritual ideas; their arts had to make a statement, and as a result art became an expression of religion, not so much a direct, point-blank depiction of religious motifs as in Christian art, but rather a belief that art itself is an inherently religious concern--an idea Zen shares with the ancient Greeks. But whereas the Greeks strove for perfect form as an exemplification of man's kinship with the gods, the Zen artist carefully avoids final perfection, not wishing to idealize a physical world whose very existence he finds problematical. Perhaps the most noticeable principle of Zen art is its asymmetry; we search in vain for straight lines, even numbers, round circles. Furthermore, nothing ever seems to be centered. Our first impulse is to go into the work and straighten things up--which is precisely the effect the artist intended. Symmetrical art is a closed form, perfect in itself and frozen in completeness; asymmetrical art invites the observer in, to expand his imagination and to become part of the process of creation. The absence of bilateral symmetry mysteriously compels the observer to reach past surface form and touch the individuality of a work. Even more important, Zen asymmetry forcefully draws one away from any mental connection one might have between completed form and notions of completion and timelessness in material things. Zen denies the significance of the external world and underscores the point by never depicting it in static, stable, or closed terms. Greek art was a tribute to perfection; Zen art is a statement, if only implicit, that the objective world should never be taken too seriously. The ideas taught by asymmetry in the visual arts are paralleled in the literary arts by the device of suggestion. This quality, first seen in pre-Zen aristocratic poetry, was brought to new heights by the Zen Haiku poets. Among other things, a Haiku poem sets you up for the last line, which kicks your imagination spinning into imagery. The most famous Haiku poem of all probably demonstrates this quality as well as any: _An ancient pond; A frog leaps in: The sound of water. _Try to stop yourself from hearing that splash in your imagination, or try to stifle the images and details your mind wants to fill in. Just as with the off-balance picture or garden, the Zen poet has forced you to be a part of his creation. But more significantly, he has achieved a depth and reverberation impossible with mere words. Explicit art ends with itself; suggestive art is as limitless and profound as one's imagination can make it. Another obvious quality of Zen art is its simplicity. Again one thinks of the spareness and purity in Greek art, and again the connection is wrong. A more useful comparison would be with the diverse, textured arts of India, whether sensuous statuary or fabrics decorated over every square inch. Indian art is a celebration of life and vigor, whereas Zen, with its philosophy that categories and distinctions do not exist, is naturally unsympathetic to decorative multiplicity. The happy result of this rather sober outlook is that Zen art seems surprisingly modern; it is never cluttered, busy, gaudy, overdone. The forms--whether in the classic Japanese house, the stone garden, or a simple ceramic pot--are invariably clean and elegant. And by avoiding overstatement, the Zen artist manages to convey the impression of disciplined restraint, of having held something in reserve. The result is a feeling of strength, the sense that one has only glimpsed the power of the artist rather than experienced everything he had to offer. The Zen artist may deny one voluptuousness, but in the empty spaces one senses a hidden plenitude. Along with simplicity goes naturalness and lack of artifice. Zen art always seems spontaneous and impulsive, never deliberate, thought-out, or contrived. To achieve this, the artist must so master his technique that it never interferes with his intentions. Again the lesson is contempt for the material world; one must never give the impression of having taken one's art, or indeed life itself, too seriously. This deceiving sense of naturalness is particularly striking in the later Zen ceramic art, in which potters went out of their way to give their bowls a coarse, uneven finish. They tried very hard to give the impression that they were not trying at all. The joinery of the Japanese house is first assembled with the care even an early European cabinetmaker might find excessive; and then it is left unpolished, to age naturally! Such is the inverted snobbery of Zen aesthetics. Another quality of Zen art is its understatement or restraint. It does not yield all its secrets on first viewing; there are always depths which become apparent with further study. This storehouse of latent profundity is frequently found in the narrative poetry of the No drama, which, although suggestive in something like the manner of the lighter Haiku poems, has a cutting edge capable of slowly penetrating the deeper emotions. Through language seemingly concerned only with externalities, the characters of the No give us the full sense of their inner anguish, somehow communicating to us sorrows too deep for words. In the same way, Zen-inspired stone gardens have hidden qualities. Unlike formal European or Persian gardens, which are mainly surface and reward the viewer with all their decorative beauty on the first visit, Zen gardens present you with new pleasures and insights each time you study them. Because it conceals its profundity, Zen art is never fully knowable on first acquaintance; there is always something more when one is prepared to receive it. Perhaps the most puzzling, yet curiously rewarding, aesthetic principle in Zen art is its seeming celebration of the ravages of time. The Zen Japanese consider a taste for newness the mark of the aesthetic parvenu. To be sure, Westerners who have acquired a preference for antiques are sometimes looked upon as more sophisticated than those preferring the latest machine-made item; yet Zen taste has an important difference--the Japanese would never "restore" an antique. The signs of age and wear are to them its most beautiful qualities. This convoluted attitude actually began in pre-Zen aristocratic times, when courtiers concluded that the reason cherry blossoms or autumn leaves were so beautiful was their short season. Soon, the more perishable something was, the more aesthetically satisfying it became. (One unfortunate result of this point of view was a lot of mediocre poetry about the dew.) Later, Zen took over this attitude, extending it to things that perish slowly, and before long, things old and worn out--already perished, in a sense--were thought the most beautiful of all. This idea fitted well with the Zen notion that material things were dross and should not be accorded excessive importance. The curious thing is that the idea works; old objects, desiccated and apparently used up, have a nobility that makes one contemplate eternity and scorn the fashions of the moment. Broken and patched tea bowls or frayed scrolls seemingly falling apart are indeed more beautiful than they were when new. The patina of age is a lesson that time is forever and that you, creature of an hour, would do well to know humility in the face of eternity. Finally, the aesthetic principles of Zen culture's third face also reflect the practical concerns of its second face, tranquility. Zen art exudes an unmistakable calm and repose of the spirit. Contemplating a stone garden or viewing the measured movements of the tea ceremony, one realizes that Zen art is certain of itself, and it imparts this certainty, this gentle voice of inner calm, to one's spirit. The things that matter are settled, and those that do not are winnowed out like chaff in the wind. And here you realize that Zen art is, last and foremost, a virile creation of strength and surety. Perhaps the most startling thing about the Zen creations of the counter mind is that few Japanese are willing even to discuss them, let alone analyze them. Zen is the enemy of analysis, the friend of intuition. Analysis is to art what grammar is to a living language, the dull afterthought of the scholar, and Zen culture despises excessive interpretation as a leech on the spirit of life. The Zen artist understands the ends of his art intuitively, and the last thing he would do is create categories; the avowed purpose of Zen is to eliminate categories! The true Zen-man holds to the old Taoist proverb, "Those who know do not speak. Those who speak do not know." Ask a Japanese to "explain" a Zen rock garden and he will inspect you blankly, uncomprehending. The question will never have occurred to him, and he may try to spare you embarrassment by pretending you never asked or by changing the subject. Should you persist, he may go out and take its dimensions for you, thinking by this objective, modern response to satisfy your Western requirements. When you stop asking and surrender to a kind of intuitive osmosis, you will have begun the journey into the culture of the counter mind. CHAPTER TWO The Prelude to Zen Culture _It was a clear, moonlit night . . . Her Majesty . . . sat by the edge of the veranda while Ukon no Naishi played the flute for her. The other ladies in attendance sat together, talking and laughing; but I stayed by myself, leaning against one of the pillars between the main hall and the veranda. 'Why so silent?' said Her Majesty. 'Say something. It is so sad when you do not speak.' 'I am gazing into the autumn moon,' I replied. 'Ah yes,' she remarked, 'That is just what you should have said.' _ From _The Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon, ca. _A.D. 995 ZEN CULTURE did not spring upon the Japanese islands as an alien force, dislodging native beliefs, ideals, and values. It could indeed be argued that precisely the opposite happened, that the Japanese actually used Zen as a framework over which to organize their own eclectic beliefs about reverence toward nature, aesthetics, anti- intellectualism, artistic forms and ideals, and basic attitudes toward life. The truth, however, lies somewhere between: Zen did not reshape Japan, but neither did Japan reshape Zen. Rather, the two melted together, with the resulting amalgam often seeming to be all Zen, while actually being, in many instances, merely older Japanese beliefs and ideals in a new guise. Some of the most fundamental qualities of Japanese civilization had their origins in high antiquity, when the Japanese had no writing and worshiped gods found among fields and groves. These early Japanese had no religious doctrines other than respect for the natural world and the sanctity of family and community. There were no commandments to be followed, no concept of evil. Such moral teachings as existed were that nature contains nothing that can be considered wicked, and therefore man, too, since he is a child of nature, is exempt from this flaw. The only shameful act is uncleanliness, an inconsiderate breach of the compact between man and nature. The early Japanese left no evidence that they brooded about nature or required rituals to subdue it. Rather, the natural world was welcomed as a joyous if unpredictable companion to life, whose beauty alone was sufficient to inspire love. This reverence for nature, which lay deep within the Japanese psyche, was in later centuries to become a fundamental part of Zen culture. Like the early Japanese, the followers of Zen believed the world around them was the only manifestation of god and did not bother with sacred icons or idols, preferring to draw religious symbolism directly from the world as it stood. The first arrivals on the Japanese archipelago were a Stone Age people, known today as "Jomon," who left artifacts across a time span beginning in the fourth millennium B.C. and lasting until the early Christian Era. Arriving in Japan from northeast Asia via a land bridge now submerged, they remained primarily in the north, where they lived in covered pits, buried their dead in simple mounds, and, most importantly for the later Japanese, developed a ceramic art of low-fired vessels and figurines whose loving awareness of material and form re-emerged centuries later as a characteristic of Zen art. The free, semi-nomadic life of the Jomon was disrupted around the time of Aristotle by the arrival of various groups of invaders known collectively as the "Yayoi." These Bronze Age warriors eventually replaced the Jomon, first driving them farther into the north and finally eradicating them entirely. The gods and culture of the Yayoi indicate a tropical origin, perhaps the vicinity of South China. They settled in the southern islands, where they erected tropical dwellings and began the cultivation of rice. Soon they were making implements of iron, weaving cloth, and molding pottery using the wheel and high- temperature kilns. The descendants of the Yayoi became the Japanese people. For the first several hundred years of Yayoi hegemony, their ceramics, although technically more sophisticated, showed less artistic imagination than those of the Jomon. In the fourth century A.D., however, after the consolidation of their lands into a unified state, a new era of artistic production began. From this time until the introduction of Buddhism in the sixth century, an interlude known as the Mound Tomb era, the arts of Japan blossomed, producing some of the finest sculpture in the ancient world. The Yayoi mound tombs, often many acres in size, were filled with the implements of their aristocratic owners (much as were the pyramid tombs of Egyptian pharaohs), and around their perimeters were positioned hollow clay statues, presumably as symbolic guardians. These realistic figures, ordinarily two or three feet in height, are today known as _haniwa_. Fashioned in soft brown clay, they portrayed virtually all the participants in early Japanese life: warriors in armor, horses standing at the ready, courtiers, rowdy farmers, fashionable laThes-in-waiting, and even wild boar. The making of _haniwa_ died out after the sixth century, as Chinese Buddhist culture gradually took hold among the Japanese aristocracy, but the underlying aesthetic values were too fundamental to perish. When Zen culture came to flower in medieval times, all the early artistic values awoke from what seems to have been only a slumber; monk-artisans returned to an emphasis on natural materials--whether in soft clay tea bowls, in unworked garden rocks, in the architecture of unfinished woods, or in a general taste for unadorned simplicity. These men created their art and architecture from seemingly rough and imperfect materials out of deliberate choice rather than necessity--a preference rare if not unique in human experience. During the years following the introduction of pre-Zen Buddhism, the Japanese disowned their native values and artistic instincts as they slavishly copied Chinese culture and reproduced the ornate and elaborate arts of mainland Buddhism. The nature-worshiping tribes of Japan were awed by the seemingly powerful religion of China. They were no less impressed by the manner in which the Chinese emperor ruled his land, and shortly after becoming acquainted with China they set about copying the Chinese form of government. Equally important, the previously illiterate Japanese adopted a Chinese system of writing--a confusing arrangement whereby Chinese symbols were used for their phonetic value rather than for their meaning. This lasted for several centuries, until the Japanese finally gave up and created a simplified system which included their own syllabary or alphabet. Having borrowed Chinese administration and Chinese writing, the Japanese next decided to re-create a Chinese city, and in the year 710 they consecrated Nara, a miniature replica of the T'ang capital of Ch'ang-an. The city was soon overflowing with Chinese temples and pagodas. Newly ordained Japanese priests chanted Buddhist scriptures they scarcely understood, while the native aristocracy strode about in Chinese costume reciting verses of the T'ang poets. Japan had never really had a city before Nara, and its population quickly rose to some 200,000. Yet less than a century after its founding it was abandoned by the court--possibly because the new Buddhist priesthood was getting out of hand-- and a new capital was laid out on the site of present-day Kyoto. This new city, founded at the beginning of the ninth century and known as Heian, was deliberately kept free of Buddhist domination, and within its precincts the first truly native high culture arose as Chinese models were gradually transcended. No longer copiers, the aristocrats of Heian turned inward to bring forth a highly refined secular civilization. To understand the foundations of Zen beauty, it is necessary to examine this Heian culture in some detail, for many of the Zen arts and the aesthetic rules later associated with Zen arose in these early aristocratic years. If civilization may be gauged by the extent to which relations are mediated by artificiality, this would surely be the finest example in all history. Etiquette and sentimentality were the touchstones. The courtiers occupied their days with elaborate ceremonies, extravagant costumes, and lightweight versifying, and their nights with highly ritualized amorous intrigues, conducted in a fashion so formal that the courtly love of Provence seems brusque in comparison. Initially the court had modeled its behavior on the T'ang dynasty, but in the year 894, a hundred years after the founding of Heian, relations with the T'ang court were suspended. There were few formal contacts with China until the coming of Zen several centuries later. Since the country was unified and at peace, interest in affairs of state gradually disappeared altogether, freeing the aristocracy to create a misty, artificial world all its own. This period, whose aesthetic values were the precursor of Zen art, was also Japan's great age of literature. The idleness of the court provided an abundance of free time and equally abundant boredom-- circumstances that brought into being rich, textured psychological novels, some of the earliest and most revealing diaries of the world's literature, and a concern with poetry never equaled elsewhere, before or since. These works of literature depict a society preoccupied with beauty, where life and art merged, and founded on a conviction, later to become ingrained in Japanese life and Zen art, that the ability to appreciate beauty was the most important characteristic an individual could possess. Perhaps the most unusual aspect of this great age of literature is the fact that the work was produced almost entirely by women. Theirs was the aesthetic legacy that later became the foundation for Zen taste, including the overwhelming importance of brushstroke calligraphy, the subtle sense of what constitutes beauty and what excess, the vocabulary of aesthetics, the elaborate concern with the use of color, and the refinement of the poetic form that eventually led to Zen Haiku. Taste in the use of color is an excellent place to begin examining the Heian heritage, for in later years the Zen arts would be characterized by muted, carefully matched natural shades whose application followed sophisticated rules of taste. The seriousness with which colors were matched by Heian courtiers is revealed in a famous diary of the era: _One [of the court ladies' dresses] had a little fault in the color combination at the wrist opening. When she went before the royal presence to fetch something, the nobles and high court officials noticed it. Afterwards, [she] regretted it deeply. It was not so bad; only one color was a little too pale.1 _ Episodes in another diary reveal the importance attached to properly matched shades: _It is dawn and a woman is lying in bed after her lover has taken his leave. She is covered up to her head with a light mauve robe that has a lining of dark violet. . . . The woman . . . wears an unlined orange robe and a dark crimson skirt of stiff silk. . . . Near by another woman's lover is making his way home in the misty dawn. He is wearing loose violet trousers, an orange hunting costume, so lightly coloured that one can hardly tell whether it has been dyed or not, a white robe of stiff silk, and a scarlet robe of glossy, beaten silk.2 _ This interest in the colors (and textures) of materials remains a Japanese characteristic to this day, perpetuated by Zen and post-Zen aesthetes, who sensibly realized that this outgrowth of their culture surpassed that found anywhere else in the world. As may be gathered from the passage above, celibacy was not part of the fashionable world of Heian Japan. Marriages were sanctioned only after the sexual compatibility of the couple had been established, a ritual carried out by a young man calling at a young lady's quarters for several nights running before officially announcing his intentions to her parents. The secret visits were, of course, secret to no one, and at times a young lady might initiate the test by an open invitation. Such a letter also allowed the man to judge her handwriting in advance and thus not waste his time courting a girl wanting in accomplishment. The following diary passage reveals the curious Heian association of penmanship and sex: _I remember a certain woman who was both attractive and good-natured and who furthermore had excellent hand-writing. Yet when she sent a beautifully written poem to the man of her choice, he replied with some pretentious jottings and did not even bother to visit her. . . . Everyone, even people who were not directly concerned, felt indignant about this callous behavior, and the woman's family was much grieved.3 _ In a society where brushwork was a primary test of social acceptability, it is not hard to find the roots of Japan's later great age of Zen monochrome painting, for, as Sir George Sansom has pointed out, to write beautifully is to solve certain fundamental problems of art--particularly when that writing is executed with the brush. The writing materials used by Heian courtiers and the calligraphy they set down became important tools for the Zen arts. Writers made use of what the Chinese called the "Four Treasures": a brush of animal hair or bristle, a block of solid ink made of lampblack and glue, a concave inkstone for grinding and wetting the dried ink, and a paper or silk writing surface. These materials are all thought to have been introduced into Japan by a Korean Buddhist priest sometime near the beginning of the seventh century, but they already had a long history in China--possibly as much as a thousand years. With these materials the Heian calligrapher--and later the Zen monochrome artist--created a subtle world of light and shade. The preparation for writing (and later, painting) is itself a ritual of almost religious significance. The ink, called sumi, must be prepared fresh each time it is used: a small amount of water is introduced into the concave portion of the inkstone, and the slightly moistened ink block is slowly rubbed against the stone until the proper shade is realized. The brush is soaked thoroughly in water, dried by stroking it on a scrap of paper, dipped into the new ink, and applied directly to the writing surface. The writer or artist holds the brush perpendicular to the paper and spreads the ink in quick strokes, which allow for no mistakes or retouching. Where the male scholars of the Heian period labored with complex Chinese ideograms, the female artists and calligraphers were able to work in a new, simplified syllabary of approximately fifty symbols, which had been invented by a Buddhist priest in the early Heian era. Since this new script was less angular and geometrically formal than Chinese writing, it lent itself to a sensuous, free style of calligraphy whose rules later spilled over into Zen aesthetics. The new "women's script" called for brushstrokes that were a pirouette of movement and dynamic grace, requiring the disciplined spontaneity that would become the essence of Zen painting. Indeed, all the important technical aspects of later Zen monochrome art were present in early Heian calligraphy: the use of varying shades of ink, the concentration on precise yet spontaneous brushwork, the use of lines flexible in width and coordinated with the overall composition, and the sense of the work as an individual aesthetic vision. The lines record the impulse of the brush as it works an invisible sculpture above the page; the trail of the brush--now dry, now flushed with ink--is a linear record of nuances in black across the white space beneath. The total mastery of brushwork and the ink line gave the monochrome artists a foundation of absolute technical achievement, and the Zen calligrapher-poets a tradition of spontaneity in keeping with Zen ideals. Another legacy to Zen artists was the creation of spontaneous verse, which also sharpened the faculties and required a sure mastery of technique. Since virtually all communication was in the form of poems, to move in polite circles a man or woman had to be able to compose a verse on any subject at a moment's notice. A famous female novelist and diarist recalled a typical episode: _The Lord Prime Minister . . . breaks off a stalk of a flower-maiden which is in full bloom by the south end of the bridge. He peeps over my screen [and] says, "Your poem on this! If you delay so much the fun is gone" and I seized the chance to run away to the writing box, hiding my face-- Flower-maiden in bloom-- Even more beautiful for the bright dew, Which is partial, and never favors me. "So prompt!" said he, smiling, and ordered a writing box to be brought [for himself]. His answer- The silver dew is never partial. From her heart The flower-maiden's beauty.4 _ The quality of such impromptu verse is necessarily strained, but the spirit of impulsive art revealed in this episode survived to become an important quality of Zen creations. The Heian era bequeathed many artistic forms and techniques to later Zen artists, but even more important was the attitude toward beauty developed by the Heian courtiers. Their explicit contributions were a sense of the value of beauty in life and a language of aesthetics by which this value could be transmitted. One of the more lasting attitudes developed was the belief that transience enhanced loveliness. (The idea of transience seems to be one of the few Buddhist concepts that entered Heian aesthetics.) Beauty was all the more arresting for the certainty that it must perish. The perfect symbol for this, naturally enough, was the blossom of the cherry tree, as may be seen from a poem taken at random from a Heian-period compilation. _O cherry tree, how you resemble this transitory world of ours, for yesterday you were abloom and gone today your flowers.5 _Many of the later verities of Zen art can be traced to this first philosophical melancholy over life's transience which developed in the Heian era. The vehicle for this heritage was a special vocabulary of aesthetic terms (providing distinctions few Westerners can fully perceive) which could describe subtle outer qualities of things--and the corresponding inner response by a cultivated observer--by the use of fine-grained aesthetic distinctions.6 The word that described the delicate discernment of the Heian courtiers was _miyabi_, which was used to indicate aspects of beauty that only a highly refined taste could appreciate: the pale shades of dye in a garment, the fragile geometry of a dew-laden spider web, the delicate petal of a purple lotus, the texture of the paper of a lover's letter, pale yellow clouds trailing over a crimson sunset. If the beauty were more direct and less muted, it was described as _en_, or charming, a term marking the type of beauty as sprightly or more obvious. The most popular aesthetic term was _aware_, which refers to a pleasant emotion evoked unexpectedly. _Aware _is what one _feels _when one sees a cherry blossom or an autumn maple. (This internalization of aesthetic qualities was later to have great import for the Zen arts, whose reliance on suggestiveness shifted a heavy responsibility to the perceiver.) As the notion of beauty's transience became stronger, the term also came to include the feeling of poignancy as well as pleasure and the awareness that delight must perish. These terms of refined aristocratic discernment became thoroughly ingrained in Japanese life and were passed on to Zen aesthetics, which added new terms that extended the Heian categories to reverence for beauty past its prime and for objects that reflect the rigors of life. The Zen aesthetes also added the notion of _yugen_, an extension of _aware _into the region of poignant foreboding. At a brilliant sunset one's mind feels _aware_, but as the shadows deepen and night birds cry, one's soul feels _yugen_. Thus the Zen artists carried the Heian aesthetic response into the inner man and turned a superficial emotion into a universal insight. The most important aspect of the Japanese character to surface during the Heian era, at least from the standpoint of later Zen culture and ideals, was faith in the emotions over the intellect. It was during this period that the Japanese rejected for all time a rigorously intellectual approach to life. As Earl Miner wrote in his description of pre-Zen Heian society, "The respect accorded to correct or original ideas in the West has always been given in Japan to propriety or sincerity of feeling. And just as someone without an idea in his head is archetypally out of our civilization, so the person without a true feeling in his heart is archetypally out of the Japanese."7 From such an attitude it is not far to the Zen intuitive approach to understanding. The early years of Japanese isolation saw a people with a rich nature religion whose arts revealed deep appreciation for material and form. The coming of Chinese culture brought with it Buddhism, which became a national religion and provided a vehicle for the dissemination of Zen. Finally, the aristocratic civilization of the Heian era developed Japanese sensitivity to remarkable levels, providing later generations with a valuable framework of taste and standards. The court civilization of Heian was ultimately dethroned by medieval warriors, who themselves soon came under the sway of Zen. Although the Zen artist-monks of the medieval era brought into being a new culture with its own rules of taste and behavior, they were always in the debt of the earlier ages. CHAPTER THREE The Rise of Japanese Buddhism _The new doctrine of the Buddha is exceeding excellent, although difficult to explain and comprehend. _(Message accompanying the first image of the Buddha to enter Japan, ca. A.D. 552) _PRE-BUDDHIST SHINTO SHRINE _ DURING THE SIXTH CENTURY B.C., in the rich and reflective civilization flourishing in what is today northeast India and Nepal, a child was born to the high-caste family of Gautama. He was later known by various names, including Siddhartha (the one who has reached the goal), Sakyamuni (sage of the Sakyas), or simply Buddha (the enlightened). His childhood was idyllic, and at the age of sixteen he took a wife, who bore him a son. As a youth he was completely sheltered from the sorrows of the flesh through the offices of his father, who commanded the servants never to let him leave the palace compound. Yet finally, the legends relate, he managed to escape this benign prison long enough to encounter old age, sickness, and death. Understandably distressed, he began pondering the questions of human mortality and suffering, a search which led him to a holy man, whose devoutness seemed to hold the answers. True to his convictions, he renounced wealth, family, and position and embarked upon the life of an ascetic. A spiritual novice at the age of twenty-nine, he traveled for the next six years from sage to sage, searching for the teachings that might release him from the prison of flesh. Finally, with disciples of his own, he left all his teachers and devoted himself to meditation for another six years, at the end of which he was close to death from fasting and privation. But he was no nearer his goal, and abandoning the practices of traditional religion, he set out to beg for rice. Although his disciples immediately deserted him as unworthy to be a teacher, he was undeterred and enjoyed his first full meal since leaving his father's palace. He then had a deep sleep and learned in a dream that realization would soon be his. He proceeded to a wood and began his final meditation under the now legendary Bodhi tree--where he at last found enlightenment. Gautama had become the Buddha. For the next forty-nine years he traveled the length of India preaching a heretical doctrine. To appreciate what he taught, one must grasp what he preached against. At the time, the predominant religious system was Brahmanism, which was based upon the Upanishads, a collection of early Vedic writings. According to this system, the universe was presided over by the Brahman, an impersonal god-form which was at once a pantheistic universal soul and an expression of the order, or _dharma_, of the cosmos. This universal god-form was also thought to reside in man, in the form of the _atman_, roughly translatable as the soul; and the individual was believed to be able to rise above his physical existence and experience the uniting of this _atman _with the larger god-form through practice of a rigorous physical and mental discipline, which became known as yoga. Not surprisingly, all formal communications with the universal god-form had to be channeled through a special priest class, who called themselves Brahmans. The Buddha disputed these beliefs. He taught that there was no universal god and hence no internal soul, that there is, in fact, no existence in the world. All perception to the contrary is illusory. Enlightenment therefore consists not of merging one's atman with the greater god-head, but rather in recognizing that there actually is nothing with which to merge. Consequently the aim is to transcend the more troublesome aspects of perception, such as pain, by turning one's back on the world--which is nonexistent in any case--and concentrating on inner peace. The Buddha stressed what he called the "Four Noble Truths" and the "Eightfold Path." The Four Noble Truths recognized that to live is to desire and hence to suffer, and the Eightfold Path (right views, right resolve, right speech, right conduct, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, right concentration) provided a prescription for the resolution of this suffering. Followers of the Eightfold Path understand that the external world is illusory and that its desires and suffering can be overcome by a noble life, guided by mental fixation on the concept of nonexistence. The original teachings of the Buddha are more a philosophy than a religion, for they admit no supreme god, nor do they propose any salvation other than that attainable through human diligence. The aim is temporal happiness, to be realized through asceticism--which was taught as a practical means of turning one's back on the world and its incumbent pain. There were no scriptures, no sacred incantations, no soul, no cycle of rebirth, nothing beyond one's existential life. Since the Buddha left no writings or instructions regarding the establishment of a religion in his name, his followers called a council some ten years after his death to amend this oversight. This first council produced the earliest canon of Buddhist teachings, a group of _sutras _or texts purporting to reproduce various dialogues between the Buddha and his disciples. A second council was held exactly one hundred years later, supposedly to clarify points raised in the first meeting. But instead of settling the disagreement which had arisen, the meeting polarized the two points of view and shattered monolithic Buddhism once and for all. As Buddhism spread across India into Ceylon and Southeast Asia, a distinct sectarian split developed, which might be described as a controversy between those who strove to preserve the teachings of the Buddha as authentically as possible and those who were willing to admit (some might say compromise with) other religions. The purer form, which was established in Southeast Asia, came to be called Hinayana, or the Lesser Vehicle (purportedly because of the exclusionary strictness of its views). The other branch, comprising the beliefs that spread to China and thence to Japan, was described as Mahayana, or the Greater Vehicle. This division also resulted in two versions of the _sutras _being canonized. That revered by the Hinayanists is known as the Pali Canon and was set down in the Pali language (a dialect of Indian Sanskrit) around 100 B.C. The _sutras_ of the eclectic Mahayanists grew over the centuries, with additions in Sanskrit, Tibetan, and, later, Chinese. In addition to the original thoughts of the Buddha, they included large sections of commentary or secondary material. The Chinese, particularly, had strong speculative minds and thought nothing of amending the teachings of a simple Indian teacher. The Indians also found the Buddha's thought a shade too austere for their tastes, but instead of embellishing it as the Chinese did, they gradually plowed it back into the theological melange of pantheistic Hinduism until it finally lost any separate identity. Buddhism is said to have officially reached China during the first century A.D., and after some three hundred years of adjusting it to suit their established teachings of Confucianism and Taoism, the Chinese embraced it as their own. (It was the admittance of Taoist beliefs into Chinese Buddhism that laid the foundations for the school of Ch'an Buddhism, the parent of Japanese Zen.) Buddhism did not replace the two earlier Chinese religions but, rather, provided an alternative spiritual framework wherein the Chinese, structured, Confucianist bent of mind could be merged with their Taoist yearning for mystical philosophy to produce a native religion at once formal and introspective. During the third, fourth, and fifth centuries a virtual parade of Indian Mahayana Buddhist teachers traveled north around the high Himalayas and into China, there to dispense their own respective brands of the Buddha's thought. The Chinese, on their part, set about importing Indian Sanskrit _sutras_ and translating them via a process whereby Indian philosophical concepts were rendered directly by pre- existing Chinese terms--the literal pounding of round Indian pegs into square Chinese holes. Since no more effective way has yet been found to destroy the originality of foreign ideas than to translate them word for word into the nearest native approximation, Chinese Buddhism became, in many ways, merely a rearrangement of existing Chinese philosopThes. The date Chinese Buddhism was introduced to Japan has traditionally been set at A.D. 552. In that year, the records state, a Korean monarch, fearful of belligerent neighbors, appealed to the Japanese for military assistance, accompanying his plea with a statue of the Buddha and a missal of _sutras_. Since the Japanese had for many centuries reserved their primary allegiance for their sun-goddess, whose direct descendant the emperor was thought to be, they were wary of new faiths that might jeopardize the authority of the native deities. After much high-level deliberation it was decided to give the Buddha a trial period to test his magical powers, but unfortunately no sooner had the new image been set up than a pestilence, apparently smallpox, swept the land. The new Buddha was swiftly consigned to a drainage canal by imperial decree. Twenty years later a new emperor came to the throne, and he was persuaded to give the Buddha another try by a political faction which thought a new religion might undermine the theological position of the established nobility. By odd coincidence, no sooner had a new Buddha been imported than another plague broke out. The new Buddha statue and all accompanying trappings were disposed of, but the plague only worsened, allowing the pro-Buddhist faction to turn the tragedy to their advantage by blaming those who had desecrated the statue. After more political maneuvering, this faction took the somewhat unprecedented step of assassinating the hesitant emperor in order to ensure a place for Buddhism in Japanese life. Finally the faith did catch hold, and, by the beginning of the seventh century, temples and pagodas were being built. As interest grew in both the doctrines of the Buddha and the political innovations of the new T'ang dynasty, which had come to power in China in 618, the Japanese aristocracy began to copy Chinese civilization, gradually abandoning much of their indigenous culture. Although new Japanese monks were soon writing and reciting Chinese _sutras_, Buddhist ideas, now twice removed from their Indian origins, were grasped imperfectly if at all by most Japanese. Indeed, few of the early aristocracy who professed Buddhism viewed it as anything other than a powerful new form of magic--a supplement to the native gods, or _kami_, who presided over harvests and health. Given the difficulty Japanese scholars had in understanding Chinese texts, it is easy to sympathize with later Zen monks who claimed the _sutras_ were mainly a barrier to enlightenment. Three fundamental types of Buddhism preceded Zen in Japan: the early scholarly sects which came to dominate Nara; the later aristocratic schools whose heyday was the noble Heian era; and, finally, popular, participatory Buddhism, which reached down to the farmers and peasants. The high point of Nara Buddhism was the erection of a giant Buddha some four stories high whose gilding bankrupted the tiny island nation but whose psychological impact was such that Japan became the world center of Mahayana Buddhism. The influence of the Nara Buddhist establishment grew to such proportions that the secular branch of government, including the emperor himself, became nervous. The solution to the problem was elegantly simple: the emperor simply abandoned the capital, leaving the wealthy and powerful temples to preside over a ghost town. A new capital was established at Heian (present-day Kyoto), far enough away to dissipate priestly meddling. The second type of Buddhism, which came to prominence in Heian, was introduced as deliberate policy by the emperor. Envoys were sent to China to bring back new and different sects, enabling the emperor to fight the Nara schools with their own Buddhist fire. And this time the wary aristocracy saw to it that the Buddhist temples and monasteries were established well outside the capital--a location that suited both the new Buddhists' preference for remoteness and the aristocracy's new cult of aesthetics rather than religion. The first of the Heian sects, known as Tendai after the Chinese T'ien- t'ai school, was introduced into Japan in 806 by the Japanese priest Saicho (767-822). The Tendai stressed the authority of the Lotus Sutra, which recognized the Buddha as both an historical person and the realization in human form of the universal spirit--an identity implying the oneness of the latent Buddha nature in all matter, animate and inanimate. Although the school was avowedly eclectic, embracing all the main Mahayana doctrines, it was bitterly opposed by the Nara schools, which campaigned unsuccessfully to convert Tendai novices. Saicho countered their opposition by pointing out that his Buddhism was based on an actual sutra, purportedly the Buddha's own words, whereas the schools of Nara had contented themselves primarily with wrangling over commentaries or secondary interpretations of the Buddha's teachings. Saicho also introduced the question of individual morality, a concern conspicuously absent in Nara Buddhism. The Tendai sect became dominant during the ninth and tenth centuries, when its center on Mt. Thei (on the outskirts of Kyoto) swelled to over three thousand buildings. Although Saicho himself appears to have been benign in nature, practicing the principles of morality he taught, in later years the Mt. Thei Tendai complex became the base for an army of irascible monks who frequently descended upon Kyoto to harass courtiers and citizens alike. In the late sixteenth century, the entire complex was burned to the ground and thousands of monks slaughtered by a fierce shogun who was determined to stop the intervention of Tendai monks in public affairs. Tendai survives today as a religion primarily of the upper classes, with a membership of something over a million, but even by the end of the Heian era it had become mainly ceremonial. The other Buddhist sect to gain prominence during the Heian era was Shingon, founded by a younger contemporary of Saicho named Kukai (774- 835). He also went to China, where he studied teachings of the Che-yen school, a type of Buddhism known as "esoteric" because of its kinship to the mystical Tantrism of Tibet. The elaborate rituals of the Japanese Shingon temples were an immediate success with the ceremonially minded Heian aristocracy. Shingon was superb theater, with chants, incantations, sacred hand signs (_mudra_), and meditation on the sacred _mandala_--geometrical diagrams purportedly containing the key to the cosmological meaning of reality. The headquarters for the Shingon school was established on Mt. Koya, near Kyoto but sufficiently removed that the monks were not tempted to dabble in state affairs. Nevertheless, in later years it too became a stronghold for mercenary warrior-monks, with the result that it also was chastened by an outraged shogun. Today there are Shingon monasteries in remote mountain areas, standing regal and awesome in their forested isolation, and the sect still claims over nine million practitioners, scattered among a host of offshoots. The popular, participatory Buddhism which followed the aristocratic sects was home-grown and owed little to Chinese prototypes. Much of it centered around one particular figure in the Buddhist pantheon, the benign, sexless Amida, a Buddhist saint who presided over a Western Paradise or Pure Land of milk and honey accessible to all who called on his name. Amida has been part of the confusing assemblage of deities worshiped in Japan for several centuries, but the simplicity of his requirements for salvation made him increasingly popular with the Heian aristocrats, who had begun to tire of the elaborate rigmarole surrounding magical-mystery Buddhism. And as times became more and more unstable during the latter part of the Heian era, people searched for a messianic figure to whom they could turn for comfort. So it was that a once minor figure in the Buddhist Therarchy became the focus of a new, widespread, and entirely Japanese cult. The figure of Amida, a gatekeeper of the Western Paradise, seems to have entered Buddhism around the beginning of the Christian Era, and his teachings have a suspiciously familiar ring: Come unto me all ye who are burdened and I will give you rest; call on my name and one day you will be with me in Paradise. In India at this time there were contacts with the Near East, and Amida is ordinarily represented as one of a trinity, flanked by two minor deities. However, he is first described in two Indian _sutras _which betray no hint of foreign influence. During the sixth and seventh centuries, Amida became a theme of Mahayana literature in China, whence he entered Japan as part of the Tendai school. In the beginning, he was merely a subject for meditation and his free assist into Paradise did not replace the personal initiative required by the Eightfold Path. Around the beginning of the eleventh century, however, a Japanese priest circulated a treatise declaring that salvation and rebirth in the Western Paradise could be realized merely by pronouncing a magic formula in praise of Amida, known as the _nembutsu: Namu Amida Butsu_, or Praise to Amida Buddha. This exceptional new doctrine attracted little notice until the late twelfth century, when a disaffected Tendai priest known as Honen (1133- 1212) set out to teach the _nembutsu_ across the length of Japan. It became an immediate popular success, and Honen, possibly unexpectedly, found himself the Martin Luther of Japan, leading a reformation against imported Chinese Buddhism. He preached no admonitions to upright behavior, declaring instead that recitation of the _nembutsu _was in itself sufficient evidence of a penitent spirit and right-minded intentions. It might be said that he changed Buddhism from what was originally a faith all ethics and no god to a faith all god and no ethics. What Honen championed was actually a highly simplified version of the Chinese Jodo school, but he avoided complicated theological exercises, leaving the doctrinal justifications for his teachings vague. This was intended to avoid clashes with the priests of the older sects while simultaneously making his version of Jodo as accessible as possible to the uneducated laity. The prospect of Paradise beyond the River in return for minimal investment in thought and deed gave Jodo wide appeal, and this improbable vehicle finally brought Buddhism to the Japanese masses, simple folk who had never been able to understand or participate in the scholarly and aristocratic sects that had gone before. Not surprisingly, the popularity of Honen's teachings aroused enmity among the older schools, which finally managed to have him exiled for a brief period in his last years. Jodo continued to grow, however, even in his absence, and when he returned to Kyoto in 1211 he was received as a triumphal hero. Gardens began to be constructed in imitation of the Western Paradise, while the _nembutsu_ resounded throughout the land in mockery of the older schools. The followers of Jodo continued to be persecuted by the Buddhist establishment well into the seventeenth century, but today Jodo still claims the allegiance of over five million believers. An offshoot of the Jodo sect, destined to become even more popular, was started by a pupil and colleague of Honen called Shinran (1173-1262), who also left the Tendai monastery on Mt. Thei to become a follower of Amida. His interpretation of the Amida _sutras _was even simpler than Honen's: based on his stuThes he concluded that only one truly sincere invocation of the _nembutsu_ was enough to reserve the pleasures of the Western Paradise for the lowliest sinner. All subsequent chantings of the formula were merely an indication of appreciation and were not essential to assure salvation. Shinran also carried the reformation movement to greater lengths, abolishing the requirements for monks (which had been maintained by the conciliatory Honen) and discouraging celibacy among priests by his own example of fathering six children by a nun. This last act, justified by Shinran as a gesture to eliminate the division between the clergy and the people, aroused much unfavorable notice among the more conservative Buddhist factions. Shinran was also firm in his assertion that Amida was the only Buddha that need be worshiped, a point downplayed by Honen in the interest of ecumenical accord. The convenience of only one _nembutsu _as a prerequisite for Paradise, combined with the more liberal attitude toward priestly requirements, caused Shinran's teachings to prosper, leading eventually to an independent sect known as Jodo Shin, or True Pure Land. Today the Jodo Shin, with close to fifteen million followers, enjoys numerical dominance over other forms of Japanese Buddhism. The Amadist salvation movement was confronted by its only truly effective detractor in the person of the extremist Rencho (1222-1282), who later took for himself the name of Nichiren, or Sun Lotus. An early novice in the Tendai monastery, he took a different tack from the Amida teachers, deciding that all essential Buddhist truth was contained in the Lotus Sutra itself. Although the Tendai school had originally been founded on the study of the Lotus Sutra, he believed the school had strayed from the _sutra's _precepts. Denouncing all sects impartially, he took a fundamentalist, back-to-the-Lotus text for his sermons. Sensing that most of his followers might have trouble actually reading a _sutra_, he produced a chanting formula of his own which he claimed would do just as well. This Lotus "_nembutsu_" was the phrase _namu myoho renge-kyo_, or Praise to the Lotus Sutra. The chanting Amidists had met their match. The Tendai monks on Mt. Thei did not receive this vulgarization of their teachings kindly, and their urgings, together with his intemperate pronouncements regarding imminent dangers of a Mongol invasion, led in 1261 to Nichiren's banishment to a distant province. Three years later the truth of his warnings became all too apparent and he was recalled by the government. But on his return he overplayed his hand, offering to save the nation only if all other Buddhist sects were eliminated. This was too much for the Japanese ruling circles; they turned instead to a new band of warriors trained in Zen military tactics who promptly repelled the invasion without Nichiren's aid. Persecution of his sect continued, reaching a high point in the mid- sixteenth century, when a band of rival Tendai monks burned twenty-one Nichiren temples in Kyoto, slaughtering all the priests, including a reputed three thousand in the last temple. The sect has survived, however, and today Nichiren Shoshu and its lay affiliate, the Soka Gakkai, or Value Creation Society, claim the membership of one Japanese in seven and control of the country's third largest political party. The Soka Gakkai recently dedicated a vast new temple at the foot of Mt. Fuji, said to be the largest religious structure in existence. With services that often resemble political conventions, the Nichiren sect has achieved might once have been thought impossible: it has simplified even further the ingenuous philosophy of its founder, embellishing the praise of the Lotus Sutra with marching bands and gymnastic displays in sports-stadium convocations. The Japanese reformation represented by Amidism and Nichiren was a natural outcome of the contempt for the average man that characterized the early sects. It also opened the door for Zen, which found an appeal among the non-aristocratic warrior class to equal that of the popular Buddhist sects among the peasantry and bourgeoisie. As it happened, the warriors who became fired with Zen also took control of the government away from the aristocracy after the twelfth century, with the result that Zen became the unofficial state religion of Japan during its great period of artistic activity. CHAPTER FOUR The Chronicles of Zen _A special transmission outside the _sutras_; No reliance upon words and letters; Direct pointing to the very soul; Seeing into one's own essence. _(Traditional Homage to Bodhidharma) _ _ _Bodhidharma _THERE IS A ZEN tradition that one day while the Buddha was seated at Vulture Peak he was offered a flower and requested to preach on the law. He took the flower, and holding it at arm's length, slowly turned it in his fingers, all the while saying nothing. It was then that his most knowing follower smiled in understanding, and the silent teaching of Zen was born. That wordless smile is believed to have been transmitted through twenty-eight successive Indian patriarchs, ending with the famous Bodhidharma (ca. A.D. 470-534), who traveled to China in 520 and founded the school of Ch'an Buddhism, becoming the first Chinese patriarch. What Bodhidharma brought to China was the Indian concept of meditation, called _dhyana _in Sanskrit, Ch'an in Chinese and Zen in Japanese. Since the transmission of the wordless insights of meditation through a thousand years of Indian history must, by definition, have taken place without the assistance of written scriptures or preaching, the identity and role of the twenty-eight previous Indian patriarchs must be approached with caution. It has been suggested that the later Chinese Ch'an Buddhists, striving for legitimacy of their school in the eyes of colleagues from more established sects, resurrected a line of "patriarchs" from among the names of obscure Indian monks and eventually went on to enshroud these faceless names with fanciful biographies. These Indian patriarchs reportedly transmitted one to the other the wordless secrets of _dhyana_, thereby avoiding any need to compose _sutras_, as did the lesser-gifted teachers of the other schools. Although Bodhidharma clearly was an historical figure, he made no personal claims to patriarchy and indeed was distinguished more by individuality than by attempts to promulgate an orthodoxy. Arriving from India to teach meditation, he was greeted by an emperor's boasts of traditional Buddhism's stature in China. Bodhidharma scoffed and marched away, reportedly crossing the Yangtze on a reed to reach the Shao-lin monastery, where he sat in solitary meditation facing a cliff for the next nine years. This famous interview and Bodhidharma's response were the real foundation of Zen. Bodhidharma seems to have gone essentially unnoticed by his contemporaries, and in the first record of his life--Biographies of the High Priests, compiled in 645--he is included simply as one of a number of devout Buddhists. He is next mentioned in _The Transmission of the Lamp_, a sourcebook of Zen writings and records assembled in the year 1004. In point of fact, Bodhidharma, like the Buddha, seems not to have left a written account of his teachings, although two essays are extant which are variously attributed to him and which probably maintain the spirit if not necessarily the letter of his views on meditation. The most quoted passage from these works, and one which encapsulates the particular originality of Bodhidharma, is his praise of meditation, or _pi-kuan_, literally "wall gazing." This term supposedly refers to the legendary nine years of gazing at a cliff which has become part of the Bodhidharma story, but it also may be taken as a metaphor for staring at the impediment that reason places in the path of enlightenment until at last the mind hurdles the rational faculties. His words are reported as follows: _When one, abandoning the false and embracing the true, and in simpleness of thought abides in _pi-kuan_, one finds that there is neither selfhood nor otherness. . . . He will not then be guided by any literary instructions, for he is in silent communication with the principle itself, free from conceptual discrimination, for he is serene and not-acting.1 _ This emphasis on meditation and the denial of reason formed the philosophical basis for the new Chinese school of Ch'an. By returning to first principles, it was a denial of all the metaphysical baggage with which Mahayana Buddhism had burdened itself over the centuries, and naturally enough there was immediate opposition from the more established sects. One of Bodhidharma's first and most ardent followers was Hui-k'o (487-593), who, according to The Transmission of the Lamp, waited in vain in the snows outside Shao-lin monastery, hoping to receive an auThence with Bodhidharma, until at last, in desperation, he cut off his arm to attract the Master's notice. Some years later, when Bodhidharma was preparing to leave China, he left this pupil his copy of the Lankavatara Sutra and bade him continue the teachings of meditation. Today the one-armed Hui-k'o is remembered as the Second Patriarch of Ch'an. It seems odd that one who scorned literary instruction should have placed such emphasis on a _sutra_, but on careful reading the Lankdvatara, a Sanskrit text from the first century, proves to be a cogent summary of early Ch'an teachings on the function of the counter mind. According to this _sutra_, _Transcendental intelligence rises when the intellectual mind reaches its limit and, if things are to be realized in their true and essence nature, its processes of mentation . . . must be transcended by an appeal to some higher faculty of cognition. There is such a faculty in the intuitive mind, which as we have seen is the link between the intellectual mind and the Universal Mind.2 _ Regarding the achievement of self-realization by meditation, the _sutra_ states, _[Disciples] may think they can expedite the attainment of their goal of tranquilisation by entirely suppressing the activities of the mind system. This is a mistake . . . the goal of tranquilisation is to be reached not by suppressing all mind activity but by getting rid of discriminations and attachments. . . .3 _ This text, together with the Taoist ideas of the T'ang Chinese, became the philosophical basis for early Ch'an. Indeed, traditional Zen owes much of its lighthearted irreverence to the early Taoists, who combined their love of nature with a wholesome disregard for stuffy philosophical pronouncements, whether from scholarly Confucianists or Indian _sutras_. The Taoists were also enemies of attachments, as exemplified by an admonition of the famous Chuang Tzu, the fourth-century B.C. Taoist thinker who established much of the philosophical basis for this uniquely Chinese outlook toward life: _Do not be an embodier of fame; do not be a storehouse of schemes; do not be an undertaker of projects; do not be a proprietor of wisdom. . . . Be empty, that is all. The Perfect Man uses his mind like a mirror-- going after nothing, welcoming nothing, responding but not storing.4 _Bodhidharma, practitioner of "wall-gazing" meditation, probably knew nothing of Taoism, but he seems to have sensed correctly that China would provide a home for his Buddhism of nonattachment. The Chinese of the Tang era (618-907) did indeed find in his teachings a system remarkably congenial to their own thousand-year-old philosophy of _tao_, or The Way. Even the practice of _dhyana_, or meditation, resembled in a sense the Chinese tradition of the ascetic, solitary hermit, musing on the essence of nature in a remote mountain retreat. Whether Ch'an was really Buddhism masquerading as Taoism or Taoism disguised as Buddhism has never been fully established: it contains elements of both. But it was the first genuine merging of Chinese and Indian thought, combining the Indian ideas of meditation and nonattachment with the Chinese practice of nature reverence and nature mysticism (something fundamentally foreign to the great body of Indian philosophy, either Hindu or Buddhist). The Third Patriarch after Bodhidharma was also a wandering mendicant teacher, but the Fourth chose to settle in a monastery. This introduction of monastic Ch'an coincided roughly with the beginning of the T'ang dynasty, and it brought about a dramatic rise in the appeal of Ch'an to the Chinese laity. It made the new faith respectable and an acceptable alternative to other sects, for in the land of Confucius, teachers who wandered the countryside begging had never elicited the respect that they enjoyed in India. Before long, the Fourth Patriarch had a following of some five hundred disciples, who constructed monastery buildings and tilled the soil in addition to meditating on the _sutras_. The ability to combine practical activities with the quest for enlightenment became a hallmark of later Zen, accounting for much of its influence in Japan. The Fifth Patriarch, Hung-jen (605-675), continued the monastery, although at another spot, which was to be the location of an historic turning point in the history of Ch'an. Out of it was to come the Sixth Patriarch, Hui-neng (638-713), sometimes known as the second founder of Chinese Ch'an, whose famous biographical treatise, The Sutra of Hui- neng, is revered as one of the holy books of Zen. In this memoir he tells of coming to the monastery of the Fifth Patriarch as an illiterate but precocious youth, having been spiritually awakened by happening to hear a recitation of the Vajracchedika Sutra, better known as the Diamond Sutra. He made the mistake of revealing his brilliance and was immediately banished by the Fifth Patriarch to pounding rice, lest he embarrass the more experienced brothers and be in peril of his safety. According to his account, he lived in obscurity for many months until one day the Fifth Patriarch called an assembly and announced that the disciple who could compose a stanza which would reveal an understanding of the essence of Mind would be made the Sixth Patriarch. All the monks assumed that the leading scholar of the monastery, Shen- hsiu, would naturally win the contest, and all resolved not to bother composing lines of their own. The story tells that Shen-hsiu struggled for four days and finally mounted his courage to write an unsigned verse on a wall corridor at midnight. _Our body is the Bodhi-tree, And our mind a mirror bright. Carefully we wipe them hour by hour, And let no dust alight.5 _ This verse certainly demonstrated the concept of the mind's nonattachment to phenomena, but perhaps it showed an attachment of the mind to itself. In any case, it did not satisfy the Fifth Patriarch, who recognized its author and advised Shen- hsiu privately to submit another verse in two days. Before he had a chance, however, the illiterate Hui-neng, between sessions of rice pounding, chanced along the hallway and asked that the verse be read to him. Upon hearing it, he dictated a stanza to be written next to it. _There is no Bodhi-tree, Nor stand of a mirror bright. Since all is void, Where can the dust alight_?6 The story says that all were amazed, and the Fifth Patriarch immediately rubbed away the stanza lest the other monks become jealous. He then summoned Hui-neng late at night, expounded the Diamond Sutra to him, and presented him with the robe and begging bowl of Bodhidharma-- together with advice to flee south in the interest of safety. Thus Hui-neng became the Sixth Patriarch, began the Southern school of Ch'an, which would later be transmitted to Japan, and established the Diamond Sutra as the faith's primary scripture. And so it was that the Lankavatara Sutra of Bodhidharma, a rich moral and spiritual treatise, was replaced by the more easily understood Diamond Sutra, a repetitive and self- praising document whose message is that nothing exists: _notions of selfhood, personality, entity, and separate individuality, as really existing, are erroneous--these terms are merely figures of speech. . . . Develop a pure, lucid mind, not depending upon sound, flavor, touch, odor, or any quality . . . develop a mind which alights upon no thing whatsoever.7 _ With this _sutra_ as text, the Southern Ch'an masters turned ever farther away from intellectual inquiry, since even the mind itself does not exist. (It has even been suggested that the biography of the founder of Southern Ch'an was revised in later vears to render him as unschooled and illiterate as possible, the better to emphasize the later Ch'an's contempt for scholars and scholarship.) By the time of Hui-neng's death, China was basking in the cultural brilliance of the Tang dynasty. Oddly enough, the sect of Southern Ch'an, which was at odds with the intellectual life of the T'ang, was the Buddhist sect most prospering. The T'ang became the golden age of Ch'an, producing the vast majority of great Zen thinkers as well as the classic techniques for teaching novices. Perhaps the fact that Ch'an was outside the mainstream of Chinese culture during the T'ang period contributed to the independent character of its teachers; during the later Sung dynasty, when Zen became fashionable among scholars and artists, few dynamic teachers were to be found. The main objective of the Ch'an teachers was to inculcate a basically Taoist view of the world using a Buddhist framework. Such famous Taoists as Chuang Tzu had long demonstrated the irrelevance of logical inquiry into the mind through the use of absurdist stories which confounded conventional understanding. To this the Ch'an teachers added the Buddhist teaching that the mind cannot understand external reality because it is itself the only reality. The hand cannot grasp itself; the eye cannot see itself; the mind cannot perceive itself. Quite obviously, no amount of logical introspection can elicit this truth; therefore the mind must abandon its pointless questing and simply float with existence, of which it is merely an undifferentiated part. But how can such a truth be taught? Teaching ideas is the transmission of logical constructions from one mind to another, and the essence of Zen is that logical constructions are the greatest impediment to enlightenment. In answer, the Zen masters took a page from the Taoists and began using nonsense conundrums, later known as _koan_, as well as frustrating question-and-answer sessions, known as _mondo_, to undermine a novice's dependence on rational thought. A new monk would be presented with an illogical question or problem by the head of a monastery, who would then monitor his response. (Examples might include: Why did Bodhidharma come from the West, that is, from India to China? Does a dog have Buddha-nature? What was your face before your mother was born?) If the novice struggled to construct a response using logical thought processes, he faded; if he intuitively and nondiscursively grasped the truth within the _koan_, he passed. This pass-or-fail technique differentiated Ch'an from all previous Buddhist sects; Ch'an allowed for no gradual progress upward in the spiritual Therarchy through the mastery of rituals. In the early days of the Tang dynasty, when the number of initiates was small, the great masters of Ch'an directly tested the non-rational understanding of novices; in the later years of the Sung dynasty it was necessary to develop a more impersonal procedure, such as handing out the same _koan _to a number of novices during a lecture. The more effective exchanges between the old T'ang masters and their pupils began to be reused by later teachers in the Sung, who had neither the genius to create new challenges for their novices nor the time to tailor-make a special problem for each new face appearing at the monastery. Out of this there was gradually canonized what are now the classic _koan _of Zen. Late in the Tang and early in the Sung period the _koan_ themselves began to be written down and used as the scriptures, resulting in a catalog said to number around seventeen hundred today. The _koan_ is a uniquely Zen creation, a brilliant technique developed by the T'ang masters for transmitting a religion which revered no scriptures and had no god. It appears nowhere else in the vast literature of world mysticism. Several of the greatest masters of the T'ang developed their own schools of Ch'an, and the two most successful--the Lin-chi (Japanese Rinzai) and the Ts'ao-tung (Japanese Soto)--were later transmitted to Japan. The Rinzai school pursued a technique of "sudden" enlightenment; the Soto school, "gradual" enlightenment. These terms can be misleading, however, for sudden enlightenment may require more time than gradual. The gradual school taught that by sitting in meditation (Japanese _zazen_) for long periods of time--kept awake by thrashings if necessary--one's mind slowly acquires a detachment from the world of false reality perceived by one's discriminating senses and thus achive enlightenment. It is a slow, cumulative process. By contrast, the sudden school de-emphasizes _zazen _in favor of study of _koan_. The student struggles with _koan_, building up a kind of hopeless tension which may last for years, until at last his logical processes suddenly short-circuit and he attains enlightenment. Practitioners of the sudden school also use shouts and beatings to jolt novices out of their linear, sequential thought patterns. Students of the gradual school are also invited to study _koan_, and those in the sudden school are encouraged to practice _zazen_, but each school believes its own approach is best. Although the latter T'ang era saw the persecution of Buddhism in China, with the coming of the Sung dynasty, Ch'an basked in the official encouragement of the court. The _koan _of T'ang masters were compiled and stuThed, while the _sutras_ of orthodox Buddhism suffered from neglect. But the real future of Ch'an Buddhism was to lie with the Japanese. In the latter part of the twelfth century a Japanese Tendai monk named Eisai (1141-1215), concluding that Japanese Buddhism had become stagnant and lifeless, journeyed to China to learn the developments that had taken place during the years that Japan had isolated herself. He naturally went to a T'ien-t'ai monastery, which had been the source of so much Japanese Buddhism, but there he discovered Chinese Buddhists immersed in Ch'an. The new faith seemed a healthy answer to Japanese needs, and on a second visit he stuThed Ch'an until he received the seal of enlightenment. A fully accredited Zen master, he returned to Japan in 1191 to found the first Rinzai temple, on the southern island of Kyushu. Although his introduction of a new sect inspired the customary opposition from the Tendai monks on Mt. Thei, the new faith challenging the usefulness of scholarship found a receptive audience among the newly emergent warrior class. Basically illiterate, the warriors often felt themselves intellectually inferior to the literary aristocracy, and they were delighted to be informed that a scholarly mind was an impediment rather than an asset in life. They also found Zen's emphasis on the quick, intuitive response agreeably in accord with their approach to armed combat. Eisai soon found himself invited to head a temple in Kyoto and later in the new warrior capital of Kamakura. Perhaps his most practical move was the composition of a treatise designed to win for Zen a place in the hearts of the nationalistic military establishment and at the same time to conciliate the Tendai monks on Mt. Thei. In his Propagation of Zen for the Protection of the Country he described Zen as follows: _In its rules of action and discipline, there is no confusion of right and wrong. . . . Outwardly it favors discipline over doctrine, inwardly it brings the Highest Inner Wisdom.8 _ Although it may seem paradoxical that a pacifist religion like Zen found immediate favor with the rough warrior class of Japan, it had an obvious appeal. As Sir George Sansom has explained it, _For a thoughtful warrior, whose life always bordered on death, there was an attraction, even a persuasion, in the belief that truth comes like the flash of a sword as it cuts through the problem of existence. Any line of religious thought that helped a man understand the nature of being without arduous literary stuThes was likely to attract the kind of warrior who felt that the greatest moments in life were the moments when death was nearest.9 _ The Japanese warriors were captured by the irreverent, anti- scholastic qualities of Rinzai, with its reliance upon anecdotal _koan _and violent jolts of enlightenment. Thus the ruling warriors of Japan began studying _koan_, even as the peasantry at large was chanting praises to Amida and the Lotus Sutra. The aristocratic priest Dogen (1200-1253), who also left the Tendai monastery for China and returned to establish the meditative, gradual school of Soto Zen, is generally considered the second founder of Japanese Zen. Although he grudgingly acknowledged the usefulness of _koan _as an aid to instruction, Dogen considered _zazen _meditation the time-proven method of the Buddha for acTheving enlightenment. For scriptural support, he preferred to go back to the earlier Hinayana sutras for their more authentic accounts of the words of the Buddha, rather than to rely on Mahayana sources, which had been corrupted over the centuries by an elaborate metaphysics and polytheism. Dogen had not originally planned to start a school of Zen but merely to popularize _zazen_, to which end he wrote a small treatise, General Teachings for the Promotion of Zazen, which has become a classic. This was followed a few years later by a larger, more generalized work which was to become the bible of Japanese Soto Zen, _Shobogenzo_, or _Treasury of Knowledge Regarding the True Dharma_. In this work he tried to stress the importance of _zazen _while at the same time acknowledging the usefulness of instruction and _koan_ where required. There are two ways in which to set body and mind right: one is to hear the teaching from a master, and the other is to do pure _zazen_ yourself. If you _hear_ the teachings the conscious mind is put to work, whilst _zazen_ embraces both training and enlightenment; in order to understand the Truth, you need both.10 Unlike the conciliatory Eisai, Dogen was uncompromising in his rejection of the traditional schools of Buddhism, which he felt had strayed too far from the original teachings of Gautama. He was right, of course; the chanting, savior-oriented popular Buddhists in Japan were, as Edwin Reischauer has noted, practicing a religion far closer to European Christianity of the same period than to the faith started by the Buddha--an atheistic self-reliance aimed at finding release from all worldly attachments. Dogen's truths did not rest well with the Buddhist establishment of his time, however, and for years he moved from temple to temple. Finally, in 1236, he managed to start a temple of his own, and gradually he became one of the most revered religious teachers in Japanese history. As his reputation grew, the military leaders invited him to visit them and teach, but he would have no part of their life. Possibly as a result of Dogen's attitude, Soto Zen never became associated with the warrior class, but remained the Zen of the common people. Today Soto (with approximately six and a half million followers) is the more popular version of Zen, whereas Rinzai (with something over two million followers) is the Zen of those interested in theological daring and intellectual challenge. Historically a religion at odds with the establishment--from Bodhidharma to the eccentric T'ang masters--Zen in Japan found itself suddenly the religion of the ruling class. The result was a Zen impact in Japan far greater than any influence Ch'an ever realized in China. CHAPTER FIVE Zen Archery and Swordsmanship _ (THE KAMAKURA ERA--1185-1333) The anti-scholasticism, the mental discipline--still more the strict physical discipline of the adherents of Zen, which kept their lives very close to nature--all appealed to the warrior caste. . . . Zen contributed much to the development of a toughness of inner fiber and a strength of character which typified the warrior of feudal Japan. . . . Edwin Reischauer, _Japan: Past and Present THE BEGINNINGS of the Zen era are about the middle of the twelfth century, when the centuries-long Heian miracle of peace came to an end. The Japanese aristocracy had ruled the land for hundreds of years practically without drawing a sword, using diplomatic suasion so skillful that Heian was probably the only capital city in the medieval world entirely without fortifications. This had been possible partly because of the ruling class's willingness to let taxable lands slip from their control--into the hands of powerful provincial leaders and rich monasteries--rather than start a quarrel. For occasions when force was required, they delegated the responsibility to two powerful military clans, the Taira and the Minamoto, who roamed the land to collect taxes, quell uprisings, and not incidentally to forge allegiances with provincial chieftains. The Taira were in charge of the western and central provinces around Kyoto, while the Minamoto dominated the frontier eastern provinces, in the region one day to hold the warrior capital of Kamakura. The astounding longevity of their rule was a tribute to the aristocrats' skill in playing off these two powerful families against each other, but by the middle of the twelfth century they found themselves at the mercy of their bellicose agents, awakening one day to discover ruffians in the streets of Kyoto as brigands and armed monks invaded the city to burn and pillage. The real downfall of the _ancien regime_ began in the year 1156, when a dispute arose between the reigning emperor and a retired sovereign simultaneously with a disagreement among the aristocracy regarding patronage. Both sides turned to the warriors for support--a formula that proved to be extremely unwise. The result was a feud between the Taira and Minamoto, culminating in a civil war (the Gempei War) that lasted five years, produced bloodshed on a scale previously unknown in Japan, and ended in victory for the Minamoto. A chieftain named Minamoto Yoritomo emerged as head of a unified state and leader of a government whose power to command was beyond question. Since Yoritomo's position had no precedent, he invented for himself the title of shogun. He also moved the government from Kyoto to his military headquarters at Kamakura and proceeded to lay the groundwork for what would be almost seven hundred years of unbroken warrior rule. The form of government Yoritomo instituted is generally, if somewhat inaccurately, described as feudalism. The provincial warrior families managed estates worked by peasants whose role was similar to that of the European serfs of the same period. The estate-owning barons were mounted warriors, new figures in Japanese history, who protected their lands and their family honor much as did the European knights. But instead of glorifying chivalry and maidenly honor, they respected the rules of battle and noble death. Among the fiercest fighters the world has seen, they were masters of personal combat, horsemanship, archery, and the way of the sword. Their principles were fearlessness, loyalty, honor, personal integrity, and contempt for material wealth. They became known as _samurai_, and they were the men whose swords were ruled by Zen. Battle for the _samurai_ was a ritual of personal and family honor. When two opposing sides confronted one another in the field, the mounted _samurai_ would first discharge the twenty to thirty arrows at their disposal and then call out their family names in hopes of eliciting foes of similarly distinguished lineage. Two warriors would then charge one another brandishing their long swords until one was dismounted, whereupon hand-to-hand combat with short knives commenced. The loser's head was taken as a trophy, since headgear proclaimed family and rank. To die a noble death in battle at the hands of a worthy foe brought no dishonor to one's family, and cowardice in the face of death seems to have been as rare as it was humiliating. Frugality among these Zen-inspired warriors was as much admired as the soft living of aristocrats and merchants was scorned; and life itself was cheap, with warriors ever ready to commit ritual suicide (called _seppuku _or _harakiri_) to preserve their honor or to register social protest. Yoritomo was at the height of his power when he was killed accidentally in a riding mishap. Having murdered all the competent members of his family, lest they prove rivals, he left no line except two ineffectual sons, neither of whom was worthy to govern. The power vacuum was filled by his in-laws of the Hojo clan, who very shortly eliminated all the remaining members of the Minamoto ruling family and assumed power. Not wishing to appear outright usurpers of the office of shogun, they invented a position known as regent, through which they manipulated a hand-picked shogun, who in turn manipulated a powerless emperor. It was an example of indirect rule at its most ingenious. Having skillfully removed the Minamoto family from ruling circles, the Hojo Regency governed Japan for over a hundred years, during which time Zen became the most influential religion in the land. It was also during this time that Zen played an important role in saving Japan from what was possibly the greatest threat to its survival up to that time: the invasion attempts of Kublai Khan. In 1268 the Great Khan, whose Mongol armies were in the process of sacking China, sent envoys to Japan recommending tribute. The Kyoto court was terrified, but not the Kamakura warriors, who sent the Mongols back empty-handed. The sequence was repeated four years later, although this time the Japanese knew it would mean war. As expected, in 1274 an invasion fleet of Mongols sailed from Korea, but after inconclusive fighting on a southern beachhead of Kyushu, a timely storm blew the invaders out to sea and inflicted enough losses to derail the project. The Japanese had, however, learned a sobering lesson about their military preparedness. In the century of internal peace between the Gempei War and the Mongol landing, Japanese fighting men had let their skills atrophy. Not only were their formalized ideas about honorable hand-to-hand combat totally inappropriate to the tight formations and powerful crossbows of the Asian armies (a _samurai_ would ride out, announce his lineage, and immediately be cut down by a volley of Mongol arrows), the Japanese warriors had lost much of their moral fiber. To correct both these faults the Zen monks who served as advisers to the Hojo insisted that military training, particularly archery and swordsmanship, be formalized, using the techniques of Zen discipline. A system of training was hastily begun in which the _samurai_ were conditioned psychologically as well as physically for battle. It proved so successful that it became a permanent part of Japanese martial tactics. The Zen training was urgent, for all of Japan knew that the Mongols would be back in strength. One of the Mongols' major weapons had been the fear they inspired in those they approached, but fear of death is the last concern of a _samurai _whose mind has been disciplined by Zen exercises. Thus the Mongols were robbed of their most potent offensive weapon, a point driven home when a group of Mongol envoys appearing after the first invasion to proffer terms were summarily beheaded. Along with the Zen military training, the Japanese placed the entire country on a wartime footing, with every able-bodied man engaged in constructing shoreline fortifications. As expected, in the early summer of 1281 the Khan launched an invasion force thought to have numbered well over 100,000 men, using vessels constructed by Korean labor. When they began landing in southern Kyushu, the _samurai_ were there and ready, delighted at the prospect of putting to use on a common adversary the military skills they had evolved over the decades through slaughtering one another. They harassed the Mongol fleet from small vessels, while on shore they faced the invaders man for man, never allowing their line to break. For seven weeks they stood firm, and then it was August, the typhoon month. One evening, the skies darkened ominously in the south and the winds began to rise, but before the fleet could withdraw the typhoon struck. In two days the armada of Kublai Khan was obliterated, leaving hapless onshore advance parties to be cut to ribbons by the _samurai_. Thus did the Zen warriors defeat one of the largest naval expeditions in world history, and in commemoration the grateful emperor named the typhoon the Divine Wind, Kamikaze. The symbols of the Zen _samurai _were the sword and the bow. The sword in particular was identified with the noblest impulses of the individual, a role strengthened by its historic place as one of the emblems of the divinity of the emperor, reaching back into pre-Buddhist centuries. A _samurai's _sword was believed to possess a spirit of its own, and when he experienced disappointment in battle he might go to a shrine to pray for the spirit's return. Not surprisingly, the swordsmith was an almost priestly figure who, after ritual purification, went about his task clad in white robes. The ritual surrounding swordmaking had a practical as well as a spiritual purpose; it enabled the early Japanese to preserve the highly complex formulas required to forge special steel. Their formulas were carefully guarded, and justifiably so: not until the past century did the West produce comparable metal. Indeed, the metal in medieval Japanese swords has been favorably compared with the finest modern armorplate. The secret of these early swords lay in the ingenious method developed for producing a metal both hard and brittle enough to hold its edge and yet sufficiently soft and pliable not to snap under stress. The procedure consisted of hammering together a laminated sandwich of steels of varying hardness, heating it, and then folding it over again and again until it consisted of many thousands of layers. If a truly first-rate sword was required, the interior core was made of a sandwich of soft metals, and the outer shell fashioned from varying grades of harder steel. The blade was then heated repeatedly and plunged into water to toughen the skin. Finally, all portions save the cutting edge were coated with clay and the blade heated to a very precise temperature, whereupon it was again plunged into water of a special temperature for just long enough to freeze the edge but not the interior core, which was then allowed to cool slowly and maintain its flexibility. The precise temperatures of blade and water were closely guarded secrets, and at least one visitor to a master swordsmith's works who sneaked a finger into the water to discover its temperature found his hand suddenly chopped off in an early test of the sword. The result of these techniques was a sword whose razor- sharp edge could repeatedly cut through armor without dulling, but whose interior was soft enough that it rarely broke. The sword of the _samurai _was the equivalent of a two-handed straight razor, allowing an experienced warrior to carve a man into slices with consummate ease. Little wonder the Chinese and other Asians were willing to pay extravagant prices in later years for these exquisite instruments of death. Little wonder, too, that the _samurai _worshiped his sidearm to the point where he would rather lose his life than his sword. Yet a sword alone did not a _samurai_ make. A classic Zen anecdote may serve to illustrate the Zen approach to swordsmanship. It is told that a young man journeyed to visit a famous Zen swordmaster and asked to be taken as a pupil, indicating a desire to work hard and thereby reduce the time needed for training. Toward the end of his interview he asked about the length of time which might be required, and the master replied that it would probably be at least ten years. Dismayed, the young novice offered to work diligently night and day and inquired how this extra effort might affect the time required. "In that case," the master replied, "it will require thirty years." With a sense of increasing alarm, the young man then offered to devote all his energies and every single moment to studying the sword. "Then it will take seventy years," replied the master. The young man was speechless, but finally agreed to give his life over to the master. For the first three years, he never saw a sword but was put to work hulling rice and practicing Zen meditation. Then one day the master crept up behind his pupil and gave him a solid whack with a wooden sword. Thereafter he would be attacked daily by the master whenever his back was turned. As a result, his senses gradually sharpened until he was on guard every moment, ready to dodge instinctively. When the master saw that his student's body was alert to everything around it and oblivious of all irrelevant thoughts and desires, training began. Instinctive action is the key to Zen swordsmanship. The Zen fighter does not logically think out his moves; his body acts without recourse to logical planning. This gives him a precious advantage over an opponent who must think through his actions and then translate this logical plan into the movement of arm and sword. The same principles that govern the Zen approach to understanding inner reality through transcending the analytical faculties are used by the swordsman to circumvent the time-consuming process of thinking through every move. To this technique Zen swordsmen add another vital element, the complete identification of the warrior with his weapon. The sense of duality between man and steel is erased by Zen training, leaving a single fighting instrument. The _samurai _never has a sense that his arm, part of himself, is holding a sword, which is a separate entity. Rather, sword, arm, body, and mind become one. As explained by the Zen scholar D. T. Suzuki: _When the sword is in the hands of a technician-swordsman skilled in its use, it is no more than an instrument with no mind of its own. What it does is done mechanically, and there is no [nonintellection] discernible in it. But when the sword is held by the swordsman whose spiritual attainment is such that he holds it as though not holding it, it is identified with the man himself, it acquires a soul, it moves with all the subtleties which have been imbedded in him as a swordsman. The man emptied of all thoughts, all emotions originating from fear, all sense of insecurity, all desire to win, is not conscious of using the sword; both man and sword turn into instruments in the hands, as it were, of the unconscious. . . .1 _ Zen training also renders the warrior free from troubling frailties of the mind, such as fear and rash ambition--qualities lethal in mortal combat. He is focused entirely on his opponent's openings, and when an opportunity to strike presents itself, he requires no deliberation: his sword and body act automatically. The discipline of meditation and the mind-dissolving paradoxes of the _koan _become instruments to forge a fearless, automatic, mindless instrument of steel-tipped death. The methods developed by Zen masters for teaching archery differ significantly from those used for the sword. Whereas swordsmanship demands that man and weapon merge with no acknowledgment of one's opponent until the critical moment, archery requires the man to become detached from his weapon and to concentrate entirely upon the target. Proper technique is learned, of course, but the ultimate aim is to forget technique, forget the bow, forget the draw, and give one's concentration entirely to the target. Yet here too there is a difference between Zen archery and Western techniques: the Zen archer gives no direct thought to hitting the target. He does not strain for accuracy, but rather lets accuracy come as a result of intuitively applying perfect form. Before attempting to unravel this seeming paradox, the equipment of the Japanese archer should be examined. The Japanese bow differs from the Western bow in having the hand grip approximately one-third of the distance from the bottom, rather than in the middle. This permits a standing archer (or a kneeling one, for that matter) to make use of a bow longer than he is tall (almost eight feet, in fact), since the upper part may extend well above his head. The bottom half of the bow is scaled to human proportions, while the upper tip extends far over the head in a sweeping arch. It is thus a combination of the conventional bow and the English longbow, requiring a draw well behind the ear. This bow is unique to Japan, and in its engineering principles it surpasses anything seen in the West until comparatively recent times. It is a laminated composite of supple bamboo and the brittle wood of the wax tree. The heart of the bow is made up of three squares of bamboo sandwiched between two half-moon sections of bamboo which comprise the belly (that side facing the inside of the curve) and the back (the side away from the archer). Filling out the edges of the sandwich are two strips of wax-tree wood. The elimination of the deadwood center of the bow, which is replaced by the three strips of bamboo and two of waxwood, produces a composite at once powerful and light. The arrows too are of bamboo, an almost perfect material for the purpose, and they differ from Western arrows only in being lighter and longer. Finally, the Japanese bowstring is loosed with the thumb rather than the fingers, again a departure from Western practice. If the equipment differs from that of the West, the technique, which verges on ritual, differs far more. The first Zen archery lesson is proper breath control, which requires techniques learned from meditation. Proper breathing conditions the mind in archery as it does in _zazen _and is essential in developing a quiet mind, a restful spirit, and full concentration. Controlled breathing also constantly reminds the archer that his is a religious activity, a ritual related to his spiritual character as much as to the more prosaic concern of hitting the target. Breathing is equally essential in drawing the bow, for the arrow is held out away from the body, calling on muscles much less developed than those required by the Western draw. A breath is taken with every separate movement of the draw, and gradually a rhythm settles in which gives the archer's movements a fluid grace and the ritual cadence of a dance. Only after the ritual mastery of the powerful bow has been realized does the archer turn his attention to loosing the arrows (not, it should be noted, to hitting the target). The same use of breathing applies, the goal being for the release of the arrow to come out of spontaneous intuition, like the swordsman's attack. The release of the arrow should dissolve a kind of spiritual tension, like the resolution of a _koan_, and it must seem to occur of itself, without deliberation, almost as though it were independent of the hand. This is possible because the archer's mind is totally unaware of his actions; it is focused, indeed riveted in concentration, on the target. This is not done through aiming, although the archer does aim--intuitively. Rather, the archer's spirit must be burned into the target, be at one with it, so that the arrow is guided by the mind and the shot of the bow becomes merely an intervening, inconsequential necessity. All physical actions-- the stance, the breathing, the draw, the release--are as natural and require as little conscious thought as a heartbeat; the arrow is guided by the intense concentration of the mind on its goal. Thus it was that the martial arts of Japan were the first to benefit from Zen precepts, a fact as ironic as it is astounding. Yet meditation and combat are akin in that both require rigorous self-discipline and the denial of the mind's overt functions. From its beginning as an aid in the arts of death, Zen soon became the guiding principle for quite another form of art. In years to come, Zen would be the official state religion, shoguns would become Zen patrons extraordinaire, and a totally Zen culture would rule Japan. Part II THE AGE OF HIGH CULTURE: ASHIKAGA (1333-1573) CHAPTER SIX The Great Age of Zen _For we are lovers of the beautiful, yet simple in our tastes, and we cultivate the mind without loss of manliness. _Pericles, ca. 430 B.C. _SILVER PAVILION, KYOTO 1482 _ _Golden Pavilion, Kyoto _THE FLOWERING of Zen culture might be described as the Periclean age of Japan. As with fifth-century Greece, this was the era that produced Japan's finest classical art at the same time that rampant plagues and internecine warfare bled the land as never before. Government, such as it was, rested in the hands of the Ashikaga clan, men ever ready to sacrifice the general good in furtherance of personal interests. That these interests happened to include Zen and the Zen arts probably brought scant solace to their subjects, but today we can weigh their selfishness against the culture they sponsored. In any case, all who admire the classic Zen cultural forms should be aware that their price included the heartless taxation of and disregard for the entire peasant population of Japan. The historical backdrop for the Ashikaga era reads like a Jacobean tragedy peopled by cutthroat courtiers ever alert to advantage in chambers or in battle. The political shape of the Ashikaga era began to emerge in the early years of the fourteenth century as the once invincible Kamakura rule of the Hojo family dissolved, plunging Japan into a half-century of war and feuding over the identity of the rightful emperor. Throughout much of the century the provincial _daimyo _warlords and their _samurai _warred up and down the length of the land, supporting first one emperor, then another. It was during this time and the two centuries following that Zen became the official state religion and Zen monks served as foreign diplomats, domestic advisers, and arbiters of taste. The political troubles that ended the Kamakura warrior government and unseated the Hojo seem to be traceable to the war against the Mongols. It was a long and costly operation which left most of the _samurai_ impoverished and angered at a government that could give them only cheerful thanks rather than the lands of the vanquished as was traditional practice. The general discontent found a focus in the third decade of the fourteenth century when a Kyoto emperor named Godaigo attempted to unseat the Hojo and re-establish genuine imperial rule. After some minor skirmishes, the Hojo commissioned an able general nanied Ashikaga Takauji (1305-1358) from an old Minamoto family to march on Godaigo and settle the difficulty. Along the way Takauji must have thought things over, for when he reached Kyoto instead of attacking the emperor's forces he put the Hojo garrison to the sword. Shortly thereafter, another general supporting the imperial cause marched out to Kamakura and laid waste the Hojo capital. The last few hundred Hojo supporters committed suicide en masse, and the Kamakura age was ended. Godaigo gleefully set up the new Japanese government in Kyoto, and soon it was like old times, with aristocrats running everything. In a serious miscalculation, he assumed that the provincial warlords had joined his cause out of personal loyalty rather than the more traditional motive of greed, for he gave the Hojo estates to his favorite mistresses while regarding warriors like Takauji as hardly more than rustic figures of fun. As might have been expected, another war soon broke out. This time the conflict lasted for decades, with almost unbelievable convolutions, including a number of decades in which Japan had two emperors. At one point Takauji found it necessary to poison his own brother, and it has been estimated that his military exploits cost some sixty thousand lives, not to mention the general ruin of the country at large. The end result was that the forces of Godaigo were defeated, leaving Japan in the hands of the Ashikaga family. For all his bloodletting, Takuji was also a patron of the Zen sect, giving it a formal place in the national life and encouraging its growth and dissemination. One of his closest advisers was the great Zen prelate Muso Soseki (1275-1351), whose influence made Rinzai Zen the official religion of the Ashikaga era. An astutely practical man, Muso established the precedent for doctrinal flexibility which allowed Zen to survive while emperors and shoguns came and went: _Clear-sighted masters of the Zen sect do not have a fixed doctrine which is to be held to at any and all times. They offer whatever teaching the occasion demands and preach as the spirit moves them, with no fixed course to guide them. If asked what Zen is, they may answer in the words of Confucius, Mencius, Lao Tzu or Chuang Tzu, or else in terms of the doctrines of the various sects and denominations, and also by using popular proverbs.1 _ Like many Zen teachers, Muso enjoyed the company of the powerful. He began his career in statecraft as a supporter and confidant of the ill- fated Emperor Godaigo. When Godaigo was deposed, he adjusted his allegiance and became the high priest of the Ashikaga house. He was soon the constant companion of Takauji, advising him on policy, flattering his taste in Zen art, and secretly trying to give him a bit of polish. Although Takauji could scarcely have had time for extensive meditation amid his continual bloodletting, Muso preached to him in odd moments and soothed his occasionally guilty conscience. Since Takauji was clearly haunted by his treatment of Godaigo, Muso suggested that the former emperor's ghost might find repose if a special Zen temple was built in his memory. The project was well underway when funds ran low, whereupon the resourceful Muso suggested sending a trading vessel to China to raise foreign-exchange cash. The venture was so successful that before long regular trade was established-- naturally enough under the guidance of Zen monks. In later years a special branch of government was established devoted exclusively to foreign trade and directed by well-traveled prelates of Zen. (The Chinese regarded this trade as the exchange of Chinese gifts for Japanese tribute, but the Japanese were willing to overlook the insult in the interest of profit.) Muso's other lasting contribution to the growth of Zen influence was persuading Takauji to build a Zen temple in each of the sixty-six provinces, thereby extending state support of the religion outside of Kyoto ruling circles. Takauji was the founder of a line of Ashikaga shoguns who gave their name to the next two centuries of Japanese history. His entire life was spent on the battlefield, where he concentrated his energies on strengthening the shogunate through the liberal application of armed might. In a sense he prefigured the attitude of John Adams, who once lamented that he must study war so that his grandsons might fashion art and architecture. Indeed, Takauji's grandson was the famous aesthete Ashikaga Yoshimitsu (1358-1408), who ascended to shogun in 1368 and soon thereafter brought to flower a renaissance of the Zen artistic tradition of Sung China. Yoshimitsu was only nine years of age when he became shogun, so the early years of his reign were guided by regents of the Hosokawa clan, who put to rest any remaining dissidence. Consequently, when Yoshimitsu came of age, he felt secure enough in his office to tour the country, visiting religious shrines and establishing his place in the pageant of Japanese history. More significantly for the rise of Zen culture, he also turned his eyes abroad, encouraging the trade with China by stabilizing political relations and becoming the best customer for the silks, brocades, porcelains, and--most important--Sung paintings brought back by the Zen monks. In a very short time, Yoshimitsu had become addicted to the Chinese finery and antique Ch'an art of the Sung which his monks were importing. He was fortunate that the country was stable and peaceful enough to allow him his whims, especially since he almost entirely lost interest in all functions of government save taxation, which he found necessary to apply to the peasants in ever greater measure in order to support his patronage of the arts. Absorbed with aesthetics and Zen art, he became a cloistered sovereign whose luckless subjects were left on their own to weather fortunes that alternated between starvation and the plague, leavened by intermittent wars among provincial chieftains. The peasantry, however, was not blind to his callous priorities, and it is said that his reputation survived into the nineteenth century, maintained by country folk who would trek to a certain temple to revile an old statue of the Ashikaga shogun. His personal failings notwithstanding, Yoshimitsu was the key figure in bringing about the rise of Zen art. His contributions were manifold: he founded a Zen monastery which became the school for the great landscape painters of the era; his personal patronage was largely responsible for the development of the No drama; his example and encouragement did much to bring into being the identification of Zen with landscape garden art; his own practice of _zazen _under the guidance of a famous Zen monk set an example for the warrior court; his interest in tea and poetry served both to set the stage for the development of the tea ceremony as an aesthetic phenomenon and to temper the literary tastes of his warrior followers; and, finally, his interest in Zen-inspired architecture was responsible for the creation of one of the most famous Zen chapels in Japan. When Yoshimitsu retired in 1394 to enter Zen orders, leaving the government to his nine-year-old son, he ensconced himself in a palace in the Kyoto suburbs and proceeded to build a chapel for Zen meditation. The Golden Pavilion, or_ Kinkaku-ji_, as it came to be known, was a wooden teahouse three stories high whose architectural beauty is now legendary. There were few if any previous examples of this type of multistory structure, although it has been suggested that the idea may have been copied from a comparable temple in southern China. (The turn-of-the- century American critic Ernest Fenollosa suggested that it was modeled after the structure Kublai Khan constructed for a garden in Shang-tu, which Coleridge called Xanadu, after the translation of the name by Marco Polo: "In Xanadu did Kubla Khan/A stately pleasure-dome decree.") Whatever its origins, the building superficially resembled a low-rising pagoda--each successive story was a more or less smaller version of the one below. The two lower floors were used for evening entertainments of music, poetry, and incense, while the top floor was a tiny meditation chapel (whose ceiling was covered with gold leaf, thereby giving the building its name). Set in the midst of a beautiful landscape garden, the sweeping roofs, painstaking wooden joinery, and exquisite unpainted woods of the Golden Pavilion were a landmark of Zen taste destined to influence the course of Japanese architecture for centuries. The Golden Pavilion was the crowning act of Yoshimitsu's career, a fitting monument to the man who, more than any other, was responsible for the rise of Zen culture. Under his rule, Japanese monks first brought back from China the finest examples of Ch'an-inspired art, from which they derived and mastered the artistic principles of the vanished Sung era and went on to re-create if not surpass the great Sung age of artistic production. The momentum for Zen culture produced by Yoshimitsu lasted through the reign of his grandson Yoshimasa (1435- 1490), the last great Ashikaga patron of Zen art. As a shogun, Yoshimasa was even more distracted by Zen than his famous grandfather. He concentrated on encouraging the school of Sung-style ink painting, the Zen ritual of ceremonial tea, the art of flower arranging, and new styles of Zen-influenced architecture. Unfortunately, his apparently hereditary absence of interest in affairs of state ultimately brought about the disintegration of the Japanese political fabric. As the office of shogun weakened to the point of symbolism, Yoshimasa's power to tax became so frail that he was finally forced to borrow from the Zen monasteries. The real power in the land passed to the local feudal lords, or _daimyo_, men who governed entire domains, raised their own armies, and exercised far greater power than the _samurai_ of earlier times. What remained of Yoshimasa's power came to be exercised by his mistresses and his scheming wife, Tomi-ko. By his late twenties he was ready to retire entirely, the better to pursue Zen and its arts, but none of the women in the palace had yet presented him with a son who could become titular shogun. By 1464 Yoshimasa's patience was exhausted and he turned to one of his brothers who was in monastic orders and persuaded him to begin an apprenticeship for the shogunate. The brother wisely hesitated, pointing out that Tomi-ko, who was still in her twenties, might yet produce a son; but Yoshimasa won him over with solemn assurances that all sons who arrived would be made priests. Less than a year later Tomi-ko did indeed bear a son, setting the stage for the struggle that would eventually destroy Kyoto and signal the decline of the Ashikaga age of Zen culture. As it happened, there was already an animosity between Yoshimasa's principal adviser, Hosokawa Katsumoto, and Hosokawa's father-in-law, Yamana Sozen. When the child was born, Hosokawa, a member of the historic family of Ashikaga regents, favored retaining Yoshimasa's brother as shogun, so the ambitious Tomi-ko turned to Yamana to enlist his aid in reverting the office of shogun back to Yoshimasa and thence to her son. With a natural excuse for conflict finally at hand, the two old enemies Yamana and Hosokawa gathered their armies--both numbering near eighty thousand-- outside Kyoto. The impending tragedy was obvious to all, and Yoshimasa tried vainly to discourage the combatants. By that time, however, his voice counted for nothing, and in 1467 the inevitable conflict, now known as the Onin War, began. The war raged for a decade, until virtually all the majestic temples of Kyoto were burned and pillaged. Ironically, one of the few temples to escape destruction was Yoshimitsu's Golden Pavilion, which fortunately had been situated well outside the precincts of the main city. Although both Hosokawa and Yamana Thed in 1473, the fighting continued, as participants on both sides defected, changed leaders, and fought among themselves until no one could recall what the original war had been about. Finally, after ten full years of almost constant fighting, it became apparent that the carnage had accomplished nothing. One dark night the two armies folded their tents and stole away--and the war was no more. A remarkably senseless conflict, even by modern-day standards, the Onin War effectively obliterated all evidence in Kyoto of the marvelous Heian civilization, as well as the early Ashikaga, leaving nothing but a scorched palette for the final century of Zen art. Yoshimasa, in the meantime, had long since removed himself from affairs of state. Since his shogun brother had switched sides during the war and become a general for Yamana, the succession question was simplified. Tomi-ko took time out from her vigorous war-profiteering to prevail upon Yoshimasa to appoint her son, then four years old, shogun. She thereby became de facto shogun herself, encouraging Yoshimasa in his desire to retire while enriching herself handsomely with imaginative new taxes. The war proved a windfall for Tomi-ko, who lent funds to both sides to keep it going, and her cupidity played no small role in the final destruction of ancient Kyoto. Immersed as he was in the world of Zen and Zen culture, Yoshimasa seemed oblivious to the sea of official corruption around him, and indeed there was probably little he could have done to prevent it. He loved the refined company of women and avoided warriors, whose rough manner offended him but in whose hands lay the only real power in the country. As the government disintegrated, he made his own contribution as a connoisseur and patron of the fine arts, bringing to culmination the movement in Zen art that left Japan a legacy far more lasting than any that mere diplomacy could have left. Like his European counterparts, the Medici, Yoshimasa balanced his failings in politics with faultless aesthetic judgment, endowing the Zen arts with new standards in architecture, painting, gardening, the No theater, the tea ceremony, and ceremonial flower arranging. Perhaps he should not be faulted for doing what he understood best. Yoshimasa also left a physical monument intended to rival the Golden Pavilion. In 1466, as he contemplated retirement, he began plans to construct a villa for meditation. With the outbreak of war he was forced for a number of years to devote his attentions to the repair of the imperial residence, but after the war he renewed his intentions to retire into Zen aesthetics. His decision was strengthened by family troubles, including Tomi-ko's displeasure with the number of his mistresses, a problem that finally exploded when her young son, the shogun, demanded to marry one of them rather than a girl of Tomi-ko's choosing. In 1482, amid the general ruin and confusion, Yoshimasa resolved to begin the construction of his retirement villa. Financial circumstances had changed since his original plan eighteen years earlier, and his interest in Zen was even deeper, so instead of the sumptuous palace once planned, he built a small pavilion of exquisite taste and restraint. It stands today, a forerunner of the traditional house, and is known as the Silver Pavilion, or _Ginkaku-ji_, because of the popular belief that he originally planned to cover portions with silver leaf. _Ginkaku-ji _has two stories, the first in Zen temple style and the second in _shoin _style. The deliberately unpainted wood exterior of the two-story chapel has weathered to the color of bark, and it has all the dignity its five hundred years demand. There were almost a dozen Ashikaga shoguns after Yoshimasa, but none had any influence on the course of history. The century after his retirement is known as the Age of the Country at War, and it is remembered for almost continuous civil strife among _daiymo_, the provincial chieftains who had swallowed up the _samurai_. In this period Japan was less a nation than several hundred small fiefdoms, each controlled by a powerful family and constantly in arms against its neighbors. Little wonder that many of the greatest Zen artists left Kyoto never to return; the capital was a desolate ruin, without power and without patrons. This condition prevailed until late in the sixteenth century, when individuals of sufficient military genius to reunite the country again appeared. The influence of Zen was probably as pervasive in medieval Ashikaga Japan as Christianity was in medieval Europe. A Zen monk was the first Ashikaga shogun's closest adviser, and in later years Zen monasteries virtually took over foreign policy. (Indeed, Zen monks were the only Japanese educated enough to deal with the Chinese.) Yoshimitsu formalized the relationship between Zen and the state, setting up an official Therarchy among the Zen temples in Kyoto (the so-called "Five Mountains" or Gozan, of Tenryu-ji, Shokoku-ji, Kennin-ji, Tofuku-ji, and Manju-ji). These state temples became the resident schools for Zen painters and artists and also provided diplomats and government officials for the China trade. (They made Yoshimitsu so ardent a Sinophile that he once had some Japanese pirates who were troubling Chinese trading vessels captured and boiled alive.) Under the reign of Yoshimasa the China trade dwindled, but Zen monks continued to influence the government in directions that best suited their own interests. Wealthy from their commercial undertakings, they were in a position to finance some of Yoshimasa's more lavish projects, and in later years they helped him design the garden of the Silver Pavilion, including a detached building for tea drinking and meditation--the forerunner of the modern teahouse. This was the finest hour of Zen influence in official circles, for Yoshimasa was the last Ashikaga shogun whose preferences had any influence on the course of Japanese life. After his death, the artists who had surrounded him scattered to the provinces to find patrons. Within a decade the Silver Pavilion and its garden were virtually abandoned. Zen as a religion also went to the provinces, and gradually its following grew as sympathetic teachers who no longer cared for the company of the mighty were content to explain the rewards of nonattachment to the people at large. The many faces of Japanese Zen were paradoxical indeed. The Kamakura warriors turned to Zen for strength on the battlefield, whereas the Ashikaga court found in it aesthetic escapism and spiritual solace in a crumbling world. That an age such as the Ashikaga could have nourished high arts has puzzled historians for centuries, and no entirely satisfactory explanation has yet been advanced. Perhaps art flourishes best when social unrest uproots easy conventions. Fifth-century Athens produced its most enduring art at a time when the land was rent by the fratricidal Peloponnesian War and the city itself was haunted by the plague. Renaissance Florence is another example. Today Kyoto, like modern Athens and modern Florence, is a living museum, concerned more with traffic and tourist hotels than with the long-forgotten blood baths which once raged in its streets. Seemingly forgotten, too, are the warring Ashikaga, at whose behest the noble Zen arts of Japan were shaped. CHAPTER SEVEN Zen and the Landscape Garden _To see a World in a grain of sand, And a Heaven in a wild flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand, And Eternity in an hour. _William Blake _Renge-ji Temple, Kyoto _ _Tenryu-ji Temple, Kyoto, ca.1343 _ FOR AT LEAST a millennium before the coming of Zen to Japan, gardens had been constructed in China which were founded on underlying religious motives, but only with the rise of Zen in Japan did gardens become deliberately symbolic of the human quest for inner understanding. During the Heian era Japanese aristocrats copied Chinese pleasure parks, and during the Kamakura many of them were translated by practitioners of the Jodo sect into fanciful reproductions of Amida's Western Paradise. After the rise of Zen influence among artists and intellectuals of the Ashikaga age, the gay polychrome of these earlier gardens was supplanted by a sober blend of rocks, trees, sand, and water--Japanese copies of, first, Sung Chinese gardens and, later, Sung monochrome landscape paintings. In their landscape "painting" gardens, Zen artists captured the reverence for nature which, for them, was a cornerstone of Zen philosophy. The origins of Far Eastern landscape gardens have been traced to an obscure Chinese legend which predates the Christian Era. It describes five holy islands, situated off the shores of Shantung province, whose peaks soared thousands of feet into the ocean mist and whose valleys were a paradise of perfumed flowers, snow-white birds, and immortals who plucked the trees for pearls. These islanders, who lived in palaces of precious metals, enjoyed eternal youth and had the capacity to levitate at will, although for extended journeys they might choose to ride on the backs of docile flying cranes. However, like Adam and Eve, these paradise dwellers wanted more. Since their islands were floating rather than attached to bedrock, they complained to the ruling deity, requesting more substantial support. The supreme ruler of ancient China was more understanding than the God of Mesopotamia; instead of evicting the island immortals, he obligingly sent out a flotilla of giant tortoises to hold the islands on their backs and secure them in place. During the Han era (206 B.C.-A.D. 220) various Chinese emperors reportedly sent out expeditions to locate these islands, but they were always unsuccessful. Finally, the Han Emperor Wu hit upon the notion that if he were to construct an idealized landscape on his estate, the immortals might abandon their misty ocean isles for his park, bringing with them the secrets of eternal life. A garden park was built on a scale intended to rival that of paradise; and to make the immortals feel even more welcome, various rocks symbolizing cranes and tortoises were installed, items the Japanese would one day include in their gardens as symbols of longevity. No immortals materialized, but the Chinese landscape garden was launched in considerable style. During the ensuing Six Dynasties era (A.D. 220-589), Chinese gardens began to reflect the beliefs of the new religion of Buddhism. The lake-and-island gardens of the aristocracy ceased to represent the legend of the misty isles and became instead a symbol of the Western Paradise of Amida Buddha. As time passed, the growing influence of Taoism deepened the Chinese feeling for nature itself without reference to any particular legend. In later years, as scholars sought out mountain retreats in the rugged south of China, soaring peaks came to be part of the standard landscape garden, a need sometimes realized by situating the garden against a backdrop of distant mountains or by piling up rocks on the island in the garden lake. The interest in garden art continued to grow during the T'ang dynasty (618-907), as poets and philosophers increasingly turned to nature for religious and artistic inspiration. Interestingly enough, their perception of nature was not idealized in the manner of the Florentine landscapists but rather emphasized the rugged, untamed qualities of the mountains and streams. It was this sense of nature as the embodiment of a free spirit that they tried to capture in their gardens. Theirs was a reverence for nature as it was in the wild; if it must be domesticated into a garden, the sense of freedom should be preserved as far as possible. When the Shinto nature worshipers of Japan encountered the advanced civilization of China, they may have recognized in the Chinese Taoist feeling for nature a similarity to their own beliefs. It had never occurred to the Japanese to construct a domestic abstraction of nature for contemplation, but the new idea of a garden seems to have had its appeal. When a copy of the Chinese capital was created in Nara, the Japanese architects were careful to include a number of landscape gardens around the imperial palace. After the government moved to Kyoto and launched the regal Heian era, a rage for things Chinese became the consuming passion of the Japanese aristocracy; Heian nobles built Chinese-style houses and lake-and-island gardens, complete with Chinese-style fishing pavilions extending out over a lake. Since these pleasure parks were intended for parties of boaters and strollers, they had few religious overtones. Instead the lake became a thoroughfare for pleasure barges, on which idle courtiers cruised about dressed in Chinese costume, and reciting Chinese verses. These gardens were rich with plum and cherry trees, pines, willows, and flowering bushes, and often included a waterfall near at hand, in keeping with Chinese convention. The central island gradually lost its original symbolism as an Elysian holy isle as the nobles linked it to shore with stone footbridges. In these grand parks the Heian nobles gave some of the most sophisticated garden parties ever seen. After relations with China fizzled to a stop around the beginning of the tenth century, the Japanese garden began to evolve on its own. It was always an emblem of power, making it essential that when the warrior government moved to Kamakura a leader no less imposing than Minamoto Yoritomo should oversee the creation of the main garden at the new capital. Significantly, the garden in Kamakura was constructed as part of the Buddhist establishment, rather than as an extension of Yoritomo's private estate. Perhaps this transformation of the garden into Buddhist temple art was a consequence of the Western Paradise beliefs of Amadism (a forerunner had been the late-Heian Western Paradise garden outside Kyoto at Uji); perhaps it was the first implicit acknowledgment of the nature mysticism of Zen; or perhaps the Kamakura warriors simply believed that a private garden would smack too much of the decadence of Kyoto. Whatever the reason, the coming of Zen seems to have been coincidental with a new attitude toward the connection between gardens and religion. The frivolous polychrome of the Heian pleasure park was clearly a thing of the past; gardens became solemn and, as the influence of Zen grew, increasingly symbolic of religious ideas. The monks who visited China to study Ch'an (as well as Ch'an monks who migrated to Japan) were, of course, familiar with the landscape gardens of the Sung Chinese. These gardens had purged many of the more decorative elements of the T'ang-period pleasure parks and reflected the reverential attitudes of the Taoists and Ch'an Buddhists toward the natural world. At least one of these Sung-style gardens was produced in Kyoto during the early years of renewed contacts with China. Oddly enough, however, it was the Sung ink paintings that would eventually have the greatest influence on Zen landscape gardens. The Sung paintings captured perfectly the feeling Japanese Zen monks had for the natural world, leading them to conclude that gardens too should be monochromatic, distilled versions of a large landscape panorama. Not surprisingly, the attitude that a garden should be a three- dimensional painting sparked the long march of Japanese garden art into the realm of perspective and abstraction. In fact, the manipulation of perspective advanced more rapidly in the garden arts than in the pictorial. Without going into the Chinese system of perspective in landscape painting, let it be noted that whereas the Chinese relied in part upon conventions regarding the placement of objects on a canvas to suggest distance (for example, the relative elevation of various tiers of landscape elements on the canvas was often an indication of their distance), the Zen artists learned to suggest distance through direct alteration of the characteristics our eye uses to scale a scene. And since many of these gardens were meant to be viewed from one vantage point, they became a landscape "painting" executed in natural materials. The manipulation of perspective may be divided roughly into three main categories: the creation of artificial depth through overt foreshortening, thereby simulating the effects of distance on our visual sense; the use of psychological tricks that play on our instinctive presumptions regarding the existence of things unseen; and the masterly obliteration of all evidence of artifice, thereby rendering the deception invisible. Zen gardeners' discovery of the use of foreshortening in a garden took place at almost the same time that the Florentine artist Uccello (1397- 1475) began experimenting with natural perspective in his landscape oils. Although this example of artistic convergence can hardly be more than coincidence, certain of the devices were similar. As the American garden architect David Engel has observed, the Japanese learned that the apparent depth of a scene could be enhanced by making the objects in the distance smaller, less detailed, and darker than those in the foreground.1 (In the garden of Yoshimitsu's Golden Pavilion, for example, the rocks on the spectator side of the garden lake are large and detailed, whereas those on the far side are smaller and smoother.) As time went by, the Japanese also learned to use trees with large, light-colored leaves at the front of a garden and dark, small-leafed foliage farther back. To simulate further the effects of distance, they made paths meandering toward the rear of a garden grow narrower, with smaller and smaller stones. The pathways in a Japanese garden curve constantly, disrupting the viewer's line of sight, until they are finally lost among trees and foliage set at carefully alternated levels; streams and waterfalls deceptively vanish and reappear around and behind rocks and plantings. Zen artists also found that garden walls would disappear completely if they were made of dark natural materials or camouflaged by a bamboo thicket, a thin grove of saplings, or a grassy hillock. Many methods of psychological deception in a Zen garden exploit instinctive visual assumptions in much the same way that a judo expert uses his victim's body for its own undoing. A common trick is to have a pathway or stream disappear around a growth of trees at the rear of a garden in such a way that the terminus is hidden, leading the viewer to assume it actually continues on into unseen recesses of the landscape. Another such device is the placement of intermittent obstructive foliage near the viewer, causing the diminution in perception that the mind associates with distance. Japanese gardeners further enhance the sense of size and depth in a garden plot by leaving large vacant areas, whose lack of clutter seems to expand the vista. Dwarfing of trees is also a common practice, since this promotes the illusion of greater distance. And finally, flowers are rigidly excluded, since their appearance would totally destroy all the subtle tricks of perspective. Zen garden masters prefer to display their flowers in special vase arrangements, an art known as Ikebana. The manipulation of perspective and the psychological deception of the Zen garden are always carefully disguised by giving the garden an appearance of naturalness and age. Garden rocks are buried in such a manner that they seem to be granite icebergs, extruding a mere tip from their ancient depths, while the edges of garden stones are nestled in beds of grass or obscured by applications of moss, adding to the sense of artless placement. Everything in the garden--trees, stones, gravel, grass--is arranged with a careful blending of areas into a seemingly natural relationship and allowed to develop a slightly unkempt, shaggy appearance, which the viewer instinctively associates with an undisturbed natural scene. It all seems as uncontrived as a virgin forest, causing the rational mind to lower its guard and allowing the garden to delude the viewer with its artificial depth, its psychological sense of the infinite. The transformation in garden art the Zen artists wrought can perhaps best be emphasized by comparing the traditional Chinese garden with the abstract landscape created by Japanese artists of the Ashikaga and later eras. 'The Japanese regarded the garden as an extension of man's dwelling (it might be more accurate to say that they saw the dwelling as an extension of the garden), while the Chinese considered the garden a counterpoise for the formality of indoor life, a place to disown the obligations and conventions of society. It has been suggested that the average Chinese was culturally schizophrenic; indoors he was a sober Confucian, obedient to centuries-old dictates of behavior, but in his garden he returned to Taoism, the joy of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower. In spite of this, the Chinese garden was more formal than the type that developed in Japan, and it included numerous complicated corridors and divisions. The Chinese gardens of the T'ang aristocracy were intended for strolling rather than viewing, since the T'ang aesthetes participated in nature rather than merely contemplating it. Accordingly, Chinese gardens (and Heian copies of them) included architectural features not included in the later Zen landscapes. The Chinese apparently believed that if one is to duplicate the lakes and mountains, then all the items normally seen in the countryside should be there, including the artifacts of man. The Chinese garden welcomed the physical presence of man, whereas the landscape gardens developed in Japan are at their finest when viewed without people, if only because the presence of man acts as a yardstick to destroy the illusion of perspective and exaggerated distance. (However, a Zen-inspired form of Japanese stroll garden for use in connection with the tea ceremony did develop, as will be noted later.) The plaster wall of a Chinese garden was often an integral element of the decoration, and its shape and topping were part of the overall aesthetic effect. The Japanese, on the other hand, chose to de- emphasize the presence of the wall. Stated differently, the purpose of the wall around a Chinese garden was to keep outsiders from seeing in, whereas the wall of a Japanese garden was to prevent those inside from having to see out--a fundamental difference in function and philosophy. The dissimilarity in Chinese and Japanese attitudes toward garden rocks also deserves mention. The Japanese preferred interesting naturalness in their stones; they avoided blandness, but were wary of freakish, distracting shapes. The Chinese, in contrast, were charmed by curiosities, and they sought out garden rocks with fantastic, even grotesque contours. This preference seems to have grown out of a desire to duplicate the craggy mountainsides so often seen in Sung landscape paintings. They searched for unnaturally shaped stones in lake bottoms, where the action of water had honeycombed them. (In fact, this particular passion, which became known as "rockery," led to a bit of forgery during the latter part of the Ming era, when ordinary rocks were carved to the desired shape and then placed under a waterfall until they were smoothed sufficiently to disguise the deception.) The presence of so many unnatural features in Chinese gardens tended to give them a rococo quality, which Zen artists were careful to avoid, and the hemispherical, symmetrical motif of Chinese gardens was transformed into the angular, asymmetrical style that suited Zen aesthetic theory. The fundamental impression a Chinese garden gives is that of skilled artifice, of being a magical, slightly fabulous landscape of dreams. Zen artists transformed this into a symbolic experience of the world at large, distilled into a controlled space but suggesting the infinite. The result was to change a form that has been essentially decorative into something as near to pure art as can be wrought with the primeval elements of tree, water, and stone. Gardens had been used before to approximate this or that monarch's conception of paradise, but never before had they been employed to express an otherwise ineffable understanding of the moral authority of the natural world. Zen gardens differ even more greatly from Western garden design. The geometrical creations of Europe, such as the palace garden at Versailles, were fashioned to provide wide-open vistas reaching toward the horizon, while the naturalistic Zen garden is closed in upon itself like a form of curved space, producing the illusion of an infinite wilderness in a few acres. It is intended primarily for viewing; there are no grassy dells for loitering. It is expected to serve functions ordinarily reserved for art in the West: it both abstracts and intensifies reality, being at once symbolic and explicit in design, and the emotion it evokes in the viewer gives him a deeper understanding of his own consciousness. The four gardens in Kyoto that perhaps best demonstrate the principles of early Zen landscape were all constructed under the patronage of the Ashikaga: the first two, Saiho-ji (ca. 1339) and Tenryu-ji (ca. 1343), were designed by the Zen monk Muso under the reign of Takauji; the garden of the Golden Pavilion (1397) was executed under the influence of Yoshimitsu; and the garden of the Silver Pavilion (1484) was guided by Yoshimasa. All four were created on the sites of earlier gardens dating from the Heian or Kamakura eras which Zen artists both purified and modified, making changes roughly analogous to the reworking of a rococo marble statue of a rotund courtier into a free-standing muscular nude. It is also illustrative of the age that these one-time private estates were transformed into what were to become essentially public parks, albeit under the management of Zen temples. The first of the gardens to be designed was the one at Saiho-ji, a temple on the western edge of Kyoto, popularly known as the "Moss Temple," or Kokedera. During the Heian and Kamakura eras this site belonged to a prominent family who constructed two temple gardens toward the close of the twelfth century in honor of Amida and his Western Paradise. Fashioned long after contacts with China had been broken, these Amida gardens already disowned many of the decorative motifs in the earlier, Tang-style parks. They were self-contained and natural and had no pretense of being symbolic. This was to change, however, around the time that Ashikaga Takauji assumed power, when the owner hit upon the notion of converting these gardens of the Jodo sect into something appropriate to the new school of Zen. The project was begun with the understanding that the famous Zen priest Muso Soseki would come to preside over the new temple as abbot, and work was begun under his guidance. The resulting garden is on two levels, like the original dual garden of Amida, but the Zen designer used the levels to suggest many of the features of a larger universe. It was not yet a fully developed landscape, but rather a contemplative retreat for strolling which strove to emphasize minor aspects of the natural features of rocks, ponds, trees, grasses, and moss. Even so, many of the features of later landscape gardens are traceable to Muso's design here, particularly the rugged rockwork of the islands in the large lake on the lower level, which later inspired the rockwork of Yoshimitsu's Golden Pavilion garden. Located up the hill is a "dry cascade," suggested by the skillful arrangement of round, flat-topped stones carefully set in a place where water never ran. Already, the obligatory waterfall of the Chinese garden had been abstracted into a quiet symbolism. The garden bespeaks a sober, ancient grace and dignity--and reveals aesthetic concepts peculiar to Zen. The garden of Tenryu-ji is at the temple founded by Takauji, at the suggestion of Muso, as a site for the repose of the soul of the Emperor Godaigo, whom Takauji had driven out of Kyoto. It will be recalled that the expense associated with building this temple was the occasion of Takauji's again opening trade with China, an act that led to the real explosion of Zen art. Muso also became the official abbot of the temple and is thought to have contributed to the redesign of its garden--it had previously been part of an imperial country villa. Muso's contribution is questionable, however, since the garden shows evidence of influence from the "landscape-painting" design of Sung China and the peculiarly Sung usage of "rockery." It may have been laid out earlier by some emigrant Chinese Ch'an monk who was aware of the latest Sung garden theory. The rock shapes are not grotesque, however, but rather show the crisp angularity later to become a Japanese trademark. A small islet of three stones suggests the three levels of a landscape painting, and at the back there is a simulated waterfall of rugged dry stones. The lake and its islands are monochromatic and severe, and the footbridge traditional to Sung landscape gardens is represented by three long flat stones crossing a narrow portion of the rear part of the lake. This garden is probably the only Sung-style creation in Japan, but its impact on Zen gardeners was considerable, since it showed the effects Ch'an Buddhism had had on Chinese garden art. Muso undoubtedly recognized the garden as a worthy model for Zen artists, and he probably did no more than put a few final Japanese touches on the work. By the time of Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, builder of the third Zen landscape garden, Ch'an garden concepts were undoubtedly better understood in Japan than in China. Yoshimitsu had often gone to Saiho-ji to meditate in the garden, and he knew exactly what was required for the landscape garden to surround his Golden Pavilion. He selected a site known as the North Hill Villa, an estate originally built by an aristocratic family using funds they had got serving as spies to report the activities of the Kyoto aristocracy to the Kamakura warlords. Constructed in 1224, the original garden represented the last flowering of the Heian- (or T'ang Chinese) style garden; that is, it was a purely decorative boating pond. When Yoshimitsu acquired the site, he immediately demolished the Chinese-style residence with its fishing pavilion projecting out onto the lake. Then he turned his attention to the garden, paring down the central island and adding smaller islands by bringing in massive stones from the surrounding hills. To obtain the necessary trees, he simply selected those that caught his eye in the gardens of the powerless aristocracy. Today the garden at the Golden Pavilion covers approximately four and a half acres (although it seems much larger), with a lake occupying about one-third of the total area. The pavilion sits at the lake's edge, but in past times before the waters shifted, it was in its midst. When viewed from the pavilion, as was the original intention, the garden seems a landscape vista. Several of the small islets scattered about the lake have their own dwarf pines, while others are no more than massive protruding stones, chosen for an abstract resemblance to a tortoise or cane. In the portion of the lake closest to the pavilion everything is wrought in great detail, whereas stones on the far side are vague and diffuse, so that the distant shoreline seems lost in misty recesses. The hillsides surrounding the garden are covered with foliage, and there is no clear demarcation between the garden and the hills. Executed at a time when resources were almost limitless, the garden of the Golden Pavilion is one of the finest Zen landscape gardens ever created. It stands as a watershed between the modification of Chinese styles and the maturity of Japanese Zen art. Yoshimasa, architect of the fourth great Zen landscape garden, was also fond of Saiho-ji and had studied its garden, as well as that of the Golden Pavilion, with great care. But the Silver Pavilion and its garden were built after the disastrous Onin War, when the available resources were nothing like those of the earlier Ashikaga shoguns. Although he was surrounded by a coterie of Zen aestheticians, it appears Yoshimasa designed the garden himself, assisted by a new class of professional garden workers drawn from the outcast _eta_ class (outcast because they were associated with the meat and hides industry and thus pariahs to all good Buddhists), who had been engaged by the Zen priests to take care of the heavy work involved in stone movement and placement. Many of these _eta_ became famous for their artistic discernment, and one, the famous Zen-ami, is regarded as one of the foremost garden architects of the Ashikaga era. The garden at the Silver Pavilion was modeled after the one at Saiho-ji and made the same use of bold, angular stones-- a mixture of flat- topped, straight-sided "platform" rocks and tall slim stones reminiscent of Sung landscape paintings of distant mountains. Like Saiho-ji, the garden is on two levels, with the rear reminiscent of a mountain waterfall. At one side of the garden the pond is spanned by a stone footbridge connecting either side of the shore with the central island. Shaped dwarf pines abound, and the surface of the water, interrupted here and there with massive stones, is peaceful and serene. Little wonder Yoshimasa preferred his tasteful pavilion and its distilled microcosm of landscape to the ravaged ruins of Kyoto. Here he could rest in meditation, letting his eye travel over the placid waters, past the flowering trees which framed the symbolic waterfall, upward to the silhouette of the towering pines on the far hillside to watch the moon rise in the evening, bathing his world in silver. In this peaceful setting he could relish the last, closing years of the great Ashikaga age of Zen art. The art of the landscape garden did not end with Yoshimasa, of course; rather, it shifted in its direction and purpose. Already beginning was the next phase of Zen garden art, the abstract sand-and-stone gardens. CHAPTER EIGHT The Stone Gardens of Zen _ And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones . . . _As You Like It _Daisen-in Temple, Kyoto, ca. 1513 _ _ Ryoan-ji, Kyoyo, 1490 _ IN THE CLOSING decade of the fifteenth century, the long evening parties of Zen aesthetics were over; Kyoto lay in ruins after the Onin War, and a new, sober mood gripped the land. Virtually all the temples and estates in Kyoto, together with their gardens, were abandoned relics; and the once indulgent patronage of aristocrats and shoguns was gone forever. A reflective, contemplative mood settled over the houses of Zen. Out of this era of penurious disarray developed a style of temple garden which many hold to be the most profound expression of Zen art: the dry landscape, or _kare sansui_. Fashioned from the most austere materials, sand and stone, these waterless vistas were the final step in the creation of three-dimensional reproductions of Sung ink paintings. They condensed the universe into a single span, and they were primarily, if not wholly, monochromatic. More importantly, they were intended exclusively for meditation. Whereas earlier landscape gardens had always striven for a quality of scenic beauty, these small temple gardens were meant to be a training ground for the spirit, a device wherein the contemplative mind might reach out and touch the essence of Zen. These later Zen gardens were also reduced in size and scope, since a temple yard in such diminished times could not accommodate the spacious parks once available to the aristocracy. Stylized, often abstract representations of nature, they dispensed with all decorative possibilities the better to promote the serious business of meditation. Perhaps the best example of this type of monochrome "painting" garden is the famous creation at Daisen-in, a part of the Daitoku-ji temple compound in Kvoto. The sand-and-stone garden here is on all sides of the temple building, placing the viewer literally in the middle of a Sung landscape. The focus of the painting, however, is in one small corner of the grounds, where a pair of head-high vertical stones have been used to represent Sung mountain peaks while striated white sand placed around and among the larger background mountains, together with smaller flat-topped rocks in the foreground, suggest the inrush of water from a symbolic waterfall. The simulated stream of white sand winds among river rocks as it passes across the front of the viewing platform. Included in the design are a stone bridge crossing one portion of the sandy stream and a large boat-shaped stone enhancing the symbolism of water. The water seems to disappear under the temple veranda and emerge on the other side as a shimmering white sea. Adjacent to the tall mountain stones are several ancillary rocks approximately waist-high, over which flow rivulets of white sand, suggesting a cataract captured in monochrome. Just as an expert Zen painter extracts the details of a scene in a few strokes of the brush, so the master of Daisen-in succeeded in distilling from the natural world precisely those elements that excite the spirit. This classical _kare sansui _garden is thought to have been designed around 1513, reconstructed from one of the run-down temples left after the Onin War. Credit for the design is traditionally (but probably erroneously) given to the artist So'ami (1472-1525), a well-known painter. The distinction between painting and garden art was necessarily blurred, since these gardens were in fact intended to copy paintings more than nature. The true mark of a Zen painter was his ability to handle rocks and mountains in the prescribed manner, with sharp, angular brushstrokes devoid of softness or sentimentality. Naturally enough, stones with this same quality were essential for the _kare sansui _gardens, but such stones were extremely rare and prized almost beyond price. Trees could be grown; stones had to be found in the mountains and moved somehow to Kyoto. During the heyday of the Kamakura and Ashikaga glory, there were resources at hand to find, move, and position stones--and at times armies of over a thousand men were impressed into service for this task. After the Onin War no such battalions were available, but there was a ready source of superb stones: the burned-out temple and estate gardens of old Kyoto. Furthermore, monks from many of the earlier temples had systematically pillaged the estates of Heian nobles for stones, using the cream of the stone collections from earlier centuries to create their small gardens. So when the builders of Daisen-in began to collect stones, they had the finest examples of centuries of collecting at their disposal. Hence the magnificent stones at Daisen-in actually represent the _creme de la creme_ of garden stonework, rising phoenix-like out of the destruction of older estates. What were the qualities of these stones that they should have been hauled for hundreds of miles and prized by shoguns and Zen aesthetes alike? What did Zen artists look for when they scavenged the surrounding mountains for special rocks? They wanted rocks that looked like the mountains and crags in ink paintings. This meant light-colored stones with striated sides and sharp edges, with no hint of the hand of man about them. They looked not so much for odd formations as for natural shapes that possessed an authoritative, monumental quality. One particularly prized shape was flat-topped and vertical-sided, looking like a massive tree stump cut off about a foot above the ground. Another valuable stone was shaped like a steep-sided volcanic island which, nestled in a bed of sand, gave the impression of rising from the depths of the ocean. Oblong stones with lengthwise striations or incisions were valued for their similarity to towering vertical mountains; and rounded, flat-bottomed stones, for their resemblance to natural river rocks. The subjective "feel" of a stone was important; perfectly smooth stones or those with no memorable characteristics had no place in _kare sansui_. Those used must have the vigorous face of centuries, the weathered texture of antiquity. Daisen-in was unquestionably the best of the Zen "painting" gardens: possibly designed by an experienced Zen painter, it contained the finest stones from an entire era of intensive collecting; and it was heir to centuries of garden mastery, from which was distilled the essence of landscape art. Its understated authority is the product of a long development of such Zen ideals as simplicity, starkness, austerity, and spareness. One would be tempted to declare it the finest example of the Zen _kare sansui _art were it not for an even more striking garden of the same era: Ryoan-ji. Unlike Daisen-in, the garden at Ryoan-ji is not a symbolic mountain scene. It is instead a work of abstract art on a canvas of sand which goes beyond a symbolic representation of a landscape scene to provide a distillation of the very universe. It is internationally regarded as the very essence of Zen, and it is almost impossible to describe, in either words or pictures. It has a spirit that seems to rise up for those who come into its presence, evoking an immediate response even in someone who has no understanding of Zen. Ryoan-ji was apparently built around 1490, which makes it roughly contemporaneous with Yoshimasa's Silver Pavilion. As early as 985 the site of Ryoan-ji had been used as the location of a private chapel for retired Heian emperors, and in the twelfth century a government minister of the Heian took it over and constructed a country villa, to which his grandson added a lavish Chinese-style lake and island garden in 1189. Thus the site had abundant water, something missing from other _kare sansui _gardens--although the style dictated that no water be used in the final Zen garden. After the fall of Heian and throughout the Kamakura deluge, the lake became a sort of lingering _ancien regime _touch, recalling the elegance of former days. (The remains of the lake, undoubtedly much modified through the centuries, still survive as part of the Ryoan-ji temple complex.) The original Heian owners retained possession of the site until approximately 1450, when it was purchased by Katsumoto Hokusawa, adviser to the Ashikaga and one of the instigators of the Onin War. During his period of ownership, Katsumoto built a country villa overlooking the lake-and-island garden, and like Yoshimitsu, he requested that his villa be made into a Zen temple when he Thed. As it turned out, the Onin War caused his wishes to be executed sooner than he might have expected; shortly after the villa was built the estate was transferred to the Myoshin-ji branch of the Rinzai sect, which also controlled a nearby temple called Ryoan-ji. Not long after Katsumoto's death, his villa and other estate buildings were set on fire during the Onin War and joined the general ruin of much of the rest of Kyoto. In the last decade of the fifteenth century the burned-out estate was restored by Katsumoto's son, but in replacing the buildings he chose a new style of Zen architecture known as _shoin_, which included a special bay window and desk modeled after those in Chinese Ch'an monasteries. The _shoin _style had been recently popularized in Kyoto by Yoshimasa, who chose the design for several buildings surrounding his Silver Pavilion. The _shoin _window overlooked the lake-and-island garden, but since the later Zen monks who controlled the estate had no interest in decorative landscape art, they walled off a small courtyard in front of the window and installed a flat _kare sansui _garden for contemplation, which soon eclipsed in interest the older lake-and- island landscape. Shortly thereafter the _shoin_ building was in turn destroyed by fire, giving the monks an excuse to bring in a pavilion with a long viewing veranda from the neighboring Seigen-in temple. This veranda, which was positioned along the long axis of the _kare sansui _garden, now permits group meditation, something not possible from the single window of the earlier _shoin _structure. Modern visitors to Ryoan-ji still pass through the older landscape garden en route to the main temple pavilion. From this vantage point only the outer wall of the sand-and-stone garden can be seen; there is no hint of what lies inside. On the temple steps the fragrance of incense mingles with the natural perfume of the ancient trees which line the pathways of the lake. As one enters the dimly lighted hallway of the temple, street shoes are replaced by noiseless, cushioned slippers. Shod in silence, visitors walk along the temple hallways onto the long hojo veranda facing the garden, where the brilliance of the shimmering sand washes unexpectedly over the senses. The effect is sudden and striking. What one sees, in purely prosaic terms, is an area of rippled sand about the size of a tennis court, set about with fifteen not particularly unusual (by Ashikaga standards) stones arrayed in five distinct clusters. The white sand is raked lengthwise (a routine task for a lay brother), and concentric circles are traced around each of the stones, imparting an illusion of ripples. In the garden proper there is not a tree, indeed not a blade of grass, to be seen; the only suggestion of living matter is the bed of ancient moss in which each group of stones lies nestled. On the three sides of the garden opposite the veranda stands the ancient courtyard wall, whose oil-stained earthen brown contrasts splendidly with the pure white sand. Above the wall, which is capped with black clay tile in Chinese fashion, one can see the tall trees of the landscape garden, obscuring what must once have been a grand view of old Kyoto to the south. Each of the five clusters of stones seems balanced around its own center of gravity, and the clusters, in turn, appear to be balanced with one another--with the two groups of stones on the left being approximately equal in mass to the three groups on the right. As is the case in most Ashikaga gardens, each grouping is dominated by one obviously assertive member, against which the smaller, less authoritative stones strain for prominence, producing a sense of tension. Simultaneously, there is a feeling of strength about each of the groups, since each cluster is set on an island of mossy soil, which acts as a base to unite the assemblages. Aesthetic stability is also achieved by the placement of the stones at sufficient depth (or apparent depth) within their nest of moss so that only their tips seem to protrude above the floor of the garden. The stones are set in two groups of two stones, two groups of three, and one group of five. Each of these groupings displays one or another of the various Ashikaga garden conventions. Both groups of two stones make explicit use of contrasting shapes between their members, a standard Zen device. One of the pairs is composed of a long, vertical rock set like an upturned blade in the sand, with a companion that is hardly more than a negligible lump, a token foil. The other pair has one sharp-sided vertical stone with a flat plateau as a top, accompanied by a larger round rock which spreads at the base. As has been noted, the Ashikaga gardeners prized flat-topped stones highly because of their resemblance to the angular brushstrokes of certain Zen ink painters. Life, in this case, was made to imitate art, or rather sculptural art was made to imitate the pictorial. Both pairs of stones are situated slightly off the lengthwise axis of the garden, maintaining the asymmetry considered so essential. In the two groups of three stones, the intent is to establish the visual pre-eminence of the largest member and to flank it with two comparatively insignificant smaller stones--usually differentiated in shape and attitude--thereby forming a vertical triangle with the peak of the largest stone representing the apex. This particular arrangement was so common in Ashikaga gardens that it became known as the "three- deity" stone setting, supposedly a pious reference to a Buddhist legend but probably merely a convenient tag for a standardized artistic device. The last grouping is five stones, since arrangements of four were considered too symmetrical by Zen gardeners. In this case, the group is dominated by one large central boulder with four ancillary rocks spread about its base like the feet of a granite beast. Such, in physical terms, is the arrangement of the garden, and when so described it seems undeserving of all the acclaim. Its subjective qualities tell a bit more of the story. It seems clear that the inclination of the stones is intended to evoke a sense of motion, for they have all been placed with their longer axis corresponding to that of the garden. This quality is further enhanced by the practice of raking the sand lengthwise, which makes the observer's eye sweep from left to right or right to left. And although the overall purpose of the garden is to induce mental repose, it has a dynamic tension, such as a high-speed photograph of surging rapids in a mountain stream might catch. But the sand, like the blank spaces in a Chinese ink drawing, is as important as the placement of the stones. The empty areas both emphasize the stones and invite the mind to expand in the cosmological infinity they suggest. This interaction between form and space is one of the keys to Ryoan- ji's compelling suggestiveness. Evoking a sense of infinity in a strictly confined space, it is a living lesson in the Zen concept of nothingness and nonattachment. It expresses a timelessness unknown in earlier landscape gardens, particularly those of the Heian era, which, with their fading blossoms and falling leaves, were attuned to the poignant transience of life. In the Ryoan-ji garden, the Heian aesthetic concept of _aware_, the thought that beauty must die, has been replaced by the Zen idea of _yugen_, which means, among other things, profound suggestiveness, a reduction to only those elements in a creative work that move the spirit, without the slightest concession to prettiness or ornament. The number and placement of stones seem arbitrary, but they are intuitively perfect--like a phrase from Beethoven that, with the alteration of a single note, could be transformed into a comic tune. Like all masterpieces, Ryoan-ji has simplicity, strength, inevitability. Between them, the gardens at Daisen-in and at Ryoan-ji encompass the range of _kare sansui _gardening in Ashikaga Japan. The first is a symbolic landscape of parched waterfalls and simulated streams drawn in monochromatic granite; the second, a totally non-representative abstraction of stone arrangements in the sand-covered "flat-garden" style. The _kare sansui _flat-garden style, in particular, has no real counterpart in world art. Imagine the Egyptians, Greeks, or Florentines collecting rocks, strewing them about a bed of sand in a courtyard, and calling it religious art. Ryoan-ji seems strikingly modern today and in fact it was only after a critical following for abstract art developed in the West that the Zen _kare sansui_ was "discovered." As recently as the 1930s Ryoan-ji was ignored, an unkempt sandpile the monks rarely bothered to rake; and only in 1961 was the garden at Daisen-in restored to what is believed to be its original condition. Ryoan-ji is now the most celebrated site in Japan and so internationally appreciated that a full-sized replica has been constructed in the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens, New York. Zen gardeners were sophisticated aestheticians, and one can recognize in their work at least two artistic techniques that the West did not discover until this century. The first is the Surrealist principle, derived from the earlier Dadaist idea, of _objets trouves_, that is, the use of aesthetically interesting natural or accidental materials as part of an artistic composition. The stones of Ryoan-ji and other Ashikaga gardens were left in the condition in which they were discovered and used in the gardens as stones, yet they were also symbols for something larger than themselves. The second "modern" artistic principle found in Zen gardens is the reliance on abstract expressionism. Flat gardens like Ryoan-ji are not meant to depict a natural scene; they are exercises in the symbolic arrangement of mass and space. The Zen gardeners actually created a new mode of artistic expression, anticipating the West by several centuries. Perhaps Ryoan-ji went unnoticed for so long because it was not explicitly intended as a work of art, but rather as a statement in physical terms of the essence of mystical truth. One's reaction upon first coming into the presence of Ryoan-ji is like the famous Western mystic Meister Eckhart's description of the realization of Oneness, called _satori_ in Zen: "Then at once, God comes into your being and faculties, for you are like a desert, despoiled of all that was particularly your own. . . ." Ryoan-ji presents this desert in physical terms, a place of no attachments and no antagonistic polarities. This is Zen art at its most noble; beauty and aesthetics are present, but they are secondary to a realm of the spiritual. CHAPTER NINE Zen and the Ink Landscape _Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone. _ John Keats _Sesshu (1420-1506) _ Shin _style _ ASHIKAGA MONOCHROME ink painting is one of the finest moments of Japanese art. Monochrome painting, which began in China as a logical extension of brush calligraphy, came to be the ultimate medium for the transmission of Japanese Zen. A Zen painter has been described as a man who studies technique for twenty years and then throws himself on the mercy of inspiration. The works of Zen artists often seem to have been tossed off without effort, but this is the deliberate deception of the consummate master. Like the slash of the Zen swordsman, the absolute accuracy of the Zen artist's brushstroke can come only from one whose mind and body are one. The purpose of Zen painting is to penetrate beyond the perceptions of the rational mind and its supporting senses, to show not nature's surface but its very essence. The artist paints the enlightenment of a moment, and there is therefore no time to labor over each stroke; the technique must flow thoughtlessly, from deep within, capturing the fleeting images of the inner sense, beyond mind and beyond thought. To watch a Zen painter is to receive a lesson in the discipline of Zen. As he sets out to create a work, he first brings to hand the essential artistic materials: brush, inkstone, ink, paper. Kneeling on the floor, he spreads the paper out before him, and as he grinds and mixes the ink, begins to envision the outline and scope of his work. Like a _samurai_ warrior before a battle, he banishes thoughts of the world and in a state of contemplation organizes his energies for a burst of action. When the ink is ready, the paper smoothed, an appropriate brush tested for point and feel, and his spirits composed, he strikes. The ink is absorbed almost immediately by the fibrous rice paper preferred by Zen artists, allowing no alteration of a line once it has been set down. If the artist is dissatisfied with a stroke, he attempts no corrections but tears up the work and begins another. In contrast to conventional Western oil painting, which allows for retouching, an ink brushstroke on paper (or silk, which is sometimes used) becomes dull and lifeless if it is painted over, and corrections are always obvious when the painting dries. The work must flow out of the Zen discipline of no-mind. The artist never pauses to evaluate his work; the ink flows in an unending flurry of strokes--heavy or sparing, light or dark, as required--producing a sense of rhythm, movement, form, and the artist's vision of life's inner music. The discipline of ink painting was only one of the qualities that endeared it to Zen painters. Equally important was the understated, suggestive art it made possible. Learning from the Chinese, Ashikaga Japanese discovered that black ink, carefully applied to suggest all the tones of light and shade, could be more expressive and profound than a rainbow of colors. (A similar lesson has been learned by modern photographers, who often find black and white a medium more penerating than color.) The Chinese painters of the T'ang and Sung dynasties were the first to discover that black ink could be made to abstract all pigments and thereby suggest, more believably than actual color paintings, the real tones found in nature. Whereas the medium of ink has been used in the West primarily for line drawings and lithographs, the Eastern artists use ink to produce the illusion of color--an illusion so perfect that viewers must at times remind themselves that a scene is not in full polychrome. And just as the seemingly unfinished artistic statement nudges the viewer into participating in a work, the suggestive medium of monochrome with its implied rather than explicit hues tricks the viewer into unwittingly supplying his own colors. The Zen insight that the palette of the mind is richer than that of the brush has been best described by a Japanese artist and critic, who explained the rich suggestiveness of black ink, called _sumi_ by the Japanese: _At first glance, this bit of ink on a sheet of white paper seems dull and plain, but as one gazes at it, it transforms itself into an image of nature--a small part of nature, to be sure, seen dimly, as though through a mist, but a part that may guide one's spirit to the magnificent whole. Armed with pigments by the dozen, artists have tried for centuries to reproduce the true colors of nature, but at best theirs has been a limited success. The _sumi-e _[ink painting], by reducing all colors to shades of black, is able, paradoxically, to make one feel their genuine nuances. . . . By recognizing that the real colors of nature cannot be reproduced exactly, the _sumi-e _artist has grasped one of the most fundamental truths of nature. He is, therefore, more in tune with her than the painter who tries to engage her in oils and water colors.1 _ Zen painting seems to have been created, like the religion itself, by antischolastic thinkers of the latter T'ang dynasty. The eccentric monks who invented _koan_ paradoxes also seem to have been fond of calligraphy and monochrome painting. These monks, together with non- Buddhist painters at odds with academic styles, loved to outrage their conservative colleagues by flinging ink at the paper and smearing it about with their hands, their hair, or sometimes the body of an assistant. Even those who restricted themselves to the brush delighted in caricature and unconventional styles. The school of painting represented by disaffected Tang literati and Ch'an monks came to be well respected (much like the abstract expressionist school of today) and was given the name of "untrammeled class." During the Sung dynasty, Ch'an monks became respectable members of Chinese society, and gradually three distinct types of Ch'an-influenced painting were established. One, known in Japanese as _zenkiga_, featured didactic figure paintings (_zenki-zu_) illustrating Ch'an parables, depicting Bodhidharma in some legendary situation, recording the critical moment of a _koan_, or simply illustrating a Zen adept practicing self- discipline through some humble task. The second type was portraiture, known as _chinzo_. These solemn, reverential studies of well-known teachers, sometimes executed in muted pastels as well as in ink, clearly were intended to represent the physical likeness of the sitter as closely as possible. They must be ranked among the world's finest portraits. The insight into character in the _chinzo_ is not so harsh as that of Rembrandt nor so formal as that of the Renaissance Florentines, but as sympathetic psychological studies they have rarely been surpassed. The third type of painting associated with Ch'an is the monochrome landscape. Landscape was not originally a major Ch'an subject, but Ch'an monks experimented with the traditional Chinese treatment of such scenes and so influenced Chinese landscape painting that even academic paintings during the Sung dynasty reflected the spontaneous insights of Ch'an philosophy. Landscapes represent Chinese painting at its finest, and the Japanese Zen painters who embraced the form made it the great art of Zen. The technical mastery of landscape painting had been achieved late in the T'ang dynasty when the problems of perspective, placement, and vantage point were solved. The classic rules for the genre, which were formalized during the early Sung dynasty, were respected for several hundred years thereafter in both China and Japan. One must appreciate these rules if one is to understand the Far Eastern landscape. To begin with, the objective is not photographic accuracy, but a representation of an emotional response to nature, capturing the essentials of a landscape rather than the particular elements that happen to be present in a single locale. (In fact, Japanese Zen landscapists frequently painted Chinese scenes they had never seen.) Nature is glorified as a source of meditative insight, and the artist's spontaneity is expressed within a rigid framework. Certain specific items are expected to appear in every painting: mountains, trees, rocks, flowing water, roads, bridges, wildlife, houses (or at least thatched huts). The mountainsides vary with the seasons, being lush and sensuous in spring, verdant and moist in summer, crisp and ripe in autumn, and austerely bare in winter. The tiny human figures show the dignity of retired Sung officials at a hermitage; there are no genuine farmers or fishermen. The paintings have no vanishing point; receding lines remain parallel and do not converge. The position of the viewer is that of someone suspended in space, looking down on a panorama that curves up and around his range of sight. To depict distances extending from the immediate foreground to distant mountain ranges, a painting is divided into three distinct tiers, each representing a scene at a particular distance from the viewer. These include a near tableau close enough to show the individual leaves on the trees and ripples on the water, a middle section where only the branches of three trees are delineated and water is usually depicted as a waterfall, and a far section containing mountain peaks. Since these three levels represent quantum jumps in distance, fog or mist is often introduced to assist in slicing the painting into three planes. These landscape conventions were the subject of volumes of analysis and interpretation during the Sung dynasty. According to the painter Han Cho in a work dated 1121: _In paintings of panoramic landscapes, mountains are placed in ranges one above the other; even in one foot's space they are deeply layered; . . . and proper order is adhered to by first arranging the venerable mountains followed by the subservient ones. It is essential that . . . forests cover the mountain. For the forests of a mountain are its clothes, the vegetation its hair, the vapor and mists its facial expressions, the scenic elements its ornaments, the waters its blood vessels, the fog and mists its expressions of mood.2 _ Two characteristics of Sung landscape paintings that were later to become important elements in the canon of Zen aesthetic theory were the use of empty space as a form of symbolism, later to be found in all of Zen art from rock gardens to the No theater, and the specific treatment of rocks and trees, elements that the Zen school would one day take as metaphors for life itself. These characteristics have been eloquently described by the Western critics Osvald Siren and Ernest Fenollosa, respectively: _We hardly need dwell on the well-known fact that the Chinese painters, and particularly those who worked in Indian ink, utilized space as a most important means of artistic expression, but it may be pointed out that their ideas of space and their methods of rendering it were far from the same as in European art. Space was not to them a cubic volume that could be geometrically constructed, it was something illimitable and incalculable which might be, to some extent, suggested by the relation of forms and tonal values but which always extended beyond every material indication and carried a suggestion of the infinite.3 The wonderful twisted trees, mighty mountain pines and cedars, loved by these early Chinese and later Japanese, which our Western superficial view first ascribed to some barbarian taste for monstrosities, really exhibit the deep Zen thinker in their great knots and scaly limbs that have wrestled with storms and frosts and earthquakes--an almost identical process through which a man's life-struggles with enemies, misfortunes, and pains have stamped themselves into the wrinkles and strong muscular planes of his fine old face. Thus nature becomes a vast and picturesque world for the profound study of character; and this fails to lead to didactic overweighting and literary conceit, as it would do with us, because character, in its two senses of human individuality and nature individuality, are seen to become one.4_ During the early years of the Sung dynasty, two distinct styles of landscape painting developed, which today are known as "Northern" and "Southern," reflecting their geographical locations. Although it is extremely dangerous to venture generalizations about painting schools, it might be said that the Northern school produced comparatively formal, symmetrical works done in sharp, angular, ax-like brushstrokes which distinguished clearly between ink line and ink wash and in which the distant mountains were generally portrayed as crisply as the foreground. In contrast, the Southern school as a rule preferred a more romantic treatment of landscape elements, with rounded hills and misty valleys. Distant mountains were portrayed in graded washes of ink, suggesting mysterious recesses bathed in fog, while the middle ground was filled with rolling hills mellowed by a sense of diffuse lighting. A Chinese critic of the period described a Northern artist's work as all brush and no ink, and a Southern artist's as all ink and no brush--a simplified but basically accurate characterization of the two schools. The Northern style was originally centered around the northern capital of Kaifeng and the Southern around Nanking in the Yangtze valley, but when the Sung court fled to the South after the fall of the northern capital in 1127, the styles of the two schools were merged to some degree in a new academy that was established in the lovely southern city of Hangchow. Painters of the Southern Sung dynasty, as this later era came to be known, often were masters of both styles, sometimes producing jagged Northern landscapes, sometimes misty Southern vistas, or sometimes combining the two in a single painting. In time, however, as the mood of the age grew increasingly romantic and Ch'an Buddhism became more influential in academic circles, the jagged brushstrokes of the Northern painters retreated farther and farther into the mist, leaving the landscapes increasingly metaphorical, with contorted trees and rugged, textured rocks. This new lyrical style, which predominated in the last century of the Sung painting academy, was primarily the creation of two artists, Ma Yuan (active ca. 1190-1224) and Hsia Kuei (active ca. 1180-1230), whose works were to become the models for Ashikaga Zen landscapes. They both experimented with asymmetry and the deliberate juxtaposition of traditional landscape elements. Space became an element in its own right, particularly in the works of Ma Yuan, whose "one-corner" compositions were often virtually blank save for a bottom corner. An eclectic stylist, he frequently depicted the foreground in the ax-cut brushstrokes and sharp diagonals of the North, while distant mountains in the same painting were treated by the soft, graded washes of the South. Hsia Kuei did much the same, except that he took a marked interest in line and often painted foreground trees and rocks in sharp silhouette. In later years, after the Ming dynasty came to power, Chinese tastes reverted to a preference for the Northern style, but in Japan the so-called Ma-Hsia lyric school was revered and copied by Zen artists who found the subjective treatment of nature a perfect expression of Zen doctrines concerning intuitive insight. The Southern Sung academy did not deliberately produce Ch'an art; it was the Japanese who identified the Ma-Hsia style explicitly with Zen. However, during the early years of the thirteenth century, an expressionist, Ch'an school of art-- the heir of the earlier T'ang eccentrics--arose and produced a spontaneous style of painting as unpredictable as Zen itself. The center for this protest school of landscape art was not the Sung academy but rather a Ch'an monastery near Hangchow, and its leader was a monk named Mu-ch'i (ca. 1210-ca. 1280), who painted all subjects--landscapes, Ch'an _koan_, and expressionistic still-lifes--with brushstrokes at once skillfully controlled and deceptively casual. His was a disciplined spontaneity. A master of technique, he deliberately disregarded all the conventions. As time passed, various staid painters of the Sung academy heard his siren call of ecstasy and abandoned their formal styles, ending their days drinking with the Ch'an monks in monasteries around Hangchow, lost in the sheer exhilaration of ink and brush. When Japanese monks began traveling to China, their first encounter with landscape painting was in these monasteries. Consequently, the styles and the paintings of the Ch'an Mu-ch'i school were the first to be sent to Japan. In later years, after the Northern school of painting was again in vogue in China, Ming Chinese were only too happy to unload outdated Southern Sung monochromes on the eager Japanese. The emissaries of Yoshimitsu (as well as earlier traveling monks) had their pick of these works, with the result that the very best examples of the spontaneous Mu-ch'i and the lyric Ma-Hsia styles of Sung painting are today in Japan. The paintings of Mu-ch'i, the first Chinese monochrome art to be seen in Japan, were an instant success, and Zen monks rapidly took up the style. The most successful imitator was a Japanese priest-painter named Mincho (1351-1431), who before long was producing landscapes virtually indistinguishable from Mu-ch'i's. It was almost as though Mu-ch'i had risen from the dead and begun a new career in Japan a century later. Subsequently, the landscapes of the Ma-Hsia school found their way to Japan, and before long a second "Sung dynasty" was in full swing under the Ashikaga. Japanese Zen had found its art, and soon Yoshimitsu had established a painting academy at the temple of Shokoku-ji, where painter-monks gathered to study each new boatload of Sung works and to vie with one another in imitating Chinese brush styles. The head of the Zen academy was the priest Josetsu (active ca. 1400- 1413), who took full control after Yoshimitsu's death in 1408. Josetsu's famous "Man Catching a Catfish with a Gourd," a parable of the elusiveness of true knowledge, is a perfect example of Japanese mastery of Sung styles, with its sharp foreground brushwork and misty distant mountains. The Zen academy dominated Japanese art until well after the Onin War, exploring and copying the great Sung works, both those in the lyric academic style and those in the spontaneous Ch'an style. Josetsu was succeeded by his pupil Shubun (flourishing 1423-d. ca. 1460), whose vast (attributed) output of hanging scrolls and sixfold screens was a precise re-creation of the Sung lyric style. He was not a mere imitator, but rather a legitimate member of a school long vanished, with a genuine understanding of the ideals that had motivated the Southern Sung artists. Shubun was a perfect master, a Zen Raphael, who so disciplined his style that it seemed effortless. His paintings are things of beauty in which the personality of the artist has disappeared, as was the intention of the Sung masters, resulting in works so perfectly of a type that they stand as a foundation on which others might legitimately begin to innovate. However, under Shubun's successor Sotan (1414-1481), the academy continued to copy the techniques of dead Sung artists (as so often happens when art is institutionalized), producing works that showed no glimmer of originality. Zen art had reached maturity and was ready to become its own master; but it needed an artist who would place more trust in his own genius than in the dictates of the academy. The individual who responded to this need is today looked upon as the finest Japanese artist of all time. Sesshu Toyo (1420-1506) was a pupil of Shubun and very nearly the contemporary of Sotan. Painting out of a profound sense of the spirit of Zen, Sesshu was able to dismantle the components of Sung landscapes and reassemble them into an individual statement of Zen philosophy. It is thought that he became a Zen priest early in life and spent his formative years in an obscure rural village on the Inland Sea. However, records show that at the age of thirty- seven he was a priest in a reasonably high position at Shokoku-ji, under the patronage of Yoshimasa, and a member of the academy presided over by Shubun. He apparently studied under Shubun until shortly before the Onin War, when he left Kyoto for a city on the southwestern coast and soon was on his way to China aboard a trading vessel. Traveling as a Zen priest and a painter of some reputation, Sesshu was immediately welcomed by the Ch'an centers of painting on the mainland and by the Ming court in Peking. Although he was able to see and study many Sung paintings not available in the Kyoto Ashikaga collection, he was disappointed in the Ming artists he encountered and returned to Japan declaring he had found no worthy teacher in China except her streams and mountains. He also pronounced Josetsu and Shubun the equals of any Chinese painters he had met--probably the first time in history such a statement could have gone unchallenged. He never again returned to Kyoto, but established a studio in a western seaside village, where he received the mighty and passed his years in painting, Zen meditation, and pilgrimages to temples and monasteries. According to the traditional account, he declined an opportunity to become Sotan's successor as head of the Kyoto academy, recommending that the post be given to Kano Masanobu (1434-1530), who did in fact assume a position as official painter to the shogun in the 1480s. It later passed to Masanobu's son Kano Motonobu (1476-1559). This launched the decorative Kano school of painting which dominated Japanese art for centuries thereafter. Sesshu was a renegade stylist who mastered the Sung formulas of Shubun early in his career and then developed striking new dimensions in ink painting. Despite his scornful assessments of Ming art, he learned a great deal in China which he later used, including an earthy realism that freed him from Shubun's sublime perfection, a sense of design that allowed him to produce large decorative sixfold screens which still retained the Zen spirit, and, perhaps most importantly, the Ch'an- inspired ''flung ink" technique which took him into the realm of semi- abstraction. In his later years he became famous for two distinct styles which, though not without Chinese precedents, were strongly individualistic. In the first of these, known as _shin_, the polished formulas of Shubun were supplanted by a controlled boldness, with rocks and mountains outlined in dark, angular brushstrokes seemingly hewn with a chisel. The landscapes were not so much sublimely unattainable as caught and worked to his will. The reverence for nature remained, but under his hand the depiction was almost cubist; the essence of a vista was extracted in an intricate, dense design of angular planes framed in powerful lines. Delicacy was replaced by dominance. Precursors of this style can be found in the works of Ma Yuan and Hsia Kuei, both of whom experimented in the hard, Northern-influenced techniques of brushstroke, but it was Sesshu who was the true master of the technique. Writing in 1912, the American critic Ernest Fenollosa declared him to be the greatest master of the straight line and angle in the history of the world's art. Sesshu's second major style was _so_, an abstraction in wash combining the tonal mastery of the Southern Sung school with the "flung ink," or _haboku_, of the Ch'an school--a style in which line is almost entirely ignored, with the elements of the landscape being suggested by carefully varied tones of wash. A viewer familiar with the traditional elements of the Sung landscape can identify all the required components, although most are acknowledged only by blurred streaks and seeming dabs of ink which appear to have been applied with a sponge rather than a brush. In contrast to the cubist treatment of the _shin _style, the _so _defines no planes but allows elements of the landscape to blend into one another through carefully controlled variations in tonality. As effortless as the style appears to be, it is in fact a supreme example of mastery of the brush, an instrument intended for carving lines rather than subtle shading and blending of wash. Because Sesshu chose to live in the secluded provinces, he did not perpetuate a school, but artists in Kyoto and elsewhere drew on his genius to invigorate Zen painting. One artist inspired by him was So'ami, a member of the Ami family which flourished during the academy's heyday. The earlier members of the family had produced acceptable works in the standard Sung style, but So'ami distinguished himself in a number of styles, including the _so_. The other artist directly influenced by Sesshu was the provincial Sesson (ca.1502- ca.1589), who took part of the earlier master's name as his own and became adept in both _shin _and _so _techniques. Although he, too, avoided strife-ridden Kyoto, he became famous throughout Japan, and his works suggest what the academy might have produced had Sesshu chosen to remain part of the Zen establishment. Yet even in Sesson's work one can detect a polished, effortless elegance that seems to transform Sesshu's hard-earned power into an easy grace, a certain sign that the creative phase of Zen art had ended. The Ashikaga era of Japanese monochrome landscape is really the story of a few inspired individuals, artists whose works spanned a period of something more than one hundred and fifty years. As men of Zen, they found the landscape an ideal expression of reverence for the divine essence they perceived in nature. To contemplate nature was to contemplate the universal god, and to contemplate a painting of nature, or better still to paint nature itself, was to perform a sacrament. The landscape painting was their version of the Buddhist icon, and its monochrome abstraction was a profound expression of Zen aesthetics. Like the artists of the Renaissance, the Ashikaga artists worshiped through painting. The result is an art form showing no gods but resonant with spirituality. CHAPTER TEN The Zen Aesthetics of Japanese Architecture _Architecturally [the Zen-inspired Silver Pavilion's] chief interest lies in the compromise which it exhibits between religious and domestic types, and a new style of living apartments (called _shoin_) which specialists regard as the true forerunner of the Japanese dwelling. _George B. Sansom_, Japan: A Short Cultural History Traditional Zen-style house _ _Traditional interior w/ Zen art alcove _ ASK ANY JAPANESE why the traditional Japanese house is bitterly cold in winter and uncomfortably hot in summer, and he will unfailingly tell you that the design is historically adapted to the climate. Inquire about his purpose in rejecting furniture, thus to kneel daylong on a straw floor mat, and he will explain that the mat is more comfortable. Question his preference for sleeping on a wadded cotton floor pallet instead of a conventional mattress and springs, and he will reply that the floor provides surer rest. What he will not say, since he assumes a Westerner cannot comprehend it, is that through these seeming physical privations he finds shelter for the inner man. The exquisite traditional Japanese house has been compared to an outsized umbrella erected over the landscape, not dominating its surroundings but providing a shaded space for living amid nature. The outside resembles a tropical hut, while the inside is an interworking of Mondrian geometries. Together they represent the culmination of a long tradition of defining and handling interior space, using natural materials, and integrating architecture and setting. The Japanese house is one of those all too rare earthly creations that transcend the merely utilitarian, that attend as closely to man's interior needs as to his physical comfort. The classic house evolved over two millennia through the adaptation and blending of two dissimilar architectural traditions--the tropical nature shrine, which was part of the Shinto religion of the early immigrants to Japan, and the Chinese model, beginning with the palace architecture of the T'ang dynasty and culminating in the designs used in the monasteries of Chinese Ch'an Buddhism. The early immigrants, the Yayoi, today are believed to have arrived from points somewhere to the South, bringing a theology that defied the earth, the sun, and all the processes of nature. Their shrines to these gods were like conventional Oceanic huts. Thanks to a peculiar quirk of Shinto, which dictates that certain of these wood-and-thatch shrines be dismantled and built anew every two decades, it is still possible to see these lovely structures essentially as they were two millennia ago. Spartan and elegant in their simplicity, they were lyrically described by the nineteenth- century Western Japanophile, Lafcadio Hearn: _The typical shrine is a windowless oblong building of un-painted timber with a very steep overhanging roof; the front is a gable end; and the upper part of the perpetually closed doors is a wooden latticework--usually a grating of bars closely set and crossing each other at right angles. In most cases the structure is raised slightly above the ground on wooden pillars; and the queer peaked facade, with its visorlike apertures and the fantastic projections of beamwork above its gable-angle, might remind the European traveler of old gothic forms of dormer There is no artificial color. The plain wood soon turns, under the action of rain and sun, to a natural gray varying according to surface exposure from a silvery tone of birch bark to a somber gray of basalt.1 _ _Although the early immigrants lived first in caves and later in roofed pits dug into the earth, by the beginning of the Christian Era the aristocracy was building elevated dwellings on posts, with roofs supported not by the walls but by a central horizontal ridge pole suspended between two large columns at either end of the structure.2 _ It was, in fact, identical to the Shinto shrine design described by Hearn. As a home for the Shinto gods, this tropical design may well have been adequate, since nature spirits are presumably adapted to the rigors of a Japanese winter, but the Yayoi must have found that it enforced an unwelcome communion with the seasons. Even so, Hearn's description could be applied almost without alteration to the external qualities of the traditional dwelling as it finally evolved. One still finds the thatch roof, the use of pillars to suspend the floor above the ground, unfinished natural wood, and the virtual absence of nails. During the fifth and sixth centuries A.D. the early Japanese became aware of the complex Chinese culture on the Asian mainland, and by the beginning of the eighth century they had forsworn the primitive tropical architecture of Shinto and begun to surround themselves with palaces and temples modeled on the Chinese. During the Heian era, a Chinese-inspired aristocrat dwelling developed which represented a compromise between Japanese requirements and Chinese models. Although influenced by T'ang Chinese palaces, it was the first indigenous Japanese architectural style and is known as _shinden_. The _shinden _mansion was a sprawling complex dominated by a main building facing a pond, around which were flanked ancillary structures connected to it by open galleries protected only by a roof. These open galleries, being very much the fashion, were also built around the outside of all the larger rooms and served as passageways. There were no solid walls inside the buildings; privacy was obtained by curtains and two-part horizontal doors hinged at the top and attached to the ceiling. Adopting Chinese construction methods, Japanese began roofing the buildings with dark clay tiles instead of native thatch, and walls were frequently surfaced with clay rather than wood planks or woven straw. Exterior woods were painted Chinese vermilion instead of being left to age naturally. Furnishings were meager, and rooms were not identified according to usage; the building was one large area temporarily divided according to the needs of the moment. Instead of chairs there were movable floor mats of woven straw, while around the exterior of the rooms there were heavy shutters; these could be removed in summer or replaced by light bamboo blinds, which rolled down like window shades. Lighting was not a prominent feature of _shinden _mansions, and in winter the aristocracy huddled around a smoky fire in almost total darkness, the price of seeing being to open the blinds and freeze. The _shinden_ style suppressed for a time the indigenous affection for simplicity and unadorned natural materials revealed in the earlier, pre-Heian dwellings. However, it was never really naturalized, and it was eventually to be remembered in Japan's architectural history largely as an aberrant interlude, whose major legacy was the sense of openness or fluid space in the classic Zen house. When the _samurai _warriors of the Kamakura era (1185-- 1333) assumed power, they did not immediately disown the architectural styles of the Heian nobles, but merely added (or, in some cases, removed) features in response to their martial needs and their new Zen outlook. As the country was at war, there was no logic in detached rooms and open galleries, and the _samurai _immediately tightened up the design, putting the entire house under one roof. They eliminated the pond and added a surrounding board fence for protection, even as interior curtains and hinged doors were replaced by sliding doors of paper over a wooden frame. And as rooms became more clearly identified, they were defined in terms of function. The early influence of Zen was seen most noticeably in the gradual disappearance of the ornamental aspects of _shinden _design as the _samurai _came to prize austerity and frugality. During the Ashikaga era (1333-1573) which followed, when Zen monks assumed the role of advisers and scribes for the illiterate military rulers, a special writing desk, called a _shoin_, appeared in the houses of the more influential _samurai_. The _shoin _was a window alcove with a raised sill, which overlooked a private garden and was used by the monks for reading and writing. Next to this was a _chigai-dana_, a wall cabinet recessed in a niche and used for storing papers and writing, utensils. (These new domestic appointments had been lifted by the Zen monks directly from the chief abbot's study in Chinese Ch'an monasteries.) The _shoin _study room immediately became a focus of fashion among the _samurai_, even those who could neither read nor write, and before long it was the finest room in a house. Guests began to be received there and another feature from Zen monasteries was added: the art-display alcove, or tokonoma. (In Chinese Ch'an monasteries the _tokonoma _was a special shrine before which monks burned incense, drank ceremonial tea, and contemplated religious artwork. That such a shrine should appear in a reception room of a social-climbing _samurai_'s house is vivid testimony to the pervasive influence of the Zen monk advisers.) The _samurai_ also added an entry vestibule called a _genkan_, still another feature drawn from Zen temples. As a result of all these additions and modifications, _shinden_ architecture was completely transformed into a functional _samurai _house whose style became known as _shoin_. Forgotten were the Chinese tile roofs and vermilion paint; thatch and unfinished woods reappeared. Paradoxically, the supplanting of _shinden _design by _shoin _was in many ways merely the ousting of a T'ang Chinese style by a Sung Chinese style. However, the T'ang architecture had been that of the Chinese court, whereas the Sung was drawn from Ch'an monasteries and coincidentally contained many of the aesthetic ideals of the earlier native Japanese dwellings and shrines. By the waning years of the Ashikaga era, the _shoin _design had influenced virtually every aspect of Japanese architecture, bringing into being almost all the qualities of what is now thought of as the traditional Japanese house. The movable floor mats were replaced by wall-to-wall _tatami_, woven straw mats bound with a dark fabric band at either end and standardized to a size of approximately three by six feet. Soon rooms were being defined in terms of the number of _tatami _required for the floor--and modular architecture had been invented. Sliding, but removable paper partitions called _fusuma_ became the standard room dividers, and the _tokonoma_ became less a religious shrine than a secular display case where vertical monochrome scrolls and flower arrangements were put on view. Oddly enough, one of the few Chinese innovations the Japanese persistently chose to ignore was the chair. As a result, a Japanese residence has always maintained an entry vestibule where footwear is removed, something unnecessary for the Chinese, who had no reason to consider the floor a couch and could keep their shoes on. One important side effect of this choice is that eye level in the Japanese room--that is, the level from which the room, its art, and its appointments are viewed--has remained significantly lower than in houses with furniture, a characteristic that influences the placement of art as well as the layout of the accompanying garden. The culminating style of Japanese architecture was the sukiya house, essentially a free-hand rendering of the formal _samurai shoin_. The _sukiya_ style reflected a number of aesthetic and architectural ideas embodied in the Zen-inspired Japanese teahouse, and it allowed for considerable experimentation with materials and design. Less powerful and more delicate than the _shoin_, it was in many ways the ultimate extension of Zen austerity, even to the point where walls were often left unplastered. The _shoin_ had been the house of warriors; the _sukiya _was a style for the common man and as such has contributed significantly to the overall tradition of Japanese architecture. _Shoin_ and _sukiya _houses, heirs to the legacy of Zen monks and later Zen aesthetes, are the reference point for what is now understood to be the traditional Japanese dwelling. The deceptively fragile appearance of the house makes it appear at first an impractical invention for a land faced with recurrent earthquakes. Yet its lightness and flexibility, like those of a judo expert, actually contribute to its safety. Part of the reason is its foundation, which "floats" with the earth rather than being anchored rigidly. The traditional house is not held up by walls but by stout columns, almost a half-foot in diameter, embedded at their base in niches sunk into large, individually placed stones which are only partially buried. These columns reach through the house to the ceiling, whose weight secures them in their precarious foundation. In ordinary houses, the roof is a steeply sloping, four-sided pyramid whose light underframe is covered with multiple layers of shingles made from the tough bark of the _hinoki_ tree. A second set of shorter posts, similarly supported bv partially buried stones, holds up the platform that is the floor, a wooden deck of closely fitted planks set about two feet above the earth. The outer perimeter of the flooring becomes a veranda or walkway, called the _engawa_, and the inner space is partitioned into rooms by light walls of paper, plaster, and wooden grillwork. The outer walls of the house, which serve no structural purpose, are sliding latticework panels called _shoji_, which are covered with translucent white rice paper, bathing the exterior rooms in a soft daytime light. The _shoji_, ordinarily installed in pairs approximately six feet high and three feet wide, unite rather than divide the interior and exterior; during the summer they slide open to provide fresh air and direct communication with the outdoors. If greater insulation or safety is required, a second set of sliding panels, or _amado_, similar in appearance to Western doors, may be installed outside the _shoji_. Between columns too narrow to accommodate a pair of _shoji_ there may be a solid wall consisting of a two-inch-thick layer of clay pressed into a bamboo and rice-straw framework and finished inside and out with a thin veneer of smooth white plaster. Similar walls may be built inside the house where appropriate, and they and the columns are the house's only solid surfaces. The dull white color and silken texture of the plaster walls contrast pleasantly with the exposed natural grain of the supporting columns. Interior rooms are separated by partitions consisting of light wooden frames covered in heavy opaque paper, often decorated with unobtrusive designs. These paper walls, called _fusuma_, are suspended from tracks attached to overhead crossbeams. They slide to form instant doorways, or when removed entirely, convert two smaller rooms into one large apartment. _Fusuma_ provide little privacy between rooms except a visual screen, and it is rumored that this undesired communication increasingly inhibits lovemaking by modern parents. The overhead crossbeams, installed between the columns at a height of slightly over six feet, are similar to the columns in diameter and appearance. The ceiling of the rooms is roughly two feet above the crossbeams, or _kamoi_, with the intervening space usually filled either by a vertical open wooden latticework, the _ramma_, or a plaster-and-board combination, the _nageshi_. On exterior walls of the _ramma_ is ordinarily a solid extension of the _shoji_ which inhibits air flow from the outside. The _kamoi_, _nageshi_, and _ramma _have a structural as well as aesthetic obligation; they are the only solid lateral supports between the upright columns. The ceiling itself is a light wood latticework over which has been laid a platform of thin boards still in their natural state, as is all the woodwork. Visitors enter through the _genkan _portico, where street shoes are replaced by soft-soled slippers, to prevent scratches on the exposed wooden veranda and hallways. At the entrance to a _tatami_-carpeted room, the slippers too are relinquished, and host and guests are both in stocking feet, a state that encourages familiarity. The reception room is empty as a cell, and as it basks in the diffuse light of the _shoji_, it seems suspended in time--heedless of the season. The only furniture may be a small central table around which guests and host seat themselves on square cushions. Or perhaps there are lamps with rice-paper shades, one or two knee-high chests of drawers, and if the weather requires it, one or more charcoal braziers, either a small moveable hibachi for hand warming or a larger heater sunk into a center recess in the flooring, often beneath the table, or both. The purpose of these is apparently more symbolic than functional, for they do little to influence the temperature in the paper-walled rooms. Arrangements for summer cooling are equally metaphysical; the _shoji _are simply thrown open in hopes of snaring wayward breezes, whose meager cooling is enhanced psychologically by the tinkle of wind bells hung in the verandas. The aesthetic focus of the room is the _tokonoma_, or picture recess, set into one of the plaster walls, with a raised dais for its floor and an artificial, lowered ceiling. The _tokonoma _has a small _shoji_- covered window at one side which illuminates a hanging scroll, and there is usually an incense burner (in recognition of its original monastic function) or a simple flower arrangement on its floor. Adjacent to the _tokonoma_ is the _chigai-dana_, a shelved storage area hidden by sliding panels, which may be used to store _kimonos_ or bedding rather than the writing implements of Zen monks as in the past. The _tokonoma _and _chigai-dana _are separated by a thin dividing wall whose outer edge is fronted by a single polished post, the _toko- bashira_, a natural tree trunk stripped of its bark to reveal its gnarled surface texture. The _toko-bashira _has the quality of polished driftwood, intended to bring a touch of raw nature to the otherwise austere and monastic ambience of the room. As the guest kneels on the cushions and sips green tea, the host may slide aside a rear _shoji _to reveal the roofless garden of the inner courtyard, his private abstraction of the natural landscape. Flowers are purposely absent, but in their place may be tiny shaped pines, a pond, and receding, rocky pathways. The mossy stones glisten with dew (or with water from a recent dousing by the host in preparation for his guests), and the air is fresh with the scent of greenery. Only upon careful inspection does the deception evaporate and the garden reveal itself to be a tiny plot surrounded by a bamboo and plaster fence; the natural world has been extracted and encapsulated into a single view, at once as authentic as the forest and as artfully detailed as a Flemish miniature. This view--a heritage of Zen _shoin _design--is vital to the aesthetic magic of the house, for it brings the works of man and nature together in a way that blurs their distinction. Exterior space is united with interior space just as Zen philosophy identifies the external world as an extension of man's inner life. Indeed, all the subjective aspects of the Japanese house are Zen- inspired. The most apparent design feature is the clean lines that mark the boundaries of space, from the geometrical delineation of floor areas, brought out by the dark bindings of the tatami, to the exposed skeletal framework of columns and horizontal beams. By deliberately excluding curved lines (whose implied sensuality would be at odds with Zen ideals of austerity) in the partitioning of space, the house achieves a geometrical formality both elegant and pure. This sense of free space is further realized by the rigorous exclusion of extraneous ornamentation (again a Zen aesthetic precept) and by placing all essential furnishings in the center of the room rather than around the sides, as in the West. Design aesthetics are also served by the emphasis on the natural texture of materials and the contrast realized when different materials (such as clay walls and exposed wood) are placed side by side. Finally, the indirect lighting provided by the _shoji _gives daytime rooms a subjective sense of perpetual afternoon, mellowing the visual properties of the materials, softening harsh colors to pastels, and enhancing the overall feeling of naturalness in the exposed woods. The removable partitions, both internal and external, create a sense of interdependent yet fluid space so startling to Westerners that it is often the first thing they notice in a Japanese house. The concept is, of course, derived from a basic philosophical presumption inherent in all Zen art, from ink paintings to ceramics, that freedom is most keenly perceived when it is exercised within a rigorous framework of constraints and discipline. More important, and more difficult to define, is the Zen concept of _shibui_, the studied restraint that might be described as knowing when to stop. _Shibui_, perhaps more than any other aesthetic principle, typifies the influence of Zen on Japanese ideals. It means many things, including the absence of all that is not essential; a sense of disciplined strength deliberately held in check to make what is done seem effortless; the absence of the ornate and the explicit in favor of the sober and the suggestive; and the elegance that can be realized when the purest of natural materials are integrated in a formal, balanced orchestration.3 In addition to the aesthetic aspects, there is also a quality of psychological suggestion stemming from Zen in the Japanese house. Zen monks early realized that the cell-like austerity of a room could be used to manipulate the consciousness of those caught in its precincts. The impact of this was well described by the early-twentieth-century traveler Ralph Adams Cram: _There is something about the great spacious apartments, airy and full of mellow light, that is curiously satisfying, and one feels the absence of furniture only with a sense of relief. Free from the rivalry of crowded furnishings, men and women take on a quite singular quality of dignity and importance.4 _ 'The "singular quality of dignity and importance" is one of the most fundamental discoveries of Zen interior designers. In the absence of decorative distractions, one must concentrate on his own mind and on the minds of others present. Host and guest find their focus on one another has been deliberately enhanced, breaking down the barriers of separateness and individual identity. Each word, each gesture is rendered richer, more significant. Heinrich Engel, who understood the source of the mysterious effects which Ralph Adams Cram could only describe in bewilderment, has explained this phenomenon: _[The individual interior room] provides an environment that requires man's presence and participation to fill the void. Room in the Western residence is human without man's presence, for man's memory lingers in the multiple devices of decoration, furniture, and utility. Room in the Japanese residence becomes human only through man's presence. Without him, there is no human trace. Thus, the empty room provides the very space where man's spirit can move freely and where his thoughts can reach the very limits of their potential.5 _ Stated differently, the Japanese room forces introspection on those who enter it alone--a function completely in keeping with the interests of Zen. Souls who have felt the weight of too much liberty (and undeserved decorator's license) will find here a solemn retreat and a heightened sense of internal awareness. Here as never before one's mind is one's own, undistracted by the prosaic implements of living with which Westerners ordinarily engulf themselves. One should be warned, however, that this liberation of the consciousness is powerful stuff. The Japanese Zen room is a concentration cell which, although it can unite the minds of those who share it, can often tell those who enter it alone more than they want to know about their own interior lives. The restraining discipline taught by Zen has both made the traditional Japanese house possible and reconciled its inhabitants to the practical difficulties of living in it. Although few Westerners would accept the inconvenience and sometime discomfort of these houses, many of the early Zen designers' ideals have begun to be seen in architecture and design in the West. It is well known that the Japanese integration of house and environment influenced Frank Lloyd Wright and that a purging of ornamentation was the credo of the Bauhaus. The Japanese principle of modular design is now influential in the West, and we have finally discovered the possibilities for multiple uses of space, with modern "efficiency" apartments that combine all living functions, from dining to entertaining to sleeping, in a single room. Interest has grown recently in the texture of interior materials, which it is now realized provide a necessary visual warmth, and there is increasing integration of living areas with gardens, patios, and the outdoors, and a blessed reduction in superfluous decoration, with the re-establishment of emphasis on clean lines, open space, and the quality of light. Perhaps most important of all, we in the West are finally taking to heart what the Japanese Zen monks knew in medieval times: that domestic architecture and interiors can and should fulfill a requirement in our lives that is ordinarily served by art. CHAPTER ELEVEN The No Theater _It is not, like our theatre, a place where every fineness and subtlety must give way; where every fineness of word or of word-cadence is sacrificed to the "broad effect"; where the paint must be put on with a broom. It is a stage where every subsidiary art is bent precisely upon upholding the faintest shade of difference; where the poet may be silent while the gestures consecrated by four centuries of usage show meaning. _Ezra Pound and Ernest Fenollosa_, Classic Noh Theatre of Japan Noh actor with mask _ _Noh stage with chorus _ THE ASHIKAGA age of Zen art is remembered today not only for gardens, painting, and architecture but also for drama and poetry. The leading political figure of the era, Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, was himself an accomplished poet in the short verse forms once so popular with Heian courtier-aesthetes. But the most exalted poetry of the age was that written for the No drama, a literary art form born of Zen and at once as austere as a stone garden and as suggestive as a monochrome painting. The No is performed today virtually as it was six hundred years ago, and in its ritual symbolism it seems at times a cross between the Christian Mass and an Aeschylean tragedy. The essence of Zen aesthetic theory is evoked throughout its haunting poetry, its understated but intense style of acting, its delicately carved masks, and its mournful music and songs. Like other Zen arts, the No was fashioned out of materials from distant times and places. The first Japanese dramatic arts were derived from various forms of Chinese farces and court dances. The farces, or _gigaku_, were popular with the Nara aristocracy, while the dances, or _bugaku_, came into favor with the more refined Heian court. Although the _bugaku _form undoubtedly influenced Japanese ideas on the blending of drama and dance, by the end of the Heian era it had become a lifeless ceremony for the emperor and his court--a role it still enjoys on occasions when performances are staged for the imperial family. The real origins of the No are traceable to a somewhat lustier Chinese import, a circus-type entertainment called by the Japanese _sarugaku_. In addition to the display of various physical feats of daring, the _sarugaku _included farcical playlets and suggestive, sometimes indecent dances. A common theme seems to have been the lampooning of clergy, both Buddhist and Shinto. (In this respect, the development of native drama in Japan ran parallel with the resurgence of dramatic art in Europe after the Middle Ages, as citizens on both sides of the globe taunted the theological enslavement of feudal society by burlesques and dances ridiculing hypocritical authority figures.) The studied indecency of early _sarugaku _was undoubtedly intended to parody the pomposity of Shinto rituals. But as time went by, the rustic dance-stories evolved into a more structured drama, the _sarugaku-no- No_, which was the thirteenth-century Japanese equivalent of the European morality play. The earlier farces were transformed into comedies known as _kyogen _(in which wily servants repeatedly tricked their masters), which today serve as interlude pieces to relieve the gravity of a program of No plays, just as the early Greek satyr plays were performed after a trilogy of tragedies in the Athenian theater. In the early versions of the sarugaku-no-No, the performers sang and danced, but as the form matured a chorus was added to supply the verses during certain segments of the dance. By the middle of the fourteenth century, about the time of Chaucer's birth, Japanese No was already an established dramatic form, containing all the major elements it has today. It was, however, merely village drama, and so it might have remained except for a chance occurrence in the year 1374. In that year Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, already shogun at age seventeen, attended a performance of the _sarugaku-no-No _for the first time. The entertainment was a great favorite with his subjects, and he was trying to establish himself as a man of the people. A particularly well-known actor was scheduled to perform in Kyoto, and Yoshimitsu went to see him. The actor was Kannami (1333-1384), today famous as the father of the No. Yoshimitsu was excited by Kannami, but he was even more enthralled by the actor's handsome eleven-year-old son Zeami (1363- 1444), who also appeared in the play. Yoshimitsu became Kannami's patron, but young Zeami he took to his couch (a common enough occurrence in _samurai_ circles of the age). Zeami was devoted to the No, even as Yoshimitsu became devoted to Zeami, and thus began the long marriage of Zen culture and the No theater. Through Yoshimitsu the _sarugaku-no-No _came under the influence of the circle of Zen aesthetes surrounding him, and what had once been a broad popular entertainment became an aristocratic art. Supported by Yoshimitsu's patronage, Zeami became the Shakespeare of the No, writing the finest plays in the repertoire as well as several volumes of essays on aesthetic theories and acting technique. Although Zeami claimed to have learned everything from his father, the austere and poetic No that came to perfection during the Ashikaga was largely his own creation. His poetry has never been equaled, and his handbook of technique has remained the No actor's bible. Yet he might never have been heard of had it not been for Yoshimitsu, who, in the words of Donald Keene, found the No brick and left it marble. The classic No stage is a splendid example of Zen-influenced architecture. The stage is a platform of golden, polished wood covered by a heavy arched roof supported by stout pillars at each of the four corners. The entire structure projects out into the audience, almost as though a wooden shrine had been reconstructed in the middle of the auditorium. The actors approach the platform along a wide entry ramp that leads off stage right to a curtained entranceway at the rear of the auditorium. The ramp has three small pine trees spaced evenly along its length, while on the backdrop of the stage proper there is a painting of a massive gnarled pine. As though to suggest Shinto origins for the drama, the stage and entrance ramp are symbolically separated from the audience by an encircling expanse of white sand, spanned at the very front of the stage by a small symbolic wooden stair. The acting platform is square, approximately twenty feet by twenty, with an additional rear area to accommodate the musicians and another area at stage left where the chorus kneels. Underneath the stage, unseen by the audience, are a number of large clay pots, a traditional acoustic device to amplify the resonance of the actors' voices. The few properties used in the plays are introduced and removed through an auxiliary entrance at the rear of the stage. The beginning of the play is signaled offstage by the high- pitched wail of a bamboo flute. Two attendants with bamboo poles lift back the variegated brocade curtain covering the doorway to the ramp, and the musicians, either three or four in number, enter single file and position themselves in the prescribed order along the rear of the stage--the flautist sitting on the floor Japanese style, and the two major drummers on stools they carry with them. (If a bass drum is required, its player must join the flautist on the floor.) The No flute is not particularly unusual, except for an exceptionally strident tone, but the two primary No drums are unlike anything in the West. Although they are of different sizes, both resemble a large hourglass with an ox hide drawn over either end and held taut by heavy leather cords. The smaller drum, whose hide surface the players must periodically soften with his breath, is held on the player's right shoulder and struck with the right hand. Its sound is a muffled, funereal boom, lower in pitch than that of the other, larger drum, the larger drum is held on the player's left knee and struck with the fingers of the left hand, which may be protected by thimbles of leather or ivory. It produces a sharp, urgent click, used to punctuate the cadence of the performance. The bass drum used in certain dramas is played with drumsticks in the Western manner. The drummers also sometimes provide rhythm by interjecting monosyllabic shouts between drumbeats. As the musicians enter, so does the chorus, eight or ten men dressed in formal Japanese "black tie" kimonos. They seat themselves Japanese style in two rows along stage left, where they must remain immobile for the duration of the play (which may be well over an hour). Since younger Japanese are less resigned to the persistent ache accompanying the traditional seating posture than their elders, the chorus usually tends to be well on in years. The chorus fills in dialogue for the actors during dance sequences; it makes no commentary on the action as does the chorus in Greek tragedy, nor does it have any special identity as part of the cast. Its members merely take up the voice of the actors from time to time like a dispassionate, heavenly choir. With chorus and orchestra present, the overture begins. The first sounds are the piercing lament of the flute and the insistent crack of the drums, against which the drummers emit deep-throated, strangled cries. This stunning eruption of sound signals the entrance of the dramatis personae as the brocade curtain is again drawn aside for the first cast member, usually a _waki_, or supporting actor, who enters with measured, deliberate pace onto the entrance ramp, where he advances with a sliding, mechanical tread toward the stage. The _waki_, often representing an itinerant monk dressed in subdued black robes, begins telling the story, either in his own voice or aided by the chorus, establishing the locale and circumstances of the scene about to unfold, after which he retires to a corner of the stage and seats himself to await the entrance of the protagonist, or _shite_. The brocade curtain parts again to reveal the _shite_, richly costumed and frequently masked, who approaches to sing and dance out his story before the waiting _waki_. The _shite's _splendid costume contrasts strikingly with the austerity of the stage and the other costumes. On first appearance the _shite _ordinarily is intended to be a human form, albeit often a troubled one, but as his tale unfolds he becomes not so much an actual being as the personification of a soul. If the play is in two parts, in the second part he may assume his real identity, often only hinted in the first, of a spirit from the dead. Prefiguring the Shakespearean soliloquy, the confessional song of the _shite _speaks for the universal consciousness as he pours out his tortured inner emotions. As the _shite _sings, the knowing _waki _serves as confessor and provides a foil for any dialogue. The play climaxes with the dance of the _shite_, a stiff, stylized, sculptural sequence of mannered postures and gestures which draw heavily upon traditional Shinto sacred dances. With this choreographic resolution the play closes, and all exeunt single file as they entered--to the restrained acknowledgment of the audience. The No repertoire contains five primary categories of plays. There are "god plays," in which the shite is a supernatural spirit, frequently disguised, whose divinity is made manifest during the final dance. In "warrior plays," the _shite _may be a martial figure from the Kamakura era who speaks in universal terms about his own personal tragedy. "Woman plays" are lyric evocations of a beautiful woman, often a courtesan, who has been wronged in love. The fourth category includes a grab bag of dramas often focusing on an historical episode or on the _shite _being driven to madness by guilt or, in the case of a woman, jealousy. Finally, there are "demon plays," in which the shite is a vengeful ogre, often sporting a flowing red or white wig, who erupts into a frenzied dance to demonstrate his supernatural displeasure over some event. Many of the classic plays are a study of the tortured mental world of the dead. Even in warrior plays and woman plays the central character is frequently a spirit from the nether world who returns to chronicle a grievance or to exact some form of retribution from a living individual. Plot is deliberately suppressed. Instead of a story, the play explores an emotional experience or a state of mind--hatred, love, longing, fear, grief, and occasionally happiness. The traditional components of Western drama--confrontation, conflict, characterization, self-realization, development, resolution--are almost entirely absent. In their place is the ritualized reading of an emotional state that rarely grows or resolves during the play; it is simply described. The artistic content of the No is embodied in the masks, dances, and poetry, all of which deserve to be examined. The masks carved for the No drama are the only representative sculptured art form of Zen; indeed, Zen was basically responsible for the disappearance of a several-hundred-year-old tradition of Buddhist sculpture in Japan. During the late Kamakura era, Japanese wood sculpture went through a phase of startling realism; but the Zen monks had no use for icons or statues of Buddhist saints, and by the beginning of the Ashikaga era Japanese statuary was essentially a thing of the past. However, the Japanese genius for wood carving had a second life in the No masks. No plays required masks for elderly men, demons, and sublime women of all ages. (The No rigidly excluded women from the stage, as did the Kabuki until recent times.) No masks, especially the female, have a quality unique in the history of theater: they are capable of more than one expression. No masks were carved in such a way that the play of light, which could be changed by the tilt of the actor's head, brought out different expressions. It was a brilliant idea, completely in keeping with the Zen concept of suggestiveness. No companies today treasure their ancient masks, which frequently have been handed down within the troupe for centuries, and certain old masks are as famous as the actors who use them. For reasons lost to history, the masks are somewhat smaller than the human face, with the unhappy result that a heavy actor's jowls are visible around the sides and bottom. They also cup over the face, muffling to some extent the actor's delivery. The guttural No songs, which are delivered from deep in the chest and sound like a curious form of tenor gargling, are rendered even more unintelligible by the mask. This specialized No diction, which entered the form after it had passed from popular entertainment to courtly art, is extremely difficult to understand; today even cognoscenti resort to libretti to follow the poetry. The slow-motion movement around the stage, which goes by the name of "dance" in the No, is one of its more enigmatic aspects for Western viewers. As R. H. Blyth has described it, "the stillness is not immobility but is a perfect balance of opposed forces."1 Such movements as do transpire are subtle, reserved, and suggestive. They are to Western ballet what the guarded strokes of a _haboku _ink landscape are to an eighteenth-century oil canvas. They are, in fact, a perfect distillation of human movement, extracting all that is significant--much as a precious metal is taken from the impure earth. The feeling is formal, pure, and intense. As described in a volume by William Theodore de Bary: _When a No actor slowly raises his hand in a play, it corresponds not only to the text he is performing, but must also suggest something behind the mere representation, something eternal--in T. S. Eliot's words, a "moment in and out of time." The gesture of an actor is beautiful in itself, as a piece of music is beautiful, but at the same time it is the gateway to something else, the hand that points to a region as profound and remote as the viewer's powers of reception will permit. It is a symbol, not of any one thing, but of an eternal region, of an eternal silence.2 _ The evocation of an emotion beyond expression--of "thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears"--is the special Zen aesthetic realm of _yugen_. The quality, heightened to almost unendurable levels by poetry, is that of a Zen landscape: sparse, monochromatic, suggestive. Universal human emotions are cloaked in obscurity rather than set forth explicitly. The passion is open-ended, a foreboding sonnet with the last line left for the listener to complete. Zeami and other No poets believed that the deepest sentiments cannot be conveyed by language; the poetry merely sets the stage and then sends the listener's imagination spinning into the realm of pure emotion, there to discover an understanding too profound for speech. In Western terms, if King Lear were a _shite_, he would speak in understated terms of the darkness of the heath rather than chronicle his own anguish. The concept of _yugen_, the incompleteness that triggers, poetic emotions in the listener's mind is, as has been previously noted, an extension of the Heian concept of _aware_. Like _yugen_, _aware _describes not only the properties of some external phenomenon but also the internal response to that phenomenon. _Aware _originally meant the emotional lift and sense of poignancy experienced in contemplating a thing of beauty and reflecting on its transience. Yugen extends this into the realm of eternal verities; not only beauty but all life fades, happiness always dissolves, the soul passes alone and desolate. In an art form that transmits _yugen_, none of this is stated; one is forced to feel these truths through suggestion, the degree of feeling depending, of course, upon the sensitivity of the individual. One can find excellent examples of _yugen _in almost any No drama of the fifteenth century, like the following from "The Banana Tree" (Basho), by Komparu-Zenchiku: _Already the evening sun is setting in the west, Shadows deepen in the valleys, The cries of homing birds grow faint.3 _ Here the sense of universal loneliness at nightfall, the emptiness one feels in a desolate locale, the Gothic coldness that penetrates from the physical senses into one's interior emotions, are all much more fully realized through the simple evocation of the scene than would be possible by detailing them explicitly. The mournful call of evening birds in the bleak, empty, windswept fields cuts, like the No flute, to the very core of one's feelings. The No is perhaps the most difficult Zen art for Westerners to enjoy. The restrained action transmits virtually nothing of what is occurring onstage, and the poetry does not translate well. (As Robert Frost once observed, in translations of poetry, it is the poetry that is lost.) The music is harsh to the Western ear; the chorus interrupts at intervals that seem puzzling; the strange cries and dances befog the mind. Most important of all, the concept of _yugen _is not a natural part of Western aesthetics. The measured cadences of the No have, for the Westerner, all the mystery of a religious ceremony wrought by a race of pious but phlegmatic Martians. Yet we can admire the taut surface beauty and the strangely twentieth-century atonality of the form. Its enigmatic remoteness notwithstanding, the No remains one of the greatest expressions of Ashikaga Zen art. Some of Zeami's texts are ranked among the most complex and subtle of all Japanese poetry. For six hundred years the No has been a secular Zen Mass, in which some of mankind's deepest aesthetic responses are explored. Part III THE RISE OF POPULAR ZEN CULTURE: 1573 TO THE PRESENT CHAPTER TWELVE Bourgeois Society and Later Zen _God has given us the Papacy; let us enjoy it. _ Pope Leo X, 1513 THE ASHIKAGA was the last era in Japan entirely without knowledge of Europe. In 1542 a Portuguese trading vessel bound for Macao went aground on a small island off the coast of southern Japan, and the first Europeans in history set foot on Japanese soil. Within three years the Portuguese had opened trade with Japan, and four years after that Francis Xavier, the famous Jesuit missionary, arrived to convert the heathen natives to the Church. For the eclectic Japanese, who had received half a dozen brands of Buddhism over the centuries, one additional religion more or less hardly mattered, and they listened with interest to the new preaching, far from blind to the fact that the towns with the most new Christians received the most new trade. Indeed, the Japanese appear to have first interpreted Christianity as an exotic form of Buddhism, whose priests borrowed the ancient Buddhist idea of prayer beads and venerated a goddess of mercy remarkably like the Buddhist Kannon. In addition to bringing a new faith, the Portuguese, whose armed merchant ships were capable of discouraging pirates, were soon in full command of the trade between China and Japan--a mercantile enterprise once controlled by Zen monks. Still, the direct influence of Europe was not pronounced. Although there was a brief passion for European costume among Japanese dandies (similar to the Heian passion for T'ang Chinese dress), the Japanese by and large had little use for European goods or European ideas. However, one European invention won Japanese hearts forever: the smoothbore musket. The Japanese, sensing immediately that the West had finally found a practical use for the ancient Chinese idea of gunpowder, soon made the musket their foremost instrument of social change. Overnight a thousand years of classical military tactics were swept aside, while the Japanese genius for metal-working turned to muskets rather than swords. Musket factories sprang up across the land, copying and often improving on European designs, and before long Japanese warlords were using the musket with greater effect than any European ever had. The well-meaning Jesuits, who had arrived with the mission of rescuing Japanese souls, had succeeded only in revolutionizing Japanese capacity for combat. The musket was to be an important ingredient in the final unification of Japan, the dream of so many shoguns and emperors in ages past. The process, which required several bloody decades, was presided over by three military men of unquestioned genius: Oda Nobunaga (1534-1582), Toyotomi Hideyoshi (1536-1598), and Tokugawa Ieyasu (1542-1616). The character of these three men is portrayed in a Japanese allegory describing their respective attitudes toward a bird reluctant to sing. Nobunaga, the initiator of the unification movement and one of the crudest men who ever lived, ordered bluntly, "Sing or I'll wring your neck." Hideyoshi, possibly the most skillful diplomat in Japanese history, told the bird, "If you don't want to sing, I'll make you." Ieyasu, who eventually inherited the fruits of the others' labor, patiently advised the bird, "If you won't sing now, I'll wait until you will." Today the years dominated by Nobunaga and Hideyoshi are known as the Momoyama era, and the following two centuries of peace presided over by Ieyasu and his descendants are referred to as the Tokugawa. After the Onin War, which had destroyed the power of the Ashikaga shogunate and the aristocratic Zen culture of Kyoto, Japan had become a collection of feudal fiefdoms. The emperor and Ashikaga shoguns in Kyoto were titular rulers of a land they in no way governed. Into this regional balance of power came Nobunaga, who began his military career by killing his brother in a family dispute and taking control of his home province. Shortly thereafter he defeated a powerful regional warlord who had invaded the province with an army far outnumbering his own. The victory made him a national figure overnight and destroyed the balance of dynamic tension that had preserved the system of autonomous _daimyo_ fiefs. Rival _daimyo_, covetous of their neighbors' lands, rushed to enlist his aid until, in 1568, he marched into Kyoto and installed a shogun of his own choosing. When the Buddhists on Mt. Hiei objected to Nobunaga's practices of land confiscation, he marched up the hill and sacked the premises, burning the buildings to the ground and killing every last man, woman, and child. This style of ecumenicity had been practiced often enough among the Buddhists themselves as one sect warred against the other, but never before had a secular ruler dared such a feat. This act and the program of systematic persecution that followed marked the end of genuine Buddhist influence in Japan. Nobunaga's armies of musket-wielding foot soldiers were on the verge of consolidating his authority over all Japan when he was unexpectedly murdered by one of his generals. The clique responsible for the attempted coup was dispatched in short order by Nobunaga's leading general, the aforementioned diplomat Hideyoshi. Hideyoshi, who later became known as the Napoleon of Japan, was not of _samurai _blood and had in fact begun his military career as Nobunaga's sandal holder. He was soon providing the warlord with astute military advice, and it was only a matter of time until he was a trusted lieutenant. He was the first (and last) shogun of peasant stock, and his sudden rise to power caused aristocratic eyebrows to be raised all across Japan. Physically unimposing, he was one of the seminal figures in world history, widely acknowledged to have been the best military strategist in the sixteenth-century world, and he completed the process of unification. The anecdotes surrounding his life are now cherished legends in Japan. For example, a favorite military stratagem was to bring a recalcitrant _daimyo_ to the very brink of ruin and then fall back, offering an incredibly generous peace. However unwise such a tactic might be in the West, it had the effect in Japan of converting a desperate enemy into an indebted subordinate. With the country at peace, foreign trade flourishing, and a rigorous system of taxation in force, Hideyoshi found himself with an excess of time and money. His response was to launch the Momoyama age of Japanese art. With more power than any ruler since Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, he was in a position to direct taste, if not to dictate it. This time there were few Zen monks in attendance to advise him on expenditures (Hideyoshi continued to keep the Buddhists under close guard, a practice as pleasing to the Jesuits as his harem was displeasing), and his flamboyant taste had full reign. Momoyama art became, in many ways, the antithesis of Zen aesthetics. Hideyoshi ordered huge screens to be covered in gold leaf and decorated with explicit still-lifes painted in vibrant primary colors. Yet he was no stranger to Zen ideals; he kept a famous tea-ceremony aesthete as adviser and lavished huge sums on the special ceramics required for this ritual. In many ways, the Zen tea ceremony and tea ceramics became for Hideyoshi what Zen gardens, painting, and the No were for the Ashikaga. His patronage not only inspired a flourishing of ceramic art; the tea ceremony now became the vehicle through which Zen canons of taste and aesthetics were transmitted to the common man. The patronage of the Ashikaga had furthered Zen art among the _samurai _and the aristocracy; Hideyoshi's patronage opened it to the people at large. Ironically, the Zen arts profited from Hideyoshi's military blunders as well as from his patronage. At one point in his career he decided to invade China, but his armies, predictably, never got past Korea. The enterprise was unworthy of his military genius, and puzzled historians have speculated that it may actually have been merely a diversion for his unemployed _samurai_, intended to remove them temporarily to foreign soil. The most significant booty brought back from this disastrous venture (now sometimes known as the "pottery campaign") was a group of Korean potters, whose rugged folk ceramics added new dimensions to the equipment of the tea ceremony. Having maneuvered the shogunate away from Nobunaga's heirs, Hideyoshi became increasingly nervous about succession as his health began to fail, fearing that his heirs might be similarly deprived of their birthright. The problem was particularly acute, since his only son, Hideyori, was five years old and scarcely able to defend the family interests. In 1598, as the end approached, Hideyoshi formed a council of _daimyo_ headed by Tokugawa Ieyasu to rule until his son came of age, and on his deathbed he forced them to swear they would hand over the shogunate when the time came. Needless to say, nothing of the sort happened. Tokugawa Ieyasu was no stranger to the brutal politics of the age, having once ordered his own wife's execution when Nobunaga suspected her of treason, and he spent the first five years after Hideyoshi's death consolidating his power and destroying rival _daimyo_. When Hideyoshi's son came of age, Ieyasu was ready to move. Hideyori was living in the family citadel at Osaka defended by an army of disenfranchised _samurai _and disaffected Christians, but Ieyasu held the power. In the ensuing bloodbath Hideyoshi's line was erased from the earth, and the Christians' faulty political judgment caused their faith eventually to be forbidden to all Japanese under threat of death. Christianity continued to be practiced on a surreptitious basis, however, as the Christians found shelter in, of all places, the Zen monasteries. With the passing of Hideyoshi's line, the Tokugawa family became the only power in Japan, a land at last unified and with an imposed peace. Viewing foreign influences as a source of domestic unrest, the Tokugawa moved to bring down a curtain of isolationism around their shores: Christian Europeans were expelled and Japanese were forbidden to travel abroad. Ieyasu established a new capital at Edo (now Tokyo) and required the local _daimyo_ to spend a large amount of time and money in attendance. Thus he craftily legitimatised his own position while simultaneously weakening that of the _daimyo_--a technique used with equal effect almost a century later by Louis XIV, when he moved his court from Paris to Versailles to contain the French aristocracy. Content with the status quo, members of the Tokugawa family felt it could best be preserved by extreme conservatism, so they sent forth a volley of decrees formalizing all social relationships. Time was brought to a stop, permitting the Tokugawa to rule unhindered until the middle of the nineteenth century, when the country was again opened to foreign trade under the guns of American warships. During the Tokugawa regime another Chinese "religion" assumed the place in the hearts of the shoguns that Buddhism had enjoyed in centuries past. This was Confucianism, more a philosophy than a religion, which in its original form had taught a respect for learning, the ready acceptance of a structured hierarchy, and unquestioning obedience to authority (that of both elders and superiors). The Tokugawa perverted Confucianism to establish a caste system among their subjects, separating them into the _samurai_ class, the peasant class, and the merchant and artisan classes--the order given here denoting their supposed status. However, as the Japanese social system began to evolve, the idea backfired, causing great difficulties for the government. The reasons for this are interesting, for they bear directly upon the eventual role of Zen culture in Japanese life. For centuries, Japan's major source of income had been agriculture. The _samurai_ were local landholders who employed peasants to grow their rice and who were beholden to a local _daimyo_ for protection. Money played no large part in the economy, since most daily needs could be obtained by barter. But the sudden wealth brought into being by the European traders had nothing to do with the amount of rice a _samurai's _peasants could produce; it accrued instead to the merchants in port cities. Furthermore, the accommodations required to keep the _daimyo _and their families in the capital city of Edo called for artisans and merchants in great number. Thus the Tokugawa government had mistakenly decreed the agricultural _samurai_ and peasants the backbone of the economy at the very moment in history when Japan was finally developing an urban, currency-based culture. Predictably, the urban merchants, who were at the bottom of the Confucianist social system, soon had their supposed social betters, the _samurai_, completely in hock. The Tokugawa struggled hard to keep the townspeople, now the controllers of the economy, in their place. Merchants were forbidden to build elaborate houses or wear elaborate clothes, and they were expected to defer to the penurious _samurai _in all things. Japan had never before had a bourgeoisie--the traditional divisions were aristocracy, warriors, and peasants-- and consequently popular taste had never really been reflected in the arts. Much to the dismay of the Tokugawa (and to the detriment of classical Zen culture), this was changing. While the aristocrats and warrior families in Kyoto preserved the older arts of Zen, in the bourgeois city of Edo there were new popular art forms like the Kabuki theater and the woodblock print, both eons removed from the No and the monochrome landscape. Classical Zen culture was largely confined to aristocratic Kyoto, while in boisterous Edo the townspeople turned to explicit, exciting arts full of color and drama. In spite of this democratic turn of events, the Zen aesthetics of Kyoto continued to be felt, largely through the tea ceremony, which had been officially encouraged in the Momoyama age of Hideyoshi. Later in the Tokugawa era the poetic form of Haiku developed, and it too was highly influenced by the Zen idea of suggestiveness. Domestic architecture also maintained the ideals of Zen, as did Ikebana, or flower arranging, and the Japanese cuisine, which employed Zen ceramics. Thus Zen aesthetics seeped into middle-class culture in many forms, tempering taste and providing rigid rules for much of what are today thought of as the traditional arts and crafts of the Japanese. Traditional Buddhism did not fare well during the Momoyama and Tokugawa ages: the militaristic Buddhist strongholds were either put to rout or destroyed entirely during the Momoyama, and Confucianism had considerably more influence under the Tokugawa than did Buddhism. The great upsurge of Buddhism with its fiery teachers and believing shoguns was over, as the faith settled into empty ritual and a decidedly secondary station in a basically secular state. The only Buddhist sect demonstrating any vigor at all was Zen. The brief flourishing of Zen during the Tokugawa era was actually a revival, for the faith had become static and uninspired during the years of Nobunaga and Hideyoshi. The formalized practice of Zen at the end of the seventeenth century was described by a visiting Jesuit Father: _The solitary philosophers of the Zenshu sect, who dwell in their retreats in the wilderness, [do not] philosophize with the help of books and treatises written by illustrious masters and philosophers as do the members of the other sects of the Indian gymnosophists. Instead they give themselves up to contemplating the things of nature, despising and abandoning worldly things; they mortify their passions by certain enigmatic and figurative meditations and considerations [koan] which guide them on their way at the beginning. . . . [s]o the vocation of these philosophers is not to contend or dispute with another with arguments, but they leave everything to the contemplation of each one so that by himself he may attain the goal by using these principles, and thus they do not teach disciples.1 _ The good Father was describing a Zen faith that had become a set piece, devoid of controversy but also devoid of life. The man who brought Zen out of its slumber and restored its vigor was the mystic Hakuin (1685-1768), who revived the _koan _school of Rinzai and produced the most famous _koan_ of all times: "You know the sound of two hands clapping; what is the sound of one hand clapping?" Hakuin gave a new, mystical dimension to the Rinzai school of Zen, even as Hui-neng created nonintellectual Chinese Ch'an Buddhism out of the founding ideas of Bodhidharma. Hakuin was also a poet, a painter, and the author of many commentaries on the _sutras_. Yet even when he enjoyed national fame, he never lost his modesty or his desire for enlightenment. Hakuin lived the greater part of his life in the small rural village of his birth. A sensitive, impressionable child, he was early tormented by an irrational fear of the fires of the Buddhist hell as dwelt upon by the priests of his mother's sect, the Nichiren. For relief he turned to the Lotus Sutra, but nothing he read seemed to ease his mind. Finally he became a wandering Zen monk, searching from temple to temple for a master who could give him enlightenment. He studied under various famous teachers and gradually achieved higher and higher levels of awareness. At the age of thirty-two he returned to his home village and assumed control of the ramshackle local Zen temple, which he eventually made the center of Rinzai Zen in Japan. Word of his spiritual intensity spread and soon novices were flocking to him. His humility and humanity were a shining light in the spiritual dark age of the Tokugawa, and he breathed life and understanding back into Zen. Despite Hakuin, official Zen never regained its influence in Japan. Someday perhaps the modern-day Western interest in Zen will give it new life somewhere outside Japan, but this life will almost certainly be largely secular. Indeed, the influence of Zen in the Momoyama and Tokugawa ages was already more pronounced in the secular world than in the spiritual. The bourgeois arts of these later years were notably less profound than those of the Ashikaga, but the spirit of Zen spread to become infused into the very essence of Japanese life, making the everyday business of living an expression of popular Zen culture. CHAPTER THIRTEEN The Tea Ceremony_ Chazen ichimi _(Zen and tea are one.) Traditional Japanese expression _The "dewy path" to teahouse _ THE TEA CEREMONY combines all the faces of Zen--art, tranquility, aesthetics. It is in a sense the essence of Zen culture. Yet this Zen ritual has been explained to the West in so many volumes of wordy gush that almost any description, including the above, deserves to be met with skepticism. There has to be more to the tea ceremony than meets the eye--and there is. But before unraveling the unseen threads of this Zen fabric, let us pause for a moment to consider the beverage itself. The drinking of tea seems almost to have been the world's second oldest profession. One legend claims that tea was discovered in the year 2737 B.C., when leaves from a tea bush accidentally dropped into the campfire cauldron of a Chinese emperor- aesthete. Early Chinese texts are sometimes vague about the identity of medicinal plants, but it is clear that by the time of Confucius (around 500 B.C.) tea was a well-known drink. During the Tang dynasty (618-907), tea leaves were treated with smoke and compressed into a semimoist cake, slices of which would subsequently be boiled to produce a beverage--a method that was perpetuated for many centuries in Russia. The Chinese spiced this boiled tea with salt, a holdover from even earlier times when a variety of unexpected condiments were added, including orange peel, ginger, and onions. The refined courtiers of the Sung dynasty (960-1279) apparently found brick tea out of keeping with their delicate tastes, for they replaced it with a drink in which finely ground tea leaves were blended with boiling water directly in the cup. Whipped with a bamboo whisk, this mixture superficially resembled shaving lather in texture, although the color could be a fine jade green if fresh leaves were used. (This green powdered tea was the drink one day to become enshrined in the Zen tea ceremony.) The Chinese chronicle of tea ends with the Ming dynasty (1368-1644), which saw the rise of the familiar steeping process, now the commonly accepted practice worldwide. Our ignorance of the earlier methods of tea preparation may be attributed to the West's discovery of China after the older methods had been discarded. Unlike its misty origins in China, the use of tea in Japan is well authenticated. In the year 792 the Japanese emperor surprised the court by holding a large tea party at which Buddhist monks and other notables were invited to sample a curious beverage discovered by his emissaries to the T'ang court. Tea drinking soon became a fashionable pastime, occupying a position comparable to taking coffee in eighteenth-century Europe, but tea remained an expensive import and little thought was given to cultivation in Japan. This changed early in the ninth century when tea drinking came to be associated with the new Buddhist sects of Tendai and Shingon. Under the supervision of the court, tea growing was begun near Kyoto, where the emperor blessed the bushes with a special _sutra_ in the spring and autumn. Tea remained an aristocratic habit for several centuries thereafter and did not become really popular until the late twelfth century, when the famous Zen teacher Eisai "reintroduced" the beverage upon his return from China. Eisai also brought back new seeds for planting, the progeny of which are still growing. Chinese Ch'an monks had long been devoted to tea. In fact, a famous but apocryphal legend attributes the tea bush to Bodhidharma, relating that during his nine years of meditation outside Shao-lin monastery he found himself nodding and in anger tore off his eyelids and flung them to the ground, whereupon tea plants sprang forth. There was a reason for the legend. Tea had long been used to forestall drowsiness during long periods of meditation. (A cup of modern steeped tea contains an average three-quarters of a grain of caffeine, about half the amount in a cup of coffee.) The drinking of tea became ritualized in Ch'an monasteries, where the monks would congregate before an image of Bodhidharma and take a sacrament of tea from a single shared bowl in his memory. This ritual was gradually adopted by Japanese Zen monasteries, providing the forerunner of the solemn moment of shared tea which became the basis of the tea ceremony. The Japanese aristocracy and the warrior class also took up tea, and borrowing a custom from the Sung court, gave tea-tasting parties, similar to modern wine-tasting affairs. From the time of Ashikaga Takauji to Ashikaga Yoshimasa, these parties were an accompaniment to many of the courtly evenings spent admiring Sung ceramics and discussing Sung art theories. Although Zen monks played a prominent role in these aesthetic gatherings, the drinking of tea in monasteries seems to have been a separate activity. Thus the ceremonial drinking of tea developed in two parallel schools: the aristocracy used it in refined entertainments while the Zen monks drank tea as a pious celebration of their faith. These two schools were eventually merged into the Zen- inspired gathering known simply as the tea ceremony, _cha-no-yu_. But first there was the period when each influenced the other. Zen aesthetic theory gradually crept into the aristocratic tea parties, as taste turned away from the polished Sung ceramic cups toward ordinary pottery. This was the beginning of the tradition of deliberate understatement later to be so important in the tea ceremony. Zen ideals took over the warrior tea parties. During his reign, Yoshimasa was persuaded by a famous Zen monk-aesthetician to construct a small room for drinking tea monastery-style. The mood in this room was all Zen, from the calligraphic scroll hanging in the tokonoma art alcove to the ceremonial flower arrangements and the single cup shared in a sober ritual. After this, those who would serve tea had first to study the tea rituals of the Zen monastery. Furthermore, warriors came to believe that the Zen tea ritual would help their fighting discipline. By the sixteenth century the discipline and tranquility of the ceremony had become fixed, but the full development of _cha-no-yu _as a vehicle for preserving Zen aesthetic theory was yet to come. Gradually, one by one, the ornate aspects of the earlier Sung tea parties were purged. The idea took hold that tea should be drunk not in a room partitioned off from the rest of the house, but in a special thatch-roofed hut constructed specifically for the purpose, giving tea drinking an air of conspicuous poverty. The elaborate vessels and interior appointments favored in the fifteenth century were supplanted in the sixteenth by rugged, folk-style pottery and an interior decor as restrained as a monastery. By stressing an artificial poverty, the ceremony became a living embodiment of Zen with its distaste for materialism and the world of getting and spending. It remained for a sixteenth-century Zen teacher to bring all the aesthetic ideas in the tea ceremony together in a rigid system. He was Sen no Rikyu (1521-1591), who began as the tea instructor of Nobunaga and continued to play the same role for Hideyoshi. Hideyoshi was devoted to the tea ceremony, and under his patronage Rikyu formalized the classic rules under which _cha-no-yu _is practiced today. The most famous anecdote from Rikyu's life is the incident remembered as the "tea party of the morning glory." As the son of a merchant in a port city, Rikyu developed a taste for the new and exotic. At one time he began the cultivation of imported European morning glories, a novel flower to the Japanese, which he sometimes used for the floral display accompanying the tea ceremony. Hideyoshi, learning of these new flowers, informed Rikyu that he wished to take morning tea with him in order to see the blossoms at their finest. On the selected date, Hideyoshi arrived to find that all the flowers in the garden had been plucked; not a single petal was to be seen. Understandably out of temper, he proceeded to the tea hut--there to discover a single morning glory, still wet with the dews of dawn, standing in the _tokonoma _alcove, a perfect illustration of the Zen precept of sufficiency in restraint. Tea ceremonies today are held in special backyard gardens, equipped for the purpose with a waiting shelter at the entrance and a tiny teahouse at the far end. When one arrives at the appointed time, one joins the two or three other guests in the garden shed for a waiting period designed to encourage a relaxed state of mind and the requisite Zen tranquility. The tea garden, known as the _roji_, or "dewy path," differs from conventional Japanese temple gardens in that it is merely a passageway between the waiting shelter and the teahouse. Since the feeling is meant to be that of a mountain path, there are no ponds or elaborate stone arrangements. The only natural rocks in evidence are the stepping stones themselves, but along the path are a carved stone in the shape of a water basin and a bamboo dipper, so that one can rinse one's mouth before taking tea, and a stone lantern to provide illumination for evening gatherings. The unpretentious stones of the walkway, set deep in natural mossy beds, divide the garden into two parts, winding through it like a curving, natural path. Dotted about the garden are carefully pruned pine trees, azalea bushes clipped into huge globes, or perhaps a towering cryptomeria whose arching branches protect guests against the afternoon sun. Although the garden floor is swept clean, it may still have a vagrant leaf or pine needle strewn here and there. As one waits for the host's appearance, the garden slowly begins to impose a kind of magic, drawing one away from the outside world. When all the guests have arrived, they sound a wooden gong, and the host silently appears to beckon them to the tea room. Each guest in turn stops at the water basin for a sip. At closer range, the teahouse turns out to be a rustic thatch-roofed hut with gray plaster walls and an asymmetrical supporting framework of hand-hewn woods. The floor is pitched above the ground as in the traditional house, but instead of a doorway there is a small square hole through which one must climb on his knees--a psychological design feature intended to ensure that all worldly dignity is left outside. Only the humble can enter here, for each must kneel in the sight of the others present. The interior of the tea room may feel cramped at first. Although the room is virtually bare, there seems little space left after the other guests have knelt about the central hearth. The room is in the _sukiya _style favored by Rikyu, with the walls a patchwork of dull plaster, raw wood, a few _shoji _rice-paper windows, and a small _tokonoma_ art alcove. The only decoration is a single object on the _tokonoma_ dais and the hanging scroll against the back wall. This impression of simple rusticity is deliberately deceptive, however, for the tea room is actually fashioned from the finest available woods and costs considerably more per unit area than the host's home. It is ironic that the sense of poverty and anti-materialism pervading the tea room can be achieved only at enormous expense, yet this deceit is one of the outstanding creations of Zen culture. The room and its psychological impact have been eloquently analyzed by the Zen scholar D. T. Suzuki. _ As I look around, in spite of its obvious simplicity the room betrays every mark of thoughtful designing: the windows are irregularly inserted; the ceiling is not of one pattern; the materials used, simple and un-ornamental . . . the floor has a small square opening where hot water is boiling in an artistically-shaped iron kettle. The papered _shoji_ covering the windows admit only soft light, shutting out direct sunshine. . . . As I sit here quietly before the fireplace, I become conscious of the burning of incense. The odor is singularly nerve soothing. . . . Thus composed in mind, I hear a soft breeze passing through the needle leaves of the pine tree; the sound mingles with the trickling of water from a bamboo pipe into the stone basin.1 _ The tea ceremony is intended to engage all the senses, soothing each in turn. As described by Suzuki, the organs of sight, hearing, and smell are all embraced even before the ceremony begins. The purpose, of course, is to create a feeling of harmony and tranquility conducive to the reverential spirit of the Zen sacrament. The surroundings massage your mind and adjust your attitude. This point is particularly stressed by Suzuki. _Where [tranquility] is lacking, the art will lose its significance altogether. . . . The massing of rocks, the trickling of water, the thatched hut, the old pine trees sheltering it, the moss-covered stone lantern, the sizzling of the kettle water, and the light softly filtering through the paper screens--all these are meant uniformly to create a meditative frame of mind.2 _ If a multicourse ceremony is in store, a light meal of _hors d'oeuvres _and sake is served first. If the dinner hour is near, it may in fact be a substantial repast, all of which is eaten from lacquer or porcelain bowls set on a tray on the floor. After the food is consumed, the guests file out of the teahouse and wait for the host to announce the beginning of the actual tea ceremony. When they return, the ambience of the tea room has been subtly changed: the hanging scroll has vanished from the _tokonoma _to be replaced by a simple vase containing one or two partially opened buds; and a cheerful charcoal fire, seasoned with pine needles and a touch of incense, glows from the sunken hearth in the center of the room there. Water is boiling in a kettle, emitting a sound that suggests wind in a pine forest, a subtle aural effect caused by small bits of iron attached to the bottom of the vessel. Beside the seated host are the implements of the ceremony: a lacquer or ceramic tea caddy with the powdered green tea (_koicha_), a jar of cold water for replenishing the kettle, a bamboo dipper, a new bamboo whisk, a receptacle for waste water, a linen napkin for the bowl, and, finally, the tea bowl itself, best described as a Zen loving cup or chalice. All the utensils have been selected for their special aesthetic qualities, but the bowl is always the unchallenged _piece de resistance_ and may well be an heirloom from the hand of a seventeenth-century potter. Each guest is also provided with tiny sweet cakes, to salve his mouth against the bitter tea. With everything at hand, the host begins to prepare the whipped green tea. It is a seated dance, an orchestrated ritual, as deliberate, paced, and formal as the elevation of the host in a Catholic Mass. All the gestures have been practiced for years, until they fit together in a fluid motion. First the bowl is rinsed with hot water from the kettle and wiped with a napkin. Next the bamboo scoop is used to transport the powdered _koicha _from the caddy into the bowl, after which boiling water is added from the bamboo dipper. The host then proceeds, with measured motions, to blend the tea with the bamboo whisk, gradually transforming the dry powder and boiling water into a jade blend as exquisitely beautiful as it is harshly bitter. The guest of honor has the first taste. Taking the bowl, he salutes the host and then samples the preparation, complimenting the host on its quality. After two more precise sips, he wipes the lip with a napkin he has brought for that purpose, rotates the bowl, and passes it to the next guest, who repeats the ritual. The last to drink must empty the bowl. Curiously enough, only the host is denied a taste of his handiwork. After the formal drinking of _koicha_, the bowl is rinsed and a second batch of tea is made--this time a thinner variety known as _usucha_. Although it is also whipped Sung-style, it is considerably lighter in consistency and taste. After the second cup of tea, the formal part of the ceremony is completed, and the guests are at liberty to relax, enjoy sweets, and discuss Zen aesthetics. The focus of conversation is usually the tea bowl, which is passed around for all to admire in detail. Comments on the flower arrangement are also in order, as is a bit of poetry appropriate to the season. What is not discussed--indeed, what no one wants to discuss--is the world outside the garden gate. Each guest is at one with himself, his place, and the natural setting. Values have been subtly guided into perspective, spirits purified, appreciation of beauty rewarded; for a fleeting moment the material world of dualities has become as insubstantial as a dream. The tea ceremony is the great parable of Zen culture, which teaches by example that the material world is a tThef depriving us of our most valuable possessions--naturalness, simplicity, self-knowledge. But it is also much more; its underlying aesthetic principles are the foundation of latter-day Zen culture. It is a perfect blending of the three faces of Zen. First there are the physical art forms themselves: the tea ceremony deeply influenced architectural tastes, bringing into being the informal _sukiya_ style to replace the rigid _shoin _formulas of the _samurai _house; the art of flower arrangement, or Ikebana, owes much to the floral arrangements required for the ceremony; painting and calligraphy were influenced by the understated decorative requirements of the _tokonoma_ hanging scroll; lacquer ware developed in directions designed to complement the artistic principles of the ceremony utensils; and, finally, the growth of Japanese ceramic art from the fifteenth century onward was largely due to the particular aesthetic and practical needs of the tea ceremony. The second face of Zen, tranquility in a troubled world, found its finest expression in _cha-no-yu_, which demonstrates as no sermon ever could the Zen approach to life. The third face of Zen is that of aesthetics. By becoming a vehicle for the transmission of Zen aesthetic principles, _cha-no-yu _has preserved Zen culture for all times. It has given the people at large a standard of taste, guaranteeing that certain basic ideals of beauty will always be preserved against the ravages of mechanical civilization. And it is in this connection that we must examine the special features of the tea ceremony introduced by Hideyoshi's tea master, Sen no Rikyu. To the ancient Zen ideas of _yugen _and _sabi _he brought the new concept of _wabi_. _Yugen_, the realization of profundity through open-ended suggestion, found its finest expression in No poetry. _Sabi _grew out of the Heian admiration for lovely things on the verge of extinction. By the period this curious attitude was extended to things already old, and so entered the idea of _sabi_, a term denoting objects agreeably mellowed with age. _Sabi_ also brought melancholy overtones of loneliness, of age left behind by time. New objects are assertive and striving for attention; old, worn objects have the quiet, peaceful air that exudes tranquility, dignity, and character. Although there is no word in a Western language precisely equivalent to _sabi_, the ideal is well understood. For example, we say that the sunburned face of a fisherman has more character than that of a beardless youth. But to the Japanese _sabi_ is first and foremost the essence of beauty, whether in a weathered house or temple, the frayed golden threads of fabric binding a Zen scroll, a withered bough placed in the _tokonoma_ alcove, or an ancient kettle rusty with time. The ideal of _sabi_, which became part of the Zen aesthetic canon of beauty, was perfectly at home in the tea ceremony, where even the utensils were deliberately chosen for their weathered look. _Sabi_, however, seemed an incomplete ideal to Sen no Rikyu. The fact that rich objects are old does not make them less rich. _Sabi_ can still encompass snobbery. As tea master for both Nobunaga and Hideyoshi, Rikyu was so pained by their ostentation that he eventually revolutionized the tea ceremony and created a new aesthetic standard: _wabi_, a deliberate restraint, which is exemplified in his tea party of the single morning glory. _Wabi_, now a cornerstone of Zen aesthetic theory, is well described in a poem by Rikyu, which includes the lines: _How much does a person lack himself, Who feels the need to have so many things. _ In a sense, _wabi _is the glorification of artificial poverty, artificial because there must be the element of forced restraint and in genuine poverty there is nothing to restrain. The _wabi _tea ceremony permits no hint of wealth to be in evidence; those who enter the tea garden must leave their worldly status at the gate. Similarly, the _sukiya_-style teahouse must look like a rustic hut--not made out of something new, for that would destroy _sabi_, but not out of expensive antique woods, either. This ideal extends even to the floral arrangement, one or at most two buds; the clothes one wears, simple not dressy; the pots and cups, plain and undecorated. _Wabi _purged the tea ceremony of all its lingering aristocratic qualities, bringing into being _cha-no-yu _as it is practiced today. Today many Japanese, even those who practice neither tea drinking nor Zen, know and appreciate the ideals preserved in the ceremony. In recent years the concept of _wabi _has become the rallying point for those who regret the intrusions of the modern West into traditional Japanese culture, and _cha-no-yu _is valued as never before as a lesson in life's true values. CHAPTER FOURTEEN Zen Ceramic Art _ Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity. _ John Keats, _Ode on a Grecian Urn Shino tea bowl Raku tea bowl _ALTHOUGH JAPAN had been a nation of potters almost from prehistoric times, it was only after the rise of Zen influence and a popular interest in the tea ceremony that ceramics was raised from craft to high art. The great age of Japanese ceramics occurred several hundred years after the heroic periods of Chinese ceramic art in the T'ang and Sung dynasties, but, as in other cases, the Japanese eventually equaled and in some ways surpassed their mainland teachers. The Stone Age Jomon tribes in Japan created some of the richest figurine art of any of the world's prehistoric peoples. These Jomon figurines, fired at low temperatures and rarely over six or eight inches in height, are a classic puzzle to anthropologists and art historians, for they sometimes seem Polynesian, sometimes pre- Columbian, and sometimes pure abstraction in the modern sense of the term. Indeed, certain Jomon figurines could pass as works of Picasso or Miro. At times the features of the body were rendered recognizably, but usually they were totally stylized and integrated into the figure as part of some larger interest in material and pure form. It was a noble beginning for what would be a permanent Japanese interest in the look and feel of natural clay. When the Jomon were displaced around the third century B.C. by the Yayoi, their beautiful figurine art disappeared, and for several centuries Japan produced mainly pedestrian crocks and drinking vessels. The few figurines created retained little of the sophisticated Jomon abstraction. Around the turn of the fourth century A.D., however, Yayoi potters found their metier, and began the famous _haniwa _figurines, hollow-eyed statuettes in soft brown clay which were used to decorate aristocratic tombs, and simple but elegant vases and water pots in low- fired brown clay, which often were dyed with cinnabar and which give evidence of being thrown on some form of primitive wheel. This domestic ware was in such demand that a class of professional potters came into being--inevitably leading to a gradual falling off of the individualistic character of the pots, as craftsmen began to mass- produce what had previously been a personal art form. The Korean Buddhist culture which reached Japan in the fifth and sixth centuries brought the Japanese new techniques for high-firing their stoneware pots, introducing a process whereby ashes from the kiln were allowed to adhere to the surface of a piece to produce a natural glaze. These new high-temperature pots had a hard surface texture and an ashen- gray color, while the existing native wares of low-fired porous clays retained their natural brown hues. Typically the average Japanese preferred the natural-colored, soft clay vessels, and so the two types of pottery continued to be produced side by side for several hundred years, with the aristocracy choosing the hard-surfaced mainland-style gray works and the common people continuing to use the simpler, underrated brown vessels, which were often fashioned by hand. The importance of this instinctive Japanese reaction for the later acceptance of Zen-inspired ceramic art cannot be over-stressed. Not only did the Japanese love of natural clay make them reject glazes for centuries after they had learned the necessary techniques, they also seem to have had little spontaneous interest in decorating their pots or using high-firing or mechanized techniques for their production, perhaps because the technology came between man and object, distancing the potter too far from his handiwork. Japanese potters cherished their regional individuality, and they continued to express their personal sensibilities in their work, so there were a multiplicity of rural kilns and a wide variety of styles. The passion for Chinese culture during the Nara period of the eighth century led to a brief fling with Tang Chinese-style three-color glazed wares among the imitative Japanese aristocracy; but these seem to have been too much at odds with native instincts, for they were soon forgotten. After the government moved to Kyoto and launched the Heian era, both the indigenous pottery techniques--the low-fired, brown, porous pots for the common people and the high-fired, gray, polished bowls for the aristocracy--continued to thrive side by side. However, technical advances in the high-firing kilns brought about subtle changes in the mock-glazes of the aristocratic wares. It was discovered that if they were fired in an atmosphere where there was abundant oxygen, the fused particles of fueled ash on the surface would turn amber, whereas if oxygen was excluded from the kiln, the surface ash would fuse to a pastel green. Thus by varying the baking process, Heian potters could produce a variety of light colors, creating a pottery considerably more delicate than had been possible before. Aside from this refined technique for firing, however, the Japanese steadfastly refused to change their traditional methods of making pots. For this reason, Japanese ceramics were deliberately kept at a technically primitive stage until the early part of the thirteenth century while the Chinese were making considerable advances in the art. During the years from the ninth to the thirteenth century, while the Japanese isolated themselves from the mainland, the Sung Chinese were learning of new glazes far more subtle and refined than those employed during the T'ang. In the early years of the thirteenth century, when Japanese monks journeyed to China to study the new faith of Zen, they were dazzled by the sophisticated new Chinese wares they encountered. Through the offices of Zen a second revolution in Japanese ceramics occurred. The instrument for this second revolution (according to tradition) was the priest Dogen, founder of Japanese Soto Zen, who on one of his trips to China was accompanied by a Japanese potter known as Toshiro. Toshiro stayed in China for six years, studying the Sung techniques of glazing, and on his return he opened a kiln at Seto, where he began copying Sung glazed wares. Although he has been called the father of modem Japanese ceramics, his attempts to duplicate the highly praised Sung products were not entirely successful. Furthermore, the wares he did produce, decorative and thick-glazed, found no acceptance except among the aristocracy and priesthood, both of whom favored Seto wares for the new pastime of drinking Chinese tea. But while the Zen aesthetes and tea drinkers amused themselves with Seto's fake Sung celadons, the commoners continued to use unglazed stoneware. All this changed dramatically around the middle of the sixteenth century with the rise of an urban middle class and the sudden popularity of the Zen tea ceremony among this new bourgeoisie. Zen, which had brought Chinese glazes to Japan in the thirteenth century, sparked the emergence of a brilliant era of glazed ceramic art in the sixteenth. No longer content with primitive stoneware or reproductions of Chinese vessels, the potters of Japan finally developed native styles at once uniquely Japanese and as sophisticated as any the world has seen. It was another triumph for Zen culture. Rural kilns with long traditions of stoneware water vessels converted to the production of tea-ceremony wares, and throughout the land the search was on for colored glazes. The craze reached such heights that the shogun generals Nobunaga and Hideyoshi rewarded their successful military commanders not with decorations but with some particularly coveted tea-ceremony utensils. Although ceramic tea caddies and water jars were required for the ceremony, the real emphasis was on the drinking bowl, for this was the piece that was handled and admired at close range. A proper bowl, in addition to being beautiful, had to be large enough and deep enough to allow sufficient tea for three or four drinkers to be whisked; it had no handle and consequently had to be of a light, porous, nonconducting clay with a thick, rough glaze to act as a further insulator and to permit safe handling between drinkers; the rim had to be thick and tilted slightly inward, to provide the participants with a pleasant sensation while drinking and to minimize dripping. In other words, these bowls were as functionally specialized in their own way as a brandy snifter or a champagne glass of today. A number of styles of tea bowl developed during the sixteenth century, reflecting the artistic visions of various regional potters and the different clays available. What these bowls had in common, beyond their essential functional characteristics, was an adherence to the specialized dictates of Zen aesthetic theory. Equally important, they were a tribute to the historic Japanese reverence for natural clay. Even though they were glazed, portions of the underlying clay texture were often allowed to show through, and the overall impression was that the glaze was used to emphasize the texture of the underlying clay, not disguise it. The colors of the glazes were natural and organic, not hard and artificial. The social unrest preceding the rise of Nobunaga caused a number of potters to leave the Seto area, site of the fake Sung production, and resettle in the province of Mino, where three basic styles of tea bowl eventually came to prominence. First there was the Chinese-style tea vessel, which had been the mainstay of the older Seto kilns. Yellow glazes, once the monopoly of Seto, were also used at Mino, but different clays, combined with advancing technical competence and a new willingness to experiment, produced a new "Seto" ware that was a rich yellow and considerably more Japanese than Chinese. Second there was a new, thoroughly Zen-style bowl developed by the Mino potters. It was broader-based than the Chinese style, with virtually straight sides, and it was covered with a thick, creamy off-white glaze. Warm and endearing in appearance, with a flowing sensuous texture inviting to the touch, it became known as Shino. Some say Shino bowls were named after a celebrated master of the tea ceremony, while others maintain the term was taken from the Japanese word for white, _shiro_. Whatever the case, this was the first glazed ware of truly native origins; and it marked the beginning of a new Japanese attitude toward pottery. No longer inhibited by reverence for Chinese prototypes, the makers of Shino let their spontaneity run wild. The new white glaze was deliberately applied in a haphazard manner, often covering only part of the bowl or being allowed to drip and run. Sometimes part of the glaze was wiped off after it had been applied, leaving thin spots where the brown under-clay could show through after the firing. Or bubbles, bums, and soot were allowed to remain in the glaze as it was fired. Sometimes the white glaze was bathed in a darker coating in which incisions were made to allow the white to show through. At other times, sketchy designs, seemingly thrown down with a half-dry brush, were scribbled on the white bowls so that they appeared to be covered with Zen graffiti. Throughout all these innovations, the potters seemed to want to produce works as rough, coarse, and unsophisticated as possible. Before long they had a gray glaze as well, and finally they produced a shiny black glaze whose precise formulation remains one of the unsolved mysteries of Momoyama art. The next color to enter the Mino repertory, after yellow, white, gray, and black, was a stunning green. This was the third style of Mino tea bowl, and it was invented by a disciple of Rikyu whose name, Oribe, has been given to an incredible variety of wares--tea bowls, tea caddies, water jars, incense burners, and a host of dishes for serving food. Sometimes the wares were solid green, but Oribe also had a habit of splashing the green over one section of a piece, or allowing it to run into one corner of a plate and freeze there in a limpid puddle. The portions of Oribe wares not covered with the splash of green were dull shades, ranging from gray to reddish brown, and on this background artists began to paint decorative designs- flowers, geometrical figures, even small sketches or still-lifes--something new and revolutionary for Japanese ceramics, but the forerunner of the profusion of decorative wares that appeared after the Momoyama. Shino had broken the bonds of the centuries of unglazed stoneware and proper copies of Chinese pots by introducing a native style of glazing and a new aesthetic freedom; Oribe led the way into a new world of anything- goes pottery, with half-glazes, painted decorative motifs, and experimentation in new, hitherto unknown shapes and types of vessels. While the native Japanese potters at Mino were expanding their craft, another important development with far-reaching consequences for the Zen arts was taking place in the far south of the Japanese archipelago near the Korean peninsula. The ceramic arts of Korea were quite advanced at the beginning of the sixteenth century, with high-fired glazed wares as heavy and sturdy as the peasant stock from which they sprang. But the pots were made by building up coils of clay and beating them into a solid walled vessel rather than throwing them on a wheel. This combination of high and low seems to have appealed to the Japanese clans living near the Korean mainland, for they brought a number of Korean potters to the southern city of Karatsu and started an industry. The staple product of the Korean craftsman was a crude medium-sized bowl with sloping sides, used in their homeland for individual servings of rice. The primitive quality of these bowls perfectly suited the growing inverse snobbery of the tea ceremony, and soon Japanese aesthetes were drinking tea and admiring the Zen beauty in the Korean rice bowl. While the Mino potters were deliberately making the Sung tea bowl rougher and rougher (that is, adding _wabi_), those in Karatsu found themselves with a foreign bowl ready-made for tea. When Hideyoshi invaded Korea during the last decade of the sixteenth century, he and his generals were careful to kidnap as many Korean potters as possible, whom they settled over a large part of Japan. No longer restricted to a small area in the south, the Koreans injected a vigorous transfusion of peasant taste into all of Japanese ceramic art, extinguishing the last remnants of the refined Sung ideals. The Momoyama tea masters were given a new but still foreign standard of rustic chic perfectly in accord with _wabi_ tea. Not surprisingly, it was Sen no Rikyu who synthesized the new native freedom and the fresh influx of mainland technology to create the undisputed glory of Japanese ceramics--the famous _raku_. Unquestionably Japan's most original contribution to the history of ceramics, _raku _is produced in a manner entirely different from earlier techniques, and it is impossible to speak of _raku _without speaking of Zen. As might be expected, _raku_ was invented in the Zen center of Kyoto, a city with no previous history of ceramic production, and it came into being when Rikyu happened to take a fancy to the roof tiles being produced by a Korean workman named Chojiro. Rikyu hit upon the notion that the texture and feel of these tiles would be perfect for _wabi_- style tea, and he encouraged Chojiro in the making of a few tea bowls with the materials and firing techniques used for tiles. The bowls Chojiro made were neither thrown on a wheel nor built up from coils, but molded and carved like sculpture. A mixture of clays was first blended to gain the desired consistency of lightness and plasticity, after which a spatula and knife were used to shape a rough-sided, textured bowl whose sense of process was flaunted rather than obscured--an overt tactile quality perhaps first seen in the West in the rough-hewn sculptures of Rodin. These bowls were fired in a most unconventional manner: rather than being placed cold in a wood- burning kiln and gradually heated, baked, and cooled over a period of days, they, like the tiles, were thrust directly into a torrid charcoal kiln for a blistering thermal shock, which gave them an instant look of the ravaged face of ancient _sabi_. Raku wares were first made in black with an iron-like glaze that is almost like frozen lava, but the later repertory included glazes that were partly or wholly red or off-white. Unlike the Shino and Oribe bowls, _raku _pieces were not decorated with designs or spots of color; they were _wabi _and _sabi _with unpretentious, weathered grace. The last term you think of when seeing _raku _is ornate. Rikyu found _raku_ bowls perfect for the tea ceremony; they were austere, powerful, seemingly wrenched from melted rock. In shape they were broad-based with gently rounded, one might almost say organically rounded, sides leading to an undulating lip, wrapping in slightly over the tea, thereby holding the heat and preventing drips. Not only were they light and porous, allowing for minimal heat conduction and comfortable handling, their center of gravity was so low they were almost impossible to tip over, permitting easy whisking of the powdered tea as they rested on the _tatami_-matted floor of the tea room. (It should be noted that special bowls for summer usage de-emphasized certain of these characteristics: they were thinner-walled and shallower, since the object in hot months was to dissipate heat rather than conserve it.) But the most appealing qualities of the _raku _were its sculptural sense of natural plastic form and its soft, bubbly, almost liquid glaze, which virtually invites one to hold it in his lips. Also, the colors of the glazes just happen to contrast beautifully with the pale sea-green of the powdered tea. This was the end of the search for the perfect Zen tea bowl, and Hideyoshi was so pleased with Chojiro's handiwork that he gave the potter's family a seal bearing the word that would give the form its name: _raku_, meaning pleasure or comfort. Chojiro's descendants became the _raku _dynasty, as generation after generation they set the standards for others to follow. Hideyoshi's act of official recognition meant that Japanese potters were no longer merely craftsmen, but fully accredited artists. In later years, Japanese ceramics became distinguished in many areas--from the traditional wares produced at a multiplicity of local kilns to a vast new nationwide porcelain industry producing decorative works for both export and home consumption. Tea-ceremony vessels were created in great profusion as well, but, unfortunately, genuine art cannot be mass- produced. By the eighteenth century, the great age of Zen ceramic art was over, never to be recovered. Today the early wares of the Zen Momoyama artists command their weight in gold, perhaps platinum. This is the great irony of the _wabi _tea vessels, if not of all Zen culture. Tea bowls, the major expression of Zen art, seem at once both primitive and strikingly modern. To begin to understand this contradiction we must go back to our own nineteenth century in the West, when tastes ran to decoration for its own sake and the rule of perfect, symmetrical, polished form was the aesthetic ideal. Into this smug, serene sea of aesthetic sureties, which in some ways reached back to the ancient Greeks, the English critic John Ruskin threw a boulder when he wrote: _Never demand an exact finish for its own sake, but only for some practical or noble end. . . . [t]he demand for perfection is always a sign of a misunderstanding of the ends of art. . . . Imperfection is in some sort essential to all we know of life. It is the sign of life in a mortal body. . . . To banish imperfection is to destroy expression, to check exertion, to paralyze vitality. All things are literally better, lovelier, and more beloved for the imperfections which have been divinely appointed.1 _ Ruskin was rediscovering a large piece of Zen aesthetic theory while laying the groundwork for many of our modern ideals of beauty. To see the similarity, let us examine for a moment a few of the finer points of Zen aesthetic theory as exemplified in the classic tea bowls. In form the bowls are frequently asymmetrical and imperfect; the glaze seems to be a species of moss still in the process of spreading over portions of the sides it somehow never managed to reach, and it is uneven, marred by cracks, lumps, scratches, and foreign contaminants. If imperfection is the goal, these bowls extend well beyond Ruskin's original standards. But not only are they imperfect, they also seem old and weathered, with the natural patina of a dried-up riverbed. They show absolutely no evidence that any conscious attempt was made to create a work of art; they appear to be completely functional. It is all a deception. Master potters spend literally decades perfecting the Zen art of the controlled haphazard. One of the first principles they honor is _wabi_, which deplores nonfunctional decorative objects, polished surfaces, artificiality in shape or color, and anything unnatural to the materials used. Works of art without _wabi_ may have superficial external beauty, but they forfeit inner warmth. Bowls out of shape, with cracks, blobs, and ashes in the glaze, invite us to partake of the process of creation through their asymmetry and imperfection. They also lead us past the surface by virtue of its being deliberately marred. Making a bowl with _wabi _is considerably more difficult than making a smooth, symmetrical, perfectly glazed piece. The creation of contrived "accidents," on which much of the illusion of artlessness depends, is particularly difficult. Everywhere there are scars, contaminants, spotty glaze--all as deliberate as the decoration on a Dresden plate; connoisseurship consists in admiring how the artist managed to make it seem so natural and unavoidable. The same skill goes to make a piece look old, the essential quality of _sabi_. By suggesting long years of use, the bowls acquire humility and richness. There is no need to "wear the new off" in order to give them character; they are already mellow and unpretentious. The potter's genius has gone to create the sense of wear, a quality considerably more difficult to realize than an aura of newness. The potter wants the Zen connoisseur to understand what he has done: to see the clay, to feel and admire its texture, to appreciate the reasons for the type and color of the glaze. 'The pieces are carefully contrived to draw attention to both their original elements and the process by which these elements were blended. For example, a bowl whose glaze only partially covers its clay provides a link with the natural world from which it came. Its texture springs out, like that of a piece of natural driftwood. At the same time, the bald clay, the streaks of glaze, the hand-formed sculpture, allow one to recognize the materials and the process of formation. When the potter keeps no secrets, one enters into the exhilaration of his moment of creation. Once again, this is a deliberate aesthetic device, reminding one that the potter is an individual artist, not a faceless craftsman. The look and feel of Zen ceramics make them seem forerunners of the modern craft-pottery movement, but few modern potters are blessed with the rich legacy of Zen aesthetic ideals that made these ceramics possible. The secret lies deep in ancient Zen culture, which taught the Momoyama masters how the difficult could be made to seem effortless. CHAPTER FIFTEEN Zen and Haiku _Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory-- _Percy Bysshe Shelley HAIKU IS REGARDED by many as the supreme achievement of Zen culture. The supposedly wordless doctrine of Zen has been accompanied throughout its history by volumes of _koan _riddles, _sutras_, and commentaries, but until Haiku was invented it had never enjoyed its own poetic form, nor might it ever have if the rise of popular Zen culture had not happily coincided with a particularly receptive stage in the evolution of traditional Japanese poetry--an accident seized upon by a great lyric poet of the early Edo period to create an exciting new Zen form. Haiku today is a worldwide cult, with California poets striving to capture in English the spareness and fleeting images that seem so effortless in the Japanese of the early Zen masters. On first acquaintance Japanese seems an unlikely language for poetry. It is a syllabic tongue with each syllable ending in a vowel or the nasal n; consequently there are only five true rhymes in the entire language. Italian poets overcame a somewhat similar handicap, but their language is stressed, which Japanese is not. With no usable rhymes and no stress, how can the music of poetry be created? Over the centuries, the Japanese solved this problem by replacing meter with a system of fixed syllables--either five or seven--for each line. (This means that some lines of Japanese poetry may have only one word, but the system seems to work.) In place of rhyme, Japanese poets learned to orchestrate the pitch of individual vowels within a single line to give a sense of music. This device was illustrated by the American poet Kenneth Rexroth using a poem from the classical era. (The vowels are pronounced as in Italian.) _Fu-ta-ri yu-ke-do Yu-ki su-gi ga-ta-ki A-ki ya-ma wo I-ka-de ka ki-mi ga Hi-to-ri ko-ge na-mu _ In his analysis of this particular poem, Rexroth has pointed out that the first and last lines contain all five vowels in the language, whereas the middle lines contain various combinations and repetitions, which produce a pronounced musical effect.1 The ability to create such music without rhyme, one of the finer achievements of Japanese poetry, is far more difficult than might at first be imagined and leads naturally to assonance, or the close repetition of vowel sounds, and alliteration, the repetition of similar consonant sounds. Some of the vowels have psychological overtones, at least to the sensitive Japanese ear: u is soft, a is sharp and resonant, o connotes vagueness tinged with profundity.2 Various consonants also convey an emotional sense in a similar manner. Another clever device of the early Japanese versifiers was the use of words with double meanings. One example of this is the so-called pivot word, which occurs approximately halfway through a poem such as the above and serves both to complete the sense of the first part of the poem with one meaning and to begin a new sense and direction with its second meaning. This can at times produce a childish effect, and it does not always elevate the overall dignity of the verse. Another use of double meaning is far more demanding. Since the Japanese kana script is entirely phonetic and allows for no distinction in spelling between homonyms, words which sound alike but have different meanings, it is possible to carry two or more ideas through a poem. (A somewhat labored example in English might be, "My tonights hold thee more," "My two knights hold the moor." If these were written alike and pronounced alike, then the poem could mean either or both.) The first meaning may be a concrete example of a lover pining for his love, and the second a metaphor. Ideally, the two meanings support each other, producing a resonance said to be truly remarkable. The early Japanese poets overcame the limitations of the Japanese language both by attuning their ears to the music of the words and by capitalizing on the large incidence of homonyms. They settled the matter of meter, as noted, by prescribing the number of syllables per line, with the principal form being five lines with syllable counts of 5,7,5,7, and 7. This thirty-one-syllable poem, known as the _waka_, became the Japanese "sonnet" and by far the most popular poetic form during the Heian era. Almost all a poet can do in five lines, however, is to record a single emotion or observation. The medium governed the message, causing Japanese poets early on to explore their hearts more than their minds. The _waka_ became a cry of passion; a gentle confirmation of love; a lament for the brevity of blossoms, colored leaves, the seasons, life itself. A sampling of _waka _from the early classical era shows the aesthetic sense of the seasons and lyric charm of these verses. _Tsuki ya aranu _ Can it be that the moon has changed? _Haru ya mukashi no _ Can it be that the spring _Haru naranu _ Is not the spring of old times? _Waga mi hitotsu wa _ Is it my body alone _Moto no mi nishite _ That is just the same?3 Judged on its concentrated power alone, for this is virtually all an English reader can evaluate, this poem is a masterpiece. Its content can be condensed into five lines because much of its impact lies in its suggestiveness. It is, however, closed-ended, with no philosophical implications other than a wry look at human perceptions. Haiku added new dimensions to Japanese poetry. The early aristocratic era gave Japanese poetry its form, the five-line _waka_, and its subject matter, nature and the emotions. Later the familiar Japanese idea that life is but a fleeting moment and all things must blossom and fade was added. One critic has noted that as this idea took hold, poems gradually changed from praise of the plum blossom, which lasts for weeks, to praise of the cherry blossom, which fades in a matter of days. _Hisakata no _On a day in spring _Hikari nodokeki _When the light throughout the sky _Haru no hi ni _Warms with tranquility. _Shizugokoro naku _Why is it with unsettled heart _Hana no chiru ran _That the cherry flowers fall?4 Japanese poetry of the pre-Zen period has been handed to us primarily in a few famous collections. The first great anthology of Japanese poetry is the Manyoshu, a volume of verses from the middle of the eighth century. A glance through the Manyoshu shows that the earliest poets did not confine themselves to five-line verses, but indulged in longer verses on heroic subjects, known as _choka_. The tone, as Donald Keene has observed, is often more masculine than feminine, that is, more vigorous than refined. As sensibilities softened in the early part of the Heian era and native verse became the prerogative of women, while men struggled with the more "important" language of China, the feminine tone prevailed to such an extent that male writers posed as women when using the native script. The next great collection of verse, the Kokinshu, published in the tenth century, was virtually all five- line _waka _concerned with seasons, birds, flowers, and fading love, and embracing the aesthetic ideals of _aware_, _miyabi_, and _yugen_. As the aristocratic culture gradually lost control in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, a new verse form, derived from the _waka_, came into being: _renga_. This form consisted of a string of verses in the repeated sequence of 5,7,5 and 7,7 syllables per line--in reality a related series of _waka _but with the difference that no two consecutive two-or three-line verse sequences could be composed by the same individual. At first this new form seemed to offer hope of freeing poets from the increasingly confining range of subject matter prescribed for the _waka_. Unfortunately, the opposite happened. Before long the _renga_ was saddled with a set of rules covering which verse should mention what season; at what point the moon, cherry blossoms, and the like should be noted; and so forth. Little creativity was possible under such restrictions. Versifying became, in fact, a party game much in favor with provincial _samurai_ and peasants alike in times. While the remaining Kyoto aristocrats tried to keep their _renga _in the spirit of the classical _waka_, with allusions to Chinese poems and delicate melancholy, the provincials threw _renga _parties whose only aesthetic concern was adherence to the rules of the game. During the Ashikaga age, _renga_ and sake parties were the most popular forms of entertainment, but _renga's _only genuine contribution to Japanese poetry was the use of the vernacular by provincial poets, which finally broke the stranglehold of Heian feminine aesthetics. By the beginning of the Momoyama era, linked verse had run its course and the time was ripe for a new form. The new form was Haiku, which was nothing more than the first three lines of a renga. The _waka_ had been aristocratic, and the best _renga _provincial, but the Haiku was the creation of the new merchant class. (To be rigorously correct, the form was at first called _haikai_, after the first verse of the _renga_, which was called the _hokku_. The term "Haiku" actually came into use in the nineteenth century.) Although the Haiku was a response to the demands of the merchant class, its composers almost immediately split into two opposing groups, superficially similar in outlook to the older classical and provincial schools. One group established a fixed set of rules specifying a more or less artificial language, while the other turned to epigrams in the speech of the people. The form was on the way to becoming yet another party game when a disenchanted follower of the second school broke away and created a personal revolution in Japanese verse. This was the man now considered Japan's finest poet, who finally brought Zen to Japanese poetry: the famous Haiku master Basho (1644-1694). Basho was born a _samurai_ in an age when it was little more than an empty title, retained by decree of the Edo (Tokyo) government. He was fortunate to be in the service of a prosperous _daimyo_ who transmitted his interest in Haiku to Basho at an early age. This idyllic life ended abruptly when Basho was twenty-two: the lord died, and he was left to shift for himself. His first response was to enter a monastery, but after a time went to Kyoto to study Haiku. By the time he was thirty he had moved on to Edo to teach and write. At this point he was merely an adequate versifier, but his technical competence attracted many to what became the Basho "school," as well as making him a welcome guest at _renga _gatherings. His poems in the Haiku style seem to have relied heavily on striking similes or metaphors: Red pepper pods! Add wings to them, and they are dragonflies!5 This verse is certainly "open-ended" insofar as it creates a reverberation of images in the mind, and, what is more, the effect is achieved by the comparison of two concrete images. There is no comment; the images are simply thrown out to give the mind a starting point. But the overall impact remains merely decorative art. It reflects the concept of _aware_, or a pleasing recognition of beauty, rather than _yugen_, the extension of awareness into a region beyond words. When he was about thirty-five, Basho created a Haiku that began to touch the deeper regions of the mind. This is the famous_ Kare-eda ni _ On a withered branch _karasu-no tomari-keri _a crow has settled-- _aki-no-kure _autumn nightfall.6 As a simple juxtaposition of images the poem is striking enough, but it also evokes a comparison of the images, each of which enriches the other. The mind is struck as with a hammer, bringing the senses up short and releasing a flood of associations. Its only shortcoming is that the scene is static; it is a painting, not a happening of the sort that can sometimes trigger the sudden sense of Zen enlightenment. Perhaps Basho realized that his art had not yet drunk deeply enough at the well of Zen, for a few years after this poem was written he became a serious Zen student and began to travel around Japan soaking up images. His travel diaries of the last years are a kind of Haiku "poetics," in which he extends the idea of _sabi_ to include the aura of loneliness that can surround common objects. Zen detachment entered his verses; all personal emotion was drained away, leaving images objective and devoid of any commentary, even implied. More important, the Zen idea of transience appeared. Not the transience of falling cherry blossoms but the fleeting instant of Zen enlightenment. Whereas the antilogic _koan _anecdotes were intended to lead up to this moment, Basho's Haiku were the moment of enlightenment itself, as in his best-known poem: _Furu-ike ya _An ancient pond _kawazu tobi-komu _A frog jumps in _mizu-no-oto _The sound of water. These deceptively simple lines capture an intersection of the timeless and the ephemeral. The poem is said to have described an actual occurrence, an evening broken by a splash. The poet immediately spoke the last two lines of the poem, the ephemeral portion, and much time was then devoted to creating the remaining static and timeless part. This was as it should be, for the inspiration of a Haiku must be genuine and suggest its own lines at the moment it occurs. Zen eschews deliberation and rational analysis; nothing must come between object and perception at the critical moment. With this poem Basho invented a new form of Zen literary art, and Haiku was never the same afterward. To write this kind of poem, the artist must completely disengage--if only for an instant--all his interpretive faculties. His mind becomes one with the world around him, allowing his craft to operate instinctively in recording the image he perceives. For a moment he is privy to the inexpressible truth of Zen--that the transient is merely part of the eternal--and this instantaneous perception moves directly from his senses to his innermost understanding, without having to travel through his interpretive faculties. Earlier Zen writings in both Japan and China had described this process, but none had captured the phenomenon itself. By catching the momentary at the very instant of its collision with the eternal, Basho could produce a high-speed snapshot of the trigger mechanism of Zen enlightenment. In a modern metaphor, the Haiku became a Zen hologram, in which all the information necessary to re-create a large three-dimensional phenomenon was coded into a minuscule key. Any interpretation of the phenomenon would be redundant to a Zen adept, since the philosophical significance would re-create itself spontaneously from the critical images recorded in the poem. Thus a perfect Haiku is not about the moment of Zen enlightenment; it is that moment frozen in time and ready to be released in the listener's mind. Haiku is the most dehumanized of all poetry. Instead of the artist's sensations and feelings, we get simply the names of things. By Western standards they are hardly poems at all, merely a rather abbreviated list. As the critic-poet Kenneth Yasuda has pointed out, a Haiku poet does not give us meaning, he gives us objects that have meaning; he does not describe, he presents.7 And unlike the poetry of the No, Haiku seems a form strangely devoid of symbolism. The tone seems matter-of- fact, even when touching upon the most potentially emotional of subjects. Take, for example, Basho's poem composed at the grave of one of his beloved pupils. _Tsuka mo ugoke _Grave mound, shake too! _waga naku koe wa _My wailing voice-- _aki-no-kaze _the autumn wind.8 No betrayal of emotion here, simply a comparison of his grief- ridden voice, a transient thing, with the eternal autumn wind. It is a Zen moment of recognition, devoid of emotion or self-pity, and yet somehow our sympathies spring alive, touching us in a way that the early classical poems on the passage of time never could. Love in Haiku is directed toward nature as much as toward man or woman. Part of the reason may be the stylistic requirement that every Haiku tell the reader the season. This is done by the so-called season word, which can either be an outright naming of the season (such as the "autumn" wind above) or some mention of a season-dependent natural phenomenon, such as a blossom, a colored leaf (green or brown), a summer bird or insect, snow, and so on. The tone is always loving, never accusatory (a tribute to the nature reverence of ancient Japan), and it can be either light or solemn. Chirps of insects, songs of birds, scents of blossoms, usually serve as the transient element in a Haiku, whereas water, wind, sunshine, and the season itself are the eternal elements. _Ume-ga-ka ni _With the scent of plums _notto hi-no deru _on the mountain road--suddenly, _yama-ji kana _ sunrise comes!9 This is nature poetry at its finest, full of all the detached reverence and affection of Zen. It is also impassive and accepting: nature is there to be enjoyed and to teach the lessons of Zen. Basho's Haiku discover an instant of heightened awareness and pass it on unaltered and without comment. The poem is as uncolored with emotion as is the world it so dispassionately describes. It is up to the reader to know the proper response. It hardly needs to be said that Basho's poems must be interpreted on several levels: not only do they describe a moment in the life of the world, they are also symbols or metaphors for deeper truths, which cannot be stated explicitly. Underneath a vivid image of a physical phenomenon is a Zen code pointing toward the nonphysical. Not only was Basho Japan's finest lyric poet, he was also among the finest interpreters of Zen. Basho left a large following. The Haiku was established as Japan's foremost poetic form, and to touch upon every Haiku poet would require an encylopedia. However, three other Haiku masters were outstanding. The first is Buson (1715-1783), also a well-known painter, whose blithe if somewhat mannered style reflected the gradual dissolution of severe Zen ideals in favor of the lighter touch preferred by the prosperous merchant class. Buson was also master of the classical double entendre so beloved by the aristocratic poets of the classical era. The first example given here is a subtle reference to the theme of transience, set in the context of an exchange of love poems, while the second is a somewhat ribald jest about the one-night stand. _Hen-ka naki _No poem you send _ao-nyobo yo _in answer--Oh, young lady! _kure-no haru _Springtime nears its end.10 _Mijika yo ya _The short night is through: _kemushi-no ue ni _on the hairy caterpillar, _tsuyu-no-tama _little beads of dew.11 Buson could also be serious and moving when he tried, as with the following, one of his most admired works. _Mi-ni-shimu ya _The piercing chill I feel: _bo-sai-no kushi _my dead wife's comb, in our bedroom, _neya ni fumu _under my heel . . .12 Buson clearly had less Zen about him than Basho, but his verses suited the temper of his age, and he strongly influenced both students and contemporaries, although not the next great Haiku master, Issa (1762- 1826), who was a romantic provincial through and through, immune to the fancy phrasing of the sophisticated Buson school. Issa is the sentimental favorite in the canons of Japanese Haiku. He used simple, even colloquial language, and he brought heartfelt love to all things he touched, great and small. Although he was not immersed in the heavier aspects of Zen, his lighthearted approach to life was well in accord with the latter clays of the Zen revival. His Haiku style seems the literary equivalent of the comic Zen drawings of Hakuin (1685--1768) or Sengai (1751-1837). There is also a Zen quality to his rejection of the literary conventions of the time. Yet Issa was not consciously a rebel; rather, he was a simple, sincere man who wrote sincerely of simple things. His approach to nature was as honest in its own way as Basho's, but Issa was happy to let his own personality and response shine through, while Basho deliberately circumvented his own emotions. Orphaned at an early age and seeing to the grave all the children born during his lifetime (as well as two of his three wives), Issa seems to have known little but hardship. Much of his life was spent as an itinerant poet-priest, an occupation that allowed him to learn the life of the people while also keeping him close to the earth. A compendium of his life's experiences and a fine sampling of his Haiku were recorded in his famous book The Year of My Life, which seems to have been his answer to Basho's travel diaries. However, his humanity was far distant from Basho's lonely sabi. For condensed effect, compare the following with Wordsworth's "Solitary Reaper." _Yabu-kage ya _In the thicket's shade, _tatta hitori-no _and all alone, she's singing-- _ta-ue-uta _the rice-planting maid.13 Perhaps his most touching poem, which shames into oblivion all the "transient dew" posturing of a thousand years of classical Japanese verse, is the famous Haiku written on the death of one of his children. _Tsuyu-no-yo wa _The world of dew _tsuyu-no-yo nagara _Is the world of dew _sari nagara _And yet . . . And yet . . .14 Issa's rustic, personal voice was not a style to be copied, even if the city poets had wished to do so, and Haiku seems to have fallen into the hands of formula versifiers during the mid- nineteenth century. In the waning years of the century, the last of the four great Haiku masters rose to prominence: Shiki (1867-1902), whose life of constantly failing health was as adversity-plagued as Issa's, but who actively took up the fight against the insincere parlor versifiers then ruling Haiku. No wandering poet-priest, Shiki was a newspaperman, critic, and editor of various Haiku "little magazines." The Zen influence that ruled Basho's later poetry is missing in Shiki, but the objective imagery is there-- only in a tough, modern guise. Shiki's verse is an interesting example of how similar in external appearance the godless austerity of Zen is to the existential atheism of our own century. (This superficial similarity is undoubtedly the reason so much of Zen art seems "modern" to us today--it is at odds with both classical and romantic ideals.) Thus a completely secular poet like Shiki could revolutionize Haiku as a form of art-for-art's-sake without having to acknowledge openly his debt to Zen. _Hira-hira to _A single butterfly _Kaze ni nigarete _Fluttering and drifting _Cho hitotsu _In the wind.15 With the poems of Shiki, the influence of Zen had so permeated Haiku that it was taken for granted. Much the same had occurred with all the Zen arts; as the dynamic aspects of the faith faded away, all that was left were the art forms and aesthetic ideals of Zen culture. The rules of the ancient Zen masters were there as a theme for the modern arts, but mainly as a theme on which there could be variations. Zen culture as an entity was slowly dissolving, becoming in modern times merely a part of a larger cultural heritage. CHAPTER SIXTEEN Private Zen: Flowers and Food _European food-- Every wretched plate Is round. _ Traditional Japanese poem THE SPREAD OF ZEN culture from the mansions of the _samurai _to the houses of the bourgeoisie meant ultimately that Zen aesthetics would touch even the most routine features of daily life. Nowhere, perhaps, is this more noticeable than in Japanese cuisine and flower arranging. As we have seen, the tea ceremony was the great preserver of higher Zen ideals of art, but this ceremony, for all its pretensions to refined poverty, is essentially the province of the prosperous. It requires space for a garden, a special--and frequently expensive--house, and utensils whose properly weathered look can be obtained only at a price. Even a simple Zen garden is hardly available to a modern Japanese living in a cinderblock apartment building. Everyone, however, can practice the classical art of arranging flowers in a manner reflecting the precepts of Zen. A flower arrangement is to a large garden what a Haiku is to an epic poem--a symbolic, abbreviated form whose condensed suggestiveness can encapsulate the larger world. Similarly, the Zen ideals of _wabi_, or deliberate understatement, and _sabi_, the patina of time, can be captured almost as well in the display of food--in both its artistic arrangement on a plate and the tasteful ceramics employed--as in the arts and ceramics of the tea ceremony. Thus a properly conceived serving of seasonal and subtly flavored foods accompanied by a Zen-inspired flower arrangement can be an evervday version of the tea ceremony and its garden, embodying the same aesthetic principles in a surrogate form just as demanding of Zen taste and sensibility. It will be recalled that Zen itself is said to have originated when the Buddha silently turned a blossom in his hand before a gathering on Vulture Peak. The lotus blossom was one of the foremost symbols of classical Buddhism for many centuries; indeed the earliest Japanese flower arrangements may have been merely a lotus floating in a water- filled vessel set before a Buddhist altar. To the ancient Buddhists, the flower was a symbol of nature, a momentary explosion of beauty and fragrance embodying all the mysteries of life's cycle of birth and death. The early Japanese, who saw in nature the expression of life's spirit, naturally found the flower a congenial symbol for an abstract philosophy like Buddhism. In the years preceding Zen's arrival in Japan, a parallel but essentially secular taste for flowers permeated the aristocratic court civilization of the Heian, where lovers attached sprays of blossoms to letters and eulogized the plum and cherry as symbols of life's transient happiness. Indeed, it is hardly an exaggeration to describe blossoms as the foremost symbol of Japan's great age of love poetry. Exactly when the Japanese began the practice of arranging flowers in pots for decorative purposes has never been satisfactorily determined. Perhaps not surprisingly, the first well- known exponent of floral art seems to have been the famous Zen aesthete Ashikaga Yoshimasa (1435-1490), builder of the Silver Pavilion. However, Yoshimasa merely popularized an art that was considerably more ancient. Ikebana, or flower arranging, had for some time been transmitted as a kind of secret cult by a line of priests who had called themselves Ikenobo. Just what role Zen and Zen art theory played in this priestly art is questionable, for early styles were florid and decorative. At first glance, it may seem strange that the flower arrangements of the Ikenobo priests should have captured the interest of Yoshimasa and his circle of Zen aesthetes during the high age of Zen culture, since the Ikebana of this period, far from showing the spareness characteristic of Zen garden arts, was an exuberant symbol of the world at large, rather like a complex mandala diagram of some esoteric sect wherein all components of the universe are represented in a structured spatial relationship. This early style of formal flower arranging, now known as Rikka, was later codified into seven specific elements, each symbolizing some aspect of nature--the sun, the shade, and so forth. There were three main branches in an arrangement and four supporting branches, each with a special name and a special aesthetic-symbolic function. As with most art forms preceding the modern age, the distinction between religious symbolism and purely aesthetic principles was not well defined, and artists often preferred to use philosophical explanations as a means of transmitting those rules of form they instinctively recognized to be most satisfying. Not surprisingly, given the Zen ideals of the age, Rikka-style flower arrangements were asymmetrical and intended to suggest naturalness as far as possible. Although complex, they were by no means artificial, seeming instead a happy accident of nature. As with Zen gardens, great artifice was used to give the impression of naturalness. Since the elaborate Rikka style was supported by an equally elaborate theory and required total discipline, flower arranging acquired many of the qualities of a high art. Certainly the arrangement of flowers in the West never approached anything like the formality and rules of technique surrounding Japanese floral displays, and for this reason we sometimes have difficulty in accepting the idea that it can be considered a genuine art form. But then we have never seriously considered the flower a primary religious symbol--a role that, to the Eastern mind, automatically makes it a candidate for artistic expression. The religion of Zen, with no particular god to deify, turned to flowers and gardens as symbols of the spirit of life. The influence of Zen on the Rikka arrangement was more implicit than direct, and a wholly Zen flower style had to await the coming of the famous tea-ceremony master, Sen no Rikyu. Rikyu predictably found the Rikka style entirely too lavish for understated _wabi _aesthetics and introduced a new style known as Nageire, which was informal and spontaneous in appearance. Since it was for display at the tea ceremony, it was called _chabana_, or tea flowers. Instead of an elaborate seven-point design, the teahouse Nageire-style consisted of one or two blossoms stuck in a pot without any hint of artificiality. The Nagiere was not, of course, an undisciplined art--it was merely intended to seem so. Great care was taken to position the bud and its few surrounding sprigs into a perfect artistic composition that would seem natural and spontaneous. The _chabana _version of the Nageire style is the ultimate Zen statement in living materials. Pared down from the Rikka style, it became a powerful, direct expression of Zen ideals. The difference has been well expressed by Shozo Sato: _Rikka arrangements grew ultimately from a philosophic attempt to conceive of an organized universe, whereas Nageire arrangements represent an antiphilosophic attempt to achieve immediate oneness with the universe. The Rikka arrangement is an appropriate offering to be placed before one of the many icons of traditional Buddhism, but the Nageire arrangement is a direct link between man and his natural surroundings. One style is conceptual and idealistic; the other, instinctive and naturalistic. The difference is similar to that between the arduous philosophic study associated with traditional Buddhism and the direct enlightenment of Zen Buddhism. _(_The Art of Arranging Flowers_. New York: Abrams, 1965). _ _ Although the Nageire is still the preferred style for the teahouse, it is a bit too austere, not to mention demanding, for the average Japanese home. The rising middle class of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries sought a compromise between the Rikka and Nageire, and finally developed a simplified Rikka style known as Seika, which made use of only the three main stems of the full Rikka arrangement. Today various styles flourish, together with experimental modern schools which permit rocks, driftwood, and other natural materials in their compositions. Yet throughout all the schools--and they number in the thousands--the idea remains that flowers are a shorthand representation of man's connection with nature. Zen ideals are never far distant, even in the most abstract modern compositions. If the Japanese attitude toward flowers differs from that of the West, their approach to dining differs even more. The almost universal Western attitude toward Japanese cuisine was voiced many centuries ago by the European visitor Bernardo do Avila Giron, who declared, "I will not praise Japanese food for it is not good, albeit it is pleasing to the eye, but instead I will describe the clean and peculiar way in which it is served."2 Beauty counts as heavily as taste at a formal table, and to say Japanese food is "served" is like calling the members of a string quartet fiddlers. The Japanese devote more artistic resources to the rites of food than any other people on earth. Entire magazines are devoted to supplying housewives with the latest culinary creations: not new recipes but new ways to display dishes created according to well-known formulas. A new condiment is not sought so much as a new color, and a new sauce is of less interest than a new saucer. Indeed, a fine restaurant may prize its ceramics almost as much as its chef. Yet for all its beauty, the food seems to be oddly deficient in pronounced flavors. This characteristic a Japanese will be the first to admit, but with pride rather than apology. Strong flavors are to a modern Japanese what bold colors were to the Heian aesthetes--unrefined, obvious gratifications for those lacking in cultivated discernment. A connoisseur is one who can distinguish the subtle difference in taste among various species of raw mushrooms or different fermentations of bean curd. A cultivated Japanese can tell you not only what species of raw fish he is tasting, but the number of hours it has been away from the sea. A conscientious Japanese chef would no more think of serving a vegetable not scrupulously fresh than he would drown it in a heavy sauce. Furthermore, he would most prefer to serve it entirely raw, thereby preserving intact all its subtle natural flavor and texture. Japanese cuisine, which is a water-based art as compared to the oil- based cooking of China or the butter-based dishes of France, is now known and appreciated worldwide. Dining in a Japanese restaurant in the far-flung corners of the globe can be as formal as a fine Continental meal or as expedient as a grilled-chicken-and-noodle emporium. However, whether formal or casual, it will lack the air of solicitude that a really discerning Japanese host can bring to a specially planned banquet. Since dining at his own home would do no honor to you, the guest, chances are he will entertain you at an inn or restaurant where he knows the chef, but he will still plan the meal, working out all the finer details with the cook. There will be few surprises on the menu, for the food is governed by the season. Only the freshest vegetables-- preferably those ripening to their finest that week--and the primest sea fare will be permitted. Upon entering the dining room you will know you have been selected as the guest of honor when you are requested to sit with your back to the art alcove, or tokonoma, a practice dating from rowdier days of the ambush when this represented the one location in a paper-walled room sure to be backed by a solid wall. After seating formalities are resolved, the host will call for tea. If the season is spring, the variety selected may be _shincha_, a dainty green brew steeped from the freshly plucked early leaves of the Japanese tea bush. When you realize that even your beverage has been brought fresh from the fields, you begin to understand the subtleties of seasonal tastes in store. Indeed, in late spring and summer the table will present delicacies only hours from the soil. First to arrive may be a tray crowded with ceramic saucers, no two alike in shape or glaze, each offering a condiment or plant of the season. Slices of dark, pickled ginger, the traditional astringent, may be arranged on a diminutive round plate of blue and white porcelain, which stands adjacent to a rough-textured, gray square bowl heaped with slivers of fresh cucumber, its brilliant green contrasting with the splash of vellow from a bouquet of its own blossoms sprinkled across one corner of the dish. These may be joined by tender bamboo shoots from the hillside. (Slowly you begin to notice that the color and texture of each dish has been chosen to contrast and complement those of its contents.) Added to this fanciful course may be a pale brown dish of lotus-root slivers, each garnished with a mound of green horseradish. Next at hand might well be a pale yellow saucer holding sheets of dried seaweed alongside a thin slice of the porous white Japanese turnip, sliced so thin as to be transparent. If the season is fall instead of spring, there could be a thin rectangular dish with a crinkled black glaze containing a single maple leaf, on which might be displayed thinly sliced raw mushrooms skewered with pine needles and set in a display of gourd strands. Next may come a cold omelet, whose fluffy strata of egg have been wrapped like a cinnamon roll around layers of dark seaweed. The omelet's exterior will have been glazed to an almost ceramic polish and garnished with a white radish sauce, light and piquant. After the omelet may come fish, raw sashimi in a plethora of varieties from freshwater carp to sea bream to the (sometimes lethal) fugu. The subtleties in taste and texture between the many species available are to the Japanese what fine wines are to the Western connoisseur. Yet the chef's real genius has gone into the careful cutting and display of the fish. The red back meat of the tuna must be cut into thick slices because of its tenderness, but the fatty pink meat from the belly can be cut into thin strips. The size of the slices governs how they are displayed. The display and garnishing of the sashimi is an important testing ground for the chef's artistic originality. After all, the fish are raw, and beyond making sure that they are fresh and of high quality, there is little to be done about the flavor. Therefore the chef must become an artist if the sashimi are to be memorable. The banquet may continue with soup, often created from fish stock and fermented soybean paste called miso. The soup arrives in closed lacquer bowls, on the lids of which will be embellished a design of the season, perhaps a bamboo shoot or a chrysanthemum blossom. Beneath this lid is a tranquil sea of semitransparent marine broth, tinted amber and seasoned with delicate green scallion rings and cubes of bland white soybean curd. The bottom of the bowl may shelter a family of thumbnail- sized baby clams, still nestled in their open shells. The soup hints of the field and the sea, but in delicate nuances, like an ink painting executed in a few suggestive strokes. The parade of tiny dishes continues until the host's imagination falters or your appetite is conquered. Green beans, asparagus, lotus root, carrots, tree leaves, legumes . . . the varieties of plants will seem virtually endless. Each taste and texture will be slightly different, each color subtly orchestrated. Yet it all seems perfectly natural, as though the world of mountain and sea had somehow presented itself at your table to be sampled. You become acutely aware of the natural taste of the plants ripening in the fields outside at that very moment. But to enjoy this cuisine you must sharpen your senses; no flavor is allowed to be dominant, no spice overwhelming. You must reach out with your sensibilities and attune yourself to the world around you. The haute cuisine of Japan is known as _kaiseki_, the name of the special meal served with the Zen tea ceremony. _Kaiseki _is the great preserver of cuisine aesthetics in Japan. The tea ceremony, the supreme transmitter of Zen culture, also happens to be the preserver of Japan's finest ideals in the realm of food. The governing principle of _kaiseki_ is that the foods served should be natural, even as an unpainted traditional house reveals its fresh woods. Whereas artificiality would draw a diner's spirit away from the real world, naturalness brings him closer to it. The colors, of both the foods and the ceramics, are meant to suggest nature. The servings are simple, never elaborate or contrived, and the foods chosen must never be obviously expensive. A host is expected to display his skill and imagination in combining delicate flavors, not his wealth or extravagance in being able to buy the most expensive items he can find. Again it is the Zen idea of _wabi_, a deliberate turning away from the ostentatious. But to speak of Zen dining in terms of flavor is to miss a good part of the pleasure. The display of glazed ceramic dishes on a Japanese table is carefully orchestrated by color and shape to form a unified, naturalistic, asymmetrical aesthetic whole. The sensitive Japanese regards the Western weakness for marshaled arrays of matched china as a demonstration of limited artistic vision. All the concepts of beauty developed in the tea ceremony have been transmitted to the Japanese formal dining experience, and a dimension has been added: in a formal meal the ceramics are decorated with foods; the various foods are positioned, down to the last bean, with care almost worthy of the stones in a Zen garden, and the color and texture of each is attuned to the color and texture of its dish. Thus dining becomes a display of art and design that tests the aesthetic discernment of both host and guest. Perhaps in no other land is the serving of food so manifestly both a form of art and an expression of philosophy. But it seems less incredible if viewed merely as the last convolution of Zen culture. From monks to modern housewives, Zen culture has touched every aspect of Japanese life. There are, of course, other voices and other rooms in the complex world of Japanese cultural history, but when you think of the finest moments in Japanese civilization, more often than not you find yourself thinking of Zen. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN The Lessons of Zen Culture _It is not surprising if the religious need, the believing mind, and the philosophical speculations of the educated European are attracted to the symbols of the East, just as once before the heart and mind of men of antiquity were gripped by Christian ideas. _ Carl Gustav Jung_, Archetypes of the Collective Unconscious _ EVERY MAJOR ZEN cultural form is designed to operate on the mind in some manipulative, non-Western fashion. If we look carefully, we find that not one of the Zen forms has a real counterpart in Western culture. Zen archery and swordsmanship seem almost a species of hypnotism. Zen gardens are a bag of tricks and specifically designed to deceive one's perception. Zen painting is a product of the nonrational counter mind; although it requires training at least as rigorous as any that a Western academy could supply, at the critical moment the training is forgotten and the work becomes wholly spontaneous. No drama uses clever devices of suggestion to push the mind into areas of understanding too profound for words, while the open-ended Haiku is a spark igniting an explosion of imagery and nonrational perception in the listener's mind. The traditional Japanese house is a psychological chamber from floor to ceiling. Zen ceramics by subtle deceptions destroy our impulses to categorize, forcing us to experience directly materials, process, and form. The tea ceremony is still another exercise in deliberately altering one's state of mind, this time under the guise of a simple social occasion. It seems almost as if the Zen arts were intended to be an object lesson to us on the limitations of the senses in defining reality. Just as the _koan_ taunt the logical mind, the Zen arts, by toying with perception, remind us that there is a reality not subject to the five senses. In Eastern philosophy, although "seeing" involves the senses, it must ultimately transcend them. Zen culture has been devised over the centuries to bring us in touch with a portion of ourselves we in the West scarcely know--our nonrational, nonverbal side. Whereas Ch'an masters of a thousand years ago were devising mind exercises to short-circuit and defeat the limiting characteristics of the rational side of the mind, the idea of the counter mind has only recently found experimental validation--and hence intellectual respectability--in the rationalist West. (As one example of many, recent experiments at Harvard University found that "questions demanding . . . verbal . . . processes result in the greatest left [brain] hemispherical activation . . . [while] emotional questions elicit the greatest right hemispheric activation."1) Apparently not only did the Ch'an masters intuitively realize the existence of the nonverbal half of the mind during the T'ang era (618- 907), but they, and later the Japanese, used it to create a spectrum of art and cultural forms which exploits, strengthens, and sharpens these same nonverbal faculties. Zen cultural forms are the perfect physical proof of the strength of the counter mind. Even those using language (the No and Haiku) rely more on suggestion than on words. Indeed, the very language of Japan was recently described by a Japanese scholar in terms that make it sound almost like an intuitive, counter-mind phenomenon: "English is a language intended strictly for communication. Japanese is primarily interested in feeling out the other person's mood, in order to work out one's own course of action based on one's impression."2 This difference in approach to language, in which it is seen as a virtual barrier to communicating what is really significant (one's subjective response), appears to be a side effect of Zen culture. As a Japanese critic recently observed, _A corollary to the Japanese attitude toward language might be called the "aesthetics of silence"---making a virtue of reticence and a vulgarity of verbalization or open expression of one's inner thoughts. This attitude can be traced to the Zen Buddhist idea that man is capable of arriving at the highest level of contemplative being only when he makes no attempt at verbalizations and discounts oral expression as the height of superficiality.3 _ Finally, Zen cultural forms use the nonverbal, nonrational powers of the mind to produce in the perceiver a complete sense of identification with the object. If a Zen art work is truly successful, the perceiver has no sense of "I" and "it." If reflection or analysis is required, the work is of no more use than a joke whose punch line needs explanation. One's mind must immediately experience something beyond the work. Even as the eye cannot see itself without a mirror, so it is with the mind. The inducing of introspection turns out to be a deliberate function of Zen art--the forcing of the mind past the surface form of an art work and into a direct experience of a greater truth. The Zen arts are, we realize at last, completely internalized. They depend as much on the perception of the viewer or participants as they do on any of their own inherent qualities. For this reason they can be sparing and restrained. (They also happen to be perfectly suited to a land that, over the centuries, has been as physically impoverished as Japan.) By using small- scale, suggestive arts that depend to a large extent on the special perception of the audience for their impact, Zen artists were able to provide immense satisfaction with only a minor investment of resources. It is rather like the relation of radio to television drama. Given an audience with a good imagination, a radio dramatist or a Zen artist can achieve the intended effect through suggestion. This is what Sir George Sansom had in mind when he remarked upon the _important part played by aesthetic feeling in the enrichment of Japanese life. Among Japanese of all classes, an instinctive awareness of beauty seems to compensate for a standard of well-being which to Western judgement seems poor and bleak. Their habit of finding pleasure in common things, their quick appreciation of form and color, their feelings for simple elegance, are gifts which may well be envied by us who depend so much for our happiness upon quantity of possessions and complexity of apparatus. Such happy conditions, in which frugality is not the enemy of satisfaction, are perhaps the most distinctive features in the cultural history of Japan.4 _ Zen culture, working with the already highly developed vocabulary and capacity for perception developed in the Heian era, unlocked powerful new techniques that have made Japanese culture a special case in the annals of world civilization. Perhaps the best case in point is the stone garden at Ryoan-ji, which is a triumph of pure suggestiveness. It is clearly a symbol--but a symbol of what? It is clearly an invitation to open one's perception--but open it to what? The work gives no hint. With Ryoan-ji Zen artists finally perfected the device of suggestiveness to the point where it could stand on its own. The garden seems almost to be a natural object, like a sunset or a piece of driftwood. The impact of a traditional Zen room is similar. It simply amplifies whatever powers of understanding the viewer already possesses. Of itself it is a void. By relying so strongly on perception, the Japanese have created a strikingly original way of using and experiencing art. Western critics for several hundred years have argued about the function of art, the responsibilities of the audience vis-à-vis a work of art, the varying types of perception, and so on, but they have never dealt with the peculiar phenomenon of Zen art, where the work can be merely a device to start the mind going. How do you write a critical analysis of a work of art that only takes shape after it gets inside your head? It is interesting to watch critic after critic struggling with Ryoan-ji, trying to explain its power, only to collapse at last in defeat.5 Similarly, the most effective Haiku are those about which the least can be said. Ryoan-ji takes your breath away when you first see it; like a good Haiku it slams you against a moment of direct experience. Yet when you try to analyze it, you find there is nothing significant to say. Ryoan-ji may not even be a work of art by our Western definition; it may be some sort of mind device for which we have no word. Similarly, Haiku's relation to Western poetry may be limited to typography. The arts of the West--painting, poetry, drama, literature, sculpture--are all enhanced by critical analysis. When we speak of Milton, we really speak of Milton as seen through many layers of critical explanation and interpretation. The Zen arts have inspired no such body of critical analysis, perhaps because they do not have many of those qualities we normally think of as aesthetic. Does Ryoan-ji have beauty in any conventional sense? It merely exists. It is, if anything, anti-art. If we in the West wish to borrow from the complex world of Zen culture, we must first begin to train and intensify our powers of perception. In this regard, one is tempted to speculate that the Japanese must have learned to turn these powers down as well as up. How else can one explain the Japanese ability to ignore so much of the blight of modern civilization while maintaining a national fetish for such purely aesthetic phenomena as cherry blossoms? As Donald Richie observed, "Japan is the most modern of all countries perhaps because, having a full and secure past, it can afford to live in the instantaneous present."0 Alongside all the aesthetic indignities of the twentieth century, the ancient sense of taste appears to have survived undiminished. A concern for beauty is still very much a part of everyday life in Japan. Whereas the appreciation of art is usually the pursuit of a privileged few in Western countries, in Japan the aesthetic quality of everyday objects is commonly acknowledged to be fully as important as their function. It is not uncommon to discover a rustic day laborer arranging flowers, practicing the tea ceremony, or fashioning a garden in his spare time. The peasant may be as sure a judge of tea bowls as the prince. Even the match boxes from the sleaziest bars are minor works of art, as are bundles and packages from even the most modern commercial establishments. A sense of beauty is not considered unmanly; indeed, it is regarded as essential to the good life, harking all the way back to the virile _samurai_. Zen culture's primary lesson is that we should start trying to experience art and the world around us rather than analyzing them. When we do this, we find that everything suddenly comes alive. If we can take this power of direct perception, sharpened by the devices of Zen art, back to everyday activities, we will find a beauty in common objects that we previously ignored. Flowers--indeed individual petals--become objects of the most intense loveliness. When we see the world with a Zen-honed awareness, our sense of the beauty in objects supplants our desire to possess them. If we allow the ancient creators of Zen culture to touch our lives, we open wider the doors of perception. * * * References CHAPTER 2 THE PRELUDE TO ZEN CULTURE 1. "The Diary of Murasaki Shikibu," from Diaries of Court Ladies of Old Japan, trans. Omori, Annie Shepley, and Kochi Doi (Tokyo, 1935; reprint ed., New York, AMS Press), p. 147. 2. The Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon, trans. Ivan Morris (New York: Columbia University Press, 1967), p. 40. 3. Ibid., p. 214. 4. "The Diary of Murasaki Shikibu," p. 74. 5. The Kokin Waka-shu, trans. H. H. Honda (Tokyo: Hoku-seido Press, 1970), p. 35. 6. See Wm. Theodore de Bary, ed., Sources of Japanese Tradition, vol. 1 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1958). 7. Earl Miner, An Introduction to Japanese Court Poetry (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1968), p. 9. CHAPTER 4 THE CHRONICLES OF ZEN 1. Essays in Zen Buddhism: First Series, trans. D. T. Suzuki (London: Grove Press, 1949), p- 181. 2. Translated in A Buddhist Bible, ed. Dwight Goddard (Boston: Beacon Press, 1970), p. 315. 3. Ibid., p. 323. 4. Chuang Tzu, Basic Writings, trans. Burton Watson (New York: Columbia University Press, 1964), p. 94. 5. The Sutra of Hui Neng, trans. A. F. Price and Wong Mou- Lam (Berkeley: Shambala, 1969) p. 1 5. 6. Ibid., p. 18. 7. The Diamond Sutra, trans. A. F. Price and Wong Mou-Lam (Berkeley: Sliambala, 1969), p. 37. 8. de Bary, Sources of Japanese Tradition, 1: 236. 9. George Sansom, A History of Japan to 1334 (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1958), p. 429. 10. Dogen Zenji, Selling Water by the River, trans. Jiyu Kennett (New York: Pantheon, 1972), p. 115. CHAPTER 5 ZEN ARCHERY AND SWORDSMANSHIP 1. D. T. Suzuki, Zen and Japanese Culture (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1959), p. 146. CHAPTER 6 THE GREAT AGE OF ZEN 1. de Bary, Sources of Japanese Tradition, 1: 255. CHAPTER 7 ZEN AND THE LANDSCAPE GARDEN 1. David H. Engel, Japanese Gardens for Today (Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1959). CHAPTER 9 ZEN AND THE INK LANDSCAPE 1. Seiroku Noma, Artistry in Ink (New York: Crown, 1957), p. 3. 2. Two Twelfth-Century Texts on Chinese Painting, trans. R. J. Maeda (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Papers in Chinese Studies, No. 8, 1970), p. 17. 3. Osvald Siren, The Chinese on the Art of Painting (New York: Schocken, 1963), p. 97. 4. Ernest F. Fenollosa, Epochs of Chinese and Japanese Art (New York: Dover, 1963), 2: 11. (Reprint.) CHAPTER 10 THE ZEN AESTHETICS OF JAPANESE ARCHITECTURE x. Lafcadio Hearn, Gleanings in Buddha-Fields (Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1971), p. 1. (Reprint.) 2. For a fuller discussion of early Japanese architecture, see Arthur Drexler, The Architecture of Japan (New York: Arno Press, 1955) 3. An excellent discussion of _shibui _may be found in Anthony West's essay, "What Japan Has That We May Profitably Borrow," House Beautiful, August 1960. 4. Ralph Adams Cram, Impressions of Japanese Architecture (New York: Dover, 1966) p. 127. (Reprint.) 5. Heinrich Engel, The Japanese House (Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1964) pp. 373-374. CHAPTER 11 THE NO THEATER 1. R. H. Blyth, Eastern Culture (Tokyo: Hokuseido, 1949), 1: 146. 2. de Bary, Sources of Japanese Tradition, 1: 278. 3. Charles K. Tuttle, The Noh Drama (Nippon: Giakujutsu Shinkokai, 1955), p. 130. CHAPTER 1 2 BOURGEOIS SOCIETY AND LATER ZEN 1. Joao Rodrigues, This Island of Japan, trans. Michael Cooper (Tokyo: Kodansha, 1973), pp. 272-273. CHAPTER 13 THE TEA CEREMONY 1. Suzuki, Zen and Japanese Culture, p. 299. 2. Ibid., p. 305. CHAPTER 14 ZEN CERAMIC ART 1. Ruskin, John, The Stones of Venice, Volume II (1853), from Selected Prose of Ruskin, Matthew Hodgart, ed. (New York: New American Library, 1970), pp. 119 and 124. 2. CHAPTER 15 ZEN AND HAIKU 1. See Kenneth Rexroth, One Hundred Poems from the Japanese (New York: New Directions, 1964). 2. See Geoffrey Bownas and Anthony Thwaite, eds., 'I'he Penguin Book of Japanese Verse (Baltimore: Penguin, 1964). 3. Ibid., p. 71. 4. Miner, An Introduction to Japanese Court Poetry, p. 91. 5. Harold G. Henderson, An Introduction to Haiku (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday Anchor, 1958), p. 18. 6. Ibid., p. 18. 7. See Kenneth Yasuda, The Japanese Haiku (Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1957). 8. Henderson, An Introduction to Haiku, p. 39. 9. Ibid., p. 49. 10. Ibid., p. 94. 11. Ibid., p. 108. 12. Ibid., p. 113. 13. Ibid., p. 146. 14. Issa, The Year of My Life, trans. Nobuyuki Yuasa (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1960), p. 104. 15. R. H. Blyth, A History of Haiku (Tokyo: Hokuseido, 1964), 2: 82. CHAPTER 16 PRIVATE ZEN: FLOWERS AND FOOD 1. Sato, Shozo. The Art of Arranging Flowers. New York: Abrams, 1965. 2. 3. Quoted in Michael Cooper, ed., They Came to Japan (University of California Press, 1965), p. 194. 4. CHAPTER 17 THE LESSONS OF ZEN CULTURE 1. Gary E. Schwartz, Richard J. Davidson, and Foster Maer, "Right Hemisphere Lateralization for Emotion in the Human Brain: Interactions with Cognition," Science, October 17, 1975, p. 287. 2. Frank Gibney, "The Japanese and Their Language," Encounter, March 1975, p. 35. 3. Masao Kunihiro, "Indigenous Barriers to Communication," The Wheel Extended, Spring 1974, p. 13. 4. George Sansom, Japan: A Short Cultural History, rev. ed. (New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts, 1962). 5. The best analysis to date is Eliot Deutsch, "An Invitation to Contemplation," Studies in Comparative Aesthetics, Monographs of the Society for Asian and Comparative Philosophy, No. 2, University of Hawaii Press, 1975. 6. Donald Richie, The Inland Sea (New York: Weatherhill, 1971), p. 60. Bibliography GENERAL HISTORY de Bary, Wm. Theodore, ed. Sources of Japanese Tradition. 2 vols. New York: Columbia University Press, 1958. Hall, John Whitney. Japan, From Prehistory to Modern Times. New York: Delacorte, 1970. Hane, Mikiso. Japan, A Historical Survey. New York: Scribners, 1972. Morris, Ivan. The World of the Shining Prince: Court Life in Ancient Japan. New York: Knopf, 1964. Murdoch, James. History of Japan. 3 vols. New York: Ungar, 1964 (reissue). Reischauer, Edwin O. Japan: Past and Present. 3rd ed. New York: Knopf, 1964. Sansom, George B. A History of Japan. 3 vols. Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1958-1963. . Japan: A Short Cultural History. Rev. ed. New York: Appleton-Centurv-Crofts, 1962. Varlev, H. Paul. The Onin War. New York: Columbia University Press, 1967. . Japanese Culture: A Short History. New York: Prager,1973 Wheeler, Post. The Sacred Scriptures of the Japanese. New York: Schuman, 1952. GENERAL ARTS AND CULTURE Benedict, Ruth. The Chrysanthemum and the Sword. Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1954. Boger, Batterson. The Traditional Arts of Japan. New York: Crown, 1964. Boscaro, Adriana. 101 Letters of Hideyoshi. Tokyo: Kawata Press, 1975 Hall, John Whitney. Twelve Doors to Japan. New York: McGraw- Hill, 1965. Hasegawa, Nyozekan. The Japanese Character: A Cultural Profile. Palo Alto, Calif.: Kodansha, 1966. Hearn, Lafcadio. Japan: An Interpretation. Rutland, Vt.: Charles E. Tuttle, 1955 (reprint). Hisamatsu, Shin'ichi. Zen and the Fine Arts. Palo Alto, Calif.: Kodansha, 1971. Janeira, Armando Martins. Japanese and Western Literature. Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1970. Keene, Donald, trans. Essays in Idleness. New York: Columbia University Press, 1967. Koestler, Arthur. The Lotus and the Robot. New York: Harper & Row, 1960. Moore, Charles A., ed. The Japanese Mind. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1967. Munsterberg, Hugo. Zen and Oriental Art. Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1965. . The Arts of Japan, Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1957. Paine, Robert Treat, and Soper, Alexander. The Art and Architecture of Japan. Rev. ed. Baltimore: Penguin, i960. Rodrigues, Joao. This Island of Japan. Translated by Michael Cooper. Tokvo: Kodansha, 1973. Sansom, George B. An Historical Grammar of Japanese. London: Oxford University Press, 1928. Seckel, Dietrich. The Art of Buddhism. New York: Crown, 1963. Suzuki, D. T. Zen and Japanese Culture. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1959. Ueda, Makota. Literary and Art Theories in Japan. Cleveland: Press of Case Western Reserve University, 1967. von Durckheim, Karlfried Graf. The Japanese Cult of Tranquility. London: Rider, 1960. BUDDHISM AND JAPANESE BUDDHISM Anesaki, Masaharu. History of Japanese Religion. London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner, 1930 (reissue, Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1963). Bapat, P. V. 2500 Years of Buddhism. New Delhi: Government of India, Ministry of Information, 1956. Bunce, William K. Religions in Japan. Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1955. Ch'en, Kenneth. Buddhism in China. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1964. Conze, Edward. Buddhism, Its Essence and Development. New York: Harper, 1959. Cowell, E. B. Buddhist Mahayana Texts. New York: Dover, 1969 (originally published in 1894 as volume 49 of The Sacred Books of the East). Eliot, Sir Charles. Japanese Buddhism. New York: Barnes & Noble, 1969. Goddard, Dwight, ed. A Buddhist Bible. Boston: Beacon Press, 1970. Hanayama, Shinsho. A History of Japanese Buddhism. Tokyo: Bukkyo Dendo Kyokai, 1966. Kato, Bunno, Tamura, Yoshiro, and Miyasaka, Kojiro, trans. The Threefold Lotus Sutra. New York: Weatherhill/Kosei, 1975. Kern, H. Saddharma-pundarika or the Lotus of the True Law (The Lotus Sutra). New York: Dover, 1963 (originally published in 1884 as volume 21 of The Sacred Books of the East). Ramanan, K. Venkata. Nagarjuna's Philosophy. New Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1975. Ross, Nancy Wilson. Three Ways of Asian Wisdom. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1966. Saunders, E. Dale. Buddhism in Japan. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1964. Shoko, Watanabe. Japanese Buddhism: A Critical Appraisal. Tokyo: Japanese Cultural Society, 1970. Suzuki, D. T. Studies in the Lankavatara Sutra. London: Rout- ledge & Kegan Paul, 1952. . Outlines of Mahayana Buddhism. New York: Shocken, 1963. Benoit, Hubert. The Supreme Doctrine: Psychological Studies in Zen Thought. New York: Pantheon, 1955. Blofield, John, trans. The Zen Teaching of Huang Po. New York: Grove Press, 1958. . The Zen Teaching of Hui Hai on Sudden Illumination. New York: Samuel Weiser, 1972. Blyth, R. II. Zen in English Literature and Oriental Classics. New York: Dutton, 1960. . Zen and Zen Classics. 5 vols. Tokyo: Hokuseido Press, 1960-1970. Chang, Chung-Yuan, trans. Original Teachings of Chan Buddhism (The Transmission of the Lamp). New York: Random House, 1969. Chang, Garma C. C. The Practice of Zen. New York: Harper & Row, 1959. Cleary, Thomas, and Cleary, J. C., trans. The Blue Cliff Record. Berkeley: Shambala Publications, Inc., 1977. Dogen Zenji. Selling Water by the River. Jiyu Kennett, trans. New York: Pantheon, 1972. Dumoulin, Heinrich. A History of Zen Buddhism. New York: Random House, 1960. Hirai, Tomio. Zen Meditation Therapy. Tokyo: Japan Publications, 1975. Hoffman, Yoel. The Sound of One Hand. New York: Basic Books, 1975. Humphreys, Christmas. Zen Buddhism. New York: Macmillan, 1949. Hyers, Conrad. Zen and the Comic Spirit. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1973. Kapleau, Philip, ed. The Three Pillars of Zen. New York: Weather- hill, 1965. Kubose, Gyomay M. Zen _Koan_s. Chicago: Regnery, 1973. Luk, Charles. Ch'an and Zen Teachings. 3 vols. London: Rider, 1962. . The Transmission of the Mind Outside the Teaching. New York: Grove Press, 1974. Miura, Isshu, and Sasaki, Ruth Fuller. The Zen _Koan_. New York: Harcourt, Brace and World, 1965. . Zen Dust. New York: Harcourt, Brace and World, 1966. (Contains The Zen _Koan_ plus additional material.) Price, A. F., and Wong, Mou-Lam, trans. The Diamond Sutra and the Sutra of Hui Neng. Berkeley, Calif.: Shambala, 1969. Ross, Nancy Wilson, ed. The World of Zen. New York: Random House, 1960. Sasaki, Ruth Fuller, Iriya, Yoshitaka, and Fraser, Dana R. The Recorded Sayings of Layman Pang: A Ninth-Century Zen Classic. New York: Weatherhill, 1971. Shibavame, Zenkei. Zen Comments on the Mumonkan. New York: Harper & Row, 1974. Suzuki, D. T. Essays in Zen Buddhism. 3 vols. London: Luzak, 1927-1933, 1934. . Manual of Zen Buddhism. New York: Evergreen, i960. . StuThes in Zen. New York: Philosophical Library, 1955. . Zen Buddhism. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1956. . The Zen Doctrine of No Mind. New York: Samuel Weiser, 1973. Watts, Alan W. The Spirit of Zen. New York: Grove Press: 1958. . The Way of Zen. New York: Pantheon, 1957. Wu, John C. H. The Golden Age of Zen. Committee on Compilation of the Chinese Library, Taipei, Taiwan: 1967. Yampolsky, Philip B. The Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch. New York: Columbia University Press, 1967. , trans. The Zen Master Hakuin: Selected Writings. New York: Columbia University Press, 1971. Yokoi, Yuho. Zen Master Dogen. New York: Weatherhill, 1976. ARCHITECTURE Cram, Ralph Adams. Impressions of Japanese Architecture. New York: Dover, 1966 (reprint). Drexler, Arthur. The Architecture of Japan. New York: Museum of Modern Art, 1955. Engel, Heinrich. The Japanese House--A Tradition for Contemporary Architecture. Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1964. Ishimoto, Kiyoko, and Ishimoto, Tatsuo. The Japanese House. New York: Crown, 1963. Itoh, Teiji, and Futagawa, Yukio. The Elegant Japanese House: Traditional Sukiya Architecture. New York: Walker/Weather- hill, 1969. Morse, Edward S. Japanese Homes and Their Surroundings. New York: Dover, 1961 (reprint). Sadler, A. L. A Short History of Japanese Architecture.. Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1963. Tange, Kenzo, and Kawazoe, Noboru. Ise: Prototype of Japanese Architecture. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1965. Watanabe, Yasutada. Shinto Art: Ise and Izumo Shrines. New York: Weatherhill/Heibonsha, 1974. GARDENS Condor, Joseph. Landscape Gardening in Japan. New York: Dover, 1964 (reprint). Engel, David II. Japanese Gardens for Today. Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1959. Graham, Dorothy. Chinese Gardens. New York: Dodd, Mead, 1937. Inn, Henry. Chinese Houses and Gardens. New York: Crown, 1940. Kuck, Loraine. The World of the Japanese Garden. New York: Walker/Weatherhill, 1968. Nakane, Kinsaku. Kyoto Gardens. Osaka: Hoikusha, 1965. Petersen, Will. Stone Garden (Evergreen Review, vol. 1, no. 4). Collected in The World of Zen, ed. Nancy Wilson Ross. New York: Random House, 1960. Saito, K., and Wada, S. Magic of Trees and Stones. Rutland, Vt.: Japan Publications, 1964. Shigemori, Kanto. Japanese Gardens: Islands of Serenity. San Francisco and Tokyo: Japan Publications, 1971. Tamura, Tsuyoshi. Art of the Landscape Garden in Japan. New York: Dodd, Mead, 1936. Yoshida, Tetsuro. Gardens of Japan. Translated by Marcus Sims. New York: Praeger, 1957. CERAMICS Dickerson, John. Raku Handbook. New York: Van Nostrand, 1972. Jenys, Soame. Japanese Pottery. New York: Praeger, 1971. Mikami, Tsugio. The Art of Japanese Ceramics. New York: Walker/ Weatherhill, 1972. Miller, Roy Andrew. Japanese Ceramics. Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1960. Rhodes, Daniel. Stoneware and Porcelain: The Art of High-Fired Pottery. New York: Chilton, 1959. TEA CEREMONY Carpenter, Francis Ross, trans. The Classic of Tea. Boston: Little, Brown, 1974. Castile, Rand. The Way of Tea. New York: Weatherhill, 1971. Fukukita, Yasunosuke. Tea Cult of Japan. Tokyo: Hokuseido, 1932. Fujikawa, Asako. Cha-no-yu and Hideyoshi. Tokyo: Hokuseido,1957 Okakura, Kakuzo. The Book of Tea. New York: Dover, 1964 (reprint). Sadler, A. L. Cha-no-yu, The Japanese Tea Ceremony. Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1963 (reprint). ZEN ARCHERY AND SWORDSMANSHIP Acker, William. Japanese Archery. Rutland, Vt.: Charles E. Tuttle, 1965 (privately published, 1937). Gluck, Jay. Zen Combat. New York: Random House, 1962. Herrigel, Eugen. Zen in the Art of Archery. New York: Pantheon, 1953. Ratti, Oscar, and Westbrook, Adele. Secrets of the _Samurai_. Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1965. Robinson, B. W. The Arts of the Japanese Sword. London: Faber & Faber, 1961. Sollier, Andre, and Gyorbiro, Zsolt. Japanese Archery: Zen in Action. New York: Walker/Weatherhill, 1969. FLOWERS AND FOOD Carr, Rachel. Japanese Floral Art. Princeton, N. J.: Van Nostrand Reinhold, 1961. Herrigel, Gustie S. Zen in the Art of Flower Arrangement. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1958. Richie, Donald, and Weatherby, Meredith, eds. The Master's Book of lkebana. New York: International Book Society, 1966. Sato, Shozo. The Art of Arranging Flowers. New York: Abrams, 1965. Sparnon, Norman. Japanese Flower Arrangement: Classical and Modern. Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1960. Steinberg, Rafael. The Cooking of Japan. New York: Time, 1969. Tsuji, Kaichi. Kaiseki: Zen Tastes in Japanese Cooking. Tokyo: Kadonsha, 1972. Ueda, Makoto. Literary and Art Theories in Japan. Cleveland: Press of Case Western Reserve University, 1967. No THEATER Hoff, Frank, and Flindt, Willi, trans. The Life Structure of the Noh. Racine, Wisconsin: Concerned Theatre Japan, 1973. Keene, Donald. No, The Classical Theatre of Japan. Palo Alto, Calif.: Kodansha, 1966. Keene, Donald, ed. Twenty Plays of the No Theatre. New York: Columbia University Press, 1970. Nippon Gakujutsu Shinkokai (Japanese Classics Translation Committee). The Noh Drama, Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, vol. 1, 1955; vol. 2, 1959; vol. 3, 1960. O'Neill, P. G. A Guide to No. Tokyo: Hinoki Shoten, 1953. Pound, Ezra, and Fenollosa, Ernest. The Classic Noh Theatre of Japan. New York: New Directions, 1959 (reprint). Sakanishi, Shio. The Ink-Smeared Lady and Other Kyogen. Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1960. Waley, Arthur. The No Plays of Japan. New York: Grove Press, 1957. Ze-ami. Kadensho. Kvoto: Sumiva-Shinobe, 1968. ZEN AND THE INK LANDSCAPE Awakawa, Yasuichi. Zen Painting. Palo Alto, Calif.: Kodansha, 1970. Binyon, Laurence. Painting in the Far East. New York: Dover, 1959 (reprint). Bowie, Henry P. On the Laws of Japanese Painting. New York: Dover, 1952 (reprint). Fenollosa, Ernest F. Epochs of Chinese and Japanese Art. 2 vols. New York: Dover, 1963 (reprint). Fontein, Jan, and Hickman, Money L. Zen Painting and Calligraphy. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts, 1970. Lee, Sherman E. Chinese Landscape Painting. New York: Harper & Row, 1954. . A History of Far Eastern Art. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1964. . Japanese Decorative Style. New York: Harper & Row, 1972. . Tea Taste in Japanese Art. New York: Asia House, 1963. . "Zen in Art: Art in Zen." Cleveland Museum of Art Bulletin 59 (1972): 238-259. Maeda, Robert J., trans. Two Twelfth-Century Texts on Chinese Painting. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Papers in Chinese Studies, No. 8, 1970. Matsushita, Takaaki. Ink Painting. New York: Weatherhill/Shi- bundo, 1974. Morrison, Arthur. The Painters of Japan. New York: Stokes, 1911. Nakata, Yujiro. The Art of Japanese Calligraphy. New York: Weatherhill, 1973. Noma, Seiroku. Artistry in Ink. New York: Crown, 1957. Siren, Osvald. The Chinese on the Art of Painting. New York: Schocken, 1963. Shimizu, Yoshiaki, and Wheelwright, Carolyn, eds. Japanese Ink Paintings from American Museums: The Muromachi Period. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1976. Sugahara, Hisao. Japanese Ink Painting and Calligraphy. Brooklyn, N.Y.: Brooklyn Museum, 1967. Sze, Mai-Mai. The Way of Chinese Painting. New York: Random House, 1959. Tanaka, Ichimatsu. Japanese Ink Painting: Shubun to Sesshu. New York: Weatherhill, 1972. ZEN AND HAIKU Basho, Matsuo. Monkey's Raincoat. New York: Grossman, 1973. Blyth, R. H. Senryu: Japanese Satirical Verses. Tokyo: Hokuseido, 1949. . Haiku, vol. 1: Eastern Culture-, vol. 2: Spring; vol. 3: Summer-Autumn; Vol. 4: Autumn-Winter. Tokyo: Hokuseido, 1949-1952. . A History of Haiku. 2 vols. Tokyo: Hokuseido, 1963-1964. Bownas, Geoffrey, and Thwaite, Anthony, eds. The Penguin Book of Japanese Verse. Baltimore: Penguin, 1964. de Bary, Win. Theodore, ed. The Manyoshu. New York: Columbia University Press, 1965. Giroux, Joan. The Haiku Form. Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1974. Henderson, Harold G. An Introduction to Haiku. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday Anchor, 1958. Honda, II. H. The Kokin Waka-Shu. Tokyo: Hokuseido, 1970. Isaacson, Harold J., trans. Peonies Kana: Haiku by the Upasaka Shiki. New York: Theatre Arts Books, 1972. Issa. The Year of My Life. 2nd ed. Translated by Nobuyuki Yuasa. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1972. Janeira, Armando Martins. Japanese and Western Literature. Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1970. Keene, Donald. Japanese Literature. New York: Grove Press, 1955. , ed. Anthology of Japanese Literature. New York: Grove Press, 1955. Miner, Earl. An Introduction to Japanese Court Poetry. Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1968. Rexroth, Kenneth. One Hundred Poems from the Japanese. New York: New Directions, 1964. Ueda, Makoto. Literary and Art Theories in Japan. Cleveland: Press of Western Reserve University, 1967. . Matsuo Basho. New York: Twayne, 1970. Yasuda, Kenneth. A Pepper-Pod. New York: Knopf, 1947. . The Japanese Haiku. Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1957. Yuasa, Nobuyuki, trans. Basho: The Narrow Road to the Deep North and Other Travel Sketches. Middlesex, England: Penguin Books, 1966. Glossary _amado_: sliding, removable panels around exterior of traditional house. _Amida_: widely worshiped figure in Buddhist pantheon and central figure of adoration in Jodo and Jodo Shin Buddhism. _Ashikaga_: dynasty of shoguns (1333-1573) whose patronage inspired great classic age of Zen culture. _atman_: Hindu concept of the "soul" or a personal element in the larger god-head. _aware_: aesthetic concept which arose in Heian era, originally meaning a pleasant emotion evoked unexpectedly but later evolving to include poignancy. Basho (1644-1694): foremost Haiku poet of Japan. Bodhidharma: Indian monk who appeared in China around 520 and laid the basis for the Ch'an sect of Buddhism, becoming the First Patriarch of Zen. Brahman: supreme god-head of Brahmanism. Brahman: priest caste of Brahmanism. _bugaku_: ancient court dances in Japan, imported from Asia. Buddha: historic figure from sixth century B.C. in northeast Asia whose teachings became the basis for Buddhism. _chabana_: spare and elegant flower arrangement prepared to accompany the tea ceremony. Ch'an: belief system founded by Bodhidharma in the sixth century in China, combining elements of Indian Buddhism and Chinese Taoism and known in Japan as Zen. Ch'ang-an: T'ang Chinese capital which was the model for the original Japanese capital at Nara. _cha-no-yu_: Japanese tea ceremony, which became the vehicle for the preservation of Zen aesthetic theory. _chigai-dana_: decorative shelf system in traditional Japanese houses which was borrowed from storage cabinets in Ch'an monasteries.i _chinzo_: realistic polychromatic character studes of Zen masters. Chojiro (1515-1592): first great _raku _potter and founder of _raku _dynasty. _choka_: early Japanese poetry form, longer than Haiku. Chuang Tzu: traditionally a fourth century B.C. Taoist. _daimyo_: feudal governor of a domain, who often retained a force of _samurai_. Daisen-in: temple which is the site of a famous Zen stone garden in Kyoto. Daitoku-ji: major Zen monastery in Kyoto, site of Daisin-in temple. _dharma_: term denoting the universal order of the universe. _dhyana_: Sanskrit term for meditation, corrupted to "Ch'an" in Chinese and "Zen" in Japanese. Dogen (1200-1253): priest who introduced Soto sect of Zen to Japan, founding a temple in 1236. Eisai (1141-121 5): founder of Rinzai sect of Zen in Japan (1191). _en_: Heian aesthetic term meaning charming, sprightly. _engawa_: outer walkway around traditional Japanese house, between amado and shoji. _eta_: formerly outcast class in Japan because of association with meat and hides industry. _fusuma_: sliding partitions in the traditional Japanese house. Gautama: original name of the Buddha. _genkan_: portico in the traditional house where shoes are removed. Ginkaku-ji: "Silver Pavilion" built by Yoshimasa in 1482. Godaigo: ill-fated emperor who reigned from 1318 to 1339 and attempted to restore genuine imperial rule. Gozan: five most important Zen monasteries, or "Five Mountains," which in Kyoto were Tenryu-ji, Shokoku-ji, Tofuku-ji, Kennin-ji, and Manju- ji. _haboku_: "broken ink" style of monochrome painting. _haikai_: Early name for poetic form now known as Haiku. _Haiku_: verse form consisting of seventeen syllables. Hakuin (1685-1768): Zen teacher of Tokugawa period who revived Rinzai sect. _haniwa_: clay sculpture of the pre-Buddhist period. _harakiri_: ritual suicide, more politely known as seppuku. Heian: Period of indigenous aristocratic culture. _hibachi_: small brazier heater in the traditional Japanese house. Hideyori (1593-1615): son of Hideyoshi, committed suicide when defeated by Tokugawa Ievasu. Hideyoshi (1536-1598): general who assumed control of Japan after Oda Nobunaga was murdered and who inspired Momoyama age of Japanese art. Hinayana: more traditional form of Japanese Buddhism, which is practiced in Southeast Asia. _hinoki_: Japanese cypress. Hojo: regents who dominated the Kamakura period of Japanese history _hokku_: first three lines of a renga, or linked verse, which later came to be written alone as a Haiku. Honen (1133-1212): founder of the Jodo or Pure Land sect (1175) Hosokawa: clan which served as advisers and regents for the Ashikaga. Hsia Kuei (active ca. 1180-1230): Southern Sung Chinese painter whose stvle strongly influenced later Zen artists in Japan. Hui-k'o (487-593): Second Patriarch of Chinese Ch'an, said to have cut off his arm to attract Bodhidharma's notice. Hui-neng (638-713): Sixth Patriarch of Ch'an and founder of the Southern school of Ch'an which was transmitted to Japan. Hung-jen (605-675): Fifth Patriarch of Ch'an and teacher of Hui-neng. Ievasu (1542-1616): founder of the Tokugawa shogunate, which ruled Japan from 1615 to 1868. Ikebana: Japanese flower arranging. Jodo: sect of Japanese Buddhism based on chant praising Amida Buddha which was founded in 1175. Jodo Shin: rival sect of Japanese Buddhism also based on chant praising Amida which was founded in 1224. Jomon: prehistoric culture in Japan. Josetsu (active 1400-1413): leading artist in Japanese Sung revival. _kaiseki_: special cuisine associated with the tea ceremony. Kamakura: effective capital of Japan during period of warrior domination (1185-1333). kami: Shinto spirits inhabiting the natural world. Kamikaze: "Divine Wind" that sank the Mongol fleet attacking Japan in 1281. _kamoi_: crossbeams in the traditional Japanese house. Kano: family of painters dominating much of Japanese painting since the sixteenth century, replacing Zen artists as the official stylists. _kare sansui_: stone gardens in "dry landscape" style. Kinkaku-ji: "Golden Pavilion" built by Yoshimitsu in 1394. _koan_: illogical conundrums used in Rinzai Zen to induce enlightenment. _koicha_: powdered green tea used in the tea ceremony. Kokinshu: anthology of Japanese poems from the year 905. Kukai (774-835): introduced Shingon Buddhism to Japan in 808. Kyogen: farces performed as part of a program of No plays. Kyoto: capital city of Japan from 794 to seventeenth century and site of classic Zen culture. Lankavatara: _sutra _believed by Bodhidharma to best express Ch'an philosophy. Lin-chi (d. 866): leading figure of the "sudden enlightenment" school of Ch'an, whose teachings were much of the basis of Japanese Rinzai Zen. Mahayana: Buddhism which spread to China and Japan. _mandala_: esoteric diagrams purportedly containing the key to cosmological truths. Manyoshu: early anthology of Japanese poetry (780). Ma Yuan (active ca. 1190-1224): Chinese Southern Sung painter whose works strongly influenced Japanese Zen artists. Minamoto: warrior family of the Heian and Kamakura eras. Mincho (1351- 1431): Japanese priest and one of the first Japanese artists to successfully adopt and revive Chinese styles of paintings. _miso_: fermented soybean paste used in Japanese cooking. _miyabi_: Heian aesthetic term signifying subtleties only a connoisseur could appreciate. Momoyama: period of Japanese history from 1 537 to 1615. mondo: Zen question-and-answer session in which a novice must respond immediately and without reflection to questions posed by a Zen master. Mu-ch'i (ca. 1210-ca. 1280): Chinese Ch'an painter whose works strongly affected Japanese Zen artists. mudra: sacred hand signs. Muso Soseki (1275-1351): Zen scholar and adviser to Ashikaga Takauji, who is traditionally thought to be the designer of several early Zen landscape gardens in Kvoto. Nageire: style of Ikebana. _nageshi_: decorative element in the ceiling of a traditional Japanese house. Nara: site of the first capital of Japan, which was consecrated in 710 and abandoned by the court in 784. _nembutsu_: chant to Amida Buddha used by Jodo and Jodo Shin sects. Nichiren (1222-1282): founder of Buddhist sect based on Lotus Sutra. Nichiren Shoshu: name of the sect founded by Nichiren. No: theatrical form reflecting Zen ideals, which came to prominence during the Ashikaga era. Nobunaga (1534-1582): military ruler who began the movement to unify Japan. Oribe: style of Japanese Zen-influenced ceramics. pi-kuan: "wall-gazing" meditation practiced and extolled by Bodhidharma. Raku: style of ceramics invented by Chojiro. _ramma_: open latticework in the traditional Japanese house. Renga: "linked verse" form of Japanese poetry, in which different participants must contribute alternate stanzas. Rikka: an early style of formal flower arranging. Rinzai: Japanese sect of Zen stressing sudden enlightenment and use of _koans_. _roji_: "dewy path" leading through the Japanese tea garden. Ryoan-ji: temple in Kyoto with a famous kare sansui flat garden. _Sabi_: aesthetic tenn signifying the dignity of old age. Saicho (767-822): introduced Tendai Buddhism into Japan (806). Saiho-ji: temple in Kyoto and site of early Zen landscape garden. Sakyamuni: the Buddha, "sage of the Sakyas." _samurai_: Japanese warriors, who were the first converts to Zen. Sanskrit: original language of much Buddhist literature. _sarugaku_: theatrical form which was forerunner of the No. _sashimi_: raw fish. _satori_: Zen term for enlightenment. Sen no Rikyu (1521-1591): proponent of wabi aesthetics who strongly influenced the evolution of the tea ceremony. _seppuku_: ritual suicide. Sesshu Toyo (1420-1506): greatest Japanese Zen painter. Seto: site of Japanese pottery production. Shao-lin: Chinese monastery where Bodhidharma reportedly first went to meditate. Shen-hsiu (606-706): traditionally said to have been rival of Hui- neng at monastery of Fifth Patriarch and later much favored by Chinese ruling circles. _shibui_: important tenn for later Zen aesthetics which means understated, simple good taste. shin: type of ink-painting technique. _shincha_: type of tea. _shinden_: Heian architectural stvle borrowed from China. Shingon: esoteric sect of Buddhism introduced into Japan by Kukai in 808. Shino: style of Japanese Zen-inspired ceramics. Shinran (1173-1262): founder of the Jodo Shin sect in Japan (1224). Shinto: original Japanese belief svstem, which preceded Buddhism. _shite_: leading character of a No drama. _shoin_: name of the writing desk in Ch'an monasteries, which gave its name to the classic style of the Zen-inspired Japanese house. _shoji_: Rice-paper-covered latticework used as windows in the traditional Japanese house. Shubun (fl. 1414-d. ca. 1463): painter-monk at Shokoku-ji in Kyoto. Siddharta: the Buddha, so: technique of Japanese ink painting. So'ami (1472-1525): Japanese ink painter and garden artist. Sotan (1414-1481): Zen painter at Shokoku-ji, none of whose works are definitely known to survive. Soto: Japanese Zen sect emphasizing "gradual" enlightenment through _zazen_. sukiya: later style of Japanese architecture which evolved from the shoin. sumi: Japanese black ink. _sutra_: works supposedly reporting discourses of the Buddha or his disciples. Taira: warrior clan instrumental in ousting Heian aristocracy and ending Heian era. Takauji (1305-1358): founder of the Ashikaga shogunate. Taoism: native Chinese belief system which influenced Ch'an philosophy. Tatami: woven straw mats used for carpeting in the traditional Japanese house. Tendai: sect of Chinese Buddhism introduced into Japan by Saicho (806). Tenryu-ji: important Zen temple in Kyoto and site of early Zen- stvle landscape garden. toko-bashira: decorative, unpainted tree trunk used in traditional house as part of art alcove. tokonoma: special art alcove in the Japanese house, which was originally derived from the shrine in Chinese monasteries. Tomi-ko: wife of Ashikaga Yoshimasa. Toshiro: thirteenth-century potter who visited China and brought back important Chinese ceramics technology. _usucha_: a thin tea served as part of the tea ceremony. wabi: aesthetic term meaning a sense of deliberate poverty and naturalness. _waka_: thirty-one-syllable Japanese verse popularized in the Heian era. _waki_: supporting actor in the No drama. Yayoi: pre-Buddhist culture in Japan. Yoshimasa (1435-1490): Ashikaga shogun and staunch patron of Zen arts. Yoshimitsu (1358-1408): Ashikaga shogun whose patronage sparked the classic era of Zen culture. _yugen_: most important term in Zen aesthetic vocabulary, meaning among other things that which is mysterious or profound. _zazen_: meditation, a mainstay of the Soto sect of Japanese Zen. _zenkiga_: style of Zen painting. BOOKS BY THOMAS HOOVER Nonfiction Zen Culture The Zen Experience Fiction The Moghul Caribbee Wall Street _Samurai_ (The _Samurai_ Strategy) Project Daedalus Project Cyclops Life Blood Syndrome All free as e-books at www.thomashoover.info 
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35511	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 35511-h.htm or 35511-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/35511/35511-h/35511-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/35511/35511-h.zip) WORKING WOMEN OF JAPAN * * * * * * [Illustration: LIBRARY OF CHRISTIAN PROGRESS] _Volumes Issued_ The Church a Community Force. _By Worth M. Tippy_ The Church at the Center. _By Warren H. Wilson_ The Making of a Country Parish. _By Harlow S. Mills_ Working Women of Japan. _By Sidney L. Gulick_ Social Evangelism. _By Harry F. Ward_ _Cloth, 50 Cents, Prepaid_ ADDITIONAL VOLUMES TO BE ISSUED * * * * * * [Illustration: A FARMER'S HOME] WORKING WOMEN OF JAPAN by SIDNEY L. GULICK Twenty-five years a missionary in Japan, Professor in Doshisha University, Late Lecturer in the Imperial University of Kyoto Author of _Growth of the Kingdom of God; Evolution of the Japanese; The White Peril in the Far East; The American Japanese Problem; The Fight for Peace_ 1915 Missionary Education Movement of the United States and Canada New York Copyright, 1915, by Missionary Education Movement of the United States and Canada Dedicated to SHINJIRO OMOTO in appreciation of more than a decade of untiring service for the Working Women of Japan CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE PREFACE ix I SOCIAL CLASSES IN JAPAN, OLD AND NEW 1 II FARMERS' WIVES AND DAUGHTERS 8 III DOMESTIC INDUSTRIES IN FARMING FAMILIES 24 IV SILK WORKERS 32 V WIVES AND DAUGHTERS OF ARTIZANS AND MERCHANTS 36 VI _KOMORI_ (BABY-TENDERS) 42 VII HOUSEHOLD DOMESTICS 48 VIII HOTEL AND TEA-HOUSE GIRLS 52 IX FACTORY GIRLS AND WOMEN 61 X GEISHA (_HETÆRÆ_) 87 XI _SHOGI_ (LICENSED PROSTITUTES) 104 XII AMELIORATIVE EFFORTS 118 XIII THE MATSUYAMA WORKING GIRLS' HOME 137 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE A FARMER'S HOME _Frontispiece_ SEPARATING THE WHEAT HEADS FROM THE STRAW 16 AT THE LOOM 16 A FAMILY AT WORK IN A RICE-FIELD 28 TRANSPLANTING YOUNG RICE PLANTS 28 SPINNING COTTON THREAD FOR WEAVING 32 AT WORK IN A KITCHEN 32 CARRYING FAGOTS 44 BABY-TENDERS 44 AT WORK IN A SILK FACTORY 82 O HAMAYU (GEISHA) 92 MATSUYAMA WORKING GIRLS' HOME 156 GIRLS IN THE MATSUYAMA HOME 156 PREFACE Japan is rapidly swinging into the current of an industrial civilization imported from the West. How is this movement modifying her ancient civilization? And, especially, what effect is it having on her homes and on the character of her manhood and womanhood? These are questions of profound interest to students of national and social evolution. While many works on Japan consider these questions more or less fully, they do so almost exclusively from the standpoint of the effect on men. So far as is known, no work studies the problem from the standpoint of the effect on women, who, it may be incidentally remarked, constitute one half of the population. One book, indeed, that by Miss Alice M. Bacon, on _Japanese Girls and Women_, describes the homes, lives, and characteristics of Japanese women. This important work should not be overlooked by any who wish to know Japan thoroughly. Yet Miss Bacon's study is largely confined to the higher and upper middle classes, who, though important, constitute but one section of the women of Japan. To understand Japan it is also needful to know the lives and characteristics of the working classes. Especially important in the eyes of those who study social development is the transformation that is taking place in the Japanese home because of the influx of Occidental industrialism. The purpose of this book is to give some information as to conditions prevailing among working women, which conditions have called for the establishment of institutions whose specific aim is the amelioration of the industrial and moral situation. Two classes of workers have not been considered--school-teachers and nurses. The reader will naturally ask what the native religions have done to help women meet the modern situation. The answer is short; practically nothing. They are seriously belated in every respect. For ages the native religions have served by doctrine and practise to hold women down rather than to elevate them. The doctrine of the "triple obedience" to father, to husband, and when old to son, has had wide-reaching and disastrous consequences. It has even been utilized for the support of the brothel system. Popular Buddhism, especially during the feudal era, has emphasized the inherent sinfulness of woman; some have even taught that her lightest sins are worse than the heaviest sins of man. The brothel system flourishes in certain districts where Buddhism is most strongly entrenched. Brothels abound in the immediate vicinity of famous and popular temples. I have yet to hear of a Buddhist anti-brothel movement or a Buddhist rescue home for prostitutes. Japanese philanthropy, under the impulse of Buddhism, did indeed start early and attain striking development at the hands of Imperial and princely personages. Men and women of lowly origin also attained high rank in the annals of Buddhist philanthropy. With the decay of Buddhism in recent centuries, however, little philanthropic activity has survived. With the revival of Buddhism Buddhists have again undertaken philanthropic work; they have established orphan asylums, schools, ex-convict homes, and various benevolent enterprises for the poor, the old, and invalids; but not yet do they seem to appreciate the moral and industrial situation, or undertake anything commensurate with their numbers and resources. The conception of private enterprise for the amelioration of industrial difficulties and moral need is still the almost exclusive possession of Christians. The closing chapter describes one institution in which the Christian ideal is applied to the moral and industrial situation in one small town. It serves as an illustration of what is being done by Christians in other places and along many other lines as well. Christianity is being accepted in Japan, not so much because of its doctrine, as because of its practical methods of inspiring and uplifting manhood and womanhood. While the purpose of this book is, as stated, to describe the industrial condition and the characteristics of Japanese working women, back of this purpose is the desire to show how the Christian gospel, when concretely expressed, takes hold of Japanese working women in exactly these conditions and becomes to them "the power of God unto salvation." The problems of life are substantially the same the world around, for human nature is one; and the heart with its needs, desires, temptations, defeats, and victories is essentially the same, East or West. The problems created by industrialism do not differ, whether in Germany, England, and America or in Japan and China. And their fundamental solution likewise is the same. Let not the reader assume that the discussions of this volume give adequate acquaintance with the working women of Japan. It deals with only a few specific classes and inadequately even with them. A more comprehensive treatment would doubtless be enlightening. Limitations, however, of time and space forbid a more adequate discussion. And let the reader be wary of generalizing certain criticisms herein made and applying them universally to all classes of women. Many years of life in Japan have led the writer to a high estimation of the character as well as the culture of Japanese women. Especial thanks are due to Colonel Yamamuro for valued criticisms and suggestions in the preparation of this work. The responsibility, however, for its statements rests upon the writer. The limitations of this book none can feel more than he. CHAPTER I SOCIAL CLASSES IN JAPAN, OLD AND NEW In old Japan, next to the Imperial family and court nobles, came the feudal lords (_Daimio_), upheld by the warrior class (_Samurai_), below whom in turn were ranked the three chief working classes,--farmers, artizans, and tradesmen. These three classes produced and distributed the nation's wealth and paid taxes to their respective feudal lords by whom the warriors were supported. Below all were day laborers and palanquin bearers,--in those days a large and important though a despised class, for they lived entirely by bare, brute strength, lacking all special skill. Still lower were the _eta_ or pariah class, excluded from towns and villages, except when they entered to do the foulest work, such as digging the graves of criminals and the slaughtering of animals, and curing their skins. And lowest of all were _hi-nin_, literally translated "non-humans." These were beggars and criminals, who would not or could not work. The name, popularly given, well indicates how they were regarded. With the fall of the feudal system, in the early seventies, society was reorganized. Those above the Samurai were divided in 1886 into five grades, not counting the Imperial princes, namely: prince, marquis, count, viscount, and baron. These constitute to-day the hereditary peers of Japan, and possess considerable wealth and, of course, overwhelming prestige. They numbered, in 1903, 1,784 families. Besides the 1,784 heads of these families, there were 1,786 male and 2,485 female members of these families of rank. The number of these peers is constantly being increased by Imperial favor, the conferring of rank being the customary method of rewarding distinguished service. According to the _Japan Year Book_ for 1914, the number of peers in 1911 was 919, there being 17 princes, 37 marquises, 101 counts, 378 viscounts, and 386 barons. Promotion from one rank to another causes constant change in the numbers of the various ranks. The _Samurai_, deprived of their swords and military privileges, were given the name _shizoku_ (Samurai families) and were paid off in lump sums, thereafter being thrown on their own resources. There are 439,154 shizoku families, numbering altogether 2,169,018 individuals. The remaining classes were designated as _heimin_ (common people). Statistics show that they number 8,471,610 families, totaling 44,558,025 individuals. The eta were elevated, hence popularly called _shin-heimin_ (new common people) and allowed to live anywhere and take up any desirable calling. The hi-nin also were classed along with the rest of humankind. As a matter of fact, the eta and hi-nin were but a small fringe of the whole population, the descendants of the former being now estimated at something less than one million, and those of the latter amounting to about 35,000. With the national reorganization it was inevitable that the new executive offices from the highest to the lowest should be given to men of experience. At first, therefore, the reorganization amounted to little more than a great shuffle of names and titles. Peers took the highest governmental positions, while Samurai and their sons as a rule filled the lower posts. Many Samurai, however, received no appointments and had to go to work. In time, as education has progressed, sons of farmers and merchants have become qualified and have been appointed to government offices. The new departments, such as the educational, the postal and telegraph offices, the railroads, and especially the army and navy, call for large numbers of efficient men. These posts are filled almost entirely on the basis of fitness. While ancestry is not entirely ignored in the making of appointments, nevertheless old class distinctions are gradually being obliterated. The fortunes of the women have naturally followed those of the men. All families that lost their hereditary income had to go to work; this was true chiefly of the Samurai. Where the men were fortunate, the women could maintain the old customs, limiting themselves to their familiar domestic work, with a servant or two to help, but tens of thousands of Samurai families found themselves reduced to the direst poverty; women having generations of genteel ancestry were forced to enter the ranks of the workers. Let us define what we mean by a working woman. Women whose husbands or parents provide the support of the family are not to be included in this term. These women may, and indeed doubtless do, labor abundantly and fruitfully in the home; their time is fully occupied. Probably no working women toil more diligently or for longer hours than do these wives and mothers in hundreds of thousands of homes, in most of which there are no servants. All the cooking, sewing, and housecleaning is done by them, so that they are indeed workers. But they are not "working women." They are the true gentlewomen of Japan, whose culture, graces, and charms are not easily described. By "working women" we mean only those women who, in addition to the regular duties of the home, must share in the labor of earning the daily bread. In Japan the number of such is exceptionally large, if compared with that of some countries of the West. They may be divided into eleven classes, according to the nature of their occupations, namely: school-teachers, nurses, clerks and office girls, farmers, home industrial workers, factory hands, domestics, baby-tenders, hotel and tea-house girls, geisha, and prostitutes. Omitting the teachers and nurses, these are the classes whose conditions, numbers, education, and character we are now to study. Taken as a whole we do not hesitate to say that the working women of Japan, while probably lower in point of moral and physical energy and personal initiative than corresponding classes of the West, are not inferior to them in point of personal culture. And if civilization is defined, as it should be, in terms of personal culture rather than in those of mechanical contrivances and improvements, then Japan will surely take her place among the highly civilized nations of the world. CHAPTER II FARMERS' WIVES AND DAUGHTERS Japan has three leading wealth-earning occupations: agriculture, sericulture, and factory work. In each of these women take an important part. In the cultivation of the soil farmers' wives and daughters share equally with men the toil of planting and reaping the crops. For instance, in the cultivation of rice, the most important and the hardest work of the farmer, it is often the women who plant it spear by spear in regular rows, and it is they who "puddle" the paddy-fields with their hands four or five times in the course of the season. In some districts, however, men and women do this work together. The toil and the weariness involved cannot be appreciated by one who has not actually shared it. Fancy, if you can, the fatigue of standing more than ankle deep in mud, stooping all day long as you set out the tiny rice plants in regular lines! And at short intervals of a few days each you must repeatedly puddle the whole paddy-field: that is, stir up the mud with your hands in order to destroy the sprouting weeds and prevent the soil from caking and hardening around the tender rice roots, preventing their best growth. And remember that you must do all this regardless of the broiling summer sun, or the pelting rain, for the planting must be done at exactly the right time, and the successive puddlings must follow in due order. So severe is the strain that, after the planting and each puddling, the whole village takes a rest. My gardener, an ex-farmer, speaking of those summer days of toil in the rice-fields, expatiates on the extreme fatigue and the joy of the rest days, and as women take the brunt of the stooping-work, theirs is the lion's share of the weariness. He says that, during the rice-planting season, the women are so important that those days are called the "women's daimio days," and adds that we must not forget how during that time the regular work of the women must also go on, for they must cook the food and care for the children. For this, indeed, young girls and grandmothers are pressed into service as far as possible, but the responsibility and care rest nevertheless on the wives and mothers. [Illustration: SEPARATING THE WHEAT HEADS FROM THE STRAW AT THE LOOM] Also in the harvesting and threshing of the rice, barley, wheat, and millet, women take an important part. But it is needless to enter into details. Enough to say that, in general farming, women share with husbands and brothers the heavy toil and fatigue of agriculture. It should be added that this is not because men shirk heavy work, but only because Japanese agriculture is so largely done by hand that every possible worker is pressed into service. As a fact, men do the heaviest part of the work, preparing the soil for the successive crops and carrying the heavy loads. So varied are the modes of agriculture in different parts of Japan that general statements are dangerous, but I know that in some districts the weariness and drudgery of rice-planting and puddling are relieved by the singing or chanting of old folk-songs. The chorus leader intones a descriptive phrase, oftentimes improvising his own story, and is answered with a refrain from a dozen or a score of women. A story slowly evolves as the hours pass, and thus the work is lightened and the time beguiled. In spite of fatigue, rice-planting has its charm for those who have been reared in farmers' homes. It is a time of hope, of social intercourse, of rest days and festivals, so that even the drudgery of the farmer has its compensations. Miss Denton, of the Doshisha Girls' School, says it is interesting to note how country girls get restless at rice-planting time, and for one reason or another usually succeed in getting excused from school work, to be off to the homes and share in the toils and joys of the season. Tea-picking is probably the pleasantest form of toil undertaken by farmers' wives and daughters. The labor comes in the spring and early summer, when the temperature is delightful. It gives opportunity for social intercourse that is highly appreciated. Rice-planting and tea-picking constitute the two extremes of laborious and delightful toil engaged in by Japan's agricultural women. How many are the women engaged in agriculture? The _Japan Year Book_ for 1914 says that in 1912 there were 5,438,051 farming families, constituting about 58 per cent. of the entire nation. According to the _Résumé Statistique_ for 1914 the total number of females in Japan proper, in 1908, was 24,542,383. Omitting those under fifteen years of age, 8,364,000, and those over sixty years of age, 2,216,000, we have 13,962,000 as the number of able-bodied women, of whom 58 per cent., or 8,077,000, are the farmers' wives and daughters. In regard to their education it may be said that until the most recent times they have had practically none. In recent decades, however, farmers' children have begun to go to school. Until 1908 the elementary course (compulsory) covered four years, but the results were so poor that the period has now been extended to six. Four years' schooling does not give ability to read easily even a simple daily paper, much less an ordinary book. Our cook, an intelligent and able farming woman, when she came to us twelve years ago, could not read even the simplest Japanese characters, and thinks that at present relatively few farmers' wives have enough education to read papers or write letters. Whether or not six years' schooling will give this ability remains to be seen. It is safe to say that to-day Japanese adult farming women, as a whole, lack book education and have received little, if any, systematic training. They are accordingly largely controlled by tradition, and it goes without saying that their level of mental, moral, and spiritual life is low. The Shinto and Buddhist religions, as they exist among the farmers, are largely lacking in ethical content; they are rituals rather for burying the dead and through the use of charms and magic rites they promise future happiness and present, temporal blessings. Priests, as a rule, do not seek to cultivate the minds of the people, to strengthen their wills for moral life, or to elevate their personalities. Yet it must not be inferred that farming women are without mental ability or common sense. They are indeed not inferior to the men with whom they share the burdens and toil of life. As a rule they are a sturdy, intelligent, self-respecting folk, having ideals of conduct which include cleanliness, gentleness, and politeness, and in comparison with the peasant classes of Europe are much to be commended. The women not seldom appear to better advantage than their husbands in point of intelligence and common sense, which I have thought might be due to the greater variety of their daily occupation. In her excellent work on _Japanese Girls and Women_ Miss Bacon writing of this class says: "There seems no doubt at all that among the peasantry of Japan one finds the women who have the most freedom and independence. Among this class, all through the country, the women, though hard-worked and possessing few comforts, lead lives of intelligent, independent labor, and have in the family positions as respected and honored as those held by women in America. Their lives are fuller and happier than those of the women of the higher classes, for they are themselves breadwinners, contributing an important part of the family revenue, and are obeyed and respected accordingly. The Japanese lady, at her marriage, lays aside her independent existence to become the subordinate and servant of her husband and parents-in-law, and her face, as the years go by, shows how much she has given up, how completely she has sacrificed herself to those about her. The Japanese peasant woman, when she marries, works side by side with her husband, finds life full of interest outside of the simple household work, and, as the years go by, her face shows more individuality, more pleasure in life, less suffering and disappointment than that of her wealthier and less hard-working sister."[1] [1] Pp. 260, 261. The home of the average tenant farmer is a small, single-storied, thatch-roofed building, having usually two or three small rooms separated by sliding paper screens, and a kitchen with earthen floor. The smoke escapes as it can, passing through the roof or pervading the whole house. No privacy of any kind is possible, nor is any need of it felt. The house is free of furniture, save for one or two chests of drawers. A closet or two affords a place for the _futon_ (bedding) by day, and for the little extra clothing. Of course no books are found in such homes. The main room often has a board floor, with a fire box in the center, over which is a kettle suspended from the roof. Here the family eat, and friends gather to chat after the day's work is over. The food is of the poorest grade in the empire, though usually adequate in amount. Of course there are well-to-do farmers, not a few, who own their farms, employ fellow farmers, and cultivate large areas. Their homes are larger and better, but still in arrangement and structure they are practically the same. Their sons attend the middle schools and books and the daily paper are familiar objects. The economic condition of the farming class may be judged from the fact that the land cultivated by each family averages three and one-third acres, which must provide food and clothing for five or six persons. The great majority of farmers live in little, compact villages, having populations ranging from 500 to 5,000. There are 12,706 villages under 5,000, and only 1,311 villages, towns, and cities over 5,000. These facts suggest the nature of the social conditions of the farming population. They live under the severest limitations of every kind, physical, intellectual, and spiritual. Yet during the recent era of Meiji (enlightened rule), from 1868 to 1912, the economic condition of the agricultural classes made great improvement. My gardener, a man of sixty, who remembers Japan before the reformation, 1868, says that farmers now live in luxury. The taxes they pay to-day are slight compared with what was required of them in former times, when, in his section, farmers had to give to their Daimio about five twelfth of the rice crop, while taxes to-day require but one fifth or less. He adds that families owning three and one third acres of land are well-to-do, seeing many families have to make their entire living from only one acre! Of course, farmers, without education or social demands, require little beyond the simplest food and shelter. The clothing needed by their families is the cheapest cotton, with cotton wadding added in the winter for warmth. The heat of the summer renders much clothing a burden. A farmer is adequately dressed for the field or his own home if he has on his loin-cloth. His wife or grown-up daughter, when in the house with only the immediate members of the family or most intimate acquaintances present, is satisfied with the _koshimaki_--a strip of cloth some two feet wide tied around the waist and covering the lower part of the body. But on the street both men and women conform to the national customs and wear the kimono. The Japanese household and bathing customs have served to prevent the development of that particular type of modesty characteristic of Western lands. It is difficult for Occidentals to understand this feature of Japanese civilization, but such an understanding is essential if one would do justice to the moral life of this people. We may not apply to them Occidental standards in matters of modesty or dress. They have standards of their own, to understand and appreciate which requires no little study. At this point, I venture a second quotation from Miss Bacon, for she has studied carefully this subject, which all foreigners seeking to estimate the nature of Japanese civilization and moral character should not fail to master. "As one travels," she writes, "through rural Japan in summer, and sees the half-naked men, women, and children that pour out from every village on one's route, surrounding the _kuruma_ (wheeled vehicle) at every stopping place, one sometimes wonders whether there is in the country any real civilization, whether these half-naked people are not more savage than civilized. But when one finds everywhere good hotels, scrupulous cleanliness in all the appointments of toilet and table, polite and careful servants, honest and willing performance of labor bargained for, together with the gentlest and pleasantest of manners, one is forced to reconsider the judgment formed only upon one peculiarity of the national life, and to conclude that there is certainly a high type of civilization in Japan, though differing in many particulars from our own. A careful study of Japanese ideas of decency, and frequent conversation with refined and intelligent Japanese ladies upon this subject, has led me to the following conclusion. According to the Japanese standard, any exposure of the person that is merely incidental to health, cleanliness, or convenience in doing necessary work is perfectly modest and allowable; but an exposure, no matter how slight, that is simply for show, is in the highest degree indelicate. In illustration of the first part of this conclusion, I would refer to the open bath-houses, the naked laborers, the exposure of the lower limbs in wet weather by the turning up of the kimono, the entirely nude condition of the country children in summer, and the very slight clothing that some adults regard as necessary about the house or in the country during the hot season. In illustration of the last point, I would mention the horror with which many Japanese ladies regard that style of foreign dress which, while covering the figure completely, reveals every detail of the form above the waist, and, as we say, shows off to advantage a pretty figure. To the Japanese mind, it is immodest to want to show off a pretty figure. As for the ballroom costumes, where neck and arms are frequently exposed to the gaze of multitudes, the Japanese woman who would with entire composure take her bath in the presence of others, would be in an agony of shame at the thought of appearing in public in a costume so indecent as that worn by many respectable American and European women."[2] [2] _Japanese Girls and Women_, 257-260. This completes our study of the homes and characteristics of five eighths of Japan. Here the brawn of the nation is reared. Hence come the sturdy, docile, patient, and courageous soldiers. Here are raised boys and girls by the hundreds of thousands who must at an early age begin to earn a living. This is the hunting-ground of those who seek for builders of railroads, factory hands, domestics, hotel girls, baby-tenders, and occasionally geishas, concubines, and prostitutes. Considering the severe economic conditions under which Japan's agricultural classes live, who can fail to admire their courage and grit, their personal culture, their even temper and cheerful faces, their innate habits of courtesy and good breeding, their mutual patience and forbearance, and their simple artistic tastes and pleasures! Do they not compare well with the peasant classes of any other nation? CHAPTER III DOMESTIC INDUSTRIES IN FARMING FAMILIES Before passing on to study the various classes of workers constantly recruited in no small numbers from the homes of farmers, we should first consider the high development of industrial occupations within these homes themselves. To appreciate both the opportunity and the need for this, we turn to the official statistics of marriage and education. Until 1908 compulsory education, as has been already stated, covered four years from the age of six to ten. According to governmental statistics (1912) 98.8 per cent. of the boys and 97.5 per cent. of the girls were actually fulfilling the requirement. This percentage seems high to American statistical students, but investigations show that, while Japanese rules for the attendance of pupils and methods of counting the same differ in some respects from those that prevail in the United States and Canada, yet, as a matter of fact, in school attendance Japan compares well with other lands. It should be remembered, however, that the nature of the Japanese written language is such that even six years of elementary education is probably not equal to four years of similar schooling in Western lands. American children, at the close of their elementary education, possess a mastery of the tools of civilization and a degree of general intelligence considerably in advance of Japanese children who have enjoyed the same number of years of school life. As we have already seen, this amount of compulsory education is insufficient to give children ability to read and write with freedom. The question for us however is as to the number of girls above school age and still unmarried who, because of family poverty, must find some form of wage-earning occupation. Turning to the vital statistics provided by the government (1914), we find that in 1908 there were 2,496,142 girls between ten and fifteen years of age, and 2,180,408 young women between fifteen and twenty years of age. But how many of these are married? Again relying on government statistics for the same year, we learn that only 199 girls under fifteen had been married, whereas 193,978 had married under twenty years of age. In view of the fact that 709,021 marriages took place between twenty and twenty-five years of age, it is altogether probable that, of those married under twenty, a large majority were married in their nineteenth year. Remembering that many do not marry until the twenty-third or twenty-fourth year, we can confidently assert that there are over 4,000,000 unmarried girls and young women between the ages of ten and twenty-five; and, as 58 per cent. belong to the farming class, we have in the vicinity of 3,000,000 girls who belong to families of such economic state that they, no less than the boys, must contrive in some way to earn a share at least of their own living. Girls of fifteen and upwards in farmers' families help their fathers in the lighter forms of agriculture, planting the rice, as we have seen, and reaping and threshing the crops. But the small acreage to each family barely provides work enough for the man, much less for the half-grown boys and girls, hence the need of finding something besides the agricultural work for the growing family. The younger children (under fifteen) are pressed into lighter farming, and such household duties as are within their strength and ability, as cooking and caring for the still younger children; while the older children and the mother help the father, or take up some domestic industry, such as the rearing of silkworms, reeling of silk, spinning of thread, and weaving of silk and cotton fabrics, or similar work which can be easily and profitably done in the house in spare hours. Hence has come the widespread practise of household industries, by which the female members supplement the family income. There were, in 1907, 1,628,000 members of farming families who were earning a part of their living in this way. This condition has prevailed for many generations, and is the secret of the wonderful development of the arts and home industries in Japan. [Illustration: A FAMILY AT WORK IN A RICE-FIELD TRANSPLANTING YOUNG RICE PLANTS] From of old Japan's industrial system, like that of other lands, has been domestic--carried on in the house. There have been families and gilds which have made their entire livelihood by these manual industries. There have also been hundreds of thousands of farming families which have supplemented their meager income from their farms by taking up some of these domestic industries, and those who have displayed or developed special aptitude for such work have naturally drifted into this wholly industrial life. This has doubtless been the origin of industrial families and gilds. But the point to be especially noted is that this wide development of domestic industries is due to the skill and diligence of Japan's working _women_. Japanese men have produced the food by which the nation has been fed; her women have produced industries by which the nation has been clothed, as indeed is the case of all great civilized nations. Their long-continued drill, from generation to generation, in home industrial occupations, has produced a high degree of manual dexterity; the eye and hand instinctively move accurately and rapidly in the work, and the result is that Japan's leading industries to this day are dependent on female labor. "Sericulture, silk-reeling, cotton spinning, _habutae_ (a particular variety of silk fabric), and other woven goods, tea-picking, straw and chip braids, etc., are practically dependent on female labor," says the _Japanese Year Book_ for 1910. "But an industry depending on female labor has this peculiarity, namely: it is not compatible with the factory system, but thrives best on the domestic plan. Generally speaking it is in industries which admit of being carried on independently at separate homes by housewives and mothers that skilled female labor is seen to the best advantage. As operatives of family industries Japanese women show an efficiency rarely reached by their foreign sisters." But in this connection we may remind ourselves of the great skill and industry of our grandmothers and preceding generations of women, who lived before the great factory system made their home industrial occupations unnecessary. Japan is merely several decades behind Western lands in her industrial development. [Illustration: SPINNING COTTON THREAD FOR WEAVING AT WORK IN A KITCHEN] We are to understand, then, that a large portion of these 3,000,000 unmarried Japanese women and girls are engaged more or less continuously in some sort of industrial work, either in their own homes or in small groups in their immediate vicinity. The introduction into Japan of Occidental mechanical civilization, with its great machinery run by steam power, and the great factory system, taking girls and young women away from their home industries, home restraints, and home training, is producing mighty changes in Japan's traditional civilization. The real consequences of these new modes of life and labor are still little appreciated. There is taking place a rapid readjustment of population, which indeed is easily seen, but the disastrous results to the mental, moral, and religious life of the people, even to the maintenance of the ideals and standards that controlled the older arts and industries, are yet little realized, for the great changes have only begun within the past two decades. A generation or two must pass before we can see clearly what it all really means. Meanwhile it is for those who foresee coming evils to sound aloud the call, and, as prophets, to do that which in them lies to meet the threatened disasters, and turn new conditions into blessings. Japan has the advantage of a century of European experience from which to learn wisdom. It is to be hoped that she will avoid many of the perils and evils into which the West has fallen, but the signs of the times are not altogether reassuring. There are, as we shall see later on, ominous clouds on Japan's industrial horizon. CHAPTER IV SILK WORKERS The chief wealth-earning domestic industry carried on by farmers' wives and daughters is the rearing of silkworms and the reeling, spinning, and weaving of the silk. Japan supplies about 28 per cent. of the total silk of the world and 60 per cent. of that used in the United States. The value of the silk exported in 1913 was $63,000,000. Women are the chief workers, contributing 90 per cent. of the labor. Here again the toil is taxing beyond belief. The brunt of the work consists first in filling the mouths of the worms, which must be fed at regular intervals night and day for about three weeks, during the last few days of which they eat continuously and voraciously. It has been found that the rearing of worms can best be done only on a small scale, where minute attention can be given to each tray, almost to each worm. This means that worms are reared in the homes of the people, rather than in large establishments. During the silkworm season everything else must give way; the house is filled with trays of ravenous worms; rest, recreation, and sleep, for old and young alike, are neglected in order that the precious worms may get their fill. Men and boys bring in the mulberry leaves from the hills and fields, while women and girls strip the branches, chop the leaves and feed them to the magic creatures that transform worthless green leaves into costly silk. The leaves must not be damp, nor old, and every condition of weather and temperature must be watched with the closest care. Otherwise there is loss. This heavy work comes twice each year, in some places three times. That is to say, there are two or three crops of silkworms. Then, after the cocoons have been formed, comes the reeling off of the silk, as much as possible before the sleeping grub wakens and eats its way out, destroying the silk it has spun for its nest. So again there is pressure, and again women do the work--I never heard of a man reeling silk. It takes the deft hand and quick eye of a girl to catch the thread in the boiling water, connect it with the wheel, and unroll without breaking the almost invisible thread so wonderfully wound up by the worm. This work is often done in the homes, but increasingly now, because more profitably, in factories where the girls can be closely watched by inspectors and paid according to the skill and the amount of their work. The number of families engaged exclusively in raising silk in the nine principal districts is reported (1911) at 370,332. In addition however there are many tens of thousands of families which make this only a secondary business. Many merely raise the worms, selling the cocoons to the factories, and in such cases the work and strain are over in a few weeks. The value of the cocoons raised in 1911 was estimated at $89,001,988, which gives some idea of the great importance of this industry to the families engaged in it. But it must be remembered that the industry demands heavy expense and the most taxing of toil while it lasts. As this industry is carried on chiefly in the homes, the personal conditions of the workers are relatively favorable, as favorable as those of the homes. This requires therefore no special consideration. CHAPTER V WIVES AND DAUGHTERS OF ARTIZANS AND MERCHANTS In old Japan, among the workers the highest rank was held by farmers, next by artizans, and last came the merchants, for they were regarded as resorting to means somewhat degrading for making their living. In fact they were not producers of positive wealth, but lived by cunning wit on what others had made. Artizans, such as carpenters, masons, and professional weavers, as well as merchants, naturally live in towns and cities. The first work of the wife is of course in the home, but when the husband's work is of such a nature that it is possible the wife naturally helps him. Merchants' wives and daughters, for instance, keep the shops while the husbands peddle the goods or secure fresh supplies. Weavers' wives and daughters aid directly, the whole family sharing in the work and acquiring skill. Carpentry and masonry however are trades in which women take no part, so women of these classes also seek some suitable domestic industry. In the smaller towns especially, in recent years, rearing of silkworms is a common occupation for all classes of moderate means, but in the cities it is impossible to secure the necessary mulberry leaves, so straw braiding, the making of fans, embroidery, and similar occupations are here sought; and there are produced the thousand and one articles used by the middle and wealthy classes and for export. As a means of increasing the income the wives of artizans often open their front rooms as shops and carry on a small retail business. In times of prosperity these classes flourish and grow luxurious, but hard times occasionally come, when they are reduced to dire poverty and even to the verge of starvation; for, living away from the land, they are more dependent than farmers on the continuous success of their labors and secondary industries. The school education of the women of these classes is in general the same as that of the farming class. But inasmuch as they live, for the most part, in the larger villages, towns, and cities, they enjoy many advantages over their farming sisters. Along with their husbands they have more need of ability to read and write, and, becoming quick-witted through the stimulus of city life, they learn more easily. In recent decades, especially the last, many of their children, naturally those of the more successful families, are pressing up into the higher schools of learning. As a body, therefore, from the standpoint of mere intellect and wit, this class surpasses the farming class. From the standpoint however of moral character, of conjugal fidelity, of industry, and of trustworthiness in all relations the farming class, along with the shizoku, surpasses all others, and probably even the peers themselves. But in these higher classes we must distinguish between the men and the women; for while the wives are, as a rule, beyond praise in the matter of conjugal fidelity, the same may not be said of the husbands. Among the many classes of working women named on a previous page are the "clerks." This is a new feature of Japanese life worthy of note, although the class is still small. Under this name we include ticket sellers in railway stations, assistant barbers, and saleswomen and shopgirls. Members of this class have of course enjoyed a relatively large amount of education, and are therefore above the average in general intelligence and ability. These girls are recruited from the families of city artizans and merchants. The descendants of palanquin bearers, day laborers, eta, and hi-nin form to-day the lowest stratum of society, dwelling on the outskirts of large cities, in wretchedness, filth, and poverty, getting their living from day to day and breeding criminals, geisha, and prostitutes. The stone-breakers, gravel gatherers, coolies, and most irregular of city day laborers come from this class. Many of these men have illustrious pedigrees. Some fell to this estate through wanton lust and reckless expenditure of inherited wealth; some are descendants of disinherited sons; the ancestors of some have met political reverses and found refuge and safety only among the "non-humans," where they could live unrecognized and unknown. Thus all grades of blood course through the veins of this, the lowest class in Japan. The wives and daughters of these men share their fate and fortune, living from hand to mouth. Their life is so low and uncertain that it is absurd to speak of secondary occupations--they lack even a primary occupation; and their homes, which constitute the slums of the cities, are no places in which to carry on any domestic industry. With the coming to Japan however of modern industrialism and the building of large factories in or near the cities, the wives and daughters of this class have opportunity for regular work, earning enough and more than enough to support themselves while actually at work. But when attacked by laziness, fickleness, or disease, they easily slump back into the same economic pit. From this lowest class comes one of the serious dangers threatening the better life of modern Japan. The insufficiency of these laborers, their unreliable character, and the inferior quality of their work, have forced the factories to search elsewhere for hands. These they have found in the relatively workless, but industrious and comparatively moral farming class. These farmers' girls have been brought to the cities and thrown into intimate relations with the lowest, most dissolute, despised, and really despicable classes, and the results have naturally been disastrous in many ways, as we shall see in a later chapter. CHAPTER VI _KOMORI_ (BABY-TENDERS) The great poverty of the majority of the people renders necessary, as already noted, not only the utmost economy in the home, but also a high degree of industry, and the beginning of productive labor at an early age. As soon as the child has completed the elementary education, and, in cases of exceptional poverty, even before that, he or she must begin to do something of value and earn a living, at least in part. In the case of farming families, younger children care for the youngest and share in the household duties, thus relieving the mother and elder children, enabling them to aid the husband and father in the field. But the positive agricultural or industrial work which girls of from ten to fifteen can do is insignificant, yet they eat as much as a grown person, and hence comes the search for suitable openings for such workers. This is found for many of the younger girls in the homes of the middle and upper classes, where they go as _komori_ (baby-tenders). Girls even as young as ten leave their homes and go out to service. They receive food and lodging, in some cases a garment in summer and one in winter, and sometimes in addition a small cash stipend. A komori thus is usually the daughter of a poor family who goes into a well-to-do family to aid the mother in the care of her infant. Her chief duty is to carry the infant, sleeping or waking, on her back for many consecutive hours during the day. In addition to this she aids a little in the household work, washing dishes and cleaning the house, her hours of service being unlimited. In some families she may be called on at any hour of the night to carry the baby, if it is restless or fretful and needs to be "jiggled" to sleep! A komori is employed by the year, but usually without specific contract, her parents sometimes receiving a few yen[3] when she enters upon service. Her time is entirely at the disposal of her mistress and she goes to no school, receives no regular instruction, and no training other than that which comes incidentally from association with members of the family. Long hours each day are spent on the street with an infant on her back, playing hop-scotch and other games with other komori. [3] A yen has the value of forty-nine cents. In a few places efforts are being made, I am told, to provide these baby-tenders with educational advantages, but the movement is as yet small. Buddhists are said to be particularly active in this matter. [Illustration: CARRYING FAGOTS BABY-TENDERS] A blind man in Matsuyama, a Christian of my acquaintance, put out one of his daughters to service as a komori. After two years of such life, poverty-stricken though the family was, he brought her home again, for the child of fourteen, so far from learning anything good, was learning many things bad on the street, and was being dwarfed in mind by the long hours when she was wholly without mental stimulus. The life of a komori will of course vary much with the nature of the family by which she is employed, but at best the service cannot fail to stunt the growth of both body and mind. I heard not long since of a boy who became a komori. His father had died a drunkard, leaving the family ruined financially. The mother and children were accordingly distributed among the creditors to work off his debts. The little boy of eight went with his mother, and, so long as she lived--some three years--life was endurable for him, but after her death he was made increasingly miserable. Long hours by day and many interrupted nights, unkind words, and unutterable loneliness vexed his orphaned spirit, until he could endure it no longer, and planned to run away. The stern master however discovered him doing up his bundle, and, to prevent his escape, ordered his few possessions, even his clothing, to be taken away. In spite of this he slipped out one night in the darkness and hid in a barn in a neighboring village until morning, when he was taken pity on by some children who shared a kimono or two with him, and so he got away. With increasing years he led a wild, roving life; at eighteen he became a murderer and was imprisoned for life, escaping the death penalty on account of being a minor. In prison he first heard the Christian gospel of God's forgiving love, of peace and hope and joy. This "good news" he accepted, and learned to read, that he might read the New Testament, which he committed to memory. Upon the death of the Empress Dowager, in 1896, his penalty, with that of many other prisoners, was remitted, and now for fourteen years he has been living a life remarkably fruitful in Christian service. But, to return to our subject, we note that not all komori are children. Superannuated old women who have neither strength nor brains for anything else also act in this capacity, their conditions of service and wages being the same as those of girls. I have tried to get some idea as to the number of komori in Japan, but have been able to find no statistics. One gentleman assures me that at least one family in five of the middle and upper classes employs a komori. As the number of families in Japan, exclusive of farmers, is 3,981,940 (1912), this would make about 796,000 komori; but many well-to-do farming families also employ komori, so the total number in Japan would be not far from 1,000,000. A lady however assures me that this estimate is altogether too high, and thinks that not more than one family in twenty has the means to employ a komori. If this is true, then the number is in the vicinity of 250,000. In either case, the system and its nature are clear, and the numbers of children sent out to service at a tender age is not inconsiderable. The attention of educators and parents is being directed to the dangers to infants of this komori system, to say nothing of the harm it does to the girls themselves. CHAPTER VII HOUSEHOLD DOMESTICS By the time a girl is fifteen or sixteen she is regarded as sufficiently large, strong, and mature to enter on more responsible work. Among the several fields open to her is that of _gejo_, or domestic service, of which we may distinguish two varieties: those who serve in private families and those who become maids in hotels and tea-houses. A komori may gradually work into the position of a domestic; indeed, in the majority of homes a komori not only tends the baby but aids the mother in her household work. It is only in the homes of the well-to-do that both gejo and komori are to be found. The work of a gejo consists in taking the brunt of the cooking, housecleaning, and washing, serving from daybreak, that is, from five or six in the morning, till ten or eleven at night. Her status is somewhat better than that of the komori. Her hours of service however are long and taxing. Her time for rest is after the family has retired for the night and before they rise in the morning. Frequently her private room is the front hall, or entrance room; she accordingly is the last person to retire and the first to rise. It is to be noted however that in the houses of the middle classes in the large cities there is usually now a small room for the servant-girl. The gejo draws the water from the well, washes the rice, lights the fires, cooks and lives in the dingy and usually smoky kitchen, washes the clothes, aids in the sewing, and has no relaxation but an occasional festival. Her lot is truly pitiful. Besides her living (eating what is left from the family meal), she usually receives some two to three yen per month. Recently however some have been receiving even as much as five yen. The drudgery and monotony of the life are usually such that the opportunity to become a factory hand is quickly taken, especially as the cash earnings are relatively large. I am told by Japanese ladies that the problem of securing domestics in the cities or in the vicinities of factories is becoming serious. Of course the average domestic has no opportunity nor desire for mental improvement. Having enjoyed no education to speak of, she can read neither papers nor books, nor may she attend meetings fitted to cultivate the mind or promote her higher life. Thus she is controlled by the culture and mental and moral traditions of the home in which she was reared. Household domestics are recruited from farming and industrial families. They earn their living for from four to six years, until their parents or guardians find them husbands; for in Japan the girl has practically nothing to say as to whom she marries. Marriage is based, not on mutual acquaintance, much less on mutual attraction, but wholly on the judgment of parents or go-betweens, and is from first to last--if it is proper--a utilitarian affair. It thus comes to pass that in Japan domestics are, as a rule, young unmarried women. A domestic in her thirties, or over, is rare, and is almost certain to be a widow or a divorced woman. CHAPTER VIII HOTEL AND TEA-HOUSE GIRLS A distinct class of domestics is that which serves in hotels, tea-houses, and restaurants. Here the hours of labor are longer,--from four or five in the morning till midnight, or later. My attention was early called to their hard lot by observing that the poor girl who was serving rice for my meal, sitting before me as I ate, often fell into a sleep, from which I had to awaken her to get my rice. Inquiry would show that she had risen at four o'clock that morning, and further questioning would bring the information that she had retired the previous night at midnight or later, sometimes even not till two o'clock! Rarely do these girls get five hours of rest; frequently there are not more than three. They must open all the _amado_ (sliding wooden shutters which protect the paper "windows"), and get the general cleaning done before the first guest rises, and must continue their service until late into the night, answering the calls of the guests, till the last one has retired. In addition to the usual cleaning of the rooms, which is really not much of an undertaking, these girls carry all the meals of all the guests from the kitchen on the ground floor to their rooms on the second or third floors, serve them while they eat, and carry away the trays when the meal is completed. In preparation for the night the girls bring out the heavy _futon_ (quilts) and make the "beds" on the floor; and in the morning remove, fold, and lay them all away in closets. The work of a Japanese hotel is relatively heavy for the number of guests, but that which is most taxing is the long hours of service and the insufficient time for rest. As in the poorer homes, so in the poorer and smaller hotels, the girls have no private rooms, but sleep in entryways and reception-rooms. Of course they have neither time nor opportunity for personal culture, nor even for recreation; and from the nature of their occupation, is it strange if they sometimes yield to the solicitations of guests? These girls are of course neither professional prostitutes nor geisha. Yet I was assured by a provincial chief of police, some years ago when making investigations, that, in the eyes of the police, three fourths or four fifths of the girls in hotels and tea-houses are virtually prostitutes, though of course they have no licenses and are subject to no medical inspection. Occasionally they are arrested for illegal prostitution, at the instance however of brothel keepers. Hotels and tea-houses take pains to secure pretty girls for servants, in order to make their service attractive. It is a dreadful statement to make, but, if I am justified in judging from such facts as have come to my knowledge, it would appear that few traveling men in Japan feel any special hesitation in taking advantage--with financial compensation of course--of such opportunities as are afforded them. Hotels give the girls their food, perhaps two gowns yearly, and generally a small payment in cash, but their principal earnings come from tips. This makes them attentive to the wants of the guests. There are many first-class hotels throughout the country, but chiefly in the principal cities, to which geisha are not admitted, but in those hotels to which they are admitted the green country girls soon learn from them the brazen ways and licentious talk that are evidently pleasing to many of the guests. All in all the life and lot of the hotel and tea-house girl are deplorable indeed. She does differ from the geisha and licensed prostitute, however, in that she can leave her place and retire to her country home at any time, being held by no contract or debt. Hotel and tea-house girls are recruited largely from the families of artizans and small tradespeople, living in interior towns and villages; they do not often come from farming families, since they would lack the regular features and light complexion desired by hotels. Their family pedigree explains in part this easy virtue. They are saved from more disaster than they actually meet, because geisha and prostitutes abound and are more attractive. I remember, one summer at a little country hotel, a girl rushed into my room from a neighbor's in order to escape from the urgency of a guest. She told me the following day quite freely of her troubles, of the horrid men that came to the hotel, and of the fact that most of the girls did not mind what she found unendurable. She had been there but a few weeks and was resolved to go home as soon as possible, claiming it was better to starve than to lead such a hard and especially such a disgusting life. Realizing that I had an exceptional opportunity for sociological study, I improved the occasion and asked many questions. When asked for her reasons for not responding to the solicitations of the men, she replied that it was the fear of being laughed at should she have a child. I could not learn that she had ever been taught to regard loose sexual relations before marriage as immoral or as intrinsically wrong. In her mind the question had no connection with religion, so far as I could discover. Her refusal was based wholly on utilitarian grounds. At another hotel where I often stopped I noticed on one of my tours that an especially attractive girl of eighteen or nineteen, who usually waited on me, was no longer there. On asking her substitute what had become of her, I was told she had become a regular prostitute, having found she could earn much more money that way than at the hotel. I asked if the parents had not opposed. "O no!" replied the girl, "the parents were the ones who proposed it and arranged for it." I asked the substitute if she herself did not regard the business as shameful and immoral. She looked at me with apparent surprise, hardly understanding what I meant, evidently regarding the matter entirely as a financial one. Here is another case. A number of Young Men's Christian Association secretaries, tramping in the Japanese Alps, were convinced by the noises one night at the hot springs that the five or six guides and porters were indulging in licentiousness. The next night it came out around the camp-fire that these guides and porters had paid the hotel girls five sen[4] (two and one-half cents) each. [4] A sen has the value of one-hundredth of a yen, or almost half a cent. Of course one may not generalize from three cases. But three such cases, together with the statement of the chief of police, and the experience, closely corresponding with my own, of many missionaries who have traveled in all parts of Japan, are strong evidence. I myself do not think that guests often solicit the girls, nor that hotel girls commonly yield to the requests of guests, but there can be no doubt that it occasionally happens, and is not regarded in any such way by either the men or the women as an Occidental would expect. As said above, there are many hotels in the cities from which geisha are rigidly excluded, and where without doubt the relations of guests with hotel girls are above criticism. It is an impressive fact of Japanese civilization that the "greenest" country girls can in but a few short weeks of hotel service become so graceful and attractive. That in their lives which to the Occidental is so deep a sin is nothing to them. Their calm, innocent eyes, winning ways, and gentle conversation can hardly fail to impress the foreigner. But compared with the girls in their homes they have lost that air of modesty and reserve which is so important an element in the charm of Japanese womanhood. The hotel and tea-house girl belongs rather to the geisha class, whose loud, harsh voices and artificial, coarse laughter are distinguishing characteristics. Girls of both these classes however have an advantage enjoyed by no other women in Japan, namely: that of meeting large numbers of men of various occupations and interests. They hear varied conversation and thus become somewhat acquainted with the affairs of the outside world, which makes them more intelligent than the average Japanese woman, so that it is possible to carry on some sort of a conversation with them--a thing practically impossible with the average young woman of Japan. In regard to the numbers of hotel domestics, I have found no statistics, but have no hesitation in venturing an estimate of many tens of thousands. CHAPTER IX FACTORY GIRLS AND WOMEN As already stated, many girls prefer factory work to that of domestic service, either in private families or in hotels. From ancient times there have been small industrial enterprises, employing each a few hands in various lines of work, such as the reeling and spinning of silk and cotton thread and the weaving of cloth; but since the war with China there have arisen enormous factories, after the fashion of Western lands, which have introduced great changes in the industrial situation and in the condition of the working classes. The government report for 1912 shows that there were 863,447 individuals employed in 15,119 factories having ten or more hands each. Of these, 348,230 were men and 515,217 were girls and women. In addition it reports 427,636 weaving houses, having 733,039 looms and employing 697,698 operators. No statement is made as to the proportion of the sexes. Remembering that the government statistics take no account of industrial enterprises employing less than ten hands, it is probably safe to estimate the number of women employed in exclusively non-domestic occupations at not less than a million. We are not concerned however with the industries themselves, but rather with the conditions under which the operatives work and the effect of the work on their lives and characters. To begin with the more pleasant side of the question, there are factories which come well up toward the ideal. The terms of employment, the wages paid, the provisions for ill health, for accident, for long service and old age; the rooms for sleeping, eating, and recreation; the bathing establishments; the education given to those who need it; the public lectures and religious and ethical instruction given at fixed times in the public halls of the factories, Buddhist and Christian teachers being impartially invited; the provisions for marriage of employees and arrangements that each couple have a separate suite of rooms, and that the infants are cared for while the mother is in the mill; these and other provisions show that the best in Japan is up to a high level of excellence. Such is the policy of the Kanegafuchi Company, which owns a score of mills in different parts of Japan, and whose success moreover is so great that it is now buying up less successful competitors. For several years this company has set aside annually 20,000 yen ($10,000) for its relief and pension fund for operatives. In June, 1913, in addition to its regular appropriation, it voted an extra $50,000 for a "welfare promotion fund." The president of the Fuji Cotton Spinning Company was given in 1913 a retiring grant of $50,000, inasmuch as the great success of this company had been due to his skill and energy. He however presented the entire amount to the "employers' relief fund, and it was decided to make this gift the nucleus of a permanent endowment fund." [Illustration: AT WORK IN A SILK FACTORY] There is a silk factory in Ayabe, the Gunze Seishi Kwaisha, whose record is the most wonderful of all. It is managed by a Christian, who runs it entirely with a view to the benefit of the workers and the district. No girls of that district go elsewhere for work. Once enrolled as members of the working force they are regularly instructed, both in general education and in their particular duties; they earn good wages, keep good health, receive Christian instruction, have their regular rest days, remain the full number of years, help support the family and earn enough besides to set themselves up in married life, and are now beginning to send their daughters to the same factory. This Christian factory is Christianizing the district. The rising moral and religious life is transforming even the agricultural and other interests of the region. So high is the grade of silk thread produced, and so uniform and reliable is the quality, that it alone of all the factories in Japan is able to export its product direct to the purchasing firm in the United States, which buys the entire output at an annual cost of about $500,000, and without intermediate inspection at Yokohama. Here we have a splendid illustration of the way in which Christian character is solving the problem arising from the low moral and economic ideals of the masses of Japan's working classes. As a rule the modern industrial worker does not put moral character into his work; and a wide complaint of Occidental importers of Japanese products is that goods are not made according to contract or sample. This is one of the greatest obstacles to the continuous prosperity of any Japanese industry; for as soon as a large demand has arisen in foreign lands for any given article, its quality, as a rule, has rapidly deteriorated. It is this unreliability of Japanese workmen that makes so difficult direct exportation to foreign lands without the supervision of Occidental middlemen. The Christian Gunze Seishi Kwaisha is one of the splendid exceptions which shows what Japanese workmen and manufacturers can do, when controlled by high ideals and motives. Unfortunately however not all factories and their managers have the same spirit, aim, or skill. Many factories are the exact opposite in every respect to those owned by the Kanegafuchi and Gunze Seishi companies. My personal attention was first called to the heartrending condition of servitude imposed on vast numbers of girls by reading, a score of years ago, of a fire in the dormitory of an Osaka factory. The dormitory was in a closed compound, whose doors and gates were carefully locked to keep the girls from running away. The result was the death, if I remember correctly, of every inmate, of whom there were several score. My personal knowledge in regard to the conditions of life and work of factory operatives was secured in Matsuyama, Shikoku, a small inland city of some forty thousand inhabitants, having but a single cotton thread spinning factory. It had no dormitories of its own, but sent its operatives to certain specified boarding-houses in the town. Through a Mr. Omoto, who was at that time working in the factory, and whose life story is given in the final chapter, I became intimately acquainted with the conditions prevailing in Matsuyama. In 1901, when Mr. Omoto began to work in the factory, he was amazed to see how many were the children taking their turns in work along with the older girls by day and by night. Large numbers ranged from seven to twelve years old, the majority, however, being from fifteen to twenty. They worked in two shifts of twelve hours each, but as they were required to clean up daily they did not get out till six-thirty or seven, morning and night. The only holidays for these poor little workers came two or three times a month, when the shifts changed; but even then there was special cleaning, and the girls who had worked all night were kept till nine and even ten in the morning. He was also deeply impressed with their wretched condition and immoral life. The majority of them could neither read nor write; their popular songs were indecent, and they were crowded together in disease-spreading and vermin-breeding, immoral boarding-houses, where they were deliberately tempted. Some of the landlords were also brothel keepers. Mr. Omoto, having opportunity as official "visitor" to become accurately acquainted with their life, told me in detail the conditions which have been briefly summarized above. The boarding-houses were only for girls from out of town. They had to be "recognized" by the factory, and the girls had to live in the houses to which they were assigned. Of course the purpose of these houses was to make money. The financial, hygienic, intellectual, and moral interests of the girls were wholly ignored. They were crowded into ill-ventilated, sunless rooms, the two shifts occupying the same rooms alternately. Personal extravagance was purposely stimulated, for girls in debt to the keepers were compelled to stay to work off their debts. Drinking and immoral carousings were their only recreation. As might be expected, sickness was common and epidemics frequent. Many girls returned to their homes after a few months in the "city" ruined not only in health but in character,--premature mothers of illegitimate children. The conditions of the factory girls in Matsuyama were not unique. Miss J. M. Holland, a Church of England missionary in Osaka, recently told me some of her observations and experiences. She has devoted the larger part of her time for fifteen years to work among factory girls, and on the whole can report improvement. When she began her visits to the factories, the conditions were often appalling. It was not uncommon for girls working on the night shift to be kept, on one pretext or another, till noon the next day, making eighteen hours of work. The conditions of work and life were such that the girls frequently ran away, to prevent which the dormitories were virtually prisons within the factory compounds. The girls were not allowed to go out on the streets, were given no opportunity for recreation, and of course no education. They were underfed, overworked, and punished in various ways by their overseers, cuffed and sometimes whipped, for disobedience or blunders. The daily papers of those days had frequent items reporting oppression and ill treatment; to be deprived of wages as punishment was a common experience; police occasionally discovered girls working in cellars and vaults as punishment for misdeeds; girls sometimes escaped in their night clothes, and on a few occasions the girls rebelled and did personal violence to the overseers. But, as already stated, the general conditions are now much better, for it was gradually found that such ill-treated labor was not profitable. "Most of the superintendents in Osaka are now splendid men, who on the whole take good care of the girls and wish to treat them honorably." The crying evils of the past have been largely done away. Rest, recreation, education, wages, and health are receiving careful consideration at all the leading factories. Still, no true parent would send a daughter to work in such a place, unless under the stress of dire poverty. There are still many small children under ten years of age, whose parents make false statements in regard to their ages. The work is from six in the morning to six in the evening. This means rising at four-thirty every morning for work on the day shift. Some factories have abolished the night shift. Fifteen minutes are allowed for rest in the middle of the forenoon, thirty minutes for lunch, and fifteen minutes again in the afternoon, giving thus eleven hours of steady work per day and the same per night. On pay days the girls, after standing eleven hours, have to stand in file from one to three hours more, according to their luck, and Miss Holland says that such long hours of standing result in serious organic difficulties. One half of the girls fail to work out their three years' contract, returning to their homes before time for marriage, seriously injured, if not completely ruined, physically. So long as this system continues, she adds, skilled labor is impossible. While some factories take great care that girls are carefully guarded from evil, others exercise no control whatever over their goings and doings. One factory she named as allowing its girls to be out on the streets till two o'clock in the morning. It insists on only two and a half hours of sleep! The difficulties connected with private boarding-houses for factory girls have proved so great that most of them have been closed. One of the tragic aspects of factory life in Japan is the large number of what would seem to us avoidable accidents, due to the fact that the girls know nothing whatever about machinery. Large factories accordingly keep surgeons on hand to care for the wounded. Miss Holland says that in one Osaka factory where there are a thousand operatives, the kind-hearted surgeon told her they had an average of fifty accidents daily which needed his attention. The little children especially suffer, often losing fingers. Not long since five fingers were clipped off in a single day! Miss Holland added that, improved though the conditions are, factory life for children is a "murder of the innocents." As a rule the food provided in factory dormitories is still inadequate. When asked whether corporal punishment is still inflicted, she expressed a doubt, having heard of none for a long time. In her conversation Miss Holland expressly limited her report to the factories she knows in Osaka. The question arises whether the conditions there may not be peculiar. May not factory conditions in Yokohama and Tokyo, where government inspection and control would theoretically be most complete, be better than elsewhere? The facts do not seem to justify such a surmise. The Kanegafuchi Company and some others have good factories everywhere, but there would seem also to be bad ones everywhere. A Japanese book on _Industrial Education_ has recently been published by a Mr. R. Uno, who, for fifteen years, has been a devoted student of Japan's industrial problems. A summary of the statistics there given appeared in May, 1914, in the _Tokyo Advertiser_, from which I cull the following facts and figures. In the cotton thread and spinning factories of Japan, there are 81 girls to 19 men. Out of 1,000 girls, 386 are over 20 years of age, 317 are from 17 to 20, 191 are from 15 to 16, 73 are from 12 to 14, while 7 girls out of a thousand are under 12 years of age. The vast majority of factory girls live in the factory dormitories, which are of enormous size. In the region of Osaka there are more than 30,000 girls working in 30 factories; in these same factories there are less than 7,000 men. Three of these factories employ over 3,000 girls each, while three more employ 2,000 and upward. These girls are herded together in enormous dormitories, disastrous both to health and morals. Statistics covering a number of years show that out of every 1,000 girls, 270 work less than six months at the same place; 200 less than one year, 179 less than two years; 121 less than three years; 141 less than five years, and only 89 pass the five-year period. The usual reason for this extraordinary fluctuation of workers is that the girls break down in health. Government statistics declare that out of every 100 girls to enter upon factory work 23 die within one year of their return to their homes, and of these 50 per cent. die of tuberculosis. But it is also asserted that 60 per cent. of the girls who leave home for factory work never return. Of the criminal girls arrested in Osaka for a certain period, 49 per cent. had been factory hands. As to the education of factory girls it is stated that, out of 1,000, the number that had completed the required number of years of schooling (six) was 450, while 385 were entirely without education. Out of 1,000 girls, 453 were orphans. Of 1,000 girls, 611 came from farmers' homes, 166 from those of fishermen, and 55 from merchant homes, the remaining 168 being scattering. Factory girls earn and can save more than almost any other class. The average earnings per month are stated to be $4.67. The girl pays $1.20 per month for food, which is less than the actual cost, the factory providing the balance, namely, $1.30. The average girl sends home fifty cents per month. Three out of ten girls spend the balance entirely on clothes, five out of ten on cakes and theaters, while two out of ten save it. Such are some of the statements made by Mr. Uno in his enlightening book. In the September, 1910, number of the _Shin Koron_, a monthly magazine published in Tokyo, is an article by Professor Kuwada (of the Tokyo Imperial University) entitled "The Pitiful Environment of Factory Girls." He gives a detailed statement of the conditions of factory workers, in which he estimates the number of female laborers in factories containing ten or more hands at 700,000, of whom ten per cent. are under fourteen years of age. In tobacco factories ten per cent., in match factories twenty per cent, and in glass factories thirty per cent. of the girls are under ten years of age. He vigorously condemns the situation as threatening the future of the working class, whose prospective mothers are thus being destroyed. The efforts of the government during recent years to enact factory laws have been successfully thwarted thus far, says Professor Kuwada, by shortsighted, selfish capitalists. The girls are brought in from their country homes by false promises. They are told of the beautiful sights to be seen, theaters to be visited, the regular Sunday rest, and even of the splendid care and education they will receive from the factory. There is also stealing of expert workers from one factory by the artful stratagems of another. There are factories which resort to devices for defrauding helpless operatives. In one town where there are many factories, it is customary to work overtime by setting back the hands of the clock. To conceal this from the operatives, no factory blows its whistles! Some factories do not give time for the girls to rest even while they eat, but require them to work with the right hand while they eat with the left. Night work in which both male and female operatives are engaged together is most demoralizing. Punishment of various kinds is administered. In addition to fines, in some places the girls are imprisoned in dark rooms, rations are reduced, their arms are bound and the lash applied freely, and in extreme cases they are stripped to the waist and marched through the factory among young men and girls, bearing a red flag tied to the back! Superintendents are invariably men. So appalling was the statement made by Professor Kuwada that I could scarcely believe him in all the details, particularly in regard to the use of the lash and the stripping to the waist. I accordingly wrote both to him and to Professor Abe of Waseda University, who has made special study of the social problems and conditions of industry. Professor Kuwada, I learned, has been a careful student of social and industrial conditions for nearly twenty years, and is one of the leaders in the Society for the Study of Social Politics, composed of one hundred and fifty university professors and high government officials. This society was organized to aid the government in its efforts to secure social and industrial reforms. In reply to my inquiries Professor Kuwada says that most of the facts given concerning silk factories he has himself observed. Those concerning cotton spinning factories he has derived from reliable sources, chiefly from the officers of the Department of Agriculture and Commerce, who are especially engaged in making investigations in regard to industrial conditions. Much of the testimony rests on the statements of the girls themselves. Some of the facts come from local police and some from the published reports of the Department of Agriculture and Commerce. "The article in the _Shin Koron_ may therefore be regarded as semi-official," says Professor Abe. Since the appearance of the article referred to above, no reply has been made to it by factory owners or managers. As to the stripping of a girl to the waist and marching her through the factory filled with operatives, male and female, Professor Kuwada was told this by the girl herself. Under such circumstances, it is difficult to doubt the testimony. Nor is it probable that the cases cited are absolutely unique, although I think it highly probable that such extreme indignities and punishments are rare,--they are so out of keeping with the whole trend of Japanese civilization and culture. Mrs. Binford, a missionary in Mito, assures me, however, that altering the hands of the clock is a practise known to her. Testimony is widespread that girls are secured for factories by all kinds of false statements. In view of the frightful conditions of industrial labor thus indicated by Mr. Uno and Professor Kuwada, it is amazing that the Diet has refused on several successive occasions to enact suitable laws. The government began to realize in 1898 the need for legislation on these matters. A bill which was drafted and presented in 1902 was rejected, as were also three subsequent bills. The chief feature of the bill presented during the winter of 1910-11 was the provision that no factory may employ girls under twelve, and that girls of any age and youth under sixteen may not be kept at work for more than twelve hours per day, nor be made to do night work without "special reason." While some provisions of this bill were enacted and others amended, those considered most important by social reformers and by the government were virtually rejected. The bill was indeed passed, but with the added provision that the important clauses, relative to ages and night work, be inoperative for a period of fifteen years (!) in order to give time to the factories involved to adjust themselves to the new conditions. Since that time no further factory legislation has been enacted. Is it not astounding that in a land on the whole so progressive as Japan the difficulty of securing reform should be found in the Diet? The administration at this point is ahead of the representatives of the people, as it is indeed in many other respects. The fact is, as Professor Kuwada points out, that the "representatives" in both the lower and upper houses represent the financial interests of capitalists, rather than the human interests of the masses. But the reader, in his indignation over the situation of factory workers in Japan, should remember that Japan is no exceptional sinner among the nations. Christian England and America have had conditions equally bad, and possibly worse. Dr. Washington Gladden, in his article on "The Reason for the Unions," in the New York _Outlook_ for March, 1911, makes the following statements in regard to the condition of labor in England in the early part of the nineteenth century. Men and women stood daily at their tasks, from twelve to fourteen and fifteen hours; a working day of sixteen hours was not an unheard-of thing. Government reports of this period show that children of five and six years of age were frequently employed in factories. "Nor was this unmeasured abuse of child labor confined to the cotton, silk, and wool industries.... The report of 1842 is crammed with statements as to the fearful overwork of girls and boys in iron and coal mines, which doubtless had been going on from the end of the eighteenth century;... Children could get about where horses and mules could not. Little girls were forced to carry heavy buckets of coal up high ladders, and little girls and boys instead of animals dragged the coal bunkers. Women were constantly employed underground at the filthiest tasks. Through all this period the wages gravitated downward and family income was steadily lowered, while the cost of food increased. The homes of the workers were ruined. In a certain congested district there lived 26,830 persons in 5,366 families, three fourths of which possessed but one room each. The rooms were without furniture, without everything; two married couples often shared the same room. In some cases there was not even a heap of straw on which to sleep. In one cellar the pastor found two families and a donkey; two of the children had died and the third was dying." And these conditions existed, not in days of industrial depression, but in flush times; business was booming and wealth accumulating in the hands of factory owners and employers. Many of the conditions of industrial workers even in the United States to-day are heartrending in the extreme. Who could read of the strike of the shirt-waist makers of New York in the winter of 1909-10 without deep indignation over the conditions under which those brave girls worked, and against which they rebelled? The National Committee on Child Labor reported in the spring of 1911 that there were over 60,000 children in the factories of the United States, mostly in the South. Before condemning Japan unduly, Occidentals should remember that their own record is none too bright. If comparison is to be made however between Japan and the West, it may be made along other lines. The West fell into its industrial difficulties with no example from which to learn. But this is not true of Japan. She can easily learn the lesson of a century of Western experience; but she seems slow to do it. Then again in Japan it is the government that is feebly leading, and the official popular representatives who are both blind and resisting, whereas in the West the great movements for industrial reform are movements of the people themselves, backed up and oftentimes led by enlightened humanitarian and Christian popular opinion. In the West, the churches are fairly in line with forward social movements, whereas in Japan, Shintoism, Confucianism, and even Buddhism are apparently wholly indifferent to the economic and even ethical condition of the nation's toilers. Furthermore, we are seeing to-day in Japan the strange phenomenon of one section of the government seeking to ameliorate social and economic conditions, and at the same time another, seemingly mortally afraid of allowing the people either to discuss these matters or to attempt reform movements themselves. Labor unions are strictly forbidden, and any person advocating socialism is under strict police surveillance. Strikes are illegal and their promoters are liable to criminal punishment. Anomalous as it may be, the government seems to be seeking to destroy that enlightened popular opinion on which it must rely for the efficient enforcement of its own plans for social betterment of the working classes. I have dwelt at considerable length on the conditions of factory workers, for later on I shall describe a sociological experiment among this class. CHAPTER X GEISHA (HETÆRÆ) The word _geisha_ means an "accomplished person." A geisha is invariably a young woman who has had years of training fitting her to provide social entertainment for men. The _gei_ acquired are skill in playing the samisen (a three-stringed guitar), singing catching ditties, taking part in conversation and repartee, and in "dancing," which is to the Western mind rather a highly conventional posturing, with deft manipulations of the inevitable fan. Years of exacting and diligent work are required for proficiency in these "gei,"--the Geisha School in Kyoto provides a course of six or seven years. [Illustration: O HAMAYU (GEISHA) Most celebrated in Tokyo] According to the Japanese ideal, geisha singing must be shrill, and to secure this quality the voice is purposely strained till it is "cracked." Girls eight to ten years old are sometimes given their "singing lessons" in the frosty air of winter mornings before sunrise, or late at night, in order that they may take cold in the throat and then, by persistent, vigorous use, the voice is "broken" for life. Training in dancing and samisen playing is also prolonged and severe, for no pains are spared in efforts to excel. These efforts however are due, not to the will or desire of the _maiko_, the poor little girl who is being trained, but to the persistence of her owner. Only daughters of the very poor are secured for this outwardly beautiful and attractive, but inwardly repulsive, soul-destroying life. Practically speaking, geisha are the property of the old women who support and educate them through the years of their childhood, and who rent them out by the hour for the entertainment of men at social functions. Such functions would, indeed, be inane without geisha to serve the meals in their dainty ways, to fill the sake[5] cups for guests, to share in conversation by adding the spice, to provoke laughter, themselves laughing loudly and often, and at the proper time, to present their music, their singing, and their dancing. Dressed in faultless style, in richest silks and brilliant colors, geisha are moving pictures which have charmed generations of Japanese men and, in recent decades, many foreigners. Japanese political party dinners and consultations are often held in restaurants, where geisha make the fun and pour the wine. If foreign guests are to be entertained by wealthy individuals, by companies, or even by cities, the inevitable geisha is there, and is presented as a characteristic product of Japan--which she truly is. But while there is about her a certain charm of manner and dress, to one who watches her face, looking for traces of a soul, the story is all too plain--behind the harsh laugh and stoical face it is impossible not to recognize that there is an empty and often a bleeding heart. [5] Sake (pronounced sah'-ke) is the fermented liquor of Japan, made from rice. The lives of these girls are pitiful in the extreme. Chosen from among the families of the poor on the basis of their prospective good looks and ability to learn, they leave their homes at an early age and are subjected to the severe drill already outlined. They go through their lessons with rigid, mechanical accuracy. In public they appear in gorgeous robes, their faces painted and powdered, artificiality dominating everything about them,--clothing, manners, and smiles. As a rule nothing is done to develop their minds, and of course the cultivation of personal character is not even thought of. They are instructed in flippant conversation and pungent retort, that they may converse interestingly with the men, for whose entertainment they are alone designed. The songs learned, some of the dances performed, and the conversational repertoire acquired are commonly reported to be highly licentious, but these are the gei that best please the men, to whom they are open for private engagements from the time they are eighteen years of age. If, however, a geisha is exceptionally beautiful, her owner does not allow her to enter on such duties, for experience has shown that her beauty is soon lost in this way, and with it her highest earning capacity. Many geisha undoubtedly develop considerable personal ability. The severe drill undergone could hardly fail to call forth their powers of mind, and intimate association with educated and quasi-cultured men serves further to stimulate their mental faculties. In native ability too they are not lacking, though drawn from the lowest classes of society, for, as will soon be more fully explained, they sometimes possess strains of high lineage. The national custom, which represses the normal intellectual development and social instincts of cultured, respectable women, is removed from this one class, which is favored by many circumstances. They are not subjected to the debauching excesses usual with the ordinary prostitute, nor to humiliating medical inspection. They are not conscious of popular disapproval, but on the contrary are the beauties of the town, their photographs for sale on every street. Indeed one well-informed gentleman told me that probably ten per cent. of the geisha enter the calling by their own choice. No wonder that from time to time the tale is told of some Japanese man of social position falling under the spell of an accomplished geisha, whom he prefers to any of the silent, passive, timid, incompetent girls selected for him, who in all probability have never talked with any man except immediate relatives or tradesmen. The national custom which predetermines the social incompetence of the majority of cultured women compensates for the loss by providing this geisha class. Not until Japanese ladies can hold their own in social life will the vocation of the geisha be ended. Among the surprises one meets in studying the geisha question is the fact that not a few of the girls have features which indicate distinguished ancestry. My explanation for this fact is the further fact that for ages the standards of moral life in Japan have allowed large freedom of sexual relations. The result is that in the lowest classes, from which geisha are recruited, there run strains of gentle blood. It thus comes to pass that now in the midst of coarse surroundings and in deep poverty there are born of parents manifestly belonging to the lowest class, children of exceptional beauty, fitted, so far as individual appearance indicates, to belong to the highest ranks of society. Whether or not this suggested explanation is correct as a matter of historic fact I am not able to say, but I offer it as the most plausible that has occurred to me. Parents in this class of society much prefer daughters to sons, for they are likely to become valuable sources of income. At eight or nine, those destined for the "accomplished" calling are put into the care of some experienced geisha and a mutual contract is given for a specific period (five or six years), during which the child is termed a _maiko_ (dancing girl). As a rule the parents receive a small sum at the beginning of this first period. The owner undertakes to support and train the girl, and expects to profit by her earnings. By the time the girl is fifteen or sixteen she has finished her apprenticeship, when, if she has exceptional graces and charms likely to win her a place in the highest social gatherings, she will secure quite a competency (many hundreds of yen, and in some cases even a few thousand) for the keeper and parents. On the expiration of the first contract a new one is made, and so on, until the girl has passed her prime and is no longer sought for entertainments. If in the interval she has not become the concubine of some rich man, she then either returns to her poor home or, what is more usual, becomes a servant in a hotel or tea-house. If her ability is exceptional, she may set up as geisha keeper, train other maiko, employ younger geisha, and so make her living. The great ambition of a geisha is to "catch" some wealthy man of rank with her charms and become his concubine. My informant estimates that this is what happens to perhaps one half of the geisha. In such cases the man pays down a handsome sum to the owner, who sends part of it to the parents. Thus he buys his concubine, whom he usually keeps in a villa, not his home. I have asked if geisha ever become true, legal wives and am told "only very rarely." But, if they do, are they cordially received by the man's kindred? "Oh, no! that is not possible," is the repeated answer. The effects of her training can never be obliterated, and the new relatives cannot forget the despicable class from which she comes, and the calling by which she has gained her husband. She may become indeed refined and altogether correct in manner, but the taint of her origin as a rule adheres to her. Then too the years of immoral life before she won her husband make it a rare thing for a geisha to have children, and childless wives in Japan are not at a premium, for the prime purpose of marriage is the maintenance of the family line. Foreigners commonly say that geisha are not prostitutes. It is true they are not licensed, that is to say, professional, prostitutes in the eye of the law, nor are they procurable, as are regular prostitutes, by the average man, for the expense is too great. But the chief of police already referred to, and many Japanese of whom I have inquired, insist that a large proportion of geisha are corrupt--two geisha keepers have estimated the proportion as high as ninety per cent. Geisha who decline engagements leading to immorality are rare indeed, and for that very reason are unpopular. But better than generalized statements is the story of an actual life. There lives to-day in Hyogo a paralytic whose influence through her words, newspaper articles, and books is widely felt throughout central Japan. She is one of the few girls who, though trained as a geisha, refused to follow the calling. The story of her life is worthy of more than passing mention. Her father died in her infancy, and shortly after the death of her mother, who had married, her stepfather likewise married again. These stepparents, deciding to have her become a geisha, expended much time and money on her training. When she was prepared at sixteen years of age, she was entrusted to a woman whose business it was to find employment for geisha in hotels and tea-houses. This woman took her to a house in Osaka, where there were already many geisha and regular prostitutes. Learning the nature of the duties expected of her, she positively refused to comply. In spite of the fact that it was twenty miles to her home and that there were but two sen in her pocket, she escaped from the hotel, spent one sen on bridge toll, one sen on a lunch, and succeeded in walking all that distance alone, reaching home after midnight, the home from which she had been sent out with hopes that she should win for her stepparents an ample support. The reception accorded her can be fancied. She held firmly however to her resolve, preferring poverty and hard toil to luxury and fine clothing along with that service on which these were conditioned. Work was found for her in a factory, then as a family servant, and finally at a small tea-house, where during the winter she was especially exposed to the cold. An attack of rheumatism developed into paralysis. With no hope of recovery she longed for death, for her stepparents, considering the case hopeless, neglected to care for her properly, although she was so helpless. She could not feed herself, nor even crawl to the well in which she wished to drown herself,--the final resource of many a despairing Japanese woman. But, by a strange series of circumstances, or should we not say by a merciful Providence? a Christian man discovered and befriended her, told the story of Jesus, and revealed the Savior. Her faith soon became so strong and her words proved so thoughtful and helpful to those Christian friends who came to see her, that her influence began to spread. She found she could manage to write with her crippled hand, and as what she wrote was like her spoken words, simple and strong, it soon found its way into print. She was finally led to write the story of her life, and this book, with other articles written by her, has afforded a small income, which with additional help from friends has secured a comfortable home for herself and the family of which she is now the center. Her name is Zako Aiko, and she lives in Hyogo. A few geisha, coming under Christian influences, have been converted, and so far as I know, such persons leave the calling altogether, as incompatible with Christian principles. But condemnation of the whole geisha system is not confined to Christians. Many Japanese, entirely outside our Christian circles, regard it as a disgrace to the country, and wish the whole business, along with licensed prostitution, concealed from public view. For instance, a man of high official rank, president of a large institution, tells me he regrets that there is no first-class Japanese hotel in Kyoto at which he may entertain foreign guests in Japanese style, except where geisha serve the meals. Rather than countenance the geisha system, he prefers to take his guests to a hotel where the service is not so perfect but where the women employed are above suspicion. He deplored the fact one day that all foreigners coming to Kyoto in the spring visit the _Miyako odori_, commonly known in English as the "Cherry Dance." I myself have seen this performance more than once, and found nothing objectionable in either the so-called dancing, its setting, or its accompaniments. It nevertheless affords opportunity for the display of something like eighty or ninety geisha, and helps to maintain the business and the system. As indicating the status of geisha in the best Japanese society, it is significant that all geisha are rigidly excluded from every entertainment where any member of the Imperial household is present. It is often said by foreigners that geisha and prostitutes not infrequently make happy matches, and by legal marriage escape from their unhappy lives of shame. This is one of those pretty fables one would like to believe, but the facts do not seem to support the theory. There are, no doubt, rare instances where such has been the case. I have known two women who had been geisha and who married men of some position. In one case the man was a physician. When I knew the family the ex-geisha had been in the home a number of years and was a lovely, modest, capable woman, a regular member of my wife's cooking class. But it was noticeable that she always took a "back seat" among the ladies; she was tolerated by them and treated not unkindly, but it was clear that they looked down on her. The man's kindred never favored the match, and would not let him marry the woman legally, so she lived in his house, took excellent care of his first wife's children, and was to them all that a stepmother could be, yet, so far as I know, she has never gained her full position in the home of her husband nor among his relatives. The other case I knew but slightly, as she died but a few weeks after I made her acquaintance, but she must have been a woman of exceptional character. She was a Christian and highly respected in the church. Such cases, however, are rare. A geisha may be in high favor during the decade or more when at the height of her physical charms, though even then her inner life is empty and loveless; but when no longer attractive she is cast aside as a faded flower, to spend the rest of her life forlorn, unloved, and uncared for. Truly, the way of the geisha is hard! Geisha naru mi to; Michi tobu tori wa Doko no idzuko de Hateru yara, is a popular ditty regarding the final disappearance of geisha from sight. It may be roughly translated: "What becomes of geisha, do you ask? I ask in turn, where end their lives the birds that fly along the road?" In regard to the number of geisha, Mr. Murphy's statistics show that from 1887 to 1897 they increased throughout Japan from 10,326 to 26,536, and since then the increase has been relatively small, the number being now in the vicinity of 30,000. So far as is known to me, no regular Christian or philanthropic work is done for this class. CHAPTER XI _SHOGI_ (LICENSED PROSTITUTES) It may seem strange to class prostitutes among working women, but the facts require such classification, for, not only so far as the parents and brothel keepers are concerned, but also so far as the girls themselves are concerned, it is entirely a matter of money. If the business did not pay splendidly, the keepers would not erect their handsome buildings, pay the heavy license fees, nor buy the girls from the parents at considerable cost. And on the other hand, if the parents did not receive what they regard as large sums for their daughters, the latter would not be sold to such lives of shame and disease. And so far as the poor victims are concerned, there is abundant evidence that they often go into the wretched business solely at the command of their parents, for among the lowest class the noble doctrine of obedience to parents is shamefully perverted to this vile end. Children are taught that obedience is a child's first duty, regardless of the question whether the thing required by parents is right or wrong. The girl goes to the brothel in obedience to her parents, who send her there to earn a living for herself and to help them out of special financial difficulties. Thus from first to last, so far as the girls, the parents, and the keepers are concerned, the question is economic. Among the working women of Japan prostitutes surely are the most pitiful of all. They give the most and get the least. They receive no training, like the geisha; have no liberty; to prevent their running away, are imprisoned in brothels, or if diseased or ill, in hospitals; and have no friends except possibly other prostitutes. Most of them soon loathe the business, but are helpless, hopeless prisoners,--for the keepers who paid their parents a few score or hundreds of yen and loaded them with beautiful clothes, charge all these items to their account, so that they are under a heavy debt which must be paid before they can leave. This debt the laws of the land theoretically ignore but practically recognize, for the "keeper" keeps the books as well as the brothel, and the police and officials are often on his side. In this way licentiously inclined officials, merchants, and travelers provide for the easy, economical, and legal satisfaction of their desires. I do not propose here to give a detailed account of this distressful and disgusting "business." Those who desire more information should procure _The Social Evil in Japan_, by the Rev. U. G. Murphy. Some years ago Mr. Murphy, by grit and pluck, carried certain test cases through the courts and secured legal opportunity for girls to quit the business if they wished. The Salvation Army and some of the daily papers took pains to let the brothel girls know their legal rights, and in a short period over twelve thousand, at that time over one third of the whole number, left the brothels, so that for a while the business was prostrated in many quarters. This single fact shows the spirit and attitude of a large number of the girls. Since then the wily keepers and all interested in maintaining this lucrative trade have succeeded in modifying the administration of the regulations, so that the girls are again closely controlled. There is however a rising public conscience and an abolition movement is gathering strength. The virtual slavery of the girls; the fact that they are openly bought and sold, and that, too, under governmental supervision and sanction; the cruelty inflicted on many girls by their keepers; the fraud practised in connection with their accounts, whereby a girl is kept hopelessly in debt, so that, however faithful she may be, release is impossible, and indeed the more faithful the more profitable she is to her keeper--all these facts are becoming widely known and are beginning to arouse public indignation. The government is openly charged with protecting slavery, and that of the worst kind. High government officials are being condemned for licentiousness. As signs of the times, I give a few facts. In the summer of 1909 the wealthiest and most centrally located prostitute quarter in Osaka was completely wiped out by a great fire. Before the flames were fully out, the anti-brothel forces realized their opportunity and under the leadership of the Young Men's Christian Association and Young Women's Christian Union began to agitate for refusal to allow the rebuilding of the business in that region of the city. A petition was prepared and signed by one hundred thousand people. Large numbers of Osaka's best citizens allied themselves with the movement. The result was that the authorities in charge saw fit to yield to the pressure and arranged that the new buildings for prostitution should be erected on the outskirts of the city. In the winter of 1911, the city of Tokyo suffered from a great conflagration which completely destroyed the section of the city known as "Yoshiwara,"[6] which for three hundred years has been assigned to prostitution. This center of the social evil had become enormously wealthy, and such magnificent buildings had been erected for the business that it had become one of the famous sights of Tokyo. Before the fire was fairly over, the anti-brothel forces began to organize their campaign, which continued for months. A magazine called _Purity_ (_Kaku Sei_) was started. In this case, however, success did not crown their efforts. [6] Foreigners commonly, but mistakenly, suppose that "Yoshiwara" means "Prostitute Quarter." Not long since an army division was located in the vicinity of Wakayama, a city of considerable importance, not far from Osaka, in which there have never been any prostitute houses. This led to the suggestion that it would be well to open there a regular prostitute quarter. The matter was keenly discussed and the proposition carried through the city council and authorized by all the lower officials, but when it came finally before the prefectural governor for signature, it was vetoed, and the veto message is worthy of preservation and careful consideration by those who are interested in these matters. The governor says in his message: "I was early convinced that the establishment of licensed quarters in the city was harmful to the public interest. It has been a subject of discussion in Wakayama now for many years, and I have investigated the question thoroughly from the standpoint of public morals, health, and economics, at places with and without licensed quarters, and find that the existence of such institutions is distinctly harmful. The standard of morals is lowered, the public health impaired, disease made rampant, the young are sent into wrong channels, homes are broken up, and extravagance is encouraged. The state of affairs in Shingu, in this prefecture of Wakayama, where licensed houses have been established, clearly shows that the existence of such places is extremely harmful to public interest. The majority representation to the authorities urged the establishment of licensed quarters on the ground that the quarters would promote the prosperity of that section of the city in which they were situated. It is true they may benefit a section of the city in one way, but the benefit so obtained would be offset by many other evils. The military authorities are strongly opposed to the establishment of licensed quarters, and their views are very reasonable. For these reasons I have decided to refuse permission for the establishment of licensed quarters in Wakayama city."[7] [7] As translated by the _Japan Chronicle_, May 13, 1911. In passing, it is worthy of record that the prefecture of Joshu has for over thirty years, by ceaseless vigilance, prevented government sanction of prostitution. Repeatedly has the battle been fought and repeatedly have the anti-brothel forces won. In this respect Joshu stands alone among the forty-eight prefectures of the Japanese empire. As illustrating the low moral ideals prevailing among a certain class of men, Professor Abe of Waseda University, in a recent brothel-abolition speech, told of a certain politician who, though a fast liver, was praised because he never debauched the wives and daughters of his friends, but always confined himself to those women whose services he fully paid for in hard cash! Colonel Yamamuro, the highest Japanese officer in the Salvation Army, on the same evening, speaking of the low moral ideals of the classes from which prostitutes are drawn, said that in connection with the Salvation Army he had had opportunity to know of twelve hundred girls who had been aided in the two rescue homes of the Army. Of these twelve hundred about one half had been prostitutes. The reasons given by them for leaving were various, such as ill health, cruelty, lovers, but not one said she left the business because it was wrong. The evidence is full and convincing that a considerable section of the Japanese people do not regard loose sexual relations as particularly immoral. In regard to the statistics of prostitutes, the figures given by Mr. Murphy are probably the most accurate available, and are substantially official. Between 1887 and 1897 the number of prostitutes increased from 27,559 to 47,055, reaching their maximum in 1899, when there were 52,410. Then, following up the work of Mr. Murphy and the Salvation Army, came the "cessation movement," reducing the number to 40,195 in 1901, and the following year to 38,676. Since that date the number has grown. In two years four thousand fresh girls were bought up, and a thousand more the following year. The latest statistics are those for 1906, when the number of prostitutes was reported as 44,542. It is safe to say that at the present time the number is near, if it has not passed, the fifty thousand mark. It would be natural to suppose that recruits for the geisha and shogi occupations would be found largely among the poorest farmers, but both my outdoor man and also my cook assert that such is not the fact. "Farmers would never sell their daughters for such vile purposes, however poor they might become. Parents who do such things are only the degenerate creatures who live in cities," is the scornful remark of my gardener. My cook asserts the same thing, and adds that farmers' daughters have not the genteel features and figures nor the light complexion essential to girls seeking such occupations. Other investigations confirm these assertions. The great cities of Nagoya and Niigata, and indeed the whole of Echigo, are famous for the supply of girls they send to the brothels of Tokyo. A poor man with several daughters has a pretty good investment, and rejoices more at the birth of a girl than of a boy, because it means an early and definite income. I found at one time in Matsuyama that all the girls of sixteen to eighteen years of age in a certain poor quarter had, in the course of one year, been sold off to the brothels. About that time a man came to me with a pitiful story of poverty; he had five children, but unfortunately they were all boys; had they been girls, he said, he might have sold some of them and so not have needed to ask my aid! The word used in connection with both geisha and prostitutes is perfectly frank; no effort is made to conceal by terms the nature of the transaction. The girls are "bought" and "sold." They employ the same words as those used in buying and selling animals, food, clothing--anything. Their purchase and sale is a regular business in which men and women openly engage, traveling the country over in search of girls, and conducting them in small groups to the keepers of brothels, who pay so much a head. And this takes place in civilized Japan! Moreover, in spite of the fact that girls may thus be bought, it is true that they are also occasionally stolen. I have known of a pitiful instance where the girl, a member of a respectable family, was boxed and shipped on a steamer as freight, to elude the police, and taken to Siam. In five years she has succeeded in getting one letter to her home, but the parents dare not put the matter into the hands of Japanese officials, as that would make the situation hopeless. But Occidentals may not forget how terrible a scourge is commercialized vice in civilized and so-called "Christian" Europe, and who has not heard of the "white slavery" of America, with its stealing of girls and young women for purposes of prostitution? The institution of comparisons between nations and individuals is alike odious,--but unavoidable. A fair comparison would seem to be that, whereas in the West the moral sense of a large proportion of the people is very strongly against the social evil and seeks to abolish it, in Japan the moral sense of the mass of the population acquiesces in the situation, so that the government and a vast majority of the influential people of the land unite to make the business safe, legal, and remunerative; and that, while in Occidental Christian lands no girl can voluntarily enter this sphere of life without being conscious of its shame and immorality, many of the girls of Japan may have no adequate knowledge of these inevitable consequences until their fate has been sealed. CHAPTER XII AMELIORATIVE EFFORTS The reader will desire to know what, if any, have been the efforts to ameliorate the evils described in preceding pages. They are of two kinds: first, governmental in origin, general in scope, legal and educative in method; and second, private in origin, both general and specific in scope, personal, educative, ethical, and religious in method. The general educational policy of the government is not to be regarded as a philanthropic or ameliorative effort to meet the conditions already described. This policy however does have a powerful elevating influence on the lives and character of the entire people. As we have seen, over ninety-seven per cent. of the girls of school age are in attendance, according to the reports. Though we allow a discount on these figures (and some may perhaps be necessary), we can still say that, if the present policy of six years of compulsory education is carried out, the rising generation of boys and girls will be able to read fairly well the daily paper and simple books. To millions of women this means the opening of doors of knowledge and opportunity which in ages past have been closed to them. The government has also been the chief initiative force in all recent movements to improve the economic and industrial conditions of the people. Railroads in Japan owe their existence to the government, as also do many forms of modern industry. Agriculture and fruit and stock raising owe much to the government, which has imported Western seed, Western fruit trees, and new breeds of horses and cattle. All these efforts have done much to improve the economic conditions, thus elevating the scale of living. People eat better food and more of it, live in better houses, and wear better clothes than they did fifty or more years ago, and--an important item--they pay less taxes in proportion to their income. A general uplifting process is modifying their life and thought, and this is profoundly affecting Japan's working classes, and, of course, her women. In regard to the specific evils introduced by Western industrialism, we have already seen how the government has sought to remedy the difficulties, so far as laws can go, but hitherto its efforts have largely been thwarted by capitalists. Among the notable efforts of the government to promote wise social reform movements have been the large gatherings, at considerable government expense, of leaders of philanthropic and benevolent institutions for instruction in the most recent and approved sociological principles. Competent specialists from all over the country have been employed to instruct these leaders, and thus the whole country is given the benefit of the special knowledge of the few. The government has also, during the past four years, distributed some forty thousand yen annually among those eleemosynary institutions which it regards as models of efficiency. Furthermore, opportunity for the higher education of women, first given on a wide scale during the past decade, while not yet affecting working women to any appreciable extent, cannot fail to do so as time passes, for it proclaims the intrinsic ability of woman and gives her a standing of intellectual equality with man, in sharp contrast to the humiliating position assigned to her by popular Buddhism, which has taught that women must be reborn as men before they can be saved. Indeed, they are born women because of their sins. A Japanese proverb has it that one must never trust a woman, even if she has borne you seven children! This long-believed doctrine as to the inherent incapacity and essential depravity of woman has no doubt been a powerful cause of her social degradation. Under the present system of general education, however, these doctrines and beliefs will soon be completely overthrown, thus making room for and producing great changes in the social and industrial conditions of all women. But the government is not the sole worker for the social amelioration of industrial conditions. Through private effort forces are being introduced which are more potent than any the government knows or can control. I refer to the gospel of Jesus Christ. This has already introduced such a leaven into Japanese society that nothing can now prevent its transforming the whole mass in time. Should the entire foreign body of 624 Protestant and 371 Roman Catholic missionaries be withdrawn from Japan, there would still remain (January, 1914) 728 ordained and 713 unordained Japanese Protestant pastors and trained evangelists, and 331 Bible women. Among the 815 organized churches, 182 are wholly self-supporting. In addition to the 90,000 Protestant communicants, 67,000 Roman Catholic people, and 32,000 Greek Christians among the Japanese, it is estimated by Christian pastors that there are many hundreds of thousands of the people who are conducting their lives according to the principles and with the spirit of Jesus. Furthermore, a careful study of modern Japanese civilization shows that the Christian conception of man as having intrinsic and inherent worth has been embodied in the constitution and laws of the land and is being put into wide practise. The rights of children, women, and inferiors and the duties of parents, husbands, and superiors are new notes in Japan, and are sounding forth a richer music than has ever before been heard in the Orient. Of course there are still discordant notes, as we have seen when considering the subject of the buying and selling of geisha and prostitutes; but so there are even in so-called Christian lands. Nevertheless, the conception of the value of the individual and of his rights is inspiring a hope among the lowly and hitherto downtrodden and oppressed sections of the nation which cannot be extinguished, and will in due time powerfully transform the traditional civilization, giving to woman a place of equality along with man in the estimation of all. The general education of girls, and especially their higher education, is signal proof of a wide acceptance of Christian conceptions. According to the _Résumé Statistique_ (1914), there were, in 1911-12, 250 girls' high schools, public and private, whose pupils numbered 64,809. In addition, the number of women in normal schools preparing to become elementary school-teachers was 8,271, and in the higher normal schools, 570. The number of female teachers is reported at 42,739. These girls' high and normal schools, through the ability they give their graduates to converse with men on a basis of intellectual equality in regard to topics of current interest while retaining their modesty and personal character, are so transforming the reticent habits and unsocial customs of Japanese ladies that ere long scant room will be left for the old-time geisha. The change Christianity is silently bringing to the home life of Japan, adding to its sweetness, purity, and conscious unity, and contributing a mighty uplift to both head and heart, few as yet have either eyes to see or ears to hear. The influence already exerted by Christian ideas and ideals on the traditional conceptions of Japan in regard to home life, marriage, childhood, the poor and lowly, the orphan, the blind, the leper, and the diseased generally,--in a word on the value of the individual and his inalienable, God-given rights,--is so widespread and so beneficent that it receives little specific comment and no opposition. There were no doubt in old Japan certain influences predisposing many to the new ideals and practises introduced from the West. It is difficult, perhaps impossible, at this stage in Japan's development to reckon accurately how much of Japan's new life is due to new factors introduced from Christendom, and how much to ideals already operative in the feudal system. No one can doubt, however, that Christian ideals have been the most important factors in the West to give woman her present status. Nor can we doubt that Christian ideals and practises are playing an important rôle in the modern emancipation of women in Japan. Those who criticize missionaries as forcing the Christian religion upon unwilling peoples know not whereof they speak. The Christian faith would make no progress whatever in Japan were it not found by Japanese themselves to be ennobling and satisfying. It is welcomed because it brings hope and peace and power to those who were hopeless and restless and powerless. But he is very shortsighted who thinks that the main forces Christianizing Japan are wielded by the foreign missionary. The missionary doubtless is an essential agent, but of far more importance is the work of Japanese Christians themselves; and in addition to these is the general though vague influence exerted by Western civilization as a whole, and particularly by the English language and literature. In that important work, _Fifty Years of New Japan_, are many remarkable chapters, but especially noteworthy are those entitled "Social Changes of New Japan," and "Influence of the West upon Japan," from the pens of competent, wide-awake Japanese scholars. Consider what Professor Nitobe says: "The greatest influence of the West is, after all, the spiritual.... Christianity has influenced the thought and lives of many individuals in Japan, and will influence many more, eventually affecting the nation through the altered view-point and personnel of the citizen and the administrator. The character-changing power of the religion of Jesus I believe to be only just now making itself appreciably evident in our midst." Somewhat further on, referring to the English language, he writes: "The effect of the acquisition of the English tongue on the mental habits--I had almost said on the unconscious cerebrations of our people--is incalculable.... The moral influence of some of its simple text-books used in our schools cannot be overrated.... They have been instrumental in opening new vistas of thought and vast domains of enterprise and interest to young minds." No student of Japan's new life, resulting from the influence of Western and Christian ideas and ideals, should fail to familiarize himself with the eighth issue (1910) of _The Christian Movement in Japan_, which gives a series of remarkable addresses delivered by Japanese and foreigners at the semicentennial celebration of the beginning of Protestant missions in Japan. Especial attention should be paid to the section treating of the "Influence of Christianity on Japanese Thought and Life." It will be obvious to any thoughtful person that changes so wide and deep, affecting all the fundamental conceptions of life, of manhood and womanhood, of the state, of law and justice, of right and duty, are not confined to those whose privilege it is to study Western books and acquire the higher education. In ten thousand ways the whole national life is being transformed, slowly it may be and silently, yet surely and steadily. And the benefits are accruing to the most lowly and least educated no less than to those at the top. All the working women of Japan have already received in some degree, and in the future will more and more receive, the blessings and the uplift which are coming to the nation through its contact with the Christian conceptions and standards embedded in Western civilization and literature. A volume--nay, many volumes--would be needed to tell in detail the story of how the Christian message has been and is being conveyed to the people of Japan. We should make known the story of Joseph Hardy Neesima, of the Kumamoto Band, of Dr. Clark and Dr. Hepburn, of Young Men's Christian Association teachers of English in government schools, of faithful, self-sacrificing pastors, evangelists, Bible women, and missionaries. We should recount the deeds of heroic lay Christians in all the walks of life, and above all in their homes, too often hostile, commending their new-found faith by their new spirit and life. We should tell of the work of Christian teachers of ethics in the prisons, and the remarkable results secured. We should relate the experiences of those who have struggled for the rights of prostitutes, of Salvation Army officers, of matrons of reform homes, of managers of ex-convicts' homes, of founders of orphan asylums, of supporters of private charity hospitals. We should tell the story of the scores of Christian institutions the central aim of which is to express in concrete life the Christian's faith and hope and love. But in addition to the narrative of direct Christian work, full heed should be given to the evidences of the wide acceptance by the nation of the best Christian ideals in matters of philanthropy. To meet the needs of the famine sufferers in north Japan during the winter and spring of 1914, and of those who were deprived of their all by the terrific volcanic explosion of the island of Sakurajima in January, 1914, more than a million yen ($500,000) of private gifts flowed into the hands of the relieving committees. For the earthquake sufferers the Diet voted 622,883 yen ($311,441). The late Emperor, shortly before his death, was so moved by the medical needs of the poor that he contributed a fund of a million yen for the systematic undertaking of medical work in all parts of Japan. This started a movement among the wealthy which has resulted in the establishment of a Medical Relief Association (Saiseikwai), having a fund of $5,000,000 already paid in and pledges for $8,000,000 more. Men of wealth in Japan are following the example set by the best Christian life in the West. In recent years several large gifts have been made for education. At the close of 1913 one of the most wealthy and always generous families of Japan, Sumitomo of Osaka, announced their decision to establish an industrial school for the poor, at an expense of $200,000. And in the same year Mr. O'Hara, one of the wealthiest and most philanthropic men of Okayama, announced his plan of opening a high-grade agricultural school for poor boys of that prefecture. The amount of the gift is not stated, but in addition to the large sum needed for buildings and equipment, he donates as permanent endowment some 250 acres of rice land whose value, roughly estimated, may be about $50,000. There are in Japan of all denominations and religions the following institutions for the uplift and regeneration of the downtrodden and for the help of the poor: Orphan asylums.......................... 100 Rescue work............................. 92 Dispensaries............................ 45 Reformatories........................... 47 Homes for ex-prisoners.................. 37 Homes for old people.................... 22 Poor farms.............................. 11 ____ 354 Of these institutions, the compiler of the statistics states that for one Shinto and three Buddhist, there are five Christian institutions. The leaders and inspirers in all the forms of philanthropic work are Christians, as from the nature of the case might be expected. "In the matter of Christian Social Service," writes A. D. Hail, in the _Japan Evangelist_,[8] "the Federated Missions have been represented by two Committees whose fields of endeavor are quite distinct. The one is the excellent Eleemosynary Committee. It deals with the delinquents, defectives, and dependents of society.... [8] January, 1915. "The Industrial Welfare Committee seeks to Christianize the industrial classes, and to encourage the development of dealing upon Christian principles with the complicated questions growing out of the relations of capital and labor. By the industrial classes we mean the non-capitalistic laborers and bread-winners. It includes men, women, and many thousands of children. They do not own the machinery they handle, and have no voice in the control of the industries with which they are connected. Being without any say in the control of factories, machines, and raw material, they can be discharged at any moment by employers for reasons satisfactory alone to themselves. Their bodies, their minds, and oftentime their morals, become subservient to foremen and managers. The unskilled laborers in particular have no margin of either wages or time for wholesome recreations, for accidents, old age, widowhood, and unemployment. Besides these there is another large class in Japan, of small traders who rent their shops and eke out earnings by the sweating process, or by renting rooms for doubtful purposes. To these are to be added fishermen who do not own tackle, tenant farmers and their employees, and the main body of school-teachers; also an army engaged in transportation, together with postal clerks, postmen, and others. Incidental to this are the districts of large cities and mining camps, where there are congested populations of unskilled laborers subjected to diseases occasioned by bad drainage, inadequate housing, and all the consequent evils. As these do not earn sufficient wages to entitle them to vote, they have no voice whatever in the betterment of their surroundings.... "There is a growing tendency toward the fixedness of a gulf between laborers and their employers, so much so that Japan's great danger in this direction is that she may fail to realize that she has a labor problem on hand, and one that can be solved here, as elsewhere, only on the basis of Christian principles of common fair dealing." In spite, however, of abundant evidence that Christian ethical and philanthropic ideals are receiving wide acceptance in Japan, far wider than would be suggested by the statistics of membership in the Christian churches, it is also true that the evils of Occidental industrialism and materialism are sweeping in like a flood. Turning now from general statements as to the ethico-industrial conditions of the working women of Japan, in the next chapter I give the story of a single institution. CHAPTER XIII THE MATSUYAMA WORKING GIRLS' HOME The origin and history of the Matsuyama Working Girls' Home cannot be told apart from the story of the man who has been its heart and life, Mr. Shinjiro Omoto. Born in 1872 and graduating from the common school at fourteen, he at once went into business, first as an apprentice and later with his father. At nineteen he opened a sugar store, which flourished and before long overshadowed the father's business. Money came in so easily that he soon entered on a life of licentiousness, and for several years he was as famous for his drunken carousals as he had been for his phenomenal business success. His parents cut him off, refused him admittance to the house, and for years he did not even speak to his father. [Illustration: MATSUYAMA WORKING GIRLS' HOME GIRLS IN THE MATSUYAMA HOME] In 1899, we held a preaching service in a theater. Mr. Omoto happened to be drinking in the saloon opposite. Hearing of our gathering, with some rowdy comrades, he thought he would break it up, with the result that we experienced persistent opposition throughout the meeting. But the sermons on Pessimism and the New Life, and my statement of the reasons that had brought me to Japan attracted his attention, and the next day I received an anonymous letter asking for tracts. These seem to have produced a profound impression, particularly the tract entitled "Two Young Men." It told of two hardened prisoners who had been transformed by the gospel and became highly useful and well-known members of society. Mr. Omoto thereupon set himself definitely to learn about Christianity, but privately, unwilling to make public his new hope. He bought and read through, quite by himself, the entire New Testament. Though he gained some idea of the gospel, he soon found he had lost none of his passion for drink. After a while he went to Kobe and joined a temperance society; but soon finding that the society had members who broke their pledges, he began to break his. In despair he went to Okayama and tried to join himself to Mr. Ishii, head of the well-known Christian orphanage, asking to be made a Christian, but he was told to return to Matsuyama and join the church there in his old home; only so could he be saved. Greatly disappointed, he returned and called on me early in June, 1901, but without telling fully about himself. He also called on Mr. Nishimura, an earnest Christian worker, who prayed with him, telling him that to be saved he must receive the Holy Spirit. That summer, quite exceptionally, I returned in the middle of the vacation. Mr. Omoto appeared at the prayer-meeting for the first time and was evidently in a state of great excitement, so much so that only with difficulty could we understand his remarks and his prayer. The gist was that he had that day received the Holy Spirit, that he was now saved, and that his joy was too great for utterance. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he talked and prayed. After the meeting I had a few words with him, and urged him to ally himself with our experienced workers. He was so excited that I feared for him, and wondered whether this might not be a tornado of emotion due to drink and to the nervous condition incident to his riotous life, an emotion which he mistook for the gift of the Holy Spirit. I urged him to begin at once to live the Christian life, cutting loose from all bad companions and bad habits. To gain an honest living he entered the Matsuyama Cotton Thread Spinning Factory. This required twelve hours of work daily, sometimes by day and sometimes by night, a hard pull for one who had done no steady work for years. He attended Christian services faithfully, so far as his hours of work allowed, and became quite intimate with two or three of our best Christians. Before long he began to talk about the wretched conditions and immoral life of the factory girls, telling us of the situation already described in Chapter IX.[9] His first thought was to give these tired children wholesome recreation. He secured the use of our preaching place in the vicinity of the factory and invited the girls to attend what he called the Dojokwai (Sympathy Society). He soon persuaded the girls to add a little reading and writing to their play, and later also, sewing. These meetings had of course to be held after the twelve or more hours of work in the factory had been completed. Care had also to be taken that the studies and the fun should not absorb time needed for sleep. Membership in the Sympathy Society rose rapidly and soon numbered seventy girls. [9] See pages 67-69. (Transcriber's note: See starting at "In 1901, when Mr. Omoto began to work in the factory, he was amazed to see how many were the children taking their turns in work along with the older girls by day and by night.") At first meetings were held only in the evening three times a week, and lasted but an hour. But as the educational element of the society developed, others were induced to help and every evening save Sunday was occupied. In order that girls on the night shift might continue their studies similar classes were also held from seven to nine o'clock in the morning. Before six months had passed the play aspect of the society was largely superseded by the educational. But opposition of Buddhists now began to show itself. A few parents refused to let their girls attend. The most determined opposition however came from the manager in the factory who had charge of one of the shifts. Members of that shift were so treated that gradually they dropped out of the Dojokwai, and new members from that shift could not be secured. The hostile manager was however himself dropped some months later, and all opposition to the work from within the factory ceased. In a previous chapter we have noted the facts discovered by Mr. Omoto as he went the rounds of the boarding-houses in which the girls were required to live.[10] As these conditions became clearer and more appallingly impressive, he began to say with increasing frequency and insistence that the Sympathy Society, however successful, could not do what was needed. Only a Christian home would answer. Not only do the girls need to learn to read and write and sew, but even more than these do they need a home free from temptation, clean and pure and helpful, and elevating morally and religiously. The difficulties however in the way of such an enterprise seemed insuperable. To say nothing of the financial problem, a still greater obstacle, it was felt, was the securing of "recognition" from the factory, for Buddhist influence in the factory was at that time still dominant. During these months the Sympathy Society was winning its way among the girls and their parents, and Mr. Omoto himself was learning valuable lessons. [10] See pages 68, 69. (Transcriber's note: See starting at "they were crowded together in disease-spreading and vermin-breeding, immoral boarding-houses, where they were deliberately tempted.") One was that the girls were not all eager to be in a Christian home. We of course forbade all drinking, irregular hours, and more irregular "friendships." Attendance on prayers, night and morning, and at the school, was required. It looked for a time as if we should fail, for lack of girls to meet the expenses. But in spite of discouragements we kept on. The earnings of the girls who lived in the home, for the first year, were 1,361 yen. Of this sum they paid for board 905 yen, and sent to their parents 456, whereas girls in the other boarding-houses were able to save nothing, although the amount paid for board was the same in all the houses, being fixed by the factory at 3.60 yen per month, or twelve sen (six cents) per day. In February, 1903, a representative of the government who came from Tokyo to inspect the conditions of labor in western Japan, heard of the Dojokwai (Sympathy Home), and was so much interested in the story of its work that he took time to visit it with several local officials. He was greatly pleased, for he knew of nothing just like this, in any other part of Japan, particularly in its hygienic, educational, and moral advantages, and he expressed the wish that there might be many such. This was our first notice from government officials. As time went on, Mr. Omoto was found by the factory officials to be exceptionally faithful to its interests; he was rapidly promoted from one position to another, and in December of the same year was made "visitor" and "employing agent." This required him to visit neighboring towns and villages and collect new girls when needed. He tried to decline this work, saying that he could make no false promises to the girls or to their parents, nor in any way delude them as to the nature of their work, the amount of their wages, the conditions of the boarding-houses; being strictly a temperance man, also, he could not treat with sake (sah'-ke) and so get into friendly relations, all of which things employing agents constantly do; he had no expectations of gaining any recruits; the factory would better send some one else. They told him at least to try. To the surprise of all, and of himself the most, from his first trip he brought back with him fifteen girls. For three years he continued in this work and was always successful in securing girls for the factory. Because of his refusal to touch liquor in any form, his traveling expenses were much less than those of other employing agents, much to the satisfaction of the management; and the girls he secured on the whole remained longer and more contentedly at work, because he had always told them the truth. This made his position in the factory more secure and influential. After about two years' employment by the day he was promoted to the rank of a regular employee and paid by the month. His hours of official service were also largely reduced in order that he might have time for his educational and Christian work in the Home--a striking testimony of appreciation on the part of the factory officials. As the months passed by it gradually became clear that the effectiveness as well as the permanence of the work demanded suitable quarters. The heavy rental paid for the house made self-support impossible. Results already attained seemed to warrant appeal to friends for gifts, for the purpose of buying land and the erection of a building. Responses to our appeals provided the needed funds, land was purchased and a contract made with a carpenter on exceptionally favorable terms, just two days before the opening of the Russo-Japanese war (February, 1904). Immediately prices went up by leaps and bounds; but our contract was so well made and the carpenter had already made such full subcontracts for the lumber, etc., that we were not troubled because of war prices. As we entered our new quarters in June, 1904, however, the factory shut down the main part of its work and discharged the majority of its workers. This was a severe blow to the Home. The occupants were reduced to seven girls. Although the factory opened again after a few months, the conditions during and after the war made it difficult for the factory to secure girls, and the Home, together with the other boarding-houses, suffered from lack of boarders. Beginning with March, 1907, however, special circumstances combined to fill the Home to its utmost capacity; during the three months of April, May, and June thirty applicants were refused admittance and as many more who desired to enter the school were declined. Increasing acquaintance with the disastrous effects of factory labor,--the lint-filled air so often producing consumption, and the excessive heat of summer sometimes resulting even in sunstroke,--made Mr. Omoto unwilling to persuade girls to enter upon such a life. The needs of the Home also pressed upon his time. These considerations led him, in 1906, to give up his work in the factory altogether, in order to devote his entire time and strength to the Home and to the upbuilding of the moral and religious life of the girls. In July, 1906, Mr. Omoto attended in Osaka the first convention of factory officials convened to study the problem of the proper care of operatives. Representatives were present from sixteen factories having night schools, and specimens of the work of the girls were compared. Mr. Omoto was fairly lionized because of the superior quality of the work sent in from our Home and many newspapers made special mention of him and his work. In September, 1908, there was held in Tokyo under the auspices of the Home Department of the Imperial government an eight weeks' school of applied sociology. Mr. Omoto was among the 376 persons who attended. Again he received exceptional attention and was asked to tell his story. At this school no less than thirty-six learned specialists gave lectures on every conceivable topic suitable for such a school. Among the speakers so many were professed Christians, and of the rest so many advocated such markedly Christian ideals, that some Buddhists are said to have taken offense, regarding the whole affair as a part of the Christian propaganda. In the spring of 1909 there occurred an event of considerable significance. Without a preliminary hint of what was happening, Mr. Omoto saw in the paper one day the amazing statement that the Matsuyama Working Girls' Home, along with seventy-nine other selected institutions throughout the country, was the recipient of a specified sum (200 yen) as a mark of government approval! A total of 40,000 yen were thus distributed in varying amounts, Christian institutions being recognized to an unexpected degree. Later, word came from the Prefectural Office summoning him to receive the gift. In the entire prefecture six institutions had been thus honored, and of these, two were Christian. This gift from the Department of the Interior has been repeated each year since. Again in May, 1910, a Conference of Social Service Workers (Chu-o Jizen Kyokwai) was held at Nagoya at the time of the Exposition, and Mr. Omoto was among those invited to attend. His address and statistical report received much attention. Mr. Tomeoka, representative of the government and chairman of the conference, spoke in unstinted praise of the work of the Home, which he characterized as "Kokka Jigyo" (a national enterprise), and recommended the adoption by others of several of its special features. In the spring of 1911, the Home Department of the central government published a small volume describing one hundred and thirteen model philanthropic institutions of the country, in which we were of course pleased to see that the Home was included, being the only one from the prefecture. As opportunity offered and means were available, following the advice of friends, four small adjacent lots were purchased, one of which we were almost forced to secure for self-protection, because of the evil character of the buildings upon it. We now own altogether about two acres of land on the north side of the beautiful Castle Hill, around which Matsuyama is built. Here have been erected at different times six buildings (three of them two-storied), for residential, dormitory, chapel, night school, weaving, hospital, bath, and other purposes. We have space for a playground, of which the girls joyously avail themselves, after returning from twelve hours of confinement in the dust and clatter of machinery. The garden, too, provides fresh vegetables of an assured character at a minimum of expense, adding much to the variety and the wholesomeness of the diet. The present value of the property is more than its original cost, for land and buildings are constantly rising in price, as is the case in other parts of the country. The city educational authorities in 1906 asked Mr. Omoto to open his night school to the poor of the district. For this he had to have a regular school license from the National Bureau of Education at Tokyo. This was to be a Christian school--the only license of exactly that kind in the empire, he was told. Industrial newspapers have been noticing the Home and its work for some time.[11] During the past five years the favorable attitude of local and national government officials has been particularly pronounced. Government inspectors have repeatedly been sent from the Prefectural Office and occasionally even from Tokyo to visit the Home. One such expressed himself as amazed at the excellent mental work done by the girls, in view of the fact that all their study takes place after twelve hours of toil. Nothing but good food, sufficient sleep, and a wholesome and happy home life could account for their splendid health and superior school work. One man remarked that the girls in the Home do better work than pupils in the same grade in public schools. [11] See page 149. (Transcriber's note: See starting at "Mr. Omoto was fairly lionized because of the superior quality of the work sent in from our Home") Even so early as the autumn of 1906 the Home Department of the central government sent down special instructions to the prefectural office in Matsuyama to investigate our work, with the result that of nine benevolent institutions throughout Japan selected for commendation, ours was the one most carefully described and unqualifiedly praised. A recent government pamphlet concerning industrial problems makes special reference, covering two pages, to the work of the Home. Thus has a small institution begun to serve as a model for the country. The good health of the girls in our Home has been in strong contrast with the health of those in other boarding-houses, even in the best dormitories of the best factories in other cities. Statistics recently compiled by the government show that the average death-rate among factory operatives throughout the country is extraordinarily high. The highest, fifty per cent. on account of an epidemic, was reported from a certain factory owned and managed boarding-house in Niigata prefecture. Not one girl has ever died in our Home. Of the 301 girls who had lived in our Home by 1911, only eight, all told, died. In 1912 the Home passed through a crisis that threatened to destroy it. Late in 1911 the one factory in Matsuyama, where all the girls worked, was sold out to parties living in Osaka. A new manager was sent down who introduced many drastic changes. The change most affecting us was the stopping of the night work and the lengthening of day work to fourteen hours: namely, from 6 A.M. till 8 P.M. The girls in the Home soon became dissatisfied, and not many months passed before all had left the factory. Mr. Omoto was urged by the manager to find and bring in new girls. He refused however on the ground that he could not ask anybody to work such brutally long hours. Had it not been for a little weaving department with which we had already been experimenting, the Home would have been compelled to close. More looms were secured and those girls who wished to remain with us were given opportunity for work. Mr. Omoto's attention was at that time directed to the condition of the weaving girls in the scores and even hundreds of little establishments in the city and its suburbs. He soon found that an educational, economic, moral, and religious condition existed among them not unlike that which he had found among the factory girls of Matsuyama a dozen years before. The weaving establishments are, as a rule, small private affairs, usually having less than ten girls each, and are therefore wholly outside of the supervision of the government. The treatment of workers and the hours of labor are entirely settled by the individual owners. As a rule the girls are apprenticed for from two to three years immediately on leaving the primary school, at an age therefore of twelve or thirteen. They barely earn their living, although they work from daybreak to ten or eleven at night, and in some establishments even till midnight--from fifteen to eighteen hours a day! There are no night shifts and rare holidays on occasional festivals. The hygienic and moral conditions are about as bad as can be. It is estimated that one half of the girls are ruined before the close of their apprenticeship. Our Home is now deliberately attacking the new problem, which in many respects is more difficult than was the old one. We have put up two small buildings on our own grounds, enabling us to have thirty looms to give opportunity for work to thirty girls. The uniform quality of the cloth produced by our girls, the central portions of each piece equaling the ends in quality, shows unflagging moral attention, without effort to rush the work and stint the material; this has already won such approval from merchants that the "Sympathy Home" brand can be sold for a little more than other brands, and Mr. Omoto is assured that there is no limit to the amount which could be marketed. An owner of several weaving establishments has become so impressed with the quality of the work and the character developed in our girls that he asked Mr. Omoto if he would not take charge of a hundred of his weaving girls. This new departure is especially promising, for we have complete supervision of the girls throughout the entire twenty-four hours. The girls, moreover, are already remaining in our Home as a rule much longer than they used to when getting work in the spinning factory. As successive chapters of this book have shown, no more urgent problem faces New Japan than that of the moral development of her workers. This is particularly true of the hundreds of thousands of girls in the larger and smaller factories and industrial establishments. The wretched physical, economic, social, and moral conditions under which the majority of these girls lived and worked at the time when our Home was started are not easily described. Many of the factory authorities[12] are neither ignorant nor unmindful of the situation, and are striving to remedy it. The government also has enacted laws not a few. But laws and official actions alone provide no adequate solution of the serious problems raised by the extraordinary industrial and social transformations sweeping over Japan. A new spirit must be evoked, both on the part of capital and labor, and new moral ideals and relations established. This cannot be done by laws alone. Only love and contagious personal example are sufficient for the needs. [12] It is not to be inferred from the statements in this book that the political leaders and the organizers of industrial Japan have been dependent on our Home for ideas and ideals in regard to the problems raised by modern industry. Many of those leaders are men of cosmopolitan education and are well versed in the best and most recent of literature of the West on these matters. It is true, however, that our Home has been an important concrete experiment affording in Japan valuable suggestions and stimulus. Our Home was designed to meet just such a situation and has to a remarkable degree, we think, succeeded. It has provided not only sufficient fresh air, nourishing food, adequate bedding, clean rooms, and wholesome recreation, but also moral and religious instruction, and some education. The girls in our Home have enjoyed conspicuously better health and have done better work and earned and sent to their parents more money than those of the other boarding-houses of Matsuyama. But better than these have been the educational, moral, and religious results. Their womanhood has been raised. They have been better fitted for life's duties and for motherhood than they would have been without the training which has been given them. Moreover, the results of the Home have been such as to break down opposition. The good-will and cooperation of the factory officials were won. Factories in other parts of the country also have recognized our Home as presenting a splendid ideal which, in a measure, many of them are already following. The local and the central governments, as already shown, have repeatedly sent officials to inspect us, and in their reports have not only praised us, but have described our Home in detail, saying that we have solved the difficult problem of how to care for factory hands. Through the Home we are reaching the lowest strata of the working classes of Japan, and are providing them with ideals, motives, and education, and in a way, too, which does not tend to pauperize them, for each girl pays as board a sum sufficient to cover actual living expenses. It is also exerting an influence on the townsfolk. The attitude of the people toward Christianity has undergone a marked change. Villages in the interior likewise have altered their attitude on seeing how their daughters, graduates of our Home, have improved both in intelligence and character, in marked contrast to those who have been in other boarding-houses. All in all, Mr. Omoto has attained remarkable success. He is absorbed, heart and soul, in his work of bettering the moral and religious conditions of the working girls of Japan, and is a man continuously growing in spiritual life, Christian character, and knowledge of men. I have never known a man more thoroughly converted or more enthusiastic in his chosen field of work. The Omoto of to-day is a different person from the reformed debauchee of thirteen years ago, who began this service for factory girls as the outcome of his sincere question, "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?" His family have become possessed with the idea of social service, and his five children are being brought up in this atmosphere and in the fear of the Lord. Thus has the Matsuyama Working Girls' Home survived many threatening vicissitudes, attained conspicuous successes, and is now embarked on a new line of endeavor. May it exceed in the future its successes of the past and make still more substantial contributions to the uplift of the working women of Japan! * * * * * * Transcriber's note: Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). Text in small capitals was replaced with ALL UPPER CASE. The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs and so that they are next the text they illustrate. Thus the page number of the illustration might not match the page number in the List of Illustrations. Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected except for the following: On page 111, the book mentions "among the forty-eight prefectures of the Japanese empire", but there were forty-seven prefectures since 1888. 
36822	----	produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive.) Japan and The California Problem By T. Iyenaga, Ph.D. Professorial Lecturer in the Department of Political Science, University of Chicago and Kenoske Sato, M.A. Formerly Fellow in the University of Chicago G. P. Putnam's Sons New York and London The Knickerbocker Press 1921 Copyright, 1921 by G. P. Putnam's Sons _Printed in the United States of America_ CONTENTS PAGE CHAPTER I INTRODUCTORY 3 CHAPTER II JAPANESE TRAITS AND PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE 9 Emotional Nature--Æsthetic Temperament--Group Consciousness-- Adaptable Disposition--Spirit of Proletarian Chivalry-- Philosophy of Life--New Turn in Thought. CHAPTER III JAPAN'S ASIATIC POLICY 33 Korean Situation--Policy of Self-Preservation--Shantung Settlement--Coöperation with China--Understanding with America--Japan's Proper Sphere of Activity. CHAPTER IV BACKGROUND OF JAPANESE EMIGRATION 50 Causes of Emigration and Immigration--Japan's Land Area-- Agriculture--Population--Industry--Social Factors. CHAPTER V ATTEMPTS AT EMIGRATION: RESULTS 64 Australia--Canada--South America--The United States--Results. CHAPTER VI CAUSES OF ANTI-JAPANESE AGITATION 75 Modern Civilization--Various Attitudes Towards Japanese-- Psychological Nature of the Cause--Chinese Agitation Inherited--Local Polities--"Yellow Peril"--Propaganda-- Racial Difference--Japanese Nationality--Modern Nationalism-- Congestion in California--Fear and Envy Incited by Japanese Progress--Summary. CHAPTER VII FACTS ABOUT THE JAPANESE IN CALIFORNIA--POPULATION AND BIRTH RATE 90 Number of Japanese in California--Immigration--"Gentlemen's Agreement"--Smuggling--Birth Rate--What we May Expect in the Future. CHAPTER VIII FACTS ABOUT THE JAPANESE IN CALIFORNIA--FARMERS AND ALIEN LAND LAWS 120 History of Japanese Agriculture in California--Causes of Progress--Japanese Farm Labor--Japanese Farmers--Anti-Alien Land Laws--Land Laws of Japan--Effect of the Initiative Bill. CHAPTER IX ASSIMILATION 148 Nationalism and Assimilation--Meaning of "Assimilation"-- Biological Assimilation--Is Assimilation without Intermarriage Possible?--Cultural Assimilation--Assimilability of Japanese Immigrants--Native-Born Japanese. CHAPTER X GENERAL CONCLUSION 178 APPENDIXES APPENDIX A 198 Charts on Comparative Height and Weight of American, Japanese-American, and Japanese Children. APPENDIX B 201 Extracts from the Treaty of Commerce and Navigation and Protocol between Japan and the United States of America, of February 21, 1911. APPENDIX C 204 California's Alien Land Law, Approved May 19, 1913. APPENDIX D 207 Alien Land Law, Adopted November 2, 1920. APPENDIX E 216 Crops Raised by Japanese and their Acreage. APPENDIX F 217 Japanese Immigration to the United States. APPENDIX G 218 Japanese Admitted into Continental United States; Arrivals and Departures. APPENDIX H 218 Immigrants and Non-Immigrants. APPENDIX I 219 Distribution of Japanese and Chinese Population in the United States. APPENDIX J 220 Distribution of Japanese in the United States, According to the Consular Division, as Reported by Foreign Department, Japan. APPENDIX K 221 An Abstract of Expatriation Law of Japan. APPENDIX L 223 A Minute of Hearing at Seattle, Washington, before the House Sub-Committee on Immigration and Naturalization. APPENDIX M 230 Comparative Standing of Intelligence and Behavior of American-born Japanese Children and American Children Discussed by Several Principals of Elementary Schools of Los Angeles, California. LITERATURE ON THE SUBJECT 238 INDEX 247 Japan and the California Problem Japan and The California Problem CHAPTER I INTRODUCTORY When, during the middle years of the last century, thousands of stalwart pioneers moved westward to California in quest of gold, they had no idea whatsoever of the part of destiny they were playing. When, synchronously with that movement, Commodore Perry crossed the Pacific and forced open the doors of Japan with the prime object of securing safe anchorage, water, and provisions for the daring American schooners then busily engaged in trade with China, he never dreamed of the tremendous result which he was thereby bringing about. What those men were doing unconsciously was nothing short of preparing the way for contact and ultimate harmonious progress of two great branches of mankind and civilization which originally sprang from a common root, but which in the course of thousands of years of independent development have come to possess strikingly different characteristics. Culture is aggressive and masculine; it craves conquest and vaunts victory. Once let loose in the open field of the Pacific, the East and West are now involved in a mighty tournament, the outcome of which is yet beyond mortal imagination. The most we can hope for is the speedy realization of Kipling's vision: But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth, When two strong men stand face to face, Though they come from the ends of the earth. The Oriental problems in California, originating as they did in the conflict of local, economic, and political interests, have in recent years come to assume more and more the character of cultural and racial questions. The forms and motives of the movement for the exclusion of the Orientals are vastly diverse, often counteracting and contradictory, but deep in the bottom of the whirl there lies the fundamental question of race and civilization. To say the least, the present unrest in California with reference to the Japanese problem is the intensified, miniature form of the general struggle in which East and West are now being involved. Says Governor Stephens of California in his letter to Secretary of State Colby: California stands as an outpost on the western edge of Occidental civilization. Her people are the sons or the followers of the Argonauts who wended their way westward ... and here, without themselves recognizing it at the time, they took the farthest westward step that the white men can take. From our shores roll the waters of the Pacific. From our coast the mind's eye takes its gaze and sees on the other shores of that great ocean the teeming millions of the Orient, with its institutions running their roots into the most venerable antiquity, its own inherited philosophy and standards of life, its own peculiar races and colors. This being the case, the magnitude of the Japanese problem in California can hardly be exaggerated. Enveloped in a state under the guise of local conflict, the problem is, nevertheless, a gigantic one, involving vital questions of world destiny. Shall the races of Asia and Europe, brought together by the progress of science, be once more strictly separated? Cannot different races, while remaining biologically distinct, form together the strong factors of a unified nation? Should white races organize in defense of themselves against "the rising tide of color" and invoke race war of an unprecedented scale and consequence? Is it not possible to arrive at some principle by which the contact of white and yellow races may be rendered a source of human happiness instead of being a cause for all the evil consequences imaginable? These are some of the questions which are contained in the Asiatic problem in California. Already a considerable quantity of literature has appeared which sounds an extremely pessimistic forecast of the future of Eurasiatic relationship. Some writers erroneously divide mankind into so many races by the color of the skin, as if each were a pure, homogeneous race, and they indulge in the risky speculation of "inevitable" race war between the white race, which hitherto held supremacy, and the yellow race, which is now attaining a position of serious rivalry. Others urge the imperative need of organizing the white nations into a supernational state in order to enable them to weather the threatened attacks from the yellow races. All these arguments are based on the presumption that the Asiatic races wherever they go--in Australia, Canada, or America--create conflict with the Aryan race. The fallacy of such arguments lies in envisaging the large problem of East and West from its partial expression. The anti-Asiatic movement in the new world is certainly a significant problem, but it is only an incidental and local phenomenon of the great process under way of cultural unification. That the California problem is not all that is involved in the relationship of Asia and America can readily be seen by the incessant increase, in spite of it, of close coöperation between them. In science, in art, in religion, in ideals, in industry, and commerce, and, last but not least, in sentiment, the peoples of these continents find themselves ever more closely bound together, learning to appreciate the inestimable value thereby created, and fast widening the scope of their group consciousness so as to embrace all mankind, thus concretely vindicating the futility of the idle speculation of race war based on the mere difference of skin pigmentation. If the error of race-war theory arises from absorption in parts, overlooking their relations with the whole--from magnifying out of proportion the local racial conflict to the extent of eclipsing the value and significance of vastly more important relations--it behooves us to avoid such grievous mistakes and to view the situation in a broader perspective. Indeed, the key to the understanding and the solution of the difficulty of the Pacific Coast is in viewing it in the light of friendship and coöperation between America and Japan. Then, and only then, does it become clear how important it is to approach the problem with prudence and foresight, and to endeavor to solve it in a spirit of fairness and justice. It then becomes plain, in the face of the vastly important tasks involved in wisely conducting the relationship of Orient and Occident, how foolish and cowardly it is to assume a negative attitude of fear and withdrawal from the natural circumstance which time has brought about. Whether one likes it or not, the world is already made one, and any human attempt to divide it into air-tight compartments is hopeless. We are bound to have yet closer contacts among all races and nations. The way to a satisfactory solution of the California problem clearly lies in a closer and more intimate association--in a word, better mutual understanding between Orientals and Occidentals. Let us then honestly seek to comprehend the heart of the difficulty and frankly discuss the question, untrammeled by any bias, prepossessions, or fear; with eyes steadily fixed on the larger aspects of the problem; eager to arrive at some constructive principles of solution satisfactory to all concerned. CHAPTER II JAPANESE TRAITS AND PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE The national traits of different peoples are, like our faces, similar in rough outline but infinitely different in the finer details. The people of Japan are in the larger characteristics not different from any other people; they are part of the aggregate of human beings and they possess all the instincts and desires which are common to humanity. But, as distinguished from other peoples, they display certain individual characteristics which are the product of a unique environment and history. Emotional Nature. Perhaps the most prominent characteristic of the Japanese is their excitable, emotional nature, which among the ignorant is often expressed in turbulent and irascible action, and which among the refined takes the form of a fine sentimentality and temperamental delicacy. This is rather the direct opposite of the American disposition, which is stable, blunt and big, hearty and generous. Such difference is greatly responsible for mutual misunderstandings, such as the Japanese charge that the American is discourteous and inconsiderate, and the American impression that the Japanese is dissimulating, not to say tricky. The emotional temper of the Japanese has played a large rôle in their history and constitutes a conspicuous factor in their national life. If the history of the Anglo-Saxons is primarily a story of competition and struggle for the control of power and the pursuit of material interests, that of the Japanese is a drama of sentimental entanglement largely removed from material issues. Without due regard to the rôle played by emotion, the history of the Japanese people is wholly incomprehensible. What, for instance, incited Hideyoshi to invade Korea in 1592? What made the Japanese accept so readily the teachings of the Jesuit Fathers during the latter half of the sixteenth century? What more recently induced Japan to insist at the Paris Conference on recognition of racial equality by the League of Nations? If the emotionalism of the race has been deeply influential in the historic drama, it has been no less persuasive in the political and social life of the present-day Japan. Compare the Constitutions of America and Japan. If the outstanding features of the American Constitution are the safeguarding of the interests and rights of the individual, the states, and the nation, those of the Japanese Constitution are the expressions of the people's anxiety to recognize and perpetuate their beloved head, the Emperor, as the great, the divine ruler of their ideals. Although the onslaught of materialism has wrought some changes in recent years, there yet remains the ineradicable proof of Japanese emotionalism in the realm of marriage and love, where all earthly considerations are forgotten, if not tabooed, and in the realms of family and of society, where the relations between parents and children, and between friends and neighbors, are conducted with an assured sense of devotion, love, and good will. The same tendency is to be recognized in almost all Japanese institutions, educational, military, and political, while it is particularly true in the realm of æsthetics, including, art, literature, and music--a realm that is ruled by sentiment. In the common daily life of the Japanese their emotionalism expresses itself in almost infinitely diverse ways. Their peculiarly strong sense of pride and dignity, individual, family, and national, a sense for which the Japanese will make any sacrifice, comes from their highly-strung nervous system. Their keen sense of pride gives rise to another marked Japanese peculiarity--an excessive susceptibility to the opinions and feelings of their fellow men. Social ostracism to the Japanese is a punishment which is often more unbearable than the death penalty. The peculiarly high rate of suicides in Japan is explained by statisticians as being largely due to some mistake or sin for which the offender would rather die than be chastised by society. The cold-blooded _hara kiri_ was an institution by which the Samurai could sustain his honor or save his face when involved in disgrace. High-spirited temper, suppressed by ethical teachings, social conventions, and rigorous discipline, results in a singular contrast between external physical expressions and internal feelings. The placid faces, reserved manners, and reticence are but masks of the intense, burning spirit, whose spontaneous expression has been inhibited by centuries of stoic training. It is most unfortunate that this virtue in the Oriental sense has frequently been a cause of misunderstanding, making the Japanese appear dissimulating, and, therefore, untrustworthy. But at heart the Japanese are neither as inscrutable or deceitful as some believe, nor are they as intriguing or profound as these terms would imply. They are kind and sympathetic, easily moved by the attitude of others, quite simple-minded and honest, lacking tenacity, audacity, iron will, or cold deliberation. In these respects, as in many others, the Japanese possess some of the weaker traits of the South European peoples. They have proved heretofore not a great people, but a little people "who are great in little things and little in great things." The simple explanation of Japanese sentimentalism may be found in one of the original race stocks which migrated from southern islands of tropical climate, where emotion rather than will guides the conduct of the people. The topographical and climatic conditions of Japan have also had their influence, and these, with the numerous volcanic eruptions, frequent earthquakes, and recurrent typhoons, have given the people the disposition of restlessness and excitement. Perhaps also the social system of the Middle Ages, which was unduly autocratic and despotic, irritated the lower classes, driving them to turbulent and "peppery" conduct. Æsthetic Temperament. The next characteristic of the Islander is one which is closely related to the preceding trait. It is artistic temperament. Some scholars of archæology attempted to trace this characteristic to the original settlers of the empire, but the resultant opinions are so diverse as to deny scientific validity. Some of them maintain that the Ainu, the earliest known settlers in Japan, a now dwindling race living in the northern island called Hokkaido, were originally a very artistic people, contributing much to the æsthetic temperament of the Japanese. There are other scholars who insist that the Yamato race, and not the Ainu, was the most artistic, while there are still others who uphold the view that it was the vast horde of migrators coming from Korea, Tartary, and China who brought with them the love of beauty. But these are speculations of prehistorical conditions which are largely hidden from us by the veil of mythology. What we can be sure of is that the influence on the people of the exceptionally beautiful natural surroundings reflected itself in their artistic genius. Encouragement of art and literature and of artistic productions generally through the patronage of aristocrats, who enjoyed from the earlier ages leisure and wealth, has also had much to do in making the Japanese artistic. What influence has this æsthetic temperament exerted on the life of the Japanese? In the first place, it has rendered Japanese civilization markedly feminine. This is shown by the fact that the creative efforts of the people were mainly directed to personal and home decoration and to literary and artistic pursuits, instead of to masculine efforts to fight and conquer the forces of nature, from which alone the sciences are born. Particularly noticeable was the almost total absence of science in Japan, in striking contrast to the remarkable wealth of art at the time, some half a century ago, when the country began a critical introspection of itself in comparison with other nations. In the second place, it had the effect of making the people inclined to underestimate the value of material things and to exaggerate the glory of the spiritual aspects of life. This is most clearly seen in the teachings of Bushido,[1] which laid strong emphasis on the baseness of the conduct that has for its motive pecuniary or material interests, and which taught the subordination of the body to the soul as the most essential virtue of the Samurai. The traditional custom of sacrificing the material side of a question for the satisfaction and upholding of the emotional side still survives in present Japan, and constitutes one of the marked characteristics of the Japanese. His strong inclination towards imagination, meditation, and religious belief is too well known a fact to require more than a mention here. It seems true that people gifted æsthetically are more apt to turn hedonistic. While it remains doubtful whether the Japanese are more immoral than other peoples, as is so frequently charged, it is quite true that they take more delight in a leisurely comfort of living, going to picnics, attending theaters, calling upon friends, and holding various ceremonies and feasts. Generally speaking, although not given to excesses, they show no puritanic disposition about drink and are lavish spenders for luxuries. In the tea houses and other places of social amusement they spend money often beyond the reasonable proportion of their income. They are not a thrifty people. Group Consciousness. Next to the artistic disposition must be mentioned their strong group consciousness. It is true that all people have a certain degree of group consciousness which emerges out of the facts of common biological and cultural heritage and experience. But in the case of the Japanese this group spirit is markedly strong, expressing itself in loyalty and patriotism. Most strangely, the spirit of _Yamato_, or the Japanese group spirit, has had its source more than anywhere else in primitive myths. Two ancient books of mythology, _Kojiki_ and _Nihongi_, record the story of the Japanese ancestors who were originally born of the gods of heaven and earth, and who settled in Japan and established there through their brave deeds the majesty of the Empire of Nippon. From these ancestors sprang the people of Japan. This myth is faithfully believed by the Japanese, and the people worship at the shrines where the spirits of their heroic ancestors are supposed still to reside and guard the country. So strong is this belief in myth even to-day that, in spite of the anthropological discovery that the original settlers of the island were of diverse races and possessed no advanced culture, the people still cling to the idea that the Japanese are a pure and glorious race, having sprung from one line of ancestors which was divine and which is now represented by its direct descendant, the Emperor. In addition to mythology, what bound the Japanese so close together was the natural environment and the lack of cosmopolitan associations. Marooned as they were on little islands, the mutual association and intermarriage of people took place freely, and in the course of time established a substantially complete homogeneity of the population. The internal unity was further strengthened by the policy of national seclusion, which gave the common people the idea that Japan was the only universe and that the Japanese were the only people on earth. In modern times, the group spirit or patriotism has been skillfully encouraged and enkindled by utilizing the national experience of the wars with China and Russia, and by a system of education which aimed to impress on the minds of children the glory of their people and history, the absolute duty of being loyal to the Emperor, and the hostile tendency of foreign countries toward their own. What the people gain by narrow patriotism in the maintenance of national integrity they lose in their failure to take a broad view of things. This stubbornly obstructs the Japanese in their efforts to view their country in its proper relation to other countries; it hinders them from being "Romans when in Rome"; it makes the idea of following the example of England, the policy of loose national expansion, wholly unthinkable--Japanese colonies must be exclusively Japanese. The chief cause of the failure of Japanese colonization and emigration must be attributed to the strong consciousness of the Yamato Minzoku (Yamato race). This has made the Japanese noticeably narrow-minded, quite awkward in their relations with different peoples, and more or less given to race prejudice. The reputation of the Japanese as poor mixers is well known. Their strong race prejudice has been exemplified by their attitude toward the Chinese, Koreans, and the outcast class of their fellow countrymen, called _Eta_, which has been nothing short of prejudicial discrimination. In spite of the desperate efforts of the militarists and bureaucrats to conserve narrow patriotism and racial pride, it has been found increasingly difficult to do so, since the facts and thoughts of the West became accessible to the people. When the marvelous scientific achievements of the Occidental peoples, their advanced political and social systems, their profound philosophies of life and of the universe, together with their superior physique and formidable armament, were appreciated, it became all too apparent, even to the most conceited mind, that the culture and racial stock, in which the Japanese had taken so much pride, were sadly inferior, and that years of hard toil would be necessary before they could be the equals of the Occidentals. The pathetic cry of Japan for recognition of racial equality by the League of Nations is a reluctant admission of this fact. The outcome of this disillusionment has been the appearance of three currents of thought with reference to the national policy. One is the ultra Occidentalism which sees nothing good in their own country and people, and hence is extremely merciless and outspoken in denunciation of things Japanese, but which admires even to the point of worship almost everything that is European and American. To this school belong many younger radicals who are more or less socialistically inclined and who would like to see Japan converted into a republic or a Bolshevik communism. Categorically opposed to this thought is another school, which its adherents call "Japanism." This school sees nothing new or worth while in things Occidental, and advocates, after the reasoning of Rousseau, a return to natural Japan. Between these two extremes stand the majority of sane intellectuals, who clearly perceive both the limitations and the strength of Japan, and endeavor to benefit through learning and assimilating the valuable experience of advanced nations. Adaptable Disposition. Another notable feature of the Japanese is their meager endowment of originality and, conversely, their marked aptitude for adaptability. A glance at the outline of Japanese history shows how much the Japanese borrowed from other peoples in almost all phases of civilization and how little they themselves have created. Indeed, there is hardly anything which belongs to Japan that cannot be traced originally to the earnest creative effort of other peoples. The same may be said of modern peoples, who, with the exception of scientific inventions, have mainly derived their culture from the Greeks and Romans. Whatever difference the future may witness, the Japanese thus far have been borrowers and receivers of other races' accomplishments. Perhaps this is the cause of the rapid development of the Japanese, who have succeeded in imitating and assimilating the strong points of nations in succession from the lower to the top of the hierarchy--from Korea, China, India, to Europe. When the process reaches the top of the ladder, let us hope that Nippon will start for the first time real creative work. Spirit of Proletarian Chivalry. The discussion of Japanese traits would be very incomplete if we omitted one outstanding idiosyncrasy that has not yet been mentioned. So peculiar is this trait to the Japanese that there is no adequate word to designate it in other languages. The Japanese express it by such words as _kikotsu_, _otokodate_, and _gikyoshin_. The nearest English equivalents for these terms would be heroism and chivalry. It is a mixed sentiment of rebellion against bully power, sympathy for the helpless, and willingness to sacrifice self for the sake of those who have done kind acts. This admirable sentiment must be strictly distinguished from the spirit of Bushido, because it has arisen among the plebeians in place of Bushido, which was the way of the Samurai or aristocrats, although it may have been, as some scholars claim, the source of inspiration for the growth of proletarian chivalry. Bushido has found an able propounder in Dr. Nitobé. Under the Tokugawa régime the Samurai was the flower and the rest were nothing. The Samurai often abused their privilege and oppressed the common people not a little, disregarding their rights and personality. Then a class of plebeians appeared who called themselves "men of men," and who made it their profession to defy the bullying Samurai and to defend the oppressed people. It was the virtue of this class always to help the weak and crush the strong, and to be ready to lay down their lives at any moment. The story of Sakura Sogoro, who fell a martyr to the cause of oppressed peasants, has become a classic. Thus originating in defiance of despotism, the spirit of proletarian chivalry permeated among the lower classes of people, and to this day it forms the bulwark of the rights and freedom of the common people. Refined and enriched by the embodiment in it of enlightened knowledge and ideals, the sentiment came to be on one side a keen appreciation of kindness and sympathy, and on the other a strong hatred of oppression and injustice. The present proletarian movement in Japan, a movement which is destined presently to become a mighty social force, owes its source and guidance to "the ways of the common people." If Dr. Nitobé is right in predicting that Bushido, "the way of the Samurai," will eventually enjoy the glory of "blessing mankind with the perfume with which it will enrich life," we may reasonably hope that proletarian chivalry will succeed in bringing about general freedom and democracy in Nippon, in defiance of military and imperialistic domination. The understanding of this trait of the common people of Japan goes far to explain what has puzzled those Americans who wonder why the Japanese immigrants in this country are so unsubmissive and rebellious. In his letter to the Legislature of Nevada, the late Senator Newlands stated: "The presence of the Chinese, who are patient and submissive, would not create as many complications as the presence of Japanese, whose strong and virile qualities would constitute additional factors of difficulty." Governor Stephens of California, too, observes in his letter to the Secretary of State: "The Japanese, be it said to their credit, are not a servile or docile stock." Acquired by centuries of opposition to arbitrary power, the trait has become almost instinctive, and expresses itself even under democracy whenever they think they are unjustly treated. In discussing the features of Japanese character thus far, we have taken care to state the known causes which gave rise to each trait. This has been done with a view to preparing ourselves to answer the question; To what extent are these characteristics of the Japanese inherent in the race and to what extent acquired? The answer which the foregoing discussion suggests is that they are both inherent and acquired, biological and social. While racial stock is responsible to an extent, other factors, such as natural environment and social conditions, have helped to develop the characteristics of the Japanese. Perhaps the best criterion by which we can determine the relative strength of heredity and environment in this case is to observe how and in what respects the Japanese, born and reared in other countries, undergo transformation in their mentality and characteristics. We shall touch on this point again later when we discuss the characteristics of the American-born Japanese children. Philosophy of Life. It is but natural that the philosophy of a nation developed from the life and experience of people should be deeply colored by their temperament. After having discussed the essential features of the Japanese disposition, it may be easy to anticipate the character of philosophy which rests on it. We shall now consider the outstanding features of Japanese thought, with a view to interpreting and evaluating the spiritual side of Japan's civilization. True to the characteristics of the Japanese, who lack initiative, the thought of the people also manifests a marked absence of originality. Until, in the early part of the sixth century, Buddhism and Confucianism came into the country, the Japanese seem to have had no system of religion or philosophy save fetichism and mythology. The advent of new doctrines of ethics and religion caused a rapid transformation of the life and ideas of the people, elevating them by one stroke from barbarian obscurity to civilized enlightenment. From this time on a childish admiration of mythological characters and stories began to be superseded by an earnest effort for the perfection of the individual character and the realization of social ideals; and crude superstitions were gradually replaced by the profound teachings of Gautama. Out of the religious zeal were developed admirable art and literature, and from the moral effort were born elaborate ethical codes, social order, and social etiquette. Thus, with raw materials imported, the Japanese worked diligently and carefully to turn out finished products well adapted to their tastes and needs. If the Japanese were people endowed with great originality, they would surely have given evidence of it during nearly three hundred years of national seclusion (1570-1868), when almost all conditions requisite for a creative impulse were present, including peace, prosperity, need, and encouragement. In fact, however, the people were interested and absorbed in stamping out the feeble hold of Christian influence, in assimilating the teachings of Wang Yang Ming, and in recasting the doctrines of Confucius and Buddha. When the flood gates of Japan were thrown open and the tides of Occidental learning swept in, the Japanese were almost overwhelmed, and found themselves too busy in coping with them to think of the original contribution. Lack of ability to start new things is generally compensated by the capacity to borrow new things. In the point of borrowing new ideas and then working these to suit their own tastes, the Japanese are probably second to no nation on earth. Japan first borrowed Confucianism and Buddhism, and within a short time remodeled them in ways peculiar to her, rendering their identity with the original almost unrecognizable. Thus the stoic, pessimistic character of Buddhism was greatly modified, becoming more or less epicurean and optimistic in the hands of the Japanese. The casuistic, practical, individualistic ethics of Confucius were radically changed to general principles of ideal conduct, with the addition of æsthetic elements, and a strong emphasis laid on group loyalty rather than on filial piety. It is to this ability of the Japanese to assimilate new thought and new belief that the unexpected success of early Catholic propaganda was chiefly due. To this capacity of assimilation is also due the origin of Bushido, which is essentially an eclectic of Confucian, Taoist, and Buddhist doctrines. The later-day Shintoism, the so-called cult of ancestor worship, is also a product of the skillful combination of native mythology, Taoism, and Confucianism, with an infusion of certain of the Buddhist doctrines. That the present Japanese civilization is largely a product of assimilation by native genius of American, French, German, and English ideas and institutions is an established fact. It may be that therein lies the hope, as many Japanese thinkers cherish, of making Japan a modern Alexandria, where centuries of human achievements in Asia and Europe may be harmoniously woven together for the realization of a more perfect fabric of civilization. In literature it is asserted that the creative period is uncritical and the critical period is barren. It seems that the critical tendency is the antithesis of creative effort. This applies to the Japanese, who do not create but who are keenly critical. Instinctively bent on absorbing new ideas, they immediately react to any new schools of thought--turning from Eucken to Bergson, again to Russell, now to Einstein--but they soon begin to analyze their doctrines and to find fault and fallacy here and there, and, finally, are ready to depreciate them wholesale. In so doing, of course, they assimilate some of the good points involved in various systems. The chief obstacle which Christianity, as interpreted by healthy-minded missionaries, encounters in Nippon is the sceptical temper of the Japanese intellectuals. A strong appeal to emotionalism and to the sense of beauty rather than to cold reason and unpleasant realities is another common characteristic of Japanese philosophy. The Japanese have always taken pride in expressing great truths in a short verse form called _Uta_, with choice words and exquisite phrases. Until the advent of European learning, poetry and philosophy were never clearly distinguished in Japan. Love of emotionalism naturally leads Japanese thought to humanism rather than to metaphysical speculation. From this it may be thought that English positivism would find great vogue in Japan. In fact, the influence of Adam Smith, Bentham, Mill, Malthus, and others was a considerable factor in shaping modern Japanese thought. But at bottom the Japanese are not utilitarians. They are by temper idealists. The magical power by which German idealism as propounded by Kant, Hegel, and Fichte, and more recently by Lotze and Eucken, controls the Japanese mind is astounding. Nearly all the prominent philosophers of the Meiji era may be classed under some branch of German idealism. The fact that of American thinkers Emerson is more widely read than any other, and that Royce is more popular than James, is no accident. If pragmatism appeals to the Japanese mind, it is not in the logical form of Professor Dewey but rather in the æsthetic presentation of Santayana. New Turn in Thought. Recently, however, or more particularly since the war, the trend of Japanese thought has began to follow a somewhat different path. Industrial revolution, which has been rapidly advancing during the past twenty years, reached its culmination during the war, when various forces accidently combined in bringing about universal recognition of the need for radical social reorganization. Capitalism, which had in the course of time grown to be a gigantic power, proved unable to adapt itself to the changing conditions of the day, and it thus obstructed the onward march of liberalism and democracy. Labor, however, shook off the dust of long humiliation, and began with united front to demand recognition of its rights and of humanity. The struggle naturally forced the attention of the people to the actual condition of society, where the poor majority are sadly left in destitution, where sins and crime are sapping the very vitality of the people, where the rich are abusing their fortunes for deplorable ends. Then came the European downfall of autocracy and the triumph (at least for a short time) of democracy. Liberty, equality, and fraternity became once more the slogan of the time. All these forces united and started a reform movement, upsetting to a certain degree the age-long social system of Nippon. The three years of confusion did a lasting good. The German systems of government, diplomacy, education, military affairs, and philosophy, to which the Japanese had hitherto adhered too blindly, were, one after another, filtrated and purified, thereby removing much of the scum that was in them. It is, of course, impossible for hardened militarists and bureaucrats to get rid of the beliefs in which they were born and brought up and which have become endeared; but the old generations are gradually dying off, carrying with them to the grave the skeleton of systems which are now dead. In open rebellion against these falling autocrats there arose a great number of brilliant young people, bred and trained in the new school of liberty and democracy, with courage and foresight to complete the second Restoration--that of the rights of humanity belonging to the common masses. Already the status of the working classes is greatly improved through a persistent, costly struggle against the misused power of capital; wages have been increased, hours shortened, and, in the near future, we may expect the triumph of industrial democracy, a triumph which will secure for labor the deserved right of industrial copartnership. Already the status of the women has been greatly improved by their emancipation from the traditional and social bondage under which they suffered so long. Political rights have been greatly enlarged, and universal manhood suffrage is now within view. The educational system, too, has just been revised, rendering its spirit a great deal more liberal than ever before. In this way, though the road is yet long and uncertain, true liberalism in Nippon at last stands firmly on its ground, ready to march towards its ordained goal. Such a great social innovation is but a concrete expression of changes that are taking place in the underlying currents of thought. It indicates the breaking up of classic systems of moral and political philosophy, which by dint of age-long prestige had never ceased to exercise a strong influence upon the minds of the people. It discloses the bankruptcy of that German idealism which so precisely fitted in with the _à priori_, passive, spiritual temper of the people but which proved hopeless in the face of vital problems of life and society. It means the exposure of the inadequacy of English utilitarianism, with its over-emphasis on individualism, to help the people effectually to solve many difficulties of society. The changes now taking place in Japanese thought imply the failure of those philosophies which belittle the value of the material, slight the position of mankind in the universe and fail to satisfy man's inherent craving for ceaseless progress. The new direction of Japanese thought is decidedly towards pragmatic humanism at its best, with due emphasis on the importance of the practical and social phases of life, enriched with the spirit of a sentimental delicacy and an æsthetic proclivity singularly characteristic of the people. CHAPTER III JAPAN'S ASIATIC POLICY Colonel Theodore Roosevelt once remarked to one of the authors of this book, with his accustomed emphasis and gesture: "The United States' proper sphere is in this hemisphere; Japan's proper sphere is in Asia." With this text the great statesman was propounding an idea of deep political significance. What is suggested by the text is, of course, not that either of the two nations should resume its traditional policy of isolation or confine its activities within the specified zones, but rather it is to the effect that each should know its bounds and play the part which destiny and geography have assigned to it. In further elucidating the same idea, in his book entitled _Fear God and Take Your Own Part_, Roosevelt says: Japan's whole sea front, and her entire home maritime interest, bear on the Pacific; and of the other great nations of the earth the United States has the greatest proportion of her sea front on, and the greatest proportion of her interest in, the Pacific. But there is not the slightest real or necessary conflict of interests between Japan and the United States in the Pacific. When compared with each other, the interest of Japan is overwhelmingly Asiatic, that of the United States overwhelmingly American. Relatively to each other, one is dominant in Asia, the other in North America. Neither has any desire, nor any excuse for desiring, to acquire territory on the other's continent. President Roosevelt had a unique opportunity of making himself thoroughly conversant with the situation in the Far East without even setting foot on the soil. The Portsmouth Treaty of 1905, the "Gentlemen's Agreement" of 1907, the Root-Takahira Agreement of 1908, negotiated on behalf of America by the able Secretary of State, Elihu Root, and the American recognition of the amalgamation of Korea into the Japanese Empire in 1910, are the outstanding acts of the Roosevelt administration wherein the foregoing idea has been translated into deeds. These acts have proceeded from a thorough appreciation of the history and development of modern Japan. Nor did Colonel Roosevelt cease on his return to private life to follow closely the march of events in Asia. He wrote many articles on Far Eastern affairs which showed his remarkable grasp of the situation. No wonder, then, that the Japanese people reciprocate this generous appreciation by paying the highest respect to, and entertaining a genuine admiration for, the late American statesman. Korean Situation. Recently Japan has been made the target of attack from many quarters with reference to her Asiatic policy. The Shantung settlement, the Korean administration, and Japan's activities in East Siberia have been severely assailed by her critics. Patriotism imposes upon a citizen no obligation to condone any mistakes and wrongs which his country has committed. We deplore the gross diplomatic blunder which Japan made in 1915 in her dealings with China, which, although perfectly justifiable in the main proposals presented,[2] had the appearance of browbeating her to submission by brandishing the sword. We deplore the atrocities perpetrated in the attempt to crush the Korean uprisings. Whatever may have been the advisability of adopting drastic measures to nip the Korean revolt in the bud, a revolt which, if leniently dealt with, might have resulted in far greater sufferings of the people, it can never be proffered as a plea for the committing of inhuman deeds. Fortunately, a change of heart has come to the Mikado's Government, which, by uprooting the militaristic régime, is now resolutely introducing liberal measures and reforms in Korea. The most significant of the measures is the system of local self-government which has just been inaugurated. It creates in the provinces, municipalities, and villages of Chosen (Korea) consultative or advisory Councils whose functions are to deliberate on the finances and other matters of public importance to the respective local bodies. The members are partly elective and partly appointive. Besides these deliberative Councils, there will be established in each municipality, county, and island a School Council to discuss matters relating to education. This is the sure road to complete self-government in Chosen. The same process of evolution, which brought local autonomy and a constitutional régime to Japan proper, which took thirty years to perfect, is now being applied to the newly joined integral part of the Mikado's Empire. The step may be slow, but the goal is sure. Korea's union with Japan was consummated after the bitter experience of two sanguinary wars and the mature deliberation of the best minds of the two peoples. Its revocation is out of the question, unless it is demanded in the future for most cogent reasons. The privilege of taking a hand in the government of the empire, however, should be extended as speedily as possible to its subjects in the peninsula. Policy of Self-Preservation. Many as are the pitfalls into which Japan has fallen in pursuance of her Asiatic policy, it may confidently be asserted that the road she has trodden has, on the whole, been straight. She can face with a clean conscience the verdict of history. When Far Eastern history, from the China-Japan War to the conclusion of the Versailles Treaty, is carefully examined and rightly understood, it will be conceded that the course which Japan has adopted, so far as its general principles are concerned, is the one which any nation of self-respect and right motive would pursue. Fundamentally Japan's Asiatic policy is the policy of self-preservation, the policy of defense, and never of aggression. The Anglo-Japanese Alliance, which was and still remains the cornerstone of Japan's Asiatic policy, was formed for purely defensive purposes, in order to maintain peace in Asia and safeguard mutual interests vested therein of the two Powers. Only the "inexorable march of events" has brought Japan into Korea, Manchuria, and East Siberia. None of the statesmen who took part in the Meiji Restoration could ever have dreamed that their country would in the course of time be driven through sheer force of circumstances to plant its flag on the Asiatic mainland. It was solely in self-defense that Japan took up arms against China and Russia. Once enmeshed in continental politics, however, it became imperative for her to take such measures as would ensure and consolidate the position and gains that were won through enormous sacrifice of blood and treasure. Herein, in short, is the genesis of Japan's present status in Korea and Manchuria. Even at the present time, the heavy arming of Japan is a case of necessity, so long as the Far East remains in such an unstable condition as exists there to-day, and is not free from the menace of the Bolsheviki, who, professing pacifism, are not slow to emulate the military machine of Imperial Russia. Nothing could be more welcome to the Japanese people than to see the curtailment of their naval and military equipments, for the maintenance of which they have to bear the burden of crushing taxes, and to behold the day when they can, without fear of interference by force of arms, win their spurs in the Far East by engaging in the peaceful enterprises of farming, trade, and industry. Precisely as the position of Japan on the Asiatic mainland was the result of arbitrament by the sword, drawn in response to a challenge made by others, and is now upheld by the prestige of arms, her Asiatic policy, although conceived in self-defense, came to assume in the eyes of the outside world a semblance of military aggrandizement. As a consequence, Japan is looked upon as a militaristic nation, bent upon conquest. Suspicion and fear are thereby engendered. This is, to say the least, extremely unfortunate. No stone should be left unturned to smooth the sharp edges cut by this historical retrospect and to obliterate the unpleasant memories of the past. No effort would be too great for Japan to convince the world of her genuine faith that her future lies "not in territorial and military conquest, but on the water in the carrying trade and on land in her commercial and industrial expansion abroad." Her erstwhile failure to dispel the suspicion of the world about her intentions and to take it into her confidence is the root of many ills with which she has been afflicted for the past few years. Shantung Settlement. The storm of criticism we have witnessed in America about the Shantung settlement is a good illustration. Whatever part party politics in the United States may have played in raising the furor, had Japan secured the complete confidence of the American people, all the eloquence expended for the denunciation of the Shantung clause in the Versailles Treaty would surely have fallen on deaf ears. That our judgment is not wrong is sustained by the fact that the Portsmouth Treaty evoked not a word of protest in America. We need not remind our readers that the Treaty concluded through the good offices of President Roosevelt and the settlement made at Versailles are not only based upon the same principles but are exactly identical in many respects, with this most important exception--namely, that the former Treaty transferred to Japan the lease of the Kwantung territory, and she still holds it, while in the latter case she pledges herself to relinquish the leasehold of Kiaochow, thereby restoring the complete sovereignty of China over Shantung, which had been infringed upon by Germany. The Shantung settlement is, consequently, of a far greater advantage to China. What Japan secures in that province is only the same economic rights and privileges which are enjoyed by other Powers in other parts of China. There is, therefore, no justifiable ground for singling out Japan for attack with regard to the international arrangement now in vogue in China. Were the complete reconstruction of China, the re-writing of her history, to be attempted, international justice would demand that the parties interested should all share equal responsibilities and sacrifices. Discrimination against Japan alone is unjust, unfair. The would-be builders of the new heaven and the new earth can ill afford to lay the cornerstone of their edifice on such an unsafe and unlevel ground. Manifestly, the dawn of the millennium is still far away. We have to make the best of the world as it is. To ignore this fact is to make the confusion in the world worse confounded. As a result of this misapprehension of history, the Shantung question still remains in abeyance, because of China's refusal to enter into negotiations with Japan for the restoration of Kiaochow, thus delaying perfect accord between the two Oriental neighbors whom destiny has called to be on the best of terms. The foregoing interpretation of the Shantung question could not in ordinary circumstances have failed to convince the practical American people of the appropriateness of the Versailles settlement, were they not tempted to indulge suspicions of Japan and, hence, ready to be easily misled by false stories, misrepresentations, and slanders concocted by her enemies. Rather unfortunate, one is sometimes tempted to think, has been the heading of the clause in the Versailles Treaty, that has readjusted the German-China Treaty of 1898 and its sequel, and disposed of the rights and privileges Germany had secured thereby in the province of Shantung. Like "the three R's" and other catchwords that have in American history often proved so powerful in misleading the people, so this curt phrase "Shantung clause," which was seized on and skillfully utilized by Japan's critics, has been a cause of mountains of misunderstanding that have crept into the heads of the American people, who, as a rule, take neither time nor pains to examine the subject carefully and thoroughly. As a result, they imagine that the whole province of Shantung was ceded to Japan by the Peace Treaty. Great, indeed, as is this mistake, it would be extremely difficult to correct it, as the mischief has already been done, except by the actual restoration of Kiaochow. Japan cannot, of course, be held responsible for the misinterpretations of other people, but at the same time it would be well for her to spare no effort to convince China of the wisdom of entering into negotiations for the recovery of the leased territory, and, consequently, of her complete sovereignty over the province of Shantung. Until this pledge is redeemed, Japan's credit will suffer, and all her pronouncements on justice and humanity fall flat on the ears of the world. Coöperation with China. While Japan's Asiatic policy was, of course, primarily formulated to further her own interests, it has also been inspired with the laudable ambition of rendering a good record of stewardship over the people who have come within the orbit of its influence. No one who knows the work undertaken in Korea and South Manchuria will grudge a word of praise for the record. It has bestowed untold benefits on the inhabitants. Theodore Roosevelt, in reviewing the enterprise of Japan in Korea, grew enthusiastic over it. The same story is repeated in South Manchuria, where the South Manchurian Railroad Company, acting as a civilizing agent, has wrought marvels. We should like to dwell here with patriotic pride on these reforms and undertakings in some detail, were they not out of place in this book. Commendable as are these civilizing measures adopted by Japan, the fact remains that she has signally failed in one great essential, namely, in winning the good will and friendship of her neighbors. This is the weakest spot in the armor of her Asiatic policy. She is thereby jeopardizing her future. The sentiment of good will is as much a fact, though imponderable, as any other fact, and is a force of immense consequence. How vital this moral asset is to Japan can easily be gauged when we consider that in her neighboring lands are found the indispensable materials for her industrial expansion and the best market for her commerce. Japanese leaders are thoroughly aware of the importance of this moral asset, and have done all that they could to secure it. The failure to win it is partly due to the pettiness of Japanese officialdom, so bitterly complained of by Lafcadio Hearn with his fine poetical irony--the pettiness which tries to bring everything within its prescribed order and does not allow free play to the idiosyncrasies and peculiar characteristics of other peoples. No less responsible are the shortsightedness of Japanese nationals, their too great eagerness to accomplish things within a short time, their haughtiness and overbearing manners, which are decidedly offensive to their neighbors. The fault, however, is not Japan's alone. There are tremendous difficulties which confront her in the way of winning the friendship of her neighbors. The first to reckon with are their weak and unstable qualities, which have so sadly but too clearly been shown by their incapacity to organize a strong nation or to put their house in order. To deal with these neighbors is no easy task. It requires the highest statesmanship. The task is made difficult a hundredfold by the counteracting influences exerted on Japan's neighbors, as they are in the vortex of international rivalry. And not all foreigners are the friends of Japan. There is a considerable number of those who entertain, for one reason or another, a dislike of the Island Empire, and ceaselessly labor to defeat its purpose. They paint, either wittingly or unwittingly, every act of Japan so maliciously that it instills fear and hatred of her among her neighbors. Undiscriminating and unfair attacks of Japan's critics play into the hands of the jingoistic elements in the countries concerned and make the task of the liberals extremely difficult. Whatever the obstacles, however, they must be surmounted, for the future road to tread is clear. Japan's salvation, together with that of her neighbors, lies in their genuine friendship and coöperation. Understanding with America. A brief review of Japan's Asiatic policy was deemed advisable in connection with the discussion of the Japanese-California problem in order to see how Japan proposes to solve the question of human congestion at home and to meet her other urgent needs. The succeeding chapters will show what an unparalleled predicament Japan is facing. Circumscribed within a narrowly limited area, only 16 per cent. of which is fit for cultivation, and crowded with two thirds as many people as the entire population of the United States, with an annual increase at the rate of seven hundred thousand, Japan must perforce find a way whereby her people may live contentedly and develop robustly. Emigration and industrial expansion are manifestly the exits from the dilemma of slow strangulation. Emigration, however, is found a difficult exit, for the Japanese find themselves barred from the most favorably placed lands of the earth. Australia, Canada, and the United States, with their vast lands yet sparsely peopled, and their immense resources left unexploited, while welcoming every race and creed of Europe, shut their doors against the Japanese. Japan has acquiesced without much ado in the restrictive immigration measures adopted by America and by British colonies from the higher consideration of international comity. She saw that there lies at the bottom of these measures the delicate question of race difference, which requires a long period for its proper adjustment. To ignore this fact and force the race issue, however just in principle, would be to court disaster. It might result in the loss of friendship of her best associates in international affairs and of the vital interests involved in that friendship. At the same time, the "Gentlemen's Agreement" which Japan has entered into is evidence of her sincere solicitude to avoid embarrassment of her friends by the influx of an alien race. It is then but just that they reciprocate the courtesy by a sympathetic understanding of Japan's difficulties. Barred in the east and south, it is natural for Japan to strive to find room and employment for the surplus of her population in her neighboring lands--the sparsely peopled Manchuria, Mongolia, and East Siberia. Climate, cheap and efficient native labor, and the unfavorable economic conditions, however, preclude the immigration in large numbers of Japanese laborers into these regions. Only by building up large plants and inaugurating big agricultural enterprises, in coöperation with the natives, could Japan hope to transplant in these lands some portion of her skilled laborers and traders. During the stay of a decade and a half in South Manchuria, limited as it was until the conclusion of the China-Japan Treaties of 1915 to the Kwantung territory and the railway zones, Japan can count therein as colonists only a little over 150,000 of her sons and daughters.[3] The only alternative which remains and which is the most feasible proposition to absorb the energies of her crowded population is found in her commercial and industrial expansion. Here again, however, she is terribly handicapped, as we shall see in the next chapter, by the conspicuous absence and scarcity of raw materials indispensable for industrial development. Fortunately, in the territories of her neighbors--China and East Siberia--there are vast stores of these materials untouched and unused, the unfolding of which will not only meet her wants, but will equally benefit her neighbors. The supreme importance of winning their good will thereby becomes accentuated a thousandfold, for without their willing coöperation nothing can be accomplished. In the participation of the benefits accruing from the development of her neighbors' natural resources Japan need not ask for special privileges. The faithful and effective execution of the "open door" policy is all she requires. Here she stands on common ground with Occidental Powers. She entertains no fear of the outcome of the "open door" policy, for she is in a position to secure every advantage accruing from its operation. Japan's Proper Sphere of Activity. As Colonel Roosevelt pointed out, "Japan's proper sphere is in Asia," and it is but proper that her activities therein develop in intensity and vigor. She is entitled to use every peaceful and legitimate means that is open to her for the extension of her influence in the Far East, for it is there that she can assure herself of her right to live. America and Great Britain, while reserving to themselves the right of opening or closing their own doors to the Japanese, will not be playing a fair and even game if they grudge to recognize this fact. In the strict adherence on the part of Japan to the spirit which gave birth to the "Gentlemen's Agreement," and in the just appreciation on the part of America of Japan's difficulties at home and abroad, lies one of the fundamentals of an equitable solution of the Japanese-California problem. CHAPTER IV BACKGROUND OF JAPANESE EMIGRATION Causes of Emigration and Immigration. Diverse as are the causes that induce emigration and invite immigration, the most fundamental of all, with the exception of a few extraordinary cases, such as that of the Pilgrim Fathers, is economic pressure. There is a close relationship--a mutual give and take--between the immigrants and those who receive them. Generally speaking, human activities have their main-spring in man's desire to improve his conditions of living. The motive which induces the people of one country to go out and settle in another country is the same as the motive which induces another people to invite immigrants from other countries. True, in the former case, the direct reason for the move is generally the overcrowding and poor natural environment at home. In the latter case, it is the lack of man-power and the presence of great unexploited natural resources. But in both cases the real motive is the pursuit of interest, which may be reciprocally promoted by the transaction. It is well to keep this point clearly in mind at the outset, because much of the confusion in discussing the Japanese problem in California arises from forgetting the real cause which brought Japanese immigrants to America and which induced America to invite them. During the early colonial period the American colonies invited refugees from political and religious oppression to come and settle in the new world of freedom and democracy. The remnant of this early spirit still remains embodied in the present immigration laws of the United States. Nevertheless, it is almost a dead letter, with great historic interest but with no practical significance. The real motive for welcoming immigrants has been the acquisition of man-power for the exploitation of vast natural resources and for the development of industry. This is a fact which may be observed in almost all "new worlds," including the South American republics, Canada, and Australia, where the dearth of human energy is the capital reason of slow economic development. With settlers, however, the economic motive is not the only one, though it is predominant. Here the motives are diverse and complicated. With the Japanese there are particular causes which have been driving them to seek opportunities in new worlds. Japan's Land Area. The first and foremost cause is Japan's limited and unresourceful land. The land area of Japan Proper is 147,655 square miles, which is about 8,000 square miles less than that of California. The terrain of Japan is mountainous and volcanic, being traversed by two chains of mountains. One runs down from Saghalien towards the center of Honshu and the other from China via Formosa headed towards the north, both meeting at the middle of Honshu, thereby producing rugged upheavals popularly known as "the Japanese Alps." Being thus rocky and mountainous, the area contains a very small portion of plain land. Hokkaido, the extreme northern island, has seven plains. Honshu, the main island, has between the mountains five small plains, and Kyushu, the large southern island, has one. The total area of plains forms about one fourth of the entire area of Japan. The consequence of this geological formation is that about 16 per cent. of the total area is fit for cultivation, while over 70 per cent. of it is made up of mountains and forests. Agriculture. The Japanese having always been primarily farmers, agriculture still remains the principal occupation of the people. More than half the population is earning a livelihood wholly or partially by agricultural pursuits. The large number of farmers and the small amount of agricultural land allotted to them has given rise to the most intensive cultivation, which probably has no parallel in the world. Nearly five and a half million families, or thirty million people, cultivate fifteen million acres, which means less than three acres per family, and half an acre per individual farmer. It is little wonder that the law of diminishing return has long been operating, rendering the agricultural pursuit less and less remunerative, driving farm hands to industry and other work. The average daily wage of the farm laborer was 56 sen in 1917, while that of the industrial laborer was 1 yen.[4] In recent years the Government undertook a thorough examination of the tillable land in the country and reported as a result that there is yet a possibility of reclaiming about five million acres. By way of experiment, the Government began, with the approval of the 41st Session of the Diet (1918-19), to undertake the work of partial reclamation of seven hundred thousand acres on a nine-year program, with an outlay of some four million yen. It is yet uncertain how the enterprise will turn out; but it is fairly doubtful, in view of the fact that already the land is utilized almost to the limit of cultivation, including narrow back yards and rugged hillsides, as well as sandy beach, whether the program can materially increase the present amount of farm acreage. Parallel with the effort to extend the tillable land, everything has been done to increase the productivity of the soil under cultivation. Thanks to the application of scientific methods in agriculture and the use of fertilizer, the average yield of all crops per acre has increased since 1894 by about 35 per cent. But experts assert that owing to the excessive employment of land the soil now indicates signs of exhaustion, and that accordingly any further increase of productivity cannot be hoped for. On the contrary, the tendency will be toward a gradual decrease of productivity in the future. This is a grave forecast for Japan, and makes that country dependent more and more upon the food supply from abroad. The average yield of staple crops in Japan during the past few years comprises: barley, nine million koku (a koku is approximately five bushels); rye, seven million koku; wheat, five million koku; millet, four million koku, and rice, the most important crop, fifty-two million koku. The crops are far from being sufficient to feed a population of fifty-five millions, and Japan buys annually millions of koku of staple food from abroad. Taking rice, for instance, the average annual consumption is fifty-eight million koku, which exceeds by six million koku the average annual yield of Japan, so that the deficiency is made up by imports from Korea, China, and India. Naturally, the Japanese, being very good farmers and fond of agriculture, and yet having so small a prospect of success at home, look with eager eyes for an opportunity to cultivate land abroad. In the north there are the vast plains of Manchuria; towards the south the fertile soil of Australia; in the east, California and Hawaii appear to offer golden opportunities for industrious farmers. Manchuria, however, turned out to be too cold, and competition there with cheap Chinese labor proved unprofitable. Australia, from the beginning, never welcomed the yellow races. Only Hawaii and California seemed in all respects satisfactory for Japanese emigration. Hence, large numbers of Japanese farmers migrated to these places during the years between 1891 and 1907. Population. Another big factor of Japanese emigration is the overcrowded status of the home population. Strangely, during the three centuries of national isolation, Japan's population remained fairly static, varying only slightly around twenty-six millions. A reasonable explanation of this peculiar phenomenon may be found in the rigid social structure of feudalism, which allowed no swelling of population beyond a certain number. Malthusian factors, such as pestilence and famine, as well as artificial means of control, operated in effectively thwarting the increasing forces of population. When, however, feudalism was at last destroyed and in its place were established new forms of political and social systems which were much more liberal and advanced, the population suddenly began to swell at a tremendous rate. The advent of Occidental enlightenment which went far to improve the economic conditions of the country, and hence the conditions of living among the people, greatly encouraged the rapid multiplication of the number of people. Within the last fifty years the population of Japan has nearly doubled, increasing from thirty millions to fifty-five millions. At the present time the population is increasing at the rate of 650,000 to 700,000 per annum within Japan proper alone. The census taken on October 1, 1920, shows the total population of the Mikado's Empire as totalling 77,005,510, of which that of Japan proper is 55,961,140. The significance of Japan's population cannot be appreciated unless it is considered in connection with her land. The total area of Japan proper we have seen to be 147,655 square miles and the population close to 56,000,000. That is to say, the number of inhabitants per square mile is 380. This is rather a high figure when compared with that of other countries. Germany with her dense population counted, in 1915, 319 per square mile; France had 191, America 31 (1910), India and China, famous for density, had populations enumerated respectively at 158 and 100. Great Britain has rather a dense population (370 per square mile), but she has vast colonies, the population of which is extremely thin. This comparison of the number of people per square mile does not tell the true story until the quality and resources of each square mile are also compared. It has already been made clear that only 16 per cent., or fifteen million acres, of the land of Japan proper is tillable. This gives only one quarter of an acre of agricultural land per capita of population. In Great Britain agricultural land occupies 77 per cent. of the total area; in Italy, 76 per cent.; in France, 70 per cent. and in Germany 65 per cent. Industry. Handicapped as she is in agriculture, and holding on the other hand a vast and ever-increasing population, the best, in fact the only, policy for Japan to follow has been to utilize her vast man-power for the development of industry. Firmly convinced that the future of Japan depends solely on her ability to stand in the world as an industrial nation, the far-sighted statesmen of Japan long ago formulated plans for a steady industrial expansion. These plans were furthered by Government subsidy and have been faithfully carried out step by step by the authorities. The creation of a vast merchant marine; the building of railroads throughout the country, closely knitting all parts of the empire together; the enactment of a carefully drafted protective tariff; the national and municipal monopolization of public utilities and important industries; the establishment of a stable financial system with facilities for financing healthy enterprises; the establishment of technical schools throughout the empire for the training of experts and skilled workmen, and thousands of other remarkable undertakings were accomplished within a very short time by the direct and indirect efforts of the State. The people, too, were not behind in their devotion to the cause of making Japan an industrial power. They toiled most willingly under all kinds of disadvantages and hardships; they shouldered extortionate taxes with smiling faces; they worked in unison, disregarding for the time being petty private interests; they calmly and bravely met all privations and adversities. There is little wonder indeed that Japan established herself within only a few decades as an industrial nation of the first rank. In order to get a general idea of Japan's industrial strides, a few figures will perhaps suffice. Take, for instance, the number of factories. There was not one factory, properly so-called, in the country at the time of the Restoration in 1868; as late as 1885 there were but 496 industrial companies, joint stock or partnership, with a total capital of seven million yen. In the year 1900, however, there were 7000 typically modern factories, and this number rapidly multiplied, subsequently reaching over 25,000, with billions of paid-up capital. The number of factory operatives, too, correspondingly multiplied during that period. Less than 500,000 twenty years ago, they now total 1,500,000. The increase in the output of production and multiplication of various kinds of industries has been particularly phenomenal. In the textile industry the production has increased more than 300 per cent. during the past twenty years, cotton yarn having increased from 30,000,000 kan (one kan is approximately equal to 8.27 pounds avoirdupois) in 1900 to 100,000,000 kan; and in the silk textiles from 2,500,000 kan to 7,500,000 kan. In cloth fabrics, similarly the value turned out in silk weaving increased from $42,000,000 to $100,000,000; in cotton weaving from $30,000,000 to $200,000,000 between the years mentioned. The corresponding increase of output has been realized in almost all established industries, and the same ratio obtains in the many new industries which have sprung up in recent years. Generally speaking, the industry of Japan, which was established on a firm footing by the year 1900, has trebled during the last twenty years. The World War, too, by absorbing for military purposes all the energies of the belligerent Powers in Europe and America, was greatly instrumental in stimulating the industrial growth of Japan, who, after accomplishing her allotted task at the initial stage of the great conflict, was thereafter called upon by her Allies to do her utmost in supplying their urgent needs in ships and industrial products. The development of industry naturally accompanies a similar expansion in commerce. The total amount of foreign trade, which started with the meager sum of $13,000,000 in 1868, jumped to about $250,000,000 in 1900, and in 1920 reached $2,124,000,000. That is, within the past twenty years only, Japan's foreign trade increased roughly ten times, and during the past fifty years 163 times. Yet, with all this remarkable development, the future of Japanese manufactures does not allow unqualified optimism. In several important respects the foundation of Japan's industrialism is seriously hampered. In the first place, the supply of raw material is pitifully meager. With the exception of silk, Japan has in store hardly any raw material worthy of mention. She produces no wool or cotton and has only a limited store of iron. With the exception of coal, in which alone she is fairly independent--at least for the present--Japan depends for these indispensable factors of modern industry mostly on foreign supply. Scarcity of iron, in particular, is a notable weakness of Japan as an industrial nation. The many mistakes Japan made in her labor policy, which were the inevitable outcome of the extreme difficulty she confronted in adjusting the sudden transition from the Feudal régime to the modern industrial stage, must also be counted as a cause in retarding the progress of her industry. Due to exceedingly low wages, long working hours, and lack of adequate protection of labor from exploitation, the man-power of Japan has been greatly lavished and wasted. The paternal social systems inherited from the feudal days long refused to allow the voice of the working classes to be heard and to give them freedom to improve their status. Strikes and labor unions, whatever their motive and character, have always been frowned upon in Japan. It is by no means too much to say that the present development of Japan's industry has been achieved largely by the costly sacrifice of health and the rights of millions of laboring men and women. Considering how costly was the present achievement of industry, there remains some doubt as to how far Japan can carry on its progress in the future. It may seem that the development of industry must have brought a marked improvement in the standard of living of the masses. Such, however, is not the case. It has indeed immensely swelled the pockets of plutocrats, but has not much benefited the rank and file. While the income of the lower classes has not increased to any large extent, the cost of living has gone up by leaps and bounds, aggravating the severity of their struggle. When both farming and manufacturing failed successfully to cope with the ever-increasing population, the only alternative for the Japanese was emigration. Among the students, the talk of another alternative, namely birth-control, is becoming a fad. Social Factors. Besides the economic reasons so far discussed there are social reasons which induce Japanese youths to go abroad. Socially an old country like Japan contains a vast accumulated crust of custom and tradition which refuses to adapt itself to the changing conditions and ideals of the age, and which, therefore, is objectionable to the younger generation who know something of the value of freedom and democracy. Again, the national conscription for military service is becoming increasingly distasteful to the youths of individualistic inclination. It is but natural, in the face of such powerful and numerous fetters which obstruct the free development of lives and personalities, that the young people of Nippon should seek opportunities abroad. All these factors above described would not have constituted the effective motive forces for Japanese emigration had it not been for the assumed external advantages. Attractive narratives in which some of the new countries, more especially America, were represented as places where economic opportunities are really boundless and where an ideal state of freedom and democracy prevails, took an exaggerated form in the imagination. The glaring contrast which the visualized America presents with the actual Japan stimulates the desire of young men to turn to America and try their fortunes. CHAPTER V ATTEMPTS AT EMIGRATION: RESULTS The history of Japanese emigration began only a few decades ago. Immediately after the conclusion of treaties with the Western Powers many Japanese youths were sent abroad to acquire advanced Occidental knowledge. A number of adventurous persons and travelers also knocked at the doors of western countries, but they were not immigrants. Real immigration movement did not start until the facts of other countries became more or less known; until the colossal task of economic and social "revolutions" was well started; until the influence of European imperialism began to take root in the empire. Then came a brief period of "emigration fever" towards the end of the eighties, lasting some twenty years. What follows is a brief history of the various attempts made by Japanese to emigrate into different countries, and the results of the experiment. Australia. Because of the geographical proximity and alluring temptations that the vast uncultivated lands and rich natural resources presented, Australia was the place which early attracted the Japanese. A few hundreds of them began to migrate to several colonies, chiefly to Queensland, New South Wales, and Victoria. But they soon found the conditions exceedingly uncomfortable, owing to the hostile feeling already prevalent there against the Asiatics. The Australian fear of an influx of Asiatic races was early aroused by Chinese immigrants, who, as early as 1848, attained a sufficient number to cause agitation and race riots in several colonies. These colonies subsequently enacted rigorous anti-Asiatic immigration laws restricting the number of immigrants admitted per annum to a few hundred. Since then, filled with the fear, real or imaginary, of a menace of Asiatic inundation from across the equator, where one-half of the planet's population live congested on one-tenth of the total area of the earth, the great task of Australia during the last sixty years has been to keep the country clear of Asiatics. The immigration policy of the Commonwealth of Australia presents perhaps the most clear-cut and radical example of racial discrimination. While, on the one side, she spares neither effort nor money to attract and welcome white settlers, on the other side she leaves no stone unturned to exclude all Asiatic immigrants. With an immensely large area--about 50,000 square miles more extensive than that of the United States--yet almost untouched, and a population less than that of the City of New York, Australia really needs farmers, artisans, and all other classes of people. It is the function of the Commonwealth Department of Home and Territories to advertise in Europe, through lectures, films, exhibitions, and posters, for the purpose of inviting laborers and settlers to Australia. Each State of the Commonwealth has extended assistance in money and privilege to hundreds of thousands of European immigrants. The cause for lamentation by the government is that with all this effort and sacrifice she has not been successful in getting any considerable number of people as settlers. Unsuccessful in attracting white settlers, she has been most successful in repelling the yellow race. She has an immigration law which requires immigrants to pass a dictation test--a test in writing of not less than fifty words of a European language--which is dictated to them by an officer. Examination in a European language for the Asiatics! And what is more, the Europeans are exempt from it. The law provides, furthermore, that Asiatic immigrants may be required to pass a test at any time within two years after they have entered the Commonwealth. Even for the reception of those Asiatics who have been lawfully admitted, some of the States, New South Wales, Queensland, South Australia, and Tasmania in particular, do not allow them the right of owning or leasing land, under the pretext that they are not eligible to citizenship. The Commonwealth of Australia does not extend the right of naturalization to Asiatics. No wonder, then, that there is only a handful of Orientals in that vast country--35,000 Chinese and some 5000 Japanese. Canada. Until recent years, no record was kept of the number of Japanese immigrants arriving in Canada and consequently the development of the movement cannot be accurately traced. The Canadian census of 1901 shows that 4674 persons born in Japan were in the Dominion at that time; 4415 were in the Province of British Columbia, the rest being scattered in the Provinces of Manitoba, Saskatchewan, and Alberta. After that year the number of Japanese immigrants coming to Canada gradually increased, and when the United States placed restrictions on the influx of Japanese from Hawaii, and the latter began to seek entrance into Canada, the number grew considerably and soon caused serious concern to the people of Western Canada. It was estimated that in 1907 the Japanese domiciled in Canada had reached eight thousand. Determined opposition soon arose among the western provinces, and protests were sent by the Canadian Government to Hawaii and Tokyo requesting them to control the sudden immigration tide. An agreement was reached in 1908 between Japan and Canada by which the number of passports to be granted in any one year to Japanese emigrating to Canada was limited to four hundred. In this way the question was satisfactorily settled. Canada's treatment of the Asiatic races lawfully admitted has been marked by leniency. She has extended to the Orientals the privilege of naturalization and of securing homesteads. Even in British Columbia, the center of anti-Oriental agitation, the Japanese and Chinese are permitted to conduct business and cultivate land on an equal basis with British subjects in Canada. They may own land, both urban and rural, and in provinces other than British Columbia they are entitled to voting privileges when naturalized; only in that province the Orientals are not allowed to cast ballots, though free to become citizens. It is reported that there are 13,823 Japanese residing in Canada to-day, engaged in fishing and logging and sawmill industries, as well as in agriculture. South America. For some years past a number (about six thousand) of Japanese immigrants has been sent every year to Brazil in compliance with the request of the Republic. They have been mostly engaged on coffee plantations in Sao Paulo. The colonization is still in an experimental stage, and it is a little premature to forecast its future at this time. Altogether about twenty thousand Japanese immigrants have gone to the South American Republic. The United States. Perhaps attracted by the wonderful stories of the discovery of gold in the Sacramento Valley, or possibly cast ashore in boats on the Pacific Coast of America, there seem to have lived in the early sixties in California about a hundred Japanese. Early California papers record the story of quaint-looking Japanese settlers, who were received with great favor. Although accurate records are lacking, it would seem that the number of Japanese did not begin to increase until the late eighties, when a few hundred began to come in every year. The census of 1890 reported the number of Japanese residents as 2039. From that time on the number of immigrants steadily increased, reaching the highest mark in 1907, when about ten thousand of them entered continental America in one year.[5] The direct incentive for Japanese emigration was furnished by a few large emigration companies,[6] which were formed with a view to supplying contract labor to Hawaii and America, where the demand for labor was insatiable. In the former case, the rapid growth of the sugar plantations demanded a large supply of cheap labor. In the latter case, the need for cheap labor was urgent, due to the enactment of the Chinese Exclusion Law in 1882, which soon began to effect a decrease in the number of Chinese laborers, resulting in a dearth of labor on the farms and in railroad work. It was in response to the urgent demand of capitalists and landowners in Hawaii and America for Japanese labor that the emigration companies sprang into existence with the object of facilitating the complex process of immigration. The Japanese coolies so brought in were welcomed and prosperous--at least for a while. Their industry and frugality won them the confidence of their employers. In agriculture, in railroad-building, in mining and fishing, they proved useful hands. They saved money and remitted to their native country a considerable portion of it. Some of them returned home with a fortune and a degree of refinement which a superior environment could bestow upon a laborer. These incidents stimulated the desire of ambitious Japanese to leave for and work in California and Hawaii, and the number of applicants for emigration greatly multiplied. In the meantime, between 1895 and 1900, changes had taken place in the attitude of the people of California toward the Japanese. For various reasons the friendly feeling of the Californians was gradually replaced by a more or less hostile sentiment. It so happened that just about this time California was the stage for a struggle between organized labor and capital. It was with a great deal of effort and sacrifice that the organized labor of California succeeded in excluding the Chinese coolies. But their hard-won victory was shattered to pieces by the advent of Japanese laborers, whom capital, taking advantage of their ignorance of American customs and language, wisely utilized as a powerful weapon to defeat the unions. To the union men it made no difference whether the strike-breakers were Chinese or Japanese; whether strike-breaking was voluntarily or unwittingly performed; they were enemies just the same. The cry for exclusion was a natural consequence. Then there also seems to be some truth in the report[7] made in 1908 by W. L. Mackenzie King, the Deputy Minister of the Government of Canada, which states that it is suspected that much of the anti-Japanese agitation in California was deliberately fermented by the interests of the Planters' Association of Honolulu, who, alarmed by the tendency of Japanese laborers engaged on the sugar plantations to seek work on the Pacific Coast of America, where wages were much better, started a campaign to check the exodus by causing ill feeling toward the Japanese along the Pacific Coast. The report states in part: It is believed ... that the members of the Asiatic Exclusion League in San Francisco were not without contributions from the Association's incidental expense fund, to assist them in an agitation which by excluding Japanese from the mainland would confine that class of labor to the islands, to the greater economic advantage of the members of the Association.[8] For these two chief reasons, and perhaps for many other minor ones, there arose the persistent social movement for Japanese exclusion in California, which first took definite shape in 1900, when a mass-meeting held at San Francisco for the express purpose of more rigidly excluding the Chinese, adopted a resolution urging Congress to take measures for the total exclusion of Japanese other than members of the Diplomatic Staff. Following this came the first of the anti-Japanese messages delivered by the Governor of California, and of the resolutions voted on by the State Legislature calling upon Congress to extend the Chinese Exclusion Law to other Asiatics. The climax of the movement was reached when, immediately after the earthquake, the Board of Education of San Francisco passed the "separate school order," and Japan protested. A series of diplomatic negotiations followed, which finally resulted in the repeal of the school discriminatory order and the conclusion of the "Gentlemen's Agreement," whereby Japan pledged herself to restrict the number of immigrants to the United States. Leaving to a later chapter the detailed discussion of the result which the "Gentlemen's Agreement" has brought about in the status of Japanese immigration, it will suffice to mention here that the agreement has faithfully and loyally been carried out by Japan, and that since then the Japanese problem has in fact ceased to be an immigration issue. Results. Twenty years of emigration attempts, chief of which we reviewed in this chapter, have resulted in failure in every case, and Japan's effort to plant her race in other lands has proved futile. There are many causes for this failure, for which Japan is partially, but not wholly, responsible. But this is a matter which we shall more fully discuss in the next chapter. Excluded and maltreated wherever they went, the Japanese returned home with shattered hopes and wounded feelings, and the mooted question of population once more confronted them with intensified severity. Giving up as entirely hopeless the attempt at settling in places where the white races held supremacy, they now appear to have made up their minds to migrate towards the north, where climatic and economic disadvantages, together with political revolution in Eastern Europe, have freed the land temporarily from the strong white grip, offering the line of least resistance for Japanese. CHAPTER VI CAUSES OF ANTI-JAPANESE AGITATION Modern Civilization. The major cause of the agitation against Japanese in California must be attributed to modern civilization, which, with scientific devices, has conquered time and space and thereby destroyed the high walls of international boundaries. Indeed, had it not been for the steamboat, railroad, telegraph, and other civilized instruments, which bind the nations of the world into a composite whole, and modern industrialism, which civilization brought about and which in turn assisted in unifying the world, Japan for one would have remained a peaceful hermit nation, undisliked or unsuspected by any other. She, of course, has no reason to regret the adoption of European culture, which brought her untold values and happiness; but the fact remains that the present anti-Japanese agitation in California, as well as elsewhere in the world, would never have occurred had she not followed the lead of Occidental nations. Clearly, such a conflict is one of the by-products of the complex international relations brought about by modern science, which, simply because of the lack of experience and regulation due to their short history, remain deplorably defective. This suggests the point already brought out in our introduction, that the principle of the solution of the California problem lies not in an attempt at separating Japan and the United States, which time and destiny brought together, but in a yet closer, more regulated relationship, and in the promotion of a better mutual understanding. Various Attitudes Towards Japanese. With reference to the attitude toward the Japanese, it is possible to discern four classes of critics in California. There are the veteran exclusionists, whose only hope in this world seems to be the realization of the slogan, "All Japs must go!" There is the majority of people which is too preoccupied with its own affairs to investigate the facts and is ready to accept anything said or asserted by the exclusionists. Then there are those, intellectually more critical, who hold independent opinions as to why the Japanese must be excluded. There are also others who stoutly oppose, rationally or irrationally, any attempt at excluding the Japanese. The reasons offered for justifying the exclusion of the Japanese widely vary according to the class of people, and they are often mutually contradictory and conflicting. To those agitators whose motive is purely self-interest, agitation is a profession, and hence it transcends the consideration of justice or international courtesy. They have no scruples about lying or resorting to any means which they think would serve their purpose. The masses, generally speaking, accept what is given to them by the agitators, unthinkingly echo their voices, and so play directly into their hands. Only fair, rational exclusionists study the facts of the case, consider the significance involved therein, and present arguments supporting their conviction. It is in this class of people, and not in professional agitators or whimsical populace, or irrational friends of the Japanese, that the hope of the solution of the problem may be found. From the fact that so much agitation is going on in California, some may think--especially those in Japan--that all Californians are unkind or hostile to the Japanese. This, however, is far from being the case. It is precisely in California that the most earnest, devoted friends of the island people are found--found in great numbers.[9] These sympathizers are wholly unable to share the opinions of the exclusionists, and are simply at a loss to comprehend the reason why so much fuss should be made because of a handful of Japanese who compare favorably with European immigrants. Psychological Nature of the Cause. The fact that right in the midst of the hotbed of the Japanese exclusion movement there are goodly numbers of unqualified friends of the Japanese suggests that the motives of exclusion as well as inclusion are primarily personal; that is, psychological. We are all human and are prone to pass judgment from personal incidents or experience. A single disagreeable experience with a Japanese may drive a level-headed politician to a frenzy of Japanese exclusion, just as the memory of one Japanese friend may make another individual a consistent advocate of a friendly attitude toward all Japanese. Inevitably limited in the scope of experience, we can only generalize from a few particulars. This is why there are such contradictory attitudes to be found among Californians toward the same problem. In generalizing from particular experience we are more apt to arrive at a conclusion which suits our desires and emotions. We reach our conclusions in ways which we think promote our interests and please our feeling. Gain or loss, like or dislike, are two pivots determining our judgment. Those who think they gain from the presence of Japanese and those who like the Japanese, from whatever reason, naturally tend to welcome them; those who feel the contrary, incline to advocate their exclusion. At bottom, therefore, the effort of discrimination arises from a direct or indirect personal experience with Japanese which resulted in some sort of an unfavorable impression. Chinese Agitation Inherited. With this preliminary we shall see what are the more obvious factors which give rise to anti-Japanese sentiment on the Pacific Coast. It is perhaps beyond doubt, as most authorities insist, that the Japanese inherited the ill-feeling that early prevailed against the Chinese, and this for no other reason than that the Japanese are similar to the Chinese in many respects and were placed under the same conditions which caused hostility to the Chinese. We have already discussed how the Japanese coolies were used by capital as weapons to pit against the ascendency of organized labor. Under the general term "Asiatics" the Japanese shared at first, and later inherited, the painful experience of the Chinese. Local Politics. That the Japanese issue was frequently made the football of minor political games in California is an undeniable truth. Wholly apart from the consideration of right and wrong, we cite a case of political activity which illustrates such a situation. Writing in the January (1921) issue of the _North American Review_, Mr. R. W. Ryder observes: All during the late war--while the Japanese fleet was protecting our commerce and other interests by patrolling the Pacific--the most cordial relationship existed between the two peoples. But the Armistice had hardly been signed before agitation against the Japanese again manifested itself; however, not until it had been resuscitated and energized by one of California's United States Senators who was soon to be a candidate for reëlection. This Senator, Mr. Phelan, appeared in California early in 1919, and at once made a visit to the Immigration Station at San Francisco and Los Angeles; whereupon he issued a statement characterizing the Japanese situation as a menace. Next, he addressed the State Legislature on the Japanese question. Prior to his address, although the Legislature had been in session for almost two months, it had done nothing regarding the Japanese. But a few days afterward several anti-Japanese measures were introduced.... The particular susceptibility of the Japanese issue to political agitation in California may be attributed to the safety and advantage with which it may be manipulated. The Japanese in California having practically no vote are safe toys for play. The possibility of magnifying the "menace" of the Asiatic "influx" is immensely tempting in this case, rendering it a most effective smoke screen for the tactics of private interests. The San Francisco _Chronicle_ stated, in its editorial on October 22, 1920, under the heading, "It Would Probably Have Been Settled without Trouble but for Politicians," as follows: Had no attempt been made to drag California's Japanese question into politics we would probably have settled the question satisfactorily and with no fuss.... We think it probable that if the question had not been appropriated by politicians seeking to make capital for themselves it would have been possible to have obtained the coöperation, at least the acquiescence, of the intellectual Japanese leaders in the State, in measures designed to prevent the presence of their countrymen from being or becoming an economic menace to California.... That the question has been brought into politics, where it was not an issue and could not be, that it has been made a cause of irritation between Japan and the United States, and has given Japan a lever to use against us in all matters affecting the Orient, is due to the senior Senator from California, who sought to use the problem to advance his own personal interests. "Yellow Peril." The imaginary fear of an Asiatic influx, cleverly fermented by agitators, is certainly a strong cause of Japanophobia. Somehow we have a historical fear of foreign invasion. This fear is inculcated and whetted among the Californians by a hideous picture of a Japanese Empire, that, like medieval Mongolia, would send a storming army of invasion. One might gather from the reports of the Hearst papers in California that the Pacific Coast of North America was invaded by a Japanese army on an average of once a month. Whether misled by jingo journalism or aroused by the exaggeration of agitators--whatever the cause--it is simply amazing how large a portion of the California people honestly fear the utterly impossible eventuality of a Japanese invasion. Quite recently another form of menace was suggested, which, because of its more plausible nature, has been widely circulated. It is the fear based upon conjecture that the Japanese will soon control the entire agricultural industry of California and that they will ere long overwhelm the white population in that State. This apprehension was by far the most effective force in deciding in the affirmative the initiative bill voted on by the California electorate on November 2, 1920. Propaganda. Propaganda is autocratic power in a democratic state; it is a subtle attempt at controlling social sentiment by influencing the people's mind through its unconscious entrance. Freud teaches us that each of us is in a sense a complex of boundless wishes. We wish vastly more than our environment offers us; hence, most of our wishes have to be suppressed, thwarted. Now, propaganda appeals to this weakest part of man; it promises us an opportunity to satisfy our arrested wishes. "You are badly off, my friends," a propagandist would say to honest laborers, "because the Japs are here to bid your wages down. We are trying to get rid of them for you, and for this we want your help." A similar appeal can be made with immediate good results to almost all classes of people who have some unsatisfied wish--and all men do have such wishes. Racial Difference. It is clearly untenable, however, to argue that the Japanese agitation in California is wholly due to imaginary fear and aversion created in the minds of people by politicians and propagandists. The Japanese themselves are responsible for conditions which often justify some of the accusations, and which prompt exaggeration and misrepresentation. In the first place, the Japanese are a wholly different race, with different customs, manners, sentiment, language, traditions, and--not of least importance--of different physical appearance. Were these differences merely in kind, they would not be very repugnant, but when such differences involve qualitative difference they are particularly repulsive. It is, of course, impossible to pass judgment upon the relative superiority in all respects of things Occidental and Oriental; but western civilization naturally seems incomparably superior to American eyes. Mere difference of race alone gives no unpleasant feeling. When it is also a difference of quality, at least in appearance--and in this all must agree--it arouses our æsthetic repulsion. Even if a man be of different race and as ugly as a Veddah from Ceylon, if he remains a solitary example, or one of a very limited number of his kind, he would not only not arouse our antipathy but would even stimulate our curiosity, and many of us would spend money to see his quaint customs and manners. But when his followers increase in number and establish themselves in our midst, and carry on the struggle for existence until they are in the way of fairly matching ourselves, we begin to be alarmed and unconsciously learn to hate them. This is an exaggerated illustration, but it is precisely the process which has been taking place in California relative to the Japanese. The fact that the Japanese are looked upon rather favorably in the East is because there they are comparatively few in number and are not competitors of the Americans in the struggle for existence. Japanese Nationality. To a certain extent, the anti-Japanese sentiment in California as well as elsewhere is accentuated by the national principles of the Japanese Empire. It has a system of government which for various good reasons is unique. It embraces many points that are considered, from the standpoint of the Anglo-Saxon, undemocratic. The smooth operation of democracy has been hindered by some inherent defect in the national system, by lack of experience in representative government, and by the influence exerted through an unconstitutional power represented by the elder statesmen. To make the situation worse, by means of unscrupulous journalism, the American mind is duly impressed with the assumed bellicose and Prussian character of the Japanese Empire, the hatred of which becomes anti-Japanese sentiment in general. The Japanese Government, again, adheres to a policy of extreme paternalism with regard to her colonists abroad. It seems true that in case of an aggressive and military government it is from necessity the devotee of a pure race and a solidified population, as Mr. Walter Lippman stated.[10] At any rate, Japan does not wish her subjects to be naturalized nor does she encourage them to lose their racial or national consciousness. This is clearly seen in her policy of dual nationality (which we shall have occasion to discuss later), which aims to retain the descendants of the Japanese who are born in America, and hence are citizens thereof, as subjects also of the Mikado. It is likewise observable in the spirit of Japanese education, which is fundamentally nationalistic, as it was referred to in the second chapter. Such a policy of nationalism inevitably incites the suspicion of countries to which Japanese immigrants go, and discourages the people from making an attempt at assimilating the Japanese. This, together with their nationalistic training and education, renders the assimilation of the Japanese exceedingly difficult. Modern Nationalism. What accentuates the difficulty in the situation is that the countries which receive such Japanese immigrants also uphold a policy of nationalism, which runs full tilt against the "influx" of immigrants who do not readily become amalgamated or assimilated. The inflow of such a population, they claim, threatens and endangers the unity of the nation, and therefore it must be stopped or resisted. This is the capital reason which is being ascribed for the discriminatory effort against the Japanese in California by the leaders of the movement. Congestion in California. The Japanese, moreover, manifest a strong tendency to congregate in a locality where they realize a social condition which is a poor hybrid of Japanese and American ways. The tendency to group together is not a phenomenon peculiar to Japanese immigrants alone. Such a tendency is manifested by almost all immigrants in America in different degrees. In the case of the Japanese, however, several additional factors operate to necessitate their huddling together--they are ethnologically different; English is an entirely different language from theirs; their customs are wholly different from those of Americans; their segregation offers advantages and facilities to some Americans who deal with them. The external hostile pressure naturally compresses them into small groups. Whatever the cause, it is true that this habit of collective living among themselves retards the process of assimilation, and, moreover, makes the Japanese problem loom large in the eyes of the white population living in adjoining places. Fear and Envy Incited by Japanese Progress. In addition to this, a point to be noted is the increase in number of Japanese and their rapid economic development within the State of California. The question of immigration becomes inextricably mixed up in the minds of the populace with the problem of the treatment of those who are already admitted. They act and react as causes and effects of the agitation. The apprehension of a Japanese "influx" expresses itself in a hostile attitude toward the Japanese already domiciled there. Conversely, the conflict arising from the presence of Japanese in California naturally prompts opposition against Japanese immigration. Now, it so happened that recently, and especially since the war, the number of Japanese coming to the United States through the California port has decidedly increased. This is due to the increased arrival of travelers, business men, officials, and students, as a consequence of the closer relationship between America and Japan, as we shall see in the next chapter. Nevertheless, it incites the fear of the Californians and induces them to adopt more stringent measures against the Japanese living in that State. On the other hand, the economic status of the Japanese in California has been steadily developing. They are entering in some directions into serious competition with the white race. Thus, in agriculture, their steady expansion through industry and thrift has caused alarm among small white farmers. Added to this is the high birth rate among the Japanese, which, because of their racial and cultural distinction, forms a problem touching the fundamental questions of the American commonwealth. Summary. By the foregoing analysis of the situation, we see that although the problem of the Japanese in California has been made the subject of political and private exploitation, and thereby rendered unnecessarily complicated and acute, it is, nevertheless, a grave problem which contains germs that are bound to develop many evils unless it is properly solved. In the following chapters we shall study the status of the Japanese in California in respect to population and birth rate, their agricultural condition, their living and culture, and their economic attainments, with a view to elucidating just wherein lie the precise causes of the difficulties. CHAPTER VII FACTS ABOUT THE JAPANESE IN CALIFORNIA--POPULATION AND BIRTH RATE A knowledge of the facts regarding the Japanese population in California is important, because it has been a point of sharp dispute between those who insist on exclusion and those who oppose it, the former arguing that the Japanese are increasing at an amazing rate through immigration, smuggling, and birth, threatening to overwhelm the white population in the State, the latter contending that they are not multiplying in a way menacing to the State of California. The fact that such a dispute prevails in the matter of the number of Japanese suggests that it is, at least, one of the crucial points on which the whole problem rests. This is true in the sense that, if the Japanese in California were decreasing in number as the American Indians are, it would be totally useless to waste energy in an attempt to quicken the final extinction. If, on the other hand, they were to multiply in a progressively higher rate so as to overwhelm the white population, it would certainly be serious both for California and for the United States. Number of Japanese in California. This being the case, it is but natural that the enemies of the Japanese should exaggerate the number of Japanese living in California. The leaders of the movement for excluding Japanese estimate their number as no less than one hundred thousand. The report of the State Board of Control of California, prepared for the specific purpose of emphasizing the gravity of the Japanese problem in California, enumerated the population of Japanese in that State at the end of December, 1919, as 87,279. This number turned out to be 13,355 higher than the number reported by the Foreign Office of Japan,[11] which was based on the Consular registrations (including American-born offspring of the Japanese) and the count made by the Japanese Association of America. Most fortunately, the preliminary publication of a part of the United States Census for 1920 removed the uncertainty arising from the discrepancy by stating the exact number of the Japanese in California to be 70,196. The possible cause of the over-estimation by the Board of Control is to be found in its method of computation. Instead of counting the actual number of residents, it simply added the number of net gain from immigration and the excess in birth over death statistics to the returns of the census of 1910, overlooking the fact that in the meantime a great number of Japanese were leaving California for Japan as well as other States of the Union. The present number of Japanese is a minor matter compared with its dynamic tendency. The rate of increase of the Japanese population in California in the past may be easily obtained by comparing the returns of the United States Census. The following table indicates the number and rate of decennial increase: NUMBER OF JAPANESE IN CALIFORNIA ACCORDING TO THE UNITED STATES CENSUS. =========================================== Year.|Number.|Decennial| Percentage of | |Increase.|Decennial Increase. -----|-------|---------|------------------- 1880 | 86| ..... | ....... 1890 | 1,147| 1,061 | 1,234 % 1900 | 10,151| 9,004 | 785 % 1910 | 41,356| 31,205 | 307.3% 1920 | 70,196| 28,840 | 69.7% =========================================== We see from the above table that after half a century of Japanese immigration to the United States, California's net gain amounts to a little over 70,000, the number having increased at an average rate of 14,025 per decade, or 1603 per annum. We also observe that the percentage of decennial increase gradually decreased from 1234 per cent. to 69.7 per cent. It is useful to compare this development of the Japanese population with that of California in general, because it gives an idea of the relative importance of the Japanese increase. This is shown in the following table, in which the decennial rates of increase between them are compared: COMPARISON OF POPULATION INCREASE OF CALIFORNIA AND OF JAPANESE IN CALIFORNIA. ================================================================== Year.| Number. | Decennial | Rate of | Rate of | Percentage of | | Increase. |Decennial|Japanese | Japanese to the | | |Increase.|Decennial|Total Population | | | |Increase.| of California. -----|-----------|-----------|---------|---------|---------------- 1880 | 864,694 | ......... | .... | .... | .0099% 1890 | 1,213,398 | 348,704 | 40.3% | 1234 % | .095 % 1900 | 1,485,053 | 271,655 | 22.3% | 785 % | .68 % 1910 | 2,377,549 | 892,496 | 60.0% | 307.3% | 1.73 % 1920 | 3,426,861 | 1,049,312 | 44.1% | 69.7% | 2.04 % ================================================================== Thus we see that while the percentage of decennial increase of Japanese has been fast decreasing since the census of 1890, descending from 1234 per cent. to 785 per cent. in the next census, and to 307.3 per cent. in 1910, and 69.7 per cent. in 1920, that of California is headed, on the whole, towards an increase. We also notice that the percentage of the Japanese population to the total population of California also shows a tendency to slow growth, increasing only three tenths of one per cent. during the last decade. As a general conclusion, therefore, we may say that the rate of increase of Japanese in California is slowly declining while that of the total population of California is steadily increasing. In the next place, how does the status of the Japanese population in California compare with that in the continental United States? In the following table, we compare the rate of increase in California and the United States, and enumerate the percentage of the number of Japanese in California to the total number of Japanese in the United States: JAPANESE POPULATION IN THE UNITED STATES AND CALIFORNIA. ===================================================================== Census.|Japanese in| Decennial | Rate of | Rate of | Percentage of |Continental|Increase of|Decennial| Decennial | Japanese in |United |Japanese in|Increase.|Increase of| California to |States. |Continental| |Japanese in|entire Japanese | | United | |California.| population of | | States. | | |United States. -------------------|-----------|---------|-----------|--------------- 1880 | 148 | ...... | ....... | ...... | 58.1% 1890 | 2,039 | 1,891 | 1,277.7%| 1234.0% | 56.2% 1900 | 24,326 | 22,287 | 1,093.0%| 785.0% | 41.7% 1910 | 72,157 | 47,831 | 196.6%| 307.3% | 57.3% 1920 | 119,207 | 47,050 | 65.2%| 69.7% | 58.8% ===================================================================== The table indicates that the percentage of Japanese in California to the total number of Japanese in the United States is rather high, justifying the complaint of the Governor of California that during ten years, between 1910 and 1920, "the Japanese population in California _increased_ 25,592, but in all of the other States of the United States it _decreased_ 10,873. Perhaps, in this last-named fact may be found the reason that makes Oriental immigration a live subject of continued consideration in California."[12] The truth of this statement, which in other words means that the cause of anti-Japanese agitation in California is due to congestion in that one State, becomes almost indisputable. It is doubly apparent when we consider the reason why the Chinese no longer constitute the objects of exclusion in California while the Japanese do. The Chinese have shown, ever since the launching of the agitation against them in the early '80's, a wise tendency to disperse into other States, thus avoiding conflict with the Californians. The Japanese, on the other hand, appear to cling tenaciously to California, and the more they are maltreated and slandered the more steadfastly they remain in that State. This is apparently due largely to the recognition of the desirability of California, even with its handicaps, over other States, but it is also due to their helplessness to extricate themselves from the situation in fear of a great financial loss involved in the change. The Report of the State Board of Control of California uses the fact of the decreasing number of Chinese and the increasing number of Japanese in California as evidence of the success of the Chinese Exclusion Act in accomplishing its purpose, and of the failure of the "Gentlemen's Agreement" in restricting Japanese immigration.[13] But, in so doing, it fails to take into consideration the very fact which it points out elsewhere, which we have just quoted; namely, that the number of Japanese has decreased in all of the other States combined while it has increased in California. It also fails to take into account the fact that the number of Chinese, contrary to the Japanese tendency, has shown a marked tendency to grow in eastern and middle western States and to decrease in California. Thus, for example, the number of Chinese in New England, the Middle Atlantic, and Eastern and North Central States increased from 401, 1227, and 390 respectively in 1880 to 3499, 8189, and 3415, respectively, in 1910, while it decreased in the Pacific division from 87,828 to 46,320 in the corresponding period.[14] The foregoing examination establishes the fact that much of the anti-Japanese agitation in California is due to the congestion of Japanese in that one State, as pointed out by the authorities of California, and as confirmed by the extinction of anti-Chinese sentiment in California, consequent upon the exodus of large numbers of Chinese from that State. We have seen that the Japanese population in California increased from 86 in 1880 to 70,196 in 1920 at the annual rate of 1403. We shall now see how each of the three factors--lawful entrance of Japanese into the United States, smuggling, and birth--has contributed to this increase. Immigration. Without question, the coming of the Japanese who are legally permitted to enter the United States has been the largest factor contributing to their increase in California. Of the total Japanese entering the continental United States since its beginning up to the end of 1920, estimated at 180,000,[15] California claims to have received about two thirds,[16] or approximately 125,000. Since California's present Japanese population is 70,196, of which about 25,000[17] are American-born children, it means that out of the total number of Japanese immigrants (125,000) who entered California, only 45,196 survive now in that State, the rest having either migrated to other States, or died out, or returned home. One reason why the Japanese immigration is viewed with so much apprehension is because the facts of the situation are not rightly understood. The number of Japanese coming to the United States has decidedly increased in recent years, especially since the war, the annual number reaching the ten thousand mark. This would certainly be alarming were it not for the correspondingly large number of Japanese who returned every year. The following table shows the percentage of those who returned out of the total arrivals: ======================================= Year.|Arrivals.|Returned.| Percentage | | | of Returned | | |Against Total | | | Arrivals. -----|---------|---------|------------- 1916 | 9,100 | 6,922 | 76% 1917 | 9,159 | 6,581 | 72% 1918 | 11,143 | 7,696 | 69% 1919 | 11,404 | 8,328 | 73% 1920 | 12,868 | 11,662 | 90% ======================================= The growing number of Japanese coming into America and the increasing high rate of their return, as shown in the above table, clearly indicate the fact that the character of the Japanese now entering the United States has decidedly changed. The explanation of the high rate of Japanese entrance is to be sought in the growing business, diplomatic, intellectual, and other relations between America and Japan which the recent war brought about. In the field of business, the number of branch offices of Japanese firms employing Japanese clerks and managers rapidly increased in the large cities of the United States. Students who formerly went to Europe for study now flock to America and enter the large universities of this country. Many of the newly rich whom the unique opportunity of the World War has created, have taken it into their heads to see the post-war changes in America and Europe. But these Japanese visitors are not immigrants; they are not coolies; they do not come to America to work and settle. They will give America no trouble, for they stay in this country only a brief period of time. They are America's guests, as it were, and they should not be treated as immigrants. The rough handling of these visitors, as sometimes happens in the Western States, gives them a bad impression of the American people at large. That most of the Japanese now coming to this country are temporary visitors is shown by the following table which distinguishes non-laborers from laborers: =================================================== Year.| Total.|Laborers.|Non-Laborers.|Percentage of | | | |Non-Laborers | | | |Against All. -----|-------|---------|-------------|------------- 1916 | 9,100| 2,956 | 6,144 | 67.5% 1917 | 9,159| 2,838 | 6,321 | 69 % 1918 | 11,143| 2,604 | 8,539 | 77 % =================================================== "Gentlemen's Agreement." It is useful to remember the above fact when discussing the workings of the so-called "Gentlemen's Agreement." It is often alleged that Japan has not been observing the agreement in good faith. Thus Governor Stephens states: There can be no doubt that it was the intent of our Government by this agreement (the "Gentlemen's Agreement") to prevent the further immigration of Japanese laborers. Unfortunately, however, the hoped-for results have not been attained. Without imputing to the Japanese Government any direct knowledge on the subject, the statistics clearly show a decided increase in Japanese population since the execution of the so-called "Gentlemen's Agreement." Skillful evasions have been resorted to in various manners. Such an accusation appears plausible when it is examined solely in the light of the high number of annual Japanese arrivals. The accusation, however, falls to the ground when we consider two other facts already pointed out; namely, the correspondingly high and ascending rate of departures, and the increasingly high percentage of non-immigrants against immigrants. It is provided in the "Gentlemen's Agreement" that "the Japanese Government shall issue passports to the continental United States only to such of its subjects as are non-laborers, or are laborers who in coming to the continent seek to resume a formerly-acquired domicile, to join a parent, wife, or children residing here, or to assume active control of an already possessed interest in a farming enterprise in this country." Accordingly, the classes of laborers entitled to receive passports have come to be designated "former residents," "parents, wives, or children of residents," and "settled agriculturists." Of these, the last item, the "settled agriculturists," has practically no significance, because under that class only four entered America since the conclusion of the agreement. According to the agreement, then, only two classes of immigrants, former residents and the families of residents, are admitted. This agreement leaves the question of the admittance of non-laborers entirely untouched, permitting the Japanese Government to decide as to who may be classed laborers and who non-laborers. The lack of concrete understanding between Japan and the United States in this respect is a grave defect in the agreement. True, the executive orders issued in connection with the "Gentlemen's Agreement" provide a definition of term "laborer," and state: For practical administrative purposes, the term "laborer, skilled and unskilled," within the meaning of the executive order of February 24, 1913, shall be taken to refer primarily to persons whose work is essentially physical, or, at least, manual, as farm laborers, street laborers, factory hands, contractors' men, stablemen, freight handlers, stevedores, miners, and the like, and to persons whose work is less physical, but still manual, and who may be highly skilled as carpenters, stone masons, tile setters, painters, blacksmiths, mechanics, tailors, printers, and the like; but shall not be taken to refer to persons whose work is neither distinctively manual nor mechanical but rather professional, artistic, mercantile, or clerical--as pharmacists, draftsmen, photographers, designers, salesmen, bookkeepers, stenographers, copyists, and the like.[19] The weakness of the provision, however, is in the difficulty it gives rise to in practical application and in the liability of wrong construction to be placed by the American public in the administration of the "Gentlemen's Agreement." The difficulty lies not at all in the lack of mutual understanding between the American and the Japanese Governments in respect to this question. The _modus operandi_ arrived at between these two Governments has worked satisfactorily. But because of the lack of a specified definition of "non-immigrants" and "immigrants," the distinction to be made between them, and, consequently, the granting of passports, as already stated, is left in a large measure to the discretion of the authorities of the Foreign Office of the Japanese Government. The foregoing defect and the confusion on the part of the American people suggest that the adoption of a specific definition of "immigrants" and "non-immigrants"--in other words, laborers and non-laborers--on the basis of whether a person is coming to America for work and settlement or for a temporary visit, seems quite essential. The Japanese method of distinguishing non-immigrants from immigrants, however, has not been altogether irrational or arbitrary. The established custom is that the Government issues two kinds of passports, one with a lavender color design on the front page with the word "non-immigrant" stamped on it, and the other with a green color design with the word "immigrant" printed on the front page. The former is given to those who desire to go to America for business, educational, or traveling purposes, expecting to return home after a brief stay, and who have strong financial assurance. The latter passports, namely, the immigrant's, are given to those who are entitled to enter America, according to the already specified provisions of the "Gentlemen's Agreement," viz. "former residents," "parents, wives, or children of residents," and "settled agriculturists." The passports, however, are not granted even to these classes unless they file a petition to the Government with a certificate from a Japanese Consulate in America certifying the breadwinner in America to be an honest man, with a clean record, who is capable of comfortably supporting a family. In this way, although without a definite standard of regulation, the Japanese Government faithfully adheres to the provisions of the agreement, even to the point of being charged with an extreme rigidity. The following table given in the Report of the Commissioner-General of Immigration shows in detail how the agreement has been operating: JAPANESE LABORERS ADMITTED TO CONTINENTAL UNITED STATES 1910 TO 1919. _According to Annual Report of Commissioner-General of Immigration._ ========================================================================= | In possession of proper passports. | Fiscal| Entitled to passports under | Year | "Gentlemen's Agreement." | Ending|------------------------------------------------------------------ June. | Former | Parents, | Settled | Not | Without |Total. |Residents.| Wives, |Agriculturists.| Entitled | Proper | | | and | | to |Passports.| | | Children | |Passports.| | | | of | | | | | |Residents.| | | | ------|----------|----------|---------------|----------|----------|------ 1910 | 245 | 373 | 1 | 47 | 39 | 705 1911 | 351 | 268 | .. | 88 | 25 | 732 1912 | 602 | 224 | .. | 60 | 27 | 913 1913 | 1,175 | 178 | .. | 41 | 13 | 1,407 1914 | 1,514 | 119 | .. | 84 | 51 | 1,768 1915 | 1,545 | 585 | 1 | 54 | 29 | 2,214 1916 | 1,695 | 1,199 | 2 | 39 | 78 | 3,013 1917 | 1,647 | 1,115 | .. | 36 | 87 | 2,885 1918 | 1,774 | 507 | .. | 88 | 235 | 2,604 1919 | 1,265 | 422 | .. | 48 | 241 | 1,976 |----------|----------|---------------|----------|----------|------ Total | 11,813 | 4,990 | 4 | 585 | 825 |18,217 ========================================================================= The table indicates that out of the total immigration of 18,217 from 1909 to 1920, 11,813 of this number were people who temporarily visited Japan; 4990 belonged to the families of residents; 4 were "settled agriculturists," and 585 were persons not entitled, for reasons unexplained, to passports. It also shows that 825 were persons without proper passports. The latter category included immigrants bound for Canada, Mexico, and South America who were sidetracked on the way, those who lost their passports, as well as deserting seamen and smugglers. For these cases of illicit endeavors to enter America, the Japanese Government can hardly be held responsible. It would be absurd to put forth the negligible number of 585 cases, that are recorded during the period of ten years as persons who are not entitled to passports, as an evasion of the "Gentlemen's Agreement" on the part of the Tokyo Government. It is one thing to point out the defects of the agreement, but it is an entirely different matter to charge bad faith in its execution. By way of summary, then, it may be stated that ever since the "Gentlemen's Agreement" was put into effect in 1907, the number of immigrants has gradually decreased, those admitted having been mostly former residents, although the total number of Japanese coming to the United States has increased, due to the growing number of tourists and business men. The agreement, as far as its execution is concerned, has been carried out with the utmost scruple, but it is defective in that it does not clearly distinguish immigrants from non-immigrants, and this leads to confounding visitors with immigrants, and hence to the unfounded claim that it is being ignored, evaded. Judging from the sentiment prevailing in California, and in other Western States, against the Japanese, it is desirable that the agreement be so amended as to forbid the advent of all Japanese, except well-defined non-immigrants and former residents temporarily visiting Japan. This will prevent the further increase through immigration of Japanese settlers in California or elsewhere in the United States. This step is deemed advisable, not that a handful of immigrants as such is serious, but that the main question at issue--the treatment of Japanese already in America--becomes thereby liberated from further complication. It will go far to reduce the fear of Californians, and thereby alleviate the difficulty of the main issue. Smuggling. There is no room for doubt that smuggling is responsible for a part of the Japanese population in California. From the nature of the case, it is, however, impossible to estimate the number of Japanese who have entered the United States through this illegal method. During the visit to California last summer, of the House sub-Committee on Immigration and Naturalization for the investigation of Japanese conditions, a rumor was circulated and published in the principal papers of the country to the effect that the Committee had discovered amazing facts as to the systematic smuggling of Japanese into this country through Guaymas. Later, it was made clear that the rumor owed its source to the machinations of certain anti-Japanese agitators who willfully concocted the canard. While it is possible that from the Mexican and Canadian borders a few scores of Japanese may be smuggled in every year, it is absurd to imagine that any wholesale smuggling is being practiced through the connivance of Japanese officials and under the noses of competent officers who patrol the borders and coasts. It may also be remembered that Japan and Canada have an agreement restricting the number of Japanese entering Canada. This renders the northern borders of the United States comparatively free from the danger of smuggling. Except through desertion of seamen, which numbered 315 cases during the past ten years, it is almost impossible to enter secretly by way of the Pacific Coast. The only danger zone is the Mexican border. But here again there are good reasons for believing that smuggling from Mexico cannot be practiced on a large scale. In the first place, the number of Japanese in Mexico amounts only to 1169,[20] and no passports have been granted by the Japanese Government since 1908 to laborers who wish to go to Mexico.[21] In the second place, the American Government would take care to see that its border-patrol is efficient enough to arrest smugglers. The Mikado's Government, too, has been sincere in cooperating with the American authorities to prevent the evasion of the law. Birth Rate. The cardinal question relating to the Japanese population in California is the question of birth rate. Immigration can be restricted, smuggling may be completely prevented, but the fact of the high birth rate is something which cannot be very easily combated without infringing upon traditionally sacred principles and personal freedom. It is quite true that the high birth rate among the Japanese in California would not have been a serious matter if the nationalism of America were as broad as that of Ancient Rome, or if the Japanese were a race which will readily and speedily lose its identity in the great American melting pot. But the fact remains that the United States of America is not merely a mixture of different races and colors; she is a solid, unified, composite country, although she draws race material from all over the world. Nor are the Japanese a race likely to amalgamate completely with Americans in a few generations. Thus the question of Japanese birth rate in America becomes a vital matter, touching the fundamental questions of national and racial unity in the United States. With the importance of the question clearly kept in mind, we shall see what are the facts as to births among the Japanese in California. The following table, prepared from the reports of the California State Board of Health, Bureau of Vital Statistics, shows the number of annual births of Japanese from 1906 to 1919, and its percentage of the total number of births in California: NUMBER OF BIRTHS. ======================================================== Year. |Total Births |Japanese Births| Japanese |in California.|in California. |Births--Percentage | | | of Total. ------|--------------|---------------|------------------ 1906 | ...... | 134 | .... 1907 | ...... | 221 | .... 1908 | ...... | 455 | .... 1909 | ...... | 682 | .... 1910 | 32,138 | 719 | 2.24% 1911 | 34,828 | 995 | 2.86% 1912 | 39,330 | 1,407 | 3.73% 1913 | 43,852 | 2,215 | 5.05% 1914 | 46,012 | 2,874 | 6.25% 1915 | 48,075 | 3,342 | 6.95% 1916 | 50,638 | 3,721 | 7.35% 1917 | 52,230 | 4,108 | 7.87% 1918 | 55,922 | 4,218 | 7.54% 1919 | 56,527 | 4,378 | 7.75% |--------------|---------------| Totals| 459,552 | 29,469 | ======================================================== The table indicates in the first place that the birth rate of California as a whole is steadily growing, and in the second place that the birth rate of the Japanese was very low until 1906 or 1907, but since then it has been rapidly growing. The relative percentage of Japanese births in the total births of California, however, indicates the tendency to diminish, having reached the highest mark in 1917, when it was 7.87 per cent., but decreasing slightly in the last few years. The exceedingly high birth rate of the Japanese in California becomes clearer when considered in terms of the rate of birth per thousand of population. In the year 1919, the number of births in California was 1.79 per thousand population. In Japan, where the birth rate is high, it was 2.53 during the past decade. The birth rate of Japanese in California is more than three times as high as that for the total of California, and more than double that in Japan. There are several reasons for this abnormally high birth rate among the Japanese in California. In the first place, a large portion of these Japanese are in the prime of life, and moreover they are selected groups of vigorous and healthy individuals. Commenting on the age distribution of Japanese in this country, the report of the Bureau of Census states[22]: The most noteworthy fact about the age distribution of the Japanese is their remarkable concentration on the age groups 25 to 44, nearly two-thirds of the Japanese being in this period of life. Only 4.5 per cent. of the Japanese are over 45 years of age, as compared with 44.7 per cent. of the Chinese. The explanation is, doubtless, to be found in the fact that the Japanese represent more recent immigration than the Chinese. The truth of this statement was borne out by the recent investigation conducted by the Japanese Association of San Francisco, which obtained the following result in thirty-six northern counties of California: AGE DISTRIBUTION OF JAPANESE IN MIDDLE AND NORTHERN CALIFORNIA, 1920. ========================================== Age. |Male. |Female.|Total. |Percentage | | | | of Age | | | | Group. --------|------|-------|-------|---------- Under 7 | 4,078| 3,786| 7,864| 18.% 8 to 16| 2,035| 1,663| 3,698| 8.% 17 to 40|17,037| 8,535| 25,572| 59.% Above 40| 5,683| 805| 6,488| 15.% --------|------|-------|-------|---------- Total |28,833| 14,789| 43,622| 100. ========================================== Thus, out of the total number of 43,622 investigated, 25,572 or nearly 59 per cent. are between the ages of seventeen to forty, only 5 per cent. of females being those who passed the age of fertility. Another reason for the high birth rate of the Japanese in California is the high percentage of married people. The rate of married people among the Japanese in California suddenly rose since some ten years ago when a great number (between 400 and 900 per annum) of wives began to come in under the popular name, _picture brides_. The ratio maintained between male and female among the Japanese in California was one to six ten years ago, but at present, it is one to two.[23] Since it is estimated that there are 16,195 Japanese wives in California,[24] it is obvious that there are double that number, or 32,390 married Japanese, in California, which means that 46 per cent. of the total population are married. This is apparently a high rate, since it is 17 per cent. in Japan, 36 per cent. in Great Britain, 37 per cent. in Italy. Although exact data is lacking, judging from the fact that only less than a half of California's white population are of ages above twenty-one,[25] it may not be too far-fetched to estimate the percentage of married people at 25 per cent. of the total population. From the foregoing considerations we can deduce this, that the Japanese are mostly at the prime of life, and that the percentage of married people is exceedingly high. Now, in comparing the birth rates of two groups such as those of the Japanese and of the Californians in general, a mere comparison of rates without taking into consideration the difference in age distribution and marital conditions is not only useless, but it is absolutely misleading. California has only 20 per cent. of people between the ages of eighteen to forty-four,[26] while the Japanese group has 59 per cent.; California has about 25 per cent. or less of married population, including those who have passed the fertile period; while the Japanese community has 46 per cent. of married population, all of whom are in the zenith of productivity. No wonder, then, that the Japanese in California have three times as high a birth rate as that of California as a whole. There is another factor which accounts for the high birth rate of the Japanese. It is the sudden rise of the standard of living. It is an established principle of immigration that when immigrants settle in a new country and attain a much higher standard of living than they were accustomed to at home they tend to multiply very rapidly through high birth rate. Among the European immigrants in this country, a birth rate of fifty per thousand is not rare.[27] In the careful researches made in Rhode Island concerning the fertility of the immigrant population,[28] it was found that their birth rate was invariably high, 72 per cent. of the married women each having upwards of three children, with an average of 4.5 children for each one of them. This fact holds equally good for the Japanese immigrants, most of whom came from the poor quarters of the agricultural communities, where not only economic handicaps but customs and social fetters operate to check their multiplication. When, therefore, they come to California, where food is abundant, work easy, climate salubrious, and personal freedom is incomparably greater, they naturally tend to multiply. What we May Expect in the Future. We have seen, then, that the high birth rate among the Japanese settlers in California is due primarily to the facts that the largest portion of them are in the prime of life; that the percentage of married people is remarkably high, the larger part of them, especially the women, being at the zenith of productivity, and that their standard of living suddenly improves when they settle in California. The question naturally arises as to what will be the future development of Japanese nativity. Remembering that a prediction, however scientific, cannot at best be more than a possibility, we shall venture to forecast the future of the Japanese birth rate in California. In doing so, the proper way would be to examine any possible future change in the causes which constitute the present high birth rate. How, then, about the age distribution of the Japanese? It has been shown that 59 per cent. of them are between the ages of seventeen and forty, and that 15 per cent. of them are above forty. In other words, 74 per cent. of the Japanese are mature, while only 26 per cent. are minors. Now, we are all mortals, and grow old as time passes; even the Japanese do not have magical power to retain perennial juvenility, as some agitators seem to think. They grow old, the Japanese in California, as years come and go, passing gradually into the age when childbearing is no longer possible. Therefore, if fresh immigration is checked, which we have already indicated is desirable, it is manifest that a large portion of the present Japanese in California will die out without being reinforced by youths save those who are born in America, and hence are citizens thereof. That this tendency has already set in may be seen from the increase of the death rate among the Japanese in California, as the following table indicates: DEATH RATE OF JAPANESE IN CALIFORNIA. ======================== Year.|Number.|Percentage | | of Death | | per 1000. -----|-------|---------- 1910 | 440 | 10.64% 1911 | 472 | ..... 1912 | 524 | ..... 1913 | 613 | ..... 1914 | 628 | ..... 1915 | 663 | ..... 1916 | 739 | ..... 1917 | 910 | ..... 1918 | 1150 | ..... 1919 | 1360 | 20.00% ======================== The rate of death per one thousand population increased twice during the past ten years. When the age distribution becomes normal by the passing away of the middle-aged group which constitutes the majority at present, rendering the population evenly distributed among the children, middle-aged, and the old, the present high percentage of married people also will disappear, descending to the normal rate ruling in the ordinary communities, which is but half as high as that now prevailing among the Japanese living in California. When the number of young people relatively lessens, and that of married people also decreases, what other result can we expect but the marked fall in numbers born? Improved standards of living as a cause of the high birth rate will also cease to operate as new immigrants will no longer enter; and the American-born generations will gradually take their parents' place. The younger generations of Japanese are as a rule higher in culture and ideals than their parents. Accordingly, it is unthinkable, other things being equal, that they should go on multiplying themselves as their parents did. It is an established principle proved conclusively by the thoroughgoing Congressional researches in Rhode Island,[29] that the birth rate among foreign-born immigrants is exceedingly high, and that it steadily decreases in successive generations, reaching the normal American rate within a few generations. We are, then, on a safe ground in inferring that a similar tendency will also manifest itself among the Japanese in the United States. Our discussions concerning future birth rate then, seem to point decidedly to the conclusion that since the present high percentage of the middle-age group and the married group is bound to diminish as time passes, and since the fertility of the future generations is not likely to be as high as that of their parents, it will decrease markedly by the time the present generation passes away. It is, therefore, only a question of time. The present is a transitional period, a turning-point, in the history of the Japanese in America. It is surely unwise, then, to become unduly excited over the passing phenomenon, and thereby defeat the working of a natural process which promises to bring about a satisfactory solution in the not distant future. CHAPTER VIII FACTS ABOUT THE JAPANESE IN CALIFORNIA--FARMERS AND ALIEN LAND LAWS Agriculture is by far the most important occupation of the Japanese in California. Out of the total Japanese population of 70,196 in California, 38,000 belong to the farming classes including those who are sustained by breadwinners. Besides, there are thousands of laborers who seek farm work during the summer. Perhaps owing to the facts that most of the Japanese immigrants are drawn from the agricultural communities in Japan, that the climate and soil of California are especially suited to the kinds of farming in which the Japanese are skilled--such as garden-trucking and berry-farming--the Japanese in California have been markedly successful in agricultural pursuits. History of Japanese Agriculture in California. The history of Japanese farming in California dates back to the time when the Chinese Exclusion Law was enacted in 1882. A number of Japanese laborers were employed in the Vaca Valley and another group in the vineyards of Fresno as early as 1887-1888. Since that time the number of Japanese farm laborers has steadily increased. They have distributed themselves widely in the lower Sacramento, San Joaquin River, Marysville, and Suisun districts. Later many Japanese settled in Southern California. During that early period the Japanese farm laborers were warmly welcomed by the California farmers because of the dearth of farm hands and because of their skill and industry in farming. But the Japanese were not satisfied at remaining mere farm hands. They saved their wages and attempted to start independent farming. In many cases independent farming was not as profitable as wage labor, since the former involved risk and responsibility. Yet because of the incalculable pleasure which independence brings, because of the ease with which leases could be obtained, and because of the social prestige attached to the "independent farmers," the Japanese developed a distinct tendency to lease or buy land and to take up farming by themselves rather than be employed as wage earners. This tendency, however, did not manifest itself distinctly until some time later, when they had saved sufficient sums of money to launch such undertakings. Thus the census of 1900 records only 29 farms, covering 4698 acres, which were operated by Japanese. The number steadily increased during the following ten years. According to the census of 1910 they operated 1816 farms, covering 99,254 acres of land. At present it is reported that they own some 600 farms covering 74,769 acres and operate some 6000 farms embracing 383,287 acres under lease or crop contract, bringing the total farm acreage under Japanese control to 458,056 acres. The brilliant success of the Japanese farmers in California may be better appreciated when the amount and value of the crops turned out by them every year are considered. Governor Stephens, in his letter to Secretary of State Colby, quotes in part the report prepared by the State Board of Control, and states: ... At the present time, between 80 and 90 per cent. of most of our vegetable and berry products are those of the Japanese farms. Approximately, 80 per cent. of the tomato crop of the State is produced by Japanese; from 80 to 100 per cent. of the spinach crop; a greater part of our potato and asparagus crops, and so on. In another part of the letter he remarks: ... In productive values--that is to say, in the market value of crops produced by them--our figures show that as against $6,235,856 worth of produce marketed in 1909, the increase has been to $67,145,730, approximately ten-fold. Causes of Progress. There are many causes for this rapid development. In the first place, the Japanese as a rule are ambitious. They do not rest satisfied, like the Chinese and the Mexicans, with being employed as farm laborers. They save money or form partnerships with well-to-do friends, and start independent farms. This is made easy by a form of tenancy which prevails in California. That is, the landowner advances the required sum of money to a tenant, offers him tools and shelter, and in return receives rent from the sale of the crops. This is a modified form of crop contract, but it is decidedly more secure for the owner, because he assumes less risk. It is more profitable to the tenant because he gets a due reward for his effort. On account of the ease with which this kind of lease is obtained, ambitious Japanese farm laborers soon become tenants, and when successful--and usually they are--they buy a piece of land with the intention of making a permanent settlement. That Japanese farmers are usually favorably regarded by landowners is an important factor in their success. Although there have been cases in which the Japanese provoked the hatred of landowners by not observing promises or failing to carry out contracts, on the whole, the Japanese are preferred to other races, because they are more peaceful, take better care of the land, and pay higher rent.[30] The reason why Japanese take better care of the land and can pay higher rent than ordinary farmers may be found in their previous agricultural training in Japan. There the farming is conducted on the basis of intensive cultivation. Moreover, in order to prevent exhaustion of land the farmers are accustomed to taking minute care that the soil's fertility be retained. This habit of intensive cultivation and the minute care of the soil, which are really inseparable, are maintained by the Japanese farmers when they undertake agriculture in California. Furthermore, it so happens that the climate and soil of California are especially suited for intensive cultivation. Such products as vegetables and berries, which grow so abundantly in California, are precisely the kinds of crops which demand careful and intensive cultivation. The notable success of Japanese farmers in this form of production, therefore, is not an accident. By the introduction of methods of intensive cultivation they have been able to take good care of the land and to pay high rent to the landowners. That the Japanese are good farmers is attested by the fact that they actually produce more per acre than the other farmers. The Japanese-American Year Book of 1918 has the following comment to make regarding the efficiency of Japanese farmers in California: In the year 1917 there were 12,000,000 acres of irrigated farm lands in California. From this, California produced crops valued at $500,000,000; that is to say, the value of the product turned out per acre was about $42. Japanese cultivated 390,000 acres and produced $55,000,000 worth of farm products, or $141 per acre. The value of the Japanese farms turned out per acre was, therefore, three and a half times as much as that obtained by California farms in general. Perhaps the patience and industry with which the Japanese have developed some of the "raw" land of California into productive farm land accounts for their prosperity in such localities as Florin, New Castle, the Sacramento district, and the Imperial Valley. Japanese Farm Labor. We may now inquire to what extent the Japanese farmers constitute a menace to the California farmers and to the State of California. In considering this question, it is useful to distinguish between the Japanese farm laborers and the regular farmers. There are in California at present about fifteen thousand Japanese who are employed in various kinds of agriculture. The number varies according to season. In the summer months it increases considerably, while in the winter it greatly decreases. When the seasonal work is over in a locality, the men seek other jobs in other localities. There is work for them throughout the year, since the climatic conditions of California are such that some crop is raised in some part of the State in almost all months. The agency which adjusts the demand and supply of farm labor is known as a "Japanese Employment Office." There are over three hundred, at least, of such agencies facilitating the supply of labor. The chief advantage which the employment of Japanese farm laborers offers to employers is, in the first place, their highly transitory character. Most of the Japanese laborers, being men of middle age with no settled homes, go to any place where wages are high. The convenience which the farmers receive from this rapid supply of necessary labor is immense, since the crops handled by the Japanese are perishables demanding immediate harvesting. The transitory facility of Japanese labor is one thing which California farmers cannot easily dispense with and is a thing which the white laborers with families cannot very well substitute. Another convenience derived from the employment of Japanese farm labor is the "boss system." It is a form of contract labor in which a farmer employs workers on his farm as a united body through its representative or boss. This frees the farmer from the care of overseeing the work, of arranging the wages with the workers, and of taking other troubles. Although this system has given rise to many regrettable complications through the occasional failure of the Japanese to observe their contracts, which leads to the general belief that the Japanese are unreliable and dishonest; nevertheless, this "boss system" remains as the one distinct feature of Japanese farm labor which is welcomed by the California farmers. There is one more characteristic of the Japanese farm laborers which is unique and extremely important. They are by habit and constitution adapted to the garden farming which prevails in California. Fruit and berry picking, trimming and hoeing, transplanting and nursery work, which require manual dexterity, quick action, and stooping over or squatting, are singularly suited to the Japanese. No other race, save possibly the Chinese, can compete with the Japanese in this sort of field labor. With their training in intensive cultivation, with physical adaptation to the important agricultural industries of California, and with the rapid transitory capacity and advantageous system of contract labor, the Japanese farm laborers constitute an important asset to the agriculture of California. There are, however, serious charges made against this class of Japanese. Perhaps the most pertinent criticism of them is that they do not observe contracts or promises. This question was very ably discussed by Professor Millis in his valuable book, _The Japanese Problem in the United States_, as follows: Much has been heard to the effect that the Japanese are not honest in contractual relations.... So far as it relates to the business relations of the farmers, there has been not a little complaint. Much of it, however, appears to have been due to their inability to understand all the details of a contract they could not read. In recent years more care has been taken to understand all of the conditions of the contract entered into, and the charges of breach of contract have become much fewer. Another source of misunderstanding has been that some of the Japanese, who think more in personal terms and less in terms of contract than the Americans, have sought to secure a change in their leases when they proved to be bad bargains, and have occasionally left their holdings in order to avoid loss. A third fact is that formerly some undesirable Japanese secured leases. These, however, have gradually fallen out of the class of tenants, so that most of those who remain are efficient and desirable farmers.[31] Another charge is that they work for lower wages than the white laborers. This may have been true several years ago, but at present it is claimed that the exact reverse is the case. The answers received by the State Board of Control of California to questionnaires sent out by it (one of which was, "Give wage comparisons, with notes on living conditions,") to the County Horticultural Commissioners and County Farm Advisers in the State, agree on one essential; namely, that Japanese farm hands are receiving wages equal to or higher than those paid the white workers.[32] Mr. Chiba, the managing director of the Japanese Agricultural Association of California, gives the following figures as to wages of Japanese and white farm laborers[33]: _During Harvest._ _After Harvest._ Japanese common laborers, $4 per day with $3.50 per day meals. with meals. White common laborers, $3.50 per day $3 per day with with meals. meals. White teamsters, $4 per day with $3.50 per day meals. with meals. The charge that the living conditions of Japanese are lower is a thing which cannot be determined by off-hand judgment. Reliable statistics are lacking in this line. In fact, the standard, by which we may safely pronounce our judgment on the question, is not easy to establish scientifically. Food, dress, and dwelling may, on the whole, be taken as the criteria for comparison. The food, however, when it happens to be different in kind between two groups of people, unless the prices are compared, cannot be taken as a sure measure for estimating the higher or lower standard of living. The diet of the Japanese farmer is different in kind from that of the American; but it will be rash to conclude that the Japanese standard of living is thereby lower than that of the American. As a rule, the Japanese feed and dress well. There is perhaps no more liberal spender than a Japanese youth. His weakness lies rather in taking too much delight in making display than in taking to heart the qualities of a miser. In dwellings the Japanese have nothing to compare with the comfortable and durable homes of the Americans. The reason for this deficiency is that the Japanese have no assurance for the future; hence they have no incentive to build permanent homes. At any rate, as long as the Japanese are getting higher wages than the white laborers, and are not underbidding the latter, frugal living and money-saving are wholly a matter of individual freedom, which should not give cause for criticism. That there are still other shortcomings in Japanese farm laborers must be conceded. They are irascible, unstable, complaining, unsubmissive. These are inborn tendencies of the Japanese, and it is not easy to correct them in a short time. Concerning the question as to what extent the Orientals displace white labor, the replies given by the County Horticultural Commissioners and the County Farm Advisers of California disclose this interesting fact; namely, that in most counties where Japanese are engaged in farm work they are not displacing white labor, and only in a few counties where fruits are the chief products do they appear to displace white labor to any extent.[34] The truth is that the supply of Japanese farm labor has been diminishing noticeably since the virtual stopping of immigration, while the demand has been on the increase. In 1910, it was reported that 30,000 Japanese were engaged in farm labor in California[35]; in 1918, there were only 15,794 employed.[36] Professor Millis observed The number of Japanese available for employment by white farmers has diminished, and in certain communities to a marked degree. The total number of such laborers has decreased with restriction on immigration, and the increase in number of Japanese farmers.[37] Japanese Farmers. While Japanese farm labor has been diminishing, the responsible farmers have been increasing. As already stated, in 1909 the Japanese controlled 1816 farms, covering 99,254 acres; but in 1919 they cultivated 6000 farms, embracing 458,056 acres. The value of the annual farm products also jumped from $6,235,856 to $67,145,230 during the ten-year period. Thus the increase of cultivation area has been approximately four-fold and that of the crop value ten-fold. For three outstanding reasons the rapid progress of Japanese farmers is envisaged with serious apprehension. The first reason is found in the words of the Governor of California: These Japanese, by very reason of their use of economic standards impossible to our white ideals--that is to say, the employment of their wives and their very children in the arduous toil of the soil--are proving crushing competitors to our white rural populations. This statement, that the Japanese are crushing competitors of California farmers, is in a measure true, but it greatly exaggerates the situation. In California, large farms still predominate, and the average size of a farm is about two hundred acres. The size of the Japanese farm is usually small, the average being about fifty-seven acres. The contrast is due to the difference both in the method of cultivation and in the crops raised by white and Japanese farmers. The crops cultivated exclusively by white farmers are such as corn, fruit, nuts, hay, and grain, which require extensive farming and the employment of machines and elaborate instruments. The Japanese, being accustomed to intensive cultivation, almost monopolize the state production of berries, celery, asparagus, etc., which require much stooping, squatting, and painstaking manual work. Thus there is a clear line of demarkation between white and Japanese farmers based on the difference of training and physical constitution.[38] It must also be remembered that the crops which are exclusively raised by white farmers are those which constitute the more important products of the State, a greater acreage of land being devoted to each of them. Most of the products which are monopolized by the Japanese are newly introduced kinds, total crop values of which are small, a very limited amount of acreage being used for their cultivation. This being the case, it is clearly misleading to represent the Japanese farmers as "crushing competitors" of all other agriculturists in California. Some of those who follow the Japanese methods of intensive cultivation perhaps find themselves injured by the more efficient and successful Japanese farmers, but the number of such farmers is very small. That the Japanese work longer hours than the white farmers is true. That they occasionally work on Sundays is also true. The explanation for this is that, being discouraged from taking part in the communal life and activities, they naturally tend to spend more time in work and to seek recreation in work itself. On many of the Japanese farms it is frequently the custom to have a day off during the week instead of on Sunday for the purpose of going to town to shop or to go visiting. It is true that the women and children are often found working in the fields with the men, but this is due to the fact that in intensive cultivation there is much trivial work which children and women can undertake without undue physical exertion. The children are usually allowed to play in the fields around their parents while the parents work, and this is often represented as compelling children of tender age to engage in "arduous toil." We cannot, of course, ascertain how far the Japanese farmers will in the future push and drive the white farmers out if they are given a free hand; but it is certain that at the present time the sharp competition has not yet commenced on account of the clear division of labor established between the Japanese and white farmers. That the unparalleled success of Japanese farmers should give rise to jealousy and hatred among intolerant American farmers is an inevitable tendency. The second reason given for apprehension is that the Japanese might soon control the entire agricultural land of California unless preventive measures are promptly adopted. This particular fear was by far the most powerful factor in ushering in and passing the land laws prohibiting either lease or ownership of agricultural land by an Oriental. The groundless nature of the premonition becomes apparent when a few figures are introduced. California has 27,931,444 acres of farm land, of which about half has been improved. The Japanese at the end of 1920 owned 74,769 acres and leased 383,287 acres.[39] It may be true that the lands under Japanese control are usually good lands, but they were not so invariably at the time of purchase. As a matter of fact, most of the lands which Japanese have secured were at first either untillable or of the poorest quality, and only by dint of patient toil have they been converted into productive soil. Many thrilling stories are told of the hardship and perseverance of Japanese farmers, who have after failure on failure succeeded in their enterprise. They have indeed reclaimed swamps and rehabilitated many neglected orchards and ranches. Whatever may be the nature of the land owned by Japanese, however, its amount is truly insignificant. It forms only 0.27 per cent. of the agricultural lands of California, or one acre for every 374 acres; while the amount leased is 1.40 per cent. or one acre for every 72.8 acres. This is saying that the Japanese in California, who constitute 2 per cent. of the native population, cultivate under freehold and leasehold 1.67 per cent. of the farm lands of California. When we recollect that more than half of California's agricultural land--16,000,000 acres--is still left uncultivated, it seems almost preposterous that so much vociferation should be raised because of the very limited amount of acreage held by the Japanese. The weightiest reason offered for the necessity of checking Japanese agricultural progress is the one which almost all leaders of the anti-Japanese movement have emphasized; namely, that the Japanese are unassimilable. If they were an assimilable race, and in the course of a few generations were to blend their racial identity with the American blood, California would have no reason to oppose their progress in agriculture. But they are a distinct people who amalgamate with difficulty, if at all. Were they allowed unhindered development in agriculture, in which their success has been most marked, in the opinion of the exclusionists, they would multiply tremendously in number and correspondingly increase in power to the extent of not only overwhelming the white population of California but also of endangering the harmony and unity of American nationality. This is precisely the line of argument which the Governor of California advanced in his letter to Secretary of State Colby. In its conclusion he states: I trust that I have clearly presented the California point of view, and that in any correspondence or negotiations with Japan which may ensue as the result of the accompanying report, or any action which the people of the State of California may take thereon, you will understand that it is based entirely on the principle of race self-preservation and the ethnological impossibility of successfully assimilating this constantly increasing flow of Oriental blood. Accordingly, the question whether or not California is justified in prohibiting the Japanese from the pursuit of agriculture is not to be determined by a consideration of the amount of land they cultivate or the comparative wages they receive, but by the consideration of their assimilability. We shall discuss this pertinent question in the next chapter. Anti-Alien Land Laws. The significance of the land issue in itself being slight, as shown by the foregoing study, a casual discussion will suffice on the issue of the anti-alien land laws. The land law of 1913, which was enacted in spite of strong opposition among certain groups of the people of California and on the part of the Federal Government, provided, in summary: (1) An alien not eligible to citizenship cannot acquire, possess, or transfer real property, unless such is prescribed by the existing treaty between the United States and the country of which he is a subject. This provision takes advantage of the fact that in the Treaty of Commerce and Navigation concluded in 1911 between America and Japan, no specific mention is made concerning the ownership of farm land. The Treaty provides: Article I. The subjects or citizens of each of the high contracting parties shall receive, in the territories of the other, the most constant protection and security for their persons and property, and shall enjoy in this respect the same rights and privileges as are or may be granted to native subjects or citizens, on their submitting themselves to the conditions imposed upon the native subjects and citizens.[40] (2) An alien not eligible to citizenship cannot lease land for agricultural purposes for a term exceeding three years. (3) Any company or corporation of which a majority of the members are aliens who are ineligible to citizenship, or of which a majority of the issued capital stock is owned by such aliens, shall not own agricultural lands or lease for more than three years. (4) Any real property acquired in fee in violation of the provisions of this act shall escheat to, and become the property of, the State of California.[41] This ingenious law was rendered ineffective because the Japanese kept on buying and leasing land in the names of those of their children who are citizens of this country. Moreover, they resorted to the formation of corporations in which a majority of the stock was owned by American citizens. The outcome of the situation was the adoption in November of last year of a new land law more carefully framed. The new law naturally aims to correct the defects which led to the evasion of the former law. It is in substance as follows: (1) All aliens not eligible to citizenship and whose home government has no treaty with the United States providing such right cannot own or lease land; (2) All such aliens cannot become members or acquire shares of stock in any company, association, or corporation owning agricultural land; (3) These aliens cannot become guardians of that portion of the estate of a minor which consists of property which they are inhibited by this law from possession or transfer; (4) Any real property hereafter acquired in fee in violation of the provisions of this act by aliens shall escheat to and become the property of the State of California. The difference between the old and the new laws is that in the new law evasion is made entirely impossible by prohibiting the Japanese from buying or selling land in the names of their children or through the medium of corporations. A novel feature of the new law is that it forbids the three-year lease which was allowed by the old law. The opponents of the newly enacted law claim that it is unwise because, if it proves effective, it will have driven a large number of capable and industrious farmers out of agriculture, thereby causing no little inconvenience to the people in getting an abundant supply of table delicacies. Even the report of the State Board of Control admits that "the annual output of agricultural products of Japanese consists of food products practically indispensable to the State's daily supply," and adds that their sudden removal is not wise.[42] If, on the other hand, the law fails--and that there is abundant possibility of it the sponsors of the law themselves admit--critics insist that it will result in no gain, but "it merely persecutes the aliens against whom it is directed, and sows the seed of distrust in their minds," and further it will occasion an unnecessary ill-feeling between America and Japan. Presenting the reasons for opposing the new land measure, the San Francisco Chamber of Commerce stated: The clause denying the right to lease agricultural lands is ineffective in operation. It may prove irritating to the Japanese people, but it will not prevent them from occupying lands for agricultural purposes under cropping contracts for personal services, which cannot be legally prohibited to any class of aliens. This is what Governor Stephens referred to when he confessed that the law can be evaded by legal subterfuge, which it is not possible for the State to counteract. And California has no lack of lawyers, who are resourceful and ready enough to teach the Japanese the technical way of evading the law. The advocates of the new law, on the other hand, argued that anything is better than nothing to show their disapproval of Japanese domination in agriculture, and pointed to the Japanese law regarding foreign land ownership as an example of foreigners not being allowed to own land. If Japan does not permit the ownership of land by Americans, they argue, by what right do the Japanese demand the privilege in America? This apparently does not hit the point since in case of Japan the prohibition of land-ownership is not discrimination against any single nation or people, whereas the case of California is. We may, however, cursorily touch here upon the status of foreign land ownership in Japan. Land Laws of Japan. Under present regulations there are three ways in which foreigners may hold land in Japan, viz.: (1) By ordinary lease running for any convenient term and renewable at the will of the lessee. The rent of such leased property is liable to a review by the courts, after a certain number of years, on the application of either party; (2) A so-called superficies title may be secured in all parts of Japan, save what is called the colonial areas, running for any number of years. Many such titles now current run for 999 years. These titles give as complete control over the surface of the land as a fee-simple title would do. (3) Foreigners may form joint stock companies and hold land for the purposes indicated by their charters. They are juridical persons, formed under the commercial code of Japan, and are regarded just as truly Japanese legal persons as though composed solely of Japanese. It will thus be seen that in practice foreigners can take possession of land in Japan about as effectually as in fee simple. On April 13, 1910, the Japanese Diet passed a land law which embodied, among others, the following provisions: Article I. Foreigners domiciled or resident in Japan and foreign juridical persons registered therein shall enjoy the right of ownership in land, provided always that in the countries to which they belong such right is extended to Japanese subjects, and Japanese juridical persons.... Article II. Foreigners and foreign juridical persons shall not be capable of enjoying the right of ownership in land in the following districts: First, Hokkaido; second, Formosa; third, Karafuto; fourth, districts necessary for national defense. Article III. In case a foreigner or a foreign juridical person owning land ceases to be capable of enjoying the right of ownership in land, the ownership of such land shall accrue to the fiscus [the Imperial Treasury], unless he disposes of it within a period of one year. Article IV. The date for putting the present law into force shall be determined by Imperial ordinance. This law was severely criticized by both liberals and foreigners on account of its too conservative provisions, and as a consequence it was not promulgated by the Emperor for the time being. In the legislative session of 1919, the Government introduced to the Diet a revised bill embodying more liberal principles and omitting all features in the law of 1910 considered objectionable by foreigners. Unfortunately the Lower House was suddenly dissolved by the deadlock encountered on the issue of universal suffrage before the proposed law was voted on. The Japanese Government, it is reported, has drafted a new law with the intention of introducing it to the session of the Diet now sitting (January, 1921), the notable feature of which is the inclusion of Korea and other territories among the available lands for ownership by foreigners. Effect of the Initiative Bill. Already there are indications that the action of California has had its effect on the neighboring States. Similar legislation is mooted in Texas, Washington, Oregon, and Nebraska. When we consider that in those States the number of Japanese is very small and the amount of land-holding is simply negligible, the only explanation for the proposal is the influence of California, which has been deliberately strengthened by the direct appeal of Governor Stephens to other States for coöperation. In this way California is rather making the local situation worse, for by limiting the scope of discriminatory activity within her doors, she might have found a remedy for relieving the tension found therein through the dispersal of Japanese into other States. It is not the purpose of this book to enter into a detailed examination of the legal aspects and technicalities of the new land law voted on by the California electorate. It may be found in contravention to the American Constitution by depriving certain residents legally admitted into this country of the "equal protection of the law" as guaranteed by that instrument. The Japanese Government may lay before the Federal Government a formal protest against the land law on the theory that it infringes on the Japanese-American Treaty of 1911, by running counter to the spirit of fairness pervading the document in withholding from Japanese aliens the rights and privileges enjoyed by aliens of other nationalities. Or it may be the intention of the Washington and Tokyo Governments to reach a mutual agreement by concluding a new treaty which will specifically state the rights to be conferred upon each other's subjects, so that subterfuge will no longer be possible, and, on the other hand, will completely prevent the entrance of Japanese immigrants. We are not in a position to gauge the intent and nature of the proposed treaty, which is understood to be under way between the Japanese Embassy and the State Department, while it is in the stage of negotiation or discussion. Whatever may be the nature of the _pourparler_, it must be based on the conviction that neither legal contention nor diplomatic dispute will ever settle the vexed question. America is the country of the people, and the Government is powerless unless it is supported by the people. The key to the solution, accordingly, must be found in the attitude of the people and not exclusively in legal or diplomatic arrangements. We are of the opinion, therefore, that the surest way of removing the difficulty is to study the causes that constitute the present California unrest and endeavor to eliminate them so far as it is within our power to do so. Only by regaining the genuine friendship of the people of California in this way can the Japanese in that State expect to free themselves from the unfortunate unfriendly pressure. CHAPTER IX ASSIMILATION Nationalism and Assimilation. In the question of assimilation we find the heart of the Japanese problem in California. The reader will probably recall that, in discussing California's effort to counteract the progress of the Japanese in agriculture, we stated that there would be no ground for justification of the recent rigorous measure except on the assumption that the Japanese are unassimilable, and that they should not, therefore, be allowed to flourish in that State. He will also remember that we stated, in discussing the Japanese population in California, that, were it not for the apprehension of the probable impossibility of assimilating the Japanese, their increase in number either in California or in the United States was not an occasion for anxiety. These arguments implied our belief that the entire problem of the Japanese-California situation would finally resolve itself to one crucial point; namely, the question of assimilation. It is our profound conviction that if it be established that the Japanese are unassimilable, then decisive steps--much more decisive than any so far adopted--should be taken by both America and Japan in order to forestall a possible tragedy in the future. We hold this view because the present state of world affairs allows us to entertain no other opinion. As long as our world order is such that its constituent units are highly organized, composite nations with independent rights and marked individualities, it is only natural that each nation should demand that foreigners entering for the purpose of permanent settlement conform in a large measure to the social order and ideals of the country. In case this is deemed impossible, the nation opposes any large influx of foreign races because of the necessity of maintaining its national unity and harmony. Naturally, this tendency of conserving strict national integrity is strongest among the oldest and most highly organized States, and weakest among the new and loosely integrated countries. Countries like Japan and England, which have long, proud histories and traditions, and which are highly organized, are more strict about the way they take foreigners into their households. On the other hand, new countries like Australia and the South American republics, which have short histories and few traditions, are more or less liberal in admitting foreigners. This truth has been exemplified by the history of the United States. She has shown a marked laxity in this regard during the colonial and growing periods; but as soon as she achieved a more perfect national unity and consciousness, she began to manifest a strong tendency toward integration, exerting her energy on the one hand upon consolidation of her population and on the other upon excluding "squatters" who would not readily assimilate. Whether or not such a nationalistic policy may be considered just, and whatever change the future may witness in this regard, the fact remains that not a single nation in the world at present discards or rejects the policy in practice. In the face of such a situation the only alternative for the Japanese in the United States, when they obstinately cling to their own ways of living and thinking, would be to go elsewhere. This conviction of ours should not be confused with the hasty, groundless conjecture that the Japanese are a race utterly impossible of assimilation to American ways by nature and constitution. Most of the careless agitators who put forth statements to this effect start from the wrong end in their reasoning. They assume what ought to be proven, and forthwith proceed to formulate a policy on this assumption. They assume that the Japanese are unassimilable and conclude that, therefore, they should not be given an opportunity to progress. This is analogous to saying that because a child is ignorant he should not be sent to school, forgetting that the very ignorance of the child is due to the fact that he has been denied an education. They fail to see that their conclusion is the very cause of their premises. What we maintain is that when the Japanese shall have proved unassimilable, _after all means for their assimilation have been exhausted_, they should then be persuaded to give up the idea of establishing themselves in America. Meaning of "Assimilation." A great deal of confusion arises from the ambiguity of the term "assimilation." Its interpretations vary from the idea of a most superficial imitation of dress and manners to that of an uncontrollable process of biological resemblance or identity. Those using the term in the former sense, in face of the fact that the Japanese in their midst dress, talk, and live like Americans, consider it indisputable that they are assimilable. Those who use the word in a narrow sense of ethnological similarity, on the contrary, insist with equal conviction that the assimilation of the Japanese is absolutely impossible. Neither is wrong in reasoning, for assimilation, according to the accepted diction, means the process of bringing to a resemblance, conformity or identity--it is a relative term. Hence, in order to determine whether it is possible for the Japanese to become Americanized, it is necessary to find a standard by which the process can safely be gauged. Without this it is wholly absurd to say either that they are or are not assimilable. If the standard be fixed at physical identity with Americans, the Americanization of the Japanese is hopeless--at least for a few generations; but if it be fixed at conformity with American customs and social order, the Japanese have to a certain degree already been assimilated. How is the criterion to be determined? Perhaps it may be found, like the standard of our morality, in practical usage; that is, in the accepted usages and customs of the United States. Here we can do no better than point out the traditional spirit of cosmopolitanism, or firm adherence to the policy of racial non-discrimination, which was sustained even at the costliest of sacrifices and which is inscribed in the immortal fourteenth amendment of the Constitution, which states that "All persons born or naturalized in the United States and subject to the jurisdiction thereof are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside." If the supreme law as well as the traditions and customs of the land do not deny, on account of color or race, any person born in America the right of citizenship, it is apparently un-American to make racial similarity or conformity the standard of assimilability. A nation, however, cannot maintain its own rights and honor among the family of nations without upholding its individuality. But America's individuality does not consist in ethnological unity alone. It consists more in cultural and spiritual solidarity. America upholds her dignity and national rights with the strength of that patriotism of her people which is born of their active sharing in her culture and ideals, as well as of their common experiences of American life. Clearly, then, one criterion of Americanization is unmixed devotion and allegiance to the cause and welfare of the United States--devotion and allegiance not blindly compelled by force of imposition, but born of voluntary and unrestricted participation in American culture and ideals, religion, and industry; in short, in the entire American life. More concisely expressed, the required standard of assimilation in America is an active share in American life as a whole to such an extent that unmixed love and the will to devote self to the United States are no longer resistible. The essence of Americanization was elucidated in simple and beautiful words by President Wilson in his memorable speech delivered at Philadelphia in 1915 before an audience of naturalized citizens of that city. He said in part: ... This is the only country in the world which experiences this constant and repeated rebirth. Other countries depend upon the multiplication of their own native people. This country is constantly drinking strength out of new sources by the voluntary association with it of great bodies of strong men and forward-looking women out of other lands. And so by the gift of the free will of independent people it is being constantly renewed from generation to generation by the same process by which it was originally created. You have just taken an oath of allegiance to the United States. Of allegiance to whom?... to a great ideal, to a great body of principles, to a great hope of the human race.... You cannot dedicate yourself to America unless you become in every respect and with every purpose of your will thorough Americans. You cannot become Americans if you think of yourselves in groups. America does not consist of groups. A man who thinks of himself as belonging to a particular national group in America has not yet become an American.... My urgent advice to you would be, not only always to think first of America, but always, also, to think first of humanity. You do not love humanity if you seek to divide humanity into jealous camps. Humanity can be welded together only by love, by sympathy, by justice, not by jealousy and hatred. Biological Assimilation. With this clarified meaning of assimilation or Americanization, let us examine the assimilability of the Japanese. First of all, we shall take up the matter of racial amalgamation. Immediately the questions arise, "Is it possible to amalgamate the Japanese? Is it desirable to do so? Is it necessary to do so?" To the first question, paradoxical as it may seem, careful observations compel us to reply that it is, and that it is not, possible to amalgamate the Japanese blood with the American. Just as there is no national boundary in science, so there is no human barrier in marriage. Truth and love appear to transcend all natural and artificial obstacles. That love defies racial difference has been amply proven in the United States, where all races are in the process of being fused together. It has no less conclusively been proven by the number of happy marriages that have taken place between Americans and Japanese in this country and in Japan. On the other hand, it is unthinkable that the Japanese should begin wholesale intermarriages with Americans in the near future, to the extent of losing their racial distinction. This is unthinkable because of the social stigma--and Americans as well as Japanese are extremely sensitive on the question of social environment--and the legal and economic handicaps which cause thoughtful persons of both nationalities, who take into consideration the welfare of themselves as well as of their descendants, to refrain from indulging in uncustomary marriages. It is more likely, therefore, that while here and there sporadic cases of intermarriage will continue to take place, and that such cases will gradually increase as the Japanese raise the degree of Americanization, it is wholly out of the question that under the present conditions of social, economic, and political encumbrances, the practice will prevail to any large extent. This being the case, our second query--"Is intermarriage desirable?"--appears superfluous. Indeed, had it not been for the dangerous dogmatism inculcated by some willful propagandists that the result of intermarriage between Americans and Japanese is "the germ of the mightiest problem that ever faced this State; a problem that will make the black problem in the South look white,"[43] the subject would be purely an academic one. To allow this sort of baseless assertion to go unchallenged is extremely dangerous, because it exaggerates an unimportant point to misrepresent maliciously the whole question of the Japanese in the United States. The conclusions of able observers, such as Dr. Gulick and Professor Millis, invariably confirm the fact that, as far as the ordinary means of observation go, the offspring of a Japanese and American couple is in no respect inferior to those of either American or Japanese unmixed descent. Professor Millis states: So far as experience shows, there is nothing inherently bad in race mixture, if it takes place under normal conditions, and neither race is generally regarded as inferior and the offspring therefore given inferior rank, as in the case of the negro.[44] From his extensive association with Japanese, Dr. Gulick has been able to make some valuable observations on this topic. He states in his important book, _The American Japanese Problem_: The offspring of mixed marriages are oftentimes practically indistinguishable from Caucasians. The color distinction is the first to break down. The Japanese hair and eye exert a stronger influence. So far as the observation of the writer goes, there is a tendency to striking beauty in Americo-Japanese. The mental ability, also, of the offspring of Japanese and white marriages is not inferior to that of children of either race.[45] These observations are valuable in refuting the kind of vile allegations we have quoted. But because of the limited number of cases observed, and the necessarily unscientific character of the observation, the utilization of these studies must be confined to pointing out the absurdity of the opposite extreme dogmatism and not extended to the constructive argument. Even less reliable are the opinions of speculative biologists who by the use of analogy--that is, by examples of hybridization of plants and animals--try to throw light on the subject of racial intermarriage. In general, the assertions of these biologists agree that the intermixture of races too far apart is undesirable because it results in a breakdown of the inherent characteristics of each, but that the combination of races slightly different is more desirable than intra-racial marriage because it tends to invigorate the stock. To this extent, opinions concur; but as to the question what races may be considered similar and what races different they begin to disagree. Most of them divide the human races by the color of the skin, and state that the case of the black and white races is that of extreme intermixture, and cite that between two white races as a desirable one. When they are pressed to pass a verdict on the result of mixture between the yellow and white races, most of them give only vacillating replies, as in the following extracts: Yellow-white amalgamation may not be fraught with the evil consequences in the wake of the yellow-black and the white-black crosses. At the same time, it should be pointed out that the Caucasians and the Mongolians are far apart in descent, and that the advantages to be gained by either in this breaking up of superior hereditary complexes developed during an extended past are not clear.[46] Professor Castle is more precise in his assertion. He says: Mankind consists of a single species; at least no races exist so distinct that when they are crossed sterile progeny are produced. Offspring produced by crossing such races do not lack in vigor, size, or reproductive capacity.... Racial crosses, if so conducted as not to interfere with social inheritance, may be expected to produce on the whole intermediates as regards physical and psychic characters.[47] Here, Professor Castle touches on the important question involved; namely, social inheritance. Indeed, human civilization is not all that is contained in germplasm. Mankind developed and accumulated an elaborate system of living conditions which operate independently of biological processes. However wonderful a brain a child has, he will have to remain a savage if he is born in a savage tribe of Africa or in a place where the level of culture is extremely low. In discussing the possible effect of intermarriage upon progeny, therefore, the cultural level of parents and their environment must first of all be taken into consideration. It is here that we find ground for opposition to intermarriage between Japanese and Americans at present. With some marked exceptions, the cultural standard attained by the mixed couples has on the whole been not of a very high order. This is inevitable when we consider that intermarriage between Japanese and Americans has not yet received full social sanction, thus obstructing free play to the process of natural selection. Aside from the purely biological consideration, this want of social approval of intermarriage, with its concomitant, an unenviable social position of the parents, results in an undesirable environment for the offspring. The welfare of their progeny is not the only determining point of intermarriage. Is it, then, sufficiently happy for the couple? Our observations lead us to answer in the negative. To be sure, there are cases of fortunate marriages in which it seems impossible for the couple to be happier. But, on the whole, the husband and the wife often find it difficult to harmonize their sentiments and ideals on account of different antecedents. The inharmony seems to grow as the couple advance in age, rendering their lives miserable. The greatest stumbling block, however, seems to be economic. The Japanese in the United States who are engaged in the ordinary walks of life are offered very little opportunities save in farming on a small scale and in petty businesses. Regardless of their ambition or ability, the Japanese cannot get what are considered in America good positions. Hence, neither their positions nor incomes improve very rapidly--perhaps no advance is made. Most American women are not satisfied to follow a blind alley. They turn back and get a divorce. Exceptional cases, of course, are found in the American-Japanese couples, whose husbands have won distinction and wealth by extraordinary personal ability or by scientific or literary attainments, or by representing great firms of Japan. Our discussion of intermarriage seems to suggest that it is not likely to occur, for some time at least, in large numbers; that as far as hereditary effect on progeny is concerned, it is wholly premature to pass any judgment at present because of our limited knowledge; but that the social as well as the economic position of the contemporary Japanese in America does not seem conducive to the happiness of either the children of such unions or their parents. Is Assimilation without Intermarriage Possible? Let us now consider the third question:--"Is intermarriage necessary for the assimilation of the Japanese?" The people, who argue that the Japanese should be discriminated against because they are biologically unamalgable, thereby commit themselves to maintaining that intermarriage is the only way by which Japanese may become true Americans. Governor Stephens states that California's effort at Japanese exclusion is "based entirely on the principle of race self-preservation and the ethnological impossibility of successfully assimilating this constantly increasing flow of Oriental blood."[48] Without questioning whence he derived the authority for the assertion that the Japanese are ethnologically impossible of assimilation, we wish to refute the contention that the Japanese are unassimilable because they are racially impossible of amalgamation. We believe that racial amalgamation is not a prerequisite of assimilation. We have already shown that the customs and traditions, as well as the supreme law of the United States, do not demand that all Americans be of one and the same race. This fact alone is sufficient condemnation of those baseless utterances which seek an excuse for failure and negligence in successfully fulfilling the duty of Americanizing aliens by the camouflage of race difference. But there are other powerful reasons to support our view that race intermixture is not the only way to Americanize the Japanese. And this we find in the strong influence of environment on the physical and mental make-up of man. Perhaps the most significant anthropological contribution of recent times is the establishment of the truth that race is not a fixed thing, but that it is a changeable thing; changeable according to the conditions of environment. Professor Boas, a recognized authority on anthropology, found, in a strictly scientific investigation concerning the changes in bodily form of immigrants and their descents in America, that aliens change considerably in physical form after they come to America. His conclusions are: The investigation has shown much more than was anticipated, and the results, so far as worked out, may be summarized as follows: The head form, which has always been considered as one of the most stable and permanent characteristics of human races, undergoes far-reaching changes due to the transfer of races of Europe to American soil. The influence of American environment upon the descendants of immigrants increases with the time that the immigrants have lived in this country before the birth of their children. The differences in type between the American-born descendant of the immigrant and the European-born immigrant develop in early childhood and persist throughout life. Among the East European Hebrews the American environment, even in the congested parts of the city, has brought about a general more favorable development of the race, which is expressed in the increased height of body (stature) and the weight of the children. There are not only decided changes in the rate of development of immigrants, but there is also a far-reaching change in the type--a change which cannot be ascribed to selection or mixture, but which can only be explained as due directly to the influence of environment. We are, therefore, compelled to draw the conclusion that if these traits change under the influence of environment, presumably _none of the characteristics of the human types that come to America remain stable_.[49] A very similar result has been reached by Dr. Fishberg in his study[50] of the Jews in America, in which he found that the physical features of the Jews in the United States are changing considerably as the result of change in social elements. Because of lack of scientifically established data pertaining to the physical change of Japanese descendants in America, we forbear from making any bold assertion on that topic. Yet, even to the casual observer, it seems almost undeniable that American-born Japanese children are fast departing from the type which their parents represent, thus corroborating the truth discovered by scientists. The Japanese Educational Association of San Francisco once conducted an extensive physical examination of Japanese children in twenty different grammar schools in California, and found (1) that they are generally superior in physical development to children of corresponding ages in Japan; (2) that in height they are from one to two inches taller than children in Nippon; (3) that in weight they are from three to seven pounds heavier; (4) that they have fairer skin when compared with that of their parents born in Japan; (5) that their hair is dark brown and not jet black, as is that of their parents; and (6) that their general posture is much better than that commonly seen among the children of Japan.[51] These purely bodily changes of American-born descents may be attributed to the difference in diet, in mode of living, in climate, and in the mysterious power of the social _milieu_, of whose influence upon the physiology of man we are yet uninformed. It is well to remember that America is a wonderful melting pot which does not depend, in its functions, solely upon the biological process of cross-breeding, but also in a good measure upon the social and natural process of automatic conformity to type. Cultural Assimilation. The real criteria of Americanization being, as we have seen, a genuine patriotism and cultural refinement, it is in the light of these two points, more than in any other regard, that the question of Japanese assimilability must be examined. Patriotism is a peculiar emotion manifesting itself in love of one's own country, in willingness to devote one's self for the maintenance of national honor and welfare. It arises in us from our association, since early childhood, with things that surround us. We love things that we are used to; we cherish the mountains, rivers, and trees among which we were brought up; we hold dear the friends and people with whom we associated in our early childhood, and as we grow mature, we take pride in finding ourselves members not only of local communities and societies of various sorts but also of the family of a great nation whose ideals and history we inherit. These and numerous other things become a part of our life for which we do not hesitate to fight, and if necessary to lay down our lives. This suggests that two things are necessary for the genesis of patriotism--native birth and a free sharing in the goods of life. While no generalization can be made off-hand, introspection reveals that, when we migrate to another country after we have grown up, it seems well-nigh impossible to find ourselves emotionally attached as closely to the adopted country as to the country of our birth. To _be born_ in a country is the strongest factor in one's patriotism. The Constitution of the United States in claiming all persons born in America as its citizens is clearly a product of master minds. Nativity alone, however, is not often sufficient to enkindle the fire of patriotism in our hearts. In the slave, to whom most of the goods of life were denied, to whom no active share in communal life was allowed, who was treated not as a member of the nation but as a tool, could mere nativity arouse strong love for his country? Only when the child is brought up in an environment of friendly spirit, encouragement, and sympathy does he learn to identify himself with the country. How do we find the patriotism of the Japanese in America? Are they patriotic in relation to the United States? For all those Japanese who came to America as immigrants of mature age with the prime object of making money, the answer must be made in the negative. Born and reared in the beautiful country of Nippon among a most hospitable people, their love of Japan is surely stronger than their love of America. Trained and educated in the customs and traditions of Japan, imbued with the belief, ideas, and ideals that are peculiar to Japan, they would not know even how to avail themselves of the opportunity, supposing they were granted the rights and the freedom to share in the now forbidden privileges. To complete the inhibition, there are all sorts of handicaps placed on them, making it unthinkable that they should love this country. They cannot vote, they cannot get public positions, and now they can neither own nor lease the land in California. No; the Japanese immigrants in America do not love America more than they love Japan. Assimilability of Japanese Immigrants. How, then, about their cultural conditions? It is impossible here to compare the culture of the Japanese _en masse_ with that of other people. We can take only a few specific points and see how they stand. Of course, in the absence of accurate data our conclusions are necessarily unscientific. It is often alleged that the Japanese in the United States have a different standard of morality from that of the Americans, and as evidence of this allegation the attitude of Japanese men towards women is pointed out. Japanese men are really "bossy" in their attitude toward women, but that is the outcome of custom and should not be charged against their morals. They are often accused of being tricky, untrustworthy. We have already seen that there have been cases that justify such accusations, but that the cause was mostly due to their ignorance of legal processes and obligations, in which they sadly lack training. On the whole, the Japanese in America are law-abiding; they very rarely become public charges, and are peaceful and industrious. These facts even the most uncompromising Japanese exclusionist, Mr. J. M. Inman, admits as true, and states further that they are "sober, industrious, peaceful, and law-abiding, and contain within their population neither anarchists, bomb-throwers, Reds, nor I. W. W.'s."[52] That the Japanese in America have been able to make rapid progress in the Christian religion has been due to the generous aid and wise direction of the American churches. Within less than thirty years Christianity has become deeply rooted among the Japanese communities, exerting the most wholesome and powerful influence in uplifting their living conditions. In 1911, the _Den Do Dan_, or Japanese Inter-Denominational Mission Board, was organized with a view to carrying on a systematic campaign for evangelistic as well as community service. The Mission Board has been successful in propagating Christianity among the Japanese. This is clearly shown by the fact that at the present time there are sixty-one Protestant churches on the Pacific Coast, besides fifty-seven Sunday schools. The greatest success of the Board, however, has been attained in the field of practical social service, where the organization of young people's Christian associations, the campaign against gambling and other vices, relief work among the needy, and the promotion of Americanization, have been successfully carried out.[53] Judging from the small percentage of illiteracy and the complete system of Japanese compulsory education, the Japanese in America do not seem to be much behind the corresponding elements in the American population in average intelligence. Only in English are they markedly weak. The importance of a knowledge of the language in assimilation can hardly be exaggerated. It is the gate through which the alien can arrive at an understanding of American institutions and culture. The weakness of the Japanese in English is chiefly due to the radical difference of the language from their own. Statistics indicate, however, a decided increase in the number of those who can command English. The census of 1900 showed that less than 40 per cent. of the Japanese in America could speak English, but in the census of 1910 the rate increased to 61 per cent.[54] The rate for foreign-born whites in 1910 was 77 per cent. The economic status of the Japanese appears to be about the same as that of European immigrants. This is indisputable from the sheer fact that the earnings of both are about the same. The only difference is that the Japanese show a tendency to mediocrity of earning power without becoming either paupers or millionaires. This is due to the fact that while there is an abundance of work offered to Japanese which enables them to earn a comfortable living, all avenues for a greater economic success are closed to them. No sooner do the Japanese show signs of some small success in agriculture than the privilege to till the soil is denied them. A similar restraint is now being attempted on the Japanese progress in fishing in California. In a sense, economic welfare is the foundation of cultural and spiritual progress, and to be denied the opportunity to make progress in this field is a heavy disadvantage. The gravest defect of the Japanese is their lack of training in democratic institutions. Having been given little opportunity to share in public or political activities in Japan, their understanding and training in civic duties is notoriously weak. Obviously this must hinder the process of Americanization to a great extent. To counteract this weakness the dissemination among them of a knowledge of American civics is necessary. It may be most effectively done by allowing them to share in a measure the American communal activities. But this is a privilege denied them. The foregoing discussion of the cultural conditions of the Japanese in America is important, not in determining whether or not the Japanese immigrants are qualified to become American citizens--for this is out of the question at present, since the right of naturalization is not granted to them--but to show what is the character of the influence which is exerted upon the native-born Japanese, Americans by birth, by their parents. The core of the Japanese problem in America is, in our opinion, whether or not American citizens of Japanese descent can become worthy Americans. Those immigrants who came from Japan will die out in the course of time, and further immigration can be stopped. In this way it is possible to curtail to a minimum the number of alien Japanese in the United States. But the American-born Japanese are American citizens and they are here to stay. Whether these young Americans will become a strong and successful element of the American people or whether they will degenerate to a kind of parasite and become America's "thorns in the flesh" is really a question of cardinal importance. But this depends much on the freedom and opportunity which are extended to their parents in this country. Thus the treatment of the Japanese in California or elsewhere in the United States assumes an aspect of vital significance to the nation. It is not a question of the abstract principles of justice or equality alone, but one of concrete and vital interest to America's own welfare. It is in this connection that all sorts of pressure and oppression--economic, political, social, and spiritual--exerted on the Japanese population, become most objectionable and harmful. These discriminatory efforts against the Japanese obstruct the Americanization of native-born Japanese in two ways. They prevent the parents from becoming well-to-do and refined people, and from getting permanent occupation and homes, all of which are essential if parents are to bring up their sons and daughters to a respectable standard. They also unconsciously imprint on the tender minds of children the idea that their fathers and mothers were not treated kindly in America, whose loyal citizens they are destined to become. What do those exclusionists really mean, when they insist that the Japanese should be given no opportunity to progress either in agriculture or industry because they are unassimilable people? Do they mean thereby to check Japanese immigration? They surely cannot mean this, for there are other and more friendly ways of achieving their object, since Japan has more than once expressed her willingness to coöperate with America in this respect. What else can they mean but that they want to hinder the American citizens of Japanese descent from becoming worthy Americans by ostracizing and persecuting their parents? Native-Born Japanese. Fortunately, in spite of all unfavorable influence and environment created for them, the native-born Japanese show very hopeful signs of realizing perfect Americanization. Here again we do not wish to dogmatize, in apparent lack of scientific data, and assert that we need feel no apprehension. Yet the few data gathered on the subject from observation strongly point to the hopeful conclusion that as greater numbers of them approach mature age they are gradually becoming Americans by the accepted standard. They proved their patriotism to America during the great war by enlisting in the American army and navy. In their manner, address, and temperament these boys and girls are American, with an unconcealed air of American mannerism. In their fluent and natural English, in their frankness and bold recklessness, in their dislike of little and irksome tasks and love of big and adventurous undertakings, in their chivalry and gallantry, in their tall and well-built stature, these young people are wholly American, no longer recognizable as Japanese except in their physical features. Indeed, it is the common testimony of the Japanese visiting America that the Japanese children born and reared here differ so distinctly from children in Japan that in their manners, spirit, and even in the play of expression on their faces, they appear characteristically American. We cannot help being surprised by the completeness with which the so-called racial traits of the Japanese are swept away in the first generation of Japanese born in America. The explanation for such a remarkable fact must be sought in the strong influence of social, national, and spiritual environment. We have seen how even the most stable elements of man's physiological constitution may change in a new environment. This being the case, it may not be entirely surprising that less stable elements, such as temperament and expression, should change more rapidly and completely in a new social _milieu_. This fact is a deathblow to the theorists who uphold the _à priori_ view of race, that it is a fixed, pure, unchangeable reality. It attests the truth of Mr. John Oakesmith's thesis in which he so ably establishes that "the objective influence of race in the evolution of nationality is fiction," and that the sole foundation and unifying force of nationality is the "organic continuity of common interest."[55] In the cross-examination of native-born Japanese children by the Congressional Sub-Committee on Immigration and Naturalization conducted on the Pacific Coast last spring, it was found that in almost all cases the children expressed the feeling that they like the United States better than Japan because they are more familiar and closely associated with things and people in America. This is doubtless an honest confession of their sentiment. They generally do not read or write Japanese because it is wholly different from English and so difficult. They learn from their parents that the life is hard and competition is keen in Japan. They know America is a great country, a land of liberty and opportunity. Naturally their interest in Japan is very slight, and they think they are Americans, and they are proud of it.[56] These are the hopeful signs which offer us reason for being optimistic. We cannot, nevertheless, be blind to the fact that there are many obstacles which if left unchecked will tend to defeat our hopes. These obstacles we find, first, in the congested condition of the Japanese on the Pacific Coast. For convenience and benefit the Japanese have been living more or less in groups, speaking their own language to a large extent, and retaining many of the Japanese customs and manners. This tendency has been a great obstacle in the assimilation of the Japanese. Their dispersal in many other States of the Union is one of the first requirements of Americanization, and consequently of an equitable solution of the Japanese-California problem. We shall touch upon this subject in the concluding chapter. CHAPTER X GENERAL CONCLUSION In dealing with the Japanese problem in California, we started with a general account of Japanese traits and ideas. We did so because we believed that a knowledge of the Japanese disposition is essential to a comprehensive understanding of the problem. No attempt was made to determine whether the traits of the Japanese--their emotional nature, their well-developed æsthetic temperament and strong group consciousness, and the unique feature of chivalry and virility prevailing among the lower classes--are inherent in the race or acquired; but we concluded that the question may best be answered by observing those of Japanese descent born and reared in different countries. Later, when we examined the characteristics of the American-born Japanese and discovered that they appear to have lost most of the Japanese traits, and, in turn, have acquired mental attitudes that are peculiar to the American, it was suggested that none of the racial characteristics is necessarily fixed, and that, similarly, the Japanese traits must have been largely acquired through peculiar natural surroundings and social systems. Next we reviewed in a brief way Japan's Asiatic policy in order to envisage the international situation in which she finds herself and to see how she proposes to meet her difficulties at home and abroad. We commented on the manifest shortcomings of that policy. In view of the fact that Japan's industry--her only hope in the future--has to depend largely on the supply of raw material from her Asiatic neighbors, the assurance of good-will and friendly coöperation with them is essential for her welfare. It is in the failure to obtain this assurance that the defect of Japan's past Asiatic policy becomes apparent. We expressed our conviction that under the circumstances the best that Japan can do is to so reconstruct the principle of the policy as to convince her neighbors of her genuine sincerity. In the chapter on the background of Japanese emigration, an attempt has been made to discover its causes. The principal causes found are the small amount of land, the dense population, and the limited prospect of industrial development due to the scarcity of raw material. Moreover, the peculiar social and political conditions in Japan are such as to obstruct, by numerous fetters and restraints, the free development of ambitious youths. The exaggerated stories of great opportunities in the new worlds kindle the desire of the young people to go abroad. Tentative attempts were made some thirty years ago in emigration to Australia, Canada, and the United States. Nearly a quarter of a century's effort at emigration into the new worlds, with the exception of partial success in Brazil, had proved a complete failure, and thus attempts at migration towards the North came into vogue. In our discussion of the causes of anti-Japanese agitation in California, it was made clear that the explanation of much of the trouble lies in the conditions of the Japanese themselves, such as congestion in particular localities and different manners and customs. The nationalistic policy of Japan was also pointed out as a factor making for resentment. What renders the situation unnecessarily complicated, leading to a general misunderstanding, is the employment of the issue in local politics--exploitation of the subject for private ends by agitators and propagandists. Then our study entered the heart of the California problem, the fact of the existing Japanese population. It was discovered that the rate of increase of Japanese population in California has been rapid, but that it shows a tendency to slow down, while the rate of increase of the entire population of the State shows a tendency to steady increase. We found that in comparison with the total number of Japanese in the United States the percentage of Japanese in California is remarkably high, nearly 60 per cent. of them being domiciled in that one State. Then we examined the factors--immigration, smuggling, and births--which contributed to the increase of the Japanese population in California. Under the subject of immigration it was made clear that the net gain from immigration has become small since the restrictive agreement was concluded, but that the number of those entering the country increased because the number of those who are passing through or temporarily visiting America has increased. We expressed our opinion that in order to quiet the excitement of the people of the Pacific Coast it is entirely desirable to stop sending Japanese immigrants to America. We have somewhat fully treated the subject of birth because it is a vital part of the question. It was discovered in the discussion that the birth rate of the Japanese in California is exceptionally high, due to the fact that a high percentage of the immigrants are in the prime of life and that the percentage of married people is remarkably high. In forecasting the future of the birth rate we stated that if immigration is stopped the present generation will in time pass out without being re-enforced, leaving behind American-born children, who, with higher culture and more even distribution with regard to age and marriage, will not multiply at nearly so high a rate as their parents. We concluded, therefore, that the present is a transitional period and that apprehension over the high birth rate is entirely unwarranted. The chapter on Japanese agriculture in California gives report of a degree of progress that has been remarkable. As to the causes of this progress the peculiar adaptation of the Japanese farmers to the agricultural conditions of California was presented as the principal one. Then we considered separately the Japanese farm labor and the farmers. What we found in treating the subject of Japanese farm laborers was that they are indispensable to California's agriculture, inasmuch as they have several important peculiarities which are useful. Their ability to farm and their aptitude for bodily and manual dexterity, as well as their highly transitory character under the system of contract labor, are useful assets to the farmers of California. Under the topic of the Japanese farmer, we examined the reasons given for the discrimination against Japanese in agricultural pursuits. The first reason--that they are "crushing competitors of California farmers"--was criticized on the ground that there is not much competition between white and Japanese farmers, since there is a pretty clear line of demarkation between them, the former being engaged in farming on a large scale and the latter engaged in small intensive agriculture. The second apprehension--that the Japanese farmer, if left unchecked, will soon control the greater part of California agriculture--was characterized as an entirely exaggerated fear, since the portion of land which the Japanese till is quite negligible and there are vast tracts of land yet uncultivated. The third objection--which finds reason for opposition in the unassimilability of the Japanese--we held as the weightiest count, and withheld criticism until we had fully treated the subject of assimilation in the succeeding chapter. What we insisted on was that it is unwise to maltreat the Japanese on the surmise that they are unassimilable. Whether they are assimilable or not--and this is not the question, for they are not allowed to become American citizens--their children, who are Americans by virtue of birth, will suffer much from a hostile policy towards their parents. The anti-alien land laws were considered briefly, and the views of their critics were introduced. As an effective measure to cope with the legislation, we suggested that neither legal nor diplomatic disputes will bring about a satisfactory result, but that only through obtaining the good-will and friendship of the people of California can there be a true solution. The topic of assimilation discussed in the preceding chapter needs no recapitulation. The foregoing study, which we have undertaken from the outset with an open mind and fair attitude, has, it is to be hoped, disclosed that the underlying cause of the entire difficulty is a conflict or maladjustment of interest. There are four parties whose peculiar interests and rights are seriously involved in the situation. First and foremost, we have to consider the rights and interests of California. Then we have the United States, which is no less directly concerned with the problem. For the Japanese living in California, the issue is a matter of life and death; their entire interests and welfare are at stake. Japan also is as much concerned with the fate of her subjects in America as the United States would be with the welfare of her people living abroad--say in Mexico. The Japanese problem in California is the concrete expression of the maladjustment of the interests and rights of these four parties concerned. Various measures, wise and unwise, have been proposed for the solution of the problem, but none of them has so far been put into effect, since each has failed to adjust the interests and rights of all parties concerned in an harmonious way, and hence has met with violent protest at the outset. Take, for instance, the proposal that the Japanese should be granted the right of naturalization. The promoters of the project insist that the denial to the Japanese of the right to become citizens of the United States is the cause of the anti-Japanese exclusion movement, and, accordingly, that the granting of the privilege will annul all discriminatory efforts. Undoubtedly the proposal was well meant, but it has perhaps done more harm than good. In the first place, it confuses the cause and method of discrimination against the Japanese. The Japanese ineligibility to citizenship has certainly been seized on as a weapon for discrimination, but it is by no means the cause. The cause is elsewhere. In the second place, the advocates of the proposal argue that, if adopted, it will defeat the entire discriminatory efforts of the Californians. It is, however, decidedly unwise to attempt to defeat the effort without removing the cause of the difficulty. No wonder the proposal has provoked the wild criticism of California leaders. The granting of citizenship to refined and Americanized Japanese is in itself a proper and desirable step, but to use it as a weapon to defeat the exclusion movement is clearly unwise. The solution of the Japanese problem in California, if it be equitable at all and satisfactory to the four parties involved, must rest on the following basic principles: _1. That it should be in consonance with justice and international courtesy; it must redress Japan's grievances and meet America's wishes._ _2. That it should be fair to Californians; that is to say, operate to allay the fear they entertain of the alarming increase of Japanese in numbers and economic importance._ _3. That it should be fair to the Japanese residents, both aliens and American-born, so that they may enjoy in peace, without molestation or persecution, the blessings of "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness," and participate, as all American-born are entitled and in duty bound to do, in the promotion of the State's well-being._ The new treaty, which is reported to have been laid for final decision before the Washington and Tokyo Governments by the two negotiators, Ambassador Morris and Ambassador Shidehara, has not been made public at this writing. We have, therefore, no means of knowing the contents or nature of its provisions. It may, however, be presumed that it will go a long way toward redressing Japan's grievances and meeting America's wishes. The latter will probably be met by Japan's adoption of drastic measures to check completely the influx of her immigrants. Knowing that Japan has always been sincere and ready to yield to the wishes of the United States, we hold it only just that she be saved the embarrassment arising from discrimination against her subjects in America. Proud and sensitive, Japan takes to heart the abuses or indignities which she deems seriously detrimental to her national honor. The conclusion of the Treaty and its ratification by the Senate, however, may not prove the panacea for all evils, for governmental action is naturally circumscribed in its sphere. To solve the perplexing question once for all, the Treaty must be supplemented by the patriotic efforts of public-spirited citizens of both countries to heal and adjust the irritated parts in the scheme of American-Japanese relations which are beyond the reach of governmental action. Viscount Shibusawa and some of his compatriots have, during the last year, held many conferences with some prominent Americans--those representing the Chamber of Commerce of San Francisco and the party headed by Mr. Frank Vanderlip. A better understanding of the situation must have resulted as a consequence of the conferences. The earnestness of the Viscount and his friends to do what they could for the good of both countries is beyond praise. But we fear they have been measuring America by Japan's standard and trying to cure the trouble without remedying the cause. In Japan the counsel of a few influential men often proves effective even in local affairs, but in America, where local autonomy is strongly entrenched, a man, however prominent a figure he may have cut in national affairs, will think twice before he pronounces judgment on matters of local concern, lest it be construed as an intrusion, and thus defeat the good intention. The California question can only be settled by or in coöperation with the Californians, and right on the spot, not elsewhere. We believe that the time has come, therefore, when those public-spirited citizens of both countries should replace academic discussion by action. As a means of alleviating the situation we venture to offer the following modest suggestion: 1. That a Committee of a dozen or so members, consisting of public-spirited men of broad vision of both countries, and particularly of California, be formed with the object of formulating and putting into effect the project of relieving the congestion of Japanese in California. Such a Committee would doubtless be able to secure the hearty coöperation of The Japan Society of New York and other cities, as well as of the Japanese Association of America and similar organizations, all of which exist with a view to promoting friendly relations between America and Japan. 2. That the said Committee appoint an administrator of proved executive ability and a staff for the prosecution of the project. 3. That to finance the project an initial fund of half a million dollars be raised by contribution from the 120,000 Japanese living in this country. The Japanese domiciled in this country have the keenest interest in the subject; they are directly or indirectly affected by the anti-Japanese agitation in California; they would not grudge a contribution of a small sum for the purpose of uprooting the cause of that annoyance. The Japanese in California who have interests at stake would surely be more than willing to contribute their quota to the fund. The native Californians, too, we strongly feel, in their calm and considerate mood, would obey the dictates of wisdom to adopt a more liberal and logical method of relieving the local tension than to resort, as at present, to measures of repression and persecution. We are of the opinion that there would be a fair demand in other States of the Union for such skilled farm hands as we have found in the Japanese in California if the facts were well advertised. If proper precaution be taken so as to avoid the repetition of the same story of congestion as that in California, the plan of dispersal above outlined might prove a boon to all concerned. If the initial stage of the plan be earnestly carried out before the eyes of the Californians, a totally different atmosphere might be created among them so as to win their good will and enlist their coöperation. When such a happy outcome is obtained, a solution of the Japanese-California problem is assured. There is certainly a great deal which the Japanese in California can and must do. In the first place, they must thoroughly grasp the psychology of the Californians. They must indicate, if they are to remain in this country, their willingness to become Americans regardless of barriers or opposition. They must show this willingness not only in intention but also in practice. They must improve their command of English, alter many of their customs and manners. They must endeavor to elevate their standard of living and culture. They must give up beliefs and ideals which are Japanese and which run counter to the American. It would be well for them to refrain from building in California Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples and from maintaining language schools. They must above all learn to take an interest in the national life of the United States. There is also much that the Japanese Government can do. Its policy of paternalism, extending too much care to Japanese domiciled abroad, and even to Japanese born abroad, must, in our opinion, be altered. The claim of allegiance to the home country by the children born in another country, whatever may be their status in the land of birth, is an international practice still adhered to by most European nations--France, Italy, Germany, Switzerland, Greece. From this results what is called a "dual nationality" of a subject. In a country like the United States, where its Constitution endows children born therein with citizenship, the so-called "dual nationality" gives rise to an awkward situation in case its mother country adopts the military conscription system. To avoid this awkward situation, Japan enacted in the year 1916 a law which provides that a Japanese boy who has acquired a foreign nationality by reason of his birth in a foreign country may divest himself of Japanese nationality if his father, or other parental authority, takes the necessary steps to that end before he is fifteen years of age, or, if he has attained the age of fifteen, he may himself take the same steps, with the consent of his father or guardian, before he reaches the age of seventeen.[57] This law is objectionable because it fixes the age limit of expatriation at seventeen, when the subject is yet a minor and is not competent to exercise his own choice. Fixing the age limit at seventeen is a provision in consonance with the Japanese military law, which imposes on all male Japanese subjects above that age the duty of military service. Consequently, all American-born Japanese males who have failed to expatriate before they have reached the age of seventeen are claimed as Japanese subjects and are subject to conscription, while at the same time they are American citizens. The existence of such a discordance in the laws and Constitution of the two countries has the possibility of giving rise to a serious international complication, and it seems advisable that some sort of settlement be made on this point between the American and Japanese Governments. The difficulty could, of course, be overcome if the Japanese parents who are determined to stay permanently in this country would take the necessary steps to expatriate their children as soon as they are born, or at the proper time. The hesitation they have heretofore manifested was greatly due to the uncertainty in which their future and that of their children was shrouded. We cannot omit to emphasize in this connection the part which America can and has to perform. Of the numerous things America can do with profit we believe the task of Americanizing the Japanese to be the foremost. We wish to make it clear that, whether Japanese aliens are worthy or not, their children born in America are in any case Americans, and it is America's duty to make them worthy members of the nation. They are not foreigners or aliens, and, accordingly, it is clearly wrong, as well as unwise, to deal with them as if they were. Upon what we can do to guide the rising generation depends the future of the Japanese problem in America. This in turn must depend upon how America treats their parents. Disappearing gradually as they are, they are bequeathing their impressions and accomplishments to their children. Any generosity and kindness extended to them are acts not so much of altruism as of vital interest in the welfare of America herself, for they are the guardians of the Republic's sons and daughters of Japanese blood. It is certainly not fair to slander and maltreat those people, who were originally brought in to fill the need of man-power and who have contributed much towards making the Pacific Coast what it is to-day. To prevent the influx of Japanese immigrants, to avoid the possible future development of difficult problems with Japan, there certainly ought to be some better means than gradually strangling the innocent people who individually are in no way to be blamed for the present strained relations on the Pacific Coast. All these considerations lead us to a belief that the time is now ripe for the American people, and especially for the people of California, to reconstruct their attitude and policy towards the Japanese domiciled in this country. Every indication seems to suggest that if, in place of the discriminatory policy so far resorted to with no better effect than general irritation, a new policy be initiated, a policy of constructive Americanization based upon generosity, sympathy, and understanding, the result will surely be far-reaching. It is a common fact of human experience that one's attitude is directly responded to by other people with whom we deal. It was Thackeray, we believe, who said that "the world is like a looking-glass; if we smile, others also smile." What cannot be achieved by a hostile policy is often easily and satisfactorily accomplished by sympathetic attitude and friendly dealing. Give the Japanese the opportunity and see what good use they will make of it. We hardly need to reiterate that the Japanese-California question--the main theme of this book--is only a part of the vast problem which confronts America and Japan. The present world tendency is to bind increasingly all parts of the world into one. The process of civilization, like a revolving body, exerts centrifugal and centripetal force and gradually unifies all civilizations into a cohesive system. At present there are two centers of such forces, one in the East and another in the West, each trying to influence the other. By virtue of being the youngest and the most vigorous representatives of the two spheres, Japan and America, respectively, are naturally destined to shoulder together the great task of harmonizing and unifying these two great currents of human achievement. The task involves, from its gigantic nature, a great many difficulties and risks of which the present California issue is certainly one. All these difficulties must be squarely met and surmounted with courage and wisdom, since to shrink from the job is to commit the future relationship of the East and West to the cruel law of natural selection. It is, however, generally true that the perfect understanding of the common aim settles the incidental difficulties arising in the process. This is particularly true in the case of the California-Japanese question, which is a partial issue of the great undertaking between America and Japan. The core of the California problem, our study has shown, is the question of assimilability of the Japanese. But what is the assimilation but the approach to the common standard of culture and ideals? The approach to the common standard of culture and ideals between the peoples of Asia and Europe and America is precisely the task in which Japan and the United States are engaged in unison. Herein is the explanation of our earlier assertion that the California problem is a miniature form of the problem of the East and West. Herein also is the support of our contention that to accelerate the coöperative effort of America and Japan for mutual understanding is the only and the best method of bringing about the solution of the Japanese problem in California or elsewhere in the United States. We wish, therefore, to emphasize once more that the wisest policy to follow in the future for America and Japan is not foolishly to sharpen the edge of swords for imaginary race wars, which are absurd, but to devote themselves wisely to learning and appreciating each other's accomplishments and greatness, from which alone true friendship can arise. APPENDIX A [Illustration: _COMPARATIVE HEIGHT OF AMERICAN, JAPANESE-AMERICAN & JAPANESE CHILDREN_] [Illustration: _COMPARATIVE WEIGHT OF AMERICAN, JAPANESE-AMERICAN & JAPANESE CHILDREN_] APPENDIX B EXTRACTS FROM THE TREATY OF COMMERCE AND NAVIGATION AND PROTOCOL BETWEEN JAPAN AND THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, OF FEBRUARY 21, 1911. His Majesty, the Emperor of Japan, and the President of the United States of America, being desirous to strengthen the relations of amity and good understanding which happily exist between the two nations, and believing that the fixation in a manner clear and positive of the rules which are hereafter to govern the commercial intercourse between their respective countries will contribute to this most desirable result, have resolved to conclude a treaty of commerce and navigation. =Article I.=--The subjects or citizens of each of the high contracting parties shall have liberty to enter, travel, and reside in the territories of the other, to carry on trade, wholesale and retail, to own or lease and occupy houses, manufactories, warehouses, and shops, to employ agents of their choice, to lease land for residential and commercial purposes, and generally to do anything incident to or necessary for trade, upon the same terms as native subjects or citizens, submitting themselves to the laws and regulations there established. They shall not be compelled, under any pretext whatever, to pay any charges or taxes other or higher than those that are or may be paid by native subjects or citizens. The subjects or citizens of each of the high contracting parties shall receive, in the territories of the other, the most constant protection and security for their persons and property and shall enjoy in this respect the same rights and privileges as are or may be granted to native subjects or citizens, on their submitting themselves to the conditions imposed upon the native subjects and citizens. =Article IV.=--There shall be between the territories of the two high contracting parties reciprocal freedom of commerce and navigation. The subjects or citizens of each of the contracting parties, equally with the subjects or citizens of the most favored nation shall have liberty freely to come with their ships and cargoes to all places, ports, and rivers in the territories of the other which are or may be opened to foreign commerce, subject always to the laws of the country to which they thus come. =Article V.=--Neither contracting party shall impose any other or higher duties or charges on the exportation of any article to the territories of the other than are or may be payable on the exportation of the like article to any other foreign country. Nor shall any prohibition be imposed by either country on the importation or exportation of any article from or to the territories of the other which shall not equally extend to the like article imported from or exported to any other country. =Article XIV.=--Except as otherwise expressly provided in this treaty, the high contracting parties agree that in all that concerns commerce and navigation, any privilege, favor, or immunity which either contracting party has actually granted or may hereafter grant, to the subjects or citizens of any other State shall be extended to the subjects or citizens of the other contracting party ... on the same or equivalent conditions.... Declaration In proceeding this day to the signature of the treaty of commerce and navigation ... the undersigned has the honor to declare that the Imperial Japanese Government are fully prepared to maintain with equal effectiveness the limitation and control which they have for the past three years exercised in regulation of the immigration of laborers to the United States. (Signed) Y. UCHIDA. February 21, 1911. APPENDIX C CALIFORNIA'S ALIEN LAND LAW (Approved May 19, 1913) _The people of the State of California do enact as follows_: =Section 1.=--All aliens eligible to citizenship under the laws of the United States may acquire, possess, enjoy, transmit, and inherit real property, or any interest therein, in this State, in the same manner and to the same extent as citizens of the United States, except as otherwise provided by the laws of this State. =Section 2.=--All aliens other than those mentioned in section one of this act may acquire, possess, enjoy, and transfer real property, or any interest therein, in this State, in the manner and to the extent and for the purposes prescribed by any treaty now existing between the Government of the United States and the nation or country of which such alien is a citizen or subject and not otherwise, and may in addition thereto lease lands in this State for agricultural purposes for a term not exceeding three years. =Section 3.=--Any company, association, or corporation organized under the laws of this or any other State or nation, of which a majority of the members are aliens other than those specified in section one of this act, or in which a majority of the issued capital stock is owned by such aliens, may acquire, possess, enjoy, and convey real property, or any interest therein in this State, in the manner and to the extent and for the purposes prescribed by any treaty now existing between the Government of the United States and the nation or country of which such members or stockholders are citizens or subjects, and not otherwise, and may in addition thereto lease lands in this State for agricultural purposes for a term not exceeding three years. =Section 4.=--Whenever it appears to the court in any probate proceeding that by reason of the provisions of this act any heir or devisee cannot take real property in this State which, but for said provisions, said heir or devisee would take as such, the court, instead of ordering a distribution of such real property to such heir or devisee, shall order a sale of said real property to be made in the manner provided by law for probate sales of real property, and the proceeds of such sale shall be distributed to such heirs or devisee in lieu of such real property. =Section 5.=--Any real property hereafter acquired in fee in violation of the provisions of this act by any alien mentioned in section two of this act, or by any company, association or corporation mentioned in section three of this act, shall escheat to, and become and remain the property of the State of California. The attorney general shall institute proceedings to have the escheat of such real property adjudged and enforced in the manner provided by section 474 of the Political Code and title eight, part three of the Code of Civil Procedure. Upon the entry of final judgment in such proceedings, the title to such real property shall pass to the State of California. The provisions of this section and of sections two and three of this act shall not apply to any real property hereafter acquired in the enforcement or in satisfaction of any lien now existing upon, or interest in such property, so long as such real property so acquired shall remain the property of the alien, company, association or corporation acquiring the same in such manner. =Section 6.=--Any leasehold or other interest in real property less than the fee, hereafter acquired in violation of the provisions of this act by any alien mentioned in section two of this act, or by any company, association or corporation mentioned in section three of this act, shall escheat to the State of California. The attorney general shall institute proceedings to have such escheat adjudged and enforced as provided in section five of this act. In such proceedings the court shall determine and adjudge the value of such leasehold, or other interest in such real property, and enter judgment for the State for the amount thereof together with costs. Thereupon the court shall order a sale of the real property covered by such leasehold, or other interest, in the manner provided by section 1271 of the Code of Civil Procedure. Out of the proceeds arising from such sale, the amount of the judgment rendered for the State shall be paid into the State Treasury and the balance shall be deposited with and distributed by the court in accordance with the interest of the parties therein. =Section 7.=--Nothing in this act shall be construed as a limitation upon the power of the State to enact laws with respect to the acquisition, holding or disposal by aliens of real property in this State. =Section 8.=--All acts and parts of acts inconsistent or in conflict with the provisions of this act, are hereby repealed. APPENDIX D ALIEN LAND LAW (Adopted November 2, 1920) PROPERTY RIGHTS AND DISABILITIES OF ALIENS IN CALIFORNIA =Alien Land Law.= Initiative Act. Permits Acquisition and Transfer of Real Property by Aliens Eligible to Citizenship, to Same Extent as Citizens Except as Otherwise Provided by Law; Permits Other Aliens, and Companies, Associations, and Corporations in Which they Hold Majority Interest, to Acquire and Transfer Real Property Only as Prescribed by Treaty, but Prohibiting Appointment Thereof as Guardians of Estates of Minors Consisting Wholly or Partially of Real Property or Shares in Such Corporations; Provides for Escheats in Certain Cases; Requires Reports of Property Holdings to Facilitate Enforcement of Act; Prescribes Penalties and Repeals Conflicting Acts. _An act relating to the rights, powers, and disabilities of aliens and of certain companies, associations, and corporations with respect to property in this State, providing for escheats in certain cases, prescribing the procedure therein, requiring reports of certain property holdings to facilitate the enforcement of this act, prescribing penalties for violation of the provisions hereof, and repealing all acts or parts of acts inconsistent or in conflict herewith._ _The people of the State of California do enact as follows_: =Section 1.=--All aliens eligible to citizenship under the laws of the United States may acquire, possess, enjoy, transmit, and inherit real property, or any interest therein, in this State, in the same manner and to the same extent as citizens of the United States, except as otherwise provided by the laws of this State. =Section 2.=--All aliens other than those mentioned in section one of this act may acquire, possess, enjoy, and transfer real property, or any interest therein, in this State, in the manner and to the extent and for the purpose prescribed by any treaty now existing between the Government of the United States and the nation or country of which such alien is a citizen or subject, and not otherwise. =Section 3.=--Any company, association or corporation organized under the laws of this or any other State or nation, of which a majority of the members are aliens other than those specified in section one of this act, or in which a majority of the issued capital stock is owned by such aliens, may acquire, possess, enjoy, and convey real property, or any interest therein, in this State, in the manner and to the extent and for the purposes prescribed by any treaty now existing between the Government of the United States and the nation or country of which such members or stockholders are citizens or subjects, and not otherwise. Hereafter all aliens other than those specified in section one hereof may become members of or acquire shares of stock in any company, association or corporation that is or may be authorized to acquire, possess, enjoy or convey agricultural land, in the manner and to the extent and for the purposes prescribed by any treaty now existing between the Government of the United States and the nation or country of which such alien is a citizen or subject, and not otherwise. =Section 4.=--Hereafter no alien mentioned in section two hereof and no company, association or corporation mentioned in section three hereof, may be appointed guardian of that portion of the estate of a minor which consists of property which such alien or such company, association or corporation is inhibited from acquiring, possessing, enjoying or transferring by reason of the provisions of this act. The public administrator of the proper county, or any other competent person or corporation, may be appointed guardian of the estate of a minor citizen whose parents are ineligible to appointment under the provisions of this section. On such notice to the guardian as the court may require, the superior court may remove the guardian of such an estate whenever it appears to the satisfaction of the court: (_a_) That the guardian has failed to file the report required by the provisions of section five hereof; or (_b_) That the property of the ward has not been or is not being administered with due regard to the primary interest of the ward; or (_c_) That facts exist which would make the guardian ineligible to appointment in the first instance; or (_d_) That facts establishing any other legal ground for removal exist. =Section 5.=--(_a_) The term "trustee" as used in this section means any person, company, association or corporation that as guardian, trustee, attorney-in-fact or agent, or in any other capacity has the title, custody or control of property, or some interest therein, belonging to an alien mentioned in section two hereof, or to the minor child of such an alien, if the property is of such a character that such alien is inhibited from acquiring, possessing, enjoying or transferring it. (_b_) Annually on or before the thirty-first day of January every such trustee must file in the office of the Secretary of State of California and in the office of the county clerk of each county in which any of the property is situated, a verified written report showing: (1) The property, real or personal, held by him for or on behalf of such an alien or minor; (2) A statement showing the date when each item of such property came into his possession or control; (3) An itemized account of all expenditures, investments, rents, issues, and profits in respect to the administration and control of such property with particular reference to holdings of corporate stock and leases, cropping contracts, and other agreements in respect to land and the handling or sale of products thereof. (_c_) Any person, company, association or corporation that violates any provision of this section is guilty of a misdemeanor and shall be punished by a fine not exceeding one thousand dollars or by imprisonment in the county jail not exceeding one year, or by both such fine and imprisonment. (_d_) The provisions of this section are cumulative and are not intended to change the jurisdiction or the rules of practice of courts of justice. =Section 6.=--Whenever it appears to the court in any probate proceeding that by reason of the provisions of this act any heir or devisee cannot take real property in this State or membership or shares of stock in a company, association or corporation which, but for said provisions, said heir or devisee would take as such, the court, instead of ordering a distribution of such property to such heir or devisee, shall order a sale of said property to be made in the manner provided by law for probate sales of property and the proceeds of such sale shall be distributed to such heir or devisee in lieu of such property. =Section 7.=--Any real property hereafter acquired in fee in violation of the provisions of this act by any alien mentioned in section two of this act, or by any company, association or corporation mentioned in section three of this act, shall escheat to, and become and remain the property of the State of California. The attorney general or district attorney of the proper county shall institute proceedings to have the escheat of such real property adjudged and enforced in the manner provided by section four hundred seventy-four of the Political Code and title eight, part three of the Code of Civil Procedure. Upon the entry of final judgment in such proceedings, the title to such real property shall pass to the State of California. The provisions of this section and of sections two and three of this act shall not apply to any real property hereafter acquired in the enforcement or in satisfaction of any lien now existing upon, or interest in such property, so long as such real property so acquired shall remain the property of the alien, company, association or corporation acquiring the same in such manner. No alien, company, association or corporation mentioned in section two or section three hereof shall hold for a longer period than two years the possession of any agricultural land acquired in the enforcement of or in satisfaction of a mortgage or other lien hereafter made or acquired in good faith to secure a debt. =Section 8.=--Any leasehold or other interest in real property less than the fee, hereafter acquired in violation of the provisions of this act by any alien mentioned in section two of this act, or by any company, association or corporation mentioned in section three of this act, shall escheat to the State of California. The attorney general or district attorney of the proper county shall institute proceedings to have such escheat adjudged and enforced as provided in section seven of this act. In such proceedings the court shall determine and adjudge the value of such leasehold or other interest in such real property, and enter judgment for the State for the amount thereof together with costs. Thereupon the court shall order a sale of the real property covered by such leasehold, or other interest, in the manner provided by section twelve hundred seventy-one of the Code of Civil Procedure. Out of the proceeds arising from such sale, the amount of the judgment rendered for the State shall be paid into the state treasury and the balance shall be deposited with and distributed by the court in accordance with the interest of the parties therein. Any share of stock or the interest of any member in a company, association or corporation hereafter acquired in violation of the provisions of section three of this act shall escheat to the State of California. Such escheat shall be adjudged and enforced in the same manner as provided in this section for the escheat of a leasehold or other interest in real property less than the fee. =Section 9.=--Every transfer of real property, or of an interest therein, though colorable in form, shall be void as to the state and the interest thereby conveyed or sought to be conveyed shall escheat to the State if the property interest involved is of such a character that an alien mentioned in section two hereof is inhibited from acquiring, possessing, enjoying or transferring it, and if the conveyance is made with intent to prevent, evade or avoid escheat as provided for herein. A _prima facie_ presumption that the conveyance is made with such intent shall arise upon proof of any of the following groups of facts: (_a_) The taking of the property in the name of a person other than the persons mentioned in section two hereof if the consideration is paid or agreed or understood to be paid by an alien mentioned in section two hereof; (_b_) The taking of the property in the name of a company, association or corporation, if the membership or shares of stock therein held by aliens mentioned in section two hereof, together with the memberships or shares of stock held by others but paid for or agreed or understood to be paid for by such aliens, would amount to a majority of the membership or the issued capital stock of such company, association or corporation; (_c_) The execution of a mortgage in favor of an alien mentioned in section two hereof if said mortgagee is given possession, control or management of the property. The enumeration in this section of certain presumptions shall not be so construed as to preclude other presumptions or inferences that reasonably may be made as to the existence of intent to prevent, evade or avoid escheat as provided for herein. =Section 10.=--If two or more persons conspire to effect a transfer of real property, or of an interest therein, in violation of the provisions hereof, they are punishable by imprisonment in the county jail or State penitentiary not exceeding two years, or by a fine not exceeding five thousand dollars, or both. =Section 11.=--Nothing in this act shall be construed as a limitation upon the power of the State to enact laws with respect to the acquisition, holding or disposal by aliens of real property in this State. =Section 12.=--All acts and parts of acts inconsistent or in conflict with the provisions hereof are hereby repealed; _provided_, that-- (_a_) This act shall not affect pending actions or proceedings, but the same may be prosecuted and defended with the same effect as if this act had not been adopted; (_b_) No cause of action arising under any law of this State shall be affected by reason of the adoption of this act whether an action or proceeding has been instituted thereon at the time of the taking effect of this act or not and actions may be brought upon such causes in the same manner, under the same terms and conditions, and with the same effect as if this act had not been adopted. (_c_) This act in so far as it does not add to, take from or alter an existing law, shall be construed as a continuation thereof. =Section 13.=--The legislature may amend this act in furtherance of its purpose and to facilitate its operation. =Section 14.=--If any section, subsection, sentence, clause or phrase of this act is for any reason held to be unconstitutional, such decision shall not affect the validity of the remaining portions of this act. The people hereby declare that they would have passed this act, and each section, subsection, sentence, clause and phrase thereof, irrespective of the fact that any one or more other sections, subsections, sentences, clauses or phrases be declared unconstitutional. APPENDIX E CROPS RAISED BY JAPANESE AND THEIR ACREAGE. =============================================================== | Total |Acreage by|Percentage of Japanese Product. | Acreage of | Japanese.| Cultivation Against |Cultivation.| | Total Cultivation. ----------------|------------|----------|---------------------- Berries | 6,500 | 5,968 | 91.8 Celery | 4,000 | 3,568 | 89.2 Asparagus | 12,000 | 9,927 | 82.7 Seeds | 20,000 | 15,847 | 79.2 Onions | 12,112 | 9,251 | 76.3 Tomatoes | 16,000 | 10,616 | 66.3 Cantaloupes | 15,000 | 9,581 | 63.8 Sugar Beets | 102,949 | 51,604 | 50.1 Green Vegetables| 75,000 | 17,852 | 23.8 Potatoes | 90,175 | 18,830 | 20.8 Hops | 8,000 | 1,260 | 15.7 Grapes | 360,000 | 47,439 | 13.1 Beans | 592,000 | 77,107 | 13.0 Rice | 106,220 | 16,640 | 10.0 Cotton | 179,860 | 18,000 | 10.0 Corn | 85,000 | 7,845 | 9.2 Fruits, Nuts | 715,000 | 29,210 | 4.0 Hay, Grain | 2,200,000 | 15,753 | 0.0 =============================================================== Reported by the Japanese Agricultural Association of California, 1919. APPENDIX F JAPANESE IMMIGRATION TO THE UNITED STATES. ===================== Year.|No. of Japanese | Immigrants. -----|--------------- 1869 | 63 1870 | 48 1871 | 78 1872 | 17 1873 | 9 1874 | 21 1875 | 3 1876 | 4 1877 | 7 1878 | 2 1879 | 4 1880 | 4 1881 | 11 1882 | 5 1883 | 27 1884 | 20 1885 | 49 1886 | 194 1887 | 229 1888 | 404 1889 | 640 1890 | 691 1891 | 1,136 1892 | 1,498 1893 | 1,648 1894 | 1,739 1895 | 480 1896 | 1,110 1897 | 1,526 1898 | 2,230 1899 | 2,844 1900 | 6,618 1901 | 4,908 1902 | 5,325 1903 | 6,990 1904 | 7,771 1905 | 4,319 1906 | 5,178 1907 | 9,948 1908 | 7,250 ---------------------- ----------------------------------- Year.| Admitted.|Departed.|Balance. -----|----------|---------|-------- 1909 | 1,593 | 5,004 | -3,411 1910 | 1,552 | 5,024 | -3,472 1911 | 4,282 | 5,869 | -1,587 1912 | 5,358 | 5,437 | - 79 1913 | 6,771 | 5,647 | +1,124 1914 | 8,462 | 6,300 | +2,162 1915 | 9,029 | 5,967 | +3,062 1916 | 9,100 | 6,922 | +2,178 1917 | 9,159 | 6,581 | +2,578 1918 | 11,143 | 7,691 | +3,452 1919 | 11,404 | 8,328 | +3,076 1920 | 12,868 | 11,662 | +1,206 ----------------------------------- The above is taken from the Annual Report of the Commissioner General of Immigration. APPENDIX G JAPANESE ADMITTED INTO CONTINENTAL UNITED STATES: ARRIVALS AND DEPARTURES. =============================================== | Number of | |Total Gains Year. | Arrivals. | Departed. |Up to Date. -----------|-----------|-----------|----------- 1861-1870 | 218 } | | 1871-1880 | 149 } | | 1881-1890 | 2,270 } | 25,000 | 1891-1900 | 20,829 } |(estimated)| 1901-1910 | 54,838 } | | 1911-1920 | 87,576 | 70,404 | -----------|-----------| | Total | 165,880 | | | | | No. of | | | transient | | | immigrants | | | from Hawaii| 15,000 | | |(estimated)| | |-----------|-----------|----------- Total | 180,880 | 95,404 | 87,476 =============================================== APPENDIX H IMMIGRANTS AND NON-IMMIGRANTS. ======================================================== | Total | | | Percentage of | Number | | Non- | Non-Immigrants Year.|Admitted.|Immigrants.|Immigrants.| Against Total | | | |Number Admitted. -----|---------|-----------|-----------|---------------- 1909 | 1,593 | 255 | 1,338 | 84.0 1910 | 1,552 | 116 | 1,436 | 92.5 1911 | 4,282 | 736 | 3,546 | 83.0 1912 | 5,358 | 894 | 4,464 | 83.3 1913 | 6,771 | 1,371 | 5,400 | 79.7 1914 | 8,462 | 1,762 | 6,700 | 79.1 1915 | 9,029 | 2,214 | 6,815 | 75.5 1916 | 9,100 | 2,958 | 6,142 | 67.5 1917 | 9,159 | 2,838 | 6,321 | 69.0 1918 | 11,143 | 2,604 | 8,539 | 76.6 ======================================================== Taken from Kawakami, _Japan Review_, vol. iv., p. 76. APPENDIX I DISTRIBUTION OF JAPANESE AND CHINESE POPULATION IN THE UNITED STATES. DISTRIBUTION OF JAPANESE POPULATION. ====================================================== Census. | 1880 | 1890 | 1900 | 1910 -------------------|--------|--------|--------|------- Total United States| 148 | 2039 | 24,326 | 72,157 -------------------|--------|--------|--------|------- New England | 14 | 45 | 89 | 272 Middle Atlantic | 27 | 202 | 446 | 1,643 East North Central | 7 | 101 | 126 | 482 West North Central | 1 | 16 | 223 | 1,000 South Atlantic | 5 | 55 | 29 | 156 East South Central | ... | 19 | 7 | 26 West South Central | ... | 42 | 30 | 428 Mountain | 5 | 27 | 5,107 | 10,447 Pacific | 89 | 1,532 | 18,296 | 57,703 ====================================================== DISTRIBUTION OF CHINESE POPULATION. ======================================================== Census. | 1880 | 1890 | 1900 | 1910 -------------------|---------|---------|--------|------- United States | 105,465 | 107,488 | 89,863 | 71,531 -------------------|---------|---------|--------|------- New England | 401 | 1,488 | 4,203 | 3,499 Middle Atlantic | 1,277 | 4,689 | 10,490 | 8,189 East North Central | 390 | 1,254 | 2,533 | 3,451 West North Central | 423 | 1,097 | 1,135 | 1,195 South Atlantic | 74 | 669 | 1,791 | 1,582 East South Central | 90 | 274 | 427 | 414 West South Central | 758 | 1,173 | 1,555 | 1,303 Mountain | 14,274 | 11,572 | 7,950 | 5,614 Pacific | 87,828 | 85,272 | 59,779 | 46,320 ======================================================== Taken from Gulick, _American Democracy and Asiatic Citizenship_, pp. 152, 177. APPENDIX J DISTRIBUTION OF JAPANESE IN UNITED STATES. (_According to Consular Division as Reported by Foreign Department, Japan._) ================================================== Districts. | Male. | Female. | Total for 1919. --------------|--------|---------|---------------- Seattle | 14,568 | 4,397 | 18,965 Portland | 5,829 | 1,637 | 7,466 San Francisco | 37,375 | 16,578 | 53,953 Los Angeles | 22,644 | 9,861 | 32,505 Chicago | 2,336 | 378 | 2,714 New York | 3,320 | 284 | 3,604 |--------|---------|---------------- | 86,072 | 33,135 | 119,207 ================================================== APPENDIX K AN ABSTRACT OF EXPATRIATION LAW OF JAPAN =Article XVIII.=--When a Japanese, by becoming the wife of a foreigner, has acquired the husband's nationality, then such Japanese loses her Japanese nationality. =Article XX.=--A person who voluntarily acquires a foreign nationality loses Japanese nationality. In case a Japanese subject, who has acquired foreign nationality by reason of his or her birth in a foreign country has domiciled in that country, he or she may be expatriated with the permission of the Minister of State for Home Affairs. The application for the permission referred to in the preceding paragraph shall be made by the legal representative in case the person to be expatriated is younger than fifteen years of age. If the person in question is a minor above fifteen years of age, or a person adjudged incompetent, the application can be made with the consent of his or her legal representative or guardian. A stepfather, a stepmother, a legal mother, or a guardian may not make the application or give the consent prescribed in the preceding paragraph without the consent of the family council. A person who has been expatriated loses Japanese nationality. =Article XXIV.=--Notwithstanding the provisions of the preceding six articles a male of full seventeen years or upwards does not lose Japanese nationality, unless he has completed active service in the army or navy, or he is under no obligation to enter into it. A person who actually occupies an official post--civil or military--does not lose Japanese nationality notwithstanding the provisions of the foregoing seven articles. =Article XXVI.=--A person who has lost Japanese nationality in accordance with Article XX may recover Japanese nationality provided that he or she possesses a domicile in Japan, but this does not apply when the person mentioned in Article XVI has lost Japanese nationality. In case the person who has lost Japanese nationality in accordance with the provision of Article XX is younger than fifteen years of age, the application for the permission prescribed in the preceding paragraph shall be made by the father who is the member of the family to which such person belonged at the time of his expatriation; should the father be unable to do so, the application shall be made by the mother; if the mother is unable to do so, by the grandfather; and if the grandfather is unable to do so, then by the grandmother. APPENDIX L A MINUTE OF HEARING AT SEATTLE, WASHINGTON, BEFORE THE HOUSE SUB-COMMITTEE ON IMMIGRATION AND NATURALIZATION DIRECT EXAMINATION July 27, 1920. Evening Session SEATTLE JAMES SAKAMOTO, produced as a witness, having been first duly sworn, testified as follows: QUESTIONS BY MR. BOX: _Q._ What is your name? _A._ James Sakamoto. _Q._ Where do you live? _A._ 1609 Yesler Way. _Q._ You were born in the United States? _A._ Yes, sir. _Q._ Where were you born? _A._ In Seattle, Washington. _Q._ Right here? _A._ Yes. _Q._ Are you full of Seattle spirits? _A._ You bet. _Q._ You only refer to one kind. How old are you? _A._ Seventeen. I was born in 1903; March 22d. _Q._ You go to school here? _A._ Oh, yes. _Q._ In the high school? _A._ The Franklin High. _Q._ About how many boys are there here in and about Seattle that were born here, along about your age, from three or four years younger to two or three years older? _A._ Well, I only know of the fellows that I associate with. I can't tell you the fellows that I don't know about. _Q._ Do you know a number? _A._ I don't know many of them. _Q._ A half a dozen? _Q._ How many in your high school are Japanese boys? _A._ I think I am the only one. _Q._ Are there many young ladies? Do you know this young lady that just testified? _A._ Yes, sir. _Q._ Are there many such nice looking girls as she is in Seattle? _A._ You better ask them. _Q._ You get along all right in school? _A._ Oh, yes, sir. _Q._ You don't have any trouble with your classes, and boys? _A._ I have lots of fun. _Q._ You have a good time? _A._ Yes, sir. _Q._ Did you attend the Japanese Language School? _A._ Yes, sir; eight years. _Q._ What did they teach you there? _A._ Taught me Japanese. _Q._ The Japanese language? _A._ Yes, sir. _Q._ Did they teach you Japanese history? _A._ I wasn't able to learn very quick. _Q._ You were not very quick to learn, but they did that, teach the history of Japan? _A._ They tried to. _Q._ Didn't they succeed with a boy as bright as you are, going to high school? _A._ They were successful, but I did not succeed. See? _Q._ You read the Japanese language now? _A._ I can't read it; it is too hard. _Q._ You really can't read any? _A._ There are three different kinds of words and letters. I can read the easiest. _Q._ In other words, you have adopted the road of least resistance with the Japanese language? _A._ Sure. _Q._ You talk Japanese with your parents? _A._ In a simple, broken language. _Q._ Do they talk English? _A._ They can't talk English. They have been here quite long, but they have never had a chance to talk English. _Q._ Let me ask you this; do you get along very well with them? _A._ In my home? _Q._ Yes. _A._ Sure. They are my father and mother. _Q._ (Mr. Siegel.) And you say that you don't understand the Japanese language sufficiently well to carry on a conversation with them? _A._ I understand them, but that is about all. _Q._ How do they arrange to get along with you, if you can't speak the language orally? _A._ They just about guess what I am trying to tell them. _Q._ In other words, you are always asking for money. Is that the principal idea? _A._ May be, not any more, but I used to. _Q._ When they talk to you, you understand them all right? _A._ Oh, yes; I understand them. _Q._ (Mr. Raker.) Would you tell us why, you haven't, or didn't, and haven't given more attention and worked harder to become familiar with the Japanese language and history? _A._ That is a hard question to ask me just now. _Q._ I know it is, but I think you know, my boy; tell us in your own language, in your own way? _A._ Well, suppose we go to school five hours a day, the American school. We attend Japanese school for two hours; that is overwork two hours, you see, and we don't get paid for over time. _Q._ I guess you are about pretty near right, didn't I? You are the kind of a fellow that is going to be thinking a little about money as you grow up, and you are going to make it in Seattle. _A._ I haven't got a business. _Q._ (Mr. Raker.) What I was asking that question for, I am going to put it direct. I want you to give me your good frank answer, which I know you will. Is it your determination when you get a little older, and begin to think over the situation, that you want to become familiar with the English language and understand the American ways rather than to devote your time to Japanese ways and language? _A._ Well, I want to be an American more than a Japanese. I was born here. _Q._ That is one of the reasons you haven't devoted your time to the Japanese language. How old were you when you started? _A._ I started the same year when I went to Grammar School. _Q._ That was when? _A._ Five years old. Five years old I started to kindergarten, and at six I started to Grammar School. _Q._ So when you started to kindergarten did you start in the Japanese School? _A._ No, when I was six. _Q._ And you did that from the time you were six until you were fourteen? _A._ I think that is right, fourteen. _Q._ How old are you now? _A._ Seventeen. _Q._ You have to renounce the Japanese Emperor before you are seventeen? _A._ I don't know a thing about it. _Q._ You know, don't you, that you are claimed as a citizen by Japan, and also by the United States. _A._ I don't care. I was born here. _Q._ Is it your intention to remain an American citizen or be a Japanese citizen? _A._ Why shouldn't I remain an American? I was born here. Why should I go back there? This is my home here. _Q._ You intend to remain an American citizen? _A._ Nobody is going to stop me. _Q._ That's what I want to get at. Do you remember when you were first told that you were a native-born American citizen; do you remember when that was first told you? _A._ I don't know. _Q._ How long have you felt the pride that you are a young American citizen? How long have you held that feeling of pride? _A._ Since I went to Grammar School. _Q._ Has every young Japanese boy here expressed that feeling as you do to us; have you heard them talk about it? _A._ They don't talk about it much. It is mostly their home training. My father and mother don't care whether I am an American. They would rather have me an American. _Q._ And they have encouraged you to be an American? _A._ Sure. _Q._ And your teachers have? _A._ Oh, yes, naturally. _Q._ And you like the idea? _A._ Sure. _Q._ Your father and mother intend to remain here all their lives, do they, as far as you know? _A._ Well, I would like to have them go back and see their home once again, but that is about all. I don't know what I can do. _Q._ (Mr. Vaile.) As far as you know, their own intention is to live here, except for a visit home, perhaps, the rest of their lives? _A._ Yes, sir. _Q._ Suppose you visit Japan. You know, don't you, that the Japanese Emperor still claims you as his subject? Suppose you are required to render military service to Japan, what would be your position on that subject? _A._ It would be a pretty difficult one, but I will get out of it. _Q._ Following that, suppose you were required to render military service to the United States, what will be your position? _A._ I will get in. _Q._ Exactly. We are glad to meet you. Good luck to you. (_Witness Excused._) APPENDIX M COMPARATIVE STANDING OF INTELLIGENCE AND BEHAVIOR OF AMERICAN-BORN JAPANESE CHILDREN AND AMERICAN CHILDREN DISCUSSED BY SEVERAL PRINCIPALS OF ELEMENTARY SCHOOLS OF LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA. _Request Sent to the Board of Education of Los Angeles, California._ December 24, 1920. President of the Board of Education, Los Angeles, California. MY DEAR SIR: I am collecting data on the intellectual and moral status of American-born Japanese children. Among the data the most important, I need hardly say, are their school records. I shall highly appreciate your courtesy if you will be pleased to provide me with the valuable information you have at your command bearing on the subject. What I am particularly interested in is the average record of American-born Japanese children and its comparison with the record of American children. Yours very respectfully, (Signed) T. IYENAGA. _Method of Gathering Material_ December 31, 1920. DEAR MR. SHAFER: May I trouble you to select two of your schools in which you have the largest Japanese attendance and secure for me at your earliest possible convenience data as to the number of Japanese children in those schools and the points about them that are touched upon in the accompanying letter? My thought is this--that if we secure records from two or three schools where we have the largest Japanese attendance, this will suffice as a basis for decision as to the other such schools. MRS. DORSEY. January 7, 1921. Mrs. Adda Wilson Hunter, _Principal_, Moneta School, Miss Mary A. Colestock, _Principal_, Hewitt St. School, Miss Mary A. Henderson, _Principal_, Amelia St. School, Miss Lizzie A. McKenzie, _Principal_, Hobart Blvd. School. A communication has been received from Dr. T. Iyenaga stating that he is collecting data on the intellectual and moral status of American-born Japanese children. He is anxious to know the average record of American-born Japanese children in the schools and how it compares with the record of American children. Will you kindly send me statement concerning the results in your schools? Very truly yours, _Assistant Superintendent_. _Replies_ (1) _Office of the Principal of Hewitt St. School, District No. 151_ Report of American-born Japanese Children. January 17, 1921. MY DEAR MR. SHAFER: The American-born Japanese children, who are enrolled in this school, compare most favorably with the American children both intellectually and morally. They are like all groups of children. We find some very bright children and some very dull ones. As a whole, they are more persevering and more dependable than the class of white children found in this school. Miss Oliver, who has been working with the Japanese for the past four years, said, "When with them I feel that I am in the company of well-bred Americans." Truly yours, MARY A. COLESTOCK, _Prin._ (2) _Amelia St. School, City_ January 19, 1921. MR. HARRY M. SHAFER, _Assistant Superintendent_, Los Angeles City Public Schools, Los Angeles, California. DEAR MR. SHAFER: My general observation has been that given anything of an equal chance, children are children, human nature is human nature, and brains are brains--whatever the mother tongue may be. Compared with our other foreign children, or with other children born in America of foreign parentage not Japanese, keeping in mind the differences in social position that exist in all classes, whatever the nationality may be, I cannot see much difference along any line between our Japanese children and our Mexicans, our French and our Italians; nor do I think any of them differ radically from what we are apt to term "American" children. Few families are many generations away from some foreign ancestors.... Our Japanese children are called brighter and more studious, sometimes, than the others. I think this is due to the fact that they have, in many cases, ambitious, educated parents who follow school work up very closely in the home. Where home restrictions are lifted, such conditions do not always prevail, any more than in cases of other neglected children. _They must_ be studious. Discipline of American-born Japanese children is not so close in the home as it seems to be with children born in Japan and reared along Japanese lines, yet such children show much more initiative in all of their work at school. They catch the American spirit. As summary, I would say that physically, mentally, morally, given the same chance, there does not seem to me to be a great difference among children of the different nationalities, but this difference is most readily noticed. The other nationalities do assimilate quickly, and lose, to a great extent, their parents' national traits in short time; but it is exceedingly hard to get the same results with our Japanese children. They cling to one another, to their own ways, and to their own language, even after many years of work in public schools, where most social barriers are broken down. My personal feeling in the matter is that this condition is the result of lack of American education in the Japanese homes and lack of American touch with the Japanese mothers. Our Home teachers are doing much to help along this line, but it is slow work, and work that takes much time, and requires great tact on part of the workers. Most important to me is the work our public schools are doing with the Japanese girls, the mothers of tomorrow. Yours respectfully, MARY A. HENDERSON. (3) _Report of Intellectual and Moral Status of American-born Japanese Children_ MONETA SCHOOL, LOS ANGELES SCHOOL DIST. As a rule American-born Japanese children know no English when entering school. Their progress at first, therefore, is more slow than that of English speaking children. Japanese children require one year to complete one half year's work through the first, second, and third grades. After the third grade they complete the work in the time assigned. They are especially good in handwork. Their chief difficulty is with English. In application they rank high. As to their moral status they are neither better nor worse than other children. MRS. ADDA WILSON HUNTER, _Principal Moneta School_. January 14, 1921. _Report of Intellectual and Moral Status of American-Born Japanese Children_ ========================================================================= Grade| Amer.- |Time to |Standard|Average | Rank |Appli- |1. In What Do | Born |Complete| Age of | Age of | in |cation.| They Excel? |Japanese |Work of | Grade. |Am.-Born|Class.| |2. What is |Enrolled.| 1/2 | |Jap'se. | | | Greatest | | Year. | | | | | Drawback? -----|---------|--------|--------|--------|------|-------|--------------- | | | | | | | Kgn. | 13 | 1 yr. |4-1/2-6 | 5 | | Good |1. Handwork. | | | | | | |2. Do not speak | | | | | | | English. | | | | | | | B-1 | 21 | 1 yr. | 6-7 | | | Good |1. Drawing, | | | | | | | writing, | | | | | | | handwork. | | | | | | |2. Do not speak | | | | | | | English. | | | | | | | A-1 | 4 | 1 yr. | 6-7 | 9 | | Good |1. Handwork. | | | | | | |2. Do not speak | | | | | | | English. | | | | | | | B-2 | 2 | 1 yr. | 7-8 | 9 | | Good |1. Handwork. | | | | | | |2. Do not speak | | | | | | | English. | | | | | | | A-2 | 3 | 1 yr. | 7-8 | 10 | | Good |1. Handwork. | | | | | | |2. Do not speak | | | | | | | English. | | | | | | | B-3 | 2 | 5 mos. | 8-9 | 10 |Excel.| Poor |1. Spelling, | | | | | | | arithmetic. | | | | | | |2. English. | | | | | | | A-3 | 3 | 1 yr. | 8-9 | 10 | Fair | Good |1. Spelling, | | | | | | | arithmetic. | | | | | | |2. English. | | | | | | | B-4 | 1 | 5 mos. | 9-10 | 9 |Excel.| Excel.|1. Arithmetic. | | | | | | |2. English. | | | | | | | A-4 | 1 | 5 mos. | 9-10 | 11 |Excel.| Excel.|1. Arithmetic, | | | | | | | spelling. | | | | | | |2. English. | | | | | | | B-5 | 2 | 5 mos. | 10-11 | 11 |Excel.| Excel.|1. Arithmetic, | | | | | | | spelling. | | | | | | |2. English. | | | | | | | B-6 | 2 | 5 mos. | 11-12 | 10 | Good | Excel.|1. History, | | | | | | | geography. | | | | | | |2. Arithmetic. | | | | | | | A-6 | 1 | 5 mos. | 11-12 | 12-1/2 |Excel.| Excel.|1. Arithmetic, | | | | | | | history. | | | | | | |2. Geography. | | | | | | | ========================================================================= (4) HOBART BLVD. SCHOOL, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA, January 13, 1921. MR. HARRY M. SHAFER, _Assistant Supt. City Schools_. MY DEAR MR. SHAFER: In reply to your inquiry relative to the American-born Japanese pupils of our school, I enclose statement as to results noted in the various classes. Trusting that this may serve the purpose desired, and appreciating your very kindly interest, Sincerely, LIZZIE A. MCKENZIE, _Principal_. Hobart Blvd. School. January 13, 1921. _Report on Japanese Pupils_ (American-born) Many of the Japanese fail in First Grade on account of inability to understand the English language. In succeeding grades, progress is satisfactory as shown by the following tabulation of current date: ==================== | To Be Enrolled.|Promoted. ---------|---------- B-1 16 | 10 A-1 7 | 6 B-2 5 | 5 A-2 4 | 4 B-3 1 | 1 A-3 1 | 1 B-4 2 | 2 A-4 0 | B-5 2 | 1 A-5 1 | 1 B-6 1 | 1 A-6 0 | Total enrolled, 40. Total promoted, 32. ==================== We find these children as a rule clever in use of pen and crayon, possessing light touch, having correct ideas of form, and excellent taste in selection of color. As pupils they follow direction well, and are usually free from faults of rudeness or improper language. Of the forty above Kindergarten, three are troublesome and are persistent cases. In general, it may be said that these children as a class compare favorably with others in matters of progress and of conduct as well. LIZZIE A. MCKENZIE, _Principal_. LITERATURE ON THE SUBJECT BOOKS ANNALS OF AMERICAN ACADEMY OF POLITICAL AND SOCIAL SCIENCE, January, 1921. _Present Day Immigration with Special Reference to the Japanese._ ANNALS OF AMERICAN ACADEMY OF POLITICAL AND SOCIAL SCIENCE, September, 1909. _Chinese and Japanese in America._ GULICK, SYDNEY L. _American Democracy and Asiatic Citizenship._ Scribners, New York, 1918. _The American-Japanese Problem._ Scribners, New York, 1914. ICHIHASHI, Y. _Japanese Immigration._ Marshall Press, San Francisco, 1915. KAWAKAMI, K. K. _American-Japanese Relations._ Revell, New York, 1912. _Asia at the Door._ Revell, New York, 1914. _Japan in the World Politics._ Revell, New York, 1917. MASAOKA, N. (Editor). _Japan to America._ G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York, 1915. MILLIS, H. A. _The Japanese Problem in the United States._ McMillan, New York, 1915. PITKIN, WALTER B. _Must We Fight Japan?_ The Century Co., New York, 1921. RUSSELL, LINDSAY (Editor). _America to Japan._ G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York, 1915. SCHERER, J. A. A. _The Japanese Crisis._ Stokes, 1915. THE JAPANESE-AMERICAN NEWS. _The Japanese-American Year Book_, 1910 and 1918. San Francisco. OFFICIAL PUBLICATIONS Annual Reports of the United States Commissioner-General of Immigration. Bureau of Labor (California). Biennial Reports, and especially, "Report on the Japanese in California." California and the Oriental. Report of California State Board of Control, with Governor Wm. D. Stephens's letter addressed to Secretary of State Bainbridge Colby. California State Printing Office, Sacramento, 1920. Department of Commerce, Bureau of Census. Chinese and Japanese in the United States, 1910. Bulletin 127, Washington Printing Office, 1914. Immigration Commission. Changes in Bodily Form of Descendants of Immigrant. Senate Document, No. 208, 61st Congress, 2nd Session. Washington Government Printing Office, 1910. Immigration Laws of the United States. (Revised Federal Statutes). KAHN, CONGRESSMAN. Japanese-California Problem. Congressional Record, 60, 4: 78-82, December 9, 1920. METCALF, SECRETARY. Report on the Japanese School Question. Naturalization Laws of the United States. (Revised Federal Statutes.) Reports of the Immigration Commission. Immigrants in the Industries, Vols. 23, 24, 25, Senate Document, No. 633, 61st Congress. ROOSEVELT, THEODORE. Presidential Message to Congress, 1907. House of Representatives; Message of the President of the United States, and Accompanying Documents. Part I; pp. 492-846. Ex. Doc. No. 1. PAMPHLETS CALIFORNIA FARMERS' CO-OPERATIVE ASSOCIATION. _Japanese Immigration and the Japanese in California_, 1919. CLEMENT, E. W. _Expatriation of Japanese Abroad._ Japanese Association of America, San Francisco, 1916. ELIOT, CHAS. W. _Friendship between the United States and Japan._ Japanese Merchants' Association, Portland, Oregon. GADSBY, JOHN. _Foreign Land-Ownership and Leasing in Japan_, 1920. Japanese Association of America, San Francisco, 1914. GULICK, SYDNEY L. _How Shall Immigration be Regulated?_ 1920. _Japan and the Gentlemen's Agreement._ 1920. _The New Anti-Japanese Agitation._ 1920. ICHIHASHI, Y. _Japanese Immigration, Its Status in California._ 1913. IRISH, JOHN P. _Campaign of Lies, Stolen Letters of Senator Phelan._ 1920. _Shall Japanese-Americans in Idaho be Treated with Fairness and Justice or Not?_ 1921. KAWAKAMI, K. K. _Senator Phelan, Dr. Gulick and I._ Bureau of Literary Service, San Francisco, 1920. LAMONT, THOMAS, AND OTHERS. _Japan._ 1920. PEOPLE'S LEAGUE OF JUSTICE. _Petition by People's League of Justice_, Los Angeles, California, 1920. REA, GEORGE BRONSON. _Japan's Right to Exist._ _Far Eastern Review_, Shanghai, China, 1920. ROOSEVELT, T. _America and Japan._ Reprint from the New York _Times_. SHIMA, GEORGE. _An Appeal To Justice._ 1920. TAFT, HENRY W. _Our Relations with Japan._ Japan Society, New York, 1920. THE AMERICAN COMMITTEE OF JUSTICE. _California and the Japanese._ Oakland, California, December, 1920. TYNDALL, PHILIP. _Proposed Initiative Measure to be Presented to the Legislature of 1921_, Seattle, Washington. VANDERLIP, FRANK. _Mr. Vanderlip's Message._ WALLACE, J. B. _Waving the Yellow Flag in California._ Reprinted from the Dearborn Independent. WILLIAMS, B. H. _The Case against the Japanese._ 1920. ARTICLES IN PERIODICALS "America and the Japanese Relations." WAINWRIGHT, S. H. _Outlook_, 124: 392, March, 1920. "America's Responsibility on the Pacific." GREENBIE, S. _North American Review_, 212: 71-79, July, 1920. "Another Japanese Problem." MCLEOD, H. _New Republic_, 24: 184-6, October 20, 1920. "Anti-Japanese Agitation." _Business Chronicle_, 9, 18: 137-49, September, 1920. "Asia's American Problem." ROBINSON, GEROID. _Pacific Review_, 367-388, December, 1920. "California and the Japanese." KAWAKAMI, K. K. _Nation_, 112: 173-174, February 2, 1921. "California and the Oriental." The Letter of WM. D. STEPHENS to the Secretary of State Colby. _The Pacific Review_, 349-361, December, 1920. "California-Japanese Problem." _The Pacific Voice_, 5, 10: 4-10. "California-Japanese Question." WOOLSEY, THEODORE S. _The American Journal of International Laws_, Oxford Press, 15, 1: 24-26, January, 1921. "Co-operation between Japan and America." KANEKO, K. _Japan Review_, 24-26, December, 1920. "Discrimination against the Japanese." _New Republic_, 24: 135-6. "Future of Japanese-American Relations." SHIDEHARA, K. _Japan Review_, 170-171, April, 1920. "Hegemony of the Pacific." _Living Age_, 316: 638-40. "Japan, a Great Economic Power." LONGFORD, J. H. _Nineteenth Century_, 523: 526-39, September, 1920. "Japan and America." _Far Eastern Review_, 16: 335-36. "Japan and the United States, a Suggestion." OTTO, M. C. _Japan Review_, 334-336, October, 1920. "Japan and the Japanese-California Problem." IYENAGA, T. _Current History_, 13, 1: 1-7, October, 1920. "Japan as Colonizer." _Stead's Review_, 53, 7: 358-9. "Japan Challenges Us to Control California." STODDARD, L. _World's Work_, 40: 48-85. "Japan Our New Customer." STARRETT, W. A. _Scribner's_, 66: 517-18. "Japan's Diplomacy of Necessity." _Living Age_, 316: 638-640. "Japan's New Difficulties with China." _The New York Times Current History_, 457-458, December, 1920. "Japan's Use of Her Hegemony." FERGUSON, J. C. _North American Review_, 210: 456-459. "Japan's Aggression." INMAN, J. M. _Forum_, 65, 1: 1-9, January, 1921. "Japanese-American Relations." SHIDEHARA, K. _Outlook_, 125: 317-18, June 16, 1920. "Japanese-American Relations." YOSHINO, SAKUZO. _Pacific Review_, 418-421, December, 1920. "Japanese and the Pacific Coast." RYDER, R. W. _North American Review_, 213, 1: 1-15, January, 1921. "Japanese Farmers' Contribution to California." CHIBA, TOYOJI. _Japan Review_, 212-13, May, 1920. "Japanese Imperialism in Siberia." CHAMBERLAIN, W. H. _Nation_, 110: 798-9. "Japanese in America." TRENT, P. J. _Review of Reviews_, 61: 76-8, June, 1920. "Japanese in California." BRIGGS, A. H.; JOHNSON, H. B.; LOOFBOUROW, I. J. _Japan Review_, 166-170, April, 1920. "Japanese in California." IRISH, JOHN P. _Japan Review_, 7-72, January, 1920. "Japanese in California." JORDAN, D. S. _The Pacific Review_, 316-65, December, 1920. "Japanese Issue in California." STODDARD, L. _World's Work_, 40, 5: 585-600, September, 1920. "Japanese Language Schools." KAWAKAMI, K. K. _Japan Review_, 14-15, January, 1921. "Japanese Problem in California." LOCAN, C. A. _Current History_, 13: 7-11, October, 1920. "Japanese Pupils and American Schools." FULTON, C. W. _North American Review_, December, 1906. "Japanese Question." _Kawakami, K. K._ _Pacific Review_, 365-78, December, 1920. "Japanese Views of California." _Literary Digest_, 67, 1: 20-1. "Japanthropy." WOOLSTON, H. D. _Pacific Review,_ 289-96, December, 1920. "Legal Aspects of the Japanese Question." MCMURRAY, ORRIN K. _Pacific Review_, 396-403, December, 1920. "Liberalism in Japan." DEWEY, JOHN. _Dial_, 63: 283-5; 335-7; 369-71. "Light on the Japanese Question." KINNEY, H. W. _Atlantic Monthly_, 126: 832-42, December, 1920. "Moral Factors in Japanese Policy." BLAND, J. O. P. _Asia_, 211-217, March, 1920. "Oriental Immigration from the Canadian Standpoint." BAGGS, THEODORE H. _Pacific Review,_ 408-418, December, 1920. "Oriental in California." IRISH, JOHN P. _Overland_, 75: 332-3, April, 1920. "Oriental Problem, as the Coast See It." HART, J. A. _World's Work_, March, 1906. "Oriental Question and Popular Diplomacy." PRUETT, ROBERT L. _Japan Review_, 291-92, August, 1920. "Possum and the Dinosaur." MASON, G. _Outlook_, 125: 319-20, June 16, 1920. "Race Prejudice: Psychological Analysis." SATO, K. _Japan Review_, 237-238, June, 1920. "Shall East and West Never Meet?" SATO, K. _Japan Review_, 336-37, October, 1920. "Some Aspects of the So-called Japanese Problem." VANDERLIP, F. A. _Outlook_, 125: 380-4. "What are the Japanese Doing towards Americanization?" SASAMORI, JUNZO. _Japan Review_, 22-24, December, 1920. "What Japan Wants." ADACHI, K. _Nation_, 181-82, February 2, 1921. "When East is West," GULICK, SYDNEY L. _Outlook_, 102: 12-14, April 3, 1920. INDEX Adaptability, Japanese disposition of, 20 Æsthetic temperament of Japanese, 13 Age distribution of Japanese in California, 112 Agreement, Root-Takahira, 34 Agriculture, Japanese, in California, 120-147; causes of Japanese progress in, 123-126 Ainu, 14 American-born Japanese, 174-177 American disposition, 9 Americanization, criterion of, 151-154 Ancestors, Japanese, 16 Anti-Alien Land Laws, 138-142; effect of, 145; Appendixes C, D Anti-Japanese Agitation, causes of, 75-89 Asiatic policy, Japan's, 33-45 Assimilation, 137; 148-177; and nationalism, 148-159; meaning of, 151-154; biological, 155-162; of Japanese immigrants, 168-174 Australia, Japanese emigration to, 64-67 Birth-rate of Japanese in California, 109-119 Boas, Professor, quoted, 163 Bolsheviki, 38 Buddhism, 25 Bushido, 15, 21 California, causes of Anti-Japanese agitation in, 75; causes of Japanese influx to, 50-63; Christianity among Japanese in, 169-170; competition in, 133-135; congestion of Japanese in, 87-89; cultural assimilation of Japanese in, 166-168; genesis of hostility towards Japanese in, 71; population of, 93; problem, 7 Canada, Japanese emigration to, 67-69 Capitalism, 29 Castle, Professor, quoted, 159 Chiba, T., quoted, 129 China, Japan's coöperation with, 42-45 Chinese, 23, 95 Chivalry, proletarian, 21 Christianity, 28 Colonization, Japanese policy of, 18 Confucianism, 25, 27 Congressional sub-Committee on Immigration and Naturalization, 176 Constitution, Japanese, 11 Democracy, industrial, 31 Democratic institutions, Japanese training in, 172 Den Do Dan, 169-170 Despotism, Japanese, 22 Dewey, Professor John, 29 Dispersal of Japanese in California, 189 Disposition, Japanese, 20 Dual nationality, 191 East and West, 4, 195-196 Economic status of Japanese in California, 171 Education, system of, 31 Emotional nature, of Japanese, 9 English, Japanese ability to command, 170 Eta, 18 Eurasiatic relationship, 6 Expatriation Law of Japan, Appendix K Farmers, Japanese, in California, 132-138 Fishberg, Dr., quoted, 164 "Gentlemen's Agreement," 100-106 German, influence on Japan, 30; idealism, 32 _Gikyoshin_, 21 Group consciousness of Japanese, 16 Gulick, Dr. Sydney L., quoted, 157 _Hara kiri_, 12 Hearn, Lafcadio, 44 Hedonism, Japanese, 15 Hideyoshi, 10 History of Japanese, 10, 20 Humanism, 32 Immigration to Australia, 64-67 Canada, 67-69 South America, 69 United States, 69-75 Industrial democracy, 31 Intelligence of Japanese in California, 170 Intermarriage, 155-162 Japan, topographical conditions of, 13; Nature of, 14 Japan's, Asiatic Policy, 33; land area, 52; agriculture, 52-55; industry, 57-62; population, 55-57; social conditions, 62-63 Japanese, ability to speak English, 170; age distribution of, in California, 112; agriculture in California, 120-147; ancestors, 16; assimilability of, 148-177; birth rate in California, 109-119; civilization of, 14; Constitution, 11; death rate of, in California, 117; descendants in California, 164-166, 174-177; economic status of, in California, 171; farm labor, 126-131; farmers in California, 132-138; immigration to America, 97-107; Land Laws, 142-145; morality of, in California, 168-169; nationality, 85-86; number of, in California, 91; philosophy, 24; sex distribution of, in California, 112; social system, 30; susceptibility of, 12; training in civics, 172 Jesuit Fathers, 10 Jones and East, quoted, 159 _Kikotsu_, 21 Kipling, quoted, 4 Kojiki, 16 Korea, amalgamation of, 34; local self-government in, 36; situation in, 35-37 Koreans, 18 Kusama, Shiko, note, 170 Labor, 30 Land, amount held by Japanese in California, 135-137 Land Laws, Anti-Alien, 138-142; Appendixes C and D League of Nations, 19 Lippman, Walter, note, 86 Manchuria, 37 Mankind, 6 Marriage, Japanese, 11 Millis, Professor H. A., quoted, 157 Morality of Japanese in California, 168-169 Morris, Roland, 186 Myth, 17 Nationalism, 148 Native-born Japanese, 174 Nevada, 23 Newlands, U. S. Senator, 23 Nihongi, 16 Nitobé, Dr., 22 Number of Japanese in California, 91 Oakesmith, John, quoted, 176 Occidental learning, 26 Occidentalism, ultra, 19 _Otokodate_, 21 Pacific Coast, 193-194 Passports, 103 Patriotism of Japanese, 17 Perry, Commodore, 3 Philosophy, Japanese, 24 Picture brides, 113 Political rights of Japanese, 31 Politics as a cause of agitation, 80-82 Population of Japanese in California, 90-97 Positivism, English, 28 Pragmatism, 29, 32 Pride of Japanese, 11, 19 Propaganda, 83 Race war, 7 Racial difference, 83-85 Radicals, Japanese, 20 Relationship, American Japanese, 7 Roosevelt, Theodore, 33 Root-Takahira Agreement, 34 Russo-Japanese war, 18 Sakura, Sogoro, 22 Samurai, 12, 15 San Francisco Chamber of Commerce, 187 Santayana, 29 Science, lack of, in Japan, 15 Sex distribution of Japanese in California, 113 Shantung, 39 Shibusawa, Viscount, 186 Smuggling of Japanese to United States, 107-109 Social, force, 23; _milieu_ as affecting man, 165; reorganization, 29 South America, Japanese emigration to, 69 State Board of Control of California, 96 Stephens, Governor, quoted, 5, 23, 122 Suicide in Japan, 12 Thought, Japanese, 29 Tokugawa régime, 22 Traits, Japanese, 9 Treaty, American-Japanese, 187, Appendix B United States, the, Japanese immigration to, 69-74 Unity, national, 17 Utilitarians, 29 Vanderlip, Frank, 187 Wang Yang Ming, 26 White and yellow races, 5 Wilson, Woodrow, quoted, 154 Women, status of Japanese, 31 Yamato race, 14 "Yellow peril," 82 Young Japan, 14 FOOTNOTES: [1] _The System of Samurai Ethics and Obligations of Honor._ [2] See "The New Chino-Japanese Treaties and Their Import," by T. Iyenaga, in _The American Review of Reviews_, September, 1915. [3] According to the result of the census taken on October 1, 1920, the Japanese population of South Manchuria stands at 154,998 souls. Of this total, those living at Dairen number 63,745; Fushun, 12,659; Mukden, 12,268; Port Arthur, 9379; Antung, 7057, and Anshan, 6678, while those resident in the jurisdiction of Kwantung Province number 74,893. [4] One dollar U. S. currency is approximately two yen. [5] For a complete tabulation of Japanese immigration see appendix F. [6] Tokyo Emigration Co., Toyo Emigration Co., were the most conspicuous. [7] Report of the Royal Commission appointed to inquire into the methods by which Oriental laborers were induced to come to Canada in 1909. [8] Report as cited, p. 54. [9] Those who voted in the negative for the initiative bill were 222,086 against 668,483 in the affirmative. [10] _Stakes of Diplomacy_, by Walter Lippman, p. 40. [11] Report published on October 5, 1920, by the Bureau of Commercial Affairs, Foreign Office, Tokyo, Japan. [12] _California and the Oriental, State Board of Control of California, 1920_, p. 30. [13] _California and the Oriental_, p. 27. [14] For detailed comparison of geographical distribution of Chinese and Japanese see Appendix I. [15] See Appendix G. [16] _California and the Oriental_, p. 31. [17] Total number of Japanese born in California so far is approximately 30,000, of which about 5000 have either died or live in Japan. [18] Annual Report of Commissioner-General of Immigration. [19] _Immigration Laws--Rules of November 15, 1911_, published by U. S. Department of Labor, Bureau of Immigration, March 10, 1913. [20] _Japan Year Book_, 1920, p. 34. [21] _Pacific Review_, vol. i., No. 3, p. 363; "The Japanese in California," by David S. Jordan. [22] Bulletin 127, 1914, p. 8. [23] The following data are reported by the Bureau of Census, Washington, in preliminary publication of 1920 census: The Japanese population by sex in 1920 is male 44,364, female 25,832; for 1910, male 35,116, female 6,240; and for 1900, male 9,598, female 553. The per cent. distribution by sex of the Japanese in 1920 is male 63.2 per cent., female 36.8 per cent.; for 1910 male 84.9 per cent., female 15.1 per cent.; and for 1900, male 94.6 per cent., female 5.4 per cent. [24] Gulick, S. L., _Japan and the Gentlemen's Agreement_, 1920, p. 7. [25] _World Almanac 1921_, p. 476-9. [26] _World Almanac 1920_, p. 487. [27] The birth rate of immigration population in Massachusetts was 49.1 in 1910. [28] _Senate Document_, vol. lxv., 61st Congress. [29] _Senate Document_, vol. lxv., 61st Congress. [30] Of the forty-one answers to the questionnaires sent to the County Farm Commissioners in California by the Board of Control asking them to give pertinent facts concerning the methods used by these races (Orientals) in securing land leases, twenty-five stated: "The Japanese pay more rent in cash or shares"; ten said: "Japanese pay ordinary rent" or "use ordinary means in obtaining lease." _California and the Oriental_, pp. 56-61. [31] _The Japanese Problem in the United States_, pp. 148-49. [32] _California and the Oriental_, pp. 56-61. [33] _Ibid._, p. 221. [34] _California and the Oriental_, p. 58. [35] _Immigration Commission Reports_, vol. xxiii., chap. iv. [36] _Japanese-American Year Book_, 1918, p. 10. [37] _The Japanese Problem in the United States_, p. 123. [38] For detailed comparison of crops raised by white and Japanese farmers see Appendix E. [39] Figures taken from _California and the Oriental_, p. 47. [40] See Appendix B. [41] For full texts of land laws 1913 and 1920 see Appendixes C and D. [42] _California and the Oriental_, p. 104. [43] Mr. Newman in the hearings held at Sacramento, California, in 1913. [44] Millis' _The Japanese Problem in the United States_, p. 275. [45] Gulick, S. L., _The American Japanese Problem_, p. 153. [46] Jones and East, _Inbreeding and Outbreeding--Their Genetic and Sociological Significance_, p. 255. [47] W. E. Castle, _Genetics and Eugenics_, pp. 233-38. [48] _California and the Oriental_, p. 15. [49] "Changes in Bodily Form of Descendants of Immigrants." _Senate Document No. 208_, pp. 7-54. [50] _The Jews: A Study of Race and Environment._ [51] See Appendix A. [52] _The Forum_, January, 1921, p. 3. [53] For this as well as other information the authors are indebted to Mr. S. Kusama, who furnished us with the materials which were carefully prepared by him from first-hand research in California. [54] _Bureau of Census Bulletin 127_, p. 12. [55] _Race and Nationality_, Frederick A. Stokes Co., New York, 1919. [56] See example of testimony in Appendix L. See also Appendix M in which the subject of comparative standing of intelligence and behaviour of native-born Japanese children and American children is discussed by several principals of elementary schools in Southern California. [57] For text of this law see Appendix K. Transcriber's Notes: Passages in italics are indicated by _italics_. Passages in bold are indicated by =bold=. Foonote 18 appears on page 104 of the text, but there is no corresponding marker on the page. 
38228	----	[Illustration: "All day long the boys played down by the river."] Captain June By Alice Hegan Rice Author of "Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch," "Lovey Mary," Etc. With Pictures by C. D. Weldon [Illustration] New York The Century Co. 1907 Copyright 1906, 1907, by THE CENTURY CO. _Published October, 1907_ THE DE VINNE PRESS TO THE LITTLE BOY I LOVE BEST FRANCIS BARBOUR HEGAN LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE "All day long the boys played down by the river" _Frontispiece_ The Tea-party on the Train 17 "'Do you want me to help you?'" 37 "'It's a Matsuri--a festival,' Seki explained" 49 "'Does it spell anything?' June asked" 75 "They peeped through the cracks, gravely discussing the situation" 85 "It was the old sword-hilt that Monsieur had given him" 97 "Long after he was asleep she sat beside him" 107 "June waved good-by to the friends below" 117 CAPTAIN JUNE CAPTAIN JUNE CHAPTER I JUNE had never sat still so long during the whole six years of his existence. His slender body usually so restless and noisy was motionless; his hands too fond of teasing and mischief lay limp in his lap, even his tongue was still and that was the most wonderful of all. The only part of him that stirred was a sparkling pair of gray eyes that were looking out upon the strangest world they had ever seen. The entire day had been one of enchantment, from the first waking hour when he discovered that the engines on the big steamer where he had lived for seventeen days had stopped, and that the boat was actually lying at anchor just off the coast of Japan. Seki San, his Japanese nurse who had cared for him ever since he was a baby, had been so eager to look out of the port-hole that she could scarcely attend to her duties, and the consequence was that he had to stand on the sofa and hook his mother's dress and help her with the little pins at the back of the neck while Seki San finished the packing. June could not dress himself but he knew a great deal about hooks and eyes and belt pins. When mother got in a hurry she lost things, and experience had taught him that it was much easier to fasten the pin where it belonged than to spend fifteen minutes on the floor looking for it. At last when all the bags and trunks were ready, and the pilot and the health officer had come aboard, and everybody had waited until they could not wait another moment, the passengers were brought ashore in a wheezy, puffy launch, and were whirled up to the hotel in queer little buggies drawn by small brown men with bare legs and mushroom hats, and great sprawling signs on their backs. Since then June had sat at a front window too engrossed to speak. Just below him lay the Bund or sea-road, with the wall beyond where the white waves broke in a merry splash and then fell back to the blue water below. Out in the harbor there were big black merchant steamers, and white men-of-war, there were fishing schooners, and sampans with wobbly, crooked oars. But the street below was too fascinating to see much beyond it. Jinrikishas were coming and going with passengers from the steamers and the coolies laughed and shouted to each other in passing. Women and girls clattered by on wooden shoes with funny bald-headed, slant-eyed babies strapped on their backs. On the hotel steps, a little girl in a huge red turban and a gorgeous dress of purple and gold was doing handsprings, while two boys in fancy dress sang through their noses and held out fans to catch the pennies that were tossed from the piazza above. If Cinderella, and Jack the Giant Killer, and Aladdin and Ali Baba had suddenly appeared, June would not have been in the least surprised. It was where they all lived, there could be no possible doubt as to that. Here was the biggest picture book he had ever seen, the coming true of all the fairy-tales he had ever heard. He was dimly conscious that in the room behind him Seki San was unpacking trunks and boxes, and that his mother was coming and going and leaving hurried instructions. Once he heard her say, "Don't say anything to him about it, Seki, I'll tell him when he has to be told." But just then a man went by with a long pole across his shoulder and round baskets on each end, and in the baskets were little shining silver fishes, and June forgot all about what his mother was saying. June's father was a young army officer stationed in the Philippines. June was born there but when still a baby he had been desperately ill and the doctor had sent him back to the States and said he must not return for many years. It was a great grief to them all that they had to be separated, but Capt. Royston had gotten two leaves of absence and come home to them, and now this summer June and his mother had come all the way from California to meet him in Japan. June was not his real name. It was Robert Rogers Royston, Junior, but mother said there never could be but one Robert for her, and father did not like the Rogers for a Christian name, so they called him Junior, and Junior soon got bobbed off into June. The name suited him too, for a sunshinier little chap you never saw. He never seemed to know that he was not as strong as other boys, and when his throat was very bad and his voice would not come, why he sat up in bed and whistled, just the keenest, cheeriest, healthiest whistle you ever heard. It was on the indoor days that Seki San used to tell him about her wonderful country across the sea, of the little brown houses with the flower gardens on the roofs, of the constant clatter, clatter of the wooden shoes, and the beautiful blossoms that rained down on you like snow. "Where are the blossoms?" he demanded, suddenly turning in his chair. "You said they came down thick and white and that I could let them fall over my face." Seki San did not answer, she was kneeling beside a very disconsolate figure that lay on the bed with face buried in the pillows. When June spoke, his mother sat up and pushed back her tumbled hair. She was a very little mother with round eyes and lips as red as June's, only now her eyes were red and her lips trembling. "You may go in the other room, Seki San," she said, "I want to talk to June by himself." June sidled up cautiously and took a seat near her on the bed. The one unbearable catastrophe to him was for his mother to cry. It was like an earthquake, it shook the very foundations on which all his joys were built. Sometimes when the postman forgot to leave a letter, and occasionally when he was sick longer than usual, mother cried. But those were dark, dreadful times that he tried not to think about. Why the tears should come on this day of all days he could not understand. She put her arm around him and held him close for a long time before she spoke. He could feel the thump, thump of her heart as he leaned against her. "June," she said at last, "you are going to be a soldier like father, aren't you?" June's eyes brightened. "Yes, and carry a sword!" he said. "There is something more than a sword that a soldier has to have." "A gun?" Mother shook her head. "It's courage, June! It's something I haven't got a scrap of. You'll have to be brave for us both!" "I'm not afraid," declared June. "I go to bed in the dark and go places by myself or anything." "I don't mean that way," said his mother. "I mean doing hard things just because they are right, staying behind for instance when--when somebody you love very much has to go away and leave you." June sat up and looked at her. "Who's going away?" he demanded. Mother's voice faltered. "Father's terribly ill with a fever, June. The letter was waiting here, it is from our old doctor in Manila, he says, 'Come on first steamer, but don't bring the boy.'" The earth seemed suddenly to be slipping from under June's feet, he clutched at his mother's hand. "I am going too!" he cried in quick alarm, "I won't stay behind, I can't, mother!" Her arm tightened about him. "But I don't dare take you, June, think of the terrible heat and the fever, and you are the only little boy I've got in the world, and I love you so!" "I won't take the fever," protested June. "I'll be good. I'll mind every word Seki says." "But Seki isn't going. She wants to take you home with her down to a little town on the Inland Sea, where there are all sorts of wonderful things to do. Would you stay with her, June, while I go to father?" Her voice pleaded with eagerness and anxiety, but June did not heed it. Slipping from her arms, he threw himself on the floor and burst into a passion of tears. All the joys of the enchanted country had vanished, nothing seemed to count except that mother was thinking of leaving him in this strange land and sailing away from him across the sea. "Don't cry so, June, listen," pleaded his mother. "I have not decided, I am trying to do what is best." But June refused to be consoled. Over and over he declared that he would not stay, that he would rather have the fever, and die than to be left behind. By and by the room grew still, his mother no longer tried to pacify him, only the ticking of the little traveling clock on the table broke the stillness. He peeped through his fingers at the silent figure in the chair above him. He had never seen her look so white and tired, all the pretty smiles and dimples seemed gone forever, her eyes were closed and her lips were tightly drawn together. June crept close and slipped his hand into hers. In an instant her arms were about him. "I don't know what to do, nor where to turn," she sobbed. "I am afraid to take you and afraid to leave you. What must I do?" June was sure he did not know but when mothers are little and helpless and look at you as if you were grown up, you have to think of a way. He was standing beside her with his arm around her neck, and he could feel her trembling all over. Father often said in his letters, "Be sure to take care of that little Mother of yours," but it had always seemed a joke until now. He sighed, then he straightened his shoulders: "I'll stay, Mudderly," he said, then he added with a swallow, "Maybe it will help me to be a soldier when I get big!" CHAPTER II "SEKI SAN, look at the old woman with black teeth! What made them black? What have the little girls got flowers in their hair for? What are they ringing the bell for?" Seki San sitting on her heels at the car window tried to answer all June's questions at once. The sad parting was over. Mrs. Royston had left in the night on the steamer they had crossed in, and the Captain and the Purser and all the passengers were going to take care of her until she got to Hong Kong, and after that it was only a short way to Manila, and once she was with Father, June felt that his responsibility ceased. When they first boarded the train, June had sat very quiet. If you wink fast and swallow all the time, you can keep the tears back, but it does not make you feel any better inside. "If God has got to take somebody," June said at length gloomily, "I think He might take one of my grandmothers. I have got four but one of them is an old maid." "Oh no," said Seki, "she isn't." "She _is_," persisted June, "she keeps every thing put away in little boxes and won't let me play with them. Seki, do you guess God would jes' as lieve for me to have a horn as a harp when I go to Heaven? I want a presser horn like they have in the band." "But you will not go for many long times!" cried Seki, catching his hand as if he were about to slip away. "Look out of the window. See! They are giving the cow a bath!" In a field nearby an old man and woman were scrubbing a patient-looking cow, and when the creature pulled its head away and cried because it did not want to get its face washed, June laughed with glee. After all, one could not be unhappy very long when every minute something funny or interesting was happening. At every station a crowd of curious faces gathered about the car window eager to catch a glimpse of the little foreign boy, and June, always ready to make friends, smiled at them and bobbed his head, which made the boys and girls look at each other and laugh. "We bow with our whole self, so," Seki explained, putting her hands on her knees and bending her body very low, "and we never shake with the hands nor kiss together!" "Don't the mothers ever kiss the children good-night?" asked June incredulously. "Oh! no," said Seki, "we bow." While June was thinking about this strange state of affairs, a man came close under the window, carrying a tray and calling: "_Bento! Eo Bento!_" Seki San took some money from a little purse which she carried in her long sleeve, and handing it out to the man, received two square wooden boxes and a fat little tea-pot with a cup over its head like a cap. [Illustration: The Tea-Party on the train.] "Are we going to have a tea-party?" asked June, scrambling down from his perch. "So," said Seki San, reaching under the seat and pulling out a tiny chest, in which were other cups and saucers and a jar of tea leaves, "we will have very nice tea-parties and you shall make the tea." June, following instructions, put some of the tea in the small pot and poured the hot water over it, then he helped Seki San spread two paper napkins on the seat between them. "Now," he said, "where's the party?" Seki San handed him one of the boxes and began to untie the string of the other. "I have some sticks tied on to mine!" cried June, "two big ones and a tiny little one wrapped up in paper." "That is your knife and fork and pick-tooth," said Seki San. "You must hold the sticks in one hand like this." But June was too busy exploring the contents of the two trays that formed his box to stop to take a lesson in the use of chop-sticks. The lower tray was full of smooth white rice. In the top one, was a bit of omelet and some fish, and a queer-looking something that puzzled June. "What is it?" he asked. "Guess it!" said Seki mysteriously, "guess it with your nose." "It's pickle!" cried June. "Pickled sea-weed," said Seki, "and I have also brought you some Japanese candy that you pour out of a bottle." There was no bread, no butter, no knife nor fork nor spoon, but June thought it was the very nicest tea-party he had ever been to. Sitting with his stocking feet curled up under him as Seki had hers, he clattered his chop-sticks and spilt the rice all over the seat, while they both grew weak with laughter over his efforts to feed himself. "Don't you wish you were a little boy, Seki San?" he asked when most of the lunch had disappeared. "Why?" said Seki. "'Cause," said June, "you'd have such a good time playing with me all the time!" "But no," said Seki seriously, "I must be big womans to take care of you." "And tell me stories!" added June with policy: "tell me 'bout Tomi now." "Tomi?" said Seki San, smiling. "You going see Tomi very soon, to-morrow, perhaps to-night. Tomi very bad little dog, makes a cross bark at all big peoples, but loves little children. When Tomi very little his nose stick out, so--Japanese think it very ugly for little pug-dog's nose to stick out, so we push it in easy every day. Now Tomi has nice flat nose, but he sneeze all the time so--kerchoo, kerchoo, kerchoo." June laughed at the familiar story, but suddenly he sobered: "Say, Seki, I don't think it was very nice to push his nose in; I wouldn't like to have my nose pushed in so I would have to sneeze all the rest of my life." "Ah! but he must be beautiful! Tomi would not be happy if his nose stuck out when other pug-doggies had nice flat nose. Tomi is very happy, he is grateful." It was quite dark when they reached their destination; June had been asleep and when he slipped out on the platform he could not remember at all where he was; Seki's mother and her sisters and brothers besides all the relatives far and near had come to welcome her back from America, and quite a little crowd closed in about her, bowing and bowing and chattering away in Japanese. June stood, rather forlornly, to one side. This time last night Mother had been with him, he could speak to her and touch her, and now--it was a big, strange world he found himself in, and even Seki seemed his Seki no longer. Suddenly he felt something rub against his leg, and then he heard a queer sound that somehow sounded familiar. Stooping down he discovered a flat-nosed little pug that was kissing his hand just as if it had been brought up in America. "It's Tomi," cried June in delight, and the pug, recognizing his name, capered more madly still, only stopping long enough to sneeze between the jumps. Ten minutes later June was sitting beside Seki San in a broad jinrikisha, rushing through the soft night air, down long gay streets full of light and color and laughter, round sharp corners, up steep hills, over bridges where he could look down and see another world of paper lanterns and torches, and always the twinkling legs and the big round hat of the jinrikisha man bobbing steadily along before him. "Is it like a story-book all the time?" he asked. Seki San laughed: "Oh, no, June, story-book land is back in America, where the grown-up houses are, and the rich, fine furnitures, and the strange ways. This is just home, my very dear home, and I have such glad feelings to be here!" June cuddled close and held her hand, and if he felt a wee bit wistful, and wiped his eyes once in a while on her sleeve, he did it very carefully, so that Seki would have nothing to spoil the glad feeling in her heart at being home again. CHAPTER III THE new life which opened up for June was brimming over with interest. Seki San lived in a regular toy house, which was like a lot of little boxes fitted into one big one. One whole side was open to the garden and a tiny railed balcony ran around outside the rooms. The walls were made of white paper, and when the sun shone all sorts of pretty shadows danced on them, and when it rained everybody ran about to put up the wooden screens, and fasten the house up snug and tight until the shower was over. A flight of low steps cut in the rock led down to a bamboo wicker, and here green lizards sunned themselves all day and blinked in friendly fashion at the passer-by. The night June arrived he had looked about blankly and said: "But Seki, there isn't any furniture in your house; haven't you got any bed, or chairs or table?" And Seki had laughed and told the others and everybody laughed until June thought he had been impolite. "I like it," he hastened to add, "it's the nicest house I ever was in, 'cause, don't you see, there isn't anything to break." It was quite wonderful to see how easily one can get along without furniture. After one has sat on his heels, and slept on the floor and eaten off a tiny table no bigger than a footstool, it seems the most sensible thing in the world. June did hang up one picture and that was a photograph of his mother. She had left him two, but one was taken with her hat on. "I don't like for her always to look as if she was going away!" he said to Seki San when she wanted to put them both up. The life, interesting as it was, might have proven lonely, had it not been for Seki's younger brother, Toro, who was two years older than June. Although neither could understand a word the other said, yet a very great friendship had sprung up between them. "We understand just like dogs," June explained to Seki San. All day long the two boys played down by the river bank, paddling about in the shallow shimmering water, building boats and putting them out to sea, sailing their kites from the hill top, or best of all, sitting long hours on the parade grounds watching the drilling of the soldiers. Sometimes when they were very good, Seki San would get permission for them to play in the daimyo's garden and those days were red-letter days for June. The garden was very old and very sacred to the Japanese, for in long years past it had belonged to an old feudal lord, and now it was the property of the Emperor. From the first June had cherished a secret belief that somewhere in its leafy bowers he would come across the Sleeping Beauty. It was all so old and so still that even the breezes whispered as they softly stirred the tree-tops. In the very heart of the garden a little blue lake smiled up at the sky above, and all about its edges tall flags of blue and gold threw their bright reflections in the water below. A high-arched bridge all gray with moss, led from one tiny island to another, while along the shore old stone lanterns, very stiff and stern, stood sentinel over the quiet of the place. Here and there a tempting little path led back into mysterious deeps of green, and June followed each one with the half expectancy of finding the cobwebby old place, and the vine-grown steps, and the Sleeping Beauty within. One day when they were there, Toro became absorbed in a little house he was building for the old stork who stood hour after hour under the cool shadow of the arching bridge. June, getting tired of the work, wandered off alone, and as he went deeper into the tangle of green, he thought more and more of the Sleeping Beauty. It was cool and mysterious under the close hanging boughs, and the sunshine fell in white patches on the head of an old stone Buddha, whose nose was chipped off, and whose forefinger was raised in a perpetual admonition to all little boys to be good. Just ahead a low flight of stairs led up to a dark recess where a shrine was half concealed by a tangle of vines and underbrush. June cautiously mounted the steps; he was making believe that he was the prince in the fairy-tale, and that when he should push through the barrier of brier roses he would find the Sleeping Beauty within the shrine. As he reached the top step, a sound made him pause and catch his breath. It was not the ripple of the falling water that danced past him down the hillside, it was not the murmur of the wind in the bamboos overhead; it was the deep regular breathing very close to him of some one asleep. For a moment June wanted to run away, but then he remembered the golden hair and blue eyes of the princess and with heart beating very fast, he pushed through the underbrush and stumbled over some one lying in the grass. CHAPTER IV BUT when June picked himself up and turned about, he found a very curious looking man sitting up glaring at him. He had a long pointed nose, and fierce little eyes that glowed like red hot cinders, and a drooping white mustache so long that it almost touched the lapels of his shabby French uniform. "What do you mean by falling over me like that?" he demanded indignantly. "I--I--thought you was somebody else," June faltered lamely. The man glared more fiercely than ever: "You were looking for some one! You were sent here to watch someone! Who did you think I was? Answer me this moment." He had caught June by the arm and was glaring at him so savagely that June blurted out in terror. "I thought you was the Sleeping Beauty." For a moment, suspicion lingered in the man's face, then his eyes went to and his mouth went open, and he laughed until June thought he would never get the wrinkles smoothed out of his face again. "The Sleeping Beauty, eh?" he said. "Well, whom do you think I am now?" June smiled in embarrassment. "I know who you look like," he said, half doubtfully. "Who?" "The White Knight," said June. "Who is he?" "In 'Alice in Wonderland,'" explained June. Then when he saw the man's look of perplexity, he added incredulously, "Didn't you _never_ hear of 'Alice in Wonderland'?" The man shook his head. June was astounded; he didn't know that such ignorance existed in the world. "Didn't you never go to school?" he asked sympathetically. "Oh yes, a little," said the man, with a funny smile, "but tell me about this White Knight." June sat down quite close to him and began confidentially: "He was the one that met Alice in the wood. Don't you remember just before she was going to be queen? He kept falling off his horse first on one side and then on the other, and he would have to climb up again by the mouse traps." "The mouse traps, on horse-back?" "Yes, the Knight was afraid the mice _might_ come and he didn't want them to run over him. Besides he invented the mouse traps and course, you know, somebody had to use them." "Of course," said the man taking June's hand and looking at it as a person looks at something that he has not seen for a very long time. "He invented lots of things," went on June earnestly, "bracelets for the horse's feet to keep off shark-bites, and something else to keep your hair from falling out." "Eh! what's that?" said his companion rubbing his hand over his own bald head. June's eyes twinkled. "You ought to train it up on a stick," he said, "like a vine. That was what the White Knight said, that hair fell off because it hung down. It couldn't fall up, could it?" At this they both had a great laugh and the man said: "So I am the White Knight, am I?" "Just your mustache," said June; "it was when you was mad that you looked like him most. You're lots gooder looking than the picture. What's your real name?" "Monsieur Garnier,--no, Carré," he corrected himself quickly. "What is your name?" "June," then he added formally, "Robert Rogers Royston, Junior's the rest of it." "How did you come here?" asked Monsieur. June told him at length; it was delightful to find some one beside Seki San who understood English, and it was good fun to be telling all about himself just as if he were some other little boy. "So your father is a soldier!" said Monsieur, and June noticed that a curious wild look came into his eyes and that his fingers, which had knots on them, plucked excitedly at his collar. "Ah! yes, I, too, was a soldier, a soldier of France, one time attaché of the French Legation, at Tokyo, later civil engineer in the employ of the Japanese Government, now----!" he shrugged his shoulders and his nostrils quivered with anger. "Now a cast-off garment, a thing useless, undesired." He tried to rise and June saw that he used crutches and that it was very difficult for him to walk. "Do you want me to help you?" he asked. [Illustration: "'Do you want me to help you?'"] The man waved him aside. His eyes had changed into red hot cinders again, and he seemed to have forgotten that June was there. "I ask help from nobody," he muttered fiercely, "I live my own life. The beggarly Japanese I would never accept from, and my own country does not see fit to help me." His chest heaved with wrath, and he twisted his mustache indignantly. "Why don't you go home?" asked June. Monsieur turned on him fiercely: "Go home? Mon Dieu, do you suppose there is a waking hour that I am not thinking, longing, praying to be back in France? Do you suppose I have left any stone unturned? Any plan unmade that might take me away from this hateful place? It has been fourteen, fifteen years since I came away. It was a Japanese that had me dismissed from the service; he bore tales to the minister, he told what was not true. Oh, then I had honor, I was too proud to explain, but now!" he lifted a pair of crippled hands to Heaven, and shook them violently at the trees above, "now I know that honor does not pay, it is not worth while. I will give anything to get back to France!" June sat still and watched him. He had never seen anyone behave so queerly, and he was very much mixed up as to what it was all about. "I guess I have to go now," he said, "Toro's waiting." Monsieur's eyes flashed suspiciously. "Who's waiting?" he asked. "Toro, he is Seki's brother, he knows how to build awful nice houses and blockades too." "Blockades?" repeated Monsieur, "what kind of blockades?" "Like the soldiers make, we watch them all the time; come on, I will show you." The two made their way down the steps slowly, for Monsieur could go only a little way at a time. Toro looked mildly surprised when June came back with a companion, but he did not give a second glance at Monsieur, who was evidently a familiar figure about the town. For a long time the two children played in the sand, and Monsieur sat beside them and acted as interpreter, speaking first to one in Japanese, and then to the other in English, giving directions and suggestions and proving a first-rate play-fellow. "Why, you know a lot about forts and mines and blockades and things, don't you?" asked June. Monsieur looked absently across the lake. "Alas!" he said grimly, half to himself, "I know too much for their good and for mine." When the temple bell from the hillside boomed the supper hour, the boys gathered up their things and started home. "Good-by," said June to Monsieur, "I hope you'll come back and play with us another day." Monsieur bowed very politely, but he did not answer, his half-closed eyes still rested on the little forts that the boys had been making in the sand, and his thoughts seemed to be far away. When June reached the street, he turned to wave a good-by, but Monsieur was hobbling down the hill, his figure, in spite of the crutches, looking very straight and stiff against the evening sky. CHAPTER V IT was a long time before June saw Monsieur again, for there were picnics up the river, with lunches cooked on the bank, there were jolly little excursions in sampans, and trips to the tea-houses, and flower shows, and an endless round of good times. Seki San kept June out of doors all day, and watched with glee the color return to his cheeks, and the angles of his slender body turn into soft curves. At night, she and June and Toro, with Tomi frisking and sneezing at their heels, would join the happy, chattering crowd that thronged the streets, and would make their way to the flower market where tall flaming torches lit up the long stalls of flowers, and where merchants squatting on their heels spread their wares on the ground before them,--curious toys, old swords, and tea-pots with ridiculous long noses. And in front of every door was a great shining paper lantern with queer signs painted on it, and other gay lanterns of all shapes and sizes and colors went dancing and bobbing up and down the streets like a host of giant fireflies. It was no wonder that June hated to go to bed when so much was happening outside. Only the promise of a story moved him when Seki gave the final word. But for the sake of a story he would have gone to the moon, I believe, and stayed there too. When at last he was bathed and cuddled down in his nest on the floor with a huge kimono--four times as big as the ones Seki wore--spread over him, Seki would sit on her heels beside him, sewing with an endless thread, which she only cut off from the reel when the seam was finished. And June would watch her pretty, plump little hands, and the shadows of her moving fingers as he listened to queer tales of the sea-gods and their palace under the waves. Sometimes she would tell of the old samurai and their dark deeds of revenge, of attacks on castles, and fights in the moats, and the imaginary clashing of swords and shouts of men would get so real to June that he would say: "I don't want any more scareful ones to-night. Please tell me about the little mosquito boy." Then Seki would begin: "Very long times ago, lived very good little boy, who never want to do anything but reverence his mother and his father, and his grandfathers and grandmothers. All times he think it over to himself how he can serve his parents. One night the wind blow up from the south and bring a thousand hundred _ka_, mosquito you call him, and they bite very much. So good little boy takes off all his clothes and lies at the door of his house so mosquitoes bite him and get so full of boy that they have not room more for father and mother." At which point June would never fail to laugh with delight, and Seki would look hurt and puzzled and say, "Not funny, June, very fine, kind, and noble of good little boy." After Seki had put out the light and joined the rest of the family in the garden, June would lie very still and the thoughts that had been crowded down in the bottom of his heart all day would come creeping up and whisper to him. "Mother is a long way off; suppose she has gotten lost and never comes back again. Perhaps I haven't got a father any more, maybe the soldiers have put him in the ground as they did Teddy's papa. Suppose I have to live here always and grow up to be a Japanese man, and never see the ranch in California nor my pony any more?" And a big sob would rise in his throat and he was glad of the dark, for the tears would come no matter how hard he tried to keep them back. But he never called Seki, nor let any one know. Sometimes he got up and got his little gun and took it back to bed with him; it was so much easier to be a soldier if you had a gun in your hand. But one morning when he awoke, two delightful things happened. First he saw up in the air, apparently swimming about over the house-tops, an enormous red fish as large as he was, and when he ran to the door there were others as far as he could see waving and floating about tall poles that were placed outside nearly every house. Without waiting to be dressed he rushed into the garden to ask Seki San what it all meant. When she saw him, she dropped the letter she was reading and came toward him as fast as her little pigeon toes would carry her. "It's from your mother," she cried, her face beaming with joy. "She did never get losted at all. She is with your father now, and he will have the strength again, and they will come back so sooner as he can journey. Oh! I could die for the happiness!" June jumped up and down, and Seki San giggled, and Tomi barked until the family came out to see what was the matter. "And what did she say? Tell me!" demanded June. "All this, and this, and this," said Seki, spreading out the closely written sheets. Then with many pauses and much knitting of brows and pointing of fingers, she read the letter aloud. There was very little about the sad journey, or the dreadful fever, or the life at the hospital. It was mostly about June, whether he was well, whether he was very unhappy, if he coughed at night, if he missed her very much. "And these at the end I sink I can not read," concluded Seki, pointing to a long row of circles and dots. June looked over her shoulder. "Why Seki!" he exclaimed, "that's the only part I can read! They are kisses and hugs, I showed her how to make them. That long one is a pink kiss, and this starry one is silver with golden spangles," he laughed with delight; then his eye catching sight of the fish overhead, he said: "Say Seki, why did they put out the fish? Is it because my father is getting well?" Seki San smilingly shook her head. "It's a matsuri, a festival," she explained; "this is the boys' day and wherever a boy live, they put out a big paper fish with round mouth open so----, and when the wind flow in, the fish grow big and fat and make like swim in the air." [Illustration: "'It's a Matsuri--a festival,' Seki explained."] "But why do they put out fishes?" persisted June. "'Tis the carp fish," said Seki San, "because the carp very strong and brave, he swim against the current, fight his way up the waterfall, not afraid of the very bad discouragings, like good boy should be." June was much more interested in the fish than in the moral, and when Toro brought a big red one for him and a paper cap and banner, he hastened away to be dressed so that he could be ready for the festivities. Taking it all in all, it was about the happiest day he had ever spent in his life. When he and Toro started forth the streets were already full of people, men and women in holiday attire, little girls in bright red petticoats and fancy pins in their hair, every boy with a fish on a stick, small children with bald-headed babies tied on their backs, all trotting merrily along to the matsuri. Everywhere June went a crowd went behind him, for a little foreign boy with gray eyes and fair hair, and strange foreign clothes was one of the greatest sights of the day. Sometimes a woman would stop him and look at his hat or his shoes, and a circle would close in and Toro would be bombarded with questions. But the people were always so polite, and their admiration was so evident, that June was rather pleased, and when he smiled and spoke to them in English, they bowed again and again, and he bowed back, then they all laughed. It was a terrible trial to June not to be able to ask questions. He was brimful of curiosity and everything he saw and heard had a dozen questions hanging to it. Usually Seki San supplied the answers but to-day Toro was in command, and while he was a very careful little guide, keeping tight hold of June's hand, pointing out all the interesting sights, and trying to explain by sign and gesture, still he did not know a single word of English. After passing through many gay streets they came to a tall red gate which June had come to recognize as the entrance to sacred ground. But inside it was not in the least like any churchyard he had ever seen. It was more like the outside of a circus where everything delightful was happening at once. On one side was a sandman making wonderful pictures on the ground with colored sand. First he made a background of fine white sand, then out of papers folded like cornucopias he formed small streams of black and red sand, skilfully tracing the line of a mountain, using a feather to make the waves of the sea, and a piece of silver money to form the great round moon, and before you knew it there was the very picture you had seen on fans and screens and tea-pots ever since you could remember, even down to the birds that were flying across the moon. Then there were jugglers and tight rope walkers, and sacred pigeons that lit on your head and shoulders and ate corn out of your hand. June thought he had never seen such greedy pigeons before. Two or three perched on his hand at once, and scolded and pushed each other, and even tried to eat the buttons off his blouse! Up the mountain side, flanked by rows of stone lanterns, ran a wide flight of steps and at the top was the gate-way to the temple itself. On either side were sort of huge cages, and in them the most hideous figures June had ever seen! They were fierce looking giants with terrible glass eyes and snarling mouths with all the teeth showing, just as the Ogre's did in the fairy tale. One was painted all over green, and the other was red, and they held out clutching fingers as if ready to pounce upon the passer-by. While June was looking at them and feeling rather glad that they were inside the cages, he saw two old men dressed in white, climb slowly up the steps and kneel before the statues. Bowing their heads to the earth and muttering prayers, they took from their belts some slips of paper, and after chewing them into wads began gravely to throw them at the fierce green demon behind the bars. June giggled with joy, this was something he could quite understand. Taking advantage of Toro's attention being distracted, he promptly began to make wads too, and before Toro could stop him he was vigorously pelting the scowling image. In an instant there was angry remonstrance and a group of indignant worshipers gathered around. Fortunately Seki San appeared on the scene in time to prevent trouble. "But I was only doing what the others did!" explained June indignantly. "It is no harm done," said Seki, reassuringly after a few words to those about her, "you not understand our strange ways. These are our Nio or temple guardians that frighten away the evil, bad spirits." "What makes the pilgrims throw at them, then?" asked June. "They throw prayers," answered Seki San very seriously, "they buy paper prayers from the old man at the gate, and throw them through the grating. If the prayer sticks, it is answered, if it falls down it is not answered. Come, I will show you!" They went very close, and looked through the bars; there on the grating, on the floor and even on the ceiling above them were masses of tiny paper wads, the unanswered prayers of departed thousands. "Well, three of mine stuck!" said June with satisfaction. "Do you suppose it's too late to make a prayer on them now?" Seki thought after considering the matter that it was not. "But I haven't got anything left to pray for!" said June, regretting the lost opportunity. "Father's getting well, and he and Mother are coming home, and I have got pretty near everything I want. I believe I'd like another fish though, and oh! yes, I want a little pug dog, jes' 'zactly like Tomi." "It's tiffin time," said Seki San, "and after that will be the fire-work." "In the day-time?" asked June. "Oh yes, very fine nice fire-work," said Seki. They left the temple grounds, and made their way up the river road, where everybody was having a tea-party out under the trees. Seki San secured a tiny table for them and they sat on their heels and ate rice out of a great white wooden bucket, and fluffy yellow omelet out of a round bowl, and the sunshine came dancing down through the dainty, waving bamboo leaves, and everybody was laughing and chattering and from every side came the click-clack of the wooden shoes, and the tinkle of samisens and the music of falling water. Suddenly Toro pulled June's sleeve and motioned excitedly to the road-way. Coming toward them in a jinrikisha, looking very pale and thin and with both arms in bandages, sat Monsieur. June broke away from Seki and raced after the jinrikisha. "Oh! Mister," he cried, "Mr. Frenchman." Monsieur, hearing the English words, stopped his man and turned around. When he saw a very flushed little boy in blouse suit and a wide brimmed hat, he smiled. "Ah!" he cried, "my friend of the garden! My prince who found the Sleeping Beauty." Then he began to laugh so hard that it started up all his rheumatic pains, and he had to sink back and rest before he could speak again. "I am very bad since I saw you last," he said; "these dogs of Japanese will let me die here. One day in France will make me well. I may have it yet--I must get back some way--some way!" His eyes looked excitedly over June's head out into space as if trying to span the miles that lay between him and his beloved country. "My papa will take you home when he comes," said June; "he's a soldier." Monsieur shrugged his shoulders: "Your papa would not care _that_," he said, snapping his fingers; then seeing June's disappointment he added kindly, "But you--will you not come to see me? I will make you more forts, I will show you my goldfish." "Yes, I'll come," said June. "When?" But before Monsieur could answer, Seki had called June and the jinrikisha had started on its way. Late in the afternoon, as the revelers straggled home tired but happy, June slipped his hand into Seki's. The merry noises of the day had given place to the quiet chirp of the crickets and the drowsy croaking of the frogs, and the little breezes that stirred overhead sounded sleepy and far away. "Seki," said June, "I didn't make any prayer on that paper that stuck on the old giant's nose, do you think it too late?" "No," said Seki San, willing to humor him. "Well," said June sleepily, "I pray that the French gentleman will get back home." CHAPTER VI ONE morning several weeks later, June was lying on his back in the garden wishing he had someone to play with. Toro was away at school and Seki San was having her hair dressed. He had watched the latter performance so many times that it had ceased to interest him. Seki would sit for hours on a white mat before the old hair-dresser who combed, and looped and twisted the long oily strands into butterfly bows of shining black. The only person on the premises who was at leisure was Tomi, but that was just the trouble, he was so much at leisure that he refused to stir from his warm spot on the sunny steps no matter how much June coaxed. To be sure there was a yellow cat next door, but she did not understand English as Tomi did, and when June called her, she humped her back and would have ruffled her tail if she had had one, but Japanese cats do not have tails, so when they get angry they always look disappointed. Just as June was getting a bit lonesome the postboy came trotting in with a letter for Seki San and June ran in to take it to her. "For me?" said Seki San, looking very comical with one loop of black hair hanging over her eye, "from Meester Carré? I sink it is a mistake, I do not know Meester Carré." "Read it," demanded June impatiently. "It say," went on Seki San slowly, "that Meester Carré is not able to write hisself but he desire the writer to ask me will I permit the little American boy to come to see him to-day. He is sick on the bed, and have the low spirit. He will keep safe care of the little boy and send him home what time I desire." "Oh, let me go, Seki! Please let me go!" cried June. "But who is Meester Carré?" "He is the Frenchman," said June. "He is a soldier and has got the rheumatism. He has goldfish too, and a sword. Oh Seki, please let me go! Oh, do let me go!" "Ah yes," said Seki, "one leg is shorter than the other leg and he walks with sticks, and he has long white whiskers on his lip, ah! yes, I know." "Can I go?" begged June. Seki San took a long while to think about it. She consulted her mother and the old man next door, and the doctor who lived at the corner, but by and by she came back and said he could go. "I will send you in good Tanaka's 'rikisha, he will take good care of you and bring you back at tiffin time." June was greatly excited over the prospect and stood unusually still while Seki San buttoned him into a starchy white blouse and pinned a scarlet flower in his buttonhole. "Can't I pin my flag on too?" he begged, and Seki, who could not bear to refuse him anything, fastened the bit of red, white and blue silk on the other side. "Now keep your body still," cautioned Seki San as she put him in the jinrikisha and gave final instructions to Tanaka who was bowing and grinning and bowing again, "Tanaka will wait for you, and you must come when he calls you. Be good little boy! _Sayonara!_" June had never felt so important in his life. To be going out all by himself in a jinrikisha was quite like being grown up. The only thing lacking to make him quite happy was a pair of reins that he might imagine he was driving a horse instead of a little brown man with fat bare legs and a big mushroom hat who looked around every few moments to see if he was falling out. They trotted along the sunny streets, passing the temple grounds where the green and red Nio made ugly faces all the day, and where the greedy pigeons were waiting for more corn. They passed over the long bridge, skirted the parade ground, then went winding in and out of narrow streets until they came to a stretch of country road that ran beside a moat. Here there was less to see and June amused himself by repeating the few Japanese words he had learned. "Ohayo" meant "good-morning," and it was great fun to call it out to the children they passed and see them bow and call back "Ohayo" in friendly greeting. He knew another word too, it was "Arigato," and it meant "thank you." He used it on Tanaka every time he stopped by the wayside to pluck a flower for him. Once when they rested June saw a queer old tree, with a very short body and very long arms that seemed to be seeing how far they could reach. June thought the tree must have the rheumatism, for it was standing on crutches, and had knots on its limbs just like Monsieur had on his fingers. But the strange part of it was that from nearly every branch fluttered a small strip of paper with something written on it. June had seen this before on other trees, and he remembered that Seki San had told him that these little papers were poems hung there when the tree was covered with cherry blossoms. Now June always wanted to do everything anybody else did, so when they started off again, he decided that he would make up a poem to hang on the tree as they came back. He knew one that he had learned from a big boy coming over on the steamer, and he said it over softly to himself: "King Solomon was the wisest man; He had some ready cash, The Queen of Sheeny came along And Solly made a mash." To be sure he didn't understand at all what it meant, but it sounded nice and funny and always made him laugh. "I'd like to make up one out of my own head though," he thought, and he sat so still that Tanaka glanced back uneasily. It was a very hard matter indeed, for when you write a poem you have to get two words that sound alike, and then find something to write about them. It took him so long that by the time he finished, the shaft of the jinrikisha came down with a jerk and he looked up to find that they had stopped in front of a house all smothered in vines, with two inquisitive little windows peering out like eyes behind a tangle of hair. Everything about the place looked poor and neglected. As June and Tanaka made their way up the path, June gave an exclamation of delight. There about the door were bowls and jars and basins of goldfish. Every available receptacle had been pressed into service, and big fish and tiny ones in every shade of radiant gold swam gaily about in the sunshine. It was such an engrossing sight that June almost forgot to go in and speak to Monsieur who lay in a bed, near the door. "Ah, at last," cried the sick man. "My little friend is welcome. There, sit in the chair. Though I am poor, I live like a gentleman. See, I have a bed and chairs and a table!" June looked about the shabby crowded room, at the dusty flag of France that was draped over the window, at the map of France that was pinned on the wall beside the bed, at the cheap pictures and ornaments and the soiled curtains, then he remembered Seki San's room, clean and sweet and airy with nothing in it but a vase of flowers. "I'd rather sit on the floor," he said as he took his seat beside the bed, adding immediately, "I can stay until twelve o'clock!" Tanaka had gone to take a bath after his warm run and to drink tea at the little tea-house across the road. Monsieur lay propped up in bed with his bandaged hands lying helpless on the cover-lid. But his eyes were soft and kind, and he had so many interesting things to talk about that June found him a most entertaining host. After he had shown June his sword and told a wonderful story about it, he returned to the goldfish. "Alas, there are but twenty-one now," he sighed. "Napoleon Bonaparte died on Sunday. Have you seen the Grand Monarch? He is the great shining fellow in the crystal bowl. Those smaller ones are his gentlemen-in-waiting. Here is Marie Antoinette, is she not most beautiful?" June was introduced to every one in turn and had endless questions to ask in regard to the story of each. Monsieur was the only person he had ever met who always had another story on hand. Everything suggested a story, a story was hidden in every nook and corner of Monsieur's brain, they fairly bubbled over in their eagerness to be told, and June was as greedy for more as the pigeons were greedy for corn, and he thought up new questions while the old ones were getting answered. Once Monsieur recited something in verse to him, and that reminded June of his own poem. "I made up one coming," he announced, "do you want to hear it?" Monsieur did. Monsieur was very fond of verse, so June recited it with evident pride: "Oh Gee!" said the tree, "It seems to me That under my branches I see a bee!" "Bravo!" said Monsieur, "you will be a poet and a soldier too!" "I'd like to write it down," said June, "so I can hang it on the tree." "To be sure, to be sure," said Monsieur, "you will find pen and ink in the table drawer. Not that!" he cried sharply as June took out a long sealed envelope. "Give that to me!" June handed the packet to Monsieur in some wonder and then continued his search. "Here's a corkscrew," he said, "and some neckties, and a pipe. Here's the pen! And may I use this fat tablet?" When the materials were collected, June stretched himself at full length on the floor and began the difficult task. "I never did write with a pen and ink afore," he confided to Monsieur, "you will have to tell me how to spell the big words." The room grew very silent and nothing was heard but the scratch, scratch of June's clumsy pen, and the occasional question which he asked. A strange change had come over Monsieur; his face, which had been so kind and friendly, grew hard and scheming. He had drawn himself painfully up on his elbow and was intently watching June's small fingers as they formed the letters. Presently he drew the long envelope from under his pillow and held it in his hand. It was a very fat envelope with a long row of stamps in one corner, but there was no address on it. Twice he put it back and shook his head, and twice he looked longingly at the map of France, and at the flag over the window, then he took it out again. "Will you write something for me now, at once?" he demanded in such a hard, quick voice that June looked up in surprise. "Another poem?" asked June. "No, a name and address on this envelope. Begin here and make the letters that I tell you. Capital M." "Do you like wiggles on your _M's?_" asked June, flattered by the request and anxious to please. "No matter," said Monsieur impatiently, "we must finish before twelve o'clock. Now--small o--" June put his tongue out, and hunching up his shoulders and breathing hard proceeded with his laborious work. It was hard enough to keep the lines from running uphill and the letters from growing bigger and bigger, but those difficulties were small compared to the task of guiding a sputtering, leaking pen. Once or twice he forgot and tried to rub out with the other end of it and the result was discouraging. When a period very large and black was placed after the final word, he handed the letter dubiously to Monsieur. "Does it spell anything?" he asked. Monsieur eagerly read the scrawling address. "Yes, yes," he answered, "now put it inside your blouse, so. When you get home wait until nobody is looking, then put it in the mail-box. Do you understand? When nobody is looking! Nobody must know, nobody must suspect, do you understand?" [Illustration: "'Does it spell anything?' June asked."] "Oh, I know, it's a secret!" cried June in delight. "I had a secret with mother for a whole week once. I wouldn't tell anything if I said I wouldn't, would you?" June was looking very straight at Monsieur, his round eyes shining with honesty, but Monsieur's eyes shifted uneasily. "I would never betray a trust," he said slowly, "if I were trusted. But they believed lies, they listened to tales that the beggarly Japanese carried. They have made me what I am." June was puzzled. "Who did?" he asked. But Monsieur did not heed him; he was breathing quickly and the perspiration stood out on his forehead. "And you will be very careful and let no one see you mail it," he asked eagerly, "and never, never speak of it to anybody?" "Course not," said June stoutly, "that wouldn't be like a soldier, would it? I am going to be a soldier, like you and Father, when I grow up." Monsieur shuddered: "No, not like me. I am no longer a soldier. I am a miserable wretch. I--I am not fit to live." His voice broke and he threw his arm across his eyes. June looked off into the farthest corner of the room and pretended not to see. He felt very sorry for Monsieur, but he could think of nothing to say. When he did speak he asked if goldfish had ears. When the noon gun sounded on the parade grounds, Tanaka came trotting to the door with his jinrikisha, smiling and bowing and calling softly: "Juna San! Juna San!" June gathered his treasures together, a new lead pencil, an old sword hilt, some brass buttons and, best of all, a tiny goldfish in a glass jar. "Good-bye," he said as he stood by the bed with his hands full, "I am coming back to-morrow if Seki will let me;" then a second thought struck him and he added, "I think you _look_ like a soldier anyhow." And Monsieur smiled, and stiffening his back lifted a bandaged hand in feeble salute. CHAPTER VII "SEKI SAN, have you got a big enderlope?" June asked the question from the door-step where he was sitting with his chin in his hand and a very worried look in his face. It was two days after his visit to Monsieur and the big letter was still buttoned in his blouse. He had started to mail it as soon as he reached home, but just as he was ready to drop it in the box, he discovered that every "s" turned the wrong way! It was a dreadful blow to his pride, for the rest of the address was quite imposing with big flourishing capitals that stood like generals over the small letters, and dots that would have surely put out all the "i's" had they fallen on them. He never could send Monsieur's letter with the "s's" looking backward, he must try to set them straight again. So, very carelessly, in order not to excite suspicion, he asked Seki for pen and ink. He had written many letters to his mother and father, but always in pencil, and Seki hesitated about giving him ink. She said: "Our ink not like your American ink, live and quick as water, it hard like paint. We not use pen, but brush like which you write pictures. I sink it more better you use pencil." But June insisted and when he gained his point, he carried the small box into the garden and took out his letter. The jar containing his goldfish was close by, so he dipped his stick of paint into the water and rubbed it vigorously on the paint box. At the last moment just as his brush was poised in the air, he had a moment of misgiving, "maybe 's's' do turn that way!" he said, but the brush full of paint was a temptation not to be resisted, so he took each little "s" by its tail and turned it inside out. The paper was soft and thin and took the ink like blotting paper. June watched with dismay as the lines spread into ugly blots, and when he tried to make the letters plainer he only made the blots bigger until they all seemed to join hands and go dancing over the envelope in fiendish glee at his discomfort. For two days he had tried to think of a way out of the difficulty but before he could find one he would get interested in something else and forget about the letter. It was only when it felt stiff inside of his blouse that he remembered, and then he would stop playing and try again to solve the problem. At last in desperation he appealed to Seki San for an envelope. "It is not so much big," she said, bringing out a long narrow envelope and a roll of paper. "Why you want to write such big letter to your mother? She coming home soon!" "It isn't big enough," said June fretfully, then an idea struck him. "Seki, I want to go see Monsieur to-day." Seki San sat down on the step beside him and shook her head positively: "No, no," she said, "not to-day, nor to-morrow, nor any day. He is not a good man, I made mistakes in letting you go." "He _is_ a good man!" cried June indignantly, "he told me stories, and gave me lots of things." "I tell you 'bout him, June," said Seki San. "One time Monsieur very skilful smart man in Tokyo. He write pictures of the forts and show the Japanese how to find coast in time of war. He know more plenty than anybody about the coast and the mines. Then he is not behave right, and get sent out of the service, and he get sick in the hands so he can make no more maps, and he come down here and live all alone by himself. That was long time ago, but yesterday a high up messenger come from Tokyo, and asked for Monsieur Carré. The Emperor have desire to buy his old maps and reports, and get his help in making new plans. When the messenger come, they say Monsieur fall back on the bed very white and afraid, and say he will not give up the papers. Then messenger say maybe he has sold his papers to a foreign country and he get very much angry, and say if Monsieur Carré do not give the papers in twenty-four hours, he will have him arrested and take him to Tokyo. Still Monsieur keep the tight lips, and a guard is waiting outside his house." With troubled eyes, June listened to every word. "_Did_ he sell the papers, Seki?" he asked anxiously. "He will not say," said Seki, "they say he will not say, but it was a bad, wicked act if he sold our secrets, and he may die for it!" June stirred restlessly, and the packet in his blouse caught in his belt. He put up his hand to straighten it, and as he did so, a startled look of inquiry passed over his face. Could those papers in the long envelope have anything to do with Monsieur's present trouble? Why had Monsieur not wanted him to tell? Had his mistake about the "s's" anything to do with it all? The secret, which at first had seemed such a mysterious and delightful possession, suddenly grew into a great and terrible burden that he longed to cast at Seki's feet and ask her to share. But the thought of telling what he knew never crossed his mind. He had given his word, and he felt that to break it would be to forfeit forever his chance of becoming a soldier. But something must be done, he must go to Monsieur and tell him the truth at once. "Seki," he said persuasively, "Monsieur is sick in bed, don't you think it would be nice for me to take him a little cake?" "You can not ever go there any more," repeated Seki San positively. "I did a mistakes in letting you go." In vain June pleaded, every argument that he could think of he brought to bear, but Seki was firm. By and by he began to cry, at first softly, begging between the sobs, then when he got angry he cried very loud and declared over and over that he would go. Seki San was amazed at his naughtiness. It was the first time since his mother left that she had known him to be disobedient. When persuasion and coaxing proved in vain, she carried him into the house and carefully closing the paper screens left him alone. Here he lay on the floor and cried louder than ever. Seki San and her mother and the old man next door stood on the outside and peeped through the cracks, gravely discussing the situation. Even Tomi sniffed uneasily, and gave sharp, unhappy barks. [Illustration: "They peeped through the cracks, gravely discussing the situation."] After ever and ever so long the cries grew fainter and gradually ceased, and Seki peeping around the screen whispered to the others to be very still as he was going to sleep. June lay quiet on his face, but he was not asleep. Once in a while he opened his eyes a very little and peeped out, then he closed them quickly and listened. By and by he heard Seki go back to her work, and the old man next door hobble across the garden. Inch by inch June crawled over the mats until he reached the screen, which he carefully slid back. After waiting for a few breathless minutes, he reached out and got his shoes from the door-step and put them on. Back of the house he could hear Seki singing at her work, and not six feet away Tomi lay snoozing in the sun. Softly and cautiously he slipped out of the house, across the strip of a garden where all the leaves seemed to be shaking their heads at him, through a narrow passageway, then out of the gate that divided the little world he knew from the vast unknown world that lay beyond. CHAPTER VIII EVEN more than usually quiet and deserted was the narrow street. The noon sun glaring down on the town had sent everybody into the shade, and at first June attracted little attention as he trudged off in the direction of the parade grounds. He knew the way that far, for Toro often took him there to watch the men drill. Soldiers passed him now in twos and threes, looking very smart in their buff uniforms with swords clanking at their sides, and as they passed they laughed and turned to look curiously at the small foreign boy. In fact curious eyes were peering out of many of the open front shops, and mothers were even holding up their babies and pointing to the strange little person who was passing. Here and there children were dipping water with their hands from pails and sprinkling the dusty street, and when they saw June they paused and gazed open-mouthed, or shouted derisively: "Eijin! Eijin!" The whole world seemed strange and unfriendly, and even the sun tried to see how hot it could glare down on June's bare head. When he reached the parade ground, he stopped to rest, but no sooner had he sat down than a circle gathered around him, two jinrikisha men, four boys, a girl with a baby on her back and an old fish woman. There was no chatter, they were all too interested to talk, they just stood and looked and looked until June felt that their eyes were pins and that he was the cushion. After a while he turned to one of the men and said: "Do you know where Monsieur Carré lives?" They looked at each other and smiled. It was much as if a new bird had twittered a strange note, and one boy tried to imitate the sound and repeated "Carré lives?" to the great amusement of the rest. "Monsieur Carré!" went on June, getting angry, "he's a Frenchman. Don't you know where he lives?" "Where he lives?" mimicked the boy and they laughed more than ever. June was so angry by this time that he could not tell which he wanted most to do, to cry or to fight. Beyond him was a wilderness of criss-cross streets with strange eyes peering at him from every quarter. What if he should get lost and swallowed up for ever in this strange place where nobody knew him nor loved him nor spoke his language? Instinctively he looked back toward the way he had come. He had only to retrace his steps past the parade ground, hurry back in a straight line until he came to the big red gate that marked the entrance to the temple, and then turning to the right run breathlessly down the street to the little gate in the wall, and after that to throw himself into Seki's arms and tell her all his troubles! But what would become of Monsieur? It must be very dreadful to be sick in bed with a guard waiting to arrest you if you do not get some papers for him, papers which you do not possess. And if Monsieur was arrested he never would get back to France! All this flashed through June's mind as he sat under the pine tree, trying with all his might to keep the black eyes all around from seeing that he was about to cry. Just then a soldier went by holding himself very erect and looking neither to the left nor the right. Suddenly June remembered that soldiers did not cry, and with resolution he got up and turning his back to the temple gate and the parade grounds, he continued courageously on his way. Far in the distance he could see, high on a hill, the old castle which he knew he must pass before he should come to Monsieur's. There were many streets to be passed, and many obstacles to be overcome, for as June got further from home the curiosity concerning him increased. It was very warm and he was tired but he dared not sit down for he dreaded the gaping crowd and the curious eyes. By and by he came to the old moat which circled the castle, and as the road led out into the country, the boys who had followed him gradually fell back until he realized with joy that there were no more wooden shoes clattering after him. In the moat big lotus leaves floated on the water and working among them were coolies, naked, except for a loin cloth. They were too busy to take any notice of a strange little boy, so he sat on a rock under a tree for a long time and wondered how it would feel to be down there under the lily pads and the lotus leaves, and if the same hob-goblins and sprites that live under the sea did not sometimes come to play in the moats, and take moonlight rides on the big broad leaves? The sun which had beaten so fiercely on his head was slowly dropping toward the distant mountain when he started once more on his way, and a long shadow went beside him. The shadow was a great relief for it kept him company without staring at him. By and by even the shadow deserted him and he trudged along the country road following a vague impression that somewhere around the foot of the mountain Monsieur lived. It was very quiet and lonesome with only the crickets and the frogs talking to each other out there in the grasses, and June's feet were tired and his head ached and he was hungry. A big lump kept lodging in his throat no matter how often he swallowed. Now that the gray twilight was creeping on, all sorts of fears assailed him. Ever since he could remember Seki San had told him of the hob-goblins and gnomes that haunt the woodlands and mountains in Japan. There were the Tengu, half bird and half man, that play all sorts of mischievous pranks on the farmers, there was the "Three-eyed Friar," and the "White Woman" who wanders about in the snow, and worst of all was a bogie with horns, whose legs dwindled away to nothing at all, but whose body was very large and horrible with a long neck twisted like a snake. As he thought about it his heart began to thump, and he quickened his steps to a run. All the trees seemed to be reaching out clutching hands as he sped by, and the darkness kept creeping closer and closer. The sobs which he had held back so long came faster, and at last breathless and panic-stricken he sank exhausted by the roadside and waited in dumb terror for what might happen. Looking fearfully around he saw just above him a kind, white face peering out of the twilight. It was only a stone face, and it belonged to an image that was sitting cross-legged on a mossy stone, but June felt as if he had met a friend. Of all the gods and goddesses that Seki San had told him about, the one he knew best was Jizo, the friend of little children. The drooping figure, the gentle face, and the shaven head had become as familiar to him as the pictures of Santa Claus at home. He had met him in the temples, in the woods, on the river road, in big stone statues and little wooden ones, and now when he found him here in this lonesome night world, he felt a vague sense of relief and protection. Climbing up on the stone he fingered the pebbles that filled Jizo's lap, and touched the red cotton bib that was tied about his neck. He knew what it all meant for Seki San had told him many times. Jizo was the guardian of dead children, and the red bib and the pebbles had been placed there by mothers who wanted the kind god to look after their little babies who had passed away into another world. There were hundreds of pebbles about the statue, in its lap, about its hands and feet, and even on its bald head, and June was very careful not to disturb any of them. He wished he had something to give the good god, but he was too tired to go down and look for a pebble. He searched through his pockets but nothing seemed to suit. Finally he separated one object from the rest, and placed it gently in Jizo's upturned hand. It was the old sword hilt that Monsieur had given him. [Illustration: "It was the old sword-hilt that Monsieur had given him."] Then, because he was very sleepy and tired, and because he was afraid of the dark, he nestled down in the niche under Jizo's upraised arm, and all the hob-goblins and evil spirits slipped away, and the stars came out and the big white moon, and the monotonous droning of the crickets and frogs seemed to be Seki San humming him to sleep, and the stone figure against which he leaned seemed to sway toward him in the moonlight and the face changed to the gentlest, sweetest one he knew, and instead of the little pebbles on the head there was a crown of thorns. CHAPTER IX HOW long June slept there he did not know, but he was awakened by someone shaking his arm and holding a paper lantern close to his face. When he got his eyes open he found that it was a jinrikisha man and that he was talking to him in Japanese. "Where's Seki?" June asked, looking about him in bewilderment. The man shook his head and continued to talk excitedly in Japanese. "I want to go to Monsieur Carré's," said June very loud as if that would help the man to understand. "Wakarimasen," said the man. "Monsieur Carré!" shouted June, and again the man shook his head and said, "Wakarimasen." Over and over June repeated "Monsieur Carré," and pointed down the moonlit road. Finally in desperation he scrambled from his perch and seizing a stick thrust it under his arm like a crutch, then he humped his shoulders, drew down his brows, and limped along saying with a groan, "Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!" as he had heard Monsieur say it. In an instant the man clapped his hands and laughed. "Hai, Hai," he said and when the jinrikisha was wheeled about and June was invited to get in, you may be sure he lost no time in doing so. He even forgot to give a good-by look to Jizo, who sat smiling out into the moonlight with the little pebbles on his head. It was a wonderful ride, through the soft shiny darkness, with only the pitter patter of the kurumaya's sandals to break the silence. June, curled up on the seat, was not thinking of poor Seki San and her anxiety concerning him, neither was he thinking of the mother and father who would soon be coming to him over the sea, nor of Monsieur with the guard at his door. He was wondering if the stars were the moon's children, and who woke the sun up in the morning. And all the time a light at the foot of the hill was getting closer and closer, and before he knew it, they had stopped at the little brown house where the windows peeped through the vines. A voice spoke sharply in the darkness and before June could get down a man in uniform with a star on his breast, stopped him. The jinrikisha man seemed to be explaining and the soldier to be asking questions, and while they talked June sat very still with his heart beating furiously against the long envelope in his blouse. He was just as frightened as he had been back in the woods when the hob-goblins were after him, only it was different. Then he cried and ran away, now he was not thinking of himself at all, but of Monsieur who might have to go to prison and die if he should fail to get the papers to him. After what seemed to him hours of time, the guard evidently came to the conclusion that a sleepy little boy who had lost his way could do no harm, so he lifted him down and took him up the path. June was too full of anxiety even to glance at the goldfish as he passed them. He walked straight up the path and into the room where Monsieur lay. On the bed was an old man who looked as if he might have been Monsieur's father; his body seemed to have shrunk to half its size and his face was old and white and drawn. Only the eyes made June know that it was Monsieur himself, and the fierce startled look in them recalled the day he had stumbled over him in the Daimyo's garden. "I was coming to see you and I got lost," began June, but Monsieur held up a warning hand. "The guard will inform me in Japanese," he said so coldly that June wondered if he were angry with him. After a great deal of talk, the guard went away leaving June sitting half asleep on the floor with his head against the bed. In an instant Monsieur was leaning over him shaking his shoulder. "Tell me!" he demanded, "tell me quickly why did you come?" June rubbed his eyes and yawned; at first he could not remember, then it began to come back: "I made the 's's' the wrong way," he murmured, "and when I tried to fix them I spoiled your letter." "Yes, yes," cried Monsieur, now out of bed and on his knees before the child, "and you tore it up, you destroyed it?" June shook his head wearily, "It is inside here, but I can't undo the buttons." Monsieur's hands, bandaged though they were, found the packet and drew it eagerly forth. "Thank God! thank God!" he whispered, pressing the unbroken seal again and again to his lips. "Did I save your life?" asked June making a mighty effort to rouse himself, and enjoy his reward. "Not my life, boy; that did not matter; it is my honor you have saved, my honor." And Monsieur lay back upon the bed and sobbed like a little child. "He's coming!" warned June, and Monsieur had only sufficient time to wipe away the tears from his withered old cheeks before the guard returned with the jinrikisha man. After a consultation in Japanese, Monsieur said to June, "I have told the man how to take you home. They will be very anxious about you. You must start at once." "I'm hungry," said June, "I'd like some of those little crackers that you gave me before." The guard, obligingly following directions, produced a paper bag from the table drawer. "I wish they were animal crackers," said June, "I like to eat the elephant first, then he gets hungry and I have to eat the bear, then the bear gets hungry and I have to eat the pig, and the pig gets hungry and I have to eat the rabbit until there aren't any left in the bag." "You have not spoken to any one about the letter?" whispered Monsieur as he pretended to kiss June good-by. "'Course not!" declared June indignantly. "It's a secret!" Then as if remembering a lost opportunity he added: "Oh! you couldn't tell me a story, could you? Just a teeny weeny one?" "Not to-night," said Monsieur laughing, "why, it is eleven o'clock now. But to-morrow, next day, always when you come, the stories are waiting, all that my brain and heart can hold." And with this promise June was bound to be content. It was hard to believe that the way back was as long as the way he had come, for before he knew it the wall beside the moat appeared by the roadside, then the parade grounds dim and shadowy in the moonlight, then the crowded streets of the town. He did not know that he was the chief cause of the commotion, that for two hours parties of searchers had been hurrying along every road leading out of town, that people were telling where they had seen him last, and that anxious groups were looking over the low wall into the black waters of the moat. He only knew that from the moment he reached town a crowd followed his jinrikisha, that his kurumaya could scarcely push his way through the questioning throng, and that at last they stopped and a shout went up, the crowd parted, and through the opening dashed Seki San, her hair hanging limply about her face, her eyes full of joy, and her arms out-stretched. "Oh! My little boy darling!" she cried. "You have given me many troubles. Where you been, where did you go?" But June attempted no explanation; the papers were safe with Monsieur and he was safe with Seki San, and whether or not he had done right was too big a problem to wrestle with. After Seki had fed him and bathed him, and kissed his many bruises to make them well, he put his arms about her and gave her a long, hard hug. "I am awful sorry I had to run away," he said and Seki's English was not good enough to understand just what he meant. [Illustration: "Long after he was asleep she sat beside him."] Long after he was asleep she sat beside him on the floor, crying softly into her sleeve, and holding fast to his hand while she gave thanks not only to her new Christian God but to some of the heathen ones as well for sending him back to her. CHAPTER X LATE in the summer, when the tiny maple leaves were turning blood-red and the white lotus was filling every pond and moat, June and Seki San journeyed back to Yokohama. They were going to meet the big steamer that was on its way from China to America, and June was to join his mother and father and go back with them to California. He was so happy over the prospect that he could not sit still a minute, but kept hopping from one side of the car to the other and asking Seki more questions than she could possibly answer. "Do you s'pose my mother'll know me now I've got so fat? Has my father grown any since I saw him? Will he carry a sword? What do you s'pose they will bring me?" and so on until there were scarcely any questions left to be asked. "One more day," said Seki San sadly, "and Seki will have no more little boy to hold her sleeves behind and tease and tickle her under her necks. She will have a very, very lonely heart." June's merriment ceased for a moment and he looked serious. The fact that Seki could not go back with him had been a misfortune that he had not yet faced. "I'm going to get my father to come back for you next year," he said at last, "you and Tomi and Toro, and your mamma with the black teeth too. We will have a little Japanese house on the ranch, and Toro can ride my pony." But Seki shook her head and wiped her eyes. "You will go back to your dear, affectionate home," she said, "and be big mans when I see you once more. But I will hear your lovingest little boy voice down in my heart alway!" * * * * * It was a happy meeting the next day on the steamer when June actually saw his mother, and clung about her neck as if he would never let go again. Then he had to be taken up on the shelter deck and introduced to a strange, pale man reclining in a steamer chair, who they said was his father. At first it was a dreadful disappointment, and he submitted to being kissed with an effort. But when the man lifted one eyebrow and puckered his mouth into a funny shape, and said, "Why, Mr. Skeezicks, you haven't forgotten your old Pard?" a dark spot seemed suddenly to go out of June's mind and in its place was a memory of the jolliest, funniest playfellow he had ever had in his life. With a rush he was in his lap. "You used to tell me about the Indians," he cried accusingly, "I remember now. What became of Tiger Tooth and the little white child?" "We will have just fourteen days to tell stories," said Captain Royston. "I shall probably be a dumb man by the time we land in San Francisco. You must sit down here now and tell this little mother of yours the story of your life. Where did you get these red cheeks and fat legs?" And with Seki San sitting on the floor at their feet, and with a frequent hug from mother and many a laugh from father, the story of the summer was told. When the last launch brought the passengers out from the shore, who should come aboard but Monsieur Carré. He was regularly engaged in Government service at Tokyo now, and when he saw in the paper that Master Robert Rogers Royston, Junior, would join his parents and sail for America on the S. S. _Mongolia_, he made the short trip to Yokohama to say good-by. He was so dressed up that June scarcely recognized him. His white mustache was waxed until it stood out very straight, and his hair was parted all the way down the back. He still carried a heavy cane and limped when he walked, but his hands, though knotted and gnarled, were free from bandages. Captain and Mrs. Royston welcomed him cordially as a friend of June's and even Seki San, who still looked upon him with suspicion, was discreetly silent. "Are you going back to France?" asked June. "Next year," answered Monsieur. "I will have made sufficient money to go home, and then! Ah, Mon Dieu! I will never leave it again." "I will write you a letter," said June, adding slyly, "I'll be sure to make the 's's' turn the right way." Monsieur put his finger on his lips and June nodded understandingly. "What secret have you there?" asked Captain Royston. Monsieur put his hand on June's head, and looking straight in the Captain's eyes, he said: "Your boy will make a fine soldier; he has courage and honor, and he can keep a secret. I congratulate you!" Just then a gong sounded and the first officer ordered everybody who was going ashore to hurry. There was general bustle and confusion, June had a vague impression of Monsieur kissing him on both cheeks, and disappearing down the rope ladder, of Seki San kneeling before him while he clung to her neck and begged her not to leave him, then he was sitting on the railing, with Father's arm about him, and Mother holding one hand while with the other he waved good-by to the friends below. [Illustration: "June waved good-by to the friends below."] The little launch grew strangely blurred as it danced away over the water. June did not see the crowd on the deck, nor the pilot at the wheel, nor even the white and orange flag that floated from the mast. He was watching the pink rose in Seki's hair growing fainter and fainter in the distance. "And now," said Father, with decision, "I think it's about time to get busy with the Indians." Transcriber Notes Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS. Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. Those words were retained as-is. The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs and so that they are next the text they illustrate. Thus the page number of the illustration might not match the page number in the List of Illustrations, and the order of illustrations may not be the same in the List of Illustrations and in the book. Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted below: On page 90, "chlidren" was replaced with "children". On page 116, a comma was placed after "with suspicion". On page 116, the single quotation mark after "leave it again." was replaced with a double quotation mark. 
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38853	----	Transcriber's Notes: 1. Page scan source: http://books.google.com/books?id=UCQXAAAAYAAJ 2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe]; "y" with a circumflex above by [^y]; "o" with a macron above by [=o]. THE CURSE OF KOSHIU. _A CHRONICLE OF OLD JAPAN_. BY The Honble. LEWIS WINGFIELD, AUTHOR OF "LADY ORIZEL," "IN HER MAJESTY'S KEEPING," "ABIGEL ROWE," "BARBARA PHILPOT," ETC. LONDON: WARD & DOWNEY, 12 YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. * * * 1888. [_All Rights reserved_.] EDINBURGH COLSTON AND COMPANY PRINTERS CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. Boy and Girl. CHAPTER II. The Last Hojo. CHAPTER III. Married Life. CHAPTER IV. The Abbess gives Advice. CHAPTER V. The Farmer girds His Loins. CHAPTER VI. The Young Mikado. CHAPTER VII. The Farmer's Sentence. CHAPTER VIII. Destiny is Busy. CHAPTER IX. The Execution. CHAPTER X. Forebodings. CHAPTER XI. The Curse begins to Work. CHAPTER XII. The Daimio of Nara Begins to Work. CHAPTER XIII. The Despot obeys Orders. CHAPTER XIV. The Mikado does Business. CHAPTER XV. Will Buddha Speak? CHAPTER XVI. Masago takes the Reins. CHAPTER XVII. Under the Moon. CHAPTER XVIII. Face to Face. CHAPTER XIX. The Web Is Woven. THE CURSE OF KOSHIU. CHAPTER I. BOY AND GIRL. It was towards the end of the fourteenth century that the grandeur of the Hojo family rose to its acme, then fell with awful crash. The feudal story of the Land of the Rising Sun is a long dark chronicle of blood and tears, of crime and rapine, of vengeance and vendetta, out of which there glints at intervals a gleam of glorious heroism, of holy devotion, of pure love and unsullied faith. In the stately roll of the great names of old Japan, there is none so terrible as Hojo. From time to time the patient people were ruled by one race or another of despots, cruel and selfish; the most cruel of all, the Hojos. Even now, after five hundred years of war and havoc, of vain aspirations, power misused, and wrecked ambitions, mothers still hush their babes to silence by breathing the dreaded name. The most destructive insect that ravages the fairest island in the world--the most voracious and omnivorous--is yet known as the Hojo beetle. When the first of the line erected a strong fortress--the Castle of Tsu, which will serve as background to many scenes in this our chronicle--he gave to it a bloody baptism, by burying beneath the foundations two hundred living men. Although their baleful course was marked by an ensanguined streak like a gory finger drawn across a map, they were not all black, these gruesome daimios, or even Buddha, whom we know to be deaf, and prone to somnolence, would earlier in the day have bestirred himself to punish them. Maybe Buddha drinks too much saké, for though we piously crack our finger-joints, and beat our palms, each morn at sunrise, and bang the gongs and pull the bell-strings each evening in the temple, he recks little of mere mundane worries, letting things go from bad to worse in grievous fashion. And yet, once roused to wakefulness, his vengeance is swift as the typhoon, as destructive and as sweeping. No. The lurid Hojo cloud that for a hundred years brooded over long-suffering Japan, had silver breaks in it. The Mikados, as nominal rulers, dwelt at Ki[^y]oto; while the Shoguns, as military viceroys, reigned at Kamakura; but the dominating family, as wire-pullers, directed their movements from behind. The father of Hojo No-Kami, last of the race, had his good points. None of his supercilious ancestors was more superbly overbearing, more sublimely indifferent to human pain; and yet his worst enemies were compelled to admit that, if stern, his rule was sagacious. The Mikado, and his court of _kugés_ or lords-in-waiting, shivered before him, for his dirk was loose in the scabbard, and the order promptly to depart into another world by uncompromising _harakiri_ was ever trembling on his lips. During his career three emperors had been summoned to shave their heads and retire into monkish solitude, each puppet bowled over in its turn for daring to dispute his will; and yet the very fact of his disdaining to mask the iron hand under the glove of silk, even in dealing with the highest, compelled the unwilling admiration of his turbulent and light-hearted countrymen. The upper class--Samurai, two-sword men, hatamotos, soldiers--could appreciate his martial bearing, as, in gallant bravery of scarlet armour and gold-studded helm, he rode forth to battle, with his martial wife beside him. For the beautiful Tomoyé was a fit mother for lion whelps. Of great personal strength as well as graceful carriage, sheathed in armour like her lord, astride on a swift horse, she was ever in the van of conflict. With her own hand she cut off the head of a rival daimio who crossed swords with her; and when her lord died, pierced through the heart by an arrow she fought till she fell beside him. The lower class of the unarmed--mechanics, mere farmers, paltry merchants--could also from their inferior standpoint admire their ruler, whilst grieving at his rough treatment of the Holy Mikado--mystic head of all--for he protected the workers of the hive from the depredations of other tyrants. The burthen of taxes was nicely weighed to suit the backs of the bearers. The ken of the Hojo was as piercing, and minutely attentive to details, as it was farsighted. A petition from the elders of the meanest village was sure of immediate attention. No petty feudal master, however recklessly bold or savagely contemptuous, dared to overstep his rights. The result of the adamantine rule of the last Hojo but one was peace. The land that was given over usually to turmoil and bloodshed, with intervals of complete anarchy, enjoyed rest for fifteen years, during which the despot set himself to consolidate his power, and fix yet more firmly the family yoke on the necks of lords and people. He had two sons, the elder of whom--by Japanese paradox--was treated as if he had been the younger. Sampei, three years older than No-Kami, was the offspring of a second wife or concubine. The latter, heir-apparent, was the whelp of the war-queen Tomoyé. Now in Japan concubinage is a recognised institution, and the son of the handmaid is no bastard. And yet the child of the bondwoman is not co-heir with the child of the free. The latter, in the case of a great family, is undisputed head of the clan, and to him the former owes allegiance, however much older in years, in the same degree as lesser clansmen. The institution is so firmly welded into the constitution of the land as, save in a few cases, to preclude jealousy. Of course, as in all Eastern countries, ambitious men have striven to supplant their brothers--have hacked off their heads and reigned in their stead--but this does not affect the principle. The two sons of Hojo grew up side by side in perfect amity. Together they learned to ride and wield the sword and spear under the approving gaze of their martial parents. They were both soldiers--with a difference. Even Tomoyé was forced to admit that of the twain Sampei, son of the concubine, was the most promising. His nature was clear and bright as running water, simple and unsmirched, unlike that of the heir-apparent. None more brave than he, more quick and skilful with his weapons, more ready to smite hard and heavily; and yet on occasion he could be soft and tender as a woman. A polished politeness and chivalrous demeanour were so innate in him as to win the admiration of the ladies. For seductive luxury he had nothing but contempt. No-Kami, on the other hand, if brave and skilled in arms, was fierce and selfish and debauched; overfond of the harem and perfumed bath and saké cup; sullen, too, as an ill-conditioned animal; brutal to women, ruthlessly tossing them aside like shattered toys when sated with their charms. People nodded their pates and whispered of him the timeworn proverb which says that there is no seed to a great man. In sooth it has ever been a common thing in this otherwise favoured land to see a great house crumble into speedy ruin through the supineness and debauchery of its sons. There was no need for anxiety as to the future of Sampei. A soldier and a gentleman to the tips of his trim finger-nails, his career, in the most war-ridden of countries, was carved clear before him. It came to pass that Corea, conquered long since by the Amazon Empress Jingo, threw off allegiance.. Who more fitted than doughty young Sampei to reduce the rebel to obedience? Accordingly, five years before this story opens, the gay young general, full of life and hope, and rippling with high spirits, bade a respectful farewell to the father he was never to see again, a more tender one of his fond mother, Masago, who, like many another discarded concubine, was now the Abbess of a convent, and sailed with a fleet and army for Corea, whence news arrived from time to time, praising his deeds of valour. As for the future of No-Kami, it was more difficult to prophesy, and his parents were no little anxious. His prospects were splendid; but although his father had endeavoured to foresee contingencies, and build barriers against accidents, the path of the next tyrant must needs be beset with thorns. His _rôle_ in the future would be arduous, thick strewn with snares and difficulties. To keep the _entourage_ of the Mikado in subjection--to hold the daimios--powerful and wealthy princes as sturdy as the barons of the English John--in the requisite condition of meekness, would require more statecraft, diplomacy, and force of iron will, than could be expected of a model youth. And No-Kami, as we have seen, was by no means a model youth. None knew better than his astute and experienced parent how difficult to a young man this task would prove; none was more distinctly aware of the frail tenure of a despot's life. At any moment he, the father, might be taken, and what then would happen to his boy? Treachery stalks through the history of Japan. At any instant the dominant Hojo might be murdered under his son's eyes. Would the self-indulgent No-Kami be prepared with vigorous promptitude to avenge the slain, and, seizing the dropped reins, pursue his policy? Both father and mother sadly shook their heads. Even their partial vision could not but perceive that the hope of the house was a leper, abnormally sinful, inclined to become a sybarite. Was this young man to be left to steer the bark without a pilot? Certainly not. In case of anything unexpected arising, a staff must be prepared for him to lean upon. A man must be placed by his side, old in years and in experience, whose position and wisdom would command respect, whose interest it would be to bestow sound advice and timely sage reproof. What better guide than a prudent father-in-law? What surer loadstone to lure an embryo debauchee from the muddy byways of low company than a beautiful patrician bride? one of the pure and slender, refined and high-bred maidens of noble lineage--fair and sweet as the fragrant mountain-lily--who now, as five hundred years ago, are the brightest glory of Japan. A crafty combination this on the part of the warrior-statesman, which would doubtless have been crowned with success, if he had not chanced to live in a world where mischievous spirits delight in frustrating plans the most cleverly matured. Tomoyé heard, and listened dubiously. Even among the most elevated Japanese, as well as in the highest European circles, papas and mammas will differ as to the ideal bride. What was the precise article that would suit No-Kami? Unfortunately there was not time to have one specially ordered. Since perfection is chary of repetition, it was not to be expected that another Tomoyé--a stern yet loving lioness--could be found for the precious youth. Indeed, so recreant a scion was he of the stock, that he might have objected possibly to a muscular and fiery wife whose pastime was the chopping of heads. And yet not so. A true lion-whelp was he in blood enjoyment. Even the low-born _Geisha_ singing girls who stocked his harem, had often cried under his buffets, and shouted shame, with tears, at his barbarous treatment of his servants. Alas! how sad it is that even the most sapient in mundane experience will be guilty of errors sometimes that are patent to the lesser fry. Is it over-anxiety that blinds them? The problem was to put the finger on a great noble--daimio among daimios--who could compare in descent and grandeur _almost_ with the line of Hojo; who, of weight in counsel, and rather cool than hot, would stem precipitate rashness. He must have no son, and but one daughter, and devoid therefore of the ambition which accompanies male issue, must adopt his daughter's husband as his son; and by thus uniting the two families in closest bonds, make their interests identical. The child of the magnate (given that the two were found) must be mentally perfect, and a vision of corporeal loveliness. "My dear!" quoth the broad-shouldered but practical Tomoyé, as with one eye critically closed she assayed the temper of a brand new sword. The lady was apt to get vexed when her lord grew warm and garrulous. "My dear," she observed, "we have many rounds of mortal life to climb ere, reaching the summit, we attain Nirvana. Though you are good enough to be blind to my blemishes, even I am not quite perfect. Perfection, in our present low cycle, is so very scarce, you know." With this she beamed upon her lord, whilst artlessly belying her words by approvingly fingering her muscles. She was inwardly aware, with pardonable pride, that no other daimio's daughter could boast such an arm as hers. My lord was provoked, and rubbed his nose. When you are erecting airy towers, practical people are exasperating. It was evident she had gained a point, so she proceeded to follow it up. "Where in broad Japan do you propose to seek these paragons? This pink of perfect daimios, and his yet more model child?" There was a tendency to irreverence in this tone, which required nipping in the bud. The eye of the Mikado's master shot forth a gleam, before which even the lioness cowered. When his mind was made up, the Hojo brooked no argument. "Be it as you will!" Tomoyé dutifully murmured. "My lord is all-wise, all-powerful; his wife his willing slave. Go forth and seek the paragons, and let us hope you will find them soon." To please him whom she loved best on earth, Tomoyé made believe to be convinced; and yet her woman's tact whispered down in the deep recesses of her manly bosom, that my lord, for all his wiliness, was wrong; that he was building a fool's paradise far up in [OE]ther, out of which her dear boy might tumble. Curious to relate, the paragons concerning whom she was tempted to be disrespectful were not far to seek. With but little hocus-pocus father and daughter were conjured on the scene, as absolutely the "very thing," to all appearance, as the cunning Hojo had conceived them. He declared as much at least, and dutiful Tomoyé acquiesced, slightly pinching her lips in silent protest. Instead of the "very thing" which was to bring about complete success before its time in our weary pilgrimage of cycles, the mother's instinct beheld with prophetic vision, in the proposed alliance, the worst elements of discord and defeat,--of so dire and dread a tragedy as should shake Japan to its centre, and annihilate the dominating house. Yet who was she, the warrior wife reflected in her humility, to set up puny instincts against the ripened statecraft of my lord? Her muscles were better than her brains. Should she presume to know more than he who held in his hand Mikado, nobles, people?--whose nod was law in the land beloved of Buddha? who had preserved it from contamination from without? Her place was to bend before the will of the dictator, and offer prayers for her husband and her son. * * * * * The most perfectly poetic spot in all poetic Japan, whose ensanguined history is made beauteous to the eye of a fastidious posterity by the flora of chivalry and valour, is Nara. Lovely and secluded, sweet-smelling and umbrageous Nara! The Nara of to-day--how much more the Nara of five hundred years ago--suggests to the incursive foreigner a bit of Eden's garden. In very early times the central mart of Japanese opulence (which ebbed by-and-by to Ki[^y]oto), it came after a while to be recognised as the special home of holiness. Accepting the better part, it exchanged the shimmering sham glory of mundane ambition for the sheen reflected from above. Some twenty miles from Ki[^y]oto--time-honoured residence of Mikados, and therefore a sacred city--the small town of Nara stands on a plain surrounded by rugged hills. Passing through low grey streets, leaving on the left a huge and ornate pagoda, you enter a tangle of wild greenery--an ideal wood of immense cryptomerias darkling skyward after light. A jungle of variegated foliage, so sweet and fresh, masks half their altitude, while the undulating ground beneath is broken into verdant waves chequered with blossoms of all hues. This forest is vast and silent, save where a white-robed group of pilgrims saunters along its glades--undefended by barriers, save those of religious custom. And what more tough than they? If sprightly and given to skull-cracking, the Japanese live in terror of their deities, who without exception are vindictive. Buddha and the lesser lights are awful and threatening and ever-present, and the favourite hunting-grounds of Buddha are the hallowed groves of Nara. The thickets teem with game. All kinds of coy animals which usually flee at sight of man, here hold undisputed sway. The intruder is on their territory, and they let him know it. The timorous doe stands with soft unstartled eyes across the path, sniffing with moist nostrils the expected cake. And if the white-clad pilgrim should have striven to combine economy with cure of soul by investing in cheap offerings, the scornful stag and his following will shake their ears, and bound away to relate to the gods the insult. With head on one side, birds look critically down from boughs, nor think of flight; hares, taught by impunity, instead of making off, white scut in air, groom nose with paw, undaunted. Hidden away, centre of an intricate labyrinth--enclosed in many courts, each hung with myriad lamps in bronze-like fringes round the eaves--stands the Holy of Holies, Buddha's hunting-box, wherein a band of virgins perform weird shinto rites for the behoof of awe-struck pilgrims. At stated seasons this bevy of priestesses, emerging from strict retirement, performs the _kagura_, a slow swanlike measure, with many and intricate figures and waving of fans and bells and kerchiefs, accompanied by priestly flutes--which (doubtless good for the soul, since its weary length is interminable) is soothing also to ear and eye, for the ladies are graceful and slender in their loose red trousers and gossamer robes, their long locks flowing as they float to and fro, with a background of gold screens, and beyond the antique forest. How peaceful a life, free from sordid cares, must these holy damsels lead! Far from the fretful striving of the churlish world--its hate and jealousy and bitterness and disillusion--no call to arms or shock of war invades this calm retreat. They share ungrudgingly their Eden with the beasts and butterflies, guileless and content as they, strumming the three-stringed samisen, sailing through maze of solemn _kagura_, doing tender service in the temple. Among the troop of maidens was one who wore no religious habit. Although she had taken no vows, priests and virgins loved her as much as if one of themselves. Brought up among them with the hares and birds for comrades, as stately and as gentle as the deer, she shared from childhood, being motherless, their pure and contemplative life. Strangers often said that the fairest thing in lovely Nara was the tall and pale O'Tei. Some compared her to the unblown white lotos as it sways dreamily in the breeze. Others dubbed her pearl; but later all agreed that young Sanjo the armourer was delivered of the neatest simile when he fashioned a white fawn of purest silver and gave it to the maiden for a hairpin. As a child she had always been still and given to day-dreams, peering into the flowers as if she could read secrets there, or gazing into the opal sky in search of angels, or watching the pallid stars as they glimmered forth out of the deepening blue. Yet was she as gay as the chirping cicadas in the trees, as light and fleet as her four-footed friends, as, pattering on dainty clogs in wayward mood, she would leave the forest for the town, and peeping in at Sanjo's, shake an arch finger at the brawny armourers, while they wiped their swart brows, and laughed. It was by a whimsical coincidence that the celebrated family of Sanjo, from time immemorial armourers in chief to the Mikados, as the Miochins were to the Shoguns, should have set up the forge, emblem of war, hard by the sacred wood, the type of peace. But so it was. Indeed, as I write, the existing Sanjos occupy the ancestral dwelling. They are poor now. Their occupation is gone, for civilisation and European ways have stepped in and ruined them. At the period which occupies us, the blowing of the forge-bellows and the welding of iron on the anvil were in curious contrast to the surrounding calm. Many lords who came hither in pilgrim guise to improve their soul's estate, looked in at Sanjo's ere they went away, to buy new blades and armour. The holy forest was an oasis of peace in a world of uproar; for was not the castle of the powerful lord of Nara but a mile beyond the town; and did not close by (happily concealed by a hill from his proud gaze) the fortress of the Daimio of Osaka rear its majestic front, home of his hereditary foe? Of course it was enough for two great feudal lords to dwell cheek by jowl for them to hate one another cordially. These two were as jealous as two rival beauties. The outer moat at Nara was wider than that of my lord of Osaka, but then the interior of Osaka's stronghold was the more splendid, and its armoury more richly furnished. Hence frowns and jibes and backbitings from generation to generation, varied now and then by siege or battle, accompanied by fire and massacre. Among the many who were firm friends of the Sanjos, was, naturally enough, Sampei. Of course, so gallant a young gentleman could wear no armour but Sanjo's, could wield no sword but one that bore his mark. One morning, standing beside the anvil, and laying down the law to an obsequious audience, on military subjects, he beheld, framed in the doorway, such a delightful vision, that his heart gave a great thump, and he dropped the precious blade, whose temper he was critically testing by the bisecting of a coin. It was only for a second. Startled by the apparition of a distinguished stranger, and grown unaccountably bashful of a sudden, the blushing and beautiful O'Tei cried Oh! and, turning on her clogs, scampered back into the wood, whither the inflammable Sampei would swiftly have followed, had he not been restrained by the armourer. "Beware!" the latter whispered, grasping him tightly by the skirt. "That maid is not for thee! The heiress of the Daimio of Nara will look higher than a soldier of fortune!" Sampei laughed, to conceal his annoyance. It is exasperating and humiliating too, to a handsome young soldier, who as such adores the sex, to be bluntly informed that the loveliest girl whom he has ever looked upon is hopelessly out of reach. And yet he could not deny that his friend was right. The White Fawn of Nara might never be his, for one so noble and so fair could command the most splendid of _partis_. But was that any reason why he should not look at her? He was heartwhole. No doubt of that. His soul was devoted to his sword; but, as dashing young warriors have done time out of mind, he liked to dally with maidens, and the prettier they were the better. Instead of purchasing a blade and departing straightway, he all at once became fastidious. This one was too light; that one ill-balanced. Japan is the land of blades. From the tail of the Dragon was born the sword which the Sun-goddess bestowed on the first Emperor. By the sword of the clustering clouds, Yamato-Daké subdued the East. It was quite fitting that our young general should be particular. Sanjo produced in vain his rarest achievements. There was "Knee-cutter" and "Beard-divider," unrivalled masterpieces, which Sanjo himself so loved that he had always declined to part with them. But there was no satisfying this capricious and arrogant youth. Sanjo would be good enough to set himself to work and create an inspiration; and Sampei, to whom time had all at once become no object, would remain at Nara and superintend the progress of the miracle. And so it came about that the blade, taking long to make, O'Tei (curious, after the fashion of maidens) came pattering along the street, just to see if the young warrior was gone. Oddly enough, he was still there; with face towards the door too. This was well, if strange; for he was comely; extremely civil, to boot; courteous, and vastly respectful; could troll rich snatches of merry song, and tell diverting tales with dancing eye and glittering teeth; while as for his smile, it did one good to bask under it--so bright it was, so warm and genial, exuberant with bubbling youth. The brawny workers at the anvil vowed with grins and nudges that 'twas charming to watch these two--she, the type of the patrician beauty of her country--complexion of palest olive, nose aquiline, cheek bones a trifle high, perfectly moulded chin and throat, eyes and hair a deep black, the former raised the least little bit in the world at the outer corners--as she lounged in a steely _kimono_ of finest crape drawn up over one of scarlet. And he was in his way as bonny a spectacle. Exceeding dark of skin; of low stature, as are most of the Japanese, but admirably proportioned and muscular; his luxuriant sable locks (shaven away in the centre, lest the eyes should be obscured in battle), fastened in two tresses at the back, while a becoming blue fillet bound his temples, knotted at the side in a bow. I am afraid I must admit at once that Sampei, to whom I am very partial, was a sad flirt. He invented appalling tales of death and slaughter, for the pleasure of seeing the cheek of O'Tei grow whiter, then set himself to woo the delicate sea-shell colour back with well-timed jest; and was flattered and pleased to find that he could learn to play upon her as on some fragile instrument. To the girl his radiant advent was a strange and wondrous break in the sweet monotony of years,--a revelation like the raising of some veil that masks the infinite; and she marvelled vaguely whether the perfumed wood would hold so rich a charm when _he_ was no longer there to rouse the echoes with his laughter. Hand in hand they wandered--artless children--while the soft-eyed deer peeped out at them approvingly. They visited her favourite haunts; the open glade where the glorious lilies grew in clusters--lemon-yellow, or white, brown centred; where the great jewelled butterflies tumbled low along like junks under heavy sail; where beds of scarlet blossoms like geraniums nestled in sheets on the bank of a crystal stream--home of flights of glittering dragon-flies, black and iron-blue, like the cohorts of the warlike Osaka. And then the sharp _twee twee_ of the cicadas, answering or calling one another out of the deep stillness of the canopy above, the boom of the hoarse bees, the buzzing of gossamer wings, the click of the cricket, the hum of the myriad tiny voices up in the dense green, which joining in harmonious chorus form a silence--a haven of solitude and rest. It was not possible to linger in the shadowed aisles whose pillars were the giant cryptomerias, without feeling subdued and softened; and a suspicion flitted more than once across the mind of the young soldier that perchance the career of hurly-burly and the clash of steel were a mistake, the contemplative life a better. What happier method of getting through the cycle than to muse away the years, till called to go, with gentle O'Tei, and the forest, and the animals? And then, the sylvan influence and flash of the clear eyes removed, Sampei would wake and shake himself in distress, and know that the ground was dangerous. The contemplative life was good for girls and shaven priests, and men who had succumbed in the battle. Youths with lives spread out before like a trail of moonlight on the sea, must gird up their loins and elbow their way through the medley. Too long already had the young General dallied, wasting time. And yet, not wasting, for he and she were to be friends for life--that was quite settled--dear brother and loving sister, trusting each other without question, certain, in moments of emergency, of the completest helpfulness and sympathy. It was delicious to possess such a sister, a soft warm sunspot on his harsh career; more she might never be, and he recognised that this was well. Her gentleness unnerved his arm, he was wont jestingly to say, for her nature was woven of such frail glass threads that just as the rush of the herd snapped the slender lily-stems, a rude puff of wind might shatter it. Some day she would find a suitable husband, and her adopted brother would love him for her sake; and then they would recline in the long grass and fall a-talking of what the lucky mortal would be like. To match with the perfection of O'Tei he must be a perfect creature. Not a bluff soldier like Sampei. No, that would never do, for like a tender plant must the dear maid be cherished. To the end must the White Fawn be screened from din of war and rude surroundings. Poor hearts! They were both so young and ignorant and hopeful. They knew not how futile a pastime is the building of air-palaces. They were unaware that Fate is a sad marplot, and that if we plan a matter in a certain way, it will surely come out quite otherwise. The Shinto virgins were somewhat scandalised by the romantic proceedings of the fair O'Tei and the too good-looking General. They were disinclined to approve of him, for they knew he had said that, with faces painted a dead white, eyebrows at top of foreheads, and long flat hair well-oiled, they looked like the dolls of Asakusa. A ribald military person was not expected to have taste, or to know wherein lies true beauty, but he might show more respect for youthful gorgons. O'Tei did little credit, they averred, with tart displeasure, to her education. If she pined for male society, was not the temple full of holy bonzes? The heiress of Nara showed lamentable signs of incipient depravity. What business had she with Sanjo, the common armourer? She who, wayward always and inconsistent, when taught like every prospective chatelaine to wield a pike, had been wont to toss down the silver-mounted weapon, with a pout, vowing that she hated fighting. Things could not go on as they were, for the situation was a false one. Sanjo grew nervous. If the Daimio of Nara, who as Kugé or court noble lived usually at Ki[^y]oto in attendance on the Emperor, were to hear that his only child, instead of innocently floating through mazes of _kagura_, was using his (Sanjo's) forge for flirting purposes with an ineligible man who was the son of a concubine, there would be trouble; and Sanjo was not unaware of the parable concerning iron pots and earthen pipkins. All were relieved, therefore, except O'Tei, who was hazy as to her own sentiments, when the news arrived that the rebellion in Corea was to be quelled, and that Sampei was to command the expedition. When brother and sister parted, O'Tei clung round the neck of the youth, and, weeping bitterly, shivered she knew not why. Lovingly he kissed her brow, and disengaged himself from her embrace, and was more than ever certain as he rode away that, perfect in a congenial sphere, as wife of some grandee who would appreciate her gentle excellence, his sweet and sensitive sister would make the worst of consoles for one whose trade was war. CHAPTER II. THE LAST HOJO. Being a cunning and artful reader, you have long since guessed that the pattern maid whose benign influence was destined to reform the brutish No-Kami, was no other than O'Tei, while the paragon Daimio was Nara. The Shinto virgins, as unjust and purblind as young gorgons may be expected to prove, were quite wrong as to O'Tei, who was no flirt. She did all credit to her rearing, for, when summoned to leave the conventual seclusion of the forest and assume the garb and responsibilities of her rank, she dutifully murmured, "Let my father's will be done," and accepted the husband of his choice. She had never been told--for the holy bonzes knew little about the subject--that in many marriages there are but two cheerful days--the first and the last--and marched straight upon her fate without a tremor. The elder Hojo, though a crafty and long-headed statesman, made a sad mistake while arranging the affairs of his son. The air palace he built was complete and imposing, beautiful to the eye, but, as the muscular and practical Tomoyé had foreseen, its foundations were of the weakest. He forgot that old Nara, as lord in waiting, was likely to be deeply attached to the person as well as to the position of the Mikado; that he, like the rest of the Kugés, would probably treasure up the insults which were freely showered on his master, with a view to future vengeance. Thanks to the uncompromising tactics of the despot, the reigning Mikado (there were three in exile) was a boy, a _roi fainéant_, a puppet; but he was hedged about with the intangible and mystic attributes of the Mikadoate, and the buffets he received reverberated along the line of Kugés into the hearts of the lower class. To possess the person of the Emperor was doubtless pleasing to the possessor--a trump card--but those who did not possess him felt his thraldom bitterly. That his daughter should wed the heir of the all-powerful Hojo was satisfactory and flattering to Nara. So long as the tyrant lived against whom it was hopeless to struggle, he would mask his game; but after his death, what then? He was expected to assume the functions of chief adviser, and keep the successor straight--was, in fact, to tighten the bonds about his master's limbs, for the behoof of the execrated family. This was whimsical--illogically planned--and Hojo a fool for his pains, When he contemplated the folly of the man he hated in his heart, the grim visage of the cautious Nara was puckered into unaccustomed smiles. The advice he would give in the future--so the wily lord decided--must depend on the attitude of his son-in-law, and be guided by the course of events for the benefit of the imperial prisoner. In his mind's eye (if Hojo could only have guessed it!) he beheld with secret exultation the brutish No-Kami sinking lower and lower by sure degrees into debauchery, until the moment should arrive when the ruler would become the ruled. And then--and then! Well, time must show what then. Sufficient for the day is its labour. Just as a Nimrod of the chase may fly safely over tremendous obstacles and be undone by a ditch at last, so was it with old Hojo. He sallied forth one day to put down an insignificant riot in never tranquil Satsuma, and received there his quietus. As already related, the faithful Tomoyé died with him, and No-Kami--juvenile, inexperienced, and cruel--was called to reign in his stead. And now, no longer restrained in the smallest degree by respect for a severe mother or fear of a fiery father, the new despot, surrounded by parasites, gave free rein to all his vices. The unaccustomed period of peace came to an abrupt conclusion. The young Mikado having been goaded one day to remonstrate with his new jailor, the latter raised his fan and slapped the august cheek. The Kugés flew to arms to avenge their outraged lord, but No-Kami, with the aureole of his father's prestige still about him, was too much for them. The nobles who dwelt in the palace bore but little of the stamp of warriors. The astute Nara, whilst hating the young man, saw that now, while the aureole remained unfaded, it was not yet the time to strike. He assumed therefore, with much parade of zeal, the _rôle_ of mediator between his master and his son-in-law. At first in vain. An unorganised band of patriots took the field, who were speedily routed and slain; and No-Kami, like the tyrant that he was, ungenerously pursued his advantage. Thanks to Nara's intervention, he refrained from deposing the Mikado; but he made up for this act of clemency by committing outrageous deeds. Banishment and confiscation were the order of the day. The estates of those who had dared to unsheath the _katana_ were distributed among the minions of the despot. All over Japan, those who loved their country heard with groans of the annihilation of the loyalists, and the pitiful condition of the Emperors. There was a puppet Mikado at Ki[^y]oto, and a nominal Shogun at Kamakura, but they were both under the tutelage of Hojo. No-Kami, as Nara hoped and expected, flushed with easy victory, and drunk with blood, resigned himself for a while to luxury, and neglected public business. A horde of rapacious bravos and licensed bandits sucked the lifeblood and paralysed the energies of the people. The weight of taxes, that ever crushes the spirit of the Asiatic peasant, grew heavier, day by day, until existence became intolerable. How was an end to be put to this nightmare? That was the question which all were fearfully whispering, and to which there seemed no solution. No-Kami, if self-indulgent and ruthless, was no zany. He knew that his position was to be maintained by fear and a strong hand, and that enervation meant destruction. Bundles of bamboo, when bound together, will dam a stream, though each separate stem is but a feeble wand. The insurrection of effeminate Kugés had been precipitate and foolish. If the whole country were to rise like one man, he would, as he was aware, be swept like rice chaff into the sea. In the mutual jealousy of the Daimios lay his chief safeguard. While plunging each in separate discomfort, union at all costs must be prevented. Attempts at conspiracy among the nobles, or at combinations among the lower classes, must be frustrated, and to that end he gave strict orders to officials and tax-collectors to allow of no public meetings. The people were to pay what was demanded of them, humbly and dutifully, as best they could, but on no account were to be permitted to hold gatherings. Even the great festivals of the year were for a while to be discontinued. Over and above these precautions, the tyrant surrounded his person with a picked body-guard of Samurai, or two-sword men; hedged his fortress with bristling defences; and recalled his brother, the brilliant Sampei, from his career of victory abroad. Urged possibly by a spirit of contrariness, a contempt for the society of his prisoner and the Kugés--perhaps by a sense of freedom from personal danger there--the favourite abode of No-Kami was his castle of Tsu, four days' journey from the capital, over precipitous hills. Here he loved to dwell, surrounded by his brawling warriors; sojourning from time to time, when business called him to Ki[^y]oto, at a small but superb villa, called the Golden House, which stood secluded in a park on the outskirts of the sacred city. The castle of Tsu was one of the strongest in Japan (the outline of its foundations still remains to attest to its vast area), and covered, within the square space of the outer moat, sufficient ground to accommodate an army. This outer moat, upon which many a shallop floated, was wide and deep and sluggish on three sides, masked by a luxuriant crop of lotos; while the fourth wall was washed by a rapidly-running river, the Iwatagawa, which a couple of miles away brawled into the sea. Out of the water rose a platform of great stones, with a fringe of gnarled and rusty pines, through which were visible battlements of earth crowned by a low parapet. At each corner was a huge four-storied building, fitted with four wide roofs of sculptured copper; the walls of whitewashed plaster within frameworks of unpainted wood. Inside this outer defence was a recreation and drill-ground of sufficient extent to allow of room for jousts and spectators, as well as trees and vegetable gardens, and a village of wooden huts for soldiery and camp followers. Dwellings of a better class were clustered like seashells about the second or inner moat, which enclosed a second wall. Within the inner square was a space of considerable size, in the centre of which uprose the castle, a four-sided tower three hundred feet in height, tapering towards the top. By reason of its many roofs or verandahs of burnished and sculptured bronze, it seemed more like a cluster of many towers, the centre one the loftiest; and a picturesque object it was, for owing to the prevalence of earthquakes, all the walls above the foundation platform were of whitened mud and plaster, enclosed like the corner buildings within frames of timber; while the middle roof reared its head with overhanging eaves to a sharp point, crowned on the apex by a great fish, fashioned of pure gold. This fortress was, barring miracle or treachery, justly reputed impregnable. Both moats were crossed by drawbridges, as an extra caution against surprise. The outer entrance was approached round a corner, so that the gate with its side postern was doubly commanded from above. Even if the outer wall were stormed, the inner one frowned on the intruder with manifold engines, while the ground about it could be rendered untenable by missiles from the summit of the tower. A bowshot from the outer moat, westward from the river bank, the town of Tsu, with straggling suburbs, meandered, low and grey, like a long serpent. All Japanese towns are of one colour, walls and roofs alike, of wood unpainted and weatherworn, rendered a shade more silvery by clusters of pale lichen; but Tsu was more monotonously gloomy in aspect than most, by reason of damp and misery. The country close around, with the exception of two low hills, was flat and sedgy, broken by marshes and shallow rivulets. Away, hazy, melting into blue, could be discerned the encircling peaks of the range, beyond which is Ki[^y]oto. Grand mountains these, rugged and austere, with many a beetling crag. Mikuni Yama; Outake San; and away to the south-east Asama Yama, the majestic chief volcano of Japan. The town of Tsu differed from others in that it displayed none of the spick-and-span cleanliness for which the land of the Rising Sun is as conspicuous as European Holland. The outlying cottages bore the stamp of squalor and ague, standing in oozy sludge. So did the people bear the brand of sorrow, as, listless and inert, they dragged their heavy feet. As a poor show of enterprise, a few unripe persimmons, which no one desired to buy, were exposed for sale in the mire; while here and there a tray of sorrel-like leaves were placed to dry (?)--a plant used for dying blue the cotton which is the common garment of the peasant. There was none of the briskness and gaiety to be seen that make rural Japan so cheery. None of the incessant chatter and laughter and pattering of clogs, the rush-and-tumble of naked brown babies, the whirr of the silk-looms, the busy hammer of the carpenters. The houses, wide open to the street, displayed the usual raised platform of wood, smoothly planed, covered with matting, with _hibachi_ or firebox in the middle; but there was no brilliant glimpse beyond of the wonderful toy gardens, with rocks and dwarfed trees and straying tortoises and gaudy flowers and crickets in tiny cages, which distinguish a prosperous village. The paper windows or screens being always pushed back in their grooves during the day, a rustic Japanese household of the lower class may be said to live in public; for, till the screens are replaced, which they usually are at dusk, there may be said to be no privacy. You have a free view of goodman or matron in the bath, or at the toilet, or eating, or sleeping, or at work, and unabashed--with innocence sometimes for only garment--they nod to you pleasantly with a cheerful "Ohayo!" as you pass. Tsu was too degraded, steeped to the lips in grinding poverty, to have energy for work or washing, much less for the homely ornament of a single lily in a pot. Almost entirely nude the men, unkempt and frowsy, lolled and slept--such a marvellous variety of attitudes of sleep a sculptor might find there--while the housewife, thin and sallow, naked to the waist, fumbled feebly over the weaving of cheap hats, or grass sandals for man and horse. Of course the town could boast of a superior quarter, where, in front of houses of a better kind, were flapping blue cotton awnings, each one adorned with the dominant daimio's cognisance. Into one of these, apparently the cleanest and the best, we will enter (first removing our clogs and swords), for what is proceeding within should interest us somewhat. It is evening. The house-platform is raised on stilts as usual, two feet above ground, and the first room or ante-chamber is open to the street. When we rap with fan on the paper screen beyond, some one cries "Enter," and sliding it aside we find ourselves in a large low room, whose ceiling of unpolished cryptomeria is supported by pillars of cherry. Above the dais or recess of honour at the end, a single picture hangs, representing the thirty-three Kwannon; under it is a gilt image of Buddha; while the monotony of the one wooden wall (the others are formed by paper screens running in grooves) is broken by a wandering spray of maple foliage, painted in autumn tints. Everything is scrupulously clean and severely simple. You only become aware that this is a superior dwelling, by remarking the fineness of the mats. In the centre, round a large _hibachi_ of bronze, filled with charcoal, a group are huddled close, for the all-pervading damp is chilling to the bones. Two well-known elders of the town are there--Zembei, and Rokubei his friend--the former talking volubly; while a man of middle age, the master of the house, is listening with dubious frown. His wife, Kennui, sits by, his hand in hers; while apart in a corner, with eyes as bright as a squirrel's, and flushed cheek, stands their eldest daughter Miné. Her mind--some call her a forward damsel--is disturbed, for, impatient and annoyed, she pushes aside a screen, and clatters off into the back garden, to tease with a finger the darting gold-fish that with mosquitoes reign in a pond. The frowning man is Koshiu, the most important farmer in these parts, broad-shouldered, grave, and grizzled, whose opinions are of weight in the province. Zembei--aged, with face like a walnut--has brought unpleasant news; indeed he has often dropped in of late, and each time his tidings are less agreeable. It is the old story, gruesome and too familiar. The rapacious Hojo needs more money--is always demanding more. But it is quite too bad to worry the men of Tsu, his own home, the poorest district in the Empire. Already the starving population have abandoned hope. In a former life they must have been very wicked, to suffer so much in this. After a long pause of dejection, "Maybe my lord knows not of our wretchedness," suggests the farmer's wife, by way of pouring oil upon the waters. "Peace, Kennui!" sighs her spouse. "As well throw stones at the sun, or try to scatter a fog with a fan, as look for humanity from a Hojo! They were ever merciless." "Too true!" groans Rokubei, the elder. "Thus the matter stands; though you have shown so little interest of late, that perchance I am wasting breath." "Ay, that hath he!" chimes in Zembei. "Why is it? You, Koshiu, whose words were ever of moment, and treated with respect, although from your stubborn pride you were never popular, instead of helping us, have been hanging back, content with grumbling complaint. We must act now, I tell you, and rend the air no more with idle moaning, or else we perish all! Gird up your loins, man. Awake! For unless this torrent of greed be stemmed, although less poor than most, you will soon be a beggar like the rest." "My husband," interrupted Kennui, "is misjudged. He loves the people, and grieves for them, but perceives that resistance is useless--idle remonstrance will but make their plight more pitiful." "The beetle in combat with the bear!" laughed the farmer drearily. "Act, forsooth! All this is idle prate, believe me. What can we do but die?" "No idle prate," retorted Zembei. "Listen. By deputation--of which you would not form one--we humbly prayed and entreated the local counsellors of my lord:--the leeches--to be more lenient; but they replied that they were only tools, exactly performing his bidding. Then, after anxious thought and discussion, gathering together in secret the chiefs of a hundred villages, at peril of our heads, we resolved to draw up and send a solemn petition, signed by all, to my lord's golden dwelling at Ki[^y]oto, imploring justice. Twelve of the most respected elders, chosen from the assembly by lot, undertook the dangerous task. Clad in their grass rain-coats, they sallied forth, and arrived in time at Ki[^y]oto." "Idiots!" scoffed Koshiu. "Did they pay a long farewell to wives and little ones?" "Arrived at the Golden House, they were received at the gate with blows and contumely." "What else did they expect?" inquired the farmer--"to be feasted in the room of honour? Other lords perhaps, dreading public exposure of their misdeeds, might, if pushed, hasten to repair a wrong--the Hojos never; for the Hojos have no shame." Miné pouted, and rapped the pavement with impatient clog. "To be sweeping is always to be unjust!" she cried shrilly, from the border of the pond. "There are good as well as bad in every family." "Hush, child, hush! Be dutiful!" reproved her mother. "Thou wast bewitched by soft empty speeches and a bold bearing. It was a bad day for thee when the lord Sampei came among us!" "He is good and brave and generous," returned the girl, with burning face, "my lord Sampei!" Miné cooed out the name that was on every one's lips, with such an exceeding abandonment of tenderness as startled her father into attention. "More words less sense!" he remarked testily. "My lord Sampei! what hast thou to do with him or his? My lord Sampei forsooth! Wouldst be a Hojo's concubine? Never! I'd see thee dead first." "The maid speaks not untruly," nodded Rokubei. "Sampei is in all things, save his name, unlike his brother. Through his mother Masago, the holy Abbess, he has peasant blood in his veins." "And she," chimed in the girl, "the late lord's concubine, although of peasant stock, is worthy to be noble. As good as her son is the Abbess Masago. Cold and severe, no doubt, but just and lovable." "How the child prates!" cried Madam Koshiu. "The lord Sampei has been absent these five years, skull-cracking, and is but just returned. What canst thou know of him? When he sailed, thou wert a little maid, and even than now more foolish." "From his mother I have heard of him," admitted the blushing girl. "So this was thy religious fervour, praying so often at the temple!" exclaimed the angry farmer. "Take heed, thou silly wench, or I will punish thee, and grievously. What! A cur can bark loudly before its own gate, and I can defend my own. Once for all, no more of the lord Sampei, or it will go ill with thee. Banish from thy feather-pate idle worship of thy betters." The mien of Koshiu was so stern and threatening, that though words of indignant protest rose to her lips, the girl was silent. "What if he were prevailed upon to intercede for us?" mused Rokubei. "He is as generous as brave--no doubt of that. My lord, after his brother's career of victory, could scarce refuse him a favour." "Five years bring about great changes," growled the farmer. "Five years ago Hojo No-Kami was no worse than others of his rank. You will never persuade me that aught of good is to be found in a Hojo, legitimate or otherwise. Enough of him. Go on with your story of the elders." "They were received, as I told you, at the outer gate with blows and curses. Had they not fled, murder would have been done, for a posse of samurai rushed out of the guardhouse, like devils, brandishing pikes. Disconcerted, grieved, and bruised, they returned to their inn to consult. Was the journey to go for nothing? Were they to return like beaten dogs, without even seeing my lord? Peradventure face to face with him something might yet be done, and his hard heart softened by their dismal catalogue of woe. They plumed their ruffled feathers, therefore, and lay in wait, and when he rode forth citywards, emerged from a clump of trees, and kneeling humbly in the dust, presented their petition. He took it, and, grinding his teeth with eyes aflame, turned savagely to his attendants. "'Remove these wretches!' he thundered, 'who by persistent insolence have deserved more than death. By-and-by will I pass judgment on them. Torment shall reward their temerity.'" A silence of dismay followed the elder's narrative. Koshiu was surely right--his deep hate justified. It seemed that the existing Hojo was worse than any of his ancestors--and so young too! What a gloomy future for unhappy fatherland! What a sunless roll of years! "The land is ripe for revolt, if we could find a leader we could trust," observed Zembei, who had been nursing his knees in silence. "The other lords are weary of the Hojo, but unfortunately jealous of each other. If they would bury for a time their private feuds, things might yet come right. He who ventures not within the den, will never take the cub." "There is no trusty leader, except the victorious General, himself a Hojo!" added the other elder. "Buddha has forgotten us. The case is beyond mortal settling. There is left for us nothing but to die." Here was a dismal and unsatisfactory conclusion to the debate, and it seemed that there was no other, for each with dolorous visage eyed his neighbour, with nothing more to say. Miné, tossing off her _geta_ on the garden stones, and springing up with pretty pink feet upon the matted floor, came forward. "I am but a girl," she said timidly, "and, my father tells me, foolish. Yet from mouths of fools sometimes come words of wisdom. You can die, you say. Is not death the last resource, when all else has failed, for escaping from earthly woe? Masago, the dear Abbess, is worshipped for miles around. Prejudiced though you are, you have nought to say but praise of her goodness and her piety. Sampei is her son--nay, I will speak--and who should know a son better than his mother? In your grief you are prone to believe evil, and speak harsh and unjust words of him you know not. Seek him out, and implore his intercession with his brother. Seek out the lady O'Tei--an angel come to earth. She, the chatelaine, is now at the castle yonder. Entreat her help as well, and sure betwixt the two that stony heart shall melt." Miné blushed like a tea-rose at finding herself thus boldly haranguing a trio of grizzled pates, and flinging herself down by her mother's side in sudden bashfulness, buried her hot face in her bosom. "Buddha is not asleep," observed Madame Koshiu, with conviction, as she stroked her daughter's head. "Verily the child speaks wisely words that are put into her mouth." "We will follow her counsel," assented the marvelling Zembei, "for the gods--whose names be praised--are with us. Urged by his brother and his wife, my lord will surely give us the lives of the devoted elders. We--Rokubei and Zembei--will journey ourselves to Ki[^y]oto, and make another effort. Learn, O stubborn Koshiu, a lesson from thy child, who has given us the counsel that we needed." The farmer shook his head. "Cursed be the tree of Hojo, root and branch!" he cried. "Its fruit is crime, its blossom, wickedness. My lord Sampei and my lord No-Kami are scourges both! Go your ways, and do as you think fit. I tell you your errand will be vain." Was there ever any one so obstinate as this sturdy Koshiu?--a man who could only rail instead of bestowing help. The two elders were about to upbraid him for his mulishness, for they, like others, had naught but admiration for Sampei, when, raising his hand, he said,-- "Listen, wife and friends. You deem me supine,--my judgment warped by bias. In this you wrong me. I am ready to lay down my life, if need be, for the common good, but not to fling it uselessly away. Try your plan first: go to Ki[^y]oto, and fail; then it shall be my turn. The arrogance of my lord reached its highest point when, some brief while ago, he smote with his fan the face of the revered one. For that sin, vengeance, if tardy, will be complete some day. The horror that flowed over the land warned him of the danger of his folly, of which, for safety's sake, he will never again be guilty. The Hojos are merciless--you will gain nothing from them but stripes. Here is my plan. I will gird my loins, and journey alone to the capital, and, biding my time in secret, will, with Heaven's help, thrust a copy of the petition into the hand of the Mikado himself, as in a litter he takes the air. Then will he, grieving for us, demand a public explanation from my lord as to why the poorest portion of the country should be ground down with such heavy burthens. So will my lord, weary with much admonishing, be stirred to lighten our backs." The farmer's wife, hearkening to his decision, groaned and wept, for she felt that the tyrant, even if he gave way under strong pressure, would seek a victim for his wrath--that one the weakest. The elders saw the situation in the same light. They did not strive, however, to combat his resolve, for though their friend would probably be sacrificed, themselves would be gainers by his deed. If he chose to immolate himself, why not? They expressed approval, therefore, nodding topknots in unison, and, rising, departed to their homes, gossiping in whispers by the way. What a relief to know that they had been deceived in Koshiu. 'Twas a boldly-devised scheme that, whereby a peasant was to dare in person to address the Holy One. Peradventure he would be cut down by the guards ere he could present the paper. Well, well, time would show; and if, in the people's cause, he perished, his name would go down with blessings to posterity. His decision was a relief, in other ways, as the two friends agreed, pattering side by side in the quiet of the night. It was vastly heroic on their part, considering what had already been undergone by the other elders, to declare that they would cast themselves in the breach. If my lord Sampei could be induced to interest himself, they would be the bearers of his missive to his brother, and so gain credit in the town for wondrous' devotion to the people's cause. Not that for them there would be real danger (they had made up their minds of that), for No-Kami, however ferocious, would surely refrain from maltreating his brother's messengers. And yet now as they walked along, it seemed wise to give up the risk. Caution becomes old men. The independent Koshiu was resolved to make a journey on his own account: clearly there was nothing to be gained by everybody going. They would let him go, for obstinate men will have their way. All things considered, themselves having gained credit by proposing to go, would stop at home and do honour, by-and-by, to the escaped elders, when released. This much satisfactorily settled, they gabbled of other things. Only to think of that little Miné being so clear-headed. Verily love works wonders. A comely maid, if unduly ambitious, and warm, to boot, of temper. How her blood mantled at her father's railing. How undaunted was her defence of the young General. She must love him much to be stung into bearding, for his sake, her sturdy parent. He must have won her heart before he sailed, and had long since, no doubt, forgotten her. A silly wench to look so high. A great General might stoop to pluck a flower as he passed, but, loosely caught, it would speedily fall from his breast, and he unwitting of the loss. She certainly was pretty; would develop some day, obstinate and headstrong like her father, into a shrew. Yes, she was young and fair to look upon at present, and, perhaps, were she so brazen as to cast herself at the young man's feet, he might deign to raise her for a moment. Chattering thus, the cronies parted, each trudging his own way by the glimmer of his paper lantern. Could they have delved into the mind of the farmer's daughter, and have seen what was passing there, they would have had genuine cause for wonder. Miné, as with frowning brow and dejected step she moved among the stones in the garden, struck her palms impatiently together. "I cannot bear it, and I will not!" she muttered. "Hard and unjust and narrow is my father! Of these taunts there shall be an end. I gave my heart to _him_ to trample on, and do not regret the gift. His I am or no one's until death. Each day and hour to hear him and his reviled and vilified, is constant torture. I will leave a home that is not to be endured, and take refuge for the present with the Abbess." Miné was a true daughter of Koshiu. Once her mind made up, there was no further indecision. Wrapping a mantle around her, she moved on tiptoe to where her three brothers slept, and then stealing forth into the night, closed the shutters behind her. "Adieu, my darlings, perchance for ever!" she murmured tenderly; "for better or for worse the die is cast. He will soon visit the temple to see the mother whom he loves. If he will have me, I am his, to do with according to his pleasure; if not, I will remain to pray for him within the temple, in the garb of Buddha's handmaid." CHAPTER III. MARRIED LIFE. The meek obedience of O'Tei to her father's wishes was but ill requited. The gulf between past and present was so wide that for a while she was dazed and stunned. It seemed to her that she must have passed in sleep through the gates of Death, and have been born again into a new dark world--desolate and drear--which was all evil. How calm and happy by contrast appeared that other life, as she recalled to mind the company of prim priestesses slowly floating in the dance; the lazy, sweet-tempered bonzes tinkling on bells, droning amiably through noses--their weightiest duty, adoration of the sun with foreheads in the dust; their loving labour, the cleaning of temple precincts; their pastime, the gentle craft of gardening. Now she found herself surrounded by a roistering crew of fierce, rough, ignorant retainers--scowling, swearing, swaggering samurai--swash-bucklers who were eternally cleaning and polishing their two swords and dirk, or practising some horribly nimble feat of arms, or with set teeth in sudden rage like red-eyed rats flying at one another's throats. Nuptial pomp and ceremony over, bride and groom retired to their castle, where, with the laudable intent of making other magnates jealous, a series of sham fights and sumptuous jousts were inaugurated, whose unaccustomed din confused the brain of the chatelaine. For a space No-Kami appeared in his best light, for he was subjugated by the beauty of his young wife, and unconsciously a little afraid of her quiet high-bred demeanour. Bravely she strove to interest herself in his pursuits; with unflagging patience watched the retainers wrestling or riding at the ring; compelled herself to bestow applause on bouts at quarter-staff which wearied her. And yet, discipline herself as she would, the constant thud of stick on skull, or blade on helm--the guttural shrieks and execrations--chilled her to the marrow. There could be no sympathy 'twixt the sensitive and poetic nature reared in the sacred groves, and these grim and savage warriors. And, sharp to read faces, if ignorant of letters, they knew it as well as she, for her virtues were strange riddles beyond their comprehension. What they could be sure of was that their lady was regrettably white and slender,--too soft and delicate for a hard world of struggle, where the weak were deservedly mangled. Sorrowfully they compared her with the late chatelaine, unhappily deceased, the lioness Tomoyé, much (as is the usual practice) to the disadvantage of the living one. There is nothing that such men hold in more withering contempt than weakness. The chivalry of mediæval Europe was mostly theory. Discontented, they did their liege lady a pathetic and grudging service, ashamed of her as unsuited to her station. One day as she sat listless, wondering at the emptiness of life, No-Kami strode into her bower to claim admiration for a new and wondrous sword, fresh from Sanjo's anvil. In his nervous grasp it whizzed through the air with diabolic whistling sound, as he showed exultantly how he meant to slash off the head with it of the Daimio of Bizen, and other abominable rivals. Now although O'Tei, in careless girlish fashion, had been rather fond of watching the armourers at work (the more perhaps because of the disapproval of sniffing gorgons), she had never clearly associated the results of their skill with their true purpose. She had always been bidden to observe the spring of the glittering blade, the clouded lines so deftly worked into the steel; the patterned _kogai_ or stilettoes fitted in the scabbard; the elaborately ornate _tsuba_ or hilt-guard; and saw as she admired details beautiful works of art fit to adorn a dwelling. But now when she beheld her husband making fierce passes, with a blood-curdling expression of ferocity upon his face, she became aware, for the first time, of his animal greed for blood, and shuddered as she looked, turning a shade more pale. To this wild beast she had been tied for life. What sort of existence could she hope for in the future? Would it be possible to go on to the end pretending to sympathise with that which in her heart she loathed? Power, unless kept in leash by thongs and bridles, degenerates into a tyranny that, feeding on itself, grows every day more infamous. She had learnt by report that her lord was a tyrant, and disliked by many, though as yet she knew no details. She had been taught vaguely by the learned bonzes that the human animal is by nature a beast of prey, blood-raw till cooked by education. The man before her was as ignorant, and more lawless than his own retainers. Was it her task to show him the right path?--to wean him to better things by gentle influence? A noble mission, for one who was strong of purpose, firm of will. The girl resolved that she would try, but felt, with a sinking of the heart, that the task was beyond her strength. No-Kami discerned upon her features a look of pained bewilderment out of tune with the occasion, and bluntly growled his discontent. He was surprised and angry. When a chatelaine is called on to sympathise and exult with her lord, why does she show disgust? It came suddenly upon him that there was a barrier between them which, though intangible, neither might ever pass. A pretty helpmeet for a Hojo was this degenerate child of Nara's! Strolling through the well-appointed armoury, displeased and concerned, he selected the light silver-mounted lance which his grandam had used to splendid purpose when, in the absence of her spouse, she defended this very castle. More doughty even than the much-regretted Tomoyé had been this grandam, and no wonder, for, of noblest lineage, was she not the direct descendant of that famous Empress Jingo, who, leaving her new-born babe in the charge of her ministers, sallied forth armed _cap-à-pié_ to conquer Corea? "Did O'Tei know even how to hold a lance?" sneered No-Kami. Of course she did, she replied, with a forced smile. Was not every noble damsel taught how to defend her home? At the outset she had made a mistake by showing her thoughts upon her features, an error that might be yet retrieved. To smooth the disappointed furrows from his wrinkled brow, she took the lance from him, and straightway went through the exercise. For a moment it pleased his vanity to watch the graceful movements of her tall lithe form as, gathering in one hand the ample folds of her long robe, she ran forward, thrust, and recovered. And then, happening to glance at the tell-tale countenance, he cursed and ground his teeth, for her martial exercise was a sham. Her thoughts were far away. Like a patient automaton wound up with a spring, she half consciously did what was required, but clearly found no pleasure in the act. With a great oath he roughly wrenched the weapon from her, and bade her go mind her distaff. She sighed, and, obeying with aggravating meekness, retired to her chamber; and from this moment there grew up between the wedded pair a thicket which waxed stronger each day and thicker. The parasites--braggart samurai, turbulent officers and soldiers, and truculent hangers-on--were quick to perceive a change with which they sympathised, and prompt to act upon it. Boisterous, rude, ill-mannered at the best, they saw that, like themselves, their lord was ashamed of his handsome and cold but fragile wife, and by insensible gradations--he unwitting of it--their perfunctory respect dropped from them. No-Kami was heard one day, in unguarded whirl of wrath, due to baulked hope and disappointment, to dub her "Puling baby-face," and loud was the laughter at the _sobriquet_, for one and all they unconsciously chafed under a refinement of which they had no experience, and came to hate her for her gentleness. And so it came about that, abandoning as hopeless at the initial stage the mission for which (by the late statesman's cunning) she had been destined, O'Tei withdrew from serious attempts at influencing the despot, and made the first fatal downward step on her dark and stony road. Entrenching herself behind a screen of pride, she withdrew herself from contact with the samurai, by whom she was treated with a surly carelessness that was insult but half concealed. When etiquette required it, she appeared in public beside No-Kami, whose attitude was sulky and displeased; at other times she abode in her own bower overlooking the swift river, a retreat where she could not hear the yells and sword-thuds, embroidering among her maidens, or reading poetry, or playing on the three-stringed samisen. Though secluded, it was by her own choice, and she in no sense a prisoner. No-Kami, when in amiable mood--which, as time went on, became a more and more unusual circumstance--displayed for his wife an uncouth, sulky, snarling respect, like that of a wolf under a whip; for instinct whispered that he was totally unworthy,--that as she came to read him better she would despise him more,--that already she saw with those calm clear eyes his many faults and mental smallness, though too well-mannered and too haughty to admit it. A rude and proud as well as licentious and undisciplined man finds contempt from her who should be his congenial helpmeet a constantly galling spur. If O'Tei, descending from that lofty pedestal, would only have abused him roundly,--have bandied sharp words,--have stooped to scold him, he would have breathed more freely. The air would have been cleared of its oppressiveness, for he would have known himself nearer to her level. How exasperating was it to the self-indulgent and unscrupulous tyrant to have this pale and silent and superior woman always at his elbow dispassionately contemplating his peccadilloes with disapproval peeping from her eyes. The worst of it was that he knew her to be right in her estimate of him, and secretly admired his chill and independent wife. Yet at the same time her presence was irksome, and goaded her spouse to flashes of rage which drove him, as it were in protest, to deeds of violence. It was the old story, which is ever new, of the 'little rift;' of two young lives starting side by side from standpoints far as the poles, with mutual misunderstanding and distrust, that increase like a rolling snowball till they grow into active detestation. The Hojo neglected and avoided his consort, but was not wilfully cruel. If he chanced to have it by him, he would, when asked, give her money for charities; for, like many another misunderstood lady, she sought a salve for lacerated feelings in good works. It would have been most impolitic to have been patently unkind to her, because it was not well to make a foe of Nara by openly ill-using his heiress. He wist not of the conduct of the samurai, who took their cue from him; but he certainly saw as little as he conveniently could of his beautiful better half, spending considerable time at Ki[^y]oto quarrelling with other daimios, browbeating his imperial lord. For her part, reared in retirement, and a stranger to town gaieties, she preferred the castle--when No-Kami was absent with his scowling retinue. Then, her own mistress, she would order her kago,--a heavy gorgeous litter, gold lacquered and emblazoned, adorned with rich curtains, and cushions, and tassels, borne on the shoulders of twelve staggering men--and penetrating, when the fancy seized her, along the centipede street of Tsu, make for a garden beyond, to which she had taken a liking. Reaching the favoured spot was the difficulty, for it was necessary to pass along two miles and more of straggling street and suburb, where poverty, if speechless, was rampant. To her pale face, though, it always showed its less hideous side, for the poor of Tsu (how many there were of them!) soon learned to adore their chatelaine. She could not with her feeble force even attempt to stem the tide of suffering due to my lord's oppression; but the crushed creatures knew right well that behind the marble mask was a deep fund of pity--that their lady would sometimes go dinnerless herself for the sake of starving children. When she passed by, the toilworn women would look up, and show their blackened teeth in a wan smile; and the brown naked children, with their comical shaved pates and elf-locks--their bat-ears, wide mouths and eyes _à fleur de tête_ like slits--would come trooping and crowing about her. She was always interested in the details of their poor homes,--ready with soothing words, and such money as she happened to possess; would converse with the old men as they wove sandals, the two straw loops caught on their great toes; criticise the painting of the ph[oe]nixes on the umbrellas of oil paper, an industry in vogue in these parts; exhort the languishing men to renewed courage and hope; and all the while her revolted soul died within her at contemplation of the wretched huts of mud and bamboo, some of them mere mats stretched on sticks, and stiffened with wire, with rotten crumbling roofs of decayed rice thatch, and mud floors that were never dry. Her heart bled for the patient, suffering people, and she was glad to get away to her garden, where the sun shone forth with halcyon brightness, and nature at least was happy. For Tsu, I would have you know, is not all ugliness. Passing out of the low-lying oozy suburb, you reach a wooden bridge over one of the numberless streams that intersect the marsh, and a little further on come to rising ground, well wooded with the luxuriant vegetation which in Japan is the lavish gift of the rain-god. At the top of the hill, under the lee of a group of ancient pines, much tossed and wind-beaten, is a summer-house. From the road it is not visible, so deeply is it embowered in cherry and maple, each so glorious and lovely in its season, the which are closely tangled and entwined with such cataracts of purple wisteria as no western mind can realise. This hill or hillock, and another one hard by, stand alone on a wide plain, and from them may be gained a singularly varied view of flat marsh, and sedge, and vivid green rice fields, and scattered villages, and far-off hazy mountains. In front--and this was the view that brought back peace into the empty breast of the young chatelaine, the ground shelved gradually, thick strewn with flowers, until--a semicircle of yellow sand--it was washed by the softly-rippling waves of a blue bay, land-locked. Here nature, casting her golden glamour over all, masked the prevailing squalor. No typhoon ever vexed these enchanted waters, that washed to and fro in slow cadence the clumps of bamboo with which their edge was feathered. The tiny toy villages on the opposite brink were mirrored in long shadow. The festooned sails of the little fishing-boats, and trim white junks, were pictured in quivering double four times their height. The mountains beyond, of a deep reddish purple, without detail in the haze, were topped with strange silhouettes of single pines, clear against opal ether, or sharp cut against the blue with chasm and precipice. Many rocky islets were dotted here and there--volcanic, peaked, flat-topped--each with its long reflection, fringed with feathery foliage, hanging apparently to nothing--around, a flight of boats, like sea-birds floating. Sitting for hours gazing down on the fairy scene, her stalwart naked kago-bearers asleep like statues of warm bronze away in the shade, O'Tei could forget her disillusions; but then with setting sun the shadow darkened, for the time was arrived when she must go home again, and with a return to the panoply of war, and swagger of the sentinels, peace and light faded out, and her heart was as sick as ever. Sometimes, more sad than usual, she would make to the sister hill a pilgrimage. The gateway or torii at the bottom (one heavy beam curled at the corners, resting on two others) and the long straight flight of stone steps leading to a building with huge top-heavy roof, nestling in a grove of cryptomerias, showed that this was a holy hill surmounted by a temple. A very important temple too, with an immense gilt Buddha looming out of twilight on a bronze lotus, in an attitude of perpetual repose; gardens; fish-ponds, crowded with lotus plants; and a long low building glinting through the trees, wherein dwelt an abbess and her nuns. What would happen to the Japanese if the lotus were banished from their midst? In winter, a mere yellow whisp languishing in mud; in early summer there rises a fairy thing from out the ooze--a concave shield of vivid green, with a blue down as of a grape, and dewdrops glistening like diamonds. Then a round ball appears, which slowly opens, trembling upon the water, and gradually reveals the loveliest flower that blows. To the Japanese child who strives to pluck its white or roseate blossom, it is a picture of unearthly loveliness; to the adult it is the symbol of religious truth, the emblem of the eternal calm which is the highest ultimate reward. Taught from earliest childhood to love its beauty, the mature Buddhist sees in its petals creative power and world growth, and knows that when his mortal body approaches the cremation house, his weary cycle done, a stone carved to represent a lotus flower will support his bier and receive the last ashes of his fleshly prison-house. During her three years of married life, O'Tei had made, under shadow of these groves, a firm and steady friend, without whose support she thought sometimes that she must lie down and die--the cold but kindly Abbess Masago. As has been told, the second wife or concubine of the late Hojo, so soon as her fickle lord grew weary of her, shaved off her hair and donned the Buddhist habit. Monastic life in Japan is a strange anomaly. Many an abbess or abbot, supposed to have retired from the world, bestows from the seclusion of the grove mundane advice and counsel. Some, indeed, gain weight and influence of an important political kind with the loss of their shaven hair; and so it was with Masago. As Abbess of Tsu, many of the weary or unstable of lofty lineage came to crave counsel of her--lords and dames who would have scoffed at the concubine of Hojo. The religious establishments of Japan become asylums for the afflicted or the persecuted. In them the defeated soldier or refugee from the vendetta finds inviolate sanctuary. Many a man hopelessly crossed in love, or a grief-stricken father, or fallen minister, has--mundane illusions vanished--devoted himself to a priestly life. To the nunneries, widowhood furnishes the greater number of fervent nuns; but a necessity of evading an uncongenial match, or the brutal lusts of rude men in unsettled times, gave many an inmate to the convents. Often enough, after communing with Masago under the solemn cryptomerias, O'Tei had gone home comforted. There was something consoling and supporting in the low-toned strong voice of the Abbess, in the touch of her firm white hand. Her face was more set and stern than Sampei's, but his kindly eyes looked out from under the shaven brows, and O'Tei could feel almost as if her dear adopted brother was walking hand-in-hand with her as in the good old days. Ah, me, how far away they seemed, those days of five years ago! The gleeful white fawn was a hundred years older, at least, than then, stricken and grievously wounded. Her breast was empty; nobody cared whether she was alive or dead; she loved none, had none to love, and yet there was a longing within that was positive physical pain, to twine her affectionate tendrils around something, and exhale to it the treasures of her sweetness. Alack, what a cycle is this; what a hard and rugged stage in the long journey! What are we to think, when injustice rules paramount?--when we see in this life how many are punished for their virtues, as a set-off to the peculiar manner in which others are rewarded for their vices? On a certain morning, which must now occupy us, our stately lily was lying disconsolate. Acutely suffering, and much perturbed in mind, power of judging and weighing all agog, O'Tei crouched on the mat of her favourite summer-house, watching the swaying waves, yet seeing nothing; on her finely-chiselled features a grey pallor. As a rule, the misery through which her bearers carried her was chary of complaint, for the poor folk had room in their sorrowing hearts for pity for their solitary lady; but on this morning she had come on such a scene of anguish that she stopped her kago and alighted. The housewife was tearing her dishevelled hair, and wringing hands, and writhing her tortured body, while a young family stood grouped around in varied attitudes of woe. What could this mean? The house was of the better kind; there was rice in the brazen pot; unless she was mistaken, it was the dwelling of one of the elders. Yes. It was the dwelling of an elder--was--who never would dwell there more--was dead now, probably. He had dared to go to Ki[^y]oto, and make one of a set of insolent varlets who had presumed to waylay their lord, despite of warnings, and, with brow in dust, present a written prayer. His lord had resented the impertinence, had incarcerated him and his audacious fellows, with a view to making an example of such wretches by an end of exquisite torment. For him it was not so bad, for he would shuffle out of yet another life--one more of that dreary series so many of which have yet to be endured before we reach Nirvana. But what of his wife and family without the breadwinner? Like a faithful spouse, she had borne many children; how now was she to fill their mouths? Would the dear and noble lady vouchsafe to lend a hand, and implore her husband's clemency? O'Tei turned deathly pale, and, catching her breath painfully, leant against the screen. She would indeed have fallen, if one of the kago-bearers had not presumed to catch and hold her in his arms. Her lord! How long was it ago that she had disdainfully given up all hope of influencing him? She was weak and wrong. It was a crime--she saw it now--but too late--too late! That separating thicket had grown so dense, that there was no hewing a passage through it. If the harrowed wife of the victim was suffering, how much more the sensitive young chatelaine, whose nerves were so highly strung! The man, if he perished, was a martyr in the cause of right. Each new delinquency of the Hojo was a fresh hammer-stroke on his wife's heart. Out of his sight, O'Tei strove to forget his wickedness, the full measure of which she had learned to guess by this time. On her frequent visits to the temple she prayed with sweat of agony for his reformation, for the repentance of him who, alas! was bone of her bone for life. She was his--part and parcel of himself--and yet she saw, with a sickening horror and sense of self-upbraiding, that he grew worse and worse--more cruel and more reckless,--while she, with folded hands, looked on. In a vague, terror-stricken way she wondered what grisly phantom lurked behind the veil, what vengeance would fall from heaven. And might not this moral descent be in some sort her own doing, in that, while interference might have been of service, she had been too hurt and proud to attempt to stay his course? If he had no conscience, she had enough for both. Oh, for a dose of Tomoyé's spirit,--of the unbending pluck of the militant grandam concerning whom the samurai were always trolling ditties. But no!--the warriors were right--she unfitted for her station. Her burthen--the sooner the better--might crush and kill her. She quailed at the thought of ever seeing again the tyrant in whom there were no bowels of compassion, and who seemed to take delight in augmenting the calamities of his fellows. Herself as grey as a corpse, she bent down and kissed the writhing woman, and without a word (how could she console her?), with parched lips and catching breath, swung away to her garden on the mountain. What was she to do? What could she do? If, by giving over her own tender body to the pincers of the torturers, she could assuage the growing trouble of the people, how gladly would she bare her breast. But no--she was condemned to sit and watch, with idle hands and dread forebodings, a horror-stricken spectator of her husband's deepening sin, and the lingering anguish of his victims. What was she to do? What could she do? If madness might be wooed, it would bring oblivion and relief. Who would have thought that a delicate and tender girl, so little used to suffering, could bear such pain and live? As she lay upon the mat, she revolved that unanswerable question which worries a good many of us. What could she have done in a previous phase of existence to make the present one so exceedingly painful? To lie thus in dumb pain was intolerable: action of some kind was imperative. She would go to the temple and pray, and ask the advice of Masago. Turning towards the other hill, she was astonished to see on the top of the long flight of steps a man--by his dress apparently a noble--who slowly descended, and mounting a horse, trotted in the direction of the summer-house. Her heart gave a great bound, then seemed to stand still. Could it be? Yes! it was Sampei--returned home at last--and he was coming here! Yes, it was the victorious Sampei, who, having duly visited his mother, was coming to see his sister. For she was really his sister now; and he had heard from the Abbess an account of the condition of things, which, though guarded, pleased him little. When far away, he had received the news of the marriage, he had been amazed, and laughed; annoyed somewhat, he scarcely knew why. To think that the destined husband should be his own brother! And then he had felt grave doubts as to the success of the union; and then, light and _débonnaire_, and occupied with much cheerful splitting of skulls, he had put the subject from him. He was no marrying man--not he. His sword was his true love; to others he had not the smallest intention of being true. To cull the most fragrant flowers while the sun was shining--as many and as various as possible--and get others when they were faded, was his soldierly but scarcely moral code of ethics. And yet, while gaily slaughtering the Coreans, he had time now and then to hope that all was right at home, and that his white fawn was happy; and it was gruesome now on his return to discover that she was wretched instead of happy,--his half-suspected previsions justified. He flung his bridle to his betto, and striding with the firm and springy step of buoyant youth through the plantation of cherries and maples, stood still to take in the scene. And a pretty picture it was that his vision lighted on. An awning of fine blue linen, broidered with deer, in memory of beloved Nara, cast a shadow upon the mats of the summer-house, which were further shaded by a natural cascade of wisteria. Around the raised platform were tall camellias in full blow, scarlet and white; and within, the carved but unvarnished woodwork showed its grain like the pattern on watered silk. A low gilt screen, painted with chrysanthemums, divided the floor in two, in the front part of which was a firebox in finest bronze, representing a dragon coiled round a blossom of the lotus. A long flat _koto_, with thirteen strings, encrusted with gold and ebony, stood close by; and on the yellow matting, half raised expectantly, reclined the young mistress of the hermitage. The eyes of Sampei moistened with unaccustomed tears, and a knot rose in his throat as he contemplated his old ally. She was matured--fairer than of yore, paler and thinner, and more delicately beautiful; but there was that about her that seemed too ethereal, stamped with predestined misfortune. He seemed to be aware of a something, reflected in light from the glow of another world. The roundness of youth was gone. The arch wayward tricks of irresponsible maidenhood had given place to a reserved and haughty dignity that was unnaturally still. The eyes were unduly large, and, surrounded with bistre circles, glistened with feverish lustre. Sampei's affectionate gaze could mark all this, though the winsome face was brightened now with the radiance of a glad surprise. Sampei, bluff and careless though he generally was, could not but trace with sinking of the heart the line of precocious sorrow ploughed large and deep upon it. The coils of massive hair appeared heavier and more sombre by contrast with the ivory whiteness of the skin, slightly relieved as they were by a bunch of fresh red blossoms, which the loving hand of a tirewoman had tucked under the comb. In accordance with the exigencies of her rank, she wore four under-robes of silk, the edges of which, in stripes of varied colour, showed at throat and open sleeves, while the ample folds of the heavy and voluminous outer robe, broidered in a design of fans, were held together by a magnificent obi--pale brown, bedizened with black butterflies. Never had Sampei, whom a wide experience had made an expert in such matters, looked on a more complete embodiment of patrician womanhood. Strange! He, so well versed in female charms, so used to the spectacle of beauty in all ranks and phases, felt his heart throb in quite unaccustomed fashion, and yearn unaccountably towards his sister. CHAPTER IV. THE ABBESS GIVES ADVICE. With a great sob O'Tei sprang up, and, clinging closely to Sampei, burst into tears, while he, embarrassed and somewhat shy, stood waiting. Why this display of trouble so deep that it racked her frame? Had his mother concealed aught? She had not led him to suppose that it was as bad as this. Could No-Kami, careless of the treasure he possessed, have done her some grievous wrong? At the thought, the young General's dark face grew darker, and as a flood of wrath surged over him, he looked a genuine Hojo. And with it came a sense of something new and astonishing, which was to himself a riddle. Careless and light of heart, accustomed to look at things from their best point, and to delve no lower than was needful, he never dreamed of his old playfellow in her new sphere as wan and wasted and miserable, and with the feeling of indignation against his brother there was mixed a whimsical regretful longing. Had he not been wrong, when he might have taken the maid himself, to leave her for another? Worldly-wise Sanjo had warned him that so dainty a dish was not for a soldier of fortune, and he had seen the prudence of the warning. But cold prudence is a mistake sometimes, as who should know better than a soldier? He felt sure that if, when playfully talking in the sylvan glades, he had led her to a pool, and, showing her the two faces reflected there, had pictured himself as the future lucky one, his playfellow would have returned his hand-clasp, and submitted to a lover's embrace. And when a maiden and a youth are of one mind, and the latter is energetic and determined, nine chances are in his favour, despite opposition of parents. It was diffidence that had undone him, and her. Although a rough soldier, he would, at home, have softened his roughness for her sweet sake, and if careful striving could have done it, have made her life a pleasant one. And now, fool that he had been, it was too late! Some such surprising thoughts as these--dark regretful visions of possibilities vanished--flitted across the mind of the young man as, her breast against his in perilous proximity, he kissed her perfumed hair. Scales seem to fall from his eyes as he questioned his own heart. In his brief career he had adored many a damsel, and had sworn to each to worship none but her; but with O'Tei it was quite different. With thought of her was mingled a respect he had never felt for other women. Once his very own, he could and would have been true to her,--have made it the joy of life to give her every pleasure, to watch and guard and shelter her from the blustering winds of the world--and it was too late! She was the wife of his own brother,--of him to whom, independent of natural affection, he owed allegiance as head of his clan. To her also then he in some sort owed faithful service. Yes, and he would be true and loyal. He swore it now, silently but fervently, as she lay upon his bosom. She had never known that he loved her otherwise than as a brother should. He would be her own true knight, with the privilege of bestowing all succour and comfort and counsel. Of the three, alas! she now stood in bitter need. On his return from his arduous campaign of five years, he had been received with acclamation by the people, to whom glorious feats of arms were as the odour of the lily in the nostrils. They had knocked their foreheads in the dust, had pursued him with shouts in the streets, nearly tearing his garments from off his back; in their enthusiasm had well nigh forgotten that he came of the blood of Hojo; but the sweets of well-earned popularity were no little embittered by the proceedings of the head of his house. The tales he heard on his arrival filled him with shame and horror, and his honest soul was sore perplexed, torn as it was between the traditional blind obedience to the head of the clan, and indignant disapproval of his acts. He could not turn against his brother. Death would be better that disloyalty, and yet it was very terrible by silence to seem to acquiesce in his misdeeds. When fitting opportunity offered, he would remonstrate with No-Kami,--point out to him that his course must end in civil war,--that in his next life he would of a surety be a bear or pig, as a just and dire retribution for recklessly plunging his country in blood. It was his duty to remonstrate, and he would do so gently but firmly, come what might. Not that much good would come of it. He knew No-Kami to be as headstrong as he was fierce. There would be high words, and possible estrangement. Estrangement! no, for the sake of this girl, that must be avoided at all hazards. He must cultivate diplomacy--he, the simple Sampei. If it was only the pounding of an enemy, something bluff and straightforward, he would be in his element. But to smile when inclined to curse, to be compelled to bite your lip and swallow down the burning words of just anger, to Sampei would be very difficult. He must try though. His poor sweet sister. Her sobs were due on this occasion, happily, to joy and relief at his return, in that she, the lonely and forlorn, had a trusty champion by her side. Instinct told him this. For her sake, then, he must not break with his brother, for, forbidden access to his sister-in-law, he would be of no service in extremity. In extremity! What prophetic foreboding was it that whispered to him of something terrible behind, wherein she would need all the help that his strong arm could give her? Ah! if he had spoken when he might, how different it would all have been. Too late--that chapter was closed. He was to be her knight--vigilant and true. With a deep sigh, he raised her tear-stained face, and kissed her lips, then put her gently from him. Side by side, and hand in hand, as in the old days, they reclined upon the mat, and the frown deepened on his brow as she told her story,--the uncomely story of selfishness, and greed, and cruelty, and wrong, waxing with impunity daily worse, till even sleepy Buddha must needs wake soon, and be impelled to hurl his thunderbolts. She told of the starving multitudes, to whom the son of the horse-leech cried "Give"; of the petition, and his brutal treatment of the elders. "If only I could serve as sacrifice," she said, in conclusion, with a fresh burst of tears, "how gladly would I lay down my life. But my lord and I are strangers. I dwell here, and he at Ki[^y]oto. Does not that tell its tale? The wind might as well preach to him as I. At first he liked me a little, but that soon passed. Of late his presence--knowing of what he is capable--has filled me with a nameless terror, for I seem to detect something in his eye that suggests a brain distracted. He is blood-drunk; his very laugh conceals a sword. And yet 'tis an awful thing for me, his wife, to sit by, attempting nothing." No doubt the chatelaine ought to do something--what? Like Philippa, at Calais, she should wring, by pleading, from her lord, the lives of the condemned. Yet if the pair were so estranged, would she not be laying herself open uselessly to some insult, some rebuff? She admitted that she was growing afraid of her husband. That was bad. The situation was too many-sided for the soldier's unpolished wits. He pondered, and held his peace, and looked up with a sense of relief when, a shadow darkening the light, he beheld his mother, Masago. The ascetic Abbess gazed proudly and fondly on her son, but with a tinge of concern. She had followed him from the temple, seeing that he turned his horse towards the summer-house; for she loved O'Tei, and was aware of the early passages which had passed between girl and boy. Sampei had such a free way of making love to every woman, that she, elderly and sensible, saw keenly the danger to both, if the neglected wife and pitying brother-in-law were thrown too much together. Side by side, hand clasped in hand, exchanging confidences. An ominous beginning. It was well that she had come, for these young people must be protected against themselves. While O'Tei, with a ghostly revival of coquetry, was arranging her tumbled hair by aid of a silver mirror, the Abbess drew her son aside, pleading urgent and important business. "My boy," she said, as, out of earshot, the two paced slowly in the shade, "you are as brave and true as even I could desire, and gratefully I thank the gods for it; but you are guileless; your arm is stronger than your head, and your blood is overwarm." Perceiving a ludicrous expression of bewilderment on the honest face of her son at this mysterious preamble, she gently smiled, and shook her head at him. "The best friend a man has," she observed, "is his mother; for a mother's love, undervalued often, is tinged with no selfish taint. Child, child," she sighed, placing a fond hand on his broad shoulder, "take warning while there's time. Do not think me blind, or foolishly importunate. You love O'Tei, and, for sake of both, had better keep apart. Think what tragedy might follow if your brother had cause for jealousy." Love O'Tei! Was it so patent, then?--he the last to know it? The General in silence walked up and down, while his mother gazed upon him wistfully. There was a deep sadness on his face that pained her. Perhaps in speaking out so plainly, she had been precipitate. Yet no; she had never been one to beat about a bush. Her stern creed admitted no half measures. Presently Sampei spoke. "For once, most dear and wise of mothers, you are wrong," he said. "I love her; yes, I will not deny it--how much I did not know until ten minutes since. My love is so true and pure, that to save her a momentary grief I would fling myself off yonder rock. Be not afraid; no harm shall come to her through me." "Noble and chivalrous in intent, just like my boy," nodded the sapient Abbess. "Maybe you are strong enough to carry out your resolve unflinchingly; but what of her? What if she, less prudent and more weak, were to bestow her heart on you? It would lead to general wretchedness, if not to her undoing." Sampei had not considered it from that point, and ruefully rubbed his nose. It would no doubt be very awkward if O'Tei were to become enamoured of him. In that case, heroic leaps off rocks would be of little service. Then he burst into a loud shout of laughter. "How like a mother!" he crowed. "Her own offspring being, of course, perfect--a full-plumaged ph[oe]nix--all must needs fall down and worship. Believe me, she is as pure as the dawn; her affection that of a sister." "Now, perhaps, and I sincerely hope so," replied the Abbess quietly; "but you have no right to place her in temptation. So you deem me a silly old woman, too partial to her featherpated son? Well, then, I am forced to tell you, as a warning, that which I intended to conceal, to show that you are over-modest. I trow there are maids galore who wear the willow in secret for the most brilliant soldier in Japan. There is one luckless girl I wot of, who has flung her foolish heart at you--who weeps and languishes for love of you--swears she will have no other lord. Fie! She is a good and honest girl, who would never have thus bestowed herself without encouragement." "Bestowed herself on _me?_" exclaimed Sampei, round-eyed, and feeling guilty. "Her name is Miné." "Miné!" ejaculated the careless scapegrace. "Tush! I know no Miné." "For shame! Oh, light and fickle, it is as I guessed," returned the Abbess, with a head-shake that would have been solemn but for a sly flash of merriment in the usually stern eyes. "I have no excuse for the maid, since 'tis vastly reprehensible to throw your heart at one who does not want it; and yet, when her only child is so extremely fascinating, a mother must be indulgent." Sampei appearing quite mystified, Masago pursued more gravely,--"You used to single the poor thing out, bad boy, she says, at the rustic festivals here five years ago, and give her fans and hairpins. Unfortunate Miné! You turned her head, and have forgotten even her name. Do you remember Koshiu, the farmer?" Miné, Koshiu's daughter. Dear me! a pretty little thing, with a temper that it was such sport to play upon. Of course Sampei remembered now, for indeed the too independent Koshiu, dreading some such misfortune as had come to pass, had testily turned upon the dallying swain, which had mightily offended his lordship. And for hopeless love of him this silly soul had been sighing all these years, with nothing to feed on but a few idle compliments. Sampei felt a twinge of conscience, was angry with himself, for perhaps he had been too ardent. Then he felt annoyed with the too-confiding maiden too easily won. A few common-place attentions, that was all, out of mere idleness. A pretty pass if all the young women whom one ogles were to insist on claiming one for life. What a pother about nothing. It is extremely immodest and indecent of maidens to give themselves away unasked. And then his thoughts reverted to that other lady, sitting yonder before the mirror, and a pang of distress swept over his features as he dreamed again of what might have been; the which perceiving the Abbess whispered,--"Be of good cheer, my son. By divine grace it will be for the best. My prayers added to hers, the maiden's mind will recover calm, and through the black passage of this hopeless love be led from earth to heaven. As a daughter of the people who has bestowed herself on you, I will cherish her. Already she has sought refuge under our roof, and ere long will become one of us for life." He then, the light and jovial, was to be responsible for making of the poor maid a nun. Sobered and saddened, and made uncomfortable internally by all he had seen and heard since his return, Sampei led his mother back towards the summer-house, where the young chatelaine was beginning to marvel at the length of their private colloquy. In this retreat, where she expected no visitors, O'Tei dispensed with the service of her ladies, for it was a relief to think out her dreary thoughts with none to read them on her countenance. Now, with a new sprightliness to which she had been long a stranger, she busied herself with hospitable cares. Placing on the firebox a daintily-wrought kettle of fine bronze, she produced from a gold-lacquered cabinet three fairy cups of the eggshell white porcelain of Hirado, placed a pinch of tea in each, and waiting for the water to boil, made ready to play the hostess. It was with a tightening about the heart that Sampei watched her long fingers arranging sweetmeats on a tray, pouring water on the leaves, which straightway expanded, and turned the liquid of a pale straw colour. Had he not been so diffident and addlepated while there was time, she would not now have been so thin and wan; those teacups might have been his teacups, and--well, well. He was till death her own true knight, demanding nothing in exchange for his unselfish devotion. To his heart he would repeat this o'er and o'er again till it was used to it. What might have been was not to be. There was nothing now to be gained by brooding or railing against his own stupidity. Over their refection the trio returned to the all-engrossing topic,--what was to be done for the poor suffering people?--how was the despot to be softened, and the imprisoned elders saved? Sampei related that the news of his coming must have preceded him, for no sooner had he clattered over the long wooden bridge which gives access to the main street of Tsu, than two ancient men had stopped him, and craved an immediate audience. Unlike my lord No-Kami, he had drawn rein at once, and listened; and the ancient men, with profuse grovellings, had implored my lord Sampei to use his personal influence for the rescue of the incarcerated headmen. It was indeed a heinous deed of insolence, they admitted with groans, to have sinned to the extent of imploring to be lightened of their burthens, but death of any kind was preferable to such a life as they endured at present. They reverently allowed that torments were deserved, but humbly implored mercy and consideration, for the sake of wives and children Sampei had been much shocked, for, to his generous nature, grovelling humility was offensive; and did not know what to do. He, as well as O'Tei, was resolved that something must be done for the sake of humanity, as well as to rescue from execration the unpopular name of Hojo. Perhaps the Abbess, the wise counsellor, would be good enough to settle what. Now if Masago had a weakness (I am not prepared to say she had not), it was an appreciation of her position as chief adviser to every one. She therefore drank another cup of tea, then clearing her throat, began,-- "My counsel is this. My lord Hojo No-Kami must be brought to yield. Probably he will not be sorry of an excuse to do so, considering that after such an act of clemency as the remitting of torment, the elders, cowed and abashed, will be too frightened to say more about the taxes; whereas, if the men suffer, there will be further outcry, and the tax question will come yet more prominently forward, producing lamentable results. Hence my lord will probably, as I say, be glad of an excuse to send the people back, if they promise to be more amenable in future. It would be well if he owed his way out of the difficulty to his wife, for it would soften his animosity against her, and would cause the people to venerate her even more than they do already. My son, Sampei, could not be more popular than he is--praise be to the gods--but it would be pleasing to his mother if he were joined in the work of mercy. I therefore propose that the Lady O'Tei forthwith do indite upon a roll a personal request to her husband, craving as a boon the lives of the condemned, and tying it in a box of tortoiseshell, do consign it to her brother-in-law, that he may ride with all speed to Ki[^y]oto, and, delivering the box, do add his own entreaties to his sister's--so may we be sure to gain our end, and avert a serious danger." So succinct an oration, brief, and to the point, and patly delivered, deserved another cup of tea, and while she sipped it leisurely, Masago improved the occasion. "My dear," she said, "I saw you shudder. This will never do. It is the greatest of mistakes to let such a man as Mylord No-Kami know that you are afraid of him. I noted in his childhood how he always treated more scurvily the hirelings who cringed." "I never cringed!" exclaimed O'Tei proudly. "No; but if I mistake not, you have let him perceive fear, under a veil of contempt. Should he realise this, he will follow up the advantage, and all will indeed be lost. You should have coped with him at first, my lily. It would have been better for both, believe me." O'Tei twined her fingers together in distress. Had not the small voice within her whispered this long since. She did fear him, and dislike him, and despise him. Cope with him forsooth! How could she do it now? How could she ever have summoned sufficient moral courage? No; having retired into her shell of pride, she would stop there to the end, but in this matter of the elders she might bestir herself. Drawing forth a roll of paper, O'Tei and Sampei, with heads closer together than Masago approved, proceeded to concoct a warily-worded epistle. Masago was truly an extremely clever old dame, for with her one stone she slew a variety of birds. O'Tei would be the happier in that she had been induced to intercede. She would gain points in the affections of the people, and so would the beloved Sampei. The latter, as bearer of the missive, would be removed forthwith from perilous association with his sister-in-law; he would also be removed from the temptation to reconnoitre Miné, who, the Abbess firmly resolved, was to shave her head immediately. This, being obstinate like her father, she would, doubtless, decline to do if the too warm-blooded warrior were to see and fancy her afresh. The combination was artful from all points of view, and did credit to the adviser of every one. The elders would return unharmed, and, after a severe lesson, would be more dutiful. The storm would blow over, and all might repose in peace. Alack! Masago knew nothing of the resolve of Koshiu. Had she known that he proposed to call, if necessary, for the individual intervention of the sublime Mikado himself, her eyes would have goggled in her head at his audacity, and her counsel might have been of a different order. CHAPTER V. THE FARMER GIRDS HIS LOINS. The journey from Tsu to Ki[^y]oto may be made by one in haste, mounted on a strong horse, in two days, but in a land where trade is carried on in perfunctory fashion, time is and ever was a cheap commodity. In a shop the traders squat smoking on the mat, grin, prostrate themselves with head-knockings on your entrance, offer a cup of tea and a pipe, and consider that all has been done that may in fairness be required of them. In need of goods, you must search yourself, pull things from shelves, till you do or do not find the object you require. As with trade so is it to this day with travel. An energetic foreigner, by a liberal showering of yens, may induce his kuruma-runners to cover thirty miles per diem; but the Japanese of all ranks prefer to journey quietly, jogging along in kagos, at the favourite and decorous pace of the familiar snail. Indeed the higher the social status of the traveller, the slower will be his progress, for impedimenta are symbols of dignity. Our magnificent young General, although on horseback, was surrounded and followed by a rabble, who for the most part were on foot. There was the inevitable bodyguard of swaggering samurai, who, with hair shorn from temples, and swords in red lacquer scabbards ostentatiously displayed, cultivated a scowling expression of perpetual defiance, incarnation of haughtiness, fanatical patriotism, and contempt of everybody but themselves. Then there were cotton-coated and straw-sandalled baggage-men by scores in charge of strings of packhorses; a group of sutlers; and, swaying in rear of the procession, an unwieldy but gaily-bedizened kago, for my lord to recline in when fatigued. There being no professional fun toward, neither master nor men were in a hurry. To come upon a roadside tea-house, with its bevy of laughing waitresses, meant the performance of a variety of operations: tea-sipping, smoking, drowsy lounging, jesting, active dallying, and then unlimited sleep. At first the method of progression was of the slowest, for the marshy plain was cut by various rivers, which had to be crossed in barges; then came a stretch of paddy, or rice fields; a green sea of slush bisected by a narrow gangway of stones, along which two men were unable to trudge abreast. Then, the foot of the hills being reached, there was a long and weariful ascent of rock and sliding stones--a climb over precipice and crag by a way that could scarce be called a path--and a descent on the other side as difficult. This feat accomplished, it was, of course, necessary to bathe, and worship in an adjoining temple, and rest and sleep again, and so it took more than a week for the cavalcade to reach the capital. At approach of the noisy procession the mountaineer cottagers peeped out of their secluded dwellings, but perceiving the company of samurai, speedily put up their paper shutters, and made believe to be not at home. For the two-sword man was apt to ape the vices of his betters, and leave behind a trail of ruin such as marks the passage of the locust. Sampei was too busy with his own thoughts--which were gloomy enough, in sooth--to take heed of those he passed; and even if he had done so, would probably have failed to recognise an elderly pedestrian, who glared with hate from under beetle-brows, at the young noble riding by. Having forgotten even the name of the luckless Miné, it was not likely that he would quickly recognise her father, clad now in dusty pilgrim garb of white, and wide mushroom hat of rice straw. For Koshiu, true to his resolve, was also going to Ki[^y]oto to watch events, and fulfil, if need were, his self-imposed and dangerous mission. Like all fervent worshippers of Buddha, the sturdy farmer had no fear of death; like other natives of Japan, he was eminently superstitious. Among the Asiatic poor, where ceaseless drudgery, and hunger never fully satisfied, are the common lot; where the tax-gatherer and the avaricious noble are the representatives of government; where earthquake and typhoon cause the forces of nature to be feared as malignant influences; life is not so pleasant as to cause the earthly wayfarer to long for its continuance. The announcement of the Christian dogma that "the gift of God is eternal life," would rather pain than delight a Japanese, for to him life in any form is to be dreaded--not because death is at the end of it, but because another birth and death must follow (possibly more painful still)--then other births and deaths--links in a long and weary chain, before attaining the ultimate haven. The moral pang that may possibly attend decease, consists in the parting from those whom he holds dear, and will, save under miraculous circumstances, never see again; for the Christian hope of meeting in a better world finds place but rarely in the Buddhist's mind. The chief deity, if slow and somniferous was just, and would (Koshiu argued) surely protect the family of him who was sacrificed for the common weal. There is a temple even now at Ki[^y]oto, standing on a dizzy height, whose terrace is protected by a strong pallisade, for, unless prevented, it is the practice of the faithful to crave a boon of the god, then fling themselves over the precipice, in the firm belief that--if the boon is to be granted--the deity will hold them scathless. It is strange that the number of bodies shattered on the stones below should not have shaken their faith either in the goodness or the power of the god. Having made up his mind that, if need were, he, the humble peasant, would invoke the sacred and mysterious Mikado's aid, Koshiu passed a night in prayer, then washed and dressed himself in the attire common to high and low who are engaged on a holy mission, and took a tender farewell of his family. There was his dear wife, Kennui; his three boys, Gennosuké, Sôkei, and Kibachi, ranging in years from thirteen to seven. Miné was unaccountably absent, but she was always a froward and unruly maid, wild and disobedient. On this solemn occasion, however, her father left for her a tender message of farewell, and amid the tears and outcries of those who feared that they never again might look on him, tore himself away. This was on the day before Sampei's arrival,--on the morning which followed the consultation in the farmer's dwelling. The elders, filled with admiration for the single-minded heroism of the man whom they had deemed slow and selfish, went with him, marshalled by Rokubei and Zembei, to the entrance of the town, and with many blessings and prayers, wished the traveller success. Urged on to speed by an engrossing object, he caught up, and, strong and stout of limb, passed the straggling array of Sampei, arriving in the capital two days before him. The imprisoned envoys were still in durance, he learned from one of those who had escaped, and lurked in hiding. My lord No-Kami--orders having in heat been issued for seizure and incarceration--had apparently forgotten their existence. The threatened vengeance of torment had not been wreaked, and yet their position was no pleasing one, for my lord's soldiers--the peasants and the military class were never friendly--amused themselves with the poor wretches, as cats play with mice--haling them out for diversion--depriving them of drink--pretending to offer saké, and when they held out eager hands for it, playfully pricking them with dirks. At the relation, the blood of Koshiu boiled within him. These men--honoured and revered at home--who had done naught save humbly to implore redress of grievances, were being murdered piecemeal. It mattered not that my lord had never ordered it. His lawless myrmidons took from him their cue, satisfied that they would not be punished. If the poor things must die, the more speedily the better; but Koshiu swore, with oaths that terrified his listeners, that their deaths should be avenged. Alack! Koshiu must be mad. He prated as if himself a daimio, or a least a samurai or hatamoto! A mosquito on a wall might as well shake a paw, and vow to avenge the slaughter of his fellows! And then at the boldness of his speech they shivered, considering whether it would not be more prudent to withdraw from the society of so rash a person, and sneak back to their crumbling homes. Of a certainty it would, for with even the Mikado himself, the revered and mystical, the insect presumed to find fault. Next he would be falling foul of Buddha, who, putting out a finger, would crush him--and them along with him--the blasphemer; and what then would be their fate in the next cycle? In horror and dread they wrung their hands, and banged their apologetic foreheads on the floor, and, drawing forth beads, told them with feverish rapidity. These were the words that entered their astounded ears. "For generations stretching back into the shadow of time," the over-bold farmer said, "has our master dwelt behind a screen, looked on by no eyes but those of the kugés and his attendants. Nothing outside the screen penetrates to him save through the mouths of these. Being a mortal, if a highly-privileged one, he cannot see all, like Buddha, himself unseen. We are his, and we revere him, but he knows naught of us, and can know naught, secluded and fenced about, and thereby neglects his duty--for even he has duties; and if, which is unhappily true, the latter-day Mikados have been evilly entreated and dethroned and sent into banishment, 'tis by reason of this sin, and the vile Hojos have been but instruments of retribution in the hand of an offended deity." What subversive doctrines were these uttered by a presuming pigmy? The horror-stricken elders glanced furtively one at the other with the same thought. Instead of a possible saviour, this man was a firebrand who would involve others in his well-merited ruin. Perchance it would be well to betray him at once to my lord No-Kami, and thereby earn their pardon? Koshiu read their thoughts, and sighed, wishing them no evil. The views of the sturdy farmer were beyond them. As well talk to the trees--better, for the leaves would not shake with terror, and consider the expediency of treachery. He resolved to shut up his opinions therefore within his own bosom, and calmly discussed, without further blasphemy, what the next move should be. As there was no possibility of, for the present at least, making any move at all, they were still idly chattering when, a few days later, they were startled by the appearance of the very envoys whose rescue was under discussion. They were thin, and gnarled, and haggard, and wrinkled--but then a Japanese peasant over the age of twenty is never a pretty object--yet in health seemed well enough. The tale of the saké and dirks must have been the invention of the foe. And yet to Koshiu these village elders looked suspiciously meek and lowly, more so than the humblest peasant should; indeed their bearing was not unlike that of a mongrel dog, that still smarts under severe correction. At first it was impossible to get anything out of them but fawning praise of the Hojo, uttered in trembling accents, in which fear battled with incoherence. Hojo was excellent and merciful. Had he not deigned to forgive their unpardonable sin, and set them free unhurt? Let them live under their own hats and be content, he had declared. If there were any noble individuals more admirable than the gracious lord No-Kami--and that was scarcely possible--those two were their liege lady and the General Sampei; for 'twas through the intervention of these that my lord had condescended to remember the existence of his humblest tenants, who might otherwise have been still in duress. With lowering brow Koshiu looked upon his fellows, for these cringing, spirit-broken villagers belonged to the same class as he. Were they worth saving, at the risk of his own life? And then a vision of the misery at Tsu, the growing suffering of all down-trodden Japan, rose upon his vision. No-Kami, thanks to the pleading of his wife and brother, had been pleased, after outrage and ignominy, to release the men who had committed no crime. But what of their petition? The petition? Let it go hang! The well-whipped hounds preferred that the subject should be dropped. How ill-timed was any mention of the petition. It had brought nothing but trouble--the less said about it the better. All they desired was to depart with speed. The sportive samurai might swoop again. Baring their arms, the envoys showed their wounds. The story of the saké was true, then. Little wonder if the starved wretches had had enough of the facetious horseplay of the soldiers. Koshiu paced the mat with folded arms. Yes, they were right, and had better go and save their wizened carcases. Here they were of no service, only butts for scoffers. My lady O'Tei all knew to be an angel; but that the newly-arrived General should interest himself in peasants, was curious; and then the thought flashed suddenly on the indignant father that the absence of Miné from her home had coincided with the arrival of Sampei. Her tender pronunciation of his name, and constant championship, recurred to his memory, and he shrank as from strokes of the bamboo. As profligate as all the Hojos, he had, of course, signalled his return by the seduction of an innocent and too-trusting maiden, who, by-and-by, he would fling away. Perhaps from out that curtained kago on the road his erring daughter may have peeped at him. If it were so, never, never would he forgive his child. Had he not warned her of his undying hatred of Hojos, of all connected with bloodthirsty brutal tyrants? With difficulty controlling his emotions, while his comrades more than ever deemed him dangerously insane, he told them they were right. Since they could serve no further purpose, they had better go back to Tsu, and speedily. For his own part, he would remain, and bide his time, and, when opportunity offered, present the petition to the Emperor. And so, after a sad and parting feast, the band of elders returned to their place, and Koshiu dwelt alone, brooding over his wrongs, over the oppression of his class, and the ruin of his daughter, while his family bewailed at home. His impression was that the Mikado's supineness rose not from weakness but from indifference, out of which he might be roused. One day arrived a pedlar with news from Tsu, and a melancholy message from his wife, the faithful Kennui, which completely satisfied his mind that his suspicions were but too well founded. Miné had never again sought the legitimate shelter of her parents' roof, but was dwelling, if report spoke truly, with the mother of Sampei. Even she, then, the peasant-born, suffered under the taint which enveloped that hated race. The Abbess, who pretended to be pious, could stoop to shield his daughter's infamy, and give shelter to the mistress of her son. Poor soul, had she not been herself a concubine, and debased by pernicious surroundings? Ah, but the position of second wife--acknowledged concubine--was different from that of his own degraded daughter. No fixed position was hers, of course, or ever would be, since she had been so misguided as to throw herself into her lover's arms. And when he was weary of her? It would not bear thinking of, for Koshiu in his way was proud as any noble. Sampei and his mother were as bad as the rest, worthy to wear the cognisance of Hojo. The longer the farmer brooded, the harder grew his heart, the more bitter his resentment, and he hailed with fierce joy the news, at last, that the Mikado was to visit Nara. It was a solemn ceremony the pilgrimage of the Emperor to the Sacred Groves of Nara, one which, although the distance was short, he was expected to perform but once or twice during his career. Unlike lesser magnates, who were content with kagos--litters, more or less sumptuous, borne on men's shoulders--the Mikado travelled in a ponderous carriage on huge cumbrous wheels, its roof thatched with the long grey straws of a peculiar grass, its wood-work elaborately lacquered with the imperial crest, its windows closely curtained with the finest matting, which flapped with many tassels. The progress of so unwieldy a machine over a primitive road was slow. In front went a bodyguard on foot, followed by soldiers on horseback; then came the weighty kagos of the kugés in attendance, brave with banners and devices; then the Mikado's swaying uneasy carriage, drawn by eight horses in broidered housings; then more heavy litters and more soldiers, and a long straggling tail like that of a kite, composed of servants and rabble. It took many hours to penetrate through the tortuous and squalid suburbs of the capital, consisting for the most part of the shops of pawnbrokers and vendors of cheap toys and idols, jutting at will into the road, the procession stopped from time to time by hosts of the faithful on their faces. Once free of buildings, the imperial _cortége_ advanced by a wide way straight as an arrow across a plain devoted to the cultivation of tea, and by nightfall reached Uji. Here there was a villa overhanging with wide, wooden balconies a rushing stream--the Uji-Kawa, which rises in lake Biwa--spanned by a semicircular bridge formed of an intricate network of heavy timbers, for in winter this river swells into a torrent, sweeping all that is weak before it. This villa was for the special use of the sovereign, as might be guessed, from its lack of adornment. So high is the Mikado, that, in a general way, he is above the employment of ornament. His villas and summer-houses (unlike those of his brother of China) are as conspicuous for simplicity as his dress. Everything is of the very best that skill can produce, the woodwork of the very finest which the hand of man can command, the mats trimmed with a red and white braid forbidden to other men. His eyes look upon no pictures or porcelains or bronzes, for to one who communes at will with deities or spirits, and may peep even sometimes into Nirvana, such trivialities are, of course, superfluous. In the Imperial Palace of Ki[^y]oto it is different, for there he deigns to associate in a degree with mere common nobles and wives, to whom austere simplicity would be depressing if not soul-withering. In this villa, the Emperor, by time-honoured custom, was to pass the night, his _cortége_ camping around for the protection of the sacred person. Now Koshiu, whose object in life was the presenting of a memorial which should lead to the abrogation of imposts, and the holding up of the Hojos to deserved obloquy, knew right well that there was no reaching the imperial ear, either in Ki[^y]oto or on the road to Uji, by reason of a throng of guards. During the next day's route over the mountains, on the other side of which was Nara, the cumbrous carriage would be prevented from toppling over by myriad hands pressed on either wheel, but the brilliant idea had occurred to the farmer that in crossing the timber bridge, whose width was just sufficient for the passage of the vehicle, there would be none to defend either of the curtained windows, the guards of necessity passing on in front or dropping behind until the stream was crossed, and that here lay his only chance. In the night therefore, after prayers and ablutions, he took advantage of the darkness to swim into mid-stream unnoticed, and being washed against one of the pillars, to make good his footing, and climbing on the bridge, to secrete himself under a convenient shadow. Then with his knife he pruned a long bamboo, split it at the top, and inserting the memorial therein, awaited day. The journey was yet long to Nara, and over the mountains fraught with possible disaster, so all were early astir. With wildly-beating heart and throbbing temples Koshiu heard the clatter of horses overhead, the rhythmed step of infantry, and then the thunder of the great wheels grinding under their heavy load. Now or never. Calculating his time to a nicety, the farmer nimbly climbed upon the parapet, and before the astonished guards could stop him, lifted a corner of the mat, and inserting his bamboo, cried in a loud voice,-- "Take, O great Mikado! Fountain of Honour, this the petition of your humblest slave. Have pity on your people, O sovereign lord, ground down by the wicked Hojo!" The driver of the horses, aghast, stopped open-mouthed; the cavalcade stood still; the guards, with a yell, dashed clambering forward, to fling into the stream this audacious one, riddled with sword-thrusts; but the old Daimio of Nara, who, disdaining a kago, rode close behind, spurred quickly through the men, and, raising both hands, bade them refrain. He had caught the words "wicked Hojo," saw that what might have been a spear was already withdrawn, and was no more than a cleft stick, and guessed the purport of the attempt. "'Tis a petition," Nara cried. "Our imperial lord already holds the man's paper in his sacred hand. It is for him, and not for us, to decide upon his fate." Clutched by a dozen fists, Koshiu remained poised and stifled on the parapet, and presently a low voice issued from the shadow. "I will read the petition on my return from the sacred groves. Keep the man close and safe. See that no harm comes to him." The Daimio of Nara, with a cunning smile lurking about his lips, gave orders that the pilgrim should be safely conducted to his own private apartment in the palace, and then the ponderous procession moved on again, and crawled up the mountain. CHAPTER VI. THE YOUNG MIKADO. Tomoyé, the brawny but practical, proved herself more clear-sighted than the statesman-warrior her husband. Hojo, the elder, certainly made the most serious blunder of his life when he arranged that marriage for his heir. A gulf 'twixt a husband and a wife cannot but widen daily, and the part of the latter, right or wrong, is sure to be espoused by her father. The admirable combinations that were to result from an alliance of the houses of Hojo and Nara were conspicuous by absence. As time went on, the haughty No-Kami, averse at all times to advice, showed to his wife's parent his most aggressive side, lest he should presume to lecture. Although the Daimio of Nara had seen but little of his child, he had received from time to time such affectionate reports concerning the maiden, from the priests and priestesses who had supervised her education, that he was fully conscious of her worth. Between the two lords there was a show of courtesy, which masked on the one side jealousy of interference, on the other, hate. The father of O'Tei, although he pretended to perceive nothing, resented bitterly the scornful neglect with which she was treated by her spouse. During the rare visits of the young chatelaine to the capital, he could see how sad she was, and worn and listless, instead of vivacious and gay, as became her years; and in his heart, antipathy for the despot, implanted by cruelty to the Mikado, increased a hundredfold. He was too wary to quarrel yet with Hojo, but whenever he vouchsafed advice (as he did now and then, for the sake, as he said, of the departed), it was of a kind which rendered No-Kami more execrated still, more unpopular with the people he oppressed. The return of Sampei, and the demeanour of that warrior, produced fresh combinations in the subtle brain of Nara. It was plain that he was shocked by the excesses of his brother. He came of ambitious stock, and the long bloody tale of the history of Japan is full of the rivalry of brothers. What if he could be cajoled or goaded to take arms against him? The unruly army which he had brought back from Corea, accustomed to plunder and lawless licence, would have to be employed somehow, for idleness begets mischief. So long as Mikado and Daimios remained quiescent, the swash-bucklers could not be used against them, and, unemployed they would soon be a source of trouble. What if, by waiting, the enemies of the Hojo could succeed in turning against him the very troops he had summoned for his defence; and what if, by crafty man[oe]uvring, the disgust of Sampei could be raised to such a pitch as to induce him to resume their command? As the general who had led them from victory to victory, his soldiers adored Sampei. In time, they might probably be made useful as a scourge for Hojo, without their commander, by prospect of pillaging castles, but if he whom they idolised were to summon them forth in the direction of their inclinations, there was no doubt they would follow in a mass. While his master was telling his beads before the great bronze idol in the Nara temple, the thoughts of the lord of the soil were engaged elsewhere, and he resolved on the first opportunity to sound Sampei, and to arrange his plans accordingly. It was a fortnight after the incident on the bridge of Uji that the imperial _cortége_ wound down the mountain, and returned to the palace in the capital. What a dreary spot this same palace, more like a prison than a free residence, well suited to the ghastly life of blank monotony led by its miserable occupant. The chief abode of the Mikado occupies a vast space of ground in the centre of the city of Ki[^y]oto, surrounded by a high white wall, devoid of windows. Passing through a postern in a huge and highly-decorated gate, crowned by an immense tiled roof, you find yourself in a labyrinth, where you would speedily be lost without a guide, for long low buildings meander in and out, and meet at angles, one exactly like another, forming a series of little courtyards, adorned with prim grey bushes. The walls of these are of one pattern, formed of white plaster in timber settings, with heavy roofs and eaves. None of the buildings boast of more than a single storey, which is elevated on posts, a yard above the ground; this by reason of earthquakes, and unclean insects, which have no respect for Emperors. The long outer passages are protected from the weather by verandahs, because persons below a certain rank may not venture to breathe under the same roof as the Fountain of Honour, but must squat humbly in the air without. All the inner wood-work is of pine, smoothly planed, and left unpolished, set at points of junction with sumptuously sculptured nails; while mats are of the finest kind, trimmed white and red with the imperial braid. Within, the sliding screens which at will divide most of the space into small or large chambers, are of drab silk, spotted with gold dots, in form of clouds. There is no furniture, except a few low red lacquer tables. The private suite of the Mikado saddens the soul, so small, and dismal, and uncomfortable are the rooms, or rather hutches, with no prospect or view outside, but three bare walls, a flag-pavement, and half-a-dozen bushes; and the mind turns involuntarily to the thought of Spanish Queens, whose drear existences must have been hilariously gay when compared with those of the Mikados. Sure many of these must have gone melancholy mad, or have sought relief from despondency by drowning care in the saké-cup. For the better protection of the Fountain of Honour, the two closets he inhabits are buried away in the centre of the labyrinth. There is nothing for him to hear but low, respectful sibillation, and the tramp of guards; nothing to see but nobles sprawling on their faces, with a glum background of whitewash, and a few tortoises wandering over the stones. At the period which now concerns us, the Mikado usually sat upon a chair, while the kuges, in court trousers (Uye no Bakama) many yards under their feet, wearing high black crape hats, and brocaded trains--narrow and stiff, and of exceeding length--(kiy[=o]) reclined around him on the mat. When the potentate felt more bored than usual, he retired into a square tent (of the size of an old-fashioned European bed) in the middle of the room; which tent was composed of snowy silk, embroidered with bamboo and storks, and garnished with long streamers, red and black, decorated with butterflies. Inside the tent was placed a chair, and two low stools. A few yards off is a dark place surrounded by gilt folding screens, in which is another tent. This was for the Fountain of Honour when boredom reached a climax, and he felt compelled to flee mankind. On state occasions he moved into a spacious hall at the back, whose sliding screens are painted with portraits, full length, of Chinese sages, and whose look-out is a shade more cheerful; for beyond there is a garden, with a lake full of speckled fish, some groups of pines, and quaint stone bridges. In the centre of the hall is yet another tent, precisely similar to the others--for the purpose of special audience, for the room is so large, that neither the elect, who knelt around, or the unelect, who crouched in the verandah, could overhear what passed within the curtains. Into this hall, on the day after the return, trooped all who possessed the privilege, while the yards and passages were full of hatamotos and retainers; for the Fountain of Honour, refreshed by prayer and change of scene, declared he would attend to business. In the first place, audience must be vouchsafed to the victorious General, that he might relate his deeds of valour, and receive thanks for faithful service; and then a consultation must be held, with closed doors, on the subject of the peasant and his petition. At mention of the audacious peasant, Nara smiled quietly, for he thought he saw his way to make a weapon of him wherewith to vex the enemy. Owing to the ruin and banishment of three Emperors, the present reigning one was a cowed youth, a pale and depressed boy, with a look of constant apprehension lurking in his eyes. So well drilled was he that the sound of his tyrant's footfall caused him to tremble; so acutely did he feel his equivocal position, that many a time, after a period of reverie, he would start and wince, as if expecting the descent of the blade that was suspended over his head. Poor Koshiu! Could he have looked on the liege lord--so timorous and helpless--who was awful, because invisible, he would probably have thought twice before making that rash attempt. When Sampei, after prostration and the orthodox nine head-knockings of humility, was invited to occupy a stool within the tent, Nara was bidden, by a wave of the august fan, to take the other, and thus withdrawn from inquisitive eyes and ears, the Daimio of Nara deemed this to be a propitious moment for peering into the future. He drew out the modest General, and, as mouthpiece of his master, made pretty speeches, while the Mikado was anxiously scanning his face, seeking his brother's features. Presently the Emperor gave a sigh of relief. It was a good-natured open visage, considerably tanned, ornamented (from a military point of view) by a deep scar across the brow, scored by a Corean spear. Although a Hojo, it was possible to feel comfortable in his presence, and the heart of the sad recluse quite warmed to him when Nara, with insidious flattery, related an episode of his career. He told of how young Sampei, in camp one day, investing the Taira forces, beheld a warrior whose crimson armour and golden cognisance marked him for a Taira noble. "Come hither and fight!" he cried, and both charged fiercely one at the other with gleaming blades. After a few passes, the Taira dropped his sword, and Sampei, chivalrous always, flung his away and rushed to clasp his foe. Close-locked they fell from their saddles on the sand, the Hojo uppermost. Tearing off the bedizened helm, with intent to strike, he was amazed to see not a hardy old campaigner but a delicate and lovely boy! Rising, and handing to the vanquished his headgear. "So young," he said, "thy mother yet lives, doubtless. To her I give thee--go!" Sampei looked down and blushed, not ill-pleased that his lord should learn to like him; while the Mikado muttered behind his fan, "Can this be the brother of No-Kami?" After this jocund opening symphony, Nara changed his tune, and as he spoke of the suffering people, the General's face grew dark and sorrowful. "And all this is due," Nara concluded, with emphasis, "to the head of the house of Hojo, whom the gods have made pre-eminent. The greater the gift, the greater will be the punishment for opportunities misused. Dare you deny that it is so?" Sampei shuffled on his seat, with lowered head. "My brother is unduly harsh," he stammered,--"perchance is ignorant--" "What of the elders, then, and their petition?" demanded Nara. "He has sent them home unhurt!" quickly responded Sampei. "Ay, but with wrongs unredressed." The young General was silent. "You are the senior in years," observed the Daimio, pursuing his advantage, "and should claim some authority; further, even, if need be--" Sampei drew himself up with dignity. "You, the Daimio of Nara," he said proudly, "should know what is due from a vassal to his feudal chief. I am older in years, but not pure in blood. On my mother's side I am a peasant. I may grieve over my brother's follies, even chide with respectful gentleness, further than that I may not venture, as none should know better than yourself." Nara felt angry and disappointed, for this was not what he expected. Could this brilliant fellow be destitute of personal ambition? Perhaps, more cunning than he seemed, he was waiting for something more explicit. "You, then, an honest man," sneered the Daimio, "are prepared to stand by and see your flesh and blood perform the work of fiends? Perhaps I have made of your character a wrong estimate. Can it be that you enjoy the grievous plight of those to whose class, as you say, you partially belong? In crime an appreciative partner--perhaps even my lord Hojo's willing executioner?" The Daimio laughed hoarsely, while the Mikado listened with pursed lips. Apparently the young soldier was not to be roused by taunts, for with a sigh he replied sadly,-- "You wrong me. If I cannot aid, I can perish with them, and so escape dishonour." "By hara-kiri?" retorted Nara, with impatience, "a vastly useful way of helping the afflicted! When all is lost, death by the dirk is the only appropriate end to a high-born gentleman; but an honest man and a brave may not declare that things are hopelessly wrong until he has tried to right them. That they are wrong at present you will admit, after perusing this memorial, humbly presented to our common lord by one of Hojo's vassals." Sampei took the paper, and, as he read, grew hot and cold with pity and indignation. And it was his own flesh and blood, as Nara said, who could act thus! The indictment was terrible in its straightforward simplicity. No wonder that the gentle wife of the tyrant, knowing what she must know, was fading slowly. And there was more trouble brewing--even simple Sampei could foresee that. If No-Kami had been so incensed at the elders daring to present a petition to himself, what would his feeling be when he knew that another had been handed to the Emperor? The Mikado having publicly received, would be bound to take some notice of it,--to make some attempt to check the excesses of the despot. And, knowing his brother as he now learned to know him, Sampei looked forward in dismay, for the wheel set rolling down a hill may not be stopped, and it was but too probable that, goaded by passion uncontrolled, crime heaped upon crime would, as O'Tei had suggested, induce some dire catastrophe. A furtive glance at the dull weak face of the Emperor was not comforting. There was vacillation in every line of it. A gleam from No-Kami's wrathful eyes and he would shrivel up. Was it indeed the duty of his elder brother to stand forward and attempt to stay his junior's downward course? 'Tis a terrible thing when two of the same kin hold swords at one another's throats. And languishing O'Tei, what of her, whom he had secretly sworn to guard and cherish? Perhaps, by slaying her husband, he would be doing her a service as well as freeing the oppressed; but that husband his brother! To slay his brother! As the picture appeared upon his mental retina, Sampei shuddered; and then the thought flashed on him with vivid clearness that the stroke which slew his brother would delve for aye an impassable chasm 'twixt himself and her he loved. The young man heaved a sigh of relief, and raised his head. He was rescued from temptation for the time being, O'Tei the saving talisman. And then, his eye falling on the petition, he grew sorely perplexed. Was the old man right? Was it his bounden duty to interfere between the tyrant and his victims? What good would come of interference? Had he not intervened already for the behoof of the unlucky elders? It was not likely that the head of his house would brook incessant meddling. Slow-witted at the best, Sampei, the more he pondered, grew more wretched and uncertain. Nara marked with approving eye the extent of his uncertainty, and cast a keen glance of intelligence at his master. The poison instilled would slowly work, or Nara had mistaken his man. The seed was sown--must be left to swell and burst. Enough was done for the present. Obedient to the signal of his most trusted counsellor, the Mikado graciously dismissed his General, with hope revived in the future. But the hope was short-lived. Scarcely had he emerged with lightened heart from out the tent, and, summoning the kuges together, had commanded the shutters to be closed, that the petition might be privately considered, than the sound of the awful footstep was heard on the creaking boards, and the soul of the hapless Emperor died within him. He writhed and turned scarlet under the insult, when, pushing back the shutter with a crash, No-Kami unannounced strode in. "What is this?" he cried, in a harsh voice, omitting the customary obeisance. "I should not believe it, if I did not see you shivering there, red with conscious guilt. Leniency to the scum is worse than a crime--it is a fault. It was to please your daughter, Nara--that she should condescend to plead for such insolent vermin, says little for her rearing--that I forgave those villagers. And no sooner have I committed that insensate act, than I am most justly punished for it. Where is he--he who presumed to present to you a paper? He shall never present another." The trembling Mikado looked piteously at Nara, who, stolid, and apparently both deaf and blind, moved no muscle. "My lord No-Kami--" began the Emperor, but was quickly silenced. "I ask no explanation," remarked the tyrant sternly, waving away argument. "I demand the paper and the man. He is my vassal and my chattel: where is he?" "Here, under my protection. You forget yourself, my lord!" cried the Emperor, who, deserted by Nara, was stung to a poor show of self-assertion. "Under this roof he is safe." No-Kami raised his brows slightly, and with stiff politeness said,-- "Since when may peasants enter where knights and samurai may not? These be new manners that we can scarce approve. You, my lord Nara, I believe took charge of the man. I thank you for your courtesy, and herewith reclaim my own." To the consternation of the Emperor, who expected that now, at least, the one to whom he pinned his faith would speak boldly, the Daimio of Nara gravely bowed, and said,-- "If such is the pleasure of our master, be it so." Put to the test, then, Nara was a windbag that had burst! The Mikado groaned in spirit. "You will promise that he shall not be injured," stammered he, as, wincing under the basilisk eye, and seeking support in vain, the poor boy grew sick and giddy. "You see, Lord Nara, that 'tis our master's wish," responded No-Kami bluntly. "I make no promises. My time is valuable, and my retinue without is waiting. See that the wretch is handed over instantly for immediate transport to my _yashiki_." And with this the Hojo turned and strode away, without deigning to await an answer. The cup was full. The Fountain of Honour overflowed in a torrent of brackish tears. To be insulted thus before all the court; to be treated like a child; to be bearded with such dour disdain! The fate of his three predecessors, in their tranquil monastery, was preferable to his, alone upon the rack in the midst of empty grandeur. When Nara attempted to instil words of comfort, he turned on him with the swift, unreasoning vituperation of the weak. "You on whom I leaned," he sobbed,--"who are ever prating of the wondrous things that you are going to do! Before him you tremble more than all the rest, and sit mumchance! The man will be tormented, and I thereby eternally disgraced, since I took him under my protection. When they hear of it, what will my people say, seeing me that monster's puppet?" "They, will pity you," replied Nara quietly, "as they pity the other three. I am not so craven as you think. What if the man be tortured? He is but a boor of little consequence, and will be none the worse for martyrdom. Let be, let be--a little patience only. The more scurvily the man is treated, the better in the end; the deeper the universal execration for him we all detest. A little time, a little time, and all will be well, believe me. We have but to sit with hands devoutly folded, and wait; for the Hojo is preparing his own undoing,--carving out his own destruction!" CHAPTER VII. THE FARMER'S SENTENCE. Perhaps the Daimio of Nara was right in his prognostications of the probable. Although the lives of a few peasants are to Japanese patricians of but small account, there had been considerable excitement among the daimios over Hojo's high-handed treatment of the village elders, a tornado of lamentation among the lower and unarmed classes. Had the action of the despot been voted orthodox, had he unwaveringly pursued his course, the other lords would have done the same as he with joy, to wring out additional sums for pleasant uses; but as No-Kami gave way with little pressing, and thereby stultified his action, there was a general chorus of disapproval. If, excited and cruel, he were now to inflict signal vengeance on the unfortunate farmer, there would be still further uproar; and each fresh demonstration tended to a universal rising, for the destruction of the terrible octopus. Nara was old enough to have learned that the waiting game is generally best in the end, and preached sage wisdom to his master, who wept, being foolish, and young, and also uneasy in his mind. No-Kami was frantic with wrath when he considered Koshiu's sin. What a deplorable precedent was this! A petty farmer, little better than the common labourer, who strews the paddy field with filth, and grubs on hands on knees like a pig in the mud when the young rice begins to sprout; this abject, well-nigh four-footed, grovelling creature had absolutely, erect upon hind legs, dared to approach the head of the state--the nominal head--with a writing wherein he, the reignina Hojo--the real head of the state--was impeached and accused of misdemeanours,--even of deeds called CRIMES! Such audacity to the most nimble imagination was all but inconceivable. It was no less preposterous and ludicrous than if the brisk and too sprightly flea were, with his tiny mandibles, to assault the elephant. As he revolved the circumstance, the Daimio was so tickled that, as he paced a path in his garden outside Ki[^y]oto, he laughed a hard and grating cachination, that was half a snort, and shouted for a cup of warm saké, the which was brought, with the humblest of genuflections; for my lord's laugh clanked like rusty chains, and was precursor usually of bloodshed. But this was really too amusing, or would have been, if not so impudent. As he drained cup after cup of wine, my lord's mind became more active, the heat of his resentment more whitely glowing. What punishment was severe enough for such a caitiff? What was mere death, even the slowest, with ingeniously long-drawn agonies, but absurdly insufficient. The doom of the farmer must be something calculated to appal,--to spread terror broadcast, or his pestilent example might be followed by other swine. He would be a good riddance, this Koshiu, for he had always been a dangerous character,--one who dared to think for himself, actually to think, and frame views and theories of an independent and subversive kind. Oh for some brilliant idea, some happy thought, startling and awe-inspiring,--something at which the ordinary mind would revolt, then shrink down cowering! Decidedly this was an occasion on which the culprit must be made a genuine "example;" and as he paced the garden path, the brain of No-Kami was much exercised to find some awful sentence worthy of his reputation and his name. His heart was so hardened by schemes of revenge that the scene around was powerless to calm his ruffled soul; and yet his villa without Ki[^y]oto, known as the Golden House (it exists to this day), was a spot where loving nature had freely given of her best. On the plain between the city and the mountains is a wood, some three miles square, wherein branching umbrella pines and lofty cryptomerias and black-pointed cypresses are mingled in calculated confusion with the ensanguined foliage of the maple, and a luxuriant shrub covered with yellow blossoms, which has a scent resembling that of the apricot. The underbrush being carefully removed, the feet of the trees stand clear, rising from a tumbled surface of rich moss and rock and knoll, through which meander crystal streams shaded by grass and ferns. In a secluded portion of the wood is a large oblong pond, half-covered with dense reeds, and full offish and tortoises. In this, between the reed-beds, is mirrored a fairy cot--very small, as suitable for fairies--with the usual heavy roof and posts, and with windows inlaid with oyster shell. The peculiarity of the villa, at the time which occupies us, was that inside and out it was entirely gilt, which, against the sombre green background, in the limpid atmosphere, gave it the aspect of an enchanted dwelling. The rooms were of the smallest, and as naked and uncomfortable as Japanese rooms always are; and yet, in miniature, there was naught neglected. There was the porter's lodge, wherein lounged the armed retainers, and where upright, clean, and ready were the three formidable instruments designed to entangle, throw down, and pin a quarrelsome or unwelcome visitor. Stout quarter staves were also ready wherewith to belabour a struggling wight. There were bows and arrows in plenty, while in a row hung wooden tickets inscribed with the names of the soldiers in residence, which, were handed to the keeper of the gate, in token of absence, as the men passed out. In one corner was a bath--a mere rude tub--wherein, after the Daimio had bathed, others might be allowed to plunge; while further on, in the _tokonoma_, or recess of honour, were ranged in glittering state, ready always for use, the armour of my lord--his cuirass and greaves, helmet, chainmail, and swords. As he paced up and down under shadow of the trees, No-Kami had an inspiration; and summoning his favourite samurai, he bade him produce the prisoner. With arms crossed on his broad chest, and a mien of sullen defiance, Koshiu emerged, and having approached, stared hard into his oppressor's eyes with such undaunted boldness that Hojo felt almost sorry. It was a pity to have to annihilate so bold a varlet; and yet the independent ways of these same bold varlets are pestilent,--dangerous to the lords who are set over them. "What hast thou to say--what excuse to make?" demanded the imperious No-Kami. "The performance of duty calls for no excuse," replied the bluff farmer. "Duty!" "Yes, duty,--to myself, to my fellow-sufferers, to the sublime Mikado, who, unless told, knows naught--for he dwells apart--of the wicked such as thee." "By Buddha's crown, but thou art mad! instead of suing for mercy, aggravating thy offence." "The Hojos never knew mercy--thou least of all--and I expect none." "Will none make a lid for this rascal?" cried the Daimio, his small stock of patience ebbing. Then, seeing half a score of bright blades flashing in the sun, he waved them back into their scabbards. "Nay, nay," he grumbled; "sully not your steel." "The Hojos were ever bad," observed Koshiu, without blenching. "Thou and thy brother are the worst." "Sampei!" exclaimed No-Kami, in surprise. "Why he is half of thy caste himself, and is adored by the populace. What evil hath he done to thee?" "He robbed me of my eldest child, whom I held dear. She has vanished, seduced by him." No-Kami laughed long and loud, that very ugly laugh. "So, so. The General is sly, and keeps his counsel, and hath done thee and thine far too much honour, ingrate! See, here he comes to answer for himself." It was indeed Sampei, who, in extreme haste and heat, was crashing through the ferns. How unfortunate that the Emperor should not have detained him ten minutes longer. He would have expostulated with his brother then and there, in the Imperial presence,--have entreated the Fountain of Honour not to give up the captive. For in Hojo's greedy desire to obtain possession of him there was lurking something sinister. No-Kami's temper was so warm. For his sake, and the name they both bore, he must be prevented from going to extremities. Thanks to the gods, he was in time, for there the man stood, unharmed as yet. Ere he reached the spot where the two were standing, with retainers grouped in a circle, Sampei cried out, in his strong voice,-- "No-Kami, my brother, give me this man's life!" "Again," laughed No-Kami. "What a glutton for the lives of prisoners. Not this one; no, his is a special case; but I'll give thee his little wanton." "What wanton?" And then of a sudden the young soldier remembered his mother's news which had so startled him. This was the father of the maid whose heart he had unconsciously captured, and whose parent had five years ago denied to him his doors. It was with a whimsical smile that he shrugged his shoulders, and said,--"Miné' is no wanton that I know of. She is as pure for me as Fugi, the holy and snow-capped mountain." "Liar!" shouted Koshiu. "What have Hojos to do with truth?" Whereupon, with a low growl, the retainers drew their dirks and pressed close round. Sampei grew a shade paler, but, controlling himself, quietly said,-- "Let be, men! Sheathe your blades! The man labours under a mistake, and will know better by-and-by. Grant me his life, my brother!" "Why, of what parentage art thou?" exclaimed No-Kami, with a gesture of scorn. "He dubbed thee liar! Well, well! A drop of low peasant blood mingled with the best envenoms the entire stream. Yet am I ashamed, that thou, who art said to have done deeds of exceeding prowess, should tamely accept such insolence! And yet--and yet! I see now that I was wrong, precipitate. So mean a target is not worth your arrows. Fear not, my sober brother, I will myself avenge thee. Stand forth thou, and hear thy sentence. Whereas thou--audacious and stiff-necked--hast set thyself up as a champion and head of the villagers; and whereas thou hast dared to make light of me, thy feudal lord, by petitioning the Emperor directly; and whereas thou hast been guilty of conspiracy--three heinous crimes--it is decreed that thou shalt be taken in chains to Tsu, in a litter covered with a net of shame, and there suffer death by crucifixion. Thy wife will suffer likewise. Thy children shall merely be beheaded. The girl--what is her name? Miné--alone shall live, since I have bestowed her as a boon upon my brother." The samurai knelt down and rested their foreheads on the grass, clasping their hands in token of admiration and respect; Sampei covered his glowing face with quivering fingers; the farmer turned ashen grey. A thunderbolt hurled down to annihilate a family. For himself he cared not: his life he had known was forfeit. But wife and innocent babes! Gennosuké, the sturdy little lad; and pretty Sohei, and Kihachi, who could barely toddle! The unexpected blow was paralysing--stupefying with overwhelming sweep; and No-Kami, who saw with delight that the bolt went home, motioned for the condemned to be removed. Sampei felt stunned,--torn between horror, and the instinct of blind loyalty to his chief, his creed--the creed in which he had carefully been nurtured. The innocent and the guilty involved in one common doom. It was horrible--unjust! Less vindictive by-and-by, the Daimio would repent him of his severity. Sampei saw clearly that the man must go. That could not be helped: he had brought on himself his punishment. But the wife and children! Sampei had hurried hither to endeavour to rescue the man, and on behalf of the innocent had not found a word of protest. Thank goodness that, owing to a mistake, Miné at least was safe. As to the wife and children, he and O'Tei must combine ere the sentence was carried out, and make a strenuous effort. There was no help to be looked for from the weak Mikado. What a pity that he was such a feeble creature! But then, had he been more formidable, he would have shared the fate of the others long ago. The Hojo looked so surly, that Sampei felt the moment unpropitious for remonstrance. Incensed as my lord now was, prayers would but aggravate him further. Sampei seemed, therefore, to acquiesce in the decision of the Daimio, and turned to another topic. "A new eye sees things," he remarked, as they strolled under the trees, "which escape the ken of him to whom surrounding objects are familiar. Powerful as you are, swaying with a nod affairs of state, you strike me as less secure than was our father." "He governed, as was necessary, with an iron hand, and so do I," retorted No-Kami. "His was not so wet with blood," suggested the other gently. "Can this be indeed the successful soldier?" asked the Daimio, stopping in amaze. "More like that puling wife of mine. A pity you did not wed her!" Sampei started and winced. Could his brother guess. There was no trace of suspicion on his visage. His secret was safe. It was only a stray shot. "The daimios," he observed quietly, "hate you, and they are treacherous." "The daimios always hate him who is in power," replied the other with composure, "and burn to oust him. And people say that all Japanese are treacherous. They must be curbed by fear. Hence my severity just now. Nay, do not speak or waste your breath and anger me. On that my mind is fixed. I was too mild and compassionate with those elders, and look on the result! A stupid blunder, due to over-kindliness. The new-born arrogance of those tillers of the soil must be sternly checked. Clemency would be construed into a sign of weakness. He who rules with the sword must not be afraid to use it." "I would warn you to mistrust Nara," observed Sampei, after a pause of thought; "he does not wish you well." "Nara!" echoed the Daimio. "He who our astute father selected as my special counsellor! You are too suspicious. For Nara I have nothing but contempt--for him as for his counsel. He assumes sapient airs, and beneath them is a coward and a fool. Sometimes, in sport, I press down my heel on him, and he affords no sport, for he does not even writhe. Since you are a man of valour--the hero of the hour, though I vow you are more like a girl--furbish up your arms, and drill your cohorts, and leave policy to me. Drill your troops for my protection, most doughty of Hojos. As for statecraft, believe me, meddle not with a complicated tangle which you have not the skill to unravel. Your arm is more exercised than mine, but of heads, mine is the better." CHAPTER VIII. DESTINY IS BUSY. When the slow procession of armed men with a guarded litter in its midst was discerned approaching Tsu, great was the curiosity excited, for though none spoke of him, the absent farmer, devoted to a forlorn hope, was uppermost in the minds of all. A vague report gained ground that he had actually been permitted to see the face of the Sublime One, who, as just as he was holy, had listened to the tale of wrong. The stricken people, accustomed to adversity, were dazed by the gleam of fortune. Buddha had hearkened at last unto their groaning, had pitied their misery! The Hojo was not so bad after all, for the extra weight of taxes would doubtless be removed; the elders had returned forgiven; Koshiu was coming in triumph to his home, where a fitting reception should be accorded him. The listless men rose up upon their feet, the hammer and the gong resounded once again, amid blessings on the name of Koshiu. The only one who was not joyous was Kennui, the farmer's faithful wife. She had heard so much from her spouse about the wickedness of the Hojos, that unconsciously she echoed his words, shaking her head as she muttered, "The Hojos know not mercy!" As the approaching procession became clearer to the view, defiling with clank of iron down the street, she gave a wild shriek, and fell swooning; for in the litter, under the fatal net, she had recognised the grizzled head and burly shoulders of him she loved best on earth. Awe-stricken, fearing they knew not what, the town turned out _en masse_ and silently followed the procession, until, crossing the bridge that led over the outer moat of the castle, the ponderous doors closed upon it and the prisoner. For, strange and incomprehensible as it appeared, there was no doubt that Koshiu was a prisoner. The net and chains, and scowling escort told as much. Why? Was the report a false one? Had he not succeeded in communicating with the Sublime One? Sure he who was the Fount of Honour had not spurned the humble prayer! If he had been gracious, why was the victim brought to his home with sinister pomp and circumstance? While the crowd in scattered knots were discussing the enigma, the gates opened again, a band of samurai rushed forth, and presently returned with--wonder of wonders!--Kennui and her little children, who, driven at point of spear, like the farmer vanished. Curiosity and impatience were getting the better of alarm, and some of the elders were about to cross the bridge, and knocking, make inquiries, when again the door swung upon its hinges, a man posted up a paper, and the gate was again shut to. A thrill of horror and consternation shivered over the crowd, as some one, mounting on a riding block, read aloud the proclamation. Crucifixion for the patriot and his innocent wife--the annihilation of his family and name! The injustice and brutality of such a sweeping sentence cried aloud to Heaven. Japan should ring with it. Come what might, the elders would remonstrate,--would lift up their voices in supreme protest against the iniquity of the cold-blooded tyrant. The head men of the town and surrounding villages assembled, one hundred and thirty in number, and drew up an appeal, affixing thereto their seals, and Rokubei and Zembei, whose consciences smote them somewhat, travelled with it themselves to Ki[^y]oto. There the streets were in commotion, business was put aside, and men sat on the mats in groups discussing the darkening future. In whispers, with furtive glances over the shoulder, they murmured that there must be an end of it; anything was preferable as a change to such a life as No-Kami prepared for the people. Submission was making matters worse instead of better. Letters must be sent to the surrounding provinces. They must shake off sloth, and rise as one to free themselves and their Mikado. Sampei, riding to the Golden House, told his brother of the hubbub. As he heard, the brow of the despot darkened; his eyeballs became bloodshot, like those of the demon Razetsu, as in obstinate fume he gnashed his teeth. "What?" he cried. "Oh, girl in man's attire, I have borne too long with your puling! You dare to come hither, and take the part of the scum against me, your feudal lord! A shivering coward, who calls himself a soldier! Not a word more, or, despite the army at your back, I'll have you seized and scourged, and your head flung to the jackals." Hot words rose in Sampei's throat, but the mournful face of his pale love rose before him, and he choked them down. His brother was distraught with passion,--knew not what he said. His feudal lord! Yes, that much was true. If danger was brewing, his place was by the side of his brother, to save him, if might be, from the consequences of the wickedness instilled by demons; if not, to assist him in his death. The silence and sullen submission of the young General irritated the Daimio to frenzy. He cursed and growled like some savage animal, became the more furious from the conviction that in this matter he had been precipitate and wrong,--had been guilty of a mistake in state-craft,--of over-harshness. And yet it would never do to give to the scum the victory--to the low mechanics, and mean, unarmed artificers, who were assuming a threatening attitude. What would the other daimios say, who were eagerly watching the next move, if the ruler were again to give way,--to succumb like a woman before the outcry of a few rustics? The prestige of the Hojos would be gone for ever, and the bearer of the name would be sucked under and drowned by the torrent which would assuredly break loose. Give way! That, by the crown of Buddha, he swore he never would; and yet, perceiving too late the danger, in his heart he longed for a compromise. Hearing that Rokubei and Zembei, venerable elders, had dared to come pestering, and that a deputation of priests, headed by the bonzes of Tsu, awaited his pleasure, he smothered his rage, and bade Sampei admit them. He even deigned to summon his father's friend, and solicit counsel, placing the case before him. Concealing his exultation under an air of sympathy, Nara arrived with promptitude, and, true to his tactics, gave advice which was calculated to undo his enemy. "The peril is extreme," he said, "so I will speak plainly. 'Tis easier to raise a storm than quell it." "If you are here to talk platitudes, begone," interrupted No-Kami. "Be patient, my almost son, and attend," the malicious Daimio responded, with inward laughter. Like a bear in the toils his foe was caught, and it should be no fault of his if he became not more closely enmeshed. "You are right in this," he continued. "It will not do to lower the proud standard of the Hojos before the rabble; and yet you must provide them with a sop. Let the sentence stand. What is decreed should be irrevocable; but grant the boon in the memorial. Remove the obnoxious taxes. So will you seem clement, as well as stern and strong. They will fear you more than ever, while compelled to praise your bounty." The advice jumped with No-Kami's inclination The more he considered it, the more crafty it appeared; but, true to his principle of blood-letting and tyrannising over the weak, he slightly improved on it. He would pretend to have known nothing of these taxes, and, as an example, would bring to condign punishment the bailiffs and tax-gatherers who had so harshly oppressed his vassals. A master-stroke worthy of his sapient father this. A touch of genius. He accordingly harangued the deputations; declared his surprise as well as sympathy and love with such assurance that they scarce could believe their ears. The sentence, if somewhat harsh, must stand, he said, for 'twas a grievous crime in a vassal to hold up to obloquy his feudal lord. The property of the offending farmer should, however, not all be confiscated, but a part would be handed over to the girl Miné, who was spared, thanks to his brother's pleading. He assured his amazed listeners that he grieved over the rapacity of his officers--of whom he would make an example--in that they had invented new imposts on their own account, to the detriment of their lord's repute. He was sorry that the full details of the case had not reached him before. The town councillors of Tsu would be dismissed from their posts. Four district governors and three bailiffs would be banished to the northern island. The chief bailiff of Tsu and one particularly-sinful officer would be invited to perform harakiri. The objectionable taxes were abolished. With this, while his audience stood aghast and dumb, my lord waved his fan with courteous condescension, in token of dismissal, and retired, flattering himself that he had got extremely well out of rather an awkward hobble. The news which the deputations brought back with them to Tsu was received with mixed feelings. It was sad that the farmer's family must perish, but Koshiu would know that they had not died in vain. For the public good he and his were made a sacrifice. Many litanies should be chanted in the temples; the martyr should be canonised, enrolled on the list of saints. One who was inconsolable was Miné. Spurned by him at whose feet she had cast herself--for Sampei had never deigned to inquire after her--she was compelled to admit that her father was right in his estimate of the reigning family. If he whom she elected to worship as a hero had not been as cruel as his brother, he would not stand by--he, a powerful general in command of many soldiers, while so wicked a sentence was promulgated. Father, mother, brothers--all. And she had loved this man! Distracted, she rushed to the castle, and braving the obscene jests of the samurai, implored to be admitted to her parents. She had done wrong, and must die heartbroken if deprived of their forgiveness. A soldier, softened by the maiden's anguish, carried her entreaty, and returned with the message that her father refused to see her. She who was the chattel of a Hojo was no child of his, he had declared. Three beloved sons were his, but no daughter. Miné battered with weak hands upon the closing door. Her father had judged too harshly, for--alas! to confess such infamy--the Hojo had repulsed her. She was not his mistress,--had never even seen him since he sallied forth to war. The samurai laughed loud at the confession, and gibed at the hapless maid, bandying foul pleasantries. A likely story. Since, owing to the General's intervention, she was to have the property, she would doubtless find some one to pick up that which my lord Sampei had tossed into the mire. How much would she be worth? Would she set herself up to auction? By-and-by she could purchase for herself a husband, if not now a messenger. Her father declined to see her, so if yet she had a shred of shame left she had best depart, and quickly. If not, the soldiery would take her in, and for their own delectation keep her there. In terror she sped away, nor stopped till she reached the temple; and when in the gloaming the spectral line of nuns and Abbess entered for the evening prayer, Masago lifted the exhausted and fainting girl, and pressing cold lips upon her brow, bade her take rest and comfort. Henceforth she was theirs and Buddha's. To show that, although clement, he was not to be intimidated, No-Kami resolved to make of the prospective execution a wholesome precedent, and to that end journeyed to Tsu in person. He was determined that the spectacle should abide in the minds of those who were privileged to witness it, as an ineffaceable lesson and an awful memory. It should take place within the castle boundaries, he decreed, in the presence of the Daimio and his suite, in gala robes, and all and sundry were invited to attend this new and engaging form of public festival. As the fatal day approached, the fiery temper of the despot was severely tried, and grew hotter under the trial; for although the truculent retinue applauded, and looked forward with glee to a rare frolic, there was hanging over the land a shadow that might be felt. Men spoke together in isolated knots, scudding away like hares if the gallop of my lord's escort was heard returning from the chase. This showed a wholesome and gratifying fear; but there were some who took no pains to cloke their insolence. The friends of the tax-gatherers and others who had been condemned, raised an outcry, vowing that they had obeyed to the letter their lord's behest, and that 'twas hard to suffer for being only too faithfully obedient. No-Kami increased the number of his personal attendants, daring no longer to go forth alone, lest haply some wailing relative should cling to his stirrup, and decline to be beaten off. Even behind the bristling defences of the castle he was not secure. Masago and her nuns arrived in solemn procession at the gate, and the soldiers, hardened though they were, were afraid to refuse them entrance. The austere Abbess was not to be browbeaten. Calm and cold, with inflexible mien she looked No-Kami in the eyes, and in presence of his warriors, in the name of her dead lord his father, dared him to fulfil his purpose. Solemnly she warned him of divine rancour. She had had a dream, and, as all the world knows, the soul during sleep is in active communication with the departed. Even now, at the eleventh hour, she urged that there was still time to avert the vengeance of the gods. The growing anger of Buddha might be appeased by pilgrimage and prayer, self-humbling, and precious gifts. But Masago might as well have preached to the lotuses. Her speech was met with uneasy ribaldry, and smouldering ire. "Bah! Threats from a troop of women! A made-up ghost to affright children with. Ye are hungry for the good things of this world," snarled the Daimio, "like all the priesthood. Be off! I care not for nuns or bonzes, self-appointed messengers from Heaven. Chatterers, get you gone while ye have time, or despite your garb your bodies shall feel the whip." With that he bade the doorkeepers open wide the gate, that his guards might drive forth the embassage. The unfortunate chatelaine, although none of the castle denizens cared to know it, was the one who was most hardly stricken by her husband's culminating sin. When the sad procession arrived with in its midst the patriot, she was boating outside the walls, deftly guiding her shallop with a slender pole through the luxuriant floating greenery. The elders having been spared at her written request, the horizon seemed less black. This was a first step towards the reclaiming of No-Kami--by-and-by, little by little, she would by tact and persistent effort regain over him the influence which at first she had too quickly abdicated. As she pondered, she blamed herself for lack of patient perseverance. What was her own petty pride to the people's good? She had misjudged No-Kami, for on receipt of her letter he had given way at once. So he would again, and yet again, till drawn out of himself by tenderness, he would cast aside his wicked self like a foul garment, and live a cleanly life. Then she fell a-weaving of plans for assuaging the misery of her people, and all at once there fell the thunderbolt, and her new calm was rudely broken. This horror was worse than all. Retiring to her bower, and dismissing her maidens, she cast herself upon the floor, and, numbed by despair, remained inanimate for hours. Had the gods no pity for such frail things as she? The contemplation of her husband, of the man who could deliberately plan and execute so vile an atrocity as this, caused her flesh to creep, her soul to shudder. He proposed, moreover, to accomplish the dreadful deed _here_, within the precincts of her house. The smell of the blood would never fade, its stain might never be effaced; and she was doomed to endure its constant presence for long years, unless the gods were clement. Some rail at the brief span of life. To some it seems too short, to others interminable. How earnestly, lying prone, did O'Tei entreat release. A long vista of grim dreadful years. No, at bay, she would revolt against the nightmare, would leap into the waves, and make an end of it. Since men may relieve themselves with the dirk of a too heavy existence, might not women seek relief in the embrace of the blessed sea? He was coming here soon, her husband, to superintend the shocking details. He would touch, perhaps clasp her in his arms. Oh, no! And yet, why not? Clutched by him, pressed to the hard heart of the monster, inhaling the poison of his breath, she must surely wither; and if her soul were freed, what signified the horror of the means? Sinking into a condition of dull lethargy, she went forth no more, but brooded in the quiet of her chamber, from which she could see the hill crowned by the temple groves. Dim and distant, like the roar in a sea-shell, she heard the noise of arrival, the neighing of steeds, and clank of iron, the braying of hoarse throats, the shouts and laughter at carousal. With sick apprehension she awaited the dreaded footsteps which soon must cross the threshold. But time went on and it came not, and she thanked the gods for that. He had inquired for her, the maidens said, and they had replied that their lady was ill. He had said no more, and had seemed satisfied. Truth to tell, he was as much relieved as she at the postponement of a meeting. For, worried and annoyed by the abominable behaviour of the scum, he was in no mood for whining, and instinct whispered that on such an occasion as the forthcoming festival the degenerate O'Tei would whine. When it was past and over, she would know better than to whimper, since what is done is done; and once resolved, no whining of silly women-folk should turn him from his purpose. Whilst dreading the creak of one footfall, she listened wistfully for another. Where was Sampei, her childhood's friend? Sure, he would sympathise, for his kind heart would tell him of the direful condition of his sister. Had he, disgusted with his brother, deserted him? It was likely; and yet not so, for Sampei--who should know better than she?--was loyal and true. He had arrived with my lord; the maidens had seen and admired him, and had grieved to perceive that he was dejected, the noble young hero. How strange then that he should not visit his old playmate. Alack! Sampei avoided O'Tei as diligently as did No-Kami. What could he say to her that would not increase her sorrow? Fully appreciating her highly-wrought and reserved and sensitive nature, he knew too well what she must be suffering; and the sight of her tears, since he might not dry them, would cut him like a sword-thrust. Moreover, the seed his mother had prudently sown had taken deep root in his light soil, by reason of Miné's foolishness. On every account it was well to avoid personal contact with O'Tei. Without being conceited, the fact was patent that if one woman fell in love with him without encouragement, another might. In his ordinary frame of mind, he would cheerfully have said, "The more the better," and have basked with joy in the sunshine of unlimited loveliness. But he knew now that he adored O'Tei with an affection so pure and deep that there was no selfishness in it,--that, rather than cause her a pang, he would himself make any sacrifice. Her heart, he knew, was empty. As the Abbess had hinted, it was not at all impossible that if tempted she might grow to love her brother-in-law in unbrotherly fashion; and then, what pain to her, to him, to all? For once the young soldier would be prudent. Near, but unseen, he would shield his beloved as much as possible,--commune with her as little as might be,--come forward only in emergency. With regard to No-Kami, he grew grievously perplexed, marvelling sometimes whether his brother was sane. The practice of cruelty upon the weak, for the enjoyment thereof, was something so foreign to his own open character that he could not comprehend the motives which moved the Daimio, nor his fits of frenzy when thwarted. Once, since their arrival at Tsu, he had remonstrated fearlessly with his chief, who had thereupon threatened to dismiss him into banishment. For the sake of the chatelaine, in the quickly-clouding future, this must not be. So Sampei, at his wits' end, like a dutiful son, climbed the temple stairs and unlocked the secrets of his heart before the shrewd ken of the Abbess. Masago surveyed him anxiously, then unaccustomed tears for a moment dimmed her vision as she gave praise to the gods in that she had been given such a son. Truth and trust looked from out his eyes. The noble fellow. Placing her firm white hand upon his shoulder, she kissed his brow. "The situation is dark," she said; "the skein is tangled. The gods have marked down for destruction my lord of Tsu. That much is clear to me. Blindfold he marches to the edge of the abyss. I am a weak, purblind woman groping in the dark, unable to give counsel in so difficult a strait. My voice has been raised in vain: he thrust us forth like dogs. I will pray. Maybe that through prayer and vigil I may learn to know; and when I know, then will I tell thee, child. Peradventure divine wrath may yet, by diligent pleading, be turned aside. The farmer and his family must perish, thou a dumb spectator. That much cannot be helped. Be patient. Wait. I will prostrate myself before the altar, that the veil of the future may be rent." One morning a lull of unaccustomed quietude informed O'Tei that my lord and all his following had gone scouring over the plain, and her maids, seeing her listless and sad-eyed, implored their mistress to mount to the top of the tower, and breathe the fresher air. From the upper gallery, shaded by the huge copper roof, the weary recluse gazed over the flat towards the twin hills with an intense longing. Since my lord's coming, she had not visited her summer-house, for she could not bear the sight of the mourning which she knew overhung the town. She yearned to steal forth now and gaze on the lovely view, with its sequestered temple, and placid land-locked waters, and fishers, and sunny islets. Alas! all labour was abandoned. The fishers were too wretched to pursue their avocation. Their boats were drawn up upon the beach untenanted. She could see them, a white fringe upon the yellow. Then, as her eye moved homeward, she started, and cried aloud, and wrung her hands, for down below in the courtyard rose, gaunt and terrible, the symbols of oppression. In a corner of the space within the outer moat stood ready a pair of crosses. The preparations were made then?--the consummation of the tragedy was imminent; and she, cowering and cowardly, had never attempted to stem the new tide of the Daimio's anger. A tacit connivance at this villainy! Shaking herself as from the drowsy clog of sleep, she swiftly descended the stair with head erect, distended eye, and face as grey as ashes, and, to the surprise of the sentinels, crossed the first drawbridge as one in a trance, and made for the place of execution. It occupied an extreme corner, far from the huts of the soldiers, and was masked from the path in common use by a belt of trees, concerning which there were fearsome legends. So many terrible events had taken place beneath their shade that they were said to be tenanted by souls of criminals,--to groan at times, and ooze with gore, and be accursed. To the Asiatic peasant all streams and woods are peopled with visionary forms,--are the homes of demons or of angels. It was well known that a sacrilegious cutter had striven once to fell one of these gnarled trunks, and had been blasted as if by lightning. It was an equally established fact that their vicinity impelled to suicide, for many men had, apparently without reason, hung themselves upon their branches, fascinated to self-destruction by some dread and secret spell. O'Tei passed under their shade, and, shivering, recalled the legend, for though there seemed no wind, they swayed and creaked, spreading gaunt arms over her head, with trails of grey-green spindles, like uncanny mildewed hair. Why she had come she knew not--it was in obedience to no volition of her own. Her heart and temples were throbbing wildly. Within her swimming brain there was room for but one idea. The web of a terrible fate was being spun with ruthless fingers around my lord and her to choke them both. Was she to be permitted again to intervene between him and his victims?--or, to tear the meshes which encircled them, were they destined to writhe in vain? Advocate of mercy, how sweet a privilege! What could she do? Had she the courage to face that sin-stained man? Irresolute and trembling, she stood staring at the crosses, marking their shadows as they lengthened, till, with a gasp and sob, she heard the tread of horses, accompanied by shouts and laughter. He had returned from the chase--the tyrant--and it was well that she was here. She would try not to fear him,--strive hard to do her duty. They must meet now, and, summoning her puny strength, she would endeavour to push him from the precipice. The cavalcade swept past in a cloud of dust--a brilliant, uproarious company--and clattered across the moat. Two riders were following a little behind the rest, when one, catching sight of a familiar drapery among the trees, pulled back his horse upon its haunches. "The lady O'Tei," he exclaimed, "beneath that baleful canopy!" And straightway Sampei dismounted, and held the stirrup for his brother. And thus they met again, those three, on this fateful day for all---my lord in an evil mood, for even to him there was something oppressive in the air. A pall, as of the shadow of death, hung murky over the land. With trembling, blue lips, more like a spectre than a woman, O'Tei awaited my lord's approach, and turning, flung herself upon her knees, clinging about his feet. No-Kami glared down in surprised dudgeon, while the soul of Sampei was thrilled with pity to perceive how wan she looked. "My lord!" she murmured low, with fluttering heart, "a boon. Oh! spare them--for my sake--for your own--spare them--spare them--spare them! Give me at least the lives of the woman and her babes. If the man must suffer, be it so. You see that for him I say no word, not one--the gods forgive me! For his act he knew and weighed the penalty. But those innocents are not to perish. Say 'twas but a pleasantry, and I will kiss your feet, and bless you." The visage of No-Kami grew purple as he glowered down upon his wife, and then, with grinding teeth, he glanced furtively around. There was no witness to the interview. "It is well," he hissed, "that the company has gone before, and that I am spared humiliation in their eyes. Fie! what shameful folly's this? Can this grovelling thing, like a slave in the dust, be Hojo's wife, child of the Daimio of Nara? Nay! it is some mean Eta woman, pariah and outcast. Sampei, raise her up, and quickly, and let us both forget this spectacle. Arise!" he cried, spurning the prostrate figure with his foot. "Even among the Etas obedience is a wife's first duty." Sampei stooped, and gently raising his distracted sister, supported her upon his breast, whilst the furious despot continued dryly,-- "Know that your existence is a blot on my name and your own. It is well that you have borne no children to perpetuate disgrace. If any of the bold samurai had seen you but now, what would they have thought of me?--of you? how could they respect their lady? Shame, shame! Pluck up a spirit--borrow one--and make at least pretence to assume a fitting dignity. The condemned are to die at sundown; no more on that score; even now the spectators are trooping hitherward. Go; tire your hair and don your gala robes. When all is ready, I will send for you." "For me!" gasped O'Tei, turning a shade more white. "As chatelaine of Tsu, your place is by my side," announced the Daimio sternly. "Be my will your law. Go now, and try not to degrade us." His unhappy sister-in-law cast an imploring glance at Sampei, who stood with head bowed and sullen averted gaze. His blood was coursing through his veins at fevered speed. Patience, his mother had said, and wait. How could he wait and practise patience, seeing her he loved so outraged? Was she to be forced, by the whim of a madman, to give the sanction of her gracious presence to the deed which all deplored? Masago, as usual, had been right. The Divine finger was in it, or why should the heiress of Nara, belying her own pride and the traditions of her haughty lineage, have selected the very means of interference which was most sure to offend her lord, and frustrate her own desires? Had she, with imperious attitude and supercilious air, demanded the lives of the woman and her offspring, No-Kami might, touched by the proud beauty of her who was his bone, have, even so late as this, been surprised into some clemency. Sampei himself, to whom all she did was dear, felt a sharp twinge of mortification as, burning with sorrowful regret, he had quickly lifted her. Both brothers, jealous of the name they bore, suffered in their tenderest point on seeing her thus prostrate. O'Tei must have been overcome with grief indeed ere she could have been guilty of so grave an error. But the Daimio's last demand must be rescinded. He must not insist upon her being present at the ceremony, or she might succumb under the ordeal. Angry words of protest rose to the General's lips, but for her sake (remembering his mother's injunctions) he mastered them, and, as the trio moved slowly to the castle, strove to speak with a steady voice and dispassionate temperance. "Far be it from me," he began, "to interfere between a wife and her spouse, or fatigue my lord with argument, yet would I suggest this much to my brother. Alas! see how weak she is--feeble in health. Nerves overstrung are not under complete control. But for this, the heiress of Nara would never have given just cause for a husband's displeasure by an act which we will all forget. Do not insist upon her witnessing the ceremony, for she has dwelt of late in such strict retirement that none will expect her presence." A look at No-Kami cut him short. There was a lurid glitter in his glance that boded serious mischief if thwarted, threatening a new burst of frenzy. How difficult it was to be prudent, to steer without shipwreck in such troubled waters. Again for a space was the General torn between contending duties. Was he bound blindly to follow the head of his clan in his mad recklessness, lead where he would? Could he be excused were he to look on and refrain from action while the soul of his love was tortured? Was it not craven idly to mark her growing misery? Her true knight, forsooth! A knight unarmed, his spear a rotten bulrush. Was it destined that he might never afford her help? Better go away then, back to Corea, or farther still. Yet how would that be possible, she in this desperate quandary? Like a green flash of pallid light it broke upon him clearly, as he walked beside his chief, that the day might come when, the weapon in the grasp of a higher power, he would be compelled to smite his brother. With the thought came a grisly dread. Desperation drives men to acts for which a long life of penitence may not atone. Fate is fate, and man may not master it. Sampei thought of his mother, and, like her, prayed to be enlightened. Was the doomed No-Kami indeed to fall by the treacherous hand of him who should be the first to help? And, ah! what a grievous punishment would follow, since by the very act of freeing her he would cut himself off from her for ever. A brother's widow and a brother's murderer. Wait, the Abbess had said. Wait! How long? Events rolling onward with the turbid tide, would it be possible to wait? The toils of destiny were wrapped around the three, clasping them closer and more close, as, gloomy and tempest-tossed, they passed under the gateway of the castle. CHAPTER IX. THE EXECUTION. The Daimio was well served by his subordinates. Nothing was omitted which could add impressiveness to the coming rite. The two crosses stood facing the west, gaunt and forbidding, at a convenient distance one from the other, backed by the green trees, and around them was spread thick paper, to save the earth from pollution. It had been a knotty question with the chief samurai, who acted as master of the ceremonies, as to the exact shade of punctilio which it would be fitting to employ on the occasion. All the world knows that the most minute instructions were laid down in 1336 by Ashikaga for the guidance of those of upper or military class who were to assist either as principals or seconds at harakiri, or suicide by disembowelling. The exact hour, the place, the number of lights, of mats, of screens and hangings, bows and genuflections, according to the rank of the sufferer, were arranged by him in the form of a long code, and so complete and comprehensive were these instructions that no room was left for doubt as to the most trifling detail. But here was a case without precedent, for the sufferers were plebeians, too low and common to be worthy of the smallest candle or commonest mat, or, indeed, of anything whatever except an ignominious slaughter like swine. But then the Daimio had insisted that the spectators should be regaled with pomp and circumstance,--that the criminals should have the honour of being done to death within the castle precincts, and therefore the chief samurai was obliged to hold a council with his fellows for the fixing of this weighty matter. In the first place, the farmer and his wife were of too mean a stock to be permitted to put an end to themselves, just as the children were too young to perform the act, even if accorded the privilege. No, they must be handed over to the Etas, members of the lowest class in Japan--people who dig graves and kill animals--social outcasts beyond the pale of society, filthy and degraded, who are never allowed to enter a house, or eat or drink or cook at any fire in company with decent persons. Being unworthy of mats or hangings, the device of the paper was an ingenious thought, for the blood of mere peasants must not defile the private ground of my lord, and yet the spirits of the departing must not be overcomforted by too much consideration. As the execution was to take place at the hour of the cock, or sundown, it would be necessary to have lights, but not too many, or of too grand a kind, for excessive illumination would be indecorous. Four tall bamboo poles, carrying lanterns of plain white, were placed at four corners, while behind a screen were concealed a lance, a dirk upon a tray, buckets to contain the heads, an incense burner, cloths, and a pail of water. In the centre of the space facing the crosses, thick mats were laid, covered with rich embroideries, for the accommodation of my lord and his party, behind which was to be arranged, standing in rows, his brilliant retinue in their most splendid and glittering array. Down the sides, behind a low barrier, were mats of a coarser kind for the town's-people, with fire boxes or hibachis, and bronze kettles and tea things, and cakes and sweetmeats on trays of gold lacquer, in order that none of his vassals might accuse his benignant lord of want of hospitality or lack of thought for their comfort. It was a beautiful and still evening in autumn, with the opalescent sky of crystalline clearness, which so often in Japan gives us a hint of the infinite. The sun was just dipping behind the outer wall, flanked by its massive towers, tipping with gold the eddies of the brawling river which protected the side of the square opposite the crosses, when a flourish of conch shells announced that the time was come. With a thunder of hoofs over the wooden drawbridge, first there defiled a troop of cavalry with tapering lances and pennons, in glistening black armour and housings, each helmet adorned with the badge of Hojo, the face of each horse covered by a gilded mask of frowning and horrific aspect. Solemnly the horsemen man[oe]uvred, forming a hollow square of gold and sable; then at a signal the outer gates were opened, and with clatter of many clogs there poured in from the town a sea of men and women, old and young, with anxious pallid faces. The invitation had been accepted by all classes. Fishermen there were in short blue cotton shirts and tight gaiters, and mushroom hats roughly bedizened in colour with tigers or twisting dragons. Old dames and young rosy girls jostled and fought for places, for sure never had the oldest inhabitant been bidden to so strange a mummery. Artisans there were too, burly and bronzed, naked, save for a loin-cloth and loose jacket; and merchants and superior persons, in long crape kimonos, adorned with curious designs, bound round the waist with scarves of silk. The black phalanx looked down with scorn but half concealed, for never had so motley a rabblement been admitted within these walls, and many a timid wight glanced trembling at the swart fierce visages under shadow of the casques, wishing he had stayed away. There was one, however, conspicuous for gay attire and many hairpins, who, no whit abashed, looked saucily along the line, making loud remarks, with pointed finger, as if the motionless figures were statues. A very pretty little lady like a humming bird, with dancing eyes and silvery laugh, and hair tricked out and stiffened with pomade, who, by her gay dress, was a geisha or professional dancing-girl. All about her was small, but neat and natty and trim, from her tiny feet and lacquered clogs to her impudent little nose. It was plain that she was afraid of nothing, taking life lightly, resolved upon enjoying the day, however dark its setting; for, elbowing her way to the front, she commenced, with a comical assumption of haughtiness, to criticise the arrangements, as if all her short career had been passed in castles and palaces. The chief samurai was uncertain how to act respecting her, for she presumed to mock at him, and mimic his rolling swagger and pompous stride, rating him the while for tardiness,--a lamentable lack of punctuality. Who was this forward wench? he asked, awaking from dumb amazement, who, respecting neither place nor persons, mumbled sweetmeats between cherry lips, and, tapping a garish fan, shouted for the performance to commence! It was O'Kikú some one said, a celebrated dancer and spoilt beauty from distant Kamakura, who was in the habit of walking upon hearts, of attaching herself to richest youths like a tarantula, and quickly sucking them dry. She was on a pilgrimage to the groves of Isé--for even frail and flighty young ladies have souls that require doctoring--but hearing of what was toward, and the temptation great, had gaily tossed aside her pilgrim robes of white, and postponed her journey and her prayers. But now, even naughty and irrepressible O'Kikú was hushed to silence, for there was another flourish, and, stately and slow, with all the pomp of state, the procession of the Daimio marched across the bridge. Very handsome the two brothers looked as, in full dress, and wearing the courtly Naga-bakama (full long trousers of red silk), they moved with a lady between them--a lady who, by her exceeding stateliness and unusual pallor, riveted the attention of the geisha. "Patrician to the finger ends," muttered the latter approvingly. "I have never seen so high-bred a lady--no, not even among the gorgeous court of the Shogun in distant Kamakura--as noble in bearing as her two supporters. Which is the Daimio, I wonder? The older one, of course." The older one. Her heart---or what served as such--went straight out to him; and from her worldly point of view, in which inclination and interest seemed in unaccustomed fashion to mingle, she decided, as rustic Miné had done before her, that he, and he only, should be her master. The handsome stalwart fellow, bronzed and weather-worn, his brow crossed by a deep and honourable cicatrice! A typical soldier he, whom 'twould be a joy to love. The other one? Well, handsome too, but ill-tempered evidently; as rich in scowls as a tiger in stripes; a wild beast, whose taming might amuse. And yet toying with wild beasts is dangerous, for when they scratch they tear. Brothers apparently. The wife of which was the patrician lady? For a second the world-worn geisha felt the prick of a curious and new sensation. Could it be jealousy? If she were the wife of the soldier, she was a rival whom it would be necessary to fight and crush. Cold--almost inanimate; a doll--stupid probably--entirely wrapped, like so many of her station, in contemplation of the family tree. Pooh! an absurd rival; for sure no man could love an icicle. Were they newly married? This bridegroom with the scar was delectably attentive to his bride. How mawkish! And then the observant little woman noticed that the scowls of the younger brother were specially turned upon the icicle. Why was that? There was an air about him of discontented proprietorship. Suddenly she became aware of the richness of his attire as he took his place in the centre, amid the bows and genuflections of the spectators. So the younger of the twain was the Daimio, and the icicle his wife. What a pity that it was not the elder. It was with a twinge of genuine regret that the geisha turned from the bronzed hero to examine the chief of the clan. A forbidding savage! Clearly he did not love the icicle. He was fancy free. Inclination and interest as usual did not mingle. Heigho! must we always throw over romance for the better filling of our pockets? An unsatisfactory world, in sooth, where things have such a provoking way of clashing. A good-looking aristocratic person this head of the clan, if cross. "I did well to drop my foolish prayers; this is the moment for business," she inly murmured. "I shall have first to ensnare the chief, and his stalwart brother after." Her line of action thus promptly and practically decided, the young woman prepared her batteries. Even No-Kami, with much cause, as he told himself, for displeasure, could find little room for carping in the attitude of his consort, now frozen into compliance with his mandate. She had, as it were, gone out of herself, leaving a stiffened body, moved by automatic springs. Condemned to do awful penance, she walked mechanically, leaning on the arm of her brother, who glanced from time to time at her, with mixed satisfaction and surprise. He had dreaded lest, her task beyond her strength, she should quail and break down, object of derision to samurai; but no--the struggle was past--the blood of the Daimios of Nara asserted itself. Of what use was it for a girl to struggle against destiny? What must be, will be, despite our feeble protests. To beat soft palms against a wall is but to bruise and maim them. One who drowns, battles with futile strength among the waters, then drifts quiescent beyond the pale, power of resistance gone. The watchful warriors smiled, relieved, behind their iron-mounted tans, as silently they dropped into their places. For once their chatelaine was as chill and disdainful and impassable as the chatelaine of Tsu should be. No-Kami cast his eyes, gleaming tawny with malice satisfied, over the throng. He was well-pleased. As a pageant the affair was a distinct success, for, hemmed round by the swart square, his vassals were learning a lesson of fear that should stem their insolence in future. The executioner and his aids stood ready on their lengthening shadows, chosen from among the Etas for their breadth of beam. Their athletic bodies stripped to the waist, dark as burnished bronze, tatooed in intricate designs, with loins girt up, and hair loosely knotted, and sandalled feet apart, they awaited the signal of their lord. The Daimio raised his arm; the shells sent forth a blast, and at the warning all heads were turned, for there appeared from among the grey and ghostly trees the sad procession of the doomed. First, with chains about their ankles, and wrists fast bound, came the unlucky officials who for too slavishly literal obedience were to serve as a sop to the people. A purr of applause, a drawing in of the breath, like the sibillation of the plashing wave, went round the throng, as the heads of the condemned were severed; for there is no denying that it is delicious to enjoy the discomfiture of foes. But this act of popular justice accomplished, there was a pause, and then the assemblage, changing its tone, sent up a protesting moan of tribulation, accompanied by tears; for, smiling, with head well poised and brawny shoulders bare, the patriot, who was one of themselves, advanced to martyrdom. By his side, in mien as brave as he, walked in her best kimono his wife, the hapless Kennui, leading in each hand a child, pathetically crowned with simple field-flowers. Ah me! How grievous a spectacle was this of innocence marching to the slaughter. There was a rustle and ripple as of wind over a rice field. O'Tei alone of all appeared unmoved. But for the twitching of slightly-contracted brows, her delicate features might have been carven, as, peering into space and seeing nothing, she sat motionless with bloodless lips. Even the fair and outrageously irreverent and saucy O'Kikú, who had made so merry, with that musical strong voice of hers, Over the rueful plight of the tax-gatherers, as to draw on herself the flattering attention of the Daimio, was obliged, at sight of the babes, to dash away one tiny crystal drop; but then remembering that weeping makes pink the nose, and that life at best is brief, she resumed the reins of composure. More, for she succeeded in emitting such a jocund and appropriate peal of laughter as disconcerted the mob and wrung for behoof of the stranger a gratified inclination from my lord. Who was this bewitching creature? he began to ask. As good-looking as sensible. The eyes of the pretty girl beyond the common barrier and those of the great man on the mat of honour met, and from beneath a silky curtain the former shot forth a languishing glance of modest and reluctant but uncontrollable admiration, which was answered by a brazen ogle. O'Kikú blushed like a budding peony, which made her look more engaging than ever, and lowering her lids behind her fan, began seriously to congratulate herself. How clever she had been, adapting herself to circumstances, to postpone those tiresome prayers at Isé; for 'twas more and more evident that the great man cared nothing for the stony image by his side, and was susceptible to the blandishments of beauty. It was rather fortunate, too, that that other one with the scar upon his brow should be glumly engrossed in contemplating the heavens. Had she not, with a precision of judgment that was worthy of all praise, arranged that she would ensnare the great man first, and dally with the other afterwards? Even so well skilled a person as the geisha would have found it difficult to angle for both in the presence of one another. The Daimio caught and landed, fishing for the elder brother would be a delightful pastime. Yes. Business first and pleasure afterwards. Buddha is always on his lotus, calm and cross-legged, and to him, in matter of favours asked, all times are one, for is he not eternal? Whereas it must be evident to the smallest capacity that the great ones of the earth are not always accessible, but, within range, must be shot flying as they pass. Her plans arranged with accuracy and speed, the wily damsel commenced such a series of arch man[oe]uvres with eyes and fan as a long and varied experience had taught were deadly; a silent yet eloquent language, which pleasantly titillated the nerves of the first of her intended victims. When public opinion and your own conscience upbraid your act, it is consoling to be encouraged by a pair of lustrous orbs. Sympathy, always sweet, is doubly so when we secretly know that we are wrong. By contrast, O'Tei's recent behaviour now seemed doubly execrable to No-Kami. Her cold glance, even in the early days had betrayed a polite indifference, which gradually changed, as he remembered now with sullen ire, into an expression of scorn half veiled, varied with dread and horror. As he gazed on the dazzling geisha, his spirits rose to blytheness. How whimsical are the arrangements of Nature! He could see now why his wife, despite her beauty, had always been repellent. She was tall and frigid, with an assumption of faultlessness which cannot but be disapproved by those who make no pretence to ph[oe]nixdom; whereas there, opposite, sent by the gods to comfort his loneliness, was a fairy vision replete with glowing perfections, accentuated by the piquancy of frailty, which he yearned to clasp in his arms. Sure so fragile an atomy would melt away in the fervour of a hot embrace? Yet no. The flesh was flesh--warm with life, deliciously solid and plump and peachen, if sylph-like in contour. Thrilled with desire of possession, the pageant interested my lord no more save for the amusement it afforded to the stranger. Somewhat vexed and annoyed by the ill-timed gurgles of the scum (yet what can you expect of low people but vulgarity?), he was pleased to perceive, by engaging little pouts and shoulder-shrugs and entrancing nose-wrinklings, that the stranger from afar was with him. It was evident that she deemed the sentence just--his severity wise and opportune. Stealing a glance at the chill statue by his side, upon which the anxious gaze of his brother was fixed, he became much annoyed; for in every line of O'Tei's suffering face was imprinted remonstrance and despair. Sampei, too, the milksop, appeared quite as miserable. It was a fortunate chance indeed that had brought the geisha to the castle. From afar there boomed across the flat a sweet but solemn sound that stirred the hearts of all; for was not the peal of the great bronze bell of Buddha a mystic friend close woven in the life of each? Every day its toll awoke the slumbering peasants for miles around, preaching with mellow voice a life of honest labour; and, ablutions over, each simple man and woman, with fervent face turned to the rising sun, clapped palms together, craving a blessing on their toil. To the superstitious Japanese the bronze temple bell is a living entity. It breathes with their breath, joys with their joy, grieves with their sorrow. As wood and brook are peopled, so are the temple and groves; and the great bronze bell is the voice of the myriad spirits, messengers of Buddha's will. How exasperatingly pestilent, therefore, was it now of Masago to give to the festivity a mournful turn of warning by slowly beating the bell as if for some popular calamity. A shudder passed over the crowd. Hark' What was that? The soughing of the wind? The twee-twee of the shrill cicada? No. A faint and distant chant, growing each moment louder; and, as he heard, the face of my lord grew purple and his brow black with rage, which he was vainly seeking to control. He, like the others, guessed the purport of the music, and his fingers mechanically sought his sword-hilt. That abominable Abbess, not to be daunted by recent contumely, was again coming to the castle with all her bonzes and her maidens to demand at least the lifeless bodies of those who were about to die. Nothing could be more inopportune,--better calculated to mar the pageant; for of what use were sweetmeats and fruit and the best tea as concomitants to a grim enjoyment made fascinating by wholesome terror, if the occasion were suddenly to be turned into one of open mourning? What was to be done? If 'twas but a bevy of priests, a few deft taps in tender places with the bamboo would send them squealing; but the voices were those of women, and even a tyrannical daimio will not gain in dignity by the scourging of a posse of girls. For an instant he breathed a deep curse upon all women--universal marplots; but, catching the glance of the stranger, he recanted. Even she found it difficult to combat her emotion. Her cheek had blanched, her lovely bosom heaved under the crape kimono; but being a damsel of strong will, gifted with a power of seeing ahead, she forced an arch flash from her eye, for the comfort of her new adorer. By a swift signal she bade him know that her sympathy was with him still. By instinct born of new affection, he seemed to read her thoughts. Abbesses are cross-grained, churlish hags, she seemed to say,--disappointed because youth has fled. Yet, in her heart, she could not but be aware that things were going badly, and that the effect produced by that gruesome festivity was far from the one intended. Well, so much the better, for her sympathy was rendered thereby more precious. Instead of accepting their harsh lesson with humble and meek duty, the fractious mob of artizans and mean persons, who should have been awed by mere admission within the castle, were presuming, with sighs and lamentations, openly to side with the convicted! With sobs and streaming cheeks the spectators leaned over the barriers, and, with low murmurs of "Cruel!" and "Pitiless!" threw their sweetmeats to the little ones. Beyond the outer wall, glinting through embrasures in the masonry, the rapid river rushed red and golden, flushed by the sinking sun. Its glitter was reflected in the eyes of Koshiu, who, with a martyr's smile, hearkened to the swell of the dirge. How comforting it was! How good of Buddha, the silent and watchful, thus to have inspired his priestesses! The will of a wicked man could keep them beyond the moat, but their voices, preternaturally clear with words from beyond the grave, floated over bolts and barriers. 'Twas with exultation and glee, as of one heated with warm wine, that, drawing his burly form to its full height, Koshiu turned him to his wife as both were bound to their crosses. "Cheer thee, dear Kennui!" he gaily laughed. "A spasm, and then happiness. It is given me to see, and I behold. Our poor transient lives are forfeit in this dim world of twilight, but our end is gained. The odious taxes are removed, and our brethren, not yet ripe for flitting, may rise upon their feet; for my lord is banned, the days of his oppression numbered. With deep humility and praise I see a miracle. In the next cycle--which is but a tiny step--we are rich and prosperous, ay and, oh wonder! reunited. Gennosuké will be reborn to us, and our little Sohei and dear Kihachi, in a clime where the Hojos are not." As the chant pealed louder yet, the chief victim was wrapped in ecstasy, shared as it seemed by his faithful helpmeet, for with bright eyes fixed on him she forgot her children's suffering, wistfully awaiting their rebirth. Not so the appalled audience, who, shivering with terror, watched the Etas at their work. Who may presume to gauge the designs of the Eternal? For his own mysterious ends--upright on his lotos--he was permitting this great wickedness; but whilst permitting, and lest mortals should lose their trust, and topple into unbelief, he deigned to raise a corner of the veil. 'Twas clear that the doomed farmer was big with prophecy. What words would next drop from his lips? And about the heads of the children too--the innocents--there gleamed a mystic radiance. When, to accompany their feudal leader on his passage of the river Sandzu, the privileged members of his bodyguard perform the rite of harakiri, 'tis the deliberate act of mature men, whose hands are steadied by faith unwavering. As such, it inspires respect and awe in which there is no fear. But to look on at ignorant and helpless infants butchered! oh, woeful sight! And, while the dread deed is being done, to hearken to the prophetic words of him who stands beside them on the brink. Well may the cheek blanch and the breast heave of those privileged to witness such a spectacle! Sure 'twas supported by the holy finger of the Unseen himself that Gennosuké assumed a manly dignity beyond his thirteen years as, stretching forth his head to the knife, he looked calmly up at the executioner. "Oh, father and mother," he simply said, "and little brothers, I go first, to wait for you, and will put forth my hand to help you across the river. All you who have come to see us die, farewell! and to you, sir, also a kind farewell. Hurt me as little as you may." Even the headsman, a stalwart Eta, brutalised by his bleeding and long years of taunts and flouts, turned a glassy eye of appeal upon his lord, but seeing no mercy on his gloomy visage, was fain, unnerved and stricken to the heart, to do his revolting duty. A gleam through the still air, and straightway a piteous wail from the onlookers, in harmony with the distant dirge. Then said the second lad, miraculously brave,--"I know not how to die, sir, and I beg you teach me." His blood was quickly swallowed by the greedy sand; and then 'twas the turn of the babe--the wee naked urchin with skin so berry-brown, who wist so little what was forward that, as he stretched his tiny fingers for a persimmon that was tossed to him, he was sent to rejoin his brethren. Roused by the groan that was forced from many breasts, Kennui spoke, her eyes fixed steadily upon her husband. "Mourn not," she said, as one who beholds a vision. "How blessed are we! From the first you foresaw this fate. A little wrench--no more. Man lives but for a lifetime, his good name for many, and that is more precious than life!" The voice of Kennui waxed faint, for, tight bound as she was, the spear of the Eta was more kindly than the Hojo; and it was only when he knew himself alone--all those he loved waiting on the further shore--that the farmer roused himself from musing. Twisting his body towards my lord so far as his bonds permitted, he slowly wagged his head and laughed low and long. "Could I live here five hundred lives in pomp like thee," he said, "I would not, knowing that which will come after. Oh, cruel one! oh, pitiless!--steeped to the lips in crime. Fence thee with walls, and moats, and barriers of stone, my spirit shall burst them all to avenge thy deed this day! Hearken to my voice. Mark my red eyes. Waking and sleeping--in the din of battle--in thy secret chamber--they shall be with thee. When they fade, know that thy end is nigh. Thy time is brief. All-patient Buddha sickens at thee. Last of thy race. Thou and thine--all, all--shall perish miserably--thy name a horror for all time." The voice of the martyr choked. The sable phalanx of grim warriors quaked and rustled in their armour like leaves before the coming storm. The Eta, scarce knowing what he did, beside himself with fear, plunged the lance into his side. The head of the farmer drooped; his eyes filmed, then opened wide lurid, reflecting the crimson sunset. "See yonder river," he gasped, "and take a sign. 'Tis tinged with blood already, sucked from thy fortress stones. See how red it flows! A day shall come when it will lap those stones no more. Then shall thy house fall, a shapeless ruin. Cursed, thrice cursed, be the long line of Hojo! In cycles yet to come may they stumble and wander, led astray, hopeless, and blind, and never attain oblivion!" The Daimio, with lightning in his glance, and terror in his heart, rose up, and, speechless with passion, stretched forth his hand. The trembling Eta again thrust in his weapon, and the voice of menace was hushed. But the sightless eyes still gazed at him, who was accursed as from out of the infinite, and the reflection from the river shone forth, cast back ensanguined, from them. A panic fell on the spectators. The men, fearing they knew not what, grew pale; the women shrieked, and stuffed fingers into ears, or clung wildly one to another. The samurai, grouped behind their lord, placed hands on swords, irresolute; for there was no foe worthy of their steel. A regrettable _dénouement_. 'Twas the Eta's fault--the tardy caitiff! His life should pay the penalty. Then of a sudden there was a diversion. The lady O'Tei, who, statue-like and numb, had witnessed the scene as one who saw not, willowed forward with a moan, and fell on her face unconscious. No-Kami looked around, his eyes bloodshot like the dead. Humiliation on humiliation. So intense was the depth of his impotent wrath, that his hands trembled, and his nerves were wrung with agony. What? He? Hojo No-Kami--tyrant of broad Japan, master of the Emperor himself--before whom all daimios and kugés and hatamotos were wont to bow, was to be bearded--openly insulted--by a low peasant fellow within the precincts of his castle, before his assembled vassals! The wretch was dead, worse luck, out of reach of further torment, bleeding from many spear-wounds; but ere he died he had covered his lord with ridicule. How different was the result of the pageant from that which had been proposed. The superstitious people clearly believed that the body hanging by its ropes was that of a martyred saint, who had spoken the words of Buddha; not of an insolent varlet who had perished with deserved ignominy. They believed the absurd threat about the river, and looked with awe for the accomplishment of the prophecy. The only dignified way out of the dilemma was by treating it with light contempt, turning it off as a sorry jest, with a peal of disdainful merriment. The attitude of Sampei was worthy of his stock. Involved with his brother in the curse, he had raised his brows in angry scorn, while his fingers moved towards his dirk. Then of a sudden, his manner had lamentably changed. With a sibillation of dismay, he had knelt over the swooning chatelaine, striving to call her to herself with gentle words of comfort. O'Tei! Ah, there was the worst point of all! By fainting thus inopportunely, she had accentuated the falseness of the position. That she (the chatelaine of Tsu) should cower under the anathema of a peasant. How different would have been the conduct of the bellicose Tomoyé. To swoon thus in public, was to betray unfitness for her rank,--to allow the scum to perceive that she believed in the curse, and its justice,--that she disapproved the fiat of my lord,--regretted his well-timed severity. Sampei was right when he pleaded for the too weak O'Tei. So scalding was the shame of the Daimio, that, but for the intervening figure of his brother, he would then and there have struck the craven chatelaine. And yet not so. His loathing and hatred for his unworthy partner was so intense, that contact even with her robe-hem would at this juncture have been most distasteful. Glancing about for consolation, his eyes met those of O'Kikú, and there shot into his heart a glow of solace which to its emptiness had been long unknown. Circumstances were assisting the man[oe]uvres of the cunning geisha more than she could have dared to hope. The helpless misery of No-Kami, as he looked down upon his wife, was a confirmation of her conjectures. A chicken-hearten rival, easily vanquished, this high-bred chatelaine would prove, since she would obtain no support from her spouse. The brother was unnecessarily affectionate. What did this portend? O'Kikú's smooth brow was wrinkled by a frown. Pooh! She had heard much of the General, whose name was Sampei--the name she learned from the crowd. He was good-natured and generous, no more. This was not the moment to dream of him, since the head of his clan was standing by in need of moral support. O'Kikú had lived an eventful life, if a short one, and was not one to be alarmed by spectres. Taken aback for a moment, somewhat frightened by the scene, involved for a few seconds in the unreasoning panic of the mob, she had quickly regained aplomb. Tapping her fan against the barrier with a peevish shrug of shapely shoulders, she demanded, in a chirrupping voice, as loud and clear as musical, to be instantly rescued from contamination. "It serves me right," she cried, tossing her chin, "for abandoning the realm of fashion. Faugh! Was there ever anything so disgusting as these rustics? The country with its evil-smelling rice paddy and foul slush was fit for them, and they for it. What a ridiculous pother, to be sure, over one paltry man's impertinence! The ways of the coolies were nauseous. Thank the gods, she was unaccustomed to coolies. If some one would have the gallantry to remove her from their contact, she would skip into her kago, and return to Kamakura forthwith." Oh, intriguing and long-headed O'Kikú! Ah, if O'Tei had had presence of mind to accept the situation in this spirit! Could No-Kami ever lavish sufficient gratitude for so signal a service rendered in the nick of time? The bewitching tourist had touched the right note, and saved the Daimio from embarrassment. With a smile of thanks, he bowed, and commanded an officer without delay to extricate the lady from the scum. With courteous apologies and well-turned compliments he descended from the dais, and, taking the stranger by the finger-tips, led her to the place of honour. Ignoring his wife, who, seemingly as lifeless as the farmer's family, was being gently borne away, under the tender surveillance of his brother, he was free to superintend the stranger's comfort, to see that the new-comer was provided with tea, in a cup of the best hirado, and plied with the choicest sweetmeats. A blush of gratified vanity served to add piquancy to her beauty, as, with an engaging air of bashfulness that went well with long lashes and sly glances, she seemed to deprecate attention. "I was so sorry for you," she gently purred; "but 'tis the penalty of greatness to be misinterpreted." Fanning herself with demure grace, she turned her pretty head aside to hearken to the words of her host, gazing the while with studied nonchalance at the proceedings of the Etas as they placed the heads in buckets, piled the bodies of the infants behind a convenient screen, did away with tokens of the sacrifice. The hollow square of dark-mailed men remained motionless till it should please their lord to move; but under many an iron vizard was a smile lurking, for the conduct of the saucy lady was approved by all, and the admiration of No-Kami no more than natural. Unlike the one who had been borne away, she was an honour to her sex, a vision of brightness and of courage, and gladly would one and all have hailed such as she for their mistress. "You were cruel just now," whispered No-Kami; "though, after what has happened, 'twas your right." "Cruel? Poor little I?" exclaimed the artless geisha. "Why, I never hurt so much as a buzzing mantis when it tumbled on my head, as the vexatious insects will! I cruel indeed!" "You said you would depart forthwith; but you forgot that within these walls you are our prisoner." "I was on my way to pray at Isé," remarked the demure damsel; "sure you would not balk so pious an intent?" "That can wait--and must!" returned the Daimio. "Bad impressions must be effaced. You must not relate to the Shogun, on your return to Kamakura, how the lion of Tsu was bearded. For a few days, at least, you stay as our guest, or else our captive." O'Kikú laughed a rippling laugh, as she considered within herself as to which was likely to be the captive. "When a great lord commands," she murmured, "a poor weak girl obeys." Exultant glee pervaded the bosom of the Daimio. The welcome new-comer should be his guest--his honoured guest---and the pusillanimous O'Tei should be taught manners by example. He was about to move towards the castle, conducting with due ceremony the lady thither, when, with a familiar fan-tap on the arm, she stayed his progress. "You are so good and kind,--so generous, and so wickedly misinterpreted," she whispered hurriedly, "that I take courage, although a stranger, to crave a boon. Your object accomplished, 'tis the moment to show clemency, and disclaim the stigma of the tyrant. Those nuns still sing without, awaiting the bodies for interment. Let them be delivered up to them. The first favour I ever asked," she added gently, seeing the Daimio hesitate. "Believe me, 'twould be an act of policy, and stay farther clamour." No-Kami looked down into the deep dark well of her eyes, from which he could see peeping his own pleased reflection. Why, what a treasure was this--a wise little counsellor! More than ever was he disgusted with the absent chatelaine, who could only implore, and writhe, and groan, and grovel on the ground in intervals of stony glaring. Practical, and shrewd, and plump, and purring was this fairy by his side. She should have her boon, and welcome, with many thanks for the suggestion. The Daimio having been pleased to announce that, yielding to the intercession of his charming guest, Masago might be permitted to remove the corpses, he crossed the inner moat, followed by his brilliant train, while the grim samurai laughed behind their vizards, wondering how the ladies would agree. CHAPTER X. FOREBODINGS. It was with feelings strangely mingled that the concourse prepared to depart. For their good, the farmer had suffered martyrdom; himself and his family were swept like insects from the earth, but not from the grateful memories of the people. No sooner was the inner drawbridge raised behind the departing despot, than with one accord all meekly knelt while the Abbess issued orders. Her brow was more sombre than its wont, her jaw more firmly set, as the troubled elders related what had happened. She had prayed for light, but Buddha had vouchsafed no answer. What was this coil that was winding slowly but surely round the son of him who had been her husband? Ay, round her own son as well, the noble Sampei. It was under misapprehension that Koshiu had included him in his anathema, supposing him the seducer of his child; yet here was the child, clad now in the crape of a nun, as pure as she had ever been. The farmer was in error, and surely idle curses recoil on those who launch them. Sampei, the brave and generous, was without reproach. Even sleepy Buddha must know that. Perchance he was at this moment rating Koshiu, on the further bank of the mystic Sandzu, for his precipitate injustice. Masago strove to persuade herself that it must be so, whilst striving to console the terror-stricken Miné, and yet at the bottom of her heart there was apprehension, a dull weight of cold foreboding. The ways of Heaven are so strange, so unaccountable sometimes, and to our purblind vision so unjust, that the most robust of faith is sometimes sorely shaken. Miné wrung her hands, refusing comfort. As with trembling fingers she untied the bonds which supported her dead father, she prayed to him with cries and lamentations. It was through her own wrongheaded madness that the mistake had occurred. Sure her parent knew it now. If the curse must fall on one of the two, let it be on her, for she was in fault, not the glorious young General. Could he hear her now, her father? Oh, for some sign that he could hear and would grant her humble petition! Wretched, wretched child! Her punishment was already greater than she could bear, for was not she doomed to drag on a sad existence, stripped of all her kin. Had she but behaved as a dutiful daughter should, instead of grieving now, heart-broken, she would be standing on the further bank of the river of death along with Gennosuké, and little Sohei, and sweet Kihachi. Alack! alack! While the bereaved daughter raved, distracted, the elders of Tsu and the outlying villages were taking counsel. A notice had been handed to them, on the part of their lord, which ran thus:--"The property of the deceased, his rice fields and corn fields, and forest and mountain land, shall be sold without delay, and divided into two parts; one shall be paid over to the lord of the estate; the other, by his extreme condescension, shall be the portion of the culprit's daughter, who has been permitted to live. This is to show how godlike and noble is your master; and it is hereby strictly forbidden to make comments on the sentence, or find fault with this his decision." One-half for Miné, who was in some sort an heiress, then. Poor heart! She little recked of her good fortune. The temple yonder would be the richer for her portion, for she was Buddha's servant now,--his handmaid till her spirit was released. With regard to the dead, the elders consulted awhile, and then with calm decision Zembei, supported by Rokubei, rose from his knees and spoke. "Dear friends," he said, "Koshiu, who suffered this day, bruised his bones and crushed his soul for your sakes. In appealing direct to the Most Holy Mikado he sinned greatly, but 'twas from excess of zeal; and in being compelled to see those he loved massacred before his eyes, his punishment was in excess of his misdemeanour. We have decided that honour shall be paid to him, for indeed before his death he was the mouthpiece of the Eternal, who deigned to speak through his lips. It is meet therefore that we, his old friends, who loved him and his as ourselves--though perhaps on one occasion we were unduly selfish--should undertake this matter. We will leave our homes and lands in possession of our heirs, and, shaving our heads, will retire for a while to the top of the holy mountain; and after a period of probation, will descend from Mount Kôya in Kishiu, and, becoming priests, will wander from town to town, praying at every shrine for the souls of the departed, collecting as we go from the charity of all good people. And then, having collected enough, we will erect a temple over their bones, with six Buddhas in bronze to do them honour, and there shall prayers be offered up for ever for them, and also for us." The people listened to the oration, and bowed their heads without a word, for the decision of the elders was good and natural. All therefore lighting paper lanterns, for it was dark now, turned to follow across the outer moat, away along the straggling interminable street, the procession of the dead. Masago had accepted a temporary trust, and it was well. Within the darkling groves of her sacred pines should the victims lie at peace, until such time as, by divine grace, the elders should return to fulfil their holy task; and it behoved those here assembled, who had witnessed the sacrifice, to offer a prayer together, and commence among themselves a collection for the building of a shrine. Solemn and slow, like an army of glow-worms, the procession wended along to the sad chant of nuns and bonzes; and, unknown to them, as the simple people marched, there followed a fervent benison from the lips of one despairing. The dreary chatelaine was sitting at an upper casement of the castle, wistfully gazing into the night. Recovering consciousness, the Lady O'Tei found herself in her bower, surrounded by grieving maidens, and was relieved, glancing fearfully around, to miss the figure of my lord. She was spared his hateful presence. For that small mercy, thanks. For, still and self-possessed as she had appeared during the ordeal, thereby winning the admiration of Sampei, and, even for a time, the grudging approval of No-Kami, the chatelaine had suffered so intensely as to produce a crisis in her nature. During the short while that the scene lasted, years seemed to have passed over her head. Hitherto she had been weary and empty and unhappy--deeply miserable, but yet with a germ of hope half stifled. That germ was quite dead now, shrivelled and black. She was beset with an intense craving for rest and sleep,--for the fragrant perfume of the earth. Although the execrated name of Hojo was hers, the scathing curse on all who bore the name passed harmless over her. Her conscience was clear. She had done all that within her lay to save the victims, and, calm and still in outward aspect, had suffered far more than they. A threat of proximate death?--release! The world, whose beauty she had so intensely enjoyed ages ago at Nara, was repellent now,--a hideous mockery,--a skull crowned with flowers. For how false was its song of sweetness, since such wickedness and injustice flourished in its midst. A world of disease and pain and sorrow. In this life are not many punished for their virtues, as a set-off to the manner in which others are rewarded for their vices? What wonder if people fall under burthens too heavy for their backs? Koshiu and his had already entered on a new and smiling existence; if his dying words might be believed, had started under sunny auspices on the next round of life. And at the same time he had prophesied that no Hojo henceforth might ever win peace. They were doomed to wander from one globe to another, gaining no step, rising no higher on the earth, for all eternity! How horrible! So dread a bolt overshot its mark; for sure the universe must be ruled by fiends if those whose crime is to bear an execrated name are for that to be undone for ever. To die, and try again, and yet again, in vain--a weary prospect. The sooner the better, after all, for no future phase could be less tolerable to the Lady O'Tei than the present one. She was condemned, as it seemed, never to attain aught that she desired; never to have a prayer answered, or a wish gratified. And all that she now longed for was repose. Ah, how vain that wish! For never may we enjoy perfect rest save in far-off Nirvana--away in the incalculable and limitless Nirvana! where, when time is dead for us, refined and freed from the last speck of dross, we are to achieve the reward of nonexistence. O'Tei had learned to despise her husband more and more, but now she had a new and positive feeling for him--active and sore and gnawing--one of _intensest hatred_. And she was his--bound to obey his whim. How long? For his part, he took little trouble to conceal that he hated her, and would be glad to be rid of an encumbrance. Should she fling herself at his feet, and, baring her white bosom, implore the mercy of his dirk? No. She shuddered as she thought that he would laugh--that fierce and ugly laugh of his that made her blood run cold--would spurn and revile, hissing forth _recreant_, but yet would forbear to strike her. There was nothing for it but plodding patience,--a stringing of the nerves to endurance--slow, continuous, monotonous--the hardest of all tasks to an overwrought and nervous woman. Meanwhile Masago, moving like a tall still ghost at the head of the procession, was disturbed and exercised in mind. How strangely things were going. If she might only be allowed to see. What thunderous clouds were gathering? Was the appalling prophecy to be accomplished to the letter? Like the chatelaine, her being rose in protest. Was her own brave boy, innocent of all wrong, to be involved with the rest, simply because his name was Hojo--the guiltless suffering for the guilty? Why, so was hers. Though but a second wife or concubine, she was mother of a Hojo--proud to call herself Hojo--jealous of the family honour, although of plebeian birth. She could quite understand the feelings of the rough warriors towards a chatelaine who was to them a riddle; but she, discerning, renowned for subtle acumen, could see under the rind what a fragrant nature was O'Tei's, if it had not been nipped half-blown. She sighed heavily as she walked, and pondered of O'Tei. What of this new element introduced into the castle--of discord surely? Not of necessity so. Should No-Kami elect to take the new-comer to himself, as folk already whispered, what of it? Had not his father done the same? And she, Masago (concubine), and the bellicose Tomoyé (wife) had never quarrelled. But then O'Tei was so different from her predecessor. She was so odd and sensitive and self-contained, given to contemplative fancies which served no good purpose. Masago, the sage, was quite angry sometimes when she considered the education of O'Tei. She, an abbess, should know something of such matters, and there was no doubt about it that the bonzes and priestesses of Nara had blundered. The heiress of Nara was destined by her birth to a grand alliance, to reign in a world of strife, and they should have combated, while the nature of their pupil was yet malleable, such tendencies as might be likely to interfere with the young lady's future happiness. Dancing the kagura in a wood was all very well for priestesses, but in a fierce age, when every man's hand is at his fellow's throat, the female head of a warlike household should be taught to hold her own. Poor O'Tei had never been properly prepared, and was in truth no more fit to cope with the difficulties of her high position than would be the merest coolie's daughter. In the candour of self-communing Masago admitted this much to herself, making apologies the while for the shortcomings of her favourite, and laying the blame upon the priesthood. And again the question would assert itself--Was the new element for harmony or discord? If she could only know, and help to keep matters straight. If O'Tei were sensible, she would accept the second wife with gratitude, for she would be relieved of the society of one whom she abhorred. But then O'Tei was so peculiar. And so much depended on the attitude assumed by the second wife, if second wife she were to be. She, Masago, and Tomoyé had got on so splendidly that, as she thought of the past, a faint blush of self-complacency tinged the Abbess's ascetic cheek. No doubt about it. She, Masago, had displayed, as she usually did, consummate tact. In fact, in their instance, the two wives completed each other. Each had the talent which was denied to her companion, for Tomoyé often declared that though her muscle was a marvel her brain was wanting, while Masago was the best of advisers, although no warrior. Hence, whilst both adoring their lord from their own point of view, they could perfectly trust each other without jealousy, and play into one another's hands--a fact which was clearly proven when the regnant Hojo wearied of his concubine. Tomoyé did her best to retain the second wife (not knowing what the next fancy of her lord might be), and constantly sought counsel from Masago after her assumption of the crape. Masago therefore, as she walked, summoned to her side the devoted elders who were so soon to embrace the priesthood, and cross-questioned them narrowly. They had observed, had they, in my lord's visage, how desperately he had become enamoured? They were certain that his sudden passion would insist on being gratified? But what if the travelling geisha were a light-o'-love to be picked up too easily to-day and cast forth to-morrow? Rokubei shook his head. The astute Masago--all-wise counsellor--would never venture so futile a suggestion had she once scanned the lady with her searching scrutiny. Oh, a cunning and fascinating lady! A petulant and wilful lady, and an obstinate! Ay, and a circumspect. What object could she have had in insisting on the bodies being given up, except to ingratiate herself with the lower lieges? What cared she, a stranger from afar, for a farmer of Tsu or his family? And then, that way she had of sending gleams out of her dark velvet eyes from under the deep fringes. Even he, Rokubei, who spoke, and who shortly on the holy hill was to have his pate shaven, was fain to admit, under the seal of secrecy, that his own, for the future ascetic, bosom had been pervaded by inconvenient warmth under the glamour of those lightning shafts, and all the while he knew that they were intended for another. And my lord, so inflammable, so given to indulgence, who knew so little of the curb! Masago might believe, or not, the speaker, but it was clear to him that in a few days--nay, hours--the too fascinating geisha O'Kikú would rule the Daimio and his vassals, whether for good or evil was as yet in the womb of time. Masago listened, and became more and more uneasy. Could it be possible that she, who had that day only appeared upon the scene, was the chosen instrument--selected beforehand and arrived exactly in time--for the fulfilment of the prophecy? Was she to undermine with her pink little fingers the great dynasty of Hojo? and, if so, how? For the advantage of the dynasty she, the discarded second wife, would gladly sacrifice herself and wear her fingers to the bone; would even surrender the life of her dearly-beloved son Sampei for its advantage. Fool! unreasoning woman, and incorrigible fool! Who was she to presume to combat Destiny?--to raise her weak hand in feeble protest against the finger of Buddha, the all-seeing? Although the blasphemous suggestion had unbidden entered her brain, vigils and much praying would be needed to atone for its presence. She would kneel on the stones throughout the ensuing darkness, praying for pardon and for light. How may we, however watchful, guard against presumption--against pitting our puny sagacity against the Infinite? And though she fulfilled her self-imposed penance, remaining until dawn, despite years and infirmities, with forehead resting on the stones, maternity struggled with asceticism. Her bowels yearned over Sampei--the pride, the flower of Japan--and she prayed as only a mother can pray that her boy might escape the curse. How willingly, she pleaded, would she herself submit for his dear sake to recommence the ladder from the bottom. She knew not, of course, how high she had attained by long and painful climbing, but from her present consideration and eminence she must be considerably advanced on her pilgrimage. She would sacrifice all--all--with what ecstatic joy--for his sake. And as she lay convulsed in the dark, with the drops of a mother's travail coursing down her wrinkled brow, she never dreamed that in the pure intensity of undimmed devotion she might be in the act of rising yet another step. In the morning, feeble and exhausted, she turned her to the newborn orb as he showed above the glorious sea, and, vaguely relieved, sat basking in his beams. Then struggling up she groped to her cell with lagging feet, and sank into a stupor of fatigue. CHAPTER XI. THE CURSE BEGINS TO WORK. And Sampei, what of him, under the new _régime_, inaugurated so unexpectedly? Could his mother have delved into his storm-riven soul, she would have won no comfort by her prayers. Never was luckless warrior so hedged about with difficulties, which might not be vanquished with the sword. His influence over No-Kami was proved to be practically nil, for the latter was unable to comprehend his brother's character any better than that of his wife. What good then was to be gained by lingering at Tsu? The question had propounded itself before, to be set aside. Why shun it now? More than once Sampei determined that flight is in some cases the truest valour, and on every occasion the haunting and ever-present face of his early love upbraided him for selfishness, in that he was her only champion. It was a fine specimen of bravery, in sooth, to be self-elected "own true knight," and run away at the first appearance of the enemy. That the new-comer would prove an enemy there was little room for doubt. Such a reproach should never be hurled at our young General, he doughtily determined. The more he saw of the fair O'Kikú, the more uneasy did he grow. There was no knowing how soon O'Tei might require protection from her. He might be of use. That was enough. Under the circumstances, despite his mother's warnings, Sampei resolved to stay--moth dancing round a candle--and keep an eye upon the geisha. The proceedings of that winsome fairy, when installed within the castle, bade fair to set its inmates by the ears. With a vast parade of prudery she insisted at first upon apartments being provided as remote as might be from my lord's. A series of pleading messages, mingled with threats, were required ere she would consent to appear in the hall and perform graceful measures, or sing and play upon the samisen. Her performance finished, she would smile, and bow, and kiss her finger tips, and then flee like the timid hare. When No-Kami, who, tantalised, grew hourly more amorous, chid his guest for suspicion of his motives, she shrugged her shoulders, and imperiously demanded her kago. "I am detained here against my will," she would remark pouting. "'Tis monstrous dull, and to return to delightful Kamakura is my most ardent wish." And then with distracting little sighs wrung from a plump heaving bosom, she would dilate upon the glories of the Shogun's court,--tell of the tiltings, the hawking parties--constant flow of jocund gatherings--till the undisciplined Daimio clenched his nails into his palms with jealousy, and the lady laughed behind her fan. Before many days had passed, it was announced that O'Kikú had consented to remain at Tsu, the acknowledged second wife; and the samurai congratulated one another, looking forward to a period of liveliness. As for their chatelaine, they thought no more of her; took no heed of her incomings or outgoings; for she drew the curtains of her litter close, and rarely went forth at all except on some charitable errand. Really such mean-spirited conduct in a Hojo's wife was a distinct besmirching of the name; and the younger and more unruly of the warriors purposely turned their backs upon her kago, to avoid saluting its passage. The Lady O'Tei, as proud as any of them, though they wist it not, marked their growing insolence, and stored their insults in her embittered heart; and more than ever loathed her lord, on account of her false position, as well as his new favourite. From the moment of the latter's advent O'Tei abandoned for ever any idea of attempting to exert influence over him. On that last occasion when she bowed her pride and humbled herself to the very dust before No-Kami, the attempt was crowned with disaster. It was decreed that she must live, must breathe the same air as he. What must be must; but she would look on him in future as little as she might. That he should choose to take a second wife, the first or legitimate one proving barren, was not surprising. The latter had neither right nor desire to object; but it was clearly his duty to see that the introduction of the second spouse brought no slight upon the first. Instead of demanding her rights, and boldly grappling at once with a situation that was ominous of evil, and so defining the geisha's place without more ado, O'Tei made another mistake. Haughtily she withdrew within herself and brooded over her wrongs, leaving to the intruder a clear field, of which she was not slow to take advantage. Having achieved the position for which she had so cleverly angled, O'Kikú threw down the mask, shook off her bashful ways. Wherever my lord could go, the damsel argued, so could she, for was she not young and active? By his side in the chase she rode, untiring. When he reviewed his men within the outer moat, she stood beside him, and with amusing sharpness rated them all soundly for their awkwardness. Accustomed to a disdainful mistress who interested herself not at all in their doings, the warriors were surprised and enchanted. She would even condescend to come down sometimes, looking so fresh and bright and cheery, into the outer hall, where the soldiery lounged, yawning, and administer reviving draughts. The throat of the soldier, she would laughingly observe, is curiously parched, always yearning for saké,--quite a serious disease, and catching too; one which was common in the army. And then she would familiarly take their swords from them--the swords which are the souls of the samurai--and closely examining the blades, demand the genealogy of each. No-Kami was flattered when he observed what a favourite his choice was becoming with high and low alike. The men, one and all, adored her, some of them declaring that she was a sunbeam detached miraculously from the orb of life to illumine the darkness of their fortress. At this moment the ambition of O'Kikú should have been satisfied, for she could wind my lord and all his men around her finger, ruling them as she listed. She held in supremest contempt the real chatelaine, as an enemy not worthy of her steel--usurping her position and her duties; taking pleasure in exposing her to ridicule. Low born as she was herself--sprung from the gutter--there was something particularly delightful in insulting the heiress of Nara; but the sharp, tiny pins did not seem to rankle. This was annoying. Egged on little by little, piqued by O'Tei's attitude of scornful indifference, the concubine went dangerously far. She gathered around her a bevy of maidens more numerous and more splendidly attired than those of her superior; she exacted from the soldiery special homage which was due to the legitimate chatelaine alone; even presumed, after a time--culminating impertinence--to take unto herself the best litter, the one emblazoned with the Hojo badge upon gold lacquer and the gilded poles and brocaded curtains, declaring that since O'Tei chose to go only into the low purlieus of the town, a less resplendent equipage was better suited to her degraded taste. O'Kikú should have been quite happy. But when is a vulgar-minded, low-born woman happy who is consumed in the ratio of pampering by ambition and greed and caprice? Having attained the summit of present desire as planned on her arrival, she set herself to gratify her fancy in another way. At first sight she had been smitten with Sampei; but, on discovering that, though the elder, he held the second place, had prudently postponed his conquest until a more convenient period. That moment was now come. She had abundant leisure for the task. Sure a warrior should be a willing slave of beauty. Yet when she warily reconnoitred the ground, she marvelled at his coldness. Every inch a splendid young soldier, he should have been less chill. She made purring advances, favoured him with a few of the arrows under which his brother had succumbed; and these shafts fell so short that she guessed at once, with quick jealousy, that she had a rival. His heart was not his to give. How provoking! for she had so cleverly arranged that the two--he and she--were to become such friends! On his side, Sampei (an adept in such matters) was not slow to read her purpose, and, horrified at her calculating treachery, boldly reviled her with rough words. She smarted and winced under the whip, and wished for him all the more. It was idle to feign, and her speech was as plain as his. She did not love her husband--O'Tei herself did not gauge his low worth more clearly--she loved him, Sampei, and gloried in it. See! For a caress she would be his slave, and fawn at his feet like a dog. No Eta could be more abject than she, if he would but look on her with love. A little--a very little--and she would be so grateful, since, on her side, there was enough for both. Wreathing her white arms about him, while his body quivered with disgust, she cooed and prayed and worshipped, and uttered a sharp cry of pain as, unable to endure the ordeal, he flung her rudely on the ground. _She_ prate of love! he cried. How dared she defile the holy word with such foul lips as hers? Furious--burning with shame at her repulse--she scoffed at him. "_You_ talk big of virtue," she sneered, with cruel lines about her mouth, "not knowing that I can read your secret. Treachery? What is my treachery to yours? I am but a concubine. You love your brother's wife--the mawkish doll of wax!--and she, as guilty as yourself, has doubtless fallen an easy prey, since 'tis plain that she hates my lord." That shaft, at least, went home, for Sampei turned pale. Was it written so plainly on his face that all who ran might read? A useful champion--a true knight--whose faithful service it would be to guide his mistress to her ruin. He must go away--far away--since his tell-tale features could not keep the secret. And yet--to leave her here at the mercy of this wicked woman! O'Kikú perceived what was passing in his mind, and was for the moment satisfied. She held revenge within her palm whenever she should choose to use it. Sampei had spurned her. Well, she could afford to wait; for what he had been powerless to deny might prove an invaluable discovery. Sampei and O'Tei loved each other. Judging others from her own standpoint, she had no doubt of their guilt. Perchance he would soon tire of such an icicle, and she might woo and win him after all. If not, she could use her discovery to avenge the slight, and free herself of the inconvenient presence of both wife and paramour. It would be so easy to open the eyes of the unsuspecting Daimio, and goad him deftly on until the two brothers were at open enmity. For a time she must abandon her designs upon the General, and lull the pangs of disappointment and injured vanity by drowning thought in excitement. Since she had bared her spotted heart to him, there was no use in assuming a mask. On the contrary, her recklessness would sting him like a serpent's bite since, knowing what she knew, he dared not betray her to No-Kami. It pleased O'Kikú, therefore, to abandon prudence, and cast shame aside. Secure of unlimited sway over the infatuated despot, who would gladly accept such explanations as she vouchsafed, she selected lovers from among the soldiery as they struck her wanton fancy, disdaining to cloak her proceedings from the shocked Sampei, who hourly grew more troubled and uneasy. On which side lay his duty? How should he act? Were he to denounce the geisha to his brother in the matter of her declaration to himself, she would swear it was spitefully conceived, and No-Kami would refuse to be convinced. 'Twas fortunate that O'Tei dwelt in such strict seclusion, enveloped in the armour of purity, innocent of guile. But what was to be the upshot of it all? As the falling stone increases in velocity, so would the insolence of the concubine unchecked in shamelessness. The tempest growled on the horizon, and grew apace; the cloudlet was spreading over the heavens. Awe-stricken by the sinister turn which, so rapidly, events were taking, the martyr's anathema rung in Sampei's ears. The house of Hojo was to fall. Already, in his mind's eye, could he see it reel, hear the crash of its disruption. For a long time past the conduct of the head of the clan had been indefensible. Buddha, awakened by clamour, was angry--and no wonder! In his perplexity and indignation an ensanguined mist passed across the vision of Sampei. The hint thrown out by Nara some time since festered within his breast. The history of Japan teems with the enmity of brothers, he had said. Was it indeed written that the last of the Hojos was to perish by a fraternal hand? For the honour of the name which they both bore, must the cord of an unworthy career be severed, and by him? It would be well for the suffering land that No-Kami's catalogue of misdeeds should be closed, but not by the hand of a brother. Not murder! The honest soul of Sampei recoiled before the insidious vision. It was vain to seek counsel of the Abbess, since she confessed herself as perplexed as he. _Wait_ was all she could advise. If the curse of Koshiu was to be accomplished, it would be accomplished, whatever the efforts of the doomed. If his was decreed to be the avenging sword, was he not a helpless infant in the grip of destiny? The will of Heaven would be pronounced more clearly soon. Meanwhile, there was nothing for it but to wait. Peering sadly into the dark-lined future, Sampei waited in suspense, gloomy on the threshold of despair. Tidings reached Masago in her dim retreat of what was passing, and she sighed. The finger of an outraged God was on them, that was becoming certain. The fate of Hojo was to be a warning lesson to generations yet unborn. By-and-by a rumour came, she could not tell from whence, that the Daimio was going mad. In sooth, he was never sane, and could scarce be held accountable for his growing pile of crimes. In accordance with the rearing which befitted his rank and station, he had scoffed with ribald laughter at a peasant's prophecy, treating with levity the wild words of one who had deservedly been punished. And yet there were moments when, though he fought against the illusion, he was haunted by the dying face,--when those glazing eyes that reflected the sunset shone out of the dark like glowing coals, to wither and scorch his soul. In the night he would wake, seeming to hear again louder than temple bell the words of evil omen, and then he would hug so fiercely the form of the slumbering O'Kikú upon the mat beside him, that she would turn on him with peevish reproach. The visions and the voices increased, till he was afraid to be left alone. His brutish nature became yet more vindictive and morose, and the geisha, vowing that as a companion, after his paroxysms of unreasoning fear, he grew intolerable, freely dosed him with saké, to subdue his importunate tremors. In his chamber she would leave him chained by drunken stupor, while she, with the favourite of the hour, caroused below. This proved so convenient an arrangement, that to obtain for herself a liberty of action yet more complete, she tempted her lord to increased potations, till there arrived at length a period when he was scarcely ever sober. But then constant inebriety has its intermittent moments of recoil, when the stomach sickens at the drink, yet craves for it, and at such dismal times the smile would fade even from the brazen visage of the baleful enchantress, for my lord would then pass without warning from the extreme of grovelling anguish to the fury of mania; and O'Kikú wondered, with blanched cheek, whether, perhaps, some day in one of these mad fits the Daimio would rise and slay her. One evening he woke with chattering teeth, and finding himself alone in the quickly-gathering shadows, stumbled upon his feet, with curses on the concubine in that she deserted him in his extremity. Did she not know how much he feared the darkness, and how necessary it was on many counts to conceal his condition from his warriors? Had he not raised her up to be partner of his bed, giving her all she desired, gratifying her every whim? And yet what recked the selfish creature of his wishes, of his terrors, his requirements? Naught! Regardless of his agony, she could quietly go away and amuse herself, leaving her lord and benefactor a prey to goblins. Shivering, with swimming brain, he groped his way in search of her; and somehow found himself, ere he was aware, upon the drawbridge that led beyond the moat. A chill wind was blowing from the river that lapped the frowning walls--a singing murmur seemed to whisper "Come!" Shuddering, obedient to a spell against which his will was powerless, he stumbled on. How dismal dark it was! From the windows of the hall came a ruddy line of light which served to intensify the black. There was a faint sound of brawling within, a clash of steel, a din of bandied threats, followed by the long rippling laugh of the geisha, and then the twang of her samisen. "Always in that hall among the soldiers," No-Kami querulously muttered. "She loves me less and less--cares nothing for my trouble." Since her arrival, he reflected, there had been a gradual and grievous decrease of discipline among the samurai,--a growing tendency to quarrel and snarl in open disrespect of _him_. Had she betrayed his secret? Had she divulged the nameless horror, and the cowardice which unnerved his arm, unsettled his reason, and undermined his strength? Impulse bade him turn and stride into the hall, and there assert himself; and then the breeze, like clammy fingers, stroked his cheek and murmured, "Come!" Whither was he to proceed? Was it the water that summoned him? No! had not the farmer said that the river should ebb away? Folly! why, what was this? Was he, the head of the Hojos, as infatuated as others? Did he believe in the threats of the martyr? On--on, away to the left--whither? To the dim belt of grim grey trees that reared gnarled arms aloft, groaning and swaying in the wind. The accursed trees--home of malevolent ghosts! The trees that chanted ever their loving call to ignominious death. With beads of sweat upon his brow No-Kami listened, and, not knowing what he did, unwound his long silk sash. Then out of the dark shone forth, like glowing coals, the eyes he knew too well, and then there pealed upon the night a mocking shout. Hist! what was that? The voice of Futen, the wind imp? or Raiden, king of thunder, beating upon his drums? What was he doing with that sash?--he, the proud No-Kami? Horror! he, the head of the Hojos, was about to hang himself--to disgrace his line for ever! With a growl of fear No-Kami sped away, his fingers in his ears, back toward the light--and the saucy geisha, seeing a crouching shadow pass, complained of some unclean animal. With stealthy speed, born of terror and shame, the Daimio crept away, nor stopped to draw breath till, safe in the sanctuary of his chamber, he fell panting, prostrate on the mat. Another instant, and, unconscious of what he did, he would have swung on the fateful tree. Strange that it should have been the warning voice of Koshiu that had averted supreme disgrace. Why? Was he reserved for something yet more infamous? Better now, at once, to make an end of it--perish as a Daimio should when driven to bay by his own well-tempered steel. Groping with aspen hands for the sword-rack, he took his dirk, and unsheathing it, passed a finger on its edge. A blade of Sanjo's, a masterpiece. Yes. Here in the dark, alone, he would perform the rites of harakiri, and join with unsmirched brow the line of haughty ancestors. Footsteps, a yellow glimmer through the paper of the sliding doors. O'Kikú's tardy feet? No, the heavier footfall of a man. A panel was pushed aside. Sampei, shading with his hand the flickering flame of a candle. The latter peered in, and uttered a cry. The dirk, the body bared, the kneeling posture. The intention of the Daimio was evident, though rising with a fierce curse he strove to conceal his purpose. "I am glad I was in time," Sampei remarked, with cold composure. "Would the chief of our clan commit harakiri without a second? Where is he? I see no kaishaku. Pah! When all is lost 'tis time to think of dying. If you wish it, and have courage, things are not yet past remedy." "What do you want?" snarled the Daimio, as with a scowl he retreated into a corner. "My lord of Nara has arrived, and is now closeted with his daughter. Though you seem to have abdicated your dignities, it is right that you should be informed of it. "Sent for by her?" inquired No-Kami. "No!" replied Sampei bitterly. "With all your arrogant parade, she is more proud than you, and would never stoop to complain of your many cruelties." "Sent for more like by _him!_--snake in the grass!" gibed a voice behind, and the two brothers, turning, beheld the geisha, a frown puckering her brow, a red spot of annoyance on either cheek bone. "Yes, snake in the grass!" repeated she, lashed to imprudence by resentment. "He does well to play the part of the lady O'Tei's interpreter--he who knows her so much better than others!" Sampei was silent, while the suspicious gaze of the Daimio was turned to his brother from the concubine. "O fool!" she laughed. "To be fooled by women is the lot of the haughtiest among ye! I vow I pity such blindness. Know that the crust of a proud woman's nature often conceals a furnace. The lady O'Tei has kindled a fire on the altar of her heart in honour--well, not of you!" "You lie!" cried the General, kindling, yet striving still to control himself for _her_ sake. "It was an evil day for the house of Hojo when this strumpet came among us!" "We are not all so blind as my lord," gibed O'Kikú. "When my lady goes forth, in what direction do the bearers carry her? To the temple of the vixen Masago, to offer up prayers, of course. A curious coincidence! My lord Sampei, returning from the chase, pays dutiful visits to his mother. A pattern son. There, there! be hoodwinked no more. Stupid mole that you are, he loves O'Tei and she loves him. Look in his face, man; is it not eloquent enough?" The soul of No-Kami, already torn, writhed and quivered. Could it be true, this dreadful thing? Miné already ruined, a mere pretty peasant, a passing fancy, suitable toy enough--and now O'Tei! Had the lawless libertine dared to aspire to the legitimate wife of his lord? The dirk was still in the Daimio's grasp. Tottering forward a step, with heaving breast and distracted features, he narrowly scrutinised his brother. "If I thought this was true," he slowly growled between his teeth, "I would have speedy and ample vengeance. Sampei, why do you look confused? Yonder, on the rack, is a sword!" Again the mist of blood passed across the vision of the General. It was decreed. No-Kami rushed upon his fate. He himself pointed out the blade, lying so ready to the hand. A pass or two, and O'Tei, the long-suffering, would be freed from her grinding bondage. Involuntarily he stretched forth his arm, while No-Kami stood waiting. He touched the sword; his hand recoiled, his arm dropped by his side inert, for beyond the taunting visage of the geisha he seemed to behold, tearless and pale, the shadowy figure of O'Tei. No, this was a trap deliberately set by that wicked woman for her undoing and his. If, in the combat, it was his lot to fall, her fair fame would be for ever blasted. It would be skilfully bruited abroad by O'Kikú that the Daimio had avenged his honour. Forcing himself to calmness by strength of will, aided by an all-absorbing love, Sampei crossed his arms upon his labouring chest, and sadly shook his head. "You are insane," he sighed,--"beguiled to frenzy by the glamour of this sorceress. You know, if you have power to think, that the dawn is no purer than your wife. What madness is it that has so mastered you that you would rather believe this harlot--for she is a harlot, and a shameless one, as every one in the castle knows except yourself? Rave as you will, I shall not gratify her spleen by fighting with you. Should the necessity be forced on me, I will summon the samurai to bind you, for your own protection. Cudgel your distempered brain, my brother, and see the snare. Your father was mine before you--unhappily--were born. The honour of our name is mine as well as yours, and for me it shall remain untarnished. Alas, we are under a ban, indeed! I can surety trace the finger of the Eternal; this harlot, the instrument of ruin." Foiled spite and impotent rage leapt up and invaded the calculating spirit of the geisha. That he, so hot and careless usually, should be able to school himself to prudence. How he must adore that pale-face! It was humiliating to one who justly prided herself on cunning, to be outwitted by truth and manhood. No doubt it was satisfactory to mark how firm was her hold upon No-Kami. He had hearkened to her accusation of his wife and brother, but the countercharge brought by the latter against herself had remained unnoticed. And yet Sampei had had the best of it. She was obliged to confess with self-upbraiding that, exasperated by the appearance of Nara, whose unexpected arrival seemed like to mar her plots and upset her calculations, she had been precipitate--led into a foolish error. The moment chosen was curiously ill-timed for bringing about a quarrel. Not that she would have permitted blood to flow. Not so silly as that. At the first onset she would have rushed out with clamour and shrill cries to summon the sleepy attendants,--have sworn that Sampei had attacked his feudal lord,--have created such a coil as would have led to the former's banishment. But, devoted to the paleface, he had for her sake curbed his heat. Noble and severe in bearing, his dark brow seamed by battle scars, he was just the man to master a turbulent plebeian woman of strong passions. As he stood, erect and self-possessed, O'Kikú adored yet hated him. His scathing antipathy to her he did not care to mask, and who should know as well as she how well it was deserved. A man such as this might have wrought a miracle upon her nature. She could have hugged her gyves, glorying in his tyranny. Could have! He had repulsed her,--shrunk with loathing undisguised as from a reptile, and all for love of the pale-face. The dregs of her low nature bubbled to the surface in a rising surge of abhorrence. At this moment, as she contemplated his still dignity, she could have stabbed him to the heart with joy. As schemes and combinations passed swiftly through her brain, the geisha hotly blamed herself. A short-sighted novice! An awkward bungler! The merest tyro could have warned her of the imprudence of airing family feuds before outsiders. What a moment this, when the powerful and astute noble of Nara was on the spot, to suggest charges against his heiress. Well, well, it was for the best that Sampei had kept his temper. The seed, dropped into the mind of No-Kami, would swell and burst and blossom by-and-by--the grain of suspicion which at a fitting season was to make of these brothers enemies. For the present it was best to drop the subject, to turn it off with a jest; then to make much of the illustrious visitor, and get rid of him as soon as possible. O'Kikú, therefore, suddenly changed her tactics. With a careless laugh and a wave of shapely arms she swept aside the dangerous topic, and remarked: "Perhaps I was wrong,--too prone to believe evil. Your brother was before me with the news. The Daimio of Nara is here, and must be made welcome. If you will do him honour, I will see to the bestowing of his retinue. As you are her friend, Sampei--if really nothing more--I trust you will beg his daughter to refrain from telling lies of us." With this, awaiting no reply, she vanished, and, resuming the demureness of the past and assuming a meek and gracious air that befitted the position of the concubine, proceeded to charm the retainers of Nara as she had already conquered Hojo's. What was he here for, this inconvenient guest? What could his object be in swooping down on Tsu? The question buzzed in her head as she moved hither and thither, on hospitality intent. He must know that he, was little welcome. Had the chatelaine been goaded at last out of her silence? Did the tiny pins at last lacerate her skin? Had she summoned her father to rescue her from a position that was unbearable? What then? Would Nara, interfering on his child's behalf, insist upon the prompt suppression of the second wife? And if he did, would his mandate be obeyed, or was No-Kami still strong enough to do battle for his siren? The prestige of Japan's despot had not paled as yet, for the secret of his peculiar mental condition was well kept. Such precautions had been taken that, though many knew the Daimio to be ill, none but O'Kikú and Sampei were aware of his critical state. Had Sampei, pursuing a tortuous game of his own, summoned Nara to council? The traitor! And what a simpleton she not to have foreseen and parried such a stroke. Nara present and siding with Sampei--made aware of No-Kami's weakness--what easier for the twain than to seize the reins and fling forth the offending concubine? Again was O'Kikú compelled to admit with tingling cheeks how unskilfully she had developed plans which at the start had seemed so promising. By pandering to his fears, and plying my lord with drink, she gained no doubt a measure of extra liberty, but purchased at what a cost! At a time when every man's hand was at his neighbour's throat, to lose your nerve was to lose respect and be toppled over in the fray. Execrated as she knew my lord to be, with myriad and lynx eyes watching for a cranny in his armour, why had she not foreseen that there would be traitors in the camp? O'Kikú had been so careless because she reckoned on her rival's unpopularity. Not a swaggerer among the samurai--as she had long since learned--but looked on his liege mistress with uncomprehending pity. To think that bluff, single-minded Sampei--so skilful in the field, so blundering at home--should have had the inspiration to summon Nara! But had he? Sure his surprise on the arrival of the cavalcade was not feigned? If it were, then was he a dangerous enemy indeed--concealing consummate craft under an appearance of simplicity. The more O'Kikú pondered and considered, the more nebulous grew the result of her meditations, and on the morrow she was brought to the highest stage of bewilderment by the departure of the Daimio of Nara as abruptly as he had arrived, and in a friendly manner too. Gazing through the hole made by a wetted finger in her paper-covered casement, she had striven to read on the faces of those concerned the result of their interview: and her jaw dropped in sheer amazement. Was the lady O'Tei even more mean-spirited and craven than her rival had supposed? Fearful of retribution and ill-usage in the future, had she masked her wounds from her parent, vowing she was well and happy, when her very looks should betray the truth? In that case, neither she nor her paramour had summoned Nara. Why then was he come? Could it have been of his own accord, so speedily to go away, with no result from his advent? The more she considered, the more knotty did the problem grow--one that her low instincts could never fathom. She wist not that a proud nature, instead of crying out with shrill uproar, will conceal stabs dealt in private by her legitimate lord from the scrutiny even of a father; the more when her parent bears only the name, since he has never won her love. How surprised would the geisha have been could she have read the riddle aright. It was Masago, the Abbess, who had given the hint. She, who was but too well aware of the position of her favourite, could see that she was dying slowly of a breaking heart, for each time that she visited the temple O'Tei was more frail and wan, more spiritual in aspect; her step more slow and feeble. Moreover, over and above personal affection for her, was it not the duty of the Abbess to give warning to the lady's natural protector, lest her own dear boy Sampei should be goaded to leap into the breach? Knowing all she knew, it was a subject for marvel that Sampei should have refrained till now. School himself as he would, he could not conceal from a mother's anxious gaze the canker that gnawed his entrails. So far as he was concerned, the arrows of O'Kikú had not missed their mark. He pined with sympathy,--was wrung with anguish at the drawn expression of the wistful face, the dimmed eyes that were once so bright, in which hope was quite extinguished. CHAPTER XII. THE DAIMIO OF NARA IMITATES THE SPHYNX. What a pity it is that in our odd world the wicked should be so much more clever than the good,--that the combinations of sinners should so easily outwit the simply virtuous. But then, were not the good so naïve, they might not possibly submit so quietly to the unhappiness which is usually their portion. They might scream, and rail, and wax obstreperous, point out the cases of flagrant injustice too often to be observed among their ranks, and become unedifying texts and examples. Poor Sampei, being less cunning than the geisha, and not perceiving the advantage of which he might have availed himself, naturally did not seize it. It never occurred to him that the appearance of Nara on the scene might have brought about the salvation of his family,--that he and Sampei united might have ousted the female marplot. Clearly this lack of discrimination was due to the interference of the gods. Sampei was quite as surprised as the concubine at singular conduct of Nara. He took no umbrage at his sullen reception by the lord of Tsu; seemed not to perceive how little he was welcomed; showed a disposition to be easily pleased, a slowness to take offence, such as ill became a daimio. Closeted with his daughter, he refrained from searching questions, conversed about the pleasures of Ki[^y]oto, and the probabilities of a visit in the summer, while she, stony and indifferent, as reticent as her parent, and dreamily gazing into vacancy, replied in monosyllables. With studied ceremony he took leave of her as though she were a stranger, bade farewell of his sulky host with suave courtesy, and, followed by his brilliant retinue, journeyed slowly up into the mountains. So cautious was he, even under the glances of his own people, that it was not until, resigning his horse to a betto, he retired into a litter, and drew the curtains close, that he permitted his thoughts to appear upon his features. "It is very nearly time," he murmured, "very nearly time, and then shall my child--ay, and all Japan--be avenged, and signally." With gleeful exultation he rubbed his hands together as he revolved a host of little points which had not escaped the eagle ken of his experience. A drunken dissolute cohort now, the redoubtable warriors of Tsu. Arriving unawares by night, he had found no sentries at the gate. His men had blown the horn, and hammered with lances, and shouted till their throats were hoarse, ere any one had appeared upon the walls; and what a scurry then! The castle, left unprotected in the silent watches, would have fallen without a struggle into the hands of a skilful foe. And--the cognisance and titles of the father of the chatelaine having been recognised, and the drawbridge lowered--the relaxation of discipline everywhere apparent within did not escape his practised eye. Before the presence of a stranger was made known, he had heard sounds of wassail and of quarrelling,--had seen the abandoned concubine of the Hojo toying with the common soldiers. And he was enchanted. What mattered it that his child looked wretched?--women must suffer for the common good. Patience--a little patience--and her burthen would soon be removed. The Abbess, proud as she was of considering herself in some sort a Hojo, had naturally turned, in her anxiety, to him who had been selected by her now departed lord as the prime adviser of the family. Unwitting of what she did, it was her finger that first pointed out how the joints in the harness were loosening; and with a savage laugh Nara gave her thanks for it. The young General, who had never learned the arts of diplomacy, blushed crimson as the eyes of the new arrival took in the situation, and stammered awkward excuses. His brother was ill, had for some time past been unable to occupy himself with affairs, and was, moreover, so jealous of interference, that for a while he, the elder, had let things go. But now that my lord had come, his father's friend, the twain would remonstrate, and arrange together. And then, from under the white bettle-brows of the old man there shot a meaning leer which chilled the words upon the lips of the younger, and brought to his mind an earlier interview which had seemed ominous of complications. Was this man a friend, or the worst of enemies, one who wears disguise? Buffeting in a sea of knavery, wherein fraud and chicane and stratagem and pitfall boil into a seething broth, what wonder if the true and single-minded grow bewildered and confused? Sampei was so little skilled in double-dealing, that, lulled by specious sentences, mystified, he concluded that he had been wrong, had misunderstood the purport of lord Nara's talk in the palace. Was he not his father's ally,--the man specially picked out for the guidance of the Hojo's sons? The old Daimio, ever quick to read thoughts, pressed the hand of his young friend with touching affection. "All will be well by-and-by," he murmured. His dear young General, of whom he and Japan were so justly proud, must sit quiet, and hope for the best. He too, then, was preaching patience. Sure, the venerable Abbess and the hoary statesman must be right--of course they were. The loyal Sampei blamed himself accordingly, and put his suspicions from him. Although no open confidences passed between the pair, Nara was satisfied, for he could detect a change in the young man. His easy confidence in the direction of the straight and honest course was gone, had given place to a pained perplexity which boded well for the future. The arrow which the astute kugé had planted during the interview at the palace, was festering. He seemed to perceive that much. Sampei's sense of right and wrong had been disturbed. He was uncomfortable, and half-suspecting he knew not what, held his peace moodily, while his brain groped in darksome byways. Yes, he was mistaken when he deemed Nara to be a foe. Yet how was it possible he could be really friendly, perceiving as he must how bad was his daughter's treatment, how outrageous on every count were the proceedings of her spouse? Could any one who loved Japan be Hojo's friend? Alack, even he, Sampei, his only brother, was but too well aware that he was his country's scourge--that one who should remove the incubus would earn his country's gratitude. The old Daimio, guessing what knotty problem it was that so vexed the young soldier's mind, evolved a stroke of genius. Suave and sweet in manner, with an engaging air of candour, he communed with himself aloud, "What a sad thing it is," he mused abstractedly, "that the history and the literature of our country should so teem with the enmity of brothers! And yet, in the main, a happy land, more privileged than the dim fog-bound realms of the west." Again, how bewildering was this to one who was groping so anxiously for light. Looking in the wrinkled face, Sampei could see no meaning there--no special meaning--addressed to himself especially. And then, as the two strolled about the precincts of the castle, Sampei became more bewildered yet and more uneasy, for in some unaccountable way it had come about, without his knowing how, that old Nara concealed no longer that he was No-Kami's enemy, that he was aware of the ill-treatment of his child, and grateful for the sympathy of his companion. He even, as a matter of course, affected to look on him as a willing accomplice; gave him no chance of disavowal. And then, tacit consent to this being given, he dropped mysterious hints. Verily the future was growing strangely dark, the skein of the race more tangled hourly. With helpless resignation Sampei was fain to allow that the fiat had gone forth, that the days of the Hojos were numbered. If, as was growing every moment plainer, the prophecy of the farmer was to be fulfilled to the minutest detail, what was to be gained by struggling? Patience was in very truth the only virtue which it became the doomed to cultivate. Humbled, therefore, and filled with murky presage, the young man bowed his neck and folded his hands, resolved to float with the stream, obedient to the whim of destiny. Thus Nara--kugé and devoted servant of the Holy Mikado--having been warned by the Abbess of Tsu of the tottering condition of her house, came and spied out the land, and returned home delighted; while she, hearing in due course how he had come and gone, smiling and dangerously courteous, fell a prey to vague misgivings, and betook herself to prayer and abstinence. Vainly she cross-examined O'Tei, grown stonier and whiter. Since her father's unsatisfactory visit, the unhappy lady appeared to wake from a frozen trance to a sense of feverish existence, only when prostrate on the temple floor praying for the untying of her bonds. The words of Koshiu were seared as by an iron on her heart; sleeping or waking, she saw them burning on the wall. The scene within the grey circle of weird trees was never absent from her vision. What had she done to deserve the ban? The full horror of the anathema ate into her being slowly. In succeeding cycles she was destined to be accursed. Little by little she realised her doom; for her there was to be no rest, no peace, no change for the better. Why? Because, obedient to her father's commands, she had bestowed her hand upon a tyrant. For blind obedience, punished for all time; for more than time--for ever! There was no justice, then, in this life, or in the realms beyond the grave. She was created for misfortune and misery, specially picked out for all the worst evils that beset mortality. If accursed in future cycles, she might never rise,--never win Nirvana,--never hope for oblivion. The unflecked blackness of the despair that settled down like a foldless sable curtain upon O'Tei, caused the heart of Masago to bleed for her. The gentlest, noblest, most patient, as well as the most innocent of ladies! Truly the ways of the Eternal are inscrutable. The austere Abbess strove to instil comfort into the numbed soul--without avail. Her arguments, after all, were shallowest platitudes, to be tossed aside by O'Tei with easy scorn. What to her were the puny arts of O'Kikú the second wife? Shielded by the buckler of such suffering as hers, the tiny pins of the geisha fell harmless. Pity that 'twas so, for wholesome indignation might have wakened her from the stupor which, unless broken, must shortly end in dissolution. Pondering as she paced the silent groves, the Abbess sought for a clue in vain. If the family was doomed to be smitten root and branch, it was doomed. But what a store of faith is needed humbly to acquiesce in the monstrous belief that the innocent must suffer for the guilty,--that generations yet unborn are to come into the world for the express purpose of bearing on their backs the guilt of their ancestors. With terror Masago felt that she was growing rebellious,--that her faith was trembling,--that she could no longer gaze with trustful veneration upon Buddha, the expressionless and the impassible, reposing cross-legged on his lotus. Herself, O'Tei, the dearly-loved Sampei, were all to suffer for No-Kami. Sure Tomoyé must be writhing on some other sphere for being the mother of such a cockatrice! And so it naturally came about that Masago, as well as others, looked forward to the sacrificing of Hojo--the chief to whom they owed allegiance,--of the head of the family of which she was proud to be one,--that she even prayed for the death of No-Kami as the only possible solution of the problem. O'Kikú was not above profiting by the lesson which had been taught by Nara's visit. Instead of being permitted to subside into hopeless imbecility, her lord must be aroused,--must be exhorted to tighten the cords of his nervous system, in preparation for a sudden strain. Accordingly, after a period of wonder at Nara's visit and its apparent abortiveness, she began to suspect that, courteous as his manner was, and suavely ceremonious his departure, they had not yet heard the last of the kugé's irruption; and that it behoved her, as the guiding spirit of the castle, to practise caution. That snake, Sampei, was wriggling in the grass in inconvenient proximity, darting glances of adoration at the chatelaine. For the dignity of her dear lord's name (and her own future comfort), she must accentuate and renew her exposure of the villain and his paramour, now that the coast was clear. To this end, in order that vengeance might be tempered with _sang froid_, their deluded victim must be taught to mingle vigilance with circumspection, which would require a measure of sobriety. It would be vexatious to have to resign a modicum of personal liberty, but the sacking of the castle by a watchful enemy, who knew of its master's sottishness, would be a worse evil. It behoved her for her own sake to protect my lord from the enemy within the citadel. Arguing from her own ways of thought, it was a logical deduction that, in love with No-Kami's wife, Sampei must desire his death. The geisha, adapting herself to the circumstances of the moment, became outwardly more circumspect in her behaviour; watched over her lord with affectionate care; exhorted and chid him with tender patience till his paroxysms of fear were past; made herself so absolutely needful to his existence, that he could not but fondly mark the contrast betwixt her and his legitimate consort. And she was not slow in administering the deadly drops when occasion served. What should the lady O'Tei care? she would babble artlessly, that her lord was well or ill, since her affections were engrossed by another, who all along had possessed her heart. The silent twilight of cryptomeria groves is conducive to holy meditation, but is also vastly convenient for mundane dallying. But no! he must not excite himself. Why should my lord exercise his shattered nerves, and pace like a caged bear? What mattered it what they did, or how frequently they met? For her part, his faithful O'Kikú thought it very diverting that any warm-blooded man should elect to fall in love with an icicle. No-Kami hearkened, and although his reason rejected the geisha's hints, they set him pondering. Of O'Tei's character he had never seen any side, after the first few days, but the cold, repellent one, made more obnoxious sometimes by that lack of proper pride, which to his nostrils was as an evil savour. His brother was also a riddle; as a soldier brave to a fault, in other concerns hesitating, even timid, beset with petty scruples incomprehensible to the broader views of his feudal master. At the bottom of his heart he was afraid of his first wife, and disliked his brother, who, instinct whispered, was more worthy than himself. But to suspect those two of love passages! O'Kikú, unable to read correctly the characters of either, was led astray by over anxiety on his behalf. And yet, what if she were right? That dreadful curse that was ringing ever in his ears. Was this one of the ways in which he was to be stricken? Was he to be held up by wife and brother as a laughing-stock in the eyes of his assembled warriors? He had been weak, unnerved; had groaned and grovelled, forgetting his name and lineage; had all but been lured to submit to degradation that night among the enchanted trees. He would battle with the phantoms now, like a true son of his father and Tomoyé--would conquer, by force of indomitable will, even the goblins that pursued him. Rising up, and girding his loins, thankful that the samurai had never beheld his throes of terror, he appeared once more in the hall, overbearing and stern and firm of step--as fierce and harsh as heretofore, if haggard and ashen of hue. Sampei marked the change with approval; for the idea that the head of the house was to turn coward seemed the most grievous of possibilities in connection with the martyr's curse. At this juncture an event occurred which added yet further to his relief. The lord of Tsu was summoned, by sudden mandate of the Mikado, and was ordered to present himself in the sacred precincts of Ki[^y]oto without delay, accompanied by a small following. This order, publicly given, he must perforce obey, and, removed from the bad influence of the favourite, there was no knowing what happy turn might follow. Though polygamy was a recognised institution, it was not etiquette for any other than the first wife to hold communion with the ladies of the imperial court. The peremptory nature of the summons surprised and offended the lord of Tsu. Old Nara, doubtless, had perceived how unstrung he was, had whispered to the silly babbling kugés and their infatuated head that the lion was toothless, that the poison-bag of the serpent was removed. A sense of their mistake, and the speedy discomfiture of the feeble gang, acted on the system of the despot like a dash of fresh salt brine. He laughed aloud, as, detaching the clinging arm of the siren from about his neck, he leapt lightly on Typhoon, his war-horse. The day was crisp and brightly cold--exhilarating--the sky cloudless, as he galloped towards the hills. In the frosty reviving air of the mountains the vengeful shades were exorcised; Koshiu and Kennui and their baleful family lingered behind in the plains, and stretch forth in vain their talons. The ghosts faded into thin vapour--nightmare was shaken off--No-Kami felt ten years younger than yesterday. A fig for the farmer and his curse! The tyrant of Japan must have been sick indeed to have shivered under a peasant's puling! Of a surety a signal change had come over my lord. Peradventure there was to be an alteration in the mind as well as the body--greater miracles have come to pass. So mused Sampei--strangely relieved--while he watched the knot of horsemen as they wound upwards and over the sky-line. The gods grant it! O'Kikú also mused as she stood watching. My lord was better--that was a comfort,--would prove to the trembling courtiers that they had reckoned wrongly. She had a secret for him on his return which should bind him yet closer to her. Meanwhile she could enjoy a time of absolute freedom, give vent to her proclivities, whilst narrowly watching the young General and his love, and weaving the web of her intrigues. CHAPTER XIII. THE DESPOT OBEYS ORDERS. The little cavalcade sped swiftly on, for the frost-bound roads were pleasant travelling, and towards evening a dim mass appeared on the horizon, which presaged a fall of snow. It behoved the Daimio and his escort to ascend the wild and rugged pass, and seek the sheltered plains, before the coming of the storm. Yes, No-Kami was himself again. The eyes, like burning coals, no longer glared at him. The good horse Typhoon, idle too long, chafed under the bit, buffeted with his lord for mastery. A distempered dream, no more, one that was past and gone. Light of heart and jovially inclined, he gratified his taste for cruelty by lashing his steed into a fever. Even he, the horse, was aware how sick he had been--was mutinous and restive--needed a sharp lesson. The samurai, he remarked, were more familiar than of yore. There was a shade less of submission in their manner. One went so far as to bandy a broad jest, putting forth lips too close to his master's ear, upon which he received a smart blow upon the cheek, as a hint to keep his distance. Their lord was himself again, and the warriors were glad. That he should be fooled by a wanton to their benefit was amusing for a while, but with satiety rose a feeling of disgust. The fascinating geisha's heart had room for too many occupants, and the warriors began to reflect some while since that, by betraying their lord in their society, she was shaming the house they served. As the charm of novelty waned, they began to see her as she was. Removed from the range of O'Kikú's orbs, the more sober among then grieved about that second marriage. As a dancing-girl--a passing fancy--O'Kikú was all that could be desired--but as a permanent second wife?--no. On the whole, even the mawkish chatelaine was less grievous as a mistress. Her sins were of omission only. Never by word or look had she disgraced the name she bore. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the concubine. My lord was himself again, and, being so, was desperately tetchy. This was untoward. Otherwise, a wary hint might have been thrown out by the trusted and war-beaten officer who rode beside him as to the reckless proceedings of his favourite. In the present condition of his temper, interference might produce explosion. Well, time is the best guide. If detained at Ki[^y]oto, he might see some one he liked better, and forget O'Kikú, and then she could be relegated to a convent as lumber is removed to a godown. The samurai were in high spirits, and noisy withal, and the Daimio observed with displeasing the effect of discipline relaxed. So soon as he returned home he would set his castle in order, he resolved,--suppress undue lawlessness,--check familiarity. When he returned? Would the nightmare crush him again--numbing his limbs, breaking his spirit? Surely not. Why should he ever return? Was he not lord of other castles? Could he not appropriate at will, with the strong hand of might, any stronghold that should take his fancy? Tsu could be left to O'Tei and to the goblins. Henceforth it was a hateful spot, recalling humiliation and pain. And then he mused about O'Kikú--entrancing little fairy! A pity she was unreasonably jealous, for all those stories about his wife and his brother were too absurd to be believed. Yet were they? What, after all, if the concubine were right, and Sampei's air of offended dignity a piece of clever masquerading? Had he, the chief, not seemed to detect something like commiseration on the bronzed features of his warriors? Why should they pity him? Perhaps they knew too well that, behind his back, his wife and brother held clandestine meetings. Of course, this must be it. Scales fell from his eyes, and he trembled with passion. His first wife was deceiving him, and with his brother! Hence their waning respect and covert pity. And, fool that he was, he had left the two together. Grinding his teeth, he twitched the rein so sharply that Typhoon, beflecked with foam, fell back upon his haunches. And then, in fitful mood, he laughed again. To Ki[^y]oto first to tie up loosened strands, then back to Tsu with furtive speed! He would swoop upon both the guilty ones, catch them off their guard, and make of them an example for all time. The peasants, scared out of their wits by the truculent bearing of the soldiery, betook them to the woods, and lurked in hiding till the enemy had passed. At the top of the mountain, just where the way is level, before dipping down through a thicket of wind-tossed pines, there stood a modest tea-house where my lord was wont to sleep on his journeys between his castle and the capital. Here he resolved to stop as usual, and, after bathing, enjoy his dinner. The landlord and his daughters came smiling forth, and, clapping palms upon their thighs, knelt down and rapped foreheads on the floor. My lord was paler than his wont, observed mine host, with profuse sighing; and thin, which tore in twain the hearts of his loyal vassals; indeed they had heard that he was grievously sick--almost unto death. Had not my lord of Nara gone by recently and brought the evil tidings! One and all had wept, and offered prayers for his recovery. But my lord was young, and would speedily recover, thanks to the elasticity of youth. And so on, with many genuflections and drawings in of the breath; sibillations, and head-rappings; while No-Kami's face grew purple, and he growled a string of curses. Nara dared--the insolent dotard!--he dared to spread reports among the people to the detriment of him, the Hojo! Sick unto death, forsooth! He burned to continue his journey forthwith, that the old schemer might be swiftly punished. Hark! What was that? A clatter of hoofs on the hard road. A betto, breathless, wearing the badge of Tsu. What had chanced? Not an accident to the fair O'Kikú? Anything but that. The anxiety of No-Kami caused the warriors to glance with grim meaning from one to another, and shake their heads. How infatuated was their lord with that brazen hussy! A lacquer box, bound with a red cord, containing a roll--a letter scrawled by the dear one. The darling faithful fairy was pining in the absence of her love! Retiring to the inner chamber, with its fine white mats, and gold ceiling painted with many fans, he proceeded to peruse the scroll. "He must not be angry with his little slave in that she perforce must write to him." (Angry! and with her? At home he might have snarled, but now time and distance were between them.) "She was not so well-disciplined, springing from the warm-hearted people, as my lady, the chill chatelaine." (No, in sooth! O'Tei would be long ere she despatched love-missives to her husband.) "She was silly enough to adore my lord so well that each moment out of his company was like a dagger-stab; and yet, _she had comfort in his absence!_" Here was a mystery concerning which he must not be jealous, since the comfort of which she spoke would affect him as well as her. My lord must give way before her whim, and be patient, or if not patient, must hasten home the sooner, that the grand secret of joy might be divulged. Softened, he laid the paper down. He must be a brute indeed who hath not a tender spot in his ruggedness for one who so unselfishly adored! The guileless, silly child! What was the grand secret that was to be the harbinger of doubly-concentrated bliss? Stay! there was a postscript to the letter, and the Hojo scrunched its frail tissue in his palm. Under the green leaf lies the scorpion. "Since my lord went they are at ease, and the Abbess a shameless pander!" That was all, but it was enough to remove the sweetness from the rest,--the one drop of gall that could turn a whole dish sour. _At ease_, were they! Not for long--not for long! Squatting on the mat, with a futon, or wadded quilt, about his shoulders, and his cold hands spread over the hibachi, where charcoal ashes distributed a mockery of warmth, No-Kami quivered now in every racked sinew. Did everybody unite to beard him? He was fallen so low as that! The prestige due to wholesome fear was paling. He had been too lenient. That pageant had somehow been a failure. Only just in time had he recovered from his illness. It was time to turn over a new leaf and coerce the rebellious and unruly with an increase of severity. A plague on the noisy soldiery! They were as insolent as all the rest. The world was out of gear. What hideous din was that in the outer chamber? Springing to his feet, the Daimio flung back in their grooves the paper-covered doors, and in a voice of thunder demanded the cause of the uproar. A disgraceful scene, in truth! The landlord, but now so smiling and obsequious, was tied and gagged. So were the plump girls, his daughters, whose bosoms heaved with terror-stricken sobs, while tears coursed down their cheeks, and their locks, though plastered thick with oil, were bereft of pins and ornaments. What was the meaning of this? stammered their outraged lord, so soon as indignation permitted of speech. Sure they must be out of their senses! He had borne with their impudence upon the road,--their offensive, rollicking gait and vulgar swagger; but now they had gone too far, and should feel the weight of his displeasure. Were they samurai--faithful and obedient henchmen--or ronins--bandits? There had been more than enough quarrelling of late between the soldiers and the lower class. Landlord and maidens must be instantly released with full apologies, with substantial damages in the future, which should be extorted from the pay of the truculent and peccant braves. The Hojo was awful in his indignation--a whirlwind! Sure the thunder-god looked like this while deafening with his gongs the firmament. The girls were set free with tardy sullenness, and cowered together, trembling; but the man who menaced the landlord clutched him still, with the point of a dirk at his throat, while he who was in command approached his lord with extreme humility, begging to be permitted to explain. "We were toying with the maidens," he bluntly urged--"surely an appropriate amusement for soldiers--when one, too roughly pinched, perhaps, turned on the aggressor with a jibe. 'Take heed,' she shrieked, in shrill resentment at that which was only gallantry, 'lest you strutting fowls get your fine feathers clipped!' She would have said more, but her sire, in fear, clapped a hand upon her mouth, exhorting her to prudence. She had betrayed herself--uttered a dark threat, whose meaning it became us to learn. With the steel at his throat the man had made confession--and a pretty coil it was! The clans are gathering, he says; silently, by detachments, in the mountains, ready, at given signal to fall unawares upon my lord. That was why the Daimio of Nara deigned to visit us. He came to reconnoitre the ground, to see if we were prepared and vigilant. While we reposed in false security (this varlet hath confessed) the hostile daimios have been summoning their men, have enrolled in their service paid auxiliaries; disbanded, wandering ronins; soldiers of fortune, ruffians. And this, as it seems (though one can scarce believe it), with the tacit consent both of the Holy Mikado and of the Shogun at Kamakura. This summons to Ki[^y]oto is a snare, detected luckily in time. May it please my lord--pardoning the arrogance of his poor servant in advising--to take horse at once, and, riding quickly home prepare for danger. Finding their plot discovered, they will follow, striving, by myriads like locusts, to undo us. But the walls of Tsu are strong. Behind them we may laugh, secure." Having made this long oration, the chief of the samurai bent down, touched with his lips the hem of my lord's hanging girdle, and then rising, with bowed neck awaited orders. A discovery indeed! When closeted with his child the crafty Nara had doubtless explained the plot, had held out the hope of freedom to the prisoner; and she, as consummate in dissimulation as her parent, had seen without a quiver of an eyelid her husband riding to his death. Perhaps Sampei knew also of it--of course he did. Ambitious for himself, a willing tool of Nara's! Faithless traitors all! O'Kikú was the only true one! His brows knitted in deep concern, the Daimio waved his hand, and retired for a while to think. The suddenly-opened chasm that yawned before his feet completed the recovery of No-Kami. His wife, his brother, false. That was evident now. The adviser selected by his parent convicted of treason. Incensed Japan ready to rise as one to shake off a weakened despot. Nobody but himself to trust to; no arm but his own to succour him. Return with all speed to Tsu, and place that impregnable stronghold in a condition to endure a siege? Prudent advice enough; but what if the hovering ghosts should on his re-entrance there claim and clutch him for their own. Then would he be undone indeed. But the ghosts had ceased to worry. No-Kami thrilled with glee as he realised the imminence of his peril. How mistaken in their estimate they were of him who held them leashed. What! Catch a Hojo like a rat in a trap? Not they. Not all the united prowess of Japan should succeed in doing it, provided goblins were kept aloof from the contest. Return at once to Tsu. No! 'Twould be a sign of weakness. Instead of retiring, it behoved him to assume the offensive. He would invade the Mikado, as he had often done before, and cow with his scowl alone the poor timid array of hares. By the prestige of his name and the uncompromising power of his will he had held his own since the demise of his father and Tomoyé. It is a mistake for a despot to hide his frown too long. The past should be retrieved by a blow so heavy and unexpected that the hares, quaking with apprehension, would scuttle off without a sound. Striding forth again from retirement, No-Kami issued orders so prompt and to the purpose that there was no gainsaying them. The betto was to return to Tsu at the top of his speed, with private instructions to the officers as to increased watchfulness. This scroll he would deliver to Sampei, and instruct him, at the peril of his life without delay to join his brother at the capital. The letter was so sternly worded that he would perceive he had been betrayed,--that the head of his clan was aware of his perfidy, and he would accordingly throw up the game, confess, and sue for mercy. The Daimio himself and his following would, after a few hours of repose, push on to Ki[^y]oto. The rice of the men consumed, the horses fed, and a cup of saké all round, and then, away! The landlord and his daughter; what of them? The miserable peasant was quaking on the mat, groaning and wringing hands with incoherent supplications, deeply distressed in mind to think that through the blabbing of him and his the tyrant should have received timely warning. To all posterity would their names go branded down, since but for their folly the bonds of their land would have been loosened. The girls, beside themselves with fear, crawled on hands and knees, imploring clemency. Folding his arms, No-Kami looked down upon the supplicants, while his features were contracted by a spasm that might pass for a malignant grin. "What of these?" he glowered. "Slash the father's throat; 'tis given to garrulity and chattering. The girls? Serve them as you will. What have I to do with vermin?" CHAPTER XIV. THE MIKADO DOES BUSINESS. Since the return of Nara from his mysterious excursion, the interior of the sad prison-house of the Mikado was quite lively. The kneeling kugés chirruped like birds; their tall black headdresses waved and nodded like sable plumes in the wind. Excitement being contagious, the un-elect, who might not step within the sacred halls, laughed too and gabbled on the outer verandahs, showing their white teeth, and gossiping hopefully. They wist not why they were so light of heart; but if the privileged denizens of the lugubrious dwelling, usually so glum, were gay, it meant that the Holy Mikado was well pleased; and if the Fountain of Honour was content, it was clearly the duty of them, his lowly faithful ones, to vie one with another in sympathy. After that terrible interview when he was publicly insulted before his court, the miserable Mikado retired into darkness, declining to emerge or to be comforted. He vowed that the three deposed Emperors who were mumbling prayers in remote monasteries were far better off than he, for they at any rate were left in peace, so long as they submitted quietly, and were pitied as well as loved by the Empire. The actual Emperor, so long as he seemed to reign, was held responsible for what was done, and he, unfortunately for himself, was of a conscientious turn of mind. The peasant man who, alas, too trusting, had confided himself to the safe keeping of the Holy One, had been torn from sanctuary, ignominiously executed, together with his innocent family, and the Fountain of Honour was aware that in the eyes of the people he must be a willing accomplice, or else the meanest of puppets. His conscience was torn by pincers. He ought somehow to have saved that family. Humiliation and shame gnawed into his vitals, as rusty gyves into the wrists. No slavery, he declared, while he crouched in his dark chamber, with drops of sweat upon his brow, could possibly be worse than his. A change of masters, if master he must have, would be for the better, since his plight could not be altered for the worse. Not the lowest coolie,--the meanest Eta in his dominions, was of less account than he. If all these chattering kugés, who prostrated themselves so humbly, drawing in breath like humming insects, professing profound devotion, would only do something practical, then would he, the Fountain, sparkle with gratitude, and profusely distribute benedictions. Nara was a provoking person. Wise as an owl in aspect, his wisdom was much an imposture as that of the sapient bird. As usual he exhorted to patience, droned platitudes through his nose. The friends of that much-tried individual on a dunghill, whom Christians had been heard to prate about, were no more exasperating. When the octopus holds you with his tentacles in fell embrace, you must summon all your strength in a supreme effort to tear him piecemeal. A series of small struggles are mere waste of tissue. The Hojo, as all within the holy prison house were painfully aware, was a portentous octopus, more awful than any of the forbidding monsters, with arms of five feet and more, that are to be seen any day in the fish-market. Those who would measure lances with him must be cautious--very cautious. Perhaps, looking back on history, the Fountain might remember Yoriiyé, son of Yoritomo the Great, who, banished to the temple of Idzu, was compelled to shave off his hair. Objecting, he rebelled, and, to the general dismay, was found strangled one morning in his bath. The present Fountain was young and impetuous, a boy, and ignorant, and must learn to smile and wait--to smile and smile--and _strike!_ That he should have resolved on a change at any cost, was well. His trusty lords would beat about and see what was to be done. Doth not the ratcatcher's cat hide her claws?--to serve her end perform miracles? With the stirring of the wind the heron rises from the stream. A little faith, and patience. It was fortunate for the conspirators, headed by Nara, that after his deplorable exhibition of cruelty at Tsu the tyrant should remain quiescent. The snake, for the moment gorged, was comatose. Taking advantage of his absence and inaction, the Daimio of Nara threw his spies broadcast over the land--sent letters to absent magnates inviting them to unite and march for the emancipation of their lord from serfdom. He even sent privately to the Shogun at Kamakura, declaring that if any one was despot in future it should be he, since, by virtue of his post, he was the first General of the Empire, the legitimate leader of her armies. If the Hojo had been at Ki[^y]oto, and awake, these proceedings would have been at once detected, and crushed with an iron hand. Why was he so quiet in his distant castle? When the message from Masago arrived, declaring that the Daimio of Tsu was sinking into lowest debauchery, willing victim of a harlot, Nara thanked the gods, and rushed to his imperial master. The other item in the communication--concerning the position of his own daughter--was a trifle. She also must practise patience. She would be amply avenged for present torment at the same time as the Holy Mikado. Was not this grand news, well worth a little waiting--a little suffering? Had he not been right--he, the hoary one, the sage, the experienced, the prudent? They had waited, and the moment was at hand. In exultant joy he flung himself headlong on the mat, and embraced his master's feet. Of course the latter was glad that evil should befall his tyrant; but Nara was always more glib with tongue than sword. A little patience, quotha. For patience the times were out of joint. A little action now. Answers arrived from east and west, from north and south--some bellicose and ardent, some timid and time-serving. The Fountain of Honour deigned to come out of darkness like a snail out of its shell; but as he lay supported on his hand in the centre of the floor, his mien was so troubled, his young brow so puckered and scowling, that the kugés squatting around in a circle sat wistful, with heads on one side--motionless. For hours and hours he remained as inanimate as they--lost in gloomy thoughts and dumb abstraction. The prospect was too halcyon. The tyrant, firm in the toils of a low woman, might become sodden and besotted. What of the other--no less than he a Hojo--the idol of the army, bravest of the brave? The soul of loyalty (or his face belied him), he would stand by his brother, a tower of strength in an emergency. Plausible and garrulous and self-deceiving as old men are wont to be, Nara had been quite wrong in his estimate of General Sampei. He, the General, had appeared distressed at the proceedings of his feudal superior. And yet could it be denied that he had calmly attended and approved that shocking massacre,--had stood by with hands before him while infants were slaughtered,--had remained on the premises ever since, perfectly composed and comfortable? His face was a lying mask then. He was as bad, every bit, as his brother,--as much to be feared and hated; for since it was clear that he approved his acts, he would, of course, stand by him to the death. Nara rubbed his chin, and whilst confessing that that much of the problem was at present not quite so clear as was desirable, stoutly declared that if the distant chiefs could succeed in quietly gathering their adherents, and, unsuspected, mass them within distance of the capital the desired end would be attained, Sampei or no Sampei. The Hojo must be lulled in false security, and awake to a sense of danger only in time to perish. In order to reconnoitre the ground, he, the veteran, would stir his old bones and pay a visit to his son-in-law. There would be naught in this to raise suspicion, for what could be more natural than that a fond parent should make a pilgrimage to visit his only child? He went, as we have seen, and in due course returned, so jubilant and radiant that even his glum master perforce believed in him. Their prayers were heard. The gods were sick of tyranny. The despot, blindfold, was marching to his fate. His foot was on the edge of the abyss. As the Fountain of Honour in his inspired wisdom had pointed out, Sampei was loyal to his chief, so far, but he was evidently full of disgust, uncertain what he ought to do, harried and worried, wretched. The citadel was more than half undermined already. He, the brilliant general, soldier to his finger nails, moved in a centre of undisciplined debauchery; listess, unshocked, uninterested. Why, a handful of ronins could take and sack in a trice the castle once deemed impregnable! The guards were wrapped in drunken sleep, the sentinels, absent from their posts, were engaged in uproarious wassail Not a peasant for miles around but would hail with joyous relief the advent of a new master; not a farmer or artizan but, with full faith in Koshiu's dying words, would look on No-Kami's downfall as retribution heaven-born. Nothing would be easier than, guided by peasants, to march trusty troops by night through the mountain defiles and take the castle by surprise. Sampei, half-hearted as he was, and preternaturally listless, would acquiesce in the inevitable (would be only too glad to do so), and, his brother slain--no longer tied by fealty--would appear in his true colours. In the absence of their hereditary chief, the braves of Tsu would lose their heads, throw down their arms. For the stronghold must fall in the absence of the Hojo, or the prestige that hung around his dignity might save him after all. Just see how cautiously and well-prepared were the plans of the veteran counsellor. Hojo must be summoned to Ki[^y]oto on some business; then sent back with a reproof, to fall into a skilfully-set trap. Admitted within the walls that were once his own--but which would have surrendered in his absence--he could be seized and bound, and, in this plight, covered with the green net of dishonour, be exhibited before awed crowds, as a sermon against vaulting ambition. So fluent was the old man, so completely self-convinced, that the Mikado revived and sat up, while the eyes of the circle of kugés goggled in their heads with mingled admiration and alarm. No-Kami, as we have seen, was sent for in peremptory fashion. The Fountain suggested timidly that this was rash, perhaps; and then old Nara laughed loud and long and savagely. "Time was, O Holy One!" he cried, with wagging headpiece, "when 'twas I who prated of prudence. Now I say be brave! There is naught to fear: his claws are cut. I have looked on him! There is terror in his bloodshot eyes, dread in his shaking hands and shuffling footsteps. The dying farmer called down a curse, and it works visibly, for his confidence in himself has gone--his belief in a lucky star!" All this was vastly refreshing to the inhabitants of the palace, accustomed as they were to groaning. The Mikado, with mind at ease, sat on his lacquered chair within the white-curtained tent, and gave audience to all and sundry. The weather was bitterly cold. A cutting wind blew down from the hills, sheeted last night with snow. Nevertheless, so benignantly disposed was he, that the Fountain of Honour ordered the shutters of the Great Hall to be removed, that those without might see him, and fall in ecstasy upon their faces. With a hibachi of fine bronze before him, clad in wadded robes with seven linings, his wizened visage was cut clear against the background by the towering black gauze leaf that he only of mortals was permitted to wear erect. Despite his wadding and his charcoal he was chilly; but what matters that when the heart is warm, the spirits high? The moment of triumph was approaching when he would claim an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,--exact a cry of pain for each that himself had uttered. Since the despot was already so stricken by outraged Buddha as to be spiritless, he, the Fountain, would improve the occasion when the culprit arrived, in order that all might perceive and applaud the seasonable resumption of his free will and dignity. Openly now he discussed with assembled kugés each succeeding step. Troops were already moving silently, under cover of the dark, towards the castle. Others were approaching from afar in the direction of the central rendezvous. On the arrival of the culprit--news had already been received of his starting--he should be solemnly arraigned and admonished, then banished in disgrace to his lands at Tsu. There he would fall into the snare, be brought back with every mark of insult and ignominy to the capital--and then--and then! What was to happen after that was too delicious to be too promptly settled. It was a morsel to be turned over and over on the tongue, not swallowed with a gulp. Both Fountain and attendant kugés were never weary now of discussing "what then?" Of course, the last thing of all was to be harakiri. This means of final exit he could justly claim by right of name and lineage. But before the final tragedy there might, if skilfully thought out, be endless shades of moral torture; and the kugés, squatting in a row, crumpled their foreheads and stared at the gold ceiling in the delightful travail of conception. Every one had an idea which required to be examined and considered, sifted, accepted, or rejected. Meanwhile the Fountain dribbled out wisdom, encouraged brains to nimbleness, distributed applause. One of the nobles had an inspiration, whereon all his fellows cackled. There was a punishment that none had endured for years, but which might be revived with advantage for the behoof of the fallen Hojo. In a public place, before the assembled populace, a series of the lowest and dirtiest Etas were to be placed in a long line, with straddled legs, and under the arcade thus formed--a pilgrimage of consummate degradation--the humbled noble, on hands and knees, was to be condemned to crawl. An admirable suggestion! Traitorous nobles condemned to this ordeal had been known to die from very shame--their soul crushed out of them, ere half the journey was accomplished. Sure the proud-stomached Hojo would not survive, and thus would go out of the world deprived of the honour of harakiri. The Mikado, enchanted, could conjure up the scene. He longed for the moment to arrive when the culprit, erst so domineering, would shuffle in, nervous and unstrung. A new and charming sensation this to one who was wont himself to quiver. Yes, he longed for the moment, but the wretch should not be admitted at once. Certainly not. He should be shown his place; he who had ridden roughshod should be kept waiting in an ante-room. He----Hark! what sound was that? Rapid and dreadfully familiar? Could it indeed be? A footfall, too well known, was creaking quickly along the bare boards of the corridor. Shuffling, forsooth! it was as brisk and elastic as of yore. With a glance of dismayed reproach the Mikado turned to Nara, then concealed behind a fan his burning face. Nara frowned, surprised. The crouching kugés twittered. Mice gambol when their hereditary foe is slumbering; then, when the green gleaming eyes re-open, scuffle into holes. For these poor mice there were no holes. The footstep was crunching--crunching on their hearts. Though it approached more near, more near, with dreadful swiftness, they might not move, since no shelter was at hand, and they had not wings to fly. Alack! with idle presumption they had uncorked a bottle, and out had popped a gin that spread his bat's pinions over the sky with stifling sulphurous stench. Dread in his shaking hand indeed! Oh, Nara! Nara! Peeping nervously between his fan-sticks, as the commanding figure that he knew too well darkened the doorway, the Fountain of Honour perceived a threatening outline in which there was no sign of decadence. As with hand lightly poised on hip, and proud head raised, the Hojo strode into the Presence, the Mikado marked that he was pale and thin, but his eye, if bloodshot, was piercing as ever--fierce as the untamed eagle's. That Nara, who boasted of experience and acumen, should be so grievously taken in. Well, well! it was all the fault of that old fool. The embroglio was of his making; it must be for him to get them out of the hobble. But Nara, save for a deepening line between the brows, and teeth that bit the lip, seemed unaware of the apparition. Red and wrinkled lids blinked over glazed eyes which stared stonily into space from under a white and shaggy penthouse. The Daimio of Tsu, erect and menacing, glanced slowly down at the assembled lords, who, with bent backs, were contemplating the floor--then at the fan and bundle of silks which concealed the Fountain of Honour--then at the crowd without, who stood with craned necks on the verandahs, or grouped about the garden. From between his fan-sticks the Mikado followed the motions of the despot with increasing trepidation. If only he dared to command the closing of the doors--but his tongue refused its office. Instinct told him that the cup of disgrace was again to be presented to his lips, and that it would be more bitter than ever to the taste. How hard was fate! Every one of the court circle--hatamotos, lords, knights, dependants--was to witness the unpleasing ceremony. As the Daimio stood quietly glancing round without a word, the silence became each second less endurable. By bearing and power of eye, combined with an eloquent past, the tyrant held them cowed. Insolent! He had presumed to appear in the presence in ordinary garb,--had not deigned to don the _Uye-no-Bakama_; or the regulation white silk shirt, or _[=O] Katabira_. And the attitude of the courtiers, too! A pack of grovelling cowards! fine weather friends. A minute since they were gabbling, one against another, of future deeds of prowess--of dazzling achievements; now not one among the startled herd had courage to sacrifice himself--to save his lord from the dilemma. Piteously the Mikado looked at Nara, who made no response; then--since it was absolutely essential that some one should break the silence--he closed his fan and whispered meekly,-- "Lord Hojo, you are welcome." No-Kami smiled, and remarked shortly,-- "Very welcome, doubtless. As I came hither I heard a sound of mirth--now all sit mumchance. Had I not received a special summons, I should have deemed I had intruded." The smile and accents of studied courtesy were more galling than rude speech, to which all were well accustomed. 'Twas as when a tamer of animals flicks them playfully with a wand. They are too docile to need whipping, yet, pending possible contingencies, 'tis wholesome that they should receive a tap. Suddenly dropping the tone of banter, the Daimio strode nearer to his master, and sternly said,-- "May I know why I was summoned? No matter. I have come, and, being here, will ask a question. We are at peace, I think. During the weeks of my retirement I have heard no news of war. Why, then, a stir of arms,--a movement of troops,--marching, countermarching in the night? What is the subject of offence?--is it with China or Corea?" The sinister eye of No-Kami fell upon Nara, who calmly responded,--"I know nothing." "You lie!" retorted the Hojo fiercely. "Oh, base and double-faced and craven! False and deceitful is the blood of Nara--rotten is stock and branch! You and your daughter are alike." Without changing his attitude one tittle, the old man slightly raised his brows. "My daughter!" he said, with exceeding calm. "Forbear to breathe her name. You have broken her heart; driven her to the gate of Death. I ought to have known that none but a savage was a fit mate for Hojo." "Pretty innocent!" sneered No-Kami, lashing himself to frenzy as he advanced towards Nara, hand raised as if to smite. "Know that your pure white blossom is my brother's paramour!" A flush passed over the grim features of the old Daimio, then left them pale. His master nervously scanned the kugés, whose heads were bent lower than ever. From no quarter was there succour against this octopus. The Mikado fairly jumped in his seat when No-Kami spoke again. "You, boy," he said, "see to this matter of the troops. They were summoned without your knowledge, I am willing to believe, by others, who never troubled to consult one so feeble. Or shall I, since you have called me to your side, undertake to relieve you of the task? Letters shall be despatched forthwith to the effect that 'twas a false alarm, bred of mischief and malice,--that the ronins may be disbanded, the men returned to their homes. I shall remain for the present at the Golden House, ready with my humble service when required. With you and yours, my lord, I will settle later." With a show of exaggerated humility, which was worse than knife-stabs, and a glare at Nara, the despot departed as he came, leaving in his wake, as he scrunched away, a trail of terror and discomfiture. The sliding doors were closed in haste. For a while, the assembly remained frozen, then the unhappy Mikado heaved a deep sigh, which was met by a flutter of moaning. He was gone for the present, that was a small mercy; but then he might return at any moment, abusive and vindictive instead of caustic. The shuffling step and trembling hand. Oh, Nara, Nara! Broken reed, false friend; vain, impotent wind-bag; purblind, blustering dotard! Gushing with torrents of weak tears, the Fountain relieved his pent-up anguish with trickling reproaches and sobs, to which the old Daimio listened gloomily. No doubt, he had been wrong in some measure, he admitted with hesitation, for so rapid a recovery had never entered into the complex web of his calculations. Perchance it was but the bright temporary flicker of the expiring lamp. The Fountain of Honour must not be too severe on his aged servant. Had he not kept his temper under grievous provocation, blows would have been exchanged in the holy presence, imperial prestige in the eyes of the whole court would have been lowered. "Rubbish! A paltry excuse! Why, as he stood there, did none of you rid me of him?" groaned the Fountain, whereupon the abject circle groaned in echo. "Of a truth, some one should have done it," bleated one; but surprise, after what they had heard, unnerved each arm; and, indeed, the Hojo was a terrible person, an ogre to terrify the doughtiest. "Bluster and cowardice are sisters!" continued the lamenting Mikado. He could never trust any of them any more--never, never--the cravens! His chains, heavy and numbing, were riveted with adamantine links! and so forth--with a chorus of bleating. When you know that you have done your best,--that but for some one unforeseen and ineradicable speck your carefully-wrought blade would be faultless, a shimmering masterpiece--it is vastly vexatious for people whom you despise, although they wear the aureole, to go on ungenerously drivelling anent that one undeniable blemish. Nara, as he said, had endured a great deal at the hard hand of Hojo, but to sit calmly any longer under the futile reproaches of the Holy One was beyond his stock of that patience he was so fond of recommending to others. Moreover, is not the putting aside of what is past and unpleasant a principle approved of by sages? What is done is done. Even after the late scene, wherein a brutal keeper disported himself among his animals, and departed triumphing, all was not lost, The Fountain had been compelled to imbibe another sip of a nauseous draught with which he was so familiar, that surely it did not signify, at any rate, it should be the last His faithful Nara promised it. How the never-sufficiently-to-be-accursed Hojo had ever discovered the approaching advent of cohorts was a puzzle. But the cohorts were near by this time, and they must even make an open stand against the tyrant, since the scheme of treachery had failed. He, the domineering Hojo, would write angry and imperious letters to the approaching daimios, bidding them begone; but in the name of the Holy One letters could also be sent--secretly, of course--exhorting them to ride all the quicker, since the situation had become acute. "I will gird my old sword again, despite my many winters," Nara concluded pompously. "Dost think that because my hair is white my heart is frozen? Under the snows of Shirané-San and Asama-Yama smoulder the hidden fires. This man's father has immured three Emperors, and he himself is preparing to depose a fourth. He has insulted me, and broken my daughter's heart. A little craft--a very little more--and the crest of the despot is laid low." The hapless Mikado suffocated. Tears of impotent wrath welled from his august eyelids. Cowardice and bluster to the end, and broken reeds to lean on, while he drained the nauseous cup! Verily the banished Emperors were to be envied. The young man rose, and retired to his inner chamber, and lay prone with moans in darkness. CHAPTER XV. WILL BUDDHA SPEAK? Meanwhile affairs at Tsu were not prospering. Sampei, tossed like a shuttlecock, formed, as usual, a dozen resolutions daily, and broke them all. At one moment he was for the flight of O'Tei from the doomed castle--become now a hell of untramelled debauchery--and her installation with his mother at the temple. There she would be in sanctuary, whence even her husband durst not wrest her. But then what a triumph for O'Kikú! He felt that O'Tei would never consent to a step which would be a tacit admission of defeat, for she was a Nara of pure blood, with all the pride of her race. No. She must stop where she was, and await the unrolling of events; and yet what a life was hers, compelled to remain much in her bower, lest she should be insulted by O'Kikú or the braves. As Nara hoped, the evil germ was working inwardly. A regret rose within the mind of Sampei which scorched and blackened it. Is a faithful clansman and an honest man ever justified in turning on his chief? Before there was no question of it: now he was in more than doubt. May a brother ever be pardoned for taking his brother's life? Cases of fratricide were common enough, as Nara had hinted--there were precedents galore--but then the ruling feature of Sampei's character had always been loyal honesty. The gods in their wisdom had set over him certain superiors. What would be said to him when the end came, and accounts were totted up upon the abacus, if he had rebelled? Buddha, frowning, would demand to know how he dared move out of his place, arrogantly assuming to be the wiser. His first duty was to the head of his house: surely there should be no doubt whatever about that. But what if another urgent duty had been imposed by his heart--an imperative duty, clashing with the first? There lay the rub, a problem beyond the solving of the simple General. And since the shocking suggestion had been spread by the wily geisha that there were unholy bonds 'twixt him and her whom it was only too plain he loved, the situation had become so strained as to fill him with foreboding and dismay. To save her fair fame ought he indeed to go? To leave her a helpless waif on this whirlpool of black wickedness was out of the question. And yet how was she benefited by his staying, since he dared not approach without compromising her? So miserable did the poor man feel, racked and torn by a difficulty with which he was incapable of coping, that the light was dark to him, his heart stone cold. He knew himself as weak as she, a ball at the foot of Fate; and so he wandered aimless and disconsolate, hearing and seeing nothing, caring not what befell, waiting--as the rudderless do--to see what would happen next. Oh, heart of man, centre of suffering! When one is said to be heartless, 'tis looked upon as a reproach, instead of a matter for gratulation! The heart of man! 'Tis barely enough for a kite's dinner, yet the whole world is not sufficiently large to satisfy its lust, its greed, its ambition--and how it suffers! When he sailed so blythely for Corea with his enthusiastic army, how halcyon was the world to Sampei; what wonders he was going to perform; what a career of ambition was before him. And now, ambition was dead. Life had become Endurance. His candid spirit was warped by suspicion. He, once so open and trustful, saw in everything a hidden meaning; in every event an occult snare. In due course the betto brought him the letter of his chief, and he smiled with pitying derision. Was he to be taken in so easily? Had he not seen the betto ride off with the missive of O'Kikú? Had he not heard the woman herself urging the servant to speed? A puerile trick. The letter had counselled the infatuated Daimio to remove his brother from her path, that O'Tei, left unprotected and alone, might lie at her mercy. What other reason could there be for so sudden a summons to Ki[^y]oto? With disdain he tore the letter up, resolved more firmly than ever to stick to his post, to carry out his mission to the end. When my lord should return, there would be time enough for explanations. They were burning to be rid of O'Tei--the guilty couple. From this crowning sin, at least, Sampei would save his brother. It required no little resolution unblenchingly to follow the straight but rugged path. O'Kikú smarted more than ever under his cold and implacable disdain. All her arts were useless. Maddened, she strove to pique him by excesses of abandonment under his very nose, and was convulsed by fits of corroding acrimony to discover how futile were her efforts. Against all her attacks he was armed _cap-à-pié_. If my lord would but return, that she might wreak envenomed spite upon these two, whom now with her whole soul she hated! Meanwhile the only result produced by her reckless behaviour was that the samurai, for the most part, disapproved of her more and more; while Sampei, to shun the sight of one so odious, devoted himself to excursions and the chase. Away upon the hill, with its temple and solemn arcades of greenery, as in the hum of the houses below, the cloud of anxiety was thickening. The still dim shrine no longer lulled to devout prayer the soul of Masago. In the midst of supplication her mind turned worldwards. She yearned over her son and the tottering family. She grieved so for O'Tei, when the chatelaine arrived for prayers, that her hard face grew wondrous soft, and she marvelled at the stoniness of destiny. Seeing now with clearer ken than in the past, when she had admired the warlike Tomoyé, adored her rude lord, had almost persuaded herself to believe that all that he did was good, she began to have a denned perception of his crimes, mingled with a startled regret. He had been guilty of much that was deplorable. No-Kami had been brought up in his father's school, had from the first gone lengths that were much more regrettable, to end in deeds which she preferred not to contemplate. He deserved to be accursed, and was accursed. Our sins, like sable ravens, return to roost. Ever since the culminating crime, events had moved so directly towards a visible goal that the finger of fate was plain. But why Sampei? Why the fair and good O'Tei, a symbol of all that was pure? These questions, so bewildering, would rise persistently to the surface. Why should these two, mixed up in this horror, without overt act of theirs, be marched as victims to the sacrifice? She had heard from Sampei that my lord had rallied suddenly before he went to Ki[^y]oto, and this started a fresh train of thought. O'Kikú, the baleful geisha, was at the bottom of all the trouble. She had suddenly appeared, emissary of devils, on the fatal day, and ever since had been a scourge. Thanks to an inspiration from above, the Abbess had been the means of separating my lord from his concubine. Oh, what if, Heaven relenting, the separation might become final--No-Kami himself reformed? The soul of Masago gave a great leap. Yes, she saw light at last--the light for which she had besought so fervently. _She_ was to be the humble means of unravelling the tangle, of saving the family honour. But how was this to be accomplished? With trepidation she remembered that she was in her sixty-first year, which, as all the world knows, is the last of the yaku doshi, or evil years, after which a woman may be at peace. During her thirty-third and forty-second (the other yaku-doshi--happily passed) she had been very careful lest, tempted by Ratatzu, she should be capable of something dreadful, that would ruin her and hers. And now it was terrible to think that in this last year of ordeal--the one of a long life which was most beset with brambles--she was called upon to act with decision, to stand forth for the succour of the innocent, for the shriving and salvation of the guilty. This state of things would call for much vigil, much putting off of earth-trammels, and adoration of the sun-god at his rising, that her old eyes might clearly see. The more she pondered--a slow, tall figure pacing among the moss-grown tombs, under the stately criptomerias--the more plain her duty seemed. Thanks to the benign deities, her prayers for light were answered, and she saw. It was by Heaven's decree that the geisha had travelled hitherward, an agent for the fulfilling of a purpose pre-ordained. Buddha, with omniscient vision, had caused her to come to Tsu for the accomplishment of the curse of the martyr. But now, through the prayers and entreaties of his humble handmaid, he had relented,--been turned from his intent. What a scaffold was the Abbess raising. When No-Kami should come back, his evil genius would be gone. This favour granted, Buddha would vouchsafe another. By force of supplication Masago would obtain that the temper of the Hojo might be changed. He would repent him of his evil ways, and atone in the future for the past. Then it should be her proud privilege to bring together again the husband and the wife. O'Tei must be taught to forgive, to break down the barrier of ice behind which her better nature had been shrouded. Warming in the radiance of a new happiness her frozen petals would unfold, give forth their sweetness, and No-Kami would come to know the treasure that he had ignorantly tossed aside. The wan cheek of the old Abbess was flushed, her dimmed eyes sparkled, as she revolved these things, devoutly giving thanks to Heaven. Is it not the greatest joy that may be tasted by mortals--the permission to intervene in the house of discord, and bring to it peace and happiness? The end was plain to the prophetic vision of Masago, but the way to it was long. The gentle O'Tei would be brought with little trouble to play her part. The difficulty lay with the geisha. The Abbess, mindful of yaku doshi, resolved to be prudent and cautious--not precipitate; and yet, whatever had to be done must be done before the return of No-Kami to the castle. There was not time then for protracted cogitation. She would appeal in person to the siren,--speak words inspired from on high which should touch her flinty heart. Seizing her staff, the gaunt figure in its flowing draperies of crape descended the long flight of stairs, passed under the torii at the bottom, and strode, buoyed by celestial fervour, along the winding street which led to the castle gate. O'Kikú was in a boat upon the river---O'Tei's own favourite shallop, which she had robbed her of, as of other things--and marvelled greatly to behold the Abbess of the temple beckoning to her from the shore. Approaching, she reclined idly at the bottom of the boat, toying with some winter blossoms she had plucked; dipping, in saucy contempt of cold, the fingers of the other hand into the running water. She was muffled in a robe of furs, her head swathed in a kerchief of thick silk; and Masago remarked that she looked worn,--had lost that freshness which had been her most piquant charm. Earnestly the Abbess spoke; pleaded for the family honour on the verge of wreck; discoursed with proud eloquence of the illustrious house of which she was a lowly member; reminded her hearer that she, O'Kikú, also now was one of the house, in precisely the same position as she, the speaker, had been. There were two ways open to her. Lest she should bring upon herself the reproach of having brought a great family to ruin, she must turn over a new leaf, and eschew in future the vices for which she was notorious; or, if waywardness was in her blood, she must depart, and by self-sacrifice atone for the past, and save the family. Amused with the thought that the Abbess must be mad, the geisha lay listening, a sly smile playing about her lips, until the unlucky pleader began to talk about her son. Then starting, as if bitten by an adder, uprose the concubine, and, taking up the pole, leisurely pushed off from the bank. "Sampei, forsooth! A ridiculous old lunatic!" she scoffed, with a superb head-toss. "You must be very insane. What! You'd have me go hence and prison myself for the behoof of the pale idiot yonder? Even if I were myself mad enough to consent, my lord would never love her. The contemptible creature is barren; whereas I, the second wife--" and with a trail of mocking merriment, and an attempt to raise a blush, she smiled at the astounded Abbess, and propelled her bark into the stream. Masago remained standing, her tall figure mirrored in the water, her shrunken hands crossed upon her breast, amazed and troubled. What was this new factor in the embroglio? She was with child--the interloper. There would soon be a new bond, a fresh silver link to unite more closely the pair whom she was bound to separate. The woman's influence over my lord would be greater than ever; and, all for evil as of yore. The breach between No-Kami and O'Tei would grow wider. As in a dream--with slow gait and corrugated brow--the Abbess passed back towards the grove, heedless of the salutations of the peasants,--of the brown urchins that plucked at her skirts. A child--a son, perhaps--that woman's son! Swiftly there passed through her brain a sense of the results that would accrue. The wife, ambitious and unscrupulous, who was a mother, would become all-powerful. Fresh insults would day by day be heaped on the one who was not thus blessed among women. In her mind's eye Masago beheld a long train of disasters and calamities, O'Kikú the active agent. Crouched down before the altar, her chin supported by her palms, she gazed at the bronze symbol that sat so calm and still and upright, with mouth shut and eyelids closed. "Oh, if you would vouchsafe to speak," she murmured imploringly, "one little word of guidance. One other ray of light; one little, little ray! During years of unflinching devotion has my life been given to your service. I know that I have earned nothing save, perhaps, one touch of pity!" With sore and heavy heart the Abbess sighed, for the bronzed lips remained tight shut, the eyelids closed. He was asleep and deaf. There was no sound of comfort or of counsel. Presently she distinguished the patter of clogs upon the outer stairs, and, after a while a man, pushing aside the curtain, stood framed in the doorway. "Sampei!" Her boy! Was this the reply of Buddha? Ashy pale, trembling like a leaf, the old woman bent to the stones with moving lips; while the General, reverently doffing his geta, and beating his hands together, approached and knelt. She took his warm broad hand between her cold ones, and earnestly scrutinised his face. Her thoughts were in such a turmoil that, though she heard his words, they seemed to reach her ears from a distance, through a tunnel. Riding listlessly, as was his wont, with no settled purpose, he had been astonished to see the geisha in conference with his mother. What could those two have had to say to each other? Greatly marvelling, he had watched, and then turned his horse towards the temple. What ailed his mother, that her features were grey-green? Was she ill? She looked so scared and strange and terrified. Was it some ghost she saw that caused that look of awe? Without taking her eyes from her son's, the Abbess rose, and like one in a trance led him behind the altar, down the open corridor, into her own quiet chamber. Nothing could be more simple than its furnishing. The woodwork was unadorned, but scrupulously clean, so were the mats and screens. A plain fire-box of iron stood in the centre. Above the low dais in the tokonoma, or place of honour, there hung a single and very ancient kakemono, representing Kwannon, the thousand-handed; and under it, upon the dais, stood in a lacquered sword-rack, a dirk in its silken case. Floating before Sampei she lifted the weapon, pressed it to her bosom, then slowly unfastening the case, drew forth the dirk, which, with a cry, he recognised. It was a precious blade, forged by Miochin himself, adorned with a hilt minutely worked with gold--a dirk which in childhood he had been wont to play with. "My father's!" he murmured, and pressed it to his lips and forehead. "Your father's!" echoed the Abbess, in a whisper, drawing herself to the full height of her commanding stature, and placing on the bent head of her son a trembling hand. "Your father, and _his_, wore yonder blade in many a fray, and it was never sullied with dishonour. To you, my dear son, do I surrender it. The gods have spoken. She must die!" As pale as his mother, who looked on him now with a rapt and solemn smile, Sampei heaved a sigh of relief. _She_. His nerves tingled to his finger ends, for he had thought that the deed must be done which had so often crossed his mind, and which he had always put away from him with dread. It was not his brother--thanks to the gods for that--but the wicked concubine, whose blood was required in atonement. Then the two sat down, and the inspired priestess spoke. "The honour of the family was to be saved by him--Sampei. Buddha himself had deigned to settle it. He must bide his time, and wait and watch, and when occasion offered he must, with his father's dirk, slay the baleful sorceress. With his own hand must the deed be done--not be trusted to a hireling, even to a samurai. It might be some time before the fitting opportunity presented itself, for the braves, whom she still debauched, would defend her doubtless with their lives. There must not be too long delay, lest my lord No-Kami should come home. The avenging hand must be sure and steady; the result not a mere wound, but--death." Nodding, Sampei placed the weapon in his obi, and, embracing his mother, departed with proud step. It was to be his privilege--by Buddha's own decree--to save the honour of the house,--to rescue his infatuated brother,--to bestow upon the dear O'Tei a measure of future happiness. Masago, calm now, returned to the temple, and spent the night in vigil. Blessed be Buddha; for his mercy thrice-blessed! He had spoken through the silent lips. The course and conscience of his handmaid were clear as crystal now. CHAPTER XVI. MASAGO TAKES THE REINS. Now it came to pass that after the mental torture she had endured, the soul-racking perplexities, the days of prayer and nights of vigil, the strong frame of the Abbess gave way under her burthen. She was deeply thankful for the god's decision,--that her prayers had been heard and answered. But her body was worn out--the lamp was burning low, and she was compelled to remain in her chamber, wrapped in many quilts, with Miné, hapless victim of unrequited love, in anxious attendance on her. That unfortunate maiden had never recovered the effect of the dreadful day,--the massacre of her dear ones,--her parents' departure, unforgiving. She moved about her sacred duties like a phantom, with remorse gnawing at her vitals. No need now to keep watch over her lest she should again fling herself into the reluctant arms of the too fascinating young General. He was no more to her seared heart than any other man, for it had lost all sense of feeling. It was scorched out of life on the day of the massacre, and she bore only its ashes in her breast. Masago had sunk into that deep sleep which is the greatest boon to unhappy mortality, and Miné, bending over the hibachi, was stirring the charcoal with a rod, immersed in sad reflection, when there entered a certain bonze who enjoyed reputation as a doctor. He was a learned and a holy man, who dwelt in a monastery on the mountain,--was wise of counsel, and learned in the use of simples. Hearing by chance that the venerated Abbess of Tsu was lying sick, he took his bundle, his lacquered medicine-box, and his staff; put on his tall clogs, and great mushroom priestly hat, and hied towards the convent. Sleep, he observed, after a brief survey, was a better anodyne than simples, and he would therefore await the waking. Warming his fingers: over the glow he chatted with Miné in undertones, exchanged the gossip of Tsu for the last reports from Ki[^y]oto, inquired of what new atrocity my lord the Daimio had been guilty. Oh, yes; he was aware that my lord was away,--summoned to the capital; and added, with mysterious head-shakings, that a surprise was preparing for his return. "_You_ should be pleased to hear of it," went on the good garrulous old gentleman, "after all that your family have suffered at his hands--'tis only fitting retribution;" and then, chattering in whispers, he proceeded to tell of soldiers' shadowy cohorts, who by night had marched past the monastery. "They are massing troops in all the defiles," he whispered. "Your father's anathema has taken effect. The race of the Hojos is run." The bonze was so intent upon his tale, and so long-winded in the telling of it, that he, as well as his listener, forgot all about the patient. Though deep wrapt in slumber, she moved now and again uneasily, tossing from off a surcharged bosom the multitude of futons that covered it. Then gradually the sleep-goddess relaxed her embrace, folded her arms less closely, and she of dreams spread forth the shadow of her pinions. The Abbess dreamed a dreadful dream, offspring of trouble and of fever. She thought that her own lord was alive again,--that, covered with crimson stains streaming from many a wound, he stood over dead Tomoyé. Why was Tomoyé dead? In sober truth of history past and gone, it was she who had stood over him. There he stood, however, reeling from loss of blood, his favourite katana hacked and notched from the battle. Then there appeared the boy No-Kami, also gashed and wounded. To her, the sleeper, turned her revered lord, stretching forth imploring hands. "Save _him_," he hoarsely gasped. "My time and hers is come, and it is well; but he is on the threshold of his life!" She, the dreamer, could not save him, for she was bound herself with cords, the which perceiving, her lord looked down reproachfully, and died; and then from out a crystal brook there rose a silver form that clasped the boy, and his wounds closed,--a slim shimmering form, daughter of the moon, which, shaping itself out of argent vapour, became O'Tei the chatelaine. Bedewed with sweat the old woman awoke, and for a space lay panting. What awful vision was this? All good Buddhists know that when we are asleep the soul goes forth upon its errands. If we waken a person too suddenly he will die, because the wanderer cannot return with needful quickness to his tenement. When the soul is merely out at play the dream is of no importance, and its pictures are rapidly effaced; but when the truant is on serious duty bent, the vision remains distinct, and it behoves us to accept its lesson. Waking, the portrayal of O'Tei closing No-Kami's wounds was as distinct as if the two were standing there before her; also the reproachful gaze of her dear lord ere he gave up his spirit. The gods were indeed good to speak so plainly to their handmaid. It was the honour of her dear lord's name that she desired saved at any cost, wishing for his son no ill. The geisha was to die, No-Kami to repent, and O'Tei was somehow to dissect the tangle. Masago found herself to-day more weak than usual, and much unhinged. Perchance her time was near. It behoved her to see the chatelaine, to reason with her while yet her voice was strong, her brain still clear. Then there rose upon her dimmed senses a sound of whispering, and she distinctly heard some one say, "The race of the Hojos is run." The long moan which burst from her breast recalled the attention of the watchers. The bonze was full of solicitude,--grieved to perceive how fluttering was the patient's pulse,--vastly busy in the preparation of remedies. He could have bitten his tongue through for his imprudence. How could he have been such a fool as to forget that the patient was herself a Hojo, and that fevered sleep is treacherous? He chattered and chirruped to and fro, shot forth his most brilliant sallies, showed his teeth as he twanged bolts of merry satire at that unreceptive target Miné. The eyes of the old woman--smileless now--knit in intense inquiry, never left his face, while with feeble persistence she repeated the question,--"How are the Hojos doomed?" Having committed one egregious error, he was not going to be guilty of another. Regardless of the severe course of penance which followed lying, he boldly averred that he had never mentioned Hojo at all, or the race,--that he was talking about the Daimio of Osaka, who was hovering on the verge of the grave,--that under no circumstances whatever would he have breathed a syllable about the Hojos in the presence of the late lord's wife. And twittering thus, he at length retired, with good wishes for the patient's recovery, glad that by wonderful presence of mind he had lulled the Abbess's suspicions. But Masago knew better than to be hoodwinked by the plausible gabble of a blundering bonze. Out of delicacy she would refrain from cross-questioning Miné. Well, the warning was twofold. The Hojo was in imminent peril of some kind, from which apparently he was to be rescued by his wife. For many hours she lay staring upwards in deep thought. The wintry light was quickly waning. Who might tell how near the peril was? Her own strength was ebbing rapidly. She must see the chatelaine at once. The brief twilight of Japan was darkening over the bleak landscape like a sable veil, when a breathless messenger arrived at the drawbridge of the fortress, demanding an interview with the lady. "With the lady!" jeered the soldier, who had been so long upon his watch as to be glad to chat with any one. "She has other things to do just now, our lady, than listen to beggars from the town. Was ever such a lady--so restless, so domineering, so devoted to pleasure--always seeking new excitement in the dreary absence of my lord? The moon rises late, and will be full to-night, and what must she do, dost think, heedless of her delicate situation, but go to the tea-house by the river, to gaze at the light upon the snow? 'Tis a lovely sight, no doubt, dear to the eyes of our people, be they high or low,--the green glimmer on the water, the black banks of reeds, and white expanse beyond; but plaguey cold. Of course there will be supper when she returns, and singing and wassail and jollity, warming to the cockles of the heart. Ah, well! if such as I were admitted to the junketings, I'd not mind this weary watch." "'Tis with the lady O'Tei that I must speak, and quickly," said the messenger. The sentinel, leaning over the parapet, discerned by the conical shape of the speaker's hat that he was a priest. "Oh!" he grumbled, "some wretched coolie sick? Such vermin as these don't come after the lady O'Kikú. You may come in and seek her, an you will. She's likely in her bower--we've not seen her this many a day." As the priest sped with clattering clogs across the paved courtyards, he perceived that there was feasting toward. The interior of the great hall, brilliantly illumined, threw gay streaks of yellow out across the white. Servants moved to and fro, bearers of viands; the saké cup was already passing freely. By the principal entrance loomed the unwieldy mass of my lady's kago, gay with banners and streamers, and looped curtains and lacquered poles--the same gaudy equipage belonging to O'Tei which, on her arrival, the geisha in her insolence had appropriated to herself. Hard by, in groups, stamping and clapping hands for warmth, were the two sets of bearers--sturdy coolies selected for speed and staying power--each with his head muffled in blue cotton under his hat, his grass rain-coat bound round his waist, the handle of his sword carefully protected by oiled paper, strong sandals of straw upon his feet. Some were bringing wraps and cushions; some trimming paper lanterns; all shouting with the shrill distractive hubbub so dear to low-class Japan. The geisha he could see as he went by, was surrounded by her maidens and an outer circle of braves, armed ready to attend her. Muffled to the eyes in a thick mantle of deep maroon, she stood waiting till all was ready, a saké-cup in hand. Past this noisy assemblage to the remote corner of the tower which faced the river trotted the messenger. In vivid contrast to the hall, with its warm reek of heated wine, dark and silent was the bower of the chatelaine. Was she asleep already, the sad recluse? Not so. There was a twinkling tiny light above, and like the hum of an insect there reached his ear the tinkle of a distant samisen. He knocked, and the sound ceased; a paper window was pushed aside; a maiden's head peeped forth. "Who dares at this hour," she inquired angrily, "to intrude upon my lady's privacy? A pretty pass! Was not the castle large enough for its debauched inmates that this retired eyrie might not be treated with respect?" "I come from Masago," the messenger said. "She is very sick, and has somewhat of grave import to say to the chatelaine." Admitted, the priest followed the maiden to the upper floor, where, surrounded by books and embroidery, and choice blossoms and graceful nicknacks, sat, in a soft mellow light, she for whom the peasants sorrowed. Since last we looked on her, she was much changed--improved--for there was something celestial now---refined and dreamy, as if reflected from some other world--about her loveliness. Her manner had that still, self-contained, dignity which is only to be acquired through much trouble. With grieved concern in her dark eyes, she hearkened to the messenger. Masago on the verge of death! Was she, O'Tei, to be left friendless? Of course she would go to her at once. Ah, if she might change places with the holy Abbess, and depart out of a sphere where no one wanted her! But it is always those who have no wish to stay who are kept loitering here. Was Masago so ill, and she not told of it? This was wrong, for at any hour of the day or night she would have gladly sought her friend. Not a moment was to be lost. Quick, quick! Her litter. Her bearers, where were they? Wandering in the town, possibly, chattering in some tea-house, their daily duty over. "There is a litter below," suggested the priest timidly. "The one that in old times my lady used to use. Its bearers are standing ready with lanterns lit. Perhaps my lady O'Kikú--" A look of unusual sternness passed over the features of O'Tei, and a shadow veiled her eyes. "O'Kikú!" she muttered, "O'Kikú! My state litter is ready, you say? Then I will use it; come!" And to the amazement of the maidens, the chatelaine took from a screen a mantle of costly furs, and bidding her attendants follow with a candle, moved rapidly away down a dark corridor which led to the centre of the castle. The geisha was so astonished at the apparition which suddenly presented itself before her that the saké-cup dropped from her fingers. She turned red and white, and tried, with but poor success, to laugh off her confusion. With heaving breast and dark brows knit, O'Tei looked down on her with disdain ineffable. "You have ordered my kago. Thank you," she said shortly, "for I want it. Tell the bearers I am ready; and you, priest, proceed before. I go but to the temple, so shall not want the soldiers." With that she moved with stately step to where, in a stream of light, the kago stood. The braves were breathless, for they beheld the heiress of proud Nara now, no longer the recluse; and there was an easy air about her of natural command, which they knew how to admire and appreciate. Not one had a word to say against the firmly-expressed resolution of their liege-lady, but stood by sheepishly. O'Tei was the real chatelaine, and, in absence of her lord, supreme mistress of castle and of warriors. The bewitching O'Kikú, as if by magic, shrank down into her natural insignificance. No doubt about it; she was the concubine, low of birth and common of breeding--the crow by the side of the falcon. The geisha tingled with exasperated shame, for her quick instinct could read at a glance the open faces of the braves. Had she toiled and schemed and wormed and man[oe]uvred for this?--to be swept with a hand-wave like a beetle from the path by the rival she had so undervalued! Oh, when my lord returned, an effort must be made to save the situation! Clearing her husky throat, she said sourly,-- "I was about to view the snows by moonlight, but if yours is an urgent errand, I will gladly give up my litter. The weather is clear, but for a few sailing clouds; the moon will serve to-morrow." Her foot upon the step, the chatelaine turned. "I take my own, and crave of you no favour," she remarked haughtily. "To the temple, by way of the river bank. I myself will see the snows." The scene had passed so swiftly that 'twas over as soon as begun. There was naught to tell the tale of the geisha's discomfiture but the shattered saké-cup. Yes, there was the absent kago, the marks of many feet where it had stood; the sheepish faces of the warriors. There was the group, too, of O'Tei's maidens huddled behind, where they chattered in high glee. The ambitious and presumptuous geisha had been put down into her place at last, firmly and quietly by her superior. That was the plain truth which there was no denying. It was written on the visages of the maidens as well as on those of the samurai. Accustomed to reign unchallenged, the blow was hard to bear. Bursting into a torrent of tears, brackish with impotent mortification, O'Kikú sank upon a cushion, and was as racked by sobs as if she had possessed a heart. CHAPTER XVII. UNDER THE MOON. The road by way of the stream was a longer one than that by the street, for the river wound with many a turn and twist, as if loth to reach the sea. It was no more than a path, stony in some places and muddy in others--rough throughout; and there were spots where the unwieldy vehicle was in danger of overturning. The Japanese are so innately poetic that even the least educated find pleasure in gazing upon nature in its sweetest moods. On Lake Biwa, not far from Ki[^y]oto, there is, while I write, a tea-house on a hill, which, at certain seasons, does a thriving trade, because from that particular spot an entrancing view may be obtained of moon and foliage and water. And it is not the cultured class alone that enjoys this refined amusement. The common horny-handed field coolie may be seen smoking his pipe, beaming with satisfaction, upon the mat, surrounded by wife and children, all equally enchanted by the spectacle. On the river-bank, built out over the stream, not far from Tsu, there was just such another tea-house, from which a view was obtained of land-locked bay and rocks and feathery bamboo--the self-same picture which O'Tei used to enjoy from her own garden near the temple, seen from another point. It was to this tea-house that O'Kikú had proposed to conduct the rollicking samurai, to sit there a while with quip and jest, and thence return to supper. Preparations had been made on a grand scale; coolies had been sent to repair the path in rotten places with bundles of rushes, to clear away stones; and therefore the expedition was a matter of talk for several days before among those who dwelt in the castle. It was in obedience to a whim--in order more completely to crush her rival--that O'Tei had elected to choose this route. A vision of her favourite landscape had appeared before her. It was so long since she had seen it that she yearned to look on it again. As the procession moved swiftly and silently over the snow, she became lost in reverie. She had been happy once in her garden in a negative sort of way. How long ago it seemed! And since those early days (sure a century since) what a catalogue of suffering and crime! Yes, it must be a century, not a few years only. She was an old, old woman, seared and world-worn, longing for the mysterious change. Her ordeal on this planet would soon be over. How gladly would she move elsewhere. The cold was intense. She drew over her head a purple kerchief, for the beauty of the scene must not be blocked out by curtains. The well-skilled bearers marched with a steady, gentle sway, picking their steps with cat-like caution. Their straw shoes made no sound on the soft snow. The regular rhythm of their breathing lulled to repose. Leaning back her weary head upon the cushions, O'Tei fell fast asleep. At the last turn of the river, before reaching the spot whereon stood the tea-house, it sweeps in a wide bend, leaving a large flat space--a dangerous pitfall; for, firm though it appears to the unwary, between the pools it is a quagmire, a bog of thick ooze which forms a kind of quicksand. The bearers knew this right well, for skirting the water close they hugged a narrow causeway of masonry, the group that bore the pole walking one before the other, keeping time with monotonous chant, the rest of the party falling back, following in single file. It was necessary to move slowly now, for a false step would precipitate the top-heavy vehicle into the water. Two bettos pioneered in front, stepping deftly backwards, holding their lanterns aloft above their heads. "Steady, lads, steady!" one of them exhorted cheerily. Forty yards farther on the path would widen again, and the rest of the journey was plain-sailing. Whirr! The bettos turned round startled. What was that? nothing; a stream of awakened wild-fowl scudding across the flat. The night was so solemnly silent that their wings rent the stillness with a loud sharp tearing as of linen. * * * * * For hours past, from out a brake of sedge and reeds two bright eyes had been intently watching. Heedless of cold and wet a man had been lying concealed with face turned towards the castle. From this point the fortress loomed out of the river in a dense mass against the sky, in full sombre majesty of battlement and ponderous roof and storied tower, with fish of gold upon its summit; for it was on this side that the stream laved its foundation wall of Cyclopean stones as it brawled towards the sea. From where he lay, wrapped in a coolie's rain-coat, the man could mark the procession from afar, a line of swart insects on the white, glow-worms with twinkling lights. As they approached, winding with the river's windings, he counted the number of men who bore the litter, and observed with surprised exultation that the guards had been left behind. There was no panoply of spear and streaming banner and glancing lance-head, no clatter of armed horsemen such as usually attends the progress of a noble's kago. "My task will be the easier," he muttered, unfastening the thongs of his rain-coat, and taking in the corners of his mouth the ends of the cloth about his head. The man's attire was strange and incongruous, for though his garb was that of a peasant, the cloth from out of which his sharp eyes peered was of silk broidered with silver. He rose stealthily upon his knees, felt for a dirk in his obi, drew forth the blade and ran a finger along the edge, then laid the scabbard in the water. "How slow they are," he murmured. Nearer--nearer still. The bearers were intent upon their task, for there had been a frost last night, and the stones were slippery. Clouds had been rising in banks, masses of cumuli that passed fitfully across the moon. Snowflakes began to fall. Hist! what was that, another batch of waterfowl? No; a cry as of frighted animals. A commotion--a rush--a panic. Robbers! a gang--a multitude. Stabbed in the back, the two bettos dropped without a struggle. For an instant the attendants strove to free themselves from cumbrous grass-coats, to disengage their swords from oiled paper coverings, in vain; for it must be at least a dozen nimble blades, wielded by unseen hands, that were swirling through the air with such deadly purpose. Who could have foreseen that on this quiet track assassins were in ambush? With a howl and a cry of treachery the cohort of poltroons abandoned the litter, which fell heavily on its side, and fled over the quicksand, where they buffeted, to lie engulfed. The man, for there was but one--or was it not the god of thunder?--dashed at the fallen kago, tore back with one hand its half-closed curtains, from whose folds there emerged a woman. A sway of two tussling figures, as the clouds swept over the moon, and the snow fell thickly. A tossing of white arms and clutching fingers clasped in a grip of death. A gurgle, a long wild shriek--so terrible a cry of anguish, as a soul was forcibly rent from out its tenement, that boors within their huts crept close together and prayed for protection against goblins. Even the austere figure of the avenger remained for a second spellbound, as, standing erect to wipe his dirk, his ear followed that last piteous wail of agony that faded in the music of the stream. His task was successfully accomplished: to the gods all gratitude. He peered anxiously around, while he bound up something in a purple kerchief, then, drawing the pick from his katana's sheath, thrust it through the silk for easier carrying. He was alone with slumbering nature, and with it. The relay had fled to give alarm. There was nought to be seen of the others save distant circles on the watery quagmire, with here and there a hand whose groping soon was stilled. At his feet lay the two dead bettos and a heap of sumptuous furs, from out of which there trickled a thick stream that meandered slow over the stones. Looking upward at the moon, which now unveiled again, the man, smiling softly, pressed to his lips the dirk. "Old friend," he murmured, "beloved of my father, thou hast saved his honour and ours, an evil life the ransom. With speed to my mother now, that she may know the atonement is complete." He sought for a moment leisurely among the reeds, and seeing the scabbard gleam, replaced it with the dirk within his belt. Then swinging his burthen in his hand, he strode quickly away towards the temple. His mind was relieved of a great anxiety, and he felt happier than for many a day. All had gone well. In the scurry not one had seen his face, swathed as it was by a cloth. There was nothing to betray whose arm had been that which had struck the ghastly blow. There would be turmoil and uproar among the samurai, a hot pursuit of the assassins; then, search proving vain, silence, and oblivion. The family honour was safe. The concubine would be speedily forgotten, and it would be as if the shadow of the wicked geisha had never crossed their path. Under the torii, up the long straight flight of stairs, through the temple where Miné and the nuns were praying audibly, to the corridor beyond, off which was the chamber of the Abbess. A light was flickering. She was awake, anxious for the arrival of the chatelaine. Her ascetic visage was wrapped in holy calm, as with closed eyes she told her beads. The sound of her son's dear footfall, as he strode across the floor, aroused her, and she looked on him with fond inquiry. "My mother, it is done," he whispered, out of breath. "Here have I brought the proof that your instructions have been obeyed." Masago, raising herself with difficulty, stretched forth eager hands to claim the bundle, and, her fingers trembling with exultation, hasted to untie its knots. Then from her breast was wrung a wail, racked with the ring of unavailing grief, echo of that shriek along the water. Out of her grasp, upon the mat, there rolled a woman's head, bloody and waxen. Its delicate features were warped, convulsed in the life battle. Stretched wide in terror were its glassy eyes, its parted lips distorted. Stunned and dazed, crowned with the brain-ache of a hopeless sorrow, the icy grip about his heart of a despair that might never be assuaged, Sampei sank slowly on his knees. For the eyes that stared upon him now in mute imploring were those he loved best on earth. The face was the face of O'Tei, the fair, and gentle, and unfortunate. CHAPTER XVIII. FACE TO FACE. When the panic-stricken servants rushed into the castle with their appalling tale, there was general consternation. They had been attacked, they swore, by a band of at least fifty ronins. By the last act of the doomed chatelaine she had won back the respect of the warriors, for they perceived, too late, that her gentleness had naught akin with cowardice. Resuming her fit position by force of princely dignity, she had become a liege lady of whom they could be proud. They felt pangs of remorse, too, in having allowed her to sally forth by night unprotected by soldiers. Yet, if they had not cared for her, it was well known that the peasants did, who vowed she was a saint. And sure none could ever have supposed that there were any, even in this bad world, who could be so wicked as to do her to death thus cruelly. The country far and near was scoured, but no trace of a gang was found. The thickly-falling snow had obliterated footmarks. On the fatal spot, seek as they would, nothing was to be found but the overturned litter and mutilated remains of their mistress--hats and garments scattered here and there--and the bodies of the drowned bearers. At dawn, the sad _cortége_ returned home with its freight, having learned nothing; and then a feeling of uneasiness came over the samurai as to what my lord would say. He neglected and disliked his wife, but would surely retaliate swiftly and fearfully upon those whose carelessness had led to so gruesome a catastrophe. As for O'Kikú, whom all avoided now as if she were plague-stricken, she remained secluded in her chamber, transfixed with growing wonder. The blows of the assassins were aimed at herself--of that she had no doubt--and she had been saved by a miracle. Yet who could there be who wished to kill her, unless it were O'Tei or Masago? Of course, it was not O'Tei, or she would never have marched thus deliberately to her own undoing; and as she was on her way to the temple, summoned thither, it could not be a plot of Masago's, for Masago loved her dearly. The more she thought it out, the more incomprehensible grew the whole affair, and at last she was fain to put it from her as a mystery which time might some day decipher. One thing, however, was plain. By a wondrous stroke of luck, the position of herself, O'Kikú, had vastly improved. A stumbling-block that threatened to become troublesome was swept out of her path. So soon as my lord should learn her secret, he would, if skilfully wheedled, take to his arms, as his first wife, the mother of his child. She would be consort of the Hojo, chatelaine of Tsu, and as she thought of it, her bosom glowed with gratified ambition, and she there and then determined that in the smiling future the castle should contain no concubine. At early dawn the good-natured bonze hied him down from the mountain to visit his revered patient, and greatly was he shocked by the spectacle that met his view. On the threshold of the Abbess's chamber stood Miné, with finger on lip, and a far-off vacant look of dread that betokened incipient madness. Her father's curse was falling with leaden weight upon the members of the devoted family, and as she beheld the swoop of stroke after stroke her soul was withered within her. She too--she whom he had repulsed unpardoning--she too was doomed with them. What would her end be? Entering the room of Masago with accustomed listless step to attend to duties, she had stood riveted as she read the full horror of the scene. On the floor was Masago, delirious; close by crouched her shuddering son, clasping something--something terrible--in his arms. From that moment till the arrival of the friendly bonze, Miné had stood a faithful sentinel, lest peradventure prying nuns might learn and spread the truth. Should it become known that Sampei--the once dear Sampei--had been guilty of this awful crime, the town would arise as one man to tear him limb from limb. The young priestess was not capable of deciding what was to be done, but the friendly bonze would think for her, and propound the words of wisdom. Little by little the first distracting throes of misery passed. The Abbess grew calm, and with the death-sweat came resignation. The gods, ungenerous and mocking, had fooled their handmaid. Instead of being turned from their purpose by her puny supplications, as she had arrogantly dared to hope, they had singled her out, with a consummate refinement of cruelty as their chief implement of vengeance. By her hand--the hand of the mother and the friend--were stricken down the apple of her eye--her son, and the sweet lady who had loved and trusted her. And in them was she not herself smitten--ay, so crushed and beaten that naught could hurt her more? Alas! alas! that she should have been so blinded as not to take warning by the fateful year--the last of yaka doshi, and have kept herself from dangerous meddling. What should chance henceforth she cared not. Since all were condemned, the sooner fell the last and fatal stroke the better,--on the dear head of the son she loved so fondly--on all. As for Sampei, he appeared as if changed to stone. In the presence of so intense a depth of black despair, Miné trembled--the kindly bonze was awed; for sure there is no sight so pitiful in nature as the whirl and flood of human anguish whose torrent we may not stem. It was essential that some plan of action should be decided on forthwith; and the bonze was of opinion that the secret of who it was that had done the deed for the present must be kept. Gently raising Sampei from his attitude of utter abandonment, and taking his treasure from him, he led him into the temple, and placed it within a bronze coffer of exceeding sanctity which stood beside the altar. "He alone who can act," he said, "in such a crisis, is my lord of Nara. To him will I go forthwith." On foot, with staff and scrip, he made the pilgrimage to Ki[^y]oto, wrapped as he journeyed in holy ecstasy, thanking the gods for their goodness. Were not the wicked who are set in high places sometimes to receive their meed, the faith of man in truth and God and justice would wane and crumble. As the dragon that browses on the white flesh of innocent young maids is slain at last, so was it to be with the Hojos. Their cup was full. For some good and occult purpose beyond purblind human ken, the scourge for generations had afflicted the earth, but now was the limit placed. Awakening Buddha had said, "So far shalt thou go and no farther, for the punishing of the transgressions of the people." The limit was reached, and now Buddha, merciful, would hold his hand. But how subtle was the means of retribution--so subtle, that as he contemplated it, the bonze was overcome with wonder. Not only was each member of the family to perish miserably, but the nearest and dearest the agent! A woman was to be butchered by him who to save a hair of her dear head would gladly have sacrificed his life. A man was to be brought to a condition worse far than the most lingering of deaths, by the mother who, to save him from a pang, would have bartered her hope of Nirvana. The bonze, travel-stained and weary, sought my lord of Nara at the Mikado's palace, and found him without difficulty; for it was the policy of that crafty daimio to be of easy access to the people. He was buried to the lips in papers and despatches, for the die was cast now; it was to be a hand-to-hand tussle for existence. Either the Hojo must fall, or they would all be sacrificed. Answers had been received from country magnates. Despite peremptory orders from the Hojo, they were advancing by forced marches. They had gone too far for retreat. To obey the tyrant without a struggle for freedom was to condemn themselves to life-long bondage. What of the Corean army once commanded by Sampei? the magnates inquired. What of the thousands of disbanded ronins? Would they side with the despot, or unite for the saving of their Emperor? "Tush!" Nara muttered, as he wrote replies. "Have not I, the shrewd and the astute, considered these matters? The mountains about Tsu are teeming with faithful men in ambush. When these marching daimios reach their appointed posts, the Holy City will be surrounded by a protecting girdle; and then--and then--we may act!" But Destiny amused herself as usual by thwarting the intricate plans so carefully conceived by mortal ingenuity. Is it not always so? If we arrange a sequence of events for ourselves, does not something always intervene to mar and derange the scheme? Perhaps in the next life, or the next after, we may be permitted to settle things for ourselves. Clearly in this one it is forbidden. First it had been arranged that the Hojo was to be caught in a trap in his own castle. Since then the aspect of affairs was altered; for after a few days passed in the Golden House among his vassals, their master had again mysteriously gone into retirement. Spies informed Nara that he was heard to groan at night,--that he saw visions, and dreamed dreams of strange and mystic import. He had relapsed into the previous state, as before he came up from Tsu. Had not wise Nara said that his energy was the expiring of the lamp. This being so, difficulties were delightfully smoothed, and Nara was able to improve the occasion for his master's benefit, by pointing out how admirably sage he had been in the keeping of his temper. Is not time the healer of all wounds? A scandal in the palace had been averted. The claws of the bear were rotting piecemeal. So soon as the circle of iron was complete it should close in and crush the tyrant, while a simultaneous movement would be made on Tsu for the capture of his brother and retainers. And a few hurried sentences from the lips of a simple bonze upset all these elaborate calculations. He hearkened to the dolorous tale, with a choler that might not be suppressed. This was too much! Old Nara had allowed himself to be bearded. Under great provocation, he had curbed his wrath,--had swallowed his pride, and waited. But now he might wait no more. What, his heiress, his only child, the only bearer of his august and honoured name, was to be openly and cruelly slain, because her lord was weary of her, and wished to please a wanton! As with hands behind his back, and distended nostrils, the stately veteran strode hither and thither in the chamber, his old eyes flashed fire as of yore. In truth, under the snows, the volcano had slept, and, stirred to its centre, now blazed forth. Come what might, with his own shrivelled arm, since he had no son, would he wipe out this stain, or be dishonoured for aye in the noble annals of Japan. Narrowly he questioned the priest. Then the bonze had no idea, he said, who had been the butcher? It mattered not. There was no one but the Hojo and his wanton who desired the poor lady's death. It was at their bidding that the crime had been committed. First the Hojo and then his harlot. The fortress should be demolished stone by stone, the geisha executed on its ruins. As he hearkened to the wrathful diatribes of the now furious lord, the bonze mused in ever-increasing admiration. Verily the working of the divine decrees is worthy of humble worship. The priest had promised Miné that Sampei should not be betrayed, 'Twas probable that when he rallied, as human nature will rally, to some small extent, however severe the shock, the rest of his days would be spent in the holy garb, and that comfort would come to him at last. For public edification and example, the soldier's remaining years were to be passed in prayer. The Hojo himself was to fall by the hand of Nara; that much was evident now, and it was fitting as well as just. He who was wont to be over-prudent, even under stress of extreme and unendurable provocation, now threw prudence to the winds. Without delay he girded on his swords and dirk, mounted his horse, and galloped to the Golden House. Consequences were as rice straw in the wind. To fight and kill another daimio within the sacred city--within a given distance of the palace, meant death by harakiri. Himself to be slain meant confiscation of all his goods. His goods! a fig for them! He was childless now, and honour is worth more than goods. Peradventure when the stain had been wiped out, the Holy Mikado would forgive, in consideration for past service. No doubt he would be grateful for the removal of the incubus. If not, what mattered it? The childless old man would die, having saved at least his honour, and to the paltry dross of this world his sovereign lord was welcome. Hearing the clatter of a single horseman's hoofs, the watchful samurai at the gate of the Golden House came forth and shaded their eyes with their palms to reconnoitre the visitor. Among themselves they were somewhat disturbed, for rumours of approaching troops were rife; the warriors of other magnates were unfriendly to the dominating one; and their lord was curiously inactive. Indeed, for the last day or two, he had not stepped abroad. That he was at home, and sick, was evident, for they could hear his muffled ejaculations; and now and then his distempered visage peered from an upper window with disordered mien, gazing on the wood and lake. The Daimio of Nara, with care upon his brow--in haste--unattended--alone? Strange! But events were moving strangely. The father-in-law of my lord; his parent's chosen guide and counsellor. With respectful salutes and genuflections the Daimio was allowed to pass. For of a certainty my lord required helpful counsel, and Nara, all agreed, was the very prince to give it. The new-comer dashed past without deigning notice, nor drew rein till he reached the entrance of the villa. The heavy foliage of the surrounding pines was bowed down with a glittering burden; the picturesque lake, with its rocks and tiny islets, was frozen over, and on its surface wandered painfully and slow the myriad of black tortoises that usually slept beneath. A haven of peace and rest, an oasis of silence in a sea of turmoil. Even the sentries, who slowly marched before the doors, seemed under the spell of winter, their senses blunted by the nipping air. The whirling mind of Nara was too much engrossed to heed such trivial matters. Flinging his bridle to a sentinel, he inquired where was his master. The man pointed upward with his lance, but added in troubled accents, that my lord was sick,--had given special orders that he was on no account to be disturbed. "I have come to cure his sickness," the old man said, with a grim smile of peculiar meaning. "I have brought him medicine. See that we are left alone." The Golden House, as we saw when we were here some time since, is a dwelling of small proportions on the lake bank, built of wood, with a huge towering roof bedizened with much gold. The upper chambers are reached by a ladder-stair of extreme exiguity, so frail and narrow that one person only can mount at a time, and only then by bowing his head. Nara's tall and bulky form had much ado to reach the landing; but, arrived there, he loosed his katana in its sheath, and, with a strength, for which none would have credited him, seized the ladder, and, wrenching it from its iron fastening, hurled it clattering down. The paper windows were closed; the light was dim; a voice, tuned low by world-worn weariness, demanded who was there. Nara strode into the inner room where, wrapped in quilts, the Hojo lay, a hibachi close at hand, his swords in their rack beside him. "_You!_" he said, rising to a sitting posture. "I," was the rejoinder. "I, _murderer!_ The father of O'Tei, the wife whom you have slaughtered." No-Kami looked dreamily at the figure that stood over him, then felt his garb with a vague, uncertain movement of twitching fingers. "Murderer?" he muttered, with a cynic's laugh. The wrath of the old man flared up. Grinding his teeth, he spurned the prostrate figure. "Yes, murderer!" he hissed, "and I, the father of your victim. No one can interrupt us. O'Tei is dead--you know it--and by your decree. Only one, if one, will leave this room alive. Have you any manhood left, degenerate spawn of tyrants? Take up your sword, and quickly, or I'll slay you like a dog, as you deserve." Had not the old man been so distraught he would have seen by No-Kami's face that the intelligence was bewildering news to him. He sat gazing at his persecutor open-mouthed, till he, goaded beyond control, smote him with flat blade across the face. It left a livid mark, the rest of the visage purple, the veins swollen and congested. With a hoarse growl like an animal at bay, No-Kami sprang to his feet, seized his katana, and attacked the aggressor with set teeth. Glaring one at the other, with starting eyeballs and foaming lips, the two--the old man and the young--fought on in the small space and the dim light. Both were too furious for caution, and hacked each at each, smearing walls and floor, without a sound but labouring breath and clashing steel. The old man, taller, with longer arm, was getting the mastery. He had step by step driven No-Kami to the corner, where stood an idol of bronze, against which he leaned. Uncovering himself to deliver the final blow, he slipped in the blood upon the floor, and received the point of the Hojo right through his breast, below the nipple. Dropping his weapon, and flinging up his arms, he fell with a sob upon his back. No-Kami withdrew his sword and wiped it carefully, then sat him down to think. O'Tei murdered! By whom? what for? It must be true, or the crafty old lord would never have been driven to such frenzy. It was quieted now, that same frenzy, however. He lay still enough, his skin as grey as was his hair. "Not my fault," No-Kami murmured, with compunction; for, debauched though he was, the Hojo had respect for bravery. "He has brought his end upon himself. Now, what of me? Who will believe me if I say that one who was the soul of caution came and smote me like a rat? Within the prohibited distance, the Mikado's favourite counsellor, and I so ill, so spectre-ridden." Clasping his burning forehead in his hands, No-Kami looked hungrily at the dirk which seemed to invite him from its rack, and thought, as he had once done before, that it would be well to make an end on't. Not yet. He was taken by an uncontrollable desire to know more of the tragedy at home. O'Tei murdered! The words seemed burnt into his brain; and as he contemplated them, with her father dead at his feet, an ineffable sadness--a cold sense of extreme loneliness--crept over his soul. The past rose up before his vision. For a little while they had been happy, he and the fair O'Tei. She had been cold and haughty and repellent, despising him always, and that had maddened him. And was she not right to do so--fully justified? She was better than he,--far above his level, and it was this that had made him hate her. But did he hate her? No! Now that she was gone, he became aware of a singular sensation. Down in the deeps of his being there was a profound pity for her fate. Why did he feel so lonely? Why did he shudder at the shadows whose chills encompassed him about? Who had planned her murder? Like a green ray of lightning it flashed on him--O'Kikú! His curse and hers. Oh, wretched, infatuated man--O'Kikú! Poor O'Tei, murdered by her rival! The punishment of the concubine was the only reparation possible. She should be punished. If he was to leave Ki[^y]oto unmolested, there was not a minute to be lost. The ladder was gone, the distance to the ground but small. No-Kami, his nerves strung again by a distinct purpose, moved to the verandah, and swung himself down its column. With steady tread he appeared before the sleepy sentinel, and with stern, sharp accents issued his instructions. "My horse Typhoon, quick. I need no followers. The Daimio of Nara has gone the other way. Close up the house--nay, I will myself fasten it. Double the sentries. Keep watch and ward. Let none, on whatever pretext, set foot within the boundaries." As he clattered away on his favourite charger at full speed, the samurai looked after him. "Ticklish times," muttered he who was in command, "each moment fraught with peril. My lord of Nara, no doubt, has given the best advice. My lord is gone to act on it. Well, well, the gods be praised, our chief is himself again!" CHAPTER XIX. THE WEB IS WOVEN. Typhoon was the best charger in the Daimio's stable, and worthy of his name; but this was his last journey. He was so hard pressed by his frantic master, that at the castle gate he sank and died. The sudden arrival of my lord, a fugitive, without a single follower, created within the fortress a commotion which was no little aggravated by the news of which he was the bearer. How swift was the cumulation of events. My lord of Nara and his heiress murdered. A siege in immediate prospect, and after that--what? A long course of excess and idleness had sapped the discipline of the braves, and instead of hailing the coming fray with the joy that becomes heroes, they showed signs of sullen discontent. No-Kami had slain in a secret manner, without witnesses, the venerable Nara, the esteemed friend of the Holy Mikado. This was going too far, even for so overbearing a despot. Even the samurai of Tsu were aware that Japan at bay would arise and shake off its incubus. The castle would be invested by the foes of Hojo, who were legion. Look where he would, there was no single ally who could be counted on for succour. There was but one consummation possible. An iron wall would hem the fortress, and all within would perish. Under these circumstances, the warriors (privately discussing the situation) were divided in opinion. Would it be well to accept the inevitable and bow the neck at once, suing for mercy; or would it perchance be better to baulk the foe, to act as the celebrated forty-seven ronins did--revered for ever by the Japanese--namely, to perform harakiri in concert? Thus it will be seen that the glamour of evil fortune had wrapped the castle like a mist. Even the bold retainers of the crumbling family lost heart, and if they prepared to show any resistance at all, it was owing to the presence of Sampei, the heroic subduer of Corea. Even Sampei, whilom bravest of the brave, showed no enthusiasm. He had stumbled along the stony road of the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and seemed to look down from afar upon the petty frettings of humanity, as you might idly watch the proceedings in an opened anthill. The first acute bitterness waned insensibly, and he grew resigned to life-long pain. Had it not been so, reason would have fallen from her throne. He could think of O'Tei not as corruption but as _transformed_. The sap of a tree, the glow of a gem, the plumage of a bird, contained her outward part. Nature had taken back and set to other purpose that which she had lent. As to the other, who might tell where it wandered? Where was her pure soul hovering? Was the gulf that yawned in front as dark as the path already trodden? If the gods were really good, they could not but be mild to one who was so gentle. After all, for himself it mattered not. What, to a mortal so maimed as he, was a little more or less of suffering, after that wound from which the life-drops of his heart were slowly dripping? He would not desert his brother, Sampei declared with quiet gravity. So long as the gods willed that he should fight, he would fight; but the sooner suspense was over, the greater the relief for all. The bewitching O'Kikú when, rosy and wreathed with smiles, she flew from her bower in the most becoming of costumes to embrace her love, was considerably disconcerted by her reception. She had carefully gone over details, and planned within her mind exactly how it was all to be. He would be a little upset, possibly, on his arrival, to hear of the sudden and mysterious end of his icicle. He would pretend concern, and probably show anger, relieved all the while by her flitting. She, O'Kikú, would condole, clasp her husband--all her own now--in white arms, and, breast to breast, divulge the delicious secret. He would be enchanted, of course. She would make herself so agreeable bringing forth the entire armoury of her blandishments for his behoof, that memory of O'Tei would speedily be relegated to the limbo prepared for the ghosts of marplots. This point reached, she would summon all her skill and tact, wheedle and cajole and flatter, so as to achieve the desired prize. By making herself absolutely necessary to No-Kami, then turning on the tap of tears, the living wife would advance a step, be lifted to the dead one's place. And he should never have cause to regret the signal favour. His interests would then be hers completely. No prospect in the future, then, of being put away,--compelled, like Masago, to assume the crape. She would take her lord in hand,--be a long-headed little counsellor, chide his faults with gentleness, teach him to curb his passions, help him to replace on the neck of struggling Japan the yoke that was ominously-loose. And lo! how quickly did her toy palace tumble! No-Kami looked twenty years older than when he went away. There was a haggard wildness in his face--an expression, as he glanced at the enchantress, curiously akin, if it were possible, to aversion. His hands twitched; foam gathered on his lips. When, cooing, she laid her head upon his bosom, her hair new dressed with fresh camellia oil, he pushed her so rudely from him, that, reeling, with bruised arms, she tottered against the wall. Could it, oh could it be, that he could have ever loved that woman? Could it be that his fiery nature was consuming, torn by the pincers of remorse? Surely he could feel naught at most for an icicle but a cold regret that would soon pass. Was it possible that in a revulsion of feeling he had actually come to detest the enchanting siren who so easily had won him? Verily it seemed like it. With eyes lowered in antipathy, he seemed to avoid her gaze with loathing. And what was that he muttered as he so roughly threw her off. Was it _murderess?_ And what a look accompanied the word. Her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth, and though she ardently wished to repel the accusation, her lips refused their office. Did he really believe her guilty of such a foolish prank, of such a stupid blunder? She had no doubt arranged to oust the rival, to procure her expulsion from the castle; but to shed her blood and create a scandal, that would have been too foolish. Before she had time to recover from shocked surprise, my lord was gone. He gave a few brief husky orders, then groped his way, as if in darkness, to the retired eyrie where had dwelt the vanished chatelaine. Thither she felt that she dared not follow him. With forebodings gathering within her breast, O'Kikú withdrew to her apartments, fearing she knew not what. There, on the mat, where she had laid it down, was O'Tei's samisen, encrusted with gold and ivory; yonder her broidery-frame, a book of poems open, a hundred pathetic evidences, eloquent of her who was gone. Far removed from the hum of preparation, No-Kami sat, dumbly gazing from the casement across the river towards the sea. And then, for the first time, there passed across the mental ken of Hojo the phantoms of a gloomy retrospect. He seemed, as they swept by, to hear a forlorn chant, with the saddest of refrains--"Too late!" He had been given a life full of brilliant opportunities and had cast them all away. His name was a byword in the land. There was not one living thing that loved him, while thousands clamoured for his death. The chill of a desolation, novel and surprising, crept over his heart, as, glancing around the bower, small objects recalled the past. Why had they tied him to O'Tei? With one more congenial the asperities of his character might have softened. O'Tei, the soft and clinging, had never loved him; no--never--not for a single moment. Something whispered now that, had he been more kind, she might have come to like him. Then, as if stung by an adder, he sprang upon his feet, with beads of perspiration on his forehead. Fool! what spell was this?--what disgraceful, infatuated weakness? Had he been more kind! _Had she not loved his brother?_ The poison instilled by the geisha, dormant through the rapid passage of stirring events, throbbed through his veins, and he gasped and grew faint under the pain of it. Both false--his wife and brother. _She_ was dead; no wonder _he_ looked so glum! Perturbed though his own mind was, No-Kami could not but notice the change which had come over the face of Sampei. The sharp iron share of an ineffable sorrow had passed over his features, ploughing deep lines of grief. On second thoughts, it was well that she was dead. She had sinned, and was justly punished. Thus far was his honour satisfied. The murderess must suffer also. By-and-by, when there should be breathing time. And the paramour as well. With staggering steps the Daimio roamed like a caged animal about the chamber, revolving direful designs. Then suddenly stopping, he laughed aloud and clapped his palms together. By-and-by, in the future! Was there any future except a yawning, bottomless gulf down which he and his were sliding? Honour, forsooth! He and his had as little to do with honour as with a future, or with life. From far away across the sunlit waters a voice whispered mockingly, "Accursed and doomed! betrayed and friendless! Oh, desolate, solitary soul, the gods have set their brand on thee! In worlds to come an outcast!" Trembling, the Daimio peered around. Some one had spoken. Who? No one in the corridor without. No one beneath the window. That unearthly jibing merriment! Two bloodshot eyes glaring from the cloudless sky. Cursed and doomed! Predestined to endless travail! Moaning, the Daimio cowered down and rocked himself in terror. It was soon understood that, my lord being unhinged, and grievously sick in body and mind, Sampei would assume command. So long as the gods willed it, there should be defence, the General had determined, and to that end he moved hither and thither with forced calm, arranging details by the light of a shrewd experience; steady as some strong machine that does its work unconsciously. The contents of the armoury were overhauled and furbished. Seasoned wood was sought throughout the town, for the making of countless arrows; thick porous paper for dressing wounds, according to the standard rules of rough field surgery. The ground within the inner moat was covered over with boards and canvas, to conceal what was done inside; for an investing army is ever full of stratagems for learning the weak points of the besieged. Lofty trees, or high peaks of rock, were sure to be occupied at once, tall towers to be erected on points of vantage. It was even a common thing to fly huge kites, large enough to support a man, and so obtain a bird's-eye view of the interior of an enemy's castle. Sampei organised a band of scouts, and sent them forth to crawl by night along the narrow causeways that intersected the oozy rice fields, bidding them return with earliest information with regard to the coming of the foe. Parties of braves were despatched in all directions to annex the scanty stores which oppression had left to the peasantry. All possible precautions taken, he divided his men into watches, taught each his post and duty, then waited for the future to unroll. Nor had he long to wait. As though rising by magic through the ground, an army of combatants appeared, who surrounded the fortress with their engines. From the top of the central tower, crowned with its copper roof and golden fish, could be descried a host so numerous and well-equipped that Sampei stood marvelling how they could be here so quickly. It soon became manifest that they had no intention of endeavouring to storm the place, at least not yet, for they methodically set about the forming of a line of pallisades, consisting of heavy planks propped by hinged supports, behind which they could safely repose, and starve the foe to extremity. There is nothing so soul-depressing to those hemmed in as a siege thus coldly carried out. The sense of being an animal shut in a trap, the lack of incident and excitement, the feeling of being without the pale of busy humanity, damp the courage, and chill the spirits. There is something so prosaic about a war waged against the stomach. The samurai of Tsu, disorganised already, their native prowess undermined, soon felt the pinch, and began to brawl and murmur. Their lord they saw no more, for, reason rocking on its pedestal, he remained shut up, refusing consolation, within the apartments of the deceased. But for the prestige that clung like a halo round his brother, and enforced a surly and half mutinous obedience, the braves would have thrown open the gates, have attempted to fraternise with the host of invading warriors. But the stoutest among them stood in dread of Sampei,---quailed before the bluff, uncompromising severity which, without the wink of an eyelid, would have made an example of traitors. The vassals of the Hojo fought, discharging arrows and javelins, occasionally making a feeble show of a sortie: but all knew that the end was imminent, that suspense would soon be over. O'Kikú, grasping, sly, and unheroic, fretted, as may be imagined, bitterly. How different was the present state of things from her cherished rainbow-dream. That sharp repulse, followed by utter neglect, upset her calculations. She appeared of a sudden to have lost influence over all her willing slaves. My lord, absorbed in his own troubles, ignored the fact of her existence. The braves, with whom she was once so popular--many of whom, it must be confessed, were vain at one time of being numbered among her lovers--now gnashed their teeth in her face, and poured on her head twofold the obloquy that had been the portion of O'Tei. And why was this? Doubtless the truculent and unlettered samurai could scarcely be expected to be logical. Yet having witnessed the passage-of-arms between the ladies, they must know as well as she that the concubine was innocent of the catastrophe. And yet somehow or other it had become plain to their obtuse intelligence that the siren was at the bottom of the trouble. There was no arguing the point, since none could deny that it was from her advent that the run of disaster must be dated. Accustomed to be pampered and petted, she was devoured with smouldering rage, and unreasoning hate of Tsu and Hojo, and all connected with the race, in finding herself treated like a leper. What a pity it was that, lured by a sham glitter, she should have turned aside from the pilgrimage to Isé, for the gathering of mundane baubles. What had she gained by it? Troubles and disappointments, and illusions roughly shattered. And perhaps in the background something even worse was lurking; for she realised with apprehension that she was hedged round with a phalanx of enemies, who persisted in connecting her, in spite of evidence, with the untimely death of the chatelaine. Was there ever anything so unreasonable, and yet fraught with graver peril? My lord was a madman, beset by absurd hallucinations; a furious tiger, accustomed to batten upon blood, as devoid of conscience as of scruple. He had called her murderess, and in the crooked recesses of his muddy brain was concocting some frightful retribution; There was no escape for her by flight, for she was in the position of a kid locked in a den of lions. In case of personal peril, to whom might O'Kikú turn for succour? Sampei was honest and upright, but on his worn face, when turned to her, was a horrible expression of icy vindictiveness. That he had idolised O'Tei none knew better than she, and she was in some manner connected in his mind with that most unfortunate murder. He also was evidently brooding over some unpleasant form of reprisal. Enemies--nothing but enemies--inside and out; she their future target. At all events Sampei could be counted upon as straight and above mean treason. Gulping down the lees of offended vanity, O'Kikú resolved to clear herself in his eyes from any complicity in the tragedy. He would believe her--for once in her life she would really speak the truth--and he would stand by her if assaulted by the madman. But when, waylaying him one day, with a poor ghostly show of the old coquetry, she entered on the subject, such a wave of blank despair seemed to sweep over him that the words froze on her lips, and he was gone before she had recovered. Condemned to inaction, deprived of amusement and male companionship, relegated to the uninteresting society of tire-women, the unhappy geisha pined as well as fretted. If they would only let her out,--set the caged bird free! Dreams of ambition faded, she now desired no more than liberty. Several times each day she climbed to the top of the central tower, just under the fish of gold, and gazed--oh, with what longing--at the cohorts of the invading host. The strictest guard was kept at the openings in the palisading, but soldiers off duty were free to amuse themselves. She could see bands of them engaged in military sports. Some went a-hunting, and returned laden. Oh, if she were only with them, outside these horrid walls, beyond which lay tantalising freedom! And what was to be the end? There was only one end possible. All could see that now. Scanty stores, hastily collected, were waning. What then? Gaunt famine stalked already. Would those without linger inactive till the besieged were dead to a man, then march in over the corpses? or would they in a more martial spirit wait only till the braves were weak, and then take the place by escalade? It was too revolting to die thus by inches. The idea suddenly flashed upon the wretched woman, whose moral sense, never acute, was blunting hourly, that the key of the situation was in her own little hand. Why should she not open the postern, let in the foe, who in gratitude would spare her life--maybe applaud and treat her with homage as a heroine? What to her were the Hojos; their illustrious name which was hers--that name about which the silly Masago had preached so loftily--now that they were on the brink of ruin? She had good cause to hate the Hojos. Many a lady in the annals of Japan has bared her breast to her husband's dirk in just such an emergency as this. When the famed Shibata knew all was lost, he gave a final banquet, at the conclusion of which he said to his wife, "You women must go, for it is time for us men to die." And what answer made she? With tears she thanked her lord, she, the sister of Nobunago the Great, composed a farewell verse of poetry, and received his sword into her bosom. But then O'Kikú was not of noble birth, and such flights did not suit her fancy. She knew herself to be still young and lovely, and full of life, and burning for fresh fields to conquer. If all had gone well, and she had stepped into the dead one's place, she would, outwardly at least, have been henceforth as demure as prudery could desire. Rank and honour and power and appetites pampered, form one condition of things. Untimely death, trapped within four walls, is quite another. It would be merciful,--a deed worthy of commendation, to let the enemy in, and put these doomed ones out of misery. My lord, a prey to goblins, was become quite too contemptible. What a delight to be present at the slaying of the hateful Sampei! Doubtless in yonder host there were many as noble as he who would, when opportunity offered, vie with one another for her favours. Her mind was made up. A fig for the race of Hojo. She would start upon her scheme forthwith. Changing her tactics, the geisha, braving the scowls of the samurai, became interested in military operations, and despite their new-born dislike of one whom they had come to esteem as a bad angel, it was cheering to be commended by the lips of a pretty woman. She organised her maidens into a band of mercy for the relief of those who were wounded; helped with her own hands to prepare and carry food; filled and passed the saké-cup, declaring that wine gives strength. Sampei observed these proceedings with displeasure, but did not interfere. One morning when the commander was busy, and she knew herself unwatched, O'Kikú crept to the top of the tower with her dainty bow, and discharged into the air an arrow, round which was wrapped a paper. As she marked its flight, and perceived that it fell beyond the palisade, "So far well," she murmured. "This suspense will conclude to-night." The weather was exceeding cold, the blood of the soldiers thin, by reason of under-feeding. Both food and drink were scrupulously measured now in gradually shrinking rations. But the wily damsel had a private supply of _saké_, remnant of that with which she used to ply my lord before his late visit to Ki[^y]oto. She prepared and warmed a pot of it, in which she distilled some seeds, and waited with philosophic patience for the night. Then, robed in a dark soft kimono, she stole through the first gate, and round under shadow of the fatal belt of trees, regardless of their wooing and their sighing (she was not one to be tricked to suicide), and thus reached unseen the corner of the outer gate. The muffled sentinel was leaning upon his lance against the parapet, and started from doleful reverie as she appeared before him. "Hush," she murmured rapidly, "it is I, O'Kikú. You used to love me once--false that you are--or told me so. See how I love you still. Risking my good name for you, I have brought you this, lest haply you be frozen by the morning." The man looked at her with feelings of self-reproach. Yes, he had fancied her once, more fickle apparently than she; and as she stood before him now, so small and dark, with eyes of mouse-like brightness, and ravishing dimples playing at hide-and-seek, he liked her yet again. But she fluttered like a bird in his embrace. "No, no," she whispered, as she passed over his rough face caressing fingers. "Remember duty, and the plight we are in. Folly is over, and stern reality is here. You wronged me in your thoughts, deeming I had forgotten you. Admit you did. Fie, fie--for shame! There, you are forgiven! Drink!" She held forth the saké pot, kept warm with a woollen covering. He took a long draught, his gaze on her the while, and she shook her shapely head in arch reproach. And then, with set teeth and no dimples showing now, she caught the saké-pot as it escaped from his hand, and he fell insensible upon his back. "Idiot!" she said, with a curl of her full lip, "lie there undisturbed until your foolish throat is cut," and peering cautiously around, descended quickly to the postern. It will be remembered that the outer gate stood at right angles to the road, for the better purpose of defence, but that there was a small postern in the angle facing it. In her outgoings and incomings she had always, as a matter of convenience, used this postern, and had kept the key of it. How provoking were these plaguy clouds over the moon. At one moment it was dark--at another as light as day--dazzling, puzzling. She stood in the open doorway peeping forth, when a mailed man in ambush seized her by the arm, and pinched it so suddenly that she had much ado to suppress a scream. "I have you!" he said; "you are our hostage. We got your billet, and are ready." "You hurt me, sir," she answered, struggling. "Brute! let me go. The door is open as I promised. Here is the key of the inner gate." She endeavoured to shake off the iron grip and flee in the direction of liberty, but the man held her as in a vice. "Softly, softly!" he chuckled, "or this tender flesh will suffer. She who can wantonly betray her people may not be trusted. You shall go before and lead us to the inner gate. When once we are within the citadel you shall receive reward, I promise." A cry of vexation and abortive spite rose in the geisha's throat, and choked her. What hardened brutal wretches soldiers are! She who expected effusive gratitude for a signal favour was to be treated like a common spy. The biter was bit. The man--an officer of rank, as was evident by the glittering badge upon his casque--took no pains to conceal his lack of consideration for the agent whom he stooped to employ. He looked on her, it was but too evident, as on some reptile--of service for the moment, which was to be used, then crushed under the heel. Careless of her pain, he held her soft arm as tightly in his armoured hand as if he meant to snap the bone. "Lead on," he threatened, "or--" There was no help for it. With the sharpest twinge of self-upbraiding that she had ever felt, O'Kikú turned and led the officer under shadow of the wall, under the belt of devilish trees that swayed now, and wheezed and croaked in ghastly merriment, till they reached the inner moat. She could tell by the dull thud behind that the cohorts were silently following. One, tripping over the snoring sentinel, gave him his _coup de grâce_. The outer space within the range of huts was black with the ranks of the invader. Sampei, going his rounds, and hearing a strange sound, glanced over the parapet, and pressed his two hands upon his heart to still the commotion there. It was all over then! So much the better--oh, so much the better--since the gods were ruthless. By treachery from within all was lost. The moment he had so yearned for was come at last, when he would be freed from the bondage that was rotting him. "My love!" he murmured, spreading wide his arms towards the stars, while tears poured down his cheeks. "Wait for me, O'Tei, upon the other bank. Be patient for a few moments more. Stretch forth thy hand to me, my own; surely such love as mine should win its guerdon. In the next life we shall be re-united." The clouds were rent like a curtain, and the light streamed forth. The whole outer space was covered now by a moving army as of locusts. Sampei could detect on fluttering banners the butterfly of the Lord of Bizen, the badges of Shioshiu, and of Satsuma. The moment had arrived for which his soul had pined, and he was glad. But for his vigilance, mutiny would have broken out long since; and now that treachery had unlocked the gates, resistance would be small. He knew full well that his men would not stand for a moment against panic. There would be a stampede, a massacre, unless the braves were permitted to make terms. Befall what might as to the rest, he and his must not be taken alive, for who might tell what ignominy was prepared for the fallen Hojos? Hastily summoning his captains, he pointed over the parapet, and laid a hand upon his dirk with a motion understood by all. "Act for yourselves," he said; "and the gods, who have deserted us, be with you, old comrades." As he rapidly strode away towards the distant corner by the river, where dwelt No-Kami, there were tears in the eyes of the veterans. Was this their final parting from the bravest of the brave? Ought they not to follow, and claim participation in the rites? "No," a white-haired warrior said. "Let his last wishes be obeyed by us who love him. Be our last task to keep the gate, in order that they may not be interrupted. If we do not fall in the assault, and our lives are given us, it will be time then to follow our chiefs along the road which they have chosen." With quick and steady foot Sampei ascended the stair, which to him was sanctified by the abiding presence of O'Tei. Pushing back the screen, he entered, and, looking on his brother, there was upon his face a newborn tenderness. "The moment has come," he announced abruptly. "The foe is within the gate." A great shout went up into the stillness--a double cry--a scream of fear, a yell of victory. How strangely close the air was--despite the cold, heavy and sulphurous. Now that the banks of inky cloud had completely rolled away, the sky was unnaturally clear, the stars like specks of steel, while low along the bases of the hills was a dense white vapour rising. Sampei clasped his throat and gasped for air, for he was suffocating. Shaking back his locks, which, untied, had drifted about his clammy brow, he took a candle and set fire to the dry woodwork of the room, which crackled and flared, while No-Kami, in a daze, looked on. "You will be my kaishaku?" demanded the Hojo shortly. "Not I!" returned his brother, with strange emotion. "Each one for himself now. You take your dirk; I mine. We will have no seconds. Quick! Each moment's golden." "I am your feudal chief, as well as brother," No-Kami said, with supreme haughtiness, shaking off lethargy like an ill-fitting garment, "and as such I claim obedience. Shall it be said that the last Hojo passed away without befitting rites? Would you dare to refuse the last service to your departing lord?" There was a tumult in the elder's breast. No, he dared not refuse the last offices which were claimed thus solemnly. The final tribute of respect due from the nearest kinsman to the head of a great house was to act as his kaishaku or executioner. And yet, how hard! O'Tei was waiting on the other bank. No-Kami would be there before him. Not far ahead, though, for Sampei disdained a kaishaku. His brother gone, he would not linger. "Be it so," he said; and No-Kami nodded gratefully. The heat of the curling flames was stifling. The air was thick with smoke,--dense with an overpowering and scorching weight, like the fumes belched out by a volcano. Gently the lord of Tsu took from its rack his dirk, while his brother removed the sleeve from his own right arm and drew his sword, and, left foot forward, narrowly watched his movements. No-Kami, with dreamy deliberation, kneeled, supporting his weight upon his heels, and allowing his upper garment to drop down, tucked the sleeves under his knees, to save himself from falling backwards. Then, balancing the dirk, he looked on it with affectionate wistfulness, and, collecting his thoughts, hearkened musingly to the increasing turmoil. A clash of arms hard by; a hubbub of approaching voices; a volley of wild shouts and guttural curses, ever nearer--nearer. "Despatch!" cried the elder, with impatience, as he tightened the grip upon his hilt. No-Kami glanced round at him with a slow, proud smile, in which there was more of human softness than his features had ever worn. Then, stabbing himself below the waist on the left side, he drew the dirk with firm and unswerving hand across, and, twisting it in the wound, gave it a slight turn upwards. The eager eyes of his brother sparkled. A flash in the air; a heavy thud; a crash. No-Kami was gone; his sin-stained soul had flown. His blood welled out over the floor from his headless trunk. Sampei reeled, sick and giddy. Strange that the crisp air of a winter night should be so oppressive! What sinister new noise was that? A low, rumbling sound, like a great tremulous sigh--a heaving as though the panting soil were labouring for breath. For an instant of awful silence the human storm was stilled, then in a combined shriek rose heavenward. With swimming eyes Sampei gazed forth, clinging to the casement for support. A boom, a roar, a rush of boiling waters. A sweeping blast, a whirlwind--like a conflict of spirits for a soul. With a groan as of a giant in pain, the hillside opposite yawned. He beheld the wood of ancient cryptomerias, from childhood so familiar, slowly descend, leaving in its place a scar. He saw it slide down with majestic movement into the plain, turning from its bed the river. As though propelled by hurricane force, trees and rocks fell thundering, piled in heaps upon the flat, while through opening gaps and fissures new-born streams gushed out. Another shock, a long shuddering spasm, a wail of strong men for mercy. Then with deafening din the central tower rocked and swayed and split from top to bottom. The huge timbers cracked like wands, and parted. The ponderous copper roofs and sculptured eaves were torn and rent, and, toppling upon the crouching multitude, rolled over into the abyss. Forked tongues of flame shot up with a wild whirl of sparks, and died; and then from a common grave there curled a dense column of black smoke. Of all who were within the walls of Tsu not one escaped. At the gods' behest, nature had arisen in her strength. When the hail of destruction ceased, nothing remained of the impregnable fortress but a heap of shapeless ruin. The pride of Hojo was abased; its cherished home was become a charnel-house; its stronghold a sepulchre; a wreck its monument. * * * * * Thus was the prophecy fulfilled,--the death-cry of the martyr answered. Buddha was awake, the while he seemed to sleep. By grim decree of outraged Heaven the race of tyrants was extinguished, leaving no rack behind save a loathed and dishonoured name. THE END. * * * * * COLSTON AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH. 
40120	----	Price 25 Cents The Vampire Cat By GERARD VAN ETTEN SERGEL'S ACTING DRAMA No. 641 ART WORKERS LEAGUE PUBLISHED BY THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY CHARLES H SERGEL, PRESIDENT Practical Instructions for Private Theatricals By W. D. EMERSON Author of "A Country Romance," "The Unknown Rival," "Humble Pie," etc. Price, 25 cents Here is a practical hand-book, describing in detail all the accessories, properties, scenes and apparatus necessary for an amateur production. In addition to the descriptions in words, everything is clearly shown in the numerous pictures, more than one hundred being inserted in the book. No such useful book has ever been offered to the amateur players of any country. CONTENTS Chapter I. =Introductory Remarks.= Chapter II. =Stage, How to Make, etc.= In drawing-rooms or parlors, with sliding or hinged doors. In a single large room. The Curtain; how to attach it, and raise it, etc. Chapter III. =Arrangement of Scenery.= How to hang it. Drapery, tormentors, wings, borders, drops. Chapter IV. =Box Scenes.= Center door pieces, plain wings, door wings, return pieces, etc. Chapter V. =How to Light the Stage.= Oil, gas and electric light. Footlights, Sidelights, Reflectors. How to darken the stage, etc. Chapter VI. =Stage Effects.= Wind, Rain, Thunder, Breaking Glass, Falling Buildings, Snow, Water, Waves, Cascades, Passing Trains, Lightning, Chimes, Sound of Horses' Hoofs, Shots. Chapter VII. =Scene Painting.= Chapter VIII. =A Word to the Property Man.= Chapter IX. =To the Stage Manager.= Chapter X. =The Business Manager.= Address Orders to THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY CHICAGO, ILLINOIS THE VAMPIRE CAT A PLAY IN ONE ACT FROM THE JAPANESE LEGEND OF THE NABESHIMA CAT BY GERARD VAN ETTEN COPYRIGHT, 1918 BY THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY CHICAGO THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY CAST OF CHARACTERS PRINCE HIZEN, LORD OF NABESHIMA.... BUZEN, HIS CHIEF COUNCILLOR........ RUITEN, A PRIEST................... ITO SODA, A COMMON SOLDIER......... KASHIKU, A MAID.................... O TOYO, WIFE OF THE PRINCE......... TIME: Medieval Japan. SCENE: The room of O Toyo in the palace. TIME OF ACTION: Between 10 and 12 p.m. NOTE.--According to the old Japanese legend, the soul of a cat can enter a human being. THE VAMPIRE CAT SCENE. _At R. is a dressing table, upon it a steel mirror, toilet articles, and two lighted candles with ornate shades. R. U. a section of shoji leads to another room, this section is now closed. At R. C. a large section of shoji is open, giving a view of the garden. To the R. of this entrance is a small shrine and Buddha. At L. of the room is a sleeping mat and head rest. By the head rest a lantern, now unlighted. Down L. is an open section of shoji leading to the_ PRINCE'S _apartments. Just above it stands a screen. As the curtain rises the_ PRINCE _is standing R. C. looking out into the garden._ RUITEN _is down R. and_ BUZEN _slightly above him._ BUZEN _crosses L._ PRINCE. [_Comes down between_ RUITEN _and_ BUZEN.] Settle for me tonight My sicknesses and my fears-- [_To_ BUZEN.] Settle them for me, Sir Buzen, councillor crafty. [_To_ RUITEN.] Settle them for me, Priest Ruiten, the prayerful. RUITEN. So are we trying in all ways Thy pain to relieve Yet nought seems availing. PRINCE. Wracked is my body With tortures unending Born of the dreams That are surging forever Backward and forward Thru my brain, weary. BUZEN. [_Indicating door L._] Around thy bed each night Have I placed thy samurai In number one hundred To guard thy sleep-- RUITEN. Zealously have I prayed In the temple called "Miyo In," And during the night hours Have knelt at thy house shrine Praying to Buddha, the lord of the world. PRINCE. Yet have I not slept Entirely untortured. Slow are thy prayers In fruit bearing. RUITEN. Slow because contending with evil-- [_Approaches Prince._] With evil in form strange and subtle. Over this house hangs a spirit Ne'er resting and ready always for dire deeds. PRINCE. Such a spirit there must be--but what? RUITEN. Evil takes many forms but the form of a cat Is favored by many devils. PRINCE. [_Startled, the others watch him closely._] A cat--aye, truly And if a cat stalked here That evil thing must we kill. RUITEN. Yet such is their power malignant That they take other forms than the forms of cats-- Even human forms. PRINCE. Ha!--And the spirit that visits me? Mayhap that-- Only twice hath it failed of its visit. BUZEN. And those lost visits, when? PRINCE. The last two nights. BUZEN. [_Swelling with pride._] Then, oh Prince, the cure may be found. Better than prayers is the cure [_Eyeing_ RUITEN.] For prayers have not ears--have not eyes-- Have not weapons--better than prayers is it. PRINCE. Tell me this cure. It is grudged, Sir Priest? RUITEN. [_Bowing._] A cure for my lord could not be grudged. PRINCE. Well spoken. Say on, Sir Buzen. BUZEN. First I must beg clemency For thy hundred samurai For faithful they are to the bone, yet-- PRINCE. Yet? Why clemency? For what? BUZEN. On guard, they slept. PRINCE. Slept? BUZEN. Aye. Soundly as though deep in saki. PRINCE. And none roused? BUZEN. They were as dead From shortly after the hour of ten Until dawning. Awakening they knew they had slept Yet knew not when the poppy was thrown in their eyes. Even as one man none knew And were deep amazed and full of shame. Each night it was the same. PRINCE. [_Angrily._] So, they slept. While I, on my couch, Through the hours writhed-- Writhed and twisted-- Weakening ever-- Not sleep, yet dreaming-- Oh, horrible dreams. RUITEN. Of what were these horrible dreams? What was their substance? PRINCE. [_Mystified at the memory._] There would come a soft stealing-- As of draperies hushed and lifted For silence in walking; Like soft, silken draperies Wrapped about stealthy limbs. Then a shape clothed for sleep As women are clothed-- Sinuous and vague in movement, Then taking form slowly-- The form--a lie!--a lie! [_Covers his face and goes upstage._] RUITEN. The form? PRINCE. [_Turns._] O Toyo! RUITEN. BUZEN. [_Rubbing their hands._] Ah! PRINCE. [_Comes down R._, RUITEN _and_ BUZEN _are together a little L._] Came she to me-- Leaned o'er me-- Caressed me Yet soothed not. Her lips to mine-- Her lips but not sweet. Then here on my throat Would she place them And all my life seemed to smother-- Out of me flowed the life-blood In a deep stream Like a tide Forced by the gods, Against its will, To flow far away and yet farther. BUZEN. So does a vampire Sucking her victim Draw from him His blood and his marrow. PRINCE. Guard thy words!-- As my strength ebbed She drew back Red-lipped and smiling, Smiling and laughing Though her laughter was silent. Then with a final shimmer Of silent silks she vanished-- So was it done. RUITEN. So always the dream? If dream it were. PRINCE. The dream--I think yet it was a dream-- So was it always. BUZEN. But the last two nights? PRINCE. Came she as usual Flowing over the floor Like a spectre enrobed And beautified. But as she bent o'er me She paused as if startled And, slowly gazing about, Turned and was gone. Last night she paused As if speaking to someone Though I could see no one. BUZEN. But the cause of her turning? RUITEN. Turned she startled-- Turned she slowly-- Turned she wonderingly? PRINCE. Slowly, as if she felt A strange presence. RUITEN. Feared she? PRINCE. She left me. BUZEN. But trembling or calm? PRINCE. Calmly, as from a thing hated And more powerful than she Whom she would not rouse to action. BUZEN. [_Rubbing his hands._] Good. PRINCE. What is good? BUZEN. That which thou speakest of. PRINCE. How so? BUZEN. [_Comes forward towards the Prince._] It proves that I have humbly succeeded-- [_Grudgingly._] Through the help of another, 'tis true-- But yet succeeded in bringing my lord honorable help. RUITEN. Indeed it is so. PRINCE. Say on, very wise councillor. BUZEN. [_Puffing up._] Without more words than are fit This then is the way of the cure. When long had thine illness ravaged and worn thee And many nights had you tossed by weird visions enthralled, No cures affecting, no prayers availing thee [_Glances at_ RUITEN.] Then councilled I with thy wise ones-- And, too, with Priest Ruiten-- RUITEN. I, you should name first, For without my prayers your wisdom was nought. BUZEN. To continue briefly. All our heads together brought no solution-- PRINCE. True, true. BUZEN. [_Bowing._] Humbly I acknowledge my head Empty and brainless. Yet even from idiots lips Wisdom oft falls unexpected And therefore more wonderful. Now it is told in old tales Of how Iyaiyasu met-- RUITEN. Short, abrupt is thy tale. PRINCE. The cure, Sir Buzen, The hour passes. BUZEN. [_Bowing._] I crave honorable leniency. To be brief-- PRINCE. Aye, brief. BUZEN. Discouraged and sick at heart At the sufferings of my great lord, I was retiring to my room By way of the garden And the hour was the Hour of the Fox. I heard a splashing in the pool And drawing near Saw a young soldier washing. I spoke to him asking, "Who art thou?" "Retainer to my Lord Nabeshima, Prince of Hizen," he answered. Then talked I with him. Of thy sickness We talked. And he was ashamed of thy samurai's sleeping. He begged to be allowed to guard thy sleep Also for, being a common soldier, it was not permitted. So earnestly talked he that I promised to consult With the other councillors and see what could be done. "So tell me your name, young sir," I said. "Ito Soda is my name, honorable sir, And for your kind words I thank you." So I consulted and the result was We granted his request. PRINCE. And he, too, has watched the two nights past? RUITEN. Aye, and he slept not Though the samurai were heavy with sleep-fumes. BUZEN. I will tell. RUITEN. [_Elbows_ BUZEN _out of the way and comes forward._] You are honorably hoarse. He slept not, as I say-- PRINCE. How kept he awake? Since many slept spell-bound How broke he the spell? RUITEN. With him he brought Oiled paper and laid it Down on the matting Sitting upon it. When o'er his eyes sleep stole And wearily weighted them He drew out his sharp dirk And in his thigh thrust it By pain driving the poppy fumes off. Ever and again he twisted The dirk in the raw wound And the thick blood-drops Soiled not the matting Because of the oiled paper. PRINCE. Indeed this is no common soldier, This Ito Soda. BUZEN. Indeed not-- RUITEN. To continue--[_Retires upstage, disgruntled._] BUZEN. [_Pushing forward._] As I was saying, oh Prince, His eyes never closed. During the Reign of the Rat He heard, in this room, O Toyo Tossing and moaning As if in great fear of something She could not escape from. Even at the same moment As the beginnings of her moanings Came a cat-call from the garden-- Then nearer--then ghostly paddings As of padded claws on matting, And an evil presence seemed hovering And lurking near in the darkness. O Toyo gave a low scream--than all was silence. Soon she came stealthily Through the shoji--cat-like her step-- Glassy her eyes-- Claw-like her hands-- Bent she over you with curled lips-- Then she turned, even as you have said, And, seeing a waking watcher, Left as she came. RUITEN. [_Comes down._] The second night of Ito Soda's watching She threatened him in low words But he made as to stab her And she melted before him Laughing a little. And he heard the rustle of her garments As she regained this room Though he saw not her passage hither. PRINCE. Thicker with each word the horror about me. [_Turns away to R._] Doubts to beliefs--beliefs to actions-- Love unto hate. [_Turns to them almost pleadingly._] Tell me it is not O Toyo. BUZEN. I questioned her maid, Kashiku, And found that O Toyo's couch Was empty even at the time Of the weird visit to thee. PRINCE. [_Overwhelmed._] So, it was O Toyo! In the soul of a flower, a demon-- On the sweet lips, poison. BUZEN. There is only one course-- RUITEN. The one road-- PRINCE. And I take it! BUZEN. [_Moves toward door L._] The samurai are gathered. PRINCE. Summon Ito Soda. [BUZEN _exits L._] RUITEN. Hard is the fate of man Here on this dark earth. Many the shapes and the shadows Stalking abroad. Yet ever the gentle Buddha From the Lotus Fields watches And guards every life that lives. PRINCE. [_Puts one hand on_ RUITEN'S _shoulder._] Priest, have not many Vampires bleeding them And dream it is another thing? RUITEN. The soul is often a vampire to the body. PRINCE. And that evil thing must we kill. ITO SODA. [_Enters L., kneels before the_ PRINCE. RUITEN _takes up R. a little and_ BUZEN _re-entering after_ ITO SODA _goes up C._] Honorable Prince, humbly I answer thy summons. PRINCE. Rise, Ito Soda. Faithful beyond words art thou, This know I as all hath been told me. No longer call thyself a common soldier But a samurai of the Prince of Hizen. And the two swords will I give thee on the morrow. ITO SODA. On my knees I humbly thank thee. [_Rises._] PRINCE. Now time presses. O Toyo will be coming In from the garden. As usual shall the hundred sleepy samurai Guard my couch. Let Ito Soda Remain here hidden and watchful. When O Toyo rises to enter my chamber-- Your dirk is sharp, Ito Soda? ITO SODA. [_Draws dirk._] As a moonbeam on a cold night. PRINCE. And you know how to use it. ITO SODA. I will place this screen, thus. [_Goes to screen L. and opens it so as to form a hiding place between the sleeping mat and the door L._] So will I wait the moment. PRINCE. So be it. It is a good plan And on the one road. Let us about it. [_Exits L. followed by_ BUZEN _and_ RUITEN. ITO SODA _goes behind the screen._ O TOYO _is heard singing in the garden._] O TOYO. [_Outside._] Moonlit convulvus Through the night hours Wan are their faces Ghostly sweet. Richer by daylight Drinking of sunshine As thirsty souls drink At a shrine. Fair are the faces Glassed in the quiet pools Maidens low-bending Vain ones. [_The singing stops abruptly._] Kashiku, is not that a cat Stealing stealthily there? She snarls--quick--[O TOYO _enters B. C. quickly and very frightened, turns and looks back, hurries_ KASHIKU _in._ KASHIKU _follows much less disturbed at any fear of a cat than over her mistress' fright._] KASHIKU. [_Shuts the shoji R. C. and comes to_ O TOYO.] You are all atremble. O TOYO. Quick, let me be safe in slumber. [_Crosses to dressing table._] KASHIKU. [_Follows her and attends to her hair while_ O TOYO _kneels before the glass._] Several nights lately have I heard my lady moaning As though even in sleep were she troubled. The worry over your honorable lord hath disturbed thee. O TOYO. Your ears are over keen. I am happy when I sleep. How can I moan, being happy? You are dull. KASHIKU. Perhaps it was the wind or the echo of my lord's moaning. O TOYO. Moaning or was it singing? I would it were singing For singing is sweeter On the lips of those dying. KASHIKU. Dying? O TOYO. When those whom we love are passing-- Even under our hands are passing-- And our love weans them from life And our kisses suck out the blood-life, Then would we touch them no more, Then would we kiss them no more, But a power greater than we And a power that we fear Forces us on in our love-killing. KASHIKU. There is in your voice a vibration, as even the winds in the pine-tops When, in the autumn, they echo the summer's death-song; There is in your eyes a strange light as if the soul of another Looked out from your curtaining lashes and dimmed the sweet light there abiding. Oh, mistress, surely you are different than what you once were. O TOYO. [_Crosses C. slowly._] Even now comes the hour and the struggle And I do the bidding of that which is in me. How I hate the feel of his flesh Quivering under my lips And the loathsome taste of the blood-drops Thick on my lips that would soothe him and cannot. KASHIKU. Can anything soothe more than thy lips, More than the lips that love him? I cannot understand the words of your saying. You are happy and tearful all in a moment, Your soul seems a sky full of sunshine and clouds. [_Coming to her._] Even now as my hand touches you, you are trembling. Is it the cat that crept upon us Whose shape still affrights you? O TOYO. Thou hast said it--My soul is as thou sayest. My dreams are sweet and again bitter. Once came a dream horrible above all dreams. KASHIKU. What dream, my lady? O TOYO. The night when you found me there on the floor. Do you remember? KASHIKU. Well. You were all distraught and the bosom of your gown Was torn open and you clutched your throat As if you were wounded there. But there was no mark. And you let wild words fall from your lips And none knew their meaning. O TOYO. The Prince and I walked in the garden And there at the shoji I left him. As I entered There entered With me a spirit And its breath fell upon me-- Dumb my tongue in my mouth And frozen my marrow. Suddenly it leapt upon me And as I fell downward Flashed the spirit into mine eyes-- A cat, two-tailed and hairy-- And it's teeth sank in my throat here-- Can you see a mark? [_Exposes her throat to_ KASHIKU.] KASHIKU. The skin is as smooth as satin and perfect. O TOYO. Then came darkness upon me--and so you found me. So strong is the dream within me I wonder if it be a dream or no. KASHIKU. You had walked that evening in the garden. O TOYO. I had rather dreamed I walked--say I dreamed it. KASHIKU. The Prince was with-- O TOYO. Yet it was a dream, question it not. I would go to rest peacefully. He, too, shall rest peacefully-- I shall not kiss my lord tonight. [_Crosses L._] KASHIKU. Not kiss him? O TOYO. I think not I shall kiss him. I would not pain his slumbers-- He has paled so and his face is so thin. In the night he lies like a strong flower And a strange flower, bled of its life-- Like a strong flower weakened. And at its sight my dreams are bitter. But as I gaze a change comes over all things And I hold in my hands a beautiful flower Which I kiss with my lips Holding my lips long to it, Draining its sweetness. And a cloud passes over And on my lips are clots of blood! KASHIKU. Such dreamings are not good. I find the silken coverlets tossed in the morning, Twisted and thrown about as if you slept ill. O TOYO. It is not O Toyo who tosses them-- It is the dream O Toyo. KASHIKU. Two nights lately have I imagined you called to me But entering you were not here--but there with your lord soothing his sufferings. O TOYO. Drinking at strange fountains and unknown springs-- Drinking of sacred waters sacred to unknown gods. And as I drink another life becomes my life And he is mine--utterly mine, at last! KASHIKU. You frighten me-- O TOYO. Be not frightened--you have no need. Now I shall sleep. He, too, is sleeping. Perhaps--perhaps he is suffering. Shall I touch him with my hands? Perhaps he is hungry for my kisses-- Shall I kiss him? KASHIKU. It were a fitting thing to kiss thy lord. O TOYO. You know not what you say, Kashiku. KASHIKU. My lady-- O TOYO. You have not heard me say strange things, Kashiku. KASHIKU. I have heard-- O TOYO. Nothing. KASHIKU. Nothing, my lady. O TOYO. Put out the lamps. [KASHIKU _blows out candles on dressing table_.] Go now, Kashiku, and do you sleep deeply, Breathing poppies. KASHIKU. My lady-- O TOYO. Go. [KASHIKU _opens shoji R. and goes out shutting it after her_. O TOYO _crosses, too, and lies on the sleeping mat. The room is almost in total darkness._] O TOYO. I shall kiss him--I shall kiss him! [_The lantern at the head of the sleeping mat glows more and more brightly until a cat's head appears on it. At this moment a cat-call comes from the garden._ (NOTE.--If these effects cannot be gotten with no hint of the ludicrous, have the lantern glow with increasing light but use no cat's head or cat call.) _With the increase of light_, O TOYO _has begun to moan and toss and at the moment of the cat-call she rises as in a trance and goes towards the door L. As she passes the screen_ ITO SODA _steps out from behind it and plunges his dirk into her back; she falls with a little, stifled cry. Instantly, in utter darkness, the curtain falls._] END OF THE PLAY. Hageman's Make-Up Book By MAURICE HAGEMAN Price, 25 cents The importance of an effective make-up is becoming more apparent to the professional actor every year, but hitherto there has been no book on the subject describing the modern methods and at the same time covering all branches of the art. This want has now been filled. Mr. Hageman has had an experience of twenty years as actor and stage-manager, and his well-known literary ability has enabled him to put the knowledge so gained into shape to be of use to others. The book is an encyclopedia of the art of making up. Every branch of the subject is exhaustively treated, and few questions can be asked by professional or amateur that cannot be answered by this admirable hand-book. It is not only the best make-up book ever published, but it is not likely to be superseded by any other. It is absolutely indispensable to every ambitious actor. CONTENTS Chapter I. =General Remarks.= Chapter II. =Grease-Paints, their origin, components and use.= Chapter III. =The Make-up Box.= Grease-Paints, Mirrors, Face Powder and Puff, Exora Cream, Rouge, Liquid Color, Grenadine, Blue for the Eyelids, Brilliantine for the Hair, Nose Putty, Wig Paste, Mascaro, Crape Hair, Spirit Gum, Scissors, Artists' Stomps, Cold Cream, Cocoa Butter, Recipes for Cold Cream. Chapter IV. =Preliminaries before Making up; the Straight Make-up and how to remove it.= Chapter V. =Remarks to Ladies.= Liquid Creams, Rouge, Lips, Eyebrows, Eyelashes, Character Roles, Jewelry, Removing Make-up. Chapter VI. =Juveniles.= Straight Juvenile Make-up, Society Men, Young Men in Ill Health, with Red Wigs, Rococo Make-up, Hands, Wrists, Cheeks, etc. Chapter VII. =Adults, Middle Aged and Old Men.= Ordinary Type of Manhood, Lining Colors, Wrinkles, Rouge, Sickly and Healthy, Old Age, Ruddy Complexions. Chapter VIII. =Comedy and Character Make-ups.= Comedy Effects, Wigs, Beards, Eyebrows, Noses, Lips, Pallor of Death. Chapter IX. =The Human Features.= The Mouth and Lips, the Eyes and Eyelids, the Nose, the Chin, the Ear, the Teeth. Chapter X. =Other Exposed Parts of the Human Anatomy.= Chapter XI. =Wigs, Beards, Moustaches, and Eyebrows.= Choosing a Wig, Powdering the Hair, Dimensions for Wigs, Wig Bands, Bald Wigs, Ladies' Wigs, Beards on Wire, on Gauze, Crape Hair, Wool, Beards for Tramps, Moustaches, Eyebrows. Chapter XII. =Distinctive and Traditional Characteristics.= North American Indians, New England Farmers, Hoosiers, Southerners, Politicians, Cowboys, Minors, Quakers, Tramps, Creoles, Mulattoes, Quadroons, Octoroons, Negroes, Soldiers during War, Soldiers during Peace, Scouts, Pathfinders, Puritans, Early Dutch Settlers, Englishmen, Scotchmen, Irishmen, Frenchmen, Italians, Spaniards, Portuguese, South Americans, Scandinavians, Germans, Hollanders, Hungarians, Gipsies, Russians, Turks, Arabs, Moors, Caffirs, Abyssinians, Hindoos, Malays, Chinese, Japanese, Clowns and Statuary, Hebrews, Drunkards, Lunatics, Idiots, Misers, Rogues. Address Orders to THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY CHICAGO, ILLINOIS PLAYS And Entertainment Books. Being the largest theatrical booksellers in the United States, we keep in stock the most complete and best assorted lines of plays and entertainment books to be found anywhere. We can supply any play or book published. We have issued a catalogue of the best plays and entertainment books published in America and England. It contains a full description of each play, giving number of characters, time of playing, scenery, costumes, etc. This catalogue will be sent free on application. The plays described are suitable for amateurs and professionals, and nearly all of them may be played free of royalty. Persons interested in dramatic books should examine our catalogue before ordering elsewhere. We also carry a full line of grease paints, face powders, hair goods, and other "make-up" materials. The Dramatic Publishing Company CHICAGO 
41579	----	_The Evergreen Series_ KIMIKO AND OTHER JAPANESE SKETCHES By LAFCADIO HEARN BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY The Riverside Press Cambridge 1923 COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED The Riverside Press CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. Transcriber's Note: Dialect spellings, contractions and inconsistencies have been retained as printed. Words printed in italics are noted with underscores; _italics_. KIMIKO _Wasuraruru Mi naran to omo Kokoro koso Wasuré nu yori mo Omoi nari-keré._[1] [1] "To wish to be forgotten by the beloved is a soul-task harder far than trying not to forget."--_Poem by_ KIMIKO. I The name is on a paper-lantern at the entrance of a house in the Street of the Geisha. Seen at night the street is one of the queerest in the world. It is narrow as a gangway; and the dark shining wood-work of the house-fronts, all tightly closed,--each having a tiny sliding door with paper-panes that look just like frosted glass,--makes you think of first-class passenger-cabins. Really the buildings are several stories high; but you do not observe this at once--especially if there be no moon--because only the lower stories are illuminated up to their awnings, above which all is darkness. The illumination is made by lamps behind the narrow paper-paned doors, and by the paper-lanterns hanging outside--one at every door. You look down the street between two lines of these lanterns--lines converging far-off into one motionless bar of yellow light. Some of the lanterns are egg-shaped, some cylindrical; others four-sided or six-sided; and Japanese characters are beautifully written upon them. The street is very quiet--silent as a display of cabinet-work in some great exhibition after closing-time. This is because the inmates are mostly away--attending banquets and other festivities. Their life is of the night. The legend upon the first lantern to the left as you go south is "Kinoya: uchi O-Kata"; and that means The House of Gold wherein O-Kata dwells. The lantern to the right tells of the House of Nishimura, and of a girl Miyotsuru--which name signifies The Stork Magnificently Existing. Next upon the left comes the House of Kajita;--and in that house are Kohana, the Flower-Bud, and Hinako, whose face is pretty as the face of a doll. Opposite is the House Nagaye, wherein live Kimika and Kimiko.... And this luminous double litany of names is half-a-mile long. The inscription on the lantern of the last-named house reveals the relationship between Kimika and Kimiko--and yet something more; for Kimiko is styled "Ni-dai-me," an honorary untranslatable title which signifies that she is only Kimiko No. 2. Kimika is the teacher and mistress: she has educated two geisha, both named, or rather renamed by her, Kimiko; and this use of the same name twice is proof positive that the first Kimiko--"Ichi-dai-me"--must have been celebrated. The professional appellation borne by an unlucky or unsuccessful geisha is never given to her successor. If you should ever have good and sufficient reason to enter the house,--pushing open that lantern-slide of a door which sets a gong-bell ringing to announce visits,--you might be able to see Kimika, provided her little troupe be not engaged for the evening. You would find her a very intelligent person, and well worth talking to. She can tell, when she pleases, the most remarkable stories--real flesh-and-blood stories--true stories of human nature. For the Street of the Geisha is full of traditions--tragic, comic, melodramatic;--every house has its memories;--and Kimika knows them all. Some are very, very terrible; and some would make you laugh; and some would make you think. The story of the first Kimiko belongs to the last class. It is not one of the most extraordinary; but it is one of the least difficult for Western people to understand. II There is no more Ichi-dai-me Kimiko: she is only a remembrance. Kimika was quite young when she called that Kimiko her professional sister. "An exceedingly wonderful girl," is what Kimika says of Kimiko. To win any renown in her profession, a geisha must be pretty or very clever; and the famous ones are usually both--having been selected at a very early age by their trainers according to the promise of such qualities. Even the commoner class of singing-girls must have some charm in their best years--if only that _beauté du diable_ which inspired the Japanese proverb that even a devil is pretty at eighteen.[2] But Kimiko was much more than pretty. She was according to the Japanese ideal of beauty; and that standard is not reached by one woman in a hundred thousand. Also she was more than clever: she was accomplished. She composed very dainty poems--could arrange flowers exquisitely, perform tea-ceremonies faultlessly, embroider, make silk mosaic: in short, she was genteel. And her first public appearance made a flutter in the fast world of Kyoto. It was evident that she could make almost any conquest she pleased, and that fortune was before her. [2] _Oni mo jiuhachi, azami no hana._ There is a similar saying of a dragon: _ja mo hatachi_ ("even a dragon at twenty"). But it soon became evident, also, that she had been perfectly trained for her profession. She had been taught how to conduct herself under almost any possible circumstances; for what she could not have known Kimika knew everything about: the power of beauty, and the weakness of passion; the craft of promises and the worth of indifference; and all the folly and evil in the hearts of men. So Kimiko made few mistakes and shed few tears. By and by she proved to be, as Kimika wished--slightly dangerous. So a lamp is to night-fliers: otherwise some of them would put it out. The duty of the lamp is to make pleasant things visible: it has no malice. Kimiko had no malice, and was not too dangerous. Anxious parents discovered that she did not want to enter into respectable families, nor even to lend herself to any serious romances. But she was not particularly merciful to that class of youths who sign documents with their own blood, and ask a dancing-girl to cut off the extreme end of the little finger of her left hand as a pledge of eternal affection. She was mischievous enough with them to cure them of their folly. Some rich folks who offered her lands and houses on condition of owning her, body and soul, found her less merciful. One proved generous enough to purchase her freedom unconditionally, at a price which made Kimika a rich woman; and Kimiko was grateful--but she remained a geisha. She managed her rebuffs with too much tact to excite hate, and knew how to heal despairs in most cases. There were exceptions, of course. One old man, who thought life not worth living unless he could get Kimiko all to himself, invited her to a banquet one evening, and asked her to drink wine with him. But Kimika, accustomed to read faces, deftly substituted tea (which has precisely the same color) for Kimiko's wine, and so instinctively saved the girl's precious life--for only ten minutes later the soul of the silly host was on its way to the Meido alone, and doubtless greatly disappointed.... After that night Kimika watched over Kimiko as a wild cat guards her kitten. The kitten became a fashionable mania, a craze--a delirium--one of the great sights and sensations of the period. There is a foreign prince who remembers her name: he sent her a gift of diamonds which she never wore. Other presents in multitude she received from all who could afford the luxury of pleasing her; and to be in her good graces, even for a day, was the ambition of the "gilded youth." Nevertheless she allowed no one to imagine himself a special favorite, and refused to make any contracts for perpetual affection. To any protests on the subject she answered that she knew her place. Even respectable women spoke not unkindly of her--because her name never figured in any story of family unhappiness. She really kept her place. Time seemed to make her more charming. Other geisha grew into fame, but no one was even classed with her. Some manufacturers secured the sole right to use her photograph for a label; and that label made a fortune for the firm. But one day the startling news was abroad that Kimiko had at last shown a very soft heart. She had actually said good-bye to Kimika, and had gone away with somebody able to give her all the pretty dresses she could wish for--somebody eager to give her social position also, and to silence gossip about her naughty past--somebody willing to die for her ten times over, and already half-dead for love of her. Kimika said that a fool had tried to kill himself because of Kimiko, and that Kimiko had taken pity on him, and nursed him back to foolishness. Taiko Hideyoshi had said that there were only two things in this world which he feared--a fool and a dark night. Kimika had always been afraid of a fool; and a fool had taken Kimiko away. And she added, with not unselfish tears, that Kimiko would never come back to her: it was a case of love on both sides for the time of several existences. Nevertheless, Kimika was only half right. She was very shrewd indeed; but she had never been able to see into certain private chambers in the soul of Kimiko. If she could have seen, she would have screamed for astonishment. III Between Kimiko and other geisha there was a difference of gentle blood. Before she took a professional name, her name was Ai, which, written with the proper character, means love. Written with another character the same word-sound signifies grief. The story of Ai was a story of both grief and love. She had been nicely brought up. As a child she had been sent to a private school kept by an old samurai--where the little girls squatted on cushions before little writing-tables twelve inches high, and where the teachers taught without salary. In these days when teachers get better salaries than civil-service officials, the teaching is not nearly so honest or so pleasant as it used to be. A servant always accompanied the child to and from the school-house, carrying her books, her writing-box, her kneeling cushion, and her little table. Afterwards she attended an elementary public school. The first "modern" textbooks had just been issued--containing Japanese translations of English, German, and French stories about honor and duty and heroism, excellently chosen, and illustrated with tiny innocent pictures of Western people in costumes never of this world. Those dear pathetic little textbooks are now curiosities: they have long been superseded by pretentious compilations much less lovingly and sensibly edited. Ai learned well. Once a year, at examination time, a great official would visit the school, and talk to the children as if they were all his own, and stroke each silky head as he distributed the prizes. He is now a retired statesman, and has doubtless forgotten Ai;--and in the schools of today nobody caresses little girls, or gives them prizes. Then came those reconstructive changes by which families of rank were reduced to obscurity and poverty; and Ai had to leave school. Many great sorrows followed, till there remained to her only her mother and an infant sister. The mother and Ai could do little but weave; and by weaving alone they could not earn enough to live. House and lands first--then, article by article, all things not necessary to existence--heirlooms, trinkets, costly robes, crested lacquer-ware--passed cheaply to those whom misery makes rich, and whose wealth is called by the people _Namida no kane_--"the Money of Tears." Help from the living was scanty--for most of the samurai-families of kin were in like distress. But when there was nothing left to sell--not even Ai's little school-books--help was sought from the dead. For it was remembered that the father of Ai's father had been buried with his sword, the gift of a daimyo; and that the mountings of the weapon were of gold. So the grave was opened, and the grand hilt of curious workmanship exchanged for a common one, and the ornaments of the lacquered sheath removed. But the good blade was not taken, because the warrior might need it. Ai saw his face as he sat erect in the great red-clay urn which served in lieu of coffin to the samurai of high rank when buried by the ancient rite. His features were still recognizable after all those years of sepulture; and he seemed to nod a grim assent to what had been done as his sword was given back to him. At last the mother of Ai became too weak and ill to work at the loom; and the gold of the dead had been spent. Ai said: "Mother, I know there is but one thing now to do. Let me be sold to the dancing-girls." The mother wept, and made no reply. Ai did not weep, but went out alone. She remembered that in other days, when banquets were given in her father's house, and dancers served the wine, a free geisha named Kimika had often caressed her. She went straight to the house of Kimika. "I want you to buy me," said Ai;--"and I want a great deal of money." Kimika laughed, and petted her, and made her eat, and heard her story--which was bravely told, without one tear. "My child," said Kimika, "I cannot give you a great deal of money; for I have very little. But this I can do:--I can promise to support your mother. That will be better than to give her much money for you--because your mother, my child, has been a great lady, and therefore cannot know how to use money cunningly. Ask your honored mother to sign the bond--promising that you will stay with me till you are twenty-four years old, or until such time as you can pay me back. And what money I can now spare, take home with you as a free gift." Thus Ai became a geisha; and Kimika renamed her Kimiko, and kept the pledge to maintain the mother and the child-sister. The mother died before Kimiko became famous; the little sister was put to school. Afterwards those things already told came to pass. The young man who had wanted to die for love of a dancing-girl was worthy of better things. He was an only son; and his parents, wealthy and titled people, were willing to make any sacrifice for him--even that of accepting a geisha for daughter-in-law. Moreover, they were not altogether displeased with Kimiko, because of her sympathy for their boy. Before going away, Kimiko attended the wedding of her young sister, Umé, who had just finished school. She was good and pretty. Kimiko had made the match, and used her wicked knowledge of men in making it. She chose a very plain, honest, old-fashioned merchant--a man who could not have been bad, even if he tried. Umé did not question the wisdom of her sister's choice, which time proved fortunate. IV It was in the period of the fourth moon that Kimiko was carried away to the home prepared for her--a place in which to forget all the unpleasant realities of life--a sort of fairy-palace lost in the charmed repose of great shadowy silent high-walled gardens. Therein she might have felt as one reborn, by reason of good deeds, into the realm of Horai. But the spring passed, and the summer came--and Kimiko remained simply Kimiko. Three times she had contrived, for reasons unspoken, to put off the wedding-day. In the period of the eighth moon, Kimiko ceased to be playful, and told her reasons very gently but very firmly: "It is time that I should say what I have long delayed saying. For the sake of the mother who gave me life, and for the sake of my little sister, I have lived in hell. All that is past; but the scorch of the fire is upon me, and there is no power that can take it away. It is not for such as I to enter into an honored family--nor to bear you a son--nor to build up your house.... Suffer me to speak; for in the knowing of wrong I am very, very much wiser than you.... Never shall I be your wife to become your shame. I am your companion only, your play-fellow, your guest of an hour--and this not for any gifts. When I shall be no longer with you--nay! certainly that day must come!--you will have clearer sight. I shall still be dear to you, but not in the same way as now--which is foolishness. You will remember these words out of my heart. Some true sweet lady will be chosen for you, to become the mother of your children. I shall see them; but the place of a wife I shall never take, and the joy of a mother I must never know. I am only your folly, my beloved--an illusion, a dream, a shadow flitting across your life. Somewhat more in later time I may become, but a wife to you never--neither in this existence nor in the next. Ask me again--and I go." In the period of the tenth moon, and without any reason imaginable, Kimiko disappeared--vanished--utterly ceased to exist. V Nobody knew when or how or whither she had gone. Even in the neighborhood of the home she had left, none had seen her pass. At first it seemed that she must soon return. Of all her beautiful and precious things--her robes, her ornaments, her presents: a fortune in themselves--she had taken nothing. But weeks passed without word or sign; and it was feared that something terrible had befallen her. Rivers were dragged, and wells were searched. Inquiries were made by telegraph and by letter. Trusted servants were sent to look for her. Rewards were offered for any news--especially a reward to Kimika, who was really attached to the girl, and would have been only too happy to find her without any reward at all. But the mystery remained a mystery. Application to the authorities would have been useless: the fugitive had done no wrong, broken no law; and the vast machinery of the imperial police-system was not to be set in motion by the passionate whim of a boy. Months grew into years; but neither Kimika, nor the little sister in Kyoto, nor any one of the thousands who had known and admired the beautiful dancer, ever saw Kimiko again. But what she had foretold came true;--for time dries all tears and quiets all longing; and even in Japan one does not really try to die twice for the same despair. The lover of Kimiko became wiser; and there was found for him a very sweet person for wife, who gave him a son. And other years passed; and there was happiness in the fairy-home where Kimiko had once been. There came to that home one morning, as if seeking alms, a traveling nun; and the child, hearing her Buddhist cry of "Ha--ï! ha--ï!" ran to the gate. And presently a house-servant, bringing out the customary gift of rice, wondered to see the nun caressing the child, and whispering to him. Then the little one cried to the servant, "Let me give!"--and the nun pleaded from under the veiling shadow of her great straw hat: "Honorably allow the child to give me." So the boy put the rice into the mendicant's bowl. Then she thanked him, and asked: "Now will you say again for me the little word which I prayed you to tell your honored father?" And the child lisped: "_Father, one whom you will never see again in this world, says that her heart is glad because she has seen your son._" The nun laughed softly, and caressed him again, and passed away swiftly; and the servant wondered more than ever, while the child ran to tell his father the words of the mendicant. But the father's eyes dimmed as he heard the words, and he wept over his boy. For he, and only he, knew who had been at the gate--and the sacrificial meaning of all that had been hidden. Now he thinks much, but tells his thought to no one. He knows that the space between sun and sun is less than the space between himself and the woman who loved him. He knows it were vain to ask in what remote city, in what fantastic riddle of narrow nameless streets, in what obscure little temple known only to the poorest poor, she waits for the darkness before the Dawn of the Immeasurable Light--when the Face of the Teacher will smile upon her--when the Voice of the Teacher will say to her, in tones of sweetness deeper than ever came from human lover's lips: "_O my daughter in the Law, thou hast practiced the perfect way; thou hast believed and understood the highest truth;--therefore come I now to meet and to welcome thee!_" THE NUN OF THE TEMPLE OF AMIDA I When O-Toyo's husband--a distant cousin, adopted into her family for love's sake--had been summoned by his lord to the capital, she did not feel anxious about the future. She felt sad only. It was the first time since their bridal that they had ever been separated. But she had her father and mother to keep her company, and, dearer than either,--though she would never have confessed it even to herself,--her little son. Besides, she always had plenty to do. There were many household duties to perform, and there was much clothing to be woven--both silk and cotton. Once daily at a fixed hour, she would set for the absent husband, in his favorite room, little repasts faultlessly served on dainty lacquered trays--miniature meals such as are offered to the ghosts of the ancestors, and to the gods.[3] These repasts were served at the east side of the room, and his kneeling-cushion placed before them. The reason they were served at the east side was because he had gone east. Before removing the food, she always lifted the cover of the little soup-bowl to see if there was vapor upon its lacquered inside surface. For it is said that if there be vapor on the inside of the lid covering food so offered, the absent beloved is well. But if there be none, he is dead--because that is a sign that his soul has returned by itself to seek nourishment. O-Toyo found the lacquer thickly beaded with vapor day by day. [3] Such a repast, offered to the spirit of the absent one loved, is called a _Kagé-zen_; lit., "Shadow-tray." The word _zen_ is also used to signify the meal served on the lacquered tray--which has feet, like a miniature table. So that the term "Shadow-feast" would be a better translation of _Kagé-zen_. The child was her constant delight. He was three years old, and fond of asking questions to which none but the gods knew the real answers. When he wanted to play, she laid aside her work to play with him. When he wanted to rest, she told him wonderful stories, or gave pretty pious answers to his questions about those things which no man can ever understand. At evening, when the little lamps had been lighted before the holy tablets and the images, she taught his lips to shape the words of filial prayer. When he had been laid to sleep, she brought her work near him, and watched the still sweetness of his face. Sometimes he would smile in his dreams; and she knew that Kwannon the divine was playing shadowy play with him, and she would murmur the Buddhist invocation to that Maid "who looketh forever down above the sound of prayer." Sometimes, in the season of very clear days, she would climb the mountain of Dakeyama, carrying her little boy on her back. Such a trip delighted him much, not only because of what his mother taught him to see, but also of what she taught him to hear. The sloping way was through groves and woods, and over grassed slopes, and around queer rocks; and there were flowers with stories in their hearts, and trees holding tree-spirits. Pigeons cried _korup-korup_; and doves sobbed _owao_, _owao_; and cicadæ wheezed and fluted and tinkled. All those who wait for absent dear ones make, if they can, a pilgrimage to the peak called Dakeyama. It is visible from any part of the city; and from its summit several provinces can be seen. At the very top is a stone of almost human height and shape, perpendicularly set up; and little pebbles are heaped before it and upon it. And near by there is a small Shinto shrine erected to the spirit of a princess of other days. For she mourned the absence of one she loved, and used to watch from this mountain for his coming until she pined away and was changed into a stone. The people therefore built the shrine; and lovers of the absent still pray there for the return of those dear to them; and each, after so praying, takes home one of the little pebbles heaped there. And when the beloved one returns, the pebble must be taken back to the pebble-pile upon the mountain-top, and other pebbles with it, for a thank-offering and commemoration. Always ere O-Toyo and her son could reach their home after such a day, the dusk would fall softly about them; for the way was long, and they had to both go and return by boat through the wilderness of rice-fields round the town--which is a slow manner of journeying. Sometimes stars and fireflies lighted them; sometimes also the moon--and O-Toyo would softly sing to her boy the Izumo child-song to the moon: Nono-San, Little Lady Moon, How old are you? "Thirteen days-- Thirteen and nine." That is still young, And the reason must be For that bright red obi, So nicely tied,[4] And that nice white girdle About your hips. Will you give it to the horse? "Oh, no, no!" Will you give it to the cow? "Oh, no, no!"[5] [4] Because an obi or girdle of very bright color can be worn only by children. [5] Nono-San, _or_ _O-Tsuki-San_ Ikutsu? "Jiu-san-- Kokonotsu." Sore wa mada Wakai yo, Wakai ye mo Dori Akai iro no Obi to, Shiro iro no Obi to Koshi ni shanto Musun de. Uma ni yaru? "Iyaiya!" Ushi ni yaru? "Iyaiya!" And up to the blue night would rise from all those wet leagues of labored field that great soft bubbling chorus which seems the very voice of the soil itself--the chant of the frogs. And O-Toyo would interpret its syllables to the child: _Mé kayui! mé kayui!_ "Mine eyes tickle; I want to sleep." All those were happy hours. II Then twice, within the time of three days, those masters of life and death whose ways belong to the eternal mysteries struck at her heart. First she was taught that the gentle husband for whom she had so often prayed never could return to her--having been returned unto that dust out of which all forms are borrowed. And in another little while she knew her boy slept so deep a sleep that the Chinese physician could not waken him. These things she learned only as shapes are learned in lightning flashes. Between and beyond the flashes was that absolute darkness which is the pity of the gods. It passed; and she rose to meet a foe whose name is Memory. Before all others she could keep her face, as in other days, sweet and smiling. But when alone with this visitant, she found herself less strong. She would arrange little toys and spread out little dresses on the matting, and look at them, and talk to them in whispers, and smile silently. But the smile would ever end in a burst of wild, loud weeping; and she would beat her head upon the floor, and ask foolish questions of the gods. One day she thought of a weird consolation--that rite the people name "Toritsu-banashi"--the evocation of the dead. Could she not call back her boy for one brief minute only? It would trouble the little soul; but would he not gladly bear a moment's pain for her dear sake? Surely! [To have the dead called back one must go to some priest--Buddhist or Shinto--who knows the rite of incantation. And the mortuary tablet, or ihai, of the dead must be brought to that priest. Then ceremonies of purification are performed; candles are lighted and incense is kindled before the ihai; and prayers or parts of sutras are recited; and offerings of flowers and of rice are made. But, in this case, the rice must not be cooked. And when everything has been made ready, the priest, taking in his left hand an instrument shaped like a bow, and striking it rapidly with his right, calls upon the name of the dead, and cries out the words, "Kitazo yo! kitazo yo! kitazo yo!" meaning, "I have come."[6] And, as he cries, the tone of his voice gradually changes until it becomes the very voice of the dead person--for the ghost enters into him. [6] Whence the Izumo saying about one who too often announces his coming: "Thy talk is like the talk of necromancy!"--_Toritsubanashi no yona._ Then the dead will answer questions quickly asked, but will cry continually: "Hasten, hasten! for this my coming back is painful, and I have but a little time to stay!" And having answered, the ghost passes; and the priest falls senseless upon his face. Now to call back the dead is not good. For by calling them back their condition is made worse. Returning to the underworld, they must take a place lower than that which they held before. To-day these rites are not allowed by law. They once consoled; but the law is a good law, and just--since there exist men willing to mock the divine which is in human hearts.] So it came to pass that O-Toyo found herself one night in a lonely little temple at the verge of the city--kneeling before the ihai of her boy, and hearing the rite of incantation. And presently, out of the lips of the officiant there came a voice she thought she knew,--a voice loved above all others,--but faint and very thin, like a sobbing of wind. And the thin voice cried to her: "Ask quickly, quickly, mother! Dark is the way and long; and I may not linger." Then tremblingly she questioned: "Why must I sorrow for my child? What is the justice of the gods?" And there was answer given: "O mother, do not mourn me thus! That I died was only that you might not die. For the year was a year of sickness and of sorrow--and it was given me to know that you were to die; and I obtained by prayer that I should take your place.[7] [7] _Migawari_, "substitute," is the religious term. "O mother, never weep for me! It is not kindness to mourn for the dead. Over the River of Tears[8] their silent road is; and when mothers weep, the flood of that river rises, and the soul cannot pass, but must wander to and fro. [8] "Namida-no-Kawa." "Therefore, I pray you, do not grieve, O mother mine! Only give me a little water sometimes." III From that hour she was not seen to weep. She performed, lightly and silently, as in former days, the gentle duties of a daughter. Seasons passed; and her father thought to find another husband for her. To the mother, he said: "If our daughter again have a son, it will be great joy for her, and for all of us." But the wiser mother made answer: "Unhappy she is not. It is impossible that she marry again. She has become as a little child, knowing nothing of trouble or sin." It was true that she had ceased to know real pain. She had begun to show a strange fondness for very small things. At first she had found her bed too large--perhaps through the sense of emptiness left by the loss of her child; then, day by day, other things seemed to grow too large--the dwelling itself, the familiar rooms, the alcove and its great flower-vases--even the household utensils. She wished to eat her rice with miniature chopsticks out of a very small bowl such as children use. In these things she was lovingly humored; and in other matters she was not fantastic. The old people consulted together about her constantly. At last the father said: "For our daughter to live with strangers might be painful. But as we are aged, we may soon have to leave her. Perhaps we could provide for her by making her a nun. We might build a little temple for her." Next day the mother asked O-Toyo: "Would you not like to become a holy nun, and to live in a very, very small temple, with a very small altar, and little images of the Buddhas? We should be always near you. If you wish this, we shall get a priest to teach you the sutras." O-Toyo wished it, and asked that an extremely small nun's dress be got for her. But the mother said: "Everything except the dress a good nun may have made small. But she must wear a large dress--that is the law of Buddha." So she was persuaded to wear the same dress as other nuns. IV They built for her a small An-dera, or Nun's-Temple, in an empty court where another and larger temple, called Amida-ji, had once stood. The An-dera was also called Amida-ji, and was dedicated to Amida-Nyorai and to other Buddhas. It was fitted up with a very small altar and with miniature altar furniture. There was a tiny copy of the sutras on a tiny reading-desk, and tiny screens and bells and kakemono. And she dwelt there long after her parents had passed away. People called her the Amida-ji no Bikuni--which means The Nun of the Temple of Amida. A little outside the gate there was a statue of Jizo. This Jizo was a special Jizo--the friend of sick children. There were nearly always offerings of small rice-cakes to be seen before him. These signified that some sick child was being prayed for; and the number of the rice-cakes signified the number of the years of the child. Most often there were but two or three cakes; rarely there were seven or ten. The Amida-ji no Bikuni took care of the statue, and supplied it with incense-offerings, and flowers from the temple garden; for there was a small garden behind the An-dera. After making her morning round with her alms-bowl, she would usually seat herself before a very small loom, to weave cloth much too narrow for serious use. But her webs were bought always by certain shopkeepers who knew her story; and they made her presents of very small cups, tiny flower-vases, and queer dwarf-trees for her garden. Her greatest pleasure was the companionship of children; and this she never lacked. Japanese child-life is mostly passed in temple courts; and many happy childhoods were spent in the court of the Amida-ji. All the mothers in that street liked to have their little ones play there, but cautioned them never to laugh at the Bikuni-San. "Sometimes her ways are strange," they would say; "but that is because she once had a little son, who died, and the pain became too great for her mother's heart. So you must be very good and respectful to her." Good they were, but not quite respectful in the reverential sense. They knew better than to be that. They called her "Bikuni-San" always, and saluted her nicely; but otherwise they treated her like one of themselves. They played games with her; and she gave them tea in extremely small cups, and made for them heaps of rice-cakes not much bigger than peas, and wove upon her loom cloth of cotton and cloth of silk for the robes of their dolls. So she became to them as a blood-sister. They played with her daily till they grew too big to play, and left the court of the temple of Amida to begin the bitter work of life, and to become the fathers and mothers of children whom they sent to play in their stead. These learned to love the Bikuni-San like their parents had done. And the Bikuni-San lived to play with the children of the children of the children of those who remembered when her temple was built. The people took good heed that she should not know want. There was always given to her more than she needed for herself. So she was able to be nearly as kind to the children as she wished, and to feed extravagantly certain small animals. Birds nested in her temple, and ate from her hand, and learned not to perch upon the heads of the Buddhas. Some days after her funeral, a crowd of children visited my house. A little girl of nine years spoke for them all: "Sir, we are asking for the sake of the Bikuni-San who is dead. A very large _haka_[9] has been set up for her. It is a nice haka. But we want to give her also a very, very small haka, because in the time she was with us she often said that she would like a very little haka. And the stone-cutter has promised to cut it for us, and to make it very pretty, if we can bring the money. Therefore perhaps you will honorably give something." [9] Tombstone. "Assuredly," I said. "But now you will have nowhere to play." She answered, smiling: "We shall still play in the court of the temple of Amida. She is buried there. She will hear our playing, and be glad." HARU Haru was brought up, chiefly at home, in that old-fashioned way which produced one of the sweetest types of woman the world has ever seen. This domestic education cultivated simplicity of heart, natural grace of manner, obedience, and love of duty as they were never cultivated but in Japan. Its moral product was something too gentle and beautiful for any other than the old Japanese society: it was not the most judicious preparation for the much harsher life of the new--in which it still survives. The refined girl was trained for the condition of being theoretically at the mercy of her husband. She was taught never to show jealousy, or grief, or anger--even under circumstances compelling all three; she was expected to conquer the faults of her lord by pure sweetness. In short, she was required to be almost superhuman--to realize, at least in outward seeming, the ideal of perfect unselfishness. And this she could do with a husband of her own rank, delicate in discernment--able to divine her feelings, and never to wound them. Haru came of a much better family than her husband; and she was a little too good for him, because he could not really understand her. They had been married very young, had been poor at first, and then had gradually become well-off, because Haru's husband was a clever man of business. Sometimes she thought he had loved her most when they were less well-off; and a woman is seldom mistaken about such matters. She still made all his clothes; and he commended her needle-work. She waited upon his wants; aided him to dress and undress; made everything comfortable for him in their pretty home, bade him a charming farewell as he went to business in the morning, and welcomed him upon his return; received his friends exquisitely; managed his household matters with wonderful economy; and seldom asked any favors that cost money. Indeed she scarcely needed such favors; for he was never ungenerous, and liked to see her daintily dressed--looking like some beautiful silver moth robed in the folding of its own wings--and to take her to theatres and other places of amusement. She accompanied him to pleasure-resorts famed for the blossoming of cherry-trees in spring, or the shimmering of fireflies on summer nights, or the crimsoning of maples in autumn. And sometimes they would pass a day together at Maiko, by the sea, where the pines seem to sway like dancing girls; or an afternoon at Kiyomidzu, in the old, old summer-house, where everything is like a dream of five hundred years ago--and where there is a great shadowing of high woods, and a song of water leaping cold and clear from caverns, and always the plaint of flutes unseen, blown softly in the antique way--a tone-caress of peace and sadness blending, just as the gold light glooms into blue over a dying sun. Except for such small pleasures and excursions, Haru went out seldom. Her only living relatives, and also those of her husband, were far away in other provinces; and she had few visits to make. She liked to be at home, arranging flowers for the alcoves or for the gods, decorating the rooms, and feeding the tame gold-fish of the garden-pond, which would lift up their heads when they saw her coming. No child had yet brought new joy or sorrow into her life. She looked, in spite of her wife's coiffure, like a very young girl; and she was still simple as a child--notwithstanding that business capacity in small things which her husband so admired that he often condescended to ask her counsel in big things. Perhaps the heart then judged for him better than the pretty head; but, whether intuitive or not, her advice never proved wrong. She was happy enough with him for five years--during which time he showed himself as considerate as any young Japanese merchant could well be towards a wife of finer character than his own. Then his manner suddenly became cold--so suddenly that she felt assured the reason was not that which a childless wife might have reason to fear. Unable to discover the real cause, she tried to persuade herself that she had been remiss in her duties; examined her innocent conscience to no purpose; and tried very, very hard to please. But he remained unmoved. He spoke no unkind words--though she felt behind his silence the repressed tendency to utter them. A Japanese of the better class is not very apt to be unkind to his wife in words. It is thought to be vulgar and brutal. The educated man of normal disposition will even answer a wife's reproaches with gentle phrases. Common politeness, by the Japanese code, exacts this attitude from every manly man; moreover, it is the only safe one. A refined and sensitive woman will not long submit to coarse treatment; a spirited one may even kill herself because of something said in a moment of passion, and such a suicide disgraces the husband for the rest of his life. But there are slow cruelties worse than words, and safer--neglect or indifference, for example, of a sort to arouse jealousy. A Japanese wife has indeed been trained never to show jealousy; but the feeling is older than all training--old as love, and likely to live as long. Beneath her passionless mask the Japanese wife feels like her Western sister--just like that sister who prays and prays, even while delighting some evening assembly of beauty and fashion, for the coming of the hour which will set her free to relieve her pain alone. Haru had cause for jealousy; but she was too much of a child to guess the cause at once; and her servants too fond of her to suggest it. Her husband had been accustomed to pass his evenings in her company, either at home or elsewhere. But now, evening after evening, he went out by himself. The first time he had given her some business pretexts; afterwards he gave none, and did not even tell her when he expected to return. Latterly, also, he had been treating her with silent rudeness. He had become changed--"as if there was a goblin in his heart"--the servants said. As a matter of fact he had been deftly caught in a snare set for him. One whisper from a geisha had numbed his will; one smile blinded his eyes. She was far less pretty than his wife; but she was very skillful in the craft of spinning webs--webs of sensual delusion which entangle weak men, and always tighten more and more about them until the final hour of mockery and ruin. Haru did not know. She suspected no wrong till after her husband's strange conduct had become habitual--and even then only because she found that his money was passing into unknown hands. He had never told her where he passed his evenings. And she was afraid to ask, lest he should think her jealous. Instead of exposing her feelings in words, she treated him with such sweetness that a more intelligent husband would have divined all. But, except in business, he was dull. He continued to pass his evenings away; and as his conscience grew feebler, his absences lengthened. Haru had been taught that a good wife should always sit up and wait for her lord's return at night; and by so doing she suffered from nervousness, and from the feverish conditions that follow sleeplessness, and from the lonesomeness of her waiting after the servants, kindly dismissed at the usual hour, had left her with her thoughts. Once only, returning very late, her husband said to her: "I am sorry you should have sat up so late for me; do not wait like that again!" Then, fearing he might really have been pained on her account, she laughed pleasantly, and said: "I was not sleepy, and I am not tired; honorably please not to think about me." So he ceased to think about her--glad to take her at her word; and not long after that he stayed away for one whole night. The next night he did likewise, and a third night. After that third night's absence he failed even to return for the morning meal; and Haru knew the time had come when her duty as a wife obliged her to speak. She waited through all the morning hours, fearing for him, fearing for herself also; conscious at last of the wrong by which a woman's heart can be most deeply wounded. Her faithful servants had told her something; the rest she could guess. She was very ill, and did not know it. She knew only that she was angry--selfishly angry, because of the pain given her--cruel, probing, sickening pain. Midday came as she sat thinking how she could say least selfishly what it was now her duty to say,--the first words of reproach that would ever have passed her lips. Then her heart leaped with a shock that made everything blur and swim before her sight in a whirl of dizziness--because there was a sound of kuruma-wheels and the voice of a servant calling: "Honorable-return-is!" She struggled to the entrance to meet him, all her slender body a-tremble with fever and pain, and terror of betraying that pain. And the man was startled, because instead of greeting him with the accustomed smile, she caught the bosom of his silk robe in one quivering little hand--and looked into his face with eyes that seemed to search for some shred of a soul--and tried to speak, but could utter only the single word, "Anata?"[10] Almost in the same moment her weak grasp loosened, her eyes closed with a strange smile; and even before he could put out his arms to support her, she fell. He sought to lift her. But something in the delicate life had snapped. She was dead. [10] "Thou?" There were astonishments, of course, and tears, and useless callings of her name, and much running for doctors. But she lay white and still and beautiful, all the pain and anger gone out of her face, and smiling as on her bridal day. Two physicians came from the public hospital--Japanese military surgeons. They asked straight, hard questions--questions that cut open the self of the man down to the core. Then they told him truth cold and sharp as edged steel--and left him with his dead. The people wondered he did not become a priest--fair evidence that his conscience had been awakened. By day he sits among his bales of Kyoto silks and Osaka figured goods--earnest and silent. His clerks think him a good master; he never speaks harshly. Often he works far into the night; and he has changed his dwelling-place. There are strangers in the pretty house where Haru lived; and the owner never visits it. Perhaps because he might see there one slender shadow, still arranging flowers, or bending with iris-grace above the goldfish in his pond. But wherever he rest, sometime in the silent hours he must see the same soundless presence near his pillow--sewing, smoothing, softly seeming to make beautiful the robes he once put on only to betray. And at other times--in the busiest moments of his busy life--the clamor of the great shop dies; the ideographs of his ledger dim and vanish; and a plaintive little voice, which the gods refuse to silence, utters into the solitude of his heart, like a question, the single word--"Anata?" THE END 
37186	----	AN INTRODUCTION TO THE HISTORY OF JAPAN BY KATSURO HARA YAMATO SOCIETY PUBLICATION [Illustration] G. P. Putnam's Sons New York and London The Knickerbocker Press 1920 COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY THE YAMATO SOCIETY OBJECTS OF THE YAMATO SOCIETY The military achievements of Japan in the last twenty years have done much to make the world appreciate and acknowledge the intrinsic worth of the Japanese nation. It is, however, very doubtful whether the other nations find in us many other things to admire besides our military excellence. Some of them, indeed, without fully investigating their deeper causes, have entertained serious misgivings as to the probable consequence of our military successes. The continual occurrence of anti-Japanese movements in the various States of America and in the dependencies of Great Britain and Russia, countries with which Japan is most intimately connected, has been chiefly due to this want of knowledge as to the real state of affairs in Japan, the progress in the arts of peace, in science, literature, art, law and economics. Japan has a brilliant civilisation of which we can justly be proud. In fine art, we have painting, sculpture, architecture, lacquer-work, metal-carving, ceramics, etc.,--all of striking quality; in literature, our poetry, fiction and drama are worthy of serious study; in music and on the stage our progress has been along lines which accord with the development of our distinctive national character, and is by no means behind that of Europe. Europeans and Americans, however, have failed as yet to appreciate the essential worth of Japan's civilisation. Some foreigners, it is true, speak highly of Japanese fine art, praising Japan as a country devoted to art; but the works that they admire are not always essentially characteristic of Japan, nor are they representative works of Japanese fine arts. The number of foreigners aware of the existence of an influential literature in Japan is extremely limited. For such regrettable ignorance, however, we can blame no one but ourselves; for we have made very little effort to promote the appreciation of our civilisation by other peoples. If Japan, in her eagerness to learn the best of European civilisation, continues to disregard the necessity of making known her own civilisation to peoples abroad, the world's misconception of Japan will forever remain undispelled. It is our duty, indeed, to demonstrate to the world the fact that Japanese literature and art have foundations not less deep than those of our Bushido. On the other hand, we must have the broadness of mind to recognise and correct our faults, so that we may make ours a civilisation that will compel the admiration of the world. Whether or not European civilisation, which we have to some extent adopted, is really good for the wholesome development of our nation is a question which still awaits our mature consideration. In order to enjoy unrestricted the future possibilities of the world, we must look at things not only from a national, but also, from a world-wide point of view, abandoning the present Far Eastern exclusiveness and endeavouring to improve our position in the family of nations not by military achievements but by pacific means. This is, indeed, the surest way to make Japan one of the First Powers both in name and in reality. To accomplish the above purpose is no doubt a task of no small magnitude and one which will require a great deal of time and labour; but as our conviction is that we should not hesitate because of difficulties, so we have undertaken the organisation of this Society to help towards the attainment of this ideal. RULES OF THE YAMATO SOCIETY ART. I. The Society has for its object to make clear the meaning and extent of Japanese culture in order to reveal the fundamental character of the nation to the world; and also the introduction of the best literature and art of foreign countries to Japan so that a common understanding of Eastern and Western thought may be promoted. ART. II. In order to accomplish the object stated in the foregoing Article the Society shall carry on the following enterprises: 1. Publication in foreign languages of works relating to various branches of Japanese history. 2. Translation of Japanese literary works. 3. Publication in foreign languages of works of Japanese literature and art. 4. Publication in foreign languages of a periodical relating to Japanese literature and art. 5. Such steps as may be necessary for the introduction into Japan of the best literature and art of foreign countries. 6. Exchange exhibitions of foreign and Japanese art objects to be arranged between Japan and other countries. 7. Investigation and application of means necessary for the maintenance and improvement of Japanese art. 8. Despatch to foreign countries of qualified persons for the study and investigation of important matters relating to or arising out of the purposes of the Society. 9. Investigation and application of means necessary for the improvement of the customs and ideals of the Japanese people in general. ART. III. A Standing Committee shall be elected by the members. ART. IV. The Standing Committee shall have power to appoint or dismiss a Secretary and clerks. ART. V. Candidates for membership of the Society shall be recommended by the Society. ART. VI. The expenses of the Society shall be defrayed out of the revenue derived from the contributions of members and of persons interested in the work of the Society, from the sale of publications and from other miscellaneous sources. ART. VII. Meetings of the Society shall be held as occasion may require. ART. VIII. The Standing Committee of the Society shall submit to the members once a year an annual report of the revenue and expenditures, accomplishments, and condition of the Society. _Members of the Yamato Society_: TAKUMA DAN, BARON TORANOSUKE FURUKAWA, SHIGENOBU HIRAYAMA, Member of the House of Peers. SHIGEZO IMAMURA, JUNNOSUKE INOUYE, YEIKICHI KAMADA, BARON HISAYA IWASAKI, } Partners of the BARON KOYATA IWASAKI, } Mitsubishi Goshi } Kaisha, Tokyo. CHOZO KOIKE, Director of Mr. Kuhara's Head Office, Tokyo. FUSANOSUKE KUHARA, President of the Kuhara Mining Co., Tokyo. BARON NOBUAKI MAKINO, Member of the House of Peers. SHIGEMICHI MIYOSHI, Member of the Mitsubishi Goshi Kaisha, Tokyo. BARON KUMAKICHI NAKASHIMA, SAIZABURO NISHIWAKI, JOKICHI TAKAMINE, President of the Takamine Laboratory, New York. SANAE TAKATA, Member of the House of Peers. SEIICHI TAKI, Professor of Art History, Imperial University, Tokyo. MARQUIS YORIMICHI TOKUGAWA, Member of the House of Peers. YUZO TSUBOUCHI, former Professor of the Waseda University, Tokyo. KAZUTOSHI UYEDA, Dean of Literary College, Imperial University, Tokyo. BARON KENJIRO YAMAKAWA, President of Imperial University, Tokyo. _Members of the Standing Committee_: SHIGENOBU HIRAYAMA. CHOZO KOIKE. SHIGEMICHI MIYOSHI. SANAE TAKATA. SEIICHI TAKI. KAZUTOSHI UYEDA. PREFACE The principal aim of this work, written at the request of the Yamato Society as the first of its projected series of publications, is to furnish a synopsis, or perhaps rather to give a general sketch, of the history of Japan. The public to which it is tendered is not those professional historians and students of history now abounding in our country, who are already perplexedly encumbered with, and engrossed by, a superfluity of overdetailed materials and a plethora of contradictory conjectures and hypotheses. In short, the book is, strictly speaking, intended for those Europeans and Americans who would like to dip into the past, as well as peer into the future, of Japan,--Japan, not as a land of quaint curios and picturesque paradoxes only worthy to be preserved intact for a show, but as a land inhabited by a nation striving hard to improve itself, and to take a share, however humble, in the common progress of the civilisation of the world. Having such an aim on the one hand, it becomes on the other a matter of urgent necessity for the author to exercise great caution against extolling bombastically our national merits or falling into a coarse and futile jingoism. To be ostentatious proves, after all, some lack of sincerity and impartiality, and is the very vice which should be avoided by historians worthy of the name. In order to guard against such a blunder, however, and attain as far as possible the aim I have set before me, I thought it wisest to approximate the standpoint from which the book was to be written as nearly as possible to that of a foreigner, free from our national prejudices and at the same time intensely sympathetic with our country. Of course, it can hardly be disputed that to place oneself unerringly on the standpoint of another, different widely in thought as well as in nationality, is an affair very easy to talk of, but exceedingly difficult to put into practice. I dare not presume that I have been at all equal to the task. Still it may be of some use for the reader to learn beforehand whither my earnest efforts are directed. There is some truth in the saying that the time is not yet ripe for a conscientious Japanese scholar to write a history of our country covering all ages, ancient and modern, especially if that history is to be canvassed in a small volume of some three or four hundred pages. The reason generally alleged is that too many important questions in the history of Japan remain yet undecided. It is to be doubted, however, whether there can be found any country in the whole world whose historical problems are all definitely solved. Therefore it would be folly to wait till the Yellow River becomes pellucid, as a Chinese proverb has it. Since the opening of our country, we have had many foreign scholars investigating ourselves, our origins and our history, which in most cases have been misunderstood and misrepresented. By some we are overestimated, flattered, caressed, and cajoled. By others we are undervalued, despised, and condemned. We are sometimes elevated to a rank so high that no earthly nation could ever deserve it, and sometimes we are mercilessly relegated to a stage of savagery, to get back to which we should have to forego our cherished long history, the beginnings of which are lost in the myths of ages. Such an astonishing oscillation of opinion as regards the estimation of the merits and demerits of the Japanese nation and its history is more than to be endured. Surely the cause of being undervalued at one time lies in being overestimated at another, and vice versa. We must put an end to this oscillation and must be fairly represented, and in order to avoid misrepresentation we must portray ourselves as fairly as we can. We ought not to wait for the appearance of foreign authors, capable, unprejudiced, and deeply interested in our country. It seems that there are not a few foreign publicists who suppose that Japan is not yet sufficiently advanced in her civilisation to require long years of study to understand her. This is why there is such a number of tourist-writers, who skip over the whole country in a few weeks, and are presuming enough to make sweeping assertions about all sorts and conditions of things Japanese with which they come into touch at haphazard. Again, there is another class of writers, who would like to rate the Japanese nation and its history much higher than the above-mentioned do, and who know that it is not such a very easy matter to understand them. Unluckily, however, they are generally of the opinion that it is only they, and not the Japanese, who are competent to take up the task of interpretation, if those things are to be understood at all. Standing upon this point of view, they would gladly accept any kind of materials furnished by the Japanese, but flatly refuse to listen to any theories or arguments devised by Japanese scholars, and systematically repudiate almost all conclusions arrived at by the latter. Writers of such a type think that the intellectual capacity of the Japanese as a nation is not yet so high as to be able to elaborate logical argumentations. These two sets of foreign writers mentioned above sometimes praise us _sans phrase_, it is true. They are not, however, with their eulogistic and gracious verdict, the sort of champions to dispel the misrepresentations and misunderstandings under which we suffer. Moreover, for Japanese historians, the need has never been more urgent than now to make a trial in writing a history of their own country for the sake of foreign readers. On account of the Great War, the so-called European Concert, that is to say, the Areopagus of a few nations, will be superseded by the Concert of the World. The post-bellum readjustment and reconstruction, national as well as international, of countries belligerent and neutral will be an overwhelming task such as the nations of the world have never before undertaken. Perhaps there will follow a long period of peace, but the feeling of nations toward one another will in all natural probability continue sensitive and acute, and will not easily subside. And in such a nervous and critical age as that, Japan's position will be an exceedingly difficult one. Hitherto every move she has made, every feat she has achieved, has been made an object of international suspicion, especially in recent times. Japan, however, cannot help making progress in the future, whether welcomed by other nations or not, for where there is no progress, there is stagnation. Hence arises the imperative necessity, at the juncture, of an attempt by the Japanese to explain themselves through telling their own history, and by so doing procure thorough understanding of themselves, their character and characteristics, not only as they now really are, but as they used to be in the past. That is the one object which I have pursued in this volume. In preparing this work I acknowledge that I am greatly indebted to my colleagues in our University of Kyoto. Warmest thanks are due to Professor A. H. Sayce of Oxford, who, during his sojourn in our ancient metropolis, kindly revised that part of my manuscript dealing with the early history of Japan. It is also my greatest pleasure to acknowledge my gratitude to Mr. Edward Clarke, B.A. (Cantab.), Professor of English Language and Literature in this College, who went to a great deal of trouble in revising my awkward English through the whole volume. KATSURO HARA _College of Literature, Kyoto Imperial University, October, 1918._ CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. INTRODUCTION 1 II. THE RACES AND CLIMATE OF JAPAN 21 III. JAPAN BEFORE THE INTRODUCTION OF BUDDHISM AND CHINESE CIVILISATION 50 IV. GROWTH OF THE IMPERIAL POWER. GRADUAL CENTRALISATION 73 V. REMODELING OF THE STATE 104 VI. CULMINATION OF THE NEW RÉGIME; STAGNATION; RISE OF THE MILITARY RÉGIME 128 VII. THE MILITARY RÉGIME; THE TAIRA AND THE MINAMOTO. THE SHOGUNATE OF KAMAKURA 156 VIII. THE WELDING OF THE NATION. THE POLITICAL DISINTEGRATION OF THE COUNTRY 194 IX. END OF MEDIEVAL JAPAN 221 X. THE TRANSITION FROM MEDIEVAL TO MODERN JAPAN 252 XI. THE TOKUGAWA SHOGUNATE,--ITS POLITICAL RÉGIME 282 XII. TOKUGAWA SHOGUNATE,--CULTURE AND SOCIETY 315 XIII. THE RESTORATION OF THE MEIDJI 355 XIV. EPILOGUE 382 INDEX 399 AN INTRODUCTION TO THE HISTORY OF JAPAN AN INTRODUCTION TO THE HISTORY OF JAPAN CHAPTER I INTRODUCTION The history of Japan may be useful to foreigners in several different ways. If we do not take into account the serviceableness of detached historical data or groups of data, that is to say, when we exclude those cases where the historical data of Japan are studied not for the sake of understanding Japan herself, but in behalf of some other scientific purposes, then it can be said that Japanese history will serve foreigners in two principal and distinct ways. Firstly, it will interest them as the history of one special nation among many in the world. Secondly, it may be useful to historical study in general, seeing that it can be regarded as constituting in itself a microcosm of miniature of the history of the world manifested in that of a small nation. The former point is that which attracts most foreigners by the strength of novelty, while the latter will be none the less suggestive to comprehensive and reflective historians. Both points need some explanations. Let me begin with the first. Japan is a country inhabited by a people differing remarkably in racial features from those who now occupy the greater part of Europe. She remained for a long time shut up against the foreigners knocking at her gate, and on that account her history, compared with that of other nations, presents striking and unique characteristics. Many ancient manners and customs, some of them having their origins in ages prehistoric and unintelligible even to the present Japanese themselves, are handed down almost unchanged to this day. On the other hand, the history of Japan is not so simple as the histories of many semi-civilised countries, which are generally nothing but incredible legends and records of chronic disturbances arising out of some inevitable natural causes. Full of charming oddities, which might provide sources of wild speculations, and at the same time not lacking a certain complexity,--a complexity indispensable if it is to become an object of interest and investigation to any scientific historian, the history of Japan should prove a very fascinating study. In this it resembles the relation many rare indigenous flora and fauna bear to foreign biologists. It should be noticed, however, that biologists may safely remain constant as regards their points of view, whatever plant or animal they happen to study, while historians ought always to bear in mind that every nation and every age has its own criterion. In the study of Japanese history the same truth must hold good. It is a very regrettable fact, however, that many foreign Japanologists are too fond of neglecting the Japanese point of view, and would like to apply the western standard to the things Japanese they encounter in their researches concerning our country. Frequently they are rash enough to criticise before they have a proper understanding of those things which it is their business to criticise. Sometimes they get at a truth to which Japanese scholars have never attained, but they almost as a rule forget that things Japanese too should be considered from many sides, as occidental things should necessarily be, and inflexibly adhere to that one line of insight which they were once fortunate enough to seize. Or sometimes they attack pitilessly those legendary parts of our history, which are to be found in some school text-books or are not yet entirely expunged from some more scholarly works, on account of a national reluctance to part with those cherished memories of our forefathers. They blame us as if no country in the world were chauvinistic except Japan, and Japan only. Such treatment of Japanese history, however, will avail them nothing at all, not to mention that we suffer very much in our outward relations from it. As chapter II. and the following, however, are chiefly devoted to the purpose of showing that the history of Japan may be interpreted side by side with that of many European nations, I will cease dwelling further on this topic, and will directly go over to the second point. To consider Japanese history as a miniature of the world's history is rather a new assertion, so that it requires conclusive justification. It is now generally believed or assumed that every nation continues to evolve as an individual does, till it reaches its climax of growth and begins to decay. Hence many modern historians have successively tried to extract certain principles by the process of induction from kindred historical events which took place in different countries and ages, and thus to raise the study of history to the rank of a science in the same sense as that in which the word is used when we speak of natural phenomena. It is a great pity, however, that every historical event is of a very ephemeral nature, never to be repeated in exactly the same form in which it once occurred. And if it passes away, it passes away forever, not to be retarded in the midst of its course by the will of an investigator. Often one can contribute with full consciousness to the happening of an event, or can alter the course of it, but one cannot undo by any means the event itself and wash the ground as if nothing had taken place. Moreover, historical facts are very difficult to detach from their environment entirely, however isolated they seem to be, and on that account they are not fit to be made objects of laboratory experiments. In a school classroom the pupils are taught to solve an algebraic equation of a binomial expression by supposing the value of x and y alternately to be equal to zero. How much the task of historians would be lightened, if we could for some time trace the effect of a certain cause exclusively, setting at naught other concurrent causes, as if those causes might be supposed to be standing still for a moment of observation or hypothetically cancelled for a necessary time! Strictly speaking, the above device is out of the question in the case of any historical investigation. Setting that aside, there is still another greater difficulty to encounter in the study of history. Every school-boy knows that there is a fundamental law in physics, that when a body is set in motion by a certain impetus, it will move on continuously in one direction with the same momentum, so long as it is left uninfluenced by any other new force. It is true, however, that such a case exists very rarely even in natural phenomena, and it would be quite absurd to look for the like in the domain of history. More than one cause acts conjointly upon individuals, families, tribes, or nations, and before those causes cease to influence, other new causes generally come into play, so that the influences of the latter are interwoven with those of the former causes or groups of causes, and make discrimination between them exceedingly difficult. Summing up the above, one cannot entirely isolate a country from its surroundings, in order to see what a country or a nation would be able to achieve, if untouched by any outward influence, that is to say, solely out of its own immanent evolving forces. Next, it is none the less difficult to observe scientifically the effects of some outward forces acting on a nation, by warding off the influx of subsequent influences and thus giving to the forces in question the full scope and time to exert their influence. It often happens, however, that what cannot be done artificially may be found produced spontaneously, and though we cannot make experiments, in the strict sense of the word, while observing historical data, it is possible that the history of a nation or of an age may be taken as a case or a phase of an experiment, if such an experiment could ever be tried at all. And indeed the history of Japan may be considered as one of a few such happy cases. Here I need not talk much about the history of our country anterior to the introduction of the Chinese civilisation. After the opening of the regular intercourse between this country and China in the beginning of the seventh century, institutions, arts, learning, and even the manners of every day life continued for a long time to be brought thence by many official emissaries and students, and copied faithfully here, though generally with slight modifications. At that time, however, there being no country far advanced in civilisation other than China near us, the Chinese influence, the only exotic one, was allowed to take sole and full effect. Besides this, that Chinese civilisation itself was not encouraged to flow in endlessly. When, with the decay of the T'ang dynasty and the setting in of the anarchical condition following it in China, the highly finished culture attained during that dynasty, perhaps the most perfect one China had ever seen, began to degenerate there, the official intercourse between that country and Japan was interrupted. Of course, I do not mean to say that even private and intermittent commercial intercourse was also suspended at the same time, for the geographical position of our country toward China does not allow the former to remain entirely isolated from the latter. The suspension of the regular intercourse itself, however, was enough to save Japan from becoming entangled in the vicissitudes of the various dynasties following the T'ang, and our forefathers were left to themselves to make the best use of, that is to say, to digest, what had already been brought in abundantly. In the succeeding period the quiet process of rumination went on for several centuries. If we look back into the Japanese history of that time, therefore, we can ascertain fairly scientifically the effect of a high civilisation acting on a naïve population not yet sufficiently organised as a nation, as our country was at that period, and likewise we can observe many traits of the old T'ang culture, which is now difficult to trace in China herself. This is our first experiment in Chinese civilisation. Among the dynasties that followed the fall of the T'ang, that which longest held the rule was the Sung, and between China under the latter dynasty and Japan merchant ships plied now and then. Some Japanese Buddhist priests followed the track of their predecessors, and went over to China to study Buddhism. At the time of the Yuen dynasty founded by the Mongols, China sent many Buddhist missionaries successively to Japan, where religious innovations were in course of progress. This is our second experiment in Chinese civilisation. In the first experiment the religious element was of course not excluded. The essential characteristic, however, of the culture of the T'ang dynasty was politico-æsthetical, and as the result of the introduction of that culture, Japan became enlightened in general. In other words, the first experiment may be said to have been an æsthetical one, while the second is one apt to be termed a religious one, and by the blending of the results of the two experiments, we became a tolerably æsthetic and religious people. Still there remained much to be wished for in respect of national unification and social solidarity, and it is the culture of the Sung dynasty itself which provided that very need, being politico-ethical in its essential nature. By the introduction of that culture the doctrines of the Confucian philosophers, which were made the means of regulating the social and political organisation of Japan, were inculcated widely and deeply, and forced into practice more rigorously than they were in China herself. This is our third experiment in Chinese civilisation. And when this experiment was almost finished, we were faced by the inundation of western civilisation, which at last made it impossible for us to continue the process of rumination, and compelled us to plunge headlong into the maelstrom of world history. It is rather derogatory to our national pride to have to aver that we are so deeply indebted to Chinese civilisation. Yet the facts cannot be denied, nor the truth falsified. Moreover, we need not be ashamed that we brought in so much from China, while we gave very little to the Chinese in exchange. How could we, who were very late in commencing a civilised national life, initiate a new civilisation independent of that of China, without imitating it? Was not the Chinese civilisation too far advanced and too overpowering for the Japanese of that time, the Japanese who were still at the outset of their evolutionary march? On the contrary, justice should be done to the fact, that we not only improved ourselves by availing ourselves of such a high civilisation, but withstood it at the same time, being far from dwindling away as a result of having come into contact with it, as many uncivilised races have done in a similar case. No impartial historian would fail to observe that there is some capacity not borrowed but inborn in the Japanese people, by force of which they were able to consolidate themselves as a compact nation, possessing striking characteristics quite different from those of China. And it is especially to be noted to the honour of the Japanese, that the more we helped ourselves to Chinese culture, the wider became the divergence between the two countries. Could such a way of introducing an alien civilisation be designated a servile imitation? I am far from trying to embellish every phase of the history of Japan, whatever its due merit may be, and would be content if even a few of the wanton calumnies current vis à vis Japan be set aright by making her real history understood, which is not very easy to grasp, but yet not so sterile as it is reputed to be by some foreign historians. What I want to call attention to next is that the history of our country is not that monotonous repetition of a certain kind of historical data, however peculiar the data in themselves may be. Nay, the history of Japan is full of varieties in the nature of its data. The history of Greece is sometimes stated to be a miniature of the world's history on account of the richness in variety of the historical phenomena which occurred there, it being possible to find there also most of the important subjects treated in history at large, though of course on a much reduced scale. In this regard, too, the history of Japan closely resembles that of ancient Greece. Our country had been disunited for a long time, each section constituting itself a political quasi-unit governed by a certain local semi-independent lord, like the tyrant of Greek history. Those local potentates, however, were not so arrogant as not to recognise the hereditary, political and spiritual sovereignty of the Emperor. Not only that. They also reluctantly rejected the hegemony of the Shogunate, though as a matter of fact this had but a nominal existence. From this point of view, it might be asserted that our country never ceased to be a united one. The bond of unity, however, became very slack at intervals, so that the very existence of the unity itself was often in doubt. In our history, therefore, there were many obstacles to progress, especially in those lines of progress which necessarily depend on the close unification of the whole country. At the same time, however, advantages are not to be neglected, which might be considered to result from the dismemberment itself. Japan had many small centres at some periods. But it was, to some extent, owing to similar circumstances that those centres came into existence, and for that reason there was to be found much in common in all of them, in respect of the tone of the culture fostered in the respective centres. That is a matter of course. Among those centres, however, there arose naturally much vying with one another in the promotion of their progress, and thus the general standard of civilisation in Japan came to be raised to a not inconsiderable height. Moreover, something like international relations began to grow up between those units, which contributed largely to the perfection of the culture within each of them. This is the same interesting phenomenon, which we can trace not in the history of Greece only, but in that of the Holy Roman Empire, nay, even in the history of Europe itself. The difference is simply that in Europe the same phenomenon developed on a grand scale, while it took place in Japan in a very small compass. No wonder that as a result of having had a national experience of the nature stated above, the history of Japan is rich in varieties of data and deserves the attention of highly qualified historians. So let me here submit to a hasty examination a few of the important items in Japanese history, which even to European readers, may be of no small interest, having their parallels in the histories of the West. The first and the most important item to be mentioned is feudalism. A famous living French historian once told me that it was absurd to speak of Japanese feudalism, since feudalism was a special historical phenomenon originated by the Franks, and therefore not to be found outside of Europe. How is the word "feudalism" rightly to be defined then? May it not be extended to a similar system which prevailed in western Europe, but not under Frankish authority? If it can be said that feudalism also obtained in the Swabian, the Saxonian and the Marcomanian land, surely it would not be absurd to extend it a bit further so as to make it cover similar phenomena which arose in non-European countries, for example in China and especially in Japan. For centuries in Europe historians successively tried to solve the question, What is feudalism? A great number of hypotheses has been presented. Some of them held the ground against their antagonists in bitter scientific controversies, but were soon obliged to give way to clever newly-started theories, and no conclusive solution has yet been given to the problem. The cause of the failure chiefly lies in the mistaken idea, that feudalism is a kind of systematic legislation, which originated in the elaboration of some rules put together by some sagacious ruler, or in the time-honoured invention of some very gifted tribe, and starting from this erroneous supposition some scholars have believed that they would be able to generalise from those overwhelmingly chaotic materials, and thereby to establish certain fundamental principles applicable to the feudal relation of whichever country they chose. Far from their assumption being true, however, feudalism is not an invention of somebody, made consciously, nor a result of a deliberately devised enactment. A few general rules may be extracted perhaps by so-called generalising, but even these few would be provided with exceptional conditions. Therefore, the truth we reach at last by studying the historical sources concerning feudalism is rather the general spirit pervading all kinds of feudalism, and not any concrete rule applicable everywhere, as we see in the case of natural sciences. If the granting of the usufruct of a certain extent of land in exchange for military service is the essence of feudalism, it is indisputable that feudalism existed in Japan too. Feudalism is indeed a necessity, as a Chinese servant has said in a memorable essay. It is a necessity which any nation must undergo, if that nation is to become consolidated. Feudalism is often described as a backward movement with respect to the political organisation. Primitive races, however, cannot be described as having been either centralised or decentralised, socially and politically, and the first stage which they must pass is that of a vague centralisation. In this stage, superficially observed, it appears as if the race were centralised at one point, but the truth is that in so early a stage of civilisation, it is not probable that more than one prominent centre would at once be formed conspicuous enough to attract attention. And even that one centre itself is formed, not because it is strong enough to centralise, but because centripetalism actuates the environment, and no other force is yet so strong as to compete with it. In early times, however, the degree of prominency of a single centre over all others must have been very slight. As time passes, lesser centres begin to distinguish themselves, closely following the prominent first in strength of centralisation, and become at last so powerful as to be able to challenge the hegemony of the first centre. This state of affairs we generally denote as the age of dismemberment, as if a true centralisation had been accomplished in the age preceding. This view is utterly false. Without the power to centralise, no political centre can be said to exist really, and without any strong centre effective centralisation is not possible. The apparent centralised, that is to say, unified condition of the ancient empires, is nothing but a chaotic condition with one bright point only, and the state of being seemingly dismembered is in truth a step toward the real unification, centralisation _in partibus_ paving the way for centralisation on a larger scale. This phase in the preparatory process for the unity and consolidation of a nation is feudalism itself. Feudalism is a test through which every nation must pass, if it aspires to become a well organised body at all. There are some tribes, indeed, which have never passed through the feudal period in their history, but that is due to the fact that these tribes had certain defective traits which hindered them from undergoing that experience, and on account of that they have been unable to achieve a sound, well-proportioned progress in their civilisation, which must necessarily be accompanied by a well-organised political centralisation, whether it be monarchical or democratic. Other nations have passed, it is true, the test of the feudal régime, but very imperfectly, and for that reason have had great difficulty in amending the defect afterwards. By no means need we lament that we were under the feudal régime for a considerable time in our history. On the contrary, I am rejoiced that we were. Every political development must go side by side with the corresponding social progress. The latter, unless sheltered by the former, lacks stability, while the former, if unaccompanied by the latter, is not tenable, and will break down before long and be of no avail. Feudalism can be compared to a nut-shell, which protects the kernel till it quietly consummates its maturing process within. Social progress, of whatever sort it be, ought to be covered by a political régime of a certain kind, especially adapted to discharge the task of protection, and must be allowed thereby to prosecute its own development free from disturbing influences. Feudalism is one of the political régimes indispensable to perform such a function. Though it seems to be fortunate for a nation not to tarry too long in the stage of feudalism, yet it is not desirable for the nation to emerge out of this stage prematurely. To sum up, in order that a nation may continue in its healthy progress, it should have feudalism once in its historical course, and must pass that test fairly. And as passing a test can be fruitful only on condition that that test itself be fair, it becomes necessary as a natural consequence that a fair test must be passed fairly. Then how is it with Japan? It cannot be safely said that we have passed the test exceedingly well, but at the same time we can presume that we have not passed it badly. If someone should say that the Japanese stayed unnecessarily long in that condition and have not even yet entirely emerged from it, he must have forgotten that even the most civilised countries of Europe could not shake off the shackles of the feudal system entirely until very recent times, the first half of the nineteenth century still retaining an easily perceptible tincture of it, as we see in the survival of the patrimonial jurisdiction in some continental states of Europe. On the other hand foreign observers generally fail to see that the régime of the Tokugawa Shogunate, which I shall expatiate upon in a later chapter, is of a sort quite different from that of the European feudalism in the middle ages, and are induced to believe that the Japanese nation has been quit of the miserable régime for only fifty years. These views are both totally mistaken. In our relation to feudalism, we went through almost the same experience as other civilised nations did, neither more nor less. Because, in so far as we speak of the history of any nation ranging from its beginning till our day, more than half of it can be held to have been occupied by feudalism, the history of Japan may also be said to have in common with other nations more than half of the essential elements which the so-called history of the world could teach. After having seen that our history is not totally unlike that of the nations of Europe in its most essential trait, it is not strange that the history of Japan should contain many other things, besides feudalism, which can be reckoned as the typical items necessary to make up the history of any civilised nation, that is to say, as the chief ingredients not to be dispensed with in the world's history,--viz., various religious movements keeping pace with the social development at large, economic evolution conditioning and conditioned by the changes of other factors constituting civilisation in general, etc. As the foreign influences can be traced comparatively distinctly, the history of Japan can, to a large extent, be subjected to a scientific analysis. So if we look for the history of a nation, which is fit to represent the gradual evolution of national progress in general, Japanese history must be a select one. It is in this respect that I said that the history of our country is a miniature of the world's history. After all the history of Japan is not so simple and naïve as to be either an easy topic for amateur historians, or a suitable theme for ordinary anthropologists, ethnographers, or philologists, who are not specially qualified to deal with histories of civilised times. Those whom I should heartily welcome as the investigators of the history of our country, are those historians in Europe and America, who, more than amply qualified to write the history of their own countries, have continued to disdain extending their field of investigation to the corners of the world, thought by them not civilised enough to be worthy of their labour. If they care to peep into the history of our country, perhaps the result will not be so barren as to disappoint them utterly. The greatest misfortune to our country at the present day is that her history has been written by very few first-rate historians of Europe and America, those who have written upon it being mostly of the second or third rank. Nay, there are many who cannot be called historians at all. The best qualifications they have are that, by some means or other, they can write a book, or that they were once residents of Japan, and if they venture to write a history about a country outside of their own, Japan seems to them to be the easiest subject, the greater part of their compatriots being quite ignorant of it. I dwell thus long, however, on the significance of the history of Japan, not in order to silence these quasi-historians, nor forcibly to induce the first-rate foreign historian to study the history of Japan against his own will. The former attempt is useless, while the latter may be almost hopeless. The principal reason for having long dwelt on the subject, is only to have it understood by foreigners, that the Japanese nation, which has such an advanced historical experience in the past, is not to be considered as one only recently awakened, and therefore to be admired, patted, encouraged, feared and despised in rapid succession. If once they happen to understand the true history of Japan, then the fluctuations in their estimation of us will also cease; then, perhaps, we shall not be feared, or rather, made an object of scare any more, as now we are, but at the same time we shall be happy not to be disliked or rejected. CHAPTER II THE RACES AND CLIMATE OF JAPAN Which is the more potent factor in building up the edifice of civilisation, race or climate? This has been a riddle repeatedly presented to various scholars of various ages, and has not yet been completely solved. The immanent force of the race deeply rooted in the principle of heredity on the one hand, and the influence of the physical milieu on the other, have been, are, and will be, ever the two important factors, coöperating in engendering any sort of civilisation, yet are they not always friendly forces, but, in a sense, rivals, competing for the ascendency. Looking back into the history of the interminable controversy as to the position of the two, and taking into consideration the fact that they are not the only factors contributing to the progress of civilisation, it would perhaps seem to be a waste of labour to try anew to solve the question. If one should endeavour to explain the respective importance of the two factors, putting due stress on each at the same time, he would then be in danger of falling into a self-contradiction or of begging the question endlessly; otherwise he must be satisfied with being the sermoniser of quite a commonplace truism! This is not, however, the place to enter into a discussion to determine the preponderant influence of either of the two, a discussion perhaps fruitful enough, but almost hopeless of arriving at a final solution. But as in recording the history of any country one should begin well at the beginning, I, too, cannot desist from starting with a description of the race and of the climate, with their relations to the history, of Japan. Of these two factors, I need not say much about the first. It is about forty years since meteorological observations have been regularly and continuously made in this country and the results published in periodical reports, so that almost all requisite data pertaining to the climatology of Japan are at the disposal of the investigator. Assuming that the climate of Japan at present, which can be ascertained, not exhaustively perhaps, but scientifically enough, is not a widely different one from what it was in the past, there is the less need of dwelling upon the topic, so far as the scope of this book is concerned. I will content myself, therefore, with treating it very briefly. Generally speaking, it must be admitted that the ideal climate for the progress of civilisation must not be either a very hot or a very cold one; in other words, it must be a temperate one. At the same time, it is necessarily true that, for the sake of fostering a civilisation, the climate should be stimulative, that is to say, should be variable, but not running to such extremes as to impede the vital activity of the population. When a climate is constant and has no seasonal change, that climate, however mild it be, is very enervating, and not fitted for any strenuous human exertion, physical or mental, and is therefore adverse to the onward march of civilisation. Judged by this standard, the climate of Japan is a good one. If we put aside all the recently organised or annexed parts of the Empire, that is to say, Korea, Saghalen, Formosa, Loochoo, and Hokkaido, the remaining part, that is to say, the whole of historic Japan, which includes the three principal islands, was formerly divided into sixty-six _kuni_ or provinces, and stretches over a wide range of latitude, extending from 31°--41.5° N., so that the difference in temperature at its two extremes is very considerable. It must be remembered, however, that the difference is not so great as to necessitate totally different modes of living. In the province of Satsuma, for instance, the falling of snow can often be witnessed, while in Mutsu the temperature, in the height of summer, frequently climbs above 90° F. The southern Japanese, therefore, can settle in the northern provinces quite comfortably without changing many of their accustomed habits, and the northerners, on the other hand, can shift their abode to the island of Kyushu, with very little modification in their ways of living. This almost similar way of living throughout the whole of historic Japan, with very slight local modifications only, is the cause why the unity of the nation was accomplished comparatively easily. As to the seasonal changes, they occur somewhat frequently in Japan, and impart a highly stimulative quality to her climate. According to the interesting investigation made by an American climatologist, for a climate to be stimulative it is necessary that there should be not only marked seasonal changes, but also frequent variations within each of the seasons themselves, and it is nothing but the storms which induce such important daily climatic changes. If we may accept his conclusion, then Japan may rank fairly high among the countries with the best kind of climate. For not to speak of the seasonal changes so clearly definable, in Japan, the cyclonic storms, the main cause of the daily climatic changes, occur very frequently. It can be said that no one desires to have them occur more often on this account. After all, the climate of Japan would have been almost an ideal one, if there had been less rain in the early summer, the long rainy season being evidently the chief cause of the enervating dampness. By the way, it should be remarked that the dampness which is the weakest point of the climate of Japan, not only in the summer, but throughout the whole year, is in excess more in the regions bordering on the Sea of Japan than in those facing the Pacific Ocean and the Inland Sea. This fact explains the historical phenomenon that the most momentous events in Japanese history have taken place not in the former but in the latter regions. If we look into the history of Europe, the Inland Sea of Japan has its counterpart in the Mediterranean, the Pacific, in the Atlantic, and the Sea of Japan in the Baltic Sea. Perhaps the attentive traveller will notice that the same greyish hue of the sea-surface can be perceived in the Sea of Japan as in the Baltic Sea, and that very sombre colour imparts the same gloomy tone to the atmosphere of the regions bordering on those two seas. It is true that many mythical legends of our country have their scenes in the coastal regions along the Sea of Japan, the so-called "Back of Japan," and, moreover, in standard of civilisation, these regions, compared with the other parts of the Empire, decidedly do not rank low. That is due, however, not to the influence of the fair climate prevailing in those parts of Japan, but to the proximity of the Asiatic continent. For, as the result of that proximity, there must have been very intimate relations between those regions of Japan and the continental tribes on the opposite shore, some of whom are sometimes supposed to have had the same origin as the Japanese. At present the influence of the climatic drawback in those districts is very evident, and it will be in the distant future that the time will arrive when the "Back of Japan" will become more thriving and enlightened than the other side of Japan facing the Pacific, unless there should be a sudden upheaval in the progress of the civilisation, and in the growth of prosperity, on the opposite continental shore. Between northern and southern Japan, it is not very easy to distinguish what influence the climates of the two regions had on their history. It is certain that northern Japan is inferior to southern Japan in climatic conditions, if we consider the impediments put on human activity there, on account of the intense cold during the winter. It is doubtful, however, whether the backwardness of the North in the forward march of civilisation can be solely attributed to its climatic inferiority. Even in the depth of winter, the cold in the northern provinces of Hon-to cannot be said to be more unbearable and unfit for the strenuous activity of the inhabitants, than that of the Scandinavian countries or of northeastern Germany. The principal cause of the retardation of progress in northern Japan lies rather in the fact that it is a comparatively recently exploited part of the Empire. Since the beginning of historic times, the Japanese have pushed their settlements more and more toward the north, so that the population in those regions has grown denser and denser. If this process had continued with the same vigour until today, the northern provinces might have become far more populous, civilised, and prosperous, than we see them now. Unfortunately for the North, however, just at the most critical time in its development, the attention of the nation was compelled to turn from inner colonisation to foreign relations. Besides, the subsequent acquisition of new dominions oversea made the nation still more indifferent to the exploitation of the less remunerative northern half of Hon-to. As to the climatic conditions of Hokkaido and Loochoo, it is needless to say that they are far different from that of the historic part of the Empire, and each of them needs special consideration. They have had, however, very little to do with the history of Japan. The same may also be said still more emphatically about Formosa, Saghalen, and Korea, though the influence of their climates on the destiny of future Japan will without doubt be immense; but as these regions do not come within the purview of my book, I can, without prejudice, omit further reference to them. Together with the climate, the race stands forth as an indispensable factor in the promotion of its civilisation. Then to what race do the Japanese belong? Can all the people of Japan be homogeneously comprised under a single racial appellation, or must they be treated as an agglomeration of several different races? Are the Japanese, or the bulk at least of the Japanese, indigenous or immigrant? If the Japanese are an immigrant race, then whence did they originate, and what is the probable date of their immigration into this country? What race, if not the Japanese, are the aborigines of these islands? Questions of this kind, and others of a similar nature have stood waiting for solution these many years! But none of them has yet been completely answered, though attempts have been made not only by a large number of native investigators, professional as well as amateur, but also by not a few foreign philologists and archæologists, who were tolerably well-versed in things Japanese. Recently many interesting excavations of ancient tombs and historical sites have been made, and various remains pertaining to the old inhabitants of the islands have been submitted to the speculative scrutiny of specialists. They have served, however, rather to lead one to deeper, more obstinate, scepticism, than to shed light on those doubtful and tentative answers and indecisive controversies. It is very much to be regretted that we have no authentic record of the early immigration into Japan from the pen of a contemporaneous writer, so that we could thereby verify the interpretations assigned to the remains found in the ancient tombs. This is to be attributed to the lack of the use of written characters among the aboriginal people, as well as to the illiteracy of the early immigrants. If we had as remains of prehistoric Japan such valuable historic materials as have been excavated in Europe and Western Asia, we should have been able to deduce the history of its early ages with a tolerable degree of certainty from the remains themselves, independently of any documental evidence. Unfortunately, however, in this respect also, our prehistoric remains consist only of a few kinds of earthenware, mostly with very simple patterns on them, and some other kinds of primitive utensils of daily use, such as saddles, bridles, sword-blades, and the like. Huge tombstones are sometimes found, but they have no such inscriptions as we see on many Greek sarcophagi, being provided only with a few unintelligible, perhaps meaningless, scratches. As to the primitive Japanese ornaments, very few historical data can be gathered from them, for they are generally beads of very simple design, and of three or four different shapes. It is quite hopeless to think that we should ever be able to dig out a single dwelling, not to speak of a whole palace, village, or town, on any Japanese historical site, since no stone, brick or other durable material was ever used in the construction of buildings. As our stock of reliable, authentic information concerning our origins is so scanty, it is at the disposal of any one to manufacture whatever hypothesis he chooses, however wild a speculation it be, and sustain it as long as he likes against any antagonist, not by proving it positively and convincingly, but by pointing out the impossibility of the opposing hypothesis, so that the present state of archæological research in Japan may be summed up as an intellectual skirmish carried on by regular as well as by irregular militant scholars. Therefore, in spite of the fact that Japan now abounds in ethnologists, big and small, each fashioning some new hypothesis every day, there can be perceived only a very slow progress in the solution of the fundamental question, "Who are the Japanese?" We are almost at a loss to decide to which assertion we can most agreeably give our countenance with the least risk of receiving an immediate setback. So I shall be content to state here only those hypotheses, which may be considered comparatively safe, although they may not rise far above the level of conjecture. The only thing virtually agreed to by all investigators engaged in ethnological inquiry concerning Japan, is that the Ainu is the aboriginal race, and that the Japanese so called belongs to a stock different from the Ainu. Once for a time there prevailed a hypothesis that there was a people settled in this country previous to the coming of the Ainu, who must be therefore an immigrant race. It is said that the Ainu called this people by the name of Koropokkuru. But very little indeed is known about these supposed autochthons, except that they were very small in stature, and that this pigmy race receded and vanished before the advancing Ainu. The theory had its foundation only in some Ainu legends, and was not supported by any archæological remains, which could be attributed, not to the Ainu, but to a special pigmy race only. Much reliance, therefore, could not be placed upon this hypothesis, or rather vague suggestion, and it was speedily dropped. Still it is not yet decided whether the Ainu is the real autochthon in Japan or an immigrant from some quarter outside the Empire. Most of the Ainologists are rather inclined to the opinion that the Ainu himself is also an immigrant, though no other race prior to him had settled in Japan. But then there arises among scholars another disagreement, that about the original home of the race. Some hold the opinion that the Ainu came over to the Japanese islands from the north or the northwest, that is, from some coastal region of the Asiatic continent on the other side of the Sea of Japan. And there are not a few, too, who not only trace the origin of the race into the heart of Asia, but even go so far as to say that the Ainu came from the same cradle as the Caucasian race. Some go still further and localise the origin of the race more minutely, identifying the race as a branch of the protonordic race, akin to the modern Scandinavians. On the other hand there is a certain number of ethnologists, who entertain the opinion that the Ainu immigrated into Japan, from the south, and not from the north; but no specified locality in the south has yet been designated as the original home of the race. The last hypothesis seems, however, not to be untenable, when we consider that in historic times the Japanese drove the Ainu more and more northward, till the latter lost entirely its foothold in Hon-to, and was at last hemmed in within a small area in the island of Hokkaido and the adjacent islets. From this fact it can be imagined with some probability that the same direction of expansion might have been taken by the Ainu also in prehistoric times. The custom of tattooing, also, which can be very seldom seen among the northern Asiatic tribes, suggests to us, though faintly, the possibility of the existence of a certain kind of affinity between the Ainu and the inhabitants of the tropical regions. On the other hand, if we turn our attention to the outward features of the Ainu race, and remember that races very much resembling the Ainu are still lingering on the northeastern shores of Asia, the immigration from the northwest becomes not utterly improbable. Even the supposition that the Ainu belongs to the Aryan stock cannot be rejected as quite a worthless speculation, if the paleness of the complexion, the shape of the skull, and some other characteristic features be taken into account. In short, the ethnological uncertainty regarding the Ainu race is, in all likelihood, one of the principal causes of the obscurity concerning Japanese race-origins. Sometime in the future, I have no doubt, the racial riddle concerning the Ainu will be cleared from the haze in which it is now shrouded. Here, however, especially as I am not now treating of ethnology, I will avoid forming any hasty conclusion, and leave the question as it stands. Whether the Ainu be autochthonous or immigrant, and whatever be the original home of the race, if immigrant at all, the hairy people, it is true, once spread all over these islands, not in Hon-to only, but even to the southern end of the island of Kyushu. This can be proved by the pottery excavated in the provinces of Satsuma and Ohsumi, and also by several geographical names in Kyushu, the etymological origin of which may best be traced to an Ainu source. As a matter of fact, the Ainu had been gradually driven northward, and the island of Kyushu wrested from their hands, before the dawn of the historical age, leaving perhaps here and there patches of tribesmen, who were too brave or not speedy enough to flee before the advancing conquerors. And those remnants, too, after a faint survival of some generations, were at last subdued, exterminated, or swallowed up among the multitudes of the surrounding victorious race or races. Thus Shikoku, the island of the four provinces, and the southwestern part of Hon-to were evacuated by the Ainu before the end of the prehistoric age. When the curtain rises on Japanese history, we find the Ainu fighting hard against the Japanese in the north of Hon-to. We have here designated the vanquishers of the Ainu, for the sake of convenience, simply by the name of Japanese. Were they the Japanese in the same sense as the word is understood by us now? Were the vanquishers a homogeneous people, or a heterogeneous one? If the Japanese were heterogeneous, who were the first comers among them? Who were the most prominent? All these are questions very hard to answer clearly. It is sometimes argued that we had only one stock of people in Japan besides the Ainu, and that that stock is the homogeneous Japanese. This view is not avowed openly by any scholar worthy of mention, for it is an undeniable fact that in the historical ages groups of immigrants, intentional as well as unintentional, happened to drift into Japan now and then, not only from Korea and China, but from the southern islands also, though not in great numbers, and the occurrence of migrations similar to those in historic ages cannot be absolutely denied to prehistoric times. Besides, any one who pays even but cursory attention to the physical features of the Japanese can easily discern that, besides those who might be regarded as of a genuine Korean or Chinese type, there are many among them who have a physiognomy quite different from either the Korean or the Chinese, though one might be at a loss to tell exactly whether the tincture of the Malayan, Polynesian, or Melanesian blood is predominant. In face of such diversity, too clear to be neglected, none would be bold enough to assert that the Japanese has been a homogeneous race from the beginning. Strangely enough, however, this evidently untenable conception still lies at the bottom of many historical hypotheses, which will be set right in the future. If it is most probable that the Japanese is a heterogeneous race, then what are the elements which constitute it? The results of the investigation of many scholars tend to place the home of the bulk of the forefathers of the so-called Japanese in the northeast of the Asiatic continent. Perhaps, from the purely philological point of view, this assumption may be more approximate to the truth than any other. The singular position of the Japanese language in the linguistic system of the world leaves little room for the hypothesis that the bulk of the race came from the south, though it is not at all easy to derive it from the north. In our language we have very few words in common with those now prevailing in the islands which stud the sea to the south of Japan, or in the southern part of the Asiatic continent. On the other hand, the language the most akin to ours is the Korean, though the gap between it and the Japanese language is far wider than that between the Korean and the other continental languages, such as the Mongolian and the Manchurian. If we take, therefore, linguistic similarity as the sole test of the existence of racial affinity, as many scholars are prone implicitly to do, then the bulk of the Japanese must belong to a stock which stood at some time very near to the forefathers of the Koreans, though not descended from the Koreans themselves. In other words, the Japanese race may be supposed to have had as its integral part a stock of people, who might have lived side by side with the ancestors of the Koreans for a longer time than with other kindred tribes. And if that be really so, the Japanese must have separated from the Koreans long before the end of the prehistoric ages; otherwise we cannot account for so wide a divergence of the two languages as we see at present. It is a very dangerous feat, of course, to determine any ethnological question solely from a philological standpoint. For the sake of argument, however, let us assume for a while the hypothesis that the main element in the Japanese race came over from the northern Asiatic continent on the opposite shore of the Sea of Japan, by way, perhaps, of the peninsula of Korea and the island of Tsushima, or across the Sea of Japan. The ethnologists who adopt this view assume that the Chinese must be excluded from the above body of immigrants, the Chinese who were doubtlessly a far more advanced people even in those ages than the other neighbouring races, and were destined to become the most influential benefactors of Japanese civilisation. If regarded from the linguistic point of view only, it may be not at all unnatural thus to exclude the Chinese blood from the veins of our forefathers. In order to do so, however, it would be necessary at the same time to presuppose that the Chinese never came into close contact with the forefathers of the Japanese while the latter were sojourning on the Asiatic continent. It is not, of course, impossible to suppose that the ancestors of the greater part of the Japanese came over into this country without touching China anywhere, because they might have come from eastern Siberia, northern Manchuria, or some other quarter, narrowly avoiding coming into contact with the Chinese, though, actually, it is not a very easy matter to imagine such a case. Let us, then, drop all idea of the Chinese, and suppose that that race can be put aside in our consideration of the prehistoric Japanese without glaring unnaturalness. Still the question remains unsettled, whether the bulk of our ancestors from the continent contained within it the ruling class, who gave a unity to the heterogeneous population of this Island Empire. One would say that a certain stock among many, who had their abode in northeastern Asia, might have become predominant over the kindred people of various stocks settled previously in Japan. And the cause of the predominance may be supposed to have been a decided advance in civilisation on the part of the chosen stock. That is to say, the tribe in question might have been already in the iron age with respect to its civilisation, while other tribes were still lingering in the neolithic age. But in order to sustain this supposition, it is necessary to premise another assumption that the predominant stock was comparatively late in coming over to Japan, and that it had already attained the civilisation of the iron age before its immigration into Japan while the other inferior tribes remained at a standstill in their civilisation after settling in our country. Such an assertion, however, cannot be deemed probable without admitting that there was a considerable interruption of communication between Japan and the Asiatic continent before the immigration of the predominant stock. Otherwise it would be very difficult to entertain the idea that the civilisation of northeastern Asia could remain alien to the inhabitants of Japan for so long a time as to cause a wide difference in language, manners and customs, and so on, between the peoples on the two opposite shores of the Sea of Japan. Besides, to suppose that the forefathers of the greater portion of the Japanese people were immigrants from northeastern Asia, is, by itself, nothing but a hypothesis, supported by a few remains only, which can be interpreted in more than one way. To go one step farther, and assume that the ruling class of the Japanese too came over from the continental shore of the Sea of Japan is another matter, too uncertain to be readily accepted. Whatever degree of probability there may be in these assertions, there are certain items in our history to the natural interpretation of which any solution of all the ethnological problems must conform; and among those items the following are the most important. The first to be considered is the style of the Japanese building, especially the style of the Shinto shrines and of the dancing halls frequently attached to them. The architectural style of the ordinary Japanese house has undergone many successive changes during the long course of its history, so that its primitive form is now, to a great extent, lost. For instance, the _tatami_, a thick mat, which covers the floor of a Japanese room and is now one of the most remarkable characteristics of Japanese household fittings, is a comparatively modern invention, only planks having been originally used as the material for flooring. Buddhistic influences too can be traced distinctly in a certain turn of construction copied from China, first in building Buddhistic temples and then widely adopted in building ordinary dwelling-houses. In some essential points, however, there are several traits which cannot be ascribed either to an imitation of any continental style or to the result of a gradual adaptation to the climate. Any one can easily see that the ordinary Japanese house may be good for summer and for southern Japan, but not for winter, especially for the rigid winter of northern Japan. How did such a style come into being? If it had been brought from the northeast of the Asiatic continent by the ancient immigrants from those quarters, it should have been a style more adapted to the rigid climate of northern Japan, than we find it is. On the other hand, if it were an outcome of a natural development on the Japanese soil, it should have been one more adapted to the climate, as suitable for the winter as for the summer. Does it not amount almost to an absurdity, that the Japanese should still be following this ancient style of architecture in building their houses in Manchuria and Saghalen? Why do they cling to it so tenaciously? One would say, perhaps, that the architectural form of the ordinary Japanese house has undergone changes from various causes, so that one cannot fairly draw absolutely correct conclusions about the primitive dwellings of the ancient Japanese from its present condition. If that be so, let us take the style of the Shinto buildings into consideration. If it can be thought, with reason, that the Shinto building still best retains some of the characteristics of the primitive Japanese house, then the thatched roof of a peculiar construction with projecting beams at both ends of the ridge-pole, together with a highly elevated floor, the space between which and the ground serves sometimes as a cellar, cannot but suggest the existence of a certain relation between the primitive houses of Japan and those of the tropical regions lying to the south of Asia, such as the Dutch East Indian Archipelago and the Philippine Islands, or the southeastern coast of the Asiatic continent. The next point not to be neglected is rice as the staple food of the Japanese. Everybody knows that rice is a daily food stuff not only of the Japanese, but of the Chinese and many other Asiatic peoples. In the case of the inhabitants of northern China, however, other kinds of cereals are eaten as well as rice, as a natural consequence of the scanty production of the latter in those regions. And it is worthy of notice that even in southern China this cereal is eaten not as is customary in our country. There they eat rice as well as meat, or rather more meat than rice, while here in Japan meat and fish are mere ancillary foods, rice being the chief article of diet. What is the cause of this difference in the use of rice? Is Japan specially adapted for the production of this grain? Southern Japan of course is not unfit for the cultivation of the plant, viewed from the point of soil and warm climate only. But even there the rice crop is very uncertain on account of the September typhoons, which annually bring new wrinkles of anxious care on the weatherbeaten faces of our farmers. So _a fortiori_ rice does not conform to the climate of northern Japan, where the frost arrives often very early and the whole crop is thereby damaged, except a few precocious varieties. This explains the reason, why there have been repeated famines in that region, occurring so frequently that it can be said to be an almost chronic phenomenon. By the choice of this uncertain kind of crop as the principal food stuff, the Japanese have been obliged to acquiesce in a comparatively enhanced cost of living, which is a great drawback to the unfettered activity of any individual or nation. This is especially true of recent times, since the growth of the population has been constantly forging ahead in comparison with the increase of the annual production of rice. The tardiness of the progress of civilisation in Japanese history may, perhaps, be partly attributed to this fact. Then why did our forefathers prefer rice to other kinds of cereals, in spite of the uncertainty of its harvests? Was it really a choice made in Japan? If the choice was first made in this country, then the unwisdom of the choice and of the choosers is now very patent. On the other hand, to suppose that this choice was made by our ancestors in northeastern Asia during their sojourn in those regions is hardly possible. Moreover, the general use of rice in Japan has been constantly increasing. In old times the use of it was not so common among all classes of the people, though now it can be found everywhere in Japan. This fact also leads us to doubt the assumption that the cultivation of rice was initiated in Japan, or that it was brought by our ancestors from their supposed continental home in northeastern Asia. What thirdly claims our attention is the _magatama_, a kind of green bead, varying in size. It is one of the few ornaments peculiar to the ancient Japanese, though it does not seem probable that its material was naturally produced in our country. Without doubt our ancestors were very fond of this kind of bijouterie. It has been excavated in great numbers from old tombs, throughout the whole of historic Japan, and the sepulchral existence of the _magatama_ is now generally admitted by most Japanologists as an unmistakable token of a former settlement of the Japanese. It must, however, be remarked that, on the Asiatic continent, _magatama_ are found in southern Korea only, the region which once formed a part of the Japanese Empire. Surely it should have been discovered in northern Korea and on the Siberian coast of the Sea of Japan also, if our forefathers, inclusive of the ruling class, came over from northeastern Asia. It is very curious that nothing of the kind has been discovered as yet in those supposed original homes of the Japanese. The last item we must mention here is the _misogi_. The _misogi_ is an old religious custom of lustration by bathing in cold water. In a legend of our mythical age, there is an account of this antique ritual performed by two ancestral deities in a river in Kyushu, and this ritual has come down to our day, of course with some modifications. The custom of actually bathing in the water was afterward superseded by the throwing of effigies into a river, in the annual ceremony of praying publicly to deities. In medieval Japan this usage continued to be practised at a riverside in the summer; but it is almost extinct nowadays. On the other hand, not as a public ceremony, but as a method of individual self-purification, this custom of lustration is still practised by many pious persons. Almost entirely naked, even in the winter of northern Japan, they pour on themselves several bucketfuls of cold water, and thus purify themselves from head to foot, in order to attest a very special devotion to the deities to whom they pray. This custom of bathing with its religious signification is something that cannot find its likeness anywhere else, either in northeastern Asia, or in China, or in Korea. Whence, then, did the ancient Japanese get this unique custom? Would it not be natural to suppose the custom of bathing, including its religious use, to have originated in some quarter of the torrid regions of the earth than to speak of it as initiated in the frigid zone? All the four items mentioned above ought by all means to be interpreted adequately and naturally, whatever standpoint one may take in solving ethnological questions concerning the Japanese. The hypothesis that the bulk of our forefathers might have been immigrants from northeastern Asia, is, as already said before, by itself nothing but an assertion, supported mainly by the form of certain prehistoric pottery, which may possibly be interpreted otherwise, perhaps disadvantageously, too, for the assertion. We may accept the hypothesis as probable, taking into consideration the proximity of the supposed home of our ancestors to Japan. But it avails us not at all in interpreting the points which I have enumerated above. On the contrary, if we concur with the supposition that the ruling class, also, of the Japanese has its original home in the northeastern part of the Asiatic continent like the bulk of the race, then the interpretation of the aforesaid items would become more difficult. It is true that those who would like to derive the origin of the Japanese from northeastern Asia, do not absolutely deny the existence of a certain tropical element in the final formation of the Japanese race, but generally they think that the element must have been very insignificant. They would never go so far as to look to the element for the bulk of our forefathers or for the ancestors of the ruling class. If the tropical element be as insignificant as they suppose, then we should be naturally induced to imagine that those customs alien in their essential nature to the soil and climate of Japan were imported by those immigrants from the tropical South who, insignificant, not only in number, but also in influence, have, notwithstanding, taken a firm root in the historical and social life of the Japanese, struggling against the opposition of overwhelming odds, far more numerous, civilised, and powerful, an utterly impossible hypothesis. How then, did such an incongruous idea with its fatal conclusions come to be entertained by scholars? Because they have too great a faith in the power of civilisation, so-called, to decide the rise and fall of races in the primitive age. Those who would uphold the assumption of the northern origin of the Japanese, or at least of its ruling class, tacitly presuppose that the northeastern Asiatics of the prehistoric age were several steps ahead of the contemporary tropical peoples in the progress of civilisation, or at least that one of the many tribes of northeastern Asia was far superior to its neighbours as regards civilisation. Otherwise they think that a certain stock of people, which afterwards became the ruling class in Japan, had attained already the civilisation of the iron age while they were still on the continent, so that when they came over to Japan they would have been far more advanced than the people who had settled in Japan before them. Though it is but a conjecture, it is good so far as it goes. To deduce the domination over alien races simply from the superiority of the civilisation must be another thing. Even in modern times, sheer valour often tells more than superiority of arms in deciding the fate of battles. This must have been even more true in early ages. The empire of Rome was broken asunder by the semi-civilised Germans. In the East, China was repeatedly overrun by nomadic tribes far inferior to the Chinese in civilisation. What is true in this respect in historic times, must be particularly true in prehistoric ages. It is too superficial to think that a tribe in the stage of the iron age must necessarily conquer in fighting against other tribes knowing and using stone weapons only. In those ages it is strength, ferocity, courage, which tell decidedly more in fighting than any weapon. We need not therefore take much account of the state of civilisation among different primitive tribes in determining the origin of the Japanese race. On the other hand, we are in no wise bound to minimise the significance of the tropical element, in number as well as in influence, as regards the formation of the Japanese people. The remarkable differences in distance make it very natural to suppose that the immigrants from the tropical regions might have been less numerous than those from the north. Still it is not utterly improbable that a pretty substantial number of the Southerners might have come over into Japan, drifted over not only by the current but by the wind also, sometimes in groups, sometimes sporadically, and that they could subdue the inhabitants by force of martial courage yet unenervated and not by that of a superior civilisation only. The main difficulty in establishing this assertion lies in the fact that it is not quite certain whether they were really brave and heroic enough to achieve such a conquest. As to the linguistic consideration which is the favourite resort of many ethnologists it can be said that it is not more harmful to the one hypothesis than it is advantageous to the other. It is quite needless to argue that there is little sign of the existence of any linguistic affinity between the language of Japan and those of the tropical lands, except in a few words. This lack of linguistic affinity, however, can be explained away, while maintaining the importance of the ancient immigrants from the South, by considering that the ancestors of the ruling class, having been inferior as regards civilisation to the other stock or stocks of people whom they found already settled prior to them in Japan, and having been perhaps inferior in number also, gradually lost not only their language but many of their racial characteristics as well. Similar examples may be found in abundance in the history of Europe, the Normans in Sicily, and the Goths in Italy being among the most conspicuous. It is not impossible to suppose the like process to have taken place in Japan also. Summing up what is stated above, I cannot but think that the prehistoric immigrants into our country from the South were by no means a negligible factor in constituting the island nation, though the majority of immigrants might have come from the nearest continental shores, and in this majority it is not necessary to exclude the Chinese element altogether. It seems to me probable that southern Japan, especially the island of Kyushu, was inhabited in the prehistoric age by the Ainu, and by immigrants from the North as well as from the South side by side. But what was the relative distribution of these agglomerate races at a certain precise date is now a question very hard to settle definitely. CHAPTER III JAPAN BEFORE THE INTRODUCTION OF BUDDHISM AND CHINESE CIVILISATION Before entering into a description of the early history of Japan, it may be of some service to the foreign reader to learn when the authentic history of Japan begins. Generally it is not an easy matter to draw a distinct line of demarcation between the historic and the prehistoric age in the history of any country, and in order to get rid of this difficulty, an intermediate age called the proto-historic was invented by modern scholars, and has been in vogue up to now. It is true that, by making use of this term, one aim was surely attained, but two difficulties were thereby created in lieu of one dismissed. We were freed, indeed from the hard task of making a delicate discrimination between the historic and the prehistoric age, but at the same time we took up the burden of distinguishing the proto-historic age from both the historic and the prehistoric! And these new difficulties cannot be said to be easier to meet than the old, so that it may be doubted whether it was wise to intercalate the proto-historic age between the two, if the promotion of scientific exactitude was the main purpose of such an intercalation. A polygon, however the number of its sides be augmented, can never make a circle in the exact sense. I shall not, therefore, try to adhere scrupulously to the above-mentioned threefold division in discharging the task which I have undertaken. Let me turn then to the line of demarcation between the historic and the prehistoric age without troubling myself about the proto-historic. This line must be drawn by first making clear the signification of the historic age, and not by defining the term "prehistoric." What, then is the historic age? It may be defined as an age, the authentic history of which can, in a large measure, be ascertained, or as an age which has an historical record, contemporary and fairly reliable. It is to be regretted that we cannot dispense with such precautionary expressions as 'to a large measure' and 'fairly', but we cannot avoid retaining them, and therein lies the true difficulty of making an exact demarcation. Moreover, an age, the history of which was regarded at one time as impossible of being ascertained, often may become ascertainable as the result of ever-increasing discoveries of new materials as well as of the new methods of their deciphering. In other words, the demarcation, however conscientiously made at one time, is liable to be shifting, and the reason for the demarcation gradually changes _pari passu_. As the word prehistoric has now begun to be used independently of 'historic', the historic age may be better defined as an age which has a civilisation advanced enough to have a record of its own. So far a country may be said to be in an historic age, even at an epoch the historical sources of which are considered not to be extant anywhere, only if the standard of civilisation be high enough for that. Unless we adopt this definition, the line of demarcation may shift more and more into antiquity, as the result of ever-increasing discoveries of new materials as well as of the methods of their interpretation, and the demarcation itself will become of very little value. So far a country may be said to be in an historic age, even at an epoch the historical sources of which are considered not to be extant anywhere. But how can we know whether a country has reached a stage of civilisation advanced enough to have its own record? It is almost impossible to discover this point without resorting to authentic historical sources. And in order that we may so resort, those sources must be extant. In this way if we want to make the demarcation full of significance, we have to beg the question _ad infinitum_. In the history of Japan, too, what is said above holds true, and the demarcation, however dexterously made, will not assist much in the study of it. Among foreigners, however, the question how far can we go back with certainty in the history of Japan, is a very popular topic, and has been discussed with very keen interest. For the sake of elucidation, therefore, I will give a short account of the early chronicles concerning the history of our country. Among the old chronicles of Japan there are two which are especially conspicuous. The one is the _Kojiki_, the other the _Nihongi_. It is generally admitted that these two chronicles are the oldest extant and the most substantial of all the historical sources of ancient Japan. The compilation of the former was concluded in 712 A.D. by a savant called Oh-no-Yasumaro, while that of the latter was undertaken by several royal historiographers, and finished in 720 A.D. under the auspices of Prince Toneri. That the compilation of the two great chronicles took place successively in the beginning of the eighth century is one of the symptoms showing the dawning of the national consciousness of the Japanese, to which I shall refer in the following chapters. In their characteristics, these two chronicles differ somewhat from each other. The materials of the _Kojiki_ were first made legible and compiled by Hieta-no-Are, an intelligent courtier in the reign of the Emperor Temmu, and afterwards revised by the aforesaid Oh-no-Yasumaro. Considering that there was only a very short time left at the disposal of Yasumaro to spend in revising the work before dedicating it to the Empress Gemmyo, it can be safely concluded that Yasumaro did not try to make any great alteration, and the _Kojiki_ remained for the most part as it had been compiled by Hieta-no-Are. The other chronicle, the _Nihongi_, was finished eight years after the _Kojiki_, and submitted to the Empress by Prince Toneri, the president of the historiographical commission. If we suppose this commission to be a continuation of what was inaugurated by the royal order of the Emperor Temmu in the tenth year of his reign, then the commission may be said to have taken about forty years in compiling the chronicle. In some respects the _Kojiki_ may be regarded as one of the byproducts of the compilation, Hieta-no-Are being probably one of the assistants of the commission. The essential difference between the two chronicles is that the _Kojiki_ was exclusively compiled from Japanese sources, written by Japanese as well as by naturalized Koreans, and retained much of the colloquial form of ancient Japanese narrated stories, while in the case of the _Nihongi_ many Chinese historical works were consulted, and historical events were so arranged as to conform to what was stated in those Chinese records. Many _bon mots_, it is true, were often borrowed from ancient Chinese classics, and this ornamented and exaggerated style was often pursued at the expense of historical truth, and on that account most of the later historians of our country give less credit to the _Nihongi_ than to the _Kojiki_, though this scepticism about the former is somewhat undeserved. It is beyond question that the two chronicles mentioned above are the oldest historical works written in Japan, now extant. They are not, however, the earliest attempts at historical compilation in our country. Just a hundred years before the compilation of the _Nihongi_ was finished, the Empress Suiko, in the twenty-eighth year of her reign, that is, in 620 A.D. ordered the Crown Prince, known as Shôtoku, and Soga-no-Umako, the most influential minister in her court, to compile the chronicles of the imperial house, of various noted families and groups of people, and a history of the country with its provinces. If these chronicles had been completed and preserved to this day, they would have been the oldest we have. Unfortunately, however, by the premature death of the Crown Prince, the compilation was abruptly terminated, and what was partly accomplished seems to have been kept at the house of Soga-no-Umako, until it was burnt down by his son Yemishi, when he was about to be executed by imperial order in 645 A.D. Fragments of the archives, it is said, were picked up out of the blazing fire, but nothing more was ever heard of them. There is a version now called the _Kujiki_, and this has been misrepresented to be that very chronicle, which, it was feigned, was not really lost, but offered in an unfinished state to the Empress the next year after the death of prince Shôtoku. If this be true, the record which was burnt must have been one of several copies of the incomplete chronicle, which, as Euclid would say, is absurd! It is now generally agreed that the chronicle is spurious, though it may contain some citations from sources originally authentic. Whatever be the criticism on the chronicle _Kujiki_, there is no doubting the fact that the work of compiling a history was initiated in the reign of the Empress Suiko, and partly put into execution. Not only that. There might have been many other chronicles and historical manuscripts in existence anterior to the compilation of the _Nihongi_, and afterwards lost. In the _Nihongi_ are mentioned the names of the books which were consulted in the course of compilation. Among them may be found the names of several sets of the annals of a peninsular state called Kutara, various Chinese historical works, and a history of Japan written by a Korean priest. Some of the books are not named explicitly, and passages from them are cited as "from a book" merely, but we can easily perceive that they were mostly from Japanese records. So far I have spoken about chronicles which were compiled of set purpose as a record of the times and worthy to be called historical works. As to other kinds of manuscripts, for instance, various family records and fragmentary documents of various sorts, there might have been a considerable number of these, and it is probable that they were utilized by the compilers of the _Kojiki_ and of the _Nihongi_, though the latter mentions very few of such materials, and the former is entirely silent concerning its sources. The question then arises how this presumably large number of manuscripts came to be formed. We have no written character which may be called truly our own. All forms of the ideographs in use in our country were borrowed from China, intact or modified. And in ancient Japan an utter lack of knowledge of the Chinese characters prevailed for a long time throughout most classes of the people. If this were so, by whom were those documents transcribed? In the reign of the Emperor Richû, _circa_ 430 A.D., scribes were posted in each province to prepare archives, a fact which implies that the emperor and magistrates had their own scribes already. Who then were appointed as the scribes? To explain this I must turn for a while to the history of the Korean peninsula and its relations with China. Wu-ti, the most enterprising emperor of the Han dynasty, was the first to push his military exploration into the Korean peninsula, and from 107 B.C. onward the northern parts of the peninsula were successively turned into Chinese provinces. This was the beginning of the infiltration of Chinese civilisation into those regions. Afterwards on account of the internal disturbances of the Chinese empire, her grip on the conquered provinces became a little loosened, but at the beginning of the third century A.D. a strong independent Chinese state constituted itself on the east of the river Lyao, and Chinese influence thereby once more extended itself vigorously over the northern half of the peninsula: a new province was added to the south. In the districts which had thus become Chinese provinces, not only were governors sent from China, but a number of colonists must also have settled there, so that through them Chinese civilisation continued to infiltrate more and more, though very slowly, into the peninsula. This infiltration lasted till the middle of the fourth century, when the Chinese provinces in the peninsula were overrun and occupied by the Kokuri or the Koreans properly so called, who came from the northeast, and by this invasion of the barbarians the progress of civilisation in the peninsula was for a time obstructed. Still there might have remained a certain number of the descendants of the older Chinese colonists, and it is possible that they still retained some vestige of the civilisation introduced by their ancestors. The history of the peninsula at this period may be well pictured by comparing it to the history of Britain with its lingering Roman civilisation at the time of the Saxon conquest. It is just at the end of this period that Japan came into close contact with the peninsular peoples. It is almost impossible to ascertain from reliable sources how far back we can trace our connection with the peninsula. According to a chronicle of Shiragi, a state which once existed in the southeast of the peninsula, one of the Japanese invasions of that state is dated as early as 49 B.C. Since the value of the chronicle as historical material is very dubious, it is dangerous to put much faith in this statement at present. We may, however, venture to assume that in the first half of the third century A.D. the intercourse between Japan and Korea became suddenly very intimate. Japan invaded the peninsula more frequently than before, and our emissaries were despatched to the Chinese province established to the north of it. Nay, not only that, some of them penetrated into the interior of China proper, as far as the capital of Wei, and on the way back seem to have been escorted by a Chinese official stationed in the peninsular province. Memoirs by those Chinese who had thus opportunities of peeping into a corner of our country, were incorporated by Chen-Shou, a Chinese historian at the end of the third century, in his general description of Japan, a chapter in the _San-kuo-chih_, which has remained to this day one of the most valuable sources concerning the early history of our country. This intercourse between the peninsula and Japan, sometimes friendly and sometimes hostile, happened to be accentuated by the expedition of the Empress Jingu to Shiragi in the middle of the fourth century. Soon after this expedition, Chinese civilisation, which had achieved a considerable progress during the long Han dynasty, began to flow into Japan, and effected a remarkable change in both the social and the political life of our country. For just at this time the two northern states of the peninsula, Korea or Kokhuri and Kutara, advanced rapidly in their civilisation, so that a school to teach Chinese literature was founded in the former, while in the latter a post was instituted in the royal service for a man of letters. And Shiragi, another state in the south-eastern part of the peninsula, ceased to be a barrier to communication between those two peninsular states and Japan, as it had been before the expedition of the Empress. Among the boons conferred by the introduction of Chinese civilisation through the intermediation of the peninsular states, that which had had the most beneficial and enduring effect was the use of the written character. It cannot be said with certainty that the Chinese characters were totally unknown to the Japanese before the aforesaid expedition of the Empress. On the contrary, there are several indications from which we can surmise that they had chances to catch glimpses of the Chinese ideographs. It is beyond the scope of probability, however, to suppose that these ideographic characters were used by the Japanese themselves at so early a period, in order to commit to writing whatever might have pleased them to do so. At the utmost we cannot go further than to assume that certain immigrants from the peninsula, some of whom probably came over to this country before the expedition, as well as their descendants, might have used the Chinese ideographs. Among the immigrants some may have been of Chinese origin while others were of peninsular origin, but imbued with Chinese culture. But even in these cases the use of the characters must have been limited to recording their own family chronicles or simple business transactions. It can be believed, too, that the number of those who were acquainted with the written characters at that time was very small even among the immigrants themselves. It is needless to say that public affairs were not yet committed to writing. That up to the time of the expedition the standard of civilisation in the peninsular states stood not much higher than that of Japan may also account for the illiteracy which had continued so long. Shortly after the Empress Jingu's incursion into Korea the literary culture of the peninsular states rose suddenly to a higher standard than that of our country, and enabled them to send into Japan men versed in writing and reading Chinese characters. At the same time their immigration was encouraged by the Japanese emperors, and some of the literati were enlisted into the imperial service. As Japan had at that time a quasi-caste system, everybody pursuing the profession which he had inherited from his forefathers, and people belonging to the same profession forming a group by themselves, several groups were thus formed, which made reading and writing their exclusive profession. Almost all the scribes appointed in the reign of the Emperor Richû must have belonged to one of the families in those groups. As a matter of course members of the imperial family and those belonging to the aristocracy began in process of time to be initiated in the elements of Chinese literature; but still, writing, as a business, continued to be entrusted to the members of the groups of the penman's craft, and they, too, rejoiced in monopolising posts and professions which could not dispense with writing, as secretaries, councillors, notaries, and ambassadors to foreign countries, and the like. Naturally chroniclers and historians were to be found solely among them, and there remains little doubt that far the greater part of the historical manuscripts consulted by the compilers of the _Nihongi_ were written by those professional scribes. It is not much to be wondered at that the art of writing was entrusted to certain groups of people, while the dominant class in general remained illiterate. What is most strange is that such a condition could continue for a very long time in our country, the learned groups, who had, in their hands, the key of public and private business, being subjected to the rule of the illiterate. Could it not be explained by supposing that the ruling class of ancient Japan, though destitute of book education, yet was endowed with natural abilities, which were more than enough to cope with the literary culture of that time? If otherwise, then their prestige should have been easily shaken by the class of literati within a short interval. It is to be regretted that we have very few sources to prove positively the ability and attainments peculiar to the Japanese of that time, but this long continuance of the illiteracy of the ruling class may serve as a negative proof, that at least the ruling class was a gifted people, more gifted than was to be surmised from their illiteracy. Here the reader would perhaps ask, must the condition of ancient Japan remain shrouded in mystery forever? Will it be utterly impossible to know something positive about it? On the contrary, however vague, uncertain, and incredible legends and sources concerning them may be, still we may extract some positive knowledge from our scanty and often questionable materials, so as to obviate the necessity of groping hopelessly in the dark. That the ancient Japanese were averse from any kind of pollution, physical as well as mental, can be unmistakably perceived, evidence being too prevalent in numerous legends, and it can also be attested by many manners and customs preserved until the later ages. This is the real essence of future Shintoism. About the rite of the _misogi_, or bathing, I have already spoken in the foregoing chapter. Wanting literary education, they did not know what hypocrisy was, and were quite ignorant of the art of sophistication. Being utterly naïve, it was not uncommon that they erred in judgment. But once aware of their fault, they could not help going to lustrate themselves and make atonement, in order to get rid of sin. Warlike and superbly valiant, they were very far from being vindictive. Traits of cruelty are hardly to be found in the mythological and legendary narratives. The ancient Japanese were, we have good reason to believe, more humorous than the modern Japanese. The description of Japan in the _San-kuo-chih_ furnishes many interesting data besides what I have stated above. We learn from it that our ancestors were not in the least litigious, and thieves were rare. Transgressors of the law were punished with confiscation of wives and children. In case of the more serious crimes, not only the criminal but his dependents also were subjected to severe penalties. Women were noted for their chastity. Elders were respected, and instances of longevity sometimes reckoning a hundred years of age were not rare. Augury was implicitly believed in, and when people were at a loss how to decide in public affairs as well as in private, they used to set fire to the shoulder bone of a deer, and by the cleavage thereby produced, divined the will of the deities. When they had to set out for a long voyage, they accompanied a man, who took upon himself the whole responsibility for the safety of the voyage and the health of all on board, by subjecting himself to a hard discipline, and leading a very ascetic life. If any of the crew fell ill, or the tranquillity of the voyage was disturbed, he was called on to put his life at stake. Periodical markets used to be opened in several provinces, where commodities were exchanged. Tribute was paid by the people in kind. Cattle and horses were rarely to be seen. Though iron was known in making weapons, yet arms made of other materials such as bone, bamboo, flint, and so forth were still to be found in use here and there. Such was the state of our country as witnessed by Chinese visitors in the first half of the third century A.D. Their observations might not have been very accurate, but they strangely coincide in general with conclusions which could be drawn from Japanese sources. The author of the _San-kuo-chih_, moreover, says that there was a great resemblance in manners and customs between Japan and the island of Hai-nan on the southern coast of China. This assertion may be highly suggestive as to the ethnological study of Japan. An ancient custom of Japan called _kugatachi_, a kind of ordeal to prove one's innocence by dipping a hand into boiling water and taking out some article therefrom unhurt, is said to have been practised by the people of Hai-nan too. To believe hastily, however, in a racial connection between the Japanese and the inhabitants of Hai-nan is a very dangerous matter. Another fact that cannot be overlooked in the Chinese narratives is a passage concerning the continual warfare in Japan, though only a short description of it is given in them. In the preceding chapter I have spoken about the heterogeneity of the Japanese as a race. Among the various racial factors, however, none was able to keep for a long time its racial independence and separateness from the bulk of the Japanese except the Ainu. Other minor factors were lost in the chaotic concourse of races or swallowed up in the midst of the most powerful element. Even the Kumaso, who were once the strongest element in the island of Kyushu, succumbed to the arms of the Japanese not long after the peninsular expedition of the Empress Jingu. The Ainu, too, intermingled with the dominant race wherever circumstances were favourable to such a union. Having been the predecessors of the Japanese, however, in the order of settling in this country, and having moreover been the next most powerful race to it, the Ainu only have been able to retain their racial entity, though continuously decreasing in numbers, up to the present time. In the long history of the antagonism between the Japanese and the Ainu, which covers more than a thousand years, the Ainu were on the whole the losing party, retreating before the Japanese. Surely, however, they must have made a stubborn resistance now and then. That they formerly occupied the island of Kyushu, we know from the archæological remains. But, from reliable historical records, we cannot know anything certain about the race, until the time when they are to be found fighting against the Japanese in the northern part of Hon-to. Still it is beyond doubt, that there must have been not a few intervening phases, and one of the phases, which is important, coincides with the period when the visit of the Chinese officials took place. Most of the countries of the world may be divided into two or more parts, the people of each of which differ from those of the others in mental and physical traits. Boundary lines in this case generally conform to the geographical features of the land, but not necessarily so always. If we have to draw lines dividing the island of Hon-to in accordance with linguistic considerations, it is more natural to divide it first into two rather than into three or more parts, and the dividing line here is not the most conspicuous geographical boundary. The line begins on the north at a spot near Nutari, on the Sea of Japan, a little eastward of the city of Niigata in the province of Yechigo, and after running vertically southward, on the whole keeping to the meridian of 139° 1/3 E. till it reaches the southern boundary of the province, it turns abruptly to the west along the boundary between Yechigo and Shinano, which lies nearly on the latitude 36° 5/6 N.; and then it runs again toward the south along the western boundary of the provinces Shinano and Tôtômi, which is almost identical with the meridian 137° 1/2 E. This is of course an average line drawn from several linguistic considerations, such as accentuation, dialectic peculiarities and the like, but at the same time, besides the linguistic differences there are other kinds noticeable on both sides of the line. It would not therefore be very wide of the mark, if we adopt this line as a boundary dividing Hon-to with regard to the difference in the standard of the civilisation in general. No other line drawn on the map of Japan can divide it in such a way as to make one part so distinctly different from the other. If the reader will glance at the map, he can easily see that the line does not well agree with the geographical features, especially in those parts running vertically southward. No insurmountable natural barrier can be found, particularly on the Pacific coast. Consequently the best interpretation of the boundary line must come not from geography, but from history. Not only in the case of Japan, but in Western countries too, broad rivers or big mountain chains do not necessarily form the lines of internal and external division. The great Balkan range could not hinder the Bulgarians of East Roumelia from uniting with their brethren to the north of the mountain. The Rhine, the most historic river in the world, has never in reality been made a boundary between France and Germany which could last for long, and the antagonism of the two countries, which has continued for many centuries, is the result of the earnest but hardly realisable desire on both sides to make the river a perpetual boundary. More than that, even inside Germany the Rhine joins rather than divides the regions on both sides of it. Take again for example the boundary between England and Scotland. If we follow merely the geographical conditions, we may shift the boundary line a little northward, or perhaps southward too, with better or at least equal reason. In order to account for the present boundary, we cannot but look back into the history of the district, from the age of the Picts and Britons downward. If it had been a dividing line of shorter duration dating only from the Middle Ages, it would not have been able to maintain itself so long, and the differences of not only dialects but of temperament and various mental characteristics would not have been so decisive. We have no Picts-wall, no limes in our country, but the boundary line delineated above divides Japan into two parts, the one different from the other in various ways, more remarkably than could be effected by drawing any other boundary line elsewhere. Then where lies the reason which makes the Ainu line so significant? It must be attributed to the fact that the line stood for many centuries as a frontier of the Japanese against the Ainu. In other words, the Ainu must have made the most stubborn resistance on this line against the advancing Japanese. Japan had to become organised and consolidated in a great measure, so as to be called a well-defined entity, before the Japanese could penetrate beyond the line to the east and north. The exploration of Northern Japan is the result of this penetration and of the infiltration of the civilisation which had come into being in the already compact south. Thus the difference between the two parts grew to be a clearly perceptible one. In some respects it can be well compared to the difference between Cape Colony and the two states, the Transvaal and the Orange Free State, which were formed by the emigrants from the former. The fortress of Nutari had been for a long time the outpost of the Japanese against the Ainu on the side of the Sea of Japan. With this fortress as a pivot the boundary line gradually turned toward the north, pushed forward by the arms of the Japanese. The movement must have been made at a very unequal pace in different ages, and where the progress was very slow or stopped short and could not go on for a long time, there we may draw another boundary line, thus marking several successive stages. Politically to efface the significance of these lines was thought to be necessary for the unification of the Empire by the Emperors and their ministers in successive ages, and in that respect more than enough has been achieved by them. Apart from political considerations, however, those lines, which mark the boundaries in successive phases, are almost perceptible to this day. And none of those lines is so full of meaning as the one which I have emphasised above. At first sight it would seem strange that while the fortress of Nutari remained stationary as an outpost for a very long time, there cannot be found any corresponding spot on the Pacific side east of the line. But the difficulty may be cleared away easily, if one thinks of the fact that the line was moved on more swiftly to the right than to the left where the fort Nutari was situated. In the first half of the third century after Christ the Japanese were still fighting on the line against the Ainu. And the time when the Chinese officials came over to this country falls in the same period. In the description given in the _San-kuo-chih_ the names of about thirty provinces under the suzerainty of the court of Yamato are mentioned, to identify all of which with modern names is a very difficult and practically a hopeless task. But this much is certain, that none of them could have denoted a province east of the line. Moreover, we can tell from a passage in the same work that the war with the Ainu at that time had been a very serious one for our ancestors, for it is stated that the course of the war was reported to the Chinese official stationed in the peninsular province by the Japanese ambassador despatched there. Turning to the southwestern part of Japan, it cannot be said that the whole island of Kyushu was already at the disposal of the Emperor of that time. In the region which roughly corresponds with the province of Higo, a tribe called the Kumaso defied the imperial power, and continued to do so to an age later than the period of which I have just spoken. It was perhaps not earlier than the middle of the fourth century that their resistance was finally broken. South of the Kumaso, there lived another tribe called the Haito in the district afterwards known as the province of Satsuma. Some of the tribesmen were wont to serve as warriors in the army of the Emperor from very early times, especially in the imperial bodyguard. Still the imperial sway could not easily be extended to their home. The last insurrection of the Haito tribe is recorded to have happened at the end of the seventh century. That these southern tribes were subdued more easily than the Ainu on the north, may be attributed to the fact that their numbers were comparatively small, and that they might have been more akin in blood to the important element of the Japanese race than the Ainu were. CHAPTER IV GROWTH OF THE IMPERIAL POWER. GRADUAL CENTRALISATION It is a privilege of historians to look back. By looking back I do not mean judging the past from the standpoint of the present. Though it is quite obvious that past things should be valued first by the standards of the age contemporaneous with the things to be valued, it would be a great mistake, if we supposed that the duty of historians was fulfilled when they could depict the past as it was seen by its contemporaries. Historians are by no means bound to adhere to the opinions of the ancients in judging of what happened in the past. How a past thing was viewed and valued by its contemporary is in itself an important historical fact, which must be subjected to the criticism of historians. Not only to have a clear idea of the views held by the people of a certain period as regards contemporaneous events, a task which is not hopelessly difficult though not very easy, but also to know why such and such views happened to be held by those people at that time, is a duty far more important and difficult to discharge. Historians ought, besides, to make clear the absolute value of such views and the effects of them on the age in question as well as on the period that followed. However necessary it may be to be acquainted with the thoughts and beliefs of former generations, it is not indeed incumbent upon us to believe blindly what was believed in the past and to think on the same lines as was thought by the ancients. Who would not laugh at our folly, for example, if we should consider the whale of old times to have been a kind of fish, simply because the ancients did not know it to be a species of mammalia, though by such a supposition we might perhaps be very loyal to the old beliefs? As the result of investigations over long years, many things that have been held to be totally different by ancient peoples have been found to be similar to one another, nay, sometimes just the same. On the other hand, there have not been wanting examples in which essential differences, though considerable in reality, have been overlooked or thought to be negligible, and first discerned only after the researches of hundreds of years. In uncivilised times, generally speaking, men were rather quick to observe outward and superficial distinctions, while very slow to discover internal and essential variations. There was a time in the far-off days of yore, both in the East and in the West, when some people held themselves to be unique and chosen, and regarded others, who were apparently not as they were and spoke languages different from their own, to be decidedly inferior in civilisation to themselves, or to be more akin to beasts than to human beings. Were the Japanese then at the beginning of their history different from other peoples at a similar stage of development, or were they unique from the first? To give too definite an answer to such a question is always a mistake. Our forefathers were certainly different from other peoples in certain respects, but they had much in common with others too. To be unique is very interesting to look at, but it does not follow necessarily that what is unique is always worthy of admiration. Uniqueness is an honour to the possessor of that quality only when he is inimitably excellent on that account. On the other hand, to possess much of what is common to many is far from being a disgrace. Among things which are not unique at all may be found those which have universal validity, and are by no means to be despised as commonplace. Our forefathers had not a few precious things which were singular to themselves, but at the same time they had much in common with outsiders too, and by that possession of common valuables, the history of Japan may rank among those of civilised nations, being not only interesting but also instructive. By the Japanese of later ages it was supposed that all people outside historic Japan were radically different from themselves, thus forgetting that their own ancestors had been of mixed blood. This proves, by the way, how easily the process of amalgamation and assimilation of different races was accomplished in ancient Japan. There was hardly a tinge of racial antipathy among our forefathers of old. Parallel with the sense of discrimination against other people, which must have been founded on the perception of superficial differences and on that account not deep-rooted, there prevailed among them an ardent love for all sorts of things foreign, and they extended a hearty welcome to all the successive immigrants into Japan, from whatever quarter of the world they might come. Far from being maltreated, these immigrants were not only allowed to pursue their favourite occupations of livelihood, but were even entrusted with several important posts in the government and in the Imperial Household. Our forefathers did not hesitate, too, to import sundry foreign, especially Chinese, customs and institutions, with or without alteration. Such spontaneous importation readily accomplished, evidently implies that Japan was considered by the ancient Japanese to have had much in common with China, so that the same ways of living might be followed, and similar legislation might be put into practice here as well as there. More than that. Our ancestors naïvely believed themselves able to see the same effects produced by the same legislation here as in China, like ignorant farmers, who sometimes foolishly expect to be able to reap the same harvests by sowing the same kinds of seed, forgetting the differences in the nature of the soil. So eager were they to transplant everything foreign into Japan. At the present time, there are similarly many who think that things foreign can be planted in this country so as to bear the same fruit as in their original homes, and who therefore would try to import as many as possible. The only difference between them and the ancient Japanese lies in the fact that their preferences are for things European instead of things Chinese. Now-a-days the Japanese are frequently described as a people who entertain an inveterate antagonism to foreigners. Can such an opinion hold ground in the face of the indisputable evidence of Japan's importation of so many foreign things, material as well as spiritual? Returning to the point, did Japan become a country resembling China, as was wished by the Sinophil Japanese of old times? On the contrary, the uniqueness, which lay at the foundation of the political and social life of our country, was not thereby much impaired. Even now it is clear to everybody that Japan is not behind any other country in possessing what is unique. It must be borne in mind, however, that what the ancient Japanese thought to be sufficient to distinguish themselves from other people was not the same as that which makes the modern Japanese think their country to be unique. At the same time it can be said that ancient Japan, while unique in some respects, was in a similar condition, social and political, as other countries were at a similar stage of their civilisation. What, then, was the state of Japan in the beginning of her history? It is this which I am going to describe. In a foregoing chapter I stated that the Japanese, whatever ethnological interpretation be given to them, can hardly be considered as autochthons. Most probably the greater part of them was descended from immigrants; in other words, their forefathers were the conquerors of the land. What then was the chief occupation of these conquerors? To this question various answers have been already given by different historians. Some hold that agriculture was the main occupation to which our ancestors looked for a living, while others maintain that they chiefly depended for subsistence on more unsettled sorts of occupation, that is, on hunting or fishing. All that can be ascertained is that the forefathers of the Japanese did not lead, at least in this country, a nomadic life, so that both cattle and horses were rare or almost unheard of in very ancient times. It is very probable, too, that in whatever occupation the original Japanese might have been chiefly engaged, they must have been also acquainted with the elements of agriculture at the same time. No reliable evidence, however, can be found to answer this question. In this respect the certitude of the early history of Japan falls far short of that of the German tribes, which, though not civilised enough to have left records of their own, were yet fortunate enough to be described by writers of more civilised races, especially by the Romans. Early Japan seems not to have had as intimate an intercourse with China as the early Germans had with Rome, so that we have great difficulty in ascertaining any details about social and political conditions as well as the modes of life of the ancient Japanese, in the same way as that in which we are acquainted with the early land-system of the Germans, their methods of fighting, and so forth. As to the land-system of early Japan, almost nothing is known about it until the introduction of the Chinese land-distribution procedure in the first half of the seventh century. We cannot ascertain whether there was anything which might be compared with the early land-system of the Teutons. The introduction of the elaborate organisation of the T'ang dynasty into our country may be interpreted in two ways. It may be assumed that a land-distribution similar to that of the Chinese had already existed in Japan, and that this facilitated the introduction of the foreign methods, which were of the same type but more highly developed, or we may deny the previous existence of any such arrangement in our country, reasoning from the fact that the newly introduced foreign system could not take deep root in our country on account of its incompatibility with native traditions. What, however, we can state with some degree of certainty concerning the early history of Japan, prior to the introduction of Chinese institutions, is that the people, or rather groups of people, figured in the social system as objects of possession quite as much as did landed property. The land of Japan, so far as it had been conquered and explored by our forefathers up to the Revolution of the Taikwa era in the first half of the seventh century, consisted of the imperial domains and the private properties held by subjects by the same right as that by which the emperor held his domains. In other words, the relation of the emperor with his subjects was not through lands granted to the latter by the former, but was a personal relation. The idea of vassalage due to the holding of crown lands seems not to have been entertained by the early Japanese. From the point of view of the free rights of the landholders, ancient Japan resembles early German society. Only the way which the tenant took possession of his land can not be ascertained so definitely as in the case of allod-holding in Europe. There is no doubt, however, that not only land but persons also formed the most important private properties. Needless to say, people who dwelt on private land were _ipso facto_ the property of the landowner. Without any regard to land a seigneur of early Japan could own a certain number of persons, and in that case the land inhabited by them naturally became the property of their master. The Emperor, who was the greatest seigneur as the owner of vast domains and of a large number of persons, ruled at the same time over many other seigneurs, the big freeholders of land and serf. It may be supposed also that there might have been many minor freemen besides, who were not rich enough to possess sufficient serfs to cultivate their grounds for them and, therefore, were obliged to support themselves by their own toil. Nothing positive is known, however, about them, if they ever really existed. The right of a seigneur over his clients was almost absolute, even the lives and chattels of his clients being at his disposal, though the seigneur himself lay under the jurisdiction of the Emperor. Some of the seigneurs were men of the same race as the imperial family, their ancestors having helped in the conquest of the country. Others were scions of the imperial family itself. It is very probable, nevertheless, that no insignificant portion of this seigneur class was of a blood different from that of the imperial family, having sprung from the aboriginal race, or from immigrants other than the stock to which the imperial family belonged. The extent of the land over which a seigneur held sway, was in general not very great, so that it cannot be fairly compared with any modern Japanese province or _kuni_. Side by side with these seigneurs who were lords of their lands, there was another class of seigneurs, who were conspicuous, not, strictly speaking, on account of the land which they _de facto_ possessed, but on account of their being chieftains of certain groups of people. Some of these groups were formed by men pursuing the same occupation. Groups thus formed were those of fletchers, shield-makers, jewellers, mirror-makers, potters, and so forth. Performers of religious rites, fighting-men, and scribes, too, were grouped in this class. It must be especially noticed that groups of men-at-arms and of scribes contained a good many foreign elements, far more distinctly than other groups. Scribes, though their profession as a craft was of a higher and more important nature than others, were, as was explained in the last chapter, exclusively of foreign blood. On account of this there was more than one set of such immigrants, and we had in Japan several groups of scribes. As to soldiers or men-at-arms, those who served in the first stage of the conquest of this country must have been of the same stock as the conquering race. Later on, however, quite a number of men who were not properly to be called Japanese, as, for example, the Ainu and the Haito, began to be enlisted into the service of the Emperor, and notwithstanding their difference in blood from that of the predominant stock, their fidelity to the Emperor was almost incomparable, and furnished many subjects for our old martial poems. All these were groups organised on the basis of the special professions pursued by the members of each respective group, although many of the groups might consist eventually of persons of homogeneous blood. Besides these groups there was another kind based solely on identity of blood, that is to say, on the principle of racial affinity. When we examine the circumstances of the formation of such groups, we generally find that a body of immigrants at a certain period was constituted as a group by itself by way of facilitating the administration. Sometimes several bodies of immigrants, differing as to the period of immigration, were formed into one large corps. In the corps thus formed, there would have naturally been people of various occupations, connected only by blood relationship. The third kind of group was quite unique in the motive of its formation. It was customary in ancient times in Japan to organise a special group of people in memory of a certain emperor or of some noted member of the imperial family. This happened generally in the case of those personages who died early and were much lamented by their nearest relations. Sometimes, however, a similar group was formed in honour of a living emperor. As it was natural that groups thus formed paid little attention to the consanguinity of their members, it is presumable that they might have consisted of persons of promiscuous racial origin. On the other hand, it is also clear that there could be no necessity for conglomerating intentionally men of heterogeneous racial origin in order to effect a mixture of blood between them. Such a motive is hardly to be considered as compatible with the spirit of the age in which the scrutinising of genealogies was an important business. Added to this, the organisation of a group out of people of different stocks would have incurred the danger of making its administration exceedingly difficult. As to the profession pursued by persons belonging to such a group, any generalisation is difficult. Some groups might have been organised mainly from the need of creating efficient agricultural labour, in order to provide for the increasing necessity of food stuffs; in other words, from the need for the exploration of new lands. Other memorial groups might have been formed for the sake of providing for the need of various kinds of manual labour, and must have contained men of divers handicrafts and professions, so as to be able to provide for all the daily necessities of some illustrious personage, to whom the group was subject. When men of promiscuous professions formed a group and produced sundry kinds of commodities, the custom of bartering must have naturally arisen within it, but the stage of bartering in a market, periodically opened at a certain spot, such as is described in the _San-kuo-chih_, must have been the result of a gradual development. Moreover, it would be a too hasty conclusion to say that such a group was a self-providing economic community. On the other hand, to suppose that such a group was a corporation something like the guilds of medieval Europe would be absurd. Though the members of a guild suffered greatly under the oppression of its master, still no relation of vassalage is recognisable in the system. In old Japan, however, men grouped in the manner described above belonged to the chieftain of that group, that is to say, they were not only his subjects but his property, to be disposed of at his free will. As to the groups which pursued a special craft, I do not deny the existence of the practice of bartering between them. In a society in the stage of civilisation of old Japan, no one could exist without some sort of bartering, and the ruling hand was not so strong and rigorous as to be able to prohibit an individual of the group from exchanging the work of his hands with those of men of neighbouring groups, even when the lord of the group wished contrariwise. And it must be kept in mind that though a member of the group of a special profession pursued that profession as his daily business, yet he must have been engaged in agricultural work also, tilling the ground, presumably in the midst of which his house stood. Agricultural products thus raised could perhaps not cover all the demands of his family for subsistence. But, on the other hand, that all the victuals they required were supplied by barter or by distribution on the part of the chieftain of the respective group is hardly to be imagined. A group pursuing the same occupation was of course not the only one allowed to pursue it, nor was their habitation limited to one special locality. In other words, there were many groups which were engaged in the same occupation, and those groups had their residence in different provinces. It is not clear whether all the groups pursuing the same craft were under the jurisdiction of a common chieftain. The fact is certain, however, that many groups engaged in the same craft often had a common chieftain, notwithstanding their occupying different localities. The chieftain of a group was sometimes of the same blood as the members of the group, as in the case where the group consisted of homogeneous immigrants. The chieftains of immigrant craft-groups, the number of which was very much limited in this country, belonged to this category. Sometimes, however, the chieftain of such a craft-group was not of the same stock as the members of the group under him, though the latter might be of homogeneous blood. This was especially the case when a group was that of arms-bearers composed of Ainu or Haito. These valiant people were enlisted into a homogeneous company, but they were put under the direction of some trustworthy leader, who was of the same racial origin as the imperial family or who belonged to a race subjected to the imperial rule long before. Lastly, in the case where a group was a memorial institution, it is probable that the chieftain was nominated by the emperor without regard to his blood relationship to the members of the group under him. Summing up what is stated above at length, there were two kinds of seigneurs who were immediately under the sovereignty of the Emperor; the one was the landlord, and the other was the group-chieftain. It is a matter of course that the former was at the same time the chieftain of the serfs who peopled the land of which he was the lord, while the latter was the lord _de facto_ of the land inhabited by himself and his clients, so that there was virtually very little difference between them. As regards their rights over the land and the people under their power it was equally absolute in both cases. The principal difference was that the right of the former rested essentially on his being the lord of the land, and that of the latter on his being the chieftain of the people. How did such a difference come into existence? The fact that there were many landlords who were not of the same stock as the imperial family, might be regarded as a proof that they were descendants of the chiefs who held their lands prior to the coming over of the Japanese, or, more strictly, before the immigration of the predominant stock. They acquiesced afterwards in, or were subjected to, the rule of the Japanese, but the relation between the Emperor and these landlords was of a personal nature, and the right of the latter over their own land remained unchanged. Later on many members of the imperial family were sent out to explore new lands at the expense of the Ainu, and they generally installed themselves as masters of the land which they had conquered. These new landlords assumed, as was natural, the same power as that which was possessed by the older landlords mentioned above. The power of the imperial family was thus extended into a wider sphere by the increase in the number of the landlords of the blood royal, but at the same time the power of the Emperor himself was in danger of being weakened by the overgrowth of the branches of the Imperial family. As to the chieftains of groups, they must have been of later origin than the landlords, for to be a virtual possessor of land only as the consequence of being chieftain of the people who happened to occupy the land shows that the relation between the people and the land inhabited by them was the result of some historical development. Moreover, the grouping of people according to their handicrafts must be a step far advanced beyond the pristine crowding together of people of promiscuous callings. It is also an important fact which should be taken into consideration here again that the greater part of the craft-groups consisted of immigrants. From all these data we may safely enough assume that the chieftains who were at first placed at the head of a certain group of people perhaps came over to this country simultaneously with the predominant stock, or came from the same home at a time not very far distant from that of the migration of the predominant stock itself, and that they distinguished themselves by their fidelity to the emperor; in short, these chieftains might have been mostly of the same racial origin as the imperial family, except in the case of groups formed by peninsular immigrants of later date. The increasing organisation of such groups, therefore, must have led to the aggrandizement of the power of the imperial family; but there was, of course, the same fear of a relaxation of the blood-ties between the emperor and the chieftains akin in blood to him. Such are the general facts relating to the social and political life of Japan before the seventh century. If its development had continued on the lines described above, the ultimate result would have been the division of the country among a large number of petty chieftains, heterogeneous in blood and in the nature of the power which they wielded, and with very relaxed ties between themselves and the emperor. We can observe a similar state of things even today among several uncivilised tribes, for example, among the natives of Formosa and in many South Sea Islands. Japan, however, was not destined to the same fate. How then did it come to be consolidated? Centralisation presupposes a centre into which the surroundings may be centralised. This centre or nucleus for centralisation may be an individual or a corporate organism. As regards the latter, however, in order to become a nucleus of centralisation, it must be solidly organised, which is only possible in an advanced stage of civilisation. For Japan in the period of which I am speaking, such a centre could create only a very loose centralisation, which could be broken asunder very easily. To have Japan strongly centralised, it was necessary for her to have an individual, that is to say the Emperor, as a nucleus of centralisation. We have seen the process by which the predominant stock of the Japanese grew in power and influence, as well by exploring new lands and installing there men of their own stock as lords, as by organising more and more new groups out of the immigrants who came over to this country, and, perhaps, also out of a certain number of autochthons. Within the predominant stock itself the imperial family was no doubt the most influential. Most of the new landlords were recruited from the members of that family, and many memorial groups were instituted in their honour and for their sakes. Stretches of land which were exploited by these clients and on that account stood under the rule of the family increased gradually. Such an estate was called _miyake_, which meant a royal granary, a royal domain. The number of these domains constantly grew as time went on. Not only in the neighbourhood of the province of Yamato, in which the emperors of old time used to have their residence, but also in several distant provinces new _miyake_ were organised. It is no wonder that they were more generally instituted in the western provinces, especially in the coastal provinces of the Inland Sea and in the island of Kyushu rather than in other directions, because it was natural that the imperial house, which is said to have had its first foothold in the west, should have had a stronger influence in those parts than in provinces close to lands still retained by the Ainu and not yet occupied by the Japanese. Still it is a credit to the power of the imperial house that in the first half of the seventh century, we can already find such royal domains in the far eastern provinces of Suruga and Kôtsuke. The method of increasing the _miyake_ was not limited to the exploitation only of new ground previously uncultivated. Some of the chieftains were loyal enough to present to the emperor a part of their own dominions or a portion of their clients, with or without the lands inhabited by them. Confiscation, too, was a method often resorted to, when the crimes of some of the landlords, such as complicity in rebellion, insult to high personages of the imperial family, and so forth, merited forfeiture. Sometimes there were penitents who made presents of their lands or people, in order either not to lose or to regain the royal favour. In these sundry ways the imperial family was enabled to increase its domains to a very large extent, domains which, it should be noted, were cultivated mostly by groups of immigrant people, generally superintended by capable men of the same groups who knew how to read, write and make up the accounts of the revenue. This increase in number of _miyake_ was in itself the increase of the wealth of the imperial family, and the increase of its power at the same time. It is a matter of course that such growth of the imperial family contributed largely to the increase of the imperial power itself, and was therefore a step toward centralisation. With a family as centre, however, a strong centralisation was impossible at a time when there was no definite regulation concerning the succession. The law of primogeniture had not yet been enacted. Princesses were not excluded from the order of succession. In such an age too strong a centralisation with the family as its nucleus, if it had been possible, could only have been a cause of constant internal feuds. The interests of certain members of the imperial family might have come into collision with those of the reigning Emperor, and indeed such clashes were not rare. Besides this weakness which was like a running sore in the process of centralisation, there was another great drawback to the growth of the imperial power. This was the increase in power and influence of certain chieftains. At first there were many chieftains of nearly equal power, and as none among them was influential enough to lord it over all the others, it was not very difficult for the imperial family to avail itself of the rivalry that prevailed among them and to control them accordingly. Some families among the chieftains, however, began to grow rich and powerful like the imperial family itself, while the greater part of them remained more or less stationary, so that a wide gap between the selected few and the rest as regards their influence became perceptible. Thus five conspicuous families, those of Ohtomo, Mononobe, Nakatomi, Abe, and Wani, first emerged from the numerous members of the chieftain class. The family of the Soga, which was descended from Takeshiuchi, the minister of the Empress Jingu, became afterwards very prominent, so that only two of the former five, namely, the Ohtomo and the Mononobe, could cope with it. Among the three which became prominent in place of the former five, the older two continued to be engaged exclusively in warlike business, while the third provided both ministers and generals. The magnitude of their influence in the latter half of the fifth century can be well imagined from the fact that the Emperor Yûryaku complained on his death bed that his vassals' private domains had become too extensive. Such was the result which, it was natural to anticipate, was likely to accompany the growth of Japan under the rule of a predominant stock. It could not be said, however, to be very beneficial to the real consolidation of a coherent Empire. For a sovereign, even if he had had strength enough to exercise absolute rule, it must have been far more difficult to govern a few powerful chieftains than to rule over many of lesser influence. It is needless to say that such must have been the case in an age when the relations of the reigning emperor and of the imperial family were not well organised in favour of the former. Many like examples may be cited from the early history of the Germans, especially from that of the Merovingian and the Carlovingian dynasties. Among the few prominent chieftains, a certain one family, _primus inter pares_, might become exceedingly powerful and then overshadow the rest. In Japan, too, there was not lacking a majordomo who was growing great at the cost of the imperial prerogative. This tendency was too apparent not to be perceived by the sagacious emperors of succeeding ages. Increasing their material resources, therefore, was thought by them the best means of strengthening themselves and of guarding against the usurpation of their power by ambitious vassals. Long before the Korean expedition of the Empress Jingu, accordingly, the increase of the royal domains was assiduously aimed at. The Korean expedition itself may be considered as one of the evidences of the endeavour to develop the imperial power. For to lead an expedition oversea necessarily connotes a consolidated empire. War, however uncivilised the age in which it is carried on, must be, more than any other undertaking, a one man business. So we can not err much in supposing that, at the time of the expedition, the centralisation of the country with the emperor as its nucleus was already in course of progress. Without being socially organised and consolidated, it would have been very hard to muster a people not yet sufficiently organised in a political sense. It was enacted just about this time, that all the royal granaries or domains which were situated in the province of Yamato, where successive royal residences had been established, should be the inalienable property of the reigning emperor himself, and that even the heir to the throne should not be allowed to own any of them. This enactment may be said to have been the beginning of the separation of the interests of the reigning emperor himself from those of the imperial family, and it has a great historical importance in the sense that the process of centralisation with an individual, and not a family, as its centre, was already in course of development. To recapitulate my previous argument, in order to have a strongly organised Empire, first of all it was necessary at that time to put an end to the still growing power of the prominent chieftains, for the decrease in the number of chieftains only helped to make the remaining few stronger and more threatening. Secondly, not the imperial family but the reigning emperor himself must be made the nucleus of centralisation. This then was the necessity of our country and the goal of the endeavours of succeeding emperors. What most accelerated this process of centralisation, however, was the introduction of Buddhism and the systematic adoption of Chinese civilisation, imported, not through the intermediation of the peninsular states, but directly from China herself. The former contributed by changing the spirit of the age, so that innovation could be undertaken without risking the total dissolution of the not yet sufficiently consolidated Empire, while the latter facilitated the organisation of the material resources already acquired, and paved the way for their further increase. It is commonly stated that in 552 A.D., the thirteenth year of the reign of the Emperor Kimmei, Buddhism was first introduced into Japan, for that is the date of the first record of Buddhism in the imperial court. Owing to the researches of modern historians, however, that date is no longer accepted as the beginning of Buddhism in Japan. Buddhism, which is said to have been first introduced into China in the middle of the first century after Christ, began to flow into the Korean peninsula some three hundred years later. Among the three peninsular states, the first which received the new religion was Korea or Kokuri, which was the nearest to China. The Korean chronicle says that in 364 A.D. Fu-Chien, a powerful potentate of the Chin dynasty, which existed in northern China at that time, sent an ambassador to Korea, accompanied by a Buddhist priest. Twelve years later than Korea, Kutara received Buddhism from southern China. Shiragi was the latest of the three to accept the new religion, for it was not until 527 A.D. that Buddhism was recognized in that state. Perhaps, however, the people of Shiragi had been acquainted with it at an earlier epoch, though it would not be surprising if this had not been the case. The geographical position of Shiragi obliged it for long to be the last state in the peninsula to receive Chinese civilisation. It is not the Buddhism of Shiragi, therefore, but that of Korea and Kutara which had to do with the history of our country. At that time, in the southern part of the peninsula, there were many minor semi-independent communities under the tutelage of Japan. A resident-general was sent from Japan to whom the affairs of the protectorate were entrusted. Though the existence in the peninsula of a region subject directly to the Emperor of Japan, that is to say, the extension oversea of the Japanese dominion, is not certified to by any written evidence, the history of the early relations between Japan and the peninsula cannot be adequately explained, unless we assume that this imperial domain on the continent was the stronghold of Japanese influence over the peninsula, around which the minor states clustered as their centre. Kutara, which divided the sphere of Japanese influence from Korea, had been suffering much from the encroachment of the Koreans on the north. To counteract Korea, which allied herself with the successive dynasties in northern China, Kutara tried to court the favour of the states which came successively into existence in southern China. That Buddhism in Kutara was propagated by priests from China meridional may account for the intercourse which grew up between the peninsular state and the south of China. Still, however much Kutara might have desired assistance from that quarter, the distance was too great for it to have obtained any efficient relief, even if the southern Chinese had wished to afford it, so that Kutara was at last compelled to apply for help to Japan, which was the real master of the land bordering it on the south. This is the reason why soon after the expedition of the Empress Jingu, Kutara initiated a very intimate intercourse with our country. From that state princes of the blood were sent as hostages to Japan one after another, an unruly minister of that state was summoned to justify himself before an Emperor of Japan, a topographical survey of Kutara was undertaken by Japanese officials, and reinforcements were despatched thither several times from our country. After all, Japan was not the losing party in her peninsular relations. The knowledge of the Chinese classics was the most important boon the intercourse conferred on our country. Not less important was the introduction of Buddhism. The doubt, however, remains whether Buddhism, which began to flow into Kutara in 376 A.D., could have remained so long confined in that state as not to have been introduced into Japan till 552 A.D., notwithstanding the intimate relations between the two countries. The worship of Buddha must have been practised at an earlier period, most probably in private, by immigrants from the peninsular state, who had already imbibed the rudiments of the new religion in their original home. Moreover, in speaking of the propagation of Buddhism in Japan, we must look back into the history of our intercourse with southern China. In the preceding chapter I mentioned the description of our country given in the _San-kuo-chih_. There we are told that intercourse was carried on between Japan and northern China through the Chinese provinces in the peninsula. It was the two peninsular states arising out of the ruin of these Chinese provinces which paved the way for the intercourse of Japan with southern China. Not only did we obtain through Kutara knowledge about southern China under the dynasty of the East Chin, but the first Japanese ambassadors sent thither at the beginning of the fifth century could reach their destination only through the intermediation of Korea or Kokuri, which furnished our ambassadors with guides. After that there were frequent goings to and fro of the people of China and Japan, notwithstanding the rapidly succeeding changes of dynasty in southern China. It was through the intercourse thus initiated that several kinds of industry, more especially weaving, were introduced into Japan from southern China, and had a very deep and enduring effect on the history of our country. There were immigrants, too, from southern China into Japan, and among them, some were so pious as to build temples in the districts in which they settled, and to practise the cult of Buddha, which they had brought with them from their homes. Ssuma-Tateng of the Liang dynasty, who came over to Japan in 522 A.D., is one of the outstanding examples. Such was the history of Buddhism in Japan before the memorable thirteenth year of the Emperor Kimmei. The event which happened in that year, therefore, has an importance only on account of the pompous presentation by Kutara of Buddhist images and sutras to our imperial court. Who, then, first countenanced, patronised, and was converted to the newly imported religion? Naturally the progressives of that age, among whom the Soga were the foremost. Unlike the two other conspicuous families of Ohtomo and Mononobe, who served exclusively as military lords, the family of Soga supplied not only the military, but the civil and diplomatic services also. This naturally gave them very frequent access to the imported civilisation in contrast to the simple soldiers, who are generally prone to be more conservative than civil officials. As the chief administrator and chief treasurer, the Soga family could not dispense with the employment of secretaries, whose posts were monopolised at that time by groups of immigrant scribes. In this way the immigrants from the peninsula, afterwards reinforced by those coming direct from southern China, flocked to the palace of the Soga family, and they worked naturally for the increase of the power of their patron. In short, a large number of men, furnished with more literary education than the ordinary Japanese of the time, became the clients of the family. Of the two rivals of the Soga family, that which was the first to decline in power was the Ohtomo. The next to decay was the family of the Mononobe. The fall of the rivals of the Soga must be attributed to the growth of the latter family, which owed much to the help given by the immigrants mentioned above. And as the introducers of Buddhism were to be found among these immigrants, it was very natural that the family of Soga should be among the first to be converted to the new religion. Thus the aggrandisement of the Soga family, the propagation of Buddhism which it patronised, and the progress of civilisation in general went on hand in hand. In the middle of the sixth century, that is to say, in the reign of the Emperor Kimmei, Iname was the head of the Soga family. In his time the Mononobe family could still hold its own against him, though at some disadvantage. When, however, Umako, the son of Iname, succeeded his father, he was at last able to overthrow the power of his antagonist Moriya of the Mononobe, after defeating and killing him in battle, with the aid of the prince Shôtoku, who was also a devotee of the new religion. Thus in the course of several hundred years the gradual process of centralisation had been slowly drawing to its goal. In the beginning of the seventh century at last, the noted families of old were all eclipsed by the single family of the Soga, which towered alone in wealth and power above the others. At the same time instead of having the imperial house as the nucleus of centralisation, the Emperor began to tower high above the other members of his family. He was the owner of a very vast domain and of a multitude of people of various classes. He was the head of the ancestral cult. The sacred emblem of his divine origin, which had formerly been kept in the imperial camp, was now removed from the palace for fear of profanation, and taken to its present resting-place in the province of Ise. Yet the removal did more to increase than to lessen the sanctity of his person. On the other hand, his authority was in danger of being usurped by the all-powerful mayor of the palace, the family of Soga, which had become too strong for the emperor easily to manage. The times became very critical. In order to push still further the process of centralisation which had been going on, and to make the empire better consolidated, some decisive stroke was necessary. And the revolutionary change was at last accelerated by the overgrown power of the Soga family, the opening of regular intercourse with China, and above all the strong necessity within and without to consolidate the empire more and more. CHAPTER V REMODELING OF THE STATE Japan stood on the verge of a crisis, and it was saved from catastrophe by two causes. First, by the ceaseless importation of high Chinese civilisation, which steadily encouraged the political concentration; secondly, by the necessity of centralisation so as to push on vigorously the attack on the still powerful Ainu. As I have mentioned several times before, the Ainu had been a losing party in the racial struggle with the Japanese, yet their resistance had been a very stubborn one, so that at the end of the sixth century they could still hold their ground against the Japanese on the southern boundary of the present provinces of Iwaki and Iwashiro, which roughly corresponds to latitude 37° N. The northern part of Japan, therefore, was still in constant danger of incursions by the hairy race. For a country in the infant stage of consolidation, as Japan was at that time, it was by no means an easy task to ward off the frequent inroads of that race, and at the same time to continue the process of the inner organisation of the state. One would perhaps wonder at my conclusion, starting from the consideration that the Ainu scare was not such a fearful thing as to influence the natural growth of a state formed by the stronger race. This misconception arises from the ignorance of the fact that the famous dictum "delenda est Carthago" was only pronounced after the first Punic war. Necessity by itself does not create the desire to secure what is necessary. The desire to attain any aim first comes into consciousness when one begins to feel strong enough to venture to attain it. When the Ainu was very powerful, the Japanese had to contend with them mainly in order to secure a foothold against them. It was none the less necessary for the Japanese to continue to struggle with the Ainu, when the former became strong enough to face the antagonist evenhanded. Lastly, the time arrived now when it became an urgent necessity for the Japanese to crush the Ainu, in order to achieve undisturbed a full political organisation in the domain within the four seas. In short, when the Japanese became so convinced of their might that they could not tolerate any rival within the principal islands, they found it even more indispensable to organise themselves as compactly as possible under one strong supreme head than ever before. What most facilitated the centralisation under the imperial rule was of course the imported Chinese civilisation. To say sooth, several centuries of the slow infiltration of that high civilisation had already attained a great deal of influence, but it was rather a smuggled, and not a really legalised importation. Moreover, China herself, the source from which the civilisation had to be imported, had been dismembered for a long time, so that until 581 A.D. the country could hardly be called a unified state at all. How could we expect to find in a country where no order ruled a model suitable to be employed as exemplar to effect a durable political reform. It is not strange, therefore, that, notwithstanding the long years of intercourse between the two countries, only a very slight change had been thereby occasioned in our country as regards our political organisation. Any change which was wrought in our political sphere by Chinese influence was effected in a very indirect way, having worked its way through multifarious social changes caused by the contact with the high alien civilisation. No direct political clue could be followed up from China to this country. To achieve the purpose of borrowing from China the necessary materials for the reconstruction of political Japan, we had to wait longer, that is to say, till the inauguration of regular intercourse between this country and China also politically unified and concentrated. That memorable year came at last. In 607 A.D. Ono-no-Imoko was despatched as official envoy to China, which at that time was under the second emperor of the dynasty of Sui. Even before this date, however, since the accession of the Empress Suiko, as the result of the busy intercourse between us and the peninsular states, various arts and useful sciences of Chinese origin had been introduced into this country, among which astronomy, the oldest perhaps of all sciences everywhere in the world, was the most noteworthy. Connected with this science, the art of calendar-making was introduced for the first time into Japan. It would be a gross mistake, if we thereby conclude that we had no means of defining the dates of events prior to this introduction. Although we could not by ourselves make an independent calendarial system, yet the Japanese, at least the naturalised scribes, had already been acquainted with two chronological methods. The one was to define a date by counting from the year of the accession of a reigning emperor. The other method was that which had prevailed long since in China, that is to say, to define a date by counting according to the cyclical order of the twelve zodiacal signs, interlaced with the cyclical order of ten attributes, so that to complete one cycle sixty years were necessary. Some groups of scribes, perhaps, pursued the former method, while others favoured the latter. Contradictory statements and evident repetitions abundantly found in the _Nihongi_ were thus occasioned by the existence of historical materials, dated according to two different chronological systems. For the compilers of the famous chronicle sometimes mistook one and the same event found in different sources and given in two different chronological systems, for two independent events resembling each other only in certain superficial respects. Otherwise they misunderstood two entirely distinct events having the same cyclical designation in date as a single occurrence, narrated in two different ways, ignoring the fact that there might have been two like events which happened at a chronological distance of sixty years or some multiple of that cycle of time. Confusion of this kind was unavoidable in ages where there was no established method of defining a historical date. It was a great gain, therefore, that astronomy and the art of calendar-making chanced to be introduced in 602 A.D., the tenth year of the reign of the Empress. Another not less important boon which we received from China through the peninsular states was the gradation of official ranks. Anterior to this period we had something like a hierarchical system with the emperor as the political and social supreme, but the system, if it could be called such, was nothing but a chain of vassalship fastened very loosely. It was far from a well-ordered gradation, which is in reality the beginning of equalisation and could only be effected by a very strong hand. The dignity of the emperor could be excellently upheld by having under him gradated subjects, but the gradation itself did not hinder those subjects from thinking that they were equals before the emperor as his subjects. This gradation came into practice in the year 604 A.D. In the same year the famous "Seventeen Articles" was also promulgated. This was a collection of moral maxims imparted to all subjects, especially to administrative officials, as instructions. The principle pervading the articles unmistakably betrays that much of it was borrowed from Chinese moral and political precepts. The only exception is the second article, which encouraged the worship of Buddha. It was natural that such articles should be decreed by Prince Shôtoku, who was under the tutorship of a Korean priest and a naturalised peninsular savant. Having so far adopted the elements of Chinese civilisation secondhand through the peninsular states, we could savour the taste of refinement enjoyed by the then highly advanced nation on the continent, embellish thereby life in the court and in high circles, and promote not a little our political centralisation. We were thus put in the state of one whose thirst becomes much aggravated after taking a sip of water. At the helm of the state was a very intelligent personage, Prince Shôtoku, nephew and son-in-law of the Empress and heir-presumptive to the throne. It was natural for him and the progressive minister, Umako of the Soga, to crave for more of the Chinese knowledge and enlightenment. The peninsular states, which were never very far advanced in civilisation, had transmitted to us all that they could teach. There was little left in which those states were in advance of us. Then where should we turn to obtain more learning and more culture except to China herself? Diplomatic considerations were also an inducement for us to be drawn towards China more closely than before. Just at this time we were gradually losing our ground in the peninsula as the result of the constant incursions of ascendant Shiragi into the Japanese protectorate, and of the perfidious policy of Kutara, which feigned to be our ally only for the sake of playing a dubious game against her neighbours, and paid more respect to China than she did toward Japan. Kokuri in the north, the strongest of the three peninsular states and the danger to waning Kutara, was just, at a critical time, menaced by China under the quite recently established dynasty of Sui. No wonder that Japan wished to know more about China, the country with which we had been already communicating directly as well as indirectly, though very sporadically. An envoy to China was the natural consequence. Yang-ti, the second Emperor of the Sui dynasty was very ambitious and enterprising. His invasion of Kokuri, though it collapsed in utter failure, was conducted on such a grand scale that it reminds us of the Persian invasion of Greece under Xerxes, described by Herodotus. This Yang-ti was much flattered at receiving an envoy from the island far beyond the sea. Perhaps he rejoiced the more at finding an ally in the rear of Kokuri, which he was then intending to invade. So he received the Japanese envoy quite cordially, and on the latter's homeward journey the Emperor ordered a courtier to escort the envoy to Japan. This escort was on his return to China accompanied by the same envoy whom he had escorted hither. Ono-no-Imoko, who was thus twice sent to China as envoy, must have seen much of that country, and probably fetched many articles to delight the eyes of the Japanese of the higher classes, who were enraptured with everything foreign. What was the most important event connected with the second despatch of the envoy, however, was the sending abroad with him of students to study Buddhist tenets and also to receive secular education in China. They stayed in that country for a very long while, far longer than those who have been sent abroad by the Japanese government in recent years have been accustomed to stay in Europe and America, so that they lived in China as if they were real Chinese themselves, and were deeply imbued with Chinese thoughts and ideas. Two of the eight students who accompanied Ono-no-Imoko to China, returned to this country after a sojourn of more than thirty years, during which they witnessed a change of dynasty, and the rise of the T'ang, the dynasty in which Chinese civilisation reached its apogee. One of the two students who returned quite a Chinese to Japan, happened to become a tutor of a prince who afterwards ascended the throne as the Emperor Tenchi, the great reformer. By the way, it should be noticed that all of the eight students despatched were men of Chinese origin without exception, being naturalised scribes or their descendants. The peninsular states became rather jealous of our direct intercourse with China, for they could not at least help fearing that thenceforth they would not be able to play off China and Japan against each other as they had done up to that time. They, therefore, tried to flatter us by sending to this country envoys more frequently than before. It was at one of these ceremonial court receptions of an envoy from Kokuri, that Soga-no-Iruka, the son of Yemishi of the Soga and the grandson of Umako, was killed by the Prince Naka-no-Ôye, afterwards the Emperor Tenchi, and by Nakatomi-no-Kamako, afterwards Kamatari. The father of Iruka soon followed his son's fate, and with him the main branch of the quondam all-powerful family of the Soga came to an end. The fall of the house of the Soga may be ascribed to several causes. In the first place, it became an absolute necessity for the growth of the imperial power to get rid of the too arrogant Soga ministers, because to bear with them any longer would have endangered the imperial prestige itself. Secondly, as soon as the family of the Soga had ceased to fear its rivals, it began to be divided within itself by internal strife. Lastly, a quarrel about the imperial succession brought about the interweaving of the above two causes. The Prince Naka-no-Ôye, being the eldest son of the Emperor Jomei, was naturally one of the candidates to the throne. As his mother, however, was the Empress Kôkyoku, and therefore not of the Soga blood, the Prince was in fear lest he should be put aside from the order of the succession. Besides, he was very much enraged at the overbearing attitude of Yemishi and his son. The Nakatomi family to which Kamatari belonged was one of the five old illustrious names, and had been chiefly engaged in religious affairs. Kamatari deeply deplored the fact that his family had long been overshadowed by that of the Soga. Being qualified as a capable statesman, he foresaw the political danger to which Japan was exposed at that time. The lateral branches of the Soga family, actuated perhaps by jealousy against the main branch, joined the Prince and Kamatari in annihilating the far too overgrown power which threatened the imperial prerogative. Japan thus safely passed this political crisis. The next task was the thorough reconstruction of the social and political organisations, and the establishment of a uniform system throughout the whole Empire. A series of grand reforms was inaugurated in the year 645 A.D. in the name of the reigning Emperor Kôtoku, who was one of the uncles of the Prince on his mother's side, and ascended the throne as the result of wise self-denial on the part of the Prince. The first reform was the initiation of the period name, a custom which, in China, had been in vogue since the Han dynasty. The period name which was adopted at first in Japan in the reign of the Emperor was Tai-Kwa. This Chinese usage, after it was once introduced into our country, has been continued until today, though with a few short interruptions. The next step in the reform was the nomination of governors for the eastern provinces. Before this time we had already provincial governors installed in regions under the direct imperial sway, that is to say, in provinces where imperial domains abounded and imperial residences were located. These provincial governors depended wholly on the imperial power, and could at any time be recalled at the Emperor's pleasure. That such governors were now installed in the far eastern provinces bordering on the Ainu territory shows that, as these provinces were newly established ones, it was easier to enforce the reform there than in older provinces, in which time-honoured customs had taken deep root and chieftains ruled almost absolutely, so that even those radical reformers hesitated for a moment to try their hand on them. The change, in the same year, of the imperial residence to the province of Settsu, near the site where the great commercial city of Ôsaka now stands, was also one of the very remarkable events. Imperial residences of the older times had been shifted here and there according to the change of the reigning emperor. No one of them, however, as far back as the time of Jimmu, the first Emperor, seems to have been located out of the provinces of Yamato, except the dwelling-place of the Emperor Nintoku. The removal of the imperial residence in 645 A.D. to the province of Settsu, where facilities for foreign intercourse could be secured, signifies that the imperial house was turning its gaze toward the west, with eyes more widely open than before. The second year of the reform began with far more radical innovations than the first, that is to say, the abolishment of the group-system and of the holding of lands by landlords. All the lands privately held by local lords and all the people subjected to group-chieftains were decreed to be henceforth public and free and subject only to the Emperor. The designation of local lords and group-chieftains were allowed to be kept by those who had formerly possessed them, but only as mere titles. In order to allow this reform to run smoothly, the Prince Naka-no-Ôye himself set the example by renouncing, in behalf of the reigning Emperor, his right over his clients numbering five hundred twenty four and his private domain consisting of one hundred eighty-one lots. In lands thus made public, provinces were established, and governors were appointed. Under those governors served the former local lords and group-chieftains as secretaries of various official grades or as district governors, all salaried, paid in natural products, of course, since no currency existed at that time. In every province, a census was ordered to be taken, and arable lands were distributed according to the number of persons in a family, with variations with respect to their ages and sexes. The distribution had to be renewed after the lapse of a certain number of years, paralleled to the renewal of the census. The tax in rice was to be levied commensurate with the area of the lot of land distributed. Additional taxes in silk, flax, or cotton were to be paid both per family and according to the area of the distributed lot. Corvée was also imposed, and any one who did not serve in person was obliged to pay, in rice and textiles for a substitute. Besides these imposts, there were many circumstantial regulations concerning the tribute in horses, equipment of soldiers, use of post-horses, interment of the dead of various ranks, and so forth. These laws and regulations taken together are called the Ohmi laws, from the name of the province into which the Emperor Tenchi had removed his residence. For three-score years after the promulgation of the reform of Taikwa, there were many fluctuations, sometimes reactionary and sometimes progressive, and many additions and amendments were made to the first enactments published. In general, however, they remained unchanged, and were at last systematized and codified in the second year of the era of Taïhô, that is to say, in 702 A.D. This is what the Japanese historians designate by the name of the Tai-hô Code. After an impartial comparison of this code with the elaborate legislation of the T'ang dynasty, one cannot deny that the former was mainly a minute imitation of the latter. Preambles and epilogues issued at the time of the first proclamation were taken from passages of the Chinese classics, and there are many phrases in the text itself which plainly betray their Chinese origin. Many regulations were inserted, not on account of their necessity in this country, but only because they were found in the legislation of the T'ang dynasty. There are of course not a few modifications, which can be discerned when carefully scrutinised, and these modifications are generally to be found in those Chinese laws which were impossible of introduction into our country without change. Some of them, having been planned originally in the largest Empire of the world and in an age as highly civilised as that of the T'ang, were too grand in scale, so that they had to be minimised in order to suit the condition of the island realm. Others had too much of the racial traits of the Chinese to be put at once in operation in a country such as Japan, which on its part had also sundry peculiarities not to be easily displaced by legislation originated in an alien soil. This was especially the case with respect to religious matters. Though it is a question whether Shintoism may be called a religion in the modern scientific sense, it cannot be disputed that it has a strong religious element in it. On that account, it had proved a great obstacle to the propagation of Buddhism, which was the religion embraced at first not by the common people but by men belonging to the upper classes, so that the latter, while earnestly encouraging the inculcation of Buddhism, were obliged to show themselves not altogether indifferent to the old deities. In behalf of the Shinto cult, special dignitaries were appointed, the chief of whom played the same part as the Pontifex Maximus of ancient Rome. Such an institution is purely Japanese and was not to be found in the Chinese model. Apart from these exceptions, however, the reform of the Tai-kwa era was essentially a Japanese imitation of a Chinese original. What was the result, then, of the reform undertaken partly from national necessity, but partly also from love of imitation? Let me begin with the bright side first. Whatever be the intrinsic merit of the reform itself, there is no doubt that the reform came from necessity. It was absolutely necessary that Japan, in order to make solid progress, should be centralised politically. The model which the reformers selected was the legislation of a strongly centralised monarchy. In this respect at least it admirably fitted the necessity of Japan at that time. In the year 659, fifteen years after the promulgation of the reform, an organised expedition consisting of a large number of squadrons, was despatched along the coast of the Sea of Japan as far north as the island now called by the name of Hokkaido. In the next year another expedition was sent across the sea to the continental coast, perhaps to the region at the mouth of the Amur. Though the frontier line on the main island was not pushed forward against the Ainu so rapidly as the progress along the western coast, owing to the obstinate resistance of the tribe on the eastern coast, yet the victory was wholly on the side of the Japanese. The removal of the imperial residence by the Emperor Tenchi in the year 667 to the side of lake Biwa, in the province of Ohmi, marks an epoch in the progress of the exploration north-easternward. For the new site, a little distant from the modern town of Ohtsu, is more conveniently situated than the former residences, not only in guarding and pushing the north-eastern frontier, but in keeping connection with the navigation on the Sea of Japan. The inland lake of Biwa, though not large in area, is one which must be counted as something in a country as small as Japan. Until quite recent times, communication between Kyoto, the former capital, and Hokkaido and the northern provinces of Hon-to was maintained, not along the eastern or Pacific shore, but via the Lake and the Sea of Japan. Even the eastern coast of the province of Mutsu seems to have had no direct communication by sea with the centre of the Empire. In order to reach there from the capital, men in old times were obliged to take generally a long roundabout way along the western coast, pass the Strait of Tsugaru, and then turn southward along the Pacific coast. This important highway of the sea route of old Japan was connected with Kyoto by the navigation across lake Biwa. The change of the imperial residence to the neighborhood of Ohtsu, which is the key of the lake navigation routes, had no doubt a great historic significance. Another remarkable event which contributed much to the remodelling of the state was the total overthrow of the Japanese influence in the Korean peninsula. About the middle of the sixth century Mimana was taken by Shiragi, and with it our prestige in the peninsula suffered a severe loss. Still for some time there remained to Japan a shadow of influence in the existence of the state of Kutara, though the latter was very unreliable as an ally. That state then began to be hard pressed by Shiragi and asked for our help. More than once we sent reinforcements, sometimes numbering more than twenty thousand soldiers. Arms and provisions were also freely given. Owing to the incompetence of the Japanese generals despatched, however, and the perfidious policy of Kutara, our assistance proved ineffective. As a counter to our assistance to Kutara, Shiragi invoked the aid of the T'ang dynasty, which was eager to establish its rule over the peninsula. In the year 650 Kutara was at last destroyed by the co-operation of the army of Shiragi and the navy of the T'ang. Next it was the turn of Kokuri to be invaded by the T'ang army. A Japanese army consisting of more than ten thousand men was sent in order to restore Kutara and to succour Kokuri. In 663 a great naval battle was fought between the Chinese squadrons and ours, ending in the defeat of the latter, for the former, consisting of 170 ships, far outnumbered the Japanese. With this defeat our hope of the restoration of Kutara was finally lost. The remnants of the royal family of Kutara and of the people of that state numbering more than three thousand immigrated into Japan. Kokuri, too, surrendered soon afterwards to the T'ang in 668, and long before this Shiragi had become a tributary state of China. The influence of the T'ang dynasty prevailed over the whole peninsula. Since this time we were reduced to defending our interest, not on the Korean peninsula, but by fortifying the islands of Tsushima and Iki and the northern coast of Kyushu. There was no breach of the peace, however, between Japan and China after the naval battle of the year 663, for after the downfall of Kutara we had no imperative necessity to despatch our army abroad, and therefore no occasion to come into collision with the Chinese army in the peninsula. China, on her part, did not wish to make us her enemy. The rough sea dividing the two countries made it a very hazardous task to try to invade us, even for the emperors of the Great T'ang. A Chinese general who had the duty of governing the former dominion of Kutara sent embassies several times to Japan. At one time an embassy was accompanied by two thousand soldiers as retinue, but the purpose was plainly demonstrative. We also continued to send embassies to China. Peace was thus restored on our western frontier, though under conditions somewhat detrimental to our national honour. The evacuation of the peninsula was a great respite to our national energy, howsoever it be regretted. First of all, Japan was not yet a match for China of the T'ang. Moreover, to keep up our prestige on the peninsula was too costly a matter for us, even if we had been able to sustain it, and by this evacuation we were saved from squandering the national resources which were not yet at their full. After all, for Japan at that time the urgent necessity lay not in geographical expansion abroad, and affairs on the peninsula were of far less importance when compared with driving the Ainu out of Hon-to. Against an enemy coming from the west, we could defend ourselves without much difficulty, the rough sea being a strong bulwark. It is quite another kind of matter to divide the Hon-to with the Ainu for long. Japan wanted a geographical expansion not without, but within. The development of political consolidation received also much benefit from our renunciation on the west. Our national progress, and therefore our political concentration, got a great stimulus in the intercourse with the peninsula. If we had, however, meddled with peninsular affairs too long, we would not have been able to turn our attention exclusively to inner affairs. The reform laws had just been published, and they required time to be thoroughly assimilated. Unless amended and supplemented according to practical needs, those laws would be mere black on white, or sources of social confusion. Absolutely and without question we were in need of peace, and that peace was obtained by the evacuation. By this peace the reform legislation could work at its best possible. If it had not enhanced the merit of the new legislation, at least it developed the benefit of the reform to the full, and prevented much evil which might have arisen if it had been otherwise. On the other hand, the dark side of the reform legislation must not be overlooked. In reality the Chinese civilisation of the T'ang dynasty was one too highly advanced to be successfully copied by Japan, a country which was just in its teens, so to speak, so far as development was concerned. As a rule, the codification of laws in any country denotes a stage in the progress of the civilisation of that country, where it became necessary to turn back and to systematise what had already been attained. In other words, codification is everywhere a retrospective action, and before it be taken up, the civilisation of that particular country should have reached a stage considered the highest possible by the people of that period. Otherwise it can do only harm. When the codification is far ahead of the civilisation the country possesses, then that nation will be obliged to take very hurried steps in order to overtake the stage where the codification stands. It is during these headlong marches that the dislocation of the social and political structure of a state generally takes place. In short, it may be called a national precocity, highly dangerous to a healthy development. The legislation of the T'ang dynasty, in truth, was even for China of that age too much enlightened, idealistic, and circumstantial to be worked with real profit to the state. It was, however, her own creation, while ours was an imitation. It would have been a miracle if Japan could have reaped the full harvest expected by a legislation nearly as advanced and as elaborate as that of the T'ang. The above remark is especially true as regards the military system. The dynasty of the T'ang was in its beginning a strong military power. Its military system was not bad, so long as it was worked by very strong hands. On the whole, however, the political régime of the dynasty was not such a one as to favour the keeping up of a martial spirit. After the subjugation of the uncivilised tribes surrounding the empire, the martial spirit of the Chinese nation soon relaxed, and the country fell a prey to the invading barbarians whom the Chinese were accustomed to despise. We find in it the exact counterpart of the Roman Empire destroyed by the Germans. For the T'ang dynasty, it had been better to conserve the military spirit a little longer in order to protect the civilisation which it had brought to its zenith. With stronger reasons, the need of a martial spirit ought to have been emphasised for Japan at that time. The Japanese military ordinance of the reform was modelled after the Chinese system, but of course on a smaller scale. The chief fault, however, was its over-circumstantiality, being even more circumstantial for Japan of that time than the original system was for China herself. Before the reform we had several bands of professional soldiers, which could be easily mobilised. That old system had gone. We had still to fight constantly against the Ainu. Nay, the warfare on that quarter was taken up with renewed activity, and we had to educate, to train the people who were not at all accustomed to military discipline. Having adopted a system resembling conscription, we were always in need of an accurate census. To have an accurate census taken is a very difficult matter even for a highly civilised nation. It must have been especially so for Japan. In the reformed legislation the census was the basis both for the military service and the land-distribution, taxation connected with it. The land distribution system, though there might have been some like element in the original custom of Japan, was yet on the whole another Chinese institution imitated, very circumstantially again. Moreover, though this reform seems to have been enforced throughout all the provinces at once, except the southernmost two, Ohsumi and Satsuma, in most of the provinces the part of the arable land brought under the new system must have been very limited. Perhaps only such land in the neighborhood of each provincial capital might have been distributed regularly. Added to that, the growth of the population and the increase of arable land necessitated a change in the distribution, and in the said legislation a redistribution every six years was provided for that change. In order to carry out this redistribution regularly and adequately a very strong government and wise management were needed. Otherwise either the system would be frustrated, or there would be no improvement of land. Considered from the side of the people, the new legislation was not welcomed in all ways. New taxes are generally wont to be felt heavier than the accustomed ones. Besides these fresh imposts, military service was demanded, which was quite a novel thing to most of them. In fact, their burden must have been pretty heavy, for they could not enjoy a durable peace at all, on account of the interminable warfare against the Ainu. Many began to lead a roaming life, others avoided legal registration in order to escape from taxation and military service. Before long the fundamental principle of the grand reform collapsed, and a very expensive governmental system remained, which, too, gradually became difficult to be kept up. A change of régime seemed unavoidable. CHAPTER VI CULMINATION OF THE NEW RÉGIME; STAGNATION; RISE OF THE MILITARY RÉGIME Whatever be the merit or the demerit of the reform of the Taikwa, it was after all an honour to the Japanese nation that our ancestors ever undertook this reform. Not only because they were able to provide thereby for the needs of the state of that time, but because they were bold enough, temerarious almost, to aspire to imitate the elaborate system of the highly civilised T'ang. When an uncivilised people comes into contact with one highly civilised, it is needless to say that the former is generally induced to imitate the latter. This imitation is sometimes of a low order, that is to say, it often verges on mimicry, and not infrequently results in the dwindling of racial energy on the part of the imitator. Very seldom does the imitation go so far as to adopt the political institutions of the superior. If they, however, had ventured impetuously to do so, the result would have been still worse, while in the case of Japan as the imitator of China, it was quite otherwise. At first sight, as China of the T'ang was so incomparably far ahead of Japan of that time, it might seem rather foolish of our forefathers to try straightway to imitate her. Moreover, on the whole, the imitation ended in a failure indeed, as should have been expected. But the original institutions of the T'ang itself proved a failure in their own home; hence, had the imitation of those institutions resulted in a success with us, it would have aroused a great astonishment. The very fact that our forefathers dared to imitate China, and did not thereby end in losing spirit and energy, is in itself a great credit to the reputation of the Japanese as a nation, for it testifies that they have been from the first a very aspiring nation, unwitting how to shirk a difficulty. If it be an honour to the Germans not to have withered before the high civilisation of the Romans, the same glory may be accorded to the Japanese also. This aspiring spirit of the nation not only made itself felt in the importation of Chinese legislation, but also in adopting her arts and literature. As to arts, it is difficult to ascertain to what degree of accomplishment our forefathers had already attained before they came under continental influence. Most probably it was limited to some simple designs drawn on household utensils, _haniwa_ or terracotta-making, and to an orchestra of rudimentary instruments. In what may be regarded as literature, there were ballads, some of which are cited in the _Nihongi_. Tales of heroic deeds, however, used to be transmitted from generation to generation, not in the form of poetry, that is, not in epic, but in oral prose narrations. In this respect the ancient Japanese fell far short of the Ainu, who had developed a highly epic talent very early. To summarise, the ancient Japanese apparently showed very few indications of excelling other peoples in the same stage of civilisation as regards arts and literature. In the history of Japanese art, the introduction of Buddhism is a noteworthy event. For, along with it, works of Chinese painting and sculpture, both pertaining mainly to Buddhist worship, were sent as presents to our imperial court by rulers of the peninsular states. Not only articles of virtu, but also artists themselves, were sent over to this country from the continent, who displayed their skill in building temples, making images, decorating shrines with fresco paintings, and so forth. Instructed by them, some gifted Japanese, too, became enabled to develop themselves in several branches of art and artistic industry. Among the plastic arts, painting was very slow in making progress, though a few examples of that age which have remained to this day are very similar in style to those pictures and frescoes recently excavated out of the desert in northwestern China, and have a high historical value, giving us a glimpse of the T'ang painting. Architecture was perhaps the art most patronised by the court. We can see it in the construction of numerous palaces. It is a well known fact that before the Empress Gemmyo, who was one of the daughters of the Emperor Tenchi and ascended the throne next after the Emperor Mommu, each successive emperor established his court at the place he liked, and the residence of the previous emperor was generally abandoned by the next-comer. From this fact we can imagine that all imperial palaces of those times, if they could be named palaces at all, must have been very simply built and not very imposing. The locality, too, where the residence was established, was hardly apt to be called a metropolitan city, although it might have served sufficiently as a political centre of the time. It was in the third year of the said empress, 710 A.D., that Nara was first selected as the new capital which was to be established in permanence, contrary to the hitherto accepted usage, and in fact it remained the country's chief city for more than eighty years. For the first time a plan of the city was drawn, a plan very much like a checkerboard, having been modelled after the contemporary Chinese metropolis. The architectural style of the new palaces was also an imitation of that which then prevailed in China. The only difference was that wood was widely used here instead of brick, which was already the chief building material in China. Nobles were encouraged by the court to build tiled houses in place of thatched. Tiles began to come into use about that time, and not for roofing only, but for flooring also, though the checkerboard plan of the metropolitan city of Nara might never have been realised in full detail, and though among those palaces once built very few could escape the frequent fires and gradual decay, yet judging from those very few which have fortunately survived to this day, we may fairly imagine that they must have been grandiose in proportion to the general condition of the age. What gives the best clue to the social life of the higher classes of that time is the famous imperial treasury, Shô-sô-in, at Nara, now opened to a few specially honoured persons every autumn, when the air is very agreeably dry in Japan. The treasury contains various articles of daily and ceremonial use bequeathed by the Emperor Shômu, who was the eldest son of the Emperor Mommu and died in 749 A.D. after a reign of twenty-five years. Being so multifarious in their kinds, and having been wonderfully well preserved in a wooden storehouse, these imperial treasures, if taken together with numerous contemporary documents extant today, enable us to give a clear and accurate picture of the social life of that time. As _tatami_ matting was not yet known, and the houses occupied by men of high circles had their floors generally tiled, it may be naturally supposed that the indoor life of that time might have been nearer to that of the Chinese or the European than to that of the modern Japanese. Accordingly their outdoor life, too, must have been far different from that of the present day. For example, modern Japanese are fond of trimming or arranging flowers, putting two or three twigs into a small vase or a short bamboo tube, by methods which, however dainty, are very conventional after all. What they rejoice in thus is to produce a distorted semblance in miniature as tiny as possible of a certain aspect of nature. In the age of the Nara emperors, on the contrary, large bunches of flowers must have been used profusely in decorating rooms and tables, and perhaps to strew on the ground. A great many flower baskets, which are kept in the said treasury, and are of a kind to the use of which the modern Japanese are not accustomed, prove the above assertion. Again, while modern Japanese ladies play exclusively on the _koto_, a stringed musical instrument laid flat on the _tatami_ when played, Nara musicians seem to have played on harps, too, one of which also is extant in the treasury. Carpets seem to have been used not only in covering the floor, but were put down on the ground on occasions of some ceremonial processions. Hunting, rowing, and horsemanship were then the most favourite pastimes of the nobles. Unlike modern Japanese ladies, women of that time were not behind men in riding. This one fact will perhaps suffice to attest the jovial and sprightly character of the social life of the Nara age. If we turn to the literature of the time, the progress was remarkable, more easily perceivable than in any other department. We had now not only ballads as before, but short epics also. Such a change must of course be attributed to the influence of the Chinese literature assiduously cultivated. In the year 751 a collection of 120 select poems in Chinese, composed by the 64 Nara courtiers since the reign of the Emperor Tenchi, was compiled and named the _Kwai-fû-sô_. These poems are quite Chinese in their diction, rhetoric, and strain, resembling in every way those by first rate Chinese poets, and may fairly take rank among them without betraying any sign of imitation or pasticcio. If we consider that no kind of Japanese literature in its own mother tongue could be committed to writing, save only in Chinese ideographs, the influence of the Chinese literature, which flourished so rampantly at that time in Japan, cannot be estimated too highly. No wonder that, parallel to the compilation of the Chinese poems, a collection of Japanese poems, beginning with that of the Emperor Yûryaku in the latter half of the fifth century, was also undertaken. This collection is the celebrated _Man-yô-shû_. The long and short poems selected, however, were not restricted, as in the case of the _Kwai-fû-sô_, to those by courtiers only. On the contrary, it contained many poems sung by the common people, into which no whit of Chinese civilisation could have penetrated. The _Man-yô-shû_, therefore, is held by Japanese historians to be a very useful source-book as regards the social history of the time. It is hardly to be denied that some of the Japanese poems of that age were evidently composed and committed to writing with the object of being read and not sung, as almost all modern Japanese poems are accustomed to be. There were still many others at the same time which must have been composed from the first in order only to be sung. Men of the age, of high as well as of low rank, were singularly fond of singing, generally accompanied by dancing. Many pathetic love stories are told about those gatherings of singers and dancers, the _utagaki_, which literally means the singing hedge or ring. This kind of gleeful gathering used to take place on a street, in an open field, or on a hill-top. In one of the _utagaki_ held in the city of Nara, it is said that members of the imperial family took part too, shoulder to shoulder with citizens and denizens of very modest standing. As to dances of the time there might have been some styles original to the Japanese themselves. At the same time there were to be found many dances of foreign origin, imported, together with their musical accompaniments, from China and the peninsular states. These dances have long ago been entirely lost in their original homes, so that they can be witnessed only in our country now. A strange survival of ancient culture indeed! Of course even in our country those exotic and antiquated dances do not conform to the modern taste, and on that account are not frequently performed. They have been handed down through many generations, however, by the band of court musicians, and at present these dances, dating back to the T'ang dynasty, are performed only at certain archaic court ceremonies. From what has been stated above, one can well imagine that, in certain respects, Japan of the Nara age had much in common with Greece just about the time of the Persian invasion. In both it was an age in which a vigorous race reached the first flourishing stage of civilisation, when the national energy began to be devoted to æsthetic pursuits, but was nevertheless not yet enervated by over-enlightenment. Whatever those Japanese set their minds on doing, they set about it very briskly and cheerfully, nor was their enthusiasm dampened by any fear of probable mishap. Being naïve, and therefore ignorant of obstacles inevitable to the progress of a nation, they always soared higher and higher, full of resplendent hope. How eager they were to essay at great things may be conjectured from the size of the Daibutsu, the colossal statue of Buddha, in the temple of the Tôdaiji at Nara. The statue, more than fifty-three feet in height, was finished in 749 A.D. after several successive failures encountered and overcome during four years, and is the largest that was ever made in Japan. That such a great statue was not only designed, but was executed by Japanese sculptors, whether their origin be of immigrant stock or not, should be considered a great credit to the enterprising spirit and the artistic acquirements of the Japanese of that epoch. Such a stride in the national progress, however, was only attained at the expense of other quarters not at all insignificant. On the one hand, it is true that Japan benefited immensely by having had as her neighbor such a highly civilised country as China of the T'ang. On the other hand, it should not be overlooked that it was a great misfortune to us that we had such an over-shadowingly influential neighbour. China of that time was a nation too far in advance of us to encourage us to venture to compete with her. She left us no choice but to imitate her. Who can blame the Japanese of the Nara age if they thought it the most urgent business to run after China, and try to overtake her in the same track down which they knew the Chinese had progressed a long way already? The glory and splendour of the Chinese civilisation of the T'ang was too enticing for them to turn their eyes aside and seek a yet untrodden route. That they strove simply to imitate and rejoiced in behaving as though they were real Chinese should not be a matter for astonishment in the least. Perhaps it may be said to their credit that the imitation was exquisite and the resemblance accurate. One of the brilliant students then sent abroad remained there for eighteen years, and after his return to this country he eventually became a prominent minister of the Japanese government, notwithstanding his humble origin, a promotion very rare in those days. Certain branches of Chinese literature, many refined ceremonies, various kinds of Chinese pastimes, many things Chinese, useful and beneficial to our people, to be found in Japan even to this day have been attributed to his importation. Another scholar who was obliged to stay in China for more than fifty years, distinguished himself in the literary circles of the Chinese metropolis, was taken into the service of a T'ang emperor as a very high official under a Chinese name, and at last died there with a life-long yearning for his native country. Such an imitation, however useful it might have proved in behalf of our country at large, could not fail to exact from the nation still young, as Japan was at that time, a tremendous overexertion of their mental faculties. Having been strained to the last extremity of tension, the Japanese became naturally exceedingly nervous. From a lack of patience to observe quietly the maturing of the effect of a stack of laws and regulations already enacted, they hastily repudiated some of them as if they were of no use, and replaced them by new laws quite as confounding as the previous ones, and thus legislations contradictory in principle rapidly succeeded one another, none of them having had time enough to be experimented with exhaustively. Although along with this rage for imitation there was a strong countercurrent, very conservative, which struggled incessantly to preserve what was original and at the same time precious, yet to determine which was worthy of preservation was a matter of bewilderment to the contemporaries, for they were averse from coming into any collision with things Chinese to which they were not at all loth. Excitement and irritation, the natural result of this topsyturvy state of things, can best be estimated by the belief in ridiculous auspices. The discovery of a certain plant or animal, of rare colour or of unusual shape, generally caused by deformities, was enthusiastically welcomed as an augury of a long and peaceful reign, and was wont to call forth some lengthy imperial proclamation in praise of the government. Bounties were munificently distributed to commemorate the happy occasion, discoverers of these rarities were amply rewarded, criminals were released or had the hardships of their servitude ameliorated. Naturally, many of these auguries proved vain, and only served as a prop to sustain the self-conceit of responsible ministers, or as a means of soothing general discontent, if such discontent could ever be manifested in those "good old times." The greatest evil of this fatuous hankering for sources of self-satisfaction was the throng of rogues and sycophants thereby produced who vied with one another in contriving false or specious rarities and begging imperial favour for them. Superstitions of this kind would have suited well enough a people quite uncivilised, or too civilised to care for rational things. As for the Japanese, a people already on the way of youthful progress, radiant with hope, belief in auspices was but an intolerable fetter. If viewed from this single point, therefore, the régime ought to have been reformed by any means. Another and still greater evil of the age was the clashing of interests between the different classes of people. Chinese civilisation could permeate only the powerful, the higher classes. Though the chieftains and lords, who had been mighty in the former régime, were bereft of their power by the appropriation of their lands and people, a new class of nobles soon arose in place of them, and among the latter the descendants of Nakatomi-no-Kamatari were the most prominent. This sagacious minister, of whom I have already spoken in the foregoing chapters, was rewarded, in consideration of his meritorious services in the destruction of the Soga, as well as in the execution of the most radical reform Japan has ever known, with the office of the most intimate advisory minister of the Emperor, and was granted the honourable family appellation of Fujiwara. His descendants, who have ramified into innumerable branches and include more than half of the court-nobles of the present day, enjoyed ever-increasing imperial favour generation after generation. What marked especially the sudden growth of the family position was the elevation of one of the grand-daughters of the minister to be the imperial consort of the Emperor Shômu. For several centuries prior to this, it had been the custom to choose the empress from the daughters of the families of the blood imperial. An offspring of a subject, however high her father's rank might be, was not recognised as qualified to that distinction. The privilege, which the Fujiwara family was now exceptionally honoured with, meant that only this family should have hereafter its place next to the imperial, so that none other would be allowed to vie with it any more. The Fujiwara became thus associated with the imperial family more and more closely, and affairs of state gradually came to be transacted as if they were the family business of the Fujiwara. The worst evil of this aggrandisement was only prevented by the incessant and inveterate internecine feuds within the clan itself, which eventually served to put a bridle on the audacity and ambition of any one of the members. This influential family of the Fujiwara, together with a few other nobles of different lineage, including scions of the imperial family, monopolised almost all the wealth and power in the country. They kept a great number of slaves in their households, and held vast tracts of private estates, too. As to the land, they developed and cultivated the fields by the hands of their slaves or leased them for rent. Besides, they turned into private properties those lands of which they were legally allowed only the usufruct. By the reform legislation, the usufruct of a public land was granted to one who did much service to the state, but the duration of the right was limited to his life or at most to that of his grand-children. None was permitted to hold the public land as a hereditary possession without time limit. It was by the infringement of these regulations that arbitrary occupation was realised. Another means of the aggrandisement of the estates of the nobles was a fraudulent practice on the part of the common people. Those who were independent landowners or legal leaseholders of public lands were liable to taxation, as may be supposed, and as the taxes and imposts of that time were pretty heavy, those landholders thought it wiser to alienate the land formally by presenting it to some influential nobles or some Buddhist temples, which came to be privileged, or asserted the right to be exempted from the burden of taxation. In reality, of course, those people continued to hold the land as before, and were very glad to see their burden much alleviated, for the tribute which they were obliged to pay to the nominal landlord by the transaction must have been less than the regular taxes which they owed to the government. Moreover, by this presentation they could enter under the protection of those nobles or temples, which was useful for them in defying the law, should need arise. The number of independent landholders thus gradually diminished by the renunciation of the legal right and duty on the part of the holders, and consequently the amount of the levied tax grew less and less. The state, however, could not curtail the necessary amount of the expenditure on that account. The dignity of the court had to be upheld higher and higher, state ceremonies performed regularly, and the national defence was not to be neglected for a moment. All these were causes which necessitated a continual increase of revenue. In order to fill up the deficit, the burden was transferred, doubled or trebled, to those who remained longer honest, so that it soon became quite unbearable for them also. The hardships borne by the law-abiding people of that time could be compared to those of the Huguenots who, faithful to their confession, were impoverished by the dragonnade. In this way, more and more people were induced to give up their independent stand and take shelter under the shield of mighty protectors. Military service, too, was another grievance for the common people. They had to serve in the western islands against continental invaders, or on the northern frontier against the Ainu. Not only did they thereby risk their lives, but sometimes they were obliged to procure their provisions at their own cost, for the government could not afford it. If those people would once renounce their right of independence and turn voluntary vagabonds, then they could at once elude the military duty and the tax. No wonder this was possible since it was an age in which the national consciousness was not yet developed enough to teach them implicitly that it was their duty to be ready to expose themselves to any peril for the sake of the state. This underhand transaction is one exceedingly analogous to the process in which Frankish allod-holders gradually turned their lands into fiefs, in order to escape taxation and at the same time obtain protection from influential persons. If one should think that the census, which was ordained in the reform law to take place periodically, would prove efficient to check the increase of these outcasts, it would be a great mistake in forming a just conception of these ages. Soon after the enactment of the census law, it ceased to be regularly executed, and even while the law was observed with punctuality, the extent to which it was applied must have been very limited. It was at such a time that the great statue of Buddha was completed in the city of Nara, and ten thousand priests were invited to take part in a grand ceremony of rejoicing. The palaces and temples in Nara, as well as the imperial mansions and the abodes of nobles scattered about the country, seem in a great measure to have been solidly and magnificently built, with their roofs covered with tiles as beforementioned. The nobles who had no permanent residence in the city, had as their bounden duty to pay certain duty visits, as it were, to the imperial court, and learn there how to refine their country life by adopting the metropolitan ways of living. Some of the household furniture used by the nobles and members of the imperial family was bought in China. The education of the higher classes enabled them not only to read and write the literary Chinese with ease and fluency, but to behave correctly according to Chinese etiquette, as if they were themselves genuine Chinese. These are the bright aspects of the history of the Nara age. Around the metropolitan city, however, and those aristocratic abodes in the country, swarmed the impoverished people, utterly uneducated, receiving no benefit whatever from the imported Chinese civilisation. Here one might perhaps ask, could not Buddhism give them any solace at all? Not in the least. The shrewd Buddhists, having seen that Shintoism had been strangely tenacious in resisting the propagation of their creed notwithstanding its lack of system and dogma, wisely invented a clever method to keep a firm hold even on the conservative mind by identifying the patron deities of Buddhism with the national gods of our country. It resembles in some ways the device of the early Christian missionaries in northern Europe, who tried to blend Teutonic mythology with Christian legend. The only difference between them is that those missionaries did not go so far as our Buddhist priests did. This device of the Buddhists was crowned with complete success. By this identification Buddhism became a religion which could be embraced without any palpable contradiction to Shintoism, in other words, with no risk of injuring the national traditions. Nay, it came to be considered that Shintoism was not only compatible with Buddhism, but also subservient to its real interests. Thus we find almost everywhere a Shinto shrine standing within the same precincts as a Buddhist temple, the Shinto deity being regarded as the patron of the Buddhist creed and its place of worship. This strange combination continued to be looked upon as a matter of course until the Restoration of Meidji, when the revival of the imperial prerogative was accompanied by a reaction against Buddhism, and the purification of Shintoism from its Buddhistic admixture was enthusiastically undertaken. On account of the dubiosity of their religious character, many finely built temples and images of exquisite art were ruthlessly demolished, much to the regret of art connoisseurs. In the year 794, the Emperor Kwammu transferred his capital to the province of Yamashiro, and gave it the felicitous appellation of Hei-an, which means peace and tranquility. The place, however, has been commonly designated by the name of Kyoto, which means literally the capital, and continued henceforth to be the centre of Japan for more than one thousand years. There might have been several motives which caused the capital to be removed from Nara. The valley, in which the old capital was situated, might have been too narrow to allow free expansion, or it might have been found inconveniently situated as regards communications. Party strife among the nobles might have been another reason. At any rate the choice of the new site cannot be regarded as a mistake. Kyoto is better connected with Naniwa, Ôsaka of the present day, than Nara was at that time. From Kyoto one was able to reach the port within a few hours, by going down the river Yodo by boat. There is no natural hindrance on the way like the mountain chain which divides the two provinces of Yamato and Settsu. At the same time, Kyoto is quite near to Ohtsu, the gate toward the eastern provinces, and those selfsame provinces were the regions which had for long been engrossing the attention of far-sighted contemporary statesmen. The energetic Emperor Kwammu undertook the conquest of the Ainu with a renewed vigour. That part of the Ainu country which faced the Sea of Japan was already made a province before the accession of that sovereign. In the Emperor's reign the success of the Japanese arms was carried far into the Ainu land by the victorious general Sakanouye-no-Tamuramaro. The boundary of the province of Mutsu, the region facing the Pacific, was pushed northward into the middle of the present province of Rikuchû. Enterprising Japanese settled in those lands or travelled to and fro in quest of trade. The Ainu, however, was not completely subjugated, nor was he easily driven away out of the main island. Beyond Shirakawa, the place which had for a long time been considered the northernmost limit of civilised Japan, numerous hordes of half-domesticated Ainu continued to reside as before. As the result of the constant contact with the Japanese, they were slowly influenced by the civilisation which the latter had already acquired. They could consolidate their forces under the leadership of some valiant chiefs, and frequently dared to rise against oppressive governors sent from Kyoto. In short, they proved to be intractable as ever, so that more than three centuries were still necessary to put their land in the same status as the ordinary Japanese province. The interminable wars and skirmishes waged thenceforth between the two races were one of the principal causes of the financial embarrassment of the government at Kyoto, and finally undermined its power. The imperial family and the nobles lived their lives at Kyoto, largely as they were wont to do at the old capital of Nara. The family of the Fujiwara was ever as ascendant as before. Abundant court intrigues were now not the outcome of the antagonism between the different great families, but of the internal quarrels within the single family of the Fujiwara, not infrequently intermingled with disputes concerning the imperial succession. All the high and lucrative offices were monopolised by the members of that able and ambitious family. Most of the empresses of the successive sovereigns were their daughters. The regency became the hereditary function of the family, and they filled the office one after another without any regard to the age or health conditions of the reigning emperor. It was very rare indeed for members of families other than the Fujiwara to be promoted to one of the three great ministerships. Even scions of the imperial family had to yield to them in power and position. Their literary attainments were generally high, being but little inferior to those of the professional literati, who formed a class of secondary courtiers, and proceeded generally from the families of the Sugawara, Kiyowara, and so forth. Ships with ambassadors, students, and priests were sent by them to China of the T'ang as before. For they still burned with an ardent desire to get more and more knowledge about things Chinese. Their Sinicomania was carried indeed to such an excess that the physiognomical type of the Chinese came to be regarded as the finest ideal of mankind, and any Japanese who was of that type was adored as having the ideal features. The despatch of the official ships continued as in the days of Nara, not at regular intervals, but generally once during the reign of every Japanese emperor. The impetuous imitation of Chinese legislation slackened in fact, for in that respect we had already borrowed enough. The connection of our country with China began to take the form of ordinary international intercourse, with due reciprocation of courtesies. There remained, however, some need of keeping pace with the political changes in China, and we could not make up our minds to refrain altogether from peeping into the land which we held to be far above our country in civilisation. The last of such an embassy was that sent in the year 843. Half a century afterwards another squadron was ordered to be despatched, and Sugawara-no-Michizane was appointed ambassador. But the squadron was never really sent. For at that time the long dynasty of the T'ang was just drawing near to its end, and the civil war of a century's duration was beginning. There was no more any stable government in China with which we could communicate. Moreover, there was danger to be feared that we might be somehow embroiled in the anarchical disturbances in the Middle Kingdom. The ambassador, Michizane himself, was also of the opinion that little was to be gained by the despatch of the intended squadron, and dissuaded the government from sending it. Japan now entered into the stage of the assimilation of the alien culture already imported in full. Hitherto we had been too busy to make discrimination among those things Chinese which we had engulfed at random. Now we had to make clear which of them was suited, and how others were to be modified in order to make them useful to our country. In short, we had to digest; or to speak by the book, we had to ruminate on what we had already taken. After all it must have been a wise policy to put a stop to the state of national nervousness caused by the incessant introduction of foreign laws, manners, customs, things. The infiltration, however superficial it might have been, left an ineradicable influence owing to the continual process of several centuries. The spirit of the culture of the dominant class became essentially Chinese. Though the saying, "Japanese spirit and Chinese erudition" was henceforth fondly spoken of, the Japanese spirit itself was not yet clearly defined, and did not enter into the full consciousness of the nation. What the ruling nobles, who had imbibed the Chinese spirit already too deeply, could do was only to discard things which became superannuated and untenable. The characteristics of the age of rumination may be discerned in the history of our literature from the latter half of the ninth century to the beginning of the eleventh. At first, while literary works were still being written almost exclusively in Chinese, we begin to find in their style traces of Japanisation, becoming more and more marked as time goes on. Along with works in Chinese, those in our own language began to appear, though very sparsely at first. Then gradually these attempts in the vernacular increased, so that eventually the end of the tenth century became the culminating period of the classical Japanese literature. Religious and scholastic works were written in Chinese as before. August and ceremonial documents continued to be composed in the same language. Chinese poetry was as much in vogue among the courtiers as ever. At the same time, however, numerous works in Japanese now appeared in the form of chronicles, diaries, short stories, novels, satirical sketches, and poems. What was most remarkable, however, is that the greater part of those works was written not by men, but by court ladies. Among the ladies, who by their wit and literary genius brightened the court of the Emperor Ichijô, stood at the forefront Murasaki-shikibu, the author of the _Genji-monogatari_, and Sei-Shônagon, the author of _Makura-no-sôshi_. That these intelligent and talented court ladies were versed in Chinese literature can be perceived in what they wrote in Japanese. In other words, the culture, essentially Chinese, of the high circles of society was not monopolised by the men only, but shared by the women. And these court ladies were fairly emancipated, and far from being subject to the caprices of men. It is often argued that the progress of a country can be measured rightly by the social status of the women in it. If that be true, Japan at the beginning of the eleventh century must have been very highly civilised. And it was really so in a certain sense. This civilised Japan, however, was confined to the very narrow circle in Kyoto, and for that very circle the Chinese enlightenment penetrated too deep. The great nobles of the Fujiwara family were too refined, too effeminate for holders of the helm of the state, the young state in which there was still much to be done vigorously. The Ainu on the north were menacing as ever. For though they had lost in extent of territory, they had gained in civilisation. The demand of the state was for energetic ministers as well as for valiant warriors. The high-class nobles became unfitted for both, and especially for the rough life of the latter. As generals, therefore, not to speak of officers, were employed men of comparatively low rank among the courtiers. In this way military affairs became the hereditary profession of certain families which happened to be engaged in them most frequently, and were at last monopolised by them. As the government, however, could not and did not care to provide these generals with a sufficiency of soldiers, provisions, and armaments, they were obliged to help themselves to those necessaries, just like the leaders of the landsknechts in Europe. The intimate relation of vassalage, not legally recognised of course, thus arose between those generals and their private soldiers, and as this condition lasted for a considerable time, the relationship became hereditary. Needless to say that such a condition of affairs was naturally set up in the provinces, where the Ainu was still powerful enough to raise frequent disturbances. On account of the fact that these generals and their relatives were often appointed to the governorship of distant provinces, where the influence of the Kyoto government was too weak to check their arbitrary conduct, the same connection of vassalage was formed there also between them and the provincials who were in need of their protection. Not only did they thus become masters of bands of strong and warlike people, but they also appropriated to themselves by sundry means vast tracts of land, and fattened their purses thereby. That they did not venture at once to overthrow the political régime upheld by the nobles of the Fujiwara family may be accounted for by the time-honoured prestige of the latter. For a long while those warriors went even so far as to do homage to this or that noble of the Fujiwara as his vassals, and served as tools to this or that party in court intrigues. The courtiers, who employed them as their instruments, had no apprehension that those military men, subservient for the moment to their needs, would one day turn into rivals, powerful enough in the long run to overturn them, and flattered themselves that they would remain as their cat's-paws forever. An exact analogy of this in the history of Rome may be found in the shortsightedness of the senate, which complacently believed that the Scipios and the Caesars would for ever remain obedient to their order. It would be a fatal mistake to think that a cat's-paw would always remain docile and faithful to its employer. Especially when it is frequently used and abused it becomes conscious of its own usefulness and real strength; and self-assertion is born. The next step for it must be the sounding of the strength of its master, then the desire awakens to take the place of the master, when it is found that he is not so strong as he looks to be. Moreover in any country, in whatever condition, war cannot be carried on without a great number of participants, while it must be directed by a single head. War, therefore, tends on the one hand to create a dictator, and on the other hand to precipitate the democratisation of a country. None would be so ignorant for long as to discharge gladly an imposed duty without enjoying their right to compensation for service rendered. The time must come when these military leaders should supersede the ultracivilised Kyoto nobles, and hold the reins of government themselves. The transference of political power from the higher to the lower stratum was unavoidable. These generals, howsoever inferior they might be in rank compared with the court nobles of the Fujiwara, were still to be classed among the nobles, and it was yet a very far cry to the time when the common people could have some share in the politics of their own country. CHAPTER VII THE MILITARY RÉGIME; THE TAIRA AND THE MINAMOTO; THE SHOGUNATE OF KAMAKURA For some time the military class had been rocking the prestige of the court nobles, and at last superseded them by overturning their rotten edifice. It was first by the wars of the so-called "Nine Years" and "Three Years," both waged in northern Japan in the latter half of the eleventh century by Yoriyoshi and Yoshiiye, the famous generals of the Minamoto family, that the military class began to grow markedly powerful and independent. Nearly a century passed, and then Yoritomo, one of the great-great-grandsons of Yoshiiye, was able to set up his military government, the Shogunate, at Kamakura in the province of Sagami. Previous to the Kamakura Shogunate, there was an interim between it and the old régime, the semi-military government of the Taira family. The family of the Taira sprang, like that of the Minamoto, from a scion of the imperial family, and, like the latter, had been engaged from the first in the craft of war. Of the two, the Taira first succeeded in courting the favour of the Fujiwara nobles, and the members of the former family were appointed to less dangerous and more lucrative posts than the Minamoto. As Japan at that time kept on gravitating toward the west of Kyoto, it was natural that the influence of the Taira should have been extended in the western provinces. Some of the noted warriors belonging to this clan were now and then charged with the governorship of the eastern provinces, and therefore their descendants were widely scattered in those quarters also. In the east, however, the influence of the Minamoto family was paramount, for noted warriors of this family were more frequently employed than the Taira in the region against the Ainu. In both of these families, the moral link between several branches within the family was very loose, perhaps much weaker than in the Highland clans in Scotland. Such dissension should be attributed to the fact that those who passed under the same family name of the Minamoto or the Taira became soon too numerous to present a united front always, whenever a conflict with the rival family arose. At any rate the feud between the respective main branches of the two families was very bitter and inveterate, covering many generations. Of the two, the Minamoto, hardened by constant warfare with the still savage tribes in the north, and trained by the privations unavoidable in wars, surpassed the Taira in robustness and bravery. The Taira became, on the contrary, as the result of close contact with the courtiers at Kyoto, more refined than the Minamoto. Though alternately employed as generals in war as well as instruments in intrigues, the Taira were thought by the Fujiwara to be more docile, and therefore were more trusted than the Minamoto. This is why the former were able to seize possession of the government earlier than the latter. Kiyomori, the first and the last of the Taira, who was made the highest minister of the crown, as if he were himself one of the Fujiwara nobles, was able to reach that goal of the ambition of courtiers, by intruding himself among them, intermingling his sons and grandsons with the flower of the Fujiwara, and at last he made one of his daughters the consort of the Emperor Takakura. His only distinction as compared with the old nobles was that his personal character was too rough and soldier-like, and the means he resorted to were too drastic and forcible, for the over-refined members of the Fujiwara. Kiyomori had in his quality too much of the real statesman to be an idle player in the pageants and ceremonies of the court, and it is said that he often committed blunders through his unseemly deportment as courtier, and became, on that account, the laughing-stock of the Fujiwara. Nevertheless he, like the most of the Fujiwara, could not rid himself of the mistaken idea, that the statesman and the courtier were the same thing, so that none could be the one without being the other. The younger members of the family were reared up rather as courtiers than as soldiers, trained more in playing on musical instruments, in dancing, and in witty versification of short poems than in the use of weapons. The most memorable deed achieved by Kiyomori was the change of the capital from Kyoto to Fukuwara, a part of the present city of Kobe. Till then Kyoto had been continuously the capital of the empire for three and a half centuries. To remove the centre of the government from that sacrosanctity must have been a great surprise to the metropolitans. As to the interpretation of the motives for this change, historians differ. It is ascribed by some to Kiyomori's abhorrence of the conventionalism which obtained in the old capital, and which was so deeply rooted as not to be eradicated very easily so long as he stayed there, or else to his anxious desire to get rid of the pernicious meddling of the audacious priests of the temple Yenryakuji, on mount Hiyei, the source of great annoyance to the government of Kyoto. By other historians the change is said to have originated in Kiyomori's farsightedness in having set his mind on the profit of the trade with China, the trade from which his family had already reaped a huge profit, and which could be carried on more actively by shifting the capital from Kyoto to the important port of the Inland Sea. That he earnestly desired the facilitation of navigation in the Inland Sea need not be doubted, for the cutting of the strait of Ondo, the improvement of the harbour of Hyogo, as the port of Kobe was called at that time, and many other works pertaining to the navigation of the sea were undertaken at his orders. It is not certain, however, whether any of the above mentioned motives sufficed alone to induce him to forsake the historical metropolis. Whatever the reason the change was a failure. It was very unpopular in the circle of the Fujiwara nobles, who longed ardently to return to their old nests, and baffled by the passive resistance of these nobles in whatever he tried to do, Kiyomori could not achieve anything worthy of mention during the remainder of his life. The brief period of the Taira ascendancy thus passed away very swiftly. It was since 1156 A.D., the year in which the war of the Hogen took place, that the military-men had begun to discern that they they were strong enough to displace the Fujiwara nobles. Only three years after that, the destiny of the two rival families was for a time decided. The Taira remained on the field, and the vanquished, that is to say, the members of the chief branch of the Minamoto, were either killed or deported, the rest having been scattered and rendered powerless to resist. Yoritomo, one of these exiles, was taken into the custody of an overseer of the province of Idzu, in the vicinity of which were settled the descendants of the faithful followers of his forefathers. When an opportunity came, therefore, he was able to muster without difficulty those hereditary vassals, and overran, first the eastern provinces, and then, with the assistance of one of his younger brothers, Yoshitsune, who had taken refuge with Hidehira, the hybrid generalissimo of the half independent province of Mutsu, he drove the Taira party out of Kyoto, whither the capital had been transferred again a short time before, soon after the death of Kiyomori. What remained to be done was consummated by the tact and bravery of Yoshitsune. The partisans of the Taira family fought very valiantly on the coast of the Inland Sea, but always succumbed in the end to adverse destiny. In the last battle which was fought on the sea near the strait of Shimonoseki, some of the Taira were taken prisoners, and then decapitated. Many, however, died in the battle, or drowned themselves, for to be killed in cold blood by an enemy has ever been thought the most ignominious fate for a warrior of Japan. In thus presenting a united front to the last in adversity, the kernel of the Taira family, though much enervated by their court life, proved themselves true sons of the chivalrous warriors of old Japan. This catastrophe took place in the year 1185. The flourishing period of the Taira family was of the short duration of thirty years only. As the rise of the family was very sudden, its downfall was equally abrupt. It was like a meteor traversing a corner of the long history of Japan, leaving, however, an indelible memory to posterity. The peculiar charm of the culture of the age represented by the elite of the family during its ascendency, and its chivalrous end, embellish the history of our country with a number of pathetic episodes which provided abundant themes for poems, tales, and dramas of the after-age. The most famous among this literature is a narration called the _Heike-monogatari_, Heike in Chinese characters meaning "the family of Taira." Whether the _monogatari_ or tale was first composed for the purpose of being read or recited is a question. It is certain, however, that when the story became widely known, called by the more simplified name of "the _Heike_," it was generally recited as a chant, resembling the melody of Buddhist hymns, accompanied by the playing the _biwa_, a stringed instrument the shape of which has given its name to the largest lake in Japan. This recitation is the precursor of the _utai_, which was a kind of recitation fashionable in the next age. The origin of the more modern _jôruri_ recitation accompanied by the _shamisen_ may be traced to the _Heike_ also. What pleased the audiences most in the _Heike_ were the sad vicissitudes of the family and the gallant chivalry manifested in its downfall. The former, preaching the uncertainty of human life, was sufficient to touch the courtiers with keen pathos, courtiers who had lived out their time, and having been taught by Buddhism to look on every thing pessimistically, were glad to sympathise with whatever was on the wane. Differently from them, warriors were also fond of hearing the rehearsal of the _Heike_ with thrills piercing the heart, by putting themselves in the place of some gallant Taira cavalier, who had fought to the last with undaunted courage and met his death with calmness more than mortal. It is not only because the Taira family was in general more refined than the Minamoto, and gave an impulse to the literature of Japan by its enlightened chivalry, that the period forms an important turning-point in the history of the civilisation of our country. Almost all the essential traits of our civilisation during the whole military régime can be said to have been initiated in this brief Taira epoch. As an inheritor of the borrowed civilisation, the Taira warriors were not so much saturated with the alien refinement as the Fujiwara nobles were, and therefore, when they came nearer the throne, the aspect of the court was not a little vulgarised, but instead there was a freshness in those warriors which was found wanting among the Fujiwara, already overwrought and exhausted by too much Chinese civilisation. This freshness may be considered an index of the revival of the conservative spirit, which had been long lurking in the lower strata of the nation. Conservatism in such a phase of history is generally on the side of strength and energy. It is true that Kiyomori, his sons, and grandsons endeavoured rather to go up the ladder of the courtiers higher and higher, in order to soar 'above the cloud.' In other words, it was not their first ambition to lead the people in the lower strata against the higher; they were not revolutionists at all. But whatever might have been their real intention, they could not ward off those followers who had a common interest with them. There was no doubt that the lower class of people sympathised with the military-men, whether they were of the Taira or of the Minamoto family, far more deeply than with the Fujiwara nobles. The ascendency, therefore, of the Taira stirred the long latent spirit of the majority of the nation, and this re-awakening of the Japanese, if we may call it so, gave life to every fibre of the social structure, urging the nation to energetic movement. The most tangible evidence of this resuscitation of Japan can be obtained in the sculpture of the age. The first flourishing period of Japanese sculpture anterior to this is the era of the Tempyô, that is to say, during the reign of the Emperor Shômu. After that the art fell gradually into decadence, and no period could compete with the Tempyô era except the Taira age. The works of Unkei and Tankei, representative masters who made their names at this time, though lagging far behind those of Tempyô sculptors in exquisite softness and serenity, yet surpassed the latter in vigour and strength. What they liked to represent most were statues of deities rather than Buddha himself, and of the deities they preferred those of martial character. Comparing them with the Tempyô sculptures, in which the subject is not so narrowly circumscribed, we can observe the change of the national spirit very clearly. In painting also, the most important progress of the age is the change in subjects of this art, or rather the increase in varieties of subjects to be painted. Before this time what the artists generally liked to paint were the images of Buddha, Buddhist deities, scenes in Buddhist history, and portraits of celebrated priests. Landscapes were put on canvas, too, though not so frequently as those subjects pertaining to Buddhism. Since then portraits, not only of priests, but also of laymen, such as courtiers and generals, have been treated by our painters. Some masterpieces of the new portraiture, by the brush of Takanobu, are extant to this day. This development of portrait-painting may be interpreted as a symptom of the newly-budding individualism on the nation. As to scroll paintings, formerly we had pictures of consecutive scenes in Buddhist history painted in that manner, but scenes from secular history or genre pictures were rare. From this time onward we have scrolls of a character not purely religious, though Buddhist stories are still used as subjects for painting as before. Moreover, in earlier scrolls the best attention was paid to painting Buddha or deities, and not to delineating the auxiliaries, such as landscapes, buildings, worshipping multitudes of various professions, and so forth, while in the new kinds of scrolls more stress was laid on depicting those auxiliaries rather than the pious personages themselves. Battle scenes in the provinces of Mutsu and Dewa, or those between the Taira and the Minamoto in the streets of Kyoto, were also painted on scrolls. Another and quite novel kind extant of the scroll pictures of this age is the satirical delineation of the manners and customs of the time by the brush of the painter-priest Toba-sôjô. In the famous scroll certain animals familiar to the daily life, such as foxes, rabbits, frogs, and so forth are depicted allegorically, each suggesting certain notorious personages of various callings in the contemporary society. As to literature, a difference similar in nature to those characteristics of the literature of the preceding age can be observed very distinctly. In the former period, though the essence of the literature in Japanese was profoundly influenced by the Chinese spirit, Chinese vocabularies and phrases rarely entered into sentences without being translated into Japanese. That is to say, the Japanese literature remained pure as to language, and went on side by side with the literature in Chinese. Now the combination of the two kinds began to take form. Chinese words, phrases, and several rhetorical figures began to be poured into the midst of sentences, the structure remaining Japanese as before, so that those sentences may be considered as forming a kind of hybrid Chinese, with words juxtaposed in a Japanese style, and connected by Japanese participles. This change resulted in making a great many Japanese words obsolete, and it has since become necessary for the Japanese constantly to resort to the Chinese vocabulary in writing as well as in speaking. The growth of Japanese as an independent language was thus regrettably retarded. At the same time Japanese literature reaped an immense benefit from this adoption of the Chinese vocabulary, for by it we became enabled to express our thoughts concisely, forcibly, and when necessary in a very highflown style, things not utterly impossible but exceedingly difficult for Japanese pure in form. The use of Chinese ideographs thus increased from generation to generation, until now it has become too late to try to eradicate them. All that which the Japanese nation has achieved in the past, its history, nay, its whole civilisation, has been handed to us, recorded in the language, which is woven of Chinese vocabularies and Japanese syntax, and denoted by symbols which are nothing but Chinese ideographs and their abbreviations, the Kana. A movement to supersede the Chinese ideographs by the exclusive use of the _kana_, which are very simple abbreviations of those ideographs, was initiated at the beginning of the Meidji era, but was dropped soon afterwards. Another radical movement to substitute the Roman alphabet for the Chinese ideographs and the _kana_ in writing Japanese, was started nearly at the same time, and still continues to have a certain number of zealous advocates. The success of such a movement, however, depends on the value of the civilisation already acquired by the Japanese. If that amounts to nothing, and can be cast aside without any regret, in other words, if the history of Japan counts for nothing for the present and the future of the country, then the movement would have some chance of success; otherwise the attainment of the object is a dream of the millenium. The manifestation of the new spirit of the new age in the sphere of religion is not less remarkable than in that of art or of literature. Since its introduction into our country, Buddhism had been very singular in its position as regards the social life of the nation. Though the imperial family and the higher nobles earnestly embraced the new creed, and worshipped the "gods of the barbarians," this acceptance of Buddhism cannot be called a conversion, because their religious thoughts were never engrossed by it. They continued to pay a very sincere respect to the old deities of Japan as before, while they were adoring Buddha enthusiastically. Shintoism was, if not a religion, something very much like a religion, more than anything else. So long as Shintoism remained as influential as of yore, the Japanese could not be said to have been converted to Buddhism. The Buddhist priests, having perceived this, tried not to supersede but to incorporate Shintoism into their own creed, as I have explained before, and succeeded in it, but could not erase the independence of Shintoism entirely out of the spiritual life of the Japanese. It cannot be doubted that Buddhism was made secure as regards its position in Japan by this incorporation, but in general it gained not much. Assimilation, generally speaking, has as its object, to destroy the independent existence of the things to be assimilated, and at the same time the assimilator must run the risk of causing a condition of heterogeneity on account of the addition of the new element. Buddhism could not destroy the independent existence of Shintoism, and the former became heterogeneous by the assimilation of the latter, so that the _raison d'être_ of Buddhism in Japan was very much weakened by the assimilation. The lower strata of the nation were very slow in being penetrated by Buddhism, notwithstanding the munificent encouragement afforded to it by the government, for example, by appointing preachers not only in the neighbourhood of the capital, but in distant provinces also, or by ordering the erection of one temple in each province at the expense of the government. The common people were in need of salvation indeed, but from the Buddhism which was nationalised, they could not expect to obtain what they were unable to find in Shintoism. In short, Buddhism, by its transformation and nationalisation, lost universality, its strongest point, and was rendered quite powerless, that is to say, blunted in the edge. Buddhism as a religious philosophy remained of course intact, but the cunning device of priests to make it conformable to our country went too far, and resulted only in weakening its efficiency as a practical religion. There were still to be found some numbers of priests who pursued their study in the intricate philosophy of Buddhism, in cloisters, in the depths of some forest or mountain recesses, but they were almost powerless to act upon society in general. The mass of the people looked on Buddhism only as the worship of an aggregation of deities, not much different from common objects of superstition, or simply as a kind of show very pleasant to see and to enjoy. They were too busy to care for meditation, and too ignorant to venture on philosophising. Religion as a show! Seemingly what an astounding blasphemy even to entertain such an idea! No foreign reader, however, would be shocked at it, who knows that religious plays made the beginning of the modern stage of Europe, and that in villages in the Alpine valleys there may be found some survivals of them even now. Not only that, the services of the Roman Catholic and of the Greek Orthodox Church contain even to this day not a few theatrical elements. An appeal of this nature to the audience has always the effect of making the religion poetical, and therefore was the method chiefly resorted to by the Church in the Middle Ages throughout all Christendom. The method employed by the Buddhists in our country was just the same. They instituted various ceremonies and processions, each apportioned to a certain definite day of a certain season, and these religious shows served to captivate the minds of the spectators. Here, however, the difference should be noticed between Christianity and Buddhism. The former as a rule is the religion which finds its foothold first among the lower classes of the people, while the latter, in Japan at least, began its propaganda with the upper circles of the nation, and then proceeded downwards. Though the courtiers could frequently enjoy the gorgeous spectacles carried out by priests clad in rich robes of variegated colours amid heavenly music, such scenes could be witnessed only in and about the metropolis, and were moreover too costly and aristocratic to be enjoyed by the common people. The masses were not only debarred from the salvation of their souls, but from the sight of the pageants, the best pastime which an age devoid of a theatre could afford. Yet those masses were a necessary ingredient of society in Japan, by no means to be neglected. Though very slowly, their eyes were opening, and they were beginning to claim their due. How could this demand, not sufficiently conscious to the claimants themselves, be provided for? Solely by Buddhism, which should have been by whatever means reformed. Shintoism, though it has had a very tenacious grip on the national spirit of the Japanese, is deficient in certain particulars, and cannot be called a religion in the strict sense, so that it was difficult for it to march with the ever-advancing civilisation of our country. If there was a need, therefore, for something which could not be obtained outside of religion, it was to be sought elsewhere than in Shintoism, that is to say, in Buddhism, which was then the only cult in Japan worthy to be called a religion. To seek from it anything new, which it could not give in the state it had been, means that it ought to have been reformed. It is true that there had been repeated attempts, since the beginning of the tenth century, to make Buddhism accessible and intelligible to all classes of the people, and this kind of movement had become especially active at the end of the eleventh century. What was common to all of these movements was the endeavor to teach the merit of the _nem-butsu_, that is to say, the belief that anybody who would invoke the help of Buddha by calling repeatedly the name of Amita, one of the manifestations of Buddha, would be assured of the blissful after-life, and that the oftener the invocation was made the surer was the response. Most elaborate among them was an organisation of a religious community resembling in its character a joint-stock company. A member of this community was required to contribute to the accumulation of the blessing by repeating its invocation a certain number of times, like a shareholder of a company paying for his share. This community is in a great measure analogous to those societies of Europe in the later Middle Ages, which tried to accumulate the virtues of the Ave Maria sung by their members. The most striking characteristic of this community was that it extolled its own unique merit which lay in having as its members all the Buddhist deities, whose celestial _nem-butsu_ would be sure to augment the dividends of the earthly shareholders! To organise such a community was not to undermine the traditional edifice of Buddhism in Japan, but to support it, just as those mendicant orders, Benedictine, Augustine, Franciscan, Dominican, and so forth, were formed but in behalf of the Church of Rome. The intention of those who emphasised the _nem-butsu_ was very far from that of becoming the harbingers of the reform movement of the following generations, though the latter aimed at nearly the same thing as the early promoters of the _nem-butsu_ did. Yeshin, a priest in the temple of Yenryakuji, became the precursor of Hônen, who was born more than one hundred years after the death of his forerunner. The former would not and could not become a reformer, though he was highly adored by the latter for his saintliness, who styled himself the only expounder of the former. The latter, too, was very modest and never ventured to proclaim himself a reformer. Hônen was one of the meekest Buddhists in Japan. Yet he was forced against his will to become the founder of the Jôdo sect, which has continued influential to this day. All the religious reformers of the Kamakura period ran in his wake. Religion, art, and literature were all thus transforming themselves almost at the same time, and that very time coincided exactly with the moment in which the most important change in the political sphere was taking place. Such a coincidence in the development of the various factors of civilisation cannot be lightly overlooked as a mere chance happening. Surely it must have been actuated by a common impulse, which was nothing but the urgent demand of the _Zeitgeist_. The régime matured by the Fujiwara nobles at Kyoto had already come to a standstill. Japan had to be pushed on by any means whatever. It is this necessity which allowed the Taira to get the upper hand of the Fujiwara. The rise of this soldier-family cannot be attributed merely to the merit of its representative members. But its fall owed much to their incompetency in not having become conscious of their position in the history of Japan. No sooner had they grasped the reins of the government, than they began to tread the path which their predecessors had trod, the path leading only to the stumbling-block. Too quickly they were transforming themselves into pseudo-courtiers. "The mummy-seekers were about to be turned into mummies," as a Japanese proverb has it. It was just at this juncture, the last phase of the transformation of the Taira warriors, that they were overturned by the Minamoto. In short, the course on which the Taira steered was against the current of the age. If the family had remained in power longer than it actually did, then the just budded spirit of the new age would have dwindled away, and to Japan might have fallen the same lot as befell to other oriental monarchies. For our country it was fortunate that the Taira were no longer able to stay at the helm of the state. Minamoto-no-Yoritomo preferred, at the establishment of his Shogunate, a course quite different from that of the Taira. Having been brought up during his boyhood at Kyoto, and being therefore acquainted with the realities of the metropolitan modes of life, he might have been, perhaps, averse to the Sybaritism of the court. If, on the other hand, he had been inclined to follow in the footsteps of the Taira, he was not in a position to behave as he would have liked, for it was not by any exertion of his own that he was exalted to the virtual dictatorship of the military government. The Minamoto and the Taira who had settled in the eastern provinces, in spite of the difference of their families, had been accustomed to the same condition of living, and they fought often under the same banner against the Ainu. Though quarrels were not lacking among them, they could not help feeling the warmth of the fraternity of arms toward one another. These "rough riders" had gradually become refined by the education imparted by country priests; _terakoya_, the "hut in a temple," was the sole substitute for the elementary school at that time. They had, too, occasion to come into contact with the civilised life of the metropolis, for it was their duty to stay there by turns, sometimes for years, as guards of the capital and of the imperial residence. Intelligent warriors among them took to the city life and mastered some of the accomplishments highly prized by courtiers. Most of them, however, looked with scornful smile upon the degenerate courtiers, like the Germans in the Eternal City looking with disgust on the decadent state of Imperial Rome. When Yoritomo entered into their company as an exile from Kyoto, these warriors were very glad to receive him, for he was descended from the family of the generals whom their forefathers had served hereditarily, and whose names they still revered. With this exile as their leader, they rose united against the Taira, the traditional enemy of the family to which he belonged. After the success of their arms they had no desire to have their chief turned into a pseudo-courtier after the example of the Taira soldiers. Kamakura was therefore chosen as the seat of the military government. This was in the year 1183. In truth, Kamakura cannot be said to be a place strategically impregnable even in those early times. It is too narrow to become the capital of Japan, being closely hemmed in by a chain of hills. Though situated on the sea, its bay is too shallow, not fit for mooring even a small wooden bark. The reason why the place happened to be chosen must be sought, therefore, not in its geographical position, but in that the town was planted nearly in the centre of the region inhabited by the supporters of Yoritomo. That it was also the location of the Shinto shrine, Hachiman of Tsurugaoka, might have had not a little weight in influencing the choice, because it was in this shrine that Yoshiiye, the forefather of Yoritomo and the adored demigod of the warriors of Japan, performed the ceremony of the attainment of his full manhood. The military government, the Shogunate, set up at Kamakura, was in its nature of quite a different type from that of the Taira at Kyoto. Before entering into details, it is necessary, however, to say something about the change in the signification of government. When the Fujiwara became the real masters of Japan, they tried at first to govern wisely and sincerely. But as time passed their energy and determination gradually relaxed. Their growing wealth obtained by encroachment on public lands tended to mould them as a profligate and indolent folk, so that they became at last wholly unfitted for any serious state affairs. Moreover, from the lack of any event which would have necessitated united action of all the family, a condition which might have been exceedingly difficult to attain even if they had wished it, on account of the multiplication of branches, never-ceasing internal feuds which helped only to weaken the prestige of the family as a whole were perpetually arising. It was at this juncture that the Emperor Go-Sanjô tried to recover the reins once lost to the hands of his ancestors. The task which he left unfinished was achieved by his son and successor, the Emperor Shirakawa. When the power was restored to the emperor, however, it was not in the same condition as when lost. The state business decreased in scope and significance, all that was left being merely the disposal of not very numerous manor lands, which had been left untouched by the greedy Fujiwara, and the policing of the capital. The Emperor Shirakawa did not deem it necessary as reigning Emperor to pay regular attention to them. He abdicated, therefore, in favour of his son, and from his retired position he managed the so-called state affairs. As the result of such an assumption of power, the position of the reigning emperor became very problematic, and irresponsibility prevailed everywhere. The imperial family thus regained some of its historical prestige, and succeeded in curbing the arrogance of the Fujiwara. The latter, however, continued very rich and powerful, though not so politically mighty as before. For a short while the Taira achieved its object in partially supplanting the influence of the Fujiwara, but it could not perceptibly weaken the latter. The downfall of the Taira showed clearly that in such a state of the country mere names and titles meant practically nothing, and that the military power supported by material resources was the thing most worth coveting. The Taira started on this line, but soon collapsed by abandoning it. How could a shrewd politician like Yoritomo be expected to imitate the blunder of his opponent? The Shogunate set up by Yoritomo at Kamakura was not of the sort which could appropriately be called a regularly organised government. It was modelled after the organisation of a family-business office, which was common to all the noble families of high rank. There were several functionaries in the Shogunate, but they had the character rather of private servants than of state officials. The Shogun's secretaries, body-guards, butlers and so forth served under him not on account of any official regulation connecting them publicly with him, but only as his retainers, and were designated by the name of the _go-kenin_, which means "the men of the august household." To sum up, the Shogunate was established not for the state but for the family business. Yoritomo had never pretended to take possession of the government of Japan. The fact that at the beginning of the Shogunate its jurisdiction did not extend over the whole of the empire testifies to the same. In the foregoing chapters I have spoken about the encroachment on public lands by the Fujiwara nobles. The private farms which were called the _shô-yen_ and resembled in their character the manors or great landed estates in England, increased year by year, so that they extended at last to all the distant provinces of the country. Some emperors were resolute enough to try to put a stop to the growth of this onerous infringement of the public property, but the orders issued by them had very little effect. As to the management of these farms, they were not administered directly by those nobles who owned them, and it was not uncommon for many manors lying far apart from one another to belong to the same owner. The proprietors, therefore, generally stationed some of their domestic servants in those manors to act as caretakers, or confided the management to men who were the original reclaimers of those manors or their descendants, from whom the nobles had received the lands as a donation. By this assumption of the duty of management, these servants of these nobles arrogated to themselves the right to govern and command the people living upon the estates, without any appointment from the government itself. It cannot be disputed that it was a kind of usurpation not allowable in the regular state of any organised country. The provincial governors of that time, however, were impotent to put a bridle on those impudent managers, for most of the governors appointed stayed in Kyoto to enjoy the pleasure of city life, and left the business of the province to be administered by their lieutenants. Moreover, some of the manors were evidently exempted from the intervention of the provincial officials by a special order. In other words, most of the manors were communities which were to a great degree autonomous, each under the jurisdiction of a half independent manager, and that manager again standing in a subordinate position to his patron, who resided generally at Kyoto. So far I have spoken only of the manors belonging to the nobles of the higher class, including members of the imperial family. Other manors possessed by Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples were also under a régime not much different from those of the nobles. The Taira, too, at the zenith of their family power, had a great number of such estates and the sons of Kiyomori fought against the Minamoto with forces recruited from the tenants of those manors. When Yoritomo overcame the Taira, he confiscated all the manors which had formerly been possessed by that family, and appointed one of his retainers to each of these appropriated manors as _djito_, which literally means a chief of the land. The duty of these _djito_ was to collect for their lord Shogun a certain amount of rice, proportional to the area of the rice fields belonging to the estate. This reserved rice was destined to be used as provision for soldiers, and was in reality the income of the _djito_, for he was himself the very soldier who would use that rice as provision. Besides the collection of rice, he had to keep in order the manor to which he had been appointed as chief, that is to say, the police of the manor was in his hands. Once appointed, a _djito_ could make his office hereditary, though for this the sanction of the Shogunate was necessary. Yoritomo appointed also a military governor to each of the provinces. The authority of this governor, called the _shugo_, extended over all the retainers of the Shogun in that province, including the _djito_. It should be noticed, however, that the _shugo_ was as a rule a warrior, who held the office of _djito_ at the same time, in or out of that province. As to the manors which were owned by Kyoto nobles, shrines, and temples, and therefore not at the disposal of the Shogun, no _djito_ was appointed to them. Though the disputes about the boundaries, right of inheritance, and various other questions concerning the estates were decided by the legal councillors of the Shogunate, jurisdiction was restricted to those cases in which some retainer of the Shogun was a party. Otherwise, the right of decision was denied by the Shogun. The Shogun never claimed any right over the land which did not stand expressly under his jurisdiction. From this it can be inferred that he did not pretend to take over the civil government of the whole of Japan. By the foundation of the Shogunate, however, Yoritomo became a very powerful military chief, sanctioned by the Emperor with the conferment of the title of "generalissimo to chastise the Ainu", and at need he was able to mobilise a large number of soldiers, by giving orders to _djito_ through the _shugo_ of the provinces. None was able to compete with him in military strength, and the business of the civil government had necessarily to fall into the hands of him who was the strongest in material force. If such an anomalous state, as we see in the beginning of the Shogunate, had continued very long, the Shogunate would never have become the regular government of the country, and the dismemberment of Japan might have been the ultimate result. But fortunately for the future of our country, it did not remain as it was first established. Those managers of manors not belonging to the Shogun, seeing that they could be better protected from above by turning themselves into retainers of the Shogun, volunteered for his service. Nobles, shrines, and temples possessing these manors complained of course about the enlistment of the manor-managers into the Shogunate service. For by the transformation of the managers, those manors _ipso facto_ came under the military jurisdiction of Kamakura. As those owners, however, could not prevent the transformation, and as the income from those estates did not decrease in any great measure by the extension of the jurisdiction of the Shogun over them, they had nothing to do, but tacitly to acquiesce in the new conditions. The number of retainers thus increased rapidly, and with it the Shogunate's sphere of jurisdiction grew wider and wider, till at last it covered the greater part of the Empire. The Shogunate was then no more a mere business office of a family, but the government _de facto_ recognised by the whole nation. This process was consummated in the middle of the first half of the thirteenth century. It would be a mistake to suppose that such a momentous change was effected without any disturbance. The Kyoto nobles, who were unable at first to see the political importance of the establishment of the Shogunate in an insignificant provincial village, were gradually awakened to the real loss which they would surely suffer by it, and longed to recover the reins, which they had once forgotten to keep and guard. Besides, there were many malcontent warriors both within and without the Shogunate. For after the death of Yoritomo, though the title of Shogun was inherited by his two sons, one after the other, the real power of the Shogunate fell into the hands of his wife's relations, the family of Hôjô. Warriors of other families were excluded from a share in the military government, and they, dissatisfied on that account, wished for some change in order to overthrow the Hôjô. Needless to say that outside of the Shogunate ambitious men were not lacking, who desired to set up another Shogunate in place of that at Kamakura, if they could. All these discontented soldiery allied themselves with the Kyoto nobles, and caused the civil war of Jôkyu to ensue between them and the Shogunate represented by the Hôjô family. The war ended in the defeat of the former, and the Shogunate emerged out of the war far stronger than before. Thirteen years after the war, the first compilation of laws of the Shogunate was undertaken by Yasutoki Hôjô. It is called "the compiled laws of the Jôyei," Jôyei being the name of the era in which the compilation was issued. This compilation was not so much a work of elaborate systematisation, nor an imitation of foreign laws, as was the reform legislation of the Taïhô. Rather it should be called a collection of abstracts of particular law cases decided by the judicial staff of the Shogunate. It is therefore an outcome of necessitated experiences like English "case-law", and had not the character of statute laws or provisions deduced from a certain fundamental legal principle in anticipation of all probable occurrences. The object of the compilation is clearly stated in the epilogue written by Yasutoki himself. According to this, it was far from the motive of the compilers to displace the old system of legislation by the promulgation of the new one. Old laws became a dead letter, without being formally abrogated, while the new code was issued only for the practical benefit of the people in charge of various businesses. Whatever might have been the real motive of Yasutoki and his legal councillors, the very act of the compilation cannot in itself fail to betray the consciousness on the part of the Shogunate that it had already a sufficiency of test cases decided to supply models for the decision of most of the disputes that might be brought before them in the future. Or we might say that the Hôjô became confirmed in their belief that the Shogunate was now so firmly established as not to be easily shaken at its foundation, and that they could henceforth command in the name of a regular government without any fear of serious disturbances. Certainly their victory in the civil war must have rid them of any apprehension of danger from the side of Kyoto. This compilation was issued in the year 1232, that is to say, about fifty years after the founding of the Kamakura Shogunate. Thus we can see that this half-century had wrought an important change in the history of Japan. During this time the military régime was enabled to strike a firm root deep into the national life of the Japanese. The family of the Minamoto soon became extinct by the death of the second son of Yoritomo, and scions of a Fujiwara noble and then some of the imperial princes were brought from Kyoto one after another as the successors to the Shogunate. Yet they were all but tools in the capable hands of the Hôjô family, which remained the real master of the military government of Kamakura. In course of time, the Hôjô also fell, but other military families successively arose to power, and the military régime was kept up by them in Japan until the middle of the nineteenth century. It is true that those changes in the headship and in the location of the Shogunate caused as a matter of fact corresponding changes in the nature of the respective military régime. The Shogunate of the Ashikaga family was of a different sort from that of Kamakura, while that of the Tokugawa at Yedo was again of another type than the Ashikaga's at Kyoto. Throughout all these different Shogunates, however, certain common characteristics prevailed, so that a wide gap may be discerned between them as a whole and the government of the Fujiwara courtiers. And those characters indeed have their origin all in this first half century of the Kamakura Shogunate. What most distinguished the military régime from the preceding government was its being pragmatic and unconventional. It was not on account of noble lineage alone, that Yoritomo was able to establish his Shogunate. He owed a great deal to the willing assistance of the warriors scattered in the eastern provinces, who claimed descent from some illustrious personages in our history, but in fact had forefathers of modest living for many generations, and had maintained very intimate relations with the common people. The Shogunate was bound by this reason not to neglect the interests of those who had thus contributed to its establishment. Moreover, in order to be able to raise a strong army at any time when necessary, the Shogunate was obliged to take minute care of the welfare of the retainers and of the people at large, for the faithfulness of the former and popularity among the latter counted more than other things as props of the régime. The contrast is remarkable when we compare it to the government by the Fujiwara nobles, who made an elaborate legislation, professing to govern uprightly and leniently, and to be beneficial even to the lowest stratum of the people, yet in reality caring very little for the felicity of the governed, looking on them always with contempt, though this lack of sympathy might be attributed more to some old racial relation than to the morality of those nobles. After all, the government of the Shogun, being regulated by a few decrees and guided by practical common sense, operated far better than the Fujiwara's. Where formalism had reigned, reality began now to prevail. The spirit of the age was about to be emancipated from convention. Japan was regenerated. It was this regeneration of Japan, which kept up and nourished what was initiated in the Taira period. But for the Kamakura Shogunate, however, those germs of the new era might have been blasted forever. One thread of the continuous development from the Taira to the Minamoto period may be clearly discerned in the sphere of religion. In 1212 died Hônen, the reformer of Buddhism, of whom I have already spoken in the preceding chapter, but before his death his teachings had gathered a great many adherents around him, and the sect of the Jôdo became independent of that of the Tendai. It was from this Jôdo sect that the Shinshû or the "orthodox" Jôdo, now one of the most influential Buddhist sects in Japan, sprang up, and became independent also. Shinran, the founder of the latter sect, is said to have been one of the disciples of Hônen, and the tenets of his sect, initiated by Shinran himself and supplemented by his successors, bear striking resemblance to the reform tenets of Luther in laying stress on faith and in denouncing reliance on the merit of good works in order to arrive at salvation. That the priests belonging to this sect have avowedly led a matrimonial life, a custom which was unique to this sect among Japanese Buddhists, is another point of resemblance to Lutheranism. In other respects, for example, in preaching the doctrine of predestination, it can be considered as analogous to Calvinism also. Another important sect, which branched off from the Tendai, is that of the followers of Nichiren. His sect is called the Hokke, or Nichiren, after the name of the founder himself, and the sect still contains a vast number of devotees. It is the most militant sect of Buddhism in Japan, and that militancy might be traced to the personality of Nichiren, the founder, who was the most energetic and aggressive priest Japanese Buddhism has ever produced. He, too, never claimed to have founded a new sect, and insisted that his doctrine was simply a resuscitated Tendai tenet. We can easily see, however, that in its pervading tendency it approached other reformed sects of the same age rather than the old or orthodox Tendai. Nichiren died in the year 1282, so that his most flourishing period falls in the middle of the thirteenth century. One more sect I cannot pass without commenting on is the Zen sect. Its founder in Japan is Yôsai, whose time coincided with that of Hônen. Twice he went over to China, which had been for more than two hundred years under the sovereignty of the Sung dynasty, and studied there the doctrine of the Zen sect, which was then prevailing in that country. After his return from abroad, he began to preach first at Hakata, which had long continued the most thriving port for the trade with China. Afterwards he removed to Kyoto and thence to Kamakura, making enthusiasts everywhere, especially among the warriors. Like all other new sects, the teaching of Yôsai was not entirely a novelty, being a development of one of the many elements which constituted old Buddhism. The specialty of the sect was, instead of arriving at salvation by belief in some supernatural being outside and above one's self, to encourage meditation and introspection and its general character tended to be mystic, intuitive, and individualistic. Strong self-reliance and resolute determination, qualities indispensable to warriors, were the natural and necessary outcome of this teaching. It was largely patronised by the Shogunate and the Hôjô on that account. Though Yôsai became the founder of the sect, neither he himself nor his teaching could hardly be called sectarian. To establish an hierarchical community or to organise a systematised doctrine was beyond his purpose, but the result of his preaching was precisely to bring both into being. Not only the characteristics of these new sects, but the manner of their propagation deserves close attention. Some of them were started in the eastern provinces, and gradually extended their missionary activity toward the west, that is to say, in the direction which is contrary to that of the extension of civilisation in former times. Others, though started in the west or at Kyoto, concentrated their efforts in the eastern provinces with Kamakura as centre of propagation. In short, all the reformed sects turned their attention rather to the eastern than to the western provinces. This preference of the east to the west originated in the circumstance that the less civilised east gave to those missioners a greater prospect of enlisting new adherents, than western Japan, which would of a surety be slow to follow their new teachings, having been already won over by the older cults. It might, however, be added that the preachers of the new doctrines saw, or rather overvalued, the importance of the new political centre as the nucleus of a fresh civilisation which might rapidly develop. To say sooth, the field of activity of those untiring priests was not restricted to those eastern provinces, which are denoted by the general appellation of "Kwanto", but was extended into the far northern provinces of Mutsu and Dewa. This region at the extremity of Honto was long ago created as provinces, but had lagged far behind the rest of Japan in respect of civilisation. A considerable number of the Ainu were still lingering in the northern part of the two provinces. Fujiwara-no-Hidehira, the generalissimo of the region, who harboured Yoshitsune, the younger brother and victim of Yoritomo, is said to have been of Ainu blood. His sphere of influence reached Shirakawa on the south, which was considered at that time the boundary between civilised and barbarous Japan. The time had arrived, however, when this barrier was at last to be done away with. When a quarrel arose between the two brothers, Yoritomo and Yoshitsune, after the annihilation of the Taira, and the latter sought refuge with Hidehira, Yoritomo thought of marching into Mutsu. This expedition was undertaken in the year 1189, after the death of Hidehira. His sons were easily defeated. The land taken from them was distributed by Yoritomo among his soldiers, who followed him from the Kwanto and fought under his banner. The vast region, by coming thus under the military authority of the Kamakura Shogunate, was for the first time, taken into Japan proper. It was on account of this extension of political Japan over the whole of Honto, that the new sects had a chance to penetrate into those provinces. We have seen that religion was the first and the most forcible exponent of the new age. If the Shogunate of Kamakura had remained in power longer than it did, other factors of the new civilisation might have developed quite afresh around the Shogunate. Art and literature of another type than that which flourished at Kyoto might have blossomed forth. The time was, however, not yet ripe for the total regeneration of Japan. The conventionalism of the Kyoto civilisation more and more influenced the Shogunate, which was still too young and had nothing solid of its own civilisation capable of resisting the infiltration of the old. Besides, several difficulties which lay in the way of the Shogunate coöperated in bringing about its fall in the year of 1332. Japan had to go on in a half regenerated state for some time. CHAPTER VIII THE WELDING OF THE NATION THE POLITICAL DISINTEGRATION OF THE COUNTRY A war with a foreign power or powers is generally a very efficient factor in history, conducing to the unification of a nation, especially when that nation is composed of more than one race. The German Empire, which was consolidated mainly by virtue of the wars of 1864, 1866, and 1870-1871, is one of the most exemplary instances. Japan, being surrounded by sea on all sides, has had more advantages than any continental country in moulding into one all the racial elements which happened to find their way into the insular pale. These are the very same advantages which Great Britain has enjoyed in Europe. We should have been able, perhaps, without any coercion from without, to become a solid nation by the sole operation of geographical causes. If we had been left, however, to the mercy of influences of those kinds only, then we might have been obliged to wait for long years in order to see the nation welded, for in respect of the complexity of racial composition, Japan cannot be said to be inferior to any national state in either hemisphere. To facilitate the national consolidation, therefore, the force acting from without was most welcome for us. Of wars serviceable to such an end, however, there had been very scanty chances offered to us. Though the wars against the Ainu had continued much longer than is apt to be imagined by modern Japanese, and had made their influence felt in bringing about the consolidation of the Japanese as a nation, the spasmodic insurrections of the aborigines were but flickerings of cinders about to die out. For several centuries the Ainu had been a race destined only to wane irrevocably more and more, so that no serious danger was to be feared from that quarter. Outside of the Ainu, no other foreign people dared for a long time to invade us on so large a scale as to cause any serious damage. As regards China, the dynasty of the Sung, which began to reign over the empire in the year 960, had been constantly harassed by the incursions of various northern tribes. After an existence of a century and a half, the greater portion of northern China was bereft of the dynasty by the Chin, a state founded by a Tartar tribe called the Churche. The Chin, however, was in turn overthrown in the year 1234 by the Mongols, another nomadic tribe, which rose in the rear of the latter state. Within a half century from that, the Chinese dynasty of the Sung, which had been long gasping in the south, drew its last breath under pressure of the same Mongols that founded the Empire of the Yuan. From China, therefore, in the state it had been, we had nothing to fear. As to the Korean peninsula, which had come under the influence of China at the time of the T'ang dynasty, the state founded there by the inhabitants was enabled now to breathe freely on account of the anarchical condition of the suzerain state. Though Kokuri and Kutara had, in spite of our assistance, been both destroyed by the army of the T'ang, Shiragi, which had been left unmolested by the T'ang as a half independent ally, conquered the greater part of the peninsula, and the people of that state frequently pillaged our western coasts. This Shiragi surrendered at the beginning of the tenth century to Korea, a new state which arose in the north of the peninsula. The relations of the new Korea with our country were on the whole very peaceful, except for some interruptions caused by the incursions of the pirates from that country on our coast at the end of the same century. Besides the Koreans, there were many tribes inhabiting the north and the east of Korea and along the coast of the Sea of Japan, which made themselves independent of China one after the other, though all the states founded by them had but an ephemeral existence. Some of those minor states kept up a very cordial intercourse with our country, while others acted in a contrary way. Among the latter may be counted the pirates from Toi, that is to say, from the region of a Churche tribe, though the real home of this throng of sea-thieves has not yet been identified with any exactness, pirates who devastated the island of Iki and the northern coast of Kyushu with a fleet consisting of more than fifty ships. This took place in the year 1019, and the repulse of this piratical attack was the last military exploit of the Fujiwara nobles. After that complete tranquillity reigned in our western quarter for more than two centuries and a half until the first Mongolian invasion of 1274. Hitherto, to repel the inroads of pirates, the forces which could be set in motion in the western provinces only, had proved to be more than sufficient for the purpose. Against the first Mongolian invasion also, the retainers of the Shogun in the western provinces only were mobilised as usual by command from Kamakura. The battle scenes of the war were described by one of the warriors who took part in it, and painted by a contemporary master on a scroll, which has come down in good preservation to our day, and now forms one of the imperial treasures to be handed on to prosperity. The expeditionary fleet of the Yuan consisted of more than nine hundred ships, with 15,000 Mongols and Chinese and 8,000 Koreans on board, besides 6,700 of the crews, so that it was too overwhelming in numbers even for our valiant soldiers to fight against with some hope of victory. It was not by the valour of our soldiers alone, therefore, that the invasion was frustrated. The elements, the turbulent wind and wave, did virtually more than mere human efforts could have achieved in destroying the formidable enemy's ships. Irritated at this failure of the first expedition, Khubilai, the Emperor of Yuan, immediately ordered the preparation of another expedition on a far larger scale. The second invasion of Japan was undertaken at last in the 1281, after an interval of seven years. This time the invading forces far outnumbered those of the first expedition, totalling more than one hundred thousand in all. On the other hand, the forces which the Shogunate could raise in the western provinces only proved this time plainly inadequate. Seeing this, Tokimune Hôjô, who was the virtual master of the Shogunate, mobilised the retainers in the eastern provinces too, and sent them to the battlefield in Kyushu. A fierce battle was fought on the shore near Hakata. Our soldiers made a desperate effort to prevent the landing of the enemy's troops, contending inch by inch against fearful odds, so that the Mongols could not complete their disembarkment, before a hurricane suddenly arose that swept away at least two-thirds of their men and ships. A lasting check was thus put upon the expansion of the triumphant Mongols on the east, just forty years after the battle of Liegnitz in Silesia had been fought successfully by the Teutonic nobles on the west against the same foe. Though the frustration of the two Mongolian attempts upon our country should rather be attributed to the intervention of elemental forces which worked at very propitious opportunities, than to the bravery of our warriors, it cannot be disputed that they fought to their utmost, so that it would be derogatory to the military honour of our forefathers, if we supposed that nothing worth mentioning was achieved by them at all. In any case, the annihilation of the Mongolian fleet by us is an historical feat which might be considered together with the defeat of the Invincible Armada by the English three centuries later. In both countries the memorable victory was due to the dauntless courage of the warriors engaged in the battle, and the firm attitude of the person who stood then at the helm of the state. In Japan, Tokimune did not lend his ears to the milder counsels of the shrewder diplomatists at the court of Kyoto. What is more noteworthy, however, than anything else in this war was not the bravery of our forefathers, but the fact that men recruited from the eastern as well as from the western provinces of the empire fought for the first time side by side against the foreign invaders. Such a coöperation of the people from all quarters of Japan in defence of the country was not a sight which could have been witnessed before the establishment of the military régime, for until that time the unification of the Empire had not extended to the northern extremity of Honto, and for ninety years after the inauguration of the Shogunate at Kamakura, there had been no occasion for our warriors to try their fortune in arms against any foreign enemy. Now the Japanese were induced for the first time to feel the necessity for national solidarity, only because enterprising Khubilai dared to attack the island empire, which would have done no harm to him if he had left it unmolested, and would have added very little to his already overgrown empire, if he had succeeded in his adventurous expedition. It may be perhaps exaggerating a little to call this war a national undertaking on our part when we consider the small number of men engaged in it. The retainers of the Shogunate, however, who were the representatives of the Japanese of that time, all hurried to the northern coast of Kyushu, even from the remotest part of the empire, in order to defend their country against their common foe. The peculiar custom of intimidating children to stop their crying, by reminding them of the Mongolian invasion, an obsolescent custom which has existed even in the northernmost region of Honto, shows how thoroughly and deeply the Mongol scare shook the whole empire, and left its indelible impress on the nation as a whole. The first beat of the pulse of a national enthusiasm has thus become audible. If this feeling of national solidarity had gone deep into the consciousness of the people, and had continued steadily increasing without relaxation, then it might have done considerable good in facilitating the wholesome organisation of our national state. Viewed from this point, it must be considered rather a misfortune to our country that the terrible enemy was too easily put to rout. The pressure once removed, men no more troubled themselves about the need for solidarity. Nay, the war itself sowed the seeds of discontent among the warriors engaged, on account of the incapacity of the Shogunate to recompense them amply for their services. Already after the civil war of the Jôkyu era, the military government of Kamakura had been reduced to a straitened condition, for what it could get by the confiscation of the properties of the vanquished proved insufficient to provide the rewards for the faithful followers of the Shogunate. In the war with the Mongols, there was no enemy within the country from whom land could be confiscated. Nevertheless those warriors had to be rewarded with grants of land only, which the Shogunate could find nowhere. If the private moral bond, which had linked the retainers with the Shogun at the time of Yoritomo, could long continue in the state it had been, the Shogunate could have sometimes expected from them service without recompense. The military government, with the Hôjô family as its real master, however, could not likewise exact gratuitous service from them. The relation between the Shogunate and its retainers became too public and formal for this. Those who were appointed as _djito_ by Yoritomo at the beginning of the Shogunate had all been retainers of the Minamoto family from the first. Though they discharged the duties of military police within their respective manors as if they were public officials, yet their private character far outweighed their public semblance. As the Shogunate gradually took the form of a regular government, this private and personal bond between the Shogun and his retainers grew weaker, and the public character of the _djito_ began to predominate. This was especially the case after the virtual management of the Shogunate fell into the hands of the Hôjô family. It is true that those retainers still called themselves the _go-kenin_, or the domestics of the Shogun of Kamakura. The later Shogun, however, sprung from the Fujiwara family or of blood imperial, and could not demand the same obedience which Yoritomo had found easy to obtain from his hereditary vassals. In effect, the Shogunate reserved to the end the right of giving sanction as regards the inheritance of the office of _djito_, but the exercise of the reserved right was generally nominal. A _djito_ could appoint as his successor either his wife or any of his children, or could divide his official tenure among many inheritors. No Salic law and no law of primogeniture yet existed in Japan of the Kamakura period, so that, besides many _djito_ who were incapable of discharging the military duties in person on account of sex or age, there were to be found eventually a great number of _djito_, whose official tenure covered a very small patch of ricefield, so small that it was too narrow to exercise any jurisdiction within it! Moreover, men of utterly unwarlike professions like priests, and corporations such as Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples, were also entitled to succeed to the inheritance of the office of _djito_, if only it were bequeathed to them by a lawful will. In these cases, where the rightful _djito_ could not officiate in person, a lieutenant, private in character, used to be appointed. Those lieutenants, however, not being publicly responsible to the Shogun, behaved very arbitrarily. That was a breach severely felt in the military system of the Shogunate. The worst evil of all was that the Shogunate, which should have been an office for household affairs and the camp of the Shogun, was gradually turned into a princely court. Those warriors who did valiant service under Yoritomo in establishing the Shogunate had been in a great measure illiterate, so that only with great difficulty could the Shogun find a secretary among his retainers. As the organisation of the military government approached completion, the need of a literary education on the part of the warriors increased accordingly. Such an education, the source of which, however, was not to be sought at that time out of Kyoto, could hardly be introduced into Kamakura without being accompanied by other elements of the metropolitan civilisation represented by the Fujiwara nobles. The installation of a scion of the Fujiwara and of princes of the blood imperial into the Shogunate facilitated the permeation of the Kyoto culture, which by its nature was too refined to suit congenially men of military profession. The bodyguard of the Shogun began to be chosen from warriors whose demeanor was the most courtier-like, and one of the accomplishments necessary was the ability to compose short poems. Such a condition of the Shogunate could not fail to estrange those retainers who did not live habitually in Kamakura, and were, therefore, not yet tainted with the effeminacy of a courtier's life. The main support, on whom the Shogun should have been able to depend in time of stress, became thus unreliable. At this juncture an Ainu insurrection, which was the last recorded in our history, broke out in the year 1322, and continued till the downfall of the Kamakura Shogunate. It was by this insurrection that the tottering edifice of the military government was finally shaken, instantly leading to its catastrophe. The force which gave the finishing stroke to the Shogun's power and prestige came, as had long been expected, from Kyoto. Inversely as the warriors of Kamakura had been turned to pseudo-courtiers, the court-nobles of Kyoto had become tainted by the militaristic temperament of the Kamakura warriors. The training in archery, the dog-shooting in an enclosure, which was considered a specially good training for a real battle, and many other martial pastimes became the fashion among the Kyoto nobles, as it had been among warriors. After their defeat in the civil war of the Jôkyu, they felt more keenly than before the magnitude of their power lost to Kamakura, and became the more discontented. Moreover, from the four corners of the empire the malcontents against the Hôjô family flocked to Kyoto, and persuaded the already disaffected courtiers, to attempt the restoration of the real command of the government to themselves. The Shogunate, having been apprised of the plot, tried to suppress it in time by force, but was unable to strike at the root of the evil, for the recalcitrants rose against the Hôjô one after another. On the other hand, those retainers who would have willingly died for a Shogun of the Minamoto family did not like to stake their lives on behalf of the Hôjô. Kamakura was at last taken by a handful of warriors from the neighbouring provinces led by a chieftain of one of the branch families of the Minamoto. The last of the Hôjô committed suicide, and with the downfall of the family, the Shogunate of Kamakura broke down. This happened in the year 1334. The real power of the state was restored to Kyoto in the name of the Emperor Go-Daigo. The courtiers of Kyoto rejoiced in the thought that they could now conduct themselves as the true masters of Japan, but they were instantly disillusioned. Those warriors who had assisted them in the restoration of their former power, would not allow the courtiers to have the lion's share of the booty. Supported by a multitude of such dissatisfied soldiery, Takauji Ashikaga, another scion of the Minamoto, made himself the real master of the situation, and was appointed Shogun. Though once defeated by the army of his opponents at Kyoto, he was soon enabled to raise a large host in the western provinces, where, since the Mongolian invasion, the majority of the warriors thirsted for the change more than in other provinces, and he captured the metropolis. His opponents, however, continued their resistance in various parts of the empire. The courtiers, too, were divided into two parties, and the majority sided with the stronger, that is to say, with the Ashikaga family. At the same time the imperial family was divided into two. Thus the civil war, which strongly resembled the War of the Roses, ensued and raged all over the provinces for about fifty-six years, until the two parties were reconciled at last in the year 1392. In this way the whole of the empire came again under one military régime, and for about two centuries, the family of the Ashikaga continued at the head of the new Shogunate. The new Shogunate was established at Kyoto, instead of Kamakura, which became now the seat of a lieutenancy, administered by a branch of the Ashikaga, and therefore reduced in political importance. This change of the seat of the military government is a matter of great moment in the history of our country. One of the several reasons which may be assigned for the change, was that the supporters of the Ashikaga were not limited to the warriors of the eastern provinces, as they had been with the Kamakura Shogunate. Takauji owed his ultimate success rather to the soldiers from the western provinces, so that Kyoto suited far better as the centre of his new military régime than Kamakura. Another reason which the Ashikaga Shogunate had in view in changing its seat, was that a great apprehension which had been entertained by the former Shogunate, would thereby cease. One of the anxieties which had harassed the government of Kamakura constantly had been the fear that it might one day be overthrown by attack from Kyoto. To provide against the danger a resident lieutenant,--afterwards increased to two,--a member of the family of Hôjô, was stationed at Kyoto. The function of these lieutenants was to look out for the interests of the Shogunate at Kyoto, and at the same time to superintend the retainers in the western provinces. Besides, being two in number, these lieutenants watched each other closely, so that it was impossible for either of them to try to make himself independent of Kamakura. This system worked excellently for a time, but was ultimately unable to save the declining Shogunate. By shifting the seat of the military government to Kyoto itself, this anxiety might now be removed. The greatest profit, however, which accrued to the Shogunate by the change of its government seat, was that one could facilitate the achievement of the political concentration of the empire, by making it coincide with the centre of civilisation. If the Shogunate of Kamakura could keep, with its political power, its original fresh spirit, which had remained latent during the long régime of the courtiers and begun suddenly to develop itself along with the establishment of the military government, the result would have been not only the prolonging of the duration of the Shogunate, but the full blossoming of a healthy and unenervated culture, and Kamakura might have become the political as well as the cultural centre of the empire. The history of our country, however, was not destined to run in that way. The time-honoured civilisation, which had been nurtured at Kyoto since many centuries, was, though of exotic origin, in itself a highly finished one. Notwithstanding its effeminacy, it had its own peculiar charm, which ranked in perfection far above the naïve culture of Kamakura, the latter being too rough and new, however refreshing. Those Buddhist priests who had once hoped to make Kamakura the centre of their new religious movement, found at last that unless they secured a firm foothold in the old metropolis, nothing permanent could be attained. The missionary campaign of the various reformed sects had been undertaken with renewed vigour at Kyoto since the end of the thirteenth century. In other words, the enervation of the Kamakura Shogunate disappointed those torch-bearers of the new civilisation, who might perhaps have expected too much from the political power of the military government established there. Thus the Shogunate of Kamakura had lost its _raison d'être_, before other factors of civilisation, such as art and literature, had time to develop themselves there independent of those of Kyoto, so as to suit the new spirit of the new age, that is to say, before the Shogunate could accomplish its cultural mission in the history of Japan. The culture of Kyoto proved itself to be omnipotent as ever. Regarded in this manner, the return of the governmental seat to Kyoto had a great advantage. The new Shogunate, having located its centre in the same historical place where the classical civilisation of Japan had had its cradle also, its military and political organisation could work hand in hand with the social and cultural movement. The prestige of the Shogun was bedecked with a brighter halo than when Kamakura had been the seat of his government. The change, however, was accompanied with invidious results, ruinous not only to the Shogunate, but to the political integrity of the country at large. After having experienced the vicissitudes of a long civil war, the courtiers became convinced that they could not overthrow by any means the military régime, which had already taken deep root in the social structure of our country. So they began to think that it was wiser for them to make use of that military power than to try any abortive attempts against it. They heaped, therefore, on the successive Shoguns of the Ashikaga family titles of high-sounding honour, much higher than those with which the Shoguns of Kamakura had been invested. In the imperial palace, too, special deference was paid to the Shogun. Such a rise in the court-rank of the Shogun induced his retainers to vie with one another in obtaining some official rank of distinction in the courtiers' hierarchical scale. Those who belonged to the higher classes among them, though they were mostly the _shugo_ or military governors of one or more provinces, used to spend a greater part of their time at Kyoto, on account of holding some civil office in the government of the Shogun, and lived in a very aristocratic way, which was easy and indolent, that is to say, not much different from that of the courtiers. There were many social meetings, in which both courtiers and warriors participated together, and the object of these meetings mostly consisted in enjoying various kinds of literary pastimes, among which the commonest was a trick in versification called _renga_, that is to say, the composing by turns of a line of an unfinished poem, which should form a sequence to the preceding and at the same time become the prologue to the next. Through manifold channels of this and the like kinds of amusements, a very intimate relation between the two classes was cemented. The refinement of the courtiers' circle, though somewhat vulgarised compared with that of the previous period, freely penetrated into the families of the rough soldiery. Marriages between members of the two classes also took place frequently, by which the courtiers gained materially, while the soldiers could thereby assuage the uneasiness of their parvenu-consciousness. A new social life thus sprang up. Among the two parties, which were reconciled in this way, that which profited the more by it, was of course the courtiers. Although the income from their manors, to which they were entitled as proprietors _de jure_, might have become less in comparison with that of the age anterior to the establishment of the Kamakura Shogunate, yet they were now relieved of all the troubles which might have beset them had they remained holding the real power of the state. Having relinquished their political ambitions and shifted all the cares of the state and military affairs upon the shoulders of the Shogunate, they became utterly irresponsible, could breathe freely and enjoy their idle hours not in the least disturbed. On the other hand, the militarists, having found that it was no longer necessary to circumscribe the privileges of the courtiers still more narrowly than before, forgot that ultimately their interests must necessarily collide in principle with those of the latter. What were contradictory at bottom seemed to them practically reconcilable. The Shogunate thought that it was its duty to uphold the interests of the courtiers by its military power, a task which was soon found to be impossible. On account of the weakness of the central government, disorder ruled in Kyoto and in the provinces as well, and paved the way for the political disintegration of the whole empire. To explain the political phenomena I must turn for a while to the relations between the _shugo_, the military governors of provinces, and the _djito_ under their protection. In the time of the Kamakura Shogunate, as aforesaid, each province had a military governor, called the _shugo_, appointed by the Shogun. The _shugo_, himself a _djito_, and a very influential one of that class, served as an intermediate commander in transmitting to the _djito_ under him the military instructions which he had received from Kamakura. He was, therefore, nothing else but a marshal of all the _djito_ within that province. There existed no relation of vassalage between him and the _djito_ under his military jurisdiction. The latter remained to the end the direct vassals of the Shogunate at Kamakura, and only as regards the military organisation were subordinated to the _shugo_. The office of the _shugo_ was not the hereditary possession of any family, so that the Shogun could nominate any _djito_ to be _shugo_ of any province at his pleasure, without fear of disturbing thereby the personal relation between him and his retainers in that province. In some respects this relation resembled that of the English king and the barons, who swore, besides their oath of fealty to a higher noble as their liege lord, direct allegiance to their king. As long as the line of Yoritomo, therefore, continued as hereditary Shogun, the Shogunate could depend on the fidelity of those _djito_, who were but the household vassals of the Minamoto family, and by this personal tie keep the political unity of the country infrangible. After the extinction of the Minamoto family, the Shogun who succeeded one after another had no hereditary nor personal relations with those _djito_, and could claim no more than the official prestige of the Shogun allowed them to do. As to the Hôjô family, though the real power of the Shogunate was in its hands, originally it was no higher in rank than the _djito_, and could not, in its own name, command obedience from any of the Shogun's retainers. There is some similarity between the organisation of the time of the Kamakura Shogunate in this second phase and the "Kreis" institution of the German empire in the fifteenth century, which was initiated with the object of political concentration by Maximilian I., whose real power lay in his being a duke of Austria, and not Emperor of Germany. However admirable as an organisation, such a political status was undoubtedly untenable. No wonder that the military régime of Kamakura gradually collapsed. The relation of _shugo_ and _djito_ in the time of the Ashikaga was quite of a different sort from that in the former Shogunate. The office of _shugo_ became now the hereditary possession of certain privileged families, which constituted a body of higher warriors, towering above the common _djito_. The _shugo_ stood in the position of protector to all the _djito_ of the province he governed, and those _djito_ who stood under a _shugo_ were designated his "hikwan" or protégés. The relation of vassalage arose thus between the _shugo_ and the _djito_ in the same province, a legal status which had not existed in the Kamakura period. The direct relation between the common _djito_ and the Shogun, which was the main spring of the political régime of the Kamakura era, was now cut off. No doubt the _shugo_ in the Ashikaga period had in their provinces, besides their suzerainty over the _djito_, the tenure of certain tracts of land, as in the days of Kamakura. The great difference between them, however, was that in the Kamakura era a retainer of the Shogun was first installed as a _djito_ of a manor, and then appointed _shugo_, while in the Ashikaga age the land which the _shugo_ held directly was his demesne as _shugo_ and not the land held as a retainer of the Shogun at Kyoto, independent of his office of _shugo_. To sum up, the _shugo_ of the Ashikaga period was not a mere office, as in the days of Kamakura, but a legal status of the warriors ranking next to the Shogun. As the result of such an organisation each province or group of provinces under a _shugo_ became a political entity, while it had been but a military entity in the Kamakura era. If the Shogun at Kyoto, therefore, had been strong enough to enforce his will over all the _shugo_ of the provinces, then the political unity of the country at large could safely continue in the hands of the Ashikaga. The Shogunate of the Ashikaga, however, had not been originally so formulated as to enable it to impose implicit obedience on all the higher military officials of the _shugo_ class. For this family, though a branch of the Minamoto, had nothing in its history that could attract, as Yoritomo did, a vast number of willing warriors to serve under its banner. That Takauji was promoted to the headship of the second military government was largely due to the assistance of the warriors from various parts of the empire who were not personally related to his family, but were disaffected at seeing the power of the courtiers restored, neither was it by any means to be attributed to his personal capacity, which was rather mediocre both as general and as statesman. This origin of the Ashikaga family, therefore, made it difficult from the first for the Shogun of the line to curb the arrogance of his influential generals. Insurrection against the Shogunate followed one after another, so that no year passed without some small disturbance somewhere. This state culminated in the civil war begun in the Ohnin era, that is to say, in 1467. The war had its origin in the quarrel about the succession to the Shogunate between the son and the adopted son, in reality the younger brother, of the Shogun Yoshimasa. This family question of the Ashikaga became mixed up with other quarrels about the succession in two of the influential military families, Shiba and Hatakeyama. Other _shugo_ of various provinces sided with this or that party, brought their liege-men to Kyoto, and turned the streets of the metropolis into a battle-field. Thus the most desultory civil war in our history was waged under the eyes of the Emperor and of the Shogun, neither of whom had any power to stop it. After the burning, plundering, and killing, carried on most ruthlessly for nine years, the street-fighting in Kyoto ceased, leaving almost no trace of the historical city of yore. The scenes of anarchy were then transferred to the provinces, and it took many years before the whole country became pacified. Nay, complete peace was not restored till the fall of the Ashikaga Shogunate itself. Such was one phase of the political disintegration of the age, and its result was that Japan was torn asunder into a number of semi-independent bodies, each with a _shugo_ at its head. If the process of the political decomposition of the state had been limited to what is described above, then peace might have reigned at least within each of those bodies. Unfortunately, however, for the welfare of the people, none of these _shugo_ was strong enough to keep order even within his own sphere of military jurisdiction. Most of them had lost their military character, having become accustomed to life in the capital, as stated above, and they left the care of their respective provinces in the hands of their protégés, men who soon made themselves independent of their patrons, so that there arose a number of minor political bodies in the jurisdiction of each _shugo_. Again these protégés, that is to say, the heads of the minor political bodies, were put down in turn by their vassals, and so forth. Moreover, some of these minor bodies were further divided into still smaller bodies, while others became aggrandised by annexation by the stronger of neighboring weaker ones. In this way Japan fell into a state of chaos, being an agglomeration of political bodies of various sizes, with masters ever changing, and with frontiers constantly shifting without any reference to the former administrative boundaries. This second phase completed the total disintegration of the empire. The last of the Shoguns who tried to stem this irresistible tendency to disintegration was Yoshihisa, the son of Yoshimasa. His succession to his father, as has already been described, was the cause of the civil war of the Ohnin era, for which, however, he was not responsible in the least, being only eight years old when he was invested with the Shogunate in the year 1473. He grew up, however, to be the most typical Shogun of all the Ashikaga. Though born in the highest of the military families, he had as his mother a daughter of a court-noble, and was educated in his boyhood by Kanera Ichijô, one of the most learned courtiers of the time. When Yoshihisa reached manhood, therefore, he was a courtier clad in military garments. He thought and acted as if he were a high Fujiwara noble, and even had his household managed by a courtier. Through this confidant, the proprietors _de jure_ of manors, that is to say, courtiers, shrines, and temples, clung to the young Shogun, and pressed him to coerce, on their behalf, those arbitrary _shugo_ and minor captains who dared impudently to appropriate the whole of the revenue from those manors to themselves, so that the share due to these proprietors _de jure_ had been kept in arrears for many years. The Shogun was easily persuaded, and Takayori Sasaki, the _shugo_ of the province of Ohmi, was first chosen as the object of chastisement, for his province was the nearest to Kyoto and abounded in those manors belonging to the courtiers and the like. It was in the year 1487 that Yoshihisa in person led a punitive expedition into Ohmi, crossed lake Biwa, and pitched his camp on its eastern shore. Contemporary chronicles unanimously describe in vivid colours how the gallant and refined young prince, clad in bright military costume, marched out of Kyoto surrounded by a bizarre host of warriors and courtiers. The latter group, however, did not count for aught in warfare, while the former followed the Shogun only halfheartedly. It was especially so with those _shugo_ who were of the same caste and of the same status as the attacked, and therefore did not like to see him crushed in the interest of the _de jure_ but fainéant proprietors. The victory of the army of the Shogun was hopeless from the first. After staying two years in camp Yoshihisa died without being able to see his enemy vanquished. One of his cousins, who succeeded to the Shogunate, renewed the expedition, and at last ousted the disobedient _shugo_ from his province, but the proprietors _de jure_ of the manors could not regain their lost rights, what was due to them having been usurped by other new pretenders, not less arbitrary than their predecessors. The expedition of Yoshihisa was an epoch-making event in the history of our country. To support by military power the courtiers, whose cup had already begun to run over and whose interests could not be always consistent with the welfare of the Shogunate, was evidently a quixotic attempt. Still it cannot be disputed that Yoshihisa fought at least for an ideal, however unrealisable it might have been. He reminds us of the scions of the Hohenstaufen who fought in Italy for the imperial ideal traditional in their family. The failure of the expedition into Ohmi meant the utter impossibility of the restoration of the courtiers' prestige and the approach of the total disappearance of the manorial system from the islands of Japan. This is a mighty economical change for the empire, the importance of which could not be overvalued. The old régime initiated by the reform of the Taikwa was going down to its grave, and new Japan was beginning to dawn side by side with the momentous political disintegration of the country. We see, indeed, simultaneous with this political and economical change, the transformation of various factors of civilisation, preparing themselves for the coming age. The first turning of the wheel of history, however, depended on the political regeneration of the country by a master-hand. CHAPTER IX END OF MEDIAEVAL JAPAN In order to see a nation consolidated, it is necessary not only to have a nucleus serving as a centre, towards which the whole nation might converge, but to have at the same time the centralising power of that nucleus strengthened sufficiently to hold the nation solid and compact. Moreover, the constituent parts of that nation ought to have the capacity to respond to the action emanating from that common centre or nucleus towards those parts, and facilitate the reciprocal relation between the centralising and the centralised. More than that. There must be formed strong links between those component parts themselves towards one another. For if each part be linked only to a common centre and estranged from other parts, then there is a great danger of the breaking asunder of the whole, however strong the centralising force of that nucleus might be, and in case of the debilitation of that sole centre, there might remain no other force alive to keep the constituent parts compactly together. To impart, however, the consolidating force to those component parts, they should be instituted each as a separate organism. In other words, unless those parts constitute themselves each in an organic social and political body, provided with the power of acting within and without, they cannot form any close connection among themselves and with the central nucleus; and to be provided with such a power, or to become an organism, each part, too, must have in its turn its own nucleus, around which the rest of that part might converge. To speak summarily, for a strong centralisation there must be, besides one nucleus, or nucleus of the first order, a certain number of nuclei of the second or minor order, and sometimes there must be nuclei of the third and lower orders. It might be deduced from what is said above that without a sufficient number of local centres, that is to say, without the existence of well-developed minor political organisms, the political centre, however powerful it might be, would not be able to hold a country together, lacking cohesion between those constituent parts. Japan had long been in such a disorderly state which continued until the middle of the Ashikaga period, that is to say, the middle of the fifteenth century. The political influence of Kamakura, though independent of Kyoto, was of very short duration, and Kyoto had continued on the whole as the sole political and social centre. If there had been in the provinces a place worthy to be called a city, besides Kamakura, it could only be sought in Hakata on the northern coast of Kyushu. Other places were hardly to be termed cities, being but little more than sites of periodical fairs at the utmost. The growth of the cities of Sakai and Yamaguchi is of rather later origin, dating from the middle of the Ashikaga age. The Emperor, the Shogun, and one metropolitan city had dominated the whole of the country for a long time, so that, superficially observed, Japan could be said to have been superbly centralised, and therefore excellently unified. In reality, however, the prestige of the Emperor declined, as well as the military power of the Shogunate, and Kyoto, the site of the imperial court and of the military government, lost the political influence it once had possessed. After all, nothing was found influential enough in the earlier Ashikaga age to serve by itself as a means of solidifying the nation, while there had not yet been formed those minor provincial centres around which communities of lesser magnitude might crystallise. Manors, which were the remnants of the former ages, were of course a kind of agricultural communities, and could be considered as social and economical units, but they were politically dependent on their proprietors living in Kyoto or somewhere else outside of those manors, and in cultural respects most of the manors counted almost for nothing. All Japan was thus thrown into a state of chaos, when the military power of the Ashikaga Shogunate was reduced to impotence. This chaotic period of Japanese history has been generally considered as the retrogressive age of our civilisation, quite in the same sense in which the medieval age in European history has come to be designated as the Dark Ages. It is a great mistake, however, to stigmatise the Ashikaga period as having witnessed no progress in any cultural factor, just as it has been a fatal misconception of early European historians to think that medieval Europe was indeed dark in every cultural respect. Though the classicism of the former ages might seem a civilisation of a far higher stage when compared with the vulgarised culture of the later, or so-called Dark Age, yet the vulgarisation should not be necessarily branded as a backward movement of civilisation. The vulgarisation at least accompanies a wider propagation, a deeper permeation, and the better adaptation to the real social condition of the time, and should not be looked down upon as an absolutely decadent process. In the seemingly anarchical period of the early Ashikaga, Japan had been undergoing, in sooth, an important change in social and cultural respects. Nay, even politically a change of mighty consequence was in course of evolution. Having reached an extreme state of disorder, a germ of fresh order was gradually forming itself out of necessity. That the _shugo_ of this period held sway over a district far more extensive than the land held by any of the _shugo_ of the Kamakura period, is in a sense a remarkable political progress. Yamana, one of the most powerful of the Ashikaga _shugo_, is said to have possessed about one-sixth of the whole of Japan, and on that account was called Lord One-sixth. Such great feudatories were never possible in the Kamakura period. Most of these grand lords, though living mainly in Kyoto, as was stated in the previous chapter, had their provincial residences, which, too, were not so unpretentious as those of the _djito_ of the Kamakura. Each lord maintained princely state, and around his court, a thriving social life must have grown up, making the beginning of the modern Japanese provincial towns. The governmental sites of the _daimyo_ or feudatories of the Tokugawa period generally find the origin of their urban development in these residences of the _shugo_ of the Ashikaga period. The trade with China was another cause of the growth of modern Japanese cities, especially of those which are situated by the sea, such as Sakai, Osaka, Nagasaki, and this development of the maritime commercial cities led naturally to the general advancement of the humanistic culture of our country. Our intercourse with China, the fountain-head of the culture of the East, though it had been suspended between the governments since the end of the ninth century, had never been abandoned entirely, and merchant ships had continued to ply between the two countries almost without interruption. During the Kamakura Shogunate too, we have reason to suppose that this steady intercourse livened into considerable activity and bustling profitable to both sides, China, at that epoch of our history, being governed by the Sung and the Yuan dynasties successively. Sanetomo, the second son of Yoritomo and the third Shogun in Kamakura, was said to have built a ship in order to cross over to that country. The port then trading with China was Hakata, and the privileged ships, which were limited in number, must have been under the care and protection of the Shogunate. Those ships carried on board not only commodities of exchange, but passengers also, who were mostly priests. Some of the ships even appear to have been sent solely for trade in behalf of certain Buddhist temples. In this we see again the singular coincidence between the histories of Europe and of Japan. The Levantine trade of the Italian cities in the age of the Crusades counted among its participators many churches and priests also. It is needless to say that those Japanese priests, who went abroad accompanying adventurous merchants and came back loaded with profound religious knowledge, did at the same time conspicuous service in promoting the general culture of our country. What was most remarkable, however, was that there were not a few Chinese Buddhists, who came over to this country and settled here. Their main purpose was of course to propagate the doctrine of the Zen sect, which had got the upper hand in China at that time. They were cordially welcomed by the Shogunate, and later by the Imperial Court too, and were installed in the noted temples of Kamakura and Kyoto as chief priests, and besides their religious activities, these learned men contributed much toward the introduction of contemporary Chinese civilisation in general, in no less degree than did the Japanese priests. Among the various departments of knowledge which these priests imparted to the warriors and courtiers, one of the most important was instruction in the pure Chinese classics and in secular literature. There are still extant in our country not a small number of rare books printed in the Sung and the Yuan dynasty and imported hither at that time, and these manifest how rich in variety were the books then introduced to Japan. The founding of the famous library at Kanazawa near Kamakura, by a learned member of the Hôjô family in a time not far distant from that of the Mongolian invasion, may perhaps be attributed to the influence of some of these priests. Without doubt the invasion of the Mongolian host put a momentary stop to this mutual intercourse. It seems, however, that the trade with China was revived soon after the war, and continued down to the time of the Ashikaga, without being interrupted materially even by the long civil war. Far from cessation or interruption, the official intercourse between the two states which had been broken off for some years was during this civil war restored to its former amicable condition. It was while the internecine strife was raging over the whole of the island Empire, that a change of dynasty took place in China. The Mongols were driven away to their original abode in the desert, and in their place reigned in China the new dynasty of the Ming, founded by a general of Chinese blood. This founder of the Ming sent an embassy to Japan to announce the inauguration of his line and to secure the coast of his empire from inroads and pillage by Japanese pirates, who, since several centuries, had been ravaging the Korean and then the Chinese coast, and became especially rampant during the civil war, being let loose by the unexampled lawless state of our country. The ambassador of the Chinese emperor, however, could not at once reach Kyoto, which was his destination. For at that time in Kyushu ruled an imperial prince who was a scion of the branch antagonistic to that which reigned in the metropolis supported by the Ashikaga, and the prince-governor, as he was then the master of the historic trading port of Hakata, intercepted the Chinese ambassador on his way, received him, and sent him back. This happened in the year 1369. Seven years afterwards this very prince sent an envoy to the Chinese government, perhaps with the object of obtaining some material assistance from beyond the sea, in order to make himself strong enough to overpower his enemy in Japan, the Ashikaga party. As the sender was a prince of the blood imperial, the envoy sent by him seems to have been regarded as if he were the representative of the real government of Japan, and the intercourse between the two countries thus began to take official form again. When the civil war ended in the ultimate victory of the Ashikaga party and the annihilation of all its opponents, this international relation initiated by the prince of Kyushu was taken up by Yoshimitsu, the third Shogun of the Ashikaga, who sent an embassy to the Chinese government of the Ming in the year 1401. After this we see successive exchanges of embassies between the Chinese government and our Ashikaga Shogunate, the latter vouchsafing the orderliness of our trading people on the Chinese coast and promising to bridle the piratical activities of our adventurers, and the former giving in return munificent presents to the Shogunate. At that time what our forefathers suffered most from was the scarcity of coins, for although the beginning of the coinage in our country is so old that it has been lost in the remotest past, yet for a long period not enough care was exercised to provide the country with sufficient money in coins of different denominations to cover the necessities of the growing industries. No wonder that the presents of copper coins by the emperors of the Ming were gladly received by the Shogunate, and this Chinese money, together with that obtained by sale of our commodities, was in wide circulation throughout Japan, many of them having remained to this day, and served as auxiliary coins. Among other things of Chinese provenance earnestly coveted by us, perhaps the most desired were books. Besides these two articles, copper coins and books, many rarities and useful commodities must have been imported by these ships, which carried the envoys on board, and rendered a not insignificant service in altering for the better the general ways of living of the people of our country. The chief emporium of the trade with China in the early Ashikaga period was of course Hakata in Kyushu as before. As the family of the Ôuchi, however, held the strait of Shimonoseki, the gateway of the Inland Sea, and as Hakata itself came afterwards under the rule of the same family, the Chinese trade had been for a long time controlled or rather monopolised by this lord of the province of Nagato. The prosperity of the inland city of Yamaguchi, the residential seat of the Ôuchi family, is to be ascribed also to the same circumstance. Moreover, the growth of the port of Sakai in the easternmost recess of the Inland Sea owes its origin to the fact that the city was once under the lordship of the same Ôuchi, and a close historical connection was thereby created between it and the port of Shimonoseki. It was by the co-operation of many other political causes, however, that the centre of the foreign trade was shifted from Hakata to Sakai, and when intercourse with western nations was opened, it was the latter and not the former, which became the staple market of import and export. The growth of the Japanese cities, actuated by the political and commercial conditions of the country as stated above, is a phenomenon which had much to do with the progress of our civilization in general. Notwithstanding the manifold drawbacks necessarily accompanying urban life, cities have been, since very ancient times, one of the most potent agents in the history of the East as well as of the West, in raising the general standard of culture to a high level. Rural life, whatever sonorous praise be chanted for it, would not have been able by itself to elevate the standard of manners and behaviour much above a blunt rustic naïveté. In this respect we can observe a remarkable difference between the Ashikaga and the preceding ages, a difference quite similar in nature to that which existed between the eleventh and the twelfth centuries in the history of Europe. The sudden increase, in Japan, of printed books in number and variety shows it more than clearly. The history of printing in Japan goes back to the middle of the eighth century, but at the beginning the matter printed was limited to detached leaflets. What was printed the earliest in the form of a book and is still extant, bears the date of 1088. After that, however, very few books had been printed for a long time. Moreover, those few were exclusively religious. It was in the year 1247 that one of the commentaries on the _Lun-yü_, the famous work of the teachings of Confucius, was put into a reprint, after the model of a contemporary Chinese edition, that is to say, of the Sung age. That this non-religious or non-Buddhist work was first edited in Japan in the middle of the Kamakura period, proves the enlargement of the circle of readers in Chinese classics by the participation of the warrior-class. Such editing of secular Chinese works, however, was discontinued for three-quarters of a century, and was not resumed until 1322, only ten years before the outbreak of the long civil war. The book printed at the latter date was after one of the Chinese editions of the _Shu-king_, another piece of Confucian literature. This was followed by the reprinting of many other non-religious Chinese works. The civil war too astonishes us not only in that it did not hinder the continuance of the reprints of useful Chinese originals, but also in that the number of books reprinted has suddenly increased in general since this period. Among the books issued during the war, a commentary on the _Lun-yü_, of a text different from that above mentioned, and said to have been made at Sakai, was the most remarkable. The edition was dated 1364, and reprinted again and again in several places. In this case the place where the printing was first undertaken demands also our attention. Hitherto almost all the books had been published in Kyoto, except some tomes of Buddhist literature, which occasionally had been edited in the convents at Nara or Kôya. But now printing began to be undertaken not only in these historical and sacred places, but in purely commercial cities of quite recent growth, as Sakai. It is said that about this time several kinds of books of Chinese literature were edited in the city of Hakata, and that it was a naturalised Chinese who had started the undertaking there. Another tradition tells us that two Chinese block-engravers came and settled at Hakata, and engaged in their professional business, which contributed much to the increase of reprinted books. Shortly after the civil war, in the beginning of the fifteenth century, books were printed in other places more remotely situated in the provinces, such as Yamaguchi and Ashikaga. The last-named was the cradle of the Shogunate House of the Ashikaga, and there just at this time a college was founded, or according to some, restored, by Norizane Uyesugi, one of the most influential retainers of the Shogunate in eastern Japan. Thus, in the latter half of the fifteenth century, the reprinting of Chinese classics became a fashion throughout the empire. In addition to the ever-increasing number of books reprinted at Kyoto and Sakai, we find now those printed at places as far remote as Kagoshima in the west. In the east there seems to have lived in the neighborhood of Odawara, a new political centre, at least one engraver, engaged in block-cutting for books. Summing up what has been stated above, the increase of the number of book-editing localities meant the increase of minor cultural centres in the provinces, that is to say, the wider diffusion of civilisation in the empire. Another important fact to be specially noticed is that the varieties of books reprinted became gradually multifarious. Though those books printed in the Ashikaga age were mostly reproductions of Chinese works, and very few purely Japanese books were edited until the end of the age, yet those Chinese works themselves, which were reprinted, became more and more diversified in kind. Not only Buddhist and Confucian classics, and works of purely literary character, especially poetical works and books on versification, but several medical works also were reprinted and issued in the later Ashikaga age. The study of medicine had been revived since the civil war by the intercourse with China, and soon after the war, some Japanese students went abroad to learn the science there. The reprinting of medical books, therefore, was to be considered as a token of the growing necessity for medical students ever increasing in our country, and the beginning of the revival of scientific education. As to the works of Japanese authors which were put into print, the first publication seems to have been that of religious treatise in Chinese by the priest Hônen, printed at the beginning of the Kamakura period, and the work was many times reprinted afterwards. Another work by the same priest, which was written in Japanese, was issued at the end of the same period. During the civil war numerous works, mostly in Chinese, by the Japanese Zen priests were published, among which the history of Buddhism in Japan, entitled the _Genkô-shakusho_, was the most noteworthy, and was therefore reprinted over and over again. A chronological table of the history of Japan, and two editions of the Jôyei Laws were subsequently printed. A text-book for children, to train them in the use of Chinese ideographs, was first printed at the close of the Ashikaga period, and the demand for the appearance of such a book proves that the education of children began to arouse the general attention. From what is said above, we can safely conclude that during the course of the Ashikaga period, the level of civilisation of our country had been raised in a marked degree, and that at the same time there arose one after another numerous cultural centres in the provinces, which were in their main features nothing but Kyoto on a small scale, but nevertheless contributed not the least to the betterment of national civilisation in general owing to their common rivalry. One would perhaps entertain some doubt as to the veracity of the assertion, that in an age such as of the Ashikaga, when political anarchy was in full play, so remarkable an advancement had been steadily achieved by our forefathers. If he would, however, look at the history of the Italian renaissance, then he would not be at a loss to see that political disorder does not necessarily thwart the progress of civilisation, but on the contrary often stimulates it. The territories owned by great feudatories or _daimyo_ in the Ashikaga age were by no means compact entities definitely bounded. Their frontiers constantly shifted to and fro according to frequently recurring waxings and wanings in strength of this or that _daimyo_, and these fluctuations depended, in their turn, on the results sometimes of petty skirmishes and sometimes of political intrigues, so that an unwavering steadiness was the least thing to be expected at that time. This politically unsettled condition of Japan, however, was in a certain sense a boon to our country, for it took away all the hindrances which lay in the way of internal communication, and paved the path to the ultimate political unity of the empire. I do not say of course that travelling at that time was quite safe from any kind of molestation, but the main obstacles to communication were rather of a social than of a political nature. In other words, they were of kinds which could not be got rid of in a like stage of civilisation, even if Japan had been politically not dismembered, and adventurous merchants did not shrink from facing such difficulties. No need to speak of those piratical traders, who went out from the western islands and the coastal regions of the Inland Sea on their devastating errands to the Korean and the Chinese coasts. The less warlike merchants ventured to trade with the Ainu, who had retired into the island of Hokkaidô, and had not been heard of since the beginning of the Ashikaga period. Among the itinerants travelling a long distance may be counted the professional literati also, the experts in the art of composing the _renga_, the short Japanese poems. They went about throughout the provinces, visiting feudal lords in their castles, teaching them the literary pastimes, thus imparting their first lesson in æsthetic education to those who had never tasted it. Courtiers, too, weakminded as they were, travelled great distances, to call on some rich bourgeois or powerful _daimyo_, who were thinking of becoming their munificent patrons, and taught them, besides the afore-said art of composing Japanese poems, the sport of kicking leather balls and other leisurely pastimes which had been the favourites among the courtiers in Kyoto, and received in return a generous hospitality and fees for the lessons which they gave. Buddhist priests were the third set of busy travellers of the time. Missionary activities had not much relaxed since the Kamakura period, though no influential sect had been started in this age. Every nook and corner of the island empire had received the footprints of these religious itinerants, and some of the more enterprising priests even crossed the sea to the island of what is now Hokkaidô in order to preach to the Ainu dwelling there. Pilgrims to the shrines of Ise, where the ancestress of the Imperial line was enshrined, may also be counted among the busy interprovincial travellers. All these wanderers served not only to transmit to distant provincial towns the culture engendered and nourished in the metropolis, but also to make the intercourse between the minor cultural centres more intimate than before, so as to spread a civilisation of a uniform standard and nature throughout the whole of the empire. Japan was thus for the first time unified in her civilisation in order to prepare herself for a solid political unification. Let me repeat that Japan of the Ashikaga age had within herself no constant political boundaries nor any other artificial barriers to impede the people of one province nor of the territory of one _daimyo_ from going to another province or the territory of another _daimyo_, and this, in a great measure, facilitated communications between the inhabitants of different provinces. The fact that the college at Ashikaga in eastern Japan was, notwithstanding its insufficient accommodation, thronged with pupils from various parts of the country, even from a province so far off from Kyoto as Satsuma, proves that bad roads and poor means of conveyance did not obstruct the Japanese of that time from traversing great distances in order to get a liberal education, and such activity and lively traffic would naturally tend to the formation of big emporiums here and there within the empire. Unfortunately the geographical features of our country did not allow it to see a great number of such large commercial cities formed within it, as the Hanseatic towns had been formed in medieval Germany, although we find very close resemblances between Germany of the twelfth and of the thirteenth century and Japan under the Ashikaga régime as regards their political conditions. The only one of the Japanese cities which had ever attained such a height of prosperity as to be fairly matched with the free cities of the Hansa was Sakai in the province of Idzumi. The city of Sakai, as its name, which means in the Japanese tongue "the Boundary," denotes, was situated just on the boundary line of the two adjoining provinces Settsu and Idzumi, and at the quondam estuary of the river Yamato. The frontier-line, however, and the course of the river, were afterwards changed, so that the city is now entirely included within the province of Idzumi, and there is no river running near the city. The fact that it was once a border town shows that it could never have been the seat of the provincial government. Neither had it ever been the residence of any powerful feudal lord during the whole military régime. Moreover, nature has bestowed no special favour on the city. The bay of Sakai is very widely open, affording no protection against the west wind. In addition to that, it has been very shallow since old times. Even in an undeveloped stage of ship-building, the port was unfit for the mooring of vessels of a size as large as the junks trading with China were at that time, so that they had to be equipped somewhere else in a neighbouring harbour, and then brought and anchored far off from the shore in the bay of Sakai. The only geographical advantage of the port lay in the fact that the shortest sea-route to the island of Shikoku started thence. The first impulse to the development of the city seems to have been given during the civil war, for it was the nearest access to the sea for one of the parties which had its stronghold in the mountainous region of the province of Yamato, adjacent to Idzumi. At the end of the war, the port came, as before stated, under the rule of the family of Ôuchi, and from Ôuchi it passed into the hands of the family of Hosokawa, also one of the chief vassals of the Ashikaga Shogunate, holding the north-eastern part of the island of Shikoku, and Sakai serving the family always as the landing-place of its followers, when they were on their way to Kyoto, to pay their respects to the Shogun or to fight there for their own interests. On account of this usefulness the harbour-city of Sakai had been granted privileges by the hereditary chief of the Hosokawa, as a recompense for the assistance given by the merchants of the city, and those same privileges, in extent, amounted to almost as much as the municipal freedom enjoyed by the free cities of Europe. The administration of the city was in the hands of a few wealthy merchants, and was rarely interfered with by its feudal lord. Among the merchants there were ten, at first, who monopolised the municipal government, each of them being very rich as the proprietors of certain storehouses on the beach, the rents of which paid them a good income. In the later Ashikaga age, however, we hear the names of the thirty-six municipal councillors of Sakai. This increase in the number might perhaps have been the result of the growth in opulence of the citizens. In short, though the city had been under the oligarchical rule of the wealthy merchants of the city, like Venice and Florence in medieval Italy, yet it was none the less autonomous, which is quite an exceptional case in the whole course of the history of our country. The golden age of the city of Sakai dates from the year 1476 or thereabouts, when a squadron trading with China first sailed out from the harbour. Until that time all the vessels plying between this country and China used to set out from Hakata or from Hyogo, which is nearly the same thing as Kobe. Although the adventurous merchants of Sakai carried their trade before this time as far as the islands of Loo-choo, and often participated in the Chinese trade also, yet no vessel had ever started from there for China till then. That Sakai became at this date a chief trading port dealing with China might presumably have been owing to the intercession of its hereditary lord Hosokawa, but the determining cause of this assumption of such an honourable position among the commercial cities of Japan must have been the indisputable superiority of the material strength of the city. Many of the higher vassals of the Shogunate borrowed money from the merchants of Sakai in order to equip their soldiers. Nay, even the Shogunate itself had often to mortgage its landed estates to the merchants of the city in order to save its treasury from running short. The wealth of the citizens enabled them to fortify their city very strongly, by surrounding it with a deep moat, and to enlist into their service a great number of knights-errant, who abounded in Japan at that time. These, together with the consciousness of indispensable assistance rendered to the Shogunate, to various great feudatories and condottieri, emboldened the citizens to defy the otherwise formidable military powers, and those warriors, on the other hand, who owed much to the pecuniary aid of the Sakai merchants, could but treat the latter with great consideration, which was unwonted at that time. Although the citizens of Sakai were not entirely free from the sufferings of the war, for they had often to quarter soldiers in their houses, yet no battle was allowed to be fought within the city, notwithstanding that a most sanguinary war was raging all around in the empire. It was natural, therefore, that, after the civil war of the Ohnin era, Sakai should be considered safer to live in than Kyoto. Sakai became the asylum for the civilisation of Japan, to save it from utter destruction. Poets, painters, musicians, and singers, who had found living in the turbulent metropolis intolerably hard, sought shelter in Sakai, and there occupied themselves quietly with their own professions. Various handicrafts, such as lacquering, porcelain-making, and weaving were all started there with enormous success. Especially as to the weaving, it is said that this industry, which had once flourished and been afterwards abandoned in Kyoto on account of the political disturbances there, was not only continued at Sakai, but also improved by the Chinese weavers, who repaired to the city and taught the natives the art of making various costly textiles of Chinese invention. In some respects the textiles of the Nishijin, now one of the specialties of Kyoto, may be said to be the continuation of the Sakai looms. Another kind of industry, which developed in the city in the later Ashikaga period, was the manufacture of fire-arms. Immediately after the introduction of fire-arms by a Portuguese in the year 1541, a merchant of Sakai happened to learn the art of making guns somewhere or other in Kyushu, and after his return to the city he began to practise there the business he had learnt. Sakai thus became the origin of the propagation, in central and eastern Japan, of the use of the new arm. From what has been described above, the reader would easily understand that the intellectual level of the citizens of Sakai stood much higher than that of the average Japanese of that time. Wit and pleasantry were the accomplishments highly prized there, so that the city produced out of its inhabitants a large number of versatile diplomatists, story-tellers, and buffoons. As their economic conditions were very easy, the social life of the city was polished, enlightened, and even luxurious. The manufacture of saké, the Japanese favourite drink made from rice, was highly developed in the city, and the fame of the Sakai-tub was renowned the country round. To protect the brewers, the Shogunate issued an order forbidding the importation of saké into the city. The tea-ceremony and the flower-trimming, two fashionable pastimes already in vogue at that time, were eagerly practised here by wealthy merchants. Many famous experts in this sort of amusement were found among the inhabitants of the city, and they were generally connoisseurs highly skilled in the fine arts, as Sen-no-Rikyû, for example. Various curios, native and foreign, were bought and sold there at exorbitant high prices. The prosperous condition of the city induced many Buddhists, especially the priests of the Jôdo-shinshû, the most active sect of Japanese Buddhism at that time, to try their propaganda in the city. They had numerous temples built, and by lending to the merchants their influence at the Shogun's court obtained from it the privilege of trading with China, thus making common cause with the citizens of that port. The earlier Christian missionaries, too, endeavoured to make this city the centre of their movement. It was indeed at the end of the year 1550, that Francis Xavier, who was not only the greatest missionary whom Japan has ever received from the West, but also one of the greatest men in the world too, arrived at the city from Yamaguchi on his way to Kyoto. Though he could achieve nothing noteworthy during his short stay here, on account of illness, yet by him the first seed of Christianity was sown in the central regions of the empire, and ten years later the first Christian hymn was sung in the church founded in the city. The civilisation of the city of Sakai represented that of the whole empire in the later Ashikaga age, manifested in its most glaring colours. The essential character of the civilisation was not aristocratic, but bourgeois. The lower strata of the people still had nothing to do with it. It is true that we can recognise already at this period the beginning of the proletariat movement. The frequent disturbances raised by apaches in the streets of Kyoto and the insurrections of agricultural workers in the provinces, remind us of the Peasants' War in the time of the Reformation in Europe. Their demands as well as their connection with the religious agitation of the time closely resembled those of the followers of Goetz von Berlichingen. They could not, however, secure any permanent result by their insurrections, so that the character of the civilisation remained essentially bourgeois, not having suffered any marked change from those disturbances. The civilisation of the bourgeois cannot but be individualistic, and its main difference from that of the aristocracy lies also herein. It has been so in Europe, and it could not have been otherwise in our country. The fact that individualism got the upper hand in the Ashikaga age may be proved by a phenomenon in the history of Japanese art. Portrait-painting had made some progress already in the Kamakura period, as was stated in the foregoing chapter. The artistic development in this branch of painting made it independent of religious pictures. The portrait-paintings of the age, however, even those executed by such eminent masters as Takanobu and Nobuzane, are only images of the typical courtier or warrior, not to mention the stiffness of the style. Very little of the individuality of the persons represented was manifested in them. The scroll-paintings, to which the attention of most of the artists of the age was directed, contained pictures of many persons, but to depict scenes was the chief aim of scroll-paintings, so that no serious pains were taken in the delineation of individuals. That portrait-painting remained thus long in an undeveloped stage cannot be explained away simply by the tardiness of the progress of arts in general. The chief cause must be attributed to the fact that the contemporary civilisation was lacking in individualistic elements. Unless there is a rise of the individualistic spirit in a certain measure, no real progress in portraiture can be expected. In the Ashikaga period, a large number of scroll-paintings had been produced as before, but they were mostly inferior in quality to those of the preceding age. On the other hand, we notice a vast improvement in the portrait-painting of this period. It may be due to some extent to the influence of the Zen sect, the sect which prevailed among the upper class of that time, for its creed is said to be strongly individualistic. Mainly, however, it must have come from the general spirit of the age, which, though it could not be said to have been free from the influence of the same sect, was induced to become individualistic more by social and economical reasons than by religious ones. By painters of the schools of Tosa and Kano were painted numerous portraits of eminent personages, such as the Shogun, courtiers, great feudatories, priests, especially of the Zen sect, literati, artists, experts in tea-ceremony, and so forth. Their pictures were generally made after death by order of the near relatives, friends, vassals or disciples of the deceased, to be a memorial of the person whom they adored or revered. Not a small number of those paintings are extant to this day, showing vividly the characteristics of those illustrious figures in Japanese history. The political anarchy combined with the individualistic tendency of the age could not fail to lead to the moral dissolution of the people. To the same effect, too, the literature of the time, which was a revival of that of the Fujiwara period, contributed. The classical authors of Japanese literature at the height of the Fujiwara period were now perused, commented upon, and elucidated with devouring eagerness, the most adored among them being Murasaki-Shikibu, whose famous novel, _Genji-monogatari_, was regarded mystically and held to be almost divine. The nature of this literature was for the most part realistic, or rather sentimental, verging sometimes on sensuality. It was, however, clad in the exquisitely refined costume of beautiful diction and choice turns of phrase, borrowed or metamorphosed from the inexhaustible stores of Chinese literature. As to the revived form of literature in the Ashikaga period, the difference between it and that of the old time was so remarkable, that it could not be overlooked. Vulgarisation usurping the place of refinement, and coarse sensuality reigning rampant was the outcome of the cultivation of the classical literature. The moral tone of the stories and novels produced in this decadent age unmistakably reflects how low was the ebb of the sense of decency of that period, fostered by the naturalistic tendency manifested in the Fujiwara classics. These depict the dark side of the age, but in order not to be one-sided in my judgment, let me tell also about its bright side. The culture of the Ashikaga had from the beginning a trend to grow more and more humanistic as it approached the end of the period. One more aspect in the history of Japanese painting proves it to the full. Landscapes and still-life pictures, which had been formerly painted only as the accessories of religious images or as the background in the scroll paintings, before which the main subjects, that is to say, the personages in stories were made to play, began now to form by themselves each a special independent group of subjects for painting. This shows that the people of the time had already entered a cultural stage able to enjoy the arts for art's sake. Many pictures of such a kind by the brush of noted Chinese masters were imported into our country, and several clever Japanese artists also painted after them. Some of our artists, like Sesshû, went over to China to study the art of painting there. The differentiation of the school of Kano from the older Tosa was another result of this development. Most of these pictures were executed in the form of _kakemono_, or hanging pictures, so called from their being hung in a special niche of a drawing room or a study. Screens, or _byobu_, mounted with pictures, became also a fashion. In general, the furnishing of a house was now a matter of a certain educated taste, and various systems were devised and formulated by accomplished experts. The delicacy of the æsthetic sense in indoor-life was moreover enhanced by the laborious etiquette of fashionable tea-parties held by aristocrats and bourgeois alike. The tea-plant itself is said to have been introduced from China into our country in the reign of the Emperor Saga, that is to say, at the beginning of the ninth century. Its use, however, as the daily beverage was of a far later date. Yôsai, the founder of the Zen sect in Japan, wrote in the early Kamakura period a commendation on tea as the healthiest drink of all. Still, for a long while after him, tea seems to have been used exclusively by Buddhists as a tonic. It was in the Ashikaga age that tea came first into general use among the well-to-do classes of the people. As the production of it was, however, not so abundant as now, it was not used daily as at present, but occasionally, with an etiquette conducted with exquisitely refined taste, both hosts and guests rivalling one another in displaying their artistic acquirements by delivering extempore speeches in criticism of the various articles of art exhibited, or in amusing themselves with mystic dialogues of the Zen creed, or the lively exchange of witty repartees. After all, the tendency of the culture of the later Ashikaga period was in the main humanistic. There was no political authority so firmly constituted, nor were conventional morals of the time so rigorous, as to be able to put an effective check on any liberal thinker, nor to intervene in the daily life of the people. Thought and action in Japan has never been more free than in that age. That Christianity could find innumerable converts from one end of the empire to the other within half a century after its introduction, may be accounted for by supposing that the ground for it had been prepared long before by this exceedingly humanistic culture. In this respect we see the dawn of modern Japan already in the later Ashikaga age. What a striking similarity to the Italian renaissance! Japan was now in the throes of travail--the time for a new birth was fast approaching. Conditions on the whole were favourable. All that was wanted for this were the moral regeneration of the people and the political reconstruction of the Empire. CHAPTER X THE TRANSITION FROM MEDIAEVAL TO MODERN JAPAN Anarchy engendered peace at least. At the end of the Ashikaga Shogunate the minor territorial lords, who had sprung up out of the impotency of the Shogun, were swallowed up one after another by the more powerful ones. The rights of manorial holders, that is to say, of court-nobles, shrines, and temples, over estates legally their own, though long since fallen into a condition of semi-desuetude, were active, sensitive, yet powerful enough in the middle of the period to withstand the attempted encroachments of those territorial lords, who were _de jure_ only managers of the estates entrusted to their care; but those rights began in course of time to lose their enforcing power, and were finally set at naught by the all-powerful military magnates. The link between the estates and their proprietors was thus virtually cut off, and each territory, which was in truth an agglomeration of several estates, came to stand as one body under the rule of a military lord, without any reservation to his right. In other words, each territory became a domain of a lord pure and simple, and it may be best explained by imagining a quasi-sovereign state in Europe formed by joining together a certain number of ecclesiastical domains, the lands of which were contiguous. It is true that the size of such territories varied, ranging from one so big as to contain several provinces down to petty ones comprising only a few villages; their boundaries, too, shifted from time to time. Notwithstanding this diversity in size and the inconstancy of the frontier-lines, these territories were similar to one another in their main nature, no more complicated by intricate manorial systems. If, therefore, there appeared at once some irresistible necessity for national unification or some great historical figure, whose ability was equal to the task of achieving the work, Japan could now be made a solid national state far more easily than at any earlier period. Besides this facilitation of the political unity, what most contributed to the settling of the general order was the resuscitation of the moral sense of the nation. The highly advanced Chinese civilisation introduced into our country at a time when it was comparatively naïve, had an effect which could not be termed exactly in all respects wholesome. The morals of the people, whose mode of life was simplicity itself, not having yet tasted the sumptuousness of civilised life, excelled those of higher civilised nations in veracity, soberness, and courage. Lacking, however, in the firm consciousness which must accompany any virtue of a standard worthy of sincere admiration, these attributes of the ancient Japanese, though laudable in themselves, could have no high intrinsic value, and were inadequate to stem the enervating influence of the elegantly developed alien civilisation introduced later on into the country. The ethical ties, which are indispensable at any time for maintaining the social order in a healthy condition, were gradually reduced to a state of utter dissolution in the later or over-refined stage of the Fujiwara period, especially among the upper classes. With the attainment of political power by the warrior class in the formation of the Kamakura Shogunate, there shimmered once some hope of the reawakening of the moral spirit, for fidelity and gratitude, which were the cardinal virtues of the Kamakura warriors, were efficient factors in refreshing and invigorating a society which had once fallen into a despicable languor and demoralisation. The ascendency of these bracing forces, however, was but transitory. This disappointment came not only from the shortness of the duration of the genuine military régime at Kamakura, but also from another reason not less probable. The admirable virtues of the warriors were the natural outcome of the peculiar private circumstances created in the fighting bodies of the time, and were on that account essentially domestic in their nature. As long as these warriors remained, therefore, mere professional fighters and tools in the hands of court nobles, the moral ties binding leaders and followers as well as the _esprit de corps_ among these followers themselves had very slight chance of coming into contact with politics. In short, the majority of these warriors were not acquainted with public life at all, so that they were at a loss how to behave themselves as public men when, as the real masters of the country, they found themselves obliged to deal with political affairs. Public affairs are generally prone to induce men even of high probity to put undue importance upon the attainment of end, rather than to make them scrupulous about the means of arriving at that end; and if the moral sense of the people is not developed enough to guard against this injurious infection of private life from the meddling with public affairs, then their inborn and yet untried virtues may often fail to assert themselves against the influence of the depravity which can find its way more easily into public than into private life. Such was the case with the warriors of the Kamakura age. Through their ascendency the martial spirit of the nation, which had languished somewhat under the rule of the Fujiwara nobles, was once more revived, but their descendants at the end of that Shogunate could not be so brave and simple-hearted as their forefathers were. The extinction of the Minamoto family, too, relieved these warriors of their duty as hereditary liegemen of the Shogun, for henceforth both the Shogun, who was now of a different family from that of the Minamoto, and the Hôjô, the real master of the Shogunate, were to them superiors only in official relations. This disappearance of the object on which the fidelity of the warriors used to concentrate, made fidelity itself an empty virtue. At least among the circle of warriors in the age in which fidelity was everything and all other virtues were but ancillary to it, this loss must have been a great drawback to the improvement of the morality of the nation. The demoralisation of the influential class had thus set in since the latter part of the Kamakura age. No wonder that during the civil war which ensued many of the prominent warriors changed sides very frequently, almost without any hesitation, obeying only the dictates and suggestions of their private interests. That this civil war, which ended without any decisive battle being fought, could drag on for nearly a century, may be best understood by taking this recklessness of the participants into consideration. The inconsistency in their attitude or the want of fidelity towards those to whom they ought to be faithful was not restricted to their transactions in public affairs only, but extended also to the recesses of their family life. Parents could no more confide in their own children, nor husband in his wife, and masters had always to be on guard against betrayal by their servants. After the civil war there were many periods of intermittent peace in the first half of the Ashikaga régime, but that was not a result of the firm and strong government of the Shogun. They were rather lulls after storms, brought about by the weariness felt after a long anarchy. The culmination of this deplorable condition of national demoralisation falls to the epoch of the next civil war, that is to say, of the Ohnin era. It is in this period that we witness a great development of the spy system and of the usage of taking hostages as a security against breach of faith. Even such means, however, proved often inefficient to guard against the unexpected treachery of supposed intimate friends, or a sudden attack from the rear by trusted neighbours. Desertion, though not recommended as a laudable action, was nevertheless not considered a detestable infamy, especially when it was carried out anterior to the pitching of the camps against the enemy, and deserters or betrayers were generally welcomed and loaded with munificent rewards by their new masters. Was it possible that such a ruthless state could continue for long without any counteraction? If any one had once betrayed his first master for the sake of selfish interests, could he claim after that to be a sort of person able to enjoy the implicit confidence of his second master? Examples of repeated breaches of faith abound in the history of the time. It was from the general unreliableness caused by such habitual acts of treachery, that the practice of giving quarter to deserters and facile surrenderers began gradually to diminish. And the result was that the danger of being killed after having surrendered or capitulated became a cause to induce those warriors, who would otherwise have easily given up their master's cause, to remain true to him to the end. This is one of the reasons why, after so long a domination of this miserable demoralisation, we begin frequently to come upon those beautiful episodes which showed the solidarity of clans admirably maintained and the utter loyalty of vassals to their lord, fighting to the death under his banner. The process, however, of ameliorating the morals of the nation should not begin from the relation of master and servant, but slowly start from within families. One could not refrain from feeling the imperative necessity of trustworthy mutual dependence among members connected by ties of blood, amidst the dreary environs in which no hearty confidence could be put in any one with safety. That the _Hsiao-king_, a Chinese moral book treating of the merits of filial piety, was widely read in educated circles of the time, and that several editions of the same book have been published since the middle of the Ashikaga period, show how great a stress was put on the encouragement of domestic duties. With the family, made a compact body, as the starting point, the reorganisation of social and national morals was thus set on foot. The growth of the tendency of liegemen to share the same fate as their lord is to be looked upon as a kind of extension of this family solidarity, as it came not from the consideration of the mere relation between a master and his servants, but rather from that of the hereditary transmittal of such a relation on both sides, just as it was at the beginning of the Kamakura Shogunate. There was no doubt therefore that the smaller the size of the territory of a lord, the easier the consummation of the process of its compact consolidation, which was necessarily cemented by a close mutual attachment between the lord of that territory and his dependents within and without his family. Not only that. If that territory was small and weak, and in constant danger of being destroyed or annexed by powerful neighbours, then the same process of consolidation was effected very swiftly. The territory in the province of Mikawa, which was owned by the family of the Tokugawa, was one of many such instances. This territory was so small in size, that it did not cover more than a half of the province, and moreover it was surrounded by the domains belonging to the two powerful families of Oda and Imagawa on the west and east, so that the small estate of the Tokugawa family was constantly harassed by them, and maintained as a protectorate now by the one and then by the other of the two. On that account nowhere else was there a stronger demand for a close affinity between a territorial lord and his men, than in this domain of the Tokugawa's. Consequently we see there not only an early progress in territorial consolidation, but along with it the resuscitation of an acute moral sense, especially in the direction necessary and compatible to the maintenance and development of a military state. The reawakening of the high moral sense in the nation and the formation of compact self-constituted territories, virtually independent but amply liable to the influence of unifying forces, were the phenomena in the latter half of the Ashikaga period. That the country was slow in becoming nationalised and unified must be attributed to the insufficiency of that reawakening and the insolidity of those quasi-independent territories. The general culture of the time, which was humanistic in nature, was powerless for the moment to facilitate this movement which was national and moral at the same time. Humanistic as it was, it was able to pervade the provinces, and gave to Japan a uniform colour of culture. That was already, indeed, a stride forward on the way to national unification. Nay, it may be said that the impulse to that very unification was given by that very culture. Generally, however, the humanistic culture of any form has no particular state of things as its practical goal, and therefore cannot necessarily lead to an improvement in the morals of any particular nation, nor does it always stimulate the desire for the national unification of a certain country. On the contrary, it often counteracts these movements, and seemingly contributes toward accelerating the demoralisation and dismemberment of a nation, for individualism and selfishness get often the upper hand when such a culture becomes ascendant. The fruit which the Renaissance of the Quattrocento bore to Italians was just of this sort, and the direct influence which the humanistic culture of the later Ashikaga produced on Japan was not very much different from that. The culture, which had spread widely all over Japan, rather tended to loosen moral ties, and at least diminished the social stability. Persons, of a character morally most depraved, such as traitors, murderers, and so forth, were not infrequently men of high culture. Most of the rebellious servants of the Ashikaga Shogun were said to have been highly-accomplished literati. Some of them were addicted to the perusal of the sensational novels produced in the golden age of classical literature in Japan, such as the _Ise-_ and the _Genji-monogatari_, and others were composers of short poems fashionable in those days, rejoicing at their own display of flighty wit, while not a few of them were liberal patronisers of the contemporary art, especially of painting. What a striking parallelism to those Popes and their nephews, in the time of the Renaissance, whose patronising of arts is as renowned as their atrocious vices! If the culture inborn or borrowed from China was unable to save the country from a moral and political crisis, what was the fruit borne by the seeds of the new exotic culture, that is to say, of Christianity, sown just at this juncture? I will not dilate here on the relation between religion and morality in general. Suffice it to say that religious people are not always virtuous. Bigots are generally men of perverse character, and mostly vicious. This is a truism. It has been so with Buddhism and many other religions. Why should it be otherwise only in the case of Christianity? As regards the general culture of our country, the introduction of Christianity is a very important historical fact, the influence of which can by no means be overlooked. Though the secular culture which was introduced into Japan as the accessory of the Christian propaganda was of a very limited nature, and though the free acceptance of it was cut short soon after its circulation, yet this new element of civilisation brought over by the missionaries was much more than a drop in the ocean. However difficult it be to perceive the traces of the Western culture in the spirit of the age which was to follow, it cannot be denied that it left, after all, some indelible mark on our national history. That it had spread within a few decades all over the contemporary Japan, from the extreme south to the furthest north, should also not be left out of sight. Thenceforth the Fables of Æsop have not ceased to be told in the lamplit hours in the nurseries of Japan. We see Japan, after the first introduction of Christianity, painted in a somewhat different colour, though the difference of tincture may be said to be extremely slight. The knowledge at least that there were outside of China, many people in the far West, civilised enough to teach us in several branches of science and art, opened the eyes of the island nation to a wider field of vision, and began to alter the views which we had entertained about things Chinese. Previously, for anything to become authoritative, it had been enough if the Chinese origin of that thing could be assured. The overshadowing influence which China had wielded over Japan at the time of the Fujiwara régime was revived in different form in the middle Ashikaga period, the former being China of the T'ang, while the latter that of the Sung, Yuan, and Ming. In short, China had long continued as a too brilliant guiding star to the Japanese mind, Korea, by the way, having been regarded only as one of the intermediaries between the "flowery" Empire and our country. It would be, of course, a hasty judgment to conclude that the introduction of Christianity instantly let the scales fall from the eyes of the Japanese as regards China, and aroused thereby a fervent national enthusiasm of the people, but at least it was a strong impetus to the awakening of the national consciousness, and led indirectly to the political unification of the country. In this respect the introduction of the new religion had a salutary effect on our history. As to the betterment of the individual morals of the contemporary Japanese, however, the influence of Christianity cannot be said to have been wholesome in all ways. It probably did as much mischief as good during its brief prosperity. Any cult, which may be styled a universal religion, contains a strong tincture of individualism in its doctrines, and any creed of which individualism is a main factor often easily tends to encourage, against its original purpose, the pursuit of selfish objects. In this respect even Christianity can offer no exception. What, then, could it preach, at the end of the Ashikaga régime, to the Japanese who were already individualistic enough without the new teaching of the western religion, besides the intensifying of that individualism to make it still more strong and prevalent? Moreover, the very moral doctrine of the Christianity introduced by Francis Xavier and his successors was nothing but the moral of the Jesuits of the sixteenth century, who maintained the unscrupulous teaching that the end justified the means, the moral principle which has been universally adjudged in Europe to be a very dangerous and obnoxious doctrine. Could it have been otherwise only in our country as an exceptional case? But if these missionaries had all been men of truly noble and upright character, they should have been able perhaps to raise the standard of our national morals by personal contact with the Japanese, notwithstanding the moral tenets of their religion. Unfortunately, however, most of them were of debased character, with the exception of St. Francis Xavier and a few others. We need not doubt the ardent desire of these missionaries to save the "souls" of the Japanese, and thus to recover in the East what they had lost in the West. But by whatever motive their pious undertakings may have been prompted, their religious enthusiasm and their dauntless courage do not confute the charge of dishonesty. That the majority of them were grossest liars is evident from their reports addressed to their superiors in Europe, in which the numbers of converts and martyrs in this country were misrepresented and ridiculously exaggerated, in order bombastically to manifest their undue merits, exaggeration which could not be attributed to a lack of precise knowledge about those matters. What could we expect from men of such knavish characters as regards the moral regeneration of the contemporary Japanese? As these missionaries, however, were at least cunning, if not intelligent in a good sense, it would not have been impossible for them to achieve something in the domain of the moral education of the nation, if they could only have understood the real state of Japan of that time. On the contrary, their comprehension of our country and of our forefathers was far wide of the mark. Most of them had expected to find in Japan an El Dorado inhabited by primitive folks of a very low grade of intelligence, where they could play their parts gloriously as missionaries by preaching the Gospel in the wilderness. They had not dreamt that the culture possessed by the Japanese of that time, though for the most part borrowed from China, was superior to that of some still uncivilised parts of Europe, for the difference in the form of civilisation deceived them in their judgment of the value of Eastern culture. When they set their feet on Japanese soil, therefore, they soon discovered that they had been grossly mistaken, and then running to the opposite extreme they fell into the error of overestimation. Yet they did not stop at this. This first misconception on the part of the missionaries about Japan left in them an ineradicable prejudice. They became very niggards in seeing things Japanese in an impartial light, and constituted themselves consciously or unconsciously fault-finders of the people, and unfortunately the Japan of that time furnished them with much material to corroborate their low opinion. The result was that while on the one hand the Japanese were praised far above their real value, they were stigmatised equally far below their real merits. Regrettable as it was for Japan to have received such reprehensible people as pioneers of Western civilisation, it was also pitiable that Christianity, which had been fervently embraced by a large number of Japanese, was once rooted out chiefly on account of the incredible folly of these missionaries, who fermented trouble and embroiled themselves in numberless intrigues, which were quite useless and unnecessary as regards the cause of Christianity. It would, in good sooth, have been absurd to hope to have the morality of the people improved by the personal influence of such reckless adventurers. Japan was ready to be transformed into a solid national state, and at the same time to emerge from a chaotic medieval condition to enter the modern status. The cultural milieu, however, though it might have been ripe for change, must have found it difficult to get transformed by itself, and wanted an infusion of some new element to create an opportunity for the change. A new element did come in, but it proved to be unable to effect any wholesome alteration, so that in order to create that opportunity the only possible and promising way was to resort first to the political unification of the country, and thus to start from the political and so to reach social and individual regeneration. And for that political unification the right man was not long wanting. We find him first in Nobunaga Oda, then in Hideyoshi Toyotomi, and lastly in Iyeyasu Tokugawa. The first task was naturally to break down the authority of numerous traditions and conventions which had kept the nation in fetters for a long time. This task was an appropriate one for such a hero as Nobunaga, who was imperious and intrepid enough to brave every difficulty coming in his way. He was born in a family which had been of the following of the house of Shiba, one of the branches of the Ashikaga, and had continued as the hereditary administrator of Owari, a province which formed part of the domain of its suzerain lord. When the power of the house of Shiba decayed, the Oda family asserted its virtual independence in the very province in which it had been the vicegerent of its lord, and it was after this assertion of independence that our hero was born. Strictly speaking, therefore, his right as a territorial lord was founded on an act of usurpation, that is to say, Nobunaga's claim as the owner of the province had no footing in the old system of the Ashikaga, so that he was destined by his birth to become a creator of the new age, and not the upholder of the ancient régime. The province over which he held sway has been called one of the richest provinces in Japan, and was not far from Kyoto, which was, as often stated before, still by far the most influential among the political and cultural centres of the empire. He and his vassals, therefore, had more opportunities than most of the territorial lords and their vassals living in remote provinces, of getting sundry knowledge useful to make his territory greater and stronger. In the year 1560 he defeated and killed his powerful enemy on the east, Yoshimoto Imagawa, the lord of the two provinces, Tôtômi and Suruga. This was his first acquisition of new territory. Four years after, the province of Mino, lying to the north of Owari, came into his possession. In 1568 he marched his army into Kyoto to avenge the death of the Shogun Yoshiteru, and installed his brother, who was the last of the Ashikaga line, as the new Shogun. Then one territory after another was added to his dominion, so that the Shogun was at last eclipsed in power and influence by Oda, without ever having renounced his hereditary rights. Nobunaga's dominion reached from the Sea of Japan to the Pacific shore, when he met at the height of his career of conquest a premature death by the hand of a traitor. It is not, however, on account of the magnitude of the territories which he annexed, that Nobunaga figures in the history of Japan, for the land conquered by dint of his arms did not cover more than one-third of the island of Honto. His real historical importance lies not there, but in that he destroyed the old Japan and made himself the harbinger of the new age, though the honour of being creator of modern Japan must be assigned rather to Hideyoshi, his successor. Since the beginning of our history, the Japanese have always been very reluctant, in the cultural respect, to give up what they have possessed from the first, while they have been very eager and keen to take in the new exotic elements which seemed agreeable or useful to them. In other words, the Japanese have been simultaneously conservative and progressive, and immoderately so in both ways. The result of such a conservation and assimilation operating at the same time was that the country has gradually become a depository of a huge mass of things Japanese and Chinese, no matter whether they were desirable or not. If any exotic matter or custom once found its way into this country, it was preserved with tender care and never-relaxing tenacity, as if it were some treasure found or made at home and would prove a credit to our country. In this way we could save from destruction and demolition a great many historical remains, material as well as spiritual, not only of Japanese but also of Chinese origins. There may still be found in our country many things, the histories of which show that they had once their beginnings in China indeed, but the traces of their origins have long been entirely lost there. Needless to say that the religious rites and other traditions of our forefathers in remotest antiquity have been carefully handed down to us. This assiduity for preserving on the part of the Japanese can best be realised by the existence to this day of very old wooden buildings, some of which, in their dates of erection, go back to more than twelve hundred years ago. Besides this conservative propensity of the nation, the history of our country has also been very favourable to the effort of preserving. We have had no chronic change of dynasties as in China, nor have we experienced any violent revolution, shaking the whole structure of the country, as the French people had. Though our history has not lacked in civil wars and political convulsions, their destructive force has been comparatively feeble, and one Imperial house has continued to reign here from the mythic Age of the Gods! With this permanent sovereign family as the _point d'appui_, it has been easier in Japan than in any other country to preserve things historic. Things thus preserved, however, have not all been worthy of such care. As we have been obliged to march constantly with hurried steps in our course of civilisation, little time has been left to us to pause and discriminate what was good for preservation from what was not. We have betaken ourselves occasionally to the process of rumination, but it did not render us much assistance. Not only rubbish has not been rejected, as it should have been, but the things which proved of good service at one time and subsequently wore out, have been hoarded over-numerously. Think of this immense quantity of the slag, the detritus, of the civilisations of various countries in various ages all dumped into the limited area of our small empire! No people, however vigorous and progressive they may have been, would have been able to go on briskly with such a heavy burden on their backs. The worst evils were to be recognised in the sphere of religious belief and in the transactions of daily official business. Red tape, home-made and that of China of all dynasties, taken in haphazard and fastened together, formed the guiding-lines of the so-called "administrative business" in the time of the court-nobles' régime. The prestige of these conventionalities was so powerful that even after the installation of the Shogunate, that is to say, after the establishment of the government which really meant to govern, the administration, promising to be far more effective than that of the Fujiwara's, had to be varnished with this conventionalism. Kiyomori, the first of the warriors to become the political head of the country, failed, because he was ignorant of this red-tapism. The Shogunate initiated by Yoritomo tried at first to keep itself aloof from this influence, but could succeed only for a short duration. The second Shogunate, the Ashikaga, had been overrun almost from its inception by the red tape of the courtiers' régime, as well as by the routine newly started in Kamakura. The humanistic culture, which glimmered during the latter part of this Shogunate, was by its nature able to find its place only where conventionalism did not reign, but it soon began to give way and be conventionalised also. Until this red-tapism was destroyed, there could have been no possibility of the modernisation of Japan. Superstitions of all sorts, when fixed in their forms and launched on the stream of time to float down to posterity with authority undiminished by age, make the worst kind of convention. We had a great mass of conventions of this type in our country. Various superstitions, from the primitive forms of worship, such as fetichism, totemism, and so forth, to the highest forms of idolatry, survived notwithstanding the introduction of Buddhism. Buddhism, too, has produced various sects which were rather to be called coarse superstitions. Taoism was also introduced together with the general Chinese culture. Not to mention that Shintoism, which was by its original nature hardly to be called a religion, but only a system or body of rites inseparable from the history of our country, became blended with the Buddhist elements and was preached as a religion of a hybrid character. Thus a concourse of different superstitions of all ages had their common field of action in the spirit of the people, so that it has became exceedingly difficult to tell exactly to what kind of faith this or that Japanese belonged; in other words, one was divided against one's self. To put it in the best light, religiously the Japanese were divided into a large number of different religious groups. Religion is generally spoken of in Europe as one of the characteristics of a nation. If it is insufficient to serve as an associating link of a nation, at least the difference in religious belief can draw a line of marked distinction between different nations, and thus the embracing of the same religion becomes indirectly a strong uniting force in a nation. Such a co-existence of heterogeneous forms of religious beliefs painted the confessional map of Japan in too many variegated colours, a condition which was directly opposed to the process of national unification, of which our country had been placed in urgent need for a very long time. In short, it was hard for us to expect from the religious side anything helpful in our national affairs. Moreover, the religious spirit of the nation reached its climax in this later Ashikaga period. Except in the age of the introduction of Buddhism and the beginning of the Kamakura era, enthusiasm for salvation has never, in all the course of Japanese history, been stronger than in this period. We witness now several religious corporations, the most remarkable of which were those formed by two violent and influential sects of Japanese Buddhism, Jôdo-shinshû or Ikkô-shû and Nichiren-shû or Hokke-shû. The followers of the latter, though said to be the most aggressive sectarians in our country, were not so numerous as the former, and were put under control by Nobunaga with no great difficulty. The former, however, was by far the mightier, constituting an exclusive society by itself, and its adherents spread especially over the provinces of central Japan, that is to say, wherever the arms of Nobunaga were triumphant. It presented therefore a great hindrance to the uniform administration of his domains. Other Buddhist bodies, which had been not less formidable, not because their creed had numerous fervent adherents, but because they had an invisible historical prestige originating in very old times, were the monks of the temples and monasteries on Mount Hiyei, belonging to the Tendai sect, and of those clustered on Mount Kôya, of the Shingon sect. These two sects had long ceased active propaganda, but the temples had been revered by the Imperial house, and none had ever dared to put a check upon the arrogance of the priests and monks residing in them. As they had received rich donations in land from the court and from devotees, they had been able to live a luxurious life, and very few of them gave themselves up to religious works. Most of them behaved as if they were soldiers by profession, and were always ready to fight, not only in defence of the interests of the corporations to which they belonged, but also as auxiliaries of neighbouring territorial lords, when their aid was called for. Such had been the practice since the end of Fujiwara régime. The more their soldierly character predominated, the more their religious colouring decreased, and in the period of which I am speaking now, they were rather territorial powers than religious bodies. If we seek for their counterpart in the history of Europe, the republic founded by order of the Teutonic Knights in Prussia would fairly correspond to them, rather than ordinary bishoprics or archbishoprics. For the unification, therefore, they were also obstacles which could not be suffered to remain as they had been. In order to achieve the national unification and to effect the modernisation of the country, it was necessary to dispense with all the red tape, the time-honoured superstitions and all other encumbrances lying in the way. It was not, however, an easy task to do away with all these things, for they had been held sacrosanct, so that to set them at defiance was but to brave the public opinion of the time. And none had been courageous enough to raise his hand against them, until Nobunaga decided to rid himself of all these feeble but tenacious shackles. In the year 1571 Nobunaga attacked Mount Hiyei, for the turbulent shavelings of the mountain had sided with his enemies in the war of the preceding year, and burned down the Temple Yenryakuji to the ground. The emblem of the glory of Buddhism in Japan, which had stood for more than seven centuries, was thus turned to ashes. The next blow was struck at the recalcitrant priests of the temple of Negoro, belonging to the same sect as Kôya and situated near it. As for the Ikkô-sectarians with the Hongwanji as centre, the arms of Nobunaga were not so successful against them as against the other two temples, so that in the end he was compelled to conclude an armistice with them, but he was able in great measure to curtail their overbearing power. Of all these feats of arms, the burning of the temples on Mount Hiyei most dumbfounded Nobunaga's contemporaries, for the hallowed institution, held in the highest esteem rivalling even the prestige of the Imperial family, was thus prostrated in the dust, unable to rise up again to its former grandeur. It is much lamented by later historians that in the conflagration of the temple an immense number of invaluable documents, chronicles and other kinds of historical records was swept away forever, and they calumniated our hero on this account rather severely. It is true that if those materials had existed to this day, the history of our country would have been much more lucid and easy to comprehend than it is now, and if Nobunaga could have saved those papers first, and then burnt the temple, he would have acted far more wisely than he did, and have earned less censure from posterity. But history is not made for the sake of historians, and we need not much lament about losses which there was little possibility of avoiding. A nation ought to feel more grateful to a great man for giving her a promising future, than for preserving merely some souvenirs of the past. The bell announcing the dawn of modern Japan was rung by nobody but Nobunaga himself by this demolition of a decrepit institution. It was not only those proud priests that defied Nobunaga and thereby suffered a heavy calamity, but the flourishing city of Sakai met the same fate. As the city had been accustomed to despise the military force of the condottieri, who abounded in the provinces neighbouring Kyoto and were easily to be bribed by money to change sides, it misunderstood the new rising power of Nobunaga, and dared to defy him. The insolence of the citizens of this wealthy town irritated Nobunaga and was punished by him severely. The defence works of the city were razed to the ground, and the city was placed under the control of a mayor appointed by him. The only city in Japan which promised to grow an autonomous political body thus succumbed to the new unifying force. Nobunaga was born, however, not to be a mere insensate destroyer of ancient Japan. He seems also to have been gifted with the ability of reconstruction, an ability which was not meagre in him at all. That his special attention was directed to the improvement of the means of communication shows that he considered the work of organisation and consolidation to be as important as gaining a victory. The countenance which he gave to the Christian missionaries might have been the result of his repugnance at the degradation or intractability of the Buddhists in Japan. Could it not be imagined, however, that he was prone, in religious affairs as well as in other things, to seek the yet untried means thoroughly to renovate Japan? It is much to be regretted that he did not live long enough to see his aims attained. When he died, his destructive task had not reached its end, and his constructive work had barely begun. It was he, however, who indicated that Japan was a country which could be truly unified, and that what had come to be preserved and revered blindly should not all necessarily be so; and the grand task of building up the new Japan, initiated by him, was transferred to his successor, Hideyoshi. It was in 1582 that Nobunaga died in Kyoto, and in the quarrel which ensued after his death among his Diadochi, Hideyoshi remained as the final successor. The year after, Ôsaka was chosen as the place of his residence. He was of very low origin, so that he had even less footing in the conventional old régime than his master Nobunaga, and therefore was more fitted to become the creator of the new Japan. He continued the course of conquest begun by Nobunaga, and annexed the whole of historic Japan within eight years from his accession to the political power. The most noteworthy item in his internal administration was the land survey which he ordered to be undertaken parallel to the progress of his arms. The great estates of Japan were one after another subjected to a uniform measurement, and thus was fashioned the standard of new taxation. This land-survey began in 1590 and continued till the death of Hideyoshi. The proportion of the tax levied to the area of the taxable land must still have varied in different localities, but the mode of taxation was now simplified thereby to a great extent, for the old systems, each of which was peculiar to an individual estate, were henceforth mostly abrogated. The manorial system of old Japan was entirely swept away. The unity of the nation under Hideyoshi, that is to say, Japan at the disposal of a single person, an illuminated despot, might have been really the result of the long process of unification gradually accentuated, but it may also be considered as one of the causes which brought about a still stronger national consciousness. The expulsion of the foreign missionaries and the prohibition of the Christian propaganda did not constitute a religious persecution in its strict sense. That Hideyoshi was no enthusiastic Buddhist should be accepted as a negative proof of it. Most probably he had no religious aversion against Christianity, but the intermeddling of those missionaries in the politics of our country infuriated him, for the demand for the solid unification of the nation, embodied in him, was against such an encroachment. The persecution, which crowned many adventurers with the honour of martyrdom, is to be imputed to the lack of prudence on the part of those missionaries. As to the motive of the Korean invasion undertaken by Hideyoshi, various interpretations have been put forth by various historians. Some explain it as mere love of adventure and fame. Others attribute it to the necessity of keeping malcontent warriors engaged abroad, in order to keep the country pacific. As Hideyoshi himself died while the expedition was still in progress, giving neither explanation nor hint of his real motive, it is very difficult for us to fathom his innermost thought. It would not be altogether a mistaken idea, however, if we consider it as an outcome of his unifying aspiration carried a few steps farther outside the empire. When we consider his brilliant career from its beginning, the amount of work which he accomplished greatly exceeded what we could expect from a single ordinary mortal. He performed his share of the construction of new Japan admirably. As to the organisation of what Hideyoshi had roughly put together, it was reserved for the prudent intelligence of Iyeyasu to accomplish. CHAPTER XI THE TOKUGAWA SHOGUNATE,--ITS POLITICAL RÉGIME The spirit of the coming age was loudly heralded by Nobunaga. Most of the hindrances which had persistently obstructed the national progress for a long while were cleared away at his peremptory call. Then out of the quarry opened by him the stones for the new pieces of sculpture were hewn out by his successor Hideyoshi. The blocks, however, which were only rough-cut by the latter, were left unfinished, awaiting the final touch of wise and prudent Iyeyasu. The Shogunate which he set up at Yedo, now Tokyo, in the province of Musashi, continued for more than two centuries and a half. Not only was it the longest in duration among our Shogunates, but it exceeded most of the European dynasties in the number of years which it covered, being a little longer than the reign of the Bourbons in France, including that of the branch of Orleans and of the Restoration. During this long régime of the single house of the Tokugawa, Japan had been able to prepare herself slowly to attain the stage on which all the world witnesses her now standing. The history of Japan under this Shogunate shows that throughout the whole epoch our country had not yet been entirely stripped of her medieval garments, but it is absurd at the same time to designate the period as essentially not modern. For long years we have been on our forward march, always dragging along with us the ever-accumulating residue of the civilisation of the past. If any one, however, should venture to judge us by the enormous heaps of these souvenirs of a by-gone civilisation overburdening us, and should say that the Japanese had been standing still these two centuries and a half, then he would be entirely mistaken. The overestimation of Japan of the Meidji era by a great many foreigners is, though seconded by not a few Japanese, a fault which had its origin in this misapprehension about our country under the Tokugawa régime. The attention of these observers was engrossed, when they took their first views of the land and people, by those things which seemed to them strange and curious, being quite different from what they themselves possessed at home, or which were thought by them anachronistic, on account of having been abandoned by them long ago, though once they had them also in their own countries. As regards what they had been accustomed to at home, they took very little notice of it in Japan, and considered the existence of such things in our country as a matter of course, if they happened to come across them. Most of them came over to Japan, prepossessed already by their expectations of finding here a unique country, and were thus unconsciously led, after their view of the country itself, to depict it in a very quaint light, as something entirely different from anything they had ever experienced anywhere; an error which even the most studious and acute observer, such as Engelhardt Kaempfer, was not able to escape. No need to mention the rest, especially those missionaries who wished to extol their own merits at the expense of the Japanese. We are still suffering from misconceptions about our country on the part of Europeans,--misconceptions which are the legacy of the misrepresentation of Japan by those early observers. By no means, however, do I presume to try to exhibit Japan only in her brightest colours. Far from it, and what I ask foreign readers not to forget is that the history of Japan under the Tokugawa Shogunate, the period which was essentially modern, should not be superficially judged by its abundance of feudal trammels fondly described by contemporary Europeans. In this chapter, I shall first make manifest which were the things medieval retained in the time of the Tokugawa, and then treat about the essential character of the age which should be called all but modern. In the foregoing chapter I spoke about some resemblances between our later Ashikaga period and the Italian renaissance of the Quattrocento. In the successive phases which followed in the East and in the West, there might be found some other similarities. History, however, has not been ordained to run in streams exactly parallel to one another in all countries, and to be a counterpart of the age of the Reformation, the epochs of the Oda and the Toyotomi are not more appropriate than the age of the Kamakura Shogunate. A style in Japanese art, prevalent during and after the régime of Hideyoshi and called "the Momoyama" by recent connoisseurs had a striking resemblance to the Empire style, which followed the Rococo in Europe, and in some respects indeed the later Ashikaga period of our history might be likened to Europe of the eighteenth century, without gross inappropriateness, while at other points it might be compared to the Renaissance with equal fairness. It would be very stupid, however, to surmise that Japan in the Tokugawa period attained to a culture which in its general aspect belonged almost to the same stage as that prevailing in Europe in the early nineteenth century. Art, though an important cultural factor, cannot be made the sole criterion of the civilisation of any nation or people. It is quite indisputable that Japan under the Tokugawa Shogunate had many things about which we could not boast. So long as war is a calamity unavoidable in this world, it is folly to expect in any country that the cruelty of men to men will entirely cease. But if the intensity of cruelty in warfare be taken as being in inverse ratio to the progress of civilisation, as it generally used to be, then the Tokugawa period evidently should not be lauded as an age of great enlightenment. Until the end of the Shogunate of this house it had been the custom for a warrior on the battlefield to cut off the head of the antagonist whom he had slain. Though we have had no such demoralising sort of warfare in our history as that carried on by mercenary troops in medieval Europe, where defeated warriors were taken prisoners in order to obtain from them as rich ransoms as they could afford to pay, in other words, though the nature of warfare in Japan was far more serious in general than in the West, it was on that account far more dangerous for the combatants engaged. It was the custom in any battle to reward that warrior who first decapitated an enemy's head as generously as one who was the first over the wall in an attack on a fortress. Moreover, during the ceremony in celebration of a victory on a battlefield, all those enemy heads were collected and brought for the inspection of the commanding general of the victorious army. Such a custom in warfare, however efficient it might have been in stimulating the martial courage of warriors, cannot be regarded as praiseworthy in any civilised country, even where war is considered as the highest occupation of the people. The Japanese manner of suicide called _hara-kiri_ or _seppuku_, a custom of world-wide celebrity, is another thing which is well to be commented on here. If any foreigner should suppose that _seppuku_ has been very frequently committed in the same manner as we see it practised on the stage, he would be greatly misled in appreciating the true national character of the Japanese. On the contrary, _seppuku_ has not been a matter of everyday occurrence, having taken place far less frequently than one hears now-a-days about railway accidents. Moreover, when it was performed, it was carried out in decent ways, if we may use the word decent here, and not in the grotesque mode displayed on the Japanese stage, accompanied by sardonic laughter, with bowels exposed after cutting the belly crosswise. The reason why the Japanese warrior resorted to _seppuku_ in committing suicide was not to kill himself in a methodically cruel manner, but to die an honourable and manly death by his own hand. For such methods of committing suicide, as taking poison, drowning, strangling oneself, and the like, were considered very ignoble, and especially unworthy of warriors. Even to die by merely cutting one's throat was held to be rather effeminate. The fear of the protraction of the death agony was looked on as a token of cowardice, and therefore to be able to kill one's self in the most sober and circumstantial manner, and at the same time to do it with every consideration of others, was thought to be one of the requisite qualifications of a brave warrior in an emergency. In short, for a suicide to be honourable, it had to be proved that it was not the result of insanity. Thus we can see that not the spirit of cruelty but martial honour was the motive of committing _seppuku_, and it would be unfair to stigmatise the Japanese as a cruel people because of the practice. Still I am far from wishing to vindicate this custom in all its aspects. The fact that this method of killing one's self continued during the whole of the Tokugawa régime as a penalty, without loss of honour, for capital crimes of the _samurai_ show that the humane culture of the age left much to be wished for. Class distinction was another dark spot on the culture of the age. All sorts of people outside the fighting class were roughly classified into three bodies, that is to say, peasants, artisans, and merchants, and were held in utter subjection, as classes made simply to be governed. But the often-quoted tradition that warriors of that time had as their privilege the right to kill any of the commonalty at their sweet will and pleasure, without the risk of incurring the slightest punishment thereby, is erroneous, having no foundation in real historical fact. Those warriors who had committed a homicide were without prejudice called upon to justify their act before the proper authority. If they failed to prove that they were the provoked and injured party, they were sure to have severe penalties inflicted on them. On the whole, however, the common people in the Tokugawa age were looked down upon by warriors as inferiors in reasoning and understanding, and therefore as disqualified to participate in public affairs, social as well as political. That their intellectual defects must have been due to their neglected education was a matter clean put out of mind. As regards the respective professions of the above-mentioned three classes of plebeians, agriculture was thought to be the most honourable, on account of producing the staple food-material, so that warriors, especially of the lower classes, did not disdain to engage in tilling the lands allotted to them or in exploring new arable lands. The peasants themselves, however, were not so greatly esteemed on account of their engaging in a profession which was held honourable. Handicrafts in general and artisans employed in them had not been held particularly respectable by themselves, but as the profession was productive, it was recognised as indispensable, despised by no means. Moreover, many artistic geniuses, who had come out of the innumerable multitudes of artisans of various trades, have been held in very high regard in our country, where the people have the reputation of being one of the most artistic in the world; and those articles of rare talent unwittingly raised the esteem of the crafts in which they were engaged. That which was most despised as a profession was the business of merchants in all lines, for to gain by buying and selling was thought from times past to be a transaction approaching almost to chicanery, and therefore by no means to be encouraged from the standpoint of national and martial morals. Pedlars and small shop-keepers were therefore simply held in contempt. Great merchants, however, though not much esteemed on account of their profession, were generally treated with due consideration in virtue of their amassed wealth. Only too frequently had the Shogunate, as well as various _daimyo_, been obliged to stoop to court the goodwill of rich merchants in order to get money from them. The methods of taxation were very arbitrary, and the person and the rights of property of individuals were not very highly respected at that time, the common people under the Shogunate being often subjected to hard and brutal treatment, their persons maltreated and injured and their properties confiscated on various trifling pretences. Though the way to petition was not absolutely debarred to them, it was made very irksome and perilous for plebeians to sue and obtain a hearing for their manifold complaints. On the other hand, as they were not recognised as a part of the nation to be necessarily consulted, and as the _vox populi_ was not heeded in the management of public affairs, their education was not regarded as an indispensable duty of the government. No serious endeavour had ever been made to improve the common people intellectually, nor to raise their standard of living. If a number of them showed themselves able to behave like gentle folk, as if they had been warriors by birth and, therefore, well-educated, they were rewarded as men of extraordinary merits such as could not be reasonably expected of them. The status of the political organisation of the country during the Tokugawa régime was also what ought to be called medieval, if we draw our conclusions from the materials ranged on the darker side only. The country had been divided into parcels, large and small, numbering in all a little less than three hundred, each with a territorial lord or a _daimyo_ as its quasi-independent autocratic ruler. The frontier line dividing adjacent territories belonging to different _daimyo_ used to be guarded very vigilantly on both sides, and passage, both in and out, was minutely scrutinised. For that purpose numerous barrier-gates were set up along and within the boundary. Any land bounded by such frontiers, and conferred on a _daimyo_ by the Shogunate as his hereditary possession, was by its nature a self-constituted state, the political system prevailing within which having been modelled after that of the Shogunate itself. At the same time the territory of a _daimyo_ was economically a self-providing, self-sufficient body. To become in such wise independent at least was the ideal of the _daimyo_ possessing the territory or of the territorial statesmen under him. In other words, the territory of a _daimyo_ was an entity, political and economical. In each territory certain kinds of produce from those confines had been strictly prohibited by regulation to be exported beyond the frontier, for fear that there might sometimes occur a scarcity of those commodities for the use of the inhabitants of the territory, or lest other territories should imitate the cultivation of like kinds of produce, so that the value of their own commodities might decrease thereby. In case of a famine, that is to say, of the failure of rice crops in a territory, a phenomenon which has by no means been of rare occurrence in our country, the export of cereals used to be forbidden in most of the neighboring territories, even when they had a "bumper crop." Such an internal embargo testifies that not only had Japan been closed against foreigners, but within herself each territory cared only for its own welfare, adhering to a mercantilist principle, as if it stood quite secluded from the rest of the country. Very little of the cohesion necessary to an integral state could be perceived in Japan of that time. Such was the condition of Japan under the Tokugawa Shogunate presented to the eyes of, and easily noticed by, the foreign observers, who visited our country at the beginning and the middle of the period. Nay, many of the foreigners who wrote about our land and people seem to have shared nearly the same views as above. In truth, however, many important factors of the Japanese history of this epoch have been omitted by them, and the idea they could form of Japan from the one-sided and scanty material at their disposal was only a very incomplete image of modern Japanese civilisation. I shall, therefore, try to give a general survey of the political and social condition of our country from the beginning of the seventeenth century down to the Revolution of the Meidji, and then shall treat in brief about the civilisation of the age. The Shogunate of the house of the Tokugawa was not an entirely new invention. It was a partial recognition of the old régime which Iyeyasu had inherited from Hideyoshi, as far as the territorial lords were concerned, who were installed or recognised anterior to the advent of Iyeyasu to power. Though a great many of the former feudatories, especially those who had been faithful to the House of the Toyotomi to the last, had been killed or deprived of their possessions after the decisive battle of Sekigahara, not a few of them survived, counting among them the most powerful of the _daimyo_, the House of Mayeta, who was the master of Kaga and two other provinces on the Sea of Japan. The lords of this kind had formerly been the equals of the Tokugawa, when the latter was standing under the protection of Hideyoshi, and it was difficult for the new Shogunate, in a country where the Emperor has ever been the paramount sovereign, to make those lords formally swear the oath of fealty to itself. The nature of the sovereignty, therefore, of the Tokugawa over the feudatories aforesaid was only that of _primus inter pares_. The _daimyo_ who stood in this relation to the Shogunate were called _tozama_. The rest of the _daimyo_, together with the bodyguard of the Shogun, the so-called "eighty thousand" with their habitual residence at Yedo, made up the hereditary retainers or _fudai_. The non-domestic _daimyo_ had nothing to do with the Shogun's central government, all the posts of which, from such high functionaries as the _rôchû_ or elders, who were none other than the cabinet ministers of the Shogunate, down to such petty officials as scribes and watchmen, had been all filled with domestics of various grades. As far as these domestics or direct retainers of the Shogunate were concerned, the military régime of the Tokugawa can be held to have been a revived form of that of Kamakura. In the former, however, the disparity in power and wealth between the upper and the lower domestics of the Shogun was far more remarkable than it had been among the retainers of the latter, that is to say, the _djito_. The term "go-kenin," held to be honourable in the time of Kamakura, became, in the Tokugawa period, a designation of the lowest order of the direct vassals of the Shogun. A certain number belonging to the upper class of the _fudai_ or domestics of the Tokugawa Shogunate were made _daimyo_, and placed on the same footing as feudatories of historical lineage, the former equals of the Tokugawa, and formed with them henceforth the highest military nobility of the country. The remainder of the domestics, who were not raised to the rank of _daimyo_, were comprised under the name of _hatamoto_, which means "under the standard," that is to say, the Body-guard of the Shogun. Among the members of this body there were indeed numerous scales of gradation. The lowest of them had to lead a very miserable and straitened life in some obscure corners of the city of Yedo, while the best of them stood as regards income very near to minor _daimyo_, and were often more influential. Their political status, however, notwithstanding manifold differences in rank among them, was all the same, all being equally, direct vassals of the Shogunate, and having no regular warriors or _samurai_ as their own vassals. They, therefore, belonged to the lowest grade of the privileged classes in the military hierarchy, and in this respect there was no cardinal difference between them and the common _samurai_ who were vassals of ordinary _daimyo_. That they were, however, the immediate subjects of the Shogun, and that they did not owe fealty to any _daimyo_, who was in reality subordinate at least to the Shogun, if not his vassal in name, placed them in a status like that of the knights immediate of the Holy Roman Empire or of the mediatised princes of recent Germany; in short, above the status of ordinary _samurai_ attached to an ordinary _daimyo_. Strictly speaking, between these two there interposed another group of _samurai_. They were the vassals of the three _daimyo_ of extraordinary distinction, of Nagoya in the province of Owari, of Wakayama in the province of Kii, and of Mito in the province of Hitachi. All these three being of the lateral branches of the Tokugawa, were held in specially high regard, and put at the topmost of all the other _daimyo_, so that their vassals considered themselves to be quasi-_hatamoto_ and therefore above the "common" or "garden" _samurai_. The _daimyo_ acted as virtual potentates in territories granted to them, and held a court and a government there, both modelled largely after the household and the government of the Shogun at Yedo. The better part of the _daimyo_ resided in castles built imposingly after the architectural style of the fortresses in Europe at that time, the technic having perhaps been introduced along with Christianity, and they led a life far more easy and elegant, though more regular, than the _shugo_ of the Ashikaga age. It has been ascribed, by the way, to the rare sagacity of Iyeyasu as a politician, that the territories of the two kinds of _daimyo_, _tozama_ and _fudai_, were so adroitly juxtaposed, that the latter were able to keep watch over the former's attitude toward the Shogunate. The _daimyo_ were ranked according to the officially estimated amount of rice to be produced in the territory of each. In the time of Kamakura, the renumeration of the _djito_ was counted by the area of ricefields in the manor entrusted to his care. By and by, the land which was the source of the renumeration for a _djito_ came to be partitioned among his numerous descendants, and some of the portions allotted became so small, that it was but ridiculous to think of exercising the jurisdiction of military police over them. Area of land began to cease thus to be the standard of valuation of the income of a _djito_, when the office of _djito_ meant only the emolument accompanying it, and no longer carried with it the responsibility incumbent on it at its first establishment. The ultimate result of such a change was that the quantity or the price of rice produced began to be adopted gradually as the standard of valuation of the income of territorial lords, and for a while the two standards were in use together till the end of the Ashikaga age. Moreover, infrequently part of the income of a _shugo_ was reckoned by the quantity of rice, while another part of the income of the same _shugo_ was assessed by the sale-price of the rice cultivated. This promiscuous way of valuation, however, caused great irregularity and confusion. For, added to the disagreement about the real quantity of rice produced and the amount registered to be produced, the price of the cereal itself had been so ceaselessly fluctuating according to the inconstant condition of crops, that there was no such thing as a regular standard price of rice invariably applicable to any year and to any locality. Nevertheless, in an age when no uniform system of currency was established and to accept any coin at its face value was an impossible matter, in other words, when it was difficult to represent the price of rice in any sort of coin then in use, to make a standard of value, not of the actual amount of rice but of its unceasingly vacillating price, could not but cause a great deal of inconvenience and confusion. We can easily see from the above that the quantity of rice was by far the surer means of bargaining than the money, which was not only indeterminate in value but insufficient to boot. Hideyoshi, therefore, put a stop to the use of the method of indicating the income of a territorial lord by its valuation in money, and decreed that henceforth only the yearly estimated yield of rice, counted by the _koku_ as a unit, should be adopted as the means of denoting the revenue of a territory, a _koku_ roughly corresponding to five bushels in English measure. The land-survey, which he undertook on a grand scale throughout the whole empire, had as its main purpose to measure the area of land classed as rice-fields in the territories of the _daimyo_, according to the units newly decreed, and to make the estimate of the amount of rice said to be produced commensurate as nearly as possible with the average crop realisable. Withal, the inequality of the standard of estimate in different localities was rectified by this assessment of Hideyoshi's. This method of estimating the income of a _daimyo_ had come into general use since the beginning of the Tokugawa Shogunate. As there was then no system in our country of gradating the _daimyo_ by titles, such as dukes, counts, and so forth, the estimated annual yield of rice in _koku_ was used as the sole means of determining the rank of the lords of the various territories in the long queue of the Tokugawa _daimyo_, with the exception of a very few who had been placed in a comparatively high rank on account of their specially noble lineage or the unique position of their families in the national history, though most of the nobles belonging to the latter class were classed as an intervening group. The minimum number of _koku_ assigned to a _daimyo_ was ten thousand. As regards the maximum number of _koku_, there was no legal limit. One who stood, however, highest in order was the above-mentioned House of Mayeta, the lord of Kaga etc., whose domain was assessed at more than a million _koku_. About three hundred _daimyo_, who were ranged between the two extremes, were divided into three orders. All those worth more than two hundred thousand _koku_ formed a class of the _daimyo_ major, and those worth less than one hundred thousand were comprised in a group of the _daimyo_ minor, while the rest, that is to say, those between one and two hundred thousand formed the middle corps. In the Shogun's court, a seat was assigned to each _daimyo_ in a specified room, according to the class to which he belonged. One could, therefore, easily tell the rank of a _daimyo_ by the name of the room in which he had to wait when he attended on the Shogun. All _daimyo_, almost without exception, had to move in and out at fixed intervals between his territory, where his castle or camp stood, and Yedo, where he kept, or, to say more correctly, was granted by the Shogun, residences, generally more than two in number. The interval allowed to a _daimyo_ for remaining in his territory varied according to the distance of that territory from Yedo, being the shorter and oftener for the nearer. He was obliged to leave his wife and children constantly in one of his residences at Yedo, as hostages for his fidelity to the Shogun. As to the vassals or _samurai_ of a _daimyo_, there were also two sorts. By far the greater part of the _samurai_ belonging to a _daimyo_ had their dwellings in their master's territory, generally in the vicinity of his castle. These _samurai_ were the main support of their lord, and had to accompany him by turns in his official tour to Yedo and back. The rest of the _samurai_ under the same lord, a band which formed the small minority, lived constantly in Yedo, each family in a compartment of the accessory buildings surrounding the lord's residence like a colony. These were as a rule men who were enlisted into the service of a _daimyo_ more for the sake of making a gallant show at his official and social functions at Yedo, than for the sake of strengthening his fighting forces. It was natural that men accustomed to the polished life of the military capital were thought better qualified to fulfil such functions than the rustic _samurai_ fresh from his territories who were good only for fighting and other serious kinds of business. While a _daimyo_ was absent in his territory, a _samurai_ of his, belonging to this metropolitan group, was entrusted with the care of his residences and their occupants in Yedo, and also with the duty of receiving orders from the Shogunate or of transacting inter-territorial business with representatives of other _daimyo_ at Yedo. The meetings held by these representatives of the _daimyo_ were said to be one of the most fashionable gatherings in Yedo. That the doyen of such functionaries had a certain prestige over others, was very similar to the usage among the diplomatic corps in Europe. The _samurai_ who had their abode in their lord's territory, however, represented the real strength of a _daimyo_, and were the soul and body of the whole military régime. The number of _samurai_ in a territory differed according to the rank and the resources of a _daimyo_. Some of the powerful nobles counted more than ten thousand regular _samurai_ under them, while minor ones could maintain only a few hundred as necessary retainers. In the latter case almost all of the _samurai_ had their dwellings clustering around the castle or camp of their lord. If there were any _samurai_ who lived outside of the residential town, they led an agricultural rather than a soldierly life. The relation of vassalage in such a territory was simple, for under the _samurai_ consisting of a single order there was no swords-wearer serving them. In the territory of the powerful _daimyo_, however, especially in those of the big _daimyo_ in Kyushu and the northern part of Honto, comprising an area of two or more average provinces in Middle Japan, the relation of vassalage was very complicated, sometimes forming a feudalism of the second order. That is to say, the most influential _samurai_ under those _daimyo_ had also their own small territory granted by their lord, just as the latter had his granted or recognised by the Shogunate, and held several hundred swords-wearers, non-commissioned _samurai_, in their service. It was not rare that some of these magnates surpassed in income many minor independent _daimyo_, and had in their hands the destiny of a greater number of people, for their emolument rose often to twenty or thirty thousand _koku_. Their rank in the military régime, however, was indisputably lower than that of the smallest of _daimyo_, on account of their being only indirectly subordinate to the Shogun. In all territories throughout the whole country, the emolument of the _samurai_ was granted in the form of land, or of rice from the granaries of the _daimyo_, or paid in cash. Sometimes we see a combination of two or three of these forms given to one _samurai_. Besides this pay a patch of ground was allotted to each _samurai_ as his homestead, and a part of that ground used to be cultivated to produce vegetables for family consumption. In whatever form a _samurai_ might receive his stipend, it was officially denoted by the number of _koku_, registered as his nominal income, and that very number determined his position in the list of vassals of a _daimyo_, unless he came from an extraordinarily distinguished lineage. As regards the maximum and the minimum number of _koku_ given to _samurai_, there was no uniform standard applicable to all of the territories. Such powerful _daimyo_ as Mayeta in Kaga, Shimatsu in Satsuma, and Date in Mutsu owned many vassal-_samurai_ who were so puissant as to be fairly comparable to small _daimyo_, while in the territories of the latter, a _samurai_ of pretty high position in his small territorial circle received an allowance of _koku_ so scant that one of the lowest rank, if he were a regular _samurai_, would disdain to receive in big territories. Generally speaking, however, one hundred _koku_ was considered to be an average standard, applicable to _samurai_ under any _daimyo_, to distinguish those of the respectable or official class from those of the non-commissioned or subaltern class. Only the _samurai_ above this standard could keep servants bearing two swords, long and short, as a _samurai_ himself did. Not only all officers in time of war, but all high civil functionaries in the territorial government of a _daimyo_ were taken from this body of orthodox _samurai_. The _samurai_ below this level could keep a servant wearing only one sword, the shorter, and they had to serve their lord as officials of the inferior class, such as scribes, cashiers, butlers, etc. The lowest in the scale of the military régime was the group of _ashigaru_, that is to say, of the light infantry. Those who belonged to this group, though wearers of two swords, were not counted as of the corps of _samurai_. Being legally vassals of a _daimyo_, they had yet very rare chances of serving him directly, and often they enlisted into the household service of a higher _samurai_. Between the _ashigaru_ and the regular _samurai_, there was another intermediate group of two-sworded men, called _kachi_, which means warriors-on-foot. In feudal times all warriors, if of _samurai_ rank, were presumed to be cavaliers, though in reality most of them had not even a stable, and skill in horsemanship was not rigorously required from the _samurai_ of the lower class. The name _kachi_, given to those who in rank came next to the _samurai_, implied that this intermediate group of quasi-_samurai_ was not allowed to ride on horse-back. This group was, however, much nearer to the _samurai_ than to the _ashigaru_ group. So far I have given a rough sketch of the gradations in the military régime in the territory of a _daimyo_. It should be here noticed that, besides the classes above stated, there were many other minor groups below the regular _samurai_, and that there were also diverse heterogeneities of system in the territories of different _daimyo_. Needless to say that the gradations and kinds of _hatamoto_, who were _samurai_ serving directly under the Shogun, were far more multifarious and complex than those of the _samurai_ under a _daimyo_. There is no doubt, however, that the apex of the whole military régime was the Shogun himself, while at its foundation were the sundry _samurai_ who numbered perhaps nearly half a million families in all. All the lands of Japan were not allotted exhaustively to the _daimyo_ by the Shogunate. On the contrary, immense territories in various parts of the empire, amounting to four millions of _koku_, were reserved to the Shogun himself. Important sea-ports, such as Nagasaki, Sakai, and Niigata, rich mines like those in the province of Iwami and in the island of Sado, the vast forest of Kiso in the province of Shinano, and so forth, were kept in the hands of the Shogunate, out of economical as well as political reasons. With the income from all these agricultural and industrial resources, the Shogunate defrayed all the governmental charges and the expenses of national defence, as well as the enormous civil list of the Shogun himself, who maintained a very luxurious court. The stipend for the lower class of _hatamoto_, who had no land allotted to them, was paid also with the rice raised in the Shogun's domain or bought with his money and stored in Yedo. As to the fiscal system and the direct domain of a _daimyo_ in his territory, it is needless to say that everywhere the imitation of that of the Shogun prevailed, conducted only on a smaller scale. The relation of the Shogunate to the Emperor at Kyoto was on the whole but a continuation of the same status as in the time of Hideyoshi. Since the Fujiwara period state affairs had ceased to be conducted personally by the Emperor himself. The regent, who was at first, and ought to have been ever after, appointed during the minority or the illness of an Emperor, became identical with the highest ministerial post, and lost its extra-ordinary character. It is true that some of the able emperors, dissatisfied with such a state of things, tried to take the reins of government into their own hands again, and some succeeded for a while in the recovery of their political power, so far as their relations with the Fujiwara family were concerned. What they could recover, however, was not all of the prestige which had slipped out of the hands of their predecessors. For on account of the lassitude of the Fujiwara court-nobles, the power which they had once arrogated to themselves passed into the possession of the newly arisen warrior class, and what those emperors could recover was only a part of what still remained in the hands of the Fujiwara. The Emperor Go-Daigo was the last who tried desperately to resume the imperial prerogative once wrested from the Kamakura Shogunate, and he succeeded in his endeavour. He could not, however, prevent the advent to power of the new Shogunate of the Ashikaga. After that, through the most turbulent age in the history of Japan, which continued to the time of Hideyoshi, the imperial household could sustain itself only meagrely on the scanty income from a few estates. But however lacking in power and material resource the Emperor might have been, he still continued to be the source and fountain of honour as ever, and everybody clearly knew that he was, being held divine, indisputably higher than the Shogun, who was obliged to obey if the Emperor chose to command. What was to be regretted was that no Emperor had been strong enough to command. The saying "le roi régne, mais il ne gouverne pas" has never been accepted in our country as the constitutional principle. That the imperial prestige was never totally lost even in the depths of the turmoil of war may be proved by the fact that the Emperor often interceded in struggles between various _daimyo_, who waged weary and acrimonious wars against one another. The political situation of the Emperor, however, had been unsettled for a long while, only because the situation had remained for long not urgent enough to require to be made instantly clear. If it had had to be solved at once, without doubt it must have been solved in favour of the Emperor. Especially after the civil war of the Ohnin era, to restore the nominal power, of which the Shogun of the Ashikaga family was in possession, would have added nothing substantial to the real power of the then Emperor, for the Shogunate of that time was but a scapegoat in the hands of impudent and adventurous warriors. Even the prestige of the Emperor and the Shogun combined would not have sufficed to achieve anything momentous at that period, when the country had been so torn asunder as not to be easily united and pacified. What was most needed in Japan of that time was a fresh, strong, energetic military dictator. Nobunaga, who came soon after the Ashikaga, was endued, at the height of his power, with a civil title belonging to the régime of court-nobles, and had not, until his untimely death, been invested by the Emperor with the Shogunate. Having sprung from a warrior family which had been originally subservient to one of the retainers of the Shogunate, he would perhaps have been loth himself to be looked on as an usurper even after he had ceased to assist the Shogun, who survived him. Moreover, during his whole life, it was impossible for him to become the virtual master of the whole of Japan. It was Hideyoshi, his vassal and successor, who succeeded at last in the unification of long-disturbed Japan by dint of arms. He, however, was also not invested with the Shogunate. It is said that he would have liked, indeed, to become one, but was dissuaded from it, having been reminded that he did not belong to either the Minamoto or the Taira, the two renowned warrior-families which were historically thought to be the only ones qualified to provide the generalissimo, the Shogun. After his death and the subsequent defeat of the partisans of his family in the decisive battle of Sekigahara in 1600, Iyeyasu Tokugawa, who gave himself out as the descendant of Minamoto-no-Yoshiiye, succeeded to the power as Shogun in 1603. With this political change the Emperor had really very little to do, except to give recognition to the _fait accompli_. The selection of Yedo by Iyeyasu as the site of the new Shogunate created a political situation like that of Kamakura by Yoritomo. It is even said that Iyeyasu himself in organising the new military régime made the system of the Kamakura Shogunate his model. By the establishment of the Tokugawa Shogunate, no marked change occurred in the Emperor's position as supreme sovereign of the country as ever, but the Shogunate conducted the state business as the regent entrusted with the whole care of the island Empire, so that the government at Yedo had no occasion to refer to the court at Kyoto to obtain the imperial sanction. In this respect the Shogunate of Yedo was decidedly more independent of the Imperial Court than had been the Kamakura Shogunate. Kyoto, however, continued as before to be the fountainhead of all honour. All the honours and titles of the _daimyo_ were conferred in the name of the reigning Emperor, though through the intermediary of the Shogunate. The appellations of these distinctions were also the same as those given to court-nobles, only being comparatively low in the case of the former, if we take the real influence of the _daimyo_ into consideration. For the emoluments of court-nobles in the time of the Tokugawa were generally very small, and the highest of them could only match materially with the middle class of the _hatamoto_ or the high class vassals of some powerful _daimyo_. All the manorial estates which the court-nobles had retained until the middle of the Ashikaga period had since been occupied by warriors paramount in the respective regions, and they changed their master several times during the anarchical disorders at the end of the period, so that restitution became utterly impossible. The total amount which the Shogunate at Yedo had to pay to the court-nobles as annual honoraria was about eighty thousand _koku_. The Imperial Household had a civil list amounting at first to one hundred thousand _koku_, which was more than three times what it had been at the time of the Ashikaga. A little later it was increased to three hundred thousand _koku_, and the sum remained stationary at that figure for more than half a century. Then an annual subsidy in cash between thirty and forty thousand _ryô_ was added. The Empress had to be provided for separately. When there was an ex-Emperor or Crown Prince, then he also was entitled to a separate allowance from Yedo. If we include, therefore, the emolument paid to the court-nobles, and estimate them all together by the number of _koku_, the Shogunate had to pay to Kyoto an annual sum of between four and five hundred thousand. Extraordinary expenditures, such as the rebuilding of the imperial palace, were also part of the burden of the Shogunate. On the whole, the financial condition of the court at Kyoto was somewhat more straitened than that of the most powerful _daimyo_. With his income as stated the Emperor maintained his court, and performed historical ceremonies, each prescribed for a certain day of a certain season. He did not need to trouble himself about state affairs, for all such matters had been delegated _de facto_ to the Shogunate, or rather the Shogun behaved himself as if he were the sole agent of the Emperor. To have direct communication with the Emperor had been forbidden to all _daimyo_. The Shogun, on his part, entrusted everything concerning local affairs to the _daimyo_. As to the judicial procedure, that of the Shogunate was taken as the model by all _daimyo_. There still prevailed a great many peculiarities in each particular territory in the ways of legislation and its enforcement, so that Japan of that time presented a most motley aspect as regards legal matters, like France under the ancient régime. The power of the _daimyo_ to impose taxes and raise contributions was restricted by no explicit law, and therefore had been exercised rather arbitrarily. When in financial stress, he could freely make applications, approaching to commands, to some of his well-to-do subjects, whatever the cause of his pecuniary embarrassment might be. Besides he could coin money, if its use were limited to his own territory. No need to say that notes were also abundantly issued by his treasurer for circulation within his territory as substitutes for the legal tender. In time of peace the _samurai_ under a _daimyo_ served their lord in his territorial government as civil officials. They, however, being warriors by nature, had to be constantly trained in military arts, with various weapons, among which swords and spears were preferred as the most practical. Archery had not been abandoned entirely, and the bow and arrow was still held to be the emblem of the noble calling of warriors, but this sort of weapon had never been used on battle-fields since the beginning of the Tokugawa period, so that the art had become on the whole ceremonial. The use of fire-arms introduced at the end of the Ashikaga epoch became rapidly general all over the country. Gunners were employed, as archers formerly had been, in opening a battle, and then made way for the attack of the infantry. Shooting was considered in the Tokugawa period to be more practical than archery, but as there was little space for showing personal bravery in the practice of this art, It was not highly encouraged among the _samurai_. Though fighting on horseback had not been prevalent on the battle-field since the middle Ashikaga, commanders at least continued to ride, so that horsemanship was a requisite art of the _samurai_ in the Tokugawa age, especially among its higher grades. It should be here well noticed the _jûjutsu_, which is now very celebrated all over the world as a military art originated and cultivated by the Japanese, did not much attract the attention of the orthodox Tokugawa warriors, for it was thought to be an art useful in arresting culprits, and therefore good only for lower _samurai_ or those below them in rank, who were generally in charge of the police business in all territories. With such military accomplishments, the _samurai_ of the period were to serve their territorial master in time of war as leaders and fighters, for it was still the age in which all warriors were expected to display a personal bravery, parallel to their ability to lead and command troops, as in medieval Europe. As there had been neither external nor civil war, however, for more than two centuries since the semi-religious insurrection at Shimabara in Kyushu was subdued in the year 1638, war was prepared for only as an imaginary possibility, and not as a probable emergency. The _samurai_ of all territories, therefore, though said to be on a constant war footing, were not trained as they should have been. We see indeed the division of them into fighting groups and the appointment of a leader for each group in times of peace. But there was no manoeuvring nor any training of a like kind in tactical movements. The only military exercise approaching it was the hunting of wild game or the sham hunting which ended in cruelly sacrificing dogs, and even these sports were not practised frequently. That those pieces of Japanese armour, which foreigners can now see in many museums in Europe and America, had been long found to be a sort of thing rather inconvenient to wear in this country, yet had nevertheless continued to be a furniture indispensable to every household of _samurai_ and to be embellished with an exquisite workmanship, proves how academically war had been regarded in those far-off days. It can be easily gathered from the above statement that the _samurai_ of the time were more civil functionaries than fighting men. Their real status, however, being warriors and not civilians, they were constantly subjected to martial law. They had to serve their master always with all their might, holding themselves responsible with their lives, as if they were on the battlefield facing the enemy. Many examples may be cited from the history of the age of _samurai_ suicides, committed on account of some misdemeanour or the mismanagement of the civil administration confided to him. In effect, an armed peace reigned throughout the Empire. CHAPTER XII TOKUGAWA SHOGUNATE, CULTURE AND SOCIETY In the previous chapter I have dwelt on the military and political organisation of the time of the Tokugawa Shogunate somewhat more fully than was appropriate for a book of such small compass as this. What was then the civilisation, which had been supported and sheltered by this organisation and régime? That must be told subsequently. As the well-planned military régime of the Shogunate can be said to have been based on the assumption that war was a far-distant possibility, an imaginary danger, and as at the same time the Shogunate had watched jealously not to stir up _daimyo_ and _samurai_ to so warlike a pitch of self-confidence that they would believe themselves able to cope with the Shogun, there had lain the chief difficulty of sustaining the martial spirit of the nation in full strength, that is to say, of continuing the military régime as it had been at first. There were of course several gradations in the intensity of the fighting spirit of the people in different localities of the country. In both extremities of the Empire, in the south of Kyushu and in the north of Honto, where civilisation was rather at a low ebb, the martial spirit had continued not much abated since the time of the Ashikaga. On both sides of the boundary of two such adjoining territories, a difference of dialect was clearly perceivable, and an acute hostile feeling against each other prevailed. People were not allowed to marry their neighbors beyond the frontier, and this rule was strictly applied to all members of the warrior-class. In brief, they were always staring each other in the face, as if ready to fight at any time. As to the greater part of the Empire, however, including the territories situated between the two extremities, that is to say, in those regions of the country where the people were more enlightened, no such animosity between the peoples of neighboring _daimyo_ was to be noticed. There marriages had been contracted freely between the subjects of different lords, a relationship which could only arise from the assumption that most probably there would occur no war between the two _daimyo_, and there would be no fear of such marriages becoming an awkward connection. Adjoining territories maintaining such intimate relations, being connected by the personalities of the inhabitants, should be considered not as quasi-independent states ranged side by side and in dangerous rivalry, verging almost on belligerency, but as neighboring governmental departments in the same well-centralised state. It may be gathered from these data that the more enlightened and by far the greater part of the Japanese nation were so peace-loving, that they organised all their ways of living on the assumption of a permanent peace. And that absolute peace had verily continued for more than two centuries in a country said to have been dominated by an absolute military régime, more than testifies how averse is the Japanese nation from wanton warfare. Foreigners should ponder this irrefutable fact in the history of Japan, a fact which can not elsewhere be found in abundance even in the history of European and American states, before they calumniate our nation as the most bellicose and dangerous in the world. Without doubt Japan under the Tokugawa Shogunate was a country governed by a military régime, feudalistic in form, but in truth peace brooded over the land, the utmost peace which could be expected from any military régime. As tranquillity had continued so long, our civilisation had been able meanwhile to make a wonderful progress. If war can be eulogised with some justice to be a stimulating and compulsive factor of civilisation, with no less certainty peace may be complimented as a factor, the most efficient, in fostering the same. In the preceding chapters I have spoken of the propagation of culture throughout the country, notwithstanding its anarchical condition, and of that very culture, which was in the main humanistic. This humanistic culture had now its successor in a civilisation higher in form and in quality. That the progress was apparently retarded for a while on account of wars, which rapidly succeeded one after another at the end of the Ashikaga, was a phenomenon that was only temporary. How could a few patches of straw floating on the surface stop the forward movement of a strong undercurrent, however slowly the stream might run? Mingled with the clash and clang of arms, an exquisite music embodying the ever advancing civilisation of our country had been heard; though at first very faintly audible, it grew louder and louder till it became sonorous enough to make the whole nation vibrate when the clamorous battle-cry of the warriors had subsided. In short, Japan had been steadily advancing, and it was indeed those warriors themselves who carried the torch of civilisation farther and farther onward. Many historians ascribed it solely to the individual exertion of Iyeyasu, that learning had been revived since the beginning of the seventeenth century. Seeing, however, that those _samurai_ who fought with and under him had rarely been noted for the excellence of their literary acquirements, it can hardly be supposed that he had been deeply interested in promoting learning and culture among his entourage. Neither did he himself leave any trace of his having received a higher degree of liberal education than the average generals of his times. It is too notorious a fact to doubt that he earnestly encouraged learning and ordered many books to be reprinted. Yet it is also clear that his encouragement was very efficient, mainly because his position as the sole military and political master of Japan enabled him to figure as a patron of the arts. The fact that before his authority as a military dictator became incontestably established, the reprint of various books had been going on almost without intermission, and that the two Emperors Go-Yôzei and Go-Midzunowo and also Kanetsugu Naoye, a warrior who had grown up in the remote province of Yechigo, were among the most ardent patrons of learning by the encouragement they gave to the reprinting of standard works, testifies that Iyeyasu did not stand alone in encouraging liberal education. After all, it should be fairly said that the first Shogun of the Tokugawa did only what ought to have been done by him, or what the nation had a right to expect from a person in a position such as his. In 1593, that is to say, five years before the death of Hideyoshi, the Emperor Go-Yôzei ordered the so-called old text of the _Hsiao-king_ to be reprinted in wooden type. This was the first book in our country printed with movable type, so far as can be said with certainty. As to the types themselves which the Emperor resorted to in his scholastic undertaking, we have reason to suppose that they had been seized in Korea as a prize of war and brought to this country by the expeditionary troops which Hideyoshi had sent thither in the previous year. Korea had been looked upon through the Ashikaga period by the Japanese as a country more advanced in culture than Japan in those days. We read in our history about the repeated applications addressed by the Ashikaga Shogunate to the Korean government, not only for the donation of a complete set of the Buddhist Tripitaka reprinted in that country, but also the blocks themselves used in that reprinting. To the latter of these two requests, the peninsular government flatly declined to accede. To the former, however, they acquiesced as many times as they could manage, so that we see now here and there volumes of the sutras which had been sent as presents by the Korean government before the seventeenth century. The method of printing with movable types had been introduced into Korea of course from China, and types made of wood as well as of clay had long been in use there. It seems to have been those wooden types which our warriors fetched home, and the fact that such vehicles of learning had been taken as a war-prize by these soldiers indicates that they were not totally indifferent to the cultivation of letters. In 1597, four years after the reprinting of the afore-said _Hsiao-king_, the same Emperor ordered again many other books to be reprinted. Among those then thus reproduced were not only several books of Confucian classical literature and other Chinese works, literary as well as medical, but some Japanese books, such as the first volume of the _Nihongi_ and a work on Japanese political institutions written by Chikafusa Kitabatake, a court-noble in the time of the Emperor Go-Daigo, who was noted for his unwavering fidelity to the Emperor and for his education, being the author of the celebrated history called _Jingô-shôtôki_. Many of these books seem to have been re-issued within the same year, which was one year previous to the death of Hideyoshi, and the types used this time were made in our country after the Korean models. Most probably the types captured in Korea as prizes did not long suffice to satiate the increasing desire of the Emperor, aroused by his deep interest in books. The next step in the improvement of Japanese printing followed the same course as it had in Europe, that is to say, the use of metallic types. The first attempt in this improved method was made by the aforesaid Kanetsugu Naoye, head of the vassals of the house of Uyesugi, who was at that time lord of Yonezawa. The book which Naoye ordered to be reprinted was the celebrated Chinese literary glossary called the _Wen-hsüan_, which literally means selected literary pieces, in verse as well as in prose. This reprint was put into execution at Fushimi in the year 1606, which was the fourth year of the Shogunate of Iyeyasu, and the metallic material then used in casting the types was copper. With him as the precursor, several patrons of learning followed in his wake. Among the most noted of them were Iyeyasu himself and the Emperor Go-Midsunowo. This Emperor, who was the son and successor of the Emperor Go-Yôzei, imitated his father in encouraging the reproduction of books with type, not of wood but of copper as Naoye had done. The book printed under the imperial auspices in 1621 was the fifteen volumes of a Chinese lexicon after the block print issued in China of the Sung dynasty. Prior, however, to the undertaking of the Emperor, Iyeyasu, as ex-Shogun, ordered reprints to be made with copper types at his residential town of Sumpu, now called Shidzuoka, in the province of Suruga. The books reprinted there in 1615 and 1616 were the index of the complete series of the Buddhist Tripitaka and the Extracts from Various Chinese Classics. Besides these, it should be mentioned in his honour as a patron of learning, that he ordered more than one hundred thousand pieces of wooden types to be manufactured for the reprinting of various useful books. From 1599, the year before the decisive battle of Sekigahara, until the end of his Shogunate, Iyeyasu's agent at Fushimi carried on the printing of books with movable wooden types without any cessation. Among the books reprinted there were the _Adzuma-kagami_, the record of the earlier Kamakura Shogunate, a Chinese political miscellany written at the beginning of the T'ang dynasty, and some old Chinese strategical works. Not only such illustrious personages as the above-mentioned Emperors, Shogun, and eminent warriors, but men of mediocre means or of unpretentious rank, such as _samurai_, priests, literati and merchants, also vied with one another in publishing new and old books of Japan as well as of China, by the method of woodblocks or of movable types. Among wealthy merchants the most renowned at that time as the Mecaenas of arts and learning was Yoichi Suminokura. He was born of a rich family living in a suburb of Kyoto, and was himself an enterprising merchant. Moreover, his accomplishments in the Chinese classics and in Japanese versification were far ahead of the average literati of the time, and his skill in calligraphy has been said to be almost incomparable. Out of the immense fortune which he had amassed by trading with continental countries as far as Tonkin and Cochin-China, he spent great sums freely in publishing books, the greater part of which were works famous in Japanese literature. It is said that more than twenty sorts of books were issued by him alone, counting in all several hundred volumes. What most attracts our attention in his undertakings, however, is the fact that all of these books were printed, not in the movable type then in vogue, but in the wood-block style of old. The new method of printing with type, though introduced several years back and assiduously encouraged by many influential persons, had not been able to demonstrate its advantages to the full. In each edition, whoever might have been the publisher, the number of copies issued had generally not exceeded two hundred, and that the number was so small shows at the same time the narrowness of the reading circle of that age. It proves also that Japan was not yet in any urgent need of seeing books suddenly multiplied by the busy use of movable types. Moreover, many inconveniences, not known in the typography of the West, manifested themselves in the adoption of the new method in a country like the Japan of that time, where Chinese ideographs had been used almost exclusively as the necessary vehicle for expressing thought. We had to provide a great variety of fonts of types, each type-face representing a special ideograph, so that a far larger and more varied assortment of fonts was required than in the case where an alphabet is in use, not to mention that the total number of types had to be enormously augmented out of the necessity of having numerous multiples of the same type. To print sundry accessories alongside Chinese texts, in order to make them easily legible for Japanese students, was another difficulty which was found almost insuperable in the adoption of movable types. The desire of some editors to insert illustrations could not also be fulfilled easily, if the text was to be printed in type, for setting the blocks together with type was considered a very irksome business at a time when printing in type was still in its infancy. They would rather have preferred the single use of wood-blocks to using them together with types. Lastly, as regards those literary works by Japanese authors which Suminokura had fondly put into print, that is to say, in cases where the editor's chief care was the reproduction in facsimile of the manuscript originally executed in fine calligraphic style, movable types entirely failed to serve the purpose. All these disadvantages conspired indeed to frustrate the development of the printing in type, so that the new method was set aside soon after its introduction until the end of the Shogunate. It is certain, however, that the introduction of the use of types in printing, though to a very limited extent, contributed none the less to the general progress of civilisation in Japan, in multiplying books and in stimulating the thirst for knowledge on the part of the general public. There is no doubt whatever that, in the number of books published in Japan, the beginning of the seventeenth century far surpassed the end of the sixteenth. Bookstores, where books were sold, bought, edited, and published, were now to be found in Kyoto and Yedo, and their business became lucrative enough to be continued as an independent calling. Here the question must naturally arise, how were those multiplied books distributed? There were, besides the priests, especially those belonging to the Zen sect, not a few professional literati, who pursued learning as their chief business. Secretaries in the chancellories of the Shogun and of various _daimyo_ had been generally recruited from that class. Their number, however, had remained comparatively insignificant for a long time during the earlier part of the Shogunate, and they had been classified rather into an exclusive society, which included physicians and Buddhist priests. They had been treated as servants engaged in reading and writing, and not respected as advisers nor revered as leaders of the spirit of the age. However noble might be the profession in which they were engaged, still they were mere professional men, considered good to serve and not apt to lead. The increase in number of such men of letters, it is true, was the cause and the effect of the rise of the cultural level of the country, for it clearly denoted that Japan had begun to appreciate learning more highly than before and hence to demand more of these learned men. But that increase must have naturally stopped short, unless the learning which they taught was imbibed by the people at large and made itself a necessary ingredient of the national life, that is to say, unless the general public had gained thereby more of enlightenment. For such a continual progress Japan was quite ready. Within half a century, our country had been transformed from an anarchical country of interminable wars to a peaceful land, a land which was non-militaristic to the utmost, though under one of the most elaborate military régimes. That it had been "shut up" against foreign intercourse was, in its main motive, not to ward off the infiltration of Western civilisation in general, but only to achieve a peaceful national progress undisturbed by any intervention of scheming foreign missionaries. The Shogun, who ought to have continued as a military dictator, had been turned into a potentate who cared the least for military matters, though here lurked the danger of losing his _raison d'être_ against the Emperor at Kyoto. The "wisest fool" in Japan was Tsunayoshi, the fifth Shogun of the Tokugawa, who not only founded a college and a shrine for the spirit of Confucius at Yushima in Yedo, the site where now the Educational Museum stands, but was very fond of playing the savant, and himself delivered lectures commenting on Confucian texts before the assembled _daimyo_ in duty bound to listen to him. With a Shogun like him at the head of the government, it should by no means be wondered at that the cultivation of Chinese literature, which formed the greater part of the learning of the time, came into vogue among all of those belonging to the military régime, the _daimyo_ and the _samurai_ of various sorts and grades. Moreover, the _samurai_ of the age themselves, though they professed to be warriors as ever in their essential character, and their training in military exercises had never really significantly relaxed, had ceased to be fighting men by profession as of yore, on account of the long-continued tranquillity. Notwithstanding the fact that the reason they had been honoured and respected by the common people was mainly because they were serving the country through their master, the _daimyo_, at the possible hazard of their lives, they had been obliged gradually not to rely on their martial valour only, but to mould their character and improve their ability, so as to befit themselves to become capable officials, administrators, nay, even statesmen in their own territory and well-bred gentlemen in private life, so as to furnish models to the common people by their personal examples. As they had read Chinese works mainly for this purpose, the kinds of books read were naturally limited, the most preferred being those pertaining to morals and politics, that is to say, Confucian literature and the histories of various Chinese dynasties, all of which were pragmatic enough. Their literary culture, therefore, tended to become rigid, narrow, and utilitarian, though very serious in intention. At first sight it must seem a very paradoxical matter that the learning which had been essentially humanistic in the Ashikaga period should have taken so utilitarian a tendency in the age directly following it. If we, however, once think of the Italian Renaissance metamorphosed into the German Reformation, when it got northward over the Alps, we need not be much embarrassed to understand the seemingly abrupt transition in our country. It should also be noted that utilitarian studies had not formed the whole of the literary culture of the Tokugawa age. Since the very beginning of the Shogunate down to its fall the humanistic studies handed down by the preceding age had never been entirely swept away from the land. The utilitarian studies above cited had been almost exclusively pursued by those _samurai_ standing directly under the Shogun or under the powerful _daimyo_ whose territories were big enough to be administered as quasi-independent states, and whose governments were on such a scale as to need high statesmanship in order to be well managed. In other words, those who had devoted themselves to the study of the serious sorts of literature had been generally men to whom some opportunities might have been given for allowing them to put into practice what they had learned from books. If these larger territories were to be compared with Prussia and other kingdoms and middle states in the German Confederation, the small states in the same political body would make good counterparts of the petty territories of minor _daimyo_ in Japan. As to those _samurai_ serving the minor _daimyo_, it had been difficult to make them interested in the perusal of Chinese political works, for their sphere of action was not wide enough to require the territorial affairs being conducted according to high and delicate policies emanating from a profound political principle. In this respect they had much in common with their colleagues residing in the domains directly belonging to the Shogunate. As the governor-in-chief and his principal assistants in each domain had not been taken from the residents of each district, but despatched thither from Yedo, the _samurai_ attached to the locality were merely employed to serve the government of their own district as low-class officials, so that they had little or no hand even in local politics. Some of these _samurai_ were landed proprietors, who, being rich and having little serious business to demand their attention, had ample means and time to dip into books, which could hardly have been of the kind causing self-constraint, for their first motive in reading was only for the sake of distraction. The landed gentry, under the _samurai_ in rank, though wealthier, and generally in charge of village affairs and in control of lesser farmers and peasants, were also found numerously in the domains. They too were the sort of people to be classified in the same category as the _samurai_ of the domains. The _samurai_ and gentry gathered in and around second-rate towns in large territories belonging to powerful _daimyo_ may be included also in the same group. It may be, however, premature to suppose that only books belonging to light literature were welcomed by those who resided in districts where the military régime had the least hold. Serious works, such as ethical treatises, for instance, which abound in Chinese literature, were also read there, but rather for the purpose of occupying themselves with metaphysical speculations about moral questions, than in order to regulate their own conduct, private or public, according to the principles taught in them. In short, their thirst for knowledge was purely for the sake of enjoying an intellectual pleasure thereby, and therefore had been quite humanistic. It was here that the true inheritors of the culture of the later Ashikaga were to be sought, and not in places where the influence of the regular _samurai_ was paramount. Needless to say, the centre of this humanistic culture was Kyoto, whose significance as the political capital had already been lost, while Yedo represented at its best the culture of the _samurai_. The Chinese books preferred by these humanistic dilettanti were those pertaining to rhetoric and poetry. They were greatly addicted to practising these branches of literature. Art for art's sake also found a better patron among such people than in the courts of the Shogun and of influential _daimyo_, where art had rather an applied meaning, represented in ornamental things such as screen and wall paintings down to the miniature-art of the _tsuba_ and the _netsuke_. Wandering poets, rhetoricians, calligraphers, and artists of various crafts were wont to be far better harboured in districts where the humanistic culture prevailed, than in Yedo or in the residential towns of powerful _daimyo_, where politics and discipline were all-important. The most significant difference between the two sorts of culture was manifested in a special branch of art, that of painting. In the military circles, the painting of the Kano school was preferred, which was rather rigid in style and had some tincture of the taste highly prized by the Zen-sect priests. On the other hand, what was in vogue among the non-military circles was the so-called "Bunjin-gwa," or paintings of the school of "literati-painters," which were introduced at the beginning of the Tokugawa period from China, and were characterised by the mellowness of tone prevailing in them and also by a lack of the professional flavour. Besides these two distinct cultural circles, there arose a third group of people, who entered the cultured arena in the latter half of the seventeenth century. I mean the bourgeois class in several large cities. After the decline of the trade of the historic city of Sakai, brought about by the hard blow struck at the root of the political power of her haughty merchants by Nobunaga, and caused also by the growth of a rival in the great commercial city of Ôsaka founded by Hideyoshi quite near it, the refined humanistic culture cherished by the citizens of Sakai vanished with its prosperity. After that, it took a considerable while to witness the revival of the cultural influence of the bourgeois class in Japan. The tranquillity, however, which the Tokugawa Shogunate had brought on our country, did not fail to cause such a revival, though not again in Sakai, yet at least in the two greatest commercial centres of the empire. The one was Yedo on the east, and the other Ôsaka on the west. Of these two cities, in affluence Ôsaka, on account of its geographical advantages, was several steps ahead of Yedo. Not only was it near Kyoto, the centre of the humanistic culture as ever, but its remoteness from Yedo had induced its merchants to become more independent than those in the Shogun's own city of the influence of the strong military régime. The culture fostered in the city, therefore, was nearer to that of the non-military circles than that of Yedo. Nay, Ôsaka went still further, even by a great many steps, than Yedo. It was here that Monzayemon Chikamatsu, the first and the greatest dramatist Japan has ever produced, demonstrated his peerless talent at the end of the seventeenth century, and here was also one of the cradles of the modern Japanese theatre. Yedo, however, could not remain long alien to this fresh cultural current initiated in Kyoto and Ôsaka. On account of its growing prosperity brought on by the constant comings in and out of hundreds of _daimyo_ and their numerous retinues, the newly started political capital was soon enabled to rival the senior city of Ôsaka in the liveliness of its urban social life, and in some respects surpassed that of Kyoto. The plutocrats of Ôsaka had also a very close relation with the military régime. This relation, however, consisted in lending large sums of money to various _daimyo_, many of whom had their warehouses there to deposit therein the produce of their territory, used as pledges for getting advances of money from those merchants, and on that account their pay-masters with their staffs were stationed there to enable them to transact the customary financial business. On the other hand, the merchants of Yedo generally profited by providing, as purveyors and contractors, necessary commodities to the Shogunate and to the _daimyo_, and therefore depended more closely on the military régime, though some of them also advanced money as did the merchants of Ôsaka. It is said that the richest bourgeois of Yedo, who had amassed immense sums of money at the beginning of the nineteenth century were those who had advanced their moneys at a very high rate of interest to a great many needy _hatamoto_, who were obliged to garnishee to those merchants their allowances in rice from the Shogunate at fixed intervals, in order to steer securely through stretches of low water or through the straits of Hard-Times in their household economy. On the whole, however, we see a great difference in that the merchants of Yedo were the patronised party in their relations with the warrior-class, while those of Ôsaka were mostly creditors and the military men their debtors. But whatever might have been their difference in general character from the merchants of Ôsaka, the commercial aristocrats of Yedo, induced by their opulence to live a leisurely and very luxurious life, could not fail to become gradually patrons of the bourgeois arts and literature, merely tinged by a little more of the martial element than those of Ôsaka. Three cultural currents thus ran parallel to one another in the history of the modern civilisation of our country, that of the orthodox _samurai_ with its centre in Yedo, that of court-nobles and county-gentry flowing from Kyoto as its source, and lastly that of the commercial class with its stronghold in Ôsaka. If these three currents had remained irrelative to one another to the last; if, in other words, they had continued for long to belong specially to one of the three distinct and exclusive groups of the nation, then the historic revolution of the Meidji era would not have been effected, and Japan might be in a state but half medieval and half modern. Fortunately, class distinction in our country was not, at that time, so rigid as to hamper absolutely the amalgamation of different classes, and a certain type of culture, which had for a time been but a speciality of one particular class, soon ceased to be so, and was extended to the other classes, and the process necessarily led to the fusion of all the cultures of different types. As one of the causes which hastened such an amalgamation must be mentioned the intermarriage of people of different classes. At the time when Chinese legislation was first implanted in Japanese soil, there were still minute restrictions concerning interclass-marriages in the Statutes of the Taïhô. Though mésalliances were not forbidden by any explicit law, the offspring of such marriages between freemen and slaves were to follow in class the parent of inferior rank. It is evident, therefore, that such an alliance was stigmatised and severely checked. As to the intermarriages between different classes of freemen, there had been no such restraint, even with respect to the status of their children. That the custom, however, of choosing the empress from members of the Imperial family only, to the exclusion of all vassal families, became gradually confirmed, and that the same custom continued intact until the beginning of the eighth century, shows how such mésalliances had been discouraged in the ancient days of our history. The crowning of a daughter of the Fujiwara as the consort of the Emperor Shômu was the first violation of the long-kept traditional usage regarding the Imperial marriage; and since that time marriages had become very irregular, not only among the members of the Imperial family, but also among the courtiers. The social status of a father was considered sufficient by itself to determine that of his children. No legal scrutiny was thought necessary as to what kind of a woman their mother was, though it was self-evident that the higher the social position of the family from which she sprang, the more the children she gave birth to would be honoured. The establishment of the military régime could effect but very slight change in this domain of social usage, until the beginning of the Tokugawa Shogunate. It must be attributed to this neglect of the maternal lineage in the consideration of pedigrees, that in the most genealogical records of Japan the names of wives, mothers, and daughters are generally omitted, notwithstanding that we are able to trace the names of the male ancestors, sometimes for more than ten centuries backward with tolerable certainty and exactitude. The establishment of the Shogunate by the Tokugawa could not affect to any great extent the social position of women in general, for in that domain radical alterations were not to be expected from the age in which militarism was all-powerful. There was one thing, however, which was worthy of special notice, concerning the new usage of marriage among the _daimyo_. As to the right of inheriting their territories, the preference, it is true, had been on the side of the offspring of a legal marriage, for it could not have been otherwise in a society in which the right of primogeniture had been just established for the sake of maintaining the order intact. Yet there existed no rigorous rule through the whole history of the Shogunate, which might be said to have aimed at discouraging mésalliances, and the natural sons of the _daimyo_ were by no means deprived of their right of inheritance on account of the mean origin of their mother. The Shogunate, however, interfered in the marriages of the _daimyo_, and all of them were obliged to take unto themselves consorts from families of equal rank, that is to say, the legal wife of a _daimyo_ had to be a daughter or sister of another _daimyo_, one of his equals. Some of the higher _daimyo_, especially those of the blood of Tokugawa, often married daughters of court-nobles, for the purpose of keeping the latter in close relation with the Shogunate. In the military peerage list of the time the wife of every ruling _daimyo_ had her place together with the heir, alongside of her husband, though even in this case her name used to be omitted, while that of the heir was given. In spite of the fact, therefore, that the intermarriage of the people of different territories had often been prohibited by territorial laws, those _daimyo_ themselves who were desirous of enforcing those laws were obliged to find their legal wives outside of their territory, in other words, to contract an interterritorial marriage. Such a marriage within the circle of the _daimyo_ had of course very little to do with the territorial politics of the _daimyo_ concerned, for most of the ladies chosen as brides were those who had been brought up in their father's residence at Yedo, and after their marriage they had to remain in the same city as hostages to the Shogunate, and not allowed to leave it for their territory. Moreover, as the marriage of the _daimyo_ received the close supervision of the Shogunate, they could have borne very little, if any, political meaning of a sort which might be attached to the intermarriages of different royal families in Europe. Culturally speaking, however, such a marriage had the effect of levelling the ways of living of various _daimyo_, and making them similar to one another. The bride was usually accompanied into her husband's family by maids, the daughters of her father's vassals, and she was often escorted by a few _samurai_. These _samurai_ as well as the maids often took service under the _daimyo_, the husband of the bride, and remained in the train of their lord, after the death of the lady whom they had to serve personally. The number of the _samurai_ who changed masters in this manner, was not naturally large, but they contributed none the less toward the diminishing of the differences in the social life of the various territories. Generally, however, it was found very difficult for any _samurai_ to leave his master for the purpose of enlisting in the service of some other _daimyo_. As the _samurai_ had been bound to their lord the _daimyo_, not only publicly as his officials and warriors, but privately as his domestics, they were not allowed to emigrate freely from their lord's territory. Nevertheless, the legal status of the _samurai_ versus the _daimyo_ had never been the relation of slave and master. No _daimyo_ had absolute control over the person of his _samurai_, in other words, his sway was far from what might have been called full proprietorship. Against injustice on the part of a _daimyo_, his _samurai_ had the actual right of appealing to the Shogunate at the risk of suffering a heavy penalty for his affronting his lord by so doing. It was also possible to alienate himself from the service of his master by giving sufficient reasons for it. If he had no reason to do so, then he could abscond, and the extradition of such a deserter was hardly ever rigorously pressed. And if such a vagrant _samurai_ or _rônin_ was found to be a capable warrior or a man of talent in some other line, he could find a position very easily under the _daimyo_ of his adopted territory. In such and like ways the _samurai_ of the Tokugawa period made interterritorial migration more freely than we imagine. If, concluding from the limited sphere of freedom of the _samurai_ in regard to change of domicile, one should suppose that farmers, merchants, and craftsmen were much more restricted in their moving about inter-territorially, he would be grossly deceived. The _samurai_ was _de facto_ linked almost inseparably to their lord the _daimyo_, for the link had been firmly cemented, though not by any formal oath of fealty uttered by the _samurai_, as was the custom in European countries, but by the hereditary relation between his family and that of his master. It became especially so when profound peace settled on Japan during the middle of the Tokugawa period, and if any _daimyo_ had given his _samurai_ the freest choice to leave his territory, very few of them would have availed themselves of their freedom, for by doing so they would have had to part with a great many things which they had long cherished in their hearts. On the whole, the _samurai_ were attached to their _daimyo_ and not to the soil on which they had settled, so that when their master was removed to some new territory by the order of the Shogunate, most of the _samurai_ used to follow their lord and serve him in the new locality. The dialectic peculiarities, which have been vanishing in Japan very rapidly these years, show still a trace of these _samurai_ migrations. If any foreigner should remark a considerable difference in dialect between some provincial town and its suburbs, it shows that the family of the _daimyo_ who was the last to lord it over the territory, was one transplanted there together with the attendant train of _samurai_ by order of the Shogunate in a time not so very remote. Quite contrary to _samurai_ usage, those people below them in rank held with the _daimyo_ of the territory in which they lived a relationship which was purely public in character. Socially they were treated as men beneath the _samurai_, and they themselves were content to be treated as such. As a class, however, they had no personal relations with the _daimyo_, unless through the _samurai_, to whom the usufruct of the land which they cultivated had been allotted by the _daimyo_. In other words, their duty to their territorial lord was nothing but that which they owed as a people governed to a governor who chanced to rule hereditarily over the territory, but might at any time be displaced by somebody else at the pleasure of the Shogunate. Fidelity on their part to the _daimyo_, therefore, was no personal obligation, nor the result of a reciprocal contract, but only a product of a long history, if any example of such virtue were exhibited. They had no need to follow their _daimyo_ as his _samurai_ used to do, whithersoever he might be transferred. On the contrary, all of them remained as a rule in the old territory, in which they continued for long years to pursue their business, and welcomed the newly-appointed _daimyo_. In this respect they might be said to have been much more fixed to the territory than the _samurai_. At the same time, as their relations with the _daimyo_ were not very close, their movements were not so vigilantly watched as those of the _samurai_, and during the Tokugawa period, there went on incessant goings and comings of the lower order in and out of various territories, though very insignificant in character and therefore apparently unnoticed. Summarily speaking, the boundary of the territories of the _daimyo_ was of no practical value in restricting the population within its geographical pale, in spite of the fact that all _daimyo_, without exception, exercised their right of scrutinising the ingress and egress of travellers at certain fixed barriers on the boundary line. Viewed from the standpoint of the internal migration of people of all classes, Japan was far from being an agglomeration of isolated territories. No wonder that the contemporary culture, springing up from whichever of the three possible sources, could not remain secluded within the confines of particular localities, but gradually permeated the country in every direction, and became one. Not only inter-territorially, but also in each of the territories themselves, no sort of culture could hold itself for long as the exclusive property of a certain class. In our history, it is true, we had retained a class-system for a very long time, even after the revolution of the Meidji era, and all men had not been equal before the law until very recent times. Nay, to this day we see still some harmless relics of that system in certain regulations preferential to the aristocracy. Regarded as a whole, however, the class-system in Japan has never approached the caste-system of some other countries. If there had been anything like that in our country, it was the distinction of the ordinary people, or we might say, people of the Japanese _pur sang_, from those whose blood was thought to be polluted. Marriage with the latter set of people had been scrupulously avoided on the part of the former. This antipathy entertained by the majority of the nation against the minority was nearly of the same nature as the anti-Semitic feeling in Europe. The coincidence between the two went so far that in Japan tanners, executioners, and so forth were considered as men of occupations exclusive to the people of polluted blood, just as similar trades in Europe had been relegated to the Jews of the Middle Ages. From the fact that in the newly explored part of the empire, such as the northern part of Honto, the settlements of the so-called people of polluted blood are very few, and therefore the feeling against them there is not so acute as it is in the central or most historic part of the empire, we may safely conclude that such a feeling had its origin in some racial difference and dates from the immemorial past. It is very strange that in Japan, where the population is unquestionably of mixed blood, such an antipathy against a certain set of people should have continued stubbornly even to the present day. On the other hand, we have sufficient grounds for believing that, in the course of our history, not a few people of the pure blood have been classed with the impure on account of some criminal action, or they mingled with the latter from some predilection, out of their own free will. As to the people who were not stigmatised as impure of blood, it is very difficult to draw a boundary line distinct enough to divide them clearly according to their blood relationship. During the anarchical period of our history from the later Ashikaga to the beginning of the Tokugawa Shogunate, there took place a violent convulsion of the social strata, as the result of the disorder which reigned everywhere. Many talented plebeians had lucky chances to enlist as _samurai_ in the service of some _daimyo_, while many of the scions of noted warrior families transformed themselves into plebeians, from disgust at their calling of men-slaughterers or from disappointment in their ambitions as warriors. In the time which followed, that is to say, when social order was reëstablished, such a transmutation became exceedingly difficult, as might be supposed. Yet even since then it is not altogether a matter of sheer impossibility. Plebeians of rare merit, especially those who were skilled in certain branches of art and learning, were able to find their way upward without much difficulty. The word "_samurai_" which had meant a "warrior attending" came to denote a social rank above the plebeians, so that it could include those who pursued a profession which was far from being militaristic, such as men of letters, physicians, painters, _nô_-dancers and the like in the retinue of the _daimyo_. Many territorial bourgeois, too, transformed themselves into _samurai_ by contributing large sums of money to the treasury of their lord, or by purchasing the rank from some poor inheritors of _samurai_ blood who were reduced to extreme penury, so as to be no more able to serve their _daimyo_ as honourable warriors. Examples of _samurai_ promoted to the _daimiate_ are not numerous since the re-establishment of peace and the social order under the dictatorship of the Tokugawa, for it had become for everybody very difficult to distinguish himself highly by merits other than military, so as to justify sufficiently such a sudden promotion. Still at the beginning of the Tokugawa Shogunate there were many vacant territories, caused by the confiscation of the territories of recalcitrant _daimyo_. Many families also lost their hereditary lands on account of the extinction of the male line, for the Shogunate did not at first recognise inheritance through an adopted son, a restriction which was later abrogated. Besides, the _daimyo_ in general became wiser and more docile in order not to lose their estates on account of any misdemeanour toward the Shogun. As the result of such changes the later Shogun rarely had vacancies at his disposal by which he could create the new _daimyo_. If the Shogun had wished to promote somebody in spite of the lack of a vacant lordship, he had to part with a portion of his own domain, but this alienation of land from the Shogun could not be repeated too often without damage to the material resources of the Shogunate. Nevertheless, examples have not been wanting now and then, examples in which not only _samurai_ but even plebeians also were promoted to the rank of _daimyo_, some of them owing to their due merits, or to the blood-relationship with the wives or the natural mother of some Shogun, others by courting the favour of their master. In short, the intruding upwards into the _daimyo_ class was not a matter absolutely impossible for the people in the lower strata. Inversely the descent to the lower social status was much easier than the ascent to the higher rank in any scale. Nay, for various reasons many persons had been obliged to climb down from their original high position in society to a lower status. As the law of primogeniture grew rigorous in its enforcements on the _daimyo_ and the _samurai_, the greater part of the scions belonging to these classes could only fully enjoy the privilege of the society in which they were born during childhood, unless extinction of the main line took place. Descendants of _daimyo_ generally gravitated to _samurai_ rank, and those of _samurai_ had to turn themselves into plebeians, in so far as they did not merit to be called to service as independent _samurai_. Thus the sliding down of classes was necessitated by the law of succession. Could any line of social demarcation be drawn according to the difference of classes in the face of such shiftings upwards and downwards? If it was a difficult matter, then we cannot expect to find any sort of culture monopolised by a certain class to the last. In whichever stratum of society it might have originated, it was sure to penetrate sooner or later into the other classes, and at last the whole people of a territory absorbed a similar and uniform culture. No sort of territorial barriers or social cleavage proved efficient enough to impede the inter-penetration of any cultural movement. This amalgamation of cultures different in their origins had been accelerated by the introduction of European civilisation. Though the free intercourse of the Japanese with Europeans had been cut short in the third decade of the seventeenth century by the ordinances of the Shogunate, the country had never been absolutely closed against foreigners. No Japanese had been allowed to go abroad for any purpose whatever, but we continued to trade in the specially prescribed port of Nagasaki, not only with Chinese but also with Dutch merchants, though in very restricted forms. Thus while the Japanese had been struggling to mould the new national culture out of promiscuous elements which had existed from aforetime, they had been receiving the Western civilisation, not _en masse_ but drop by drop, so that we had no need this time of the process of rumination in digesting the introduced exotic culture, as we had done as regards Chinese civilisation. The rigorous exclusion, carried to the utmost, of all Christian literature, whatever its relation to our religious tenets might have been, naturally induced men in authority to resort to the safest methods, that is to say, to restrict the kinds of books to be imported to the narrowest scope, and to limit their number to the smallest possible minimum. Accordingly, in the first half of the Tokugawa Shogunate, very few useful books were imported into our country, and the nation had, therefore, a very scanty opportunity of getting knowledge through books about things European. Yet the commodities which these Dutchmen brought to Deshima to be exchanged there or to be presented to the Shogun at Yedo, gave the Japanese who came in contact with them some idea about the modes of life in Europe. Moreover, after the encouragement assiduously given to the study of things European by the Shogun Yoshimune, whose rule covered the greater part of the first half of the eighteenth century, the process of infiltration of Western culture through the narrow door of Nagasaki had become suddenly accelerated. As the encouragement had been induced by the material necessities of the nation, the study of that time about things European was naturally limited to those sciences which were indispensable to the daily life of the people and at the same time far from being spiritual, like astronomy, medicine, botany, and so forth. Would it be possible, however, to ward off successfully the spiritual side of a culture, while taking in the material side of the same with avidity, as if the two parts had not been interwoven inseparably as a single entity? Those branches of Western knowledge, which we did not welcome in the least, but which were none the less useful, as history, and political as well as military sciences became gradually known to the Japanese, though very fragmentarily and slowly. That the diplomatists of the Shogunate had been able to conclude with the foreign powers, which forced our doors to be opened to them against our will, treaties which, though evidently detrimental to our national honour, were the largest concessions we could obtain from them at that time, shows that they had not been entirely ignorant of the condition of the parties with which they had to treat. Probably there are foreign readers who may entertain some doubt about the lack of the religious element in the Western civilisation which thus flowed into our country from the first half of the eighteenth century. They may well consider, however, the change of religious temperament both in Japan and in European countries, besides the strictest prohibition rigorously exercised by the Japanese authorities. The Thirty Years War, the beginning of which falls in the fourteenth year of the Shogunate of Hidetada, the son and successor of Iyeyasu, is said generally to be the last religious war in Europe fought seriously. But it cannot be denied that in the latter part of the long war, more political than religious elements predominated, and the age which followed the most desolatory war was characterised by its religious toleration. Could the Dutchmen, who were the only people privileged to trade with us, have been expected to set as their first aim the propagation of the Christianity of their Reformed Church rather than material gain by their commerce, as the Portuguese, Spaniards, and Italians are said to have done as regards their Catholicism at the end of the Ashikaga period? Japan had also changed religiously in the same direction. The end of the Ashikaga period had witnessed many wars which may be called religious, very rare examples since the time of the first introduction of Buddhism. Sectarians of Shinshû or Ikkôshû and of Nichirenshû often fought against one another. Some of them dared also to fight against powerful feudatories, and harassed them. Thus Japan was about to experience a struggle between the spiritual and the temporal powers, as Europe did in the Middle Ages. Nobunaga, therefore, gave countenance to Christian missionaries with a view to curbing the arrogance of Buddhist sectaries by the inroad of the new exotic religion. When the latter, however, proved not less dangerous to the political authority, it was interdicted by Hideyoshi. After all, the persecution of the Christians in Japan was not of religious nature, as in Europe, but essentially political. This explains why persecution could extirpate the seeds of Christianity sown so full of hope in Japan, in spite of its general failure in European countries. The failure of the Christian propaganda, however, was at the same time the signal of the downfall of the influence of Buddhist sectaries in Japan. Iyeyasu, who had the most bitter experience of the resistance of Ikkô-votaries in his own province, had but to pursue the same religious policy as his predecessor, against Buddhism as well as Christianity. He ordered the personal morals of Buddhist priests to be rigorously supervised, and inflicted the severest punishment on those who violated the law of celibacy. It was natural, therefore, that secular preachers of the Ikkôshû or Shinshû, who made it their rule to lead a matrimonial life, should not have been held in so high a regard as the regular priests of other Buddhist sects, and on that account they had to recruit their believers chiefly among people in the lower strata of society. As to other sects besides the Shinshû, he showed no preference for any one of them, and he often called himself a believer in Buddhism of the Syaka Sect, which meant that he was no sectarian, for there actually existed no such sect in Japan. Such a broad tolerance, however, in religious matters is next door to indifferentism, and paved the way for the dwindling of the religious spirit in the ages to follow, at least in the prominent part of the nation. Another factor which strengthened the spirit of toleration, or let me say, undermined the religious spirit of the people, was the Confucian philosophy expounded by Chutse, a celebrated savant of the Sung dynasty. This doctrine, which had been accepted by the court-philosophers of the Shogunate as the only orthodox one, was rationalistic to the extreme, so that it struck a heavy blow to many cherished superstitions and destroyed in a remarkable manner the influence which Buddhism had exercised over the mind of the people since many centuries, just like the rationalism of the eighteenth century in Europe, which ruined the authority of the Church and superstition. Yet among the educated society of the age, that is to say, the _samurai_ class, the worship of Buddhist deities continued as before, superficially without any marked change, only because parents had worshipped them and taught their children to do likewise. That they had not been men strictly to be called Buddhist is evident from the fact that most of them had worshipped in Shinto shrines with almost the same devotion as they did in Buddhist temples. It cannot be denied that in their view of human life there was a preponderating Buddhist element, but as it had been since very long ago that our civilisation had become imbued with Buddhism, the Japanese of the Tokugawa period were not conscious of what part of the national culture they specially owed to the Indian religion. In short, religion in the Tokugawa age did not teach what to worship, but what to revere, and toward the latter part of the period we had less necessity to have more of a different religion. How could Christianity force her way into our country in the state such as it was, unless by the endeavour of fanatics? And the Dutch merchants of the eighteenth century were not religious fanatics at all. Through such agents, drops of the secular element in European civilisation were thrown on the cultural soil of Japan, which had been already secularised much earlier than most of the countries in the West. No spiritual consternation had been aroused, therefore, in the cultural world of our country by the intrusion of exotic factors, which only tended to augment the longing for the higher material improvement of the people, by never satiating the desire for it. It is by this stimulus indeed that civilisation, which is prone to become stationary in an isolated country like Japan, escaped the danger of stagnation, and the process of moulding and remoulding the ever new national culture out of the element which she had possessed and that which she had added to her stock since time immemorial, went on silently under cover of the long armed peace, and at last brought forth the Revolution of the Meidji. CHAPTER XIII THE RESTORATION OF THE MEIDJI The great political change which took place in the year 1867-1868 is generally called the Restoration, in the sense that the imperial power was restored by this event. In truth, however, the prerogative of the Emperor has never been formally usurped, and none has dared impudently to declare that he had assumed the power in His Majesty's stead. All the virtual potentates, court-nobles as well as Shogun, who, each in his day, held unlimited sway over the whole country, had been accustomed to style themselves modestly vicegerents of the Emperor. On the other hand, the change was more than a mere restoration, for never in the course of our national history had the resplendent grandeur of the Imperiality reached the height in which it now actually stands. In this respect the Restoration of the Meidji can by no means be taken in the same sense as the two Restorations famous in European history, that of the Stuarts in 1660 and of the Bourbons in 1814. Renovation, perhaps, would be a more adequate term to be used here than Restoration, to designate this epoch-making event in our history. We have reconstructed new Japan from the old materials, the origins of some of which are lost in remotest antiquity. If, however, we should consider the range and intensity of the momentous change which was caused by the overthrow of the Tokugawa Shogunate, it is rather a revolution than a renovation. Just the same kind of disjunction which can be perceived in the transition of France from its ancient régime to the Revolution may also be noticed in the Japanese history of the transition period, which divides the pre-Meidji régime from the present status. The difference is that we accomplished in five years a counterpart, though on a much smaller scale, of what they took in France nearly a generation to conclude; a difference which may be accounted for by the absence in our country of many circumstances which helped to make the French Revolution really a great historical event. That those circumstances were lacking in our history, however, is by no means the fault of our nation. No impartial foreign historian would grudge a few words of praise to the Japanese who achieved the historic thorough transformation of national life with little or no bloodshed, when they think of the tremendous difficulties which Bismarck had to encounter in his grand task of forming the new German empire, and which even he himself could not overcome entirely. Then how did this momentous change happen to be achieved by the Japanese? It appeared a wonder even to the eyes of many contemporary Japanese. It surprises us, therefore, to say the least, that many foreigners not well-versed in Japanese history, however intelligent and otherwise qualified, should have believed almost without exception that the island nation had something miraculous in its immanent capacity, which had remained latent so long only from lack of opportunity to manifest itself. But to the contemplative mind, equipped at the same time with sufficient knowledge of the historical development of our country, there was nothing magical in the national achievement of the Japanese in the latter half of the nineteenth century, though it cannot be denied that the close contact with the modern civilisation of Europe at this juncture gave the most suitable opportunity to the people to try their ability nurtured by the long centuries of their history, and served efficiently to quicken the steps of national progress to a pace far more speedy than any we had ever marched before. In other words, our national progress of these fifty years, whether it might be apt to be termed hurried steps or strides, was a thing organized by slow degrees during the long tranquil rule of the Tokugawa. As to the advancement of the general culture anterior to the Revolution of the Meidji, I have already touched on that in the previous chapter. Here I will limit myself to recapitulating the growth of the nationalistic spirit among the people, which bore as its fruit that memorable change in the political and cultural sphere of our country. The tranquillity restored to the country by the powerful dictatorship of Hideyoshi and Iyeyasu, and the multiplication of books, Japanese as well as Chinese, reprinted in blocks or in type, remarkably enlarged the reading circle among the people. The liberal education of warriors had been earnestly encouraged by the Shogunate, mainly for the purpose of creating intelligent and law-abiding gentlemen out of rough and adventurous fighters. A great many of the _daimyo_ followed the example of the Shogunate by founding one or more schools in their own territories for the education of their own _samurai_, and in these schools moral and political lessons were given, besides training in military arts. The _samurai_ were taught to read and understand Chinese classics, with the purely pragmatic purpose of enabling them to follow the inexhaustible precepts preached by the Chinese philosophers of various ages, and at the same time to qualify them to govern the people according to the political theories of Confucius, when they were put in some responsible positions in the territorial government of their lord. The text-books used in this curriculum of education had been, of course, Chinese literature of the sort which might be called political miscellanies, that is to say, those works pertaining to morals, politics, and history. This trio was to Chinese philosophers only the three different forms of the manifestation of one and the same principle, for to them politics was an enlarged application of that very principle, which when applied to personal matters made private morals, and history was only another name for the politics of the past, as many European historians still also believe. Their Japanese pupils, however, took up any one of the trio they fancied, and interlaced it with the national tradition, each according to his own taste. The metaphysical element of the Chinese moral philosophy of the Sung dynasty, the time in which Chinese philosophy reached its high flourishing scholastic stage, was thus mingled with Shintoism. Up to that time we had Shintoism imbued with Buddhism. Now having repudiated the Indian elements out of it, we introduced in their stead the Confucian philosophy. As the philosophy introduced was that expounded by Chutse, who was an intense rigorist, the Shintoism resulting from this mixture was rather narrow and chauvinistic, though fervent enough to inspire people of education. One of the most conspicuous founders of this kind of new national cult was Ansai Yamazaki, who was born in 1619. On account of his hair-splitting doctrines, tolerating none which deviated the least from his, his disciples were always in very bitter controversy with one another, each asserting himself as the only true successor of his master, and dissension followed after dissension. Many of them were so pigheaded as to make it a rule not to serve publicly in any official capacity under the Shogun nor the _daimyo_, and exerted themselves strenuously to spread their propaganda among the intelligent classes of the people. Fuel was added to the flame of the national spirit already in a blaze by the assiduous study of the ancient literature of our country. The old Japanese literature studied and imitated during the Ashikaga period had not gone back farther than the Tempyô era. If we except some novels produced in the prime of the courtiers' régime, such as the _Genji-monogatari_, the literary works of old Japan highly prized by the courtiers and enlightened warriors of the Ashikaga were limited to the anthologies of short Japanese poems by various poets, the oldest of which was called the _Kokin-shû_, said to have been compiled in 905 A.D. under Imperial auspices. The _Mannyô-shû_, which is another collection of Japanese poems, older than those gathered into the _Kokin-shû_, and to which I referred in my former chapter as the oldest collection of all of that kind in Japan, though not entirely abandoned, could not cope with the latter in popularity, being considered as too much out of date. A few of the commentaries or interpretations of trivial topics sung or celebrated in the poems in the _Kokin-shû_ had become matters of great importance in the art of Japanese versification, and had been handed from one master to a favourite disciple as an esoteric literary secret not to be lightly divulged to the _hoi polloi_. The resuscitated national spirit of the early Tokugawa period, however, induced men of the literary circles of the time no longer to be contented with such trivialities, and stimulated them to push their researches backward into the literature still more ancient, that is to say, to launch themselves upon the difficult task of interpreting those more archaic poems contained in the _Mannyô-shû_. The foremost of these philologists was a priest by the name of Keichû, born in 1640 in the vicinity of Ôsaka. His celebrated work, the Commentaries on the Poems of the _Mannyô-shû_, is said to be the first standard hoisted in the philological study of old Japan by Japanese, a study the inauguration of which almost corresponded in time with the establishment of durable peace by the Tokugawa Shogunate. A succession of savants followed in his wake, and the most noted among them were Mabuchi Kamo and his disciple Norinaga Motoöri. It was the latter of the two who brought the study of Japanese antiquities to its highest point in the Tokugawa age. The time of Motoöri covers the whole of the latter half of the eighteenth century, for he was born in 1730 and died in 1801 in the province of Ise. Before him the scope of researches into old Japan had been limited to the literary products of our ancient poets and novelists. Though the _Nihongi_ had been talked of by the scholars of the Ashikaga period and an edition reprinted before the advent of the house of Tokugawa, that part of the work which had been most widely read and commented on was its first volume, treating about the age of the gods and the mythical beginning of the Empire. In other words, the book had been prized not as an important historical work, but as a sacred book of Shintoism. It was Motoöri himself who first studied ancient Japan, not only from the Shintoistic point of view, but also philologically and historically. Classical literature, which became the object of his indefatigable research, was not restricted to books of mythology, but included also the ritual book of "norito," several collections of poems, and historical works. First of all, however, he concentrated his efforts upon the study of the old chronicle, _Kojiki_. He was of the opinion that the _Kojiki_ was more reliable as a historical source than the _Nihongi_, as it might, according to him, be easily judged from its archaic phraseology and syntax, in contrast to the latter, the historical veracity of which must have been surely impaired by its adoption of the Chinese rhetoric. He made the most minute, critical study of the text of the _Kojiki_, phrase by phrase, and word by word. The famous _Kojiki-den_, or "The Commentaries on the _Kojiki_," is the choicest fruit of his life-long study. In it the history, religion, manners, customs, in short, all the items concerning the civilisation of ancient Japan are expounded from the text of the chronicle itself, frequently corroborated by what is stated in other authentic sources. He had always in view, and laid great stress on the fact, that Japan had possessed from her beginning what was to be called her own, purely and entirely Japanese, quite apart from the culture which she introduced afterwards from abroad. It was to this unique and naïve state of things in primeval Japan taken as a whole that he applied the term Shintoism. According to him, therefore, naturalness, purity and veracity were the cardinal virtues to be taught in Shintoism, from which he thought not only Indian, but Chinese elements also should be eradicated. Thus Shintoism was stripped of its religious apparel, with which it had been invested during the long course of our history, and by his endeavours it approached again its original status as a simple moral cult with primitive rituals; but at the same time it gained immensely in strength, for it now found its main support in the nationality deeply rooted in the daily life of the ancient Japanese. By him the Japanese were reminded of their national beginning. This philological study of ancient Japan owed much, in its early stage, to the stimulus given by the growth of historiography in the seventeenth century. This study of and the endeavour to write down the national history came of course from the political necessity of the time. As early as the fourth decade of the seventeenth century, the Shogunate is said to have ordered its court literati to compile the history of our country from the earliest times, but it was suspended afterwards for a while. A little posterior to this, a memorable historiographical institute was initiated by Mitsukuni Tokugawa, one of the grandsons of Iyeyasu and lord of Mito. For the first time in our country, the collection of historical materials was undertaken on a grand scale. Collectors were despatched to many provinces where a rich harvest was expected. Kyoto and its vicinity were ransacked with special attention. The material thus rummaged and collected, varying from those of authentic kinds such as memoirs of ancient courtiers and court-ladies, chronicles kept in shrines and temples, and documents concerning the transactions of numberless manorial estates, down to less reliable sorts of materials such as stories, legends, tales, novels, and various other writings current in successive ages, had been criticised in their texts with tolerable scientific conscientiousness. The _Dai-Nihon-shi_, or "The History of Great Japan," which is the result of the coöperation of the historians of the Mito school engaged in researches under the auspices of Mitsukuni and his successors, consists of two hundred and thirty one volumes, and has taken two centuries and a half for its completion, the last volume having been published in 1906. In its form the grand history is an imitation of the _Shih-chi_ by Ssuma-chien of the Han dynasty, the whole system being divided into the three sections of the annals of the emperors, biographers of noted personages, and miscellanies, with various tables. It is by no means a complete history of Japan, for it comes down only to 1392, the year in which the two rival houses of the Imperial family were united and put an end to the long civil war. Moreover, it was only in the middle of the nineteenth century, that the first two sections were put into print, though as manuscripts those parts had been finished much earlier. It is not, therefore, on account of the publication of the history, but of the researches themselves and their by-products, that the historiography of the Mito school greatly influenced the rise of the nationalistic spirit of the Japanese. The long arduous labours of these historians were consummated in expounding the doctrine that the Japanese nation had something unique in its civilisation which was worthy to be guarded carefully and fostered, and that the only bond which could unite the nation spiritually was fidelity towards its common centre, the Emperor, whose family had continued to reign over the country since time immemorial. The history is often criticised as being too pragmatic, narrow, and subjective, therefore not scientific. If we consider, however, that even in those countries in the West where the study of history is boasted of as having reached a high stage of scientific investigation, most of the historians, if not the histories they have written, have been also decidedly pragmatic, so that few of them can be called perfectly objective, then we should not much blame the historians and the history of the Mito school. That the school was entirely free from any sort of superstition must also be mentioned as one of its chief merits. This may be attributed to the rationalistic influence of the doctrine of Chutse, and the fact that the history was written in orthodox Chinese shows how these historiographers were imbued with Chinese ideas. It might be said, however, to their credit that the task was first undertaken in an age in which the literary language of our country had not yet become entirely independent of Chinese, and that, notwithstanding the adoption of that language, in committing the result of their researches to writing they had never fallen into the self-deception which might come from sinicomania. Since the inception of this ever-memorable historiographical undertaking, the town of Mito had continued to be the hearth of nationalism and patriotism, and thinkers devoted to these ideas had been very glad to make their pilgrimage from all parts of Japan to the centre of the pure Japanese culture, and to converse with these historians of the noted institution. It was indeed the early groups of these historians who first stirred up the nationalistic spirit in the later seventeenth century, and their successors it was who accelerated and most strongly reinforced the national movement just before the Revolution. No school of learning in Japan had even been so powerful and effective as that of Mito in influencing and leading the spirit of the nation. The torch, however, which had succeeded in giving blissful light to illumine the whole nation, burned at last the torch-bearer himself with its blazing flame. Not to mention that the finances of the territorial lord had been miserably drained by this undertaking, which is said to have swallowed up about one-third of the whole revenue of the territory, and therefore proved too heavy a burden for the small income of the lord. Narrow-mindedness, which is the necessary consequence of rigorism, tended to nurture an implacable party spirit among the _samurai_ of the territory educated in this principle. Internal strife thus ensued which implicated not only the whole _samurai_ but people of all classes. In short, the territory was divided against itself. Both parties appealed to arms at last, and fought against each other, until both had to lie down quite exhausted. So the culture which the historians and the _samurai_ of Mito raised to a high pitch proved to be disastrous to their own welfare, yet the good which it did to the country at large should remain as a glory to those who sacrificed themselves for what they regarded as their ideal. We see now that several forces had coöperated in accomplishing the final unity and consolidation of the nation. In giving the finishing touch, however, to the task of many centuries, the enigmatic relations between the Emperor and the Shogun had necessarily to be cleared. Though the Shogunate had continued to transact the state affairs as if he had been the sole regent of the Emperor, the legal status of the former had never been created by any ordinance issued by the latter. No emperor had ever formally confided his political prerogative to the Shogun. The basis on which the jurisdictional power of the Shogun had rested was nothing but the _fait accompli_ connived at and acquiesced in by the Emperor. If the prestige of the Emperor, therefore, which had once fallen into decadence, should be revived, the position of the Shogun was sure to become untenable. The historians of the Mito school tried their best to make the Emperor the nucleus of the national consolidation. Their political theory had been strongly influenced by the legitimism entertained by the historians of the Sung dynasty, and this principle of legitimacy, when applied to the history of Japan, must have led only to the conclusion that the only legitimate and therefore actual sovereign of the country could be none other than the Emperor himself. Needless to say, such an argument was injurious to the political interests of the Shogunate, so that it seems very strange that the theory had been upheld and loudly heralded by these historians who were under the protection of the lord of Mito, the descendant of a scion of Iyeyasu. It was not, of course, the intention of the hereditary lords of Mito and their historians to undermine the structure of the Shogunate from its foundation. Having been, however, too sharp and fervent in their argument, they had been unable to rein themselves in, before the interests of the Shogunate were thereby jeopardised, and as a logical consequence they brought unconsciously to a terrible catastrophe the whole edifice of the military régime, in which alone they could find a reason for their existence. The spirit of the nation had thus been under the increasing notion that the coexistence of the sovereign Emperor with the omnipotent Shogunate would be ultimately impossible, and such a trend of thought had been highly welcomed in those parts of Japan where militarism had the least hold. So far, however, it had been the more logical pursuance of a political ideal, and if no opportunity had presented itself to these idealists to put their theory into execution, it would have remained for long the idle vapouring of romantic and irresponsible politicians. That Japan was saved from this inaction, and that the virile movement in favour of the revival of the imperial prestige was at last undertaken, must be attributed to the shock and stimulus which came from without, that is to say, to the coercion on the part of the Western nations to open to them our country, which had been so long secluded from the rest of the world. Since the so-called "closing of the country" the Japanese had enjoyed a peaceful national life, undisturbed for more than one century and a half, and during this period of long tranquillity Japan had been able to prepare herself for the hardships which she was about to encounter, by replenishing her national culture and transforming it so as to be able to take in as much of the Western civilisation as she was in need of, without fear of thereby endangering her own national existence. But at the end of the eighteenth century the insistent knocking of foreigners at the door began to be heard, first at the back-door of the Island Empire. It was only the Russians who, having already annexed the vast tract of Siberia, were now ready to make a jump forward, and loitered on the northern coast of our Hokkaidô, called the island of Yezo at that time. This was the beginning of new national troubles. It was not, however, the same kind of foreign troubles as those which we had tried and succeeded in getting rid of in the early days of the Shogunate. There was no fear now of suffering from the religious intrigues of foreign missionaries. The danger, if there were any, was purely of a political nature. Needless to say, the nation had had no voice in determining the Shogunate's policy of "shutting up the country", and had not understood well the merit or demerit of the policy itself, but having been accustomed for a long time to the isolated national existence, and puffed up not a little into self-conceit by the growth of the nationalistic spirit, they were unconsciously induced to believe that the status they were in must be the only normal condition of the country. The people at large, though relieved of the overdue influence of China, yet had a very scanty knowledge of the condition in which Europe and America were at that time, and did not wish, in the least, to be deranged by the intrusion, however well-meant, of any foreigner into their quiet abode, in spite of the utter impossibility of continuing such a national life _ad infinitum_ in the face of the changed circumstances of the world, caused by the eastward expansion of various European nations, and by the rise of a new power on the American continent, the power which had just acquired access to the shore of the Pacific. Those who were then at the helm of state, that is to say, the statesmen of the Shogunate, shared nearly the same opinion with the nation at large. Not only for the national welfare, but in the interests of the Shogunate itself, they thought it best to keep up the _status quo_ as long as possible. Unfortunately, the foreigners who now knocked at our doors were not unarmed like those who had come two centuries before, neither were they so humble and docile as the Dutchmen at Deshima were accustomed to be. In order to keep them off in spite of their importunate wish to the contrary, we had to provide for emergencies. So the Shogunate tried to make military preparations, to defend the country in case of necessity and drive away the intruders by force of arms. The more, however, the Shogunate tried to arm the nation against the foreigners, the more difficult it found the task it had in view. As the result of the long enjoyment of peace, the people had become inured to ease and luxury, and had lost much of their martial spirit, of which they had been exceedingly proud as their characteristic attribute. Moreover, the country having been parcelled out into nearly three hundred territories, it was very hard for the Shogunate to mobilise the warriors of the whole empire at its sole command. On the other hand, the material progress of the Western nations, achieved during the time of our seclusion, had been really astonishing. The difficulty of coping with them now became far greater for us than it had been at the end of the sixteenth century. Notwithstanding these overwhelming difficulties, the Shogunate persisted in its endeavour to strengthen the national defences. The martial spirit of the nation was gradually reawakened, but new internal difficulties were created by thus mobilising the nation, divided as it was into motley groups. The martial spirit which the Shogunate aroused was turned against itself, and the Shogunate proved unable to steer through the crisis at last. At first the opinion of the educated class of the nation was conflicting, but a few were eager to see the necessary overthrow of the régime of the Shogun. The great part gradually concurred in denouncing the incapacity of the Shogunate to fulfil by itself the task which it was called upon to accomplish. Still many were in favour of supporting the Shogunate in order to enable it to carry through its traditional policy of seclusion. Some advocated even the closer union of the Shogunate with the Imperial court, which was now beginning to become again the influential political centre of the nation in opposition to the power at Yedo, so that there might have been a fear of the two powers coming into collision. The conclusion, however, of the treaty with the United States in 1858, and subsequently with other powers, bitterly disappointed these sincere friends of the Shogunate and emboldened its adversaries. Hitherto those who had diametrically opposed the Shogunate were men who had never been in any position politically responsible. In other words, they were doctrinaires, and not men of action, so that there could be no serious danger to the Shogunate so long as they contented themselves only with arguing about national affairs in highflown language. But the disappointment which the Shogunate gave to its friends, turned them into sympathisers with the radical opponents. The danger was thus shifted from foreign relations to the serious internal question, whether the Shogunate should be allowed to exist any longer or not. Those who wished for the revival of the imperial prestige or the overthrow of the existing régime, whatever form the revolution might take, wielded as their forcible weapon to attack the Shogunate the denunciation that the sacred Land of the Gods had been opened to the sacrilegious tread of hairy barbarians, and their slogan was so persuasive that it led the imperial court at Kyoto to issue an order urging the Shogunate to repudiate the already concluded treaties and to return to the time-honoured seclusion policy, a task of utter impossibility. To this august command from Kyoto, the Shogunate could but respond very obsequiously, being intimidated somewhat by the loud clamour of these conservative patriots. Or it may be said that the military government succumbed to the combined force of the court-nobles and the territorial politicians. The marriage of the fourteenth Shogun to one of the sisters of the Emperor Kômei, in the year 1861, though concluded for the sake of the rapprochement of the Imperial court and the Shogunate, did not prove so serviceable in saving the tottering edifice of the Tokugawa régime as had been expected. Finding that the power and the resources of the Shogunate were inadequate to perform the duty which it had pledged itself to accomplish, Yoshihisa Tokugawa, the fifteenth and last of the Shogun, resigned all the power he had, political as well as military, into the hands of the Emperor Meidji, who had just succeeded his father the Emperor Kômei. This happened in November of the year 1867. A little previous to this the proposition of the Shogunate to open the port of Hyogo, now Kobe, to foreign trade was agreed to by the Emperor, a fact which proves how difficult it was to maintain the out-of-date seclusion-policy. From this it can be seen that the Shogunate of the Tokugawa fell, after the lapse of two hundred sixty four years from its beginning, not from lack of foresight on the part of their statesmen, but solely from loss of prestige. The prestige of the Shogunate was lost, simply because the system, such as it was, had become anachronistic in the face of the altered conditions of the country, which had been steadily progressing during these centuries. In other words, the Tokugawa Shogunate had been undermining itself for a long time by having courageously undertaken the honourable task which it was destined to perform in our national history, and it collapsed just in time when it had accomplished its mission. The fall of the Shogunate, therefore, must be said to have taken place very opportunely. The overthrow of the Shogunate, however, did not mean the mere downfall of the House of the Tokugawa; but it was the final collapse of the military régime, which had actually ruled Japan for nearly seven centuries, and the demolition of such a grand and elaborate historical edifice as the Shogunate could not be expected to be carried out without a catastrophe. That catastrophe came in the form of a civil war, which raged over the country for more than a year. After the resignation of the last of the Shogun, the new government was instantly set up at Kyoto, at the head of which an imperial prince was placed, who had to control all the state business in the name of the Emperor. The councillors under him were chosen not only from court-nobles, but also from the able _samurai_ who belonged to the party antagonistic to the Shogunate. This exasperated the partisans of the last Shogunate. Though the ex-Shogun had renounced his hereditary rights as the actual ruler of Japan, he still remained a _daimyo_ even after his resignation, and as a _daimyo_ he was the most powerful of all, for he had a far greater number of the _samurai_ under him in his _hatamoto_ than any other of his colleagues. Besides, he had many sympathisers among the _daimyo_. These vassals and friends of the ex-Shogun were discontented at the turn which the course of events had taken, and wished at least to rescue him from a further decrease of his influence. Induced at last by these followers to try his fortune, the ex-Shogun asked for an imperial audience, which was refused. Then he attempted to force his entrance into the city of Kyoto, escorted by his own guards and the forces of the friendly _daimyo_, and was met by the Imperialist army, composed of the forces of the lords of Satsuma, Nagato, Tosa, Hizen, and other _daimyo_, the greater part of whom had their territories in the western provinces of Japan. At the end of January, 1868, the two opposing armies came into collision at Fushimi and Toba, villages in the southern suburb of the old metropolis, and the forces of the ex-Shogun gave way. Yoshihisa hurriedly retreated to Ôsaka with his staff, and thence by sea to Yedo, whither the imperial army pursued him by the land-route. At Yedo some of the vassals of the Tokugawa could not make up their minds to submit complacently to the unavoidable lot of their suzerain and of themselves, and insisted on making their last stand against the approaching Imperialists by defending the city. But the wiser counsel prevailed, and the castle was surrendered to the Imperialists without bloodshed at the end of April. A handful of desperate _samurai_, who fortified themselves in the precincts of the Temple of Uyeno, the site of the present metropolitan park, was easily subdued by the Imperialists. The ex-Shogun, who had been interned at Mito on account of his having fought against the Imperialists, was released soon afterwards. By an Imperial grace, a member of a lateral branch of the Tokugawa was ordered to succeed the ex-Shogun as _daimyo_, and made the hereditary lord of Suruga. The first phase of the Revolution thus came to an end. The country, however, which had once been set astir could not be pacified so easily. The next to be chastised was the lord of Aidzu, a _daimyo_ who, remaining faithful to the Shogunate to the last, fought desperately in the battle of Fushimi and Toba, and retired to his territory in northern Japan after his defeat. Though he found supporters among the _daimyo_ of the neighboring territories, the forces of the Imperialists were in the meanwhile immensely reinforced, for the _daimyo_ of middle Japan, who had hitherto been neutral, now joined their colleagues of the south. The war began anew in the middle of June in the northern part of Honto. The combined forces of the northern _daimyo_ had to fight against fearful odds, and were successively defeated. The castle of Aidzu was closely invested, and capitulated at the beginning of November. The supporters of the lord of Aidzu also surrendered one after another to the Imperialists. It was soon after this that the adoption of the name of Meidji, as the designation of the opening era, was promulgated at Kyoto. The last chivalrous feat in behalf of the Shogun was performed by the fleet which belonged to the former Shogunate. Before the Revolution the Shogunate had kept a fleet consisting of eight ships, commanded by Admiral Yenomoto, who had received his naval education in Holland. This was the only navy worthy of its name in Japan at that time. After the capitulation of Yedo the Imperial Government ordered half of the men-of-war belonging to the fleet to be given up to itself, allowing the rest to be kept in the hands of the Tokugawa. The admiral was, however, too sorrowful to part with his ships, so that a little before the capitulation of Aidzu, he sailed out with all his fleet from the harbour of Yedo, and occupied Hakodate, a port at the southern end of the island of Yezo. But the forces he was able to land were no match for the victorious Imperialists, who became now quite free in all other quarters. The harbour of Hakodate was soon blockaded, and the Pentagon Fortress was besieged and taken. In June of the following year the whole island of Yezo was subdued, and the new name of Hokkaidô was given to it. With the surrender of Hakodate the military history of the Revolution of the Meidji came to its close, but the political transformation was not yet consummated. What was already accomplished concerned only the elimination of the Shogun from the political system of the country and the establishment of the direct rule of the Emperor over the _daimyo_. The latter, not reduced in number and undiminished in extent of territories, except a few who had forfeited the whole or a part of their territories by their resistance to the imperial order, still continued to hold their hereditary rights over their land and people as in the time of the Tokugawa. In short, the national question had only been partially solved, and there remained much to be done before the attainment of the final goal, the complete reconstruction of the whole empire. Various important changes necessary for it were put into practice during the next four years. In the year 1868, the city of Yedo changed its name to Tokyo, which means the eastern capital, and was made henceforth the constant residence of the Emperor instead of Kyoto. This was the beginning of the new era. In July 1869, the feudal rights of the _daimyo_ over their territories and people were abolished, after the voluntary renunciation of their privileges on the part of the latter, who now became hereditary governors salaried according to the income of each respective territory. If the Revolution had stopped short at this, then the prestige of the territorial lords might have still remained almost intact, for they still resided in the same territories which they had owned as _daimyo_, and they had still under them standing forces, consisting of their former _samurai_. The juridical transformation of what they owned as their private property into objects of their public jurisdiction was a change of too delicate a nature to manifest to the multitude of the people a political aspect totally different from that of the time of the Shogunate. It needed three years more to sweep away all these feudal shackles. In August of the year 1871 the division of the empire into territories was replaced by the division into prefectures, which were far less in number than the territories of the _daimyo_, the jurisdiction of the hereditary governors was suspended, and to each of the prefectures a new governor was appointed. The allowances of the _samurai_, which had still been hereditary, were also suspended, and their compensation was rendered in form of a bond, with gradations according to their former income. The new decimal monetary system was adopted. The Gregorian calendar was adopted. The military service which had been the exclusive calling of the _samurai_ class was now extended to people of all classes. The conscription system was introduced after the examples of the Western countries, and this reform naturally led to the loss of the privileges of the _samurai_. All people were now made equal before the law. Japan was at last clothed in quite modern attire. CHAPTER XIV EPILOGUE Japan of the past fifty years since the Revolution of the Meidji may be said to have been in a transition period, although we do not know when nor how she will settle down after all. As a transition period in the history of any country is generally its most eventful epoch, so our last half century has been the busiest time the nation has ever experienced. Not only that. We were ushered into the wide world, just at the time when the world itself began to have its busiest time also. The opening of the country at such a juncture may be compared to a man in deep slumber, who is aroused suddenly in the dazzling daylight of noon. Moreover, Japan has had another and not less important business to attend to, that is to say, she had to trim herself, and complete her internal reconstruction, a task which may not perhaps come to its completion for a long time to come. Excitation must be the natural outcome to anybody placed in such a position. Japan has over-worked indeed, and is yet working very hard. She has achieved not a little already, and is still struggling to achieve more. If we would try to describe the history of Japan during these fifty years, we should have more to tell than the history of the preceding twenty centuries. That is not, however, possible in the scope of this small volume. Another reason why we need not expatiate on this period of our national history is because it is comparatively better known to foreigners than the history of old Japan, though we are not sure that it is not really misunderstood. The root, however, of the misapprehension of Japan of the Meidji era lies deep in the misapprehension of the history of her past, for one who can understand rightly Japan of the past, may not err much in comprehending Japan of the present. I will not, therefore, describe in detail the contemporary history of Japan, but will content myself by giving merely a cursory view of it. It was none but the _samurai_, the mainstay of feudal Japan, who brought about the momentous change of the Meidji, and it was the _samurai_ of the lower class, who acted the chief part in the Revolution. The savants, however they might have proved useful in fanning the nationalistic spirit among the people, were after all not men of action. Only the _samurai_, when permeated with this spirit, could effect such a grand political change. There may be no doubt that the _samurai_ undertook the task for the sake of the national welfare, and most of all not to restore the already rotten régime which had once existed before the advent of the Kamakura Shogunate. But this evident truth was known neither to the court-nobles, who dreamt only of seeing their past glory recovered, nor to those idealists of ultra-conservative trend, who sincerely believed that the history of nearly twelve centuries might be simply ignored and the golden days of the Nara period be called back into life once more. The latter strongly urged the personal government of the Emperor and the restoration of the worship of the national gods to its ancient glory, while the former strove to recover the reins of government into their own hands. It was the result of their compromise, that the political organisation of the Taïhô era was formally revived, though with not a few indispensable modifications. Think of the statute of eleven hundred seventy years before recalled to reality again, and of a country, governed by a such a petrified statute, entering the concourse of the nations of the world in the nineteenth century. How comical it would have been if such a retrogression had been allowed to proceed even for a generation? The first to be disappointed were the court-nobles. The expectation of the ultra-conservatives was also far from being fulfilled. The country was in urgent need of a new legislation conformable to the new state of things, and the restored statute was soon found to be utterly inadequate to serve the purpose. The quixotic movement of the bigoted Shintoists to persecute Buddhism, which led to the lamentable demolition of many Buddhist sculptures and buildings of high artistic merit, was to subside as soon as it was started, for it was now the age of complete religious toleration, which was extended even to Christianity soon afterwards. The most extravagant expectation of the ultra-conservatives was thus frustrated, but the conservative spirit in the nation, which was by no means to be swept away at all found its devotees among the class of the _samurai_. Though they were the real makers of the Revolution, yet the loss of their privileges and material interests which it entailed, touched them sorely. A very small fraction of them served the new government as officials and soldiers of high and low rank, and could enjoy life much more comfortably than they did in the pre-Meidji days. The greater part of the _samurai_, however, were obliged to betake themselves to some of the callings which they were accustomed to look down upon with disdain, for if they did not work, the compensation which they received from the government did not suffice to sustain them for long. Some of them preferred to become farmers, and those who persisted in that line generally fared well. Many others turned themselves into merchants, and mostly failed; being accustomed to the simplicities of the life and the code of soldiers, and utterly unversed in the complexities of the code commercial, and the trickeries of the life merchants; and the small capital obtained by selling their compensation-bonds was soon squandered. What wonder if they began to regret and whine for better days of the past? Discontentment became rampant among them; but the inducement to its disruption was provided by the diplomatic tension with Korea. I have no space here to dwell upon the intricate history of the differences between Korea and our country in the later seventies of the nineteenth century. Suffice it to say that the militaristic party in and out of the government favoured the war with Korea, while the opposing party was against it, considering it injurious to sound national progress, especially at a time when it was an immediate necessity for the welfare of the country to devote all its resources to internal reconstruction. The war party with Takamori Saigô at its head seceded from the government. Saigô had been a great figure since the Revolution, as the representative _samurai_ of the Satsuma, and had a great many worshippers, so that even after his retirement his influence over the territory of Satsuma was immense. At last he was forced by his adorers, whose ill-feeling against the government now knew no bounds, to take up arms in order to purge the government, which seemed to them too effeminate and too radical. Not only the warlike and conservative _samurai_ of Satsuma, but all the _samurai_ in the other provinces of Kyushû, who sympathised with them, rose up and joined them. Siege was laid by them to the castle of Kumamoto, the site of régimental barracks. So far they had been successful, but owing to insufficiency of ammunition and provisions, they could not force their way much farther. Moreover, the Imperial Army recently organised, recruited mostly from the common people by the conscription system, proved very efficient, owing to the use of Snider rifles, although at first the new soldiers had been despised by the insurgents on account of their low origin. The siege of Kumamoto was at last raised; the remnant of the defeated forces of Saigô retired to a valley near the town of Kagoshima; Saigô committed suicide; and the civil war ended in the victory of the government in September 1877, seven months after its outburst. This civil war is an epoch-making event in the history of the Meidji era, in the sense that it was a death blow to the last and powerful remnant force of feudalism, the influence of the _samurai_. Though the _samurai_-soldiers who fought on the side of Saigô were very few in number compared with the host of the _samurai_ within the whole empire, and though not a few _samurai_-soldiers fought also on the opposite side, still it was clear that the insurgents represented the interests of the _samurai_ as a class better than the governmental army, and the defeat of the former had, on the prestige of the class, an effect quite similar to that which was produced in Europe of the later Middle Ages by the use of firearms and the organisation of the standing army, and significantly reduced the traditional influence of knights on horseback. It is for this reason that the democratisation of the nation markedly set in after the civil war, and with it the territorial particularism, which had been weakened by the Revolution, has been rapidly dying away. Political parties of various shades began to be formed. The works of Montesquieu and Rousseau were translated into Japanese, and widely read with avidity. The cry for a representative government became a national demand. Against the hesitating government riots were raised here and there. To sum up the history of the second decade of the Meidji era, we see that it strikingly resembles French history in the first half of the nineteenth century. The rise of the influence of the new-born bourgeois class in modern Japan may be said to have dated from this epoch. Europeanisation in manners and customs became more and more striking year by year. What is unique in our modern history is that, parallel with the growth of the democratic tendency in the nation, the imperial prestige effected a remarkable increase. This seemingly contradictory phenomenon may be explained easily by considering how our present notion of fidelity to the Emperor has evolved. The divine authority of the Emperor did not suffer any remarkable change after his personal régime ceased, though his political prestige had been eclipsed by the assumption of power by the Fujiwara nobles. Even after the establishment of the Shogunate, nobody in Japan had ever thought it possible that the Emperor could be placed in rank equal to or under a Shogun or any other sort of dictator, however virtually powerful he might have been. Through all political vicissitudes the Emperor has remained always the noblest personage in Japan, and in this sense he has been the focus toward which the heart of the whole nation turned. The relation of the Emperor to the people at large, during these periods of eclipse, was indirect. Between them intervened the Shogun and the _daimyo_ as actual immediate rulers, so that fidelity to the Emperor had been spoken of only academically, and their fidelity, in a concrete sense, had been solely centered in their immediate master, who reciprocated it by the protection he extended directly over them. Thus fidelity on the one hand and protection on the other hand had been conditioned by each other, and because the bond was naturally an essential link of the military régime, it was strengthened by its being handed down from generation to generation. In short, the fidelity of the Japanese may be said to be a product of the military régime, and owes its growth to the hereditary relation of vassalage. As all the ideals and virtues cherished among the _samurai_ class used to be considered by plebeians as worthy of imitation, if practicable in their own circles, fidelity was also understood by them in the same sense as among the military circles, that is to say, as a soldierly virtue in a subordinate toward his superior. So it grew to be more disciplinary, self-sacrificing and devotional, than in the times before the military régime. This condition of the national morals had continued to the end of the Tokugawa Shogunate, with occasional relaxations, of course. But now that the Shogunate and the _daimyo_ were eliminated from the political system, the foci toward which the fidelity of the people had been turned ceased to exist, and the fidelity remained, as it were, to be a cherished virtue of the nation though without a goal. It sought for a new focus, looked up one stage higher than the Shogun, and was glad to make the Emperor the object of its fervent devotion. Soon it developed almost into a passion, because the nation became more and more conscious of the necessity of a well-centred national consolidation, and it could find nowhere else a centre more fit for it than the Emperor. His prestige could increase in this way _pari passu_ with the growth of the democratic spirit in the nation. It is not, therefore, a mere traditional preponderance, but an authority having its foundation in modern civilisation. It cannot be denied, however, that history clothes our imperial house with special grandeur, which might not be sought in the case of any royal family newly come to power, and if conservatism would have a firm stand in Japan, it must be the conservatism which sprang from this historical relation of the people to the Emperor. This explains the sudden rise of the conservative spirit, which at once changed the aspect of the country at the end of the second decade of the Meidji era. It happened just at the time when the current of Europeanisation was at its height and the realisation of the hope of the progressives, the promulgation of the Constitution and the inauguration of representative government, drew very near. In February 1889 the Constitution long craved for was at last granted, and by virtue of it the first Imperial Diet was opened the next year. This adoption of the representative system of government by Japan used to be often cited as a rare example of the wonderful progress of a nation not European, and all our subsequent national achievements have been ascribed by foreigners to this radical change of constitution. Every good and every evil, however, which the system is said to possess, has been fully manifested in this country. We have since been continually endeavouring to train and accustom ourselves to the new régime, but our experience in modern party government is still very meagre, and it will take a long time to see all classes of the people appropriately interested in national politics, which is a requisite condition to reaping the benefit of constitutional government to the utmost. At present we have no reason to regret, on the contrary much reason to rejoice at, the introduction of the system. After the constitution came many organic laws, the civil and penal code, and so forth, in order of proclamation. This completion of the apparatus necessary to the existence of the modern state improved in no small measure the position of our country in the eyes of attentive foreigners. What, however, contributed most of all to the abrogation of the rights of extraterritoriality enjoyed by foreigners on Japanese soil, the object of bitter complaint and pining on the part of patriots, was the victory won by our army in the war against China. Before the outbreak of the Sinico-Japanese war, China had long been regarded not only by Western nations, but by the Japanese themselves, as far above our country in national strength, not to speak of the superiority of wealth as well as of civilisation in general. Though the victory of the expeditionary troops sent by Hideyoshi over the Chinese reinforcements despatched by the Emperor of the Ming to succour the invaded Koreans was sufficient to wipe off the military humiliation which our army had suffered on the peninsula nine hundred years before, and had much to do in enhancing the national self-confidence against the Chinese, the renewed imitation of her civilisation during the Tokugawa Shogunate turned the scale again in favour of China even to the eyes of the Japanese intelligents, and we had been constantly overawed by the influence of the big continental neighbour. So that the formal annexation of the Loochoo Islands in the first decade of the Meidji era against the opposing Chinese claim was considered to be a great diplomatic victory of the new government. The failure of the French expedition added also to the credit of the unfathomable force of the Celestial Empire. The grand Chinese fleet which visited our ports in the year previous to the war was thought to be more than our match, and made us feel a little disquieted. Contrary to our anticipation, however, battle after battle ended in our victory in the war of 1894-1895, and Korea was freed from Chinese hegemony by the treaty of Shimonoseki. Though some of the important articles of the same treaty were made useless by the intervention of the three Western powers, the war proved on the whole very beneficial to our country. The growth of the consciousness of the national strength emboldened the people to develop their activity in all directions. Several new industries began to flourish. The national wealth increased remarkably so as to enable the government to adopt a monometallic currency in gold. Education, high as well as low, was encouraged by the increase of various new schools and by the strengthening of their staffs. We laboured very hard for the ten following years, and then the Russo-Japanese war took place. It was indeed fortunate that we could win after all in the war in which we put our national destiny at stake. Not only in this war with Russia, but in that with China a decade before, we had been by no means sure of victory, when we decided to enter into them. It is such a war generally that proves salutary to the victorious party, when, after having been fought with difficulty, it ends in a way better than had been anticipated. It was so in the war of 1894-1895, and was not otherwise in that waged ten years later. These military successes, needless to say, increased still more the splendour of the imperial prerogative already magnificently revived. At the same time they countenanced the growth of conservatism. The impetus, however, which these wars gave to the general activity of the nation necessitated the people betaking themselves to the study and imitation of Western civilisation. And this Europeanisation, direct or through America, tended to make the nation more and more progressive. Thus conservatism in recent Japan has been marching hand in hand with liberalism, nay, even with radicalism, each alternately outweighing the other. This is why present Japan has appeared to be lacking in stability, especially in the eyes of foreign observers. The years immediately succeeding the Russo-Japanese war formed the culminating period of the glorious era of Meidji, and also a turning-point of the national history. Up to that time foreign nations had been lavishing their kindness in the education of the novice nation, who seemed to them to be yet in her teens on account of having just entered into the concert of the world as a passive hearer. They did not know what would become of Japan, brought up and instructed in this way. In military affairs the English were our first masters, then came the French and the German. In the navy, the Dutch followed by the English were our instructors. In the sphere of legislation, the first advisers were the French, to whom the Germans succeeded. The latter also taught us their science of medicine, which to study in Japan the German language has become the first requisite. Besides what has been enumerated above, knowledge of all branches of industries, arts, and sciences has been introduced into our country in the highly advanced stage of the brilliant century. Who would have dreamt, however, of the victory of the Japanese over the Russians in January of 1904? In the war, it is true, a great many foreigners sympathised with the cause of the Japanese, simply because all bystanders are unconsciously wont to take the side of the weaker. The fall of Port Arthur and the annihilation of the Russian navy on the Sea of Japan were beyond all expectation. They now began to think that they might be also taken unawares by us, as they thought the Russians were, forgetting that they had ignored to study the Japanese. They rather repented that they had underestimated the real Japanese unduly, and thereby they have fallen into the error of overestimation. We do not think that a sheer victory on a battlefield can in any case be taken as a measure of the progress of civilisation in the victor. Moreover, in what field could we have been able to beat any European nation except in battle, if we could beat her at all? Almost all of our cultural factors we have borrowed from foreign countries, and therefore they are of later introduction, so that they could not be easily brought by our imitation, however adroit it might be, to a stage nearly so high as they had reached in their original homes. But as to the art of fighting only, we have come to practise it since the old times, and during the successive Shogunates it had been the calling most honoured and followed by us at the expense of other acquirements. In short, it was the speciality of old Japan, so that our success in arms could not testify to the sudden jump in other branches of our civilisation. Those foreigners, however, who had been accustomed to judge us from afar, looked only at the scientific and mechanical side of modern war, of which we had availed ourselves, and surmised that if we could stand excellently the test in this department, we must certainly have surpassed what they had expected of us in all respects. This surmise, which they felt not very agreeably, they flatly imputed to our dissimulation and feigning, and branded them as our national vices, instead of attributing the miscalculation to their self-deception and ignorance as regards things Japanese. On the contrary, we have had never the least intention to deceive any foreigner in the estimation of the merit of what we have achieved. Would it not be ridiculously absurd to assume the existence of such a tendency in any living nation in the world? We have been thus overestimated and at the same time begun to be somewhat disliked by those short-sighted observers in foreign countries after our successful war with Russia. The pet nation of the whole world of yesterday was turned suddenly into the most suspected and dangerous nation of to-day! There have been many missionaries who had personal experience of our country, owing to their residence here for years, professing that they have tried their utmost to plead our cause. Unfortunately, their defence of us has not availed much, for a great part of them are used to depict us as a nation still evolving. Evolving they say, for our recent national progress is too evident a fact to be refuted, and they wish to ascribe it to their fruitful endeavours. Evolving, they say repeatedly, for they are fain to show that there is still remaining in Japan a wide field reserved for them to work, lest their _raison d'être_ in this country should otherwise be lost forever. In fact, we are now far enough advanced as a nation as not to require the tutelage of the missionaries of recent times. I regret that we have among us a certain number of typical braggarts, who unfortunately abound in every country, and their shameless bluffing has often caused astonishment to unprejudiced observers in foreign countries. Nevertheless, we as a nation are neither far better nor far worse than any other in the world. To remain as a petrified state, with plenty of well-preserved relics of all ages, is what we cannot bear for our country. We know well that a nation which produces sight-seers must be incomparably happier and more praiseworthy than that which furnishes quaint objects for show to please those sight-seers. If there be any other nation that wishes to make its home a peepshow for others, let it do so. That is not our business. What we aspire to earnestly as our national ideal is to make our country able to stand shoulder to shoulder with the senior Western nations in contributing to the advance and welfare of world civilisation. We shall proceed toward this goal, however fluctuating foreign opinion about us may be for years or ages to come. INDEX A Abe, family, 93 Aborigines, 28 Adoption, 346 Adzumakagami, 322 Agriculture, 78 Aidzu, 377ff. Ainu, 30ff., 66f., 70ff., 82ff., 86ff., 91, 104ff., 114, 119, 122ff., 125, 130, 143, 147, 153, 157, 175, 183, 192ff., 204, 237ff. Alienation of land, 346 Allod-holders, Frankish, 144 Alphabet, 167, 324 Amalgamation of cultures, 335, 347. _See_ Assimilation of cultures America, 371 ff., 394 Amita, 172 Amusements, 211 Ancient régime, 356 Annals, 364 Ansai, Yamazaki, 359 Anti-Semitism, 344 Apaches, 254 Archæology, 29 Archery, 205, 312 Architecture, 130ff., 296 Aristocracy, 62, 246, 250, 343 Armour, 314ff. Art, 129ff., 261, 331, 345 Artisans, 288ff. Æsop, Fables of, 262 Ashigaru, 304 Ashikaga, age of, 214, 222ff., 227, 231, 234ff., 238, 241, 243, 245ff., 248, 251, 258ff., 263, 274, 284ff., 296ff., 310, 312, 316, 318, 320, 328, 331, 344, 350, 360ff. Ashikaga, family, 206ff., 210, 215ff., 233, 268ff., 307 Ashikaga Shogunate, 187, 207, 210ff., 215ff., 223, 227ff., 242, 252, 257, 261, 264, 268, 307, 320 Ashikaga, town, 227 Assessment, 298 Assimilation of cultures, 150. _See_ Amalgamation of cultures Astronomy, 107ff., 349 Augury, 64, 139 Auspices, 139 Austria, 213 Ave Maria, 173 B Balkan, 68 Ballad, 129, 134 Ball, kicking of, 237 Barons, English, 213 Barriers, 291, 342 Bartering, 84ff. Biographies, 365 Bismarck, 356 Biwa, instrument, 162 Biwa, Lake, 119ff. Block-engraver, 233ff. Blood-ties, 89 Body-guard, of Shogun, 294ff. _See_ Hatamoto Books, 231ff., 348, 358 Bookstores, 325 Botany, 349 Bourbons, 282 Bourgeois, 237, 245, 250, 332, 345, 388 Brewers, 244 Bricks, 131 Britons, 69 Buddhism, 8, 96, 98ff., 109, 118, 130, 145ff., 162, 168ff., 233, 235, 237, 250, 262, 273ff., 351ff, 359, 384 Buffoons, 244 Buffoons, 262, 273ff., 351ff., 359, 384 Bulgarians, 68 Bunjingwa, 332 Byôbu, 250 C Cæsars, 154 Calendar, 107ff. Calligraphy, 323, 325, 331 Calvinism, 189 Cape Colony, 70 Carlovingians, 94 Carpets, 133 Caste-system, 61, 343 Castles, feudal, 237 Catholic, 170, 350 Cattle, 78 Cavalry, 304 Celibacy, 351 Census, 116ff., 125, 144 Centralisation, 15ff., 89, 92, 95ff., 221ff. Chaotic period of Japanese history, 224 Chen-Shou, Chinese historian, 59 Chikafusa, Kitabatake, 321 China, 7, 99, 106, 159, 195, 225ff., 228ff., 234, 237, 241ff., 245, 392 Chinese, people, 233, 348 Chinese art, 129, 249 Chinese Buddhists, 226 Chinese civilisation 6ff., 57, 60, 96, 105ff., 227, 253, 261, 348, 371 Chinese colonists, 58 Chinese language, 60ff., 166ff., 235, 324, 362, 366 Chinese literature, 129, 134, 152, 227, 230, 232ff., 248, 321ff., 327, 358 Chinese philosophy, 358 Chivalry, 162 Christianity, 245, 251ff., 262ff., 278, 280, 296, 348, 351, 353, 385 Chronicles, 53ff., 61, 277, 364 Chronology, 107, 235ff. Church, 352 Churche, 195ff. Chu-tse, 352, 359, 366 Cities, growth of, 223, 230, 241 Civil Code, 392 Civil war, between two branches of Imperial family, 240, 255ff., 355 Class-system, 140, 288ff., 343, 347 Classicism, 224 Clay, types made of, 320 Clients, 81, 87, 90ff., 115 Climate, 21ff. Cochin China, 323 Codification, 123 Coins, 231ff., 298, 312 Common people, 141, 145, 289, 328, 389. _See_ Plebeians Communication, 236, 238, 280 Community, religious, 172 Community, self-providing, 84 Compensation-bonds, 385 Condottieri, 242, 277 Confiscation, 345 Confucius, 8, 232, 234, 320, 328ff., 352, 358ff. Connoisseurs, 244, 285 Conscription, 125, 381, 387 Conservatism, 163, 269, 390, 394 Constitution, 391ff. Convent, 233 Conventionalism, 193, 272 Corporations, 84 Corvée, 116 Court-ladies, 152 Court-musicians, 135 Court-nobles, Courtiers, 131, 140, 152ff., 156, 204ff., 210ff., 215, 218ff., 227, 237, 252, 255, 272, 306, 308ff., 335, 338, 360, 374f., 383ff. Court-philosophers, 352 Craft-groups. _See_ Groups Crafts-men, 340 Crown prince, 95, 311 Crusades, 226 Culture, 238, 335, 347 Curios, 244 Currency, system of, 298. _See_ Monetary system and Coins Cycle, chronological, 107ff. D Daibutsu, 136, 144 Daimyo, 225, 236ff., 290ff., 293ff., 299ff., 307, 310ff., 315ff., 325ff., 331ff., 337ff., 358ff., 380, 389ff. Dai-Nihon-shi, 364 Dancing, 135 Dark Ages, 224 Date, family, 303 Deities, 168, 170 Democratisation, 388ff., 390 Deshima, 348, 371 Diadochi, 279 Dialect, 315, 341 Diplomatists, 244, 301, 349 Disintegration of the Empire, 216 Dismemberment, 10f Dissimulation, 396 District-governors, 116 Djitô, 181 ff., 202ff., 212ff., 225, 294, 297 Doctrinaires, 373 Documents, 364 Dog-shooting, 205, 294ff., 314 Domains, 80ff., 90ff., 94, 97, 306, 330 Domicile, 340 Dramatist, 333 Dutchmen, 348f., 350, 353, 371, 394 E Earthenware, 29 East Chin dynasty of China, 99 East Roumelia, 68 Education, 235, 238, 289ff., 358, 394ff. Educational Museum, 327 Eighty Thousand, 294. _See_ Hatamoto Elders, 294 El Dorado, 265 Embargo, 291 Emperor, 80ff., 95, 101, 108, 223, 306ff., 327, 365, 367ff., 384, 389ff. Empire style, 285 Empress, 141, 310, 336 England, 69 Englishmen, 199, 395 Epic, 130, 134 Etiquette, 145, 250ff. Europe, 224, 371ff. European civilisation, 262, 347, 348, 353 European history, 12 Europeanisation, 388, 391, 394 Europeans, 347 Excavation in northern China, 130 Executioners, 343 Ex-Emperor, 311 Extradition, 340 Extra-territoriality, 392ff. F Facsimile, 325 Family life, 256ff. Farmers, 340. _See_ Peasants Fetichism, 272 Feudalism, 12ff., 302, 379, 387 Feudal Japan, 383 Feudatories, 225, 237, 242, 247, 293ff., 351 Fighting, 396ff. Fire-arms, 243, 312, 388 Fiscal-system, 306 Florence, 241 Flower-trimming, 132ff., 244 Foreign relations, Foreigners, 326, 373 Forest, 305 Formosa, 23, 27 Fortress, 296 France, 69, 282 Freeholders of land, 81 Freemen, 81 French, 295 French Revolution, 356 Fu-Chien, Chinese potentate, 96 Fudai, 294ff., 296 Fujiwara, age of, 156ff., 163ff., 174, 177ff., 186ff., 248, 254ff., 263, 272, 275, 306, 389 Fujiwara, family, 140ff., 149, 152ff., 202, 204, 218, 306, 336 Fukuwara, Settsu, 159. _See_ Kobe Fushimi, 321ff., 376ff. G Gemmyô, Empress, 53, 130ff. Genealogical records, 337 Generalissimo, to chastise the Ainu, 183 Genji-monogatari, 152, 248, 261, 360 Genkô-shakusho, 235 Gentlemen, 328 Gentry, 330, 335 German Confederation, 329 German Empire, 194, 356 German Language, 395 Germans, 79, 94, 129, 395 Germany, 68, 213, 239 Go-Daigo, Emperor, 205, 306, 321 Goetz von Berlichingen, 246 Go-Kenin, 179, 202, 294 Go-Midzunowo, Emperor, 319, 321 Go-Sanjô, Emperor, 178 Government, signification of, 177 Go-Yôzei, Emperor, 319ff. Great Britain, 194 Great Japan, History of, 365 Greece, 10f., 136 Gregorian Calendar, 381 Groups, system of, 62, 80, 82ff., 88, 92, 115 Guild, of Medieval Europe, 84 Guns, 243, 312 H Hachiman, of Tsurugaoka, 177 Hai-nan, island, 65 Haito, 72, 83, 86 Hakata, 190, 223, 226, 228ff., 233, 241 Hakodate, 378 Haniwa, 129 Hanseatic towns, 239 Harakiri, 287ff. Harps, 133 Hatamoto, 295, 305ff., 310, 376 Hei-an, 146. _See_ Kyoto Heike, 162. _See_ Taira Heike-monogatari, 162 Hidehira, Fujiwara, 192 Hidetada, Tokugawa, 350 Hideyoshi, Toyotomi, 267, 269, 279ff., 285, 293ff., 298ff., 306ff., 319ff., 351, 358, 392 Hieta-no-Are, 53f. Highlanders, 157 Higo, province, 72 Hikwan, 214, 217. _See_ Protégés Historiography, 363, 365f. History, as science, 4ff., 73 History, study of, 269, 349, 358, 364ff. Hitachi, province, 296 Hiyei, Mount, Monasteries, 275. _See_ Yenryakuji Hizen, province, 376 Hogen, era, 160 Hohenstaufen, 219 Hôjô, family, 184ff., 188, 201ff., 205, 207, 212, 227, 256 Hokke, Buddhist sect, 189, 274. _See_ Nichiren-shû Hokkaidô, Island, 23, 27, 32ff., 119, 237ff., 370, 378 Holland, 378. _See_ Dutchmen Holy Roman Empire, 295 Homestead, 303 Homicide, 288 Hôhen, 173ff., 189, 234 Hongwanji, Temple, 276 Hontô, Main Island, 31, 67ff., 119, 122ff., 192, 302, 316, 344, 378 Horsemanship, 133, 304, 313 Horses, 78, 116 Hosokawa, family, 240ff. Hostages, 257, 300, 338 Hsiao-king, 258, 319ff. Humanism, 226, 249ff., 260, 272, 317, 328ff., 331, 333 Hunting, 133 Hyogo, 241, 374. _See_ Kobe I Ideographs, 57 Idolatry, 273 Idzu, province, 160 Idzumi, province, 239ff. Iki, island and province, 121, 197 Ikkô-shû, 274, 351. _See_ Jôdo-shinshû Illiteracy, 28, 61ff. Illustrations, 325 Imagawa, family, 259 Imitation, 129ff. Immigrants, 28, 34, 76, 78, 81, 89, 91, 99ff. Immunity, 142 Imperial court, 199, 227 Imperial Diet, 391 Imperial family, 62, 87ff., 90ff., 276, 336 Imperial household, 307, 311ff. Imperial power, 92, 355 Imperial residences, 114 Imperialists, 376ff. Impurity of blood, 344. _See_ Pollution Iname, Soga, 101 Indifferentism, 352 Individualism, 165, 246ff, 261, 264 Indoor-life, 132, 249 Infantry, 304, 312 Inland Sea, 25ff., 159, 161, 230ff. Invincible Armada, 199 Iron age, 46ff. Iruka, Soga, 112 Ise, province and Shrines, 102, 238ff. Ise-monogatari, 261 Italian cities, 226 Italians, 261, 350 Italy, 285 Iwaki, province, 104 Iwami, province, 305 Iwashiro, province, 104 Iyeyasu, Tokugawa, 267, 281ff., 293, 296, 309, 318ff., 321ff., 350ff., 358, 364, 368 J Japan, climate of, 21ff. Japan, historic, 24, 51ff., 75 Japan, Northern, 26ff., 70 Japan, Sea of, 24, 119 Japan, Southern, 26ff. Japanese, people, 9, 33ff., 37, 45, 61, 65, 75, 122ff., 164 Japanese architecture, 39ff. Japanese art, 130 Japanese authors, 234 Japanese history, 1ff., 10, 18f., 50, 75, 78 Japanese language, 35, 167 Japanese literature, 129ff., 133ff., 151, 166ff., 249, 261, 323, 360ff. Jesuits, 264ff. Jews, 343 Jimmu, Emperor, 115 Jingô-shôtôki, 321 Jingu-kôgô, Empress, 59ff., 93ff., 98 Jôdo-shinshû, Buddhist sect, 245, 274. _See_ Ikkô-shû Jôdo-shû, Buddhist sect, 174, 189, 190 Jôkyu, era, 185, 205 Jomei, Emperor, 102 Jôruri, 162 Jôyei, era and Laws, 185, 235 Jûjutsu, 313ff. K Kachi, 304 Kaempfer, Engelhardt, 284 Kaga, province, 293, 299, 303 Kagoshima, 233, 387 Kakemono, 249 Kamako, Nakatomi. _See_ Kamatari Kamakura, 156, 176, 191, 204ff., 207, 222ff., 225ff., 272 Kamakura, period, 174, 202, 214ff., 224, 232, 234, 237, 250, 254ff., 274, 294, 296, 383 Kamakura Shogunate, 156, 175, 177, 179ff., 182ff., 186ff., 193, 197ff., 212, 214, 254ff., 259, 285, 294, 307, 309, 322, 383 Kamatari, Nakatomi, 112ff., 140. _See_ Fujiwara Kana, 167 Kanazawa, Musashi, 227 Kanera, Ichijô, 218 Kanetsugu, Naoye, 319, 321 Kano school of painters, 247, 249, 331 Keichû, priest, 361 Khubilai, Mongol Khan, 198, 200 Kimmei, Emperor, 96, 100, 101 Kiso, forest of, 305 Kiyomori, Taira, 158ff., 163, 181, 272 Kiyowara, family, 149 Knights, 388 Knights-errant, 242 Knights-immediate, 295 Kobe, 159, 241, 374 Kojiki, 53f., 362 Kojiki-den, 362 Kokinshû, 360 Koku, 299ff., 302ff. Kokuri, 60, 96, 99, 110, 121, 196. _See_ Korea Kôkyoku, Empress, 113 Kômei, Emperor, 374 Korea, 23, 27, 34, 57ff., 96, 196, 228, 237, 263, 280, 319ff., 386ff. Koreans, 197 Koropokkuru, 30 Koto, 133 Kôtoku, Emperor, 113 Kôtsuke, province, 91 Kôya, Mount and Monasteries, 233, 275ff. Kreis-institution, 213 Kugatachi, 65 Kujiki, 55ff. Kumamoto, 387ff. Kumaso, 66, 72 Kuni, 81 Kutara, 56, 97ff., 110, 120ff. _See_ Korea Kwai-fu-sô, 134 Kwammu, Emperor, 146ff. Kwantô, 192 Kyoto, 119ff., 146ff., 152, 157, 159, 161, 166, 174ff., 181, 186, 190, 191, 199, 204ff., 212, 216, 218ff., 222ff., 225, 227ff., 232ff., 235, 238, 240, 245, 268, 277ff., 306, 309ff., 323, 327, 331, 333, 335, 364, 374, 376ff., 378, 380 Kyushu, 23, 33, 49, 66ff., 72, 91, 121, 197, 223, 228, 230, 243, 302, 315, 386 L Labour, agricultural, 84 Labour, manual, 84 Lacquering, 243 Land-appropriation, by warriors, 154 Land-distribution, 115ff., 125 Landholders, 80, 87ff., 141ff. Landlords, 87ff., 90, 115 Lands, confiscation of, 91 Lands, Crown, 80 Lands, granted by Emperors, 80 Lands, new exploration of, 84, 87, 90ff. Lands, private, 80 Landscapes, 166, 249 Land-survey, 279, 298 Land-tenure, 214 Learning, 326ff., 345 Leaseholders, 141 Legislation, 393 Legisimism, 367 Levantine trade, 226 Library, 227. _See_ Kanazawa Liegnitz, battle of, 198 Lieutenant, of Shogun at Kyoto, 207 Lieutenant, of djitô, 203 Limes, 69 Lineage, 299, 303, 337 Literati, 61, 149, 237, 247, 261, 325, 328, 332, 345 Longevity, 64 Loo-choo, islands, 23, 27ff., 241, 393 Lung-yü, 232ff. Lutheranism, 189 Lyang, dynasty in China, 100 Lyao, river, 57 M Mabuchi, Kamo, 361 Magatama, 42f. Majordomo, 94 Makura-no-sôshi, 152 Mannyô-shû, 134, 360f. Manors, 182ff., 211, 214, 218ff., 223, 252ff., 279, 297, 310 Manuscripts, historical, 325 Market, 65, 66 Marriage, 211, 316, 335ff., 343 Maximilian I., Emperor of Germany, 213 Mayeta, family, 293, 299, 303 Mediatised princes of Germany, 295 Medicine, 234, 348, 394 Meidji, Emperor, 374 Meidji, era, 167, 283, 293, 335, 343, 354f., 357, 378ff., 387 Meidji, Restoration of, 146, 367, 379ff., 382ff., 385ff., 391, 393, 394 Mercantilism, 292 Mercenary, 286 Merchants, 8, 241ff., 240, 289ff., 333ff., 340 Merovingians, 94 Mésalliance, 335ff. Metallic types, 321. _See_ Types Middle Ages, 343, 351, 388 Migration, 28, 339ff. Mikawa, province, 259 Militarism, 337 Military affairs, 395 Military class, 156. _See_ Warrior Military régime, 315, 317, 326ff., 330, 333ff., 389 Military sciences, 349 Military service, 143, 381 Military system, 124ff., 203 Mimana, a Korean state, 120 Minamoto, family, 156, 163ff., 166, 175, 186, 188, 202, 205, 213, 215, 255, 309 Mines, 305 Ming, dynasty in China, 228, 229, 263, 288 Mino, province, 268 Misapprehension, 383 Misogi, 43f., 63 Missionaries, 145, 245, 262, 264ff., 278ff., 284, 327, 351, 370, 397ff. Mito, 296, 364ff., 377 Mitsukuni, Tokugawa, 364 Miyake, 90ff. Modernisation, 270ff. Mommu, Emperor, 131ff. Momoyama, style of art, 285 Monetary system, 381, 393. _See_ Currency Mongols, 8, 195, 197ff., 206, 227ff., 381 Monometallic system, 393 Mononobe, family, 93, 101ff. Monzayemon, Chikamatsu, 333 Morals, 253ff., 359, 390 Moriya, Mononobe, 102 Movable types, 319ff., 323ff. _See_ Types Municipal councillors of Sakai, 241 Municipal freedom, 241 Murasaki-shikibu, 152, 248 Mushashi, province, 282 Musicians, 243 Mutsu, province, 119, 147, 161, 192, 303 Myths, 362 N Nagasaki, 225, 305, 348f. Nagato, province, 230, 376 Nagoya, 296 Naïveté, 363 Naka-no-Oye, Prince. _See_ Tenchi, Emperor Nakatomi, family, 93, 113. _See_ Fujiwara Naniwa, 147. _See_ Osaka Nara, age of, 132ff., 135ff., 144, 146, 384 Nara, town, 233 National consciousness, 143 National gods, 384. _See_ Deities Naturalism, 249 Navigation, 120 Navy, 395 Negoro, Temple of, 276 Nembutsu, 172ff. Netsuke, 331 Nichiren, priest, 189 Nichiren-shû, Buddhist sect, 189, 274, 351. _See_ Hokke Nihongi, 53ff., 62, 107, 129, 320, 361f. Niigata, 67, 305 Nine Years, War of, 156 Nintoku, Emperor, 115 Nishijin, 243 Nobility, military, 294 Nobles, 131, 140, 142, 144ff., 148, 151ff., 183ff. Nobunaga, Oda, 267ff., 274ff., 282, 308, 332, 351 Nobuzane, 246 Nô-dancers, 345 Norinaga, Motoöri, 361f. Norito, 362 Norizane, Uyesugi, 233 Normans, in Sicily, 48 Notes, 312 Novelists, 361 Novels, 249, 261, 360 Nutari, 67, 71 O Occupations of ancient Japanese, 78 Oda, family, 259, 267ff., 285 Odawara, 233 Officers, 153, 303 Officials, 108ff., 304, 312ff., 328, 339 Ohmi, province, 116, 119, 218, 120 Ohmi Laws, 116 Ohnin, era and civil war of, 216ff., 232, 243, 257, 307 Oh-no-Yasumaro, 53 Ohsumi, province, 33, 126 Ohtomo, family, 93, 101 Ohtsu, 119ff., 147 Ondo, strait of, 159 One-six, Lord, 225 On-no-Imoko, 106, 111ff. Orders, mendicant, 173 Organic laws, 391 Orleans, family, 282 Ornaments, 29 Orthodox, Greek Church, 170 Osaka, 114, 147, 225, 279, 332ff., 361, 376 Ôuchi, family, 230ff., 240 Outdoor-life in Nara age, 132 Overestimation, 395 Owari, province, 268, 296 P Pacific, Ocean, 24, 119ff. Painters, 243, 345 Painting, 130, 249, 331 Pastimes, literary, 210, 237 Peasants, 288ff. _See_ Farmers Peasants' War, 246 Pedigrees, 337 Pedlers, 290 Peerage list, 338 Penal code, 392 Peninsular states, 112 Period-name, 114 Philologists, 361f. Physicians, 326, 345. Picts, 69 Picts' Wall, 69 Pilgrims to Ise Shrines, 238ff. Pirates, 197ff., 228, 236 Plays, religious, 170 Plebeians, 289ff., 344ff., 347, 387 Plutocrats, 333 Poems, 134ff. Poetry, 331 Poets, 243, 361 Political development, 16 Political parties, 389 Politics, 358f. Pollution, 63f., 343 Population, 126 Porcelain-making, 243 Port Arthur, 395 Portrait-painting, 247ff. Portuguese, 243, 350 Pottery, 44 Preachers, Buddhist, 168 Predominant stock of Japanese, 87ff., 93 Prefectures, 380 Prehistoric, 50ff. Pre-Meidji régime, 356 Prerogative, imperial, 307 Preservation, 270 Priests, Buddhist, 208, 326 Primogeniture, 92, 202, 337, 347 Printing, 231ff. Privilege, 343 Proletariat, 245 Protégés, 214, 217 Proto-historic, 50 Provinces, 81, 90, 115 Provincial governors, 114, 115, 180 Prussia, 275, 329 Publication, 323 Public land, 141ff. Publishers, 325 Purchase-system, 345 Q Quattrocento, 261, 285 R Race, 1, 21, 27, 75ff., 81 Rainy season, 24 Ransoms, 286 Rationalism, 352, 366 Reading circle, 324 Realistic, 248 Recitation, 162 Red tape, 272 Reformation, 246, 285, 328 Reformed Church, 350 Reforms, 138 Regency, 148, 306, 309 Religion, 117, 168ff. Religious community, 172 Religious movements, 18 Religious pictures, 246 Renaissance, 236, 251, 261, 285ff., 328 Renga, 210, 237 Representative government, 391 Reprinting of books, 319ff. Restoration of Bourbons, 355 Restoration of Meidji, 283, 355 Restoration of Stuarts, 355 Retainers, 183, 188, 197, 199ff., 202, 205, 213ff., 233, 294ff., 301 Revenue, 143 Rhetoric, 331 Rhine, 68 Rice, 41ff., 116, 297ff. Richû, Emperor, 57 Rigorism, 366f. Rikuchû province, 147 Rôchû, 294 Rococo, 285 Roman Empire, 125 Roses, War of, 206 Rousseau, 388 Rowing, 133 Rumination, 9 Russians, 370 Russo-Japanese War, 393ff. S Sado, island and province, 305 Saga, Emperor, 250 Saghalien, 23, 27 Sakai, city, 223, 225, 230, 233ff., 243, 277, 305, 332ff. Sakanouye-no-Tamuramaro, 147 Sake, 244 Salic law, 202 Samurai, 288, 295, 301ff., 312ff., 318, 327ff., 335, 339ff., 380, 383, 385, 387, 389 Sanetomo, Minamoto, 226 San-kuo-chi, 59ff., 71, 84, 99 Satsuma, province, 23, 33, 72, 126, 238, 303, 376, 386 Schools, 358 Scipios, 154 Scotland, 69 Screens, 250. _See_ Byôbu Scribes, 57, 61f., 82 Scroll-paintings, 165, 246, 249 Sculptures, 130, 136, 164ff., 384 Seasonal changes, 24ff. Secretaries, 62 Seigneur, 81ff., 87 Sei-shônagon, 152 Sekigahara, 293, 309, 322 Semi-independent lords, 11 Sen-no-Rikqû, 244 Sentimentalism, 248 Seppuku, 287ff. Sesshû, 249 Settsu, province, 114, 147 Seventeen Articles, 109 Shamisen, 162 Shiba, family, 268 Shi-chi, 364 Shikoku, island, 33, 240 Shimabara, 313 Shimatsu, family, 303 Shimonoseki, 161, 230ff., 393 Shinano, province, 67, 305 Shingon, Buddhist sect, 275 Shinran, priest, 189 Shin-shû, 189, 351f. _See_ Ikkôshu and Jôdo-shinshû Shintoism, 39ff., 63, 117ff., 145ff., 168ff., 172, 181, 203, 273, 359, 262f., 363, 384 Ship-building, 240 Shiragi, 59f., 97, 110, 120ff., 196 Shirakawa, Emperor, 178 Shirakawa, town in Mutsu, 147, 192 Shogun, 181ff., 197, 201ff., 209ff., 213, 215ff., 247, 255, 294ff., 300, 305, 307ff., 311, 325ff., 329, 331, 333, 346, 348, 355, 360, 368ff., 372f., 378, 389 Shogunate, 11, 156, 272, 302, 389, 390, 396 Shômu, Emperor, 132, 140, 164, 336 Shooting, 312 Shop-keepers, 290 Shôsôin, 132 Shôtoku, Crown Prince, 55, 102, 109 Shôyen, 180. _See_ Manors Shrines, 252. _See_ Shintoism Shugo, 182, 210, 212ff., 216ff., 224, 296ff. Shu-king, 232 Siberia, 370 Silesia, 198 Singers, 243 Singing, 135 Sinico-Japanese War, 392ff. Sinico-mania, 149, 366 Slavery, 80 Snider, rifle, 387 Social progress, 16 Soga, family, 93, 100ff., 112, 140 Soga-no-Umako, 55 Soga-no-Yemishi, 55 Solidarity, national, 200ff. Southern China, 99ff. Southern Korea, 97 Spaniards, 350 Spy-system, 257 Ssuma-Chien, 364 Ssuma-Tateng, 100 Still-life, 249 Stories, 248 Storms, cyclonic, 24 Story-tellers, 244 Stuarts, 355 Students sent to China, 111ff., 138ff. Succession, law of, 92, 346ff. Sugawara, family, 149 Sugawara-no-Michizane, 150 Sui, dynasty in China, 106, 110 Suicide, 287ff., 314 Suiko, Empress, 55f., 106, 108 Sumpu, Shidzuoka, 322 Sung, dynasty in China, 8ff., 190, 195, 226ff., 232, 263, 322, 368 Superstitions, 139, 272, 276, 352, 366 Suruga, province, 91, 268, 322, 377 T Taïhô, era and Statutes of, 117, 185, 335, 384 Taïkwa, era and reforms of, 80, 114, 116, 118, 123ff., 128, 220 Taira, family, 156ff., 163ff., 174ff., 181ff., 188, 192, 309 Takakura, Emperor, 158 Takamori, Saigô, 386ff. Takanobu, painter, 165, 246 Takauji, Ashikaga, 206ff., 215 Takayori, Sasaki, 218 Takeshi-uchi, 93 Tang, dynasty in China, 7ff., 79, 117, 120ff., 128ff., 136, 137, 149ff., 196, 263, 322 Tankei sculptor, 164 Tanners, 343 Taoism, 273 Tatami, 39, 132ff. Taxes, 116, 125ff., 142, 279 Tea-ceremony, 244, 250 Temmu, Emperor, 53f. Temples, Buddhist, 39, 142, 181, 203, 252, 353 Tempyô, era, 164ff., 360 Tenchi, Emperor, 111ff., 115ff., 119, 131, 133 Tendai, Buddhist sect, 189 Terakoya, elementary school, 176 Territories, 252ff., 259ff., 291, 295ff., 300ff., 305ff., 312, 316, 337ff., 341ff., 345, 347, 358, 372 Teutonic nobles, 198 Teutonic Order of Knights, 275 Teutons, land-system of, 79 Text-book, 235 Textiles, 116 Theatre, 333 Thirty Years' War, 350 Three Years, War of, 156 Tiles, 131 Toba, village, 376f. Toba-sôjô, painter-priest, 166 Tôdaiji, Temple, 136 Toi, 197 Tokimune, Hôjô, 198ff. Tokugawa, family, 259ff., 267, 282, 294, 296, 309, 337, 357, 361, 375f., 377 Tokugawa, age of, 225, 285, 288ff., 294, 310, 312, 328, 332, 340, 342, 353f., 361ff., 379 Tokugawa Shogunate, 17, 187, 282, 284ff., 290ff., 296, 301, 305ff., 309ff., 315, 317, 325ff., 329, 332, 336ff., 34i, 344ff., 352, 356, 358, 361, 363, 370ff., 380, 390, 392 Tokyo, 282, 379 Toleration, religious, 352f., 385 Tombs, 28 Toneri, prince, 53f. Tonkin, 323 Tosa, school of painters, 247, 249 Totemism, 272 Tôtômi, province, 67, 268 Towns, provincial, 225 Toyotomi, family, 267, 285, 293 Tozama, 294, 296 Travelling, 236, 342 Tripitaka, Buddhist, 320, 322 Tsuba, 331 Tsugaru, strait of, 120 Tsunayoshi, Tokugawa, 327 Tsushima, island and province, 121 Types, in printing, 319ff., 322ff. _See_ Clay-types, Metallic types, and Movable types Typhoon, 41 U Ultra-conservatism, 384ff. Umako, 102, 109. _See_ Soga-no-Umako Unification, 14ff., 238, 260, 267, 273ff., 280, 308, 367 Uniqueness of the Japanese, 75 United States, 373 Unkei, sculptor, 164 Usufruct of land, 141, 341 Utagaki, 135 Utai, 162 Utilitarianism, 328ff. Uyeno, in Toyko, 377 Uyesugi, family, 321 V Vassalage, 80, 153, 212, 214, 240, 294ff., 302, 304, 389 Versification, 234, 323, 360 Village, 330 Vulgarisation, 224, 248 W Wakayama, 296 Wani, family, 93 War, 194 Warehouse, 333 Warfare, 286ff. Warriors, 154, 203ff., 206, 215, 227, 232, 254ff., 289ff., 306, 308ff., 312ff., 316, 319, 327, 334, 339, 345, 358, 372 Weapons, 65 Weavers, Chinese, 100 Weaving, 100, 243 Wei, dynasty in China, 59 Wen-hsüan, 321 West, civilisation of the, 9, 369 Women, 337 Wood-block printing, 322ff. Wood-types, 320, 323 Written characters, 28 Wu-ti, Emperor of China, 57 X Xavier, Francis, 245, 264 Y Yamaguchi, 223, 230, 233, 245 Yamana, family, 225 Yamashiro, province, 146 Yamato, province, 90, 95, 115, 147, 240 Yamato, river, 239 Yang-ti, Emperor of China, 110 Yasumaro. _See_ Oh-no-Yasumaro Yasutoki, Hôjô, 185ff. Yechigo, province, 67, 319 Yedo, 187, 282, 294ff., 300ff., 306, 309ff., 327, 330ff., 338, 348, 373, 377, 378f. _See_ Tokyo Yemishi, 112ff. _See_ Soga-no-Yemishi Yenomoto, Admiral, 378 Yenryakuji, Temple on Mount Hiyei, 159, 173, 276 Yeshin, priest, 173ff. Yezo, island of, 370, 379. _See_ Hokkaido Yodo, river, 147 Yoichi, Suminokura, 323, 325 Yonezawa, 321 Yoritomo, Minamoto, 156, 160, 175ff., 179ff., 181ff., 184, 186ff., 192, 201ff., 213, 215, 226, 272, 309 Yoriyoshi, Minamoto, 156 Yôsai, priest, 190, 250 Yoshihisa, Ashikaga, 217ff. Yoshihisa, Tokugawa, 374ff. Yoshiiye, Minamoto, 156, 177, 309 Yoshimasa, Ashikaga, 216ff. Yoshimitsu, Ashikaga, 229 Yoshimoto, Imagawa, 268 Yoshimune, Tokugawa, 349 Yoshiteru, Ashikaga, 269 Yoshitsune, Minamoto, 161, 192 Yuan, Mongol dynasty in China, 8, 196, 197ff., 226ff., 263 Yûryaku, Emperor, 93, 134 Yushima, in Tokyo, 327 Z Zen, Buddhist sect, 190, 226, 325, 332 Zen priests, 226, 235, 247, 251 Zodiacal signs, 107 Transcriber's Notes: Throughout the document, the romanization of Japanese words was in a form dissimilar to that used today. For instance, the era immediately prior to the Showa era was called the Meidji era rather than the Meiji era. No attempt was made to modernize the romanization used. Also, throughout the document there was inconsistent hyphenation of Japanese words. No attempt was made to make the hyphenation consistent, inasmuch as the notion of hyphenation is absent in the Japanese language. Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS. Throughout the document, the [oe] ligature was replaced with "oe". Errors in punctuations, spelling, and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted below: On page vii, "foreging" was replaced with "foregoing". On page xvii, a period was added after "GROWTH OF THE IMPERIAL POWER". On page 16, "political devolopment" was replaced with "political development". On page 24, "necesasry" was replaced with "necessary". On page 25, "later" was replaced with "latter". On page 29, "archaeological" was replaced with "archæological". On page 70, "necesary" was replaced with "necessary". On page 81, "his his" was replaced with "his". On page 92, "inucleus" was replaced with "nucleus". On page 94, "dimplomatic" was replaced with "diplomatic". On page 102, "succeded" was replaced with "succeeded". On page 103, "conslidated" was replaced with "consolidated". On page 131, "hough" was replaced with "though". On page 134, "peneterated" was replaced with "penetrated". On page 139, "selfsatisfaction" was replaced with "self-satisfaction". On page 159, "verisification" was replaced with "versification". On page 159, "sarcosanctity" was replaced with "sacrosanctity". On page 168, "succees" was replaced with "success". On page 169, "neghbourhood" was replaced with "neighbourhood". On page 170, "comformable" was replaced with "conformable". On page 179, a period was placed after "government". On page 182, "maner" was replaced with "manor". On page 183, "jurisriction" was replaced with "jurisdiction". On page 190, "conincided" was replaced with "coincided". On page 192, "annihiliation" was replaced with "annihilation". On page 194, "the war of" was replaced with "the wars of". On page 195, "aboriginies" was replaced with "aborigines". On page 201, "warrors" was replaced with "warriors". On page 222, "an an" was replaced with "in an". On page 225, "Ashikaga shugo" was replaced with "Ashikaga _shugo_". On page 227, "contemparary" was replaced with "contemporary". On page 228, "ambasdor" was replaced with "ambassador". On page 231, "civilisaion" was replaced with "civilization". On page 238, "Hokkaido" was replaced with "Hokkaidô". On page 244, "eagerely" was replaced with "eagerly". On page 253, "irresistable" was replaced with "irresistible". On page 270, "extotic" was replaced with "exotic". On page 272, "iniated" was replaced with "initiated". On page 272, "undiminised" was replaced with "undiminished". On page 280, "unfication" was replaced with "unification". On page 282, "roughcut" was replaced with "rough-cut". On page 286, "combattants" was replaced with "combatants". On page 289, "alotted" was replaced with "allotted". On page 300, "terrtory" was replaced with "territory". On page 305, "was reserved" was replaced with "were reserved". On page 330, "catagory" was replaced with "category". On page 331, "dillettanti" was replaced with "dilettanti." On page 331, "signifiance" was replaced with "significance". On page 337, "diamyo" was replaced with "daimyo". On page 339, "diamyo" was replaced with "daimyo". On page 341, "unsufruct" was replaced with "usufruct". On page 342, "whithersover" was replaced with "whithersoever". On page 345, "reëtablished" was replaced with "reëstablished". On page 346, "demain" was replaced with "domain". On page 352, "Shinsû" was replaced with "Shinshû". On page 360, "diamyo" was replaced with "daimyo". On page 371, "quite" was replaced with "quiet". On page 378, "diamyo" was replaced with "daimyo". On page 379, "pracice" was replaced with "practice". On page 389, "though" was replaced with "thought". On page 389, "miliary" was replaced with "military". On page 393, "Meirji" was replaced with "Meidji". On page 400, "60f." was replaced with "60ff.". On page 403, "67f." was replaced with "67ff.". On page 403, "46f." was replaced with "46ff.". On page 403, in the entry for Hsiao-king, the final comma was removed. On page 405, "289ff,." was replaced with "289ff.,". On page 411, "See" was replaced with "_See_". 
41437	----	WARRIORS OF OLD JAPAN AND OTHER STORIES BY YEI THEODORA OZAKI AUTHOR OF THE JAPANESE FAIRY BOOK ILLUSTRATED BY SHUSUI OKAKURA AND OTHER JAPANESE ARTISTS HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY BOSTON AND NEW YORK 1909 [Illustration: RUSHED UPON THE MONSTER AND QUICKLY DESPATCHED HIM] PREFACE The kind reception given to "The Japanese Fairy Book" has encouraged me to venture on a second volume of stories from Japan. I have invented none of these stories. They are taken from many different sources, and in clothing them with an English dress my work has been that of adapter rather than translator. In picturesqueness of conception Japanese stories yield the palm to none. And they are rich in quaint expressions and dainty conceits. But they are apt to be written in a style almost too bald. This defect the professional story-teller remedies by colouring his story as he tells it. In the same way I have tried to brighten the rather bare structure of a story, where it seemed to need such treatment; with touches of local colour in order to give emphasis to the narrative, and at the same time make the story more attractive to the foreign reader. Whether I have succeeded or not, the reader must judge for himself. I shall be satisfied if in some small measure I have been able to do for Japanese folk-lore what Andrew Lang has done for folk-lore in general, and if the tales in their English dress are found to retain the essential features of Japanese stories. Miss Fusa Okamoto and Mr. Taketaro Matsuda, my brother, Nobumori Ozaki, and one or two friends have given me help in translation. For the introductory note I am indebted to Mr. J.H. Gubbins, C.M.G., of the British Embassy, Tokyo. Most of the illustrations have been drawn by Mr. Shusui Okakura, of the Peers' College, to whose painstaking and patient collaboration grateful acknowledgment is due. A few of the pictures were drawn by Mr. Tsutsui, of the "Jiji Shimbun," and some of the historical pictures by Mr. Kokuho Utagawa and Mr. Tosen Toda. Yei Theodora Ozaki. CONTENTS Introductory Note Madame Yukio Ozaki I. Hachiro Tametomo, the Archer II. Gen Sanmi Yorimasa, the Knight III. The Story of Yoshitsune IV. The Story of Benkei V. The Goblin of Oyeyama VI. Kidomaru the Robber, Raiko the Brave, and the Goblin Spider VII. The Story of the Pots of Plum, Cherry, and Pine VIII. Shiragiku, or White Chrysanthemum IX. The Princess of the Bowl X. The Story of Lazy Taro ILLUSTRATIONS RUSHED UPON THE MONSTER AND QUICKLY DESPATCHED HIM (Frontispiece) TAMETOMO BEGAN TO RISE IN THE AIR YORIMASA COULD NOT TELL WHICH WAS THE LADY AYAME COULD OVERCOME TEN OR TWENTY SMALL TENGU IN THE TWINKLING OF AN EYE THE PHANTOM HOST DREW NEARER TO THE BOAT DIED STANDING WITH HIS FACE TO THE ENEMY THE HEAD FLEW UP INTO THE AIR THEY ENTERED THE CAVE AND FOUND A MONSTER SPIDER SHIRAGIKU WAS ABOUT TO DASH DOWN INTO THE RIVER SAISHO AND THE BOWL-WEARER WERE AT LAST MARRIED INTRODUCTORY NOTE Those who three years ago welcomed the appearance of "The Japanese Fairy Book" will be grateful to Madame Ozaki for the new treat afforded in the present volume. "The Japanese Fairy Book" appealed alike to the child, in or out of the nursery, to the student of folk-lore, and to the lover of things Japanese. To all of these the stories here told will come as old friends with new faces. In a country whose people are born story-tellers, where story-telling long since rose to the dignity of a profession, and the story-teller is sure of an appreciative audience, whether at a village fair or in a city theatre, the authoress had not to go far afield in search of her materials. But the range of this class of literature is wide, embracing as it does all that goes to make folk-lore, legendary history, fairy tales, and myths. From all these sources the present stories are drawn, and in each case the selection is justified and the story loses nothing in the telling. The simple directness of narrative peculiar to Japanese tales is not lost in the English setting, and the little glimpses we are given into Japanese verse may tempt the reader to do like Oliver Twist and "ask for more." J.H. Gubbins. Tokyo, May, 1909. MADAME YUKIO OZAKI A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, BY MRS. HUGH FRASER In the attempt to describe a character it is wise to begin, if possible, with its distinguishing attribute, the one which will leave its mark on the time, after the popularity of definite achievements may have passed away. So I will say, before going any further into the subject of this sketch, that if I were asked to single out the person who, to-day, most truly apprehends the points of contact and divergence in the thought of East and West, I would name the gentle dark-eyed lady who is the light of an ancient house in the loveliest part of Tokyo, a spot where, as she sits under the great pines of her garden, she can hear the long Pacific rollers breaking on the white beaches of Japan and listen to the wind as it murmurs its haunting songs of other homes in distant lands where she is known and loved. For though Yei Theodora Ozaki is a daughter of the East in heart and soul and parentage, one to whom all the fine ways and thoughts of it come by nature, she is also a child of the West in training, in culture, in the intellectual justice which enables her to discern the greatnesses and smile indulgently at the littlenesses of both. Her father, Baron Saburo Ozaki, the descendant of a Kyoto samurai family, a member of the House of Peers, and a Privy Councillor, was one of the first Japanese who went to England to study its language and institutions. While there, he made the acquaintance of Miss Bathia Catherine Morrison, and shortly afterwards she became his wife. This lady was the daughter of William Morrison, Esq., a profound scholar and linguist, who would have been more famous had not his attainments, great as they were, been overshadowed by those of his brother, the Rev. Alexander Morrison, whose translations of the works of German philosophers and historians placed much valuable material at the disposal of English readers. William Morrison's name, however, was known and loved in Japan many years before his little granddaughter Yei (the Illustrious Flower Petal) was born, for he was the instructor of most of the Japanese great men who went to England to learn the ways and speech of modern enlightenment. Prince Mori, Marquis Inouye, Baron Suyematsu, and many others who afterwards rose to eminence, were among his pupils, and when Baron Ozaki became his son-in-law it would have been natural to conclude that Miss Morrison was fairly familiar already with many sides of the complex Japanese character. But the union was not a happy one; and when, several years later, I made her acquaintance, I thought I could divine the reason. She was a charming and intelligent woman, but she was English to the backbone, and it was impossible for her to appreciate or sympathize with anything that was not British. And Saburo Ozaki was as fundamentally Japanese. Five years after their marriage they separated, by mutual consent; three little girls, of whom Yei Theodora was the second, remained in England with their mother and received a very thorough English education. Mr. Morrison took great interest in O Yei and brought her many books, which she devoured greedily, having inherited all his love of literature and learning. I have often heard her say that whatever ability she possesses in that direction is due to her English grandfather. She was just sixteen when Baron Ozaki insisted upon her coming out to live with him in Japan, and she gladly complied with his wishes. On meeting her after their long separation, he was delighted with her charm and grace, and pleasantly surprised to find that in appearance she was quite a Japanese maiden, small and slender, with dark eyes, pale complexion, and a mass of glossy black hair. Accustomed to rule as an autocrat over his household, he decreed that henceforth she was to be only Japanese. She was quite willing to please him in this, so far as she could; the pretty picturesque ways of her new home appealed to her artistic instinct, and the traditions and ideals of Japanese life at once claimed her for their own; her mental inheritance responded to them joyfully. But this was not quite enough for her father. His duty, from his point of view, was to arrange a suitable marriage for her as soon as possible; but here he met with an unexpected difficulty. The example of her parents' estrangement had inspired the girl with something like terror of the married state, and she had grown up with the resolve not to run the risk of contracting a like ill-assorted union. In consequence, she found herself in opposition to her father, an impossible situation in a Japanese family, and especially undesirable where there were younger children growing up, as in this case, for Baron Ozaki had married again after his return to his own country. Various other circumstances also combined to make her decide at this time to become independent. Her knowledge of English qualified her to give instruction in that language, and her superior education and well-known social position brought her many pupils in a land where teaching is looked upon as the highest of all professions. In this way many interesting friendships were formed with Japanese girls, one of whom opened for her the doors of that treasure house of story, the ancient lore and romance of Japan. Here the ardent sensitive mind was in its element. She says: "During those early years I loved the heroes and heroines of my country with passionate and romantic devotion. They were the companions of my solitude, royal and remote, yet near and potential as the white fire of girlhood's idealisms; they peopled my visions with beautiful images, tender and brave and loyal. In those days I was often reproached with being a dreamer, but my dreams were all of fair and noble things. The old stories had taken possession of me: they were a wonder, a joy, an exaltation, though I little imagined that I would ever write them down." It was during this period of her life that there came a temporary parting of the ways and Europe again claimed O Yei for a time. My husband was the British Minister in Tokyo, and we proposed to Baron Ozaki's daughter that she should come and live with us, acting as my secretary and companion. She accepted, and became not only a dearly loved friend, but an invaluable assistant to me, contributing very materially to the success of my various books on Japan by her profound knowledge of the country and the people. When I returned to Europe she followed me, and remained with us in Italy for about two years. A part of this time she spent in the house of my brother, Marion Crawford, acting as his amanuensis, and cataloguing his great library with such precision and intelligence that he remarked to me, "Miss Ozaki is a very exceptional person. I had not imagined that the work could be so well done." My brother discerned her literary talent and first suggested to her that she should write and publish the stories of old Japan which she used to tell in the family circle to the delight of old and young. "You have the gifts of imagination and of language," he said to her. "You really ought to lecture on those stories. You would have a great success." Italy was a revelation to O Yei; her love of colour and romance was satisfied there, and the never-silent music of the South, the gay yet haunting songs of the people, found a ready echo in her sweet voice, her delicate guitar-playing. But her heart had always turned faithfully to her English mother, and when I went to live in London she passed some time there, contributing her first stories and articles to the English magazines. Then she returned to Japan, where the famous educator, Mr. Fukuzawa, had offered her a post in his school. Of all her varied experiences this was the strangest. The slight shy girl had a class of two hundred young men and boys to instruct and keep in order, but from the crowded classroom she returned to the eeriest and loneliest of dwellings. She says: "I lived in the upper storey of an old Buddhist temple, really enjoying the queerness and out-of-the-worldness of it. Under my windows was a graveyard, where on summer nights I used to look for ghosts; but I had a terrible time with the cold and the draughts and the rats, in winter. Sometimes I was awakened at dawn by the sound of gongs and bells, and would look out of my window to see a funeral procession marshalled in the courtyard." In her spare time she continued to write, and various articles and fairy stories of hers appeared in the "Wide World," the "Girls' Realm," and the "Lady's Realm." At last her health broke down and she gave up her post at the school and devoted herself more closely to literary work, which resulted, in 1903, in the publication of "The Japanese Fairy Book," a work which has now become a classic. At the same time she belonged to several of the societies, patriotic, educational, and charitable, by which the Japanese ladies so quietly yet so efficiently aid the cause of true progress in their country. Indeed it was in the interests of Japanese womanhood that she first took up her pen, resolved to dispel the hopeless misconceptions which existed in regard to it in western minds. To use her own words: "When I was last in England and Europe and found by the questions asked me that very mistaken notions about Japan, and especially about its women, existed generally, I determined if possible to write so as to dispel these wrong conceptions. Hence my stories of Japanese heroines, Aoyagi and Kesa Gozen [in the 'Nineteenth Century'] and Tomaye Gozen, last year ['Lady's Pictorial']. It has been my hope too that the ancient tales and legends, retold in English, may show to the West some of the good old ideals and sentiments for which the Japanese lived and died." But other than purely studious interests entered into O Yei's life; she had many friends in the Court and Diplomatic circles, and they drew her more and more into society, where she was always a welcome addition to any gathering. She saw every side of the national existence, Imperial, official, scholastic, and was equally intimate with the small but brilliant foreign society. Her single state was a mystery to all except her closest friends; they knew that she had resolved never to marry until she met a man who should fulfil all her ideals. She met him at last. In 1904 she made the acquaintance of Yukio Ozaki, the Mayor of Tokyo. Each had long known of the other, and various amusing complications had occurred through mistakes of the postman, who, owing to identity of name (there was no connection of family), sometimes got hopelessly confused, and delivered the Mayor's letters to the young lady and the young lady's correspondence to the Mayor. From the moment when the two first met, at a big dinner party, and laughed together over the postman's mistakes, the result was a foregone conclusion. Mr. Ozaki had already learned all that his friends could tell him about the intellectual, attractive girl whose independent, resolute spirit had in no way marred her gentle womanliness; she knew him equally well by reputation--and to hear of Yukio Ozaki, in Japan, is to admire and respect him. Many were the parents, both wealthy and noble, who after his first wife's death would gladly have had him for a son-in-law. His irreproachable morals and elevated character earned for him during this period the title "Nihon no Dai Ichi no O musoko San," the "First (best) bridegroom in all Japan." But he too nursed an ideal, and was not to be drawn into new ties until he had found it. Given two such beings, it needed but one kindly touch of Fate's wand to bring them together. The result was a marriage happy in its perfect romance and blest with the deep sympathy of tastes and interests which forms the surest foundation for married felicity. I returned to Japan a few weeks before the wedding took place, and counted myself fortunate in gaining the friendship of Yukio Ozaki. My first impressions of him could be summed up in a very few words--strength, calmness, largeness of heart. The fearless glance of his eyes, the noble carriage of his fine dark head, the quiet voice and direct yet eloquent speech--all this was the fitting index to a character which through many long years of public stress and strain has never let even a passing shadow flit over its crystal sincerity and loyalty. Political corruption, temptations of personal ambition, lures of advancement, popular feeling, the outcries of opponents and the applause of adherents, all these have assailed him in vain, have fallen like broken arrows from the shield of his spotless integrity. A Japanese writer says of him: "Mr. Yukio Ozaki has had a wonderful political career. He is a born orator, the most powerful debater, and the ablest writer, in Japan; a staunch fighter for the cause of liberty and the interests of the people; one of the political magnates, and a potent factor in the introduction of the Meiji civilization; a man who is above every form of political corruption; once the Minister for Education, and now the highly renowned mayor of Tokyo who has never missed a single election for the twenty-five Sessions of the Diet of Japan." Mr. Ozaki is a strenuous and untiring worker. In his character of Mayor no detail is too small for him to go into patiently. Drainage, street cleaning, water supply, market regulations, everything that can conduce to the health and morals of the city passes under his watchful eyes, and Tokyo is governed marvellously well. His scrupulous conscientiousness leads him to take upon himself a thousand minutiae which another man would hand over to his subordinates. I shall never forget the searching orders that were promulgated to prepare the capital for the return of the troops from Manchuria. Hundreds of thousands of men, war-worn and ragged, with all their invalids, were to be arriving for months together, and no one could tell what germs of disease might come with them. So before the first detachment reached Shimbashi, a house-to-house visitation was made, the most thorough cleaning and clearing away of rubbish was insisted upon, and the entire foundations of the dwellings as well as out-houses and gateways were copiously sprinkled with chloride of lime. Tokyo sneezed, Tokyo wept, but Tokyo had no epidemics. Besides all his responsibilities as Mayor, a post which he has filled for seven years, Mr. Ozaki has great political duties to occupy his time. He has steadily refused to attach himself to any party in particular, and, though he has many supporters in the Diet, is an absolutely independent statesman, judging all measures from his only standpoints--right and wrong, and the best interests of the country. This uncompromising attitude has made many enemies for him, but even they admire and respect him, knowing that he is a man who has said to evil, "Stand thou on that side, for on this am I."[1] There is another side to his character, the love of all that is beautiful and inspiring. No one who saw the "Triumphal Return" of Admiral Togo can forget the splendid scene of that imposing ceremony, attended by half a million people and so deftly organized that all could see the hero and the man who welcomed him in the country's name. The welcome came from the nation's heart and found adequate expression in Yukio Ozaki's magnificent address, delivered in the voice whose clear tones had ever sounded in the cause of true patriotism. The thrill of deepest feeling was in them that day, and I, who stood near the speaker, saw that his hand trembled and his eyes were suffused with emotion as he welcomed the beloved old sailor back, in glory, to the country he had saved. One more superb pageant--one where Yukio Ozaki and his bride were host and hostess--returns to my memory, the fête given to Prince Arthur of Connaught in 1906. This was the largest social reunion that has ever taken place in the East, and most regally was the illustrious visitor entertained. In the beautifully wooded park a banqueting pavilion had been erected in the purest style of ancient Japanese architecture, severely harmonious in outline and detail. The interior contained, among other decorations, a great collection of rare Japanese flowers, shrubs, and dwarf trees--pines and maples hundreds of years old, and, from hoary trunk to new-born feathery branch tip, perfect miniatures of their spreading, towering brethren of the forest. The crowning feature of the day was the Daimyo's procession, a mile long, which defiled before our eyes across the great lawns in the open air. For this the last survivors of the feudal epoch had been sought out and brought in from every part of Japan, old _samurai_ who had accompanied their imperious masters in many a famous progress and had cut down all and any who had the temerity to cross their path. In joyful arrogance they came to show a degenerate world the martial splendours of their younger days, and the sight was enough to make one overlook the wrongs and dangers of the dead time and only regret that so much colour and fire had to be swept away to make room for the nation's new life. For things like these all art lovers are grateful to Yukio Ozaki, but his two or three intimate friends have more exquisite moments to thank him for. "Let me take you to my favourite garden," he said one day when I was with him and his wife, "the Garden of the Seven Flowers of Autumn." The sun was setting as we drove for miles beside the river-bank; leaving the city far behind, we came, through leafy lanes, to a half-hidden gate through which we passed into a dreamland of misty beauty, all shadowy and subdued in the late October twilight. Great pale moonflowers swung, like scarce-lit lamps, from tree and trellis; feathery autumn grasses waved their plumes below. The dark velvety paths led to dim monuments on whose grey stones we could feel rather than read the deep-cut characters of classic poems. All was imbued with the tender melancholy which brings repose, not pain; and even now, in hours of stress and weariness, my memory turns to the starlit peace that reigns o' nights in the spirit-haunted Garden of the Seven Flowers of Autumn. Things like these mean more to Yukio Ozaki and his wife than all the social and public side of their existence. Both have the proud delicate reserves of the aristocrat of mind and soul, and escape whenever they can from the publicity which has been forced upon them. It required much persuasion to obtain their permission for this sketch to be published. Madame Ozaki's last words on the subject were: "It is true that my life is varied and exceedingly interesting. One night I may dine at a State banquet with Cabinet Ministers and foreign Ambassadors, or with distinguished visitors like Mr. and Mrs. Taft, who recently visited this country; the next will find me with a purely Japanese party at the Maple Club. I assist at the Court functions, the Imperial wedding receptions; I act as sponsor or go-between at Japanese marriage ceremonies; I see all the ins and outs of Japanese life. I seem to live in the heart of two distinct civilizations, those of the East and the West, but the East is my spirit's fatherland. My mind still turns for companionship to the great ones of the Past, the heroines of my country's history. I find greater pleasure in the old classical drama of the 'No,' with its Buddhist teachings and ideals, its human tragedies of chivalry and of sorrow, than in all the sensational and spectacular modern drama. But my greatest happiness is in my home life, in the companionship of my baby daughter, in the few short hours that my husband can snatch from his work to devote to me. If you must write about us, tell people about Yukio--he is so good and great. I have no wish to be mentioned apart from him." Mary Crawford Fraser. Note: Mr. Ozaki's collected works have just been published in Japan; they include many essays on public and literary topics, original poems, and a translation into Japanese of the Life of Lord Beaconsfield. Madame Ozaki's writings include "The Shinto Fire-Walking," "The Hot Water Ordeal," "Nikko Festival," "Singing Insects of Japan," and many articles on travel and folk-lore, "The Japanese Fairy Book," "Japanese in Time of War," "Japanese Peeresses in Tableaux," "Stories of Japanese Heroines," "Buddha's Crystal" (in 1908), and "Japanese Girls' Home Accomplishments" (in 1909). [1] F.W. Myers. HACHIRO TAMETOMO, THE ARCHER Long, long ago there lived in Japan a man named Hachiro Tametomo, who became famous as the most skilful archer in the whole of the realm at that time. Hachiro means "the eighth," and he was so called because he was the eighth son of his father, General Tameyoshi of the house of Minamoto. Yoshitomo, who afterwards became such a great figure in Japanese history, was his elder brother. Tametomo was therefore uncle to the Shogun Yoritomo and the hero Yoshitsune, of whom you will soon read. He belonged to an illustrious family indeed. As a child Hachiro gave promise of being a very strong man, and as he grew older this promise was more than fulfilled. He early showed a love of archery, and his left arm being four inches longer than his right, there was no one who could bend the bow better or send the arrow farther than he could. By nature Hachiro was a rough, wild boy who did not know what fear was, and he loved to challenge his elder brothers to fight. He ever a grew wilder as he grew older, till at last he acted so rudely and wilfully, respecting and obeying no one set over him, that even his own father found him unmanageable. Now it happened when Hachiro was thirteen years old that a learned man, named Fujiwara-no-Shinsei, came to the Palace of the Emperor one day to give a lecture on a certain book. During the lecture he said that there could not be found in the whole of Japan a warrior whose skill in archery could match that of Kiyomori, the chief of the Taira clan, or of Yorimasa, the Minamoto knight. These two knights, though belonging to two different clans, were the best archers throughout the land. Now Hachiro, when he heard these words, laughed aloud in scorn, and said, so that every one might hear him, that Fujiwara-no-Shinsei was right about Yorimasa, but to call their enemy, that coward of a Kiyomori, a clever archer, only showed what a foolish and ignorant man Fujiwara-no-Shinsei was. This rude speech, so contrary to the rules of Japanese courtesy, which commands young people to maintain a respectful and humble silence in the presence of their elders, made Fujiwara very angry. When the lecture was finished, he therefore sent for Tametomo and rebuked him sternly for his behaviour, but the daring Tametomo, instead of being ashamed of his unmannerly conduct and prostrating himself in apology before the learned man, would not listen to anything he had to say, and was so boisterous in declaring that he was right that Fujiwara gave up his task of correction as a hopeless one. But the lad's father, Tameyoshi, when he heard of what had happened, was very angry with his son for daring to dispute with his elder and superior, especially in the sacred precincts of the Palace. He was so wroth indeed that at last he refused to see him or to keep him any longer under his roof, and to punish him he sent him far away from his home to the island of Kiushiu. Now Tametomo, like the wilful, headstrong boy that he was, did not mind his banishment at all; on the contrary, he felt like a hound let loose from the leash, and rejoiced in his liberty, even though he had incurred his father's displeasure. When he reached the island of Kiushiu he made his way to the province of Higo, and finally settled down in the plain of Kumamoto. Now that Tametomo found himself free to do just as he liked, his thirst for conflict became so great that he could not restrain himself. He gathered round him a band of fighters as wild as himself and challenged the men in all the neighbouring provinces to come out and match their strength against his. In twenty battles which followed this challenge Tametomo was never once defeated, so great was his strength, and his cleverness in directing his soldiers. He was like a silkworm eating up the mulberry tree. Just as the silkworm devours one leaf after another, with slow but sure relentlessness, so Tametomo fought and fought the inhabitants of the provinces round about till he had brought them all into subjection under him. By the time he was eighteen years old he had made himself chief of a large band of outlaws, distinguished for their reckless bravery, and with them he had mastered the whole of Kiushiu, the western part of Japan. It was now that the name of Chinsei was given him on account of his having conquered the West. _Chin_ means "to put down," and _sei_ means the "West." Tidings travelled slowly in those days, for there were no railways or telegraph wires forming a network of lightning speed communication across the land, and all carrying of news was done on foot by messengers; so it was a long time before the Government at the capital heard of the wild and lawless doings of Chinsei Hachiro Tametomo, but at last his daring exploits became known, and the Government decided to interfere and to put a stop to his outlawry. They sent a regiment of soldiers to hunt him down and take him prisoner, but Tametomo and his band were not only strong and fearless, but sharp of wit, and in the frequent skirmishes that took place they always came out victorious. At last the soldiers gave up their task of capturing him, for they found it impossible to overcome him and nothing would make Tametomo surrender. So the general returned to the capital and confessed that his expedition had failed. The Government now decided to arrest the outlaw's father, Tameyoshi, and so try to bring the rebel to bay. Tameyoshi was therefore seized and punished for being the parent of such an incorrigible rebel. Now even the wilful Tametomo was moved and distressed when he heard of what had happened to his father, because of him. Although he was undisciplined by nature, and ever ready to rebel against all authority, yet hidden deep in his heart there was still a sense of duty to his father, and on this his enemies had counted. He knew that it was inexcusable to let his father suffer punishment for his misdoings. As soon as the bad tidings reached him, he gave up without the least hesitation all the land in Kiushiu, which had cost him several years of hard fighting to wrest from the inhabitants, and taking with him only ten of his men, with all the speed he could make, he went up to the capital. As soon as he reached the city he sent in a document signed and sealed in his blood, asking pardon of the Government for all his former offences, and begging that his father might be released at once. He then waited calmly and quietly for his sentence of punishment to be declared. Now when those in authority saw his filial piety and his good conduct at this crisis, they could not find it in their hearts to treat him with severity. "Even this man who has behaved like a demon can feel so much for his father," they exclaimed; and merely rebuking him for his lawlessness they handed him over to his father, whom they had set free. At this time civil war broke out in the land, for two brothers, sons of the late ex-Emperor Toba, aspired to sit on the Imperial throne. Owing to the favouritism of their father the elder brother, Sutoku, was forced to abdicate and retire, while Go-Shirakawa, the younger brother, was put on the throne. On his deathbed the ex-Emperor Toba (also called the Pontiff-Emperor) had foreseen that there would be strife between the two, and left sealed instructions in case of emergency. On opening this document it was found to contain a command to all the principal generals to support Go-Shirakawa. Hence the great chief of the Taira, Kiyomori, and Tametomo's eldest brother, Yoshitomo,--indeed all the warriors of repute and strength,--supported Go-Shirakawa, while such nobles as Yorinaga and Fujiwara-no-Shinsei, who knew nothing of fighting, sided with the retired Emperor Sutoku. Yorinaga, it is said, could not mount his horse. Indeed the only efficient soldiers on Sutoku's side were Tameyoshi and his seven younger sons, Tametomo, the reformed rebel, amongst them. Sutoku was told of Tametomo's strength and wonderful skill as an archer, and was advised to make use of him, so Tametomo was summoned ere long to the ex-Emperor's presence. Tametomo was now just twenty years of age; he was more than seven feet in height; his eyes were sharp and piercing like those of a hawk, and he carried himself with great pride and noble bearing. As he entered the Imperial Audience Hall, so strong and brave and such a fine soldier did he look, that Sutoku at once felt confidence in him, and without delay consulted the young knight about the impending war. Then Tametomo told the Emperor of how, when he had been banished to the West by his father, he had lived the life of an outlaw for many years--all that time his hand had been raised against every one, and every one had fought against him. It had been his delight and pastime to fight all who opposed his being lord of Kiushiu. He and his band had always conquered, he said, because they had always fought at night. It would be a good plan, he thought, for Sutoku and his men to attack the Palace of Go-Shirakawa by night, to set fire to the Palace on three sides and to place soldiers on the fourth side to seize the new Emperor and his party when they tried to escape. If the ex-Emperor would follow his advice, Tametomo said he felt sure that he would win the victory. Yorinaga, who was attending the Council when he heard Tametomo's plan, shook his head in disapproval, and said that Tametomo's scheme of attack was an inferior one; that in his opinion it was a coward's trick to attack by night; and that it was more befitting brave soldiers to fight by day in the ordinary way. When Tametomo saw that his advice was overruled and that Sutoku's Council would not follow his tactics, he left the Palace. When he reached home he told his men of all that had passed, and added in his anger that Yorinaga was a conceited fellow who knew nothing of fighting, though he had dared to give his worthless opinion and to contradict him, Tametomo, who had fought without once being beaten all his life long. Thus giving vent to his disappointment, Tametomo seated himself on the mats, and as his anger passed away, he added with a sigh: "I only fear that Sutoku will be defeated in the coming struggle!" Had Tametomo's tactics been followed, Japanese history would certainly have been different, for Kiyomori and Yoshitomo won a victory by the very plan which Tametomo had advised Sutoku to follow. That night, without any warning, the enemy made an attack on the ex-Emperor's Palace. The wary Tametomo, however, expected an assault and had stationed himself at the South Gate on guard. On seeing Kiyomori and his band approaching he exclaimed: "You feeble worms! I'll surprise you!" and taking his bow and arrow shot a _samurai_ named Ito Roku through the breast. The arrow was shot with such skill and force that it went right through the soldier's body, and coming out through his back, pierced the sleeve of the armour of Ito Go, his younger brother, who was riding close behind him. Ito Go, when he saw the precision and strength with which the arrow was shot, knew that they had to deal with no common foe, and in alarm carried the arrow to his general, Kiyomori, to show it to him. Kiyomori examined the arrow carefully and found that it was made from a strong bamboo of more than the usual thickness, and that the metal head was like a big chisel, a formidable weapon indeed! It was so large that it resembled a spear more than an arrow, and even the redoubtable Kiyomori trembled at the sight of it. "This looks more like the arrow of a demon than of a man. Let us find another place of assault where our enemies are weaker and where the leaders are not such remarkable marksmen!" said he. Kiyomori then retired from the attack on the South Gate. When Yoshitomo (who was now supporting Kiyomori, though later on he left the Taira chief) heard of his brother Tametomo's doings, he said: "Tametomo may be a daredevil and boast of his skill as an archer, but he will surely not take up his bow and arrow against the person of his elder brother," and he took Kiyomori's place at the South Gate of the Palace which Tametomo was guarding. Drawing near the great roofed gate, Yoshitomo called aloud to Tametomo and said: "Is that you, Tametomo, on guard there? What a wicked deed you commit to fight against your elder brother? Now quickly open the gate and let me in. Tametomo! Do you hear? I am Yoshitomo! Retire there!" Tametomo laughed aloud at his elder brother's command and answered boldly: "If it is wrong for me to take up arms against you, my brother, are you not an undutiful son to take up arms against your father?" (Tameyoshi, his father, was fighting on the ex-Emperor's side.) Yoshitomo had no words wherewith to answer his brother and was silent. Tametomo, with his archer's eye, saw what a good mark his brother made just outside the gate, and he was greatly tempted to shoot at him even for sport. But he said that though war found them fighting on opposite sides, yet they were brothers, born of the same mother, and that it would be acting against his conscience to kill or hurt his own brother, for surely he would do so if he took aim seriously! He would however for the sake and love of sport continue to show Yoshitomo what a clever marksman he was. Taking good aim at Yoshitomo's helmet, Tametomo raised his bow and shot an arrow right into the middle of the star that topped it. The arrow pierced the star, came out the other side, and then cut through a wooden gate five or six inches in thickness. Even Yoshitomo was astonished at the skill which his brother displayed by this feat of archery. He now led his soldiers forward to the attack. But Sutoku's army was far outnumbered by the enemy, who swept down upon the Palace in overwhelming numbers, and though Tametomo fought bravely and with great skill, his strength and valour were of no avail against the great odds which assailed him. The enemy gained ground slowly, inch by inch, till at last the gates were battered down, and they ruthlessly entered the Palace. Calamity was added to calamity, the foe set fire to several parts of the building, and great confusion ensued. The ex-Emperor, in making a vain attempt to escape with Yorinaga, was caught and taken prisoner. Seeing that for the present there was nothing to be done, Tametomo, with his father Tameyoshi and his other brothers, all loyal to Sutoku's cause, made good their escape and fled to the province of Omi. Tameyoshi was an old man unable to endure the hardships of a hunted life, and he found that he could go no further; so he told his sons that, as the Emperor had been taken prisoner, and as there was no hope of raising Sutoku's flag again, at any rate for the present, it would be wiser for them all to return to the capital and surrender themselves to the conquerors--the Taira. They all agreed to this proposal except Tametomo, so Tameyoshi, the aged general, and the rest of his sons went back to Kyoto. Now Tametomo was left behind, alone in his brave resolution to fight another battle for the ex-Emperor Sutoku. As soon as he had parted, sad and determined, from his father and brothers, he made his way towards the Eastern provinces. But unfortunately, as he was journeying, the wound he had received in the recent fight became so painful that he stopped at some springs along the route, with the hope that the healing waters, a panacea for so many ills in Japan, would heal his hurt. But while taking the cure, his enemies came upon him and made him prisoner and he was sent back a captive to the capital. By the time Tametomo reached the city, his father and his brothers had been put to death, and he was soon told that he was to meet the same cruel fate. But courage always arouses chivalry in the hearts of friends and foes alike, and it seemed to Tametomo's enemies a pity to put such a brave man to death. In the whole land there was no man who could match him in bending the bow and sending the arrow home to its mark, so it was decided to spare his life at the last moment. But to prevent him from using his wonderful skill against them, his enemies cut the sinews of both his arms and sent him away to the island of Oshima off the coast of the province of Idzuto live. Lest he should escape on the way they bound him hand and foot and put him in a palanquin. He was surrounded by a guard of fifty men, and so big and heavy was he that twenty bearers were required to carry the palanquin. In spite of all the misfortunes that had befallen him, he carried the same courage, the same stout merry heart, the same love of wildness with him, even into exile. As the twenty men carried him along in the palanquin, Tametomo just for fun would now and again put forth all his strength. So great was his weight then that the twenty bearers would stagger and fall to the ground. These feats of strength alarmed the escort of fifty soldiers. They feared lest he should act more savagely and become unmanageable, past their power of control, so they treated him in much the same way as they would have treated a lion or a tiger. They tried not to anger him, but did their utmost to keep him in a good humour during the journey. At last they reached the province of Idzu and the seashore from whence they had to cross over to the island. Here they hired a boat, and putting Tametomo safely on board they took him to his last destination and left him there. Though Tametomo was banished to this island, yet once there his enemies left him free to do much as he liked. He was not treated as a common prisoner, but as a brave though vanquished foe. The simple islanders recognized in him a great man and behaved to him accordingly and listened to everything he chose to say. So he led an unmolested life, free from care, except the sorrow of being an exile--but his was a nature which took life as it came, without worrying about what he could not help. Now one day Tametomo was standing on the beach gazing out to sea, thinking of the many adventures he had passed through and wondering if fate would ever bring any change in the quiet life he was leading, when he saw a sea-gull come flying over the water. At first Tametomo with his keen eyes saw only a speck in the distance, but the speck grew larger and larger till at last the seabird appeared. Tametomo now guessed that there was an island lying in the direction from which the bird came. So he got into a boat and set out on a voyage of discovery. As he expected, he came to an island, after sailing from sunrise to sundown. To his amazement he found the place inhabited by creatures very different from human beings. They had dark red faces, with shocks of bright red hair, the locks of which hung over their foreheads and eyes. They looked just like demons. A whole crowd of these alarming-looking creatures were standing on the beach when Tametomo landed. When they caught sight of him they talked and gesticulated wildly amongst themselves and with fierce looks they rushed towards him. Tametomo saw at once that they meant him harm, but he was nothing daunted. He went up to a large pine tree that was growing near by, laid his hands on it, and uprooting it with as much ease as if it were a weed, he brandished it over his head and called aloud threateningly: "Come, you demons, fight if you will. I am Chinsei Hachiro Tametomo, the Archer of great Japan. If you will henceforth become my servants and look up to me as master in all things, it is well; otherwise I will beat you all to little pieces." When the demons saw Tametomo's great strength and his fearlessness they trembled. They held a short parley amongst themselves, and then the demon chief stepped forward, followed by all his band. They came in front of Tametomo and prostrating themselves before him on the sand, they one and all surrendered. Tametomo with much pride took possession of this island of demons and made himself monarch of all he surveyed. Having subdued the demons he returned to Oshima with the news. Great was the praise and merit awarded him by all the islanders. Another day, soon after this, Tametomo was walking along the sands of the seashore, when he saw coming towards him, floating nearer and nearer on the top of the waves, a little old man. Tametomo could hardly believe his sight; he had never seen anything so strange in his whole life; he rubbed his eyes, thinking he must be dreaming, and looked and looked again. There sure enough was a tiny man, no bigger than one foot five inches high, sitting gracefully on a round straw mat. Filled with wonder, Tametomo walked to the edge of the sand, and as the little creature floated nearer on an incoming wave he said: "Who are you?" "I am the microbe of small-pox," answered the stranger pigmy. "And why, may I ask, do you come to this island?" inquired Tametomo. "I have never been here before, so I came partly for sight-seeing and partly with the desire to seize hold of the inhabitants--" answered the little creature. Before he could finish his sentence Tametomo said angrily: "You spirit of hateful pestilence! Silence, I say! I am no other than Chinsei Hachiro Tametomo! Get out of my presence at once and take yourself far from this place, or I will make you repent the day you ever came here!" As Tametomo spoke, the small-pox microbe shrank and shrank from the form of a tiny man one foot five inches high, till only something the size of a pea was left in the middle of the straw mat. As he dwindled and dwindled, the little creature said that he was sorry that he had intruded into the island, but he had not known that it was in Tametomo's possession; and he then floated away out to sea on his straw mat as quickly and mysteriously as he had come. The island of Oshima has always been free from small-pox, and to this day the islanders ascribe the immunity they enjoy from the horrible pestilence to Tametomo, who drove away the microbe when the hateful creature would have landed there. Now that Tametomo had subdued the demons on the neighbouring island and had driven away the spirit of small-pox from Oshima, he was looked upon as a king by the simple islanders. They rendered him every possible honour and bowed their heads in the dust before him whenever he went abroad. At last this state of affairs was reported to the authorities in the capital. The Ministers of State decided that it was unsafe to allow this to go on. Such a popular and powerful hero was a menace to the Government. Tametomo, the Champion Archer, must be put down and without delay. Such was the decree. A messenger was then and there despatched with sealed orders to General Shigemitsu, in Idzu, to set sail with his men for Oshima and subdue Tametomo. One day Tametomo was standing on the beach and watching with pleasure, as he often did, the ever-whispering sea laughing and sparkling in the sunshine, when he saw fifty war-junks coming towards the island. The soldiers standing on the fifty decks were all armed with swords and bows and arrows, and clad in armour from head to foot, and they were beating drums and singing martial songs. Tametomo smiled when he saw this fleet all mustered in martial array and sent against him, a single man, for he knew, somehow or other, what they had come for. "Now," he said proudly to himself, "the opportunity is given me of trying my archer's skill once more." Seizing his bow, he pulled it to the shape of a full moon, and aiming it at the foremost ship, sent an arrow right into the prow. In an instant the boat was upset and the soldiers pitched into the sea. Till that moment Tametomo had feared that his arm had lost its first great strength, since his enemies had cut the sinews; but on the contrary he now found that not only were his arms as strong as ever, but that they had even grown longer, and that he was able to pull his bow wider than before. He clapped his hands with joy at the discovery and called aloud: "This is a happy thing!" But now Tametomo reflected that if he fought against those who had been sent by the Government to take him, he would only bring trouble on the people of the island, who had been so kind to him and who had sheltered him in his exile; he thought of how in their simple reverence for his great strength they had almost worshipped him as a deified hero and had looked up to him as their leader. No,--he would not, could not, bring war and trouble and certain punishment upon these good folk, so for their sake he decided not to fight more. He looked back with the keen flight of thought that comes to mortals in moments of great crises, and he remembered how with special mercy his life had been spared when he was taken prisoner in the civil war. Since then he had enjoyed life for over ten years. As a strong, brave man he could not grudge losing it now. He had made himself owner of the islands and the people called him their king; he felt that there was no shame or regret in dying when he had reached the height of his glory. Therefore, with firm and quick decision he made up his mind to die. He withdrew at once from the beach and retired to his house, and here he committed suicide by harikiri, thus saving himself from all dishonour and the islanders from all trouble. He was only thirty-two years of age when he died. His death was greatly regretted by all who loved him. But his glory did not die with him. The people ever afterward honoured and reverenced him as a great hero. Such is one story of the death of Tametomo, but legend has created another, still more interesting, about him. Instead of taking his own life, this tradition says that he escaped from Oshima and reached Sanuki. Here he visited the late Emperor's tomb and offered up prayers for the illustrious dead. He then, believing that his day of usefulness was over, prepared to kill himself; when suddenly, as in a dream, the Emperor, Yorinaga, his father, and all those royalists who had fought and died in the civil war, or had been taken prisoners and killed by the victorious parties of the new Emperor, appeared to him in the clouds and with a warning gesture prevented him from committing the dread deed of harakiri. As Tametomo gazed wonderingly at the beautiful vision, the bamboo curtain which hung before the ex-Emperor's palanquin lifted, and as the sunshine and grace of His Majesty's smile fell upon the awe-stricken man, the sword dropped from his hand and the wish to die expired in his breast. He fell forward in humble prostration to the ground. When Tametomo lifted his head, the vision had vanished within the clouds; nothing remained to be seen of the royal array which had saved him from his self-imposed death. This wonderful visitation changed Tametomo's mind. He gave up all idea of seeking death, and, leaving Sanuki, journeyed to Kiushiu, and took up his abode on Mount Kihara. Here he collected a band of followers, and with them embarked on board a ship with the intention of reaching the capital and once more striking a blow at the arrogant and usurping House of Taira. But misfortune followed him. He was overtaken by a storm, his ship was wrecked, his men lost, while he only narrowly escaped with his life to the island of Riukiu. Here he found the people in a state of great excitement, for a party of rebels had risen against the King, who was greatly oppressed by them, Tametomo put himself at the head of the loyalists, rescued the King, who had been taken prisoner, subdued the rebels, and then restored peace to the disturbed land. For these meritorious services the King adopted him as his son, bestowed upon him the title of Prince, and married him to one of the royal Princesses. At last one day, when Tametomo had reached a good old age, happy in the life of peace and bliss with which his later years had been crowned, as he was walking along one of the spacious verandahs of the Palace, his attendants noticed a trail of cloud coming towards their master from the sky. As soon as the cloud touched Tametomo, he began to rise in the air before their astonished gaze. Lost in speechless amazement, they watched the hero mount higher and higher, till the clouds closed round him and hid him from their view. Such is the pretty legend of the earthly end of the brave archer Tametomo, one of the most interesting figures in Japanese history, who conquered the trials and misfortunes of his youth, and won through to bright days of prosperity. He left a son called Shun-Tenno, who became King of Riukiu in due time. [Illustration: TAMETOMO BEGAN TO RISE IN THE AIR] GEN SANMI YORIMASA, THE KNIGHT Long, long ago in Japan there lived a brave knight named Gen Sanmi Yorimasa. Yorimasa was his own name, while _Gen_ was the great clan to which he belonged, the _Genji_, or _Minamoto_, famous in history, and _Sanmi_ showed that he was a knight of the Third Rank at Court, from the word _san_, which means "three." Now Yorimasa is so celebrated a warrior that to this day his picture is painted on the kites which the little boys of Japan fly at the New Year, and if you visit the temple of the Goddess of Mercy, at Asakusa, in Tokyo, you will see his portrait even there. And at the Boys' Festival, on the fifth of the fifth month, when in every household where there are sons the favourite heroes of the land are set out in the alcove of honour of the guest-room, you will surely find amidst the martial show of toys the figure of an archer clothed from head to foot in gay armour, with a huge bow in his hand and a quiver full of arrows on his back. That is Yorimasa of brave and dear memory. Yorimasa was the fifth descendant of the Great Knight Raiko, who killed the demons of Oyeyama about whom you will soon read. As a youth Yorimasa was noted for his valour and his skill in archery, and he was soon called to the Court and given the important post of Chief Guard of the Imperial Palace. Now, though Yorimasa was a man of ability and the greatest archer of his time, and though he had done deeds of note which had brought him into prominence, yet for some unaccountable reason his rank at Court remained stationary, and he did not advance from the Fourth degree (_Shi-i_), which he had when he first entered the sacred precincts of the Palace. The humour of the situation caught Yorimasa's fancy, for he was very quick-witted, and one day, smiling to himself, he sat down at his writing-table and composed a poem lamenting his bad luck. From the earliest ages the Japanese have trained themselves, at the times when their feelings are stirred by some event which causes happiness or sorrow or disappointment, not to give way to their emotions, but to control their minds sufficiently to compose a poem on the subject. Yorimasa's poem was of thirty-one syllables,[1] and in five short lines he said gracefully that "one who has not the means of climbing upwards remains under the tree and passes his life in picking up beechnuts." Now in Japanese the word for beechnuts is _shi-i_, and this word also means the Fourth Rank at Court. So that the couplet was a pun on his not being promoted. Yorimasa read the poem laughingly to some of his friends, and they, admiring his wit, repeated it and talked about it till it became quite famous in the Palace, and at last reached the Emperor's ear. The sympathy of His Majesty was aroused, and soon after this Yorimasa was raised to the rank of the Third degree, _sanmi_, and by this title he has ever afterwards been known. Now it happened that at this time the Emperor became ill and could not sleep at night. He complained of disturbance and a great sense of oppression from sunset to sunrise. His courtiers, full of anxiety, sat up to watch the night through, to see if they could discover the cause of the Emperor's agitation. Some kept vigil in and round the Imperial chamber, others on the wide-eaved verandahs, and some in the courtyard of the Palace. Then the watchers on the verandahs and in the courtyard noticed that as soon as the sun set a black cloud came from the eastern horizon of the capital, and travelling across the city finally rested on the roof of the Palace called the Purple Hall (_Shishinden_) of the North Star, where the Emperor slept. As soon as this cloud alighted on the Palace, the Emperor's sleep became disturbed, as if by frightful nightmare. Those in attendance round the royal bed heard strange scratchings and noises on the roof as if some dreadful beast were there. These unusual sounds and the nightmare of the Imperial sleeper lasted till dawn, when it was noticed that the black cloud always withdrew. Now in the Palace there was great commotion. The Minister of the Right and the Minister of the Left, whose duty it was to guard the Emperor from all harm, held long and anxious consultation as to what should be done. Every one in the Palace was of the opinion that the black cloud hid some monster which for some unknown cause haunted the Emperor. It was quite certain that unless the monster were killed, and that soon, the Emperor's life would be endangered, for he was growing weaker and thinner every day. The question was, who was brave enough to undertake the task? The Palace sentinels were already scared, so it was useless to expect help from them. The Ministers must seek for some brave _samurai_ well known for his daring and his skill as an archer and put him on night-duty, charging him to kill the monster as soon as it should appear. The courtiers, one and all, said that Yorimasa was the man. An Imperial messenger was therefore at once sent to the knight, with a letter telling him what was demanded of him. Yorimasa, when he read the letter, looked very grave, for he felt the responsibility of his new duty, which was different from all other work; for on him now depended the recovery of the Emperor, who was visibly growing worse and living through each day in terror of the nightmare which haunted him in the darkness. Yorimasa was a man of great courage and resource, and lost not a moment in getting ready. He strung his best bow most carefully and placed his quiver in two steel-headed arrows. He then put on his armour, and over his armour he donned a hunting-dress, and to look more courtly he put on a ceremonial cap instead of a helmet. He chose his favourite retainer, the bravest and strongest of all his soldiers, to accompany him. Yorimasa now set out as calmly and quietly as if he were simply going to his every-day duty and nothing more. As soon as his arrival was made known, he was summoned to the presence of the Ministers of the Right and the Left and told of all that was happening at Court--how every night at the hour of sunset a black cloud was seen to issue from the east, approach the Palace, and finally cover the roof of the Purple Hall of the North Star where the Emperor always slept. Then the Ministers told the knight of the strange noises that were heard on the roof, of the howlings and scratchings which lasted all night till the dawn broke. It behoved him, they said, to do his best to kill the monster, if such it was, for all the guards were now thoroughly frightened, and none of them dared attack it in hand-to-hand fight, and none had skill enough to hit it in the dark, though the Emperor's own body-guard of archers had tried again and again. Yorimasa listened to the strange story gravely. He saw that the whole Palace was in a state of alarm and disturbance, but he did not lose heart. With the greatest self-possession he waited for the end of the day. As soon as the sun set, the night grew stormy; the wind blew a hurricane, the lightning flashed, and the thunder roared. Nothing daunted by the fury of the elements, the brave archer waited and waited. It must have been near midnight when Yorimasa saw a thick black cloud sweep down and settle on the roof of the Palace. He bade his retainer be ready with sword and torch at any moment and to follow him closely. The black cloud moved along the ridge of the grey-tiled roof till it stopped at the northeast corner, just over the Imperial sleeping-chamber. Yorimasa cautiously followed the movements of the cloud, his man just behind him. Straining his eyes, Yorimasa saw, during a vivid flash of lightning, the form of a large animal. Keeping his eyes on the spot where he had seen the head, while the peals of thunder crashed like cannon above, in the darkness which followed he caught the glare first of one eye and then of the other as the creature moved along. "This must be the monster who disturbs the Emperor's rest!" said Yorimasa to himself. With these words he fitted an arrow to the bow, and aiming to the left of where he saw the left eye glare he pulled his bow as round as the full moon and let fly. Yorimasa felt that his arrow had touched flesh. At the same moment there was a frightful howl and a heavy thud, and the writhing in agony of some animal on the ground, which showed that Yorimasa had done his work well. Now Yorimasa's retainer rushed upon the monster; in one hand he held a blazing torch, in the other a short sword with which he stabbed the creature nine times and quickly despatched him. Then they both raised their voices and called to the sentinels and the courtiers to come and look. A strange sight was in store for them. Never had any of them seen anything like the monster that lay before them. The dreadful beast was as large as a horse; it had the head of an ape, the body and claws of a tiger, the tail of a serpent, the wings of a bird, and the scales of a dragon. They had heard and read of such creatures in some of the old books, but had always thought that such stories were old women's fables, to be told and whispered by grey-haired dames round the _hibachi_ (fire-brazier) to their wonder-struck grandchildren, but never to be entertained seriously by men of sense. For a few moments they were all struck dumb with astonishment; they gazed silently first at the strange and horrible beast before them, then at Yorimasa, the slayer of it. Exclamations of wonder burst from their lips. Then one and all turned to the brave archer and congratulated him on his wonderful feat, his courage and his marksmanship. It seemed as if they would never cease applauding him. The animal was flayed and its skin was carried to the Emperor, who ordered it to be stored as a curiosity in the Imperial treasure-house. His Majesty was highly pleased. He sent for Yorimasa and bestowed on him a sword called _Shishi-Wo_, or the King of Lions. The time of the year was the beginning of the fifth month; the crescent moon hung like a silver bow in the twilight sky, and the cuckoo[2] was calling from the trees near by; so the Minister of the Left who handed the sword to Yorimasa improvised the first half of a stanza saying: "O cuckoo of wonder, even your name Climbs ever upward to the Heaven!" Then Yorimasa, on his knees with uplifted hands and bowed head, received the sword, and as he did so he completed the short poem with these words:-- "Not through thine own: but through the merit of a moon-shaped bow!" The Minister used the cuckoo then calling in the trees as simile of the brave warrior whose fame was rising now at Court because of his brave deeds, and Yorimasa modestly answered that all was due not to his skill, but to his bow, which he likened to the crescent moon then reigning in the sky. Both turned to the scenery of the moment for inspiration--the Minister in expressing his praise and the warrior in receiving it with becoming humility and grace. The Emperor also considered this a fitting occasion to give Yorimasa the Lady Ayame (Iris) for his wife, and about this incident there is a pretty story. The Lady Ayame was the most lovely lady-in-waiting in the Palace, and as good as she was beautiful. Not only in beauty, but in mind and heart, was she superior to all the other ladies-in-waiting, and both the Emperor and Empress held her in high esteem. Many were the Court nobles who fell in love with her, but all in vain; there was not one, however great or rich or handsome, who could make her so much as grant him even a fleeting smile. Time after time these noble suitors wrote her letters and poems, telling her of their hopeless love and beseeching her to send them but a single line in reply. But only her silence answered them. She remained obdurate to all entreaties. One day Yorimasa, when on duty in the Palace, caught a passing glimpse of the Lady Ayame, and from that hour his heart knew no rest. He could not forget the witching grace nor the modest beauty of her lovely face; sleeping or waking the vision of his lady-love was always before his eyes, and it seemed to grow more vivid as the days went by. Time after time he wrote her letters and composed poems asking her to marry him, but the Lady Ayame treated Yorimasa as she treated all her other wooers--she vouchsafed him no reply. For three long years Yorimasa waited and hoped and despaired, and waited and hoped again, content if once in a way from a respectful distance he could catch a glimpse of her. In spite of long and cold discouragement he loved her perseveringly. The Emperor had heard of the knight's constancy, and now sent for his favourite lady-in-waiting, thinking this the right time to reward Yorimasa's prowess and the Lady Ayame's merit, and to make them both happy. As soon as Ayame appeared, His Majesty said: "Lady Ayame, is it true that you have received many letters from the knight Yorimasa? Is it so?" At this the Lady Ayame blushed like a peach-blossom in the glow of dawn, and hesitating a moment she replied: "May it please the Son of Heaven to condescend to send for Yorimasa and ask him!" His Majesty then commanded her to retire, and forthwith summoned Yorimasa to his presence. It was the fifth of May, the Spring Festival, and Yorimasa came robed in gala attire. He presented himself below the dais on which the Emperor was seated and prostrated himself before the throne. "Is it true," and the Emperor smiled as he spoke, "that you love the Lady Ayame?" Yorimasa was bewildered by the suddenness of the question and knew not what to reply, for he knew it to be strictly forbidden by Court etiquette to write love-letters to any lady-in-waiting, and he had done this persistently. Now the Emperor saw Yorimasa's confusion and felt sorry for him. A bright thought struck His Majesty. He would please and puzzle Yorimasa and have some fun at his expense at the same time as well. He whispered an order to the chief master of ceremony. In a short time three ladies appeared, heralded by attendants. As they moved across the mats of the immense hall, Yorimasa saw that they were all dressed exactly alike, and that even their hair was done in the same style, so that it would be impossible for any one who did not know them well to distinguish one from the other. Who were they? Was the Lady Ayame one of them? Like maidens of Heaven (_tennin_) did the three noble damsels appear and their robes were beautiful to behold. So alike were they, and their beauty so extraordinary, that Yorimasa compared them to plum-blossoms on a branch seen through a window. "The Lady Ayame is here," said the Emperor. "Choose her from among three ladies and take her." Yorimasa bowed to the ground. He was overcome with the graciousness and kindness of the Emperor. But the task laid upon him he felt to be too difficult. Being a military man and inferior in rank to the Court circle, Yorimasa had never had an opportunity of seeing any of the Court ladies face to face. All he had seen of the Lady Ayame was sometimes a glimpse of her from the courtyard, where he was stationed, as she passed along the corridors of the Palace. Once at a poetical party, to which he had been admitted as a great favour, he had seen her, at the further end of the hall, glide with trailing robes of ceremony into her place behind the silken screen which always hid the women from view at such gatherings. That was all he had ever seen of her, so that now he could not distinguish her from the rest. [Illustration: YORIMASA COULD NOT TELL WHICH WAS THE LADY AYAME.] The Emperor was pleased at the success of his pleasantry. He saw that Yorimasa was fairly perplexed, and that he was unable to pick out his lady-love from her companions. "I am a soldier and no courtier," thought the knight, "I may not presume to lift my eyes to a lady _above the clouds_.[3] Nor can I be sure which is Ayame. Were I to make a mistake and choose the wrong lady, it would be a lifelong disgrace and disappointment to me!" The perplexity in his mind at once rose to his lips in the form of a short poem, which he repeated:-- "In the rainy season when the waters overflow the banks of the lake, who can gather the Iris?" Such is the meaning of the verse. By the rainy season Yorimasa meant his three years of hopeless courting, during which his eyes had become dim with the tears of disappointment he had shed, so that he could no longer see clearly enough to discover which was the lady of his choice. In this way he excused himself for his seeming stupidity, and showed a modest reserve which pleased all present. The aptness and quickness of Yorimasa's verse won the Emperor's admiration. The tears stood in the august eyes, for he thought of the great love wherewith Yorimasa had loved the Lady Iris, and of the sorrow and patience of his long wooing and waiting. His Majesty rose from his throne, descended the steps of the dais, and going up to Ayame took her by the hand and led her forth to Yorimasa. "This is the Lady Ayame, I give her to you!" were the golden words of the Emperor. To Yorimasa it must have seemed too wonderful almost to be true. The great desire of his life was given him by the Emperor himself! Then Yorimasa led his beautiful lady-love away and married her, and we are told that they lived as happily as fish in water; and it seemed as if they had but one heart between them, so harmonious was their union. In the Palace there was great rejoicing over the auspicious event, and all the courtiers praised the merit of the verse which had finally given Ayame to Yorimasa and won the Emperor's special commendation. The happy couple received the congratulations of the Emperor and Empress, of the courtiers and many noble people, and wedding-presents innumerable. Surely at this time there was no one happier than Yorimasa in all the land. There are many stories told of Yorimasa which show us that he was not only a brave soldier and a man of learning and a poet, but also a man of wit and tact who knew how to use men as he willed. Now one day a band of discontented turbulent priests came to the Palace Gate where Yorimasa was on guard, and demanded entrance. It must be explained that in those days the Buddhist priests of Kyoto were a set of wild and lawless men who often brought shame to their religion by their wicked lives. They lived outside the city on Mount Hiei, which they made their stronghold, and, forgetting the dignity of their religion, they took sides in war and in politics. They gave trouble to those in authority, especially to those who did not favour them. They used the smallest event as an occasion for carrying swords and bows and arrows, and it was their habit to go out equipped like soldiers going forth to war. Yorimasa saw that the priests were all well armed, and only too anxious to find a pretext for drawing their swords. They carried with them in great state the sacred palanquin of their temple. In this palanquin their patron god was supposed to dwell, and it was borne aloft on the shoulders of fifty men. With loud shoutings and a wild display of strength the priests rushed the car along, now lifting it high above their heads, now staggering under its weight, as it seemed about to crush them to the ground. Now Yorimasa was in no mood for fighting that day, and it seemed to him not worth his while to set his men--the best fighters and archers in the realm--against a handful of priests whom he could disperse in a few minutes; besides, these priests from Mount Hiei were troublesome fellows and he did not wish to earn their enmity. So laughing quietly to himself he said that he would have some fun at their expense. When the procession stopped opposite the gate, Yorimasa with his captains of the guard sallied forth to meet the noisy crowd, and coming in front of the palanquin bowed in reverence before it with slow ceremony. The priests, who had expected and were prepared for a very difficult reception, were surprised and somewhat taken aback. After some parley amongst themselves, their spokesman advanced and asked leave to enter the gate, saying they had a petition to present to the Emperor. Yorimasa sent his captain forward. "My lord bids you welcome," he said, "and wishes me to say that he worships the same god as yourselves, and he is therefore averse to shooting against the _Mikoshi_ [sacred palanquin] with his bows and arrows. Besides this, we are very few in number, so that your names will be dishonoured and you will be called cowards for having chosen the weakest post to fight. Now the next gate is guarded by the Heike soldiers, who are much stronger in numbers than we are. How would it do for you to go round and fight there? You would surely gain glory in an encounter with them." The priests were so pleased by the flattery of this speech that they did not see that it was a ruse on the part of Yorimasa to get rid of them easily, and that he was sending them round to bother his rivals. He had also appealed to their best feelings, for Japanese chivalry teaches that in the event of choosing between two enemies the weaker must always be spared. Some polite answer was made to Yorimasa, and then the priests shouldered the _Mikoshi_ and departed in the same spirited and vociferous manner that they had come. They went to the next gate, guarded by the Heike. Battle was given at once, for they were refused admittance. The priests were beaten and fled for their lives to the hills. All these stories show us that Yorimasa was a clever man in every way, but in the end he was unfortunate, and for this there was no help. When we read the story of his ill-fated death our hearts are filled with sorrow for him. It is not always as one wishes in this world, and Yorimasa did not meet with the fate his meritorious deeds and character deserved. The Heike or Taira clan were now in the ascendant (Yorimasa, it will be remembered, belonged to the Genji or Minamoto), and Kiyomori, their despotic and unprincipled leader, was Prime Minister. All the important posts in the Government he gave to his sons, grandsons, and relations, who under these circumstances, seeing that they owed everything to him, did just as the tyrant ordered. All _samurai_ who did not belong to the Heike clan he treated unjustly, even throwing those he did not like into prison, whether they were innocent or guilty of the crimes or behaviour deserving such punishment. As a general of the rival Genji clan, Yorimasa suffered much from this unfair treatment. As he watched the arrogant conduct of Kiyomori and his son Munemori, he longed to be able to punish them and to bring retribution on the whole clan, and to this end he thought and worked and planned. At last the Heike became so overbearing and so powerful that their actions passed the bounds of all reason, and Kiyomori, on a question of succession to the throne, confined the reigning Emperor in his Palace. This last step was too much for Yorimasa; he could endure this state of things no longer, and he resolved to make a bold strike for the right. He placed Prince Takakura, the son of the late Emperor, at the head of his army and set out to do battle with the Heike. But the Genji were far inferior in numbers to the Heike, and, sad to relate, Yorimasa was defeated in his good and just cause. With the remainder of his army he fled before the enemy and took refuge in the Temple of Byodoin, situated on the river Uji. The Byodoin Temple, a large edifice near Kyoto, remains to this day. Here Yorimasa made a last stand to afford time for Prince Takakura to escape. He divided his men into two parties--one division he stationed as a reserve force in the grounds of the temple, while the other he drew up in battle array along the banks of the river. In case of pursuit, to prevent the enemy from crossing the river, they tore up the planks which formed the flooring of the bridge, so that only a skeleton of posts and cross-beams remained. Then they rested and waited to see what would happen. The Heike soon came in sight following hard after them. First came the generals, then the soldiers, twenty-eight thousand strong. They approached the bridge, but stopped short when they saw what the Genji had cleverly done. In a few minutes they ranged themselves along the bank facing the enemy. Both armies now stood confronting each other on either side of the Uji. Simultaneously the order was given to fight by both the Genji and the Heike generals and a fierce discharge of arrows from both sides ensued. Then there rushed forth from the ranks of the Genji a huge priest, Tajima Bo by name (in those days the Buddhist priests often took part in battles); brandishing an enormous halberd he dashed out alone on the skeleton bridge. The Heike, thinking that he made an excellent target, shot a shower of arrows at him, but he was not in the least daunted. When the arrows were aimed at his head, he stooped and they passed over him; when they were aimed at his legs, he jumped high in the air and they flew under him; when they were aimed at his body, he swept them aside with his halberd; and in this way he escaped free from hurt. So quick was he in his movements, and so marvellous was the way in which he balanced himself in his progress across the bridge, that he seemed to be endowed with power more than human; and not only his own comrades but the enemy also looked at him in breathless admiration. Then another of Yorimasa's men, also a priest, Jomyo by name, inspired by this example, came forth and stood up at the end of the bridge, and fitting his arrows to the bow, in rapid succession shot about a dozen of the foe, in the twinkling of an eye. Crying out, "Oh, this is too much trouble!" he threw away his bow and arrow, and walked over the bridge on another beam, sweeping aside with his sword the arrows aimed at him. Yet another priest, famous for his great strength, dashed out and followed after his friends across the bridge. He soon came up with Jomyo, but as the beams of the bridge were narrow he could not pass him. Stopping for a moment to think what he should do, he stretched out his hands and touched the helmet of the man just in front of him, then lightly and quickly jumped leap-frog over his head. The bridge was now soon swarming with the Genji, who with fierce battle-cries began to attack the Heike, whose advance was entirely checked. For some minutes the Heike were greatly put out, not knowing what to do. Then one brave youth, seeing how matters stood, and that it required some one to take a dauntless lead, sprang forth in front of the Heike and called out: "Now that it comes to this, there is no other way!" and with these words he dashed his horse into the river. It was the rainy season, and the waters were higher and the current stronger than usual. Black with mud the river ran swirling and whirling on its course. Never was there a braver sight than when the young soldier drove his horse into the swollen river and made for the other side. His comrades could not stand still and watch him; fired by his courage, numbers of the Heike, shouting "I also! I also!" dashed in after him. In a few minutes, while the Genji looked on in surprise, three hundred men had followed the gallant young captain, stemmed and crossed the torrent, and landed on the other side; and with the same dashing spirit, carrying everything before them, they broke through the last lines of the Genji and entered the Byodoin Temple, where their last stand was made. The Genji, with Yorimasa at their head, were now in a desperate condition. Seeing his father hard-pressed, Kanetsuna, Yorimasa's second son, an intrepid young knight, rushed into the thickest of the fight and tried to defend his father. A Heike captain coming up with fifteen of his men seized Kanetsuna, overpowered him, and cut off his head. Not one of Yorimasa's little band turned to flee. Although they knew there was no hope, they fought on face to face with the foe, for _samurai_ traditions held it a disgrace to be even wounded in the back. One famous general in ancient history issued an order to the effect that prizes would be awarded to those who were shot in the forehead, but those who were wounded in the back should be slain. One by one, the Genji fell, slain either by sword or arrow. Yorimasa received several wounds. Then he saw that there was no use in fighting more; all was lost. Those of the Genji who were still left made a brave stand round their chief; while they kept the enemy at bay Yorimasa slipped away and hastened to Prince Takakura, in the temple, and begged him to flee in safety while there was yet time. Having seen his Imperial master safe, Yorimasa then retired to an inner part of the garden, and sitting under a large tree drew out his sword and prepared himself to commit _harakiri_, for _samurai_ honour would not let him survive defeat. Calling his retainer Watanabe, who had escaped unhurt and who never left his master's side, Yorimasa bade him act as second in the rite. Then quietly taking off his armour, he composed a poem. He likened himself to a fossil tree that never knows the joy of blossoming, for he had never attained his ambition (the destruction of his enemies), "and sad indeed is the end of my life," the last line of the verse, were the last words he uttered. He took out his short sword, and thrusting it into his side died like a brave and gallant _samurai_, without a moan. Then from behind, as was his duty as second, Watanabe cut off his master's head, and so that it should not be discovered by the enemy and carried away as a trophy of war, he tied a large stone to it, and with sorrowful reverence dropped it into the river and watched it sink beneath the water out of sight. In this way died Yorimasa; those of his followers who were not killed by the enemy died by their own hand, and Prince Takakura, fleeing to Nara, was overtaken by the Heike and put to death on the way. Yorimasa was seventy-five years of age when he died. Though, as he lamented in his last poem, he had not achieved his ambition in punishing the Heike, yet years later his work was carried on, and the Heike were completely exterminated by Yoritomo, the great chief and mighty avenger of the Genji; and the name of Gen Sanmi Yorimasa lives forever in the history of his country. [1] All Japanese poetry is regulated and counted by syllables, not by lines and feet, as with us. Many words have several meanings and the witty use of these punning facilities is greatly sought after. [2] The cuckoo in Japanese literature and fancy takes the same place as the nightingale in England. [3] "Above the clouds"--a complimentary expression used for the exalted Court circle. THE STORY OF YOSHITSUNE In old Japan more than seven hundred years ago a fierce war was raging between the two great clans, the Taira and the Minamoto, also called the Heike and the Genji. These two famous clans were always contesting together for political power and military supremacy, and the country was torn in two with the many bitter battles that were fought. Indeed it may be said that the history of Japan for many years was the history of these two mighty martial families; sometimes the Minamoto and sometimes the Taira gaining the victory, or being beaten, as the case might be; but their swords knew no rest for a period of many years. At last a strong and valiant general arose in the House of Minamoto. His name was Yoshitomo. At this time there were two aspirants for the Imperial throne and civil war was raging in the capital. One Imperial candidate was supported by the Taira, the other by the Minamoto. Yoshitomo, though a Minamoto, sided at first with the Taira against the reigning Emperor; but when he saw how cruel and relentless their chief, Kiyomori, was, he turned against him and called all his followers to rally round the Minamoto standard and fight to put down the Taira. But fate was against the gallant and doughty warrior Yoshitomo, and he suffered a crushing defeat at the hands of the Taira. He and his men, while fleeing from the vigilance of their enemies, were overtaken within the city gates, and ruthlessly slaughtered by Kiyomori and his soldiers. Yoshitomo left behind him his beautiful young wife, Tokiwa Gozen, and eight children, to mourn his untimely death. Five of the elder children were by a first wife. The third of these became Yoritomo, the great first Shogun of Japan, while the eighth and youngest child was Ushiwaka, about whom this story is written. Ushiwaka and the hero Yoshitsune were one and the same person. Ushiwaka (Young Ox--he was so called because of his wonderful strength) was his name as a boy, and Yoshitsune was the name he took when he became of age. At the time of his father's death, Ushiwaka was a babe in the arms of his mother, Tokiwa Gozen, but his tender age would not have saved his life had he been found by his father's enemies. After the defeat they had inflicted on the rival clan, the Taira were all-powerful for a time. The Minamoto clan were in dire straits and in danger of being exterminated now, for so fierce was Kiyomori's hatred against his enemies that when a Minamoto fell into his cruel hands he immediately put the captive to death. Realizing the great peril of the situation, Tokiwa Gozen, the widow of Yoshitomo, full of fear and anxiety for the safety of her little ones, quietly hid herself in the country, taking with her Ushiwaka and her two other children. So successful was Tokiwa Gozen in concealing her hiding-place that, though the Taira clan either killed or banished to a far-away island all the elder sons, relations, and partisans of the Minamoto chief, they could not discover the whereabouts of the mother and her children, notwithstanding the strict search Kiyomori had made. Determined to have his will, and angry at being thwarted by a woman, Kiyomori at last hit on a plan which he felt sure would not fail to draw the wife of Yoshitomo from her hiding-place. He gave orders that Sekiya, the mother of the fair Tokiwa, should be seized and brought before him. He told her sternly that if she would reveal her daughter's hiding-place she should be well treated, but if she refused to do as she was told she would be tortured and put to death. When the old lady declared that she did not know where Tokiwa was, as in truth she did not, Kiyomori thrust her into prison and had her treated cruelly day after day. Now the reason why Kiyomori was so set on finding Tokiwa and her sons was that while Yoshitomo's heirs lived he and his family could know no safety, for the strongest moral law in every Japanese heart was the old command, "A man may not live under the same heaven with the murderer of his father," and the Japanese warrior recked nothing of life or death, of home or love in obeying this--as he deemed--supreme commandment. Women too burned with the same zeal in avenging the wrongs of their fathers and husbands. Tokiwa Gozen, though hiding in the country, heard of what had befallen her mother, and great was her sorrow and distress. She sat down on the mats and moaned aloud: "It is wrong of me to let my poor innocent mother suffer to save myself and my children, but if I give myself up, Kiyomori will surely take my lord's sons and kill them.--What shall I do? Oh! what shall I do?" Poor Tokiwa! Her heart was torn between her love for her mother and her love for her children. Her anxiety and distraction were pitiful to see. Finally she decided that it was impossible for her to remain still and silent under the circumstances; she could not endure the thought that her mother was suffering persecution while she had the power of preventing it, so holding the infant Ushiwaka in her bosom under her kimono, she took his two elder brothers (one seven and the other five years of age) by the hand and started for the capital. There were no trains in those days and all travelling by ordinary people had to be done on foot. _Daimios_ and great and important personages were carried in palanquins, and they only could travel in comfort and in state. Tokiwa could not hope to meet with kindness or hospitality on the way, for she was a Minamoto, and the Taira being all-powerful it was death to any one to harbour a Minamoto fugitive. So the obstacles that beset Tokiwa were great; but she was a _samurai_ woman, and she quailed not at duty, however hard or stern that duty was. The greater the difficulties, the higher her courage rose to meet them. At last she set out on her momentous and celebrated journey. It was winter-time and snow lay on the ground, and the wind blew piercingly cold and the roads were bad. What Tokiwa, a delicately nurtured woman, suffered from cold and fatigue, from loneliness and fear, from anxiety for her little children, from dread lest she should reach the capital too late to save her old mother, who might die under the cruel treatment to which she was being subjected, or be put to death by Kiyomori, in his wrath, or finally lest she herself should be seized by the Taira, and her filial plan be frustrated before she could reach the capital--all this must have been greater than any words can tell. Sometimes poor distressed Tokiwa sat down by the wayside to hush the wailing babe she carried in her bosom, or to rest the two little boys, who, tired and faint and famished, clung to her robes, crying for their usual rice. On and on she went, soothing and consoling them as best she could, till at last she reached Kyoto, weary, footsore, and almost heartbroken. But though she was well-nigh overcome with physical exhaustion, yet her purpose never flagged. She went at once to the enemy's camp and asked to be admitted to the presence of General Kiyomori. When she was shown into the dread man's presence, she prostrated herself at his feet and said that she had come to give herself up and to release her mother. "I am Tokiwa--the widow of Yoshitomo. I have come with my three children to beseech you to spare my mother's life and to set her free. My poor old mother has done nothing wrong. I am guilty of hiding myself and the little ones, yet I pray humbly for your august forgiveness." She pleaded in such an agonizing way that Kiyomori, the Taira chieftain, was struck with admiration for her filial piety, a virtue more highly esteemed than any other in Japan. He felt sincerely sorry for Tokiwa in her woe, and her beauty and her tears melted his hard heart, and he promised her that if she would become his wife he would spare not only her mother's life, but her three children also. For the sake of saving her children's lives the sad-hearted woman consented to Kiyomori's proposal. It must have been terrible to her to wed with her lord's enemy, the very man who had caused his death; but the thought that by so doing she saved the lives of his sons, who would one day surely arise to avenge their father's cruel death, must have been her consolation and her recompense for the sacrifice. Kiyomori showed himself kinder to Tokiwa than he had ever shown himself to any one, for he allowed her to keep the babe Ushiwaka by her side. The two elder boys he sent to a temple to be trained as acolytes under the tutelage of priests. By placing them out of the world in the seclusion of priesthood, Kiyomori felt that he would have little to fear from them when they attained manhood. How terribly and bitterly he was mistaken we learn from history, for two of Yoshitomo's sons, banished though they had been for years and years, arose like a rushing, mighty whirlwind from the obscurity of the monastery to avenge their father, and they wiped the Taira from off the face of the earth. Time passed by, and when the little babe Ushiwaka at last reached the age of seven, Kiyomori likewise took him from his mother and sent him to the priests. The sorrow of Tokiwa, bereft of the last child of her beloved lord Yoshitomo, can better be imagined than described. But in her golden captivity even Kiyomori had not been able to deprive her of one iota of the incomparable power of motherhood, that of influencing the life of her child to the end of his days. As the little fellow had lain in her arms night and day, as she crooned him to sleep and taught him to walk, she forever whispered the name of Minamoto Yoshitomo in his ear. At last one day her patience was rewarded and Ushiwaka lisped his father's name correctly. Then Tokiwa clasped him proudly to her breast, and wept tears of thankfulness and joy and of sorrowing remembrance, for she could never even for a day banish Yoshitomo from her mind. As Ushiwaka grew older and could understand better what she said, Tokiwa would daily whisper, "Remember thy father, Minamoto Yoshitomo! Grow strong and avenge his death, for he died at the hands of the Taira!" And day by day she told him stories of his great and good father--of his martial prowess in battle, and of his great strength and wonderful wielding of the sword, and she bade her little son remember and be like his father. And the mother's words and tears, sown in long years of patience and bitter endurance, bore fruit beyond all she had ever hoped or dreamed. So Ushiwaka was taken from his mother at the age of seven, and was sent to the Tokobo Monastery, at Kuramayama, to be trained as a monk. Even at that early age he showed great intelligence, read the Sacred Books with avidity, and surprised the priests by his diligence and quickness of memory. He was naturally a very high-spirited youth, and could brook no control and hated to yield to others in anything whatsoever. As the years passed by and he grew older, he came to hear from his teachers and school friends of how his father Yoshitomo and his clan the Minamoto had been overthrown by the Taira, and this filled him with such intense sorrow and bitterness that sleeping or waking he could never banish the subject from his mind. As he listened daily to these things the words of his mother, which she had whispered in his ear as a child, now came throbbing back to his mind, and he understood their full meaning for the first time. In the lonely nights he felt again her hot tears falling on his face, and heard her repeat as clearly as a bell in the silence of the darkness: "Remember thy father, Minamoto Yoshitomo! Avenge his death, for he died at the hands of the Taira!" At last one night the lad dreamed that his mother, beautiful and sad as he remembered her in the days of his childhood, came to his bedside and said to him, while the tears streamed down her face: "Avenge thy father, Yoshitomo! Unless thou remember my last words, I cannot rest in my grave. I am dying, Ushiwaka, remember!" And Ushiwaka awoke as he cried aloud in his agony: "I will! Honourable mother, I will!" From that night his heart burned within him and the fire and love of clan-race stirred his soul. Continual brooding over the wrongs of his clan generated in his heart a fierce desire for revenge, and he finally resolved to abandon the priesthood, become a great general like his father, and punish the Taira. And as his ambition was fired and exalted and his mind thrilled back to the days when his poor unhappy mother Tokiwa prayed and wept over him, daily whispering in his ear the name of his father, his will grew to purpose strong. Tokiwa had not suffered in vain. From this time on, Ushiwaka bided his time every night till all in the temple were fast asleep. When he heard the priests snoring, and knew himself safe from observation, he would steal out from the temple, and, making his way down the hillside into the valley, he would draw his wooden sword and practise fencing by himself, and, striking the trees and the stones imagine that they were his Taira foes. As he worked in this way night after night, he felt his muscles grow strong, and this practice taught him how to wield his sword with skill. One night as usual Ushiwaka had gone out to the valley and was diligently brandishing about his wooden sword. His mind fully bent upon his self-taught lesson, he was marching up and down, chanting snatches of war-songs and striking the trees and the rocks, when suddenly a great cloud spread over the heavens, the rain fell, the thunder roared, and the lightning flashed, and a great noise went through the valley, as if all the trees were being torn up by the roots and their trunks were splitting. While Ushiwaka wondered what this could mean, a great giant over ten feet in height stood before him. He had large round glaring eyes that glinted like metal mirrors; his nose was bright red, and it must have been about a foot long; his hands were like the claws of a bird, and to each there were only two fingers. The feathers of long wings at each side peeped from under the creature's robes, and he looked like a gigantic goblin. Fearful indeed was this apparition. But Ushiwaka was a brave and spirited youth and the son of a soldier, and he was not to be daunted by anything. Without moving a muscle of his face he gripped his sword more tightly and simply asked: "Who are you, sirrah?" The goblin laughed aloud and said: "I am the King of the Tengu,[1] the elves of the mountains, and I have made this valley my home for many a long year. I have admired your perseverance in coming to this place night after night for the purpose of practising fencing all by yourself, and I have come to meet you, with the intention of teaching you all I know of the art of the sword." Ushiwaka was delighted when he heard this, for the Tengu have supernatural powers, and fortunate indeed are those whom they favour. He thanked the giant elf and expressed his readiness to begin at once. He then whirled up his sword and began to attack the Tengu, but the elf shifted his position with the quickness of lightning, and taking from his belt a fan made of seven feathers parried the showering blows right and left so cleverly that the young knight's interest became thoroughly aroused. Every night he came out for the lesson. He never missed once, summer or winter, and in this way he learned all the secrets of the art which the Tengu could teach him. The Tengu was a great master and Ushiwaka an apt pupil. He became so proficient in fencing that he could overcome ten or twenty small Tengu in the twinkling of an eye, and he acquired extraordinary skill and dexterity in the use of the sword; and the Tengu also imparted to him the wonderful adroitness and agility which made him so famous in after-life. Now Ushiwaka was about fifteen years old, a comely youth, and tall for his age. At this time there lived on Mount Hiei, just outside the capital, a wild bonze named Musashi Bo Benkei, who was such a lawless and turbulent fellow that he had become notorious for his deeds of violence. The city rang with the stories of his misdeeds, and so well known had he become that people could not hear his name without fear and trembling. [Illustration: COULD OVERCOME TEN OR TWENTY SMALL TENGU IN THE TWINKLING OF AN EYE] Benkei suddenly made up his mind that it would be good sport to steal a thousand swords from various knights. No sooner did the wild idea enter his head than he began to put it into practice. Every night he sauntered forth to the Gojo Bridge of Kyoto, and when a knight or any man carrying a sword passed by, Benkei would snatch the weapon from his girdle. If the owners yielded up their blades quietly, Benkei allowed them to pass unhurt, but if not, he would strike them dead with a single blow of the huge halberd he carried. So great was Benkei's strength that he always overcame his victim,--resistance was useless,--and night by night one and sometimes two men met death at his hands on the Gojo Bridge. In this way Benkei gained such a terrible reputation that everybody far and near feared to meet him, and after dark no one dared to pass near the bridge he was known to haunt, so fearful were the tales told of the dreaded robber of swords. At last this story reached the ears of Ushiwaka, and he said to himself: "What an interesting man this must be! If it is true that he is a bonze, he must be a strange one indeed; but as he only robs people of their swords, he cannot be a common highwayman. If I could make such a strong man a retainer of mine, he would be of great assistance to me when I punish my enemies, the Taira clan. Good! To-night I will go to the Gojo Bridge and try the mettle of this Benkei!" Ushiwaka, being a youth of great courage, had no sooner made up his mind to meet Benkei than he proceeded to put his plan into execution. He started out that same evening. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and taking with him his favourite flute he strolled forth through the streets of the sleeping city till he came to the Gojo Bridge. Then from the opposite direction came a tall figure which appeared to touch the clouds, so gigantic was its stature. The stranger was clad in a suit of coal-black armour and carried an immense halberd. "This must be the sword-robber! He is indeed strong!" said Ushiwaka to himself, but he was not in the least daunted, and went on playing his flute quite calmly. Presently the armed giant halted and gazed at Ushiwaka, but evidently thought him a mere youth, and decided to let him go unmolested, for he was about to pass him by without lifting a hand. This indifference on the part of Benkei not only disappointed but angered Ushiwaka. Having waited in vain for the stranger to offer violence, our hero approached Benkei, and, with the intention of picking a quarrel, suddenly kicked the latter's halberd out of his hand. Benkei, who had first thought to spare Ushiwaka on account of his youth, became very angry when he found himself insulted by a lad to whom he had been intentionally kind. In a fury he exclaimed, "Miserable stripling!" and raising his halberd struck sideways at Ushiwaka, thinking to slice him in two at the waist and to see his body fall asunder. But the young knight nimbly avoided the blow which would have killed him, and springing back a few paces he flung his fan[2] at Benkei's head and uttered a loud cry of defiance. The fan struck Benkei on the forehead right between the eyes, making him mad with pain. In a transport of rage Benkei aimed a fearful blow at Ushiwaka, as if he were splitting a log of wood with an axe. This time Ushiwaka sprang up to the parapet of the bridge, clapped his hands, and laughed in derision, saying: "Here I am! Don't you see? Here I am!" and Benkei was again thwarted thus. Benkei, who had never known his strokes miss before, had now failed twice in catching this nimble opponent. Frantic with chagrin and baffled rage, he now rushed furiously to the attack, whirling his great halberd round in all directions till it looked like a water-wheel in motion, striking wildly and blindly at Ushiwaka. But the young knight had been taught tricks innumerable by the giant Tengu of Kuramayama, and he had profited so well by his lessons that the King Tengu had at last said that even he could teach him nothing more, and now, as it may well be imagined, he was too quick for the heavy Benkei. When Benkei struck in front, Ushiwaka was behind, and when Benkei aimed a blow behind, Ushiwaka darted in front. Nimble as a monkey and swift as a swallow, Ushiwaka avoided all the blows aimed at him, and, finding himself outmatched, even the redoubtable Benkei grew tired. Ushiwaka saw that Benkei was played out. He kept up the game a little longer and then changed his tactics. Seizing his opportunity, he knocked Benkei's halberd out of his hand. When the giant stooped to pick his weapon up, Ushiwaka ran behind him and with a quick movement tripped him up. There lay the big man on all fours, while Ushiwaka nimbly strode across his back and pressing him down asked him how he liked this kind of play. All this time Benkei had wondered at the courage of the youth in attacking and challenging a man so much larger than himself, but now he was filled with amazement at Ushiwaka's wonderful strength and adroitness. "I am indeed astonished at what you have done," said Benkei. "Who in the world can you be? I have fought with many men on this bridge, but you are the first of my antagonists who has displayed such strength. Are you a god or a _tengu_? You certainly cannot be an ordinary human being!" Ushiwaka laughed and said: "Are you afraid for the first time, then?" "I am," answered Benkei. "Will you from henceforth be my retainer?" demanded Ushiwaka. "I will in very truth be your retainer, but may I know who you are?" asked Benkei meekly. Ushiwaka now felt sure that Benkei was in earnest. He therefore allowed him to get up from the ground, and then said: "I have nothing to hide from you. I am the youngest son of Minamoto Yoshitomo and my name is Ushiwaka." Benkei started with surprise when he heard these words and said: "What is this I hear? Are you in truth a son of the Lord Yoshitomo of the Minamoto clan? That is the reason I felt from the first moment of our encounter that your deeds were not those of a common person. No wonder that I thought this! I am only too happy to become the retainer of such a distinguished and spirited young knight. I will follow you as my lord and master from this very moment, if you will allow me. I can wish for no greater honour." So there and then, on the Gojo Bridge in the silver moonlight, the bonze Benkei vowed to be the true and faithful vassal of the young knight Ushiwaka and to serve him loyally till death, and thus was the compact between lord and vassal made. From that time on, Benkei gave up his wild and lawless ways and devoted his life to the service of Ushiwaka, who was highly pleased at having won such a strong liegeman to his side. Although Ushiwaka had now secured Benkei, it was impossible for only two men, however strong, to think of fighting the Taira clan, so they both decided that the cherished plan must wait till the Minamoto were stronger. While thus waiting they heard a report to the effect that a descendant of Tawara Toda Hidesato[3] named Hidehira was now a famous general in Kaiwai of the Ashu Province, and that he was so powerful that no one dared oppose him. Hearing this, Ushiwaka thought that it would be a good plan to pay the general a visit and try to interest him, if possible, in the fortunes of the House of Minamoto. He consulted with Benkei, who encouraged the young knight in his scheme of enlisting the General Hidehira as a partisan, and the two therefore left Kyoto secretly and journeyed as quickly as possible to Oshu on this errand. On the way there, Ushiwaka and Benkei came to the Temple of Atsuta, and as they considered it important that the young knight should look older now, Ushiwaka performed the ceremony of Gembuku at the shrine. This was a rite performed in olden times when youths reached the age of manhood, They then had to shave off the front part of their hair and to change their names as a sign that they had left childhood behind. Ushiwaka now took the name of Yoshitsune. As he was the eighth son, it would have been more correct for him to have assumed the name of Hachiro, but as his uncle Tametomo the Archer, of whom you have already read, was named Hachiro, he purposely did not take this name. From this time forth our hero is known as Yoshitsune, and this name he has glorified forever by his wonderful bravery and many heroic exploits. In Japanese history he is the knight without fear and without reproach, the darling of the people, to them almost an incarnation of Hachiman, the popular God of War. And as for Benkei, never can you find in all history a vassal who was more true or loyal to his master than Benkei. He was Yoshitsune's right hand in everything, and his strength and wisdom carried them successfully through many a dire emergency. From Kyoto to Oshu is a long journey of about three hundred miles, but at length Yoshitsune (as we must now call him) and Benkei reached their destination and craved the General Hidehira's assistance. They found that Hidehira was a warm adherent of the Minamoto cause, and under the late Lord Yoshitomo he and his family had enjoyed great favour. When the general learned, therefore, that Yoshitsune was the son of the illustrious Minamoto chief, his joy knew no bounds, and he made Yoshitsune and Benkei heartily welcome and treated them both as guests of honour and importance. Just at this time Yoshitsune's eldest brother, Yoritomo, who had been banished to an island in Idzu, collected a great army and raised his standard against the Taira. When the news about Yoritomo reached Yoshitsune, he rejoiced, for he felt that the hour had at last come when the Minamoto would be revenged on the Taira for all the wrongs they had suffered at the hands of the latter. With the help of Hidehira and the faithful Benkei, he collected a small army of warriors and at once marched over to his brother's camp in Idzu. He sent a messenger ahead to inform Yoritomo that his youngest brother, now named Yoshitsune, was coming to aid him in his fight against the Taira. Yoritomo was exceedingly glad at this unexpected good news, for all that helped to swell his forces now brought nearer the day when he would be able to strike his long-planned blow at the power of the hated Taira. As soon as Yoshitsune reached Idzu, Yoritomo arranged for an immediate meeting. Although the two men were brothers, it must be remembered that their father had been killed, and the family utterly scattered, when they were mere children, Yoshitsune being at that time but an infant in his mother's arms. As this was therefore the first time they had met Yoritomo knew nothing of his young brother's character. One of Yoshitsune's elder brothers had come with him, and Yoritomo being a shrewd general wished to test them both to see of what mettle they were made. He ordered his retainers to bring a brass basin full of boiling water. When it was brought, Yoritomo ordered Noriyori, the elder of the two, to carry it to him first. Now brass being a good conductor of heat, the basin was very hot and Noriyori stupidly let it fall. Yoritomo ordered it to be filled again and bade Yoshitsune bring it to him. Without moving a muscle of his handsome face Yoshitsune took hold of the almost unbearably hot vessel and carried it with due ceremony slowly across the room. This exhibition of nerve and endurance filled Yoritomo with admiration and he was favourably struck with Yoshitsune's character. As for Noriyori, who had been unable to hold a hot basin for a few moments, he had no use for him at all, except as a common soldier. Yoritomo begged Yoshitsune to become his right-hand man and zealously to espouse his cause. Yoshitsune declared that this had been his lifelong ambition ever since he could remember,--as they both were sons of the same father, so was their cause and destiny one. Yoritomo made Yoshitsune a general of part of his army and ordered him in the name of his father Yoshitomo to chastise the Taira. Delighted beyond all words at the wonderfully auspicious turn events were taking, Yoshitsune hastened his preparations for the march. The longed-for hour had come to which through his whole childhood and youth he had looked forward, and for which his whole being had thirsted for many years. He could now fulfil the last words of his unhappy mother, and punish the Taira for all the evil they had wrought against the Minamoto. All the wild restlessness of his youth, which had driven him forth to wield his wooden sword against the rocks in the Kuramayama Valley and to try his strength against Benkei on the Gojo Bridge, now found vent in action most dear to a born warrior's heart. With several thousands of troops under him, Yoshitsune marched up to Kyoto and waged war against the Taira, and defeated them in a series of brilliant engagements. The stricken Taira multitudes fled before the avenger like autumn leaves before the blast, and Yoshitsune pursued them to the sea. At Dan-no-Ura the Taira made a last stand, but all in vain. Their lion leader, Kiyomori, was dead, and there was no great chieftain to rally them in the disordered retreat that now ensued. Yoshitsune came sweeping down upon them, and they and their fleet and their infant Emperor likewise, with their women and children, sank beneath the waves. Only a scattered few lived to tell the tale of the terrible destruction that overtook them on the sea. Thus did Yoshitsune become a great warrior and general. Thus did he fulfil the ambitions of his youth and avenge his father Yoshitomo's death. He was without a rival in the whole country for his marvellous bravery and successive victories. He was adored by the people as their most popular hero and darling, and throughout the length and breadth of the land his praise was sung by every one. Even to this day there is no one in Japan who has not heard the name of Yoshitsune. The next story, "The Story of Benkei," will tell you more of Yoshitsune, for the two lives are linked together in the fame and glory of noble deeds done, of dangers passed, of troubles and reverses borne, and of honours earned and joy and victory shared together--to be told and remembered forever. [1] The Tengu are strange creatures with very long noses; sometimes they have the head of a hawk and the body of a man. [2] The fighter's fan was always made of metal and was often used as a weapon. [3] See in the story of "My Lord Bag of Rice," _The Japanese Fairy Book_ (Constable, London). THE STORY OF BENKEI SEQUEL TO THE STORY OF YOSHITSUNE Those who have read the story of the great warrior Yoshitsune will certainly remember that his retainer Benkei was a gigantic bonze as remarkable for his physical strength as he was for his original character. In the story of Yoshitsune very little was said about Benkei; you may therefore like to hear something more about the famous man who is so favourite a hero with Japanese children and so greatly respected in Japan for his faithfulness to his master. Benkei was the son of a Buddhist priest named Bensho, High Steward of the Temple of Gongen at Kumano, a famous shrine from ancient times, and his mother was the daughter of a high Court official of the second rank. Benkei was no ordinary mortal. Most children come into the world within ten months, but Benkei kept his mother waiting one year and six months for him; and when he was born he already had teeth and a luxuriant growth of hair, and was so strong and big that he could walk from the first as well as most children of two or three years of age. Seeing how extraordinarily big and strong he was, the family were lost in amazement; but their wonder quickly changed to dismay, for the mother died soon after giving birth to her son. The father, Bensho, was very angry at this, and took an aversion to the child who had brought, he said, so great a misfortune upon him. He even wished to abandon the boy altogether, believing that, as Benkei's birth had cost his mother's life, he would in after years only prove a curse to the family. Now the boy's aunt (who was married to a man named Yama-no-i), hearing this, pitied her little nephew Benkei, and going to her brother said: "If you are going to treat the child so cruelly as to cast him away, please give him to me. I have no children and will bring him up as my own child. He is not responsible for his mother's death. It is fate, and there is no help for it!" Bensho consented to her taking the child, saying that he did not care what happened to him so long as he was kept out of his sight, for he could no longer bear to see him. So Benkei was adopted by his aunt, who took him away to the capital of Kyoto. The child rewarded her care and grew to be a fine boy beyond all expectation. He was exceedingly strong and healthy; at five or six years of age he was equal in size and strength to boys of ten or twelve, and gave promise of unusual intelligence and cleverness. Unfortunately his face was as fierce as that of a demon and he looked so truly savage and ugly that he gradually earned for himself the nickname of Oni-Waka, or Demon Youth. In a few years his uncle thought that it was time to send the boy to school, and he accordingly sent Benkei to the monastery of Eizan and placed him under the tutorship of the famous priest Kwankei. In Japan as in England in those times all learning was in the hands of the priests, and the temples were the only schools. When Benkei arrived at Kwankei's temple he was taught the reading and writing of Chinese characters, and as he was at first docile and diligent, and obedient to all set over him, he made rapid progress, and not only satisfied but pleased his teacher, who commended his industry; but after a time he chafed at the restraint of his new surroundings and began to give trouble. Not content with being unruly himself, he would lead the other novices away from their studies into the mountains and play all kinds of rough games with them, and, of course, being by nature much stronger and bigger than any of them, none of his companions could stand against him. It therefore happened that in every contest he invariably gained the victory, and this elated him so much that he thought of nothing but his sports and his triumphs, and, neglecting his lessons entirely, practised athletic games day after day, quite forgetting everything else. Oni-Waka's teacher, Kwankei, hearing about the youth's wild doings, and considering them as unseemly, sent for him and told him that such behaviour not only grieved his guardians but brought disgrace upon the holy temple; but his rebuke fell upon deaf ears and did no good at all. While he was being scolded, Benkei listened respectfully enough; but as soon as the reverend teacher turned his back he would forthwith be as wild, if not wilder, than ever. His conduct grew worse and worse, till at last, losing all patience, the master priest forbade him to go out of the house, and then enforced his order by shutting him up in a monastery. This punishment Oni-Waka deeply resented, and one night, eluding the vigilance of his gaolers, he stole out quietly, and picking up a great log of wood began to destroy everything he could. First he smashed the gateway; then the fences all round the temple; then he broke the shutters and the sliding screens inside; indeed everything he could reach, he wrecked. The bonzes, roused from their slumbers by the unexpected noise, which sounded as if a troop of robbers were at work, were all so frightened that they could do nothing to stop the whirlwind of destruction. When Oni-Waka had done all the mischief he could he felt that, after this last mad prank, the Temple of Eizan was no place for him, so he fled from the spot forever. He was now just seventeen years of age, and he called himself Musashi Bo Benkei. Oni-Waka showed a sense of humour when he called himself Musashi Bo Benkei. In olden times there lived in Eizan a man named Musashi, who was turbulent and wild in his youth, and yet became a famous bonze and lived until the ripe age of sixty-one. Oni-Waka, having heard about this famous man, made up his mind to be like him, and therefore called himself Musashi Bo, or Musashi the Bonze. The first syllable--"Ben"--of _Ben_kei was taken from the first character of his father's name (Bensho), and the second--"kei"--was the last syllable of his teacher's name (Kwankei). The name Benkei was therefore a combination of the names of his father and teacher. Ashamed to return home to his uncle and aunt after his behaviour at the monastery, Benkei made up his mind to travel. This he did much after the fashion of German apprentices at about the same period in Europe. Leaving Kyoto, he came to Osaka; from Osaka he went to the province of Awa in the island of Shikoku; he then travelled all through that island, and thence wandered back to the mainland, where in the province of Harima he came at last to a monastery called Shosa. This monastery was as large as that of Eizan, and Benkei thought that he would like to stay there for a time as a student. With the consent of the abbot, Benkei was enrolled as an acolyte of this temple. Among the numerous novices in the temple there was one named Kaien, who was nearly as fond of mischief as Benkei himself, and he was known in the neighbourhood for a troublesome fellow, no one young or old being safe from his foolish pranks. One day soon after Benkei's arrival, Kaien found the newcomer taking a nap, so for fun he wrote on Benkei's cheek the Chinese character for _geta_, or "clog." When Benkei woke up and went into the courtyard he noticed that everybody he came near seemed to be laughing at him, though nobody would say why. Thinking that there must be something strange in his appearance he glanced into a bowl of water and at once discovered the cause of the merriment. Angry at the trick played on him, he seized a thick stick and rushing into the midst of his fellow novices shouted: "You rogues! I suppose you thought that you were doing something clever when you scribbled on my face. Now just come here, one by one, and kneel down and beg my pardon. If you do not you will soon be sorry for yourselves." Benkei looked so angry and spoke so fiercely that most of the acolytes were frightened. Four or five of the boldest, however, answered him back, saying: "What do you mean, you lazy fellow, by complaining about a trick played upon you while you were asleep in the middle of the day? If we hear any more of your grumbling, we will throw you out of the monastery." In this way they tried to frighten Benkei, but he did not budge an inch, and his only reply was to lift his stick and knock down the four or five who had spoken. Seeing this, Kaien, the author of all this trouble, rushed up, saying: "You are a coward to attack fellows half your size. Suppose for a change you fight with me!" Then looking round for a weapon, and seeing a large log of wood on a fire close by, he picked it up and faced the enraged Benkei, adding: "It was I who scribbled on your face. If you are angry, come on and let us fight it out!" The two closed at once and fought for some time; then Benkei grew impatient, and seizing Kaien by his collar and belt lifted him off his feet. The other novices, seeing this, cried out in alarm: "Kaien has been lifted off his feet. He can't fight now. He is helpless!" Then they shouted to Kaien to apologize and save himself. "Pardon! Pardon! Benkei! Mercy!" screamed the youth, now bitterly repenting his folly. Benkei, however, did not hear Kaien's cry for mercy, for he was like a madman now. He hardly knew what he did or said, for his blood was fired by the taunts of the young men and by the fight. "You shall die," screamed Benkei, "mannerless coward that you are; you shall die, I say, and your carcass shall be eaten by crows!" With these words he shook Kaien as mercilessly as a dog does a rat, and then flung him upon the tiled roof of the chapel, a height of some fourteen or fifteen feet. Kaien fell on the roof, rolled down the tiles, and at last, striking a rock in the garden, was killed on the spot. When the foolish and unfortunate lad was flung up on the roof by Benkei, he still held the smoking brand which he had all to no purpose used against his antagonist and this, falling on the building, flared up and set fire to the temple. Just then a breeze sprang up and fanned the flames into a fierce blaze; sparks from the roof dropped upon the curving tiers of the five-storied pagoda, and the main gateway, and the school and the houses of the bonzes, till the whole of the monastery was in a blaze. Seeing the conflagration, all the inmates were lost in consternation. Shouting "Fire! Fire!" some of them ran to draw water from the well, while others threw sand on the flames, and in the excitement and general confusion which followed, Benkei, the cause of the calamity, was forgotten. In the midst of the tremendous tumult and disturbance Benkei laughed quietly to himself. "Ha! ha!" he laughed; "look at the fire and the stir I have made! I have never seen the lazy bonzes know what it is to hurry before. It will do them good for once in a way!" Then he slipped away from the temple and made his way back to Kyoto. Benkei, wild and unruly as he was, cannot be judged by the standard of conduct of to-day. Those times were very different from these days of peace and order. Young men were encouraged to do rough violent deeds to show their strength and courage, and if they killed their antagonists in the fight, so much the more did this redound to their credit. It was the custom for a young _samurai_ on obtaining a sword to go out into the highways to try the mettle of his blade. Woe to those who passed by; their blood must baptize the knight's sword. This training bred a martial spirit in the youth of Japan, and produced brave men of dauntless courage and resolution like Benkei, who became such a hero in after-life. Benkei was, however, by this time tired of study and of living the dull life of a bonze, and he now made up his mind to rove about in search of adventures, determining that, should he find a stronger man than himself, he would become that man's vassal, turn from his wild ways and lead the life of a good _samurai_, faithful to his lord and a good patriot to his country. But first of all he must find the man stronger than he to whom he would bow his proud strong neck. He longed now to find a master worthy of respect, whom he could reverence as his superior. How was this to be done? At last an idea struck him. He had determined to be a soldier and enter the service of a _samurai_; he must therefore get a good sword. Violent and impetuous as ever, to this end he now vowed to take a thousand swords from the citizens of Kyoto. To carry out his wild scheme he went nightly to the Gojo Bridge, and when men passed along bearing swords in their girdles he would rush suddenly out, attack them furiously, and snatch away their swords. He never pursued those who ran away, for he deemed them cowards and would not waste his time or strength on such creatures; but those who opposed him he would mow down with a single sweep of his great halberd. In this way he had attacked nine hundred and ninety-nine men and taken away nine hundred and ninety-nine swords; each time he had hoped to meet his match in the numerous contests, but not one among the whole number proved a serious foe. Accordingly the swords Benkei had thus collected were all poor weapons, for weak men have like swords; they were blunt and badly tempered and of not the slightest use to him. He was heartily disappointed, and began to think that perhaps he had better abandon the enterprise as a vain one. In desperation, however, he determined to get one more sword and thus complete the total of one thousand blades, the number he had first of all set his mind upon. In spite of discouragement, he told himself that it would be stupid to give up at this point. As soon as he had decided to do this, his spirits revived, and for some unaccountable reason he felt that this time he would be lucky, and able to secure once for all a good weapon. He waited impatiently for the evening, and as soon as the twilight fell he made his preparations and went as usual to the Gojo Bridge. It happened to be the night of the fifteenth day of August, and the beautiful harvest moon sailed up into the serene heaven, above the hills and the tall dark velvety pines and cryptomerias, and the sleeping world was bathed in her soft silvery brilliance. For a long time Benkei stood leaning against the parapet of the bridge, entranced by the fair scene spread out before him in the moonlight and apparently quite forgetful for the time being of his purpose. Suddenly the stillness of the beautiful night was broken by the sound of a flute. Benkei started from his reverie. The music drew nearer and nearer, and then he saw a slight figure approaching from the other end of the bridge. The newcomer wore a kind of white veil and high black-lacquered clogs, and was playing on his flute as he strolled along. Benkei watched the approaching stranger and saw at once that this was no ordinary passer-by. At first he thought that this must be a woman, for the moonlight revealed a slender grace in walking and then on nearer view a face of extreme youth and aristocratic beauty. He could not find the heart to attack the mysterious and gentle unknown, and decided to let him or her pass unmolested; but while he was wondering who the person, so unlike all the others he had met on the bridge, could be, the supposed lady all of a sudden stepped up to Benkei and kicked the latter's halberd out of his hand. "What are you doing?" shouted Benkei, in a rage when he had recovered from his astonishment; and recovering his halberd he pulled off what he supposed to be the lady's veil. To his surprise he found that the adventurous stranger was a handsome youth who might easily be mistaken for a girl, and then Benkei's eyes fell upon a splendid gold-mounted sword which the lad carried in his girdle. He said to himself that he had not waited so long in vain, that he was verily in luck this night to have such a bird come into net. While these thoughts flashed through his mind, Benkei clutched at the sword, but the youth was far stronger than he looked, and the instant Benkei put forth his hand the young fellow flung a heavy fan in his face, saying: "How brave you think yourself, don't you?" and darted out of his reach. This made Benkei more angry than ever, and with threatening exclamations he lifted his halberd to deal a smashing blow on the young knight. But the lad was far too quick for Benkei and sprang about with the nimbleness of a monkey, and no matter how Benkei aimed his blows, they never reached the mark. Never had Benkei seen such agility and adroitness. Sometimes the youth appeared in front and sometimes behind, now on one side and again on the other, and as often as Benkei turned he would find that his opponent had shifted his position like lightning. At length Benkei grew tired and a sense of awe began to take hold of his mind, for he now felt that the youth must be a supernatural being, or a tengu, and no common mortal, and this feeling grew upon him so strongly that he began to lose heart. He knew now that he was no longer invincible as he had hitherto been. Then the lad, who had hitherto acted on the defensive, began to push his advantage, and, attacking Benkei in good earnest, beat down the latter's guard and disarmed him. When the redoubtable Benkei, who had never yet been beaten by any one in his whole life, found himself thus ignominiously defeated, he was astonished beyond words, and there and then, kneeling down on the bridge, bowed low before the young man and humbly said: "Will you condescend to tell me whose son you are, and your name? Something tells me that you are no common man!" The handsome youth laughed and replied: "I am the eighth and youngest son of Minamoto Yoshitomo, and my name is Minamoto Ushiwaka," and with these words he allowed Benkei to rise. "What do I hear?" exclaimed Benkei; "are you indeed the young knight Minamoto Ushiwaka of whom I have heard so much? I felt from the first that you were a person of distinction. As for myself, I am simply Musashi Bo Benkei. For a long time I have been looking for a man stronger than myself, to whom I could look up as my master. I have led a wild life for a long time, but if you will take me into your service I will be a good and faithful vassal." Ushiwaka, who had heard of Benkei's remarkable strength, and who had come out that night to the Gojo Bridge for the purpose of meeting the notorious man with the hope of winning him to his side, was delighted at the turn events had taken and promised to take Benkei into his service, and in this way the brave youth and the giant priest became associated as lord and vassal. From this hour Benkei was a completely changed character. He gave up his wild ways and became obedient to his young master, who was the only one he had found a match for his imposing strength and will. He served his new lord with the utmost devotion, and fought bravely in every battle which Yoshitsune (Ushiwaka's name when he came of age) waged against the Taira clan at the famous battles of Ichi-no-tani and Dan-no-Ura, of which you will have read in the story of Yoshitsune. Yoshitsune won victory after victory, driving his Taira enemies to the sea, where they miserably perished at Dan-no-Ura, and it seemed to the wondering people that he must be the impersonation of Hachiman, the God of War. So handsome and brave was he that they had never seen or heard of his like before, and throughout Japan every one praised and loved him. Now Yoritomo, when he saw his brother's popularity, became jealous, and Kajiwara, one of his generals, who hated Yoshitsune because the young knight had once openly reproved him for cowardice, seized the opportunity to poison Yoritomo's mind against his younger brother; he suggested that Yoshitsune's aim was to supplant Yoritomo in supreme authority. Sad to say, Yoritomo believed this wicked slander. Therefore, when Yoshitsune, covered with glory and honour, returned from the wars, bringing with him, as prisoners of war, Munemori, the Taira chieftain, and his son (Kiyomori was now dead), he found that Yoritomo had erected a barrier near Koshigoe, just outside Kamakura. Here he sent a guard to receive the prisoners, but on the ground that Yoshitsune was guilty of treachery, Yoritomo refused him admittance into Kamakura. In vain did Yoshitsune protest against the unjust accusation; in vain did he write a touching letter avowing his unaltered love and devotion to Yoritomo; in vain did he recount all the hardships endured on the campaigns which the young and chivalrous general had undertaken at the command of his brother. He was not believed, and ingratitude was the only reward he received for devotion to his brother's cause. At this crisis Yoshitsune found himself banished and every part of Japan rendered unsafe for his residence, for Yoritomo ordered him to be arrested. When this time of trouble came, Benkei was indefatigable in his efforts to guard Yoshitsune's person from danger. He followed him in his flight and exile and never left his master's side. Yoshitsune now returned to Kyoto for a time. Soon after he arrived there Yoritomo sent a man named Tosabo to compass his death. This man, like Benkei, had formerly been a bonze, and he gave out that he had come to visit the temples of the capital. Tosabo knew very well what a shrewd and clever warrior Yoshitsune was, and he doubted his own ability to cope with the task he had undertaken. He therefore decided that he would wait until Yoshitsune was completely off his guard, and then make a sudden attack upon the house where he was staying. He told his followers of his plan and secretly prepared for the raid. Yoshitsune soon learned of Tosabo's coming, for the people of Kyoto and its neighbourhood, where he had lived as a boy, were devoted to him. The young general, knowing that Tosabo was in Yoritomo's service, regarded him with suspicion. He told Benkei of his fears, and Benkei at once volunteered to go and summon Tosabo to the house and question him. Yoshitsune agreed to the plan, and Benkei immediately set off for Tosabo's house. "Now, Tosabo," said he, "my Lord Yoshitsune desires to see you, so you are to come back with me at once!" Benkei's manner was so fierce and determined that Tosabo felt alarmed and he therefore pretended to be ill; but Benkei was not to be balked in that stupid way, and shouting: "If you are not quick, I'll seize you and take you whether you will or not!" he grabbed Tosabo by his girdle and lifted him up as if he had been a child, tucked him under one arm, and, mounting his horse, carried him off. There were several of Tosabo's retainers present at the interview, but they were all trembling with fear and did not dare to put forth a hand to help their master. Benkei thus conducted Tosabo into the presence of Yoshitsune by force, and both master and vassal began to examine him strictly; but Tosabo was such an audacious rascal that, notwithstanding the fact that he had actually come from Yoritomo, hired as an assassin, he refused to confess anything. With great humility he feigned surprise at being suspected of entertaining designs against Yoshitsune's life, saying that he was but a poor bonze in Yoritomo's service, and as Yoshitsune was his master's brother, he (Tosabo) regarded him as his lord also. Nothing else but a religious fast and retreat had called him to Kyoto! Now Yoshitsune and Benkei had no actual proof of his guilt, so they allowed Tosabo to go free, first making him sign a document declaring that he was not a hired assassin. In truth neither of them believed the crafty man, but thought him too despicable an enemy to fear, and made up their minds that, if he and his gang planned a night assault, the party could be easily repulsed and put to flight. Tosabo on his part congratulated himself on his cleverness, returned home, armed his men, and made an attack on Yoshitsune's residence. Yoshitsune that night, thinking that at any rate for some time he was quite safe from attack, made merry with all his men. Drinking amber-coloured wine they sat up late, and when at last the young general retired to rest, having drunk much he slept a deep sleep. His beautiful young wife Shizuka, who accompanied him in all his wanderings, fearing she knew not what, that night alone kept watch beside her lord's couch. She was the first to hear the approach of Tosabo and his soldiers. Vainly she tried to rouse Yoshitsune; she called him, she shook him, but all in vain,--he slept on. Shizuka was frantic. She heard the enemy at the gate trying to batter it down. Suddenly the thought struck her, as if by inspiration, that the most thrilling call to arms to a warrior must be the sound of his armour. She rushed to the box in the hall, and heavy as it was for her slender strength, she lifted out the armour. She dragged it quickly into the room. Then over Yoshitsune's head she waved it to and fro. "Clang-clang," sounded the armour, "clang--clang." Up sprang the warrior, seized the suit of armour, and with Shizuka's help dressed himself for battle. All this took place without a single word. Benkei and the rest of his soldiers soon joined him and the enemy were put to flight. Tosabo managed to escape and hide himself in the mountains of Kurama, near Kyoto, but he was caught and put to death at last. To have been able to thwart and punish the assassins from Kamakura was a source of great satisfaction to Yoshitsune and his men; but when the story reached Yoritomo he was very wroth, and issued another decree entirely disowning Yoshitsune and declaring him an enemy to the state. Yoshitsune felt that Yoritomo was acting most unjustly towards him, for he knew himself to be entirely blameless of plotting against Yoritomo's supremacy; but as it was useless to contend against his elder brother, who as Shogun was the military ruler of Japan, he decided to leave Kyoto and escape to some other place. He therefore planned to cross from the province of Settsu to Saikoku in a ship; but when they reached Dan-no-Ura, where Yoshitsune had finally conquered and all but terminated the Taira clan, the fine weather they had hitherto experienced suddenly changed, the sky became overcast with black clouds, rain began to fall in torrents, the wind began to blow, and gradually the waves rose higher and higher, and shipwreck became imminent. As the darkness deepened about them, though they could see nothing, over the water there came weird sounds of the din of battle, the rushing of ships through the sea, the shouting and trampling of men, the whizzing of arrows in the air; all around them as the ship sped on, the tumult of the fight grew louder, till Yoshitsune felt that he was living again through that awful and never-to-be-forgotten battle. [Illustration: THE PHANTOM HOST DREW NEARER TO THE BOAT] Then from amid the rolling waves, which every moment threatened to engulf the boat, arose pale, ghastly forms whose wan faces were terrible to see. Clad in blood-stained, battle-torn armour and ravaged with gaping wounds, these warrior ghosts raised threatening hands, as if to stop the progress of the boat, while meanings of despair and hollow sobs and shrieks burst from the spectre army. Among the foremost figures was one who brandished a huge halberd, and as he approached, he addressed Yoshitsune, saying: "Aha! Revenge! Revenge! Behold in me the ghost of Taira-no-Tomomori, general of the Taira clan, ruthlessly destroyed by you! Long have I waited here for you and now I will slay you all, for not until then will the slaughtered Taira rest in their watery graves." Through the tossing, whirling waters, with the wind shrieking round them, and a weird blue phosphoric light making everything visible, the phantom host drew nearer and nearer to the boat. But Yoshitsune did not seem to be in the least alarmed. As dauntless as ever, he stood up in the prow and faced the ghosts of the men whom he had slain in that terrible battle, and flashing forth his keen blade, said: "So you are the spirits of the Taira clan, are you? And you have risen from the ocean-bed to haunt us, and to impede our progress, and to inflict evil upon us? Have you forgotten how I drove you before me as dust before the wind when you were alive? It is a pity you have not profited by past experiences! I should have thought that you would have had no wish to see me again!" With these words he was about to brandish his sword and attack the spectres, but Benkei, the wise and faithful Benkei, stepped up to his young master and stayed his hand, saying: "Not so, my lord. Swords are useless against ghosts. It is not wise to anger these poor earth-bound phantoms. The best way of dealing with them is to pacify them, so that they may find peace and go to their own place." Yoshitsune yielded to Benkei and allowed himself to be put aside. Then Benkei, who, you will remember, had formerly been a Buddhist priest, drew out a small rosary which he always carried with him, and telling his beads, and rubbing his hands together, palm to palm, began to recite prayers earnestly and reverently in a loud voice. The sacred words appointed by the Buddhist Church fell like a benediction upon the angry spirits, the wailing and the howling and the tumult of the phantom conflict ceased, and the wraiths gradually vanished into the sea from whence they had arisen; the storm ceased, and the weather cleared and became as fine and peaceful as it was before, and the travellers soon reached the land in safety. Across the mountains Yoshitsune now fled, and after endless adventures and hairbreadth escapes, he determined to seek the help of his old friend and partisan, the General Hidehira, in the province of Oshu. On the way thither they came to a guard-house at Ataka, in Kaga Province. This guard-house was one of the principal frontier stations at which in those feudal times all travellers had to give an account of themselves. Yoritomo had by this time issued a proclamation ordering the arrest of Yoshitsune, so the young general and Benkei and the handful of faithful men still left to him disguised themselves as wandering priests, wearing loose caps on their heads, carrying wallets on their backs, and grasping pilgrim staves in their hands. Yoshitsune himself was disguised as a _goriki_, or coolie, attendant on the priests. They travelled slowly until they came to the barrier, consulting together as to how they should pass it, for they heard that the sentries suspected every one and were examining passers-by very strictly. Only the previous day three mendicants had been killed, owing to the suspicion of the guards having been excited. All Yoshitsune's followers, among whom were many brave, loyal, though headstrong young fellows, wanted to storm the guard-house and cut their way through the soldiers, but Benkei was strongly opposed to this and said: "No, no, that will never do! A quarrel would cost some of our lives, and we have few enough as it is. Leave the matter to me to manage and I'll get you through." No one ever gainsaid Benkei, when he spoke with authority like that, for they all knew what a mountain of strength and resource he was in time of need. So Benkei, as ever, had his way. He disguised Yoshitsune in the dress of a servant (_goriki_), and gave him a deep broad-brimmed hat of bamboo to wear, and made him tuck up his robe into his belt; then, advancing in front of the others, he leisurely approached the guard-house, and with an air of the utmost unconcern and nonchalance said: "We are mendicant priests who are travelling throughout the various provinces for the purpose of soliciting subscriptions for the rebuilding of the shrine of the Great Buddha at the Todaiji Temple, in Nara. We ask permission to pass the barrier." Now the captain of the guard was a very clever man and a strict observer of rules, and he would not let Benkei pass without questioning him thoroughly. "Well, as you say you are visiting the various provinces soliciting subscriptions for the purpose of rebuilding the Shrine of the Great Buddha, it is possible that I may allow you to pass, but you must show me positive proof of the truth of your story," said the captain of the guard. Benkei was staggered for a moment when he heard these words. What should he do? But he was a quick-witted man, and without betraying any sign of being taken by surprise, he answered with composure: "Very good, then, I will read you my commission written by the High Priest himself in the first pages of the subscription-book." With these words, speculating upon the ignorance of the guard, with great dignity he drew out a scroll, and pressing it with reverence to his forehead, began to improvise and read out an imaginary letter from the High Priest of the Todaiji Temple for the rebuilding of a shrine for the Daibutsu, at Nara. At the first mention of the name of the priest, so famous and so highly revered throughout the country, the captain of the guard, it is said, fell respectfully upon his knees and listened, face bent to the earth in humble awe, to the contents of the letter. So well did Benkei play his part that the sentry was convinced of the genuine character of the commission and said: "I am satisfied. There is no reason to detain you. You may pass!" Benkei was overjoyed, and thought that at length all difficulties had been overcome. At the head of the fugitive band, with Yoshitsune disguised as an attendant in the rear, he was moving forward to pass through the barrier when the captain suddenly darted forward and stopped Yoshitsune, saying in a loud voice: "Wait a moment, you coolie! Wait a moment!" "We are discovered," thought Benkei; and even he, dauntless and cool in the face of all danger hitherto, felt his heart beating violently in the intense excitement of this momentous crisis. But it was no time for hesitation, and recognizing that the whole situation hung upon that very moment, Benkei, with his usual pluck and daring, pulled himself together and coolly asked: "Have you anything to say to this coolie whom you have stopped?" "Of course I have, and that is why I have stopped him," replied the sentry. "And may I ask what your business with him is?" inquired Benkei. "This coolie," answered the captain, "is said by my soldiers to resemble Lord Yoshitsune, and I stopped him so that I might examine him." "What!" shouted Benkei, pretending to be overcome with laughter at the idea, "this coolie resembles Lord Yoshitsune? Ha! ha! ha! Oh, this is indeed too comical for anything! I wondered why you arrested him, but never thought of his being stopped for such an absurd reason. But as a matter of fact he has been mistaken for Lord Yoshitsune over and over again by several people, and you are by no means the only one who has had his suspicions aroused. You see the fellow is handsome and has a very white skin like an aristocrat, and that's all the good there is about him, but on that account I have had an immense amount of trouble with him." Then Benkei turned to Yoshitsune, saying: "Wretched creature! it is all your fault that we come under suspicion all the time. You shuffle along in such a cowardly manner and put on such strange airs that people naturally suspect you. In future be more careful, and walk along like a man and not in such a mincing way, you fool!" Thus Benkei feigned to lose his temper, and after scolding Yoshitsune roughly, finally lifted his staff and gave him several blows across the back, telling him to fall upon his knees and not presume to remain standing in the presence of the guard. The captain of the guard had been watching this scene for some moments, and when he saw Benkei start in and thrash Yoshitsune, his doubts were completely allayed; for he thought that if the apparent servant were really Yoshitsune and the mendicant priest the latter's retainer, the vassal would never dare to assault his master in this fashion. "Ah! it was my fault and carelessness. Evidently it was an entire mistake on our part to think this coolie was Lord Yoshitsune, and it is not the poor fellow's fault, so pray do not beat him any more! Continue your journey at once and take him with you." Benkei's trick thus succeeded completely. The captain reentered the guard-house and the young lord and his vassals passed at last unhindered through the strictly guarded gate, saved as ever by the quick-wittedness of Benkei. Now some say that the captain of the guard was not deceived; that he knew that the disguised priests and attendant were Yoshitsune and his party, but his whole sympathy was with the hunted hero and his brave few and he allowed them to pass. For a _samurai_ must ever show mercy and sympathy, especially to his fellows and to those in distress. The strict examination he insisted upon was a farce he played to satisfy the authorities at Kamakura. Yoshitsune and his followers were filled with admiration at the wisdom of Benkei, and great were the praise and thanks they rendered him on this occasion; but Benkei, full of reverence and devotion to his master, never ceased to deplore the necessity which drove him to beat his own lord and apologized with great humility. Whenever the story was told, he would shed tears of sorrow and declare that he would rather have been beaten to death himself than have been obliged by circumstances to strike Yoshitsune. Thus once by force of arms he put to flight the would-be assassins of Yoshitsune at Kyoto; by reciting Buddhist prayers he laid the ghosts of the Taira warriors in the sea at Dan-no-Ura; and by sheer wit and sagacity he brought his party across the dangerous frontier; and at length he managed to arrive safely with his beloved master at the Oshu residence of the famous General Hidehira. He now thought that all troubles were over; but unfortunately this story soon reached Kamakura City, and Yoritomo, furious at Yoshitsune's daring, despatched a large army to chastise him. At this time Yoshitsune's camp was pitched beside the river Koromo, and the army from Kamakura, swarming up in countless thousands on the opposite bank, discharged volley after volley of arrows at the brave but ill-fated band. Yoshitsune's handful of men were entirely unable to face the overwhelming numbers, and fled in confusion, seeking shelter in the neighbouring woods and valleys or hiding themselves in the mountains. But Benkei, despising flight, refused to budge, and stood without moving while showers of arrows fell like rain around him. At length the enemy saw that Benkei stood immovable with his seven weapons on his back, grasping his great halberd in both hands. Wondering at the sight, they drew near for the purpose of solving the mystery. As they approached, the giant still remained standing; not an eyelid flinched, as his eyes, wide open, glared fiercely at the soldiers. No wonder that the giant did not stir, for arrows were sticking all over his body like quills on a porcupine, and it was evident that he had died standing with his face to the enemy. This story is known far and wide throughout Japan, and you can imagine what a brave sturdy warrior he must have been to have died in this way, fighting to the last. Another story tells how the enemy came up to the wonderful figure of Benkei and found it to be but a straw dummy, and that by this device Benkei gained time for his beloved lord, with whom he escaped into the North, leaving their enemies far behind. Such is the story of Benkei, and the story does not end here; for tradition relates with much circumstance, as traditions always do, that Benkei's master became the conqueror of Northern Asia, known to after ages as the famous Genghis Khan. [Illustration: DIED STANDING WITH HIS FACE TO THE ENEMY] THE GOBLIN OF OYEYAMA Long, long ago in Old Japan, in the reign of the Emperor Ichijo, the sixty-sixth Emperor, there lived a very brave general called Minamoto-no-Raiko. Minamoto was the name of the powerful clan to which he belonged, and in England it would be called his surname, and Raiko, or Yorimitsu,[1] was his own name. In those times it was the custom for generals to keep as a body-guard four picked knights renowned for their daring spirit, their great strength, and their skill in wielding the sword. These four braves were called Shitenno, or Four Kings of Heaven, and they participated in all the exploits and martial expeditions of their chief, and vied with one another in excelling in bravery and dexterity. Minamoto-no-Raiko was no exception to the general rule of those ancient leaders of Japan, and he had under him Usui-Sadamitsu, Sakata Kintoki, Urabe Suetake, and Watanabe Tsuna (the clan or surname comes first in Japan). Search the wide world from north to south and from east to west, and no braver warriors than the Shitenno of Minamoto-no-Raiko could you find. Each one of the four was said to be a match single-handed for a thousand men. They lived for adventure, and their delight was in war. Now it happened about this time that Kyoto, the capital, was ringing with the stories of the doings of a frightful demon that lived in the fastnesses of a high mountain called Mount Oye, in the province of Tamba. This goblin or demon's name was Shutendoji. To look upon the creature was a horrible thing, and those who once caught sight of him never forgot the sight to their dying day. He sometimes took upon him the form of a human being, and leaving his den would steal into the capital and haunt the streets and carry off precious sons and beloved daughters of the Kyoto homes. Having seized these treasures and flowers of the people, he would drag them to his castle in the wilds of Mount Oye, and there he would make them work and wait upon him till he was ready to devour them, then he would tear them limb from limb. For a long time the flower of the youth of the capital had been kidnapped in this way; many homes had been made desolate. For a long, long time no one had the least idea of what happened to the sons and daughters thus stolen, but at the period when this story begins, the dread news of the cannibal Shutendoji and his mountain den began to be noised abroad. Now at the Court there was an official, Knight Kimitaka by name, who was thrice happy in the possession of a beautiful daughter. She was his only child, and upon her he and his wife doted. One day the darling of the family disappeared, and no trace whatsoever of the beautiful girl could be found. The household was plunged into the deepest grief and misery. The mother at last determined to consult a soothsayer, and, bidding an attendant follow her, she repaired to the house of a famous fortune-teller and diviner, who revealed to her that her daughter had been stolen away by the goblin of Mount Oye. The mother hastened home terror-stricken, and the father, when he was told the dire news, was dumb with grief. He gave up going on duty at the Palace, for he was so broken-hearted that he could do nothing but weep night and day over the loss of his only daughter. To lose her was bad enough, but the thought of the horrible hands into which she had fallen was unendurable, and all who loved the poor child, even her own father, were powerless to save her. Oh! the bitter, bitter grief! At last the Emperor heard of the sorrow that had overtaken Kimitaka, and his wrath was great to think that the hateful goblin had dared to enter the precincts of the sacred capital without permission, and had dared to steal away his subjects in this manner. And in his royal indignation he sprang to his feet and threw down his tasselled fan and cried aloud: "Is there no one in my domains who will punish this goblin and destroy him utterly, and avenge the wrongs he has done my people and this city, and so set my heart at ease?" Then the Emperor called his Council together, and put the matter before them and asked them what it were best to do, for the city must at all costs be rid of this terrible scourge. "How dare he haunt my dominions and lay hands on my people in the very precincts of my Palace?" cried the distressed Emperor. Then the Ministers respectfully answered the Emperor and said: "There are numbers of brave warriors in Your Majesty's realm, but there are none so able to do your bidding as Minamoto-no-Raiko. We would humbly advise our August Emperor, the Son of Heaven, to send for the knight and command him to slay the demon. Our poor counsel may not find favour in the Son of Heaven's sight, but at the present moment we can think of nothing else to suggest!" This advice pleased the Emperor Ichijo, and he answered that he had often heard of Raiko as a valiant knight and true, who knew not what fear was, and he had no doubt that, as his Ministers said, he was just the man for the adventure. And so the Emperor summoned Raiko to the Palace at once. The warrior, on receiving the royal and unexpected summons, hastened to the Palace, wondering what it could mean. When he was told what was wanted of him, he prostrated himself before the throne in humble acquiescence to the royal command. Indeed Raiko was right glad at the thought of the adventure in store for him, for it had been quiet for some time in Kyoto, and he and his braves had chafed at the enforced idleness. The more he realized the awful difficulty of his task, the higher his courage and his spirits rose to face it and the more he determined to do it or die in the attempt. He went home and thought out a plan of action. As the enemy was no human being, but a formidable goblin, he thought that the wisest course would be to resort to stratagem instead of an open encounter, so he decided to take with him a few of his most trusted men rather than a great number of soldiers. He then called together his four braves, Kintoki, Sadamitsu, Suetake, and Tsuna, and besides these another knight, by name Hirai Yasumasa, nicknamed Hitori, which meant, as applied to him, "the only warrior." Raiko told them of the expedition, and explained that, as the demon was no common foe, he thought it wise that they should go to his mountain in disguise; in this way they would the more likely and the more easily overcome the goblin. They all agreed to what their chief said and set about making their preparations with great joy. They polished up their armour and sharpened their long swords and tried on their helmets, rejoicing in the prospect of the action confronting them. Before starting on this dangerous enterprise, they thought it wise to seek the protection and blessing of the gods, so Raiko and Yasumasa went to pray for help at the Temple of Hachiman, the God of War, at Mount Otoko, while Tsuna and Kintoki went to the Sumiyoshi Shrine of the Goddess of Mercy, and Sadamitsu and Suetake to the Temple of Gongen at Kumano. At each shrine the six knights offered up the same prayer for divine help and strength, and on bended knees and with hands laid palm to palm they besought the gods to grant them success in their expedition and a safe return to the capital. Then the brave band disguised themselves as mountain priests. They wore priests' caps and sacerdotal garments and stoles; they hid their armour and their helmets and their weapons in the knapsacks they carried on their backs; in their right hands they carried a pilgrim's staff, and in their left a rosary, and they wore rough straw sandals on their feet. No one meeting these dignified, solemn-looking priests would have thought that they were on the way to attack the goblin of Mount Oye, and no one would have dreamt that the leader of the band was the warrior Raiko, who for courage and strength had not his peer in the whole of the Island Empire. In this way Raiko and his men travelled across the country till at last they reached the province of Tamba and came to the foot of the mountain of Oye. Now as the goblin had chosen Mount Oye as his place of abode, you can imagine how difficult of access it was! Raiko and his men had often travelled in mountainous districts, but they had never experienced anything like the steepness of Mount Oye. It was indescribable. Great rocks obstructed the way, and the branches of the trees were so thickly interlaced overhead that the light of day could not penetrate through the foliage even at midday, and the shadows were so black that the warriors would have been glad of lanterns. Sometimes the path led them over precipices where they could hear the water rushing along the deep ravines beneath. So deep were these chasms that as Raiko and his men passed them they were overcome with giddiness. For the first time they realized now the dangers and difficulties of the task they had undertaken, and they were somewhat disheartened. At times they rested themselves on the roots of trees to gain breath, sometimes they stopped to quench their thirst at some trickling spring, catching the water up in their hands. They did not, however, allow themselves to be discouraged long, but pushed their way deeper and deeper into the mountain, encouraging each other with brave words of cheer when they felt their spirits flagging. But the thought sometimes crossed their minds, though they one and all kept it to themselves, "What if Shutendoji, or some of his demons, should be lurking behind any of the rocks or cliffs?" Suddenly from behind a rock three old men appeared. Now Raiko, who was as wise as he was brave, and who at that very moment had been thinking of what he should do were they to encounter the goblin unexpectedly, thought that sure enough here were some of the goblins, who had heard of his approach. They had simply disguised themselves as these venerable old men so as to deceive him and his men! But he was not to be outwitted by any such prank. He made signs with his eyes to the men behind him to be on their guard, and they in obedience to his gesture put themselves in attitudes of defence. The three old men saw at once the mistake Raiko had made, for they smiled at him and then drawing nearer, they bowed before him, and the foremost one said: "Do not be afraid of us; we are not the goblins of this mountain. I am from the province of Settsu. My friend is from Kii, and the third lives near the capital. We have all been bereft of our beloved wives and daughters by Shutendoji the goblin. Because of our great age we can do nothing to help them, though our sorrow for their loss, instead of growing less, grows greater day by day. We have heard of your coming, and we have awaited you here, so that we might ask you to help us in our distress. It is a great favour we ask, but we entreat you if you encounter Shutendoji to show him no mercy, but to slay him and so avenge the wrongs of our wives and children and many others who have been torn away from their homes in the Flower Capital." Raiko listened attentively to all the old man said, and then answered: "Now that you have told me so much, I need not reserve the truth from you"; and he went on to tell them of the order he had received from the Emperor to destroy Shutendoji and his den, and the warrior did his best to comfort the old men and to assure them that he would do all in his power to restore their kidnapped wives and daughters. Then the old men expressed great joy; their faces beamed like the sun as they thanked Raiko warmly for his kind sympathy, and they presented him with ajar of _saké_, saying as they bowed low: "As a token of our gratitude we wish to present you with this magic wine. It is called Shimben-Kidoku-Shu.' The name means, 'a cordial for men but a poison to goblins.' Therefore if a demon drinks of this wine, all his strength will go from him, and he will be as one paralyzed. Before you attack Shutendoji, give him to drink of this wine, and for the rest you will find no difficulty." And with these words the venerable spokesman handed the warrior a small white stone jar containing the wine. As soon as Raiko had taken the jar into his hands, a radiance like that of sunlight suddenly shone round the old men, and they vanished upwards from sight till their shining figures were lost in the clouds. The warriors were struck with astonishment. They gazed upwards as if stupefied. But Raiko was the first to recover from his surprise. He clapped his hands and laughed as he said: "Be not afraid at what you have seen! Be sure that the three who thus appeared to us are none other than the gods of the shrines we visited before starting on this perilous enterprise. The old man who said he was from Settsu must have been the deity of Sumiyoshi, the one from the province of Kii was the divinity of Kumano, and the one from the capital the god Hachiman of Mount Otoko. This is a most propitious sign. The three deities have taken us under their special protection. This _saké_ is their gift, and it will surely be of magic power in helping us to overcome the demons. We must, therefore, render thanks to Heaven for the protection vouchsafed to us." Then Raiko and his five knights knelt down on the mountain pass and bowed themselves to the ground and prayed for some minutes in silence, overcome with awe at the thought that the three gods whose aid they had invoked had visited them. Raiko sprang to his feet and lifted the jar of _saké_ reverently above his head, then he placed it with his armour and weapons in the box he carried on his back. Having done this, they all proceeded on their way, but oh! how safe and confident they now felt. Raiko with his magic wine felt more than a match for any demon now. There is a proverb which says, "A giant with an iron rod," which means strength added to strength, and this was fully illustrated in the case of Raiko. The goblin Shutendoji was now to be pitied; it would surely go hard with him! As they sped on their way they came to a mountain stream, and here they found a damsel washing a blood-stained garment, and as she washed and beat the garment against the current, they saw that she often had to stop and wipe the tears away with her sleeve, for she was weeping bitterly. Raiko's heart was stirred with pity at her distress, and he went up to her and said: "This is a goblin-haunted mountain; how is it that I find a damsel such as you here?" The Princess (for such she was) looked up in his face wonderingly and said: "It is indeed true that this is a goblin-haunted mountain, and hitherto inaccessible to mortals. How is it that you have managed to get here?" and she looked from Raiko to his men. Then Raiko said: "I will tell you the truth quite frankly. The Emperor has commanded us to slay the demon; that is why we are here!" Without waiting to hear any more, the Princess ran up to Raiko in her joy and clung to him, crying out in broken sentences: "Are you indeed the great Raiko of whom I have so often heard? How thankful I am that you have come. I will be your guide to the goblin's den. Hasten, Knight Raiko, and kill the demons! I already feel that I am saved!" When they heard these words the warriors knew that she was one of the goblin's victims. The Princess turned and led the way up the hill. Presently they saw a large iron gate guarded by two demons. The demon on the right was red and the demon on the left was black, and each was armed with a great iron stick or club. The Princess whispered to Raiko: "Behold the home of the demon. Enter the gates, and you will find a beautiful palace, built of black iron from the foundations to the roof. It is therefore called the Palace of Black Iron or Kurogane. It is large, and the inside is as beautiful as a great Daimio's palace. Within the walls of the Palace of Black Iron, Shutendoji holds a feast night and day. He is waited upon by maidens such as I, whom he has carried off from the capital and from the provinces to be his slaves. The wine he drinks, poured out in crimson lacquer cups, is the blood of human beings, and the food of those feasts is the flesh of his victims who are slain in turn. What numbers have I seen disappear, alas! all murdered to supply the awful food and wine of those cannibal feasts. How I have prayed to Heaven to punish this monster! But when I saw the fate of my friends, how could I hope to live? I knew not when my turn would come. But since I have met you I feel that we shall all be saved and great is my joy and gratitude!" By this time they had reached the gate, and the Princess went forward and said to the red and black demon sentinels: "These poor travellers have lost their way on this mountain. I took compassion on them and brought them here, so that they may rest for a while before going on their journey. I hope you will be kind to them." When the Princess first began to speak the demons looked and saw Raiko and his fellow priests. Little dreaming who these men were, and that in admitting them they were letting in the bravest knights in the whole of Japan, and still less suspecting their purpose, the demons laughed in their hearts. Good prey had indeed fallen into their hands; they would surely be allowed a share in the feast that these fresh victims would furnish. They grinned from ear to ear at the Princess and told her that she had done well, and bade her take the six travellers into the Palace and inform Shutendoji of their arrival. Thus the six warriors entered into the very stronghold of the demons as if they were invited guests. Triumphant glee at the success of their plan made them exchange lightning glances with each other. They passed through the great iron gate, up to the porch, and then the Princess led them through large spacious rooms and along great corridors till at last they reached the inner part of the Palace. Here they were shown into a large hall. At the upper end in the seat of honour sat the demon king Shutendoji. Never had the knights in their wildest dreams dreamt of such a hideous monster. He was ten feet in height, his skin was bright red and his wild shock of hair was like a broom. He wore a crimson _hakama_,[2] and he rested his huge arms on a stand. As the knights entered, he glared at them fiercely with eyes as big as a dish. The sight of this dread monster was enough to make any one tremble with fear, and had Raiko and his knights been weak they must have fainted away with horror. Raiko could hardly restrain himself from flying at the monster then and there, but he controlled himself and bowed humbly so as not to awaken the enemy's suspicion in any way. Shutendoji, glaring at him, said haughtily: "I do not know who you are in the least, or how you have found your way into this mountain, but make yourself at home!" Then Raiko answered meekly: "We are only humble mountain priests from Mount Haguro of Dewa. We were on our way to the capital, having been on a pilgrimage to the shrine of Omine. In travelling across these mountains we have lost our way. While wandering about and wondering which was the right path to take, we were met by one of the inmates of your palace and kindly brought here. Please pardon us for trespassing on your domains and for all the trouble we are giving you!" "Don't mention it," said Shutendoji; "I am sorry to hear of your plight. Do not stand on ceremony while you are here, and let us feast together." Then turning to the attendant demons he shouted orders for the dinner to be served, and clapped his red hands together. At this the partitions between the rooms slid apart and beautiful damsels magnificently robed came gliding in, bearing aloft in their hands large wine-cups, jars of _saké_ and dishes of fish of all kinds, which they placed before the ugly goblin and the guests. Raiko knew that all these lovely princesses had been snatched from the Flower Capital by Shutendoji, who, heedless of their tears and misery, kept them here to be his handmaidens. He said to himself fiercely that they should soon be free. Now that the wine-cups were brought in, the warrior seized his opportunity. From his satchel he took out the jar containing the enchanted wine, Shimben-Kidoku-Shu, which he had received from the gods of the three shrines, and said to Shutendoji: "Here is some wine which we have brought from Mount Haguro. It is a poor wine and unworthy of your acceptance, but we have always found it of great benefit in refreshing us when we were weary from fatigue and in cheering our drooping spirits. It will give us much pleasure if you will try a little of our humble wine, though it may not please your taste!" Shutendoji seemed pleased at this courtesy. He handed out a huge cup to be filled, saying: "Give me some of your wine. I should like to try it." The goblin drained it at one swallow and smacked his lips over it. "I have never tasted such excellent wine," he said and held out his cup to be filled again. You can imagine how delighted Raiko was, for he knew full well that the demon was given into his hand. But he dissembled cleverly and said as he filled the goblin's wine-cup: "I am delighted that the Honourable Host should deign to like our poor country wine. While you drink, I and my companions will venture to amuse you by our dancing." Then Raiko made a sign to his men and they began to chant an accompaniment, while he himself danced. Shutendoji was highly amused as well as his attendants. They had never seen men dance before, and they thought that the strangers were very entertaining. The goblins now began to pass the magic wine round and to grow merry. Others meanwhile whispered among themselves, pitying the six travellers who, all unconscious of the horrible fate which was about to overtake them, were spending their last hours of liberty and probably of life in giving wine to their slayers and in dancing and singing for their amusement! Already, however, the power of the enchanted wine had begun to work and Shutendoji grew drowsy. The wine in the jar never seemed to grow less, however much was taken from it, and by this time all the demons had helped themselves liberally. At last they all fell into a deep sleep, and stretching themselves out on the floor and on one another, some in one corner and some in another, they were soon snoring so loudly that the room shook, and were as insensible to all that was going on as logs of wood. "The time has come!" said Raiko, springing to his feet, and motioning to his men to get to work. One and all hastily opened their knapsacks. Taking out their helmets, their armour, and their long swords, they armed themselves. When they were all ready they all knelt down, and, placing their hands palm to palm, they prayed fervently to their patron gods to help them now in their hour of greatest need and peril. As they prayed, a shining light filled the room, and in a radiant cloud the three deities appeared again. "Fear not, Warrior Raiko," they said. "We have tied the hands and feet of the demon fast, so you have nothing to fear. While your knights cut off his limbs, do you cut off his head; then kill the rest of the _oni_ and your work will be done." The three old men then disappeared as mysteriously as they had come. Raiko rejoiced at the vision and worshipped with his heart full of gratitude the vanishing deities. The knights then rose from their knees, took their swords and wet the rivets with water, so as to fix the blade firmly in the hilt. Then they all stole stealthily and cautiously towards Shutendoji. No longer the timid mountain priests; clad in full armour, they were transformed into avenging warriors. With flashing eyes and dauntless mien they moved across the room. The captive princesses standing round realized that these men were deliverers, from their beloved capital. Their joy and wonder cannot be put into words. Some cried aloud with joy; others covered their faces with their sleeves and burst into soft weeping; others raised their hands to Heaven and exclaimed, "A Buddha come to Hell! Surely these brave men will kill the demons and set us free"; and with clasped hands they entreated the knights to slay their captors and take them back to their homes. Now Raiko stood over the sleeping Shutendoji with drawn sword, and raising it on high with a mighty sweep he aimed at the demon's neck, which was as big round as a barrel. The head was severed from the body at one blow, but, horrible to relate, instead of falling to the ground, it flew up into the air in a great rage. It hung over Raiko for a moment snorting flames of fire, and then swooped down as if it would bite off the warrior's head, but it was daunted by the glittering star on his helmet, and drew back and gazed in surprise at the transformed man. Raiko was scorched by the demon's flaming breath. Once more he raised his long sword and striking the terrible head brought it to the ground at last. The noise of the combat and the triumphant shouts of the warriors awoke the other demons, who roused themselves as quickly as their stupefied senses allowed them. They were in a great fright, and without waiting to get their iron clubs, they made a rush upon Raiko. But they were too late. His five braves dashed in and attacked them right and left, until in a few minutes there was not one left to tell the tale of the destruction which had come down upon them like the autumn whirlwind upon the leaves of the forest glades. The captive princesses, when they saw that their captors were all slain, jumped about with gladness, waving their long sleeves to and fro, as the tears of joy streamed down their pale faces. They ran to Raiko and caught hold of his sleeves and praised him, saying: "Oh! Raiko Sama, what a brave and noble knight you are! We are indeed grateful to you for having saved our lives. Never have we seen such a wonderful warrior." And with many such expressions of joy they gathered round the knight, and their merry voices were now heard, instead of the groans of the dying cannibals. Now that Shutendoji was vanquished with all his horde, the way was quite open for Raiko and his men to take the fair captives away from the castle of horror and make their way back to the capital as soon as possible. [Illustration: THE HEAD FLEW UP INTO THE AIR] First of all Raiko tied up the head of Shutendoji with a strong rope and told the five brave knights to carry it. Then, followed by the princesses, the little band left Mount Oye forever and set out on the homeward journey. When they reached Kyoto the news of Raiko's return spread like fire, and the people came out in crowds to welcome the heroes. When the parents of the long-lost damsels saw their daughters again, they felt as if they must be dreaming. It seemed too good to be true that the dear and cherished ones should be restored to them safe and well, and they overwhelmed Raiko with praise and with precious gifts. Raiko took the head of Shutendoji to the Emperor and told him of all that had happened to him. You may be sure that when His Majesty heard of the success which had crowned Raiko and his expedition, he awarded him great praise and merit and bestowed upon him higher Court rank than ever. In all the country, far and near, Raiko's name was in every one's mouth, and he was acknowledged to be the greatest warrior in the land. Even in the lonely country places there was not one poor farmer who did not know of the brave deeds of the great general. Ever since then his portrait is familiar to the boys of Japan, for it is often painted on their kites. [1] Raiko, or Yorimitsu. Both names are written with the same ideographs. Raiko is the Chinese pronunciation, and Yorimitsu the Japanese rendering. [2] Hakama, a divided skirt, part of the Japanese costume. KIDOMARU THE ROBBER, RAIKO THE BRAVE, AND THE GOBLIN SPIDER You have just read of the brave knight Raiko's exploits at Oyeyama and how he rid the country of the demons who haunted the city of Kyoto and terrified the inhabitants of the Flower Capital (as that city was sometimes called) by their terrible deeds. There are other interesting stories about him and his fearless warrior-retainers which you may like to hear. It was not long after Raiko's exploits at Oyeyama that the country rang with the name of Kidomaru, a robber and highwayman, who, by his notorious deeds of cruelty and robbery, had caused his name to be feared and hated by all, both young and old. One evening Raiko with his attendants was returning home from a day's hunting, when he happened to pass the house of his younger brother Yorinobu. The warrior had had a long day out; and having still a good distance to ride before he would reach his own house the thought of a good meal and friendly company, just then, when he was tired and very hungry, was pleasant to contemplate in the lonely hour of twilight. So he called a halt outside the house and sent in word to his brother that he, Raiko, was passing by, and that if Yorinobu had any refreshment to offer his brother, he would call in and stay the night there, as he was tired out on his way back from a day's hunt. Now in Japan an elder brother or sister commands respect from the younger members of the family, and so Yorinobu was very pleased that Raiko, his elder brother, had condescended to call upon him. The servant soon returned with the message that Yorinobu was only too pleased to receive Raiko; that he had ordered a feast to be prepared that evening in honour of an unusual event, and as he was alone, nothing could be more opportune or give him greater joy than that his elder brother should have chanced to come by. He humbly begged Raiko that he would deign to share the feast, such as it was, and to pardon the poorness of his hospitality. Raiko was very pleased with his brother's gracious reception. He quickly flung the reins to his groom, dismounted from his horse, and entered the house, wondering what could be the occasion of Yorinobu's ordering a banquet for himself. When the warrior was shown into the room he found Yorinobu seated on the mats drinking _saké_, as the servants were bringing in the first dishes of the dinner. When the salutations were over, Yorinobu handed Raiko his wine-cup. Raiko took it, and having drained it, asked what his brother meant by the feast he had promised him and what was the occasion of it. Yorinobu laughed as if with triumph, and wheeling round on his cushion pointed out into the garden. Raiko then looked in the direction indicated by his brother's hand, and saw, tied up to a large pine tree, a young man who could not be much over thirty and of extraordinary strength. The face of the captive expressed hate and ferocity, his body was of an enormous build, while his arms and legs were like trunks of pine trees, so large and brown and muscular were they. His hair was a rough and matted shock, and the eyes glared as if they would start from their sockets. Indeed to Raiko the wild creature looked more like a demon than a human being. "Well, Yorinobu!" said Raiko, "the occasion of your feast is to say the least unusual; it must certainly have given you some sport to catch that wild creature; but tell me who he is that you have got tied up out there." "Have you not heard of Kidomaru, the notorious robber?" answered Yorinobu. "There he is! One of my men captured him out on the hills; he found him asleep. The town has long been clamouring for him. He has a big score to settle at last. For to-night I intend to keep him tied up like that, and to-morrow I shall hand him over to the law! Come, let us be merry, for the dinner is served!" Raiko clapped his hands when he heard of the great feat Yorinobu and his men had accomplished in catching the fearful robber, the terror of whose lawless deeds had long held the people of Kyoto trembling with fear and dread. The outlaw Kidomaru was caught at last and by his own brother Yorinobu! This was an event of rejoicing and congratulation for the family. "You have certainly done a meritorious service to your country," said he, "but it is ridiculous to tie such a creature up with a rope only. You might just as well think of tying up a wild cow with a fine kite-string. It would be less dangerous. Take my advice, Yorinobu, put a strong iron chain round him, or the murderer will soon be at large again." Yorinobu thought his brother's advice wise, so he clapped his hands. When the servant came to answer the summons, he ordered him to bring an iron chain. When this was brought, he went into the garden, followed by Raiko and his men, and wound it round Kidomaru's body several times, securing it at last to a post with a padlock. Kidomaru up to this time had rejoiced at his light bonds. He was so strong that he knew he could easily break a rope, and he had waited but for the nightfall to make good his escape under cover of the darkness. You can imagine how great was his anger at Raiko's interference, which was the cause of his being treated with so much severity that his projected escape would now be difficult. "Hateful man!" muttered Kidomaru to himself. "I will surely punish you for what you have done to me! Remember!" and he threw evil glances at Raiko. But the brave warrior cared little for the wild robber's malignant glances; he only laughed when he noticed them, and, as the chain was drawn tighter round the robber, he said: "That's right! That chain will hold him sure enough! You must run no risk of his escaping this time!" Then he and Yorinobu returned to the house, and dinner was served and the two brothers made merry the whole evening, talking over old times, and it was late before they retired to rest. Now Kidomaru knew that Raiko slept in Yorinobu's house, and he made up his mind to try to slay him that night, for he was mad with wrath at what Raiko had done to him. "He shall see what I can do!" growled Kidomaru to himself, shaking his rough and shaggy head like a big long-haired terrier. He waited quietly till every one in the house had gone to rest and all was silent. Then Kidomaru arose, cramped and stiff from sitting tied up so long. With a mighty effort he flung out his great arms, laughing defiance at the chain that bound him. So great was his strength that no second effort was needed; the chain broke and fell clanking to the ground at once, and Kidomaru, like a large hound, shook himself free from his bonds. Softly as a mouse he approached the house and climbed on to the roof, and with one tremendous blow from his huge fist, he broke through the tiles and the boards to the ceiling. His plan was to jump down upon Raiko while he lay sleeping, and taking him unawares suddenly to cut off his head. But the warrior had lain down to rest expecting such an attack, and he had slept but lightly. As soon as he heard the noise above him, he was wide awake in an instant, and to warn his enemy he coughed and cleared his throat. Kidomaru was a man of fierce and dauntless character, and he was not in the least thrown back in his purpose by finding that Raiko was awake. He went on with his work of making a hole large enough in the ceiling to let himself through to the room beneath. Raiko now sat up and clapped his hands loudly to summon his men, who slept in an adjoining room. Watanabe, the chief man-at-arms, came out to see what his master wanted. "Watanabe," said Raiko, "my sleep has been disturbed by something moving in the ceiling. It may be a weasel, for weasels are noisy creatures. It cannot be a rat, for a rat is not large enough to make so much noise. At any rate, it seems impossible to sleep to-night, so saddle the horses and get all the men ready to start. I will get up and ride out to the Temple of Mount Kurama. I want all the men to accompany me." Perched between the roof and the ceiling, the robber heard all this, and said to himself: "What ho! Raiko goes to Kurama! That is good news! Instead of wasting my time here like a rat in a trap, I will set out for Kurama immediately and get there before those stupid men can, and I will waylay them and kill them all." So Kidomaru crawled out on the roof again, let himself down to the ground, and hurried with all the speed he could make to Kurama. A large plain had to be crossed in going from the city to Kurama, and here a number of wild cattle had their home. When Kidomaru, on his way to Kurama, came to this spot, a plan flashed across his mind by which he could steal a march on Raiko. He soon caught one of the big oxen a blow on the head. Three blows one after the other, and the ox fell dead at the robber's feet. Kidomaru then proceeded to strip off its skin. It was very hard work, but he managed to do it quickly, so strong was he, and then throwing the hide over himself he lay down completely disguised, a man in a bull's hide, and waited for Raiko and his men to come. He had not long to wait. Raiko, followed by his four braves, soon came in sight. The warrior reined in his horse when he came to the plain and saw the cattle. He turned to his men and said: "Here is a place where we may find some sport. Instead of going on to Kurama, let us stay here and have some hunting! Look at the wild cattle!" The four retainers with one accord all gladly agreed to their chief's proposal, for they loved sport and adventure just as much as Raiko and were glad of an excuse to show their skill as huntsmen. The sun was just rising, and the prospect of a fine morning added zest to the pastime. Each man prepared his bow and arrows in readiness to begin the chase. But the cattle, thus disturbed, did not enjoy the sport. Man's play was their death indeed. One of their number had been killed by Kidomaru, and now they were attacked by Raiko and his men, who came riding furiously into their midst, shooting at them with bows and arrows. With angry snorts, whisking their tails on high and butting with their horns, they ran to right and left. In the general stampede that followed their attack, the hunters noticed that one animal lay still in the tall grass. At first they thought it must be either lame or ill, so they took no notice of it, and left it alone till Raiko came riding up. He went up and looked at it carefully, and then ordered one of his men to shoot it. The man obeyed, and taking his bow, shot an arrow at the recumbent animal. The arrow did not hit the mark; for, to the astonishment of the four hunters, the hide was flung aside and out stepped the robber Kidomaru. "You, Raiko! It is you, is it?" exclaimed he. "Do you know that I have a spite against you?" and with these words he darted forward and attacked Raiko with a dagger. But Raiko did not even move in his saddle. He drew his sword and, adroitly guarding himself, exchanged two or three strokes with the robber, and then slashed off his head. But wonderful to relate, so strong was the will that animated Kidomaru that though his head was cut off, his body stood up straight and firm till his right arm, still holding the dagger, struck at Raiko's saddle. Then, and not till then, it collapsed. It is said that the warriors were all greatly impressed by the malevolent spirit of the robber, which was strong enough to stir the body to action even after the head had been severed from the shoulders. Such was the death of the notorious robber Kidomaru, at the hands of the brave warrior Raiko who was awarded much praise for the clever way in which he drew Kidomaru out as far as Kurama to kill him. He had understood from Kidomaru's evil glances that the robber planned to kill him, and he thus avoided causing trouble in his brother's house. In this instance, as always, Raiko displayed wisdom and bravery. No sooner, however, was Kidomaru killed, than news was brought to the capital that another man had arisen who imitated Kidomaru in his daily deeds of robbery and other wicked acts. This robber's name was Kakamadare. One bright moonlight night, Kakamadare was waiting on the plain between Kyoto and Kurama for travellers to come that way, hoping that luck would bring some rich man into his clutches. Presently he heard some one coming towards him playing on a flute. Thinking this somewhat strange, he hid himself in the grass and waited to see who would appear. The sweet music drew nearer and nearer, and then the player came in view. The light of the moon made everything as clear as day, and the robber saw a handsome _samurai_ of soldierly aspect, dressed in beautiful silken robes and wearing a long sword at his side. "Now's my opportunity; I'm in luck to-night," thought the robber, as he rose from his hiding-place and stealthily followed the flute-player. As he kept step by step behind him, Kakamadare drew his sword in readiness several times to cut down his prey, and waited for the chance to strike. All at once the _samurai_ turned and looked steadily at the robber, who began to tremble. Then the knight calmly and coolly resumed his playing, as if utterly indifferent to the danger which threatened him. Once more the robber followed, with the intention of cutting the man down, but the opportunity for which he waited never came; each time his hand went up with his sword, it as quickly fell to his side. A spirit of high and noble purpose seemed to emanate from the knight, which cowed the man behind and made him weak. For so great is the virtue of the sword that in Japan it is an acknowledged fact that all noble swordsmen had this power of subduing lesser natures by the spiritual grace which went forth from them. Indeed the belief in the occult power of the sword was great, and it was said that no bad man could keep the possession of a fine blade. Kakamadare could not strike. He could not tell the cause of his weakness. He thought that it might be the influence of the music. He found himself listening to the gentle strains of the flute, and admiring the skill with which the man played. He noticed the firm and fearless air of the knight as he walked and his great nerve. The man knew himself to be followed by a robber, yet he showed not the least concern. Kakamadare tried to turn back now, but he found that he could do nothing but follow the man in front of him. In this way the strange pair reached the town. Kakamadare now made a great effort to break the spell, and was on the point of turning back and trying to escape from the strange, compelling presence, when to his astonishment the _samurai_ suddenly wheeled round upon him and said: "Kakamadare, I thank you for your trouble! You have given me a safe escort!" At this the robber became so terrified that he fell down on his knees and was unable to move or speak for some moments. At last, so soon as his tongue found utterance, he said: "I know not who you are, but I beg you to forgive me! I would have killed you!" He then confessed everything to the knight. He told him of his many deeds of robbery and violence which had made him feared and hated by the people, who thought that he must be a demon, for so cruel and relentless was he that he never showed mercy even to the poorest peasant. "I have never met any one like you," Kakamadare went on to say. "I promise to give up my life as a robber, and I beg you to take me into your service as one of the humblest of your retainers." The knight led the man home, and gave him some good clothes, telling him that when he again got into straits and wanted money or clothes, he might come a second time to the house, but that it was unwise to show such contempt for others as to enter into an encounter where he himself might be the injured party. This kindness and mercy touched the man's heart, and from that day he became a reformed man and a law-abiding citizen. The knight was none other than Hirai, one of the warriors who accompanied Raiko in his successful expedition against the demons of Oyeyama. There is a saying that "Brave generals make brave soldiers," and it is quite true. Raiko was a man of great sagacity and courage, and his band of braves and the knight Hirai, of whom we have just read, were like their master. There were no men in the whole of Japan braver than they. This proves the truth of the old adage. There is another story about the General Raiko which you may like to hear. The sword with which Raiko slew Kidomaru was called the Kumokiri, or Spider-cutting Sword, and about the naming of this blade there is an interesting story. It happened at one time that Raiko was unwell and was obliged to keep his room. Every night at about twelve a little acolyte would come to his bedside, and in a kind and gentle way pour out and give him some medicine to take. Raiko noticed that he did not know the boy, but as there were many underlings in the servants' quarters whom he never saw, this did not strike him as strange. But Raiko, instead of recovering, found himself growing weaker and weaker, and especially after taking the medicine he always felt worse. At last one day he spoke to his head servant and asked him who it was that brought him medicine every night, but the attendant answered that he knew nothing about the medicine and that there was no acolyte in the house. Raiko now suspected some supernatural snare. "Some malevolent being is taking advantage of my illness and trying to bewitch me or to cause my death. When the boy comes again to-night I will find out his real form. He may be a fox or goblin in disguise!" said Raiko. So he waited for the appearance of the acolyte, wondering what the strange incident could mean. When midnight came, the boy, as usual, appeared, bringing with him the usual cup of medicine. The knight calmly took the cup from the boy and said, "Thank you for your trouble!" but instead of swallowing the false medicine, he threw it, cup and all, at the boy's head. Then jumping up he seized the sword that lay beside his bed and cut at the impostor. As the blade fell, the acolyte screamed with rage and pain, then, with a movement as quick as lightning, before he turned to escape from the room, he threw something at the knight, which, marvellous to relate, as he threw, spread outwards pyramidically into a large white sticky web which fell over Raiko and clung to him so that he could hardly move. Raiko whirled his sword round and cut the clinging meshes and freed himself; again the goblin threw a web over him, and again Raiko cut the enmeshing threads away; once more the huge spider's web--for such it was--was thrown over him, and then the goblin fled. Raiko called for his men and then sank exhausted on his bed. His chief retainer, answering the summons, met the acolyte in the corridor, and thinking it strange that an unknown priest, however young, should come from his master's room at that hour of the night, stopped him with drawn sword. The goblin answered not a word, but threw his entangling web over the man and mysteriously disappeared. Now thoroughly alarmed, the retainer hastened to Raiko. Great was his consternation when he saw his master, with the meshes of the goblin's web still clinging to him. "See!" exclaimed Raiko, pointing to the threads still clinging to his man and himself, "a goblin spider has been here!" He then gave orders to hunt down the goblin, but the thing could nowhere be found. On the white mats and along the corridors they found as they searched red drops of blood, which showed that the creature had been wounded. Raiko's men followed the red trail, out into the garden, across the city to the hills, till they came to a cave, and here the blood-drops ceased. Groans and cries of pain issued from the cave, so the warriors felt sure that they had come to the end of their hunt. "The goblin is surely hiding in that cave!" they all said. Drawing their swords, they entered the cave and found a monster spider writhing with pain and bleeding from a deep sword-cut on the head. They at once killed the creature and carried it to Raiko. The knight had often heard stories of these dreadful spiders, but had never seen one before. "It was this goblin spider then that wanted to prey upon me! The net that was thrown over me was a spider's web! Of all my adventures this is the strangest!" said Raiko. That night Raiko ordered a banquet to be prepared for all his retainers in honour of the event, and he drank to the health of his five brave men. From that time the acolyte never appeared and Raiko recovered his health and strength at once. Such is the story of the _Kumokiri_ Sword. _Kumo_ means "spider," and _kiri_ means "cutting," and it was so named because it cut to death the goblin spider who haunted the brave knight Raiko. [Illustration: THEY ENTERED THE CAVE AND FOUND A MONSTER SPIDER] THE STORY OF THE POTS OF PLUM, CHERRY, AND PINE Long, long ago, in the reign of the Emperor Go-Fukakusa, there lived a famous Regent of the name of Saimyoji Tokiyori. Of all the Hojo Regents he was the wisest and justest, and was known far and wide among the people for his deeds of mercy. At the age of thirty, Tokiyori resigned the regency in favour of his son Tokimune, who was only six years old. He then retired to a monastery for several years. Sometimes stories reached his ears of the miscarriage of justice, of the cruelty of the officials under him, and of the suffering of the peasants, and he determined to find out for himself if all these things were true. It was the desire of his life to see the people governed wisely and justly and impartially, to deal reward and punishment fairly alike to the rich and the poor, to the great and the lowly. After much thought he decided that the best way to achieve his end would be to find out for himself the condition of the people, so he determined that he would disguise himself and travel about amongst them unknown. He had it given out that he was dead, and had a mock funeral performed with all the pomp and ceremony due to his exalted rank. He then left Kamakura disguised as a travelling priest unknown to any one. After journeying from place to place, he came one day to Sano, in the province of Kozuki. It was in the depth of winter, and on this day he found himself overtaken by a heavy snowstorm. There were no houses near. Tokiyori then ascended a hill, but even from that height, search as he might, he could see no sign of any dwelling, near or far. Confused and lost, he wandered about for hours. The darkness began to fall when he found himself in a hilly district. Tired and hungry, he resigned himself to passing the night under the shelter of a tree, when suddenly he espied in the distance the brown line of a thatch-roofed cottage breaking the white slope at the foot of the nearest hill. He made his way quickly towards it and knocked at the closed storm-doors. Tokiyori heard some one move within and then come to the porch. The storm-shutter was pushed aside and a beautiful woman looked out. "I have lost my way in the storm, and know not what to do! Will you be so kind as to give me the shelter of your roof this night?" said Tokiyori. The woman scanned the traveller from head to foot. Then she said: "I am very sorry for you. I would willingly give you shelter, but my husband being absent I must not let you in. You had better go on to the next village of Yamamoto, which is very near, and there you will find a good inn and accommodation for travellers!" "You are right," answered Tokiyori; "but alas! I am so tired that I can walk no more. For pity's sake, let me sleep on the verandah or in your storehouse; for so much shelter I shall be grateful." "I am indeed sorry to refuse you," answered the woman; "but in the absence of my husband I must not give shelter to a strange traveller. Were he at home, he would with pleasure take you in and give you lodging for the night. Try to make your way to the next village." Tokiyori, greatly impressed by her virtuous and modest behaviour, bowed and said as he took his leave: "There is no help for it! I must try to reach Yamamoto, since you cannot shelter me to-night." So the ex-Regent of Kamakura, spent and cold and hungry, turned once more to meet the inclement weather. He took the direction pointed out to him and plodded on through the snow. But alas! the storm had increased in violence, and the snow fell faster and faster, and the wind howled across the white drifts, whirling clouds of snow in his face till at last he found it impossible to go on. He stood still in the storm, not knowing what to do. Exerting all his strength, he found it difficult to put one foot before the other. Just as he began to give himself up for lost, he heard a voice calling him from behind. "Stop! stop!" at first faintly, then gradually the cries grew nearer and more distinct. Wondering who else could be out in such merciless weather, Tokiyori turned in the direction whence the cries came and saw a man beckoning to him to turn back. "Are you calling me?" asked Tokiyori. "Yes indeed," replied the man; "I am the husband of the woman who turned you away from that cottage just now. I regret that I was not at home to offer you the poor hospitality that is all I have to give. Please turn back with me. I can at least give you shelter for the night, though my house is only a small hut. You will be frozen to death if you go on in this storm." The priest rejoiced when he heard these kind words, and as he turned back with his host he uttered many words of thanks. When they entered the porch, the woman whom he had already seen came forward and welcomed the stranger cordially, apologizing for her former behaviour. "I pray you pardon me," she said, bowing to the ground, "for my rude words a short time ago; but now that my husband has returned I hope you will pass the night under our humble roof. I beg you not to be angry with me, knowing the custom of these times." "Don't mention it, my good woman," replied the priest in disguise. "It was quite right of you to refuse me admittance in your husband's absence. I admire your prudent conduct." While the priest and the hostess were thus exchanging civilities, her husband had entered the little sitting-room and arranged some cotton cushions on the mat. Having done this, he came out to usher in the guest. "Thank you," answered the priest, taking off his snow-covered hat and rain-coat; and, slipping his feet out of the sandals, he entered the house. The host turned again to his guest and said: "Now, as you see, I am a very poor man and I cannot give you a good dinner such as the rich can offer, but to our coarse, simple fare, such as it is, you are very welcome." The priest bowed to the ground and said that he would be grateful for any food that would stay his hunger; he had walked all day in the cold and had eaten nothing since breaking his fast in the early morning. Meanwhile the wife busied herself in the kitchen, and as it was now the hour of sunset, the meal was soon ready to be served. The priest noticed that millet instead of rice filled the bowls, and that there was not a sign of fish in the soup, which was made of vegetables only. The disguised ex-Regent had never eaten such coarse food in his life before, for millet is the poorest peasant's fare; but "Hunger needs no sauce," says the proverb, and so Tokiyori was surprised to find with how great a relish he could eat what was set before him, for he was ravenously hungry. Never had food tasted so sweet to him before. He long remembered the sensation of pleasant surprise as he partook of the first mouthful. The good wife waited on them during the meal, according to Japanese custom. When supper was over, they all sat round the hearth, talking of the good old times and telling each other amusing stories to while away the time. The hours flew quickly by and it was midnight before the host and his guest knew it. The fire had burned very low without their noticing it, and they began to shiver with cold. The host turned to the fuel-box, but all the charcoal and wood had been burned up. Then the host arose, and, regardless of the falling snow and the bitter cold, went into the garden and brought thence three pots of dwarfed trees, for the training of which Japanese gardeners are famous all the world over. "On such a winter's night a good fire is necessary for the entertainment of a traveller, but, alas! all the charcoal has been used up and I have no more in the house. To warm you before you retire I will therefore bum these trees!" "What!" said the astonished guest, for he saw that the trees were of no common kind, but were of some value, for they were old, and their training showed the skill of an experienced gardener; "these pine, plum, and cherry trees are too good to be used as fuel--they are finely trained. No! no! you mustn't burn them for me--they are far too valuable!" "Don't trouble yourself," said the host. "I loved them once when I was rich and had many more such valuable trees in my possession. But now that I am ruined and living in this miserable condition, of what use are such trees to me, pray tell me?" and with these words he began to break up the trees and to put the pieces on the fire. "If they could speak, I am sure they would say how pleased they were to be used for such a good purpose as your comfort!" The disguised ex-Regent smiled as he watched the kind man break up his pet trees, and make up the fire. Since Tokiyori had first entered the house, small and poverty-stricken though it was, he had felt that his host was no common farmer as he pretended to be; that he must be a man in reduced circumstances. "I feel sure," said the priest, "that you are no farmer by birth; indeed in you I recognize the a courtesy and breeding of a _samurai_ [a knight]. Will you add one more favour to the rest you have shown me this night and tell me your real name?" "Alas," answered the farmer in disguise, "I cannot do so without shame." "Do not trifle with me," said the priest, "for I am very much in earnest. Tell me who you are. I should very much like to know." Pressed so earnestly to reveal himself, the host could no longer refuse. "Since you wish so earnestly to know, I will tell who I am, without reserve," he answered. "I am no farmer, as you rightly guessed. I am in reality a _samurai_, and my name is Sano Genzaemon Tsuneyo." "Indeed? Are you Sano Genzaemon Tsuneyo? I have heard of you. You are a _samurai_ of high rank, I know. But tell me, how is it that you are now in such reduced circumstances?" "Oh, that is a long story," replied Sano. "It was through the dishonesty of an unworthy relation. He seized my property, little by little, without my knowing it, and one day I found that he had taken everything and that I was left with nothing except this farmhouse and the land on which it stands." "I am sorry for you," said Tokiyori; "but why haven't you brought a lawsuit against your relation? Were you to do that, I am sure you would recover your lost property." "Oh yes, I have thought of that," said the farmer; "but now that Tokiyori, the just Regent, has died, and as Tokimune his successor is very young, I felt that it was useless to present my petition, so that I determined to resign myself to poverty. But though I live and work like a farmer, in heart and soul I am still a _samurai_. Should war break out or even a call to arms be sounded, I shall be the first to go to Kamakura, wearing my armour, dilapidated and torn though it may be, carrying my halberd, rusty as it is, and riding my old horse, emaciated and unpresentable though he is, and I will do glorious deeds once more and die a knight's death. I never for one moment forget my ambition. This alone buoys me up through all my trouble and poverty," he added cheerfully, looking up at his listener with a smile. "Your purpose is a good one, and worthy of a true _samurai_," said the priest, and he smiled and looked at the knight intently. "I prophesy that you will rise in life in the near future, and I feel sure that I shall see you and congratulate you at Kamakura on obtaining your heart's desire." While they were talking, the night had passed and day began to break. The snow had ceased to fall, and as Sano and his guest rose to open the storm-doors, the sun rose bright and shining on a silvered world. The priest went to put on his rain-coat and hat. "Thank you," he said, "for all the kindness and hospitality you have shown me. I will say good-bye. Now that the storm has ceased, I need trespass no longer on your goodness; I will be getting on my way!" "Oh," said the knight, "why need you hurry so? At least stay one more day with us, for you seem to me no longer a stranger but a friend, and I am loth to see you depart." "Thank you," replied the priest, "but I must hurry on. I take my leave, however, with the firm conviction that fate will give us the pleasure of meeting again ere long. Remember my words. Good-bye!" And thus speaking, with several bows the priest turned from the porch and wended his way through the snow. When he had gone the knight remembered that he had forgotten to ask the traveller's name, so he and his wife would probably never know who the sympathetic stranger was. The next spring the Government at Kamakura issued a proclamation calling upon all knights to present themselves in battle-array before the Regent. When Sano Genzaemon heard of this, he thought that some extraordinary event must have taken place. What it was he could not imagine. But he was a knight and must answer the summons promptly. Here might be the chance of proving his knightly prowess, for which he had been waiting so long, hidden away in obscurity and the poverty of his circumstances. The only thing that weighed him down was the thought that he had no money either to buy a new suit of armour or a good horse. No hesitation, however, showed itself in the despatch with which he hastened to Kamakura, clothed only in his suit of shabby armour, a rusty halberd in hand, and riding an old broken-down horse, unattended by any servant. When Sano reached Kamakura, he found the city crowded with warriors who were riding in from all parts of the country. There were thousands of great and eminent _samurai_ clothed from head to foot in beautiful armour, their suits, their helmets, and their swords glittering with ornamentation of silver and gold. It was a goodly sight that the sun shone on that day, framed by the great pine trees against the background of the glimmering sea beyond. The pride of life and race were there, the hauteur of birth and rank, the glory and parade of war, the glinting of helmet and clanking of steel,--every knight's armour was composed of fine metal scales woven and held together by silken threads of ruby, emerald, scarlet, sapphire, and gold. Each knight wore his favourite colour, and as the ranks moved into the sunlight or fell into the shade the whole formed an army of moving splendour, the brilliant and variegated colouring of which was like a river of rich and magnificent brocade. As Sano, clothed in his shabby armour and riding his broken-down horse, rode in amongst the bright phalanx of warriors, how they all jeered and scoffed at him and his horse! But Sano cared little for their scorn, the consciousness that he was a _samurai_ as good as most of them bore him up, and he laughed to himself at their pride and swagger. "These men wear fine armour, it is true," he said to himself, "but they have lost the true _samurai_ spirit; their hearts are corrupt or they would not glory so in appearance; though my armour cannot compare with theirs, yet in loyalty I can never be outdone, even by them, braggers though they be." As these thoughts passed through his mind, Sano saw a herald approaching the gay concourse of knights. He rode a richly caparisoned horse, and he held aloft a banner bearing the house-crest of the Regent. The warriors, their armour and their swords clanging as they moved, parted to the right and left, leaving a road for him to pass. As he rode up their lines he called aloud: "The Regent summons to his presence the knight who wears the shabbiest armour and who rides the most broken-down horse!" When Sano heard these words he thought: "There is no soldier here but myself clothed in old armour. Alas! the Governor will reprimand it me for daring to appear in such a state. It can't be helped; come what will, I obey the summons--such is my duty!" So with a sinking heart Sano, the dilapidated knight, followed the herald to the Governor's house. Here the messenger announced that the knight Sano Genzaemon had come in answer to the proclamation summoning the poorest-clothed knight to the Regent. "I am the poorest knight here, so the required man can be none other than myself," said Sano, as he bowed low to the retainers who came out to receive him at the porch. Sano was then ushered along endless corridors and through spacious rooms. At last the ushering officer knelt on the polished wood outside a large room, and, pushing back the white paper screen, told him to enter. The knight found himself in the presence of the handsome young General Tokimune. On his head he wore a helmet with golden horns and the small plates of his armour were woven together with silken threads of scarlet. The young General bowed to the knight in answer to his prostrations and said: "Are you the knight Sano Genzaemon Tsuneyo?" "Yes, I am he," answered Sano. "Then," answered the young man, "I have to present you to some one!" and he made a sign to an attendant. Upon this the servant pushed open the screens of an inner room, and the Regent Saimyoji Tokiyori, who had been reported dead for a year, was revealed, magnificently dressed in his robes of office. Over his armour he wore a sacerdotal robe of rich brocade, and on his head a white head-dress. Bewildered by all the strange things that were happening to him, and fearful of he knew not what, the knight had kept his face to the ground. He heard the rattle of armour and the swish of heavy silk moving towards him over the mats, and he wondered if it were not all a dream. Then a voice said: "Oh, Sano Genzaemon--is it you? It is long since I saw you! Look up! Don't be afraid! Don't you know me?" The poor knight knew at once that he had heard that voice before, and at last found courage to raise his head and to look at the resplendent figure that addressed him. An exclamation of surprise burst from the lips of Sano, for he recognized in the personage who addressed him the priest whom he had sheltered on the night of the great snowstorm a year agone. "You are surely," said Sano after a pause, "the travelling priest who passed that night of the great snowstorm under my roof last year, are you not?" "Yes, I am that priest, and also I am the Regent Saimyoji Tokiyori." "Oh!" exclaimed Sano, bowing to the ground, "pardon my rudeness to you that night, for I did not know who my august visitor was," and his heart filled with fear at the remembrance of his unceremonious behaviour on that occasion. Then the ex-Regent spoke again, and this time solemnly: "Sir Sano, you have no need to apologize, far from that. Do you remember what you said to me that night when the snowstorm took me to your house? You told me that through unfortunate circumstances you were now obliged to work like a farmer, yet if ever the occasion arose that should sound the call of knights to arms, you would, regardless of your shabby accoutrements, answer the summons and come forth in the spirit of a _samurai_ to do glorious deeds worthy of your sword once more before you died! Herewith I give you back the thirty villages in the district of Sano, of which you were robbed by your unworthy kinsman. And do you think I have forgotten your kind action when you burned your precious trees, the last relics of your prosperous past, to minister to my comfort during that terrible storm? The glow of that fire remains in my heart to this day. By way of expressing my thanks for your hospitality that cold and dreary night, in return for the _Matsu_ [pine tree], I am going to give you the village of _Matsu-ida_, in the province of Kodzuke; in the place of the _Ume_ [plum tree], the village of _Umeda_, in the province of Kaga; and for the _Sakura_ [cherry tree], you shall have _Sakurai_, a village in the province of Etchiu." As the knight listened to these golden words of fortune, which dropped like jewels from the mouth of the beneficent Regent, it seemed to him as if he must be dreaming, it was all so unexpected. He could not speak, for the tears rose to his eyes, and sobs of joy choked his utterance. When at last he looked up, he was alone. He made his way out of the mansion as in a trance, oblivious of all around him. The news of his promotion and of the favour he enjoyed in the estimation of the Regent had already spread outside, and the men who had laughed and jeered at him before now smiled graciously and bowed respectfully as he passed along the ranks. So Sano Genzaemon returned to Kodzuke, not as a poor farmer, but as a lord under the special favour of the Regent, having won the esteem of all his countrymen by his knightly conduct in adversity. All rejoiced that faithfulness, honesty, and kindness had received their just reward, and none more than the good Regent Tokiyori. SHIRAGIKU, OR WHITE CHRYSANTHEMUM On the outskirts of a remote village at the foot of Mount Aso, in Kiushiu, a bell was slowly pealing from a Buddhist temple. It was the season of autumn and the twilight was falling fast. Over the lonely place and the gloom of the deepening dusk of night the solemn music, reverberating across the hills, seemed to toll the transientness of all things earthly. Not far from the temple was a small cottage. At the door stood a young girl anxiously waiting for her father to come home. From time to time she wiped away the tears which fell from her eyes, and her face and attitude expressed great sorrow. She was but fifteen years of age, and as she stood there, a young and slender figure, she looked like a cherry-blossom of spring in the falling rain. She was alone, for her father had gone out to hunt some days before and had never returned, and she had had no tidings whatever of him since. She and her father were all in all to each other; her mother was dead and her elder brother was only a name to her; she could not remember him; he had run away from home when she was a small child, and no one knew what had become of him since. As White Chrysanthemum, her heart full of sorrow and foreboding, watched and waited for her father's return, she started at everything,--at the leaves falling from the trees, at the sighing of the wind in their branches, at the dropping of the water from the bamboo pipe which brought the hill-stream to the house; as these different sounds from time to time caught her ear expectation made her hope that they might be the footsteps of her father coming home. But the hours passed by and still he did not return. As the mists rose and the clouds began to close over the mountain, the loneliness of the scene was deepened by the plaint of insects chirruping in the grass, and by the slow pattering on the broad banana palm leaves of the rain just beginning to fall. At last the dreariness and stillness of approaching night oppressed the girl so much that she could bear it no longer, and she made up her mind to go in search of her father. It was a sad sight to see her as she ran out from the bamboo gate and turned to give a last look at the little home nestling in the shelter of the pine trees. Then resolutely she turned away and set her face towards the mountain path. On her head she wore a large mushroom-shaped rainhat, and with a stick in her hand she began to climb up the rough thorny pass into the depths of the mountains, as they towered range upon range one above the other and were lost in the distance and blackness of night. The rain fell more and more heavily, and as the girl stumbled up the steep pass she had often to wring her sleeves, which were now wet with rain as well as with tears. So absorbed was White Chrysanthemum in the thought of finding her father, whom she had watched climb this very road three mornings before, that she hardly noticed that the storm gave signs of lifting. Suddenly the rain ceased, the clouds cleared, and the moon shone brightly. The change in the weather at last roused the girl to look about her, and she saw that the path now led her downward to the valley. With a sigh of relief she quickened her pace. She had walked for about two hours when she saw at some distance in front of her a single yellow ray of light shining through the gloom. Had she come to a house where she might possibly hear tidings of her father? As this hope dawned upon her, she eagerly hastened towards the light. She soon reached an old Buddhist temple standing in the shadow of a group of pines and cryptomerias. From within came a voice chanting the Buddhist scriptures. Who could it be studying in so remote a place at that hour of the night? Shiragiku entered the gate and in the moonlight which made everything visible saw that the whole place was in a dilapidated condition; the fence was falling in many places, weeds grew all over the garden and between the flagstones, as if no one ever trod the path; even the posts which supported the gate shook in the wind. White Chrysanthemum walked up to the porch and knocked on the heavy wooden door. Not until she had knocked and called several times did she hear any stir within; then some one answered in a subdued voice, the storm-shutters were pushed aside, and a young bonze appeared. He started when his eyes fell upon the girl, and he stared at her silently as if wondering who she could be or what had brought her there at that hour. Shiragiku, seeing his scrutiny, drew near and said in a low sweet voice: "I am looking for my father. He went out hunting some days ago and has never come back. I am indeed sorry to trouble you, but will you be so kind as to tell me if any one has come to this temple either for rest or food within the last two or three days?" The girl spoke so quietly and looked at him so gently that the young bonze was reassured in a moment. Her evident distress appealed to him, and when he looked at her again he saw that she was as beautiful as a flower; her skin was white as snow, her jet-black hair, disordered by the storm through which she had passed, fell like the graceful branches of a willow tree over her shoulders; her large almond eyes were sad and full of tears, and as he gazed upon her it seemed to him that she could not belong to the earth, that she must be a _tennin_--an angel from the Buddhist Heaven. He asked her to enter the temple and said: "Tell me who you are and whence you come, and what brings you out this stormy night. I will listen to your story if you will tell it to me." The wind had risen again and was blowing in gusts round the temple and whistling through the chinks and crannies of the old building, while from the garden came the mournful cries of an owl. The desolation and strangeness of the place touched the girl's sorrow to the quick, and she burst into tears. As soon as she was able to speak, she wiped her eyes and said between her sobs: "I am the daughter of a certain _samurai_ of Kumamoto City. Our house was once rich and prosperous, and our hearts were full of joy; we lived happily, knowing nothing whatever of care or sorrow. When the war[1] broke out all was changed; the grass round our house was stained with blood, and even the wind smelt of blood; families were scattered far and wide from the homes where they were born, and the air was rent with the cries of parents seeking their lost children and of children calling for their parents who could no longer hear them. Pity is no word to express the feeling which filled the heart at these sights. My father likewise went to the war, and my mother then escaped with me as far as Mount Aso. There she found a tiny cottage in the shadow of the temple, and with the money she had managed to bring with her we lived as best we could. As we were afterward told, my father fought with the rebels. When we heard that, we were greatly astonished, and our sleeves were never dry with wiping away our tears. Day by day, morning, noon, and night, we waited, hoping that my father would return--thus the summer passed. Autumn came and the wild geese flew across the sky in flocks toward the south, but there came no news of my father. My mother pined away with grief and anxiety, till at last she died. Thus before we knew whether my father was alive or dead, I was left alone in life. I felt as if I were dreaming in a dream. Whenever I think of that time my heart is pierced with sorrow. My days were passed in weeping at my misfortunes and in bemoaning my unhappy fate. Had it not been for the kindness of neighbours in the village, I should not have been able to live. "Last spring my father came back and found me out. I told him of my mother's death. Since then he has never ceased to grieve. I tried to cheer him by telling him that it was the fate of all mortals to die, but my words brought him little comfort, and in this sad way we passed our time. The other day he went out hunting, and since then has never returned. Again, I was left alone with no one to look to for help. Unable to bear the loneliness any longer, I started out this evening to look for him and have come thus far. Our family name is Honda, my name is Shiragiku, my father's name is Akitoshi, my mother's name was Take, and my elder brother's Akihide. I can hardly remember Akihide, for when I was a small child he ran away, fearing my father's anger because of his bad conduct. But though he left us, my mother and I never forgot him. In the morning when it rained and in the winter evenings when the wind blew chill we longed for him to come again to the shelter of his home, but from that day to this we have heard nothing of him and know not what has become of him. My mother gave me many messages for him, firmly believing that one day we should meet again, and that he would yet fulfil his duty as a son and restore our house to its former prosperity and happiness. In this hope she died." As Shiragiku proceeded with her story the young bonze listened with eager attention. At these words his face changed with sudden emotion, and the tears fell from his eyes. After some moments he said to her: "Poor, poor girl! Your story is a very sad one, and I feel for you in your many troubles. You can go no further to-night; rest here in peace until the dawn!" As he spoke it seemed to Shiragiku that his voice was familiar to her, and though she could not remember having seen him before, yet for some unaccountable reason she felt that he was no stranger. His manner was so kind and gentle and sympathetic as he went and came bringing food for her supper and quilts for her to sleep upon, that memories of her early home and childhood stirred her heart. Her thoughts went out to the runaway brother; if he would only return he would be about the same age as the young bonze, and surely as good as he to any one in distress. Glad was she to have found a place of rest for the night. With many humble prostrations she thanked her host for his hospitality, and apologized for all the trouble she had given him. When he withdrew, bidding her "good-night," she knelt in supplication before the shrine at the end of the room, where Amida Buddha and Kwannon, the Goddess of Mercy, reigned in peace above the lotus and the burning of incense. Only through the mercy of the gods could she hope to find her father, only through their help would her long-lost brother ever come back to those who waited for him year after year. For many minutes she knelt on, praying earnestly, then, worn out with grief and fatigue, she rose from her knees and lay down to fall fast asleep. At the hour when the hush of night is deepest, Shiragiku saw her father enter the room and draw near her pillow. The tears stood in his eyes and in a sad voice he said: "Shiragiku, I have fallen over a precipice, and now I am at the bottom of a chasm many hundred feet deep. Here the brambles and bamboo grass grow so thick that I am unable to find my way out of the jungle. I may not live till the morrow, so I came to see you for the last time in this world." As soon as he had finished speaking, White Chrysanthemum stretched out her hands and tried to catch hold of his sleeves to detain him, crying: "Father! father!" But with the sound of her own voice she awoke. She sprang up expecting to see her father, but there was nothing in the room except the night-lantern glimmering faintly. While she was wondering whether the vision were a dream or a reality, the dawn began to break and the beating of a drum throbbed through the temple. White Chrysanthemum rose soon after sunrise, ate the simple breakfast of rice and bean-soup she found slipped into her room, and quickly left the temple. She did not wait to see the kind priest, though he had asked her to do so, saying that he would do what he could to help her; for she had remembered his diffidence the night before, and thought that very likely he belonged to a sect which forbade its priests to converse with the world, and she felt sorry that she had disturbed him. Her dream was so vividly real to her that it seemed as if she heard her father calling to her for help; so making all possible speed she set but once more with the faith and simplicity of childhood to find him. Far off in the woods the bark of a fox could be heard, while along the path the cloudy tufts of the _obana_[2] rustled as she passed. Shiragiku shivered as the cold morning wind pierced through her body. As she pursued her way along the rough mountain pass wild creatures scuttled away, frightened, from before her into the woods, and overhead the birds sang to each other in the trees. At last she reached the top of the pass, to find it covered with clouds, and it seemed to White Chrysanthemum as if they must carry her away with them in their onward sweep. She sat down on a stone to recover her breath, for the climb had been steep. In a few minutes the mists began to clear away. She stood up and looked about her, hoping that she might find some trace of her father, but as far as eye could reach nothing but mountains, range after range, could be seen riding one above the other in the blue sky. Suddenly a noise in the bushes behind her made White Chrysanthemum start, and before she could flee a band of robbers rushed out upon her. They seized and bound her tightly. She cried out for help, but only the echoes answered her. Down the mountain they led her till they reached the valley; for a whole day they hurried her along till they came to a strange-looking house. This was in such a neglected condition that moss covered the walls, and it was so closely shut up that the sunbeams never entered the rooms. As they approached the place, a man who seemed to be the chief of the band came out, and as he caught sight of the maiden, said with an evil smile: "You've brought a good prize this time!" The robbers now untied Shiragiku's hands and led her into the house and then into a room where dinner was prepared, with rice and fish and wine in great quantities. Then they all sat down, and as they began to eat, it seemed to her that they were a lot of demons. The chief passed some food to her and pressed her to eat. The long walk in the bracing air of the autumn day had made Shiragiku so hungry that in spite of her fear and distress she was glad of the food. At last, when she had finished her meal, he turned to her and said: "That you We been caught by my men and brought here must be the work of fate. So now you must look upon me as your husband and serve me all your life. I have a good _koto_ [the Japanese harp] which I keep with great care, and to show your gratitude for this marriage you will have to play before me often and to cheer me with your songs, for I am fond of music. If you refuse to obey me, I will make your life as hard as climbing a mountain of swords or walking through a forest of needles." Shiragiku felt that she would rather die than marry this man, but she could not refuse to play the _koto_ for him. The _koto_ was brought by one of the men at a word of command from the chief and placed before the girl, who began to strike the chords, her tears falling fast the while. She played so well that even those hard-hearted robbers were touched by her music, and one or two of them whispered together that hers was a hard fate and they wished that they could find some means of saving her. Outside the house in the shadow of a large tree stood a young man, watching all that went on and listening to the music. By the voice of the singer as she sang, he knew that the player was she whom he sought. No sooner did the music stop than he rushed into the house and attacked the robbers with great fury. Anger gave strength to his onslaught, and the bandits were so taken by surprise that they were paralyzed with fear and offered no resistance. In a few minutes the chief was killed, while two others lay senseless on the mats, and the rest ran away. Then the young man, who was dressed in the black vestments of a priest, took the trembling girl by the hand and led her to a window, through which the moonlight streamed. As Shiragiku gazed up in gratitude and wonder at her deliverer, she saw that he was none other than the young priest of the temple, who had been so kind to her the night before. "Don't be afraid!" he said quietly and soothingly; "don't be afraid! I am no stranger, I am your brother Akihide. Now I will tell you my story, so listen to me. You cannot remember me, for you were only a little child of three when my bad conduct roused my father's anger and I ran away from home and started for the capital. I embarked on a small vessel and after sailing along for several days I reached Waka-no-ura, passing the island of Awaji on the way. From Waka-no-ura I proceeded on foot. It was the close of spring and the cherry-blossoms were falling, and the ground was covered with the pink snow of their petals; but there was nothing of the joy of spring in my heart, which was heavy at the thought of my parents' displeasure and the fearful step I had just taken. As soon as I reached the capital, I put myself under the charge of a priest and went through a severe course of study, for I had already repented of my idle ways and longed to do better. Under my good master's guidance I learned the way of virtue. My heart was softened by knowledge, and when I remembered the love of my parents, I regretted my evil past and never did the sun go down but I wept in secret over it. So the years went by. At last the pain of homesickness became so great that I determined to return home and beg my parents' forgiveness. I hoped and planned to devote myself to them in their old age and to make amends in the future for the shortcomings of the past. But insurmountable difficulties beset me in my new-formed purpose. War had broken out, and the face of the country was entirely changed. Cities were turned into wildernesses, weeds grew tall and thick all over the roads, and when I reached our province it was impossible to find either the old home or any one who could give me the slightest clue as to the whereabouts of you all. Life became a burden to me. You may imagine something of what I felt, but my tongue fails to describe my misery. I was desolate with no one belonging to me, so I resolved to forsake the world and become a priest, and after wandering about I took up my abode in that old temple where you found me. But even the religious life could not still my remorse. I was haunted by the fear of what had become of my father and mother and sister. Were they alive or were they dead? Should I ever see them again? These were the questions which tormented me ceaselessly. Morning and evening I prayed before the shrine in the room where you slept last night--prayed that I might have news of you all. Great is the mercy of Buddha! Imagine the mingled joy and sorrow I felt when you came yesterday and told me of all that had happened since I left home. I was about to make myself known to you, but I was too ashamed to do so. It was, however, harder for me to conceal my secret than it would have been to tell it, for I longed to do so with my whole heart and soul. In the morning when I came to the room and found you gone, I followed after you in fear lest you should fall into the hands of the bandits who haunt these hills and thus it was that I saved you. You can never know how glad I am to have done this for you, but alas! I am ashamed to meet my father because of the remembrance of the past! Had I done my duty as a son, had I never run away wickedly from home, how much suffering I might have saved my mother and you, poor Shiragiku! Terrible indeed is my sin!" And with these words the young man drew out a short sword and was about to take his own life. When Shiragiku saw what he was going to do, she gave a loud cry, and springing to his side seized his hands with all her strength, and stopped him from doing the dread deed. With tender sisterly words she tried to comfort him, telling him that she knew his father had forgiven him, and was living in the daily hope of his return--that the happiness and solace he could now give him in his old age would more than atone for the past; she begged him to remember his mother's dying prayer that he would establish their house and keep up the ancestral rites before the family shrine when his parents were dead. As she spoke, he desisted from his desperate purpose. The peace of night and the stillness of the moonlit world around them brought balm to both their troubled hearts, and as they bade each other good-night the silence was unbroken save for the cry of the wild geese as they flew across the sky. In the early morning the brother and sister left the house, hand in hand. They had not gone far when they heard pursuing footsteps, and looking back they saw two or three of the men who had escaped the night before coming after them. Akihide bade his sister run for her life, while he stayed behind and engaged the robbers in a fight and so gave her time to escape. Shiragiku did as she was told and fled through the woods under cover of the trees. On and on she went, till at last she reached a place of safety out of sight. But her heart, beating wildly with fear, was behind with her brother, wondering what had happened to him, whether he had vanquished the bandits or had been killed by them. Who can describe her anxiety? She had found her brother only to lose him in this sad and uncertain way. Afraid to retrace her steps, yet anxious to know what had become of him, she climbed to the nearest hill-top to try if she could see anything of him, but around her there was nothing but hills and pine woods. As she looked about her, she saw near by a little shrine, and, overcome with the terror of all that had befallen her within the last two days, she made her way towards it with trembling steps, and kneeling down offered up a fervent prayer for help and for her brother's and father's safety. An old man who was cutting down trees in the forest saw her weeping there, and his heart filled with pity for the young girl. He drew near and asked her to tell him what was the matter. On hearing her sad story he led her to his home, saying that he would take care of her. It was a quiet mountain place in the woods. The ground was covered with pine needles, the chrysanthemums round the humble cottage were fading, and the bell-insects were feebly tinkling in the grass, for the last days of autumn were passing. Here in this retired spot Shiragiku lived in peace. The old wood-cutter and his wife, having no children of their own, loved her as a daughter, for such she seemed to them, so amiable, patient, and helpful in all her ways was she, and they told her that they hoped she would remain with them to the end of their days. Shiragiku did her utmost to show her gratitude to the old couple for their kindness to her, but she never ceased to think of her father and brother and to look forward to the time when they would once more be a united family. In spite of all discouragements she cherished this hope. Now and again she implored the old man to let her go and look for them; but he would not permit this, saying that it was not safe for an unprotected girl to roam the hills, that if she did so she would be sure to fall into the hands of robbers again, and that it was far wiser for her to wait till her father and brother found her than for her to seek them, not knowing where they were. Her reverence for old age made her obey him, and she waited in patience, hoping each day she rose that her father and brother would find her before the evening came. During these quiet years she grew in beauty day by day and passed from girlhood into the bloom of early womanhood. The poor cotton robe--all that the wood-cutter could give her-in no wise hid her loveliness. She was like a fine chrysanthemum shining among the wild flowers of the plain. She was soon the acknowledged beauty of the place, and one spring the village chief sought her in marriage. The wood-cutter, out of respect to the suitor's position, at once gave his consent. When, however, the old man told Shiragiku of what he planned for her, her dismay was great. She begged him with tears to make excuses for her; she told him that she could not think of marriage till she had found her father. But he would not listen, saying that it was the best thing for her now to be settled in life. That night the girl covered her face with her sleeves and wept long and bitterly when she lay down to rest. "How can I obey the old man?" she sobbed to herself. "No, never-never! I remember now more vividly than ever what my mother told me when she was dying. 'You are not my own child, Shiragiku,' she said; 'one day many years ago I was returning from a visit to a temple. When passing through a field, I found a little baby crying in the midst of some white chrysanthemums. Who can have been so wicked as to forsake such a lovely child? I said to myself; there must be some reason for this! I carried the little one home and brought her up as my own child. You are that child. Praying for blessings on you, I named you _Shira-Giku_, because I found you in a bed of white chrysanthemums. There is also something else I must tell you before I die. There is some one in the world to whom you must look as your brother and husband; he is none other than our son, who ran away rather than meet the anger of his father. We have never heard of him since he left, but if he is still living I am sure he will come back to his family. Your father and I--your adopted parents--have always destined you for him; it is my last behest that you should refuse all other men and wait to marry our son, for come back I am sure he will one day; then live a happy life together in the old home, praying for our souls when we have left this world.' My mother's words are still in my ears. I hear them more clearly than ever," she sobbed to herself. "I owe her my life; how can I disobey her bidding? And yet how can I refuse to do as the old wood-cutter asks, for he has been as a parent to me these last three years? What shall I do? Oh! what shall I do?" Day by day the old man pressed her to accept the suitor and day by day in great perplexity she put him off. At last, seeing no way of escape from being unfilial to the memory of her mother and from fulfilling the old man's wish, she made up her mind to die and put an end to the struggle. At this time the _nakodo_ (go-between) of the marriage came and presented her with a roll of brocade for the _obi_ (wide sash) and of damask silk for the _kimono_, the betrothal gift of the bridegroom. The old man and his wife rejoiced at what they considered her good fortune and regarded the matter as settled, and the neighbours came to congratulate them and to catch a glimpse of the chosen bride of their chief. Shiragiku, however, had made up her mind. That night during a rainstorm she stole out from the wood-cutter's cottage. She looked back wistfully many times at the place which had fed and sheltered her for so long; but she told herself that there was no other way than this, for she must hold as sacred law her mother's last behest. In the despair of the last few weeks, when this unexpected marriage was being forced upon her, she had lost the hope of finding her father and brother again; but she would die rather than marry a stranger against her foster mother's dying wish. The night was dark, for the sky was clouded. Down the empty street of the village Shiragiku hurried with the tightly closed thatch-roofed cottages on either side. Out across the silent stretches of rice-fields she ran till she reached the blackness of a pine wood, seeking for some spot where she could die. The roar of water at last reached her ears, and she knew that she had come to a river. The moaning of the wind in the pine trees sounded to her like the voices of pursuers. She stopped to look around, but there was no one to be seen. The path leading down to the river grew rougher and darker as she entered the shadow of the trees, but Shiragiku never faltered in her determination to reach its bank. At last the water glimmered like a wide white ribbon in the gloom of night. "I will now die," said Shiragiku, weeping; "but alas! how sad my father and brother will be when they hear of my death. Forgive me," she cried aloud, "oh, my father, oh, elder brother, that I die first. I will await your coming beside my mother in Heaven." Shiragiku now reached the edge of the bank and was about to dash down into the river with a prayer to Buddha on her lips when she found herself caught from behind and a familiar voice said to her: "Wait a moment! Tell me who you are and why you seek to take your life." It was her brother Akihide. She gazed up at him in the dim light of the moon just coming forth from the clouds. They both clasped each other by the arms and burst into tears. "Little sister!" "Elder brother!" cried the sister and brother both together in that shock of simultaneous recognition. In the speechless moments which followed they heard the sound of a flute from the village near by break the silence of the night--they watched the rain cease and the stars shine out one by one. Akihide led Shiragiku to a large stone; here they sat down and told each other all that had happened since they last parted. [Illustration: SHIRAGIKU WAS ABOUT TO DASH DOWN INTO THE RIVER] While they were talking the day broke; together they watched the sun rise in splendour and glisten and glow in thousands of rain-drops on the trees and grass around them. "Let us go and tell the kind old wood-cutter and his wife all that has happened," said White Chrysanthemum, smiling through her tears; "I must bid him farewell and we must thank him, for indeed I owe him my life." They walked to the village and went at once to the old man and told him their story. Shiragiku begged him to forgive her for not doing as he wished. Then Akihide told him that it had been his mother's dying wish that he should marry White Chrysanthemum and keep up the family name. With tears the brother and sister thanked the old couple for their ever-to-be-remembered kindness to White Chrysanthemum in her distress. They promised to come and see them whenever they could and to let them know all that happened to them in the future, a promise which they faithfully kept. They at last took leave with many gentle words on both sides. Then Akihide and Shiragiku began a happy journey homewards, walking over the hills by day, and passing the night at some farmhouse or cottage they came to on their way. When the brother and foster sister reached the little house in the valley at the foot of Mount Aso, it was early in the month of May; the cuckoos were singing, and the air was fragrant with the scent of orange-blossoms. In spite of the years of desertion and neglect, the tiny home still stood safe and firm as when Shiragiku had left it, though the grass had grown tall and thick in the garden and moss covered the roof. The sun was shining brightly over all, and the balm and gladness of the spring morning rested on their young souls. For a moment White Chrysanthemum paused at the bamboo gate and said: "This is our home, elder brother!" Then quickly they ran down the garden, quickly they pushed back the paper screen of the entrance and entered. Were they waking or were they dreaming? Who should they see coming forward to meet them but their father, whom they had almost given up as dead. For a moment they were all silent. It seemed as if their hearts must burst with inexpressible joy. "Father! Father!" cried Akihide and Shiragiku together, "is it really you? Are you safe and well?" "Children, my children!" cried the astonished father, "have I found you at last?" Then Akihide knelt before his father, and with his face bowed to the ground, confessed everything, and begged his father's forgiveness for the past. He told him all--how bitterly he had repented his behaviour, how hard he had tried to make a new life for himself, how long he had searched for his parents in vain, his one wish being to make amends, how wonderfully he had met Shiragiku when he had at last despaired of ever finding any one of his family again, of all that had happened since her coming to the temple. The father listened gravely to the long sad story; then with gentle words he forgave his son; he bade him to cease all self-reproach, and as he spoke the kind words his eyes grew dark with unshed tears. When Shiragiku told her story he commended her filial piety, her courage, and her patience. Now that they had as by a miracle of the gods found each other again, nothing should ever separate them. Thus the little family found again the vanished happiness of other years. Shiragiku now busied herself preparing the evening meal, and as she filled her father's and her brother's wine-cup the father told them all that had happened to him. "When I went out hunting three years ago, I fell over a precipice, and found myself at the bottom of a chasm a hundred or more feet deep. I was quite unable to get out, so I lived on wild fruits and stream water for many days. "One morning I chanced to see a band of monkeys climbing the chasm by means of a large wistaria-vine which formed a bridge from side to side. I followed their example and soon found myself free on the hillside once more. I returned here with all haste, only to find that Shiragiku had disappeared. Imagine my distress. I inquired of every one in the village, but no one had seen her go away, and there was no one who could tell me anything about her. There was but one thing left for me to do and that was to try and find her. So I set out walking through province after province, looking for her, but all in vain. At last I gave up my quest as hopeless and returned here only yesterday." The joy of the little family was great beyond all words. This unexpected meeting--the utmost desire of their souls--was a happiness which took away their breath and left them silent with wonder and thankfulness. Only one thing saddened them--that the good mother, who had died of grief and anxiety, could not be present to share in this joyous reunion, and to know that her prayer was answered and that the long-lost son had returned to his family. But she was not forgotten--they spoke of her and missed her. Shiragiku rose and opened the little shrine standing in a closed recess at the end of the room, and taking some sticks of incense set them burning before the name-tablet set up in memory of her mother; for though Shiragiku now knew that she was not really her own mother, yet she always thought of her as such, for she had known no other. Father and son and adopted daughter then knelt and with hands clasped and bowed heads prayed before the little altar. Shiragiku now fetched and tuned her _koto_ (harp) and sang the songs she knew her father liked to hear. This done, she accompanied her brother, while he paced through some stately measures of the classic dance. The father, calling Akihide and Shiragiku to his side, told them that he wished them to marry, as his wife had always planned. He was now an old man, he said, and could not expect to live much longer, and before his death it was his ardent wish to see his house established. He then named an early date for the wedding. Akihide, having only entered upon a religious novitiate, was able to obey his father without breaking any vows. He bowed his willingness and Shiragiku blushed happily. She was content in fulfilling her good foster mother's last behest. Now the sun set, a crane cried on the hill at the back of the house, and the stars came out one by one in the soft and darkening turquoise of a May twilight, and peace and joy reigned in the home and the hearts of the three wanderers. [1] The war of the Restoration. [2] An autumn grass (Miscanthus sinensis). THE PRINCESS OF THE BOWL Long, long ago, in old Japan, there lived near Katano, in the Kawachi Province, a prince named Bitchu-no-Kami Minetaka or Lord Minetaka, as we should say in English. He was not only a very wealthy man, but it was reported that his house was full of rare and wonderful treasures. He was also a learned man and the master of many accomplishments. His life was passed in the luxurious leisure of the rich, and he knew nothing of care or want--perhaps he hardly realized what such words meant. But above all the treasures in his storehouse, beyond the wealth of his revenue which came pouring in year by year in bushels of rice, he prized his only child, his daughter. The prince and his wife brought this daughter up with great love and tenderness as if she were some rare flower or fragile butterfly. So beautiful indeed was the young girl that in looking at her their friends and relations wondered whether the Sun Goddess Amaterasu had not come to earth again in the form of the little Princess. Nothing came to mar the happiness of this united little family till the daughter was fifteen years of age. Then suddenly the mother, who had never known a day's illness in her whole life, was taken ill. At first it seemed to be but a slight cold, but her health, instead of getting better, only grew worse and worse. She felt that she would never recover and that her end was very near, so she called her daughter beside her pillow, and, taking a large lacquer bowl from the bedside, she placed it on her daughter's head, saying: "My poor little child, I want you always to wear this bowl. At your innocent age you can understand nothing of the world in which I must leave you motherless. I pity you with all my heart; ah! if you were at least seventeen or eighteen years old I could die with more peace of mind. I am indeed loath to go, leaving you behind so young. Try to be a good daughter and never forget your mother." The woman's tears fell fast as she spoke, and her voice was broken with sobs while she stroked her little girl's hand. But things are not as one wishes in this life. All the doctor's skill could not save the mother; she died and left her daughter behind motherless in the world. Words cannot tell the grief of the bereaved father and child, it was so great. At last, after some time had passed and the ordinary routine of life in Prince Minetaka's household was resumed, the father noticed the bowl which his daughter wore on her head and which fell so low as completely to hide her face; and calling her to him tried to take off the unsightly head gear. But his efforts were in vain. All the retainers and then the servants were summoned to see what they could do, but no one could remove the bowl; it stuck fast to the child's head. No one could understand the mystery. The bowl had been put on most simply; why could it not be as easily taken off? This was the question which the whole household asked again and again. And the young Princess, besides sorrowing for the loss of her mother, was greatly troubled at the knowledge that, though born physically perfect, she was now quite disfigured for life in having to wear the ugly bowl which her mother for some unknown reason had placed on her head. If no one succeeded in taking the bowl off, she might have to wear it her whole life. That would indeed be a terrible affliction. But in spite of all she never forgot her mother even for a moment, but carried in her heart the memory of her love and care through every hour of the livelong day. Every morning, as soon as she rose from her bed on the mats, she placed the little cup of tea and the bowl of rice before the tablet bearing her mother's name in the household shrine, and having set the incense burning she would kneel and pray for the happiness of her mother's soul. The days passed into weeks, the weeks grew into months, yet the dutiful daughter never failed morning or evening thus to pray for her lost mother. In the mean time the family relations often came to advise her father, Prince Minetaka, to marry again. "It is not good for you to be alone," they said. "Marry a suitable woman and entrust her with the keeping of your house and the care of your young daughter, who is now of an age when she most needs a woman's care." At first Prince Minetaka would not listen to them, the memory of his dead wife was too fresh and his sorrow too keen for him to be able to lend a willing ear to their persuasion. He felt that it was a reproach to her he had loved even to think of putting another woman in her place. But as the months went by he found himself much tried with the affairs of the household, and was often so perplexed that he thought perhaps it might be better to listen to the advice of his meddling relations. So without thinking much about the future he decided to take a second wife. His friends were glad to find that their persuasions were of avail at last, and with the help of go-betweens they arranged that he should marry a certain lady of noble family whom they deemed worthy and suitable in all respects. So the soothsayers were consulted and a lucky day chosen for the marriage, and the new wife was then installed in Prince Minetaka's home amidst the congratulations of both families. The little Princess alone was sorrowful in her inmost heart at seeing some one take her mother's place; but it would be unfilial to her father to show that for one instant she did not approve of his second marriage, so she hid her unhappiness and smiled. On seeing the little Princess for the first time, the stepmother was shocked at the deformity of the bowl, and said to herself that never had she even dreamed that there could be any one in the world doomed to be such an ugly cripple. She not only despised but hated her stepchild from the moment that she saw her. This new wife was indeed a very different woman from her predecessor, whose heart was so good and kind towards all who came near her that the idea of disliking, much less hating any one was impossible to her. A year passed by and the stepmother gave birth to a child. Jealousy for her own infant daughter now made her hate her stepchild more and more. It was her great desire to see her own daughter first in Prince Minetaka's affection, and in order to attain her utterly selfish end she knew she must oust her stepchild from the house. To begin with, she determined to estrange the father from the little Princess by telling him unfavourable stories of her behaviour and her character. It is needless to say that she invented these stories. The Bowl-Wearing Princess soon understood that her stepmother hated her. Her grief and anxiety seemed to her more than she could bear. There was no one in the house in whom she could confide, and she knew that to complain of her stepmother to any one, even to her father, would be undutiful. What was she to do in her trouble? To whom could she go but to her own mother? So as often as she could she went to her grave. Here she would kneel and pour out the woe that filled her heart. "O mother, why must I live on in the world with this ugly bowl on my head? My stepmother truly has a reason for hating such a child about the house. Now that she has a daughter of her own, all the more must she want to get rid of me! And my father, who used to love me so much, he too will surely soon give all his love to his new daughter and forget me! Alas! Alas! the only place that is left to me to come to without fear of dislike is the side of my own dead mother. O mother, sitting upon the lotus leaves in Paradise, receive me now upon the same leaf. Oh! that I might thus escape the sorrow of this world and enter upon the way of Buddha!" But the Boundary of Life and Death separated the mother and child, and though she prayed earnestly and with tears, lifting her whole heart and soul up in her despair, no answer came to her eagerly listening ear. As she knelt in the little graveyard only the sound of the wind sighing in the pine trees answered her. But the thought that she had told her mother everything comforted her as she returned home. The stepmother was told of her stepdaughter's frequent visits to the graveyard, and instead of being touched with pity for the motherless girl, she made use of the occasion still further to slander the child to her husband. "I am told that the Bowl-Wearer, your daughter, goes to her mother's grave and curses me and my child because of her jealousy! What do you think of that? Hasn't she a wicked heart?" Day by day she watched the little girl wend her way from the house to the graveyard and day by day she repeated in her husband's ear her pretended fears. In her heart she knew quite well that it was only love and unhappiness that sent her unfortunate stepchild to the grave of her mother. At last she said that she was afraid of the evil that might befall her and her child through the Bowl-Wearer's malice; she had decided that they could no longer live together in the same house. The father, who had hitherto never listened much to his wife's tales, was at last persuaded by her importunity into believing them true. So in an evil hour he summoned his daughter and said: "What is this I hear, wicked daughter? Your deformity has long since been a source of irritation to me, but as long as you behaved well, I put up with it. Now I am told that you go every day to the grave of your mother to curse my wife and her innocent little child. It is impossible for me to keep under my roof any one who is so crippled not only in body but in mind as you are. Go wherever you will from to-day, but longer in this house you shall not stay!" While the father was speaking these terrible words the stepmother sat behind him, smiling in derision at the poor little Princess and in triumph at the success of her wicked stratagem. "Woe to the Bowl-Wearing Princess!" The servants, at the command of her father, took off her silken robes and put on her a miserable common cotton gown, such as beggars wear, and drove her out into the road. The Princess was altogether bewildered at the suddenness of her misfortune. She felt like a wanderer in an unknown land, lost in the darkness of night. So distracted was she at first that she could only stand still in the middle of the street, not knowing which way to turn. But people, passing by, stared at her so that she soon realized that she must not stand like that all day, so she began to move whither her feet led her. In this way she came to the bank of a large river. As she stood and looked at the flowing water, she could not help thinking that it would be far better for her to become the dust of the river-bed than endure the hardships of her present lot. Would it not be better to die and so join her mother than wander about like a beggar from place to place begging her rice? With this thought she made up her mind to drown herself. But the roar of the river was so great as it dashed over the boulders of its rocky bed that the maiden hesitated at first. Then, summoning up all her courage with a desperate effort, she jumped in. Strange to say, however, the bowl, which had hitherto been such a curse to her, was now a blessing. It lifted her head clear above the water and would not let her sink. As she floated down the stream a fishing-boat came by. The fisherman, seeing a big bowl rising out of the water, lifted it up. His surprise was great when underneath the bowl he found a human being. Thinking it to be some strange monster, he threw it upon the bank. The poor girl was at first stunned by her fall. When she came to herself, she said that it was a pity she could not die as she had wished. She got up from the ground and, in a miserable plight, for her clothes were dripping with water, began to walk on, and after some time she found herself in the streets of a town. Here the people, as soon as they saw her, began to point the finger of scorn at her, and to jeer and laugh at the strange-looking bowl on her head. "Oh! oh! do you see this queer creature with the bowl coming down from the mountains? Look! Look!" Then as some of them came nearer they said: "It is strange that a monster should have such beautiful hands and feet. What a pity this creature was not born a woman!" Just then the lord of the district passed by on his way home from the hunt. Seeing the gathering of people, he stopped and inquired what was the matter. His retainers pointed out the Bowl-Wearer to him. From the grace of her slender form, and the modesty of her bearing, Lord Yamakage judged her to be a young woman, though he could not of course see her face, which was completely hidden by the bowl. He ordered the Bowl-Wearer to be brought to him. Two or three of his retainers went to execute his orders, and came back bringing the poor unhappy Princess with them. "Tell me the truth," said Lord Yamakage to the girl; "who or what are you?" "I am the daughter of one Minetaka by name, and my home is near Katano. My mother, when dying, placed this bowl on my head, and since her death it has become so firmly fixed there that no one can take it off, and I am obliged to wear it always, as you see me now. Because of the unsightliness of my appearance I have been driven away from my home. No one takes pity on me, and I am forced to wander from place to place without knowing where to lay my head at night." "Well, well!" said the kind man. "Your story is truly a pitiful one. I will take the bowl off for you!" When he had said these words, Lord Yamakage ordered his retainers to pull off the bowl from the girl's head. The men, one and all, tried to free the Princess from the obnoxious bowl, but it stuck so obstinately to her head that all their efforts were useless. It even uttered loud cries and groans of pain as they tugged at it. Every one was dumbfounded at the inexplicable mystery, and at last they all began to laugh. When Lord Yamakage saw that there was nothing to be done to help her, he spoke to the Bowl-Wearer again. "Where are you going to spend to-night?" "I am quite homeless," answered the Bowl-Wearer, in a heartbroken way, "and I do not know where I shall lay my head to-night. There is no one in the wide world to take pity on me, and every one who sees me either jeers or runs away because of the bowl on my head." Lord Yamakage felt his heart fill with pity and said: "It may bring luck to have such a strange creature in my house!" Then he turned to the girl and said: "How would you like to come home with me for the present, Bowl-Wearer?" And with these words he gave her in charge of his attendants, who took her with them to their lord's house. It was an easy matter to take her to the house, but not so easy to find her a place there. His wife objected to her becoming a waiting-maid, saying that no one could bear the sight of so strange a creature about. So the servants at last took her to the bath-room, and told her that she must fetch and carry the water and look after the fire for heating the bath. This was to be her work! As the little Princess had never done such rough work in the whole of her life, she suffered much in obeying these cruel orders; but she resigned herself to her fate and tried with all humility and patience to perform her hard task faultlessly. But her lot was far from being a happy one, even though she had found the safe shelter of Lord Yamakage's home. The young and uncouth tradesmen, coming on errands to the house, made fun of her, some even trying to peep under the bowl to get a glimpse of the beautiful face beneath. While she was thus persecuted in the daytime, in the evening the servants gave her no rest with their peremptory orders. "Hot water here!" "Cold water there!" "Get the bath ready!" and so on. The poor girl bore all this rude usage patiently; but as she went about her work she could not help remembering the old times of her happy childhood, spent under the loving care of her own dear mother, of the honoured place she had held in her father's household till within the last few days; and as she carried the hot water or stoked the bath-fire she pretended that those fast-falling tears of sadness were caused by the fumes of charcoal and the steam which rose from the hot water. When she crept weeping to bed at night it seemed to her as if the past day must be an evil dream. Lord Yamakage had four sons. The three elder ones were married to daughters of three of the leading men of the province. The youngest son, Saisho, was still unmarried. He had been away for some time in the gay smart capital of Kyoto. But now he returned to his home. Now every time he went to take his bath or called for hot water, he saw the Bowl-Wearing maiden, and, as he had a kind and compassionate heart, he could not but be touched by her unhappy appearance, and her modest and gentle behaviour and her quickness and diligence at her work. Whenever he had an opportunity he spoke to the Bowl-Wearer, and to his surprise he found that she was no servant, that she spoke in the refined language of his class, and though so young she was well read in the literature and poetry of her country, and could answer a literary allusion wittily and to the point. When at last she told him something of her sad story, he knew, though she did not tell him, that she belonged to some family of high rank. From this time on he often spoke to the girl, and he found that the stolen conversations with her grew to be the chief pleasure of the day. One day he managed to take a sly peep under the bowl. The face, even though overshadowed by the huge cover, was of such rare beauty that he fell madly in love with the Princess, and made up his mind that none other than the Bowl-Wearer should be his wife. His mother soon heard of Saisho's friendship for her husband's protege, and when she learned that he had promised to marry her she forbade him to think of such a thing. She at first thought that her son could not be in earnest, but when she sent for Saisho and asked him seriously if what she had been told was true, he answered: "I really and truly intend to make the Bowl-Wearer my wife!" His mother was not a little angry at his determined front. How could Saisho fall in love with a girl with a bowl on her head? Who ever heard of such ridiculous nonsense? Then she sent for her son's nurse, the woman who had nursed him from the day he was born, and together they tried to deter him from his purpose. Saisho was obliged to listen to all they had to say, but did not answer them. He could not say "Yes" to their demand that he should give up all idea of marrying the Bowl-Wearer, and he knew that if he firmly said "No" he would raise up such a storm of opposition that no one could tell how it would end. He knew that the life of the Bowl-Wearer was a truly pitiable one, and his determination to marry her and help her out of all her difficulties remained unchanged. His mother soon saw that her son would by no means listen to her persuasions, and her anger was great towards the Bowl-Wearer. She almost made up her mind to drive her from the house before her husband could know what happened. Saisho, on hearing this, told her that if the girl was driven away he would go with her. The mother's distraction can be imagined, for she was thwarted in every way. She at last said that the Bowl-Wearer was a wicked witch who had thrown her spells over Saisho and would not leave him till she had compassed his death. She determined if possible to separate them by fair means or foul. For a long time she pondered over the matter, and at last hit upon a stratagem which she trusted would rid the house of the presence of the obnoxious girl. Her plan she called "The Comparison of the Brides." She would hold in the house a family council of all the relations, and assemble the wives of her three elder sons, and before the whole gathering compare them with the Bowl-Wearer whom Saisho had elected to marry. If the Bowl-Wearer had any self-respect she would be too conscious of her deformity and her poverty, and too ashamed to make an appearance,--would leave the house to escape from the ordeal. What an excellent plan! Why had she never thought of this before? So the mother sent messengers post-haste to all the family and relations, requesting their presence at a "Bride Comparing Ceremony" and a feast which would close the ceremony. When Saisho heard of this he was greatly troubled, for he knew what it meant. His mother meant to drive the girl he loved from the house by comparing her with his brothers' rich and pretty wives. What was to be done? How could he help the poor Bowl-Wearer? The little Princess saw how unhappy he was, and blamed herself, she was so sorry for him. "It is all because of me that this trouble has come to you. Instead of happiness I have only brought you worry. Woe is me! It is better that I go away at once," said the girl. Saisho told her at once that he would never let her go alone; that if she went he would go with her. At last the day fixed for the ceremony of the "Comparison of the Brides" came round. Saisho and the unhappy little Bowl-Wearer rose before the dawn, and taking each other by the hand left the house together. Notwithstanding his love for the Bowl-Wearer and his resolve to marry her at whatever cost, Saisho was very sad at the thought of leaving his parents in this way. He told himself that they would never forgive his obstinacy and probably would refuse to see him again, so this parting was probably forever. He felt at each step as if his heart was torn backwards. With slow steps he and the Bowl-Wearer, hand in hand, wended their way down the garden. No sooner, however, did they put their feet outside the gate than the bowl on the girl's head burst with a loud noise and fell in a thousand pieces upon the ground. What untold joy for both of them! Saisho, too astonished to speak, looked for the first time full on the girl's face. The beauty of the damsel was so dazzling that he could compare it only to the glory of the full moon as it rides triumphantly above the clouds on the fifteenth night of September. Her figure, too, now that the dwarfing bowl had gone, was more graceful than anything he had ever seen. The young lovers, too happy for words at this unexpected deliverance, could do nothing but gaze at each other. The mother's purpose in covering her daughter's head with the hideous bowl was at last made clear. Fearing that her daughter's beauty would prove to be a peril to her, with no mother to watch over her, she had hidden it thus, and the intensity of her wish had assumed supernatural power, so that all attempts to remove it were useless till the moment came when it was no longer needed; then it broke off of its own accord. At last the lovers stooped to pick up the pieces of the bowl, when to their amazement they found the ground strewn with treasures and all that a bride could possibly need for her portion. There were many gold _kanzashi_ (ornamental pins for the hair), silver wine-cups, many precious stones and gold coins, and a wedding-garment of twelve folded _kimono_, and a _hakama_ of brilliant scarlet brocade. "Oh, surely," said the Princess, "these treasures must be what my mother prepared for my marriage portion. Indeed a mother's tender love is above everything!" She wept with mingled feelings of joy and pain,--pain of the remembrance of her mother and joy at her present unlooked-for deliverance and the certainty of future happiness. Saisho told her that there was now no need for her to leave the house. She was not only a richly dowered bride, but now that her face was no longer hidden by the hideous bowl, so beautiful that even a king would be proud to wed her. She need no longer fear to be present at the coming ceremony and feast. So they both turned back, and hastened to prepare for the trial which awaited the Bowl-Wearer, but Bowl-Wearer now no longer. As soon as day broke, the house was full of movement, servants hurrying to and fro to usher in and wait upon the relations, who now began to arrive. The murmur of their chattering was like the sound of breaking waves on a distant shore, and the object of all this talk was nothing else than the poor little Princess. The servants told every one that she was in her room getting ready for the approaching feast, and they all thought it strange that she had not fled away for shame. Little did they dream of all that had happened to her! At last the hour of the "Bride Comparing Ceremony" arrived. The family and the relations all took their places at the upper end of the big guest-hall of thirty mats. First entered the bride of the eldest son. She was only twenty-two years of age, and as it was the season of autumn, she wore a brightly coloured kimono and walked into the room in a stately fashion, with her scarlet hakama trailing over the cream mats behind her. Her costume was indeed beautiful to behold! To her parents-in-law she brought gifts of ten rolls of rich silk and two suits of the ceremonial gown called _kosode_ (each _kosode_ consisting of twelve long _kimono_ folded one over the other), all of which she placed on a fine lacquer tray to present them. Next came the bride of the second son. She was twenty years of age, and was of the aristocratic type of beauty, thin and slender, with a long pale oval face. She wore a heavy silk robe, and over this a flowing gown of gold brocade. Her _hakama_ was embroidered profusely with crimson plum-blossoms. She came into the room quietly, with a gentle bearing, and offered as her gifts of presentation thirty suits of silk robes to her husband's parents. Then came the bride of the third son. She was only eighteen years of age. Quite different from the first two proud beauties, she was very pretty and dainty, and though small had more sweetness and charm in her manner than her sisters. Her dress was of rich silk embroidered with cherry-blossoms. She presented thirty pieces of rare and handsome crape to her parents-in-law. The three sat side by side in their conscious pride and prosperity, their beauty enhanced by the sheen and splendour of their silken gowns. As the father and mother, uncles and aunts and relations, all gazed upon them, no one could say who deserved the palm of superiority, for they were all lovely. At the lower end of the room, far away from every one else, was placed a torn mat. It was the seat destined for the Bowl-Wearer. "We have seen the three elder brides of the house, and they are all so handsome and so beautifully robed that we are sure there are no women to compare with them in the whole province," said the relations. "Now it is the turn of the Bowl-Wearer, who aspires to marry the youngest son of the house. When she comes in with that ridiculous bowl on her head, let us greet her with a burst of laughter!" The roomful of people eagerly waited for the Bowl-Wearer to come, even as the birds sitting on the eaves of a house long for the morning. The three brides were also curious to see the cripple girl of whom they had heard so much. How dared such a creature aspire to become their sister? they haughtily asked each other. But the mother felt differently. She in no wise wished to see the girl appear, for she had arranged this day's ceremony, hoping that the Bowl-Wearer, knowing herself to be a deformed beggar-maid, would be too ashamed to appear before such a grand company and would flee away rather than face the trial. On asking the servants, however, she was told that she was still in the house, and she wondered what the girl could be doing, and almost regretted what she had done. Lord Yamakage and his wife at last grew impatient and sent word to the Bowl-Wearer that she was to hasten, as every one was waiting for her. The servants went to the back of the house where the Bowl-Wearer had her little room of three mats, and gave her the message. "I am coming now," she answered from within the paper screens. The Princess now came out and entered the room of the "Bride Comparing Ceremony," where every one was waiting for her. She was only sixteen years of age, but so beautiful that she reminded them of the weeping cherry-blossoms in the dew of a spring morning. Her hair was as black as the sheen on a raven's wing, and her face was lovelier far than that of any human being they had ever seen. Her under-robes were of rich white silk, and her upper kimono was purple, embroidered with white and pink plum-blossoms. As the stars pale before the fuller glory of the moon, so the three elder brides shrank into insignificance beside the dazzling beauty of this maiden. To all it seemed as if one of the _Amatsu Otome_ (heavenly virgins) who wait upon the Goddess of Mercy had glided into the room. They had expected to see a poverty-stricken girl with a large bowl stuck upside down on the top of her head, and they were lost in astonishment when they beheld the Princess in all the radiance of her loveliness and the splendour of her rich clothes. The Princess was about to sit down in the seat left for her, but Lord Yamakage made a place for her beside his wife, saying that he could not allow her to sit in such a lowly spot. She now presented to her father-in-law a silver wine-cup on a gold pedestal, with one hundred _rye_ (old _yen_ in gold), and thirty rolls of silk which she brought in on a beautiful tray. To his wife she presented the rarest and most delectable fruit of ancient Japan, Konan oranges and Kempo pears, and one hundred pieces of coloured cloth which she put upon a gold stand. In her surpassing beauty, in the grace of her carriage, in the richness of her costume, in the sumptuousness of the gifts to her parents, she left the other brides far and away behind. Speechless with wonder and admiration, every one present could not but gaze at her. Before the Bowl-Wearer had appeared, the three elder brides had seemed beautiful enough, but now the difference was as marked as when a sparkling jewel is placed side by side with a crystal; and as the crystal suffers from the comparison, so did they. Saisho's elder brothers were looking between the cracks of the sliding screens, and they were filled with envy at Saisho and his good fortune in becoming the husband of such a beautiful princess, for such they now felt she must be. Not even her rivals could deny that she was bewilderingly fair to look upon; but they whispered among themselves that unless she were skilled in all womanly accomplishments, for all her beauty she would be no better than a common man's daughter. She must play on the _koto_ at once. No one could perform on that instrument without years of instruction. If they waited till the next day, who knows, she was so clever that she might get Saisho to teach her. So the jealous brides proposed aloud that they should all play a quartette; the eldest would play the _biwa_ (lute), the second the _sho_ (flute), the third the _tsuzumi_ (a kind of a small drum beaten with the hand), and they asked the Bowl-Wearer to join them and play the _koto_ (harp). The Princess, who was very modest, at first refused; but on second thoughts, she said to herself: "They ask me to do this because they wish to try me, thinking me to be ignorant of such accomplishments. Well, then, I will play, for my mother taught me." She pulled the _koto_ near her, and slipping the ivory tips on her fingers began to stroke chords. The astonishment of every one was great, for she played with great skill. Saisho, who had hidden himself in the room behind a lacquer cabinet, and was watching with the utmost eagerness all that went on, could hardly keep in his hiding-place, he was so delighted. The three brides, who were quite put out of countenance, for their performance could in no wise be compared to that of the little Princess, now proposed that she should write a poem. "Write a poem, a _tanka_ [a poem of thirty-one syllables], which shall describe the character of each season, such as the blooming of the peach and the cherry-blossom in the spring, the orange and wistaria in summer, and the beauty of the chrysanthemum in autumn." "Oh," said the Bowl-Wearer, "this is indeed a task too difficult for me. Is there nothing else you will give me to do instead of this? I can take care of the bath-room, and pull up water from the well, and heat the bath. Since this is my daily occupation, how is it possible that I should even know how to write a poem, much less compose one?" She blushed as she spoke. But her rivals insisted, and so at last she took up a poem card and a brush and wrote:-- Haru wa hana, Natsu wa tachibana, Aki wa kiku, Izure to wakete, Tsuyu ya okuran. The cherry-blossom of spring, The orange-flower of summer, The autumn chrysanthemum, Perplexed between them all, Alike on each the dew may fall. She showed not the least hesitation in writing these lines, and her handwriting was so beautiful that even the famous Tofu[1] and her brush could not have surpassed it. The three brides retired from the room, grumbling and speaking evil of the Bowl-Wearer. "She must be a witch," they said. "Probably the spirit of the ancient Tamamono Maye!" Lord Yamakage, now quite pleased with her, handed her a cup of _saké_. He gave his full consent to her marrying his son Saisho, and bestowed upon them as a settlement twenty-three hundred _cho_ of land, together with twenty-four servants to wait upon them, and for their bridal chamber he allotted them the Hall of Bamboos. So Saisho and the Bowl-Wearer were at last married, and all their troubles ended. Never was there such a merry wedding, such a lovely bride, or such a happy bridegroom. The days flew into weeks, the weeks flew into months, for the flight of time is unnoticed when one is happy. At last one day Saisho said to his wife: "I cannot believe you to be the daughter of a common man. Will you not tell me who your father is? I should like to know. Whatever wrong you have suffered, why hide your parentage any longer?" The Princess knew that if she told her husband the truth, the name of her cruel stepmother would have to be mentioned, and it would be most unfilial to speak of the woman's cruelty, for she was her father's wife, so she decided not to tell Saisho to what family she belonged. She made some excuse, saying that he should know all in good time, and begged him to wait a little longer. [Illustration: SAISHO AND THE BOWL-WEARER WERE AT LAST MARRIED] When they had been happily married for a year, she gave birth to a son. The bliss of the faithful young couple now seemed complete. Yet with her ever-growing happiness her thoughts turned more and more to her father. What had happened to him in these past years? How she longed to show him her little son! She said to herself that if this were granted she would be the happiest woman in the whole world. Now let us turn back and see what happened to Lord Minetaka and his wicked wife. As time went on, her vicious disposition only became worse. At last it became so unbearable that all the servants took their leave. There was now no one left to care for her child or the house, and the fortunes of the family gradually declined. Lord Minetaka became poorer and poorer. Where once in the days of the first wife there had been sweet peace and harmony, discord now reigned in the house. Lord Minetaka grew weary of his life. He decided to leave his home and set out on a pilgrimage. He started at last to wander on foot from province to province and from temple to temple, learning from the priests all he could of Buddhist lore. He had plenty of time for reflection; and no longer harassed by a scolding wife, he began to ponder over his past life. No words can tell how much he regretted having listened to her slanderous stories about his little daughter; and when he thought of how he had allowed her to be driven from her home, like an outcast or a beggar, his nights were sleepless. He asked himself every day what could have happened to her all this time. He would search for her through the length and the breadth of the land, and if she were still alive, he told himself that he would surely meet with her again. In every temple he came to he prayed that he might find her, wheresoever she might be. On and on he wandered over the country, stopping for the night at the different villages he came to on his way. At last he reached the famous Kwannon of the Hatsuse Temple, of the Yamato Province. Kwannon, the Goddess of Mercy, grants to mortals whatever they need the most, the greatest desire of their hearts. Here Minetaka ardently prayed for his lost daughter, prayed that she might be preserved from all ill, and that Kwannon would mercifully grant them a speedy meeting. Saisho and his wife were devoted to this very temple, and often used to visit it to offer thanksgiving for their mutual happiness, and to pray for their children. Now this day, as was their wont, they had come with their three little sons and some of their retainers. The little boys were beautifully dressed in silk and crape, and the whole party had the appearance of a nobleman and his retinue. The retainers went up the temple steps first to clear the way, and found a pilgrim before the temple shrine lost in earnest prayer. "Oh, pilgrim!" they cried, "out of the way! Our lord comes to worship, make way instantly!" The man, hearing himself spoken to in this way, got up and looked at the approaching party, moving aside at the same time to let them pass. He was travel-stained and worn out with fatigue, and it was easy to see that he was broken down by some sorrow. As the little boys passed him, he looked at them eagerly, and as he did so the tears fell from his eyes. One of the retainers, who thought his behaviour strange, asked the pilgrim why he wept. "Those children," answered Lord Minetaka, for it was he, "remind me so much of my daughter, for whom I am searching, that when I looked at their faces the tears fell in spite of myself;" and he told the man all that had happened, glad for once to find a sympathetic listener on his lonely wanderings. When the Princess heard the story, she told the retainers to bring the pilgrim to her. As soon as they led him to her a glance was enough for her to recognize that, aged and emaciated as he was, the pilgrim was none other than her father. "I am the Bowl-Wearer!" she exclaimed quickly, catching hold of her father's sleeve and bursting into tears, overcome with joy and filial affection at this unexpected meeting. Saisho congratulated his wife and her father on their happy reunion, and after many bows and salutations on both sides, he said: "I felt sure that my wife was of noble birth, though she always remained silent when I questioned her as to her parentage. Now I understand it all. So, after all, she is the daughter of Lord Minetaka of Katano." He then insisted that his father-in-law should give up his wanderings and make his home with them for the rest of his days. So Lord Minetaka at last found his good daughter married to one of his own rank, and so happy that even in dreams he could have wished for nothing better for her. What a joyous home-coming it was that day for the Bowl-Wearer, as she led her father back with her and presented her three little sons to him, and showed him her beautiful home, and told him how good and faithful her husband had been to her while she was only the unhappy and despised Bowl-Wearer! They all felt that their cup of happiness was full, and lived together more harmoniously than ever, and in their mutual joy all past sorrow was forgotten. Such is the story of the Bowl-Wearing Princess, which is told from grandmother to mother and from mother to daughter in all households in Japan. [1] Tofu. A lady famous for her beautiful handwriting. THE STORY OF LAZY TARO Long, long ago, in the province of Shinano there lived a lad called Monogusa Taro. Monogusa was not his surname. The word means "lazy," or "good-for-nothing," and he was so nicknamed because by nature he was so lazy that he would not even take the trouble to pick up anything that was lying in the way. When the neighbours asked him to do something for them, saying, "Do this," or "Do that," he would shrug his shoulders and say, "It is really too much bother," and go away without attempting to obey, or even wishing to be kind to those about him. At last all turned their backs on him, and would have nothing to do with him. Strange to say, no one knew who his father or mother was, or from where he had come. He seemed to be a waif and stray that had drifted into the province of Shinano, and yet there was an air about him which excited interest and respect. But this lazy lad, Monogusa Taro, had his dreams and ambitions. He wanted to live in a large house. In his imagination he pictured this house like a _daimio's_ palace. It was to stand in its own grounds and be closed by four high walls, with large roofed gates opening out on three sides of it. In the park-like garden he would have four miniature lakes, laid out in the four directions, north, south, east, and west, and each pond was to have an island in its centre, and dainty arched bridges were to span the distances between the islands and the shores of the little lakes. And oh! how beautiful the garden should be, with its miniature hills and valleys, its tiny bamboo forests and dwarfed pine trees, its rivulets and dells with little cascades. And he would keep all kinds of singing-birds in the garden, the nightingale and the lark and the cuckoo. And the house itself was to be large, with spacious rooms hung with costly tapestries of brocade, and the ceilings were to be inlaid with rare wood of fine markings, and the pillars supporting the corridors must be adorned with silver and gold. And he would eat off costly trays of lacquer, and the dishes and bowls should be of the finest porcelain, and the servants who glided through the rooms to serve him should be beautiful maidens clothed in silk and crape and brocade, daughters of ancient families, glad to enter his house, so that they might learn the etiquette and manners of a princely house. Such were the day-dreams and visions of Lazy Taro. Once or twice he spoke of these things to a kind neighbour who brought him food and little gifts, but he was laughed to scorn for his pains, and so he kept silent henceforth and dreamed only for himself. But he had to come down to stern reality. Instead of the grand palace that he dreamed of building, he had to content himself with a little shed by the roadside. Instead of the fine pillars of his visionary palace he put up four bamboo posts; and in place of the grand walls he hung up pieces of grass matting; and instead of the fine cream-white mats on which the foot glides softly and noiselessly, he spread a common straw mat. Here Lazy Taro lay day and night doing nothing, neither working nor begging for his living, only dreaming away the hours and building castles in the air of what he would do and have if only he were rich. One day a near neighbour who felt sorry for the lad sent him by his servant a present of five rice-dumplings. Lazy Taro was delighted. He was in one of his dreamy moods and ate up four of them, without thinking what he was about. When he came to the last one, somehow he suddenly felt unwilling to part with it. He held it in his hand, and looked at it for some minutes. It took him a long time to make up his mind whether he would eat it or keep it. At last he decided to keep it until some one was kind enough to send him something else. Lazy Taro, having made up his mind on this point, lay down on his straw mat again to dream away the hours with his foolish visions of future grandeur and to play with the remaining rice-dumpling which he still held in his hand. He was tossing it up and down when it slipped from his hand and went rolling into the road. "How tiresome!" said Taro, looking after it wistfully as it lay in the dusty road; but he was so terribly lazy that he would not stir out of his place to pick it up. "It is too much trouble," said Lazy Taro; "some one is sure to come along and pick it up for me." So he lay in his shed and watched the dumpling in the road. When a dog, however, came along or a crow flew down to steal it, he drove them away by making a noise or by flapping his sleeves at them. On the third day after this, the Governor of the District passed by on his way home from hawking. He rode a fine horse and was followed by a number of retainers. Now as Lazy Taro lay in his shed he saw the Governor and his suite coming. "Now this is lucky!" said Taro. He did not care whether the approaching man was the Governor of the Province or a daimio or not. When the Governor was opposite the door of the hut Taro raised his voice and called out to the rider, asking him to pick up his dumpling and bring it to him. No notice whatever was taken of him. The procession of riders went slowly by the hut. Then Taro called out still more loudly to make them hear. "Ho, there!" he shouted, "will no one do what I ask? It can't be much trouble to get down from your horse and pick up that dumpling for me!" Still no one heeded him. Then Taro got angry and shouted still more loudly: "What a lazy person you must be!" Thus Taro arrogantly found fault with others, entirely forgetful of his own laziness, and talked to those older and better than himself in this hateful way. Had the Governor, whose attention was now directed to the little shed by the roadside, been an ordinary man, he would have given orders to his men to kill the presumptuous fellow on the spot; for a _samurai_ of high rank in old Japan, in his domain and along the road, possessed the power of life and death over the lower classes. When a lord or any great dignitary rode abroad, the peasants and the farmers bowed themselves in the dust as he passed by. They dared not lift up their heads on pain of death. But this Governor was an unusual man, and renowned throughout the district for his goodness and mildness of disposition. His curiosity too was aroused at the queer proceeding. He had heard of the strange Monogusa Taro, and he concluded that the boy in the hut must be he. So the Governor got down from his horse, and sitting on a stool that one of his retainers placed for him opposite the hut, said: "Are you Monogusa Taro of whom the people talk?" Taro, not in the least afraid, answered boldly that he was. He did not even move from his position on the mat to bow to the great man. He behaved just as indifferently as if he were a lord speaking to a servant. "You are indeed an interesting fellow," said the Governor. "Now tell me what do you do to earn a living?" "As my name tells you," answered Lazy Taro, "I do nothing. I lie in this shed night and day. I am Lazy Taro!" "Then you must get little to eat!" said the Governor. "It is exactly as you say!" answered Taro; "when the neighbours bring me food, I eat it; but when I get nothing I lie in this shed night and day just like this, sometimes for three and four and five days without eating!" "I am very sorry for you," said the Governor. "Now if I give you a piece of ground, will you till it and grow your own rice and vegetables? What you do not want you might sell to the neighbours and so make a little money." "You are very kind," answered Taro, "and I thank you; but it is too much trouble to till the ground to get my own rice. Why should I when I can get people to give me just enough to live upon? No, thank you, I beg to be excused." "Well," said the Governor, "if you don't like the idea of tilling the ground, I will give you some money to start in business. What do you say to that?" "That would be too much trouble too, so I will remain as I am," said Taro. The kind-hearted Governor could not but be astonished at the good-for-nothing boy's answer, but he was a man of great patience, and he felt sorry for Monogusa Taro. "You are," he said, "as everyone says, the laziest man in the whole of Japan. In all my experience of all sorts and conditions of men, never have I come across such a don't-care, happy-go-lucky creature as yourself--but as it is your nature, I suppose there is no help for it. Your condition is a pitiful one. I can't let you starve in my district --which you certainly will do if you go on like this." Then the kind-hearted Governor took out a piece of paper from his sleeve, and on this paper with brush and Indian ink he wrote an order to the effect that the people of his dominion of Shinano were to provide Monogusa Taro twice daily with three go of rice and a little _saké_ once a day to cheer his spirits. Whoever disobeyed the order must quit the district at once. This order the Governor had published and made known throughout the whole province. To the people of the province it seemed a strange command, and they were lost in amazement; but however strange they thought it, they had to obey the Governor's order. So from that day on Taro was taken care of and fed by his neighbours with rice and _saké_ daily. Time slipped slowly by in the rustic place, and for three years Taro lived in ease and plenty, as free from care as the birds of the air. To all appearance he was perfectly satisfied with himself and his useless life, and he seemed to desire nothing better. At the end of three years the feudal _Daimio_ of Shinano, who always lived in the capital, advertised for a man-servant who was young and strong. One of Taro's kindest neighbours suggested that this was a good opportunity for Taro to make a beginning and that he ought to apply for the place. But others shook their heads and said that Taro was a good-for-nothing fellow, who would never do any good in the world--he would only be a trouble wherever he went. "Look," they said, "how he behaved to the good Governor, how he dared--just think of it--to ask that great man to pick up the rice-dumpling he had dropped in the road, because he was too atrociously lazy to move out of his shed to get it for himself! Had the Governor been any one else, he would have had him sworded to death on the Spot." But in spite of all the neighbours' croaking and grumbling, the first man persisted in his idea that the right thing for Taro to do was to try for the place, regardless of opposition. To every one who raised an objection, he answered wisely: "Don't you know the saying that 'Stupid people and scissors depend on the way they are used for their usefulness'; so even this Lazy Taro may change for the better if he is taken up to the capital and made to work. Let us all persuade him to go into service, and let him for pity's sake have a try at something or other. Who knows but this may prove the turning-point in his life? Taro may yet become a useful hard-working man in time, if he is given his proper chance." When the proposal was first made to Taro, he was very unwilling to do as he was told. He said he knew nothing of the ways of a lord's house; and how could he work, seeing that he was Lazy Taro, who had never done a stroke of work in his life? But his neighbours and friends were determined to make him go. Every day they came to his shed, and talked to him, persuadingly, and at last Taro came round to reason and said that, to please them, he would at any rate go and try to do his best--if he failed, he couldn't help it. When Taro said this, his friends were delighted, and said they would help him get ready. They gave him decent clothes in which to make an appearance at the _Daimio's_ house and then some money for the journey. In this way Lazy Taro left the rural province of Shinano, where he had lived for so many years, and started for the capital of Kyoto. Just as Tokyo is the seat of government nowadays, so Kyoto was in olden times. The Emperor--the Son of Heaven, as he was called--dwelt there in a magnificent palace, and all the great _daimios_ lived near him in state, surrounded by their retainers. The streets of the Imperial City were beautifully built and spotlessly clean, and the houses were far grander than Taro had ever dreamed of--with great sloping roofs and picturesque gates and park-like gardens enclosing them. Very different indeed was the capital from the province of Shinano, from which Taro had come. The Japanese have a saying, "As different as the moon and the turtle," and what can be more utterly different from the Queen of Night, riding above the clouds in her own bewitching radiance and beauty, attended by innumerable stars, than the mud-burrowing turtle, who may sometimes be seen crawling out from his slime to dry his back in the sunshine? As Taro walked through the streets of the city of Kyoto, he thought of the old proverb, and he said to himself that the Lady Moon was Kyoto and the turtle his old-fashioned Shinano. Then he noticed how fair of skin the people he met were, for the citizens of Kyoto are famous for their white complexions; and some say it is the purity of the water that gives them such fair skins, while others say that they are of a different race from the yellow-skinned people of the rest of Japan. And how elegantly every one was dressed! Taro looked down at himself, and saw how dark his skin was, how long his nails, and how rough his clothes were. For the first time in his life he felt ashamed of himself, and repented of his past laziness. Now he remembered that one of his neighbours in Shinano, kinder and more thoughtful than the rest, had put in his bamboo basket a silken suit of clothes, saying that Taro would be sure to want it in the capital, and that when Taro got on, as he felt sure, somehow or other, that he would, he might pay him back. Recollecting this, Taro stopped at a teahouse and changed his rough cotton suit for the silken one. Then he inquired for the residence of Nijo-Dainagon, the Lord of Shinano, and having made his way there, he entered the large gate and presented himself at the porch, saying that he had come in answer to an advertisement of the Lord of Shinano for a servant, and he begged to be made use of. When the lord of the house heard that a man had come from his own province to ask for the vacant place in his household, he came out himself to see Taro, and thanked him for his trouble in coming such a long way. "Work well and diligently, and you will not find service in my house hard or bad!" said Lord Nijo. Now, strange to relate, from the time that Lazy Taro was taken into the service of this _Daimio_, a great change came over him. He was from this time forth like another man. He showed great eagerness to please those set over him and worked with great industry. Before any one else was astir in the big household, he arose and swept the garden; he ran errands more quickly than the other servants, and sat up late at night to guard the gate. When Lord Nijo went out, Taro was the first to put his sandals ready, and the most eager to accompany him. So assiduous, so earnest was he in all he did, that his master was much impressed by his faithfulness and industry. "How true is the proverb," said the _Daimio_, "that even the beautiful lotus blooms in the slime of the pond, and that precious gems are found in the sand. Who would have dreamt that this rustic would turn out to be such a jewel of a servant? This Monogusa Taro is a clever fellow, quite unlike any countryman I have ever seen." In this way Lazy Taro won the favour of his master, who gradually promoted him from the position of a menial servant to the higher service of a retainer. One day, soon after his promotion, Taro had been summoned to the inner apartments to wait upon O Hime San, or the Honourable Princess, the _Daimio's_ daughter. As he moved across the room, he fell over the Princess's _koto_ and broke it. Now the Japanese have always considered it a virtue to repress their feelings, whether they be feelings of joy or feelings of sorrow. No matter what happens, one must learn to present an impassive countenance to the world, whether the heart be bounding with joy or withering with pain. Instead of making a display of your emotion, control it and compose a poem or a beautiful sentence. Such is the training and etiquette instilled by custom, and more especially amongst the upper classes are these rules rigidly observed. Now the Princess was a very high-born damsel, so, though she was sorely grieved when she saw that Taro had broken her favourite _koto_, instead of betraying any anger or impatience, she expressed her grief in an impromptu verse and repeated aloud:-- Kiyo yori wa [Oh! from to-day] Waga nagusami ni [For my amusement] Nani ka sen? [What shall I do?] Then Taro, who was very, very sorry for the accident and for the displeasure he knew he must have caused the Princess, was moved to the heart, and the words of apology and regret suddenly rose to his lips, in the form of the second half of the Princess's poem, and he said:-- Kotowari nareba Mono mo iwarezu. This has two meanings, because of the play on the first word _kotowari_, which means either a broken _koto_ or an excuse. So Taro's couplet meant first that there was indeed good reason for the Princess's sorrow, and that he had no excuse to offer; and secondly, that as the _koto_ was broken, he had no words wherewith to excuse himself. The _Daimio_ was sitting in the adjoining room and heard Taro answer his daughter in verse. His astonishment at finding that Taro was a poet was great. "Certainly, appearances are deceptive," said the _Daimio_ to himself. Now the next time that the Daimio went to Court, thinking to amuse the Palace circles with Taro's story, he told them first how he had taken a "potato-digger" (Japanese expression for a country bumpkin) into his service, and then he told of the progress of the transformation of the rough rustic, who had proved himself to be such a jewel, into a valuable retainer, and last, and most astonishing of all, how Taro had turned out to be a poet. Every one in the Palace listened to the tale with much interest, and said that Taro's story was like a novel. At last this story reached the ears of the Emperor, who felt interested in the poetical rustic, and he thought that he would like to see Taro; for literary and poetic talent has always been held in high esteem in Japan and has in a special manner enjoyed royal patronage. The Emperor sent word to Lord Nijo that he was to bring Taro to the Palace. So the next time that Lord Nijo went up to the Palace he ordered Taro to accompany him. So Taro at last had the highest honour that could befall a mortal, for he was commanded to enter the august presence of the Son of Heaven. The Emperor sat on a dais behind the closely slatted bamboo blinds, with cords and tassels of gold and purple, so that he could see and not be seen, for he was thought to be too sacred for the eyes of his subjects to fall on him. The _Daimio_ Nijo prostrated himself before the throne three times, and then presented Taro. The Emperor, from behind the screen that hid him from view, deigned at last to speak, and this is what he said:-- "I hear that you are a poet. Therefore compose a verse for me on the spot!" Taro obeyed without any hesitation whatsoever. Looking about him for a moment for inspiration, he happened to glance into the garden, where he saw a nightingale alight on a blossoming plum tree, and begin to warble. So he made the nightingale and the plum tree the subject of his poem:-- Uguisu no Nuretaru koe no Kokoyuru wa Ume no hanagasa Moru ya harusame. The meaning of this little poem of thirty-one syllables is that the nightingale's voice sounds tearful or moist because the flower-umbrella of the plum-blossoms lets through the spring rain, which damps the body of the bird sitting among the branches. The Emperor was pleasingly impressed with Taro's talent and facility in expressing his graceful thoughts, and addressed him again, saying: "I hear you came from Shinano? How do you call plum-blossoms [ume-no-hana] there?" Then Taro answered the royal question again, saying in verse:-- Shinano ni wa Baika to iu mo Ume no hana Miyako no koto wa Ikaga aruran. "In Shinano we call the plum-blossom '_baika_,' but of what they may call it in the capital I know nothing." In this way Taro humbly confessed his ignorance of the ways of the capital. "You are indeed a clever poet," said the Emperor, "and you must be descended from a good family. Tell me who was your father? Do you know?" "I have no ancestors that I know of!" said Taro. "Then I shall command that the Governor of Shinano make inquiries about you," said the Emperor; and therewith he commanded his courtiers to despatch a messenger to the far-away province of Shinano, with instructions to find out all he could about Lazy Taro and his parents. After some time the Governor of Shinano learned through an old priest who Monogusa Taro really was, and the discovery was a startling one. It appeared that many years before, a Prince of the Imperial House had been banished from Court circles and had come to the Temple of Zenkoji in Shinano. The Prince was accompanied by his consort. The royal young couple made this pilgrimage to pray Heaven for a child, for they were both sorrowful at being childless. Their prayers were answered by the birth of a son within the year. This son was Taro. When the infant was but three years old, his parents died and the child was left with no one but the old priest to take care of him. When Taro was only seven years old, he strayed away from his guardian and was lost. The royal couple had kept their secret well, and the old priest had only discovered who Taro was by finding some letters hidden away behind the Buddhist altar. Taro was the grandson of the Emperor Kusabuka, the second son of the Emperor Nimmu, the fifty-third Emperor of Japan. Taro's father had been banished for some misdemeanour at Court, and had hidden himself in disgrace in the rustic province of Shinano in the heart of the country, far from the gay capital and all who knew him. Thus it was that no one knew where Monogusa Taro had come from, who he was, or anything about him at all, and he had grown up like a common peasant, ignorant of his high estate and the exalted circle to which he belonged. You may imagine the surprise of the Emperor when he learned that Taro was descended from the Royal Family. It was no wonder that he had shown such noble qualities as faithful service to his lord and love of poetry. His Majesty now bestowed upon Taro the highest official rank, and made him Governor of the provinces of Shinano and Kai. Now Monogusa Taro returned to Shinano, the old province which had harboured him in his days of poverty--in great state he returned. No longer as Lazy Taro, the good-for-nothing rascal who lived in a straw shed, content with living upon the charity of his neighbours and friends, or whoever chose to take pity upon him, but as the new Governor, the man who through industry and faithfulness had won the esteem of Lord Nijo, and who through him was presented at Court. Once at Court, his talent for writing verses had aroused the interest of the Emperor, whose inquiries had established his high birth. And so, greater than all expectations and more wonderful than dreams, had the transformation of Lazy Taro been. No longer a despised beggar by the roadside, he was now an honoured man, created new Lord of the Province by the Emperor. Nor did he now forget in these changed circumstances the kindness that had been shown to him in former times. He repaid and rewarded all those who had ministered to his wants in the days of his vagrancy; he forgot no one--neither those who had given him rice, nor those who had interested themselves in his going to Kyoto, nor those who had prepared him for his journey. He paid a visit to his old friend and benefactor, the ex-Governor, now retired from active service, and took him many handsome gifts. His visions of a fine house were now realized, for he lived in just such a palace as he had seen in his day-dreams by the wayside. The palace had sloping roofs, just as you see in old Japanese pictures; it stood in the midst of beautiful gardens, surrounded by high walls and approached by three large gates. Lord Nijo gave him one of his daughters in marriage, and Monogusa Taro lived happily to the great age of one hundred and twenty years, and he left the world beloved, honoured, and lamented by all who knew him. Such is the wonderful and happy-ending story of Lazy Taro. 
4018	----	JAPANESE FAIRY TALES COMPILED BY YEI THEODORA OZAKI Profusely Illustrated by Japanese Artists TO ELEANOR MARION-CRAWFORD. I DEDICATE THIS BOOK TO YOU AND TO THE SWEET CHILD-FRIENDSHIP THAT YOU GAVE ME IN THE DAYS SPENT WITH YOU BY THE SOUTHERN SEA, WHEN YOU USED TO LISTEN WITH UNFEIGNED PLEASURE TO THESE FAIRY STORIES FROM FAR JAPAN. MAY THEY NOW REMIND YOU OF MY CHANGELESS LOVE AND REMEMBRANCE. Y. T. O. Tokio, 1908. PREFACE. This collection of Japanese fairy tales is the outcome of a suggestion made to me indirectly through a friend by Mr. Andrew Lang. They have been translated from the modern version written by Sadanami Sanjin. These stories are not literal translations, and though the Japanese story and all quaint Japanese expressions have been faithfully preserved, they have been told more with the view to interest young readers of the West than the technical student of folk-lore. Grateful acknowledgment is due to Mr. Y. Yasuoka, Miss Fusa Okamoto, my brother Nobumori Ozaki, Dr. Yoshihiro Takaki, and Miss Kameko Yamao, who have helped me with translations. The story which I have named "The Story of the Man who did not Wish to Die" is taken from a little book written a hundred years ago by one Shinsui Tamenaga. It is named Chosei Furo, or "Longevity." "The Bamboo-cutter and the Moon-child" is taken from the classic "Taketari Monogatari," and is NOT classed by the Japanese among their fairy tales, though it really belongs to this class of literature. The pictures were drawn by Mr. Kakuzo Fujiyama, a Tokio artist. In telling these stories in English I have followed my fancy in adding such touches of local color or description as they seemed to need or as pleased me, and in one or two instances I have gathered in an incident from another version. At all times, among my friends, both young and old, English or American, I have always found eager listeners to the beautiful legends and fairy tales of Japan, and in telling them I have also found that they were still unknown to the vast majority, and this has encouraged me to write them for the children of the West. Y. T. O. Tokio, 1908. CONTENTS. MY LORD BAG OF RICE THE TONGUE-CUT SPARROW THE STORY OF URASHIMA TARO, THE FISHER LAD THE FARMER AND THE BADGER THE "shinansha," OR THE SOUTH POINTING CARRIAGE THE ADVENTURES OF KINTARO, THE GOLDEN BOY THE STORY OF PRINCESS HASE THE STORY OF THE MAN WHO DID NOT WISH TO DIE THE BAMBOO-CUTTER AND THE MOON-CHILD THE MIRROR OF MATSUYAMA THE GOBLIN OF ADACHIGAHARA THE SAGACIOUS MONKEY AND THE BOAR THE HAPPY HUNTER AND THE SKILLFUL FISHER THE STORY OF THE OLD MAN WHO MADE WITHERED TREES TO FLOWER THE JELLY FISH AND THE MONKEY THE QUARREL OF THE MONKEY AND THE CRAB THE WHITE HARE AND THE CROCODILES THE STORY OF PRINCE YAMATO TAKE MOMOTARO, OR THE STORY OF THE SON OF A PEACH THE OGRE OF RASHOMON HOW AN OLD MAN LOST HIS WEN THE STONES OF FIVE COLORS AND THE EMPRESS JOKWA JAPANESE FAIRY TALES. MY LORD BAG OF RICE. Long, long ago there lived, in Japan a brave warrior known to all as Tawara Toda, or "My Lord Bag of Rice." His true name was Fujiwara Hidesato, and there is a very interesting story of how he came to change his name. One day he sallied forth in search of adventures, for he had the nature of a warrior and could not bear to be idle. So he buckled on his two swords, took his huge bow, much taller than himself, in his hand, and slinging his quiver on his back started out. He had not gone far when he came to the bridge of Seta-no-Karashi spanning one end of the beautiful Lake Biwa. No sooner had he set foot on the bridge than he saw lying right across his path a huge serpent-dragon. Its body was so big that it looked like the trunk of a large pine tree and it took up the whole width of the bridge. One of its huge claws rested on the parapet of one side of the bridge, while its tail lay right against the other. The monster seemed to be asleep, and as it breathed, fire and smoke came out of its nostrils. At first Hidesato could not help feeling alarmed at the sight of this horrible reptile lying in his path, for he must either turn back or walk right over its body. He was a brave man, however, and putting aside all fear went forward dauntlessly. Crunch, crunch! he stepped now on the dragon's body, now between its coils, and without even one glance backward he went on his way. He had only gone a few steps when he heard some one calling him from behind. On turning back he was much surprised to see that the monster dragon had entirely disappeared and in its place was a strange-looking man, who was bowing most ceremoniously to the ground. His red hair streamed over his shoulders and was surmounted by a crown in the shape of a dragon's head, and his sea-green dress was patterned with shells. Hidesato knew at once that this was no ordinary mortal and he wondered much at the strange occurrence. Where had the dragon gone in such a short space of time? Or had it transformed itself into this man, and what did the whole thing mean? While these thoughts passed through his mind he had come up to the man on the bridge and now addressed him: "Was it you that called me just now?" "Yes, it was I," answered the man: "I have an earnest request to make to you. Do you think you can grant it to me?" "If it is in my power to do so I will," answered Hidesato, "but first tell me who you are?" "I am the Dragon King of the Lake, and my home is in these waters just under this bridge." "And what is it you have to ask of me?" said Hidesato. "I want you to kill my mortal enemy the centipede, who lives on the mountain beyond," and the Dragon King pointed to a high peak on the opposite shore of the lake. "I have lived now for many years in this lake and I have a large family of children and grand-children. For some time past we have lived in terror, for a monster centipede has discovered our home, and night after night it comes and carries off one of my family. I am powerless to save them. If it goes on much longer like this, not only shall I lose all my children, but I myself must fall a victim to the monster. I am, therefore, very unhappy, and in my extremity I determined to ask the help of a human being. For many days with this intention I have waited on the bridge in the shape of the horrible serpent-dragon that you saw, in the hope that some strong brave man would come along. But all who came this way, as soon as they saw me were terrified and ran away as fast as they could. You are the first man I have found able to look at me without fear, so I knew at once that you were a man of great courage. I beg you to have pity upon me. Will you not help me and kill my enemy the centipede?" Hidesato felt very sorry for the Dragon King on hearing his story, and readily promised to do what he could to help him. The warrior asked where the centipede lived, so that he might attack the creature at once. The Dragon King replied that its home was on the mountain Mikami, but that as it came every night at a certain hour to the palace of the lake, it would be better to wait till then. So Hidesato was conducted to the palace of the Dragon King, under the bridge. Strange to say, as he followed his host downwards the waters parted to let them pass, and his clothes did not even feel damp as he passed through the flood. Never had Hidesato seen anything so beautiful as this palace built of white marble beneath the lake. He had often heard of the Sea King's palace at the bottom of the sea, where all the servants and retainers were salt-water fishes, but here was a magnificent building in the heart of Lake Biwa. The dainty goldfishes, red carp, and silvery trout, waited upon the Dragon King and his guest. Hidesato was astonished at the feast that was spread for him. The dishes were crystallized lotus leaves and flowers, and the chopsticks were of the rarest ebony. As soon as they sat down, the sliding doors opened and ten lovely goldfish dancers came out, and behind them followed ten red-carp musicians with the koto and the samisen. Thus the hours flew by till midnight, and the beautiful music and dancing had banished all thoughts of the centipede. The Dragon King was about to pledge the warrior in a fresh cup of wine when the palace was suddenly shaken by a tramp, tramp! as if a mighty army had begun to march not far away. Hidesato and his host both rose to their feet and rushed to the balcony, and the warrior saw on the opposite mountain two great balls of glowing fire coming nearer and nearer. The Dragon King stood by the warrior's side trembling with fear. "The centipede! The centipede! Those two balls of fire are its eyes. It is coming for its prey! Now is the time to kill it." Hidesato looked where his host pointed, and, in the dim light of the starlit evening, behind the two balls of fire he saw the long body of an enormous centipede winding round the mountains, and the light in its hundred feet glowed like so many distant lanterns moving slowly towards the shore. Hidesato showed not the least sign of fear. He tried to calm the Dragon King. "Don't be afraid. I shall surely kill the centipede. Just bring me my bow and arrows." The Dragon King did as he was bid, and the warrior noticed that he had only three arrows left in his quiver. He took the bow, and fitting an arrow to the notch, took careful aim and let fly. The arrow hit the centipede right in the middle of its head, but instead of penetrating, it glanced off harmless and fell to the ground. Nothing daunted, Hidesato took another arrow, fitted it to the notch of the bow and let fly. Again the arrow hit the mark, it struck the centipede right in the middle of its head, only to glance off and fall to the ground. The centipede was invulnerable to weapons! When the Dragon King saw that even this brave warrior's arrows were powerless to kill the centipede, he lost heart and began to tremble with fear. The warrior saw that he had now only one arrow left in his quiver, and if this one failed he could not kill the centipede. He looked across the waters. The huge reptile had wound its horrid body seven times round the mountain and would soon come down to the lake. Nearer and nearer gleamed fireballs of eyes, and the light of its hundred feet began to throw reflections in the still waters of the lake. Then suddenly the warrior remembered that he had heard that human saliva was deadly to centipedes. But this was no ordinary centipede. This was so monstrous that even to think of such a creature made one creep with horror. Hidesato determined to try his last chance. So taking his last arrow and first putting the end of it in his mouth, he fitted the notch to his bow, took careful aim once more and let fly. This time the arrow again hit the centipede right in the middle of its head, but instead of glancing off harmlessly as before, it struck home to the creature's brain. Then with a convulsive shudder the serpentine body stopped moving, and the fiery light of its great eyes and hundred feet darkened to a dull glare like the sunset of a stormy day, and then went out in blackness. A great darkness now overspread the heavens, the thunder rolled and the lightning flashed, and the wind roared in fury, and it seemed as if the world were coming to an end. The Dragon King and his children and retainers all crouched in different parts of the palace, frightened to death, for the building was shaken to its foundation. At last the dreadful night was over. Day dawned beautiful and clear. The centipede was gone from the mountain. Then Hidesato called to the Dragon King to come out with him on the balcony, for the centipede was dead and he had nothing more to fear. Then all the inhabitants of the palace came out with joy, and Hidesato pointed to the lake. There lay the body of the dead centipede floating on the water, which was dyed red with its blood. The gratitude of the Dragon King knew no bounds. The whole family came and bowed down before the warrior, calling him their preserver and the bravest warrior in all Japan. Another feast was prepared, more sumptuous than the first. All kinds of fish, prepared in every imaginable way, raw, stewed, boiled and roasted, served on coral trays and crystal dishes, were put before him, and the wine was the best that Hidesato had ever tasted in his life. To add to the beauty of everything the sun shone brightly, the lake glittered like a liquid diamond, and the palace was a thousand times more beautiful by day than by night. His host tried to persuade the warrior to stay a few days, but Hidesato insisted on going home, saying that he had now finished what he had come to do, and must return. The Dragon King and his family were all very sorry to have him leave so soon, but since he would go they begged him to accept a few small presents (so they said) in token of their gratitude to him for delivering them forever from their horrible enemy the centipede. As the warrior stood in the porch taking leave, a train of fish was suddenly transformed into a retinue of men, all wearing ceremonial robes and dragon's crowns on their heads to show that they were servants of the great Dragon King. The presents that they carried were as follows: First, a large bronze bell. Second, a bag of rice. Third, a roll of silk. Fourth, a cooking pot. Fifth, a bell. Hidesato did not want to accept all these presents, but as the Dragon King insisted, he could not well refuse. The Dragon King himself accompanied the warrior as far as the bridge, and then took leave of him with many bows and good wishes, leaving the procession of servants to accompany Hidesato to his house with the presents. The warrior's household and servants had been very much concerned when they found that he did not return the night before, but they finally concluded that he had been kept by the violent storm and had taken shelter somewhere. When the servants on the watch for his return caught sight of him they called to every one that he was approaching, and the whole household turned out to meet him, wondering much what the retinue of men, bearing presents and banners, that followed him, could mean. As soon as the Dragon King's retainers had put down the presents they vanished, and Hidesato told all that had happened to him. The presents which he had received from the grateful Dragon King were found to be of magic power. The bell only was ordinary, and as Hidesato had no use for it he presented it to the temple near by, where it was hung up, to boom out the hour of day over the surrounding neighborhood. The single bag of rice, however much was taken from it day after day for the meals of the knight and his whole family, never grew less--the supply in the bag was inexhaustible. The roll of silk, too, never grew shorter, though time after time long pieces were cut off to make the warrior a new suit of clothes to go to Court in at the New Year. The cooking pot was wonderful, too. No matter what was put into it, it cooked deliciously whatever was wanted without any firing--truly a very economical saucepan. The fame of Hidesato's fortune spread far and wide, and as there was no need for him to spend money on rice or silk or firing, he became very rich and prosperous, and was henceforth known as My Lord Bag of Rice. THE TONGUE-CUT SPARROW. Long, long ago in Japan there lived an old man and his wife. The old man was a good, kind-hearted, hard-working old fellow, but his wife was a regular cross-patch, who spoiled the happiness of her home by her scolding tongue. She was always grumbling about something from morning to night. The old man had for a long time ceased to take any notice of her crossness. He was out most of the day at work in the fields, and as he had no child, for his amusement when he came home, he kept a tame sparrow. He loved the little bird just as much as if she had been his child. When he came back at night after his hard day's work in the open air it was his only pleasure to pet the sparrow, to talk to her and to teach her little tricks, which she learned very quickly. The old man would open her cage and let her fly about the room, and they would play together. Then when supper-time came, he always saved some tit-bits from his meal with which to feed his little bird. Now one day the old man went out to chop wood in the forest, and the old woman stopped at home to wash clothes. The day before, she had made some starch, and now when she came to look for it, it was all gone; the bowl which she had filled full yesterday was quite empty. While she was wondering who could have used or stolen the starch, down flew the pet sparrow, and bowing her little feathered head--a trick which she had been taught by her master--the pretty bird chirped and said: "It is I who have taken the starch. I thought it was some food put out for me in that basin, and I ate it all. If I have made a mistake I beg you to forgive me! tweet, tweet, tweet!" You see from this that the sparrow was a truthful bird, and the old woman ought to have been willing to forgive her at once when she asked her pardon so nicely. But not so. The old woman had never loved the sparrow, and had often quarreled with her husband for keeping what she called a dirty bird about the house, saying that it only made extra work for her. Now she was only too delighted to have some cause of complaint against the pet. She scolded and even cursed the poor little bird for her bad behavior, and not content with using these harsh, unfeeling words, in a fit of rage she seized the sparrow--who all this time had spread out her wings and bowed her head before the old woman, to show how sorry she was--and fetched the scissors and cut off the poor little bird's tongue. "I suppose you took my starch with that tongue! Now you may see what it is like to go without it!" And with these dreadful words she drove the bird away, not caring in the least what might happen to it and without the smallest pity for its suffering, so unkind was she! The old woman, after she had driven the sparrow away, made some more rice-paste, grumbling all the time at the trouble, and after starching all her clothes, spread the things on boards to dry in the sun, instead of ironing them as they do in England. In the evening the old man came home. As usual, on the way back he looked forward to the time when he should reach his gate and see his pet come flying and chirping to meet him, ruffling out her feathers to show her joy, and at last coming to rest on his shoulder. But to-night the old man was very disappointed, for not even the shadow of his dear sparrow was to be seen. He quickened his steps, hastily drew off his straw sandals, and stepped on to the veranda. Still no sparrow was to be seen. He now felt sure that his wife, in one of her cross tempers, had shut the sparrow up in its cage. So he called her and said anxiously: "Where is Suzume San (Miss Sparrow) today?" The old woman pretended not to know at first, and answered: "Your sparrow? I am sure I don't know. Now I come to think of it, I haven't seen her all the afternoon. I shouldn't wonder if the ungrateful bird had flown away and left you after all your petting!" But at last, when the old man gave her no peace, but asked her again and again, insisting that she must know what had happened to his pet, she confessed all. She told him crossly how the sparrow had eaten the rice-paste she had specially made for starching her clothes, and how when the sparrow had confessed to what she had done, in great anger she had taken her scissors and cut out her tongue, and how finally she had driven the bird away and forbidden her to return to the house again. Then the old woman showed her husband the sparrow's tongue, saying: "Here is the tongue I cut off! Horrid little bird, why did it eat all my starch?" "How could you be so cruel? Oh! how could you so cruel?" was all that the old man could answer. He was too kind-hearted to punish his be shrew of a wife, but he was terribly distressed at what had happened to his poor little sparrow. "What a dreadful misfortune for my poor Suzume San to lose her tongue!" he said to himself. "She won't be able to chirp any more, and surely the pain of the cutting of it out in that rough way must have made her ill! Is there nothing to be done?" The old man shed many tears after his cross wife had gone to sleep. While he wiped away the tears with the sleeve of his cotton robe, a bright thought comforted him: he would go and look for the sparrow on the morrow. Having decided this he was able to go to sleep at last. The next morning he rose early, as soon as ever the day broke, and snatching a hasty breakfast, started out over the hills and through the woods, stopping at every clump of bamboos to cry: "Where, oh where does my tongue-cut sparrow stay? Where, oh where, does my tongue-cut sparrow stay!" He never stopped to rest for his noonday meal, and it was far on in the afternoon when he found himself near a large bamboo wood. Bamboo groves are the favorite haunts of sparrows, and there sure enough at the edge of the wood he saw his own dear sparrow waiting to welcome him. He could hardly believe his eyes for joy, and ran forward quickly to greet her. She bowed her little head and went through a number of the tricks her master had taught her, to show her pleasure at seeing her old friend again, and, wonderful to relate, she could talk as of old. The old man told her how sorry he was for all that had happened, and inquired after her tongue, wondering how she could speak so well without it. Then the sparrow opened her beak and showed him that a new tongue had grown in place of the old one, and begged him not to think any more about the past, for she was quite well now. Then the old man knew that his sparrow was a fairy, and no common bird. It would be difficult to exaggerate the old man's rejoicing now. He forgot all his troubles, he forgot even how tired he was, for he had found his lost sparrow, and instead of being ill and without a tongue as he had feared and expected to find her, she was well and happy and with a new tongue, and without a sign of the ill-treatment she had received from his wife. And above all she was a fairy. The sparrow asked him to follow her, and flying before him she led him to a beautiful house in the heart of the bamboo grove. The old man was utterly astonished when he entered the house to find what a beautiful place it was. It was built of the whitest wood, the soft cream-colored mats which took the place of carpets were the finest he had ever seen, and the cushions that the sparrow brought out for him to sit on were made of the finest silk and crape. Beautiful vases and lacquer boxes adorned the tokonoma[1] of every room. [1] An alcove where precious objects are displayed. The sparrow led the old man to the place of honor, and then, taking her place at a humble distance, she thanked him with many polite bows for all the kindness he had shown her for many long years. Then the Lady Sparrow, as we will now call her, introduced all her family to the old man. This done, her daughters, robed in dainty crape gowns, brought in on beautiful old-fashioned trays a feast of all kinds of delicious foods, till the old man began to think he must be dreaming. In the middle of the dinner some of the sparrow's daughters performed a wonderful dance, called the "suzume-odori" or the "Sparrow's dance," to amuse the guest. Never had the old man enjoyed himself so much. The hours flew by too quickly in this lovely spot, with all these fairy sparrows to wait upon him and to feast him and to dance before him. But the night came on and the darkness reminded him that he had a long way to go and must think about taking his leave and return home. He thanked his kind hostess for her splendid entertainment, and begged her for his sake to forget all she had suffered at the hands of his cross old wife. He told the Lady Sparrow that it was a great comfort and happiness to him to find her in such a beautiful home and to know that she wanted for nothing. It was his anxiety to know how she fared and what had really happened to her that had led him to seek her. Now he knew that all was well he could return home with a light heart. If ever she wanted him for anything she had only to send for him and he would come at once. The Lady Sparrow begged him to stay and rest several days and enjoy the change, but the old man said he must return to his old wife--who would probably be cross at his not coming home at the usual time--and to his work, and there-fore, much as he wished to do so, he could not accept her kind invitation. But now that he knew where the Lady Sparrow lived he would come to see her whenever he had the time. When the Lady Sparrow saw that she could not persuade the old man to stay longer, she gave an order to some of her servants, and they at once brought in two boxes, one large and the other small. These were placed before the old man, and the Lady Sparrow asked him to choose whichever he liked for a present, which she wished to give him. The old man could not refuse this kind proposal, and he chose the smaller box, saying: "I am now too old and feeble to carry the big and heavy box. As you are so kind as to say that I may take whichever I like, I will choose the small one, which will be easier for me to carry." Then the sparrows all helped him put it on his back and went to the gate to see him off, bidding him good-by with many bows and entreating him to come again whenever he had the time. Thus the old man and his pet sparrow separated quite happily, the sparrow showing not the least ill-will for all the unkindness she had suffered at the hands of the old wife. Indeed, she only felt sorrow for the old man who had to put up with it all his life. When the old man reached home he found his wife even crosser than usual, for it was late on in the night and she had been waiting up for him for a long time. "Where have you been all this time?" she asked in a big voice. "Why do you come back so late?" The old man tried to pacify her by showing her the box of presents he had brought back with him, and then he told her of all that had happened to him, and how wonderfully he had been entertained at the sparrow's house. "Now let us see what is in the box," said the old man, not giving her time to grumble again. "You must help me open it." And they both sat down before the box and opened it. To their utter astonishment they found the box filled to the brim with gold and silver coins and many other precious things. The mats of their little cottage fairly glittered as they took out the things one by one and put them down and handled them over and over again. The old man was overjoyed at the sight of the riches that were now his. Beyond his brightest expectations was the sparrow's gift, which would enable him to give up work and live in ease and comfort the rest of his days. He said: "Thanks to my good little sparrow! Thanks to my good little sparrow!" many times. But the old woman, after the first moments of surprise and satisfaction at the sight of the gold and silver were over, could not suppress the greed of her wicked nature. She now began to reproach the old man for not having brought home the big box of presents, for in the innocence of his heart he had told her how he had refused the large box of presents which the sparrows had offered him, preferring the smaller one because it was light and easy to carry home. "You silly old man," said she, "Why did you not bring the large box? Just think what we have lost. We might have had twice as much silver and gold as this. You are certainly an old fool!" she screamed, and then went to bed as angry as she could be. The old man now wished that he had said nothing about the big box, but it was too late; the greedy old woman, not contented with the good luck which had so unexpectedly befallen them and which she so little deserved, made up her mind, if possible, to get more. Early the next morning she got up and made the old man describe the way to the sparrow's house. When he saw what was in her mind he tried to keep her from going, but it was useless. She would not listen to one word he said. It is strange that the old woman did not feel ashamed of going to see the sparrow after the cruel way she had treated her in cutting off her tongue in a fit of rage. But her greed to get the big box made her forget everything else. It did not even enter her thoughts that the sparrows might be angry with her--as, indeed, they were--and might punish her for what she had done. Ever since the Lady Sparrow had returned home in the sad plight in which they had first found her, weeping and bleeding from the mouth, her whole family and relations had done little else but speak of the cruelty of the old woman. "How could she," they asked each other, "inflict such a heavy punishment for such a trifling offense as that of eating some rice-paste by mistake?" They all loved the old man who was so kind and good and patient under all his troubles, but the old woman they hated, and they determined, if ever they had the chance, to punish her as she deserved. They had not long to wait. After walking for some hours the old woman had at last found the bamboo grove which she had made her husband carefully describe, and now she stood before it crying out: "Where is the tongue-cut sparrow's house? Where is the tongue-cut sparrow's house?" At last she saw the eaves of the house peeping out from amongst the bamboo foliage. She hastened to the door and knocked loudly. When the servants told the Lady Sparrow that her old mistress was at the door asking to see her, she was somewhat surprised at the unexpected visit, after all that had taken place, and she wondered not a little at the boldness of the old woman in venturing to come to the house. The Lady Sparrow, however, was a polite bird, and so she went out to greet the old woman, remembering that she had once been her mistress. The old woman intended, however, to waste no time in words, she went right to the point, without the least shame, and said: "You need not trouble to entertain me as you did my old man. I have come myself to get the box which he so stupidly left behind. I shall soon take my leave if you will give me the big box--that is all I want!" The Lady Sparrow at once consented, and told her servants to bring out the big box. The old woman eagerly seized it and hoisted it on her back, and without even stopping to thank the Lady Sparrow began to hurry homewards. The box was so heavy that she could not walk fast, much less run, as she would have liked to do, so anxious was she to get home and see what was inside the box, but she had often to sit down and rest herself by the way. While she was staggering along under the heavy load, her desire to open the box became too great to be resisted. She could wait no longer, for she supposed this big box to be full of gold and silver and precious jewels like the small one her husband had received. At last this greedy and selfish old woman put down the box by the wayside and opened it carefully, expecting to gloat her eyes on a mine of wealth. What she saw, however, so terrified her that she nearly lost her senses. As soon as she lifted the lid, a number of horrible and frightful looking demons bounced out of the box and surrounded her as if they intended to kill her. Not even in nightmares had she ever seen such horrible creatures as her much-coveted box contained. A demon with one huge eye right in the middle of its forehead came and glared at her, monsters with gaping mouths looked as if they would devour her, a huge snake coiled and hissed about her, and a big frog hopped and croaked towards her. The old woman had never been so frightened in her life, and ran from the spot as fast as her quaking legs would carry her, glad to escape alive. When she reached home she fell to the floor and told her husband with tears all that had happened to her, and how she had been nearly killed by the demons in the box. Then she began to blame the sparrow, but the old man stopped her at once, saying: "Don't blame the sparrow, it is your wickedness which has at last met with its reward. I only hope this may be a lesson to you in the future!" The old woman said nothing more, and from that day she repented of her cross, unkind ways, and by degrees became a good old woman, so that her husband hardly knew her to be the same person, and they spent their last days together happily, free from want or care, spending carefully the treasure the old man had received from his pet, the tongue-cut sparrow. THE STORY OF URASHIMA TARO, THE FISHER LAD. Long, long ago in the province of Tango there lived on the shore of Japan in the little fishing village of Mizu-no-ye a young fisherman named Urashima Taro. His father had been a fisherman before him, and his skill had more than doubly descended to his son, for Urashima was the most skillful fisher in all that country side, and could catch more Bonito and Tai in a day than his comrades could in a week. But in the little fishing village, more than for being a clever fisher of the sea was he known for his kind heart. In his whole life he had never hurt anything, either great or small, and when a boy, his companions had always laughed at him, for he would never join with them in teasing animals, but always tried to keep them from this cruel sport. One soft summer twilight he was going home at the end of a day's fishing when he came upon a group of children. They were all screaming and talking at the tops of their voices, and seemed to be in a state of great excitement about something, and on his going up to them to see what was the matter he saw that they were tormenting a tortoise. First one boy pulled it this way, then another boy pulled it that way, while a third child beat it with a stick, and the fourth hammered its shell with a stone. Now Urashima felt very sorry for the poor tortoise and made up his mind to rescue it. He spoke to the boys: "Look here, boys, you are treating that poor tortoise so badly that it will soon die!" The boys, who were all of an age when children seem to delight in being cruel to animals, took no notice of Urashima's gentle reproof, but went on teasing it as before. One of the older boys answered: "Who cares whether it lives or dies? We do not. Here, boys, go on, go on!" And they began to treat the poor tortoise more cruelly than ever. Urashima waited a moment, turning over in his mind what would be the best way to deal with the boys. He would try to persuade them to give the tortoise up to him, so he smiled at them and said: "I am sure you are all good, kind boys! Now won't you give me the tortoise? I should like to have it so much!" "No, we won't give you the tortoise," said one of the boys. "Why should we? We caught it ourselves." "What you say is true," said Urashima, "but I do not ask you to give it to me for nothing. I will give you some money for it--in other words, the Ojisan (Uncle) will buy it of you. Won't that do for you, my boys?" He held up the money to them, strung on a piece of string through a hole in the center of each coin. "Look, boys, you can buy anything you like with this money. You can do much more with this money than you can with that poor tortoise. See what good boys you are to listen to me." The boys were not bad boys at all, they were only mischievous, and as Urashima spoke they were won by his kind smile and gentle words and began "to be of his spirit," as they say in Japan. Gradually they all came up to him, the ringleader of the little band holding out the tortoise to him. "Very well, Ojisan, we will give you the tortoise if you will give us the money!" And Urashima took the tortoise and gave the money to the boys, who, calling to each other, scampered away and were soon out of sight. Then Urashima stroked the tortoise's back, saying as he did so: "Oh, you poor thing! Poor thing!--there, there! you are safe now! They say that a stork lives for a thousand years, but the tortoise for ten thousand years. You have the longest life of any creature in this world, and you were in great danger of having that precious life cut short by those cruel boys. Luckily I was passing by and saved you, and so life is still yours. Now I am going to take you back to your home, the sea, at once. Do not let yourself be caught again, for there might be no one to save you next time!" All the time that the kind fisherman was speaking he was walking quickly to the shore and out upon the rocks; then putting the tortoise into the water he watched the animal disappear, and turned homewards himself, for he was tired and the sun had set. The next morning Urashima went out as usual in his boat. The weather was fine and the sea and sky were both blue and soft in the tender haze of the summer morning. Urashima got into his boat and dreamily pushed out to sea, throwing his line as he did so. He soon passed the other fishing boats and left them behind him till they were lost to sight in the distance, and his boat drifted further and further out upon the blue waters. Somehow, he knew not why, he felt unusually happy that morning; and he could not help wishing that, like the tortoise he set free the day before, he had thousands of years to live instead of his own short span of human life. He was suddenly startled from his reverie by hearing his own name called: "Urashima, Urashima!" Clear as a bell and soft as the summer wind the name floated over the sea. He stood up and looked in every direction, thinking that one of the other boats had overtaken him, but gaze as he might over the wide expanse of water, near or far there was no sign of a boat, so the voice could not have come from any human being. Startled, and wondering who or what it was that had called him so clearly, he looked in all directions round about him and saw that without his knowing it a tortoise had come to the side of the boat. Urashima saw with surprise that it was the very tortoise he had rescued the day before. "Well, Mr. Tortoise," said Urashima, "was it you who called my name just now?" The tortoise nodded its head several times and said: "Yes, it was I. Yesterday in your honorable shadow (o kage sama de) my life was saved, and I have come to offer you my thanks and to tell you how grateful I am for your kindness to me." "Indeed," said Urashima, "that is very polite of you. Come up into the boat. I would offer you a smoke, but as you are a tortoise doubtless you do not smoke," and the fisherman laughed at the joke. "He-he-he-he!" laughed the tortoise; "sake (rice wine) is my favorite refreshment, but I do not care for tobacco." "Indeed," said Urashima, "I regret very much that I have no "sake" in my boat to offer you, but come up and dry your back in the sun--tortoises always love to do that." So the tortoise climbed into the boat, the fisherman helping him, and after an exchange of complimentary speeches the tortoise said: "Have you ever seen Rin Gin, the Palace of the Dragon King of the Sea, Urashima?" The fisherman shook his head and replied; "No; year after year the sea has been my home, but though I have often heard of the Dragon King's realm under the sea I have never yet set eyes on that wonderful place. It must be very far away, if it exists at all!" "Is that really so? You have never seen the Sea King's Palace? Then you have missed seeing one of the most wonderful sights in the whole universe. It is far away at the bottom of the sea, but if I take you there we shall soon reach the place. If you would like to see the Sea King's land I will be your guide." "I should like to go there, certainly, and you are very kind to think of taking me, but you must remember that I am only a poor mortal and have not the power of swimming like a sea creature such as you are--" Before the fisherman could say more the tortoise stopped him, saying: "What? You need not swim yourself. If you will ride on my back I will take you without any trouble on your part." "But," said Urashima, "how is it possible for me to ride on your small back?" "It may seem absurd to you, but I assure you that you can do so. Try at once! Just come and get on my back, and see if it is as impossible as you think!" As the tortoise finished speaking, Urashima looked at its shell, and strange to say he saw that the creature had suddenly grown so big that a man could easily sit on its back. "This is strange indeed!" said Urashima; "then. Mr. Tortoise, with your kind permission I will get on your back. Dokoisho!"[2] he exclaimed as he jumped on. [2] "All right" (only used by lower classes). The tortoise, with an unmoved face, as if this strange proceeding were quite an ordinary event, said: "Now we will set out at our leisure," and with these words he leapt into the sea with Urashima on his back. Down through the water the tortoise dived. For a long time these two strange companions rode through the sea. Urashima never grew tired, nor his clothes moist with the water. At last, far away in the distance a magnificent gate appeared, and behind the gate, the long, sloping roofs of a palace on the horizon. "Ya," exclaimed Urashima. "That looks like the gate of some large palace just appearing! Mr. Tortoise, can you tell what that place is we can now see?" "That is the great gate of the Rin Gin Palace, the large roof that you see behind the gate is the Sea King's Palace itself." "Then we have at last come to the realm of the Sea King and to his Palace," said Urashima. "Yes, indeed," answered the tortoise, "and don't you think we have come very quickly?" And while he was speaking the tortoise reached the side of the gate. "And here we are, and you must please walk from here." The tortoise now went in front, and speaking to the gatekeeper, said: "This is Urashima Taro, from the country of Japan. I have had the honor of bringing him as a visitor to this kingdom. Please show him the way." Then the gatekeeper, who was a fish, at once led the way through the gate before them. The red bream, the flounder, the sole, the cuttlefish, and all the chief vassals of the Dragon King of the Sea now came out with courtly bows to welcome the stranger. "Urashima Sama, Urashima Sama! welcome to the Sea Palace, the home of the Dragon King of the Sea. Thrice welcome are you, having come from such a distant country. And you, Mr. Tortoise, we are greatly indebted to you for all your trouble in bringing Urashima here." Then, turning again to Urashima, they said, "Please follow us this way," and from here the whole band of fishes became his guides. Urashima, being only a poor fisher lad, did not know how to behave in a palace; but, strange though it was all to him, he did not feel ashamed or embarrassed, but followed his kind guides quite calmly where they led to the inner palace. When he reached the portals a beautiful Princess with her attendant maidens came out to welcome him. She was more beautiful than any human being, and was robed in flowing garments of red and soft green like the under side of a wave, and golden threads glimmered through the folds of her gown. Her lovely black hair streamed over her shoulders in the fashion of a king's daughter many hundreds of years ago, and when she spoke her voice sounded like music over the water. Urashima was lost in wonder while he looked upon her, and he could not speak. Then he remembered that he ought to bow, but before he could make a low obeisance the Princess took him by the hand and led him to a beautiful hall, and to the seat of honor at the upper end, and bade him be seated. "Urashima Taro, it gives me the highest pleasure to welcome you to my father's kingdom," said the Princess. "Yesterday you set free a tortoise, and I have sent for you to thank you for saving my life, for I was that tortoise. Now if you like you shall live here forever in the land of eternal youth, where summer never dies and where sorrow never comes, and I will be your bride if you will, and we will live together happily forever afterwards!" And as Urashima listened to her sweet words and gazed upon her lovely face his heart was filled with a great wonder and joy, and he answered her, wondering if it was not all a dream: "Thank you a thousand times for your kind speech. There is nothing I could wish for more than to be permitted to stay here with you in this beautiful land, of which I have often heard, but have never seen to this day. Beyond all words, this is the most wonderful place I have ever seen." While he was speaking a train of fishes appeared, all dressed in ceremonial, trailing garments. One by one, silently and with stately steps, they entered the hall, bearing on coral trays delicacies of fish and seaweed, such as no one can dream of, and this wondrous feast was set before the bride and bridegroom. The bridal was celebrated with dazzling splendor, and in the Sea King's realm there was great rejoicing. As soon as the young pair had pledged themselves in the wedding cup of wine, three times three, music was played, and songs were sung, and fishes with silver scales and golden tails stepped in from the waves and danced. Urashima enjoyed himself with all his heart. Never in his whole life had he sat down to such a marvelous feast. When the feast was over the Princes asked the bridegroom if he would like to walk through the palace and see all there was to be seen. Then the happy fisherman, following his bride, the Sea King's daughter, was shown all the wonders of that enchanted land where youth and joy go hand in hand and neither time nor age can touch them. The palace was built of coral and adorned with pearls, and the beauties and wonders of the place were so great that the tongue fails to describe them. But, to Urashima, more wonderful than the palace was the garden that surrounded it. Here was to be seen at one time the scenery of the four different seasons; the beauties of summer and winter, spring and autumn, were displayed to the wondering visitor at once. First, when he looked to the east, the plum and cherry trees were seen in full bloom, the nightingales sang in the pink avenues, and butterflies flitted from flower to flower. Looking to the south all the trees were green in the fullness of summer, and the day cicala and the night cricket chirruped loudly. Looking to the west the autumn maples were ablaze like a sunset sky, and the chrysanthemums were in perfection. Looking to the north the change made Urashima start, for the ground was silver white with snow, and trees and bamboos were also covered with snow and the pond was thick with ice. And each day there were new joys and new wonders for Urashima, and so great was his happiness that he forgot everything, even the home he had left behind and his parents and his own country, and three days passed without his even thinking of all he had left behind. Then his mind came back to him and he remembered who he was, and that he did not belong to this wonderful land or the Sea King's palace, and he said to himself: "O dear! I must not stay on here, for I have an old father and mother at home. What can have happened to them all this time? How anxious they must have been these days when I did not return as usual. I must go back at once without letting one more day pass." And he began to prepare for the journey in great haste. Then he went to his beautiful wife, the Princess, and bowing low before her he said: "Indeed, I have been very happy with you for a long time, Otohime Sama" (for that was her name), "and you have been kinder to me than any words can tell. But now I must say good-by. I must go back to my old parents." Then Otohime Sama began to weep, and said softly and sadly: "Is it not well with you here, Urashima, that you wish to leave me so soon? Where is the haste? Stay with me yet another day only!" But Urashima had remembered his old parents, and in Japan the duty to parents is stronger than everything else, stronger even than pleasure or love, and he would not be persuaded, but answered: "Indeed, I must go. Do not think that I wish to leave you. It is not that. I must go and see my old parents. Let me go for one day and I will come back to you." "Then," said the Princess sorrowfully, "there is nothing to be done. I will send you back to-day to your father and mother, and instead of trying to keep you with me one more day, I shall give you this as a token of our love--please take it back with you;" and she brought him a beautiful lacquer box tied about with a silken cord and tassels of red silk. Urashima had received so much from the Princess already that he felt some compunction in taking the gift, and said: "It does not seem right for me to take yet another gift from you after all the many favors I have received at your hands, but because it is your wish I will do so," and then he added: "Tell me what is this box?" "That," answered the Princess "is the tamate-bako (Box of the Jewel Hand), and it contains something very precious. You must not open this box, whatever happens! If you open it something dreadful will happen to you! Now promise me that you will never open this box!" And Urashima promised that he would never, never open the box whatever happened. Then bidding good-by to Otohime Sama he went down to the seashore, the Princess and her attendants following him, and there he found a large tortoise waiting for him. He quickly mounted the creature's back and was carried away over the shining sea into the East. He looked back to wave his hand to Otohime Sama till at last he could see her no more, and the land of the Sea King and the roofs of the wonderful palace were lost in the far, far distance. Then, with his face turned eagerly towards his own land, he looked for the rising of the blue hills on the horizon before him. At last the tortoise carried him into the bay he knew so well, and to the shore from whence he had set out. He stepped on to the shore and looked about him while the tortoise rode away back to the Sea King's realm. But what is the strange fear that seizes Urashima as he stands and looks about him? Why does he gaze so fixedly at the people that pass him by, and why do they in turn stand and look at him? The shore is the same and the hills are the same, but the people that he sees walking past him have very different faces to those he had known so well before. Wondering what it can mean he walks quickly towards his old home. Even that looks different, but a house stands on the spot, and he calls out: "Father, I have just returned!" and he was about to enter, when he saw a strange man coming out. "Perhaps my parents have moved while I have been away, and have gone somewhere else," was the fisherman's thought. Somehow he began to feel strangely anxious, he could not tell why. "Excuse me," said he to the man who was staring at him, "but till within the last few days I have lived in this house. My name is Urashima Taro. Where have my parents gone whom I left here?" A very bewildered expression came over the face of the man, and, still gazing intently on Urashima's face, he said: "What? Are you Urashima Taro?" "Yes," said the fisherman, "I am Urashima Taro!" "Ha, ha!" laughed the man, "you must not make such jokes. It is true that once upon a time a man called Urashima Taro did live in this village, but that is a story three hundred years old. He could not possibly be alive now!" When Urashima heard these strange words he was frightened, and said: "Please, please, you must not joke with me, I am greatly perplexed. I am really Urashima Taro, and I certainly have not lived three hundred years. Till four or five days ago I lived on this spot. Tell me what I want to know without more joking, please." But the man's face grew more and more grave, and he answered: "You may or may not be Urashima Taro, I don't know. But the Urashima Taro of whom I have heard is a man who lived three hundred years ago. Perhaps you are his spirit come to revisit your old home?" "Why do you mock me?" said Urashima. "I am no spirit! I am a living man--do you not see my feet;" and "don-don," he stamped on the ground, first with one foot and then with the other to show the man. (Japanese ghosts have no feet.) "But Urashima Taro lived three hundred years ago, that is all I know; it is written in the village chronicles," persisted the man, who could not believe what the fisherman said. Urashima was lost in bewilderment and trouble. He stood looking all around him, terribly puzzled, and, indeed, something in the appearance of everything was different to what he remembered before he went away, and the awful feeling came over him that what the man said was perhaps true. He seemed to be in a strange dream. The few days he had spent in the Sea King's palace beyond the sea had not been days at all: they had been hundreds of years, and in that time his parents had died and all the people he had ever known, and the village had written down his story. There was no use in staying here any longer. He must get back to his beautiful wife beyond the sea. He made his way back to the beach, carrying in his hand the box which the Princess had given him. But which was the way? He could not find it alone! Suddenly he remembered the box, the tamate-bako. "The Princess told me when she gave me the box never to open it--that it contained a very precious thing. But now that I have no home, now that I have lost everything that was dear to me here, and my heart grows thin with sadness, at such a time, if I open the box, surely I shall find something that will help me, something that will show me the way back to my beautiful Princess over the sea. There is nothing else for me to do now. Yes, yes, I will open the box and look in!" And so his heart consented to this act of disobedience, and he tried to persuade himself that he was doing the right thing in breaking his promise. Slowly, very slowly, he untied the red silk cord, slowly and wonderingly he lifted the lid of the precious box. And what did he find? Strange to say only a beautiful little purple cloud rose out of the box in three soft wisps. For an instant it covered his face and wavered over him as if loath to go, and then it floated away like vapor over the sea. Urashima, who had been till that moment like a strong and handsome youth of twenty-four, suddenly became very, very old. His back doubled up with age, his hair turned snowy white, his face wrinkled and he fell down dead on the beach. Poor Urashima! because of his disobedience he could never return to the Sea King's realm or the lovely Princess beyond the sea. Little children, never be disobedient to those who are wiser than you for disobedience was the beginning of all the miseries and sorrows of life. THE FARMER AND THE BADGER Long, long ago, there lived an old farmer and his wife who had made their home in the mountains, far from any town. Their only neighbor was a bad and malicious badger. This badger used to come out every night and run across to the farmer's field and spoil the vegetables and the rice which the farmer spent his time in carefully cultivating. The badger at last grew so ruthless in his mischievous work, and did so much harm everywhere on the farm, that the good-natured farmer could not stand it any longer, and determined to put a stop to it. So he lay in wait day after day and night after night, with a big club, hoping to catch the badger, but all in vain. Then he laid traps for the wicked animal. The farmer's trouble and patience was rewarded, for one fine day on going his rounds he found the badger caught in a hole he had dug for that purpose. The farmer was delighted at having caught his enemy, and carried him home securely bound with rope. When he reached the house the farmer said to his wife: "I have at last caught the bad badger. You must keep an eye on him while I am out at work and not let him escape, because I want to make him into soup to-night." Saying this, he hung the badger up to the rafters of his storehouse and went out to his work in the fields. The badger was in great distress, for he did not at all like the idea of being made into soup that night, and he thought and thought for a long time, trying to hit upon some plan by which he might escape. It was hard to think clearly in his uncomfortable position, for he had been hung upside down. Very near him, at the entrance to the storehouse, looking out towards the green fields and the trees and the pleasant sunshine, stood the farmer's old wife pounding barley. She looked tired and old. Her face was seamed with many wrinkles, and was as brown as leather, and every now and then she stopped to wipe the perspiration which rolled down her face. "Dear lady," said the wily badger, "you must be very weary doing such heavy work in your old age. Won't you let me do that for you? My arms are very strong, and I could relieve you for a little while!" "Thank you for your kindness," said the old woman, "but I cannot let you do this work for me because I must not untie you, for you might escape if I did, and my husband would be very angry if he came home and found you gone." Now, the badger is one of the most cunning of animals, and he said again in a very sad, gentle, voice: "You are very unkind. You might untie me, for I promise not to try to escape. If you are afraid of your husband, I will let you bind me again before his return when I have finished pounding the barley. I am so tired and sore tied up like this. If you would only let me down for a few minutes I would indeed be thankful!" The old woman had a good and simple nature, and could not think badly of any one. Much less did she think that the badger was only deceiving her in order to get away. She felt sorry, too, for the animal as she turned to look at him. He looked in such a sad plight hanging downwards from the ceiling by his legs, which were all tied together so tightly that the rope and the knots were cutting into the skin. So in the kindness of her heart, and believing the creature's promise that he would not run away, she untied the cord and let him down. The old woman then gave him the wooden pestle and told him to do the work for a short time while she rested. He took the pestle, but instead of doing the work as he was told, the badger at once sprang upon the old woman and knocked her down with the heavy piece of wood. He then killed her and cut her up and made soup of her, and waited for the return of the old farmer. The old man worked hard in his fields all day, and as he worked he thought with pleasure that no more now would his labor be spoiled by the destructive badger. Towards sunset he left his work and turned to go home. He was very tired, but the thought of the nice supper of hot badger soup awaiting his return cheered him. The thought that the badger might get free and take revenge on the poor old woman never once came into his mind. The badger meanwhile assumed the old woman's form, and as soon as he saw the old farmer approaching came out to greet him on the veranda of the little house, saying: "So you have come back at last. I have made the badger soup and have been waiting for you for a long time." The old farmer quickly took off his straw sandals and sat down before his tiny dinner-tray. The innocent man never even dreamed that it was not his wife but the badger who was waiting upon him, and asked at once for the soup. Then the badger suddenly transformed himself back to his natural form and cried out: "You wife-eating old man! Look out for the bones in the kitchen!" Laughing loudly and derisively he escaped out of the house and ran away to his den in the hills. The old man was left behind alone. He could hardly believe what he had seen and heard. Then when he understood the whole truth he was so scared and horrified that he fainted right away. After a while he came round and burst into tears. He cried loudly and bitterly. He rocked himself to and fro in his hopeless grief. It seemed too terrible to be real that his faithful old wife had been killed and cooked by the badger while he was working quietly in the fields, knowing nothing of what was going on at home, and congratulating himself on having once for all got rid of the wicked animal who had so often spoiled his fields. And oh! the horrible thought; he had very nearly drunk the soup which the creature had made of his poor old woman. "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!" he wailed aloud. Now, not far away there lived in the same mountain a kind, good-natured old rabbit. He heard the old man crying and sobbing and at once set out to see what was the matter, and if there was anything he could do to help his neighbor. The old man told him all that had happened. When the rabbit heard the story he was very angry at the wicked and deceitful badger, and told the old man to leave everything to him and he would avenge his wife's death. The farmer was at last comforted, and, wiping away his tears, thanked the rabbit for his goodness in coming to him in his distress. The rabbit, seeing that the farmer was growing calmer, went back to his home to lay his plans for the punishment of the badger. The next day the weather was fine, and the rabbit went out to find the badger. He was not to be seen in the woods or on the hillside or in the fields anywhere, so the rabbit went to his den and found the badger hiding there, for the animal had been afraid to show himself ever since he had escaped from the farmer's house, for fear of the old man's wrath. The rabbit called out: "Why are you not out on such a beautiful day? Come out with me, and we will go and cut grass on the hills together." The badger, never doubting but that the rabbit was his friend, willingly consented to go out with him, only too glad to get away from the neighborhood of the farmer and the fear of meeting him. The rabbit led the way miles away from their homes, out on the hills where the grass grew tall and thick and sweet. They both set to work to cut down as much as they could carry home, to store it up for their winter's food. When they had each cut down all they wanted they tied it in bundles and then started homewards, each carrying his bundle of grass on his back. This time the rabbit made the badger go first. When they had gone a little way the rabbit took out a flint and steel, and, striking it over the badger's back as he stepped along in front, set his bundle of grass on fire. The badger heard the flint striking, and asked: "What is that noise. 'Crack, crack'?" "Oh, that is nothing." replied the rabbit; "I only said 'Crack, crack' because this mountain is called Crackling Mountain." The fire soon spread in the bundle of dry grass on the badger's back. The badger, hearing the crackle of the burning grass, asked, "What is that?" "Now we have come to the 'Burning Mountain,'" answered the rabbit. By this time the bundle was nearly burned out and all the hair had been burned off the badger's back. He now knew what had happened by the smell of the smoke of the burning grass. Screaming with pain the badger ran as fast as he could to his hole. The rabbit followed and found him lying on his bed groaning with pain. "What an unlucky fellow you are!" said the rabbit. "I can't imagine how this happened! I will bring you some medicine which will heal your back quickly!" The rabbit went away glad and smiling to think that the punishment upon the badger had already begun. He hoped that the badger would die of his burns, for he felt that nothing could be too bad for the animal, who was guilty of murdering a poor helpless old woman who had trusted him. He went home and made an ointment by mixing some sauce and red pepper together. He carried this to the badger, but before putting it on he told him that it would cause him great pain, but that he must bear it patiently, because it was a very wonderful medicine for burns and scalds and such wounds. The badger thanked him and begged him to apply it at once. But no language can describe the agony of the badger as soon as the red pepper had been pasted all over his sore back. He rolled over and over and howled loudly. The rabbit, looking on, felt that the farmer's wife was beginning to be avenged. The badger was in bed for about a month; but at last, in spite of the red pepper application, his burns healed and he got well. When the rabbit saw that the badger was getting well, he thought of another plan by which he could compass the creature's death. So he went one day to pay the badger a visit and to congratulate him on his recovery. During the conversation the rabbit mentioned that he was going fishing, and described how pleasant fishing was when the weather was fine and the sea smooth. The badger listened with pleasure to the rabbit's account of the way he passed his time now, and forgot all his pains and his month's illness, and thought what fun it would be if he could go fishing too; so he asked the rabbit if he would take him the next time he went out to fish. This was just what the rabbit wanted, so he agreed. Then he went home and built two boats, one of wood and the other of clay. At last they were both finished, and as the rabbit stood and looked at his work he felt that all his trouble would be well rewarded if his plan succeeded, and he could manage to kill the wicked badger now. The day came when the rabbit had arranged to take the badger fishing. He kept the wooden boat himself and gave the badger the clay boat. The badger, who knew nothing about boats, was delighted with his new boat and thought how kind it was of the rabbit to give it to him. They both got into their boats and set out. After going some distance from the shore the rabbit proposed that they should try their boats and see which one could go the quickest. The badger fell in with the proposal, and they both set to work to row as fast as they could for some time. In the middle of the race the badger found his boat going to pieces, for the water now began to soften the clay. He cried out in great fear to the rabbit to help him. But the rabbit answered that he was avenging the old woman's murder, and that this had been his intention all along, and that he was happy to think that the badger had at last met his deserts for all his evil crimes, and was to drown with no one to help him. Then he raised his oar and struck at the badger with all his strength till he fell with the sinking clay boat and was seen no more. Thus at last he kept his promise to the old farmer. The rabbit now turned and rowed shorewards, and having landed and pulled his boat upon the beach, hurried back to tell the old farmer everything, and how the badger, his enemy, had been killed. The old farmer thanked him with tears in his eyes. He said that till now he could never sleep at night or be at peace in the daytime, thinking of how his wife's death was unavenged, but from this time he would be able to sleep and eat as of old. He begged the rabbit to stay with him and share his home, so from this day the rabbit went to stay with the old farmer and they both lived together as good friends to the end of their days. THE shinansha, OR THE SOUTH POINTING CARRIAGE. The compass, with its needle always pointing to the North, is quite a common thing, and no one thinks that it is remarkable now, though when it was first invented it must have been a wonder. Now long ago in China, there was a still more wonderful invention called the shinansha. This was a kind of chariot with the figure of a man on it always pointing to the South. No matter how the chariot was placed the figure always wheeled about and pointed to the South. This curious instrument was invented by Kotei, one of the three Chinese Emperors of the Mythological age. Kotei was the son of the Emperor Yuhi. Before he was born his mother had a vision which foretold that her son would be a great man. One summer evening she went out to walk in the meadows to seek the cool breezes which blow at the end of the day and to gaze with pleasure at the star-lit heavens above her. As she looked at the North Star, strange to relate, it shot forth vivid flashes of lightning in every direction. Soon after this her son Kotei came into the world. Kotei in time grew to manhood and succeeded his father the Emperor Yuhi. His early reign was greatly troubled by the rebel Shiyu. This rebel wanted to make himself King, and many were the battles which he fought to this end. Shiyu was a wicked magician, his head was made of iron, and there was no man that could conquer him. At last Kotei declared war against the rebel and led his army to battle, and the two armies met on a plain called Takuroku. The Emperor boldly attacked the enemy, but the magician brought down a dense fog upon the battlefield, and while the royal army were wandering about in confusion, trying to find their way, Shiyu retreated with his troops, laughing at having fooled the royal army. No matter however strong and brave the Emperor's soldiers were, the rebel with his magic could always escape in the end. Kotei returned to his Palace, and thought and pondered deeply as to how he should conquer the magician, for he was determined not to give up yet. After a long time he invented the shinansha with the figure of a man always pointing South, for there were no compasses in those days. With this instrument to show him the way he need not fear the dense fogs raised up by the magician to confound his men. Kotei again declared war against Shiyu. He placed the shinansha in front of his army and led the way to the battlefield. The battle began in earnest. The rebel was being driven backward by the royal troops when he again resorted to magic, and upon his saying some strange words in a loud voice, immediately a dense fog came down upon the battlefield. But this time no soldier minded the fog, not one was confused. Kotei by pointing to the shinansha could find his way and directed the army without a single mistake. He closely pursued the rebel army and drove them backward till they came to a big river. This river Kotei and his men found was swollen by the floods and impossible to cross. Shiyu by using his magic art quickly passed over with his army and shut himself up in a fortress on the opposite bank. When Kotei found his march checked he was wild with disappointment, for he had very nearly overtaken the rebel when the river stopped him. He could do nothing, for there were no boats in those days, so the Emperor ordered his tent to be pitched in the pleasantest spot that the place afforded. One day he stepped forth from his tent and after walking about for a short time he came to a pond. Here he sat down on the bank and was lost in thought. It was autumn. The trees growing along the edge of the water were shedding their leaves, which floated hither and thither on the surface of the pond. By and by, Kotei's attention was attracted to a spider on the brink of the water. The little insect was trying to get on to one of the floating leaves near by. It did so at last, and was soon floating over the water to the other side of the pond. This little incident made the clever Emperor think that he might try to make something that could carry himself and his men over the river in the same way that the leaf had carried over the spider. He set to work and persevered till he invented the first boat. When he found that it was a success he set all his men to make more, and in time there were enough boats for the whole army. Kotei now took his army across the river, and attacked Shiyu's headquarters. He gained a complete victory, and so put an end to the war which had troubled his country for so long. This wise and good Emperor did not rest till he had secured peace and prosperity throughout his whole land. He was beloved by his subjects, who now enjoyed their happiness of peace for many long years under him. He spent a great deal of time in making inventions which would benefit his people, and he succeeded in many besides the boat and the South Pointing shinansha. He had reigned about a hundred years when one day, as Kotei was looking upwards, the sky became suddenly red, and something came glittering like gold towards the earth. As it came nearer Kotei saw that it was a great Dragon. The Dragon approached and bowed down its head before the Emperor. The Empress and the courtiers were so frightened that they ran away screaming. But the Emperor only smiled and called to them to stop, and said: "Do not be afraid. This is a messenger from Heaven. My time here is finished!" He then mounted the Dragon, which began to ascend towards the sky. When the Empress and the courtiers saw this they all cried out together: "Wait a moment! We wish to come too." And they all ran and caught hold of the Dragon's beard and tried to mount him. But it was impossible for so many people to ride on the Dragon. Several of them hung on to the creature's beard so that when it tried to mount the hair was pulled out and they fell to the ground. Meanwhile the Empress and a few of the courtiers were safely seated on the Dragon's back. The Dragon flew up so high in the heavens that in a short time the inmates of the Palace, who had been left behind disappointed, could see them no more. After some time a bow and an arrow dropped to the earth in the courtyard of the Palace. They were recognized as having belonged to the Emperor Kotei. The courtiers took them up carefully and preserved them as sacred relics in the Palace. THE ADVENTURES OF KINTARO, THE GOLDEN BOY. Long, long ago there lived in Kyoto a brave soldier named Kintoki. Now he fell in love with a beautiful lady and married her. Not long after this, through the malice of some of his friends, he fell into disgrace at Court and was dismissed. This misfortune so preyed upon his mind that he did not long survive his dismissal--he died, leaving behind him his beautiful young wife to face the world alone. Fearing her husband's enemies, she fled to the Ashigara Mountains as soon as her husband was dead, and there in the lonely forests where no one ever came except woodcutters, a little boy was born to her. She called him Kintaro or the Golden Boy. Now the remarkable thing about this child was his great strength, and as he grew older he grew stronger and stronger, so that by the time he was eight years of age he was able to cut down trees as quickly as the woodcutters. Then his mother gave him a large ax, and he used to go out in the forest and help the woodcutters, who called him "Wonder-child," and his mother the "Old Nurse of the Mountains," for they did not know her high rank. Another favorite pastime of Kintaro's was to smash up rocks and stones. You can imagine how strong he was! Quite unlike other boys, Kintaro, grew up all alone in the mountain wilds, and as he had no companions he made friends with all the animals and learned to understand them and to speak their strange talk. By degrees they all grew quite tame and looked upon Kintaro as their master, and he used them as his servants and messengers. But his special retainers were the bear, the deer, the monkey and the hare. The bear often brought her cubs for Kintaro to romp with, and when she came to take them home Kintaro would get on her back and have a ride to her cave. He was very fond of the deer too, and would often put his arms round the creature's neck to show that its long horns did not frighten him. Great was the fun they all had together. One day, as usual, Kintaro went up into the mountains, followed by the bear, the deer, the monkey, and the hare. After walking for some time up hill and down dale and over rough roads, they suddenly came out upon a wide and grassy plain covered with pretty wild flowers. Here, indeed, was a nice place where they could all have a good romp together. The deer rubbed his horns against a tree for pleasure, the monkey scratched his back, the hare smoothed his long ears, and the bear gave a grunt of satisfaction. Kintaro said, "Here is a place for a good game. What do you all say to a wrestling match?" The bear being the biggest and the oldest, answered for the others: "That will be great fun," said she. "I am the strongest animal, so I will make the platform for the wrestlers;" and she set to work with a will to dig up the earth and to pat it into shape. "All right," said Kintaro, "I will look on while you all wrestle with each other. I shall give a prize to the one who wins in each round." "What fun! we shall all try to get the prize," said the bear. The deer, the monkey and the hare set to work to help the bear raise the platform on which they were all to wrestle. When this was finished, Kintaro cried out: "Now begin! the monkey and the hare shall open the sports and the deer shall be umpire. Now, Mr. Deer, you are to be umpire!" "He, he!" answered the deer. "I will be umpire. Now, Mr. Monkey and Mr. Hare, if you are both ready, please walk out and take your places on the platform." Then the monkey and the hare both hopped out, quickly and nimbly, to the wrestling platform. The deer, as umpire, stood between the two and called out: "Red-back! Red-back!" (this to the monkey, who has a red back in Japan). "Are you ready?" Then he turned to the hare: "Long-ears! Long-ears! are you ready?" Both the little wrestlers faced each other while the deer raised a leaf on high as signal. When he dropped the leaf the monkey and the hare rushed upon each other, crying "Yoisho, yoisho!" While the monkey and the hare wrestled, the deer called out encouragingly or shouted warnings to each of them as the hare or the monkey pushed each other near the edge of the platform and were in danger of falling over. "Red-back! Red-back! stand your ground!" called out the deer. "Long-ears! Long-ears! be strong, be strong--don't let the monkey beat you!" grunted the bear. So the monkey and the hare, encouraged by their friends, tried their very hardest to beat each other. The hare at last gained on the monkey. The monkey seemed to trip up, and the hare giving him a good push sent him flying off the platform with a bound. The poor monkey sat up rubbing his back, and his face was very long as he screamed angrily. "Oh, oh! how my back hurts--my back hurts me!" Seeing the monkey in this plight on the ground, the deer holding his leaf on high said: "This round is finished--the hare has won." Kintaro then opened his luncheon box and taking out a rice-dumpling, gave it to the hare saying: "Here is your prize, and you have earned, it well!" Now the monkey got up looking very cross, and as they say in Japan "his stomach stood up," for he felt that he had not been fairly beaten. So he said to Kintaro and the others who were standing by: "I have not been fairly beaten. My foot slipped and I tumbled. Please give me another chance and let the hare wrestle with me for another round." Then Kintaro consenting, the hare and the monkey began to wrestle again. Now, as every one knows, the monkey is a cunning animal by nature, and he made up his mind to get the best of the hare this time if it were possible. To do this, he thought that the best and surest way would be to get hold of the hare's long ear. This he soon managed to do. The hare was quite thrown off his guard by the pain of having his long ear pulled so hard, and the monkey seizing his opportunity at last, caught hold of one of the hare's legs and sent him sprawling in the middle of the dais. The monkey was now the victor and received, a rice-dumpling from Kintaro, which pleased him so much that he quite forgot his sore back. The deer now came up and asked the hare if he felt ready for another round, and if so whether he would try a round with him, and the hare consenting, they both stood up to wrestle. The bear came forward as umpire. The deer with long horns and the hare with long ears, it must have been an amusing sight to those who watched this queer match. Suddenly the deer went down on one of his knees, and the bear with the leaf on high declared him beaten. In this way, sometimes the one, sometimes the other, conquering, the little party amused themselves till they were tired. At last Kintaro got up and said: "This is enough for to-day. What a nice place we have found for wrestling; let us come again to-morrow. Now, we will all go home. Come along!" So saying, Kintaro led the way while the animals followed. After walking some little distance they came out on the banks of a river flowing through a valley. Kintaro and his four furry friends stood and looked about for some means of crossing. Bridge there was none. The river rushed "don, don" on its way. All the animals looked serious, wondering how they could cross the stream and get home that evening. Kintaro, however, said: "Wait a moment. I will make a good bridge for you all in a few minutes." The bear, the deer, the monkey and the hare looked at him to see what he would do now. Kintaro went from one tree to another that grew along the river bank. At last he stopped in front of a very large tree that was growing at the water's edge. He took hold of the trunk and pulled it with all his might, once, twice, thrice! At the third pull, so great was Kintaro's strength that the roots gave way, and "meri, meri" (crash, crash), over fell the tree, forming an excellent bridge across the stream. "There," said Kintaro, "what do you think of my bridge? It is quite safe, so follow me," and he stepped across first. The four animals followed. Never had they seen any one so strong before, and they all exclaimed: "How strong he is! how strong he is!" While all this was going on by the river a woodcutter, who happened to be standing on a rock overlooking the stream, had seen all that passed beneath him. He watched with great surprise Kintaro and his animal companions. He rubbed his eyes to be sure that he was not dreaming when he saw this boy pull over a tree by the roots and throw it across the stream to form a bridge. The woodcutter, for such he seemed to be by his dress, marveled at all he saw, and said to himself: "This is no ordinary child. Whose son can he be? I will find out before this day is done." He hastened after the strange party and crossed the bridge behind them. Kintaro knew nothing of all this, and little guessed that he was being followed. On reaching the other side of the river he and the animals separated, they to their lairs in the woods and he to his mother, who was waiting for him. As soon as he entered the cottage, which stood like a matchbox in the heart of the pine-woods, he went to greet his mother, saying: "Okkasan (mother), here I am!" "O, Kimbo!" said his mother with a bright smile, glad to see her boy home safe after the long day. "How late you are to-day. I feared that something had happened to you. Where have you been all the time?" "I took my four friends, the bear, the deer, the monkey, and the hare, up into the hills, and there I made them try a wrestling match, to see which was the strongest. We all enjoyed the sport, and are going to the same place to-morrow to have another match." "Now tell me who is the strongest of all?" asked his mother, pretending not to know. "Oh, mother," said Kintaro, "don't you know that I am the strongest? There was no need for me to wrestle with any of them." "But next to you then, who is the strongest?" "The bear comes next to me in strength," answered Kintaro. "And after the bear?" asked his mother again. "Next to the bear it is not easy to say which is the strongest, for the deer, the monkey, and the hare all seem to be as strong as each other," said Kintaro. Suddenly Kintaro and his mother were startled by a voice from outside. "Listen to me, little boy! Next time you go, take this old man with you to the wrestling match. He would like to join the sport too!" It was the old woodcutter who had followed Kintaro from the river. He slipped off his clogs and entered the cottage. Yama-uba and her son were both taken by surprise. They looked at the intruder wonderingly and saw that he was some one they had never seen before. "Who are you?" they both exclaimed. Then the woodcutter laughed and said: "It does not matter who I am yet, but let us see who has the strongest arm--this boy or myself?" Then Kintaro, who had lived all his life in the forest, answered the old man without any ceremony, saying: "We will have a try if you wish it, but you must not be angry whoever is beaten." Then Kintaro and the woodcutter both put out their right arms and grasped each other's hands. For a long time Kintaro and the old man wrestled together in this way, each trying to bend the other's arm, but the old man was very strong, and the strange pair were evenly matched. At last the old man desisted, declaring it a drawn game. "You are, indeed, a very strong child. There are few men who can boast of the strength of my right arm!" said the woodcutter. "I saw you first on the banks of the river a few hours ago, when you pulled up that large tree to make a bridge across the torrent. Hardly able to believe what I saw I followed you home. Your strength of arm, which I have just tried, proves what I saw this afternoon. When you are full-grown you will surely be the strongest man in all Japan. It is a pity that you are hidden away in these wild mountains." Then he turned to Kintaro's mother: "And you, mother, have you no thought of taking your child to the Capital, and of teaching him to carry a sword as befits a samurai (a Japanese knight)?" "You are very kind to take so much interest in my son." replied the mother; "but he is as you see, wild and uneducated, and I fear it would be very difficult to do as you say. Because of his great strength as an infant I hid him away in this unknown part of the country, for he hurt every one that came near him. I have often wished that I could, one day, see my boy a knight wearing two swords, but as we have no influential friend to introduce us at the Capital, I fear my hope will never come true." "You need not trouble yourself about that. To tell you the truth I am no woodcutter! I am one of the great generals of Japan. My name is Sadamitsu, and I am a vassal of the powerful Lord Minamoto-no-Raiko. He ordered me to go round the country and look for boys who give promise of remarkable strength, so that they may be trained as soldiers for his army. I thought that I could best do this by assuming the disguise of a woodcutter. By good fortune, I have thus unexpectedly come across your son. Now if you really wish him to be a SAMURAI (a knight), I will take him and present him to the Lord Raiko as a candidate for his service. What do you say to this?" As the kind general gradually unfolded his plan the mother's heart was filled with a great joy. She saw that here was a wonderful chance of the one wish of her life being fulfilled--that of seeing Kintaro a SAMURAI before she died. Bowing her head to the ground, she replied: "I will then intrust my son to you if you really mean what you say." Kintaro had all this time been sitting by his mother's side listening to what they said. When his mother finished speaking, he exclaimed: "Oh, joy! joy! I am to go with the general and one day I shall be a SAMURAI!" Thus Kintaro's fate was settled, and the general decided to start for the Capital at once, taking Kintaro with him. It need hardly be said that Yama-uba was sad at parting with her boy, for he was all that was left to her. But she hid her grief with a strong face, as they say in Japan. She knew that it was for her boy's good that he should leave her now, and she must not discourage him just as he was setting out. Kintaro promised never to forget her, and said that as soon as he was a knight wearing two swords he would build her a home and take care of her in her old age. All the animals, those he had tamed to serve him, the bear, the deer, the monkey, and the hare, as soon as they found out that he was going away, came to ask if they might attend him as usual. When they learned that he was going away for good they followed him to the foot of the mountain to see him off. "Kimbo," said his mother, "mind and be a good boy." "Mr. Kintaro," said the faithful animals, "we wish you good health on your travels." Then they all climbed a tree to see the last of him, and from that height they watched him and his shadow gradually grow smaller and smaller, till he was lost to sight. The general Sadamitsu went on his way rejoicing at having so unexpectedly found such a prodigy as Kintaro. Having arrived at their destination the general took Kintaro at once to his Lord, Minamoto-no-Raiko, and told him all about Kintaro and how he had found the child. Lord Raiko was delighted with the story, and having commanded Kintaro to be brought to him, made him one of his vassals at once. Lord Raiko's army was famous for its band called "The Four Braves." These warriors were chosen by himself from amongst the bravest and strongest of his soldiers, and the small and well-picked band was distinguished throughout the whole of Japan for the dauntless courage of its men. When Kintaro grew up to be a man his master made him the Chief of the Four Braves. He was by far the strongest of them all. Soon after this event, news was brought to the city that a cannibal monster had taken up his abode not far away and that people were stricken with fear. Lord Raiko ordered Kintaro to the rescue. He immediately started off, delighted at the prospect of trying his sword. Surprising the monster in its den, he made short work of cutting off its great head, which he carried back in triumph to his master. Kintaro now rose to be the greatest hero of his country, and great was the power and honor and wealth that came to him. He now kept his promise and built a comfortable home for his old mother, who lived happily with him in the Capital to the end of her days. Is not this the story of a great hero? THE STORY OF PRINCESS HASE. A STORY OF OLD JAPAN. Many, many years ago there lived in Nara, the ancient Capital of Japan, a wise State minister, by name Prince Toyonari Fujiwara. His wife was a noble, good, and beautiful woman called Princess Murasaki (Violet). They had been married by their respective families according to Japanese custom when very young, and had lived together happily ever since. They had, however, one cause for great sorrow, for as the years went by no child was born to them. This made them very unhappy, for they both longed to see a child of their own who would grow up to gladden their old age, carry on the family name, and keep up the ancestral rites when they were dead. The Prince and his lovely wife, after long consultation and much thought, determined to make a pilgrimage to the temple of Hase-no-Kwannon (Goddess of Mercy at Hase), for they believed, according to the beautiful tradition of their religion, that the Mother of Mercy, Kwannon, comes to answer the prayers of mortals in the form that they need the most. Surely after all these years of prayer she would come to them in the form of a beloved child in answer to their special pilgrimage, for that was the greatest need of their two lives. Everything else they had that this life could give them, but it was all as nothing because the cry of their hearts was unsatisfied. So the Prince Toyonari and his wife went to the temple of Kwannon at Hase and stayed there for a long time, both daily offering incense and praying to Kwannon, the Heavenly Mother, to grant them the desire of their whole lives. And their prayer was answered. A daughter was born at last to the Princess Murasaki, and great was the joy of her heart. On presenting the child to her husband, they both decided to call her Hase-Hime, or the Princess of Hase, because she was the gift of the Kwannon at that place. They both reared her with great care and tenderness, and the child grew in strength and beauty. When the little girl was five years old her mother fell dangerously ill and all the doctors and their medicines could not save her. A little before she breathed her last she called her daughter to her, and gently stroking her head, said: "Hase-Hime, do you know that your mother cannot live any longer? Though I die, you must grow up a good girl. Do your best not to give trouble to your nurse or any other of your family. Perhaps your father will marry again and some one will fill my place as your mother. If so do not grieve for me, but look upon your father's second wife as your true mother, and be obedient and filial to both her and your father. Remember when you are grown up to be submissive to those who are your superiors, and to be kind to all those who are under you. Don't forget this. I die with the hope that you will grow up a model woman." Hase-Hime listened in an attitude of respect while her mother spoke, and promised to do all that she was told. There is a proverb which says "As the soul is at three so it is at one hundred," and so Hase-Hime grew up as her mother had wished, a good and obedient little Princess, though she was now too young to understand how great was the loss of her mother. Not long after the death of his first wife, Prince Toyonari married again, a lady of noble birth named Princess Terute. Very different in character, alas! to the good and wise Princess Murasaki, this woman had a cruel, bad heart. She did not love her step-daughter at all, and was often very unkind to the little motherless girl, saving to herself: "This is not my child! this is not my child!" But Hase-Hime bore every unkindness with patience, and even waited upon her step-mother kindly and obeyed her in every way and never gave any trouble, just as she had been trained by her own good mother, so that the Lady Terute had no cause for complaint against her. The little Princess was very diligent, and her favorite studies were music and poetry. She would spend several hours practicing every day, and her father had the most proficient of masters he could find to teach her the koto (Japanese harp), the art of writing letters and verse. When she was twelve years of age she could play so beautifully that she and her step-mother were summoned to the Palace to perform before the Emperor. It was the Festival of the Cherry Flowers, and there were great festivities at the Court. The Emperor threw himself into the enjoyment of the season, and commanded that Princess Hase should perform before him on the koto, and that her mother Princess Terute should accompany her on the flute. The Emperor sat on a raised dais, before which was hung a curtain of finely-sliced bamboo and purple tassels, so that His Majesty might see all and not be seen, for no ordinary subject was allowed to look upon his sacred face. Hase-Hime was a skilled musician though so young, and often astonished her masters by her wonderful memory and talent. On this momentous occasion she played well. But Princess Terute, her step-mother, who was a lazy woman and never took the trouble to practice daily, broke down in her accompaniment and had to request one of the Court ladies to take her place. This was a great disgrace, and she was furiously jealous to think that she had failed where her step-daughter succeeded; and to make matters worse the Emperor sent many beautiful gifts to the little Princess to reward her for playing so well at the Palace. There was also now another reason why Princess Terute hated her step-daughter, for she had had the good fortune to have a son born to her, and in her inmost heart she kept saying: "If only Hase-Hime were not here, my son would have all the love of his father." And never having learned to control herself, she allowed this wicked thought to grow into the awful desire of taking her step-daughter's life. So one day she secretly ordered some poison and poisoned some sweet wine. This poisoned wine she put into a bottle. Into another similar bottle she poured some good wine. It was the occasion of the Boys' Festival on the fifth of May, and Hase-Hime was playing with her little brother. All his toys of warriors and heroes were spread out and she was telling him wonderful stories about each of them. They were both enjoying themselves and laughing merrily with their attendants when his mother entered with the two bottles of wine and some delicious cakes. "You are both so good and happy." said the wicked Princess Terute with a smile, "that I have brought you some sweet wine as a reward--and here are some nice cakes for my good children." And she filled two cups from the different bottles. Hase-Hime, never dreaming of the dreadful part her step-mother was acting, took one of the cups of wine and gave to her little step brother the other that had been poured out for him. The wicked woman had carefully marked the poisoned bottle, but on coming into the room she had grown nervous, and pouring out the wine hurriedly had unconsciously given the poisoned cup to her own child. All this time she was anxiously watching the little Princess, but to her amazement no change whatever took place in the young girl's face. Suddenly the little boy screamed and threw himself on the floor, doubled up with pain. His mother flew to him, taking the precaution to upset the two tiny jars of wine which she had brought into the room, and lifted him up. The attendants rushed for the doctor, but nothing could save the child--he died within the hour in his mother's arms. Doctors did not know much in those ancient times, and it was thought that the wine had disagreed with the boy, causing convulsions of which he died. Thus was the wicked woman punished in losing her own child when she had tried to do away with her step-daughter; but instead of blaming herself she began to hate Hase-Hime more than ever in the bitterness and wretchedness of her own heart, and she eagerly watched for an opportunity to do her harm, which was, however, long in coming. When Hase-Hime was thirteen years of age, she had already become mentioned as a poetess of some merit. This was an accomplishment very much cultivated by the women of old Japan and one held in high esteem. It was the rainy season at Nara, and floods were reported every day as doing damage in the neighborhood. The river Tatsuta, which flowed through the Imperial Palace grounds, was swollen to the top of its banks, and the roaring of the torrents of water rushing along a narrow bed so disturbed the Emperor's rest day and night, that a serious nervous disorder was the result. An Imperial Edict was sent forth to all the Buddhist temples commanding the priests to offer up continuous prayers to Heaven to stop the noise of the flood. But this was of no avail. Then it was whispered in Court circles that the Princess Hase, the daughter of Prince Toyonari Fujiwara, second minister at Court, was the most gifted poetess of the day, though still so young, and her masters confirmed the report. Long ago, a beautiful and gifted maiden-poetess had moved Heaven by praying in verse, had brought down rain upon a land famished with drought--so said the ancient biographers of the poetess Ono-no-Komachi. If the Princess Hase were to write a poem and offer it in prayer, might it not stop the noise of the rushing river and remove the cause of the Imperial illness? What the Court said at last reached the ears of the Emperor himself, and he sent an order to the minister Prince Toyonari to this effect. Great indeed was Hase-Hime's fear and astonishment when her father sent for her and told her what was required of her. Heavy, indeed, was the duty that was laid on her young shoulders--that of saving the Emperor's life by the merit of her verse. At last the day came and her poem was finished. It was written on a leaflet of paper heavily flecked with gold-dust. With her father and attendants and some of the Court officials, she proceeded to the bank of the roaring torrent and raising up her heart to Heaven, she read the poem she had composed, aloud, lifting it heavenwards in her two hands. Strange indeed it seemed to all those standing round. The waters ceased their roaring, and the river was quiet in direct answer to her prayer. After this the Emperor soon recovered his health. His Majesty was highly pleased, and sent for her to the Palace and rewarded her with the rank of Chinjo--that of Lieutenant-General--to distinguish her. From that time she was called Chinjo-hime, or the Lieutenant-General Princess, and respected and loved by all. There was only one person who was not pleased at Hase-Hime's success. That one was her stepmother. Forever brooding over the death of her own child whom she had killed when trying to poison her step-daughter, she had the mortification of seeing her rise to power and honor, marked by Imperial favor and the admiration of the whole Court. Her envy and jealousy burned in her heart like fire. Many were the lies she carried to her husband about Hase-Hime, but all to no purpose. He would listen to none of her tales, telling her sharply that she was quite mistaken. At last the step-mother, seizing the opportunity of her husband's absence, ordered one of her old servants to take the innocent girl to the Hibari Mountains, the wildest part of the country, and to kill her there. She invented a dreadful story about the little Princess, saying that this was the only way to prevent disgrace falling upon the family--by killing her. Katoda, her vassal, was bound to obey his mistress. Anyhow, he saw that it would be the wisest plan to pretend obedience in the absence of the girl's father, so he placed Hase-Hime in a palanquin and accompanied her to the most solitary place he could find in the wild district. The poor child knew there was no good in protesting to her unkind step-mother at being sent away in this strange manner, so she went as she was told. But the old servant knew that the young Princess was quite innocent of all the things her step-mother had invented to him as reasons for her outrageous orders, and he determined to save her life. Unless he killed her, however, he could not return to his cruel task-mistress, so he decided to stay out in the wilderness. With the help of some peasants he soon built a little cottage, and having sent secretly for his wife to come, these two good old people did all in their power to take care of the now unfortunate Princess. She all the time trusted in her father, knowing that as soon as he returned home and found her absent, he would search for her. Prince Toyonari, after some weeks, came home, and was told by his wife that his daughter Hime had done something wrong and had run away for fear of being punished. He was nearly ill with anxiety. Every one in the house told the same story--that Hase-Hime had suddenly disappeared, none of them knew why or whither. For fear of scandal he kept the matter quiet and searched everywhere he could think of, but all to no purpose. One day, trying to forget his terrible worry, he called all his men together and told them to make ready for a several days' hunt in the mountains. They were soon ready and mounted, waiting at the gate for their lord. He rode hard and fast to the district of the Hibari Mountains, a great company following him. He was soon far ahead of every one, and at last found himself in a narrow picturesque valley. Looking round and admiring the scenery, he noticed a tiny house on one of the hills quite near, and then he distinctly heard a beautiful clear voice reading aloud. Seized with curiosity as to who could be studying so diligently in such a lonely spot, he dismounted, and leaving his horse to his groom, he walked up the hillside and approached the cottage. As he drew nearer his surprise increased, for he could see that the reader was a beautiful girl. The cottage was wide open and she was sitting facing the view. Listening attentively, he heard her reading the Buddhist scriptures with great devotion. More and more curious, he hurried on to the tiny gate and entered the little garden, and looking up beheld his lost daughter Hase-Hime. She was so intent on what she was saying that she neither heard nor saw her father till he spoke. "Hase-Hime!" he cried, "it is you, my Hase-Hime!" Taken by surprise, she could hardly realize that it was her own dear father who was calling her, and for a moment she was utterly bereft of the power to speak or move. "My father, my father! It is indeed you--oh, my father!" was all she could say, and running to him she caught hold of his thick sleeve, and burying her face burst into a passion of tears. Her father stroked her dark hair, asking her gently to tell him all that had happened, but she only wept on, and he wondered if he were not really dreaming. Then the faithful old servant Katoda came out, and bowing himself to the ground before his master, poured out the long tale of wrong, telling him all that had happened, and how it was that he found his daughter in such a wild and desolate spot with only two old servants to take care of her. The Prince's astonishment and indignation knew no bounds. He gave up the hunt at once and hurried home with his daughter. One of the company galloped ahead to inform the household of the glad news, and the step-mother hearing what had happened, and fearful of meeting her husband now that her wickedness was discovered, fled from the house and returned in disgrace to her father's roof, and nothing more was heard of her. The old servant Katoda was rewarded with the highest promotion in his master's service, and lived happily to the end of his days, devoted to the little Princess, who never forgot that she owed her life to this faithful retainer. She was no longer troubled by an unkind step-mother, and her days passed happily and quietly with her father. As Prince Toyonari had no son, he adopted a younger son of one of the Court nobles to be his heir, and to marry his daughter Hase-Hime, and in a few years the marriage took place. Hase-Hime lived to a good old age, and all said that she was the wisest, most devout, and most beautiful mistress that had ever reigned in Prince Toyonari's ancient house. She had the joy of presenting her son, the future lord of the family, to her father just before he retired from active life. To this day there is preserved a piece of needle-work in one of the Buddhist temples of Kioto. It is a beautiful piece of tapestry, with the figure of Buddha embroidered in the silky threads drawn from the stem of the lotus. This is said to have been the work of the hands of the good Princess Hase. THE STORY OF THE MAN WHO DID NOT WISH TO DIE. Long, long ago there lived a man called Sentaro. His surname meant "Millionaire," but although he was not so rich as all that, he was still very far removed from being poor. He had inherited a small fortune from his father and lived on this, spending his time carelessly, without any serious thoughts of work, till he was about thirty-two years of age. One day, without any reason whatsoever, the thought of death and sickness came to him. The idea of falling ill or dying made him very wretched. "I should like to live," he said to himself, "till I am five or six hundred years old at least, free from all sickness. The ordinary span of a man's life is very short." He wondered whether it were possible, by living simply and frugally henceforth, to prolong his life as long as he wished. He knew there were many stories in ancient history of emperors who had lived a thousand years, and there was a Princess of Yamato, who, it was said, lived to the age of five hundred. This was the latest story of a very long life record. Sentaro had often heard the tale of the Chinese King named Shin-no-Shiko. He was one of the most able and powerful rulers in Chinese history. He built all the large palaces, and also the famous great wall of China. He had everything in the world he could wish for, but in spite of all his happiness and the luxury and the splendor of his Court, the wisdom of his councilors and the glory of his reign, he was miserable because he knew that one day he must die and leave it all. When Shin-no-Shiko went to bed at night, when he rose in the morning, as he went through his day, the thought of death was always with him. He could not get away from it. Ah--if only he could find the "Elixir of Life," he would be happy. The Emperor at last called a meeting of his courtiers and asked them all if they could not find for him the "Elixir of Life" of which he had so often read and heard. One old courtier, Jofuku by name, said that far away across the seas there was a country called Horaizan, and that certain hermits lived there who possessed the secret of the "Elixir of Life." Whoever drank of this wonderful draught lived forever. The Emperor ordered Jofuku to set out for the land of Horaizan, to find the hermits, and to bring him back a phial of the magic elixir. He gave Jofuku one of his best junks, fitted it out for him, and loaded it with great quantities of treasures and precious stones for Jofuku to take as presents to the hermits. Jofuku sailed for the land of Horaizan, but he never returned to the waiting Emperor; but ever since that time Mount Fuji has been said to be the fabled Horaizan and the home of hermits who had the secret of the elixir, and Jofuku has been worshiped as their patron god. Now Sentaro determined to set out to find the hermits, and if he could, to become one, so that he might obtain the water of perpetual life. He remembered that as a child he had been told that not only did these hermits live on Mount Fuji, but that they were said to inhabit all the very high peaks. So he left his old home to the care of his relatives, and started out on his quest. He traveled through all the mountainous regions of the land, climbing to the tops of the highest peaks, but never a hermit did he find. At last, after wandering in an unknown region for many days, he met a hunter. "Can you tell me," asked Sentaro, "where the hermits live who have the Elixir of Life?" "No." said the hunter; "I can't tell you where such hermits live, but there is a notorious robber living in these parts. It is said that he is chief of a band of two hundred followers." This odd answer irritated Sentaro very much, and he thought how foolish it was to waste more time in looking for the hermits in this way, so he decided to go at once to the shrine of Jofuku, who is worshiped as the patron god of the hermits in the south of Japan. Sentaro reached the shrine and prayed for seven days, entreating Jofuku to show him the way to a hermit who could give him what he wanted so much to find. At midnight of the seventh day, as Sentaro knelt in the temple, the door of the innermost shrine flew open, and Jofuku appeared in a luminous cloud, and calling to Sentaro to come nearer, spoke thus: "Your desire is a very selfish one and cannot be easily granted. You think that you would like to become a hermit so as to find the Elixir of Life. Do you know how hard a hermit's life is? A hermit is only allowed to eat fruit and berries and the bark of pine trees; a hermit must cut himself off from the world so that his heart may become as pure as gold and free from every earthly desire. Gradually after following these strict rules, the hermit ceases to feel hunger or cold or heat, and his body becomes so light that he can ride on a crane or a carp, and can walk on water without getting his feet wet." "You, Sentaro, are fond of good living and of every comfort. You are not even like an ordinary man, for you are exceptionally idle, and more sensitive to heat and cold than most people. You would never be able to go barefoot or to wear only one thin dress in the winter time! Do you think that you would ever have the patience or the endurance to live a hermit's life?" "In answer to your prayer, however, I will help you in another way. I will send you to the country of Perpetual Life, where death never comes--where the people live forever!" Saying this, Jofuku put into Sentaro's hand a little crane made of paper, telling him to sit on its back and it would carry him there. Sentaro obeyed wonderingly. The crane grew large enough for him to ride on it with comfort. It then spread its wings, rose high in the air, and flew away over the mountains right out to sea. Sentaro was at first quite frightened; but by degrees he grew accustomed to the swift flight through the air. On and on they went for thousands of miles. The bird never stopped for rest or food, but as it was a paper bird it doubtless did not require any nourishment, and strange to say, neither did Sentaro. After several days they reached an island. The crane flew some distance inland and then alighted. As soon as Sentaro got down from the bird's back, the crane folded up of its own accord and flew into his pocket. Now Sentaro began to look about him wonderingly, curious to see what the country of Perpetual Life was like. He walked first round about the country and then through the town. Everything was, of course, quite strange, and different from his own land. But both the land and the people seemed prosperous, so he decided that it would be good for him to stay there and took up lodgings at one of the hotels. The proprietor was a kind man, and when Sentaro told him that he was a stranger and had come to live there, he promised to arrange everything that was necessary with the governor of the city concerning Sentaro's sojourn there. He even found a house for his guest, and in this way Sentaro obtained his great wish and became a resident in the country of Perpetual Life. Within the memory of all the islanders no man had ever died there, and sickness was a thing unknown. Priests had come over from India and China and told them of a beautiful country called Paradise, where happiness and bliss and contentment fill all men's hearts, but its gates could only be reached by dying. This tradition was handed down for ages from generation to generation--but none knew exactly what death was except that it led to Paradise. Quite unlike Sentaro and other ordinary people, instead of having a great dread of death, they all, both rich and poor, longed for it as something good and desirable. They were all tired of their long, long lives, and longed to go to the happy land of contentment called Paradise of which the priests had told them centuries ago. All this Sentaro soon found out by talking to the islanders. He found himself, according to his ideas, in the land of Topsyturvydom. Everything was upside down. He had wished to escape from dying. He had come to the land of Perpetual Life with great relief and joy, only to find that the inhabitants themselves, doomed never to die, would consider it bliss to find death. What he had hitherto considered poison these people ate as good food, and all the things to which he had been accustomed as food they rejected. Whenever any merchants from other countries arrived, the rich people rushed to them eager to buy poisons. These they swallowed eagerly, hoping for death to come so that they might go to Paradise. But what were deadly poisons in other lands were without effect in this strange place, and people who swallowed them with the hope of dying, only found that in a short time they felt better in health instead of worse. Vainly they tried to imagine what death could be like. The wealthy would have given all their money and all their goods if they could but shorten their lives to two or three hundred years even. Without any change to live on forever seemed to this people wearisome and sad. In the chemist shops there was a drug which was in constant demand, because after using it for a hundred years, it was supposed to turn the hair slightly gray and to bring about disorders of the stomach. Sentaro was astonished to find that the poisonous globe-fish was served up in restaurants as a delectable dish, and hawkers in the streets went about selling sauces made of Spanish flies. He never saw any one ill after eating these horrible things, nor did he ever see any one with as much as a cold. Sentaro was delighted. He said to himself that he would never grow tired of living, and that he considered it profane to wish for death. He was the only happy man on the island. For his part he wished to live thousands of years and to enjoy life. He set himself up in business, and for the present never even dreamed of going back to his native land. As years went by, however, things did not go as smoothly as at first. He had heavy losses in business, and several times some affairs went wrong with his neighbors. This caused him great annoyance. Time passed like the flight of an arrow for him, for he was busy from morning till night. Three hundred years went by in this monotonous way, and then at last he began to grow tired of life in this country, and he longed to see his own land and his old home. However long he lived here, life would always be the same, so was it not foolish and wearisome to stay on here forever? Sentaro, in his wish to escape from the country of Perpetual Life, recollected Jofuku, who had helped him before when he was wishing to escape from death--and he prayed to the saint to bring him back to his own land again. No sooner did he pray than the paper crane popped out of his pocket. Sentaro was amazed to see that it had remained undamaged after all these years. Once more the bird grew and grew till it was large enough for him to mount it. As he did so, the bird spread its wings and flew, swiftly out across the sea in the direction of Japan. Such was the willfulness of the man's nature that he looked back and regretted all he had left behind. He tried to stop the bird in vain. The crane held on its way for thousands of miles across the ocean. Then a storm came on, and the wonderful paper crane got damp, crumpled up, and fell into the sea. Sentaro fell with it. Very much frightened at the thought of being drowned, he cried out loudly to Jofuku to save him. He looked round, but there was no ship in sight. He swallowed a quantity of sea-water, which only increased his miserable plight. While he was thus struggling to keep himself afloat, he saw a monstrous shark swimming towards him. As it came nearer it opened its huge mouth ready to devour him. Sentaro was all but paralyzed with fear now that he felt his end so near, and screamed out as loudly as ever he could to Jofuku to come and rescue him. Lo, and behold, Sentaro was awakened by his own screams, to find that during his long prayer he had fallen asleep before the shrine, and that all his extraordinary and frightful adventures had been only a wild dream. He was in a cold perspiration with fright, and utterly bewildered. Suddenly a bright light came towards him, and in the light stood a messenger. The messenger held a book in his hand, and spoke to Sentaro: "I am sent to you by Jofuku, who in answer to your prayer, has permitted you in a dream to see the land of Perpetual Life. But you grew weary of living there, and begged to be allowed to return to your native land so that you might die. Jofuku, so that he might try you, allowed you to drop into the sea, and then sent a shark to swallow you up. Your desire for death was not real, for even at that moment you cried out loudly and shouted for help." "It is also vain for you to wish to become a hermit, or to find the Elixir of Life. These things are not for such as you--your life is not austere enough. It is best for you to go back to your paternal home, and to live a good and industrious life. Never neglect to keep the anniversaries of your ancestors, and make it your duty to provide for your children's future. Thus will you live to a good old age and be happy, but give up the vain desire to escape death, for no man can do that, and by this time you have surely found out that even when selfish desires are granted they do not bring happiness." "In this book I give you there are many precepts good for you to know--if you study them, you will be guided in the way I have pointed out to you." The angel disappeared as soon as he had finished speaking, and Sentaro took the lesson to heart. With the book in his hand he returned to his old home, and giving up all his old vain wishes, tried to live a good and useful life and to observe the lessons taught him in the book, and he and his house prospered henceforth. THE BAMBOO-CUTTER AND THE MOON-CHILD. Long, long ago, there lived an old bamboo wood-cutter. He was very poor and sad also, for no child had Heaven sent to cheer his old age, and in his heart there was no hope of rest from work till he died and was laid in the quiet grave. Every morning he went forth into the woods and hills wherever the bamboo reared its lithe green plumes against the sky. When he had made his choice, he would cut down these feathers of the forest, and splitting them lengthwise, or cutting them into joints, would carry the bamboo wood home and make it into various articles for the household, and he and his old wife gained a small livelihood by selling them. One morning as usual he had gone out to his work, and having found a nice clump of bamboos, had set to work to cut some of them down. Suddenly the green grove of bamboos was flooded with a bright soft light, as if the full moon had risen over the spot. Looking round in astonishment, he saw that the brilliance was streaming from one bamboo. The old man, full of wonder, dropped his ax and went towards the light. On nearer approach he saw that this soft splendor came from a hollow in the green bamboo stem, and still more wonderful to behold, in the midst of the brilliance stood a tiny human being, only three inches in height, and exquisitely beautiful in appearance. "You must be sent to be my child, for I find you here among the bamboos where lies my daily work," said the old man, and taking the little creature in his hand he took it home to his wife to bring up. The tiny girl was so exceedingly beautiful and so small, that the old woman put her into a basket to safeguard her from the least possibility of being hurt in any way. The old couple were now very happy, for it had been a lifelong regret that they had no children of their own, and with joy they now expended all the love of their old age on the little child who had come to them in so marvelous a manner. From this time on, the old man often found gold in the notches of the bamboos when he hewed them down and cut them up; not only gold, but precious stones also, so that by degrees he became rich. He built himself a fine house, and was no longer known as the poor bamboo woodcutter, but as a wealthy man. Three months passed quickly away, and in that time the bamboo child had, wonderful to say, become a full-grown girl, so her foster-parents did up her hair and dressed her in beautiful kimonos. She was of such wondrous beauty that they placed her behind the screens like a princess, and allowed no one to see her, waiting upon her themselves. It seemed as if she were made of light, for the house was filled with a soft shining, so that even in the dark of night it was like daytime. Her presence seemed to have a benign influence on those there. Whenever the old man felt sad, he had only to look upon his foster-daughter and his sorrow vanished, and he became as happy as when he was a youth. At last the day came for the naming of their new-found child, so the old couple called in a celebrated name-giver, and he gave her the name of Princess Moonlight, because her body gave forth so much soft bright light that she might have been a daughter of the Moon God. For three days the festival was kept up with song and dance and music. All the friends and relations of the old couple were present, and great was their enjoyment of the festivities held to celebrate the naming of Princess Moonlight. Everyone who saw her declared that there never had been seen any one so lovely; all the beauties throughout the length and breadth of the land would grow pale beside her, so they said. The fame of the Princess's loveliness spread far and wide, and many were the suitors who desired to win her hand, or even so much as to see her. Suitors from far and near posted themselves outside the house, and made little holes in the fence, in the hope of catching a glimpse of the Princess as she went from one room to the other along the veranda. They stayed there day and night, sacrificing even their sleep for a chance of seeing her, but all in vain. Then they approached the house, and tried to speak to the old man and his wife or some of the servants, but not even this was granted them. Still, in spite of all this disappointment they stayed on day after day, and night after night, and counted it as nothing, so great was their desire to see the Princess. At last, however, most of the men, seeing how hopeless their quest was, lost heart and hope both, and returned to their homes. All except five Knights, whose ardor and determination, instead of waning, seemed to wax greater with obstacles. These five men even went without their meals, and took snatches of whatever they could get brought to them, so that they might always stand outside the dwelling. They stood there in all weathers, in sunshine and in rain. Sometimes they wrote letters to the Princess, but no answer was vouchsafed to them. Then when letters failed to draw any reply, they wrote poems to her telling her of the hopeless love which kept them from sleep, from food, from rest, and even from their homes. Still Princes Moonlight gave no sign of having received their verses. In this hopeless state the winter passed. The snow and frost and the cold winds gradually gave place to the gentle warmth of spring. Then the summer came, and the sun burned white and scorching in the heavens above and on the earth beneath, and still these faithful Knights kept watch and waited. At the end of these long months they called out to the old bamboo-cutter and entreated him to have some mercy upon them and to show them the Princess, but he answered only that as he was not her real father he could not insist on her obeying him against her wishes. The five Knights on receiving this stern answer returned to their several homes, and pondered over the best means of touching the proud Princess's heart, even so much as to grant them a hearing. They took their rosaries in hand and knelt before their household shrines, and burned precious incense, praying to Buddha to give them their heart's desire. Thus several days passed, but even so they could not rest in their homes. So again they set out for the bamboo-cutter's house. This time the old man came out to see them, and they asked him to let them know if it was the Princess's resolution never to see any man whatsoever, and they implored him to speak for them and to tell her the greatness of their love, and how long they had waited through the cold of winter and the heat of summer, sleepless and roofless through all weathers, without food and without rest, in the ardent hope of winning her, and they were willing to consider this long vigil as pleasure if she would but give them one chance of pleading their cause with her. The old man lent a willing ear to their tale of love, for in his inmost heart he felt sorry for these faithful suitors and would have liked to see his lovely foster-daughter married to one of them. So he went in to Princess Moonlight and said reverently: "Although you have always seemed to me to be a heavenly being, yet I have had the trouble of bringing you up as my own child and you have been glad of the protection of my roof. Will you refuse to do as I wish?" Then Princess Moonlight replied that there was nothing she would not do for him, that she honored and loved him as her own father, and that as for herself she could not remember the time before she came to earth. The old man listened with great joy as she spoke these dutiful words. Then he told her how anxious he was to see her safely and happily married before he died. "I am an old man, over seventy years of age, and my end may come any time now. It is necessary and right that you should see these five suitors and choose one of them." "Oh, why," said the Princess in distress, "must I do this? I have no wish to marry now." "I found you," answered the old man, "many years ago, when you were a little creature three inches high, in the midst of a great white light. The light streamed from the bamboo in which you were hid and led me to you. So I have always thought that you were more than mortal woman. While I am alive it is right for you to remain as you are if you wish to do so, but some day I shall cease to be and who will take care of you then? Therefore I pray you to meet these five brave men one at a time and make up your mind to marry one of them!" Then the Princess answered that she felt sure that she was not as beautiful as perhaps report made her out to be, and that even if she consented to marry any one of them, not really knowing her before, his heart might change afterwards. So as she did not feel sure of them, even though her father told her they were worthy Knights, she did not feel it wise to see them. "All you say is very reasonable," said the old man, "but what kind of men will you consent to see? I do not call these five men who have waited on you for months, light-hearted. They have stood outside this house through the winter and the summer, often denying themselves food and sleep so that they may win you. What more can you demand?" Then Princess Moonlight said she must make further trial of their love before she would grant their request to interview her. The five warriors were to prove their love by each bringing her from distant countries something that she desired to possess. That same evening the suitors arrived and began to play their flutes in turn, and to sing their self-composed songs telling of their great and tireless love. The bamboo-cutter went out to them and offered them his sympathy for all they had endured and all the patience they had shown in their desire to win his foster-daughter. Then he gave them her message, that she would consent to marry whosoever was successful in bringing her what she wanted. This was to test them. The five all accepted the trial, and thought it an excellent plan, for it would prevent jealousy between them. Princess Moonlight then sent word to the First Knight that she requested him to bring her the stone bowl which had belonged to Buddha in India. The Second Knight was asked to go to the Mountain of Horai, said to be situated in the Eastern Sea, and to bring her a branch of the wonderful tree that grew on its summit. The roots of this tree were of silver, the trunk of gold, and the branches bore as fruit white jewels. The Third Knight was told to go to China and search for the fire-rat and to bring her its skin. The Fourth Knight was told to search for the dragon that carried on its head the stone radiating five colors and to bring the stone to her. The Fifth Knight was to find the swallow which carried a shell in its stomach and to bring the shell to her. The old man thought these very hard tasks and hesitated to carry the messages, but the Princess would make no other conditions. So her commands were issued word for word to the five men who, when they heard what was required of them, were all disheartened and disgusted at what seemed to them the impossibility of the tasks given them and returned to their own homes in despair. But after a time, when they thought of the Princess, the love in their hearts revived for her, and they resolved to make an attempt to get what she desired of them. The First Knight sent word to the Princess that he was starting out that day on the quest of Buddha's bowl, and he hoped soon to bring it to her. But he had not the courage to go all the way to India, for in those days traveling was very difficult and full of danger, so he went to one of the temples in Kyoto and took a stone bowl from the altar there, paying the priest a large sum of money for it. He then wrapped it in a cloth of gold and, waiting quietly for three years, returned and carried it to the old man. Princess Moonlight wondered that the Knight should have returned so soon. She took the bowl from its gold wrapping, expecting it to make the room full of light, but it did not shine at all, so she knew that it was a sham thing and not the true bowl of Buddha. She returned it at once and refused to see him. The Knight threw the bowl away and returned to his home in despair. He gave up now all hopes of ever winning the Princess. The Second Knight told his parents that he needed change of air for his health, for he was ashamed to tell them that love for the Princess Moonlight was the real cause of his leaving them. He then left his home, at the same time sending word to the Princess that he was setting out for Mount Horai in the hope of getting her a branch of the gold and silver tree which she so much wished to have. He only allowed his servants to accompany him half-way, and then sent them back. He reached the seashore and embarked on a small ship, and after sailing away for three days he landed and employed several carpenters to build him a house contrived in such a way that no one could get access to it. He then shut himself up with six skilled jewelers, and endeavored to make such a gold and silver branch as he thought would satisfy the Princess as having come from the wonderful tree growing on Mount Horai. Every one whom he had asked declared that Mount Horai belonged to the land of fable and not to fact. When the branch was finished, he took his journey home and tried to make himself look as if he were wearied and worn out with travel. He put the jeweled branch into a lacquer box and carried it to the bamboo-cutter, begging him to present it to the Princess. The old man was quite deceived by the travel-stained appearance of the Knight, and thought that he had only just returned from his long journey with the branch. So he tried to persuade the Princess to consent to see the man. But she remained silent and looked very sad. The old man began to take out the branch and praised it as a wonderful treasure to be found nowhere in the whole land. Then he spoke of the Knight, how handsome and how brave he was to have undertaken a journey to so remote a place as the Mount of Horai. Princess Moonlight took the branch in her hand and looked at it carefully. She then told her foster-parent that she knew it was impossible for the man to have obtained a branch from the gold and silver tree growing on Mount Horai so quickly or so easily, and she was sorry to say she believed it artificial. The old man then went out to the expectant Knight, who had now approached the house, and asked where he had found the branch. Then the man did not scruple to make up a long story. "Two years ago I took a ship and started in search of Mount Horai. After going before the wind for some time I reached the far Eastern Sea. Then a great storm arose and I was tossed about for many days, losing all count of the points of the compass, and finally we were blown ashore on an unknown island. Here I found the place inhabited by demons who at one time threatened to kill and eat me. However, I managed to make friends with these horrible creatures, and they helped me and my sailors to repair the boat, and I set sail again. Our food gave out, and we suffered much from sickness on board. At last, on the five-hundredth day from the day of starting, I saw far off on the horizon what looked like the peak of a mountain. On nearer approach, this proved to be an island, in the center of which rose a high mountain. I landed, and after wandering about for two or three days, I saw a shining being coming towards me on the beach, holding in his hands a golden bowl. I went up to him and asked him if I had, by good chance, found the island of Mount Horai, and he answered:" "'Yes, this is Mount Horai!'" "With much difficulty I climbed to the summit, here stood the golden tree growing with silver roots in the ground. The wonders of that strange land are many, and if I began to tell you about them I could never stop. In spite of my wish to stay there long, on breaking off the branch I hurried back. With utmost speed it has taken me four hundred days to get back, and, as you see, my clothes are still damp from exposure on the long sea voyage. I have not even waited to change my raiment, so anxious was I to bring the branch to the Princess quickly." Just at this moment the six jewelers, who had been employed on the making of the branch, but not yet paid by the Knight, arrived at the house and sent in a petition to the Princess to be paid for their labor. They said that they had worked for over a thousand days making the branch of gold, with its silver twigs and its jeweled fruit, that was now presented to her by the Knight, but as yet they had received nothing in payment. So this Knight's deception was thus found out, and the Princess, glad of an escape from one more importunate suitor, was only too pleased to send back the branch. She called in the workmen and had them paid liberally, and they went away happy. But on the way home they were overtaken by the disappointed man, who beat them till they were nearly dead, for letting out the secret, and they barely escaped with their lives. The Knight then returned home, raging in his heart; and in despair of ever winning the Princess gave up society and retired to a solitary life among the mountains. Now the Third Knight had a friend in China, so he wrote to him to get the skin of the fire-rat. The virtue of any part of this animal was that no fire could harm it. He promised his friend any amount of money he liked to ask if only he could get him the desired article. As soon as the news came that the ship on which his friend had sailed home had come into port, he rode seven days on horseback to meet him. He handed his friend a large sum of money, and received the fire-rat's skin. When he reached home he put it carefully in a box and sent it in to the Princess while he waited outside for her answer. The bamboo-cutter took the box from the Knight and, as usual, carried it in to her and tried to coax her to see the Knight at once, but Princess Moonlight refused, saying that she must first put the skin to test by putting it into the fire. If it were the real thing it would not burn. So she took off the crape wrapper and opened the box, and then threw the skin into the fire. The skin crackled and burnt up at once, and the Princess knew that this man also had not fulfilled his word. So the Third Knight failed also. Now the Fourth Knight was no more enterprising than the rest. Instead of starting out on the quest of the dragon bearing on its head the five-color-radiating jewel, he called all his servants together and gave them the order to seek for it far and wide in Japan and in China, and he strictly forbade any of them to return till they had found it. His numerous retainers and servants started out in different directions, with no intention, however, of obeying what they considered an impossible order. They simply took a holiday, went to pleasant country places together, and grumbled at their master's unreasonableness. The Knight meanwhile, thinking that his retainers could not fail to find the jewel, repaired to his house, and fitted it up beautifully for the reception of the Princess, he felt so sure of winning her. One year passed away in weary waiting, and still his men did not return with the dragon-jewel. The Knight became desperate. He could wait no longer, so taking with him only two men he hired a ship and commanded the captain to go in search of the dragon; the captain and the sailors refused to undertake what they said was an absurd search, but the Knight compelled them at last to put out to sea. When they had been but a few days out they encountered a great storm which lasted so long that, by the time its fury abated, the Knight had determined to give up the hunt of the dragon. They were at last blown on shore, for navigation was primitive in those days. Worn out with his travels and anxiety, the fourth suitor gave himself up to rest. He had caught a very heavy cold, and had to go to bed with a swollen face. The governor of the place, hearing of his plight, sent messengers with a letter inviting him to his house. While he was there thinking over all his troubles, his love for the Princess turned to anger, and he blamed her for all the hardships he had undergone. He thought that it was quite probable she had wished to kill him so that she might be rid of him, and in order to carry out her wish had sent him upon his impossible quest. At this point all the servants he had sent out to find the jewel came to see him, and were surprised to find praise instead of displeasure awaiting them. Their master told them that he was heartily sick of adventure, and said that he never intended to go near the Princess's house again in the future. Like all the rest, the Fifth Knight failed in his quest--he could not find the swallow's shell. By this time the fame of Princess Moonlight's beauty had reached the ears of the Emperor, and he sent one of the Court ladies to see if she were really as lovely as report said; if so he would summon her to the Palace and make her one of the ladies-in-waiting. When the Court lady arrived, in spite of her father's entreaties, Princess Moonlight refused to see her. The Imperial messenger insisted, saying it was the Emperor's order. Then Princess Moonlight told the old man that if she was forced to go to the Palace in obedience to the Emperor's order, she would vanish from the earth. When the Emperor was told of her persistence in refusing to obey his summons, and that if pressed to obey she would disappear altogether from sight, he determined to go and see her. So he planned to go on a hunting excursion in the neighborhood of the bamboo-cutter's house, and see the Princess himself. He sent word to the old man of his intention, and he received consent to the scheme. The next day the Emperor set out with his retinue, which he soon managed to outride. He found the bamboo-cutter's house and dismounted. He then entered the house and went straight to where the Princess was sitting with her attendant maidens. Never had he seen any one so wonderfully beautiful, and he could not but look at her, for she was more lovely than any human being as she shone in her own soft radiance. When Princess Moonlight became aware that a stranger was looking at her she tried to escape from the room, but the Emperor caught her and begged her to listen to what he had to say. Her only answer was to hide her face in her sleeves. The Emperor fell deeply in love with her, and begged her to come to the Court, where he would give her a position of honor and everything she could wish for. He was about to send for one of the Imperial palanquins to take her back with him at once, saying that her grace and beauty should adorn a Court, and not be hidden in a bamboo-cutter's cottage. But the Princess stopped him. She said that if she were forced to go to the Palace she would turn at once into a shadow, and even as she spoke she began to lose her form. Her figure faded from his sight while he looked. The Emperor then promised to leave her free if only she would resume her former shape, which she did. It was now time for him to return, for his retinue would be wondering what had happened to their Royal master when they missed him for so long. So he bade her good-by, and left the house with a sad heart. Princess Moonlight was for him the most beautiful woman in the world; all others were dark beside her, and he thought of her night and day. His Majesty now spent much of his time in writing poems, telling her of his love and devotion, and sent them to her, and though she refused to see him again she answered with many verses of her own composing, which told him gently and kindly that she could never marry any one on this earth. These little songs always gave him pleasure. At this time her foster-parents noticed that night after night the Princess would sit on her balcony and gaze for hours at the moon, in a spirit of the deepest dejection, ending always in a burst of tears. One night the old man found her thus weeping as if her heart were broken, and he besought her to tell him the reason of her sorrow. With many tears she told him that he had guessed rightly when he supposed her not to belong to this world--that she had in truth come from the moon, and that her time on earth would soon be over. On the fifteenth day of that very month of August her friends from the moon would come to fetch her, and she would have to return. Her parents were both there, but having spent a lifetime on the earth she had forgotten them, and also the moon-world to which she belonged. It made her weep, she said, to think of leaving her kind foster-parents, and the home where she had been happy for so long. When her attendants heard this they were very sad, and could not eat or drink for sadness at the thought that the Princess was so soon to leave them. The Emperor, as soon as the news was carried to him, sent messengers to the house to find out if the report were true or not. The old bamboo-cutter went out to meet the Imperial messengers. The last few days of sorrow had told upon the old man; he had aged greatly, and looked much more than his seventy years. Weeping bitterly, he told them that the report was only too true, but he intended, however, to make prisoners of the envoys from the moon, and to do all he could to prevent the Princess from being carried back. The men returned and told His Majesty all that had passed. On the fifteenth day of that month the Emperor sent a guard of two thousand warriors to watch the house. One thousand stationed themselves on the roof, another thousand kept watch round all the entrances of the house. All were well trained archers, with bows and arrows. The bamboo-cutter and his wife hid Princess Moonlight in an inner room. The old man gave orders that no one was to sleep that night, all in the house were to keep a strict watch, and be ready to protect the Princess. With these precautions, and the help of the Emperor's men-at-arms, he hoped to withstand the moon-messengers, but the Princess told him that all these measures to keep her would be useless, and that when her people came for her nothing whatever could prevent them from carrying out their purpose. Even the Emperors men would be powerless. Then she added with tears that she was very, very sorry to leave him and his wife, whom she had learned to love as her parents, that if she could do as she liked she would stay with them in their old age, and try to make some return for all the love and kindness they had showered upon her during all her earthly life. The night wore on! The yellow harvest moon rose high in the heavens, flooding the world asleep with her golden light. Silence reigned over the pine and the bamboo forests, and on the roof where the thousand men-at-arms waited. Then the night grew gray towards the dawn and all hoped that the danger was over--that Princess Moonlight would not have to leave them after all. Then suddenly the watchers saw a cloud form round the moon--and while they looked this cloud began to roll earthwards. Nearer and nearer it came, and every one saw with dismay that its course lay towards the house. In a short time the sky was entirely obscured, till at last the cloud lay over the dwelling only ten feet off the ground. In the midst of the cloud there stood a flying chariot, and in the chariot a band of luminous beings. One amongst them who looked like a king and appeared to be the chief stepped out of the chariot, and, poised in air, called to the old man to come out. "The time has come," he said, "for Princess Moonlight to return to the moon from whence she came. She committed a grave fault, and as a punishment was sent to live down here for a time. We know what good care you have taken of the Princess, and we have rewarded you for this and have sent you wealth and prosperity. We put the gold in the bamboos for you to find." "I have brought up this Princess for twenty years and never once has she done a wrong thing, therefore the lady you are seeking cannot be this one," said the old man. "I pray you to look elsewhere." Then the messenger called aloud, saying: "Princess Moonlight, come out from this lowly dwelling. Rest not here another moment." At these words the screens of the Princess's room slid open of their own accord, revealing the Princess shining in her own radiance, bright and wonderful and full of beauty. The messenger led her forth and placed her in the chariot. She looked back, and saw with pity the deep sorrow of the old man. She spoke to him many comforting words, and told him that it was not her will to leave him and that he must always think of her when looking at the moon. The bamboo-cutter implored to be allowed to accompany her, but this was not allowed. The Princess took off her embroidered outer garment and gave it to him as a keepsake. One of the moon beings in the chariot held a wonderful coat of wings, another had a phial full of the Elixir of Life which was given the Princess to drink. She swallowed a little and was about to give the rest to the old man, but she was prevented from doing so. The robe of wings was about to be put upon her shoulders, but she said: "Wait a little. I must not forget my good friend the Emperor. I must write him once more to say good-by while still in this human form." In spite of the impatience of the messengers and charioteers she kept them waiting while she wrote. She placed the phial of the Elixir of Life with the letter, and, giving them to the old man, she asked him to deliver them to the Emperor. Then the chariot began to roll heavenwards towards the moon, and as they all gazed with tearful eyes at the receding Princess, the dawn broke, and in the rosy light of day the moon-chariot and all in it were lost amongst the fleecy clouds that were now wafted across the sky on the wings of the morning wind. Princess Moonlight's letter was carried to the Palace. His Majesty was afraid to touch the Elixir of Life, so he sent it with the letter to the top of the most sacred mountain in the land. Mount Fuji, and there the Royal emissaries burnt it on the summit at sunrise. So to this day people say there is smoke to be seen rising from the top of Mount Fuji to the clouds. THE MIRROR OF MATSUYAMA A STORY OF OLD JAPAN. Long years ago in old Japan there lived in the Province of Echigo, a very remote part of Japan even in these days, a man and his wife. When this story begins they had been married for some years and were blessed with one little daughter. She was the joy and pride of both their lives, and in her they stored an endless source of happiness for their old age. What golden letter days in their memory were these that had marked her growing up from babyhood; the visit to the temple when she was just thirty days old, her proud mother carrying her, robed in ceremonial kimono, to be put under the patronage of the family's household god; then her first dolls festival, when her parents gave her a set of dolls and their miniature belongings, to be added to as year succeeded year; and perhaps the most important occasion of all, on her third birthday, when her first OBI (broad brocade sash) of scarlet and gold was tied round her small waist, a sign that she had crossed the threshold of girlhood and left infancy behind. Now that she was seven years of age, and had learned to talk and to wait upon her parents in those several little ways so dear to the hearts of fond parents, their cup of happiness seemed full. There could not be found in the whole of the Island Empire a happier little family. One day there was much excitement in the home, for the father had been suddenly summoned to the capital on business. In these days of railways and jinrickshas and other rapid modes of traveling, it is difficult to realize what such a journey as that from Matsuyama to Kyoto meant. The roads were rough and bad, and ordinary people had to walk every step of the way, whether the distance were one hundred or several hundred miles. Indeed, in those days it was as great an undertaking to go up to the capital as it is for a Japanese to make a voyage to Europe now. So the wife was very anxious while she helped her husband get ready for the long journey, knowing what an arduous task lay before him. Vainly she wished that she could accompany him, but the distance was too great for the mother and child to go, and besides that, it was the wife's duty to take care of the home. All was ready at last, and the husband stood in the porch with his little family round him. "Do not be anxious, I will come back soon," said the man. "While I am away take care of everything, and especially of our little daughter." "Yes, we shall be all right--but you--you must take care of yourself and delay not a day in coming back to us," said the wife, while the tears fell like rain from her eyes. The little girl was the only one to smile, for she was ignorant of the sorrow of parting, and did not know that going to the capital was at all different from walking to the next village, which her father did very often. She ran to his side, and caught hold of his long sleeve to keep him a moment. "Father, I will be very good while I am waiting for you to come back, so please bring me a present." As the father turned to take a last look at his weeping wife and smiling, eager child, he felt as if some one were pulling him back by the hair, so hard was it for him to leave them behind, for they had never been separated before. But he knew that he must go, for the call was imperative. With a great effort he ceased to think, and resolutely turning away he went quickly down the little garden and out through the gate. His wife, catching up the child in her arms, ran as far as the gate, and watched him as he went down the road between the pines till he was lost in the haze of the distance and all she could see was his quaint peaked hat, and at last that vanished too. "Now father has gone, you and I must take care of everything till he comes back," said the mother, as she made her way back to the house. "Yes, I will be very good," said the child, nodding her head, "and when father comes home please tell him how good I have been, and then perhaps he will give me a present." "Father is sure to bring you something that you want very much. I know, for I asked him to bring you a doll. You must think of father every day, and pray for a safe journey till he comes back." "O, yes, when he comes home again how happy I shall be," said the child, clapping her hands, and her face growing bright with joy at the glad thought. It seemed to the mother as she looked at the child's face that her love for her grew deeper and deeper. Then she set to work to make the winter clothes for the three of them. She set up her simple wooden spinning-wheel and spun the thread before she began to weave the stuffs. In the intervals of her work she directed the little girl's games and taught her to read the old stories of her country. Thus did the wife find consolation in work during the lonely days of her husband's absence. While the time was thus slipping quickly by in the quiet home, the husband finished his business and returned. It would have been difficult for any one who did not know the man well to recognize him. He had traveled day after day, exposed to all weathers, for about a month altogether, and was sunburnt to bronze, but his fond wife and child knew him at a glance, and flew to meet him from either side, each catching hold of one of his sleeves in their eager greeting. Both the man and his wife rejoiced to find each other well. It seemed a very long time to all till--the mother and child helping--his straw sandals were untied, his large umbrella hat taken off, and he was again in their midst in the old familiar sitting-room that had been so empty while he was away. As soon as they had sat down on the white mats, the father opened a bamboo basket that he had brought in with him, and took out a beautiful doll and a lacquer box full of cakes. "Here," he said to the little girl, "is a present for you. It is a prize for taking care of mother and the house so well while I was away." "Thank you," said the child, as she bowed her head to the ground, and then put out her hand just like a little maple leaf with its eager wide-spread fingers to take the doll and the box, both of which, coming from the capital, were prettier than anything she had ever seen. No words can tell how delighted the little girl was--her face seemed as if it would melt with joy, and she had no eyes and no thought for anything else. Again the husband dived into the basket, and brought out this time a square wooden box, carefully tied up with red and white string, and handing it to his wife, said: "And this is for you." The wife took the box, and opening it carefully took out a metal disk with a handle attached. One side was bright and shining like a crystal, and the other was covered with raised figures of pine-trees and storks, which had been carved out of its smooth surface in lifelike reality. Never had she seen such a thing in her life, for she had been born and bred in the rural province of Echigo. She gazed into the shining disk, and looking up with surprise and wonder pictured on her face, she said: "I see somebody looking at me in this round thing! What is it that you have given me?" The husband laughed and said: "Why, it is your own face that you see. What I have brought you is called a mirror, and whoever looks into its clear surface can see their own form reflected there. Although there are none to be found in this out of the way place, yet they have been in use in the capital from the most ancient times. There the mirror is considered a very necessary requisite for a woman to possess. There is an old proverb that 'As the sword is the soul of a samurai, so is the mirror the soul of a woman,' and according to popular tradition, a woman's mirror is an index to her own heart--if she keeps it bright and clear, so is her heart pure and good. It is also one of the treasures that form the insignia of the Emperor. So you must lay great store by your mirror, and use it carefully." The wife listened to all her husband told her, and was pleased at learning so much that was new to her. She was still more pleased at the precious gift--his token of remembrance while he had been away. "If the mirror represents my soul, I shall certainly treasure it as a valuable possession, and never will I use it carelessly." Saying so, she lifted it as high as her forehead, in grateful acknowledgment of the gift, and then shut it up in its box and put it away. The wife saw that her husband was very tired, and set about serving the evening meal and making everything as comfortable as she could for him. It seemed to the little family as if they had not known what true happiness was before, so glad were they to be together again, and this evening the father had much to tell of his journey and of all he had seen at the great capital. Time passed away in the peaceful home, and the parents saw their fondest hopes realized as their daughter grew from childhood into a beautiful girl of sixteen. As a gem of priceless value is held in its proud owner's hand, so had they reared her with unceasing love and care: and now their pains were more than doubly rewarded. What a comfort she was to her mother as she went about the house taking her part in the housekeeping, and how proud her father was of her, for she daily reminded him of her mother when he had first married her. But, alas! in this world nothing lasts forever. Even the moon is not always perfect in shape, but loses its roundness with time, and flowers bloom and then fade. So at last the happiness of this family was broken up by a great sorrow. The good and gentle wife and mother was one day taken ill. In the first days of her illness the father and daughter thought that it was only a cold, and were not particularly anxious. But the days went by and still the mother did not get better; she only grew worse, and the doctor was puzzled, for in spite of all he did the poor woman grew weaker day by day. The father and daughter were stricken with grief, and day or night the girl never left her mother's side. But in spite of all their efforts the woman's life was not to be saved. One day as the girl sat near her mother's bed, trying to hide with a cheery smile the gnawing trouble at her heart, the mother roused herself and taking her daughter's hand, gazed earnestly and lovingly into her eyes. Her breath was labored and she spoke with difficulty: "My daughter. I am sure that nothing can save me now. When I am dead, promise me to take care of your dear father and to try to be a good and dutiful woman." "Oh, mother," said the girl as the tears rushed to her eyes, "you must not say such things. All you have to do is to make haste and get well--that will bring the greatest happiness to father and myself." "Yes, I know, and it is a comfort to me in my last days to know how greatly you long for me to get better, but it is not to be. Do not look so sorrowful, for it was so ordained in my previous state of existence that I should die in this life just at this time; knowing this, I am quite resigned to my fate. And now I have something to give you whereby to remember me when I am gone." Putting her hand out, she took from the side of the pillow a square wooden box tied up with a silken cord and tassels. Undoing this very carefully, she took out of the box the mirror that her husband had given her years ago. "When you were still a little child your father went up to the capital and brought me back as a present this treasure; it is called a mirror. This I give you before I die. If, after I have ceased to be in this life, you are lonely and long to see me sometimes, then take out this mirror and in the clear and shining surface you will always see me--so will you be able to meet with me often and tell me all your heart; and though I shall not be able to speak, I shall understand and sympathize with you, whatever may happen to you in the future." With these words the dying woman handed the mirror to her daughter. The mind of the good mother seemed to be now at rest, and sinking back without another word her spirit passed quietly away that day. The bereaved father and daughter were wild with grief, and they abandoned themselves to their bitter sorrow. They felt it to be impossible to take leave of the loved woman who till now had filled their whole lives and to commit her body to the earth. But this frantic burst of grief passed, and then they took possession of their own hearts again, crushed though they were in resignation. In spite of this the daughter's life seemed to her desolate. Her love for her dead mother did not grow less with time, and so keen was her remembrance, that everything in daily life, even the falling of the rain and the blowing of the wind, reminded her of her mother's death and of all that they had loved and shared together. One day when her father was out, and she was fulfilling her household duties alone, her loneliness and sorrow seemed more than she could bear. She threw herself down in her mother's room and wept as if her heart would break. Poor child, she longed just for one glimpse of the loved face, one sound of the voice calling her pet name, or for one moment's forgetfulness of the aching void in her heart. Suddenly she sat up. Her mother's last words had rung through her memory hitherto dulled by grief. "Oh! my mother told me when she gave me the mirror as a parting gift, that whenever I looked into it I should be able to meet her--to see her. I had nearly forgotten her last words--how stupid I am; I will get the mirror now and see if it can possibly be true!" She dried her eyes quickly, and going to the cupboard took out the box that contained the mirror, her heart beating with expectation as she lifted the mirror out and gazed into its smooth face. Behold, her mother's words were true! In the round mirror before her she saw her mother's face; but, oh, the joyful surprise! It was not her mother thin and wasted by illness, but the young and beautiful woman as she remembered her far back in the days of her own earliest childhood. It seemed to the girl that the face in the mirror must soon speak, almost that she heard the voice of her mother telling her again to grow up a good woman and a dutiful daughter, so earnestly did the eyes in the mirror look back into her own. "It is certainly my mother's soul that I see. She knows how miserable I am without her and she has come to comfort me. Whenever I long to see her she will meet me here; how grateful I ought to be!" And from this time the weight of sorrow was greatly lightened for her young heart. Every morning, to gather strength for the day's duties before her, and every evening, for consolation before she lay down to rest, did the young girl take out the mirror and gaze at the reflection which in the simplicity of her innocent heart she believed to be her mother's soul. Daily she grew in the likeness of her dead mother's character, and was gentle and kind to all, and a dutiful daughter to her father. A year spent in mourning had thus passed away in the little household, when, by the advice of his relations, the man married again, and the daughter now found herself under the authority of a step-mother. It was a trying position; but her days spent in the recollection of her own beloved mother, and of trying to be what that mother would wish her to be, had made the young girl docile and patient, and she now determined to be filial and dutiful to her father's wife, in all respects. Everything went on apparently smoothly in the family for some time under the new regime; there were no winds or waves of discord to ruffle the surface of every-day life, and the father was content. But it is a woman's danger to be petty and mean, and step-mothers are proverbial all the world over, and this one's heart was not as her first smiles were. As the days and weeks grew into months, the step-mother began to treat the motherless girl unkindly and to try and come between the father and child. Sometimes she went to her husband and complained of her step-daughter's behavior, but the father knowing that this was to be expected, took no notice of her ill-natured complaints. Instead of lessening his affection for his daughter, as the woman desired, her grumblings only made him think of her the more. The woman soon saw that he began to show more concern for his lonely child than before. This did not please her at all, and she began to turn over in her mind how she could, by some means or other, drive her step-child out of the house. So crooked did the woman's heart become. She watched the girl carefully, and one day peeping into her room in the early morning, she thought she discovered a grave enough sin of which to accuse the child to her father. The woman herself was a little frightened too at what she had seen. So she went at once to her husband, and wiping away some false tears she said in a sad voice: "Please give me permission to leave you today." The man was completely taken by surprise at the suddenness of her request, and wondered whatever was the matter. "Do you find it so disagreeable," he asked, "in my house, that you can stay no longer?" "No! no! it has nothing to do with you--even in my dreams I have never thought that I wished to leave your side; but if I go on living here I am in danger of losing my life, so I think it best for all concerned that you should allow me to go home!" And the woman began to weep afresh. Her husband, distressed to see her so unhappy, and thinking that he could not have heard aright, said: "Tell me what you mean! How is your life in danger here?" "I will tell you since you ask me. Your daughter dislikes me as her step-mother. For some time past she has shut herself up in her room morning and evening, and looking in as I pass by, I am convinced that she has made an image of me and is trying to kill me by magic art, cursing me daily. It is not safe for me to stay here, such being the case; indeed, indeed, I must go away, we cannot live under the same roof any more." The husband listened to the dreadful tale, but he could not believe his gentle daughter guilty of such an evil act. He knew that by popular superstition people believed that one person could cause the gradual death of another by making an image of the hated one and cursing it daily; but where had his young daughter learned such knowledge?--the thing was impossible. Yet he remembered having noticed that his daughter stayed much in her room of late and kept herself away from every one, even when visitors came to the house. Putting this fact together with his wife's alarm, he thought that there might be something to account for the strange story. His heart was torn between doubting his wife and trusting his child, and he knew not what to do. He decided to go at once to his daughter and try to find out the truth. Comforting his wife and assuring her that her fears were groundless, he glided quietly to his daughter's room. The girl had for a long time past been very unhappy. She had tried by amiability and obedience to show her goodwill and to mollify the new wife, and to break down that wall of prejudice and misunderstanding that she knew generally stood between step-parents and their step-children. But she soon found that her efforts were in vain. The step-mother never trusted her, and seemed to misinterpret all her actions, and the poor child knew very well that she often carried unkind and untrue tales to her father. She could not help comparing her present unhappy condition with the time when her own mother was alive only a little more than a year ago--so great a change in this short time! Morning and evening she wept over the remembrance. Whenever she could she went to her room, and sliding the screens to, took out the mirror and gazed, as she thought, at her mother's face. It was the only comfort that she had in these wretched days. Her father found her occupied in this way. Pushing aside the fusama, he saw her bending over something or other very intently. Looking over her shoulder, to see who was entering her room, the girl was surprised to see her father, for he generally sent for her when he wished to speak to her. She was also confused at being found looking at the mirror, for she had never told any one of her mother's last promise, but had kept it as the sacred secret of her heart. So before turning to her father she slipped the mirror into her long sleeve. Her father noting her confusion, and her act of hiding something, said in a severe manner: "Daughter, what are you doing here? And what is that that you have hidden in your sleeve?" The girl was frightened by her father's severity. Never had he spoken to her in such a tone. Her confusion changed to apprehension, her color from scarlet to white. She sat dumb and shamefaced, unable to reply. Appearances were certainly against her; the young girl looked guilty, and the father thinking that perhaps after all what his wife had told him was true, spoke angrily: "Then, is it really true that you are daily cursing your step-mother and praying for her death? Have you forgotten what I told you, that although she is your step-mother you must be obedient and loyal to her? What evil spirit has taken possession of your heart that you should be so wicked? You have certainly changed, my daughter! What has made you so disobedient and unfaithful?" And the father's eyes filled with sudden tears to think that he should have to upbraid his daughter in this way. She on her part did not know what he meant, for she had never heard of the superstition that by praying over an image it is possible to cause the death of a hated person. But she saw that she must speak and clear herself somehow. She loved her father dearly, and could not bear the idea of his anger. She put out her hand on his knee deprecatingly: "Father! father! do not say such dreadful things to me. I am still your obedient child. Indeed, I am. However stupid I may be, I should never be able to curse any one who belonged to you, much less pray for the death of one you love. Surely some one has been telling you lies, and you are dazed, and you know not what you say--or some evil spirit has taken possession of YOUR heart. As for me I do not know--no, not so much as a dew-drop, of the evil thing of which you accuse me." But the father remembered that she had hidden something away when he first entered the room, and even this earnest protest did not satisfy him. He wished to clear up his doubts once for all. "Then why are you always alone in your room these days? And tell me what is that that you have hidden in your sleeve--show it to me at once." Then the daughter, though shy of confessing how she had cherished her mother's memory, saw that she must tell her father all in order to clear herself. So she slipped the mirror out from her long sleeve and laid it before him. "This," she said, "is what you saw me looking at just now." "Why," he said in great surprise, "this is the mirror that I brought as a gift to your mother when I went up to the capital many years ago! And so you have kept it all this time? Now, why do you spend so much of your time before this mirror?" Then she told him of her mother's last words, and of how she had promised to meet her child whenever she looked into the glass. But still the father could not understand the simplicity of his daughter's character in not knowing that what she saw reflected in the mirror was in reality her own face, and not that of her mother. "What do you mean?" he asked. "I do not understand how you can meet the soul of your lost mother by looking in this mirror?" "It is indeed true," said the girl: "and if you don't believe what I say, look for yourself," and she placed the mirror before her. There, looking back from the smooth metal disk, was her own sweet face. She pointed to the reflection seriously: "Do you doubt me still?" she asked earnestly, looking up into his face. With an exclamation of sudden understanding the father smote his two hands together. "How stupid I am! At last I understand. Your face is as like your mother's as the two sides of a melon--thus you have looked at the reflection of your face all this time, thinking that you were brought face to face with your lost mother! You are truly a faithful child. It seems at first a stupid thing to have done, but it is not really so, It shows how deep has been your filial piety, and how innocent your heart. Living in constant remembrance of your lost mother has helped you to grow like her in character. How clever it was of her to tell you to do this. I admire and respect you, my daughter, and I am ashamed to think that for one instant I believed your suspicious step-mother's story and suspected you of evil, and came with the intention of scolding you severely, while all this time you have been so true and good. Before you I have no countenance left, and I beg you to forgive me." And here the father wept. He thought of how lonely the poor girl must have been, and of all that she must have suffered under her step-mother's treatment. His daughter steadfastly keeping her faith and simplicity in the midst of such adverse circumstances--bearing all her troubles with so much patience and amiability--made him compare her to the lotus which rears its blossom of dazzling beauty out of the slime and mud of the moats and ponds, fitting emblem of a heart which keeps itself unsullied while passing through the world. The step-mother, anxious to know what would happen, had all this while been standing outside the room. She had grown interested, and had gradually pushed the sliding screen back till she could see all that went on. At this moment she suddenly entered the room, and dropping to the mats, she bowed her head over her outspread hands before her step-daughter. "I am ashamed! I am ashamed!" she exclaimed in broken tones. "I did not know what a filial child you were. Through no fault of yours, but with a step-mother's jealous heart, I have disliked you all the time. Hating you so much myself, it was but natural that I should think you reciprocated the feeling, and thus when I saw you retire so often to your room I followed you, and when I saw you gaze daily into the mirror for long intervals, I concluded that you had found out how I disliked you, and that you were out of revenge trying to take my life by magic art. As long as I live I shall never forget the wrong I have done you in so misjudging you, and in causing your father to suspect you. From this day I throw away my old and wicked heart, and in its place I put a new one, clean and full of repentance. I shall think of you as a child that I have borne myself. I shall love and cherish you with all my heart, and thus try to make up for all the unhappiness I have caused you. Therefore, please throw into the water all that has gone before, and give me, I beg of you, some of the filial love that you have hitherto given to your own lost mother." Thus did the unkind step-mother humble herself and ask forgiveness of the girl she had so wronged. Such was the sweetness of the girl's disposition that she willingly forgave her step-mother, and never bore a moment's resentment or malice towards her afterwards. The father saw by his wife's face that she was truly sorry for the past, and was greatly relieved to see the terrible misunderstanding wiped out of remembrance by both the wrong-doer and the wronged. From this time on, the three lived together as happily as fish in water. No such trouble ever darkened the home again, and the young girl gradually forgot that year of unhappiness in the tender love and care that her step-mother now bestowed on her. Her patience and goodness were rewarded at last. THE GOBLIN OF ADACHIGAHARA. Long, long ago there was a large plain called Adachigahara, in the province of Mutsu in Japan. This place was said to be haunted by a cannibal goblin who took the form of an old woman. From time to time many travelers disappeared and were never heard of more, and the old women round the charcoal braziers in the evenings, and the girls washing the household rice at the wells in the mornings, whispered dreadful stories of how the missing folk had been lured to the goblin's cottage and devoured, for the goblin lived only on human flesh. No one dared to venture near the haunted spot after sunset, and all those who could, avoided it in the daytime, and travelers were warned of the dreaded place. One day as the sun was setting, a priest came to the plain. He was a belated traveler, and his robe showed that he was a Buddhist pilgrim walking from shrine to shrine to pray for some blessing or to crave for forgiveness of sins. He had apparently lost his way, and as it was late he met no one who could show him the road or warn him of the haunted spot. He had walked the whole day and was now tired and hungry, and the evenings were chilly, for it was late autumn, and he began to be very anxious to find some house where he could obtain a night's lodging. He found himself lost in the midst of the large plain, and looked about in vain for some sign of human habitation. At last, after wandering about for some hours, he saw a clump of trees in the distance, and through the trees he caught sight of the glimmer of a single ray of light. He exclaimed with joy: "Oh. surely that is some cottage where I can get a night's lodging!" Keeping the light before his eyes he dragged his weary, aching feet as quickly as he could towards the spot, and soon came to a miserable-looking little cottage. As he drew near he saw that it was in a tumble-down condition, the bamboo fence was broken and weeds and grass pushed their way through the gaps. The paper screens which serve as windows and doors in Japan were full of holes, and the posts of the house were bent with age and seemed scarcely able to support the old thatched roof. The hut was open, and by the light of an old lantern an old woman sat industriously spinning. The pilgrim called to her across the bamboo fence and said: "O Baa San (old woman), good evening! I am a traveler! Please excuse me, but I have lost my way and do not know what to do, for I have nowhere to rest to-night. I beg you to be good enough to let me spend the night under your roof." The old woman as soon as she heard herself spoken to stopped spinning, rose from her seat and approached the intruder. "I am very sorry for you. You must indeed be distressed to have lost your way in such a lonely spot so late at night. Unfortunately I cannot put you up, for I have no bed to offer you, and no accommodation whatsoever for a guest in this poor place!" "Oh, that does not matter," said the priest; "all I want is a shelter under some roof for the night, and if you will be good enough just to let me lie on the kitchen floor I shall be grateful. I am too tired to walk further to-night, so I hope you will not refuse me, otherwise I shall have to sleep out on the cold plain." And in this way he pressed the old woman to let him stay. She seemed very reluctant, but at last she said: "Very well, I will let you stay here. I can offer you a very poor welcome only, but come in now and I will make a fire, for the night is cold." The pilgrim was only too glad to do as he was told. He took off his sandals and entered the hut. The old woman then brought some sticks of wood and lit the fire, and bade her guest draw near and warm himself. "You must be hungry after your long tramp," said the old woman. "I will go and cook some supper for you." She then went to the kitchen to cook some rice. After the priest had finished his supper the old woman sat down by the fire-place, and they talked together for a long time. The pilgrim thought to himself that he had been very lucky to come across such a kind, hospitable old woman. At last the wood gave out, and as the fire died slowly down he began to shiver with cold just as he had done when he arrived. "I see you are cold," said the old woman; "I will go out and gather some wood, for we have used it all. You must stay and take care of the house while I am gone." "No, no," said the pilgrim, "let me go instead, for you are old, and I cannot think of letting you go out to get wood for me this cold night!" The old woman shook her head and said: "You must stay quietly here, for you are my guest." Then she left him and went out. In a minute she came back and said: "You must sit where you are and not move, and whatever happens don't go near or look into the inner room. Now mind what I tell you!" "If you tell me not to go near the back room, of course I won't," said the priest, rather bewildered. The old woman then went out again, and the priest was left alone. The fire had died out, and the only light in the hut was that of a dim lantern. For the first time that night he began to feel that he was in a weird place, and the old woman's words, "Whatever you do don't peep into the back room," aroused his curiosity and his fear. What hidden thing could be in that room that she did not wish him to see? For some time the remembrance of his promise to the old woman kept him still, but at last he could no longer resist his curiosity to peep into the forbidden place. He got up and began to move slowly towards the back room. Then the thought that the old woman would be very angry with him if he disobeyed her made him come back to his place by the fireside. As the minutes went slowly by and the old woman did not return, he began to feel more and more frightened, and to wonder what dreadful secret was in the room behind him. He must find out. "She will not know that I have looked unless I tell her. I will just have a peep before she comes back," said the man to himself. With these words he got up on his feet (for he had been sitting all this time in Japanese fashion with his feet under him) and stealthily crept towards the forbidden spot. With trembling hands he pushed back the sliding door and looked in. What he saw froze the blood in his veins. The room was full of dead men's bones and the walls were splashed and the floor was covered with human blood. In one corner skull upon skull rose to the ceiling, in another was a heap of arm bones, in another a heap of leg bones. The sickening smell made him faint. He fell backwards with horror, and for some time lay in a heap with fright on the floor, a pitiful sight. He trembled all over and his teeth chattered, and he could hardly crawl away from the dreadful spot. "How horrible!" he cried out. "What awful den have I come to in my travels? May Buddha help me or I am lost. Is it possible that that kind old woman is really the cannibal goblin? When she comes back she will show herself in her true character and eat me up at one mouthful!" With these words his strength came back to him and, snatching up his hat and staff, he rushed out of the house as fast as his legs could carry him. Out into the night he ran, his one thought to get as far as he could from the goblin's haunt. He had not gone far when he heard steps behind him and a voice crying: "Stop! stop!" He ran on, redoubling his speed, pretending not to hear. As he ran he heard the steps behind him come nearer and nearer, and at last he recognized the old woman's voice which grew louder and louder as she came nearer. "Stop! stop, you wicked man, why did you look into the forbidden room?" The priest quite forgot how tired he was and his feet flew over the ground faster than ever. Fear gave him strength, for he knew that if the goblin caught him he would soon be one of her victims. With all his heart he repeated the prayer to Buddha: "Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amida Butsu." And after him rushed the dreadful old hag, her hair flying in the wind, and her face changing with rage into the demon that she was. In her hand she carried a large blood-stained knife, and she still shrieked after him, "Stop! stop!" At last, when the priest felt he could run no more, the dawn broke, and with the darkness of night the goblin vanished and he was safe. The priest now knew that he had met the Goblin of Adachigahara, the story of whom he had often heard but never believed to be true. He felt that he owed his wonderful escape to the protection of Buddha to whom he had prayed for help, so he took out his rosary and bowing his head as the sun rose he said his prayers and made his thanksgiving earnestly. He then set forward for another part of the country, only too glad to leave the haunted plain behind him. THE SAGACIOUS MONKEY AND THE BOAR. Long, long ago, there lived in the province of Shinshin in Japan, a traveling monkey-man, who earned his living by taking round a monkey and showing off the animal's tricks. One evening the man came home in a very bad temper and told his wife to send for the butcher the next morning. The wife was very bewildered and asked her husband: "Why do you wish me to send for the butcher?" "It's no use taking that monkey round any longer, he's too old and forgets his tricks. I beat him with my stick all I know how, but he won't dance properly. I must now sell him to the butcher and make what money out of him I can. There is nothing else to be done." The woman felt very sorry for the poor little animal, and pleaded for her husband to spare the monkey, but her pleading was all in vain, the man was determined to sell him to the butcher. Now the monkey was in the next room and overheard every word of the conversation. He soon understood that he was to be killed, and he said to himself: "Barbarous, indeed, is my master! Here I have served him faithfully for years, and instead of allowing me to end my days comfortably and in peace, he is going to let me be cut up by the butcher, and my poor body is to be roasted and stewed and eaten? Woe is me! What am I to do. Ah! a bright thought has struck me! There is, I know, a wild bear living in the forest near by. I have often heard tell of his wisdom. Perhaps if I go to him and tell him the strait I am in he will give me his counsel. I will go and try." There was no time to lose. The monkey slipped out of the house and ran as quickly as he could to the forest to find the boar. The boar was at home, and the monkey began his tale of woe at once. "Good Mr. Boar, I have heard of your excellent wisdom. I am in great trouble, you alone can help me. I have grown old in the service of my master, and because I cannot dance properly now he intends to sell me to the butcher. What do you advise me to do? I know how clever you are!" The boar was pleased at the flattery and determined to help the monkey. He thought for a little while and then said: "Hasn't your master a baby?" "Oh, yes," said the monkey, "he has one infant son." "Doesn't it lie by the door in the morning when your mistress begins the work of the day? Well, I will come round early and when I see my opportunity I will seize the child and run off with it." "What then?" said the monkey. "Why the mother will be in a tremendous scare, and before your master and mistress know what to do, you must run after me and rescue the child and take it home safely to its parents, and you will see that when the butcher comes they won't have the heart to sell you." The monkey thanked the boar many times and then went home. He did not sleep much that night, as you may imagine, for thinking of the morrow. His life depended on whether the boar's plan succeeded or not. He was the first up, waiting anxiously for what was to happen. It seemed to him a very long time before his master's wife began to move about and open the shutters to let in the light of day. Then all happened as the boar had planned. The mother placed her child near the porch as usual while she tidied up the house and got her breakfast ready. The child was crooning happily in the morning sunlight, dabbing on the mats at the play of light and shadow. Suddenly there was a noise in the porch and a loud cry from the child. The mother ran out from the kitchen to the spot, only just in time to see the boar disappearing through the gate with her child in its clutch. She flung out her hands with a loud cry of despair and rushed into the inner room where her husband was still sleeping soundly. He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes, and crossly demanded what his wife was making all that noise about. By the time that the man was alive to what had happened, and they both got outside the gate, the boar had got well away, but they saw the monkey running after the thief as hard as his legs would carry him. Both the man and wife were moved to admiration at the plucky conduct of the sagacious monkey, and their gratitude knew no bounds when the faithful monkey brought the child safely back to their arms. "There!" said the wife. "This is the animal you want to kill--if the monkey hadn't been here we should have lost our child forever." "You are right, wife, for once," said the man as he carried the child into the house. "You may send the butcher back when he comes, and now give us all a good breakfast and the monkey too." When the butcher arrived he was sent away with an order for some boar's meat for the evening dinner, and the monkey was petted and lived the rest of his days in peace, nor did his master ever strike him again. THE HAPPY HUNTER AND THE SKILLFUL FISHER. Long, long ago Japan was governed by Hohodemi, the fourth Mikoto (or Augustness) in descent from the illustrious Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess. He was not only as handsome as his ancestress was beautiful, but he was also very strong and brave, and was famous for being the greatest hunter in the land. Because of his matchless skill as a hunter, he was called "Yama-sachi-hiko" or "The Happy Hunter of the Mountains." His elder brother was a very skillful fisher, and as he far surpassed all rivals in fishing, he was named "Umi-sachi-hiko" or the "Skillful Fisher of the Sea." The brothers thus led happy lives, thoroughly enjoying their respective occupations, and the days passed quickly and pleasantly while each pursued his own way, the one hunting and the other fishing. One day the Happy Hunter came to his brother, the Skillful Fisher, and said: "Well, my brother, I see you go to the sea every day with your fishing rod in your hand, and when you return you come laden with fish. And as for me, it is my pleasure to take my bow and arrow and to hunt the wild animals up the mountains and down in the valleys. For a long time we have each followed our favorite occupation, so that now we must both be tired, you of your fishing and I of my hunting. Would it not be wise for us to make a change? Will you try hunting in the mountains and I will go and fish in the sea?" The Skillful Fisher listened in silence to his brother, and for a moment was thoughtful, but at last he answered: "O yes, why not? Your idea is not a bad one at all. Give me your bow and arrow and I will set out at once for the mountains and hunt for game." So the matter was settled by this talk, and the two brothers each started out to try the other's occupation, little dreaming of all that would happen. It was very unwise of them, for the Happy Hunter knew nothing of fishing, and the Skillful Fisher, who was bad tempered, knew as much about hunting. The Happy Hunter took his brother's much-prized fishing hook and rod and went down to the seashore and sat down on the rocks. He baited his hook and then threw it into the sea clumsily. He sat and gazed at the little float bobbing up and down in the water, and longed for a good fish to come and be caught. Every time the buoy moved a little he pulled up his rod, but there was never a fish at the end of it, only the hook and the bait. If he had known how to fish properly, he would have been able to catch plenty of fish, but although he was the greatest hunter in the land he could not help being the most bungling fisher. The whole day passed in this way, while he sat on the rocks holding the fishing rod and waiting in vain for his luck to turn. At last the day began to darken, and the evening came; still he had caught not a single fish. Drawing up his line for the last time before going home, he found that he had lost his hook without even knowing when he had dropped it. He now began to feel extremely anxious, for he knew that his brother would be angry at his having lost his hook, for, it being his only one, he valued it above all other things. The Happy Hunter now set to work to look among the rocks and on the sand for the lost hook, and while he was searching to and fro, his brother, the Skillful Fisher, arrived on the scene. He had failed to find any game while hunting that day, and was not only in a bad temper, but looked fearfully cross. When he saw the Happy Hunter searching about on the shore he knew that something must have gone wrong, so he said at once: "What are you doing, my brother?" The Happy Hunter went forward timidly, for he feared his brother's anger, and said: "Oh, my brother, I have indeed done badly." "What is the matter?--what have you done?" asked the elder brother impatiently. "I have lost your precious fishing hook--" While he was still speaking his brother stopped him, and cried out fiercely: "Lost my hook! It is just what I expected. For this reason, when you first proposed your plan of changing over our occupations I was really against it, but you seemed to wish it so much that I gave in and allowed you to do as you wished. The mistake of our trying unfamiliar tasks is soon seen! And you have done badly. I will not return you your bow and arrow till you have found my hook. Look to it that you find it and return it to me quickly." The Happy Hunter felt that he was to blame for all that had come to pass, and bore his brother's scornful scolding with humility and patience. He hunted everywhere for the hook most diligently, but it was nowhere to be found. He was at last obliged to give up all hope of finding it. He then went home, and in desperation broke his beloved sword into pieces and made five hundred hooks out of it. He took these to his angry brother and offered them to him, asking his forgiveness, and begging him to accept them in the place of the one he had lost for him. It was useless; his brother would not listen to him, much less grant his request. The Happy Hunter then made another five hundred hooks, and again took them to his brother, beseeching him to pardon him. "Though you make a million hooks," said the Skillful Fisher, shaking his head, "they are of no use to me. I cannot forgive you unless you bring me back my own hook." Nothing would appease the anger of the Skillful Fisher, for he had a bad disposition, and had always hated his brother because of his virtues, and now with the excuse of the lost fishing hook he planned to kill him and to usurp his place as ruler of Japan. The Happy Hunter knew all this full well, but he could say nothing, for being the younger he owed his elder brother obedience; so he returned to the seashore and once more began to look for the missing hook. He was much cast down, for he had lost all hope of ever finding his brother's hook now. While he stood on the beach, lost in perplexity and wondering what he had best do next, an old man suddenly appeared carrying a stick in his hand. The Happy Hunter afterwards remembered that he did not see from whence the old man came, neither did he know how he was there--he happened to look up and saw the old man coming towards him. "You are Hohodemi, the Augustness, sometimes called the Happy Hunter, are you not?" asked the old man. "What are you doing alone in such a place?" "Yes, I am he," answered the unhappy young man. "Unfortunately, while fishing I lost my brother's precious fishing hook. I have hunted this shore all over, but alas! I cannot find it, and I am very troubled, for my brother won't forgive me till I restore it to him. But who are you?" "My name is Shiwozuchino Okina, and I live near by on this shore. I am sorry to hear what misfortune has befallen you. You must indeed be anxious. But if I tell you what I think, the hook is nowhere here--it is either at the bottom of the sea or in the body of some fish who has swallowed it, and for this reason, though you spend your whole life in looking for it here, you will never find it." "Then what can I do?" asked the distressed man. "You had better go down to Ryn Gu and tell Ryn Jin, the Dragon King of the Sea, what your trouble is and ask him to find the hook for you. I think that would be the best way." "Your idea is a splendid one," said the Happy Hunter, "but I fear I cannot get to the Sea King's realm, for I have always heard that it is situated at the bottom of the sea." "Oh, there will be no difficulty about your getting there," said the old man; "I can soon make something for you to ride on through the sea." "Thank you," said the Happy Hunter, "I shall be very grateful to you if you will be so kind." The old man at once set to work, and soon made a basket and offered it to the Happy Hunter. He received it with joy, and taking it to the water, mounted it, and prepared to start. He bade good by to the kind old man who had helped him so much, and told him that he would certainly reward him as soon as he found his hook and could return to Japan without fear of his brother's anger. The old man pointed out the direction he must take, and told him how to reach the realm of Ryn Gu, and watched him ride out to sea on the basket, which resembled a small boat. The Happy Hunter made all the haste he could, riding on the basket which had been given him by his friend. His queer boat seemed to go through the water of its own accord, and the distance was much shorter than he had expected, for in a few hours he caught sight of the gate and the roof of the Sea King's Palace. And what a large place it was, with its numberless sloping roofs and gables, its huge gateways, and its gray stone walls! He soon landed, and leaving his basket on the beach, he walked up to the large gateway. The pillars of the gate were made of beautiful red coral, and the gate itself was adorned with glittering gems of all kinds. Large katsura trees overshadowed it. Our hero had often heard of the wonders of the Sea King's Palace beneath the sea, but all the stories he had ever heard fell short of the reality which he now saw for the first time. The Happy Hunter would have liked to enter the gate there and then, but he saw that it was fast closed, and also that there was no one about whom he could ask to open it for him, so he stopped to think what he should do. In the shade of the trees before the gate he noticed a well full of fresh spring water. Surely some one would come out to draw water from the well some time, he thought. Then he climbed into the tree overhanging the well, and seated himself to rest on one of the branches, and waited for what might happen. Ere long he saw the huge gate swing open, and two beautiful women came out. Now the Mikoto (Augustness) had always heard that Ryn Gu was the realm of the Dragon King under the Sea, and had naturally supposed that the place was inhabited by dragons and similar terrible creatures, so that when he saw these two lovely princesses, whose beauty would be rare even in the world from which he had just come, he was exceedingly surprised, and wondered what it could mean. He said not a word, however, but silently gazed at them through the foliage of the trees, waiting to see what they would do. He saw that in their hands they carried golden buckets. Slowly and gracefully in their trailing garments they approached the well, standing in the shade of the katsura trees, and were about to draw water, all unknowing of the stranger who was watching them, for the Happy Hunter was quite hidden among the branches of the tree where he had posted himself. As the two ladies leaned over the side of the well to let down their golden buckets, which they did every day in the year, they saw reflected in the deep still water the face of a handsome youth gazing at them from amidst the branches of the tree in whose shade they stood. Never before had they seen the face of mortal man; they were frightened, and drew back quickly with their golden buckets in their hands. Their curiosity, however, soon gave them courage, and they glanced timidly upwards to see the cause of the unusual reflection, and then they beheld the Happy Hunter sitting in the tree looking down at them with surprise and admiration. They gazed at him face to face, but their tongues were still with wonder and could not find a word to say to him. When the Mikoto saw that he was discovered, he sprang down lightly from the tree and said: "I am a traveler, and as I was very thirsty I came to the well in the hopes of quenching my thirst, but I could find no bucket with which to draw the water. So I climbed into the tree, much vexed, and waited for some one to come. Just at that moment, while I was thirstily and impatiently waiting, you noble ladies appeared, as if in answer to my great need. Therefore I pray you of your mercy give me some water to drink, for I am a thirsty traveler in a strange land." His dignity and graciousness overruled their timidity, and bowing in silence they both once more approached the well, and letting down their golden buckets drew up some water and poured it into a jeweled cup and offered it to the stranger. He received it from them with both hands, raising it to the height of his forehead in token of high respect and pleasure, and then drank the water quickly, for his thirst was great. When he had finished his long draught he set the cup down on the edge of the well, and drawing his short sword he cut off one of the strange curved jewels (magatama), a necklace of which hung round his neck and fell over his breast. He placed the jewel in the cup and returned it to them, and said, bowing deeply: "This is a token of my thanks!" The two ladies took the cup, and looking into it to see what he had put inside--for they did not yet know what it was--they gave a start of surprise, for there lay a beautiful gem at the bottom of the cup. "No ordinary mortal would give away a jewel so freely. Will you not honor us by telling us who you are?" said the elder damsel. "Certainly," said the Happy Hunter, "I am Hohodemi, the fourth Mikoto, also called in Japan, the Happy Hunter." "Are you indeed Hohodemi, the grandson of Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess?" asked the damsel who had spoken first. "I am the eldest daughter of Ryn Jin, the King of the Sea, and my name is Princess Tayotama." "And," said the younger maiden, who at last found her tongue, "I am her sister, the Princess Tamayori." "Are you indeed the daughters of Ryn Jin, the King of the Sea? I cannot tell you how glad I am to meet you," said the Happy Hunter. And without waiting for them to reply he went on: "The other day I went fishing with my brother's hook and dropped it, how, I am sure I can't tell. As my brother prizes his fishing hook above all his other possessions, this is the greatest calamity that could have befallen me. Unless I find it again I can never hope to win my brother's forgiveness, for he is very angry at what I have done. I have searched for it many, many times, but I cannot find it, therefore I am much troubled. While I was hunting for the hook, in great distress, I met a wise old man, and he told me that the best thing I could do was to come to Ryn Gu, and to Ryn Jin, the Dragon King of the Sea, and ask him to help me. This kind old man also showed me how to come. Now you know how it is I am here and why. I want to ask Ryn Jin, if he knows where the lost hook is. Will you be so kind as to take me to your father? And do you think he will see me?" asked the Happy Hunter anxiously. Princess Tayotama listened to this long story, and then said: "Not only is it easy for you to see my father, but he will be much pleased to meet you. I am sure he will say that good fortune has befallen him, that so great and noble a man as you, the grandson of Amaterasu, should come down to the bottom of the sea." And then turning to her younger sister, she said: "Do you not think so, Tamayori?" "Yes, indeed," answered the Princess Tamayori, in her sweet voice. "As you say, we can know no greater honor than to welcome the Mikoto to our home." "Then I ask you to be so kind as to lead the way," said the Happy Hunter. "Condescend to enter, Mikoto (Augustness)," said both the sisters, and bowing low, they led him through the gate. The younger Princess left her sister to take charge of the Happy Hunter, and going faster than they, she reached the Sea King's Palace first, and running quickly to her father's room, she told him of all that had happened to them at the gate, and that her sister was even now bringing the Augustness to him. The Dragon King of the Sea was much surprised at the news, for it was but seldom, perhaps only once in several hundred years, that the Sea King's Palace was visited by mortals. Ryn Jin at once clapped his hands and summoned all his courtiers and the servants of the Palace, and the chief fish of the sea together, and solemnly told them that the grandson of the Sun Goddess, Amaterasu, was coming to the Palace, and that they must be very ceremonious and polite in serving the august visitor. He then ordered them all to the entrance of the Palace to welcome the Happy Hunter. Ryn Jin then dressed himself in his robes of ceremony, and went out to welcome him. In a few moments the Princess Tayotama and the Happy Hunter reached the entrance, and the Sea King and his wife bowed to the ground and thanked him for the honor he did them in coming to see them. The Sea King then led the Happy Hunter to the guest room, and placing him in the uppermost seat, he bowed respectfully before him, and said: "I am Ryn Jin, the Dragon King of the Sea, and this is my wife. Condescend to remember us forever!" "Are you indeed Ryn Jin, the King of the Sea, of whom I have so often heard?" answered the Happy Hunter, saluting his host most ceremoniously. "I must apologize for all the trouble I am giving you by my unexpected visit." And he bowed again, and thanked the Sea King. "You need not thank me," said Ryn Jin. "It is I who must thank you for coming. Although the Sea Palace is a poor place, as you see, I shall be highly honored if you will make us a long visit." There was much gladness between the Sea King and the Happy Hunter, and they sat and talked for a long time. At last the Sea King clapped his hands, and then a huge retinue of fishes appeared, all robed in ceremonial garments, and bearing in their fins various trays on which all kinds of sea delicacies were served. A great feast was now spread before the King and his Royal guest. All the fishes-in-waiting were chosen from amongst the finest fish in the sea, so you can imagine what a wonderful array of sea creatures it was that waited upon the Happy Hunter that day. All in the Palace tried to do their best to please him and to show him that he was a much honored guest. During the long repast, which lasted for hours, Ryn Jin commanded his daughters to play some music, and the two Princesses came in and performed on the KOTO (the Japanese harp), and sang and danced in turns. The time passed so pleasantly that the Happy Hunter seemed to forget his trouble and why he had come at all to the Sea King's Realm, and he gave himself up to the enjoyment of this wonderful place, the land of fairy fishes! Who has ever heard of such a marvelous place? But the Mikoto soon remembered what had brought him to Ryn Gu, and said to his host: "Perhaps your daughters have told you, King Ryn Jin, that I have come here to try and recover my brother's fishing hook, which I lost while fishing the other day. May I ask you to be so kind as to inquire of all your subjects if any of them have seen a fishing hook lost in the sea?" "Certainly," said the obliging Sea King, "I will immediately summon them all here and ask them." As soon as he had issued his command, the octopus, the cuttlefish, the bonito, the oxtail fish, the eel, the jelly fish, the shrimp, and the plaice, and many other fishes of all kinds came in and sat down before Ryn Jin their King, and arranged themselves and their fins in order. Then the Sea King said solemnly: "Our visitor who is sitting before you all is the august grandson of Amaterasu. His name is Hohodemi, the fourth Augustness, and he is also called the Happy Hunter of the Mountains. While he was fishing the other day upon the shore of Japan, some one robbed him of his brother's fishing hook. He has come all this way down to the bottom of the sea to our Kingdom because he thought that one of you fishes may have taken the hook from him in mischievous play. If any of you have done so you must immediately return it, or if any of you know who the thief is you must at once tell us his name and where he is now." All the fishes were taken by surprise when they heard these words, and could say nothing for some time. They sat looking at each other and at the Dragon King. At last the cuttlefish came forward and said: "I think the TAI (the red bream) must be the thief who has stolen the hook!" "Where is your proof?" asked the King. "Since yesterday evening the TAI has not been able to eat anything, and he seems to be suffering from a bad throat! For this reason I think the hook may be in his throat. You had better send for him at once!" All the fish agreed to this, and said: "It is certainly strange that the TAI is the only fish who has not obeyed your summons. Will you send for him and inquire into the matter. Then our innocence will be proved." "Yes," said the Sea King, "it is strange that the TAI has not come, for he ought to be the first to be here. Send for him at once!" Without waiting for the King's order the cuttlefish had already started for the TAI'S dwelling, and he now returned, bringing the TAI with him. He led him before the King. The TAI sat there looking frightened and ill. He certainly was in pain, for his usually red face was pale, and his eyes were nearly closed and looked but half their usual size. "Answer, O TAI!" cried the Sea King, "why did you not come in answer to my summons today?" "I have been ill since yesterday," answered the TAI; "that is why I could not come." "Don't say another word!" cried out Ryn Jin angrily. "Your illness is the punishment of the gods for stealing the Mikoto's hook." "It is only too true!" said the TAI; "the hook is still in my throat, and all my efforts to get it out have been useless. I can't eat, and I can scarcely breathe, and each moment I feel that it will choke me, and sometimes it gives me great pain. I had no intention of stealing the Mikoto's hook. I heedlessly snapped at the bait which I saw in the water, and the hook came off and stuck in my throat. So I hope you will pardon me." The cuttlefish now came forward, and said to the King: "What I said was right. You see the hook still sticks in the TAI'S throat. I hope to be able to pull it out in the presence of the Mikoto, and then we can return it to him safely!" "O please make haste and pull it out!" cried the TAI, pitifully, for he felt the pains in his throat coming on again; "I do so want to return the hook to the Mikoto." "All right, TAI SAN," said his friend the cuttlefish, and then opening the TAI'S mouth as wide as he could and putting one of his feelers down the TAI'S throat, he quickly and easily drew the hook out of the sufferer's large mouth. He then washed it and brought it to the King. Ryn Jin took the hook from his subject, and then respectfully returned it to the Happy Hunter (the Mikoto or Augustness, the fishes called him), who was overjoyed at getting back his hook. He thanked Ryn Jin many times, his face beaming with gratitude, and said that he owed the happy ending of his quest to the Sea King's wise authority and kindness. Ryn Jin now desired to punish the TAI, but the Happy Hunter begged him not to do so; since his lost hook was thus happily recovered he did not wish to make more trouble for the poor TAI. It was indeed the TAI who had taken the hook, but he had already suffered enough for his fault, if fault it could be called. What had been done was done in heedlessness and not by intention. The Happy Hunter said he blamed himself; if he had understood how to fish properly he would never have lost his hook, and therefore all this trouble had been caused in the first place by his trying to do something which he did not know how to do. So he begged the Sea King to forgive his subject. Who could resist the pleading of so wise and compassionate a judge? Ryn Jin forgave his subject at once at the request of his august guest. The TAI was so glad that he shook his fins for joy, and he and all the other fish went out from the presence of their King, praising the virtues of the Happy Hunter. Now that the hook was found the Happy Hunter had nothing to keep him in Ryn Gu, and he was anxious to get back to his own kingdom and to make peace with his angry brother, the Skillful Fisher; but the Sea King, who had learnt to love him and would fain have kept him as a son, begged him not to go so soon, but to make the Sea Palace his home as long as ever he liked. While the Happy Hunter was still hesitating, the two lovely Princesses, Tayotama and Tamayori, came, and with the sweetest of bows and voices joined with their father in pressing him to stay, so that without seeming ungracious he could not say them "Nay," and was obliged to stay on for some time. Between the Sea Realm and the Earth there was no difference in the night of time, and the Happy Hunter found that three years went fleeting quickly by in this delightful land. The years pass swiftly when any one is truly happy. But though the wonders of that enchanted land seemed to be new every day, and though the Sea King's kindness seemed rather to increase than to grow less with time, the Happy Hunter grew more and more homesick as the days passed, and he could not repress a great anxiety to know what had happened to his home and his country and his brother while he had been away. So at last he went to the Sea King and said: "My stay with you here has been most happy and I am very grateful to you for all your kindness to me, but I govern Japan, and, delightful as this place is, I cannot absent myself forever from my country. I must also return the fishing hook to my brother and ask his forgiveness for having deprived him of it for so long. I am indeed very sorry to part from you, but this time it cannot be helped. With your gracious permission, I will take my leave to-day. I hope to make you another visit some day. Please give up the idea of my staying longer now." King Ryn Jin was overcome with sorrow at the thought that he must lose his friend who had made a great diversion in the Palace of the Sea, and his tears fell fast as he answered: "We are indeed very sorry to part with you, Mikoto, for we have enjoyed your stay with us very much. You have been a noble and honored guest and we have heartily made you welcome. I quite understand that as you govern Japan you ought to be there and not here, and that it is vain for us to try and keep you longer with us, much as we would like to have you stay. I hope you will not forget us. Strange circumstances have brought us together and I trust the friendship thus begun between the Land and the Sea will last and grow stronger than it has ever been before." When the Sea King had finished speaking he turned to his two daughters and bade them bring him the two Tide-Jewels of the Sea. The two Princesses bowed low, rose and glided out of the hall. In a few minutes they returned, each one carrying in her hands a flashing gem which filled the room with light. As the Happy Hunter looked at them he wondered what they could be. The Sea King took them from his daughters and said to his guest: "These two valuable talismans we have inherited from our ancestors from time immemorial. We now give them to you as a parting gift in token of our great affection for you. These two gems are called the nanjiu and the kanjiu." The Happy Hunter bowed low to the ground and said: "I can never thank you enough for all your kindness to me. And now will you add one more favor to the rest and tell me what these jewels are and what I am to do with them?" "The nanjiu," answered the Sea King, "is also called the Jewel of the Flood Tide, and whoever holds it in his possession can command the sea to roll in and to flood the land at any time that he wills. The kanjiu is also called the Jewel of the Ebbing Tide, and this gem controls the sea and the waves thereof, and will cause even a tidal wave to recede." Then Ryn Jin showed his friend how to use the talismans one by one and handed them to him. The Happy Hunter was very glad to have these two wonderful gems, the Jewel of the Flood Tide and the Jewel of the Ebbing Tide, to take back with him, for he felt that they would preserve him in case of danger from enemies at any time. After thanking his kind host again and again, he prepared to depart. The Sea King and the two Princesses, Tayotama and Tamayori, and all the inmates of the Palace, came out to say "Good-by," and before the sound of the last farewell had died away the Happy Hunter passed out from under the gateway, past the well of happy memory standing in the shade of the great KATSURA trees on his way to the beach. Here he found, instead of the queer basket on which he had come to the Realm of Ryn Gu, a large crocodile waiting for him. Never had he seen such a huge creature. It measured eight fathoms in length from the tip of its tail to the end of its long mouth. The Sea King had ordered the monster to carry the Happy Hunter back to Japan. Like the wonderful basket which Shiwozuchino Okina had made, it could travel faster than any steamboat, and in this strange way, riding on the back of a crocodile, the Happy Hunter returned to his own land. As soon as the crocodile landed him, the Happy Hunter hastened to tell the Skillful Fisher of his safe return. He then gave him back the fishing hook which had been found in the mouth of the TAI and which had been the cause of so much trouble between them. He earnestly begged his brother's forgiveness, telling him all that had happened to him in the Sea King's Palace and what wonderful adventures had led to the finding of the hook. Now the Skillful Fisher had used the lost hook as an excuse for driving his brother out of the country. When his brother had left him that day three years ago, and had not returned, he had been very glad in his evil heart and had at once usurped his brother's place as ruler of the land, and had become powerful and rich. Now in the midst of enjoying what did not belong to him, and hoping that his brother might never return to claim his rights, quite unexpectedly there stood the Happy Hunter before him. The Skillful Fisher feigned forgiveness, for he could make no more excuses for sending his brother away again, but in his heart he was very angry and hated his brother more and more, till at last he could no longer bear the sight of him day after day, and planned and watched for an opportunity to kill him. One day when the Happy Hunter was walking in the rice fields his brother followed him with a dagger. The Happy Hunter knew that his brother was following him to kill him, and he felt that now, in this hour of great danger, was the time to use the Jewels of the Flow and Ebb of the Tide and prove whether what the Sea King had told him was true or not. So he took out the Jewel of the Flood Tide from the bosom of his dress and raised it to his forehead. Instantly over the fields and over the farms the sea came rolling in wave upon wave till it reached the spot where his brother was standing. The Skillful Fisher stood amazed and terrified to see what was happening. In another minute he was struggling in the water and calling on his brother to save him from drowning. The Happy Hunter had a kind heart and could not bear the sight of his brother's distress. He at once put back the Jewel of the Flood Tide and took out the Jewel of the Ebb Tide. No sooner did he hold it up as high as his forehead than the sea ran back and back, and ere long the tossing rolling floods had vanished, and the farms and fields and dry land appeared as before. The Skillful Fisher was very frightened at the peril of death in which he had stood, and was greatly impressed by the wonderful things he had seen his brother do. He learned now that he was making a fatal mistake to set himself against his brother, younger than he thought he was, for he now had become so powerful that the sea would flow in and the tide ebb at his word of command. So he humbled himself before the Happy Hunter and asked him to forgive him all the wrong he had done him. The Skillful Fisher promised to restore his brother to his rights and also swore that though the Happy Hunter was the younger brother and owed him allegiance by right of birth, that he, the Skillful Fisher, would exalt him as his superior and bow before him as Lord of all Japan. Then the Happy Hunter said that he would forgive his brother if he would throw into the receding tide all his evil ways. The Skillful Fisher promised and there was peace between the two brothers. From this time he kept his word and became a good man and a kind brother. The Happy Hunter now ruled his Kingdom without being disturbed by family strife, and there was peace in Japan for a long, long time. Above all the treasures in his house he prized the wonderful Jewels of the Flow and Ebb of the Tide which had been given him by Ryn Jin, the Dragon King of the Sea. This is the congratulatory ending of the Happy Hunter and the Skillful Fisher. THE STORY OF THE OLD MAN WHO MADE WITHERED TREES TO FLOWER. Long, long ago there lived an old man and his wife who supported themselves by cultivating a small plot of land. Their life had been a very happy and peaceful one save for one great sorrow, and this was they had no child. Their only pet was a dog named Shiro, and on him they lavished all the affection of their old age. Indeed, they loved him so much that whenever they had anything nice to eat they denied themselves to give it to Shiro. Now Shiro means "white," and he was so called because of his color. He was a real Japanese dog, and very like a small wolf in appearance. The happiest hour of the day both for the old man and his dog was when the man returned from his work in the field, and having finished his frugal supper of rice and vegetables, would take what he had saved from the meal out to the little veranda that ran round the cottage. Sure enough, Shiro was waiting for his master and the evening tit-bit. Then the old man said "Chin, chin!" and Shiro sat up and begged, and his master gave him the food. Next door to this good old couple there lived another old man and his wife who were both wicked and cruel, and who hated their good neighbors and the dog Shiro with all their might. Whenever Shiro happened to look into their kitchen they at once kicked him or threw something at him, sometimes even wounding him. One day Shiro was heard barking for a long time in the field at the back of his master's house. The old man, thinking that perhaps some birds were attacking the corn, hurried out to see what was the matter. As soon as Shiro saw his master he ran to meet him, wagging his tail, and, seizing the end of his kimono, dragged him under a large yenoki tree. Here he began to dig very industriously with his paws, yelping with joy all the time. The old man, unable to understand what it all meant, stood looking on in bewilderment. But Shiro went on barking and digging with all his might. The thought that something might be hidden beneath the tree, and that the dog had scented it, at last struck the old man. He ran back to the house, fetched his spade and began to dig the ground at that spot. What was his astonishment when, after digging for some time, he came upon a heap of old and valuable coins, and the deeper he dug the more gold coins did he find. So intent was the old man on his work that he never saw the cross face of his neighbor peering at him through the bamboo hedge. At last all the gold coins lay shining on the ground. Shiro sat by erect with pride and looking fondly at his master as if to say, "You see, though only a dog, I can make some return for all the kindness you show me." The old man ran in to call his wife, and together they carried home the treasure. Thus in one day the poor old man became rich. His gratitude to the faithful dog knew no bounds, and he loved and petted him more than ever, if that were possible. The cross old neighbor, attracted by Shiro's barking, had been an unseen and envious witness of the finding of the treasure. He began to think that he, too, would like to find a fortune. So a few days later he called at the old man's house and very ceremoniously asked permission to borrow Shiro for a short time. Shiro's master thought this a strange request, because he knew quite well that not only did his neighbor not love his pet dog, but that he never lost an opportunity of striking and tormenting him whenever the dog crossed his path. But the good old man was too kind-hearted to refuse his neighbor, so he consented to lend the dog on condition that he should be taken great care of. The wicked old man returned to his home with an evil smile on his face, and told his wife how he had succeeded in his crafty intentions. He then took his spade and hastened to his own field, forcing the unwilling Shiro to follow him. As soon as he reached a yenoki tree, he said to the dog, threateningly: "If there were gold coins under your master's tree, there must also be gold coins under my tree. You must find them for me! Where are they? Where? Where?" And catching hold of Shiro's neck he held the dog's head to the ground, so that Shiro began to scratch and dig in order to free himself from the horrid old man's grasp. The old man was very pleased when he saw the dog begin to scratch and dig, for he at once supposed that some gold coins lay buried under his tree as well as under his neighbor's, and that the dog had scented them as before; so pushing Shiro away he began to dig himself, but there was nothing to be found. As he went on digging a foul smell was noticeable, and he at last came upon a refuse heap. The old man's disgust can be imagined. This soon gave way to anger. He had seen his neighbor's good fortune, and hoping for the same luck himself, he had borrowed the dog Shiro; and now, just as he seemed on the point of finding what he sought, only a horrid smelling refuse heap had rewarded him for a morning's digging. Instead of blaming his own greed for his disappointment, he blamed the poor dog. He seized his spade, and with all his strength struck Shiro and killed him on the spot. He then threw the dog's body into the hole which he had dug in the hope of finding a treasure of gold coins, and covered it over with the earth. Then he returned to the house, telling no one, not even his wife, what he had done. After waiting several days, as the dog Shiro did not return, his master began to grow anxious. Day after day went by and the good old man waited in vain. Then he went to his neighbor and asked him to give him back his dog. Without any shame or hesitation, the wicked neighbor answered that he had killed Shiro because of his bad behavior. At this dreadful news Shiro's master wept many sad and bitter tears. Great indeed, was his woful surprise, but he was too good and gentle to reproach his bad neighbor. Learning that Shiro was buried under the yenoki tree in the field, he asked the old man to give him the tree, in remembrance of his poor dog Shiro. Even the cross old neighbor could not refuse such a simple request, so he consented to give the old man the tree under which Shiro lay buried. Shiro's master then cut the tree down and carried it home. Out of the trunk he made a mortar. In this his wife put some rice, and he began to pound it with the intention of making a festival to the memory of his dog Shiro. A strange thing happened! His wife put the rice into the mortar, and no sooner had he begun to pound it to make the cakes, than it began to increase in quantity gradually till it was about five times the original amount, and the cakes were turned out of the mortar as if an invisible hand were at work. When the old man and his wife saw this, they understood that it was a reward to them from Shiro for their faithful love to him. They tasted the cakes and found them nicer than any other food. So from this time they never troubled about food, for they lived upon the cakes with which the mortar never ceased to supply them. The greedy neighbor, hearing of this new piece of good luck, was filled with envy as before, and called on the old man and asked leave to borrow the wonderful mortar for a short time, pretending that he, too, sorrowed for the death of Shiro, and wished to make cakes for a festival to the dog's memory. The old man did not in the least wish to lend it to his cruel neighbor, but he was too kind to refuse. So the envious man carried home the mortar, but he never brought it back. Several days passed, and Shiro's master waited in vain for the mortar, so he went to call on the borrower, and asked him to be good enough to return the mortar if he had finished with it. He found him sitting by a big fire made of pieces of wood. On the ground lay what looked very much like pieces of a broken mortar. In answer to the old man's inquiry, the wicked neighbor answered haughtily: "Have you come to ask me for your mortar? I broke it to pieces, and now I am making a fire of the wood, for when I tried to pound cakes in it only some horrid smelling stuff came out." The good old man said: "I am very sorry for that. It is a great pity you did not ask me for the cakes if you wanted them. I would have given you as many as ever you wanted. Now please give me the ashes of the mortar, as I wish to keep them in remembrance of my dog." The neighbor consented at once, and the old man carried home a basket full of ashes. Not long after this the old man accidentally scattered some of the ashes made by the burning of the mortar on the trees of his garden. A wonderful thing happened! It was late in autumn and all the trees had shed their leaves, but no sooner did the ashes touch their branches than the cherry trees, the plum trees, and all other blossoming shrubs burst into bloom, so that the old man's garden was suddenly transformed into a beautiful picture of spring. The old man's delight knew no bounds, and he carefully preserved the remaining ashes. The story of the old man's garden spread far and wide, and people from far and near came to see the wonderful sight. One day, soon after this, the old man heard some one knocking at his door, and going to the porch to see who it was he was surprised to see a Knight standing there. This Knight told him that he was a retainer of a great Daimio (Earl); that one of the favorite cherry trees in this nobleman's garden had withered, and that though every one in his service had tried all manner of means to revive it, none took effect. The Knight was sore perplexed when he saw what great displeasure the loss of his favorite cherry tree caused the Daimio. At this point, fortunately, they had heard that there was a wonderful old man who could make withered trees to blossom, and that his Lord had sent him to ask the old man to come to him. "And," added the Knight, "I shall be very much obliged if you will come at once." The good old man was greatly surprised at what he heard, but respectfully followed the Knight to the nobleman's Palace. The Daimio, who had been impatiently awaiting the old man's coming, as soon as he saw him asked him at once: "Are you the old man who can make withered trees flower even out of season?" The old man made an obeisance, and replied: "I am that old man!" Then the Daimio said: "You must make that dead cherry tree in my garden blossom again by means of your famous ashes. I shall look on." Then they all went into the garden--the Daimio and his retainers and the ladies-in waiting, who carried the Daimio's sword. The old man now tucked up his kimono and made ready to climb the tree. Saying "Excuse me," he took the pot of ashes which he had brought with him, and began to climb the tree, every one watching his movements with great interest. At last he climbed to the spot where the tree divided into two great branches, and taking up his position here, the old man sat down and scattered the ashes right and left all over the branches and twigs. Wonderful, indeed, was the result! The withered tree at once burst into full bloom! The Daimio was so transported with joy that he looked as if he would go mad. He rose to his feet and spread out his fan, calling the old man down from the tree. He himself gave the old man a wine cup filled with the best SAKE, and rewarded him with much silver and gold and many other precious things. The Daimio ordered that henceforth the old man should call himself by the name of Hana-Saka-Jijii, or "The Old Man who makes the Trees to Blossom," and that henceforth all were to recognize him by this name, and he sent him home with great honor. The wicked neighbor, as before, heard of the good old man's fortune, and of all that had so auspiciously befallen him, and he could not suppress all the envy and jealousy that filled his heart. He called to mind how he had failed in his attempt to find the gold coins, and then in making the magic cakes; this time surely he must succeed if he imitated the old man, who made withered trees to flower simply by sprinkling ashes on them. This would be the simplest task of all. So he set to work and gathered together all the ashes which remained in the fire-place from the burning of the wonderful mortar. Then he set out in the hope of finding some great man to employ him, calling out loudly as he went along: "Here comes the wonderful man who can make withered trees blossom! Here comes the old man who can make dead trees blossom!" The Daimio in his Palace heard this cry, and said: "That must be the Hana-Saka-Jijii passing. I have nothing to do to-day. Let him try his art again; it will amuse me to look on." So the retainers went out and brought in the impostor before their Lord. The satisfaction of false old man can now be imagined. But the Daimio looking at him, thought it strange that he was not at all like the old man he had seen before, so he asked him: "Are you the man whom I named Hana-Saka-Jijii?" And the envious neighbor answered with a lie: "Yes, my Lord!" "That is strange!" said the Daimio. "I thought there was only one Hana-Saka-Jijii in the world! Has he now some disciples?" "I am the true Hana-Saka-Jijii. The one who came to you before was only my disciple!" replied the old man again. "Then you must be more skillful than the other. Try what you can do and let me see!" The envious neighbor, with the Daimio and his Court following, then went into the garden, and approaching a dead tree, took out a handful of the ashes which he carried with him, and scattered them over the tree. But not only did the tree not burst into flower, but not even a bud came forth. Thinking that he had not used enough ashes, the old man took handfuls and again sprinkled them over the withered tree. But all to no effect. After trying several times, the ashes were blown into the Daimio's eyes. This made him very angry, and he ordered his retainers to arrest the false Hana-Saka-Jijii at once and put him in prison for an impostor. From this imprisonment the wicked old man was never freed. Thus did he meet with punishment at last for all his evil doings. The good old man, however, with the treasure of gold coins which Shiro had found for him, and with all the gold and the silver which the Daimio had showered on him, became a rich and prosperous man in his old age, and lived a long and happy life, beloved and respected by all. THE JELLY FISH AND THE MONKEY. Long, long ago, in old Japan, the Kingdom of the Sea was governed by a wonderful King. He was called Rin Jin, or the Dragon King of the Sea. His power was immense, for he was the ruler of all sea creatures both great and small, and in his keeping were the Jewels of the Ebb and Flow of the Tide. The Jewel of the Ebbing Tide when thrown into the ocean caused the sea to recede from the land, and the Jewel of the Flowing Tide made the waves to rise mountains high and to flow in upon the shore like a tidal wave. The Palace of Rin Jin was at the bottom of the sea, and was so beautiful that no one has ever seen anything like it even in dreams. The walls were of coral, the roof of jadestone and chrysoprase, and the floors were of the finest mother-of-pearl. But the Dragon King, in spite of his wide-spreading Kingdom, his beautiful Palace and all its wonders, and his power which none disputed throughout the whole sea, was not at all happy, for he reigned alone. At last he thought that if he married he would not only be happier, but also more powerful. So he decided to take a wife. Calling all his fish retainers together, he chose several of them as ambassadors to go through the sea and seek for a young Dragon Princess who would be his bride. At last they returned to the Palace bringing with them a lovely young dragon. Her scales were of glittering green like the wings of summer beetles, her eyes threw out glances of fire, and she was dressed in gorgeous robes. All the jewels of the sea worked in with embroidery adorned them. The King fell in love with her at once, and the wedding ceremony was celebrated with great splendor. Every living thing in the sea, from the great whales down to the little shrimps, came in shoals to offer their congratulations to the bride and bridegroom and to wish them a long and prosperous life. Never had there been such an assemblage or such gay festivities in the Fish-World before. The train of bearers who carried the bride's possessions to her new home seemed to reach across the waves from one end of the sea to the other. Each fish carried a phosphorescent lantern and was dressed in ceremonial robes, gleaming blue and pink and silver; and the waves as they rose and fell and broke that night seemed to be rolling masses of white and green fire, for the phosphorus shone with double brilliancy in honor of the event. Now for a time the Dragon King and his bride lived very happily. They loved each other dearly, and the bridegroom day after day took delight in showing his bride all the wonders and treasures of his coral Palace, and she was never tired of wandering with him through its vast halls and gardens. Life seemed to them both like a long summer's day. Two months passed in this happy way, and then the Dragon Queen fell ill and was obliged to stay in bed. The King was sorely troubled when he saw his precious bride so ill, and at once sent for the fish doctor to come and give her some medicine. He gave special orders to the servants to nurse her carefully and to wait upon her with diligence, but in spite of all the nurses' assiduous care and the medicine that the doctor prescribed, the young Queen showed no signs of recovery, but grew daily worse. Then the Dragon King interviewed the doctor and blamed him for not curing the Queen. The doctor was alarmed at Rin Jin's evident displeasure, and excused his want of skill by saying that although he knew the right kind of medicine to give the invalid, it was impossible to find it in the sea. "Do you mean to tell me that you can't get the medicine here?" asked the Dragon King. "It is just as you say!" said the doctor. "Tell me what it is you want for the Queen?" demanded Rin Jin. "I want the liver of a live monkey!" answered the doctor. "The liver of a live monkey! Of course that will be most difficult to get," said the King. "If we could only get that for the Queen, Her Majesty would soon recover," said the doctor. "Very well, that decides it; we MUST get it somehow or other. But where are we most likely to find a monkey?" asked the King. Then the doctor told the Dragon King that some distance to the south there was a Monkey Island where a great many monkeys lived. "If only you could capture one of these monkeys?" said the doctor. "How can any of my people capture a monkey?" said the Dragon King, greatly puzzled. "The monkeys live on dry land, while we live in the water; and out of our element we are quite powerless! I don't see what we can do!" "That has been my difficulty too," said the doctor. "But amongst your innumerable servants you surely can find one who can go on shore for that express purpose!" "Something must be done," said the King, and calling his chief steward he consulted him on the matter. The chief steward thought for some time, and then, as if struck by a sudden thought, said joyfully: "I know what we must do! There is the kurage (jelly fish). He is certainly ugly to look at, but he is proud of being able to walk on land with his four legs like a tortoise. Let us send him to the Island of Monkeys to catch one." The jelly fish was then summoned to the King's presence, and was told by His Majesty what was required of him. The jelly fish, on being told of the unexpected mission which was to be intrusted to him, looked very troubled, and said that he had never been to the island in question, and as he had never had any experience in catching monkeys he was afraid that he would not be able to get one. "Well," said the chief steward, "if you depend on your strength or dexterity you will never catch a monkey. The only way is to play a trick on one!" "How can I play a trick on a monkey? I don't know how to do it," said the perplexed jelly fish. "This is what you must do," said the wily chief steward. "When you approach the Island of Monkeys and meet some of them, you must try to get very friendly with one. Tell him that you are a servant of the Dragon King, and invite him to come and visit you and see the Dragon King's Palace. Try and describe to him as vividly as you can the grandeur of the Palace and the wonders of the sea so as to arouse his curiosity and make him long to see it all!" "But how am I to get the monkey here? You know monkeys don't swim?" said the reluctant jelly fish. "You must carry him on your back. What is the use of your shell if you can't do that!" said the chief steward. "Won't he be very heavy?" queried kurage again. "You mustn't mind that, for you are working for the Dragon King," replied the chief steward. "I will do my best then," said the jelly fish, and he swam away from the Palace and started off towards the Monkey Island. Swimming swiftly he reached his destination in a few hours, and landed by a convenient wave upon the shore. On looking round he saw not far away a big pine-tree with drooping branches and on one of those branches was just what he was looking for--a live monkey. "I'm in luck!" thought the jelly fish. "Now I must flatter the creature and try to entice him to come back with me to the Palace, and my part will be done!" So the jelly fish slowly walked towards the pine-tree. In those ancient days the jelly fish had four legs and a hard shell like a tortoise. When he got to the pine-tree he raised his voice and said: "How do you do, Mr. Monkey? Isn't it a lovely day?" "A very fine day," answered the monkey from the tree. "I have never seen you in this part of the world before. Where have you come from and what is your name?" "My name is kurage or jelly fish. I am one of the servants of the Dragon King. I have heard so much of your beautiful island that I have come on purpose to see it," answered the jelly fish. "I am very glad to see you," said the monkey. "By the bye," said the jelly fish, "have you ever seen the Palace of the Dragon King of the Sea where I live?" "I have often heard of it, but I have never seen it!" answered the monkey. "Then you ought most surely to come. It is a great pity for you to go through life without seeing it. The beauty of the Palace is beyond all description--it is certainly to my mind the most lovely place in the world," said the jelly fish. "Is it so beautiful as all that?" asked the monkey in astonishment. Then the jelly fish saw his chance, and went on describing to the best of his ability the beauty and grandeur of the Sea King's Palace, and the wonders of the garden with its curious trees of white, pink and red coral, and the still more curious fruits like great jewels hanging on the branches. The monkey grew more and more interested, and as he listened he came down the tree step by step so as not to lose a word of the wonderful story. "I have got him at last!" thought the jelly fish, but aloud he said: "Mr. Monkey. I must now go back. As you have never seen the Palace of the Dragon King, won't you avail yourself of this splendid opportunity by coming with me? I shall then be able to act as guide and show you all the sights of the sea, which will be even more wonderful to you--a land-lubber." "I should love to go," said the monkey, "but how am I to cross the water! I can't swim, as you surely know!" "There is no difficulty about that. I can carry you on my back." "That will be troubling you too much," said the monkey. "I can do it quite easily. I am stronger than I look, so you needn't hesitate," said the jelly fish, and taking the monkey on his back he stepped into the sea. "Keep very still, Mr. monkey," said the jelly fish. "You mustn't fall into the sea; I am responsible for your safe arrival at the King's Palace." "Please don't go so fast, or I am sure I shall fall off," said the monkey. Thus they went along, the jelly fish skimming through the waves with the monkey sitting on his back. When they were about half-way, the jelly fish, who knew very little of anatomy, began to wonder if the monkey had his liver with him or not! "Mr. Monkey, tell me, have you such a thing as a liver with you?" The monkey was very much surprised at this queer question, and asked what the jelly fish wanted with a liver. "That is the most important thing of all," said the stupid jelly fish, "so as soon as I recollected it, I asked you if you had yours with you?" "Why is my liver so important to you?" asked the monkey. "Oh! you will learn the reason later," said the jelly fish. The monkey grew more and more curious and suspicious, and urged the jelly fish to tell him for what his liver was wanted, and ended up by appealing to his hearer's feelings by saying that he was very troubled at what he had been told. Then the jelly fish, seeing how anxious the monkey looked, was sorry for him, and told him everything. How the Dragon Queen had fallen ill, and how the doctor had said that only the liver of a live monkey would cure her, and how the Dragon King had sent him to find one. "Now I have done as I was told, and as soon as we arrive at the Palace the doctor will want your liver, so I feel sorry for you!" said the silly jelly fish. The poor monkey was horrified when he learnt all this, and very angry at the trick played upon him. He trembled with fear at the thought of what was in store for him. But the monkey was a clever animal, and he thought it the wisest plan not to show any sign of the fear he felt, so he tried to calm himself and to think of some way by which he might escape. "The doctor means to cut me open and then take my liver out! Why I shall die!" thought the monkey. At last a bright thought struck him, so he said quite cheerfully to the jelly fish: "What a pity it was, Mr. Jelly Fish, that you did not speak of this before we left the island!" "If I had told why I wanted you to accompany me you would certainly have refused to come," answered the jelly fish. "You are quite mistaken," said the monkey. "Monkeys can very well spare a liver or two, especially when it is wanted for the Dragon Queen of the Sea. If I had only guessed of what you were in need. I should have presented you with one without waiting to be asked. I have several livers. But the greatest pity is, that as you did not speak in time, I have left all my livers hanging on the pine-tree." "Have you left your liver behind you?" asked the jelly fish. "Yes," said the cunning monkey, "during the daytime I usually leave my liver hanging up on the branch of a tree, as it is very much in the way when I am climbing about from tree to tree. To-day, listening to your interesting conversation, I quite forgot it, and left it behind when I came off with you. If only you had spoken in time I should have remembered it, and should have brought it along with me!" The jelly fish was very disappointed when he heard this, for he believed every word the monkey said. The monkey was of no good without a liver. Finally the jelly fish stopped and told the monkey so. "Well," said the monkey, "that is soon remedied. I am really sorry to think of all your trouble; but if you will only take me back to the place where you found me, I shall soon be able to get my liver." The jelly fish did not at all like the idea of going all the way back to the island again; but the monkey assured him that if he would be so kind as to take him back he would get his very best liver, and bring it with him the next time. Thus persuaded, the jelly fish turned his course towards the Monkey Island once more. No sooner had the jelly fish reached the shore than the sly monkey landed, and getting up into the pine-tree where the jelly fish had first seen him, he cut several capers amongst the branches with joy at being safe home again, and then looking down at the jelly fish said: "So many thanks for all the trouble you have taken! Please present my compliments to the Dragon King on your return!" The jelly fish wondered at this speech and the mocking tone in which it was uttered. Then he asked the monkey if it wasn't his intention to come with him at once after getting his liver. The monkey replied laughingly that he couldn't afford to lose his liver: it was too precious. "But remember your promise!" pleaded the jelly fish, now very discouraged. "That promise was false, and anyhow it is now broken!" answered the monkey. Then he began to jeer at the jelly fish and told him that he had been deceiving him the whole time; that he had no wish to lose his life, which he certainly would have done had he gone on to the Sea King's Palace to the old doctor waiting for him, instead of persuading the jelly fish to return under false pretenses. "Of course, I won't GIVE you my liver, but come and get it if you can!" added the monkey mockingly from the tree. There was nothing for the jelly fish to do now but to repent of his stupidity, and to return to the Dragon King of the Sea and to confess his failure, so he started sadly and slowly to swim back. The last thing he heard as he glided away, leaving the island behind him, was the monkey laughing at him. Meanwhile the Dragon King, the doctor, the chief steward, and all the servants were waiting impatiently for the return of the jelly fish. When they caught sight of him approaching the Palace, they hailed him with delight. They began to thank him profusely for all the trouble he had taken in going to Monkey Island, and then they asked him where the monkey was. Now the day of reckoning had come for the jelly fish. He quaked all over as he told his story. How he had brought the monkey halfway over the sea, and then had stupidly let out the secret of his commission; how the monkey had deceived him by making him believe that he had left his liver behind him. The Dragon King's wrath was great, and he at once gave orders that the jelly fish was to be severely punished. The punishment was a horrible one. All the bones were to be drawn out from his living body, and he was to be beaten with sticks. The poor jelly fish, humiliated and horrified beyond all words, cried out for pardon. But the Dragon King's order had to be obeyed. The servants of the Palace forthwith each brought out a stick and surrounded the jelly fish, and after pulling out his bones they beat him to a flat pulp, and then took him out beyond the Palace gates and threw him into the water. Here he was left to suffer and repent his foolish chattering, and to grow accustomed to his new state of bonelessness. From this story it is evident that in former times the jelly fish once had a shell and bones something like a tortoise, but, ever since the Dragon King's sentence was carried out on the ancestor of the jelly fishes, his descendants have all been soft and boneless just as you see them to-day thrown up by the waves high upon the shores of Japan. THE QUARREL OF THE MONKEY AND THE CRAB. Long, long ago, one bright autumn day in Japan, it happened, that a pink-faced monkey and a yellow crab were playing together along the bank of a river. As they were running about, the crab found a rice-dumpling and the monkey a persimmon-seed. The crab picked up the rice-dumpling and showed it to the monkey, saying: "Look what a nice thing I have found!" Then the monkey held up his persimmon-seed and said: "I also have found something good! Look!" Now though the monkey is always very fond of persimmon fruit, he had no use for the seed he had just found. The persimmon-seed is as hard and uneatable as a stone. He, therefore, in his greedy nature, felt very envious of the crab's nice dumpling, and he proposed an exchange. The crab naturally did not see why he should give up his prize for a hard stone-like seed, and would not consent to the monkey's proposition. Then the cunning monkey began to persuade the crab, saying: "How unwise you are not to think of the future! Your rice-dumpling can be eaten now, and is certainly much bigger than my seed; but if you sow this seed in the ground it will soon grow and become a great tree in a few years, and bear an abundance of fine ripe persimmons year after year. If only I could show it to you then with the yellow fruit hanging on its branches! Of course, if you don't believe me I shall sow it myself; though I am sure, later on, you will be very sorry that you did not take my advice." The simple-minded crab could not resist the monkey's clever persuasion. He at last gave in and consented to the monkey's proposal, and the exchange was made. The greedy monkey soon gobbled up the dumpling, and with great reluctance gave up the persimmon-seed to the crab. He would have liked to keep that too, but he was afraid of making the crab angry and of being pinched by his sharp scissor-like claws. They then separated, the monkey going home to his forest trees and the crab to his stones along the river-side. As soon as the crab reached home he put the persimmon-seed in the ground as the monkey had told him. In the following spring the crab was delighted to see the shoot of a young tree push its way up through the ground. Each year it grew bigger, till at last it blossomed one spring, and in the following autumn bore some fine large persimmons. Among the broad smooth green leaves the fruit hung like golden balls, and as they ripened they mellowed to a deep orange. It was the little crab's pleasure to go out day by day and sit in the sun and put out his long eyes in the same way as a snail puts out its horn, and watch the persimmons ripening to perfection. "How delicious they will be to eat!" he said to himself. At last, one day, he knew the persimmons must be quite ripe and he wanted very much to taste one. He made several attempts to climb the tree, in the vain hope of reaching one of the beautiful persimmons hanging above him; but he failed each time, for a crab's legs are not made for climbing trees but only for running along the ground and over stones, both of which he can do most cleverly. In his dilemma he thought of his old playmate the monkey, who, he knew, could climb trees better than any one else in the world. He determined to ask the monkey to help him, and set out to find him. Running crab-fashion up the stony river bank, over the pathways into the shadowy forest, the crab at last found the monkey taking an afternoon nap in his favorite pine-tree, with his tail curled tight around a branch to prevent him from falling off in his dreams. He was soon wide awake, however, when he heard himself called, and eagerly listening to what the crab told him. When he heard that the seed which he had long ago exchanged for a rice-dumpling had grown into a tree and was now bearing good fruit, he was delighted, for he at once devised a cunning plan which would give him all the persimmons for himself. He consented to go with the crab to pick the fruit for him. When they both reached the spot, the monkey was astonished to see what a fine tree had sprung from the seed, and with what a number of ripe persimmons the branches were loaded. He quickly climbed the tree and began to pluck and eat, as fast as he could, one persimmon after another. Each time he chose the best and ripest he could find, and went on eating till he could eat no more. Not one would he give to the poor hungry crab waiting below, and when he had finished there was little but the hard, unripe fruit left. You can imagine the feelings of the poor crab after waiting patiently, for so long as he had done, for the tree to grow and the fruit to ripen, when he saw the monkey devouring all the good persimmons. He was so disappointed that he ran round and round the tree calling to the monkey to remember his promise. The monkey at first took no notice of the crab's complaints, but at last he picked out the hardest, greenest persimmon he could find and aimed it at the crab's head. The persimmon is as hard as stone when it is unripe. The monkey's missile struck home and the crab was sorely hurt by the blow. Again and again, as fast as he could pick them, the monkey pulled off the hard persimmons and threw them at the defenseless crab till he dropped dead, covered with wounds all over his body. There he lay a pitiful sight at the foot of the tree he had himself planted. When the wicked monkey saw that he had killed the crab he ran away from the spot as fast as he could, in fear and trembling, like a coward as he was. Now the crab had a son who had been playing with a friend not far from the spot where this sad work had taken place. On the way home he came across his father dead, in a most dreadful condition--his head was smashed and his shell broken in several places, and around his body lay the unripe persimmons which had done their deadly work. At this dreadful sight the poor young crab sat down and wept. But when he had wept for some time he told himself that this crying would do no good; it was his duty to avenge his father's murder, and this he determined to do. He looked about for some clue which would lead him to discover the murderer. Looking up at the tree he noticed that the best fruit had gone, and that all around lay bits of peel and numerous seeds strewn on the ground as well as the unripe persimmons which had evidently been thrown at his father. Then he understood that the monkey was the murderer, for he now remembered that his father had once told him the story of the rice-dumpling and the persimmon-seed. The young crab knew that monkeys liked persimmons above all other fruit, and he felt sure that his greed for the coveted fruit had been the cause of the old crab's death. Alas! He at first thought of going to attack the monkey at once, for he burned with rage. Second thoughts, however, told him that this was useless, for the monkey was an old and cunning animal and would be hard to overcome. He must meet cunning with cunning and ask some of his friends to help him, for he knew it would be quite out of his power to kill him alone. The young crab set out at once to call on the mortar, his father's old friend, and told him of all that had happened. He besought the mortar with tears to help him avenge his father's death. The mortar was very sorry when he heard the woful tale and promised at once to help the young crab punish the monkey to death. He warned him that he must be very careful in what he did, for the monkey was a strong and cunning enemy. The mortar now sent to fetch the bee and the chestnut (also the crab's old friends) to consult them about the matter. In a short time the bee and the chestnut arrived. When they were told all the details of the old crab's death and of the monkey's wickedness and greed, they both gladly consented to help the young crab in his revenge. After talking for a long time as to the ways and means of carrying out their plans they separated, and Mr. Mortar went home with the young crab to help him bury his poor father. While all this was taking place the monkey was congratulating himself (as the wicked often do before their punishment comes upon them) on all he had done so neatly. He thought it quite a fine thing that he had robbed his friend of all his ripe persimmons and then that he had killed him. Still, smile as hard as he might, he could not banish altogether the fear of the consequences should his evil deeds be discovered. IF he were found out (and he told himself that this could not be for he had escaped unseen) the crab's family would be sure to bear him hatred and seek to take revenge on him. So he would not go out, and kept himself at home for several days. He found this kind of life, however, extremely dull, accustomed as he was to the free life of the woods, and at last he said: "No one knows that it was I who killed the crab! I am sure that the old thing breathed his last before I left him. Dead crabs have no mouths! Who is there to tell that I am the murderer? Since no one knows, what is the use of shutting myself up and brooding over the matter? What is done cannot be undone!" With this he wandered out into the crab settlement and crept about as slyly as possible near the crab's house and tried to hear the neighbors' gossip round about. He wanted to find out what the crabs were saving about their chief's death, for the old crab had been the chief of the tribe. But he heard nothing and said to himself: "They are all such fools that they don't know and don't care who murdered their chief!" Little did he know in his so-called "monkey's wisdom" that this seeming unconcern was part of the young crab's plan. He purposely pretended not to know who killed his father, and also to believe that he had met his death through his own fault. By this means he could the better keep secret the revenge on the monkey, which he was meditating. So the monkey returned home from his walk quite content. He told himself he had nothing now to fear. One fine day, when the monkey was sitting at home, he was surprised by the appearance of a messenger from the young crab. While he was wondering what this might mean, the messenger bowed before him and said: "I have been sent by my master to inform you that his father died the other day in falling from a persimmon tree while trying to climb the tree after fruit. This, being the seventh day, is the first anniversary after his death, and my master has prepared a little festival in his father's honor, and bids you come to participate in it as you were one of his best friends. My master hopes you will honor his house with your kind visit." When the monkey heard these words he rejoiced in his inmost heart, for all his fears of being suspected were now at rest. He could not guess that a plot had just been set in motion against him. He pretended to be very surprised at the news of the crab's death, and said: "I am, indeed, very sorry to hear of your chief's death. We were great friends as you know. I remember that we once exchanged a rice-dumpling for a persimmon-seed. It grieves me much to think that that seed was in the end the cause of his death. I accept your kind invitation with many thanks. I shall be delighted to do honor to my poor old friend!" And he screwed some false tears from his eyes. The messenger laughed inwardly and thought, "The wicked monkey is now dropping false tears, but within a short time he shall shed real ones." But aloud he thanked the monkey politely and went home. When he had gone, the wicked monkey laughed aloud at what he thought was the young crab's innocence, and without the least feeling began to look forward to the feast to be held that day in honor of the dead crab, to which he had been invited. He changed his dress and set out solemnly to visit the young crab. He found all the members of the crab's family and his relatives waiting to receive and welcome him. As soon as the bows of meeting were over they led him to a hall. Here the young chief mourner came to receive him. Expressions of condolence and thanks were exchanged between them, and then they all sat down to a luxurious feast and entertained the monkey as the guest of honor. The feast over, he was next invited to the tea-ceremony room to drink a cup of tea. When the young crab had conducted the monkey to the tearoom he left him and retired. Time passed and still he did not return. At last the monkey became impatient. He said to himself: "This tea ceremony is always a very slow affair. I am tired of waiting so long. I am very thirsty after drinking so much sake at the dinner!" He then approached the charcoal fire-place and began to pour out some hot water from the kettle boiling there, when something burst out from the ashes with a great pop and hit the monkey right in the neck. It was the chestnut, one of the crab's friends, who had hidden himself in the fireplace. The monkey, taken by surprise, jumped backward, and then started to run out of the room. The bee, who was hiding outside the screens, now flew out and stung him on the cheek. The monkey was in great pain, his neck was burned by the chestnut and his face badly stung by the bee, but he ran on screaming and chattering with rage. Now the stone mortar had hidden himself with several other stones on the top of the crab's gate, and as the monkey ran underneath, the mortar and all fell down on the top of the monkey's head. Was it possible for the monkey to bear the weight of the mortar falling on him from the top of the gate? He lay crushed and in great pain, quite unable to get up. As he lay there helpless the young crab came up, and, holding his great claw scissors over the monkey, he said: "Do you now remember that you murdered my father?" "Then you--are--my--enemy?" gasped the monkey brokenly. "Of course," said the young crab. "It--was--your--father's--fault--not--mine!" gasped the unrepentant monkey. "Can you still lie? I will soon put an end to your breath!" and with that he cut off the monkey's head with his pitcher claws. Thus the wicked monkey met his well-merited punishment, and the young crab avenged his father's death. This is the end of the story of the monkey, the crab, and the persimmon-seed. THE WHITE HARE AND THE CROCODILES Long, long ago, when all the animals could talk, there lived in the province of Inaba in Japan, a little white hare. His home was on the island of Oki, and just across the sea was the mainland of Inaba. Now the hare wanted very much to cross over to Inaba. Day after day he would go out and sit on the shore and look longingly over the water in the direction of Inaba, and day after day he hoped to find some way of getting across. One day as usual, the hare was standing on the beach, looking towards the mainland across the water, when he saw a great crocodile swimming near the island. "This is very lucky!" thought the hare. "Now I shall be able to get my wish. I will ask the crocodile to carry me across the sea!" But he was doubtful whether the crocodile would consent to do what wanted. So he thought instead of asking a favor he would try to get what he wanted by a trick. So with a loud voice he called to the crocodile, and said: "Oh, Mr. Crocodile, isn't it a lovely day?" The crocodile, who had come out all by itself that day to enjoy the bright sunshine, was just beginning to feel a bit lonely when the hare's cheerful greeting broke the silence. The crocodile swam nearer the shore, very pleased to hear some one speak. "I wonder who it was that spoke to me just now! Was it you, Mr. Hare? You must be very lonely all by yourself!" "Oh, no, I am not at all lonely," said the hare, "but as it was such a fine day I came out here to enjoy myself. Won't you stop and play with me a little while?" The crocodile came out of the sea and sat on the shore, and the two played together for some time. Then the hare said: "Mr. Crocodile, you live in the sea and I live on this island, and we do not often meet, so I know very little about you. Tell me, do you think the number of your company is greater than mine?" "Of course, there are more crocodiles than hares," answered the crocodile. "Can you not see that for yourself? You live on this small island, while I live in the sea, which spreads through all parts of the world, so if I call together all the crocodiles who dwell in the sea you hares will be as nothing compared to us!" The crocodile was very conceited. The hare, who meant to play a trick on the crocodile, said: "Do you think it possible for you to call up enough crocodiles to form a line from this island across the sea to Inaba?" The crocodile thought for a moment and then answered: "Of course, it is possible." "Then do try," said the artful hare, "and I will count the number from here!" The crocodile, who was very simple-minded, and who hadn't the least idea that the hare intended to play a trick on him, agreed to do what the hare asked, and said: "Wait a little while I go back into the sea and call my company together!" The crocodile plunged into the sea and was gone for some time. The hare, meanwhile, waited patiently on the shore. At last the crocodile appeared, bringing with him a large number of other crocodiles. "Look, Mr. Hare!" said the crocodile, "it is nothing for my friends to form a line between here and Inaba. There are enough crocodiles to stretch from here even as far as China or India. Did you ever see so many crocodiles?" Then the whole company of crocodiles arranged themselves in the water so as to form a bridge between the Island of Oki and the mainland of Inaba. When the hare saw the bridge of crocodiles, he said: "How splendid! I did not believe this was possible. Now let me count you all! To do this, however, with your permission, I must walk over on your backs to the other side, so please be so good as not to move, or else I shall fall into the sea and be drowned!" So the hare hopped off the island on to the strange bridge of crocodiles, counting as he jumped from one crocodile's back to the other: "Please keep quite still, or I shall not be able to count. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine--" Thus the cunning hare walked right across to the mainland of Inaba. Not content with getting his wish, he began to jeer at the crocodiles instead of thanking them, and said, as he leapt off the last one's back: "Oh! you stupid crocodiles, now I have done with you!" And he was just about to run away as fast as he could. But he did not escape so easily, for so soon as the crocodiles understood that this was a trick played upon them by the hare so as to enable him to cross the sea, and that the hare was now laughing at them for their stupidity, they became furiously angry and made up their minds to take revenge. So some of them ran after the hare and caught him. Then they all surrounded the poor little animal and pulled out all his fur. He cried out loudly and entreated them to spare him, but with each tuft of fur they pulled out they said: "Serve you right!" When the crocodiles had pulled out the last bit of fur, they threw the poor hare on the beach, and all swam away laughing at what they had done. The hare was now in a pitiful plight, all his beautiful white fur had been pulled out, and his bare little body was quivering with pain and bleeding all over. He could hardly move, and all he could do was to lie on the beach quite helpless and weep over the misfortune that had befallen him. Notwithstanding that it was his own fault that had brought all this misery and suffering upon the white hare of Inaba, any one seeing the poor little creature could not help feeling sorry for him in his sad condition, for the crocodiles had been very cruel in their revenge. Just at this time a number of men, who looked like King's sons, happened to pass by, and seeing the hare lying on the beach crying, stopped and asked what was the matter. The hare lifted up his head from between his paws, and answered them, saying: "I had a fight with some crocodiles, but I was beaten, and they pulled out all my fur and left me to suffer here--that is why I am crying." Now one of these young men had a bad and spiteful disposition. But he feigned kindness, and said to the hare: "I feel very sorry for you. If you will only try it, I know of a remedy which will cure your sore body. Go and bathe yourself in the sea, and then come and sit in the wind. This will make your fur grow again, and you will be just as you were before." Then all the young men passed on. The hare was very pleased, thinking that he had found a cure. He went and bathed in the sea and then came out and sat where the wind could blow upon him. But as the wind blew and dried him, his skin became drawn and hardened, and the salt increased the pain so much that he rolled on the sand in his agony and cried aloud. Just then another King's son passed by, carrying a great bag on his back. He saw the hare, and stopped and asked why he was crying so loudly. But the poor hare, remembering that he had been deceived by one very like the man who now spoke to him, did not answer, but continued to cry. But this man had a kind heart, and looked at the hare very pityingly, and said: "You poor thing! I see that your fur is all pulled out and that your skin is quite bare. Who can have treated you so cruelly?" When the hare heard these kind words he felt very grateful to the man, and encouraged by his gentle manner the hare told him all that had befallen him. The little animal hid nothing from his friend, but told him frankly how he had played a trick on the crocodiles and how he had come across the bridge they had made, thinking that he wished to count their number: how he had jeered at them for their stupidity, and then how the crocodiles had revenged themselves on him. Then he went on to say how he had been deceived by a party of men who looked very like his kind friend: and the hare ended his long tale of woe by begging the man to give him some medicine that would cure him and make his fur grow again. When the hare had finished his story, the man was full of pity towards him, and said: "I am very sorry for all you have suffered, but remember, it was only the consequence of the deceit you practiced on the crocodiles." "I know," answered the sorrowful hare, "but I have repented and made up my mind never to use deceit again, so I beg you to show me how I may cure my sore body and make the fur grow again." "Then I will tell you of a good remedy," said the man. "First go and bathe well in that pond over there and try to wash all the salt from your body. Then pick some of those kaba flowers that are growing near the edge of the water, spread them on the ground and roll yourself on them. If you do this the pollen will cause your fur to grow again, and you will be quite well in a little while." The hare was very glad to be told what to do, so kindly. He crawled to the pond pointed out to him, bathed well in it, and then picked the kaba flowers growing near the water, and rolled himself on them. To his amazement, even while he was doing this, he saw his nice white fur growing again, the pain ceased, and he felt just as he had done before all his misfortunes. The hare was overjoyed at his quick recovery, and went hopping joyfully towards the young man who had so helped him, and kneeling down at his feet, said: "I cannot express my thanks for all you have done for me! It is my earnest wish to do something for you in return. Please tell me who you are?" "I am no King's son as you think me. I am a fairy, and my name is Okuni-nushi-no-Mikoto," answered the man, "and those beings who passed here before me are my brothers. They have heard of a beautiful Princess called Yakami who lives in this province of Inaba, and they are on their way to find her and to ask her to marry one of them. But on this expedition I am only an attendant, so I am walking behind them with this great big bag on my back." The hare humbled himself before this great fairy Okuni-nushi-no-Mikoto, whom many in that part of the land worshiped as a god. "Oh, I did not know that you were Okuni-nushi-no-Mikoto. How kind you have been to me! It is impossible to believe that that unkind fellow who sent me to bathe in the sea is one of your brothers. I am quite sure that the Princess, whom your brothers have gone to seek, will refuse to be the bride of any of them, and will prefer you for your goodness of heart. I am quite sure that you will win her heart without intending to do so, and she will ask to be your bride." Okuni-nushi-no-Mikoto took no notice of what the hare said, but bidding the little animal goodby, went on his way quickly and soon overtook his brothers. He found them just entering the Princess's gate. Just as the hare had said, the Princess could not be persuaded to become the bride of any of the brothers, but when she looked at the kind brother's face she went straight up to him and said: "To you I give myself," and so they were married. This is the end of the story. Okuni-nushi-no-Mikoto is worshiped by the people in some parts of Japan, as a god, and the hare has become famous as "The White Hare of Inaba." But what became of the crocodiles nobody knows. THE STORY OF PRINCE YAMATO TAKE. The insignia of the great Japanese Empire is composed of three treasures which have been considered sacred, and guarded with jealous care from time immemorial. These are the Yatano-no-Kagami or the Mirror of Yata, the Yasakami-no-Magatama or the Jewel of Yasakami, and the Murakumo-no-Tsurugi or the Sword of Murakumo. Of these three treasures of the Empire, the sword of Murakumo, afterwards known as Kusanagi-no-Tsrugugi, or the grass-cleaving sword, is considered the most precious and most highly to be honored, for it is the symbol of strength to this nation of warriors and the talisman of invincibility for the Emperor, while he holds it sacred in the shrine of his ancestors. Nearly two thousand years ago this sword was kept at the shrines of Ite, the temples dedicated to the worship of Amaterasu, the great and beautiful Sun Goddess from whom the Japanese Emperors are said to be descended. There is a story of knightly adventure and daring which explains why the name of the sword was changed from that of Murakumo to Kasanagi, which means grass clearing. Once, many, many years ago, there was born a son to the Emperor Keiko, the twelfth in descent from the great Jimmu, the founder of the Japanese dynasty. This Prince was the second son of the Emperor Keiko, and he was named Yamato. From his childhood he proved himself to be of remarkable strength, wisdom and courage, and his father noticed with pride that he gave promise of great things, and he loved him even more than he did his elder son. Now when Prince Yamato had grown to manhood (in the olden days of Japanese history, a boy was considered to have reached man's estate at the early age of sixteen) the realm was much troubled by a band of outlaws whose chiefs were two brothers, Kumaso and Takeru. These rebels seemed to delight in rebelling against the King, in breaking the laws and defying all authority. At last King Keiko ordered his younger son Prince Yamato to subdue the brigands and, if possible, to rid the land of their evil lives. Prince Yamato was only sixteen years of age, he had but reached his manhood according to the law, yet though he was such a youth in years he possessed the dauntless spirit of a warrior of fuller age and knew not what fear was. Even then there was no man who could rival him for courage and bold deeds, and he received his father's command with great joy. He at once made ready to start, and great was the stir in the precincts of the Palace as he and his trusty followers gathered together and prepared for the expedition, and polished up their armor and donned it. Before he left his father's Court he went to pray at the shrine of Ise and to take leave of his aunt the Princess Yamato, for his heart was somewhat heavy at the thought of the dangers he had to face, and he felt that he needed the protection of his ancestress, Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess. The Princess his aunt came out to give him glad welcome, and congratulated him on being trusted with so great a mission by his father the King. She then gave him one of her gorgeous robes as a keepsake to go with him and to bring him good luck, saying that it would surely be of service to him on this adventure. She then wished him all success in his undertaking and bade him good speed. The young Prince bowed low before his aunt, and received her gracious gift with much pleasure and many respectful bows. "I will now set out," said the Prince, and returning to the Palace he put himself at the head of his troops. Thus cheered by his aunt's blessing, he felt ready for all that might befall, and marching through the land he went down to the Southern Island of Kiushiu, the home of the brigands. Before many days had passed he reached the Southern Island, and then slowly but surely made his way to the head-quarters of the chiefs Kumaso and Takeru. He now met with great difficulties, for he found the country exceedingly wild and rough. The mountains were high and steep, the valleys dark and deep, and huge trees and bowlders of rock blocked up the road and stopped the progress of his army. It was all but impossible to go on. Though the Prince was but a youth he had the wisdom of years, and, seeing that it was vain to try and lead his men further, he said to himself: "To attempt to fight a battle in this impassable country unknown to my men only makes my task harder. We cannot clear the roads and fight as well. It is wiser for me to resort to stratagem and come upon my enemies unawares. In that way I may be able to kill them without much exertion." So he now bade his army halt by the way. His wife, the Princess Ototachibana, had accompanied him, and he bade her bring him the robe his aunt the priestess of Ise had given him, and to help him attire himself as a woman. With her help he put on the robe, and let his hair down till it flowed over his shoulders. Ototachibana then brought him her comb, which he put in his black tresses, and then adorned himself with strings of strange jewels just as you see in the picture. When he had finished his unusual toilet, Ototachibana brought him her mirror. He smiled as he gazed at himself--the disguise was so perfect. He hardly knew himself, so changed was he. All traces of the warrior had disappeared, and in the shining surface only a beautiful lady looked back at him. Thus completely disguised, he set out for the enemy's camp alone. In the folds of his silk gown, next his strong heart, was hidden a sharp dagger. The two chiefs Kumaso and Takeru wore sitting in their tent, resting in the cool of the evening, when the Prince approached. They were talking of the news which had recently been carried to them, that the King's son had entered their country with a large army determined to exterminate their band. They had both heard of the young warrior's renown, and for the first time in their wicked lives they felt afraid. In a pause in their talk they happened to look up, and saw through the door of the tent a beautiful woman robed in sumptuous garments coming towards them. Like an apparition of loveliness she appeared in the soft twilight. Little did they dream that it was their enemy whose coming they so dreaded who now stood before them in this disguise. "What a beautiful woman! Where has she come from?" said the astonished Kumaso, forgetting war and council and everything as he looked at the gentle intruder. He beckoned to the disguised Prince and bade him sit down and serve them with wine. Yamato Take felt his heart swell with a fierce glee for he now knew that his plan would succeed. However, he dissembled cleverly, and putting on a sweet air of shyness he approached the rebel chief with slow steps and eyes glancing like a frightened deer. Charmed to distraction by the girl's loveliness Kumaso drank cup after cup of wine for the pleasure of seeing her pour it out for him, till at last he was quite overcome with the quantity he had drunk. This was the moment for which the brave Prince had been waiting. Flinging down the wine jar, he seized the tipsy and astonished Kumaso and quickly stabbed him to death with the dagger which he had secretly carried hidden in his breast. Takeru, the brigand's brother, was terror-struck as soon as he saw what was happening and tried to escape, but Prince Yamato was too quick for him. Ere he could reach the tent door the Prince was at his heel, his garments were clutched by a hand of iron, and a dagger flashed before his eyes and he lay stabbed to the earth, dying but not yet dead. "Wait one moment!" gasped the brigand painfully, and he seized the Prince's hand. Yamato relaxed his hold somewhat and said. "Why should I pause, thou villain?" The brigand raised himself fearfully and said: "Tell me from whence you come, and whom I have the honor of addressing? Hitherto I believed that my dead brother and I were the strongest men in the land, and that there was no one who could overcome us. Alone you have ventured into our stronghold, alone you have attacked and killed us! Surely you are more than mortal?" Then the young Prince answered with a proud smile:--"I am the son of the King and my name is Yamato, and I have been sent by my father as the avenger of evil to bring death to all rebels! No longer shall robbery and murder hold my people in terror!" and he held the dagger dripping red above the rebel's head. "Ah," gasped the dying man with a great effort, "I have often heard of you. You are indeed a strong man to have so easily overcome us. Allow me to give you a new name. From henceforth you shall be known as Yamato Take. Our title I bequeath to you as the bravest man in Yamato." And with these noble words, Takeru fell back and died. The Prince having thus successfully put an end to his father's enemies in the world, was prepared to return to the capital. On the way back he passed through the province of Idum. Here he met with another outlaw named Idzumo Takeru who he knew had done much harm in the land. He again resorted to stratagem, and feigned friendship with the rebel under an assumed name. Having done this he made a sword of wood and jammed it tightly in the shaft of his own strong sword. This he purposedly buckled to his side and wore on every occasion when he expected to meet the third robber Takeru. He now invited Takeru to the bank of the River Hinokawa, and persuaded him to try a swim with him in the cool refreshing waters of the river. As it was a hot summer's day, the rebel was nothing loath to take a plunge in the river, while his enemy was still swimming down the stream the Prince turned back and landed with all possible haste. Unperceived, he managed to change swords, putting his wooden one in place of the keen steel sword of Takeru. Knowing nothing of this, the brigand came up to the bank shortly. As soon as he had landed and donned his clothes, the Prince came forward and asked him to cross swords with him to prove his skill, saying: "Let us two prove which is the better swordsman of the two!" The robber agreed with delight, feeling certain of victory, for he was famous as a fencer in his province and he did not know who his adversary was. He seized quickly what he thought was his sword and stood on guard to defend himself. Alas! for the rebel the sword was the wooden one of the young Prince and in vain Takeru tried to unsheathe it--it was jammed fast, not all his exerted strength could move it. Even if his efforts had been successful the sword would have been of no use to him for it was of wood. Yamato Take saw that his enemy was in his power, and swinging high the sword he had taken from Takeru he brought it down with great might and dexterity and cut off the robber's head. In this way, sometimes by using his wisdom and sometimes by using his bodily strength, and at other times by resorting to craftiness, which was as much esteemed in those days as it is despised in these, he prevailed against all the King's foes one by one, and brought peace and rest to the land and the people. When he returned to the capital the King praised him for his brave deeds, and held a feast in the Palace in honor of his safe coming home and presented him with many rare gifts. From this time forth the King loved him more than ever and would not let Yamato Take go from his side, for he said that his son was now as precious to him as one of his arms. But the Prince was not allowed to live an idle life long. When he was about thirty years old, news was brought that the Ainu race, the aborigines of the islands of Japan, who had been conquered and pushed northwards by the Japanese, had rebelled in the Eastern provinces, and leaving the vicinity which had been allotted to them were causing great trouble in the land. The King decided that it was necessary to send an army to do battle with them and bring them to reason. But who was to lead the men? Prince Yamato Take at once offered to go and bring the newly arisen rebels into subjection. Now as the King loved the Prince dearly, and could not bear to have him go out of his sight even for the length of one day, he was of course very loath to send him on his dangerous expedition. But in the whole army there was no warrior so strong or so brave as the Prince his son, so that His Majesty, unable to do otherwise, reluctantly complied with Yamato's wish. When the time came for the Prince to start, the King gave him a spear called the Eight-Arms-Length-Spear of the Holly Tree (the handle was probably made from the wood of the holly tree), and ordered him to set out to subjugate the Eastern Barbarians as the Ainu were then called. The Eight-Arms-Length-Spear of the Holly Tree of those old days, was prized by warriors just as much as the Standard or Banner is valued by a regiment in these modern days, when given by the King to his soldiers on the occasion of setting out for war. The Prince respectfully and with great reverence received the King's spear, and leaving the capital, marched with his army to the East. On his way he visited first of all the temples of Ise for worship, and his aunt the Princess of Yamato and High Priestess came out to greet him. She it was who had given him her robe which had proved such a boon to him before in helping him to overcome and slay the brigands of the West. He told her all that had happened to him, and of the great part her keepsake had played in the success of his previous undertaking, and thanked her very heartily. When she heard that he was starting out once again to do battle with his father's enemies, she went into the temple, and reappeared bearing a sword and a beautiful bag which she had made herself, and which was full of flints, which in those times people used instead of matches for making fire. These she presented to him as a parting gift. The sword was the sword of Murakumo, one of the three sacred treasures which comprise the insignia of the Imperial House of Japan. No more auspicious talisman of luck and success could she have given her nephew, and she bade him use it in the hour of his greatest need. Yamato Take now bade farewell to his aunt, and once more placing himself at the head of his men he marched to the farthest East through the province of Owari, and then he reached the province of Suruga. Here the governor welcomed the Prince right heartily and entertained him royally with many feasts. When these were over, the governor told his guest that his country was famous for its fine deer, and proposed a deer hunt for the Prince's amusement. The Prince was utterly deceived by the cordiality of his host, which was all feigned, and gladly consented to join in the hunt. The governor then led the Prince to a wild and extensive plain where the grass grew high and in great abundance. Quite ignorant that the governor had laid a trap for him with the desire to compass his death, the Prince began to ride hard and hunt down the deer, when all of a sudden to his amazement he saw flames and smoke bursting out from the bush in front of him. Realizing his danger he tried to retreat, but no sooner did he turn his horse in the opposite direction than he saw that even there the prairie was on fire. At the same time the grass on his left and right burst into flames, and these began to spread swiftly towards him on all sides. He looked round for a chance of escape. There was none. He was surrounded by fire. "This deer hunt was then only a cunning trick of the enemy!" said the Prince, looking round on the flames and the smoke that crackled and rolled in towards him on every side. "What a fool I was to be lured into this trap like a wild beast!" and he ground his teeth with rage as he thought of the governor's smiling treachery. Dangerous as was his situation now, the Prince was not in the least confounded. In his dire extremity he remembered the gifts his aunt had given him when they parted, and it seemed to him as if she must, with prophetic foresight, have divined this hour of need. He coolly opened the flint-bag that his aunt had given him and set fire to the grass near him. Then drawing the sword of Murakumo from its sheath he set to work to cut down the grass on either side of him with all speed. He determined to die, if that were necessary, fighting for his life and not standing still waiting for death to come to him. Strange to say the wind began to change and to blow from the opposite direction, and the fiercest portion of the burning bush which had hitherto threatened to come upon him was now blown right away from him, and the Prince, without even a scratch on his body or a single hair burned, lived to tell the tale of his wonderful escape, while the wind rising to a gale overtook the governor, and he was burned to death in the flames he had set alight to kill Yamato Take. Now the Prince ascribed his escape entirely to the virtue of the sword of Murakumo, and to the protection of Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess of Ise, who controls the wind and all the elements and insures the safety of all who pray to her in the hour of danger. Lifting the precious sword he raised it above his head many times in token of his great respect, and as he did this he re-named it Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi or the Grass-Cleaving Sword, and the place where he set fire to the grass round him and escaped from death in the burning prairie, he called Yaidzu. To this day there is a spot along the great Tokaido railway named Yaidzu, which is said to be the very place where this thrilling event took place. Thus did the brave Prince Yamato Take escape out of the snare laid for him by his enemy. He was full of resource and courage, and finally outwitted and subdued all his foes. Leaving Yaidzu he marched eastward, and came to the shore at Idzu from whence he wished to cross to Kadzusa. In these dangers and adventures he had been followed by his faithful loving wife the Princess Ototachibana. For his sake she counted the weariness of the long journeys and the dangers of war as nothing, and her love for her warrior husband was so great that she felt well repaid for all her wanderings if she could but hand him his sword when he sallied forth to battle, or minister to his wants when he returned weary to the camp. But the heart of the Prince was full of war and conquest and he cared little for the faithful Ototachibana. From long exposure in traveling, and from care and grief at her lord's coldness to her, her beauty had faded, and her ivory skin was burnt brown by the sun, and the Prince told her one day that her place was in the Palace behind the screens at home and not with him upon the warpath. But in spite of rebuffs and indifference on her husband's part, Ototachibana could not find it in her heart to leave him. But perhaps it would have been better for her if she had done so, for on the way to Idzu, when they came to Owari, her heart was well-nigh broken. Here dwelt in a Palace shaded by pine-trees and approached by imposing gates, the Princess Miyadzu, beautiful as the cherry blossom in the blushing dawn of a spring morning. Her garments were dainty and bright, and her skin was white as snow, for she had never known what it was to be weary along the path of duty or to walk in the heat of a summer's sun. And the Prince was ashamed of his sunburnt wife in her travel-stained garments, and bade her remain behind while he went to visit the Princess Miyadzu. Day after day he spent hours in the gardens and the Palace of his new friend, thinking only of his pleasure, and caring little for his poor wife who remained behind to weep in the tent at the misery which had come into her life. Yet she was so faithful a wife, and her character so patient, that she never allowed a reproach to escape her lips, or a frown to mar the sweet sadness of her face, and she was ever ready with a smile to welcome her husband back or usher him forth wherever he went. At last the day came when the Prince Yamato Take must depart for Idzu and cross over the sea to Kadzusa, and he bade his wife follow in his retinue as an attendant while he went to take a ceremonious farewell of the Princess Miyadzu. She came out to greet him dressed in gorgeous robes, and she seemed more beautiful than ever, and when Yamato Take saw her he forgot his wife, his duty, and everything except the joy of the idle present, and swore that he would return to Owari and marry her when the war was over. And as he looked up when he had said these words he met the large almond eyes of Ototachibana fixed full upon him in unspeakable sadness and wonder, and he knew that he had done wrong, but he hardened his heart and rode on, caring little for the pain he had caused her. When they reached the seashore at Idzu his men sought for boats in which to cross the straits to Kadzusa, but it was difficult to find boats enough to allow all the soldiers to embark. Then the Prince stood on the beach, and in the pride of his strength he scoffed and said: "This is not the sea! This is only a brook! Why do you men want so many boats? I could jump this if I would." When at last they had all embarked and were fairly on their way across the straits, the sky suddenly clouded and a great storm arose. The waves rose mountains high, the wind howled, the lightning flashed and the thunder rolled, and the boat which held Ototachibana and the Prince and his men was tossed from crest to crest of the rolling waves, till it seemed that every moment must be their last and that they must all be swallowed up in the angry sea. For Kin Jin, the Dragon King of the Sea, had heard Yamato Take jeer, and had raised this terrible storm in anger, to show the scoffing Prince how awful the sea could be though it did but look like a brook. The terrified crew lowered the sails and looked after the rudder, and worked for their dear lives' sake, but all in vain--the storm only seemed to increase in violence, and all gave themselves up for lost. Then the faithful Ototachibana rose, and forgetting all the grief that her husband had caused her, forgetting even that he had wearied of her, in the one great desire of her love to save him, she determined to sacrifice her life to rescue him from death if it were possible. While the waves dashed over the ship and the wind whirled round them in fury she stood up and said: "Surely all this has come because the Prince has angered Rin Jin, the God of the Sea, by his jesting. If so, I, Ototachibana, will appease the wrath of the Sea God who desires nothing less than my husband's life!" Then addressing the sea she said: "I will take the place of His Augustness, Yamato Take. I will now cast myself into your outraged depths, giving my life for his. Therefore hear me and bring him safely to the shore of Kadzusa." With these words she leaped quickly into the boisterous sea, and the waves soon whirled her away and she was lost to sight. Strange to say, the storm ceased at once, and the sea became as calm and smooth as the matting on which the astonished onlookers were sitting. The gods of the sea were now appeased, and the weather cleared and the sun shone as on a summer's day. Yamato Take soon reached the opposite shore and landed safely, even as his wife Ototachibana had prayed. His prowess in war was marvelous, and he succeeded after some time in conquering the Eastern Barbarians, the Ainu. He ascribed his safe landing wholly to the faithfulness of his wife, who had so willingly and lovingly sacrificed herself in the hour of his utmost peril. His heart was softened at the remembrance of her, and he never allowed her to pass from his thoughts even for a moment. Too late had he learned to esteem the goodness of her heart and the greatness of her love for him. As he was returning on his homeward way he came to the high pass of the Usui Toge, and here he stood and gazed at the wonderful prospect beneath him. The country, from this great elevation, all lay open to his sight, a vast panorama of mountain and plain and forest, with rivers winding like silver ribbons through the land; then far off he saw the distant sea, which shimmered like a luminous mist in the great distance, where Ototachibana had given her life for him, and as he turned towards it he stretched out his arms, and thinking of her love which he had scorned and his faithlessness to her, his heart burst out into a sorrowful and bitter cry: "Azuma, Azuma, Ya!" (Oh! my wife, my wife!) And to this day there is a district in Tokio called Azuma, which commemorates the words of Prince Yamato Take, and the place where his faithful wife leapt into the sea to save him is still pointed out. So, though in life the Princess Ototachibana was unhappy, history keeps her memory green, and the story of her unselfishness and heroic death will never pass away. Yamato Take had now fulfilled all his father's orders, he had subdued all rebels, and rid the land of all robbers and enemies to the peace, and his renown was great, for in the whole land there was no one who could stand up against him, he was so strong in battle and wise in council. He was about to return straight for home by the way he had come, when the thought struck him that he would find it more interesting to take another route, so he passed through the province of Owari and came to the province of Omi. When the Prince reached Omi he found the people in a state of great excitement and fear. In many houses as he passed along he saw the signs of mourning and heard loud lamentations. On inquiring the cause of this he was told that a terrible monster had appeared in the mountains, who daily came down from thence and made raids on the villages, devouring whoever he could seize. Many homes had been made desolate and the men were afraid to go out to their daily work in the fields, or the women to go to the rivers to wash their rice. When Yamato Take heard this his wrath was kindled, and he said fiercely: "From the western end of Kiushiu to the eastern corner of Yezo I have subdued all the King's enemies--there is no one who dares to break the laws or to rebel against the King. It is indeed a matter for wonder that here in this place, so near the capital, a wicked monster has dared to take up his abode and be the terror of the King's subjects. Not long shall it find pleasure in devouring innocent folk. I will start out and kill it at once." With these words he set out for the Ibuki Mountain, where the monster was said to live. He climbed up a good distance, when all of a sudden, at a winding in the path, a monster serpent appeared before him and stopped the way. "This must be the monster," said the Prince; "I do not need my sword for a serpent. I can kill him with my hands." He thereupon sprang upon the serpent and tried to strangle it to death with his bare arms. It was not long before his prodigious strength gained the mastery and the serpent lay dead at his feet. Now a sudden darkness came over the mountain and rain began to fall, so that for the gloom and the rain the Prince could hardly see which way to take. In a short time, however, while he was groping his way down the pass, the weather cleared, and our brave hero was able to make his way quickly down the mountain. When he got back he began to feel ill and to have burning pains in his feet, so he knew that the serpent had poisoned him. So great was his suffering that he could hardly move, much less walk, so he had himself carried to a place in the mountains famous for its hot mineral springs, which rose bubbling out of the earth, and almost boiling from the volcanic fires beneath. Yamato Take bathed daily in these waters, and gradually he felt his strength come again, and the pains left him, till at last one day he found with great joy that he was quite recovered. He now hastened to the temples of Ise, where you will remember that he prayed before undertaking this long expedition. His aunt, priestess of the shrine, who had blessed him on his setting out, now came to welcome him back. He told her of the many dangers he had encountered and of how marvelously his life had been preserved through all--and she praised his courage and his warrior's prowess, and then putting on her most magnificent robes she returned thanks to their ancestress the Sun Goddess Amaterasu, to whose protection they both ascribed the Prince's wonderful preservation. Here ends the story of Prince Yamato Take of Japan. MOMOTARO, OR THE STORY OF THE SON OF A PEACH. Long, long ago there lived, an old man and an old woman; they were peasants, and had to work hard to earn their daily rice. The old man used to go and cut grass for the farmers around, and while he was gone the old woman, his wife, did the work of the house and worked in their own little rice field. One day the old man went to the hills as usual to cut grass and the old woman took some clothes to the river to wash. It was nearly summer, and the country was very beautiful to see in its fresh greenness as the two old people went on their way to work. The grass on the banks of the river looked like emerald velvet, and the pussy willows along the edge of the water were shaking out their soft tassels. The breezes blew and ruffled the smooth surface of the water into wavelets, and passing on touched the cheeks of the old couple who, for some reason they could not explain, felt very happy that morning. The old woman at last found a nice spot by the river bank and put her basket down. Then she set to work to wash the clothes; she took them one by one out of the basket and washed them in the river and rubbed them on the stones. The water was as clear as crystal, and she could see the tiny fish swimming to and fro, and the pebbles at the bottom. As she was busy washing her clothes a great peach came bumping down the stream. The old woman looked up from her work and saw this large peach. She was sixty years of age, yet in all her life she had never seen such a big peach as this. "How delicious that peach must be!" she said to herself. "I must certainly get it and take it home to my old man." She stretched out her arm to try and get it, but it was quite out of her reach. She looked about for a stick, but there was not one to be seen, and if she went to look for one she would lose the peach. Stopping a moment to think what she would do, she remembered an old charm-verse. Now she began to clap her hands to keep time to the rolling of the peach down stream, and while she clapped she sang this song: "Distant water is bitter, The near water is sweet; Pass by the distant water And come into the sweet." Strange to say, as soon as she began to repeat this little song the peach began to come nearer and nearer the bank where the old woman was standing, till at last it stopped just in front of her so that she was able to take it up in her hands. The old woman was delighted. She could not go on with her work, so happy and excited was she, so she put all the clothes back in her bamboo basket, and with the basket on her back and the peach in her hand she hurried homewards. It seemed a very long time to her to wait till her husband returned. The old man at last came back as the sun was setting, with a big bundle of grass on his back--so big that he was almost hidden and she could hardly see him. He seemed very tired and used the scythe for a walking stick, leaning on it as he walked along. As soon as the old woman saw him she called out: "O Fii San! (old man) I have been waiting for you to come home for such a long time to-day!" "What is the matter? Why are you so impatient?" asked the old man, wondering at her unusual eagerness. "Has anything happened while I have been away?" "Oh, no!" answered the old woman, "nothing has happened, only I have found a nice present for you!" "That is good," said the old man. He then washed his feet in a basin of water and stepped up to the veranda. The old woman now ran into the little room and brought out from the cupboard the big peach. It felt even heavier than before. She held it up to him, saying: "Just look at this! Did you ever see such a large peach in all your life?" When the old man looked at the peach he was greatly astonished and said: "This is indeed the largest peach I have ever seen! Wherever did you buy it?" "I did not buy it," answered the old woman. "I found it in the river where I was washing." And she told him the whole story. "I am very glad that you have found it. Let us eat it now, for I am hungry," said the O Fii San. He brought out the kitchen knife, and, placing the peach on a board, was about to cut it when, wonderful to tell, the peach split in two of itself and a clear voice said: "Wait a bit, old man!" and out stepped a beautiful little child. The old man and his wife were both so astonished at what they saw that they fell to the ground. The child spoke again: "Don't be afraid. I am no demon or fairy. I will tell you the truth. Heaven has had compassion on you. Every day and every night you have lamented that you had no child. Your cry has been heard and I am sent to be the son of your old age!" On hearing this the old man and his wife were very happy. They had cried night and day for sorrow at having no child to help them in their lonely old age, and now that their prayer was answered they were so lost with joy that they did not know where to put their hands or their feet. First the old man took the child up in his arms, and then the old woman did the same; and they named him MOMOTARO, OR SON OF A PEACH, because he had come out of a peach. The years passed quickly by and the child grew to be fifteen years of age. He was taller and far stronger than any other boys of his own age, he had a handsome face and a heart full of courage, and he was very wise for his years. The old couple's pleasure was very great when they looked at him, for he was just what they thought a hero ought to be like. One day Momotaro came to his foster-father and said solemnly: "Father, by a strange chance we have become father and son. Your goodness to me has been higher than the mountain grasses which it was your daily work to cut, and deeper than the river where my mother washes the clothes. I do not know how to thank you enough." "Why," answered the old man, "it is a matter of course that a father should bring up his son. When you are older it will be your turn to take care of us, so after all there will be no profit or loss between us--all will be equal. Indeed, I am rather surprised that you should thank me in this way!" and the old man looked bothered. "I hope you will be patient with me," said Momotaro; "but before I begin to pay back your goodness to me I have a request to make which I hope you will grant me above everything else." "I will let you do whatever you wish, for you are quite different to all other boys!" "Then let me go away at once!" "What do you say? Do you wish to leave your old father and mother and go away from your old home?" "I will surely come back again, if you let me go now!" "Where are you going?" "You must think it strange that I want to go away," said Momotaro, "because I have not yet told you my reason. Far away from here to the northeast of Japan there is an island in the sea. This island is the stronghold of a band of devils. I have often heard how they invade this land, kill and rob the people, and carry off all they can find. They are not only very wicked but they are disloyal to our Emperor and disobey his laws. They are also cannibals, for they kill and eat some of the poor people who are so unfortunate as to fall into their hands. These devils are very hateful beings. I must go and conquer them and bring back all the plunder of which they have robbed this land. It is for this reason that I want to go away for a short time!" The old man was much surprised at hearing all this from a mere boy of fifteen. He thought it best to let the boy go. He was strong and fearless, and besides all this, the old man knew he was no common child, for he had been sent to them as a gift from Heaven, and he felt quite sure that the devils would be powerless to harm him. "All you say is very interesting, Momotaro," said the old man. "I will not hinder you in your determination. You may go if you wish. Go to the island as soon as ever you like and destroy the demons and bring peace to the land." "Thank you, for all your kindness," said Momotaro, who began to get ready to go that very day. He was full of courage and did not know what fear was. The old man and woman at once set to work to pound rice in the kitchen mortar to make cakes for Momotaro to take with him on his journey. At last the cakes were made and Momotaro was ready to start on his long journey. Parting is always sad. So it was now. The eyes of the two old people were filled with tears and their voices trembled as they said: "Go with all care and speed. We expect you back victorious!" Momotaro was very sorry to leave his old parents (though he knew he was coming back as soon as he could), for he thought of how lonely they would be while he was away. But he said "Good-by!" quite bravely. "I am going now. Take good care of yourselves while I am away. Good-by!" And he stepped quickly out of the house. In silence the eyes of Momotaro and his parents met in farewell. Momotaro now hurried on his way till it was midday. He began to feel hungry, so he opened his bag and took out one of the rice-cakes and sat down under a tree by the side of the road to eat it. While he was thus having his lunch a dog almost as large as a colt came running out from the high grass. He made straight for Momotaro, and showing his teeth, said in a fierce way: "You are a rude man to pass my field without asking permission first. If you leave me all the cakes you have in your bag you may go; otherwise I will bite you till I kill you!" Momotaro only laughed scornfully: "What is that you are saying? Do you know who I am? I am Momotaro, and I am on my way to subdue the devils in their island stronghold in the northeast of Japan. If you try to stop me on my way there I will cut you in two from the head downwards!" The dog's manner at once changed. His tail dropped between his legs, and coming near he bowed so low that his forehead touched the ground. "What do I hear? The name of Momotaro? Are you indeed Momotaro? I have often heard of your great strength. Not knowing who you were I have behaved in a very stupid way. Will you please pardon my rudeness? Are you indeed on your way to invade the Island of Devils? If you will take such a rude fellow with you as one of your followers, I shall be very grateful to you." "I think I can take you with me if you wish to go," said Momotaro. "Thank you!" said the dog. "By the way, I am very very hungry. Will you give me one of the cakes you are carrying?" "This is the best kind of cake there is in Japan," said Momotaro. "I cannot spare you a whole one; I will give you half of one." "Thank you very much," said the dog, taking the piece thrown to him. Then Momotaro got up and the dog followed. For a long time they walked over the hills and through the valleys. As they were going along an animal came down from a tree a little ahead of them. The creature soon came up to Momotaro and said: "Good morning, Momotaro! You are welcome in this part of the country. Will you allow me to go with you?" The dog answered jealously: "Momotaro already has a dog to accompany him. Of what use is a monkey like you in battle? We are on our way to fight the devils! Get away!" The dog and the monkey began to quarrel and bite, for these two animals always hate each other. "Now, don't quarrel!" said Momotaro, putting himself between them. "Wait a moment, dog!" "It is not at all dignified for you to have such a creature as that following you!" said the dog. "What do you know about it?" asked Momotaro; and pushing aside the dog, he spoke to the monkey: "Who are you?" "I am a monkey living in these hills," replied the monkey. "I heard of your expedition to the Island of Devils, and I have come to go with you. Nothing will please me more than to follow you!" "Do you really wish to go to the Island of Devils and fight with me?" "Yes, sir," replied the monkey. "I admire your courage," said Momotaro. "Here is a piece of one of my fine rice-cakes. Come along!" So the monkey joined Momotaro. The dog and the monkey did not get on well together. They were always snapping at each other as they went along, and always wanting to have a fight. This made Momotaro very cross, and at last he sent the dog on ahead with a flag and put the monkey behind with a sword, and he placed himself between them with a war-fan, which is made of iron. By and by they came to a large field. Here a bird flew down and alighted on the ground just in front of the little party. It was the most beautiful bird Momotaro had ever seen. On its body were five different robes of feathers and its head was covered with a scarlet cap. The dog at once ran at the bird and tried to seize and kill it. But the bird struck out its spurs and flew at the dog's tail, and the fight went hard with both. Momotaro, as he looked on, could not help admiring the bird; it showed so much spirit in the fight. It would certainly make a good fighter. Momotaro went up to the two combatants, and holding the dog back, said to the bird: "You rascal! you are hindering my journey. Surrender at once, and I will take you with me. If you don't I will set this dog to bite your head off!" Then the bird surrendered at once, and begged to be taken into Momotaro's company. "I do not know what excuse to offer for quarreling with the dog, your servant, but I did not see you. I am a miserable bird called a pheasant. It is very generous of you to pardon my rudeness and to take me with you. Please allow me to follow you behind the dog and the monkey!" "I congratulate you on surrendering so soon," said Momotaro, smiling. "Come and join us in our raid on the devils." "Are you going to take this bird with you also?" asked the dog, interrupting. "Why do you ask such an unnecessary question? Didn't you hear what I said? I take the bird with me because I wish to!" "Humph!" said the dog. Then Momotaro stood and gave this order: "Now all of you must listen to me. The first thing necessary in an army is harmony. It is a wise saying which says that 'Advantage on earth is better than advantage in Heaven!' Union amongst ourselves is better than any earthly gain. When we are not at peace amongst ourselves it is no easy thing to subdue an enemy. From now, you three, the dog, the monkey and the pheasant, must be friends with one mind. The one who first begins a quarrel will be discharged on the spot!" All the three promised not to quarrel. The pheasant was now made a member of Momotaro's suite, and received half a cake. Momotaro's influence was so great that the three became good friends, and hurried onwards with him as their leader. Hurrying on day after day they at last came out upon the shore of the North-Eastern Sea. There was nothing to be seen as far as the horizon--not a sign of any island. All that broke the stillness was the rolling of the waves upon the shore. Now, the dog and the monkey and the pheasant had come very bravely all the way through the long valleys and over the hills, but they had never seen the sea before, and for the first time since they set out they were bewildered and gazed at each other in silence. How were they to cross the water and get to the Island of Devils? Momotaro soon saw that they were daunted by the sight of the sea, and to try them he spoke loudly and roughly: "Why do you hesitate? Are you afraid of the sea? Oh! what cowards you are! It is impossible to take such weak creatures as you with me to fight the demons. It will be far better for me to go alone. I discharge you all at once!" The three animals were taken aback at this sharp reproof, and clung to Momotaro's sleeve, begging him not to send them away. "Please, Momotaro!" said the dog. "We have come thus far!" said the monkey. "It is inhuman to leave us here!" said the pheasant. "We are not at all afraid of the sea," said the monkey again. "Please do take us with you," said the pheasant. "Do please," said the dog. They had now gained a little courage, so Momotaro said: "Well, then, I will take you with me, but be careful!" Momotaro now got a small ship, and they all got on board. The wind and weather were fair, and the ship went like an arrow over the sea. It was the first time they had ever been on the water, and so at first the dog, the monkey and the pheasant were frightened at the waves and the rolling of the vessel, but by degrees they grew accustomed to the water and were quite happy again. Every day they paced the deck of their little ship, eagerly looking out for the demons' island. When they grew tired of this, they told each other stories of all their exploits of which they were proud, and then played games together; and Momotaro found much to amuse him in listening to the three animals and watching their antics, and in this way he forgot that the way was long and that he was tired of the voyage and of doing nothing. He longed to be at work killing the monsters who had done so much harm in his country. As the wind blew in their favor and they met no storms the ship made a quick voyage, and one day when the sun was shining brightly a sight of land rewarded the four watchers at the bow. Momotaro knew at once that what they saw was the devils' stronghold. On the top of the precipitous shore, looking out to sea, was a large castle. Now that his enterprise was close at hand, he was deep in thought with his head leaning on his hands, wondering how he should begin the attack. His three followers watched him, waiting for orders. At last he called to the pheasant: "It is a great advantage for us to have you with us." said Momotaro to the bird, "for you have good wings. Fly at once to the castle and engage the demons to fight. We will follow you." The pheasant at once obeyed. He flew off from the ship beating the air gladly with his wings. The bird soon reached the island and took up his position on the roof in the middle of the castle, calling out loudly: "All you devils listen to me! The great Japanese general Momotaro has come to fight you and to take your stronghold from you. If you wish to save your lives surrender at once, and in token of your submission you must break off the horns that grow on your forehead. If you do not surrender at once, but make up your mind to fight, we, the pheasant, the dog and the monkey, will kill you all by biting and tearing you to death!" The horned demons looking up and only seeing a pheasant, laughed and said: "A wild pheasant, indeed! It is ridiculous to hear such words from a mean thing like you. Wait till you get a blow from one of our iron bars!" Very angry, indeed, were the devils. They shook their horns and their shocks of red hair fiercely, and rushed to put on tiger skin trousers to make themselves look more terrible. They then brought out great iron bars and ran to where the pheasant perched over their heads, and tried to knock him down. The pheasant flew to one side to escape the blow, and then attacked the head of first one and then another demon. He flew round and round them, beating the air with his wings so fiercely and ceaselessly, that the devils began to wonder whether they had to fight one or many more birds. In the meantime, Momotaro had brought his ship to land. As they had approached, he saw that the shore was like a precipice, and that the large castle was surrounded by high walls and large iron gates and was strongly fortified. Momotaro landed, and with the hope of finding some way of entrance, walked up the path towards the top, followed by the monkey and the dog. They soon came upon two beautiful damsels washing clothes in a stream. Momotaro saw that the clothes were blood-stained, and that as the two maidens washed, the tears were falling fast down their cheeks. He stopped and spoke to them: "Who are you, and why do you weep?" "We are captives of the Demon King. We were carried away from our homes to this island, and though we are the daughters of Daimios (Lords), we are obliged to be his servants, and one day he will kill us"--and the maidens held up the blood-stained clothes--"and eat us, and there is no one to help us!" And their tears burst out afresh at this horrible thought. "I will rescue you," said Momotaro. "Do not weep any more, only show me how I may get into the castle." Then the two ladies led the way and showed Momotaro a little back door in the lowest part of the castle wall--so small that Momotaro could hardly crawl in. The pheasant, who was all this time fighting hard, saw Momotaro and his little band rush in at the back. Momotaro's onslaught was so furious that the devils could not stand against him. At first their foe had been a single bird, the pheasant, but now that Momotaro and the dog and the monkey had arrived they were bewildered, for the four enemies fought like a hundred, so strong were they. Some of the devils fell off the parapet of the castle and were dashed to pieces on the rocks beneath; others fell into the sea and were drowned; many were beaten to death by the three animals. The chief of the devils at last was the only one left. He made up his mind to surrender, for he knew that his enemy was stronger than mortal man. He came up humbly to Momotaro and threw down his iron bar, and kneeling down at the victor's feet he broke off the horns on his head in token of submission, for they were the sign of his strength and power. "I am afraid of you," he said meekly. "I cannot stand against you. I will give you all the treasure hidden in this castle if you will spare my life!" Momotaro laughed. "It is not like you, big devil, to beg for mercy, is it? I cannot spare your wicked life, however much you beg, for you have killed and tortured many people and robbed our country for many years." Then Momotaro tied the devil chief up and gave him into the monkey's charge. Having done this, he went into all the rooms of the castle and set the prisoners free and gathered together all the treasure he found. The dog and the pheasant carried home the plunder, and thus Momotaro returned triumphantly to his home, taking with him the devil chief as a captive. The two poor damsels, daughters of Daimios, and others whom the wicked demon had carried off to be his slaves, were taken safely to their own homes and delivered to their parents. The whole country made a hero of Momotaro on his triumphant return, and rejoiced that the country was now freed from the robber devils who had been a terror of the land for a long time. The old couple's joy was greater than ever, and the treasure Momotaro had brought home with him enabled them to live in peace and plenty to the end of their days. THE OGRE OF RASHOMON. Long, long ago in Kyoto, the people of the city were terrified by accounts of a dreadful ogre, who, it was said, haunted the Gate of Rashomon at twilight and seized whoever passed by. The missing victims were never seen again, so it was whispered that the ogre was a horrible cannibal, who not only killed the unhappy victims but ate them also. Now everybody in the town and neighborhood was in great fear, and no one durst venture out after sunset near the Gate of Rashomon. Now at this time there lived in Kyoto a general named Raiko, who had made himself famous for his brave deeds. Some time before this he made the country ring with his name, for he had attacked Oeyama, where a band of ogres lived with their chief, who instead of wine drank the blood of human beings. He had routed them all and cut off the head of the chief monster. This brave warrior was always followed by a band of faithful knights. In this band there were five knights of great valor. One evening as the five knights sat at a feast quaffing SAKE in their rice bowls and eating all kinds of fish, raw, and stewed, and broiled, and toasting each other's healths and exploits, the first knight, Hojo, said to the others: "Have you all heard the rumor that every evening after sunset there comes an ogre to the Gate of Rashomon, and that he seizes all who pass by?" The second knight, Watanabe, answered him, saying: "Do not talk such nonsense! All the ogres were killed by our chief Raiko at Oeyama! It cannot be true, because even if any ogres did escape from that great killing they would not dare to show themselves in this city, for they know that our brave master would at once attack them if he knew that any of them were still alive!" "Then do you disbelieve what I say, and think that I am telling you a falsehood?" "No, I do not think that you are telling a lie," said Watanabe; "but you have heard some old woman's story which is not worth believing." "Then the best plan is to prove what I say, by going there yourself and finding out yourself whether it is true or not," said Hojo. Watanabe, the second knight, could not bear the thought that his companion should believe he was afraid, so he answered quickly: "Of course, I will go at once and find out for myself!" So Watanabe at once got ready to go--he buckled on his long sword and put on a coat of armor, and tied on his large helmet. When he was ready to start he said to the others: "Give me something so that I can prove I have been there!" Then one of the men got a roll of writing paper and his box of Indian ink and brushes, and the four comrades wrote their names on a piece of paper. "I will take this," said Watanabe, "and put it on the Gate of Rashomon, so to-morrow morning will you all go and look at it? I may be able to catch an ogre or two by then!" and he mounted his horse and rode off gallantly. It was a very dark night, and there was neither moon nor star to light Watanabe on his way. To make the darkness worse a storm came on, the rain fell heavily and the wind howled like wolves in the mountains. Any ordinary man would have trembled at the thought of going out of doors, but Watanabe was a brave warrior and dauntless, and his honor and word were at stake, so he sped on into the night, while his companions listened to the sound of his horse's hoofs dying away in the distance, then shut the sliding shutters close and gathered round the charcoal fire and wondered what would happen--and whether their comrade would encounter one of those horrible Oni. At last Watanabe reached the Gate of Rashomon, but peer as he might through the darkness he could see no sign of an ogre. "It is just as I thought," said Watanabe to himself; "there are certainly no ogres here; it is only an old woman's story. I will stick this paper on the gate so that the others can see I have been here when they come to-morrow, and then I will take my way home and laugh at them all." He fastened the piece of paper, signed by all his four companions, on the gate, and then turned his horse's head towards home. As he did so he became aware that some one was behind him, and at the same time a voice called out to him to wait. Then his helmet was seized from the back. "Who are you?" said Watanabe fearlessly. He then put out his hand and groped around to find out who or what it was that held him by the helmet. As he did so he touched something that felt like an arm--it was covered with hair and as big round as the trunk of a tree! Watanabe knew at once that this was the arm of an ogre, so he drew his sword and cut at it fiercely. There was a loud yell of pain, and then the ogre dashed in front of the warrior. Watanabe's eyes grew large with wonder, for he saw that the ogre was taller than the great gate, his eyes were flashing like mirrors in the sunlight, and his huge mouth was wide open, and as the monster breathed, flames of fire shot out of his mouth. The ogre thought to terrify his foe, but Watanabe never flinched. He attacked the ogre with all his strength, and thus they fought face to face for a long time. At last the ogre, finding that he could neither frighten nor beat Watanabe and that he might himself be beaten, took to flight. But Watanabe, determined not to let the monster escape, put spurs to his horse and gave chase. But though the knight rode very fast the ogre ran faster, and to his disappointment he found himself unable to overtake the monster, who was gradually lost to sight. Watanabe returned to the gate where the fierce fight had taken place, and got down from his horse. As he did so he stumbled upon something lying on the ground. Stooping to pick it up he found that it was one of the ogre's huge arms which he must have slashed off in the fight. His joy was great at having secured such a prize, for this was the best of all proofs of his adventure with the ogre. So he took it up carefully and carried it home as a trophy of his victory. When he got back, he showed the arm to his comrades, who one and all called him the hero of their band and gave him a great feast. His wonderful deed was soon noised abroad in Kyoto, and people from far and near came to see the ogre's arm. Watanabe now began to grow uneasy as to how he should keep the arm in safety, for he knew that the ogre to whom it belonged was still alive. He felt sure that one day or other, as soon as the ogre got over his scare, he would come to try to get his arm back again. Watanabe therefore had a box made of the strongest wood and banded with iron. In this he placed the arm, and then he sealed down the heavy lid, refusing to open it for anyone. He kept the box in his own room and took charge of it himself, never allowing it out of his sight. Now one night he heard some one knocking at the porch, asking for admittance. When the servant went to the door to see who it was, there was only an old woman, very respectable in appearance. On being asked who she was and what was her business, the old woman replied with a smile that she had been nurse to the master of the house when he was a little baby. If the lord of the house were at home she begged to be allowed to see him. The servant left the old woman at the door and went to tell his master that his old nurse had come to see him. Watanabe thought it strange that she should come at that time of night, but at the thought of his old nurse, who had been like a foster-mother to him and whom he had not seen for a long time, a very tender feeling sprang up for her in his heart. He ordered the servant to show her in. The old woman was ushered into the room, and after the customary bows and greetings were over, she said: "Master, the report of your brave fight with the ogre at the Gate of Rashomon is so widely known that even your poor old nurse has heard of it. Is it really true, what every one says, that you cut off one of the ogre's arms? If you did, your deed is highly to be praised!" "I was very disappointed," said Watanabe, "that I was not able take the monster captive, which was what I wished to do, instead of only cutting off an arm!" "I am very proud to think," answered the old woman, "that my master was so brave as to dare to cut off an ogre's arm. There is nothing that can be compared to your courage. Before I die it is the great wish of my life to see this arm," she added pleadingly. "No," said Watanabe, "I am sorry, but I cannot grant your request." "But why?" asked the old woman. "Because," replied Watanabe, "ogres are very revengeful creatures, and if I open the box there is no telling but that the ogre may suddenly appear and carry off his arm. I have had a box made on purpose with a very strong lid, and in this box I keep the ogre's arm secure; and I never show it to any one, whatever happens." "Your precaution is very reasonable," said the old woman. "But I am your old nurse, so surely you will not refuse to show ME the arm. I have only just heard of your brave act, and not being able to wait till the morning I came at once to ask you to show it to me." Watanabe was very troubled at the old woman's pleading, but he still persisted in refusing. Then the old woman said: "Do you suspect me of being a spy sent by the ogre?" "No, of course I do not suspect you of being the ogre's spy, for you are my old nurse," answered Watanabe. "Then you cannot surely refuse to show me the arm any longer." entreated the old woman; "for it is the great wish of my heart to see for once in my life the arm of an ogre!" Watanabe could not hold out in his refusal any longer, so he gave in at last, saying: "Then I will show you the ogre's arm, since you so earnestly wish to see it. Come, follow me!" and he led the way to his own room, the old woman following. When they were both in the room Watanabe shut the door carefully, and then going towards a big box which stood in a corner of the room, he took off the heavy lid. He then called to the old woman to come near and look in, for he never took the arm out of the box. "What is it like? Let me have a good look at it," said the old nurse, with a joyful face. She came nearer and nearer, as if she were afraid, till she stood right against the box. Suddenly she plunged her hand into the box and seized the arm, crying with a fearful voice which made the room shake: "Oh, joy! I have got my arm back again!" And from an old woman she was suddenly transformed into the towering figure of the frightful ogre! Watanabe sprang back and was unable to move for a moment, so great was his astonishment; but recognizing the ogre who had attacked him at the Gate of Rashomon, he determined with his usual courage to put an end to him this time. He seized his sword, drew it out of its sheath in a flash, and tried to cut the ogre down. So quick was Watanabe that the creature had a narrow escape. But the ogre sprang up to the ceiling, and bursting through the roof, disappeared in the mist and clouds. In this way the ogre escaped with his arm. The knight gnashed his teeth with disappointment, but that was all he could do. He waited in patience for another opportunity to dispatch the ogre. But the latter was afraid of Watanabe's great strength and daring, and never troubled Kyoto again. So once more the people of the city were able to go out without fear even at night time, and the brave deeds of Watanabe have never been forgotten! HOW AN OLD MAN LOST HIS WEN. Many, many years ago there lived a good old man who had a wen like a tennis-ball growing out of his right cheek. This lump was a great disfigurement to the old man, and so annoyed him that for many years he spent all his time and money in trying to get rid of it. He tried everything he could think of. He consulted many doctors far and near, and took all kinds of medicines both internally and externally. But it was all of no use. The lump only grew bigger and bigger till it was nearly as big as his face, and in despair he gave up all hopes of ever losing it, and resigned himself to the thought of having to carry the lump on his face all his life. One day the firewood gave out in his kitchen, so, as his wife wanted some at once, the old man took his ax and set out for the woods up among the hills not very far from his home. It was a fine day in the early autumn, and the old man enjoyed the fresh air and was in no hurry to get home. So the whole afternoon passed quickly while he was chopping wood, and he had collected a goodly pile to take back to his wife. When the day began to draw to a close, he turned his face homewards. The old man had not gone far on his way down the mountain pass when the sky clouded and rain began to fall heavily. He looked about for some shelter, but there was not even a charcoal-burner's hut near. At last he espied a large hole in the hollow trunk of a tree. The hole was near the ground, so he crept in easily, and sat down in hopes that he had only been overtaken by a mountain shower, and that the weather would soon clear. But much to the old man's disappointment, instead of clearing the rain fell more and more heavily, and finally a heavy thunderstorm broke over the mountain. The thunder roared so terrifically, and the heavens seemed to be so ablaze with lightning, that the old man could hardly believe himself to be alive. He thought that he must die of fright. At last, however, the sky cleared, and the whole country was aglow in the rays of the setting sun. The old man's spirits revived when he looked out at the beautiful twilight, and he was about to step out from his strange hiding-place in the hollow tree when the sound of what seemed like the approaching steps of several people caught his ear. He at once thought that his friends had come to look for him, and he was delighted at the idea of having some jolly companions with whom to walk home. But on looking out from the tree, what was his amazement to see, not his friends, but hundreds of demons coming towards the spot. The more he looked, the greater was his astonishment. Some of these demons were as large as giants, others had great big eyes out of all proportion to the rest of their bodies, others again had absurdly long noses, and some had such big mouths that they seemed to open from ear to ear. All had horns growing on their foreheads. The old man was so surprised at what he saw that he lost his balance and fell out of the hollow tree. Fortunately for him the demons did not see him, as the tree was in the background. So he picked himself up and crept back into the tree. While he was sitting there and wondering impatiently when he would be able to get home, he heard the sounds of gay music, and then some of the demons began to sing. "What are these creatures doing?" said the old man to himself. "I will look out, it sounds very amusing." On peeping out, the old man saw that the demon chief himself was actually sitting with his back against the tree in which he had taken refuge, and all the other demons were sitting round, some drinking and some dancing. Food and wine was spread before them on the ground, and the demons were evidently having a great entertainment and enjoying themselves immensely. It made the old man laugh to see their strange antics. "How amusing this is!" laughed the old man to himself "I am now quite old, but I have never seen anything so strange in all my life." He was so interested and excited in watching all that the demons were doing, that he forgot himself and stepped out of the tree and stood looking on. The demon chief was just taking a big cup of SAKE and watching one of the demons dancing. In a little while he said with a bored air: "Your dance is rather monotonous. I am tired of watching it. Isn't there any one amongst you all who can dance better than this fellow?" Now the old man had been fond of dancing all his life, and was quite an expert in the art, and he knew that he could do much better than the demon. "Shall I go and dance before these demons and let them see what a human being can do? It may be dangerous, for if I don't please them they may kill me!" said the old fellow to himself. His fears, however, were soon overcome by his love of dancing. In a few minutes he could restrain himself no longer, and came out before the whole party of demons and began to dance at once. The old man, realizing that his life probably depended on whether he pleased these strange creatures or not, exerted his skill and wit to the utmost. The demons were at first very surprised to see a man so fearlessly taking part in their entertainment, and then their surprise soon gave place to admiration. "How strange!" exclaimed the horned chief. "I never saw such a skillful dancer before! He dances admirably!" When the old man had finished his dance, the big demon said: "Thank you very much for your amusing dance. Now give us the pleasure of drinking a cup of wine with us," and with these words he handed him his largest wine-cup. The old man thanked him very humbly: "I did not expect such kindness from your lordship. I fear I have only disturbed your pleasant party by my unskillful dancing." "No, no," answered the big demon. "You must come often and dance for us. Your skill has given us much pleasure." The old man thanked him again and promised to do so. "Then will you come again to-morrow, old man?" asked the demon. "Certainly, I will," answered the old man. "Then you must leave some pledge of your word with us," said the demon. "Whatever you like," said the old man. "Now what is the best thing he can leave with us as a pledge?" asked the demon, looking round. Then said one of the demon's attendants kneeling behind the chief: "The token he leaves with us must be the most important thing to him in his possession. I see the old man has a wen on his right cheek. Now mortal men consider such a wen very fortunate. Let my lord take the lump from the old man's right cheek, and he will surely come to-morrow, if only to get that back." "You are very clever," said the demon chief, giving his horns an approving nod. Then he stretched out a hairy arm and claw-like hand, and took the great lump from the old man's right cheek. Strange to say, it came off as easily as a ripe plum from the tree at the demon's touch, and then the merry troop of demons suddenly vanished. The old man was lost in bewilderment by all that had happened. He hardly knew for some time where he was. When he came to understand what had happened to him, he was delighted to find that the lump on his face, which had for so many years disfigured him, had really been taken away without any pain to himself. He put up his hand to feel if any scar remained, but found that his right cheek was as smooth as his left. The sun had long set, and the young moon had risen like a silver crescent in the sky. The old man suddenly realized how late it was and began to hurry home. He patted his right cheek all the time, as if to make sure of his good fortune in having lost the wen. He was so happy that he found it impossible to walk quietly--he ran and danced the whole way home. He found his wife very anxious, wondering what had happened to make him so late. He soon told her all that had passed since he left home that afternoon. She was quite as happy as her husband when he showed her that the ugly lump had disappeared from his face, for in her youth she had prided herself on his good looks, and it had been a daily grief to her to see the horrid growth. Now next door to this good old couple there lived a wicked and disagreeable old man. He, too, had for many years been troubled with the growth of a wen on his left cheek, and he, too, had tried all manner of things to get rid of it, but in vain. He heard at once, through the servant, of his neighbor's good luck in losing the lump on his face, so he called that very evening and asked his friend to tell him everything that concerned the loss of it. The good old man told his disagreeable neighbor all that had happened to him. He described the place where he would find the hollow tree in which to hide, and advised him to be on the spot in the late afternoon towards the time of sunset. The old neighbor started out the very next afternoon, and after hunting about for some time, came to the hollow tree just as his friend had described. Here he hid himself and waited for the twilight. Just as he had been told, the band of demons came at that hour and held a feast with dance and song. When this had gone on for some time the chief of the demons looked around and said: "It is now time for the old man to come as he promised us. Why doesn't he come?" When the second old man heard these words he ran out of his hiding-place in the tree and, kneeling down before the Oni, said: "I have been waiting for a long time for you to speak!" "Ah, you are the old man of yesterday," said the demon chief. "Thank you for coming, you must dance for us soon." The old man now stood up and opened his fan and began to dance. But he had never learned to dance, and knew nothing about the necessary gestures and different positions. He thought that anything would please the demons, so he just hopped about, waving his arms and stamping his feet, imitating as well as he could any dancing he had ever seen. The Oni were very dissatisfied at this exhibition, and said amongst themselves: "How badly he dances to-day!" Then to the old man the demon chief said: "Your performance to-day is quite different from the dance of yesterday. We don't wish to see any more of such dancing. We will give you back the pledge you left with us. You must go away at once." With these words he took out from a fold of his dress the lump which he had taken from the face of the old man who had danced so well the day before, and threw it at the right cheek of the old man who stood before him. The lump immediately attached itself to his cheek as firmly as if it had grown there always, and all attempts to pull it off were useless. The wicked old man, instead of losing the lump on his left cheek as he had hoped, found to his dismay that he had but added another to his right cheek in his attempt to get rid of the first. He put up first one hand and then the other to each side of his face to make sure if he were not dreaming a horrible nightmare. No, sure enough there was now a great wen on the right side of his face as on the left. The demons had all disappeared, and there was nothing for him to do but to return home. He was a pitiful sight, for his face, with the two large lumps, one on each side, looked just like a Japanese gourd. THE STONES OF FIVE COLORS AND THE EMPRESS JOKWA. AN OLD CHINESE STORY. Long, long ago there lived a great Chinese Empress who succeeded her brother the Emperor Fuki. It was the age of giants, and the Empress Jokwa, for that was her name, was twenty-five feet high, nearly as tall as her brother. She was a wonderful woman, and an able ruler. There is an interesting story of how she mended a part of the broken heavens and one of the terrestrial pillars which upheld the sky, both of which were damaged during a rebellion raised by one of King Fuki's subjects. The rebel's name was Kokai. He was twenty-six feet high. His body was entirely covered with hair, and his face was as black as iron. He was a wizard and a very terrible character indeed. When the Emperor Fuki died, Kokai was bitten with the ambition to be Emperor of China, but his plan failed, and Jokwa, the dead Emperor's sister, mounted the throne. Kokai was so angry at being thwarted in his desire that he raised a revolt. His first act was to employ the Water Devil, who caused a great flood to rush over the country. This swamped the poor people out of their homes, and when the Empress Jokwa saw the plight of her subjects, and knew it was Kokai's fault, she declared war against him. Now Jokwa, the Empress, had two young warriors called Hako and Eiko, and the former she made General of the front forces. Hako was delighted that the Empress's choice should fall on him, and he prepared himself for battle. He took up the longest lance he could find and mounted a red horse, and was just about to set out when he heard some one galloping hard behind him and shouting: "Hako! Stop! The general of the front forces must be I!" He looked back and saw Eiko his comrade, riding on a white horse, in the act of unsheathing a large sword to draw upon him. Hako's anger was kindled, and as he turned to face his rival he cried: "Insolent wretch! I have been appointed by the Empress to lead the front forces to battle. Do you dare to stop me?" "Yes," answered Eiko. "I ought to lead the army. It is you who should follow me." At this bold reply Hako's anger burst from a spark into a flame. "Dare you answer me thus? Take that," and he lunged at him with his lance. But Eiko moved quickly aside, and at the same time, raising his sword, he wounded the head of the General's horse. Obliged to dismount, Hako was about to rush at his antagonist, when Eiko, as quick as lightning, tore from his breast the badge of commandership and galloped away. The action was so quick that Hako stood dazed, not knowing what to do. The Empress had been a spectator of the scene, and she could not but admire the quickness of the ambitious Eiko, and in order to pacify the rivals she determined to appoint them both to the Generalship of the front army. So Hako was made commander of the left wing of the front army, and Eiko of the right. One hundred thousand soldiers followed them and marched to put down the rebel Kokai. Within a short time the two Generals reached the castle where Kokai had fortified himself. When aware of their approach, the wizard said: "I will blow these two poor children away with one breath." (He little thought how hard he would find the fight.) With these words Kokai seized an iron rod and mounted a black horse, and rushed forth like an angry tiger to meet his two foes. As the two young warriors saw him tearing down upon them, they said to each other: "We must not let him escape alive," and they attacked him from the right and from the left with sword and with lance. But the all-powerful Kokai was not to be easily beaten--he whirled his iron rod round like a great water-wheel, and for a long time they fought thus, neither side gaining nor losing. At last, to avoid the wizard's iron rod, Hako turned his horse too quickly; the animal's hoofs struck against a large stone, and in a fright the horse reared as straight on end as a screen, throwing his master to the ground. Thereupon Kokai drew his three-edged sword and was about to kill the prostrate Hako, but before the wizard could work his wicked will the brave Eiko had wheeled his horse in front of Kokai and dared him to try his strength with him, and not to kill a fallen man. But Kokai was tired, and he did not feel inclined to face this fresh and dauntless young soldier, so suddenly wheeling his horse round, he fled from the fray. Hako, who had been only slightly stunned, had by this time got upon his feet, and he and his comrade rushed after the retreating enemy, the one on foot and the other on horseback. Kokai, seeing that he was pursued, turned upon his nearest assailant, who was, of course, the mounted Eiko, and drawing forth an arrow from the quiver at his back, fitted it to his bow and drew upon Eiko. As quick as lightning the wary Eiko avoided the shaft, which only touched his helmet strings, and glancing off, fell harmless against Hako's coat of armor. The wizard saw that both his enemies remained unscathed. He also knew that there was no time to pull a second arrow before they would be upon him, so to save himself he resorted to magic. He stretched forth his wand, and immediately a great flood arose, and Jokwa's army and her brave young Generals were swept away like a falling of autumn leaves on a stream. Hako and Eiko found themselves struggling neck deep in water, and looking round they saw the ferocious Kokai making towards them through the water with his iron rod on high. They thought every moment that they would be cut down, but they bravely struck out to swim as far as they could from Kokai's reach. All of a sudden they found themselves in front of what seemed to be an island rising straight out of the water. They looked up, and there stood an old man with hair as white as snow, smiling at them. They cried to him to help them. The old man nodded his head and came down to the edge of the water. As soon as his feet touched the flood it divided, and a good road appeared, to the amazement of the drowning men, who now found themselves safe. Kokai had by this time reached the island which had risen as if by a miracle out of the water, and seeing his enemies thus saved he was furious. He rushed through the water upon the old man, and it seemed as if he would surely be killed. But the old man appeared not in the least dismayed, and calmly awaited the wizard's onslaught. As Kokai drew near, the old man laughed aloud merrily, and turning into a large and beautiful white crane, flapped his wings and flew upwards into the heavens. When Hako and Eiko saw this, they knew that their deliverer was no mere human being--was perhaps a god in disguise--and they hoped later on to find out who the venerable old man was. In the meantime they had retreated, and it being now the close of day, for the sun was setting, both Kokai and the young warriors gave up the idea of fighting more that day. That night Hako and Eiko decided that it was useless to fight against the wizard Kokai, for he had supernatural powers, while they were only human. So they presented themselves before the Empress Jokwa. After a long consultation, the Empress decided to ask the Fire King, Shikuyu, to help her against the rebel wizard and to lead her army against him. Now Shikuyu, the Fire King, lived at the South Pole. It was the only safe place for him to be in, for he burnt up everything around him anywhere else, but it was impossible to burn up ice and snow. To look at he was a giant, and stood thirty feet high. His face was just like marble, and his hair and beard long and as white as snow. His strength was stupendous, and he was master of all fire just as Kokai was of water. "Surely," thought the Empress, "Shikuyu can conquer Kokai." So she sent Eiko to the South Pole to beg Shikuyu to take the war against Kokai into his own hands and conquer him once for all. The Fire King, on hearing the Empress's request, smiled and said: "That is an easy matter, to be sure! It was none other than I who came to your rescue when you and your companion were drowning in the flood raised by Kokai!" Eiko was surprised at learning this. He thanked the Fire King for coming to the rescue in their dire need, and then besought him to return with him and lead the war and defeat the wicked Kokai. Shikuyu did as he was asked, and returned with Eiko to the Empress. She welcomed the Fire King cordially, and at once told him why she had sent for him--to ask him to be the Generalissimo of her army. His reply was very reassuring: "Do not have any anxiety. I will certainly kill Kokai." Shikuyu then placed himself at the head of thirty thousand soldiers, and with Hako and Eiko showing him the way, marched to the enemy's castle. The Fire King knew the secret of Kokai's power, and he now told all the soldiers to gather a certain kind of shrub. This they burned in large quantities, and each soldier was then ordered to fill a bag full of the ashes thus obtained. Kokai, on the other hand, in his own conceit, thought that Shikuyu was of inferior power to himself, and he murmured angrily: "Even though you are the Fire King, I can soon extinguish you." Then he repeated an incantation, and the water-floods rose and welled as high as mountains. Shikuyu, not in the least frightened, ordered his soldiers to scatter the ashes which he had caused them to make. Every man did as he was bid, and such was the power of the plant that they had burned, that as soon as the ashes mingled with the water a stiff mud was formed, and they were all safe from drowning. Now Kokai the wizard was dismayed when he saw that the Fire King was superior in wisdom to himself, and his anger was so great that he rushed headlong towards the enemy. Eiko rode to meet him, and the two fought together for some time. They were well matched in a hand-to-hand combat. Hako, who was carefully watching the fray, saw that Eiko began to tire, and fearing that his companion would be killed, he took his place. But Kokai had tired as well, and feeling him self unable to hold out against Hako, he said artfully: "You are too magnanimous, thus to fight for your friend and run the risk of being killed. I will not hurt such a good man." And he pretended to retreat, turning away the head of his horse. His intention was to throw Hako off his guard and then to wheel round and take him by surprise. But Shikuyu understood the wily wizard, and he spoke at once: "You are a coward! You cannot deceive me!" Saying this, the Fire King made a sign to the unwary Hako to attack him. Kokai now turned upon Shikuyu furiously, but he was tired and unable to fight well, and he soon received a wound in his shoulder. He now broke from the fray and tried to escape in earnest. While the fight between their leaders had been going on the two armies had stood waiting for the issue. Shikuyu now turned and bade Jokwa's soldiers charge the enemy's forces. This they did, and routed them with great slaughter, and the wizard barely escaped with his life. It was in vain that Kokai called upon the Water Devil to help him, for Shikuyu knew the counter-charm. The wizard found that the battle was against him. Mad with pain, for his wound began to trouble him, and frenzied with disappointment and fear, he dashed his head against the rocks of Mount Shu and died on the spot. There was an end of the wicked Kokai, but not of trouble in the Empress Jokwa's Kingdom, as you shall see. The force with which the wizard fell against the rocks was so great that the mountain burst, and fire rushed out from the earth, and one of the pillars upholding the Heavens was broken so that one corner of the sky dropped till it touched the earth. Shikuyu, the Fire King, took up the body of the wizard and carried it to the Empress Jokwa, who rejoiced greatly that her enemy was vanquished, and her generals victorious. She showered all manner of gifts and honors upon Shikuyu. But all this time fire was bursting from the mountain broken by the fall of Kokai. Whole villages were destroyed, rice-fields burnt up, river beds filled with the burning lava, and the homeless people were in great distress. So the Empress left the capital as soon as she had rewarded the victor Shikuyu, and journeyed with all speed to the scene of disaster. She found that both Heaven and earth had sustained damage, and the place was so dark that she had to light her lamp to find out the extent of the havoc that had been wrought. Having ascertained this, she set to work at repairs. To this end she ordered her subjects to collect stones of five colors--blue, yellow, red, white and black. When she had obtained these, she boiled them with a kind of porcelain in a large caldron, and the mixture became a beautiful paste, and with this she knew that she could mend the sky. Now all was ready. Summoning the clouds that were sailing ever so high above her head, she mounted them, and rode heavenwards, carrying in her hands the vase containing the paste made from the stones of five colors. She soon reached the corner of the sky that was broken, and applied the paste and mended it. Having done this, she turned her attention to the broken pillar, and with the legs of a very large tortoise she mended it. When this was finished she mounted the clouds and descended to the earth, hoping to find that all was now right, but to her dismay she found that it was still quite dark. Neither the sun shone by day nor the moon by night. Greatly perplexed, she at last called a meeting of all the wise men of the Kingdom, and asked their advice as to what she should do in this dilemma. Two of the wisest said: "The roads of Heaven have been damaged by the late accident, and the Sun and Moon have been obliged to stay at home. Neither the Sun could make his daily journey nor the Moon her nightly one because of the bad roads. The Sun and Moon do not yet know that your Majesty has mended all that was damaged, so we will go and inform them that since you have repaired them the roads are safe." The Empress approved of what the wise men suggested, and ordered them to set out on their mission. But this was not easy, for the Palace of the Sun and Moon was many, many hundreds of thousands of miles distant into the East. If they traveled on foot they might never reach the place, they would die of old age on the road. But Jokwa had recourse to magic. She gave her two ambassadors wonderful chariots which could whirl through the air by magic power a thousand miles per minute. They set out in good spirits, riding above the clouds, and after many days they reached the country where the Sun and the Moon were living happily together. The two ambassadors were granted an interview with their Majesties of Light and asked them why they had for so many days secluded themselves from the Universe? Did they not know that by doing so they plunged the world and all its people into uttermost darkness both day and night? Replied the Sun and the Moon: "Surely you know that Mount Shu has suddenly burst forth with fire, and the roads of Heaven have been greatly damaged! I, the Sun, found it impossible to make my daily journey along such rough roads--and certainly the Moon could not issue forth at night! so we both retired into private life for a time." Then the two wise men bowed themselves to the ground and said: "Our Empress Jokwa has already repaired the roads with the wonderful stones of five colors, so we beg to assure your Majesties that the roads are just as they were before the eruption took place." But the Sun and the Moon still hesitated, saying that they had heard that one of the pillars of Heaven had been broken as well, and they feared that, even if the roads had been remade, it would still be dangerous for them to sally forth on their usual journeys. "You need have no anxiety about the broken pillar," said the two ambassadors. "Our Empress restored it with the legs of a great tortoise, and it is as firm as ever it was." Then the Sun and Moon appeared satisfied, and they both set out to try the roads. They found that what the Empress's deputies had told them was correct. After the examination of the heavenly roads, the Sun and Moon again gave light to the earth. All the people rejoiced greatly, and peace and prosperity were secured in China for a long time under the reign of the wise Empress Jokwa. THE END. 
42747	----	Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). THE SHINTO CULT A Christian Study of the Ancient Religion of Japan by MILTON S. TERRY, D.D., Lecturer on Comparative Religion in Garrett Biblical Institute. [Illustration] Cincinnati: Jennings and Graham New York: Eaton and Mains Copyright, 1910, By Jennings and Graham. NOTE. The following pages are the substance of a course of lectures on the old Shinto cult which the author has been giving for a number of years to his classes in Comparative Religion. They are here condensed and adapted to the purpose of a little manual which, it is believed, may interest many readers, and bring together within a small space information gathered from many sources not easily accessible to ordinary students. At the same time it is hoped that this little volume may serve to suggest some valuable hints to the Christian missionary who is to come face to face with the Japanese people in their "beautiful land of the reed plains and the fresh ears of rice." It is possible that some portions, if not every jot and tittle, of this ancient cult may, like the law and the prophets of Israel, find a glorious fulfillment in the pure gospel of Jesus Christ. The principal authorities relied on in the preparation of this essay are named in the Select Bibliography given at the end. CONTENTS. 1. THE COUNTRY 7 2. IS SHINTO A RELIGION? 10 3. ORIGIN AND RELATIVE AGE OF THE PEOPLE 12 4. MEANING OF THE TERM SHINTO 14 5. SOURCES OF INFORMATION 15 6. JAPANESE COSMOGONY AND MYTHOLOGY 19 7. THE JAPANESE A SELF-CENTERED PEOPLE 29 8. ESSENCE OF THE SHINTO CULT 30 9. THE GREAT SANCTUARIES 31 10. FIVE NOTEWORTHY OBJECTS CONNECTED WITH THE WORSHIP 34 11. THE ANCESTOR WORSHIP 37 12. ELEMENTS OF ANIMISM 41 13. THE DOMESTIC CULT 43 14. THE COMMUNAL CULT 45 15. THE NATIONAL CULT 49 16. THE HARVEST SERVICE 52 17. THE GREAT PURIFICATION 54 18. OTHER RITUAL SERVICES 60 19. INFLUENCE OF CHINA ON JAPANESE THOUGHT 63 20. INFLUENCE OF BUDDHISM 64 21. REVIVAL OF PURE SHINTO 68 22. ESOTERIC SHINTO 70 23. MINGLING OF SHINTO, CONFUCIANISM, AND BUDDHISM 71 24. ROMAN CATHOLICISM IN JAPAN 73 25. ALLEGED PRESENT RELIGIOUS INDIFFERENCE 74 26. CONCLUDING OBSERVATIONS 78 THE SHINTO CULT. =1. The Country.= In taking up the study of a religion which has never extended beyond the limits of an easily defined territory, we may appropriately first of all take a hasty glance at the geographical outlines of the system we call Shinto, the primitive faith of the people of Japan. To appreciate the geographical position of Japan, one needs to have before him a map of the world. He may then see at a glance how remarkably the three thousand islands of that Empire stretch for some twenty-five hundred miles along the coast of Asia, from Kamchatka on the north to the island of Formosa on the south, which island is crossed by the tropic of Cancer. It may be called the longest and the narrowest country in the world. It looks like an immense sea-serpent, with its northern tail twisting toward the Aleutian Islands, which our Government acquired from Russia in 1867, and its southern head pointing toward the Philippine Islands, which we acquired from Spain in recent years. It seems to guard the whole eastern coast of Asia, and along with China, on the mainland, is suspected and feared by some European diplomats as embodying some sort of a "Yellow Peril." It may be that its noteworthy contiguity to our Alaskan possessions at one extremity and our Philippine wards at the other bodes some sort of peril to any Western nation that may hereafter presume to enlarge its dominions in the Orient by force of arms. Attention has often been called to the fact that the British Isles, in the Atlantic Ocean, just off the northwestern coast of Europe, occupy a corresponding geographical relation to the Western world. The islands themselves are comparatively small, but their measuring line has gone out into all the earth, and their civilization is dominating the world. Asia, on the east of the Eastern hemisphere, is a land of innumerable population; Europe, on the west, is a land of new ideas and of hopeful progress. The United States, resting her Atlantean shoulder on the island-empire of Europe, and her Pacific shoulder on the island-empire of the Orient, may be, in the order of God, a mighty mediator, possessed both of a great population and of new and commanding ideas, and destined to bring about the universal peace, the sound knowledge, and the highest prosperity of the world. We are told that Japan is a country of diversified beauty. Compassed round about with the vast ocean, yet not far from the Asiatic mainland; supplied also with a wonderful inland sea, and with lakes and rivers and fountains of waters; a land of mountains, and valleys, and broad meadows, and all manner of trees and shrubs and fruits and flowers, and charming landscapes, and all varieties of climate; it is no wonder that the people and their poets have called this group of islands "the sun's nest," "the country of the sun-goddess," "the region between heaven and earth," "islands of the congealed drop," "the grand land of the eight isles," "central land of reed-plains," "land of the ears of fresh rice," "land of a thousand autumns," and other similar names indicative of manifold excellence.[1] This island-empire of the Orient is the home of the religious cult called "Shinto," a religion which has never traveled nor sought to propagate itself beyond the dominions of Japan. It has never put itself in a hostile attitude toward any other form of religion, either at home or abroad, except when a foreign cult has entered its ancient home and sought to meddle with affairs of State or to interfere with loyalty to the Emperor. =2. Is Shinto a Religion?= At a meeting of the Society of Science, held at Tokyo in 1890, the president of the Imperial University expressed the opinion that Shinto should not be regarded as a religion. He believed it to be an essential element in the existing national thought and feeling of Japan, but destitute of the essential qualities of a strictly religious cult. Others have expressed a similar opinion; but we are disposed to think that this judgment arises from an incorrect concept of religion, and a consequent defective definition of the same. A similar denial has been made of the religious character of other cults and systems. Taoism, Confucianism, and even Buddhism have been said to lack the elements essential to a real religion. But if these systems do not constitute a religion for the peoples who accept them, they are in every case their substitute for religion. Any religion or any form of religion may so involve its thought and its practices with philosophical speculation, or with social customs, or with the political management of the State, as to have the appearance of a philosophical or a political system, rather than a form of religion. But, however it may, in such ways, ignore the religious ideas and practices of other systems, if there be no other religious cult among the people, the philosophy, the ethical policy and the customs, which make up this important element of the civilization and the national life, are as truly tantamount to a religious cult as any form of faith and practice which all men agree to call religion. =3. Origin and Relative Age of the People.= The main body of the Japanese people are believed to have migrated in old times from the northern central part of Asia, and to have worked their way eastward into Korea, and thence into the islands of Japan. They expelled or subjugated the aborigines of the country, and made themselves masters of the great islands and the inland and surrounding seas. But their origin and early history are involved in dense obscurity. They doubtless brought with them from their earlier dwellings in Asia various myths, legends, and traditions, and these grew and strengthened amid the simple habits of life which they adopted in their new island-world. According to a writer[2] in the _Westminster Review_ of July, 1878, Japan is yet, in more senses than one, a young country. Their language and their institutions "show us a people still in a very early stage of development." W. G. Aston holds that the earliest date of accepted Japanese chronology is A. D. 461, and he says that Japanese history, properly so called, can not be said to exist previous to A. D. 500. He regards Korean history more trustworthy than that of Japan previous to that date.[3] According to Satow, "everything points to the descent of the Japanese people in great part from a race of Turanian origin, who crossed over from the continent by way of the islands Tsushima and Iki, which form the natural stepping-stones from Korea to Japan."[4] But the last twenty-five years have witnessed a most remarkable advance in the use of modern inventions, and more than any other nation of the far East have the Japanese displayed both a willingness and an ambition to improve their condition by means of the ideas and usages of Western civilization. The war with China in 1894, and that with Russia in 1904-1905, displayed a wisdom, tact, and energy which were a great surprise to the world. The self-poise, the generosity, the far-sighted statesmanship exhibited in her concluding terms of peace with her haughty but defeated enemy, have commanded universal admiration. These facts make the study of this people's ancient religious cult, which is still a powerful element in the popular life, a matter of no little interest at the present time.[5] =4. Meaning of the Word Shinto.= The word Shinto means the "way of the gods." It came into use when Buddhism was introduced into Japan, and designates the old, ancestral worship as a way of the gods distinct from the way of the Buddhists, or of any other rival way of religious life. The Japanese name is _Kami no michi_. In its essential elements it is a commingling of Animism and ancestor-worship. Not only are the spirits of departed ancestors reckoned among the gods, but there are innumerable deities of other kind and character. The mountains and valleys, the rivers and the seas, the trees, the wind, the thunder, the fire, all moving things and objects of sense are supposed to have each a deity within. And these deities seem for the most part to have been regarded as beneficent powers, and their worship is of a joyous kind. =5. Sources of Information.= The sources of our knowledge of this ancient cult are quite numerous, but not as accessible to English and American students as is desirable. The oldest existing monument of Japanese literature is known as the "Ko-ji-ki," the text of which would make a book about the size of our four Gospels. It contains 180 short sections or chapters. The word _Ko-ji-ki_ means a "Record of Ancient Matters," and appropriately designates this oldest known record of the mythology, history, and customs of the people of Japan. It is the nearest approach to a sacred scripture of the Shinto cult which we possess. It has been translated into English, and supplied with a learned introduction and many explanatory notes by Basil H. Chamberlain,[6] a distinguished scholar, who has made the Japanese language, literature, and archæology a subject of extensive and minute research. Another and much larger work, comprising thirty books, and containing a record of much of the same mythology and history as the _Ko-ji-ki_, is called the _Nihongi_, or "Chronicles of Japan."[7] It is a composite of various elements derived from numerous different sources, and while it reports in substance the myths and stories of the gods as they are found in the _Ko-ji-ki_, it makes no mention of that older work and omits some things which the older work records. It gives, however, a number and variety of reports of the myths and traditions, informing us how, in one ancient writing, it is so and so recorded; in another writing, it is somewhat differently told. This feature enhances its value for purposes of comparison among the varying traditions. This later production lacks the simplicity and originality of the _Ko-ji-ki_, and bears abundant evidence of the Chinese influences under which it was composed. It is written for the most part in Chinese, and exhibits numerous examples of the learning and philosophical cast of thought peculiar to certain well-known Chinese writings. As a specimen of this rationalistic type of construing the ancient myths of creation, we here cite the opening sentences from the first book of the _Nihongi_: "Of old, Heaven and Earth were not yet separated, and the In and Yo [or _Yin_ and _Yang_, female and male principles] not yet divided. They formed a chaotic mass, like an egg, which was of obscurely defined limits and contained germs. The purer and clearer part was thinly drawn out and formed Heaven, while the heavier and grosser element settled down and became Earth. The finer element easily became a united body, but the consolidation of the heavy and gross element was accomplished with difficulty. Heaven was therefore formed first, and Earth was established subsequently. Thereafter Divine Beings were produced between them. Hence it is said that when the world began to be created, the soil, of which lands were composed, floated about in a manner which might be compared to the floating of a fish sporting on the surface of the water. At this time a certain thing was produced between Heaven and Earth. It was in form like a reed-shoot. Now this became transformed into a god, and was called _Kuni-toko-tachi no Mikoto_ ["Land-eternal-stand-of-august thing"]. Next there was _Kuni-no-sa-tsuchi_ ["land-of-right-soil"], and next, _Toyo-kumu-nu_ ["rich-form-plain"]--in all, three deities. These were pure males, spontaneously developed by the operation of the principle of Heaven" [the Yo, male principle]. The _Ko-ji-ki_ was written about 712 A. D., and the _Nihongi_ in 720 A. D., and they are both remarkable for the naïve and peculiar manner in which they unite together in their narratives matters of traditional mythology and of history without apparent consciousness of any noteworthy differences between the two. Besides these remarkable books there is a Code of ceremonial laws, in fifty volumes, known as the _Yengishiki_, which was published A. D. 927. It includes a large number of ancient Japanese rituals, called _Norito_, of which several have been translated into English and provided with a commentary and learned notes by Ernest Satow and Karl Florenz.[8] There is also an interesting collection of ancient poems, called the _Manyoshu_, "Collection of Myriad Leaves," which furnishes numerous pictures of the life of the early Japanese, both before and after the time of the compilation of the _Ko-ji-ki_ and the _Nihongi_. There are also the voluminous writings of the three famous Shinto scholars, Mabuchi, Motowori, and Hirata, who flourished between the middle of the eighteenth and the middle of the nineteenth century, and effected an intellectual revolution and a remarkable revival of the Shinto cult.[9] =6. Japanese Cosmogony and Mythology.= Our study of Shinto may well begin by a brief notice of Japanese cosmogony as presented at the very beginning of the _Ko-ji-ki_: "I, Yasumaro, say: Now when chaos had begun to condense, but force and form were not yet manifest, and there was naught named, naught done, who could know its shape? Nevertheless Heaven and Earth first parted, and the Three Deities performed the commencement of creation; the Passive and Active Essences then developed, and the Two Spirits became the ancestors of all things. Therefore did he [Izanagi] enter obscurity and emerge into light, and the Sun and Moon were revealed by the washing of his eyes; he floated on and plunged into the sea-water, and heavenly and earthly Deities appeared through the ablutions of his person. So in the dimness of the great beginning, we, by relying on the original teaching, learn the time of the conception of the earth and of the birth of islands; in the remoteness of the original beginning, we by trusting the former sages, perceive the era of the genesis of Deities and of the establishment of men." This brief fragment from the compiler's "Preface" furnishes a condensed outline of what we read in the first part of the _Ko-ji-ki_, and it indicates the peculiar cosmogony of the Japanese mythology. The early sections of the book record the names of the first deities, who are said to have been "born alone, and hid their persons;" which seems to mean that they came into being in some exceptional way, and then disappeared. Then followed what are termed "the Seven Divine Generations," among which we find such names as "the Earthly-eternally-standing-Deity," "the Mud-Earth-Lord, and his younger sister, the Mud-Earth-Lady;" "the Germ-Integrating Deity, and his younger sister, the Life-Integrating Deity." These seven generations of gods end with the birth of a brother and sister, named _Izanagi_ and _Izanami_ (_i. e._, "the male-who-invites and the female-who-invites"). These two are commanded by the higher and more ancient heavenly deities to "make, consolidate, and give birth to this drifting land;" whereupon they two, "standing upon the floating Bridge of Heaven, pushed down a jewelled spear, and stirred the ocean brine till it became thick and sticky;[10] and then, drawing the spear upward, the brine that dropped down from the end of the spear became an island." Upon this island Izanagi and Izanami descended from the Heaven above, and in course of time generated all the islands of the Japanese world. When they had finished giving birth to countries they proceeded to give birth to deities, and so by them were begotten fourteen islands and thirty-five deities. There is little room to doubt that Izanagi and Izanami are a mythological representation of the generative powers of nature; but their portraiture in the Japanese literature has probably received some coloring from Chinese influence and thought. But in giving birth to the deity of fire, Izanami died, and her brother buried her, and drawing his mighty sword he proceeded to cut off the head of his son, the deity of fire. Whereupon, wonderful to tell, sixteen deities were born from the blood and the different parts of the body of the fire-god. Among the names of these we find such titles as "Rock-splitter," "Root-splitter," "Brave-snapping," and "Possessor-of-Mountains;" and the name of the sword which cleft the head of the fire-god was "Heavenly," or "Majestic-Point-Blade-Extended." After the birth of these deities, Izanagi longed to see again his sister and spouse, and went to seek her in the underworld. He called to her and asked her to come back to him. She answered that such was her desire, but she must consult the deities of Hades, and she bade him wait, saying, "Look not at me." One can not help comparing here the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. Orpheus descended into the lower world, charmed Pluto with his lyre, and obtained permission for his wife Eurydice to return, following behind him, but only on condition that Orpheus should not look back at her till they had both reached the upper world. He grew impatient, looked back to see if she were indeed following, and she at once vanished from his sight. According to the Japanese myth, however, Izanagi grew tired of waiting outside, made a light and entered, and was shocked to behold maggots swarming over her body, and eight thunder-deities dwelling in her rotting form where they had been born. He turned and fled back, but she pursued him with the forces of the underworld. He succeeded in driving them all back, and with a mighty rock blocked up the pass of Hades. Then he went to purify himself by bathing in a stream, and from his staff, and girdle, and bracelet, and various garments, and from the filth which he contracted in the underworld were born a multitude of deities, bearing composite names of strange significance. There was also born, as he washed his left eye, a deity who was called "the Heaven-Shining-Great-August One;" and from his right eye was born the "Moon-Night-Possessor," and as he washed his nose there was born _Susa-no-Wo_, "Impetuous-Male-Deity." But we need not pursue further this seemingly "endless genealogy" of the deities. We are told in section xxx that in a divine assembly of eight hundred myriad deities it was decided to send one of their number to govern "the Central Land of Reed-Plains," and subdue the "savage Earthly Deities." Various deities were sent, and at length a grandchild of the Sun-Goddess[11] became the Ruler of the Empire, and bears the composite name of _Kamu-yamato-ihare-biko_, but is commonly called by his "canonical name," _Jimmu_, a title given him long after his decease. From such heavenly origin sprang all the Emperors of Japan, and the present Mikado, like all his predecessors, is thus conceived as an offspring of Heaven, a direct descendant of the ancient heavenly deities. The significance of this fact will appear conspicuously when we come to notice more particularly the essential elements in the Shinto cult. On this remarkable cosmogony and mythology we do well at this point to offer the following observations: (1) These accounts of the origin of the Japanese Archipelago and its rulers are regarded as _genuine traditions handed down from former ages_. One part of the tradition is that the Emperor, who took pains to have the old records carefully looked after, employed a person living in his household, who was gifted with marvelous memory; "he could repeat without mistake the contents of any document he had ever seen, and never forgot anything that he had heard;" and from the lips of this man of prodigious memory the scribe Yasumaro wrote down the contents of the _Ko-ji-ki_.[12] (2) Notice, in the next place, that the island world of _Japan is all the world_ which these records know anything about. The universe of this cosmogony consists of "the islands of the Central-Land of the Reed-Plains," with their inland and surrounding seas, and "the Plain of High Heaven," which, however, was not conceived as very far away above them. (3) The entire description of the beginnings of heaven, and earth, and gods, and men accords with the idea of a continuous process of evolution. The first three heavenly deities "were born alone, and hid their persons," or disappeared. All the other deities are spoken of as begotten, or born, and the deities give birth to the different islands of the earth.[13] (4) The world-idea of this old mythology is in notable keeping with the ancestor worship, and the Animism which enter so largely into the Shinto faith. In spite of all the wars and discords of the deities, this a primordial monism, so to speak, at the basis of Japanese cosmogony, and of all its diverse generations of the heavens and the earth; and yet there is no one Supreme Ruler in all the Pantheon of eight hundred myriad gods. When a great council of the gods assembles in the bed of the Tranquil Heavenly River, no one deity is chief among them, and we are at a loss to imagine who has authority to call them together or to preside over the assembly. Izanagi seems for a while to be the chief creator and ruler, but after a time he disappears, and the Sun Goddess, his daughter Amaterasu, has her heavenly domain shaken and ravaged by her younger brother, but is avenged by the heavenly assembly of gods, who fine and punish the offender, "and expel him with a divine expulsion." So the Sun Goddess maintains her dominion by the help of the eight hundred myriad gods, no one of whom is invested with supreme power. It appears from certain poems of the _Manyoshu_ that the moon as well as the sun was extensively worshiped among the primitive Japanese.[14] (5) It accords with all these ideas that the devotees of the "pure Shinto" faith trace all their history back to the age of the gods, and recognize some deity in, or back of, all phenomena. Japan is the country of the gods; every Japanese is a descendant or offspring of the gods, and the Mikado is the direct descendant of the imperial line which has continued in unbroken succession from the beginning of the world. Japan is, therefore, superior to all other countries, and the Japanese, being thus directly from the gods, are superior in every respect to other people. Sprung from the gods, they need no codes of moral law (like the Chinese), for they are naturally perfect, and do the right things spontaneously. =7. The Japanese a Self-centered People.= The Japanese people, with such traditions and such a faith, would naturally be a self-centered people, and they conceived their island-empire as occupying the summit of the earth. The Mikado is the Son of Heaven, entitled and empowered to reign perpetually over the land and the sea. But as all the people are descendants of the gods, and the islands and all that is in them have also been begotten of the gods, it follows that the worship of ancestors is a worship of all the gods of whom they have knowledge, and all the lower animate and inanimate things in the world are also in some way instinct with the deities from whom they were born, and whose they are. Accordingly, the honoring of the gods is a fundamental thing in the Shinto thought and in the Japanese civilization and government. Every loyal subject of the Mikado's Empire is expected to be true to the ancient faith. It is assumed that religion and worship and the proper administration of government are all essential to each other. The Japanese word (_Matsuri-goto_), which is used to denote the art of government, means, literally, _worshiping_. And it is a common thought and saying: "Everything in the world depends on the spirit of the gods of heaven and earth, and therefore the worship of the gods is a matter of primary importance. The gods who do harm are to be appeased, so that they may not punish those who have offended them; and all the gods are to be worshiped, so that they may be induced to increase their favors."[15] One of the rules which all the ministers of the Mikado emphasized in the old times, before the introduction of Buddhism into Japan, was, "First serve the gods, and afterwards deliberate on matters of government."[16] =8. Essence of the Shinto Cult.= From what we have now stated it is to be seen that reverence and worship of the ancestors of the Japanese, and the recognition of the Mikado's divinity as the incarnation and earthly representation of the celestial gods, constitute the essence of the Shinto cult. All the Japanese are offsprings of the gods, but the imperial "Sovran Grandchild" of _Amaterasu_, the Sun-Goddess,[17] is pre-eminently divine and worshipful. The first Mikado, however, was not the real son of _Amaterasu_, according to the mythic tradition of the prehistoric time, but her nephew, the son of _Oshi-ho-mi-mi_, whom she adopted as her son. But the title of "Sovran Grandchild," having been applied first to the founder of the Mikado's dynasty, came in time to be the common title of all the Mikado's successors. The imperial worship, accordingly, represents the most conspicuous national form of the Shinto cult. =9. The Great Sanctuaries.= The Mikado's palace would, accordingly, be the most holy shrine of the national worship, the private and exclusive sanctuary of the imperial ancestors. But the most notable shrine of the Sun-Goddess is not now the residence of the Mikado. On account of some great calamity that occurred far back in prehistoric times, her worship was removed to a separate temple, and was finally established in the province of Isè, in which the temples, called the "Two great divine Palaces," are the resort of thousands of pilgrims every year, and, though not the most ancient, are regarded as first among all the Shinto temples in the land.[18] These two divine palaces, or temples, called _Geku_ and _Naiku_, are about three miles apart, and stand in the midst of groves of aged cryptomeria trees.[19] They are approached through archways (called _torii_, or _toriwi_) of simple construction. The _Geku_ temple is an irregular oblong structure, 247 feet wide at the front, but only 235 feet wide in the rear; while the side to the right of the entrance is 339 feet, and that on the left is 335. Within this large enclosure are others of similar structure, all made of the wood of cryptomeria trees, and left unpainted and without ornamentation. The various buildings of the temples are thus fashioned after the manner of the simple huts, or dwellings of the earliest inhabitants of these islands. Some of the buildings are covered with thatched roofs and have their walls and doors made of rough matting. Mr. Satow, who has visited and described the temples of Isè, says that "All the buildings which form part of the two temples are constructed in a style that is disappointing in its simplicity and perishable nature.... None but those which are roofed with thatch are entitled to be considered as being in strict conformity with the principles of genuine Shinto temple architecture."[20] The perishable nature of these temples is such that it becomes necessary, and is, in fact, the standing rule, to rebuild them every twenty years. Two sites for each temple are used alternatively; they lie close to each other, so that the new building is constructed and ready for use before the old one is removed. The temple which, though less venerated than those at Isè, is the shrine-center of the more ancient Shinto cult, is the one at Kitzuki, in the ancient province of Idzumo. These famous shrines of Isè and Kitzuki represent the two supreme cults of Shinto; namely, that of the Sun-Goddess, _Amaterasu_, and that of _Oho-kuni-nushi_, offspring of the brother of the Sun-Goddess, who became the ruler of the unseen world of the spirits of the dead. But there are many other great temples maintained in whole or in part from the imperial revenues. Some are of greater sanctity and renown than others, but those of Isè and Kitzuki are the most celebrated, and every Shinto worshiper is expected, at least once in his lifetime, to make a pilgrimage himself, or send a deputy to one of these most famous shrines. =10. Five Noteworthy Objects Connected with the Worship.= One noteworthy fact is the absence of images from the pure Shinto temples; that is, images exposed as objects of worship. But there is a number of objects connected with these sacred places which should receive brief notice: (1) There is, first, the wooden archway (called _torii_, or _toriwi_) through which one passes in approaching the temples. It consists of two upright posts set in the ground on the tops of which is laid a long straight beam, the two ends of which project a little beyond the uprights. Under this top beam is another horizontal beam connecting the two side posts after the manner of a girder. According to Satow, "The _toriwi_ was originally a perch for the fowls offered up to the gods, not as food, but to give warning at daybreak. It was erected on any side of the temple indifferently. In later times, not improbably after the introduction of Buddhism, its original meaning was forgotten, and it was placed in front only and supposed to be a gateway."[21] (2) Opposite the various entrances to the temples is placed a wooden screen, or fence, called _Banpei_, which serves as in other dwellings to guard and hide the privacy of the interior. (3) Another object of special interest is the _Go-hei_, a slender wand, originally a branch of the sacred tree called _sakaki_. From the Go-hei hang two long slips of white paper notched on the opposite sides. These wands of unpainted wood are supposed to represent offerings of white cloth and to have the power of attracting the gods to the places where they are kept. (4) The offerings presented consist of cups of water and small vessels filled with rice, vegetables, fruits, salt, fish, birds, and other simplest products of the land and of the sea. It is noteworthy that we find no bloody sacrificial rites in Shinto worship, in which one life, animal or human, was made a vicarious substitute for a guilty soul. (5) The sacred _mirror_, which figures in the mythology of the Sun-Goddess, and is said to have been once used to entice her from a cave into which she had hid herself in a spell of anger, is carefully guarded in one of these temples, and also many copies of the mirror. "Each mirror is contained in a box which is furnished with eight handles, four on the box itself and four on the lid. The box rests on a low stand and is covered with a piece of cloth said to be white silk. The mirror itself is wrapped in a brocade bag, which is never opened or renewed, but when it begins to fall to pieces from age, another bag is put on, so that the actual covering consists of numerous layers. Over the whole is placed a sort of cage of unpainted wood with ornaments said to be of pure gold, and over this again is thrown a sort of curtain of coarse silk, descending to the floor on all sides."[22] One can not read this description of the sacred mirror thus secretly guarded in a costly box without being reminded of the sacred ark of the Levitical sanctuary, and its enclosed "tables of testimony." =11. The Ancestor Worship.= We have already observed that ancestor worship is the basis of the Shinto cult. This kind of worship is also conspicuous among the Chinese, and is held by many writers to have been the original cult of all civilized races and peoples. It began, they tell us, with a belief in ghosts, and at the first there was no clear distinction between ghosts and gods. The departed spirit was thought of as abiding near the place where the dead body was deposited, and the earliest shrines would therefore be the graves or tombs of the dead. Later thought would beget the idea that the invisible spirits were present to witness the acts, and share the joys and sorrows of the living. And this fundamental idea would, of course, develop into many diverse conceptions and practices among the different tribes. Without here discussing this theory of aboriginal religious thought and practice, as applicable to all peoples, we may note that it accords with the facts of Japanese history and civilization so far as we can now trace them back into the mists of prehistoric time.[23] We have seen that Japanese history and mythology run together and blend in remarkable artlessness as they stand recorded in the oldest literature (_e. g._, the _Ko-ji-ki_ and the _Nihongi_). Unthinkable monstrosities of the origin of gods and lands and men are told with the same simplicity as the unquestionable facts of historic times. But taking the one leading thought which runs through all these records and appears to be fundamental in the Japanese civilization--namely, that all their islands and emperors and chiefs and people are offspring of the gods, the very first of whom were somehow self-evolved from the primordial elements of the universe--we look upon the Shinto worship as it exists in its purest form to-day, and note the most apparent facts. Mr. Lafcadio Hearn, in his "attempt at an interpretation" of Japan, has, more clearly than any other writer I have consulted, described the Shinto ancestor-worship under its three forms of _Domestic_, _Communal_, and _State_ cults. In every case it is a worship of the dead, but the individual, whether he be the most obscure servant, the influential citizen, the commanding chieftain, or even the Mikado, is but a part and parcel of the body politic. There is a most remarkable unity of popular and national life. Government and religion are virtually identical, and there is no distinction between religion and morality. Obedience and conformity to the rules of family life, and to the customs of society and the requirements of the State--these are the simple sum-total of Shinto law and gospel. The individual must always stand ready to be sacrificed for the good of the community or of the State. Everything is to be regarded as public, and must serve the public weal. There is no such thing as privacy, and oddities have no respectable standing. Tradition and custom seem to constitute the essence of religion as well as of family, communal, and more public life. There is no code of moral law; there is nothing in the worship that is fairly comparable to what we understand by dogma, creed, or Church. Strictly speaking, this system has no heaven or hell, no deep sense of sin, and no concept of mediatorial redemption from sin and evil. The dead--all the dead of all the ages--are conceived as somehow living in the unseen vacancy around, above, below; they are present at the worship; they haunt the tombs; they are interested in the life and works of their descendants; they visit their former homes and attend the family worship there; their happiness, in fact, depends upon the honor and worship which their living descendants pay them; and also the happiness and prosperity of the living is believed to depend upon their sense of filial duty and proper reverence toward the dead. Furthermore, all the dead are supposed to become gods and attain to supernatural power. But there is no one Supreme Deity; no central throne of God; no paradise of heavenly blessedness. So far as any ideas of this kind obtain among the people, they may be regarded as later conceptions introduced by missionaries or adherents of other religious systems. But the cult implies beyond question a belief in some kind of future life. The _Yomi_, or Hades, of Shinto mythology, into which Izanagi went to seek his lost sister, was conceived as "a hideous and polluted land," and even the realm of the unseen heavenly deities was never longed for by the devotees of Shinto. Dooman observes that "to the Japanese mind and imagination Japan, as a place of residence, was far superior to heaven, and its inhabitants a far more desirable society than those living in the transcendent regions. We see that every god who is sent from heaven to Japan on some important business by the divine assembly marries, and is utterly unwilling to go back once more to the place from which he descended."[24] =12. Elements of Animism.= The ancestor-worship of Shinto can not be disassociated altogether from the elements of Animism which appear in the names and titles of certain deities, and also in the fact that there are "evil gods" and demons who are capable of working mischief and calamity in the family, the community, and the State. How these evil deities originated is matter of myth, legend, and speculation. Bad men would naturally be supposed to carry their evil character with them into the unseen world of the dead, and to have the same power to work harm among the living as the good spirits have to bestow benefits. But human spirits would hardly be supposed to become deities of the wind, and the thunder, and the waves, and the mountains; of the trees, and the fire, and the sun, and the moon, and the autumn, and the food of men. Here the old mythology of the _Ko-ji-ki_ comes in to tell us of a prehistoric and cosmical origin of evils. When Izanagi went to find his sister Izanami in the hideous and polluted underworld, and found her body swarming with maggots and eight thunder deities dwelling in the different parts of her decaying form, he fled back in astonishment and awe, and she in a rage of shame pursued him with all the horrid forces of that nether sphere. He escaped, but not without contracting much pollution on his august person, and when he sought to wash and cleanse himself in the waters of a certain river, there were born from the filth of his person two deities, named "the wondrous deity of eighty evils," and "the wondrous deity of great evils." These evil gods afterwards multiplied, and may be supposed to be the authors of all the demons, goblins, and mischievous spirits of evil that disturb the world and its inhabitants. But there are also good spirits innumerable that animate all moving things. The winds and the waters, the songs of birds and the hum of the bees, the growing plants and trees, are all instinct with a sort of conscious life, and the spirits that live and move in them are to be recognized and reverenced by prayers and offerings. The spirits of dead ancestors and the powerful spirits of the winds and the storms and the growths of nature may or may not have been supposed to have concert of action understood between them. The Japanese mind seems never to have elaborated any formal philosophy of this life or any specific theories of the life to come. =13. The Domestic Cult.= The simplest and most original form of the Shinto worship is that of the family. In the inner chamber of every home there is a high shelf against the wall called the "Shelf of the August Spirits." Upon it is placed a miniature temple, in which are deposited little tablets of white wood bearing the names of the deceased members of the household. These are often spoken of as "spirit sticks" and "spirit substitutes." Before these household shrines simple offerings are offered daily and a few words of prayer are spoken. The ceremony is a very short one, but as regular as the coming of the day. It is usually performed by the head of the family, but it frequently devolves upon the woman, the mother or the grandmother, rather than the father. "No religion," says Hearn, "is more sincere, no faith more touching than this domestic worship, which regards the dead as continuing to form a part of the household life and needing still the affection and the respect of their children and kindred. Originating in those dim ages when fear was stronger than love, ... the cult at last developed into a religion of affection; and this it yet remains. The belief that the dead need affection, that to neglect them is a cruelty, that their happiness depends upon duty, is a belief that has almost cast out the primitive fear of their displeasure. They are not thought of as dead: they are believed to remain among those who loved them. Unseen, they guard the home and watch over the welfare of its inmates; they hover nightly in the glow of the shrine-lamp, and the stirring of its flame is the motion of them.... From their shrine they observe and hear what happens in the house; they share the family joys and sorrows. They were the givers of life; they represent the past of the race, and all its sacrifices.... Yet, how little do they require in return! Scarcely more than to be thanked, as founders and guardians of the home, in simple words like these: 'For aid received, by day and by night, accept, august ones, our reverential gratitude.'"[25] =14. The Communal Cult.= The next phase of the Shinto worship to be noticed is that which is represented in the temples scattered about everywhere in the land and which are said to number over 195,000 at the present time. In every community, village, and large city is found the parish-temple, and in the larger towns each section or district has its public shrine, in which the whole community honor the deified ancestors of certain noble families of ancient time, or the spirit of the first great patriarch of the clan. The farmers, or those who till the fields, usually dwell in a village on the principal highway, and go out thence to work the rural districts round about. So the villages vary in size from fifty houses set on a single street half a mile long to a large town of many hundred houses. In Simmons and Wigmore's "Notes on Land Tenure and Local Institutions in Old Japan,"[26] we read that the Japanese rural population is, as a rule, "exceedingly stable. The villagers are for the most part engaged wholly or partially as cultivators of land, and in the vast majority of cases many generations of cultivators have been born and have died on the same spot. From the almost numberless replies to inquiries, the answer usually is, 'We do not know where our ancestors came from, or when they came to live on this spot. Our temple register may tell, but we have never thought about the matter.'" The deity honored at these village temples is called the _Ujigami_, and recognized as the patriarchal and tutelary god of the community. Just whether he were the clan-ancestor of the first settlers in that particular parish, or the spirit of some mighty ruler of that district at a former time, or the patron-god of some noble family once resident there, is as uncertain as the knowledge of the common villagers touching their earliest progenitors. But in every class these _Ujigami_ were worshiped as the tutelar deity of the community in which the temple stood. Also, in the larger towns there are Shinto temples dedicated to certain patron-gods of other localities. Each one of these parish temples naturally has a most intimate relation to the life of the community about it. Thither every child born in the parish is taken, when a month old, and formally named and placed under the protection of the ancestral deity. As it grows up it is regularly taken to observe all the festivals and the processions and ceremonies, and the temple groves and gardens become its common playground. There is nothing somber or solemn about this religious cult to scare a child, but rather very much to attract and interest.[27] Every village temple has its appointed days of public worship, and neighboring districts vie with each other in making their great festival days occasions of popular delight. To these joyous festivals every family contributes according to ability, and the worship is accompanied by public amusements of various kinds, athletic sports, and the sale of toys for children. The temple worship consisted in the presentation of offerings of cloth, herbs, fruits, and other of the most common products of the country, and in a ritual prayer enumerating the various gifts and supplicating for prosperity and success in all communal affairs, for protection against sickness, plague, and famine, and for the triumph of their chieftains in time of war. In this way the _Ujigami_ was recognized as the tutelar deity of the community and the district, the abiding friend and helper of his offspring. The communal cult thus powerfully confirmed the family cult, and enforced the lesson that no man could live unto himself alone. =15. The National Cult.= But it is in the State or National observances of the great temples that the Shinto worship is seen in its most elaborated form. The substance and manner of this worship may be learned from the ancient Japanese rituals, which make mention of the chief deities, enumerate the offerings that are presented at the sacred shrines, and furnish us the very language employed "in the presence of the sovran gods." How early these rituals of worship were committed to writing is an open question, but it is altogether probable that in substance they had been transmitted orally through many generations before they were put in written form. From these rituals, and the practices of the worship as they may be observed at the present time, we are able to learn the chief features of the service.[28] In connection with this national worship we may here note (1) that the great festivals and occasions of worship were observed in all the principal temples at the same time; (2) the _Yengishiki_ mentions 3,132 shrines distinguished as great and small; there were 492 great shrines, and 2,640 small ones. But besides these there were many thousands of smaller, undistinguished temples scattered all over the lands. (3) These various shrines were dedicated to a great number of deities, and there were many gods who received worship in a number of temples at one and the same time. (4) The offerings were made in the name of "the Sovran Grandchild" of the sun-goddess, the divine title of every Mikado, and Satow remarks that "it is difficult to resist the suggestion that the sun was the earliest among the powers of nature to be deified, and that the long series of gods who precede her in the cosmogony of the _Ko-ji-ki_ and _Nihongi_, most of whom are shown by their names to have been mere abstractions, were invented to give her a genealogy, into which were inserted two or perhaps more of her own attributes, personified as separate deities."[29] (5) The priesthood seems to have been for the most part hereditary, and many priests claimed descent from the chief deity to whom the temple was dedicated. The reader of the ritual was a member of the priestly tribe which traced its origin to _Oho-nakato-mi_, chief of the whole Nakatomi family. Another priestly family is the Imbibi tribe.[30] (6) Virgin priestesses also figure in the celebration of the great ceremonies of State. Princesses of the Mikado's family have been consecrated to officiate in the temples of Isè and in other great temples also. While some of the priestesses are virgin princesses, some of them also are young, not yet having reached the nubile age, and when they reach that age they cease to be priestesses. With others the office is hereditary, as it is with men, and the women of this class retain and exercise their priestly office after marriage. =16. The Harvest Service.= As an example of public worship of exceptional interest, we take the ritual ceremony for Harvest, which is celebrated once a year--the fourth day of the second month. The chief service is at the capital, but the festival is observed in all the provinces under the direction of the local rulers. Preparations go on for a fortnight beforehand, and the service begins twenty minutes before seven in the morning. At the capital, in the large court used for the worship of the Shinto gods, the ministers of State assemble, along with the priests and priestesses of many temples which are supported from the Mikado's treasury. When all things are in readiness, the ministers, priests, and priestesses enter in succession and occupy the places assigned them. The various offerings are duly presented and the ritual is read. At the conclusion of each section of the ritual as recited by the reader, all the priests respond, "O!" (Yes, or Amen.) The following is a portion of the ritual used on one of these occasions: "Hear, all of you, assembled priests of higher and lower order. I declare in the presence of the sovran gods[31] whose praises are fulfilled as heavenly temples and country temples.[32] I fulfill your praises by setting up the great offerings of the sovran grandchild's augustiness, made with intention of deigning to begin the harvest in the second month of this year, as the morning sun rises in glory. I declare in the presence of the sovran gods of the harvest: If the sovran gods will bestow in many-bundled ears and in luxuriant ears the late-ripening harvest which they will bestow, the late-ripening harvest which will be produced by the dripping of foam from the arms and by drawing the mud together between the opposite thighs, then I will fulfill their praises by setting up the first fruits in a thousand ears, and many hundred ears, raising high the beer-jars, filling them, and ranging them in rows." The ritual goes on to specify, among the offerings, sweet and bitter herbs, "things which dwell in the blue sea-plain;" clothes bright, and glittering, and soft, and coarse; a white horse, a white boar, and a white cock. The names also of many deities are declared: the "divine Producer," the "great Goddess of Food," "wonderful-rock-Gate," "the from-heaven-shining-great Deity who sits in Isè," "sovran gods who sit in the Farms," "sovran gods who sit in the mouths of the mountains," and those "who dwell in the partings of the waters." As soon as the reader had finished the words of the ritual, he retired, and the priests distributed the various offerings and presented them to the gods for whom they were set apart. =17. The Great Purification.= But the ritual of the Great or General Purification is said to be "one of the most important and most solemn ceremonies of the Shinto religion." Professor Karl Florenz, who has given us a translation of this ritual,[33] informs us that it is by means of this ceremony that "the population of the whole country, from the princes and ministers down to the common people, is purified and freed from sins, pollutions, and calamities." It is celebrated twice a year, on the thirtieth day of the sixth and twelfth months. "The chief ceremony was performed in the capital, near the south gate of the imperial palace, and might be styled the purification of the court, because it was to purify all the higher and lower officials of the imperial court. In a similar way the ceremony was celebrated also at all the more important public shrines of the whole country." Besides the regular semiannual celebration of the "Great Purification" (called _Oho-harahe_), it is also performed on such special occasions as at the accession of a new emperor to the throne, or when an imperial princess was chosen as a virgin priestess and sent to the temple of Isè. Without detailing the movements, positions, and practices of the assembled priests, officials, and common people at the service of the General Purification, we simply cite a few extracts from the ritual which may serve to show us the underlying concept of purification. While the ritual is only a part of the entire ceremony of the occasion, we are told that it is not infrequently recited without performing the ceremony. Moreover, while in ancient times the reader was always a member of the priestly Nakatomi tribe, at the present time the ritual is read by the officiating priest of each particular temple. The following excerpts are made from Florenz's translation: "Hear, all of you, assembled princes of the blood, princes, high dignitaries, and men of the hundred offices. Hear, all of you, that in the Great Purification of the present last day of the sixth month of the current year, [the Sovran] deigns to purify, and deigns to cleanse the various offenses which may have been committed either inadvertently, or deliberately, especially by the persons serving in the imperial court: (viz.) the scarf-wearing attendants, the sash-wearing attendants (of the kitchen), the attendants who carry quivers on the back, the attendants who gird on swords, the eighty attendants of the attendants, and, moreover, by the people serving in all offices." The ritual goes on to declare how the Sovran's dear progenitors, in a divine assembly, ordained that the "Sovran Grandchild's Augustiness should tranquilly rule the luxuriant reed-plain region of fresh young spikes as a peaceful country;" how they expelled with a divine expulsion the savage deities, and "silenced the rocks and trunks of trees;" how they let him go down from his heavenly place, "and dividing a road through the eightfold heavenly clouds," they sent him down and gave the land into his peaceful keeping. The ritual also makes mention of various kinds of offenses which need to be cleansed and purged away, and distinguishes them as "heavenly offenses" and "earthly offenses." Among the former are "breaking down the divisions of the rice fields, filling up the irrigating channels, and opening the floodgate of sluices," and the evacuation of one's bowels in improper places. Among "earthly offenses" are the cutting the skin of the living or the dead body so as to become defiled by blood, being affected with corns, bunions, boils, or proud-flesh; sins of adultery, the offense of using incantations, and various kinds of personal calamity. "It is expected," the ritual adds, "that the heavenly gods will be favorably disposed by reason of these offerings, ceremonies, and ritual of the Great Purification, and will deign to purify and cleanse, and make all the specified offenses disappear, even as the clouds of heaven and the dense morning and evening mists disappear before the blowing winds." It is expected that "the goddess who resides in the current of the rapid stream that comes boiling down the ravines, from the tops of the mountains," and the goddess who resides in the currents of the briny ocean will carry them away, and "swallow them down with gurgling sound," and they shall be utterly "blown away, banished, and got rid of," so that "from this day onwards there will be no offense in the four quarters of the region under heaven, especially with regard to all people of all offices who respectfully serve in the court of the Sovran." The offenses were thought of as somehow swept away by the winds and the waves, and then swallowed into the depths of the sea, and so cast down into the underworld, the realm of death and pollution, whence all defilements were supposed to have originated. So they were cast down into the depths whence they came forth. The concluding words of this ritual are a command for the "diviners of the four countries to leave and go away to the great river-way, and carry away the offenses by purification." Thus divination was honored, as moving in the will and way of the gods; but incantation is mentioned among the "earthly offenses." Probably these evil incantations refer to evil-minded witchcraft and invoking calamity on others. This great ritual ceremony of purification, being one of the most solemn formal expressions of the Shinto cult, calls for the following remarks: (1) The central idea is purification from certain forms of evil, or certain kinds of offenses. (2) The offenses are conceived as either willfully committed, or committed inadvertently. (3) They are also spoken of as heavenly and earthly. This distinction seems to us quite arbitrary and unnatural, but it probably had a mythical origin and the offenses called heavenly are mainly such as involve distress for an agricultural community. They are sins against the _land_ of the gods, while the earthly offenses are mainly matters of personal defilement. In all cases it is conspicuous that the Shinto concept of offenses which need purging away is that of outward physical pollution and damage. They are all offenses committed against the interests of the community and likely to bring some kind of calamity upon the people. (4) We should also remark that while, according to the ritual of the Great Purification, it is expected that from that day forwards "no offense which is called offense" will occur again in the four quarters of the whole region under heaven, the same ceremony of purification is repeated every six months--year in and year out. (5) These facts serve to show a moral and religious basis for the Japanese love of cleanliness and the scrupulous care with which these people of "the luxuriant central land of the ears of fresh rice" study to keep their bodies, their houses, their temples, and their whole domain free from all manner of physical impurity. =18. Other Ritual Services.= Other rituals for other occasions and purposes furnish nothing of a different character or of exceptional importance that we need here give further attention to their various contents and suggestions. There are, in the voluminous _Yengishiki_, rituals for the service of the gods of Kasuga, for the service of the goddess of food, and of the gods of the wind, and for the service of particular temples. Some of these services are occasions of grand ceremonial display. The place, the day, the hour, and all the details of the service are arranged beforehand. The procession of those who take part is ordered with extreme precision and made in every way magnificent. Various orders of officials move along in separate ranks. The priestess, accompanied by many mantled attendants, is drawn in a car, and on either side four men in scarlet coats carry a silk umbrella and a huge, long-handled fan. The female attendants and servants of the priestess, each a lady of rank, follow in seven carriages. Chests filled with sacrificial utensils and food offerings, the messenger of the Mikado and his attendants of rank, have their assigned places in the procession. Upon arriving at the temple enclosure, the priestess alights from her car or palanquin, passes into the courtyard behind curtains so held by her attendants as to hide her from the gaze of the crowd, enters her private room and changes her traveling dress for the sacrificial robes. Meantime the Mikado's presents and all the other offerings are duly placed on the tables and in the various chapels prepared for them and the high officers of State take their seats within the temple enclosure. All the prescribed forms are observed with scrupulous care, and the ritual is read. In many services harpists, flute-players, singers, and dancers perform their several tasks. At the conclusion of the services the company clap their hands and then separate. The priestess changes her robes again for her traveling dress, and returns to her lodging in like stately procession as she came to the shrine. The mirror, sword, bow, and spear, which are mentioned in the rituals as presents offered to the gods at the great festivals, doubtless have their symbolical significance, and like the three divine insignia of sword, precious stone, and mirror--the regalia or symbols of Japanese power and glory--have doubtless their mythic connection with prehistoric traditions; but these belong to the study of Japanese antiquities rather than to the religious elements of Shinto.[34] =19. Influence of China on Japanese Thought.= So far we have spoken only of what may be called the original or pure Shinto cult as the religion of the ancient Japanese. But it is important to observe that the moral and religious ideas of other peoples and other systems have for some two thousand years past been affecting the life and thought of the Japanese people. One noteworthy foreign influence came in from China, and as early as the first century of the Christian era--perhaps somewhat earlier--Chinese scholars made their way into Japan. This was very natural, for the proximity of China favored intercourse between the two nations, and Confucianism was at the beginning of our era five hundred years old. Ancestor-worship was common to the people of both lands, and the arts and industries of the two countries might have found affiliation in many ways we can not now determine. That such a leavening Chinese influence was early introduced into Japan is simply matter of fact. The Preface of Yasumaro, the compiler of the most ancient records of the _Ko-ji-ki_, shows the effect of Chinese philosophy in its incidental mention of "the Passive and Active Essences" which co-operated at the beginning of the creation; and Chamberlain, in his Introduction to his English translation of the _Ko-ji-ki_, observes that "at the very earliest period to which the twilight of legend stretches back, Chinese influence had already begun to make itself felt in these islands, communicating to the inhabitants both implements and ideas." Then it is to be further remarked that the _Nihongi_, completed in 720 A. D., although essentially a parallel chronicle of Japanese traditions, is in thought and style conspicuously Chinese. It is made in every aspect and element of its composition to resemble as far as possible a Chinese history. =20. Influence of Buddhism.= But a deeper and more widespread influence than that of anything of Chinese origin was the introduction into Japan of Buddhism, which was first brought in about A. D. 552, but did not succeed in leavening the whole country until the middle of the ninth century. It was quietly propagated by leaders of various Buddhist sects which differ in minor practices, and slowly it gained ascendency, but its first more notable triumph followed the teaching of Kukai, founder of the Shingon sect, who so adapted Buddhist doctrines to the traditional ideas of ancestor worship as to maintain that all the Shinto deities were _avatars_ or incarnations of Buddha. With great ingenuity and cunning, a new interpretation was given to ancient myths, and new constructions were put upon old beliefs. The Shinto gods, rites, customs, and traditions took on a Buddhist significance, and many of the mysteries of birth and of death were explained in a manner so simple and popular as to commend them to all who listened to the new teaching. For Buddhism had already learned in India and in China the clever art of appropriating old beliefs and customs and of clothing them with a new and higher meaning. Confucianism itself had already in part prepared the way for Buddhism in Japan, and the successful Buddhist propagandists were wise enough to suppress or keep out of sight all that might be offensive in their system, and to teach only such forms of doctrine as could be made attractive to the masses of the people. Kukai thus succeeded in converting the Mikado to his new interpretations of the Shinto beliefs, and the new system thus put forward received the name "Riyobu Shinto," which means "two parts," or the "double way of the gods," or the twofold divine teaching. So complete and general did this Riyobu Shinto become in its spread throughout Japan that for a thousand years it dominated the civilization of the Empire. It had its priests, its gorgeous temples and ritual services, its philosophy, and its divers sects, and it is said that there are at least twelve distinct Buddhist sects in Japan to-day. According to Lafcadio Hearn, "the religion of the Buddha brought to Japan another and a wider humanizing influence--a new gospel of tenderness--together with a multitude of new beliefs that were able to accommodate themselves to the old, in spite of fundamental dissimilarity. In the highest meaning of the term, it was a civilizing power. Besides teaching new respect for life, the duty of kindness to animals as well as to all human beings, the consequences of all present acts upon the conditions of a future existence, the duty of resignation to pain as the inevitable result of forgotten error, it actually gave to Japan the arts and the industries of China. Architecture, painting, sculpture, engraving, printing, gardening--in short, every art and industry that helped to make life beautiful--developed first in Japan under Buddhist teaching."[35] To which may well be added the following statement of Aston: "There was nothing in Shinto which could rival in attraction the sculpture, architecture, painting, costumes, and ritual of the foreign faith. Its organization was more complete and effective. It presented ideals of humanity, charity, self-abnegation, and purity far higher than any previously known to the Japanese nation."[36] But after a thousand years of mixture, who can now tell for certain just what is original Shinto and what is the Buddhist supplement or modification? The Buddhism of Japan is as far from the original teachings of Gautama as the Roman Catholic religion of Spain is from the simple precepts and practices of Christ and His first apostles. The same is true of the Buddhism of China and Thibet. The Shingon sect of Buddhists in Japan, of which Kukai was the founder, has taken up into itself many ideas which are neither purely Buddhist nor purely Shintoist. Superstitions alien to both cults are likely to have found their way among the people and to have exerted influences on the popular cult, and no man is now able to point out their origin or their history.[37] =21. Revival of Pure Shinto.= We are not here concerned, however, with Japanese Buddhism. Our inquiry is after the facts and the significance of the essential Shinto cult. A great and remarkable revival of the older Shinto began near the beginning of the eighteenth century and persisted with great success for more than one hundred years. The most distinguished scholars of Japan were the chief leaders in this reform. We have already had occasion to mention the names of the three most famous men among them--Mabuchi, Motowori, and Hirata. These by their expositions of the ancient scriptures and traditions turned the tide of popular thought against Buddhism and Chinese philosophy. It is quite interesting to note in some of their writings the antipathy and hostility to Chinese teachings. Motowori had a remarkable answer to those critics who say that Shintoism knows no moral code. He declared that all a loyal Japanese subject was concerned to do was simply to obey the Mikado, whether his commands were right or wrong. He maintained that morals were invented by the Chinese because they were an immoral people; but in Japan there was no necessity for any system of morals, as every Japanese acted aright if he only consulted his own heart.[38] Whatever we may think or say of such self-complacency, it accords well with Japanese religion, mythology, and history, and it is a simple fact to be noted that in 1871 Buddhism in Japan was disestablished and disendowed, and the old Shinto was declared to be the national religion. Percival Lowell observes that this reinstatement of the Mikado and the old national faith is "a curious instance of a religious revival due to archæological, not to religious zeal."[39] But while the old Shinto is at present the official cult of Japan, it appears to have little life or force. Japanese Buddhism is said to be showing signs of renewed activity, and is likely to prove a powerful antagonist of Christianity. It is certainly a question of vital importance to the future civilization of Japan which of these mighty rivals shall gain ascendency over the popular mind. =22. Esoteric Shinto.= Shinto did not continue very long to hold its newly proclaimed status as the State religion. Its own most devoted adherents and leaders felt that its highest interests would be best served without official and governmental prestige. A wise and prudent State policy determined that its permanence and success should be left to care for themselves and to depend upon the merits of its teachings and its historic and popular hold upon the national, the communal, and the family life. As a cult it is deeply rooted in the civilization of the empire, and its pilgrims swarm along the highways of travel and at the historic shrines. They are found journeying to the summits of sacred mountains, and there performing esoteric rites which induce mystic divine possession. The performance of such mystic rites and incantations seems to be no modern innovation. It may have its connections with Buddhist counting of rosaries, and possibly other foreign influences have helped to cultivate its somewhat mantic forms, but its origin is from a remote antiquity. This "esoteric Shinto" is essentially akin to that self-induced religious fervor which exhibits itself in many lands and in connection with various cults, and is often seen among the Mohammedan dancing and howling dervishes. Its existence and its practices in Japan refute the notion of those who would deny to Shinto the character of a real religion.[40] The excrescences and extravagancies of religious fervor must have some sort of a religion to inspire them. =23. Mingling of Shinto, Confucianism, and Buddhism.= The noteworthy fact that Shinto, Confucianism, and Buddhism have for more than a thousand years mixed with each other in Japan demonstrates the susceptibility of the Japanese people to foreign influence and teaching, and their natural hospitality toward the various religious cults. The ethical teachings of Confucius prepared the way for Buddhism, and, in spite of antipathy and wars between the nations, maintain a powerful hold upon the thoughtful Japanese to-day. Still more remarkable is it that millions of the Japanese appear to accept both Shintoism and Buddhism, and good Shintoists and good Buddhists may be found worshiping in some temples at one and the same time.[41] A Japanese scholar, speaking at the Chicago "Parliament of Religions" on the "Future of Religion in Japan," declared that the three systems named "are not only living together on friendly terms with one another, but, in fact, they are blended together in the minds of the people. One and the same Japanese is at once a Shintoist, a Confucianist, and a Buddhist. Our religion may be likened to a triangle. One angle is Shintoism, another is Confucianism, and a third is Buddhism, all of which make up the religion of the ordinary Japanese. Shintoism furnishes the objects, Confucianism offers the rules of life, while Buddhism supplies the way of salvation."[42] =24. Roman Catholicism in Japan.= We must not omit altogether a notice of the introduction of Roman Catholic Christianity into Japan about the middle of the sixteenth century. It was in 1549 that the famous Jesuit, Francis Xavier, landed at Kagoshima, and began his marvelous missionary work through Japanese interpreters, and in two years of strenuous toil he succeeded in winning many converts from all classes of the people. Fifty years thereafter the Christian converts throughout the country are said to have numbered nearly a million. But the Jesuit habit and policy of meddling with affairs of State, their intolerance of other cults, and at length their crusade against the ancient national faith and their burning of Buddhist temples and slaughter of Buddhist priests, aroused the bitter reaction and bloody persecutions, which, after some forty years of struggle, succeeded in obliterating every public sign of Christianity from every province of the empire. And for over two hundred years Japan closed her doors to all foreign influences and appeals. It was not until 1873 that the edicts against Christianity were withdrawn. Of the Protestant missionary movements in the island empire since that date, it is not the purpose of this essay to speak. =25. Present Religious Indifference.= Much is said nowadays about the apparent religious indifference of the Japanese. Some writers seem to think that the Japanese and the Chinese people are alike inferior and defective in religious nature. Mr. Gulick, in his "Evolution of the Japanese," reports Marquis Ito, Japan's most illustrious statesman, as having said: "I regard religion itself as quite unnecessary for a nation's life; science is far above superstition, and what is religion--Buddhism or Christianity--but superstition, and therefore a possible source of weakness to a nation? I do not regret the tendency to free thought and atheism, which is almost universal in Japan, because I do not regard it as a source of danger to the community." And yet this same distinguished statesman is reported on the same page (288) to have given utterance to the following much more recent statement: "The only true civilization is that which rests on Christian principles, and consequently, as Japan must attain her civilization on these principles, those young men who receive Christian education will be the main factors in the development of future Japan." Possibly these two discrepant statements may be reconciled by supposing that, in the first case, Ito's thought was turned especially to the superstitions and temporary phases incident to all religious cults, and in his later remark he spoke of Christianity as somehow synonymous with Western civilization. But in any case it would seem that one who deems the Japanese either irreligious, or non-religious, or deficient in religious sense, ought to explain the manifold facts of the Shinto cult, such as the "god shelf," the ancestral tablets, the daily offerings, and the family worship in almost every household of that Eastern island-empire. What mean the hundreds of thousands of white-robed pilgrims who annually visit the numerous sacred shrines? And is there no element of religion in the devout patriotism that is ever ready to sacrifice life and all that men hold dear for the faith and inheritance of their beloved "central land of Reed-Plains" given long ago to the care of the "Sovran Grandchild" by the celestial deities? It is only a one-sided concept of religion, and a too prevalent failure to distinguish between its local temporary phases and its deeper essentials as grounded in the spiritual nature of man, that have led superficial observers to deny the profound religious element in the Shinto and Buddhist worship of Japan. If Paul, waiting at Athens, and beholding the city full of idols, could truly say, "I perceive, O Athenians, that in all things ye are very religious," just as truly may we say, in view of the 195,000 temples and the innumerable deities of the Shinto cult, that the Japanese are exceedingly religious. Let me add the testimony of Mr. Gulick himself, who spent years in the country: "The universality of the tokens of family religion, and the constant and loving care bestowed upon them, are striking testimony to the universality of religion in Japan. The pathos of life is often revealed by the family devotion of the mother to these silent representatives of divine beings, and departed ancestors or children. I have no hesitation in saying that, so far as external appearances go, the average home in Japan is far more religious than the average home in enlightened England or America, especially when compared with such as have no family worship. There may be a genuine religious life in these Western homes, but it does not appear to the casual visitor. Yet no casual visitor can enter a Japanese home, without seeing at once the evidences of some sort of religious life."[43] It is to be remarked that in the history and evolution of religion, where there has been obvious evolution, periods of long peace and repose, marked by formalism, skepticism, and indifference to religious obligation, are generally followed by great revivals and reforms. Some new light breaks in; some great prophet appears; new ideas and hopes take hold on the popular mind, and thereupon a new era opens in civilization. The renaissance in Japan of the last fifty years may be the prelude to an epoch-making revival of the Orient. =26. Concluding Observations and Suggestions.= Our study of Shinto has led us over a somewhat unfamiliar field of thought. The mythology and the records of the _Ko-ji-ki_ and the _Nihongi_ are far apart from all our Western legends and ideals of the early world, and in great part seem like monstrosities of fantastic speculation. It is affirmed by some that the Japanese people have been halting for two millenniums in a state of childhood, receiving nothing from Confucianism or from Buddhism to quicken or change the national life; but with the introduction of Western thought and enterprise they have suddenly leaped into comparative maturity, and their new departure from a dreamy past is likely to astonish the whole world. It is very obvious that the introduction of modern science into her thousands of elementary schools must sooner or later undermine all faith in the traditional cosmogony, and, along with that, a whole world of notions bound up with the Shinto cult must needs be overthrown. Eminent Japanese scholars say that Western learning has sounded the knell and signed the death warrant of the ancient religion of their island-world. It is for us very easy, in the light of our New Testament revelation, to point out defects in the Shinto system. Some four or five of these we may briefly mention as matters which a Christian missionary should keep in view as evincing the need of preaching among these people the deeper demands of the religion of Jesus Christ. (1) The first and fundamental defect in Shinto as a religious system is its lack of any clear or helpful concept of one God and Father of all. The doctrine of God is fundamental in any cult, and where the idea is vague and imperfect the entire system of doctrine and practice must needs possess an element of uncertainty and weakness. (2) Another defect is its want of a clear concept of sin as a moral disease of the heart. The Japanese mind needs to be turned inward to a deeper sense of the real sinfulness of sin. (3) Another serious fault in the Japanese civilization is its low estimate of womanhood. Here as in China woman has not attained her proper sphere. She is subjected to three forms of obedience, which in actual life are too abject for her higher development--she must bow to her parents, to her husband, and to her son in a manner that involves what we should call a humiliating form of domestic slavery. Japan needs the practice of a monogamy of the highest Christian type in order to rectify this inferior and one-sided view of the male and female constitution of humanity. (4) There is also in Japan an apparently low estimate of human life. It is probably due largely to the communal and feudal system which has for a long time ruled the people. The individual is nothing; the community is everything. These and other defects show our grounds for believing that the old order and system must sometime change. But it is no strange or unheard of thing in our world for an old order to change and give place to something new and higher. Western civilization has seen not a few examples of such changes; but, as touching religious evolution, what a monumental example we have in the transition from the Old Testament Judaism to the New Testament kingdom of heaven! The main contents and scope of the Epistle to the Hebrews point out the fact that the old covenant, with its sanctuary and altars and tables and sacrifices and priests, could not make their worshipers perfect. Notwithstanding its long and glorious history, it waxed old, and when the Epistle was written it was nigh unto vanishing away (Heb. viii, 13). It did pass away and give place to a more spiritual cult, the gospel of peace on earth and universal love. May not the national cult of Japan--with its faith in the unseen, its rituals of purification, its concepts of a heavenly ancestry, and its intimations of deification after death--be made to give way before a superior cult that may have the wisdom to offer a higher and more rational presentation of the essential truths embodied in the Shinto worship? Whatever men may think or say about the mystical and legendary elements in the Hebrew Scriptures, no one familiar with the literatures of the nations can hesitate for a moment to acknowledge the immense superiority of the Old Testament law and prophets and psalms over the contents of the _Ko-ji-ki_ and the _Nihongi_. If, then, the covenants and the rituals of Judaism waxed old and vanished away before the clearer light and truth of the teachings of Jesus Christ, much more should we expect that the same superior "Light of the world" must needs, sometime, supersede and supplant the rituals of the Shinto cult. Accordingly, I shall venture to specify sundry elements of ancient Shinto, which, to use the language of Jesus, are not to be _destroyed_, but rather _fulfilled_, in the higher and more universal truths of the kingdom of Christ. _Fulfilled_, I say for I look upon all the religious longings, and prayers, and penitential psalms of the nations, and their inquiries after the Unseen and Eternal, as so many foregleams of a coming Light, destined to enlighten every man that cometh into the world. We have seen that one of the most conspicuous aspects of the Shinto cult is its ceremonial of the Great Purification. Physical pollution of any kind is abhorrent to the Japanese. The touch of a dead body, contact with a foul disease, failure to wash and keep one's person clean, are regarded as of the nature of calamities. We know that there was much in the practices and traditions of the Jewish elders that closely resembled these Shinto ideas of pollution. The Pharisees and scribes found fault with Jesus because of His indifference to their "washings of cups, pots, and brazen vessels." But cleanliness, we all admit, is a near neighbor of godliness. St. Paul said, "Glorify God in your body," for he maintained that "your body is a sanctuary of the Holy Spirit which is in you." Jesus found no fault with Jewish ablutions, and enjoined the highest personal purity. But He pointed out the deeper lesson that the more horrible defilement of man is a pollution of the heart. "For from within," He said, "out of the heart of man, evil thoughts proceed, fornications, thefts, murders, adulteries, covetings, wickedness, deceit, lasciviousness, an evil eye, railing, pride, foolishness:--all these evil things proceed from within, and defile the man." This, then, is one fundamental truth which the Shinto worshiper should learn from the teachings of our Lord. The clean body and the pure white robes are eminently proper and beautiful in their way; but they should symbolize the consciousness of a pure heart, and a blameless life that keeps itself "unspotted from the world." Shinto purification needs the supplement of a deeper knowledge of spiritual defilement in order to a deeper knowledge of purity. More exalted than any mere forms of purification, or rituals of worship, is that notion of a living Presence concealed in all phenomena. There has been and is to-day among all peoples a belief in many invisible spirits that have some sort of power over the clouds, the winds, the waters, the earth, and all its teeming growths. We call it Animism, Shamanism, and in a certain specific form, Fetishism. Belief in a countless multitude of spirits who can influence the elements about us for good or for evil, is firmly rooted in all the ancient peoples of Eastern Asia, from India to Japan. We have seen how deep a hold it had upon the earliest Shinto cult, and the later influences of Confucianism and Buddhism in Japan have tended rather to strengthen than to suppress it in the popular mind. These animistic conceptions have played a noteworthy part in connection with most, if not all, the religions of mankind. When combined with a groveling fear of the spirits, and with the practice of magic rites and incantations to propitiate them as so many evil demons, the belief has run into the lowest forms of superstition. But is there no element of truth in Animism? Why should we speak disparagingly of the old Japanese worshiper hearing the voices of unseen spirits in the moaning winds, in the sounding waterfalls, in the rolling thunder? Why should he not adore the Sun as the heavenly Benefactor, and see in waving trees and blooming flowers and drifting clouds the presence and activity of beings, perhaps sometimes a Being Supernatural? One-sided, defective puerile notions controlled, no doubt, his thinking, but the one supreme and fundamental fact was that he felt himself in the presence of the Supernatural. And that primeval concept is the one most essential truth of all religion. We have only to divest it of sundry errant, non-essential interpretations in order to come face to face with the grandest, noblest, and most affecting theism, and monotheism as well. For monotheism finds its most advanced exposition in the doctrine of the universal immanence of God,--one God, the Eternal Spirit, in all, through all, over all. How far from such a concept of universal Animism was the old Hebrew psalmist, who sang of Jehovah "laying the beams of His chambers in the waters, making the clouds His chariot, walking upon the wings of the wind, sending forth springs into the valleys, causing the grass to grow upon the mountains," and receiving tribute of praises from the "sea-monsters and all deeps; fire and hail, snow and vapor; stormy wind performing His word; mountains and all hills; fruitful trees and all cedars; beasts and all cattle; creeping things and flying birds." To such a worshiper the world was all alive with God. And Jesus added an intensity and an affecting beauty to this whole concept of an immanent God when He said: "My Father worketh hitherto, and I work," and "not one sparrow falleth on the ground without your Father." I can conceive no Animism and no Supernaturalism more minute or more adorable than the ever acting and ever continuous presence of an unseen but all observant "Father in the heavens." The heavens in which He dwells are above, below, within, and all around us. And this is the higher Animism which ought to be welcomed by the Shinto pilgrims of Japan as the beautiful fulfilling of their ancient dreams. Not so many gods, not a multitude of unfriendly spirits that need propitiation by our gifts of food and clothing, but ONE Heavenly Father, immanent in every plant that grows and in every dewdrop on the flowers, forever working for our good, caring for every birdling, and numbering the very hairs of our head. With such a monotheistic conception of the world all mythologic and polytheistic notions of deity and the rule of the spirits of the dead must sooner or later disappear. Japanese scholars of high rank are telling their people and others that the modern Western learning has already destroyed the cosmogony of the Shinto cult. What is now most needed is a class of teachers straightforward and broad enough to show these people a nobler and truer concept of the world. The new conception need have no conflict with the belief that the spirits of the dead are all about us, and are deeply interested in us still. The family cult may adjust itself to the new and higher doctrines, and lose none of the beauty and tenderness and sanctity which old affection connects with the domestic tablets of the honored and beloved dead. Herein the new faith is to fulfill rather than destroy the ancient rites of love. Such a monotheistic cult will find no reason or occasion to commit the blunder of the Jesuit missionaries, and seek interference with the government of the land. The Mikado may still command the reverence and the love of the people and be rationally honored as a child of heaven. Loyal Christians do that under every form of government. "Fear God; honor the king; for there is no power but God, and the powers that be are ordained of God; for they are the ministers of God's service;"--these are the precepts of the earliest apostolic gospel, and the modern missionary of Christ is bound to observe and teach them. He should exhibit common sense and discretion in foreign politics, recognize and honor the legitimate power, and like the Great Teacher, "render unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar's, and unto God the things that are God's." The Shinto cult is essentially a religion of race and national patriotism. It is the secret of Japanese heroism and sacrifice in the day of battle. He counts it sweet and glorious to die for his country. He is not his own; he belongs to the State. We are told that the three principal commandments of the public and official Shinto faith are these: 1. "Thou shalt honor the gods and love thy country. 2. "Thou shalt clearly understand the principles of Heaven, and the duty of man. 3. "Thou shalt revere the emperor as thy sovereign, and obey the will of his court." Surely these principles and precepts are capable of easy adjustment to any form of national government, and the ethics of Christianity are in fundamental accord with their essential claims. But how can the Christian religion, with its monotheistic worship, adjust itself without antagonism to the ancestor worship of Japan? Many seem to think that in this particular there must needs be an irrepressible conflict, for the worship of ancestors is central and fundamental in the Shinto faith, and the most precious and hallowed bond that holds the family, the community, and the State together. In this matter we do well to observe a number of relevant facts. Ancestor worship has existed in a variety of forms among many peoples. It has undergone various modifications in different countries, and it appears to have ceased among some peoples and given place to other ideas and forms of worship. The Japanese conception is that their Mikado and all his people are offspring of the gods, and each one, when he dies, becomes a deity, but does not cease to have interest in the relatives and companions of his earthly life. During the siege of Port Arthur, Togo sent the Mikado a message in which he expressed the thought that the patriotic _manes_ of the fallen heroes might hover over the battlefield for a long time and give unseen protection to the Imperial forces. Such a faith and such inspiration from the dead are things which a proud nation does not easily let die. But may we not approach the devotees of such a faith with the words of the old Hebrew prophet: "Have we not all one father? Hath not one God created us?" Ye think your honored ancestors still live, and love to think of you and aid you from their higher sphere; is it not also just as true of the ancestors and heroes of other lands and peoples? You have learned that your beautiful "land of the reed-plains and the fresh rice-ears" is only a very small portion of the world of men. Have these broader lands and more numerous peoples sprung from other and greater gods than yours? May it not rather be that, as there is only one sun to shine on all this habitable world, so there is one Heavenly Father of us all? Then we are all offspring of one Supreme God and we should all be brethren. Our ancestors and dear kindred who have passed out of our sight should lose no place in our affection by this larger thought.[44] By some such suggestions, and by such friendly and persuasive appeal to larger truths, it would seem that a higher and purer faith may commend itself to the adherents of Shinto, without provoking their hostility, and without the compromise of any essential Christian truth. As surely as self-evidencing science wins her onward way among the nations, so surely will self-evidencing truths of religion win the hearts of men. We are familiar with the Christian congregations singing: "Faith of our fathers, holy faith! We will be true to thee till death." But Christian and Shintoist should note the fact that the fathers and the sons are greater than the faith. As "the Sabbath was made for man, and not man for the Sabbath," so the faith, the forms of worship, the æsthetic arts, the culture, the learning, and all the ennobling elements of the highest civilization are made for man, not man for them. Being, therefore, not an end in themselves, but a means to the attainment of some higher boon, they must all be judged according to the broad and noble proverb: "Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honorable, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, take account of these things" (Phil. 4:8). It may be that ancestral shrines will become more sacred and more heavenly when lighted with the glimmer of immortal hopes of blessed reunion in the unseen world, and our forms and manner of honoring father and mother and friends that pass out from our homes may be safely left to adjust themselves to an uplifting faith that lives in the heart and ever longs for all that is holiest and best. The whole world looks with admiration upon that island-empire of the Orient that has shown within thirty years such marvelous capacities of adaptation and improvement. If she thus go on to "prove all things and hold fast to that which is good," who knows but her brilliant rising to great power and influence among the nations may mark the beginning of world-wide reforms? Her tremendous, bloody battles should say to all mankind: "Let us have no more of this. Let us establish great, trustworthy tribunals of arbitration, and settle our rights and differences there. Let us beat our swords into plowshares and our spears into pruning-hooks." Such triumphs of peace and righteousness might well bring to pass the old Shinto ideal of a code of morals so deeply written in the hearts of men and of rulers that they spontaneously do that which is obviously right. For is not this lofty ideal in accord with that of the Hebrew prophet who descried a coming golden age when "they should teach no more every man his neighbor, and every man his brother, saying, Know the Lord; for they shall all know the Lord, from the least of them unto the greatest" (Jer. 31:34)? On the assumption that the highest form of religion must needs respond to the highest moral test, the editor of _The Hibbert Journal_[45] propounds the following startling question, "How would the general status of Christianity be affected by the appearance in the world of a religion which should stand the test better than herself?" That is, a religion or people that should present an exhibition of moral excellence superior to that seen among the Christian nations. Our own belief is that such an exhibition of moral excellence in a non-Christian people would set the Christian searching his own standards of morality. It may be that Japan in her late exhibitions of ability in political diplomacy, and her sacrifice and waiving of certain rightful claims to indemnity, and the exalting of the right and the truth above narrow, selfish interests, has put to shame the "Christian Powers" of Europe, whose conspicuous qualities have been baneful statecraft, jealousy of rivals, and greed to enlarge their territory by crushing feebler States, and grinding down the masses of the people. Such an exhibit would not prove the inferiority of Christian ethics, but the failure of the so-called Christian Powers to honor and exemplify the ethics of our gospel. The plain fact in this matter is, as thoughtful men must everywhere acknowledge, that the aggressive "Christian Powers" have enlarged their empire at the expense of weaker States and, by taking advantage of their day of weakness and adversity, have by such ambitious procedures belied and violated the fundamental commandments of the religion which they profess. We Americans have dreamed and sometimes boasted that our great Republic of freedom has proven a mighty evangel of human liberty and rights. It is a luminous star of the first magnitude, and it arose in the Western hemisphere. But this brilliant star of the West has cast its helpful beams across the Pacific Ocean upon the blooming rice-fields of Japan. It may be that those grandchildren of the sun-goddess may by their skill and prowess flash upon the world a light so strong as to eclipse to some extent our own, and be so self-evidently excellent that all mankind will bid it welcome. It may or may not be that all will acknowledge the radiant Evangel as "the root and the offspring of David." With the Japanese it may for long be insisted that this new Light is the root and offspring of the Mikado and the Goddess of the Dawn. But we can waive that point and all of us cry out, Let the true Light come. If it make for righteousness and love and the peace of the world, we shall hail its rising in the far East as the light of "the bright, the Morning Star;" for there is no other that can ultimately prove itself to be "the true Light that lighteth every man that cometh into the world." SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY. ASTON, W. G. Shinto, The Way of the Gods. London, 1905. BRINKLEY, F. Japan and China. 12 volumes. London, 1903. CHAMBERLAIN, B. H. Things Japanese. London, 1902. DYER, HENRY. Dai Nippon. A Study in National Evolution. London, 1904. GRIFFIS, WILLIAM ELLIOT. The Mikado's Empire. New York, 1876. Religions of Japan, from the Dawn of History to the Era of Meiji. New York, 1895. GULICK, SIDNEY L. Evolution of the Japanese, Social and Psychic. Chicago, 1903. HEARN, LAFCADIO. Japan. An Attempt at Interpretation. New York, 1904. KO-JI-KI, or Records of Ancient Matters. Translated by Basil H. Chamberlain. _Published as a Supplement to Vol. X of the Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan._ Yokohama, 1883. LOWELL, PERCIVAL. The Soul of the Far East. Boston, 1896. MACLAY, ARTHUR C. A Budget of Letters from Japan. Reminiscences of Work and Travel in Japan. New York, 1886. NIHONGI, Chronicles of Japan from the Earliest Times to A. D. 697. Translated from the original Chinese and Japanese by W. G. Aston. 2 vols. London, 1896. _Published as a Supplement to the Transactions and Proceedings of the Japan Society, London._ REED, EDWARD J. Japan: Its History, Traditions, and Religion. London, 1880. Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan. From 1872 to the present time. Transactions and Proceedings of the Japan Society, London. From 1892 to the present time. These separate series of volumes of Transactions of Japanese Societies, running through many years, are an invaluable repository of information on the history, customs, religion, and literature of Japan. FOOTNOTES: [1] The _Ko-ji-ki_ (section XXX) has this remarkable combination: "The luxuriant-reed-plains-land-of-fresh-rice-ears-of-a-thousand-autumns-of- long-five-hundred-autumns." The Ritual of the Great Purification and other rituals call Japan "the luxuriant reed-plain region of fresh young spikes." The word "spikes" here is a synonym for ears of rice. [2] Understood to be Sir Ernest Satow. [3] "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan," vol. xvi, part I, page 73. [4] Westminster Review, July, 1878, p. 18. [5] It may not be improper to suggest that some of the notions of the Western peoples as to the backwardness of Japan in the past, and the relative stage of civilization reached generations ago in the island empire may be very ludicrous to the mind of a self-respecting, thoughtful son of Japan. The Mikado's minister at Paris is reported to have said: "We have for many generations sent to Europe exquisite lacquer work, delicately carved figures, beautiful embroidery, and many other things which show our artistic ability and accomplishments, but the Europeans said we were uncivilized. We have recently killed some 70,000 Russians, and now every European nation is wondering at the high civilization we have at last attained!" [6] It is published as a Supplement to vol. x of the "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan," pp. lxxv and 369. Yokohama, 1883. [7] There is an English translation of the Nihongi, by W. G. Aston: 2 vols. London, 1896. It is published as a Supplement to "Transactions and Proceedings of the Japan Society, London." [8] These appear in vols. vii, ix, and xxvii of the "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan." Over thirty-five volumes of these Transactions have appeared, and they are an invaluable repository of information on the history, customs, religion, and literature of Japan. Other journals of like value are the "Transactions and Proceedings of the Japan Society of London" and the "Deutsche Gesellschaft für Natur-und Völkerkunde Ostasiens in Tokio." [9] Sketches of these men and numerous extracts from their works may be found in Satow's essay on "The Revival of Pure Shin-tau," published as Appendix of vol. iii of the "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan." [10] Japanese cosmology seems to postulate eternal matter, but "it is matter almost completely lacking consistency--an indescribable, nebulous, unsubstantial, floating, muddy foam"--"Japan: Its History, Arts, and Literature." By Captain F. Brinkley. Vol. V, p. 108. (J. B. Millet & Co., Boston and Tokyo.) [11] In the rituals he is often called "The Sovran Grandchild," though an adopted son of the Goddess; so "the sovran grandchild" is first applied to the founder on earth of the Mikado's dynasty, and afterward to each and all of his successors on the throne of Japan. [12] See Chamberlain's English translation of the _Ko-ji-ki_, p. iv. It is interesting to compare the story of Ezra dictating the lost sacred books of Israel, from a memory inspired supernaturally, while five rapid scribes wrote down what was told them. See 2 Esdras, chap. xiv. [13] We may compare the fact that in our book of Genesis the formation of the earth and the heavens is called "the _generations_ of the heavens and the earth" (Gen. ii, 4). In a paper of the "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan" (vol. xvi, part I), Dr. J. Edkins has an interesting comparison of "Persian elements in Japanese legends," in which he shows analogies between Mithra and Amaterasu, the seven Japanese deities of wood, water, fire, wind, earth, sea, and mountain with the Mazdean Amesha-spentas, and analogies of the underworld in several other mythic cults. [14] See the valuable paper on "The Beginning of Japanese History, Civilization, and Art," by the Rev. I. Dooman, in Vol. XXV of "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan;" especially his chapter iv, on "The Fundamental Religious Ideas of the Early Japanese." [15] See Satow's "The Revival of Pure Shintau, in Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan," vol. iii, Appendix, p. 71. [16] Lafcadio Hearn puts this whole matter very tersely, thus: "The ethics of Shinto were all comprised in the doctrine of unqualified obedience to customs originating, for the most part, in the family cult. Ethics were not different from religion; religion was not different from government, and the very word for government signified 'matters of religion.' All government ceremonies were preceded by prayer and sacrifice; and from the highest rank of society to the lowest every person was subject to the law of tradition. To obey was piety; to disobey was impious, and the rule of obedience was enforced upon each individual by the will of the community to which he belonged."--"Japan, an Interpretation," p. 175. [17] This respect for the Sun-Goddess points to an aboriginal worship of the sun among the ancestors of the Japanese people. [18] Strictly speaking, the Shinto sanctuaries are shrines rather than temples, so that the Japanese would always speak of Shinto shrines as distinct from Buddhist temples. [19] A kind of evergreen, like the pine, and peculiar to Japan. [20] "The Shintau Temples of Isè." "The Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan," vol. ii, p. 108. [21] "The Shintau Temples of Isè." "Transactions of Asiatic Society of Japan," vol. ii, p. 104. [22] Satow's "The Shintau Temples of Isè," pp. 119, 120. [23] According to Aston, ancestor worship, in the sense of a deification and honoring of the departed spirits of one's own ancestors, was no part of the oldest Shinto cult, but rather a later importation from China. See his "Shinto, the Way of the Gods," pp. 44-47. London, 1905. [24] "Japanese History of Civilization and Arts." "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan," vol. xxv, p. 89. [25] "Japan: an Interpretation," pp. 52, 53. New York, 1904. [26] In vol. xix, pt. I, of the "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan," pp. 93, 94. [27] This cheery and jubilant aspect of Shintau worship ought not to be deemed an objectional element of true religion. Rather the opposite idea, that religion is a matter of soul-peril and seriousness so grave as to produce fear or dread of the deity, is a perversion of the truth. True love of God (or of the gods) must needs have wholesome reverence for what is adorable, but also ought to inspire a warmth of affection and a confidence that drives out superstitious fear and begets exquisite delight in the heart and soul and mind of the true worshiper. [28] See "Ancient Japanese Rituals," translated and annotated by E. Satow, in "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan," vol. vii, part II, and part IV; vol. ix, part II. Also by Karl Florenz, in vol. xxvii, part I. In vol. vii, part II, pp. 106-108, Satow gives a list of the Norito rituals contained in the Yengishiki, to the number of twenty-seven. Of these he translates only nine. [29] "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan," vol. vii, part II, p. 127. [30] "The priests who officiated at the chief festivals belonged exclusively to two families, the Nakatomi and the Imbibi, both of whom were descended from inferior deities, who accompanied the 'Sovran Grandchild' when he came down to earth."--Satow, in Westminster Review for July, 1878, p. 16. [31] The reader of the ritual here personates the Mikado. [32] Temples here used by metonymy for deities. [33] In vol. xxvii, part I, of "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan." From this our extracts are taken. Florenz gives in great detail the various practices, and the ancient and modern forms of the ritual, and the customs at different shrines. He also discusses the question of the origin and age of the ceremony. [34] See the interesting article by Thomas R. H. McClatchie on "The Sword of Japan," in "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan," vol. ii, pp. 50-56. [35] "Japan: an Interpretation," p. 208. [36] "Shinto, the Way of the Gods," p. 360. [37] It is admitted by all writers on Japan that the practical ethics of Confucianism has from the first largely nullified the more subtle and dreamy elements of Buddhism. The common sense of the Japanese people, in spite of all peculiarities, has made it necessary for Buddhism to adjust itself to the popular mind. [38] Satow, in "Transactions of Asiatic Society of Japan," vol. ii, p. 121. Compare the statement of Mabuchi as given in Satow's paper on "The Revival of Pure Shin-tau," in Appendix to vol. iii of "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan," p. 14. [39] "The Soul of the Far East," p. 166. [40] For interesting information on this mystic phase of Shinto see the articles of Percival Lowell on "Esoteric Shinto," in "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan," vols. xxi and xxii. [41] "The gods of Japan," writes Gulick, "are innumerable in theory and multitudinous in practice. Not only are there gods of goodness, but also gods of lust and of evil, to whom robbers and harlots may pray for success and blessing." But in all this multitudinous pantheon there is no one Supreme Deity. "There is no word in the Japanese language corresponding to the English term God. The nearest approach to it are the Confucian terms Jo-tei, 'Supreme Emperor;' Ten, 'Heaven,' and Ten-tei, 'Heavenly Emperor;' but all of these terms are Chinese; they are therefore of late appearance in Japan, and represent rather conceptions of educated and Confucian classes than the ideas of the masses."--"Evolution of the Japanese," p. 311. [42] "The World's Parliament of Religions," vol. ii, p. 1282. We must not overlook the fact that the modern Shintoism has its sects, as well as Buddhism. There is the sect called "Ten-Ri-Kyo" ("Heaven-Reason-Teaching"). Also the Kurosumi sect, putting noteworthy emphasis on morality. [43] Gulick's "Evolution of the Japanese," p. 294. Whatever may be the defects of Japanese character in general, it is common for nearly all travelers who have visited the country and studied the habits of the people at their homes, to speak of them as mild, courteous, cleanly, frugal, intelligent, quick to learn, and gifted with a genius for imitation. Their soldiers have proved themselves a match for the most renowned warriors, and are marvelously apt to make the most of opportunities. [44] In his "Evolution of the Japanese" (p. 75) Gulick quotes from the Japan Mail (of September 30, 1899) a number of special instructions to be given to the pupils in the Japanese schools touching their behavior toward foreigners. One of the orders reads thus: "Since all human beings are brothers and sisters, there is no reason for fearing foreigners. Treat them as equals and act uprightly in all your dealings with them." Such instruction should surely, in time, enlarge the world-conception of the Shintoist. [45] Vol. iv, 1906, pp. 19-41. * * * * * * Transcriber's note: Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible including inconsistencies of hyphenation. 
43833	----	[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic text is surrounded by _underscores_.] Our Little Japanese Cousin The Little Cousin Series [Illustration] Our Little Japanese Cousin BY MARY HAZELTON WADE Our Little Indian Cousin BY MARY HAZELTON WADE Our Little Brown Cousin BY MARY HAZELTON WADE Our Little Russian Cousin BY MARY HAZELTON WADE [Illustration] L. C. PAGE & COMPANY, Publishers 200 Summer Street, Boston, Mass. [Illustration: LOTUS BLOSSOM.] Our Little Japanese Cousin By Mary Hazelton Wade _Illustrated by_ L. J. Bridgman [Illustration] Boston L. C. Page & Company _MDCCCCI_ _Copyright 1901_ BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY (INCORPORATED) _All rights reserved_ Colonial Press: Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. Boston, Mass., U. S. A. List of Illustrations PAGE LOTUS BLOSSOM _Frontispiece_ "SHE IS SOON SOUND ASLEEP" 18 TOYO FEEDING THE PIGEONS 26 THE CANDY MAN 33 AUNT OCHO'S GARDEN 37 A LESSON IN ARRANGING FLOWERS 50 Our Little Japanese Cousin LOTUS BLOSSOM is the dearest little girl in the world. I beg your pardon--I mean in the Eastern world, for she lives far away across the Pacific, on one of the beautiful islands of Japan. Lotus Blossom is very pretty. She has a round face, with a clear, yellow skin, and her teeth are like little pearls. Her black hair is cut square across the forehead and braided behind. It is never done up in curl-papers or twisted over a hot iron; the little girl's mamma would think that very untidy. Lotus Blossom does not smile very often, yet she is always happy. She does not remember crying once in her life. Why should she cry? Papa and mamma are always kind and ready to play with her. She is never sent to bed alone in the dark, for she goes to sleep, and gets up in the morning when her parents do. She does not play so hard as to get tired out and cross with everybody. She takes everything quietly, just as the big folks do, and is never in a hurry. Her playmates do not say unkind words to make her sad, for the children of Japan are taught to be polite above everything else. Why, I have heard that once upon a time one little yellow boy so far forgot himself as to call a lady bad names. His parents were terribly shocked. They felt that they had been disgraced, and at once sent for a policeman to go to the lady's house and ask for their child's pardon. As for him! well, he was severely punished in a way you will hear about later on in my story. [Illustration: TOYO FEEDING THE PIGEONS.] Besides all these things which help to make Lotus Blossom happy, she is dressed comfortably. Tight, stiff shoes could never be thought of for a minute. She wears white stockings made of cloth, with a separate place in each one for the big toe. In fact, they resemble long mittens. That is all Lotus Blossom wears on her feet in the house; but when she goes out-doors she has pretty sandals, if the walking is good. These sandals have straps, which are fastened on the foot between the big toe and around the ankle. If the ground is muddy or covered with snow, Lotus Blossom puts on her clogs. They are queer things, raised high on strips of wood. Of course one can't walk very fast on such clumsy affairs, but the Japanese dislike getting their feet wet as much as kittens do, and would wear anything to prevent such a mishap. But if Lotus Blossom stops at a house or store while she is out walking, she is polite enough to take off her clogs or sandals before going inside. That is one reason why every building can be kept so clean. The little Japanese girl's clothes are pretty as well as comfortable. It is not possible for pins to prick her tender flesh, because they are never used about her dress. In summer she wears a silk or linen garment made very much like your papa's dressing-gown, except that it has immense sleeves. Beautiful scarlet flowers are embroidered all over it, and a wide sash is wound around her waist and tied in a big, flat bow behind. She is very fond of red, so she has a bow of red crape in her hair, and a small red bag is fastened to her belt in front. What do you suppose she carries in the bag? Paper handkerchiefs! Not linen ones like yours, which are washed when they get soiled, but rather of soft, pretty paper. As soon as each one is used it is thrown away. Don't you think that is a very nice and cleanly custom? Indeed, there are many things about the Japanese which we might copy with profit, for they are the cleanest people in the world. Perhaps another reason why our little cousin is so happy is because she is always clean. Lotus Blossom carries another bag at her belt, filled with amulets. These are charms to keep away any evil spirits that might do her harm. In the bag with the charms, there is a brass plate, which tells her name and where she lives. So if she should get lost, her mother need not worry, for she will be brought safely home without loss of time. But what can be the use of such big sleeves? When her mamma cut them, she made them long enough to nearly reach the floor. Then they were doubled up inside and fastened in front so that they could serve as pockets. How you would laugh to see Lotus Blossom and her brother tuck away their playthings in their big sleeves when their mother calls them away to do something for her! It is enough to make an American boy's heart fill with envy. He may boast of six pockets, but what of that? They could all be filled and stowed away in one of Lotus Blossom's sleeves, and room would be still left. The little girl's life is like a long playtime. In the first place, she lives in a sort of play-house. There is nothing to get out of order; no chairs in the way, no table-scarfs to pull down, no ink-wells to tip over. There is only one big room in the house, but there are many beautiful paper screens, so her mamma can divide the house just as she pleases by moving the screens about. If company should arrive suddenly, there need be no question whether there is a guest-room or not. One can be made with screens in a moment. Even the front of the house is made of screens, which can be closed at night, and folded away in the morning to open up the whole house to the fresh air and sunshine. There are no carpets on the floors, but instead of these there are pretty mats made of rushes. They are exactly alike in size, and are shaken every morning. There are no chairs, for Lotus Blossom's family sit on the mats or on cushions on the floor. They cannot lean against the walls either, for remember, there are no walls! And if they should lean against the screens they would tumble over. The only tables are six inches high. They are pretty and delicate, and are highly lacquered. When Lotus Blossom has nothing else to do, she likes to look at the pictures on these little stands. But where are the stoves? How do the people keep warm in the cold winter days? And where is all the cooking done? In the picture do you see a little box with smoke rising from it? It is lined with metal, and charcoal is burned in it. All the food is prepared over these little fire-boxes. If any one is cold, he has only to get a fire-box, light some charcoal, and sit down beside it. And when Lotus Blossom goes to breakfast, she has a fire-box beside the lacquered table, so that water for her tea can be kept hot. Tea! you say. That little girl, nine years old, drinking tea? Yes, we have to admit that the Japanese child drinks tea at a very early age; and with no milk or sugar, either. But then the cups are so tiny they do not hold much. They are no bigger than those in a doll's china set. How quickly the little tea-table is set at meal times. Each member of the family has one all to himself. There is no table-cloth, no knife, or fork, or spoon; instead of these one sees a pair of chop-sticks, a small cup and saucer, and a plate from which he eats the steaming rice and the minced fish. But suppose that the tea or rice should be spilled on the beautiful table? Please don't imagine such a thing. Japanese children are too carefully trained by their kind mammas to be so careless. They handle their chop-sticks so daintily that no grain of rice nor bit of fish falls as they lift the food to their pretty mouths. Where does our little Japanese cousin sleep in this funny house? There are no bedsteads, or mattresses, or blankets, or sheets. When bedtime comes, her papa and mamma move the screens around so as to shut themselves off from the rest of the house. Then they go to a cupboard and take down some wadded quilts and queer wooden blocks, whose tops are slightly curved. A quilt is spread on the floor, and a wooden block serves as a pillow. Some paper is laid on it so that it may be kept clean. And now, you think, Lotus Blossom may get into her bed after she has undressed and put on her night-dress. Not so, however. She must bathe in a tub of such hot water that it would turn your body very red, if you were only to hop in and out again. The whole family bathe in the same tub of water, one after the other, and it is kept hot by a tube which runs to a fire-box. The little girl puts on her day-dress after her bath is finished, and, lying down on the quilt, she rests her head on the hard pillow. Mamma covers her with another quilt, and she is soon sound asleep. [Illustration: "SHE IS SOON SOUND ASLEEP."] When Lotus Blossom was two years old her brother Toyo was born. How the family rejoiced at having a little son! When he was only seven days old a very important ceremony was performed. He had to receive a name. His papa, who believes in the religion of Shintoism, fully wrote out five of his favourite names on pieces of paper. Then he took his baby in his arms, and, carrying the papers, he went to the temple where he worshipped. The papers were handed to the priest, who placed them in a bowl. After some ceremony, the priest began to fish in the bowl with a sacred wand. The first paper he lifted out bore the name of Toyo. This was the way that Lotus Blossom's little brother received his name. When he was about four weeks old he was again carried to the temple by his father and nurse. The Japanese believe in one great power, or god, but under him there are many others; as, a god of flowers, a god of art, and so forth. This time he was put under the care of his special god, who was then expected to protect him for the rest of his life. All this time Toyo's head was kept perfectly smooth. In fact, his first visit to the barber was very important, for all his hair was shaved off then except a little fringe at the back and sides. When he was four months old another important ceremony was held. Toyo left off baby clothes and was given his first solid food. That was rice, of course, which he would continue to eat at every meal for the rest of his life. Toyo and Lotus Blossom are always happy together. His sister was the first one to help Toyo squat on his little heels. Japanese babies never creep. The little brother had no baby-carriage or cradle, but he never missed them. He was always such a happy little fellow; never perched up in a high-chair with his body fastened in by a wooden tray, but always moving around, sometimes on the floor, sometimes fastened on mamma's or nurse's back, again on the older children's backs, when Lotus Blossom was out playing in the garden with them. When he got tired he would simply go to sleep, while the children would keep on with their play. But when he woke up, he would look about with a dear little smile, as much as to say: "I'm all right, thank you, don't fret about me." It was a most important time when he cut the first tooth, and not only that, but the second and the third,--in fact, every tooth in turn had its arrival celebrated. A poem about each one was written by his loving papa, and a little festival was held in the home. Such happy, childlike people are the Japanese! They are ready to enjoy everything. Even the funerals are cheerful, and have nothing sad and dreary about them. Why should they, when the people believe that they always will live, and that they will come back to earth again to enjoy the beautiful fields and flowers and sunshine in new bodies? Almost the first words that Toyo learned to speak were, "Thank you," and "If you please." Don't think for a moment that he ever did such a rude thing in his life as to answer "no" or "yes" without some very polite expression with it. For instance, if his mamma asked him a question, he would answer with his baby lips, "No, thank you, most admirable mother," or, "If you please, my adorable, honoured parent," at the same time bowing his little body over till his head reached the ground. Why! he and Lotus Blossom are taught to speak respectfully even of the potatoes or the dishes or the table. For example, they say, "the highly respected cup," etc. Isn't it funny? But, after all, isn't it nice, too, to act kindly toward every one and everything in the world? If her little brother should step on Lotus Blossom's doll and break its arm, what would she do? Give him a slap and say, "Oh, you bad, bad boy?" By no means. A slap is unknown in her land. The little woman would not even let herself look cross or unhappy, while Toyo would spend five minutes in telling her how unutterably sad and broken-hearted he was made by his cruel, ungentlemanly carelessness. And then, to make them forget all about it, mamma would bring a new doll from the cupboard. But perhaps Lotus Blossom is tired of playthings, so she and Toyo run out in the garden to have a frolic with their pets. They have new ones nearly every day, for they are fond of every creature that is alive. To-day they are going to hunt for some big beetles, as Toyo has planned a little carriage which he will make out of paper, with pasteboard wheels and reins of silk thread for the paper doll. The beetles will be harnessed, and the children will train them to draw the carriage. Jolly fun! The whole afternoon is spent in finding some black beauties and playing with them. Another day the children will catch some grasshoppers and tame them. Toyo will make a pretty paper cage to hold them, while both he and Lotus Blossom will be very careful to feed them regularly on the dainties they like best. When night comes the turtles must be looked after and fed, for Toyo has some beauties. He likes to fasten a string through the shell and take them walking, just as his American cousins do, but he would not willingly torture them. Lotus Blossom has a globe full of gold-fish different from any you have ever seen. Their tails are fan-shaped, and are as long as their bodies. During the long summer days the globe of fish is set out on the broad balcony, and many children stop to watch them as they pass. Toyo loves his little dog more than all his other pets. He is the dearest little fellow, and wishes to follow his young master wherever he goes. He looks somewhat like a spaniel, except that he is white. His nose is turned up at the end, so that he looks all the time as if he would say, "Humph! I am very wise. You poor people don't know much." And he looks all this in such a way as to make you wish to laugh. Toyo's mamma has made a big scarlet ruff for the dog's neck, and it makes him feel very fine, I dare say. His master has fastened a wooden label on his collar to tell where he belongs. I know you will be disappointed when you learn that Lotus Blossom's dear little kitten cannot play with her tail. No fun for her, poor kitty, you are thinking. But why is it? Because she _has_ no tail, or at least only the stub of one. So of course she is quite calm and solemn--that is, for a kitten. But then she lives in Japan, and so she ought to be more dignified than kittens of other lands. Don't you think so? We must leave all these pets now and go to church, or rather to the temple, with Toyo, Lotus Blossom, and their parents. There is no set day for worship, for there is no such thing as Sunday in Japan. The temples are always open, and the children are fond of going to them to offer prayers, and also to have a good time. As they near the temple they see stands of sweetmeats and good things of all kinds. The way is lined on both sides with these stands. Great numbers of people, rich and poor, high and low, are coming and going. Pigeons are flying in and out of the sacred building, and no one harms them. Toyo stops and buys a yen's worth of corn and scatters it for the birds to eat. They flock around him without fear. They are so tame that the children could catch them with no difficulty. But Lotus Blossom and Toyo pass on to the entrance, and, bowing low, take off their clogs. The inside of the building is almost bare. There are no statues of gods or goddesses, no ornaments,--nothing except an altar with some queer sticks standing upon it. Festoons of white paper hang from these wands, or "gohei," as the Japanese call them. A priest stands behind the altar, and a large cloth is spread out on the floor in front of it. Lotus Blossom and Toyo clap their hands. This is to call the attention of the gods. Then they say a little prayer and throw some money upon the cloth. If they are very good and devout children, perhaps the gods will descend into the temple. The queer papers on the wands are to be the clothing of these great beings. No images are needed, you see, only plenty of paper. Rather hard to understand this, and yet all that is necessary for Toyo and Lotus Blossom is to worship their ancestors properly, and believe that the great spirits are working everywhere in nature. This is the reason they are taught to obey their parents at all times, and never to harm anything living. The children are also taught to believe that the Mikado, the Emperor of Japan, is descended from god-kings who once ruled over the country. This is why such great honour is paid him wherever he goes. Until a few years ago the people thought him so sacred that they ought not to look at him, so he was obliged to stay inside his beautiful palace like a prisoner. But times have changed, and his subjects have a little more common sense nowadays. After our little cousins have said their prayers and given their money, they go to a dance-hall in another part of the temple. You know by this time that the Japanese like to enjoy themselves. But isn't it a strange idea to have dancing, praying, and feasting in the same place? The dancers are dressed like butterflies. They have beautiful red and gold wings. They are very graceful, but the music is unpleasant to us. Toyo thinks it is fine, and wishes he could play as well. Now for a good dinner in the restaurant in the next hall, for the boy's father has promised to treat his family to all the dainties of the season,--candied lotus-leaves, and everything they like best. It is a happy day, and the children wish they could go to the temple oftener. One morning not long after this, poor little Lotus Blossom woke up with a bad pain in her stomach. Her face and hands were hot. She was not able to get up and go to school. Mamma felt very sad, and at once sent to ask the priest for something to make her little daughter well. You say at once, "Is the priest in Japan a doctor? And will he prepare medicine marked in some such way as this: 'One teaspoonful to be taken each hour?'" No, indeed. Lotus Blossom's mamma received from her queer physician two "moxas," with orders that one of them should be placed on the back of the sick child, and the other on her foot. The direction of the priest was followed, although it made Lotus Blossom very unhappy. I think you would not like it, if you were in her place, for a moxa makes a burn far worse than a mustard plaster does. You know the punk that you use on the Fourth of July to light your firecrackers and fireworks? The moxas are made of a certain kind of pith, and burn slowly just as the punk does. The Japanese believe in the use of moxas for many things,--bad children, sickness, and I can't tell you what else. The impolite boy I told you about, at the beginning of the story, was burned with a moxa, in such a way that he never forgot himself again. As for fevers, why, the moxa is certain to drive away the bad spirits that cause them. No doubt you wonder at it, as I do myself, but Lotus Blossom got well enough in two or three days to sit up and be dressed. But she did not care for her dolls or games; she felt tired all the time. Her loving and most honoured father said a change of air would do her good. It would be well for her to spend some days at the house of an aunt who lived several miles out in the country. Toyo was allowed to go, too. How were they to get there? In steam or electric cars? What can you be thinking of to ask such questions? Two jinrikishas were brought to the door; one was for Lotus Blossom and one for her brother. Strong men were hired to draw them. I wonder if you ever saw anything like a jin-riki-sha, or man-power-carriage, for that is what the word means. They are very comfortable, much like baby-carriages, and are lined with soft cushions. The men look strong and kind. They are nearly naked, so that they can run easily and rapidly. It will take only an hour to carry the children to their aunt's, if they do not stop on the way. But there are so many things to see to-day that Lotus Blossom forgets all about her sickness and burns, and wants her runners to stop every few minutes to rest. The children spend at least five minutes bidding their mother a proper good-bye. Then, at the word, off they go, down "Dog" Street into "Turtle" Street. There are no sidewalks, but they are not needed, for horses and wagons are rarely seen. [Illustration: THE CANDY MAN.] But look! Here is a man standing in the middle of the street, dancing and singing a funny song. The sober Japanese who are passing stop and laugh. The man has a little stand by his side, and on this stand are a dish of wheat-gluten and a bamboo reed. As Lotus Blossom and Toyo draw near, the man ends his song and calls out, "Now who wants me to blow him a candy dog? Or shall it be a monkey eating a nut? You, my most honoured little lady, want one surely." This he said to Lotus Blossom, who was sitting up straight in the jinrikisha, full of interest. She thought a moment or two, and then asked for a stork with wings spread out to fly. She had hardly stopped speaking before the man seized a bamboo reed, dipped it in the sticky paste, and blowing now this way, now that, fashioned the graceful bird. Pinching it here and there to make it more perfect, he put on some touches of colour from a box of paints. It was wonderfully done. Lotus Blossom gave him five yen for the candy toy, the runners took hold of the jinrikisha, and away the children went on their journey. They came soon to another crowd of boys and girls gathered about a batter-cake man. He had a little stand on which a pan of charcoal was burning. A large griddle rested over the coal, and a tiny little urchin was standing on his tiptoes and baking cakes. The man cut them out for him in pretty shapes. See the pleasure on the youngster's face! All this fun for ten yen, or one cent. The other children watch him in envy. As Toyo and Lotus Blossom draw near, the jinrikisha men make a place for them in the crowd, and Toyo jumps out to get a lunch. He has the next turn, and so he asks the pleasant-faced man to cut his batter-cakes in the shape of turtles. Lotus Blossom does not wish any, but lies back in her easy carriage under her pretty sunshade, and watches Toyo cook and eat them. Umbrellas and sunshades are of the same material in Japan. They are made of several layers of tough, strong paper, and will last a long time. When they are worn out, they are thrown away just as the paper handkerchiefs are, and new ones are bought for a very small sum of money. In stormy weather Lotus Blossom and Toyo not only carry umbrellas, but wear long capes of oiled paper to keep off the rain, while very poor people have coats made of grasses. Funny looking things these are! If you should see a man with one of them over his shoulders, and a queer mushroom-shaped hat on his head, you would feel like laughing, I know,--that is, if you had not already acquired some of the politeness of the Japanese themselves. But let us return to Turtle Street and find out what is now attracting the attentions of our little cousins. Would you believe it? They can't be in very much of a hurry to get to aunty's, for they have stopped again. You would also stop if you saw what they do. A travelling street show is entertaining numbers of men, women, and children. Babies are on the backs of some of them, laughing and crowing, too. See that clever fellow in the middle. He is making butterflies of coloured paper and blowing them up into the air. He keeps them flying about, now in one direction, now in another, by waving his fan. It seems as though they must be alive, he does this so cleverly. That yellow butterfly is made to alight on a baby's hand. Hear the little fellow crow with delight. Another flies over Lotus Blossom's jinrikisha, and then, by the dexterous waving of the showman's fan, goes off in another direction before she can catch it. [Illustration: AUNT OCHO'S GARDEN.] After the butterfly show another man performs some wonderful tricks with a ladder. He places the ladder upright on the ground without any support; he climbs it, rung by rung, keeping its balance all the time. Finally he reaches the very top and stands on one foot, bowing and gracefully waving a fan. There is not time to tell you all the wonderful feats of the Japanese. Toyo and Lotus Blossom are delighted, although they have seen performances like these many times before. But they must really hasten on their journey, for aunty will be expecting them, and it will soon be sunset. In a few moments they leave the city behind and are out in the beautiful country. They pass tea plantations. The glossy green leaves are almost ready to pick. See the man in that field, running wildly about, making hideous noises. Is he crazy? Our little cousins do not seem disturbed as they pass by, for he is only a hired scarecrow. You remember that the people in Japan think it wrong to kill any living thing. But there are great numbers of birds in the country which are likely to eat the crops and do much damage. So men are hired to act as scarecrows and make noises to frighten the birds away. At last Uncle Oto's rice plantation is reached. The children draw up in front of a large, low house with wide verandas. It is more beautiful than their own home. The roof is magnificent with carvings, and must have cost a great deal of money. It is the pride of Aunt Ocho. The gardens contain the choicest plants and trees, besides a pond and an artificial waterfall. Lotus Blossom and Toyo are sure of a good time and much fun. They will have a great deal to tell their mamma when they return to their home. * * * * * Time passes by. The children have been back in their own home a long time. They are now looking forward to New Year's day. Everything is excitement about the house. Mamma has hired an extra servant to help clean the house from right to left; not from top to bottom, as we say, for there are no stairways or rooms overhead. Everything is on one floor, remember. The screens are carefully wiped, the mats receive an extra shaking, and then mamma brings out her choicest vase from the storehouse and places it on a beautiful, ebony stand in the place of honour. The Japanese are not at all like us. They are so simple in their tastes, and love beautiful things so much, that they have only one or two pieces, at the most, on view at a time. They think they can enjoy them more fully in this way. The most honoured father orders some workmen to come and set up some tall pine branches in front of the gateway. One is of black, the other of red pine, and tall bamboo reeds are placed beside them. A grass rope is stretched from one reed to the other, and some funny strips of white paper are hung on it. You saw many of these papers at the temple where the children worship. This work is very important to the childlike people. They think that the rope, with papers fastened to it, will keep away all the evil spirits that are ever ready to spoil the happiness of human beings. They are demons, who take the shape of foxes, badgers, and wolves, and are frightful enough to the imagination of Lotus Blossom and her brother. Of course, the children are glad that the evil spirits are to be surely kept away. Other things are hung on the rope for good luck. There is a piece of charcoal and some seaweed, and a "lucky bag" filled with chestnuts, a bit of herring and some dried fruit. All these things will make the gods understand they are not forgotten. The day before New Year's some men come to the house with an oven and proceed to make the grand New Year's cake. It must not be eaten, however, until the 11th of January. The children stand around and watch the men pound the sticky rice-paste with a heavy mallet. At last it is smooth enough, and then it is cut into rounds and built up into a pyramid. I hear you say, "Well, I'd rather have my mother's plum-cake, any time." But not so with Lotus Blossom and Toyo. They watch their mother anxiously as she places it with great care on a lacquered stand, to remain until the time comes to eat it. Now they are allowed to put on their clogs and go to buy the "harvest ship," which they will hang up in the house instead of the holly and evergreens you like to see at Christmas time. The Japanese believe that on New Year's eve a wonderful ship comes sailing into port. Of course, it is sent by the gods. No one has ever really seen it. That does not matter; there are pictures of it, nevertheless, and no New Year's decorations are complete without a miniature harvest ship. The shops are as full of them as our markets are of evergreen trees at Christmas time. They are made of grasses and trimmed with gaily coloured papers. The selection of this ship is a very exciting event, not only for Lotus Blossom and Toyo, but also for their mother. How anxiously they look at one after another as the shopkeeper shows them. Finally one is chosen that suits the children's mother as to price and beauty. But the shopping is by no means ended, for presents must be bought for friends and playmates. And now, children of America, please don't get envious of all the pretty things which your cousins can buy for a few pennies. Lotus Blossom and Toyo have been saving money for a long time. Each has a number of square copper coins strung on a string. They are not like our pennies, for they are larger and thinner, and each one has a square hole in the centre. Ten of these are equal in value to one of our cents, and there are many pretty things that Japanese children can buy for a yen, as this piece of money is called. Such pretty picture-books made of the lovely Japanese paper! Dolls that are dressed in the same fashion as the two children, only the dresses are of paper; pictures of the Japanese gods and goddesses; games and tops and candies. At length the shopping is over and the last yen has been spent. The family are glad to go home and take a hot bath and nap, for they are very tired. On New Year's morning Lotus Blossom and her brother receive their own presents, and although they do not shout and jump up and down as you do when you are very happy, they are much pleased. Toyo has a drum, some lovely books and a new game of battledore and shuttlecock, which is the game of all games to be played at New Year's. The shuttlecock is a large gilded seed with feathers stuck all around it; the battledore is a bat, flat on one side to strike with, while the other side has a raised figure of a beautiful dancing-girl. Lotus Blossom has, among other things, a doll which her mother has dressed in flowered silk, and a set of lacquered drawers in which to keep her ornaments. But the greatest surprise to the children is a white rabbit. These little creatures are the dearest of all pets in Japan, because they are so rare. It cost the loving father several dollars, but he is more than repaid by his children's delight. Lotus Blossom's mamma has spent many weeks in embroidering gowns for each member of the family. They are of silk, and are worn for the first time on New Year's day. This good mamma has had her hair arranged for the grand occasion with the greatest of care. You would hardly believe it, but the hair-dresser spent hours upon it, rolling it up in wonderful shapes, sticking it in place with a kind of paste, and fastening many ornaments in it. It was done two days ago, and you may be sure that the Japanese lady placed her head very carefully on the pillow every night so that nothing should disarrange it. She has had her teeth blackened afresh for the greatest holiday of the year, while both she and her little daughter paint their necks and faces white and their cheeks red before their toilets are finished. I believe I have not yet told you that the pretty Japanese women spoil their good looks as soon as they are married by colouring their teeth black! Isn't it a shame? I'm glad we don't have this custom in our country, aren't you? And now the New Year's calls begin. What a bowing and bending! Men, women, and children are all calling and lavishing many-worded compliments on each other. Refreshments are passed, and then there is a "show" to amuse everybody. Some men have been hired to come to the house. They dance and sing many songs. After this comes the funny part of the entertainment. One man puts on a mask and makes believe he is an animal. He rolls around on the floor at the ladies' feet, makes queer noises, and everybody laughs and is delighted. The big folks like it as much as the children. Perhaps the funny man will now put on two masks and represent different things at the same time,--on one side he will look like a dancing-girl, while on the other he will appear as some strange beast. He will change about rapidly, and keep the company watching him with excited interest. Night comes to very tired and happy people, but it does not end the fun by any means. Lotus Blossom's papa will not do any business for a week at least, and there will be new pleasures each day that he is at home with his wife and children. After the festival is over, the family settle down to their daily work until the coming of another holiday. The children go to school again, but that does not trouble them. They love their teacher and try to please him. The school is closed at noon. Lotus Blossom and Toyo start out every morning with little satchels over their backs. In these they carry their books, a cake of India ink, and a paint-brush. When they arrive at their schoolroom, they are met by a quiet, kindly man with big glasses over his eyes. The children instantly bow down to the ground before him, for he is their teacher. Of course the low bow is to show great respect. Japanese children are taught to treat their instructors, as well as their parents, with honour and regard. And now they enter the schoolroom. But what a schoolroom! No desks, no platform, no seats! The teacher sits down upon a mat with a small lacquered stand beside him. The children squat on the floor around him and begin to study. What queer letters in the books! You would not be able to read one word. Lotus Blossom and Toyo have already learned their alphabets. You smile, perhaps, and think, "H'm! that isn't much." Well, just wait till I tell you there are forty-seven different characters in one alphabet, while in another there are several times as many. The easy alphabet is the only one that girls must know, while boys learn both. But Lotus Blossom is a very bright child, so she studies the more difficult characters as well. Japanese books are printed very differently from ours. The lines run up and down the page, and keep the eyes of the reader busily moving. The children don't have many examples to perform, for the Japanese do not consider arithmetic so important as Americans do. Do you sigh now, and wish you could get your education in that far-away land where long division is not a daily trial? But wait till I tell you about the writing, or rather painting, lessons. You will certainly be envious. When the schoolmaster gives the signal, the children take the brushes and the cakes of India ink from their satchels. They mix a little of the ink with water, and then are ready to paint their words on the beautiful paper made in their country. Many people think that the Japanese are such fine artists because their hands are trained to use the brush from the time they are babies. It would make you laugh if I should tell you how the teacher directs the children to write letters to their friends. They must begin by writing something very poetical about the weather. They must then compose some very flowery compliments to the friend who is addressed; a sheet or two, at least, must be used in this way before they are allowed to tell the news, etc. But throughout the letter, as in fact in all conversations, Lotus Blossom and Toyo are taught to speak of themselves as very mean and humble creatures. Their kind school-teacher ends the morning lessons with proverbs. You know what these are, of course, but the ones which our Japanese cousins learn are especially about duty to their parents, and kindness to all living creatures. It would be a great sin for Toyo to tease the cat or kill a fly. His parents would be shocked beyond expression. [Illustration: A LESSON IN ARRANGING FLOWERS.] "How about punishment in the Japanese school?" I hear a little boy ask. My dear child, it is hardly ever needed, but when it does come, it is not being kept after school; it is not a whipping. The child is burned! The teacher takes a moxa, which I told you is a kind of pith, and sticks it on the naughty child's hand. He then sets the moxa on fire to burn slowly. It is a long, sad punishment for any one who is so bad as to deserve it. It does not need to be given every day. Lotus Blossom and Toyo, as well as their little schoolmates, are very attentive to their work, and try their hardest to please the teacher. When school is done, what will the children do throughout the long afternoon? Lotus Blossom must work a certain time in embroidery, and take a short lesson with her mamma in arranging flowers. Why, there are whole books on this subject in Japan. The people are very fond of flowers, and study how to arrange them in the most graceful manner. They would never think of bunching many together without their leaves in an ugly bouquet, nor would they dream of cruelly twisting wires around their poor little stems. In Japan it is thought an art to know how to place one spray in a vase in such a way as to show all its beauty. While his sister is doing her work, Toyo is practising on his koto. This is a musical instrument of which the Japanese are very fond. It looks much like a harp. Toyo strikes the strings with pieces of ivory fastened on his finger-tips. Listen! Do you call those sounds music? It is enough to set one's teeth on edge. Yet Toyo's music-teacher says that he is doing finely and shows great talent. If that is so, I fear we would not care to go to many concerts in Japan, for the Japanese idea of music is very different from ours. Hurrah! The children are now ready for play, and there are so many nice things to do. If it is winter and there is snow on the ground, Lotus Blossom and Toyo gather together with their little friends to make a snow man. Not an Irish gentleman with a pipe in his mouth, such as you like to build, but a figure of Daruma, who was a disciple of Buddha. It is easy to make this, for it is believed that Daruma lost his legs from sitting too long in one position. So the snow man has no legs. When it is made, the children knock it down with snow-balls, just as you do. Spring comes, and with it, tops, and kites, and stilts. The stilts are very high, and Toyo puts his toes through parts of the wooden lifts. He and the other boys run races and even play games on stilts, and think it great fun. But the kites! Yours are just babies beside them. Some of them are so large that it takes two men to sail them. In fact, grown-up people, in Japan, seem as fond of kite-flying as the children. Many of these toys have neither tails nor bobs. You wonder how they manage to get up in the air at all, till you see that the strings are pulled in such a way as to raise them. They are of all shapes. The boys sometimes play a game with their kites. They dip the strings in glue and afterward in powdered glass; then they run with the kites and try to cross each other's strings and cut them. The boy who succeeds wins the other's kite. Toyo lost his the other day, and what do you think he did? Pout, or exclaim, as you sometimes do, "I don't care, that isn't fair?" By no means! He made three beautiful bows and gave up his kite with a polite smile. Maybe he did not feel any happier about it than you would, for it was a fine new one, but he wouldn't show his grief, at any rate. Toyo sometimes wrestles with the other boys, but they are not rough and noisy about it. They wrestle gently, if you can imagine such a thing. They have often seen the trained wrestlers at the shows; such big, fat men. They must weigh at least three hundred pounds. The fat fairly hangs upon them. The Japanese people are generally slim and rather small, but if a man is going to train himself to be a wrestler, he eats everything that will help to make him fat. I should think they could not get hurt, for they look as though they were cushioned in fat. The boys of Japan have marbles and tops, just as you do; in fact, nearly all the games which you like best were played by your far-away cousins long before there was a white child on this great continent of ours. "Blind man's buff," "Hide the thimble," and "Puss in the corner," are great favourites with the Japanese. Instead of hiding the thimble, however, they use a slipper, and instead of puss in the corner, they play that it is the devil. You must not forgot that the Japanese believe there are many devils, or bad spirits, as well as good ones who are ready to help. They even think of them in their games. How many holidays have we in a whole year? Stop and count. Not a great number, we must admit. Lotus Blossom and Toyo have so many that they can count on their fingers the number of days between any two of them. Next best to New Year's, our little girl cousin likes the Feast of Dolls. It comes on the third day of the third month. At that time the stores are filled with dolls,--big dolls, little dolls, dolls dressed like princesses with flounced silk gowns, dolls made up as servants, as dancing-girls, and dolls the very image of the Mikado, the ruler of Japan,--nothing but dolls and dolls' furniture. When the great day arrives, Lotus Blossom's mamma makes a throne in the house. She brings out the two dolls that she herself received when she was born, besides those of her mother and grandmother and great-grandmother! They have been carefully packed away in soft papers in the family storehouse. What a sight they are, with all the new ones that have been bought for Lotus Blossom. The Mikado doll is first placed on his throne, surrounded by his court, and then the soldiers and dancers and working people are made to stand at either side. They are dressed in the proper clothing that belongs to their position. But this grand array is not all. There are all kinds of doll's furniture, too,--little tables only four inches high, with dolls' tea-sets, the tiniest, prettiest china dishes. There are the wadded silk quilts for the dolls to sleep on, and wooden pillows on which the doll-heads can rest. Yes, there are dolls' fans, and even dolls' games. On this great occasion there is a dinner-party for the whole family of dolls. Lotus Blossom and her little friends, as well as her father and mother, are quite busy serving their guests with rice, fish, soup, and all kinds of sweet dainties. Somehow or other, all these nice things are eaten. What wonderful dolls they have in Japan, don't they? Toyo enjoys the day as well as Lotus Blossom, but still he is looking forward to the fifth of May. That will be his favourite time of all the year. By that time the girls' dolls will be put away, and the stores will be filled with boys' playthings,--soldiers, tents, armour, etc. Toyo's father will place a tall bamboo pole in front of the house, and hang an immense paper fish on the top of it. The fish's mouth will be wide open, so that the air will fill his big body. At some of the other houses there will be a banner instead of a fish. There are figures of great warriors who fought in olden times on these banners. When Toyo was a baby his father bought him a banner stand. It has been kept very carefully, and is now put in the place where the doll's throne stood a little while ago. The banners of great generals are hung up, and figures of soldiers are placed on the stand. You see Toyo has dolls as well as his sister. Everything is done to remind boys of war at this Festival of Banners. They have processions in the streets. They play a game in which they form armies against each other. Every boy carries a flag, and those of one company try to seize the flags of the boys in the other. Of course the side wins which first succeeds in gaining the flags of the other. A festival which everybody loves is the Feast of Lanterns. It is in the summer time, and the children are dressed in their gayest clothes. They form processions and march through the streets singing with all their might. Every child carries a large paper lantern and keeps it swinging all the time. It is such a pretty sight in the evening light,--the bright dresses, the graceful figures, the gorgeous lanterns. Oh, Japan is the land of happy children, young and old. One pleasant summer afternoon, as Lotus Blossom and Toyo were playing on their veranda, they noticed some one stopping at the gateway and then coming up the walk to the house. It was the man-servant who worked at the home of a friend of theirs, whose father was very rich. Toyo whispered, "Oh, Lotus Blossom, I believe he's bringing us an invitation to Chrysanthemum's party. You know she is going to have one on her birthday." Sure enough, the man came up to the children, and, making a low bow, presented them with two daintily folded papers and then departed. They hastened to open them, and found, with delight, that they were really and truly asked to their friend's party. It was to be at three o'clock in the afternoon of the following Thursday. Lotus Blossom ran to her mother, just as her American cousins might do, and cried, "Oh, mamma, my precious, honourable mother, what shall I wear? See this; do look at my invitation." It was a rare thing indeed to see the child so excited. Her mother smiled, and answered, "My dear little pearl of a Lotus Blossom, I have almost finished embroidering your new silk garment. It shall be finished, and you shall have a new yellow crape kerchief to fold about your throat. A barber shall arrange your long hair about your head; and I will buy you white silk sandals to be tied with ribbons. Even though your friend is more wealthy than ourselves, you shall not disgrace your honoured father. Toyo, too, must have a new garment." All was made ready, and Thursday came at last. The children were sent to the party in jinrikishas, so that they should not get dusty. They looked very pretty. Their little hostess and her mamma received the guests with smiles and with many long phrases of politeness. Lacquered trays were brought in and placed in front of each one. On these were beautiful china cups with no handles. What do you think was served in them? Don't get up your hopes now and say "lemonade," or "sherbet," for you will surely be disappointed. It was tea,--simply tea, without milk or sugar. The children drank it in honour of their hostess and her mamma. But something better still was to come. The tea was removed, and fresh trays, covered with dainty pink papers, were brought in. A cake made of red beans lay on the middle of each tray, and around it were placed sugar maple leaves coloured red and green. They looked pretty enough to keep, but the little guests ate them, leaves and all. After these came other cakes and sweetmeats, enough to delight the heart of every one. Now for games! Proverbs come first of all. It is played very much like the American game of "Authors," and is a great favourite with both old and young in Japan. Next comes blind man's buff, but you would hardly know the game, it is played so much more quietly and slowly than you are in the habit of playing it. Wine-cakes, dainties, and tea are served next, and then the best part of the fun arrives. The screens are moved aside, and the children behold a little stage. They sit, or rather squat, down on the mats about the room while some hired performers represent one of their loved fairy stories in a play. The actresses have lovely gowns, and are very graceful. It is a very enjoyable occasion. The time to leave comes all too soon. The jinrikisha men arrive, and after assuring their hostess that they never had had so lovely a time before, Lotus Blossom and Toyo make two deep bows and return home very happy. I believe you would not object to a party like that yourself, would you? Among all the joyous festivals of the year, I must not forget to tell you of the plum-viewing. The winter season is very short in Japan, and the houses are not built to keep out the cold very well, as you must have already perceived. When the spring days arrive and the blossoms begin to appear, the child people are very happy. If they are happy, of course they must show it. How can they do it so well as by having out-door picnics in the plum orchards? The children watch for the great day's arrival when the flowers will be in full bloom. They save up their yen to spend, and plan for a great good time. No school on that day! No practising on the koto! No embroidery for Lotus Blossom! Every one is up early on the bright, clear morning, and baskets are filled with the nice luncheon mamma has prepared. There is actually an air of excitement in the quiet Japanese household. The good father leads the family procession as they start out on their walk to the picnic grounds. It is about two miles from their home. Other families join them as they walk along. The throng of gaily dressed and happy people grows larger every moment. As they near the plum-orchard they find the road lined with stands, which have been put up for the day. It seems as though everything one could desire were on sale: cakes, tea, fruit, fans, sweets of all kinds, toys, etc. No wonder Lotus Blossom and Toyo wanted to save up their money. But the orchard! Was there ever a lovelier sight? Hundreds of trees loaded with fragrant pink blossoms! The people write poems about them, and pin them on the branches, to show how much they appreciate the beautiful sight which Nature has given them. Tea-drinking, story-telling, and the entertainments of travelling showmen take up the day. Sunset bids them leave the beautiful scene and go back to home and work. And now, children, we must bid these dear cousins good-bye for a little while. Although they worship in strange ways, and read their books upside down, besides doing many other things in a manner that seems strange to us, yet we can learn much from their simple, childlike natures. And, after all, isn't one reason why we live in this big world and are so different one from another, that we may learn from each other? THE END. NEW JUVENILES 'Tilda Jane BY MARSHALL SAUNDERS AUTHOR OF "BEAUTIFUL JOE," "FOR HIS COUNTRY," ETC. _Fully illustrated_ 1 vol., 12mo, $1.30 [Illustration] A charming and wholesome story for girls, handled with unusual charm and skill, which was issued serially in the _Youth's Companion_. 'Tilda Jane is a runaway orphan from a Maine asylum, who wanders over the Canadian border into the settlements of the habitants. The simple lives of the peasants, their fine characters and racial traits give a characteristic charm to the story, and the delightful girl heroine will endear herself to young and old readers. SEND FOR CIRCULARS, ETC. NEW JUVENILES THE Rosamond Tales BY CUYLER REYNOLDS _With many full-page illustrations from original photographs by the author, together with a frontispiece from a drawing by Maud Humphreys._ Large 12mo, cloth, $1.50 [Illustration] These are just the bedtime stories that children always ask for, but do not always get. Rosamond and Rosalind are the hero and heroine of many happy adventures in town and on their grandfather's farm; and the happy listeners to their story will unconsciously absorb a vast amount of interesting knowledge of birds, animals, and flowers, just the things about which the curiosity of children from four to twelve years old is most insatiable. The book will be a boon to tired mothers, as a delight to wide-awake children. SEND FOR CIRCULARS, ETC. NEW JUVENILES Prince Harold A FAIRY STORY BY L. F. BROWN _With ninety full-page illustrations_ Large 12mo, cloth, $1.50 [Illustration] A delightful fairy tale for children, dealing with the life of a charming young Prince, who, aided by the Moon Spirit, discovers, after many adventures, a beautiful girl whom he makes his Princess. He is so enamored that he dwells with his bride in complete seclusion for a while, entrusting the conduct of his kingdom meantime to his monkey servant, Longtail. The latter marries a monkey princess from Amfalulu, and their joint reign is described with the drollest humor. The real rulers finally return and upset the reign of the pretenders. An original and fascinating story for young people. SEND FOR CIRCULARS, ETC. NEW JUVENILES THE Woodranger Tales VOLUME III. The Hero of the Hills BY G. WALDO BROWNE VOLUME I. The Woodranger BY G. WALDO BROWNE VOLUME II. The Young Gunbearer BY G. WALDO BROWNE Each large 12mo, cloth, fully illustrated, $1.00 [Illustration] There is the reality of history behind these stories, the successful series of "Woodranger Tales," the scope and trend of which are accurately set forth in the title. While full of adventure, the interest in which sometimes rises to the pitch of excitement, the stories are not sensational, for Mr. Browne writes with dignity, if with liveliness. The books will not fail to interest any lively, wholesome-minded boy. SEND FOR CIRCULARS, ETC. NEW JUVENILES Our Devoted Friend the Dog BY SARAH K. BOLTON AUTHOR OF "GIRLS WHO HAVE BECOME FAMOUS," ETC. _Fully illustrated with many reproductions from original photographs_ 1 vol., small quarto, $1.50 [Illustration] This book of the dog and his friends does for the canine member of the household what Helen M. Winslow's book, "Concerning Cats," did for the feline. No one who cares for dogs--and that class includes nearly all who do not care for cats, and some who do--will admit that the subject of Mrs. Bolton's book is a less felicitous choice than that of its predecessor; while the author's well-known ability as a writer and lecturer, as well as her sympathy with her subject, are a sufficient guarantee of a happy treatment. SEND FOR CIRCULARS, ETC. NEW JUVENILES THE Cosy Corner Series A SERIES OF CHARMING ILLUSTRATED JUVENILES BY WELL-KNOWN AUTHORS We shall issue ten new volumes in this well-known series of child classics, and announce four as follows: A Little Puritan Pioneer BY EDITH ROBINSON Author of "A Loyal Little Maid," "A Little Puritan's First Christmas," etc. Madam Liberality BY MRS. EWING Author of "Jackanapes," "A Great Emergency," "Story of a Short Life," etc., etc. A Bad Penny BY JOHN T. WHEELWRIGHT The other seven will include new stories by Louise de la Ramée, Miss Mulock, Nellie Hellis, Will Allen Dromgoole, etc., etc. _Forty-four volumes previously published_ SEND FOR CIRCULARS, ETC. L. C. PAGE & COMPANY'S Cosy Corner Series OF Charming Juveniles [Illustration] Each one volume, 16mo, cloth, Illustrated, 50 cents [Illustration] =Ole Mammy's Torment.= By ANNIE FELLOWS-JOHNSTON. Author of "The Little Colonel," etc. =The Little Colonel.= By ANNIE FELLOWS-JOHNSTON. Author of "Big Brother." =Big Brother.= By ANNIE FELLOWS-JOHNSTON. Author of "The Little Colonel," etc. =The Gate of the Giant Scissors.= By ANNIE FELLOWS-JOHNSTON. Author of "The Little Colonel," etc. =Two Little Knights of Kentucky,= who were "The Little Colonel's" neighbors. By ANNIE FELLOWS-JOHNSTON. A sequel to "The Little Colonel." =The Story of Dago.= By ANNIE FELLOWS-JOHNSTON. Author of "The Little Colonel," etc. =Farmer Brown and the Birds.= By FRANCES MARGARET FOX. A little story which teaches children that the birds are man's best friends. =Story of a Short Life.= By JULIANA HORATIA EWING. This beautiful and pathetic story is a part of the world's literature and will never die. =Jackanapes.= By JULIANA HORATIA EWING. A new edition, with new illustrations, of this exquisite and touching story, dear alike to young and old. =The Little Lame Prince.= By MISS MULOCK. A delightful story of a little boy who has many adventures by means of the magic gifts of his fairy godmother. =The Adventures of a Brownie.= By MISS MULOCK. The story of a household elf who torments the cook and gardener, but is a constant joy and delight to the children. =His Little Mother.= By MISS MULOCK. Miss Mulock's short stories for children are a constant source of delight to them, and "His Little Mother," in this new and attractive dress, will be welcomed by hosts of readers. =Little Sunshine's Holiday.= By MISS MULOCK. "Little Sunshine" is another of those beautiful child-characters for which Miss Mulock is so justly famous. =Wee Dorothy.= By LAURA UPDEGRAFF. A story of two orphan children, the tender devotion of the eldest, a boy, for his sister being its theme. =Rab and His Friends.= By DR. JOHN BROWN. Doctor Brown's little masterpiece is too well known to need description. =The Water People.= By CHARLES LEE SLEIGHT. Relating the further adventures of "Harry," the little hero of "The Prince of the Pin Elves." =The Prince of the Pin Elves.= By CHAS. LEE SLEIGHT. A fascinating story of the underground adventures of a sturdy, reliant American boy among the elves and gnomes. =Helena's Wonderworld.= By FRANCES HODGES WHITE. A delightful tale of the adventures of a little girl in the mysterious regions beneath the sea. =For His Country.= By MARSHALL SAUNDERS. A beautiful story of a patriotic little American lad. =A Little Puritan's First Christmas.= By EDITH ROBINSON. =A Little Daughter of Liberty.= By EDITH ROBINSON. Author of "A Loyal Little Maid," "A Little Puritan Rebel," etc. A true story of the Revolution. =A Little Puritan Rebel.= By EDITH ROBINSON. An historical tale of a real girl, during the time when the gallant Sir Harry Vane was governor of Massachusetts. =A Loyal Little Maid.= By EDITH ROBINSON. A delightful and interesting story of Revolutionary days, in which the child heroine, Betsey Schuyler, renders important services to George Washington and Alexander Hamilton. =A Dog of Flanders.= A CHRISTMAS STORY. By LOUISE DE LA RAM�E (Ouida). =The Nurnberg Stove.= By LOUISE DE LA RAM�E (Ouida). This beautiful story has never before been published at a popular price. =The King of the Golden River.= A LEGEND OF STIRIA. By JOHN RUSKIN. Written fifty years or more ago, this little fairy tale soon became known and made a place for itself. =La Belle Nivernaise.= THE STORY OF AN OLD BOAT AND HER CREW. By ALPHONSE DAUDET. It has been out of print for some time, and is now offered in cheap but dainty form in this new edition. =The Young King.= =The Star Child.= Two stories chosen from a recent volume by a gifted author, on account of their rare beauty, great power, and deep significance. =A Great Emergency.= By MRS. EWING. =The Trinity Flower.= By JULIANA HORATIA EWING. In this little volume are collected three of Mrs. Ewing's best short stories for the young people. =The Adventures of Beatrice and Jessie.= By RICHARD MANSFIELD. A bright and amusing story of the strange adventures of two little girls in the "realms of unreality." =A Child's Garden of Verses.= By R. L. STEVENSON. This little classic is undoubtedly the best of all volumes of poetry for children. =Little King Davie.= By NELLIE HELLIS. It is sufficient to say of this book that it has sold over 110,000 copies in England, and consequently should well be worthy of a place in "The Cosy Corner Series." =Little Peterkin Vandike.= By CHARLES STUART PRATT. The author's dedication furnishes a key to this charming story. "I dedicate this book, made for the amusement of the boys who may read it, to the memory of one boy, who would have enjoyed as much as Peterkin the plays of the Poetry Party." =The Making of Zimri Bunker.= A TALE OF NANTUCKET. By W. J. LONG. The story deals with a sturdy American fisher lad during the war of 1812. =The Fortunes of the Fellow.= By WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE. A sequel to "The Farrier's Dog and His Fellow." =The Farrier's Dog and His Fellow.= By WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE. This story, written by the gifted young Southern woman, will appeal to all that is best in the natures of her many admirers. =The Sleeping Beauty.= A MODERN VERSION. By MARTHA B. DUNN. A charming story of a little fishermaid of Maine, intellectually "asleep," until she meets the "Fairy Prince." =The Young Archer.= By CHARLES E. BRIMBLECOM. A strong and wholesome story of a boy who accompanied Columbus on his voyage to the New World. Selections from L. C. PAGE & COMPANY'S Books for Young People [Illustration] =Old Father Gander;= OR, THE BETTER-HALF OF MOTHER GOOSE. RHYMES, CHIMES, AND JINGLES scratched from his own goose-quill for American Goslings. Illustrated with impossible Geese, hatched and raised by WALTER SCOTT HOWARD. 1 vol., oblong quarto, cloth decorative $2.00 The illustrations are so striking and fascinating that the book will appeal to the young people aside from the fact even of the charm and humor of the songs and rhymes. There are thirty-two full-page plates, of which many are in color. The color illustrations are a distinct and successful departure from the old-fashioned lithographic work hitherto invariably used for children's books. =The Crock of Gold:= A NEW BOOK OF FAIRY TALES. By S. BARING GOULD. Author of "Mehalah," "Old Country Life," "Old English Fairy Tales," etc. With twenty-five full-page illustrations by F. D. Bedford. 1 vol., tall 12mo, cloth decorative, gilt top $1.50 This volume will prove a source of delight to the children of two continents, answering their always increasing demand for "more fairy stories." =Shireen and Her Friends:= THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A PERSIAN CAT. By GORDON STABLES. Illustrated by Harrison Weir. 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative $1.25 A more charming book about animals Dr. Stables himself has not written. It is similar in character to "Black Beauty," "Beautiful Joe," and other books which teach us to love and protect the dumb animals. =Bully, Fag, and Hero.= By CHARLES J. MANSFORD. With six full-page illustrations by S. H. Vedder. 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative, gilt top $1.50 An interesting story of schoolboy life and adventure in school and during the holidays. =The Adventures of a Boy Reporter in the Philippines.= By HARRY STEELE MORRISON. Author of "A Yankee Boy's Success." 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth, illustrated $1.25 A true story of the courage and enterprise of an American lad. It is a splendid boys' book, filled with healthy interest, and will tend to stimulate and encourage the proper ambition of the young reader. =Tales Told in the Zoo.= By F. C. GOULD. With many illustrations from original drawings. 1 vol., large quarto $2.00 A new book for young people on entirely original lines. The tales are supposed to be told by an old adjutant stork in the Zoological Gardens to the assembled birds located there, and they deal with legendary and folk-lore stories of the origins of various creatures, mostly birds, and their characteristics. =Philip:= THE STORY OF A BOY VIOLINIST. By T. W. O. 1 vol., 12mo, cloth $1.00 The life-story of a boy, reared among surroundings singular enough to awaken interest at the start, is described by the present author as it could be described only by one thoroughly familiar with the scene. The reader is carried from the cottages of the humblest coal-miners into the realms of music and art; and the _finale_ of this charming tale is a masterpiece of pathetic interest. =Black Beauty:= THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A HORSE. By ANNA SEWELL. _New Illustrated Edition._ With twenty-five full-page drawings by Winifred Austin. 1 vol., large 12mo, cloth decorative, gilt top $1.25 There have been many editions of this classic, but we confidently offer this one as the most appropriate and handsome yet produced. The illustrations are of special value and beauty, and should make this the standard edition wherever illustrations worthy of the story are desired. L. C. PAGE & COMPANY'S Gift Book Series FOR Boys and Girls [Illustration] Each one volume, tall 12mo, cloth, Illustrated, $1.00 [Illustration] =The Little Colonel's House Party.= By ANNIE FELLOWS-JOHNSTON. Author of "Little Colonel," etc. Illustrated by E. B. Barry. Mrs. Johnston has endeared herself to the children by her charming little books published in the Cosy Corner Series. Accordingly, a longer story by her will be eagerly welcomed by the little ones who have so much enjoyed each story from her pen. =Chums.= By MARIA LOUISE POOL. Author of "Little Bermuda," etc. Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman. "Chums" is a girls' book, about girls and for girls. It relates the adventures, in school, and during vacation, of two friends. =Three Little Crackers.= FROM DOWN IN DIXIE. By WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE. Author of "The Farrier's Dog." A fascinating story for boys and girls, of the adventures of a family of Alabama children who move to Florida and grow up in the South. =Miss Gray's Girls;= OR, SUMMER DAYS IN THE SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS. By JEANNETTE A. GRANT. A delightfully told story of a summer trip through Scotland, somewhat out of the beaten track. A teacher, starting at Glasgow, takes a lively party of girls, her pupils, through the Trossachs to Oban, through the Caledonian Canal to Inverness, and as far north as Brora. =King Pippin:= A STORY FOR CHILDREN. By MRS. GERARD FORD. Author of "Pixie." One of the most charming books for young folks which has been issued for some time. The hero is a lovable little fellow, whose frank and winning ways disarm even the crustiest of grandmothers, and win for him the affection of all manner of unlikely people. =Feats on the Fiord:= A TALE OF NORWEGIAN LIFE. By HARRIET MARTINEAU. This admirable book, read and enjoyed by so many young people, deserves to be brought to the attention of parents in search of wholesome reading for their children to-day. It is something more than a juvenile book, being really one of the most instructive books about Norway and Norwegian life and manners ever written. =Songs and Rhymes for the Little Ones.= Compiled by MARY WHITNEY MORRISON (Jenny Wallis). New edition, with an introduction by Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney. No better description of this admirable book can be given than Mrs. Whitney's happy introduction: "One might almost as well offer June roses with the assurance of their sweetness, as to present this lovely little gathering of verse, which announces itself, like them, by its own deliciousness. Yet, as Mrs. Morrison's charming volume has long been a delight to me, I am only too happy to declare that it is to me--and to two families of my grandchildren--the most bewitching book of songs for little people that we have ever known." =The Young Pearl Divers:= A STORY OF AUSTRALIAN ADVENTURE BY LAND AND BY SEA. By LIEUT. H. PHELPS WHITMARSH. This is a splendid story for boys, by an author who writes in vigorous and interesting language, of scenes and adventures with which he is personally acquainted. =The Woodranger.= By G. WALDO BROWNE. The first of a series of five volumes entitled "The Woodranger Tales." Although based strictly on historical facts the book is an interesting and exciting tale of adventure, which will delight all boys, and be by no means unwelcome to their elders. =Three Children of Galilee:= A LIFE OF CHRIST FOR THE YOUNG. By JOHN GORDON. There has long been a need for a Life of Christ for the young, and this book has been written in answer to this demand. That it will meet with great favor is beyond question, for parents have recognized that their boys and girls want something more than a Bible story, a dry statement of facts, and that, in order to hold the attention of the youthful readers, a book on this subject should have life and movement as well as scrupulous accuracy and religious sentiment. =Little Bermuda.= By MARIA LOUISE POOL. Author of "Dally," "A Redbridge Neighborhood," "In a Dike Shanty," "Friendship and Folly," etc. The adventures of "Little Bermuda" from her home in the tropics to a fashionable American boarding-school. The resulting conflict between the two elements in her nature, the one inherited from her New England ancestry, and the other developed by her West Indian surroundings, gave Miss Pool unusual opportunity for creating an original and fascinating heroine. =The Wild Ruthvens:= A HOME STORY. By CURTIS YORK. A story illustrating the mistakes, failures, and successes of a family of unruly but warm-hearted boys and girls. They are ultimately softened and civilized by the influence of an invalid cousin, Dick Trevanion, who comes to live with them. =The Adventures of a Siberian Cub.= Translated from the Russian of Slibitski by LEON GOLSCHMANN. This is indeed a book which will be hailed with delight, especially by children who love to read about animals. The interesting and pathetic adventures of the orphan bear, Mishook, will appeal to old and young in much the same way as have "Black Beauty" and "Beautiful Joe." =Timothy Dole.= By JUNIATA SALSBURY. The youthful hero, and a genuine hero he proves to be, starts from home, loses his way, meets with startling adventures, finds friends, kind and many, and grows to be a manly man. It is a wholesome and vigorous book, that boys and girls, and parents as well, will read and enjoy. =The Young Gunbearer.= By G. WALDO BROWNE. This is the second volume of "The Woodranger Tales." The new story, while complete in itself, continues the fortunes and adventures of "The Woodranger's" young companions. =A Bad Penny.= By JOHN T. WHEELRIGHT. A dashing story of the New England of 1812. In the climax of the story the scene is laid during the well-known sea-fight between the _Chesapeake_ and _Shannon_, and the contest is vividly portrayed. =The Fairy Folk of Blue Hill:= A STORY OF FOLK-LORE. By LILY F. WESSELHOEFT. A new volume by Mrs. Wesselhoeft, well known as one of our best writers for the young, and who has made a host of friends among the young people who have read her delightful books. This book ought to interest and appeal to every child who has read her earlier works. 
47688	----	THE BROCHURE SERIES Japanese Gardens FEBRUARY, 1900 [Illustration: PLATE XI DAIMIO'S GARDEN AT SHINJIKU] THE BROCHURE SERIES OF ARCHITECTURAL ILLUSTRATION. 1900. FEBRUARY No. 2. JAPANESE GARDENS. The Japanese garden is not a flower garden, neither is it made for the purpose of cultivating plants. In nine cases out of ten there is nothing in it resembling a flower-bed. Some gardens may contain scarcely a sprig of green; some (although these are exceptional) have nothing green at all and consist entirely of rocks, pebbles and sand. Neither does the Japanese garden require any fixed allowance of space; it may cover one or many acres, it may be only ten feet square; it may, in extreme cases, be much less, and be contained in a curiously shaped, shallow, carved box set in a veranda, in which are created tiny hills, microscopic ponds and rivulets spanned by tiny humped bridges, while queer wee plants represent trees, and curiously formed pebbles stand for rocks. But on whatever scale, all true Japanese gardening is landscape gardening; that is to say, it is a living model of an actual Japanese landscape. But, though modelled upon an actual landscape, the Japanese garden is far more than a mere naturalistic imitation. To the artist every natural view may be said to convey, in its varying aspects, some particular mental impression or mood, such as the impression of peacefulness, of wildness, of solitude, or of desolation; and the Japanese gardener intends not only to present in his model the features of the veritable landscape, but also to make it express, even more saliently than the original, a dominant sentimental mood, so that it may become not only a picture, but a poem. In other words, a Japanese garden of the best type is, like any true work of art, the representation of nature as expressed through an individual artistic temperament. Through long accumulation of traditional methods, the representation of natural features in a garden model has come to be a highly conventional expression, like all Japanese art; and the Japanese garden bears somewhat the same relation to an actual landscape that a painting of a view of Fuji-yama by the wonderful Hokusai does to the actual scene--it is a representation based upon actual and natural forms, but so modified to accord with accepted canons of Japanese art, so full of mysterious symbolism only to be understood by the initiated, so expressed, in a word, in terms of the national artistic conventions, that it costs the Western mind long study to learn to appreciate its full beauty and significance. Suppose, to take a specific example, that in the actual landscape upon which the Japanese gardener chose to model his design, a pine tree grew upon the side of a hill. Upon the side of the corresponding artificial hill in his garden he would therefore plant a pine, but he would not clip and trim its branches to imitate the shape of the original, but rather, satisfied that by so placing it he had gone far enough toward the imitation of nature, he would clip his garden pine to make it correspond, as closely as circumstances might permit, with a conventional ideal pine tree shape (such a typical ideal pine tree is shown in the little drawing on page 25), a shape recognized as the model for a beautiful pine by the artistic conventions of Japan for centuries, and one familiar to every Japanese of any pretensions to culture whatsoever. And, as there are recognized ideal pine tree shapes, there are also ideal mountain shapes, ideal lake shapes, ideal water-fall shapes, ideal stone shapes, and innumerable other such ideal shapes. [Illustration: PLATE XII "RIVER VIEW," KORAKU-EN, KOISHIKAWA] In like manner in working out his design the gardener must take cognizance of a multitude of religious and ethical conventions. The flow of his streams must, for instance, follow certain cardinal directions; in the number and disposition of his principal rocks he must symbolize the nine spirits of the Buddhist pantheon. Some tree and stone combinations are regarded as fortunate, and should be introduced if possible; while other combinations are considered unlucky, and are to be as carefully avoided. [Illustration: MODEL PINE TREE] But endless and complex and bewildering to the western mind as are the rules and formulæ, æsthetic, symbolistic and religious, by which the Japanese landscape gardener is bound, it is apparent that most of them were originally based upon purely picturesque considerations, and that the earliest practitioners of this very ancient art, finding that certain types of arrangement, certain contrasts of mass or line, led to harmonious results, formulated their discoveries into rules, much as the rules of composition are formulated for us today in modern artistic treatises. Moreover, as Japanese gardening was at first, and for many years, practised only as a sacred art and by the priests of certain religious cults, it was but natural that they should impart to these laws which they had discovered symbolic and religious attributes. To preserve the arts in their purity, and to prevent the vulgar from transgressing æsthetic laws, combinations productive of beauty were represented as auspicious, and endowed with moral significance, while inharmonious arrangements were condemned as unlucky or inauspicious. It is one of the cardinal principles of Japanese philosophy, for example, that the inanimate objects of the universe are endowed with male or female attributes, and that from a proper blending of the two sex essences springs all the harmony, good fortune and beauty in this world. When, therefore, two contrasting shapes, colors, or masses, such as those of the sturdy pine tree and the graceful willow, were found conducive of a pleasing combination, they were named respectively male and female, and it became almost a religious observance to thereafter place them together in their attributed sex relations. It will be apparent, therefore, that with an art of such antiquity, originally practised as a religious ceremony, and in a country in which inherited tradition has such binding force, that there should have grown up around the craft of landscape gardening, a code of the most complex laws, rules, symbolism, formulæ and superstitions, which the artistic gardener is bound to learn and to implicitly obey. And yet it must not be considered that the art of the Japanese gardener has, through the accumulation of its limiting rules, become a mere science, or that its practice is only a mechanical expression of pre-established artistic conventions. On the contrary, the landscape gardener must be, first of all, a student and lover of nature, for his art is founded on nature; he must be next a poet, in order to appreciate and re-express in his garden the moods of nature, and he must thereafter be a lifelong student of his craft, that he may design in accordance with its established principles. But the very number of these precepts makes a wide range of choice among them possible; and in almost every instance, even the most apparently superstitious and fanciful of them will be found, upon examination, to make in some way for beauty in the final result. To those who can understand it, moreover, the mystical symbolism of a Japanese garden design is an added source of pleasure, just as a knowledge of symphonic form makes a symphony more enjoyable to the musician. "After having learned," writes Mr. Lafacdio Hearn, "something about the Japanese manner of arranging flowers, one can thereafter consider European ideas of floral decoration only as vulgarities. Somewhat in the same way, and for similar reasons, after having learned what a Japanese garden is, I can remember our costliest and most elaborate gardens at home only as ignorant displays of what wealth can accomplish in the creation of incongruities that violate nature." The Japanese artist who is called upon to design a new garden will first examine the site, and confer with his patron regarding its proposed size and character. If the site be large, and already furnished with natural hills, trees and water, the gardener will, of course, take advantage of these features. If it possess none of them, he will inquire the amount of money that can be placed at his disposal for the construction of artificial hills, lakes and the like; and this amount of money will also determine another important point, namely, the degree of elaboration with which the whole is to be treated. For all works of Japanese art whatsoever are rigorously divided into three styles, the "rough" style, the "finished" style and the "intermediate" style; and the adoption of any one style governs the degree of elaboration to which any part of the design may be carried. If the "rough" style is chosen, even the smallest accessory detail--a rustic well, or a stone lantern--must be rude to harmonize; if the "finished" style, no detail that does not correspond can be admitted,--a restriction greatly conducive to harmony, and one to which the almost invariable congruity and unity of Japanese compositions is due. [Illustration: PLATE XIII DAIMIO OF SATSUMA'S GARDEN, KAGOSHIMA] Knowing, then, the size and character of the site, and his patrons' wishes as to expense and elaboration, the landscape gardener will next choose the model landscape, or landscapes, upon which he is to base his design. He will find them divided by convention into two classes: those representing "Hill Gardens" and "Flat Gardens." (There is a third class, the "Tea Garden," but as this is of a separate genus altogether, it will be considered later.) [Illustration: DETAIL OF GARDEN, FUKAGAWA Showing some important features of arrangement close to a dwelling,--the water basin with its rock-hidden drain, the lantern, with its fire-box partially concealed by the trained branches of the pine tree.] The "Hill Garden" class is the more elaborate of the two, and that best adapted for large gardens, and for those where the natural site is undulating, or where money can be spent in artificial grading. The "Hill Garden" has many different species, such, for instance, as the "Rocky-ocean" style, which represents in general an inlet of the sea surrounded by high cliffs, the shores spread with white sea-sand, scattered with sea rocks and grown upon with pine trees trained to look as if bent and distorted with the sea wind; or the "Wide-river" style, showing a spreading stream issuing from behind a hill and running into a lake; or the "Reed-marsh" style, in which the hills are low, rounded sand dunes bordering a heath or moor in which lies a marshy pool overgrown with rushes; and many other such "styles," all well recognized, all carefully discriminated and all modelled upon actual landscapes. In any case, however, the true "Hill Garden" must present, in combination, mountain or hill, and water scenery. If on the contrary the site be small and flat, and the garden is to be less elaborate, the "Flat" style is usually chosen. The "Flat Garden" is generally supposed to represent either the floor of a mountain valley, a moor, a rural scene, or the like; and as in the case of "Hill Gardens," there are a number of well recognized and classical examples. Having, then, determined that the garden is to be of one of these types, and having also determined the degree of elaboration with which it is to be treated, the gardener will next proceed to fix the scale upon which it is to be constructed,--and this scale (a most important factor) is decided by the size of the garden area, and the number of features which must be introduced into the scene; for it is clear that if the site be large, and one in which natural hills or large bodies of water are already present, the scale will be a normal one; whereas if a whole valley, with hills, a river, a water-fall, a lake and a wooded slope is to be presented in a space of some fifty or sixty square yards, the scale of the whole must be miniature. But whatever scale is adopted, every tree, every rock, every pool, every accessory detail must be made exactly to correspond to it. A hill that might in a large garden be a natural elevation of considerable size, with full sized trees planted upon it, might in a smaller one modelled after the same design, be only a hillock, planted with dwarfed trees or shrubs; or in a still smaller area become only a clump of thick-leaved bushes trimmed to resemble a hill-shape, or even a large boulder flanked by tiny shrubs. So skilfully and completely do Japanese gardeners carry out any scale that they have determined upon, however, that Mr. Hearn describes a garden of not much above thirty yards square, that when viewed through a window from which the garden alone was visible, seemed to be really an actual and natural landscape seen from a distance,--a perfect illusion. [Illustration: PLATE XIV MERCHANT'S GARDEN, AWOMORI] Having determined upon the natural model and the scale for it, the gardener will begin by imitating on the given site the main natural land conformations of his original, building hills or grading slopes, excavating lake basins and cutting river channels. These natural features he will next proceed to elaborate, and it is in this process of elaboration that he must most carefully observe all those complex laws and conventions to which we have before alluded. [Illustration: DETAIL OF A MERCHANT'S VILLA GARDEN, FUKAGAWA Showing some characteristic garden accessories,--stepping-stones, a lantern, a common variety of bamboo fence. The lantern and plum tree conventionally mark the approach to a little shrine reached through a Shinto archway by means of a row of stepping-stones.] Almost every Japanese garden, be it hilly or flat, large or small, rough or elaborate, must be made to contain, in some form, water, rocks and vegetation, as well as such architectural accessories as bridges, pagodas, lanterns, water-basins, stepping-stones and boundary fences or hedges. Water may be made to present the sea, lakes, rivers, brooks, water-falls, springs, or combinations of them. It is not, of course, possible to imitate the open sea with any degree of realism; and when a coast scene is presented, it is customary to fashion the body of water as an ocean inlet, the supposed juncture with the sea being hidden by a cliff or hill. Lake scenes are much more common. There are six "classical" shapes into which lake forms are divided, some of them more formal for use near buildings, others more natural for use in wilder landscapes. It is an axiom that every lake, or pool, or stream represented must have both its source and outlet indicated. Sometimes the inflow is indicated by a stream issuing from behind a hillock which conceals its artificial source, sometimes a deep pool of clear water may suggest a spring, sometimes a water-fall (at least ten individual and distinct forms of water-fall are recognized as admissible into a properly planned garden) supplies the water; but water showing no inflow or outlet is termed "dead" water, and is regarded with the contempt bestowed upon all shams and falsities in art. In cases where it is impossible to introduce actual water into a garden its presence is often imitated by areas of smooth or rippled sand, the banks of the sand bed treated to simulate the banks of a natural lake or stream, and islands and bridges introduced to further the illusion. [Illustration: PLATE XV SHIRASE-NO-NIWA, NIIGATA] Extreme importance is attached to the use in gardens of natural stones, rocks and boulders; and some teachers of the craft go so far as to maintain that they constitute the skeleton of the design, and that their proper disposition and selection should receive the primary consideration. In large gardens there may be as many as one hundred and thirty-eight principal rocks and stones, each having its special name and function; but in smaller ones as few as five rocks will often suffice. Whatever the style of landscape composition, three stones, the "Guardian Stone," the "Stone of Worship," and the "Stone of the Two Deities" must never be dispensed with, their absence being regarded as inauspicious. On the same principle there are certain stone forms which are considered unlucky, and are therefore invariably avoided. The raised parts of a Japanese garden are supposed to represent the nearer eminences or distant mountains of natural scenery, and the stones which adorn them are intended to imitate either minor undulations and peaks, or rocks or boulders on their slopes. In like manner there are no less than twenty "water" stones, which have their places in lake and river scenery, as well as nine varieties of "cascade" stones alone. There are also sixteen stones which have their functions solely in the adornment of islands. After the contours of land and water and the principal rocks and stones have been arranged, the distribution of garden vegetation is considered; for the garden rocks form only the skeleton of the design and are only complete when embellished with vegetation. [Illustration: TYPICAL ARRANGEMENTS OF STONES WITH FOLIAGE] In the grounds of the larger temples, avenues and groves of trees are planted with the same formality adopted in Western gardens, but in true landscape gardening such formal arrangements are never resorted to. Indeed it is an axiom that when several trees are planted together they should never be placed in rows, but always in open and irregular groups. The rules for planting the clumps are rigidly determined; and these clumps may be disposed in double, triple or quadruple combinations, while these combinations may be again regrouped according to recognized rules based upon contrasts of form, line and color of foliage. Occasionally, when it is the designer's purpose to represent a natural forest or woodland, formulas are, of course, disregarded, and the trees are grouped together irregularly. [Illustration: TYPICAL VARIETIES OF GARDEN LANTERN] The architectural accessories of the Japanese garden,--bridges, pagodas, lanterns, water-basins, wells and boundary fences or hedges, we have no space to consider in detail. It must suffice to say that their use is rather ornamental than to aid in the landscape imitation, and that they are generally placed in the foreground of the scene. There are many beautiful designs for each of them, and their use and disposition is formally regulated. [Illustration: PLATE XVI PUBLIC GARDEN OF SHUZENJI, KUMAMATO] Important accessories in the Japanese garden are Stepping-Stones. Turf is not used in the open spaces, but these are spread with sand, either pounded smooth or raked into elaborate patterns. This sand, kept damp at all times, presents a cool and fresh surface, and to preserve its smoothness, which the marks of the Japanese wooden clogs would sadly mar, a pathway is invariably constructed across such areas with stones called "stepping-stones," or "flying stones" as they are occasionally termed, on account of the supposed resemblance in their composition to the order taken by a flight of birds. In the simpler and smaller gardens such stones form one of the principal features of the design. As nothing could be less artistic than a formal arrangement of stones at regular intervals, not to speak of the difficulty of keeping one's balance while walking upon them, the Japanese gardener therefore uses certain special stones and combinations having definite shapes and dimensions, the whole being arranged with a studied irregularity. The sketch on this page exhibits three typical arrangements. The left hand group shows stepping-stones as arranged to lead from a tea room. The centre group shows stepping-stones combined with a "pedestal stone" which marks the point from which a typical cross view in the garden is to be observed. The right hand group shows the stones near a veranda with a "shoe-removing" stone terminating the series. [Illustration: ARRANGEMENTS OF STEPPING-STONES] A third main type of garden, neither "Flat" nor "Hilly," to which we have before referred, properly speaking, is called the "Tea Garden." "Tea Gardens" are used for the performance of the "tea ceremony," and to explain the principle of its design would require a preliminary explanation of the intricacies of that ceremony itself, to which an entire volume might easily be devoted. A most cursory indication of the principal use and requirements must here suffice. "Tea Gardens" are divided into outer and inner inclosures separated by a rustic fence. The outermost inclosure contains a main entrance gate, and behind this there is often a small building in which it is sometimes the custom to change the clothing before attending the ceremony. The outer inclosure also contains a picturesque open arbor, called the "Waiting Shed," which plays an important part in tea ceremonies, for here the guests adjourn at stated intervals to allow of fresh preparations being made in the tiny tea room. The tea room is entered from the garden through a low door, about two and one-half feet square, placed in the outer wall and raised two feet from the ground, through which the guests are obliged to pass in a bending posture indicative of humility and respect. The rustic well forms an important feature of the inner garden, as do the principal lantern and the water-basin. A portion of the inner inclosure of a "Tea Garden" in the Tamagawa, or Winding-river style, showing the stream, bridge, lantern, water-basin, and an arrangement of stones, including the indispensable "Guardian Stone," is represented in the drawing on this page. All these separate features are connected, according to very rigid principles, by stepping-stones which make meandering routes between them, and form the skeleton of the whole design. [Illustration: INNER INCLOSURE OF A TEA GARDEN, "TAMAGAWA" STYLE] We can, perhaps, no better summarize this necessarily sketchy review of a complex subject, than by reproducing here, from Professor Conder's very elaborate monograph, "Landscape Gardening in Japan," (Tokio, 1893)--from which most of the information in this article has been derived, and to which the student of the subject is referred,--a figured model of an ordinary "Hill Garden" in the finished style. The numbers refer to the titles of the principal hills, stones, tree clumps and accessories, the positions of which are all relatively established by rule. [Illustration: PLATE XVII DAIMIO OF MITO'S GARDEN, HONJO] [Illustration: FIGURED MODEL OF AN ORDINARY HILL GARDEN IN THE FINISHED STYLE HILLS: 1, Near Mountain. 2, Companion Mountain. 3, Mountain Spur. 4, Near Hill. 5, Distant Peak. STONES: 1, Guardian Stone. 2, Cliff Stone. 3, Worshipping Stone. 4, View Stone. 5, Waiting Stone. 6, "Moon-Shadow" Stone. 7, Cave Stone. 8, Seat of Honor Stone. 9, Pedestal Stone. 10, Idling Stone. TREES: 1, Principal Tree. 2, "View Perfecting" Tree. 3, Tree of Solitude. 4, Cascade-Screening Tree. 5, Tree of Setting Sun. 6, Distancing Pine. 7, Stretching Pine. ACCESSORIES: A, Garden Well. B, Lantern. C, Garden Gate. D, Boarded Bridge. E, Plank Bridge. F, Stone Bridge. G, Water Basin. H, Lantern, I, Garden Shrine.] Hill 1 represents a mountain of considerable size in the middle distance, in front of which should be placed the cascade which feeds the lake; while Hills 2 and 3 are its companions, the depressions between them being planted with shrubs giving the idea of a sheltered dale. Hill 5 represents a distant peak in the perspective. The model shows ten important stones. The "Guardian Stone," 1, representing the dedication stone of the garden, occupies the most central position in the background, and in this case forms the flank of the cliff over which the cascade pours. The broad flat "Worshipping Stone," 3, indicating the place for worship, is placed in the foreground, or some open space. The "Moon-Shadow Stone," 6, occupies an important position in the distant hollow between two hills and in front of the distant peak, its name implying the sense of indistinctness and mystery attached to it. The term "tree" as used in the diagram often refers to an arrangement or clump of trees. The "Principal Tree," 1, is placed in the centre of the background, and is usually a large and striking specimen. The "View Perfecting Tree," 2, generally stands alone, and its shape is carefully trained to harmonize with the foreground accessories. The "Tree of Solitude," 3, is a group to afford a shady resting place. The "Tree of the Setting Sun," 5, is planted in the western part of the garden to intercept the direct rays of the sunset. The titles of the other features in the model will probably be found self explanatory. Errata. By an unfortunate misprint in the preceding issue of THE BROCHURE SERIES, Prof. A. D. F. Hamlin, author of the article on the "Ten Most Beautiful Buildings in the United States," was announced as Professor of Architecture in "Cornell" University, instead of in "Columbia" University. Mr. Hamlin's correct title is: "Adjunct-Professor of Architecture, Columbia University." In the same issue (page 15), it was stated that the terraces and approaches to the Capitol at Washington were the work of Mr. Edward Clark. This was an error: they were designed by Mr. Frederick Law Olmstead, and elaborated by Mr. Thomas Wisedell under Mr. Olmstead's supervision. [Illustration: PLATE XVIII DAIMIO'S GARDEN, KANAZAWA] Transcriber's Note: Small capitals have been rendered in full capitals. A number of minor spelling errors have been corrected without note. 
42304	----	[Illustration: Cover] [Frontispiece: Fuji San.] The Gist of Japan The Islands Their People And Missions By the Rev. R. B. Peery, A.M., Ph.D. With Illustrations New York -- Chicago -- Toronto Fleming H. Revell Company M DCCC XCVII Copyright, 1897, by Fleming H. Revell Company To My Wife To whose Kindly Sympathy and Help is Largely Due Whatever of Value there may be in these Pages This Book is Affectionately Dedicated {3} PREFACE Although a great deal has already been published in English concerning Japan and the Japanese people, nothing, to my knowledge, has yet been published which attempts to give a full treatment of mission work in Japan. "An American Missionary In Japan," by Dr. Gordon, is the only book I am aware of that deals exclusively with this subject; but its scope is quite different from that of the present volume. Therefore I have been led to believe that there is a place for this book. I have written for the common people and hence have tried to give the subject a plain, popular treatment. There has been no attempt at exhaustive discussion, but great pains have been taken to make the hook reliable and accurate. In the preparation of this little book I have consulted freely the following works in English: "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan"; files of the "Japan Mail"; "Transactions of the {4} Osaka Conference, 1882"; Rein's "Japan"; Griffis's "Mikado's Empire"; Griffis's "Religions of Japan"; Chamberlain's "Handbook of Things Japanese"; Miss Bacon's "Japanese Girls and Women"; Dr. Lawrence's "Modern Missions in the East"; "Report of the World's Missionary Conference, London, 1888"; and reports of the various missionary societies operating in Japan. In Japanese I have consulted some native historians and moral and religious writers--especially in the preparation of the chapters on History, Morality, and Religions. The book is sent forth with the prayer that it may be the means of begetting in the American churches a deeper interest in the work it portrays. R. B. P. SAGA, JAPAN. {5} CONTENTS I. The Land of Japan II. A Brief History of the Japanese People III. Japanese Characteristics IV. Manners and Customs V. Japanese Civilization VI. Japanese Morality VII. Religions of Japan VIII. First Introduction Of Christianity IX. Modern Roman and Greek Missions X. A Brief History of Protestant Missions in Japan XI. Qualifications for Mission Work in Japan XII. Private Life of the Missionary XIII. Methods of Work XIV. Hindrances XV. Special Problems XVI. The Outlook {7} LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Fuji San . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_ A Bridge Scene A Kitchen Scene Hara-kiri A Shinto Temple A Buddhist Priest A Buddhist Cemetery The Author's Home Jinrikishas {9} I THE LAND OF JAPAN The empire of Japan consists of a chain of islands lying off the east coast of Asia, and extending all the way from Kamchatka in the north to Formosa in the south. Its length is more than 1500 miles, while the width of the mainlands varies from 100 to 200 miles. The entire area, exclusive of Formosa, recently acquired, is 146,000 square miles--just about equal to that of the two Dakotas or the United Kingdom of England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. On this territory, at the beginning of the year 1893, there lived 41,089,940 souls. The country is divided into four large islands and more than two thousand smaller ones. The larger ones are named respectively Hondo, Kyushu, Shikoku, and Yezo. Of these the first named is by far the largest and most important. This island originally had no separate name, but {10} in recent years it is very generally called Hondo. Western geographers have frequently made the mistake of applying the term "Nihon" to it; but "Nihon" is the native name for the whole empire, and not for its chief island. The capital, Tokyo, the ancient capital, Kyoto, and the commercial center, Osaka, are all situated on this island. Kyushu is the second largest island in the group, and lies southwest of the main island. It was on this island, in the town of Nagasaki, that the Dutch lived for more than two hundred years, forming the only means of communication Japan had with the outside world. Shikoku is next in size. It lies south of Hondo and northeast of Kyushu. Shikoku and Kyushu are separated from the main island by the Inland Sea, one of the most beautiful bodies of water in the world. The island of Yezo is in the extreme north, It has very cold winters and resembles the central part of North America somewhat in climate and productions. On this island the aborigines of Japan, called Ainu, now live. Among the more important of the smaller groups are the Liukiu Islands, in the extreme south; the Goto Islands, in the west; and the Kuriles, in the north. Besides these there are numerous other islands of considerable size lying {11} around the coasts, and the whole Inland Sea is beautifully dotted with them. Japan is a very mountainous country. For this reason hardly twelve per cent. of her total area is cultivated. In general the land gradually ascends on both sides as it recedes from the ocean, at first forming hills and table-lands, and then huge mountains. Thus a chain of mountains is formed in the center of the islands, extending throughout the whole length of the empire. The mountains are nearly all of volcanic origin, which accounts for their jagged appearance. There are many active volcanoes, continually sending up great clouds of smoke, and occasionally emitting streams of fire and molten lava, deluging the whole neighborhood with sulphur and ashes. One of the first sights that greets the traveler from the West as he approaches Japan is the smoke of a volcano, ever active, on Vries Island, in the entrance to Yokohama harbor. The chief volcanoes active at present are Asama, Shirane-san, Bandai-san, Aso-san, and Koma-ga-take. I shall never forget the ascent of Asama at night, in 1894. The volcano had been unusually active recently, and a large part of the crater had fallen in, completely changing its appearance. The sulphurous vapors and smoke came up so thick and fast that we dared not approach near the crater for fear of {12} suffocation. At that time we could not see down into the crater at all, but occasionally one can see the blue-red flames curling and writhing far down in the bowels of the earth like a sea of fire, a veritable gate of hell. Of extinct volcanoes Japan boasts a large number. The mightiest of these is the peerless Fuji-san, the pride of every Japanese, the highest mountain in Japan. It is 12,365 feet high, and snow is found on its summit at all seasons. This mountain is now a huge pile of ashes, lava, and boulders--apparently harmless. As late as 1708 it was in eruption, and when I stood on its snowy summit in August, 1893, there were certain places where vapors hot enough to cook an egg came up from the ground. For aught we know, it may at any time burst forth again and devastate whole provinces. This is a land of earthquakes. The records show that from earliest times this country has been subject to great ruin by their visitations. Whole villages and towns have been suddenly swallowed up, and huge mountains have disappeared in a day. These earthquakes are of frequent occurrence. The seismic instruments now in use throughout the empire record about three hundred and sixty-five per year--one for each day. Certain localities are much more exposed to them than others, although none is {13} entirely free from them. These disturbances are very destructive of life and property, especially injuring railways, bridges, and high buildings. They have left their mark upon the whole country. Through the effect of volcanoes and earthquakes together, the surface of Japan presents an appearance seldom seen in any other land. The forces of nature are unusually destructive in Japan. Besides the volcanoes and earthquakes, the country is subject to occasional tidal waves, which kill thousands of people and destroy millions of dollars' worth of property. Impelled by some mighty force, the great sea rises in its bed mountain high, and, angrily breaking out of its accustomed bounds, sweeps everything before it. While I am writing this chapter (June, 1896) news has come of one of the most destructive waves known here for decades, which has just swept over the north coast of Hondo. More than 30,000 people were killed instantly, and great destruction wrought to property. So terrible is nature in her fiercer aspects! Japan being a very narrow country, her rivers are short and small, few of them being serviceable for navigation. Ordinarily they are quiet, lazy streams, but when the heavy rains fall in the mountains, the waters sweep down like a flood, swelling these rivers to huge size and converting them into fierce, angry torrents. The {14} Tone-gawa is the longest and widest river, but its length is only 170 miles. Other important ones are the Shinano-gawa, the Kiso-gawa, and the Kitakami. A peculiar feature about these rivers is that none of them bears the same name from source to mouth, but all change their name in nearly every province. There are few lakes of importance. The largest is Lake Biwa, near Kyoto; it is 50 miles long, and 20 wide at its widest point. Lake Inawashiro is of considerable size. Lake Chuzenji, at the foot of Nantai-zan, is unrivaled for beauty, and is hardly surpassed in any land. Hakone is also a beautiful lake, and the reflection of Fuji-san in its waters by moonlight is a sight well worth seeing. Indeed, the whole of Japan abounds in picturesque landscapes and scenic beauty. Mountain scenes rivaling those of Switzerland; clear, placid lakes, in which the image of sky and mountains blends; and smiling, fertile valleys, heavily laden with fruits and grain, make the landscape one of surpassing beauty. Few countries are more pleasing to the eye than is Japan. The coasts are indented by many bays and inlets, affording fine harbors. The seas are very deep and often wild and stormy. The islands are favorably located for commercial enterprises, and the Japanese are by nature destined to be a {15} maritime people. As regards situation and harbors, there is a striking resemblance to England. The two countries are of nearly equal size, they both are insular powers, and are situated about equidistant from a great continent. It is safe to assume that Japan's development will be along lines somewhat similar to England's. There is a good system of roads. The mountain roads are carefully graded; hollows are filled up and ridges cut through in such a manner as we employ only for railroads. Indeed, some of the roads are so carefully graded that ties and rails could be laid on them almost without any further modification. Many of them are as straight as the engineer's art can make them. A new road was built recently from Saga to the small seaport town of Wakatsu, and between the two towns it is as direct as a bee-line. This road crosses a river just at the junction of two streams. The fork of the river lay exactly in the path of the road; by slightly swerving to either the right or the left a bridge half the length of the present one would have sufficed, but the long, costly bridge was built rather than have the road swerve from its course even a little. In the plains most of the roads are elevated three or four feet above the surrounding fields. They are not macadamized, but are covered with large, coarse gravel known as _jari_. When this {16} jari is first spread on, the roads are almost impassable, but it soon becomes beaten down and makes a good road. Unfortunately, it must be applied nearly every year. Some of the chief highways are very old. The most famous is the Tokaido, extending from the old capital, Kyoto, the seat of the imperial court, to the city of Yedo (now called Tokyo), the seat of the shogun's government. It was over this road that the ancient daimios of the western provinces used to journey, with gorgeous pageantry and splendid retinues, to the shogun's court. Some highways are lined on either side with tall cryptomeria and other trees, giving a delightful shade and making of them beautiful avenues. The most beautiful of these is the road approaching Nikko. This is said to be lined on both sides with rows of magnificent cedars and pines for a distance of 40 miles. The bridges add a great deal to the peculiar beauty of the landscape. They are substantial, beautiful structures, generally built in the shape of an arch, and are of stone, bricks, or wood. The Japanese are very careful about bridges, and little streams across foot-paths, where in America one sees at best only a plank or log, are here carefully bridged. The bridge called Nihon-bashi, in Tokyo, is said to be the center of the empire, the point at which all roads converge. [Illustration: A Bridge Scene.] {17} Japan is a land in which the rural population largely predominates. Most of the people live in the villages and small towns. But in recent years a process similar to that going on in America has set in, and large numbers of the rural classes are drifting into the cities. The chief city is Tokyo, with a population of 1,323,295. Being now the home of the emperor and the seat of government, it is held in much reverence by the people. In popular parlance this city is exalted on a pedestal of honor, and the people speak of "ascending to" or "descending from" it. It is really a fine city, with broad, clean streets and many splendid buildings, and has been called the "city of magnificent distances." One can travel almost a whole day and not get outside the city limits. It was formerly called Yedo, but when the emperor removed his court hither after the Restoration its name was changed to Tokyo. The term means "east capital." The city has enjoyed a marvelous growth and is to-day a vigorous, active place. It has many of the conveniences of modern Western cities, such as electric lights, water-works, tram-cars, telephones, etc. Kyoto is the ancient capital, the place where the mikados lived in secluded splendor for so many centuries. It was the most magnificent city of old Japan, and many highly cherished {18} national memories and traditions cluster around it. The old classical Japanese, to whom the ancient régime is far superior to the present, still lingers fondly in thought round its sacred temples, shrines, and groves. When the imperial court was removed to Tokyo the name of Kyoto was changed to Saikyo, a term meaning "west capital." Western geographers frequently have been guilty of the error of calling this city "Miyako"; but that has never been the city's name, and is simply the Japanese word for "capital." Kyoto is a beautiful, prosperous city, with a population of 328,354. Osaka is the commercial center. It is a city of manufactories, and nearly all native articles of merchandise bear the mark, "Made in Osaka." As a business center this city surpasses all others in the empire. It is centrally located, at the head of Osaka Bay, about 20 miles from the open port of Kobé. Here we find the imperial mint, with long rows of splendid buildings. The population is 494,314. The next largest city is Nagoya, with a population of 206,742. Other prominent cities are: Hiroshima, 91,985; Okayama, 52,360; Kanagawa, 89,975; Kagoshima, 55,495, etc. There are seven open ports in which foreigners reside at present and engage in commerce. In the order of importance they are: Tokyo, {19} population 1,323,295; Osaka, 494,314; Yokohama, 160,439; Kobé, 150,993; Nagasaki, 67,481; Hakodate, 66,333; Niigata, 50,300. Formerly Nagasaki was in the lead, but now has fallen to the fifth place. It is probable that other ports will be opened to foreign trade in the near future. _Climate_ As Japan is so long a country, she has every variety of climate. In the northern provinces, and especially on the northwest coast, it is extremely cold in winter, and snow falls in such quantities as practically to stop all kinds of business. In Formosa and Liukiu there is perpetual summer. That part of Japan in which the West is most interested, and about which it knows most,--which is far the most important portion of the empire,--has a mild, damp climate, free from great extremes of either heat or cold. Each winter snow falls frequently, but it is seldom known to lie on the ground for more than a few hours at a time. Cold frosts are rare. Judged by the thermometer, the summers are no warmer than those of the Carolinas or Tennessee, but their effect upon people of the West resident here is much more trying than the summers of those places. Various reasons are assigned for this. Physicians are well aware that humidity affects {20} health for good or bad as much as temperature. In considering the healthfulness of a climate, not only is the temperature to be taken into account, but the amount of moisture in the air must also be considered. Now, in Japan there is so excessive an amount of moisture in the atmosphere that it makes the heat exceedingly depressing. The presence of this dampness makes it very hard to keep things clean and free from rust and mold. Sewing-machines, bicycles, scissors, knives, and such things have to be watched carefully and oiled. Carpets, clothing, shoes, etc., have to be sunned well and then shut up in air-tight boxes during the summer season. Often a single night is sufficient to make a pair of shoes white with mold. Were it only on the machines and clothing that the dampness and mold settle, it would not be so bad; but we feel that this same clammy mold is going down into our very bones and marrow, gradually sapping their vigor and strength. Besides this great excess of moisture in the atmosphere, there are other reasons why the climate is so debilitating. One of these is the lack of ozone. This element is known to be one of the greatest atmospheric purifiers, and also to have a very invigorating and stimulating effect upon mind and body. The proportion of ozone in the atmosphere of Japan is only about one {21} third as great as that in the atmosphere of most Western countries. The proportion of electricity in the atmosphere is also thought to be much below the average. While not much is known in regard to the effect of atmospheric electricity upon the healthfulness of a country, it is generally believed by scientific and medical men that the proportion of electricity in the air has much to do with our physical well-being. These three factors, viz., too much moisture, not enough ozone, and not enough electricity, are named as the chief causes which conduce to make the climate depressing and enervating to people from the West. We missionaries have neither the energy nor the strength to do here what we could do at home, and after a five or six years' residence, to do effective work must be permitted to recuperate in the home lands. The rainfall is far above the average of most countries. Two thirds of the annual downpour falls during the six months from April to October. The rainy season proper begins early in June and lasts about six weeks. At this season it sometimes rains for weeks consecutively. This year (1896) during the rainy season we did not once get a sight of the sun for at least three weeks. The amount of rain varies greatly from year to year, as also in different localities. {22} Notwithstanding the heavy rainfall, bright, sunny days are far in excess of dark, rainy ones. Clear, balmy skies are the rule rather than the exception. There is a softness and delicacy about Japanese skies rare in America, but common in European countries bordering on the Mediterranean Sea. Japanese winds are irregular and violent, and subject to sudden changes. During three months of the year the dreaded typhoons are expected, and once or twice each year great damage is done by them. These typhoons generally blow from the southwest. They often sweep houses, forests, and everything else before them, their wake being a mass of ruins. In fair weather, on the sea-shore, there is a gentle land- and sea-breeze in summer. _Productions_ Japan is blessed with a fertile soil, capable of bearing a variety of products. By centuries of the most careful fertilization and irrigation (arts in which the Japanese are adepts) the land has been brought to a very high state of cultivation. One of the peculiar things to the people of the West is the manner in which the fields are irrigated. Nearly all the land under cultivation can be freely watered at the will of the cultivator. {23} Streams and canals everywhere wind in and out through the plains and round the hills, making easy the irrigation of all arable lands. A striking feature of the farming is the manner of terracing the sides of the hills and mountains. These are not cultivated in their natural state, as in America, but stone walls are built at regular gradations on the mountain-sides, and the soil dug down until level with the tops of the walls. Arranged in this way a mountain-side looks not unlike a huge stairway, and lends beauty to the landscape. The land here is not divided into large farms, as is usual in the West. Most of the farms are very small. One never sees a field of ten or fifteen acres, but little plots hardly as large as our vegetable gardens. The cultivation is mostly done by hand, the women laboring in the fields with their husbands and brothers. The implements in general use are very rude. Plows are used, but they are roughly made of wood, with an iron point attached, and do poor work. Nearly all the cultivating is done with a hoe, the blade of which is almost as long as the handle, and is attached to it at an angle of less than forty-five degrees, making it an awkward thing to use. All grains are harvested and threshed by hand. The land being so fertile, the yield is large. In enumerating the products of their country, {24} the native writers usually begin with the _go-koku_, or five cereals--wheat, rice, millet, beans, and sorghum. Fine crops of wheat are grown, especially in the southern provinces. Perhaps no country in the world produces better rice or a greater quantity per acre. One half of all the land under cultivation is used in the production of rice. Green grasses are remarkably rare in Japan, and the soil does not seem to be adapted to their growth. Long plains of green meadow- and pasture-lands, so pleasing to the eye in home landscapes, are never seen. Almost the only grass in the empire is the long, coarse grass that grows on the hills and mountains. Corn and oats are met with rarely. The cultivation of corn is now being introduced in the northern provinces, however, and will probably soon become more general. Hemp and cotton both flourish. The cotton does not grow as large or yield as bountifully as it does in our own Southern States, but a very good crop is raised each year. There is a large variety of vegetables, such as turnips, pumpkins, radishes, beets, carrots, potatoes, sweet potatoes, onions, etc. Japan produces a great variety of fruits and berries. We can have fresh fruit all the year round. Some of the more prominent are oranges, persimmons, figs, apricots, pears, peaches, {25} plums, loquats, grapes, etc. As a rule the fruit is inferior to that of the West, but the oranges, persimmons, and figs are excellent. Until comparatively recent years apples were unknown here, but now they are being rapidly introduced and successfully cultivated. They are grown only in the northern provinces, the southern soil not being well adapted to them. For bright, gay flowers Japan can hardly be excelled. At certain seasons the whole country resembles an immense garden. The crysanthemum is the national flower, and magnificent specimens of it are grown. The cherry blossoms are universal favorites, and when they are at their best the whole population turns out to see them. Lotus flowers are highly prized, and in our city of Saga there is an old castle moat, 200 or 300 yards wide and more than 1 mile long, filled with them, which in July and August is a sea of large red-and-white blossoms, beautiful to behold. The hills and valleys abound in wild flowers, but the natives seem to prize them less than the cultivated ones. In recent years Western flowers are being extensively cultivated, and most of them do well. Flowers that must be carefully housed and nursed in America, such as geraniums, fuchsias, etc., will grow all the year in the open in Japan. Some one only partially acquainted with Japan has said that the flowers have no {26} odor, but this is not true; they are, however, less fragrant than those of the West. There is no country in the East so well supplied with useful timber. On the island of Yezo alone there are thirty-six varieties of useful timber-trees, including the most useful of all trees, the oak. These vast forests as yet are untouched practically, and the whole of the Hokkaido is one huge lumber-yard. The main island, Kyushu, and Shikoku are also well timbered. But the demand for building material, fire-wood, and charcoal is so great that rapid inroads are being made upon the supply of timber. Unless a more thorough system of forestry is adopted the supply will some day be exhausted. The mulberry-tree flourishes, and immense tracts of land are given to its cultivation. The fruit is not used, but the leaves are highly valuable in silk culture. Lacquer-trees also abound, from which a considerable revenue is derived. The camphor-supply of the world is almost entirely in the hands of Japan. Magnificent camphor-trees are growing over all southern Japan, and in the newly acquired territory of Formosa there are large groves of them. The camphor industry is a lucrative one, and happy is the man who possesses a few trees. Within a few yards of my former home in Saga, on a little strip of waste land, there were four camphor-trees which sold, standing, for $2000, silver. {27} This account would be very incomplete without a notice of the bamboo, which grows in large quantities over all the empire. In the northern provinces it is only a small shrub; in the southern it grows to a large tree. The uses to which it is put are innumerable, and the people hardly could do without it. The chief articles of foreign export produced in Japan are silk, tea, and rice. Silk is produced throughout the country, with the exception of the island of Yezo, but the best yielding districts are in the center and north of the main island. The Japanese cocoon seems to be equally as good as the European, but the methods of manufacturing are not yet up to the highest standard; for this reason Japanese silks are hardly as good as those of France or Italy. The annual export of silk is worth to Japan about $30,000,000. Second only to silk in importance among exports is tea. Most of it is shipped by foreign merchants to America, Chinese and Indian teas being more popular in Europe. About 40,000,000 pounds are annually exported. The quantity consumed at home must be very great, at least equal to that sent abroad. The foreign trade in rice is large, and is increasing continually. Japanese rice is far better than that grown in India or Burmah, and is esteemed highly in European markets. Formerly {28} the government exported the rice, as it levied taxes in rice and hence had great stores of it; but this practice has been discontinued. Native merchants are now taking up this branch of the export trade and are pushing it with vigor. The value of the export varies very much each year, in accordance with the crop produced. Japan is not only rich and fertile, yielding the greatest variety of products, but she is also endowed with great mineral wealth. Kaempfer, in the first history of Japan given to the West, enumerates the minerals thus: sulphur, gold, silver, copper, tin, iron, coal, salt, agates, jasper, pearls, naphtha, ambergris, etc. Coal of fairly good quality is present in great quantities in many parts of the empire. Much of it is sold to the foreign steamers that call here on their way to China. The export of copper amounts to more than $5,000,000 per year. Iron, chiefly in the form of magnetic oxide, is present along the sea-coast and in the diluvium of rivers. As yet the iron resources have not been developed. Gold and silver are present in many places, but the mines have never been worked to very great advantage. Large quantities of salt are made from sea-water. Traces of petroleum are found in several localities, but not much has yet been made of it. The great mineral wealth of Japan as yet is developed only partially. {29} _Animals_ The fauna is represented generally as very meager, but this is an injustice. A large portion of the animals now found here may have been imported, but, taking Japan as we find her to-day, animals are abundant. Horses and oxen are the beasts of burden, and are found everywhere. The horses are smaller than those of the West, and are not so gentle, though very sure-footed and hardy. An effort is now being made to improve the breed by importing American and Australian horses. Native oxen do most of the carrying and plowing. Strange to say, the oxen are gentler and more manageable than the horses. There are very few sheep, and it seems that the country is not adapted to them. Almost the only sheep I have seen here were in menageries, caged, along with lions, bears, etc. Pigs are found, but the people are not fond of their flesh, and consequently not many are raised. Domestic animals are plentiful, such as cats, dogs, ducks, geese, chickens, etc. Many of the cats have no tails, and the people are prejudiced against cats that have tails. If one happens to be born with a tail they will probably cut it off. Turkeys are scarce. {30} There are many wild animals, such as bears, wild boars, deer, monkeys, _tanuki_, wild dogs, foxes, and hares. The people are fond of the chase, but, as large game is rare, the opportunity to indulge this taste is very limited. Among the wild birds are found herons, cranes, ducks, geese, pheasants, pigeons, storks, falcons, hawks, ravens, woodcocks, crows, and a small bird, called _uquisu_, resembling the nightingale. The stork and the heron are perhaps most popular, and have been pictured in all kinds of native art. Wild geese and ducks spend the summer in Yezo and the winter in Hondo. Singing birds are rare, but not, as some have affirmed, unknown. The seas surrounding Japan, and her numerous bays and rivers, are teeming with animal life, and for multitude and variety of edible fish are perhaps unsurpassed by any in the world. Salmon, cod, mackerel, herring, bait, tai, and other small fish are very abundant, so much so that in many places they are used as a fertilizer. From time immemorial fish have formed a prominent part of the daily diet of the people. Whales are numerous on the shores of Kyushu and the southern shores of Hondo, where they are taken by means of harping-irons or darts. Quantities of oil are extracted from them, and their flesh is much relished for food. The foregoing account will perhaps give the {31} reader some idea of the nature, extent, climate, and products of the land of Japan. With a fertile soil, rich deposits of minerals, a genial climate, and a landscape unsurpassed, surely this is a country highly favored by Heaven. How sad to think that those to whom God has given so much know so little of Him! How one's heart bleeds to see God's beautiful handiwork all marred and stained by images and idols, and that praise which the people so justly owe Him given to gods of wood and stone! But such is the case in Japan to-day. The people know that they are indebted to some higher power for innumerable blessings, but they do not know that this power is the God whom we preach to them. {32} II A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE JAPANESE Nothing definite is known concerning the origin of the Japanese people. Some authorities think that the southern portion of Japan was first peopled by sailors and fishermen from Malay, who were drifted thither by the strong current of the Black Stream. That this has happened to shipwrecked sailors in the present time is cited in confirmation of this view. Some of the northern islands are within sight of the mainland, and it is possible that tribes from northern Asia made their way across the narrow seas and settled there. Ethnological and philological evidence indicates that some immigrants came over from Korea, which they could easily have done, as the southern part of Korea is very near. If these suppositions are true, two races mingled in Japan--the Malay from the south and the {33} Mongol from the west--and the Japanese people are the joint product of the two. But there is no certain information regarding these immigrations, and we cannot affirm them as historic facts. Two of the greatest authorities on this subject, Baelz and Rein, affirm that the Japanese are of Mongol origin. Dr. Baelz supposes that there were two chief streams of immigration from northern and central Asia by way of Korea. The immigrants gradually spread eastward and northward and settled in the land, becoming the progenitors of the present inhabitants. It is historically certain that some Chinamen and Koreans have settled in Japan and contributed toward the production of the Japanese race; both Chinese and Japanese histories contain accounts of such immigration; but it is likely that settlers were already here long before these, of whom we have historic accounts, arrived. This problem is made more difficult by the fact that there are two separate and distinct races here--the Japanese and the Ainu. The latter do not appear to be Mongols. The Japanese call them the aborigines. When they entered Japan, and where they came from, is not known. There is very little intermixing of these two races. The Japanese have gradually forced the Ainu back to the northern island, just as the settlers in the United States have driven back the Indians. {34} Efforts are being made lately to better the condition of this race, but they do not meet with much success. The Ainu appear to have little capacity for civilization, and the race is rapidly becoming extinct. So much for the origin of the people. We will endeavor to treat their history, very briefly, under three heads: mythology, mythological history, and reliable history. _Japanese Mythology_ Although we of the West are perplexed as to the origin of the Japanese, the national records give what has been a very clear and satisfactory account of this. Hence I have included a very brief statement of this native account of the origin of the Japanese people under the head of history, although it is pure mythology. Japanese history teaches that in the beginning all things were chaos. There was no Creator, and no First Cause of the universe. There was merely a cosmic mass. By and by the ethereal matter sublimed and formed the heavens; what remained formed the earth. From the warm mold of the earth sprang up a germ which became a self-animate being--the first of the gods. Then four other gods were generated, all sexless and self-begotten. These gods separated the {35} primordial substance into the five elements of wood, fire, metal, earth, and water, and gave to each its properties. The last of these spontaneous divine generations were a brother and a sister, named Izanagi and Izanami. Uniting in marriage, they became the parents of the various islands of Japan and of gods and goddesses innumerable. Izanami died when giving birth to the god of fire. Her divine consort afterward visits her in the lower regions to induce her to return to him. She would fain do so, but must first consult the gods of the place. Going to ask counsel of them, she does not return, and Izanagi, impatient at her tarrying, goes in search of her. He finds her a mass of putrefaction, in the midst of which the eight thunder-gods are sitting. Disappointed in his hope, he returns to Japan and purifies himself by bathing in a stream. As he bathes new gods are born from his clothing and from each part of his body. The sun-goddess was born from his left eye, the moon-god from his right eye, and Susanoo, the last of all, was born from his nose. What a prolific breeder of gods was he! The mythology goes on relating, tale after tale, the absurd actions of these gods residing together for several generations in Japan, the center of the universe, frequently visiting both heaven and hell, and performing all kinds of miraculous feats. {36} In native history this period is called the "period of the gods." About six generations after Izanagi and Izanami, in the direct line of descent from them, the first human emperor of Japan was born. His name was Kamu-Yamato-Ihare-Biko, posthumously called Jimmu Tenno. Those Japanese to whose minds the problem of the origin of the outside nations ever occurred solved it in this fashion: the barbarian nations must likewise have descended from the mikado, the son of heaven, in very remote times, but have wandered off and are now far from the divine source. The Japanese, being still under the protection of their divine father, are very much nearer in the line of descent, and hence are the first race in the world. Thus they trace their descent direct to the gods, and their emperor is to this day considered the divine father of his people. It is a pity we cannot join with them in accepting this easy solution of the difficult problem of their origin. _Mythological History_ By this term I would designate that period in Japanese history in which mythology and history are so blended as to be inseparable. For almost one thousand years records purporting to be historical are so intermingled with that which is {37} purely mythological as to make it next to impossible to discriminate between them. Japanese historians claim that the authentic history of their country dates from the time of Jimmu Tenno (600 B.C.), and the national records are unbroken from that time to the present. Most European and American historians have accepted these records as true, and yet critical scholars here feel bound to reject them. The oldest Japanese histories were not written until the eighth century A.D., and it does not seem probable that traditions handed down by word of mouth for more than a thousand years would be reliable. The records themselves are contradictory and self-refuting. Contemporary Chinese and Korean history, in which are frequent references to the "land of Wa," i.e., Japan, does not agree with the Japanese records, which bear evidence of having been written for a purpose other than a true statement of historical facts. These and other reasons have led Messrs. Aston and Chamberlain, the scholars who have studied this subject perhaps more than any others, to conclude that Japanese records prior to the date 461 A.D. are unreliable. This period in dispute (from 600 B.C. to 461 A.D.) I have designated the period of mythological history. Even in the Japanese so-called histories the mythology for centuries is narrated along with that which claims to be genuine {38} history; the gods still mingle with men and take part in their affairs. The legends of the gods and those of the emperors are given side by side in the same book, and as much credence attaches to the one as to the other. Orthodox Shinto scholars, while recognizing the fact of the parallelism of the mythology and the history, inconsistently reject the mythological legends of the gods while strenuously holding to those relating to the emperors. My own opinion is that most of the important events related in the records during this period had some basis in fact, but that the accounts of them are exaggerated and perverted. Commencing with the period which native historians assign as the beginning of authentic history, the first important event we find is the accession of Jimmu Tenno to the throne (600 B.C.). But the very existence of Jimmu Tenno as an historical personage is not at all certain. The evidence adduced has never been sufficient to satisfy Western scholars, although the Japanese would consider it almost treason to disbelieve in him. Japanese histories for this period are very meager. They consist, for the most part, of a recital of the names and ages of the mikados, with perhaps a sentence or two concerning the state of the country during their reigns. One of the most important events noted in {39} this early period is the subjugation of Korea by the Empress Jingo. She is said to have collected a large army, and, by the help of the fishes great and small, and of favorable winds and currents, to have crossed over into Korea in small junks, and completely subjugated the country, reducing it to the position of a tributary state. The Japanese firmly believe this story, and are proud of the early success of their arms in this foreign war. Korean records justify us in assuming that Japanese influence was predominant in Korea at this time, but the story of the Empress Jingo, especially in its details, must be received with caution. She is perhaps an historical personage, but whether she invaded Korea or not is doubtful. The next event of importance in the records is the introduction of Chinese art, science, and learning, which took place in the early centuries of the Christian era, and exerted an incalculable influence upon the people of Japan. Learning, religion, philosophy, literature, laws, ethics, medicine, art--all were brought over bodily. From this time forward the Japanese were largely students and imitators of China. Korea was the medium through which these continental influences were transmitted. With the introduction of learning and literature historical records began to be kept over all Japan, and oral tradition was no longer relied upon. From this time the authentic history of Japan begins. {40} _Reliable History_ Chamberlain, Aston, and others agree that the first trustworthy date in Japanese history is 461 A.D., and that for the succeeding century too much confidence must not be placed in details. This disproves the pretty stories told by the Japanese, and by many Western writers as well, as to the great age of this nation, and its unbroken line of emperors extending at least as far back as 600 B.C.; but it is not the first time that pretty theories have been rudely broken up by an investigation of facts. The imperial line is probably as old as that of the popes, but hardly older. Japan, in fact and in authentic history, is younger than Christianity. Her existence as a state began about the time of the fall of the Roman empire. With the year 461 historical events and personages appear, and, in the main, we may accept the history from this time forward as accurate. About the middle of the sixth century began one of the most important processes in Japanese history--the conversion of the nation to Buddhism. For some centuries previous Chinese learning and arts had been gradually filtering into Japan; but they had not as yet gained general acceptance. The Buddhist priests brought Chinese civilization, and in the course of two {41} centuries it spread over the country, influencing morality, politics, and everything. Sweeping changes were made in the government, which was then organized on the Chinese centralized plan. Arts, sciences, and literature flourished. This was the golden age of classical Japan. In the year 670 A.D. the great Fujiwara family came upon the stage. The mikados were in theory absolute rulers, but eventually they became mere figureheads. Their mode of life was not such as to make of them able rulers. Surrounded by an effeminate court, living in indolence and debauchery amid priests and court women, they were hardly competent to direct affairs. The emperor was often a mere child, who, when he grew up, either abdicated freely or was forced to abdicate the throne in favor of another child as weak as himself. The government was administered by the most powerful vassals. The great Fujiwara family held the affairs of state in its own hands from 670 to 1050 A.D.: all the important posts were filled by its sons, while its daughters were married to the imbecile emperors. The next important event in Japanese history is the rise of feudalism. The warlike samurai classes, disgusted with this weak petticoat government, arose in arms and overthrew it. The great clans of Taira and Minamoto appeared and alternately held the reins of government for nearly {42} two centuries. Lawlessness and disorder prevailed. The leader who could command the most men and win the victory with his sword was master of the empire. All Japan became a military camp, the chieftains waging war against one another. Thus feudalism took its rise and prevailed for many centuries, powerfully affecting every form of thought and life, just as it did in Europe at a similar period. The Taira family was finally overthrown by the Minamotos, and the chief of the latter clan, Yoritomo, was raised to the supreme power. This man was the first to obtain from the imperial court in Kyoto the title of "shogun"--generally spoken of in the West as "tycoon." From this time forward (1190-1867) the shogun was the real ruler of Japan. The mikado was still the theoretical head of the state, descendant of the sun-goddess, and fountain of all honor, but he lived in the retirement and seclusion of his court, never seen by his subjects, and all matters of government were attended to by the shogun. Yoritomo's descendants gradually degenerated, and were finally overthrown by the Ashikaga family. This powerful clan took charge of the government in 1338 and held it until 1565. It encouraged literature and the arts, and the court became a center of elegance and refinement. Especially {43} did the intricate tea ceremonies flourish at this time. This family became weak and effeminate finally, like its predecessors, and was overthrown. Japan was first discovered by Europeans probably in 1542, when the Portuguese adventurer Mendez Pinto landed on her coasts. He brought the first definite information concerning her received in Europe, and his reports were so highly exaggerated that he was spoken of everywhere as "mendacious Pinto." Soon after his visit numbers of Portuguese adventurers came, who were received warmly by the impressible people. With them came the Jesuits and the introduction of Christianity. The growth of Christianity, and the bloody persecutions it encountered, begin from this time. These interesting subjects will be treated in another chapter and hence are passed over here. During this period lived successively three of the greatest men in Japanese history--Nobunaga, Hideyoshi, and Iyeyasu. On these men devolved the tasks of breaking the power of the feudal lords and bringing them into more complete subjection to the shogun; of unifying the empire and of strengthening the central government. The plan was conceived by Nobunaga, begun by Hideyoshi, and completed by Iyeyasu. The former was the friend and patron of the Christians, the two latter their bitter persecutors. {44} After the rulers had succeeded in stamping out Christianity the country was closed to foreign influence, and for two hundred years remained hermetically sealed. Even shipwrecked foreign sailors found on her coasts were executed, and no Japanese was permitted to leave the country on pain of death. The only communication with the outside world reserved was through the Hollanders, a small band of whom were permitted to reside at Nagasaki. Through them various arts and sciences, including medicine, were introduced. This calm seclusion was rudely broken in upon by the coming of Commodore Perry, in 1853-54, with his big guns. He came to establish treaties of commerce and trade, and to secure better treatment for American ships and sailors--peaceably if possible, forcibly if necessary. Here it is needful, in the interests of truth, to disprove another pretty story, to the effect that Perry and his crew were very pious, godly men, and that they secured the concessions desired by peaceable methods--by praying and singing psalms. The fact is that the concessions gained were _forced_ from Japan by intimidation, by threats, and by a show of strength. Commodore Perry also used the same tactics in Liukiu. He effected his purpose, it is true, without using his guns, except for intimidation, but it is safe to say that he would not have accomplished it without them. {45} The treaties then forced from the government were humiliating to Japan; for example, granting exterritoriality, by virtue of which foreigners should live under their own consuls and in no sense be amenable to the laws of the land. Such concessions are demanded by civilized states of the uncivilized only, and their very existence implies inferiority. But nothing else was possible at that time, nor did Japan object. The coming of Perry, and his forced opening of the country, marked the birth of new Japan, so different from the old, and the beginning of an era of unprecedented prosperity. The Japanese now recognize this, and speak of Perry as one of their greatest benefactors. During the years immediately preceding this there was a great revival of learning. A school of literati arose, which zealously studied the antiquities of its own country as opposed to the imported Chinese classics. A revival of Shinto sprang up, and with it grew again that great reverence and esteem for the ancient imperial line, the divine mikados, as against the upstart shoguns. In this way began the movement which ended in the revolution of 1868 and the overthrow of the shogunate. When Perry came the shogun's government was already tottering to its fall, and when this government made treaties with foreign countries, {46} admitting the "barbarians" to this "land of the gods," a loud cry arose against it over all the land. Finally the imperial court at Kyoto, prompted by the mighty daimios of Choshu, Satsuma, and Tosa, decided upon the abolition of the shogunate. The shogun himself submitted to the decree of the mikado, but many of his followers did not. The War of the Revolution ensued, and after much fighting the imperial troops were victorious; the shogunate was forever abolished, and the emperor once more took personal charge of the government. The literary party had triumphed. Buddhism was largely supplanted by Shinto; the shogunate, which had admitted the foreigners, was abolished; and the literati fondly supposed that the court would now expel the intruders, abolish the treaties, again shut up the country, and affairs would go on as in the "good old times." But they were deceived. The mighty lords of Tosa, Satsuma, and Choshu now declared in favor of foreign intercourse and the adoption of European civilization. These princes were too powerful not to be heard. Their advice was heeded; the foreigners were welcomed, the country was opened more and more, old abuses were corrected, and the Europeanization of Japan was begun. The reformation was ably assisted from the very quarter where we would expect to find it {47} most bitterly opposed. The young and able emperor Mutsuhito, coming out of the obscurity which had enshrouded his ancestors for ages, and putting aside the traditions of centuries, ably seconded the efforts of his ministers in every reform. The unparalleled progress during his long and enlightened reign is due in no small part to his wisdom and prudence. He has shown himself a liberal, enlightened monarch, and I am sure that I express the sentiment of every friend of Japan in saying, Long live his Majesty Mutsuhito! The reformation of the country, the assimilation of Western civilization and institutions, and the gradual opening and development of the empire have gone on uninterruptedly since the restoration of the emperor to the supreme power. In 1871 the daimiates were abolished and the old daimios retired to private life. Thus feudalism was at last broken up and the central government strengthened. In this same year the postal and telegraph systems were introduced and a mint was established. In 1889 the constitution was promulgated, whereby the people were given a voice in the government, and Japan became a constitutional monarchy, very much like Prussia or other European states. In this year local self-government was also established. In accordance with the constitution, the first Diet was opened in 1890. {48} This highest legislative body in Japan resembles somewhat, in its organization and functions, the German Reichstag. One of the greatest recent events in Japanese history is the successful revision of the treaties. After the Restoration and the adoption of Western institutions and civilization, efforts were continually being made to have these treaties revised on a basis more favorable to Japan; but these efforts were always defeated. Thus Japan was for many years forced to submit to treaties made long ago, which were good enough then, but are outgrown entirely now. No recognition whatever was made of her great progress during these thirty years, and the foreign powers still treated her as an inferior. This was unjust, and the people naturally chafed under it. Finally, by the wisdom and perseverance of the present Japanese statesmen, treaty revision has been secured on the basis of equality. By this revision she regains the concessions forced from her in former years. After the year 1900 all foreigners residing in Japan will become amenable to her laws; exterritoriality will be abolished; power to levy taxes upon imports within prescribed limits will be regained; and Japan will be recognized as an equal by the great powers of the West. In return for these concessions on the part of foreign powers, she gives liberty of residence and travel {49} in any part of the empire, and all privileges generally accorded aliens in Western nations, except the right of ownership of land. We rejoice with Japan that justice has at last been accorded her, and that the treaties have been satisfactorily revised. A sketch of Japanese history would be incomplete without some mention of the recent war with China. This war was especially interesting because it afforded the first opportunity Japan has had of trying her strength with her new arms. For years she has been to school to the Western nations; now she goes out to put into practice the lessons she has learned. Her fine army and navy, constructed after the most approved Western models, are tested for the first time. The results are such as to more than satisfy Japan with her new equipment. The story of her splendid success against a nation outnumbering her ten to one is familiar to all and need not be recounted. The war was a positive gain to Japan in many ways. Aside from the material gain in indemnity and the extension of her territory, it gave her an opportunity to demonstrate to the world the substantial progress she has made. Nothing else would have gained for her so much respect from Western powers as her prowess exhibited in this war. A demonstration of force and of ability to fight great battles is still regarded as a mark of progress and civilization. {50} The war also helped to settle many troublesome internal questions. Some feared the people would be so elated by their phenomenal success that their pride and arrogance would be unendurable. But it was not so. The Japanese expected to win from the beginning, and were not surprised at the result. After the war was over they settled down to the even tenor of their ways as though nothing had happened. They have shown themselves as able to bear victory as to win it. Such is an all too brief account of the history of this interesting people. An acquaintance with the main facts of this history I thought necessary to enable American Christians rightly to appreciate the work of their missionaries in their efforts to plant the church in Japan. {51} III JAPANESE CHARACTERISTICS It is next to impossible for an alien to judge accurately the characteristics of a people. That a foreigner's interpretation of a nation's character, and of the moral influences that direct and mold its life, is apt to be imperfect and erroneous is now a recognized truth. An Englishman cannot understand a Frenchman, nor a Frenchman an Englishman. Even people so closely related as the English and Americans, with a common ancestry, common history and traditions, a common speech, common laws, and a common faith, find great difficulty in properly understanding one another. The American essayist Emerson did not venture to write "English Traits" until he had visited England, mingled freely with the people, and familiarized himself with the manifold phases of English character; and Bryce's excellent work on "The American Commonwealth," in {52} which American characteristics are reflected more truly than they have been by any other English writer, did not see the light until its author had made frequent visits to the United States and had carefully studied his subject for seventeen years. If it is so hard to understand a kindred people, how much harder it is to understand a people so alien as the Japanese! Here the religion, language, manners and customs, and moral ideas are so different from our own that the task of portraying the real characteristics of the race becomes a colossal one. It should be attempted only by men who have had years of practical experience with the people, who can read their language and look at things from their standpoint, and who bring to their task a loving sympathy with the people whose life they would portray. But nothing is more common than to meet with sweeping judgments on Japanese character by persons utterly incompetent to make them. Men who have perhaps never seen Japan sit in judgment upon her with a gusto unequaled. Globe-trotters, spending at most only a few weeks here, and necessarily learning nothing of the inner life of the people, have made most sweeping statements concerning the traits of national character, such as: "The Japanese are a nation of liars;" "They are mere imitators, originating nothing;" "They are fickle and quite {53} unreliable;" "Licentiousness is the most prominent trait in the national character," etc. Now it is unnecessary to say that judgments formed in this way are worthless. Here, if anywhere, it behooves one to write only after careful study and observation, and even then to speak with caution. Physically the Japanese are inferior to the races of the West. They are shorter of stature and lighter of weight than Europeans or Americans. The upper part of their bodies is developed perhaps as fully as our own; but the lower limbs have been so cramped by sitting on the floor for centuries that they are shorter and weaker. Their habits of life and their vegetable diet have combined to make of them a physically weak people. They age earlier than the races of the Occident. In color they do not differ much from the American Indians or the half-breeds of the South. There are two types of facial expression: the old samurai or noble classes have a long, narrow face, sharp nose, high, narrow forehead, and oblique eyes; the lower classes have fat, round, pudding faces, with broad mouths and flat noses. These two types are distinguished readily on the streets, and rank can be judged by them. The Japanese are a cheerful race. The cares of life seem lightly to weigh upon them. On the surface they appear always smiling and happy. {54} They are very fond of gay scenes and bright colors. Politeness is a national characteristic. Etiquette has been carried to such an extent as to have largely degenerated into empty forms. Mentally they are bright and intelligent, receiving and apprehending instruction readily. The students are equally as diligent and earnest as are those in the academies and colleges of America, though physically they are not so able to endure prolonged study. They have great thirst for knowledge, and study for the sake of learning itself; hence the various devices for evading study so common in the schools at home are almost unknown. The intensity of this thirst for knowledge on the part of the young is remarkable. Hundreds of young men over all Japan are struggling for an education against very great odds. Many are now educated abroad, and these take their stand in our best colleges and universities along with the brightest of our own students. When their course is completed they are able to carry on all kinds of learned scientific investigations independently of their teachers. Witness what they have done in seismology, botany, and medicine. These facts indicate that the Japanese are an intellectual race. In order rightly to appreciate the national character we must remember that the idea of personality is developed here only partially. {55} This is strikingly evident in the structure of the language, which consists of nouns and verbs almost exclusively. Distinctions of person and number are generally ignored, and true pronouns are entirely wanting. From ancient times men have been considered, not as individuals, but _en masse_. The family has been exalted above the individual, who is hardly considered to have an existence apart from it. Thus, in ancient times, as among Occidental races also, if one member of a family came under the censure of the government, all were censured. When one member was put to death, all were executed. As the family, and not the individual, was the unit with which the laws dealt, the family became the subject of prime consideration. To perpetuate the family line came to be considered a very essential thing, and in order thereto the system of concubinage was introduced. It is proper to state that in regard to this exaltation of the family over the individual Japan is now in a transition period, and that the individual is becoming more and more important in the eyes of the law. A marked characteristic of the Japanese is their strong patriotism. There is no more patriotic people on the face of the earth. It is said that the name of the emperor, whispered over the heads of an excited mob, will calm it as readily as oil poured on troubled waters. In the recent war {56} with China there were many more volunteers for active service than could be sent to the front. I have seen old men lament, with tears in their eyes, that they could no longer serve their country as soldiers, even to the death if need be. This principle of loyalty is the strongest motive power in Japan to-day. It supersedes all others. A man's duty to his family, even to his parents, is nothing when compared with his duty to his country; and Japanese history abounds in pathetic stories of men, women, and even children, who have counted all other duties as naught and have willingly sacrificed their lives for their country. Patriotism here amounts to a passion--I had almost said a fanaticism. From earliest infancy it is instilled into the minds of the children, and there is not one of the little ones in whose heart his country has not the first place. A native writer has expressed the sentiments of every Japanese thus: "My native land! everywhere and always the first affections of my heart and the first labor of my hands shall be thine alone." This patriotism is not always held intelligently. The masses of the people have very mistaken ideas as to what patriotism is. I meet not a few who believe that love for Japan necessitates a hatred of all other countries, and that no man can be loyal and at the same time admire and praise foreign lands. Fortunately, the class {57} whose nationalism is so unenlightened is not an influential one; otherwise patriotism itself would check the growth and development of the country. As it is, the strong nationalistic feeling serves to prevent a too indiscriminate adoption of Western institutions and to preserve the good elements of old Japan. Respect for parents and teachers is one of the most prominent elements in the national character. The first principle of Confucian ethics, as taught in China, is reverence and obedience to parents; and although in Japan this has been subordinated to the principle of loyalty, it is still a prominent factor in the national life. The proper attitude of children toward parents, and pupils toward teachers, is not one of love, but one of absolute obedience and reverence. It is said here that true love can come only from a superior to an inferior, while the proper feeling of inferiors toward their superiors is one of reverence. This relation of superior and inferior is carried into every phase of society, and on it depends much of the family and national life. The principle of obedience is almost the only moral teaching given to the girls, and when they are grown up their moral ideas cluster round this one point. In olden times parents had absolute control over their children and could dispose of them as they saw fit, even killing them if they so desired. But now the {58} parent's control over the child is limited by law. Children are expected to yield implicit, unquestioning obedience to their parents, and Japanese children are usually more virtuous in this respect than the children of Americans. As a result of this fundamental principle of obedience, inculcated from childhood, has grown the universal respect for authority found in Japan. Whatever the government does the common people do not question. Even petty officials are respected and obeyed in a manner surprising to us independently thinking people of the West. No matter how disagreeable and unjust an act on the part of the authorities may be, it is usually accepted meekly with the comment, "There is no help for it." The counterpart of this reverence and unquestioning obedience to authority is a feeling of meekness and dependence. The government is depended upon for much more than is the government in the United States. It is expected to inaugurate all great commercial and industrial enterprises. Thus the building of railroads, the construction of telegraphs, and other great works have had to be executed by the government. In recent years this spirit is changing somewhat, and private corporations are beginning to inaugurate great enterprises. But in general it may be said that the national character is lacking in independence and decision. {59} Love of the beautiful is a prominent and highly developed Japanese trait. Their ideals of beauty differ much from Western ideals, and many things that they pronounce beautiful would not be so judged in the Occident. Most Americans at first cannot appreciate Japanese art, landscape scenery, or flowers; but a short residence here and an acquaintance with native life and scenes soon bring one to appreciate them. The esthetic faculty is much more highly developed than in America. It is possessed by all classes. The gardens of the rich are laid out with especial care, and no money or pains are spared to make them beautiful. I have seen day-laborers stand and gaze for a long time at a beautiful sunset, or go into raptures over a dwarfed cherry-bush just putting forth its tiny buds. Men who have worked in the fields all day, until they are exhausted, on their return home in the evening will stop by the wayside to pluck some beautiful shrub or flower and carry it back with them. Go into the room of a school-boy and you will almost invariably find his table brightened by a pretty bouquet of flowers. When the cherries are in bloom the whole population leaves off work and turns out to enjoy them. Japan is a beauteous land, and no people are more capable of appreciating her beauty than her own. The Japanese are open-minded and receptive of truth, from whatever quarter it may come. Were this not true it would have been impossible {60} for her to have become what she is to-day. When Buddhism was first brought to Japan it was seen to possess elements of religious power that Shinto did not have, and the people by and by accepted it. When Confucianism was introduced its moral teachings were seen to be lofty and inspiring, and it was given a warm welcome. When Christianity first came many of the daimios took especial pains to examine into it to see if it were likely to benefit their country, with the full intention of accepting it. How many of them did accept it is told in another chapter. The present attitude of opposition is the result of prejudice, instilled in part by past experience with Christianity, and in part by the misrepresentation of its enemies; it is not the result of natural intolerance. The readiness with which Western learning of all kinds has been adopted, and the patient hearing and investigation native scholars give to all new theories of science and knowledge, clearly show that their mind is an open and receptive one. A native professor has expressed this characteristic in these words: "The Japanese as a race are open-hearted, with a mind free from prejudice and open to conviction." But that it is as receptive of prejudice and misrepresentation as of truth and knowledge is evidenced by its present attitude toward Christianity. Many critics have pronounced the Japanese a {61} very speculative people, but it is doubtful if this is true. By nature, I think, they are more inclined to be practical than speculative. Abstract metaphysical and theological ideas have little charm for them. But there is a large element in Japan that simulates a taste for philosophical study. Philosophy and metaphysics are regarded by them as the profoundest of all branches of learning, and in order to be thought learned they profess great interest in these studies. Not only are the highly metaphysical philosophies of the East studied, but the various systems of the West are looked into likewise. Many of the people are capable of appreciating these philosophies, too; but they do it for a purpose. Japanese character is lacking in steadfastness and fixedness of purpose. Huge enterprises will be begun with great enthusiasm, only to be abandoned in a short while. There is not that steadfastness and fixedness which lays out far-reaching plans, extending years into the future, and which adheres to these plans until their purpose is accomplished. On the contrary, they are vacillating and changeful, as is shown by their migratory disposition. This want of steadfastness is even evinced by many ministerial candidates. It is a frequent occurrence for young men to enter the mission schools with the firm intention of {62} becoming evangelists, and, by the time their academic course is finished, to change their mind and go into some other calling. Some of those who have become evangelists are restless and vacillating, and after they have been located in one place for a few years like to be transferred to another. The "stick-to-it-iveness" of the Anglo-Saxon is largely wanting. But we must not speak too dogmatically upon this point, for the Japanese government has shown itself capable of laying out far-reaching plans, and of adhering to its original purpose until it is successfully accomplished. Inconsistency is another trait of the Japanese mind, which often turns square about and takes positions exactly opposed to its avowed principles, realizing no inconsistency in doing so. This is well illustrated in the political life of the people. In theory the emperor, as the divine head of the nation, cannot go wrong, and whatever he does is necessarily right. It is the duty of every subject unquestioningly to obey the will of the emperor. To this all Japanese will readily agree, but in practice the people are often found arraigned against the government, which has the emperor for its head. Lines of policy which the emperor himself has mapped out and pursued for years are often bitterly opposed; and yet the people are all unconscious of this, and resent very much any insinuation that they are opposing his will. {63} Another evidence of inconsistency is seen in their opposition to Christianity. The usual objection that is made against our faith is that it is a Western religion, and there are thousands of people who oppose it solely on this ground. But, even while opposing the Western religion, they are daily using all kinds of Western institutions gladly. All manner of material things are received from abroad with pleasure, and are considered none the worse for their foreign origin, the line being drawn at religion. Japanese character is largely wanting in originality. The people have originated almost nothing, having accepted nearly everything at the hands of others. In ancient times Japan had Korea for a teacher; afterward she studied under China; now she is at school to Europe and America. Her medieval civilization was accepted bodily from Asia, just as her modern is from Europe. No important inventions have been made. Even the little jinrikisha, which is the universal means of locomotion, and which, I believe, is found nowhere else except in certain Chinese ports, is said to have been first made by an American missionary for the comfort and convenience of his invalid wife. It should be said, however, that some claim the native origin of the jinrikisha, and contend that its inventor lived in Kyoto. But while the Japanese are not originators, they {64} are excellent imitators. The ability to imitate well is a power not to be despised. This, when coupled with assimilation, is a very fruitful source of progress, as the Japan of to-day witnesses. The ease and facility with which Japan has imitated the West and assimilated her institutions, applying them to new and changed conditions, is marvelous. Given a model, the people can make anything, no matter how diminutive or complicated. Even the American dude is most successfully imitated. The Japanese do not slavishly follow their models, but are able to change, modify, and develop them at will. Given the general idea, they can easily construct the rest. Thus in the adoption of Western institutions they have in some cases actually improved upon their models. Especially is this true of the postal and telegraph systems, which, though copied after our own, are in many respects superior. They are not blind followers of their teachers, but often start out on independent exploration and investigation. Such powers of imitation are second only to those of invention, and have made Japan what she is to-day. Another national peculiarity is the slight value placed upon human life. The idea that the family, and not the individual, is of supreme importance, and the Buddhistic teaching that life itself is the greatest of all evils, are responsible for this. To {65} pour out one's blood upon the battle-field for one's lord has from of old been considered a privilege. Death has not that terror that it has in the West, and the people are not afraid to die. Hence suicides are of very frequent occurrence, and to take one's own life is, under certain circumstances, considered a meritorious act. Under the old régime a member of the samurai or warrior classes could not be executed like a common man, but after condemnation was left to take his own life. About seven thousand suicides occur in Japan each year. The slightest reasons will induce a man to take his own life. Statistics show that the proportion of suicides varies with the success or failure of the rice crop. If sustenance is cheap, people live; if it is dear, they rid themselves of the burden of life. The number of suicides also varies much with the season of the year, showing that such little matters as heat and discomfort will outweigh the value put upon life. A young girl recently came to Saga from Kagoshima as a household servant She did not like her new home, and asked her mistress to send her back to her birthplace. The mistress refused, and the next morning the poor girl was found dead in the yard, having hanged herself during the night--all, forsooth, because she could not go home. So low is the value placed upon life here! Human life is valued highly in the West {66} solely because of Christian teaching; outside of Christendom it is cheap. It has been charged upon the Japanese that they are wanting in gratitude, or, at least, that their gratitude lasts only so long as they are looking for favors. This is but partially true. Ever since I came to Japan I have been teaching a few boys English at odd hours, and they have really embarrassed me by the number of their presents. On the other hand, I have helped young men with money at school, who were at first grateful apparently, and would come to my home to perform various small services in return, but by and by would object to doing the least service, even while living on my charity. In past years Japan has in various capacities employed a great number of Americans and Europeans, and has usually rendered them a very adequate return for their services. In addition to the stipulated salary, she has often given them costly presents. But recently a good deal of complaint has been made by foreign employees to the effect that, after they have given the best years of their lives to the service of Japan, they have been summarily dismissed, without previous notice and without thanks. Evidences of ingratitude are very numerous in the native church. The missionary who has left home, friends, and country for the sake of these {67} people, and who labors for them with all the powers God has given him, is often not rewarded by that gratitude and kindness on the part of his converts which he reasonably expects. Frequently he takes young men from the humbler walks of life, provides both their food and clothing, gives them six or eight years' instruction in well-equipped schools, supports them liberally as evangelists, only to have them rise up against him, oppose him in his work, and pronounce him an ignoramus. In many parts of the native church there is a strong anti-missionary spirit, and the feeling of gratitude which these churches should have for their founders, organizers, and supporters is wanting. From such facts as these we are forced to conclude that the feeling of gratitude is not very strong. Much has been said in regard to the commercial honor and integrity of the Japanese. Our first American minister to Japan, Townsend Harris, pronounced them "the greatest liars upon the face of the earth." A foreign employee in a government school, when asked concerning the native character, replied in two words--_deceit_ and _conceit_. The numerous exceptions to upright dealing in mercantile circles seem to justify these judgments. Native merchants are unreliable in such matters as punctuality, veracity, and the keeping of contracts. They will do all in their {68} power to avoid the fulfilment of a contract which would entail a loss. The artisan class is even more unreliable in these respects than are the merchants. To offset this, it should be said that, while the people are frequently unreliable in private matters, in public affairs and in all governmental relations they are honest and fair-dealing. Public office is seldom perverted for private ends, and the national conscience would quickly call to account any official who would enrich himself at the public expense. In this respect Japan is in striking contrast with the other nations of the East, and, alas! with many of those of the West as well. I have not endeavored to give an exhaustive statement of the national characteristics of the Japanese people, but have simply tried to give enough to help my readers to an appreciation of the native character. I have endeavored to be strictly truthful and at the same time to do justice to the race. While fully recognizing the failings of the Japanese, we must also recognize the great improvement of the national character in recent years, and must remember that they are in many respects laboring at a great disadvantage, and deserve, not hatred and contempt, but our warmest sympathy and love. {69} IV MANNERS AND CUSTOMS A study of the manners and customs of foreign peoples is both interesting and profitable. If we have no knowledge of the customs of other nations we are apt to think that our own customs have their ground in eternal reason, and that all customs differing from ours are necessarily false and wrong. But if we study the manners of other lands, and learn of the daily observance of customs many of which are squarely opposed to our own, and which nevertheless work well, we will be led to value our own customs at their true worth, and to realize that we have not a monopoly of all that is good, convenient, and useful. To know the manners and customs of a country is to know much about that country. There is no truer index of the character of a people's life. Knowing these, the prevailing morality and governing laws may be very largely inferred. In fact, {70} every phase of a nation's life has so intimate a connection with the manners and customs that a study of these is exceedingly profitable. Such a study is especially necessary to those who would gain a correct knowledge of the nature and difficulties of mission work in foreign lands. The customs of a people will have a direct bearing upon mission work among them. If Christianity violates national customs it will be condemned; if it observes them it will be tolerated. Whether it observes or violates them must depend upon the nature of the customs themselves. The success of Christianity in any country will depend, in part, upon the nature of the customs prevalent there. Therefore it is wise for us to study those of Japan, in order to a better understanding of the people and of the condition and prospects of mission work among them. One of the most striking facts in connection with Japanese customs is that many of them are exactly opposed to those which prevail in the West. People who have been accustomed to doing certain things one way all their lives, and have come to look upon that as the only way, upon coming out here are shocked to find these very same things done in precisely the opposite way. This is so to such an extent that Japan has been called "Topsyturvydom." But to those who are acquainted with the customs of both East and {71} West it is a serious question which one is topsy-turvy. After one has become used to them, many of the customs appear just as sensible and convenient as those of America or Europe. Why this opposition, we do not know, but perhaps the fact that the Japanese are antipodal to us makes it fitting that their customs should be antipodal too. I will point out a few of the things that are so different. The manner of making books and of writing letters is very different from that to which my readers are accustomed. An Occidental has an idea that something inherent in things necessitates that a book begin at the left side, and the thought of beginning at the other side appears to him ridiculous. But in reality it is every whit as convenient, fitting, and sensible to begin at one side as at the other; and all Japanese books begin at the side which people of the West call the end, i.e., at the right side, and read toward the left. While English books are printed across the page in lines from left to right, Japanese books are printed from right to left in columns. An Occidental generally turns the leaves of his book from the top with his left hand; an Oriental turns them from the bottom with his right hand. In Western libraries the books are placed on their ends in rows; in Japan they are laid flat down on their sides and piled up in columns. If we see several good dictionaries {72} or encyclopedias in a man's study we are apt to infer that he is a man of studious habits; the Japanese of olden times inferred just the opposite. The idea seems to have been that a scholar would already have the meaning and use of all words in his head and would not need to refer to a dictionary. A Japanese friend who came into my study one day expressed great surprise at seeing several large dictionaries there. "You have certainly had better educational advantages than I have," he said, "and yet I can get along with a very small dictionary; why cannot you?" Upon inquiry, I learned that many Japanese keep their dictionaries concealed, because they do not want it said that they must refer to them often. The manner of addressing letters in Japan is exactly opposed to ours. Take a familiar example. We write: MR. FRANK JONES, 110 Gay Street, Knoxville, Tennessee. A Japanese would write it: Tennessee, Knoxville, Gay Street, 110, JONES, FRANK, MR. The latter is certainly the more sensible method, because what the postmaster wants to see is not {73} the name of the man to whom the letter is addressed, but the place to which it is to go. In matters of dress there are some customs quite opposed to our own. The American lady, especially if she goes to a ball, has her neck and arms bare, but she would be shocked at the very mention of having her feet bare. The Japanese lady puts her heaviest clothing on her arms and shoulders, but does not at all mind being seen with bare feet and ankles. Many of the ladies do not wear any foot-gear at all in the house, but these same women could hardly be induced to expose their arms and necks as Western women do. A Western lady is very anxious to have a thin, narrow waist; her Japanese sister wants a broad one. In the West curly hair is highly prized on girls and women; in the East it is considered an abomination. If you tell a little girl here that her hair is curly, she will consider it a disgrace and will cry bitterly. The most striking difference in regard to dress, however, is in mourning dress. Whereas in the West it is always black, in Japan it is always white. Another remarkable contrast is found in the relation of the sexes. In America the woman is given the precedence in everything. Her husband, and all other men who come within her influence, must serve and honor her. Attend an evening party and see woman in her glory. How {74} the men crowd round her, anxious to serve or entertain! When supper is announced they vie with one another for the honor of escorting her to the dining-room. She must have first seat at table and be first served, and during the progress of the meal the men must be careful to see that she has everything her sweet will desires. When supper is over the ladies precede the men to the drawing-room, and by the time the men again appear on the scene the ladies, including the hostess, are settled in the easiest chairs. When the time for departure has come it is my lady who announces to the hostess--not the host--her departure, and her husband or escort simply awaits her bidding. In Japan all of this is changed. The man takes precedence everywhere, and the woman must serve him. At meals the woman must first wait on her husband and then she herself may eat. When, guests come, the husband is the chief entertainer, and the wife takes a back seat and says little. On passing through a door, entering a train or carriage, etc., the husband always precedes his wife. When walking on the street together she does not walk by his side, but comes along behind. The men do not intend to mistreat the women; they simply take what they regard their due as the head of the family. Among the customs most peculiar in the eyes of Westerners and most squarely opposed to their {75} own are those relating to marriage. In Japan the young man and woman have nothing whatever to do with the match-making, except to give their consent to the arrangements of their parents; and frequently even this is not asked. The wedding is arranged in some such manner as this: Whenever the parents of a young man think their son old enough to get married they secure the services of some friend, who acts as "go-between." It is the duty of this party to search out a suitable girl and win the consent of her parents to the marriage. While this is going on it is not likely that either of the young people is aware of it, but as soon as the parents have arranged matters to their own satisfaction they are informed. It often happens that the man has never seen his bride until the wedding-day. Young people seldom object to the arrangements of their parents, and marriages made in this way seem to work well. In the West the wedding often takes place in church; in Japan the temples are studiously avoided at such times. There a minister is nearly always present; here they are very careful to exclude priests. The wedding is to be joyous, and as priests are known best as officiators at funerals, and ideas of sadness and misfortune are associated with them, they are excluded. In the West, if the wedding does not take place in church, it will probably be held in the home of {76} the bride; in the East it is always held in the home of the groom. There the bride's household prepares the feast; here the groom's prepares it. There the groom must go to fetch his bride; here she must come to him. It makes no difference whether she lives in the same city or in a distant province; she must go to the groom, not he to her. The poor mother-in-law is evil spoken of in the East as well as in the West; but while there it is the mother of the bride who is said to make life miserable for the groom, here it is the mother of the groom who often makes life miserable for the bride. Customs in regard to the use of houses are quite different. In America the front rooms of a house are considered most desirable; in Japan the back rooms are preferred. There the parlors, sitting-rooms, etc., are in front, and the kitchen and store-rooms are relegated to the back; here the kitchen and store-rooms are in front, and the parlors and sitting-rooms behind. There the front yards are kept clean, but the back yards are proverbially dirty; here all sorts of dirt and trash may be lying around in the front yard, while the back yard is a perfect little garden of beauty. Signs made with the hands are very different in Japan from those to which my readers are accustomed, and are much more graceful. Here, when we call some one to us by the hand, {77} instead of the awkward, ungainly motion of the index-finger used in the West, we simply hold out the whole hand horizontally in front of us and gently move all the fingers up and down. The latter motion is very graceful, while even a pretty girl cannot execute the former one gracefully. Here, when we refuse a request or repel one from us by a sign of the hand, instead of turning the palm of the hand outward and pushing it from the body in a rough, uncivil manner, we merely hold the hand perpendicularly before the face, palm outward, and move it back and forth a few times. Japanese carpenters saw by pulling the saw toward them instead of pushing it from them; the planes cut in the same way; and screws are put in by turning them to the left instead of the right. Even in the nursery we find customs directly antipodal. While the American nurse takes the child up in her arms, the Japanese nurse takes it on her back. These are some of the customs most squarely opposed to our own. The first thought of my readers when learning of them will probably be, how ridiculous and inconvenient! And yet they are just as convenient and sensible as their own, and some of them much more so. There is nothing in the nature of things why most customs should be either this way or that. {78} The most interesting things about foreign peoples are those connected with their daily lives--their homes, food, and dress. Let us examine a Japanese house, take a meal with its occupants, and then observe their manner of dress. The houses are usually very light structures, built of wood, one or two stories high. They resemble an American house but little. The roofs are made of tiles, straw, or shingles. Tiles make a pretty and durable roof, but they cost much more than straw, and hence the common people generally use the latter. The skilful Japanese workman can make a very pretty, lasting, and effective roof of straw. The houses of the rich are large and have many nice rooms in them; those of the poor are small, with only one or two rooms. Houses are so constructed as to permit the air to pass through them freely. The rooms are separated only by light, detachable partitions made of paper, and these are frequently taken away and the whole house thrown into one room. Many of the outer walls are also detachable, and on a warm summer day are put aside, when a delightful breeze constantly passes through the house. The floors are covered with thick, soft straw mats, which are kept so clean that the people, even when dressed in their best clothes, sit or loll on them. On entering a Japanese house you must leave your shoes at the door, just as you {79} do your hat. It would be an unpardonable offense to come inside and tread on the mats with your shoes on. [Illustration: A Kitchen Scene.] The average Japanese eats, sleeps, and lives in the same room. He has no chairs, no bedsteads, and no tables to get in his way. During the day he sits on the soft straw mats; when evening comes two large comfortables are brought, and one is spread on the floor to lie on, while the other is used for covering. No sheets are used, and the pillow is a funny little block of wood. On this simple bed the man sleeps as soundly as we in our more elaborate ones. In the morning the bed is rolled up and packed away. At meal-time little tables, four or six inches high and about sixteen inches square, are brought, and one is placed before each person. The food is served in pretty little lacquer or china bowls, and each one's portion is placed on his own table. The people eat with chopsticks about eight inches long and one fourth of an inch in diameter. These answer their purpose well, but are hard to use until one is accustomed to them. When the meal is over all these things are carried away to the kitchen, and the room is ready for any other use to which one may desire to put it. In this way one room is made to serve for all the purposes of a household. The most conspicuous thing in a Japanese room {80} is the _hibachi_--a little wooden or china box about one foot square. This is kept half full of ashes, and on top of the ashes is a handful of burning charcoal. On this usually sits a little tea-kettle, filled with boiling water used in making the tea, which is drunk without milk or sugar at every hour of the day. When one first enters a Japanese house, politeness requires that the host or hostess immediately offer the guest a small cup of this tea. There is no other provision than this hibachi for heating a room; and, as one would imagine, it gives out but little heat Japanese houses are very cold in winter. They would not at all answer in a cold climate, and even here the people suffer from the cold. Japanese food is unpalatable to most foreigners, and the eating of it is an art which must be acquired gradually. After repeated experiments we learn to like it, and can live on it fairly well; but most foreign residents usually take more or less European food with them every time they go into the interior. From of old Buddhism forbade the eating of anything that had animal life, and hence it came about that the Japanese are probably as vegetarian in their diet as any people on earth. Even such animal food as butter and milk is not used. Butter is very unpalatable to them, but many are beginning to use a little milk. Bread, so necessary {81} to a Western table, forms no part of a Japanese bill of fare. The staple here is rice, not boiled and mashed to pieces, with milk and butter, but simply boiled in water sufficiently to cook it well without breaking the grains. When it is cooked each grain remains intact, and it is snowy white and perfectly dry. No salt or seasoning of any kind is put into it, as it is thought to spoil the flavor. The rivers, lakes, and seas of Japan are teeming with splendid fish, which form an important part of the native diet. It seems that Buddhism, while forbidding the use of meats generally, permitted the eating of fish. Certain kinds of fish, cut into thin slices and eaten raw with a kind of sauce, are considered a great delicacy. The idea of eating raw fish seems very repugnant, but many of my readers would eat it without realizing what it is unless they were told. I often eat it. But only a few of the fish consumed are eaten raw; most are boiled or fried. Foreign vegetables are rare, and are not much liked by the natives. But there is an abundance of native vegetables. The most common one is a large, coarse radish called _daikon_, which is pickled, and eaten at nearly every meal. This daikon is very cheap, and is a chief part of the diet of that small portion of the population that cannot afford rice. Sweet potatoes are abundant and cheap. {82} They are considered the poor man's food, and the well-to-do people are ashamed to eat them. Often at hotels, when I have asked for sweet potatoes, the servant has replied in astonishment, "Why, do you eat sweet potatoes? They are for coolies." A mountain-potato and the roots of the lotus and bamboo are also eaten. Since the country has been opened to foreign trade and foreigners have settled here it is possible to get meats and flour and some foreign vegetables at most places. Japanese clothing is frequently conspicuous by its absence. Many of the people do not realize the necessity of burdening themselves with clothing on a hot summer day, and wear very little. The government has been constrained to make laws against nudity, but these are enforced only in the cities. The usual summer garment of many of the children in my city is simply the dark-brown one given them by nature. Most of the coolies wear nothing but a little loin-cloth when at work. The real native costume is both pretty and becoming. It consists usually of a single robe reaching from the shoulders to the ankles, and tied round the waist with a heavy girdle. Tight-fitting undergarments, in foreign style, are sometimes worn now, but they form no part of the original native costume. A black outer garment, {83} reaching only to the knees, is placed over the ordinary robe on state occasions. Formerly the Japanese did not wear hats, and even now half of the men one meets on the street are bareheaded. The women wear neither hats nor bonnets. It is not considered improper to go barefooted in Japan, but generally the better classes are shod when they go out of doors. If anything resembling a stocking is worn, it is what they call _tabi_, a sort of foot-glove, made of either white or black cloth, with a separate inclosure for the great toe. A block of wood called _geta_ corresponds to our shoes. It has two cords attached to the same place in front, and then dividing, one being fastened on each side at the back. These cords slip in between the great toe and the others, and, passing over the foot, secure the geta. Japanese bathing customs are peculiar. Perhaps there are no other people on earth that bathe as often as they. It is customary for every one, even the coolies, to bathe well the whole body every day. The baths are taken very hot--about 110°F. Each private house has a large bath-tub, which in many instances is capacious enough to accommodate the whole family at once. Besides these private baths each city and town has its public ones, where a good hot bath, in a place large enough for you to swim round, can be had for one cent. Men, women, and children go into {84} them at the same time, indiscriminately. Japan is a land of hot springs, so that almost every district has its natural hot baths. Most of them have medicinal value, and the people flock to them by thousands. The funeral customs are very different from ours. It is a strange feature of the native character that when one is deeply moved he is very likely to cover up his emotion with a laugh. If a man announces to you the death of his child, he will probably laugh as he does so. At funerals there is not that solemn silence which we expect, but frequently loud talking and laughter. The coffin is a square, upright box with considerable ornamentation. The corpse is placed in it in a sitting posture. In Japan are found the hired mourners of whom we read in the Bible. Anciently they were employed to follow the corpse, mourning in a loud voice; but that has become obsolete, and now they simply follow in the procession, wearing the white garments. The usual manner of disposing of dead bodies is by interment, but cremation is rapidly growing in favor. The government will not permit a body to be buried until it has been dead twenty-four hours. For several weeks after a body has been interred it is customary for the members of the bereaved family to make daily visits to the tomb and present offerings to the departed spirit in the temple. {85} Each year, on the anniversary of the death, the children are expected to visit the tomb and worship the spirit of the departed. This custom of ancestor-worship is forbidden by Christianity, and hence the people charge us with teaching disrespect to parents and ancestors. [Illustration: Hara-kiri.] A custom peculiar to Japan is a form of suicide known as hara-kiri, or "belly-cutting." From time immemorial, to take one's own life in this manner has been considered very honorable and has expiated all crimes and offenses. In olden times, if the life of any one of noble blood became hurtful to the state, he was simply sent a certain kind of short sword. This meant that he was to take his own life by the favorite national method. So the recipient quietly ate his last meal, bade his family farewell, and, seating himself squarely on the mat, deliberately thrust the sword into the left side of his abdomen, and drew it across to the right side. As this cut does not kill immediately, a retainer, from behind, placed there for that purpose, struck off his master's head with one blow of a heavy sword. In the eyes of the law this death atoned for all sins and offenses; hence it was often practised in old Japan. It is almost obsolete now. The Japanese are an exceedingly polite people. They have been called the Frenchmen of the Orient in recognition of this national characteristic. Politeness is exalted above everything, above {86} even truth and honor. If you ask an ordinary Japanese which is better, to tell a falsehood or be impolite, he will at once reply, "To tell a falsehood." But while the people are exceedingly polite, a large part of this politeness is merely surface, without any meaning. Etiquette requires that you always address and treat your equals as though they were your superiors. There is a separate form of address for each step in the social scale. I have seen Japanese men stand at a door for five minutes, and blush, and beg each other to pass through first, each hesitating to precede the other. A Japanese gentleman never stops to converse with a friend, be he only a child, without taking off his hat. To look down upon one from a superior elevation is considered very impolite. Thus if the emperor or any one of especial distinction passes through a city, all the upper stories of the houses must be vacated. Under no circumstances are any permitted to observe the procession from an upper window. I was out walking one day in our good city of Saga with a foreign friend who was leading his little boy by the hand. It happened that a countess was passing through the city. The policemen had cleared the street for the procession, and a large crowd was standing at the corner. We joined this crowd. The little boy could not see, so his father held him up that {87} he might look over the people's heads. At once the police forbade it and made him put the child down. In many instances forms of politeness are carried to a ridiculous extreme. When you give a present, no matter how nice, you must apologize by saying that it is so _cheap_ and _insignificant_ that you are ashamed to _lift it up_ to the honorable person, but if he will _condescend_ to accept it he will make you very happy. If you receive a present you must elevate it toward the top of the head (as that is considered the most honorable part of the body) and at the same time say that it is the _most beautiful thing on earth_. When you are invited to a dinner the invitation will carefully state that no special preparation will be made for the occasion. At the beginning of the meal the hostess will apologize for presuming to set before you such mean, dirty food, and will declare that she has nothing whatever for you to eat, although she will doubtless have a feast fit for a king. Even if it should not be good, you must say that it is and praise it extravagantly. The greetings between friends are sometimes right funny. I have often overheard such conversations as the following. Two men meet in the street, and, taking off their hats, bow very low, and begin as follows: _A_. "I have not had the pleasure of {88} hanging myself in your honorable eyes for a long time." _B_. "I was exceedingly rude the last time I saw you." _A_. "No; it was surely I who was rude. Please excuse me." _B_. "How is your august health?" _A_. "Very good, thanks to your kind assistance." _B_. "Is the august lady, your honorable wife, well?" _A_. "Yes, thank you; the lazy old woman is quite well." _B_. "And how are your princely children?" _A_. "A thousand thanks for your kind interest. The noisy, dirty little brats are well too." _B_. "I am now living on a little back street, and my house is awfully small and dirty; but if you can endure it, please honor me by a visit." _A_. "I am overcome with thanks, and will early ascend to your honorable residence, and impose my uninteresting self upon your hospitality." _B_. "I will now be very impolite and leave you." _A_. "If that is so, excuse me. _Sayonara_." {89} V JAPANESE CIVILIZATION The question is often asked, Are the Japanese a civilized people? The answer will entirely depend upon our definition of civilization. If civilization consists in a highly organized commercial and industrial life, in the construction and use of huge, towering piles of manufactories and commercial houses, such as are seen in New York and Chicago, in amassing enormous capital, controlling the trade of the country by monopolies, and doing the work of the world by machinery that moves with the precision of clockwork, then Japan is not yet civilized. But if civilization consists in a courteous, refined manner, in a calm enjoyment of literature and the arts, in an ability to live easily and comfortably with a due regard to all the amenities of life, then the Japanese are a civilized people. A very brilliant writer on Japanese subjects[1] {90} has said that the Japanese have been a civilized people for at least a thousand years. Chinese civilization was brought to Japan early in the Christian era, and flourished for more than fifteen hundred years. While it differs much from European civilization, it is a highly organized and developed system, venerable with age. When people of the West speak of civilized countries they are apt to think of Europe and America, to the exclusion of all the rest of the world. This is unfair. Chinese civilization is much older than our own. Long before the dark ages of Europe the Chinese were living under a regular system of laws and were engaged in all peaceful pursuits. Systematic methods of agriculture, the art of printing, gunpowder, and the mariners' compass were all known and used. While our own forefathers in northern Europe roamed the forests as wild men and dressed in skins, the Chinese were living quietly in cities and towns, dressed in silks. This venerable Chinese civilization was readily adopted in Japan, and prevailed down to the time of the Restoration, in 1868. Since that time the adoption and assimilation of Western civilization have been progressing with a rapidity and success which have no precedent in the history of the world. The old immobile, crystallized Chinese civilization has been thrown off, and the vigorous, elastic forms of the West have been successfully {91} adopted. Japanese civilization of to-day is European, only with a national coloring. [1] Lafcadio Hearn. On the advice of an American missionary,[2] who was then president of the Imperial University, and who arranged the program for the expedition, in 1872 a committee of seventy intelligent Japanese gentlemen, many of them from the noble families, was sent to the West to visit the capitals of the several countries, examine into their forms of government and civilization, and, of all that they found, to choose and bring back with them what was best adapted to Japan. This committee, after visiting Washington, London, Berlin, and other places, and carefully examining into their different institutions, returned and reported to the government. From this time began the rapid adoption of Western civilization, which is still in progress. [2] Dr. Verbeck. Foreign employees have played an important part in this peaceful revolution. At first nearly everything that was adopted was under foreign superintendence; but the Japanese are such apt learners that they are now capable of managing this new civilization for themselves, and the foreign employees have been mostly dispensed with. With this brief history of Japanese progress before us, let us now examine into the present condition of Japanese civilization. {92} One of the best indicators of the civilization of a country is its literature. No writers of world-wide fame have arisen in Japan, yet the country has a literature of which she is not ashamed. In ancient times the Chinese classics were alone studied, and all literature was molded by Confucian ideas; to-day these models have been cast aside, and a school of young, independent writers has arisen, by whom history, political and moral science, botany, sociology, belles-lettres, and numerous other subjects are discussed with vigor and originality. In the number of newspapers and magazines published Japan can compare favorably with any country of equal size. The great dailies have not yet grown to such importance as those of America or England, but they already wield a mighty influence. Nearly every small town has its morning and its evening sheet. Even in our backward old town of Saga we have two very good dailies. There are a large number of able magazines published. Nearly every branch of learning has a magazine devoted exclusively to its interests, as is frequently the case in the West. The very existence of this innumerable multitude of newspapers and magazines shows that the Japanese are great readers. The educational system in vogue is a good index of a nation's civilization. Perhaps no {93} nation of the West has a better organized and developed free-school system than has Japan. Schools are found in every village and hamlet, and as all children of a prescribed age are required to attend, they are full to overflowing. The little round-faced, sleek-headed Japanese children swarm round them like bees. There are four grades of schools: the primary lower, the advanced lower, the lower middle, and the higher middle. The lower schools are found everywhere; the higher ones only in the large towns and cities. Of the higher middle schools (which correspond to our American colleges of middle grade) there are seven, distributed at various points over the empire. At the head of this whole system stands the Imperial University in Tokyo, which is itself the outgrowth of several colleges, and is largely modeled after the German universities. The lower schools are modeled after our American schools. Unfortunately, so large a part of the time of the school-children must be spent in studying Chinese characters that it takes about eight years to learn to read. What a pity that the awkward, antiquated system of Chinese writing is not abandoned! It seems that the native _kana_, of which there are about forty-eight, with a few of the more common Chinese characters, would answer all purposes; then the long years spent in studying Chinese could be devoted to other things, to {94} the immense advantage of the student. In the lower schools very little is studied except Chinese. In the middle schools the branches studied are just about what American youths study in the academies. Formerly considerable stress was laid upon the study of modern languages, and all students of the middle schools were required to study English and either French or German. But in recent years only English has been required, and it, even, is not studied so carefully as it was. Since the revision of the treaties the study of foreign languages seems to be on the increase. The Imperial University compares very favorably with Western universities of the middle class. It has six faculties, namely, law, medicine, literature, science, engineering, and agriculture. The medical department is under German influence; the others have professors of various nationalities, mostly English, German, and Japanese. The students number over 1000. The government has recently undertaken the establishment of another university in Kyoto. It also supports two higher normal schools, a higher commercial school, naval and military academies, fine-arts school, technical school, the nobles' school, the musical academy, and the blind and dumb school. Professor Chamberlain, of the Imperial University, says the leading idea of the Japanese government {95} in all its educational improvements is the desire to assimilate the national ways of thinking to those of European countries. In view of the difference between the East and the West, this is an enormous task; and great credit is due that brave body of educators who, fighting against fearful odds, are gradually accomplishing their purpose. The Japanese are a nation of artists. Life in one of the most beautiful countries in the world has, to a rare degree, developed in them the love of the beautiful; and this has expressed itself in the various phases of national art. In general, Japanese art is pretty, but small, isolated, and lacking in breadth of view. Its chief use in former times was largely decorative, to paint a screen or a piece of porcelain, and the artists did this to perfection. As a nation the Japanese are very skilful with the pencil. Long writing of Chinese characters has given them a control of the pencil or crayon not commonly found among the people of the West. Drawing is taught in the schools, and every school-boy can draw pretty pictures. But in art, as in other things, the Japanese are frequently inconsistent, and show a haughty disregard of details. They excel in portraying nature. The government of Japan is progressive and enlightened. In reality it is an absolute monarchy, ruled by the "heaven-descended mikado." {96} The empire belongs to him by divine right, and none has ever disputed this. Unquestioning, implicit obedience is the duty of all subjects. But the present emperor, who is a liberal-minded monarch, has graciously given his people a voice in the government. In 1889 the constitution was promulgated, which laid the foundation for a new order of things. It established the Diet, consisting of two houses, and gave many rights to the people, including local self-government, within certain limits. The franchise is so limited in Japan that a man must annually pay a stipulated amount of tax before he can either vote or run for office. Japanese laws have for years been gradually approaching Western standards. The transition has been difficult and necessarily slow, but praise-worthy progress has been made. A code somewhat resembling the Code Napoleon is now the law of the land, and is being applied in the courts as fast as circumstances will permit. People coming from Europe or America will find that, in the main, the laws are not very different from those they have been accustomed to. Nearly all the material expressions of an advanced civilization found at home are likewise met with in Japan--good railways, steamboats, telegraphs, mails, electric lights, etc. It is often a surprise to the traveler from the West who has {97} read little about the country, and who expects only the rudest form of civilization, to find instead nearly all the conveniences to which he has been accustomed. RAILWAYS.--Japanese railways are narrow gauge, and while in recent years the question of changing them to standard gauge has been agitated, nothing definite has been done. The narrow-gauge system seems fairly adequate to the present demand. The railways are modeled after those of England, and are miniature as compared with those thundering monsters that make the American valleys tremble with their tread. The coaches are much smaller than the American and are differently arranged, opening on the side instead of the end, passage from one coach to another being precluded. There is no conductor to come around and disturb one with the continual cry of "Tickets!" The _punch, punch, punch_, so annoying to sensitive people, is not heard. As the passenger leaves the station to enter the train his ticket is examined, and this ends the matter until he reaches his destination, when he must pass out through the station, where his ticket is taken by a polite official. One of the things that have most impressed me about the railroad service is the kindness and politeness of the officials, in striking contrast with the gruffness and incivility one often encounters in America. {98} The average Japanese train has three classes of coaches. The first class corresponds to the ordinary first-class day-coach at home; second class corresponds to our smoking-cars; while third class is poorer still. The fares are just about one half what they are in America, and one can travel in first-class style for a cent and a half per mile. Third-class fare is only a little over half a cent, and most of the people travel in this class. The trains do not have the conveniences to which my readers are accustomed. There are no sleeping- and dining-cars, no provision for heating in winter, and no water. The average running speed is about 20 miles per hour--a rate which would not at all suffice for the high-tensioned, nervous, always-in-a-hurry civilization of the West, but which meets all the demands of the slower, quieter life of the East. Running at this rate, accidents are comparatively rare, and the trains easily make their scheduled time. There is one main trunk-line running throughout the length of the land, besides numerous shorter lines. All of the more prominent towns and cities are connected by rail. At present a railroad-construction craze has seized Japan. Many are being constructed, others are being surveyed, and the papers daily contain accounts of new ones projected. So far, Japanese railway stocks have yielded good dividends. That the {99} more important lines are owned and operated by the government is not the result of any political or economic theory, but simply because at first private individuals had neither the means nor the energy to inaugurate such huge and hitherto untried enterprises. Many of the smaller roads are now owned and controlled by private corporations, and most of those in process of construction are private enterprises. Some months ago a private corporation made a proposition to the government to buy its main railway, but the offer was rejected. STEAMERS.--Steamboat service in Japan is good. As the country is only a range of islands, the largest of which are very narrow, and as all the more important towns are on the sea-coast or only a short distance inland, it is possible to go nearly everywhere by boat. Travel by water is very popular. There are fairly good steamers plying daily between the most important ports, but foreigners generally prefer to travel only on those officered by Europeans or Americans. There are a number of native steamers, comfortable and speedy, which are officered by foreigners, and differ but little from the transpacific liners. These were nearly all built in England, but in recent years they are building very good ones in Japan. The facilities for travel in this empire leave little to be desired. TELEGRAPHS.--The Japanese telegraph {100} system is excellent. It extends to all towns of any size in the empire, and by cable to all parts of the world. From the old city of Saga, in which I live, I can send a cablegram to any point in Europe or America. A telegraph code on the basis of the Morse code has been made in Japan, which admits of internal telegrams being transmitted in the native syllabary. In this respect the Japanese system is unique among Eastern countries. For instance, in India or China telegrams can be transmitted only in Roman letters or Arabic figures. By the formation of a vernacular code the telegraph was brought within the reach of the masses of the people, and it soon became familiar and popular. The tariff for messages is perhaps lower than any other in the world. A message of ten kana, equaling about five English words, together with name and address of sender and receiver, can be sent to any part of the empire for eight or nine cents. Telegrams in foreign languages are sent within the empire for five sen per word, with a minimum charge of twenty-five sen for five words or a fraction thereof. No charge is made for delivery within a radius of 2-½ miles of the telegraph office. There are no private telegraph corporations. The government builds, owns, and operates the lines just as it does the mails. The postal and {101} telegraph systems are intimately connected, and the same office does service for both. The first telegraph line in Japan was opened in 1869. The venture proving a success, the following year the line was extended and a general telegraphic system for the whole country decided upon. The rapid construction of telegraph lines began in 1872, from which year it has gone forward uninterruptedly. At present the lines extend to every corner of the empire. The first lines were surveyed, built, and operated under foreign experts; but the natives have learned so rapidly that they have been enabled to do away with all foreign employees. All of the materials and instruments in use, with the exception of submarine cables and the most delicate electrical measuring apparatus, are made in Japan. MAILS.--The Japanese mail system was modeled after the American in 1871. At first it was limited to postal service between the three large cities of Tokyo, Kyoto, and Osaka; but in 1872 it was extended to the whole country, with the exception of a certain part of the Hokkaido, which was without roads and almost without population. To-day there is no village or hamlet in the whole land which does not enjoy the convenience of a good postal system. The mails are sent with promptness and despatch, and it requires only a few days to communicate with any part of the {102} empire. The postal rates are very low. Postal cards cost one sen and letters two sen--about five eighths and one and two eighths of a cent, respectively. All mail is delivered free of charge. Not only is this so in the cities and larger towns, but in the villages and rural districts as well. There is no place where the dapper little postman does not go. Another convenience of the mail system is its excellent parcel-post department. Very large parcels, containing almost anything, can be sent for a small charge. Still another praiseworthy feature is that each office is a savings-bank, where the people can deposit small sums of money at any time and receive a good rate of interest. This money can be withdrawn without previous notice. The government has established these savings-banks in connection with the post-offices to encourage the people to lay up small sums of money, and they accomplish their purpose well. Japan was admitted into the International Postal Union in 1879, with full management of all her postal affairs. As all her rates are now based on a silver standard, postage to foreign countries is much cheaper than from them to Japan. To the United States or to China we pay five sen (about two and a half cents) per letter; to all other countries within the Postal Union ten sen per letter. {103} LIGHTS.--The system of lighting is an index of the civilization of a country. In this respect Japan is not yet so far advanced as the leading countries of the West, yet she is well lighted. In all the large cities there are good electric plants, and electricity is extensively used. The streets and many of the best stores and shops are very well lighted with it. However, electric lights are seldom found in interior cities of less than 40,000 people. I think electricity is too costly to come into general use, except in the centers. Illuminating gas is very little used. The only oil used in former times was extracted from whales and large fish, and chiefly from the seed of a certain tree. Since the opening of the country, kerosene has come into general use, immense quantities being imported from the United States and from Russia. Oil has been found in several places in Japan, but as yet has never been developed. BANKING.--One of the most useful products of the introduction of our modern civilization is the present system of banking. This system will compare favorably with those of the West. There are a number of national banks distributed over all the land, together with many substantial private banking corporations. All forms of banking business are transacted, and good interest is given on deposits. The great {104} popularity of the banks is shown by the fact that to-day in Tokyo, only eight years after bank-checks have come into use, the amount annually drawn exceeds $100,000,000. Having taken this rapid view of Japanese civilization, we are in a position to judge as to whether or not this is a civilized land; and we answer that it is. But although modeled after that of the West, it in many respects differs from Western civilization. Japan has shown herself capable of doing great things, but she does not do them in the same way that they are done in Europe or America. For example, consider her manufactories, which now threaten to compete with those of our own country. In America manufactories mean enormous capital invested. Costly factories must be erected, the most approved machinery provided, and the completed plant operated at great expense. Here almost no capital is used. The buildings are low, one-story sheds, not more costly than a row of stables at home. It is true that Japan has a few large, substantial buildings for manufacturing purposes; but such are rare, and, when found, look out of harmony with their surroundings. Even nature seems to protest against huge piles of brick and stone, as she so frequently demolishes them. Most of the wares of Japan are manufactured in small, cheap buildings, and little machinery is used. The best silk {105} made is woven in a house that cost scarcely $500. The best cloisonne, of which only a small piece a few inches high will cost hundreds of dollars, is made in a little, two-story house with only six rooms. Some of the greatest porcelain-makers in the world, whose products are better known in London and Paris than in their own country, do their work in small wooden houses in Kyoto, no better than the homes of the American laborer. "The vast rice crop is raised on millions of tiny farms; the silk crop in millions of small, poor homes; the tea crop on countless little patches of soil. Japan has become industrial without becoming essentially mechanical and artificial."[3] On this small scale the great work of Japan is done. Japanese civilization, in its parts, is miniature. [3] Lafcadio Hearn. When compared with the civilization of the West, it is unstable; in fact stability is almost unknown. The land itself is a land of change. The outlines of the coasts, the courses of the rivers, the form of the mountains, by the combined action of volcanoes, earthquakes, winds, and waves, are constantly changing. The people themselves are continually drifting about from place to place, changing their residence with the seasons. It has been said that no people in the world are so migratory. {106} Preparation can be made in a few hours for the longest journey, and all the necessary baggage wrapped up in a handkerchief. Japanese life is in a constant state of fluidity. The average house, likewise, seems built but for a day. The walls, the roof, the floors, are made of the lightest materials, and apparently there is no thought of permanence. We of the West are wont to think that no real progress can be made without stability, but Japan has proved the contrary. A uniformly mobile race is, correspondingly, uniformly impressionable. The fluid mass of the Japanese people submits itself to the hands of its rulers as readily as the clay to the hands of the potter, and thus it moves with system and order toward great ends. It is thus that Japanese civilization is strong. When compared with Western civilization, that of Japan is seen to be less organized and developed, less hasty and feverish in its movements, It does not impress one so much with its hugeness and ponderosity. It is lighter, brighter, quieter, more soothing. It is the civilization of the West robbed of its immensity and seriousness, and reflecting the national characteristics of these light-hearted sons of the East. {107} VI JAPANESE MORALITY Japanese morality has been much written about by men of the West, and many dogmatic judgments have been pronounced upon it. At one extreme, we have been told that "they are the most immoral people on the face of the earth"; at the other, we are told that in morality "they have nothing to learn from the people of Christendom." There is about as much--or rather as little--truth in the one statement as in the other. The fact is that it is necessary to have an experimental acquaintance with Japan before one can really understand or appreciate the moral condition of her people. The moral ideas and teachings to which they have been accustomed from childhood are so different from our own that they could not be expected to approximate to our standards. Judged by the ideas of the West, they are lacking in morality; but from {108} their own standpoint they are a moral people. While we cannot accept theirs as the true standard, it is but fair that, in judging them, we keep this in view. Before the introduction of Chinese ethics there was no such thing as a moral code. The original native religion, Shinto, taught no doctrines of morality, as we understand them. According to it, to obey implicitly the mikado was the whole duty of man. As for the rest, if a Japanese obeyed the natural impulses of his own heart he would be sure to do right. Modern Shinto writers, in all seriousness, account for this absence of a moral code by stating that originally Japanese nature was pure, clean, and sinless, possessing no tendency to evil or wrong. Barbarians, like the Chinese and Americans, being by nature immoral, were forced to invent a moral code to control their actions; but in Japan this was not necessary, as every Japanese acted aright if he only consulted his own heart. They explain the need for the present moral laws--a need which they acknowledge--by the fact of association with outside nations. Immorality and dissoluteness were introduced by the Chinese and Western peoples, to counteract the evil influence of which they now have the shameful spectacle of a moral law even among the children of the "heaven-descended mikado." So much for the teaching of Shinto in {109} regard to morality. It would be exasperating were it not ludicrous. Confucius is the master of Japanese morality. His teachings were introduced into Japan early in the Christian era, but they became predominant only in the time of Iyeyasu, in the seventeenth century. This great statesman, warrior, and patron of learning caused the Chinese classics to be printed in Japan for the first time; and from that day to this the morality of Japan has been dominated by Confucian ideas. In order to understand Japanese morality, it is necessary for us to shift our moral base and try to look at the subject through Japanese eyes. The average native of the West thinks of "morality" as something belonging to the individual. Even in religion his first thought is to save his own soul. The value of the soul, its immortality, its immediate relation to the infinite and eternal Father--these have been emphasized ever since the first establishment of the church. In consequence, there is a duty which man owes to himself. He may not disregard it even at the command of father or king. Within the soul is the holiest of all, for there is heard in conscience the voice of God himself. No external authority may be supreme, and at no external voice may one violate his own convictions of truth. This thought exalts the individual, and, {110} therefore, sins which degrade our own personality become most repulsive. Thus, among high-minded men truth is almost first among the virtues, and an accusation of falsehood the most hateful of insults. For truth seems peculiarly personal and spiritual, as if belonging to the very sanctuary of one's nature. And in like manner, among women, in popular esteem chastity is of the essence of morality, as its violation seems to contaminate and debase her holiest self. Now the Confucian ethics rest upon a quite different principle, and in this are at one with the ancient teaching of the Greeks and Romans. The supreme duty is not to the self, but to the organization of which one is but a part--that is, to the family or to the state. The great Chinese moralists were statesmen, and their chief concern was, not the salvation of the individual, but the peace and prosperity of the state. In their view, the family was the unit, and the state a greater family. So the conflict of duties, in their questions of casuistry, is never between individual and social duties, but between duties owed to family and to state. Loyalty to the state and obedience to parents must be supreme; but China and Japan differ as to the value of these two. According to original Confucianism, the first duty of men is obedience to parents; the second, loyalty to rulers; but in Japan the order of these {111} duties has been changed, the second being given first place. The people have learned well this teaching of Confucius. Japan was prepared soil for its sowing. The native religion taught that the emperor was a direct descendant of heaven, who ruled by divine right; the provincial lords were his ministers, and hence loyalty was a plain duty. The Confucian teaching only strengthened, deepened, and gave form and outline to a sentiment already existing. This principle of loyalty thus became the foundation stone of Japanese ethics, and one's duty to one's lord paramount to all other duties. In the olden times the people did not look beyond their own feudal lords and clans to the emperor and the nation. They were to be faithful unto death to these, but no further. Now that loyalty once shown to the local princes and clans finds its apotheosis in the emperor and the empire. A man's duty to his friends, to his wife and children, and even to his parents, is counted as nothing in comparison with his duty to rulers and country. There are many instances in Japanese history of men who, having slain their own parents, children, wives, for the sake of their prince, were praised. At the time of the recent tidal wave in northern Japan, when the waters were rushing furiously into one home, a husband and {112} father turned a deaf ear to the cries of his drowning wife and children, permitting them to perish that he might save the emperor's picture; and he was applauded for the act. A fire recently demolished the beautiful new buildings of the middle school in Saga. The library, laboratories, and scientific apparatus were mostly destroyed, and many of the students lost their clothing and books. The loss in buildings alone was some $20,000. Yet the thing the loss of which they lamented most deeply was a photograph of the emperor which could easily be replaced for a few yen. A characteristic story, showing the devotion with which the old samurai carried out this principle of loyalty, is the tale of the forty-seven ronins. It is rather long to insert here, but as it illustrates so well the power of this principle, I will relate it. In the year 1701 the lord of Ako, Asano by name, visited Yedo to pay his respects to the shogun. While there the shogun appointed him to receive and entertain an envoy from the mikado. Now, the reception of an envoy from the imperial court was one of the greatest state ceremonies of the day, and as Asano knew little of ceremonies and etiquette, he asked the advice of another nobleman, named Kira, who was expert in such matters. This man, who seems to have {113} been of a very mean disposition, grudgingly gave the information desired, and then asked a fee for the same. Asano refused to give the fee, and Kira, becoming angry, twitted and jeered at him, calling him a country lout, unworthy the name of daimio. Asano endured the insults patiently until Kira peremptorily ordered him to stoop down and fasten his foot-gear for him,--a most menial service,--when he drew his sword and gave the offender a deep cut across the face. This quarrel took place in the precincts of the palace, and instantly the whole court was in an uproar. To degrade the sacred place was an insult punishable with death and the confiscation of all property; and Asano was condemned to take his own life by hara-kiri that same evening, his estates were confiscated, his family declared extinct, and his clan disbanded. Henceforth his retainers became ronins ("wandering men"), with no country and no lord. According to the ethics of their country, it was their bounden duty to avenge the death of their lord, and we shall see how relentlessly they followed their purpose until it was accomplished. The senior retainer of the dead Asano, Oishu Kuranosuke, together with forty-six others of his most trusty fellow-lieges, took counsel as to how they might avenge their lord. They all were willing to lay down their lives in the attempt, but {114} even then the task was difficult, because of the vigilance of the government. For such vengeance was rigidly prohibited by law, although as rigidly required by custom. Notwithstanding the fact that all who slew an enemy for vengeance were punished by death, not to take such vengeance never entered the mind of any chivalrous Japanese. After much planning the forty-seven ronins decided that to avoid the suspicions of the government it would be necessary for them to separate and for the time conceal their purpose. So they separated, settling in different cities, and taking up various occupations. Many of them became carpenters, smiths, and merchants, and in these capacities gained access to Kira's house and learned all about its interior arrangements. The leader of this faithful band, Oishu, went to Kyoto and plunged into a life of drunkenness and debauchery. He even put away his wife and children, and led the most dissolute life possible, simply to throw off the suspicions of the authorities. All of the ronins were closely watched by spies, who secretly reported their conduct to Kira. But by these devices they finally lulled all suspicion, and the vigilance ceased. Then the day long waited for had come. Suddenly, on the night of January 30, 1703, two years after the death of their lord, in the midst of a violent snowstorm, these forty-seven faithful men attacked {115} Kira's castle, forced the gate, and slew all the retainers. Kira, who was a coward at heart, concealed himself in an outhouse. The ronins found him there, drew him forth, and requested him to kill himself by hara-kiri, as was the privilege of a man of his rank. But he refused out of fear, and the retainers of Asano were forced to kill him as they would have killed a common coolie. Thus did they accomplish their purpose and fulfil the high duty of loyalty to their dead lord, after two years of waiting, most careful planning, and ceaseless vigilance. By the time their purpose was accomplished day had dawned, and, in plain view of the whole city, this brave band marched in order to the temple of Sengakuji, where Asano was buried. The citizens showed them every honor on the way. A wealthy nobleman, as a reward for their loyal deed, sent them out costly refreshments. When they arrived at the temple the head abbot received them in person and showed them every honor. Finding the grave of their dead lord, they laid thereon the head of the enemy by whom he had been so deeply wronged, and then felt that their duty was done. They were all sentenced to commit hara-kiri, which they did willingly. Afterward they were buried together in the same temple grounds with their lord, where their graves can be seen to this day. {116} These men simply obeyed the ethical code of their time and country, and as a reward for their loyalty they have received the enthusiastic praise of their countrymen for two centuries. No other story is so popular to-day, or so stirs the hearts of the people, as this. While we, believing that vengeance belongs to the Lord, cannot indorse this deed, we must admire the loyalty and faithfulness of those ronins, and the perseverance with which they adhered to their purpose. In this true story we see clearly the power of this first principle of Japanese morality--loyalty. The sister principle of loyalty in Confucian ethics is obedience to parents. Unquestioning, absolute, implicit obedience is required of all children. Formerly the child was considered the property of the parents, and could be disposed of at will, even to the taking of its life. To-day the father may sell his daughter to a life of shame, or "lend" her to a private individual for immoral purposes; and, however much she may dislike such a life, obedience to parents requires that she acquiesce in his will, which she does uncomplainingly. This principle of obedience is the foundation stone of Japanese family life. The relation between parents and children is stronger than that between man and wife, and is given a prior place. An only son cannot be forced to leave his mother {117} and become a soldier, but a husband may be forced to leave his wife. Within the family circle, the son's duty to his aged parents always precedes his duty to his wife. Every Japanese feels deeply this obligation to his parents, and properly to support and nourish them in old age he holds to be a sacred duty. Americans could learn much that would be profitable from the reverence and respect shown for parents and teachers by the Japanese. In Japan, however, this principle is carried too far. It continues after death as binding as before, and divine honors are paid to dead ancestors. Periodical visits are made to their tombs, religious candles are kept burning in their honor, and prayers are said to them. Among the more enlightened to-day there is perhaps nothing in these ceremonies but reverence and respect; yet by the masses of the people ancestors are worshiped. There are two moral maxims that show well the relative importance in which parents, relatives, and wives are held. They are the following: "Thy father and thy mother are like heaven and earth; thy teacher and thy lord are like the sun and the moon." "Other kinsfolk may be likened to the rushes; husbands and wives are but as useless stones." It is apparent that virtues have differing values in the Confucian and Christian systems. We can {118} appreciate their point of view best, perhaps, as we remember the ethics of an army. Here obedience, loyalty, self-devotion, courage, are supreme. Much is forgiven if these are manifested. The organization is everything, and the individual nothing, save as he is a fraction of the great machine. Carry that idea into the social community, and think of it as an army, with all, women as well as men, of value only as parts of the greater whole, and we shall understand why and how the Japanese may esteem men and women righteous whom we judge debased and even criminal. So would the Japanese judge them, were the motive mere passion or selfish desire, but not when the controlling power is loyalty or obedience. Thus the forty-seven ronin were pre-eminently "righteous" when they debauched themselves with every swinish vice. Of course this view of morality puts great temptation in the way of parents and rulers. Having supreme power, they may use it to the degradation of those whom they control. Confucius, it is true, taught parents and rulers that they too owed duties to the state, and that use of their Heaven-given powers for selfish ends was treason against the supreme law; but, beyond doubt, the duty of submission, of loyalty and unquestioning obedience, was so exaggerated that evils many and great resulted. At the same time {119} a sympathetic view leads one to wonder the rather that the ethical results are so wholesome. Turning from this general view, one finds in particulars much the same conditions as in other lands. For example, immense quantities of alcoholic stimulants are consumed annually. There is a native liquor called "sake," made from rice, that is very popular and, in some of its forms, very intoxicating. Its manufacture and sale is one of the most lucrative businesses in the empire. Foreign whiskies, wines, and beers are sold in large quantities, but they are so costly as to be beyond the reach of all but the wealthy. Outside of the small circle of Christians, there are few people who do not drink. The total abstainer is a rarity. But, while nearly every one drinks, in general the Japanese do not drink to such excess as other nations. One seldom sees such beastly drunkenness as is often seen in the West. Drinking is taken as a matter of course, and society does not condemn it. The usual way in which Japanese men pass a dull day is in feasting and drinking. The use of alcoholic stimulants is much more common here than at home. In business and commercial morality there is much to be desired. The merchants do not sell according to the worth of an article, but according to what they can make the purchaser pay. They are great bargainers. Recently I wanted to buy {120} two large wall-pictures. The dealer asked me $21 for them, but finally sold them for $5. It is a very common thing to buy articles for less than half the price first asked. In matters of veracity and in the fulfilment of contracts Japanese merchants are not generally to be trusted. The average man is famous for lying, and the merchants and tradesmen seem to have acquired an extra share of this general characteristic. A Japanese trader will do all in his power to avoid the fulfilment of a contract if it entails a loss. This lack of commercial honor is recognized by the foreign firms doing business here, and it has hindered not a little the growth and development of trade. The moral sense of the people in regard to taking one's own life is very different from that of Christendom. From ancient times, suicide has been thought to be a praiseworthy act, and has been extensively practised. Formerly it was encouraged, and sometimes required, by the government; but now it has no official sanction whatever. Still, the custom exists, and some authorities place the annual number of suicides as high as 10,000. The people laugh at our Western idea that it is wrong to take one's own life. On the contrary, they hold that when misfortunes and calamities make this life unattractive it is the part of wisdom to end it. Even the feelings of young Japanese, {121} who have been educated somewhat into our own way of thinking, do not seem to have changed on this point; they still adhere to the old Roman view that self-destruction is permissible and often meritorious. The Western fiction that all suicides are the result of some form of insanity is not countenanced here. The various causes leading to self-destruction are coolly and carefully tabulated, and very few are attributed to insanity. Contrariwise, long and careful study of the subject has shown that self-destruction is gone about with as much coolness, precision, and judgment as any act of daily life. The above are in brief the leading moral ideas and principles that govern the Japanese people. For their loyalty and obedience we have only admiration. But both of these principles are given an undue importance and are carried to extremes. The chief defect of Japanese morality is the minor place it gives to the individual. The moral need of the nation is a Christian morality--not just the morality of the West, but a morality founded on the ethical principles inculcated in the Bible. This would exalt truth and chastity, would soften and temper the great duties of loyalty and obedience, and would make of Japan an honest, temperate nation. {122} VII RELIGIONS OF JAPAN The Japanese are by nature a religious people. In the earliest times a conglomerate mass of superstitions and mythological ideas was made to do service as a religion. Fetishism, phallicism, animism, and tree- and serpent-worship were very common. The line of distinction between the Creator and the creature was not clearly marked; gods and men mingled and intermingled, and were hardly known apart. But it is not our purpose here to trace the ancient religious ideas of Japan, but rather to give a short account of contemporary religions. Therefore we cannot dwell on these unwritten mythological-religious systems. The religions of contemporary Japan are four--Shinto, Buddhism, Confucianism, and Tenrikyo. Shinto and Tenrikyo are indigenous; Buddhism and Confucianism have been imported from China and Korea. Tenrikyo is of recent origin and has {123} not yet the influence and standing of the others. Shinto, Buddhism, and Confucianism have existed here side by side for centuries. There is no great antagonism between them, as there is between Christianity and the ethnic religions. Many of the people are disciples of all three at the same time, taking their theology from Shinto, their soteriology and eschatology from Buddhism, and their moral and economic ideas from Confucianism. No inconsistency is felt in thus believing all three religions and worshiping at their shrines. Indeed, these three faiths have so commingled, the ideas and practices of one have so filtered into the others, that it is hard now to distinguish the pure teachings of each. In the minds of the masses they are not distinguished in detail. And yet as regards origin, history, and teachings they are separate and distinct faiths. _Shinto_ Shinto may be called the national cult of Japan. The word "Shinto" means "the way of the gods." This system hardly deserves the name religion. It has no moral code, no dogmas, no sacred books. Originally it consisted chiefly of ancestor- and nature-worship, and of certain mythological ideas. A chief feature of it still is the worship of ancestors, who are exalted to a high pedestal in thought {124} and worshiped as gods. The divine origin of the imperial family, and the obligation to worship and obey it, was a prominent teaching of Shinto. The ancestors of the imperial family were to be held in supreme reverence and were the objects of especial worship. According to the Shinto of this period, there was neither heaven nor hell, but only an intermediate Hades. There was a sort of priesthood, but its duty was to watch over particular local gods, not to preach to the people. Pure Shinto taught that a man's whole duty lay in absolute obedience to the mikado and in following the natural promptings of his own heart. Shinto was very much affected by the introduction of Buddhism, about the middle of the sixth century, and its further growth was checked. Buddhism adopted and largely absorbed it. Shinto gods were given a place in the Buddhist pantheon, and many of the Shinto ceremonies were adopted. But Shinto was completely overshadowed by Buddhism, and lay in a dormant state from the year 550 to 1700, a night of more than a thousand years. [Illustration: A Shinto Temple.] Since the beginning of the eighteenth century a revival of Shinto has sprung up. Native scholars tried to call up the past, to find out what pure Shinto was before its corruption by Buddhism, and to teach it as the national faith. In this effort {125} they were partially successful. The old Buddhistic accretions were largely thrown off, and many of the temples, stripped of their Buddhist ornaments, were handed over to the Shinto priests. Buddhism was disestablished, and Shinto again became the religion of the state. A Shinto "Council for Spiritual Affairs" was appointed, which had equal rank with the Council of State. This, however, was reduced gradually to the rank of a department, then to a bureau, later to a sub-bureau. At present Shinto is the state religion, in so far as there can be said to be any state religion; but in reality there is no established religion. The connection of the government with Shinto extends no further than the maintenance of certain temples and the attendance of certain officials on some ceremonies. Shinto enjoys a large amount of popularity because it is indigenous, while Buddhism and Confucianism labor under the disadvantage of being of foreign origin. The majority of the upper classes in Japan who to-day have any religion at all are Shintoists. _Buddhism_ The religion founded by Buddha in India is six centuries older than Christianity. Its nominal adherents comprise almost one third of the human race. Its philosophical precepts are deep {126} and profound, while its ethical teachings are, for the most part, lofty and ennobling. This religion is worthy the careful study of any man who has the time and inclination. We cannot attempt to give a full exposition of it, but will have to content ourselves with a bare mention of its more prominent teachings. Certain resemblances to Catholicism in ritual, ceremony, and ornamentation strike one very forcibly in observing Buddhist rites. The candles, the incense, the images and processions, all resemble Rome. But this resemblance extends no further than ritual and ceremony. In point of doctrine Buddhism is widely separated from every form of Christianity. In Buddhism the condition on which grace is received is not faith, but knowledge and enlightenment. Salvation is accomplished, not by the vicarious sufferings of a Redeemer, but by self-perfection through self-denial and discipline. Dr. Griffis, a man who has written much and well on Japan, has pronounced the principal features of Buddhism to be atheism, metempsychosis, or the transmigration of souls, and absence of caste. [Illustration: A Buddhist Priest.] Buddhism knows nothing of the existence of a supreme God who created the world. It inherited ideas of certain gods from Brahmanism, but these are made secondary to the _hotoke_, or buddhas, {127} who are simply men who have finally reached the calm of perfect holiness after toiling through endless ages and countless existences. It teaches that existence itself is the chief of all evils. Instead of longing for eternal life, the Buddhist longs for annihilation. Happy, well-fed Western people, to whom existence is a delight, can hardly understand how any one can really desire its cessation. But the life of the lower classes in many countries of the East is one daily struggle for bread, so full of sorrow and misery that it is not unnatural they should desire to end it. This religion teaches that the evil of existence springs from the double root of ignorance and human passions, and is to be overcome by knowledge and self-discipline. The heaven it offers is absorption in the Nirvana--the loss of personal identity and practical annihilation. Buddhism numbers more devotees and exerts a greater influence than any of the other religions of Japan. It was received from Korea about the middle of the sixth century. After it had been transplanted and had grown into popular favor, many Japanese were sent to Korea and China to study its doctrines more fully; and they brought back with them not only Buddhism, but also Chinese literature and civilization. At first Buddhism encountered fierce opposition, but it was fortunate in securing court patronage, and {128} very soon the opposition entirely ceased, so that in two or three centuries it spread itself throughout the whole empire. If ever a nation was ripe for the introduction of a foreign religion, that nation was Japan at that time. The national cult was silent, or almost so, in regard to the destiny of man and many other questions which religion is expected to answer. The religious nature of the people was asserting itself, and they were longing for more light on the great questions of life--its _whence_, _why_, and _whither_. Buddhism gave this light, and therefore was warmly welcomed. It had the whole field to itself, and took complete possession of it. [Illustration: A Buddhist Cemetery.] From the time of its introduction into Japan down to the present, Buddhism has enjoyed a wide popularity and exerted a powerful influence. It is not too much to say that Buddhism has largely formed Japanese civilization and national life. In the words of Professor Chamberlain, "All education was for centuries in Buddhist hands. Buddhism introduced art and medicine, molded the folk-lore of the country, created its dramatic poetry, deeply influenced politics and every sphere of social and intellectual activity. In a word, Buddhism was the teacher under whose instruction the Japanese nation grew up." Buddhism has by no means lost its hold in Japan. It still has great life and power. Some {129} writers have said that they have never seen a new temple in Japan--only old ones falling into decay. Their experience must have been limited. I see plenty of new temples, some of which are very costly. Buddhist temples are numerous, and many are of imposing architecture. Being generally surrounded by tall trees, they have a lonely, mournful appearance. Hideous beasts, dragons, and serpents are carved upon them, and large, fierce-looking stone lions guard them, the effect being to awe and terrify the beholder. Some are furnished with gorgeous altars covered with beautiful flowers, images, and statues. Besides the temples there are everywhere little shrines. The religious spirit of the people prompts them to dedicate the most beautiful spots and nooks to the gods, and there to erect shrines and idols. Buddhist priests dress in robes not very unlike the official robes of the Episcopal clergy. Their heads are always close-shaven, a mark by which they are easily distinguished. Forbidden to marry, they are expected to lead lives of purity and chastity. They have greatly degenerated, a large per cent. being illiterate and immoral. Their lives will not bear comparison with those of the Christian evangelists. That nearly all the cemeteries of Japan are in their hands gives them great influence. {130} Japanese Buddhism is divided into numerous sects, chief of which are the Tendai, Shingon, Jodo, and Zen, of Chinese origin, and the Shin and Nichiren, of native origin. The latter two are most prosperous. Buddhism has profited by its contact with Christianity. As the reaction of Protestantism upon Catholicism was beneficial to the latter, so the reaction of Christianity upon Buddhism has been healthful It has forced a revival and purification of the Buddhist faith, and to-day it is better and more active than before it encountered Christianity. Still, Christianity is gradually encroaching upon its domain and is crippling its influence. That Buddhism is bound to perish in its encounter with Western civilization and Christianity seems a foregone conclusion. _Confucianism_ Confucianism is even less deserving the name of a religion than Shinto. It consists chiefly in a set of moral teachings, of narrow application and mostly of a political nature. Confucius, avoiding all metaphysical abstractions and devotional rhapsodies, confined himself to the much more practical field of morals and politics. But his disciples and commentators, especially during the middle ages, expanded his doctrines and added ideas {131} more or less religious. Thus developed, it became a sort of religious system, the only one believed by the old samurai or warrior classes. Confucius, its founder, was born in the year 551 B.C., in the state of Lu, province of Shantung, China. He was an earnest student of the older Chinese classics, and one of the most learned men of his time. He gathered round him a circle of young men, whom he instructed, like Socrates, by questions and answers. He died in 478 B.C. No other human teacher has had more disciples or exerted a wider and stronger influence. From its birthplace in China Confucianism spread to Korea, where it soon became, and still continues to be, the predominant faith. From Korea it advanced to the Japanese archipelago, where for many hundred years it has had much to do with shaping and molding the character of the people. Confucianism has undergone many modifications. At first a comparatively simple system of ethics and politics, it has expanded until to-day it is a complicated philosophico-religious system. The basal principles of Confucian ethics are the "five relations." These are: sovereign and minister; father and son; husband and wife; elder brother and younger brother; friend and friend. I have named them in the order of their importance. The duty of loyalty is above that of filial {132} obedience, while the relation of husband and wife is inferior to both of these. We will briefly consider each of these relations separately. The duty of a minister, or servant, to his prince, or sovereign, is the first duty of man, and is emphasized to an extreme degree. In order to discharge this obligation to the feudal lord or emperor, one must, if necessary, give up everything: house, lands, kinsmen, name, fame, wife, children, society--all. And Japanese history is filled with instances of retainers who have counted their lives, their families, their all, as less than nothing when compared with their duty to their lord. Loyalty is the one idea which dominates all others in the Confucianism of Japan. Thus it has exerted an influence hardly second to Shinto in inculcating loyalty to the emperor and to Japan, and making the people fanatically patriotic. The second relation is that of father and son, or parent and child. My readers perhaps would consider the relation of husband and wife the first of all human relations, but not so the Oriental. With him the family is of far more importance than the individual, and the chief aim of marriage is the maintenance of the family line. If the wife becomes a mother she is honored because she assists in perpetuating the family line; if she is childless she is probably neglected. Where there are no children adoption is the universal practice. {133} The one adopted takes the family name and perpetuates it. No greater misfortune can be conceived than for the house to become extinct. The relation of parent and child is very different from that to which we are accustomed. Mutual love hardly exists. The parent feels compassion and love for his child; the child reverences the parent. To speak of a child's love for his father, or a man's love for God, is repugnant to the Confucianist. It is thought to be taking an undue familiarity, and the proper relation is considered one of dependence and reverence. In old Japan the father was absolute lord and master, and had power over the life and death of his child. In recent times his power is more limited, and the idea is beginning to dawn upon thinking natives that children have rights as well as duties. A Japanese child feels more reverence for its parents, or at least for its father, than does the average child reared in the Christian homes of the West. The third relation is that of husband and wife. On this point the teaching of Confucius is very different from that of Christ. Instead of having two parties bound together by mutual love, with equal rights and duties, we have the relation of superior and inferior, of master and servant. The husband precedes the wife in all things. She must serve him and his family zealously and {134} uncomplainingly. She must be especially on her guard against the foolish sin of jealousy, and is not to complain if her husband introduces a concubine into the same house in which she resides. She is to yield absolute obedience to him in all things. She can be divorced for very slight reasons, and divorces are matters of every-day occurrence. Statistics show that the annual number of divorces is about one third the number of marriages. Sentiment is gradually changing in this regard, and marriage and divorce laws are becoming more strict. Confucius condemned adultery as a heinous crime, but this teaching is made to apply only to the wife. She must remain true to her husband, but he is not considered under the same obligation to her. The fourth relation is that of elder brother and younger brother. This is evident from the language used to express the relation of children of the same household to one another. The word for brother or sister is seldom used; in fact, there is no word to express just that idea. In its stead we hear "elder brother," "elder sister," and "younger brother," "younger sister." The children of a household are not considered equals; the elder ones are given the preference in all things. Especially does the eldest son hold a position of prominence far above that of the other children. {135} He is looked upon as the perpetuator of the family line and is given especial honor. His younger brothers and his sisters, and even his mother, must serve and obey him. The younger sons are subjects for adoption into other families, especially into those where there are daughters to be married and family names to be perpetuated. This is in accordance with the Eastern idea that the house is of more importance than the individual. Confucian ethics largely overlooks the idea of personality. The fifth relation is that between friends. Some writers have spoken of this as that of man to man, and have thus read Christian ideas into Confucianism; but this relation as taught by Confucius is only between friends. As regards man and man, Confucius taught the duties of courtesy and propriety, but no others. He taught the duty of kindness to strangers, but most students of his writings are of the opinion that he did not include foreigners among strangers. The nearest approach to Christianity in Confucianism is the negative of the golden rule, "Do not do unto others as you would not have others do unto you." This approaches the teaching of Christ very nearly, but only in a negative form. Some have thought that Confucius taught the duty of returning good for evil, but this is a mistake. One of his contemporaries, Lao-tse, did teach {136} this duty; but when Confucius was asked about it he replied, "What, then, will you return for good? Recompense _injury with justice_, and return good for good." Certain it is that this relation, as understood in Japan, does not apply to foreigners. How the Japanese treated foreigners in former times is well known. Foreign sailors shipwrecked on her coasts were tortured and executed. Ships from abroad, bringing shipwrecked Japanese back to their own country, were met with powder and ball and repulsed. Commodore Perry, in attempting to establish a treaty with Japan, justly complained to the native authorities that the dictates of humanity had not been followed, that shipwrecked men were treated with useless cruelty, and that Japan's attitude toward her neighbors and all the world was that of an enemy and not of a friend. The fifth relation did not teach a common brotherhood of men and obligations of kindness to foreigners. It applied only to the charmed circle of friendship. On these five relations rests the whole Japanese social and moral structure. Family and national life has been shaped and molded by them. They are the ten commandments of the East. How very different from the principles which have determined our own family and social life! Confucianism in Japan has been developed into {137} a highly complicated religious system, and in this form is believed by large numbers of high-class, educated Japanese. It is wholly pantheistic in its teaching, having points of resemblance with German pantheism. It knows no such thing as God as a separate existence. Rather, all is God. Dr. Martin, of China, has well styled it "a pantheistic medley." Although Confucianism has long had a strong hold upon Japanese minds, its influence is waning. The ancient classics are little studied, and the younger generation knows almost nothing of them. The great temple of Confucius in Tokyo, the Seido, has been changed into an educational museum. _Tenrikyo_ Perhaps some will think that Tenrikyo does not deserve mention along with the before-named great religions. Certainly it is not worthy of the respect accorded to them, and has not exerted such an influence as they have. It is of very recent origin and is as yet confined to the lower strata of society. But its disciples constitute one of the most vigorous and active religious bodies in Japan to-day. Its growth has been remarkably rapid, especially during the past five years. Government recognition has been already gained, and it is gradually making a place for itself among {138} the religions of Japan. Some authorities place the number of its adherents as high as 5,000,000, but these figures are probably too high. Tenrikyo is a missionary religion, having very earnest representatives in almost every district in Japan. These men rely almost exclusively upon preaching for the propagation of their doctrines, and their efforts are generally successful. Space permits us to say only a few words in regard to the origin of this religion. Its founder was a peasant woman named Nakayama Miiki, popularly called Omiiki, who was born of a very poor family in the province of Yamato in 1798, There was nothing remarkable about her life until her fortieth year, when she fell into a trance. While in this state one of the old Shinto deities, Kuni-Toko-Tachi No Mikoto, appeared to her, and, after causing her much distress, left her for a short time undisturbed. After this brief interval of quiet she again fell into a trance, and was visited by a large number of gods, some of them the greatest of the Shinto pantheon. These gods revealed to her the substance of her teaching, representing it as the only true doctrine and the one which would ultimately triumph over all others. They also informed her that she was the divinely appointed instrument through whom this revelation was to be given to the world. From {139} this time forward Omiiki devoted herself to the propagation of this revelation. Not wishing to break entirely with the old religions, she represented her revelation as having been received from the Shinto gods, and gave a place in her teaching to some prominent Buddhist elements. By this means she won popular favor and gained an earnest hearing. The term "Tenrikyo" signifies the "Doctrine of the Heavenly Reason." While many of its teachings differ but little from current Shinto and Buddhistic ideas, its more prominent tenets are radically different. In the first place, Tenrikyo tends much toward monotheism. Omiiki herself accepted polytheism, but taught that man's real allegiance is due to the sun and the moon. These she regarded as the real gods; but as they always work together, and as the world and all things therein are the product of their joint working, they are practically one. Since her death the teaching has become more and more monotheistic in tendency, and some of its preachers teach explicit monotheism. Omiiki taught a new relation between the gods and men--a relation of parents to children. The gods watch over and love their children just as earthly parents do. The emperor is the elder brother of the people, who rules as the representative of the divine parents. {140} Faith-healing formed a prominent part in the original teaching of Tenrikyo. It asserted that neither physicians nor medicine was needed, but that cures are to be effected through faith alone. Marvelous stories are told of the wonderful cures it has accomplished, many of which seem well authenticated. But while there seems no good reason for doubting the genuineness of some of these cures, the power of mind over mind, and the influence of personal magnetism in certain kinds of nervous disorders, are so well known that they can be easily explained without any reference to the supernatural. The faith-cure feature of this religion is now falling into disuse. Tenrikyo makes very little of the future state, although Omiiki assumed its reality. In one passage she refers to the soul as an emanation from the gods, and says that after death it will go back to them. She teaches that the cause of suffering, disease, and sin is found in the impurity of the human heart, and that the heart must be cleansed before believers can receive the divine favor. She insists over and over again that no prayers nor religious services are of any avail so long as the heart is impure. The aim of Omiiki and her followers seems to be a worthy one. The movement is highly ethical, and there is little doubt but that the adherents of the Tenrikyo are superior in morals to {141} the rest of their class. Some features of this new religion are, however, looked upon with suspicion, and it is being closely watched by the government. Charges of gross immorality have been preferred against it, especially in reference to the midnight dances, in which both sexes are said to participate indiscriminately; but these charges are made by its enemies and have never been proved. In many respects Tenrikyo materially differs from the other religions of Japan. Its adherents assemble at stated times for worship and instruction, while the Buddhists assemble in the temples for worship and preaching only three or four times a year, and the Shintoists seldom, if ever, assemble. The worship of Tenrikyo, for the most part, consists of praise and thanksgiving by music and dancing; but prayer is also practised. Another distinguishing characteristic of Tenrikyo is that it is exclusive. The other religions of Japan are very tolerant of one another; one may believe them all. But Tenrikyo will not tolerate either Buddhism or Shinto. Its adherents must give their allegiance to it alone. It is interesting to conjecture as to the influence Christianity has had upon Tenrikyo. It does not seem probable that Omiiki was at all influenced by it, unless the traditions of the Catholic Christianity of some two or three hundred years previous reached her in some way. But the expansion {142} and development of the system by its later teachers have been very much affected by Christianity. Some of its present preachers, in constructing their sermons, borrow largely from Christian sources. In the minds of the common people Tenrikyo is generally associated with Christianity. There are several other small religious sects in Japan, such as the Remmon Kyokwai, Kurozumi Kyokwai, etc., but they are not of sufficient importance to command notice here. Any statement of the religions of contemporary Japan would be incomplete without notice of Christianity, but that will be reserved for another portion of this book. The three great religions, Shinto, Buddhism, and Confucianism, are completely woven into the warp and woof of Japanese society. As Christianity has shaped the political, social, and family life of the West, so these ancient faiths have that of the East. The laws, the morality, the manners and customs of these peoples all have been determined by their religions. And to-day the masses of the people look to them for principles to guide their present life, and for their future spiritual welfare, with just as much confidence and trust as my readers look to Christianity. The missionary, in his work, must encounter and {143} vanquish all of these religions, which is no light task. They all have elements of superstition, and their origin and supernatural teachings will not bear the search-light of the growing spirit of criticism and investigation. Each one of them is even now modifying gradually its doctrines in some features, so as to bring them into harmony with true learning and science; and as the nation progresses intellectually the hold of these ancient faiths upon the common mind will become more and more precarious. We expect to see them gradually retreating, though stubbornly resisting every inch of ground, until they shall finally leave the field to their younger and more vigorous antagonists, Christianity and civilization. {144} VIII FIRST INTRODUCTION OF CHRISTIANITY One of the most interesting chapters of Japanese history is that relating to the introduction and growth of Catholic Christianity in the sixteenth century. This story has been eloquently told in nearly all European languages, and is familiar to the reading public. The terrible persecutions then enacted are vividly represented in paintings and other works of art on exhibition in art galleries of Europe and America. This chapter is not written with the hope of saying anything new upon the subject, but because a story of mission work in Japan would be incomplete without it; and it may be that some for the first time will here read this story. In order rightly to appreciate the introduction and spread of Christianity in Japan, it is necessary that we take a bird's-eye view of the internal condition of the country about the middle of the {145} sixteenth century. The Japanese were not then, as now, a homogeneous people with a strong central government. The emperor, although the nominal ruler, was in reality the creature of the shogun, who was the real ruler. His title to the shogunate was frequently disputed, however, and rival claimants waged fierce war upon him. The whole of Japan was divided into warring factions that were hardly ever at peace with one another. The feudal lords of the various provinces were only bound to the central government by the weakest ties, and were continually in a state of rebellion. Many of these daimios were great and powerful, able to wage war with the shogun himself. Jealousy and rivalry between the provinces kept up constant quarrels and divisions. Bad government, internal wars, the disputes and quarrels of different clans, and the ambitions and jealousies of their rulers had destroyed the resources of the country and had devastated her rich and beautiful cities. Even the fine old capital of Kyoto is represented as at that time in a state of dilapidation and ruin, its streets filled with unburied corpses and all kinds of debris and filth. Kamakura, the seat of the shogun's government, once boasting 1,000,000 inhabitants, was in ashes. In those dark times there was little in the prevalent religions to cheer and uplift discouraged {146} men. Shinto was so completely overshadowed by Buddhism that it was little more than a myth. Buddhism had become a political system, and paid little attention to purely religious matters. The priests had degenerated into an army of mercenaries, living in luxury and dissoluteness. The common people were in a continual state of excitement and ferment. Into this disordered, chaotic society Catholic Christianity was first introduced. The conditions were favorable to its reception. St. Francis Xavier, one of the most devoted, earnest, and successful missionaries ever sent out by the Roman Church, has the honor of having been the first missionary to Japan. He was led to go there in the following manner: A refugee from Japan, named Anjiro, had wandered to Malacca, and there he met Xavier, who was at that time engaged in preaching the gospel in India and the Sunda Islands. Through Xavier's influence Anjiro was converted to Christianity. The stories which he told of his own people fired the great evangelist with the desire to preach the gospel to the Japanese. A few years prior to this some Portuguese traders had made their way to Japan, had been warmly received, and had begun a lucrative trade. Some of the daimios expressed to them a desire to have the Christian religion taught to their people; and Xavier no {147} sooner heard of this than he set out for Japan, accompanied by the native convert Anjiro. They landed at Kagoshima, a large city on the coast of the southern island of Kyushu, August 15, 1549. The prince of Satsuma gave Xavier a hearty welcome, but afterward became jealous because one of the rival clans had been furnished with firearms by the Portuguese merchants, so that Xavier was compelled to remove to Hirado. From there he went to Nagato, thence to Bungo, where he again met a warm reception. Although so great a missionary, and having labored in so many countries, Xavier is said never to have mastered completely a single foreign tongue. He studied the rudiments of Japanese, but, finding that way much too slow, began preaching through an interpreter, with marked success and power. Anjiro had translated the Gospel of Matthew, writing it in Roman letters, and Xavier is said to have read this to the people with wonderful effect. He stayed only two and a half years in Japan; yet in that short time he organized several congregations in the neighborhood of Yamaguchi and Hirado, and visited and preached in the old capital Kyoto. He then left the work in the hands of other missionaries, while he undertook the spiritual conquest of China. This ancient empire, with her hard, conservative civilization, impervious to foreign influence, lay like a burden {148} on his heart. Contemplating her learning, her pride, and her exclusiveness, he uttered the despairing cry, "O mountain, mountain, when wilt thou open to my Lord?" He died December 2, 1551, on an island in the Canton River. The inspiring example of Xavier attracted scores of missionaries to Japan, and also incited the native converts to constitute themselves missionaries to their kinsmen and friends; and their labors bore much fruit. In a very short time, in the region of Kyoto alone, there were seven strong churches; and the island of Amakusa, the greater part of the Goto Islands, and the daimiates of Omura and Yamaguchi had become Christian. In 1581 the churches had grown to two hundred, and the number of Christians to 150,000. The converts were drawn from all classes of the people; Buddhist priests, scholars, and noblemen embraced the new faith with as much readiness as did the lower classes. Two daimios had accepted it, and were doing all in their power to aid the missionaries in their provinces. At this period the missionaries and Christians found a powerful supporter in Nobunaga, the minister of the mikado. This man openly welcomed the foreign priests, and gave them suitable grounds on which to build their churches, schools, and dwellings; and under his patronage the new {149} religion grew apace. Catholic Christianity took its deepest root in the southern provinces, flourishing especially in Bungo, Omura, and Arima; but there were churches as far north as Yedo, and evangelists had carried the tidings of Christ and the "Mother of God" even to the northern boundaries of the empire. This was the high tide of Japanese Catholicism. The native Christians were so earnest and loyal to the church that, in 1583, they sent an embassy of four young noblemen to Rome to pay their respects to the pope and to declare themselves his spiritual vassals. They were suspected by some of their countrymen of desiring to become his vassals in another sense as well. This embassy was received with the greatest honors by the pope, as well as by the European princes, and was sent away heavily laden with presents. After an absence of eight years it returned to Nagasaki, accompanied by seventeen more Jesuit fathers. Up to this time all of the priests laboring in Japan were members of this order. From time to time other embassies were despatched from Japan to Rome, one of which was sent many years after the persecutions had begun. Catholic histories put the number of native Christians at this time at about 600,000, but native authorities put it much higher. {150} _Persecutions_ Such was the happy state of Christianity in this empire as the sixteenth century was drawing to a close. But, thick and fast, clouds were gathering over the horizon, and suddenly and furiously the storm broke. The loss of their protector, Nobunaga, was the beginning of the misfortunes of the Christians. This great man was slain by an assassin, Akechi by name, who attempted to take the reins of government into his own hands. Hideyoshi, one of the greatest men Japan ever produced, now came upon the stage. He was the loyal general of the mikado, and, by the help of the Christian general Takayama, he overthrew the usurper Akechi, and became the molder of the destinies of the empire. He was the unifier of Japan. Hideyoshi was at first tolerant of Christianity; but his suspicions were by and by aroused, and he became a cruel and relentless persecutor. According to Dr. Griffis, his umbrage arose partly because a Portuguese captain would not please him by risking his ship in coming out of deep water and nearer land, and partly because some Christian maidens of Arima scorned his degrading proposals. The quarrels of the Christians themselves also helped to bring on the persecutions. {151} Franciscan and Dominican missionaries from Spain had recently landed in Japan, and they were continually at strife with the Portuguese Jesuits. The jealousy and indiscretion of these unfriendly religious orders, and the slanders circulated by the Buddhists, stirred up the popular fury, and a persecution of fire and blood broke out. Hideyoshi issued an edict commanding the Jesuits to leave the country in twenty days; but this edict was winked at, and the persecutions were carried on only locally and spasmodically. The converts increased faster during these persecutions than before, about 10,000 being added each year. In open violation of the edict, four Franciscan priests came to Kyoto in 1593 with a Spanish envoy. They were allowed to build houses and reside there on the express condition that they were not to preach or teach, either publicly or privately. Immediately violating their pledge, they began preaching openly in the streets, wearing the vestments of their order. They excited a great deal of discord among the Jesuit congregations and used most violent language. Hideyoshi was angered at this,--as he had good reason to be,--and caused nine preachers to be seized while they were building chapels in Osaka and Kyoto, and condemned to death. These, together with three Portuguese Jesuits, six Spanish {152} Franciscans, and seventeen native Christians, were crucified on bamboo crosses in Nagasaki, February 5, 1597. They were put to death, not as Christians, but as law-breakers and political conspirators. Hideyoshi was further confirmed in his opinion that these foreign priests had political designs by the remark of a Spanish sea-captain who showed him a map of the world, on which the vast dominions of the King of Spain were clearly marked, and who, in reply to the question as to how his master came by such wide territories, foolishly replied that he first sent priests to win over the people, then soldiers to coöperate with the native converts, and the conquest was easy. Hideyoshi's fears were not entirely ungrounded. The truth is that Catholic Christianity has always been, and was especially at that time, so intimately connected with the state that her emissaries could not keep from entangling themselves in politics. Hideyoshi died in 1597, and with the death of their persecutor the missionaries again took heart and began their work anew. The political successor of Hideyoshi was Iyeyasu--a man even greater, perhaps, than his predecessor. He was not permitted to assume direction of affairs without a fierce and bloody struggle. Around the capital 200,000 soldiers were gathered under ambitious rival leaders. Soon the camps were {153} divided into two factions, the northern soldiers under Iyeyasu, and the southern soldiers under their own daimios. Most of the Christians were naturally allied with the latter party. Believing Iyeyasu to be a usurper, the Christian generals arrayed themselves against him and went forth to meet him in the open field. On the field of Sekigahara a bloody battle was fought, and 10,000 men lost their lives. The Christians were beaten, and were dealt with after the custom of the time--their heads were stricken off. Iyeyasu, finding himself in undisputed possession of the reins of government, began at once the completion of the work of Hideyoshi, i.e., the creation of a strong central government and the subjugation of the several daimios. Henceforth the Christians had to deal with this central government instead of the petty local ones. Systematic persecutions were now begun in the different provinces, culminating in the year 1606, when Iyeyasu issued his famous edict prohibiting Christianity. At this time there were more than 1,000,000 Christians in Japan. An outward show of obedience warded off active persecution for a few years, when the Franciscan friars again aroused the wrath of the government by openly violating the laws and exhorting their converts to do likewise. In 1611 Iyeyasu is reported to have discovered documentary evidence of the {154} existence of a plot on the part of the native Christians and the foreign emissaries to overthrow the government and reduce Japan to the position of a subject state. Taking advantage of the opportunity thus afforded, he determined to utterly extirpate Christianity from his dominions. January 27, 1614, he issued the famous edict in which he branded the Jesuit missionaries as triple enemies--as enemies of the gods, of Japan, and of the buddhas. Desiring to avoid so much bloodshed, if possible, he tried the plan of transportation. Three hundred persons--Franciscans, Jesuits, Dominicans, Augustinians, and natives--were shipped from Nagasaki to Macao. But many priests concealed themselves and were overlooked. The native Christians refused to renounce their faith. It was evident that the end was not yet. The Christians were sympathizers with Hideyori, who had been a rival claimant with Iyeyasu for the shogunate, and whose castle in Osaka was the greatest stronghold in the empire. In this castle Hideyori gave shelter to some Christians, and Iyeyasu called out a great army and laid siege to it. The war which followed was very brief, but, if the report of the Jesuits is to be relied upon, 100,000 men perished. The castle finally fell, and with it the cause of the Christians. Hidetada, the next shogun, now pronounced sentence of death upon {155} every foreigner, whether priest or catechist, found in the country. All native converts who refused to renounce their faith were likewise sentenced to death. The story of the persecutions that followed is too horrible to be described. Fire and sword were freely used to extirpate Christianity. Converts were wrapped in straw sacks, piled in heaps of living fuel, and then set on fire. Many were burned with fires made from the crosses before which they were accustomed to bow. Some were buried alive. All the tortures that barbaric cruelty could invent were freely used to rid the land of them. The calmness and fortitude with which they bore their lot, gladly dying for their faith, command our warmest admiration. The power of our religion to uphold and sustain even in the midst of torture was never more strikingly illustrated, and the ancient Roman world produced no more willing martyrs than did Japan at this time. At last even the patient, uncomplaining Japanese Christians could stand it no longer. Persecuted until desperate, those who remained finally arose in rebellion, seized and fortified the old castle of Shimabara, and resolved to die rather than submit. The rebelling party probably numbered about 30,000, and there was not one foreigner among them. A veteran army, led by skilled commanders, was sent against the rebels, {156} and after a stubborn resistance of four months the castle was taken. Men, women, and children--all were slaughtered. There is an old story to the effect that many of them were thrown from the rock of Pappenburg into the sea; but it lacks confirmation and doubtless is only a myth. It has also been charged against the Protestant Hollanders then resident in Nagasaki that they assisted in the overthrow of the Shimabara castle and the destruction of the Catholics with their heavy guns, but this probably is untrue. There was now left no power to resist, and the sword, fire, and banishment swept away every trace of Christianity. The extermination appeared so complete that non-Christian writers have pointed to Japan as a land in which Christianity had been entirely conquered by the sword, thus proving that it could be extirpated. But the extirpation was not so thorough as at first appeared. Christian converts remained, and assembled regularly for worship; but the utmost secrecy was observed, for fear of the authorities. When the country was reopened in 1859, the Catholic fathers found remaining in and around Nagasaki whole villages of Christians, holding their faith in secret, it is true, but still holding it. During the two hundred years in which they had been left alone the faith had become corrupt, but there were still thousands of people who, amid {157} much ignorance, worshiped the true God and refused to bow at pagan shrines. Christianity was not entirely crushed, neither can be, by the secular arm. After the government had, as it fondly supposed, entirely suppressed the hated foreign religion, in order to prevent its return it determined upon the most rigid system of exclusiveness ever practised by any nation. The means of communication with the outer world were all cut off; all ships above a certain size were destroyed, and the building of others large enough to visit foreign lands rigidly prohibited; Japanese were forbidden to travel abroad on pain of death; native shipwrecked sailors who had been driven to other lands were not permitted to return to their own country, lest they should carry the dreaded religion back with them; and all foreigners found on Japanese territory were executed. Over all the empire the most rigid prohibitions of Christianity were posted. The high-sounding text of one of them was as follows: "So long as the sun shall continue to warm the earth, let no Christian be so bold as to come to Japan; and let all know that the King of Spain himself, or the Christians' god, or the great God of all, if He dare violate this command, shall pay for it with His head." These prohibitions could still be seen along the highways as late as 1872. {158} During this period of exclusion the only means of communication with the outside world was through the Dutch, a small colony of whom were permitted to reside in Nagasaki as a sort of safety-valve and a means of communication with the outside world when such communication became absolutely necessary. They enjoyed the confidence of Japan more than any other nation. These Hollanders were compelled to live on the narrow little island of Desima, in Nagasaki harbor, always under strict surveillance. Ships from Holland were permitted to visit them occasionally, and they carried on a very lucrative trade between the two countries. The mistake of Catholic Christianity in Japan during the century the history of which we have been reciting was its meddling in politics and getting itself entangled in the internal affairs of the country. If it had avoided politics and been at peace and harmony with itself, it might have enjoyed continued prosperity, and Japan to-day might have been one of the brightest stars in the pope's crown. While this was, as we firmly believe, a very corrupt form of Christianity, we must remember that it was immeasurably better than any religion Japan had yet known. Although it taught Mariolatry, salvation in part by works, penance, and many other errors, it also taught that there {159} is but one God, and that His Son died for men. It very much improved the morals of its adherents, and purified and exalted their lives. At the present day very little remains of this century of Christianity besides the few scattered and corrupt congregations found by the Jesuits on their return, the introduction of firearms and a few rude tools, and the infusion of a handful of foreign words into the language. The most important effect of this period is an inborn and inveterate prejudice against and mistrust of Christianity on the part of the people, which to-day hinders much our work of evangelization. {160} IX MODERN ROMAN AND GREEK MISSIONS _Roman Church_ The Roman Church was not discouraged by the fierce persecutions she was called upon to endure during the seventeenth century. Nothing daunted, she continued to send missionaries at intervals during the eighteenth century; but they were thrown into prison or executed as soon as they landed. In order to be in readiness for the opening of the country, which could not be much longer delayed, the pope, in 1846, nominated a bishop and several missionaries to Japan. These men took up their station in the neighboring Liukiu Islands and patiently awaited their opportunity. As soon as the treaties with foreign nations were made, and the country was opened, they at once entered Japan, and resumed the work so rudely interrupted two hundred years before. {161} A few years later these priests had the joy of discovering in the neighborhood of Nagasaki several Christian communities that had survived the bloody persecutions and had perpetuated their faith for more than two centuries, in spite of the vigilance of the authorities and the rigid prohibitions of Christianity. Left for so long without direction and guidance, bound for the sake of their lives to strictest secrecy, and, above all, not having the Bible to enlighten them, the faith of these communities had become very corrupt. But they still retained a certain knowledge of God, of Jesus Christ, and of the Virgin Mary. The rite of baptism and some prayers also survived. Of the existence of these Christian communities, and the perpetuation of their faith in secrecy for more than two hundred years, there is not the slightest room for doubt. The persecuting spirit, which had also survived, found large numbers of them in 1867, and more than 4000 who refused to renounce their faith were banished. After six years of exile they were permitted to return to their homes. The mistake of the Romanists here, as elsewhere, was in not translating the Bible into the vernacular. Xavier and his successors did not give the Word of God to the churches, and hence when the priests all were banished the people were left without any light to guide them. Had {162} they possessed a Japanese Bible, the reopening of the country would have shown us, instead of a few corrupt Christian communities, a vigorous, aggressive native church, only made stronger by persecution. Such was the case in Madagascar, and such probably it would have been in Japan had the people been given the Word of God. The relative importance of the Bible to the Romanist and the Protestant is well shown in this matter of Bible translation. One of the first efforts of the Protestant Churches in Japan was a translation of the Bible, and an excellent version was prepared and published more than ten years ago. The Roman Church, with more than a century of unprecedented prosperity in former times, and with the same advantages enjoyed by the Protestants in recent years, has not yet published its Bible in Japanese. Some priests and native scholars are now engaged on a translation of the Vulgate, which will doubtless be published soon. Ever since the opening of the country the Church of Rome has been very earnest and zealous in her efforts to evangelize this land. She has used a great many men, who have labored hard and faithfully, and has expended large sums of money. Her success has not been great, because she has had to contend against fearful odds. The hindrances that have made the progress of {163} Protestant missions in this land very slow have had to be overcome also by Catholicism, besides some other strong militating influences. I will mention two of the most important of these hindrances peculiar to Catholicism. 1. The genius of the Catholic Church is not adapted to Japan. The priority of the spiritual over the temporal ruler, the exaltation of church over state, the allegiance required to a foreign pope, the unqualified obedience to foreign ecclesiastical authority, and numerous other things, come into conflict with the strong national feeling now animating the Japanese, and seem to them to conflict with the great duty of loyalty. The celibacy of the clergy and the rite of extreme unction are also very unpopular. Both Catholicism and Protestantism are regarded as evils, but the former is, on account of its nature and organization, considered the greater. 2. The past history of Catholicism in Japan also militates very much against its progress. The people recognize it as the specific form of Christianity that the government, in former times, felt bound, for the sake of its own safety, to persecute to the death. They cannot forget that, although under great provocation, it dared bare its arm against the imperial Japanese government and inaugurate a bitter rebellion. In their work to-day the priests encounter all of these {164} objections, and must satisfactorily explain them away--a difficult task. But, notwithstanding, the Roman Church has enjoyed an equal degree of prosperity with the Protestant Churches since the opening of Japan in 1858. The statistics for the year 1895 show 50,302 adherents--about 10,000 more than the Protestants. But the manner of compiling statistics differs so much that these figures do not fairly represent the numerical strength of the two bodies. The Catholics not only count all baptized children, but all nominal adherents; while Protestants count no nominal adherents, and many of the denominations do not even count baptized children. If the same method of compiling statistics were used by both bodies, their numerical strength would probably appear to be about equal. These 50,302 adherents are comprised in two hundred and fifty congregations. There are one hundred and sixty-nine churches and chapels; one theological seminary, with 46 pupils; two colleges, with 181 pupils; three boarding-schools for girls, with 171 pupils; twenty-six industrial schools, with 764 pupils; and forty-one primary schools, with 2924 pupils. The Catholic Church throughout the East is noted for its splendid charities. It is doing more to care for the helpless, aged, and infirm than all the Protestant bodies combined. It supports in {165} Japan one hospital for lepers that is exceedingly popular with that unfortunate class. The government has one good leper hospital, but it is said that the lepers much prefer going to the Catholic hospital, because there they are treated so much more kindly and considerately. There are 70 lepers in this Catholic hospital. The Catholic Church has also one hospital for the aged, with 31 inmates; and nineteen orphanages, with 2080 children in them. This large number of charitable institutions supported by the Roman Church makes a strong appeal to the Japanese public and does much toward overcoming the prejudice against her. The active working force of the Catholic mission, besides the lay members of the native church, consists of 1 archbishop, 3 bishops, 88 European missionaries, 20 native priests, 304 native catechists, 25 European friars, 85 European sisters, and 42 novices. The archbishop and bishops reside respectively in Nagasaki, Osaka, Tokyo, and Hakodate. _Greek Church_ The Greek Church has had a flourishing mission in Japan ever since 1871. It is always spoken of here as the "Greek Church" or the "Greek Catholic Church," although it would more properly be called the "Russian Church," {166} as it was founded and is supported by the national church of Russia. This mission is largely the result of the prodigious labors of one man--Bishop Nicolai Kasatkin. He first came to Japan in 1861 as chaplain to the Russian consulate at Hakodate, but it was his desire and intention from the beginning to do mission work. For some years he was so absorbed in the study of the language that he made no attempt whatever to preach or teach. After he had been in Hakodate several years a Buddhist priest who came to revile him was converted through his influence. This man was the first convert to the Greek Church in Japan, and was baptized in 1866. Three years afterward the second convert, a physician, was baptized. The zeal of these converts, and Nicolai's own conscience, now incited him to throw his whole life and influence into the cause of a mission in Japan. He was led deeply to regret that he had not done more to make Christ known to the Japanese, instead of giving all his time and attention to scholarship and letters. In 1869 he returned to Russia and began to agitate the founding of a mission in Japan. The Holy Synod gave the desired permission the next year, and appointed Nicolai its first missionary. In 1871 Nicolai returned to Japan and made his headquarters in the capital city, Tokyo. From this {167} time his active missionary work began, and in it he has shown himself a master. Whether in the work of preaching, translating, financiering, building, or what not, he has been director and chief laborer. In 1872 a new priest, Anatoli by name, came out from Russia and ably assisted Nicolai for eighteen years, at the end of which time declining health forced him to return. Nicolai again returned to Russia in 1879, and was consecrated bishop of the Greek Church in Japan. At this time he began a work which had long been on his heart, viz., the collection of funds for the erection of a fine cathedral in Tokyo. This cathedral was begun in 1884 and completed in 1891. It is a magnificent building, by far the finest ecclesiastical structure in Japan. It stands on an eminence from which it seems to dominate the whole city. The cost of this cathedral was $177,575, silver. Here one may hear the finest choral music in the empire. Those who believe it to be impossible to train well Japanese voices have but to attend a service at this cathedral to have their ideas changed. A choir of several hundred voices has been trained to sing in perfect harmony, and the music is inspiring. Travelers who have heard the music of the most famous cathedrals and churches of Europe and America say that this will compare favorably with the best. The {168} development of music in the Greek Church of Japan has been marvelous. The work of this church, while scattered over the whole empire, is chiefly carried on in the cities and larger towns. Like the Roman Church, it refuses fellowship with the various Protestant bodies. Some men of note belong to it, and it is to-day recognized as one of the influential religious bodies. A notable feature of its work is that it has employed comparatively few foreign missionaries. The burden of the work has been done by Bishop Nicolai and an able body of trained native assistants. At present there are only two foreigners in connection with it, and there have never been at any time more than three or four. While foreign priests have been little used, several of its native priests have been educated abroad. This church has 21 native priests and 158 unordained catechists. It is now conducting work in two hundred and nineteen stations and outstations. It has one boarding-school for boys, with 47 pupils; one for girls, with 76 pupils; and one theological school, with 18 pupils. The membership at the close of the year 1895 was 22,576, and the amount contributed for all purposes during that year was $4754.95. {169} X A BRIEF HISTORY OF PROTESTANT MISSIONS IN JAPAN During Japan's period of seclusion, when no foreigner dared enter the country upon pain of death, many godly people were praying that God would open the doors, and some mission boards were watching and waiting for an opportunity to send the gospel to the Japanese. When, in the year 1854, treaties were made with Western powers, and it became known that Japan was to be reopened to foreign intercourse, great interest was at once manifested by the friends of missions in the evangelization of this land. This same year the Board of Foreign Missions of the Presbyterian Church in the United States of America requested one of its missionaries in China to visit Japan and examine into the condition of affairs there, with the purpose of establishing a mission. At this time permanent {170} residence of foreigners was not secured, and it was doubtless for this reason that no progress was made toward the establishment of a mission. The country was not actually opened to foreign residence until the year 1859, and by the close of that year three Protestant missionary societies, quick to take advantage of the opportunity offered, had their representatives in the field. The Protestant Episcopal Church of the United States has the honor of sending the first Protestant missionaries to Japan. It transferred two of its missionaries from China, the Rev. C. M. Williams and the Rev. J. Liggins. Previous to this time a few missionaries had made transient visits from China to Kanagawa and Nagasaki, and found opportunity to teach elementary English; but this work accomplished little. According to the treaty with England, the four treaty ports of Japan were opened July 1, 1859; according to that with America, July 4th. Mr. Liggins arrived in Nagasaki May 2d, two months before the actual opening of the port; he was joined by Mr. Williams one month later. On, October 18th of the same year the first missionaries of the Presbyterian Church in the United States of America, Dr. and Mrs. J. C. Hepburn, arrived at Kanagawa. A fortnight later the Rev. S. R. Brown and D. B. Simmons, M.D., of the Reformed Church in America, reached Nagasaki. {171} The Rev. Dr. G. F. Verbeck, also of the Reformed Church, reached Nagasaki one month later. Thus it will be seen that missionaries were sent here as soon as the country was opened to foreign residence, the Episcopalian, Presbyterian, and Reformed churches of America beginning the work almost simultaneously. The example set by these boards was soon followed by others. The American Baptists began the work in 1860, the American Board (Congregationalist) in 1869, and the American Methodists in 1873. From time to time other boards also sent representatives. Although the country was now open to foreign residence, it was by no means open to the propagation of the foreign religion. All that the missionaries could do was to study the language and teach English. In this early period many of them found employment in the schools of the various daimios and in those of the national government. The first years were very trying ones. The missionaries were in imminent danger of their lives; attacks without either provocation or warning were very common. Foreigners, and especially those who wanted to teach the foreign religion, were everywhere bitterly hated. The lordly samurai walked about with two sharp swords stuck into his belt, and his very look was {172} threatening. At their houses and when they walked abroad foreigners had special guards provided them by the government. Great difficulty was at first experienced by the missionaries in employing teachers, because of the suspicion in which foreigners were held. Those who finally agreed to teach were afterward found to be government spies. The government was still confessedly hostile to Christianity as late as 1869. Shortly before this time some Roman Catholic Christians who had been found around Nagasaki were torn from their homes and sent away into exile. The sale of Christian books was rigidly prohibited. The prohibitions against Christianity were still posted over all the empire, and were rigidly enforced. If a conversation on religious subjects was begun with a Japanese his hand would involuntarily grasp his throat, indicating the extreme perilousness of such a topic. The following story shows what native Christians had to endure in some parts of Japan as late as 1871. "Mr. O. H. Gulick, while at Kobé, had a teacher, formerly Dr. Greene's teacher, called Ichikawa Yeinosuke. In the spring of the year named this man and his wife were arrested at dead of night and thrown into prison. He had for some time been an earnest student of the Bible, and had expressed the desire to receive {173} baptism, but had not been baptized. His wife was not then regarded as a Christian. Every effort was made to secure his release; but neither the private requests of the missionaries, nor the kindly offices of the American consul, nor even those of the American minister, availed anything. Even his place of confinement was not known at the time. It was at length learned that he had been confined in Kyoto, and had died there November 25, 1872. His wife was shortly afterward released. She is now a member of the Shinsakurada church in Tokyo." At this early period no distinction was made between Catholic and Protestant Christianity, and both were alike hated. There was no opportunity to do direct Christian work, and many of the supporters of missions at home were beginning to doubt the expediency of keeping missionaries where they were not permitted to work. Some boards even contemplated recalling their men. But the missionaries were permitted to remain and await their opportunity, which soon came. With the gradual opening of the country, and especially with the dissemination of a knowledge of foreign nations and their faith, the opportunities for work more and more increased and the old prohibitions were less and less enforced. During the period of forced inactivity the missionaries were busily engaged in a study of the {174} language and in the writing of various useful books and tracts. At first Chinese Bibles and other Christian books were extensively used, the educated classes reading Chinese with facility. The first religious tract published in Japanese appeared in 1867. One of the most important of the literary productions of the missionary body, Dr. J. C. Hepburn's Japanese-English and English-Japanese Dictionary, appeared in this same year. It was a scholarly work, the result of many years of hard, persevering labor. The first edition was speedily exhausted, and a second was issued in 1872. The translation of the Holy Scriptures was also begun and gotten well under way in this period. Several separate portions of the Scriptures from time to time appeared. The first was the Gospel of Matthew, translated by the Rev. J. Goble, of the Baptist mission, and published in 1871. Dr. S. R. Brown had previously prepared first drafts of some portions of the New Testament, but unfortunately they were destroyed by fire. Translations of Mark and John, by Drs. Brown and Hepburn, were published in 1872. This irregular, piecemeal method of translation was not satisfactory; so in order to expedite the work, and to elicit an active interest in it on the part of all the missionaries in the country, a convention on Bible translation was called to meet {175} in Yokohama on September 20, 1872. As a result of this convention the Translation Committee was organized. At first it consisted of Drs. Brown, Hepburn, and Greene. Other names were afterward added. This committee was ably assisted in its work by prominent Japanese Christian scholars. The great undertaking was brought to a successful conclusion in 1880, when an edition of the whole Bible was published in excellent Japanese. We have anticipated matters somewhat. Let us now go back a few years and take up the thread where we left off. The work of the missionaries for a long time was fruitless, but the day of reaping was near. The first Protestant convert of Japan was baptized in Yokohama by the Rev. Mr. Ballagh, in 1864. Two years later Dr. Verbeck baptized two prominent men in southern Japan. In 1866 Bishop Williams, of the Episcopal Church, baptized one convert. Who can tell the joy of these missionaries when, after so many years of hard work, they were permitted to see these precious fruits? From time to time others were baptized, but for many years accessions were rare. The first church was organized in Yokohama in 1872. It was left to draft its own constitution and church government, and was a very liberal body. During all this time the prohibitions of {176} Christianity were still posted over all the land, and the government had never officially renounced its policy of persecution. But the infringement of the laws was permitted, and gradually they became a dead letter. Many Japanese of influence and of official position traveled abroad, and learning of the status of Christianity in the countries of the West, and particularly of the attitude of the chief nations of the world toward the persecution of Christians, exerted their influence to have these prohibitions rescinded. Especially did the strong stand taken by some Western governments influence Japan in favor of toleration. Our own Secretary of State in Washington plainly informed the Japanese committee then visiting there that the United States could not regard as a friendly power any nation that persecuted its Christian subjects. As a result of various influences, the edicts against Christianity were removed from the signboards in 1873. This was an event of the utmost importance to Christian work, for, although the infringement of the edicts had been for some time winked at, their very existence before the eyes of the people had a great deterring effect. The government announced that this action did not signify that the prohibition of Christianity was now abrogated. It declared that the edicts were removed because their subject-matter, {177} having been so long before the eyes of the people, "was sufficiently imprinted on their minds." And yet their removal conveyed the idea to the people at large that liberty of conscience was henceforth to be allowed, and this virtually proved to be so. Persecutions ceased and the work was allowed to go on untrammeled. The object for which the church abroad had waited and prayed, and for which the missionaries on the ground had longed and labored, was at last realized. Joy and hope filled the hearts of the workers. The cause of missions had received a new and powerful impulse, which ere long made itself felt in a wide enlargement of its operations. The work now went on much more rapidly. Soon a great pro-foreign sentiment sprang up. With the rapid adoption of Western civilization there grew up not only a toleration, but an actual desire for the Western religion. It became rather fashionable to confess Christ. Some statesmen even went so far as to advocate as a matter of policy the adoption of Christianity as the state religion. In this happy time Christian schools, which had sprung up like mushrooms over all the land, were filled with eager students; the churches and chapels were crowded with interested listeners; and large numbers were annually added to the church. {178} But the pendulum had swung too far. About 1888 a reaction set in, caused largely by the impatience of the Japanese at the refusal of Western nations to revise the treaties on a basis of equality. A strong nationalism asserted itself. Everything foreign was brought into disrepute. Christianity was frowned upon as a foreign religion, and the old native religions again came into favor. Attendance at Christian schools fell off almost fifty per cent.; the churches and chapels became empty; and few names were added to the church rolls. A sifting process began which very much reduced the membership. When Christianity was popular many had hastily and as a matter of policy joined the churches, who in this time of disfavor fell away. This reactionary feeling has lasted uninterruptedly down to the present, and in recent years the losses numerically have almost equaled the gains. This reaction has in some respects worked good to the churches. The former growth was too rapid. Many unconverted men came into the bosom of the church. Such have fallen away; the church has been pruned of her old dead branches, and is now a livelier, healthier body. In the judgment of some, this reactionary period is now on the decline. The recent growth and progress of Japan have been recognized by the West; treaty revision on a basis of equality has {179} been granted her, and the cause which brought about the reaction has thus been largely removed. For these reasons we may look for a gradual breaking down of the prejudice and opposition toward foreign institutions and religion, though such a pro-foreign wave as swept the country during the eighties will not probably be experienced again. In order to give a correct idea of the work now being done by the various missions in Japan, It will be well to give a short sketch of each one separately. We will consider them in the order of their size and influence. _American Board Mission_ This mission is conducted by the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions (organized on an undenominational basis, but now Congregational), and has met with great success. Begun in 1869, it is younger than either the Episcopalian, Reformed, Presbyterian, or Baptist missions, but has exerted a greater influence than any of them. It has for years enjoyed the distinction of having more adherents than any other Christian body at work here. But there has been a large falling off in its membership, and during the past year or so very few new names have been added to its rolls. At the {180} close of 1895 the Church of Christ in Japan (Presbyterian) was only about 62 members behind this body, and by the close of 1896 will in all probability be ahead. This mission was especially fortunate in reaching a wealthy, influential class of people, which has given it a position and prestige superior to the other missions. In the number of self-supporting native churches it has led all other denominations. The first missionaries of the American Board to Japan were Dr. and Mrs. Greene. They arrived in Yokohama November 30, 1869, and, with the usual intermissions for rest, have labored here continuously since that time. Three years later the Rev. O. H. Gulick and wife, and the Rev. J. D. Davis and wife, joined the mission. Since that time the number of missionaries has been rapidly increased until now it reaches 74. The membership of the native church is about 11,162. There are 60 ordained native ministers and 54 unordained. There are four boarding-schools for girls, with 863 students. The most advanced of these is the Girls' School of Kobé, with a curriculum as high as that of most female colleges in America. There is also one school for the training of Bible-women. The chief educational institution of this body is the Doshisha University, in Kyoto. This {181} school is largely the result of the labors of Dr. Neesima, easily the first Christian preacher and teacher Japan has yet produced. It is a large school, beautifully located and well housed. Last year only 320 students were in attendance, a great decline from former years. Unfortunately this institution does not now exert the positive influence for Christianity that it formerly did. Higher criticism and speculative philosophy have largely supplanted Christian teaching. The school is now entirely in the hands of the trustees (all natives), and the mission has no control over it whatever. Recently all of the missionaries of the American Board who were serving as professors in the Doshisha have, because of dissatisfaction with the policy of the school authorities, resigned. The trustees affirm that it is their intention to keep the school strictly Christian, but they refuse to define the term "Christian." Such vital matters as the divinity of Christ and the immortality of the soul are not positively affirmed. The rationalism which has emanated from this school has perhaps done as much in recent years to impede the progress of Christianity as any other one cause. It is very sad to see an institution, built up at great expense by bequests of earnest Christian people, intended by its founder to lead the evangelical Christianity of this country, thus turned aside from its original purpose. {182} We trust that a gradual growth of a deeper Christian consciousness and a more positive faith in the hearts of the trustees and professors may yet lead them to make of this school a positive force for evangelical Christianity. The mission of the American Board has experienced more trouble in recent years than any other, especially in the attempt properly to adjust the relations between the native and foreign workers, and in the matter of mission property. Most of the valuable property of the mission has passed into native hands, and in some instances has been perverted from its original purpose. The missionaries are regarded with jealousy by many in the native church; they are entirely excluded from the church councils, and are being gradually pushed out of the most important positions, and their places filled with Japanese. It is a question just how far the policy adopted by this mission from the beginning is to blame for this unfortunate state of affairs. This policy has been to push the native workers to the front, to give them the important positions, and to allow them perfect freedom in all church matters. As a consequence, that which was at first granted as a concession is now demanded as a right. As a teacher in one of their own schools has comically put it, the mission said in the beginning--in Japanese phraseology--to the native brethren, {183} "Please honorably condescend to take the first place," and they are just doing what they were bidden to do. Other boards, with a different policy, have fared better. The Episcopal Church of Japan, which is one of the most active, vigorous bodies at work here, is governed by foreign bishops, and nearly all the positions of importance are filled by foreign missionaries, and yet the relations between the native and foreign workers are, on the whole, cordial and harmonious. The Methodist Church is governed by foreign bishops, and nearly all the presiding elders are foreign missionaries, yet complete harmony prevails between the native and the foreign ministry. The Presbyterian Church, with a policy somewhat resembling the Congregational, is encountering the same difficulties in a milder form. These facts seem to indicate that, at least in part, the policy of the mission is itself responsible for the position in which it now finds itself. But in nearly every mission field, as soon as a strong native church is developed, misunderstandings and friction between the native and foreign workers have arisen. Questions regarding the position of the native church and its relation to the foreign boards and missionaries almost inevitably arise. Therefore what the American Board has encountered may be partially encountered by all as soon as a stronger native church is {184} developed. Perhaps the national characteristics of the people are to some extent responsible also for this trouble and friction. _The Church of Christ in Japan_ This body represents an attempt at church union on a large scale. It is composed of all the Presbyterian and Reformed churches working in Japan. These are the Presbyterian Church in the United States of America, the Reformed Church in America, the United Presbyterian Church of Scotland, the Reformed Church in the United States, the Presbyterian Church in the United States (South), the Woman's Union Missionary Society, and the Cumberland Presbyterian Church. All of these bodies are engaged in building up one and the same native church--the Church of Christ in Japan. Yet each has its own field and is doing its own individual work. The growth and success of this body have been phenomenal. It has 11,100 members, 60 ordained native ministers, 113 unordained catechists, and 146 missionaries. Its leading educational institution is the Meiji Gakuin, in Tokyo, with both an academic and a theological department. This is a large, well-equipped school, with a good faculty. In connection with this Church of Christ there {185} is a good academic and theological school in Nagasaki, known as Steele College, and supported by the Dutch Reformed and Southern Presbyterian missions. This school is as thoroughly evangelical and positive in its teachings as any to be found in Japan. There are besides these five boarding-schools for boys, with 376 students, and sixteen boarding-schools for girls, with 795 pupils. The representatives of the Church of Christ are found throughout the length and breadth of the land and are doing a good work. It is likely that this church will take the lead in the future. _Methodist Churches_ There are five branches of the Methodist Church at work, namely, the American Methodist Episcopal, the Canadian Methodist Episcopal, the Evangelical Association of North America, the Methodist Protestant, and the American Methodist Episcopal (South). There is no organic union between these bodies, but harmony and fraternity prevail. Efforts at union have been made time and again, but have been as yet unsuccessful. We hope the future Methodist Church of Japan will be a united body. At present each one of these different bodies supports its own schools; their efficiency is thus {186} impaired, and great loss of men, time, and money entailed. In the whole Methodist Church there are five boys' boarding-schools, with 329 scholars; sixteen girls' boarding-schools, with 970 scholars; and five theological schools, with 60 students. There are 143 missionaries, 115 native ministers, 116 catechists, and 7678 members. The Methodist missions have had a rapid, substantial growth and are exerting a strong influence. They surpass all other bodies in annual contributions per member, and I think it may be said that the native Methodist churches have shown less of self-seeking and more of self-sacrifice than the others. The emotional character of Methodism adapts it to the taste of the people. _Episcopalians_ The five branches of this church working in Japan are laboring unitedly for the establishment of one native church, called _Nippon Sei Kokwai_. These five bodies are the American Protestant Episcopal Church, the Church Missionary Society (English), the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel (English), the Wyclif College Mission (Canada), and the English Church in Canada. The united body has 149 missionaries, 30 native ministers, 124 unordained helpers, and 5555 communicant members. {187} This church conducts five boarding-schools for boys, with 169 scholars; eight boarding-schools for girls, with 263 scholars; and four theological schools, with 52 students. This body has done a great deal of hard, substantial work, and has enjoyed a fair degree of the popular favor. During these late reactionary years, when other missions have made little progress, its growth has continued uninterruptedly. The Nippon Sei Kokwai is presided over by five bishops, four of whom are English and one American. Two are located in Tokyo, one in Hokkaido, one in Osaka, and one in Nagasaki. _Baptists_ There are four Baptist societies doing mission work in Japan: the Baptist Missionary Union (United States), the Disciples of Christ, the Christian Church of America, and the Southern Baptist Convention. There is no organic union between them, but the first- and last-named bodies work together. The four bodies unitedly have 92 missionaries, 14 native ministers, 68 native catechists, and 2327 members. They have one boarding-school for boys, with 14 students; six boarding-schools for girls, with 205 students; and two theological schools, with 21 students. {188} The Baptist missionaries laboring in Japan are an able, hard-working, evangelical body of men, and there are some good, strong native Baptist ministers. _Lutherans_ The Lutheran Church began mission work in Japan only four years ago, and as yet her mission is small. It is supported by the United Synod of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in the South (United States). The Lutheran Church in the United States has occupied a peculiar position. A large per cent. of the emigrants from the Old World are of Lutheran antecedents. Hundreds of thousands of them have come over and settled in the West, and the energies of the American Lutheran Church have been largely expended in caring for these unhoused and unshepherded sheep of her own flock. It seems that Providence has allotted to her this special work. No other church in America is carrying on home mission work on so large a scale, among so many different nationalities, and in so many languages. Because of the great home mission work that has naturally fallen into her hands and demanded her men and money she has not engaged in foreign work as extensively as some other American bodies. And yet the American contingent of this old {189} mother church of Protestantism has a foreign-mission record of which she is not ashamed. She has supported for many years a mission on the west coast of Africa, at Muhlenberg, that is by universal consent the most successful mission in West Africa. She is also supporting two large and successful missions in India. The Lutheran mission in Japan was begun as a venture. The after development of the work has amply justified the wisdom of the undertaking. It is not the purpose of the Lutheran Church to antagonize any of the bodies now at work in Japan, but rather to stand, amid all the doctrinal unrest characteristic of Japanese Christianity, for pure doctrine, as she has always done. It is her purpose to teach a positive, evangelical Christianity. The working force of the mission consists of 2 missionaries and their wives, 2 native helpers, and 1 Bible-woman. The field occupied is small. There is only one station, and that is in the city of Saga, on the island of Kyushu. Much work is done in the surrounding villages and towns from Saga as a center. It is not the purpose of this mission to use large numbers of men and great quantities of money, as some others have done. It purposes working intensively rather than extensively. It attempts to devote all of its time to evangelistic work, and does not engage in {190} educational work further than theological instruction. Although the missionaries came to Japan in 1892, the station was not opened until 1893. Since that time about 55 converts have been baptized. There are numerous small Christian bodies at work, such as the Scandinavian Japan Alliance, the Society of Friends, the International Missionary Alliance, the Hephzibah Faith Missionary Association, and the Salvation Army. There are also three liberal bodies working here, generally classed as unevangelical: the Evangelical Protestant Missionary Society, the Universalist mission, and the Unitarian mission. The English and American Bible and tract societies have ably seconded these missionary bodies by the circulation of large numbers of Bibles, tracts, and various kinds of Christian books. The value of their work can hardly be estimated. The American Bible Society, the National Bible Society of Scotland, the British and Foreign Bible Society, the American Tract Society, and the London Religious Tract Society have all had a part in the work. Such is a brief enumeration of the Christian forces at work in Japan. With so large a body of consecrated workers and so much missionary {191} machinery, it seems that the work of evangelization ought to go on rapidly. A great deal has already been accomplished, as the figures given above show. A native church of 40,000 people is no mean prize; but this is only the smallest part of the work of the missions. They have created a Christian literature, disseminated a certain knowledge of the gospel among the people, and in a hundred different ways indirectly influenced the life of this nation. Japanese missions have been a brilliant success. {192} XI QUALIFICATIONS FOR MISSION WORK IN JAPAN For mission work, as for every other calling in life, some men are naturally adapted, others are not. Those by nature fitted for the work will in all probability have a reasonable degree of success, while no amount of zeal or spiritual fervor can make successful those not so fitted. It is true to a large extent that missionaries are born, not made. How important it becomes, then, that mission boards and societies should carefully consider the qualifications of all applicants before they are sent to the mission field! How necessary it is for all those contemplating work in certain fields, before offering their services to the boards, to examine whether their qualifications are such as to justify an expectation of a reasonable degree of success in those fields! For the benefit of the various missionary {193} societies that are annually choosing and sending out new men to Japan, as well as for the advantage of those who contemplate offering themselves for work in this field, I will put down a few thoughts on the necessary qualifications for successful mission work here. These may be roughly classified as physical, spiritual, and mental. PHYSICAL QUALIFICATIONS.--I regard physical qualifications as of supreme importance. Many of my readers will think that the spiritual should precede the physical, but with this opinion I do not agree. Health is absolutely essential to successful work; deep spirituality, while greatly to be desired, is not so essential. Many men have failed on the field and have been forced to withdraw because of a lack of physical qualifications, while few have failed for lack of spiritual qualifications. I think it is true that young men who when in college and seminary appear to be almost consumed with missionary zeal and enthusiasm, who are pointed out as examples in spirituality, and who are burning with a desire to get into the foreign field, do not make as good missionaries as some others. Men who pledge themselves in youth, and who, actuated by a wild enthusiasm, which has more zeal than knowledge, urge themselves upon the mission boards, do not do as good work as those chosen {194} by the boards themselves, who may never have considered seriously foreign work before the call was extended to them. Enthusiasm and zeal are good things in their place, but they are apt to lead men to extremes. People who enter mission work simply because they are filled with a burning enthusiasm and zeal are not likely to stay as long or work as well as those who enter upon the work with more hesitation, after careful deliberation and a counting of the cost. Wallace Taylor, M.D., of Osaka, Japan, himself an experienced missionary of the American Board, says: "I should advise that men be chosen for their physical and mental adaptation and ability rather than for their burning zeal for the foreign work. To maintain health and be a successful missionary a man must possess more judgment than enthusiasm and more discretion than zeal. Enthusiasm and zeal are good qualities in a missionary, but to these you must add that which is better--judgment, wisdom, and self-control. The burning fire shut up in the bones, that cannot be controlled, only consumes vital energies and speedily produces failing health. We need men who can stand and face the white harvest and the many calls to work, and yet with cool deliberation preserve their strength for future work. We want men sent for their cool deliberation and self-control rather than for their {195} burning zeal and enthusiasm. We need men who are intellect rather than a bundle of nerves. A nervous, excitable, uneasy person will fret and wear himself out in from six months to three years in Japan." It is desirable, then, in the first place, that the missionary be a sound physical man. No one should be accepted by a mission board for work in Japan who cannot secure a policy in a reliable life-insurance company, and it would be well if the medical examination were made by an examiner for such company. The examinations made by a physician appointed by the mission boards are usually mere farces, for the desire to go as a missionary frequently covers up many physical weaknesses and prevents a thorough examination. The examination should therefore be made by a disinterested medical man, who will not be influenced by such motives. It seems hard to subject candidates for mission work to such rigid examinations, and perhaps refuse to send them because of some small physical defect; but the interests of the work make it imperative. Otherwise the young missionary will, in all probability, break down and have to go home in three or four years, before he has been able to do any active work. The experiment will have cost the board a large amount of money and a loss of several years, and the {196} missionary some of the best years of his life, probably making of him an incurable invalid. In so serious a matter as this the boards cannot afford to be swayed by sentiment. Nothing but sound business principles should be followed. The same physical requirements should be made for the woman as for the man. She, too, should be subjected to a medical examination, and any serious defect in her constitution should cause her immediate rejection. It seems hard to subject the wife to this test, as she is not a missionary in the strict sense of the term, and to many the requirement will be distasteful; but for their protection, and for a judicious use of consecrated funds, the boards should require it. A little thought will show that the failure of the wife's health is just as disastrous for the mission as the failure of her husband's. It cripples his efficiency while on the field, and ultimately drives him home. Most boards operating in Japan have not made this requirement, and as a consequence many missionaries' wives are in poor health, and as many men have had to return home because of the failure of their wives' health as for any other one cause. The mission boards should not appoint too young men to work in Japan. It is well known that young men cannot endure so well as older ones change of climate and hard work. Those {197} who are physically and mentally immature will very probably be unable to bear the strain. In general, no one should be sent out under twenty-five years of age, and it would be safer if all who came had attained the age of thirty. Against this it is argued that a young person will acquire the language more readily than an older one, and this is doubtless true. But health is of first importance. SPIRITUAL QUALIFICATIONS.--Although I consider spiritual qualifications after physical ones, I nevertheless regard them as of great importance. It is highly desirable that every missionary be a deeply spiritual man, fully consecrated to the cause of Christ. The consecration needed in the missionary is little different from that needed in the home pastor. If he has given himself and all that he has to Christ, he will be ready to work for Him anywhere. Those who come to the mission field without such consecration, expecting the grandeur of the work to beget it, will be bitterly disappointed. In many instances contact with heathenism weakens more than it strengthens consecration. The societies should require that those who are to do spiritual work should be consecrated, spiritual men. The missionary should be sound in the faith, should clearly discern and readily accept the fundamental doctrines of Christianity, and should {198} be able to distinguish between essentials and non-essentials, tenaciously holding to the former, while allowing liberty in regard to the latter. He will encounter many strange things in his new environment; many of his pet theories will be exploded, and he will meet much that will try his faith. His belief in the essentials of Christianity should be so strong that even if his views undergo a change in non-essentials he shall not be shaken at the center. He must be able to defend his faith against its enemies, as well as to impart it to those to whom he is sent. To do this his own hold upon it must be firm and unyielding. The missionary should have a positive, not a negative, faith. His position should continually be one of offense, not of defense. His faith must be aggressive and dominant in its hold upon others, must be both persuasive and constructive. He must be sure of the faith in which he trusts, and must be positive in his presentation of it to the world. It is especially important that the missionary's doctrinal development be full and rounded. He should see all the doctrines of the Christian system in their proper relation to one another, and should give due importance to each. A one-sided, eccentric man, who has struck off from the main line of doctrinal development and is on a {199} side-track, having exalted some one phase of the Christian teaching or life to the exclusion of others, is not fitted for mission work. He can be used to better effect at home, because there he is continually under restraining influences, while here there are no restraints. For this reason what would be only a harmless eccentricity at home may result in great mischief abroad. Those who are to found the church in Japan, to shape its theology and its life, should be well-rounded men, who will not unduly exalt any one doctrine, but who, having a comprehensive view of the Christian system, will give due importance to every part. It is very important that prospective missionaries fully count the cost, and be prepared beforehand to endure patiently the trials and hardships that will be sure to meet them. No one should go out without having carefully considered all of these things, and gained the full consent of his heart to endure them. If the cost has not been counted, and the work willingly entered upon with a full knowledge of its hardships and difficulties, the encounter of these upon the field is apt to result in disappointment and dissatisfaction. Every missionary should be a lover of humanity, even in its lowest and most degraded forms. It is useless for us to attempt to persuade and influence non-Christian men if we do not love {200} them. The audiences we address may not be moved by our logic or rhetoric; our most eloquent sermons may have no effect on them; but practical illustrations of our love for them will always meet with a hearty response. Love is the key that opens all hearts. "Faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love." To love refined Christian men and women is easy, but to love humanity in its more degraded forms is hard. And yet the missionary must be prepared to love an alien race, that regards him with coolness and distrust. He must be ready to associate with lowly people, amid humble and immoral surroundings, and to be patient, kind, and loving to the most degraded. No one who has not lived on the mission field and associated freely with the people knows how hard this is. Such love will win more men to Christ than eloquent preaching or most careful instruction. The man who possesses a large amount of it, other things being equal, will meet with success. The missionary should, as far as possible, present in his own character all Christian graces. He will be looked upon as a product of the faith he represents, and will exercise more influence by his life than by his words. He must not be impatient, quarrelsome, or wilful, and, above all, he must not be proud. Constant association with an inferior race is apt to beget a haughty, {201} domineering manner, and the missionary needs to be especially on his guard against this. He may present no striking defects of character, else his faith will be held responsible for them. Peculiarities and faults that are known to be merely personal at home are regarded in the mission field as the result of a bad religion. It is very important that the missionary be an attractive man, possessed of personal magnetism. He should by nature draw men, not repel them. Although hard to define, we all know what this power is. Let a little child come into a room where two men are sitting. It will readily go to the one, but no amount of coaxing will induce it to go to the other. The one possesses an innate power to attract, while the other repels. Where the personal element plays so important a role it is essential that the missionary possess the power to draw men. MENTAL QUALIFICATIONS.--Hardly less important than physical and spiritual are the mental qualifications. A mediocre man cannot do good work in any mission field, least of all in a field like Japan. None but strong men should be sent out. In former years, when the science of missions was little understood, it was thought a waste to send a man of unusual intellectual endowments, because an ordinary man could do the work just as well; but the boards have wisely {202} abandoned that policy. Experience has clearly demonstrated the wisdom of sending the very best men that can be had. In the first place, the prospective missionary to Japan should have as complete and thorough a mental training as possible. A full academic and theological course is highly desirable. He should know how to reason logically and profoundly, and should be a skilled dialectician, able to meet the native scholars on their own ground. The subtle philosophies of the East, which he will daily encounter, can only be dealt with by a man thoroughly trained. The atheistic and agnostic philosophies of the West are spread over all Japan, and the missionary must be able to combat them. Another reason why the missionary should be as highly educated as possible is that large numbers of the Japanese people are highly educated, and a man of poor ability and training cannot command their respect. Education is to-day being diffused more and more throughout Japan, and the missionary must work among an educated people. It is necessary that he feel himself to be at least the intellectual equal of all with whom he comes in contact. In order, then, successfully to combat the subtle philosophies of the East, to show the fallacies of the prevalent skeptical philosophies of the {203} West, and to command the respect of the people among whom he labors, the missionary to this land should have a thorough intellectual training. Linguistic talent is another essential, and especially so in Japan. No one should be sent here who is deficient in this. This language is perhaps the most difficult of all spoken languages for an Occidental to acquire. It is so thoroughly unlike any of the European languages that the student must change his view-point and learn to look at things as the Japanese do before he can make much progress. To master it one must study both Japanese and Chinese. While a fair linguist can, by hard work, preach with comparative intelligibility after three years of study, a complete mastery of the language is the work of a lifetime. If any one contemplating mission work in Japan remembers that he was a poor student of languages at college and made little progress in them, let him feel assured that he can probably serve the Lord better at home. I state this matter strongly because just here is where so many missionaries fail. There are men who have been here ten or fifteen years and yet who experience great difficulty in constructing the smallest sentence in Japanese. Such men are not useless; in certain departments they serve well; {204} but they would probably be of more use at home. At least one third of all the missionaries in Japan, if called upon to make an extempore address in Japanese, would be found wanting. In view of these facts, how important it becomes that only those men be sent out who have a reasonable expectation of learning the language! Along with natural linguistic talent, the prospective missionary should have a large amount of perseverance. Nothing but persistent, slavish work through many years will enable one to speak Japanese well; and no one should come here who is not willing to stick to an unattractive task until it is accomplished. It is of primary importance that the missionary have a large endowment of common sense. Nothing else will make up for deficiency in this. It alone gives power to adapt one's self to a new environment and to live under changed conditions. The demands upon common sense here are much greater than at home, because the conditions under which we live are so different, and the practical questions that daily meet us are so numerous. Dr. Lawrence finely says: "At home so much common sense has been organized into custom that we are all largely supported by the general fund, and many men get along with a very slender stock of their own. But on the {205} mission field, where Christian custom is yet in the making, the drafts on common sense would soon overdraw a small account." A knowledge of music will be found of great assistance to the missionary, the more the better. He will often have to start his own hymns, play the organ, or direct the music. He may have to translate hymns and set them to music, or even compose tunes himself. Good church music is now so essential in worship that every missionary should have a knowledge of it. But this qualification, while highly desirable, is not indispensable. The missionary also needs to a great degree the power of self-control. He should be a cool, conservative man, able to govern himself under all circumstances. He must not be moved to excessive labor by the present needs of the work, but must exercise self-restraint, husbanding his strength for future tasks. One of the most difficult things to do is to refrain from overwork when the need of work is so apparent. But the missionary must consider the permanent interests of the work ahead of its temporary needs. To sum up the desired intellectual qualifications: a missionary to Japan should have a good mind, well disciplined by thorough training; an abundant supply of common sense; linguistic ability, and the power of self-control. {206} There is one other qualification, that can hardly be classed under any of the above heads, i.e., _the missionary should be a married man_. The vast majority of missionaries in the field to-day are unanimous in this judgment. The experience of the various mission boards and societies also confirms it, and they are sending out fewer single men each year. Married men make more efficient workers for many reasons. They enjoy better health and are better satisfied. They have a home to which they can go for rest and sympathy, and in which they can find agreeable companionship. They have the loving ministrations of a wife in times of sickness and despondency, and they also have the cheer and relaxation of children's society. All of these things tend to make the missionary healthier and happier, and enable him to do better work. Again, he should be married because a man of mature years who is single is regarded with more or less suspicion. To the Japanese celibacy is an unnatural state, and it is seldom found. Most unmarried men here are immoral, and therefore the unmarried missionary is naturally suspected of leading an immoral life, which cripples his influence. But the strongest argument in favor of married as against single missionaries is that the former {207} alone are able to build Christian homes. The homes of single men are very poor things at best, and certainly cannot be pointed to as models. But the married man establishes a Christian home in the midst of his people, and sets them a concrete example of what Christian family life should be. This example is one of the most potent influences for good operating on the mission field. In home life perhaps more than in any other respect Japanese society is wanting. The renovation of the home is one of the crying needs of the hour. An open Christian home, exhibiting the proper relations between husband and wife, parents and children, will do much toward bringing this about. This argument is not intended to apply against single women who come out to teach in the girls' schools. Their work is entirely different, and is such as can be done best by single women. The argument applies only to the missionary engaged in evangelistic work. Such I believe to be the qualifications essential to successful mission work in Japan. To many the requirements may seem too strict. But the work to which the missionary is called is a high and noble one, and the ideal for a worker should be correspondingly high. The extreme difficulty of the work, and its great expense, make it imperative that only men adapted to it be sent out. {208} While setting forth this high ideal of what a missionary to this land should be, no one is more sensible than the writer of the fact that many missionaries, including himself, fail to realize it. But he is glad to be able to affirm that a large per cent. of these desired qualifications are found in the majority of the missionary brethren in Japan. {209} XII PRIVATE LIFE OF THE MISSIONARY It is our purpose in this chapter to show the churches at home something of the life which their missionaries lead in Japan. We will attempt to draw aside the veil and look at their private life--the holy of holies. This is a delicate task, and I hesitate to undertake it. And yet I think a knowledge of the trials, perils, discouragements, temptations, hopes, and fears of the missionary may be very profitable to those who support our missions. Missionaries are men of like appetites, passions, hopes, and desires with those at home. They long for and enjoy the comforts and amenities of life. They have wives and children whom they love as devotedly, and for whom they desire to provide as comfortable homes, as the pastor at home. There was a time when missionaries were {210} called upon to forego nearly all social pleasures and submit to endless discomforts, but that time is past. The mission home to-day is frequently as comfortable as that of the pastor in America. It is right that the standard of living in the home lands should be maintained by the missionaries abroad, and that they surround themselves with all available pleasures and conveniences. There is no reason why a man should lay aside all pleasures and comforts so soon as he becomes a missionary. Those who live in the foreign ports in Japan have nice, roomy houses modeled after Western homes. Many of them are surrounded with beautiful lawns and fine flowers, and are a comfort and delight to their possessors. Most of the missionaries who live in the interior occupy native houses, slightly modified to suit foreign taste. By building chimneys, and substituting glass for paper windows, the native houses can be made quite comfortable, though they are colder in winter and do not look so well as foreign ones. The writer has lived in such a home during most of his residence in Japan, and has suffered little inconvenience. Some of the wealthier mission boards have built foreign houses even in the interior, and to-day there are a good many such scattered over Japan. As has been before remarked, the mission {211} home is one of the most important factors in connection with the work; it is a little bit of Christendom set down in the midst of heathendom. It presents to the non-Christian masses around it a concrete example of exalted family life, with equality and trust between husband and wife, and mutual love between parents and children--things not generally found in the native home. It is a beacon-light shining in a dark place. This is one of the many reasons why a missionary should be a married man. The single man cannot create this model home, which is to teach the people by example what Christian family life should be. In this respect Catholic missions are deficient, the celibacy of the priests precluding family life. First, then, the mission home is an example to the non-Christian people around it. It is frequently open to them, and they can see its workings. They often share its hospitality and sit at its table. Their keen eyes take in everything, and a deep impression is made upon them. Just here arises one of the greatest difficulties the missionary has to contend with in his private life. The people are so inquisitive naturally, the mission home is so attractive to them, and our idea of the privacy and sanctity of the home is so lacking in their etiquette, that it is hard to keep {212} the home from becoming public. People will come in large numbers at the most unseasonable hours, simply out of curiosity, wanting to see and handle everything in the house. It is often necessary, in self-defense, to refuse them admittance, except at certain hours. Not only are the seclusion and privacy of the home endangered, but the missionary also is in great danger of having his valuable time uselessly frittered away. Notwithstanding all that the mission home is to the people, it is much more to the missionary. It should be to him a sure retreat and seclusion from the peculiarly trying cares and worries of his work. It should be a place where he can evade the subtle influences of heathenism which creep in at every pore--a safe retreat from the sin and wickedness and vice around it. The mission home should be a Western home transplanted in the East. It may not become too much orientalized. It should have Western furniture, pictures, musical instruments, etc., and should make its possessor feel that he is in a Western home. It should be well supplied with books and newspapers, and everything else that will help to keep its inmates in touch with the life of the West. The missionary may not be orientalized, else he will be in danger of becoming heathenized. For the sake of his children the missionary's {213} home should be as exact a reproduction of the Western home as possible. These children are citizens of the West, heirs of its privileges; and to it they will go before they reach years of maturity. Therefore it is but fair that their childhood home should reflect its civilization. In order that the missionary may be able to build up such a home it is necessary that he be paid a liberal salary. While living in native style is very cheap, living in Western style is perhaps as dear here as in any country in the world. Clothing, furniture, much of the food, etc., must be brought from the West; and we must pay for it not only what the people at home pay, but the cost of carrying it half-way round the world, and the commission of two or three middlemen besides. Most boards operating in Japan pay their men a liberal salary. They also pay an allowance for each child, health allowance, etc. All this is well. Man is an animal, and, like other animals, he must be well cared for if he is to do his best work. No farmer would expect to get hard work out of a horse that was only half fed, and no mission board can expect to get first-class work out of a missionary who is not liberally supported. The missionary has enough to worry him without having to be anxious about finances. Especially is it wise that the boards give their {214} men an allowance for children. The expenses incident to a child's coming into the world in the East are very high. The doctor's bill alone amounts frequently to more than $100. Then a nurse is absolutely necessary, there being no relatives and friends to perform this office, as sometimes there are in the West. The birth of a child here means a cash outlay of $150 to $200, to pay which the missionary is often reduced to hard straits. If he belongs to a board that makes a liberal child's allowance he is fortunately relieved from this difficulty. The allowance is also necessary to provide for the future education of the child. As there are no suitable schools here, children must be sent home to school at an early age. They cannot stay in the parental home and attend school from there, as American children do, but must be from childhood put into a boarding-school, and this takes money. Now no missionaries' salaries are sufficiently large to enable them to lay up much money, and unless there is a child's allowance there will be no money for his education, in which event the missionary must sacrifice his self-respect by asking some school or friends to educate his child. He feels that if any one in the world deserves a salary sufficient to meet all necessary expenses without begging, he does; and it hurts him to give his life in hard service to {215} the church in a foreign land, and then have his children educated on charity. All mission boards should give their men an allowance for each child, unless the salary paid is sufficiently large to enable them to lay aside a sufficient sum for this very purpose. The health allowance is also a wise provision because the climate is such as often to necessitate calling in a physician, and doctors' bills are enormously high. If the missionary is not well he cannot work; but if he is left to pay for medical attendance himself out of a very meager salary, all of which is needed by his wife and children, he will frequently deny himself the services of a physician when they are really needed. The work of the missionary is most trying, and the demands on his health and strength are very exhausting. The petty worries and trials that constantly meet him, the rivalries and quarrels which his converts bring to him for settlement, the care of the churches, anxiety about his family, etc., are a constant strain on his vital force, in order to withstand which it is necessary that he should have regular periods of rest and recreation. Nature demands relaxation, and she must have it, or the health of the worker fails. It is customary in Japan for the missionaries to leave their fields of work during the summer season and spend six weeks or two months in {216} sanatoria among the mountains or by the seashore. Here their work, with its cares and anxieties, is all laid aside. The best-known sanatoria in Japan are Karuizawa, Arima, Hakone, Sapporo, and Mount Hiezan. In most of these places good accommodations are provided, and the hot weeks can be spent very pleasantly. Large numbers of missionaries gather there, and for a short time the tired, isolated worker can enjoy the society of his own kind; his wife can meet and chat with other housewives; and his children can enjoy the rare pleasure of playing with other children white like themselves. These resorts are cool, the air is pure and invigorating, and the missionary returns from them in September feeling fresh and strong, ready to take up with renewed vigor his arduous labors. It is objected to these vacations that they take the missionary away from his field of work, and that so long an absence on his part is very injurious to the cause. This is partially true; but a wise economy considers the health of the worker and his future efficiency more than the temporary needs of the work. The absence of the foreign worker for a short period is not as hurtful as one would at first glance suppose. A relatively larger part of the work is left in the hands of the native helpers in Japan than in most mission fields, and these evangelists stay at their posts {217} all through the summer, and care for its interests while the foreigner is away. The same need of a vacation does not exist in their case, because they are accustomed to the climate, and they work through their native tongue and among their own people. The need of this missionary vacation is so evident that we need only give it in outline. In the first place, the unfavorable climate makes a change and rest desirable. As I have already stated, the climate of Japan is not only very warm, but also contains an excessive amount of moisture and a very small per cent. of ozone, and is lacking in atmospheric magnetism and electricity; hence its effect upon people from the West is depressing. Besides the climate, the missionary's work is so exhaustive and trying, and its demands upon him are so great, that a few weeks' rest are absolutely necessary. The same reasons which at home justify the city pastor in taking a vacation are intensified in the missionary's case. Not least of these reasons is that the missionary may for a while enjoy congenial society. Many of us spend ten months of the year isolated almost entirely from all people of our own kind. The Japanese are so different that we can have but little social life with them; and it is but natural and right that, for a short period, we should have the opportunity to meet and {218} associate with our fellow-missionaries. The work which we do the remainder of the year is done much better because of this rest and fellowship. Dr. J. C. Berry, in a paper read before the missionary conference at Osaka in 1883, discusses very fully this question of missionary vacations and furloughs. After elaborating the reasons for them, which reasons I have given in brief above, he says: "It therefore follows that, because of the numerous and complex influences operating to-day to produce nerve-tire in the missionary in Japan, regard for the permanent interests of his work requires that a vacation be taken in summer by those residing in central and southern Japan, the same to be accompanied by as much of recreation and change as circumstances will permit." With all the care and precaution that can be taken, with systematic rests and vacations, there soon comes a time when it is necessary for the missionary to return to his home land, to breathe again the air of his youth, and to replenish his physical, mental, and moral being. All the mission boards recognize this and permit their men in this and in other fields to return home on furlough after a certain number of years. The definite time required by the different missions before a furlough is granted varies from three to ten years, the latter period being the most general. {219} But this has been found to be too long, and failing health usually compels an earlier return. Some boards have no set time, but a tacit understanding exists that the missionary may go home at the end of six or eight years. At the end of the prescribed period the missionary family is taken home at the expense of the board, and is given a rest of a year or eighteen months. During this time, if the missionary is engaged in preaching or lecturing for the board, as is generally the case, he is paid his full salary. If he does no work he is sometimes paid only half his salary. This is very hard, as the salary is just large enough to support him and his family, and their expenses while at home are almost as great as while in the field. If the salary is cut down the pleasure and benefit of the furlough are curtailed. If the missionary in the service of the board exhausts his health and strength in an unfavorable climate it seems but fair that he should be properly supported while endeavoring to recuperate. When a church at home votes its pastor a vacation, instead of cutting down his salary during his absence, it is customary to give him an extra sum to enable him to enjoy it. Why should not the same be done for the missionary? He should at least be permitted to draw the full amount of his small salary. Against these vacations is urged their great {220} expense to the boards, the greater loss to the mission because of the absence of the worker, and the moral effect of frequent returns upon the church at home. All of these objections have weight, but they are far outweighed by the reasons that necessitate the furlough. The accumulated experience of the different boards makes the judgment unanimous that these are necessary. The judgment of competent medical men also confirms the statement. Dr. Taylor said in the Osaka conference: "I am convinced that a missionary's highest interest requires, and the greatest efficiency in his work will be secured by, a return home at stated intervals." Dr. Berry said in the same conference: "The new and strange social conditions under which the missionary is obliged to work; the effects of climate, intensified in many cases by comparative youth; the absence of many of those home comforts and social, intellectual, and religious privileges with which the Christian civilization of to-day so plentifully surrounds life; the home ties, strengthened by youthful affections,--all these combine with present facilities of travel to render it advisable that the young missionary be at liberty to take a comparatively early vacation in his native land." From an economic standpoint it is wise to grant these furloughs. It is poor economy to keep the workers in the field until they are completely {221} broken down, and then have to replace them by inexperienced men, who will not be able to do the work of the old ones for years. Far wiser is it to let them stop and recuperate in the home lands before this breakdown comes. It costs less money to keep a missionary well than to care for him during a long, unprofitable period of sickness. I quote again on this point Wallace Taylor, M.D., who, in the paper referred to above, said: "The present haphazard, unsystematic methods of most missions and boards is attended with the greatest expense and the poorest returns. Some of the boards working in Japan have lost more time and expended more money in caring for their broken-down missionaries than it would cost to carry out the recommendations herein made. Again, I observe that many who do not break down begin to fail in health after the fourth or fifth year from entering on their work. They remain on the field, and are reluctantly obliged to spend more or less time in partial work, while experiencing physical discomfort and dissatisfaction of mind. Very many of these cases would have accomplished more for the means expended by a furlough home at the close of the fifth or sixth year.... Over $90,000 have been expended in Japan by one mission alone in distracted efforts to regain the health of its missionaries." These furloughs are also needed to keep the {222} missionary in touch with the life of the home churches. The West is rapidly progressing in civilization, in arts and sciences, and in theology as well. The missionary who spends ten or more years on the field before returning home finds himself in an entirely new atmosphere, with which he is unfamiliar. He looks at things from the standpoint of ten or more years ago; his methods of work, his language, all are belated. In order that he may give to the nascent churches of Japan the very best theology, the very best methods, and the very best life of the Western churches, it is necessary for him to return frequently to breathe in their spirit and life and keep up with their forward march. For the missionary's personal benefit he should be permitted to come into frequent contact with the home churches. A too long uninterrupted breathing of the poisonous atmosphere of heathenism has a wonderfully cooling effect upon his ardor and zeal, and is trying to his faith. He needs to come into contact with the broader faith and deeper life of the home churches, and receive from them new consecration and devotion to his work. The church at home needs also to come frequently into contact with its missionaries. Nothing will so stir up interest and zeal in the mission cause as to see and hear its needs from living, {223} active workers, fresh from the field. If missionaries were more frequently employed to represent the cause to the churches at home perhaps our mission treasuries would not be so depleted. Mission addresses from home pastors are abstract and theoretical; those from missionaries are concrete and practical. The former speak from reading, the latter from personal experience. The address of the missionary comes with power because he speaks of what he has seen and felt, and his personality is thrown into it. For the sake, then, of the work abroad, of the missionary himself, and of the home churches, missionaries should be required to take regular furloughs at stated intervals, and should spend them in the home lands. How long can the missionary safely work in Japan before taking his first furlough? That will depend upon the nature of the man himself, and the kind of mission work in which he is engaged. The average length of time spent here by the missionaries before the first furlough is about seven years. There are no men more competent to pass judgment upon this matter than Drs. Berry and Taylor, who have spent the better part of their lives here, in the service of the American Board, and who are thoroughly acquainted with the conditions that surround us. Dr. Berry says: "I do not hesitate to affirm that the {224} 'ten-year-or-longer rule,' still adhered to by some missionary societies, and by many missionaries as well, is too long for the first term.... I indorse what in substance has been suggested by my friend Dr. McDonald, viz., that the time of service on the field prior to the first furlough be seven years, and that prior to subsequent furloughs be ten years; this plan to be modified by health, existing conditions of work, home finances, and by individual preferences." Dr. Taylor says: "My observations have led me to the conclusion that the first furlough ought to be taken at the close of the fifth or sixth year, and after that once every eight or ten years." We have yet to look at the trials and sorrows, the encouragements and joys, of the missionary. We have already looked into the missionary's home; let us now endeavor to look into his heart. If the former is his _sanctum_, this is his _sanctum sanctorum_; and I trust my missionary brethren will pardon me for exposing it to the public view. We will pass by all physical hardships, such as climate, improper food, poor houses, etc. Although these are often greater hardships than the people at home know, they are but "light afflictions" to the missionary. His real trials lie in an entirely different sphere. The greatest hardship the missionary has to {225} bear is his loneliness and isolation. Separated almost entirely from his own race, he is deprived of all those social joys that are so dear to him. The thought of his kinsmen and friends is ever in his mind, but alas! they are so far away. He must go on year after year living among a people from whom an impassable gulf separates him, leading the same lonely life. For the first year or two he rather enjoys the quiet and privacy, but by and by it becomes almost unendurable. Dr. Edward Lawrence has correctly styled the missionary "an exile." We cannot do better than quote his words: "Very many of the missionary's heaviest burdens are summed up in the one word whose height and breadth and length and depth none knows so well as he--that word 'exile.' It is not merely a physical exile from home and country and all their interests; it is not only an intellectual exile from all that would feed and stimulate the mind; it is yet more--a spiritual exile from the guidance, the instruction, the correction, from the support, the fellowship, the communion of the saints and the church at home. It is an exile as when a man is lowered with a candle into foul places, where the noxious gases threaten to put out his light, yet he must explore it all and find some way to drain off the refuse and let in the sweet air and sun to do their own cleansing work.... The {226} missionary is not only torn away from those social bonds that sustain, or even almost compose, our mental, moral, and spiritual life, but he is forced into closest relations with heathenism, whose evils he abhors, whose power and fascinations, too, he dreads. And when at last he can save his own children only by being bereft of them, he feels himself an exile indeed." The missionary's life is full of disappointments. Men for whom he has labored and prayed it may be for years, and in whom he has placed implicit confidence, will often bitterly disappoint him in their Christian life. Boys who have been educated on his charity, who are what they are solely by his help, will frequently be guilty of base ingratitude, and, worse yet, will repudiate his teachings. The native church not having generations of Christian ancestry behind it, and not being in a Christian environment, is often, it may be unwittingly, guilty of heathen practices that sorely try the heart of the missionary. The struggle between the new life and the old heathenism is still seen in the church-members and even in the native ministry. Each missionary, if he would be well and cheerful in his work, must learn to cast all burdens of such a character on the Lord, and not be oppressed by them. One of the greatest trials some of us have to bear is that we must live in an environment so {227} unconducive to personal growth and development There is a great deal of ambition lurking about us still, and we do not like to see our own development cut short because of an unfavorable environment, while our friends and classmates at home, who were no more than our equals in former days, far surpass us in intellectual development and in influence and power. Perhaps a missionary should be above such thoughts and should be perfectly content with a life of obscurity and partial development; but missionaries are still men, and to many an ambitious one the limits placed upon his personal development are very irksome. But why are the conditions unfavorable to high personal development? Because those stimulants to prolonged, vigorous effort that exist in the West are lacking. The stimulus of competition, the contact of thinking minds, so necessary to enlist the full exercise of a man's powers, are largely wanting. One is shut up to his own thoughts and to those he gets from books, and his development, in so far as it does proceed, is very apt to be one-sided. This is the reason why so many missionaries are narrow, unable to see a subject in all its relations and to give due importance to each. The work of the missionary from beginning to end is one of self-sacrifice and self-effacement. {228} There is no future for him in the councils of the native church. As the work grows and extends he must gradually take a back seat. As the native ministry develops, the foreign minister is less and less needed, and must gradually withdraw. Again, the home land, father and mother, brothers and sisters, friends and companions, are just as dear to the missionary as to any one else. Yet it seems inevitable that he will gradually grow away from them and be forgotten by them. Prolonged absence brings forgetfulness; diverse labors and interests put people out of sympathy with one another. When the new missionary first comes out to his field, communication between him and friends is frequent. Letters pass regularly, little remembrances are sent from time to time, and he is still in touch with his friends at home. But by and by a change comes. After one or two years exchange of presents and remembrances ceases; gradually the letters cease also, and none come except those from his immediate family. Even these become less and less frequent. The arrival of the mails, which at first was looked forward to with so much joy, is now scarcely noted. An old American gentleman who has spent some forty years in the East tells me that he now receives from the home land not more than two or three letters per year. {229} After a few years of residence here one feels that he is largely out of touch with the life of the West, and that he is forgotten, by home and friends. It seems to me that churches and friends can do much toward preventing this, and toward brightening the lives of their missionaries, if they will. Let pastors and friends throughout the church take special pains to write interesting personal letters to the missionary. It will do him good just to be remembered in this way. It is natural that the same kindness, attention, and love that are shown to the home pastor should not be shown to the missionary, because he is so far away and the strong personal element is wanting. But if the churches would make an effort to share their kindness and beneficence between the home pastor and the foreign one it would be highly appreciated by the latter. Especially does this seem but fair in a case where a church supports its own missionary and where most of its members are personally acquainted with him. Such churches speak of having two pastors; one at home ministering to them, and one abroad, in their stead, preaching the gospel to the heathen. Why should not these pastors have equal place in their hearts and receive equally their kindness and their gifts? If any preference is shown, it would seem that it should {230} be to the foreign pastor, for he has much the harder work. But the foreign pastor is generally forgotten, while the home pastor, with whom living is much cheaper, is paid a larger salary; he is given a vacation, and a purse to enable him to spend it pleasantly; at Christmas he is substantially remembered, and all through the year he is presented with numerous gifts and shown many favors. The poor lonely missionary is paid a moderate salary and is given no further thought. Imagine the feelings of a man in a mission field, supported by one church which always speaks of him as its foreign pastor, as he takes up a church paper and reads of the favors shown the home pastor; among them such items as "a nice purse of fifty dollars," "a three months' leave of absence, and expenses to ----." He cannot help thinking with a sigh of that unpaid doctor's bill of fifty dollars incurred by his wife's ill health last summer, or of the money needed to send his boy home to be educated. A church should try to remember its pastor abroad as well as the one at home. The home pastor himself could see to it that this is done. If he should simply say, when handed a present for some purpose, "Our foreign pastor has not been remembered by us, and he needs it more than I, therefore we will send this to him," the result would probably be that he and the foreign {231} pastor would both be remembered. If little expressions of appreciation and kindness, such as this, were occasionally shown the missionaries, it would do much to brighten and cheer their hard lives. These are little things, but the little things have much to do with our happiness. If the missionary life has its sorrows and disappointments, it has its pleasures and joys as well. It is with great pleasure that I turn from the dark to the bright side of our lives. First I would mention that sweet peace and joy that come from the consciousness of doing one's duty. The true missionary feels that God has called him into the work, and that he is fulfilling the divine will. This knowledge brings with it much pleasure. The joy is all the sweeter because of the sacrifices that must be undergone in answer to the divine call. He feels not only that he is in the field by the call of God, but also that God is with him in his work, leading, guiding, blessing, helping him. He hears the words of his Master, "Lo, I am with you alway," and he gladly responds, "In Thy presence is fullness of joy." The brooding Spirit of God is especially near the Christian worker in foreign lands, and imparts to him much joy and peace. Another of the missionary's joys is to see the gospel gradually taking hold of the hearts of the people and renewing and transforming them. It {232} is passing pleasant to tell the gospel story, so full of hope and joy, to these people whose religious ideas and aspirations are only dark and gloomy. Who could desire sweeter joy than to watch the transforming power of the gospel in the heart of some poor heathen, changing him from an idol-worshiping, immoral creature into a pure, consistent Christian? It is the good fortune of the missionary to see such changes taking place in the people to whom he ministers. And what a change it is! For gloom and dejection it gives joy and hope; for blind, irresistible fate it gives a loving providence. The change is so great that every feature of the face expresses it. Lastly, the crown of the missionary's life is to see a strong, vigorous native church springing up around him, the direct result of his labors; to see it gradually and silently spreading itself throughout the whole nation as the leaven through the meal, permeating every form of its life and impressing itself upon every phase of its character. To this native church he confidently looks for the evangelization of the masses and the accomplishment of all that for which he has labored so long and so earnestly. When the missionary can look upon such a native church with the feeling that it will be faithful to its Lord and do His work; when he can sit in its pews and hear soul-nourishing gospel sermons from his {233} own pupils, now grown strong in the Lord--then indeed his cup of joy is full. The trials and sorrows that were endured in connection with the work are all forgotten, and his only emotion is one of glad thanksgiving. In some lands many missionaries have already received this crown to their labors; it has been partially received in Japan, and if we are but faithful to our trust shall yet be received in all lands. {234} XIII METHODS OF WORK Missionaries attempt in various ways to evangelize the nations to which they are sent. The extent and variety of the work which the missionary is called upon to perform are much greater than the people at home are apt to think. He must be at the same time a preacher, a teacher, a translator, a financier, a judge, an author, an editor, an architect, a musician. The great variety of the work necessitates a well-rounded man. All of these offices are, in an indirect sense, ways of doing mission work; but we will here confine ourselves to the consideration of the more direct and positive methods in vogue in Japan. These are direct evangelization, educational work, literary work, and medical work. _Direct Evangelization_ By this I mean the actual propagation of the gospel, by word of mouth, to the people to whom {235} we are sent. I mention this first because I regard it as the most important of all methods. The supreme vocation of the missionary is, not to educate, not to heal, but to preach the gospel. It is well for mission boards and missionaries to remember this, for there is danger in many places of making this primary method secondary to education. While it is probably true that the evangelization of the masses will depend ultimately upon the efforts of the native ministry, this should not therefore be construed to mean that the foreign missionary has nothing to do with this department of the work. He should personally engage in this evangelistic work, should himself come into actual contact with the unevangelized masses, and should proclaim the gospel directly to them. In this way only can he understand thoroughly the nature of the work in which he is engaged, and be enabled to sympathize with and advise his evangelists. He should not only train native evangelists, but should be an evangelist himself, teaching his helpers, by earnest, zealous example as well as by precept, right methods of the proclamation of the gospel. Such work must also bear direct fruit in the conversion of souls; for even in this land, in spite of the great nationalism and strong prejudice against foreigners, a foreigner will draw larger congregations and be listened to with more attention than {236} a native. And this is not simply because of curiosity; the people have more confidence in his ability properly to represent the foreign religion. For these reasons, then, viz., for the sake of the souls he may win, for the sake of the example he may set to his helpers, and for his own sake, that he may rightly understand and appreciate the work, every missionary should, as far as possible, be an evangelist. This is emphasized here because in many places the evangelistic work is in danger of being subordinated to the educational, and missionaries are not lacking who take the strange ground that it is neither necessary nor profitable for the missionary personally to come into contact with the unevangelized masses. This seems to me to be a very mistaken view of the sphere of the foreign worker. He should not only train helpers, support and advise them, but he should also go with them among the people and preach to them himself. The direct propagation of the gospel may be either local or itinerating. The missionary may reside in one place, have a fixed chapel, and there teach all who come to him; or he may go on long tours through the country, preaching from town to town and from village to village. In general these methods are combined in Japan. The missionary is located in one town and to the work there gives most of his attention; but he {237} also at stated intervals visits the surrounding towns and country, doing evangelistic work wherever he can. LOCAL EVANGELISM.--For obvious reasons, local evangelistic work yields the greatest returns. To it the missionary gives his constant care and attention, while his visits to the country are only periodical. Local evangelistic work in Japan is carried on somewhat in the following manner: A house, as centrally located in the town as possible, is rented and fitted up as a chapel. The only furnishings needed are a small table and some lamps. Japanese houses are so constructed that the whole wall on the street side can be removed, and people standing in the street can see and hear all that is going on within. In this new chapel, one or two evenings a week, the gospel will be preached. In China there is preaching in such chapels every day, but in Japan the people will not come oftener than once or twice a week. In all probability both the missionary and the native evangelist will preach the same evening, one after the other. At first very few people will come into the house, but numbers will congregate in the street and will listen to what is said. After the service is over an opportunity is given for personal conversation on religious topics. By and by a little interest is manifested, and some begin to come into the house. A great {238} deal has been gained when people will go so far as to come up into the Christian chapel, in plain view of the multitudes, and hear the sermon. In many cases the native evangelist lives in the chapel (in the same building, but occupying different rooms) and daily meets and talks with people about religion. In this way he hears of those who are interested, and he and the missionary visit such in their homes and converse privately with them. In my own mission, as soon as any are interested, they are organized into a catechetical class, which meets weekly, and are thoroughly instructed in Luther's Small Catechism. But I find that unless this is preceded by more elementary instruction this excellent little manual will not be well understood. Real inquirers are glad to come and study the catechism and the Bible, and they study them well. Some of the most satisfactory work I have done in Japan has been along the line of catechetical instruction. Some of the larger missions working here have not been sufficiently careful about giving their converts sound elementary instruction in Christian doctrine, but have left them to gather all the necessary knowledge from the sermons they hear and the instruction given in the Sunday-schools. One of the desiderata of most missions in Japan is more systematic catechetical instruction. Among the first things a missionary does in {239} beginning work in a town is to open a Sunday-school. The children are generally more accessible than the older people, and many of them will come to the school. They cannot at first be organized into classes, as their interest is not sufficiently great to induce them to attend regularly and to study. The first instruction is usually by means of large Bible pictures that catch the eye and teach a religious truth. By and by, when the work becomes more substantial and the interest more developed, the pupils can be organized into classes and more systematic instruction given. If there are any Christians in connection with the chapel their children form the backbone of the Sunday-school. A considerable part of the time of the missionary doing local evangelistic work, if he is wise, will be occupied in house-to-house visitation. The Japanese are a very social people, and it is wonderful how a little personal kindness and interest in them will break down the prejudice against us and our work. As a rule, the missionary who goes into a native home with humility, simplicity, and love will gain the good will of the whole household. Men feel freer to talk about religious subjects in the privacy of their own homes. In a discourse to a promiscuous audience the truth is scattered broadcast, and each one catches what he can; but in a private {240} conversation in the home the truth especially adapted to the hearer can be given. It is like a man trying to fill a bottle with water; he will get it full much quicker by taking it up in his hand and pouring the water into it than by throwing a whole bowlful at it from a distance. It is a very pleasant experience to enter a friendly home in the evening, to sit around the social hibachi (fire-box), sip tea, and talk about the great questions of time and eternity. One is generally received with cordiality and made to feel at home. He is listened to attentively and respectfully, and the questions asked are intelligent, appreciative ones. If the missionary expects his host immediately to be convinced by his eloquence, to agree to all he says, to discard at once his old religion and embrace the new, he will be disappointed. But if he is content to seek an opportunity to present the truth under most favorable circumstances, leaving it to do its own work silently and gradually, he will be sure to find it. House-to-house visitation and personal talks with the people are of great importance in local evangelistic work. But in doing such work great care should be taken to comply strictly with Japanese etiquette and rules of propriety, and especially to avoid a haughty bearing. The ordinary native home is much smaller, simpler, {241} and frequently dirtier, than the missionary's, and the people are constantly watching for any recognition of this fact on his part. He should carefully guard himself against any look or expression which might imply his superiority, or his dissatisfaction with things around him. I have been both amused and pained by overhearing Japanese imitate the sayings and actions of two visiting missionaries. According to the imitation, the one bears himself haughtily and proudly; as soon as he comes near the door he instinctively draws back as though fearing bad odors; when he comes in he bows stiffly, seats himself on the best mat, carefully draws up his clothes as though fearing contamination, casts a scornful look at the bare walls, utters a few commonplace sentiments, and hastily departs. The other one comes with a cheery greeting, a smiling countenance, and a humble demeanor. He never notices the lowly house and bare walls, but quietly and unconcernedly takes the place assigned him, freely and appreciatively partakes of the tea and cakes set before him, and kindly and sympathetically talks with the people as one of them. It is very evident which one of these two will do the most good. As soon as the work grows and a small company of believers has been gathered the duties of the missionary increase. There now rests upon {242} him that burden which so oppressed Paul--the care of the churches. He must look after the regular worship of the church, must develop in his people a church-going sentiment, and must instruct them in the observance of all Christian duties. In this work he will need much patience, wisdom, and zeal. The native converts, not having generations of Christian ancestors as we have, will need oft to be exhorted, oft rebuked, and loved much. Christian duties that are with us almost habitual must be urged upon these people time and again. The church must be organized and developed into an harmonious working body. In all of this the missionary is fortunate if he has the assistance of a wise, godly native helper. Perhaps the most attractive and interesting feature of all mission work is this forming and molding, under one's own hand, of the theology, the life, and the activities of a young church. The one who is privileged to do this occupies a position of responsibility than which none could be greater. May God give us grace to do it aright. ITINERATING EVANGELISM.--No true missionary living in a non-Christian land will confine his labors to the town in which he resides. His heart will be constantly yearning over the people in the surrounding towns and country, and he will gladly take advantage of every opportunity {243} to make them occasional visits, telling to them also the old, old story. But there are other workers whose sole business it is to visit these outlying points and carry a knowledge of the gospel to those who cannot have regular gospel ministrations. Perhaps this feature of missionary work is the one most prominent in the minds of the people at home, who are fond of picturing their missionary as a man who goes about from town to town and from village to village, proclaiming the gospel to all who will hear. Christianity is by nature diffusive. It spreads itself as naturally as the leaven spreads in the meal. Confucius taught: "The philosopher need not go about to proclaim his doctrines; if he has the truth the people will come to him." In striking contrast to this Christ taught: "Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature." We are not only to teach those who come to us, but we are also to go out in search of hearers, to carry our message to the people. When our Saviour was upon earth the work He did was largely itinerating; going about from place to place, teaching in the synagogue, by the wayside, or on the sea-shore. The disciples were all itinerating evangelists, carrying their message from city to city and from land to land. {244} St. Paul was an itinerating missionary on a large scale. Not content to abide long in any one place, but looking out continually to the regions beyond, his life was one ceaseless activity in itinerating evangelism. The missionaries through whom northern Europe and England were converted were itinerants. And those who to-day in mission fields take their valises well stocked with tracts and sermons and go out into the country on long evangelistic tours can feel that they are following in the footsteps of worthy exemplars. We can hardly overestimate the importance of this work. The word of mouth is still the most effective means of conveying a message to the masses, and a knowledge of Christian principles that could else hardly be given is in this way spread abroad throughout the land. [Illustration: Jinrikishas.] The facilities for itinerating in Japan are excellent. Most of the important points are easily reached by rail or water. But in general, on an itinerating tour, the missionary has little use for the steamers and railways. The points he wants to visit are not on the great thoroughfares, but are in out-of-the-way places. There is, however, a good system of roads, and the jinrikisha, which is everywhere found, is easily capable of carrying one 40 or 50 miles a day. This little cart resembles a buggy, except that it has only two wheels and is much smaller. The seat is {245} just large enough to accommodate one person. A small Japanese coolie between the shafts furnishes all the necessary motive power. These are very convenient and comfortable little conveyances, and are the ones in ordinary use by missionaries in their itinerating work. In recent years the bicycle has become popular for this purpose. As the "wheel" has been made to serve almost every other interest, it is but fair that it should also serve the gospel. Perhaps to-day one half of all the male missionaries in Japan ride wheels. They have decided advantages over the jinrikisha, chiefly in the way of speed, personal comfort, and pleasure. I wish my readers could see their representatives in Japan just starting on their wheels for a tour in the interior. Dressed in negligée shirts, caps, and knickerbockers, with a large bundle tied upon the wheel in front of each one, they present a comical appearance. Many sermons have been preached in Japan in negligée shirts and knickerbockers. There are nice, clean little inns in all the villages and towns, and the missionary is not put to such straits for a place in which to rest and sleep as he is sometimes in other mission fields. But as the food offered him is unpalatable to most foreigners, he carries with him a few things, such as bread, canned meats, and condensed milk. {246} The splendid telegraph system extending over all Japan keeps him in communication with his family and friends, no matter where he may go, and he need not hesitate to go into the interior on that score. A good daily mail system is also at hand to carry his letters. Formerly the greatest hindrance to itinerating in Japan was the difficulty of obtaining passports to travel in the interior. No one was permitted to go outside of certain limits without a special passport, and such passports were only given for two purposes: for health, and for scientific observation. The government did not intend by this restriction to prohibit mission work in the interior, but aimed simply to prohibit foreigners from engaging in interior trade. As the missionaries were not going for purposes of trade, many of them availed themselves of these passports; but there were some whose consciences would not permit them so to do. Several high officials were directly spoken to about the matter by missionaries; and they replied that, in the eyes of the law, a man could want to travel for only three purposes: for health, for trade, or for scientific observation. As this restriction was simply to prevent foreigners from engaging in interior trade, and as the missionaries were not going for that purpose, they were told that they should go on with their work. The government knew well {247} the purpose for which they were going, and permitted it; hence their consciences might be at rest. These explanations on the part of the officials removed the difficulty in the minds of some, but not of all. Fortunately, since the revision of the treaties, passports are granted without any question as to the purpose for which they are wanted, and all who ask it are freely given permission to travel where they will. Since this restriction has been removed more itinerating is being done, and it is probable that it will still increase. The missionary does two kinds of itinerating in Japan: (1) he visits periodically a large number of outstations, where are native evangelists; (2) he goes into regions where there are no evangelists and heralds the gospel. Itinerating among stations where native workers are located and regular work kept up is by far the most frequent. These tours are generally made about every two or three months, one missionary visiting perhaps a dozen stations. The local evangelist makes all preparations for the meetings, which are generally of a special character. There will probably be a special preaching service for non-believers, and a communion service with the Christians. If there are any baptisms the sacrament is then administered. The visit of the missionary is intended to be as much a stimulus and encouragement to the evangelist {248} as anything else. These men, living in out-of-the-way places where there are few, if any, Christians, are apt to get despondent and discouraged, and they need occasionally the sympathy and advice of a fellow-worker. The missionary who has charge of this kind of work is a sort of bishop, with an extended parish. When fields where no regular work is carried on are visited the work is necessarily different. In this case the missionary must take his helper with him. He seldom goes alone, for various reasons. When on one of these tours he will spend one or two days in a village, talking personally with all who will come to him. Very likely he will rent a room in the inn in which he is stopping, and he and his helper will there preach one or two evenings. Sometimes, if the weather is good, he obtains permission of the authorities to hold the meeting in the open air, and preaches on the street or in the public squares. Wherever an audience can be gathered the message is told. After one or two days spent in this manner they move on to the next town, and there do as they did before, thus going their whole round. The most that is accomplished by this method of preaching is to spread abroad a general knowledge of Christianity among the people and break down their prejudice against it. Not many conversions result from it. {249} Some may ask what kind of sermons one preaches on these itinerating tours. They should be of the plainest, simplest character. It is profitable to consume a good deal of time in disproving the false ideas which prevail concerning Christianity, and in giving the people correct views of its nature. The nature of God must be carefully explained, both because the word we use for God is in Japanese applicable to an earthly hero as well as to a divine being, and because the divinities of Japan differ very much in nature from the Christian conception of God. One can preach a long time on sin before getting the people properly to understand it. The Japanese are really without any sense of sin, and have no word in their language to express the idea exactly. We use the word which means crime or offense against the laws of the land. Then the old story of Christ simply told always commands a hearing everywhere. The kind of itinerating last described is open to serious objection. It is uncertain and fitful. One visit may be made to a town each year, or some years not even one. No provision is made for carrying on the work, or for keeping alive any interest that may have been aroused. To be made very profitable such itinerating should be regular and systematic; the visits should not be too far apart; and as soon as some inquirers are {250} found, a native evangelist should be stationed there to care for them. When conducted in this way it is conducive of great good. _Educational Work_ The educational department of mission work has in recent years been coming more and more into prominence. This feature of the work attracts the attention of the visitor from the home lands more than any other, because it makes more show. The imposing buildings that are erected, and the large number of students that can be gathered into them, make a favorable impression. Educational work is generally more attractive than evangelistic. The former is regular, while the latter is desultory. The former is continuous, occupying one's time and attention every day; the latter is intermittent. The former can be pursued at home, and the missionary can enjoy the constant society of his family; the latter takes him away from his family and occupies him abroad. Educational work is usually carried on in the open ports and large cities, where one enjoys all the conveniences of life, with sympathetic society; evangelistic work takes the missionary into the interior, where there are few conveniences and no society. Lastly, educational work is more {251} or less welcomed by the natives, while evangelistic work is unwelcome. Japan possesses a large number of mission schools. Their imposing buildings are seen in almost every city of the empire. Every mission of large size has its schools for both boys and girls. The annual support of these schools costs the various boards more money than all the evangelistic work that is done in Japan. More missionaries are engaged in educational than in evangelistic work. A certain amount of educational work seems necessary to the success of every mission. First in importance is theological training. A body of well-trained native pastors is absolutely essential. Especially in this land, where there are many educated people and where all forms of rationalism and skepticism are rife, is it necessary that the evangelist have a liberal education, that he be well rooted and grounded in Christian doctrine, and able to answer the philosophical objections to Christianity that meet him on every side. An educated ministry is just as necessary in Japan as it is in the West, and the schools that are providing such a ministry are doing a good work. But some of the methods used by them are open to criticism. Heretofore most theological training has been in the English language, and {252} the language alone has taken up a great deal of the student's time and strength. And again, very few Japanese young men gain a sufficient knowledge of English to appreciate or derive full benefit from a theological course in that language. Against this is urged the paucity of Christian literature in Japanese, and the wide field of religious thought which a knowledge of the English language opens to the student. This is very true; but if the same amount of time and energy that has been expended in instruction in English had been given to the creation of a native Christian literature the evil would not exist. I am glad to note that recently nearly all the theological schools have introduced courses in the vernacular for those who cannot take the English course. It would be well if the English course were dispensed with entirely and all instruction were given in the vernacular. Many of the missions operating in Japan have sent worthy young men to America and England for theological training. In nearly every instance this has proved an unwise investment. The good people at home take up these young men and nurse and pet them until they are completely spoiled. They come back to Japan unfitted by taste and education for the position they must occupy and the work they must do. Most of them become dissatisfied in the work after a few {253} years. Foreign education largely denationalizes them and removes them from the sympathies of their own people. Of course there have been some exceptions to this rule; but, in general, experience has proved that locally trained evangelists are best suited for the work and give most satisfaction in it. By this it is not intended to imply that Japanese pastors and teachers should not have the advantages offered by the Western seminaries when they desire them and are able to obtain them for themselves. They are as capable of receiving advanced instruction as we are, and have the same right to it. But the money which foreign boards spend for training evangelists should be spent in the field. Besides the theological schools there are large numbers of academical schools for young men, in which a great deal of mission money is spent. In justification of these it is argued that they are necessary for the preparatory training of evangelists. It is said that the education of these future pastors of the church should be Christian from the beginning, and this is true. But more than half the evangelists now laboring in Japan have not received such training. The education they received from government and private schools answers very well in their case. Actual experience has proved that, whatever may be the {254} aim of these academies, as a matter of fact they do not train evangelists. Most of the men who take their full course enter other professions. One of the oldest missions in Japan, employing about twenty evangelists, has among them only one man who has taken the full academical course in its mission college; but many men have been educated at the church's expense for other professions. Again, it is said in justification of these academies and their large expenditure of mission money that a Christian education must be provided for the children of the constituency of the mission. The church provides a Christian education for her sons and daughters at home; why should she not do it for her wards abroad? Far be it from me to attempt to minimize the importance of Christian education; but will it not be time enough for such education when the constituency of the native church feels its need to such an extent that it will demand this education itself, support the schools with its money, and send its sons and daughters to them? At present even the Christian people frequently prefer a government school to a mission school; and they often send their children to the latter, when they do send them, because they will there be given financial aid. There was a time when Christian schools did a good work in Japan. Before the government {255} schools were brought up to their present standard the mission schools were well patronized, and they considerably benefited the cause of missions. But to-day the government has schools of every grade, and frequently they are better than the mission schools. The students who formerly flocked to the mission schools now flock to those of the government, and the former have but few pupils. The times have changed, and these large, expensive schools are now hardly needed. In so far as they are needed for the preparatory training of a native ministry, and can be made to serve that end, they may be all right, but certainly as an evangelizing agency they are not justified. The native church should be encouraged and stimulated to educate its own children; it might even be assisted in the attempt, when it has shown an honest effort to do this; but its children should not be educated for it by the mission free of charge. To spend so large an amount of the people's money in purely secular education seems to me a misappropriation of funds. More than half the mission schools in Japan are boarding-schools for girls. Nearly all the unmarried women engaged in mission work are in these schools, and there are many of them. Some of these schools have very fine locations and buildings, about as good as those of the average {256} girls' college at home. That they are more popular and better patronized than those for boys is because the government does not provide for the higher education of girls as it does for boys. The purpose of these girls' boarding-schools is to train up earnest Christian women, who will be the wives and mothers of the new Japan. It is said that if the mothers of the nation are made Christian the evangelization of the whole people will speedily follow. This purpose is a worthy one. Most of the girls who enter these mission schools become Christians, and the training given them seems to be good. I recently attended the closing exercises of one of the largest of these, and was surprised at the progress made by the girls. They could paint and draw, and recite classical music as well as the young ladies of the seminaries at home; and I have no doubt that the graduates leave the schools pure-minded, earnest Christians, with worthy aims and aspirations, and with a full intention to exert their influence for God and His church. But alas! when they go back to their homes the position Japanese etiquette assigns them so effectually ties their hands that the results are bitterly disappointing. I will mention one case which came under my own observation. A young lady was educated by a mission school in a certain city, who was noted for her piety and {257} earnest Christian spirit. Her teachers had most extravagant hopes as to the strong positive influence she would exert for Christianity. After her graduation she spent several years in the same school as a teacher, and her Christian life was broadened and deepened by longer and more intimate contact with the foreign teachers. She finally married and removed to her new home, in a distant city. There she attended church once or twice and then stopped entirely. Neither the urgent personal request of the native pastor nor the oft-repeated invitation of the Christian congregation could induce her to come any more. Instead of exerting an influence for good upon others she herself became a fit subject for mission work. I have known several cases of this kind, and all missionaries have had the same experience. Social conditions in Japan are such that a girl marrying into a non-Christian home can exert little Christian influence. But admitting for the moment the utility of this Christian training for the girls, these large schools are open to serious objections on other grounds. The course is too long, and the instruction given too advanced. In many of these schools the girls are kept for twelve or fourteen years. During all this time they are more or less supported by mission funds, even down to pin-money. They are taught all kinds of abstract {258} sciences and advanced ideas that can be of no possible use to them. Latin and Greek, biology, geology, psychology, and many other things are taught them that they neither need nor can appreciate. Painting, drawing, vocal and instrumental music form a prominent part of the curriculum. Girls are made to practise on the piano for ten years or more who will in all probability never see a piano after they leave school. Of course these are not the only subjects taught; more useful ones are taught as well. If mission schools for the education of girls should exist at all the instruction should be much more elementary and practical. A course of two or three years, teaching them how wisely to fill their position as wives and mothers, would amply suffice. It is claimed by the Japanese with great reason that these schools unfit the girls for the sphere they must occupy in after life. A life of ten, twelve, or fourteen years in constant association with foreign teachers, in a foreign building, with all necessaries and conveniences supplied, pursuing a pleasant course of study, does not fit the pupil for life in her humble home. No wonder she loves the school and dreads to see the day approaching when she must leave it. Having lived so long under much better circumstances, her home, with its thatched roof, narrow walls, {259} and homely duties, becomes distasteful to her. Of what use now are her music and painting, her Latin and Greek, when her time must be spent in boiling rice and mending old, worn-out clothes? There is such a thing as educating people above their sphere in life, and such education is more hurtful than otherwise. But it is said, "We are training future Bible-women who will go out and teach the gospel to their country-women." In reply to this it can be answered that not a great many graduates of girls' schools become Bible-women; and it is the experience of nearly every missionary that the best Bible-women are middle-aged women, who may never have been in a mission school. Again, it is said that it is worth while to have these schools if only to train educated Christian wives for the native evangelists. But many of the evangelists, even among those who themselves have received a more or less foreign training, prefer wives who have never been in a mission school, saying that these girls who have lived so long under better surroundings will not be contented and happy in the homes they can provide. It is also true that many of the young ladies who graduate from these schools object to marrying at all, feeling that they have been unfitted for the life they would have to lead. A very serious objection to the present {260} educational method in use by many missions in Japan is that it hinders self-support in the native churches. These large foreign plants, with their costly appliances, can never be supported by the native churches, and the evident futility of the effort so discourages them that they will not even do what they can. The day when the churches of Japan can become self-supporting is very much postponed by the existence of these costly schools. At present the native churches could hardly keep the school buildings in repair. The whole work of missions in Japan was in the beginning projected on too high a plane. To many it seems a great mistake that such large and costly buildings were erected and the schools started on a foreign basis. Should not the buildings have been entirely of native architecture from the beginning, and the educational work projected on a plane corresponding to Japanese life? If small wooden houses, with straw roofs and no furniture, are good enough for these people to live in and to transact all kinds of business in, then they are good enough for them to study in and to worship God in. If from the very beginning the schools and churches had been built on a plane corresponding with ordinary Japanese houses and life the day would much sooner have come when the Japanese themselves could undertake their support. When, in the providence of {261} God, the native church shall have been sufficiently developed, materially and spiritually, to undertake the education of her children and the training of her own pastors, the manner in which she will do it will be very different from that in which it is now done by the mission boards. I am aware that many missionaries in Japan, for whose opinions I have all respect, will not agree with these views. But, after most careful thought and investigation, the above are the conclusions to which I have arrived; and I am glad to know that my views are shared by many of my fellow-missionaries. It is my sincere conviction that most of the money now being used for educational purposes in Japan is misapplied, and would yield far greater results if used in other ways. _Literary Work_ One of the most important and fruitful branches of missionary work is the literary. The creation of a sound Christian literature is one of the first and most imperative duties pressing upon the missionary to the heathen. This is an exceedingly difficult task. When we think of how much labor and how many precious lives our own Christian literature has cost us, we begin to have some conception of the immensity of the task of creating a Christian {262} literature in a heathen land. In the first place, the missionary must have a complete mastery of the language,--in Japan an appalling task,--and then he must create the terms to express so many ideas. Many of our Christian ideas have no counterpart in non-Christian lands, and the very words to express them must be coined. A common device is to take words of kindred meaning and to make them serve the purpose, endeavoring to attach our own meaning to them by gradual processes of instruction and use. Thus with the words for God and sin in use by most missions in Japan. These words are _kami_ and _tsumi_. Now _kami_ is the word used for numerous mythological divinities, with natures very different from our God, and is also applied to the ancient heroes of Japan. As it expresses the idea better than any other word we have, we use it for God; but we must be careful always to explain the sense in which we use it. The word _tsumi_ means crime, or offense against the laws of the land. Our idea of sin is lacking in the Japanese mind, and hence there is no word that exactly expresses it. We take the word _tsumi_ as being nearest it, and endeavor to impart to it our own meaning. In this way we have not only to translate the ideas, but also to coin or modify the words to express them. This work of the missionary is very different {263} from that of translating English books into a European language which has a circle of ideas similar to our own, for there the words are found ready-made to express the ideas. Generally the first literary work to be done by missionaries is the translation and publication of portions of Scripture and of tracts. As soon as their knowledge of the language is sufficiently advanced, they translate the whole Bible and some good hymns. Then follow apologetical and evidential works, and treatises on theology and morality. Afterward biographical and devotional books, magazines, and Christian newspapers are published. We cannot overestimate the value of a good Christian newspaper. It will carry gospel truth to people whom the missionary and the native evangelist cannot reach, and it will help much to nourish and strengthen the life of the native converts. In such a paper the latter will probably see their religion set forth in all its relations to the questions of practical life in a way they seldom hear it done in sermons. I think parish papers, which are becoming so common at home, would also exert a splendid influence in Japan. In this field a considerable Christian literature has already been created. Among the most important books translated so far might be mentioned the Bible, the Book of Common Prayer, {264} Luther's Small Catechism, the Heidelberg Catechism, Bynyan's "Pilgrim's Progress." A considerable number of books on apologetical, evidential, dogmatic, and historical theology have been published, besides biographical, ethical, and devotional books. There are also several Christian newspapers, and recently the missionaries of the American Board have begun the publication of a Christian magazine. A Christian literature which will be a powerful auxiliary to our work is at present forming rapidly in Japan. _Medical Work_ Medical work is one of the youngest departments of missionary labor. Christ healed the body as well as the soul, and it is peculiarly fitting that the missionary be able to heal the body likewise. Medical missions have done more in some countries toward breaking down the prejudice against Christianity than any other one thing. Doors effectually closed to the evangelist have been opened wide to the doctor. The power for good of a consecrated physician in many mission fields is boundless. The mission boards have fully recognized this fact, and have wisely used large numbers of medical missionaries. In former times medical missionaries accomplished much good in Japan. They helped greatly {265} to break down the prejudice and opposition to Christianity. Many who came to the hospitals to have their bodies healed went away having their ears filled with words from the great Physician, and their hearts moved by the kindness and love of these Christian doctors. Not only was much direct mission work accomplished in this way, but the principles of physiology and medicine were also taught to large numbers of native physicians and students. Among the men who did most in this work were Drs. Hepburn, Berry, and Taylor. Although they have accomplished much good, medical missions are no longer needed in Japan. The Japanese themselves have become adepts in medical science, and especially in surgery. Every town and city has one or more hospitals where competent medical consultation and treatment can be had, and these now occupy the position formerly filled only partially by the mission hospitals. A few hospitals and dispensaries are still kept in operation by some missions, but most of them were years ago dispensed with as no longer profitable. We rejoice that Japan has so far progressed as to be well able to care for the health of her own people, and we adapt ourselves to the changed circumstances, diverting into more fruitful channels the energies formerly expended in this way. {266} XIV HINDRANCES Many of the hindrances that oppose the progress of Christianity in Japan have already been indirectly suggested in other portions of this book. But that they may be more clearly apprehended by the friends of missions at home, and that the effect of their militating influence may be fully felt, we will endeavor in this chapter to arrange them in order and show just how they oppose our work. For the sake of clearness and logical order we will consider the subject under two divisions: 1. Hindrances in Japan common to all mission fields; 2. Hindrances peculiar to Japan. 1. There are certain things inherent in the very nature of Christianity that impede her progress. They are necessities of her being, and cannot be gotten rid of. These things may be either a part of Christianity herself, belonging to her nature, {267} or they may be necessary results of her acceptance by non-Christian peoples. For this reason they are encountered wherever the gospel is propagated; they are common hindrances to the advance of our faith alike in China, India, Africa, and Japan. Although not peculiar to Japan, it seems to me wise briefly to refer to these universal hindrances, because often they are not realized in their full force and power either by the people of our home churches or even by our pastors. To appreciate fully their militating influence one must go to the mission field, and there observe them actually hindering the rapid progress of evangelization. There they are seen in a new light, and are impressed upon the mind as they can hardly be otherwise. If I can succeed in causing the constituency of the churches at home to realize the number, magnitude, and power of these hindrances I will have done good service for the cause of missions. As the first one of these universal militating influences, inherent in the very nature of missions, opposing the progress of Christianity wherever its teachings are newly propagated, I would mention its _revolutionizing tendency_. Christian missions are in their nature revolutionizing. The result is inevitable and unavoidable. The advance of Christianity in a heathen land {268} necessitates the revolutionizing of many institutions that have obtained for centuries. Not only must the religious ideas undergo a revolution, but all moral ideas, and manners and customs as well. The reasons for this are very evident. Religion is intimately connected with the life of man. It furnishes the motive power of his life, controls his actions, creates his morality, determines his manners and customs, and shapes his laws. The ethnic religions are just as intimately interwoven with the lives of their adherents as Christianity is with the lives of Christians; and Buddhism, Confucianism, and Brahmanism have shaped and determined the lives and actions of their adherents. The connection between religion and morality is a necessary and indissoluble one. The two are united in their growth and development, and the form of morality is necessarily colored by the dominant religion. Wherever the Buddhist faith has been accepted there has sprung up a system of morality peculiar to it; so that we speak of a Buddhistic in opposition to a Christian morality. This morality is dependent upon the religion, and a change of religion must bring about a change of morality. Christianity, having necessarily developed a morality in accord with its principles, must, as it advances, destroy the existing systems and create {269} widely different ones. While the better element in heathen nations has more or less outgrown its religious ideas and superstitions, and can calmly contemplate a change of religion, yet its moral system has a stronger hold, and anything which antagonizes it is severely condemned. This necessary revolutionizing of moral ideas very much opposes the progress of Christianity. The acceptance of Christianity necessitates also a revolution in manners and customs. These are partially an expression of the faith that is in us, their nature being determined by it. A change of religion, therefore, means a change in all of these. People have great respect for time-honored customs, and that which antagonizes these brings upon itself condemnation. Christianity changes the manners and customs, and therefore the people do all they can to oppose it. In these ways the work of missions is revolutionizing, and must expect to encounter the opposition of the spirit of conservatism, which is much stronger in the East than in the West. A second principle inherent in the very nature of Christianity which hinders its progress in heathen lands is its _exclusiveness_. Our religion is among the most intolerant in its attitude toward other faiths. We believe and teach that "there is none other name under heaven given among {270} men, whereby we must be saved," than the name of Christ. While acknowledging that other religions contain grains of truth, we must affirm that, as religious systems, they are false. Christ sent forth His apostles to make disciples of all, winning them to the Christian faith. And the aim of the church to-day is, not to cultivate brotherly love and communion with other _religions_, but rather to exterminate them and make Christians of all. She can brook no rival. Her adherents must give their allegiance to her alone. Christianity not only claims to be the only religion, but she can offer no hope to those outside of her pale. While the Bible does not demand that I teach the Japanese that their ancestors are surely lost, it certainly gives me no ground for assuring them of their salvation. We all revere our forefathers, but none so much as the Oriental. He pays periodical visits to the tombs of his ancestors; he worships his father and commemorates the day of his death by mourning. A heaven from which his ancestors are excluded has little attractions for him. Often does the Shintoist say, "I would rather be in hell with my ancestors than in heaven without them." If Christianity could be less exclusive and more tolerant of other faiths she would find a much more ready acceptance at the hands of non-Christian peoples. But she cannot be so and be true {271} to her own nature and mission. In ancient Rome, when the church was called to pass through fire, the manifestation of a more tolerant spirit would have saved her from that awful persecution. The Romans had many gods and did not object to one more. They adopted those of all the conquered peoples, and were ready to adopt the Christians', and erect an altar to Him, if the Christians would acknowledge Him as simply one among the other gods. And from that day to this the exclusive claims of Christianity have brought upon her trials and persecutions, and have hindered her progress throughout the earth. Especially is this religious exclusiveness unpopular in Japan, because there the native religions are very tolerant of one another. These are some of the strongest hindrances to the rapid progress of Christianity in pagan lands. They belong to the very nature of our faith, and cannot be avoided. Their antagonizing influence is encountered wherever the gospel is preached. 2. But I think that the greatest hindrances to mission work in Japan to-day are those which are peculiar to this field. Many circumstances conspire to make Japan stand alone among mission fields. She has been pronounced at once the most promising and the most difficult of all fields for evangelistic work: the most promising because of the life, force, and ability of her people; the {272} most difficult because of the host of peculiar hindrances under which the evangelist must labor there. I will proceed to point out some of these. (1) Perhaps the most potent at present is the _extreme nationalistic feeling_, which has brought into disrepute everything of foreign origin. The Christian religion, being a foreign institution, is therefore unpopular, and is thought to be less adapted to the people and less liable to nourish a strong national feeling than the native Shinto. It is hard for us to realize the fanatical intensity of their patriotism. Having been taught for so many centuries that this is the first virtue, the people have exalted it above everything else. "Japan first, forever, and always," is the universal motto. There is hardly a man, woman, or child in the empire to-day who would not be perfectly willing to lay down his life for the good of the country. This extreme patriotism operates in several ways to hinder the progress of Christianity. It prevents the ready acceptance of the new religion. There are a great many so ignorant and inconsistent as to hate Christianity just because it is of foreign origin, thinking that nothing good can originate outside of Japan. Such people adhere to the native religion, in spite of its inferiority, simply because they think that to do so is patriotic. But there is a much larger and more {273} influential class that is led to antagonize Christianity from patriotic motives other than this. They hold that a belief in the native religions is necessary to preserve their darling patriotic spirit, and that the adoption of any foreign religion would gradually destroy all patriotism and loyalty. Christianity is not national, but cosmopolitan. It teaches the Fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man, both of which great ideas are repugnant to most Japanese, because they do not harmonize with their ideas of the divine origin of the imperial family, and their national superiority to the other races of the world. They want a religion which exalts Japan above everything and inculcates patriotism and loyalty to her alone. But the most hurtful influence of this extreme nationalism is felt within the pale of the church herself. Actuated by it, many of the native Christians, both clerical and lay, want to do away with everything foreign in connection with the churches. The more strictly national they can make their work the better satisfied are they. Not only do they antagonize the missionary and try to push him off the field, but they also antagonize foreign theology, and want to build up a native system with no foreign taint. The result is great friction between the native and foreign workers, strained relations, and in many instances {274} open antagonism. This want of cordiality and harmony, for which the national feeling is largely responsible, is very hurtful to the best interests of our work. But the desire for a purely native theology, which this strong, benighted patriotism begets, is even more hurtful than its sowing seeds of discord among the workers. Many of the leading native ministers and laymen say that it is folly for their churches to perpetuate the theological divisions and creeds of the West, and they propose to develop a theology peculiarly their own. Now Christianity cannot be kept pure and sound without paying due regard to its historical development; and the Japanese, in cutting loose from this, have already run into heresy. The danger is that a Christianity may be developed which is lacking in all that is distinctively Christian, and which will be harder to overcome than the old heathenism. (2) Another hindrance which has operated with great power throughout the whole history of Protestant missions in Japan is the _past record of Christianity_. In a former chapter upon the "First Introduction of Christianity" I have told how Christianity was first introduced, how it grew to magnificent proportions, and how finally it was crushed by the secular arm. The fact that the government once felt constrained to extirpate {275} Christianity, at whatever cost, and especially the fact that the Christians dared oppose the government, have brought our religion into disrepute. Since, according to native morality, whatever government does is right and whatever government opposes is wrong, the mere fact of this opposition on the part of the government is enough to condemn Christianity in the eyes of many. Then the fact that the Christians at last rebelled gives color to the idea already formed that Christianity is disloyal to Japan. That idea prevails widely, and in many quarters Christians are regarded with suspicion. A memory of the past bitter persecutions and of the hated rebellion still lingers. The old people talk of them around the hibachi, as they sip their tea and smoke their pipes; the young read of them in the histories, and thus their memory is kept alive. Many are still living who saw and read the rigid prohibitions of Christianity on the sign-boards over all the country, and they cannot forget them. There are not a few people in the empire who to this day have hardly learned that the changed attitude of the government toward Christianity is more than outward; and these still regard the foreign faith as the chief of all evils. It is really pathetic sometimes to hear them talk of it. There was an old man living near a Christian chapel not far from here, who one day was {276} complaining of his woes and wishing to die. He said it had been a bad year, and none of his crops had done well, two of his children had died, his country had been insulted by a foreign power, and, to cap the climax, Christianity had come and taken up its abode next door to him. This last evil was too much, and he wanted to die. He still regarded our faith as the worst of evils. I once gave a few tracts to some old men in a mountain village near Saga, and they remarked that they remembered the time when it would have meant certain death to be seen with one of those little books. (3) The _character of the education_ prevalent in Japan to-day is also antagonistic to Christianity. The Japanese are a studious race and are capable of high mental development. The country is so well supplied with schools--nearly all of them government institutions--that no one is too poor to receive some education. There is, on the part of the school authorities, no open antagonism to Christianity as such. According to the regulations, no one religion is to be favored more than another in the schools, and complete religious liberty is to be allowed. But the general tenor of the education given is unchristian--an exaltation of reason above faith, of science above religion. Especially is the tendency of the higher education against any form of religion. The {277} educators of Japan are training a nation of atheists and agnostics. The scientific schools of the West that have no room for religion are studied earnestly and copied by educated Japan. In philosophy Herbert Spencer and his school have been acknowledged masters. Indeed, it never seems to have occurred to the minds of thinking Japanese that there are systems of philosophy other than the materialistic. All religious sentiment is crushed in the schools, other things being substituted. Science, learning, is thought to be all that is necessary, and religion is left for old women and children. Men who still believe in religion are thought superstitious and uneducated, and are regarded with a sort of lordly contempt. In a conversation some time ago with a graduate of the Imperial University I was dogmatically told that Christianity was acknowledged to be absurd by all thinking men everywhere, that all religions are only for the infancy of the race, and that full-grown men can dispense with them. This man's views are the usual product of the higher education, of Japan to-day. Hence it happens that few students of the higher schools are Christian, and frequently men go there with Christian sentiments, only to lose them before they leave. (4) The _old religions of Japan_ strongly oppose the march of Christianity. Men often speak as though the old heathen faiths had lost their power {278} and were no longer really believed. Their power is on the wane, but they lack much of being dead. They still possess enough vitality strongly to oppose the evangelization of this land. The old Shinto faith, having the decided advantage of national origin, and fitting in exactly with Japanese ideas of their relative national importance and the nature of their emperor, is a strong opposing influence. Buddhism still possesses a strong hold upon the masses of the people. It has the recommendation of age, has played a prominent part in the national history, and is dear to the hearts of the people. It occupies a decided vantage-ground from which it opposes us and our work. To some in the West it seems almost incredible that these people should really believe and trust in these faiths. And yet be assured that they do believe and trust in them. There are about the same sincerity, the same confidence, and the same faith placed in Buddhism by its adherents as are placed in Christianity by its. The religious cravings and instincts of the people are, on the whole, satisfied by their native religions. The opposition of Buddhism to Christianity does not consist solely in misrepresentation, nor is it founded on ignorance, but is an intelligent opposition. Some of the Buddhist priests study carefully our language for the purpose of reading {279} our theology and informing themselves as to our faith. It is said that one of the very best collections of books of Christian evidences and apologetics to be found in all Japan is in the Buddhist library in Kyoto. Buddhism has learned some useful lessons from Christianity. She is now learning the value of stated preaching for the information of her people in Buddhist doctrine, and the value of organized, systematic effort. A Young Men's Buddhist Association has been formed, after the model of the Young Men's Christian Association, which is doing much toward holding the young men to the Buddhist faith. Buddhism is on the alert, is quick and active, antagonizes us at every turn, and is one of the very strongest hindrances to the progress of Christianity. (5) The _social ostracism_ visited upon those who become Christians very much hinders our progress. Most of our converts, unless their relatives and friends are Christians, are ostracized; in many cases they are entirely cut off from their families and are disinherited. In America, when one becomes a Christian, he has the encouragement and sympathy of all good people, and his family and friends rejoice with him. In Japan for a member of a family to become a Christian is considered a disgrace, and the united influence of family and friends is powerfully exerted to prevent such a {280} calamity. Influential men in our city have told me that perhaps the greatest hindrance to my work is that by becoming a Christian a man shuts himself off from his family and friends. I am convinced that many would take a stand for Christ much more readily if the home influence were not so antagonistic. A student in the Normal School of our city, who came to me for many months to study Christianity, told me that his family bitterly hated the Christian religion, and that he could not return home if he became a believer. In spite of this he was led by the Spirit to ask for baptism, and I baptized him. Afterward he wrote very dutiful letters to his home, trying to explain that he felt impelled by duty to take this step, and that Christianity was not so heinous a thing as they supposed; but no answers came. In course of time, being compelled to return to his own town on business, he went to his home to spend the night; but his mother and brothers would not recognize him, and he had to go away to a hotel. His father was dead, and his mother tried to disinherit him, but was by the law prevented. His family and friends have never forgiven him, and now he never sees them. Similar cases could be cited without number proving the same thing. Is it not natural, then, for a man to hesitate to take this step? {281} (6) Another obstacle to the progress of missions in Japan is that the _church is too much divided_. Almost every small religious body known has felt it incumbent upon itself to undertake work here. It may be true that denominations working separately are no hindrance to the cause of Christ in the home field, but I think they are surely a hindrance in the foreign work. It is a fine rhetorical figure to liken the various denominations and sects to different divisions of one vast army, all engaged under the same general, in the same work; but the figure does not represent the facts. We do not have one vast Christian army, each division occupying only its own field, directed by one mind, and moving in unison. The most optimistic cannot so regard the different denominations and sects of Christendom. Like other oft-used figures, this one is entirely at variance with the facts. Oftener is it true that these sects oppose one another, and much prefer their own welfare to that of the whole body of Christ. You cannot satisfactorily explain to non-Christian people the reasons why you must have a Lutheran, a Methodist, a Presbyterian, and a Baptist church; and if they could be brought to understand our differences this would in no way recommend us or our creed to them. It is a great pity that each mission field is not allotted to some one denomination and left alone by all {282} the others. If this cannot be, at least only one body should work in one town. Then these complications would be partially avoided, and Christianity would more recommend itself to the thoughtful citizen. We suffer in Japan more from a superfluity of sects than of denominations. The Universalists and Unitarians are here with their heresies, and are poisoning many minds. Many other bodies are here, antagonizing the established order of things and teaching religious anarchy. I suppose there is no mission field in the world that has a larger number of sects and divisions. But the regular orthodox denominations work more harmoniously in Japan than in the home lands. Strifes and jealousies between them are rare, while expressions of mutual appreciation and of Christian courtesy are common. (7) I think the _foreign communities_ in the open ports of Japan are a hindrance to the work of evangelization. In the seven treaty ports there are regular concessions for foreign residence and trade, and thousands of foreigners live in them. These communities are largely composed of merchants and of those connected with the various consulates, most of whom have come here for purposes of gain, and are interested in nothing besides money-getting. A large per cent. of this population is very undesirable. As representatives {283} of Western civilization (the product of Christianity) the foreign settlements should be model Christian communities, and were they such they could exert a powerful influence for good. But as it is, their example does not recommend itself to the Japanese. To say nothing whatever of the charges of immorality and dissoluteness preferred against these men, they are certainly not Christians. One would think, to observe them, that they had not come from Christian lands at all. Many who are here only temporarily, being away from all home influences and restraints, set a most ungodly example. They will not attend church; they take no interest in religious work; they speak disparagingly of religion in general, and of the Christian religion in particular; and to them a missionary is an eyesore. While we are laboring to Christianize the people, our own countrymen, the representatives of Christian lands and the exponents of a Christian civilization, are in the foreign ports setting a most ungodly example. The natives are quick to notice these things, and they reason that, if our faith is as good as we represent it to be, why have our countrymen not profited better by it? The presence of these antichristian representatives of Christendom is a great hindrance. But not all of the foreigners in the open ports {284} of Japan are of this character. There are some good Christian men and women among the business classes, who are interested in all kinds of Christian work. And yet the prevailing tendency of the foreign business communities is against Christian work. (8) The last but not the least hindrance I will mention is the _language_. It has been said of both Chinese and Japanese that they were invented by the devil to keep Christian missionaries from speaking freely with the natives. Whether that be true or not, it certainly is true that Japanese is one of the most difficult languages on the globe. To know it well, three different languages must be acquired: spoken Japanese, written Japanese, and Chinese. The colloquial and the book language are quite different, the literary being partly Chinese. The latter is written by ideographs, and you must have a sign for each idea. About five thousand of these characters will enable one to get along, although there are probably fifty thousand in all. By a sheer act of memory to learn five thousand hideous characters is no little task. The colloquial itself is exceedingly difficult to use aright. My readers may be surprised to learn that of the missionaries laboring in Japan one third cannot speak the language intelligibly to the natives. It seems that many Occidentals, laboring never so hard, really cannot {285} acquire the language. One never feels sure in this language that he is saying just what he wants to say. If it were less difficult, so that missionaries could acquire complete command of it and use it as readily as they do their mother tongue, the work of evangelization would go on more rapidly. These, as I understand them, are the principal things which at present hinder the progress of Christianity in Japan. Some of them are inherent in the very nature of the work, and will be encountered to the end. Others, I believe, are transient, and will by and by pass away. {286} XV SPECIAL PROBLEMS In the broad sphere of labor which the missionary must fill he daily meets most difficult problems, whose solution requires the exercise of consummate judgment, skill, and patience. Although these problems are not given a prominent place in mission reports, and are not therefore very well known at home, they loom up mountain-high before every missionary. They have a practical importance in the field surpassed by none other. Men differ so widely in regard to their solution that they not infrequently work division in a mission. A brief presentation of some of these problems will enable the home churches better to understand our work and to sympathize with us, and will be of practical worth to those who contemplate coming to work in this field. The first problem to meet the missionary is, _how to deal with inquirers_. {287} In Japan not one in three at first comes with sincere motives and good intentions. On the contrary, he comes seeking some material advantage, hoping in some way to profit by his association with the missionary, or vaguely expecting to be benefited by an alliance with what appears to be a stronger and more living cause. Those who from the first are impelled to come by real spiritual motives are indeed rare. How to deal with such inquirers is the question. To turn them away would be to send them back into heathenism. Manifestly we must hold them until they have more spiritual motives. I suppose all missionaries would agree that, no matter how material and selfish their motives, inquirers should be encouraged to continue coming, with the hope of gradually leading them into the truth. We could hardly expect them at first to have pure motives, as such are practically unknown to them. Heathenism, with its degrading idolatries and immoralities, does not beget these, and we cannot expect to discover them until the old religions have been discarded and the inquirers have been brought under the instruction and care of the church. Therefore, whatever the motive, we should receive them, and after a long period of Christian teaching and discipline look for a change of heart. But the length of this probation before they are received {288} into the church, and whether it shall be required--those are matters upon which the practice of missions differs widely. Some have a prescribed time which must elapse before candidates are admitted to membership; others leave it to the judgment of the local evangelist or missionary. The latter seems the better plan. Another question is, _Just how much shall candidates for church-membership be required to give up_? As to strictly heathen practices, such as idolatry and gross immorality, there can be no question. But what of practices about which the judgment of men differs? Some missions require total abstinence from all intoxicating drinks. Some, like the Methodist, require abstinence from the use of tobacco, especially on the part of pastors and evangelists. These churches urge in favor of their position the comparative ease with which such restrictions may be applied in the young churches of Japan. Shall we follow the lead of these more conservative churches, or shall we adopt a more liberal policy? Shall we require converts who are engaged in any way in the manufacture or sale of tobacco or liquor to change their business? The practice of our own mission (the Lutheran) is, except in the manufacture, sale, or inordinate use of intoxicants, to allow liberty of conscience. {289} Another and a very perplexing problem we find to be, _what to do with honest inquirers who have no means of support_. This class is numerous. There are a great many poor in Japan--in fact, nearly all are poor. As Japanese custom--even more in ancient times than at present--made the poorer classes look to the rich for their maintenance and support, many converts look to the missionary, not to support them outright, but to help them into positions where they can earn a living. Not a few have their means of support cut off by the very act of becoming Christians. In such cases it seems but fair that the mission should do what it can to assist them. But how? To support them is too expensive, besides being demoralizing to them and the community. In some mission fields industrial schools, mission farms, and various other enterprises are established to provide employment for such, and in this way they are helped to support themselves. But in a country like Japan, where industrial and commercial life is highly organized and developed, it is almost impossible for the missions to do such work. We have neither the means nor the skill to compete with the industries around us. This question of support for the poor of the churches is a pressing one, and causes the missionary much anxiety and thought. The native church can do {290} much more toward its solution than the missionary, and as the church grows in influence and resources the problem may solve itself. After a body of converts has been gathered, and the time has come for organizing a church, the greatest problem of all arises--_the problem of the native church_. This is not one problem, but is rather a combination of problems, some of which are the following: What shall be the form of its organization? How shall its ministry be supplied? How shall it be supported? What is the relation of the missionary to the native church? What shall be its attitude toward national customs? These are important and difficult problems, and on their right solution will depend in no small measure the prosperity and success of the native church. Some missions do not seem thoroughly to grasp and give due prominence to this idea of the native church. They interpret their commission to mean the evangelization of the masses rather than the building up of a strong native church. But the Christianization of any land will ultimately depend upon the native church, and not upon the foreign missionary. Therefore the first and chief aim of the missionary should be to call out and develop a strong, self-supporting, and self-propagating native church, in whose hands the {291} evangelization of the masses of the people can ultimately be left. In the organization of the native church, what polity shall be given it? Shall it be organized exactly as the home church which the mission represents, or shall it be free to develop its own form of organization? Both of these plans are unsatisfactory. Most churches are agreed that no special form of church polity has divine sanction, this being merely a question of expediency; and that therefore the new churches should, as far as possible, be left free to adopt a constitution in harmony with the national character and habits. At the same time, forms of church government that have been tried at home and approved should not be ignored. What has stood the test of time, and proved its worth in many lands, doubtless will in its main features be of substantial value in the mission field. It is but natural that Presbyterian societies should organize native churches under their own form of government, Methodist under theirs, and Episcopal under theirs. But, in the very nature of the case, a first organization will only be tentative. As the church develops it will probably develop a polity of its own. In view of this, the polity imposed upon the native church by the mission at its first organization should be as flexible as possible. {292} It would be folly for the Lutheran Church, for instance, which has one polity in Germany, another in Sweden, another in Iceland, and still another in America, to attempt permanently to impose any one of those special forms upon the Japanese Lutheran Church; it will have its own special polity, but this should not cause us any anxiety or concern. If the faith and life of the church are right, it matters but little about its polity. We should be more concerned for the broader interests of the kingdom than for the perpetuation of our special form of the church, for the promise of final triumph is only to the kingdom. Experience has settled certain points in regard to the native church, which Dr. Lawrence, in his admirable book on "Modern Missions in the East," denominates "axioms of missions." My own experience and judgment lead me to give them my hearty indorsement. Three are named: 1. "The native church in each country should be organized as a distinct church, ecclesiastically independent of the church in any other country." 2. "The pastorate of the native church should be a native pastorate. Whatever else the missionary is, he should not be pastor." 3. "The principles of self-control, self-help, and self-extension should be recognized in the {293} very organization of the church. To postpone them to days of strength is to postpone both strength and blessing." The question of self-support and independence is one of the gravest in connection with the native church. All are agreed as to its desirableness, and all aim ultimately to attain it; but the success hitherto attained in Japan is not what might be expected. There are perhaps a larger number of self-supporting churches in Japan than in most mission fields, but not so many as there should be. The native churches, as a rule, do not contribute what they should or could toward their own support. In this regard the statistics usually given are very deceptive. Many of those churches put down as self-supporting either are so largely through the private contributions of the missionaries of the station, or are churches in connection with mission schools, where the expense is small because one of the professors, who draws a salary from the board, acts as pastor. I have heard of one church marked "self-supporting" that was composed of only one man and his family. This man was the evangelist, who, having some private means, supported himself. While the annual statistics show fairly good contributions "by the native churches," it should be borne in mind that the contributions of a large body of missionaries, who are liberal givers, are {294} included. At most stations they give more than the whole native church combined. Native Christians do not contribute as much toward the support of the gospel as they formerly did toward the support of their false religions. The reasons for this are, first, that heathenism induced larger gifts by teaching that every one who makes a contribution for religious purposes is thereby heaping up merit for himself in the life to come. And, second, that the native churches have from the beginning leaned on the missionaries and societies, until independent giving and self-sacrifice have been discouraged. The mission board is looked upon as an institution of limitless resources, whose business it is to provide money for the work. And, third, that in many instances the native evangelists do not heartily second the efforts of the missionaries to bring the churches to a self-supporting basis. They would much rather draw their salaries from the mission treasurer than from the members of their churches. The reasons for this are obvious: they could not conscientiously urge their flocks to support them on a better scale than they themselves live, but they can ask the mission to do this; again, when their salaries come from the mission they are prompt and sure, while if they come from the churches they are irregular and uncertain. But in justice to Japanese {295} pastors it should be said that, while the above is true of many of them, there are others who have willingly made personal sacrifices, living on much smaller salaries than formerly, in order to assist their churches to self-support. How to overcome all these obstacles and develop a liberal, self-supporting spirit in the native church is a difficult problem with which the mission boards are at present grappling. The Congregational Church has more nearly solved it than any other, yet its number of independent churches fell off considerably during the past year. The native church must not be judged too harshly for its failure in self-support. It has not yet been educated in giving as the home churches have, and its resources are very limited. Most of its members are exceedingly poor and have all they can do to provide for the support of themselves and families. Our proper attitude toward them in this matter is one of patience, sympathy, and help. How shall the native church be provided with a competent ministry? This is a perplexing question to the churches in the home lands; how much more so in a mission field! It is necessary to provide pastors, evangelists, catechists, teachers, Bible-women, etc.--a whole army of workers. {296} The first question in this connection is, How is the material to be provided? Shall bright, active boys who seem adapted to the work be selected out of the mission schools and especially trained for this work at the expense of the mission, without waiting for a divine call? This is the usual method, but it is far from satisfactory. Such, not having sought the ministerial office, do not feel its dignity and responsibility as much as those who are brought into it by a personal call. Some of the brightest and most promising, after having been educated at the expense of the mission, are easily enticed into other callings. Men so chosen and educated are very apt to consider themselves, and to be considered by others, as simply paid agents of the mission. Often their labors are performed in a mere routine and perfunctory manner, they evidently caring more for employment than for conversions. These are serious objections, and yet many good and noble men have been so trained; it does seem that in the early stages of mission work there is hardly any other way of providing a native ministry. So soon as a native church is developed, with its accompanying Christian sentiment, the personal call to the ministry can be relied upon to furnish the material. An effort is then made by most of the larger missionary bodies to give a broad training to many men, and to rely upon a {297} certain number, in answer to a divine call, seeking the ministerial office. In this way the mission schools supply a portion of the theological students, but in Japan the larger portion are not graduates of the mission schools. After the men are supplied, how shall they be trained for work? Shall instruction be given in Japanese only, or shall English be taught also? (For full discussion of this question see Chapter XIII.) Shall Greek and Hebrew be studied? How far shall the native religions be taught? Shall the curriculum in other respects be about what it is at home, or shall it be modified and especial stress laid upon certain subjects? Shall students study privately with the missionaries, or shall theological seminaries be erected? Shall students be encouraged to complete their theological training in Europe and America? Space does not permit a discussion of each of these questions, but only a bare statement of the consensus of judgment and practice in Japan after years of experience. Shall instruction in the original languages of Scripture be given? As to the desirability of this there can be no question; but as the whole science of theology is entirely new here, and a study of its more important branches requires a long time, it has not been customary to give instruction in either of these languages. In recent years some seminaries have been trying to {298} introduce primary courses in Greek and Hebrew, and as the schools grow older, and their equipment improves, these languages will gradually be added to the curriculum. Shall the religious systems and books of Japan be taught in theological schools? It is highly desirable that native ministers clearly understand and be able intelligently to combat the false religions around them; and to this end some seminaries give instruction in the doctrines of Buddhism and Shinto as well as Christianity. In one or two instances Buddhism is taught in Christian theological schools by Buddhist priests, but it is usually taught by Christian teachers in connection with dogmatic theology. As a rule, the native ministry desires more thorough instruction in the native religions, while the missionaries oppose any extension of the curriculum in that direction. In general the same branches of theology are taught here that are taught at home. It is especially desirable that instruction in dogmatics and apologetics be thorough and sound, and these branches should perhaps be emphasized more than others. Experience has proved that it is much better to have theological schools where the native ministry may be instructed than for the missionary to undertake such instruction in private. All the larger missions have fairly well-equipped {299} theological schools, and private instruction is only given by a few men whose missions have not yet been able to establish these. It is unfortunate, both for the student and for the missionary, when theological instruction must be given in private. Many Japanese have been sent abroad to complete their theological course, but the experiment has not been satisfactory. The consensus of opinion now is that for the main body of pastors and evangelists a local training is much better than a foreign one. A few men of exceptional ability may be educated abroad as teachers and leaders, but great care must be taken not to denationalize them. Another perplexing question in connection with the native church is its relation to the missionaries. On this subject there is great diversity of opinion. Shall the missionary retain any control over the native church, or shall he have only advisory power? Can he take an active part in its deliberations, or shall he be excluded from them? As the church grows and develops it will come more and more to rely upon itself and to act independently of the mission. The majority of Japanese Christians take the ground that the missionary has nothing to do with the organized native church, but that his sphere is with the unevangelized masses and unorganized chapels. {300} In the Congregational churches the missionaries have no voice or vote in the meetings and councils, and are recognized only as advisory members. In contrast to this policy is that of the Episcopal and Methodist bodies, in whose councils natives and foreigners meet together and deliberate in harmony. The meetings are presided over by the foreigners, and they have a controlling voice in all legislation. The Presbyterians also take part in presbytery and synod, but the Japanese usually preside and are in the majority. Certainly the missionary should not be pastor of the native church and should not exercise lordly control over it; but it "does seem that he should retain some influence, or at least should have veto power against unwise legislation. What shall be the attitude of the native church toward certain national habits and customs? Here is a problem that often perplexes missionaries and evangelists. It is recognized by all that anything squarely in contradiction to Christianity must be opposed. On the other hand, it is recognized that national customs should be carefully observed when they are not antichristian or immoral. There are some customs in Japan about the nature of which great difference of opinion prevails, such as the honors shown dead ancestors, bowing before the emperor's picture, contributing to certain religious festivals, etc. {301} When a parent dies it is customary for the children to pay regular visits to the tomb, to make offerings there, and to reverence or worship the departed. In the eyes of some this act involves real worship; to others it is merely an expression of reverence and respect. It seems that Paul's principle of not eating meat for his weak brother's sake should be applied here. The act in itself may be performed without compromising a Christian's conscience; but for the sake of the common people, to whom it means worship, it should be omitted by Christians, and the churches generally forbid it. In all the schools, at certain festivals, the emperor's picture is brought out, and all teachers and pupils are required to bow before it. This is a national custom very dear to the hearts of the people, and any one failing to comply with it is severely censured. Much has been said and written as to the religious significance of the act. To the more enlightened of the Japanese this prostration before the emperor's picture may be only an act of deep reverence and respect, such as is shown to royalty in the West by the lifting of the hat, but to the masses it doubtless is real worship, in so far as they know what worship is. This is not strange when we remember the almost universally accepted belief as to the divine origin of the mikado. The government itself virtually {302} acknowledged the religious significance of the act when it passed a law permitting foreign teachers in the various schools to absent themselves on the day of the exaltation of the imperial picture, if they so desired. Now here is a national custom very dear to the people, in itself harmless, but which in the eyes of many involves real worship. What shall be the attitude of the church toward it? Some religious festivals are observed in Japan which have more or less political significance. While they are generally held in connection with some temple, there may be nothing distinctively heathen about the festival itself. To provide for the expense, each house is asked to contribute a certain amount of money--the Christians along with the rest. There is no legal compulsion in the matter, but every one contributes, and there is a moral necessity to do so. Now what stand shall the Christian church take on this matter? Shall the members be advised to comply with the custom, or shall they be forbidden to do so? How to remain faithful to her Lord, and yet not unnecessarily wound the national feelings of her countrymen, is the delicate and difficult problem which the native church must solve. A very important problem is, _how to bring about more coöperation in mission work_. It is highly desirable that Christianity present an {303} undivided front to the enemy, that its forces at least work in harmony with one another. While men's views on important theological questions differ so radically as at present it is useless to talk of organic union; but there can and should be brotherly recognition, mutual assistance whenever possible, respect for one another's views, absence of controversy, scrupulous regard for another's recognized territory, and hearty coöperation in all possible ways. There is something of this realized in Japan to-day. The Christian bodies, as a rule, dwell together in peace and harmony, rejoicing in one another's welfare. Contentions and strife are much less common than in the West. All the various branches of the Reformed and Presbyterian churches are laboring in hearty coöperation to build up one united native church. The various Episcopal bodies, while themselves organically distinct, are also building up an undivided Japanese Episcopal Church. But much yet remains that might be done in this line. In matters of publication, theological education, etc., that involve heavy expense, plans might be devised whereby several missions could coöperate, and thus the expense be lessened to each and the work better done. To illustrate: here is a small mission, with only a few workers and a very small amount of money wherewith to {304} operate. It has all the evangelistic work it can do, and is unable to support its own theological school. Some of its missionaries are taken from the evangelistic work and forced to train, as best they can, one or two theological students. In the same community is a good theological school belonging to a sister mission, that has only a few students and would be glad to give its advantages to the students of the other mission. It does seem that some plan of coöperation should be devised whereby each could be accommodated. This problem is unsolved, and each little mission goes on working independently of all the others, at the cost of larger expenditure and poorer work. An easier form of coöperation very much to be desired, which has not yet been consummated, is that between different branches of the same church. That those known by the same name, whose doctrine and polity differ but little, and who are separated in the West only by geographical divisions, should coöperate on the mission field is a plain duty, failure to effect which is culpable. Take the great Methodist Church. There are five different Methodist bodies at work in Japan--each one prosecuting its work separate and distinct from the others. There is no conflict between them, neither is there any coöperation. What a saving there would be if these bodies would coöperate, especially in the matter of {305} educational work! As it is, each one of them supports its own academical and theological school, at a cost of men and money almost sufficient for the needs of all if united. Many of these different schools are at present poorly attended and consequently poorly equipped; whereas if the whole educational work were done by one or at most two institutions there would be a large number of students and the equipment could be made first-class. An effort has been made on several occasions to unite these various Methodist bodies, and most of them desire a union, but as yet it has failed of accomplishment. The responsibility for this failure lies much more with the home boards than with the missionaries. The latter generally desire more coöperation, and could bring it about were it not for the restrictions placed upon them. This is a problem to the solution of which the various missionary societies should set themselves in earnest. If the advance of the kingdom is partly hindered by a lack of this coöperation, then the mission boards are responsible before God. The above are but some of the problems which present themselves to-day in Japan. If I have succeeded in impressing the reader with their number, complexity, and difficulty of solution, my purpose is accomplished. {306} XVI THE OUTLOOK It is exceedingly difficult to form a reliable conjecture concerning the future state of Christianity in Japan. In this land the unexpected always happens. It has been called a land of surprises. Instability, vacillation, and change are its characteristics. What is in favor to-day may be out to-morrow; what is out of favor to-day may be in to-morrow. The signs of the times may clearly indicate a certain trend of events for the next year, but ere that year has come all may change and the happenings be quite different from what was expected. The fact is, Japan is undergoing a peaceable social and political revolution, and it is hard to tell what a day may bring forth. But there are certain factors which, if left to their natural development, will tend to bring about a certain condition, and by considering {307} those factors we can tell something about what that condition ought to be. We will attempt, then, to take a bird's-eye view of the influences in operation on this mission field, and will make a surmise as to their probable outcome in the future. There are three factors which must be considered in attempting to form an opinion as to the outlook: _the working forces; the opposition to their work; and the natural adaptability or inadaptability of the people_. We will endeavor to look right closely into these. Humanly speaking, the forces engaged in any work will determine, to some extent, the future condition of that work. The future of Christianity in Japan will depend in part upon the present working Christian forces. These forces are the native church, the body of missionaries, and the whole mass of mission machinery. The burden of the work rests with the native church. The evangelization of the masses must be chiefly by her effort. The standing of Christianity in the empire will depend upon her. If true to her Lord, and faithful in the discharge of the task which He has given, the result will probably be good. Now what is the condition of the native church in Japan to-day? There are 100,000 Christians, including Protestants, Greeks, and Romanists. These Christians have manifested commendable zeal, earnestness, and {308} piety. The native church is organized, hopeful, and aggressive, yet in many respects not what her friends desire and what they pray she may be. Very much is yet to be desired in the matters of orthodoxy, self-support, and internal harmony, but it is not sure that this native church is more lacking in these respects than native churches in other mission fields. Church history seems to indicate that the church in every land must go through a certain period of doctrinal development. The old heresies of Arianism, Pelagianism, and Sabellianism spring up in their order on each mission field, and are finally succeeded by orthodoxy. Japan is now in that developing period, and loose theological views are to be expected. There are many men of unorthodox views in the native church, who exert a strong influence; but there are also many men of sound evangelical views, who will be able probably to restrain the radicals and determine the future development. I think in time there will come to the church in Japan a sounder faith and a fuller Christian consciousness, and that she will faithfully bear her part in the evangelization of this land. Although there are now many elements in the church which should not be there, we must have faith to leave the removal of them to the influence of time and the guidance of the Holy Spirit. God will take care of His church {309} and endow her for the work He has given her to do. The foreign missionaries in Japan can be depended upon to do all in their power to bring about the triumph of Christianity. They are a large body of earnest, consecrated workers, led by the Spirit of God. With but a few exceptions, a more faithful and talented body of men cannot be found. There are in all branches of the church, including Greek and Roman Catholics, 876 European missionaries. This number includes single and married women. Such a force, led by the Holy Spirit, ought to be able to do much to hasten the coming of the kingdom in Japan. Besides the native and foreign workers, all the machinery and institutions of various kinds necessary for the growth and expansion of the church are now in operation. A good Christian literature is rapidly forming, numerous Christian schools of various grades are planted over all the empire, and a large number of Christian colleges and theological seminaries are already open. When we thus review the human forces upon which the future depends we have reason to feel encouraged. But no matter how strong and consecrated the body of workers, the success of the work will in some degree be conditioned by the hindrances {310} which are placed in the way. There may be certain social or governmental oppositions, certain combinations of militating circumstances, which will prove insurmountable to the best workers, effectually hindering the future of a work otherwise promising. Formerly, as has been shown, the government put every opposition it could in the way of Christian work. Long after the prohibitions of Christianity were removed governmental influence was exerted against it in many ways. Even after religious liberty was granted by the promulgation of the constitution it was far from being realized. In certain departments of the governmental service, especially in the military and educational departments, until very recent years persecutions were still practised in a mild but effective way. But all this is now a thing of the past. The attitude of the government has changed recently, and instead of hindering it has actually encouraged and in several ways helped in our work. During the late war with China it permitted the sending to the army of three native chaplains, and on the field encouraged and helped them all it could. These men were not officially styled "Christian chaplains," but were called _imonshi_, or comforters. It is not true, as has recently been affirmed by a minister in New York, {311} that there are regularly appointed permanent Christian chaplains to the Japanese army. None but these three have ever been appointed, and their appointment was only temporary. But the fact that the government granted them permission to accompany the armies and encouraged their work shows clearly a changed attitude toward the Christian religion. The same is indicated by the fact that the authorities willingly gave permission for the distribution of Bibles to the soldiers in every department of the army. They even aided in the distribution, and often arranged for those who distributed them to preach to the soldiers. I think few non-Christian lands have ever gone so far as this in their encouragement of Christianity. From these facts I infer that the government will no longer place obstacles in the way of our work. Such obstacles have in the past prevented many from favoring Christianity, and their removal augurs well for the future. The native religions have very much hindered the evangelization of Japan. Their militating influence is still active and powerful, but I think it is gradually declining. Buddhism will die hard, but she is too old, effete, and corrupt permanently to withstand her younger and more powerful foe. The inherent truth of Christianity must ultimately give it the victory. As Japanese education and {312} enlightenment advance, the intrinsic superiority of Christianity over Buddhism must appear and must recommend it to the people. The hope of our religion in this land lies largely in the fact of the insatiable desire of the people for Western learning and civilization. The ever-increasing introduction of Western literature, the adoption of our civilization and institutions, will necessarily bring about a better acquaintance with Christianity, its spirit and aims. Then the prejudice against it will gradually die out, and it will, appealing to them in its true light,--the germ and base of all true civilization, and the foster-mother of education and enlightenment,--be readily accepted. The social hindrances operating against Christianity to-day are all local and personal, and will probably become less and less until they die a natural death. Every part of the empire is absolutely open, and there is nothing to hinder a full and free proclamation of the gospel in every town, village, and hamlet in Japan. The superior position of Christianity at present to that which it held a few years ago is striking. Professor Chamberlain, a very close observer, whose experience in Japan has extended over many years, says: "To those who can look back thirty years, or even only twenty years, the change in the position of Christianity in Japan {313} is most striking, indeed well-nigh incredible." From a hated and despised thing it has risen to a position in which it commands the respect of many of the best men in the land. But there is another element which must be taken into consideration in making up an estimate of the outlook, and that is the natural adaptability or inadaptability of the people for Christianity. The farmer may labor long and hard; he may sow the best seed; sunshine and rain may lend their encouragement; but if the soil is uncongenial the yield will be small. In the same way, a strong, consecrated working force may labor, unopposed, with might and main in the mission field, but if the soil is not congenial the results will be small. Are the Japanese people well or ill adapted by nature to the reception of Christianity? The strongest opposition to our work, and the one which makes us most anxious for the future, lies in the natural constitution of the people for whom we labor. Many natural characteristics of this people predispose them to reject Christianity. I must again refer to that strong nationalistic feeling which is inborn in every Japanese and which hinders the rapid progress of the gospel. This principle, operating within the church, threatens to destroy the orthodoxy and integrity of the faith. Animated by a patriotic feeling {314} that is more blind than enlightened, the creeds, the polity, the life of the church of the West, are considered as of little worth, and many parts of the native church are extremely anxious to cut off everything possible that has a foreign flavor, and to create a form of Christianity peculiarly Japanese. Again, the nationalistic feeling prompts many, both in the church and out of it, to chafe at the presence of foreign religious teachers in their midst. The very presence of these teachers is looked upon as an implication that the Japanese are not competent to instruct themselves in religious matters, and this is much resented. As a prominent Japanese put it not long ago, "What could be more inconsistent or improper than for great Japan, that has so recently humbled China and forced the admiration of the world for her skill in arms, as well as for her educational, commercial, and industrial development, to be instructed in religious matters by foreigners?" Operating in these ways, Japanese patriotism ill adapts the people for a reception of Christianity. Another feature of the native character which is not favorable is its lack of seriousness and stability. Religion is a serious, solemn matter, but the Japanese are not a serious-minded people. Their beliefs have always sat lightly upon them, to be taken off and put on at will. Where these {315} characteristics are largely wanting the progress of Christianity will probably be slow. At present the Japanese are too materialistic properly to appreciate a religion so spiritual as ours. In religion, as in all other things, they desire to receive some present material benefit; and when the rewards of Christianity are found to be chiefly spiritual, and most of them not realized in the present life, a deaf ear is turned. This is an era of great material prosperity in Japan, and the minds of the people are fully occupied with commercial and industrial questions, to the exclusion of moral and religious ones. The most common attitude of the Japanese public toward Christianity to-day is one of absolute indifference. The people think that if the government permits this religion it cannot be so very bad; it is making little progress anyway, and they need give it no notice whatever. If others care to go and hear about it, all right, but as for themselves, they have no relations with it. The usual experience now when a new chapel is opened and preaching begun is that for a few times large numbers of people will come out of curiosity; then after a little they stop, and no further regard is paid to the chapel or the preaching. The conflict of religions, the inconsistencies and shortcomings of the old faiths, the advancing knowledge, have combined to bring about a state {316} of indifference, wide-spread and hard to overcome. It is in many respects more hurtful than a position of open antagonism. The natural tendency of the Japanese mind to be skeptical in regard to all supernatural questions has been fostered by education to such an extent that educated Japan is to-day largely a nation of atheists, or at least of agnostics. The proud pharisaic spirit is abroad, indisposing the race to accept Christ. The course of Christianity in the future will not be an unopposed, easy march to victory. There yet remains a great deal to be done, Many clouds still linger on the horizon, making us anxious about the morrow. But so much has already been done that the churches at home should feel encouraged to renew their energies for the final contest. When one division of an army has forced a breach in the enemy's lines, it is not left to hold the position alone, but reinforcements are hurried forward to its assistance, and the advantage gained is instantly followed up. The attack has been made in Japan; the enemy's lines have been broken, but the victory is not yet. This is no time for retreat, for hesitancy, or for cavil; this is a time for prompt reinforcement and liberal support. Let the home churches feel that such is their present duty toward the work in Japan. {317} Although the outlook to-day is not to the natural eye very bright, to the spiritual eye all is as noonday. The victory has been assured from the beginning. However indisposed by nature the people among whom we labor may be, whatever hindrances may oppose our work, the word of the Almighty has gone forth--_the kingdoms of this world shall become the kingdoms of our Lord and of His Christ_. The victory is sure, because God reigns. In His own good time every opposing influence will pass away, and the banner of King Immanuel will wave over all this fair land. It may not be in the present century; it may not even be in the lifetime of any now living; but it will surely be when God's time is fulfilled. With an assured faith, built upon the firm promises of God, we confidently look forward to the time when the empire of Japan shall no longer be a mission field, but shall herself send the message of light and life to the darkened millions around her. May God hasten the day. {319} INDEX Ainu, 10, 33. American Board (Congregational), 171; history of work, 179; strained relations with native church, 182. Ancestors, worship of, 117, 270, 301. Animals, 29. Art, 95. Asama, 11. Ashikaga, 42. Ballagh, Rev. Mr., baptized first convert, 175. Banking, 103. Baptists, 171, 187. Bathing, 83. Beautiful, love of the, 59. Belief, missionary's, 198. Berry, Dr. J. C., opinions on vacations, 218, 220, 223; his medical work, 265. Bible, first portions translated, 147, 174; translation of, essential, 162; translation committee and work, 175; distribution to soldiers, 311. Bible and tract societies of America and England, work of, 190. Bicycle, 245. Birds, 30. Biwa, 14. Bridges, 16. Brotherhood, universal, unknown, 136; repugnant, 273. Brothers, relation of, 134. Brown, Rev. Dr. S. R., 170; drafts of New Testament, 174. Buddhism, introduction of, 40; principal features of, 126; history of, 127; formative power of, 128; temples and priests, 129; and Christianity, 126, 130, 279; vitality of, 278, 311. Camphor, 26. Census of 1893, 9. Chamberlain, Professor, on advance of Christianity in Japan, 312. Chaplains, Christian, appointed by the government, 310. Character, missionary's, 200. Cheerfulness, native, 53. Children, an allowance for, 214. China, early influence of, 39; ancient civilization of, 90; recent war with, 49, 310. Christianity, first introduction of, 144; early successes, 148; attempted extermination of, 154; cannot be extirpated, 156; prohibitions of, 157, 172; edicts against, removed, 176; reaction against, 178; by nature diffusive, 243; revolutionizing tendency of, 267; exclusiveness of, 269; past record of, 274; advance of, 312. Church, first organized, 175; sifting of, 178. Church of Christ in Japan, 184. Civilization, definition of, 89; Japan's compared with Western, 106; adoption of Western, 177. Climate, 19-22. Clothing, 73, 82. Commercial honor, 67; morality, 120. Confucianism, and Japanese morality, 109; ethics of, 110; history of, 130; basal principles of, 131; nearest approach to Christianity, 135; contrasted with Christianity, 243. Consecration of missionary, 197. Constitution of Japan, 47, 96. Converts, first, 175; social ostracism of, 279; requirements of, 288; indigent, 289. Curiosity, native, 212. Customs, bearing of, upon mission work, 70, 269. Davis, Rev. and Mrs. J. D., 180. Death, not afraid of, 65. Disappointments, missionary's, 226. Doshisha University, 180; rationalistic teaching of, 181. Duty, ours to the missionary, 229; joy of doing, 231. Earthquakes, 12, 13. Educational system of Japan, 93, 255; antagonistic to Christianity, 276. Educational work of missions, compared with evangelistic, 250; criticism of, 253; hinders self-support, 260. Embassy to Rome, 149. Emperor, power of name, 55; worship of picture, 112, 301. Environment, missionary's, unfavorable, 227. Episcopalians, 170, 183; five branches of, 186; native church, 187, 303. Ethnology, 32, 33. Europeanization of Japan, 46, 91; our hope, 312. Evangelization, 234; missionaries must be evangelists, 235; subordinated to educational work, 236; local, 237; itinerating, 242. Exiles, missionaries, 225, 228. Exports, 27. Facial expression, 53. Farms, 23. Festivals, religious, 302. Feudalism, rise of, 41; conditions under, 145. Fish, 30. Food, 80. Foreign pastor, 230. Foreigners, treatment of, 44, 136; country open to, 170, 171; ungodly example of, 282. Formosa, 9. Franchise, limited, 96. Friends, 135. Fuji-san, 12. Fujiwara family, 41. Funerals, 84. Geography of Japan, 9-15. Girls' boarding-schools, 255; purpose of, 256; end defeated by etiquette, 257; reasons for and against, 258, 259. Goble, Rev. J., translation of Matthew, 174. God, Japanese word for, 249, 262. Government, Japanese, 95; paternalism of, 58; hostile to Christianity, 172, 173, 313. Gratitude, 66. Greek Church (Russian), 165; its founder, 166; its cathedral, 167; its work, 168. Greene, Dr. and Mrs., 180. Greetings, 88. Gulick, Rev. O. H., 180; story of his teacher, 172. Hara-kiri (belly-cutting), 85. Haughty bearing of missionary, 241. Health of missionary, the first qualification, 193; medical examinations, 195; allowance for, 215; and vacations, 216. Heathen faiths opposed to Christianity, 277, 311. Hibachi, 80. Hideyoshi, 43; persecutor of Christians, 150. Hindrances to Christianity, 266; common to all fields, 267; peculiar to Japan, 271; the greatest, 313. Hiroshima, 18. Hollanders, 10, 44, 156, 158. Homes, mission, necessity of as examples, 207, 211; comfort of, 210; a Western home, 212. Hondo, 9. Houses, Japanese, use of, 76; construction of, 78; furniture, 79. Human life, cheap, 64. Imitativeness, 64. Imperial University, 94. Inconsistency, 63. Inland Sea, 10. Inns, Japanese, 245. Inquirers, how to deal with, 238, 286. Instability, of people, 61, 314; of civilization, 105. Intellectual life, 54; open-mindedness, 59. Islands of Japan, 9, 10, 11. Itinerating, 242; greatest hindrance to, 246; kinds of, 247; objections to, 249. Iyeyasu, 43, 109; and the battle of Sekigahara, 153; persecution of Christianity, 153. Japan, the land of, 9; new, birth of, 45; religions of, 122. Japanese, reliable history of, 40; characteristics, 51; manners and customs, 69, civilization, 89; morality, 107; skeptical, 316. Jesuits, introduction of Christianity by, 45. Jimmu Tenno, 36, 38. Jingo, Empress, 39. Jinrikisha, 63, 244. Joys of the missionary, 231. Kagoshima, 18. Kanagawa, 18. Kasatkin, Bishop Nicolai, founder of Greek mission, 166. Korea, subjugation of, 39. Kyoto or Saikyo, 10, 17, 18. Kyushu, 9; Dutch residence on, 10. Lakes, 14. Land, cultivated, 11, 22; picturesque, 14; irrigation of, 22; terracing, 23. Language, structure of, 55; difficult to learn to read, 93; first dictionary of, 174; talent for, essential to the missionary, 203; difficult to master, 262, 284. Lawrence, Dr. E., on common sense, 204; on exiles, 225; "axioms of missions," 292. Laws, 96. Libraries, how regarded, 72. Life, chief of all evils, 127. Liggins, Rev. J., 170. Lights, 103. Literature, native, 92; Christian, 261, 263. Love of humanity, missionary's, 199. Loyalty, first moral principle, 111, 132. Lutherans, missionary problems of, 188; purpose in Japan, 189. McDonald, Dr., on furloughs, 224. Mails, 101, 246. Manufactories, 104. Marriage, customs, 75; relation, 133; essential to missionary, 206. Martyrs, 115. Materialism in Japan, 277, 315. Maxims, 117, 272. Medical missions, 264; no longer needed in Japan, 265. Mental qualifications of the missionary, 201. Methodist Church in Japan, 171, 183; branches of, 185, 304; present status of, 186. Mikados, 41. Minamoto, great clan, 41. Minerals, 28, Missionaries, lives in danger, 171; qualifications of, 192; private life of, 209; extent and variety of work of, 234; number of, in Japan, 309. Missions in Japan, modern Roman and Greek, 160; Protestant, 169; the "happy time" of, 177; differing policy of, 182; small bodies, 190; results of, 191; projected on too high a plane, 260; hindrances to, 266; special problems of, 286; the outlook of, 306. Morality, compared with West, 109, 117; chief defect of, 121. Music in the Greek Church, 167. Mutsuhito, 47. Mythological history, 36-39. Mythology, 34, 122. Nagasaki, 10. Nagoya, 18. Native church, its relation to the missionary, 182, 228, 299, 314; missionary's crown, 232; development of, 242; hurtful national feeling in, 273; problem of, 290; polity of, 290; self-support, 293; reasons for dependence, 294; attitude toward national habits and customs, 300; condition of, to-day, 307. Native ministry, educated, 251; how provided, 295; how trained, 297. Neesima, Dr., 181. Newspapers, Japanese, 92; value of Christian, 263. Nihon, native name of empire, 10. Nihon-bashi, center of empire, 16. Nobunaga, 43; patron of early Christianity, 148; assassinated, 150. Obedience, result of, 58. Official honor, 68, Okayama, 18. Omiiki, founder of Tenrikyo, 138. Open ports, 19. Originality, native, 63. Outlook in Japan, 306; bright to spiritual eye, 317. Parental relation, 133. Parental respect, 57; great ethical principle, 116. Passports, 246. Patriotism, extreme, 55; hinders Christianity, 272, 313. Perry, Commodore, and the opening of Japan, 44. Persecutions, causes of, 150; Christians exiled, 172; United States government and, 176; cessation of, 177; memory of, 275. Physique, native, 33. Politeness, the exalted virtue, 85; ridiculous extremes, 87. Portuguese, discovery of Japan, 43; captain and Hideyoshi, 150. Prayer, 169. Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions in the United States, 169, 170. Problems, special, 286. Railways, 97. Rainfall, 21. Reformed Church in America, 170. Religion, Japanese, composite, 123; influence of, 142; and morality, 268. Rivers, 13. Roads, 15, 16. Roman Catholic Church in Japan, pioneer work of, 144; driven out, 154; early mistakes, 158, 161; the work resumed, 160; peculiar hindrances to, 163; prosperity of, 164. Ronins, story of the forty-seven, 112. Sake, 119. Salary of the missionary, 213; when on furlough, 219. Schools, Sunday, 239; mission, 251; academical, 253; girls', 255. Sectarianism, a hindrance to missions, 281; disappearing, 303; advantages of coöperation, 304. Self-control of missionary, 205. Sermons, kind of, 249. Sexes, relation of, 73. Shikoku, 10. Shimabara, fall of, 155. Shinto, revival of, 45; morality, 108; history of, 123; state religion, 125; ancestors, 270; opposing Christianity, 278. Shogun (tycoon), 42; abolition of the office, 46. Sign language, graceful, 76. Simmons, Dr. D. B., 170. Sin, no word for, 249, 262. Society, missionary's need of, 216, 217, 225. Spiritual qualifications of the missionary, 197. Steamers, 99. Suicides, 65, 120. Taira, great clan, 41. Taylor, Dr. W., 265; opinions on missionary's qualifications, 194; furloughs, 220, 221, 224. Telegraphs, 99, 246. Tenrikyo, missionary religion, 137; origin of, 138; teachings of, 139; distinguishing characteristics, 141. Theological training, necessity of, 251; in English language, 252; abroad, 252, 299; place of native religions in, 298. Theology, native, rationalistic, 181; desire for, 274; formative stage, 308. Tidal waves, 13. Tokaido, most famous road, 16. Tokyo, the capital, 10, 17. Tone-gawa, largest river, 14. "Topsyturvydom," 70. Treaties, American, 45, 107; English, 170; revision of, 48, 178. Typhoons, 22. Vacations of missionaries, summer, 216; furloughs, 218, 224; argument against, 219; medical opinions in favor of, 220; from an economic standpoint, 221; useful to native and home churches alike, 222. Vegetarians, 80. Verbeck, Rev. Dr. G. F., 171, 175. Visitation, advantages of, 239; and Japanese etiquette, 240. Volcanoes, 11. Wife, missionary's, health of, 196. Williams, Rev. C. M. (Bishop), 170, 175. Work, methods of, 234. Xavier, St. Francis, first missionary to Japan, 146. Yezo, 9; location and climate, 10, Yoritomo, first shogun, 42. Yokohama, 11. 
41722	----	THE SPELL OF JAPAN THE SPELL SERIES [Illustration] _Each volume with one or more colored plates and many illustrations from original drawings or special photographs. Octavo, with decorative cover, gilt top, boxed._ _Per volume $2.50 net, carriage paid $2.70_ [Illustration] THE SPELL OF ITALY By Caroline Atwater Mason THE SPELL OF FRANCE By Caroline Atwater Mason THE SPELL OF ENGLAND By Julia de W. Addison THE SPELL OF HOLLAND By Burton E. Stevenson THE SPELL OF SWITZERLAND By Nathan Haskell Dole THE SPELL OF THE ITALIAN LAKES By William D. McCrackan THE SPELL OF TYROL By William D. McCrackan THE SPELL OF JAPAN By Isabel Anderson THE SPELL OF SPAIN By Keith Clark [Illustration] THE PAGE COMPANY 53 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass. [Illustration: _Court and Gate, Shiba Park, Tokyo_ (_See page 60_)] _The_ SPELL _of_ JAPAN _BY_ _Isabel Anderson_ [Illustration] ILLUSTRATED Boston THE PAGE COMPANY MDCCCCXIV _Copyright, 1914._ BY THE PAGE COMPANY _All rights reserved_ First Impression, July, 1914 THE COLONIAL PRESS C. H. SIMONDS CO., BOSTON, U. S. A. TO THE MEMORY OF _MY FATHER_ WHO WAS THE FIRST TO TELL ME OF THE LAND OF THE MILLION SWORDS JAPANESE PRONUNCIATION In general, single vowels have the same sounds as in the Continental pronunciation of Latin. The diphthong _ai_ is like _i_ in fight; _ei_ like _a_ in gate; _au_ like _ou_ in bough. The consonants are sounded as in English, except that _g_ is always hard and in the middle of a word is like a prolonged and very nasal _ng_; and _z_ before _u_ is the equivalent of _dz_. When consonants are doubled, both are distinctly enunciated. Syllables are pronounced lightly and with nearly uniform accent as in French, but vowels marked long are carefully lengthened. INTRODUCTION The term "Spell," as applied to a series of books treating of various countries seems instantly to conjure up before the vision the most romantic and attractive episodes in their history, the most picturesque and fascinating aspects of their geography, the most alluring qualities of their inhabitants. Under this ample and elastic term, Romance has been able to weave its iridescent glamour, if possible enhancing the charm of the reality, like a delicate veil over a mountain view. The fortunate authors have been enabled to take journeys as it were on Solomon's magic carpet, the aerial vehicle of the Imagination, and to depict ideal conditions based nevertheless on solid foundations of Truth. Occasionally Fate seems to idealize reality: a novelist could hardly conceive a more fortunate setting for a romance than the Court of an Oriental Potentate, or find a happier source of vivid experiences than would spring from the position of an open-eyed American woman suddenly transported to such a scene as the wife of an ambassador sent to some exotic Empire. Fiction in such a case is transcended by actual fact and there would be no need of inventing opportunities of inner observation: every door would stand open and the country would be revealed in its highest perfection. In this respect Mrs. Anderson's "Spell of Japan" differs perhaps from most of its predecessors in the series of "Spell" books. Her husband was appointed by President Taft in 1912 Ambassador Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary to the Court of His Majesty the Mikado, and the whole time of their sojourn in Dai Nippon was filled with experiences seldom vouchsafed to foreigners. They witnessed functions to which they were admitted only because of their official position; they were granted every facility for seeing aspects of Japanese life which ordinary visitors would have infallibly missed, and they became acquainted with the very flower of Japanese civilization. Mrs. Anderson took copious notes and she has utilized these in the preparation of her most delightful and illuminating volume. It is so naturally and unostentatiously written that one almost forgets to be amazed at the intimacy of the pictures: one enters the Imperial palaces and attends Court functions as simply as one would go to an afternoon tea at home. Then perhaps suddenly comes the realization of what a privilege it is to be admitted to see through her keenly observant eyes the penetralia so jealously hidden from the general throng. The book therefore is rightly entitled to carry the title of Spell, for it shows Japan at its very best; it makes one understand the glamour which the courteous manners, the elaborate customs, the harmonious costumes, the perfect Art everywhere displayed, cast over all those who have been fortunate enough to visit the Land of the Rising Sun. Mrs. Anderson's book cannot fail to serve as a new and important tie of friendship between the United States and Japan; it will be hailed as an eminently fair presentation of Japanese ideals, and will from its authoritative accuracy and its admirable spirit give great pleasure to all in the best circles of the Empire and serve to do away with many prejudices which ignorance has disseminated among our own people. It could not have breathed a more conciliatory and friendly spirit, and its simple and engaging style cannot fail to win golden opinions for its talented author. NATHAN HASKELL DOLE. FOREWORD My recent residence in Japan, when we lived in the Embassy in Tokyo, has served only to enhance the Spell which that country has cast over me since I first crossed the Pacific, sixteen years ago. What beautiful summer evenings were those on the Southern Seas, when the moon was full! As we sat in the bow of the _Doric_ and sang to the music of the _eukalalie_,[1] we gazed into the water glistening with phosphorescence. The mornings found us there again, listening to the swish of the waves as the boat slowly rose and sank on the long Pacific swell. We watched the flying-fish, and the schools of leaping porpoise, and the tropical birds with their long white tail-feathers sailing in the blue sky. [1] Hawaiian guitar. The excitements and interests on the steamer were many and varied. On Sunday, while Christians were singing hymns, Chinese and Jews gambled at fan-tan, Filipinos and Japanese wrestled on the steerage deck, and Chinese and Hindus knifed each other. Among the passengers were missionaries with large families, and wayward sons shipped to the East; in a single group we saw an opium smuggler, a card sharp, and the ever-present commercial traveller. As we neared Japan a huge turtle floating on the smooth surface of the water appeared to have come out expressly to greet us and wish us long life and happiness, for that is what he represents to the Japanese. We are grateful to him, for it is true he was a good omen; we were on our honeymoon, and Japan cast its Spell about us then and still holds us in its toils, for we have returned again, and yet again. As Japan consists of five hundred and eighteen islands it is often called the Island Empire. In the days of mythology and legend it was named The Country in the Midst of the Luxuriant Reed Plains; later it was The Mountain Portal, while during the Middle Ages the Chinese called it The Source of the Sun, or The Land of the Rising Sun--Hinomoto. Finally it became Nippon Dai Nippon--Great Japan. But it has still other names, such as The Land of the Gods, The Land of a Million Swords, The Land of the Cherry Blossoms, and The Land Between Heaven and Earth. Notwithstanding the changes of recent years, the picturesque and enchanting Old Japan that men of letters have written about so delightfully still survives in many ways. The enormous bronze Buddha at Kamakura sits calmly looking down upon us, as always. At Nikko the avenue of cryptomerias is still wonderfully fine, while the huge blocks of stone in the long flights of steps on the wooded mountain-side bring up a vision of the armies of coolies who placed them there to remain through the ages. The bronze tombs are the same, only more beautifully coloured with age, and the wood-carving and lacquers of the glorious old temples have been kept bright and new by faithful, loving hands. The Inland Sea is just as mysterious and ever-changing, while Fuji is worshipped to-day as it has been since the beginning of all time. So much has been written--and well written--about Old Japan, that in the language of the Japanese, "The Rustic and Stupid Wife is loth to give to the Honourable and Wise Reader these few poor notes." It is not so much of Old Japan that I will write, however, but rather of New Japan, of social and diplomatic life, of present-day education, of motor trips, and politics, of bear-hunting among the Ainus, and of cruising in the Inland Sea. Notwithstanding our four visits to Japan, on all of which we kept journals, I wish to say that I have begged, borrowed or stolen material from travelling companions and others; I desire to acknowledge my special indebtedness to Mr. C. J. Arnell, of the American Embassy, who kindly contributed the chapter on bear-hunting, to Major Gosman, also of the Embassy Staff, who gave me notes on motoring, to Mrs. Lucie Chandler, who allowed me to use her conclusions in regard to education and missionaries, to Miss Hyde for the loan of her charming wood-cut, and to the _Japan Magazine_. Much of my information, besides, came from my husband's journals. I wish also to thank Miss C. Gilman and Miss K. Crosby, who have done so much to help me in getting this book together. I. A. WELD, BROOKLINE, March First, 1914. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE INTRODUCTION vii FOREWORD xi I. OUTLYING JAPAN 1 II. HISTORIC KYOTO 23 III. FIRST DAYS AT THE EMBASSY 40 IV. COURT FUNCTIONS 64 V. LIFE IN TOKYO 90 VI. THE GROWING EMPIRE 112 VII. A YEAR OF FESTIVALS 136 VIII. CULTS AND SHRINES 164 IX. NEW LIGHT FOR OLD 188 X. PROSE, POETRY AND PLAYS 214 XI. AMUSEMENTS 245 XII. BEAR-HUNTING AMONG THE AINUS 274 XIII. MOTORING AND CRUISING 293 XIV. FLOWERS, INDOORS AND OUT 326 XV. THE ARTIST'S JAPAN 350 XVI. SAYONARA DAI NIPPON 375 BIBLIOGRAPHY 383 INDEX 385 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE COURT AND GATE, SHIBA PARK, TOKYO (_in full colour_) (_see page 60_) _Frontispiece_ MAP OF JAPAN _facing_ 1 A KOREAN COUPLE 8 A VIEW OF SEOUL 10 THE AMERICAN CONSULATE, SEOUL 16 "WE PASSED ... STRANGELY LADEN HORSES" 23 THE TOMB OF MUTSUHITO 25 THE FUNERAL CORTEGE 27 HIDEYOSHI'S HOUSE AND GARDEN 29 THE AMERICAN EMBASSY, TOKYO 42 JAPANESE SERVANTS 46 "SECRET"--WOOD-CUT BY MISS HYDE 51 SHIBA PARK, TOKYO 60 THE COACHMAN AND THE _BETTO_ OF THE AMERICAN EMBASSY 65 THE MOATS, IMPERIAL CASTLE, TOKYO 67 THE LATE EMPEROR 80 "LITTLE GIRLS WITH LITTLER GIRLS ON THEIR BACKS" (_in full colour_) 110 A RICE FIELD 130 DISPLAY OF DOLLS, DOLLS' FESTIVAL 147 DISPLAY OF ARMOUR AND TOYS, BOYS' FESTIVAL 153 GRAND SHRINE OF ISE 167 LACQUER WORK (_in full colour_) 175 EASTERN HONGWANJI TEMPLE, KYOTO 177 THE HONDEN, IYEYASU, NIKKO 180 OFF MIYAJIMA 183 MISS TSUDA'S SCHOOL, TOKYO 195 RED CROSS HOSPITAL BUILDINGS 206 ARMOUR AND WEAPONS OF ANCIENT WARRIORS 223 A JAPANESE STAGE 242 GEISHA GIRLS AT THE ICHIRIKI TEA-HOUSE, KYOTO 246 AN ACTOR OF THE PRESENT DAY 254 MR. ARNELL AND MR. ARNOLD IN A JAPANESE PLAY 260 A WRESTLER 265 THE _NO_ DANCE 271 THE HUNTING PARTY 274 MR. ARNELL AND AINUS 286 _KAGOS_ (SEDAN-CHAIRS) FOR MOUNTAIN CLIMBS 293 THE BUDDHA OF KAMAKURA 297 FUJI FROM OTOME-TOGE (_in full colour_) 302 "LOOKED WISELY AT SOME PRESENTS WHICH WE HAD FOR HIM" 306 THE WONDERFUL AVENUE OF CRYPTOMERIAS 310 LAKE BIWA 314 AMA-NO-HASHIDATE 316 ANCIENT TEMPLE NEAR NARA 318 A VIEW OF MATSUSHIMA 320 JAPANESE JUNKS 322 THE GREAT _TORII_ 323 A JAPANESE FLOWER MAN (_in full colour_) 330 _IKE-BANA_ OR FLOWER ARRANGEMENT 336 "THE TABLE DECORATIONS ... ARE ESPECIALLY INTERESTING" 339 A JAPANESE GARDEN, TOKYO (_in full colour_) 342 A CARVED PANEL 353 THE CASTLE OF HIMEJI 355 VIEW OF MOUNT FUJIYAMA--PRINT BY HOKUSAI 364 THE LITTLE APES OF NIKKO 379 [Illustration: JAPAN MAIN ISLANDS.] THE SPELL OF JAPAN CHAPTER I OUTLYING JAPAN Our last sight of Brussels, when we left it in early December, was a row of people, among whom was the Japanese Minister, waving good-bye to us at the Gare du Nord. We were starting for the Far East, for my husband had been transferred from his post in Belgium to that of Ambassador to Japan. This promotion was very pleasing to us, for Eastern questions were vital, we liked the Japanese people, and no country could have been more interesting to us than the Land of the Cherry Blossoms. It was our fourth visit to the Orient, and, strange though it may seem, when we reached Korea, the "jumping-off place," we said to ourselves that we began to feel at home. A quick run across Germany and Russia brought us to Moscow, where the great Chinese walls reminded us that we had reached an outpost of the Occident, a city which had once been occupied by the Mongols. When the Siberian Express pulled out of the station, we felt that we had really said farewell to Europe and our faces were turned toward the East. We crossed the vast plains of eastern Russia and western Siberia--monotonous expanses of white, only relieved by the Ural Mountains, which at the southern extremity of the range, where the railroad passes over them, are not really mountains at all, but hills. Beyond the Obi River we rose from the level steppe to the foot-hills of the Altai Mountains, a forest region interspersed with open stretches of good farming land--a country so much like our own West that it is sometimes called "the new America." We passed immigrant trains filled with Russian peasants, and the old road over which the exiles used to march before the railroad was built, and saw cars with barred windows, like those of prisons, in which convicts are transported. The thermometer went down, down, as far as forty degrees below zero, but the cars on the Trans-Siberian were kept as warm as the tropics. The drifts grew deeper, and there were days and nights of endless snow. In the hilly country around Lake Baikal we saw some fine scenery. Low hills and high cliffs covered with larches border its eastern and western shores, but to the southward, a huge mountain wall, lofty and snow-clad as our Californian Sierras, closes in around the lake. In comparison with our fast American trains this "express" moved so slowly that we feared we should be old, grey-haired men and women before reaching the end of the journey. It was a welcome sight when Kharbin at last appeared, and we knew we were nearing Manchuria. Most Siberian towns that we had seen consisted of low wooden buildings, but Kharbin contains many substantial brick structures. It is supposed to be nine days from Moscow to Kharbin, and fourteen days from London to Tokyo direct, via Vladivostok. We were eighteen days from Brussels to Kyoto, but we stopped off at Seoul. Our route was through Korea, which, as everybody knows, is now a Japanese colony, because my husband wished to see it on his way to his new post. Passengers for Vladivostok left the train at Kharbin, but we were to continue on southward toward Changchun, where we expected to find Osame Komori, a Japanese whom we had known for many years, and who was to be my husband's interpreter. We had already received the following letter from Osame: "DEAR EXCELLENCY: "My honourable sir, allow me the liberty presenting you this letter. I meet you Changchun. My gratitude is higher than Fuji and sacred as the Temple of Ise. Your kindness to me is as deep as the Pacific Ocean. Your letter was like sunshine in my life, your news gave me the life from death.... I am total wreck by fire. We had storms lately turning the beautiful Fuji like silver capped mountain, but grain still presents carpets of red and yellow. About gold lacquer you write. I made several enquiry when it will be accomplished. I kick Y. urgently to finish it.... My baby has grown well and often repeat the honour of your last visit. "Best wishes I remain, "YOUR FAITHFUL SERVANT." Osame was better than his word, for he met us at Kharbin instead of Changchun, bringing with him supplies of various sorts, which he thought might be acceptable. After leaving Kharbin we passed through Manchuria, a flat and low-rolling country, in places somewhat roughened, where streams have cut their way. The black earth is carefully cultivated as far as the eye can see, and at this season it was all in furrow. Little primitive carts with shaggy ponies crossed the landscape, laden with bags of the bean which is the great product of this section. Every now and then we passed small fortified guardhouses of stone and brick, with the sentry at his post, for protection against the brigands who sweep down from the mountains and try to carry off even parts of the railway. At Changchun we were assured that the Japanese Government wished us to be its guests, and we found compartments reserved for us on the Pullman train. From this point we were escorted by Japanese officials, who were sent to meet us and give us all the information we could ask about the country. They told us with bows that the train would be run on a faster schedule than usual in our honour, and sure enough, we soon were speeding over the excellent road-bed at a good rate. As we went on, the snow began to disappear, and the sharp mountains of Korea came in sight, with little villages tucked away in the ravines. For Chosen, the Land of Morning Calm, as it is always called in Japan, is a country of mountains. Granite peaks, deep gorges and fertile valleys are everywhere in the interior, and the rugged, irregular eastern coastline, of which we had a glimpse in crossing to Japan, winds in and out around the base of the ranges. Among the hills and groves that we passed were the mounds of buried ancestors. We were much impressed by the sturdy, well set-up appearance of the Japanese soldiers along the route, and the military bearing of their officers. Here live the bear and deer, and the long-haired Korean tiger, so well-known to sportsmen. Foreign sportsmen are free to hunt among these hills wherever they will and they find it a strange sensation to watch for tigers on ridges from which they can look down on the thatched roofs of small villages, or to hear at night from their tent in the village the cough of the tiger seeking his prey on the hills. The wild pigs and hog deer, startled by this cough, flee in blind terror, and are seized by the tiger as they dash past him. In every village a hornblower is on the watch at night, and when he sounds his horn, all the people beat their tiger alarms of tin pans to drive the animal away. The Korean peasants eat the meat and drink the blood of a slain tiger in the belief that this will render them brave and strong. They make an all-powerful medicine from the long white whiskers, and use the tiny collar-bones as charms to protect them from any devils they chance to meet. Although it was winter, both men and women were dressed in white cotton, which looked rather startling after the dark costumes of the Chinese and the fur coats of the Russians. White used to be the badge of mourning in Korea, but now it is the national costume. Various stories are told to account for its adoption. According to one of these, in the early part of the nineteenth century three kings died in close succession, and as every one was obliged to wear mourning for three years after the death of a ruler, at the end of this period all the dyers had become discouraged and given up their business, and so white became the dress of the people. Now, when the men are in real mourning, they wear huge straw hats, and do not think it proper to speak. Although white is still the national costume, the Emperor, some years ago, published an edict giving his subjects permission to wear other colours. The nobles wear a number of coats of the finest cream-coloured silk lawn, over which there may be an outer garment of blue. The white garments impose a needless burden upon the women of the lower classes, who are incessantly engaged in laundry work. The coats are ripped to pieces and washed in some stream, where they are pounded on stones, then after they are dry are placed on wooden cylinders and beaten with sticks until the white cotton has taken on the sheen of dull satin. Korean men wear curious little open-work hats of black horsehair, which make them look very tall and slight and give them a dudish appearance. They present an especially funny picture when riding a bullock. The women, on the contrary, are wound about in white cotton to such an extent that they look rather Turkish, and they waddle as if bow-legged. Many of them are comical in green silk coats, with which they cover their heads without putting their arms into the sleeves. They were allowed to wear these garments as a badge of honour for their bravery in battle, or, as some say, that they might be ready at a moment's notice to change them into soldiers' coats. [Illustration: A KOREAN COUPLE.] It is said that the broad-brimmed hat sometimes worn by the men originated, several centuries ago, in the efforts of one of the emperors to put a stop to drunkenness. He decreed that all the men should have a light earthen-ware hat of the shape worn to-day, which was never to be taken off, except when they were lying down. The head was protected against the hard surface of this covering by a light padded cap beneath. As the rooms of Korean houses are small, not more than four men could be seated in one, if they had this peculiar headgear. When any one was found to have a broken hat, it was taken for granted that he had been in some drunken brawl, and he received the prescribed punishment. On our arrival in Seoul, we were met by Japanese officials, and were also greeted by our Consul-General, Mr. Scidmore. Seoul is charmingly situated in a valley surrounded by beautiful white-capped mountains, over which wanders the high wall that encloses the city. The old entrance gates are massive structures--great foundations of stone with arches cut through them, on which rise the double recurving roofs of tile. The old town with its narrow alleys and its filth has well-nigh disappeared. Under Japanese administration, the gates are no longer closed at night, for there is police protection, and parts of the city are lighted by electricity. The new streets are wide, clean and well drained. Although Korea is called the Hermit Kingdom, and said to be many years behind Japan, there are telegraph lines, electric cars, bicycles, even one or two motors, brick houses and a Railway Station Hotel. The Japanese portion of the town was gay with flags flying from bamboo staffs, in honour of the approaching New Year, and red and white lanterns swung along the ridgepoles. One peculiarity of Korean houses strikes a Westerner as very strange. As their walls and floors are of stone or brick, it is possible to heat them in the same manner as the Chinese _kang_, that is, by fires built below. So, many of them are warmed in this way, the wood being put in from the outside through an opening in the wall of the house, and the smoke escaping through a chimney on the opposite side. A network of pipes under the floors carries the hot air to every part of the building. [Illustration: A VIEW OF SEOUL.] We visited the old palace where the dethroned Emperor and Empress used to live. It is rather Chinese in appearance, but not quite so handsome as the palace in Peking, which we had seen previously. The approach to it is by a broad way lined on each side with low, tile-roofed houses; this leads to the great _Mon_, the entrance gate, with double overhanging roofs towering above it. Inside this is a great court, next another massive gateway with two-storied upturned roofs, then another courtyard, around which are low houses, and a third gate, leading into the last court, which is approached by terraced steps of stone. Finally appears the audience hall, a building with recurving roofs of tile, beautiful carvings, and brilliant decorations in colour. Passages and courts lead from this to the pleasure pavilion, a large, open, two-storied structure with a heavy pagoda roof, which stands on a stone terrace, and is reached by three bridges with stone balustrading. Beside it is a tank where lotus grows, and near-by a park-like grove of quaint pine-trees. In this palace, several years ago, Empress Bin of Korea was assassinated while asleep. The Emperor, however, dressed as a coolie, escaped to the Russian Legation, where he lived for two years. He afterward built himself a new palace in European style, where he resides now as a sort of prisoner, while his son lives in another palace, and the grandson is being educated in Japan. The Emperor is now known as Prince Yi the Elder, and his son as Prince Yi the Younger, while his grandson, who also bears the same name, is the last of the Yi dynasty, which has ruled Korea for five hundred years. As we all know, Korea was involved in the two terrible wars that have been waged in the Far East in recent years. Japan needs Korea as an outlet for her surplus population, as a source of food supply and a market for her manufactured products, but still more does she need it as a strong country to stand between herself and Russian aggression. In the last decade of the nineteenth century the Hermit Kingdom was still under the suzerainty of China, and its government was weak and hopelessly corrupt. Japan refused to acknowledge this overlordship of China, and insisted that the Korean government must be reformed. China was asked to help in enforcing the changes, but refused to interfere. Neither China nor Japan would yield. Finally the Koreans sent for Chinese troops, and then the Japanese attacked the Emperor's palace. A great naval battle was fought at the mouth of the Yalu River, in which the Chinese were defeated and five of their ships sunk. The Japanese army took Dalny and Port Arthur. Another naval battle ended in the surrender of the Chinese fleet and the suicide of the Chinese admiral. Togo and Yamagata, whom I once had the pleasure of meeting at a luncheon in Tokyo, and Nogi, were among the heroes of this war. By the treaty of Shimonoseki, in 1895, China agreed to pay an indemnity to Japan and to recognize the independence of Korea, and also ceded the Liaotung Peninsula with Port Arthur, and the islands of Formosa and the Pescadores group to Japan. No sooner was this treaty signed, however, than the Great Powers compelled Japan to restore Liaotung to China. But within a few years, Russia obtained a lease of Liaotung, and the Powers made no protest. She soon invested immense sums in Manchuria--in building the Manchurian Railroad, in fortifying Port Arthur and making it a naval base, and extending the Chinese Eastern Railroad toward the Yalu and Korea. She made Kharbin her military base and filled Manchuria with soldiers. Japan saw the necessity of protecting not only her freedom of trade, but her very existence as a nation, for Russia, from her vantage ground in Manchuria, had begun to take possession of the valley of the Yalu River, on Korea's northwestern frontier. Once this section was in her power it would be an easy matter to sweep down through the peninsula and across the narrow Straits of Shimonoseki to the Island Empire itself. In vain did Japan try to open up negotiations with Russia. On one excuse or another, she was put off for months, while all the time Russia was preparing for war. Finally diplomatic relations were severed by order of Baron Komura, Japanese Minister of Foreign Affairs, and war was declared February 10, 1904. Baron Kaneko, in an address before the Japan Club of Harvard University, in April of that year, said that Japan was fighting to maintain the peace of Asia and to conserve the influence of Anglo-American civilization in the East. After Admiral Togo had destroyed the Russian fleet, and the long siege of Port Arthur had ended in its surrender to the heroic Nogi, all the Japanese armies combined for the final struggle around Mukden, which terminated in the flight of the Russians from Manchuria. The treaty of peace, which was signed at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, gave Japan Port Arthur, a protectorate over Korea, and half the island of Saghalien, and provided that both nations should evacuate Manchuria. The protectorate over Korea has since become a sovereignty. The Japanese Governor-General, Count Terauchi, is a very strong and able man, and under his administration many improvements have been made in Korea. This has not always been done without friction between the natives and their conquerors, it must be confessed, but the results are certainly astonishing. The government has been reorganized, courts have been established, the laws have been revised, trade conditions have been improved and commerce has increased. Agriculture has been encouraged by the opening of experiment stations, railroads have been constructed from the interior to the sea-coast, and harbours have been dredged and lighthouses erected. Japanese expenditures in Korea have amounted to twelve million dollars yearly. The Governor-General gave us a dinner at his residence, a big European house, where everything was done in European style. The four Japanese ladies who received, however, were all in native costume--black kimonos, which they wear for ceremony only, and superb gold _obis_, or sashes. One of them was the Governor's daughter, Countess Kodama, who was very beautiful. I went in to dinner with the Governor-General, and had on the other side a Japanese doctor of the Red Cross, who had been much in America and was well acquainted with Miss Boardman, the head of our Red Cross here. Our delightful luncheon at the Consulate must not be forgotten, for no more charming people could be found anywhere than the Scidmores. Miss Scidmore is the author of "Jinrikisha Days," as well as other books on the East. The remarkably pretty Consulate, which is owned by our Government, is an old Korean house, or _yamen_, built in a walled compound on the slope of a hill. Having only one story, it presented more the appearance of a studio than of a residence, but was made cozy with open fires and attractive with many beautiful curios. The religions of Korea are Buddhism, Confucianism and Shamanism, all found there to-day. Shamanism is the form of worship of the more primitive masses. There are many Buddhist temples in Chosen. For instance, among the peaks of Keum-Kang-San alone, in the heart of the Korean mountains, there are over fifty monasteries and shrines, but all more or less in a state of decay. Christianity was brought into the country by the Roman Catholics in 1777. [Illustration: THE AMERICAN CONSULATE. SEOUL.] The American colony in Seoul numbers about five hundred, among them being many Methodist and Presbyterian missionaries. In regard to the recent troubles between these missionaries and the Japanese the accounts differ. The Governor was attacked by some Koreans, and, of course, ordered an investigation and the trial of those accused. Some of the Koreans asserted that they were tortured by the Japanese during their imprisonment, but in most cases this was proved untrue. The missionaries, having been the advisers of the natives in all kinds of ways, should not be too harshly judged for taking the part of those whom they believed innocent. The results of mission work in Chosen are certainly very striking. I was told by an unprejudiced observer that the largest congregations she ever saw were in Seoul, and she was assured that, farther north, the numbers drawn into the churches were still greater. Even if we admit that some of these converts were won over by the hope of material gain, we cannot fail to see that all this work has had a humanizing effect, which is especially needed in this country. Some of the best work of the missions is done in schools and hospitals--especially in hospitals. Hygienic conditions among natives not in contact with foreigners are frightful, and their ideas of medicine and surgery are most primitive. From mere ignorant attempts to aid alone there is tremendous physical suffering. The foreign hospitals have now won the confidence of the people, so that in the end they always make application there. When we left Seoul, many Japanese officials were at the station in the early morning to say good-bye, among them being General Akashi, Count Kodama, and others. At every town of any importance, during our journey south, the mayor, the chief of police, reporters and hotelkeepers came to the train, presented their cards, and exchanged pleasant remarks with my husband. We were surprised to see how many of them spoke English. Southern Korea is quite beautiful, with fine snow mountains and cultivated terraces, where rice is raised by irrigation. The red soil is very fertile, but the mountains are bare of trees, the Koreans having cut down the forests. As the Japanese have made good forest laws, however, the trees will now be allowed to grow again. The whole trip through Korea was beautiful and most interesting, and in the south particularly we noticed that numbers of Japanese immigrants were settling in the country. The colonial possessions of Japan include not only Korea, but part of Saghalien, Formosa and one or two groups of islands in the north. It was to Saghalien that the most desperate of Russian convicts were sent for many years. The southern half was ceded to Japan after the Russo-Japanese War. It has proved quite a valuable asset, inasmuch as it contains extensive forests of pines, larches and other trees of sub-Arctic regions, is noted for its fisheries, and abounds in sables, the fur of which is shipped to Japan. These last are perhaps not so fine as the best Russian sables, but they are of good quality, nevertheless. Formosa, which I had seen on a previous visit to the East, lies to the southward, off the coast of China. About one half as large as Ireland, it consists in the west of a narrow, fertile plain, and in the centre and east of mountains, which descend to the coast in sheer precipices over three thousand feet high. Mt. Morrison, the loftiest peak on the island, is higher than Fuji, and has been renamed by the Japanese Nii-taka-yama, the New High Mountain. The ascent of Mt. Morrison discloses all the variety and luxuriance of vegetation seen nowhere except on a peak in the tropics. At the lower levels are palms, banyans, huge camphor trees, tree-ferns and rare orchids, and impenetrable growths of rattans; higher up are cryptomerias--giant cedars; still higher, pine-trees; and alternate tracts of forest and areas of grass land extend to the very top. The word _formosa_, which means beautiful, was given to the island by the first Portuguese navigators who sailed along its coast. It is indeed one of the loveliest islands of the Far East. In the late afternoon, the day we passed by, the sky was a hazy grey and the island a delicate mauve. The sun disappeared behind the peaks, and the heavens became a glowing red, transforming the mountains into dark, flaming volcanoes. As darkness came on, the heat was so great that we slept on deck. The beautiful Southern Cross gleamed above the horizon, and the glory of the sunset gave place to the wonderful, mystic charm of a tropical night. After having been occupied by China for over two centuries, Formosa was ceded to Japan in 1895. Here, as in Korea, Japanese administration has introduced great changes, and it is difficult to realize that railways and electric lights are to be found in this remote part of the earth. In return Formosa supplies Japan with rice, tea and sugar. It also produces nearly all the camphor used in the world. The Chinese, during their possession of the island, inhabited only the western section, and had no power whatever over the wild Malays of the eastern half. These savages are head-hunters, and are difficult to handle, because they enjoy above everything else that most terrible and exciting game in the world, the game of taking another man's head. They dance war dances, and keep the skulls of their slain enemies as drinking-cups, from which they drink wine made from the brains of their victims. The Japanese have devised an ingenious scheme for keeping the head-hunters under control and conquering them. They have encircled the mountain peaks with a live electric wire, and have stationed guards at intervals along the line. The natives have learned the danger of this. Now the Japanese are gradually moving the wire higher and higher, so eventually they will have the savages pocketed, and will subdue them by starvation or otherwise. After our brief stay in Seoul we bade farewell to the Colonies and turned our faces toward the Land of the Rising Sun itself, making the crossing from Chosen to Shimonoseki in a single night. This is far pleasanter than the passage from Vladivostok, which requires several days. In order to attract travellers, the Japanese have put their best cars and boats on this route. Our last glimpse of the Hermit Kingdom was a picture of jagged peaks rising in lofty precipices from a moonlit sea, their black masses outlined in solemn grandeur against the heavens. CHAPTER II HISTORIC KYOTO It was a day's journey in the train from the coast to Kyoto. We ran through stretches of glistening paddy-fields, with their patches of bright green crops and rows of yellow straw-stacks, and then through long villages of tiny thatch-roofed houses, or by avenues of twisted pine-trees. We passed bullock carts and strangely laden horses, and people clip-clipping along on their wooden clogs, and arrived finally, late on Christmas Eve, at Kyoto, the ancient capital. [Illustration: "WE PASSED ... STRANGELY LADEN HORSES."] To our delight and surprise, we found that the thoughtful hotel proprietor had arranged a pretty Christmas tree in our parlour. So we had supper and exchanged gifts, although the hour was late, and felt that in spite of being so far from home we were having a real Christmas after all. We stopped in Kyoto for the especial purpose of making a pilgrimage to the burial place of the late Emperor Mutsuhito, now known as Meiji Tenno. The emperors take their posthumous name from the name of their era; the present Emperor has chosen to call his era Tai-Sho, for instance, which means Great Righteousness. As L. wished to pay his respects, it was arranged that we should visit Momoyama, where the late Emperor is buried. As all diplomats are obliged to wear Court mourning, we put on our deepest black--I had a crêpe veil and bonnet which I had been wearing for the mother of the King of Belgium. We went in a motor. The roads were excellent, and the people made way for us, so that we ran with speed and comfort, even through the narrow streets of the continuous village with their congested traffic. The place chosen for the tomb of Mutsuhito is on a hill beyond Kyoto where there is a fine outlook which the late Emperor greatly loved. As we drew near, constabulary, who were apparently waiting for us, directed and stopped the traffic, so that we soon reached the broad new highway which had been made for the funeral. It is a wide gravel road winding around the base of the mountain to the low-lying buildings about the tomb. These are of the simplest style. Indeed, the entire burial place and shrine are in the Shinto fashion, very plain in form and arrangement. [Illustration: THE TOMB OF MUTSUHITO.] We were met by the Honourable Chief Keeper of the Tomb, a Japanese gentleman in a frock coat and top hat who conducted us into a pavilion at one side, where seats were placed at the head of a table. Here we sat for a few moments, and then, preceded by the Keeper, passed into the wide gravelled courtyard surrounded by houses and walls of plain wood. There are two "wash-hand" places at one side, between which a path leads to steps that ascend from the court toward the burial place. People are admitted to this courtyard, and at times over a hundred thousand have come in a single day to worship the memory of the late Mikado. Princes and ambassadors may go beyond this space, however, so we bowed and passed up another gravelled way to the Memorial Temple, in its simple Shinto style. Immediately above this, higher up on the hill, is the temple beneath which the Emperor's body is buried. At one side of the Memorial Temple, in a small pavilion, three figures were squatting, immobile and expressionless. These were noblemen, dressed in ancient fashion. Here we found a mat on which we knelt for a while, then rose and bowed again toward the tomb, and then toward the figures in the pavilion, who bowed in return. After that we passed out as we had come. It had really been a most impressive ceremonial, although so simple. As we had been received by his late Majesty in audience and at luncheon, there was something personal as well as official in the respect which we had tried to show by our pilgrimage. Afterward we heard that it had been greatly appreciated by the Japanese officials and people, who consider their Imperial family almost divine. The funeral of the Emperor occurred several months before our arrival in Japan. From all accounts it must have been a very wonder of wonders. Special ambassadors came from every country as guests of the Japanese Government, and fine houses were put at their disposal. Mr. Knox, our Secretary of State, was conveyed from the United States in a man-of-war. Great pavilions in Shinto style were erected in Tokyo to accommodate the distinguished guests during the evening of the procession, and feasts were provided for them. [Illustration: THE FUNERAL CORTEGE.] As it had been so long since an Emperor had died, special Shinto services had to be arranged. The funeral was at night. The music was very weird and sad, and the wheels of the funeral car, which was drawn by oxen, were made to creak as they ran along, as if writhing and crying in agony for the loss of the Great Emperor they were bearing to his resting-place. High officials, officers, and priests, in old ceremonial costumes or modern uniforms, were in the procession, and the brightly decorated avenue, lined with soldiers and crowded with onlookers, made a weird picture in the flashing lights--one never to be forgotten, I should imagine, by those who were fortunate enough to witness it. After passing in this fashion through the streets of Tokyo the body was put on the train and conveyed to Kyoto, where the procession was resumed to the tomb. Of its reception in Kyoto, Terry, author of "The Japanese Empire," says: "To the distant crashing and the reverberating roar of minute-guns; the wailing of bugles and the booming of gigantic temple bells; to the sound of the wild minstrelsy of priests and bonzes, the pattering of a weeping, drenching rain and the sighing of a vast concourse of mourning people ... the mortal remains of Mutsuhito ... were laid tenderly in their last resting place." A poem written by the late Emperor and translated by Dr. Bryan has recently been published. It is called "My People," and although so short is rather impressive. "Whether it rain or shine, I have only one care: The burden of this heart of mine Is how my people fare!" Kyoto, sometimes called Saikyo, was the ancient capital, where the shoguns and mikados used to reside in the early days. It is a city of temples, where nothing under three hundred years is counted old, and although typically Japanese it seems somehow different from other cities. The tiny houses and narrow streets appear tinier and narrower here than elsewhere. The hills to the east of the city are covered with old shrines and buildings, and the woods are full of temples, too. In the Chionin Temple, founded some seven hundred years ago, may be seen an umbrella left among the rafters of the roof by the master-builder during its erection. Tradition insists that it flew thither out of the hands of a boy whose shape had been assumed by the guardian deity of the temple, but the other explanation, while less romantic, seems more probable. Near this temple, on a small elevation among the trees, stands the Great Bell, the largest in the country. Not far away are many other interesting things, among them the Dai Butsu--the Great Buddha. There are also some sacred springs, a curious temple on stilts, and innumerable lanterns. The two most important temples are the Eastern and the Western Hongwanji, which belong to the most powerful Buddhist sect. We went through the latter, which had some excellent paintings. The garden and houses belonging to this temple, which are six hundred years old, were built by Hideyoshi, the famous "clever boy," who from nothing at all became shogun. The Eastern temple is described in the chapter dealing with religions. [Illustration: HIDEYOSHI'S HOUSE AND GARDEN.] The approach to the Gosho Palace, once the abode of the mikados, is not very attractive, leading through a bare, flat park. Our interest was soon aroused, however, by the sight of one of the six gates of the palace, through which we drove, following the grey wall with its stripes of white and its tiles showing the sixteen-petalled chrysanthemums--both emblems of royalty. Another gate, perhaps a little smaller than the first, brought us to the immediate entrance. The building is comparatively new, the old palace having been destroyed by fire in 1854, but it is very large, covering an area of twenty-six acres. Two officials greeted us at the inner gate, and, after politely asking us to remove our shoes, conducted us down the long, narrow corridor to what were probably waiting-rooms. There were three of these, decorated in sepia. From here we were led through another corridor, past the room with a dais at one end for the higher nobility, where the courtiers used to dine off the flat, red lacquer tables, to the Seiryoden--the Pure and Cool Hall--a room used for religious festivals, with marvellously coloured birds painted upon its walls. This hall received its name from a small stream of clear water which runs through a sluiceway near-by. Opening from this is a courtyard in which grow two clumps of bamboo, named centuries ago for the two ancient Chinese kingdoms, Kan and Go--Kan-chiku and Go-chiku. To the right of the Seiryoden is a room which is reserved for special audiences, called Shishinden, or Mysterious Purple Hall. In the centre of this is a platform on which stands the throne, a great chair inlaid with mother-of-pearl. It is covered by a canopy of pale fawn-coloured brocade with outer drapings of red and purple, and is guarded by the two sacred dogs. The walls of this room are painted in panels representing Chinese sages, the panels being copies of the originals, which were painted in 888 A. D. and afterward destroyed by fire. Leading from the courtyard into the hall is a flight of fifteen steps, corresponding in number to the grades into which officials of government were divided. The higher order stood on the upper step, and so on down to those who were obliged to stand in the court. On one side of the steps is a wild orange tree named Ukon-No-Tachibana, and on the other a cherry tree, Sakon-No-Sakura. From this hall we passed through more galleries, and through one particularly beautiful chamber with decorations of wild geese in sepia. At the end of a corridor, making a turn to the left, we came to some more waiting-rooms, decorated in blue and white--the most heavenly blue, surely pieces of the sky brought down from the kingdom of the gods by the first illustrious ruler! Here tea and cigarettes were offered us, and we were glad to rest and enjoy the view of the landscape garden with its miniature lake and islands on which were temples and twisted trees. From this room we passed through more corridors to the entrance, where we bowed to our guide, put on our shoes, and departed, with a feeling of having been soothed and rested by the beautiful simplicity and solemnity of the Gosho Palace. Once more out in the sunshine, we drove through the park into the streets of the city and on to the Nijo Castle. This palace, formerly belonging to the shoguns, dates from the early part of the seventeenth century. Its splendid iron-bound gates are fine specimens of Japanese architecture and carving. It is much more resplendent than the Mikado's palace, having been built in a spirit of rivalry to show the superior wealth and power of the Shogun. We were received here in the same cordial manner as at the Gosho, and after removing our shoes were taken into a small antechamber, which had two superb doors made of the cryptomeria tree with bronze studdings and hinges. Then followed a series of rooms, the first of which was set aside for the _samurai_ and decorated with tigers with intent, awful eyes, crouching, rampant, even flying, on a background of glorious gold. From these we passed into the rooms used by the _daimyos_, and on from room to room, every apartment having its golden setting, which was so rich and mellow with age that we seemed to be breathing in the creamy softness of it. In each of these suites were secret closets, where guards were stationed in olden times, unseen by the assembly. One chamber with its paintings of pine-trees was very attractive in its simplicity; the next delighted us with remarkable carvings; the following one, with its cherry blossoms and its ceiling, so pleased the late Emperor that he had it copied for the banquet-room of his palace in Tokyo. Still another apartment, with its bamboo decorations, rivalled those we had seen before, while the last one had a pathetic touch with its poor little cold and starving sparrows. One door of especial note showed a heron, wet, cold and miserable, standing on the gunwale of a boat. The grain of the wood had been skilfully used by the artist to represent a rainstorm. The door had unfortunately been much damaged by vandalism during the régime of the Kyoto prefecture in 1868. From a long series of rooms radiant with sunshine we entered others which had the moonlight for their setting--all so beautiful that it is difficult to express one's admiration. From this suite we were led finally back to the entrance once more, arriving there bewildered by the vast number of rooms, the length of the corridors, and the splendour of all that we had seen. It was in this palace that the last of the Shoguns formally turned over his power to the Mikado, an event which marked the beginning of the new era for Japan. * * * * * Japanese history, with which Kyoto is closely identified, begins with myth and fable. No definite facts or dates are known, previous to the fifth century A. D. According to legend, the country was first created by Izanagi and his wife Izanami; from his left eye came the Sun-Goddess and from his right eye the moon, while a tempestuous god came from his nose. He was blessed with more than a hundred children, but, in spite of this, his wife, Izanami, died and went to Hades. Although their parents were divine, the children were only demi-gods, and came to earth by means of a floating bridge. The Sun-Goddess, Ama-terasu, was given partial control of the new realm. She appointed her grandson, Ninigi, and his descendants for ever, sovereigns of Japan. Before leaving his grandmother's kingdom Ninigi was presented with a sacred mirror, sword and jewel. The mirror is shown at the shrine of Ise, the sword in a temple near Nagoya, while the stone has always been kept by the Mikado. Ninigi, accompanied by a host of gods, alighted upon a mountain in the province of Satsuma, and his son, Jimmu Tenno, finally made a conquest of Japan. The Emperor Jimmu is said to have been the first human sovereign in the land. He rowed up through the Inland Sea with his warriors, overcoming and subjugating the savages whom he encountered. All this happened during the seventh century before Christ. February eleventh is the date celebrated as the anniversary of his coronation as Emperor, but, of course, not only the date but even his very existence, is uncertain. The present Emperor is believed to be a direct descendant of this first ruler. Some think that Jimmu Tenno may have been a Chinese warrior, for it is true that during the third and fourth centuries A. D. vast hordes of Chinese and Koreans invaded the country, bringing with them the arts and sciences of civilization, as well as the religion of Buddha. The Ainus, who were probably the original Island people, began to disappear and are now found only on the northern island of Hokkaido--also called Yezo. The first woman who seems to have taken an active part in Japanese history is the Empress Jingo (Singokogu). She is supposed to have lived in the third century A. D. and to have made a conquest of Korea, which she added to her other possessions. The son of Sujin, "the Civilizer," became known as the Merciful Emperor, because he did away with the terrible custom of burying alive, with a deceased Emperor, his family, retainers, and animals. Instead, he substituted clay figures about the tomb. This is still the fashion, for such figures were placed inside the tomb of the late Emperor. They are also to be seen on the avenue leading to the Ming Tombs, near the Great Wall of China. Kyoto became the seat of the mikados during the eighth century A. D. and was known as the Western Capital. From the twelfth century on, these descendants of the Sun-Goddess were rulers of Japan in theory only, however. In reality the power was held by a succession of powerful nobles--mayors of the palace, like the Carolingians in mediæval Europe--who were called _shoguns_. The shoguns continued in power for nearly a thousand years, living at first in Kyoto but later--in the sixteenth century--removing to Tokyo (Yedo), which became the Eastern Capital. They never claimed supremacy, always affirming that they ruled the country simply by authority delegated to them from the Mikado. Any titles or honours which they wished to bestow upon themselves or their favourites were given in the name of the Emperor. The Portuguese were the first foreigners to arrive, coming in 1542. With them were Jesuit priests, who, under cover of attempted conversion, were thought to be plotting a Portuguese conquest of the country. As a result of this discovery, in 1587, an edict was issued that all Christian teachers should leave Japan. Later even more stringent measures were taken for the destruction of the Church, and all proselytes were called upon to recant. After this event two centuries and a half of peaceful seclusion, known as the Tokugawa Period, followed. The founder of this dynasty was Tokugawa Iyeyasu, a general of great genius who succeeded in bringing the other nobles to terms and in establishing a strong and effective central government. Bismarck is said to have described him as "a great man long trained in the school of adversity." Feudalism reached its perfection under his rule. While the shoguns were in power they owned all the land in the realm. This land they leased to the _daimyo_, or barons. These in turn sublet to their vassals, the brave _samurai_, who formed the fighting class and gave military service to their lords for the value received. Merchants, traders, manufacturers, farmers, artisans and coolies, all owed allegiance to their immediate master, who stood next above them in the social scale. During the Tokugawa Period art and letters flourished. The country was at peace, and well governed. The only foreigners allowed in the country were the Chinese and Dutch traders, who might enter the harbour of Nagasaki under guard. To Americans the most interesting date in Japanese history is that of July 14th, 1853, when Commodore Perry appeared with his black ships, his big guns, and a letter from the President of the United States to the Shogun of Japan. (Foreigners did not realize that the Shogun was not the supreme authority.) Prince Tokugawa not only received the letter, which was contrary to national law, but in due time consented to the opening of certain ports to foreign trade. Soon after this, the "open door" policy proving unpopular with the people, the country found itself in the throes of a revolution which resulted, in 1868, in the restoration of the Mikado to the throne of his ancestors and to the power which went with it. Prince Keiki Tokugawa, the fifteenth of the House of Tokugawa and last of the shoguns, retired in favour of the Emperor, Meiji Tenno. He survived the Emperor by over a year, dying in November, 1913. Although the Imperial line was restored to power, their capital, Kyoto, was abandoned in favour of Tokyo, which has remained the seat of government ever since. CHAPTER III FIRST DAYS AT THE EMBASSY Soon after Christmas we left Kyoto for Tokyo. After having been on the train eighteen days I looked forward with pleasure to being quiet once more. At the station we found the members of the American Embassy Staff and some old Japanese friends waiting to greet us. There were nineteen in all on the Staff--a larger number than at any other American Embassy. As we walked down the platform to the carriage, the photographers took flashlight pictures of the party in quite an up-to-date American fashion. We had a house ready for us on our arrival, as the United States owns the Embassy in Japan. Of course all our embassies and legations and consulates are considered American territory, but as almost all these are rented houses, the theory is rather absurd. Years ago, however, the Government felt that it was necessary to buy land in Japan and Turkey for embassies and in China for a legation, and this accounts for our experience. Congress is not generous in anything which does not concern immediate home politics. It will not pay for embassies which compare with those of other nations, as a rule. The one appropriation so far suggested in Congress for the purchase of five or six embassy buildings is not sufficient to buy one suitable residence, so the Government would probably acquire, at best, only a second-rate house, which would make the American Ambassador second-rate in the eyes of the country to which he was accredited. Granting that the Government did acquire a suitable house, however, it would require an increase in salary to keep it up. Diplomats are obliged to observe certain standards of living unless they wish to have their country looked down upon. For instance, in Vienna even the secretaries must drive in a carriage with a pair--a one-horse conveyance is not considered suitable for diplomats. On the other hand, as there is no regular diplomatic service in America, the raising of salaries would attract a poor class of politicians who would seek foreign posts for the money that went with them. This happens sometimes in representations from other countries, but as they have a well-organized service it does not occur very often. From the outside the Embassy in Tokyo looks rather like an American summer hotel--a large white house with green blinds, of no particular style and somewhat old and ramshackle. I was told that it had to be built of wood on account of earthquakes; it certainly had great cracks in the walls. It had been newly painted in honour of our arrival, and looked fairly well on the outside, comparing favourably with some of the other embassies: the English, German and Austrian are perhaps better, and the French are to build an ambitious new one. The Dutch and the Brazilians were our nearest diplomatic neighbours; the former have a very nice compound on a hill near-by, and although the house is not large it is filled with beautiful curios. Our own Embassy was shabby, but we found it rather nice and comfortable, after all; it was one of the few houses in Tokyo that had a furnace, which is a rare luxury in Japan. [Illustration: THE AMERICAN EMBASSY, TOKYO.] The embassies are scattered about on commanding hills in different parts of the city, as the land was bought at various times by their respective governments. At one time Tsukiji was the only part down by the river where foreigners who were not officials were allowed to live, but I believe they may now rent houses in any section of Tokyo. Our compound was on the slope of a hill in a district called Akasaka. It covered about two acres and contained, besides the Embassy and the chancery and the servants' quarters connected with it, a stable and two bungalows. One of the bungalows was for the First Secretary, the other for the First Japanese Secretary, who was not a Japanese but an American who had mastered the language. The compound itself, in which all the buildings stand, is really a garden, with cherries and plums and twisted trees, an arbour of wisteria, and, of course, a little pond and bridge. The snow that came several times during the winter only added to its charm, making of it a place where sprites would have loved to dance. The front door of the Embassy opened into a large hall with a staircase at one side. On the left was the Ambassador's private office, which connected directly with the chancery offices, while on the right was a small reception-room with an open fire. I often received guests in this room for tea; it was done in green and had Japanese brasses and prints upon the walls. Opening out of it was another small parlour done in pink and white, with rows of books about; from this one entered a drawing-room with red brocade on the walls, heavy furniture, and a piano. This led in turn into a large dining-room, finished in white, with an enclosed veranda outside. Up-stairs there were four bedrooms, a library, and a long enclosed balcony into which the sun poured all the morning. The bedrooms were large and barn-like, but with the aid of Japanese crêpes and rugs they came to look quite attractive. The place which I liked best of all was a writing-room on the veranda. On a table covered with a blue and white Chinese cloth stood a small _hibachi_, a fire-box for warming the hands, made of hammered brass, with fantastic chrysanthemums and leaves. There were also a long Korean pipe and a shorter Japanese one, as well as a gun-metal box that we had bought in Kyoto, inlaid with a crouching gold tiger. On the wall were red and green prints. Pottery and baskets with plants in them, and a bowl of goldfish, completed the decorations of this little den. A few stray pieces of furniture, rather the worse for wear, were the only things owned by the Government, but we had arranged to rent the furnishings of my husband's predecessor. Fortunately these were attractive things, so that the house was ready for use upon our arrival. It is much harder than one would imagine, even to-day, to get things in Japan for European houses. The foreign shops which had European furniture to sell charged well for it, and did not have much that was in good taste. During the first few days we were busy unpacking our belongings--some old Japanese screens that had travelled round the world back to Japan with us, a few rugs, and our linen and silver. We weeded out the things we did not especially care for in the house, and picked up here and there some interesting prints and curios. It was said to be the moment to purchase porcelains that were coming out of China, and as Jaehne, an American dealer in Tokyo, came back with some good things, we bought a few. With these, and with the enchanting little dwarf trees in bloom, the Embassy soon looked homelike and pretty. We had already engaged in advance the Japanese servants. These live in the Embassy compound, and many of them are passed on from one Ambassador to the next. Their quarters are connected with the Embassy house, and they sometimes invite their relations to live with them, so that often fifty or more persons may be found there. As they both eat and sleep upon their mats and are very quiet, one would never know they were in the compound at all. Watanabe and Dick, with the little maids, all wore Japanese costumes. Watanabe, the "head boy," or butler, had been in the Embassy for thirty-five years, and had entire charge of the housekeeping arrangements. He was head of the "Boys' Guild" of Tokyo, and an important person. Dick was the only one of the servants who had been in America, although the cook had been in France, and O Sawa, the maid, had been to China and the Philippines. [Illustration: JAPANESE SERVANTS.] Every morning the cook sent up a French menu for approval. European food, as prepared by the Japanese, is really very good. Turtle, served in American fashion, is quite as palatable as our terrapin, and the "mountain whale," or wild boar, is a real delicacy. (In olden times the Buddhists were not supposed to eat meat, and because it was difficult for the people of the mountains to get to the sea for fish the priests allowed them to eat the wild boar on the hills, but called it "mountain whale!") Some of the meat used in the city comes from Australia, as does also the canned butter. Cows are few, but we were able to get our own milk and butter from a local dairy. My husband is very fond of Japanese food, and as I like it too, often of an evening when we were alone or had friends who also enjoyed it, we would have Japanese dinners at the Embassy, served upon the table but in the pretty lacquer bowls on little lacquer trays. Eels with rice and _soy_ was a favourite dish. I used to enjoy sitting in the den and listening to the street noises, they were so strange and interesting. There were the songs of men carrying heavy loads, and the bells of the men who, in the winter, run from temple to temple, almost naked, and have cold water poured over them, as a penance. There was the fanfare of the soldiers, too, something like that of the Italians, and the flute of the blind masseur, and the steady whistle of the man who cleans the pipes of smokers. The newsboys all wore bells, and the people selling wares often had little drums which they beat. When not listening to the sounds outside, I often used to sit and look into the bowl of glistening water where the goldfish lived, for they quite fascinated me, with their jawless chins, which they kept opening and shutting for food in such a greedy manner! The swish of their tails was like the grace of a trailing kimono worn by the ladies of long ago, while their fins suggested the sleeves of a _geisha_ girl. Some of them had popping eyes that stared at you, some were so fat that they swam upside down quite comfortably. They would rush from one side of the bowl to the other, pushing their noses up close against the glass, as if they were eager to swim out of their lovely opalescent world. Many humans live in a world not very much larger than a goldfish's bowl, and never try to get out at all! Of an evening one heard the notes of the _samisen_, an instrument like a small-headed banjo, made of catskin and having three strings. Japanese music is minor, and being in half tones, which our ear is not trained to appreciate, sounds very strange, and to many even uncouth. None of it is written--the songs are simply passed on from one to another. Although so many Europeans do not care for this music, I find it very fascinating. But our ideas of what is beautiful are bound to differ. Watanabe caught a nightingale in the Embassy garden by means of a spider, and put it in a cage in the house. It had several notes, not all very pleasant, I must admit, but I suppose it was a compliment when he told some one, after having heard me sing, "Bird's high note just like Madam!" In the silence of the night, one also heard the clack, clack of the watchman at a house near-by, who beat two sticks together so that his master might hear and know that he was keeping watch. Besides this, there was the squeaking of rats, the meow of our cat, or the barking of a dog. It must have been this same dog, by the way, who came to such an untimely end while we were there. "Have you heard the news?" one of the secretaries asked one morning. "Why, no--what is it?" I inquired. "Perhaps you may remember that the Embassy dog barked so much that our neighbours complained and we had to give him away. Some _geishas_ took him, but he still came back to visit us." "Yes," I interrupted, "he comes back at night--I've heard him!" "He did come back--but alas! he never will again. That is the news--we found him dead in the garden this morning. His funeral procession has just gone down the street, the _geishas_ following the corpse in their 'rickshas." "A dog's funeral! How funny!" "Not so funny as something that happened not very long ago, when the local veterinary died," the Secretary assured me; "our Embassy dog was invited to attend his funeral. Of course we sent him, and he rode in state in the first 'ricksha behind the body, followed by other dogs of lesser rank, each riding in its master's carriage." Occasionally there would be the tremor of an earthquake. But most of the shocks are slight--so slight that one doesn't often feel them. Having been born and brought up on made land in the Back Bay of Boston, where every team shakes the house, I did not notice one all the time I was in Tokyo. I had to take the tremors on hearsay. Tokyo is considered cold in winter. It has a chill wind, but not so bad as the east wind in Boston. The climate might, perhaps, compare with Washington, but as the houses are so lightly built, and the people live upon the floor with little heat, the Japanese suffer a great deal from the cold. It had always been thought too severe in Tokyo for the Emperor, who as Crown Prince used to go to the seashore during the winter months, but this year, having become Emperor on the death of his father, he was obliged to stay in town. Miss Hyde has perhaps the most attractive house and garden that I saw in Tokyo. The garden was small, but you entered under a _torii_ gate, and found a bronze Buddha calmly sitting beneath a tree. Indoors, Miss Hyde had decorated some of the _shoji_, the sliding screens, with pretty, laughing Japanese children. Her wood cuts of these children, by the way, are enchanting. The day we lunched with her the table was charmingly arranged, with little dolls among the flowers carrying lighted egg-shell lanterns. [Illustration: "SECRET."--WOOD-CUT BY MISS HYDE.] The different members of the Staff were very kind in welcoming us by dinners given in our honour. Each entertainment had a new feature introduced. Some of the "boys" are very clever in arranging miniature landscapes on the table, or dwarf box-gardens. Often electric lights are introduced among the flowers. Japanese fingers are so deft that the results are marvellous. At one dinner to which we went, the guests found little lanterns with their names on them, and sat under a huge, wide-spread Japanese umbrella. On many occasions the place-cards were charmingly painted. One was repeatedly fascinated by the fairy-like scenes that were set on the tables. After dinner we often had music or bridge--every Saturday night a certain set met for bridge at the Italian Embassy, and on another evening at the Austrian. One night, in the middle of a dinner, we heard great shouting outside. It sounded like a college cry in Japanese and ended up with "_Banzai Taishikwan_!" The latter word means ambassador. _Banzai_ is often used as a toast--Good luck to you!--but literally translated, means, "Hurrah! Ten thousand years!" At a dinner one evening, we met two Japanese ladies, sisters, who were dressed alike in black kimonos with white dots to represent a snowstorm--a design especially appropriate for winter; superb silver sashes embroidered with black crows completed their costumes. At this dinner an Italian tenor sang delightfully. For souvenirs we were given charming lacquer _saké_ cups. We ordered as mementoes for our dinners at the Embassy small silver boxes with the American eagle upon them. At Japanese dinners they often give you exquisite lacquer cups or black lacquer boxes with decorations in gold, tied with bright cord, or silver knickknacks made in artistic designs. They are sometimes put on the table in their boxes in front of you, or passed on a tray, uncovered, as is done at Court, at the end of the repast, so that you may pick out the object you prefer. It was said that the late Emperor himself used to design the tokens which were used on the Imperial table. The little souvenirs are admired and greatly treasured, both by the Japanese themselves and by foreigners, some of whom have really beautiful collections which are displayed with pride on the tables in their salons. Shopping in Japan is always a leisurely affair. It is fascinating to go into the queer, pretty little shops with their soft mats, and to enter the attractive courtyards. If the dealer thinks you are sufficiently appreciative, he will take out of his _godown_ or treasure-house a blue and white vase, or a peachblow, and will sit on the mat handling it tenderly while you drink a cup of tea or smoke a tiny pipe, as you choose. One may spend days in such a curio shop, discussing the beauty of a vase, admiring the bronzes, and finally, perhaps, settling upon a price! It is very exciting when the silken handkerchief is being unwound from some treasure, and you see the beautiful thing at last, for you never can tell whether it is going to be a little bronze or a piece of ivory, or smooth lacquer. We knew enough to make the dealer go deep into his _godown_ before we began to talk or bargain, for they don't trouble to bring out their best things unless you insist. When you have seen the really good work you wonder how you ever looked at the _muki_[2] which was displayed at first. [2] Cheap articles made for foreign trade. After luncheon our drawing-room would fairly seethe with dealers, who came to show us their curios both old and new, which they laid out on the furniture or the floor, as it happened. They brought lacquer boxes and porcelains to tempt the eye, and innumerable wood cuts of doubtful quality. Not only the old curios, but the modern articles made for foreigners, are very attractive, but dealers only make one or two of the same kind, so it is often impossible to duplicate even the simplest household things. Besides the silver tea and coffee sets, there are silk articles--stockings, handkerchiefs, and crêpes of all kinds, beautifully embroidered--while the modern porcelains are both charming and cheap. But one finds most of these modern things in America now. The old Japanese curios that are really good cost more than ever, and are every year more difficult to find. The culture pearls are especially attractive, and only the Japanese produce them. The oyster must be three years old when it is opened and a piece of mother-of-pearl inserted. This causes an irritation, which forms a pearl in about four years. They are often coloured pink or blue by injecting chemicals, but as they are rather flat on one side they do not bring the prices of natural pearls. It is possible to buy some furs which are rarely seen in America--the long-haired rabbit, the badger, and slippers made of monkey-skin. Wherever we went, we were advised to buy our furs elsewhere. China is, of course, noted for its skins--the long white goat and the leopard being among the best--but we were told not to buy in China because, although furs were cheap there, they were not well cured. In Russia we were warned not to buy them because they were so costly, but to wait till we reached Germany, where they are both well-cured and inexpensive. I must confess that we bought in all places, however, and found them generally satisfactory. While the Japanese furs are not so cheap as the Chinese, they are cheaper than the Russian and are well cured. The main shopping street of Tokyo, the "Ginza," is very broad and has the most prominent stores. Some of these look quite as modern as those on Broadway and are several stories high--a great contrast to the little wooden houses about them. One finds to-day in the city a great many wide spaces and parks that did not exist a few years ago, but, of course, many of the streets are still narrow and picturesque. One lovely late afternoon, when there was a silver half-moon swimming in the sky, I went for a walk with Osame through the city streets, which are a continuous bazaar. We turned aside into little narrow ways, lined with bamboo fences with quaint gates, inside of which were glimpses of pretty gardens with gravel approaches and gnarled pine-trees, and of little houses with overhanging roofs that threatened to tumble over with their own weight. In front of the houses hung lanterns with characters which Osame translated for me. Here was the house of a "Teacher of the Tea Ceremony," there lived a "Teacher of Flower Arrangement;" each tiny dwelling bore the name of its owner--and often his telephone number!--on a little wooden slab tacked on the gate-post. It was all so typical and so characteristic--so different from a street anywhere else in the world. We came to a hill and passed up long flights of steps, coming to a temple on the summit which is as quiet and solemn as if it were miles from anywhere. Then we went down again, by another long flight of stairs, into a busy district, past many pretty tea-houses in which _geishas_ live, and so out into the more respectable quarter of the Embassy. When my husband was here twenty-five years ago, much of this thickly settled part of the city was all paddy-fields. Some of the signs on the streets, written in English "as it is Japped," used to be very funny, but the Government has tried to do away with the amusing ones, so that to-day they are seldom seen in the city, though one runs across them now and then in the country. "The efficacy of this beer is to give the health and especially the strength for stomach. The flavour is so sweet and simple in here if much drink," was one of them, I remember. A tailor of uniforms had on his sign, "Gold Tail Shop," while another shop assured the passer-by that "The tas [tea] are restful and for sharpen the minds." Cigarettes are driving out the native tobacco; a brand is advertised as being "very fragrant except a bad smell." One sign insisted that within could be produced "wine, beer, and others!" The days at the Embassy passed very pleasantly. Afternoons and evenings were filled with social duties, but the mornings I was free to spend as I chose. Mrs. Caldwell, wife of one of the Staff, and I found the Japanese toys so fascinating that we could hardly tear ourselves away from the shops. Madame Van Royen, the American wife of the Dutch Minister, and I had several automobile rides together. Mrs. Caldwell and I played tennis and sang duets, and sometimes of a morning I would have a walk with one of the secretaries. There was always plenty of sight-seeing to be done whenever we had any spare time. It was a happy surprise not to find more changes in the outward appearance of the country and of the people since my earlier visits. The hotels throughout the country are more comfortable, however, and the European food better. The _naisans_ (maids) and _geisha_ girls speak a little English now, which they could not do a few years ago. In many of the towns the streets are wider and are bright with electric lights, while electric cars and motors are quite popular, and even flying-machines are to be seen. The cities are more sanitary than they were, too, although even now an occasional case of cholera is discovered, and foreigners are still careful not to eat uncooked food. The yellow journals of both America and Japan have been active in trying to stir up trouble between the two countries. When we were in Japan fifteen years ago, some of our papers said that foreigners were in danger there, but we never saw then, or while my husband was Ambassador, any rudeness or threat of violence. Lately, owing to the California trouble, I understand that some rude speeches have been made, and some writing has appeared on the Embassy wall. When we were there with the American Secretary of War on our way to the Philippines, no people could have showed greater good-will than the Japanese Government expressed in every way to our party, which represented the United States. To return to the streets--although one sees many carriages and a few motors, the man-drawn jinrikisha is still the most popular conveyance; a few years ago there were forty thousand of them in Tokyo alone. The runners can jog along at a good six miles an hour, and can keep up the pace for a long distance. With a leader or pusher, or with three men, as many as ninety miles can be made in a day. As Tokyo is almost as wide-spreading as London, an automobile is a convenience in returning visits, notwithstanding the narrowness of the streets, in which people walk and children play. Pedestrians pay little attention to the warning of the automobile horn, perhaps owing to the whistles and horns of the dealers and the other noises of the busy streets. There are some large new brick buildings in Tokyo, and a new railway station is being built. Some of the European government buildings are quite handsome, as well as very large and imposing--they would look big anywhere, whether one admired their architecture or not. There are also two large European hotels, and a good bank. [Illustration: SHIBA PARK, TOKYO.] Shiba Park is not very far from the Embassy. People go there to see the Shiba Temples, which were built in honour of the sixth, seventh, and ninth shoguns. As usual, one enters through a _torii_, or gateway, into a paved courtyard, and takes off one's shoes before going into the temple. In feudal times, when the Shogun came to worship the spirits of his ancestors, he alone ascended to the sanctum of the temple, the _daimyos_ seating themselves next to him in the corridor below, while the rest of the nobility occupied the oratory. The lacquer in these temples is perhaps the most beautiful that I saw in Japan, and the carvings are superb. In many places one sees the three-leafed asarum, which is the crest of the Tokugawa family, and the lotus, the Buddhist emblem of purity. Behind the temples are the stone tombs with their bronze lanterns; the newest one bears the date 1877, and is the burial place of the present Emperor's great-aunt. Near the tombs can be seen the imprint of Buddha's feet, which must have been of phenomenal size! One day we went over the Osaka Museum, which has probably more Buddhas than any other museum in the world. It is a private collection near the Embassy, and contains some superb red lacquers, all very well arranged. It was interesting to note that the porcelains were tied to the shelves, on account of earthquakes. One of the most popular resorts, Uyeno Park, which is well known for its temples and the tombs of the shoguns, is on very high ground and has a fine view. An immense stone lantern--one of the three largest in Japan--is there, and also an ancient pagoda and some fine cryptomerias. During the season people visit this park in hundreds to see the cherry blossoms. The tombs of the Forty-Seven Ronins must be visited, so much has been written about the brave band, and their dramatic story is so often told in Japan. Under the huge cryptomerias on the side of a hill, one comes to the many stone lanterns surrounding a sort of court, where their admirers still place lighted incense sticks and leave their visiting cards on the dead heroes. By the path leading to the tombs the well where the Ronins washed the head of their victim still exists. Briefly told, their story is as follows: In April of the year 1701, Asano, Lord of Ako, while in Tokyo with the Shogun, was asked to arrange one of the great State ceremonies. Now, Asano was a warrior, and knew little of such matters, so he questioned a nobleman named Kira, who was well versed in Court etiquette. It did not occur to Asano that he was expected to pay for the information, and when he failed to do so, Kira jeered at him, and one day insulted him by asking him to fasten his _tabi_, or footgear. Stirred to anger, Asano drew his sword and slashed the nobleman, without, however, killing him. Unfortunately, this happened in the palace grounds. To fight in such a sacred place is a crime, and Asano was told that as a punishment he must perform _hara-kiri_, which he immediately did. Asano's castle was confiscated and his family declared extinct, so that his faithful retainers became _ronin_, or "wave men"--wanderers. Oishi, the head retainer, consulted with forty-six of the most trusted of the band, and they swore vengeance on Kira, who had brought about their master's death. In time the forty-six became trades-people, while Oishi himself pretended dissipation in order to put Kira off the track. But they did not forget their oath of vengeance, and two years later, during a severe snowstorm, the Forty-Seven Ronins made an attack upon Kira and his retainers, and succeeded in vanquishing them. As Kira was a great noble, he was given the privilege of performing _hara-kiri_, but he was afraid to kill himself, and so Oishi murdered him. As the Forty-Seven Ronins marched through the streets with the head of their enemy, the people came out of their houses and cheered. Oishi laid Kira's head upon the grave of Asano. Official sentence condemned all the Ronins to commit _hara-kiri_,[3] and they have been worshipped as heroes ever since. [3] _Hara-kiri_ is an honourable form of capital punishment, is also a popular method of suicide. The man who is about to die invites his friends to share in a farewell feast. Robed in white, he takes leave of them and enters a screened enclosure, where he proceeds to disembowel himself with a knife. A friend who acts as a sort of second stands by and with a keen sword puts an end to his agony by cutting off his head. CHAPTER IV COURT FUNCTIONS Naturally, the most interesting event of the winter was our audience and luncheon at Court. We started from the Embassy at half-past ten in the morning. My husband was accompanied by his immediate Staff, in full evening dress, and all wearing mourning bands on their arms--the Naval and Military Attachés, of course, were in full-dress uniform. L. went off in a State carriage of gold and black, sent by the Emperor, with a Court dignitary to conduct him to the palace, and an escort of the Imperial Lancers on horseback, bearing pennants of red and white, the Imperial colours. Court carriages with the Secretaries and Attachés were next in line, each one having a coachman with cockade and golden bands on hat and livery, and two _bettos_, or running footmen. I followed this procession in the Embassy carriage, with the Naval and Military Attachés' wives in other vehicles behind. The coachman and the _betto_ of the American Embassy presented quite a fine appearance in their characteristic livery--navy-blue hats, mushroom-shaped and bearing the eagle, and coats to match, with shoulder capes piped with red, white and blue. [Illustration: THE COACHMAN AND THE _BETTO_ OF THE AMERICAN EMBASSY.] So we started on that wonderful drive through Tokyo. Down the steep descent from the quaint, lovely garden of the Embassy we drove, the _bettos_ holding back on the poles to help the under-sized little horses. Two mounted soldiers fell in behind the official carriages as we passed down the broad streets. The _bettos_ ran on ahead, and shouted out warnings to the pedestrians, who always fill the roadways where they are narrow, and scatter over them where they are broad. Men and women stood still and faced the Imperial carriage as it passed, uncovering their heads, and some even prostrating themselves on the ground; others came out from the miniature shops to gaze; jinrikishas and trolley-cars stopped, and people got out of them and stood respectfully; the tiny dolls of children even looked on in wonder, and the police stood at attention at the corners. For we were going to see the mysterious Mikado, Son of Heaven, Heir of Two Thousand and Five Hundred Years of Direct Descent from the Sun-Goddess. Hidden away there in his palace behind the ramparts and moats of ancient castles, strange and far away, he is still held sacred by his millions of people! Every view was like a picture on a fan. We went on past the walled residences of ancient feudal lords; past the _torii_--the "bird-rest" gates at temple entrances--through which we caught glimpses of stone lanterns and the wide-open fronts of picturesque shrines. Again we passed tea-houses from which the twang of _samisen_ was heard; and left behind us rows on rows of shops with wares of every kind exposed in front for trade. Everywhere the men and quaint little women went stumbling along on their clicking clogs, bowing low to one another; and every moment through some opening of wall or entrance we could see delightful little gardens of tree and stone and water arranged in a way both fascinating and fanciful. [Illustration: THE MOATS, IMPERIAL CASTLE, TOKYO.] We came to the broad expanse before the first moat of the Imperial castle. Beyond rose the great stone wall, grey, moss-grown and impressive, of huge blocks like those of the Egyptian pyramids. The branches of the grotesque overhanging pine-trees bowed down to the still waters beneath, where the lovely lotus opens up its flowers in season and the great leaves lie idly on the smooth surface. At the corners of the wall rose the white, many-storied guardhouses, like pagodas with their curving roofs. We passed through the huge gateway with its heavy doors into a second wide space, which led to another moat and rampart of the ancient castle fortifications, crossed another bridge, and entered the sacred enclosure of the Imperial residence, with its imposing gate; and finally wound round a gravel road, bordered with great trees, to the palace entrance, a large covered porch, from which steps led toward the reception hall. On each side stretched the palace, built in old Japanese style, low and simple, in its wood colour and white. Count Toda, Grand Master of Ceremonies, Count Watanabe, Minister of the Imperial Household, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, and other officials and chamberlains met us at the entrance. With little delay the bowing officials conducted the party through long corridors, laid with red carpets. Here more officials in gold-braided European dress were stationed at intervals. From the corridors we caught delightful glimpses of large rooms with gorgeous decoration, and enjoyed the odour of perfumed woods. The ladies were left in one reception-room and the men gathered in another. My husband was conducted alone to the Phoenix Hall, where he was to be received in audience by the Emperor. Taking a few steps along the gallery, which looked out into another delightful garden, he faced into a square, simple Japanese room, in the middle of which stood His Imperial Majesty, with his interpreter beside him, while at a distance behind and on either side were gentlemen-in-waiting. Etiquette required a low bow at the threshold and two others while approaching. The Emperor extended his hand, and made some inquiries through his interpreter. L. read a short speech, which was afterward translated by the interpreter, and handed his credentials and the letter of recall of his predecessor to the Emperor, who passed them to an aide at one side, and replied in a very low voice through the interpreter with a few words of welcome and assurances of the maintenance of happy relations. Then it was indicated that the Staff might be presented. They entered, making their three bows as they approached the Emperor, who shook the hand of each one, then they retired backward out of the room. After they had disappeared, His Majesty again gave his hand in token that the audience was over, and my husband made his bows and withdrew. After this he joined me, and we were both received by the Empress in the Peony Hall, a small room with hardwood floors, wood carvings, beautifully decorated walls and ceiling, but no furniture. I followed L., courtesying at the door as he bowed, and again as the Empress gave me her hand. The ladies with me followed in our train, also courtesying. Her Majesty talked through an interpreter, the conversation consisting principally of questions, such as--"How did you stand the journey across Siberia?" "Do you not find it very cold in Japan?" "Do you enjoy flowers?" The Empress is young, bright and very pretty. She was dressed in deep mourning, in European style, and her hair was done in the Western fashion. After she had spoken a few words to each one of us we courtesied and backed to the door. Their Majesties were kind enough to say they remembered us from our former luncheon at the palace during the reign of the late Emperor. In the interval between the audience and the luncheon, the latter not occurring till half-past twelve, we drove back to the Embassy. Our "head boy" told us it was customary to have a glass of champagne upon returning from such a function, so we had some wine and biscuit, which the Master of Ceremonies and the officer in command of the escort were invited to share with us. Then we all went out and were photographed by all kinds of cameras levelled by an army of photographers--as that seemed to be the custom, too. When we returned to the palace, we were conducted into the vast Room of One Thousand Seeds, which, like the Peony Hall, had no chairs; but the ceiling was magnificently carved and there were beautiful panels and vases of flowers. Different members of the Imperial family came in, the men in uniform, the ladies in black European gowns and hats. As the luncheon was to be informal, frock coats were worn by the men of the Embassy in place of evening clothes. I was then presented to the Emperor, who was in khaki uniform, and seemed alert and interested in everything, and we followed Their Majesties into the large dining-room near-by. This room was also vast and spacious, with glass on one side through which we looked out into the garden. The table was set in handsome European style for thirty or forty persons, and a number of servants in European liveries stood in impressive line behind. Their Majesties sat together in the centre of the table, with Prince and Princess Kan-in on their right and left. Prince Kan-in, who was on one side of me, is a cousin of the Emperor, young and quite good looking. Having lived in France for nine years, he spoke French well. On the other side was Prince Katsura, who was at that time Prime Minister and one of the strongest and best-known men in Japan. Prince Katsura spoke a little English, but preferred German. His German was not much better than mine, so we did not have so much interesting conversation as we otherwise might have had. Prince Fushimi, now quite an old man, whom we had met years ago in Boston, was there, besides many others. The luncheon was in European style and delicious. The table ornaments were exquisite orchids in silver dishes. During the meal the Emperor sent me several messages through one of the gentlemen-in-waiting, who acted as interpreter: "Do you have orchids in America?" "Are you going to Nikko this summer!" To my answer that I had been at Nikko, His Majesty replied, that his Summer Palace was at Nikko, and that he hoped we might go there again, as he felt sure we would each time see even more beautiful things. The Emperor proposed my husband's health by lifting his glass and drinking, and L. rose, lifted his, and drank to the Emperor. Then His Majesty pledged me, and I rose, and drank to him in return. At the close of the luncheon charming silver bonbon boxes in old Japanese designs, such as the _hibachi_ and the _kago_, or sedan-chair, and bearing the Imperial crest, were offered us as souvenirs. We were each delighted to select one of these attractive mementoes. After luncheon we returned again to the Hall of One Thousand Seeds, followed by the high officials of the Imperial Household. Here my husband and I conversed more intimately with Their Majesties. Conversation was carried on in a whisper through the interpreter, for Japanese Court etiquette requires that the voice be never raised while talking with the Emperor and Empress. Then the Imperial party withdrew, and the rest of us were left to pass out at leisure and view with interest and pleasure the rooms through which we were conducted, visiting the large, simple Throne Room on the way. So this extraordinary experience came to an end, and remains a dream, wonderful, seemingly unreal. The day after the audience we went over to the palace, and signed our names in the Imperial books. The reigning Emperor is the one hundred and twenty-fourth of his line. It is said that he wishes to travel beyond his kingdom, but although the Japanese people themselves seek to be up to date and familiar with the ways of the Western world, many of them do not wish their ruler to be so, and therefore do not quite approve of his taking so much interest in foreigners. In his boyhood the Emperor went to school and seemed quite well and strong; it is said, however, that he is rather delicate now. Even then he was astonishingly democratic in his ideas. They tell a story that, when a boy, while out driving one day, he saw a man on the corner of a street selling cookies, and said that he wished to have some. Other cookies were made like them and given to him, but he refused them. Nothing would do but he must have those sold by the old man on the corner. In vain the attendants argued that those cookies were only made for common people, for human beings--members of the Imperial family are supposed to be divine--the boy said that if human beings and the common people could eat them, he could eat them, too. So the cakes were finally bought, and no doubt he enjoyed them. The beautiful new palace on the edge of the city, at Akasaka, is a fine building in good European style, much like the palace in Brussels. Here the garden parties take place. The present Emperor has never lived in it, preferring his Japanese palace on the same grounds, which he considers more wholesome, and where he lived as Crown Prince. Audiences are still held, as in his father's time, in the old palace, which has been done over somewhat since the death of the late Emperor. After our audience and luncheon at Court, we were received also by several of the Imperial Princes and Princesses at their palaces. To these visits we went in our own automobile, our chauffeur and footman wearing caps with the American eagle and gold braid on the visor, and little shoulder-straps of gold that made them look suitably ambassadorial. Sometimes we took Osame on the box instead of the footman, so that he might straighten matters out in case of difficulty, as the footman and the chauffeur did not speak a word but Japanese. In his frock coat and top hat he looked quite properly funereal. My husband went in his evening dress, and I wore black. The houses were usually quite European, but were somewhat bare inside, with a little old-fashioned European furniture. As we entered, we were greeted by several officials-in-waiting in fine uniforms, and then were almost immediately received, quite in the same fashion as by the Emperor and Empress, except that we were asked to sit down. One day the Prince and Princess Kan-in received us. The Nagasakis were in attendance and acted as interpreters. They spoke excellent English. We had known them before, and had found them especially agreeable. Mr. Nagasaki is Court Councillor and Master of Ceremonies, as well as Lord Steward to His Imperial Highness, Prince Kan-in. Prince Kan-in's palace is a large modern house with fine grounds, surrounded by a splendid old-fashioned wall and entered by a great old-time gate. It was rather cold and bare inside, but the Aide and the Master of Ceremonies in their gold regalia gave bright touches of colour. The second princess who received us was the wife of Prince Asaka and daughter of the late Emperor. Again the officer in attendance had been educated in England and was a man of the world. As at Court, the women were in European dress and in deep mourning with jet jewelry. The conversation, as usual, was more or less about flowers, the weather and the journey. Later, we were received at Prince Higashi Fushimi's, whose house we found Japanese in style and especially charming. The room where we were received, however, had been arranged for the comfort of foreigners, as it contained a sofa, a table and chairs. Prince Fushimi, who is an admiral in the navy, was in London with the Princess at the time of the Coronation. Both spoke English very well. A card was sent to us as a return visit within half an hour after each diplomatic audience, as is required by Japanese etiquette. An important function, which the Diplomatic Corps missed on account of the mourning for the late Emperor, was the New Year reception at Court. At this the ladies wear beautiful long court trains hung from the shoulders, such as are worn at the Court of St. James. I was told that the diplomats are first conducted to the Throne Room, a large hall, where two chairs are arranged upon a raised dais, much as at European courts. Here they march in the precedence of embassies and legations past the Emperor and Empress on their thrones, then past all the Imperial Highnesses, bowing and courtesying to each one. After this, in a smaller room they are served with tea, coffee and cakes, and receive lovely gifts as souvenirs. Finally, in still another room, they are received by Their Majesties and the other Imperial personages in a more special way. Among Court recreations in which the Diplomatic Corps are invited to join, is the Imperial duck-catching party, held in gardens near Tokyo in the spring. By decoy ducks the wild birds are lured into little canals, on either side of which stand those who take part in the sport, holding large nets with long handles high in the air. All are silent and alert, and as soon as a duck takes flight, the netter dashes forward and, if expert, entangles a bird in the net. This sport is a combination of snaring and hawking, for if a bird escapes the hunter, it is likely to be killed by the hawk chained to the hunter's wrist, which is then set free. Afterward luncheon is served, a delicious duck stew being the principal feature, and the guests return home laden with the birds they have succeeded in catching. The official celebration of the Emperor's birthday includes several imposing Court functions. When my husband was in Japan in 1889, earthquakes, reviews and events of all kinds were provided for His Imperial Majesty's thirty-sixth anniversary. First, they were treated to three seismic shocks within twenty-four hours, and of quite perceptible violence. Then there was the Grand Review of troops by the Emperor at the cheerful hour of half after eight in the morning. My husband thus describes it: "Aoyama, the 'Champ de Mars' of Tokyo, is a tremendously large parade ground, which was simply walled in by the mass of plebeians that had turned out to do honour to the occasion. For the foreigners the 'high seats' had been reserved in the diplomatic tent next to the Imperial stand. The Emperor, followed by the Lancers and a gorgeous Staff, made a tour of the field, and then the troops passed in review before him. They were about ten thousand in number, and made a really excellent appearance; the marching and order were good, at times very good. The cavalry appeared rather awkward, but this was due to the brutish little horses more than anything else." "In the evening there was the grand ball at the 'Rokumeikan,' given by Count Okuma, then Minister of Foreign Affairs, in honour of the Emperor's anniversary, which starts the social whirl of the capital for the season. It was an elegant affair, and from the good taste and good management, it might well have been in Paris. The grounds were beautifully decorated with lanterns and coloured lights, and the building was superb inside with bunting and flowers, the national chrysanthemum being used with excellent effect. The uniforms and decorations of the guests added brilliancy and movement. There were almost as many foreigners as Japanese, and nearly all the latter were in European dress, only a few ladies wearing the native costume. Those in European gowns carried them off exceedingly well, and danced waltzes and quadrilles in most approved Western manner." The present Emperor's anniversary, as I have learned from a letter, was celebrated in 1913 in much the same way as his predecessor's more than twenty years ago--with one important exception, the three earthquake shocks were omitted! The day began with the review of the soldiers at Aoyama, after which congratulatory poems were presented to His Majesty by the Empress and the Empress Dowager.[4] The Emperor then received the Imperial Princes and Princesses, and entertained them at luncheon. [4] The Dowager Empress of Japan died of heart disease at the Imperial Villa Nowazu, April 9th, 1914. She was the widow of Emperor Mutsuhito, who died July 30th, 1912. The Empress Dowager was born May 28th, 1858, and was married to the late Emperor in 1869. She was the daughter of a nobleman, Icliejo-Tadado, and was greatly beloved by the Japanese people. The birthday dinner in the evening was followed by the ball given by the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Baron Makino, at his official residence. Here were princesses of the blood in white gowns and superb jewels, Japanese ladies in kimonos, ladies of the Corps Diplomatique in European costume, priests in their varied robes, and diplomats and attaches in gorgeous uniforms. It was a brilliant scene. The rooms were lighted by electricity and decorated with a profusion of chrysanthemums and the Imperial crest in gold. Long clusters of wisteria depending from the ceiling sparkled with electric bulbs, and in the supper-room the guests were seated at tables under the branches of artificial cherry-trees blossoming in the Emperor's honour. Some account of our previous reception at Court by the late Emperor and Empress may be of interest. It took place when we passed through Japan in the company of the American Secretary of War, Mr. Dickinson, on the way to the Philippines in 1910. At that time we crossed the Pacific to the Land of the Rising Sun. [Illustration: THE LATE EMPEROR.] News had been received while at sea by aerogram from the Embassy that the Imperial Mikado and the Empress would grant an audience and entertain at luncheon at the palace, but there was much doubt as to what this really meant, for the audience might be only for the Secretary and Mrs. Dickinson. So the pleasure and surprise were all the greater when, on arrival, it was found that those accompanying the Secretary were to be included in both functions. The invitations, in Japanese characters, were handed to us with many others on our arrival, but had already been formally answered at the American Embassy. The instructions were the same then as they are to-day as to costume and etiquette. They indicated that the ladies were to wear high-necked dresses with trains and hats, and the men were to be in uniform or full dress. On the morning of the sixteenth (of July), we all met at the Embassy at eleven o'clock--as the audience was due at noon--and placed ourselves in the hands of the Ambassador. Two Imperial carriages conveyed the important official members of the party to the palace, and the rest proceeded in vehicles hired for the occasion. After the men of the party were presented to the Emperor, in the manner already described, they rejoined the ladies, and all were introduced to the lady-in-waiting, Countess Kagawa, and then conducted to Her Majesty's audience hall. Mrs. O'Brien, the wife of the Ambassador, preceded, making low courtesies; the ladies followed. The Emperor, who was in uniform, appeared older than we had expected. Her Majesty was several years older than the Emperor, and had charming manners, but she did not smile. Expression, we were informed, is not considered aristocratic. Her hair and dress were in European fashion, and she wore beautiful pearls. She had no children--the present Mikado is the only son of Emperor Meiji by another wife. Some stories that are told of the late Emperor show how much real strength of character he possessed. A few years ago, it is said, when a plot against His Majesty's life was discovered, the Prime Minister went to him and offered his resignation, saying that as this plot had been brought to light while he was in office (the first plot against any Mikado in the history of Japan), he felt that perhaps his administration had not been good. The Emperor, however, would not accept his resignation, saying that if the people wished to take his life, it must be his fault--it must show that he had not been a good ruler. Accordingly, he ordered only twelve of the twenty-four offenders to be put to death. In his last illness, owing to the old belief that his person was too sacred to be touched, even the doctors were not allowed to come in contact with him, his pulse being counted by a silken cord about his wrist. The Empress was at his bedside when he died. The only person who ever entered his apartment, I was told, was Prince Ito, who came on some urgent affair of state in response to a telephone message from the Emperor himself. The Prince was admitted before the Mikado was dressed in the morning. Even on the greatest occasions, however, he was never really well dressed, because no one was permitted to fit his clothes, lest a mere human being should touch his person. Yet the life of the late Emperor, secluded though he was within his palace walls, was freedom itself in comparison with that of the ancient rulers. In olden times, so Hearn writes, "His (the Mikado's) feet were never permitted to touch the ground out of doors, nor was he allowed to cut his hair, beard or nails, or to expose himself to the rays of the sun." His only excursions outside the walls of his palace were made in a large _norimono_, or palanquin, borne by fourteen men, in which, behind the latticed windows, he was able to catch glimpses of the outer world while himself invisible. Even if he granted an audience, he was never seen, his person being completely hidden by bamboo screens. The emperors of ancient days were allowed to have three consorts besides the Empress, also nine maids of high rank and twenty-seven maids of lower rank, all of whom were known as wives. In addition to these, he was at liberty to have eighty-one concubines. Only one of the wives ranked as empress, but the twelve next below her had each a palace near that of the Emperor. By way of contrast, it is said that the present Emperor has never loved any woman but the Empress. The Mikado's eldest daughter was in olden times appointed chief priestess of the Temple of the Sun, at Ise. * * * * * Somewhat in contrast with my husband's experiences were those of America's first Ambassador to Japan, Mr. Townsend Harris, as he has related them in his journal. After his arrival in Japan and many weary months of waiting at Shimoda, he wrote September 25th, 1857, "I am to go to Yedo (now Tokyo) in the most honourable manner; and after my arrival I am to have an audience of the Shogun, and then present the letter of the President!!" "The manner in which I am to salute the Shogun," he adds, "is to be the same as in the courts of Europe, that is, three bows. They made a faint request that I would prostrate myself and 'knock-head,' but I told them the mentioning such a thing was offensive to me." After two months spent in preparation for the journey, Mr. Harris with an imposing retinue started for Yedo, about one hundred miles away. As a part of the preparation for his journey, "Bridges had been built over every stream," he tells us, "the pathway mended, and all the bushes cut away so as to leave the path clear." At one place the road had actually been _swept_ only a few hours before the procession passed over it. All along the way the people stood motionless in front of their houses, and all the shops but the cook shops were closed. The magistrates of each village conducted Mr. Harris to the borders of the next, prostrating themselves in salute as they left. The Government had also ordered that there should be no travel over the Tokaido, the Eastern Sea Road, during his journey. In Yedo the American Envoy was domiciled in the "Court" section of the city, and eight _daimyos_ were appointed as "Commissioners of the voyage of the American Ambassador to Yedo." Another week was passed in receiving and paying visits of ceremony, and in arranging matters of detail. Mr. Harris received as a present from the Shogun seventy pounds of Japanese bonbons beautifully arranged in four trays. On December 7th, at ten o'clock in the morning, our Ambassador set out for his audience of the Shogun. "My dress," he says, "was a coat embroidered with gold after the pattern furnished by the State Department, blue pantaloons with a broad gold band running down each leg, cocked hat with gold tassels, and a pearl-handled dress sword." He was escorted by the same retinue that he had had during the journey. He was carried in his _norimono_ up to the last bridge in front of the audience hall, and before entering this building he put on a new pair of patent leather shoes. The Japanese, of course, went in their _tabis_. After a time he was led to the audience hall, past a number of _daimyos_, seated in Japanese fashion, who saluted by touching their foreheads to the mat. The Prince of Shinano, Master of Ceremonies, then threw himself on his hands and knees, and Mr. Harris stood behind him, with Mr. Heusken in the rear bearing the President's letter. At a given signal, the Prince crawled forward on hands and knees, and as Mr. Harris followed and entered the hall of audience, a chamberlain called out, "Embassador Merican!" With the prescribed three bows at intervals, he advanced toward the throne, before which the members of the Great Council lay prostrate on their faces. Pausing a few seconds, Mr. Harris then addressed the Tai-kun--as he had been instructed to call the Shogun--expressing the good wishes of the President. "After a short silence," says Mr. Harris, "the Tai-kun began to jerk his head backward over his left shoulder, at the same time stamping with his right foot. This was repeated three or four times.[5] After this he spoke audibly and in a pleasant and firm voice," expressing his pleasure in the Ambassador's speech, and graciously adding, "Intercourse shall be continued for ever." [5] I have been told that Mr. Harris _shouted_ in delivering his address to the Shogun, who, perhaps, had never before heard anyone speak above a whisper. Mr. Harris then presented the President's letter, after which he withdrew, as he had entered, with three bows. Mr. Harris' description of the Shogun himself is of interest: "The Tai-kun was seated in a chair placed on a platform raised about two feet from the floor, and from the ceiling in front of him a grass curtain was hung; when unrolled, it would reach the floor, but it was now rolled up, and was kept in its place by large silk cords with heavy tassels. By an error in their calculation, the curtain was not rolled up high enough to enable me to see his headdress, as the roll formed by the curtain cut through the centre of his forehead, so that I cannot fully describe his 'crown,' as the Japanese called it. The dress of the Tai-kun was made of silk, and the material had some little gold wove in with it, but it was as distant from anything like regal splendour as could be conceived; no rich jewels, no elaborate gold ornaments; no diamond-hilted weapon appeared.... The Japanese told me his crown is a black lacquered cap, of an inverted bell shape." Two years later Mr. Heusken, Mr. Harris' secretary, was assassinated, and his own house was burned. But Mr. Harris never wavered. Dignified, firm, self-respecting, he was always the kind, patient teacher of the Japanese in the ways of the outside world, winning from them the title which they love to give him--"the nation's friend." He was a great diplomat, but his was a strikingly human and Christian diplomacy. He laid the foundations for America's subsequent dealings with Japan so deep in the bedrock of justice and mutual forbearance that the superstructure has never yet been shaken. Our own personal experiences were pleasanter because Townsend Harris had led the way. CHAPTER V LIFE IN TOKYO Our diplomatic visits were made within two days of our arrival, as etiquette requires. My first visit was on the Doyenne of the Diplomatic Corps, Marchesa Guiccioli. The French Ambassador was Doyen, but as he was not married the Italian Ambassadress was the first lady of the Corps. When our diplomatic calls had been made and returned, we returned those made by the American colony in Tokyo and Yokohama. During the winter the ladies of the Diplomatic Corps decided to have a day "at home" each week. The period of second mourning for the late Emperor had begun, and we all dressed in black and white. Dinners and calling among the diplomats continued, but the official dinners between the Japanese and the foreigners did not take place on account of the mourning. The diplomatic dinners were always large affairs of twenty or thirty people, and quite formal, with the host and hostess sitting in foreign fashion at the centre of the table, the ends filled in with young secretaries. There were but few women present, for many of the diplomats in Tokyo were not married. Occasionally we found one or two Japanese at these dinners, but not often, owing to the official mourning. They might have been given in Europe or anywhere, except for a touch of the East in the costumes of the servants and the curios about the house. To show how a Japanese lady or gentleman answers an Ambassador's invitation, I give literal translations of two responses which are quite typical. "WORSHIPFULLY ADDRESSED. "Having received upon my head the honourable loving invitation of the coming 25th day, I humbly regard it as the extremity of glory. Referring thereto, in the case of the rustic wife there being unavoidably a previous engagement, although with regret, (she) is humbly unable to ascend; consequently the little student one person, humbly accepting, will go to the honourable residence. Rapidly, rapidly, worshipfully bowing. "Great Justice, 2d year, 2d moon, 19th day. American Ambassador, Beneath the Mansion. Honourable Lady, Beneath the Mansion." "WORSHIPFULLY REPORTING. "Having received upon my head the honourable loving invitation to the banquet of the honourable holding on the coming 25th day, thankfully, joyfully, humbly shall I worshipfully run. However, in the matter of ----, although regretting, (he) humbly declines. The right hand (fact) upon receiving (he) at once wishes humbly to decline. It is honourably thus. Respectfully bowing. "Second moon, 20th day. American Ambassador, Mr. Anderson, Beneath the Mansion." Our first reception was attended by most of the diplomats, some of the American colony, and a few Japanese. In American fashion I had the ladies of the Embassy pour tea at the large table in the dining-room. There were over a hundred and fifty guests in all, many coming from Yokohama. On another of our days at home a huge shipload of tourists from the _Cleveland_ arrived, which made the afternoon quite gay. They began to arrive half an hour before time, much to their dismay. It seems that they had been put into 'rickshas and their coolies instructed to take them to the Embassy, but when they got there they could not make the 'ricksha-men understand that they were early and wanted to drive about a bit until three. When my husband came down-stairs they had camped outside in the snow, which had fallen quite heavily the day before; he heard them talking, and, of course, asked them in at once. One afternoon we entertained some American and English women. I was quite amused when a missionary's wife came up to me, wagging her head and looking very solemn about something. "I suppose you did not know," she said, "that the singer is a very naughty man." "No, I didn't," I answered; "but I don't quite know what I can do about it--" and I'm afraid I wagged my head, too, as I added, "Don't you think we can reform him, perhaps?" She must have seen the twinkle in my eye, for she laughed and said she didn't believe we could. We agreed that he sang very well indeed. Our last big reception was held at the Embassy on Washington's Birthday. We had some souvenirs made in Japanese style, little black lacquer ash trays with the crest of the United States in gilt upon them for the men and fans also decorated with the crest for the ladies. A good many of the missionaries came, not only from Tokyo and Yokohama, but also from the interior. On St. Valentine's day I took some presents out to Watanabe's house, where I had asked all the children of the compound to gather. There were about a dozen of them, sitting on mats and making a very pretty group. They had put a carpet over the mat, so I did not have to take off my shoes, and a chair was procured for me to sit in. Then I told Osame to translate and tell them how, on St. Valentine's day, people in America send each other verses--sometimes love-verses, sometimes comic verses--but that as I couldn't write any in Japanese for them I had brought some little gifts instead. The children all bowed to the ground, and were very, very respectful--much better behaved than young people at home! They seemed to be pleased, and after giving each one his present I withdrew, telling Watanabe to give them tea and cake or whatever they wanted. But pretty soon he asked if they might come into the Embassy and thank us. So they filed in, bowing again, and sang a little Japanese song to my husband and myself, which was all quite touching. We showed them a toy tiger we had bought in Paris that would spring and jump when wound up, and a bear that would drink water, both of which delighted them greatly. After a while, bowing once again, they departed. We made some very pleasant friends in Japan. Among others we met Baroness Sonnomiya, who is herself English but married to a Japanese. During her husband's lifetime she had great power, as she was the intimate friend of the Empress Dowager. There were also Dr. Nitobe and his wife, who were among the most delightful people we met. I enjoyed his books thoroughly, as well as his address before the Japanese Peace Society, which met at the Embassy. This gathering had its amusing side, because the president of the Society had made most of his money selling guns! Moreover, before I realized that it was the Peace Society which was coming to the Embassy, I had invited the Naval Attaché's wife and an army officer's wife to pour tea! Just at that moment it hardly looked as if the cause of peace was making much headway in the world, for while we were talking about it, terrible battles were being fought in Turkey, the City of Mexico was under bombardment, and there was talk of fighting between Austria and Russia. One day I called on Madame Ozaki, whom I had met in Italy when she was Marion Crawford's secretary. Her mother was English, her father Japanese; she is very pretty and writes charming stories. After living in Europe for a number of years she returned to her father in Japan and taught school, finally marrying Mr. Ozaki, one of Japan's most conspicuous politicians to-day. When I called on her I found her dressed in European style, but she had the true Japanese reserve; in fact was much more Japanese than I had expected after her many years abroad. Her house was partly European, but when the _shoji_ was thrown aside, the little maid who received us bowed to the ground in true native fashion. Madame Ozaki did not speak of politics, although her husband had just made an attack on Katsura, who had been for the moment overthrown. It was said that she had received threatening letters warning her and her husband to flee to England. At this time of political upheaval a curious article appeared in the paper to the effect that three men had attended their own funeral services, which they wished to hold because they were about to start on a dangerous expedition. It was suggested that perhaps they might be going to take some prominent man's life, but nothing happened, so far as we knew, until spring, when Mr. Abe, of the Foreign Office, was murdered. In order to explain the political situation in Japan as we found it, I am obliged to touch briefly on the political changes during the last fifty years,--that is, since the time of feudalism. After Commodore Perry's visit, the Tokugawa government, whose shoguns had been the real rulers of the country for more than two centuries and a half, decided to open the ports to foreigners, while officials at the Imperial Court of the Mikado desired to continue the policy of exclusion. Finally the reigning Shogun was brought to see that it would be better for the country to have but one ruler, and resigned in favour of the Mikado. This inaugurated the wonderful Meiji Era--the era of the late Emperor. Since they had always been men of action, it was the clever _samurai_, rather than the old nobles, who found a chance to show their ability under the new régime. They became prominent in both the Upper and Lower Councils, which were based somewhat on feudalism, and yet showed strongly the influence of Western ideas. Political questions were freely discussed, political parties appeared, and the first conventions were held. The first cabinet was formed in 1885, with Prince Ito as Premier. The Administration was divided into ten departments:--The Imperial Household, Foreign Affairs, Interior, Finance, Army and Navy, Justice, Education, Agriculture, Commerce, and Communications. A Minister of State was appointed head of each department. The Empire was divided into provinces, each ruled by a governor. In 1890 a national assembly was granted, and the first Diet was convened. The government to-day is Conservative, and is controlled by the _Genro_, the elder statesmen. The Progressive party, the Seyukai, is led by Ozaki. The Socialists make a good deal of noise, but are still far from powerful; their opposition to the Russian war weakened their influence greatly. The Socialist party in Japan was largely responsible for the recent anti-American demonstrations. For many years Prince Ito was considered the ablest man in the country. Okubo and Okuma were also noted leaders, while Prince Katsura, in recent times, held great power. Katsura was quite unpopular with the people while we were in Japan. It was felt that he had delayed a meeting of the Diet in order to form a party which would be stronger and at the same time more completely under his control. Each time when the assembly was postponed by a command from the Emperor, the blame was placed on Katsura. Finally Yamamoto was chosen to form a cabinet, which took a long time to do on account of the different parties. Ozaki, as head of the Progressives, wished to dictate to Yamamoto, but the latter would not comply, so things came to a standstill. People seemed to think that Ozaki was going too far, and that he had better take half a loaf instead of insisting upon a whole one. It appeared that the Japanese were not as yet advanced enough for his ideas, or else that he was too advanced for theirs. Later on, his party yielded somewhat, and Yamamoto made up his cabinet with Ozaki left out. After the trouble had all blown over, people said that it had all been worked out by clever Katsura. If this is true, it was one of his last achievements, for the Prince, who is considered the greatest Premier Japan ever had, died in October, 1913. His career was an interesting one. His father belonged to the _samurai_ class, and the boy, Katsura Taro, became a staff officer when only twenty-one. During the Franco-Prussian war he was in Germany studying military tactics. Later he was given charge of the reorganizing and modernizing of the Japanese army. The success of the Japanese in the Chinese and Russian wars is attributed to his genius and to his "silent and unrewarded toil." Only after the battle of the Yalu, when he was made viscount, did his work begin to be appreciated. Later he was created prince. After the Chinese war he changed from soldier to statesman--was four times Prime Minister, and "almost a whole cabinet in himself." Internal politics do not run any more smoothly in Japan than they do in our own country. On account of the frequent changes of cabinet there was often rioting in front of the Diet during the winter we were at the Embassy. Newspaper offices were attacked and burned, and the mob seemed to have an especial grudge against the police, who were hardly able to cope with the situation. Hearing that there was rioting near the Embassy one evening after dinner, several of us walked to a _matsuri_ not far away, but the crowd was dispersing when we arrived, and only the policeman's sentry-box, which was overturned, remained to tell the tale. * * * * * Clubs are an important element in our modern civilization, and especially for foreigners in the Orient, where bachelors so greatly predominate--I believe the proportion is even more than that of forlorn damsels in Massachusetts. At Yokohama there are two organizations, the Yokohama United and a German club, besides the two American societies, the Asiatic and the Columbia. The Tokyo Club has the reputation of being the most charming in the East. It is splendidly situated on a hill near the American Embassy. The charges are moderate, and the service is generally good. Japanese as well as Europeans belong to it. While we were in Tokyo my husband was invited to become the foreign vice-president, the president being an Imperial Prince. At first he begged off, but a committee of the club visited him and urged him to accept the office, saying that the Japanese were anxious to pay our country a compliment. The Tokyo Club is more than a register of social prominence in the city--it is also important as a political barometer, and this polite insistence upon L.'s accepting the place was, in its way, a tribute to America. Many adventurers come to the East to seek their fortunes, and one hears strange stories, tragic or romantic as the case may be. A lover waits on the dock for his fiancée on the steamer, only to find that she has decided at the last moment to marry another whom she has met on the voyage; a wife returns from a long vacation at home to find her husband consoling himself with a _geisha_; a father who comes out to look for his son discovers him deep in debt and drinking himself to death. Such are a few of the many tales we heard. Some differences in social customs may be noted here. It is polite, for instance, to remove your shoes at the door on entering a Japanese home. After you have entered it is only polite, as well as modest, to remain near the door! When you are offered tea or anything of the sort, it must be twice declined, but the third time it may be accepted. In conversation one must exalt the person addressed, while everything belonging to the speaker must be held of no value at all. A father, on taking a bright boy to the teacher, would naturally say, "O honourable teacher, here is my idiot son!" And a mother, no matter how deeply she may feel the death of a child, must shed no tears but continue to smile and say, "Oh--child no good!" What Hearn says about poetry is also true of the Japanese smile. When in danger, smile; when angry, smile; when sad, smile; in fact, it is etiquette always to smile! In so many ways the Japanese are an admirable race, and in none more so than in this. Their instincts are all for good taste and good manners. Speaking of manners--of course, standards vary. It used to be a common thing in the country villages to see men and women bathing together in large tanks, but as Westerners disapproved of this custom, a few years ago an order went forth that men and women bathing together must put on suits. The result is that to-day they sit on the edge of the tank, or on the seashore, and dress and undress as they have always done, before one another, and wonder why they are obliged to put on bathing-suits when they go into the water! But an order is an order, they say, and must be obeyed. In 1897, when we were in Japan, foreign clothes and top-hats were very popular, and to-day queer combinations of clothes are still noticeable. The foreign cap is much worn by the men, and a sort of loose-sleeved overcoat of English cloth, like an opera coat, is used in winter, worn over the kimono. But the _tabis_, or linen socks made like a mitten, and the clogs, are worn as before, while often an unmounted fur skin is wrapped about the neck. People well dressed in European clothes are called "high-collared"--in fact, this expression is applied to almost anything that is Western and modern. Many of the men who have been abroad are very correctly and smartly clad, but they usually put on a Japanese costume in the evening, for they call the European dress an "uncomfortable bag." Some of the "high-collared" Japanese have at least one meal a day in European style, and part of the house is usually devoted to foreign furniture. They also believe that milk and meat should be eaten in order to make the race grow larger. Most of the men are anxious to learn Western ideas, and take great pride in showing inventions that have been introduced. They consider themselves quite up to date, and so they are in many ways. When my husband was first in Japan, in 1889, a woman's highest desire was to wear European clothes, and if she could hire a costume and be photographed in it, she was perfectly happy. But I do not think they feel like that to-day. The novelty has worn off. Besides, Japanese dressmaking is a very simple matter; a kimono is made of straight breadths of cloth basted together. Compared with that, the plainest Western frock must offer many problems. It is certainly better for us not to attempt to talk Japanese, for if one cannot speak it well it is safer not to try at all. One is very liable to address a nobleman in the language of a coolie, or to mystify a servant by speaking to him in the tongue of the higher classes--there are three ways of making a remark, according to the rank of the person addressed! No one can believe the difficulties of the language till he has tried it. To master it in any degree requires years of study. To illustrate this I will quote from Dr. Gordon, the missionary, who gives a bit of dialogue between teacher and pupil during a lesson. "The pupil says,'The child likes _meshi_.' 'No,' says his mentor, 'in speaking of a child's rice it is better to use the word _mama_--the child likes _mama_.' Undiscouraged, the student tries again: 'Do you eat _meshi_?' But his teacher stops him and tells him that it is polite, in speaking to another of his having or eating rice, to call it _gozen_. Having taken this in, the student goes on with his sentence-building: 'The merchant sells _gozen_.' Again the teacher calls a halt, and tells him that _meshi_ and _gozen_ are used for cooked rice only, and that for unboiled rice _kome_ is the proper word. Feeling that now he is getting into the secrets of the language, he says, '_Kome_ grows in the fields,' but he is again stopped with the information that growing rice is called _ine_." More than one scholar in European tongues has declared Japanese to be the most difficult language in the world. One has said that a man "can learn to understand as much of Spanish in six months as he can of Japanese in six years." Chinese ideographs are said to outnumber the Japanese characters to-day, and in numerous instances have actually displaced them, even among the common people. Many characters have two meanings and only in combination can you know which is intended. There are no pronouns in the language, nor are there any "swear-words" or imperatives, the people are so polite. Family names are also very confusing--to the Japanese themselves, I should think, as well as to us--because of the frequency of adoption. Each family feels that it must have an heir to take care of the aged members while they live and to pray for them when they die, so a child is adopted and given the patronymic. Blood doesn't seem to count at all, for even if a son is born later, it is the adopted child who inherits. Sometimes children brought up in foreign countries take foreign names. A naval officer told me of a charming Japanese girl whom he knew, named Bessie. One day she confided to him that she was going to marry Charlie. "Marry your brother!" exclaimed the astounded officer. "Yes," replied Bessie sweetly, "you not know--I not father's real child, and Charlie not father's real child. Charlie and I, we no relation--both adopted!" Adoption is not always necessary, however, for if a man has no children he can easily divorce his wife, simply by telling her to return to her father's house, and he may then marry another woman. The modern law also gives this privilege of divorce to the wife, but custom is so strong that she never leaves her husband of her own accord. Marriages are generally arranged by the parents, with the assistance of a mutual friend. The man and girl are allowed to see each other, but although they are not actually forced into marriage, few would dare to disobey their parents' wishes in the matter. They have a wedding feast, at which the bride and groom sit on the floor facing each other. The ceremony sometimes consists of their both drinking from a two-spouted tea-pot. The bride is clad in a white kimono and veil, which she keeps all her life, and wears once more when she is dead. Many presents are received, but the gifts of the groom, which are as costly as he can afford, are offered by the bride to her parents in gratitude for all that they have done for her in the past. After the wedding the husband takes his bride to his home, no doubt to live with his father and mother. The wife must not only obey her husband, but is also much under the rule of her mother-in-law. A man sometimes brings his concubine into the house, and often her children as well, and these his wife is obliged to adopt. If husband and wife disagree, the go-between is usually consulted, and occasionally succeeds in arranging matters. Japanese ladies, as a rule, do not go about very much, except those who have married foreigners or have lived abroad. A few ladies appear at foreign dinners with their husbands, but very often the men have dinners at which their wives do not appear. This may be partly owing to their inability to speak English. But, as a whole, the women have little pleasure. When the man of the house entertains, he either takes his guests to a tea-house or calls in a _geisha_ to help him do the honours, while his wife sits apart in a room by herself and is neither seen nor heard. The diversions, even of the well-to-do, are few, comprising the arrangement of flowers, the composition of poetry, and an occasional visit to the theatre. Women are employed in manual work, in the fields, and in the loading of coal in the big ports, and more and more in the new industries. The kitchen-standard of wifehood is disappearing. Last winter a woman made a speech in public; this caused great excitement--in fact, it was said that she was the first Japanese woman to do such a thing. In spite of the many changes which are coming about, they are as far from being suffragists as we were a hundred years ago. The sex as a whole are a long way from anything like economic freedom. A woman has recently been made bank-president in Tokyo--a quite unheard-of innovation. She is Madame Seno, a sort of Japanese Hetty Green. In spite of the fact that she is over seventy, she goes to her office every morning punctually. Her tastes are very frugal. She wears plain cotton kimonos, and travels third-class. At the outbreak of the Russian war, however, she was the first to offer her subscription to the Government. The children have a very good time, spinning tops, flying kites, and playing battledore and shuttlecock. In the life of Japan everything has its place and period, and the children's games succeed one another in such due order that it is almost impossible to buy the toys of one month when the season has passed into the next month. It is extraordinary how the little people combine their work and play, for you see a small boy carrying a baby on his back staggering around on stilts, and another small boy pulling a loaded cart and rolling a hoop at the same time, and little girls with littler girls on their backs tossing balls into the air or bouncing them in the streets. It is really an unusual thing to see a woman or young girl in the street without a baby attached to her. I think one of the reasons why the Japanese race has not grown larger is because the children from a very early age carry such weights on their backs. [Illustration: "_Little girls with littler girls on their backs_"] Mr. Brownell tells a story of a Japanese girl which shows the filial duty and faithfulness that prevail. It seems she fell in love with a foreigner, and he with her. His intentions were good, and, although he was obliged to go away on a trip, he wrote her that he would soon be back to make her his wife. During his absence, however, her parents arranged another marriage for the girl, and on his return he found this letter from her: "SIR:-- "I am married and is called Mrs. Sodesuka, and by our Japanese morality and my natural temperament I decline for ever your impoliteness letter." "SODESUKA OTOKU." CHAPTER VI THE GROWING EMPIRE Although in many of her newer phases Japan is less fascinating to the casual tourist than where she is still "unspoiled," the efforts she is making to get into step with the rest of the world, and to solve the problems which are confronting her, are full of interest to the student and to the more sympathetic traveller. To wide-awake Americans the growing Japan should be of especial interest, since however much we believe in and hope for continued peace between the two nations, there is bound to be more or less commercial competition. Where the British Islands have stood in regard to shipping and commerce on the Atlantic, the islands of Nippon bid fair to stand on the Pacific. Even to-day the Pacific is by no means an empty ocean, but its development still lies largely in the future. It is the near future, however, and Japan knows it. The Panama Canal is almost completed; China is awakened and beginning to take active notice; Japanese colonies are being planted in South America and elsewhere. While many countries of the Western world are facing a falling birth-rate, Japan's is rising rapidly. There is a tradition which accounts for this state of affairs. It seems that there was once a quarrel between the creators of the land, Izanami threatening his wife, Izanagi, that he would cause the population to die off at the rate of a thousand a day. The goddess, however, got the last word, and increased the birth-rate to fifteen hundred a day. Apparently she has been able to maintain the ratio to the present time--at any rate, there is an annual gain of half a million. With a population already averaging three hundred to every habitable square mile, it is little wonder that the nation feels the need of extending her boundaries and to that end is trying to open up new territory to her emigrants. Emigration began in 1885, when the King of Hawaii called for settlers in his island realm. Emigration societies were organized, under the control of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, and to-day the men of Nippon greatly outnumber the whites. The Foreign Minister still has entire charge of the societies: he grants all passports, and sees to the proper distribution of the thousands who every year leave their own country to settle more or less permanently in other parts of the world. Many emigrants go to Manchuria, Korea and Formosa, some to the Malay Peninsula and Australia, a few to the Philippines, and an increasing number to Central and South America. But they are a home-loving people, and eventually three-fourths of those who go out, return to Japan to settle down once more with their families. Greatly to Japan's mortification, her people have been repulsed in California. Professor Peabody of Harvard returned recently from a trip to the Orient, and had this to say on the subject: "We accept as citizens the off-scourings of Eastern Europe, and shut our door on the thrifty Japanese, whose colour may be no darker and whose descent may be from the same original stock. What nags the Japanese in the matter is the indirect insinuation of bad blood, the intimation that a people whose education is compulsory and self-help is universal may not prove as serviceable elements in a commercial democracy as the average of Syrians or Copts; that, in short, the Far East is intrinsically inferior to the Near East." He points out that after twenty years the Japanese hold only about one per cent. of the agricultural land in the State of California, and that there are five thousand less of them there now than there were three years ago, owing to a "Gentlemen's Agreement," by which Japan limits her emigration to the United States. This land question came up after we left Tokyo, but it naturally interested us intensely. The Californians seem to fear the Japanese because they live so cheaply and work so hard that it is thought they may come in time to own the whole state. A recent competition, with a prize offered for the best essay on the California trouble, showed a world-wide ignorance of the real situation and its causes. Since this was true of both American and Japanese competitors, it seems to show that even the more educated among us need to think and study more deeply into the problem before making up our minds. An extract from the _Japan Magazine_, which is published in Tokyo, shows how men of the better class feel regarding the land question: "Japan is not angry, but she is earnestly anxious to know whether America will rest content to allow the California attitude to pass as national. No, Japan is not wrathful, but she is mortified to see any section of the country that calls itself her friend, somewhat abruptly suggest that her absence is preferred to her presence.... Happily, the California attitude does not represent the American people, so that Japan still has hopes of a reconsideration and a reinstatement. On the other hand, it is unfortunate that the majority of Japanese residents in the United States are not really representative of Japan. Certainly the average of emigrants going to America is not at all on an intellectual or social equality with the average citizen at home ... they are the poorest and most unfortunate of their countrymen, and would never have left home if they could have succeeded as well in their own country. The same may be said of every immigrant from Europe.... When the lowest class can do so well, a better class would do even better.... The main hope lies at present in so instructing intending emigrants that they will be able to assimilate speedily and amicably with American society and abide by the customs and laws of the country." It is interesting to note that in Japan they talk of the "white peril" and tell of the cruelty and oppression of Europeans to their "less civilized" yellow brethren. They have no difficulty in finding cases where might has made right, even in very recent times. It is suggested by a Japanese newspaper that their diplomatists, in dealing with our country, have been imitating the attitude of the British toward the United States, apparently believing it to be in the end the one most likely to achieve results. The main features of this "attitude" are much patience and brotherly kindness, but unwavering firmness. Before leaving the subject a few statistics are not out of place. The reason why the question centres about California is that sixty per cent. of all the Japanese in the country are in that state, where most of them are engaged in agriculture. During the last five years the number of immigrants has steadily decreased. In 1911, the Japanese farmers produced more than twelve million dollars' worth of crops, which is nearly twenty per cent. of the entire yield of the state. Reckoning their labour on land they do not control, however, they are responsible for at least ninety per cent. of the agricultural products of California, whether vineyard, vegetable, or fruit. The most successful farmers are in the northern part of the state, where the low district along the river is tabooed by Americans, and but for the men from Japan would be idle and useless. The immense harvest of fruit and grain in the San Joaquin valley could hardly be gathered without them. During the agitation against Asiatics, when the number of Japanese was reduced, and Indians, Greeks, Mexicans, and Italians took their places, the American managers admitted that one Japanese was equal to three or four of the other nationalities in agricultural work. The farmer from Nippon is a hard-working man, always eager to have his own little hut and a wife and family. Dr. Sidney L. Gulick, in his recent book, "The American Japanese Problem," points out the one-sidedness of the attacks made upon the Japanese in California. He says, for instance, that "When Governor Johnson and Secretary Bryan came to Florin [a town used as an 'awful example' of Japanese occupation], Mr. Reese, already known for his anti-Japanese attitude, was chosen by Governor Johnson to be their guide and instructor, while Mr. Landsborough, known to Governor Johnson as pro-Japanese, was turned aside." The report of the State Labour Commission, which investigated the situation, was so favourable to the Japanese that the state government is said to have suppressed it--at any rate, it has never been published. The _Los Angeles Times_ says: "The Japanese have become an important factor in the agricultural and commercial life of the southwest. Their thrift is remarkable, their patience inexhaustible, and they are natural gardeners, seeming to read the secrets of the very soil and to know instinctively what will do well and what will do better. The result of this close study of soil conditions, close observation of crop and weather conditions, enables the Japanese to control to a great degree the vegetable-raising industry of Southern California." Considering that there are more Italians in New York than there are in Rome, and that one person in every three in our metropolis is a Jew, while half the population of Norway is in this country--to mention a few cases--it doesn't seem as if we ought to object seriously to a handful of Japanese immigrants. Although California repulsed them, South America has proved very hospitable to the Japanese. The "Latin-American A-B-C" of Argentina, Brazil and Chile, receives their colonists eagerly. Guglielmo Ferrero, the Italian philosopher, finds traces of a possible racial likeness between the Japanese and the natives of South America. While he is by no means sure of this relationship himself, he says, "Japan will not shrink from relying upon the anthropologic theories above stated for the purpose of opening to its emigrants the ports of this immense and wealthy continent and establishing the strongest ties of close friendship where Europeans are gathering such harvests of wealth." The friendship which exists between Japan and Argentina, however, is not based upon any real or fancied racial ties. It began at the time when the latter country sold the Island nation two new warships which she was having built in Europe, thus proving herself a friend in need. Emigration to Argentina has only just begun, but the future is very promising commercially, not alone on account of the cordial relations, but because the republic offers a good market for Japanese merchandise--with a population of but six million, she buys and sells more in a year than China with her three hundred million. There is a great demand for Japanese immigrants in Brazil, where there is no race prejudice to be encountered and much fertile land to be had for the asking. Brazil is a Portuguese country, which is especially appropriate, since Portugal was the first to send missionaries to Japan, nearly three centuries ago. A company has been formed in Japan for the purpose of colonizing in Brazil, aiming to settle the surplus population in a country where it will be well treated. At least three thousand immigrants a year are promised by the company, but more will be welcomed, Brazil promising land, roads, and transportation from Japan. Farmers, who in their own country received perhaps fifteen cents a day, are able to save from one hundred to three hundred dollars a year to send home, while wages are steadily rising. A writer in a recent issue of a Brazilian bulletin comments on the scene at the dock when the first shipload of Japanese immigrants arrived. "The spectacle was curious and very different to the disembarking of European immigrants," he says. "The men, many of whom had their chests adorned with the Manchurian medal, carried little flags in which the Brazilian and Japanese colours were mingled, green and gold, white and red. The extreme cleanliness of the Japanese was remarkable; while European emigrants, and particularly those from the south of Europe, leave the ship that has transported them in a filthy state, the cabins of the boat on which the Japanese travelled were on arrival as neat as at the time of departure. Each of them had in his baggage ... numerous articles of toilet, tooth-paste, and tooth-brushes." As yet there is little commerce between Brazil and Japan, but another year will probably see a change in this respect, for the opening of the Canal will make the route four thousand miles shorter, and the freightage, as a consequence, much lower. The Panama Canal will make a considerable difference in Japanese trade with the United States. At present her exports to our country are nearly double her imports from us. There are now two routes to New York--the quicker one, to San Francisco and thence by rail, the slower one, all the way by sea, through the Suez Canal; the former is expensive, while the latter may require six months. It will be possible to make the trip by way of Panama in almost the time needed for the shorter route, but with the low freightage charge of the longer. The Canal will also facilitate trade with the eastern coast of South America, giving direct intercourse, not only with Brazil, but also with Argentina. At present exports to these countries are sent via Europe and transshipped. On account of her insular position Japan has always been a sea-going nation, but her shipping has increased enormously since the war with Russia. She now has over six thousand ships, manned for the most part by her own seamen. The question of building larger liners, such as are being put into commission for the Atlantic trade, has been discussed. At present the Japanese steamers which carry passengers are as good as the American ones, if not better. Instead of buying them abroad, Japan is beginning to build her own steamships--there are large shipyards at Nagasaki and Kobe. In her efforts to cope with her rapidly growing population and multiplying industries, Japan is seeking trade-openings all over the world. Her business men are touring the globe in search of them. At present she is, perhaps, most interested in China, which has doubled the amount of her annual trade in the last ten years. The first months of 1913 showed a gain of forty-six per cent. over the corresponding months of 1912 in exports to China, while the United States exceeded her previous purchases by only three per cent. Of the hundred thousand Japanese in the former country, nearly all are engaged in commercial pursuits, rather than in farming as they are in other parts of the world. Japan also has the advantage of being near this great market, and with labour so cheap she can easily compete with England, Germany, and the United States. She could make great profits if it were not necessary for her to buy most of her manufacturing machinery abroad. America is by far Japan's best customer. She sold us and our colonies over a hundred million dollars' worth of goods last year--about a third of her total exports. Incidentally, she is an excellent customer of ours, for she bought over thirty million dollars' worth of cotton alone, in 1912, and much else besides. Usually the Empire finds it necessary to import the raw materials and the machinery for their manufacture, while she exports the finished product. Much of her Oriental trade consists in yarn and cloth; the raw material is brought in from China and America and sold again to China and India. In no way is the growth of Japan more striking than in her industries. Sixty years ago she had no foreign trade, for she had nothing to export. To-day Great Britain finds her an interesting rival. Mills and factories have sprung up like mushrooms, almost over night. The conditions which accompanied this change and rapid development are worth noting. In feudal times both the arts and the industries were carried on under the patronage of the nobility--the _daimyo_ and the _samurai_. They were great lovers of beauty, these warlike lords; it is said that many a _samurai_, returning from the wars covered with glory, preferred the gift of an exquisite vase as a reward for his valour, rather than lands or decorations. They encouraged their subjects to make things; but, more than that, to make them beautiful. Nevertheless, manufacturing conditions were very primitive. There was no division of labour, so that often a man would need to be skilled in several crafts in order to make a single article. Each man worked by himself. A boy inherited his father's trade, whether he liked it or not. Each trade had its guild, to which a worker must belong if he wished to be free to carry on his business. These guilds still exist to-day, but have far less power than labour unions in America or guilds in China. The feudal system came to an end in 1868, and private ownership of property began. Organized industries appeared on a small scale: machinery was imported from Europe and America, railroads were built and factories started. Nine years later the first industrial exposition ever seen in Japan was held in Tokyo; soon afterward the Island Empire was sending exhibits to Europe and America to show the world what she could do. This, of course, resulted in stimulating the export trade and the manufacturing of such articles as were most in demand. After the Chinese war, in 1895, there was a great boom. Old methods of private enterprise were no longer adequate to meet the increased demand. Stock companies began to be organized. The Government itself took over certain forms of industry for the purpose of raising revenues. Improved machinery was introduced from the Western world, and experts were engaged. Since the Russo-Japanese war industries have multiplied so tremendously that the demand for labour has been very great. Wages have gone up, and the workers have become much more independent. As yet, there have been no labour strikes of any importance; fortunately, no Gompers or McNamaras have appeared. For the first time in Japan women began to be employed. They are to be found in large numbers in the factories near Osaka (which is called the Chicago of Japan) and Kobe, as well as in the districts near Tokyo. Most of these women are peasants from the provincial sections who serve on three-year contracts. Children are still employed, although the Government does not allow them to go to work under twelve years of age. Wages in all branches of industry are still very low, and the cost of living is rising. But living conditions, even at their worst, are much better than with us among corresponding classes. Weavers, dyers, and spinners receive from ten to twenty cents a day, while a streetcar conductor gets five or six dollars a month. The factory owners keep their employees in compounds, where they provide some sort of shelter free and charge a nominal amount for meals. In the older type of factory there is often crowding and a low standard of living, but in the more modern and socialistic ones great attention is paid to the worker's needs, physical, mental and moral. There is a fine factory in Hyogo from which many of our mills might well take pattern. Besides having beautiful recreation and dormitory gardens, there are rows of pretty, two-storied houses with tiny gardens in front of each. The owners also furnish a theatre for the use of their employees, a coöperative shop, a spacious hospital, and schools and kindergartens for the children. Japan has more than seventy cotton mills in operation, and can manufacture cloth as cheaply as any of its rivals. The home demand is large, since the lower classes wear only cotton the year round. Cotton towels, printed in blue and white, have become so popular in America during the last year or two that the export trade in them has increased enormously. Four years ago a boy of eighteen, Torakichi Inouye, succeeded to the hereditary management of a large towel firm in Tokyo. He realized that foreigners seemed much attracted by the pretty designs, and were buying them in surprising quantities at the shops where they were for sale. So he began trying them on the American markets, with the success that we have seen. To-day his factory is making two hundred thousand towels a day, and in ten months shipped over 175,000,000 pieces. He originated the idea of printing designs that could be combined into table-covers, bedspreads, etc. The patterns for the towels are cut in paper, like a stencil, and are folded in between many alternate layers of the cloth. The indigo-blue dye is then forced through by means of an air-pump. Instead of importing all their machinery, as formerly, the Japanese are now beginning to manufacture it for themselves. They get the foreigners to come and teach them how to build steamships and locomotives, and as soon as they have learned whatever they wish to know they put their own countrymen in charge of the work. Although at one time there were many foreign engineers in different parts of the Empire, every year finds fewer of them filling important positions. This is true in every branch of industry. Inventive genius is being cultivated, too, for clever people are not content simply to imitate. A system of wireless quite different from that generally in use is said to have been perfected for the navy. Wireless telephones are used over short distances, and are being rapidly improved and extended. Quite an advance has been made this last year in aviation also. Experts in both army and navy are making good records. In spite of many difficulties several thousand miles of railway have been built during the last forty years. Engineers often find it necessary not only to tunnel through mountains, but under rivers the beds of which are shifting. To make matters even more interesting, there are typhoons, earthquakes, and torrents of rain which end in floods. Notwithstanding the cost of building and maintaining the roads under such conditions, railway travel is cheaper than with us or in Europe. First class costs less than third in an English train. For the wherewithal to feed her people, Japan depends largely upon her native farmers. In spite of their poverty these are of a higher class socially than in most Western countries. The _samurai_ and _daimyo_ made much of agriculture, ranking it above trade. The Government to-day continues to do all that it can to aid and encourage farming. Experiment stations have been established, and various coöperative societies formed for the use of the farmers, who also have a special bank of their own. Prices are rising, and, on the whole, the prospects are good, although the nature of the land is against any great advance. The surface of the country is so mountainous that only about one-seventh can be cultivated, and that is not especially fertile. Sixty per cent. of the population is agricultural. Each man owns his own little farm, which he tills in primitive fashion, growing rice, wheat, or beans, according to the soil or season. Almost no livestock is kept, and pastures are rarely seen. An average farm, supporting a family of six, has about three and a half acres. [Illustration: A RICE FIELD.] The soya bean, which is much grown, really furnishes an industry in itself. It has many uses. _Soy_, the national sauce, is made from it, and also bean cheese. Recently an English chemist has discovered a method of producing artificial milk from it. Its oil is extracted and sold to foreign markets, rivalling the cottonseed oil, which is better known. The pulp remaining is used as fodder and fertilizer. Rice is the favourite crop and is of such good quality that much of it is exported to India, whence a cheaper grade is imported in return for the use of the poorer classes. Instead of forming the national diet, as we are inclined to suppose, rice is really such a luxury that many people never eat it except in sickness or on feast-days. For all the Japanese farmer is so independent, he is often miserably poor. An acre of rice may in good years produce an annual profit of a dollar and a half, but there is quite likely to be a deficit instead. When one considers that it takes the labour of seventeen men and nine women to cultivate two and a half acres of rice, this is not surprising. Vegetables do better than grain, and mulberry plantations for the raising of silkworms do best of all, but it has been figured that a hard-working man, with very likely a large family to support, does well if he clears a hundred and twenty dollars in the course of a year. As a result of this, most of the peasantry are in debt, and many of them are leaving their farms and going to the city, as they are doing in our own country. Really more important than rice, of which we hear so much, is the sweet potato, of which we hear so little. The first one reached Japan some two hundred years ago as the gift of the King of the Loochoo Islands to the Lord of Satsuma. The latter prince was so pleased with the taste of it that he asked for seed-potatoes, and before long the Government commanded that the new vegetable should be grown throughout the country, since it could be raised even in famine years, when other crops failed. In Tokyo there are over a thousand sweet-potato shops, where one buys them halved or sliced or whole, all hot and nicely roasted, serving in cold weather to warm one's hands before delighting the inner man--or rather, child--for they are a delicacy much prized by children. There is no waste in their preparation, for not only are the peelings sold for horse-fodder, but the ashes in which they are roasted are used again around the charcoal in the _hibachi_! The silkworm was introduced into Japan by a Chinese prince in 195 A. D., and a century later Chinese immigrants taught the people how to weave the new thread. To-day sericulture is largely carried on by the women and children of the farm, and is twice as productive as the rest of the crops. As in poultry-raising, however, the gains are not in proportion to the size of the plant, the smaller ones being the more successful. The mining industries have been much slower to develop than most of the others, although they are of ancient origin. A great deal of metal--gold, silver and copper--was exported during the Middle Ages. It has been suggested that Columbus had the gold of Japan in view when he set out upon the voyage which resulted in the discovery of America. Japan has been described as the missionary to the Far East. Certainly, whatever her motives, her influence in Korea and Formosa has been most helpful. The latter island has been nearly freed from smallpox and other plagues, while its revenues have been increased six hundred per cent. Her influence in the liberalizing of China is marked, too, although it is less concentrated, of course, than in the smaller fields. The Japanese have an undoubted advantage over other nationalities in China. Their agents know the language, but more than that, they are able to adapt themselves to native conditions of living and to "think Chinese." For ages past China has been the godmother of Japan, teaching her many valuable lessons in art and industry. It is now only fair that the pupil should do what she can to help her ancient teacher. Naturally the form which this expression of gratitude takes is by no means unprofitable commercially to the younger nation! "With regard to that part of Manchuria which comes under Japanese influence," writes a British merchant, "the conveniences and facilities afforded by the Japanese to one and all in regard to banking institutions, railway communications, postal and telegraph service are far and away superior to those afforded by the Russian and Chinese institutions." It has taken Europe six hundred years to do what Japan has done in sixty, and if the little Island Nation has left a few things undone, or has made mistakes and perhaps gone too far in some directions, it is not surprising. The marvel is that with the thrill and bustle of modern business life she has kept so much of the ancient charm and delight as to make us even to-day feel the witchery of her Spell. CHAPTER VII A YEAR OF FESTIVALS Most important and most generally observed of all Japanese festivals is the New Year, the holiday season lasting for about two weeks. The most striking feature to us was the varied decorations of the gates, which were adorned with a collection of emblems of one kind and another, producing an effect unique in the extreme, even if their significance was unknown. These decorations are put up before Christmas in the case of the foreigners, but those in front of the native houses are not completed until New Year, and remain in place throughout the holidays. A large number of apparently incongruous articles are used in ornamenting Japanese homes for the New Year, and not until we learn the symbolic meaning of each one of these can we understand their use. They range from bamboo, ferns, oranges, pine-trees and branches of _yusuri_-tree to paper bags, straw ropes, bits of charcoal, seaweed and even lobsters, incomprehensible as it may seem to the Western mind that some of these objects should have any significance whatever. As you enter a house you discover, stretched from post to post of the gateway above your head, a thick, twisted rope--the _nawa_--with the following emblems suspended from it: first, the _yebi_--lobster--whose bent back is the symbol of long life, suggesting the hope that he who passes beneath may not die until time has bowed his back in like manner. Surrounding the lobster, as a frame to its brilliant scarlet, are the _yusuri_ branches, on which the young leaves are budding while the old have not as yet fallen, significant of the several generations of the family within. Almost hidden by the lobster and directly in the centre of the _nawa_, are perhaps the prettiest of all the emblems, two dainty fern-fronds, symbolical of the happiness and unity of wedded life, and carefully placed between the two, a budding leaflet emblematic of fruitfulness. From Japanese mythology we learn the significance of the _nawa_--the rope of rice straw. Ama-terasu, the Sun-Goddess, in terror of her brother, Susa-no-o, fled to a cave, from which she refused to come forth. Then the Eighty Myriads of Gods took counsel as to how they might induce her to bestow upon them the light of her face once more. They decided to give a wonderful entertainment, introduced by the songs of thousands of birds. Ama-terasu came out, curious to know the meaning of these sounds, daylight returned, and the gods stretched a barrier across the mouth of the cavern in order that she might never retreat to it again. The _nawa_ represents this obstacle, and wherever it hangs, the sweetness of spring is supposed to enter. But one may ask, what is the connection between the New Year and the coming of spring? According to the old Japanese calendar, the year began at any time between January sixteenth and February nineteenth, so it came, as a rule, at least a month later than with us, and the idea of spring was always associated with the New Year. Although spring arrives in Tokyo about the time it does in Washington, January first is far enough from any suggestion of buds and flowers: but the Japanese keep the old associations and call the first fortnight of the year "spring-advent" and the second fortnight "the rains." The mention of spring suggests a charming stanza by an anonymous Japanese poet, which I give in Professor Chamberlain's translation: "Spring, spring has come, while yet the landscape bears Its fleecy burden of unmelted snow! Now may the zephyr gently 'gin to blow, To melt the nightingale's sweet frozen tears." That the gods may not be forgotten, propitiatory offerings in the shape of twisted pieces of paper cut diagonally--_gohei_, meaning purification--are attached at intervals along the _nawa_, looking for all the world like the horns stuck in the hair in the children's game of "Horned Lady." Setting off the scarlet hue of the lobster, on either side is placed a _daidai_,--a kind of orange--expressing the hope that the family pedigree may flourish. The rather incongruous piece of charcoal--_sumi_, meaning homestead--comes next, and gently waving to and fro beneath the oranges may be seen strips of seaweed--_konbu_--signifying rejoicing. On either side of the gateway stands the guardian pine-tree, indicative of long life, supporting the _nawa_, which is about six feet in length--on the right the _me-matsu_ (the red pine), and on the left the _O-matsu_ (the honourable black pine). Behind, giving grace and dainty freshness to the whole, nod and sway the exquisite feathery branches of the bamboo, typical of health and strength. The full list of symbols is not always seen, as the task and the purse of the individual are both consulted before deciding upon his gateway decorations. But even among the poorest there is never a doorway wholly unadorned; the omission would be sure to bring harm to the householder and misfortune to his friends, and the gods unpropitiated would look frowningly down during the year. Although two diminutive pine-trees before a house may be all that can be afforded, the dweller within feels as securely guarded against harm in the coming year as if the whole panoply of emblems were waving over his humble doorway. The pine-trees remind me of Bashô's epigram on New Year decorations, beautifully translated by E. W. Clement: "At every door The pine-trees stand: One mile-post more To the spirit-land; And as there's gladness, So there's sadness." Much brighter colours are worn at the New Year than at other times, and presents are exchanged. The older people make gifts of dwarf trees, while the children give one another dolls and kites, and games of battledore and shuttlecock, which one sees both old and young playing in the streets. The small, stocky horses that drag the carts with their picturesque loads are adorned with streamers of mauve and lemon and rose in honour of the first drive of the year, and many of the carts carry flags and lanterns on bamboo poles, so that the streets are very gay. Tokyo is especially gay the last evening of the old year, because a _matsuri_, or fair, is held in the principal street, with little booths illuminated by lanterns, where any one who is in debt can sell his belongings in order to pay all he owes and begin the New Year fairly. Small groups go from house to house, carrying the strange lion-dog's head, which they put through various antics, while they dance and sing in order to drive away evil spirits. (The lion-dog is a mythical animal borrowed from the Chinese.) They are usually rewarded by the owner with a few pennies. People go about on New Year's Day, stopping at the doorways of their friends to say: "May you be as old as the pine and as strong as the bamboo, may the stork make nests in your chimney and the turtle crawl over your floor." The turtle and the stork symbolize long life. Part of the preparation for the New Year festival consists in the annual house-cleaning. This custom is kept up to-day, and is carried out even in foreign houses. Under the old régime, we are told, officials of the Shogun's Court sent overseers carrying dusters on long poles to superintend the work and thrust their brooms into cracks and corners where dust might be left undisturbed by careless servants, at the same time making mystic passes with their poles to form the Chinese character for water. The merchants, too, have their "big cleaning," when all their wares are tossed out into the street. As one of the Japanese poets has said: "Lo, house-cleaning is here; Gods of Buddha and Shinto Are jumbled together All on the grass!" One of the most attractive customs associated with the New Year is that of placing under the little wooden pillows of the children a picture of the _Takara-bune_, the Treasure Ship, with the Seven Gods of Good Fortune on board. This ship is said to come into port on New Year's Eve and to bring a wonderful cargo, among other rare things being the Lucky Rain-Coat, the Inexhaustible Purse, the Sacred Key and the Hat of Invisibility. This is the Japanese interpretation of our expression, "When my ship comes in." At the Embassy the observance of New Year's Eve was a mixture of American and Japanese customs. We invited all the unmarried members of the Staff, and after visiting the _matsuri_ we returned to the Embassy, and as the clock struck twelve we passed a loving bowl, and all joined hands and sang songs. Then, as the passing year was the year of the cock, and 1913 was the year of the bullock, some one crowed a good-bye to the rooster of 1912, and some one else mooed like a bullock as a welcome to the newcomer, and we had a very jolly time. But New Year's Day itself is not without its religious and ceremonial observances. Every man is obliged to rise at the hour of the tiger--the early hour of four o'clock--and put on new clothes. Then he worships the gods, does homage to the spirits of his ancestors, and offers congratulations to his parents and the older members of the family. All this must be done before he can breakfast. The first repast of the year is in every sense symbolic. The tea is made with water drawn from the well as the first ray of the sun touches it. The principal dish is a compound of six ingredients, which are always the same, although the proportions may be varied. A special kind of _saké_ is drunk from a red lacquer cup in order to ensure good health for the coming year. In addition to these things, there is always an "elysian stand"--a red lacquer tray, covered with evergreen _yusuri_ leaves and bearing a lobster, a rice dumpling, dried sardines, and herring roe, also oranges, persimmons and chestnuts, much as in a "lucky bag." All these articles of food are in some way emblematic of long life and happiness, and the stand itself represents the chief of the three islands of Chinese mythology, where all the birds and animals are white, where mountains and palaces are of gold, and where youth is eternal. New Year calls are as much a part of the celebration in Japan as in the Western world. Originally, these were genuine visits, and the "elysian stand" was set before the guests for their refreshment, but among the higher classes the calls are now the most conventional of affairs, in which the visitor simply writes his name in a book or leaves a card in a basket, often without being received by the householder at all. The caller leaves also a little gift of some sort--such as a basket of oranges, a bunch of dried seaweed, or a box of sweetmeats--wrapped in a neat package and tied with a red and gold cord in a butterfly knot. A finishing touch is given to the parcel by a sprig of green in a quiver-shaped envelope tucked under the knot. The seventh of January was the proper time to go out into the fields and gather seven common plants, among which were dandelion, chickweed and shepherd's purse. These were boiled with rice and eaten for health, strength and good luck. Originally, the Japanese had no weekly day of rest and recreation, but in recent years the Sabbath has been made an official rest-day, to be observed by all in government employ. The mass of the people, however, bring up their average of holidays by other occasions. There are during the year ten or twelve special feasts which are always observed--the Emperor's birthday, or when he eats first of the season's rice crop, or makes a pilgrimage to the shrines of his mythological ancestors, and other similar events, are all made the occasion of a national holiday and popular rejoicing. Besides, every section of a city or district in the country has a little _matsuri_ every day or two, and these, of course, are held holiday, but it must be remembered that many of the festivals mentioned in this chapter belonged to Old Japan, and are dying out to-day. Some festivals take the names of animals, such as the Horse Day, and the years are also named after animals, 1914 being the year of the tiger. The Fox Temple Festival is well known, when the people pray for good crops. Among other holidays are the Lucky Day, the seventh day of the seventh month, when two planets are in conjunction, and the first day of the eighth month. Certain prescribed flowers and plants are used on each of these occasions. Any important date, such as that on which a young man comes of age, or an official is promoted in rank, is also made a festal day. The twenty-eighth day of every month is observed by the Japanese, but more generally in the first month than in any other, in order to begin the New Year properly. We went to a Buddhist temple in Uyeno Park, where they beg the god of luck to protect them and keep them from misfortune throughout the year. Before entering the temple, as is always done, they purify themselves by washing their hands and scattering little offerings of money done up in paper. On account of some ancient custom, money is much more valued in Japan if wrapped in paper. Candles are lighted, and priests sitting cross-legged with their backs to the audience read from sacred books. A holy fire is kindled, and each worshipper buys a hundred tapers and walks from the fire to the shrine, praying, I suppose, for they seem to be saying something. As they reach the fire again, they throw a taper into it, and repeat the ceremony till all are gone. Surrounding the temple are little booths, where toys are for sale and gay lanterns and good things to eat and drink are displayed, so that when the prayers have been offered, the people can enjoy themselves in feasting, watching the jugglers at their tricks, or making small purchases at the booths. On the night of February third, distant shouts were heard at the Embassy. Upon inquiring what the noise was about, I was told that this was called "Bean Night," when the servants in most houses throw beans out into the garden, crying, "Demons go out, luck come in." As I passed a temple that evening, I saw crowds of people, and noticed some Shinto or Buddhist priests doing a religious dance. [Illustration: DISPLAY OF DOLLS, DOLLS' FESTIVAL.] The third of March is the Dolls' Festival, the great day of the year for little girls. At all times of the year the Japanese have miniature belongings for children which are very attractive, but just before this festival the shops are even prettier than at Christmas in America, and the windows are always arranged either to show the _No_ dance--two figures in curious dress in front of a gold screen with pine-tree decorations--or the Emperor and Empress. These dolls are placed on the top shelf with a screen behind and a canopy overhead to suggest a palace. Although for twenty years or more the Emperor has generally appeared in uniform on State occasions, and the Empress has been gowned in the latest Parisian style, these Imperial dolls wear flowing robes and have strange crowns upon their heads, the Emperor, too, having his hair curiously arranged; and they sit in Japanese fashion on a raised platform. On the shelf below are ladies-in-waiting, then follow musicians, lanterns and articles of food down the steps in order, all very tiny and perfectly made. For a picture of this festival as it is kept even to-day I borrow from Miss Alice M. Bacon's "Japanese Girls and Women," only adding that I was so delighted with the toys myself that I bought many of them, and with the aid of Watanabe set them up in proper order at the Embassy: "It was my privilege," says Miss Bacon, "to be present at the Feast of Dolls in the house of one of the Tokugawa _daimyos_, a house in which the old forms and ceremonies were strictly observed, and over which the wave of foreign innovation had passed so slightly that even the calendar still remained unchanged, and the feast took place upon the third day of the third month of the old Japanese year, instead of on the third day of March, which is the usual time for it now. At this house, where the dolls had been accumulating for hundreds of years, five or six broad, red-covered shelves, perhaps twenty feet long or more, were completely filled with them and with their belongings. The Emperor and Empress appeared again and again, as well as the five Court musicians, and the tiny furnishings and utensils were wonderfully costly and beautiful. Before each Emperor and Empress was set an elegant lacquered table service--tray, bowls, cups, _saké_ pots, rice baskets, etc., all complete--and in each utensil was placed the appropriate variety of food. The _saké_ used on this occasion is a sweet, white liquor, brewed especially for this feast, as different from the ordinary _saké_ as sweet cider is from the hard cider upon which a man may drink himself into a state of intoxication. Besides the table service, everything that an Imperial doll can be expected to need or desire is placed upon the shelves. Lacquered _norimono_, or palanquins; lacquered bullock carts, drawn by bow-legged black bulls--these were the conveyances of the great in Old Japan, and these, in minute reproductions, are placed upon the red-covered shelves. Tiny silver and brass _hibachi_, or fire-boxes, are there, with their accompanying tongs and charcoal baskets--whole kitchens, with everything required for cooking the finest of Japanese feasts, as finely made as if for actual use; all the necessary toilet apparatus--combs, mirrors, utensils for blackening the teeth, for shaving the eyebrows, for reddening the lips and whitening the face--all these things are there to delight the souls of all the little girls who may have the opportunity to behold them. For three days the Imperial effigies are served sumptuously at each meal, and the little girls of the family take pleasure in serving the Imperial Majesties; but when the feast ends, the dolls and their belongings are packed away in their boxes, and lodged in the fireproof warehouse for another year." As we may well believe from the tenderness with which it is treated, the Japanese doll is not simply a plaything but a means of teaching a girl to be a good wife and mother. It is never abused, but is so well cared for that it may be in use for a hundred years. Certain large dolls, representing children two or three years old, were formerly believed to contain human souls, and it was thought that if they were not well treated they would bring ill luck upon their owners. A story is told of a maid who was much disturbed by dreams of a one-armed figure--the ghost of a girl or woman--which haunted her bed at night. These visitations were repeated so many times that she decided to leave the place, but her master prevailed upon her to stay until he had made a thorough search of her room. Sure enough, in the corner of a cupboard shelf, he came upon an old one-armed doll, left there by a former servant. The doll's arms were repaired, it was honourably put away, and the restless little ghost was laid. Lafcadio Hearn says, "I asked a charming Japanese girl: 'How can a doll live?' 'Why,' she answered, '_if you love it enough_, it will live.'" But as all things earthly must have an end, so even a Japanese doll at last comes to the close of its life. It is lovingly cared for even then, is not thrown away, is not buried, but is consecrated to Kojin, a god with many arms. A little shrine and a _torii_ are erected in front of the _enoki_-tree, in which Kojin is supposed to live, and here the doll finds its last resting-place. On the eighth of April is celebrated the religious festival known as the Baptism of Buddha, when crowds assemble at all the temples, and pour _amacha_, or sweet tea, over the statue of Buddha. In the centre of a small shrine set up for the occasion is the image, adorned with flowers and surrounded by small ladles to be used by the worshippers. The right hand of the image is uplifted toward heaven and the left pointed downward toward the earth, "in interpretation of the famous utterance attributed to Buddha at birth: 'Through all the heights of heaven and all the depths of earth, I alone am worthy of veneration.'" The ceremony is said to have originated in the effort to interpret the meaning of the _sutra_--a Buddhist text--called Wash-Buddha-Virtuous-Action _sutra_. In this we are told that "a disciple once asked Buddha how best to enjoy the virtue ascribed to the Master both in heaven and on earth." The answer was in substance that the worshipper would find peace by pouring a perfumed liquid over Buddha's statue, and then sprinkling it upon his own head. While performing the ceremony, the devotee must repeat the golden text, "Now that we have washed our sacred Lord Buddha clean, we pray that our own sins, both physical and spiritual, may be cleansed away, and the same we pray for all men." This festival is an especial favourite with children, who throng the temples, each one throwing a small copper coin into the shrine and deluging the god with sweet tea, which is usually a decoction of liquorice and sugar in water. [Illustration: DISPLAY OF ARMOUR AND TOYS, BOYS' FESTIVAL.] At the Boys' Festival, on the fifth of May, over every house where a boy has been born during the year a bamboo pole is set up, from which flies a paper carp, the fish moving in the breeze as if ascending a stream. The carp is the boldest of fish in braving the rapids, so to Japanese boys he symbolizes ambitious striving. In every household where there are sons the favourite heroes of olden time are set out in the alcove of honour of the guest-room. Among them will be seen the figure of an archer clothed from head to foot in gay armour, with a huge bow in his hand and a quiver full of arrows on his back. This is Yorimasa, the famous knight, who was the greatest archer of his time. On this day, too, pride of family and veneration for ancestors are inculcated by bringing out the antique dishes, the old armour and the other heirlooms that during the rest of the year are stored in the _godown_. The Gion Festival, on the seventh of June, in honour of the mythical Prince Susa-no-o-no-mikoto and his consort, Princess Inada, and their son, Prince Yahashira, is famed for its magnificent procession, in which the car of the god is drawn. In the centre of the car is a figure attired in rich brocades; in front is a beautiful youth, who is accompanied by other boys, all wearing crowns; at the back is the orchestra that furnishes music for the procession. This display is witnessed by crowds of people, who throng the Shijo Road, in Kyoto, where it occurs. In ancient times it was customary to atone for a crime by shaving the head and cutting the nails of the fingers and toes. This custom has now been modified to a sort of vicarious atonement, called _harai_. _Gohei_, which in this case is cut in the shape of a human figure, is rubbed on the body of the evil-doer in order that it may take his sins, and is then thrown into the stream and carried away. Repentant sinners obtain _harai_ from the priests of Shinto temples. This ceremony, which occurs in June and is called the Festival of the Misogi, is referred to in the following old song: "Up Nara's stream The evening wind is blowing; Down Nara's stream The Misogi is going: So Summer has come, I know!" A festival of fairy-land is the _Itsukushima_, celebrated at Miyajima, on the Inland Sea, from the fifteenth to the seventeenth of June. Brilliant decorations are everywhere--on the long avenue by which the shrine is approached, and over the water, where bamboo-trees have been set up, and flags and lanterns are hung from them. Musicians in three boats furnish music for the assembled crowds. The place is thronged by thousands on the last day of the festival, when the boats with the musicians are stationed under the great _torii_, and the sweet sounds floating over the water and the myriad lights reflected in the sea make the scene one of indescribable enchantment. On the seventh of July occurs the _Tanabata Matsuri_, or Festival of the Stars, which, like so many other Japanese customs, was introduced from China. A charming nature myth tells us that beside the East River of Heaven, the Milky Way, lived the fair Princess Tanabata, who was known to the human race as the star Vega. She was a weaver by profession. As she was obliged to marry in order to fulfill her destiny, Heaven chose for her the great male star, Kengyu (Aquila), whose abode was on the West River. In her happiness the Princess forgot her weaving; whereat Heaven was so displeased that she was sent back in disgrace to the East River, and ever after was allowed to see her husband only once a year. All devout Japanese pray for fine weather on July seventh, as that is the date on which the unfortunate lovers meet; for, if even a few drops of rain fall, the East River will rise above its banks and prevent the Princess from crossing to her waiting spouse. On the evening of this day, the young maidens of the family lay a straw matting in the garden, and place on it a table with fruits and cakes as offerings to the two stars. Then they present their petitions for themselves and their true loves. Some pray for long life and a large family; others set up a bamboo pole, on which they hang a piece of embroidery as an emblem of their desire for skill in needlework; still others attach to the pole pieces of paper, on which are written the poems they bring in praise of the heavenly couple. This festival has scant observance in large cities. Touched with a peculiar tenderness and pathos is the Festival of the Dead, observed from the thirteenth to the fifteenth of July. In every house new mats of rice straw are laid before the little shrines, and a tiny meal is set out for the spirits of the departed. When evening comes, the streets are brilliant with flaming torches, and lanterns are hung in every doorway. Those whose friends have only lately left them make this night a true memorial to their dead, going out to the cemeteries, where they offer prayers, burn incense, light lanterns and fill bamboo vases with the flowers they have brought. On the evening of the third day the Ghosts of the Circle of Penance are fed, and those who have no friends living to remember them. Then on every streamlet, every river, lake and bay of Japan--except in the largest seaports, where it is now forbidden--appear fleets of tiny boats, bearing gifts of food and loving farewells. The light of a miniature lantern at its bow and blue wreaths of smoke from burning incense mark the course of each little vessel. In these fairy craft the spirits take their departure for the land of the hereafter. In September occurs the Moon Festival, which appears to have no religious significance whatever, but to be simply an occasion for enjoying the beauty of the moon. It was doubtless borrowed from the Chinese in the eighth century, and is still celebrated in some places. The ancient Chinese, however, observed it in solemn fashion, going to the top of some pagoda and writing poems about the Queen of the Night, but the Japanese of olden times combined with pure æsthetic enjoyment the pleasures of actual feasting. They used to gather in the garden of some restaurant by a lake or river, where a banquet of rice dumplings, boiled potatoes and beans was set out, and enjoyed at the same time the good food and the scene before them. Also in September is the Ayaha Festival, in honour of the two Chinese women who first taught weaving to the Japanese, many centuries ago. These teachers died in September, and on the seventeenth of that month cotton and hempen fabrics are offered to their spirits at the shrines built in their honour. At the temple of the goddess Amaterasu-Omikami, near Shiba Park, Tokyo, the Shinmei Feast is observed from the eleventh to the twenty-first of September. This is especially the time to offer the petition, "O God, make clean our hearts within us," hence much ginger is sold, the plant being supposed to prevent impurity. A sweetmeat called _ame_ is sold in cypress-wood baskets, curved like the roofs of ancient shrines. Cypress is held sacred because the roof-trees of old shrines were made of it, and is supposed to have the power of warding off diseases. One of the most curious of all Japanese festivals is the Laughing Festival of Wasa, celebrated in October. A procession is formed of old men carrying boxes full of oranges and persimmons impaled on sharpened sticks, followed by children with the same kinds of fruits on bamboo rods. On reaching the shrine, the leader turns round and makes up a comical face, which is greeted with shouts of laughter. According to the legend, the gods, once upon a time, met in the great temple at Izumo to consider the love affairs of the kingdom. When all were seated, one alone, Miwa-Daimyo-jin, was missing, and although search was made, he could not be found. Now, this god was so deaf that he had misunderstood the day appointed for the assembly, and he appeared at Izumo only after all was over. The Laughing Festival commemorates the laughter of the gods when they heard of poor Miwa-Daimyo-jin's mistake. Another October celebration is held in memory of Nichiren, called the Luther of Japan, who endeavoured to purify Buddhism from the superstitions that had crept into it. He was the founder of the sect named for him. On October thirteenth great numbers of his disciples assemble at Ikegami, the place of his death, near Tokyo, carrying lanterns and banners, and reciting a _sutra_ in concert. A curious feast is observed by merchants on the twentieth of October in honour of Ebisu, one of the seven gods of good luck, who is especially the guardian genius of tradesmen. They invite their friends and relatives to a banquet, upon which a large picture of the god looks down from the wall. Fishes, called _tai_, are laid before this picture as offerings, and are also eaten by the guests. After the feast has proceeded a little way, sport begins. Perhaps one of the guests starts an auction of the dishes before him, his companions bidding up to thousands of _yen_,[6] the joke continuing until it runs itself out. This little buying and selling episode is to emphasize the fact that it is a merchants' festival that is being celebrated. [6] The _yen_ is fifty cents. The present Emperor's birthday is the thirty-first of August, but henceforth it is to be celebrated on the thirty-first of October, which brings it very near to the third of November, the late Emperor's birthday, so long a holiday all over Japan. Although this is one of the annual festivities, the celebration is so largely official and diplomatic that I have described it among Court Functions. The fall _matsuri_ in Tokyo is held early in November at the Shokonsha, a temple sacred to the memory of the patriots who have given their lives for their country. It is especially a soldiers' festival, and is the occasion when the garrison comes in a body to worship at this shrine. The troops form by divisions in front of the temple and salute, presenting arms while the bugles sound a sacred call. Afterward the soldiers have a race-meeting on a half-mile track, which is made very amusing by the rivalry between the different divisions and the mad careerings of the little horses. This is a large _matsuri_, and the booths of peddlers and mountebanks line the streets for blocks. November eighth is the day of the _Fuigo Matsuri_, when thanks are returned to the god of fire, who invented the bellows--_Fuigo_ meaning bellows. As the centre of the worship of this god is in Kyoto, it is observed to a greater extent there than elsewhere, beginning in a curious way, by opening the windows before sunrise and throwing out quantities of oranges to the children who are always waiting outside. The Japanese counterpart of our New England Thanksgiving occurs the twenty-third of November, when the Emperor is the chief celebrant, making an offering of the new rice of the year before the shrine of his ancestors, and in behalf of the nation uttering a prayer of thanksgiving and a plea for protection. After presenting this offering His Majesty partakes of a sacred feast, consisting of the first fruits of the year, and the next day he invites the highest officials of the State to a grand banquet at the palace. Near the end of December comes the _Kamado-harai_ Feast of the Oven. The _kamado_ is the fire-box on which the food is cooked, and it has a god of its own. As the year draws to a close, the god of the _kamado_ carries to heaven a report of the conduct of the household during the twelve months. So the priests are called in to pray the oven-god that he will give as favourable an account as possible. As modern stoves are now taking the place of the old _kamado_ to some extent, this feast is less observed in the larger cities than in the country districts. At a shrine in Shimonoseki the festival of _Wakamegari-no Shinji_ is observed on the thirty-first of December. A flight of stone steps leads through a stone _torii_ down into the sea far below the lowest tide-mark. The Shinto priests, in full robes, are obliged to descend these steps on the feast-day until they reach and cut some of the seaweed (_wakame_), which they offer at the temple the next day. Japanese legend relates that the Empress Jingo sailed from this spot to the conquest of Korea, bearing two jewels that were given her by the god of this shrine. When off the Korean coast, she threw one jewel into the water, and a flood tide at once bore her ships high up on the shore; then she tossed the other gem into the waves, and the swift ebbing of the tide left the fleet safely stranded. CHAPTER VIII CULTS AND SHRINES "He that practiseth righteousness receiveth a blessing; it cometh as surely as the shadow followeth the man." The quotation at the head of this chapter is of especial interest, because it reminds one so much of a precept from the Bible. It is taken from a little Japanese text-book of ethics, which is ascribed to a Buddhist abbot of the ninth century. There are two distinct but perfectly harmonious forms of non-Christian belief in Japan to-day--Shinto and Buddhism--which dovetail so well that each one contributes something of value to the Japanese character. The Confucian philosophy, also, had its share in developing _Bushido_, the "Soul of the People." Shinto is the native religion of Japan, and both because it is so little known outside of that country and because a study of it goes so far to explain many national characteristics, it seems worth while to consider it at some length. The word Shinto may be translated as the Way of the Gods, and defined in brief as a worship of ancestors, especially of the Emperor and his forebears. Human beings are believed to be the children of the sunshine, and sin is hardly recognized. Shinto is a combination of primitive instincts. It is based on hero worship, and it has myriads of deities, who live in every conceivable object, from the spirit of the sewing-needle to the gods of thunder and lightning, or of the sun, moon and stars. "The weakness of Shinto," says Dr. Nitobe, the eloquent exponent of Japanese beliefs, "lies in the non-recognition of human frailty, of sin." The sum total of its moral teaching is this, "Be pure in heart and body." The Shinto idea seems to be that it is only necessary to act out the natural impulses of the heart in order to be pure. But where there is no sense of sin, there can be no consciousness of need, no incentive to higher things. Shinto lacks ideals. It allies itself with the practical affairs of every-day life, inculcating industry and personal cleanliness, some of its sects even prescribing mountain-climbing and abdominal respiration as religious duties. But, as it has no theology, it offers no explanation of the great problems of the universe; and, having no sacred writings, it has no authority on which to base a system of ethics. Theology and the spiritual element in religion came to Japan with Buddhism; while ethics was the gift of Confucianism. The first sign of a Shinto temple is the _torii_. This peculiar gateway, though originally erected only by the Shintoists, has been adopted by the Buddhists, who have changed it by turning up the corners of the top beam and adding inscriptions and ornament. Passing under the _torii_ you stand before the huge gate, generally painted red, guarded by wooden figures, or keepers. These are supposed to be Ni-o--two gigantic and fierce kings--and they occupy a sort of cage with wire in front, that stands on either side of the entrance. Every worshipper makes a wish as he enters the temple, and throws at the kings little wads of paper precisely like the spitballs of school children. If the wads go through the wire, the wishes are supposed to come true. The temple itself stands in a courtyard inside the gate, and is rather plain and undecorated, much like Japanese houses. A flight of steps leads up to a balcony on the front, there is matting upon the floor inside, and an altar in the centre supports a big bronze vase, which usually contains pieces of gold paper, called _gohei_. A mirror is the most important article in a Shinto shrine, the idea being that it is a symbol of the human heart, which should reflect the image of Deity as the glass reflects the face of the worshipper. The mirror is not found in the temples of merely local divinities, but only in those sacred to the Sun-Goddess herself, and even there is not exposed to view. Wrapped in a series of brocade bags--another being added as each in turn wears out--and kept in a box of cypress wood, which is enclosed in a wooden cage under silken coverings, the mirror itself is never visible to the eyes of the curious. [Illustration: GRAND SHRINE OF ISE.] Two famous Shinto shrines--at Ise and Kitzuki--are especially revered on account of their great age. Kitzuki is so ancient that no one knows when it was founded. According to tradition, the first temple was built by direct command of the Sun-Goddess herself, in the days when none but gods existed. The approach to the sacred enclosure is most imposing. A beautiful avenue, shaded by huge trees and spanned by a series of gigantic _torii_, leads from a magnificent bronze _torii_ at the entrance to the massive wall that surrounds the temple courts. Within are groves and courts and immense buildings. The people are not admitted to the great shrine itself, but offer their petitions before the Haiden, or Hall of Prayer. Each pilgrim throws money into the box before the door, claps his hands four times, bows his head, and remains for a few minutes, then passes out. So many thousands throng this court that--to borrow Hearn's figure--the sound of their clapping is like the surf breaking on the shore. Although the shrine at Kitzuki is the oldest, the temples at Ise are more venerated. The inner shrine itself is a plain wooden building set within successive courts, but stately cryptomerias and the most magnificent camphor groves in all Japan give the place an unusual air of grandeur and sanctity. Wedding and funeral customs are extremely interesting. They have both the religious and the civil marriage in Japan. To make it legal, the parents must sign in the register. Marriages in Shinto temples have been unusual until recently, as they have generally taken place in the home. The custom is changing now, and temple weddings are becoming more frequent. Funeral customs are changing also. Formerly it was always the Buddhist priest who conducted the burial service, now the aristocrats are interred according to Shinto rites. At a wedding that we witnessed in a Shinto temple the couple first listened to a sermon by the priest, then they were given tapers at the altar. The bride lighted her candle first, and the bridegroom lighted his from hers. After this the two tapers were put together in such a way that they burned as one, symbolizing the perfect unity of wedded life. The bride was handsomely dressed--the _obis_ for these occasions sometimes cost over one hundred dollars--and wore the headdress with horns, half hidden by a veil called the "horn-hider." This name would seem to refer to the Buddhist text, "A woman's exterior is that of a saint, but her heart is that of a demon." After the marriage ceremony, the bridal party was photographed in the temple courtyard in a decidedly up-to-date fashion. At the house the bridal couple drank the nuptial _saké_, which had been prepared by two girl friends of the bride. This was poured from a gold lacquer vessel into one of silver lacquer--the two representing husband and wife--then into a cup, which the master of ceremonies handed to the bride and afterward to the groom, and from which they both drank. As Shinto is the faith of the reigning family, the funeral ceremony of a prince throws a good deal of light upon the cult itself. I did not witness such a ceremony myself, so I condense the vivid description given by the Baroness d'Anethan, who, as wife of the Belgian Minister, resided in Tokyo for many years. The funeral procession was headed by over eighty bearers dressed in white, the Japanese sign of mourning, each carrying a huge tower of flowers. Following these were officers in uniform holding cushions, on which rested the Prince's numerous grand crosses and orders. Next came various persons surrounding a casket, which contained the favourite food, the shoes for the journey (large wooden _geta_), the sword to guard against evil spirits during the soul's fifty days' wanderings, and the money to pay for the ferry-boat that crosses the river to Eternity. Finally appeared a beautifully fabricated casket of pure white wood (the Shinto sign of purity), embossed with the family arms in gold, in which the body was arranged in a sitting position. The chief mourner, a young prince, was dressed in the old-fashioned Court mourning, consisting of a wide, full, black silk petticoat, covered partially by a short white kimono, crowned by an unusual form of headdress, made of what looked like stiff black muslin. The two princesses of the family also wore ancient Court mourning--a greyish-brown _hakama_ (a kind of divided skirt)--and had their black hair puffed out at the sides like great wings and hanging down the back. Arriving at the cemetery, the Corps Diplomatique walked up a path paved in wood and bordered on each side by covered seats, at the end of which were high trestles supporting the coffin. The service now began, accompanied by weird funeral music. Low white wooden tables were placed before the coffin, all sorts of objects being offered to the departed by the priests. First was a long box, containing the name which His Imperial Highness was to bear in the next world. After this followed a repast of various kinds of fish, game, sweetmeats and fruit--the favourite foods of the deceased. These articles were handed with great ceremony from one priest to another. There were ten priests, and as each one took the dish, which was placed on a stool of white wood, he clapped his hands twice to call the gods, and the last priest, bowing very low, finally set it on the table. After all the food had been deposited, prayers were intoned from an immense scroll, the final ceremony being that each member of the family, and after them, the Corps Diplomatique, approached the coffin, carrying branches of some particular tree, from which floated long papers inscribed with prayers. The actual interment took place some hours later, and with the remains of the Prince were buried the various articles of food and clothing. Our visits to the cemeteries showed us the veneration of the Japanese for their noble dead, and impressed us with the significance of ancestor worship in the Shinto cult. The big graveyard in Tokyo, where Nogi and his wife were buried, was most interesting. Modern cemeteries in Japan are much like ours, each owner having an enclosed lot and misshapen stones or stone lanterns to mark the graves, but they are not so well kept up as in America. Attached to the fence surrounding the lot is a wooden box, in which visitors leave their cards when calling at the abode of the dead. The mourners sometimes burn incense and leave branches of laurel, too. As we approached the resting-place of Nogi and his wife, we saw crowds of people standing near, for although months had passed since their dramatic death, the Japanese were still visiting their graves in great numbers. In many cemeteries are the statues of "The Six Jizo"--smiling, childish figures about three feet high--bearing various Buddhist emblems. A bag of pebbles hangs about the neck of each one, and little heaps of stones are piled up at their feet and even laid upon their shoulders and their knees. Jizo is the children's god. He is the protector of the little souls who have gone from this world to the Sai-no-Kawara, the abode of children after death, where they must pile up stones in penance for their sins! When this task is done, the demons abuse them and throw down their little towers; then the babies run to Jizo, who hides them in his great sleeves, and drives the evil spirits away. Every stone that is laid at the feet of Jizo is a help to some little one in working out its long task. Hearn gives an interesting account of a wonderful cave at Kaka, on the wild western coast of Japan, which can be visited only when there is not wind enough "to move three hairs," for the strongest boat could not live in the surf that beats against the high cliffs and dashes into the fissures in their sides. But let one make the journey safely, and he shall find in this grotto an image of Jizo, and before it the tiny stone heaps. Every night, it is said, baby souls make their way to the cavern, and pile up the pebbles around their friend, and every morning the prints of little bare feet--the feet of the baby ghosts--are seen in the moist sand. Buddhism has become so complicated and changed in the different countries through which it has travelled since it originated in Southern India, and there are to-day so many sects, that it is difficult to define. The Ikko sect undoubtedly holds the purest and loftiest form of this faith. Its chief teaching is, that "man is to be saved by faith in the merciful power of Amida, and not by works or vain repetition of prayers. For this reason, and also because its priests are permitted to marry, this body has sometimes been called the Protestantism of Japan." All the followers of Buddha believe in reincarnation; they feel that life is a struggle, which human beings must get through with as well as they can, and that as they are frail, they return to this earth in various forms in punishment for their sins, always toiling on, until at last their purified souls merge in the Divine and realize calm. As an old Japanese writer puts it, "Though growing in the foulest slime, the flower remains pure and undefiled. And the soul of him who remains pure in the midst of temptation is likened unto the lotus." There have been many Buddhas, who have returned at different times to this world, Yamisaki being the latest. Buddhism has degenerated in Japan, having absorbed the Shinto gods, and as it is based on a pessimistic view of life, it appears to be rather a depressing religion. [Illustration: _Lacquer Work_] Buddhist temples are adorned with wonderful carving and lacquer work, and contain bronzes and golden Buddhas. One of the largest and most magnificent in Japan, surrounded by gardens of great extent and beauty, is the Eastern Hongwanji temple in Kyoto. The shrines of the Ikko sect are called Hongwanji, meaning "Monastery of the Real Vow," from the vow made by Amida that he would not become Buddha unless salvation was granted to all who sincerely desired it and testified their wish by calling upon his name ten times. There is no government fund for this shrine, and it has no regular source of income, yet it has been the recipient of munificent gifts from royal personages and men of wealth, and has all the prestige that could come from temporal support and the sanction of government. When we visited this temple, we were ceremoniously received by the priest in charge and a number of his confrères. The head priest, short, fat and clean-shaven, who met us at the gate, grunted and drew the air through his teeth in greeting us, as a symbol of great politeness and respect. His costume was a black silk robe over a soft white under-garment, and a gold brocade band about his neck. As we passed into the building, we were told that the present structure, which is said to have cost seven million _yen_ and was sixteen years in building, was erected on the site of an ancient temple that had been destroyed by fire. It is noteworthy that the new temple contains a system of tile pipes in the roof and ceiling, from which, in case of fire, water may be dropped over the entire area. [Illustration: EASTERN HONGWANJI TEMPLE, KYOTO.] Before the altar is a broad sweep of stone flooring, and in front of that a railing, outside which the people come to worship. Several were kneeling there as we passed, their palms together in the traditional attitude of Christian prayer. Others were prone on the floor. The ragged, the lame and the desolate, blind and deaf to the passing crowd, knelt upon this bare stone pavement--separated from the altar by a railing beyond which they might not pass--their hands lifted in supplication or adoration, their heads bowed in humility. The scene called to mind the legend of Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer, whose mission Longfellow has so beautifully described. We looked at the silent god standing within the lotus--sacred emblem of humanity--veiled by the pervading incense, and we wondered how many of those unspoken prayers penetrated to the mysterious depths where Buddha dwells. To the left of the altar is a space reserved for the priesthood, where Buddhist monks come daily to their morning devotions and religious exercises. Although the priests do not live in the temple, they sometimes pass the night here in meditation, seated on the long rows of mats that we saw arranged in orderly fashion. About forty priests are usually in attendance at the morning services, but on occasions of State ceremony larger numbers gather from all parts of the Empire. On the twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth of each month services are held in memory of the founders of the temple. The priests conducted us between the railing and the altar, bowing their heads as they passed. A number of small coins were scattered on the matting--these were offerings left by worshippers. Our hosts, who treated us with unfailing courtesy, pointed out further details of the building, and afterward took us to a room where we were served with tea and small cakes. We were told that this apartment had been donated by the present Emperor. We followed one of the priests into the walled garden and through its narrow paths. We crossed brooks on bamboo bridges, and looked into the calm waters. Among the trees were small temples and tea-houses overhanging the water, and curiously shaped stones and crooked pines. Hongwanji garden has all the fascination of a true Japanese garden, and has, besides, the additional charm of age, for it is over three hundred years old. We sat in this ideal spot, in one of the pretty tea-houses with its soft mats and lacquer and polished wood, and again drank tea from wee porcelain cups and ate sugared cakes. The memory of this temple garden clings to me still. I imagine the priests sitting on the little covered wooden bridge gazing into the calm water with the lotus flowers, while the crickets sing in the silence--crickets who were perhaps once human, now doing penance for their sins. I hear the priests murmur over and over _Namu Amida Butsu_, the Japanese rendering of the Sanskrit invocation meaning "Hail to the Eternal Splendour of Buddha!" I see them meditating on the unending life that they believe to be in store for them, until evil shall have left them, and they shall be absorbed into Nirvana, "as a dewdrop sinks into the shining sea." As we left the temple we were shown the great coil of ropes made of human hair. There were originally twenty-nine of these cables, the longest of which measured two hundred feet. It seems that at the time when the old shrine was burned, and they wished to rebuild it, the church had no funds. People came together from all over the Empire, and set to work like beavers. The men gave what they could, in work and money; the women had nothing, yet they, too, wished to help. In a frenzy of religious zeal they cut off their hair--their most treasured possession--and cast it at the foot of the shrine of Buddha. From their offerings were woven the cables that hoisted the tiles to the roof and lifted into place the great wooden pillars of the temple. The temple of Buddha, with its unpainted exterior, its bare pillars in their naked simplicity, its glint of gold, its magnificent carvings, the delicate fragrance of burning incense, its candles, its wealth of symbolism--all this is a fading memory; yet its fascination lingers. We wonder how much of the temple of Buddha we really saw, how much we felt the presence of that power which is so intimately linked with the spirit of the East and with the genius of the Oriental peoples. We felt the reverence--unexpressed in word or outward act--with which our hosts, the priests, drew our attention to the inscription above the altar, painted in golden Japanese characters by the hand of the late Emperor, which, being interpreted, means, "See Truth." The temples at Nikko, the finest in Japan, are part Shinto, part Buddhist. A ceremony which we once witnessed there, in the mausoleum of Iyeyasu, the great Shogun, was full of interest. After taking off our shoes at the entrance, we wandered over the mats, looking at the gloriously carved panels, till we were informed that all was ready and were invited to enter an inner room. I was given a peach-coloured brocade robe, which I threw over my shoulders, but was told that it was not necessary to don the skirt, which forms the rest of the ceremonial costume. They gave us two camp-chairs, as we preferred to sit on them rather than on our heels, in Japanese fashion. On either side of us squatted three priests in white and green robes with curious black openwork hats on their heads. We faced the inner shrine, in which stood, on a table, a vase containing the gold paper for purification, such as is seen in Shinto shrines. [Illustration: THE HONDEN, IYEYASU, NIKKO.] Then began the most unearthly music that I have ever heard, made by the three priests on L.'s side, who were musicians. One had a strange instrument made of flutes put together, resembling a small organ, which gave out a sound somewhat like a bagpipe. While this man played a weird tune on his pipes, another with a different instrument made a most unpleasant whistle, like that of a train, which continued throughout the entire ceremony. Besides the green-robed musicians there were on my side white-robed priests with even quainter head-gear, who moved about on their knees and presented food and drink before the altar with many bows and much clapping of their hands. This service led to the opening of the door of the inner shrine, into which we were afterward taken and served with _saké_. Then we were conducted behind one beautiful set of painted screens after another till we came into the innermost place, gloriously decorated in lacquer and painting but in absolute darkness, except for the glow of the lanterns which we took with us. On emerging from these hidden recesses, we left the temple, with polite bows to the priests and thanks for their courtesy. As we walked away from the building, we could hear the screeching instruments, the priests going on with the service as the offerings were brought out of the sacred place. Just as we were departing, I was given this translation of the Precepts of Iyeyasu, which I have been glad to preserve as a souvenir of beautiful Nikko: PRECEPTS OF IYEYASU Life is like unto a long journey with a heavy load. Let thy steps be slow and steady, that thou stumble not. Persuade thyself that imperfection and inconvenience is the natural lot of mortals, and there will be no room for discontent, neither for despair. When ambitious desires arise in thy heart, recall the days of extremity thou hast passed through. Forbearance is the root of quietness and assurance for ever. Look upon wrath as thy enemy. If thou knowest only what it is to conquer, and knowest not what it is to be defeated, woe unto thee! it will fare ill with thee. Find fault with thyself rather than with others. Better the less than the more. _Translated by Prof. K. Wadagaki, of the Imperial University._ The Japanese, like Arabs and Hindoos, not content with worshipping at near-by shrines, often make pilgrimages to holy places at a distance. There are several of these resorts in the Empire, some of the most famous being the temple of the Sun-Goddess at Ise, the holy mountain Fuji, the monastery of Koya-san, and the lovely island of Miyajima, in the Inland Sea. As most of the pilgrims belong to the artisan and peasant classes, and have scarcely more than enough for their daily needs, they have evolved a scheme for defraying the expenses of these trips by forming a great number of associations, or brotherhoods, the members of which contribute each a cent a month. At the proper season for the pilgrimage certain members are chosen by lot to represent the brotherhood at some shrine, and their expenses are paid out of the common fund. No distinctive dress is worn by most of them, but those on their way to Fuji and other mountains are attired in white garments and broad straw hats. [Illustration: OFF MIYAJIMA.] These Japanese pilgrims are not only performing a pious duty, they are also taking their summer vacation. After their prayers are said, as at the various festivals I have described, they do not hesitate to join in all the amusements that are provided. It makes little difference to the mass of the common people whether they worship at a Shinto or a Buddhist shrine, and the Government actually changed Kompira from Buddhist to Shinto without in the least detracting from its popularity. The relics guarded in these temples of Buddha remind us very much of the sacred memorials cherished by the Roman Church--holy garments, holy swords, pictures by famous saints, and bits of the cremated body of a Buddha. It was from her religions that Japan drew her Knightly Code, _Bushido_, obedience to which raised the _samurai_ from the mere brutal wielder of swords to the chivalrous warrior. From Shinto he imbibed veneration for his ancestors, the strongest possible sense of duty to his parents, and the most self-sacrificing loyalty to the sovereign. Buddhism gave him a stoical composure in the presence of danger, a contempt for life, and "friendliness with death." It made him calm and self-contained. Finally, the _samurai_ obtained from the teachings of Confucius his principles of action toward his fellow men. _Bushido_ is spoken of as "the Soul of the People." The Greeks of old located the soul in the kidneys, the Romans in the heart, and it is only in recent years that it has been described as in the head; even then the soul at best is indefinable, so I am at a loss to tell exactly what _Bushido_ means. When I asked a Japanese to define _Bushido_, he answered, "Loyalty--the loyalty of the servant to his master, of the son to his father. The servant is willing to make any sacrifice for the master. The Forty-Seven Ronins are an example of this. General Nogi is another instance of the same thing. Nogi felt that his death would remind the younger generation of the Spartan virtues of the older days, which they were forgetting, and would be a good thing for the country. He also wished to die in order that his master, the Emperor, might not be lonely." The Japanese national hymn, as translated by Professor Chamberlain, fitly embodies this sentiment of loyalty to the Emperor: "A thousand years of happy reign be thine; Rule on, my lord, till what are pebbles now By age united, to mighty rocks shall grow, Whose venerable sides the moss doth line." "Among the rare jewels of race and civilization which have slowly grown to perfection is the Japanese virtue of loyalty," writes Dr. W. E. Griffis; "In supreme devotion, in utter consecration to his master, in service, through life and death, a _samurai's_ loyalty to his lord knew no equal.... Wife, children, fortune, health, friends, were as naught--but rather to be trampled under foot, if necessary, in order to reach that 'last supreme measure of devotion' which the _samurai_ owed to his lord. The matchless sphere of rock crystal, flawless and perfect, is the emblem of Japanese loyalty." The material side of _Bushido_ is the fighting spirit, and the germ of the spiritual side is the idea of fair play in fight--a germ which developed into a lofty code of honour. In feudal times Japanese warriors endured severe discipline. They were obliged to be expert with the fencing-stick, skilled in _jiu-jutsu_, the aristocratic form of wrestling, in archery, and in the use of the spear and the iron fan, as well as the double sword. They felt that mastery of the art of battle gave self-control and mental calm. Mental exercises were practised more generally in olden times than they are to-day. There are several cults for the training of the mind, such as _Kiai_ and _Zen_, both Buddhist practices. The secret of _Kiai_ condensed is: "I make personality my magic power. I make promptitude my limbs. I make self-protection my laws." _Zen_ teaches: "Commit no evil, do only good, and preserve the purity of your heart and will. If you keep aloof from mundane fame and the lusts of the flesh, and are inspired by a firm resolve to attain the Great Truth, the gates of Stoicism will be opened to you." _Bushido_ is the foundation of the nation, built of rock. It is strong and true, and whatever is built upon it in the future, even if it topple and fall, can always be rebuilt again, for the rock is there for ever. May they build something worthy to rise on such a firm foundation! CHAPTER IX NEW LIGHT FOR OLD The Old and the New Japan jostle each other at every turn. One day we visited the tomb of the heroic Nogi, who sacrificed his life on the altar of _Bushido_, and the next we received at the Embassy the pupils of the Tokyo Normal School, who will have so large a share in the continued remodelling of the nation. The Land of the Rising Sun has undergone decided changes within the last fifty years in her desire to make herself the equal of the Great Powers of Christendom; she has been willing to cast aside tradition, to modify her form of government, to adopt Western customs. But none of these things appears to me so vital as the reconstruction of her educational system and the free admission of a new religious belief. The old system of Japanese education was derived from Chinese models as early as the eighth century, but for many hundred years it was barely kept alive in Buddhist monasteries, and was never fully carried out until the Tokugawa period. The higher institutions were devoted entirely to the study of Chinese history and literature, and their object was chiefly to train efficient servants of the State. Buddhist priests were the usual teachers of the lower classes, but retired _samurai_ often opened elementary schools, such as that pictured so vividly by one of their pupils:[7] [7] Dr. Nitobe, in "The Japanese Nation." "This primitive school," he says, "consisted of a couple of rooms, where some twenty or thirty boys (and a very few girls), ranging in age from seven to fourteen, spent the forenoon, each reading in turn with the teacher for half an hour some paragraphs from Confucius and Mencius, and devoting the rest of the time to calligraphy. Of the three R's, 'riting demanded the most time and reading but little, 'rithmetic scarcely any, except in a school attended by children of the common people as distinct from those of the _samurai_. Sons of the _samurai_ class had other curricula than the three R's. They began fencing, _jiu-jutsu_, spear-practice and horsemanship, when quite young, and usually took these lessons in the early morning. As a child of seven, I remember being roused by my mother before dawn in the winter, and reluctantly, often in positively bad humour, picking my way barefooted through the snow. The idea was to accustom children to hardihood and endurance. There was little fun in the schoolroom, except such as our ingenious minds devised behind our teacher's back." Yet this primitive system of education trained leaders of sufficient wisdom, unselfishness and breadth of view to guide Japan safely from the old to the new. Okubo and Kido, two members of the embassy that was sent to the treaty powers in 1871, discovered, upon landing in San Francisco, that the very bell-boys and waiters in the hotel understood the issues at stake in the election then going on. This convinced them that nothing but education could enable Japan to hold her own beside the Western world. Okubo said, "We must first educate leaders, and the rest will follow." Kido said, "We must educate the masses; for unless the people are trained, they cannot follow their leaders." Between the two, they got something of both. The younger generation lost no time in availing themselves of their new privileges, and indeed they are to-day so eager for learning that, after their daily work, many of them sit up the greater part of the night to study. In consequence, they often grow anæmic, nervous and melancholy. While the Japanese seem now to have adapted their elementary schools to the needs of their people, they have not been so successful with their secondary schools, called "middle" for boys and "high" for girls. The course of study for boys is much the same as in this country, except that instead of Greek and Latin they have Chinese and Yamato--old Japanese. English occupies six hours a week through the whole five-year course, but is taught only for reading, so that while most educated Japanese can understand some English and have read the classics of our literature, they may not be able to carry on a conversation in our language. In girls' high schools there is a room that might be styled "a laboratory of manners," where pupils have a "course in etiquette, including ceremonial tea and flower arrangement." The certificate of the middle school legally admits a student to the government colleges, but as there are only eight of these institutions in the country, they cannot receive all who apply. Consequently, students must pass a rigid entrance examination. There are four Imperial universities, of which that in Tokyo is the oldest and has about six thousand students, and several private universities, one of which, Waseda, has an enrollment of more than seven thousand. It did not escape the notice of the wisest leaders that perhaps the weakest point in this new educational system was its lack of moral training, all religious teaching being forbidden in government schools. Accordingly, in 1890, the late Emperor issued the Imperial Rescript on Education, a printed copy of which with the Emperor's autograph is sacredly cherished in every school, and upon which nearly all modern Japanese text-books of ethics are based. The most important part of this document reads as follows: "Ye, Our subjects, be filial to your parents, affectionate to your brothers and sisters; as husbands and wives be harmonious, as friends true; bear yourselves in modesty and moderation; extend your benevolence to all; pursue learning and cultivate the arts, and thereby develop intellectual faculties and perfect moral powers; furthermore, advance public good and promote common interests; always respect the Constitution and observe the laws; should emergency arise, offer yourselves courageously to the State; and thus guard and maintain the prosperity of Our Imperial Throne, coeval with heaven and earth." I was much interested in two secondary schools in Tokyo. We had the pleasure of entertaining the graduating class of young men from the Normal School. Professor Swift, who accompanied them, had been teaching in Japan for twenty-five years, having had the present Emperor at one time in his school. He said his students had never been received at the Embassy before, and in fact, he thought none of them had ever been in a European house. There were about forty of the Japanese and one young Chinaman. I think most of them were perhaps about twenty years old. They wore European dress, but the Japanese master came in his native costume. According to their rules of politeness, they gathered about the door, and could scarcely be induced to come in to shake hands with us. When they finally did come, they backed into a corner, and in true Japanese fashion had to be invited three times before they would enter the tea-room. These students go out through Japan to teach English after they graduate. They did not speak English, however, quite so well as I had expected, but no doubt they were a little frightened, and probably they were more used to such questions as I heard at one school when the teacher read to the class, "Where was Phineas when the mob gathered about the portal?" Our guests enjoyed the mechanical bear and tiger, for, like most people of the East, the Japanese are especially fond of such toys. The students seemed to take interest in the photographs also, and when one asked for music, we started the Victor and allowed them to choose their own records. Male and female teachers are trained in separate normal schools, which are government institutions. All their expenses--for board, clothing, tuition and books--are met by the State. After a preparatory course of one year, they take the regular course of four years, which covers a very full curriculum. Music, gymnastics, manual training, law and economics form part of this very modern course of study, and commerce and agriculture may be added. English is also included, but made optional. The necessary training in teaching is given in a practice school attached to each normal school. A shorter course of one year is devoted chiefly to the study of methods and practical work. A severe military training is given in the schools for males. Graduates from the regular course are obliged to serve the State as teachers for seven years, and those from the shorter course for two years. [Illustration: MISS TSUDA'S SCHOOL, TOKYO.] The second school which particularly interested me was Miss Tsuda's. Miss Tsuda herself was one of several Japanese children from good families who, when they were very young, were sent to America to be educated. Three of the girls, it is said, decided at school how they wished to live their lives. One said that above all things she should marry for love and in the Western fashion, and so it was--she met a young Japanese studying in America, and they were married and returned to Japan. The second one said she wished to be a power, and she returned home and in Japanese fashion was married by her parents to a very prominent leader in political life. Miss Tsuda felt that she wished to help her countrywomen, and that she would remain unmarried and devote her life to education. So, curiously enough, these three women have carried out the ideals of their girlhood. The school for the higher education of Japanese girls which Miss Tsuda has established is practically a post-graduate course, to fit them for teachers. One class that I visited was reading really difficult English--something of George Eliot's. Miss Tsuda herself is a graduate of Bryn Mawr, and speaks most beautiful English--perhaps the most perfect I have heard from any Japanese. The school is supported chiefly, I understand, by people in Philadelphia. I was told that the Bible was taught, but that the study of it was not compulsory, and that many of the girls were Buddhists. These students are from all stations in life. The outside of the buildings was in Japanese style, but the schoolrooms were like those in America; the pupils sat in chairs and had desks. I inquired why they did not sit on the mats, and Miss Tsuda said they had adopted chairs and desks because the girls felt that on the whole the chairs were more comfortable, and that they could move more quickly. It is thought the race will grow taller if they all learn to use chairs, instead of sitting on their legs as they have always done. The majority of the girls had writing-boxes and books upon the floors of their own rooms, and kept their bedding in a cupboard after the custom of their people, but they were allowed to have chairs if they asked for them. Hanging upon the _shoji_ were Christian mottoes, photographs of their relatives, and in one case a picture of Nogi. European food is given here, as well as Japanese, and our methods of cooking are taught. These students have modern gymnastic training every day, and they also play baseball, which the old-fashioned Japanese think very unladylike. Every Saturday evening they play games, have charades, and act little plays, both in English and Japanese. On a previous visit, some years ago, L. had gone over the Imperial University with Professor Yoshida. At that time Tokyo University and the Engineering College had lately been amalgamated. He said it seemed strange, coming from an American university, to see the complete neglect of what we call classics, Latin and Greek. All the modern sciences, medicine, the 'ologies and law were studied in English, German and French. One department, the seismic, established especially for the separate study of volcanic disturbances and earthquakes, was then peculiar to this university. It is particularly interesting to the Japanese, for they are constantly experiencing such disturbances--the late eruption in the province of Satsuma is a hint that results might be still more serious. In the art schools in Tokyo, which we visited, we saw the students painting and carving in their peculiar, painstaking way. An American teacher, who is not herself a missionary but has lived with missionaries in Japan for some time, and whom I consider an impartial judge, has given me her opinions on educational matters, including the work of the mission schools. The Japanese need, she feels, both moral and commercial instruction of the kind that only Western teachers can give. This teaching should be well given by the mission schools. At first, as in Korea, these schools were the only sources of Western thought, so they were frequented by all the Japanese who wished for any sort of progress. Everything was gobbled down hungrily. Even if they were not religiously inclined, they pretended to be, for this was their only means of learning English. At the present time, the government schools teach Western branches, but they are hampered by a narrow-minded educational board with antiquated methods, and tied up by miles of red tape, so that their teaching of Western studies is away behind the times. We might consider the English heard all over Japan a fair sample of the superficiality that prevails, but, to be impartial, we must take into account the difficulties that have to be overcome by students and teachers. Because of the ideographs and other peculiarities of their own tongue, it is far more difficult for the Japanese to learn English than for us to learn French or German. Government schools are superior in Japanese branches--they teach Japanese and Chinese classics and ethics, Japanese law and ideals better than the mission schools--and certificates from them give better positions, so ambitious Japanese go to them, but in Western subjects they try to do too many things. The students work only for examinations, not for really substantial progress. This is noticeable, except in rare individuals, who would probably progress under any conditions. The best Japanese educators realize this as well as the foreigners and greatly deplore it. The reason that some of the mission schools are not so good as they might be is that they are too much occupied with proselyting, and hardly give more than superficial training to students. It would be better for the Japanese in the end if more real educators were sent out rather than so many preachers. If the mission schools would combine in having Japanese teachers for Japanese subjects, there could be concentration of effort and expense. There is also a crying need, my friend says, of schools for foreign children, because there are no good ones in Japan, and it is expensive to send the boys and girls to America or Europe. An international foreign language school, too, is much needed. _The ignorance of foreign tongues is one of the greatest barriers to amicable relations with other countries._ The inscrutability of the Japanese, which we hear so much about, is due principally to their lack of familiarity with languages. To understand the religious situation in Japan at all, it is necessary to take another backward glance over her history. Except during the two hundred and fifty years of the Tokugawa Period, the country has always been open to foreigners and foreign ideas. Chinese and Koreans, who brought new religions, a new civilization and a new philosophy, were gladly received. Young men from Japan sought learning in other countries, even in distant India. So, when Francis Xavier and his intrepid Jesuits made their way thither in the sixteenth century, they found a cordial welcome awaiting them. For fifty years Christian work went on; hundreds of thousands of Japanese accepted the Roman Catholic faith. But the Roman Church claims to be superior to the State, and the rulers of Japan saw reason to believe that the priests were aiming at political power. At once they reversed their former policy, branded Christianity as "_Ja-kyo_," the "Evil Way," and set about its extermination. Thousands of converts laid down their lives for the new faith in the terrible persecution that followed; foreigners were driven out of Japan, and her own people were forbidden to leave her shores. After the "Long Sleep" of the Tokugawa Period, the Meiji Era, known as the "Awakening," began in 1867. Once more Christianity was brought in, but this time in the guise of Protestantism, and again it made rapid progress. By the middle of the eighties some Japanese leaders of opinion were even advising that it should be declared the national religion, although this was largely for political reasons. However, full religious liberty was granted in 1889. In the early nineties came the reaction. The conservative element in the nation began to make itself heard against the mad rush for new things. Japanese students returning from abroad brought stories of vice and crime in Christian lands. The Japanese began to discover, too, that the standard of Christian ethics was a higher one than they had ever known, and demanded a change of life as well as of belief, and that the diplomacy of so-called Christian countries was often anything but Christian. So those who had simply "gone with the crowd" into the Christian ranks fell away. The churches were sifted. This revulsion of feeling was not lasting. Gradually the Japanese came to modify their conclusions. Those who remained in the churches did so from conviction, and a stronger church was the result. In this period of reaction Japan simply stopped to take breath, to adjust itself to the new life upon which it had entered. Progress now may be slower, but it is more substantial. The missionary question is absorbing, if one has time to see what has been done and what is being done now in the schools and kindergartens and hospitals, although to-day these Christian teachers are not playing so important a rôle as they did a few years ago. At first the Japanese went to the foreigners as their advisers and teachers, but now that they have travelled more and know more of Western ideas they do not need them so much. Six hundred thousand dollars goes yearly from America to Japan for missions. Japan is a poor country, but some people feel it is time for the rich men there to come forward and contribute to their own charities, rather than to let foreigners do so large a share. I feel that there is more need of missionaries in China to-day, especially medical missionaries. Fifty years ago there was desperate need of medical missionaries in Japan. When Dr. Hepburn opened his dispensary in a Buddhist temple at Kanagawa, diseased beggars were very common on the streets, for hospitals were unknown. Now there are over one thousand public hospitals managed by Japanese doctors, who are well fitted for their profession--some have been educated in Germany and are very skilful. As there are natural hot springs in Japan, lepers in the early stages of the disease go there in the hope of being cured, but as a cure is not possible, they gradually become worse and cannot leave the country, so one often sees them begging in the streets. The only beggars I have ever seen in Japan have been victims of leprosy. Up to 1907 there were no hospitals for lepers except those founded by foreign missionaries. In that year the Government established five of these institutions, but as they are always crowded, the poor sufferers cannot be received unless they are very ill. Father Testevinde, a French Catholic priest, founded the first private hospital for lepers--which is still the largest--in 1889. Miss Riddell, an Englishwoman, has established another, which she is now trying to enlarge. Eye troubles are especially prevalent in Japan, but the blind earn their living by massage, and the note of their flute is often heard in the street. There is a great deal of tuberculosis, but there are no sanatoriums for consumptives, who are taken into the regular hospitals. As the sufferers are kept in their homes until the last stages, the disease is spreading rapidly. It is very common to see children afflicted with skin-diseases. Japanese mothers believe that inborn wickedness comes out in this form. Since they no longer shave the children's heads as in the old days, however, the skin trouble is disappearing somewhat. Well-organized dispensaries and district nurses are certainly much needed in out-of-the-way villages, but no provision has as yet been made for such work. Midwives, however, are to be found. The Episcopal hospital in Tokyo, where Japanese women are taught nursing, is supposed to be the best in the country. Dr. Teusler is doing excellent work there. The Japanese hospitals are not so well managed as the best foreign ones, and the training for women nurses is not so long or so thorough as in America. It is difficult for foreigners to judge their hospitals, because they are intended for Japanese patients and their whole manner of living is so different from ours. At first, on account of native customs, only the poorer class of women could be induced to take up nursing as a profession, but to-day the better class are engaging in it. In no branch of medical work has Japan made greater progress or achieved finer results than in the Red Cross. In 1877 the _Hakuaisha_ was formed--the Society of Universal Love--which cared for the wounded in the great civil war. Japan joined the European Red Cross League in 1887. The Japanese Red Cross was finely organized for service during the war with Russia. The first work was the care of the Russian sailors at Chemulpo, who were even presented with artificial limbs by the Empress of Japan. During the war six thousand sick and wounded Russian prisoners were cared for by the Japanese. In return the Russians subscribed to the Japanese Red Cross. The women nurses remained at home stations, all relief detachments at the front consisting of men only, but on the relief ships there were both sexes. An American nurse who was in Japan during the war said we had many things to learn from the Japanese and few to teach, in the way of handling the wounded. The pamphlet called, "The Red Cross in the Far East," states that if a member dies, his _hair_ or his _ashes_ with the death certificate and his personal belongings shall be forwarded to his former quarters. The Red Cross in Japan numbers now more than one million five hundred thousand members, has twelve hospitals and two hospital ships, and nearly four thousand doctors, apothecaries and nurses ready for service. On her first voyage, the hospital ship _Kosai Maru_, was out from March, 1904, until December, 1905, and transported more than thirteen thousand patients. There are Red Cross stations also in Formosa and Port Arthur. The Empress Dowager often attended the meetings of the society, and assisted with large contributions. The Japanese Red Cross is said to be the largest, the best and the richest in the world. [Illustration: RED CROSS HOSPITAL BUILDINGS.] To return to distinctively religious work, the time that I could myself give to the observation of missions was limited, but I saw something of the Episcopal work in Tokyo. Bishop McKim was absent most of the winter in the Philippines, but the Rev. Dr. Wallace, whom we had known in Honolulu years before, conducted the services. Japanese services were also held at the cathedral, and a school for native children was carried on by the mission. The bishop's house and that of Dr. Wallace, which were in the cathedral compound, were of brick and looked fairly comfortable. As the lower classes are decidedly emotional and are easily influenced by revival meetings, while the better class naturally tend toward philosophy and other intellectual studies, there is room for Christian workers of different denominations. In actual numbers there are more of the Episcopalians than of any other Protestant denomination, as they include the English, Canadians, Australians and Americans. Next to these in number are the Presbyterians. There is a Unitarian mission conducted by the Rev. Dr. MacCauley, who has been there many years and whom we knew well. The Baptists are prominent in Yokohama. The American Board missionaries--the Congregationalists--I have been told, do the best work. A very kindly spirit exists among them all, but they could economize greatly if they worked even more in union. Each mission, for instance, has its Japanese secretary, because of the difficulty of the language, but if they combined, they could do with fewer secretaries, and could also have Japanese teachers for Japanese subjects. A few big, broad-minded men--like Dr. Greene, who was looked up to by every one--who were men of affairs as well as clergymen, could do much good by acting as the heads of the missions and directing the Japanese Christians, somewhat as is done in the stations of the American Board. Right here I wish to pay my tribute to the beautiful life and the great work of the Rev. Dr. Greene, whose death last September left the American Board mission poorer for his loss. Dr. Greene and his wife went to Japan in 1869, when the government edict banning Christianity was still in force. They lived to see the country under a constitutional government, with a modern system of education and full religious liberty. Dr. Greene was a missionary statesman; he was the intimate friend of Count Okuma and other Japanese leaders. As teacher, author, translator of the New Testament, and president of the Asiatic Society, he did a varied work. A few months before his death the Emperor conferred upon Dr. Greene the Third Class of the Order of the Rising Sun, the highest decoration awarded to civilians residing in Japan. A work frequently overlooked is the service rendered in translation and the compilation of dictionaries. When Dr. Hepburn, to whom I have already referred, reached Japan in 1859, immediately after establishing his dispensary, he began the preparation of a Japanese-English dictionary, and as he had previously lived for several years in China, he was able to make rapid progress. In 1867 he brought out his great lexicon, which was published in Shanghai, because printing from metal type was not then done in Japan. When an invoice of it arrived in Yokohama, "Two worlds, as by an isthmus, seemed to have been united.... As a rapid feat of intellect and industry, it seemed a _tour de force_, a Marathon run." Later, Dr. Hepburn assisted in translating the Bible into Japanese. For all his work--as physician, lexicographer, translator of the Bible--and especially for his noble character, he was known in Japan as "_Kunshi_," the superior man. Engraved on his tombstone are the words, "God bless the Japanese." The following statistics, given out recently by the Japanese Bureau of Religion, are interesting as showing the number of adherents to each of the great faiths: Christians, 140,000 Buddhists, 29,420,000 Believing Buddhists, 18,910,000 Shintoists, 19,390,000 Believing Shintoists, 710,000 Temples with priests, 72,128 Temples without priests, 37,417 The discrepancy between the number of "believing Shintoists" and Shintoists is explained when we remember that all persons in government employ--military and naval officers, officials in the civil service, and teachers in government schools--must be nominal Shintoists, even though they are Buddhists at heart. I cannot better close this chapter than by giving the opinions of a few representative people of different faiths and nationalities upon the subject of missions in Japan. Professor Masumi Hino of Doshisha University, _a Christian Japanese_, gives reasons why none of the old faiths will meet the needs of Japan to-day. He says, "Shinto stands for polytheism, which in Japan stands side by side with skepticism and religious indifference." He credits Confucianism with teaching "fair and square dealings with every man," but adds, "It nevertheless fails to meet the people's yearning after the eternal values." Buddhism will also, he believes, "fail to be the supreme spiritual force in Japan," because it does not attach sufficient importance to ethical teaching; because it sinks the individual in "the absolute and the whole;" and because its belief in immortality is "based on the pessimistic view of life." Professor Hino acknowledges his own debt and that of the Japanese people to all three religions, but questions whether any of these can meet the pressure of twentieth-century life and problems. For himself he believes Christianity alone "is able to meet the demands of the coming generation in Japan." Mr. E. J. Harrison, _a resident of Japan for fourteen years_, says in his book, "The Fighting Spirit of Japan": "I venture the opinion merely for what it may be worth, but that opinion is, that those who flatter themselves that the day will ever dawn when the Japanese as a people will profess Christianity imagine a vain thing, and are pursuing a will-o'-the-wisp. They will dabble in Christianity as they have dabbled and are dabbling in numerous other 'anities,' 'isms,' and 'ologies'; but the sort of Christianity which will ultimately be evolved in Japan will have very little in common with its various prototypes of the Occident." Most people residing in Japan for any length of time agree with Mr. Harrison. Then there is the _missionary opinion_. As recently as August 22, 1913, Rev. Dr. Greene wrote from Tokyo: "Everything points to an increased appreciation of the place of religion in human life. The rapid headway which the more spiritual philosophy of the West, as represented by Bergson and Eucken, is making among the thoughtful men of Japan, including the young men of the universities, suggests much promise. Professor Anezaki, head of the department of Comparative Religion in the Imperial University of Tokyo, said not long ago that the students were weary of the materialism still propagated by certain of the older Japanese thinkers, and were seeking guidance of younger men imbued with the more recent philosophical thought. "If the Christian leaders will but put themselves in harmony with this deep-flowing stream, they may well indulge the brightest hopes." At a special gathering of public men in Tokyo in 1913, when evangelistic preachers from America were present, Baron Sakatani, the Mayor, although _not a Christian himself_, said: "You men of the West owe us a lot. Your civilization has come in and broken down very largely the old faiths of Japan. We are looking for a new and better one. You owe it to us to help us find something to take the place of that which we have lost." A year or two ago, the Minister of Education, who is _not a Christian_, called a conference of Buddhists, Shintoists and Christians, at which he said, "What Japan needs is more vital religion, and I ask each of you to become more in earnest in bringing your faith to bear upon the lives of our people." CHAPTER X PROSE, POETRY AND PLAYS The Japanese are true story-tellers, and for centuries their folklore has been passed down by word of mouth. The stories which Madame Ozaki, Pasteur and others have so cleverly translated into English are a great delight to me, many of them are so full of humour, pathos and charm. They fall into three characteristic types:--stories of the unreal world, legends of the great warriors of feudal days, and tales of love. Instead of trying to describe them I will give an example of each in condensed form. Fairy tales play an important part in the literature of the people, and, except possibly the Norwegian, I think none compare with those of Japan. They have a strange and fascinating quality which specially distinguishes them from ours--they deal with imps and goblins, with devils, foxes and badgers, with the grotesque and supernatural, instead of the pretty dancing fairies, the good fairies that our children know. "The Travels of the Two Frogs," from the charming version in Mr. William Elliot Griffis' "Fairy Tales of Old Japan," is given here in condensed form. * * * * * THE TRAVELS OF TWO FROGS Once upon a time there lived two frogs--one in a well in Kyoto, the other in a lotus pond in Osaka, forty miles away. Now in the Land of the Gods they have a proverb, "The frog in the well knows not the great ocean," and the Kyoto frog had so often heard this sneer from the maids who came to draw water with their long bamboo-handled buckets that he resolved to travel and see the "great ocean." Mr. Frog informed the family of his intentions. Mrs. Frog wept a great deal, but finally drying her eyes with her paper handkerchief she declared that she would count the hours on her fingers until he came back. She tied up a little lacquered box full of boiled rice and snails for his journey, wrapped it round with a silk napkin, and putting his extra clothes in a bundle, swung it on his back. Tying it over his neck, he seized his staff and was ready to go. "_Sayonara!_" cried he, as with a tear in his eye he walked away--for that is the Japanese for "good-bye." "_Sayonara!_" croaked Mrs. Frog and the whole family of young frogs in a chorus. Mr. Frog, being now on land and out of his well, noticed that men did not leap, but walked upright on their hind legs, and not wishing to be eccentric he began walking the same way. Now about the same time, an old Osaka frog had become restless and dissatisfied with life on the edge of a lotus pond. Close by the side of his pond was a monastery full of Buddhist monks who every day studied their sacred rolls and droned over the books of the sage, to learn them by heart. Now the monks often came down to the edge of the pond to look at the pink and white lotus flowers. One summer day, as a little frog, hardly out of his tadpole state, with a fragment of tail still left, sat basking on a huge round leaf, one monk said to another, "Of what does that remind you?" "That the babies of frogs will become but frogs!" answered one shaven-pate, laughing; "What think you?" "The white lotus springs out of the black mud," said the other solemnly, and they both walked away. The old frog, sitting near-by, overheard them and began to philosophize: "Humph! the babies of frogs will become but frogs, hey? If the lotus springs from mud, why shouldn't a frog become a man? If my pet son should travel abroad and see the world--go to Kyoto, for instance--why shouldn't he be as wise as those shining-headed men, I wonder? I shall try it, anyhow. I'll send my son on a journey to Kyoto--I'll cast the lion's cub into the valley!" Now it so happened that the old frog from Kyoto and the "lion's cub" from Osaka started each from his home at the same time. Nothing of importance occurred to either of them until they met on a hill near Hashimoto, which is half-way between the two cities. Both were footsore and websore, and very, very tired. "_Ohio!_" said the lion's cub to the old frog, by way of good morning, as he fell on all fours and bowed his head to the ground three times. "_Ohio!_" replied the Kyoto frog. "It is rather fine weather to-day," said the youngster. "Yes, it is very fine," replied the old fellow. "I am Gamataro, the oldest son of Lord Bullfrog, Prince of the Lotus Ditch." "Your lordship must be weary with your journey. I am Sir Frog of the Well in Kyoto. I started out to see the great ocean from Osaka, but I declare my hips are so dreadfully tired that I believe I'll give up my plan and content myself with a look from this hill, which I have been told is half-way between the two cities. While I see Osaka and the sea, you can get a good look at Kyoto." "Happy thought!" cried the Osaka frog. Then both reared themselves up on their hind legs, and stretching up on their toes, body to body, and neck to neck, propped each other up, rolled their goggles, and looked steadily, as they supposed, on the places they each wished to see. Now every one knows that a frog has eyes mounted in that part of his head which is front when he is down, and back when he stands up. Long and steadily they gazed, until at last, their toes being tired, they fell down on all fours. "I declare!" said the older frog, "Osaka looks just like Kyoto! As for that great ocean those stupid maids talked about, I don't see any at all, unless they mean that strip of river which looks for all the world like Yedo. I don't believe there is any great ocean!" "For my part," said the other, "I am satisfied that it's all folly to go further, for Kyoto is as like Osaka as one grain of rice is like another." Thereupon both congratulated themselves upon the happy, labour-saving expedient by which they had spared themselves a long journey. Then they departed, after exchanging many compliments, and, dropping once more into a frog-hop, leaped back in half the time ... the one to his well, the other to his pond. And so to this day the frog in the well knows not and believes not in the "great ocean!" * * * * * Excellent collections of fairy tales have been made by F. Hadland Davis--"Myths and Legends of Japan"--and R. Gordon Smith--"Ancient Tales and Folklore of Japan." Children love to read about Princess Blossoming Brilliantly Like the Flowers on the Trees, and Princess Long as the Rocks, about Prince Fire Shine, and Prince Fire Shade, and the other delightful characters with strange names. The story of "The Magic Sword, the Glittering Jewel and the Heavenly Mirror" is perhaps an especial favourite. A good example of the legendary narrative is that of Hachiro Tametomo the Archer, told in English by Madame Ozaki in her "Warriors of Old Japan" and given here much condensed. * * * * * HACHIRO TAMETOMO THE ARCHER Hachiro was the eighth son of an illustrious family. As a child he gave promise of being a very strong man, and as he grew older this promise was more than fulfilled. He early showed a love of archery, and his left arm being four inches longer than his right, there was no one in the realm who could bend the bow better or send the arrow farther than he could. He became the most skilful archer in all Japan. By nature Hachiro was a rough, wild lad who did not know what fear meant, and he loved to challenge his brother, Yoshitomo, to fight. As he grew older he grew wilder still, so that even his own father found him unmanageable. One day a learned man came from the palace of the Emperor to give the boy a lecture. In the course of his talk he spoke of Kiyomori, an enemy of the house, as a clever archer. At this Hachiro laughed aloud in scorn, and told the learned man that he was both foolish and ignorant. This rudeness was so contrary to the rules of Japanese courtesy that it made the lecturer very angry, and when his discourse was finished he rebuked the boy sternly for his behaviour. When the boy's father heard what had happened he, too, was angry with his son for daring to dispute with one who was his elder and superior, and refused to keep him any longer beneath his roof, sending him away to the island of Kyushu. Now Hachiro did not mind his banishment in the least. On the contrary, he felt like a hound let loose from the leash, and rejoiced in his liberty. Free to do as he liked at last, his thirst for conflict became so great that he could not restrain himself. He challenged the men in all the neighbouring provinces to match their strength against his, and in the twenty battles which followed he was never defeated. He was like the silkworm eating up the mulberry tree, for just as the worm devours one leaf after another, so Hachiro fought and fought, one after another, the inhabitants of all the provinces anywhere around, till he had them all under subjection. By the time he was eighteen the boy had thus mastered the whole western part of Japan, and had made himself chief of a large band of outlaws noted for their reckless bravery. This band became so powerful that the Government decided to interfere and put a stop to the outlawry. A regiment of soldiers was sent against them, but without effect: Hachiro could not be brought to surrender. As a final resort the Government, hoping thus to bring the son to bay, arrested Hachiro's father, and severely punished the old man for being the parent of an incorrigible rebel. Although Hachiro was so rude and undisciplined by nature, there was hidden deep in his heart a sense of duty to his father, and on this his enemies had counted. He was greatly distressed at what had happened, and feeling that it was inexcusable to let his father suffer for his own misdoings, he gave up, without the least hesitation, all the western lands which had cost him such hard fighting. Then, taking with him ten men, he went to the capital and sent in a document signed and sealed in his own blood, asking the pardon of the Government for all his former offences and begging for the release of his father. When those in authority saw his filial piety, they could not find it in their hearts to treat him with severity, so they merely rebuked him for his lawlessness and set the old man free. Soon after this a civil war broke out in the land, for two brothers of the late Emperor aspired to sit on the Imperial throne. Hachiro and his father fought on one side, while his elder brother, Yoshitomo, fought on the other. Hachiro was not yet twenty years of age, but was more than seven feet in height. His eyes were sharp and piercing, like those of a hawk, and he carried himself with pride and noble bearing. He was consulted about the tactics to be used in a great battle, and if his advice had been followed, the history of Japan might have been quite different. As it was, the enemy won the victory. On seeing the foe approaching the gate where he was stationed, Hachiro exclaimed, "You feeble worms, I'll surprise you!" and taking his bow and arrow he shot a _samurai_ through the breast. The arrow was carried in alarm to the general. It was made from strong bamboo and the metal head was like a chisel--it looked more like the arrow of a demon than a man, and the general retired in fear from before the gate. When Yoshitomo came up, however, he was not afraid, but cried out, "What a wicked deed you commit to fight against your elder brother!" To this Hachiro answered, "It is wrong for me to take up arms against my brother, truly, but are you not an undutiful son to take up arms against your father?" The elder brother had no words to answer this, and Hachiro knew that he could kill him as he stood there. But they were brothers, born of the same mother, and he felt that he could not do it. Yet he could not resist raising his bow and arrow and taking a good aim at the helmet which Yoshitomo wore, shooting his arrow right into the middle of the star that topped it. In the end Yoshitomo's forces were so much greater that Hachiro and his father were taken prisoners. The older man was put to death, but Hachiro's courage aroused sympathy, even in the hearts of his foes. It seemed a pity to kill so brave a man, and so they set him free. But to prevent his using his wonderful skill against them they cut the sinews in both his arms, and sent him to the island of Oshima. The simple island folk recognized in him a great man, and he led a happy life among them. One day, while standing on the beach thinking of his many past adventures, he was seized with a desire for more. So, stepping into a boat, he set out on a voyage of discovery. He came to an island which was inhabited by people with dark red faces and shocks of bright red hair. Landing, he went up to a large pine-tree and uprooted it with as much ease as if it were a weed, brandishing it above his head and calling aloud, "Come, you demons! Fight if you will! I am Hachiro Tametomo, the archer of Japan. If you will be my servants and look up to me as a master in all things, it is well--otherwise, I will beat you all to little pieces!" He could have done it, too, because his arms were as strong as ever, notwithstanding the sinews had been cut. So the inhabitants prostrated themselves before him, and he took possession of the island. Later, however, he returned to Oshima. Now the island of Oshima has always been free from smallpox, and the reason is that Hachiro lived there. One day a little man, no bigger than one foot five inches, came floating in on the waves, sitting on a round straw mat. "Who are you?" Hachiro asked. "I am the germ of smallpox," answered the pigmy. "And why have you come here to Oshima?" "I come to seize hold of the inhabitants!" "You would spread the hateful pestilence--Silence! I am Hachiro." At that the smallpox microbe shrank and shrank until he was the size of a pea, and then he floated away for ever, as mysteriously as he had come. On hearing of this, the Minister of State decided that Hachiro was becoming too powerful and popular a hero. When the young man saw the soldiers approaching the island, he seized his bow and, pulling it to the shape of a half-moon, sent an arrow that upset the boat and pitched the soldiers into the sea. After thinking the matter over, however, he decided that if he fought against the Government it would bring disaster upon the islanders who loved him, and it would be better to die at the height of his glory. So he committed _hara-kiri_ and thus saved himself from all dishonour and the people of Oshima from further trouble. [Illustration: ARMOUR AND WEAPONS OF ANCIENT WARRIORS.] * * * * * Of a different sort altogether is the legend of the "Theft of the Golden Scale," so charmingly rendered into English by Mr. Brownell. * * * * * THE THEFT OF THE GOLDEN SCALE Daredesuka was a _ronin_ bold, and Eikibo was a beautiful _geisha_. One day Daredesuka asked Eikibo to be his wife, a request that _geishas_ will generally accept, for it puts them in the highest of the four classes of society, ranking almost as well as the nobility. But Eikibo only laughed and said, "Such promises are like the little flies that live a day and then no one knows what has become of them!" Daredesuka cried, "It is not so! Give me some test, for I must have you know I speak the truth. Shall I bring you pearls from the deep sea, or golden scales from the dolphins on Nagoya Castle? Only say the thing, and I will do it, for you must believe me." Eikibo looked at him and said merrily, "Yes, I must believe you if you bring me a dolphin's golden scale from the ridge of the fifth story of the tower. I know Nagoya well, for I am there every year. Yes, I should know you spoke the truth if you brought the scale!" And she laughed again, for to the _geisha_ the parents of a truthful man are not yet born. Then she added, "_Sayonara!_ My call-time for the Full Moon Tea-house over the river has arrived. I beg your honourable pardon, I must go now. Next month I shall be at the great _matsuri_ at Nagoya, where I am to dance. Bring me the scale, and I shall know your heart!" Two nights later he was in Nagoya. Now Daredesuka was a wonderful man with kites. He had made large ones when he was with his old lord, and had once dropped a line far over a junk that was blowing out to sea, and so saved many lives. He decided that he would use a kite to get the scale that Eikibo had declared would tell if he spoke true. Secretly he went to work and made a kite so large that he was sure it would carry the weight of his body. He found another _ronin_ to help him in his strange plan, and on a stormy night, in wind and rain and clouds, he went up with his kite, and secured a golden scale from the ridge of the fifth story of the tower. But the tool he had used in prying it off was wet and slippery, and it fell from his hands to the ground far beneath him. The guards' attention was attracted. At the fatal moment a rift in the clouds let the moon shine down, and they discovered the kite. So it happened that when Daredesuka reached the earth they caught him with the golden scale. But because he was a _samurai_ he was allowed to commit _hara-kiri_, and performed the act serenely before the State officials. Eikibo did not do the fan dance at the _matsuri_ in Nagoya, for on the morning of the day on which she was to appear, an old priest found her body on Daredesuka's grave. * * * * * At first it seemed that the opening of the country to foreigners was to be a death-blow to the old Japanese forms of art and literature. Translations of American and European books have become very common, and Western ideas permeate their work. But side by side with the newer forms, the classic writings are again coming into vogue. Paradoxical as it may sound, much of the classical Japanese literature is Chinese. This is especially true of the older works, but it holds good only in less degree to-day. Chinese has always been the written language of the students, and of the higher classes in general, while Japanese was considered fit only for the common people, much as English was regarded down to the time of More's "Utopia." But while written in Chinese characters, much of this literature is distinctly national in spirit and feeling, and belongs as much to the country as does that written in the native tongue. Only within recent times has the common language of the people been used for writing books and scholarly treatises. Previous to the introduction of the Chinese ideographs in the early Christian centuries, the Japanese had no written language. A knowledge of these ideographs places all Chinese literature at the service of the Japanese scholar. There are over eighty thousand characters, and three ways of writing as well as of pronouncing each, but one finds that most people know only about five or six thousand. The great classical period, corresponding perhaps to the Elizabethan Era, covers about five hundred years, from the eighth to the twelfth centuries. During this time history, romance, and poetry flourished. The Japanese record of ancient happenings, dealing with early history and mythology, dates back to 712 A. D. and is sometimes called the Bible of Japan. The romances, many of which were written by women, described the Court life of the tenth and eleventh centuries. Most of the verses were written in the short _tanka_ form, but longer ones, comprising groups of these stanzas, were common. In later times Bakin (1767-1848) became famous for his novels. One of these--the "Tale of Eight Dogs"--contains no less than one hundred and six small volumes. In spite of the fact that Kozo Ozaki was born less than fifty years ago, he is regarded as the Father of Japanese Literature. His work may be likened to that of making a stone palace from a prehistoric cave, for he simplified and unified the language, which was a mixture of the scholarly speech of the stage with the modern vulgar tongue. Ozaki was a perfect type of the gentleman of Old Japan. He was an artist as well as an author, and also an orator, people flocking to hear him speak. A group of young writers was formed in his time, but he was distinctly the leader. His stories were mostly of love. Among the seventy volumes published before his death (at the age of thirty-seven) "The Confessions of a Lover," "Three Wives," and "The Golden Demon" are especially well known. Among his most noted contemporaries were Rohan Koda and Kyoka Izumi, the latter of whom was termed the Japanese Maeterlinck. To-day Osaki Batsume is one of the most prominent writers. He was born in Tokyo in 1867, and is said to have taken George Meredith as his model. One of his best known works is "Botchan," which is on the order of "Tom Brown's School Days." Much satire, and much philosophy, are found in his books, but he shows little sympathy with the follies of this life. His local colour and descriptions of social life are excellent, and he attacks the imperfections of his day with good effect. He is considered the master writer of modern times. Many writers and books might be mentioned, but I want to speak of Dr. Nitobe, whose "Bushido" and "Japanese Nation" are known the world over. His wife is a charming American woman, and he has been exchange professor with America. I quote two of his essays that I especially like. * * * * * HEART AND CONSCIENCE In thy sweet tremulous voice whisper in my ears what thou fain wouldst have. And the Heart confided her secret of love to Conscience. Said he in harsh tones of rebuke, "Thou most foolish one! Thy love is born of flesh. Thou shalt never behold the face of thy beloved. Thou art utterly corrupt." The poor Heart wept its bitterest; but her sobs stern Conscience heeded not; they reached the ears of the angels only. * * * * * THE SOUL'S QUEST OF GOD Oft have I asked the question, O God, who art Thou? Where art Thou? And each time the answer comes in softest voice, Who art thou that askest Who I am? What thou art, that I am, and what I am art thou. And where art thou that askest where I am? Where thou art, there am I--and where I am, there art thou. In worshipping God we worship ourselves, and in worshipping ourselves we worship God. The real self is within us, the essence of the Ego is divine. We clothe it in the rags of flesh and of fleshly desires, until the divine self is hid; and we call that self which does not strictly belong to it. * * * * * Japanese poetry differs very largely from anything with which we are familiar. It has little if any rhythm, as we understand rhythm. The _tanka_ was for many years the only form of verse known. It has five lines and thirty-one syllables, which are arranged 5-7-5-7-7. This is an unusual metre to our ears, and translators are obliged to change the verses somewhat in order to make them sound more familiar to English readers. The following poem by the late Emperor is typical:-- THE NEW YEAR PINE "Atarashiki Toshi no hogigoto Kiku niwa ni Yorodzu yo yobo-o Noki no matsu kaze!" "While New Year celebration fills my mind and heart, I seem to hear above the palace eaves apart, Winds calling midst the pines my garden doth adorn; The voice of countless generations yet unborn!" BY MEIJI TENNO. _Translated by Mrs. Douglas Adams._ Japanese classical poetry consists of poetical ideas expressed in flowery language and packed into the regulation metre. It abounds in word-plays and all sorts of puns, but is absolutely free from any trace of vulgarity. In those early days philosophy, religion, and satire were not considered fit themes for poetic treatment. There is an even more Lilliputian form of verse than the _tanka_, called the _hokku_, which contains only seventeen syllables, often with little or no rhyme. An example of this form given by Lafcadio Hearn is known as "Vagabondage," and is a good example of much in little: "Heavily falls the rain on the hat that I stole from the scarecrow." Two others of quite a different trend are particularly exquisite: "What I saw as a fallen blossom returning to the branch--lo! it was a butterfly." "So lovely in its cry--What were the cuckoo if it laughed?" The Japanese believe that if the beauty suggested in the five lines of a _tanka_ verse cannot be fully appreciated by the reader, there is something hopelessly deficient in that reader. They do not believe in "smothering the soul with many words." Perhaps what strikes one most in connection with the classic verses is the dates at which they were written, for many that have come down to us were composed a thousand years ago. Indeed, Japanese poetry is older than Japanese history, and tradition says that there were many versifiers even in the days of the mythological Emperor, Jimmu Tenno. At any rate, Japan had a literature of its own long before the Northmen found America! In the old days only nobles, Court officials and church dignitaries wrote poetry. The lower classes were not supposed to know anything about the art. Love and "picture" poems were popular, and it is wonderful what perfect thumb-nail sketches were composed. It has been said that "the predominating feature, the under-current that runs through them all, is a touch of pathos. ... It shows out in the cherry blossoms which are doomed to fall, the dewdrops scattered by the wind, the mournful cry of the wild deer on the mountain, the dying crimson of the fallen maple leaves, the weird sadness of the cuckoo singing in the moonlight, and the loneliness of the recluse in the wilds. "The souls of children are often pictured as playing in a celestial garden with the same flowers and butterflies they used to play with while on earth. It is just this subtle element of the childlike disposition that has helped to discover the secrets of flowers and birds and trees, has enabled them to catch their timorous fleeting shadows and to hold them, as if by magic, in a picture, on a vase, or in a delicate and wistful poem." "'Do not say anything unkind, but compose a poem. Is your best-beloved dead? Do not yield to useless grief, but try to calm your mind by making a poem. Are you troubled because you are about to die, leaving so many things unfinished? Be brave, and write a poem to death. Whatever misfortune or injustice disturbs you, put aside your resentment or your sorrow as soon as possible, and write a few lines of sober and elegant verse for a moral exercise.'" Thus Hearn translates from an ancient writer, and then goes on to say: "In the olden days every form of trouble was encountered with a poem. Bereavement, separation, disaster, called forth verses in lieu of plaints. The lady who preferred death to loss of honour composed a poem before piercing her throat. The _samurai_ sentenced to die by his own hand wrote a poem before performing _hara-kiri_. Even in this less romantic era of Meiji young people resolved upon suicide are wont to compose some verses before quitting the world." These three little love-poems, which have been translated into English by William Porter, were written during the tenth century--the first one in 961 A. D. by the Imperial Adviser, Asa-Tada. "To fall in love with womankind Is my unlucky fate: If only it were otherwise, I might appreciate Some men, whom now I hate." The second, by Kanemori Taira, was composed in 949 A. D.: "Alas! the blush upon my cheek, Conceal it as I may, Proclaims to all that I'm in love, Till people smile and say-- Where are thy thoughts to-day?" The last one was written in the same year by the minister of the Kawara district of Kyoto: "Ah, why does love distract my thoughts, Disordering my will! I'm like the pattern on the cloth Of Michinoku hill, All in confusion still." Japan has not been without her women poets. Lady Horikawa, who wrote this bit of verse, lived in the twelfth century and was in attendance on the Dowager Empress Taiken. The poem is dated 1142, and, like the others, was translated by Mr. Porter. "My doubt about his constancy Is difficult to bear; Tangled this morning are my thoughts As is my long black hair. I wonder--does he care?" The Empress Jito lived in the seventh century. She was the daughter of an Emperor and became Empress on the death of her husband, the Emperor Tennu. During her reign _saké_ was first made. She wrote: "The spring has gone, the summer's come, And I can just descry The peak of Ama-no-kagu, Where angels of the sky Spread their white robes to dry." Daini-No-Sammi, who was the daughter of a poet, composed this pretty verse: "As fickle as the mountain gusts That on the moor I've met, 'Twere best to think no more of thee And let thee go. But yet I never can forget!" Old age seems a favourite subject. Tsure Yuki Kino was a nobleman at Court and one of the great classical poets. He died in the middle of the tenth century. "The village of my youth is gone, New faces meet my gaze; But still the blossoms at the gate, Whose perfume scents the ways, Recall my childhood's days." Jealousy is the theme of many of the verses: "Where many a tree Crowns Takasu Hill, Does my wife see My vanishing sleeve And so take leave?" Of the many picture poems, this is considered one of the best: "Out of the East, Over the field, The dawn is breaking breaking-- I turn to the West, And the moon hangs low!" Another picture poem is by the late Emperor: "Kie nokoru Matsu no kokage no Shirayuki ni Ariake no tsuki!" "At dawn, how cold the waiting moon doth shine On remnants of snow beneath the pine!" BY MEIJI TENNO. _Translated by Mrs. Douglas Adams._ That the poetry of Japan is not without its humour is shown by the following comic song, which deals with a subject of universal interest: "In the shadow of the mountain What is it that shines so? Moon is it? or star? or is it the firefly insect? Neither is it moon, Nor yet star.... It is the old woman's eye--it is the eye Of my mother-in-law that shines!" Modern poetry is read by every one, and composed by every one. Poems are written on tablets and hung or suspended in the houses; they are everywhere, printed on all useful and household articles. I quote a poem called "The Beyond," which was published in a recent issue of the _Japan Magazine_. It shows not only a change of form, but of theme as well. "Thou standest at the brink. Behind thy back Stretch the fair, flower-decked meadows, full of light, And pleasant change of wooded hill and dale With tangled scrub of thorn and bramble bush, Which men call life. Lo! now thy travelled foot Stands by the margin of the silent pool; And, as thou standest, thou fearest, lest some hand Come from behind, and push thee suddenly Into its cold, dark depths. "Thou needst not fear; The hidden depths have their own fragrance too, And he that loves the grasses of the field, With fragrant lilies decks the still pool's face, With weeds the dark recesses of the deep; March boldly on, nor fear the sudden plunge, Nor ask where ends life's meadow-land. E'en the dark pool hath its own fragrant flowers." The two young poets, Horoshi Yosano and his wife Akiko, are known as the Brownings of Japan. Yosano was editing a small magazine of verse not long ago when the poetess Akiko sent him one of her maiden efforts for publication. A meeting followed, and in spite of poverty--for poets are poor in Japan as elsewhere--they fell in love and were presently married. They went to France, and were made much of by the young poets of Paris. Yosano is something of a radical, impatient of poetic conventions and thoroughly in harmony with the new spirit of Japan. The power of Akiko's work is suggested in a poem of hers called "The Priest." "Soft is thy skin: Thou hast never touched blood, O teacher of ways Higher than mortal: How lonely thou art!" * * * * * The Japanese drama has not held so high a place as have the other forms of literature, for the stage was regarded for many years as nothing more than a rather common and even vulgar means of amusement. The classic drama, represented by the _No_ dances, was partly religious and had more prestige, but there have been few good dramatists. The stage is of interest, however, because it is the only place left where one may study the manners and customs of long ago. [Illustration: A JAPANESE STAGE.] To give a brief summary of this art--the Japanese drama, like the ancient Greek, and the English also, had its origin in religion. In the very earliest days there were crude religious dances and songs. Later, popular tales of history and legend, mixed with poetry, were dramatized. Minstrels often recited these to the accompaniment of the lute. Marionette dances accompanied by songs were also popular. Since these performances were regarded as beneath the consideration of the nobility, the _No_ performance with a chorus came into existence for their benefit. After the earlier form had become debased and vulgarized the _No_ dances kept their ancient ceremonial character, and continued to be performed before Shogun and _samurai_, and even before the Imperial family. They developed into something very like the classic drama of Greece. The actors were masked, the plays were held in the open air with no scenery but with elaborate costumes, and had a religious quality which they have retained to the present day. As the _No_ is very long, comedy pieces were introduced, like the "interludes" of the pre-Elizabethan stage, to offset the classical severity. The actors have always been of a better class than the _kabuti_, or players for the common people. Takeda Izuma is one of the most celebrated play writers, having dramatized the story of the Forty-Seven Ronins, as well as other historic tales. Chikamatsu is sometimes called the Shakespeare of Japan; his best work is a play in which the expulsion of the Dutch from Formosa is used as a theme. He was a prolific writer of rather a sensational order. Samba, who has taken the name of Ikku, is one of the best dramatists of the present time, and is renowned throughout Japan. Hitherto myths, legends--religious or secular--and folklore, as well as passages from Japanese history, have been the material used for plays. To-day, however, novels are dramatized as with us, and many plays are translated. Western dramas are having a great vogue at present. Whether the plays are original or not, the author's name frequently does not appear at all. When Miss Scidmore, the author of "Jinrikisha Days," asked a great tragedian who wrote the play in which he was appearing, the star was puzzled and said that he did not understand. A bystander explained that it was based on newspaper accounts of various catastrophies, made into some sort of scenario by a hack-writer, with the stage-effects planned by the manager and the dialogue written by the actors--each of whom composed his own lines! No wonder the tragedian was puzzled by the question. As a rule, however, the dramatic author has entire charge of the production--he writes the play, arranges the scenes, and consults with the leading actor and proprietor. CHAPTER XI AMUSEMENTS As the traveller's first idea on reaching land after a long voyage is to enjoy himself, I am going to suggest several forms of amusement. Perhaps I had better begin by trying to answer what is sure to be his first question--"Where is the best tea-house with the prettiest _geisha_ girls?" We found that the most celebrated _geishas_ were in Kyoto, where the dancing is classic, a model for the rest of the country. Here were also the best-trained _maikos_, or little dancers. The Ichiriki, or One-Power, Tea-house, which we visited, is one of the most famous in the country, for here in the long-ago Oishi, leader of the Forty-Seven Ronins, resorted in order to mislead the emissaries sent out to watch him by pretending dissipation and cowardliness. There is a shrine in the tea-house to the revered hero. The place is very typical, with its clean-matted rooms and its tiny garden with miniature features of rock and water, its lanterns and stepping-stones, its gnarled trees and clumped bamboo. At the entrance to this tea-house we removed our shoes and passed over the soft mats into the simple, pretty rooms, open to the air and overlooking the lovely garden. It took some time for the little entertainers to gather, for they are not used to haste. In the meantime we sat on mats while tea and _saké_ were served by the _naisan_, or maids, who shave off their eyebrows in order to make themselves plainer and so set off the beauty of the dancers. They came slipping in and falling upon their knees before us, bowing low and presenting the tiny cups for drinking--all a matter of much ceremony and etiquette when politely done. [Illustration: GEISHA GIRLS AT THE ICHIRIKI TEA-HOUSE, KYOTO. (In the corner is inserted a geisha girl's visiting-card, _actual size_.)] Finally some wee _maikos_ came shuffling in with their quaint dress and hair make-up, their whitened faces and painted lips, and knelt among us in picturesque attitudes. These _maikos_ are girls of from ten to thirteen years of age who are learning to be _geishas_. Following them came the _geishas_ themselves--the older dancers--and then the musicians began to tune and twang their instruments, and to chant the monotonous songs that tell the stories of the dancing. Our eyes grew big with wonder and delight as the figures were taken up in turn, one after another--movements grotesque, but oh, so dainty and quaint! Such posturing in adorably awkward attitudes! Such sliding with tiny feet turned inward, heads and hands at all angles, eyes askew! To one to whom their dancing has become familiar, it is all so fascinating and fanciful, so full of delight and grace and meaning! Tomiji and Kanoko, both _maikos_--dear tiny figures in gay garments and huge _obis_--danced the Story of the Stone Bridge. One of them was a peony, and the other was a lion! Then a _geisha_, Harikiku, or the Spring Chrysanthemum, danced the Story of the Spring Rain, which has a theme like that of Romeo and Juliet, as old as the hills--only now one of the lovers was a nightingale while the other was a plum. So they postured and made picture after picture, and when it was over, came and sat among us to help pass the tea and _saké_ and cake and fruits that had been so daintily prepared. After that there was more dancing, and we took our leave amid much laughter and many _sayonaras_ and wishes for a speedy return from our cheery little entertainers. The _geishas_ of Kyoto dress in more subdued colors than they do elsewhere. An American woman would be impressed by the cost of some of the kimonos, for no expense is spared in making them as beautiful as possible. The designs are carefully thought out, and an artist is selected to execute them. After the work is completed the stencils are usually destroyed, so that the pattern may never be duplicated. These girls are the professional entertainers of Japan. They can be called to private houses, as well as to tea-houses, to help pass the time with their dancing and singing, and are cultivated in all the arts and graces that may add to their ability to please. Thus a _geisha_ not only sings and dances attractively, but she is a trained conversationalist as well. She is not necessarily immoral, as Westerners often imagine. It is not uncommon even to-day for a girl to die by her own hand because she loves a man who, for some reason, cannot marry her. Many Japanese believe, however, that _geishas_ are dangerous, designing and hard-hearted creatures, related to fox-women--a kind of goblin-ghost believed in by the ignorant. The _geisha's_ songs are usually of love, the universal theme, and are sung to the notes of the _samisen_. They correspond to our classic love songs, but are much more popular among the lower classes than any music is with us, unless it be rag-time! The sentiment and phrasing are often fairy-like in their delicacy and charm, but, of course, much of this is lost in translation. The following is one of the chief favourites--it depicts "a lover, when the landscape is white with snow, going to the window to look out before he takes his departure." His lady-love seeks to delay his going, and this is the song: "In vain thy cloak do I hide, Love, And in vain to thy sleeve do I cling; Wilt thou no longer abide, Love, Nor give me for Winter, fond Spring? I push back the window so slightly, And point to the snow-burdened land: O Love, wilt thou leave me thus lightly, And choose the cold snow for my hand?" The little quip at the end which turns this one from a love song to a tribute to the moon has doubtless teased many an ardent wooer: "In the wide, wide world Of woes and tears, Let us find a narrow spot To live together, You and I, Until the world Is quite forgot, O my sweet-- Moon that shines In my little window!" Perhaps the best known tea-house in Tokyo is the Maple-Leaf Club. We dined there one evening when there was a fine full moon, and the lovely, mysterious little garden was like a dream in the glorious night. The meal was served on the lacquer service by dainty _geishas_ as we sat on the soft mats, while delightful dances were performed before us. Our favourite was the spider dance, in spite of its name, but we enjoyed them all, and even the music of the _samisen_ and _koto_, which many foreigners do not care for. This house is famous for its excellent dancing and its pretty girls. One feature of the meal which is characteristic of a Japanese dinner we could have easily dispensed with--that was the live fish, which was served to us still breathing, with a knife in its side, to show that it was perfectly fresh. Theatre-going in Japan is a source of endless enjoyment. There is a big and quite beautiful opera house in Tokyo where the national plays, both old and new, as well as European opera with Japanese words, are given. Here the combination of East and West is very interesting. The audience, although for the most part wearing Japanese clothes, sits in seats instead of on mats. It is said that when the first European opera company came to Tokyo and the leading lady took her high notes, the audience was so convulsed with laughter that the manager had to pull down the curtain. The English plays and the light operas given by the Japanese strike one as amusing. It always seems strange to see Orientals in European dress, and one never gets used to their ballet on account of their queerly shaped legs, which have been made crooked by ages of sitting upon them. A sample program of a performance given at the Imperial Theatre in Tokyo, "Daily from 5th January, 1913," at 4.30 P.M., names five plays: 1. "The Soga Vendetta," a musical drama in one act, laid in the twelfth century; 2. "Muneto," an historical drama in four scenes, representing Kyoto in the eleventh century; 3. "Maria de Cronville," a musical pantomime in four scenes, Paris in the reign of Louis XIV; 4. "The Woman Hater," a modern farce in two acts, the settings representing the garden of a hotel in Kamakura and a room in a "hospital for mental diseases;" and 5. "The Merry Ferry," a musical drama in one scene, representing a ferry landing in Yedo in the eighteenth century. It would be an exacting taste which did not find something to satisfy it in a generous bill like this! Most of the theatres are still quite Japanese. They are built of wood and so flimsily as to be full of draughts. The stage extends across one side of the square auditorium, whose sloping floor is divided into boxes two yards wide by low railings, which can be used as bridges by patrons arriving late or departing early. There is one gallery with boxes in front and room behind where the lower classes may stand. The actors enter the stage by means of two long raised platforms called "flower-paths," which extend across the auditorium--they receive their name from the custom of strewing the way of a popular actor with blossoms when he appears. These paths have been given up in the Imperial Theatre, as have also in some cases the little "supers," dressed in black in order that they may be considered invisible, who were of great service in perfecting the details of a stage-picture. But the old methods are still used in most of the theatres. When an actor wishes to disappear from the audience he may leave the stage by the flower-paths, he may vanish into the wings, or--more simply still--he may hold up a small curtain in front of him and so accomplish the desired effect. The revolving stage is used oftener in Japan than it is in Europe, to say nothing of America, where it is practically unknown. It allows quick changes of scene, for one setting may be arranged out of sight in the rear of the stage while another is in use before the audience. Instead of having the curtains lowered between the acts, the audience is often allowed to see the stage turn, which is interesting. The plays usually begin at half-past four in the afternoon and last until eleven in the evening. A play may run for several days, or there may be three or four at one performance. During the intermissions the audience goes out and gets dinner at one of the score of restaurants in the building. Although stage people are looked up to a little more than formerly, they are still regarded as a rather low class. Madame Sada Yakko is perhaps the best known actress of the new school, for she met with great success, not only on the Parisian stage in 1900, but later in America as well. Danjuro, Kikugoro, and Sadanji, the greatest actors of the Japanese stage, are all dead. To-day the best are Sojuro and Sawamura, who take women's parts, and Koshiro Matsumoto, who takes men's. On a previous visit we spent a day at the Theatre Nakamuraza, which was then the finest in Tokyo. Danjuro, who was playing there, "supported by a strong company, including the great comedian Tsuruzo," was the favourite actor of the time and delighted a large audience. I do not feel competent to judge his acting, as I saw him only once, but critics say that he was much like Henry Irving, and one of the world's greatest artists of the old school. There is a marked difference between good Japanese acting and the inferior article, the former is so much more natural, with less that is grotesque and ranting. [Illustration: AN ACTOR OF THE PRESENT DAY.] The founder of the Japanese drama is supposed to have been a woman--O Kuni, a priestess of the temple at Kitzuki. She was as beautiful as she was pure, and was skilled in the dances which are supposed to delight the gods. One day, however, she fell in love with a "wave-man"--a _ronin_--and fled with him to Tokyo. Here her dancing and her beauty soon made her famous. Not satisfied with this, she and her lover--who was also her devoted pupil--became actors, and were the first to put secular plays on the stage. While still quite young the "wave-man" died, and O Kuni left the stage for ever. She cut off her wonderful long hair and became a Buddhist nun, spending the rest of her life writing poems. From her day until recent times women have not been allowed to appear on the stage, men taking all the parts as in the plays of ancient Greece and old England. To-day, however, women often take part with the men, as with us. The old plays are very interesting and well done, the costumes being superb and the scenery excellent. The characters consist for the most part of _samurai_ and _daimyos_, two or three of whom are either killed or commit _hara-kiri_ during the performance. While their postures mean little to our eyes, to a Japanese every movement has its significance. When the actors pose and stamp around and finally kill themselves, the audience weeps in sympathy. The speeches are in the scholarly language, which only the better educated (very few of whom are women) can understand. This fact accounts for the large amount of sensational action which is considered necessary to hold the attention of the common people. One result of the many historical dramas given in the theatres is that the lower classes know and revere their national heroes. In the early days of the theatre masks were much used. They were made to express sadness, hatred or amusement, and the actors chose them to fit the part they had to play. Often they portrayed the faces of well-known persons, and these were especially popular. If the actors wished to represent divinities or devils they had masks coloured black, red, green, or gold, often with real hair on them. The custom of masking on the stage was given up at the end of the seventeenth century. One day we went to a native theatre and sat cross-legged in a box for over three hours, watching with real interest the exciting legendary romance of the famous Forty-Seven Ronins, whose story is told in another chapter. This was a very long play which had already taken twenty days, from eight in the morning till five in the afternoon, and would require three days more to finish it. The dialogue was, of course, quite unintelligible, but the play was nevertheless very interesting, for there was always a lot of action. The hero was truly superb--by a glance of his eye or a threatened blow he could knock down a whole stage-full of men! There was a very realistic suicide, with spurting blood and many gurglings. The acting was a trifle exaggerated--at times even grotesque and absurd--but I could follow the thread of events quite easily. Some clever tumbling and acrobatic feats were introduced after the play, and a really funny funny-man, but to me the most amusing thing was to see an assistant come out on the stage after some especially violent scene and proceed to mop the perspiration from the actors' faces, walking coolly off again when his errand of mercy was accomplished. The costumes and stage-effects were rather showy. There were no drop-scenes or flies. The people sat on the floor in their little stalls, and drank their tea or _saké_ and nibbled their cakes, coming and going as they wished. The monkey theatres, where monkeys take the parts of men and women, should not be forgotten. The apes seem to enter into their rôles with great spirit and energy. They are dressed in complete costumes to represent farmers, nobles, or two-sworded _samurai_, and they weep and rant and slay each other through the length of a classic play in the most natural manner. Their performance of comedy, tragedy, and drama generally, is absurdly human. There are men behind the scenes who tell the story of the action that is going on, but the monkeys themselves do everything but speak. Now and then, however, they forget their cues and the action stops till they are prompted. One "high officer," who came on to the stage on a big black dog for a horse, caused much confusion by refusing to dismount and kill his enemy, because the enemy, being a very well-trained monkey, insisted upon falling dead anyhow. These theatres are very small and can easily be moved about from place to place, like a Punch and Judy show. Once while we were in Tokyo there came to town "The Royal Australian Circus," which gave two performances a day to crowded houses--or rather tents. As if the idea of a circus in the heart of Japan were not a sufficiently striking contrast, they pitched their tents, each with its familiar ring and sawdust, almost within the shadow of an ancient temple. For a few _yen_ you got a box with red cotton trimmings and watched "Mr. Merry-man" get off his jokes in cockney English and Yokohama mixed. The show itself was poor, both in quality and quantity, and peanuts--the fundamental element of a proper circus--were wholly lacking. Moving-picture shows are very popular in Japan as elsewhere. Once, when we were lunching at the hotel in Yokohama, a very pretty American woman made up as a Japanese came into the room, attracting a great deal of attention. We were quite unable to make out the situation, but were afterward told that she belonged to an American moving-picture company and had just come in from rehearsal. Everywhere the "movie" is taking the place of the story-teller, who used to hire a room and tell over and over the tales of love and adventure which the people enjoy. Only the more prosperous can afford to see the _geishas_ dance, but crowds flock to see them on the screen. They also see their native plays acted quite as realistically as on the stage, where the actors might as well be dumb since they do not speak the common language. Perhaps for the first time the kinematograph has been of use in making history instead of simply recording it. When the Crown Prince of Korea was taken to Japan to receive his education, rumours were circulated among the Koreans that he was badly treated and was in reality a prisoner. There was great danger of an uprising in his behalf, but the Japanese Government hit upon the happy expedient of having the young man followed through a whole day's routine by a man with a moving-picture camera. When his subjects saw their Prince looking well and happy, learning his lessons and playing games with his friends, their fears were allayed and trouble was averted. [Illustration: MR. ARNELL AND MR. ARNOLD IN A JAPANESE PLAY.] Mr. Arnell and Mr. Arnold, of the Embassy, took lessons in Japanese acting, and Mr. Arnell was able to make up extraordinary faces and to kill himself, apparently in the greatest pain. Of course he dressed in costume, and with his _tabis_ on he would make his big toe stand up in true Japanese style, and would slash with his sword very realistically. Mr. Arnold, in one of the plays they learned together, took the part of a girl named Cherry Blossom; he did it very well indeed. The English and American colonies often give theatricals: a performance of the "Merchant of Venice" at the opera house was excellent. We enjoyed it, and the Japanese students flocked to see it. Sports of various kinds are occasionally indulged in. The annual fall exhibition, at which L. was present during one of his earlier visits, takes place late in October. The sports were held in the compound of the University grounds, which was beautifully decorated in honour of the heir-apparent--the present Emperor--then a good-looking little fellow about ten years old, who sat on a green baize chair on a raised platform, surrounded by chamberlains and officers. There were obstacle races, and the 220 on a turf track was run in 27 seconds, the 440 in 60-1/2 seconds. A race between professors created great amusement, and a sprint between champions of the different schools was enthusiastically followed. "The annual fall meeting of the Nippon Race Club," wrote L. during his visit in 1889, "was held the last of October. This is quite a successful club, and is the racing association at Yokohama. They have a pretty course out behind the Bluff, pretty from an æsthetic point of view only, however, for it is a bad track with a regular Tottenham Corner near the finish. The meeting proved to be great fun and quite exciting. The runners are limited to China and Hokkaido ponies--little brutes between 12.1 and 14.1 hands--and though the time is slow the finishes are generally close and exciting. In one race, the Yokohama plate, one mile and three-quarters, the three leaders finished within a nose of each other. The great interest is, of course, in the betting. There is always a tremendous amount of gambling in the Orient, and these meetings prove exceptional opportunities for this spirit to exhibit itself. "The second day's racing was graced by the presence of His Imperial Majesty [the late Emperor] and his suite, and so was the great day of the meeting, and a great day for Yokohama also. The Emperor seldom leaves his palace, but his earthly half--for he is still considered half divine by the people--is fond of horses and of horse-racing, and he makes this one of the occasions on which he does exhibit himself. He was very ceremoniously treated. After the last race he was driven around the track in his carriage of State, surrounded by lancers, for the benefit of the thousands who had come out to Negishi Hill to pay their respects to their sovereign." Near Uyeno Park in Tokyo there is a racecourse, but it is not so popular as it was a few years ago, for the Japanese are not horsemen. The horse of Nippon is thoroughly a beast, and stubborn, and this fact created variety and interest when L. visited the riding-school. The French method was used in those days--hands out in front, body bent forward--and they retained the old custom of short stirrups and knees elevated toward the chin. The grounds of the school were good. There were about seventy horses, but L. said that only a few half-breed ones were passable, for the thoroughbred Japanese ponies were bull-necked, mule-hoofed, and had miserable quarters. Since those days, however, horses from Australia and Arabia have been introduced, and although they are said not to thrive very well in Japan, they have improved the stock considerably. A typical amusement of the country is wrestling. The professional wrestler is a man of no mean rank, standing far above merchants, farmers, and actors in the social scale. His family has probably been devoted to wrestling for generations, and he has been trained from childhood and fed on special food to make him big and strong. If he is a famous fighter his patron, who is doubtless some great nobleman, is very proud of him, and the people of his province look upon him as little less than a demi-god. Although the ladies all go to bull-fights in Spain, very few go to wrestling-matches in Japan. Foreign women are apt to consider it a brutal sport, somewhat on the order of our prize-fighting, because the wrestlers are so fat and dreadful looking. But there is no fist-fighting, and the skill is so great that I found it very interesting. You can always tell the wrestlers when you see them, because they wear their hair done in old-fashioned style, somewhat resembling the queue of the matador. The history of wrestling goes back to the first century B.C., for it is an ancient as well as honourable profession. It began as a Court function for the entertainment of the nobility. Political issues of great importance are said to have been decided in the ring in the early days. The sport took on a religious aspect during the first half of the seventeenth century, when the priests began organizing matches in the temples to raise money for divers "pious purposes." In time many abuses crept in. There was much bitter feeling between contestants from different sections of the country, and so much foul play that the Government put a stop to all public performances. Not until 1700 A. D. were public matches again allowed, and then only under restrictions which made it safer for the contestants. From that day to this, wrestling (_sumo_) has been very popular with all classes. [Illustration: A WRESTLER.] In Osaka we saw some fine matches where the wrestlers of the East met those of the West. People gather from all over the country to witness these contests, which generally take place in the middle of the summer. There are wonderful matches in Tokyo also, which continue during the month of February. Formerly they took place under a large circus-tent, but now they are held in a huge arena, shaped something like a bull-ring, only not open to the sky. The ring in the centre is very small and raised on a platform beneath a canopy. A light is thrown on the contestants as they come swaggering and waddling down the aisles to meet in the centre, mount the stage, and take grotesque postures that show to advantage the muscles of their legs and arms. When they first come in they wear their gold-embroidered aprons, which are very costly. Of course these are taken off when they fight. The referees sit at the corner under a canopy, while two wrestlers try to throw each other out of the ring. Each bout is preceded by elaborate formalities. The wrestlers pray to their gods, and show themselves off to the spectators. Then they squat, rub their hands, turning them palm outward toward the people, take a cup of water, and scatter salt as a sign of purification. This done, they take positions on all fours, facing each other, till, at a psychological moment, they attack. If one starts his attack before the other, however, it doesn't count, and they swagger back to the sides and rinse their mouths and scatter more pinches of salt. Between the bouts much betting goes on. Viewed in the dim light, through the smoke of the many little pipes in the audience, the scene was stranger than anything else I have ever witnessed. The wrestlers use such skill, and the excitement is so great when one of them has won, that the cheering is as good as at a football game at home. We saw one bout where fifteen thousand on-lookers became frenzied with excitement, because a "number one" champion was thrown out of the ring. On certain days the wrestlers appear all dressed up in their ceremonial clothes and give a dance. Ordinary wrestling, or _sumo_, must not be confused with the more scientific form known as _judo_, or more commonly, _jiu-jutsu_, which has been introduced to some extent in our own country. Here weight and strength count for little in comparison with skill and adroitness. While ordinary wrestlers are perfect mountains of men, some of the cleverest exponents of _jiu-jutsu_ are quite small. Mr. Harrison, in his "Fighting Spirit of Japan," tells an amusing tale of a contest between exponents of the two systems, to decide which was the better. "At the very commencement of the struggle the big man picked the _judo-ka_ up and, holding him high above his head, asked triumphantly, 'Now, where are you?' Apparently not a whit perturbed by this turn of events, the _judo-ka_ answered, 'Oh, this is just where _judo_ comes in! The moment you attempt to throw me down, I'll kick you to death!' Terrified out of his wits by this awful threat, the fat man, still holding the _judo-ka_ above his head, rushed out into the street, shouting loudly for help." _Jiu-jutsu_ is not practised publicly as is _sumo_, for it belongs to the upper classes. The matches are not advertised or reported in the papers. Its history goes back to mythological times, and it ranks with fencing as an art. Hundreds of young men get up at three o'clock on winter mornings and practise until seven in order that they may become proficient in this difficult exercise. The foreigner in Tokyo usually feels that he has not "done" the city unless he has seen the sights of the gay quarter--the Yoshiwara--which is very gay indeed and as naughty as it is gay. There is nothing exactly like it outside Japan. It is impossible to see the place in a jinrikisha, so one must thread the crowded streets as best he can on foot. Girls in superb kimonos sit behind barred windows like dolls displayed for sale in a shop. The condition of these girls is much better than formerly. The Salvation Army has done a wonderful work for them, and not long ago the Government allowed all who wished to leave the houses. When other entertainment fails, there is always a _matsuri_. This is a great holiday institution among the lower and middle classes--a fair held in the streets or in the open spaces about a temple--for, like the drama, the _matsuri_ traces its origin to a religious rite. The most popular of these fairs is held near the great Buddhist temple known as Asakusa Kwannon. The long street leading to this temple is very gay with the shops on either side filled with wonderful toys. In various booths in and about the temple there are many entertainments in full swing--tea-houses and theatres and "movies," fortune-tellers and jugglers--all jumbled up together. It is a strange mixture of things sacred and secular. Murray says that even many years ago this temple was so popular that they had notices prohibiting smoking, and warning people not to take their afternoon naps there. Every _matsuri_ has its fortune-teller. I found one sitting in a little booth--an aged, bald-headed old man with horn spectacles which did not in the least conceal his piercing eyes. He asked my age, and muttering continually, lifted the divining-rod to his forehead. After looking at me through a magnifying-glass he proceeded to separate the packets of rods and finally, by means of an interpreter, he said: "You will be married in two years, and have three children by the time you are thirty!" I bowed gravely and thanked him, telling him that he was a wonderful soothsayer--a verdict with which he seemed to agree perfectly. It may be mentioned, however, that I am over thirty, and have been married many years, with no children. Great reliance is placed on fortune-telling by the Japanese of the lower classes. I have seen a mother with a sick child shake the curiously lacquered box of sticks which the priest of a temple has in his charge, hoping to get help. She exchanged the numbered stick that fell out for a slip of paper which had a prescription printed on it, and then went out to buy the medicine with a sublime faith that it was just what her baby needed for its recovery. Fortune-telling is not confined to _matsuris_ or to temples. One hears the calls of the prognosticator in the streets at night. There is also a very elaborate system of foretelling the future, based on the colouring and formation of the head and features, which a few men of a higher class practise with quite wonderful results. To these amusements, which any one may enjoy, I add two other forms of a more serious nature which are of great interest, although the foreigner rarely has time or opportunity to see them during a hurried visit. They are the _No_ dance and the _cha-no-yu_, or tea-ceremony. The Japanese nobility rarely attend the public theatres, but they do attend--and even take part in--the _No_ dances, which are not really dances, but high-class theatrical performances. Why a play should be called a dance is hard to explain, unless one remembers that this is Japan, where they begin a book at the wrong end, wipe with wet towels, saw and plane toward themselves, shoe their horses with straw, and even have their compass-needles pointing to the south! The Japanese world is "topside down" to us, but I suppose ours is just as much so to them. [Illustration: THE _NO_ DANCE.] We were fortunate enough to see an excellent _No_ dance which was being performed in a private house. The performance was given in honour of an ancestor of theirs, who had died two hundred years before. It was a very aristocratic audience--the upper class people are easily distinguished, as they are more intelligent and stronger looking, as well as more refined, than the middle and lower classes. The play was given in a very dignified and ceremonious manner, and the acting was of the highest order, but to one unacquainted with the language and the meaning of the various postures even the best _No_ dance is apt to prove tedious. The _No_ is further described in the chapter on literature. An even more serious form of entertainment, and one well worth the attention of those who have longer to stay in the country and who wish to make a study of the customs, is the _cha-no-yu_, a ceremony which has almost the force of a religious rite. Viscounts Kadenokuji and Kiogoku took us to one of these tea-ceremonies at a private club house--Hosigaoko--in Sanno. This was the most wonderful piece of house-building I have ever seen--the polish on the floor, the fitting of the frames, the joining, were simply perfect. Some of the porch boards were forty-five feet long and as smooth and polished as glass. A very small room of four and a half mats (nine feet square) is held sacred for the ceremony. The entrance is made through a door which is only a couple of feet square--a custom remaining from the time when visitors were so received lest they hold swords hidden in their robes. The guests, who should be five in number, sit down in a row, the Japanese sitting on their feet in ceremonial manner; foreigners, however, are allowed to cross their legs, tailor-fashion, for one is expected to remain without moving during the whole affair. This _cha-no-yu_ is a relic of the old days when ceremonies were invented to pass away the time, and is the most formal mode of entertainment. It is taught as a fine art and accomplishment by various schools, which differ in regard to small details of etiquette. The master who performed it for us, Nakamura, is the most famous teacher in Tokyo. The rite consists in making a bowl of tea. Even the tiniest motion has its own particular meaning, and is performed most solemnly and religiously. As in all Japanese ceremonials, it is done very slowly, requiring three hours for its completion. Certain implements are used for the _cha-no-yu_ alone, and these are of the finest make. It is part of the performance to pass them around for the guests to examine, and it is etiquette to admire them. The tea-making is followed by a formal dinner, in which the guests get a chance to air their knowledge of strict social laws, even as to what to eat, and how much. The exit is made, after it is all over, by crawling out through the hole of a door. CHAPTER XII BEAR-HUNTING AMONG THE AINUS On the northern island of Hokkaido (or Yezo) is to be found the Ainu,[8] and with him the grizzly bear which he hunts, kills, and yet worships. The winter climate of Hokkaido resembles that of Canada, and Bruin thrives there, growing to a large size--sometimes ten feet, it is said. [8] The Ainus are quite distinct from the Japanese, both in appearance and language, and are gradually being supplanted by them. [Illustration: THE HUNTING PARTY.] Mr. Arnell of the Embassy went up there in March, reaching the hunting-grounds six days after leaving Tokyo. His party consisted, besides himself, of Major Wigmore, Lieutenant Keyser, and Mr. J. A. Fenner. They had engaged, besides a guide apiece, six Ainu men and three women to meet them at Kushiro and carry their baggage. The women were found to be "stunning walkers" and, with others of their sex, to be not "bad-looking except when tattooed with a green moustache." I will give the story of the hunt in Mr. Arnell's own words. "Choosing between drenching and freezing," he says, referring to the heavy rains in Tokyo, "I prefer the snow-clad peaks of Hokkaido. "We reached Kushiro, the terminus of the railroad, three days after our departure from Tokyo. We were met by our faithful Ainu, who had consumed gallons of distilled spirits while waiting for us, and made us lose a day waiting for him to recover. We finally succeeded in marshalling three sleighs, each about the size of a Japanese mat, and seating ourselves in a squatting posture, started up the frozen river. "The snow was about a foot deep at Kushiro, but increased in depth as we approached the mountains, where it varied from three to five feet. It took us three days to reach the hunting-grounds. After we left the river the road was very uncomfortable. As long as we kept to the centre, progress was good, but whenever the sleigh happened to go one foot too far either side, over we went,--driver, horse, passengers, baggage! Spills of this kind were frequent, and relieved the monotony of the journey. We spent two nights at inns in lumber-towns on the way. "We had telegraphed ahead to the last town, Teshikaga, and a courier was dispatched to collect the Ainu beaters, who were waiting our arrival. There we held a council of war with the warden of the Imperial forests--the dwelling-place of His Majesty's ursine subjects. "We also tried out our snowshoes, oval frames of mulberry wood, without which locomotion was impossible. There was not time to make perfect fits, so we had to make the best of ready-made ones, all of which were baffled by the Major's avoirdupois. "An interesting bird had been shot at this camp the day before our arrival; it has no name, but is known as 'the bird which appears only every six years,' and is distinguished by having its legs above its tail-feathers, so that when it waddles on dry land, if it ever does waddle, its tail forms the head of the procession. It is probably related to the penguin, but is different from it in that its beak is long and straight like a crane's. Strange to say, on our return to Kushiro by river a week later Mr. Fenner shot another of the same species, and with the waters of the Kushiro we christened the fowl _Avis rara Fenneri_! "On the day after our arrival we continued our journey by sleigh to the shores of Lake Kutchare, which is in the heart of an uninhabited forest and has a circumference of over twenty-five miles. Here we separated into two parties--the Major and Fenner, Keyser and myself. Across the frozen surface of the lake rose the ghost-like summit of Mount Shari. "'Bears, bears!' whispered the Ainus, pointing to the peak with their hairy fingers. "After dining on salt salmon, corned beef and hard-tack, we put on our snowshoes and set out across the lake, accompanied by the aborigines carrying our baggage. Keyser and I, the 'lean detachment,' struck for the higher spurs of the mountain, while the Major and Fenner, the 'fat brigade,' fixed their gaze on the lower slopes. "Keyser and I--hereafter designated simply as 'we'--reached the foot of the mountain as night set in, and, to our keen disappointment, found a dilapidated hut made of pine boughs; we had yearned to spread our skin-lined sleeping-bags under the starry heavens. (As it turned out, however, the roof of the hut was sufficiently starry, for the night was spent in receiving falling lumps of melting snow.) With the remnants of the walls we built two fires, one for the wild men, and the other for ourselves; while I boiled the coffee and the mush, Keyser fried the bacon and the spuds. For dessert we had raisins and chocolate. "The rest of the evening we spent in council of war with our braves. With our clothes on, our guns by our sides, and our Colt six-shooters in our bags, we resigned ourselves to dreams of the morrow's chase, while the Ainus spread themselves around us like the crust on a pumpkin pie. The fires soon died out, and we were awakened about four in the morning by the murmurs of frozen feet, and passed the remaining wee small hours struggling between romantic sentiments and cold--very cold--facts. At half-past five the hairy men relighted the fires, and at six I jumped from my bag like a dum-dum from an automatic; I set the mush and coffee to boiling, and was soon followed by Keyser with the spuds and bacon. "We decided not to wash for three days, for a bath is inconvenient with all your clothes on, and the Ainus considered it bad luck anyway. At seven we put on our snowshoes, and armed with a can of pork and beans, a biscuit, a flask of brandy, a kodak, a Winchester high power self-loading rifle, and a Colt six-shooter, we set out with one guide and one packman each. "Our course first lay along the shore of the lake for about a mile, after which we entered the snow-laden pine forest, where each step through four feet of snow felt like a ton. After emerging from the majestic pines, we started the climb, now erect and now recumbent, until at last from the middle of the mountainside the country lay like a conquered army at our feet. "'Where are the bears?' we asked. The Ainus pointed to the misty summit above us. 'Whew!' we said, and went on. "The bears live in holes which are practically invisible, among the spurs of the mountain, and it is no easy matter to approach their lair. The attack is usually made under conditions that might easily give Bruin the first fall. "At one o'clock we sat down on the spur beneath the peak and taking out our lunch we fletcherized the brandy, and fed the beans to the Ainus and the dogs. With our stomachs full, we clicked a charge into the chamber, with four reserves in the magazines, and scanned the horizon. 'A bear hole!' whined the Ainus--but alas, of last year! "We reached the summit; the day's work was done, but the bears were none the worse for it, so far. Separating, we commenced the descent, Keyser down one valley, I down another, reaching camp about six o'clock. I forgot to say that one of the Ainus shot a hare, which provided an entrée for our menu that evening. The other courses were identical with those of the previous dinner, which happily relieved us from the necessity of mimeographing fresh bills of fare. "At nine o'clock we were tired, but not discouraged, for our expectations had been fully realized. We aligned ourselves for the night, regardless of race or previous condition of servitude, and were soon oblivious of the crackling of the snow, for the thermometer continued to drop until the Hour of the Rat. The men of the wild snored, but it sounded like the murmuring of the pines, and only added to the romance. "Next morning we were up again at six, and, after eating, set out with our previous equipment, except that we left our revolvers behind; we had discovered that they impeded the hip movement, and in the event of a race would leave us far behind the bear. Fearing that the animals would be intimidated by the size of our army, we decided to separate into two detachments, Keyser with his guide and packman and I with mine. He climbed one valley, and I another, with three valleys between us. "My ascent was even more difficult than that of the previous day, but I went with a knowledge of what was before me. I ate two quarts of snow at each halt, and the anticipation of the next meal cheered me on. We reached a broad open slope just below the summit at one o'clock. The wind cut like a newly honed razor, but my alcoholic luncheon afforded me all the comfort of a winter hearth. "The dog did not stop as usual to eat my pork and beans, but trotted up the glassy incline for a little exercise. In about five minutes he returned like an arrow from a bow, his tail seeking refuge between his legs, his voice pitched in a minor key. "'Shut up, you fool!' growled the Ainu, thinking the pup had been frightened by a shadow. "But the yearling only struck another key and continued his descent, evidently expecting us to follow. We decided to see whether there was any cause for his alarm, and followed his tracks to the side of a tree. The dog watched us from a safe distance, growling his disapproval. Lo and behold!--there was a circular hole in the snow, some six inches in diameter. The edge of the hole was brownish, and no more evidence was needed that the inmate was there and had already risen on his hind quarters to receive us. "It had started to snow in thick flakes. There were no rocks on which to seek refuge, and the soft snow fastened us at each step. I stamped a foothold at a distance of seven feet from the hole--the nearer the safer, the Ainus said, for we could not afford to let the bear evade us. I was directed to stand sentinel, with the stock of the thunder-stick against my shoulder, while the savages, singing in their native dialect, ran down the slope to fetch a tree. "They were soon back with a trunk about eight feet long, and took up their position above the hole. The old Ainu unfastened his girdle and tied it to one end of the pole, which he placed in the snow over the aperture. The guides had only one gun between them, and that a single-loader, so the young Ainu decided to go in search of a club in case my shot should fail to tell and we should be drawn into a fisticuff with the enemy. "No sooner had the hairy youth gone than his square-jawed uncle pulled the girdle, driving the tree into the den just before Bruin's nose. Claps of ursine thunder followed. The beast rose to his feet with a heavy thud. Next moment the snow scattered as if raised by a snow-plow, and a broad head with flashing eyes and bared teeth emerged, and gave me a glance that ran down my back-bone. He had not got out beyond the shoulders, however, before I buried a .401 calibre soft-nose bullet in his left ear, and close on the tracks of that came a round lead ball from the savage's blunderbuss. "My Winchester makes a deep impression on animal tissue at a distance of one hundred yards, deep enough to make a bear forget that he is alive, so the impact at a range of seven feet was tremendous. When the bullet struck the head it swung to the opposite side, as if hit by a fifty-pound sledge-hammer. There was a pause of fifteen seconds, and the huge form made another plunge, which was evidently the death struggle, but giving the advantage to the doubt I pulled the trigger again; there was no response, and I found that a bamboo leaf had choked the bolt. In about five seconds, however, I was able to restore the gun to working order by ejecting the cartridge in the chamber, and then popped two more peas into the waning intellect of the brute. The Ainu's lead must have gained admission, as he stood a foot nearer than I did, but we failed to locate it at the autopsy. My bullet--a pancake of lead with splinters of nickel-steel--was lodged in the right jaw, having passed through the brain from the left ear. "The next step was to skin and quarter the bear, but before doing so my Ainus insisted on paying their last respects to the spirit of the departed--a spirit which was to hover over them for all time to come, for the moment my bullet entered the ear of the bear he had taken his place in the pantheon of Ainu gods. The savages spread his feet and placed his head in position, then they arranged several branches in a row before him, and kneeling on the snow, with bowed heads, they rubbed their hands and muttered fervent prayers. "They prayed, 'O bear, we thank thee for having died! We humbly beseech thee to permit us to kill another bear as we have killed thee. We pray that this happy event may not be far off, and that when we meet thy brother or sister, thy aunt or uncle, or other kin, whatever his or her kinship may be, thy kin may not bite or strike us, and above all, dear bear, that he or she may not evade our poisoned arrow or our leaden bullet. O bear, we beseech thee to be always near, and to oversee our welfare in this land, where since the advent of the Japanese the number of bears is rapidly decreasing, so that we poor Ainus are day by day being deprived of the pleasure of our forefathers. O bear, again we thank thee for having died!' "After the prayer meeting had closed the young Ainu crawled into the wintry home of the deceased. But the cub which we expected to take back to Tokyo was not to be found. However, on skinning the bear we did find two lead bullets which told the story--the cub had been killed the previous year, but the mother had escaped. It seems cruel to have taken her life, but when one knows that she had killed at least ten horses during her career, and would have continued to slaughter two per annum for the rest of her days had she been allowed to live, she forfeits the sympathy of the wise. The forests of Hokkaido are strewed with the bleached bones of horses taken from the pastures by marauding bears. Wherever we made our headquarters we were visited by owners of pastures, who were often accompanied by the Chief of Police or the provincial Governor, earnestly requesting us to come to their assistance. "Having justified my act, I shall resume the story. The first part which the Ainus dissected was the stomach, which is dried and powdered and serves as a panacea for all ills; this was the occasion for a short prayer and was sanctified by repeated touching of the bear's nose. After the skin had been removed, the meat was cut into six portions and was buried in the snow until next morning. The skin itself was rolled into a scroll weighing about sixty pounds, and was placed on the back of the young Ainu. The head of the bear faced outward, and the packman looked like one of the itinerant showmen who used to ply their trade along the Tokaido in the days of the Shogun, with the mask of a long-nosed hobgoblin fastened to his back. "We descended the mountain as if shod with skees and were soon crossing the lake on our way to camp. When the _menoko_--female children, a generic term for Ainu women--spied us at a distance of half a mile they burst into a weird chant, clapping their hands and jumping up and down, keeping it up until we reached the place where they stood. "Keyser had already returned with an empty bag. The Major and Mr. Fenner joined us that evening, having deserted their camp after vain efforts to traverse the soft snow which covered the lower hunting-grounds, on which they had worked; later their _menoko_ followed with their baggage. The evening around the campfire was very merry as we ate our bear meat and watched the Ainus perform their devotions. [Illustration: MR. ARNELL AND AINUS.] "The ground had been cleared to make a space for the altar. On this the bearskin was placed with the head pointing outward. Each Ainu knelt before the head, and as he rubbed his hands--now and again raising them to his forehead, after lightly touching the nose of the bear--he murmured a prayer similar to the one made on the mountain. One grey-bearded patriarch continued his fervent invocation more than five minutes, then, having finished, he knelt in front of me, and after a solemn salaam exclaimed, 'Hurrah, hurrah!' With this the introductory service came to an end. "Meanwhile the barbarians had been boiling their bear meat and, the services over, they started to make way with it, their eating continually interspersed with rubbing of hands and mumbling of prayers. "Next day Keyser and Fenner went out again in search of bear, but I decided to rest on my oars for one day, and so did the Major, who had become completely disgusted with the snow. We spent the day in talking and eating,--three meals on bacon and two on bear. All the comfort and luxury of a cozy home seemed to be concentrated between our mud floor and snow roof. At noon four carriers, who had gone up the mountain early in the morning, returned with their loads of meat. "In the evening, after every one had assembled in camp and Keyser and Fenner had reported that no tracks of bear had been seen, preparations for the grand mass were begun. The Ainu to whom the hunting-grounds of the mountain belonged removed the hide and meat from the skull. Ordinarily he would have left the nose, but as I wished it for purposes of mounting he reluctantly consented to cut it off. The skull cleaned, it was placed on the altar. "The ceremony then opened and continued for over an hour, every Ainu present taking part. While the mumbling of prayers, rubbing and raising of hands, and occasional touching of the missing nose, were going on, the cartilaginous soles of the bear's feet had been boiling, to the accompaniment of intermittent chanting by the women, and after being cut into two-inch pieces were arranged on sticks in front of the skull. After another invocation the elastic tid-bits were removed and eaten with much loud smacking. The meat was put through a similar ordeal, and the services were followed by a grand feast, which lasted till after midnight and was characterized by a great deal of mirth, despite the absence of distilled spirits, which the Chief of Police had prohibited. To us its absence was a blessing, but to the simple barbarians a curse, for they imbibe spirits as we drink water--in fact, it is the principal cause of the gradual extermination of the race. "We went to bed before the dark-skinned Mohawks, but got up with them at sunrise. During the night sleet had begun to fall, and as we could not tell how long it might continue, we decided to break camp and re-cross the lake, as soon as we had seen the funeral services. "The place chosen for the last rites was the top of a snow-covered knoll beside the camp, where a palisade was built of bamboos and fir branches, decorated with the ceremonial sticks with the skull of the bear in the centre. The men--for apparently the Ainu women do not take part in funerals--then proceeded to the place in a line, and arranging themselves before the palisade, invoked the spirit of the king of the forests in loud prayers, to the accompaniment of the usual rubbing and raising of hands. We were clicking our cameras meantime, which added a musical touch to the solemnity of the occasion, but the snow showed no traces of our tears. "Ordinarily the skull is left on the palisade for years and years, but I needed it to mount the head of my trophy, so I negotiated with my guide for its surrender. He readily consented, but when the women learned my intention they made a terrible fuss, and with tears in their eyes begged me to leave their god undisturbed. I was finally allowed to take the skull, if I promised to see that it was not abused on the way to Tokyo, and if, after my return, I would have it placed on the altar of my parlour, paying it due reverence for all time to come. The parting between the women and the skull was quite pathetic, and would have moved a softhearted man to mingled emotions. I have fulfilled my promise, and the mounted skull now adorns the dais of my drawing-room, with its nose pointed toward all believers in the omnipotence of the bear. "The services over, we shouldered our lighter baggage and started on our snowshoes across the lake, followed by the packmen. The ice had begun to melt in places, as the lake is full of hot-water springs, so we had to select our route with care. The women and the bearskin were left behind, as there was some sort of a memorial service still to be held, for which our packmen returned that evening. It was to have been a primitive bacchanalia, but as the Chief of Police had ordered the only two human habitations within miles not to sell any _saké_ or _shoohu_ to the worshippers, they must have passed a merry night on icewater. "After crossing the lake we walked about five miles farther to a hot sulphur spring, where we were given a fairly comfortable room by the Japanese landlord. The hot springs were excellent, and we took three baths each, one for every day we had hunted. We woke bright and early to find the sleighs waiting to take us back to civilization, and contrary to our expectations, the Ainus appeared at the appointed hour with the skin. Paying them off, we bade them farewell until the scarcity of bear meat in Tokyo should necessitate our return. As parting gifts we distributed among them most of our remaining cans of corned beef, Boston baked beans, sweet corn and strawberry jam. From the manner in which the bear meat was treated by the recipients in the Capital, I fear we shall have to find some other pretext than its scarcity for revisiting the sylvan wilds of The Highway of the Northern Seas--Hokkaido. They said it tasted granular, and fed it to the dogs, cats and chickens!" CHAPTER XIII MOTORING AND CRUISING Parties of tourists usually land at Yokohama, rejoining their steamer a few days later at Kobe. After a little sight-seeing in Yokohama they generally take a train to Kamakura and stop at the island of Enoshima. If there is time, they continue on to Miyanoshita. They take in Tokyo, Nikko, and Kyoto, with perhaps a few hours in each, and then go on to Kobe. In the limited time this all has to be done by train, which, in the present condition of the roads, is a quicker and surer method of travel than any other. _Kurumas_ (jinrikishas) can be used for side trips, or _kagos_ (sedan-chairs) for mountain climbs. Trolley cars are a convenience in the cities, and often take one to quite remote places in the country as well. The rates are lower than in the West, and special cars can be hired for a moderate amount. [Illustration: _KAGOS_ (SEDAN-CHAIRS) FOR MOUNTAIN CLIMBS.] For those who have longer to stay, the motor offers a delightful way of seeing the country as well as many opportunities for getting off the beaten track and having adventures. Because the roads are narrow and the bridges frail, the motorcycle, rather than the automobile, is after all the ideal method of travel, for it takes one into really out-of-the-way places which could not be reached in a larger machine. Of course this pastime is only for men, and for men who are willing to rough it, at that. If a woman is at all inclined to be nervous she had better not try motoring in Japan, even in a car, except on well-known roads. The traveller with sufficient time at his disposal also finds various trips to be made by steamer, such as the one through the Inland Sea, which is described in this chapter. Motoring is just beginning to be popular in Japan. Many of the roads are not bad except in spots, and the scenery is usually beautiful. During the rainy season the country roads are very disagreeable,--often almost, if not quite, impassable. Only in a city like Tokyo or Yokohama is it worth while for the resident to have a car the year round. The best touring months are in the spring and autumn--in March, when the plum blossoms are finishing and the cherry blossoms beginning, and in April and May. In June comes the rain. The heat during July and August is very severe, then come the typhoons, and rain again in September. When the maple leaves are turning, later in the autumn, there is another happy moment for the motorist. Although the winters are not really disagreeable, there is a cold wind, and the Japanese inns are damp and chilly. A short machine is necessary, as well as a skilful chauffeur, for the turns are often very sharp, especially at the bridges. These bridges, by the way, are treacherous and need to be strengthened for motor-traffic. They were built for the use of a 'ricksha or--at the most--for a horse and two-wheeled wagon. Gasoline may now be procured in many places, and road-maps are also to be had. It is important to take some one along who can speak Japanese, and to provide food for the trip, if one does not like the native dishes. Hot tea may be had almost anywhere. In taking a motor trip one would naturally start at Yokohama. At first glance this city seems thoroughly Japanese, but, on knowing it better, I have found it to be in reality very European and not at all typical of the country or its people. It is rather a laughing-stock among the Japanese themselves, who call things "Yokohama" as a term of derision. Most foreigners live on the "Bluff," which overlooks the bay. Some of the houses in this section are fascinating, for they are surrounded by gardens and command wonderful views. Some glimpses of real Japan may be caught in the native quarter of the city, but coming back to Yokohama after having been into the interior gives one the impression of having left Japan behind. A trip which is easy and comfortable for ladies may be made from Yokohama to Miyanoshita. It takes several hours each way, with a day added if one goes on over the Hakone Pass. L. and I took this trip while the plum-trees were in bloom. From Yokohama to Kamakura much of the way was through the paddy-fields, which reminded me of trips on the narrow roads between the canals of Holland. We passed some strange new pagodas on a hillside, erected lately in honour of the Fire-God--a terrible creature carved on a rocky cliff and painted in colours. We also passed a succession of little places famous for the "plum-viewing," with their small tea-houses all ready for the viewers. There were camellia-trees in bloom, too, and the paddy-fields were beginning to show faint greens where the farmers were pottering about in the carefully cultivated land. [Illustration: THE BUDDHA OF KAMAKURA.] Kamakura is sunny and warm, by the sparkling sea. Many invalids go there, especially in winter--foreigners often rent the native houses. The big Buddha, surrounded by plum-trees, has twice been washed by tidal waves. The silvery branches with their white blossoms looked as if they had been sprinkled with snow, and the delicate perfume in the air was delicious. The Buddha is said to have stood there in the wind and rain and sunshine for seven hundred years. It is perhaps the finest large piece of bronze in the world; it has eyes of pure gold and a great silver boss on its forehead that looks like a full moon, while on its head are eight hundred curls. "These are the snails that kindly coiled themselves on Buddha's head when by thinking too much in the hot sun he might have been sun-struck." We visited another shrine at Kamakura, where there is a huge trunk of cedar carved into a Kwannon--she is the goddess of pity and humility. It is said that once upon a time an illumination was seen over the waters, and on going to find out what caused it some fishermen discovered the figure of this goddess, carved in wood, which they brought ashore and set up for all to worship. It is told of Kwannon that "in her boundless love she divided herself into many bodies and renounced the joy of Nirvana that she might bring peace and happiness to others." She is often compared to the Christian Madonna, and is considered the goddess of mercy, as well as the protector of dumb animals, especially of horses and others that work for man. She is variously depicted in Japanese art--sometimes with a thousand hands, in each of which is an answer to a prayer--sometimes with eleven faces, "smiling with eternal youth and infinite tenderness." A remarkable piece of embroidery which was brought to the Embassy to sell at a huge price showed Kwannon as the divine mother, pouring forth from a crystal vial holy water, each bubble of which contained a tiny child. Osame told me that Kwannon was the daughter of a king of the Chow dynasty who sentenced her to death for refusing to marry. The executioner's sword broke without inflicting a wound, but her spirit went to hell, which, however, she straightway turned into a paradise. The king of the infernal regions hurried her back to earth and turned her into a lotus flower on the island of Pooh-to. While we were standing at her shrine, which is on the side of a pine-clad hill looking out over the sea, there came a sad funeral procession led by men carrying a big wicker birdcage. When I asked about it, Osame said that birds were kept in it and were set free at funerals to typify the release of the soul. There was the usual gold paper, and the coloured paper lotus flowers. The unpainted carved box, or coffin, shaped something like a palanquin, was borne on the shoulders of four men. The widow was clad in white, which is the mourning colour. Following the mourners came men, bringing trees and plants to set out on the grave. En route from Kamakura to Miyanoshita we motored over the old Tokaido road--the great highway from Tokyo to Kyoto--with its crooked pines on every side and its views of the bright blue sea and of enchanting Fuji, so often represented in Japanese art. On the way we passed the wonderful island of Enoshima. Here Benten, goddess of the sea, has her shrine, for the island is said to have arisen from the deep at her coming. She is one of the seven goddesses of luck, and is likewise referred to as the divinity of love, beauty and eloquence. It is customary for people who are in love, or for those who, on the contrary, wish to be divorced, to go to Enoshima and pray to Benten. She is said to have descended from the clouds and, entering a cavern where the sea king dwelt, to have married him out of hand. He was a dragon who devoured little children, but her good influence put an end to his sins. She is depicted as having eight arms, and as riding upon a dragon. Her shrines are generally found on islands. I had always felt that Fuji was much overrated, but on this day it certainly wove its charm about me. Mayon, in the Philippines, is as beautiful in shape, but it never has any snow on its summit. Our own snow-capped Mt. Rainier is truly superb, but its shape is less symmetrical than Fuji's. Snow-capped and perfect in line, Fuji seemed to rise out of the sea in its mist, a great, beautiful ghost-mountain. Seeing it, I felt the Spell of Japan as never before. [Illustration: _Fuji from Otome-Toge_] So many things have been said about Fuji, and so many poems have been written, that it would be impossible for me to invent anything new in regard to it. It is called the "Supreme Altar of the Sun" and the "Never-dying Mountain.'' It is supposed to hold the secret of perpetual life, and miracles are said to have been performed there. It is likened to a white lotus, and to a huge inverted fan. Sengen, the fire goddess, and Oanamochi, "Possessor of the Great Hole," dwell there, while near the shrine of the God of Long Breath is a spring of healing for the sick. Miyanoshita is one of the most famous summer resorts in Japan. It is two thousand feet above the sea, and is surrounded by mountains as high again. The climb up there in the motor went well; the air was fine and clear, and the hot sulphur baths at the hotel refreshed us. This hotel is excellent. It overlooks a beautiful valley, picturesque and green in the foreground, and shading off into that pale blue of distance which makes a Japanese panorama so complete. Around us rose high hills, ravined and grotesque, with here and there the roofs of tiny tea-houses peeping through the trees. As I looked from my window the tops of the mountain opposite were all big and grey, like elephants' ears. The view down the valley to the sea made me think of the wonderful Benquet Road in the Philippines. In a tea-house garden near the hotel were many-coloured carp dashing about in the clear sulphur water. The long-tailed cock of antiquity is now rarely to be found, but there was one in this same garden, and also a minor bird which spoke quite as clearly as our parrot at home. We went over the pass to Hakone. The road was difficult; the bridges were often shaky, and occasional small landslides delayed our progress. We were rewarded, however, by the sight of a charming lake some seven miles in length, with mountains stretching down into it, and Fuji-San beyond, hiding his lovely head in the clouds. The Emperor has a summer palace at Hakone, built in European style. When we came down from Miyanoshita in the motor, it was a beautiful morning, and a beautiful ride it was, too, down through the valleys and out on to the plain, along the Tokaido with its avenues of cryptomerias, and across the paddy-fields. I am told it will soon be possible to go by motor from Yokohama to Miyanoshita by another route--over the new military road when it is finished, across by Otome-Toge, and over the Hakone Range into the valley this side of Fujiyama to Gotimba. Another trip from Yokohama is to Mishima. We did not try this ourselves, but the account of it given by a writer in the _Japan Magazine_, from whom I quote, shows some of the difficulties to be encountered on the road: "It was on the stroke of ten, on the nineteenth of April, when three of us, with a chauffeur, pulled out of the E. M. F. garage on the Yokohama Bund in the new twenty-five h. p. Studebaker. Kozu was reached at noon, and twenty minutes later we turned off the beaten track--from a motoring point of view--at the terminus of the Odawara-Atami light railway. "Here the real interest of the day's run began. The road to Atami, though rather narrow, has a good surface for the most part, and runs along the coast, now almost at the sea level, now winding over the hills, from which a magnificent panoramic view of the Odawara Bay far below is obtained. From the heights the coast with its white line of surf can be followed by the eye beyond Enoshima on the one side, and on the other side a succession of capes, merging in the haze, end in the dim vista of Vries Island. A halt of some thirty minutes at a roadside rest-house near Manazuru to have lunch and enjoy the beautiful scenery passed all too quickly. Atami was reached at 2.30 P. M. "So far the road presents no particular difficulties, but good care must be taken, and a little backing is required to get around two or three sharp turns. After a short halt to inspect the radiator and to see whether the tires were well inflated, we started on the long climb." The motorist had gone over the road on foot, and it had seemed quite possible to negotiate all the curves without backing, but this did not prove true in actual test. The curves were for the most part of the real hairpin variety and came in such never-ending series that count of them was soon lost. On more than half of them it was necessary to back at least once, before getting round. "Nevertheless," he resumes, "we were making good and steady progress until within about a mile and a half from the top of the ridge, when the gasoline began to get too low to reach the engine against the incline and the cant of the car on the turns. From this spot on, the last mile resolved itself into a trial of patience and muscle in manoeuvring the car round each corner to a sufficiently even--or uneven--keel for the gasoline to run to the engine until the critical point of each turn was surmounted. The last two corners were negotiated in the dark, with the writer sitting on the gasoline tank and the chauffeur blowing into it to force the gasoline into the carburetor. At eight in the evening we arrived safely at Mishima. "Taking the above experience as a basis, it can be safely asserted that passengers on a motor car would not run any risk at all on this road, as there are no unprotected banks over which they could fall, as on the Miyanoshita road. It also makes one of the most beautiful trips out of Yokohama, for as one gradually rises above Atami the magnificent panorama of land and sea displays itself before one's eyes in ever widening circles. In our case we reached the Daiba Pass too late to enjoy the splendid view of the hills on the one side, and of the ocean with a fringe of foam along the shore down below, though the breakers could be distinctly heard." We often motored from Yokohama to Tokyo. The road-bed is comparatively good, being hard and smooth, but it is very narrow, with constant traffic, and there are so many children running across that speed is impossible. Although the distance between the two cities is about twenty miles, the street is like one long village with its rows of houses on either side. It was endlessly interesting, with its procession of carts and wagons with their picturesque loads, and its groups of little, scurrying children in many-coloured kimonos clacking about on their clogs. There were continuous rows of small open shop-fronts with their wares set out in pretty array, and we had hurried glimpses of clean matted interiors and quaint gardens and temple entrances. Every now and then we would cross one of the queer, humped-up little bridges and look down upon the thatch-roofed cabins and high poops of the sampans congested in the river beneath. About an hour and a half is allowed for the run. Once on this road we stopped at Osame's home--a perfect plaything of a house about two inches big, with an artistic bamboo fence and wicket, a tiny entrance-place, and little six-mat rooms. The wife prostrated herself repeatedly, and offered us tea and cake with many protestations which Osame translated. Their baby was brought in, and looked wisely at some presents which we had for him. [Illustration: "LOOKED WISELY AT SOME PRESENTS WHICH WE HAD FOR HIM."] There are a number of one-day excursions from Tokyo for cars, and still more one- and two-day trips for motorcycles. The roads about Tokyo are good, but with a car one is likely to strike mires or bad bridges or ferryboats that are too small. These difficulties can generally be overcome, however, and they make the trip both varied and amusing. A short expedition from Tokyo, and one comfortable for the motorist, is to the prehistoric caves--Hyaku Ana--near Konosu. These are some two hundred cave-dwellings that have been uncovered on the side of a cliff. They have long, low entrances, and vary from tiny holes to caves ten feet square and high enough for a man to stand in. The pieces of jewelry and pottery which have been found there are small help in reconstructing the life of the troglodytes--"earth spiders," the Japanese call them--who may have lived there some thousands of years ago. Another trip from Tokyo[9] is to the Boshu Peninsula. The tourist will have an excellent opportunity of getting a few glimpses of unfamiliar Japan without going very far afield. The road follows the seashore most of the way and offers a great variety of scenery--pine-clad hills, rice fields, pretty gardens, and fishing villages with the ocean breaking on rocky cliffs. There is little chance for speeding, as the highway is often narrow and passes through many tunnels with sharp curves, but the trip was made without any trouble by Mr. S.'s large fifty h. p. Clement-Bayard. [9] For this, and several other notes on motoring, I am indebted to the _Japan Magazine_. Mr. S. and friends started from Tokyo after tiffin, and spent the night at Inage, a small village two miles from Chiba, where there was a quiet inn. Next day, they drove along the coast southwest to Tateyama, which is a popular bathing resort, reaching there in time for tiffin. The views along the way, both of the hills and of Tokyo Bay, were very fine. They went on to Katsu-ura for the night, passing Mera, which is an important fishing village at the extreme tip of the peninsula, built on a cliff near a lighthouse. It was here that the _Dakota_ was wrecked in 1909. Part of the way the volcano on Vries Island is to be seen. Near Katsu-ura is the birthplace of the famous Buddhist saint, Nichiren. He was born in 1222 A. D., and became a priest at the age of fifteen. His doctrines being considered unsafe, he was sentenced to death, but the executioner's sword was broken by lightning, and orders came from the Regent to release him. Various well-known temples have been erected in his memory. Next day the return trip was made by way of Ichinomiya, Hamano, and Chiba. The entire excursion can be made in two days, and with an extra day one could also take in Narita, which has a very interesting temple and is well worth visiting. Mountaineering by motor is also possible in some parts of Japan. A successful trip was made from Tokyo over the Torii Toge not long ago, although the road left much to be desired, being narrow, tortuous, and often washed away in places--between Azuma-Bashi and Narai it was especially bad. This pass gets its name from the massive granite _torii_ at the top, and is over four thousand feet above the sea. The road over the Shiojiri Toge, which is thirty-four hundred feet high, is so well engineered that it was found possible to get to the top on middle gear. The views along the way are said to be of the finest, and the "Kame-ya" at Shimono-Suwa, a very comfortable hotel with natural hot baths and an obliging landlord. One motorist found difficulty in garaging his car, and it had to be left under the wide eaves of the roof of the hotel. The ingenious landlord, however, borrowed a huge sheet of thick oil-paper and covered it all up snugly and securely from the weather, as well as from the attentions of a crowd of boys who had gathered round. "I found the boys troublesome everywhere," this traveller writes; "they were not content to look, but must finger everything. On one occasion they turned an oil-tap and lost me half a gallon of precious oil which could not be replaced.... After this I tied up the oil-tap every night and took the wires off the accumulators, for on another occasion I found that a boy had switched these on." Such hints may prove useful to the prospective motorist. The road from Tokyo to Nikko is good, except at one point, where it crosses a river. Next to Miyanoshita, this is the most popular excursion, for the temples are glorious and the hotel is good. We did not hear whether the road from Nikko to Chuzenji was passable. The Japanese have a saying that you must call nothing beautiful until you have seen Nikko. L. says nothing is beautiful after you have seen Nikko. It is supreme, the climax. In 1889 he journeyed three hours to Utsunomiya, and then five hours by _kuruma_ to Nikko, through the wonderful avenue of cryptomerias, with the foliage meeting overhead. This avenue is said to extend for fifty miles. When the temples at Nikko were being raised, some three hundred years ago, many nobles presented portions of them; but some, poorer than the rest, for their share planted these trees as an approach to the temples. [Illustration: THE WONDERFUL AVENUE OF CRYPTOMERIAS.] L. was not disappointed in going there on a later visit, for the great trees still stood solemnly above the gorgeous temples, and peace and religious quiet were to be found there as always. On the other side of the rushing river, however, there was a change, for hotels and European comforts had been provided. I am not sure whether one can motor from Tokyo to Fukushima or not, but, in any event, it would be worth trying. We went there on a former visit, staying at a Japanese inn, sleeping on mats in comforters. Next day we went on, part of the way by train, part by jinrikisha, to the "eight hundred and eight islands," the most fascinating place in the world. We took a boat and went in and out among the islands until we came to Matsushima, a little fishing town which is considered the first of the Sankei--"the three finest views in Japan"--on account of its exceptionally beautiful sea view. The islands are covered with queer, stunted pines, among which quaint temples are to be seen. Even now in the stillness of the night I can hear their bells, like a mysterious, musical moan. [Illustration: A VIEW OF MATSUSHIMA.] The following condensed account of a trip by motorcycle from Tokyo to Kyoto and beyond may be of use to the traveller. The distance is about three hundred and forty miles. Three and a half gallons of petrol were consumed, which is more than would have been used if the second and third days' ride had not been in the teeth of a gale. The machine was a 2 3-4 h. p. twin-cylinder Douglas with free engine clutch and two-speed gear. A lightweight of this sort has proved most suitable for Japan, for there are dozens of occasions--lifting in and out of boats, up steps, pushing over stony river-beds--when one is glad of its lightness. One never wishes for more speed. Allowing time for rest, food, and casual stops, not over a hundred miles can be made in a day with any pleasure. On this expedition the cyclist went by way of Kozu and stayed over a day at Shizuoka. It is fifty-five miles from there to Fukuroi, where he lunched, and then continued on to Maisaka for the night. "From Maisaka," he says, "one can cross over the Hamano Lagoon to Arai by ferry, one can take the train over the bridge, or make the circuit of the lagoon. As there was a strong gale blowing the ferry did not put out, so this night was spent at Benten-jima, a pleasant little bathing resort at the mouth of the lagoon." Next morning, he left Arai at nine o'clock. About two miles out there was a very stiff hill, which is frequently mentioned in pictures of Tokaido travel. The ascent commenced immediately after a sharp turn out of a village street, so that it was impossible to get a good start. The view over the sea from the top was splendid, however, and the run down to Toyohashi among slopes blazing with azaleas proved delightful. At Atsuta, fifty-five miles from Toyohashi, the cyclist left the Tokaido and passed through one of the suburbs of Nagoya. This is the third city of Japan, Tokyo being the first and Osaka the second in size. It is famous for its potteries and especially for its castle, which has a keep typical of the ancient feudal times and often shown in Japanese art. The castle is in fairly good preservation and is one of the best specimens of architecture in the country. The central building is a massive structure one hundred and fifty feet high, surmounted by two golden dolphins, which may be seen from a tremendous distance glistening in the sun. One of them was exhibited at Vienna in 1873; on its way home it was lost with the ship, but was finally recovered at great expense. After Nagoya, Kano was reached. Here one turns to the left, without entering Gifu, and proceeds along the Nakasendo--the great highway that connects Tokyo and Kyoto by way of the mountains while the Tokaido runs nearer the coast. Maibara, on the shores of Lake Biwa, was reached that evening at eight o'clock; from there it was a straight run to Kyoto. Lake Biwa, the largest piece of fresh water in Japan, is about forty-five miles long. It is surrounded on all sides by hills and is supposed to have been produced by an earthquake early in the third century before Christ. [Illustration: LAKE BIWA.] It is also possible to go from Tokyo to Kyoto by way of Atami, but it is not a very good trip. Those who try it generally get on the train at Kozu and get off again at Gotimba--a method much easier for a motorcycle than for a car, of course. There are a thousand things to do and see in Kyoto, but if one is there in cherry blossom season one must not fail to see the glorious old cherry tree so widely renowned. Near it is the Mound of Ears. Osame told me that long ago, after a great battle in Korea, the returning victors brought with them their enemies' ears and noses, instead of the heads, to show how many Koreans they had killed. These trophies were buried in a mound to commemorate the battle. A trip was made from Kyoto to Ama-no-Hashidate--another of the "three finest views"--by way of Suchi and Kawamori. For some miles the road out of Kyoto is bad; there is a long climb before Kameoka and a steep, long, but well-graded pass between Sonobe and Kinokiyama. The whole of this day's journey lay through beautiful, well-wooded country with glimpses of the Yuragawa as one rode along its left bank, then over a splendid hilly coast road into Miyazu--a distance of about ninety miles in all. [Illustration: AMA-NO-HASHIDATE.] The return was made by way of Shin-Maizuru, where one turns to the right after getting into the broad main street and soon reaches the coast again near Takahama. From there on to Obama the scenery would be hard to surpass with its views of the coast and of the wooded hills inland covered with azaleas, wisteria and other brilliant flowers. The road from Imazu skirts the western shores of Lake Biwa and is very narrow and bumpy until within ten miles of Otsu. Indeed, the roads, after leaving the coast, are often so narrow that there would be no pleasure in taking a car over them. L. and I found most of the roads around Kyoto good. A few of them present difficulties, such as the one from Kyoto to Kamazawa, but from this point they are again fine, though many hills and dangerous spots are still to be met with. On a former visit we went in 'rickshas to the foot of these hills, passing green fields of rice and reaching the Harashiyawa River, which flows rapidly into the plain. We took a flat-bottomed boat and were towed and poled up the swift water between the steep, wooded banks, where it was very lovely. We had tea at a tea-house on the bank, and watched the fishermen in boats, and looked out over the pleasant landscape in the sunset glow of crimson and gold before the purple shadows fell across the plains. From Kyoto to Otsu, which is on the shore of Lake Biwa, is about an hour's ride by rail. There one takes a small steamer up the lake to Nagahama, where, after a tiffin of carp with rice and _soy_ at a tea-house, one may take a train again for Nara. One may also go from Kyoto to Nara direct by _kuruma_--a day's journey. There are interesting temples to visit on the hillsides along the road--popular shrines where thousands of pilgrims with jangling staves, and holiday-makers taking tea and cakes, enjoy themselves simply in their beautiful surroundings. We passed among them, beneath the great gates guarded by fantastic demon gods, green and red and blue, and into temples, gorgeous but often dilapidated and dusty, past pagodas and through long avenues of stone lanterns. At Nara we saw the Golden Pavilion and the Silver Pavilion, the summer places of retired princes. There are entrancing gardens with little ponds filled with goldfish, tiny bridges and imitation mountains, the "wash-the-moon" cascade, and the platforms where warriors used to sit and look at the moon--those fierce, two-sworded warriors of other days. The old temples of Nara have stood there silently for over a thousand years, beneath the gaze of that huge, ungainly bronze Buddha who looks down with half-shut eyes, one hand held up in benediction, the other resting on his knee. He sits on his open lotus flower beneath the tall, solemn cryptomerias,--this wonderful Dai Butsu, the largest in all Japan. We wandered through the groves and the park where the dainty wild deer are so friendly. On the hillside above is a temple to Kwannon, over a thousand years old, standing out from the dark green of the pines. Farther along is a Shinto temple, low and with galleries and many lanterns. Here we saw priests praying--shaven-headed _bonzes_ in their robes--at whom pilgrims were tossing coppers. Beyond is the Wakamiya, where, for a consideration, some priestesses perform a dance called _kagura_ while priests chant and play the flute and the tom-tom. As we went by, we saw a veiled priestess dancing there in true Eastern style. At the foot of the slope is a five-storied pagoda, black with age, for it dates back to the eighth century. [Illustration: ANCIENT TEMPLE NEAR NARA.] Nikko and Nara! The one a place of some three hundred years, gilded and coloured--the other ancient, and sombre, and impressive. From Nara to Osaka you pass more old temples, where they say an eye of Buddha is secretly guarded. Osaka is sometimes called the Venice of Japan, on account of its many canals and bridges. The castle here must have been by far the most magnificent in the country before it was destroyed by fire. The moats and foundations that remain are splendid specimens of masonry. From Kyoto to Kobe is a ride of two and a half hours in the train. The road skirts the hills which bound Kyoto, passes Osaka, and follows some rivers that flow higher than the level of the country--indeed, the road runs through tunnels under three large streams! The terracing of the land is very marked along this route. Japanese methods of farming and irrigation require that the land shall be level, and so the country is all plotted off into little irregular terraces. The ground is saturated with water, which stands to a depth of several inches around the growing crops. Paddy-fields are really ponds of standing water, while a farm is a marsh, the house alone rising above the surface. Farmers, while taking in their rice or plowing their fields, work with the water and thick black mud up to their knees. Kobe is the foreign name applied to Hyogo, the treaty-port. It is next to Yokohama in commercial importance. The foreigners in Kobe--English, German and American--have a very pleasant club, and pretty bungalows on the hills back of the town. A beautiful waterfall and the Temple of the Moon are not far away. Maiko, in the province of Harima, is one of the most enchanting spots in this part of Japan. It is near the upper entrance to the Inland Sea, not far from Kobe. Nothing can be more fairy-like and mysterious than the spreading, twisted trees on the white sand there in the moonlight. _Maiko_ means dancing girl, and the place gets its name from the effect given the ancient pines when the wind blows the sand into shifting scarfs about them. Lake Shinji, on the northern coast, is also one of the most interesting places in the country and one seldom seen by foreigners. Ogo-Harito is famous for its giant rocks washed by the sea into strange and fantastic shapes. It is the female spirit of the west coast, while Matsushima is considered the male spirit of the east coast. If one has time, Yahakii should be seen, for it is a very strange valley with its enormous conventional terraces made by nature. At the bottom of the canyon is a swift river, and temples are perched here and there on high crags. Koro Halcho, in the province of Kii, is very beautiful, especially in the spring when the gorge with its deep cliffs is made lovelier still with wild flowers. A motorcyclist would find inviting trips in Hokkaido, where the roads are not bad, though it is rather difficult getting there. Over on the other coast, from Nazano to Navetta, and around Kamisana, there are good roads. Our trip through the Inland Sea, from Kobe to Nagasaki, was one of the most delightful experiences that we had in Japan. We chartered a boat at Kobe, after an extravagant comedy of errors. L. went on board at midnight to examine it, and the agent did not discover until after the business was finished that it was not the boat which he intended L. to see at all; but the captain was too quick for him, and seized the opportunity to make a good bargain. It turned out very well indeed for us. The steamer was of two hundred tons burden, one hundred and fifty feet long, with very comfortable cabins--two small ones in European style and one large one extending entirely across the boat, with mats in native style, where Japanese passengers may lie side by side on their comforters. We took our own supplies, and had a very good cook until he went off one night on a spree. We went aboard one evening, and sailed at daybreak next morning, being awakened by the rattling of the chain and the churning of the propeller. Soon we were gliding out of the harbour between the shipping, just as the sun came up out of the Eastern Ocean, chasing the shadows down the hillsides and bathing the shore in a glorious crimson. We turned Hyogo Point and headed for Akashi Straits, to enter the Inland Sea, passing palisades like those on the Hudson. All day long we went through the archipelago of green and yellow islands. At first the sea was glassy, then gently ruffled, and junks and sampans with queer sails glided by. Toward evening we passed into even narrower passages and straits, and the moon rose, all silver in the twilight sky, while we turned many times, now to the right, now to the left, finally coming to anchor off the twinkling lights of Onomichi. We landed after dinner and walked through the little town, then sat out on deck and sang in the flooding moonlight. [Illustration: JAPANESE JUNKS.] When we left next morning it was to pass more promontories on beautiful islands, lovely mountains rising behind, and picturesque shores fringed with tiny trees all green and purple in the haze. In the afternoon the clouds and rain that crossed our path only added to and varied the loveliness of the approach to Hiroshima. During the day we had an unsurpassed panorama of Japanese scenery, with grotesque, broken islands fringed with pine, and ravined mountains dipping down into the calm blue waters, on which the quaintest and most unreal of sampans and junks were idly floating. We felt as if we were passing through a miniature ocean with its islands and old-world villages constantly appearing and disappearing in the rising, shifting mist. No wonder the Japanese believe in ghosts and in Bahu, the Eater of Dreams! As the sun went down we rounded the enchanted island of Miyajima--the third of the "three finest views"--and glided into the bay before the famous temple. When it grew darker the four hundred lanterns of bronze and stone along the water's edge were lighted for us. The temple itself is built on piles, and the _torii_ stands far out from the shore. We were sculled across the still waters in a sampan. The tide was at its highest, and the hundreds of little lights were reflected in its glassy surface. Slowly we drifted beneath the great _torii_ to the temple entrance. Once more the Spell of Japan stole over us. [Illustration: THE GREAT _TORII_.] The sunrise next morning was too beautiful for words. We appeared to be coming out from a rosy dawn into a grey, dim future, as the sun came up through a pearly mist and the little clouds rose in wreaths about the tops of the strange mountains, making pictures such as the art of Japan loves to depict. Tiny straw-sailed boats appeared and disappeared mysteriously. It was all very silent and lovely. Later in the day we climbed the hill behind the temple, then came down and bathed, having tea at a delightful little tea-house, taking tiffin ashore beneath the tiny-leafed maples near a brook; we went aboard in the late afternoon, and, hoisting anchor, steamed away. Next morning we saw the sun rise at Moji. We passed Shimonoseki and then steamed out into the China Sea, keeping the picturesque shore of Kyushu in sight all the way. We picked our course through the outlying islands and the swirling straits of Hirado, and reached Nagasaki late at night. Contenting ourselves with one look at its twinkling lights, we retired. Morning showed us once more its beautiful harbour, the mountains range on range behind it, and the city itself on either side, the houses rising above each other on long terraces to the summits of the hills on which Nagasaki is built. Near us a big ship was coaling--a wonderful sight to one who beholds it for the first time. It was surrounded by countless barges upon which were swarming crowds of Japanese--men, women and children. Forming a long line that reached from the barges up a ladder into the ship's hold, they handed baskets of coal from one to the other, so that a continuous stream poured steadily into the ship. The strangeness of the costumes, the unusual sight of women doing a man's work--many of them with babies strapped to their backs--added to the interest of the busy scene. Down in the hold, where the heat must have been suffocating, they plodded on, men and women, clad chiefly in coal-dust. All day long they worked away with happy smiles, the babies bobbing up and down on their mothers' backs, doubtless wondering what it was all about. The sight reminded me of the passage in the �neid, where the poet speaks of the ants as "tiny toilers of giant industry," and describes them carrying crumbs in their mouths to the common storehouse in a seemingly never-ending line. As we steamed out of the harbour, the green hills rose steeply from the water with houses and shrines peeping through the trees, backed by a still higher range of hills which were finally lost in the blue distance or broke off into crags and cliffs. CHAPTER XIV FLOWERS, INDOORS AND OUT "If one should inquire of you concerning the spirit of a true Japanese, point to the wild cherry blossoms shining in the sun." _The poet Motoori._ The Spell of Japan owes no small part of its potency to the abundant flowers, which weave about the land an ever-changing veil of bright colours and exquisite textures. First appear the fragrant plums, earliest of the "One Hundred Flowers," and the freesias, and the wonderful display of cherry blossoms in March and April, then the wisteria and azalea, the iris and the peony, "the flower of prosperity"--in China it is called "the queen of flowers"--in July the lotus, and in the autumn the chrysanthemum, "the long-lasting plant." Of all these the cherry and the chrysanthemum are the most famous. The plum, an emblem of chastity, is enjoyed chiefly by the intellectual. There is only a breath of flower on the gnarled stock, a mystery of white or pink or red, which requires close study to find delight in the manner in which the blossoms scatter irregularly on the beautiful, twisting branches, silvery with lichen. This charming little poem by Sosei refers to the plum as the herald of spring: "Amid the branches of the silv'ry bowers The nightingale doth sing: perchance he knows That spring hath come, and takes the later snows For the white petals of the plum's sweet flowers." The cherry, being gayer and more profuse, is more popular with the people. It is called "the king of flowers," and especially represents abundance and vitality. It is therefore a fitting symbol of the national population. When the cherry is in blossom, the Japanese make excursions to view particularly beautiful trees, and as they feast and float in their pleasure boats, they enjoy even the fluttering petals, whether seen in the bright sunlight or the pale moonbeams. So high an official as a Prime Minister will take a day's journey for the sight of a cherry tree in bloom. A Japanese of the olden time has beautifully pictured the blossoming cherry trees: "When in spring the trees flower, it is as if fleeciest masses of cloud faintly tinged by sunset had floated down from the highest sky to fold themselves about the branches." The wisteria is an especial favourite with foreigners, no doubt for the reason that we seldom see in America drooping clusters of such length--the length of an umbrella, as the Japanese measure. It is believed that this flower attains great size and beauty if the roots are nourished with the rice wine of the country, and there is at Kameido a tree producing unusually fine blossoms, at the base of which visitors are accustomed to empty their wine cups. Every one is familiar with the beautiful and varied colours of the Japanese iris, as the bulbs are shipped to all parts of the world. The peony often measures nine inches across, and some of the tree peonies have petals of a lovely silky sheen and texture. It is sometimes called "the plant of twenty days," because it is said to keep fresh for that length of time. In art, it forms a constant decoration on temple and palace walls, and it is supposed, like the lotus, to have medicinal properties. The lotus is not used for festivities or rejoicing in Japan, but for sacred ceremonies and funerals. As it is a Buddhist flower, and as Buddhism started in India, it is sometimes called the national flower of India. It grows wonderfully, however, on the castle moats in Tokyo. In its season the chrysanthemum pervades the country. It blossoms in every garden, it grows by the roadside, and it stands in every tiny shop. Each loyal son of Dai Nippon has a flower upon which he may rest his eye and with which he may delight his artistic and patriotic sense. The sixteen-petalled flower is the crest of the Emperor, and no one else is allowed to use that as a design, although the blossom is often reproduced in decoration with fewer petals. The people go on pilgrimages in order to gaze with semi-religious awe upon "the long-lasting plant"; the Emperor gives a chrysanthemum party; and the season of this most decorative of flowers is made one of general rejoicing. The chrysanthemum has been cultivated in China for more than two thousand years, says Dr. Bryan in the _Japan Magazine_, and there is evidence of its being cherished in Egypt a thousand years before it is mentioned in China. Whether it came from Egypt to China, or vice versa, it is impossible now to determine, but the Chinese like to regard it as a product of the Far East. Confucius mentions it in 500 B.C., under the name of _liki_. From China it was brought to Japan, where it has reached its highest development. What the lotus was to Egypt, the fleur-de-lys to France, and the Tudor rose to England, the chrysanthemum is to Japan. The flower is single, yet many. It is a unity in variety, and a variety springing from one undivided centre. The Japanese call it "binding flower," for just as its petals bind themselves together on the surface, so the Emperor and the people are forever bound together in indissoluble union. It was probably chosen as the most natural and artistic emblem of the sun, but both this and the cherry blossom, like the Emperor and his people, are considered children of that luminary, whose orb resplendent stands for the country as a whole. Many a maiden of Japan is named after "the binding flower," and its use is very typical of Japanese art and life. [Illustration:_A Japanese Flower Man_] At one chrysanthemum show we saw nine hundred blossoms on a single plant, and the flowers were arranged to form figures of warriors and ladies of long ago, from the fairy tales of Old Japan. At Dango-zaka, a place of professional gardens, an exhibition is held each year, for which visitors are charged two _sen_[10] a peep. Here we saw wonderful figures made of flowers--one of an elephant and his rider being thirty-six feet high. In the grottoes and rockeries of the garden were other life-like figures. It was a sort of "Madame Tussaud's" with the characters in flowers instead of wax. On revolving stages were rocks and mountains, horses and men in all sorts of attitudes, brilliant, curious and interesting--all made of flowers. One scene represented Commodore Perry's reception by the Shogun. [10] A _sen_ is three-fourths of a cent. The Imperial Chrysanthemum Party has been in vogue at the Japanese Court since 1682.[11] Formerly, as the guests came before the Emperor, a vase of lovely blossoms, to which was attached a bag of frankincense and myrrh, was placed in front of His Majesty, and cups of _saké_ with the petals floating in them were handed around. In the annals of China we read the explanation of this custom: [11] For this description, also, I am largely indebted to the writings of Dr. Bryan. There was once upon a time, as the story goes, a man who was warned of an impending calamity, which could be warded off, he was told, by attaching a bag of myrrh to his elbow and ascending a certain hill, where he was to drink _saké_ with the petals of the chrysanthemum floating in it. The man did as was suggested, but on returning home he found all his domestic animals dead. When he informed his teacher that the plan had not worked, the former replied that the calamity was to have come upon his family, and that by acting upon the warning he had averted it, throwing the vengeance on the animals instead. The Emperor's Chrysanthemum Party is now conducted in a somewhat different manner from that of the olden time. It is held in the flower palace of the Imperial garden at Akasaka. Upon the arrival of the Emperor and his suite at the main gate, the Japanese national anthem begins, and the guests, who are already in their places, line the pathway on either side, bowing as Their Majesties, the Emperor and Empress, and the princes of the blood, file past. Then the guests fall into line after the Imperial party and follow to the place where the feast is prepared. The Emperor takes his place on the dais at the head of the marquee, and receives all the representatives of foreign countries and some of the higher officials of the Empire. As each diplomat appears in the Mikado's presence he bows three times, and his felicitations are translated into Japanese by an interpreter who stands near His Majesty. The Empress is seated on a dais slightly lower but very near, and all who approach the Emperor bow also to the Empress. This function over, the Emperor sips a glass of wine, which is the signal for the feast to commence. As soon as the feasting is ended the band strikes up, and His Majesty begins to prepare for his departure. The guests again line up, and bow in farewell as the Imperial procession files out, then they enjoy the view of the superb chrysanthemums. The Imperial Cherry Blossom Party in the spring is held in the same garden at Akasaka, and is conducted in much the same way, an elaborate feast being laid in a great marquee. The palace in these grounds originally belonged to Prince Kishu, but after the burning of the Emperor's palace in 1873 this one was used as a temporary abode of the Imperial family, and was afterward the residence of the Crown Prince, now Emperor. In the province of Kai there is a hill called Chrysanthemum Mount, overhanging a river into which the petals fall. It is believed that long life is assured by drinking the water. Among the people the custom also survives of placing small blossoms or petals in the cup during the wine-drinking that takes place at the festival on the ninth day of the ninth month. The Japanese fondness for flowers is not bestowed chiefly on the rare and costly varieties produced by the florist's skill, but is lavished upon the familiar blossoms of every day. Love of nature is shown in their pilgrimages for seeing flowers, picking mushrooms, gathering shells, and even for viewing the moon, which form their favourite holiday excursions. One of the prettiest conceits of the Japanese imagination is that which regards the snowflakes as the flowers of winter, and has added snow-viewing to the list of flower-festivals. Parties are even formed to rise at dawn and go out to see the morning-glories open. I can testify, too, from my own experience that they are well rewarded, for Japanese morning-glories are worth seeing. One day when our train was delayed at a village, the station master invited us to view the morning-glories in his tiny garden, about twenty feet square. The colours were so beautiful that they were really a feast for the eyes. Some were pale in tint, some brilliant, and some had crinkled flowers and leaves. Among the Japanese popular names for plants are some interesting ones. The tufted grass that grows on the hillsides has the delightful name of "lion's moustache." The barberry, which grows wild in Japan as it does here, is popularly styled "snake-can't-climb-up," on account of its thorns, the idea being that the snake wants the berries, but the thorns keep him off. The little pachysandra, sometimes used here for borders in gardens, bears the high-sounding title of "noble plant." We are surprised at this until we discover that it is very hardy, adapts itself to any surroundings, and blossoms under the unfavourable conditions of early spring. Because of these qualities, rather than for anything striking in its outward appearance, it is called noble. It is also a symbol of good luck, perhaps in recognition of the fact that a person's good fortune comes chiefly from his hardihood, adaptability and power to overcome obstacles. On one of our visits to Japan we imitated the fashion of the country and made pilgrimages to view the lotus, which was in full bloom in July, its pink and white blossoms almost covering the waters of the ponds. Again in the autumn, we went on excursions to enjoy the charming colours of the maples. Often we took jinrikishas and went to an inn by a rippling brook, where we spent the day, eating the native food with chopsticks from little lacquer trays, and looking out from the balcony of polished wood upon the bright, sharp-pointed leaves dancing in the sunshine. At the various festival seasons of the year, different flowers and plants are used, either alone or in combination with others. For instance, the pine and the bamboo appear among New Year decorations; the iris is the flower of the Boys' Festival; fruits and berries are used on the first day of the eighth month. Such occasions as the coming of age of a young man, a promotion in rank, farewell gatherings, death anniversaries, poetry meetings, tea ceremonials and incense burnings, all are adorned by their appropriate flowers. Japanese flower arrangement differs fundamentally from that of the West, and includes much more than the mere massing of a cluster of blossoms of beautiful colour and texture, set off by a sufficient number of leaves of some kind. _Ike-bana_, as they call their art, considers the flower as a mere detail and of little beauty apart from its proper place on the stem. In addition to grace and beauty of line and an entire absence of crowding, it requires the expression of the thought that what you have before you is not simply cut flowers but a growing plant--which must always have an uneven number of branches. Buds and even withered leaves are used as well as flowers, in order to suggest the natural mode of growth. By keeping the stems together for a few inches at the base a strong plant is indicated, springing from the surface of the water, which is supposed to represent the surface of the earth. [Illustration: _IKE-BANA_ OR FLOWER ARRANGEMENT.] As we learn the rules of _Ike-bana_, we do not wonder that it has been the study and diversion of philosophers, generals and priests. The three branches with which the arrangement starts are named Heaven, Man and Earth. Heaven, the longest branch, must be one and one-half times the height of the vase and must stand in the centre of the cluster. Man should be one-half the length of Heaven, and Earth one-half as long as Man. These sprays are bent into the desired curves before they are placed in the vase. Finally, but with great care, every leaf or flower that hides another must be ruthlessly cut off. By the use of special flowers and the varying disposition of the sprays the season of the year or the particular occasion for which the arrangement is designed may be indicated. For example, unusual curves of the branches suggest the high winds of March; white flowers are used at a housewarming, or they signify water to put out a fire; evergreens or chrysanthemums are used when a youth comes into his property, to express the wish that he may long keep his possessions. Following out the Buddhist idea of preserving life as long as possible, the Japanese make their vases with a wide mouth, so that the water they contain may be exposed to the air. This makes it necessary to support the branches, and various kinds of holders have been devised for this purpose. Both vases and holders are made of basket-work, porcelain, bronze and bamboo, and according to their shape they are called by such names as "Singing Mouth," "Crane Neck," and "Rampant Lion." Hanging baskets in the form of boats, too, are popular, and receive names like "Cloud Boat" and "Dragon-head Boat." In summer low, shallow vases are used, which suggest coolness by the extent of water surface exposed. According to the law of _Ike-bana_, vases should be nine-tenths filled with water in spring and autumn, in hot weather they must be brimful, in winter only four-fifths full, and even less in very cold weather. Pebbles may cover the bottom of the vase in imitation of a river-bed, both white and black ones being used. An effective arrangement is to place three large stones on top of the small ones--quite a high rock to represent a mountain, a second flat one, and a third between the others in height. The Japanese love to decorate their houses with flowers, but we might say on entering, Where are they? Why, in the most honoured place of all! On the raised platform of the alcove, perhaps beside the image of some god, stands a large vase with a few carefully arranged branches of flowers, or maybe of leaves alone. These are enough. You feel no need of anything more. The table decorations made for Europeans are especially interesting. They are often placed directly on the tablecloth. One that we saw contained a conventionalized Fuji in evergreen needles, like a flat print, overhung with cotton wool to imitate clouds. Sometimes miniature landscapes are formed in a box, for anything tiny delights the Japanese, and they spend whole days arranging such things. The Inland Sea is often represented in blue and white sand, with real earth for the shores and the islands, while small pine branches are introduced to look like twisted trees. Boats and fishes are put in the blue sand, and small temples set up on the shore. As every imaginable toy is made by the Japanese, the scene can be varied according to the taste of the designer--I have even seen tiny European ladies imitated, and railway trains and telegraph poles introduced. [Illustration: "THE TABLE DECORATIONS ... ARE ESPECIALLY INTERESTING"] In the miniature landscapes which Watanabe devised for us he used dwarfed trees in almost every instance, and imitated water and waterfalls with sands of different colours. For the Fuji of these pictures he sometimes used one of those oddly shaped pebbles that abound in Japan. On Washington's Birthday Watanabe surpassed himself in this sort of decoration. He represented Washington City by a diminutive Capitol and White House and Washington Monument, set in a park-like arrangement of gravel drives and avenues of tiny trees. Among these appeared absurd little equestrian monuments and decorative detail of various kinds. As he had never been in America we asked him how he had pictured it so correctly. He answered that he found a photograph of the Capitol in a book, and took it to a friend, who made models of the buildings for him. He also had arranged a large cherry tree (which, because it had artificial flowers, appeared to be in full bloom), into which the proverbial hatchet was stuck. The Japanese art of landscape gardening arose from their fondness for nature, which led them to reproduce in miniature the scenery visible from their homes. No doubt Chinese influence had its effect upon this art, as upon many others, through the medium of the Buddhist priesthood. Among the earliest examples of landscape gardening were the temple groves of Nara. From the twelfth to the fourteenth centuries gardens took on a freer form, more like that of the present time, but the dried-up water scenery was used, showing the hollow of a lake dry, as if in time of drought, sometimes combined with the bare mountain. In the fifteenth century, when the tea ceremony was introduced, a special form of garden was devoted to its use, while at the same time the art of flower arrangement flourished. Soami, about 1480, and Enshiu, a hundred years later, are among the best known landscape artists. "The Rocky Ocean," "The Wide River," "The Mountain Torrent," and "The Lake Wave" are fanciful names given to different styles of gardening. A Japanese garden is generally enclosed by a bamboo paling, often in some pretty design, which may surround the house as well. There should be one high point in the garden, which dominates the whole, and it may contain a miniature mountain, dwarf trees, stones, and a tea-house with a gateway at the entrance. If possible, there should be water with a bridge over it, and a cascade to bring luck. From the varying arrangement of these features, we find hill gardens, flat gardens, finished, intermediary or rough gardens. On our place in Brookline, Massachusetts, we have a Japanese hill garden. The flat effect is especially popular in Japan, with its gravel walks and stone lanterns in different sizes and designs; but whichever style is chosen, it must be so planned as to present its best appearance from the house. No garden is complete without one or more lanterns, which are placed, if possible, by the water, that their light may be reflected in the pond. The stone basins for washing the hands vary in style, and so, too, do the gateways; these sometimes have thatched roofs, which provide shelter, and can be made very attractive. There are twisted dwarf trees here and there, of course, and variously shaped stepping-stones set in regular order along the narrow paths. Low bridges, usually without railings, cross the tiny pond, in which there are often double-tailed goldfish and carp which rise to the surface when you clap your hands. Some enclosures even contain gaily coloured pheasants, ducks and storks. [Illustration: _A Japanese Garden, Tokyo_] Curiously shaped stones are carefully selected for the garden, each one having a name and a meaning attached to it. Standing upright in the centre should be the high "guardian stone." You may look for the "worshipping stone" in the foreground or on an island; you will find the "perfect view" on the hillside or in some prominent place; you discover the "water-tray stone" on the pond shore, and the "shadow stone" in the valley between two hills. Next to the "worshipping stone" is the "seat of honour," which is flat and horizontal. The "snail" is the most important stepping-stone. Trees as well as stones have rank in the miniature landscape. The principal tree is the largest, and is as a rule either a pine or an oak. One in a secluded corner with thick foliage to afford shade is called the "tree of solitude." The "perfection tree" should have fine branches. Around the waterfall is planted the "cascade circuit," consisting of low bushes; and in the background is the "setting-sun tree," which is turned westward in order to screen the garden somewhat from the rays of the sun, and is often a maple that will light up the place with its own glow in the autumn. In the literature of gardens we read of male and female cascades and rocks--just as of male and female styles of flower arrangement--the big one being the male, the smaller one near-by the female. The flowering tree is also considered a male, the plant in the same pot a female. The dwarf trees, that looked so strange when we first saw them, soon became to us one of the delightful features of gardening in Japan. These, as well as the gardens themselves, originated in the love of nature, the Japanese wishing to have about them reduced copies of trees which they admired. As the demand for these pigmies has greatly increased in recent years and the process of dwarfing is slow, Japanese florists have discovered a way of making them by a speedier method. When they find old, stunted trees that have taken on unusual shapes--those that have become gnarled and twisted by growing among rocks are especially good for this purpose--they cut them back very closely, root and branch, then leave them to grow for a time in the soil. After this they take up the plants carefully without disturbing the earth immediately about the roots, and place them in pots. Trees even one hundred years old have been successfully treated in this way. But this is not "real dwarfing," which was described to me by my Japanese gardener. For this process, if you wish to keep the tree very small, it is raised from seed sown in a pot. After the seedling has made the growth of the first year, it is taken up, and the earth is carefully shaken off the roots and replaced with soil adapted to the special needs of the tree, which is allowed to grow for two or three years. Then it is time to begin trimming it into shape, and here the same symbolic arrangement is followed as in _Ike-bana_, based upon the three main branches, Heaven, Man and Earth. Root-pruning must also be started after the growing season is over, and the larger roots cut away, leaving only the finer ones. If the branches run out too far in one direction, their growth is stopped by cutting off the roots on that side. A tree that is to be kept very small is not repotted until the roots have filled the pot; one that is to make a larger growth is transferred at an earlier date. By scraping off the top of the soil occasionally and putting on fresh earth repotting may be postponed for eight or ten years according to the kind of tree. Dwarf maples from seed are ready for sale in two or three years; seedling pines require from five to ten years to fit them for the market, and plums four or five years. Lately, however, it has become the custom to graft the plum, cutting back the tree until only a contorted old stump is left, and grafting upon this. We had two such trees at the Embassy, which were simply old stumps filled with plum blossoms, one cluster pink and the other white, diffusing their perfume all over the house. They were very beautiful with a plain gold screen for a background. All kinds of evergreens, oaks and maples, the plum and some other flowering trees, bamboos and every sort of flowering shrub, and some vines, such as the wisteria and the morning glory, are all used for dwarfing. Plants having thorns are never treated in this way, neither are they used in the decoration of shrines nor in real Japanese flower arrangement. For this reason the large, fine roses in which we take such delight, had never been cultivated in Japan until perhaps forty years ago, when the first one was brought from Holland, and the method of cultivation was also borrowed from the Dutch. In gardens, these diminutive trees are carefully shaded from the rays of the afternoon sun, and special pains are taken to keep them well watered. When the temperature is above ninety degrees, they are watered three times a day--at eleven in the morning, and at two and five in the afternoon. If they are used as house plants, the care of them is a dignified occupation, in which even nobles and princes may engage in their own homes. As the use of ordinary fertilizers might be disagreeable to these exalted personages on account of their bad odour, a pleasant and economical way has been found of supplying the small quantity of nourishment needed from eggs. After an egg has been broken and the yolk and the white removed, the shell, with the small amount of albumen that adheres to it, is taken in the hand and the broken edge touched here and there to the soil of the pot, leaving on each spot a tiny drop of white of egg. This process, repeated from day to day, furnishes the little tree with all the nutriment it requires. Milk is also sometimes fed to these plants by the Japanese, who have discovered that it gives brighter colours to the flowers. We visited a charming exposition of pigmy trees in Shiba. Many gentlemen of Tokyo had sent their tiny plants and miniature vases, _hibachi_, lacquers, books and jades to decorate the doll-house rooms. These playthings are in many cases of great antiquity and value, and lovely in quality and colour; as much pains and taste are required to arrange these little expositions as to decorate the large rooms of a palace. On account of our visit the gardener had taken particular trouble, and he showed us all the fairy articles with loving hands and words. There were microscopic trees an inch high and landscapes two inches long, which were a real delight, so exquisite were they. Such trees are really works of art, and some of them indeed as valuable as gems. About us, in pots of beautiful form and colour, were the dwarf trees of fantastic shape--stunted plum in fragrant bloom, white and pink, and gnarled trees hundreds of years old with blossoming branches springing out of seemingly dead trunks. The Arsenal Gardens in Tokyo are said to have been formerly the most wonderful in the country. Koraku-en, their Japanese name--literally translated, "past pleasant recalling,"--probably means "full of pleasant remembrances." They were designed some three hundred years ago with the object of reproducing in miniature many of the most renowned scenes in the Island Empire. In front of the pavilion, however, is a lake which is copied from a noted one in China called Soi-ko. Beyond the lake rises a wooded hill, on which stands a small, beautifully carved replica of the famous temple Kiyomisu at Kyoto. Lower down the hill is a little stream spanned by an accurate copy of the well-known bridge at Nikko; further on is the shrine of Haky-i and Shiky-sei, the loyal brothers of Chinese legend. An arched stone bridge leads to still another shrine, and from this a path through a thicket of creepers conducts to a lake covered with lotus and fed by a stream which forms a lovely cascade. Another path crosses little mountains through thick foliage of bamboo and pine, passes the artificial sea with its treasure island in the centre, and leads over bridges, by waterfalls and around temples. In these gardens the Japanese most perfectly realized their desire to transfer the features of a natural landscape to their immediate surroundings; here were magnificent trees of great size, lakes and streams and mountains in miniature, and a wide jungle of grass and bamboo. Through the noise and dust and dilapidation due to the encroachments of the Arsenal workshops, one can still catch a glimpse of the underlying plan and imagine the ancient beauties of Koraku-en. CHAPTER XV THE ARTIST'S JAPAN "The great characteristic of Japanese art is its intense and extraordinary vitality, in the sense that it is no mere exotic cultivation of the skilful, no mere graceful luxury of the rich, but a part of the daily lives of the people themselves." _Mortimer Menpes._ At every turn of the head the artist in Japan discerns a picture that delights his eye--a quaint little figure dressed in bright colours standing by a twisted tree, a fantastic gateway through which he sees a miniature garden, or the curving roof of a temple, half hidden among the trees. As architecture is always more or less affected by climate, the Japanese, in their land of earthquakes and typhoons, have put up low wooden structures, using cedar or fir principally, because they are plentiful. The laws require that houses shall not exceed six _kin_, or fathoms, in height, but allow warehouses, or _godowns_, which are more substantially built, to be carried up much higher. If by any chance a house has two stories, the second is very low. When I asked the reason for such a law in China, where they have a similar one, I was told the wind gods did not like tall buildings, but I was also assured that it was partly to keep missionaries from building high churches. In Japan, I think it is probably on account of the danger of earthquakes. Owing to the rainy seasons in spring and autumn, the houses have no cellars and are set on low piles. The summers are very warm and the winters are fairly cold, so the _shoji_, or sliding screen, without windows, was no doubt developed for that reason. Every house can be thrown open in summer and closed tightly in winter. As fires are frequent, no house is expected to last many years, and therefore the Japanese store their valuables in fire-proof _godowns_. The "Flower of Yedo" blossomed gloriously the other night, for hundreds of the tiny fragile houses went up in smoke, and thousands of people were made homeless. These Flowers of Yedo are the conflagrations that time after time spread through wide districts of the Capital with startling rapidity and leave nothing behind. Two days after the fire, little houses and fences of fresh new wood were springing up, for the people have been accustomed from time immemorial to these "Blossoms of the Flower." In olden times the roofs were covered with thatch, but the danger from fires is so great that this has been replaced on many houses by tiles. In China it is said that the fashion of curving the roofs of buildings originated in order that the devil, when sliding down over them, might be tossed up again; in Japan, there are also curving roofs and--in the interior of the country--upon the outer walls there are drawings of the god Jizo, who carries a large sword in both hands to ward off misfortune. In Japanese dwellings the kitchen is at one side of the front door. The rooms seldom have more than one solid wall, the others consisting of paper screens. In this solid wall there is always a _toko-noma_, or alcove, raised about a foot above the floor of the room and perhaps two feet deep. It should stand opposite the entrance, and is the most honourable place in the house. Here, where the _kakemono_--a perpendicular, panel-shaped picture--is hung, and a rare porcelain vase of flowers may stand, is the seat of honour. At one side of the _toko-noma_ is a cupboard--the place for the "honourable" book--and above this is a drawer where the writing-box is kept, also the wooden pillow. In some houses a square hole is found under the mat, in which a fire is built for warmth or for cooking purposes. Where there are none of these "fire holes," prettily decorated jars of charcoal, called _hibachi_, are used. The _shoji_ is often adorned with paintings or made of beautiful carved wood. The hammered brass, the lacquered and polished wood, and the superb ceilings add much to the beauty of the homes of the rich. [Illustration: A CARVED PANEL.] Wood carving, both inside and out, is such a feature of the houses as well as the temples that it deserves mention here. At the entrances to fine places and also on the slanting roof over the doorway of the house itself superb carvings are often seen. So many designs and colours are introduced, especially on temple gates, that full scope is given to the imagination and taste of the artist. The famous cat, for instance, on one of the gates at Nikko, is so wonderfully carved and so life-like that it is said to frighten the rats away. Bahu, the Eater of Dreams, and the phoenix and other imaginary animals also appear in Japanese wood carving. Temples are built on rising ground because the people believe that the gods are pleased with high places. The old castles and temples are finer architecturally than other buildings, the former, which were built upon hills or beside great rivers, being extremely picturesque. They are many-storied, pyramidal structures, with curving roofs and gables projecting over each story. The buildings generally stand in three enclosures, each surrounded by a wall or moat, and cover a large extent of ground. The innermost, chief castle, is a large, square tower, three or four stories high, in which lived the lord in feudal times. The gentlemen of the household dwelt within the second enclosure, and in the outer one the soldiers and servants had their quarters. In the erection of castles and pagodas which have stood for many centuries, the Japanese have shown not only their skill as architects but also their knowledge of the principles of construction. Castles and the sides of moats are built of huge blocks of stone, some of those at Osaka being over thirty feet long and fifteen feet high, but the walls, slanting from base to apex, are really pyramids, which are supported within and bound together by enormous timbers. Among the most interesting of these old structures are the castle at Nagoya and that at Kumamoto, in Kyushu; the castle of Himeji is the most perfectly preserved. Kumamoto was built in its present fashion in 1607, and in the Saigo rebellion of 1877 it held out successfully against a large force of rebels, showing no lack of strength in its construction. The castle at Osaka, one hundred and twenty feet high and commanding an extensive view over the River Temma and the surrounding country, was once the finest fortress in the East, but has since been partially destroyed in various sieges. [Illustration: THE CASTLE OF HIMEJI.] Pagodas--which are really towers with a series of curving roofs--are very striking in appearance and most artistic. Some of them have stood for seven hundred years or more, and many of them are kept upright by an exceedingly ingenious device. In the centre, suspended from the top by one end, hangs an immense log, the lower part of which is surrounded by four other logs of the same size, firmly bolted to it. The base of this enormous structure is about an inch from the earth at the bottom of the pagoda, so that it forms a mighty pendulum, which in case of earthquake sways sufficiently to keep the building stable. When we discover that in Japan every person is an artist, we wonder at the universal deftness and skill in handiwork, until we learn that Japanese calligraphy is itself a fine art. Every character is an exercise in freehand drawing, each stroke of the brush, which is filled with India ink, being made by a quick movement of the forearm without support for the wrist. The methods of Japanese painters are very different from those of Western artists. They begin work with a burnt twig, often on a piece of prepared silk, afterward using the brush with India ink and water colours. Each one values his own special cake of India ink very highly. They do not draw directly from the object, but study it for hours in every detail, and then draw from memory. After a picture is well thought out, its execution may require only five or ten minutes. Japanese artists have conventional types of beauty, as the Greeks had. A woman must have a forehead narrow at the top, eyebrows far above the eyes, eyelids scarcely visible, and a small mouth. A man should have greatly exaggerated muscles, and arms and legs placed in almost impossible attitudes. Their pictures abound in bold, sweeping lines--the touch of power--and perhaps for that reason, they have great admiration for Michel Angelo's work. Although we may know the colour prints of the Japanese better than their paintings, it is nevertheless true that their leading painters rank among the great artists of the world. Pictures were painted for the aristocracy; the colour prints, which cost but a trifle, were made for the common people. Painting was introduced into Japan by Buddhist priests, and some of the finest masterpieces are shut up from the world in the temples of Buddha. Many of them, however, have been reproduced in the beautiful series of wood cuts published by the Japanese Government. America has two collections of the original paintings which are finer than any in Europe--that in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, and the Freer collection in Detroit. Painting, as a fine art, has existed in Japan for twelve centuries. The oldest picture recorded is said to have been done on the wall of a temple at Nara in the early part of the seventh century. The ninth century was the first great literary and artistic era of Japan, when Kanaoka lived, who is called the greatest master in the whole history of Japanese painting. His works included not only Buddhistic figures but also animals, landscapes and portraits. Tradition has it that the peasants in the neighbourhood of a certain Buddhist temple were greatly troubled on account of the havoc wrought in their gardens by the nightly visits of some large animal. Setting a watch, they discovered the intruder to be a magnificent black horse, which took refuge from his pursuers in the temple. They entered, but no horse was there, except one superbly painted by Kanaoka. As they stood beneath the picture, drops of sweat fell upon them--the horse was hot and steaming! Then one of the peasants caught up a brush, and painted into the picture a halter which fastened the horse to a post. This was effective; he never again foraged in the peasants' gardens. The earliest purely Japanese school was the Tosa, which originated in the tenth century. A glorious artistic period covered the three centuries from the eleventh to the fourteenth. It was in 1351 that the great Cho Densu was born, who has been styled "the Fra Angelico of Japan." By some critics he is ranked with Kanaoka himself. Although he was a Buddhist priest he did not confine himself to religious subjects, but was equally great in other lines. The Kano School was founded in the fifteenth century. This was the period of the masters of landscape painting, among whom Sesshiu is the most famous. His landscapes are full of grandeur and dignity, but it is said his figure paintings must be seen before his power can be appreciated. He went to China for study, but to his disappointment could find no artist who could teach him anything he did not already know. Then he said, "Nature shall be my teacher; I will go to the woods, the mountains and the streams, and learn of them." As he travelled through the country in carrying out his purpose, he found Chinese artists came to study with him. The Emperor of China engaged him to paint a series of panels on the walls of the palace in Peking, and on one of them, as testimony that the work was done by a Japanese painter, he depicted the peerless Fuji. In the seventeenth century arose the Ukioye, or Popular School, of which Moronobu and Hokusai were the great artists. They are perhaps even better known for their prints. The Naturalistic School, more like European work than that of the earlier artists, was founded by Okio in the eighteenth century. To this group belonged Ippo, a fine landscapist, and Sosen, one of the famous animal painters of the world, particularly known for his pictures of monkeys. Yosai, who died in 1878, was the last great Japanese painter. He studied in all the schools, and combined some of the best characteristics of each. Since his death there have been clever painters but no great artists. Like many other things in Japan to-day, her art of painting is in the transition stage. There are two schools, the conservatives, who cling to the art of ancient days, and the progressives, who believe that they must borrow fresh conceptions from the Western masters, and feel that want of reality has been a defect in the old Japanese work. However, in copying Western methods, they are introducing vulgar subjects, from which Japanese painting has generally been free. At the art exhibitions of 1913 there were ninety-three who entered oil paintings; this alone shows the great change in their work. While the Japanese painters of to-day cannot escape the influence of European art, it is to be hoped that they will not lose the delicacy of treatment, the subtle suggestiveness, and the grace and sweep of line that belonged to the old masters. To my mind the most interesting things for Europeans to collect in Japan are the prints, which first came in vogue about 1690. The Japanese have, in these, added a charm quite their own to every thought which they have received from other nations. The conditions under which the artists worked in olden times were most favourable, for they lived under the protection of the great _daimyos_, were supplied with the necessities of life, and were free from care. Mr. Keane, of Yokohama, is an authority on old prints, of which he has made several collections. "We lunched one day with him at his home in the upper part of his office building on the Bund, in Yokohama. (When foreign merchants first went to Japan they always lived over their places of business.) The view over the sparkling harbour and away off to the horizon, where little fleets of slanting-sailed sampans were working their way up the Bay of Yedo with the sunlight striking their sails, was really superb. Mr. Keane stores his prints in a safe, but for the enjoyment of his guests he took them out on the day of the luncheon. They were so much finer and more interesting than the common, every-day prints of the dealers that they quite took our breath away. Of American collections, that of Mr. William Spalding, in Boston, is particularly good, including, as it does, some beautiful rare figures in black and white by Matabei, the father of the Ukioye school of painting, from which the art of colour printing is derived. Mr. Spalding has hand-coloured prints by Moronobu, some of which are in orange-red and old rose. In some cases the paper of the old prints takes on a beautiful yellow autumn glow with age, which adds to their beauty. The colours yellow, black, orange and green were introduced about 1765. For the orange-red and old rose red-lead (_tan_) was used, hence the prints of this kind were called _tan-ye_, and are of great value to-day. Moronobu was a wonderful draughtsman, and his figures in black and white are greatly prized. Masanobu and Kiyonobu were prominent among the early artists, but the perfection of technique in prints was reached under Kiyonaga. Utamaro, who became the leading print designer of his day, lived in the latter part of the eighteenth century, when the art of making these wood cuts was at its best. Unfortunately his whole life was a career of dissipation; his father disowned him, and he was finally put in prison for libelling the Shogun. Soon after that, his health gave way, and he died at the age of fifty-three. Toward the end of his life, however, he was so popular and so overwhelmed with commissions that in his endeavour to fulfill orders his later work degenerated. Utamaro's style was copied by his pupils, and his signature was so often forged that it is difficult to pick out his prints. His chief works were pictures of _geishas_, in which the long lines of the kimonos are much admired. His were the first colour prints to reach Europe through the Dutch. Toyokuni was another master of the same period, whose favourite subjects were actors in character. In this sort of print and in his technique he was unsurpassed. Hiroshige--two of whose pupils took his name--lived at the beginning of the downfall of Japanese colour printing. He was a prolific worker, and his wood cuts are delicate and seldom show strong contrasts. He is especially noted for landscapes, and did views of the Inland Sea, of snow scenes, and of mists and rains, in very delicate pastel colours. Eight famous views of Lake Biwa, as well as several sets of the Tokaido, were done by this artist. Heads by Sharaku with a silver background are very striking, and have lately become the rage in Paris. They certainly have strength and individuality, but they are hideous beyond words. He was especially fond of doing actors, and the faces are full of expression. Hokusai, whom Whistler called "the greatest pictorial artist since Vandyke," is placed by European critics at the head of all colour-print designers, but in Japan is considered second-rate. For one reason, the Japanese cannot forgive the vulgarity of some of his subjects. We might well apply to him the name given to the school of art of which he is the best example--Ukioye, "Mirror of the Passing World." He was born in 1760, and started as an engraver, but became a book-illustrator at an early age. At eighteen he went into the studio of Shunsho as a pupil, but his work was so original and so unlike his master's that he was soon expelled. After that, he was so poor that he peddled in the streets of Tokyo. Later, Hokusai collaborated with the successful novelist Bakin for many years. The famous set of prints of a hundred views of Fuji, the series of the waterfalls of Japan, the noted bridges, the scenes in the Loochoo Islands, as well as the views of the Tokaido, were all done in the latter part of his life. Hokusai used strong colours, and produced fine work. He was most unfortunate in having all his original studies destroyed by fire, and as he was careless about money matters he died in poverty. Just before his death--in 1849--he said, "If fate had given me but five years more, I should have been able to become a true painter." [Illustration: VIEW OF MOUNT FUJIYAMA.--PRINT BY HOKUSAI.] Entirely green and entirely red prints, I was told, were rare. I never saw but one wholly green print in Japan, but that sold for a small sum, so perhaps I was misinformed as to its value. I was also told that the prints entirely in red were made to amuse the lepers in olden days, so were destroyed afterward, hence few exist, but as I find some collectors never heard of this story, again I am in doubt. The triptychs are particularly valuable to-day. The long strips--the pillar prints--were made for the poorer classes, the _kakemono_ for the nobles. Both paintings and prints are usually in one of two shapes, either the _kakemono_, or long scroll, or the _makemono_, the horizontal picture. The former are not framed, so they can easily be rolled and stowed away when not wanted for decoration. The blocks on which the prints were engraved were made of cherry wood, both sides of which were used for economy's sake. The design on thin Japanese paper was pasted on the block, face downward, then the wood was cut by the engraver. Black ink was used in the first stages of the reproduction. Proofs were then taken by hand-pressure and pasted on other blocks, one for each colour. "'Each of these colour-blocks was then cut in a manner to leave a flat surface of the correct form to receive the pigment proper to it; and the finished print was the result of a careful and extraordinarily skilful rubbing on all the blocks in succession, beginning with the key block.'"[12] [12] Quoted from Mr. Arthur Morrison, in J. F. Blacker's "The A B C of Japanese Art." Some of the great Japanese painters designed prints, others did not. Often it is difficult to distinguish by whom a print was designed, notwithstanding the signature, because artists sometimes gave their own name to their favourite pupil. For this reason and many others, beware of the print-dealer. The highly developed artistic sense of the Japanese has found expression in various ways, but their deftness and delicacy of touch has led them especially to the production of small objects that delight the collector of curios. There is the _netsuke_ in endless variety; the _inro_, or small medicine chest; the ornamental sword-hilt; minute wood carvings; besides bronzes and porcelain in shapes innumerable. Collectors will show you with great pride their _netsuke_. These were worn as ornaments attached to the cord of the tobacco pouch to prevent it from slipping through the sash. The _inro_ and the pocketbook were also worn in the same way. The oldest and most valuable _netsuke_ were made of the heart-wood of the cherry, which becomes a rich brown colour with age, and some were beautifully carved. A very old wooden _netsuke_, which was presented to us, represents the goddess Uzume-no-Mikoto, popularly known as Okame. She was so beautiful that she could not be pictured. As it was impossible to reproduce her charms, a face was chosen to represent her that in no way was a likeness, but was sufficiently individual never to be mistaken. She is made very fat in the cheeks, and sits in the shade of a mushroom. _Netsuke_ are also found in ivory, bone and jade. Many are images of gods and goddesses, and some are humourous figures. A beautiful ivory one that was given us is in the form of a turtle, which signifies long life, but on the under side is one of the seven gods of luck with his shiny bald head. During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the _inro_ was worn as an ornament, and no man of taste would consider himself well dressed without it. This led many of the great artists to design them. Among the well-known _inro_ artists were Jokasai, Iizuka and Saiihara-Ichidayu, but there are so many others who are noted in Japan that it is impossible to give them all here. Some of the finest specimens of their work are found to-day in the Imperial Museum in Tokyo. Many of these are of lacquer, minutely and exquisitely carved, those in gold lacquer and dark red being the most valuable. There are lacquer vases and boxes, too, but the fine old lacquers are not easy to get nowadays. Writing-boxes, some of which are in charming designs, are also much in demand for collectors. Some of our writing-boxes are of deeply carved old red lacquer, depicting houses and landscapes. One is of gold and black with tinted maple leaves, exquisite in design. Another has a background of speckled gold, on which are dwarf cherry trees with blossoms of enamel, and still another of gold lacquer is inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Sculpture, like painting, was brought to Japan by Buddhist priests, and many of the earliest statues were figures of gods and goddesses. These were usually of bronze or wood, not so often of stone. As early as the seventh century fine bronzes were cast at Nara, and over a hundred altar-pieces of that period are still in existence in Japan. To a somewhat later age belongs the colossal Buddha of Nara, the largest statue ever cast in bronze. The Great Buddha of Kamakura, rather smaller but of finer workmanship than that at Nara, is believed to date from the thirteenth century. Old bronzes are much sought after by collectors, the best dating from the seventeenth century. Vast numbers of gods and goddesses and mythical animals were made of small size to be set up in houses as well as temples. Among these some of the Buddhas and Kwannons are fine. Buddha has many attitudes--sleeping, exhorting or meditating--and all are interesting. Temple-lanterns, candlesticks, bells and incense-burners were also made of bronze in forms showing great wealth of imagination. The beautiful old bronzes are of several kinds--gold and silver, and many shades of green and brown. The gold bronze takes on a wonderful polish, and can be made in different colours according to the proportions of the metals used in the alloys, varying from a deep-blue violet to a red-yellow or a golden green. The silver bronze has a fine silver-grey tint. These metals are also used in combination with gold lacquers and with mother-of-pearl and silver, or are encrusted with charming relief designs in enamels. In the entrance hall of our Washington house is a huge green bronze Buddha, at least ten feet high, with tight curls upon his head, half-shut eyes, and the big ear-lobes, which signify longevity. In the bronze halo about his head are small figures of Kwannon, and Chinese characters decorate his garment. With one hand uplifted, he sits serene and imperturbable, cross-legged on his lotus flower. Not far from the Buddha is a bronze Kwannon about five feet high, a gracefully draped figure, standing on a large petal of the lotus. About her neck are jewels, and behind her crown is a small image of Buddha, typifying her ever-present thought of him. We also have a shrine that we prize greatly--a modern shrine, perhaps five feet in height, such as is found in a Japanese gentleman's house. The exterior is of black lacquer, but when the folding doors are open, the interior is seen to be golden. In the centre stands a small Buddha; the wise men--his advisers--sit cross-legged on either side. The carving in this shrine is slightly tinted in colours, mixed with gold, and is indescribably fine and beautiful. A _No_ dance is depicted for the entertainment of the Buddha, above which are palaces, people and animals, supposed to represent scenes in heaven. On either side hang two bronze lanterns. On the table before the shrine are the ceremonial utensils, consisting of an incense-burner, two flower vases, and two candelabra. Below is a gong for the devotee to strike, in order to call the Buddha's attention, and near-by is the box containing the holy books. In feudal days the _samurai_ went into battle clad in breast-plate and helmet, gauntlets and coat-of-mail, all of which were adorned by the armourer's skill, but the most beautiful decorations were lavished upon the sword--"the soul of the _samurai_." The _shakudo_--sword-hilt--is a curio that people collect. The inlaying and overlaying and blending of metals that was done on arms and armour in olden times was marvellous, and even the metal-work of to-day is remarkably clever. Besides the sword-hilt, there was the sword-guard, a flat piece of metal, often in exquisite designs. Pottery from Korea and porcelain from China, of course, had some influence in Japan. The Japanese are considered very fine potters, perhaps the best in the world, and their old ware is highly prized. The handsome old pottery made in Kyoto and also that of Bizen are much valued by Japanese collectors, and the work of such famous men as Nomura, Ninsei, and others is highly esteemed. Old Imari and Arita wares are considered choice, as well as Satsuma, but all of them, especially Satsuma, are much imitated to-day. The Arita, a blue ware, is thought very pretty, but not until after German methods were introduced did it attain perfection. The Seto porcelain, made in the Tokugawa Period, is very well known. Kutani is especially popular in America, and Awada ware is also in demand in the foreign market. The cream-white made to-day in Kyoto is particularly attractive. Neither the ancient nor the modern Japanese porcelains, however, compare with the old Chinese, some people even going so far as to say that the only things in the Far East worth collecting are old Chinese porcelains. Incense-burners are made in porcelain and bronze, and are beautifully modelled in the form of gods and goddesses, and of birds and other animals. Curiously enough, besides their office in worship, they were used in playing a game, which consisted in guessing the name of the perfume that was burning. There are attractive lacquer and porcelain _saké_ cups to collect, and so many charming modern things that I will not mention any more, except the wonderful crystal balls, so clear and mysterious that they quite hypnotize you if you look into their depths. The legend called "The Crystal of Buddha" seems to show that these balls were originally introduced from China. I insert the story here in order that we may always be reminded of the delightful mythology of Japan as well as of the treasures of the land. In a few words it is this: A beautiful Japanese girl became the wife of the Emperor of China. Before she left Japan, she promised to send back three treasures to the Temple of Kofukuji. The Chinese Emperor found her very charming and loved her very much, and when she told him of her promise, he put before her many curios to choose from. She finally decided upon three fairy treasures--a musical instrument which would continue to play for ever, an ink-stone box which was inexhaustible, and the last, in Madame Ozaki's words, "A beautiful crystal in whose clear depths was to be seen from whichever side you looked, an image of Buddha riding on a white elephant. The jewel was of transcendent glory, and shone like a star, and whoever gazed into its liquid depths and saw the blessed vision of Buddha had peace of heart for evermore." But alas! while the treasures were on their way to Japan, there arose a terrible storm, during which the crystal ball was stolen by the Dragon King of the Sea. A poor fisherwoman at last found it shining in the depths of the ocean. While in bathing, "she suddenly became aware of the roofs of the palace of the Sea King, a great and gorgeous building of coral, relieved here and there with clusters of many-coloured seaweeds. The palace was like a huge pagoda rising tier upon tier. She perceived a bright light, more brilliant than the light of many moons. It was the light of Buddha's crystal placed on the pinnacle of this vast abode, and on every side of the shining jewel were guardian dragons fast asleep, appearing to watch even in their slumber." The fisherwoman stole the jewel, but it cost her her life. In reward for her bravery her son was brought up as a _samurai_, so the wish she had most at heart was gratified. CHAPTER XVI SAYONARA DAI NIPPON At the close of the last administration, L. resigned his post, and with real regret we prepared to leave the Land of a Million Swords. We had experienced nothing but the pleasantest relations with the Japanese, nor had we at any time heard of rudeness to Americans. The day we sailed L. was besieged with people who came to say good-bye. Among those who called were Mr. Sakai and Mr. Yoshida, for the Foreign Office. Mr. Matsui, the Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs, brought us a superb basket of flowers, while Mr. Nagasaki, Master of Ceremonies at Court, presented us with some orchids from the Imperial greenhouse. Best of all, as we thought at the time, Mr. Baba, Master of Ceremonies to the Empress, came with a magnificent gold lacquer box from Her Majesty. We received him in state in the parlour, and with much ceremony and repeated bows he presented the gift, accompanying it with many pleasant messages from the Empress. In return we bowed and expressed our gratitude for the great honour, speaking of our love for the country and our deep regret at leaving, and adding that we should always have the happiest memories of our stay in beautiful Japan. The most gratifying token of appreciation, however, has come to my husband since his withdrawal from the diplomatic service. This is the grand cordon of the Order of the Rising Sun, First Class, conferred in recognition of his efforts to promote friendly relations between this country and Japan. Many people telephoned to know by what train we were leaving, but we decided to slip away to Yokohama in the motor. We looked for the last time at the Embassy, with its pretty garden, where we had been so happy, and getting into the car were shot out of the porte-cochère and around the circle, waving good-bye to some of the Staff and the servants who stood bowing at the door. At the Consulate in Yokohama L. joined Mr. Sammons, the Consul-General, and went to a luncheon at the Grand Hotel given in his honour by the Asiatic and Columbia Societies, which are composed of the American colony. All joined in drinking his health and in wishing him a pleasant voyage and a speedy return. In answer L. said that during his all too brief stay in Japan he had come to realize the great cordiality and hospitality of the American community in Yokohama and other cities, and this realization made it all the harder for him to say farewell. After adding that each visit to Japan only made him like the country better, he closed by saying that while he was about to cease to be officially the Ambassador from one country to the other, he yet looked forward to being in the future, unofficially, an ambassador between the two, and hoped that he would soon see many of those present at his home, where they would always be welcome. I went to Mrs. Sammons' luncheon, where she had several ladies as guests. The table decorations were exquisite, in Japanese style. After luncheon Mrs. Sammons took me in her motor to the wharf, where we found L. waiting for us with a number of people who had come to see us off. Everybody cheered as we boarded the launch, which took us to the steamer; there we found baskets of flowers, candies, books, and other gifts awaiting us. In a few minutes the big ship began to shake and the water to rush by, and we knew that we were off. Soon the sun, a great red disk--fitting national emblem of Japan!--went down in the glow of the dying day. Above the darkness, which settled on earth and sea, rose the mysterious cone of "O Fuji-San," seeming detached from all that was earthly below, a divine spirit of a mountain-top, which slowly disappeared as the night filled the heavens with stars. As I sat in my steamer chair I had time to think again and again of the land and the people we had left behind. I remembered with pleasure the pretty, gentle women with their laughing, almond-eyed babies riding happily on their mothers' backs, and recalled with admiration the Spartan men, so loyal to their country. Closing my eyes I seemed to see the quaint little streets, lined on either side with paper houses, in front of which gay toys were displayed for sale. Industrious workmen, making curious objects with their deft fingers, sat in their doorways, and painters also, designing fantastic animals of the imagination. Once I seemed to catch the perfume of the plum blossoms, and with it I dreamed of golden temples on the hillside and thought I heard a Buddhist priest muttering to himself, "All beings are only dreaming in this fleeting world of unhappiness." Mixed in the fantastic medley of this dream passed the animals of the years--the strutting cock of 1912, the stolid bullock of 1913, and in the distance the crouching tiger of the year to come. Then I saw the little apes of Nikko, sitting motionless before me--Mizaru, who sees no evil, Kikazaru, who hears no evil, and Mazaru, who speaks no evil. Above them all flew the H-oo, the guiding bird of good omen, which only appears to herald the coming of peace and prosperity. May he bring them both to Japan! [Illustration: THE LITTLE APES OF NIKKO.] Many times since, on looking back, it has seemed as if Dai Nippon must be all a dream--a fairy island, perhaps, conjured out of the sea by some mighty giant. I often wonder if it did not truly sink into the sea beneath the red eye of the setting sun. When I am troubled about this, I get out Osame's letter and read it again. It came to us soon after we reached home, and is very reassuring. In order that you, too, may know that Japan is real, I will let you read it. "DEAR EXCELLENCY," he wrote L., "when the first news of your coming to Japan announced I could not feel but the happiest news like from Heaven, and only waited the day might flew to your arriving date. The joy and happiness reached its maximum height when I had the pleasure and delight of meeting you and Madam once more at Kharbin. Three years passed since your last visit and you and Madam had not least changed, like the peerless Fuji towering high above the clouds I wished I had power to show you the appreciation and gratitude I always indebted to you, but it was vain effort. "However Heaven blessed me that you had an interview three years ago with late Emperor and now again with His Majesty his son, we look up to them like a living God enthroned since 666 B.C. I was so pleased. Now alas you passed away again from Japan at four o'clock on the fifteenth instant. As I left the ship I could not utter a word with the heart-rending unhappiness of parting from you. The launch blew the whistle thrice, and puffing out a great column of smoke she slowly moved away. I saw you fading sight and thanked you for your kindness of watching me until we could not discern each other. And the joy and happiness rolled with the waves following your course. With no sign of encouragement I reached shore and out the dream. I ran to the Post Office to send a cable. "I hope you are enjoying the best health and the best time. Do not forget this humble Osame, always with you no matter what part of the planet you may travel, and always glad and feel happy to hear. "Please recommend me to one who come to Japan. "I hope I may be a little service to you for the rare opportunity and honour in my life. With the best wishes for you and Okusuma, anxiously awaiting to hear I remain "Your humble servant, "OSAME KOMORI." So it ends, and so likewise, respectfully bowing, the "Rustic Wife" makes her last apologies and bids the "Honourable Reader _sayonara_!" THE END. BIBLIOGRAPHY ANDERSON, WILLIAM: Japanese Wood Engravings ANETHAN, BARONESS ALBERT D': Fourteen Years of Diplomatic Life in Japan ARNOLD, SIR EDWIN: Azuma, or The Japanese Wife. A Tragedy in Four Acts AVERILL, MARY: Japanese Flower Arrangement BACON, ALICE MABEL: Japanese Girls and Women BINYON, ROBERT LAURENCE: Japanese Art. (In International Art Series) BLACKER, J. F.: The A B C of Japanese Art BRINKLEY, F. A.: Japan and China BROWNELL, C. L.: The Heart of Japan BURTON, MARGARET E.: The Education of Women in Japan CHAMBERLAIN, BASIL HALL: Handbook for Travellers in Japan ---- Things Japanese ---- Aino Fairy Tales CLEMENT, E. W.: Handbook of Modern Japan DAVIS, F. HADLAND: Myths and Legends of Japan DICK, STEWART: Arts and Crafts of Old Japan. (In The World of Art Series) GORDON, REV. M. L.: An American Missionary in Japan GRIFFIS, WILLIAM ELLIOT: Fairy Tales of Old Japan ---- Hepburn of Japan ---- Townsend Harris, First American Envoy in Japan ---- The Mikado's Empire GULICK, SIDNEY L.: The American Japanese Problem ---- Evolution of the Japanese HARADA, TASUKU: The Faith of Japan HARRISON, E. J.: The Fighting Spirit of Japan HEARN, LAFCADIO: Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan. (See also other works by the same author) HONDA, K.: Japanese Gardens. (In "European and Japanese Gardens") MENPES, MORTIMER: Japan: A Record in Colour MITFORD, A. B. F.: Tales of Old Japan MORRISON, ARTHUR: The Painters of Japan NITOBE, INAZO: Bushido: The Soul of Japan ---- The Japanese Nation ---- Thoughts and Essays OKUMA, COUNT SHIGENOBU: Fifty Years of New Japan OZAKI, YEI THEODORA: Warriors of Old Japan PASTEUR, VIOLET M.: Gods and Heroes of Old Japan PORTER, ROBERT P.: The Full Recognition of Japan PORTER, WILLIAM N.: A Hundred Verses from Old Japan: being a translation of the Hyaku-Nin-Isshiu RANSOME, J. STAFFORD: Japan in Transition SCIDMORE, ELIZA R.: Jinrikisha Days in Japan SEIDLITZ, W. VON: A History of Japanese Colour Prints SINGLETON, ESTHER: Japan as Seen and Described by Famous Writers SMITH, R. GORDON: Ancient Tales of Folklore of Japan STRANGE, EDWARD F.: The Colour Prints of Japan. (In Langham Series of Art Monographs) TERRY, T. PHILIP: The Japanese Empire INDEX A "A B C of Japanese Art," 366 Abe, Mr., 97 Adams, Mrs. Douglas, 234, 240 Ainus, 35, 274, 275, 277-291 Akasaka, 43, 73, 332, 333 Akashi, General, 18 Akashi Straits, 322 Akiko, 241 Altai Mountains, 2 Ama-no-Hashidate, 315 Ama-no-kagu, 238 Ama-terasu, 34, 137 Amaterasu-Omikami, 158 Ambassador, American, 41, 43, 45, 59, 81, 82, 84, 86, 87, 91, 92; French, 90 America, 54, 55, 58, 71, 94, 102, 115, 124-126, 148, 172, 195, 196, 200, 201, 205, 213, 235, 253, 340, 357, 372; diplomatic service in, 41 American Board (of Foreign Missions), 207, 208 "American Japanese Problem, The," 118 Americans, 112, 117, 207 Amida, 174, 175 "Ancient Tales and Folklore of Japan," 219 Anethan, Baroness d', 170 Anezaki, Professor, 212 Aoyama, 78, 79 Arabia, 263 Arabs, 182 Arai, 312, 313 Argentina, 119, 120, 122 Arita, 372 Arnell, Mr., 260, 274 Arnold, Mr., 260 Arsenal Gardens, 347; (Korakuen), 348, 349 Asaka, Prince, 75 Asakusa Kwannon, 268 Asano, Lord of Ako, 62, 63 Asa, 237 Atami, 303, 305, 314 Atsuta, 313 Attachés, Naval and Military, 64, 96 Australia, 47, 114, 263 Austria, 96 Ayaha Festival, 158 Azuma-Bashi, 309 B Baba, Mr., 375 Bacon, Miss Alice M., author, 148 Bahu, the Eater of Dreams, 323 Baikal, Lake, 3 Bakin, 230, 364 Baptists, 207 Bashô, epigram by, 140 Bean Night, 147 Benquet Road, 301 Benten, 299, 300 Benten-jima, 313 Bergson, 212 "Beyond, The," 240 Bismarck, quoted, 37 Biwa, Lake, 315, 316, 363 Bizen, 272 Blacker, J. F., 366 Bluff, the, 261, 296 Boardman, Miss, 16 Boshu Peninsula, 307 Boston, 50, 71, 361; Back Bay of, 50; Museum of Fine Arts, 357 Boys' Festival, 153, 336 Brazil, 119-122 Brazilians, 42 British, 117; Islands, 112 Broadway, 55 Brookline, Mass., 342 Brownell, Mr., 111, 226 Brownings, of Japan, 241 Brussels, last sight of, 1; to Kyoto, 3; palace in, 74 Bryan, Dr., 28, 329 Bryan, Secretary, 118 Bryn Mawr, 196 Buddha, 29, 35, 51, 61, 142, 152, 153, 174, 175, 177-179, 184, 297, 318, 357, 369-371, 373, 374 Buddhism, 160, 164, 173, 174, 184, 211, 328; in Korea, 16 Buddhist, 29, 46, 166, 196, 210, 213 _Bushido_, 164, 184-188 C Caldwell, Mrs., 58 California, 59, 114-119 Canada, 274 Carolingians, 36 Catholics, Roman, 17 Central America, 114 Chamberlain, Professor, translation by, 138, 185 Champ de Mars, 78 Changchun, 4, 5 Chemulpo, 205 Chiba, 308 Chicago of Japan, the, 126 Chikamatsu, 243 Chile, 119 China, 19, 20, 45, 46, 55, 112, 120, 123-125, 133, 134, 156, 203, 209, 326, 329, 331, 349, 350, 352, 359, 373; suzerainty of, 12; Sea, 324 Chinese, 35, 141, 158, 200, 329 Chionin Temple, 28 Cho Densu, 358 Chosen (Korea), 6, 16, 17 Christianity, 201, 211, 212 Christians, 210, 213 Church, Roman, 184, 200 Chuzenji, 310 Clement, E. W., translator, 140 _Cleveland_, 93 Columbus, 133 Confucianism, 16, 211 Confucius, 184, 189, 329 Congregationalists, 207 Copts, 114 Corps, Diplomatic, 76, 77, 80, 90, 171 Court (Imperial), 52, 64, 74, 75, 76, 80, 97, 239; of St. James, 76; Shogun's, 142 Crawford, Marion, 96 Crown Prince, 50, 74 D Daiba Pass, 305 Dai Butsu, 29, 317 Daini-No-Sammi, 238 _Dakota_, 308 Dalny, 13 Dango-zaka, 330 Danjuro, 253, 254 Daredesuka, 226-228 Davis, F. Hadland, author, 219 Dick, 46 Dickinson, Mr., 80; Mrs., 81 Diet, 98, 99, 101 Dolls' Festival, 147-150 Doshisha University, 210 Dutch, 42, 243, 363 E Eastern Capital, 36 East River of Heaven, 156 Ebisu, 160 Egypt, 329, 330 Eighty Myriads of Gods, 137 Eikibo, 226-228 Elizabethan Era, 230 Embassy, American, 40, 42, 43, 45, 47, 52, 57, 60, 61, 64, 65, 69, 70, 81, 93-96, 101, 143, 146, 188, 193, 274, 298, 346; Italian, 52 Emperor, the present, 24, 35, 50, 61, 64, 68, 70-76, 79, 80, 84, 99, 161, 177, 261, 380 Empress, the present, 69, 72, 75, 76, 79, 81, 375, 376; Dowager, 79, 95, 205, 206 Engineering College, 197 England, 97, 124, 255, 330 Enoshima, 293, 299, 300, 303 Episcopalians, 207 Eucken, 212 Europe, 85, 91, 96, 116, 120-122, 125, 126, 130, 134, 200, 253, 357, 363 Europeans, 48, 116, 120, 339 F "Fairy Tales of Old Japan," 215 Feast of the Oven, 162 Fenner, Mr. J. A., 274, 277, 287, 288 Festival of the Dead, 157 "Fighting Spirit of Japan, The," quoted, 211, 267 Fire-God, 296 Florin, 118 Formosa, 13, 19, 114, 133, 206, 243; description of, 19-22 Forty-Seven Ronins, 61-63, 185, 243, 245, 256 Fox Temple Festival, 146 France, 241, 330 Freer (collection), 357 French, 42 Ferrero, Guglielmo, 119 Fuigo Matsuri, 161 Fuji, 4, 20, 183, 299, 300, 302, 339, 340, 359, 364, 378, 380 Fukuroi, 312 Fukushima, 311 Fushimi, Prince, 71; (Higashi), 76; Princess, 76 G Gare du Nord, 1 _Genro_, 99 "Gentlemen's Agreement," 115 Germany, 55, 100, 124, 203 Ghosts of the Circle of Penance, 157 Gifu, 314 Ginza, the, 55 Gion Festival, 154 Go-chiku, 30 God of Long Breath, 301 Gordon, Dr., 105 Gosho Palace, 29, 32 Gotimba, 303, 314 Grand Hotel, 376 Great Bell, Kyoto, 29 Great Britain, 124 Great Council, 87 Greece, 243, 255 Greeks, 118, 184, 356 Greene, Rev. Dr., 208, 212 Griffis, Dr. W. E., quoted, 185, 215 Guiccioli, Marchesa, 90 Gulick, Dr. Sidney L., quoted, 118 H Hachiro Tametomo, 219-226 Hakone, 302; Pass, 296; Range, 302 Haky-i and Shiky-sei, 349 Hamano, 308; Lagoon, 312 Harashiyawa, 316 Harikiku, 247 Harima, 319 Harris, Mr. Townsend, 84-89 Harrison, Mr. E. J., author, 211, 212, 266 Hawaii, 113 Hearn (Lafcadio), quoted, 83, 151, 173, 234, 235; referred to, 103, 168 Hepburn, Dr., 203, 209 Heusken, Mr., 87, 88 Hideyoshi, 29 Himeji, 355 Hindoos, 182 Hirado, 324 Hiroshige, 363 Hiroshima, 322 Hokkaido, 35, 274, 275, 285, 292, 320 Hokusai, 359, 364 Holland, 296, 346 Hongwanji, Eastern and Western, 29; Eastern, 175; Garden, 178 Honolulu, 207 H-oo, 379 Horikawa, Lady, 238 Hosigaoko (in Sanno), 271 Horse Day, 146 Household, Imperial, 72 Hudson, the, 322 Hyde, Miss, 51 Hyogo (Kobe), 127, 319 Point, 322 I Ichinomiya, 308 Ichiriki Tea-house, 245 Icliejo-Tadado, 79 _Ike-bana_, 336-338, 345 Ikegami, 160 Ikko, 174, 175 Imari, 272 Imazu, 315 Imperial University, 197, 212 Theatre, 251, 252 Museum, 368 Inada, Princess, 154 Inage, 308 India, 124, 200, 328 Southern, 174 Indians, 118 Inland, Sea, 35, 155, 183, 294, 320-324, 339, 363 Ippo, 359 Irving, Henry, 254 Ise, Temple of, 4, 84; shrine of, 34, 167, 168, 183 Italians, 47, 118, 119 Italy, 96 Ito, Prince, 83, 98, 99 _Itsukushima_, 155 Iyeyasu, Tokugawa, 37, 180; Precepts of, 182 Izanagi, 34, 113 Izanami, 34, 113 Izumo, 159 J Jaehne, 45 Japan Club of Harvard University, 14 "Japanese Empire, The," 27 "Japanese Girls and Women," quoted, 148-150 "Japanese Nation, The," 189 _Japan Magazine_, 115, 240, 303, 329 Jesuit, 37 Jew, 119 Jimmu Tenno, 35, 235 Jingo, Empress, 36, 163 "Jinrikisha Days," 16, 244 Jito, Empress, 238 Jizo, 172, 173, 352 Johnson, Governor, 118 Jokusai, Iizuka, and Saiihara-Ichidayu, 368 K Kadenokuji and Kiogo, Viscounts, 271 Kagawa, Countess, 82 Kaka, 173 Kai, 333 Kamakura, 251, 293, 296-299, 369 Kamazawa, 316 Kameido, 328 Kameoka, 315 Kamisana, 321 Kanagawa, 203 Kanaoka, 357, 358 Kan-chiku, 30 Kaneko, Baron, 14 Kanemori Taira, 237 Kan-in, Prince and Princess, 71, 75 Kano, 314; School, 358 Katsura, Prince, 71, 97, 99, 100 Katsu-ura, 308 Kawamori, 315 Keane, Mr., 361 Kengyu (Aquila), 156 Keum-Kang-San, peaks of, 16 Keyser, Lieutenant, 274, 277, 278, 280, 281, 287, 288 Kharbin, 3, 5, 13, 380 _Kiai_, 186 Kido, 190 Kii, 320 Kikugoro, 253 Kinokiyama, 315 Kira, 62, 63 Kishu, Prince, 333 Kiyomisu, 349 Kiyomori, 220 Kiyonaga, 362 Kiyonobu, 362 Kitzuki, 167, 168, 254 Knox, Mr., 26 Kobe, 123, 126, 293, 318-321 Kodama, Countess, 16; Count, 18 Kofukuji, 373 Kojin, 152 Kompira, 184 Komura, Baron, 14 Konosu (Hyaku Ana), 307 Korea, 1, 3, 6, 10, 21, 36, 114, 133, 163, 198, 315, 371; mourning in, 7; dethroned Emperor and Empress of, 11; Empress Bin of, 11; history of, 12-15; religions, 16; missions, 17, 18; Crown Prince of, 259; southern, 18, 19 Koreans, 35, 200, 259, 315 Koro Halcho, 320 Kosai Maru, 206 Koshiro Matsumoto, 254 Koya-san, 183 Kozo Ozaki, 230 Kozu, 303, 312, 314 Kumamoto, 355 Kushiro, 274, 275, 277 Kutani and Awada, 372 Kutchare, Lake, 277 Kwannon, 297, 298, 318, 369, 370 Kyoka Izumi, 231 Kyoto, 23, 24, 27, 34, 36, 39, 40, 44, 154, 162, 175, 215, 217, 218, 237, 293, 299, 311, 314-316, 318, 319, 349, 372; Brussels to, 3; description of, 28; prefecture, 33; _geishas_ of, 245, 248 Kyushu, 221, 324, 355 L Lancers, Imperial, 64, 78 Landsborough, Mr., 118 "Latin-American A-B-C," 119 Laughing Festival of Wasa, 159, 160 Liaotung Peninsula, 13 London, 59, 76 Loochoo Islands, 132, 364 _Los Angeles Times_, 119 Lucky Day, the, 146 Luther of Japan, the, 160 M MacCauley, Rev. Dr., 207 Madonna, 298 Maiko, 319 Maisaka, 312 Makino, Baron, 80 Malay Peninsula, 114 Malays, in Formosa, 21 Manazuru, 303 Manchuria, 3, 5, 13-15, 114, 134 Maple-Leaf Club, 250 Masanobu, 362 Massachusetts, 101 Masumi Hino, Professor, 210, 211 Matabei, 361 Matsui, Mr., 375 Matsushima, 311, 320 Mayon, 300 McKim, Bishop, 206 Meiji Era, 98, 201, 237 Meiji Tenno, 24, 39, 82, 234, 240 Memorial Temple, 25 Mencius, 189 Menpes, Mortimer, 350 Mera, 308 "Merchant of Venice, The," 260 Meredith, George, 231 Mexicans, 118 Mexico, City of, 96 Michel Angelo, work of, 356 Michinoku, 237 Middle Ages, 133 Mikado, the, 25, 34-37, 39, 65, 81-84, 97, 98, 332 Milky Way, 156 Ming Tombs, 36 Mishima, 302, 305 Misogi, Festival of the, 155 Miwa-Daimyo-jin, 159, 160 Miyajima, 155, 183, 323 Miyanoshita, 296, 299, 301, 302, 305, 310 Miyazu, 315 Mizaru, Kikazaru, and Mazaru, 379 Moji, 324 Momoyama, 24 _Mon_ (entrance gate), 11 Mongols, 2 Moon Festival, 158 Moronobu, 359, 362 Morrison, Mr. Arthur, quoted, 366 Morrison, Mt., 19; renamed Niitaka-yama, 20 Moscow, 2, 3 Mound of Ears, 314 Mukden, 14 Murray, 268 Mutsuhito, Emperor, 24, 27, 79; tomb of, 24 "My People," 28 "Myths and Legends of Japan," 219 N Nagahama, 316 Nagasaki, 38, 123, 321, 324 Nagasakis, the, 75, 375 Nagoya, 34, 227, 228, 313, 314; Castle, 227, 355 Nakamura, 272 Nakamuraza, Theatre, 254 Nakasendo, 314 Nara, 155, 316-318, 341, 357, 368, 369 Narai, 309 Narita, 309 Naturalistic School, 359 Navetta, 321 Nazano, 320 Negishi, 262 New Year, 136, 138, 140-144, 146 New York, 119, 122 Nichiren, 160, 308 Night, Queen of the, 158 Nijo Castle, 32 Nikko, 71, 180, 182, 293, 310, 318, 349, 353, 379 Ninigi, 34, 35 Ninsei, 372 Ni-o, 166 Nippon Race Club, 261 Nirvana, 178, 298 Nitobe, Dr., 95, 165, 189, 231 _No_, 242, 243, 270, 271 Nogi, General, 13, 14, 171, 185, 188, 196 Nomura, 372 Northmen, 235 Norway, 119 Nowazu, 79 O Oanamochi, 301 Obama, 315 Obi River, 2 O'Brien, Mrs., 82 Odawara, 303 Ogo-Harito, 320 Oishi, 63, 245 Okio, 359 Okubo, 99, 190 Okuma, Count, 78, 99, 208 O Kuni, 254, 255 Onomichi, 322 Order of the Rising Sun, Third Class of the, 209; First Class of the, 376 Osaka, 126, 215, 217-219, 264, 313, 318, 319, 354, 355 Osaka Museum, 61 Osaki Batsume, 231 Osame Komori, 4, 5, 56, 74, 94, 298, 299, 306, 314, 379, 381 O Sawa, 46 Oshima, 224, 225 Otome-Toge, 302 Otsu, 316 Ozaki, Madame, 96, 97, 214, 219, 373; Mr., 96, 99, 100 P Panama Canal, 112, 122 Paris, 78, 95, 241, 363 Pasteur, 214 Peabody, Professor, quoted, 114 Peace Society, Japanese, 95, 96 Peking, 359; palace in, 11 Peony Hall, 69, 70 Perry, Commodore, 38, 97; reception, 331 Pescadores, 13 Philadelphia, 196 Philippines, 46, 59, 80, 114, 207, 300, 301 Phoenix Hall, 68 Port Arthur, 13, 14, 15, 206 Porter, William, translator, 237, 238 Portsmouth, N. H., treaty signed at, 14 Portugal, 121 Portuguese, 37 Presbyterians, 207 President of the United States, 38, 85, 87 "Priest, The," 241 Protestantism (of Japan), 174, 201 R Rainier, Mount, 300 Red Cross, 16, 205, 206 Reese, Mr., 118 Religion, Japanese Bureau of, 209 Riddell, Miss, 204 Rohan Koda, 231 Rokumeikan, 78 Romans, 184 Rome, 119 Room of One Thousand Seeds, 70, 72 Russia, 96, 123, 205; negotiations with, 14; furs in, 55 Russo-Japanese War, 19, 126 S Sada Yakko, Madame, 253 Sadanji, 254 Saghalien, 15, 19 Saigo, 355 Saikyo (Kyoto), 28 Sai-no-Kawara, 173 Sakai, Mr., 375 Sakatani, Baron, 213 Sakon-No-Sakura, 31 Salvation Army, 268 Samba (Ikku), 243 Sammons, Mr. and Mrs., 376, 377 Sandalphon, 176 San Francisco, 122, 190 San Joaquin, 118 Sankei, 311, 315, 323 Satsuma, 35; Lord of, 132; province of, 197; ware, 372 Scidmore, Consul-General, 9; Miss, 16, 244 Secretaries, 64 Secretary, First, 43; First Japanese, 43; of War, American, 59, 80, 81 Seiryoden, 30 Sengen, 301 Seno, Madame (the Japanese Hetty Green), 110 Seoul, 3, 18, 22 Seoul, arrival in, 9; American colony in, 17 Sesshiu, 359 Seto (porcelain), 372 Seven Gods of Good Fortune, 142 Seyukai, 99 Shakespeare, of Japan, 243 Shamanism, 16 Shanghai, 209 Sharaku, 363 Shari, 277 Shiba, Park, 60, 158, 347; Temples, 60 Shijo Road, 154 Shimoda, 85 Shimonoseki, treaty of, 13; Straits of, 14; Chosen to, 22; shrine in, 163; passed, 324 Shimono-Suwa, 309 Shinano, Prince of, 87 Shinji, Lake, 320 Shinmei Feast, 158 Shin-Maizuru, 315 Shinto, 25, 26, 142, 163-170, 184, 210 Shintoists, 210, 213 Shiojiri Toge, 309 Shishinden, 30 Shizuoka, 312 Shogun, 32, 38, 60, 62, 85-88, 97, 243, 286, 331, 362 Shokonsha, 161 Shunsho, 364 Siberia, 2, 69 Siberian Express, 2 Sierras, Californian, 3 Smith, R. Gordon, 219 Soami and Enshiu, 341 Societies, Asiatic and Columbia, 101, 376 Society of Universal Love, 205; Asiatic, 208 Sodesuka, Mrs., 111 Soi-ko, 349 Sojuro and Sawamura, 254 Sonnomiya, Baroness, 95 Sonobe, 315 Sosen, 359 Sosei, author, 327 South America, 113, 119, 120, 122 Southern Cross, 20 Spain, 263 Spalding, Mr. William, 361, 362 Staff, American Embassy, 40, 51, 58, 64, 68, 143 Stars, Festival of the, 155 State Department, 86 St. Valentine's Day, 94 Suchi, 315 Suez Canal, 122 Sujin, 36 Sun-Goddess, 34, 36, 66, 137, 167, 183 Susa-no-o, 137 Susa-no-o-no-mikoto, Prince, 154 Swift, Professor, 193 Syrians, 114 T Taiken, Empress, 238 Tai-kun, 87, 88 Tai-Sho, 24 Takahama, 315 Takasu, 239 Takeda Izuma, 243 Tanabata, Princess, 156 Tateyama, 308 Temma, river, 355 Tennu, Emperor, 238 Terauchi, Count, 15 Terry, author, 27 Teshikaga, 276 Testevinde, Father, 203 Teusler, Dr., 204 Thanksgiving (Japanese), 162 "Theft of the Golden Scale, The," 226 Throne Room, 72, 76 Toda, Count, 67 Togo, Admiral, 13, 14 Tokaido, 86, 286, 299, 313, 314, 363, 364 Tokugawa, House of, 39; family, 61; government, 97; Period, 37, 38, 188, 200, 201, 372; Prince (Keiki), 38, 39 Tokyo, 26, 27, 33, 36, 39, 40, 42, 43, 51, 55, 59, 60, 62, 65, 77, 78, 85, 90, 91, 94, 102, 110, 115, 126-128, 132, 138, 141, 158, 160, 161, 170, 171, 192, 193, 197, 204, 206, 212, 213, 231, 250, 251, 254, 258, 262, 265, 267, 272, 275, 285, 290, 291, 294, 299, 305, 306, 307-314, 329, 347, 348, 364, 368; Bay, 308; London to, 3; Boys' Guild of, 46; climate of, 50; Club, 101, 102; Normal School, 188, 193; University, 197 Tomiji and Kanoko (maikos), 247 Torakichi Inouye, 128 Torii Toge, 309 Tosa, 358 Toyohashi, 313 Toyokuni, 363 Trans-Siberian, 2 "Travels of the Two Frogs, The," 215 Treasure Ship, 142 Tsuda, Miss, 195, 196 Tsukiji, 42 Tsure Yuki Kino, 239 Tsuruzo, 254 Turkey, 96 U Ukioye, 359, 362, 364 Ukon-No-Tachibana, 31 United States, 40, 59, 94, 115-117, 122-124 Ural Mountains, 2 Utamaro, 362, 363 "Utopia," More's, 229 Utsunomiya, 310 Uyeno Park, 61, 146, 262 Uzume-no-Mikoto (Okame), 367 V Vandyke, 364 Van Royen, Madame, 58 Vega (star), 156 Venice, of Japan, 318 Vienna, 41, 313 Vladivostok, 3, 22 Vries Island, 303, 308 W Wadagaki, Prof. K., translator, 182 _Wakamegari-no Shinji_, 163 Wakamiya, 318 Wallace, Rev. Dr., 207 "Warriors of Old Japan," 219 Waseda, 192 Washington, 50, 138, 340 Washington's Birthday, 94, 340 Watanabe, 46, 48, 94, 95, 148, 340 Watanabe, Count, 67 Western Capital, 36 West River, 156 Whistler, 364 Wigmore, Major, 274, 276, 277, 287, 288 X Xavier, Francis, 200 Y Yahakii, 320 Yahashira, Prince, 154 Yalu River, 13, 14, 100 Yamagata, met at luncheon, 13 Yamamoto, 99, 100 Yamato, 191 Yamisaki, 174 Yedo, 36, 85, 86, 252, 351; Bay of, 361 Yezo, 35 Yi, Prince, the Elder, 12; Prince, the Younger, 12; dynasty, 12 Yokohama, 90, 93, 94, 101, 207, 209, 259, 261, 262, 293-296, 302, 305, 319, 361, 376; United (club), 101; Bund, 303, 361 Yorimasa, 153 Yosai, 360 Yosano, 241 Yoshida, Professor, 197; Mr., 375 Yoshitomo, 220, 223, 224 Yoshiwara, 267 Yuragawa, 315 Z Zen, 186, 187 Transcriber Notes: Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS. Throughout the document, the oe ligature was replaced with "oe". Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. Those words were retained as-is. The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate. Thus the page number of the illustration might not match the page number in the List of Illustrations, and the order of illustrations may not be the same in the List of Illustrations and in the book. Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted. On page 130, "cooperative" was replaced with "coöperative". On page 276, "showshoes" was replaced with "snowshoes". On page 384, a quotation mark was added after "European and Japanese Gardens". On page 389, a comma was added after "Indians". On page 391, a period was removed after "Meiji Tenno, 24, 39, 82, 234, 240". On page 394, a semicolon was added after "Shimonoseki, treaty of, 13". 
45518	----	Transcriber's note: Italic text has been marked with _underscores_. Please see the end of this book for further notes. THE FOUR CORNERS IN JAPAN THE CORNER SERIES THE FOUR CORNERS THE FOUR CORNERS IN CALIFORNIA THE FOUR CORNERS AT SCHOOL THE FOUR CORNERS ABROAD THE FOUR CORNERS IN CAMP THE FOUR CORNERS AT COLLEGE THE FOUR CORNERS IN JAPAN THE FOUR CORNERS IN EGYPT (_in preparation_) [Illustration: ALL SORTS OF STRANGE FANCIES POSSESSED HER] The Corner Series THE FOUR CORNERS in JAPAN By AMY E. BLANCHARD George W. Jacobs & Company Philadelphia. Copyright, 1912, by GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY _Published September, 1912_ _All rights reserved_ Printed in U. S. A. CONTENTS I. STARTING OFF 9 II. A GLIMPSE OF HONOLULU 27 III. FIRST IMPRESSIONS 45 IV. TEMPLES AND TEA 61 V. AN EVENING SHOW 81 VI. AT KAMAKURA 101 VII. A FEAST OF BLOSSOMS 119 VIII. FLYING FISH 137 IX. A RAINY DAY 157 X. A SACRED ISLE 173 XI. AT MYANOSHITA 191 XII. NIKKO, THE MAGNIFICENT 209 XIII. CRICKETS AND FIREFLIES 227 XIV. JEAN VISITS 247 XV. A MOCK JAPANESE 269 XVI. A PROSPECTIVE SERVANT 287 XVII. IN A TYPHOON 307 XVIII. JACK'S EYES ARE OPENED 325 XIX. VOTIVE OFFERINGS 343 XX. IF IT MUST BE 361 ILLUSTRATIONS All sorts of strange fancies possessed her _Frontispiece_ They looked up to see the great cone of Fujiyama _Facing page_ 52 Curious to see who the other shopper might be " " 194 Glad she had experimented with chop-sticks " " 262 "Is it true?" " " 354 [Illustration: CHAPTER I STARTING OFF] CHAPTER I STARTING OFF "I feel a migratory fever stirring within my veins," remarked Miss Helen Corner one morning as she sat with the elder two of her nieces in their Virginia home. Nan put down the book she was reading; Mary Lee looked up from her embroidery. "You are not going to desert us, Aunt Helen?" said Nan. "Not unless you girls will join me in my flight." "But where would you fly?" asked Mary Lee. "What do you say to Japan?" "Japan? Oh, Aunt Helen, not really." "Why not? Every one goes there these days. We could make the trip by way of California, stop off for a few days at Honolulu, and see some of the strange things I have been reading about this winter. I am strongly inclined to make the trip if you two will go with me." "And would we start soon?" asked Nan. "In time for the cherry blossoms, the lovely flowery Japanese spring and all that?" "It was what I was planning to do." "What about mother and the twinnies?" "We should have to make up our minds to leave them behind. I believe your mother has declared against going with us. She thinks the twins should not be taken out of college and that she should be within call while they are there. That should not prevent your going, however. Nan, what do you think about it?" "You know me, Aunt Helen," responded Nan. "What about you, Mary Lee?" "Oh, 'Barkis is willin';' that is if mother approves." "I consulted her before I mentioned it to you, for I did not want any one disappointed. Therefore, young ladies, consider yourselves booked for a personally conducted trip. I think we might start next month, and we need not burden ourselves with too much of an outfit." "I should think not," returned Nan, "when such lovely and cheap things can be had in Japan. Hurrah! Mary Lee, let's go tell Jo." The two girls started off together. The month was February, but already the first hints of spring could be found in the warmer sunshine, the longer days, the swelling of buds on trees and bushes. A few yellow stars were already spotting the forsythia which clambered up one end of the front porch of Dr. Woods's house which they soon reached. They entered without knocking, for their friend Josephine Woods was like a sister, and would have resented any formality. They knew where to find her, for it was after her husband's office hours; he was off making his professional visits, and Jo would be up-stairs attending to certain housewifely duties. They discovered her in the little sewing-room surrounded by piles of house linen. "Hallo," cried Nan, "what in the world are you doing, Jo?" "Marking these towels for Paul's office," she returned soberly. Nan laughed. "It is so funny to see you doing such things, Jo. I can never quite get over your sudden swerving toward domesticity. We have come over to tell you something that will make you turn green with envy." "Humph!" returned Jo. "As if anybody or anything could make me turn green or any other color from envy. I am the one to be envied." "She still has it badly," said Nan shaking her head. "What is there in marking towels to make it such an enviable employment, Mrs. Woods?" "Because it is being done for the dearest man in the world," replied Jo promptly. "I wonder if you will still continue to be in this blissful state of idiocy when we get back from Japan," put in Mary Lee. "Japan!" Jo dropped the towel she was holding, barely saving it from a splotch of indelible ink. "Aha! I knew we could surprise you," jeered Nan. "She is green, Mary Lee, bright, vivid, grass green." "Nothing of the sort," retorted Jo. "Of course I always did long to go to Japan, but I wouldn't exchange this little town with Paul in it for all the Japans in the world." "You are perfectly hopeless," said Nan. "I wonder if I shall ever reach such a state of imbecility as to prefer marking towels to going to Japan." "I wouldn't put it past you," returned Jo. "Just you wait, Nan Corner. I expect to see the day when you are in a state that is seventy times seven worse that mine ever was." "If ever I do reach such a state, I hope the family will incarcerate me," rejoined Nan. Jo laughed. "This does sound like the good old college days," she remarked. "But do tell me what is up, girls. Are you really going to Japan?" "So Aunt Helen says," Mary Lee told her. "And when do you go?" "Next month." "The whole family?" "No, the kiddies will have to continue to grind away at college. I think it probable that mother will go back with them after the Easter holidays and stay there till summer, when they can all go away together." "And how long shall you be gone?" "Don't know. All we know is that we are going. We didn't wait to hear any more till we came over to tell you. What shall we bring you, Jo?" "I think I should like a good, well-trained Japanese servant," returned Jo with a little sigh. "Poor Jo; there are serpents even in Paradise, it seems. Does the last kitchen queen prove as unworthy to be crowned as her predecessors were?" "Oh, dear, yes, but never mind, I am still hoping that the one perfect gem will at last come my way. Meantime I am learning such heaps of things that I shall become absolutely independent after a while. You will see me using fireless cookers, and paper bags, and all that by the time you get back." "Well, good luck to you," said Nan. "We must be off. You shall have the next bulletin as soon as there is anything more to report." They hurried back to find their mother, being entirely too excited to stop long in one place. After talking the plan over with her, they hunted up their Aunt Helen to join her in consulting maps, time-tables and guide-books. Before night the date was set, the route was laid out, the vessel upon which they should sail decided upon. At last one windy morning in March the Virginia mountains were left behind and the little party of three set their faces toward the western coast. California was no unknown land to them and here they decided to tarry long enough to see some of their old friends, making Los Angeles their first stop. "Doesn't it seem familiar?" said Mary Lee as they approached the city where they had lived for a while. "The very most familiar thing I see is out there on the platform," returned Nan as she observed Carter Barnwell eagerly scanning each car as the train came into the station. Nan hailed him from the car window and he was beside them before the train came fairly to a standstill. "Glory be to Peter! But isn't this a jolly stunt you are doing?" he cried fairly hugging Miss Helen. "Why didn't the whole family come, as long as you were about it?" "By the whole family you mean Jack, of course," remarked Mary Lee. Carter laughed a little confusedly. "That's all right," he returned; "I'm not denying it. Where are your checks and things? Give me that bag, Miss Helen. You are going straight to the house; Mrs. Roberts is counting the minutes till you get there." The three were nothing loth to be settled in Carter's automobile and to be whirled off through summerlike scenes to Pasadena where Mrs. Roberts's home was. "Do let us go past the little house where we used to live," said Nan who was sitting on the front seat with Carter. "I suppose it is still there." "Oh, yes," was the reply, "and I hope it always will be. It was there I first saw Jack, you know; the little rapscallion, how she was giving it to that youngster." He laughed at the recollection. Then in a lower voice and more seriously he asked, "Did she send me any message, Nan?" "We didn't see the twinnies before we left, you know," returned she. "There wasn't any special excuse for a holiday and it didn't seem worth while to bring them away from college just now. Doesn't she write to you, Carter?" "Sometimes," he answered soberly. "Oh, well, you know what Jack is," said Nan with an effort to be consoling. "Just hang on, Carter, and it will be all right, I am sure." "Yes, perhaps it will," he responded, "but sometimes it does look mighty discouraging. I haven't had a line from her since Christmas, Nan." "Isn't that just like her? I suppose she had the politeness to thank you for that lovely set of books you gave her." "Oh, yes; she wrote a perfectly correct little note. I was afraid maybe she didn't like the books." "She was crazy about them, but she just wouldn't give you the satisfaction of knowing it," said Nan comfortingly. "That is something to know," returned Carter in a more cheerful tone. "There's the house, Nan." He halted the car for a moment that they all might have a glimpse of the vine-embowered cottage where they had lived, and then on they sped again to draw up, after a while, before the door of the Roberts's pleasant home in Pasadena. They were tired enough from their long journey to be glad of the rest and quiet which Mrs. Roberts insisted they should have. "You are to go to your rooms and have a good restful time before we begin to chatter," she told them. "Since you assure me that you left every one well at home, I can wait to hear the rest of the news." So to their rooms they went to descend after a reasonable time to luncheon when they were welcomed by Mr. Roberts and were waited upon by the same Chinese servant who had been with the Robertses for years. Another day or two here and then off again they started to San Francisco where they would take their steamer. Carter insisted upon seeing them thus far on their way, and they were glad enough to have his assistance in getting started. "Wish I could go along," he told them, "but I reckon I have enough of traveling on this continent. It is something of a jaunt to Richmond and they think I must show up there every two years anyhow." "Then I suppose this is not your year for going since you came to see us graduated last summer." "No, but I am banking on getting there next year." "And of course when the twins are graduated you will be on hand." "You'd better believe I shall. No power on earth shall keep me from going then." It was Nan to whom he was speaking, and she well knew why he was so in earnest. "Well, remember what I told you," she said. "Don't give up the ship, Cart, no matter how discouraging it looks. Jack is a little wretch at times, but she is loyal to the core, in spite of her provoking ways." "Nan, you are a perfect old darling," said Carter wringing her hand. "You have put new life into me. I'll remember, and I shall not give up till I see her married to another man." "That's the way to talk," Nan assured him. "Dear me, is it time to go? Well, good-bye, Cart, and good luck to you." Carter turned from her to make his adieux to Miss Helen and Mary Lee, then back he turned to Nan. "You are a brick, Nan," he said. "Good-bye and write a fellow a word of cheer once in a while, won't you?" Nan promised and in another moment Carter had left them. The steamer's whistle blew a farewell blast and they were moving out of the harbor, Carter watching them from shore, his waving handkerchief on the end of his umbrella being visible as long as they could see. They remained on deck that they might watch for every point of interest which the beautiful harbor displayed, and at last through the Golden Gate they steamed out into the broad Pacific. "Doesn't it seem queer to be going the other way around?" said Nan to her aunt. "Do you realize that this is the Pacific and not our old friend, the Atlantic?" "Old friend," scoffed Mary Lee; "old enemy I should say. I hope to be spared the seasickness which I always associate with our last voyage." "Of course you won't have any such experience," Nan assured her. "This is placid water and in four or five days we shall be in Honolulu. It wouldn't be worth while to get seasick for such a little trip as that." But Mary Lee was not altogether satisfied with her prospects and was glad to seek her steamer chair before very long, and the other two decided to follow her example, Nan going to their stateroom to get wraps, and other paraphernalia, together with the guide-books with which they had provided themselves. After seeing that her aunt and sister were comfortably tucked in, Nan proposed that she should dispense information, while the other two became acquainted with the Pacific. "Of course you know," she began, "that Honolulu is on the Island of Oahu. I used to think it was on the Island of Hawaii, didn't you, Mary Lee? It is quite like an American town except that it has tropical trees and plants and things like that. I don't suppose it is half as picturesque as it was before we took possession of it. It was ceded to the United States, I mean the Hawaiian Islands were, in 1898." "How big is Oahu?" asked Mary Lee. "It has an area of six hundred square miles, and it is the loveliest of all the islands." "Dear me, I hadn't an idea it was so big. I thought we should be able to walk all over it during the time we expected to be there." "Not this trip, my honey, but we can drive about or go on the street-cars around Honolulu." "Oh, are there street-cars?" "Certainly there are. Honolulu is quite a big city." "I always think of it as a wild sort of place with queer little grass huts for the people to live in when they are not disporting themselves in the water and making wreaths of flowers. I expected to see coral reefs and palms and people with feather cloaks on, when they wore anything at all." Nan laughed. "You might have seen all that if you had lived some eighty or ninety years ago in the days of King Kamehameha." "Oh, dear, and I suppose there is no more _tabu_, and we shall not see a single calabash. I don't understand _tabu_ exactly, but I thought I should have an excellent chance to find out." "No doubt the book tells," said Nan turning over the pages. "It was like this," she said presently after a little reading. "If a chief wanted a field that appealed to his tender sensibilities he set up a pole with a white flag on it and that made the field _tabu_ to any one else. Sometimes if he wanted a lot of fire-wood he would _tabu_ fire and the people had to eat their food raw. All the nicest articles of food were _tabu_ to women who were obliged to eat their meals in a different room and at a different time from the men." "Dear me," cried Mary Lee, "then I am sure I don't want to go back eighty or ninety years even for the sake of grass huts and feather cloaks. We shall probably receive much greater consideration in this twentieth century. Tell us some more, Nan." "You know the islands are of volcanic origin and they have the most delightful climate imaginable. On the Island of Molokai is the leper settlement where Father Damien lived and died. It is a larger island than Oahu, but only a part of it is given over to the lepers, and they are cut off from the remaining land by a high precipice, so they could not get away if they wanted to, as the ocean is on the other side. You will see plenty of coral at Honolulu, Mary Lee, for there are buildings made of blocks of it, and there is a museum where we can be shown the feather cloaks. They were made for royalty only, of the yellow feathers taken from a bird called the Oo. He was black but had two yellow feathers of which he was robbed for the sake of the king. They let him go after they took away the yellow feathers so he could grow some more. But just imagine how many feathers it must have taken to make a cloak that would reach to the knees, sometimes to the feet. No wonder there are none of these birds left." "It is all very interesting," declared Mary Lee. "Is there anything about calabashes?" "Not very much," returned Nan after another examination of her book. "Perhaps we can find out more when we get there." "I think I may be able to tell you something about calabashes," said a gentle voice at Nan's side. Nan turned to see an elderly lady with a bright face, who had her chair next to the Corners'. "We are trying to get our information crystallized," said Nan. "It would be very good of you to tell us something about calabashes." "I live in Honolulu," returned the lady, "and I have been entertained by your remarks. You have been quite correct in all you have said. The calabashes are quite rare now and rather expensive, though once in a while there is an auction sale when one can get them more reasonably." "Do you hear that, Mary Lee?" cried Nan. "Oh, wouldn't it be fine if there should happen to be one while we are in Honolulu?" She turned again to the lady by her side. "Our name is Corner," she said. "This is my sister, Mary Lee, and my aunt, Miss Corner, is next." "And I am Mrs. Beaumont, the wife of an army man who is stationed at Honolulu. We are in the way of knowing some of the out-of-the-way things that all travelers do not know about, for we have been there some time. I am just returning from a visit to my sister who is in California." Nan felt herself in luck and continued her talk with this new acquaintance, getting more and more enthusiastic as various things were told her about the place to which they were going. "I have been noticing you," said Mrs. Beaumont when they had become on quite friendly terms. "You are always so eager and interested." "Oh, yes, I know I am," Nan said a little ruefully. "I am so very eager to know and see everything that I don't think of consequences, at least my sister tells me so." "And are the consequences liable to be disastrous?" asked Mrs. Beaumont. "Sometimes," Nan smiled reminiscently, "though, take it all in all, I would rather have a few disasters than miss what lucky experiences bring me. Nothing very terrible has happened to me yet for I have a younger sister who is so much more impulsive that I am able to curb myself on account of her didos. I daren't do things that I must warn her from doing, you see." Mrs. Beaumont laughed. "I think many of us could understand the position, though, like yourself, there are some of us who delight in experimenting with the unconventionalities." Nan's heart warmed to the speaker at this speech and the two sat talking till the call for dinner sent them below. [Illustration: CHAPTER II A GLIMPSE OF HONOLULU] CHAPTER II A GLIMPSE OF HONOLULU By the time the reefs of Oahu were in sight, the Corners had become so well acquainted with Mrs. Beaumont that they felt that they would have a friend at court when they should finally reach Honolulu. The four stood on deck together watching for the first glimpse of the coral reefs, Koko Point, and Diamond Head, then the city itself at the foot of the mountains. Finally they passed on to the harbor inside the reefs and beheld the tropical scene they had pictured. There were the palms, the rich dense foliage, and, at the moment the vessel touched the wharf, there were the smiling natives with wreaths around hats and necks, waving hands, and shouting, "_Aloha!_" So was Honolulu reached. As Nan had warned them it was quite like an American city, and as they were driven to the hotel which Mrs. Beaumont had recommended, they could scarce believe themselves upon one of those Sandwich Islands associated with naked savages and Captain Cook, in one's early recollections of geography. "I do hope," remarked Nan as they entered their rooms, "that we shall not find any centipedes or scorpions in our beds." "Horrors!" cried Mary Lee. "How you do take the edge off our enthusiasm, Nan." "Well, there are such things, and I, for one, mean to be careful." "We shall all be careful," said her aunt, "but I don't believe in letting that mar our pleasure. Mrs. Beaumont says one rarely sees those creatures, though of course they do exist. Some of them are not so poisonous as we are led to suppose, and one soon recovers from the sting. Now, girls, don't let us waste our time in discussing centipedes and tarantula, for we must make the most of our time. I have ordered a carriage for a drive to the Pali, which, I am told, is the favorite one. We can take the shore line next, Waikiki, it is called, and then we can see the surf-riding and all that." "Such lovely, queer names," commented Nan. "Such queer looking people," said Mary Lee as they started forth, looking eagerly to the left and right that they might observe anything worth their while. "Why do those women all wear those awful Mother Hubbard looking frocks?" said Nan. "While they were adopting a costume, couldn't some civilized person have suggested something more artistic? Poor things, I think it was a shame to condemn them to wear anything so ugly. When there were Japan and China to give them models of picturesque kimonos, it seems almost a crime for them to adopt these hopelessly ugly things." "Now Nan is off," laughed Mary Lee. "You touch her in her tenderest spot when you offend her artistic or musical taste." "Speaking of music," said Nan, not at all offended, "I want to hear the song of the fishermen. Mrs. Beaumont says it is very weird and interesting." "And I want to go to a _luau_," Mary Lee declared. "I think that may be possible," Miss Helen said, "for Mrs. Beaumont has promised to be on the lookout for any festivity which might interest us and will let us know." "She was a true discovery," Nan went on. "I am so glad she happened to be on board our steamer. Those wreaths that the natives wear around their hats and necks they call _leis_. Isn't it a pretty fashion?" "The flowers are really wonderful," said Mary Lee, "but oh, such commonplace looking shops, with canned things on the shelves just as at home. In such a summery, balmy climate I should think they could raise almost anything." "So they could, but they don't," her aunt told her. "Everything almost, in the way of fruit particularly, is brought from the coast. Sugar is the great crop here. There are some coffee plantations, and rice is raised. Pineapples and bananas receive some attention, but the possibilities for cultivating other things seem to be unconsidered except by a very few." "The natives eat _poi_," said Nan. "It must be horrid stuff from the description of it. It is made from a tough root something like a sweet potato. They mash it, or grind it up, mix it with water into a sort of paste, and sometimes they let it ferment before they dish it up in a calabash. Then the family sits around to eat this appetizing dish with their fingers. Mary Lee, how should you like to dine out with some of the Hawaiian gentry and be asked to join in a dip into the all-sufficing calabash with dried tentacles of an octopus as a dainty accompaniment?" "Ugh!" Mary Lee looked disgusted. Yet the next day when Mrs. Beaumont appeared to bear them all off to a _luau_ they were all quite as eager to go as if they had not discussed _poi_ to its disadvantage. "_Luau_ is the Hawaiian name for feast," Mrs. Beaumont explained. "The presence of guests will turn nearly any dinner into a _luau_. We are going a little out of town so that you may see one in its primitive method of serving." "Shall we have to eat anything that is set before us?" asked Mary Lee anxiously. "Oh, no, but I am sure you will find enough to satisfy you among the things you can eat. There will be fish steamed in _ti_ leaves, and probably pork roasted in an oven built underground. And I am sure you will like a green cocoanut eaten out of the shell." "But tea leaves," said Nan--"I should think they would give fish a queer flavor." "Not t-e-a, but t-i," Mrs. Beaumont explained. "The _ti_ plant is used for many things. It makes a convenient wrapping for one's ordinary marketing, and takes the place of paper in more than one instance." The girls were very curious to see what the _luau_ would be like, and were charmed to find that the feast was to be served from a mat spread upon the ground. The mat was finely braided and was adorned with a profusion of flowers. At each place were laid _leis_ of carnations, begonias, bourga invilleas, or some unfamiliar flowers; only roses and violets were conspicuous by their absence. Mrs. Beaumont and her guests were welcomed with low salaams by those who were native Hawaiians, though the company was a mixed one, as the feast was attended by some of the officers and their wives more in a spirit of policy or curiosity than because of strictly social relations. The girls discovered that Mrs. Beaumont was quite right in her advice about the fish and pork which they found delicious. They tried the _poi_, but barely tasted it. There was a very possible salad made from the alligator pear, and the green cocoanuts were indeed a delicacy which they could enjoy. It was not appetizing to watch the eaters of _poi_ wrap the sticky mass around their fingers before putting it into their mouths, and one or two glances were entirely sufficient. Knives and forks were provided for the principal guests, and indeed for any who preferred, but some still clung to the simpler and earlier manner of eating with their fingers. Later on came a visit to the shore to see the surf-riding, less indulged in than formerly since clothes have become an impediment, yet interesting enough. Here, too, they heard the wild and melancholy song of the fishermen which Nan tried to jot down as a hint to her musical memory in days to come. A sightseeing tour about town was planned for the next day when they were to see the various buildings, the Executive mansion, once the palace, the Museum where, indeed, were the feather cloaks and other interesting exhibits of primitive days, the Punahou College, and, what to the Corners was the most interesting of all, the Lunalilo Home for aged natives. "When I see those low salaams, I know I am in the Orient," said Nan. "Did you notice that old fellow actually prostrate himself?" "They are a very gentle, biddable people, if they are lazy," remarked Mary Lee, "and they say they are strictly honest." "I think that is because of the old system of _tabu_," Nan made the remark. "You were not allowed to take anything that belonged to a chief, for it was a matter of life and death, and even to allow your shadow to fall across the path of one of those mighty beings meant 'off with his head' or some similar order. I know what I shall do when I am queen of these islands; I shall _tabu_ Mother Hubbards. Look at that fat old monstrosity; isn't she a sight?" "There are quantities of Chinese and Japanese," said Mary Lee, noting the various persons who passed them. "It seems to me one sees more of them than of the natives." "I believe they do outnumber the natives," Miss Helen remarked, "for they form the principal class of laborers. The Chinese, more than the Japanese, have become shopkeepers, and own a larger proportion of real estate, so no wonder we see so many of them." "Are you all very tired?" asked Nan suddenly. "I must confess that I am," Miss Helen told her. "And I shall be mighty glad to get to my room," Mary Lee put in. "Why do you ask, Nan?" "Because I am wild to take a ride on those King Street cars. Mrs. Beaumont says that nobody of the better class does ride on them, and that is the very reason I want to go." "Oh, Nan, I wouldn't," objected her sister. "Why not? Nobody knows me, and I shall probably see sights undreamed of. Come along, Mary Lee." "No, indeed, I don't want to get mixed up with lepers and filthy scum of the earth." "Nonsense! There couldn't be any lepers, for they keep a very strict watch and hustle them off to Molokai as soon as one is discovered." "Mrs. Beaumont saw one; she told me so." "Oh, Mary Lee, did she really?" "Yes, she was buying something in one of the Chinese shops at the time of the Chinese New Year, and this creature was begging outside when she came out. She says she shall never forget the sight, and that sometimes their friends hide them so the officers cannot find them." "Well, they will not hide them on a King Street car, that's certain," retorted Nan. "If neither of you will go with me, I shall go by myself." Finding her determined, Miss Helen and Mary Lee went on to their hotel while Nan boarded the car she had selected. It was about an hour before she rejoined them. "Well, how was it?" asked Mary Lee as her sister came in. "It was great larks," was the answer. "You missed it, you two proper pinks of propriety." "Come in and tell us, Nan," called Miss Helen from the next room. Nan laid aside her hat and came to her aunt, sitting on the side of the bed while she related her experiences. "It was perfectly decent and respectable," she declared, "and the route is a beautiful one. A most polite Chinese person of the male persuasion took my car fare to deposit, handed me my change with an entrancing bow and then," she laughed at the recollection, "neatly abstracted his own nickel from his ear and put that in, too." "From his ear?" Miss Helen exclaimed. "She is just jollying us, Aunt Helen," said Mary Lee. "Indeed I am not," declared Nan, "and, what is more, he had stowed away another nickel, for his return fare, in his other ear; I saw as I came out. For my part I think it is a lovely idea, and I believe I shall adopt it in future, particularly when I must get on one of those evil inventions, a pay-as-you-enter car. One day in New York I dropped as many as three car fares in trying to get a nickel into the box. It was a rainy day; I had my umbrella and a small traveling bag to carry, so how in the world I could be expected to grasp the situation I have been wondering ever since. No, the ear is the place, a simple and effective way of solving a very difficult problem." "What else did you see?" queried Miss Helen. "I saw a bland, urbane native lady, gowned in a pink Mother Hubbard--I have learned that the native name for these horrors is _holuku_--well, she wore one. She carried a basket of fish, principally alive, for one that looked like a goldfish almost jumped into my lap. When she left the car I noticed that the Chinaman next me began to jerk his foot in a most remarkable manner. He attempted to get up, but somehow couldn't seem to manage it. The woman was going one way; the car the other; but finally another passenger stopped the car after some unintelligible words to the motorman and I discovered that the woman's hook and line had caught in the Chinaman's shoe. The woman was dragging away, all unconsciously, for she had caught a fish which she didn't intend to fry. It was very funny, but I was the only one in the car who laughed; the rest were far too polite." "Well, Nan, it is just like you to have had such an experience," said her aunt. "If I were going to stay in Honolulu for any length of time," returned Nan, "I think I should like to take a ride in the King Street cars every day. What are we going to do to-morrow?" "We are to have tea in Mrs. Beaumont's little grass house--you know she owns one--and she thinks there is to be an auction." "Calabashes!" cried Nan. "Good! I have set my heart on one, but I am not going to pay more than ten dollars for it." "I am afraid you will be disappointed then," her aunt told her, "for they run up as high as fifty dollars and over, I am told." "Well, we shall see," said Nan. "Of course I can't spend all my spare cash on calabashes or I will have none left for Japan where I expect to be tempted beyond my powers of resistance." "We are to dine at Mrs. Beaumont's this evening, so you'd better be thinking of dressing," Mary Lee warned her. "And no doubt we must look our best for there will be some fascinating young officers there, I believe. Isn't it fortunate that our steamer chairs happened to be next Mrs. Beaumont's? She has been perfectly lovely to us all, and we have seen twice as much as if we had tried to trot around alone." They were not disappointed in their evening's entertainment which brought them in contact with some of the ladies, as well as the men, of the garrison, and gave them an opportunity of learning many interesting things. The evening ended in a surprise when a band of natives came to serenade, bringing their rude musical instruments and giving songs typical of these islands of the South Seas. The calabashes were the great interest of the next day when an auction sale of a small private collection was held. Mrs. Beaumont, who was wise on the subject of the antique wooden ware, went with them, and to her great satisfaction Nan did secure an excellent specimen for the price she had set. "You see," said Mrs. Beaumont, "as there is no metal on these Hawaiian Islands, the best substitute known to the natives was the _Koa_ wood which has an exceedingly fine grain and is susceptible of a very high polish. Wherever a calabash was decorated by carving, it had to be done either with a stone implement or with one made of sharks' teeth, and though these carvings are crude they are really very interesting and add to the value of the calabash. There are very few of the very old ones left now as they have been bought up by collectors. The natives use those made of cocoanut shells or of small gourds, as you may have noticed." Nan bore away her calabash in triumph, stopping at a little place to have it polished by a man who was noted for doing such work well. Hers, while not large, was rather unique as it had a division in the middle so that two kinds of food could be served at once in it. There were more walks and drives, and even a visit to one of the neighboring islands. The pretty little Japanese tea-houses, which they came upon frequently in their drives, the girls absolutely refused to patronize. "We want to save everything Japanese till we get to Japan," they declared. "There is quite enough novelty in that which is strictly Hawaiian." "And more than enough that is strictly American, if one is looking for novelty," remarked Miss Helen. "Who would suppose that in these South Sea Isles one would find severe-looking New England houses, electric lights, electric cars, telephones and all the rest of American modern improvements?" "Including Mother Hubbards," Nan put in. "I am glad they have left something typical of the old times. I suppose the little grass houses were unhealthy places, but how picturesque they are." They had the opportunity of observing one of these primitive houses more closely that very afternoon when Mrs. Beaumont gave them tea in the small hut which she retained as a curiosity. It was quite a gay little company which gathered there, young officers, bright girls and charming, elderly, soldier-like military men who, the girls maintained, were more entertaining than the younger ones. At last came word that the steamer for Japan would arrive the next day, and so there was a repacking of trunks, a stowing away of souvenirs and a final farewell to those who had helped to make the stay at Honolulu so pleasant and profitable. Then early the following morning the three travelers boarded the steamer for a still longer journey to Japan. But they were not allowed to go off without being speeded on their way by their new friends who came bearing _leis_ in such number that their hats, their necks, their waists were adorned with garlands as the vessel slowly moved out. When the last "_Aloha!_" had died upon the air, they had moved outside the reefs, and finally when Oahu was lost to view, upon the waters they cast their wreaths that they might be borne back to land, a silent message to the friends they had left behind. Such is the pretty custom in these southern seas. [Illustration: CHAPTER III FIRST IMPRESSIONS] CHAPTER III FIRST IMPRESSIONS As one nail drives out another so were the sights of Honolulu lost in those newer ones which were met as the vessel entered the great bay. "It is just like the pictures," cried Nan, eagerly squeezing her sister's arm. "It is exactly," responded Mary Lee. "Oh, Nan, those square-sailed things are the junks, aren't they? And oh, what a lot of little boats." "And isn't the color beautiful?" returned Nan, her eyes seeking the further mass of shore beyond the calmly glittering waters. "I am wildly excited, aren't you, Aunt Helen? Somehow it seems the foreignest of all the foreign countries we have seen yet, much more than Honolulu did, for there was so much that was American there." "It is certainly deeply interesting," her aunt agreed. "I suppose we shall have to come down to the matter-of-fact question of customs directly, and after that we can begin to enjoy ourselves." "Oh, dear me, I always forget that there are such disagreeable things as customs. I hope they will not capture my precious calabash." But the customs were easily passed and then came the first sensation of the day, a ride to the hotel in a _jinrikisha_. "I feel as if I were on a fan or a _kakamono_," giggled Mary Lee, as they were borne along by their galloping coolie. "What funny little houses," commented Nan. "Can you imagine that really sober, every-day people live in them? It all looks like a joke, and as if we might come to our sober senses after a while. To be sure some of the houses do look somewhat European, but even they have a queer expression." "I didn't expect to see any horses, and yet there are a good many." Mary Lee made the observation. "I suppose they have been brought in by the foreign population," said Nan. "I have seen quite a number of phaetons, and some persons on horseback, so there goes one rooted theory. Set it down for a fact that they do have horses in Japan." "Don't the shops look fascinating! But we mustn't try to buy much of anything here for we are going to Tokyo almost at once, Aunt Helen says. Do you know how far it is, Nan?" "Only about twenty miles, I believe. Ah, here is our hotel right on the quay. We get a harbor view, but they say the best scenery is not here, but that further in the interior it is wonderful. I am wild for the first glimpse of Fujiyama." "I suppose we shall be honorabled and kowtowed to from this out," remarked Mary Lee as they left their _jinrikishas_ to be met at the hotel door by a bowing, obsequious person who conducted them inside. "It should be a flattering possibility, but you must remember that we are only poor miserable females and are of no account in this land." "I shall remember that when I get carried away by my admiration of things Japanese," replied Mary Lee. Their rooms looked out upon the water, and for some time they gave themselves up to viewing the novel scene spread out before them; the queer crafts which passed and repassed; the lambent, soft light which played over the waters; the effect of a swarming crowd in the costume of the country, at times diversified by the wearing of a partial European dress, again accentuated by those who wore such attire as was most familiar to the girls in their own home. It was quite late in the day and, as they expected to go on to Tokyo the next morning, they decided to take _jinrikishas_ or as they discovered them to be called _kuruma_ and _kurumaya_, that they might see something of the city of Yokohama and have their first experience of Japanese shops. "Now, Nan," warned Mary Lee the wise, "don't get too reckless even if things are cheap. We have months before us and if you begin to load up now, think what you will have by the end of the time." Nan, hesitating while she looked longingly at a fragile cup and saucer, sighed. "I suppose you are right, but one's enthusiasm is always so much more ardent in the beginning. Besides, I have always found that no matter how much I carried home with me from abroad, I was always sorry I didn't buy double." "But these breakable things will be so hard to lug around." "True, my practical sister. I think I will limit myself to the purchase of two things alone in this precious town and it will be fun to decide what they shall be." From shop to shop they went, stopping to look at the queer hanging signs, to examine the curios, the silks, and the odds and ends which could be picked up for a mere trifle. But at last Nan decided upon a silk scarf as being easy to carry and a singularly lovely kakamono, though she gave many a sigh to the beautiful bits of color which she must pass by. "So cheap," she would murmur, "and I can't have it." Then Mary Lee would resolutely rush her away with the consoling remark that doubtless she would find things twice as lovely and even more cheap in other places. "For you must remember," said she, "that we are only on the threshold, and probably, as this is such a well-known seaport, and one which is so much visited, things here are more expensive than they will be further on." "I bow to your superior judgment," Nan would reply, with a last backward look at the treasure she coveted. Mary Lee, herself, followed Nan's decision and bought but two articles, one a small piece of carved ivory and the other a piece of embroidery, both of which could be easily tucked away and would take up little room. Their afternoon would not have been complete without a first visit to a tea-house. "A really truly Japanese one this time," said Nan. "Aren't you glad we waited? I have much more of a sensation, haven't you, Aunt Helen?" "It does seem the real thing in such an atmosphere and such a company," she returned, as they were served with the pale yellow beverage in tiny cups by the most smiling of little maids. It was something of a ceremony as they discovered, when, at the very door, they must remove their shoes that they might not soil the clean straw mats with which the floor was thickly spread. Slippers were provided them and shuffling in with these upon their feet they sat on cushions, when a little maid in kimono and broad _obi_ came forward to ask if the honorable ladies would like some honorable tea. "Dear me," whispered Nan, "it is just as I hoped it would be. We have been called honorable at last." Presently the _mousmeé_ approached on her knees bearing a carved tray which she presented most humbly, and the three sat drinking their tea and trying to realize that this was Japan and that they were not dreaming. Continuing their ride, they were taken still further away from the European quarter of the town through the streets which looked more and more foreign; but they did not stop at any of the tiny shops, raised above the street, with their banner-like signs of blue or red or white all bearing lettering in fantastic Japanese or Chinese characters. It was all wonderfully rich and harmonious and the three were so busy drinking in the sights, the queer little low houses, the people, mostly habited in blue, short of stature, smiling, picturesque, that they were taken by surprise when at last their broad-hatted runner stopped. They looked up there to see before them in the evening light the great cone of Fujiyama, or Fujisan, as the wonderful mountain is called. Nan began to laugh hysterically. "What makes you do that?" said Mary Lee. "I don't see anything so amusing about this glorious view." "I have to do something," returned Nan, "and I don't want to cry. I have to do one or the other, it is so wonderfully beautiful. Doesn't it seem like the very spirit of a mountain wrapped in this pale, misty evening light? The great sacred mountain! And how high is it? I must look at my book and see." She turned the leaves of the book which she carried with her. "The great volcano," she read, "is between 12,000 and 13,000 feet high. It is 120 miles around the base. It has been practically inactive since 1707, yet there is a spot where it still shows indications of inward fires which, it is safe to declare, may break out some day." "Dear me, let us hope it will not be while we are here," said Mary Lee. "It isn't at all probable," Nan assured her, "for I am sure there would be some warning, unearthly noises, and growlings and mutterings. I shouldn't mind a little harmless sort of eruption, and I am rather looking for a baby earthquake that we can really expect almost any time. Do you know, Mary Lee, I am only beginning to wake up to the tremendous possibilities of Japan. Every little while I come upon the description of some famous shrine or temple, some wonderful view, some queer custom, or fascinating festival. I am beginning to get more and more bewildered, and shall have to sift this information so I can gather together the few grains which must serve us while we are here. It would never do to go away with merely a hodge-podge of facts not properly catalogued in our minds. You, who have an orderly and practical mind, must help me arrange some sort of synopsis of what we are to see and why we must." Mary Lee agreed and after a short observation of the magic mountain, they turned their backs upon it and saw only the bobbing hat of their runner who bore them through the unfamiliar and weirdly interesting streets, whose shops were now beginning to be lighted by gay paper lanterns, on to a more familiar looking quarter of the city, peopled principally by Europeans and back to the hotel on the quay, where they stopped. Their minds were full of new sensations, and their eyes were still filled with the pictures of foreign streets, smiling, gentle-voiced little people, and lastly great Fujisan, calm and beautiful in the sunset glow. After dismissing the _jinrikishas_, the three entered the hotel again, Nan walking ahead. As they were passing through the corridor, she stopped short as she came face to face with a girl about her own age who also came to a halt as she saw Nan. Then she sprang forward and took Nan by the shoulders, giving her a gentle shake. "Nan Corner, as I live! This is surprising." "Eleanor Harding, who could have expected to meet you on the other side of the world?" cried Nan. "How on earth did you get here?" asked Eleanor. "Just dug a hole and fell through," returned Nan. Eleanor laughed. "Dear me, that does make me feel as if we were all back at Bettersley. Why, there is Mary Lee, too! What fun!" She hastened forward to greet her old classmate, and to speak to Miss Helen whom she had met more than once at various college functions. "Well, this is luck," she declared. "Do let us go somewhere and have a good talk. Have you all had dinner? No? Then come along and sit with me for I was just going in." "But we are still in traveling dress," objected Mary Lee, always particular. "Never mind that; lots of others will be, too. Come right along." Thus urged the three followed along to the dining-room where they found a table to themselves over in one corner, and the chattering began. "Now tell me all about it," said Eleanor. "Dear me, but it does me good to see you." "We have come just because we all wanted to," Nan told her. "Aunt Helen proposed it, and here we are. We left mother and the twinnies at home." "Jack and Jean are at Bettersley, of course." "Yes, pegging away and getting along about as well as the rest of us did in our freshman year. Jack, as may be guessed, is in everything, including scrapes, but she is a general favorite and always comes out on top." "It makes me sort of homesick," said Eleanor with a sigh. "But you haven't told us yet what brought you here," Mary Lee reminded her. "Oh, so I haven't. I came out with my aunt whose husband is an army man. My brother is in the diplomatic service and is to be here some time, probably, so every one thought it was my chance for seeing this country." "It certainly is, for you will have opportunities denied the rest of us mere tourists. Is your aunt here in Yokohama?" "For the present. She and my brother have both gone to some function this evening, hence I am alone. Do you know what I thought when I first caught sight of you, Nan? I thought you were married and had come on your wedding trip." "No such prospect for Nancy," was the answer. "What about Rob Powell?" asked Eleanor. "He used to be your adorer a year ago." "Was it only a year ago? It seems ten," returned Nan. "Oh, I hear of him once in a while from Rita Converse. He is doing pretty well for a beginner, I believe." "What callous indifference," replied Eleanor. "I quite counted on hearing of your engagement by this time." "I don't seem to engage as readily as some others," Nan made answer, "and the longer I put it off the more 'fistadious' I become as Jean used to say. What about yourself, Nell, my dear? I don't forget Yale Prom." "Oh, bless me, who can count upon what happened before the deluge? I've begun all over again. I am counting on my brother Neal to supply me with something in the way of a Mikado or a _daimio_." "Deliver me if you please," cried Mary Lee. "So say we all of us," echoed Nan. "No Japanese mother-in-law for me. You must do better than that, Eleanor." So the chaff and chatter went on. Eleanor had been one of their comrades at college and there were a thousand questions to ask on each side, reminiscences and all that, the process of what the girls called "reminiscing" continuing long after they had left the table and had retired to a spot where they would be undisturbed. Here, after a while, they were discovered by Eleanor's brother who was duly presented and who entertained them all by an account of the affair which he had just attended. Later came in Mrs. Craig to hunt up her niece and nephew. She was a charming woman who had already been through many interesting experiences, and who was disposed to make much of these college friends of her niece. "We must all have some good times together," she proposed. "My husband and Neal have both been out here long enough to give us suggestions." Neal declared himself eager to be of assistance and lost no time in beginning to plan what they all must do the next day. There was some discussion about hours and engagements, but at last all was arranged to the satisfaction of every one concerned and the little company broke up. "Did you ever know such luck?" whispered Nan as they were going to their rooms. "Aunt Helen, we certainly started out under a lucky star. What would Honolulu have been without Mrs. Beaumont? And here come Mrs. Craig and Mr. Harding to act as cicerone for us here. Nell Harding of all people! I can't get over my surprise yet." "Were you very intimate with her at college?" asked Miss Helen. "Not quite as much so as with Rita Converse and one or two others. Still we were very good friends, especially during our senior year. Do you remember, Mary Lee, that she was the one who wrote to her brother about that horrid Oliver Adams, when you were taking up the cudgels for Natty Gray?" "Indeed I do remember," returned Mary Lee. "She was so nice about it; I have always liked her better ever since that time. What do you think of this brother, Nan?" "Pleasant sort of somebody. Looks as if there might be a good deal in him. Not specially good-looking, but he has nice eyes and a well-shaped head that looks as if he had more than ordinary intellect. I think we shall all become very good friends. Don't you like Mrs. Craig, Aunt Helen? I am sure she is great, and is going to be no end of help to us." So the talk went on while the night opened up new stars to their vision, and the coming day promised new friends, new scenes and new experiences. [Illustration: THEY LOOKED UP TO SEE THE GREAT CONE OF FUJIYAMA] [Illustration: CHAPTER IV TEMPLES AND TEA] CHAPTER IV TEMPLES AND TEA "And aren't we to go to Tokyo to-day?" asked Mary Lee as she sat up in bed the next morning. "Don't ask me," replied Nan. "We supposed we were, and as it is only twenty miles away we may be going yet though Aunt Helen did not say anything about it last night. She and Mrs. Craig were plotting all sorts of things for to-day while we were talking to Nell and her brother. I caught a word here and there about temples and _tori-i_ and things." "And we, too, were making plans meanwhile, so it looks as if we might have a busy day, Nan." "Yokohama and Tokyo are practically the same city," Nan gave the information, "for they are so near one another. Because of that we may be going to carry out the original plan. I'll go ask Aunt Helen." She pattered into the next room to find Miss Helen already up. "What's the first thing on the carpet to-day, Aunt Helen?" she asked. "Why, let me see; breakfast, of course." "Decidedly of course, but I didn't mean anything quite so obvious." "Then Mrs. Craig is coming for us and we are to take a drive to see some temples, and this afternoon we are to call on a Japanese friend of Mrs. Craig's." "A real Japanese?" "A really, truly one whom Mrs. Craig knows quite well." "And we shall have the chance of seeing a veritable Japanese house? Good! I've been hoping we might have such a chance. Where is the house?" "In Tokyo." "Then we are to go there as was first planned." "I think so; it is more attractive than in Yokohama, and you know Mrs. Craig is stopping there. She and her nephew came to Yokohama simply to meet Miss Harding whom they will take back with them to Tokyo, so it seems to me we would be better off there ourselves." Nan uncurled herself from the foot of the bed where she was sitting and went back to her sister. "Tokyo it is to be," she announced. "Tokyo and temples and a visit to a Japanese home; that is the day's programme. Isn't it great? You'd better get up, Mary Lee; Aunt Helen is all dressed." The two girls made haste to join their aunt and before very long were ready for their morning of sightseeing. This time they were to go, not in _jinrikishas_ but behind Mrs. Craig's stout little ponies which carried them along at a good pace to a spot where suddenly arose before them a great stone stairway. "Oh, where do those steps lead?" asked Nan, all curiosity. "They are the first intimation we have that we are nearing a _tera_ or temple," Mrs. Craig told her. "And do we climb that long flight?" asked Mary Lee. "Assuredly." They all alighted from the carriage and began the ascent. At the top they confronted a queer gateway. "Is this what they call a _tori-i_?" asked Nan. "No, it is merely a gateway in the ordinary sense," she was told. "We must stop and look at it," Miss Helen decided, and they all stood looking up at the strange structure. "What an odd roof," Mary Lee observed, as she regarded the peaked pagoda-like affair. "And such carving," exclaimed Nan. "Do look at all those queer gargoylish lions' heads, and see the dragons on the panels; snakes, too." "And there is Fuji." Miss Helen, who was resting after her exhausting climb, and was enjoying the view, directed their attention to the great mountain whose dim peak arose above the town at their feet. Nan turned from her regard of snakes and dragons that she might look off at the scene. "No wonder one sees Fuji on fans and panels and pretty nearly everything in Japan," said she. "I don't wonder the Japanese honor and adore their wonderful mountain." After giving further examination to the gateway, they all walked on, presently coming to another one which showed more dragons and gargoyles. Through this they passed to enter a sort of courtyard. The girls looked with curiosity at an array of stone objects which they supposed to be monuments. "What are they?" Mary Lee asked. "Stone lanterns," Mrs. Craig told her, "and yonder are the Buddha lions." She pointed out two strange, fantastic stone figures in sitting posture each side the way. "And does Buddha live here?" asked Nan with a smile. "He lives in many places," Mrs. Craig replied with an answering smile. Just ahead they perceived three steps leading to a low edifice. Men and women were going and coming from these, stopping to kneel at the entrance of this, the temple which they had come to see. Most of these people tarried only a very short time, bending their heads in silent prayer for a few minutes, while they joined their hands reverently. Some clapped three times quite slowly, though noisily. There were many contributions made, small coins thrown into the big wooden box at the entrance. The girls stood watching the worshippers curiously. "It would be interesting to know how much their offerings amounted to," said Mary Lee. "I suppose very little in our money." "Very little indeed," responded their guide. "When you consider a _rin_ is one-tenth of a _sen_ and that a _sen_ is only about equal to one of our cents you can see that a very small contribution suffices." "What is inside the temple?" asked Nan. "The shrine of Buddha, but he is not on exhibition except on feast days. If you go in you will have to take off your shoes, so perhaps we would better wait till some other time." They decided that they would not attempt an entrance at this time, but they peeped through the paper-screened sides of the building to see a dim interior whose contents were in such obscurity that they could not make them out. "Do you always have to take off your shoes before entering a temple?" asked Mary Lee. "Oh, dear, yes, and not only upon entering a temple but before entering any house. You know all floors are furnished with soft matting rugs which it would never do to soil. When one considers how much mud and dust we carry into our homes on our shoes and skirts I am inclined to think the Japanese have more than one custom which we might adopt to advantage. If you want to see a _tori-i_, Miss Nan, I think we can find you one not very far away." "I don't exactly understand what a _tori-i_ really is," confessed Mary Lee. "There are two theories concerning them," Mrs. Craig told her. "Many assert that they were originally perches for birds, one meaning of the word being a bird-rest, and it is supposed that they were used as a sort of altar on which fowls were offered to the gods; others maintain that the word means simply a gateway. One can easily see how either meaning could be accepted, for they do look like a perch as well as a gateway." After another drive through a labyrinth of streets, where were queer little houses and queerer signs, they arrived at the bottom of another hill where again a flight of steps arose before them. "Dear me," sighed Miss Helen, "I wonder if I am equal to all these climbs. I should like to import a few elevators for the sake of my American powers of climbing." However, rather than be left behind, the ascent was decided upon by Miss Helen, Nan helping her up, and lingering with her when a pause for breath seemed advisable. At last they joined the other two who, more agile, had reached the spot before them. "So this is a _tori-i_," said Nan looking up at the gateway. "Such a simple affair; just two upright pillars with two things across them. It might easily be a bird-perch. No carving, no letters, no anything, yet it is sort of impressive just because of its simplicity. Is there a temple beyond?" "No, only a shrine," she was informed, "and probably closed." "Then we shall not have to climb that second flight of steps," said Miss Helen in a relieved tone. "If one has to mortify the flesh in this manner before seeing temples, I am afraid I shall not see many." "Oh, but you used to climb lots of steps in Europe," Nan reminded her. "How many were there in the duomo at Florence?" "Don't ask me, my dear; the remembrance of them is still with me. Probably because I did climb so many in Europe is why I hesitate here, and perhaps the weight of years might be added as a second reason." Nan frowned and shook her head. "You mustn't say that. You are as young as any of us." "In spirit, maybe," her aunt returned with a smile. "We certainly shall not expect you to see all the shrines and temples we come upon," Mrs. Craig told them, "for there are too many, and the best way is to select the most famous only to visit." "We learned to do that way in Europe," said Nan. "One gets mental indigestion by tearing off to see every little thing, and finally one is so mixed up that nothing is remembered correctly." "And if one lived here a lifetime it would be impossible to see all the sights or to learn all the legends," Mrs. Craig went on. "The best way is to get some well-written book and study up between times. You need to know a little of the folk-lore and something of the religions in order to understand the sights you wish to see. It will be impossible to get more than merely a very superficial idea even then, particularly upon the question of the two old beliefs of Shintoism and Buddhism." "The Shinto belief is the worship of ancestors, isn't it?" asked Nan. "It is founded upon that, as we understand it," Mrs. Craig explained. "Lafcadio Hearn probably can give you a better idea of what it means than I can, so I advise you to hunt up his books." "We have some of them," Nan returned, "and I shall look up the subjects when we get home." "Do all the Japanese adopt the Shinto creed?" asked Mary Lee. "Oh, no, some are Buddhists, some are Christians, some have a mixed belief in which both Buddhism and Shintoism have a part. The ramifications are so numerous and so intricate that it would be impossible to explain them. I know only a very little myself, and I have been here three years. As to the language, it is hopeless. I shall never be at home with it, and there are only a very, very few foreigners who ever do master its intricacies. When you consider that every schoolboy is expected to learn six or seven thousand characters for daily use alone, and a scholar must know twice as many more, you may imagine the undertaking. Moreover there are several styles of writing these characters, so you may be glad you are not expected to master Japanese." "Oh, dear," sighed Mary Lee, "it makes me tired merely to think of it." After the climbing of so many steps, and after the fatigue following the constantly recurring sights which passed before their vision, they decided to go home and rest that they might be ready for their afternoon's entertainment. Their last sight of the _tori-i_ was one they never forgot, for it framed the exquisite cone of Fuji as in a picture, and they were interested all the more when Mrs. Craig told them that these ancient gateways usually did form the framework for some special object such as a mountain, a temple, a shrine. After having had luncheon and a good rest they were all quite ready for the next experience which Mrs. Craig had promised them. Eleanor who had been off with her brother all morning joined them in the afternoon's entertainment and was quite as much excited as the others to be a caller upon a really truly Japanese. "It is such a pity," said Mrs. Craig, when they were about to start, "that you couldn't have been here in time for the Doll Festival which occurs upon the third of March. I am hoping, however, that the dolls will still be on view at the house where we are going, though they are usually stored in the go-down at the end of the three days." "And what in the world is a go-down?" asked Eleanor. "It is the family storehouse," her aunt told her. "Very little is kept out to litter up a Japanese house, where the utmost simplicity is considered desirable, so they have these storehouses in which all superfluities are kept. When you reach Mrs. Otamura's you will be surprised at the very absence of furnishings, but there, I must not tell you too much or you will not be sufficiently surprised." "It is so lovely to be sensationed," said Nan with a satisfied air. Mrs. Craig laughed and they proceeded on their way to the house which stood, its least attractive side toward the street, in a quarter of the city where the better class lived. The garden was at the back, and there were verandahs at the side. There were no chimneys, but the roof was tiled and the sides of the house were fitted with sliding screens covered with paper. These were now thrown open. At the door they were met by a servant whom Mrs. Craig addressed with respect and with a few pleasant words, this being expected, for none save the master is supposed to ignore the servant. Each one of the party removed her shoes and slipped on a pair of straw slippers before stepping upon the soft, cool matted floor. The room into which they were ushered was indeed simply furnished; in an alcove whose floor was slightly raised, hung a single kakemono, or painted panel, and a vase stood there with a single branch of flowering plum in it; there were also a little shrine and an incense burner. On the floor, which was covered with thick mats, were placed square silk-covered cushions on which the guests were to be seated. But before this was done they were greeted by the mistress of the house with the most ceremonious of low bows. She could speak a little English and smiled upon them so sweetly that they all fell in love with her at once. She was dressed in a soft colored kimono and had her hair arranged most elaborately. Close upon her heels followed her little girl as gaily decked as a tulip, in bright colored kimono and wearing an obi or sash quite as brilliant. This _treasure flower_, as a Japanese will always call his child, was as self-possessed and gracious as it was possible for a little maid to be. Following her mother's example she knew the precise length of time during which she should remain bent in making her bow, and her smile was as innocent and lovely as could be any one's who was called by the fanciful name of O-Hana, or Blossom, as it would mean in our language. There was a low table or so in the room and, as soon as the _hibachi_ was brought in, small stands were placed before each person, for of course tea must be served at once. The _hibachi_ was really a beautiful little affair, a fire box of hammered copper, in which was laid a little glowing fire of _sumi_ sticks, these being renewed, as occasion required, from an artistic brass basket by the side of Mrs. Otamura. "The honorable" tea was served upon a beautiful lacquered tray and from the daintiest of teacups, offered by a little maid who humbly presented the tray as she knelt before the guests. The conversation, carried on partly in English and partly in Japanese, was interesting to the foreigners who were on the lookout for any oddities of speech, but who would not have smiled in that polite and gracious presence for anything. They drank their pale honey-colored tea with as much ceremony as possible although not one of them was accustomed to taking the beverage without milk or sugar. "The dolls are really on view," Mrs. Craig told them after a few sentences in Japanese to her hostess, "and O-Hana will take you to see them." "Oh, how lovely," cried the girls, their enthusiasm getting the better of them. At a word from her mother the little black-haired child came forward and held out her tiny hand to Miss Helen, who as eldest of the party deserved the most respect. Following their little guide they went through the rooms, each screened from the next by paper covered sliding shutters, until they came to one where upon row after row of crimson-covered shelves appeared a most marvelous array of dolls, with all the various furniture, china, musical instruments, and even warlike weapons, that any company of dolls could possibly require. "Aren't they perfectly wonderful?" said Mary Lee looking at a magnificent royal family in full court costume. "Oh, no, they are very poor and mean," replied the child who quite understood her. It was very hard not to laugh, but no one did, each turning her head and pretending to examine the doll nearest her. "And which do you like best?" asked Miss Helen. "This one," O-Hana told her, pointing to a very modern creature in a costume so much like their own that the girls could not restrain their mirth at the reply. "She is very beautiful," said Nan hoping that her praise would do away with the effect of the laughter. "She is very ugly, very poor," replied O-Hana, "but," she added, "I like her the best." "It would take hours to see them all," said Miss Helen, "and we must not stay too long." So after a cursory view of officers and court ladies, musicians and dancers, ancient heirlooms in quaint antique costumes elbowing smart Paris creatures, they finally took their leave of the dolls, wishing they might stay longer. There was a little more ceremonious talk and then as polite a leave-taking, O-Hana doing her part as sedately as her mother. "I should like to have kissed that darling child," said Nan as they all started off again, "but I didn't suppose it would be considered just the correct thing." "Indeed it would not," Mrs. Craig told her, "for the Japanese regard it as a very vulgar proceeding. I fancy we foreigners shock their tender sensibilities oftener than we imagine, for they are so exceedingly ceremonious and attach the utmost importance to matters which we do not regard at all." "I know I shall dream of that funny little doll-like creature, O-Hana," Nan went on, "with her little touches of rouge on her cheeks, her bright clothes and her hair all so shining and stuck full of ornaments. As for Mrs. Otamura, she is delicately lovely as I never imagined any one to be, such tiny hands, such a fine, delicate skin, such an exquisitely modulated voice, and so dignified and gracious; I felt a very clumsy, big, overgrown person beside her." "You were right about the house, Mrs. Craig," commented Mary Lee. "It certainly was simplicity itself. Think of our great masses of flowers in all sorts of vases and bowls, and compare all that to the one lovely spray of plum blossom so artistically arranged." "Their flower decorations are a matter of great study," Mrs. Craig answered. "It is taught as a branch by itself and all girls study it. The few decorations a house possesses must be in harmony with the season. When the cherry blossoms come you will see an entirely different kakemono in the Otamuras' house, an entirely different vase for the flowers and other things will be in keeping." "It is all very complicated," sighed Nan, "and I am afraid I shall carry away only a very small part of what I ought to find out about these curious people." She was quite sure of this as Mrs. Craig began to tell of some strange customs, stranger feasts and still stranger folk-lore the while they were carried along through the narrow streets to their hotel. Here they found Neal Harding awaiting them with a friend of his, a young journalist whom he presented as "Mr. Montell, who hails from the state of South Carolina." The addition of a bright young American to the party was not at all regretted by the girls who went to their rooms commenting, comparing and, if it must be said, giggling. [Illustration: CHAPTER V AN EVENING SHOW] CHAPTER V AN EVENING SHOW "Speaking of dolls," said Mr. Montell to Nan, when they all met at dinner, "we Westerners have no idea of their value nor of the sentiment with which they are regarded here in Japan. Did you know that there was once a doll so human that it ran out of a house which had caught on fire?" "Oh, Mr. Montell!" Nan looked her incredulity. "If you don't believe it I refer you to that wonderful writer upon Japan, Lafcadio Hearn. It is a belief in this country that after generations of care and devotion, certain dolls acquire a soul; as a little girl told Mr. Hearn, 'they do when you love them enough.'" "I think that is perfectly charming," cried Nan. "Tell me something more about the dolls. We were deeply interested in those we saw this afternoon, but we hadn't time to examine them all to see if there were any among them who had gained a soul through love. Have you been to a Doll Festival, Mr. Montell?" "Oh, yes, and to several other festivals, for I have been here since the first of January." "And which was the first festival you saw?" "The feast of the New Year which lasts about two weeks. It is something like our Christmas holiday lengthened out, for during the whole month every one wears his, or her, best clothes, gifts are exchanged, and there is much visiting back and forth; besides, the Japanese homes overflow with dainties, at least with what they consider dainties. There is a cake made of rice flour, and called _mochi_, which isn't half bad." "I rather like the rice cakes, and I have always liked rice, but when it comes to raw fish and such things I draw the line. Imagine seeing a perfectly good live fish brought to the table and then seeing your host calmly carve slices from its writhing sides! Ugh! I hate even to think of it. Were you ever present when such a thing was done?" "Yes, I was on one occasion, and I cannot say that the vision increased my appetite. I had the good fortune to be given letters of introduction to one or two prominent Japanese families and have been able to see something of the home life of the people. It is really charming when you know it. I never knew a more beautiful hospitality, nor a sweeter spirit of gentleness shown." "They do seem a happy race, for they are perpetually smiling." "And yet we would think the lot of most a most unhappy one." "Except the children's and some of the old people's. I have been shocked to see what terrible burdens some of the poor old women carry. I had an impression that all old people in Japan were revered and were treated as something very precious." "On general principles it is so, but among the lower classes the women are treated with little respect and have duties imposed upon them which make one fairly groan to think of." "I have learned that women have not a price above rubies in this land, although they are much more fascinating than I imagined. Mrs. Otamura is the most delicate, doll-like little creature, really very pretty and with such an exquisitely gracious and graceful manner. That reminds me again of the dolls. Is it real food they offer them? I wasn't quite sure and I didn't like to ask." "Oh, yes, it is real rice and _saké_ and all that which you probably saw. It is a great pleasure to the little girls to set a meal before their dolls whenever one is served to themselves." "Such beautiful little lacquered and china sets of dishes they were, too; I felt like playing with them myself. When is there another festival, Mr. Montell?" "I think the feast of the Cherry Blossoms will be the next important one, but there are little shows all the time, small temple festivals rather like a fair, such as one sees in Europe in the small towns." "And can one buy things at them?" Mr. Montell laughed. "The difficulty will be not to buy, for you will be pestered with persistent venders of all sorts of wares." "We bought such a funny lot of little bodyless dolls to-day; we felt that we must have some, such dear little faces with downcast eyes and such a marvelous arrangement of hair. They were only five _rin_ apiece. I am just learning the value of the coins, and only learned to-day that there was such a thing as a _mon_. I have it written on the tablets of my memory that ten _mon_ make a _rin_ and ten _rin_ make a _sen_. Five rin, then, is about half a cent, so our dollies are very cheap." "I recognize your little doll at once; she is O-Hina-San. You see her frequently, though, as you may have observed, no O-Hina-San looks exactly like another." "Well, at all events she is a very cunning little person. I am surprised to find what cheap and pretty things one can buy for so very little. Don't you think that in the countries where there are coins of such small denominations one can always find cheaper things than at home? When I am in Europe I always think twice before spending five centimes and twenty-five seem a whole great big lot, yet they represent only five cents of our money, and who hesitates to spend a nickel? If we had mills as well as cents I believe it would soon reduce the price of things." Mr. Montell laughed. "That is a theory to present to our political economists who are trying to get at the cause of the high price of living. Will you write an article on the subject? I might place it for you." Nan shook her head. "No, indeed. I will present you with the idea and you can work it up for your paper. I could do better with an article on the Doll Festival. Dear me, why didn't I come to Japan before I left college? I love that theory of their gaining souls, and, indeed, some are so lifelike that it is hard to believe they are not alive, and some of them that we saw were over a hundred years old." "You know the dolls are never thrown away, but are given something like honorable obsequies. The very, very old ones must, in due course of time, become hopeless wrecks. They are not exactly buried, but are given to the god _Kojin_. A mixed person is _Kojin_, being neither a Shinto nor a Buddhist deity. A tree is planted near the shrine where he lives, and sometimes the poor old worn-out doll is laid at the foot of the tree, sometimes on the shrine; but if the tree happens to be hollow, inside goes dolly." "Isn't it all entertaining and surprising?" returned Nan. "I suppose you have seen and have learned many wonderful things." "More than I hoped to. I am going further up into the country after a while, for in the isolated districts one can get at some very curious customs which have not become modified by modern invasion." "Just as it is in Spain or any other country which is not tourist-ridden." "I am wondering if there may not be a temple festival to-night; I will inquire. If there is we must all go, for it is something that every foreigner should see." "An evening affair, is it?" "Yes, and for that reason the more interesting, to my mind." "Do you hear that?" Nan turned to the others. "Mr. Montell is going to pilot us all to an evening street show, a temple festival. Won't it be fine?" "Is it this evening?" Miss Helen inquired. "If it is I am afraid you will have to count me out, for I have about used up my strength for to-day." "Even after having had a reinforcement of food?" inquired Nan. "It won't prevent your going, dear child," said Miss Helen. "You know we agreed that we were not going to stand on the order of our going and coming, and that any one who felt inclined should always be at liberty to drop out of any expedition she felt disinclined to make." "I think you young people would better undertake the show," put in Mrs. Craig. "Nell and Neal can chaperon you all, and we elders can stay at home and keep one another company. I have seen temple shows galore, so I shall lose nothing." This was agreed upon, and they all arose from the table, separating into groups, the younger people going to the front to look out upon the passing crowd, while Miss Helen and Mrs. Craig seated themselves for a talk over the plans for the following day. Mr. Montell went off to make his inquiries. Nan and Eleanor Harding paced up and down the corridors, leaving Mary Lee with Mr. Harding. "We don't know a thing about Tokyo," said Mary Lee addressing her companion. "What is the name of this street, for instance?" "It is a part of the great Tokiado Road which is three hundred miles long." "Gracious!" exclaimed Mary Lee. "Where does it end?" "It goes from Tokyo to Kioto and passes through many towns. It is really a wonderful trip from one city to the other." "Have you taken it?" "Yes, I went with a party of six." "How did you travel?" "By _jinrikisha_." "Dear me, all that distance?" "Yes, indeed. The runners can travel six or seven miles an hour, sometimes even as much as eight, and it is really a most agreeable way to go, for one has a chance of seeing the country as he would in no other way, unless he walked." "I wish we could do it." "There is no reason why you shouldn't. If you are good walkers you can relieve the monotony by getting out once in a while; we did whenever we felt inclined, and over the mountains it was a distinct advantage." "I am afraid that wouldn't appeal to Aunt Helen particularly. She is not so ready as she used to be to endure discomfort, and we shall probably have enough of that if we keep on beaten tracks. There are wonders in abundance to be found without doing any terrific stunts, and I reckon we may as well keep to them." "How long had you planned to stay?" "Oh, I don't know. We haven't planned at all. We will stay till we think it is time to go. I suppose we shall get homesick for mother and the twinnies in course of time." "You'd better do as much of your sightseeing as possible before the rainy season begins." "And when may we expect that it will?" "It is liable to start in almost any time during the spring, but usually extends through late spring and early summer." Just here Mr. Montell returned with the news that he was correct in his surmise and that there would be a night festival in another part of the city. "It is over by ten o'clock," he told them, "so we'd better be off if we want to enjoy it." The girls rushed to their rooms to prepare themselves for the outing while the young men hunted up the _jinrikishas_ which were to take them to the spot. "We shall be tired enough after an hour in that jostling crowd," Mr. Montell replied when it was proposed by the girls that they should walk one way. "And besides," put in Mary Lee, "we have been going all day, and we must not get tired out in the very beginning, for we want to save up for all the rest there is to see." So off they set in the _jinrikishas_, to arrive at last before the temple which was supposed to occasion the gathering of the crowd which jostled and clattered within a small radius. Just now it was at its greatest. At first the arriving party merely stood still to see the varying scene. A few turned to look at the foreigners, but such were by no means rare in this huge city and they did not arouse as great an interest as did the booths and the flower show. "Isn't it the weirdest sight?" said Nan to Mr. Harding who had her in charge while Mary Lee and Eleanor were under the care of Mr. Montell. "It is certainly different from anything we have at home," he returned. "Shall we see the flowers first? I think we may as well move with the crowd, as it will be easier than standing still where one is liable to be shoved and pushed about." They slowly made their way toward the spot where there was a magnificent display of flowering plants, young trees, and shrubs lining both sides of the streets. The only lights were those of torches, which flickered in the wind, and of gay paper lanterns swung aloft. "Before you attempt to buy anything," Mr. Harding said, "let me warn you not to pay the price first asked. The system of jewing down is the order of things here and you will be cheated out of your eyes if you don't beat down your man." "I am afraid I don't know enough of the language to do anything more than pay what they ask, unless you will consent to do the bargaining, that is, if your proficiency in the language will allow." "I think I can manage that much," he replied cheerfully. Nan paused before a beautiful dwarf wisteria. "What wouldn't I give to have that at home," she said, "but when one considers that it would have to be toted six thousand miles, it doesn't encourage one to add it to one's impedimenta. I am already aware that I shall have the hugest sort of collection to take home with me, and my sister is continually warning me not to buy everything I see. I think, however, I shall have to get just one little lot of cut flowers to take back to Aunt Helen. Oh, those are cherry blossoms, aren't they? The dear pinky lovely things! I shall have to get a branch of those". They paused before the beautiful collection of plants and flowers whose charms were being made known vociferously by the flower dealer. Foreigners are easy prey of course, so at once the price was put up beyond all reason. Mr. Harding shook his head. "Too much," he said in the vernacular, and immediately the price dropped perceptibly, but it required more haggling before it came within the limits of reason. But finally Nan bore off her treasure in triumph, holding it carefully above the heads of the crowd. This was rather an easy matter as she was much taller than the general run of those who constituted the throng, and more than once was regarded with amusement. She could not leave the flower show, however, without one more purchase, this time a beautiful little dwarf tree in full flower, for Mrs. Craig, "who," explained Nan, "has a place to keep it." Mr. Harding assumed the responsibility of carrying this purchase, and, leaving the flowers, they pressed their way toward the booths where myriads of toys were for sale. "Things unlike anything in the heavens above or the earth beneath or the waters under the earth," exclaimed Nan pausing before a booth which attracted her and which was surrounded by children looking with eager longing at the toys. Most of them, to be sure, would be certain not to go home empty-handed, for the parents of these were seldom too poor to spend half a cent to please a child. But there was one little pale-faced creature with the inevitable baby on her back who did seem destitute of a _sen_ or even a _rin_. "There is an example of womanhood's burdens," said Mr. Harding, watching the slight figure in its gay kimono. "The little girls are seldom without a baby on their backs, it seems to me; no wonder they look old and bent and wizened before their time, yet they are the most cheerful, laughing creatures in the world, and do not seem to mind being weighted down with a baby any more than American children would with a hat." "But this seems a particularly small girl and a particularly big and lusty baby," returned Nan, eyeing the little motherly creature. "Do you suppose I might make her a present? I wonder what she would like best of anything on this stall." "Shall I ask her?" "Oh, will you?" Mr. Harding put the question, but beyond the answering smile, there was no reply from the shy little maid, though her interest in the foreigners was immediately awakened. "There is a lovely O-Hina-San," whispered Nan. "Do you suppose she would like that?" "I am sure it wouldn't come amiss, and would be worth the guess." "Then I will get it at the risk of a whole half cent." She laid down her five _rin_ and took up the queer little figure, a flat stick covered with a gay kimono made of paper, and surmounted by a pretty little head. Nan held out the gift smilingly, but the little girl looked at her wonderingly, making no effort to take it. Nan opened the small fingers and clasped them around the doll. The child smiled and looked at Mr. Harding. "For you," said he in the child's own language. The smile brightened and down went the child, unmindful of the baby, her head touching earth while her tongue was unloosened to say "Arigato gozaimasu," which meant "honorable thanks." "Now I must get something for the baby," declared Nan; "that is, if I can get any idea of what these things are for. There is a most fascinating red and blue monkey clasping a stick; that strikes me as appropriate. Will you ask how much it is?" Mr. Harding put the question. "One-eighth of a cent," he told her, "and this is 'Saru,' the 'Honorable Monkey'; why honorable, I cannot say." The toy dealer picked up one of these toys, pressed a spring and lo! the monkey ran up the stick. "I must have him. All that for one-eighth of a cent! Surely this is a Paradise for children." She placed the monkey in the baby's little fat hand. He regarded it gravely, but his little sister again prostrated herself to offer her "honorable thanks," and rising, looked at Nan with as adoring an expression as her small wan face could assume. "And all for less than a cent," said Nan. "I should like to spend the rest of the evening buying toys for these poor little mother-sisters. I could buy thousands for a dollar." But by now the little girl had moved away, probably to go home with the wonderful tale of the foreign lady, who had given her an experience which was quite as delightful as the presents themselves; and Nan with her escort followed along with the crowd, stopping to examine the toys and have their meaning explained whenever possible. "Many of these toys have a religious meaning," Mr. Harding told her. "All these queer little images represent some god. Fukusuke looks like a jolly sort of a boy, and Uzume who is the god of laughter, I take it, is a most merry personage. That one with a fish under his arm is Ebisu, the god of markets and of fishermen." Seeing their interest, the dealer picked up a figure representing a hare sitting on a sort of handle of what Nan took to be a bowl of some sort. "Usagi-no-kometsuki," said the man. "Aha! this is Hare-in-the-Moon," exclaimed Mr. Harding. "He is cleaning his rice." "Oh, is that what the pestle is for? I have seen them cleaning rice; they do it by stepping on the handle." "The next time you see the moon, look up and try to discover Usagi-no-kometsuki. Will you allow me to present him to you?" He bought the little toy and handed it over to Nan who laughingly accepted it, and they went on past the booths showing more toys, or sometimes quaint little ornaments, strange compounds of confections or fans, goldfish and such things, all entertaining enough to one unaccustomed to such a display. Presently the crowd began to thin out, the torches flickered uncertainly, paper lanterns bobbed off in different directions as individuals took their way home; the clatter of the wooden clogs grew less noticeable. Nan suddenly came to a realizing sense that the show was over "Oh, is it time to go?" she asked. "I wonder where the others are. We have not once seen them. I forgot everything in my interest in the show." Her companion smiled. "It is easy to see that you are a person who has not worn out her enthusiasms," he said. "We will hunt up a _jinrikisha_, if you say so, for the flower dealers are packing up their wares, and it is after ten o'clock." Stowed away in a _jinrikisha_, they were borne away from the fast dimming scene, and after what seemed a labyrinthine journey through strange streets they stopped at the door of the hotel. [Illustration: CHAPTER VI AT KAMAKURA] CHAPTER VI AT KAMAKURA Nan found her sister waiting for her; the others had gone to their rooms. "Well," exclaimed Mary Lee, "you did take your time. What became of you? We never once caught a glimpse of you after we reached the grounds." "We went to see the flowers the first thing, and that occupied some time. Where were you?" "Oh, we started off in exactly the opposite direction, so no wonder we missed one another. What did you think of it, Nan?" "It was most interesting." "I thought the crowds were quite as fascinating as the show. Did you ever see so many little children and so many poor little youngsters with babies on their backs? They seemed perfectly content and happy, both babies and their carriers, but it was funny to see the babies' heads bob around with no one to mind in the least. The little girls never appear to be aware that the babies are there; they go skipping or bobbing or playing while the babies are like great big bundles and nothing more." Nan told her experience with one little girl and baby, Mary Lee listening attentively. "Well, you did make more of your opportunities than we did," she admitted regretfully. "I think it was partly because I had so good a companion," returned Nan. "I thought at first that I should like Mr. Montell better than Mr. Harding, but I have changed my mind." "Mr. Montell is much better looking." "Yes, and an interesting talker, but once you know Mr. Harding you find that there is really more to him. You know what a dear child Nell always was, so sympathetic and genuine; I fancy her brother is much the same." Mary Lee laughed. "Take care, Nan. You are such an enthusiastic old dear that you will be investing the young man with all sorts of beautiful characteristics he doesn't possess, once you get your vivid imagination into real good working order." Nan smiled. "Oh, I am perfectly sound and whole so far, though one never can tell where lightning will strike. You may fall a victim yourself." Mary Lee looked grave and then she said in a low tone, "You know it would be impossible, Nan. You must leave me out of all such conjectures. There was never any one but Phil and there never will be." Nan gave her sister a compassionate hug, and realized that Mary Lee's devotion to the young cousin who had died was not a mere matter of months, but that it was a thing of years if not of a lifetime. She changed the subject. "Did you see Aunt Helen when you all came in? Did she say what we were to do to-morrow?" "Both she and Mrs. Craig were up," Mary Lee told her, "and they have arranged for a trip to Kamakura, they told me." "Where that huge statue of Buddha is, the one that is called the Dai Butsu? I am glad we are going there. How many are going? All of us?" "Yes, and Mr. Montell; he has promised to take his camera, so we can have some pictures to send home." Nan was thoughtful for a moment. "I don't believe Mr. Harding can go, for he said something about being on duty to-morrow morning. We shall have to leave him behind." "And you will be sorry?" "I certainly shall. One man doesn't go around when there are three girls." Mary Lee laughed, and the two settled themselves for the night. The party that started for Kamakura the next morning did not consist however of five women and one man, for Colonel Craig joined them and proved to be a most acceptable addition, a fine soldierly, courteous man who was a mine of information. The journey, to what was once a city of a million souls, was made by train, but was continued by _jinrikisha_ to the great image which was the special object to be visited. "Isn't it a queer little train?" said Eleanor as she seated herself. "It reminds me of those in Italy," returned Nan; "they always seemed such harmless well-meaning little things that wouldn't hurt you for the world. Do see that picturesque little village, Eleanor. Isn't it just like the pictures with the straw-thatched houses? Those are rice-fields, of course, there where the people are wading. Such a horrid sloppy way of getting a crop. I should think they would hate it, but I suppose the 'honorable rice' is too precious a product for them to consider the manner of its growing or harvesting; the main thing is to get it any old way." "Aren't those wonderful groves of trees?" returned Eleanor, observing on her part. "There are mountains, Nan, beautiful purple mountains, but it is rather sombre scenery, don't you think?" Here Mr. Montell came over to speak to them. "You mustn't expect to see a glorious city," he told them, "for it has suffered from terrible fires and from a great tidal wave which destroyed most of the many temples. There are still some left, nevertheless, and these we shall see." In spite of this warning it was a surprise to the girls to behold a queer little village wandering between hills and showing a canal worming its way through it. The houses were very old, straw-thatched and gray, with strange grasses, and even flowers, growing on their ancient roofs. Nan caught her breath. "How desolate!" she gasped. "Could one ever imagine this was once a busy, restless city with magnificent buildings, temples and wonders of all kinds?" "Some of the wonders still remain, as you will see," said Colonel Craig as he helped her into a _jinrikisha_. "When you have seen the Dai Butsu you will acknowledge that even a Japanese fishing village retains some of its ancient glory." They bobbed along behind the huge spreading hats of the runners and presently entered a long avenue of trees to go through a temple gateway and a long courtyard. Suddenly the runners stopped, and the visitors, looking up, saw the huge statue before them. One after another alighted from the _jinrikishas_ and gathered around Mr. Montell and Colonel Craig. "Isn't he enormous?" cried Mary Lee looking up at the colossal figure seated in a lotus flower. "He is nearly fifty feet high," said the colonel. "And he isn't in a temple, but just in plain out-of-doors," remarked Eleanor. "There was a temple once," her uncle told her. "You can see some of the bases of its sixty-three pillars if you look for them. The great tidal wave destroyed it, and the surrounding buildings, away back in the fifteenth century. So far as we know the statue was cast about 1252. It is made of bronze. The eyes are four feet long and the distance across the lap from one knee to the other is thirty-five feet, so now you can get some idea of his bigness." They all stood in silence looking up at the renowned figure with a real reverence. Nan slipped her hand into her Aunt Helen's. "I love his gentle smile," she whispered. "How placid he looks after all the great convulsions of nature, the ravages of time and all the desolating things that have happened around him." Her aunt responded with a little pressure of the hand. "He is a lesson, dear, to all of us. Did the colonel read you the inscription at the gateway? I have written it down." She read from her note-book: "O stranger, whosoever thou art, and whatsoever be thy creed, when thou enterest this sanctuary remember that thou treadest upon ground hallowed by the worship of ages. This is the temple of Buddha and the gate of the Eternal, and should therefore be entered with reverence." "Could any one feel anything else but reverence?" returned Nan. "And not only reverence but a real awe and certainly a great admiration." "Shall we go inside?" asked Mr. Montell who had been busy with his camera and who now came up. "You know there is a small opening in the side of the big lotus-blossom on which Buddha is sitting. There is a shrine to Kwannon inside and if you care to climb up a ladder you can go as far as the shoulders and have a peep at the grounds." Nan shook her head. "No, let those who are not impressed as I am descend to such things; I don't want to remember that I climbed to his shoulders; I only want to remember his kind smile and his half-shut eyes. It is the most wonderful thing I have seen in Japan except Fujiyama." "Harding ought to be here," laughed Mr. Montell. "He feels just as you do about the Dai Butsu." Allowing the others to penetrate to the interior of the statue, Nan seated herself at some distance and gave herself up to a contemplation of Buddha. She was rather glad to be alone for she was an impressionable young person and a dreamer of dreams. For some time she sat lost in her thoughts, and carried back, back how many centuries. All sorts of strange fancies possessed her, and at last she could scarce have told where she was. Presently some one descending from a _jinrikisha_ caught sight of her sitting there, chin in hand, her eyes fixed on the statue. He made his way rapidly to her side, stood for a moment watching the rapt expression of her face, then very softly he spoke, "Miss Nan." She looked up with a start. "Why, Mr. Harding," she said, "I thought you couldn't come." "I found that I could get off after all," he replied coming over and seating himself by her side. "Where are the others and what are you doing here all alone?" "The others are feeling and touching and prying, as if it were not enough to look and become absorbed into the soul of Buddha." "Oh, you have the fever," cried her companion. "I knew you would get it and that is why I so wanted to be here to-day. I knew how impressed you would be with the wonder of it. Doesn't it express all the peace and the calm you ever dreamed of as existing in Nirvana? Shall you ever forget it?" "Never, never. I cannot tell you what heights I have climbed while I have been sitting here, nor what dreams I have dreamed, nor where my soul has wandered." "I saw all that in your face as I came up and I hated to disturb your dreams, yet I wanted to share them. Whenever I have felt homesick and discouraged I have come here and never have I failed to find comfort." Nan turned to smile and to nod understandingly. Then for a moment the two sat looking at one another. Nan saw a pair of hazel eyes; a rather lean face, smooth shaven; a mouth not small but well-shaped; a rather large nose; a forehead, broad and low, above which was a crop of brown hair of uncertain shade. Not good looking in the least was this brother of her old college mate, but it was a face which could show tenderness, courage and unselfishness and she decided that she liked it very much. On his part the young man saw a girl with eager, long-lashed gray eyes, a sweet mouth, a clear, colorless complexion and masses of dark hair; not so pretty as her sister Mary Lee, but with a more expressive face and to his mind a more attractive one. Nan's gaze was the first to falter. She arose rather hastily. "I believe they are looking for me. Shall we go up there and join them? I believe they are buying photographs." They walked slowly up the paved path, the sunshine and the waving trees about them. Once or twice they stopped while Mr. Harding pointed out some remnant of bygone splendor, a pile of stones, a distant _tori-i_, but at last they reached the others. "We are going to have lunch before we go to the temple of Kwannon," Mrs. Craig told them after greeting her nephew whose coming was a surprise to every one. "There is a little inn back there. We can take our _jinrikishas_ back to it." "Oh, dear, must we eat?" sighed Nan. "I don't feel as if I could lose a moment in this wonderful place. Is it far to the temple of Kwannon and couldn't one walk?" "Oh, yes, one could walk easily enough, but it seems to me that one could do it better after partaking of a meal," replied Mrs. Craig. So Nan, all unwillingly, followed the rest and in a short time they found themselves on the verandah of the Kaihin-in, the small hotel to which they had come for their meal. They could see a small strip of blue sea between pine woods and sand-dunes, but the famed island of Enoshima was not in sight, though the colonel told them it could be seen from a point a little further on. "We must go there some day," he said, "for it is well worth a visit, and is often included in this trip to Kamakura, but I realize that you are not the kind of rushing Americans who wish to see everything sketchily rather than a few thoroughly, so I think we would better save Enoshima for another day." "I certainly second that motion," spoke up Nan. "I couldn't come here too often; it perfectly fascinates me." A queer little meal was served them,--rice, eggs, dried fish, strange sweetmeats, the tender young shoots of the bamboo, and various other things untouched by the guests because undistinguishable. Then forth again they fared to the hill behind the great Dai Butsu where they should find the temple of the great goddess of mercy and pity, she to whom all Japanese mothers pray, for she is the children's protector, they believe. Before ascending the steps before the temple, the group stood to look off at the blue sea and the plain of Kamakura below them. "To understand Kamakura you must know something of its history," said the colonel, "but we mustn't take time for that to-day, though I advise you to read up when you get back. Japan is so full of history, folk-lore and religious traditions that one can understand only a little of her great sights until he has made a study of certain great personages and certain events." An old priest in white robes appeared at the entrance, as they came up, and invited them to enter the dim interior, but the great goddess was not to be seen at once. It required a golden means to bring visitors this privilege, though the party lingered to look upon the things at once before them, strange votive offerings, images, lanterns, inscriptions. Leading the way through a low doorway, the priest ushered them into a dark and lofty place where at first nothing was visible but the glimmering light of his lantern. "Are you able to distinguish anything?" whispered Mr. Harding to Nan. "Not yet," she answered. "How mysterious it is. Will you tell me what we are expected to see?" "Wouldn't you rather the mystery would unfold itself?" "Yes, I believe I would. Now I see something that looks like a great golden foot. Another foot. I see some ropes hanging. What are they for?" The answer came when the priest hung a couple of lanterns to the ropes and as these were slowly drawn up, the outlines of a figure were disclosed. Further and further swung the lanterns while expectation increased. "I can see the hand," said one. "Another hand holding a flower," said another. "The face! the face! there it is," cried Nan, as a smiling visage at last shone out of the dimness. "There is more yet," Mr. Harding told her. The "more" proved to be the crown of maiden's faces in pyramidal shape which surmounted the statue. The strangely shining figure in the midst of darkness was very eerie and effective, and they all came away much impressed. "There are many legends concerning the Kwannon," the colonel told them. "She is supposed to have given up her right to heavenly peace that all mankind should be saved by her prayers. She never refuses a petition except when it is twice made in her name of Hito Koto Kwannon, as it is not the proper thing to address her twice by this title. Under her orders the god Jizo Sama looks after the ghosts of little children. She loves animals and some of the peasants take their cattle to certain shrines to receive her benediction. She represents all that is womanly and loving, and is really one of the very choicest of all the deities." "I am getting bewildered with all these deities and sub-deities," declared Eleanor. "They don't seem very beautiful, only very large and uncouth." "That is because you have no imagination, my dear," said her brother. "When you have read all the wonderful legends of this land, you may be more interested." "Oh, dear, I never did care for mythology," returned she. "I would much rather see shops than shrines, and real people than images." "Philistine of Philistines, isn't she, Miss Nan?" "Well, I am sure I couldn't spend hours over dead religions and old worn-out traditions as you do," retorted Eleanor. "You should see Neal when he gets hold of a book of Japanese folk-lore; he is fairly daffy." Neal and Nan looked at one another and smiled. Each knew that Eleanor was a dear girl but was by no means a creature of sentiment. As if by common consent these two fell behind the others. "Let us find the sea," said Mr. Harding, and following a rugged path which led to the shore, passing down old stone steps, or under ancient gateways, between rocky walls, they finally came to the sea which lay blue and smiling before them. Wonderful color, mysterious light bathed earth, water, and sky, touching the soft green of a small island near by, shimmering upon the silver and sapphire of the water and turning the sands to mellow gold. "How wonderfully beautiful," said Nan after she had silently gazed upon the fairy-like scene. "Is it the island Enoshima?" "Yes, it is Enoshima, the tortoise, the Sacred Isle," her companion told her. "How does one get to it? It almost seems as if we might be spirited there, or as if we could suddenly develop wings which would carry us." "There is a perfectly simple way of going at low tide, for there is a little causeway over which one can pass safely. The tide is up now, but we will come when it isn't." "And that means there is another beautiful thing to do. It looks to me as if we could make Tokyo our headquarters for months to come and yet not exhaust all the fascinating things within an hour's distance of it." "That is quite true, but when the hot weather comes you will be glad to go up into the mountains somewhere." "I think that is what Aunt Helen is planning to do. I think we must turn back now for the others are going." They left the shining sands, where many little children were picking up the beautiful shells which lay in great numbers about them, and followed the rest of the party to the spot where the _jinrikishas_ were waiting, but they walked so slowly that they were the last to arrive. "It is much too beautiful to leave," explained Nan. "Couldn't we come and stay a little while at either Kamakura or Enoshima, Aunt Helen? There must be somewhere we could be comfortable." "We shall see," her aunt replied. "We might stay a night or two, perhaps, but we will determine later." So, leaving the children on the sands, and the goddess in her temple, they were borne swiftly through the desolate and forsaken streets of the once great city that they might take their train back to town. [Illustration: CHAPTER VII A FEAST OF BLOSSOMS] CHAPTER VII A FEAST OF BLOSSOMS "The cherry blossoms are here, so says the paper this morning," announced Mr. Harding as the girls came down to breakfast one day in April. "The paper says so? What do you mean?" said Eleanor. "It is so important an event, my dear, that the papers always spread the news abroad," her brother told her. "There will be great doings and we must not miss them." "Well, I am sure I am pleased to see something more than temples and shrines and such old stuff," returned his sister. "What special form of enticement can you offer us?" "I was going to suggest a picnic. To be sure Uyeno Park will be crowded with thousands of people who will take a lunch and go there to enjoy the blossoms, but as we shall want to see the crowd as well as the cherry trees we can be satisfied to become parvenu for once." Eleanor laughed. "As if we never did anything but ride in coaches of state and sit on a raised dais when we are at home. What do you say, girls?" She turned to Mary Lee and Nan. "It will be great," cried Nan enthusiastically, and Mary Lee agreed, if less heartily. "We might take a boat and go out on the river," Mr. Harding suggested. "Ever so many persons do that; in fact, I don't know that the river will be any less crowded than the shore; still we can keep a little more to ourselves in a boat. You know the river Sumida's east bank shows ranks of cherry trees which will exhibit finely from the river. We can go ashore any time we like to see the people and can pick out some good place to take a lunch. Would you rather we took a hamper along or shall we depend upon a tea-house or inn or something like that?" He turned to Nan. The girls consulted together for a while and then gave it as their decision that it would be best to take a hamper. "You see," said Nan, "when there are such crowds it will be difficult to be properly served and one may be starved before getting anything to eat." "Most wisely concluded," approved Mr. Harding. "Well, we will talk it over with the others and if they all want to do something else there will be at least some of us to vote for the picnic." But the others were quite satisfied with the arrangement although Mrs. Craig at first proposed that they should return to the hotel for lunch. This plan was so distinctly opposed that she laughingly gave in. "Oh, dear, dear," she cried, "I wouldn't come back for the world. I am sorry I spoke. I never met such a unanimity of opinion." "We want to forget that there are such things as hotels, if we are to appreciate the spirit of the Feast of Cherry Blossoms," declared her nephew. "It is an outdoor festival entirely and doesn't mean conventionality of any kind." "Oh, very well, very well, I give in," replied his aunt, "but if Miss Corner and I get tired of crowds and sharp sunlight and noise, you must allow us the privilege of coming back when we feel like it." "We shall not put the least restraint upon you," spoke up Eleanor. "Neal and I are perfectly capable of chaperoning these two girls and Mr. Montell, who, of course, will come, too; he has been talking about the cherry blossoms ever since we came." "I will go and call him up," said her brother, "and then, Nell, suppose you and I have a secret session to talk over what is to be packed in the hamper." "You'd better let me have a word to say about that," spoke up Mrs. Craig. "Eleanor doesn't know anything about what Tokyo can provide, and I have had experience, plenty of it." She was allowed to take part in the conference while the Corners went off to write letters knowing there would be no further opportunity for such things that day. However, the start was not made till nearly noon, Mr. Montell appearing at the last moment, breathless and fearing lest they had gone without him. "Couldn't help it," he replied in answer to Mr. Harding's reproach. "Had to get off some stuff in time for the mail steamer and sat up nearly all night in order to get it done; it was a long story, and simply had to be done. Awfully sorry." "You haven't kept us waiting so very long, Mr. Montell," Eleanor told him. "Neal, himself, wasn't on time." "But I was detained at the office," explained Neal. "Well, that is no better excuse than mine," retorted Mr. Montell. "Here, here, stop your quarreling, you children," cried Mrs. Craig. "You are wasting time. Is everything ready, Neal? Then come along." So off they started to where the _jinrikishas_ were in waiting and it was not long before they were afloat on the river Sumida, upon the top of a flower-adorned pleasure boat from which they could see many other as odd looking crafts, some of them bearing companies of singing girls. "Isn't it a gay sight?" cried Nan. "It reminds me a little of a fête on the Grand Canal at Venice, only there one sees no such flowers as these and there is no such bright color among the costumes." "It is stretching one's imagination rather far," said Mary Lee, "for I don't see any resemblance except that there are boats and singing." "You are so very literal," declared her sister. "I didn't mean that it was exactly like, only that the spirit is the same and one gets something the same feelings." For a mile along the bank of the river the flowering trees extended presenting an array of double blossoms under which the limbs were bending. Unlike our own cherry blossoms these were of pale pink, and against the blue sky looked like huge bouquets. "I think the trees at Uyeno Park are really more beautiful," said Mrs. Craig critically. "I think we shall have to see those to-morrow. The blossoms do not last long and that is one reason of their attraction. The Japanese admire very much the dropping petals and refer to it often in their poetry. You see it, too, in their decorations. The double blossoms which you see here do not mean fruit after a while, for even the cherries of the single blossoms are not of much account, far inferior to ours." "Isn't it so with most of the fruit here?" asked Mary Lee. "With most, yes, although there is a small orange that is pretty good, and one can get quite nice figs. They raise small fruits, too, which are not half bad, but our American markets supply much better things than one can get here." Nevertheless when the lunch hamper was opened, there was such a display of food as might be seen on a similar occasion at home. "Hard-boiled eggs," cried Nan, peering into the basket. "Now I do feel as if I were really on a picnic. Chicken salad, is that? Good. I feel more and more at home. What else is there? Candied ginger, sardines and crackers, cheese, imported of course. I think this is doing pretty well for a foreign land. I observe you have some of those nice little rice cakes as a native production and--a bottle of wine, as I live." "It is considered a flagrant omission if one doesn't taste wine at this special festival," explained Mr. Montell. "The natives indulge in their _saké_ or rice-wine almost too freely, but I observe that Harding has been careful to observe moderation and has furnished only a very light variety which will hurt no one." "Well," said Miss Helen, "I don't see that we have anything to complain of and are to be congratulated upon having so wise and efficient a caterer as Mr. Harding." "Oh, don't lay it to my door," protested the young man. "Nell suggested the eggs and Aunt Nora a lot of the other things." It was a merry little party which enjoyed their luncheon in sight of the flowering trees and within sound of many merrymakers strumming on _samisens_, singing in queer strident voices perfectly unintelligible songs and, once in a while, getting a little too uproarious over their gourds of _saké_. "They have flower festivals right along through the year, don't they?" said Eleanor. "What will be the next to come?" "The wistaria," Mr. Montell told her. "A good place to see those flowers is at the temple of Kameido, here at Tokyo, I am told. It is believed that the vines of wistaria flourish better if wine is poured upon their roots and so many a drop is allowed to trickle from the wine-cups used there." "After the wistaria, what?" inquired Mary Lee. "The iris. Where's a good place to find those, Neal?" Mr. Montell turned to his friend. "Just right here close to this river, at a place called Horikiri. It is a great sight to see the crowds on the river then. The flower blooms in June in what is the rainy season, but there are opportunities of getting out between drops. After the iris come the midsummer flowers, the peony and the lotus. The lotus has a religious significance and is specially dedicated to the water goddess Benten whose temple we are going to see at Enoshima. Of course we know the chrysanthemum comes in the fall; it is made much of because it is about the last flower of the year. Many think it the national flower, but the cherry blossom is really that, although the chrysanthemum is honored at court and a magnificent show is given every year in the palace gardens. The royal bird of Japan is the crane as you may have guessed for you so often see it in decorations." "Isn't it interesting?" whispered Nan to her aunt, "and don't you wish we had sentiment enough to do such things at home? Is the chrysanthemum the very last flower festival of the year?" She turned to ask Mr. Harding. "Oh, no; at least I should say that with slight modification. The Maple Festival is the last, but that is not exactly a flower festival; it is given at the time when the maple leaves show their most brilliant colors. Other trees turn at the same time and it is the time for picnics and for gathering mushrooms which is made a jollification. You make up a party to gather mushrooms in the country and you enjoy the autumn foliage at the same time." "What fun! I am going to organize just such a sport when I go home," declared Nan. Luncheon over, they all decided to join the crowd on the banks of the river. Nan found herself by Mr. Harding's side as they joined the throng of revelers. "I want to tell you about a princess of the old days," he said. "She was not a reasonable young person and declared that she was going to give a cherry-blossom party although the month was December. As a princess must have anything she desired, the court was in despair till some one hit upon a happy plan. The result was that an army of workers was set about making paper blossoms, pink and white, which were fastened on the bare trees and gave so realistic a look to them that the garden party was a great success." "Where could that happen but in Japan?" said Nan, pleased with the tale. "They make paper flowers so wonderfully that I can imagine the effect was all that could be desired. I have but one thing against these really fascinating people, and that is their music. Did you ever hear anything so dreadful as that singing, for instance?" "Yet I have heard some little songs which were quite lovely. There is a lullaby which I recall, and which I am sure you will agree is as tender and plaintive as anything we could produce. If I had my violin here I could show you how it goes." "Oh, do you play the violin?" Nan asked eagerly. "Yes, a little, and you play the piano very well." "Nell told you that, of course. I don't play anywhere near as well as I want to, but I do enjoy it. Is your violin here, and can't you play for us some time?" "I have it at my rooms, but please don't think I am anything of a musician although my violin is a great solace to me. When my aunt gets back to her own house we must have some music. She has a piano there, you know." Nan gave a sigh of pleasure. "I didn't realize how I missed my music till you began to talk about it," she said. "Even Japan has some disadvantages." "But doesn't one enjoy a thing all the more after he has been deprived of it a while? We can make but one prayer to Kwannon, you remember, and I suppose that means that we should not ask too much of heaven." Nan's eyes looked starry and bright as they always did when she was deeply interested. "I liked Kwannon," she said, "but I believe I liked the great bronze Buddha better." "I thought you did, and so I brought you a little souvenir to-day to commemorate that visit to Kamakura." He drew from his pocket a very small but exquisitely carved figure of the Buddha. It was of jade, and was really a most beautiful piece of work. "For me?" exclaimed Nan, as he gave it into her hand. "If you will honor me by taking it. I thought you would like it as a souvenir." "I should love it, but I don't know if I ought----" She hesitated. "To take it from your friend's brother? Why not? It is not such a mighty gift." "No," returned Nan doubtfully, "only it is so very beautifully done, and is really a treasure. I am afraid I shall have to take it." Mr. Harding laughed. Nan grew confused. "Oh, please don't think I mean that I don't appreciate it, for I do, very much. It is because I want so dreadfully much to keep it that I was afraid I shouldn't." "Then please don't have any more compunctions." "I won't, and I thank you so much. I consider it one of my very greatest and most valuable gifts." "You will see so many more rare and beautiful things while you are here that you will soon learn how insignificant this little souvenir is. Isn't this a gay and happy crowd? Like a flock of bright butterflies, isn't it? They all wear their very best on such a day." "The children particularly. What gorgeous kimonos and _obis_ some of them have, and how they do love flowers." They wandered on, sometimes coming up to the rest of their party, sometimes falling behind, and at last all returned to the boat for another slow journey on the river, and at last to return to the hotel well pleased with this first of their picnics in Japan. The next day gave promise of rainy weather, and so they hurried to the Uyeno Park to see the trees there, which were already shedding their blossoms. These trees, it must be said, were more impressive in size and showed, against a background of evergreen trees, to better advantage than had those on the cherry avenue along the banks of the river. They contrasted well, too, with the surroundings. "And here," said Mr. Montell, "is where we hang verses on the trees, I hope you all have yours ready." There was a scramble for paper and pencils, and each one set about the task of writing rhymes in order to follow out the pretty custom. Presently Nan jumped up and waved her paper. "My ode is completed," she cried. "You might know Nan would be the first," remarked Eleanor. "Rhyming always came as easy to her as rolling off a log. Let's see, Nan." But Nan shook her head. "No, it might spoil the charm. I am going to dispose of it at once." This she did, picking out a particularly lovely tree whose low-hanging branches allowed her to reach up higher than could most of the young Japanese maidens who had already followed the custom. "This is literally hanging one's verses in the wind as Emerson said," Nan remarked as she came back. "Who is next?" There was no immediate answer but presently Mr. Harding left his place and Nan, watching, saw that he had hung his paper by the side of hers. "I don't see how he knew exactly which tree and which branch," she said to herself, and was convinced that he must have watched her very closely. In due time the little poems were all tied in place and then Mrs. Craig declared that it was time to go. It was always a temptation to stop at some of the many curio shops on the way, but this time they were carried to their destination without any delay for it was beginning to rain, and although they were well sheltered by the curtains of the _jinrikishas_, they did not fancy being caught out in a downpour. That night Nan took out her little jade figure and showed it to Mary Lee, telling of having been given it by Mr. Harding. "It seems to me you have a case," declared Mary Lee. "Nobody has taken the trouble to pick me out a souvenir as fine as that." "Perhaps some one will," returned Nan nonchalantly. "Don't you think this is a particularly good piece of carving? I was always crazy about jade and I am pleased beyond words to have this. I felt awkward about taking it at first because it is really valuable." "Or would be at home. No doubt one can pick up such things here for very little, that is if one knows where to go." That eased Nan's conscience and she put away the small charm without further qualms. They had been in bed some time when from Mary Lee came the question, "Do you ever hear from Rob Powell, Nan?" "I haven't heard for some time," returned Nan. "Does he know you are here?" "I don't think so, unless Rita has told him." "Who wrote last, you or Rob?" "He did, I believe." "Nan Corner, I believe you have turned him down, yet you used to like Rob." "I liked him very much but I was never in love with him, if that is what you mean." "You used to talk about him a lot." "Probably because I wasn't in love with him." Mary Lee turned this speech over in her mind and decided that when Nan began to talk about Neal Harding a great deal she might take it for granted that there was no sentiment on Nan's side in that quarter. That Neal was strongly attracted to Nan she required not much perspicuity to see, and Mary Lee determined that she would keep her eyes open and, what was more, she would make a study of the young man, for it would be hard for any one to be found quite good enough for this eldest of the four Corners, the others thought. "If it gets very serious I will talk to Aunt Helen about it," decided Mary Lee, and with this thought in her mind, she glided into the land of dreams. [Illustration: CHAPTER VIII FLYING FISH] CHAPTER VIII FLYING FISH The rain lasted several days, the weather promising to be damp, humid and unpleasant from this time out. "Japan is most enervating," sighed Miss Helen. "Of course I knew its reputation as to climate, but I didn't quite realize how devitalizing it really would prove to be. If you girls have energy enough to go forth in the rain to view temples and curios and mission schools, you must not count on me as a constant companion." So the young people "flocked together," as Eleanor put it, and spent a part, at least, of each day in seeing shrines and such temples as could be reached without too much effort. Mrs. Craig was occupied in arranging for quarters at some cooler spot in the mountains and Miss Helen was half inclined to yield to her persuasions to become a neighbor if a suitable house could be found. "I think it would be great fun to have a Japanese house of our own, for a little while anyhow," said Mary Lee, but Nan was not so sure that she wanted to leave Tokyo yet. "There is much more to see," she urged as her reason. "We could come back to it," argued her aunt. "But it will get hotter and hotter," said Nan, "and more mosquitoish and we shall not want to come back until the summer is over," she added. "Well, we needn't begin to argue about it yet," put in Mary Lee, "for we couldn't go anyhow until Mrs. Craig finds a place for us, and that will not be so easy to do." So they lingered on in the rain, amusing themselves in many ways. Mr. Harding was very busy just at this time and was not able to give them much of his society, but Mr. Montell appeared frequently and Colonel Craig escorted them to many interesting places, to the museum in Uyeno Park, to the Zoölogical Garden, to Asakusa, or up and down the Ginza, the principal shopping street of the city. "For my part," said Nan one day, as she and Mary Lee were being drawn rapidly through the rain to make a second visit to the temples of Asakusa, "I think it is really amusing to see the streets on a rainy day. It is ridiculously funny to watch the people with paper umbrellas and those queer clogs. Look at our runner, too; isn't he a sight, with his queer hat and that straw thatch of a cloak to keep off the rain? He looks so like the pictures we see that when I get to dreaming I can fancy the whole thing is unreal and that I am not here at all, but am looking at a moving picture show." "Yes, but the _jinrikisha_ men don't say 'Hi! Hi!' every few minutes as this one does," returned Mary Lee who was tenacious in the matter of absolute facts. Nan laughed. The two were so very different, yet as they grew older were closer companions than they had been in their early days. Common experiences at college and in their travels had given them a better relation. As they peeped out from behind the oilcloth curtain which protected them from the rain, they could see other _jinrikishas_ drawn by similar straw-draped coolies, the water dripping down their legs, and their ceaseless note of warning calling attention to their advance through the narrow streets. They could see, too, women and children trotting along on their high clogs and wearing their rain-proof garments over which they held their umbrellas of oiled paper, so that, in spite of rain, the scene was not lacking color. Once in a while, a Buddhist priest or nun would be seen, and through the open fronts of the tea-houses along the way could be discerned squatting figures before tiny tables, eating with chop-sticks. "Wouldn't it be fun to have a real Japanese party when we get back?" said Mary Lee. "We can get some chop-sticks and lacquered trays and things such as they have here." "So we could," Nan fell in with alacrity. "We could have a _hibachi_, too, and we might, on a pinch, arrange a room just as one would look in a Japanese house here." "And serve tea and rice cakes." "Yes, and learn exactly the way to present a tray and to make a ceremonial bow. We could wear kimonos, of course, and could try to do our hair in Japanese style. We must get very handsome _obis_, for they are what determines a Japanese girl's dress." "Do you notice how little jewelry they wear? Scarce any except handsome hair ornaments." "That is so. We must not forget to buy some more hair ornaments; they will make lovely Christmas gifts. It will entertain us on some of the rainy days to go forth and provide the proper things for a real Japanese tea. We can have Joe come over to help us, and it will be great larks." "We can give one another Japanese names; they have such funny ones. Imagine being called Bamboo Corner, or Tiger Corner, or some such queer name." "But some of the names are very poetical, and not unlike those we use, flower names, like Lotus and Plum; those are not very different from our Rose and Violet." "But nobody would think of calling a daughter Years of Bliss, not in the old United States." "An Indian might, and as I think of it the Japanese do give names which mean in their language much the same that Indian names mean." "I hadn't thought of that, but I believe you are right," returned Mary Lee. They had now arrived before the gateway to the Park Asakusa, seeing before them oddly-shaped stone lanterns. On each side stood guardian figures known as the Two Kings. Once inside the gate were paved walks bordered by ancient cedar trees, hardly in keeping with the booths and shows which occupied the grounds. In spite of rain these were in operation, for here was a perpetual market-place where one could be amused on any day. The _jinrikishas_ stopped to allow the party to alight and they all then stood before the great five-storied pagoda with its red roof. "Shoes off, slippers on," said Eleanor slipping off her foot gear. "And don't forget to wash your face and hands, nor your mouth and hands at the stone trough," Nan reminded her. They all went through this ceremony and went further in encountering the dealers in incense to be burned before the gods, and the sellers of rice for the sacred pigeons. "We must get something for the horse," said Mary Lee, and after supplying herself with some cooked peas on a small plate she offered the food to a snow-white, pale-eyed animal who is dedicated to the goddess Kwannon. This office performed, they went inside to feed the pigeons and to hear an interesting talk from Colonel Craig who had made a study of this old temple. The place was dimly lighted and full of the smoke of incense which, rising continually, made all objects indistinct,--glimmering Buddhas, strange pictures, streamers, banners, statues. The sound of chanting, and of startlingly queer musical instruments mingled with the clapping of the hands of worshipers kneeling before the various altars, while not in the least restrained, little children ran softly over the pavement laughing as they threw their handfuls of rice to the fluttering pigeons. After they had made their rounds and had heard about early and late Japanese architecture, about other Pine Tree temples than that of Asakusa, and about the various shrines including that of the little Bindzuru, made of red lacquer and seated in a chair, they felt the pangs of hunger and were glad when the colonel proposed an adjournment to one of the various tea-houses in the grounds. "We can refresh the inner man and then we can go to the circus or the museum or anywhere else you like," he said. So off they went under the dripping cedars to find a modest little tea-house where they were received thankfully and were served a simple meal by a little smiling _musmeé_ who drew up the tiny low tables before them where they sat hunched up on the floor cushions. The colonel and Nan found it hard to dispose their feet gracefully, much to the entertainment of the small maid who knelt before them to present her lacquered tray. "Watch how she does it," whispered Nan to her sister, "for we must learn the trick before we leave this little country." Mary Lee nodded understandingly and kept her eyes on the girl who smiled in response to such close observation. The meal over, off they went to the museum and, but for the rain, would have stopped to see a fortune-teller who tried to lure them into her booth. "We couldn't understand what she said, so what's the use?" remarked Mary Lee. In some such manner were many rainy days spent, but at last there came a morning in May when the sun shone, and when from houses far and near floated strange figures of fish, "The Honorable Carp," for this was the Boy's Festival, and, as good luck would have it, the sun shone. "Come and see! Come and see!" cried Mary Lee as she looked from the window that morning. "Isn't it a sight?" "What is?" Nan hurried over. "Oh, we forgot entirely that this would be the fifth of May and that we might expect to see his honor, the carp, flying all over the city." "I remember now, and Mr. Montell told us all about it. The carp is the symbol of courage and bravery which are the two things Japanese boys are taught to acquire." "Those qualities, and loyalty to the emperor for whom any one of them would cheerfully die and say thank you." "Why carp, I wonder. Why not shark or whale or dolphin, for example?" "Because the carp is supposed to smile sweetly when you carve a slice from his living self, and to say, 'Hack away, good people; it doesn't hurt me and seems to please you.'" "So that is why they serve them alive at dinners. I suppose it is to keep the much admired qualities continually in evidence. It doesn't seem quite fair to poor Brer Carp, whatever effect it may have on the little boys." "I wonder why five fish are flying from that house over there," said Nan looking in the direction where the figures which, made like a bag and filled with the blowing wind, swelled their sides and flopped their tails quite realistically. "There must be five boys in that house and the biggest fish stands for the youngest and littlest boy." "Stands, did I hear you say?" "Well then, wriggles or swims, whatever you like." "I wonder what those little gilt baskets represent. They are baskets, aren't they? Over there on the long bamboo pole in front of that house that has the three fishes flying." "Oh, those are supposed to hold the rice balls with which they feed the real fish. Some of the houses have other ornaments, you see; flags and signs and things. It looks very gay, doesn't it? But there isn't much of a crowd on the street, no more than usual." "I like that legend of the _koi_, as they call the carp. He is said to be very persevering about swimming up-stream against the rapids and when he actually can fight his way up a waterfall he is caught up by a white cloud and becomes a dragon." "That is why so many dragons, then." "And by the same token, it is the why of fishes and waterfalls, and little gold balls in so many of the decorations. Isn't it queer that no matter at what time of year a boy is born his birthday is celebrated on May fifth?" "Quite a matter of economy where there are several boys. Do you remember how Jack always used to feel aggrieved, when she was little, because she and Jean had to celebrate their birthday on the same day? She felt that you and I had the best of it because there were two days of feasting and party-giving instead of one for the two of us." "Dear old Jack," said Nan with a sigh. "I tell you, Mary Lee, it will be mighty good to see those twinnies again and mother. As for mother it seems a year since we left her." "We mustn't get homesick on a festival day. Let us go down and hear what is going on that we can join in. No doubt Mrs. Craig will have something on hand for to-day." But there was nothing more exciting proposed than a ride through the streets and an invitation from the colonel to dine at some pleasant spot out of town where they could see a mass of iris in bloom. Meantime, Mr. Harding, who had a little leisure from his duties at the legation, entertained them with stories of the festival. "I have a Japanese friend who has told me some interesting things about his boyhood," he began. "It used to be the custom to decorate the fronts of the houses with iris leaves on May fifth, at least such houses as might be the home of a boy, and in order that the lads should have a definite idea of what real fighting meant and in order to inure them to hardship they were obliged to rise at three or four o'clock on a winter morning, then, barefoot and with but one garment upon his little body, the youngster had to go to the fencing field where he had to do his best at sword play. He was not more than eight years old when he was expected to do this in order that he might learn not to fall into luxurious habits." "Poor little fellow," said Nan compassionately. "Imagine an American boy doing such a thing. Wouldn't he think it hard lines?" "He surely would, for even though he may be a farmer's son, he isn't expected to go out barefoot and so slightly clad on a winter morning." "Tell us some more boy doings," said Eleanor. "You will see them with their little swords at mock battle even to-day, and if you could go into one of their homes you would observe that the decorations were in keeping with the spirit of the festival. Iris will be the flower partly because of its sword-like leaves and partly because the iris is supposed to have qualities for giving strength. Our Japanese boy will have the leaves thrown into his hot bath, and if there be more than one boy the eldest will have the first turn." "It is the funniest thing how they seem to pop into a hot bath upon all occasions," remarked Eleanor. "I believe some of them stay there most of the time in winter in order to keep warm." "There is really some truth in that. You see there are a great many hot springs in Japan and their means of heating houses are not like ours, so as nature provides liquid heat why not take advantage of it?" "Didn't I hear some one say that the carp is the emblem of good luck as well as of strength and courage?" asked Nan. "Yes, and that gives him a double cause for being used as ornament. Last year I went to a native house on the fifth of May when I saw a lot of carp swimming about in a tub. They had been sent as a present in honor of the arrival of a young son. I learned it is the custom to do this. There was an older son in the family and he took me into the best room which is called the guest room, and there I saw the most exquisite arrangement of flowers I ever came across, but the flowers were of small account to the boy by the side of his toy weapons and soldierly figures all in array. Soldiers on horseback, men in armor, bows and arrows, swords, spears, strange emblematical banners and such things, and each figure represents some hero, some tale of loyalty or courage which the little boys are taught to know by heart. The figures are really portraits and as such are more appealing than ordinary ones would be. It was all very interesting and if I had a better knowledge of the language, I could have understood the stories better, but as it was, I heard enough to be impressed." "Dear me, I wish we knew some Japanese boys," said Eleanor. "The family I spoke of is not here now," her brother told her, "or we could go to their house to-day." "At all events," said Nan, "it is very nice to hear of your experience and we had the delight of seeing the dolls on exhibition in March." "They have special cakes for to-day and red rice is served," Mr. Harding went on, "and in their _saké_ they scatter iris petals. The boys hope for some warlike toy when their 'honorable father Mr.' gives them anything. So you may see the little fellows playing soldier with a new sword, a little gun, a bow and arrows or something of that kind." Later in the day as they went through the streets in front of the little brown, low houses they did see the boys playing soldier quite as one might see them at home, and as the young people walked along, below the flapping fish with their gaping mouths, staring eyes and glittering fins, they saw little confusion. Colonel Craig met them with a tiny gold carp for each girl as a souvenir of the day and on their bill of fare the _koi_ was in evidence, although not alive as he should properly have been in Japanese estimation. The spot the colonel had chosen was close to the river Sumida and near to fields of iris, not yet in their full glory which would be attained in June, still, at this season, one could stand upon the banks and look down upon the flowers already sending up their gay banners. "Such a flowery, fairy-like land is this," said Nan to Mr. Harding who, as usual, had sought her out. "I hate to think of how it is changing, and how they are adopting our ugly costumes in place of their own picturesque one. Your aunt says at all public functions and even at private social gatherings the European dress is always worn." "Yes, that is very true, though I fancy that it is exchanged for the native one as soon as home is reached. The Japanese are very proud of their progress in European habits and customs and cannot bear to have you deplore it. They think that it would mean a retrogression if they retained the old Japan. They would rather be praised for their industries than their temples, for their political acumen than their flower culture and for their wealth than their picturesqueness. The American market calls for so much that is in bad taste that we cannot expect their own not to be vitiated. Vulgar wealth calls for ostentation and why should they retain simplicity? We are a great nation whose success is enviable and why not imitate us in all matters?" "It is discouraging," sighed Nan, "but I suppose it is the law of compensation. As we acquire some love of the artistic so it is lost by those who supply us with what appeals to a growing taste for the beautiful, and so civilization levels." "At the rate that foreign art treasures are pouring into the United States we shall soon expect to find more at home than abroad." "They won't take up the Forum and Pompeii, nor the Egyptian pyramids," said Nan with satisfaction, "so I shall still expect to have enough to last my lifetime." "There is nothing like finding a cause for congratulation under all circumstances," replied Mr. Harding with a laugh. "I knew you were an optimist." "Except sometimes when I get a fit of real indigo blues and can see no rose-color anywhere." "Oh, yes, that happens to most of us. I get struck bally west by the blues myself once in a while and then----" "What do you do?" "I get out my violin." "That reminds me that you have not yet played for me. The next rainy day we must have some music, now that your aunt has taken up a residence in her own house." "Agreed. We will make it a compact to hie us to a rainy day festival as soon as occasion requires, and we shall not have to wait long for it, if I know anything about Japanese springs." Here the rest joined them and it was voted that a boat might provide a good means of seeing more of the iris fields. This was decided upon, theirs not being the only one upon the river, for they discovered it to be quite the fashion to go boating at iris time quite as it was when the cherry blossoms invited a crowd to gaze upon the flowering trees. [Illustration: CHAPTER IX A RAINY DAY] CHAPTER IX A RAINY DAY "Rain, rain, rain," said Mary Lee looking disconsolately out of the window a few mornings after the day of the Boy's Festival. "It certainly is discouraging. We have seen all the sights within easy distance of Tokyo and even of Yokohama. We have spent all our allowance on frivolous trinkets at the curio shops and markets, and I, for one, wish we could go somewhere else. I am tired of rainy days in Tokyo." "Oh, I don't mind in the least," returned Nan cheerfully. "I am rather glad of a real true rainy day, for then you can be absolutely decided about your plans; when it is a question of whether it is going to rain or not it keeps one in a very fretful state of mind." "But what is there to do but write letters? I have no desire to add to the number of my correspondents and I have already written to every one." "Begin over again. You can't write too often to mother and the girls, nor to Jo." "You are so annoyingly cheerful about giving advice that I believe you have some plan for yourself up your sleeve." Nan laughed. "Well, to tell you the truth, I have." She turned with heightened color from the window. "Well, out with it. What is your alluring project?" "I hope, at least I expect, to go to Mrs. Craig's for some music." "Oh, dear," sighed Mary Lee. "I might have known I would be counted out on this depressing day of all times. It only adds to the grievance to have Mrs. Craig no longer here at the hotel and to have Eleanor gone, too." "Why not come along and flock with Nell? Mrs. Craig begs that we shall feel perfectly at home and says she counts on us to keep Nell in good spirits." "But there is Aunt Helen. Shall it be said that we have both deserted her on a hopeless day like this?" Nan looked sober. "I did promise," she said wistfully. Mary Lee regarded her with a little smile. "I won't be hard on you, old girl," she said. "I know what I can do; I can call up Nell and get her to come over in a 'jinriki,' for at least part of the day, and unless you intend to make a day of it yourself we can arrange some other thing for the afternoon." "Nice child," returned Nan commendingly. "That is just the ticket. Of course I shall have to find out first at what hour Mr. Harding can get away, but I think it will be the morning after eleven." "Oh, Mr. Harding," returned Mary Lee in pretended surprise. "Did you expect to meet him at his aunt's?" "Why, why," Nan began blunderingly, "I--we--did plan to have some music." Then seeing the mischievous look on Mary Lee's face, she cried, "I have half a mind to box your ears; you knew perfectly well what I meant." Mary Lee laughed. "It is fun to get a rise out of you, Nan, once in a while; I don't often get a chance nowadays. All right, you find out about when you are going and I will make my arrangements accordingly." She did not have to wait long, for while they were talking, came a message that Miss Corner was wanted at the 'phone and after a short absence from the room Nan returned to say that she was to be on hand by eleven o'clock, and that she would take a "jinriki" over, and she would find out what Aunt Helen wanted to do. So it was decided that Mary Lee should remain on hand. "To keep the lid on Aunt Helen," as she expressed it. "Then you go on and let Nell come back in your 'riksha if she will." Nan started off in the pelting rain snugly tucked in and not minding it in the least. There were always sights to see and she was perfectly secure from wet, although her coolie was dashing through puddles and the rain was pouring from his straw cloak and down his legs in a manner which showed the extent of the downpour. He did not seem to mind it in the least, however, and in fact appeared to enjoy it. Mrs. Craig had taken possession of a comfortable house in the European quarter of the town and before this the runner stopped short, drawing up closely enough to the door to allow Nan to alight without getting wet, a paper umbrella held over her head shielding her to the very entrance. A Japanese servant bowed low to the floor and ushered her inside, but before he could announce her, Eleanor came running in. "I knew you would be here," she said. "Neal has already announced your coming. He has been tuning his fiddle and giving us preliminary flourishes for the last ten minutes. I was left out when they were giving musical talents, you know, and Neal got it all. You may well remember my futile efforts at singing college songs in those halcyon days of yore." "I do remember well, and so I infer that a concerted performance will not be so greatly enjoyed by your fair self that you will not be willing to forego it. Mary Lee is in a state of doldrums and wants you to come over." "To share the doldrums?" "To scare them away. She is wearied of the rain, and proposed that you should return in the rikky I have just left. As near as I could make the man understand he is to wait." Eleanor went to the window. "He is still there, so he evidently understood. I don't want to desert you, but I know perfectly well when two musical cranks get together there is no hope for an outsider and so I shall leave you and Neal to your own devices, expecting still to find you when I get back. Aunt Nora has gone out but she left word that you must not fail to stay to lunch. She has gone now to get some octapus tentacles or some other Japanese horror as a delicacy for you." Nan would not promise to stay, but as the sounds of a violin came from an inner room, she followed Eleanor to where her friend declared her brother was waiting impatiently. The young man came forward, his violin tucked under his arm and the bow in his hand. "So glad you could come," he said. "I have brought some music, but I shall expect a solo first to pay me for waiting ten minutes." "I have heard Nan Corner play too many times for it to be a rarity to me," declared Eleanor, "so I shall go and get ready for my ride. Perhaps you'd better explain to the man, Neal. He is waiting outside, and may refuse to take back a different person from the one he brought." She hurried off while her brother went out to make the matter clear to the coolie. When he returned Nan was sitting at the piano softly and caressingly trying a little nocturne. It seemed good to touch the keys again and for a few moments she was lost to all but the music she had in mind, but after a while she stopped and began to sound only a few chords. A soft clapping made her turn to see Mr. Harding standing behind her. "I heard you play that once before," he said. "You heard me? Where?" "At Bettersley in your freshman year." "But how did it come about? I am sure I never saw you." "No, for you had hardly made my sister's acquaintance then. I had run up to see her and she took me to one of your club-houses. You were at the piano playing." "And you never told me in all this time." "No, for you see I did not meet you on that occasion and at first I did not associate you with the dark-haired girl who was playing Chopin at Bettersley four years ago." Nan arose. "Now since I have finished the solo you demanded, let us look over your music." "Oh, but you didn't play that expressly for me." "For whom then?" "For yourself, didn't you? I exact the fulfilment of my claim. Please play something else." Nan hesitated, but she was not one of those who required persistent urging so she sat down again and played a dainty little shadow dance. "That seems to express Japan better than anything else I know," she said when she had finished. "I think you have responded to its call," said her companion. "Thank you, Miss Nan. Now then what shall we do?" They looked over the music together, finally settling down to a sonata and giving themselves up entirely to its requirements. An hour passed, then another hour and still they played on while the rain beat outside and those within the house came and went all unheeded. At last a voice interrupted a discussion they were having over a certain passage. "Well," said Mrs. Craig, "aren't you two pretty nearly ready to drop? But no, I needn't ask. I have lived with musicians before and I know how indefatigable they can be. I have just had a 'phone message from Eleanor who says she will stay to lunch with Mary Lee unless you are coming back, which of course you will not think of doing. Tiffin is ready." "Dear me, is it so late?" said Nan springing up. "We have had such a good time. I had no idea how long we had been at it. Thank you, Mrs. Craig; if Eleanor is going to stay with Mary Lee I will accept your very kind invitation. You do not know how good it seems to get hold of a piano again." "I had to have mine brought out, for we can't tell how long we may be here, and I like to drum a little myself." "Aunt Nora plays well," Mr. Harding declared. "But not near so well as you do, Nan. You are a real artist. I have been listening to you with the greatest interest; it was such a delightful entertainment for a rainy day." "It certainly was for me," returned Nan simply, as she followed her hostess to the dining-room where the colonel presently joined them, and where they made merry over their meal. It was a temptation to remain and to continue the music, but Mr. Harding said regretfully that he must return to his office while Nan declared that she was imposing on Mary Lee by staying away all day, so she called up Eleanor to know if Mary Lee wanted to return with her. The reply was that Mary Lee did not intend to go out, and that Nan had better return as soon as she could, as Eleanor was about leaving. It was Mary Lee herself who did the talking. There was something a little agitated and mysterious in the way she spoke and she urged Nan's return so decidedly as to cause some apprehension on Nan's part. However, she said nothing of this to Mrs. Craig but started off as soon as she could, feeling a little worried at what might have happened in her absence. She hoped Miss Helen was not ill, or that there had been no bad news from home. She hurried to her room as soon as possible after arriving at the hotel. Mary Lee met her at the door. She looked excited but not worried. "What is the matter?" asked Nan anxiously. "Matter? What should be the matter?" "I thought maybe something might have happened while I was away. There is no bad news, is there?" "Why should you think that?" "I don't know, only that you made such a point of my coming soon. Aunt Helen is not ill, is she?" "No indeed, but as soon as you take off your things you'd better go in and see her." Nan wondered a little at this and hastened to take the hint. She knocked at her aunt's door, received the customary answer, "Come in," and entered the room to see a familiar figure sitting there. She could scarcely believe her eyes, but in another second she had rushed across the floor crying, "Oh, mother, mother, you dear, dear mother!" and in another instant was clasped in her mother's arms. "How did you get here? When did you come? How did you leave the twinnies?" the questions came thick and fast. But before they were answered, a little suppressed giggle sounded from some mysterious corner and Nan sprang to her feet. "That sounded exactly like Jack," she exclaimed. "I do believe she is here," and then from behind a screen, out rushed Jack to be hugged and kissed and exclaimed over. Hardly was this excitement over and the questioning begun again, before the screen was pushed aside and out walked Jean, as demure as you please, and then there was more exclaiming and wondering and querying. "You don't happen to have any one else back there, do you?" inquired Nan, going over to examine the space behind the screen. "I feel as if this were something like a sleight-of-hand performance when they let doves out of little boxes and rabbits from pockets. Do sit down and tell me all about it." "Well, it is just this way," said her mother. "There were some cases of scarlet fever in the dormitory where the girls were, and as Jean was not well I was afraid she might fall a victim in case of an epidemic, and so I took the two girls away, for I wanted to run no risk. It was so near the end of the term that I think they can make up the lost time next year, and as I thought it over it seemed to me they might profit as much by a trip to Japan as by keeping on with their college work, so we talked it over and I concluded to start right off to join you. I must confess that a very large longing to see my other two had something to do with the decision. Japan seemed such a very long way off and it seemed to me it would work greatly to my content to know that we were all together. We reached Yokohama early this morning and did not waste much time in getting here." "And have you been here long?" "No, we came just before luncheon. We wanted to give you a surprise, so we prevailed upon Eleanor to stay and thus put you off the track." "But I did suspect something," Nan told her, "for Mary Lee could not keep the excitement out of her voice. Oh, me, but it is good to see you. You came through California, of course. Did you stop to see the Robertses?" "They came up to San Francisco to see us off," her mother told her. "Carter, too?" "Yes, Carter, too. They gave us a great send-off." "Did you stop at Honolulu?" "Only so long as the steamer was there. We saw a little of it, but we were too anxious to get on to tarry there over a sailing." Nan sat on the floor hugging her knees and looking from one to another with a beaming smile. "Isn't it larks?" she said rocking back and forth, then making a grab for Jack she rolled her over and began hugging her anew. "You dear old sinner, it is good to behold you again," she declared, and Jack, nothing loth, snuggled up to her and chattered away. Thus the rainy day passed in a more exciting manner than many a sunshiny one had done. It was not till they were preparing for bed that Mary Lee thought to ask Nan about her morning's pleasure. "Did you have a good time, and did Mr. Harding come?" she asked. "Oh, yes, and it was all so delightful that I didn't know how the time was going," Nan replied. "Does he play well?" "Very sympathetically." "As well as your one time friend, Mr. Wells?" "He has not such execution but I think he plays with more feeling," Nan answered after a pause. "He is more modest about his playing, too." "So, take it all in all, it appeals to you more strongly." Nan smiled reminiscently. How long ago that early summer madness appeared in the light of later experiences. "What a callow creature I was," she said. "And I suppose in five years you will be saying the same about this present little affair." Nan did not reply to this but instead asked, "Did Jack say anything about Carter?" "Not one word. I am afraid she is a heartless youngster." "Poor old Cart," returned Nan. "However, Mary Lee, Jack may be all right at heart; she generally is, though she is so thoughtless. I shall talk to her and see if she has any confidences to give. She is mighty young yet and we can scarcely expect her to be anything but a flyaway. She looks well." "And so does Jean. I think mother was wise to bring them away from possible danger." "Dear old mother, she always does just the right thing." "Of course," returned Mary Lee as if that were a question no one could doubt. "I suppose now that Jack has arrived we may look for lively times, Nan," a prophecy which was not without fulfilment as was later seen. "Well, you were wishing for excitement this morning," returned Nan, "but we certainly did not expect it to be furnished by Jack. Isn't it just the climax of our pleasure here, Mary Lee, to have mother and the girls? We shall have to stay in Tokyo for a while anyway to let them see the sights." "And I suppose," said Mary Lee slyly, "you are not sorry for the excuse." Nan pretended not to understand this thrust, and went on discussing plans while Mary Lee had her own thoughts about Nan's satisfaction in the prolonged stay in Tokyo. [Illustration: CHAPTER X A SACRED ISLE] CHAPTER X A SACRED ISLE Jack's entrance into the group reminded one of the sudden appearance of a very lively trout into a quiet pool of goldfish. She had seen half the town by evening of the next day, had already begun a Japanese vocabulary which she did not hesitate to use with frequency, had quite captured the colonel at whom she fired questions with such accuracy and precision that she had a dozen legends of Fujiyama at her tongue's end, and was beginning a study of the religions. She decided offhand that Mr. Montell should be relegated to Eleanor and that she was not to poach on her preserves, and so as she, herself, could not be without a cavalier she made up her mind she would appropriate Mr. Harding. To do her justice, it never occurred to her that this would in any way disturb either of her sisters. Nan was a dear old thing, but, in the eyes of eighteen, really something of an old maid, and therefore hardly to be classed with those who might still have attractions for young men. Five years' difference in ages makes a tremendous gap at this time of life, and so from the first Jack turned to Mr. Harding as her rightful escort and companion. As for Mr. Harding, he was helpless. In the first place Jack was newly arrived, she was Nan's sister, and, therefore, consideration was due her. Added to this, as Jack advanced, Nan retreated, and it was a very rare occasion that allowed the young man the elder sister's society. Nan herself was too proud to assert herself, and moreover she had always given way to Jack and it was in the usual course of things that she should do so now. She was really very humble about it. Who would not prefer gay, merry Jack? She, who was so amusing, so perfectly at her ease, so young and joyous? And so it fell out that Nan would stay at home with her Aunt Helen and insist that the others go forth to see the sights which had been already taken in by the earlier arrivals. Then Mrs. Craig made a start for the mountains, taking her household with her, so there were no more opportunities for music. The climate was beginning to tell on Miss Helen and she was so languid and indisposed to effort, that Nan urged her to keep quiet until the rest should be ready to go to the mountains. So a week passed and then it was decided that all the Corners should go to Myanoshita for a while, and that ended the association with the young men for the time being at least. With the approach of July heat would come the swarms of mosquitoes which started life in rice fields, and with this affliction, added to the humid condition of the atmosphere, the frequent rains and the great dampness, Tokyo promised to be anything but an agreeable summer resort. So Miss Helen and Nan pored over guide-books and decided to make certain journeys by easy stages. "But," objected Jack who was having a very good time, "we haven't been to Enoshima yet, and I do so want to see those lovely shells." "Who wants to pick up shells in the pouring rain?" said Jean. "It doesn't rain every minute," retorted Jack. "There have been some quite pleasant days since we left home." "But scarcely one since we reached here. I had no idea that Japan was such a moist, unpleasant place." "You ought to have known it would be in summer, but I don't see but that we do very well even when it rains. There are the _jinrikishas_ to take you everywhere." "Oh, but it is depressing without any sunshine," protested Jean, "and it is so damp all my things are beginning to mould." "I suppose," remarked Jack who was ready to make capital of any information which came her way, "that is why they wear pongee and crape in these countries; I never thought of it before, but now I see why. Don't you think we might take a day for Enoshima, Aunt Helen, just one day before we go? Even if it rained it wouldn't make so much difference." "What do you say, Nan?" asked her Aunt Helen. Nan, who was busy examining a map, traced a line on its surface. "I don't see why we need take a day off to go there specially, when our way leads right past it. Why not stop there over night, or at Kamakura? We always meant to do that, you know, then we could go on the next day. I think it might be the best plan, for it ought to be less tiresome for you and mother." "Very well, we will decide to do that, for, as you say, Nan, it will be carrying out a former plan and will not be out of our way." "I shall pray for a pleasant day," said Jack. "I am so glad to find out where it is. If I had known that Myanoshita was in that direction I should have felt easier." "Just where is Myanoshita?" asked Jean coming to Nan's side and looking down upon the map. "Right there." Nan put her finger on the spot. "It is about fifty miles from Yokohama. It is in the Fuji highlands." "Oh, good!" cried Jean. "I should think it would be perfectly lovely. How do we get there?" "We go by rail to Kodzu where you can take a tram car to Yumoto, and then you go up the mountain road by _jinriki_ to Myanoshita." "It is a watering place, isn't it?" "Yes, one of the numerous springs, hot springs, which are everywhere all through Japan. They say the temperature is very agreeable, not so hot as some others and without any odor of sulphur." "I suppose," put in Jack, still on the quest for information, "that they use the hot baths quite as we do stoves; whenever they feel cold they pop into the hot water, and that is why they are so fond of hot baths." "It is probably something that way," returned Nan shutting up her book. "Well, I suppose packing is the next thing in order." She gave a little sigh. How fleeting really good times were. She wouldn't for the world have had a disloyal thought of Jack, but she could not help but remember what happy days those first ones had been, and now they had passed like all bright things. Jack's prayers must have been of avail, for the day of their departure from Tokyo was a pleasant one, although no one could tell what might befall them the next. They were not allowed to go off without a "bon-voyage" from their friends, for Mr. Harding and Mr. Montell were both on hand. On this occasion the former managed in some way to get a word with Nan. She had so persistently avoided him since his attentions to Jack that he had never once seen her alone. "I had looked forward to the pleasure of a trip to Enoshima with you," he began. "Yes?" said Nan with a polite rising inflection. "Didn't we plan that out on that unforgettable day at Kamakura?" "Perhaps we did; I really don't remember, but you know the old and oft quoted words about the best laid plans." "I wish it were possible for me to get off to-day, but I am afraid it is not, but I am counting upon seeing you all later in the season. I don't forget that Aunt Nora is to look up a house for you all." "But not in Tokyo," returned Nan. "There are possible ways of reaching other places, you know," returned the young man with an effort at playfulness. "Oh, yes," replied Nan indifferently. "Excuse me, but I must speak to my aunt," and she left him to wonder what had come over her since those first days of good comradeship. Perhaps she intended to let him know that she had left her heart at home and that he need not persist in his attentions. The more he thought of it the surer he was that this was the case, and from that moment he was quite as distant as herself. At parting, he merely bowed and wished her a pleasant trip. There was no word of regret at her leaving, no further reference to a future meeting, and so Nan went on to Enoshima with no such anticipation as had filled her on that perfect day at Kamakura. The way to Kamakura was now enlivened by fields of iris and by the paddy fields of rice, the plants now grown higher. It was all new and enticing to Jack and Jean who were eager for the stop at Kamakura where they had all decided to spend the night. Nan had no desire to visit the temples again and Miss Helen decided to keep her company at the little hotel under the pine trees. The tide was out and these two concluded to spend their time in watching the nets hauled in. It was something to see, the brown fishermen, the little boats, the dragging nets and finally the little group of children and old people who came up with their bowls and baskets to receive what might be doled out to them from the lot of unmarketable fish left after the catch had been separated into heaps. On this occasion, there was fish enough to go around and the poor people went off happy in the expectation of a hearty supper. Gentleness and quietness prevailed, and the children were happy and joyous, not only the gleaners of fish but the gatherers of shells as well. Of these there was no lack, for the shells could be sold to the makers of beautiful things at Enoshima. Nan and Miss Helen picked up such as they liked for themselves, delicate, frail, changeful things they were, full of color and light, even the tiniest. Nan and her aunt loved the quiet hour and wandered around contentedly till the others returned. Then there was much talk and chatter till the moon came out on the sea, and there was only the sound of the wind in the pines and the moaning of the breakers on the sands, for the spirit of silence touched even talkative Jack. Instead of one night, two were spent at Kamakura, so fascinating was the ancient town to all. Moreover the morning of that first day brought rain, so the trip to Enoshima was put off till it held up, which it did about noon. A wonderful spot they found the charmed island, for here it seemed as if all the shells from all shores had been poured. Little shops to the right and left were full of delicate shell work. Wonderful things of mother-of-pearl met them at every turn. The girls hung over them hardly able to drag themselves away from the array of jewelry, the cunningly wrought and tiny figures of beasts and birds, the card cases, picture frames, anything and everything that ingenuity could contrive from such lovely material. "There is one thing about it," said Jack cheerfully, "we shall probably not need to spend any money at Myanoshita and so we needn't feel badly if it all goes here," a speech which showed up Jack's philosophy so well that the others all laughed. The street came to an end at last and consequently so did the temptation to spend money. A _tori-i_ indicated that the entrance to a shrine or temple was near, and the high, steep flight of steps further indicated this. The stone trough, too, was there, and in this the pilgrims washed their hands and then rinsed their mouths before going on to the shrine. Near the trough were hanging votive offerings in the shape of blue and white towels. The girls stood gazing at them, wondering what they were, when a kindly looking elderly gentleman came up and told them that they were offered to the great sea-goddess, Benten. "The goddess of love and good luck has her shrine here. Have you seen her three temples and the Dragon Cave?" The girls answered that they had not, but would like to. "Is it far?" asked Nan, "and is it a hard way, because if it is, we'd better leave our aunt and our mother behind." "It is rather a climb," confessed the stranger, "and the way to the cave is somewhat difficult." "Is there much to see when you get there?" asked Jack. "That depends upon what interests one," was the answer. "I don't know that it would please you ladies to clamber down black slippery rocks to view an empty shrine, and perhaps to be sprinkled with sea-spray, but there are guides, and in lieu of any other, I should be glad to show you the way." After some consulting, the girls decided to give up a visit to the Dragon Cave. "For," said Nan, "after all Enoshima had so much that is beautiful to offer us that we shall be satisfied without anything further." After receiving their thanks the stranger passed on, and then Jack declared that she would like to climb up to the top of the ridge if any one would go with her. She would like to see the view even if she did not care specially about the temples. Her sisters declared that they would like to go, too, so leaving their elders sitting on the stones below, they began the climb. "It reminds me of Amalfi," said Nan, "with the blue bay below and the winding way up the cliffs. Instead of Vesuvius we have Fujiyama, and instead of the old monastery we have Buddhist temples." "If the colonel were here he would tell us many tales of Enoshima," said Jean. "And Mr. Harding could tell just as many," remarked Jack who was beginning to miss the company of entertaining young men. "Don't let us stop to prowl around here very long; I think it is nicer down in the village. I bought a lot of things but I didn't spend any money to speak of and I am sorry I didn't get more. There was such a darling cunning little fox there that I think I will get when I go back, if I can find the shop where I saw it." The view was indeed beautiful, with the silver sea below, the quaint little village, the golden sands, and, lifting its lovely crown to the clouds, Fujisan in the distance. Nan would again have tarried long, but a desire for the tiny fox once having taken possession of Jack nothing would do but she must get it as soon as possible. So down the ridge they went to rejoin Mrs. and Miss Corner and to go back under one _tori-i_ after another to the town where the shops proved scarcely less fascinating than at first sight. But at last even Jack confessed to being tired and so they walked back past the sand-dunes to where the little uncertain bridge led across to the mainland, and before long they were back in Kamakura and presently reached the inn whose lower front stood hospitably open to them. "I almost wish we had gone to the cave of the Dragon when we were so nearly there," said Nan as she looked off toward the dimpling waters. "I shall never have another chance." "But it promised to be a treacherous and unpleasant way down those slippery steps and in that dark and wet cavern," returned Mary Lee. "One of us might have fallen or something uncanny might have happened. I am rather glad we didn't go." "If we had gone I might not have had time to get my fox," interposed Jack who, with Jean, was sitting on the cool mats looking over the purchases they had made that day. "See, Nan, isn't he a darling?" "As for me," remarked Jean, "I wouldn't have gone for the world. I do so dislike those wet, slimy, ghoulish places." So of them all, Nan was the only one who regretted not having made the acquaintance of the Dragon of Benten Sama. Another night by the sea and then came the start for the hills. There was some debate as to whether they should stop at the pretty town of Yumoto whose attractive hotel invited them, but Miss Helen argued that if they were to halt at every attractive place in Japan they might as well make up their minds to abandon their own country entirely and spend the rest of their days in the Land of the Rising Sun. Therefore they proceeded on their journey by _jinrikisha_ up the steep road to the place of their destination. A lovely way it was, though hard on the coolies, whose brown backs, tattooed with all sorts of strange designs, glistened with the moisture given forth by reason of the exertion. "When I haven't anything else to interest me," said Jack, "I study the designs on my runner's back. It is really very entertaining to make out the flowers and dragons and queer things. I wonder if they are there for the express purpose of entertaining those who ride in the 'jinriki.'" She and Nan were walking up a particularly steep part of the way. "Don't ask me the whys and wherefores of things in Japan," returned Nan. "I long ago gave up trying to find out the reasons for things. Aren't the woods delightful after the heat of the city, and aren't we fortunate not to have rain? I am looking forward to having the loveliest walks and excursions through these wild mountains." Jack gave a little sigh. "I should like it better if we hadn't left all the men folks behind. It is stupid to tramp through rough places without some one to ease your way a little." "No doubt you can get a coolie or two," returned Nan coldly. "Indeed, I believe that one does generally travel in a chair, as they call the thing they carry lashed to those poles." "Oh, yes, we must try those. I saw some one carried that way yesterday, and I thought I must experiment the first chance I got. Allee samee, I would rather prowl around with Mr. Harding than be carried by a coolie. Don't you think he is nice, Nan?" "Who, the coolie?" "No, Mr. Harding, of course. I am quite gone on him." "What about Carter?" "Oh, Cart makes me tired," responded Jack. Nan made no reply, but as she resumed her ride in the _jinrikisha_, her thoughts were busy. She did not know exactly how matters stood between Jack and the young man who had been devoted to her since she was a child. Of course Jack was too young to know her own mind, even supposing she had imagined herself sentimentally fond of Carter. Who could tell when she would really fall in love? Perhaps Mr. Harding had attracted her strongly. Well, if it were a mutual thing, Nan decided that she must do all she could to further it. Jack had always been a problem, and if it meant her happiness and her future good, why then, of course, nothing else must be considered. Neal Harding was a fine, clean-minded, unselfish man, missing him who could tell upon what unworthy object Jack might next set her fancy? Nan thought it all out as she was borne along over the mountain paths, and had settled it all in her own mind by the time Myanoshita was reached. [Illustration: CHAPTER XI AT MYANOSHITA] CHAPTER XI AT MYANOSHITA In a comfortable hotel, half European, half Japanese, they found themselves settled that evening, with the mountains rearing their tops all around them and Fujisan a nearer neighbor than ever before. The stream, Hayagawa, babbled noisily within hearing, and the lofty pines gave out a sweetly pleasant odor. "This is the most restful spot I have found in Japan," sighed Miss Helen. "I was quite worn out when we reached here, but that delicious warm bath has acted like a charm. There must be some quality about these springs beyond their mere temperature." "And such lovely bath-rooms, too," agreed Nan, "so clean and sweet-smelling. It seems good to be in the hills again, doesn't it? We are so used to seeing them at home that one misses them after a time." "I should really like to stay here a long while," remarked Mrs. Corner. "The gardens are so attractive and the little town has all sorts of enticing shops, I noticed. Then there are a number of delightful trips to make, I am told." "Oh, dear," sighed Nan. "And we must go to Nikko and to Kyoto and a dozen other places which I suppose will be quite as fascinating. If only the twins didn't have to go back to college we could just stay on till we had seen all." "There is no reason why you shouldn't stay on with Helen and Mary Lee," returned her mother. Nan shook her head. "No, once having hold of you I realize how valuable you are and I don't feel as if I could let you go back without me." "Don't let us plan the going back yet a while," interposed Miss Helen. "Just when we are beginning to have a sense of peace and rest we should enjoy it. Let the morrow take thought for itself." Jack and Jean were already down among the wood-carvers in the village and came back after a while with their hands full of pretty things. They tried to coax the others to make an immediate visit to the shops, but no one was enterprising enough to undertake the errand that evening. "We will go to-morrow," said Nan. But alas, when the morrow came it brought rain again, and no one cared to venture till afternoon, when finding time hanging heavily on her hands, Nan ventured forth alone, clad in her rain cloak and carrying a gay oiled paper umbrella. The streets were almost deserted but in front of one of the shops a _jinrikisha_ was waiting. Because she was curious to see who might be the other shopper out on that rainy afternoon, Nan entered the wood-carving establishment and came suddenly face to face with Neal Harding. "Miss Nan!" he exclaimed. "Isn't this luck? I was just wondering in which hotel you were staying. The chief has given me a week's leave, as he thought I was a little done up. That is, I am not to be recalled unless some special pressure of work demands, and so I thought this would be just the place for me." "But why did you seek us in a perfectly strange wood-carver's shop?" asked Nan. He laughed. "It does look as if I were making a house to house search for you, doesn't it? I had an errand here for one of my friends who left an order for some carving which has not been delivered as promised. Where are you stopping?" "At the Fujiya." "And all stood the journey well, I hope?" "Very well." Nan was rather non-committal. "And you stopped at Kamakura as you intended and went to Enoshima, I suppose." "Yes, we did all that. We were two nights at Kamakura and have been here but one." "If I had only known I could get the holiday, I might have been with you. I feel quite defrauded when I think of it. One of the other men was to have been off this week, but he found it would suit him better to get leave later, consequently I was offered the time in his place. May I go with you? Were you going to buy some carvings?" "I was going to amuse myself by looking around. After being housed all morning I wanted to get a bit of the outside world." She gave no permission but he took it for granted and followed on as she went from one charming object to another. "I may as well be pleasant to him," reflected Nan, "for he may be my brother-in-law some day," and she began to unthaw a little. "You said you had not been well," she began. "I hope it was nothing serious and that you are feeling better." "Oh, it is nothing very serious. It has been pretty hot and I have been working rather hard of late, so I was a trifle run down; that is all. I shall be fit as a fiddle by the end of my stay here. There are some tremendously interesting excursions to be made from this centre, you know. One is to Lake Hakoné and another is to that grewsome spot O-Jigoku. There is a magnificent view of Fujisan from there. You will need an alpenstock if you go. Here is a good one. Let me get it for you. You can keep it to carve names on, names of places you visit and people you meet. May I put my humble initials on it?" What could Nan do but consent? And she stood silently by as he made the initials of her own name first, placing his own under them, the little Japanese shopkeeper looking on with a smile, probably to see how much less dextrous these foreigners were than her own countrymen who produced such wonders of carving. Nan accepted the stick with a meek "Thank you," and felt herself very disloyal to Jack, this giving her cause to make only a hurried survey of mosaics and inlaid woods, of dainty carvings and ingenious toys. She bought one or two things to give countenance to her errand in the rain and then declared she must return, steadily ignoring all suggestions to visit other shops or to take tea in one of the many pretty little tea-houses. Mr. Harding dismissed his _jinrikisha_ and walked to the hotel with her where he received a warm welcome. "You are the one thing needed to make us a complete party," declared Jack. "A lot of women without one man to countenance them is an anomalous organization," and so he was taken in quite as a matter of course. A trip to Lake Hakoné was arranged for the very next day, if it did not rain. "We must make the most of you," Jack told Mr. Harding, "for if you have only a week it may rain half of it and we don't want to put off anything that ought by rights to include you." She expected to appropriate the young man as a right, Nan noticed. But Jack's plan did not come out entirely as she expected, for as they were sitting on the verandah that evening, Jean grabbed her twin sister's arm. "Jack, Jack," she exclaimed, "here is that Mr. Warner that came over on the steamer with us." "Oh, bother!" cried Jack shaking her head with a frown. "I don't suppose he will have sense enough to realize that he will be in the way." "You couldn't expect him to after being nice to him on the steamer," returned Jean. "Oh, well, that was because he came in handy to walk with and to tuck in my steamer rug and things like that. He is a silly ass, and I don't want him around. You will have to take him off my hands, Jean." "Indeed I shall not then," returned Jean. "I don't like him any better than you do, and I am quite sure I never gave him any occasion for thinking so, which is quite the opposite of the way you did." "Well, all is, I hope he won't see us," returned Jack, changing her seat so that her back would be to the garden. "Who is the man?" Nan asked having overheard the conversation. "Oh, he is a softy we met on the steamer. He knows some of our friends and is perfectly respectable, of course, otherwise mother would not have allowed us to have anything to do with him. There wasn't any one else around, and you know what Jack is. He served her for the time being. I don't mean there was anything like a flirtation, but she was nice to him and he trotted after her as men like that do when a girl is half-way kind to him. We thought we were rid of him when we left the steamer, but you see here he is." "Well, my dear, one is very liable to run up against acquaintances like that when both are traveling in the same country; it happens over and over again. Jack will have to take the consequences, of course." But this was precisely what Jack did not intend to do, and for this very reason she cajoled and demanded until Mr. Harding was helpless in doing anything but what she expected. Nan, while pleasantly polite to this young man, gave him no opportunity of returning to a comradeship and he was more and more convinced that she wished to keep him at a distance. Mr. Warner was not one to avoid a group of pretty girls and as soon as he caught sight of Jack the same evening, he made straight for her with every exclamation of pleasure and surprise. He was not a bad-looking person, and was perfectly assured in his own mind that he possessed every quality a girl could desire. He was an inveterate punster and was always doing what Jack called "monkey tricks." Nan could see that he promised to be something of a bore, as he was invariably flippant and frivolous, taking nothing seriously and ready to make jokes of everything. No spot too sacred, no object too impressive to become the target of his supposed wit. He quite resented Mr. Harding's presence as an admirer of Jack's, and to Nan's amusement always spoke as if he were an interloper whom Jack might reasonably wish to be rid of. Because of all this, Nan more than once relieved the situation by allowing the young man to become her escort and met him on his own ground with frivolous speeches, so that he began to think that, after all, this elder sister was almost as desirable as Jack, and when he couldn't get pudding he would quite cheerfully take pie. However, there were occasions when Nan could not sacrifice herself even for Jack, and she would get out of the way, having discovered a secluded spot from which she could get a view of the sea with Enoshima within vision, and on the other hand the stately form of great Fujisan. The excursion to Lake Hakoné did not take place at once on account of morning showers, but a day later it was agreed upon and with Mr. Warner, an attachment which they would willingly have been rid of, they all set out through the green mountain-paths, where the high bamboo grass colored the landscape vividly, and where many wild flowers peeped from the thickets. It would have been a more successful expedition but for the persistence with which Mr. Warner joked about everything in the heavens above, the earth beneath and the waters under the earth, allowing no one to enjoy either beauty or solemnity without interpolating either a pun or a silly speech of some kind, so that at the last every one was in a bad humor and whisperingly arranged a secret session. Little slips of paper were tucked into the hand of first one and then another by Jack. Each read: "Meet us at the deserted tea-shed back of the Bachelor's quarters at eight this evening." So by ones and twos the conspirators crept forth, keeping out of sight as much as possible lest they be seen and overtaken by the marplot, as they had come to call Mr. Warner. Promptly the small company gathered, Jack's three sisters and Mr. Harding. "We simply cannot have our expedition spoiled by that silly monkey-on-a-stick," announced Jack. "We must get away for our trip to O-Jigoku without his seeing us. He has no better sense than to butt in without being invited and we cannot have him. Has any one mentioned that we were going?" No one had, and Jack proceeded to unfold her plan. "I propose that we get up very early and meet somewhere, get breakfast at some little out-of-the-way tea-house and then start. What do you say?" All agreed. "It carries me back to our college days," said Nan, "when we used to scheme in order to outwit the sophs." "Mother and Aunt Helen are not going, I suppose," remarked Jean. "Oh, no, the climb after we leave our chairs will be too hard for them," returned Mary Lee. "Now we must settle just where we are going to meet. Of course, we girls will have no trouble, but Mr. Harding must be certain." "Suppose we say that little place just beyond the last carving-shop; it is unpretentious and no one would think of it; the only trouble is that one can see right into those places as soon as the _shoji_ are pushed aside." "And what is more one can hear," put in Mary Lee. "I don't see how they can possibly keep secrets in Japan when the partitions between rooms are nothing but screens." "Why not meet right here?" proposed Mr. Harding. "We can make a détour and come out somewhere beyond where I will have the chairs meet us." This was considered the best arrangement, and the party separated as they had come, Nan agreeing to tole Mr. Warner off in such direction as should prevent his seeing from whence the others came. Early the next morning they crept forth, climbed the hill to the shed where they had met the evening before and, piloted by Mr. Harding, made their way to a spot further on where the chairs were waiting. The mists were rolling up from the mountains and Fujisan's crest was quite hidden. There was no sign of a living creature, but once or twice a blithe lark caroled forth his morning song. The waving green of the bamboo stretched on each side, making a perfect jungle, and trees of beech, oak or fir arched overhead. It was decided to stop at one of the tea-houses of the little village of Kiga where they could get breakfast and then continue their journey. A pretty place was chosen where there was a garden and a pond of goldfish, a spot not unlike many others near by, but it seemed the most attractive, and the smiling maids were perhaps more inviting than those they had passed by. Exultant at having entirely outwitted the ubiquitous Mr. Warner, and refreshed by their breakfast of tea, eggs and rice cakes, they started on, stopping to feed the fishes first and to view the pretty little garden. Only the rush of mountain streams broke the silence as they went on to the pass of O Tomi Toge. Here they halted, for the rest of the journey must be made on foot and with a careful guide. "Oh, look!" exclaimed Nan as she descended from her chair and cast her eyes in the direction of a great valley. "Such a view of Fujisan I never had." "Glorious! Splendid!" came from one and another. The mists were still curling around the crown of the solitary peak, but this rendered it even more beautiful, with a foreground of pines and box-trees, and nearer still, growths of snowy flowers, as if reflected from the snowy peak of the mountain itself. "It smells very queer," remarked Jean sniffing daintily, "but then Japan is so full of queer odors that I am not surprised." "We must be near the 'Valley of the Greater Boiling,'" decided Nan. "There is no doubt of that," remarked Mr. Harding; "look at those blighted trees, and see that stream dashing over those rocks of black and yellow. This must be the very entrance to the Stygian valley." A precipitous and awe-inspiring climb they had now, following the guide with the utmost caution lest they slip through and become engulfed in the boiling mud. No vegetation was here, but the earth and the rocks bore evidences of a blasting, sulphurous heat. In some spots, smoke issued and there were ghastly sputterings and splittings of the earth's crust. "Isn't it the very epitome of all that is horrible and frightful?" said Nan. "Jack, please be very careful. I heard of some one who lost his life by falling into that awful place, and more than one has been burned severely." Jack promised and did intend to be very careful, but she was a venturesome young person and could not withstand the temptation to go a little nearer the edge of the dark stream. But fortunately Mr. Harding was watching and dragged her back in time to prevent a misstep into the seething sulphur. Jack herself turned pale as she realized the danger, for the guide, taking a pole, cautiously plunged it into the crust near which she had ventured and immediately it sank deep, deep down into depths of boiling mud. Nan covered her eyes. "Oh, Jack," she quavered, "just suppose you had gone an inch nearer." "But I didn't," returned Jack lightly. "You would have but for Mr. Harding." Nan turned eyes still full of horror on Jack's preserver, while Jack herself held out her hand. "Thank you," she said. "I came near getting into a bad scrape, didn't I?" She walked off in a direction which gave her safety, really more overcome than she was willing to admit. "I want to thank you, too," said Nan in a low voice to the young man. "I cannot face the thought of what might have happened but for your quick eye and----" She paused and turned her head, unable to keep back the tears which nervousness brought to her eyes. "Don't, please don't," said Mr. Harding coming to her side. "Let us leave this terrible place and go somewhere out of danger where you can sit down and get calm. You are trembling still." He led her to a sheltered spot and presently she was herself again. Mary Lee and Jean had already returned, Jean being quite too timid to venture so far as the others. Jack meekly followed behind Nan and her companion, for once feeling too young to demand attention, and altogether ashamed of having given her dear Nan such cause for alarm. She sat apart quite in the manner of a younger Jack who so often felt herself a culprit. "We must not say anything to Aunt Helen and mother about this," charged Nan as she rose to her feet. "Remember, Jack, not a word to any one, not even to Mary Lee or Jean. There is no use in giving needless worry to them, for even now that it is all over and you are safe, it would distress mother and call up all sorts of visions." "Dear me," returned Jack plaintively, "I am sure I shall only be too glad not to have it known that I was such a silly thing. The worst of it is," she added, "that I cannot feel that I am superior to Mr. Warner after this." This brought a laugh and relieved the tension. Then after one more look at the curling white smoke, the bare, leafless valley, they left the place and took the narrow path which led them back to what seemed an upper world. "I feel as if I had been to the mouth of the underworld," said Nan. "It is early yet; suppose we go around by Lake Hakoné; it is so lovely a spot that perhaps it will drive away the horror of this. We shall enjoy it more to-day with no punster along, and moreover it is a much brighter day and we shall see the reflections more clearly." This plan was unanimously approved and returning by another path, they came to the bottomless lake in whose perpetually cold waters Fujisan was reflected in all its beauty, for now the mists had rolled away and the Lady Mountain revealed herself without her veil. A tea-house near at hand furnished them with lunch and after a rest and another stop to feed the fishes in Kiga's tea-house garden they went on their way, arriving at Myanoshita to find that Mr. Warner was off in search of them and could not imagine how they had escaped his watchful eye. "We told him you started very early," Mrs. Corner said merrily, "and that neither your Aunt Helen nor I had seen you before you went." Later on when the young man did appear he was charged with being a sleepy-head and so well were the tables turned that he believed himself alone to blame for being left out of the day's expedition. [Illustration: CURIOUS TO SEE WHO THE OTHER SHOPPER MIGHT BE] [Illustration: CHAPTER XII NIKKO, THE MAGNIFICENT] CHAPTER XII NIKKO, THE MAGNIFICENT Before the end of the week, came a letter from Mrs. Craig urging them all to join her in the mountains near the famous temples of Nikko. "I have been unable to find you a proper house," she wrote, "but I think you can be very comfortable at one of the inns. I would my own cottage were larger so I could take you all in, but I shall insist upon having Nan and Mary Lee at least. Eleanor gets lonely and begs that they will not disappoint her. You know the old saying, 'Do not say _kekko_ till you have seen Nikko,' meaning that you are not to call any spot magnificent until you have been up here." Mrs. Craig's letter was followed by one from Eleanor herself. She clamored for her college mates, using every persuasive word and every argument in her power, till they felt it would be fairly wicked not to accept. For some reason Mr. Harding seemed almost as eager as Eleanor, lending his arguments to hers till finally the girls wrote to say that they would come and Miss Helen decided that they would trust to Mrs. Craig's declaration that the rest could be well housed near by. "We must keep it a dead secret from Mr. Warner," declared Jack, "for the first thing you know he will bob up serenely with that ridiculous helmet of his and that pongee coat. If I see any one up there wearing the likes, I know I shall faint on the spot, for I shall believe it is Sylvanus Warner reincarnated. Such a name, Sylvanus; it makes me tired." "He will think we are going back to Tokyo to stay, so we must get off before he gets on to the plan," remarked Jean. "We will leave a polite little note," said Nan, "telling him that we are going to visit and travel and then when we get back to Tokyo we will let him know. Then we must make up our minds not to come back to Tokyo but to keep on to Kyoto which we must see." "But it will be hot there," complained Jean, "for it is even further south." "Oh, well, never mind; we can't stay in the mountains forever, and after being up there and getting back some of our lost energy we ought to be able to stand Kyoto for a while, anyhow," Nan decided. Mr. Harding bade them good-bye the next day with more cheerfulness than Jack felt was exactly flattering. Nan thought that there was a touch of expectancy in his parting words to her. "I shall see you soon again, I hope," he said. "I am so very glad that you will be with Eleanor and Aunt Nora." Nan, however, kept her own counsel and did not speculate aloud upon what he might have meant her to infer. Mr. Warner attached himself to their party when they returned to Tokyo, and no one seemed to mind very much, for, as Jack said, "It is always well to have a man around when you take a journey, even if he is a Silly Billy." "I wonder if they called him Sylly for short when he was a little boy," said Jean, which was pretty good for her. "They might just as appropriately have called him Vainy," returned Jack; and Sylly Vainy they dubbed him from that time out. There was only a short halt in Tokyo, and then the start was made for the mountain retreat in the lovely highlands of Nippon. This meant a journey of about a hundred miles by rail, over a well-managed road. At various stations on the way, one could get from boys, only too eager for customers, well-packed luncheons, put up in attractive boxes, so a dining-car could be dispensed with. "This seems quite like Europe," said Nan nibbling at her broiled chicken, "but I wish I had something to drink; one doesn't dare to try unboiled water in this country." Her wish was soon granted, for almost immediately came a boy with a little earthen pot of tea and a cup which he offered for the modest sum of two cents, pouring on hot water from a steaming kettle he carried. On, past rice fields, once in a while catching glimpses of vast forests of cryptomeria, they journeyed to Nikko where they were met by Eleanor and the colonel to receive the warmest of greetings and to be hurried on to the mountain inn where four of the party were to stay. "We will come to Nikko itself another day," the colonel said. "You will find enough to interest you in this region, I am sure. If you feel historically inclined, there are the temples and shrines rich with suggestions of Iyeyasu, than whom is no greater character in all Japanese chronicles. His tomb is here as well as that of his successor, Iemitsu. If you want splendor in the way of temples you have but to visit those erected to his memory. Then if your mood is for natural beauties, we can show you such waterfalls and cascades, such streams and lakes and rocky precipices, forests and glens that ought to satisfy the most ardent nature lover." This all sounded very alluring and the whole party congratulated themselves that they had not left out this part of the country from their trip. The Craigs' house was built on the Japanese plan with matted floors, and screened partitions. The entire front could be opened to the day, but at night it could be shut in by the wooden amado. An entrancing garden was kept in order by a Japanese gardener who devised miniature lakes and forests, rockeries and waterfalls, so that the whole was a most unique and delightful place at any hour of the day. Even in wet weather one could find protection under a most artistic summer-house, built of bamboo and supporting vines in flower. The air was fresh and cool, a great relief after the sultriness of Tokyo, and a warm bath was ready, the water being brought through bamboo pipes. Then there was tea in the little pagoda and afterward all walked over to see how those at the inn were getting along. They were found to be in a state of entire content, in cool, pleasant rooms overlooking a charming garden, a verandah running along in front of their windows giving them a sheltered place to sit if they preferred seclusion. "We are all going to see the temples the first thing to-morrow," announced Eleanor, "so you must all be ready." "I can scarcely wait," declared Nan, "for I have dreamed of them ever since I began to study up on Japan. I hope you will all sleep well, so as to be in condition for our wonderful day." "Sleeping on mats and hearing every least sound through paper partitions may not be conducive to sleep," returned her Aunt Helen, "but we shall do our best. What are we to see first, colonel?" "The river and the Sacred Bridge would be the most natural in line of progression," returned he. "I am sure you will not exhaust the neighborhood in a long while, so we are hoping to keep you for many weeks." "The more I hear, the more there seem to rise up new objects to marvel at," said Nan. "I have just heard of a wonderful cavern in the side of an extinct volcano. The Two-Storm Mountain they called it because of the fearful tempests that came spring and fall, but a great saint quelled the storm devils and now it is called Nikko-San, which means the Mountain of the Sun's Brightness. Isn't that a nice tale? I am trying to write down all the legends I hear, but there is such a bewildering number of them that I know some will get away before I have them safely captured." The cool, mountain breezes made every one so sleepy that conversation lagged at an early hour and no one was inclined to sit up late that night, but there was not one who was not the better for the long night's rest and who was not eager to start out promptly the next morning. "And so that is the Sacred Bridge, the red lacquer bridge over which none but the emperor may pass," said Mrs. Corner looking at the famous structure which spanned the torrent. "It is really beautiful against the rich green, isn't it? Who but Japanese would ever think of building a red lacquer bridge? But somehow it suits the landscape." "The scarlet arch," murmured Nan thoughtfully. "Tell us something about it." She turned to the colonel. "I should have to give you a long dissertation on Iyeyasu and the Tokugawa which I think would probably bore you all. We'd better wait till some rainy day for that." "So I can make notes and not find my eyes and thoughts wandering as they would have to do now," returned Nan. Jack was looking in her guide-book. "It is eighty-four feet across," she gave the information, "and it is said that the wood is in as good condition as when it was put there something like two hundred and forty years ago." They left the scarlet arch to go on to the great grove of cryptomerias where stood the sacred temples. Many there were, large and small. Shrines and images, pagodas and gray stone lanterns were scattered throughout the wood, and wonderful some of these were, showing such richness of color, wonders in bronze and lacquer, marvels in gilt and white and black, miracles of design and splendor of ornament. It was all too bewildering to be taken in at one time, and they all agreed that one could get only a general impression upon a first view. "We shall want to come many, many times," Miss Helen declared. "With such an embarrassment of riches one is left in a state of helpless amaze." "It is by far the finest thing we have seen yet." Mary Lee was sure as to her opinion. "I suppose every professor at college will be asking me my impressions and will be insisting upon a detailed description, when I get back," said Jack. "I shall have to learn pages of the guide-books for I shall never get a perfectly clear idea of it. I can hear myself saying lamely, 'Oh, it is all gilt and lacquer and there are dragons and queer beasts over everything.'" "Such a very lucid description," said Jean contemptuously. "I shall try to make as clear a study as possible and take only a little at a time, one shrine, or a part of one temple." "Good!" cried Jack, "then I can copy yours." It was exactly what Jack would do. She always economized time by taking advantage of Jean's plodding methods, and arrived at much more brilliant results thereby. "We haven't seen the five hundred Buddhas," said Nan as they left the temples. "I read about them and it is said that they are so elusive that no two persons ever decide upon the same number when counting them." "Oh, do let's go find them," cried Jack, this being in the manner of a game particularly appealing to her. They came back to the bridge and climbed up the hillside by a flight of stone steps. Before them were more shrines and holy pagoda-like edifices. Mary Lee and Jean discovered the stone which marks the resting place of the great shogun's favorite horse. They lingered by the spot, Mary Lee reading aloud from her book. "The horse was at last turned loose on the hillside," she told Jean, "and had a long life of freedom here under the trees." These two presently caught up with the others who were standing near a long row of queer stone images. "These are the Buddhas," announced Jack. "Did you ever see such a strong family resemblance as they bear to one another? I have counted them twice, but can't make anything like five hundred. The spray keeps them always moist and that is why they have gathered moss, like other individuals who stay in one place." "One does seem to have been seized with a _wanderlust_," cried Nan. "Come here, Jack. There is one at the foot of the hill. I remember reading how he broke away from his companions once when he was afraid of a terrible storm. He tried to reach the village, but didn't quite get there." They wandered about over the hillside till some one declared it must be time for lunch, and then Mrs. Craig announced that they were to make a picnic of this meal and were to find a silver lake where they were to be met by the servants with the hamper, and where they could rest and enjoy the lovely scene. "What a delightful surprise," cried Miss Helen, as they suddenly espied the fair lake from a turn in the road, which they had just made. "Is this our picnic ground?" "It is, and I hope you like it," Mrs. Craig answered. "Chuzenji Lake it is called. It is one of my favorite spots and is rather a relief after the gorgeousness of the temples." "It is just that, sylvan quiet and perfect peace. One could lie here by the sands and think many thoughts." The servants were bustling around unobtrusively and presently had an appetizing meal spread. They had brought a _hibachi_ with which they could do wonders in preparing eggs, tea and various other things grateful to tired sightseers. There was much talk of the old legends and of later historical tales, the colonel waxing eloquent upon the subject of the great Iyeyasu who founded the Tokugawa Shogunate which continued almost to the present century. "Iyeyasu died in 1616," the colonel told them, "and the present emperor came into power in 1868. Iyeyasu boasted of having fought ninety battles. He nearly destroyed Christianity and closed the door of Japan upon foreign nations. He was really a great man for he accomplished much, and although we must condemn many of his acts, we can but admire the man's tremendous force and strength of character. It was his request that his body should be brought to Nikko where were the most magnificent temples in the country. He is supposed to return to earth once a year to ride in that fine lacquered vehicle which brought his body hither. Some day when we get better acquainted with him and when you have become more familiar with the splendors of the various temples we will come and look at the relics of Iyeyasu." "I get so dreadfully mixed up on the religions. I thought all the Chinese and Japanese were followers of Confucius," said Jean. "Shinto is the legalized religion," the colonel told her. "It is ancestor worship, to describe it briefly, but you will find that the doctrines of Confucius are accepted as philosophies rather than as religious dogmas. Shintoism means 'the way of the gods.' To quote one writer, 'it is a mixture of nature worship and the worship of ancestors.' It has its own mythological gods, heroes and traditions. The god, Izanagi, and the goddess, Isanami, are supposed to be the parents of the Japanese Islands. The great Sun-goddess, who is the supreme deity, was born from Izanagi's left eye. The Shinto temples are very simple compared to those of the Buddhists who introduced their religion into the country about the sixth century. There are several sects of Buddhists. There is the Shin-shu and the Jodo-shu, for instance, and though all these sects differ on minor points they agree upon the more important ones. Buddhist temples are often built in isolated spots, upon the mountains or in deep valleys, while the Shin sect erect their places of worship principally in the cities. One would have to make a pretty deep study of all these different beliefs to understand the differences, or indeed to understand just what is the belief of any one sect. If you go in for folk-lore it will be necessary for you to get some slight notion, at least, of the mythology and of the salient features of the doctrines. There, I have given you a long lecture, and I shall not tire you out by saying any more." "It is all very interesting, and makes one want to go deeper into it," confessed Nan. "Very well, any time you come up against a blank wall I will do my best to open the way for you," said the colonel. "I am by no means an authority, and have only the veriest smattering of the subject, but I find it an interesting one, and in my talks with various missionaries, I have learned something." "There is something very wonderful about the temple gardens," said Miss Helen. "I notice that each one has some special form of development. Here we have the cryptomeria trees as a dominant feature; at Uyeno it was the cherry trees, and at Kamakura the lotus held sway." "That is all quite true, and at Kyoto you will find that water is made to occupy the centre of interest. The gardens of Japan are alone worth a study. I was surprised, when I first came, to see how one single material was sometimes worked up in such a way as to give a charming individuality. In one, garden rocks would be used; in another, there would be little waterfalls, rills, and aquatic plants; in a third, you would find certain scenes reproduced in miniature; a little pool will stand for a lake, the rock in the middle will be an island, the mountainside will be represented by small inclines planted thickly with dwarf bushes. Such gardens are often real works of art." There was much more talk of this kind during the time they were resting after their meal and then the move was made for a return. "So we can digest our luncheon and the colonel's lecture at the same time," said Jack saucily. "I hope both will agree with you," returned the colonel with a smile. They returned by way of the town where a new sight caught their amused attention. An energetic bullock, the motive power of a short railway line, was seen performing his office of engine quite as a matter of course, drawing cars along the track at the rate of two miles an hour. "In this land of Upside-down-ness, that is about the funniest thing I have seen," declared Jack. "I shall expect to see monkeys acting as telephone girls and cats doing the postman act." "There is one thing about the cats here, I notice," said Jean gravely, "they don't carry tails." The girls all groaned. "See what pernicious influence can be wrought by one person," said Mary Lee. "Jean has been associating with Sylly Vainy for so long that she has borrowed his peculiarities." Which remark quite settled Jean. [Illustration: CHAPTER XIII CRICKETS AND FIREFLIES] CHAPTER XIII CRICKETS AND FIREFLIES "To-night we must see the Bon-ichi," said Mr. Harding, "for to-morrow will begin the Feast of the Lanterns." The young man had arrived on the scene the day before, surprising every one except, perhaps, his sister. "Oh, I have read of the Bon-ichi," said Mary Lee. "I think the Feast of Lanterns must be the most wonderful of all. I wish we could see some of the customs in the native houses." "No doubt that could be managed," returned Mr. Harding. "The Feast of Lanterns, or Bormatsuri, as it is called here, is truly a most beautiful festival. It begins on the thirteenth of July and continues to the fifteenth. It answers somewhat to the All Soul's Day which you know they celebrate in special ways in Europe. I think, however, that you will find the ceremonies here even more interesting." "Tell us something about them," said Eleanor. "New mats are woven for this feast to be placed upon all the Buddhist altars. Shrines and altars are decorated with lotus flowers, the natural flowers when possible, when not, paper ones are used. Fresh boughs of anise and other plants are used as well. The little lacquered tables from which the Japanese take their meals, and which you have so often seen, are placed on the altar to hold the food served to the spirits of the departed. In the very poor houses, these offerings of food are sometimes merely wrapped in a leaf and laid on the fresh mats. Wine is not given, neither do they give fish nor meat to the departed friends, but they offer fresh, pure water and give them tea every hour. They serve the meals exactly as they would to living guests, even supplying chop-sticks." "It is something like the Indian custom, this giving of food to the dead," remarked Mary Lee. "Why is it called the Feast of the Lanterns?" "Because the prettiest sorts of lanterns are hung each night before the houses. These are in special shapes and have a peculiar kind of paper fringe. At the going down of the sun, torches are placed in the ground before the earthly homes of the ghosts so that they may find their way. Welcome fires, too, are seen all along the shores of the streams, the lakes and the sea where there are villages." "How perfectly lovely," exclaimed Nan. "To my mind," Mr. Harding went on, "the last evening, the fifteenth of July, is decidedly the most interesting of all. It is then that the priests offer food to those poor ghosts who have no friends to give them anything, and it is the night when the dance of Bon-odori is given." "Oh, I should like to see that," said Eleanor. "But the most beautiful of all the customs," Mr. Harding continued, "is that of sending out the little boats of farewell, with a lantern at each prow and a freightage of dainty food. In these tiny crafts the souls of the ancestors are supposed to return to their ghostly homes by way of the sea, bearing with them written words of loving cheer." "It must be wonderful to see all the little boats afloat." "It is a thing not to be forgotten. At the present time it is forbidden to launch them on the sea at the open ports, but in isolated regions they are still sent forth." "It is all the most fascinating and charming feast that we have heard anything about," declared Mary Lee. "We must go over and tell mother and the rest about it. They will want to go to the Bon-ichi, of course." "I will go with you," said Eleanor jumping up. They had been sitting in the pretty garden near where a little fountain splashed softly over rocks and pebbles, washing the feet of slender aquatic plants and then trickling on to form a small pool in which a tiny island was visible. Nan would have followed the two girls, but as Mr. Harding said, "Please don't go," she sank back again into her seat. She would yield to the temptation this once. Jack would be in evidence that evening and she must then efface herself, so she would take these few golden moments for her very own. "I want you to go with me to the Bon-ichi this evening," said Mr. Harding. "Will you?" "Why, yes," replied Nan. "We are all going, aren't we?" "But you will go with me, won't you?" Nan laughed. "As if it were an opera or the theatre you were inviting me to, I suppose." "Exactly." He spoke quite seriously and Nan, stealing a glance at him, saw that he looked very grave and earnest. "Oh, very well, I will consider myself specially invited," she replied lightly, "though I don't see what special difference it will make." "We were lost in the crowd that night at the temple festival in Tokyo, you remember." Nan fidgeted with the leaf of a small plant near her. It made her very happy to have him talk this way, yet she wished he would not. No, she did not wish he would not. She would like to be lost in any crowd so long as he was by her side. She wondered if Jack really did like him so very much, and wasn't it disloyal to Carter to encourage Jack to smile on any one else? Mr. Harding interrupted these conjectures by repeating, "You do remember, don't you?" For answer Nan said, "I have the wee rabbit to remind me." "And Kamakura?" "I have this." She took the little jade figure from the small bag she carried and held it out. Mr. Harding took it in his hand, looked at it with a smile and handed it back saying, "Will you mind very much being lost again?" Nan shot him a swift look. She felt the color rising to her cheeks as she answered, "I will not mind." Then fearful of further temptation she arose and fled, not even turning her head as Mr. Harding called after her, "Please, Miss Nan, don't go. Please come back." Back she would not come, but she was happy, happy. She would let herself go for this one time. Surely so much was her due. In a little while these happy days would be over. Mr. Harding would be returning to his work. In the meantime let him choose between her and the younger girl. She would let fate decide. Why Mr. Harding had gone so far as to venture on such an invitation, Eleanor might have explained. She adored Nan and had charged her brother with fickleness. Had asked why he treated Nan with such coldness when at first the two had seemed to be the best of friends. He had replied that it was all Nan's own doings, that she had turned the cold shoulder, and that he could but accept his position. "I think she wishes me to understand that some one else has a prior claim," he said at last. Eleanor considered this before she replied. "I don't believe a word of it. I am quite sure she is not engaged to any one, but I shall make it my business to find out from Mary Lee. If she isn't and even though she may be interested in some other man, I don't see why you haven't as good a chance as he has. There isn't a girl in the world I would rather have for my sister, Neal, old boy." "You are a trump, Nell," returned her brother, but he did not say that there was no girl he would rather she should have for a sister, an omission which Eleanor thought of in the light of after events. By some hokus-pokus, Jack found herself in the society of Mr. Montell when they all started off for the Bon-ichi. This young man had come up with Neal Harding, and it is to Eleanor's credit that she managed to hand him over to Jack rather than to accept his escort for herself. Jack did not mind the experience in the least, although if it had been given her to choose, she would have selected Mr. Harding. Between the flickering light of lanterns and torches all the way down the street moved a crowd of people and soon the party of Americans became a part of the throng, themselves, though soberly clad, conspicuous above the little women in bright garments and the small men in blue or black or gray. In spite of this, Nan and her companion were soon separated from the rest. They had stopped long before a booth where were sold lotus flowers and leaves for the ceremony of the morrow. They lingered, too, to look at the bundles of hemp sticks, the crude dishes of earthenware, made especially for the ghostly visitors. As they turned away from these last, Mr. Harding looked down with a smile. "Now we are alone," he said with a smile. Nan understood. Who is so alone as in a crowd? Some distance ahead she caught sight, once in a while, of the colonel's soldierly figure towering up above his companions, and once or twice she could see Jack's hat, and her sparkling face turned gaily toward her escort. "We have gone back to the temple fair at Tokyo, I hope," said Mr. Harding as Nan grew more and more expansive and chatty. "We won't talk about goings back," returned she lightly. "It is always better to go ahead. What is done is done. We can control the future somewhat, but we cannot help the past." "That sounds like one of Confucius' philosophies. I accept the lesson it holds." Just what did he mean by that? Nan felt that she had been more didactic than wise and wished she had said something else. She must be more guarded. She forgot her introspections in the beauty of the things to be seen at the next stall: wonderful lanterns of most beautiful shapes and colors, although there were some that were a pure luminous white and these were intended for the cemeteries. They stood long looking at them but in time moved on to where queer little figures made of straw were offered for sale. "What in the world are these?" inquired Nan. "These are horses for the ghosts to ride and oxen to work for them," her companion told her. "How queer, how very queer, and what is that on the next stall?" "That is incense." A little further along they came upon Jean and Mary Lee all absorbed in a display of tiny horsehair cages, from which twinkled and sparkled myriads of lights. Alongside of these were larger cages, though small enough, of bamboo from whose interiors the strident notes of great green crickets came incessantly. "Aren't they darling?" cried Jean enthusiastically as Nan came up. "You can get a cricket and a cage for two cents, and for one cent you can buy fifteen fireflies in a cage. Mary Lee and I are getting ever so many." "What for?" inquired Nan. "Oh, just to give them their freedom. We hate to see the poor little creatures caged. The cages are so curious that we want those anyhow." "Have they any religious fitness?" Nan asked Mr. Harding. "Oh, no, they are only for the children." Nan concluded that she must have a cage, too, and bore away a galaxy of twinkling stars which she declared she would make a ceremony of liberating. Then while Mr. Harding told her a pretty tale of how the fireflies came to exist at all, and then wandered off into other folk-lore, they moved slowly out of the seething crowd to find their way into shadowy groves and at last to come upon a shrine before which lights were burning but where no one worshiped, for it seemed quite deserted. "If we could but reach Kwannon-with-the-Horse's-Head," said Mr. Harding, "we could send up a prayer for the animals which have died, and Kwannon might answer." "And where is Kwannon-with-the-Horse's-Head?" "Away down near Izumo. I have seen the shrine and it seemed a very pleasant thing to think that these people cared to remember the welfare of their animals, and to want them to enter a better state after the trials of this. Their religion seems very fanciful and, to us, full of all sorts of errors, but one comes across very beautiful customs every now and then." Nan knelt before the little shrine and opened her cage of fireflies. One after another found its freedom, darting out and floating up into the dimness of further distance. They stood watching them glimmering fitfully under the dark trees. "They seem like departing souls, themselves," said Nan. "They make me think of 'Vital spark of heavenly flame.'" "Then you have found in them a symbol that the Japanese seem not to have discovered. I knew you would surprise me with something of the kind." "How did you know?" "I divined it as one sees with the eyes of his spirit." "There is one poor little firefly left," said Nan suddenly observing a faint glimmer still coming from the tiny cage. "I am afraid he is hurt. If I knew what to feed him on I would take him home and keep him till he is able to fly." "They feed the crickets on eggplant and melon rind. We can get some on the way back, or we can find out what to give this little fellow." "Then that is what we must do, though I wonder if we take him so far away if he can find his way back to his companions. Do you suppose he will want to? Or does it make no difference to a vital spark where it is liberated?" "I don't imagine it will make any difference. I know my soul could find its way to----" He stopped short fearing he was growing too bold. "To where?" asked Nan. "To its kindred soul," was the reply which was not exactly what was first intended. Nan sighed. It was all so dreamily mysterious out there in the mild warm air under the trees. It was a great temptation to stay and listen to perhaps more daring speeches. They were both silent for a little while, Nan watching the feeble glimmer of the imprisoned insect, and Mr. Harding watching her in the light of the lantern hung before the shrine. "It is very lovely here," said Nan at last, "but I think we should go back." "Must we? I could stay forever." "It is very lovely," repeated Nan, but she began to move away from the spot. They passed a temple where people were coming and going and heard the clanging of its gong, the shuffle of feet upon the stairway leading to it, the murmur of voices. "Shall we go up?" asked Mr. Harding. Nan shook her head. "No, I don't care to, do you?" "No, I would rather stay a little longer in the shadow of my dreams." They stood apart for a moment watching the moving throng, and then they turned away, each dwelling in a world far away from that which they saw, the land of Heart's Desire. For some reason, Nan noticed that whenever Jack started off with Mr. Harding alone, after the night of the Bon-ichi, she was not allowed to go far without being joined by either Mary Lee or Eleanor, but when she, herself, happened to come upon either of these two latter in the young man's company, some mysterious errand would take one or the other to another part of the house or grounds. She was too happy to search very far for the cause of this and accepted what fate brought her in the way of a tête-à-tête. That it was anything more than accident she did not ask, that it was really a conspiracy she did not for a moment imagine. For one short week she would enjoy herself and then let come what must. The last day of the Feast of Lanterns was the great one. On its morning Mary Lee came to her. "I want you to do something for me, Nan," she said. "I suppose you will think it is foolish, and of course I don't in the least believe in these queer religions, for who could? But I do want to do one thing. It seems as if somehow Phil might know that I am sending him a message and it would comfort me to pretend. I want to launch a little boat on the river this evening. Will you come with me?" "Of course I will," said Nan heartily. "I don't think it is foolish at all. I should feel exactly the same under the circumstances. Where will you get the boat?" "Oh, I have it. I managed all that. I shall not do as the Japanese do, of course, and load it with food. I shall only write a little letter and shall send out my boat with the lantern on it. I hope Phil will know," she said wistfully. Nan's eyes filled with tears. This was the romance of Mary Lee's life she understood. All the poetry and romance of her nature was centred in the memory of the young lover she had lost. "I am sure, if our dear angels know anything of what we do, he will know," she answered her sister gently. "Are we not compassed about by a cloud of witnesses?" she added. "He must know, Mary Lee." "I am glad you remembered that," returned her sister. "It is comforting. I will come for you, shall I? or will you come for me?" "Whichever you say." "Perhaps you'd better come for me, then we can steal away by ourselves more easily. I know just the spot." The sun had set, but there was still light in the sky, when Mary Lee and Nan set out for a secluded place along the riverside. The little straw boat which Mary Lee carried was carefully screened from view and it was not till they reached the river's brink that she took it from its wrappings to set it afloat with its tiny lantern and the written message of love and longing. Very carefully Mary Lee lighted the small lantern, very cautiously set the tiny craft afloat and watched it drift off adown the current to join the fleet further along. The twinkling lights from many another frail bark showed that a host of phantoms were supposedly moving out upon the current to find the sea at last. The two girls stood silently watching the boat slowly making its way down-stream. When its tiny spark at last vanished around a bend in the river Mary Lee turned away with a quick sob. "Sometimes I feel as if I could not bear it," she said. Nan put her arms lovingly around the younger girl and laid her cheek against the fair hair. "I know, I know," she whispered, "but he is always there, dear, and always yours." "Yes," returned the other, "and that is all that comforts." "Suppose you had been obliged to give him up to some one else, loving him as you did, wouldn't it have been harder?" "I don't know. Perhaps. Yes, he is mine, forever mine, and he may not be very far away if I could only have faith to realize it. I shall think he does know and is glad to have me do what I have done to-night." They returned slowly saying little. As they neared the hotel, they saw Jack and Mr. Harding sauntering through the garden paths. They appeared to be having an animated conversation. "Do you like Mr. Harding as much as you did at first?" inquired Mary Lee. "Oh, yes," returned Nan in as indifferent a manner as she could assume though she felt the color rush to her face. Mary Lee stole a glance at her, and remembered what Nan had forgotten. It was when she did not talk freely of any special man that she might be counted on as feeling the deeper interest. Nan rarely discussed Neal Harding and Mary Lee drew her own conclusions. "I wonder what Carter would say if he saw Jack now," she said after a pause. "He knows what Jack is," replied Nan, "and moreover I don't know that he has any right to criticize her actions. We only assume that he has any claim. Jack has never said so." "No, she is a perfect sphinx upon the subject. Sometimes I think she doesn't care a rap for him and again I am convinced that she would never consider any one else." "She is too young to know her own mind." "I knew my own mind when I was younger than she." "Well, I think she ought to have her chances." "And you think Neal Harding is one of them." "I think it within the bounds of possibility." "Nonsense!" "Why nonsense? He attracts her and I think she would attract him if----" "If what?" "If propinquity were made a factor." "Do you think she would be happy married to Neal Harding?" "Certainly. Why shouldn't she be? He is a fine, honorable gentleman with a good mind and with excellent prospects. I cannot imagine how any one could find fault with him." Mary Lee smiled wisely. "Oh, I am not picking flaws. I think he is fine but I don't concede that he would suit Jack in the least." "Oh!" Nan seemed a little bewildered, but Mary Lee, watching the pair wandering around the garden together, made up her mind to several things which she did not reveal to Nan. Jack espied her sisters as they came forward. She ran to meet them exclaiming: "Why, where have you all been? We have been looking all over for you. Mr. Harding wants us to see the great dance, the dance called Bon-odori. Eleanor and the rest are waiting for us. The others have gone on ahead." There was nothing to do but follow out the suggestion and in due time the party reached the temple court where the strangely-fascinating, weird dance was going on. It was one of those peculiar religious rites performed in many countries on special feast days, though varying with the time and place, a quaint and rhythmical march, accompanied by the clapping of hands, the beat of a drum. A procession of maidens swaying, turning, stepping lightly, moving gracefully around the temple court; this is what they saw. Presently others joined the procession, men and again other women. Then began the songs, curious antiphonal chants rising with more and more volume as the company of marching figures grew larger. "It reminds me of some strange old Scriptural rite," said Mrs. Corner to the colonel. "One might imagine the daughters of Israel going out to meet David, or dancing before the golden calf. It is very Oriental, but really very beautiful. The hands are very expressive and the rhythm is perfect." "I have seen the dance done in different parts of Japan," returned the colonel, "and it is never quite the same, but it is always interesting." They tarried till a booming bell gave signal that the dance was over and then they joined the throng of toddling women and shuffling men who turned toward their homes. "To-morrow," said the colonel, "the fishermen can go out again, for those who have parents need not go without meat, although those who have lost a parent must wait a day longer before they can have fish to eat." "But we shall have fish," said Mrs. Craig with decision. And so ended the great Festival of the Bonku. [Illustration: CHAPTER XIV JEAN VISITS] CHAPTER XIV JEAN VISITS Nan hung the tiny cage with its one occupant outside her room on the verandah and the next morning discovered that the small maker of light had escaped through the open door. Later in the day, joy itself took wings with the return of Neal Harding to his post. He had declared that he would see them all again, but as he would remain in Tokyo, to which place they did not expect to go again, it seemed to Nan that the end of her summer had come. He had not asked her to write, and she told herself that this dream was ended, ended with the flitting of the ghostly visitors from another world. "It was all a phantom anyhow," she sighed as she took down the wee cage and laid it among her treasures. She wondered if Jack would start up a correspondence. Jack did not like to write letters, to be sure, but she was one who made a means serve her ends and if she really did like Mr. Harding above any other man she had met, she would be sure to find a way of keeping him in sight. A few days later Nan happened to come upon her mother and aunt deep in a discussion of further plans. "You're just the girl we want to see," said Mrs. Corner. "Come, sit down here and talk it all over with us. We feel that we should be thinking of starting forth again, not because we are tired of this lovely spot, but because there is so much more to see, and one can scarcely expect to come to Japan more than once in a lifetime. You and Mary Lee have made the Craigs a long visit and it is time that should be ended. Now what do you think we should make our next point?" Nan gave the question due consideration. "We must certainly see Kyoto," she said at last. "It is such a very old city and was the capital before Tokyo became so. I have been told that it is the most interesting city in Japan." Mrs. Corner looked at Miss Helen. "Now that is quite as it should be. Jean has had an invitation to visit there." "She has? Who has asked her?" Mrs. Corner raised her voice slightly to say, "Jean, dear, come in here and bring the letter you had this morning." Jean, who could hear perfectly well through the thin paper partitions of the room, appeared presently with the letter in her hand. It was written on a very long sheet of paper, ornamented delicately upon its surface with shadowy designs. It was in a long narrow envelope, and was folded over and over many times in order to make it fit. "It is from Ko-yeda Sannomiya," said Jean. "You remember her, Nan? She was the little Japanese girl at Rayner Hall. We took her to Cloverdale once and tried to be nice to her. She is a funny little thing, and some of the girls fought shy of her, but I always liked her, she was so sweet and gentle." "And has she come back home?" "Yes, and lives in Kyoto. She heard in some roundabout way that we were over here and had the sense to write to Bettersley and ask to have the letter forwarded. It has been a long time on the way, of course, but the invitation stands for any time I may accept it." "I don't see why she didn't ask me, too," said Jack who had come in. "I know," said Mary Lee; "you are too big, and you would scare her family; besides you would fill up the house and there wouldn't be room for any one else." "Oh, pshaw!" exclaimed Jack, "I am no taller than Nan." "Well, they didn't ask her." "That is all nonsense," replied Jack. "I suppose the real reason is that Jean flocked with her more than I did, and once I laughed at her for some funny mistake she made. I suppose I shouldn't have done it for it wasn't very polite, but the laugh came out before I thought." "Are you going, Jean?" Nan asked. "I think so. It is quite a compliment, I reckon, and I ought to take advantage of it, though it scares me rather to go in among such exceedingly foreign people. I shall only stay a day or so, however, and I don't reckon anything very terrible can happen in that time." "So then it is settled, is it, that we go on to Kyoto?" said Nan. "It will be pretty warm, I suppose, after these delightful mountains," remarked Miss Helen regretfully, "but if we come to Japan in summer we must take the consequences. At all events we can be thankful that the rainy season is over." "I wonder what Ko-yeda means," said Nan musingly, as she handed back the letter to Jean. "It means a slender twig," Jean informed her. "Ko-yeda told me so long ago." "It is very pretty, especially for a young girl," Nan decided. In spite of Eleanor's protests and charges of desertion, and of Mrs. Craig's persuasions, the day was set for their departure. It came all too soon. The evening before, Nan made a last visit to the temples and to the little shrine where she had set free her fireflies. The discovery that Jack had received a letter from Mr. Harding that very morning did not give her a very serene state of mind, but in spite of that she felt a melancholy satisfaction in visiting the places where she had been so happy. The booths had departed from the streets and the crowd had dwindled to the usual number, but in the garden, which held many a dear memory, the water still lapped the slim reeds and the nightingale still repeated its song, not a long sustained, nor so full a strain as she had heard in Italy, but nevertheless a lovelier one to her because of association. Here they two had sat and listened on more than one evening when the air was soft and balmy and when the scent of lilies came to them. "Nevermore, nevermore," was the only refrain which Nan's heart could hear. Eleanor found her in the little summer-house where they all had spent so many gay and happy hours. "I could weep when I think of your leaving me, Nan," she said. "I used to be awfully fond of you there at Bettersley but I have enlarged the borders of the place you occupied in my heart and now you take up such a lot of room that I don't see how I can let you go." "Better come along," said Nan lightly. "Do you really mean it?" It had not occurred to Nan before, but, as she turned the plan over in her mind, she was pleased with it. "Why not?" she said. "I'd simply love to. Of course I must see all I can of Japan, and Aunt Nora wouldn't leave the colonel, neither would he leave her, if he could, which he can't. As for Neal he is not to be depended upon except upon occasions. I don't in the least see why I shouldn't go with you, for a time anyhow. I know Aunt Nora will say I must. Are you really in earnest, Nan, and do you think your mother and aunt would consent to let me hang on to your skirts?" "I am sure they would be delighted. You all have been mighty nice to us, Nell Harding, and even if we didn't like you so powerful much as we do we'd say, 'Come along.'" "Don't talk of our having been nice. Why, my dear, you all have been the whole show this summer. You have simply lifted us all out of stupid monotony into delirious excitement." An hour later it was all settled that Eleanor should be one of the party and after a whirl of packing on her part, she started off for Kyoto with the Corners the very next day. After all it was found that Kyoto would be more easily reached by way of Tokyo than by any other route and in the latter city was made the stay of a night. It brought Mr. Harding post haste to see them all, but, as luck would have it, Nan was laid up with a headache and could not appear. She insisted upon going on the next morning, and so Tokyo brought her no added memories. At the quiet European hotel in Kyoto, Jean met her late schoolfellow and was borne off without delay. She made a little wry face over her shoulder as she said good-bye to her sisters, but Jack was very envious of her opportunity and bemoaned her luck in not having won Ko-yeda's regard. "It doesn't make it any better to tell me it is my own fault," she said to Mary Lee, who reminded her of the fact. "Never mind, I will have some sort of adventure before I leave this town; you see if I don't." However reluctantly Jean started forth, nothing could have exceeded the gracious welcome she received from the family of Ko-yeda. Mrs. Sannomiya bowed to the floor, likewise did Grandmother Sannomiya, as well as every one else in the establishment. Into a fresh, sweet room covered with mats of rice straw she was ushered, a silken cushion was placed for her and she was at once served with "honorable tea," sweetmeats and cakes. This ceremony over, she was taken to another matted room where, as she told her sisters afterward, she hung up her clothes on the floor and listened to what they were saying in the next room. After this Ko-yeda led her to the front of the house which did not face the street, but the garden, and a charming one it was. Not large, but displaying a tiny grotto, a miniature pond where goldfishes and little turtles lived, and where, at this season, lovely lotus blooms floated. Along the stone paths potted plants were set and in one spot Ko-yeda pointed out with pride a cherry tree which was the garden's glory in spring. It was not a very big place but it was admired and beloved by the whole family from the opening of the first budlet to the falling of the scarlet leaves from a baby maple tree. The verandah of the house overlooked the garden rather than the street. Ko-yeda's pleasure in her company was boundless. She spoke English well and chattered away asking innumerable questions of this and that one and inquiring all about what Jean had seen in Japan. "You are traveled more than I," she said. "Never to Nikko have I been. I go some of the day. You see I do not mean be as other Japanese girl. I am student of America and I very free in my thinking of what I mean do. My grandmother frown and say I naughty little girl, for that I wish no be like the honorable ancestor. She Christian, too, but she cannot forget the ancestor. For myself, I like better remember my present ones." "Do you think you will marry, Ko-yeda?" asked Jean. "I cannot say. I would not like to think. It is not respectable for me here in Japan to do so. In your country it is opposite. You marry some of the day?" "Oh, dear me, I don't know. You may not believe it, Ko-yeda, and I would not like to confess it to my sisters even, but I have never yet been in love, though I am eighteen." Ko-yeda laughed merrily. "You should be as I am. Some day when come a good Christian somebodies to my father and mother and say I wish Ko-yeda for my son, then perhaps I think, but I shall wait till that day. I will not marry any but my own countryman, I suppose, and I do not wish other, but I wish Christian." "Of course you do. Will you have to wait on your mother-in-law, then?" "Oh, yes. My mother do the same. I will do unless perhaps is adopted a young mans to my family. I think will be this for we have no son. Then is my mother my mother-in-law." She laughed merrily. "Oh, I hope it will turn out that way," said Jean who had her own opinions of Japanese mothers-in-law, and who would have been sorry to see her little friend occupy the position that some young wives must. Ko-yeda was a dainty, pretty little person, with small oval face, very dark brown, not black, hair, a clear skin over which sometimes crept a soft rosy tint, soft dark eyes, a small mouth and delicate little hands. Her dress was of pale blue crape with a handsome _obi_, or sash confining the kimono. The sash was subtly brilliant but not gaudy. Altogether Jean thought her a charming figure, much more so in her native costume than she had been at school in European dress. So much could not be said of the grandmother who looked shrunken and yellow, whose teeth were blackened and who wore a sombre robe of gray. "I wonder if Ko-yeda will look like that some day," was Jean's thought as she was escorted in to take dinner. This was served to her upon a little lacquered table about a foot high while she ate seated on a flat cushion laid upon the matted floor. There was cold soup and stewed fish and rice into which raw eggs were broken. There was raw fish, too, served with soy, and there was chicken and some queer sort of meat which Jean did not recognize. Indeed the sweetish sauces served with nearly everything rendered most of the dishes unpalatable to her, but she could eat the rice and the chicken and managed to taste the other dishes. In consideration of her preferences, there was real bread, and Ko-yeda had prepared with her own hands a pudding which she presented anxiously. Of course Jean praised it and really but for this quite substantial dish, might have fared rather badly. There was tea, of course, and various sweetmeats, not very attractive to a foreigner. "If you show me I make some of the American somethings for you," said Ko-yeda. "Where is your kitchen?" asked Jean. Ko-yeda laughed. "We have not like you, for we use the _hibachi_ much. I show you our cook place and the go-down and all that." So they went on a voyage of exploration. The go-down or _kura_ Jean saw to be a sort of storehouse where many things were placed for safety against fire, only too frequent in the cities of Japan. The _kura_ was built of bamboo and wood and was covered two feet thick with clay so that it was quite fire-proof. The little garden which Jean first saw led into another and she was surprised to see how many rooms were in the rambling house, or at least how many there could be when screens were drawn. There were numerous little maids at work here and there and, as Ko-yeda led her guest this way and that, she caught glimpses of cool, quiet, dimly-lighted places where different members of the family were squatting on the floor,--Ko-yeda's mother busy with some delicate embroidery, her grandmother arranging a vase of flowers, her father bending over a table with a brush and a long sheet of paper upon which he made deft marks with great rapidity. He was writing a letter, Ko-yeda told her. Upon entering the house from the garden, they took off their shoes and Ko-yeda provided Jean with a pair of _tabi_, a queer kind of sock, foot-mittens Jean called them, for instead of a place for the thumb was one for the big toe. As they went through the corridors and peeped into one after another of the rooms, Jean saw how very simple a Japanese home could be. Even the best room, the guest room as it was called, had in it only a number of flat silk-covered cushions to sit or kneel on, a couple of small chests of drawers, lamps with pretty shades, some folding screens, a shining mirror of steel, and a few of the small lacquered tables. In several of the rooms were alcoves which Ko-yeda called _tokonoma_ and _chigai-dana_. "In the day of old," said Ko-yeda, "the great gentlemans of the house would use to sit before these. We place here our decoration for the day, in the one, our _kakemono_ and the flowers; in the other a something pretty which we like, a vase, a carvings, what you will. I show you. To-day because of your coming I am wish of our best. I think you like it maybe." She took her into the room where a panel picture hung; it showed a pair of birds exquisitely painted upon white satin, the branch upon which they sat being perfect in detail and the birds' feathers wonderfully wrought. "I remember you teach me 'Birds of a feathers flock together,'" said Ko-yeda. Jean laughed. She had forgotten, but how well Ko-yeda had remembered a little joke of theirs. In front of the _kakemono_ was a slender vase in which was a single spray of flowers. In the other alcove stood a beautiful piece of carved ivory. This room was shaded from the outside glare of the sun by sliding windows covered with paper through which the light fell softly. Beyond were smaller apartments and above stairs were still more, bath-rooms among them. The place seemed very cool and spacious and peaceful. Every one was kindness itself and all tried in every way to make Ko-yeda's guest feel at home. The next meal was a more elaborate one. There were several kinds of soup, eels, lobster, more fish, vegetables and then rice served from a large lacquered box. There were odd sweets and some very delicate and delicious cakes. The sweetmeats were in various forms, lotus flowers, and little brown twigs, green leaves and the like, among them. It was all very odd and pleasant. Jean was glad that she and her sisters had experimented with chop-sticks as she felt herself less awkward with them. They were really not so very difficult to manage and they all praised her use of them. Of course the honorable tea had to form a part of the meal, and after this was taken and the obsequious servants had removed the dishes, the girls went out into the garden where Mr. Sannomiya was walking around, a paper umbrella over his head and a large fan in his hand. "My father, he dress European and my mother too, when they go out," Ko-yeda explained, "but at home we all feel more comfort in the native dress." "I think it is much prettier than ours," said Jean. "I wish you would not give it up." "But my father so ashamed to have Western man say he what you call a rear number." Jean smiled. "A back number, you mean?" "Oh, yes, a back number. I thank you. I am forgetting my English. He say we must not appear like the old Japan which shut the door upon all progress. If we wish be like the rest of world we must do as the other nations and so we wear the dress so to show that we are not behind in things." As the girls came up Mr. Sannomiya bowed very low and said that he was honored that Jean should come to his poor mean house to see his ugly and uninteresting daughter. Jean was a little startled at the remark as translated by Ko-yeda, but her friend laughed and said, "It is but the way we speak; you must not mind; I know you are not accustomed." "Do please say something nice to him in your own way," returned Jean. "Tell him how pleased I am to come and how flattered I feel that you have invited me." This was quite sufficient material for Ko-yeda to make into a very gracious speech, and then with much ceremony each took a different path around the garden. Later on came callers--Ko-yeda's elder sister and her husband who bowed low and bumped their heads against the floor upon being presented. Jean tried to respond in like manner, but felt her bow was very awkward. Mrs. Sanzo, as well as her husband, was in regulation European costume, but Jean thought Ko-yeda much more charming in her delicate pink crape kimono and _obi_ tied in an immense bow at the back. The funny little hunchy manner of walking which the little Japanese woman displayed was not suited to French gowns and hats, Jean thought. However, most gracious and sweet was Mrs. Sanzo, with a lovely voice and the most charming smile. She could speak a little English and made her sister promise to bring Jean to see her. During the hour that followed the arrival of these visitors others came and Jean had fairly to pinch herself to discover if she were not dreaming as she sat curled up on a little cushion listening to the unfamiliar language in such a very unfamiliar kind of house. Not any more familiar was the appearance of the little maids who came in from time to time to bring refreshments, and who knelt whenever they slid open the _fusuma_, or screen, between the rooms and who presented their trays of sweetmeats, or the pipes and tobacco for the gentlemen, still kneeling. But at last bedtime came. Mrs. Sannomiya clapped her hands and the maids again appeared to slide the _fusuma_ while Ko-yeda led the way through the corridors to an upper room where piles of comfortables, or _futons_ as they were called, had been laid on the floor. A little pillow had been provided for Jean in place of the hard wooden bolster usually considered proper for a lady. This because her hair would be disarranged by the use of anything different. It was a warm night and the _shoji_ and _amado_ were both open toward the garden, though down-stairs Jean heard them putting up the wooden shutters called amado, and knew the house was thus being closed for the night. She could hear the murmur of talk around her, and the plash of water from the fountain in the garden. There was a queer scent of incense in the air and this mingled with the odors of the garden and the smoke of her lamp made her realize that this was indeed a foreign land. She lay under her canopy of mosquito net, a very necessary protection, and wished that Jack were there and that she could fly across the great city to where her mother and sisters were, that she might kiss them all good-night. "Well, I am glad I am not further away," she thought. "Suppose they were across the ocean. I might have reason for feeling homesick." The next day came a round of entertainments. A visit to Mrs. Sanzo where there was a fat, laughing, slant-eyed, cunning baby, exactly like dolls Jean remembered having had as a child. There was a little glimpse of the city, and a call at one of the mission schools where it seemed pleasant to find American women teachers and gentle little girl pupils. Then there was a drive to the country to see the silk spinners. "This is the time when the cocoons are ready," Ko-yeda said. "You will like to see?" Indeed Jean would and so they drove on to where some lowly little cottages made a village. The doors, even the fronts of the houses, were all open, and inside Jean could see fluffy piles of pale yellow or white stuff before which sat withered, brown-faced old men or women with rude little hand-reels upon which they wound the delicate thread. More than once the girls alighted to watch the process, Ko-yeda speaking and evidently telling about Jean, for they eyed her with eager interest and one gave her a soft puffy ball of the silk and would take no return. There was more than one stop, for no excursion is complete without a cup of tea, and then back to the city to another meal at a foot-high table, more ceremonious bows and visits, another night upon the _futons_ with the insects shrilling outside in the garden to the accompaniment of water trickling over the stones, and the mosquitoes buzzing outside the net, then Jean was ready for her own people and her own way of living. She would see Ko-yeda? Oh, yes, many times before she left Kyoto, and they would have many more pleasant talks. She went away laden with presents, with all the servants prostrating themselves at each side the door, and with an impression of having lived for two days in an Arabian Night story. [Illustration: GLAD SHE HAD EXPERIMENTED WITH CHOP-STICKS] [Illustration: CHAPTER XV A MOCK JAPANESE] CHAPTER XV A MOCK JAPANESE "Sit right down and tell us all about it," said Mary Lee as Jean appeared before the family after her visit. "Did you have a good time?" Jean took off her gloves and folded them neatly. "I had a most interesting time," she said. "I never knew kinder, more hospitable people, and when I came away they loaded me with gifts till I was so embarrassed I didn't know what to do. Of course I gave all the servants something, but I have got to do something for Ko-yeda after all this." "Where are your presents?" asked Jack. "Fetch them along; we want to see what they are like." "You know it is a custom to give presents to a departing guest," said Nan. "They always do it, and it is in accordance with the station and wealth of the entertainer. I know it is very overwhelming sometimes but it has to be endured." "I'll get the things presently," said Jean. "Tell me what you all have been doing since I left you." "We'll do that when you have told your tale, which will be much more interesting. How many are in the family and did you see them all, and what were they like?" Nan asked the questions. Jean began to count off the answers on her fingers. "In the family there are Mr. and Mrs. Sannomiya, Grandmother Sannomiya and Ko-yeda. There was a son but he died two years ago and that is why Ko-yeda was called home. There is a married sister, Mrs. Sanzo; she is very nice and has a darling baby. I went to her house. She is very tiny and looked like a little doll in her dress quite like ours. Her husband is tiny, too, and dresses like any of our men. The others adopt our costume when they are out, but at home they go back to kimonos and all that. It was very funny to see Mr. Sannomiya in the garden with a big fan and an umbrella. The old grandmother has blackened teeth and is the most important person in the house. Mrs. Sannomiya waits on her hand and foot, and they all hang on her words as if she were an oracle. She is rather a nice old person but I can imagine that a daughter-in-law might have a very unpleasant time of it in some households." "Poor Ko-yeda," said Jack, "I hope she won't have any hard time." "I don't believe she will, for she told me that if she married it is probable that her husband would be adopted into the family to take the place of her brother who died. In that case, he will take her name and be considered a true son. His own people won't be anything at all to him." "There are cases not unlike that in our own country," said Eleanor. "I have known men who were completely weaned from their own families as soon as they were married. I think a woman is a horrid selfish pig to completely absorb a man that way. If any one steals Neal from me and makes him indifferent to his people, all because she is such a jealous pig she wants him all to herself, I shall have my opinion of her." They all laughed at Eleanor's vehemence, but only Mary Lee noticed Nan's heightened color. Mary Lee was taking notes these days. "What did you have to eat?" asked Jack. "Oh, all sorts of queer stuff, some of it perfectly impossible," Jean told her; "but some of it was very good, the cakes especially. Ko-yeda tried to have some English food. We actually did have bread, and the fish was served me without that awful sweet sauce. I didn't starve." She went on with her account, Jack taking notes rapidly while her twin talked. "What on earth are you doing?" queried Mary Lee as Jack scribbled away. "Oh, I am just getting it all down so I can use the material in the future. Jean may forget some of it. It is much easier to get hold of it now when I have nothing else to do; it may save me lots of time later on. I can make a daily or a weekly or some kind of theme of it." Jean told about her drive to the little village where she had seen the silk-spinning, of her callers, of the routine in the house and much that the others found interesting. "They do things in the most contrary fashion," she dilated upon her subject. "They push the eye of the needle on to the thread; their keys always turn in the opposite direction from ours, and the other day I was watching Mr. Sannomiya writing a letter. Will you believe it? He did it all backwards." "Go on and get your things," urged Nan. "We are crazy to see them." Jean retired and presently came back with her treasures. "This," she said, unrolling something from its wrapping of first soft paper and then an under covering of fine silk, "is what Mr. Sannomiya gave me." She displayed a beautiful silken panel charmingly painted. "It is a _kakemono_, you know. After seeing those lovely cool rooms ours do seem overcrowded. When I get home I think I shall fit up a room in the wing and that shall be a Japanese room." "Oh, let us do it," cried Jack. "We can do just as the Japanese do and can have different decorations for different days. We can have tea there sometimes and wear our costumes, just as you were planning, Nan." "I think that will be a lovely idea," agreed Mrs. Corner; "then you will all have a chance to display your treasures." Jean carefully put away her _kakemono_ and took from a box, sweetly smelling and prettily decorated, a beautiful Satsuma vase. "This is from Grandmother Sannomiya," she announced. "Such a beauty," said one and another as it was passed around. "And this," Jean next produced a silken scarf of wonderful tint and beautifully embroidered, "is from Mrs. Sannomiya." "How perfectly gorgeous," cried Jack. "Oh, Jean, I am green with envy." Jean was very complacent at having aroused all this admiration of her gifts. "I am sure you will be more so when I show you what Ko-yeda herself has given me," she said as she drew forth a small bag or pouch to which was fastened an exquisite carving of ivory. "It is a real _netsuké_," said Jean with pride. "I learned something about a _netsuké_ from Ko-yeda," she went on. "It is really just the thing that keeps the pouch from slipping through the sash. It used to be used on all sorts of things, pipes, tobacco pouches, medicine cases and, Mr. Sannomiya says, originally on shrine cases. This one is quite old, but the very oldest are made of wood instead of ivory. There used to be very celebrated carvers of _netsukés_ who signed them and their work is very valuable. Mine isn't signed but I think it is a love." The gift was passed from hand to hand and was pronounced a prize worth having. Then Jean carefully replaced it in its pretty box and carried off her presents. She was a most particular little person and very exact about all her belongings. Not so striking as merry Jack she, nevertheless, had her own good points, a neat figure, small hands and feet, a gentle expression and good features. Her eyes had not the depth and expression of Nan's nor the changefulness and sparkle of Jack's but they were soft and clear. "And what have you been doing?" asked Jean when her own affairs had been discussed sufficiently. "Seeing the town," Nan told her. "What have you seen?" "The great Yasaka tower, for one thing, the Mikado's palace for another. We haven't been to the temples yet, at least not to the principal one," Jack told her. "I believe it is said that there are three thousand temples in Kyoto," remarked Nan. "We couldn't possibly see them all," returned Jean. "Oh, yes, we have seen them all," declared Jack with a twinkle in her eye. "What perfect nonsense," said Jean disgustedly. "How could you in two days?" "We could and we did, from the top of the Yasaka tower. They must have been all there before us even if we couldn't distinguish one from another." "Now, isn't that just like you, Jack?" retorted Jean. "What is the tower for? It was pointed out to me yesterday, but there were so many other things to see I didn't learn anything about it." "I think it was built by an emperor that his children might view the whole city. In the former days royalty was so sacred that no one was allowed to look upon the emperor and empress. When they gave audiences, they were concealed by a purple curtain down to the knees, but the present ruler has done away with all that; he and his wife appear among their people quite as any European monarch would do," Miss Helen told them. "And how their people adore them," said Jean. "I heard no end of tales of their goodness. The empress is so very charitable and is so kind to the sick and the poor; so is the emperor for that matter. Ko-yeda could not say enough about them." While they were talking Jack had slipped away. She could not get over the fact that Jean had been having adventures in which she had no part. "Very well," she told herself, "I will make an adventure for myself." In this city of beautiful brocades and embroideries the girls had found the shops most fascinating, and had made several purchases. Jack had provided herself with an entire Japanese costume, a pretty kimono, a gorgeous _obi_, a pair of _geta_ or clogs, and all the other paraphernalia. She had carefully studied the arrangement of hair and since her own was no lighter than Ko-yeda's she could arrange it to look quite like that of a Japanese girl. While the others were still busy talking, she donned her costume, arranged her hair as nearly as possible like Ko-yeda's, stuck many pins and ornaments in it, slipped on the _getas_ and sallied forth with fan and umbrella. Both she and Jean had often before this practiced walking on the queer little shoes and could shuffle along fairly well, though when Jack was actually on the street, she felt awkward and a trifle uneasy. But she was determined to carry out her adventure and went on trying her best to toddle along in imitation of the women around her. Passers-by looked up at her curiously, for she was so much taller than the usual run of persons on the street that she could not but attract attention. She had made herself up very well, but her eyes and her height gave indubitable evidence of her being a foreigner, yet no one did more than smile as she went along. The scene was a gay one, _jinrikishas_ hastening hither and thither, street criers, venders of all sorts of wares, workmen, strollers, crowded the way. Shops displayed many kinds of rich wares, little wooden houses with gray roofs were surprisingly many. Jack, entertained at first, at last thought it time to return. She looked about her. It was all very unfamiliar, but she decided she knew the way. All at once she found herself in a narrow labyrinthine street and surrounded by a curious crowd of little urchins who began to jeer, to point at her, to jabber uncomprehended words. Finally one, bolder than the rest, came up and tweaked her sleeve. This was the signal for further disagreeable attentions. One jerked away her fan; another poked a hole through her umbrella. She tried to take it as a joke and to smile upon their naughtiness, but they were excited with the chase and meant to run their prey to cover. So unpleasant did they finally become that poor Jack looked this way and that for a way of escape. She had long ago exhausted her vocabulary of Japanese speech and had not a word left to suit the occasion. There seemed no one in sight but the boys and she fervently wished they were not there. But presently, to her great relief, she saw some one approaching, and, as good luck would have it, the figure was that of a woman in plain garb but it was the familiar dress of her own country. At sight of this individual, the boys scattered. Jack stood still and waited. She was sure if she spoke her own tongue she would be understood. The newcomer soon was at her side. "Will you please tell me where I can get a _jinrikisha_?" asked Jack. The person so accosted started. "Why----" she looked Jack over, surprise giving way to amused interest. "Why, my child, what in the world are you doing over in this part of the city dressed like that, when you don't know the language?" she asked. Jack colored up. "I was out for a walk," she said. "I didn't realize how tall I was and that I would attract attention. I thought I could pass along and no one would notice very particularly, for I am sure I have my things on quite properly and I can walk on the _getas_, though not so very fast." The lady listened with still an amused expression. "Come along with me," she said. "I can soon set you all right. I am a teacher in a mission school in this part of the city. I am going there now." "Oh, I should love to see a mission school," declared Jack, gladly accepting the invitation. The two walked along together both asking many questions and becoming on good terms by the time they had reached the door of the school. As they went in, an older person came forward, but stopped in surprise as she saw the tall girl in Japanese dress. The circle of little girls sitting on the matted floor looked up also, their serious faces broadening into smiles as they beheld Jack. "This is Miss Corner, Mrs. Lang," said Jack's companion. "She has lost her way in this big city and needs to be sent home." Then she gave an account of Jack's escapade and the elder teacher laughed merrily. "I suppose I ought to have known better," said Jack ruefully. "It is a downfall to my pride. I thought I looked so lovely and Japanesy. I even put little dabs of red on my cheeks and my lower lip, you see." "But that didn't lessen your inches nor slant your eyes in the right direction," Mrs. Lang said. "Of course you slipped out without your mother's seeing you." "Yes, of course," returned Jack rather meekly. "If it hadn't been for those horrid little boys I should have had no trouble. Of course people laughed and one or two men said something to me but I just went on and didn't answer." Mrs. Lang shook her head. "Don't do it again. It wouldn't be exactly safe for you to go alone into the native part of the city in your accustomed dress and as a mock Japanese you might expect some trouble." "But I thought they were always so gentle and polite here that I would be quite safe." "There are circumstances when it doesn't do to trust too much to theories," Mrs. Lang replied. "Miss Corner would like very much to hear the children sing," said Miss Gresham, Jack's first acquaintance. Mrs. Lang turned to the little group and said something, then she started a song. Jack listened attentively and with perfect gravity, but the children, whose voices were so sweet in speech, sang execrably, with very little idea of tune, and so raucously as to make one wonder how they could do it. "Nan would curl up and die if she were to hear them," she said to herself. The children then went through several exercises for her benefit and at last subsided in order with solemn set little faces. "I thought them so expressionless and unresponsive when I first came," said Miss Gresham as she conducted Jack to another room, "but you have no idea how receptive they are and how attentive. We are doing good work here and I wish you would bring all your party to see us and some of the other classes which are more advanced." Jack promised and was told the name of the street, and how to reach Miss Gresham herself and then she took her leave with a feeling of thankfulness that she had been so lucky as to come across one of her own people. "It was truly a missionary act," she said with a smile as she bade Mrs. Lang good-bye. "I begin to realize what a debt of gratitude I owe you." "It was only what the veriest stranger might do in any place," protested Miss Gresham, though Jack felt it was more. "I might have been any kind of a horrid person," she said, "and you were just as nice to me as could be." "My dear," said Miss Gresham, "I knew as soon as I looked at you that you were not a horrid person." "With all this powder and rouge on my face?" "_I_ could see under that," responded Miss Gresham with a smile. Miss Gresham insisted upon going all the way to the hotel with her in a _jinrikisha_ which carried them swiftly through the streets to the place in no time. "I wish you would come in and see them all," urged Jack. "Not to-day; perhaps another time, but you will be sure to come to see us." Jack was earnest in her promise to do this and went on feeling rather shamefaced. It had been easy to slip out but the coming back was quite a different matter. She could not but be observed, she reflected, and it might not be as pleasant for her to be pointed out as the flyaway girl who masqueraded as a Japanese. She hesitated so long on the steps that Miss Gresham came back to her. "What is the matter?" she asked. "I wish you would go in with me," she begged. "I am afraid the servants will discover me, or, if they don't, that they won't let me go up without questions. If you were to ask for Mrs. Corner, I could go along with you and no one need notice particularly." "I understand," responded Miss Gresham, "and of course I will go." So the matter of entrance was effected without undue remark. If any one observed the tall Japanese girl, she passed by so quickly that it gave but a momentary interest, and so was forgotten. The adventure was frowned at of course, but in the presence of Miss Gresham and in the interest her account of the mission aroused, Jack was allowed to escape with less of a scolding than she really deserved. It was her first serious scrape since she had arrived in Japan, and perhaps that was one reason why it was treated with some degree of mildness. "Jack was bound to do something," said Nan, "and we are lucky to have her do nothing more serious. I am sure she won't venture forth again in such a get-up." And it is safe to say that Jack did not. [Illustration: CHAPTER XVI A PROSPECTIVE SERVANT] CHAPTER XVI A PROSPECTIVE SERVANT Although Jack's escapade was the talk of the hour, the excitement it brought died away in a day or two, while Jean's experiences continued to be discussed for a longer time. Every now and then would crop up something funny or, at least, interesting, which she had to tell about. "I found out why the people here make such a noise in that piggy way when they eat," she told her family. "It is to show appreciation of your food. It is particularly desirable to do it when you are dining out, the more succulent the sound the more polite." "Oh, Jean," protested Mary Lee. "It is a fact, really it is. Ko-yeda told me and I noticed it myself." "Let's all do that way the next time we go over to Jo's," proposed Jack. "She won't know what to make of it, but after a while we will tell her it is a custom we learned in Japan." The girls laughed and agreed to try it. "Poor old Jo," said Jean. "She is out of it this time. I really miss her once in a while. She has always been around when we were having our good times." "Don't you believe but that she would a thousand times rather be where she is." Nan spoke with conviction. "I wonder if I shall feel like that ever," said Jack thoughtfully. "I can't imagine myself so devoted to a husband as Jo is to Dr. Paul." "I wouldn't trust you," returned Jean. "You will quite as likely outdo her in your abject devotion." "I hope I shall at least not be abject," retorted Jack stiffly. "That is one thing I shall not care to learn from the Japanese." "Is Mrs. Sannomiya abject?" inquired Eleanor. "Well, she is a little bit, but I have seen American women with big bullies of husbands quite as much so," Jean replied. "Not that Mr. Sannomiya is a bully, far from it, but I suppose it is the Japanese woman's prerogative to be humble as it is the man's to be lordly. The girls are all trained from the beginning to be meek and gentle, to exercise self-control under all circumstances, to smile and be agreeable no matter how mad they feel inside." "Humph!" ejaculated Jack. "I'd like to see me." "You would have to if you were a Japanese," insisted Jean. "I think we will leave Jack here for a year in a Japanese household," remarked Mary Lee. Jack made a face at her. "I'd run away," she said. "Where?" said Mary Lee teasingly. "Oh, I would throw myself upon the mercies of the American legation and get the chief to let me marry one of his nice attachés," returned Jack. Mary Lee did not pursue the subject, but turned to Jean to ask, "Does Ko-yeda do anything about the house?" "Oh, yes, though there isn't so very much to do; not near so much as in our homes. She always serves tea when there is extra company, and when her father has a particular guest she waits on them, not because there are no servants nor because they don't know how, but because it is considered the thing to serve the two, or three, or whatever number of men with their meal separately, and it is more hospitable and courteous to have it served by one of the ladies of the family." "That is something the way they do in provincial districts at home," remarked Nan. "What do the maids do?" inquired Mary Lee. "Oh, they roll up the beds and store them away for the day in the closets, take down the mosquito nets, sweep and dust the rooms, wash the porches, and the dishes, maybe. The market people come with baskets to the door sometimes. Ko-yeda or her mother or grandmother used to go to the go-down and select what was to be the decoration for the day and one of them spent a long time arranging the flower vases. Then there always seemed to be some kimonos or something to be ripped up or dyed, for they use them over and over while there is anything left of them, and whenever they are washed they must be taken apart." "Again like the primitive methods of our grandmothers and our thrifty New England women," said Nan. "Just what class do the Sannomiyas belong to?" asked Mary Lee. "I think that they must have been in the _daimio_ class," Jean told her, "for they showed me some wonderful embroidered robes that had been in the family for years. I asked Ko-yeda why she didn't wear them, and she said that there was no class distinction nowadays, that the castles were done away with, for Japan is quite democratic." "What has that to do with the robes?" asked Jack. "The handsome embroidered robes were worn only by nobility," Jean told her. "The _daimios_ were proud as Lucifer and their establishments in their castles must have been very much like those we read of in old feudal times. I believe there are still very exclusive households who keep up many of the old traditions." "And the _samurai_ class?" interrogated Nan. "They were the military who had their special lords, and served them and the Shogun to the death. They were what we might call retainers, and they were the class between the upper nobility and the common people." "And what were the _ronin_? Don't you know we are always hearing that tale of the 'Forty-seven Ronin'?" "They were the masterless _samurai_, who wandered about, owing no special allegiance to any master." "Oh, I see. This is all very interesting," declared Nan. "You certainly have learned something from your stay with the Sannomiyas, Jean. Tell us some more. What about the classes below the _samurai_, the common people, 'po' white trash' as it were?" "So far as I could learn, the peasant class are called either _eta_ or _heimin_, though it seems to me that the _eta_ is lower than the _heimin_, for they are the ones who are considered very unclean, as they slaughter animals, tan skins, and are sometimes beggars." "But tanners are quite respectable persons at home," put in Jack. "They are not so here, for the having something to do with dead animals puts them quite without the pale. The _samurai_ would be disgraced if he married into an _eta_ family and would be considered an _eta_ himself, although they maintain that there is no such thing as any difference in class nowadays. Mr. Sannomiya told me, through Ko-yeda as an interpreter, that the _samurai_ despised trade and all that. The merchant class is considered, or used to be so, below the farmers; in fact they were not up to the mechanics, and were very low down in the social scale. That partly explains why there is so much talk of the dishonesty of tradespeople in Japan; it is the lower class who carry on the shops and all that, or so it was. The _samurai_ try to keep to the professions and such employments, for it was formerly thought very low down indeed to barter in any way. All this is passing away, Mr. Sannomiya says, and many of the _samurai_ are going into mercantile life, adopting Western standards and trying to establish a reputation for honest dealing which the merchant class have not always had." "Did you make any dreadful mistakes?" inquired Jack. "No, I don't think so. I wasn't quite as bad as the lady who wanted onions for dinner and told the cook to serve up a Shinto priest. The two words are almost the same, only one has a very different meaning from the other. The worst thing I did was to sit in front of the tokonoma when I went in. It was like planting yourself at the right hand of your host without being asked." "How did you find out it was not the thing to do?" asked Mary Lee. "I begged Ko-yeda to tell me if I had made any mistake. She was overcome with confusion at the idea of saying anything to the discredit of a guest, but I just insisted and she told me that." "It was like Nan's taking her seat on the sofa in Germany," remarked Jack. "Just about the same thing," Jean answered. "I imagine that American free and easy manners often shock the Japanese. Ko-yeda says that when she first came to Rayner Hall she was overwhelmed by the rudeness of American girls, and I can well believe it when you consider her point of view. I think you can set it down as a safe rule that it is well to apologize to a Japanese for anything and everything, that is, if you are using their language." "Dear me," Jack sighed, "I suppose I have said dreadful things when I have tried to speak the language." "I haven't a doubt of it," Jean was ready to agree. "When you are speaking of doing anything yourself you must say 'I humbly do thus and so,' but when you speak of another's doing the same thing you must say they do it honorably. If you give a present it is poor and insignificant, but if you accept the same thing it at once becomes magnificent." "Well, I don't see how a foreigner ever learns," said Jack. "I shall never become a missionary or a teacher or anything that leads me to study the language." "They insisted upon my entering the bath first," Jean went on, "and I soon saw that it would be very much out of place if I didn't. It may be the family all used the same water; I didn't inquire; I only know that it is the custom, the servants coming last, and they all do it in the frankest way. At the Sannomiyas' they were quite as particular as we would be, but I know it is not always so. The Sannomiyas are becoming quite Americanized. I am sure Ko-yeda has been teaching them our manners and morals. She thinks she may become a teacher; it was with that idea they sent her to us to be educated, but I have a notion that she will marry, though she said she meant to keep on with her studies here." "Don't you wish she would have a wedding while we are here so we could see how it is done?" said Jack. "I don't imagine it would be very different from our own ceremony," Jean rejoined, "for you know they are a Christian family, and her father says she shall marry none but a Christian. He is devoted to her and thinks we treat our women so well that she must have the same consideration." "I am glad he thinks that," said Jack heartily. This ended the conversation for the moment, for Nan, who had been looking up the attractions, announced that they must certainly see Lake Biwa. "It is the largest," she said, looking up from her guide-book, "and must be very beautiful." "I heard some interesting things of Fuji," said Jean. "A beautiful goddess is supposed to make her home there. She has such a pretty name, 'The Princess who makes the Trees to Blossom.' I think a great many people think that the mythological stories are wicked because they are those of a false religion, but I really don't think that they ought to be frowned upon any more than those of the Greek heroes." "I suppose," said Nan reflectively, "that the reason some persons condemn them is because the temples and the old rites are still present, while the Greek ones are a thing of the past." "Well, they certainly can't hurt us," declared Jack, "and I want to hear them all." "If you were to do that you would spend most of your time listening, for their name is legion," Jean told her. "I think they are perfectly fascinating, and so are the rites, and many things the people still do. I don't see why we shouldn't study all these things as curiosities, not as a religion." The rest quite agreed with her and as Nan began to hurry them off, they went to get ready for their trip to Lake Biwa. This, however, was interrupted in a manner entirely unlooked for. It was decided to take _jinrikishas_, as the country through which they would go was exceedingly lovely and they could enjoy the journey quite as much as the final view of the great lake. Past palaces and temples, long rows of gray-roofed houses, gay shops, parks and gardens they were carried to where the high hills arose above them on each side. In this warm weather and beyond the limits of the big city, little naked babies, and larger children scarcely clad, rolled about in play in the village streets through which they went. Jack and Nan were in the first _jinrikisha_, behind them came Jean and Miss Helen, while Mary Lee and Eleanor occupied the third. Mrs. Corner had decided to stay at home being rather afraid of the heat. Generally when the runners gave their call of "Hi! Hi!" the little ones scattered but there was one little youngster who, if hearing, did not heed and was bowled over completely, directly in the path of the runners. These stopped short nearly upsetting Jack and Nan who looked out to see what was the matter. "What in the world are they jabbering about?" asked Jack looking out. "We seem to have stirred up the community, for, see, the people are coming running." "We'd better get out," decided Nan, "and see what is wrong." They suited the action to the word and presently found themselves on the edge of a group where there was much talk and gesticulating going on. The two tall girls could easily see over the heads of the nearest bystanders and discovered that the centre of interest was a small chubby little lad whose plump brown body bore evidences of having been hurt in some way, for blood was streaming from his head and he was quite limp and helpless. A woman was kneeling on the ground holding him while the coolie who had been the unfortunate cause of the accident was squatting near looking most unhappy. "Oh, dear," cried Jack, "the poor little tot is hurt." She pushed through the crowd and reached the child. "What is the matter?" she asked the runner who knew a few words of English. But his vocabulary was not equal to the occasion and Jack could learn but little. However she made out that the child was hurt, and when the man took him in his arms to carry him to the nearest little cottage, she followed with the rest. By this time the occupants of the other _jinrikishas_ had alighted and, as one of their runners knew more English than the rest, they were able to get at facts. The little boy had been knocked down, had hit his head against a stone, was slightly stunned but was recovering. "Where are his parents?" Jack inquired. "He have none, honorable lady," replied the man addressed, who was the runner speaking English. "Poor little rabbit!" exclaimed Jack compassionately. She stooped to pick up the little fellow and to set him on her knee where he sat looking at her unblinkingly with his queer little slits of eyes. Whether it was surprise or fear which made him so still she could not tell. She smiled down at him, but not a quiver passed over the little face. Jack took a coin from her purse and put it in his chubby fingers but he only looked at it gravely and made no response. "He is like a graven image," remarked Jean who stood by. "Did you ever know such immovable gravity?" Presently Mary Lee who wore some flowers in her belt drew them forth and held them out to the little fellow, and then he smiled. Jack gave him an ecstatic hug. "Isn't he the cunningest ever?" she cried. "I wish we could take him home. I would so love to have him." "Oh, Jack, what an idea!" exclaimed Jean. "What in the world would you do with him?" "I'd train him to be a cracker-jack of a servant and when I am married, I would take him into the house and he could live with me always." "I never heard such nonsense," returned Jean. "I think he is all right. We must go on or we will never get to the lake." Jack was very unwilling to give up her little brown boy, but knew that she could not keep the entire party there any longer, so after seeking out his proper guardian, who proved to be an aunt by marriage, they gave her some money and went on their way. But all the beauties of the lake and the mountains were of small interest compared to the little naked child they had tumbled over on their way. Jack talked of little else. She had a baby bee in her bonnet as Nan expressed it and it was like her to become completely possessed with the idea of taking him home, once she had decided that she wanted to. "I am going to talk to mother about it," she declared, "and I am going to hunt up Miss Gresham and get her to come out here again with me to talk to the aunt. No doubt they would be only too glad to get rid of him, for you see they are such a poor looking set of people. We upset him and we ought to do something for him. Besides," she added after using all other arguments, "we could do some missionary work and make a Christian of him, so I am sure it would be worth while." She was so in earnest that Nan did not laugh, but it was a habit of Jack's to make her duty wait upon her desires, and Nan knew that the missionary spirit was aroused for the occasion. However, in some way or other Jack did get around her mother to a degree sufficient for her to give consent to a second visit to the village in Miss Gresham's company. Whether Jack had pictured the child's condition as so pitiful as to arouse her mother's commiseration or just how she had managed no one could exactly tell, but sufficient to say that Jack and Miss Gresham did go a day or two after and to the dismay of every one came back with the little lad, whose brown nakedness was covered by clothes fitted to his estate. These Jack had bought, with Miss Gresham's help, and the two had very much enjoyed their mission. Miss Gresham had a way with children and, knowing Japanese fairly well, could manage the conversation without difficulty. She found that the child had no special claim upon any one. Both his parents were dead. His mother's sister had taken him but she, too, had died and those who now cared for him were no blood relation, but were too charitable to turn him away. "Miss Gresham says she can keep him at the school as well as not," Jack informed her mother eagerly, "so we need not be bothered with him while we are traveling, and when we are ready to go she can find a way to send or bring him to Nagasaki when we sail for home." "You seem to have bewitched Miss Gresham completely," said Mrs. Corner. "She is the nicest kind of missionary lady," returned Jack heartily. "She is so different from my idea of such. Her brother is a medical missionary, and she has been out here ten years. She has been home but once in all that time. She has told me the most interesting things about her work. I shall always be interested in missions after this; I used rather to think them a bore, but after seeing the work in her school, and hearing what has been accomplished by the medical missionaries, I have changed my mind." The small boy continued to remain under Miss Gresham's care, and was the loadstone which drew all the girls to the mission school more frequently than any one of them could have prophesied. Little Toku was quite placid during this change, the only objection he made being to clothes, which, in the state of the weather, seemed perfectly reasonable to every one. He was serene, well cared for and happy. "At all events," Jack said to Miss Gresham, "if I can't take him home with me I shall see to it that he is provided for. Nan says she will help me, and I know you will see to it that he is brought up properly." "I will certainly do that," Miss Gresham promised. "He is a dear, bright little fellow, and the girls all make a great fuss over him. He is the youngest in the school, you see." "I hope to persuade mother to let us have him," Jack went on, "but if I can't I shall feel a stronger interest in Japan than ever." And so the small Toku remained at the school while the Corners went on with their sightseeing. [Illustration: CHAPTER XVII IN A TYPHOON] CHAPTER XVII IN A TYPHOON "Time is growing short," said Jack one morning in August, "and we have not seen the Inland Sea nor Kobe nor have we climbed Fuji." "There is a Japanese proverb which says that there are two kinds of fools," remarked Nan; "one has never climbed Fujisan and the other has climbed it twice." "Set me down for the first kind," said Jean, "for I don't intend to do any such fool trick as to climb a mountain nearly thirteen thousand feet high." "If we are going to do a lot of other things, I don't see how any of us are to undertake that stunt," said Eleanor. "I vote we pick out the things we cannot reasonably pass over and then take the leavings as we can." "Good girl," cried Jack. "That is the ticket. Tell us, Nan, oh, honorable lady of the guide-book, what is it up to us to see?" Nan spread out her map, propped her two elbows on the table before her and began making investigations while the others chattered away about Fuji, Lake Biwa and other things that had lately interested them. "I wish I could remember all the stories about Fuji," said Jean looking at her neat note-book. "I know that Biwa is called the Lake of the Lute on account of its shape. There is a legend that tells of its having been formed by the sun-goddess at the time of a great earthquake. The rice-fields of the poor people were all destroyed but in their stead was seen this lake full of fish." "It was at the same time that Fujisan was formed," Mary Lee went on with the tale. "It has so many pretty poetical names; one is the Mountain of the White Lotus, because it rises, all snowy white, from out the stagnant fields at its base." "And Japan is called the 'Islands of the Dragon-Fly,'" put in Eleanor; "I wonder why." "There is a story of that, too," said Jean. "I have it somewhere in my note-book. It was when the god Izanami shook from his spear bits of sand and mud that stayed among the reeds of a watery place and became dry land. It was in the form of a dragon-fly that the dry part spread out and so the god called it the Land of the Dragon-Fly." "Fuji is called the Holy White Mountain, too," put in Jack. Here Nan looked up. "I think I have puzzled it out," she announced; "we can go from here to Osake, and then to Kobe. We must see Miyajima and Sakusa; they are so interesting. There is a great _tori-i_ at Miyajima which is fine. They say the beauty of the Inland Sea is beyond anything, so we can stop along its shores and get to Nagasaki in time to sail when we have planned to." "What is at Susaki, or whatever the name is?" inquired Eleanor. "It is Sakusa, and it is not very far from Matsue; we ought to go to Matsue, for it is a very old and very interesting city. We could go to Kitzuki from there. Let me see how it would work out." She turned again to her map. "From here to Kobe and then to Matsue. I think we could manage it, but there would be some cross-country going. It would make a tremendously interesting trip. I will see what Aunt Helen says. For my own part I should like the cross-country trip, but perhaps mother wouldn't." "She might take an easier route and one of us could stay with her," suggested Mary Lee. "I would be perfectly willing to," spoke up Jean, who loved her ease and was not so keen for variety as to sacrifice comfort to it. "I don't care a rap about those old stuffy places. Just because they are old doesn't recommend them to me. I would really rather stay in a pleasant bright city and go about in a 'riky when I want to see anything." "Very well, that lets us out," remarked Jack. "I am in for anything, Nan, the wilder and queerer, the better." "So am I," responded Eleanor. "Me, too," put in Mary Lee. "Then if Aunt Helen will go, we shall be all right," rejoined Nan closing her book with satisfaction. As a result of all this, Kyoto was left behind and the party turned toward the south. At Kobe they left Jean and her mother while the rest went on to the marvelous temples at Nara, then back to pick up Mrs. Corner and Jean and to travel on along the shores of the beautiful Inland Sea to arrive at last at the sacred island of Miyajima, where a wonderful _tori-i_ rising out of the water appeared mysterious and strangely picturesque under a sunset sky. A little further on, they left Jean and her mother, the others taking the trip across country to the ancient city of Matsue. "Well, it was something of a jaunt, but I don't believe we shall regret it," said Nan looking from her window upon a fair lake and a range of mountain peaks which made a background for the queer old town. "I am crazy for a short turn about the place, a view of Daisen, which they say is much like Fuji." "You certainly are enterprising, Nan," said her aunt. "Aren't you tired?" "A little, but not so much but I can walk more. The city looks quite flat, Aunt Helen, but the hills beyond are beautiful. It was a feudal stronghold until quite modern times and it must still show remnants of its use-to-be-ness. There are three special quarters, the shopkeeping part, the temple and the residence section. There is a great castle, too, about which there are the grimmest kinds of legends. There are ever and ever so many temples. I wonder if we shall have time to see them all." "Not if we do all the other things your energetic mind has planned." Miss Helen was quite right, for a fierce typhoon came sweeping up the land that very night, and before it every one trembled and thanked heaven to be under shelter. The day had been so depressingly hot as to be most uncomfortable in the lowlands. By evening all were gasping for breath and then came a queer sensation as if one were unsteadily trying to keep his balance. The girls arose from their beds, groped their way to one another and sat huddled together in Miss Helen's room to which they went with one consent. "Do you suppose it is an earthquake?" queried Eleanor shakily. "I shouldn't be at all surprised," returned Miss Helen. "There!" As she exclaimed, the whole house seemed to rock from side to side, then came a sweep and rush of rain, a perfect deluge, which threatened to engulf everybody and everything in its furious attack. There had been much running back and forth before the storm broke. The wooden shutters were secured, the doors bolted. There were weird sounds outside, gusts that went shrieking up the hills, thunderous sounds of lashing waves and roaring streams, heard once in a while between the dashing rain which never ceased. At intervals was felt the alarming tremor which made the girls all huddle closer together with white faces and nervous clutchings of one another's hands. "There is one thing," whispered Nan trying to be encouraging, "if we go we shall all go together." "But I wish mother and Jean were here," said Jack chokingly. Mary Lee gave a convulsive sob, and Eleanor broke down completely. "I wish I had never come," she wailed. "I wish I had stayed home with my mother, and I wish Neal were here. Oh, dear, why did I come to this dreadful place?" "My dear children," spoke Miss Helen from her bed, "don't get hysterical. I imagine the worst is over. Do try to calm yourselves. No doubt they have had storms like this before and the house has stood, as you see. It sounds dreadful, but I do not believe we shall have a truly upheaving earthquake. Some slight unsettling always accompanies a typhoon, I have been told." "Do you think this is a typhoon?" asked Eleanor trying to stop her tears. "I imagine so; it seems very like the descriptions of such storms as I have read about." "I verily do believe it is not quite so furious," remarked Nan. "But we can't be sure." Eleanor was still apprehensive. "I could never go to bed this night." "Nor I," came from one and another. They all sat in silence till Jack spoke. "I wonder if poor little Toku is all right. I expect he is scared to death," she said mournfully. Eleanor giggled hysterically. "I don't believe he knows anything about it. He is probably sleeping the sleep of the innocent," she said. Somehow Jack's remark relieved the tension, and, as it was evident that the gale was less violent, they all began to be more cheerful though there was no sleep for any of them that night. At last only the lashing waves and the rush of water along the streets remained of the noises of earth and sky, and by daylight the girls crept back to their beds to sleep uneasily till it was time to get up. The typhoon had left its mark behind in the overthrow of trees and the snapping of wires, the tearing down of signs and the wrenching off of roofs. Later on came accounts of damage in the hills, of the washing away of bridges and the complete demolition of paths. "So we shall have to give up Kitzuki altogether," Nan announced after an interview with the proprietor of the hotel. "It would not be safe, they say. But it is not so very far to Sakusa, and if we wait long enough we may be able to get there, though we shall have to walk even then." "You don't catch this child walking." Jack spoke with decision. "Well, we don't want to go to-day anyhow," Nan answered, "and as it is pretty bad everywhere after the storm we'd better just hold our horses till we can decide what is best. There are enough excursions to satisfy us, probably, though I am awfully disappointed not to go to Kitzuki." "What is its particular vanity?" inquired Eleanor. "It is first of all a very holy place, according to Japanese creeds, then it is a very fashionable seaside resort." "The latter appeals to me more strongly than the former," Eleanor declared, "but I can resign myself to leaving it out of our itinerary if there are any dangers. What is this Sakusa that you are so keen about?" Nan hesitated before she answered. "There are some interesting ceremonies take place there, and there is a temple." "A temple!" said Eleanor scornfully. "I have seen temples till I am worn out with them. What are the ceremonies?" "I know," spoke up Jack as Nan again hesitated. "I have been reading up. Sakusa is the place where lovers make a pilgrimage and tie wishes on the trees. The wishes are supposed to come true and there are queer charms sold there and all sorts of funny doings." "Oh!" Eleanor gave Nan a swift look, which Nan, seeing, resented. "Oh, I am not so very anxious about it," she said nonchalantly, "though I think those odd customs are always interesting to see. If you all don't care about going or if there is anywhere else you prefer, why just let us leave it out." "I am crazy to go," said Eleanor. "I suppose we can join any band of pilgrims that we see going up and down the breadth of the land. They really have a pretty good time of it, I fancy. The old folks particularly. I haven't a doubt but some of those old ladies get no other outing; you always see them moseying along as cheerful as the next, although they may have walked far and have not had much to sustain them on the way. You get up the excursion, Nan, and we will be your happy band of pilgrims." "I'm going out to see what it looks like after the storm," announced Jack. "Come along, any one who wants to go." Mary Lee and Eleanor decided to accept this invitation and Nan was left to her guide-books. "You'd better join us," were their parting words. "Tell me where you are going and perhaps I will come and hunt you up," returned Nan. "We shall go to the great bridge," Jack told her. "It is always interesting there." So they passed out and it was a couple of hours before they returned. In the meantime Nan had occupied herself in various ways, but had found no time to go to the bridge to meet the others. They came in hilarious from their walk. "Why didn't you come, Nan?" asked Eleanor. "We waited for you ever so long. Neal wanted to come back for you but Jack said he might miss you, as you would probably be on your way." "Neal!" Nan looked up startled. Then she recovered herself. "Oh, your brother," she said with too great a show of indifference. "What is he doing here?" "He came to see if we were all alive after the typhoon. The papers reported a great deal of damage in this part of the country and so he rushed over to see whether we were sound in life and limb." "And where is he now?" inquired Miss Helen, to Nan's relief asking the question she would have put but for a self-consciousness she could not overcome. "Oh, he has gone off with Jack. She is showing him the town, but we were tired and wouldn't go." Gone off with Jack, very willingly of course, thought Nan. He was so little eager to see her that he had not even returned for a moment's greeting. She wondered how many letters Jack had received from him during this interval, and again she began to build up the altar of sacrifice upon which she would lay her heart. "Was it worth while going out to see the havoc?" she asked. "Oh, I don't know. Yes, it was rather interesting to see what was going on down by the wharves. We saw a good many funny things." "Suppose we go, Aunt Helen," proposed Nan suddenly. "We have been cooped up all morning and I have been reading about a little temple of Jizo which they say is worth while. These others don't care about temples, so we won't insist upon their going. What do you say?" Miss Helen agreed to the proposition and they began to make ready. "Aren't you going to stay for lunch?" queried Mary Lee. "No, we will get something at a tea-house on the way," replied Nan, and was off without further remark. As Nan disappeared from view, Eleanor turned to Mary Lee. "Well," she exclaimed, "what do you make out of that?" Mary Lee shook her head. "It is beyond me. I really thought she cared, but it looks as if she didn't. I wonder if, after all, she likes Rob Powell. There may have been a misunderstanding or a quarrel or something like that." "Maybe, but I'll stake my best hat that she is in love with some one, and I really did hope it was Neal. Do you suppose by any accident that she has gone off in this way because she is jealous of Jack, is miffed because Neal didn't come back with us?" "She would have some reason to, it seems to me." "It seems so to me, too. You don't suppose Jack has been putting notions in Neal's head, do you?" "What kind of notions?" "Oh, making him think Nan has a single steady at home or something of that kind." "I am sure Jack wouldn't do it with any malicious intent, but she may have done it inadvertently. You see we are rather in the dark ourselves and cannot swear to anything. Nan is expansive enough about some things, but she is the most elusive person when it comes to an affair of the heart. I have been puzzled a score of times myself about her. She gets very high-flown romantic ideas about sacrifice and all that kind of thing, and if she took it into her head that Jack must be interested in Neal she would go the whole length. I know she did have some such fancy a while ago, but I said enough to disabuse her mind of it, I thought." "Well, I must talk to Neal," decided Eleanor. "What will you tell him?" "Goodness knows. What can I tell him? That Jack is fond of Carter and that Nan is not pledged to any one?" Mary Lee shook her head doubtfully. "What we do must be done quickly," declared Eleanor. "Once you are all out of this country, good-bye to Neal's chances." "How long is he going to be here?" "Don't know. I haven't had a chance to ask him. He can often stay till he is recalled, but no one knows the hour or minute that may be. This much is certain; he was certainly more interested in Nan than I have ever known him to be in any one. He didn't say so in so many words, but he said enough to make me sure of it, and I am convinced that he wouldn't have been so eager for opportunities of getting her off to herself if he hadn't been pretty far gone." "Then why under the sun did he march off with Jack to-day without a word with Nan?" "That is where you have me, my child. There is something queer and we have to find out. Suppose you tackle Jack and I will get at Neal. Between us we may be able to find out the truth." Mary Lee agreed to this, but her opportunity did not come that day nor the next. Nan and Mr. Harding met with a polite greeting, much less effusive than that which had passed between the young man and Jack on his arrival. But for the furtive glances which he gave Nan, when he thought no one was looking, Eleanor and Mary Lee would have been convinced of his absolute indifference. Nan, herself, did not once look his way unless compelled to. "There is this about it," confessed Eleanor, when the two conspirators got together. "They are entirely too deadly indifferent for it to be altogether natural. It is my opinion they have quarreled. Have you noticed how Neal watches Nan when he thinks no one is looking?" "And how she never looks at him at all?" returned Mary Lee. "I have not seen them exchange a dozen remarks since your brother came, and Nan has scarcely mentioned him to me. When she has, it has been because I dragged his name into the conversation." "It is vastly more suspicious than if there were not this studied ignoring the one of the other." "Of course it is," agreed Mary Lee. "Poor old Neal; I hate to have him unhappy," said Eleanor. "Poor old Nan; I can't bear to have her unhappy." They both laughed. Then Mary Lee exclaimed, "I have just thought of something that makes me sure it is all on account of Jack and that Rob isn't in it at all." "Do tell me." "Nan asked me a while ago upon a certain occasion, don't ask me when it was, please, Nell, but she asked me then if I didn't think it was almost as hard to give up one whom you loved to another as to have him taken from you to another world. You know, Nell, I can't talk of such things very much, and this was a sacred hour, but I thought I would tell you." Eleanor put her arm around her friend. "It is dear of you to tell me. I understand, Mary Lee, and because it was a sacred hour you can be sure that Nan spoke from the very depths of her heart." "That is exactly it. It doesn't prove anything, but it meant more than I realized at the time, of that we can be sure. Yes, we must get some light on this subject and do it soon." Here Nan herself came into the room and the girls, in a very lively manner, tried to appear as if they had been talking over their days at college. [Illustration: CHAPTER XVIII JACK'S EYES ARE OPENED] CHAPTER XVIII JACK'S EYES ARE OPENED Mary Lee's opportunity came sooner than she expected and in a manner she had not looked for. Jack brought a pile of mail to her one morning and then went off to distribute other letters, but she had espied one letter whose contents she much desired to know, although she did not show the least curiosity at the moment. Later in the day she took pains to seek out Mary Lee at a moment when she knew she would be alone in her room. "Well," began Jack, "what did the mail bring you to-day?" "Oh, a lot of letters," returned Mary Lee. "One from Jo, and Cousin Mag's usual nice fat one, and one from Rita; she doesn't often write to me because Nan is generally the favored one." Jack waited, but Mary Lee did not mention the correspondent in whom she was specially interested. "Rita say anything of Rob Powell?" queried Jack to make conversation. "No, not to me; she may have mentioned him to Nan. I notice that Nan had a letter, too." "What do you think Mr. Harding asked me the other day?" said Jack suddenly. "He wanted to know if Nan were engaged." "What did you tell him?" Mary Lee asked quickly. "I told him I didn't know. I knew there was some one greatly interested in her and in whom we thought she was interested, but she had never told any of us that she was actually engaged." "Why did you tell him that?" "Oh, because I wanted to let him know that blessed old Nan could have attention even if she were getting on." "Oh, Jack, you ridiculous little goose; as if a girl only twenty-three could be said to be getting on. Nan is a mere child." "Oh, Mary Lee, she doesn't seem so to me." "She does to every one who has any sense. Just because she is the eldest you have fallen into the habit of thinking of her as an elderly person; the sooner you get out of it the better. Did Mr. Harding ask if you were engaged?" "No." "What would you have told him if he had asked?" "I would have hedged." Mary Lee determined to press the question home this time. "But aren't you?" she asked. "Has Cart been telling you anything?" queried Jack with a quick glance at the pile of letters on the table by her sister's side. "I know what his feelings are without his telling me. Is there something to tell, then?" she asked diplomatically. "Nothing for him to tell, nothing he has any right to. If he should tell, there would cease to be anything existing to tell." "What a very mystical remark. Japan has laid its spell upon you. If there were anything he should not tell it oughtn't to exist, of course. I can make that much out." "Oh, there is nothing so very dreadful about it, only----" Jack paused. "About what, Jack? You might tell your own sister." Jack shut her lips resolutely and shook her head. "Poor old Cart," said Mary Lee reaching for the letter which lay on top of the heap. "Why 'poor'?" jerked out Jack. "I've just had a letter from him." "It's more than I have had, then," returned Jack. "I imagine he believes you don't care for one. When did you write to him last, Jack?" Jack answered reluctantly. "Not since we left San Francisco to come here." "Why, Jack Corner, I think that is cruelty to animals. Why haven't you written?" Mary Lee spoke indignantly. "Oh, just because." "That's no reason. Have you quarreled with Carter?" "Not exactly. He is so tiresome about some things." "What special thing?" "Oh, just a soft, silly thing." "Well, I think you ought to write. He is mightily discouraged. He is ill and wretched, poor boy." Jack leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the letter which Mary Lee did not offer her. "It isn't--it isn't--his old trouble, is it?" she questioned, a note of anxiety in her voice. "No, I don't think so, but he seems tired and heart-sick, somehow as if the world were all awry. I never had such a doleful letter from him, and Nan's is about like it. It isn't Carter's way at all to be bitter and talk of giving up and going to the uttermost parts of the earth." "Very likely he doesn't mean it," said Jack regaining her hard manner. "We might think so if Mrs. Roberts hadn't written to Aunt Helen that Carter was looking wretchedly and that he had overworked and they were urging him to go abroad, and to spend next winter in Egypt." Jack made no reply but left the room and a moment later was at her Aunt Helen's door. "May I see Mrs. Roberts' letter, Aunt Helen?" she asked. "Mary Lee said you had heard from her." "Why, yes," was the answer, "you can see it, of course." Jack took the missive which her aunt hunted up and went over to the window, keeping her back turned. She stood some time pretending to be still reading when she had really come to the end of the last page, but the truth was, her eyes were full of tears. She did not see a body of gallant troops go marching bravely by, nor did she notice a band of pilgrims carrying staves, girt about the loins, and wearing great straw hats. She presently wiped one eye in a manner as if a mote were in it, then after a while she furtively did the same to the other, and when she considered that all undue moisture must be removed, she handed back the letter saying cheerfully, "She writes quite a newsy letter, doesn't she? Too bad Cart isn't feeling up to the mark." She made a few more light remarks and then went back to Mary Lee. "Do you mind my seeing Cart's letter?" she asked meekly. "Certainly you can see it," Mary Lee responded. "I would have offered it to you before but I didn't gather from your manner that it would interest you." Spunky Jack made no reply to this, but took the letter and sat down. Once or twice Mary Lee glanced at her, and noticed that by degrees Jack had swung her chair around so that her face was almost hidden. "She cares a lot more than she pretends," Mary Lee commented inwardly. After a while Jack returned the letter with a backward movement of her arm, her face being more turned away. Mary Lee got up to take it but did not stop there. She came around to face her younger sister, whose eyes were wet and whose lips were trembling. "Jack," said she, "suppose you should never see Carter again." Jack started up with a cry and pushed her sister from her. "Don't, don't," she said fiercely. "How can you say such cruel things?" "But if you don't care, Jack, and if you make Carter think you do not, it is you who are cruel." Then her voice became very gentle and sad as she went on. "Jack, you poor little child, you don't know what it means to lose one you love very dearly. I do know, and so I can tell you this that it is my greatest comfort to remember all the loving things that were said to me, and to feel that Phil knew that I loved him as dearly as he loved me. If he had died without knowing, I couldn't have stood it. We were separated all those last months but his letters to me are my life now and I know mine were the greatest joy to him. I was no older than you when he told me what I was to him. We kept it a secret because we were so young, but, oh, Jack, think what I should have lost if I hadn't my memories." By this time Jack was crying softly, but with no effort at concealment, her head buried in her sister's lap as she sat on the floor. "I am all you say, a wicked, cruel girl," she sobbed. "I do love him, and I told him I would marry him when I was through college, but I wouldn't let him mention it again because he wanted to kiss me. That was what made me mad, and this last time he wanted to kiss me good-bye and I didn't write just to punish him for it. The first time it was because I thought he took too much for granted, and the last time it was because I wanted to show him he couldn't break the compact." "What was the compact?" "He was not to say a word of love to me or mention that I had made him any promise. If he did, I said I wouldn't marry him." "And has he?" "No, but he did ask me to kiss him good-bye." "I think it has been pretty hard on him, for it gave you a chance to do as you please and yet it bound him." "I know, and I was very selfish, but I didn't want it known, Mary Lee." "No, of course not, and it needn't be known now, although I wish you would tell Nan." "Why?" "Because she thinks you like Mr. Harding, and I am pretty sure if it were not that she believes she must not stand in your way, she would like him mightily herself." Jack lifted her tear-stained face. "Oh, Mary Lee, have I been twice a selfish pig? Poor, dear old Nan. I never once thought of her in the matter. I was mad because Carter didn't write and I told myself I would have a good time and I would go back and tell him about it. I never thought of hurting Nan. Of course I will tell her, and what is more I will tell him, if you say I ought." "I don't think you need do that, but I do think you ought to show the same grace Nan has shown you whenever you walked off with Mr. Harding." "You don't think then that it is Rob Powell whom Nan likes?" "No, I am pretty sure she doesn't care a rap for him except as a friend." "What a blundering idiot I have been, to be sure. Well, I will make up for it to Carter, and to Nan, too, if I can. Thank you, Mary Lee, for bringing me to my senses. You don't really think I shall never see Cart again, do you?" "I hope you will, and I think the very best way to cure him will be for you to write him a letter such as you know he is longing for." "I will, I really will, and what is more I will do it this minute." Jack never did anything by halves, though it must be confessed that she made it an excuse to write that she wanted to interest Carter and the Robertses in Toku. She wanted him trained as a good servant so that when she had her own home he could live with her. What did Carter think of that? Wasn't she far-seeing? They had been telling her that he was not well. He must hurry and chirk up for her sake. She was looking forward to seeing him on her return and then----The rest was left to the imagination, but at the end of the letter there was a funny little scalloped character which was not explained at all, and away down in one corner of the page was written in very fine letters, almost microscopic, "If you love me you may tell me so once when you next write." Altogether it was a very Jack-like document, yet never before had Carter received one which gave him such assurance of Jack's real feeling for him. Her letter finished, Jack proceeded to hunt up Nan whom she found quite alone in the garden. "I've just been writing to Carter," she announced cheerfully. "Why didn't you show me his letter, Nan?" "Because it was so dispirited and I didn't want to spoil your good times," returned Nan. "Poor old Cart," said Jack. "Do you think he is really ill, Nan?" "I think he is more heart-sick than body sick." "All because of wicked me, do you reckon? I am a beast, Nan. I am free to confess it, but I am not going to be so any more. When Carter and I are married, I am going to have Toku for our very best servant." "When Carter and you are married?" exclaimed Nan. "I thought that was all over and done with, Jack, that it was only a childish idea." "It isn't," returned Jack with decision. "I shall never marry any one but Carter, and he knows it, or he will know it by the time he has read my letter. I know I seem like a skittish, heartless creature, and I do like to jolly around with the boys, but Carter is my single steady and always will be. I wanted you to know, Nan, because I know Carter writes to you oftener than to any of the others, and I don't want you to tell him things that are simply figments of your brain, as I might give you reason to do sometimes if you didn't know the bona fide truth. You mustn't always trust appearances, you know. They are deceptive. Are you glad, Nan, you old dear?" She looked at her sister mischievously, so that Nan checked her impulse to hug her. "Of course I am glad," she returned. "You know that Cart is already just like a brother, and I have felt so awfully sorry for him of late that I could almost have cried. I did want you to be happy," she said wistfully, "even if Carter were sacrificed, but it seemed pretty hard on him." "You blessed old thing," cried Jack, herself giving the caress Nan had withheld. "You are about the most loyal and faithful darling out. I don't deserve such sisters." With this remark she walked off, leaving Nan uplifted and yet at the same time strangely apprehensive of facing her own future. She had driven Neal Harding from her by her coolness and indifference. Would he ever return? Had he not already learned to prefer Jack? She shook off these doubts at last and went back to the house with a determination not to interfere with fate again. In the meantime, Jack had continued on with her performance of duty. She had met Mr. Harding, and had asked if he didn't want to go with her to mail a very important letter. He acquiesced, of course, and on the way she let it be known that the letter was to an especial somebody who must have it by the very earliest outgoing mail, and then craftily she let him know that Nan was sending no such letters, and that she, Jack, had discovered that Nan's interest in a certain individual was purely a friendly one. Then with a virtuous feeling of having done all that could possibly be expected of her, Jack returned to the hotel not even hinting at such a proposition as extending the walk. "You won't say anything to Eleanor, will you?" said Jack to her sisters. "It is a family secret, remember. Of course I shall tell mother and Jean as soon as I see them. I suppose I ought to have told them before, for it isn't nice to have even one secret from your bestest mother and your own twin." "Yes, you must tell them," agreed her sisters, Mary Lee adding, "Mother was the only one I told when I had my secret, and she never so much as hinted it to any one." Jack sighed. "I think we'd better be getting back to those two pretty soon, and I don't care how soon we sail for the States." Her sisters understood that she could not reach California too soon, and that she would not mind in the least a little delay there before starting for her own home. "You'll not tell Eleanor," she repeated. "Oh, no," promised the others, "but we cannot help her forming her own conclusions." What these conclusions were, Mary Lee found out that very evening when Eleanor enticed her off into the garden. "I have tried to pump Neal," she said, "but he is mute as a clam, and I can get nothing from him but that he has no right to poach on another's preserves." "He knows there is no other and that there is a free way to the preserves," Mary Lee told her. "What do you mean?" cried Eleanor. "Jack has taken it upon her contrary little self to inform him that nobody has any claim on Nan." "What made her do it?" "Oh, she took the notion after my having impressed it upon her that Nan was not thinking about Rob. To give Jack credit she assumed that Nan was, and moreover," Mary Lee laughed, "she thought Nan quite too antique to form any new attachments." Eleanor laughed too. "The point of view of eighteen. Isn't it funny?" "I don't suppose she would have looked upon Nan as such a fossil if she were not the eldest of the Corners," Mary Lee went on, "but all her life Jack has been accustomed to look up to Nan and to have it dinged into her that she must regard her eldest sister as second only to her mother." "I see, and what do you suppose will happen now?" "Don't know. It is getting a trifle exciting, isn't it?" "I shall lose all my respect for Neal if he doesn't take advantage of his opportunities," Eleanor went on. "We must consent to that walk to Sakusa to-morrow if we fall by the way, for it will be such a great chance for confidences. I want to tell you something, Mary Lee. Mr. Montell is coming to-night." "He is? Aha, my young miss, so there will be chances for more than those other two." "Oh, I didn't mean that," said Eleanor in confusion. "Don't allow your unbridled fancies to roam too far afield." Mary Lee shook her head sagely. "I think my own thoughts," she remarked. She and Jack contrived to interest Miss Helen in such a way that Nan was not missed that evening. Jack made her confession which Miss Helen received as they knew she would. She was very fond of Carter who was the son of one of her old school friends, and she had long ago formed her own opinion of the affair. "I couldn't ask for a dearer nephew than Carter Barnwell," she told Jack, "but you are nothing but a baby yet, Jack." "I have been so informed more than once to-day," returned Jack. "I knew you would all think I was too young, and indeed, Aunt Helen, I haven't a notion of being married till I have left college. I wouldn't have told only Mary Lee thought I ought." "You certainly ought if there is really an understanding between you," said her aunt. "I suppose there is," Jack responded, "though I had intended to keep Cart guessing for some time yet, but now that he is so miserable I can't do it. I had to give him just a wee little twinkling of encouragement in thinking I meant what I said, but it must be a dead secret to all but the family." In spite of her cheerful exterior, Jack was the least happy of the group that night, for while Nan lay blissfully making plans for the morrow and Eleanor was beginning to ask herself searching questions which her evening with Mr. Montell had created, Jack was wondering if Carter were really ill and would he be worse before her letter reached him. Alas! that it took so long for the mail to span the distance between them. If she could but visit him in spirit to whisper all that her heart would say. That night Jack's chickens came home to roost if they never had before, and of all who were to make the pilgrimage to the sacred grove on the morrow no wish more fervent than hers would be offered up at the shrine for lovers. [Illustration: CHAPTER XIX VOTIVE OFFERINGS] CHAPTER XIX VOTIVE OFFERINGS By the next day it was considered safe enough to make the trip to Sakusa. It was a tortuous way, and one that required the services of a guide, but a young Japanese, whom Mr. Montell knew, consented to make one of the party. He could speak English, and, being an intelligent, educated gentleman, was much more desirable as an adjunct than the ordinary interpreter. By bamboo forests, and rice-fields, past many a temple and shrine, they trudged, part of their journey being indicated by a stone path difficult to walk upon yet necessarily used. Here they must go single file. "It is getting rather tiresome," said Jack over her shoulder to Mary Lee who followed closely, these two walking in the footsteps of their guide while the others lagged behind, the two couples separated by a perceptible space. "We'll get there after a while," returned Mary Lee. "It is all for the cause, remember, Jack." "I feel precisely as if I were doing penance," Jack answered back. "Perhaps you are," replied her sister with a little smile. Jack said no more, but toiled on till at last a small cluster of houses indicated that they were nearing a village. "Is it Sakusa?" Jack asked Mr. Tamura, their guide. "Sakusa," he replied with a wave of the hand toward where a _tori-i_, a high paintless structure, stood, and in another moment they had left their rough stone path to step upon the pavement of the temple's court. Here they waited for the others to come up. Meantime they could observe the fine old trees, the quaint monuments and the gateway itself. "This is the temple of Yaegaki," Mr. Tamura told them. "It is a very noted shrine, small as it is. We will go to the main temple which is the most interesting." The group, now complete, went forward and presently, with one accord, stopped short. "What are they?" inquired Eleanor wonderingly looking at myriads of tiny flags inserted in the ground all around the base of the shrine. "Those," Mr. Tamura said, "are tokens of gratitude. They mean that many lovers' prayers have been answered." "And those white wisps upon the gratings of the doors?" Eleanor continued to question. "Those are the prayers of the lovers who have made the pilgrimage." "So many, so many," murmured Nan. "And what is that which looks like hair, there with the little knots of paper?" Mary Lee put this question. "It is hair," she was told, "most of it, though some is seaweed, probably brought from a long distance. These are votive offerings. A maiden making a vow, a wish, a prayer, will often cut off her hair and hang it upon the shrine that she may thus show her strength of desire, her faith, her intention to propitiate the deities of love and marriage who preside over this shrine." Mr. Harding stepped nearer to see the many names carved upon the doors and the woodwork. These he could in some instances read, but as they were written in the Chinese characters, the girls could not make them out. "Now," said Mr. Tamura, "we must see the famous Camellia tree which is supposed to be inhabited by the beings who answer lovers' prayers. It is very ancient and much revered. We will look at it before we go to the sacred grove." They all stood a few moments before the gnarled old tree and then followed on to where their guide again paused. "Here you can find the talismans and the charms, if you wish to buy," Mr. Tamura informed them. "Oh, we must have some of them," declared the girls, and though neither Mr. Harding nor Mr. Montell said a word, they did not hold back. "Which are considered the nicest?" inquired Jack. Mr. Tamura smiled as he answered. "If you are in love this _mamori_ is supposed to be the most wonder-working, and will assure you a blessed union with the object of your affection." He picked out a long folded paper with queer characters and a seal upon it. "Can I open it?" inquired Jack. "Will it break the charm?" "Oh, no, you can see what it holds within the interior," Mr. Tamura told her, and Jack did not delay in opening the paper. "Oh, look," she cried, "aren't they cunning?" The others gathered around to see two tiny little figures in ancient costume. One enfolded the other in his embrace. "It is the small wife enfold to the heart of the small husband," their guide explained. "If you marry the man of your ambition, you must return this charm to the temple. It does not promise you the happiness of after marriage, but only the marriage." "I would run the risk of the happiness," said Mr. Harding in a low tone to Nan who for some reason blushed furiously. "If you wish the love of after marriage you must purchase another. It is the leaf from the tree we have just seen, but you see it is of the most preciousness." And of the whole party there was not one, with the exception of Mary Lee, who did not buy one of each of these two charms. Mary Lee contented herself with some little amulets which she declared were more worth her while. "Of course," said Eleanor lightly, "we don't believe in them at all and have no special use for them, but we may be able to make presents of them to some of our friends." "That is just it," echoed Nan. "And the little lady and her husband are so cunning," declared Jack, "I just had to get one to show Jean." Mary Lee smiled wisely but said not a word. "They are really great curiosities," remarked Nan airily. "I do not remember ever having seen their like. I know mother and Aunt Helen will be greatly interested in them." Again Mary Lee smiled and kept her counsel. They went on further till they came to a great grove of cedars, pines, and bamboo with other trees, making so deep a shade that they seemed in a sunless world. When their eyes became accustomed to the half light, they observed that wherever possible upon the bark of the bamboo trees names were written. "Names and wishes," said their guide. "How weird and mysterious it all seems," said Nan to her companion. "The very Court of Love," returned he, "and you are treading it with me," he added softly. Nan's heart beat fast but she made no reply. It all seemed so intangible, so unreal an existence, that even his presence began to appear unreal. "There is a little pond further on, Tamura says," Mr. Harding remarked after a period when silence was upon them both. "There are water newts in it, and one tests his fortune by sailing a small boat in which he puts a _rin_. If it sinks to the bottom and the newts touch it all will be well, but if it does not sink and if the newts disregard it, then it is an ill omen. Shall we go and sail a boat?" "It might be amusing," returned Nan, trying to hide her confusion. They found the rest of their party already on the brink of the pond where others were launching tiny crafts of paper. Mr. Tamura was showing Jack how to make one. He seemed to surmise that more than one would be required for he soon had a little fleet of them ready, and himself set one afloat with a _rin_ in it. He watched it gravely as it went on its course. Mr. Harding launched his, giving Nan a smile as he did so. It drifted out upon the clear water and became so saturated as soon to succumb to the weight of its freight of copper coin, then down it sank. It could be seen distinctly through the limpid water and presently the newts were observed to approach it. Mr. Harding rose to his feet, and waved his hat gaily. "A good omen," he cried. Most of the other boats acted in the same way, although they did not wait to see the fate of all that were launched, but turned to wander about and look up the remaining strange evidences of superstitious faith. Nan and her companion allowed the others to put some distance between themselves and this lagging pair. "Let them alone and they'll come home bringing their tales behind them," whispered Jack to Mary Lee. "Their love-tales, I hope they will be. What a self-absorbed, blind ninny I was not to see things before. Why, they are simply daffy about one another. I don't believe any one else exists at this present moment for them. Did you ever think dear old Nan would be so far gone?" "Oh, yes, I knew when Nan did really let herself go that there wouldn't be any question about it," returned Mary Lee with a half sigh. "I hope he is good enough for her," said Jack a little jealously. "Nobody is good enough for any of you sisters," returned Mary Lee. "Oh, Carter is entirely too good for me," declared Jack frankly. "All the same I would scratch any one's eyes out who tried to take him from me." "I haven't a doubt but that some one will try to if you don't treat him better," Mary Lee said teasingly. "You can't expect a man to stay forever faithful to a girl who behaves as if he were an old shoe to be picked up and cast aside at will." "You don't mean that," Jack averred. "If you did, I would take the next steamer home and marry him before any of you reached there to stop me. When he gets my letter he will understand, so don't you go trying to stir me up. Where in the world are those two?" "Oh, never mind them," rejoined Mary Lee. "There are Eleanor and Mr. Montell just ahead and we can get along for a while without Nan." Meantime Nan and Mr. Harding were lingering in the deep grove. They stood by a bamboo tree upon which were cut many names. "There is just a little space here where I can cut a dear, small name," said Mr. Harding, "the name of the dearest, sweetest girl in the world." He began to carve the letters while Nan stood by with half-averted face. "N-a-n," he wrote, with the N much longer than the other letters. After he had finished, he came to Nan. "Will you look?" he said, "and will you tell me if I may put my name there too? The same initial does for both, you see. Dear Nan, sweet Nan! this is the Court of Love and you are my queen. You have been so kind to me these last few days and I may be called away any moment, so I am daring enough to tell you that I love you." Nan took from him the knife he still held. She went up to the tree, and upon the smooth bark she began to trace the letters which, following the initial of her own name, became that of her lover: N-A-N N-E-A-L. "Is it true? Is it true?" breathed he close by her side. "I am afraid it is," returned Nan in a whisper. "Afraid, you darlingest girl?" "No, no, I don't mean I am afraid, I mean--oh, what do I mean?" "You mean that all the queer little charms have nothing to do with you and me, because you loved me, didn't you, before we even started out to come here? You did love me yesterday and the day before, didn't you, Nan?" "And even so far back as last week," admitted Nan. "When you wouldn't even look at me?" "Yes." "Why wouldn't you?" "Because you wouldn't look at me." "I did look when I could steal a glance at you. I wanted to look at you every minute and I was afraid, for I loved you from that very first time in the grove of Kamakura. I tried to keep away from you, and I couldn't. I was so unhappy and so moony and headless that the chief noticed it, and said I'd better take a rest for I was ill. He didn't know what was the matter, but I did." "Oh, dear," sighed Nan, "and I was unhappy, too. I thought you liked Jack." "And I thought you liked a miserable somebody whom I could have annihilated." Talking on in the strain which so pleases lovers the world over, they neared the group waiting for them by the temple gate. "Please don't tell any one," said Nan hastily. "Mother must be the first to know." "And I hope I may go to her myself that I may ask her for your precious self. Will she give you to me, Nan?" "She will, when she knows that it is for my happiness." "And you will be willing to go to a strange country with me? You will wait for me till I can feel I have something more than myself to offer?" "I will wait years if need be, and----" She hesitated. The strange country away from all those she loved best did seem appalling, but she bravely went on, "Strange countries do not seem so distant as they used to be." Seeing them approaching, the others started on their stony way. "It is a rough road," said Neal, "but for me it was the way to Paradise." Nan could have echoed the words, but she did not. They must walk single file for a time, but she might have been side by side with a heavenly host, so uplifted was she. Of all queer places to find her happiness; in the grove of a Shinto temple in a distant and difficult part of Japan. It all seemed like a dream from which she awoke to reality only when she saw a beloved form striding along behind her when she turned her head. He must keep her in view, he said, lest some accident befall her. On their way through the streets of the old city which they reached foot-sore and weary, but so glad at heart they had no thought of bodily aches and pains, they passed a little shop. "Let us stop here a moment," proposed Neal. "I want to get you something as a reminder of this day." "Do you think I will ever forget it?" asked Nan with a shy glance. "You adorable girl, no, I don't, but all the same I want to get something." They entered the small establishment and from the carvings Neal selected a little figure of Hotei, the God of Happiness, whose counterpart Nan declared she must buy to give in exchange. Then they went on, arriving at the hotel long after the others. "And did you have a happy day?" asked Miss Helen who had passed the hours of her nieces' absence in the quiet garden and in the streets of the old city. "Was it worth the hard trip?" "Well worth it," was Nan's reply given with emphasis though not a word did she tell of the joy the day had brought her. "The others seemed pretty well tired out," Miss Helen went on, "and have gone to lie down, but you appear fresher than any of the party." "I am a little tired, for it was rather far and quite rough, but it was so very interesting," Nan vouchsafed, and then began to describe the temples and shrines, but of that carving of her own name on the bark of the bamboo tree she said nothing. Mary Lee and Jack looked at her glowing face questioningly when she went in to where they were, but she gave them no confidences beyond explaining for her tardiness by saying that she and Mr. Harding had stopped at a shop on their way. "It will have to be 'boots and saddles,' as soon as we can manage it," Mary Lee announced. "Aunt Helen thinks we should start as soon as we get rested, so we shall pack to-morrow and the day after begin our journey across country. Eleanor will go with us, she says, though I didn't think she would, for she could easily go back with her brother from here and save herself the longer trip." "Is her brother going back from here?" asked Nan. "You ought to know. Is he?" queried Mary Lee. "No," Nan replied with a laugh. "Oh!" Mary Lee gave Jack a little prod with her elbow and Jack responded with a soft pinch which expressed her understanding. "Is Mr. Montell going back from here?" asked Nan. "I don't believe he is. You see he is free to come and go as he may see fit and I understand that he thinks he can gather profitable material by joining our caravan. Nell vows that she means to see the last of us and will stand by till we are fairly off. Ergo Mr. Montell follows suit." "Good old Nell," remarked Nan apropos of what she did not explain. "Well, what do you make of it?" inquired Mary Lee as soon as Nan was out of hearing. "I think it is very, very near the climax," responded Jack. "I go further than that. I think the hour and the man have arrived this day, and that it is all settled." "Oh, Mary Lee, do you really?" Jack propped herself up to look at her sister. "Then why didn't she tell us?" "For the same reason another young person of my acquaintance did not tell until it was forced from her," rejoined Mary Lee. Jack sank back again. "Oh," she ejaculated in a discomfited way. "I am crazy to know, aren't you?" she asked presently. "Of course I should like to know, but I can wait. Nan has such a telltale face and I never saw such a radiant expression as she has. Oh, dear me, Jack, I don't feel happy over it myself, for do you realize that it means we shall have to part with our dear old Nan, and that she may go goodness knows where to live? Neal Harding is hoping for diplomatic service for keeps, you know. He hopes for an appointment as consul somewhere, and that means that Nan may have to go away off from all her kinfolks." "Mercy me, I hadn't thought of that. Oh, dear, I wish now I had kept up my little game, then perhaps this would never have come about." "You mean child. I don't wish that, and after all it would not have done any good, probably, for if Neal Harding were in real earnest, he would not have allowed the thing to stop here. Eleanor would have seen to it that he knew of Nan's comings and goings, and then the evil day would simply have been put off. Meantime poor Nan would have been wretchedly unhappy." Jack agreed that this was all very true and that they must make the best of it. Later on they conferred with Eleanor who had nothing more to add to what they already suspected. "I quite agree with you, Mary Lee," she said, "that it is all right, and I will tell you why. When Neal came in he came up and kissed me as if he had not seen me for a long time. I said, 'Why this unusual effusiveness, my dear?' 'Oh, just because I feel so jolly happy,' he said. I take that to mean something, whatever you may think." But they were kept in the dark for several days longer, and in the meantime, the journey was undertaken which would bring them to the Inland Sea again and to the spot where they would find Mrs. Corner and Jean waiting for them. [Illustration: "IS IT TRUE?"] [Illustration: CHAPTER XX IF IT MUST BE] CHAPTER XX IF IT MUST BE The long journey from the Sea of Japan to the Inland Sea was over and Nagasaki was reached at last. "The end of our travels in Japan," sighed Nan. "Won't it be queer to see no more tea-houses, no more rice-fields, no more odd-looking men with mushroom hats and women tipping along on their _getas_?" "I shall not miss those things a bit," averred Jack. "It has been mighty interesting to see and I have enjoyed it down to the ground, but me for the old U.S.," she added slangily. "I shall not be sorry, myself, to get back," Mary Lee agreed with Jack. "I had seen all that I wanted before you all started off on that frantic trip to the western coast," Jean declared. Nan smiled blissfully. She had yet to make her confession to the three. "I wouldn't have missed that for anything," she said. "I shall always remember it as the happiest time of my life." Jean, who had not yet been given an inkling of what was in the wind, stared at her. "You must like hard travel, then," she remarked. "Jack has been telling me of that awful jaunt to Sakusa and how you were all used up afterward. I don't see where there was any great bliss in that." Nan smiled down at her. "Jean, dear, and all of you, I have something to tell you. I would have told you, Mary Lee and Jack, before, but I had a feeling that mother must know first. I am going to marry Neal Harding." "Maybe you think we are surprised," scoffed Jack. "Why, you old fraud, the fact was written on your face on that very day of our wild trip to Sakusa, wasn't it, Mary Lee?" "You certainly bore all the hall-marks of an affianced maiden," Mary Lee assured her sister. "Never mind, Nan," Jean spoke up. "I am surprised, and I am pleased, too. It will be lovely to have a brother." "What's the matter with Cart?" asked Jack indignantly. "Oh, he's all right," responded Jean, "but you have been parading Cart before us ever since you were twelve years old; he is no novelty, and besides it is all talk on your part anyway." "It isn't at all," retorted Jack, who felt that she must have some of the importance accorded Nan in her position of an engaged girl. "I always said I was going to marry him; you know I did, and I mean it now just as much as ever." "Does Cart have anything to say about it?" inquired Jean teasingly. "Of course he does. Do you suppose I would be so sure if it were not all settled?" "Do you really mean that it is all settled and that you never told me?" ejaculated Jean indignantly. "I didn't tell any one," Jack asserted. "I am going to tell mother now; while such affairs are in the air. It won't be so hard for her to get used to two such things together as to have them sprung on her separately." And off she went. But she was back again in a minute. "What did mother say to you, Nan?" she asked as she slid inside the door closing it after her. "Was she very serious and--and--oh, you know,--overcome and all that?" "She was perfectly dear," said Nan, her eyes shining. "I told her first and then Neal came and we talked it over together. I went for Aunt Helen and then we four----" "Had a heart to heart talk," interrupted Jack. "I don't think I could stand that. I shall try to make short work of it, for I should collapse under a long session. There is this much about it, mother ought not to be much surprised for I always maintained that I meant to marry Cart, while you vowed you would marry no one but a Virginian." "That is all I knew about it," returned Nan. "I would marry Neal if he were a Japanese or a Chinaman." Jack laughed. "Won't old Jo have it in for you when you have given her such digs about her devotion to her Dr. Paul?" "You'd better go along and find mother so as to get it over," warned Jean. "I fool so feelish," returned Jack using an expression of which they all were fond. "I am just making conversation so as to put off the evil hour. Well, I suppose I might as well go. Remember me in your prayers, girls," and this time she was really gone. She hesitated before she tapped at her mother's door. To the invitation to enter she poked her head in the door and said, "I just thought I might as well tell you, mother, that I am going to marry Carter." Her mother smiled. "I have been hearing that for the past six years, Jack. It isn't really a very great surprise to hear you say so." "But I really mean it this time," declared Jack, coming a little further into the room. "I have been treating him like a dog and I feel like a crawly worm about it, so I thought if I told the family I might not be tempted to flaunt myself so outrageously hereafter." "Don't you think it is rather hard upon a mother to have two such announcements thrust upon her in one day?" inquired Mrs. Corner gravely. "Oh, but just think what darling men we have chosen," replied Jack encouragingly. "Suppose I had fallen in love with Mr. Tamura, and Nan had picked up some crooked stick of an oily-haired musician who hadn't two cents to rub together and would waste the one cent he might have. Just think of that, and then look at dear old Carter and Neal Harding. Why, if you hunted the world over, you couldn't find two nicer men." Mrs. Corner had to laugh. Jack's arguments were always of such a nature. "Well, dear, I quite agree with you," she said. "If I have to lose my girls, I certainly must commend them for having chosen wisely." "Oh, but you won't lose us," rejoined Jack. "I don't intend to marry for years and years, and besides, you know they always say that when a daughter marries, a mother gains a son, but when a son marries, a mother loses him entirely. Aren't you glad we are all girls, mother? You may have three or four sons yet." Mrs. Corner smiled. Who but Jack would take such means of smoothing over unpleasant facts? "Come in, dear," she said. "I will if you will say you think Carter will make an adorable son and that I am not a silly for thinking so much of him." "I am ready to admit all that," Mrs. Corner replied gravely. Jack sidled in, ran to her mother, snuggled her face for one moment against her mother's shoulder, gave her an ardent kiss and then backed away. "I can't stand any more just now," she said with a distinct quaver in her voice. "I am such a bally ass, you know. I'll come back again some other time," and she was out of the door before her mother could reprove her for using such expressions. When she had finished mopping her eyes and had resumed a palpably don't-care manner, she returned to her sisters. "Well, did you get it over?" inquired Jean. "Oh, yes," was Jack's reply. "Of course mother was lovely." Nan made the remark. "Of course. She always is. It would be out of all reason to expect anything else. There never was such a precious mother in all the world." There was unanimous agreement to this, then Jean said gaily, "I suppose then that Miss Jacqueline Corner is open to congratulations." Jack warded off a precipitate advance upon her person. "Don't you dare," she cried. "Why don't you all fall upon Nan? She is in a tighter box than I." "Just what do you mean by that remark?" asked Nan coming nearer threateningly. "I mean that not a soul outside the family is to know about Cart and me, but you will have to tell Eleanor, at least, and Jo, of course, and so it will go." "I won't have to tell Eleanor, for Neal is going to do that himself," retorted Nan. "I will venture to say that is she now," cried Mary Lee as a tap was heard at the door. She was right, for they admitted Eleanor who came in buoyantly. "Where is that dear old Nan?" she exclaimed. "I can scarcely wait to get hold of her. Neal has told me and I can't tell you how glad I am to have a sister, and such a sister! You blessed old dear, if you don't like me for a sister-in-law it will not be for lack of love on my part." "How sweet you are to say such things," returned Nan with feeling. "I hope the rest of the family will be as kind as you." "Oh, they are bound to, and you know we are not so many, just the two boys and myself after father and mother. Oh, girls, if I hadn't promised to stay out here a year, I should be inclined to go back with you, but Aunt Nora would think it mean of me after she has been so good as to let me have these weeks with you all. Wouldn't it be fine if, at the end of a year, Neal and I could go back together and that he could then have an appointment not so far off?" Her question was interrupted by a summons which came for Jack. Some one wished to see her. "It couldn't be Carter, could it?" whispered Jean to Mary Lee. The latter shook her head. "I don't believe so," Mary Lee returned in the same lowered tone. "He hasn't had time to get her letter yet." Jack was gone some time and when she returned she broke into a laugh. "Who do you think has come?" she said. "Carter," cried the girls with one accord. "You're way off," returned Jack. "It is Ko-yeda and her father with Toku. Miss Gresham couldn't come and so Ko-yeda said she would, at least Mr. Sannomiya was so good as to bring her. They know Miss Gresham and all the missionary people of her church, you remember, so here they are. Toku looked so cunning." "Are you really going to take him back with you?" queried Mary Lee. "Yes, for there are two Japanese girls going to the States and they will take charge of him on the ship and be glad of what I can pay them for doing it." "But when you get back home what then?" asked Jean. "We can't take him to college with us." "No, I shall hand him over to Carter and let him find somebody to bring him up in the way he should go." "Poor Carter," said Mary Lee compassionately. "You needn't 'poor Carter' him," retorted Jack. "He will just love to do it when I tell him that Toku is to be reared in such a way as will make him a good servant for us. It will give him a new interest and besides----" She broke off but added, "Oh, well, I understand Cart better than any of the rest of you do, and besides I would be pleased to pieces to do that much for him." And so it was settled that little Toku should sail the seas over with his future planned out for him. Ko-yeda herself looked after him during the few days that they all remained in Nagasaki, for Mr. Sannomiya was contented to stay till these American friends should take their leave, and made himself useful in many ways. Neal, too, took upon himself all the difficult matters relating to their departure, and was so attentive and considerate that Mrs. Corner confessed to Nan that it would seem a very pleasant thing to have a son. These last were happy days for them all. With three such intelligent guides as Mr. Sannomiya, Neal and Mr. Montell, they were able to do their final sightseeing with more ease and celerity than if they had been a party of women alone. Jean and Ko-yeda had many good times together, the tractable little Toku being left in charge of the two Japanese girls who had agreed to see to him during the voyage. Neal and Nan received consideration from every one, and Nan, who had always been the one to take the heavier burdens in traveling, for once in her life threw aside all responsibility and gave up her days to the companionship which grew dearer and dearer as the moments flew. "Sayonara--If it must be," the Japanese farewell, came to their lips with more and more meaning as the hour approached when they must be separated. Mary Lee and Miss Helen showed their tender sympathy in a hundred ways, for both knew to the fullest what a good-bye may contain for those who must leave one another in the height of their devotion. More than once Mary Lee came upon her sister watching with trembling lips the form of her lover as he went down the street. "And soon, soon, I shall not be watching for him to come back," she said on that last day before they should leave. "I understand," whispered the younger girl. "I know how hard it is, dear old girl." Nan gave a squeeze to the hand that had sought hers and the two went in together. At last the morning of departure came. The big steamer was crowded with a motley throng of people. Flags were flying, men were calling, women and children were crying. The bright blue waters were dotted with queer looking crafts. Placid-looking little girls with even more placid babies were trotting up and down the wharf, their bright costumes adding to the brilliancy of the picture. "They are a contented folk," remarked Miss Helen to Mr. Montell who, with Eleanor, stood by her side. "Yes, and I hope ambition will not alter that fact," he returned. "A love of the beautiful with a simple life go a long way toward making content. If they lose those two things, I am afraid we shall not observe such contentment in ten years from now." "What is gained in one direction must mean loss in some other," said Miss Helen looking over to where Nan and Mr. Harding were standing with no eyes for the scene before them. "How can I let you go?" the young man was saying. "You will not forget, sweetheart?" "Not a day, not an hour," was Nan's answer. Little Toku, with his two attendants, was walking up and down, vastly entertained yet a little afraid at all this confusion and these strange faces, but as he looked up into the faces of those who led him by the hands, he smiled, for these were friends and would not leave him to the unknown. Ko-yeda and Jean were having last words together, while Mr. Sannomiya talked as best he could to Mrs. Corner, both appealing to Ko-yeda whenever there was absolute need of an interpreter. Mary Lee and Jack were leaning over the rail to see the bustle below. "What a queer, queer summer it has been," said Jack musingly. "It passes before me, such a jumble of strangeness and yet with some things standing out so clearly. That dreadful day in the boiling mud when Neal snatched me away and probably saved my life." "You never told me about that," said Mary Lee. "No, but I will tell you now, because it accounts partly for my appropriating Neal when I had no business to. I felt so grateful to him." Then she gave her sister an account of what had happened. "Another day," she went on, "is that one when you had the letter from Carter. I think I shall remember that to the day of my death. I think my heart really woke up that minute. I didn't quite realize how much I cared till you showed me. And to-day," she continued, "I am going back to him." A little further off, Nan was saying, "Suppose I had never come to Japan. I cannot bear to think of what I might have missed." "You mean?" Mr. Harding spoke. "I mean you, dear boy." "You would not have missed me, nor would I have missed you. Fate could not have been so unkind. Somewhere, somehow, sooner or later we would have met. I can't think otherwise." Here a deep whistle sounded warning for all, who were not passengers, to be going ashore. Then were seen low bows, frantic embraces, shakings of hands. "Sayonara! Sayonara!" the air was filled with the sound of the parting word. Nan clung to her lover's arm. "Come soon, come soon," she whispered. "This is good-bye." "Nothing shall keep me from you, nothing," he said with grave earnestness. "God bless my darling girl." He held her hand while the others crowded around for a last farewell. "Good-bye, my sister Nan," whispered Eleanor. "Write as often as you can. Yes, yes, of course I will. I will take good care of him, and I will let you know if anything goes wrong? Why certainly, only nothing will go wrong. It is going to be all right and the first thing you know, you will be coming to meet us both." "Sayonara! Sayonara! If it must be!" Another hoarse blast from the steamer, a last hand-clasp, a scramble to get ashore by those tardily lingering and in a few minutes the great vessel began to move out. Nan strained her eyes to watch for the last glimpse of the beloved figure who, standing on the dock, was waving farewell. Her eyes would dim with tears which she wiped away from time to time quite reckless of observers. "Sayonara! Sayonara!" the words came very faintly now, and then only the churning of the water, the throb of the engine, the queer junks sailing by, the flecks of foam. "Farewell, dear Japan, I have left my heart with you," Nan sighed. "Every moment takes me away from the loveliest dream, the sweetest memories that ever girl had." Jack standing where the fresh wind blew in her face watched the vessel's prow rush through the blue. On and on and on. "Every minute takes us that much nearer. We're coming, Cart, old boy, we're coming. It won't be long now," so sang her heart. "Sayonara! Sayonara!" sighed the little Japanese girls by Nan's side. "Sayonara!" piped up Toku smiling into Nan's face. Transcriber's notes The book has been re-bound with a plain green cover. The title page was used as cover. Clear printer's errors were corrected. Original spelling was not modified or harmonized. 
42427	----	THE KINGDOM OF SLENDER SWORDS BY HALLIE ERMINIE RIVES (MRS. POST WHEELER) SATAN SANDERSON Illustrated by A. B. Wenzell TALES FROM DICKENS Illustrated by Reginald B. Birch THE CASTAWAY Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy HEARTS COURAGEOUS Illustrated by A. B. Wenzell A FURNACE OF EARTH THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY INDIANAPOLIS [Illustration] THE KINGDOM OF SLENDER SWORDS BY HALLIE ERMINIE RIVES (MRS. POST WHEELER) _With a Foreword by His Excellency Baron Makino_ ILLUSTRATIONS BY A. B. WENZELL INDIANAPOLIS THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY PUBLISHERS COPYRIGHT 1910 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY PRESS OF BRAUNWORTH & CO. BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS BROOKLYN, N.Y. TO CAROLYN FOSTER STICKNEY FOREWORD It has been my happy fortune to have made the acquaintance of the gifted author of this book. From time to time she was kind enough to confide to me its progress. When the manuscript was completed I was privileged to go over it, and the hours so spent were of unbroken interest and pleasure. What especially touched and concerned me was, of course, the Japanese characters depicted, the motives of these actors in their respective roles, and other Japanese incidents connected with the story. I am most agreeably impressed with the remarkable insight into, and the just appreciation of, the Japanese spirit displayed by the author. While the story itself is her creation, the local coloring, the moral atmosphere called in to weave the thread of the tale, are matters belonging to the domain of facts, and constitute an amount of useful and authentic information. Indeed, she has taken unusual pains to be correctly informed about the people of the country and their customs, and in this she has succeeded to a very eminent degree. I may mention one or two of the striking characteristics of the work. The sacrifice of the girl Haru may seem unreal, but such is the dominant idea of duty and sacrifice with the Japanese, that in certain emergencies it is not at all unlikely that we should behold her real prototype in life. The description of the Imperial Review at Tokyo and its patriotic significance vividly recalls my own impression of this spectacle. It gives me great satisfaction to know that by perusing these pages, the vast reading public, who, after all, have the decisive voice in the national government of the greatest republic of the world, and whose good will and friendship we Japanese prize in no uncommon degree, should be correctly informed about ourselves, as far as the scope of this book goes. We attach great importance to a thorough mutual understanding of two foremost peoples on the Pacific, in whose direction and coöperation the future of the East must largely depend. It is, therefore, incumbent upon us all to do our utmost to cultivate such good understanding, not only for those immediately concerned, but for the welfare of the whole human race. In the chapters of this novel the author seems always to have had such high ideals before her, and the result is that, besides being an exciting and agreeable reading, the book contains elements of serious and instructive consideration, which can not but contribute toward establishing better and healthier knowledge between the East and West of the Pacific. N. MAKINO. Sendagaya, Tokyo, 9th of August, 1909. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I WHERE THE DAY BEGINS 1 II "THE ROOST" 13 III THE LAND OF THE GODS 27 IV UNDER THE RED SUNSET 42 V THE MAKER OF BUDDHAS 52 VI THE BAYING OF THE WOLF-HOUND 62 VII DOCTOR BERSONIN 72 VIII "SALLY IN OUR ALLEY" 78 IX THE WEB OF THE SPIDER 86 X IN A GARDEN OF DREAMS 92 XI ISHIKICHI 101 XII IN THE STREET-OF-PRAYER-TO-THE-GODS 107 XIII THE WHORLS OF YELLOW DUST 113 XIV WHEN BARBARA AWOKE 119 XV A FACE IN THE CROWD 125 XVI "BANZAI NIPPON!" 133 XVII A SILENT UNDERSTANDING 142 XVIII IN THE BAMBOO LANE 149 XIX THE BISHOP ASKS A QUESTION 154 XX THE TRESPASSER 160 XXI THE RESURRECTION OF THE DEAD 169 XXII THE DANCE OF THE CAPITAL 181 XXIII THE DEVIL PIPES TO HIS OWN 194 XXIV A MAN NAMED WARE 198 XXV AT THE SHRINE OF THE FOX-GOD 206 XXVI THE NIGHTLESS CITY 213 XXVII LIKE THE WHISPER OF A BAT'S WINGS 224 XXVIII THE FORGOTTEN MAN 233 XXIX DAUNT LISTENS TO A SONG 244 XXX THE ISLAND OF ENCHANTMENT 252 XXXI THE COMING OF AUSTEN WARE 266 XXXII THE WOMAN OF SOREK 276 XXXIII THE FLIGHT 284 XXXIV ON THE KNEES OF DELILAH 288 XXXV WHEN A WOMAN DREAMS 292 XXXVI BEHIND THE SHIKIRI 297 XXXVII [Japanese: Donto] 303 XXXVIII THE LADY OF THE MANY-COLORED FIRES 308 XXXIX THE HEART OF BARBARA 320 XL THE SHADOW OF A TO-MORROW 326 XLI UNFORGOT 334 XLII PHIL MAKES AN APPEAL 338 XLIII THE SECRET THE RIVER KEPT 345 XLIV THE LAYING OF THE MINE 353 XLV THE BISHOP ANSWERS A SUMMONS 360 XLVI THE GOLDEN CRUCIFIX 366 XLVII "IF THIS BE FORGETTING" 371 XLVIII WHILE THE CITY SLEPT 379 XLIX THE ALARM 389 L WHOM THE GODS DESTROY 396 LI THE LAUGH 401 LII THE VOICE IN THE DARK 409 LIII A RACE WITH DAWN 414 LIV INTO THE SUNLIGHT 425 LV KNOW ALL MEN BY THESE PRESENTS 428 THE KINGDOM OF SLENDER SWORDS THE KINGDOM OF SLENDER SWORDS CHAPTER I WHERE THE DAY BEGINS Barbara leaned against the palpitant rail, the light air fanning her breeze-cool cheek, her arteries beating like tiny drums, atune with the throb, throb, throb, of the steel deck as the black ocean leviathan swept on toward its harbor resting-place. All that Japanese April day she had been in a state of tremulous excitement. She had crept from her berth at dawn to see the hazy sun come up in a Rosicrucian flush as weirdly soft as a mirage, to strain her eyes for the first filmy feather of land. Long before the gray-green wisp showed on the horizon, the sight of a lumbering _junk_ with its square sail laced across with white stripes, and its bronze seamen, with white loin-cloth and sweat-band about the forehead, naked and thewed like sculptures, as they swayed from the clumsy tiller, had sent a thrill through her. And as the first far peaks etched themselves on the robin's-egg blue, as impalpable and ethereal as a perfume, she felt warm drops coming with a rush to her eyes. For Japan, every sight and sound of it, had been woven with the earliest imaginings of Barbara's orphaned life. Her father she had never seen. Her mother she remembered only as a vague, widowed figure. In Japan they two had met and had married, and after a single year her mother had returned to her own place and people broken-hearted and alone. In the month of her return Barbara had been born. A year ago her aunt, to whom she owed the care of her young girlhood, had died, and Barbara had found herself, at twenty-three, mistress of a liberal fortune and of her own future. Japan had always exercised a potent spell over her imagination. She pictured it as a land of strange glowing trees, of queer costumes and weird, fantastic buildings. More than all, it was the land of her mother's life-romance, where her father had loved and died. There was one other tangible tie--her uncle, her mother's brother, was Episcopal bishop of Tokyo. He was returning now from a half year's visit in America, and this fact, coupled with an invitation from Patricia Dandridge, the daughter of the American Ambassador, with whom Barbara had chummed one California winter, had constituted an opportunity wholly alluring. So she found herself, on this April day, the pallid Pacific fuming away behind her, gazing with kindling cheeks on that shadowy background, vaguely intangible in the magical limpidity of the distance. The land was wonderfully nearer now. The hills lay, a clear pile of washed grays and greens, with saffron tinted valleys between, wound in a haze of tender lilac. By imperceptible gradations this unfolded, caught sub-tones, ermine against umbers, of warmer red and flickering emerald, white glints of sun on surf like splashes of silver, till suddenly, spectral and perfect, above a cluster of peaks like purple gentians, glowed forth a phantom mountain, its golden wistaria cone inlaid in the deeper azure. It hung like an inverted morning-glory, mist and mother-of-pearl at the top, shading into porphyry veined with streaks of verd and jade--Fuji-San, the despair of painters, the birthplace of the ancient gods. The aching beauty of it stung Barbara with a tender, intolerable pang. The little fishing-villages that presently came into sight, tucked into the clefts of the shore, with gray dwellings, elfishly frail, climbing the green slope behind them--the growing rice in patches of cloudy gold on the hillsides--the bluish shadows of bamboo groves--all touched her with an incommunicable delight. A shadow fell beside her and she turned. It was her uncle. His clean-shaven face beamed at her over his clerical collar. "Isn't it glorious?" she breathed. "It's better than champagne! It's like pins and needles in the tips of your fingers! There's positively an odor in the air like camelias. And did any one ever see such colors?" She pointed to the shore dead-ahead, now a serrated background of deep tones, swimming in the infinite gold of the tropic afternoon. Bishop Randolph was a bachelor, past middle age, ruddy and with eyes softened by habitual good-humor. He was the son of a rector of a rich Virginian parish, which on his father's death had sent the son a unanimous call. He had answered, "No; my place is in Japan," without consciousness of sacrifice. For him, in the truest sense, the present voyage was a homeward one. "Japan gets into the blood," he said musingly. "I often think of the old lady who committed suicide at Nikko. She left a letter which said: 'By favor of the gods, I am too dishonorably old to hope to revisit this jewel-glorious spot, so I prefer augustly to remain here for ever!' I have had something of the same feeling, sometimes. I remember yet the first time I saw the coast. That was twenty-five years ago. We watched it together--your father and I--just as we two are doing now." She looked at him with sudden eagerness, for of his own accord he had never before spoken to her of her dead father. The latter had always seemed a very real personage, but how little she knew about him! The aunt who had brought her up--her mother's sister--had never talked of him, and her uncle she had seen but twice since she had been old enough to wonder. But, little by little, gleaning a fact here and there, she had constructed a slender history of him. It told of mingled blood, a birthplace on a Mediterranean island and a gipsy childhood. There was a thin sheaf of yellowed manuscript in her possession that had been left among her mother's scanty papers, a fragment of an old diary of his. Many leaves had been ruthlessly cut from it, but in the pages that were left she had found bits of flotsam: broken memory-pictures of his own mother which had strangely touched her, of a bitter youth in England and America overshadowed by the haunting fear of blindness, of quests to West-Indian cities, told in phrases that dripped liquid gold and sunshine. The voyage to Japan had been made on the same vessel that carried her uncle, and they two had thus become comrades. The latter had been an enthusiastic young missionary, one of a few chosen spirits sent to defend a far field-casement thrown forward by the batteries of Christendom. His sister had come out to visit him and a few months later had married his friend. Such was the story, as Barbara knew it, of her father and mother--a love chapter which had soon closed with a far-away grave by the Inland Sea. Her fancy had made of her father a pathetic figure. As a child, she had dreamed of some day placing a monument to his memory in the Japanese capital. She possessed only one picture of him, a tiny profile photograph which she wore always in a locket engraved with her name. It showed a dark face, clean-shaven, finely chiseled and passionate, with the large, full eye of the dreamer. She had liked to think it looked like the paintings of St. John. Perhaps this thought had caused the projected monument to take the form of a Christian chapel. From a nebulous idea, the plan had become a bundle of blue-prints, which she had sent to her uncle, with the request that he purchase for her a suitable site and begin the building. He had done this before his visit to America and now the Chapel was completed, save in one particular--the memorial window of rich, stained-glass stowed at that moment in the ship's hold. The bishop had not seen it. From some feeling which she had not tried to analyze, Barbara had said nothing to him of the Chapel's especial significance. Now, however, at his unexpected reference, the feeling frayed, and she told him all of her plan. He gazed at her a moment in a startled fashion, then looked away, his hand shading his eyes. When she finished there was a long pause which made her wonder. She touched his arm. "You were very fond of father, weren't you?" "Yes," he said, in a tone oddly restrained. "And was my mother with you when he fell in love with her?" "Yes," and after a pause: "I married them." "Then they went to Nagasaki," she said softly, "and there--he died. You weren't there then?" "No," he answered in a low voice. His face was still turned away, and she caught an unaccustomed note of feeling in his voice. He left her abruptly and began to pace up and down the deck, while she stood watching the shoreline sharpen, the tangled blur of harbor resolve and shift into manifold detail. Shapeless dots had become anchored ships, a black pencil a wharf, a long yellow-gray streak a curved shore-front lined with buildings, and the warm green blotch rising behind it a foliaged hill pricked out with soft, gray roofs. There was a rush of passengers to one side, where from a brisk little tug, at whose peak floated a flag bearing a blood-red sun, a handful of spick-and-span Japanese officials were climbing the ship's ladder. At length the bishop spoke again at her elbow, now in his usual voice: "What are you going to do with that man, Barbara?" A faint flush rose in her cheek. "With what man?" "Austen Ware." She shrugged her shoulders and laughed--a little uneasily. "What can one do with a man when he is ten thousand miles away?" "He's not the sort to give up a chase." "Even a wild-goose chase?" she countered. "When I was a boy in Virginia," he said with a humorous eye, "I used to chase wild geese, and bag 'em, too." The bishop sauntered away, leaving a frown on Barbara's brow. She had had a swift mental vision of a cool, dark-bearded face and assured bearing that the past year had made familiar. It was a handsome face, if somewhat cold. Its owner was rich, his standing was unquestioned. The fact that he was ten years her senior had but made his attentions the more flattering. He had had no inherited fortune and had been no idler; for this she admired him. If she had not thrilled to his declaration, so far as liking went, she liked him. The week she left New York he had intended a yachting trip to the Mediterranean. When he told her, coolly enough, that he should ask her again in Japan, she had treated it as a jest, though knowing him quite capable of meaning it. From every worldly standpoint he was distinctly eligible. Every one who knew them both confidently expected her to marry Ware. Well, why not? Yet to-day she did not ask herself the question confidently. It belonged still to the limbo of the future--to the convenient "some day" to which her thought had always banished it. Since she had grown she had never felt for any one the sentiment she had dreamed of in that vivid girlhood of hers, a something mixed of pride and joy, that a sound or touch would thrill with a delight as keen as pain; but unconsciously, perhaps, she had been clinging to old romantic notions. A passenger leaning near her was whistling _Sally in our Alley_ under his breath and a Japanese steward was emptying over the side a vase of wilted flowers. A breath of rose scent came to her, mixed with a faint smell of tobacco, and these and the whistled air awoke a sudden reminiscence. Her gaze went past the clustered shipping, beyond the gray line of buildings and the masses of foliage, and swam into a tremulous June evening seven years past. She saw a wide campus of green sward studded with stately elms festooned with electric lights that glowed in the falling twilight. Scattered about were groups of benches each with its freight of dainty frocks, and on one of them she saw herself sitting, a shy girl of sixteen, on her first visit to a great university. Men went by in sober black gown and flat mortar-boards, young, clean-shaven, and boyish, with arms about one another's shoulders. Here and there an orange "blazer" made a vivid splash of color and groups in white-flannels sprawled beneath the trees under the perfumed haze of briar-wood pipes that mingled with the near-by scent of roses. From one of the balconies of the ivied dormitories that faced the green came the mellow tinkle of a mandolin and the sound of a clear tenor: "Of all the girls that are so smart, There's none like pretty Sally. She is the darling of my heart--" The groups about her had fallen silent--only one voice had said: "That's 'Duke' Daunt." Then the melody suddenly broke queerly and stopped, and the man who had spoken got up quickly and said: "I'm going in. It's time to dress anyway." And somehow his voice had seemed to break queerly, too. Duke Daunt! The scene shifted into the next day, when she had met him for a handful of delirious moments. For how long afterward had he remained her childish idol! Time had overlaid the memory, but it started bright now at the sound of that whistled tune. Her uncle's voice recalled her. He was handing her his binoculars. She took them, chose a spot well forward and glued her eyes to the glass. A sigh of ecstasy came from her lips, for it brought the land almost at arm's length--the stone _hatoba_ crowded with brown Japanese faces, pricked out here and there by the white Panama hat or pith-helmet of the foreigner; at one side a bouquet of gay muslin dresses and beribboned parasols flanked by a phalanx of waiting _rick'sha_,--the little flotilla of crimson sails at the yacht anchorage--the stately, columned front of the club on the Bund with its cool terrace of round tables--the _kimono'd_ figures squatting under the grotesquely bent pines along the water-front, where a motor-car flashed like a brilliant mailed beetle--farther away tiny shop-fronts hung with waving figured blue and beyond them a gray billowing of tiled roofs, and long, bright, yellow-chequered streets sauntering toward a mass of glowing green from which cherry blooms soared like pink balloons. Arching over all the enormous height of the spring-time blue, and the dreamy soft witchery of the declining sun. It unfolded before her like a panorama--all the basking, many-hued, polyglot, half-tropical life--a colorful medley, queer and mysterious! Nearer, nearer yet, the ship drew on, till there came to meet it two curved arms of breakwater, a miniature lighthouse at each side. The captain on the bridge lifted his hand, and a cheer rose from the group of male passengers below him as the anchor-chain snored through the hawse-holes. Barbara lowered the glass from her eyes. The slow swinging of the vessel to the anchor had brought a dazzling bulk between her gaze and the shore, perilously near. She saw it now in its proper perspective--a trim steam yacht, painted white, with a rakish air of speed and tautness, the sun glinting from its polished brass fittings. It lay there, graceful and light, a sharp, clean contrast to the gray and yellow _junk_ and grotesque _sampan_, a disdainful swan amid a noisy flock of teal and mallard. Adjusting the focus Barbara looked. A man in naval uniform who had boarded the ship at Quarantine was pointing out the yacht to a passenger, and Barbara caught crisp bits of sentences: "You see the patches of green?--they're decorations for the Squadron that's due to-morrow. Look just beyond them. Prettiest craft I've ever seen east of the Straits.... Came in this morning. Owner's in Nara now, doing the temples.... Has a younger brother who's been out here for a year, going the pace.... They won't let private yachts lie any closer in or they'd go high and dry on empty champagne bottles." Barbara was feeling a strange sensation of familiarity. Puzzled, she withdrew her gaze, then looked once more. Suddenly she dropped the glass with a startled exclamation. "What are you going to do with that man?"--her uncle's query seemed to echo satirically about her. For the white yacht was Austen Ware's, and there, on the gleaming bows, in polished golden letters, was the name BARBARA CHAPTER II "THE ROOST" The day had been sluggish with the promise of summer, but the failing afternoon had brought a soft suspiration from the broad bosom of the Pacific laden with a refreshing coolness. Along the Bund, however, there was little stir. A few blocks away the foreign dive-quarter was drowsing, and only a single _samisen_ twanged in Hep Goon's saloon, where sailors of a dozen nationalities spent their wages while in port. At the curbing, under the telegraph poles, the chattering _rick'sha_ coolies squatted, playing _Go_ with flat stones on a square scratched with a pointed stick in the hard, beaten ground. On the spotless mats behind their paper _shoji_ the curio-merchants sat on their gaudy wadded cushions, while, over the glowing fire-bowls of charcoal in the inner rooms, their wives cooked the rice for the early evening meal. The office of the Grand Hotel was quiet; only a handful of loungers gossiped at the bar, and the last young lady tourist had finished her flirtation on the terrace and retired to the comfort of a stayless _kimono_. In the deep foliage of the "Bluff" the slanting sunlight caught and quivered till the green mole seemed a mighty beryl, and in its hedge-shaded lanes, dreamy as those of an English village, the clear air was pungent with tropic blooms. On one of these fragrant byways, its front looking out across the bay, stood a small bungalow which bore over its gateway the dubious appellation "The Roost." From its enclosed piazza, over which a wistaria vine hung pale pendants, a twisted stair led to the roof, half of which was flat. This space was surrounded by a balustrade and shaded by a rounded gaily striped awning. From this airy retreat the water, far below, looked like a violet shawl edged with shimmering quicksilver and embroidered with fairy fishing _junk_ and _sampan_; and the subdued voices of the street mingled, vague and undefined, with a rich dank smell of foliage, that moved silently, heavy with the odor of plum-blossoms, a gliding ghost of perfume. Thin blue-and-white Tientsin rugs and green wicker settees gave an impression of coolness and comfort; a pair of ornate temple brasses gleamed on a smoking-stand, and a rich Satsuma bowl did duty for a tobacco jar. Under the striped awning three men were grouped about a miniature roulette table; a fourth, middle-aged and of huge bulk, with a cynical, Semitic face, from a wide arm-chair was lazily peering through the fleecy curdle of a Turkish cigarette. A fifth stood leaning against the balustrade, watching. The last was tall, clean-cut and smooth-shaven, with comely head well set on broad shoulders, and gray eyes keen and alert. Possibly no one of the foreign colony (where a Secretary of Embassy was by no means a _rara avis_) was better liked than Duke Daunt, even by those who never attempted to be sufficiently familiar with him to call him by the nickname, which a characteristic manner had earned him in his salad days. At intervals a player muttered an impatient exclamation or gave a monosyllabic order to the stolid Japanese servant who passed noiselessly, deftly replenishing glasses. Through all ran the droning buzz of bees in the wistaria, the recurrent rustle of the metal wheel, the nervous click of the rolling marble and the shuffle and thud of the ivory disks on the green baize. All at once the marble blundered into its compartment and one of the gamesters burst into a boisterous laugh of triumph. As the sudden discord jangled across the silence, the big man in the arm-chair started half round, his lips twitched and a spasm of something like fright crossed his face. The glass at his elbow was empty, but he raised it and drained air, while the ice in it tinkled and clinked. He set it down and wiped his lips with a half-furtive glance about him, but the curious agitation had apparently been unnoted, and presently his face had once more regained its speculative, slightly sardonic expression. Suddenly a distant gun boomed the hour of sunset. At the same instant the marble ceased its erratic career, the wheel stilled and the youngest of the gaming trio and the master of the place--Philip Ware, a graceful, shapely fellow of twenty-three, with a flushed face and nervous manner--pushed the scattered counters across the table with shaking fingers. "My limit to-day," he said with sullen petulance, and flipping the marble angrily into the garden below, crossed to a table and poured out a brandy-and-soda. Daunt's gray eyes had been looking at him steadily, a little curiously. He had known him seven years before at college, though the other had been in a lower class than himself. But those intervening years had left their baleful marks. At home Phil had stood only for loose habit, daring fad, and flaunting mannerism--milestones of a career as completely dissolute as a consistent disregard of conventional moral thoroughfares could well make it. To Yokohama he was rapidly coming to be, in the eyes of the censorious, an example for well-meaning youth to avoid, an incorrigible _flanêur_, a purposeless idler on the primrose paths. "Better luck next time," said one of the others lightly. "Come along, Larry; we'll be off to the club." The older man rose to depart more deliberately, his great size becoming apparent. He was framed like a wrestler, abnormal width of shoulder and massive head giving an effect of weight which contrasted oddly with aquiline features in which was a touch of the accipitrine, something ironic and sinister, like a vulture. His eyes were dappled yellow and deep-set and had a peculiar expression of cold, untroubled regard. He crossed to the farther side and looked down. "What a height!" he said. "The whole harbor is laid out like a checker-board." He spoke in a tone curiously dead and lacking in _timbre_. His English was perfect, with a trace of accent. "Pretty fair," assented Phil morosely. "It ought to be a good place to view the Squadron, when it comes in to-morrow morning. It must have cost the Japanese navy department a pretty penny to build those temporary wharves along the Bund. They must be using a thousand incandescents! By the decorations you'd think the Dreadnaughts were Japan's long lost brothers, instead of battle-ships of a country that's likely to have a row on with her almost any minute. I wonder where they will anchor." The yellowish eyes had been gazing with an odd, intent glitter, and into the heavy, pallid face, turned away, had sprung sharp, evil lines, that seemed the shadows of some monstrous reflection on which the mind had fed. Its sudden, wicked vitality was in strange contrast to the toneless voice, which now said: "They will lie just opposite this point." "So far in?" The young man leaning on the balustrade spoke interestedly. "It seems as though from here one could almost shoot a pea aboard any one of them." "You might send me up some sticks of _Shimosé_, Doctor," said Phil with satiric humor, "and I'll practise. I'll begin by shying a few at this forsaken town; it needs it!" The big man smiled faintly as he withdrew his eyes, and held out his hand to the remaining visitor. The degrading lines had faded from his face. "I'm distinctly glad to have seen you, Mr. Daunt," he said. "I've watched your trials with your aëroplane more than once lately at the parade-ground. I saw the elder Wright at Paris last year and I believe your flight will prove as well sustained as his. It's a pity you can't compete for some of the European prizes." "I'm afraid that would take me out of the amateur class," was the answer. "It's purely an amusement with me--a fad, if you like." "A very useful one," said the other, "unless you break your neck at it. I wonder we haven't met before in Tokyo. I have an appointment to-night, by the way, with your Ambassador. Come in to see me soon," he said, turning to Phil. "I'm at home most of the time. Come and dine with me again. I've only an indifferent cook, as you have discovered, I'm afraid, but my new boy Ishida can make a famous cup of coffee and I can always promise you a good cigar." "Doctor Bersonin's the real thing!" said Phil, when the other had disappeared. "He's a scientist--the biggest in his line--but he's no prig. He believes in enjoying life. You ought to see his villa at Kisaraz on the Chiba Road. He's worth a million, they say, and he must make no end of money as a government expert." He paused, then added: "You seem mighty quiet to-night! How does he strike you?" Daunt was silent. He had seen that strange look that had shot across the expert's face--at the sound of a laugh! He was wondering, too, what attraction could exist between this middle-aged scientist with his cold eyes and emotionless voice and Phil, sparkling and irresponsible black-sheep and ne'er-do-well, who thought of nothing but his own coarse pleasures. Frequently, of late, he had seen them together, at theater or tea-house, and once in Bersonin's motor-car in Shiba Park in Tokyo. "You don't like him! I can see that well enough," went on Phil aggressively. "Why not? He's a lot above any man _I_ know, and I'm proud to have him for a friend of mine." "There's no accounting for tastes," returned Daunt dryly. "At any rate, I don't imagine it matters particularly whether I like Doctor Bersonin or not. There's another thing that's more apropos." He pointed to the decanter in the other's hands. "You've had enough of that to-night, I should think." Phil reddened. "I've had no more than I can carry, if it comes to that," he retorted. "And I guess I'm able to take care of myself." Daunt hesitated a moment. To-day's call had been a part of his consistent effort, steadily growing more irksome, to keep alive for the sake of the old college name, the _quasi_ friendship between them and to invoke whatever influence he might once have possessed. "I'm thinking of your brother," he said quietly. "You say his yacht came into harbor from Kobe to-day. He'll scarcely be more than a week in the temple cities, and any train may bring him after that. You'll want all the time you've got to straighten out. You'll need to put your best foot forward." A look that was not pleasant shot across Phil's face. "I suppose I shall," he said savagely. "A pretty brother he is! He wrote me from home that if he found I'd been playing, he'd cut his allowance to me to twenty dollars a week. I'd like to knock that smile of his down his throat--the cold-blooded fish! _He_ spends enough!" "He's earned it, I understand," said Daunt. "So will I, perhaps, after I've had my fling. I'm in no hurry, and I won't take orders always from him! I've had to knuckle down to him all my life, and I'm precious tired of it, I can tell you." Daunt's eyes had turned to the broad expanse below, where the white sails of vagrant _sampan_ drifted. In the road he could hear the sharp tap-tap of a blind _amma_--adept in the Japanese massage which coaxes soreness from the body--as he passed slowly along, feeling his way with his stick and from time to time sounding on his metal flute his characteristic double note. Across the moment's silence the sound came clear and bird-like, very shrill and sweet. "What business is it of his," Phil added, "if I choose to stay out here in the East?" Daunt withdrew his gaze. "Take his advice, Phil," he said. "The East isn't doing you any good. You're doing nothing but dissipate. And--it doesn't pay." Phil gave a short, sneering laugh. "Why shouldn't I stay abroad if I can have more fun here than I can at home?" he returned. "If I had my way, I'd never want to see the United States again! This country suits me at present. When I get tired, I'll leave--if I can raise enough to get out of town." A flush had risen to Daunt's forehead, but he turned away without reply. At the stair, however, he spoke again: "Look here, Phil," he said, coming slowly back. "Why not come up to Tokyo for a while? It's--quieter, and it will be a change. I have a little Japanese house in Aoyama that I leased as a place to work on my Glider models, but I don't use it now, and it's fairly well furnished. The caretaker is an excellent cook, too." He took a key from its ring and laid it on the table. "Let me leave this anyway--the address is on the label--and do as you like about it." Phil looked at him an instant with narrowing eyes, then laughed. "Tokyo as a gentle sedative, eh? And pastoral visitations every other day!" "You needn't be afraid of that," replied Daunt. "I'll not come to lecture you. I haven't set foot in the place for a month, and probably shan't for a month to come. Go up and try it, anyway. Drop the Bund and the races for a little while and get a grip on things!" Phil looked away. A sudden memory came to him of a face he had seen in Tokyo--at one of the _matsuri_ or ward-festivals--a girl's face, oval and pensive and with a smile like a flash of sunlight. Her _kimono_ had been all of holiday colors, and he had tried desperately to pick acquaintance, with poor success. A second time he had seen her, on the beach at Kamakura. Then she had worn a _kimono_ of rich brown, soft and clinging, and an _obi_ stamped with yellow maple leaves and fastened with a little silver clasp in the shape of a firefly. She was with a party of girls bent on frolic; they had discarded the white cleft _tabi_ and clog and were splashing through the surf bare-kneed. He could see yet the foam on the perfect naked feet, and below the lifted _kimono_ and red petticoat, the gleam of the white skin that is the dream of Japanese women. A flush crept over Phil's face as he remembered. He had had better success that time. She had dropped her swinging clog and he had rescued it, and won a word of thanks and a smile from her dark eyes. She herself had unbent little, but the girls with her were full of frolic and the handsome foreigner was an adventure. He had discovered that she spoke English and lived in Tokyo, in the ward of the _matsuri_. But though he had strolled through that district a score of times since, he had not seen her again. "You're not a bad sort, Daunt," he said. "I don't know but I--will." "Good," said Daunt. "I'll send a chit to my caretaker the first thing in the morning, and I'll put your name on the visitors' list at the Tokyo Club. Well, I must be off." * * * * * Phil saw him cross the fragrant close to the gate with a growing sneer. Then he threw himself on a chair and gazed moodily out across the deepening haze to where, just inside the harbor breakwater, lay the white yacht of whose coming Daunt had spoken. A bitter scowl was on his face. Far below, at a little wharf, he could see a tiny red triangle; it marked his sail-boat, the _Fatted-Calf_, so christened at a tea-house on the river where he and other choice spirits maintained the club whose _geisha_ suppers had become notorious. Japan, to his way of life, had proven expensive. He had drawn on every available resource and had borrowed more than he liked to remember, but still his debts had grown. And now, with the coming of the white yacht, he saw a lowering danger to the allowance on which he abjectly depended. He knew his brother for one whom no plea could sway from a determination, who on occasion could hew to the line with merciless exactitude. Suppose he should cut off his allowance altogether. An ugly passion stole over his countenance. He sprang up, filled a glass from the decanter and drank it thirstily. With the instant glow of the liquor his mood relaxed. He picked up the key from the table and stood thoughtfully swinging it a moment by its wooden label. Then he put it in his pocket and, looking at his watch, caught up a straw hat and went briskly down to the street. He swung down the steep, twisting, ravine-like road to the Bund with less of ill-humor. He had no thought of the dark blue sky arching over, soft with vapors like a smoke of gold, or of the glimpses of the sea that came in sharp bursts of light between the curving walls that towered on either side. He sniffed the thick, Eastern smells as a cat sniffs catnip, his eye searching the stream of brown, shouting coolies and toiling _rick'sha_, to linger on a satiny oval face under a shining head-dress, or the powdered cheek of a gold-brocaded _geisha_ on her way to some noble's feast. At the foot of the hill, stood a sign-board on which was pasted a large bill in yellow: AT THE GAIETY THEATER LIMITED ENGAGEMENT OF THE POPULAR HARDMANN COMIC OPERA COMPANY WITH MISS CISSY CLIFFORD He paused in front of this a moment, then passed to the Bund. At its upper end, near the hotel front, great floating wharves had been built out into the water. They were gaily trimmed with bunting and electric lights in geometrical designs, and were flanked by arches covered with twigs of ground-pine. A small army of workmen were still busied on them, for the European Squadron in whose honor they had been erected would arrive at dawn the next morning. Just beyond the arches, under a row of twisted pines, were a number of park benches, and from one of these a girl with a beribboned parasol greeted him. "You're a half hour late, Phil," she complained. "I've been waiting here till I'm tired to death." She made place for him with a rustle of flounces. She was showily dressed, her cheeks bore the marks of habitual grease-paint and the fingers of one over-ringed hand were slightly yellowed from cigarette smoke. "Hello, Cissy," he said carelessly, and sat down beside her. In his mind was still the picture of that oval Japanese face suffused with pink, those pretty bare feet splashing through the foam, and he looked sidewise at his companion with an instant's sullen distaste. "I had another row with the manager to-day," she continued. "I told him he must think his company was a kindergarten!" "Trust you to set him right in that," he answered satirically. "My word!" she exclaimed. "How glum you are to-day! Same old poverty, I suppose." She rose and shook out her skirts. "Come," she said. "There's no play to-night. I'm in for a lark. Let's go to the Jewel-Fountain Tea-House. They've got a new juggler there." CHAPTER III THE LAND OF THE GODS In the first touch of the shore, where the Ambassador's pretty daughter waited, Barbara's problem had been swept away. Patricia had rushed to meet her, embraced her, with a moist, ecstatic kiss on her cheek, rescued the bishop from his ordeal of hand-shaking and carried him off to find their trunks, leaving Barbara borne down by a Babel of sound and scent whose newness made her breathless, and to whose manifold sensations she was as keenly alive as a photographic plate to color. A half-dozen gnarled, unshaven porters in excessively shabby jackets and straw sandals carried her hand-baggage into the hideously modern, red-brick custom-house, over whose entrance a huge golden conventionalized chrysanthemum shone in the sunlight, and as she watched them, a dapper youth in European dress, with a shining brown derby, a bright purple neck-tie, a silver-mounted cane and teeth eloquent of gold bridge-work, slid into her hand a card whose type proclaimed that Mr. Y. Nakajima "did the guiding for foreign ladies and gentlemans." The air was fragrant with the mild aroma from tiny Japanese pipes and a-flutter with moving fans. A group of elderly men in hot frock-coats and tiles of not too modern vintage were welcoming a returning official, and sedate gentlemen in sad-colored _houri_ and spotless cleft foot-wear, bowed double in stately ceremonial, with the sucking-in of breath which in the old-fashioned Japanese etiquette means "respectful awe bordering on terror." Barbara had found herself singularly conscious of a feeling of universal good-nature. It came to her even in the posture of the resting coolies, stretched at the side of the quay, lazily sunning themselves, with whiffs of the omnipresent little pipe, and in the faces of the bare-legged _rick'sha_ men, with round hats like bobbing mushrooms, arms and chests glistening with sweat, and thin towels printed in black and blue designs tucked in their girdles. She smiled at them, and they smiled back at her with that unvarying smile which the Japanese of every caste wears to wedding and to funeral. She even caught herself patting the tonsured head of a preternaturally solemn baby swaddled in a variegated _kimono_ and strapped to the back of a five-year-old boy. The _rick'sha_ ride to the _stenshun_ (for so the Japanese has adapted the English word "station") was a moving panorama of strange high lights and shades, of savory odors from bake-ovens, of open shop-fronts hung with gaudy figured crape, or piled with saffron _biwa_, warty purple melons, ebony eggplant, shriveled yellow peppers and red Hokkaido apples, of weighted carts drawn by chanting half-naked coolies, and swiftly gliding victorias of Europeans. From a hundred houses in the long, narrow streets hung huge gilded sign-boards, painted with idiographs of black and red. At intervals the tall stone front of a foreign business building looked down on its neighbors, or a tea-house towered three stories high, showing gay little verandas on which stood pots of flowers and dwarf trees; between were smaller houses of frame and of cement, and thick-walled _go-downs_ for storing goods against fire. Here and there, from behind a gateway of unpainted wood, showing a delicate grain, a pine thrust up its needled clump of green, or a cherry-tree flung its pink pyrotechnics against the sky's flood of dimming blue and gold. At a crossing a deformed beggar with distorted face and the featureless look of the leper, waved a crutch and wheedled from the roadside, and a child in dun-colored rags, unbelievably agile and dirty, ran ahead of Barbara's _rick'sha_, prostrating himself again and again in the dust, holding out grimy hands and whining for a _sen_. In the side streets Barbara could catch glimpses of bare-breasted women sitting in shop doors nursing babies, and children of a larger growth playing Japanese hopscotch or tossing "diavolo," the latest foreign toy. When the _rick'sha_ set them down at the station she felt bewildered, yet full of exhilaration. As they drew up at its stone front, a porter with red cap and brass buttons emerged and began to ring a heavy bell, swinging it back and forth in both hands. The bishop bought their tickets at a little barred window bearing over it the sign: "Your baggages will be sent freely in every direction." Making their way along the platform, crowded with Japanese, mostly in native dress, and filled with the aroma of cigarettes and the thin ringing of innumerable wooden clogs on stone flags, Barbara was conscious for the first time of a studious surveillance. A young Japanese passed her carrying his bent and wizened mother on his back; the old woman, clutching him tightly about the neck, turned her shaven head to watch. Children in startling rainbow tinted _kimono_ stared from the platform with round, serious eyes. A peasant woman, with teeth brilliantly blackened, peered from a car window, and a group of young men turned bodily and regarded her with gravely observant gaze, in a prolonged, unwinking scrutiny that seemed as innocent of courtesy as of any intent to offend. In European cities she had felt the gaze of other races, but this was different. It was not the curious study of a phenomenon, of an enduring puzzle of far origins, nor the expression of the ignorant, vacantly amused by what they do not understand; it was a deeper look of inner placidity, that held no wonder and no awe, and somehow suggested thoughts as ancient as the world. A curious sense began to possess Barbara of having left behind her all familiar every-day things, of being face to face with some new wonder, some brooding mystery which she could not grasp. They entered the car just behind an ample lady who had been among the ship's passengers--a good-natured, voluble Cook's tourist who, the second day out, had confided to Barbara her certainty of an invitation to the Imperial Cherry-Blossom party, as her husband had "a friend in the litigation." She wore a painted-muslin, and the husband of influential acquaintance and substantial, red-bearded person showed now a gleaming expanse of white waistcoat crossed by a gold watch-chain that might have restrained a tiger. The lady nodded and smiled beamingly. "Isn't it all perfectly splendid!" she cried. "There was a baby on the platform that was too _sweet_!--for all the world like the Japanese dolls we buy at home, with their hair shingled and a little round spot shaved right in the crown! My husband tried to give it a silver dollar, but the mother just smiled and bowed and went away and left it lying on the bench." She found a seat and fanned herself vigorously with a handkerchief. "I just thought I never _would_ get through that car door," she added. "It's only two feet across!" The road was narrow gage and the seats ran the length of the car on either side. Hardly had its occupants settled themselves when, to the shrill piping of a horn, the train started. "Goodness, this is a relief!" sighed Patricia, as the bishop opened the first Japanese newspaper he had seen for many months. "I hate _rick'sha_--they're such unsociable things! I haven't said ten words to you, Barbara, and I've got oceans to talk about. But I'll be merciful till I get you home. What a good-looking youth that is in the corner!" The young man referred to had a light skin and long, almond-shaped eyes. He wore a suit of gray merino underwear, and between the end of the drawers and the white, cleft sock, an inch of polished skin was visible. His hat was a modish felt. His _houri_, which bore a woven crest on breast and sleeves, swung jauntily open and above his left ear was coquettishly disposed an unlighted cigarette. Next him, under a brass rack piled with bright-patterned carpet-bags, an old lady in dove-colored silk was placidly inflating a rubber air-cushion. Her face had an artificial delicacy of _nuance_ that was a triumph of rice-powder and rouge. Beside her was a girl of perhaps eighteen, in a _kimono_ of dark blue and an _obi_ of gold brocade. The latter wore white silk "mits" with bright metal trimming and on one slender finger was a diamond ring. Her hands were delicately artistic and expressive, and her complexion as soft as the white wing of a miller. She gazed steadfastly away, but now and then her sloe-black eyes returned to study Barbara's foreign gown and hat with surreptitious attention. "What complexions!" whispered Patricia. "The old lady made hers this morning, sitting flat on a white mat in front of a camphor-wood dressing-chest about two feet high, with twenty drawers and a round steel mirror on top. It beats a hare's-foot, doesn't it! The daughter's is natural. If I had been born with a skin like that, it would have changed my whole disposition!" Having settled her air-cushion, the old lady drew from her girdle a lacquer case and produced a pipe--a thin reed with a tiny silver bowl at its end. A flat box yielded a pinch of tobacco as fine as snuff. This she rolled between her fingers into a ball the size of a small pea, placed it carefully in the bowl and began to smoke. Each puff she inhaled with a lingering inspiration and emitted it slowly, in a thin curdled cloud, from her nostrils. Three puffs, and the tiny coal was exhausted. She tapped the pipe gently against the edge of the seat, put it back into the case and replaced the latter in her girdle. Then, tucking up her feet under her on the plush seat, she turned her back to the aisle and went to sleep. Three students in the uniform of some lower school with foreign jackets of blue-black cloth set off with brass buttons, sat in a row on the opposite side. Each had a cap like a cadet's, with a gilt cherry-blossom on its front, and all watched Barbara movelessly. The man nearest her wore a round straw hat and horn spectacles. He was reading a vernacular newspaper, intoning under his breath with a monotonous sing-song, like the humming of a bumblebee. Between them a little boy sat on the edge of the seat, his clogs hanging from the thong between his bare toes, the sleeves of his _kimono_ bulging with bundles. He stared as if hypnotized at a curl of Barbara's bronze hair which lay against the cushion. Once he stretched out a hand furtively to touch it, but drew it back hastily. "If I could only talk to him!" Barbara exclaimed. "I want to know the language. Tell me, Patsy--how long did it take you to learn?" "I?" cried Patricia in comical amazement. "Heavens and earth, _I_ haven't learned it! I only know enough to badger the servants. You have to turn yourself inside out to think Japanese, and then stand on your head to talk it." "Never mind, Barbara," said the bishop, looking up from his newspaper. "You can learn it if you insist on it. Haru would be a capital teacher--bless my soul, I believe I forgot to tell you about her!" "Who is Haru?" asked Barbara. "She's a young Japanese girl, the daughter of the old _samurai_ who sold us the land for the Chapel. The family is a fine old one, but of frayed fortune. I was greatly interested in her, chiefly, perhaps, because she is a Christian. She became so with her father's consent, though he is a Buddhist. She isn't of the servant class, of course, but I thought--if you liked--she would make an ideal companion for you while you are learning Tokyo." "I know Haru," said Patricia. "She's a dear! She's as pretty as a picture, and her English is too quaint!" "It would be lovely to have her," Barbara answered. "You're a very thoughtful man, Uncle Arthur. Are you sure she'll want to?" "I'll send her a note and ask her to come to you at the Embassy this evening. Then--all aboard for the Japanese lessons!" "No such wisdom for me, thank you," said Patricia. "I prefer to take mine in through the pores. All the Japanese officials speak English anyway, just as much as the diplomatic corps. By the way, there's Count Voynich, the Servian _Chargé_." She nodded toward the farther end of the carriage where a bored-looking European plaintively regarded the landscape through a monocle. "He's nice," she added reflectively, "but he's a dyspeptic. I caught him one night at a dinner dropping a capsule into his soup. He has a cabinet with three hundred Japanese _nets'kés_--they're the little ivory carvings on the strings of tobacco-pouches. He didn't speak to me for a month once because I said it looked like a dental exhibition. Almost every secretary has a fad, and that's his. Ours has an aëroplane. He practises on it nearly every day on the parade-ground. The pudgy woman in the other corner with a cockatoo in her hat is Mrs. Sturgis, the wife of the big exporter. She wears red French heels and calls her husband 'papa'." Barbara's laughter was infectious. It caught the bishop. It reflected itself even on the demure face of the Japanese girl, and the serious youths opposite giggled openly in sympathy. "I do envy you your first impressions!" exclaimed Patricia. "I've been here so long that I've forgotten mine. It seems perfectly natural now for people to live in houses made of bird-cages and paper napkins, and travel about in grown-up baby-buggies, and to see men walking around with bare legs and oil-skin umbrellas. It's like the sea-shore at home, I suppose--you get used to it." The train had stopped at a suburb and guards went by proclaiming its name in a musical guttural, their voices dwelling insistently on the long-drawn, last syllable. The next carriage was a third-class one with bare floors and wooden benches, set crosswise. Through the opened door Barbara could see its crowd of brown faces, keen and saturnine. On its front seat a heavy-featured, lumpish coolie woman was nursing a three-year-old baby, holding it to her bared breast with red and roughened hands. Just outside the station's white-washed fence, a clump of factory chimneys spouted pitchy smoke into the dimming sky, and the descending sun glistened from a monster gas-tank. Farther away, beyond clipped hedges, lay thatched roofs, looking as soft as mole-skin, with wild flowers growing on the ridges, and bamboo clumps soaring above them, like pale green ostrich-feathers yellow at the tips. Through the open window came the treble note of a girl singing. A man passed hastily through the carriage leaving a trail of small pamphlets bound in green paper with gold lettering--an advertisement of a health resort, printed in English for the tourist. Barbara opened one curiously. She looked up with a merry eye. "Here's a paragraph for you, Uncle Arthur," she said. "Listen: "'This place has other modern monuments, first and second-class hotels and many sea-scapes. In one quarter are a number of missionaries, but they can easily be avoided.'" "Do let us credit that to difficulties of the language," he protested. "I'm sure that must have been meant complimentarily." "But what a contradiction!" put in Patricia wickedly. "Well," he retorted. "My baker has a sign on his wagon, 'The biggest loafer in Tokyo.' He means that well, too." A shrill whistle, a slamming of doors, and now the gray roofs fell away. On one side the steel road all but dipped in the bay. Wild ducks drew startled wakes across the rippleless lagoon. On a sand-bar a flock of gray and white gulls disported, looking at a distance like pied bathers; and about an anchored fishing boat, a dozen naked urchins were splashing with shrill cries. Far across the inlet, hazy, vapory, visionary, Barbara could make out a farther shore, an outline in violets and opalines, coifed with lilac cloud, and in the mid-azure a high-pooped _junk_ swam by, a shape of misty gold, palely drawn in wan, blue light. On the other side the train was rounding grassy hills, terraced to the very tops. Laid against their steep sides, or standing upright on wooden framework, were occasional huge advertisements in red or white--Chinese characters or pictures--while flowering camelia trees and small green-yellow shrubs drew lengthening blue shadows. A high tressle spanned acres of orchard where continuous trellis made a carpet of growing fruit, across which Barbara saw far away the bold outline of bluish hills. They were crossing flooded rice-fields now, like gigantic crazy checker-boards, and the air was musical with the low, chirring chorus of frogs. Shades of orange light played over the marshes, bars of rape braided them with vivid yellow, and on the narrow, curving partitions between the burnished squares, round stacks of garnered straw stood like crawfish chimneys. Amid them peasants worked with broad-bladed mattocks, knee-deep in mud. They were blue clad, with white cloths bound about their heads, and some had sashes of crimson. Here and there, naked to the thighs, a boy trod a water-wheel between the terraced levels. At intervals a refractory rock-hillock served as excuse for a single twisted pine-tree shading a carved tablet to some _Shinto_ divinity, or a steep bluff sheltered a tiny shrine of unpainted wood; and all along the way, shining canals drew silver ribbons through the paddy-fields, and little arrowy flights of birds darted hither and thither. Occasionally they passed small, neat stations, each with its white sign-boards bearing long liquid names in English, and queer Japanese characters. Opposite one, on a sloping hill that was a mass of deep glowing green, Patricia pointed out the peaked roofs of a cluster of temples, the shrine of some century-dead Buddhist saint. Barbara began to realize that these fields through which this modern train was gliding were old Japan, that in those blue hills had been nurtured the ancient legends she had read, of famous two-sworded _samurai_, of swaggering bandits and pleasure-loving _shogun_, and of tea-house _geisha_ who danced their way into _daimyo's_ palaces. The spell of the land, whose sheer beauty had thrilled her on the ship, drew her closer with the threads of memories almost forgotten. Its contrasts were wonderful. They spoke of primary and unmixed emotions, that lisped themselves through the fading golden sunlight, the moist, dreamy air, the graceful outlines of roof and tree. In the west the sun was declining toward a range of hills jagged as the teeth of a bear. Their tops were pale as cloud and their bases melted into an ebony line of forest. The plain below was a winey purple, with slashes of red earth gorges like fresh wounds, and one side had the cloudy color of raspberries crushed in curdled milk. The farther range seemed a part of a far-off painted curtain, tinted in pastels, and high above a milky cloud floated, curling like a lace scarf about the opal crest of Fuji, mysteriously blue and dim as an Arctic summer sea. Barbara glimpsed it, the very spirit of beauty, between the whirling shadows of pine and camphor trees, between tiled walls guarding thatched temples, flights of gray pigeons and spurts of pink cherry-blossom. As she leaned out, and the pines bowed rhythmically, and the water-wheels turned in the furrows, and the yellow-green of the bamboo, the purple-indigo of the hills and the golden-pink of the cherries lifting, above the hedges, went by like raveling skeins of a tapestry--that majestic Presence, ghostly and splendid above the wild contour of hill and mountain, seemed to call to her. And across the gorgeous landscape, rejoicing from every rift and crevice of its moist soil, in its colors of rich red earth and green foliage, in the grace and vigor of its springing, resilient bamboo groves and the cardinal pride of its flowering camelias, Barbara's heart answered the call. CHAPTER IV UNDER THE RED SUNSET The slowing of the train awoke Barbara from her reverie. The three boy students got out, casting sidelong glances at her. More Japanese entered, and two foreigners--a bright-faced girl on the arm of a keen-eyed, soldierly man with bristling white hair, a mustache like a walrus, and a military button. The girl's hands were full of cherry-branches, whose bunches of double blossoms, incredibly thick and heavy, filled the car with a delicate fragrance. The bishop folded his newspaper and put it into his pocket. As he did so the owner of the expansive waistcoat leaned across the aisle and addressed him. "Say, my friend," he said, "you've lived out here some time, I understand." "Yes," the bishop replied. "Twenty-five years." "Well, I take it, then, you ought to know this country right down to the ground; and if you don't mind, I'd like to ask a question or two." "Do," said the bishop. "I'll be glad to answer if I can." The other got up and took a seat opposite. "You see," he pursued confidentially, "I came on this trip just for a rest and to settle the bills for the curios my wife"--he indicated the lady, who had now moved up beside him--"thinks she'd like to look at back home. But I've been getting interested by the minute. It's quite some time since I went to school, and I guess there hadn't so much happened then to Japan. I wish you'd run down the scale for me--just to hit the high places. Now there was a big rumpus here, I remember, at the time of our Civil War. They chose a new Emperor, didn't they?" "No. The dynasty has been unbroken for two thousand years." "Two thousand years!" cried the lady. "Why, that's before Christ!" "When our ancestors, Martha, were painting themselves up in yellow ochre and carrying clubs--what was the row about, then?" "It was something like this. To go back a little, the Emperor was always the nominal ruler and spiritual head, but the temporal power was administered by a self-decreed Viceroy called the _shogun_. Japan was a closed country and only a little trading was allowed in certain ports." His questioner nodded. The girl beside the white-haired old soldier had touched the latter's sleeve, and both were listening attentively. "Then Perry came along and kicked open the gate. Bombarded 'em, didn't he?" The bishop's eyes twinkled. "Only with gifts. He brought a small printing-press, a toy telegraph line and a miniature locomotive and railroad track. He set up these on the beach and showed the officials whom the _shogun's_ government sent to treat with him, how they worked. In the end he made them understand the immense value of the scientific advancement of the western world. The visit was an eye-opener, and the wiser Japanese realized that the nation couldn't exist under the old _régime_ any longer. It must make general treaties and adopt new ideas. Some, on the other hand, wanted things to stay as they were." "Pulling both ways, eh?" "Yes. At length the progressists decided on a sweeping measure. Under the _shogunate_, the _daimyos_ (they were the great landed nobles) had been in a continual state of suppressed insurrection." "Some wouldn't knuckle down to the _shogun_, I suppose." "Exactly. There was no national rallying-point. But they all alike revered their Emperor. In all the bloody civil wars of a thousand years--and the Japanese were always fighting, like Europe in the Middle Ages--no _shogun_ ever laid violent hands on the Emperor. He was half divine, you see, descended from the ancient gods, a living link between them and modern men. So now they proposed to give him complete temporal power, make him ruler in fact, and abolish the _shogunate_ entirely." "Phew! And the big _daimyos_ came into line on the proposition?" "They poured out their blood and their money like water for the new cause. The _shogun_ himself voluntarily relinquished his power and retired to private life." "Splendid!" said the stranger, and the girl clapped her gloved hands. "So that was the 'Restoration,' the beginning of _Meiji_, whatever that may mean?" "The 'Era of Enlightenment.' The present Emperor, Mutsuhito, was a boy of sixteen then. They brought him here to Yedo, and renamed it Tokyo----" "And proceeded to get reeling drunk on western notions," said the man with the military button, smiling grimly. "I was out here in the Seventies." "True, sir," assented the bishop. "It was so, for a time. And the opposition took refuge in riot, assassination, and suicide. But gradually Japan worked the modernization scheme out. She sent her young statesmen to Europe and America to study western systems of education, jurisprudence and art. She hired an army of experts from all over the world. She sent her cleverest lads to foreign universities. In the end she chose what seemed to her the best from all. Her military ideas come from Germany and her railroad cars from the town of Pullman, Illinois. When the best didn't suit her, she invented a system of her own, as she has done with wireless telegraphy." "So!" said the other. "I'm greatly obliged to you, sir. I've read plenty in the newspapers, but I never had it put so plain. It strikes me," he added to the old soldier, "that a nation plucky enough to do this in fifty years, in fifty more will make some other nations get a move on." He brought a big fist smashing down in an open palm. "And, by gad! the Japanese deserve all they get! When we go back I guess me and Martha won't march in any anti-Jap torch-light processions, anyway!" The fields were gone now. The train was rumbling along a canal teeming with laden _sampan_, level with the paper _shoji_ of frail-looking houses on its opposite bank. Beyond lay a sea of roofs, swelling gray billows of tiling spotted with green foam, from which steel factory chimneys lifted like the black masts of sunken ships. A leafy hill of cryptomeria rose near-by, and an octagonal stone tower peeped above its foliage. Crows were circling about it, black dots against the bronze. The train was entering Tokyo. A door slammed sharply. From the forward smoking carriage a man had entered. He was an European and Barbara was struck at once by his great size and the absence of color in his leaden face. The bored-looking diplomatist in the corner gathered himself hastily into a bow, which the other acknowledged abstractedly. Seemingly he had been occupied in some intent speculation which spread a kind of glaze over his sharp features. A book drooped carelessly from his heavy fingers. "That is Doctor Bersonin," said the bishop, as the girls collected their wraps. "He came just before I left, last fall. He is the government expert, and is supposed to be one of the greatest living authorities on explosives." "Oh, yes," said Patricia, "I know. He invented a dynamo or a torpedo, or something. I saw him once at a reception; he had a foreign decoration as big as a dinner-plate." The big man made his way slowly along the aisle and, still absorbed, took a dust-coat from a rack. As he ponderously drew it on, the daylight was suddenly eclipsed, and the rumbling reëchoed from metal roofing. They were in Shimbashi Station. "Isn't he simply odious!" whispered Patricia, as the expert stepped before them on to the long, dusky, asphalt platform. "His eyes are like a cat's and his hands look as if they wanted to crawl, like big white spiders! There is the Embassy _betto_," she said suddenly, pointing over the turnstile, where stood a Japanese boy in a wide-winged _kimono_ of tea-colored pongee with crimson facings and a crimson mushroom hat. "The carriage is just outside. You'll come, too, of course, Bishop," she added. "Father will expect you." He shook his head and motioned toward a dense assemblage comprising a half dozen of his own race in clerical black, and a half hundred _kimono'd_ Japanese, whose faces seemed one composite smile of welcome. "There is a part of my flock," he said. "There will be a jubilation at my bachelor palace to-night. I shall see you to-morrow, I hope." They watched him for a moment, the center of a ceremonious ring of bowing figures, then passed through the station to the steps where the carriage waited. The station debouched on to a broad open square bordered with canals and lined with ranks of _rick'sha_, some of which had small red flags with the name of a hotel in white letters, in English. The space was gray and dusty; pedestrians dotted it and across it a bent and sweating street-sprinkler hauled his ugly trickling cart, chanting in a half-tone as he went. A little distance away Barbara caught a glimpse of a busy paved street, lined with ambitious glass shop-fronts and with a double line of clanging trolley-cars passing to and fro beneath a maze of telegraph wires seemingly as fine as pack-thread. Her nostrils twitched with strange odors--from stagnant moats of sticky, black mud, from panniers of dressed fish, from the rice-powder and pomade of women's toilets--all the scents bred in swarming streets by a glowing tropic sun. At one side waited a handful of foreign carriages. All the drivers of these wore the loose, flapping liveries and the round hats of green or crimson or blue. "They are Embassy turn-outs," explained Patricia. "Each one has its color, you see. Ours is red and you can see it farthest." As they took their seats an open victoria rolled up, with cobalt-blue wheels, and a _betto_ with a _kimono_ of dark cloth trimmed with wide strips of the same hue ran ahead, clearing the way with raucous cries. "There goes the Bulgarian Minister's wife," said Patricia. "She's got the finest pearls in Tokyo." A hundred yards from the entrance the Embassy carriage halted abruptly and Barbara caught her companion's arm with a low exclamation. At the side of the square, seated or reclining on the ground was a body of perhaps eighty men dressed in a deadly brownish-yellow, the hue of iron-rust, with coarse hats and rough straw sandals. They were disposed in lines, a handcuff was on each left wrist, and a thin, rattling iron chain linked all together. "They are convicts," said Patricia; "on their way to the copper mines, I imagine. They will move presently and we can pass." At the head of the melancholy platoon stood an officer in dark blue cloth uniform and clumsy shoes, a sword by his side. He stood motionless as an idol, his sparse mustaches waxed, his visored cap set square on his crisp, black hair, his bronze face impassive. The prisoners looked on stolidly at the stir of the station, the flying _rick'sha_, the crowded _sampan_ in the canal, and the noisy trolley-cars passing near-by. Some talked in low tones and pointed here and there, with furtive glances at the officer. Barbara noted their different expressions, some stolid, low-browed and featureless, some with side-looks of sharper cunning, all touched with oriental apathy. A bell now began to clamor in the train-shed and there came the rasping hoot of an engine. The officer turned, gave a sharp order, and the prisoners rose, with light clanking of their chains. Another order, and they moved, in double lines of single file, into the station. Patricia heaved a sigh of relief as the halted traffic started. "_Hyaku_, Tucker," she called to the driver. "_Hyaku_ means quickly," she explained aside. "His name is Taka, but I call him Tucker because it's easier to remember." As they rolled swiftly on, through the wondrous panorama of teeming Tokyo streets, the sun hung, an elongated globe of deep orange-crimson, streaked with little whips of rosy cloud. Beneath it the mountains lay like coiled, purple dragons, indolent and surfeited. One star twinkled palely in the lemon-colored sky. Yet now to Barbara the splendor of color seemed tragic, the poured-out beauty but a veil, behind which moved, old and apish and gray, the familiar passions of the world. Before her eyes were flowing and mingling a thousand strands of orient life, yet she saw only the red light glowing on the stone entrance of Shimbashi, with those hideous saffron jackets filing perpetually into its yawning mouth, like unholy spectres in a dream. CHAPTER V THE MAKER OF BUDDHAS The setting sun poured a flood of wine-colored light over Reinanzaka--the "Hill-of-the-Spirit"--whose long slope rose behind the American Embassy, whither the Dandridge victoria was rolling. It was a long leafy ridge stippled with drab walls of noble Japanese houses, and striped with narrow streets of the humble; one of the many green knolls that, rising above the gray roofs, make the Japanese capital seem an endless succession of teeming village and restful grove. Along its crest ran a lane bordered with thorn hedges. A little way inside this stood a huge stone _torii_, facing a square, ornamented gateway, shaded by cryptomerias. The latter was heavily but chastely carved, and on its ceiling was a painting, in green and white on a gold-leaf ground, of Kwan-on, the All-Pitying. From the gate one looked down across the declivity, where in a walled compound, the rambling buildings of the Embassy showed pallidly amid green foliage. Beyond this were sections of trafficking streets, and still farther a narrow, white road climbed a hill toward a military barracks--a blur of dull, terra-cotta red. In the dying afternoon the lane had an air of placid aloofness. Somewhere in a thoroughfare below a trolley bell sounded, an impudent note of haste and change in a symphony of the intransmutable. Over all was the scent of cherry-blossoms and a faint musk-like odor of incense. From the gate a mossy pavement, shaded by sacred _mochi_ trees, led to a Buddhist temple-front of the _Mon-to_ sect, before which a flock of fluttering gray-and-white pigeons were pecking grains of rice scattered by a priest, who stood on its upper step, watching them through placid, gold-rimmed spectacles. He wore a long green robe, a stole of gold brocade was around his neck, and his face was seamed with the lines of life's receding tides. At one side of the pavement, worn and grooved by centuries of worshiping feet, was a square stone font and on the other side a graceful bell-tower of red lacquer. Back of this stood a forest of tall bronze lanterns, and beyond them a graveyard, an acre thick with standing stone tablets of quaint, squarish shape, chiseled with deep-cut idiographs. Nearer the graveyard, overshadowed by the greater bulk of the temple, was a long, low nunnery, with clumps of flowers about it. Through its bamboo lattices one caught glimpses of women's figures, clad in slate-color, of placid faces and boyishly shaven heads. About the yard a few little children were playing and a mother, with a baby on her back, looked smilingly on. The space where the priest stood was connected by a small, curved, elevated bridge with another temple structure standing on the right of the yard, evidently used as a private residence. This was more ornate, far older and touched with decay. Its porch was arcaded, set with oval windows and hung with bronze lanterns green from age. Its entrance doors were beautifully carved, paneled with endless designs in dull colors, and bordered with great gold-lacquer peonies laid on a background of green and vermilion. From their corners jutted snarling heads of grotesque lions and on either side stood gigantic _Ni-O_--glowering demon-guardians of sacred thresholds. Through the straight-boled trees that grew close about it, came transient gleams of a hedged garden, of burnished green and maroon foliage, where cherry-blooms hung like fluffy balls of pink smoke. The garden had a private entrance--a gate in the outer lane--and over this was a small tablet of unpainted wood: [Illustration] Which, translated, read: ALOYSIUS THORN Maker of Buddhas Directly opposite stood a small Christian Chapel. It was newly built and still lacked its final decoration--a rose-window, whose empty sashes were stopped now with black cloth. High above the flowering green its slanting roof lifted a cross. It rose, white and pure, emblem of the Western faith that yet had been born in the East. Over against the ornate pageantry of Buddhist architecture, in a land of another creed, of variant ideals and a passionate devotion to them, it stood, simple, silent, and watchful. The priest on the temple steps was looking at the white cross, regarding it meditatively, as one to whom concrete symbols are badges of spiritual things. Footsteps grated on the gravel and the occupant of the older temple came slowly through its garden. He was a foreigner, though dressed in Japanese costume. His shoulders were broad and powerful and he moved with a quickness and grace in step and action that had something feline in it. His hair, worn long, was black, touched with gray, and a curved mustache hid his lips. His expression was sensitively delicate and alertly odd--an impression added to by deeply-set eyes, one of which was visibly larger than the other, of the variety known as "pearl," slightly bulbous, though liquid-brown and heavily lashed. The new-comer ascended the steps and stood a moment silently beside the priest, watching the gluttonous pigeons. As he looked up, he saw the other's gaze fixed on the Chapel cross. A quick shiver ran across his mobile face, and passing, left it hard with a kind of grim defiance. Presently the priest said in Japanese: "The Christian temple across the way honorably approaches completion. Assuredly, however, moths have eaten my intelligence. Why does the gloomy hole illustriously elect to remain in its wall?" "It is for a thing they call a 'window'," said Thorn. "After a time they will put therein an august abomination, representing sublimely hideous cloud-born beings and idiotic-looking saints in colored glass." The priest nodded his shaven head sagely. "It will, perhaps, deign to be a _gaku_ of the Christian God. I shall, with deference, study it. I have watered my worthless mind with much arrogant reading of Him. Doubtless He was also Buddha and taught The Way." An acolyte had come from the temple and approached the red bell-tower. Midway of the huge bronze bell a heavy cedar beam, like a catapult, was suspended from two chains. He swung this till its muffled end struck the metal rim, and the air swelled with a dreamy sob of sound. He swung it again, and the sob became a palpitant moan, like breakers on a far-away beach. Again, and a deep velvety boom throbbed through the stillness like the heart of eternity. "It is time for the service," said the priest, and turning, went into the temple, from whose interior soon came the woodeny tapping of a _mok'gyo_--the hollow wooden fish, which is the emblem of the _Mon-to_ sect--and the sound of chanting voices. * * * * * Thorn, the man with whom the priest had spoken, crossed the bridge to the other temple with a slow step. He passed between the scowling guardian figures, slid back a paper _shoji_ and entered. The room in which he stood had been the _haiden_, or room of worship. Around its walls were oblong carvings, marvelously lacquered, of the nine flowers and nine birds of old Japanese art. In one were set six large painted panels; the red seal they bore was that of the great Cho Densu, the Fra Angelico of Japan. In its center, under a brocade canopy, was a raised platform once the seat of the High Priest. It faced a long transept, like a chancel; this ended in a short flight of steps leading, through doors of soft, fretted gold-lacquer, to a huge altar set with carved tables, great tarnished brasses and garish furniture. The walls of the transept were done in red with green ornamentations. From the overhead gloom grotesque phoenix and dragon peered down and in the gathering dimness, shot through with the wan yellow gleam of brass, the place seemed uncanny. Thorn drew back a heavy drapery which covered a doorway, and entered a room that was windowless and very dark. He lit a candle. The dim light it furnished disclosed a weird and silent assembly. The space was crowded with strange glimmering deities--of bronze, of silver, of priceless gold-lacquer--the dust thick on their faces, their aureoles misty with cobwebs. Some gazed with passionless serenity, or blessed with outstretched hand; some threatened with scowling faces and clenched thunderbolts: Jizo of the tender smile, in whose sleeves nestle the souls of dead children; Kwan-on, of divine compassion, with her many hands; Emma-dai-O, Judge of the Dead, menacing and terrible; strange sardonic _tengu_, half-bird, half-human. The floor was thick with them. From shelves on the walls leered swollen, frog-like horrors such as often appear on Alaskan totem-poles, triple-headed divinities of India and China, coiled cobras, idols from Ceylon, and curious Thibetan praying-wheels. A sloping stairway slanted through the gloom; beside it was an image of the red god, Aizen Bosatsu, his appalling countenance framed in lurid flames, seated on a fiery lotos. The master of this celestial and infernal pantheon closed and locked the door, and mounted the stairway to the loft--a low, rambling room of eccentric shape, under the curving gables. Here, through a long window beneath the very eaves, the light still came brightly. In the center was a board table, littered with delicate carving-tools. He kindled the charcoal in a bronze _hibachi_, and set over it a copper pot which began to emit a thick, weedy odor. From a cabinet he took phials containing various powders, and measured into the pot a portion from each. Lastly he added a quantity of gold-leaf, slowly, flake by flake. At one side a white silk cloth was draped over a pedestal; he drew this away and looked at the unfinished figure it had concealed. It was an image of Kwan-on, the All-Merciful. Through the open window the chant of the priests came clearly: "_Waku hyoryu kokai_ _Ry[=u]gyo Shokinan_ _Nembi Kwan-on riki_ _Har[=o] fun[=o]motsu._" (He who is beset with perils of dragon and great fish--who drifts on an endless sea--if he offer petition to Kwan-on, waves will not destroy him.) Thorn crossed the room and leaning his elbows on the window-ledge, looked out. Through the odor of incense the monotonous intonation of the liturgy rose with the grandeur of a Gregorian chant: "_Sh[=u]j[=o] kikon-yaku Mury[=o]ku hisshin Kwan-on myochiriki N[=o]ku sekenku._" (He who is in distress--when immeasurable suffering presses on him--Kwan-on, all-wise and all-powerful, can save him from the world's calamity.) Once, while the quiet yard echoed back the slow cadences of the antique tongue, the watcher's eyes turned to the image on the pedestal, then came back to an object that drew them--had drawn them for many days against his will!--the white cross of the Chapel. A last glow of refracted light touched it now, as red as blood, a symbol of the infinite passion and pain. A long time he stood there. The twilight deepened, the chant ceased, lights sprang up along the lane, night fell with its sickle moon and crowding stars, but still he stood, his face between his hands. At length he turned, and groping for the cloth, threw it over the Kwan-on and lit a lamp swinging from a huge brass censer. Unlocking an alcove, he took out a fleece-wrapped bundle and sweeping the tools to one side, set it on the table. He carefully closed the window and thrust a bar through the staple of the door before he unwrapped it. When the fleece was removed, he propped the image it had contained upright on the table. He poured into a shallow plate a few drops of the liquid heating over the fire-bowl--under the lamplight it gleamed and sparkled like molten gold--and with a small brush, using infinite care, began to lay the lacquer on its carven surface. Once, at a sound in some room below--perhaps the movement of a servant--he stopped and listened intently. It was as if he worked by stealth, at some labor self-forbidden, to which an impulse, overmastering though half-denied, drove him in secret. It was a crucifix with a dead Christ upon it. CHAPTER VI THE BAYING OF THE WOLF-HOUND Barbara stood in her room at the Embassy. It was spacious and airy, the high walls paneled in ivory-white, with draperies of Delft blue. The bed and dressing-table were early Adams. A generous bay-window set with flower-boxes filled a large part of one side, and its deep seat was upholstered in blue crepe, the tint of the draperies, printed with large white chrysanthemums. The floor was laid with thin matting of rice-straw in which was braided at intervals a conventional pattern in old-rose. Opposite the bay-window stood a Sendai chest on which was a small Japanese Buddha of gold-lacquer, Amida, the Dweller-in-Light, seated in holy meditation on his lotos-blossom. At first sight this had recalled to Barbara a counterpart image which she had unearthed in a dark corner of the garret in her pinafore days, and which for a week had been her dearest possession. To this room Mrs. Dandridge herself had taken her, presenting to her Haru, whom the bishop's note had brought--a vivid, eager figure from a Japanese fan, who had sunk suddenly prone, every line of her slender form bowed, hands palm-down on the floor and forehead on them, in a ceremonious welcome to the foreign _Ojo-San_. Her mauve _kimono_ was woven with camelias in silver, set off by an _obi_, showing a flight of storks on a blue background and clasped in front with a silver firefly. The heavy jet hair was rolled into wings on either side, and a high puff surmounted her forehead. Thin twin spirals, stiff with pomade, joined at the back like the pinions of a butterfly, and against the blue-black loops lay a bright knot of ribbon. She was now moving about the room with silent padding of light feet in snowy, digitated _tabi_, admiring the gowns which the maid had taken from Barbara's trunks. Occasionally she passed a slim hand up and down a soft wrap with a graceful, purring regard, or held a fleecy boa under her small oval chin and stole a glance in the cheval glass with a little ecstatic quiver of shoulder. Once she paused to look at the lacquer image on the Sendai chest. "Buddha," she said. "Japan man think very good for die-time." "Haru," said Barbara as the maid's busy Japanese fingers went searching for elusive hooks and eyes, "is it true that every Japanese name has a meaning?" "So, _Ojo-San_! That mos' indeed true. All Japan name mean something. 'Haru' mean spring, for because my born that time. Very funny--_né?_" "It is very pretty," said Barbara. "How tha's nize!" was the delighted exclamation. "_Mama-San_ give name. My like name yella-ways for because _mama-San_ no more in this world. My house little lonesome now." "Where is your house, Haru? Near by?" The slender hand, pointed to the wooded height behind the garden. "Jus' there on the street call Prayer-to-the-gods. My house so-o-o small, an' garden 'bout such big." She indicated a space of perhaps six feet square. "Funny!--_né_?" "And who lives there with you?" Haru smiled brilliantly. "Oh, so-o-o many peoples! _Papa-San_, an'--jus' me." "No brother?" She shook her head. "My don' got," she said. "_Papa-San_ very angry for because my jus' girl an' no could be kill in Port Arthur!" She spoke with a smile, but the matter-of-fact words brought suddenly home to Barbara something of the flavor of that passionate loyalty, that hot heroism and debonair contempt of death which has been the theme of a hundred stories. "Do all Japanese feel so, Haru?" she asked. "Would every father be glad to give his son's life for Japan?" The girl looked at her as if she jested. "Of _course_! All Japan man mos' happy if to be kill for our Emperor! Tha's for why better to be man. Girl jus' can stay home an' _wish_!" As the gown's last fastening was slipped into its place, she turned up her lovely oval face with a smiling, sidelong look. [Illustration] "_Ma-a-a!_" she exclaimed. "How it is _beau_-tee-ful! _né_? only--" "Only what?" "My thinks the _Ojo-San_ must suffer through the center!" Laughingly Barbara caught the other's slim wrist and drew her before the mirror. By oriental standards the Japanese girl was as finely bred as herself. In the two faces, both keenly delicate and sensitive, yet so sharply contrasted--one palely olive under its jetty pillow of straight black hair, the other fair and brown-eyed, crowned with curling gold--the extremes of East and West looked out at each other. "See, Haru," said Barbara. "How different we are!" "You so more good-look!" sighed the Japanese girl. "My jus' like the night." "Ah, but a moonlighted night," cried Barbara, "soft and warm and full of secrets. When you have a sweetheart you will be far more lovely to him than any foreign girl could be!" Haru blushed rosily. "Sweetheart p'r'aps now," she said, "--all same kind America story say 'bout." "Have you really, Haru?" cried Barbara. "I love to hear about sweethearts. Maybe--some day--I may have one, too. Some time you'll tell me about him. Won't you?" Suddenly, far below the window, there came a snarling scramble and a savage, menacing bay. Barbara leaned out. A tawny, long-muzzled wolf-hound, fastened to a stake, glared up at her out of red-dimmed eyes. "Poor fellow!" she exclaimed. "He looks sick. Does he have to be tied up?" The Japanese girl shivered. "Very bad dog," she said. "My think very danger to not kill." The deep tone of the dinner gong shuddered through the house and Barbara hastened out. Patricia met her in the hall and the two girls, with arms about each other's waists, descended the broad angled stair to the dining-room, where the Ambassador stood, tall and spare and iron-gray, with a contagious twinkle in his kindly eye. "Well," he asked, "did you feel the earthquake?" Barbara gave an exclamation of dismay. "Has there been one already?" "Pshaw!" he said contritely. "Perhaps there hasn't. You see, in Japan, we get so used to asking that question--" "Now, Ned!" warned Mrs. Dandridge. "You'll have Barbara frightened to death. We really don't have them so very often, my dear--and only gentle shakes. You mustn't be dreaming of Messina." The Ambassador pointed to the ceiling, where a wide crack zigzagged across. "There's a recent autograph to bear me out. It happened on the eleventh of last month." "Father remembers the date because of the horrible accident it caused," said Patricia. "A piece of the kitchen plaster came down in his favorite dessert and we had to fall back on pickled plums. "I'm simply wild to see your gowns, Barbara," she continued, as they took their places. "Is that the latest sleeve, and is everything going to be slinky? We're always about six months behind. I know a girl in Yokohama who goes to every steamer and kodaks the smartest tourists. I've almost been driven to do it myself." "You should adopt the Japanese dress, Patsy," said Mrs. Dandridge. "How does it seem, Barbara, to see _kimono_ all around you?" "I can't get it out of my mind," she answered, "that they are all wearing them for some sort of masquerade." "It takes a few days to get used to it," said the Ambassador. "And what a beautiful and practical costume it is!" "And comfortable!" sighed Patricia. "No 'bones' or tight places, and only four or five things to put on. I don't wonder European women look queer to the Japanese. The cook's wife told me the other day that the first foreign lady she ever saw looked to her like a wasp with a wig on like a _Shinto_ devil." There rose again on the still night air the savage bay Barbara had heard in her room. "I'm afraid I must make up my mind to lose Shiro," the Ambassador said regretfully. "He's a Siberian wolf-hound that a friend sent me from Moscow. But the climate doesn't agree with him, apparently. For the last two days he's seemed really unsafe. There's a famous Japanese dog-doctor in this section, but he's been sick himself and I haven't liked to go to an ordinary native 'vet.' But I shall have him looked at to-morrow." "I do hope you will," said Mrs. Dandridge nervously. "He almost killed Patsy's Pomeranian the first day he came. Watanabé says he hasn't touched his food to-day, and we can't take any risks with so many children in the compound. We have forty-seven, Barbara," she continued, "counting the stablemen's families, and some of them are the dearest mites! Every Christmas we give them a tree. It makes one feel tremendously patriarchal!" It was a home-like meal, albeit thin slices of lotos-stem floated in Barbara's soup, the lobster had no claws, and the _entrée_ was baked bamboo. Save for a high, four-paneled screen of gold-leaf with delicate etchings of snow-clad pines, the white room was without ornament, but the table gleamed with old silver, and in its center was a great bowl of pink azaleas. Smooth-faced Japanese men-servants came and went noiselessly in snowy footwear and dark silk _houri_ whose sleeves bore the Embassy eagle in silver thread. The Ambassador was a man of keen observation, and a cheerful philosophy. His theory of life was expressed in a saying of his: "Human-kind is about the same as it has always been, except a good deal kinder." He had learned the country at first hand. He had a profound appreciation of its whole historical background, one gained not merely from libraries, but from deeper study of the essential qualities of Japanese character and feeling. He had the perfect gift, moreover, of the _raconteur_, and he held Barbara passionately attentive as he sketched, in bold outlines, the huge picture of Japanese modernization. Yet light as was his touch, he nevertheless made her see beneath the veneer of the foreign, the unaltering ego of a civilization old and austere, of unfamiliar, strenuous ideals, with cast steel conventions, eternal mysteries of character and of racial destiny. Coffee was served in the small drawing-room--a home-like, soft-toned room of crystal-paned bookcases, and furniture that had been handed down in the Dandridge family from candle-lighted colony days. "It seems a shame," said Mrs. Dandridge, "that this evening has to be broken, but Patsy and I must look in at the Charity Bazaar. I'm sure you won't mind, Barbara, if we leave you alone now for an hour or so. It's a new idea: every lady is to bring something she has no further use for, but which is too good to throw away." "I presume," observed the Ambassador innocently, "that some of them will bring their husbands." "Ned," said Mrs. Dandridge, as she drew on her wrap, "people will soon think you haven't a serious side. It would serve you right if I took you along as my contribution." "Ah," returned he, "I was thoughtful enough to make a previous engagement. Doctor Bersonin is coming to see me." Patsy's nose took a decided elevation. "The Government expert," she said. "He was on the train. It's the first time I ever saw him without that smart-looking Japanese head-boy of his who goes with him everywhere as interpreter." "I've noticed that," Mrs. Dandridge said. "He's always with him in his automobile. By the way, Patsy, who _does_ that boy remind me of? It has always puzzled me." "Why," Patricia answered, "he looks something like that Japanese student we saw so often the winter Barbara and we were in Monterey. You remember, Barbara--the one who spoke such perfect English. We thought he was loony, because he used to sit on the beach all day and sail little wooden boats." "So he does," said her mother. "There's a decided resemblance. But Doctor Bersonin's boy is anything but loony. He has a most intelligent face." "Besides," said Patricia, "the other was nearsighted and wore spectacles. Good-by, Barbara. I hope the doctor will be gone when we get back." Her voice came muffled from the hall "--Oh, I can't help it, mother! I'm only a diplomat-once-removed! He _is_ horrid!" CHAPTER VII DOCTOR BERSONIN The Ambassador received his caller in his study. From across the hall, Barbara, through the half-open door, could see the expert's huge form filling an arm-chair, where the limpid light of the desk-lamp fell on his heavy, colorless face. The walls were lined with bookshelves and curtains of low tone, and against this formless background his big profile stood out pallid and hawk-like. She could hear his voice distinctly. Its even, dead flatness affected her curiously; it was not harsh, but absolutely without tone-quality or sympathy. For some time the talk was on casual topics and she occupied herself listlessly with a tray of photographs on the table. She read their titles, smiling at the extraordinary intricacies of "English as she is Japped" by the complaisant oriental photographer: _The Picking Sea-Ear at Enoshima_; _East-looking Panorama of Fuji Mount_; _Geisha in the Famous Dance of Maple-Leaf_. The smile left her face. Something had been said in the farther room which caught her attention and in a moment she found herself listening intently. "I understand the trials of the new powder have been very successful," the Ambassador was saying. "Is it destined to revolutionize warfare, do you think?" "It is too soon to tell yet," was the reply, "just what the result will be. It will enormously increase the range of projectiles, as Your Excellency may guess, and its area of destruction will nearly double that of lyddite." Barbara felt, rather than saw, that the Ambassador gave a little shudder. "I can imagine what that means," he said. "I saw Port Arthur after the siege. So war is to grow more dreadful still! When will it cease, I wonder." "Never," Bersonin answered, with a cold smile. "It is the love of power that makes war, and that, in man, is inherent and ineradicable. A nation is only the individual in the aggregate, and selfishness is the guiding gospel of both." To Barbara the words seemed coldly, cruelly repellant. She felt a sudden quiver of dislike run over her. "You paint a sorry picture," said the Ambassador. "Can human ingenuity go much further, then? What, in your opinion, will be the fighting engine of the future?" "The engine of the future"--Bersonin spoke deliberately--"will be along other lines. It will be an atomic one. It will employ no projectile and no armor plate will resist it. The discoverer will have harnessed the law of molecular vibration. As there is a positive force that binds atoms together, so there must be a negative force that, under certain conditions, can drive them apart!" He spoke with what seemed an extraordinary conviction. His manner had subtly changed. For the first time his tone had gathered something like feeling, and the dry, metallic voice seemed to Barbara to vibrate with a curious, gloating triumph. "Granted such a force," he went on, "and a machine to generate and direct it, and of what value is the most powerful battle-ship, the most stupendous fort? Mere silly shreds of steel and stone! Why, such an engine might be carried in a single hand, and yet the nation that possessed it could be master of the world!" A dark flush had risen to his pallid cheek, and on the arm of his chair Barbara saw the massive fingers of one huge hand clench and unclench with a furtive, nervous gesture. The sight gave her a sharp sense of recoil as if from the touch of something sinister and evilly suggestive. "No!" said the Ambassador vehemently. "Humanity would revolt. Such a discovery would be worth less than nothing! Its use by any warring nation would call down the execration of civilization, and the man who knew the secret would be too dangerous to be at large!" There was dead silence for a moment. Bersonin sat motionless, staring straight before him. Very slowly the color seemed to fade from his cheek. When he spoke again his voice had regained its dead level of tonelessness. "That has occurred to me," he said. "I think Your Excellency is right. Invention may do its work too well. However--no doubt we speak of scientific impossibilities; let us hope so, at any rate." Barbara pushed the photographs aside and slipped into the next room, closing the door and drawing the heavy portières that hung over it. She had had for a moment a vague, almost childish, sense of shrinking as if from something monstrous and uncanny--such a sensation as the naked diver may have, when, peering through his water-glass, he sees a dim grisly shape glide, stealthy and cold, through the opaque depths. She was growing absurdly fanciful, she thought. She did not turn on the electric light, but threw open one of the long, French windows. There was a new moon and a pale radiance flooded the room, with a sudden odor of wistaria and plum-blossoms. The window gave on to a porch running the length of the house, and this made her think suddenly of home. Yet the air was too humid for California, too moist and rich even for Florida. And suddenly she found herself pitying the people there to whom the East would always be a closed book. Yet how dim and vague Japan had been to her a month before! A grand piano stood open by the window and in the dim light she sat down and let her fingers wander idly in long arpeggios. She could see one side of the Japanese garden, with a glimpse of a tiny dry lake and a pebbled rivulet spanned by an arching bridge of red lacquer. It ended in a sharp, sloping hill covered with shrubbery. On the ridge far above she distinguished the outlines of native houses and flanking them the curved, Tartar-like gables of a gray old temple. Somewhere, beyond that little hill, perhaps, stood the Chapel erected to her father's memory, which she had yet to see. As her fingers strayed over the ivory keys, she thought of him, of his vivid, aberrant career and untimely end. There are nights in the Japanese spring when the landscape, in its wondrous delicacy of tones, seems only an envelope of something subtler and unseen, the filmy covering of a beauty that is wholly spiritual. To-night it seemed so to Barbara. The close was very still, wrapped in a dreamy haze as soft as sleep, the mountains on the horizon wan shapes of silver mist, semi-diaphanous. It seemed to her that in this living, sentient breath of Japan, her father was nearer to her than he had ever been before. The thought brought to her vague memories of her mother and of her childhood. Old airs began to mingle with the chords, and on the shrill fairy sound-carpet woven by the myriad insect-looms of the garden, the bits of melody went treading softly out across the perfume of the wistaria. CHAPTER VIII "SALLY IN OUR ALLEY" She thought no one heard, but out by the azalea hedge, a man was standing, listening to the hushed chords floating through the open window. From the bungalow on the Yokohama Bluff, Daunt had come back to Tokyo with a sense of dissatisfaction deeper than should have been caused by his jarring talk with Phil. Perhaps, though he did not guess it, his mood had to do with a bulky letter in his pocket, received that day. It was from "Big" Murray, his chum at college, whom he had commonly addressed by opprobrious epithets that covered an affection time had not diminished. Of all the men in his class Daunt would have picked him as the one least likely to marry. Yet the letter had contained a wedding-invitation and a ream of the usual hyperbole. "Going to name me godfather, is he!" Daunt had muttered as he read. "The driveling old horse-thief!" For in some elusive way the intended distinction suggested that he himself was a hoary back-number, not to be reckoned among the forces of youth. Strolling from Shimbashi Station, under the clustered, gaily-colored paper-lanterns, swaying above the rustle and stir of the exotic street, this thought rankled. A vague discontent stirred in him. Tokyo had been the objective point of Daunt's six years of diplomatic career, and he had found the Kingdom of the Slender Swords a fascinating and absorbing study. He loved its contrasts and its contradictions, its marvelous artistry, the reserve and nobility of its people, and its savage, unshamed, sincerity of purpose. In the absorbing routine of the Chancery and the bright gaieties of the capital's diplomatic circle, the first year had gone swiftly enough. Since then the Glider experiments had lent an added zest. Even at college, Langley's first aëroplane had interested him and out of that interest had grown a course of reading which had given him a broad technical knowledge of applied mechanics. In Japan he had conceived the idea of the new fan-propeller, worked out in many an hour of study in the little Japanese house in Aoyama, which he had taken because it adjoined the parade-ground where his earliest experiments were made. At first the _Corps Diplomatique_ had smiled at this as a harmless _pour passer le temps_, to be classified with the Roumanian Minister's kennel of Pomeranians or the Chilian Secretary's collection of _daimyo_ dolls. But week by week the little crowd of Japanese spectators had grown larger; often Daunt had recognized among the attentive brown faces this or that superior military officer whom he knew, albeit in civilian dress. One day his friend, Viscount Sakai, a dapper young officer on the General Staff, had surprised him with the offer from the Japanese War Department of the use of an empty garage on the edge of the great esplanade. Only a month ago, he had awaked to the knowledge that his name was known to the aëro enthusiasts of Paris, New York and Vienna, and that his propeller was an assured success. Yet to-night he felt that he had somehow failed. The splendid vitality of the moving scene, the thud and click of wooden _géta_ and the whirr of _rick'sha_--all the many-keyed diapason of the rustling, lanterned vistas stretching under the pale moon-lighted sky--lacked the sense of intimate companionship. The warm still air, freighted with aromatic scents of cedar from some new-built shop, the pungent smell of incense burning before some shadowed shrine, the odors of drenched shrubbery behind the massive retaining wall of some rich noble's compound, came to him with a new sense of estrangement. The murmured sound of voices behind the glimmering paper _shoji_ told him, suddenly, that he was lonely. For the first time in six years, he was feeling keenly his long isolation from the things of home, the pleasant fellowship and the firesides of old friends. In this foreign service which he so loved, he had been growing out of touch, he told himself, out of thought, of the things "Big" Murray had sought and found. Unconsciously, the "drivel," as he had denominated it, of the letter in his pocket, had infected him with sweet and foolish imaginings, and slowly these took the nebulous shape of a woman. He had often dreamed of her, though he had never seen her face. It was half-veiled now in the bluish haze of his pipe, while she talked to him before a fire of driftwood (that burned with red and blue lights because of sea-ghosts in it) and her voice was low and clear like a flute. The wavering outline was still before his mind's eye as he trod the quiet road that led to the Embassy, entered its wide gate and slowly crossed the silent garden toward his bachelor cottage on the lawn. And there, suddenly, the vision had seized a vagrant melody and had spoken to him in song. Daunt thrust his cold pipe into his pocket and listened with head thrown back. It was no brilliant display of technique that held him, for the player was touching simple chords, but these were singing old melodies that took him far to other scenes and other times. He smiled to himself. How long it had been since he had sung them--not since the old college days! That happy, irresponsible era of senior dignities came back vividly to him, the campus and the singing. For years he had not recollected it all so keenly! He had been glee-club soloist, pushed forward on all occasions and applauded to the echo. Praise of his singing he had accepted somewhat humorously--never but once had it touched him deeply, and that had been on commencement afternoon. He had slipped away from the wavering cheers at the station, because he could not bear the farewells, and, far down one of the campus lanes, had come on pretty Mrs. Claybourne sitting on a rustic bench. Again he heard her speak, as plainly as if it were yesterday: "Why, if it isn't Mr. Daunt! I wonder how the university can open in the fall without you!" He had sat down beside her as she said: "This very insistent young person with me has been heartbroken because we could not get tickets for the Glee-Club Concert last night. She wanted to hear you sing." He had looked up then to see a young girl, seated on the leaning trunk of a tulip-tree. Her neutral-tinted skirt lay against the dark bark; her face was almost hidden by a spray of the great, creamy-pink blossoms. Some quality in its delicate loveliness had made him wish to please her, and sitting there he had sung the song that was his favorite. Mrs. Claybourne had pulled a big branch of the tulip-tree to hand him like a bouquet over the footlights, but the girl's parted lips, her wide deep brown eyes, had thanked him in a better way! The music, now floating over the garden, by such subconscious association, recalled this scene, overlaid, but never forgotten. Hark! A cascade of silver notes, and then an old air that had been revived in his time to become the madness of the music-halls and the pet of the pianolas--the one the crowded campus had been wont to demand with loudest voice when his tenor led the "Senior Singing." It brought back with a rush the familiar faces, the gray ivied dormitories with their slim iron balconies, the throbbing plaint of mandolins, and his own voice-- "Of all the girls that are so smart, There's none like pretty Sally! She is the darling of my heart, And she lives----" He scarcely knew he sang, but the vibrant tenor, lifting across the scent of the wistaria, came clearly to the girl at the piano. For a moment Barbara's fingers played on, as she listened with a strained wonder. Then the music ceased with a discord and she came quickly through the opened window. The song was smitten from Daunt's lips. In the instant that she stood outlined on the broad piazza, a fierce snarling yelp and a clatter came from within the house and there rang out a screamed Japanese warning. An outer door flew open and the huge figure of Doctor Bersonin ran out, pursued by a leaping white shadow, while the air thrilled to the savage cry of a hound, shaken with rage. "_Run, Barbara!_" The Ambassador's voice came from the doorway. But the white, moonlit figure, in its gauzy evening gown, turned too late. Empty-handed, Daunt dashed for the piazza, as, with a crash, a heavy porch chair, hurled by a Japanese house-boy, penned the animal for an instant in a corner. He caught the white figure up in his arms, sprang into the shade of the wistaria arbor, and set her feet on its high railing. The voice from the doorway called again, sharply. "This way, Doctor! _Quick!_" The wolf-hound, trailing its broken chain, had leaped the barrier and was launched straight at the crouching expert. The latter had dragged something small and square from his pocket and he seemed now to hold this out before him. Daunt, wrenching a cleat from the arbor railing, felt a puff of cold wind strike his face, and something like an elfin note of music, high and thin as an insect's, drifted across the confusion. He rushed forward with his improvised weapon--then stopped short. The dog was no longer there. The Ambassador made an exclamation. He stepped down and peered under the piazza; even in the dim light the long space was palpably empty. The head-boy spoke rapidly in Japanese and pointed toward the gate. "He says he must have jumped down this side," explained Daunt, "and run out to the street. He's nowhere in the garden, at any rate. We can see every inch. How surprising!" He spoke to the boy in the vernacular. "He will have the gates closed at once and telephone a warning to the police station." Bersonin had sat down on the edge of the piazza. He was crouched far over; his big frame was shaken with violent shudderings. Suddenly his head went back and he began to laugh--a jarring, grating, weird man-hysteria that seemed to burst suddenly beyond his control. The Ambassador went to him hurriedly, but Bersonin shook off the hand on his shoulder and rising, still emitting his dreadful laughter, staggered across the lawn and out of the gate. The appalling mirth reëchoed from far down the quiet road. CHAPTER IX THE WEB OF THE SPIDER Bersonin walked on, fighting desperately with his ghastly spasm of merriment. It was a nervous affection which had haunted him for years. It dated from a time when, in South America, in an acute crisis of desperate personal hazard, he had laughed the first peal of that strange laughter of which he was to be ever after afraid. Since then it had seized him many times, unexpectedly and in moments of strong excitement, to shake him like a lath. It had given him a morbid hatred of laughter in others. Recently he had thought that he was overcoming the weakness--for in two years past he had had no such seizure--and the recurrence to-night shocked and disconcerted him. He, the man of brain and attainment, to be held captive by a ridiculous hysteria, like a nerve-racked anæmic girl! The cold sweat stood on his forehead. Before long the paroxysms ceased and he grew calmer. The quiet road had merged into a busier thoroughfare. He walked on slowly till his command was regained. West of the outer moat of the Imperial Grounds, he turned up a pleasant lane-like street and presently entered his own gate. The house, into which he let himself with a latch-key, was a rambling, modern, two-story structure of yellow stucco. The lower floor was practically unused, since its tenant lived alone and did not entertain. The upper floor, besides the hall, contained a small bedroom, a bath and dressing-room and a large, barely-furnished laboratory. The latter was lined on two sides with glass-covered shelves which gave glimpses of rows of books, of steel shells, metal and crystal retorts and crucibles, the delicate paraphernalia of organic chemistry and complicated instruments whose use no one knew save himself--a fit setting for the great student, the peer of Offenbach in Munich and of Bayer in Vienna. Against the wall leaned a drafting-board, on which, pinned down by thumb-tacks, was a sketch-plan of a revolving turret. From a bracket in a corner--the single airy touch of delicacy in a chamber almost sordid in its appointments--swung a bamboo cage with a brown _hiwa_, or Japanese finch, a downy puff of feathers with its head under its wing. In the upper hall Bersonin's Japanese head-boy had been sitting at a small desk writing. Bersonin entered the laboratory, opened a safe let into a wall, and put into it something which he took from his pocket. Then he donned a dressing-gown the boy brought, and threw himself into a huge leather chair. "Make me some coffee, Ishida," he said. The servant did so silently and deftly, using a small brass _samovar_ which occupied a table of its own. With the coffee he brought his master a box of brown Havana cigars. For an hour Bersonin sat smoking in the silent room--one cigar after another, deep in thought, his yellow eyes staring at nothing. Into his countenance deep lines had etched themselves, giving to his coldly repellant look an expression of malignant force and intention. With his pallid face, his stirless attitude, his great white fingers clutching the arms of the chair, he suggested some enormous, sprawling batrachian awaiting its more active prey. All at once there came a chirp from the cage in the corner and its tiny occupant, waked by the electric-light, burst into song as clear and joyous as though before its free wing lay all the meads of Eden. A look more human, soft and almost companionable, came into its master's massive face. Bersonin rose and, whistling, opened the cage door and held out an enormous forefinger. The little creature stepped on it, and, held to his cheek, it rubbed its feathered head against it. For a moment he crooned and whistled to it, then held his finger to the cage and it obediently resumed its perch and its melody. The expert took a dark cloth from a hook and threw it over the cage and the song ceased. Bersonin went to the door of the room and fastened it, then unlocked a desk and spread some papers on the table. One was a chart, drawn to the minutest scale, of the harbor of Yokohama. On it had been marked a group of projectile-shaped spots suggesting a flotilla of vessels at anchor. For a long time he worked absorbedly, setting down figures, measuring with infinite pains, computing angles--always with reference to a small square in the map's inner margin, marked in red. He covered many sheets of paper with his calculations. Finally he took another paper from the safe and compared the two. He lifted his head with a look of satisfaction. Just then he thought he heard a slight noise from the hall. Swiftly and noiselessly as a great cat he crossed to the door and opened it. Ishida sat in his place scratching laboriously with a foreign pen. Bersonin's glance of suspicion altered. "What are you working at so industriously, Ishida?" he asked. The Japanese boy displayed the sheet with pride. It was an ode to the coming Squadron. Bersonin read it: "Welcome, foreign men-of-war! Young and age, Man and woman, None but you welcome! And how our reaches know you but to satisfy, Nor the Babylon nor the Parisian you to treat, Be it ever so humble, Yet a tidbit with our heart! What may not be accomplishment Rising-Sun? "_By H. Ishida, with best compliment._" Bersonin laid it down with a word of approbation. "Well done," he said. "You will be a famous English scholar before long." He went into the dressing-room, but an instant later recollected the papers on the table. The servant was in the laboratory when his master hastily reentered; he was methodically removing the coffee tray. Alone once more, Ishida reseated himself at his small desk. He tore the poem carefully to small bits and put them into the waste-paper basket. Then, rubbing the cake of India-ink on its stone tablet, he drew a mass of Japanese writing toward him and, with brush held vertically between thumb and forefinger, began to trace long, delicate characters at the top of the first sheet, thus: [Japanese: Ouryuu no fusetsusuirai ni oyobosu eikyou hidarino toori kinji] In the Japanese phrase this might literally be translated as follows: cross-current of, laying water thunder on, work-effect left hand respectively Which in conventional English is to say: A STUDY OF CROSS-CURRENTS IN THEIR EFFECT ON SUBMARINE MINES SUBMITTED WITH DEFERENCE This finished, he sealed it in an envelope, took a book from the breast of his _kimono_ and began to read. Its cover bore the words: "Second English Primer, in words of Two Syllables." Its inner pages, however, belied the legend. It was Mahan's _Influence of Sea-Power on History_. Yet Lieutenant Ishida of the Japanese Imperial Navy, one time student in Monterey, California, now in Special Secret-Service, read abstractedly. He was wondering why Doctor Bersonin should have in his possession a technical naval chart and what was the meaning of certain curious markings he had made on it. CHAPTER X IN A GARDEN OF DREAMS In the garden the moon's faint light glimmered on the broad, satiny leaves of the camelias and the delicate traceries of red maple foliage. At its farther side, amid flowering bushes which cast long indigo shadows, stood a small pagoda, brought many years before from Korea, and toward this Daunt and the girl whom he had held for a breathless moment in his arms, strolled slowly along a winding, pebbled path tremulant with the flickering shadows of little leaves. The structure had a small platform, and here on a bench they sat down, the fragrant garden spread out before them. He had remembered that a guest had been expected to arrive that day from America, and knew that this must be she. But, strangely enough, it did not seem as if they had never before met. Nor had he the least idea that, since that short sharp scene, they had exchanged scarcely a dozen words. In its curious sequel, as he stood listening to the echo of Bersonin's strange laughter, he had momentarily forgotten all about her. Then he had remembered with a shock that he had left her perched, in evening dress, on the high railing of the arbor. "I wonder if you are in the habit," she had said with a little laugh, "of putting unchaperoned girls on the tops of fences, and going away and forgetting all about them." Her laugh was deliciously uneven, but it did not seem so from fright. He had answered something inordinately foolish, and had lifted her down again--not holding her so closely this time. He remembered that on the first occasion he had held her very tightly indeed. He could still feel the touch of a wisp of her hair which, in his flying leap, had fallen against his cheek. It was red-bronze and it shone now in the moonlight like molten metal. Her eyes were deep blue, and when she smiled-- He wrenched his gaze away with a start. But it did not stray far--merely to the point of a white-beaded slipper peeping from the edge of a ruffle of gauze that had mysteriously imprisoned filmy sprays of lily-of-the-valley. He looked up suddenly, conscious that she was laughing silently. "What is it?" he asked. "We seem so tremendously acquainted," she said, "for people who--" She stopped an instant. "You don't even know who I am." In the references to her coming he had heard her name spoken and now, by a sheer mental effort, he managed to recall it. "You are Miss Fairfax," he said. "And my name, perhaps I ought to add, is Daunt. I am the Secretary of Embassy. I hope, after our little effort of to-night, you will not consider diplomacy only high-class vaudeville. Such comedy scarcely represents our daily bill." "It came near enough to being tragedy," she answered. "It was so uncommonly life-like, I was torn with a fear that you might not guess it was gotten up for your especial benefit." "How well you treat your visitors!" she said with gentle irony. "Had you many rehearsals?" "Very few," he said. "I was afraid the boy might misread the stage direction and slip the dog-chain too soon. But I am greatly pleased. I have always had an insatiable longing to be a hero--if only on the stage. I aspire to Grand Opera, also, as you have noticed." He laughed, a trifle shamefacedly, then added quickly: "I hope you liked the final disappearance act. It was rather effective, don't you think?" She smiled unwillingly. "Ah, you make light of it! But don't think I didn't know how quickly you acted--what you risked in that one minute! And then to run back a second time!" She shuddered a little. "You could have done nothing with that piece of wood!" "I assure you," he said, "you underrate my prowess! But it wasn't to be used--it was only the dog's cue." "Poor brute!" she said. "I hope he will injure nobody." "Luckily, the children are off the streets at this hour," he answered. "He'll not go far; the police are too numerous. I am afraid our very efficient performer is permanently retired from the company. But I haven't yet congratulated you. You didn't seem one bit afraid." "I hadn't time to be frightened. I--was thinking of something else! The fright came afterward, when I saw you--when you left me on the railing." She spoke a little constrainedly, and went on quickly: "I really am a desperate coward about some things. I should never dare to go up on an aëroplane, for instance, as Patsy tells me you do almost every day. She says the Japanese call you the 'Honorable Fly-Man'." "There's no foreign theater in Tokyo, and no winter Opera," he said lightly. "We have to amuse one another, and the Glider is by way of contributing my share of the entertainment. It is certainly an uplifting performance." He smiled, but she shook her head. "Ah," she said, "I know! I was at Fort Logan last summer the day Lieutenant Whitney was killed. I saw it." The smile had faded and her eyes had just the look he had so often fancied lay in those eyes he had been used to gaze at across the burning driftwood--his "Lady of the Many-Colored Fires." He caught himself longing to know that they would mist and soften if he too should some day come to grief in such sudden fashion. They were wholly wonderful eyes! He had noted them even in the instant when he had snatched her from the piazza--from the danger into which his cavalier singing had called her. "How brazen you must have thought it!" he exclaimed. "My impromptu solo, I mean. I hardly know how I came to do it. I suppose it was the moonlight (it does make people idiotic sometimes, you know, in the tropics!) and then what you played--that dear old song! I used to sing it years ago. It reminded me--" "Yes--?" "Of the last evening at college. It was a night like this, though not so lovely. I sang it then--my last college solo." "Your _last_?" She was leaning toward him, her lips parted, her eyes bright on his face. "Yes," he said. "I left town the next day." Her eyes fell. She turned half away, and put a hand to her cheek. "Oh," she said vaguely. "Of course." "But it _was_ brazen," he finished lamely. "I promise never to do it again." The breath of the night was coolly sweet. It hovered about them, mingled of all the musky winds and flower-months of Eden. A dulled, weird sound from the street reached their ears--the monotonous hand-tapping of a small, shallow drum. "Some Buddhist _devotée_," he said, "making a pious round of holy places. He is stalking along in a dingy, white cotton robe with red characters stamped all over it--one from each shrine he has visited--and here and there in a doorway he will stop to chant a prayer in return for a handful of rice." "How strange! It doesn't seem to belong, somehow, with the telegraph wires and the trolley cars. Japan is full of such contrasts, isn't it? It seems to be packed with mystery and secrets. Listen!" The deep, resonant boom of a great bell at a distance had throbbed across the nearer strumming. "That must be in some old temple. Perhaps the man with the drum is going there to worship. Does any one live in the temples? The priests do, I suppose." "Yes," he answered. "Sometimes other people do, too. I know of a foreigner who lives in one." "What is he? European?" "No one knows. He has lived there fifteen years. He calls himself Aloysius Thorn. I used to think he must be an American, for in the Chancery safe there is an envelope bearing his name and the direction that it be opened after his death. It has been there a long time, for the paper is yellow with age. No doubt it was put there by some former Chief-of-Mission at his request. He has nothing to do with other foreigners; as a rule he won't even speak to them. He is something of a curiosity. He knows some lost secret about gold-lacquer, they say." "Is he young?" "No." "Married?" "Oh, no! He lives quite alone. He has one of the loveliest private gardens in the city. Sometimes one doesn't see him for months, but he is here now." She was silent, while he looked again at the white toe of the slipper peeping from a gauzy hem. The silence seemed to him an added bond between them. The moon, tilting its slim sickle along the solemn range of western hills, touched their jagged contour with a shimmering radiance and edged with silver the vast white apparition towering, filmily exquisite, above them, a solitary snowy cone, hovering wraith-like between earth and sky. The horizon opposite was deep violet, crowded with tiny stars, like green-gilt coals. In the quiet a drowsy crow croaked huskily from the hillside. Barbara looked through dreamy eyes. "It can't always be so beautiful!" she said at length. "Nothing could, I am sure." "No, indeed," he agreed cheerfully. "There are times when, as my number-one boy says, 'honorable weather are disgust.' In June the _nubai_, the rainy season, is due. It will pour buckets for three weeks without a stop and frogs will sing dulcet songs in the streets. In July your head feels as if a red-hot feather pillow had been stuffed into your skull and everybody moves to Chuzenji or Kamakura. If it weren't for that, and an occasional dust-storm in the winter, and the centillions of mosquitoes, and a weekly earthquake or two, we wouldn't half appreciate this!" He made a wide gesture. "Yet now," she said softly, "it seems too lovely to be real! I shall wake presently to find myself in my berth on the _Tenyo Maru_ with Japan two or three days off." He fell into her mood. "We are both asleep. That was why the dog vanished so queerly. Dream-dogs always do. And I don't wonder at my singing, either. People do exactly what they shouldn't when they are asleep. But no! I really don't like the dream version at all. I want this to be true." "Why?" Her tone was low, but it made him tingle. A sudden _mêlée_ of daring, delicious impulses swept over him. "Because I have dreamed too much," he said, in as low a voice. "Here in the East the habit grows on one; we dream of what all the beauty somehow misses--for us. But to-night, at least, is real. I shall have it to remember when you have gone, as I--I suppose you will be soon." She leaned out and picked a slender maple-leaf from a branch that came in through the open side of the pagoda, and, holding it in her fingers, turned toward him. Her lips were parted, as if to speak. But suddenly she tossed it from her, rose and shook out her skirts with a laugh. Carriage-wheels were rolling up the drive from the lower gate. "Thank you!" she cried gaily. "But no hint shall move me. I warn you that I intend to stay a long time!" In the lighted doorway, as Patricia and her mother stepped from the carriage, she swept him a curtsey. "Honorably deign to accept my thanks," she said, "for augustly saving my insignificant life! And now, perhaps, we can be properly introduced!" CHAPTER XI ISHIKICHI Under the frail moon that touched the Embassy garden to such beauty, Haru walked home to the house "so-o-o small, an' garden 'bout such big" in the Street-of-Prayer-to-the-Gods. On Reinanzaka Hill the shadows were iris-hearted. From its high-walled gardens of the great came no glimpses of phantom-lighted _shoji_, no sound of vibrant strings from tea-houses nor gleams of painted lips and fingers of _geisha_. Haru carried a paper-lantern tied to the end of a short wand, but it was not dark enough to need its light, and as she walked, she swung it in graceful circles. She heard a dove sobbing its low _owas! owas!_ and once a crow flapped its sleepy way above her, uttering its harsh note, which, from some subtlety of suggestion hidden from the western mind, the Japanese liken to the accents of love. It startled her for a second; then she began to sing, under her breath, to the tune of her clacking _géta_, a ditty of her childhood: "_Karasu, Karasu!_ "Crow, crow, _Kanzaburo!_ Kanzaburo! _Oya no on wo--_ Forget not the virtue _Wasurena yo!_" Of your honorable parents." On the crest of the hill, by the Street-of-Hollyhocks, a wall opened in a huge gate of heavy burnished beams studded with great iron rivet-heads. Here resided no less a personage than an Imperial Princess. Beside the gate stood a conical sentry-box, in which all day, while the gate was open, stood a soldier of the Household Guards. The box was empty now. Opposite the gate, a hedged lane opened, into which she turned, and presently the song ceased. She had come to the newly built Chapel. Her father's name was on the household list of the temple across the way, but she herself walked each Sunday to Ts'kiji, to attend the bishop's Japanese service in the Cathedral. When, influenced by a school-mate, she had wished to become a Christian, the old _samurai_ had interposed no objection. With the broad tolerance of the esoteric Buddhist, to whom all pure faiths are good, he had allowed her to choose for herself. She had grown to love the strangely new and beautiful worship with its singing, its service in a tongue that she could understand, its Bible filled with marvelous stories of old heroes, and with vivid imagery like that of the _Kojiki_, the "Record of Ancient Matters" or the _Man-yoshu_, the "Collection of a Myriad Leaves," over whose archaic characters her father was always poring. She had ceased to visit the temple, but otherwise the change had made little difference in her placid life. With the simplicity with which the Japanese of to-day kneels with equal faith before a plain _Shinto_ shrine and a golden altar of Buddha, she had continued the daily home observances. Each morning she cleaned the _butsu-dan_--refilled its tiny lamp with vegetable oil, freshened its incense-cup and water bowl, and dusted its golden shrine of Kwan-on which held the scroll inscribed with the spirit names of a hundred ancestors, and the _ihai_, or mortuary tablet, of her dead mother. Though she no longer prayed before it, it still signified to her the invisible haunting of the dead--the continuing loving presence of that mother who waited for her in the _Meidoland_. For many days Haru had watched the progress of the Chapel building. The Cathedral was a good two miles distant, but this was near her home; here she would be able to attend more than the weekly Sunday service. To-night, as she looked at the cross shining in the moonlight, she thought it very beautiful. A tiny symbol like it, made of white enamel, was hung on a little chain about her neck. It had been given her by the bishop the day of her confirmation. She drew this out and swung it about her finger as she walked on. In the Street-of-Prayer-to-the-Gods were no huge and gloomy compounds. It was a roadway of humbler shops and homes, bordered with mazes of lantern fire, and lively with pedestrians. At a meager shop, pitifully small, whose _shoji_ were wide open, Haru paused. A smoky oil lamp swung from the ceiling, and under its glow, a woman knelt on the worn _tatamé_. Beside her, on a pillow, lay a newborn baby, and she was soothing its slumber by softly beating a tiny drum close to its ear. She nodded and smiled to Haru's salutation. "_Hai! Ojo-San_," she said. "_Go kigen yo!_ Deign augustly to enter." "Honorable thanks," responded Haru, "but my father awaits my unworthy return. _Domo! Aka-San des'ka?_ So this is Miss Baby! Ishikichi will have a new comrade in this little sister." "Poison not your serene mind with contemplation of my uncomely last-sent one!" said the woman, pridefully tilting the pillow so as to show the tiny, vacuous face. "Are not its hands degradedly well-formed?" "Wonderfully beyond saying! The father is still exaltedly ill?" "It is indeed so! I have not failed to sprinkle the holy water over Jizo, nor to present the straw sandals to the Guardians-of-the-Gate. Also I have rubbed each day the breast of the health-god; yet O-Binzuru does not harken. Doubtless it is because of some sin committed by my husband in a previous existence! I have not knowledge of your Christian God, or I would make my worthless sacrifices also to Him." "He heals the sick," said Haru, "but He augustly loves not sacrifice--as He exaltedly did in olden time," she hastily supplemented, recalling certain readings from the Old Testament. "The gods of Nippon divinely change not their habit," returned the woman. "Also my vile intellect can not comprehend why the foreigners' God should illustriously concern Himself with the things of another land." "The Christian Divinity," said Haru, "is a God of all lands and all peoples." The other mused. "It passes in my degraded mind that He, then, would lack a sublime all-sympathy for our Kingdom-of-Slender-Swords. You are transcendently young, _Ojo-San_, but I am thirty-two, and I hold by the gods of my ancestors." "Honorably present my greetings to your husband," Haru said, as she bowed her adieu. "May his exalted person soon attain divine health! To-morrow I will send another book for him to read." The woman watched her go, with a smile on her tired face--the Japanese smile that covers so many things. She looked at the baby's face on the pillow. "Praise _Shaka_," she said aloud, "there is millet yet for another week. Then we must give up the shop. Well--I can play the _samisen_, and the gods are not dead!" Behind her a diminutive figure had lifted himself upright from a _f'ton_. He came forward from the gloom, his single sleeping-robe trailing comically and his great black eyes round and serious. "Why must we give up the shop, honorable mother?" "Go to sleep, Ishikichi," said his mother. "Trouble me not so late with your rude prattle." "But why, _Okka-San_?" "Because rent-money exists not, small pigeon," she answered gently. "So long as we have ignobly lived here, we have paid the _banto_ who brings his joy-giving presence on the first of each month. Now we have no more money and can not pay." "Why have we no more money?" "Because the honorable father is sick and you are too small to earn. But let it not trouble your heart, for the gods are good. See--we have almost waked the _Aka-San_!" She bent over the pillow and began again the elfin drumming at the infant's ear. But Ishikichi lay open-eyed on his _f'ton_, his baby mind grappling with a new and painful wonder. CHAPTER XII IN THE STREET-OF-PRAYER-TO-THE-GODS Haru unlatched a gate across which twisted a plum-branch with tarnished, silver bark. It hid a garden so tiny that it was scarcely more than a rounded boulder set in moss, with a clump of golden _icho_ shrubs. Across the path, high in air, were stretched giant webs in whose centers hung black spiders as big as Japanese sparrows. Beyond was a low doorway, shaded by a gnarled _kiri_ tree. The thin, white rice-paper pasted behind the bars of its sliding grill shone goldenly with the candle-light within. She rang a bell which hung from a cord. "_Hai-ai-ai-ai-ee!_" sounded a long-drawn voice from within, and in a moment a little maid slid back the _shoji_ and bobbed over to the threshold. Her mistress stepped from her _géta_ into the small anteroom. Here the floor was covered with soft _tatamé_,--the thick, springy rice-straw mats which, in Japan, play the part of carpets--and a bronze vase on a low lacquer stool held a branch of dark ground-pine and a single white lily. A voice was audible, reciting in a droning monotone. It stopped suddenly and called Haru's name. She answered instantly, and parting the panels, passed into the next room, where her father sat on his mat reading in the faint soft light of an _andon_. He was an old man, with white head strongly poised on gaunt shoulders. Broken in fortune and in health, the spirit of the _samurai_ burned inextinguishably in the fire of his sunken eyes. He took her hand and drew her down beside him. She knew what was in his mind. "Be no longer troubled," she said. "The American _Ojo-San_ is as lovely as Ama-terasu, the Sun Goddess, and as kind as she is beautiful. I shall be happy to be each day with her." "That is good," he said. "Yet I take no joy from it. You are the last of a family that for a thousand seasons has served none save its Emperor and its _daimyo_." "I am no servant," she answered quickly. "Rather am I, in sort, a companion to the _Ojo-San_, to offer her my tasteless conversation and somewhat to go about with her in this unfamiliar city. It is an honorable way of acquiring gain, and thus I may unworthily pay my support, for which now from time to time you are brought to sell the priceless classics in which your soul exaltedly delights." His face softened. "I have lived too long," he said. "My hand is palsied--I, a two-sword man of the old clan! I should have died in the war, fighting for Nippon and my Emperor. But even then was I too dishonorably old! Why did not the gods grant me a son?--me, who wearied them with my sacrifices?" She did not answer for a moment. Nothing in her cried out at this reiterated complaint, for she was of the same blood. If she had been a son, that wound in her father's heart had been healed. Through her arm the family would have fought. Her glorious death-name might even now be written on an _ihai_ on the Buddha-shelf, her glad soul swelling the numbers of that ghostly legion whose spiritual force was the true vitality of her nation. "Perhaps that, too, might be," she said presently in a low voice. "Should I augustly marry one not of too exalted a station, he could receive adoption into our family." He looked into her deeply flushing face. "You think of the Lieutenant Ishida Hétaro," he said. "It is true that the go-between has already deigned to sit on my hard mats. He is, I think, in every way worthy of our house. I would rather he were in the field, with a sword in his hand--I know not much of this 'Secret Service.' What are his present duties? Doubtless"--with a spark of mischief in his hollow, old eyes--"you are better informed than I." "He is in the household of one named Bersonin, a man-mountain like our wrestlers, whose service Japan pays with a wage." His seamed face clouded. "To cunningly watch the foreigner's incomings and his outgoings, and make august report to the Board of Extraordinary Information," he said, with a trace of bitterness. "To play the clod when one is all eyes and ears. Honorable it is, no doubt, yet to my old palate it savors too much of the actor strutting on the circular stage. But times change, and if, to live, we must ape the foreigners, why, we must borrow their ways till such time--the gods grant it be soon!--when we can throw them on the dust heap. And what am I to set my debased ignorance against my Princes and my Emperor!" He paused a moment and sighed. "Ishida is well esteemed," he continued presently. "He has dwelt in America and learned its tongue--a necessity, it seems, in these topsy-turvy times. Yet, as for marriage, waiting still must be. These are evil days for us, my child. From whence would come the gifts which must be sent before the bride, to the husband's house? Your mother"--he paused and bowed deeply toward the golden _butsu-dan_ in its alcove--"may she rest on the lotos-terrace of _Amida_!--came to my poor house with a train of coolies bearing lacquer chests: silken _f'ton_, _kimono_ as soft and filmy as mist, gowns of cloth and of cotton, cushions of gold and silver patternings, jeweled girdles, velvet sandals and all lovely garniture. Shall her daughter be sent to a husband with a chest of rags? No, no!" She leaned her dark head against his blue-clad shoulder and drew the scroll from his trembling fingers. "I wind your words about my heart," she said. "Waiting is best. Perhaps the evil times will withdraw. I have prayed to the Christian God concerning it. But your eyes are augustly wearied. Let me read to you a while." He settled himself back on the mat, his gaunt hands buried in his sleeves, and, snuffing the wick in the _andon_, she began to read the archaic "grass-writing." It was the _Shundai Zatsuwa_ of Kyuso Moro. "Be not _samurai_ through the wearing of two swords, but day and night have a care to bring no reproach on the name. When you cross your threshold and pass out through the gate, go as one who shall never return again. Thus shall you be ready for every adventure. The Buddhist is for ever to remember the five commandments and the _samurai_ the laws of chivalry. "All born as _samurai_, men and women, are taught from childhood that fidelity must never be forgotten. And woman is ever taught that this, with submission, is her chief duty. If in unexpected strait her weak heart forsakes fidelity, all her other virtues will not atone. "_Samurai_, men and women, the young and the old, regulate their conduct according to the precepts of Bushido, and a _samurai_, without hesitation, sacrifices life and family for lord and country." CHAPTER XIII THE WHORLS OF YELLOW DUST For a long time in her blue and white room Barbara lay awake, listening to the incessant chorus that came on the deepening mystery of the dark: the rustle of the pine-needles outside her window, the _kiri-kiri-kiri-kiri_ of a night-cricket on the sill, and the wavering chant of a toiling coolie keeping time to the thrust of his body as he hauled his heavy cart. The shadow of a twisted pine-branch crossed one of the windows, and in the infiltering moonlight she could see the yellow gleam of the gold-lacquer Buddha on the Sendai chest. She could imagine it the same image she had found as a little girl in the garret, and had made her pet delight. For an instant she seemed to be once more a child seated on her low stool before it, her hands tight-clasped, looking up into its immobile countenance, half-hoping, half-fearing those carven lips would speak. On the wings of this sensation came a childish memory of a day when her aunt had found her thus and had thought her praying to it. She remembered the look of frozen horror on her aunt's face and her own helpless mortification. For she did not know how to explain. She had had to write a verse from the Bible fifty times in her copybook: _Thou shalt have no other gods before Me._ And she had had to do half of them over because she had forgotten the capital M. That day her treasure had disappeared, and she had never seen it again. The glimmering figure in the dark made her think, too, of the man of whom Daunt had told her, who shunned his own race, hiding himself for years and years in a Japanese temple, with its painted dragon carvings, glowing candles and smoking censers. The incense from them seemed now to be filling all the night with odors rich and alluring, whispering of things mysterious and confined. Striking across the lesser sounds she could hear at intervals the flute of a blind _masseur_, and nearer, in the Embassy grounds, the recurrent signal of a patroling night watchman: three strokes of one hard, wooden stick upon another, like a high, mellow note of a xylophone. This sounded a little like a ship's bell--striking on a white yacht, whose owner was visiting the ancient capital, Nara. He would appear before long, and she knew what he would say, and what he would want her to say to him. She felt somehow guilty, with a sorry though painless compunction. The man on the steamer that morning had spoken of a younger brother who was in Japan, "going the pace." Phil--she had often heard Austen Ware speak of him. Perhaps he had only come over to keep the other out of mischief. She told herself this a second time, because it gave her a drowsy satisfaction, though she knew it was not so. She had always pictured Phil as "fast," and she wondered sleepily what the word meant here in the orient, where there were no theater suppers, and where men probably played _fan-tan_--no, that was Chinese--or some other queer game instead of poker--unless they ... had aëroplanes. The bell of the distant temple, which she had heard in the garden, boomed softly, and the _amma's_ flute sounded again its piercing, plaintive double-note. The two sounds began to weave together with a sense of unreality, dreamy, occult, incommunicable. So at length Barbara slept, fitfully, the fragments of that lavish day falling into a bizarre mosaic, in which strange figures mingled uncannily. She knew them for visions, and to avoid them climbed a grassy hill to a gray old temple in which she saw her father seated cross-legged on a huge lotos-flower. She knew him because his face was just like the face in the locket she wore. She called out and ran toward him, but it was only a great gold-lacquered Buddha with candles burning around it. She ran out of the temple, where a dog pursued her and a monstrous man with a pallid face, who sat in a tree full of cherry-blossoms, threw something at her which suddenly went off with a terrific explosion and blew both him and the dog into bits. It seemed terrible, but she could only laugh and laugh, because somebody held her tight in his arms and she knew that nothing could frighten her ever any more. And on the tide of this shy comfort she drifted away at last upon a deep and dreamless sea. * * * * * Later, when the moon had set and only the faint starlight lay over the garden, the Ambassador still sat in his study, thoughtfully smoking a cigar. On the mantel, under a glass case, was a model of a battle-ship. Over it hung a traverse drawing of the Panama Canal cuttings, and maps and framed photographs looked from the walls between the dark-toned book-shelves. The floor was covered with a deep crimson rug of camel's-hair. The shaded reading-lamp on the desk threw a bright circle of light on an open volume of Treaties at his elbow. At length he rose, took up the lamp, and approached the mantel. He stood a moment looking thoughtfully at the model under its rounded glass. It was built to scale, and complete in every exterior detail, from the pennant at its head to the tiny black muzzles that peeped from its open casemates. Two years ago America had sent a fleet of such vessels to circumnavigate the globe. An European Squadron of even deadlier type would cast anchor the next morning in those waters. Yet now Bersonin's phrase rang insistently through his mind: "Mere silly shreds of steel!" It recurred like a refrain, mixing itself with the expert's curious words in the study, with that extraordinary incident of the piazza--which had bred a stealthy mistrust that would not down. With the lamp in his hand he opened the door into the hall and stood listening a moment. Save for the creaks and snappings that haunt frame structures in a land of rapid decay, the house was still. He entered the drawing-room, noiselessly undid the fastenings of a French window and stepped out on to the piazza. There he threw the lamplight about him, mentally reconstructing the scene of two hours before. Here he himself had stood, yonder Bersonin, and in the corner the dog--ten feet from the edge of the porch. It had vanished in the same instant that he had seen it leaping straight at the expert. What was it Bersonin had taken from his pocket? A weapon? And _where had the hound gone_? He stepped forward suddenly; the chair which had been thrown by the Japanese boy had been set upright, but beneath it, and on the piazza beyond, disposed in curious wreaths and whorls, like those made by steel filings above an electro-magnet, lay a thick sifting of what looked like reddish-yellow dust. He stooped and took up some in his fingers; it was dry and impalpable, of an extraordinary fineness. He stood looking at it a full minute, intent with some absorbed and disquieting communing. Then he shook his broad shoulders, as though dismissing an incredible idea, returned the lamp to the study and went slowly up the stair to his room. But he was not sleeping when dawn came, gray in the sky. It stole pink-fingered through the window and drew rosy lights on the blank wall across which strange fancies of his had linked themselves in a weird processional. It crept between the heavy curtains of the study below, and gilded the fittings of the little battle-ship on the mantel--as though to deck it in crimson bunting like its mammoth prototypes in the lower bay. For at that moment the Yokohama Bund was throbbing with the _salvos_ of great guns pealing a salute. The water's edge was lined with a watching crowd. Files of marines were drawn up beneath the green-trimmed arches and cutters flying the sun-flag lay at the wharf, where groups of officers stood in dress-uniform. Over the ledge of the morning was spread a filmy curtain of damask rose, and beneath it, into the harbor, like a broad dotted arrow-head, was steaming a flock of black battle-ships, with inky smoke pouring from their stacks. CHAPTER XIV WHEN BARBARA AWOKE When Barbara awoke next morning she lay for a moment staring open-eyed from her big pillow at the white wall above, where a hanging-shelf projected to guard the sleeper from falling plaster in earthquake. The room was filled with a soft light that filtered in through the split-bamboo blinds. Then she remembered: it was her first whole day in Japan. She felt full of a gay _insouciance_, a glad lightness of joy that she had never felt before. Slipping a thin rose-colored robe over her nightgown, she threw open the window and leaned out. The air was as pure and clean as if it had been sieved through silk, and she breathed it with long inspirations. It made her think of the unredeemed dirt of other countries, the sooty air of crowded factories, hardly growing foliage and unlovely walls. The Embassy was a pretentious frame structure in which frequent alterations had masked an original plan. With its tall porte-cochère, its long narrow L which served as Chancery, the smaller white cottage across the lawn occupied by the Secretary of Embassy, the rambling servants' quarters and stables, it suggested some fine old Virginia homestead, transported by Aladdin's genii to the heart of an oriental garden. For the tiny rock-knoll, with its single twisted pine-tree in front of the main door, the wistaria arbor and red dwarf maples, the great stone lanterns, the miniature lake and pebbled rivulet spanned by its arching bridge--all these were Japanese. In the early morning the eerie witchery of the night was gone, but the sky was as deep as space and the air languid with the perfume and warmth of a St. Martin's summer. A green-golden glow tinged the camelia hedges and above them the long cool expanse of weather-boarding and olive blinds--like a carving in jade and old ivory. As she stood there bathed in the sunlight, her hands dividing the curtains, Barbara made a gracious part of the glimmering setting. Her thick, ruddy hair sprang curling from her strongly modeled forehead, and fell about her white shoulders, a warm reddish mass against the delicately tinted curtain. There was a thoroughbred straightness in the lines of the tall figure, in the curve of the cheek and the round directness of the chin; and her eyes, bent on the lucent green, were the color of brown sea-water under sapphire cloud-shadows. From a circle of evergreens near the porte-cochère a white flag-pole rose high above the treetops. The stars-and-stripes floated from its halyards, for the day was the national holiday of an European power. In the hedges sparrows were twittering, and in a plum-tree a _uguisu_--the little Buddhist bird that calls the sacred name of the Sutras--was warbling his sweet, slow, solemn syllables: "_Ho-kek-yo! Ho-kek-yo!_" A gardener was sweeping the pink rain of cherry-petals from the paths with a twig broom, the long sleeves of his blue _kimono_ fluttering in the yellow sunshine, and in front of the servants' quarters a little girl in flapping sandals was skipping rope with a chenille fascinator. Beyond the wall of the compound Barbara could see the street, a low row of open shops. In one, a number of men and girls, sitting on flat mats, were making bamboo fans. At the corner stood a round well, from which a group of women, barefooted and with tucked-up clothing, were drawing water in unpainted wooden buckets with polished brass hoops, and beside it, under a dark blue awning, a man and woman were grinding rice in a hand-mill made of two heavy stone disks. A blue-and-white figured towel was bound about the woman's head against the fine white rice-dust. Above them, on a tiny portico, an old man, with the calm, benevolent face of a porcelain mandarin, was watering an unbelievably-twisted dwarf plum on which was a single bunch of blossoming. At the side of the street grew a gnarled _kiri_ tree, its shambling roots encroaching on the roadway. In their cleft was set a wooden _Shinto_ shrine with small piles of pebbles before it. From a distance, high and clear, she heard a strain of bugles from some squad of soldiers going to barracks, or perhaps to the parade-ground, where, she remembered, an Imperial Review of Troops was to be held that morning. Barbara started suddenly, to see on the lawn just below her window, a figure three feet high, with a round, cropped head, gazing at her from a solemn, inquiring countenance. He wore a much-worn but clean _kimono_, and his infantile toes clutched the thongs of clogs so large that his feet seemed to be set on spacious wooden platforms. The youngster bent double and staggeringly righted himself with a staccato "_O-hayo!_" Barbara gave an inarticulate gasp; in face of his somber dignity she did not dare to laugh. "How do you do?" she said. "Do you live here?" "No," he replied. "I lives in a other houses." "Oh!" exclaimed Barbara, aghast at his command of English. "What is your name?" "Ishikichi," he said succinctly. "And will you tell me what you are doing, Ishikichi?" A small hand from behind his back produced a tiny bamboo cage in which was a bell-cricket. As he held it out, the insect chirped like an elfin cymbal. "Find more one," he said laconically. "And what shall you do with them, I wonder." He took one foot from its clog and wriggled bare toes in the grass. "Give him to new little sister," he said. "So you have a new little sister!" exclaimed Barbara. "How fine that must be!" A glaze of something like disappointment spread over the diminutive face. "Small like," he said. "More better want a brother to play with me." "Maybe you might exchange her for a brother," she hazarded, but the cropped head shook despondently: "I think no can now," he said. "We have use her four days." Barbara laughed outright, a peal of silvery sound that echoed across the garden--then suddenly drew back. A man on horseback was passing across the drive toward the main gate of the compound. It was Daunt, bareheaded, his handsome tanned face flushed with exercise, the breeze ruffling his moist, curling hair. She flashed him a smile as his riding-crop flew to his brow in salute. The sun glinted from its Damascene handle, wrought into the long, grotesque muzzle of a fox. Between the edsges of the blue silk curtains she saw him turn in the saddle to look back before he disappeared. She stood peering out a long time toward the low white cottage across the clipped lawn. The laughter had left her eyes, and gradually over her face grew a wave of rich color. She dropped the curtain and caught her hands to her cheeks. For an instant she had seemed to feel the pressure of strong arms, the touch of coarse tweed vividly reminiscent of a pipe. What had come over her? The one day that had dawned at sea in golden fire and died in crimson and purple over a file of convicts--the dreaming night with its temple bell striking through silver mist and violet shadows--these had left her the same Barbara that she had always been. But somewhere, somehow, in the closed gulf between the then and now, something new and strange and sweet had waked in her--something that the sound of a voice in the garish sunlight had started into clamorous reverberations. She sat down suddenly and hid her face. CHAPTER XV A FACE IN THE CROWD They rode to the parade-ground--Barbara and Patricia with the Ambassador, behind his pair of Kentucky grays--along wide streets grown festive overnight and buzzing with _rick'sha_ and pedestrians. Every gateway held crossed flags bearing the blood-red rising-sun, and colored paper lanterns were swung in festoons along the gaudy blocks of shops, as wide open as tiers of cut honeycomb. In their swift flight the city appeared a living sea of undulations, of immense green wastes alternating with humming sections of trade, of abrupt, cliff-like hills, of small parks that were masses of cherry-bloom and landscapes of weird Japanese beauty. Patricia quoted one of Haru's quaint sayings: "So-o-o many small village got such a lonesomeness an' come more closer together. Tha's the way Tokyo born." Occasionally the Ambassador pointed out the stately palace of some influential noble, or the amorphous, depressing front of the foreign-style stucco residence of some statesman, built in that different period when the empire took first steps in the path of world-powers, with its low, graceful Japanese portion beside it. Everywhere Barbara was conscious of the flutter of children--of little girls whose dress and hair showed a pervasive sense of care and adornment; of faces neither gay nor sad looking from latticed windows that hung above open gutters of sluggish ooze; of frail balconies adorned with growing flowers or miniature gardens set in earthen trays; of doorways hung with soft-fringed, rice-straw ropes and dotted with paper charms--the talismanic _o-fuda_ seen on every hand in Japan. In Yokohama what had struck her most had been the curious composite, the jumbled dissonance of East and West. Here was a new impression; this was real Japan, but a Japan that, if it had taken on western hues, had everywhere qualified them by subtle variations, themselves oriental. Past the carriage whirled landaus bearing Japanese _grandes dames_ in native dress, with pomade-stiff coiffures against which their rice-powdered faces made a ghastly contrast; between the rear springs of each vehicle was fixed a round flat pommel on which a runner stood, balancing himself to the swift movement. A Japanese military officer in khaki, with a row of decorations on his breast, rode by on a horse too big for him, at a jingling trot. Two soldiers passing afoot, faced sidewise and their heavy cowhide heels came together with a thud, as they saluted. Their arms had the jerky precision of a mechanical toy. Through all there seemed to Barbara to strike a sense of the tenacity of the old, of the stubborn persistence of type, as though eyes behind a mask looked grimly at the mirror's reflection of some outlandish and but half-accustomed masquerade. It was the shadow of the old Japan of castes and spies and censors, of homage and _hara-kiri_, of punctilio and porcelain. Trolley cars rumbled past; skeins of telegraph wire spun across the vision. Yet when stone wall gaped or green hedge opened, it was to reveal the curving tops of Buddhist _torii_ in quaint vistas of straight-boled trees, gliding Tartar contours of roof between clumps of palm, or bamboo thickets with shadows as black as ink; while from the lazy scum of the wide, moat-like, stone gutters, open to the all-putrefying sun, rose thick, marshy odors suggesting the vast languor of a land more ancient than Egypt and Nineveh. The carriage stopped abruptly at a cross street. A _Shinto_ funeral _cortège_ was passing. Twelve bearers, six on each side, clad in mourning _houri_ of pure white, bore on their shoulders the hearse, like a shrine, built of clean unpainted wood, beautifully grained, and with carven roof and curtains of green and gold brocade. Priests in yellow robes, with curved gauze caps and stoles of scarlet and black, walked at the head, fanning themselves now and then with little fans drawn from their girdles. Coolies, dressed in white like the hearse bearers, carried stiff, conical bouquets, six feet long, made of flowers of staring colors, and clumps of lotos made of _papier maché_ covered with gold and silver leaf. The chief mourner, a woman, rode smiling in a _rick'sha_. She wore a silver-gray _kimono_ and a tall canopied cap of white brocade with wide floating strings like an old-fashioned bonnet. "Well, of all things!" said Patricia, in an awe-struck whisper. "What do you think of that?" For the file of _rick'sha_ following her carried a curious assemblage of mourners. In each sat a dog, some large, some small, with great bows of black or white crepe tied to their collars. Taka, the driver, turned his head and spoke: "Dog-doctor die," he said. "All dog very sorry." "It's the 'vet.,' father," Patricia cried. "He is dead, then--and all his old patients are attending the funeral! See, Barbara! They are lined up according to diplomatic precedence. That French poodle in front belongs to the Japanese senior prince. The Aberdeen is the British Ambassador's. And there's the Italian Embassy bull-terrier and the Spanish _Chargé's_ 'chin.' The foreigners' dogs have black bows and the others white. Why is that, I wonder?" "I presume," said the Ambassador, "because white is the Japanese mourning color." "Of course. How stupid of me!" She sat suddenly upright. "Of all _things_! There's our 'Dandy'!" She pointed to a tiny Pomeranian on the seat of the last _rick'sha_. "I wondered why number-three boy was washing him so hard this morning! It's a mercy he didn't see us, or he'd have broken up the procession. Please take note that he's the tail-end--which shows my own unofficial insignificance." "There's a tourist at the hotel," said the Ambassador, "who should have seen this. I was there the other day and I overheard her speaking to one of the Japanese clerks. She said she had seen everything but a funeral, and she wanted him to instruct her guide to take her to one. The clerk said: 'I am too sorry, Madam, but this is not the season for funerals.'" The horses trotted on, to drop to a walk, presently, on a brisk incline. High, slanting retaining walls were on either side, and double rows of cherry-trees, whose interlacing branches wove a roof of soft pink bloom. Along the road were many people; _inkyo_--old men who no longer labored, and _ba-San_--old women whom age had relieved from household cares--bent and withered and walking with staves or leaning on the arms of their daughters, who bore babies of their own strapped to their backs; children clattering on loose wooden clogs; youths sauntering with _kimono'd_ arms thrown, college-boy fashion, about each other's shoulders; a troop of young girls in student _hakama_--skirts of deep purple or garnet--laughing and chatting in low voices or airily swinging bundles tied in colored _furoshiki_. Midway the wall opened into a miniature park filled with trees, with a small lake and a _Shinto_ monument. "Why, there's little Ishikichi," said Patricia. "I never saw him so far from home before. Isn't that a queer-looking man with him!" The solemn six-year-old, Barbara's window acquaintance of the morning, was trotting from the inclosure, his small fingers clutching the hand of a foreigner. The latter was of middle age. His coat was a heavy, double-breasted "reefer." His battered hat, wide-brimmed and soft-crowned, was a joke. But his linen was fresh and good and his clumsy shoes did not conceal the smallness and shapeliness of his feet. He was lithe and well built, and moved with an easy swing of shoulder and a step at once quick and graceful. His back was toward them, but Barbara could see his long, gray-black hair, a square brow above an aquiline profile at once bold and delicate, and a drooping mustache shot with gray. Many people seemed to regard him, but he spoke to no one save his small companion. His manner, as he bent down, had something caressing and confiding. At the sound of wheels the man turned all at once toward them. As his gaze met Barbara's, she thought a startled look shot across it. At side view his face had seemed a dark olive, but now in the vivid sunlight it showed blanched. His eyes were deep in arched orbits. One, she noted, was curiously prominent and dilated. From a certain bird-like turn of the head, she had an impression that this one eye was nearly if not wholly sightless. All this passed through her mind in a flash, even while she wondered at his apparent agitation. For as he gazed, he had dropped the child's hand. She saw his lips compress in an expression grim and forbidding. He made an involuntary movement, as though mastered by a quick impulse. Then, in a breath, his face changed. He shrank back, turned sharply into the park and was lost among the trees. "What an odd man!" exclaimed Patricia. "I suppose he resented our staring at him. He's left the little chap all alone, too. Stop the horses a moment, Tucker," she directed, and as they pulled up she called to the child. But there was no reply. Ishikichi looked at her a moment frowningly, then, without a word, turned and stalked somberly after his companion. "What an infant thunder-cloud!" said Patricia as the carriage proceeded. "That must be where our precious prodigy gets his English. Poor mite!" she added. "He was the inseparable of the son of Toru, the flower-dealer opposite the Embassy, Barbara, and the dear little fellow was run over and killed last week by a foreign carriage. No doubt he's grieving over it, but in Japan even the babies are trained not to show what they feel. I wonder who this new friend is?" "I've seen the man once before," said the Ambassador. "He was pointed out to me. His name is Thorn. His first name is Greek--Aloysius, isn't it?--yes, Aloysius. He is a kind of recluse: one of those bits of human flotsam, probably, that western civilization discards, and that drift eventually to the East. It would be interesting to know his history." So this, thought Barbara, was the exile of whom Daunt had told her, who had chosen to bury himself--from what unguessed motive!--in an oriental land, sunk out of sight like a stone in a pool. When he looked at her she had felt almost an impulse to speak, so powerfully had the shadow in his eyes suggested the canker of solitariness, the dreary ache of bitterness prolonged. She felt a wave of pity surging over her. But the carriage leaped forward, new sights sprang on them and the fleeting thought dropped away at length behind her, with the overhanging cherry-blooms, the little green park, and the strange face at its gateway. CHAPTER XVI "BANZAI NIPPON!" Gradually, as they proceeded, the throng became denser. Policemen in neat suits of white-duck and wearing long cavalry swords lined the road. They had smart military-looking caps and white cotton gloves, and stood, as had the officer before the file of convicts in Shimbashi Station, moveless and imperturbable. The crowds were massed now in close, locked lines on either side. In one place a school-master stood guard over a file of small boys in holiday _kimono_: a little paper Japanese flag was clutched in each chubby hand. In all the ranks there was no jostling, or fighting for position, no loud-voiced jest or expostulation; a spell was in the air; the Imperial Presence who was to pass that way had cast His beneficent Shadow before. Through a double row of saluting police they whirled into an immense brown field, as level as a floor, stretching before them seemingly empty, a dull, yellow-brown waste horizoned by feathery tree-tops. The carriage turned to the right, skirting a surging sea of brown faces held in check by a stretched rope; these gave place to a mass of officers standing in dress-uniform, with plumed caps and breasts ablaze with decorations; in another moment they descended before a canvas _marquée_ where brilliant regimental uniforms from a dozen countries shifted and mingled with diplomatic costumes heavy with gold-braid, and with women's gay frocks and picture-hats. The air was full of exhilaration; people were laughing and chatting. The British Ambassador displayed the plaid of a Colonel of Highlanders; he had fought in the Soudan. The Chinese Minister was in his own mandarin costume; from his round, jade-buttoned hat swept the much coveted peacock feathers and on his breast were the stars of the "Rising-Sun" and the "Double-Dragon." The American Ambassador alone, of all the foreign representatives, wore the plain frock-coat and silk hat of the civilian. From group to group strolled officials of the Japanese Foreign Office and Cabinet Ministers, their ceremonial coats crossed by white or crimson cordons. And through it all Barbara moved, responsive to all this lightness and color, bowing here and there to introductions that left her only the more conscious of the one tall figure that had met them and now walked at her side. Daunt could not have told that the flowers in her hat were brown orchids: he only knew that they matched the color of her eyes. Last night the moonlight had lent her something of the fragile and ethereal, like itself. Now the sunlight painted in clear warm colors of cream and cardinal. It glinted from the perfect curve of her forehead, and tangled in the wide wave of her bronze hair, making it gleam like hot copper spun into silk-fine strands. His finger-tips tingled to touch it. He started, as--"A penny for your thoughts," she said, with sudden mischief. "Have you so much about you?" he countered. "That's a subterfuge." "You wouldn't be flattered to hear them, I'm afraid." "The reflection is certainly a sad blow to my self-esteem!" "Well," he said daringly, "I was thinking how I would like to pick you up in my arms before all these people and run right out in the center of that field--" She flushed to the tips of her ears. "And then--" "Just run, and run, and run away." "What a heroic exploit!" she said with subtle mockery, but the flush deepened. "You know to what lengths I can go in my longing to be a hero!" he muttered. "Running off with girls under your arm seems to have become a mania. But isn't your idea rather prosaic in this age of flying-machines? To swoop down on one in an aëroplane would be so much more thrilling! This is the field where you practise, too, isn't it? Is that building away over there where you keep your Glider?"' "Yes. At first I made the models in a Japanese house of mine near here. I keep it still, from sentiment." "How fine to meet a man who admits to having sentiment! I'm tremendously interested in Japanese houses. You must show it to me." "I will. And when will you let me take you for a 'fly?'" "I'm relieved," she said, "to find you willing to ask permission." Her eyes sparkled into his, and both laughed. Patricia was chatting animatedly with Count Voynich, the young diplomatist whom she had pointed out in the train, and whose monocle now looked absurdly contemplative and serene under a menacing helmet. The confusion of many colors, the pomp and panoply under the day's golden azure, was singing in Barbara's veins. She moved suddenly toward the front. "Come," she said, "I want you to tell me things!" "I'm going to," he answered grimly. "I've known I should, ever since--" "Look!" she cried. Several coaches had bowled up; behind each stood footmen in gold-lace and cocked hats, knee breeches and white silk stockings. Daunt named the occupants as they descended: the Premier, one of the "Elder Statesmen," the Minister of the Household. "Who are the people there at the side, under the awning?" "Tourists. Each Embassy and Legation is allowed a certain number of invitations." "Why, yes," said Barbara. "I see some of my ship-mates." She smiled and nodded across as faces turned toward her. There was the gaunt, sallow woman who had distributed Christian Science tracts (till sea-sickness claimed her for its own) and little Miss Tippetts (the printed steamer-list, with unconscious wit, had made it "Tidbits"), who had flitted about the companion-ways like a shawled wraith, radiant now in a white _lingerie_ gown and a hat covered with red hollyhocks. And there, too, was the familiar painted-muslin and the expansive white waistcoat of the train. A hundred yards to the right was spread a wide silk canopy of royal purple, caught back with crimson tassels. "What is that?" Barbara asked, pointing. "That is for the Emperor and his suite. The big sixteen-petaled chrysanthemum on its front is the Imperial Crest; no one else is allowed to use or carry it. The men on horseback are Princes of the Blood. Almost all the great generals of the late war are in that group behind them. The man smoking a cigarette is the Japanese Minister of War." "But when do the troops come?" Barbara inquired. "I see only one little company out there in the center." "That is a band," he said. "Look farther. Can you make out something like a wide, brown ribbon stretched all around the field?" She looked. The far-away, moveless, dun-colored strip merged with the sere plain, but now, here and there, she saw minute needle points of sunlight twinkle across it. She made an exclamation. For the tiny flashes were sun-gleams from the bayonets of massed men, clad in neutral-tinted khaki, silent, motionless as a brown wall, a living river frozen to utter immobility by a word of command that had been spoken two long hours before. A mounted _aide_ galloped wildly past toward the purple canopy. As he flashed by, a thin bugle-note rang out and a band far back by the gate at which they had entered began playing a minor melody. Strange, slow, infinitely solemn and sad, the strain rolled around the hushed field--the _Kimi-ga-yo_, the "Hymn of the Sovereign," adapted by a German melodist a score of years ago, which in Japan is played only in the Imperial Presence or that of its outward and visible tokens. The counterpoint, with its muttering roll of snare-drums on the long chords, and sudden, sharp clashes of cymbals, gave the majestic air an effect weird and unforgetable. The strain sank to silence, but with the last note a second nearer band caught it up and repeated it; then, nearer still, another and another. Barbara, leaning, saw a great state-coach of green and gold coming down the field. It was drawn by four of the most beautiful bay horses she had ever seen. Coachman, postilions and footmen wore red coats heavily frogged with gold, white cloth breeches and block enamel top-boots. As it came briskly along that animate wall of spectators, the vast concourse, save for the welling or ebbing minor of the bands, was silent, hushed as in a cathedral. But as it passed, the packed sea of brown faces--the mass of _kimono_ next the gate and the ranks of splendid uniforms--bent forward as one man, in a great sighing rustle, like a field of tall grass when a sudden wind passes over it. The plumed hats of the diplomatists came off; they bowed low. The ladies courtesied, and Barbara, as her gaze lifted, caught an instant's glimpse, through the coach's glass sides, of that kingly figure, heaven-descended and sacred, mysterious alike to his own subjects as to the outside world, through whom flows to the soul of modern Japan the manifest divinity and living guidance of cohorts of dead Emperors stretching backward into the night of Time! * * * * * The band stationed in the center of the immense field had begun to play--something with a martial swing; and now the far brown strip that had blent with brown earth began to shift and tremble like the quiver of air above heated metal. Its motes detached themselves, clustered anew; and the long, wide ribbon, like a huge serpent waked from rigid sleep in the sunshine, swept into view: regiments of men, armed and blanketed, by file and platoon. They moved with high, jerky "goose-step" and loosely swinging arm, line upon line, till the ground shook with the tread. Before each regiment were borne strange flags, blackened and tattered by blood and shell. Some were mere flapping fringes. But they were more precious than human lives. One had been found on a Manchurian battlefield, wrapped about the body of a dead Japanese, beneath his clothing. Wounded, he had so concealed it, then killed himself, lest, captured alive, the standard he bore might fall into the hands of the enemy. As each new rank came opposite the coach before the purple canopy, an officer's sword flashed out in salute, and a "_banzai!_" tore across the martial music like the ragged yell of a fanatical Dervish. Daunt, watching Barbara, saw the light leaping in her brown eyes, the excitement coming and going in her face. Again and again he fixed his gaze before him, as infantry, cavalry and artillery marched and pounded and rumbled past. In vain. Like a wilful drunkard it returned to intoxicate itself with the sight of her eager beauty, that made the scene for him only a splendid blur, an extraneous impression of masses of swaying bodies moving like marionettes, of glistening bayonets, horses, clattering ammunition wagons, and fluttering pennants. In Barbara, however, every nerve was thrilling to the sight. For the moment she had forgotten even the man beside her. As she watched the audacious outpouring of drilled power, tempered and restrained, yet so terribly alive in its coiled virility, she was feeling a keen pang of sympathy that was almost pain. In this burning panorama she divined no shrinking, devious thing sinking with the fatigue of ages, aping the superficialities of a remote race: not merely a tidal wave of intense vitality, mobile and mercurial, hastening onward toward an inaudible unknown, but a splendid rebirth, a dazzling reincarnation of old spirit in new form, a symbol concrete and vital, like the blaze of a beacon flaming a racial _réveille_. She turned toward Daunt, her hand outstretched, her fingers on his arm, her lips opened. But she did not speak. Afterward she did not know what she had intended to say. CHAPTER XVII A SILENT UNDERSTANDING Phil descended from his _rick'sha_ at the Tokyo Club and paid the coolie. The building faced an open square between the Imperial Hotel and the Parliament Buildings, along one of the smaller picturesque moats, which the fever for modernization was now filling in to make a conventional boulevard. A motor shed stood at the side of the plaza and an automobile or two was generally in evidence. The structure was small but comfortable enough, with reading- and card-rooms and a billiard-room of many tables. It was the clearing-house for the capital's news, the general exchange for Diet, Peers' Club and the Embassies. It was a place of tacit free-masonry and conversational dissections. From five to seven in the afternoon it was a polyglot babble of Japanese, English, French, German and Italian, punctuated with the tinkle of glasses and the cheerful click of billiard balls. Over its tables secretaries met to gossip of the newest _entente_ or the latest social "affair," and _protocols_ had been drafted on the big, deep, leather sofas adjoining the bar. The door was opened by a servile bell-boy in buttons. Phil tossed his hat on to the hall-rack and entered. It was cool and pleasant inside, and a great bowl of China asters sat on the table beside the membership book. On the wall was a wire frame full of visitors' cards. He strode through the office and entered a large, glass-inclosed piazza where a number of Japanese, some in foreign, some in native costume, were watching a game of _Go_. Two younger Legation _attachés_ were shaking dice at another table. It was but a little past noon and the place had an air of sober quiet, very different, Phil reflected, from the club on the Yokohama Bund, which was always buzzing, and where he was hail-fellow-well-met with everybody. Frowning, he passed into the next room. Here his eye lightened. Sitting in a corner of one of the huge sofas which sank under his enormous weight, was Doctor Bersonin. A little round table was before him on which sat a tall glass frosted with cracked ice. "Sit down," said the expert. "How do you come to be in Tokyo? The Review, I presume." He struck a call-bell on the table and gave an order to the waiter. Phil lighted a cigarette. "No," he said, "I've come to stay for a while." "You haven't given up your bungalow on the Bluff?" asked Bersonin quickly. There was an odd eagerness in his colorless face--a look of almost dread, which Phil, lighting his cigarette, did not see. It changed to relief as the other answered: "No. Probably I shan't be here more than a few days." The expert settled back in his seat. "You'll not find the hotel everything it should be, I'm afraid," he observed more casually. "I'm not there," Phil answered. "I--I've got a little Japanese house." "So! A _ménage de garçon_, eh?" The big man held up his clinking glass to the light, and under cover of it, his deep-set yellowish eyes darted a keen, detective look at Phil's averted face. "Well," he went on, "how are your affairs? Has the stern brother appeared yet?" Phil shifted uneasily. "No," he replied. "I expect him pretty soon, though." He drained the glass the boy had filled. "You've been tremendously kind, Doctor," he went on hurriedly, "to lend me so much, without the least bit of security--" "Pshaw!" said Bersonin. "Why shouldn't I?" He put his hand on the other's shoulder with a friendly gesture. "I only wish money could give me as much pleasure as it does you, my boy." Two men had seated themselves in the next room. Through the open door came fragments of conversation, the gurgle of poured liquid and the bubbling hiss of Hirano mineral water. Bersonin lowered his voice: "Youth! What a great thing it is! Red-blood and imagination and zest to enjoy. All it needs is the wherewithal to gild its pleasures. After a time age catches us, and what are luxuries then? Only things to make tiresomeness a little less irksome!" Phil moved his glass on the table top in sullen circles. "But suppose one hasn't the 'wherewithal' you talk of? What's the fun without money, even when you're young? I've never been able to discover it!" "Find the money," said Bersonin. "I wish some one would tell me how!" Bersonin's head turned toward the door. He sat suddenly rigid. It came to Phil that he was listening intently to the talk between the two men in the next room. "I needn't point out"--it was a measured voice, cold and incisive and deliberate--"that when the American fleet came, two years ago, conditions were quite different. The cruise was a national _tour de force_; the visit to Japan was incidental. Besides, there was really no feeling then between the two nations--that was all a creation of the yellow press. But the coming of this European Squadron to-day is a different thing. It is a season of general sensitiveness and distrust, and when the ships belong to a nation between which and Japan there is real and serious diplomatic tension--well, in my opinion the time is, at best, inopportune." "Perhaps"--a younger voice was speaking now, less certain, less poised and a little hesitant--"perhaps the very danger makes for caution. People are particularly careful with matches when there's a lot of powder about." "True, so far as intention goes. But there is the possibility of some _contre-temps_. You remember the case of the _Ajax_ in the Eighties. It was blown up in a friendly harbor--clearly enough by accident, at least so far as the other nation was concerned. But it was during a time of strain and hot blood, and you know how narrowly a great clash was averted. If war had followed, regiments would have marched across the frontier, shouting: 'Remember the _Ajax_!' As it was, there was a panic in three bourses. Solid securities fell to the lowest point in their history. The yellow press pounded down the market, and a few speculators on the short side made gigantic fortunes." A moment's pause ensued. Bersonin's fingers were rigid. There seemed suddenly to Phil to be some significance between his silence and the conversation--as if he wished it to sink into his, Phil's, mind. The voice continued: "What has happened once may happen again. What if one of those Dreadnaughts by whatever accident should go down in this friendly harbor? It doesn't take a vivid imagination to picture the headlines next morning in the newspapers at home!" The ice in the tumblers clinked; there was a sound of pushed-back chairs. As their departing footsteps died in the hall, Bersonin's gaze lifted slowly to Phil's face. It had in it now the look it had held when he gazed from the roof of the bungalow on the Bluff across the anchorage beneath. Phil did not start or shrink. Instead, the slinking evil that ruled him met half-way the bolder evil in that glance, from whose sinister suggestion the veil was for a moment lifted, recognizing a tacit kinship. Neither spoke, but as the hard young eyes looked into the cavernous, topaz eyes of Doctor Bersonin, Phil _knew_ that the thought that lay coiled there was a thing unholy and unafraid. His heart beat faster, but it warmed. He felt no longer awed by the other's greater age, standing and accomplishments. He was conscious of a new, half-insolent sense of easy comradeship. "Suppose," said Bersonin slowly, "I should show you how to find the money." A sharp eagerness darted across Phil's face. Money! How much he needed it, longed for it! It could put him on his feet, clear off his debts, square his bridge-balance, and--his brother notwithstanding!--enable him to begin another chapter of the careless life he loved! He looked steadily into the expert's face. "Tell me!" he almost whispered. Bersonin rose and held out his hand. He did not smile. "Come with me to-night," he said. "I dine late, but we'll take a spin in my car and have some tea somewhere beforehand. Tell me where your house is and I'll send Ishida with the motor-car for you." Phil gave him the address and he went out with no further word. A great, brass-fitted automobile, with a young, keen-eyed Japanese sitting beside the chauffeur, throbbed up from the shed. Bersonin climbed ponderously in. A gray-haired diplomatist, entering the Club with a stranger, pointed the big man out to the other as he was whirled away. CHAPTER XVIII IN THE BAMBOO LANE _What did Bersonin mean?_ Phil replenished his glass, feeling a tense, nervous excitement. Why had he listened so intently--made _him_ listen--to what the men in the next room were saying? He could recall it all--for some reason every word was engraven on his mind. The visit of the foreign Squadron. Speculators who had once made quick fortunes through an accident to a battle-ship. He thought of the look he had seen on Bersonin's face. "What do you want me to do?" He muttered the words to himself. As he rose to go he glanced half-fearfully over his shoulder. He walked along the street, his brain afire. He was passing a moat in whose muck bottom piling was being driven; the heavy plunger was lifted by a dozen ropes pulled by a ring of coolie women, dressed like men, with blue-cotton leggins and red cloths about their heads. As they dragged at the straw ropes, and the great weight rose and fell, they chanted a wailing refrain, with something minor and plaintive in its burden-- "_Yó--eeya--kó--ra! Yó-eeya--kó--ra!_" _What do you want me to do?..._ The words wove oddly with the refrain. Why should he say them over and over? Again and again it came--an echo of an echo--and again and again he seemed to see the look in the expert's hollow, cat-like eyes! It haunted him as he walked on toward Aoyama parade-ground, to the little house in _Kasumigatani Cho_, the "Street-of-the-Misty-Valley." Then, as he walked, he saw some one that for the moment drove it from his mind. He had turned for a short-cut through a temple inclosure, and there he met her face to face--the girl of the _matsuri_, whom he had seen wading in the foam at Kamakura. Her slim neck, pale with rice-powder, rose from a soft white neckerchief flowered with gold, and a scarlet poppy was dreaming in her black hair. Phil's face sprang red, and a wave of warm color overran her own. "_O-Haru-San!_" he cried. "_Konichi-wa_," she answered with grave courtesy and made to pass him, but he turned and walked by her side. "Please, please!" he entreated. "If you only knew how often I have looked for you! Don't be unkind!" "Why you talk with me?" said Haru, turning. "My Japanese girl--no all same your country." "You wild, pretty thing!" he said. "Why are you so afraid of me? Foreigners don't eat butterflies." "No," she answered, without hesitation, "they jus' break wings." He laughed unevenly. Her quickness of retort delighted him, and her beauty was stinging his blood. He put out his hand and touched her sleeve, but she drew away hurriedly: "See!" she said. "My know those people to come in gate. Talk--'bout my _papa-San_--please, so they will to think he have know you, _né_?" Phil obeyed the hint, but Haru's cheeks, as she saluted her friends, were flushing painfully. It was her first subterfuge employed in a moment of embarrassment with the realization that her home was near and that she was violating the code of deportment that from babyhood hedges about the young Japanese girl with a complicated etiquette. The women they had passed looked back curiously at the foreigner walking with her. One, a girl of Haru's own age, called smilingly after her: "_Komban Mukojima de sho?_" Phil understood the query. Was she going to Mukojima--to the cherry festival--to-night! His eyes sparkled at the tossed-back, "_Hai!_" Well, he would be there, too! He had appreciated the quick wit of her subterfuge. The clever little baggage! She was not such a small, brown saint, after all! "I think I did that rather well," he said, when they had passed out of earshot. "They'll think your honorable parent and I exchange New Year gifts at the very least." A little smile of irrepressible fun was lurking under Haru's flush. "You have ask how is _papa-San_ rhu-ma-tis-um," she said. "In our street he have some large fame, for because he so old and no have got." Phil laughed aloud. "Look here, little Haru," he said, "you and I are going to be great friends, aren't we?" He looked down at the slim, nervous arm, so soft and firm of flesh, so deliciously turned and modeled. He knew a jade bracelet in Yokohama that would mightily become it--he would write to-night and have it sent up! "When can I see you again, eh?" They had turned into a narrow deserted lane, bordered with bamboo fences, and opening, a little way beyond, into the wider Street-of-Prayer-to-the-Gods. She stopped as he spoke and shook her head. "My no can tell," she answered. "No come more far. My house very near now." He caught her hand--it was almost as small as a child's, with its delicate wrist and slender fingers. "Give me a kiss and I will let you go," he said. As she shrank back indignantly against the palings, her free hand flung up across her face, he threw his arms about her and strained her to him. She wrestled against him with little inarticulate sobs, but he lifted her face and kissed her again and again. He released her, breathing hard, the veins in his temples throbbing, his lips burning hot. He stood a moment looking after her, as white-faced and breathless, she fled down the bamboo lane. "There!" he muttered. "That's for you to remember me by--till next time!" CHAPTER XIX THE BISHOP ASKS A QUESTION Bishop Randolph lived in the quarter of Tokyo called Ts'kiji--a section of "made-ground" in the bay, composed, as the ancient vestry jest had it, of the proverbial tomato-cans. It was flat and low, and its inner canal in the old days had formed the boundary of the extraterritorial district given over by a reluctant government to the residence of foreigners. It was a mile from the great, double-moated park of the Imperial Palace, from the Diet and the Foreign Office, whither, scarcely a generation ago, representatives of European powers had galloped on horse-back, with a mounted guard against swashbuckling "two-sword men." The streets, however, on which once an American Secretary of Legation, so spurring, had been cut in two by a single stroke of a thirsting _samurai_ sword, were peaceful enough in this era of _Meiji_. The cathedral, the college, the low brown hospital and the lines of red-brick mission houses stood on grassy lawns behind green hedges which gave a suggestion of a quiet English village. A couple of the smaller Legations still clung to their ancient sites and the quarter boasted, besides, a score of ambitious European residences and a modern hotel. In the rectory the bishop sat at tiffin with the archbishop of the Russian Cathedral, a man of seventy-eight, gray-bearded and patriarchal--another St. Francis Xavier. In this foreign field the pair had been friends during more than a score of years. Both were equally broad-minded, had long ago thrown down the sectarian barriers too apt to prevail in less restricted communities. To a large extent they were confidants. The archbishop spoke little English, and the bishop no Russian and but "inebriate" French (as he termed it), so that their talk was habitually in Japanese. When they had finished eating both men bowed their heads in a silent grace. The Russian, as he rose, made the sign of the cross. As they entered the library a wrinkled house-servant sucked in his breath behind them. "Will the thrice-eminent guest deign to partake of a little worthless tobacco?" he inquired, in the ceremonious honorifics of the vernacular. The thrice-eminent shook his head, and the bishop answered: "Honorable thanks, Honda-_San_, our guest augustly does not smoke." At the table they had been talking of the great dream of both--the Christianization of modern Japan. The archbishop continued the conversation now: "As I was saying, the great stumbling-block is the language. It is all right for you and me, who have had twenty years at it, but our helpers haven't. His code of courtesy forbids a Japanese to seem to correct even when we are absurdly wrong. One of my boys"--so the bishop affectionately referred to his younger coadjutors--"was preaching the other day on 'The Spiritual Attributes of Mankind.' He meant to use the word _ningen_, man in the wide sense. He preached, he thought, with a good deal of success--the people seemed particularly grave and attentive. Afterward he asked an old Japanese what he thought of the subject. The man replied that he had felt much instructed to find there were so many things to be said about it. He added that he himself generally ate them boiled. My young man had used the word _ninjin_--carrots. 'The Spiritual Attributes of Carrots!' And a whole sermon on it. Imagine it!" The archbishop threw back his head and laughed. Then the conversation drifted again into the serious. "Of course," said the bishop, "there is at bottom the oriental inability to separate racial traits, to realize that Christianity has made Christendom's glories, not her shames. The Japanese are essentially a spiritually-minded people. Some of the West's most common vices they are strangely without. And their code of every-day morals--well, we can throw very few stones at them there!" The archbishop nodded. "Few, indeed," he said. "No Japanese Don Juan ever could exist. A Japanese woman would be scandalized by a Greek statue. She would recoil at a French nude. She would fly with astonishment and shame from the sight of a western ballet. Our whole system strikes the Oriental as not only monstrous but disgustingly immoral. It seems to him, for instance, sheer barbarity for a man to love his wife even half as well as he does his own mother and father. A curious case in point happened not so long ago. A peasant had a mother who became blind. He consulted the village necromancer, who told him if his mother could eat a piece of human heart she would get her sight back. The peasant went home in tears and told his wife. She said, 'We have only one boy. You can very easily get another wife as good or better than me, but you might never have another son. Therefore, you must kill me and take my heart for your mother.' They embraced, and he killed her with his sword. The child awoke and screamed. Neighbors and the police came. In the police court the peasant's tale moved the judges to tears. They quite understood. They didn't condemn the man to death. Really the one who ought to have been killed was the necromancer." "And this," said the bishop musingly, "only a few miles from where they were teaching integral calculus and Herbert Spencer!" His visitor sat a while in thought. "By the way," he said presently, changing the subject, "I passed your new Chapel the other day. It is very handsome. Your niece, I think you told me, built it. May I ask--" "Yes," said the host, "it is my dead sister's child, Barbara--John Fairfax's daughter." A look passed between them, and the bishop rose and paced up and down, a habit when he was deeply moved. "She came back to Japan with me," he continued. "I am to take her to see the Chapel this afternoon. Yesterday she told me that she intends it to be dedicated to her father's memory." For a moment there was no reply. Then the other said: "You have heard nothing of Fairfax all these years?" "Not a word." "She has never known?" The bishop shook his head. "She believes he died before her mother left Japan." He paused before the window, his back to the other. "He was my friend!" he said; "and I loved him. I gave my sister to him, and she loved him, too!" "I remember," said the archbishop slowly. "She went back to America from Nagasaki. How strange it was! She never told any one why she left him?" "Never a word. She died before I went to America again. She left me a letter which hinted at something wholly unforgivable--almost Satanic, it must have seemed to her." "And he?" "Disappeared. He was thought to have gone to China. Perhaps he is alive there yet. I have always wondered. If so, how is he living--in what way?" The bishop turned abruptly. "In view of what we know, can I lend myself to the dedication of this house of our Lord to a memory that may be infamous? I ask you as a friend." The older man was a long time silent. "'His ways are past finding out,'" he said at length. "I am conscious, sometimes, of a hidden purpose in things. The daughter's memory of her father is a beautiful thing. Let us not destroy it!" CHAPTER XX THE TRESPASSER The bishop, and the Ambassador, when the former's call was ended that afternoon, found Barbara with Haru in the garden pagoda. She sat on its wide ledge, Haru at her feet, in a dainty _kimono_ of pale gray cotton-crepe with a woven pattern of plum-blossoms. The oval Japanese face showed no trace now of the passionate anger with which she had fled from Phil's kisses. If it had left a trace the trace was hidden under the racial mask that habitually glosses the surface of oriental feeling. Barbara had fallen in love with Haru's piquant personality--with her fragile loveliness, her quaint phrasing, her utter desire to please. While Patricia deepened her engaging freckles on the tennis court, she had made the Japanese girl bring her _samisen_ and play. At first the music had seemed uncouth and elfish--a queer, barbaric twanging, like an intoxicated banjo with no bass string, tricked with unmelodious chirpings, and woven with extraordinary runs and unfamiliar intervals. But slowly, after the first few moments, there had crept to her inner ear a strange, errant rhythm. She had felt her feet stealthily gliding, her arms bending, with those of the score of listening children who at the first twittering of the strings, had crept from stables and servants' quarters like infant toads in a shower. Afterward Haru, in her pretty broken English, had told her stories--old legends that are embalmed in the _geisha_ dances, of the forty-seven _Ronin_, and of the great _Shogun_ who slept by the huge stone lanterns in Uyeno Park. * * * * * When Barbara and her uncle started on their walk--he was to show her the Chapel--the Ambassador strolled with them as far as the main gate of the compound. A string of carriages from the Imperial stables--each with the golden chrysanthemum on its lacquered panel--was just passing. Their occupants, some of whom were Japanese and some foreign, were in naval uniform, their breasts covered with orders. "The officers of the foreign Squadron, no doubt," said the Ambassador, "being shown the sights of the capital. Day after to-morrow the Minister of Marine begins the official entertainment with a ball in their honor. You will enjoy that, Barbara." "I wish," said the bishop, "that the pessimists who are so fond of talking of diplomatic 'strain' could see a Japanese welcome. The stay of these officers will be one long festivity. Yet to read a Continental journal you would think every other Japanese was carrying a club for use if they ventured ashore." The Ambassador watched the cavalcade thoughtfully. For weeks, the newspapers of European capitals had talked of conflicting interests and unreconciled differences between the two countries. He knew that there was little in this, in fact, save the journalistic necessity for "news" and a nervousness that seems periodically to oppress highly strung Chanceries as it does individuals. Beneath this surface current, diplomacy had gone its even, temperate way, undisturbed. But as a trained diplomatist he knew that the most baseless rumor, if too long persisted in, had grave danger, and he had welcomed the coming of the Squadron, for the sake of the effect on foreign public opinion, of the lavish and open-hearted hospitality which Japan would offer it. When the carriages had whirled past he bade the others good-by and went back to his books. * * * * * Walking up the sloping "Hill-of-the-Spirit" to the templed knoll behind it, Barbara felt in tune with the afternoon. All along flaunting camphor-trees and cryptomeria peered above the skirting walls and the scent of wistaria was as heavy as that of new-mown hay. The ground was white and dusty and here and there briskly moving handcarts were sprinkling water. Little girls, with their hair in pigtails tied with bright-colored yarn and ribbon, and in brilliant figured _kimono_ of red and purple, ran hither and thither in some game, and on the gutter-edge a naked baby stared up at them with grave, mistrustful eyes, his shaven head bobbing in the sunshine. Half-way up the hill a group of coolies were resting beside their carts. Their faces had the look of lotos-eaters, languid and serene. As they walked Barbara told of the adventure of the evening before with the wolf-hound, and of the Review of the morning, and the bishop, shrewdly regarding her, thought he had never seen her so beautiful. "What has happened--_who_ has happened, Barbara?" he asked, for he suddenly guessed he knew what that look meant. Her eyes dropped and her rising color confirmed his idea. "I don't know--do you?" He took out his pocketbook and handed her a clipping from a morning newspaper. It chronicled the arrival of the yacht _Barbara_. She looked at him out of eyes brimming with laughter: "'The time has come,' the Walrus said, 'To talk of many things: Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax-- Of cabbages----'" "But not Ware?" he finished. "All right. He'll speak for himself, no doubt. The paper says he's at Nara; but then, he doesn't know you are here yet. We pushed our sailing date forward, you remember." "I'm trying to curb my impatience," she said blithely. "Meanwhile, I can't tell you what a good time I'm having. I shall stay in Japan for ever: I can feel it in my bones! I shall have a Japanese house with a chaperon, two tailless cats and an _amah_, and study the three systems of flower-arrangement and the Tea-Ceremony." They had reached the huge gate, with its little booth in which a sentry now stood. "He wears the uniform of the Imperial Guard," the bishop said. "That is the residence of one of the daughters of the Emperor." He turned into the lane that opened opposite. It was hedged with some unfamiliar thorny shrub with woolly yellow blossoms, and a little way inside stood an old temple gate with a stone _torii_. She stopped with an exclamation. "Yes," he said, "there is the Chapel." Barbara was looking opposite the _torii_, where, amid the flowering green, a slanting roof lifted, holding a cross. It stood out, whitely cut against the blue, a silent witness. Facing the dragon-swarming gate, it made her think of pale martyrs in gorgeous pagan countries, of Paul standing before the Temple of Diana in Ephesus, and lonely Christian anchorites in profane lands of green and gold. "What Christians some of these Japanese make!" the bishop said, as they finished their tour of the building. "I know of a carpenter in Sendai who became a convert. He used to visit the prison and one day he took a woman there to see her husband, a hardened and obdurate criminal. In the interview the man stabbed his wife. The chief-of-police, on account of the carpenter's reputation for justice and pure-living, left the punishment of the man to him. What do you think he did?" She could not guess. "He refused to punish him at all, on the simple ground that Christ would not. As a result the convict is now one of the best Christian teachers we have in Sendai. The month before this happened," he continued, smiling reflectively, "a thief broke into the rectory and stole my watch. I notified the police, and they brought it back to me in a few days. But where is my thief? You remember Jean Valjean and the silver candle-sticks? Maybe the Sendai carpenter was nearer right than I." Barbara had paused in front of the black space for the stained-glass window. "It will be here," the bishop said, answering her thought. "It is to be put in place in time for the dedication service to-morrow morning." He stepped to the door and peered into the interior. "You will want to look about a bit, no doubt. I have a call to make in the neighborhood--suppose I stop on my way back for you." * * * * * For a few moments after his departure Barbara stood listening to the dulled sound of the workmen's tools. The roof of the temple opposite had a curving, Tartar-like ridge, at either end of which was a huge fish, its head pointed inward, its wide forked tail twisted high in air. Under its scalloped eaves she saw the flash of a swallow, and far above a gaudy paper kite careened in the blue. She crossed the lane and looked into the shady inclosure, where the bronze lanterns and the tombstones stood, as gray and lichened as the stone beneath her feet. Before many of the graves stood green bamboo vases holding bunches of fresh leaves. An old woman was moving noiselessly about, watering these with a long bamboo dipper and lighting incense-sticks as she went. In one place a young man knelt before an ancestral monument, softly clapping his hands in prayer. The whole place was drenched in a tone limpid and serene, the very infusion of peace. Only in the black temple interior she caught the dim glow of candles and somewhere a muffled baton was tapping on hollow wood. "Min ... Min ... Min .. Min .. Min . Min . Min-Min-Min-Minminminminmin...." At first slowly, then faster and faster, till the notes merged and died away in a muttering roll, to begin once more with the slowness of a leisurely metronome. The ornate front of the building on the right of the yard attracted her and she went nearer. Beyond the hedge she could see a portion of its garden. Reflecting that this was a temple property and hence, no doubt, open to the public, she unlatched its bamboo gate and entered. Before her curved a line of flat stepping-stones set in clean, gray gravel. On one side was a low camelia hedge spotted with blossoms of deep crimson and on the other a miniature thicket of fern and striped ground-bamboo. Beyond this rose a mossy hillock up whose green sides clambered an irregular pathway, set with tall _shinto_ lanterns and large stones, like gigantic, many-colored quartz pebbles. Here and there the flushed pink of cherry-trees made the sky a tapestry of blue-rose, and in the hollows grew a burnished, purple shrub that seemed to be powdering the ground with the velvet petals of pansies. Barbara had seen many photographs of Japanese gardens, but they had either lacked color or been over-tinted. This lay chromatic, visualized, braided with precious hues and steeped in the tender, unshamed glories of a tropic spring. For a moment she shut her eyes to fix the picture for ever on her brain. She opened them again to a flood of sunlight on the gilded carvings of the ancient structure. Its _shoji_ had been noiselessly drawn open, and a man stood there looking fixedly at her. CHAPTER XXI THE RESURRECTION OF THE DEAD It was the man she had seen that morning at the entrance to the little park. Barbara realized instantly and uneasily that she was an intruder. Yet she felt an intense interest, mixed of what she had heard and of what she had imagined. His _outré_ street-costume had now been laid aside; he wore Japanese dress, with dark gray _houri_ and white cleft sock. His iron-gray head was bare. The expression of his face was conscious and alert, with a sort of savage shyness. "I am afraid I am intruding," she said. "I ought to have known the garden was private." "Private gardens may sometimes be seen, I suppose." The words were ungracious, though the _timbre_ of the voice was musical and soft. "I beg your pardon," she said, and moved away. He made a gesture, a quick timid movement of one hand, and stepped down toward her. "No," he said almost violently. "I don't want you to go. Can't you see I mean you to stay?" Barbara saw clearly now the variation in his eyes; the larger one was clouded, as though a film covered the iris. It gave her a slight feeling of repugnance, which she instantly regretted, for, as though rendered conscious of it through a sensitiveness almost telepathic, he turned slightly, and put a hand to his brow to cover it. "Oh," she said hastily, "I am glad. This is the most beautiful garden I have ever seen." He looked at her quickly and keenly with his one bright eye. It held none of the swart, in-turned reflectiveness of the Japanese; it was sharp and restless. Its brilliance, under eyebrows that seemed on the verge of a frown, was almost fierce. The curved, gray mustache did not hide the strong, irregular, white teeth. "You know Japanese gardens?" "Not yet," she answered. "Japan is new to me. I needn't say how lovely I think this is--you must grow tired hearing strangers rhapsodize over it!" "Strangers!" he laughed; the sound was not musical like his spoken voice, but harsh and grating. "I have one joy--no stranger ever dreams of coming to see me!" "I should have said 'your friends,'" said Barbara. "Friends would be more troublesome than my enemies," he said grimly, "who, at least, never ask me where I don't want to go." She looked at him wonderingly. She had never met any one in the least like him. His features were refined and unquestionably aristocratic but his whole expression was quiveringly sensitive, resentfully shy. It was the expression, she thought, of one whom a look might cut like a whiplash, a word sting like a searing acid. "The only foreigners I know are those who write me letters: malicious busybodies, people who want subscriptions to all sorts of shams, or invite me to join respectable, humbug societies, or write merely to gratify a low curiosity. As for friends, I have none." "Surely, I saw you with one this morning," she said, with a smile. "Ah," he said, his look changing swiftly; "I don't count Ishikichi. Children understand me." "And me," she said. "I made friends with Ishikichi this morning. He was catching crickets in the garden. I am visiting the American Embassy," she added. "The garden there has been a famous playground for the child, no doubt," he returned. "His boon companion lived just opposite the compound." "The little Toru, who was run over?" "Yes. Ishikichi has been inconsolable. To-day, however, he has ceased to sorrow. The owner of the carriage has sent six hundred _yen_ to the father, who is now able to pay his debts and enlarge his business. The tablet on the Buddha-shelf that bears the little boy's death-name will be henceforth the dearest possession of the family. To Ishikichi he is a glorious hero whose passing it would be a crime to grieve." He broke off, with the odd, timid gesture she had seen before. "But you came to see the garden," he said. "If you like, I will show it to you." Without waiting for her answer, he led the way, moving quickly and agilely. The softness of his tread in the cloth _tabi_ seemed almost feminine. A little farther on he turned abruptly: "When you passed me in the carriage this morning you must have thought me unmannerly," he said. "I was, no doubt. My manners are only villainous notions of my own." "Not at all," she answered. "I only thought--" "Well?" "That perhaps I reminded you of some one you had known." He turned and walked on without reply. As they proceeded, from behind the flowering bush came the tintinnabulent tinkle and drip of running water. The stepping-stones meandered on in graceful curves and presently arrived at a little lake at whose edge grew pale water-hyacinths and whose surface was mottled with light green lotos-leaves, dotted here and there with pink half-opened buds. Now and then these stirred languidly at the flirt of a golden fin, while over them, in flashes of flame-yellow, darted hawking dragon-flies. Thickets of maroon-tinted maple glowed in the sunlight and clusters of yellow oranges hung on dwarf trees. On the lake's margin bright-hued pebbles were strewn between rounded stones whose edges were soft and green with moss. Barbara longed to feel those mossy boulders with her bare feet--to splash in that limpid water like a happy child. "This is the best view," he said simply. Looking on the endless symphonies of green, it came to her for the first time what fascination could be wrought of mere brown stone and foliage. The effect had a curious sense to her of the unsexual and unhuman. Again, with the odd impression of telepathy with which he had covered his myopic eye, he seemed to answer her thought: "The Japanese," he said, "sees Nature as neuter. His very language possesses no gender. He does not subconsciously think of a young girl when he looks at a swaying palm, nor of the lines of a beautiful body when he sees the undulations of the hills. He notes much in nature, therefore, that western art--which is passional--doesn't observe at all." "I see," she said. "We insist on looking through a tinted film that makes everything iridescent?" "And deflects the lines of forms. The Japanese art is less artificial. Now--turn to the left." In one spot the trees and shrubbery had been cut clean away, and through the vista she saw the distant mountains, clear and pure as though carved of tinted jade set in a plate of lapus lazuli. A faint curdle of cloud frayed from their jagged tops, and above it hung the dreamy snow-clad cone of Fuji, palely emerald as the tint of glaciers under an Alaskan sky. A single crow, a jet-black moving spot, flapped its way across the azure expanse. "The one touch of blue," he said. "The color ethical, the color pantheistic, the color of the idea of the divine!" His personality, so touched with mystery, interested Barbara intensely. The sense of strangeness and unfamiliarity had quite vanished. She sat down on one of the warm boulders. Thorn rested one foot on the bent trunk of a dwarf tree and leaned his elbow on his knee, his hand, in the gesture that seemed habitual, covering his eye. In the wide _kimono_ sleeve the forearm was bare and suggested a peculiar physical cleanliness like that of a wild animal. "How strange it is," she said, "that for centuries, the western world believed this wonderful land inhabited by a barbarous people--because it didn't possess western civilization!" He made an exclamation. "Civilization! It is a hateful word! It stands in the West for all that is sordid and ugly. It has bred monstrous, thundering piles built up to heaven, eternally smoking the sky--places of architecture and mechanics gone mad, where one lives by machinery and moves by steam, and is perpetually tormented by absurd conventions. I have lived in its cities. I have walked their selfish streets, shy and shabby and hungry!" "Hungry!" "Yes--and worse. I've not spoken of those experiences for years. I don't know why I speak of them now to you. Does it surprise you to hear that I have known poverty?" For the first time he turned fully facing her. His supple hand had left his brow and moved in gestures at one time fierce and graceful. "When I was sixteen I learned what penury meant in London. Once I was driven to take refuge in a workhouse in some evil quarter of the Thames. My memory of it is a mixture of dreadful sights and sounds--of windows thrown violently open or shattered to pieces--of shrieks of murder--of heavy plunges in the river." Barbara shuddered in the warm sunlight. Over the edge of the garden was a misty space where foliage and roofs sank out of sight, to rise again in long undulations of green trees and gray tiling, like a painted ocean. Far away lifted the leafy plateau of Aoyama, with its blur of terra-cotta barracks. At an immense distance a great temple roof jutted, and still farther away the spread-out, populous city curved up, like the rim of a basin, to a hazy horizon. Yet on this background of pleasantness and peace those other scenes of horror--such was the vehemence of his tone, the savage directness in his phrases--seemed to start up, blank and wretched apparitions, before her. "At nineteen," he went on. "I found myself in New York, delicate, diffident, satanically proud, and without a friend--one of the billion ants crawling in the skeleton of the mastodon. I was threadbare and meals were scant and uncertain--a little, penniless, half-blind, eccentric wanderer! I lived in a carpenter-shop and slept on the shavings. One week I sold coral for a Neapolitan peddler. Oh, I learned my civilization well! The very memory now of walking down those roaring cañons of streets--all cut granite and iron fury, and hideous houses two hundred feet high--moos at me in the night! It is frightful, nightmarish, devilish! And when one can be here under a violet sky, in sight of blue peaks and an eternally lilac, luke-warm sea!" His hand swept across the hewn vista--to the wild, bold background of indigo hills, with its slender phantom above them, swimming in the half-tropical blue. "It is better," he said, "to live in Japan in sack-cloth and ashes, than to own the half of any other country. I am as old as the three-legged crow that inhabits the sun. I can't read the comic papers or a French novel. I shouldn't go to the Paris opera if it were next door. I shouldn't like to visit the most beautiful lady and be received in evening dress. I shall pass my life in sandals and a _kimono_, and when it's over I shall be under the big trees in the old Buddhist cemetery there, beside the nunnery, among the fireflies and grasshoppers, with six laths above me, inscribed with prayers in an unknown tongue and a queerly carved monument typifying the five elements into which we melt away." He shook his broad shoulders. Again his hand went to his brow and he half turned away. "But now even Japan must adopt western civilization," he said bitterly. It is 'putting a lily in the mouth of hell!' Carpets, pianos, windows, brass-bands--to make Goths out of Greeks! Who would want them changed? Who would not love them as they are, better than the children of boasted western civilizations--industrious, pleasing, facing death with a smile, not because they are such fatalists as the Arabs, for instance, but because they have no fear of the hereafter. The old courtesy, the old faith, the old kindliness--will they weather it? Or vanish like snow in sun? The poetry, the legend, the lovely and touching observances are going fast. Modernism gives them foreign fireworks now, and forbids the ghost-boats of the Bon! I wish I could fly out of _Meiji_ for ever, back against the stream of time, into _tempo_ fourteen hundred years ago!" "The Bon?" she said. "What is that?" "I forgot," he said, "that Japan is all new to you," and told her of the Japanese All-Souls Day--the Feast of Lanterns, when the spirits of the dead return, to be fed with tea in tiny cups and with the odor of incense; how, when the dusk falls, on canal and river the little straw boats are launched with written messages and lighted paper lanterns, to bear back the blessed ghosts. Returning, Barbara led the way. Once she stooped over a single, strange blossom on a long stalk, whose golden center shone cloudily through silky filaments like the leaves of immortelles. "What is that?" she asked. "It is a wild flower I found on one of my inland rambles," he said. "Perhaps it has no name. I call it _Yumé-no-hana_--the 'Flower-of-Dream.' It will open almost any day now." "Have you quite forgiven me for breaking in?" she asked, as they walked along the stepping-stones. For the first time she surprised him in a smile. It lit his face with a sudden irradiation. "Will you do it again?" "May I--some time?" "Then you are not afraid? Remember I am a renegade, a follower of Buddha, and a most atrocious and damnable _taboo_!" "Afraid!" For a moment they looked at each other, and she saw a little quiver touch his lips. "I shall come again to-morrow--to see the flower." "Just one thing," he said. "I am a solitary. If you would not mention--to any one--" "I understand," she answered. He walked by her side to the bamboo gate. "I am glad," she said, "that I remind you of some one you liked." "Perhaps it was some one I knew in a dream," he answered. "Yes," she said. "Perhaps it was." As she spoke she saw him start. She looked up. Across the temple yard, through the entrance _torii_, she saw the bishop coming up the lane. He was walking absorbed in thought, his eyes on the ground, his hands clasped behind him. "Good-by," she said, and stepped through the gate. But Thorn did not answer. At sight of the approaching figure he had drawn back abruptly. Now he turned sharply away into a path which led toward the temple. She saw him once glance swiftly back over his shoulder before he disappeared behind the hedges. * * * * * The man with whom Barbara had been talking went slowly up the temple steps. His face was haggard and drawn. There he paused and looked back across the yard. "_Credo in resurrectionem mortuorum_," he muttered--"Yes, I believe in the resurrection of the dead!" As he stood there the head priest pushed open the _shoji_. He bowed to the other on the threshold and came out. "To-day my abashed thought has dwelt on your exalted work," he said. "Is our new image of Kwan-on peerlessly all but done, perhaps?" Thorn shook his head. "It moves with exalted slowness. To-day I contemptibly have not worked." The priest looked at him curiously, through his gold-rimmed spectacles. "You are honorably unwell," he said. "It is better to lie down in the heat of the day. Presently I will say an insignificant prayer to the _Hotoké-Sama_--the Shining Ones--for your illustrious recovery." "I am not ill," was the answer. "Be not augustly concerned." He turned away slowly and crossed the little bridge to his own abode. CHAPTER XXII THE DANCE OF THE CAPITAL The Ginza--the "Street-of-the-Silversmiths"--is the Broadway, the Piccadilly, the _Boulevard des Italiens_ of modern Tokyo. Here old and new war daily in a combat in which the new is daily victor. Modern shop-fronts of stone and brick stand cheek by jowl with graceful, flimsy frame structures that are pure Japanese. Trolley-cars, built in the United States, fill the street with clangor and its pavements (for it has them) roar with trade. In its flowing current one may see many types: Americans from the near-by Imperial Hotel, bristling with enthusiasm; earnest tourists with Murrays tucked in their armpits, doggedly "doing" the country; members of foreign Legations whirling in victorias; Chinamen, queued and decorously clad in flowered silk brocade; an occasional Korean with queerly shaped hat of woven horse-hair; over-dandified _O-sharé-Sama_--"high-collar" men, as the Tokyo phrase goes--in tweeds and yellow puttees; comfortable merchants and men of affairs in dull-colored _kimono_ and clogs; blue-clad workmen with the marks of their trades stamped in great red or white characters on their backs; sallow, bare-footed students with caps of _Waseda_ or the Imperial University; stolid and placid-faced Buddhist priests in _rick'sha_, en route to some temple funeral; soldiers in khaki with red- and yellow-striped trousers; coolies dragging carts; country people on excursions from thatched inland villages, clothed in common cloth and viewing the capital for the first time with indrawn breath and chattering exclamations; rich noblemen, beggars, idlers, guides--all are tributary to this river. When evening falls women and children predominate: bent old women with brightly blackened teeth; patient-faced mothers with babies on their backs toddling on clacking wooden _géta_; white-faced vermilion-lipped _geisha_ glimpsing by in _rick'sha_ to some tea-house entertainment; coolie women dressed like men, trudging in the roadway; girl-students peering into jewelers' windows; children clad like gaudy moths and butterflies, clattering hand in hand, or pursuing one another with shrill cries. Before the sun has well set lanterns begin to twinkle and glow above doorways--yellow electric bulbs in clusters, white acetylene globes, smoky oil lamps, and great red and white paper-lanterns lit by candles. As the violet of the dusk deepens to purple, these multiply till the vista is ablaze. Lines of colored lights in pink and lemon break out like air-flowers along upper stories of tea-houses, from whose interiors come the strumming of _biwa_ and the twang of _samisen_. On frail balconies, pricked out with yellow lanterns, dwarf pines or jars of growing azalea hang their masses of soft green or pink down over the passers-by. From open _shoji_ women lean, their _kimono_ parted, their rounded breasts bared to the cool night. On the curb peripatetic dealers squat in little stalls formed of movable screens with their wares spread before them; curio-merchants with a _mélange_ of brass, crystal and bronze; dealers in _suzumushi_--musical insects in the tiniest cages of plaited straw; sellers of Buddhist texts and worm-eaten, painted scrolls; of ink-horns, shoe-sticks, eye-glasses and children's toys. At intervals grills of savory _waka-fuji_ (salted fry-cakes) sizzle over charcoal braziers which throw a red glow on an intent row of children's faces. Here and there a shop-front emits the blatant bark of a foreign phonograph. On the corners men with arms full of vernacular evening newspapers call the names of the sheets in musical cadences, with a quaint, upward inflection. The air is filled with a heavy, rich odor, suggesting the pomade of women's head-dresses, _saké_, and sandalwood. In the roadway every vehicle contributes its bobbing lantern, till the traffic seems a celestial Saturnalia, staggering with drunken stars. So it looked to Barbara as her two _goriki_--"strong-pull men"--whirled her rubber-tired _rick'sha_ across the interminable city in her first bewildering view of Tokyo by night. Daunt, for her benefit, had arranged a trip to the Cherry-Viewing-Festival on the Sumida River, and a Japanese dinner at the Ogets'--the Cherry-Moon Tea-House--in the famous district of Asak'sa, where the great temple of Kwan-on the Merciful shines with its ever-burning candles. They had started from the Embassy: Baroness Stroloff, the wife of the Bulgarian Minister and Patricia's especial favorite, the twin sisters of the Danish Secretary, the Swiss Minister's daughter and two young army officers studying the language--all of whom Barbara had met at the Review--and the long procession (since police regulations in Tokyo forbid _rick'sha_ to travel abreast) trailed "goose-fashion," threading in and out, a writhing, yellow-linked chain. Daunt had traced their route with Barbara on a map of the city, and had translated for her the names of the streets through which they were now passing. By the Street-of-Big-Horses they skirted the District-of-Honorable-Tea-Water, threaded the Lane-where-Good-Luck-Dwells, and so, by Middle-Monkey-Music-Street, they came to the Sumida, a broader, slothful Thames, gleaming with ten thousand lanterns on _sampan_, houseboats and barges. The bridge of Ah-My-Wife brought them to the farther side. At the entrance of a long avenue of blooming cherry-trees a policeman halted them. _Rick'sha_ were not permitted beyond this point and the sweating human horses were abandoned. The road ran high along the river on a green embankment like a wide wall, between double rows of cherry-trees, whose branches interlocked overhead. It was densely crowded with people, each one of whom seemed to be carrying a colored paper-lantern or a cherry-branch drooped over the shoulder. In the hues of the loose, warm-weather _kimono_ bloomed all the flowers of all the springs--golds and mauves and scarlets and magentas--and everywhere in the lantern-light fluttered radiant-winged children, like vivid little birds in a tropical forest. From tiny one-storied tea-houses along the way, with elevated mats covered with red flannel blankets, _biwa_ and _koto_ and _samisen_ gurgled and fluted and tinkled. On the right the embankment descended steeply, giving a view of sunken roadways and tiled roofs; on the left lay the long reaches of the dreamy river murmuring with oars and voices and vibrating like a vast flood of gold and vermilion fireflies. Barbara had never imagined such a welter of movement and color. The soft flute-like voices, the slow shuffling of sandals on the dry earth, the pensive smiling faces, the pink flowers on every hand, made this different from any holiday crowd she had ever seen. It suggested a carnival of Venice orientalized, painted over and set blazing with Japanese necromancy. Here and there jugglers and top-spinners displayed their skill to staring spectators. A cluster of shaven-headed babies swarmed silently about a sweetmeat seller, and beside his push-cart a man clad like a gray-feathered hawk whistled discordantly on a bamboo reed and gyrated with a vacant grin on his pock-marked face. Where the crowd was less close men tricked out in girls' attire, with whitened, clown-like faces, turned somersaults, and through the thickest of the press a dejected, blaze-faced ox, whose nose and forehead were painted with spots of scarlet, slowly drew a two-storied scaffold on which was perched the god of spring--a plaster figure wreathed with flowers. The animal's ears were tickled by long tassels of bright green and red, and his look was one of patient boredom. The man who led him wore a short jerkin, and his bare legs, from thigh to knee, were tattooed in big, blue, graceful leaves. The greatest numbers surged about a large tent, outside of which waddled here and there mountains of men, their faces round as full moons, naked save for gaily colored aprons. The fat hung on their breasts in great creased folds like an overfed baby's, and in the lantern-light their flesh looked an unhealthy, mottled pink. Each wore his hair wound in a short queue, bent forward and tied in a stiff loop on the crown. As one of the vast hulks lumbered by, cooling his moon-face with a tiny fan, Daunt pointed him out to Barbara. "That is the famous Hitachiyama," he told her, "the champion wrestler of Japan." "How big he is!" "It runs in families," he said. "They diet and train, too, from babyhood. He weighs three hundred and forty-seven pounds." A roar came from the lighted canvas and a man emerged and wrote something on a sign-board like a tally-sheet. Daunt stopped and perused it. "You may be interested, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "to learn that Mr. Terrible-Horse has knocked out Mr. Small-Willow-Tree, but that Mr. Tiger-Elephant has been allowed a foul over Mr. Frozen-Stork. I wish we could see a bout, but we must hurry or we'll miss the _geisha_ dancing." They came presently where the roadway overlooked a sunken temple yard encircled by moats of oozy slime dotted with pink and white lotos buds. The inclosure was set with giant cryptomeria centuries old, and was crowded with people. Stone steps led down between twisted pine-trees and _Shinto_ lanterns, to a gate on whose either side was a great stone cow, rampant, like the figures in coats-of-arms. There was a droll contrast between the posture and the placid bovine countenances. In the center of the inclosure rose a wide platform with a tasseled curtain like the stage of a theater. Opposite was a pavilion in which sat rows of women in dark-colored dress, moveless as images and holding musical instruments. The whole flagged space between jostled with the iridescent, lantern-carrying throng. A priest led the party to seats at one side on mats reserved for foreign visitors. "Look, Barbara," said Patricia. "There goes our friend the expert--across there. He looks bigger and pastier than ever." Bersonin was dressed in white flannel which accentuated his enormous size. A younger man was with him, smoking a cigarette, and in their wake followed a Japanese servant. The rest of the party had turned and were looking in that direction. "Why," said Baroness Stroloff, "that's Doctor Bersonin." One of the young army men looked at her curiously. "Do you know him?" he asked. "Why, of course. One meets him everywhere. I saw him at a dinner last week. Have you met him?" "Oh, yes, we're supposed to know everybody," he said carelessly. His tone, however, held something which made her say: "Most men don't like him, I find. I wonder why." "Why don't people like lizards?" said Patsy. "Because they're cold and clammy and wicked-looking." "They like them enough to eat them in Senagambia," said the young officer smiling. "Bersonin is a great man, no doubt, but there's something about him--I met a man once who had run across him in South America and--he was prejudiced. Who's the young fellow with him, Daunt?" "His name is Ware--Philip Ware," was the answer. "I knew him at college." Barbara felt the blood staining her cheeks. So that was "Phil," the brother of whom Austen Ware had told her! The name called up thoughts that had obtruded themselves in the moment she saw the white yacht lying at anchor, and which since then she had wilfully thrust from her mind. Her gaze studied the handsome, youthful form, noting the bold, restless glance, the dissipated lines of the comely face, with a sudden distaste. A twang from the orchestra recalled her, as the curtain was looped back for the _Miyako Odori_, the "Dance of the Capital." It was Barbara's introduction to a native orchestra and at first its strummings and squealings, its lack of modes and of harmony, its odd barbaric phrasing, infected her with a mad desire to laugh. But gradually there came to her the hint of under-rhythm--as when she had listened to Haru's _samisen_ in the garden--and with it an overpowering sense of suggestion. It was the remote cry of occult passions, a twittering of ghostly shadows, the wailing of an oriental Sphynx whom Time had abandoned to the eternal desert. It had in it melancholy and the enigma of the ages. It wiped away the ugly modern European buildings, the western costumes, the gloze of borrowed method, and left Barbara looking into the naked heart of the East, old, intent, and full of mystical meaning. The ivory plectrons chirruped, the flutes squeaked and wailed, the little hour-glass drums thudded, and down the stage swept sixty _geisha_, in blue, cherry-painted _kimono_. A sly, thin thread of scarlet peeped from their woven sleeves. Their small _tabi'd_ feet, cleft like the foot of a faun, moved in slow, hovering steps. When they wheeled, swaying like young bamboo, they stamped softly, and the white foot, raised from the boards, under the puffed _kimono_ edge writhed and bent from the ankle like a pliant hand. Their faces, heavily powdered, and held without expression, looked like white, waxen masks in which lived sparkling black eyes. In the slow, languorous movement their _obi_ of gold and fans of silver caught the cherry-shaded lights and tossed them back in gleams of mother-of-pearl. Barbara fell to watching the Japanese spectators. All around her they stood and sat at ease, drinking in the play of color and motion of which they never tire. The dance had no passion, no sensuality, none of the savagery and abandon of the dances of Southern Asia, with whose reproductions the western stage is familiar. Beside a ballet of the West, it would have seemed almost ascetic. She knew that it was symbolic--that every posture was a sentence of a story they knew, as old and as sacred, perhaps, as the birth of the gods. The parted curtain swung together and Daunt seated himself at Barbara's side. "Do you like it, ever so little?" he asked. "Ever so _much_!" "I wonder if you are going to like me, too," he said, so softly that no one else heard. She felt her color coming as she answered: "Why, of course. How could I help it, when you plan things like this for me?" "I have at last found my _métier_; give me more things to do." "Very well. When will you take me to see your Japanese house?" For a second Daunt hesitated. The little native house in the Street-of-the-Misty-Valley was a sentimental place to him. There he had worked out the models of his first Glider; there he had talked with his Princess of Dreams, his "Lady of the Many-Colored Fires." The glimpse of Phil had reminded him that it now had a tenant. When he showed it to Barbara, it should not be with Phil in possession. She noted the hesitation, and, somewhat puzzled, and wondering if to oriental ethics the suggestion was a _gaucherie_, waved the matter lightly aside. "You are just going to say 'one of these days.' Please don't. When I was little, that always meant never. I withdraw the motion--but what is this coming?" A boy was ascending the platform. He bowed and laid a box of thin unpainted wood at Daunt's feet. It contained a _kakemono_, or wall-painting, rolled and tied with a red-and-white cord of twisted rice-paper. Daunt read the accompanying card. "'Miss Happy-for-a-Thousand-Years,'" he said, "'presents her compliments to the illustrious strangers.' She is the star. The gift is a pretty custom, isn't it, even if it is advertisement. Here comes the lady herself to present her thanks for our distinguished patronage." She bowed low before them, smiling, her small piquant face powdered white as mistletoe-berries above her carmine-painted lips. Daunt unrolled the _kakemono_, revealing a delicately-painted cluster of butterflies. He chatted with her in the vernacular, and she replied with much drawing-in of breath and flute-like laughter. "She says," he translated, "that this is a picture of her honorable ancestors." A little smile, a genuflection, a breath of perfume and the powdered face and gorgeous _kimono_ were gone. The orchestra chirruped, the curtain parted and another figure began. Miss Happy-for-a-Thousand-Years! As the party walked back to the waiting _rick'sha_, Barbara wondered what lay beneath that smiling surface. She had heard of the strenuous training that at five years began to teach the gauzy, fragile, child-butterfly to paint its wings, to flirt and sing and dance its dazzling moth-flame way. For the _geisha_ nothing was too gorgeous, too transcendent. Her lovers might be statesmen and princes. But in return she must be always gay, always laughing, always young--all things to all men--to the end of the butterfly chapter! Butterfly hair, butterfly gown--and butterfly heart? Barbara wondered. CHAPTER XXIII THE DEVIL PIPES TO HIS OWN Doctor Bersonin, huge and white-flanneled, with Phil by his side, strolled away through the swarming crowd. Not a word, not a glance of the younger man that evening, had escaped him--he had been studying him with all the minute attention of that great, overweening brain that, from an origin of which he never spoke, had made him one of the foremost experimenters in Europe. The swift gleam in Phil's eye as he watched the _geisha_, the eager drinking in of the girlish daintiness, the colors and perfumes to which he stretched himself like a cat--the watchful, impassive eyes took note of everything. All Bersonin's talk had held an evil lure. It had touched on the extravagant and sensual vagaries of luxury, the sybaritic pleasures of the social _gourmet_, subjects appealing to the imagination of the youth whom he was examining like a slide under the microscope. They had stopped once at a _chaya_ for tea, but Phil had called for the hot native _saké_, and as its musty, sherry-like fumes crept into his blood he talked with increasing recklessness. Beneath their veiled contemptuousness, Bersonin's feline eyes began to harbor a stealthy satisfaction. He had guessed why Phil had suggested coming to Mukojima. The latter's restlessness, his anxious surveillance of the passers-by, might have enlightened a less observant spectator. Phil's new passion had, in fact, a strong hold on him. That long-ago picture of Haru, barefooted in the surf, frequent recollection had stamped on his brain and the sight of her fresh beauty to-day had fanned the coal to a flame. Those stolen kisses in the bamboo lane had roused a lurking devil that counted nothing but his own desires. For this hour, while the _saké_ ran in his pulses, the flame overshadowed even Bersonin. "Well, my boy," said the latter at length quizzically, "when you find her, just give me the hint and I'll go." Phil flushed, then laughed shortly. "So you are a mind-reader, too?" he said. "It's written all over you," said Bersonin. "Why didn't you tell me? We could have postponed our dinner and left you free for the chase. It _is_ a chase, eh?" "Yes," said Phil. "I--I haven't had much luck with her yet. I just happened to know she was to be here to-night. She's a pretty little devil," he added, "the prettiest I've seen in Japan." "The Japanese type is the rage in Paris now," said the other. "Take her there, dress her in jewels, and drive her through the _Bois_ some afternoon and you'll be the most talked-of man in France next morning." The red deepened in Phil's cheek. The prospect drew him. He looked at Bersonin. Paris and jewels! He drank more _saké_ at the next tea-house. It had begun to show in a shaking of the hand, a louder voice. Suddenly Phil sprang to his feet. "There she is!" he exclaimed. Bersonin looked. "Lovely!" he said, "I congratulate you. I'll walk back to the motor-car--the sights amuse me. You can come along when you please. Dinner will wait. And, anyway, what's dinner to a pretty woman?" Phil plunged into the crowd and the expert spoke quickly to the servant, who was staring after him. "Better keep him in sight," he said. "You can come when he does." Bersonin was sauntering on, when a turmoil behind him made him turn. A woman's cry and an angry oath in English rang out, startlingly clear above the low murmur of the multitude. He caught a glimpse of a Japanese form leaping like a tiger--of Phil lying in the dust of the road--of a girl vanishing swiftly into the shadows. As the expert hurried forward, Phil stumbled to his feet. Lights were dancing before his eyes and his neck felt as if he had been garroted. With his first breath he turned on Ishida, incoherent with rage and curses. The big man caught his arm. "The honorable sir make mistake," said the Japanese smoothly. "Man have done that who have ranned away." "He lies!" said Phil fiercely. "There was no one else near me but the girl. He did it himself! He tried to _ju-jits'_ me!" The fingers of the Japanese were clenched, but his face was impassive as he added: "I think he have been snik-thief." "That's no doubt the way it was, Phil," said Bersonin. "Why on earth would Ishida touch you? That's an old thieves' trick. The fellow tried to get your watch, I suppose. But we must move on. The police will be here presently, and we don't want our names in the papers." They went rapidly through the close ranks that had been watching with the decorous, inquisitive silence so typically oriental. "I suppose you're right," said Phil sulkily. "I--I beg your pardon, Ishida." The Japanese bowed gravely. "Only a mistake," he said, "which honorable sir make." CHAPTER XXIV A MAN NAMED WARE The three-storied front of the Cherry-Moon Tea-House, when Daunt's party arrived, was glowing with tiers of large round lanterns of oiled-paper bearing a conventionalized moon and cherry-blossoms. At the door sat rows of little velvet-lined sandals. Here shoes were discarded, and servants drew on the guests' feet loose slippers of cotton cloth, soft and yielding. One other guest was awaiting the party at the entrance. This was Captain Viscount Sakai, of the General Staff, spruce, fine-featured and in immaculate European evening dress. He had a clear, olive complexion, and, save for the narrow, Japanese eye, might have been a Spaniard. The small second-story _shokudo_ in which they dined was floored in soft _tatamé_ edged with black and laid in close-fitting geometrical pattern. Save for a plain alcove at one end, holding a dwarf pine and a single _nanten_ branch with clusters of bright red berries, it was empty. There was no drapery. The walls were sliding screens of gold-leaf on which were finely drawn etchings of pine-trees covered with snow, the effect suggested rather than finished. It was brilliant with electric light. Tiny square tables of black lacquer were disposed along three sides of the room, one for each guest. They were but four inches high and on the floor behind each lay a thin, flat _zabuton_ or cushion of brocade. The bowing _geisha_ in wonderful rainbow _kimono_ who awaited them might have stepped from the temple stage at Mukojima. These pointed to the tables with inviting smiles: "Plee shee down!" they said in unison. "I never _could_ 'shee down' gracefully when any one is looking!" complained Patricia, as she tucked her small feet under her on the kneeling-cushion. "_Banzai!_" commented Voynich, setting his monocle. "You have practised before a mirror!" He collapsed beside her with a groan. "I shall be reincarnated an accordion!" "Count," said Patricia plaintively, "no bouquets, please. I know when you are stringing me." He looked blank and the Japanese officer hastily produced a lavender note-book and a gold pencil. "That is a new one," he said. "I must--what is it?--ah yes! I must _nail_ it. Excuse me. I write it in my swear-album." "The Viscount is learning American slang," Patricia informed Barbara. "One of these days you must tell him some of the very latest." He looked across with gravely twinkling eyes. "I shall be--ah--tickle to die!" he said. "It is my specialty. Nex' year I become Professor in Slang Literature at the Imperial University." The meal began merrily. Barbara sat on Daunt's left, with one of the _attachés_ next her. Baroness Stroloff was on Daunt's other hand. Barbara remembered it afterward as a meal of elfish daintiness--of warm, pungent, wine-like liquor in blue porcelain bottles, of food of strange look and cloying taste, highly colored and seasoned, in a hundred tiny red and black lacquer dishes that carried her back to her doll-days, with covers patterned in gold, served by prostrating _geisha_ whose _kimono_ were woven with violet Fujis, winged dragons and marvelous exotic blossoms. Daunt pointed to a dish which had just been set before her. "You must try the _hasu-no-renkon_," he said. "That's cooked lotos-root. It's nearly as good as it looks." "How do you ever remember the names!" "Oh, it's quite easy to talk Japanese," he replied recklessly. "There are only fifty syllables in the language, and any way you string them together it means something or other. It doesn't matter whether it's the right thing or not, if you just bow and smile. There are seventeen ways of drawing in your breath which are a lot more important than what you say!" "What disgraceful nonsense! What is that pink thing?" "Raw bonito. The refuge of dyspeptics. Voynich, over there, eats nothing else at home, they say. The variegated compound is _kuchitori_. It's made of sugared chestnuts, leeks and pickled fish. May I compliment you on the way you handle your chopsticks? At my first Japanese dinner I bit one in two. Isn't Baroness Stroloff stunning, by the way!" The latter was deep in discussion with Patricia, moving her hands in quick, vivacious gestures which clusters of opals made into flashes of blue fire. "But you must send to Hakodate for your furs," she was saying. "I will give you the address of my man there. You should get them now, not wait till fall, when the tourists have bought all the best." "I'm dying for an ermine stole." "Oh, my _dear_, not ermine! Get sables. One can be so insulting in sables!" Barbara laughed with the rest. "What a nice lot you are," she said, "all knowing each other, all friendly. I thought diplomatists were always poring over international law books and drawing up musty treaties." "It's not all cakes and ale," he asserted. "I worked till three this morning on a cipher telegram." "After the melodrama?" "Ah, it was opera!" he protested. "It has left me memories of only flowers, and scents and music!" "You made most of the music, if I remember rightly." "How unkind! I could no more help it than fly." "On your Glider?" He laughed again. "Don't forget what is to happen one day with that same machine." "What is that?" "I am to swoop down and carry you off. It was your own suggestion, you know." "But it was to be at the Imperial Review. That doesn't happen again for a year." "I won't wait that long!" She turned her head; her eyes sparkled in the caught light. Her fingers were fluttering a square of red paper that had been rolled about her chopsticks. On it was a line of tiny characters. "What is that writing?" "That is a love-poem," he answered. "You know a Japanese poem has only thirty-one syllables. You find them everywhere and on everything, from a screen to a fire-shovel. I've seen them printed on tooth-picks. Your huckster composes them as he brings the fish from market, and your _amah_ writes them at night by a firefly lantern." "Can you read it?" He translated: "_I thought my love's long hair drooped down from the gate of the sky. But it was only the shadow of evening._" "How delicately pretty!" she exclaimed. "It's written in _kana_, the sound-alphabet, isn't it?" "Yes. How much you have learned already!" "Haru has begun teaching me. Let me show you my proficiency." She took his pencil and wrote: [Japanese: Donto] "There! who would guess that was Japanese for 'Daunt.' And what an impression you must have made on Haru for her to select your name as my first lesson!" Across the soft _shoo-shoo_ of spotless, _tabi_-clad feet, the flitting of bright-hued _kimono_, the gay badinage that flew about the low tables, Daunt felt her beauty thrill him from head to foot like a garment of mist and fire. As she dropped her hand to the cushion it had touched his, and for an instant their pulses had seemed to throb into one. The tiny, lacquered cup she took up trembled in her fingers. She started when the young army officer nearest her said: "Speaking of sailing, give me a steam-yacht like the one that berthed yesterday at Yokohama. She belongs to a man named Ware--Austen Ware--a New Yorker, I understand. Perhaps you know him, Miss Fairfax." "I have met him," she answered. The young army officer looked up quickly--he was an enthusiastic yachtsman. "A beautiful vessel!" he said. "I noticed her to-day, but she was too far away to make out her name." "It is the _Barbara_," said Voynich. "Why--" exclaimed Patricia, "that's--" She bit her tongue, caught by something in Barbara's face. "Good gracious!" she ended. "My--my foot's asleep!" Barbara had felt her flush fading to paleness. She felt a quick relief that none there, save Patricia and Daunt, knew her first name. In the diversion caused by Patricia's helpless efforts to stand up, she stole a glance at Daunt. A shadow had fallen on his face. He did not look at her, but in his brain the yacht's name was ringing like a knell. She knew Phil's brother! Austen Ware's yacht had arrived in Yokohama on the same day as her ship. And it was named the _Barbara_. Yet to-night he had dreamed--what had he been dreaming? These thoughts mixed themselves weirdly with the gaiety and nonsense that he forced himself to render. Barbara felt this with an aching sense of resentment. What was he thinking of her? And why should she care so fiercely? The courses passed, but the lightness and blitheness of the scene were somehow chilled. The decorative food: the numberless, tiny cups and trays; the taper, pink-tinted fingers that poured the warm drink; the _kimono_, the music and lights,--all palled. She was glad when the Baroness decreed the dinner over by repeating Patricia's experiment of painful unfolding, and calling for her wraps. CHAPTER XXV AT THE SHRINE OF THE FOX-GOD The street into which they trooped seemed an oriental opera-bouffe: swaying, chatting people in loose, light-colored _kimono_, some carrying crested paper lanterns tied to the ends of short rods: a thousand lights and hues flashing and weaving. But for two of the party the colors had lost their warmth and the movement its fascination. "I simply _can't_ coop up yet in a _rick'sha_!" pleaded Patricia, as they donned their discarded shoes. "Why not walk a little?" The proposal met with a chorus of approval. They set out together, and presently Barbara found Daunt beside her. Her resentment did not cool as she laughed and talked mechanically, acutely aware that he was answering in monosyllables or with silence. Daunt was crying out upon himself for a fool. What right had he to feel that hot sting in his heart? Yesterday morning he had not known that she existed. If an hour ago the skies had been golden-sprinkled azure, and Tokyo the capital of an Empire of Romance, it was only because he was a boyish, silly dolt, sick with vanity and complacency. What had there been between them, after all, save a light camaraderie into which a man was an insufferable cad to read more? So he paced on, achingly cognizant of the lapses in his conversation, quite unconscious that her own was growing more forced and strained. They were in the midst of a densely packed crowd where a native theater was pouring its audience into the street. They had fallen behind the rest, and there were about them only _kimono'd_ shoulders and flowered, blue-black head-dresses. He made a way for her ruggedly toward a paling where there was a little space. Above it was hung a poster of a Japanese actress. "That is the famous Sada Gozen," he told her. "She has just returned from a season in Paris and New York, and Tokyo is quite wild about her." As he spoke numbers thrust him against her and the touch brought instantly to him that moment in the garden when he had held her in his arms to lift her to the arbor ledge. The picture of her that evening in the pagoda was stamped on his heart: the sweet, moon-lighted profile, the curling, brown hair, the faint perfume of her gown that mingled with the wistaria. It came before him there in the bustle and press with a sudden swift sadness. He knew that it would be always with him to remember. A Japanese couple, hastening to their _rick'sha_, caromed against them, and, with an effort, he tried to turn it to a smile: "Some say it's difficult for a foreigner to come into intimate contact with the Japanese," he said. "You have already pierced that illusion. One is always finding out that he has been mistaken in people." Her quivering feeling grasped at a fancied innuendo. "It doesn't take long, then, you think?" Her tone held a dangerous lure, but he did not perceive it. "Not where you are concerned, apparently," he answered lightly. She turned her head swiftly toward him, and her eyes flashed. "Where _I_ am concerned!" she repeated fiercely, and in his astonishment he almost wrecked the paling. "Oh, I hate double-meaning! Why not say it? Do you suppose I don't know what you are thinking?" "I?" he said in bewilderment. "What _I_ am thinking?" "You mean you have found you are mistaken in _me_! You have no right--no earthly right, to draw conclusions." "Ah!" he said, with a sharp breath. "I had no such meaning. You can't imagine--" "Don't say you didn't," she interrupted. "That only makes it worse!" She scarcely understood her own resentment, and a hot consciousness that her behavior was quite childish and unreasonable mixed itself with her anger. "What have I said?" he exclaimed, in contrition and distress. "I wouldn't hurt you for a million worlds! Whatever it was, I ought to do _hara-kiri_ for it! I--I will perform the operation whenever you say!" A ridiculous desire to cry had seized her--why, she could not have told--and she would rather have died than have him see her do so. "If you will go ahead," she said tremulously, "and make a path for me, I think we can get through now." He turned instantly and his broad shoulders parted the crowd in a haste that was thoroughly un-Japanese. But she did not follow him. Instead, she drew back, and thinking only to hide momentarily her hurt and her pride, slipped through a narrow gateway. She found herself in a crowded corridor of the emptying playhouse. The mass of Japanese faces confused her. A door opened at another angle and she passed through it hastily into the open air. The street she was now in was narrow, and she followed it, expecting it to turn into the larger thoroughfare. It did so presently, and at its corner she paused till the burning had left her eyes, and her breath came evenly. Then she walked back toward the theater, feeling an impatient irritation at her behavior. Presently, however, she stopped, puzzled. The theater was not there. The street, too, had not the character of the one in which she had left Daunt. She must have taken the wrong turn. She walked rapidly in the opposite direction, until another street crossed at right angles. This she tried with no better result. In the maze of lantern-lighted vistas, she was completely lost. She was not frightened, for she was aware that, so far as physical harm was concerned, Tokyo, of all great cities of the world, was perhaps the safest and most orderly. She knew that "_Bei-koku Taish'-kan_" meant "American Embassy." She had mastered the phrase that morning, and had only to step into a _rick'sha_ and use it. Daunt, however, did not know this. Aware that she had been behind him, he would not go on, and she contritely pictured him anxiously searching the crowds for her. The thought overrode her anger and humiliation. She would not take the _rick'sha_ till she despaired of finding him. Just before her, at the side of the way, stood a small temple with a recumbent stone fox at its entrance. It made her think suddenly of the riding-crop she had seen Daunt carrying, with its Damascene fox-head handle. In the doorway burned a rack of little candles, and a chest, barred across the top, sat ready to receive the offerings of worshipers. Above this was suspended the mirror which is the invariable badge of a _Shinto_ shrine. It was tilted at an angle and tossed back the glimmer of the candle-flame. With a whimsical smile she took a copper coin from her purse and leaned to toss it into the chest. But her fingers closed on it and she drew back hastily, with a quick memory of one of the tales Haru had told her in the garden. She knew suddenly that she stood before a temple of Inari, the Fox-God, patron deity of her whose conquests brought shame to households and dishonor to wives. She remembered a song the Japanese girl had sung to the tinkle of her _samisen_: "My weapons are a smile and a little fan-- _Sayonara, Sayonara_...." It was the song of the "Fox-Woman." She slipped the purse hastily back into her pocket. The Fox-Woman! As she walked on, for the first time the phrase came to Barbara with a sudden, sharp sense of actuality. There were fox-women of every race and clime, women who came, with painted smile, between true lovers! What if she herself--what if here, in this land, that baleful wisdom were to strike home to _her_? Like a keen blade the thought pierced through her, and something shy and sweet, newborn in her breast, shrank startled and fearful from it. The street had narrowed curiously. It was paved now from side to side with flat stone flags. She realized all at once that there were no longer _rick'sha_ to be seen, only people afoot. A blaze of light caught her eye, and she looked up to see, spanning the street, an arched gateway, at either side of which stood a policeman, quiet and imperturbable. Its curved top was decorated with colored electric bulbs, and from its keystone towered a great image molded in white plaster--the figure of a woman in ancient Japanese costume. One hand held a fan; the other lifted high above her head a circular globe of light. A huge weeping-willow drooped over one side of the archway, through which came glimpses of moving colors, crowds, hanging lanterns and elfish music. Barbara hesitated. To what did that white, female figure beckon? She looked behind her--direction now meant nothing. Perhaps she had wandered in a circle and the theater lay beyond. She stepped through the gate. CHAPTER XXVI THE NIGHTLESS CITY Straight before her lay a wide pavement, humming with voices, lined with three-story houses that glowed with iron-hooped lanterns of red, yellow and green, and tinkled with the music of _samisen_. From their gaily lighted _shoji_ swathes of warm, yellow light fell on the _kimono'd_ figures of men strolling slowly up and down. A little way off rose a square tower, with a white clock-face, illumined by a circle of electric bulbs. Narrower streets, also innocent of roadway, crossed at right angles and at mathematical intervals. They were starry with lamps that hung in long projecting balconies ornamented with grill and carved work. From these came the shrieking sounds of music and an indescribable atmosphere of frivolity, of obvious dedication to some flippant cult. In and out of these side streets flowed a multitude of boys and men, in unbelted summer robes of light colors, lazily vivacious, moving on naked, clogged feet, making the air a bluish haze of cigarette smoke. In the blazing dusk they suggested the populace of some crowded Spa strolling to the pools in flowing bath-robes and straw hats. On some of the far balconies Barbara could see women leaning, in ornate costumes, smoking tiny pipes. Here and there girls strolled past her, for the most part in couples, gaudily clad, their cheeks white with rice-powder, their lips carmined, their blue-black hair wonderfully coaxed and pomaded into shining wings and whorls, thrust through with many jeweled hair-pins, like slim daggers. They jested freely with the men they passed, laughing continually with low voices. In a doorway a slim girl, dressed in deep red, gleefully tickled with one bare foot the hide of a shaggy poodle vainly essaying slumber. As she went on, the crowd became more numerous; men's _kimono_ brushed Barbara's skirts and eyes stared at her with contemplative boldness. "Madame!" She felt a hand pluck her sleeve. It was a young Japanese, in foreign dress, with a shining brown derby, shining aureated teeth, and shining silver-handled cane. "Madame wishes a guide?" he inquired. She recollected him instantly as the youth who had slipped into her hand the printed card when she had landed from the ship at Yokohama. She did not know the name of the theater she had left, however, so shook her head and hurried on. Without warning she emerged into the nun-like quiet of a park with an acre of growing trees and an irregular little lake that lay dark and still under the moon. Beside it was a stretch of hard, beaten earth, seemingly a playground. Benches were set under the trees, and among them moved or sat other girls in costumes like those she had seen on the pavement. At sight of Barbara's foreign dress some of them giggled with amusement and called to one another in repressed, laughing voices. A bell struck somewhere, and, as though this had been a signal, they all rose and departed, passing out by the way Barbara had come. She traversed the park--to come face to face with a high palisade. She took a new direction, only to come again on the same barrier. The park seemed only a part of a vast inclosure into which she had penetrated. Had this no outlet save the gate at which she had entered? Wondering, she retraced her steps to the lighted pavement. She was puzzled now, and turned into one of the cross streets. Its blaze of light, its movement and murmur of humanity bewildered her for a moment; then what she saw instantly arrested her. The lower stories of most of the abutting buildings had for fronts only lattices of vertical wooden bars, set a few inches apart. Inside these bars, which made strange, human bird-cages, seated on mats of brocade, or flitting here and there, were galaxies of Japanese girls, marvelously habited in chameleon colors--even more brilliant than the _geisha_ she had seen at Mukojima--like branches of iridescent humming-birds or banks of pulsing butterflies. Here and there, a foil to the fluttering cages, stretched a silent arcade brilliantly lighted and hung with women's photographs. Above each was fixed a placard with a name in Japanese characters. What was this place into which she had strayed? She had heard of the famous "Street-of-the-_Geisha_," where the dancers live. Had she stumbled on this in the throes of some festival? Why were there no women on the pavements? She had seen none save those in the gaudy robes whom the bell had called away. What was the meaning of the high palisades?--the narrow gate with its stolid policemen?--the barred house fronts? Projecting on to the pavement, at the side of each building, was a small, windowed kiosk like the box-office of a theater. In the one nearest Barbara a man was sitting. His arm was thrust through the window, and his hand, holding a half-opened fan, tapped carelessly on its side while he chanted in a coaxing voice. Inside a man with close-cropped gray hair strode along the seated rows, striking sharply together flint and steel, till a shower of gleaming sparks fell on each head-dress. This done, he emerged and paced three times up and down the pavement, making squeaking noises with his lips, and describing with his hands strange passes in the air. These reminded Barbara irresistibly of a child's cryptic gestures for luck. He then struck the flat of his hand six times smartly against the door-post and retired. She noticed that he paused at the entrance to snuff the row of candles that burned in a shrine beside it. The whole street, with its rows of gilded cages was a gleaming vista of _tableaux-vivants_, drenched in prismatic hues. Each, Barbara noted, had its uniform scheme of costume: one showed the sweeping lines and deep, flowing sleeves of the pre-_Meiji_ era; another the high, garnet skirt of the modern school-girl; in one the _kimono_ were of rich mauve, shading at the bottom to pale pink set with languorous red peonies; in another, of gray crepe figured with craggy pine-trees; in a third, of scarlet and blue, woven with gold thread and embroidered in peacock feathers. Before each inmate's cushion sat a tiny brass _hibachi_, or fire-bowl, in whose ashes glowed a live coal for the lighting of pipes and cigarettes, and a miniature toilet-table, like a doll's-cabinet, topped by a small, round mirror. From tiny compartments now and then one would draw a little box of rouge, a powder-puff of down, or an ivory spicula, with which, in complete indifference to observation, she would heighten the vivid red of a lip, or smooth a refractory hair. The background against which they posed was of heavy and exquisitely intricate gold-lacquer carvings of stork, dragon and phoenix, of cunningly disposed mirrors, or of draped crimson and silver weaves. Before the bars men paused to chat a moment and pass on: behind them the gorgeous robes and tinted faces flitted hither and thither with a magpie chatter, with glimpses of ringed fingers clutching the lattice, and of naked feet, slim and brown against the flooring. Barbara watched curiously. She was no longer conscious that passing men studied her furtively--that here and there, through the slender bars, a delicate hand waved daringly to her. In all the fairy-like gorgeousness she felt a subtle sense of repugnance that kept her feet in the middle of the pavement. She noted now that, however the costumes varied, they agreed in one particular: the _obi_ of each inmate was tied, not at the back, but in front. It seemed a kind of badge. Somewhere she had read what it stood for. What was it? A group of men passed her at the moment--foreigners, speaking an unfamiliar tongue. They talked loudly and pointed with their sticks. One of them observed her, and turning, said something to his companions. They looked back. One of them laughed coarsely. At the sound, which echoed a patent vulgarity in the allusion, the blood flew to her cheeks. The tone had told her in a flash what the palisades, the barred inclosures, the gaudy finery and reversed _obi_ had failed to suggest. A veil was wound about her hat and with nervous haste she drew down its folds over her face, feeling suddenly sick and hot. Driven now by an overpowering desire to find her way out, she doubled desperately back to the wider street. "Madame!" She turned, with relief this time, to see "Mr. Y. Nakajima," the guide, of the gold fillings and silver-topped cane. "You are lost," he said. "Come with me, and I will find you." She bade him take her to the gate as quickly as possible and followed him rapidly, stung with an acute longing for the noisy roadway with its careening _rick'sha_. He was a thin, humorous-looking youth with a chocolate skin and long almond eyes, from which he shot at Barbara glances half obsequious, half impertinent and preternaturally sly, from time to time making some remark which she answered as shortly as she might. By the arch with its lofty female figure, under the weeping willow, Barbara turned for an instant and looked back. The street seemed to her a maze of reeling lights--a blur of painted lips and drowsing eyes and ghostly sobbing of the _samisen_. Just outside the gate a pilgrim-priest, his coffin-like shrine strapped on his back, was mumbling a prayer. The guide spoke complacently: "Japan Yoshiwara are very famed," he said. "I think other countries is very seldom to have got." "Where do they all come from?" Barbara asked suddenly. "How do they come to be here?" "From many village," he answered. He had raised his voice, for several passers-by had paused to listen inquisitively to the strange sounds, so uncouthly unlike their own liquid syllabary; and he loved to display his English. "A man have a shop. Business become bad; he owe so plenty money. He can not pay, but he have pretty daughter. Here they offer maybe two, three hundred _yen_, for one year. So she dutifully pay honorable father debt." Barbara turned away. Again she felt the edge of mystery, bred of the unguessable divergence between the moral Shibboleths of West and East. It caught at her like the cool touch of dread that chills the strayer in haunted places. In a hundred ways this land drew her with an extraordinary attraction; now a feeling of baffled perplexity and pain mingled with the fascination. It was almost a sort of terror. If in two days Japan offered such passionate variety, such undreamed contrasts and subtleties, what would it eventually show to her? Could she ever really know it, understand it? "There is a theater near here where Sada Gozen is playing," she said. "Can you take me there?" He nodded. "The _Raimon-za_--the Play-House-of-the-Gate-of-Thunder. It is more five minutes of distant." He conducted her through a maze of narrow streets and pointed to the building, which she saw with a breath of relief. Taking out her purse she put a bill into his hand. "Thank you," she said, "and good night." "I shall go with Madame at her hotel." She shook her head. "I can find my way now." "But Madame--" "No," she said decidedly. He stood a moment swinging his cane, looking after her with impudent almond eyes. Then he lighted a cigarette, settled his derby at a jaunty angle and sauntered back toward the Yoshiwara. * * * * * Barbara came on Daunt in the middle of the block. He had stationed himself in the roadway, towering head and shoulders above the lesser stature of the native crowds. With him was a Japanese boy who, she noted with surprise, was Ito, one of the house-servants. Her heart jumped as she saw the relief spring to Daunt's anxious face. "_Mea culpa!_" she cried, and with an impulsive gesture reached out her hand to him. "What a trouble I have been to you! I was actually lost. Isn't it absurd?" Her slim, white fingers lay a moment in his. All his heart had leaped to meet them. In the moment of her anger he had not read its meaning, but since then it had been given him partly to understand. His thoughtless words--blunderer that he was!--had seemed to carp at her like a whining school-boy, with cheap, left-handed satire! Yet to his memory even her hot, indignant voice had been ringingly sweet, for the stars again were golden, and Tokyo once more fairy-land. "What _will_ the others say!" she said. "They will have missed us long ago." "We will take extra push-men," he said, "and easily overtake them. We can get _rick'sha_ at the next stand." "What did you think," she asked, as they rounded the corner, "when you found I had vanished into thin air?" "I imagined for a while you were punishing me. Then I guessed you had somehow turned into the side street. But I felt that you would find your way back, so--I waited." "Thank you," she said softly. "I have not acted so badly since I was a child. Are you going to shrive me?" "I am the one to ask that of you," he replied. "No--no! It is I. I must do penance. What is it to be?" He looked at her steadily; his eyes shone with dark fire. In the pause she felt her heart throb quickly, and she laughed with a sweet unsteadiness. "I am glad you are going to give me none," she said. "But I do," he answered, "I shall. I--" The boy Ito, behind them, spoke his name. Daunt started with a stab of recollection and drew from his pocket a folded pink paper, fastened with a blue seal. "How stupid of me! My wits have gone wool-gathering to-night. Here is a telegram for you. It came soon after we left the Embassy, and Mrs. Dandridge, thinking it might be urgent, sent Ito after us to the tea-house. He missed us, but saw me here on his way back." Barbara broke the seal and held the message to the candle-light that shone from a low temple entrance. She did not notice at the moment that it was the temple of the Fox-God whose alms she had that evening denied. She had guessed who was the sender and the knowledge fell like a cool, fateful hand on her mood. And alas, on Daunt's also. For, as she turned the leaf, his gaze, wandering through the temple doorway, to the candle-starred mirror above the tithe-box, had unwittingly seen reflected there, in the painfully exact chirography of a Japanese telegraph-clerk, the signature [Illustration: Austen Ware (in reverse)] CHAPTER XXVII LIKE THE WHISPER OF A BATS' WINGS On the other side of Tokyo that night Doctor Bersonin sat with Phil in his great laboratory. Dinner had been laid on a round table at one end of the room. This was now pushed into a corner; they sat in deep leather chairs with slim liqueur glasses of green _crême de menthe_ on a stand between them, with a methyl lamp and cigars. Phil had more than once refilled his glass from the straw-braided, long-necked vessel at his elbow. He was restless and ill at ease. The tense excitement that had followed his hour with Bersonin at the Club had been allayed by the lights and movement of the cherry-festival; but in that cool, bare room, under the continuous, slow scrutiny of the expert's pallid, mask-like face, the sense of half-fearful elation had returned, reinforced by a feverish expectation. During the dinner, served at ten, conversation had been desultory, full of lapses broken only by the plaintive chirp of the _hiwa_ from its corner. When the cigars and cordial had been brought by the silent-footed Ishida, Bersonin had risen to draw the curtain closely over the window and to lock the door. When he came back he stood before the mantelpiece, his arm laid along it, looking down from his towering height on the other's unquiet hand playing with the chain of the spirit-lamp. His face was very white. Phil drew a long, slow breath and looked up. Bersonin spoke. His voice was cold and measured; the only sign of agitation was in the slow, spasmodic working of the great white fingers against the dark wood. "I have brought you here to-night," he said, "to make you a proposition. I have need of help--of a kind--that you can give me. It will require certain qualities which I think you possess--which we possess in common. I have chosen you because you have daring and because you are not troubled by what the coward calls conscience--that fool's name for fear!" Phil touched his dry lips with his tongue. "I have as little of that as the next man," he replied. "I never found I needed much." Bersonin continued: "What I have to say I can say without misgiving. For if you told it before the fact there is possibly but one man in Japan who would think you sane; and if you told it after--well, for your own safety, you will not tell it then! Your acceptance of my proposition will have a definite effect on your prospects, which, I believe, can scarcely be looked on as bright." Phil muttered an oath. "You needn't remind me of that," he said with surly emphasis. "I've got about as much prospects as a coolie stevedore. Well, what of it?" The cold voice went on, and now it had gathered a sneer: "You are twenty-three, educated, good-looking, with the best of life before you--but dependent on the niggardly charity of a rich brother for the very bread you eat. Even here, on this skirt of the world where pleasures are cheap, it is only by dint of debt that you keep your head above water. Now your sedate relative has come to sit in judgment on your past year. What does he care for your private tastes? What will he do when he hears of the _geisha_ suppers and the bar-chits at the Club and the roulette table at the bungalow? Increase that generous stipend of yours? I fancy not." Phil lit a cigar with a hand that shook. The doctor's contemptuous words had roused a tingling anger that raced with the alcohol in his blood. He, with the tastes of a gentleman, as poor as a temple-rat, while his brother sailed around the globe in his steam-yacht! He saw his allowance cut off--saw himself driven to the cheap expedients of the Bund beach-comber, cringing for a _yen_ from men who had won his hundreds at the Roost--or perhaps sitting on an under-clerk's stool in some Settlement counting-house, shabby-genteel, adding figures from eight in the morning to five at night. No more moon-light cherry-parties on the Sumida River, or plum-blossom picnics, or high jinks in the Inland Sea. No more pony-races at Omori, or cat-boat sailing at Kamakura, or philandering at the Maple-Leaf Tea-House. No more laughing Japanese faces and tinted fingers--no more stolen kisses in bamboo lanes--no more Haru! He struck the stand with his fist. "And if--I agree?" he said thickly. "What then?" Bersonin leaned forward, his hands on the stand. It rocked under his weight. "I have talked of money. I will show you a quick way to gain it--not by years, but by _days_!--wealth such as you have never dreamed, enough to make your brother poor beside you! Not only money, but power and place and honors. Is the stake big enough to play for?" Phil stared at him, fascinated. It was not madness back of those dappled, yellowish eyes. They were full of a knowledge, cold and measured and implacable. "What do you--want me to do?" He almost gasped the words. The expert looked him in the eye a full moment in silence, his fingers crawling and twitching. Then, with a quick, leopard-like movement, he went to the wall-safe, opened it and took out what seemed a square metal box. In its top was set an indicator, like the range-finder of a camera. Its very touch seemed to melt his icy control. His paleness flushed; his hand trembled as he set it upon the desk. "Wait!" he said. "Wait!" He looked swiftly about the room. His eye rested on the bamboo cage and a quick gleam shot across his face. He opened the wire door and the little bird hopped to his finger. He moved a metal pen-rack to the very center of the desk and perched the tiny creature on it. It burst into song, warbling full-throated, packed with melody. Bersonin set the metal case a little distance away and adjusted it with minutest care. "Sing, Dick!" he cried loudly; "sing! sing!--" The song stopped. There had come a thrill in the air--a puff of icy wind on Phil's face--a thin chiming like a fairy cymbal. Phil sprang up with a cry. The fluffy ball, with its metal perch, had utterly disappeared; only in the center of the desk was a pinch of reddish-brown powder like the dust of an emery-wheel, laid in feathery whorls. He stared transfixed. "What does it mean?" he asked hoarsely. The doctor's voice was no longer toneless. It leaped now with an evil exultation. "It means that I--Bersonin--have found what physicists have dreamed of for fifty years! I have solved the secret of the love and hatred of atoms! That box is the harness of a force beside which the engines of modern war are children's toys." He grasped Phil's arm with a force that made him wince. The amber eyes glittered. "At first I planned to sell it to the highest bidder among the powers. I was a fool to think of that! The nation that buys it, to guard the secret for itself, must wall me in a fortress! That would be the reward of Bersonin--the great Bersonin, who had wrested from nature the most subtle of her secrets! But I am too clever for that! It must be _I_--_I alone_--who holds the key! It shall bring me many things, but the first of these is money. I must have funds--unlimited funds. The money I despise, except as a stepping-stone, but the money _you love_ and must have! Well, I offer it to you!" Phil's heart was beating hard. The tension of the room had increased; a hundred suffocating atmospheres seemed pressing on it. "How--how--" he stammered. Bersonin took a paper from his pocket, unfolded it and laid it on the stand. It was a chart of Yokohama harbor. A red square was drawn in the margin, and from this a fine, needle-like ray pointed out across the anchorage. With his pencil the Doctor wrote two words on the red square--"The Roost." Phil shrank trembling into his chair. He seemed to see the other looking at him over clinking glasses at the Club, while voices spoke from the next room. "_What if one of those Dreadnaughts should go down in this friendly harbor!_" It came from his lips in a thin whisper, almost without his volition--the answer to the question that had haunted him that day. A gleam like the fire of unholy altars came in Bersonin's eyes. "Not one--_two_! A bolt from a blue sky, that will echo over Europe! And what then? A fury of popular passion in one country; suspicion and alarm in all. Rumors of war, fanned by the yellow press. The bottom dropping out of the market! It means millions at a single _coup_, for, in spite of diplomatic quibbles, the market is like a cork. The Paris bourse is soaring. Wall Street will make a new record to-morrow. In London, Consols are at Ninety-two. My agents are awaiting my word. I have many, for that is safer. I shall spread selling orders over five countries--British bonds in Vienna and New York, and steel and American railroads in London. I risk all and you--nothing. Yet if you join hands with me in this we shall share alike--you and I! And with the winnings we get now we shall get more. Trust me to know the way! Money shall be dirt to you. The pleasure-cities of every continent shall be your playgrounds. You shall have your pretty little Japanese _peri_, and fifty more besides." Phil's face had flushed and paled by turns. He looked at the expert with a shivering fascination: "But there are--there will be--men aboard those ships...." He shuddered and wrenched his gaze away. Bersonin put out his great hand and laid it on the other's shoulder--its weight seemed to be pressing him down into the chair. "Well?" he said, in a low intense voice. "What if there are?" There was a long silence. Then slowly Phil lifted a face as white as paper. A look slinking and devilish lay in it now. The doctor bent down and began to speak in a low tone. The sound passed around the room, sibilant, like the sound of a bat's wings in the dark. * * * * * It was an hour before midnight when Phil opened the gate of the expert's house and passed down the moon-lighted street. He walked stumblingly, cowering at the tree-shadows, peering nervously over his shoulder like one who feels the presence of a ghastly familiar. In the great room he had left, Bersonin stood by the fireplace. The nervous strain and exaltation were still on him. He poured out a glass of the liqueur which he had not yet tasted and drank it off. The hot pungent mint sent a glow along his nerves. Behind him Ishida was methodically removing the dinner service. The doctor crossed the room and stood before the bamboo cage. He drew back the spring-door and whistling, held out his finger. "Here, Dick!" he called. "Here, boy!" There was no response. He started. His face turned a gray-green. He drew back and stealthily turned his head. But the Japanese did not seem to have noticed the silence. With the tray in his hands, he was looking fixedly at the feathery sprays of reddish-yellow dust on the polished top of the desk. CHAPTER XXVIII THE FORGOTTEN MAN Barbara pushed open the bamboo gate of the temple garden, then paused. The recluse with whom she had talked yesterday sat a little way inside, while before him, in an attitude of deepest attention, stood the diminutive figure on the huge clogs whose morning acquaintance she had made from her window. Thorn was looking at him earnestly with his great myopic eye, through a heavy glass mounted with a handle like a lorgnette. "My son," he said. "Why will you persist in eating _amé_, when I have taught you the classics and the true divinity of the universe? It is too sweet for youthful teeth. One of these days you will be carried to a dentist, an esteemed person with horrible tools, prior to the removal of a small hell, containing several myriads of lost souls, from the left side of your lower jaw!" Barbara's foot grated on a pebble and he rose with a startled quickness. The youngster bent double, his face preternaturally grave. Thorn thrust the glass into his sleeve and smiled. "I am experimenting on this oriental raw material," he said, "to illustrate certain theories of my own. Ishikichi-_San_, though a slave to the sweetmeat dealer, is a learned infant. He can write forty Chinese characters and recite ten texts of Mencius. He also knows many damnable facts about figures which they teach in school. He has just propounded a question that Confucius was too wise to answer: 'Why is poverty?' Not being so wise as the Chinese sage, I attempted its elucidation. Thus endeth our lesson to-day, Ishikichi. _Sayonara_." He bowed. The child ducked with a jerky suddenness that sent his round, battered hat rolling at Barbara's feet. She picked it up and set it on the shaven head. "Oh!" she said humbly. "I beg your pardon, Ishikichi! I put the rim right in your eye!" "Don't menshum it," he returned solemnly. "I got another." He stalked to the gate, faced about, bobbed over again and disappeared. Barbara looked after him smilingly. "Is Ishikichi in straitened circumstances? Or is his bent political economy?" "His father has been ill for a long time," Thorn replied. "He keeps a shop, and in some way the child has heard that they will have to give it up. It troubles him, for he can't imagine existence without it." "What a pity! I would be so glad to--do you think I could give them something?" He shook his head. "After you have been here a while, you will find that simple charity in Japan is not apt to be a welcome thing." "I am beginning to understand already," she said, as they walked along the stepping-stones, "that these gentle-mannered people do not lack the sterner qualities. Yet how they grace them! The iron-hand is here, but it has the velvet glove. Courtesy and kindness seem almost a religion with them." "More," he answered. "This is the only country I have seen in the world whose people, when I walk the street, do not seem to notice that I am disfigured!" She made no pretense of misunderstanding. "Believe me," she said gently, "it is no disfigurement. But I understand. My father lived all his life in the dread of blindness." A faint sound came from him. She was aware, without lifting her eyes to his, that he was staring at her strangely. "All his life. Then your father is not ... living?" "He died before I was born." She glanced at him as she spoke, for his tone had been muffled and indistinct. There was a deep furrow in his forehead which she had not seen before. "Do you look like him?" "No, he was dark. I am like my mother." Thorn was looking away from her, toward the lane, where, beyond the hedge, a man was passing, half-singing, half-chanting to himself in a repressed, sepulchral voice. "My mother died, too, when I was a little girl," she added, "so I know really very little about him." She had forgotten to look for the Flower-of-Dream. They had come to the little lake with its mossy stones and basking, orange carp. Through the gap in the shrubbery the white witchery of Fuji-San glowed in the sun with far-faint shudderings of lilac fire. She sat down on a sunny boulder. Thorn stooped over the water, looking into its cool, green depths, and she saw him pass his hand over his brow in that familiar, half-hesitant gesture of the day before. "Will you tell me that little?" he asked. "I think I should like to hear." "I very seldom talk about him," she said, looking dreamily out across the distance, "but not because I don't like to. You see, knowing so little, I used to dream out the rest, so that he came to seem quite real. Does that sound very childish and fanciful?" "Tell me the dreams," he answered. "Mine are always more true than facts." "He was born," she began, "in the Mediterranean--" She turned her head. The stone on which Thorn's foot rested had crashed into the water. He staggered slightly in regaining his balance, and his face had the pale, startled look it wore when he had first seen her from the roadside. He drew back, and again his hand went up across his face. "Yes," he said. "Go on." "In the Mediterranean--just where, I don't know, but on an island--and his mother was Romaic. I have never seen Greece, but I like to know that some of it is in my blood. His father was American, of a family that had a tradition of Gipsy descent. Perhaps he was born with the 'thumb-print' on the palm that they call the Romany mark. As a child I used to wonder what it looked like." She smiled up at him, but his face was turned away. He had taken his hand from his brow, and slipped it into his loose sleeve, and stood rigidly erect. "I often used to try to imagine his mother. I am sure she had a dark and beautiful face, with large, brown eyes like a wild deer's, that used to bend above his cradle. Perhaps each night she crossed her fingers over him, and said--" "_En to onoma tou Patros_," he repeated, "_kai tou Ouiou kai tou Agiou Pneumatos!_" "Yes," she said, surprised. "In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. You know it?" "It is the old Greek-orthodox fashion," he said in a low voice. "I should not wonder," she continued, "if she made three little wounds on him, as a baby, as I have read Greek mothers do, to place him under the protection of the Trinity. She must have loved him--her first boy-baby! And I think the most of what he was came to him from her." Thorn moved his position suddenly, and Barbara saw his shoulders rise in a deep-taken breath. "Love of right and hatred of wrong," he said, "admiration for the beautiful and the true, faith in man and woman, sensitiveness to artistic things--ah, it is most often the mother who makes men what they are. Not our strength or power of calculation, but her heart and power to love! In the twilight of every home one sees the mother-souls glowing like fireflies. I never had a picture of my mother. I would rather have her portrait than a fortune!" His voice was charged with feeling. She felt a strange flutter of the heart, a painful and yearning sympathy such as she had never felt before. "I wonder what he saw from that Greek cradle," she resumed. "I could never fancy the room so well. I suppose it had pictures. Do you think so?" He nodded. "And maybe--on one wall--a Greek _ikon_, protected by a silver case ... I've seen such ... that left exposed only the olive-brown faces and hands and feet of the figures. Perhaps ... when he was very little ... he used to think the brown Virgin represented his mother and the large-eyed child himself." "Ah," she cried, and a deeper light came in her eyes. "You have been in Greece! You have seen what he saw!" But he made no reply, and after a moment she went on: "He had never known what terror was till one day an accident, received in play, brought him the fear of blindness. It must have stayed with him all his life after that, wherever he went--for he lived in other countries. I have a few leaves of an old diary of his ... here and there I feel it in the lines." She, too, fell silent. "And then--?" he said. "There my dreams end. You see how little I know of him. I don't know why he came to Japan. But he met my mother here and here they were married. I should always love Japan, if only for that." "He--died here?" "In Nagasaki. My mother went back to America, and there I was born." She was looking out across the wide space where the roofs sank out of sight--to the foliaged slope of Aoyama. Suddenly a thrill, a curiously complex motion, ran over her. Above those far tree-tops, sailing in slow, sweeping, concentric circles, she saw a great machine, like a gigantic vulture. She knew instantly what it was, and there flashed before her the memory of a day at Fort Logan when a brave young lieutenant had crashed to death before her eyes in a shattered aëroplane. If Daunt were to fall ... what would it mean to her! In that instant the garden about her, Thorn, the blue sky above, faded, and she stared dismayed into a gulf in whose shadows lurked the disastrous, the terrifying, the irreparable. "I love him! I love him!"--it seemed to peal like a temple-bell through her brain. Even to herself she could never deny it again! She became aware of music near at hand. It brought her back to the present, for it was the sound of the organ in the new Chapel across the way. Looking up, she was struck by the expression on Thorn's face. He seemed, listening, to be held captive by some dire recollection. It brought to her mind that bitter cry: "I can not but remember such things were, That were most precious to me!" She rose with a sudden swelling of the throat. "I must go now," she said. "The Chapel is to be dedicated this morning. The organ is playing for the service now." She led the way along the stepping-stones to the bamboo gate. As they approached, through the interstices of the farther hedge she could see the figure of the Ambassador, with Mrs. Dandridge, among the _kimono_ entering the chapel door. In the temple across the yard the baton had begun its tapping and the dulled, monotonous tom-tom mingled weirdly with the soaring harmonies of the organ. With her hand on the paling she spoke again: "One thing I didn't tell you. It was I who built the Chapel. It is in the memory of my father. See, there is the memorial window. They were putting it in place when I came a little while ago." She was not looking at Thorn, or she would have seen his face overspread with a whiteness like that of death. He stood as if frozen to marble. The morning sun on the Chapel's eastern side, striking through its open casements, lighted the iridescent rose-window with a tender radiance, gilding the dull yellow aureole about the head of the Master and giving life and glow to the face beside Him--dark, beardless, and passionately tender--at which Thorn was staring, with what seemed almost an agony of inquiry. "St. John," she said softly, "'the disciple whom Jesus loved.'" She drew from the bosom of her dress the locket she always wore and opened it. "The face was painted from this--the only picture I have of my father." His hand twitched as he took it. He looked at it long and earnestly--at the name carved on its lid. "Barbara--Barbara Fairfax!" he said. She thought his lips shook under the gray mustache. "You--are a Buddhist, are you not?" she asked. "And Buddhists believe the spirits of the dead are always about us. Do you think--perhaps--he sees the Chapel?" He put her locket into her hands hastily. "God!" he said, as if to himself. "He will see it through a hundred existences!" Her eyes were moist and shining. "I am glad you think that," she said. In the Chapel the bishop's gaze kindled as it went out over the kneeling people. "_We beseech Thee, that in this place now set apart to Thy service, Thy holy name may be worshiped in truth and purity through all generations._" The voice rang valiant and clear in the summer hush. It crossed the still lane and entered a window where, in a temple loft, a man sat still and gray and quiet, his hands clenched in his _kimono_ sleeves: "_We humbly dedicate it to Thee, in the memory of one for the saving of whose soul Thou wert lifted upon the Cross._" The man in the loft threw himself on his face with a terrible cry. "My child!" he cried in a breaking voice. "My little, little child, whom they have robbed me of--whom I have never known in all these weary years! You have grown away from me--I shall never have you now! Never ... never!" Behind him the unfinished image of Kwan-on the All-Pitying, tossed the sunlight about the room in golden-lettered flashes, and beneath his closed and burning lids these seemed to blend and weave--to form bossed letters which had stared at him from the rim of the rose-window: THOU SHALT HAVE NO OTHER GODS BEFORE ME. CHAPTER XXIX DAUNT LISTENS TO A SONG The day had dawned sultry, with a promise of summer humidity, and Daunt was not surprised to find the barometer performing intemperate antics. "Confound it!" he muttered irritably, as he dressed. "If it was a month later, one would think there was a typhoon waltzing around somewhere in the China Sea." That morning had seen his first trial of his new fan-propeller, and the Glider's action had surpassed his wildest expectation. The flight, of which Barbara had caught a glimpse from Thorn's garden, had been a longer one than usual--quite twelve miles against a sluggish upper current--but even that failed to bring its customary glow. Thereafter he had spent a long morning immersed in the work of the Chancery: the study of a disputed mining concession in Manchuria; a report on a contemplated issue of government bonds; a demand for a passport by a self-alleged national with a foreign accent and a paucity of naturalization papers; the daily budget of translations from vernacular newspapers, by which a home government gains a bird's-eye view of comment and public opinion in far-away capitals. The Chancery was a pleasant nest of rooms opening into one another. Through its windows stole the smell of the garden blossoms, and across the compound wall sounded the shrill ventriloquistic notes of peddlers, the brazen chorus of a marching squad of buglers, or the warning "_Hek! Hek!_" of a flying _rick'sha_. The main room was cool, furnished with plain desks and filing cabinets. Against one wall yawned a huge safe in which were kept the code-books and records, and framed pictures of former Chiefs of Mission hung on the walls. In the anteroom Japanese clerks and messengers sat at small tables. The place was pervaded by the click of type-writer keys, tinkling call-bells, and the various notes of a busy office, and floating down from a stairway came the buzzing monotone of a Student Interpreter in his mid-year oral examinations under the Japanese secretary. But to-day Daunt could not exorcise with the mass of detail the leering imps that plagued him. They peered at him over the edge of the code-books and whispered from the margins of decorous despatches, chuckling satirically. "Barbara!" they sneered. "Mere acquaintances often name steam-yachts for girls, don't they! Arrived the same day as her ship, eh? Rather singular coincidence! What a flush she had when Voynich spoke of Phil's brother last night at the tea-house. Angry? Of course she was! What engaged girl likes to have the fact paraded--especially when she's practising on another man? And how about the telegram? How long have you known her, by the way? Two days? Really, now!" The weekly governmental pouch had closed at noon, and pouch-days were half-holidays, but Daunt did not go to the Embassy. An official letter had arrived from Washington which must be delivered in Kamakura. Daunt seized this excuse, plunged ferociously into tweeds and an hour afterward found himself in a railway carriage thudding gloomily toward the lower bay. In his heart he knew that he was trying to run away--from something that nevertheless traveled with him. The sky was palely blue, without a cloud, but the bay, where the rails skirted it, was heaving in long swells of oily amethyst like a vast carpet shaken at a distance in irregular undulations, on which _junk_ with flapping, windless sails, of the deep gold color of old straw, tumbled like ungainly sea-spiders. The western hills looked misty and uncertain, and Fuji was wrapped in a wraith-like mist into which its glimmering profile disappeared. At a way-station a coolie with a huge tray piled with neat, flat, wooden boxes passed the window calling "_Ben-to! Ben-to!_" It reminded Daunt that he had had no luncheon, and he bought one. He had long ago accustomed himself to Japanese food and liked it, but to-day the two shallow sections inspired no appetite. The half which held the rice he viciously threw out of the window and unrolling the fresh-cut chop-sticks from their paper square, rummaged discontentedly among the contents of the other: dried cuttlefish, bean-curd, slices of boiled lily-bulb, cinnamon-sticks, lotos stems and a coil of edible seaweed, all wrapped in green leaves. In the end, the _mélange_ followed the rice. At Kamakura an immediate answer to the letter he brought was not forthcoming, and to kill the time he strolled far down the curved beach. The usual breeze was lacking. A haze as fine as gossamer had drawn itself over the sky, and through it gulls were calling plaintively. Here and there on the sea-wall women were spreading fish-nets, and along the causeway trudged blue-legged peasant-women, their backs bent beneath huge loads of brushwood. In one place a bronze-faced fisherman in a fantastic _kimono_ on which was painted sea-monsters and hobgoblins in crimson and orange, seated on the gunwale of his _sampan_ drawn above the shingle, watched a little girl who, with clothing clutched thigh-high, was skipping the frothy ripples as if they were ropes of foam. A mile from the town he met a regiment of small school-boys, in indigo-blue and white _kimono_, marching two and two like miniature soldiers, a teacher in European dress at either end of the line--future Oyamas, Togos and Kurokis in embryo. They were coming from Enoshima, the hill-island that rises in the bay like an emerald St. Michael, where in a rocky cave, looking seaward, dwells holy Ben-ten, the Buddhist Goddess of Love. Daunt could see its masses of dark green foliage with their pink veinings of cherry-trees, and the crawling line of board-walk, perched on piling, which gave access from the mainland when the tide was in. On its height, if anywhere, would be coolness. He filled his pipe and set off toward it along the sultry sand. The hot dazzle of the sun was in his face. There was no movement in the crisp leaves of the bamboo trees and the damp heat beat up stiflingly from the gray glare. Somewhere in the air, stirless and humid, there rested a faint, weedy smell like a steaming sea-growth in a tidal ooze. Daunt's pipe sputtered feebly, and, girding at the heat, he hurled it at a handful of blue ducks that plashed tiredly in the gray-green heave, and watched them dive, to reappear far away, like bobbing corks. He wished he could as easily scatter the blue-devils that dogged him. He drew a sigh of relief as he reached the long elevated board-walk and shook the sand from his shoes. Underneath its shore-end a fisherman sat in the stern of a boat fishing with cormorants. A row of the solemn birds sat on a pole projecting over the water, each tethered by a string whose end was tied to the man's wrist. They seemed to be asleep, but now and then one would plunge like a diver, to reappear with a fish wriggling in its beak. Daunt watched them listlessly a moment, then, passing beneath a great bronze _torii_, he slowly climbed the single shaded street that staggered up the hill between the multitudes of gay little shops running over with colored sea-shells, with grotesque lanterns made of inflated fish-skins, with carved crystal and pink and white coral--up and up, by old, old flights of mossy steps, under more ancient trees, by green monuments and lichen-stippled Buddhas, till the sea below crawled like a wrinkled counterpane. Daunt knew a tea-house on the very lip of the cliff, the _Kinki-ro_--"Inn of the Golden Turtle"--and he bent his steps lazily in its direction. In the heavy heat the low tile roof looked cool and inviting. Tall soft-eyed iris were standing in its garden overlooking the water, and against the green their velvety leaves made vivid splashes of golden blue. On a dead tree two black crows were quarreling and cherry-petals powdered the paths like pink hail. The haze, sifting from the sky, seemed to wrap everything in a vast, shimmering veil. At the hedge he paused an instant. Some one, somewhere, was humming, low-voiced, an air that he had once loved. He pushed open the gate and went on into the tremulous radiance. Then he stopped short. Barbara was seated above him in the fork of a low camelia tree, one arm laid out along a branch, her green gown blending with a bamboo thicket behind her and her vivid face framed in the blossoms. She sat, chin in hand, looking dreamily out across the bay, and the hummed song had a rhythm that seemed to fit her thought--slow and infinitely tender. "You!" he cried. She turned with a startled movement that dissolved into low, delicious laughter. "Fairly caught," she answered. "I don't often revert far enough to climb trees, but I thought no one but Haru and I was here. Will you come and help me down, Honorable Fly-man?" "Wait--" he said. "What was the song you were humming?" She looked at him with a quick intake of breath, then for answer began to sing, in a voice that presently became scarce more than a whisper: "Forgotten you? Well, if forgetting Be hearing all the day Your voice through all the strange babble Of voices grave, now gay-- If counting each moment with longing Till the one when I see you again, If this be forgetting, you're right, dear! And I have forgotten you then!" Daunt's hand fell to his side. A young girl's face nested in creamy, pink blossoms--a sweet, shy, flushed face under a mass of curling, gold-bronze hair. "I remember now!" he said in a low voice. "I ... sang it to you ... that day!" "I am flattered!" she exclaimed. "The day before yesterday you had forgotten that you ever saw poor little me! It was Mrs. Claybourne, of course, that you sang to! Yet you were my idol for a long month and a day!" "It was to _you_," he said unsteadily. "I didn't know your name. But I never forgot the song. I remembered it that night in the garden, when I first heard you playing!" CHAPTER XXX THE ISLAND OF ENCHANTMENT They walked together around the curving road, leaving Haru with the tea-basket. "Patsy would have come," Barbara had said, "but she is in the clutches of her dressmaker." And Daunt had answered, "I have a distinct regard for that Chinaman!" His black mood had vanished, and the leering imps had flown. In the brightness of her physical presence, how baseless and foolish seemed his sullen imaginings! What man who owned a steam yacht, knowing her, would not wish to name it the _Barbara_? Walking beside her, so near that he could feel the touch of her light skirt against his ankles, it seemed impossible that he should ever again be other than light-hearted. She was no acquaintance of hours, after all. He had known her for seven years. He was in wild spirits. The sky was duller now. Its marvelous haze of blue and gold had turned pallid, and the sun glared with a pale, yellowish effrontery. A strange sighing was in the air, so faint, however, that it seemed only the stirring of innumerable leaves, the resinous rasping of pine-needles and the lisping fall of the flaming petals from the century-old camelia trees, that stained the ground with hot, bleeding red. Far below in the shallow pools, nut-brown, bare-legged girls were gathering seaweed in hand-nets, _kimono_ tucked beneath their belts and scarlet petticoats falling to their knees, like a flock of brilliant flamingos. At a turn in the road stood a stone image of Jizo, with a red paper bib about its neck. Before it lay three small rice-cakes; somewhere in the neighborhood was a little sick child, three years old. At its base were heaps of tiny stones, piled by mothers whose little children had died. They stopped at a tea-house open on all sides, and, sitting cross-legged on its _tatamé_, drank tea from earthenware pots that held only a small cupful, while they listened to a street minstrel beating on a tom-tom, and singing a mysterious song that seemed about to choke him. They fed a crisp rice-cake to a baby sagging from an urchin's shoulder. A doll was strapped to the baby's back. They peered into a Buddhist temple where a monotonous chant came from behind a blue-figured curtain. They went, laughing like two children, down the zigzag stone steps, past innumerable _uomitei_--crimson-benched "resting-houses," where grave Japanese pedestrians sat eating stewed eels and chipping hard-boiled eggs--to the rocky edge of the tide, which now rolled in with a measured, sullen booming. He pointed to a gloomy fissure which ran into the mountain, at a little distance. "O Maiden, journeying to Holy Ben-ten," he said, "behold her shrine!" "How disillusioning!" "People find love so, sometimes." She slowly shook her head. "Not all of them," she said softly. "I am old-fashioned enough not to believe that." Her brown eyes were wistful and a little troubled, and her voice was so adorable that he could have gone on his knees to her. "We will ask Ben-ten about it," he said. "Oh, but not '_we!_'" she cried. "I must go alone. Don't you know the legend? People quarrel if they go together." "I can't imagine quarreling with you. I'd rather quarrel with myself." "That would be difficult, wouldn't it?" "Not in some of my moods. Ask my head-boy. To-day, for instance--" "Well?" For he had paused. "I was meditating self-destruction when I met you." "By what interesting method, I wonder?" "I was about to search for a volcano to jump into." "I thought the nearest active crater is a hundred miles away." "So it is, but I'm an absent-minded beggar." She laughed. "May I ask what inspired to-day's suicidal mood?" "It was--a telegram." "Oh!" She colored faintly. "I--I hope it held no bad news." He looked into her eyes. "I hope not," he said. Something else was on his tongue, when "Look!" she exclaimed. "How strange the sea looks off there!" A sinister, whitish bank, like a mad drift of smoke, lay far off on the water, and a tense, whistling hum came from the upper air. A drop of water splashed on Daunt's wrist. "There's going to be a blow," he said. "The seaweed gatherers are all coming in, too. Ben-ten will have to wait, I'm afraid. See--even her High Priest is forsaking her!" From where they stood steps were roughly hewn into the rock, winding across the face of the cliff. Beside these, stone pillars were socketed, carrying an iron chain that hung in rusted festoons. Along this precarious pathway from the cavern an old man was hastily coming, followed by a boy with a sagging bundle tied in a white cloth. "That parcel, no doubt," said Daunt, "contains the day's offerings. Wait! You're not going?" For she had started down the steps. She had turned to answer, when, with the suddenness of an explosion, a burst of wind fell on them like a flapping weight, spattering them with drops that struck the rock as if hurled from a sling-full of melted metal. Barbara had never in her life experienced anything like its ferocity. It both startled and angered her, like a personal affront. Daunt had sprung to her side and was shouting something. But the words were indistinguishable; she shook her head and went on stubbornly, clinging to the chain, a whirl of blown garments. She felt him grasp her arm. "Go back!" she shrieked. "It's--bad--luck!" As he released her there came a second's menacing lull, and in it she sprang down the steps and ran swiftly out along the pathway. He was after her in an instant, overtaking her on a frail board trestle that spanned a pool, where the cliff was perpendicular. Here the wind, shaggy with spume, hurled them together. Daunt threw an arm about her, clinging with the other hand to the wooden railing. Her hair was a reddish swirl across his shoulder and her breath, panting against his throat, ridged his skin with a creeping delight. The rocks beneath them, through whose fissures tongues of water ran screaming, was the color of raspberries and tawny with seaweed. There was only a weird, yellow half-light, through which the gale howled and scuffled, like dragons fighting. A slather of wave licked the palsied framework. He bent and shouted into her ear. All she caught was: "Must--cave--next lull--" She nodded her head and her lips smiled at him through the confused obscurity. A thrill swept her like silver rain. Pulse on pulse, an emotion like fire and snow in one thrilled and chilled her. She closed her eyes with a wild longing that the wind might last for ever, that that moment, like the ecstasy of an opium dream, might draw itself out to infinite length. Slowly she felt the breath of the tempest ebb about them, then suddenly felt herself lifted from her feet, and her eyes opened into Daunt's. Her cheek lay against his breast, as it had done in that short moment in the Embassy garden. She could feel his heart bound under the rough tweed. Once more the wind caught them, but he staggered through it, and into the high, rock entrance of the cave. Inside its dripping rim the sudden cessation of the wind seemed almost uncanny, and the boom of the surf was a dull thunderous roar. He set her on her feet on the damp rock and laughed wildly. "Do you realize," she said, "that we have transgressed the most sacred tenet of Ben-ten by coming here together? We are doomed to misunderstanding!" "Now that I recollect, that applies only to lovers," he answered. "Then we--" "Are quite safe," she quickly finished for him. "Come, I want to see the shrine. We must find a candle." He peered into the gloomy depths. "I think I see some burning," he said. "We will explore." A little way inside they came to a small well, with a dipper and a rack of thin blue-and-white towels to cleanse the hands of worshipers. On a square pedestal stood a stone Buddha, curiously incrusted by drippings from the roof. Near it was a wooden booth, its front hung with pendents of twisted rice-straw and strips of white paper folded in diagonal notches. It held a number of tiny wooden _torii_ strung with lighted candles, above each of which was nailed a paper prayer. A few copper coins lay scattered beneath them. Daunt thrust two of the candles into wooden holders and they slowly followed the narrowing fissure, guttered by the feet of centuries, between square posts bearing carven texts, and small images, coated with the spermy droppings from innumerable candles. She held up her winking light toward his face. "What a desperate absorption!" she said laughingly. "You haven't said a thing for five minutes." "I'm thinking we had better explain at once to Ben-ten that we're not lovers. Otherwise we may get the penalty. Perhaps we'd better just tell her it was an accident, and let it go at that? What do you think?" "That might be the simplest." "All right then, I'll say 'Ben-ten, dear, she wanted to come alone; she really did! We didn't intend it at all. So be a nice, gracious goddess and don't make her quarrel with me!'" "What do you suppose she will answer?" "She will say: 'Young man, in the same circumstances, I should have done exactly the same myself.'" The passage had grown so low that they had to bend their heads, then all at once it widened into a concave chamber. The cannonading of the wind rumbled fainter and fainter. He took her hand and drew her forward. "There is Ben-ten," he said. The Goddess of Love sat in a barred cleft of the rock, enshrined in a dull, gold silence. Beads of moisture spangled her robe, glistening like brilliants through the mossy darkness. "Poor deity!" said Barbara. "To have to live for ever in a sea-cavern! It's a clammy idea, isn't it?" "That's--" He paused. "I could make a terrible pun, but I won't." "One shouldn't joke about love," she said. "Have _you_ discovered that too?" She gazed at him strangely, without answering. In the wan light his face looked pale. Her unresisting fingers still lay in his; he felt their touch like a breath of fire through all his veins. Her eyes sparkled back the eery witch-glow of the candle-flames. "You are a green-golden gnome-girl!" he said unsteadily. "And I am under a spell." "Yes, yes," she said. "I am Rumptydudget's daughter! I have only to wave my candlestick--so!--to turn you into a stalagmite!" She suited the action to the word--and dropped her candle, which was instantly extinguished on the damp floor. Bending forward to retrieve it, Daunt slipped. The arm he instinctively threw out to save himself struck the wall and his own candle flew from its socket. As he regained his footing, confused by the blank, enfolding darkness, he stumbled against Barbara, and his face brushed hers. In another instant the touch had thrilled into a kiss. A moment she lay in his arms, passive, panting, her unkissed mouth stinging with the burn of his lips. The world was a dense blackness, shot with fire and full of pealing bells, and the beating of her heart was a great wave of sound that throbbed like the iron-shod fury of the seas. "I love you, Barbara!" he said simply. "I love you!" The stammering utterance pierced the swift, confused sweetness of that first kiss like a lance of desperate gladness. Through the tumbling passion of the words he poured into her heart, she could feel his hands touching her face, her throat, her loosened hair. "Barbara! Listen, dear! I must say it! It's stronger than I am--no, don't push me away! Love me! You _must_ love me! With her arms on his breast, she had made a movement to release herself. "We are mad, I think!" she breathed. "Then may we never be sane!" "I--you have known me only two days! What--" "Ah, no! I've known you all these years and have been loving you without really knowing it. I made a woman out of my own fancy, that I dreamed alive. In the long winter evenings when I worked at my models in the little house in Aoyama, I used to see her face in my driftwood blaze and talk to her. I called her my 'Lady of the Many-Colored Fires.' I never thought she really existed, but that first night in the Embassy garden I knew that my dream-woman was you!--_you_, Barbara!" Her hands pushed him from her no more. They fell to trembling on his breast. In the dense, salty obscurity, she turned her head sharply, to feel again his lips on hers, her own molding to his kiss. She drooped, swaying, stunned, breathless. "Barbara, I love you!" "No--not again. Light--the candle." "Just a moment longer--here in the dark, with Ben-ten. It's fate, darling! Why should I have been in Japan and not in Persia when you came? Why did I happen to be there in the garden that night, at that particular moment? Why, it was the purest accident that I came here to-day! No--not accident. It was kismet! Barbara!" "Make--a light. I--beg you!" His lips were murmuring against her cheek. "Say 'I love you,' too!" "I--can not. You ... you would hold me cheap ... I would be--I am!... What? Yes, it was a tulip tree. I was sixteen.... Oh, you couldn't have--why, you'd forgotten the whole thing! You had, you _had_!... Don't hold me.... No, I don't care what you think!... Yes, I _do_ care!... Yes, I--I ... This is perfectly shameless!... Dark? That makes it all the worse. What will you ... No, no! You must not kiss me again! We must go back!--I will go back...." She freed herself, and he fumbled for his fallen candle. He struck a match. The sputtering blue flame lit her white, languorous face, her fallen hair, her heaving breast. It went out. He struck another and the wick blazed up. "Look at me, dear!" he said. "Tell me in the light. Will you marry me?" "I can not answer--now." "Why? Don't you love me?" "I--in so short a time, how could I? Let us go now. I don't know myself--nor--nor you!" She was trembling, and he noted it with a pang of compunction. "To-morrow, sweetheart? Will you give me my answer then?" "Yes!" It was almost inaudible. "At the Foreign Minister's ball to-morrow night? I'll come to you there, dearest. I--" He stopped. She had caught her hand to her throat with a wild gesture. "Ben-ten! She--she is frowning at us! There--look there!" "My poor darling!" he said. "You are nervous. See, it was only the shadow! I ought not to have brought you into this dismal hole! You are positively shivering." "Let us hurry," she said, and they went quickly into the warmer air and light of the entrance. The squall had passed with the fateful swiftness of its coming. The waves still gurgled and tumbled, but the fury of the wind was over. The murk light had lifted, showing the wet sky a patchy drab, which again was beginning to show glimpses of golden hue. * * * * * They walked back to Haru at the tea-house, beneath the wild, poignant beauty of disheveled cryptomeria, echoing once more the eternal song of the _semi_--along paths strewn with drenched petals and sweet with the moist scents of sodden leaves--then together, down the steep, templed hill and across the planked walk to the mainland, where a trolley buzzed through the springing rice-fields, musical now with the _mé kayui_--_mé kayui_ of the frogs. Daunt accompanied them to the through line of the railway. From there he was to return to Kamakura for the answer to his letter. The sun was setting when the Tokyo express pulled into the station. As Haru disappeared into the compartment, Daunt took Barbara's hand to help her to the platform. There had been no other first-class passengers to embark and the forward end of the asphalt was deserted. Her lovely, flushed face was turned toward him, and there in the dusk of the station, he bent swiftly and kissed her once more on the lips. "Dearest, dearest!" he said behind his teeth, and turned quickly away. In the car, as the train fled through the glory of the sunset, Barbara closed her eyes, the longer to keep the impression of that eager gaze: the lithe, muscular poise of the strong frame, the parted lips, the brown hair curling under the peak of the cloth cap. She tried to imagine him on his backward journey. Now the trolley had passed the rice-fields, now he was striding along the shore road toward Kamakura, where the great bronze Buddha was lifting its face of dreamless calm. Now, perhaps, he was turning back toward the deepening blur of the green island. She shivered a little as she remembered the frown that had seemed to rest on the stony countenance of Ben-ten in her cave. Her thought drifted into to-morrow, when she was to give him her answer. Ah, she knew what that answer would be! She thought of the telegram of the night before, which she had read in the candle-lighted street! To-morrow Ware also was coming--for an answer! She knew what that would be, too. She felt a sudden pity for him. Yet she knew now--what wisdom she had gained in these two swift days!--that his was not the love that most deserved it. Daunt's parting kiss clung to her lips like a living flower. The hand he had clasped still burned to his touch; she lifted it and held it against her hot face, while the darkening carriage seemed to fill with the dank smell of salty wind and seaweed, mingled with his voice: "Barbara, I love you!--Dearest! Dearest!" * * * * * She thought the gesture unseen, unguessed by any one. But in the forward car, beyond the glass vestibule door, which to her was only a trembling mirror, a man sat watching with burning eyes. He had been gazing through the window when the train stopped, had risen to his feet with instant recognition--to shrink back into his seat, his fingers clenched, his bitten lip indrawn, and a pallor on his face. It was Austen Ware, and he had seen that kiss. CHAPTER XXXI THE COMING OF AUSTEN WARE Dusk purpled over the rice-fields as the train sped on. Still the man who had witnessed that farewell sat crouched in his seat in the forward car, stirless and pallid. From boyhood Austen Ware had trod a calculate path. Judicious, masterful, possessed, he had gone through life with none of the temptations that had lain in wait for his younger brother Phil. These traits were linked to a certain incapacity for bad luck and an unwearying tenaciousness of purpose. Seldom had any one seen his face change color, had seldom seen his poise of glacial complacency shaken. To-night, however, the oil lamps which glowed dully in the ceiling of the carriage threw their faint light on a face torn with passion. Barbara's beauty, whose perfect indifference no touch of sentimental passion had devitalized, had, from the first, aroused Ware's stubborn sense of conquest. He had been too wise to make missteps--had put ardor into the background, while surrounding her with tactful and graceful observances which unconsciously usurped a large place in her thought. In the end he had broken down an instinctive disinclination and converted it into liking. But this was all. For the rest he had perforce been content to wait. Thus matters had stood when they parted a few months ago. He recalled the day he had sailed for Suez. Looking back across the widening water, he had conceived then no possibility of ultimate failure. "How beautiful she is!" he had said to himself. "She will marry me. She does not love me, but she cares for no other man. She will marry me in Japan." There had been nobody else then! As he peered out into the glooming dusk all kinds of thoughts raced through his mind. Who was the man? Was this the resurrection of an old "affair" that he had never guessed? No, when he left her, Barbara had been fancy free! It was either a "steamer acquaintance," or one come to quick fruition on a romantic soil. He took out a cigar-case and struck a match with shaking fingers. Had it even come to clandestine _rendezvous_? She had gone one way, the man another! A whirl of rage seized him: the slender metal snapped short off in the fierce wrench of his fingers. He thrust the broken case into his pocket with a muttered curse that sat strangely on his fastidious tongue. Gradually, out of the wrack emerged his dominant impulse, caution. He had many things to learn; he must find out how the land lay. He must move slowly, reëstablish the old, easy, informal footing. Above all he must lay himself open to no chance of a definite refusal. A plan began to take shape. His telegram had told her he would arrive in Tokyo next day. Meanwhile he would find out what Phil knew. He left the train at Yokohama under cover of the crowd. In a half-hour he was aboard his yacht. Two hours later he sat down to order his dinner on the terrace of the hotel, cool, unruffled, immaculately groomed. The place was brightly barred with the light from the tall dining-room windows, and the small, round tables glowed with _andons_ whose candle-light shone on men's conventional black-and-white, and women's fluttering gowns. There was no wind--only the long, slow breath of the bay that seemed sluggish with the scents of the tropical evening. A hundred yards from the hotel front great floating wharves had been built out into the water. They were gaily trimmed with bunting and electric lights in geometrical designs. A series of arches flanked them, and these were covered with twigs of ground pine. Ware had guessed these decorations were for the European Squadron of Dreadnaughts, of whose arrival to-day's newspapers had been full. As he looked over the _menu_, a man sitting near-by rose and came to him with outstretched hand. He was Commander DeKay, a naval _attaché_ whom Ware had known in Europe. They had met again, a few days since, at Kyoto. He hospitably insisted on the other's joining his own party of five. Ware was not gregarious, and to-night was in a sullen mood. But, with his habitual policy, he thrust this beneath the surface and in another moment was bowing to the introductions: Baroness Stroloff, her sister, a chic young matron whose natural habitat seemed to be Paris; the ubiquitous and popular Count Voynich, and a statuesque American girl, whose name Ware recognized as that of a clever painter of Japanese children. He looked well in evening dress, and his dark beard, thick curling pompadour and handsome eyes added a something of distinction to a well-set figure. "So you have just arrived, Mr. Ware?" the Baroness said. "I hope you're not one of those terrible two-days-in-Japan tourists who spoil all our prices for us." "I expect to stay a month or more," he said. "And as for prices, I shall put up as good a battle as I can." "You know," said the artist, with an air of imparting confidential information, "everybody is scheduled in Tokyo. If you belong to an Embassy you have to pay just so much more for everything. In the Embassies, 'number-one-man' pays more than 'number-two-man,' and so on down. You and I are lucky, Mr. Ware. We are not on the list, and can fight it out on its merits." "Belonging to the rankless file has its advantages in Japan, then." "Not at official dinners, I assure you," interposed the Baroness' sister with a shrug. "It means the bottom of the table, and sitting next below the same student-interpreter nine times in the season. I have discovered that I rank with, but not above, the dentist." "You tempt me to enter the service--in the lowest grade," said Ware, and the Baroness laughed and shook her fan at him reprovingly. The sky above their heads was pricked out with pale stars, like cat's-eye pins in a greenish-violet tapestry. Up and down the roadway went shimmering _rick'sha_, and Japanese couples in light _kimono_ strolled along the bay's edge, under the bent pines, their low voices mingled with the soft lapping of the tide. Now and then a bicycle would pass swiftly, bare sandaled feet chasing its pedals, and _kimono_ sleeves flapping like great bats'-wings from its handle-bars; or a flanneled English figure would stride along, with pipe and racquet, from late tennis at the recreation-ground. From the corner came the cries of romping children and the tapping staff and double flute-note of a blind _masseur_. The talk flew briskly hither and thither, skimming the froth of the capital's _causerie_: recent additions to the official set, the splendid new ball-room at the German Embassy, and the increasing importance of Tokyo as a diplomatic center--the coming Imperial "Cherry-Viewing Garden-Party," and the annual Palace duck-hunt at the _Shin-Hama_ preserve, where the game is caught, like butterflies, in scoop-nets--the new ceremonial for Imperial audiences--whether a stabbing affray between two Legation _bettos_ would end fatally, and whether the Turkish Minister's gold dinner service was solid--and a little scandalous surmise regarding the newest continental widow whose stay in Japan had been long and her dinners anything but exclusive--a rumored engagement, and--at last!--the arrival of the new beauty at the American Embassy. "A _real one_!" commented Voynich, screwing his eye-glass in more tightly. "And that means something in the tourist season." Ware's fingers flattened on the stem of his glass of yellow chartreuse as the artist said: "We are in the throes of a new sensation at present, Mr. Ware; a case of love at first sight. It's really a lot rarer than the novelists make out, you know! We are all tremendously interested." "But he knows her," said Voynich. "The other evening in Tokyo, Mr. Ware, Miss Fairfax mentioned having met you. She is from Virginia, I think." Ware bowed. "She is very good to remember me," he said. "And so Miss Fairfax has met her fate in Japan?" "Well, rather!" said the artist. "I hear betting is even that she'll accept him inside a fortnight." Ware sipped his liqueur with a tinge of relief. Evidently the world of Tokyo had not yet discovered that the new arrival's first name was that of his yacht. "Daunt doesn't play according to Hoyle," grumbled Voynich. "She's a guest of his own chief and he ought to give the others half a chance. He lives in the Embassy Compound, too, confound him! He monopolized her outrageously at the Review the other day! He's an American 'trust.' I shall challenge him." The voice of DeKay broke in: "Coppery hair and pansy-brown eyes, a skin like a snowdrift caught blushing, and a mouth like the smile of a red flower! A girl that Romney might have loved, slim and young and thoroughbred--there you have the capital sentence of the Secretary of the American Embassy!" Down the middle of the street came running a boy, bare-legged, bareheaded and scantily clad. A bunch of jangling bells was tied to his girdle, and his hands were full of what looked like small blue hand-bills. DeKay got up quickly. "There's an evening extra," he said. "It's the _Kokumin Shimbun_." He bolted down the steps, stopped the runner and returned with one of the blue sheets. He scanned it rapidly--he was a student of the vernacular. "Nothing especial," he informed them. "Prices in Wall Street are smashing the records. That looks like a clear political horizon, in spite of what the wiseacres have been saying. This visit of the Squadron will prove a useful poultice, no doubt, to reduce international inflammation--its officers being shown the sights of the capital, and the celebrations to come off as per schedule, including the Naval Minister's ball to-morrow night. By the way," he added, turning to Ware, "I arranged for an invitation for you. It's probably at the hotel in Tokyo now, awaiting your arrival." A little gleam came to Ware's eyes. The threads were in his hands, and this suited his plan. "Thanks," he said; "you're very kind, Commander. I shall see the subject of your rhapsody, then, before the Judge puts on his black cap." "Ah, but you'll have no chance," laughed the Baroness. "Trust a woman's eye." "Unless his aëroplane takes a tumble," said the American girl reflectively. "There's always a chance for a tragedy there!" They rose to depart. "We are actually going to the opera, Mr. Ware," said the Baroness; "the 'Popular Hardman Comic Opera Company,' if you please, 'with Miss Cissy Clifford.' Doesn't that sound like Broadway? It comes over every season from Shanghai, and it's our regular spring dissipation. You'd not be tempted to join us, I suppose?" He bowed over her hand. "It is my misfortune to have an engagement here." "Well, then--_jusqu'au bal_. Good night." * * * * * Ware drank his black coffee alone on the terrace. Daunt--a Secretary of Embassy! A rival less experienced than he, full of youth's enthusiasms--a young Romeo, wooing from the garden of officialdom! It had been a handful of days against his own round year; a few meetings, at most, to offset his long and constant plan! And, as a result, the thing he had seen through the car window. He shut his teeth. He would have taken bitter toll of that kiss! As he lit his cigar, one of the hotel boys came to him. On his arrival Ware had sent him to Phil's bungalow on the Bluff with a note. "Ware-_San_ not at home," he said. "Where is he?" "No Yokohama now. He go Tokyo yesterday. Stay one week." "Is he at the hotel there?" "Boy say no hotel. House have got." "What is the address?" "Boy no must tell. He say letter send Tokyo Club." Ware's composure had been fiercely shaken that night and this obstacle in his path pricked him to the point of exasperation. With impatience he threw away his cigar and walked out through the cool, brilliant evening. But the glittering pageant of the prismatic streets inspired only a rising irritation. When a pedestrian jostled him, the elaborate bow of apology and ceremonial drawing-in of breath met with only a morose stare. He left the Bund and threaded the _Honcho-dori_--the "Main Street"--striving to curb his mood. Midway of its length was a jeweler's shop-window with a beautiful display of jewel-jade. In it was hung a sign which he read with a wry smile: "English Spoken: American Understood." Ware entered and handed the Japanese clerk his broken cigar-case. The counter was spread with irregular pieces of the green and pink stone, wrought with all the laborious cunning of the oriental lapidary. At his elbow a clerk was packing a jade bracelet into a tiny box for delivery. He wrapped and addressed it painstakingly with a little brush-- Esquire Philp Weare, Kasumiga-tani Cho, 36. Tokyo. In the street Ware smiled grimly as he entered the address in his note-book. He had always believed in his luck. To-morrow he would find Phil, and gain further enlightenment--incidentally on the matter of jade bracelets! His mouth set in contemptuous lines as he walked back to the hotel. CHAPTER XXXII THE WOMAN OF SOREK "And as to the foreigner named Philip Ware, that is all you know?" "That is all, Ishida-_San_," Haru answered. They stood in the cryptomeria shadows of Reinanzaka Hill, from which he had stepped to her side as she came from the Embassy gate. It was dark, for the moon was not yet risen, and the evening was very still. One sleepy _semi_ bubbled in the foliage and in the narrow street at the foot of the hill, with its glimmering _shoji_, she could hear the fairy tinkle of wind bells in the eaves. Such an ambush by her lover, unjustified, would have been a dire affront to the girl's rigid Japanese code of decorum. That he had seen Phil greet her at Mukojima the evening before had shamed her pride, and in speaking of it to-night he had seemed at first to lay a rude finger on her maiden dignity. But she had seen in an instant that his errand was inspired by neither anger nor jealousy. He had touched at once her instinct of the momentous. Her quick, clever brain and finely attuned perception read what lay beneath his questions. The great European expert whom Japan herself employed, and the young foreigner who had pursued her--were they, then, objects of question to that wonderful, many-sided governmental machine which was lifting Japan into the front rank of modern nations? Although she had never shared the disfavor with which her father viewed her lover's duties, she had wondered at his present apparently menial position. To-night she was gaining a quick glimpse beneath the surface. He told her nothing of the details which, though he could not himself have built a tangible indictment from them, had one by one clung together into a sharp suspicion that embraced the two men. But the agitation she felt in his words had sent a quick thrill through her, had tapped that deep racial well of feeling, the _Yamato Damashii_, which is the Japanese birthright. She felt a sudden passionate wish that she, though a woman, might pour herself into the mighty stream of effort--though she be but a whirling cherry-petal in the great wind of her nation's destiny. He had come to her for any shred of information that might add to his knowledge of the youth who was now Bersonin's satellite. But she had been able to tell him nothing. She had often seen the huge expert--his automobile had clanged past her that morning--but till to-night she had not even known the other's name or where he lived. "That is all, Ishida-_San_." It hurt her to say these words. She bowed to his ceremonious farewell, a slim, misty figure that stood listening to his rapid footsteps till they died in the darkness. She walked up the dim slope with lagging pace. The steep road, always deserted at night, had no sound of grating cart or whirring _rick'sha_, but her paper lantern was unlighted and no song greeted the crow that flapped his grating way above her head. She was thinking deeply. At the top of the hill, opposite the huge, rivet-studded gate of the Princess' compound, lay the lane on which the Chapel stood. An evening service was in progress and the faint sound of the organ was borne to her. As she turned into the darker shade she was aware of two pedestrians coming toward her,--of a voice which she recognized with a shiver of apprehension. The sentry-box by the great gate stood close at hand. It was empty, and she stepped into it. Doctor Bersonin and Phil paused at the turning, while the latter lit a cigar from a match which he struck on the sentry-box. Haru's heart was in her throat, but her dark _kimono_ blent with the wood and the flash that showed her both faces blinded his eyes. "See!" said the doctor. A mile away, from the low-lying darkness of Hibiya Park, a stream of fireworks shot to the zenith, to explode silently in clusters of colored balls. "The first rocket in honor of the Squadron!" "To-morrow the Admiral has an Imperial audience," said Phil, "and the superior officers are to be decorated." "So!" said the other in a low, malignant voice. "And I--who have designed Japan's turrets and cheapened her arsenal processes--I may not wear the Cordon and Star of the Rising-Sun!" In the darkness a smile of malice crossed his face. "We shall see if she will hold her head so high--_then_! Whether war follow or not, it will damn her in the eyes of the nations! She will not recover her prestige in twenty years!" They passed on down the dark slope, out of sight and hearing of the girl crouched in a corner of the sentry-box. At the foot of the hill, Bersonin said: "It will take some days longer to finish my work, but the ships will stay for a fortnight. To-morrow night I will mark the triangle on the roof of the bungalow, so that the angle of the tripod will be exact. There must be no bungling. You can go by an earlier train, so we shall not be seen together, and I shall return here in time for the ball." There was a fire in Haru's bosom as she went on along the thorn-hedges. She had heard every word, and she said the English sentences over and over to herself to fix them in her mind. What they had been talking of was the secret that lay beneath Ishida's questions--for an instant she had almost touched it. A feeling of deep pride rose in her. Japan was not sleeping--it watched! And in the path of the plotting danger stood her lover. These two men hated Japan! War? They had used the word. Japan did not fear war! Had not that been proven? Her heart swelled. But the thing they were planning was her country's enduring humiliation, "whether war follow or not!" She felt a sudden deep horror. Could such plots be and their God--_her_ God now--not blast them with His thunder? And one of these men had spoken with her, touched her, _kissed_ her! She struck herself repeatedly and hard on the lips. All at once she shivered. Might it be that in spite of all, such a black design could succeed? The Chapel was brilliantly lighted and the rose-window threw beautiful tints, like shawls of many-colored gauze, over the shrubbery. She entered and slipped into a seat near the door, burning with her thoughts. The first evening service had brought a curious crowd and the place was nearly filled. She rose for the singing and knelt for the prayer mechanically, her delicate fingers twisting the little white-enamel cross hanging from its thin gold chain on the bosom of her _kimono_. Painful imaginings were running through her mind. The lesson was being read: it was from the Old Testament, the modern, somewhat colloquial translation. This-after, Samson a Sorek Valley woman called Delilah did love. Then the Princes of the Philistines the woman-to up-came, saying: As for you, by sweet discourse prevail that where his great power is or by what means overcoming, to bind and torture him we may be able ... It seemed to her suddenly that a great wind filled all the Chapel and that the words sat on it. Slowly her face whitened till it was the hue of death. _She_ might find out the secret! And Delilah to Samson said: where your great power is or by what means overcoming to bind and torture you one may be able, this me tell. She began to tremble in every limb. She, a _samurai's_ daughter? She thought of her father, aged and broken, grieving that he had had no son in the war. She had been but a useless girl-child, left to plant paper prayers at the cross-roads for the brave men who longed to achieve a glorious death. If she did this thing--would it not be for Japan? And he at last-to his mind completely opened. The woman's knees-upon Samson did sleep and she called a man who of his head the seven locks cut off ... and the power of him was lost. If she did, would it avail? She remembered Phil's eyes on her face the day on the sands at Kamakura--their smouldering, reckless glow. She remembered the bamboo lane! In those daredevil kisses her woman's instinct had divined the force of the attraction she exercised over him--had felt it with contempt and a self-humiliation that burned her like an acid. To use that for her purpose? But she was a Christian! From the Christian God's "_Thou shalt not_" there was no appeal. She remembered suddenly her last service at the Buddhist temple across the lane, and how the old priest had bade her a gentle farewell, wishing her peace and joy in her new religion, and saying smilingly that all religions were augustly good, since they pointed the same way. She saw the nunnery, with its tall clumps of yellow dahlias and wild hydrangeas; above which hung gauzy robes that waved like gray ghosts escaping from the mold into the sunshine. She saw the cherry-trees touched by the golden summer light, the mossy monuments in the burying-ground, the pigeons fluttering about the lichened pavement. The audience was singing now--the Japanese version of _Jesus, Lover of My Soul_: _Waga tamashii wo Ai suru Yesu yo, Nami wa sakamaki, Kaze fuki-arete._ She could no longer be a Christian! But the old gods of her people shining from their golden altars--the ancient divinities who looked for ever down above the sound of prayer--they would smile upon her! CHAPTER XXXIII THE FLIGHT For all save one, sleep came early that evening to the house in the Street-of-Prayer-to-the-Gods. In her little room Haru lay as stirless as a sleeping flower. There was no sound save the hushed accents of the outer night that penetrated the wooden _amado_. At length she rose, noiselessly slid the paper _shoji_, and with infinite care, inch by inch, pushed back the shutters. The moon had risen and a flood of moonlight came into the room. Stealthily she opened a wall-closet and selected her best and gayest robe--a holiday _kimono_ of dim green, with lotos flowers, and an _obi_ of cloth-of-gold, with chrysanthemums peeping from the weave. By the round mirror on her low dressing-cabinet, she redressed the coiled ebony butterfly of her hair, and set a red flower in it. She touched her face with the soft rice-powder, and added a tint of carmine to the set paleness of her cheeks. She wrapped in a _furoshiki_ some soberer street clothing, toilet articles, and a mauve _kimono_ woven with silver camelias, set the bundle by the opened _amado_ and noiselessly passed into the next room. It was the larger living-apartment. The tiny lamp which burned before the golden shrine of Kwan-on on the Buddha-shelf cast a wan glimmer over the spotless alcove, and threw a ghostly light on her finery. Through the thin paper _shikiri_ she could hear her father's deep breathing, and in the room in which he slept a little clock chimed eleven. She opened the door of the shrine and stood looking at the tablet it held--the _ihai_ of her mother. The _kaimyo_, or soul name, it bore signified "Moon-Dawn-of-the-Mountain-of-Light-Dwelling-in-the-Mansion-of-Luminous- Perfume." She rubbed her palms softly together before it and her lips moved silently. From the golden shadows she seemed suddenly to feel her mother's hand guiding her childish steps to that place of morning worship, to see that loving face, as she remembered it, looking down on her across the rim of years. She bent and passed her hand along the two swords, one long, one short, that rested on their lacquered rack beneath the shelf--it was her farewell to her father. She had left no message. She could tell no one. If she succeeded, she would have done her part. If she failed--there was only a blank darkness in that thought. But she had no agitation now--only a dull ache. In her own room she took a book from a drawer and slipped it into her sleeve, caught up the _furoshiki_, stepped noiselessly to the outer porch and carefully closed the _amado_ behind her. She walked swiftly back to the empty Chapel. The great glass window that had seemed so beautiful with the light behind it, was now dark and opaque and dead. Only the cross above the roof in the moonlight looked as white as snow. She drew the book from her sleeve. It was her Bible, with her name on the fly-leaf. She unhooked the gold chain about her neck and slipped off the little enamel cross. She put this between the leaves of the Bible and laid it on the doorstep. A half-hour later she stood before a wistaria-roofed gate in _Kasumiga-tani Cho_--the "Street-of-the-Misty-Valley"--near Aoyama parade-ground. The glass lantern above it threw a dim light on a gravel path twisting through low shrubbery. Down the street she could hear a dozen students chanting the marching song of Hirosé Chusa, the young war hero: "Though the body die, the spirit dies not. He who wished to be reborn Seven times into this world, For the sake of serving his country, For the sake of requiting the Imperial Favor-- Has he really died?" Haru opened the gate. Cherry-petals were sifting down like rosy snowflakes over the scarlet trembling of _nanten_ bushes. A little way inside was a graceful house entrance half-shaded by a trailing vine. The _amado_ were not closed, the _shoji_ were brilliantly lighted. With a little sob she unfastened the golden _obi_, rewound and tied it with the knot in front. CHAPTER XXXIV ON THE KNEES OF DELILAH The room where Phil sat was softly bright with _andon_, through whose thin paper sides the candle-light filtered tranquilly. It had been furnished in a plain, half-foreign fashion; a book-rack and a French mahogany desk sat in a corner, an ormolu clock ticked on its top, and beside it was a lounge piled with volumes from the shelves. On a bracket sat three small carvings in dark wood, replicas of the famous monkeys of the great Jingoro the Left-Handed, preserved in Iyeyasu temple at Nikko. With their paws one covered his eyes, another his ears, the third his mouth, representing the "I see not--I hear not--I tell not" of the ancient wisdom. The place, however, to which these had given a suggestion of quaint and extraordinary art, was now touched with a certain tawdriness. It would have affected a Japanese almost to nausea. The severity of beauty of its etched and paneled walls, the plain elegance of its satinwood fittings, were cheapened with a veneer of vulgarity. A row of picture postcards in colors was pinned on the wall--the sort the tourist buys for ten _sen_ on the Ginza, too highly tinted and with much meretricious gilding--and a photograph hung in a silver-gilt frame of interlocked dragons. It showed a girl in abbreviated skirts and exaggerated posture; on the mount was printed: "Miss Cissy Clifford in _Gay Paree_." The air was full of the sickly-sweetish smell of Turkish cigarettes. The desk was a confusion of pipes, ivory _nets'ke_, cigarette-boxes and what not, and a man's cloth cap and a gauntlet were tossed in a corner, beside an open gold-lacquer box heaped with gloves. Phil, however, felt no qualm. The room fitted him as a scabbard fits its sword. He had discarded his heavier outer clothing and donned a loose, wide-sleeved robe of cool silk, tied with a crimson cord. "Give me the whisky-and-soda," he said to the grizzled servant, in the vernacular, "and I shan't want you again to-night." The bottle the Japanese left at his elbow was becoming Phil's constant comforter. Alone with his thoughts, he fled to it as the _hashish_ eater to his drug, because it banished his dread and bolstered the courage that he longed for. To-night, as he sat with the intoxication creeping like dull fire in his blood, he was thinking of Haru, with her soft smooth skin, her perfect neck, her lithe, graceful limbs, her eyes that held caught laughter like moss in amber. His thought broke off. He had heard a sound outside. It seemed to be a light tapping on the grill of the outer door. Could it be Bersonin? Had anything gone wrong? He went hastily into the anteroom and opened the grill. For an instant he stared unbelievingly at the figure standing there, the gay _kimono_, the rouged cheeks, the sparkling eyes. He took a step forward. "Haru! Is it really you, little girl?" he cried. She laughed--a high, clear, flute-like note. "Such an astonish!" she said. "You not know my _mus'_ come ... after ... after those kiss? Can I not to come in, Phil-lip?" With a laugh that echoed her own--but one of ringing triumph--he caught her hand, drew her into the lighted room and closed the _shoji_. His look flamed over her. "I couldn't believe my eyes!" he cried. "I don't half believe them yet! Why, your hands are as cold as ice. We'll have a drink, eh!" He went into an outer room, came back with a bottle of champagne and knocked off its neck against the mantel. "Yes, yes!" she said. "My mus' drink--so to be gay, Phil-lip!" She drank the bubbling liquor at a draft. "What are the use of to be good? _Né?_" "You're right, little girl! The pious people are the dull ones!" He came to her unsteadily--he had noticed the reversed _obi_. "So you'll train with me, eh? Well, we'll show them a trick or two! How would you like to have plenty of money, Haru--as much as you can count on a _soroban_? Would you think a lot more of me if I got it for you?" "You so--much clever!" she laughed. "No all same Japan man. He ve-ree stupid! My think you mos' bes' clever man in these whole worl', to goin' find so much money--_né?_" With a savage elation he drew her close in his arms. The great spiral of her headdress drooped under his caresses, and the blue-black hair fell all about the white face. CHAPTER XXXV WHEN A WOMAN DREAMS Riding with Patricia in the big victoria next day, its red-striped runner diving ahead, Barbara forgot her vague wonder at Haru's disappearance, as she felt the enchanted mystery of Tokyo creep further into her heart. They threaded the softly dreaming silence of the willow-bordered moat that clasps the Imperial grounds with a girdle of cloudy emerald, where the "Dragon Pines" of the great _Shogun Iyemits_ fling their craggy masses of olive-green down over the leaning walls to kiss the mirroring water--past many-roofed, Tartar-like watch-towers, cream-white on the blue, and through little parks with forests of thin straight-boled trees and placid lotos ponds seething with the dagger-blue flashings of dragon-flies, all woven together into a tapestry, lovely, remote, fantastic--like the projection of some dream-legend whose people lived a fairy story in a picture-book world. On this oriental background continually appeared quaint touches of the foreign and bizarre: a huge American straw hat, much befrilled and befeathered, on the head of a baby strapped to its mother's back, or a hideous boa of chenille like bunched caterpillars marring the delicate native neckwear of an exquisite _kimono_. On the slope of a hill they came on a motley crowd, which included a sprinkling of foreigners, gathered before the entrance of a temple yard, where a rough, improvised amphitheater had been erected. Patricia called to the driver, and he pulled up. "Fire-walk," said the _betto_. "Ontaké temple." From their elevated seat they could see white-robed and barefooted priests waving long-handled fans and wands topped with shaggy paper tassels over an area of red-hot cinders. Presently some of them strode calmly across the smoking mass. "They call that the 'Miracle of Kudan Hill,'" said Patricia. "They are making incantations to the god of water to come and drive out the god of fire. It's a _Shinto_ rite." A laugh rose from the spectators. The High Priest was inviting the foreigners to attempt the ordeal. "Look!" said Patricia. "There is the man who got the free lecture out of your uncle on the train--the man with the white waistcoat and the red beard. And there's 'Martha,' too. I do believe she's going to try it!" She was. Undeterred by the misgivings of the rest, the lady of the painted muslin calmly divested herself of shoes and stockings and marched across and back again. "There!" she said triumphantly. "I said I would, and I _did_! It may be a miracle, but my feet are simply _frying_!" The carriage rolled on across a section of busy trade. From a side street came the brassy blare of a phonograph. "What a baffling combination it is!" said Barbara. "Last night some of those people were at Mukojima, listening to dead little drums and squealing fifes, and to-night here is Damrosch and the _Intermezzo_." "The other day when I passed," said Patricia, "it was _Waltz Me Around Again, Willie_, and forty children were prancing to it. Martha's husband is 'in' phonographs, by the way. She told me all about it at the Review. He's making a set of Japanese records--_geisha_ songs and native orchestra pieces and even street-noises--to copyright at home." Presently the horses stopped before a great gate of unpainted cedar, roofed with black and white tiles and bossed with nails of hammered copper. Above it two pine-trees writhed like a Doré print. "One of the Empress' ladies-in-waiting lives here," Patricia said. "I'll walk home and on the way I can leave some 'call-tickets'--Tucker's name for visiting-cards. Give my love to the bishop." She looked wistfully after Barbara as the latter bowled away toward Ts'kiji and her uncle's. Under her flyaway spirits Patricia had the warmest little heart in the world, loyal to its last beat to those she liked. Daunt was decidedly in this category. Like the rest, she had been weaving a cheerful little romance for these two friends. Since the evening at the Cherry-Moon, however, when the newly arrived yacht had been talked of, she had had misgivings. Yesterday, too, Barbara, while confiding nothing, had told her of Austen Ware's coming. Patricia walked up the driveway slowly and with a puzzled frown. But the girl driving on under cherry-stained sky and cherry-scented winds, knew, that one hour, no problems. She was full of the flame and pulse of youth, of a new nascent tenderness and a warm sense of loving all the world. She asked herself if she could really be the poised, self-contained girl who a few weeks ago sailed for the Orient. Some magic alchemy had transmuted all her elements. New emotions dominated her, and through the beauty before her gaze went flashing more beautiful thoughts that linked with the future. In her pocket was a letter. It had been brought to her that morning when she woke and she had read it over and over, kneeling in the drift of pillows, her red-gold hair draping her white shoulders, thrilling, murmuring little inarticulate answers to its phrases, looking up now and then to peer through the bamboo _sudaré_ to the white and green cottage across the lawn. He would not see her to-day--until evening. Then he would ask her.... As the carriage bore her on, she whispered again and again one of the sentences he had written: "There has never been another woman to me, Barbara. There never will be! My Lady of the Many-Colored Fires!" CHAPTER XXXVI BEHIND THE SHIKIRI Mr. Y. Nakajima, the almond-eyed guide of gold-filled teeth, came to the end of his elaborate conversation. He turned from the old servant, leaning on his pruning knife, and spoke to the man who stood waiting outside the wistaria-gate in the Street-of-the-Misty-Valley. "He say Mr. Philip Ware stay here," he announced, "but house is ownerships of his friend, Mr. Daunt, of America Embassy. He regret sadly that no one are not at home." Ware reflected. Daunt's house? He lived in the Embassy compound--so they had said at dinner last night. Why should he maintain this native house in another quarter of Tokyo? There came to his mind that hackneyed phrase "the custom of the country," the foreigner's specious justification of the modern "Madame Butterfly." In this interminable city, with its labyrinthine mazes, who could tell what this or that gray roof might shelter? Was this a nook enisled, for pretty Japanese romances "under the rose"? He had loaned it to Phil--they were friends. Ware struck his stick hard against the hedge. He scarcely knew what thought had entered his mind, so nebulous was it, so indefinable. If he had thought to use this discovery, he knew no way; if it was Daunt's covert, here was Phil in possession. "Ask him if he has any idea where he is." The guide translated. The servant was ignobly unacquainted, as yet, with the _danna-San's_ illustrious habits. He arrogantly presumed to suggest that he might augustly be in any one of a hundred esteemed spots. Ware thought a moment, frowningly. "Tell him I am Ware-_San's_ brother," he said then, "and that I have just arrived in Tokyo. I shall wait in the house till he comes." The old man bowed profoundly at the statement of the relationship. He spoke at some length to the guide. The latter looked at Ware questioningly but hesitated. "Well?" asked the other tartly. "He think better please you wait to the hotel." Ware struck open the gate with a flare of irritation. "You can go now," he said to the guide, and disdaining the servant, strode along the gravel path to the house entrance. The old man looked after him with an enigmatic Japanese smile. It was not his fault if the foreigners (the _kappa_ devour them!) ate dead beasts and were all quite mad! He tucked up his _kimono_, stacked his gardening-tools neatly under the hedge, and betook himself across the street for a smoke and a game of _Go_ with the neighbor's _betto_. Under the trailing vine Ware slid back the _shoji_ and entered the house. As he stood looking at the interior his lip curled. He hated the cheapness and vulgarity to which Phil turned with instinctive liking, and he had long ago come thoroughly to despise his younger brother and to relish the whip-hand which the law, with its guardianship, gave him. The place fitted Phil, from the cigarette odor to the loud photograph in the dragon-frame and the partly open wall-closet with its significant array of bottles. It expressed his idea of "a good time!" He slid open a _shikiri_. It showed a room, evidently unused, littered with tools, a dusty table with models of curious wing-like propellers, a small electric dynamo and a steel-lathe. He opened another, and stood looking at the room it disclosed with a faint smile. It was scrupulously clean and orderly, and, in contrast to the outer apartment, had an atmosphere of delicate refinement. On the wall hung a tiny gilt image of Kwan-on and below it on an improvised shelf an incense rod was burning with a clean, pungent odor. At one side was suspended a mosquito-bar of dark green gauze, and across a low stool was laid a _kimono_, with silver camelias on a mauve ground. He picked this up and looked at it curiously, half conscious of a faint perfume that clung to it. He shut his teeth. The camelia had always been Barbara's favorite flower! * * * * * Meanwhile the girl thus incongruously in his thought had felt a gray shadow across her sunshine. She found her uncle greatly perplexed and troubled. Haru's Bible, found on the Chapel doorstep, had been brought to him that morning. He had sent at once to the Street-of-Prayer-to-the-Gods and the messenger had returned with news of her disappearance. The fact that she had taken clothing with her showed that the flight was a deliberate one. It pained him to think what the return of the book and the little cross might mean. In his long residence in Japan the bishop had grown accustomed to strange _dénouements_, to flashing revelations of subtle deeps in oriental character. But save for one instance of many years ago--which the sight of Barbara must always recall to him--he had never been more saddened than by to-day's disclosure. What he told her had left Barbara with an uneasy apprehension. She drove away pondering. The anxious speculation blurred the glamour of the afternoon. The homeward course took her through Aoyama, by unfrequented streets of pleasant, suburban-like gardens and small houses with roofs of fluted tile as softly gray as silk. Here and there a bean-curd peddler droned his cry of "_To-o-fu! To-o-fu-u!_" and under a spreading _kiri_ tree a blind beggar squatted, playing a flute through his nostrils, while his wife, also blind and with a beady-eyed baby strapped to her back, twanged a _samisen_ beside him. In the road groups of little girls were playing games with much clapping of hands and shouting in shrill voices. In one of the cross-streets a dozen coolies strode, carrying flaming white banners painted in red idiographs. The last bore a huge _papier-maché_ bottle--an advertisement of a popular brand of beer. A brass band of four pieces, discoursing hideously tuneless sounds, led them, and between band and banners stalked a grotesquely clad figure on stilts ten feet tall, the shafts pantalooned so that his legs seemed to have been drawn out like India-rubber. The spidery pedestrian was followed by a score of staring children of all ages and sizes. Suddenly Barbara rose to her feet in the carriage. She had seen a girl emerge from a small temple and turn into a side street. "Fast! Drive fast, Taka," she called quickly. "The street to the left!" He obeyed, but a _soba-ya_ had halted his shining copper cart of steaming buckwheat, and momentarily delayed them. The hastening figure was farther away when they rounded the turning. Barbara clasped her hands together. "It _was_ Haru! It _was_ Haru! I am _sure_!" she whispered. The girl slipped through a gateway hung with wistaria. As Barbara sprang to the ground she was hurrying through the garden. "Haru!" But the flying figure did not seem to hear the call. Barbara ran quickly after her along the gravel path. * * * * * In the house, Austen Ware, standing with the _kimono_ in his hand, had heard the rumble of carriage wheels. He had left the outer _shoji_ open, and through the aperture he saw the slim form hastening toward the doorway. An exclamation broke from his lips. Behind her, just entering the gate, was Barbara! For a breath he stared. A cool, thriving suspicion--one bred of his anger and humiliation, that shamed his manhood--ran through him. Barbara, _there_? Was it another _rendezvous_, then? The fierce, self-dishonoring doubt merged into the mad jealousy that already burned him like a brand. He dropped the _kimono_, drew back the _shikiri_ of the unused apartment, and stepped inside. Swiftly and noiselessly the light partition slipped into place behind him. CHAPTER XXXVII [Japanese: Donto] Through the thin paper pane, parted by his moistened finger, Ware's hot, hollow eyes saw the Japanese girl come into the room. She had not waited to shut the _shoji_ behind her. She drew quick sobbing breaths and her eyes had the desperate look of a hunted animal. She ran into the sleeping apartment and closed its _shikiri_. Barbara had halted at the doorway. As she stood looking in, her eyes fell on the mauve _kimono_ with its silver camelias. It was the robe Haru had worn the first evening she came to her. If she had doubted, all doubt was now gone. An instant she hesitated, then, with sudden resolution, knocked on the grill and stepped across the threshold. The man who watched could not solve the puzzle, but in that instant the sick suspicion he had harbored became a cold and lifeless thing in his breast. A sense of shame rushed through him as he saw her gaze wander about the interior with its veneer of the foreign: to the disordered desk--the lounge and its litter of books--the photograph on the wall--the open panel with its champagne bottles. In her glance distaste had grown to a quick question. The coarse suggestions of the place were welling over her. Whose house was this? Had Haru seen her and was she hiding from her? Suddenly she saw the man's cap and gauntlet in the corner. Her cheeks rushed into flame. She seemed to see Haru's innocent face smiling at her over the throbbing _samisen_ and through its tones to hear again the echo of a ribald laugh before the gilded cages of the Yoshiwara. Something in her cried out against the inference. All at once she took an abrupt step forward. She was looking at the round glass lantern just outside the doorway, painted with three characters: [Japanese: Donto] She chilled as if ether had been poured in her veins. The name they stood for had been her first lesson in Japanese--_which Haru had taught her_! She snatched up one of the volumes from the chair. It was Lillienthal's _Conquest of the Air_. She opened it to the title page. Ware, watching, saw with surprise that she was trembling violently. She had grown pale to the lips. The book slipped from her fingers and crashed on to the _tatamé_. It lay there, open as she had held it, and he saw what was written across the white leaf. It was Daunt's name. His thought leaped as if at the flick of a lash. Daunt's book! What was she thinking? The piteous pallor that swept her face like an icy wave answered him. Why she was there--her interest in this Japanese girl who fled from her--he could not guess. But it was clear that she had not known the house was Daunt's, and that with the knowledge, she was face to face with what must seem a damning complicity. Perhaps some hint of this retreat had come to her--he knew how gossip feathered its shafts!--some covert allusion, some laughing _oui-dire_, to which her coming had now given such verity. Phil was the _deus ex machina_ of the situation. His Japanese _amour_ she was now laying at Daunt's door! All this flashed through his mind in an instant. He watched her intently. Over Barbara was sweeping a hideous chaos of mocking voices, bits of recollection barbed with agony. The little house near Aoyama parade-ground--the carriage had passed the great empty plaza a few moments ago--that he had kept from "sentiment"! The house she had asked him to show her, when he had evaded the request. And Haru! A feeling of physical anguish like that of death came to her; a dull pain was in her temples and the floor seemed to be rising up with her toward the ceiling. Daunt? He whose lips had lain on hers, whose letter was in her bosom--it burned her flesh now like a live coal! "There has never been another woman to me, Barbara. There never will be!" The words seemed to launch themselves from the air, stinging like fiery javelins. Behind the _shikiri_, a weird, malevolent clamor was shouting through Ware's brain. He stood alone with his temptation. What had he to do with Daunt, or with her belief in him? She had accepted his own advances, beckoned him half around the world--for what? To discard him for this man whom she had known but a handful of days! Chance had arranged this _mise en scène_. Was he to tell her the truth--and lose her? The key to the situation was in his hand. He had only to keep silence! At that moment he felt crumble down in some crude gulf within the fabric of his self-esteem--the high-built structure of years. Something colder, formless and malignant, came to sit on its riven foundations. A savage elation grew in him. Suddenly a _shikiri_ was flung aside. Haru stood there, her face deathly pale, her hands wrenching and tearing at her sleeves. She laughed, a high, gasping, unnatural treble. "So-o-o, _Ojo-San_! You come make visiting--_né_? The shrill voice rang through the silent room. "My new house now, an' mos' bes' master. No more Christian! My bad--oh, ve-ree bad Japan girl!" With another peal of laughter she pointed to the knot of her _obi_. It was tied in front. Barbara ran down the garden path as if pursued. She stepped into the carriage blindly. The _Fox-Woman_! Votary of the Fox-God, at whose candle-lighted shrine she had refused tribute! This, then, was the end. It came to her like the striking of a great bell. To-morrow the streets would lie as vivid in the sunlight, the buglers would march as blithely, the bent pines would wave, the lotos-pads in the moat glisten, the gorgeous _geisha_ flash by: she alone would know that the sun had died in the blue heaven! "Home, Taka," she said, and leaned back and closed her eyes. * * * * * Behind her Haru's laughter had broken suddenly. She rushed into the little sleeping-room and threw herself on the _tatamé_ before the tiny image of Kwan-on, in a wild burst of sobbing. Ware opened the _shikiri_ softly, and with noiseless step, passed out of the house. CHAPTER XXXVIII THE LADY OF THE MANY-COLORED FIRES The spacious residence of the Minister of Marine that night was a maze of light. All social Tokyo would be at the ball in honor of the Admiral and officers of the visiting Squadron. It was late when Daunt turned his steps thither through the fragrant evening. The deciphering of a voluminous telegram had kept him at the Chancery till eleven. All that day he had worked with a delicious exhilaration rioting in his pulses. He had not seen Barbara, but her face had seemed always before him--quiveringly passionate as he had seen it in Ben-ten's cave, hazed with daring softness as it had turned to his on the steps of the railway carriage. There had been moments when some aroma of the spring air made him catch his breath, mindful of the crisp, sweet scent of her hair or the maddening fragrance of her lips. He thought of "Big" Murray and his letter, at which he had bridled--how long ago? He understood now what the complacent old pirate had been talking about! He would have an epistle to write him to-morrow in return! To-night he was to see her! In fancy he could feel her slim hand on his sleeve as they danced--could see himself sitting with her in some dusky alcove sweet with plum-blossoms--could hear her say ... A hoarse warning from a _betto_ and he sprang aside for a carriage that dashed past through the gateway. He shook himself with a laugh and walked on through the shrubbery. By day it was a place of mossy shadows, of shrubberied red-lacquer bridges and glimmering cascades; now its polished dwarf-pines and twisted cypresses gleamed with red paper lanterns that hung like goblin fruit and quivered, monster misshapen gold-fish, in the miniature lake. Along the drives stood policemen, wearing white trousers and gloves. Each held a paper lantern painted with the Minister's _mon_ or family crest. Farther on carriages became thicker, till the approach was a crawling stream of gleaming black enamel, sweating horses, crackling whips, and shouting _bettos_. Daunt picked his way among these to where a wide swath of electric light beneath the porte-cochère struck into high relief a strip of scarlet carpet. The interior was dressed with that marvelous attention to minutiæ and artistic _ensemble_ that is characteristically Japanese. The great hall was brilliant _opera bouffe_: a mingling crowd of gold-braided uniforms crossed by colored cordons and flashing with decorations, white necks and shoulders rising from dainty French gowns, gleaming lights, Japanese men in European costume, languorous black eyes under shining Japanese head-dresses, and silken _kimono_ woven in tints as soft as dreams. In the large central room opposite was hung a painting of the Emperor. Japanese who passed it did so reverently. They did not turn their backs. Some of the older ones bowed low before it and withdrew backward. Through a doorway came glimpses of couples on a polished floor swaying to music that swelled and ebbed unceasingly, and down a long vista a pink dazzle of cherry-blooms under a cloth roof. Over all was the exotic perfume of flowers. Daunt had seen many such affairs where the blending of colors and sounds, the scintillant shifting of forms, had been but a maze. To-night's, however, was wound in a glory. All these decorative people, this scented echo of laughter and music, existed only to form a kaleidoscopic setting for the one woman. He went to search for her with his handsome head erect, his shoulders square and a color in his face. He passed through several rooms, revealing one oriental picture after another. In one a series of glass-cases reproduced a _daimyo's_ procession in Old Japan: hundreds of dolls, six inches high, fashioned in elaborate detail--coolies with banners; chest-bearers; caparisoned horses; bullock-carts with huge, black lacquer wheels; _samurai_, visored and clad in armor, with glittering swords and lances. In another were cabinets spread with pieces of priceless gold-lacquer that had cost a lifetime of loving labor. A third the host denominated his "ghost-room," since it was lined with quaint pottery unearthed in ancient Korean tombs. These rooms were filled with the social world of the capital, a gay glimmer of urbanity set off against masses of all the blossoms of spring. In the last room the host stood with the visiting Admiral and several Ambassadors. He was a perfect type of the modern Japanese of affairs, a diplomatist as well as a seasoned Admiral. He had been at Annapolis in '75 and his wife was a graduate of Wellesley. He was one of the strongest of the powerful coterie which was shaping the destinies of new Japan. Daunt greeted him and paused to chat a while with his own chief and Mrs. Dandridge. Her gown was gray and silver, with soft old lace that accentuated the youthful contour of her face, and framed the graciousness and charm that made her marked in however charming and gracious an assembly. Barbara was not there. He entered a veranda where people sat at little tables eating ices frozen in the shape of Fuji, under fairy lamps whose tiny bamboo and paper shades were delicately painted with sworls of water and swimming carp. From one group the Baroness Stroloff waved a hand to him, but Barbara was not there. Beyond, through a canopied doorway, hung the cherry-blooms. He paused on the threshold. It was a portion of the garden walled in with white cloth, and roofed with blue and gold. The space thus inclosed was set with cherry-trees from whose every gray twig depended the great pink pendants. It was floored with soft carpeting, in the center a fountain tinkled coolly, and the roof was dotted with incandescents. In this retreat the violins of the ball-room wove dreamily with the talk and laughter, tenuous and ghost-like, soft as the music of memory. She was not there. Daunt turned back, threaded the hall and entered the ball-room. There, through the shifting crowd, over flashing uniforms and diamonded tiaras, he saw her. Beside her stood a little countess, one of the noted court beauties, lotos-pale, bamboo-slender, in a _kimono_ of Danjiro blue, with woven lilies. In the clear radiance, Barbara stood almost surrounded. Her white satin gown shimmered in the light, which caught like globes of fire in the gold passion-flowers with which it was embroidered. A new sense of her beauty poured over him. She had always seemed lovely, but now her loveliness was touched with something removed and spiritual. In the blaze of light she looked as delicately pale as a moon-dahlia, but a spot of color was on either cheek and her eyes were very bright. Daunt stood still, feasting his gaze. The Baroness Stroloff paused beside him, chatting with the Cabinet Minister and the representative of the Associated Press. They watched the forms flit past in the swinging rhythm of the _deux-temps_, _kimono_ weaving with black coats and uniforms, varnished pumps gliding with milk-white _tabi_ and velvet pattens. "Pretty tinted creatures," she said. "How do they ever keep on those little thonged sandals?" "Ah, their toes were born to them," the journalist answered. The statesman shrugged his shoulders. "Waltzing in _kimono_ with men is very, very modern for our Japanese ladies," he said. "I myself never saw it until two years ago--when the American Fleet was here. That established it as a fashion. Some of us older ones may frown, but--_shikata-ga-nai!_ 'Way out there is none,' as we say in our language. It's a part of the process of Westernization!" Daunt started when Patricia's fan tapped his arm. "You're frightfully late," she said, as her partner, the German _Chargé_, bowed himself away. "Father will give you a wigging if you don't look out." "I saw him a few moments ago," he answered. "He didn't seem very fierce." "Was he still looking at those spooky curios? I can't see what anybody wants such things for! I always feel like saying what Mark Twain's man said when they showed him the mummy: 'If you've got any nice fresh corpse, trot him out.'" Daunt's smile was a mechanism. She knew that he had ceased to listen. As she looked at his side-face with her clear, kind eyes, a shadow came to her own. Her loyal heart was troubled. After her drive that afternoon, Barbara had kept her room on the plea of rest for the evening; she had not come down to dinner and had appeared only at the moment of starting. At the first glance, then, Patricia had noticed the change. The Barbara she had always known, of flashing impulses and girlish graces, was gone; the Barbara of the evening had seemed suddenly older, of even rarer beauty, perhaps, but with something of detachment, of unfamiliarity. Riding beside her to the ball, Patricia had felt, under the eager, brilliant gaiety, this chilly sense of estrangement, and it had puzzled her. Later she had come to connect it with the man of whose coming Barbara had told her, the man with handsome, bearded face who had seemed, since his greeting in the moment of their entrance, to take unobtrusive yet assured possession of such of her moments as were not given to the great. Withal, he had lent this an air of the natural and habitual which, nicely poised and completely conventional as it was, seemed to convey a subtle atmosphere of proprietorship. So now, as she saw Daunt's gaze, Patricia was a little sad. There had fallen a silence between them which he broke with a sudden exclamation. "No wonder!" he said. "No wonder what?" "That she is a success." "Success! I should think so. She's danced with three Ambassadors and Prince Hojo sat out two numbers with her. Just look at the men around her now!" The music had drifted into a waltz and the group about Barbara was dissolving. A dark face was bending near. Its owner put his arm about her and they glided into the throng. Ware, like all heavy men, danced perfectly and the pair seemed to skim the mirroring floor as easily as swallows, her red-bronze hair, caught under a web of seed-pearls, glowing like a net of fire-flies. Heads turned back over white shoulders and on the edges of the room people whispered as they passed. Floating lightly as sea-foam, the shimmering gown drew near, passing so close that Daunt could have touched it. The lovely white face, over her partner's shoulder, met Daunt's. For a fraction of a second Barbara's eyes looked into his--then swept by as if he had been empty air. It was as if a clenched hand had struck him across the face. He whitened. Patricia felt a sudden sting in her eyelids. She slipped her hand through his arm, and saying something about the heat (it was deliciously cool), drew him down the corridor. She chatted on airily, fighting a desire to cry. But when they came to the entrance of the cherry-blooms, he had not spoken a word. "I see mother still in the spook room," she said. "I must go back to her--no, please don't come with me! Thank you so much for bringing me so far." She left him with a nod and a bright smile that he did not see. He was in a painful quicksand of bewilderment. The cherry-garden was almost empty and the fountain tinkled in a perfumed quiet. He sat down on a bench in its farthest corner. What did it mean? Why, it had been like the cut direct! From her?--impossible! She had not seen him! He had been mistaken! He would go to her--now! He sprang up. A page came into the garden. He was a part of the Minister's establishment; Daunt had often seen him in that house. He carried a tray with a letter on it. "For you, sir," he said. Puzzled, Daunt took it and the boy withdrew. It bore no address. He tore it open. It contained some folded sheets of paper. A tense whiteness sprang to his face as he unfolded them. It was his letter--the only love-letter he had ever written--torn across. Now he knew! It had been true--what he had imagined of the yacht! The cherry-trees seemed to writhe about him, bizarre one-legged dancers waving pink draperies, and a tide of resentment and grief rose in his breast as hot as lava. Had she been only playing with him, then? When she had lain panting in his arms in Ben-ten's cave--when her lips had quivered to his kisses--had it all been acting? Was this what she really was, his "Lady of the Many-Colored Fires?" He, poor fool! had deemed it real, when it had been only a week's amusement. He had almost guessed the truth that night at the tea-house, and how cleverly she had fooled him! His jarring laugh rang out across the tinkle of the fountain. Then, Austen Ware's telegram! It was he who had danced with her to-night, no doubt--Phil's brother. For her the little play was over. The curtain had to be rung down, and this was how she did it. Dim thoughts like these went flitting through the gap of his racked senses. He dropped on the bench and bowed his head between his hands. It had been real enough to him. Painted on his closed eyelids he seemed to see, with a chill, numb certainty, his future unrolling like a gray panorama, incoherent and unwhole, its colors lack-luster, its purpose denied, its meaning missed. Pain lifted its snake-head from the shadows and hissed in his ear, like the jubilant serpent that coiled its bright length by the gate of Eden when the flaming sword drove forth the first man to the desert of despair. Daunt did not know that Patricia, pausing in the corridor, had seen the letter delivered and opened. She went back to her mother with a slow step. "You look worn, dear," said Mrs. Dandridge, as they entered the ball-room. "Are you tired?" "Yes," she said. "I think I won't dance any more, mother." The host had entered before them and now stood at the end of the room with the Admiral of the Squadron and the Ambassador of the latter's nation. Suddenly a young man pushed hastily through the press. He handed his chief a telegram. The Ambassador scanned it, changed color, and held it out to the Admiral with shaking hand. The Secretary who had brought it said something to the Foreign Minister, who turned instantly to give a quick order to a servant. The orchestra stopped with a crash. There was a dead hush over the brilliant room-full, broken only by the movement of the Squadron's officers as they came hurriedly forward beside their Admiral. All looked at the white-haired diplomatist who stood, his eyes full of tears, the pink telegram in his hand. He addressed the grave group of naval men. "Gentlemen," he said, in a low voice, "I have the great grief to announce the sudden death to-day of His Majesty, the King." He bowed to his host, and, followed by the Admiral and his officers, left the house. The Ambassadors and Ministers of the other powers, in order of their precedence, each with his glittering staff and their ladies about him, followed. The gaiety was over; it had ceased at the far-away echo of a nation's bells, tolling half a world away. * * * * * The great house was almost emptied of its guests when the solitary figure that had sat in the cherry-garden passed out along the deserted corridors. Daunt went utterly oblivious that its bright pageantry had departed. A feverish color was in his cheek and his eyes were dulled with a painful apathy. Count Voynich was lighting a cigarette in the cloak room as he entered. "_Sic transit!_" he said. "This calls a quick halt on the plans of the Squadron's entertainment, doesn't it!" There was no answer. Daunt was fumbling, from habit, for the lettered disk of wood in his pocket. "If the King could have lived a few weeks longer," said Voynich, "we'd have heard no more talk of trouble with Japan. He was a great peacemaker. The new regent may be less circumspect. What do you think?" No reply. He spoke again sharply. "I say, Miss Fairfax seems to be making a tremendous walkover, eh?" There was only silence. Daunt did not hear him. Voynich looked at his face, whistled softly under his breath, and went quietly away. CHAPTER XXXIX THE HEART OF BARBARA The Ambassador, standing by the mantel, looked thoughtfully at his wife. She sat in a big wicker chair, in a soft dressing-gown, her hands clasped over one knee in a pose very pretty and girlish. "Come!" he said good-humoredly. "You women are always imagining romances and broken hearts. Why, Barbara and Daunt haven't known each other long enough to fall in love." She looked at him quizzically. "Do you remember how long we had known each other when you--" "Pshaw!" he retorted. "That's just like a woman. She never can argue without coming to personalities. Besides, there never was another girl like you, my dear--I couldn't afford to take any chances." "Away with your blarney, Ned! You know I'm right, though you won't admit it." "Of course I won't. Daunt's not a woman's man. He never was. He's been getting along pretty well with Barbara, no doubt. But this man she's going to marry she's known for a year. The bishop told me about him the day after they landed. He thought she was practically engaged to him then." "'Practically!'" she commented with gentle scorn. "Are girls who have been properly brought up ever 'practically' engaged, and not fully so? She may have expected to marry him, and yet if I ever saw a girl in love--and, oh, Ned, remember that I understand what that means!--she was in love with Daunt yesterday. We women see more than men and feel more. Patsy saw it too. She's feeling badly about it, poor child, I think." "Nonsense!" the ambassador sniffed. "There isn't a shred of evidence. Barbara's not a flirt in the first place, and, if she were, Daunt can take care of himself." "He came to your study, didn't he, after the ball? I thought I heard his voice in the hall." "Yes," he answered. "How did he look?" "Well," he said hesitatingly, "he was a bit off color, I thought. I told him to take a few days off and run up to Chuzenji." "Is he going?" "Yes. He's leaving early in the morning. But don't get it into your sympathetic little head that it has the slightest thing to do with Barbara. The idea's quite absurd. He's never thought of such a thing as falling in love with her!" "Don't you think a woman _knows_ about these things?" "When she's told. And Barbara has told you, hasn't she?" "That she is going to marry Mr. Ware. Yes." "Well, what more do you want?" She shook her head. "Only for her to be happy!" she said tremulously. "I've never known a girl who has grown so into my heart, Ned. I feel almost as though she were Patsy's sister. She has no mother of her own--no one to advise her. And yet--I--somehow I couldn't talk about it to her. I _tried_. She doesn't want to. It seemed almost as if she were afraid." "Afraid?" "Of doing something else. As if she were going into this marriage as a refuge. I don't know just why I felt that, but I did. She was so very pale, so very quiet and contained. It didn't seem quite natural. It made me think of Pamela Langham. You remember her? She was in love with a man who--well, whom she found she couldn't marry. He wasn't the right sort. I suppose she was afraid she would marry him anyway if she waited. So she married another man at once--a man who had been in love with her for years. We were just the same age and she told me all about it at the time. To-night when Barbara told me she had promised to marry this Mr. Ware--and soon, Ned!--I seemed to see poor little dead Pamela looking at me with her pale face and big, deep eyes." She turned her head and furtively wiped her eyes. "If I could only be sure!" she said. "But I think how I should feel--if it were Patsy, Ned!" * * * * * And while they talked, Barbara lay in her blue-and-white room, wide-eyed in the dark. The smiling, ball-room mask had slipped from her face and left it strained and white. She had drawn the curtain and shut out the misty glory of the garden--and the small white cottage across the scented lawn. In those few agonized hours of the afternoon, while she had lain there thrilling with suffering, something deep within her had seemed to fail--as though a newly-lighted flame, white and pure, had fallen and died. Where it had gleamed remained only a painful twilight. It had been a different Barbara that had emerged. The fairest fabric of those Japanese days had crashed into the dust, and in the echo of its fall she stood anchorless, in terror of herself and of the future. The harbor of convention alone seemed to offer safety--and at the harbor entrance waited Austen Ware. At the ball the die had been cast. Outside the window she could hear the rasp of the pine-branches and the sleepy "korup! korup!" of a pigeon. A tiny night-lamp was on the stand beside her. Its gleam lit vaguely the golden Buddha on the Sendai chest. Its face now seemed cold and blank and cruel, and in its dim light, on the shadowy wall, sharp detached pictures etched themselves. She saw herself looking at Austen Ware's yacht, set in that wonderful, warm, orient bay--a swift, white monitor, watching her! She saw a yellow rank of convicts filing into the yawning mouth of Shimbashi Station--like the long, drab years of savorless lives! She saw the great white plaster figure over the entrance-arch of the Yoshiwara--beckoning to hollow smiles that covered empty hearts! Over the thronging pictures grew another--a misty, nightgowned little figure who stood by her, whispering her name. Patricia, after sleepless hours, crept from her bed to Barbara's room, longing for some assurance, she knew not what, some breath of the old girlish confidences to melt the ice that seemed to have congealed between them. And Barbara, with the first phantom of softened feeling she had known that night, took the other into her arms. But it was she who comforted, whispering words that she knew were empty, caressing the younger girl with a touch that held no tremor, no hint of those anguished visions that had floated through the leaden silences of her soul. Till at last, Patricia, half-reassured, smiled and fell asleep; while Barbara, her loose gold hair drifting across the pillow, her bare arm nestling the dark, braided head beside her, lay stirless, staring into the shadows, where the pale glimmer of the Buddha floated, a ghostly _chiaroscuro_. CHAPTER XL THE SHADOW OF A TO-MORROW Nikko's thin street, with its gigantic isle of cryptomeria, was a shimmer of gold, a flicker of crimson and mandarin-blue. All the town was out of doors, for it was the _matsuri_, the local festival of Ieyasu, the great _shogun_ deity, when the ancient furniture and treasures of the temple are carried in priestly processional through the streets. The path of the pageant was lined with spectators: old country-women with shaven eyebrows and burnished, blackened teeth, and with hair tightly plastered in old-fashioned wheels and pinions; children in kaleidoscopic dress, frantically dragged by older girls with pink paper flowers in their stiff black hair; men sitting sedately on sober-colored _f'ton_, bowing to pedestrian acquaintances with elaborate and stereotyped ceremony. In the moldy shade above a grim, wizened row of images of the god of justice, was nailed a sign-board: "Everybody are require not to broke the trees." Beside the moss-covered replicas a booth had been erected for foreign spectators. It was crowded with tourists--a bank of perspiring, fan-fluttering humanity. Up and down trudged post-card sellers, and _saké_ bearers with trays of shallow, lacquer cups. The air shimmered with a fine white dust from the thousands of wooden clogs, and the trees were sibilant with the tumult of the _semi_. The procession seemed interminable. Priests rode on horseback, clothed in black gauze robes with stoles of gold brocade and queer, winged hats. Acolytes marched afoot in green or yellow with stoles of black, like huge parti-colored beetles. Groups of bearers in white _houri_ carried brass altar furniture, great drums fantastically painted, ancient chain-armor and tall banners of every tint. The center of interest was a sacred _mikoshi_, or palanquin, holding the divine symbols, elaborately carved and gold-lacquered, borne by sixty men in white, with cloths of like hue bound turban-wise about their foreheads. Around these circled drum-beaters and pipe-players, making an indescribable medley of sounds. The god entered into his devotees. The palanquin tossed like the waves of the sea. The bearers howled and chanted gutturally. Sweat poured from their faces. Some of them smiled and danced as they staggered on under the immense bearing-poles. Austen Ware saw the strain on Barbara's face. "You are tired," he said. "Let us go back to the hotel." "Where is Patsy?" she asked. "She went with the bishop to see the priestesses dance at the temple. But we can skip that." He drew her out of the crowd and they walked slowly down a side street to the road that skirts the brawling Alpine torrent, rushing between its steep stone banks. Here the spray filled the air with a cool mist and the westerning sun tied the seething water with silver tasseling. Caravans of panier-laden Chinese ponies passed them, led by women in tight blue breeches with sweat-bands about their heads, and squads of uncomfortable tourists bound to Chuzenji, the summer capital of the _Corps Diplomatique_, crumpled in sagging red-blanketed chairs hanging from the bearing-poles of lurching, bronze-muscled coolies. Young peasant girls trotted by swinging baskets of yellow asters and purple morning-glories. A _rick'sha_ carried a baby with gay-colored dolls and painted cats of _papier-mâché_ tied behind it, on its way to the family shrine where the toys could be blessed. The _rick'sha_ man was smiling, but his cough rattled against Barbara's heart. A line of white-robed Buddhist pilgrims trudged along under mushroom hats, with rosaries crossed over their breasts and little bells tinkling at their girdles on their way to worship the Sun on the sacred mountain of Nantai-Zan. Now and then the cut-velvet of the hills rolled back to display clumps of dwellings--the wizard-gray of thatched roofs set in a rippling sea of leaves--and green flights of worn stone steps, staggering up to weird old temples where droning priests were ever at prayer. At the bottom of the road the stream narrowed to a gorge, spanned by the sacred red-lacquer bridge which no foot save the Emperor's may ever tread. On the farther side the wooded hills rose in fantastic, top-heavy shapes like a mad artist's dream. Everywhere they were split and seamed by landslide, gashed by torrents and typhoon, but covered with a wealth and splendor of color. Here and there century-old cryptomeria stood like gray-green bronze pillars, towering over younger forests as straight and symmetrical as Noah's-ark trees. As they walked, Ware chatted of his trip up the China coast--an interesting recital that took Barbara insensibly out of herself. More than once he looked at her curiously. Since that fateful hour when he had stood behind the _shikiri_, he, like Barbara, had gone through much to look so unflurried. He had known moments of bitterness that were galling and stinging, and that left behind them a sense of degradation. But he held to his course. So short-lived a thing as her love for Daunt must wither! "It will pass," he had told himself, "and she will turn to me." The trip to Nikko had encouraged him. It had been the time of the bishop's regular spring visit and Barbara had welcomed the opportunity to leave Tokyo, which was so full of painful memories. Patricia adored Japan's "Temple Town" and Ware had joined the party there with as little delay as was seemly. In the three days of the poignant mountain air Barbara had seemed to Patricia to be more like her old self. She could not guess the strength of the effort this had cost or the fierceness of the fight Barbara's pride was making. It was sunset when they mounted the steep road to the hotel--a long, two-storied, modern structure, whose gardens and red balconies gave it a subtle Japanese flavor. On one side of the building the ground fell in a precipitous descent to the rocky bed of the river, whose rush made a restful monotone like wind sighing through linden trees. Behind it the height rose abruptly, and up its side clambered a twisting path, from which a light foot-bridge sprang to the upper piazzas. The path led to a shrine a hundred yards above, set beside an old wisteria tree, musical with the chirp of the "silver-eye," and fluttering with countless paper arrows of prayer. Before it were two wooden benches, and from this eyrie one could look down on the hotel with its graceful balconies, and far below the tumbling stream with its guarded red-lacquer arch. Ware walked with Barbara up the path to the foot-bridge. Near its entrance a small stand had been placed and on it was a phonograph, its ungainly trumpet pointing down toward the stretch of lawn. A heavy red-bearded man, in a warm frock-coat, a white waistcoast and a silk hat pushed far back on his head, was laboring over this, and a plump lady stood near-by, fanning her beaming face with a pocket-handkerchief. They greeted Barbara heartily. "Good afternoon," said the husband. "You can't guess what me and Martha are up to, can you?" "The _samisen_ concert to-night?" she hazarded. "Right!" he said. "First crack out of the box, too! I'm going to take a record of it." He tapped the cylinder. "This is a composition of my own. I leave it out here all night to harden, and then I give it a three days' acid bath that makes it as hard as steel. It'll last for ever. Now what do you suppose I'm going to do with the record? I'm going to give it to you." The lady beside him nodded and smiled. "He's been planning it ever since he heard you say the other day that you liked _samisen_ music," she said. "You see," he went on with a laugh. "I haven't forgotten that line of talk your uncle gave me on the train, my first day in Japland. It did me a lot of good. I guess what he doesn't know about it isn't worth telling," he added with a glance at Ware. "He is an authority, of course," said Ware. "Well, I'm an authority, too--on phonographs. And if you'd accept this, Miss Fairfax--" "I shall be _delighted_!" said Barbara warmly. "I shall value it very, very highly." She smiled back at them over her shoulder. The frank, honest kindliness of the couple pleased her. The piazza opened into a small sitting-room with cool bamboo chairs and portières of thin green silk stenciled with maple-leaves. "Will you wait a moment, Barbara?" asked Ware. "I have something to show you." She stopped, looking at him with a trace of confusion. "Certainly," she answered. "What is it?" He put a folded paper into her hands. "To-day is the anniversary of our meeting," he said. "This is a memento." She took it with a puzzled look and scrutinized it. Wonder filled her face. "You have made over your yacht to me!" she cried. "My engagement gift," he said. "She is your namesake; I want her to be yours." A flush crept over her cheek. She knew the yacht was his favorite possession and the action touched her. At the same time it brought swiftly home to her, in a concrete way, a numbing reminder of the imminence of her marriage. "The deed has been recorded," he went on, "and the sailing-master and crew have signed articles under the new owner. Perhaps you will let me come aboard of her to hear that _samisen_ record," he added whimsically. "There's a phonograph in her outfit." She smiled, a little tremulously. "You are most kind, Austen," she said. "I--I don't know what to say." "Then say nothing," he answered cheerfully. He stepped to the door and drew aside the portière. She was agitated, feeling unable to meet the situation in the conventional way. At the threshold she paused and held out her hand. He bent and kissed it. She half-hesitated, but in the pause there was a laughing voice and a footstep in the hall. "It's Patsy," she said, and passed quickly out. As Ware walked back across the foot-bridge, the proprietor of the phonograph called to him. "I clean forgot to ask the young lady where to send this record," he said. "Do you know her address?" "It will be more or less uncertain, I fancy," said Ware. "But her yacht is in Yokohama harbor. It is named the _Barbara_. You might send it there." CHAPTER XLI UNFORGOT The sharp sense of imminence which had come to Barbara with Austen Ware's gift remained with her that evening. The dinner was none too merry. For the first time Patricia had failed to be enthused over the Nikko _matsuri_, and the bishop, since Haru's disappearance, had lacked his usual sallies. Barbara had told him nothing of her visit to the house in the Street-of-the-Misty-Valley; to speak of it would probe her own wound too deeply. The after-dinner piazza exhaled the bouquet of evening cigars and the chatter of tourists. Far below, across the gorge, lights twinkled in native doorways and _shoji_ glimmered like oblong yellow lanterns. The air was heavy with balsam odors, and beneath the trees, sparkling now with incandescents, tiny black moths had replaced the sunlight flashing dragon-flies. Sitting in a semicircle on straw mats the _samisen_ players at length mingled their _outré_, twittering cadences with the soft thunder of the water. As the musicians finished their last number and trooped away, Patricia yawned and rose. "Here," she observed, "is where little Patsy puts her face and hands to bed. This mountain air is perfectly demoralizing!" The two girls went up-stairs together. At her own room Patsy put her arms around the other and kissed her. "Oh, I wonder if you're _sure_!" she said. Then she fled inside. Barbara threw open the window of her room and drew a low stool to the balcony. "I wonder!" she said aloud. With elbows on the railing and chin in hands, she looked long and earnestly into the dark void. Why was she no longer able to warm to all this beauty and meaning? These cryptomeria shadows, dreaming of the faded splendors of a feudal past--the streets along which legions of pilgrims had walked muttering prayers to their gods--the marvelous lacquered temples of red and gold, wrought by patient love of long dead yesterdays, in handiwork to which time had given a softened glory such as those who dreamed them never saw--the heavenly soaring of pagoda doves against the peach-blow sky--the shrines worn with their centuries of worship and dancing and booming bells! Forgetting--and remembering no more--would that be a soul-task too hard for her? Was all that had been instinct with wonder and joy to be henceforth but emptiness and desolation--because an ideal had gone from her for ever? She thought of the belled and rosaried pilgrims climbing Nantai-Zan. She seemed to see the faint, far glimmer of their lanterns. Beyond that pilgrimage over dark crags and grim precipices lay for them the sunrise of hope! In the room behind her hung one of the famous prints of Hiroshige, the great Japanese master--a group of peasants crossing the long skeleton bridge of Enoshima. She thought of this now, and suddenly all the spot had meant to her welled over her. She saw again the enchanted Island--the long shaded stairways of gray stone, the brown-legged girls gathering seaweed, and beyond the old seawall the gulls calling to their mates. She saw the generations of lovers pass one by one before Ben-ten's altar, murmuring their hearts' desire. Daunt's arms seemed to be again around her. She felt his kisses, heard his voice as they walked under the singing trees--walked and dreamed and forgot that pain was ever born into the world. She started. A horse was coming up the hill, his hoofs thudding softly in the loose shale. The rider dismounted at the porch. A moment later, crop in hand, he passed beneath her window. The light fell on his face. Barbara's heart bounded and then stood still, for she recognized him. "There has never been another woman to me, Barbara!" Mocking voices seemed to shout it satirically from the emptiness, and against the dark Haru's face rose up before her. She shivered. She went in and closed the window, drawing down the blind with a nervous haste. But she could not shut out that face, and in spite of herself her thoughts had their will with her. What was Daunt doing there? Patsy had said that he was in Chuzenji. But that was only a handful of miles away. He looked worn and older--he had been suffering, too! She hugged this knowledge to her heart. He knew, of course, why she had ended it all--_Haru would have told him_! She clenched her hands and began to pace up and down the room, now stopping to peer with bright miserable eyes into the mirror, now throwing herself into a chair. Once she put her hand into her bosom, groping for her father's picture--to withdraw it with an added pang. For she had forgotten; she had lost the locket the afternoon of her drive with Patricia. A knock came at the door, and a bell-boy handed her a penciled note. She read it wonderingly, then, hastily smoothing her hair, went quickly along the hall to the sitting-room. In the dimly lighted room a figure came toward her from the shadow. It was Philip Ware. CHAPTER XLII PHIL MAKES AN APPEAL The youth who stood before her now, however, was not the Phil Barbara had seen at Mukojima. There was no hint of spruce grooming in his attire; it was overlaid with the dust and grime of the road. The jaunty, self-satisfied look was ravaged by something cringing, that suggested sleeplessness and undefined anxiety. Why should he come at such an hour--and to her? The distaste which her first view of him had inspired returned with added force as she felt the touch of his hand and heard herself say: "So this is 'Phil.' I have often heard of you from your brother. Have you seen him?" "No," he said. "I don't want him to know I'm here--yet. I--I came to see you." He paused, twisting his cloth cap in his fingers. He was in a desperate strait. His brother's silence since his visit to the house in Aoyama (of which Phil had learned from the servant) had seemed to mean the worst. The place had contained sufficient documents in evidence as to his mode of living, and the reflection opened gloomy vistas of poverty from which he turned with abject fear and dread. There was one alternative, and this, a grisly shadow, had stalked beside him since an evening when he had dined with Bersonin. It had peopled his sleep with terrifying visions which even Haru and the brandy had been unable to banish, and his waking hours had been haunted by the expert's yellowish eyes. Between devil and deep sea, he had heard of his brother's engagement, and the wild thought of appealing to him through Barbara had come to him as a forlorn hope. Now, face to face with her, he found the words difficult to say. "Won't you sit down?" she said, and took a chair opposite him, looking at him inquiringly. "I ought to apologize for a rig like this," he went on, glancing at his sorry raiment, "but I came in a friend's motor, and I'm going back to-night. I thought you wouldn't mind, now--now that you are engaged to marry Austen. You are, aren't you?" She inclined her head. "Yes," she said slowly, "I have promised to marry him." "Then you know him pretty well, and you know that he--that he doesn't altogether approve of me." "I have never heard him say that," she interrupted quickly. "It's true, though," he rejoined bitterly. "He's always been down on me. I'm not staid enough for him. He made his money by grubbing, and he thinks everybody else ought to do the same. It's--it's the matter of money I want to speak to you about." He paused again. "Yes?" she said. "Since I left college," he went on, "Austen has always made me an allowance. But I've been out here a year now, and I--well, you know what the East is. I've had to live as other young fellows do, and I've spent more than he gives me. I've--played some, too, and then this spring I got hit hard at the races. It was just a run of bad luck, when I had expected to square myself." He was eager and voluble now. She seemed to be considering--he was making an impression. He might come out all right after all! His volatile spirits rose. "You see," he said, "Austen never overlooks anything. He's as likely as not to cut me off entirely and leave me high and dry. I--I thought perhaps you would--you might get him to do the decent thing and help me out of the hole. If I once got straight I'd stay so, but I want a fair allowance. It isn't as if he had to work for what I spend. He ought to give it to me. I can't go on as I am; I'm in debt--in deep. I can't take up my _chits_ at the club. I'm living in Tokyo now--in a Japanese house in Aoyama that a friend has loaned me--because I haven't the face to show myself in Yokohama!" He twirled his cap and looked up at her. "That reminds me," he said, with a sudden recollection. "Austen was there the other day when I was away, and afterward I found something of yours which he must have dropped. Here it is. It has your name on it." He handed her a small locket with a broken chain. She took it with an exclamation. She was staring at him strangely. "This house you speak of--whose is it?" "It belongs to Mr. Daunt." "You mean--you say--that you have been living in it?" "Yes. Why?" She had risen slowly to her feet, her face hotly suffused. "Then--then Haru--" She spoke in a dry whisper. He started, looking at her with quick, resentful suspicion. "What do you know about Haru?" "Never mind! Never mind that! I want to know. Haru--she is--Mr. Daunt was not--" "He never saw her in his life so far as I know," he answered sulkily. "What has that to do with it?" For an instant she looked at him without a word, her fingers working. Then she began to laugh, in a low tone, wildly, chokingly. "Of course! Of course! What has that to do with it? What you want is more money, isn't it! That is all you came to tell me!" He, too, was on his feet now, uncertain and mistrustful. Was she making game of him? He saw Barbara's gaze go past him--to fasten on something in the background. He turned. In the doorway with its maple-leaf portière stood Austen Ware. Barbara's laugh had fallen in a shuddering breath that was like a sob. "Here is your brother now," she said. "Austen, Phil and I have been getting acquainted. And what do you think? He has found my lost locket." She held it up toward him. He had come toward them. In the dim light his face looked very white, and his eyes glittered like quicksilver. He held out his hand. "Why, Phil!" he exclaimed. "This is a great surprise. When did you arrive, and are you at this hotel?" Phil had stood shamefaced. At the tone, however, which seemed an earnest of renewed favor, he flushed with relief. "I've just come," he answered--"in a friend's motor, and I must go back at once. But I'll come up again by train to-morrow, if you'd like me to." "Very well," was Ware's reply. "We'll wait till then for our talk. I'll come and see you off." Neither of the others caught the tense repression in the tone or realized that his smile was forced and unnatural, as he added: "We must put a ban on late hours, Barbara, if you are to climb Nantai-Zan to-morrow." She went to the door, her thoughts in a tumult, a wild exhilaration possessing her. She wanted to laugh and to cry. The black, cold mist that had enveloped her had broken, and the warm sunlight was looking again into her heart. "Good night, Phil," she said. "Thank you so much for--for bringing me the locket. You can't guess how much it meant to me!" As the silk drapery fell behind her, the self-control dropped from Austen Ware's face, and a hell of hatred sprang into it. Chance had given Phil the one card that spelled disaster, and chance had prompted him to play it. In Barbara's mind Daunt stood absolved! He saw the castle he had been building tottering to its fall. He turned on his brother a countenance convulsed with a fury of passion from which Phil shrank startled. "Come," he said in a muffled voice. "We can't talk here." He led the way through the hall and across the foot-bridge to the hillside, gloomy now, for the incandescents in the trees had been extinguished. Phil followed, his face gone white. A rack stood at the outer door, and his fingers, slipping along it as he passed, closed on a riding-crop. On the shrubberied slope Ware turned. One twitching hand dropped on his brother's shoulder; the other pointed down the path. "Go, damn you!" he said, "and never show your face to me again! Not one cent shall you have from me! Now nor hereafter--I have taken care of that!" Phil lifted the crop and struck him across the head--two savage, heavy blows. Ware staggered and fell backward down the steep declivity, his weight crashing through the bushes with a dull, sickening sound. There was a silence in which Phil did not breathe. The stars seemed suddenly very bright. From an open window came a woman's shrill, careless laugh, threading the hushed roar of the water below. The lighted _shoji_ across the river seemed to be drifting nearer. He could see the glow of a forge in a native smithy, like an angry, red-lidded eye. The crop fell from his grasp. He leaned over, staring into the dark. "Austen!" he whispered hoarsely. "Austen!" There was no response. As he gazed fearfully into the shadow, the rising moon, peeping through a bank of cloud, deluged the landscape with a misty gossamer. The light fell on the phonograph. Phil recoiled, for its long metal trumpet seemed a rigid arm stretched to seize him. With a low cry he turned and fled. He skirted the hill to the hotel stables, where Bersonin's huge motor-car stood silent. The Japanese chauffeur was curled up in the tonneau, fast asleep. Five minutes later Barbara heard the throb of the great mechanism speeding down the shadowy cryptomeria road. CHAPTER XLIII THE SECRET THE RIVER KEPT Daunt had dined cheerlessly in the deserted dining-room. Afterward, shrinking from the gay piazzas, he had struck off for a long rambling walk. Only the frail moonlight, glimpsing through a cloudy sky, lay over the landscape, when, returning, worn but in no mood for sleep, he found himself at the hill shrine looking down on the white hotel with its long red balconies, brightened here and there by the lighted window of some late-retiring guest. His few days at Chuzenji had passed in a kind of stifled fever. The report of Barbara's engagement had added its poisoned barb. That morning, however, a careless remark had torn across his mood as sheet-lightning tears the weaving dusk. Tokyo was talking of it--of _him_!--making a jest of that sweet, dead thing in his heart? The thought had stung his pride, and there had grown in him a sharp sense of humiliation at his own cowardice. The afternoon had found him riding down the mountain trail to Nikko. To-morrow he would go back to Tokyo--to the round of gaieties that would now be hateful, and to his work. He put out his hand to one of the benches in the deep pine-shadow, but drew it back with a sharp breath. A sliver of the warped wood had pierced his knuckle to the bone. Frowning, he wrapped the bleeding member in his handkerchief and sat down at the bench's other end, bitterly absorbed. The vagrant, intermittent moonlight touched the tumbling water below with creeping silver, and on the horizon, where the cloud-bank frayed away, one white constellation swung low, a cluster of lamps in golden chains. But Daunt's thought had no place for the delicate beauty of the night. His pipe was long since cold, and he knocked out the dead ashes against the bench, and did not relight it. He thought of Tokyo, that to-morrow would stretch so blank and irksome, of the humdrum tedium of the Chancery, in which a few days ago he had worked so blithely. Then all had been interest and beauty. Now the future stretched before him dull and savorless, an arid Desert of Gobi, through whose thirsty waste he must trudge on for ever to a comfortless goal. How long he sat there with bowed head he could not have told, but at length he rose heavily to his feet As he did so he became aware of a sound below him--a footfall, coming toward him. It crossed a bar of the moonlight. He shrank, and a tremor ran over him, for it was Barbara. She had thrown over her a loose cloak, and a bit of soft, clinging lace showed between its dark edges. Her brilliant hair was loosely gathered in a single braid, and in the moonlight it shone like beaten copper against the vivid pallor of her face. He sat stirless, smitten with confusion, conscious that a movement must betray him. A painful embarrassment enveloped him, a fastidious sense of shrinking from her sight of him. He felt a dull wave of resentment that an antic irony of circumstance should have brought them beneath the same roof--to make him seem the moody pursuer, the unwelcome trespasser on her reserve--and that now thrust him into a position which at any hazard he would have shunned. But all thought of himself, all feeling save one vanished, when, with sudden piteous abandon, she threw herself on her knees by the bench and broke into slow sobs, shuddering and tearless. In that outbreak of emotion, were not alone the pent-up pain and humiliation she had suffered, or the desperate joy of that evening's knowledge. There were in it, too, grief and compunction, dismay and doubt of the future. She was engaged to Austen Ware. Would Daunt ever forgive? Would he want her--now? In the first realization of her error, wound with the knowledge that he was so near her, she had felt only joy; but in the silence of her room, shock on shock had come the incredulous question, the burning revulsion. A while she had lain wide-eyed, but at length, sleepless, she had stolen out to the balmy, fragrant night, craving its peace, longing passionately for its soft shadows and the hovering touch of the mountain's breath on her hair. And in its friendly shadows the gust of feeling had swept her from her feet. The action took Daunt wholly by surprise. The sound tore his heart like a ruthless talon, and drew a hoarse word from his lips: "Barbara!" It was little more than a whisper, but she sprang erect with a gasp, her breath labored and terror-stricken. "I--I beg pardon," he said, with a dry catch in his throat. "Don't be frightened. I will go at once. I should not have stayed. But you came so suddenly, and I did not dream--I--" "How strange that you should have been here!" She thought he must hear the loud drumming of her pulse. He laughed--a hard, colorless little laugh. "Yes," he answered, "it seems so." A mist blinded her eyes, for his tone carried to her, even more sharply than had the look she had seen from the balcony, a sense of the pain he had undergone. In what words could she tell him? "You have been suffering," she said in a low voice. "I see that. And it was my fault." He gathered himself together with an effort of will, to still the tingle that flashed along his nerves. "It was quite sane and right, no doubt," he said. "When I have learned to be honest enough with myself, I shall see it so. My mistake was in ever dreaming that I was worth one of your thoughts or a single second's memory." She turned her head abruptly. "Do you hear some one talking? I thought I heard it as I came up the path--like some one muttering to himself." He listened, but there was no sound. "I must have imagined it," she said. There was a moment's pause, and presently she went on: "You have been thinking hard things of me. It is natural that you should. And yet I--whatever you think--whatever you do--that day in the cave, I was not--was not--" "You were nothing you should not have been," he replied rapidly. Her voice had sent a tremor over him--he felt it with a new wave of the morning's contempt. "I understand. There is nothing for you to justify, nothing to regret." She shook her head. "_We have left undone those things which we ought to have done_," she quoted in a low voice, "_and have done those things which we ought not to have done, and there is no health in us_. We all recite that every Sunday. I have something now to confess to you. Won't you stand there in the light? I--I want to see your face." He stepped slowly into a bar of moonlight. "Why," she said, "you have hurt your hand!" She made a quick step toward him, her eyes on the stained bandage. "It is nothing," he said hastily. "I struck it a little while ago. What--" He turned, suddenly alert. A sharp whistle had sounded below them, and bright points here and there pricked the gloom. "They have turned on the tree-lights," he said. There was a sound of voices on the path. Some one ran across the foot-bridge. "Something has happened," she said. "What can it be?" He made no reply. There had flashed to him a quick realization of the position in which, unwittingly, they had placed themselves. She must not be seen at such an hour, in that lonely spot with him! He knew the canons of the world he lived in! With a hushed word he drew her back into the shadow. The voices were speaking in Japanese, and now he heard them clearly. "Some one is injured," he told her. "He fell down the hillside, they think." A hurried step crossed the bridge, and a voice, sharp and peremptory, asked a question in nervous English. Daunt chilled at the answer, turning to her, every unselfish instinct alive to spare her. But she had heard a name. "It is Mr. Ware who is hurt!" He grasped her wrist. "Wait!" he said hurriedly. "I beg you to go by the upper path to the side door." But she caught away her arm and ran quickly down the path. Daunt sprang up the hill, skirted the building, gained its upper corridor, now simmering with excitement, and crossed the bridge. Near its farther end a small group stood about a figure, prostrate beside the phonograph whose cylinder gleamed in the lantern-light. By it Barbara was kneeling. But something came between her gaze and the pallid face--something which she saw with the distinctness of a black paper silhouette on a white ground: a glimmering object, unnoted by the rest, which had lain half-concealed by a bush--something that one day, a thousand years ago, had glittered against Daunt's brown hair as he saluted her from his horse! It was a riding-crop, whose Damascene handle bore the device of a fox's head. * * * * * Two hours later the corridors were silent and the bishop and Daunt sat together in the darkened office, saying few words, both thinking of a man lying straight and alone--and of a girl in an upper room whose promise he had taken with him out of the world. Daunt was to leave for Tokyo on the early morning train. Half the night through he sat there listening to the moan of the rising weather. But a little while before the sky whitened to a rainy dawn, a gray wraith glided along the upper piazza of the hotel. It crossed the foot-bridge to the hillside. Barbara groped and found the crop. Across the night she seemed to see an endless procession of stolid, sulphur-colored figures, linked with thin, rattling chains, filing into the humid, black mouth of a mine. Shuddering, she swung the stick with all her strength, and threw it from her down the steep, into the water that roared and tumbled far below. CHAPTER XLIV THE LAYING OF THE MINE Doctor Bersonin lunched at the Tokyo Club. For three days the rain had fallen steadily, in one of those seasons of torrential downpour which in Japan are generally confined to the typhoon season and which flood its low-lands, turn its creeks into raging rivers and play havoc with its bridges. For three days the sky had been a dull expanse of pearl-gray, and the city a waste of drenched green foliage and gleaming tile, whose roadways were lines of brown mud with a surface of thin glue, dotted with glistening umbrellas of oil-paper and bamboo. Under their trickling eaves the shop-fronts, dark and hollow and comfortless, had held the red glow of _hibachi_; teamsters had shown bristling tunics of rice-straw and loads covered with saffron tarpaulin; _rick'sha_ had reeled past with rubber fronts tightly buttoned against the slanting spears of rain, and the foreign carriages that dragged by had borne coachmen swathed to the ears. This morning, however, the rain had ceased and wind had supervened. The Club was cheerful, with a sprinkling of the younger diplomatic set, Japanese business men and journalists, all men of note. The up-stairs dining-room was full of talk as the expert arrived and chose a small table by himself. While he waited, the boy brought him one of the English-printed newspapers, and he cast his eyes over the head-lines. He read: SQUADRON'S SAILING ORDERS To Leave To-morrow Morning. An Answer to the Alarmists. All Differences Between the Two Governments to Yield to Diplomacy. On the other side was the caption in smaller type: BEAR RAID ON MARKETS Mysterious Selling Movement Causes Uneasiness. He read the latter despatch--an Associated Press wire, under a New York date-line: "At noon to-day the bear movement, heretofore regarded as a natural reaction following an over-advancement, and hence of purely academic interest, suddenly assumed such proportions as to make the outlook one of anxiety. It seems significant that before the Wall Street opening this morning the London market responded to an attack of the same nature. In an era of industrial prosperity and general peace such a phenomenon is alarming, and a serious decline is anticipated in some quarters. The short sales which were such a factor in to-day's market were so distributed that it seems impossible to trace them to any single interest." Bersonin's face expressed nothing. He folded the crackling sheet and laid it to one side. Most of the comment about him turned on the departure of the Squadron. Since the royal death, whose announcement had so abruptly ended the festivities, the black battle-ships had lain motionless in the bay. The appointment of a regent of confessedly more positive policy had given rise to many speculations, and the apostles of calamity had seized the opportunity to sow the seeds of disquiet. The great world, however, had as yet given little thought to their prognostications. The bourses had gone higher and higher. Only in diplomatic circles, where the mercury is habitually unquiet, had there been perceptible effect. To-day the comment showed a sub-tone of relief. The doctor ate little. He left the _petit verre_ with his coffee untouched, signed his _chit_ and went down to his automobile. "Bersonin must be under the weather," one of the men at another table observed, as he passed them. "He looks like a putty image." "Curious chap," remarked the other. "Got a lot in his head, no doubt. Some queer stories afloat about him, but I don't suppose there's anything in them." The other lit his cigar reflectively. "I can't somehow 'go' him, myself," he said. Bersonin was whirled to his house, and presently was in his laboratory with its glass shelves, its books and its wall-safe. A cheerful fire burned in the grate against the dampness. He began to walk restlessly up and down the floor. To-day his government contract expired and Japan had not asked its renewal. He thought of this with a sudden recrudescence of the hatred he had nurtured for the Empire. This had been based on fancied slights, on his failure to receive a decoration, on the surveillance he had lately imagined had been kept on his movements. Well, to-morrow would repay all with interest! There was no hitch in the plan which chance had aided so well. The Roost was the one house on the Yokohama Bluff that could have served his purpose, planted on the cliff-edge and in line with the anchorage. And it had happened to be in the hands of this weak fool for his cat's-paw! His great, cunning brain turned to the future--to that vast career which his stupendous egotism had painted for himself. His discovery was so epoch-making, so terrifying in its possibilities to civilization, that it had nonplussed him. It was too big to handle. He had made the greatest dynamic engine the world had seen--possibly the greatest it would ever see--and yet he knew that the Ambassador had laid his finger on the truth when he had said: "_Humanity would revolt! The man who knew the secret would be too dangerous to be at large!_" But with wealth--wealth enough to buy men and privilege--what might he not do? It would take time, and scheming, and secrecy, but he had them all. And the great secret was always his, and his alone! It would make him more powerful than Emperors, for he who possessed it, with the means to use it, could laugh at fleets and fortifications. Before the machines that he should build the greatest steel-clad that was ever floated would vanish like smoke! He clenched his great hands and his massive frame quivered. "The future, the future!" he said in a low, tense voice. "I shall be greater than Caesar, greater than Napoleon, for I shall hold the force that can make and unmake kings! So surely as force rules the world, so surely shall I, Bersonin, rule the world!" A knock came at the door and Phil entered. He was as pale as the doctor and his clothing was soaked with the rain. Without a word Bersonin locked the door, wheeled an arm-chair before the blaze, pushed him into it and mixed him a glass of spirits. Then he stood looking at him. "It's all right," said Phil. "The tripod fitted to a hair. It can't be seen from either side, and I've sent the boy away and locked the house." "Good," said Bersonin. "All is ready, then. The mechanism is set for the moment of daybreak. Our gains will be enormous, for in spite of the selling the market is up. There has been a little distrust of the situation here and there, though the optimists have had their way. And this latent distrust will add to the _débâcle_ when it comes. We are just in time, for the Squadron has its sailing-orders for to-morrow. Strange how near we were to failure! Who could have foreseen the death of the King? And the rains, too. They say it is doubtful if the trains will run to-morrow." Phil's hand, holding the drink, shook and wavered. "The damned clock-work in the thing!" he said. "I could hear it all the way--I thought every one would hear it. I can't get the ticking out of my brain!" He set down the glass and turned a glittering gaze on the other. "It's worth all that comes from it," he said. "You play me fair! Do you understand? You'll play me fair, or I'll settle with you!" The doctor smiled, a smile of horrible cunning. "As you settled with your brother?" he said. Phil shrank into the chair speechless, looking at him with trepidation in his eyes. The shot had gone home. "Pshaw!" said Bersonin. "Do you take me for a fool not to guess? Come, we needn't quarrel. Our interests are the same. Go home, now, to your Japanese butterfly--and wait!" CHAPTER XLV THE BISHOP ANSWERS A SUMMONS The Chapel was but sparsely filled. From where she sat, Barbara, through the open door, could see the willows along the disconsolate roadway whipping in the fleering dashes of wind. A woman trudged by, bare-legged, her _kimono_ tucked knee-high, the inevitable, swaddled baby on her back. The hot, fibrous song of the _semi_ had died to a thin humming, like bees in an old orchard. Across the bishop's voice she heard the plaintive call of a huckster, swinging by in slow dogtrot with panier-pole on shoulder, and the chirr of a singing-frog under the hedge. The service was in the vernacular, and though she tried to follow it in her _Romaji_ prayer-book--whose words were printed in Roman letters instead of the Japanese ideograph--the lines were meaningless, and she could not fasten her mind on them. She had reached a point in these few tragical days where her mind, overwrought with its own pain, had acquired a kind of benumbing lassitude that was not apathy and yet was far removed from spontaneous feeling. Daunt's presence that dreadful night on the hillside--his confusion--his bleeding hand--his round-about return to the hotel--all this, at the sight of the Damascene crop in the bushes, had flashed to her mind in damnable sequence. And yet something deep and unfathomed within her had driven her to the obliteration of that mute evidence. Austen Ware had slipped and fallen--such was the universal verdict. The truth was sealed for ever in the urn now bound over-seas to its last resting-place. She alone, she thought, knew the secret of that Nikko tragedy. With the next daylight the storm had broken and the ensuing gloomy weather had formed a dismal setting for gloomier scenes, through which she had moved dully and mechanically. When all was over, to Patricia's sorrow, she had not returned to the Embassy, but had gone immediately to her uncle's. The pity offered her--though not openly expressed, since her engagement had not been formally announced--hurt her like physical blows, and the quiet of the Ts'kiji rectory was some solace. To-night, an unwelcome task lay before her. She was to visit the yacht--now, by a satiric freak of chance, legally her own!--to seal the private papers of the man whose deed of gift might not now be recalled. As she sat listening to the meaningless reading and the sighing of the wind above the Chapel roof, Barbara's eyes on the stained-glass figure in the rose-window were full of a wistful loneliness. If her father were only alive--if he could be near her now! Unconsciously her gaze strayed across the hedges, to the gray roof of the old temple where lived the eccentric solitary to whom her thought insistently recurred. In her trouble she longed to go to him, with a longing the greater because it seemed fantastic and illogical. She recalled suddenly the quaint six-year-old of the huge clogs and patched _kimono_--Ishikichi, troubled over the giving up of the family establishment, puzzling his baby brain over the hard things of life. She was startled by a sound outside--the single, shrill, high scream of a horse in some stable near at hand. It cut through a pause in the service, sharp, curdling, like a cry of mortal fear. A baby, near Barbara, awoke and began to cry and the mother soothed it with whispered murmurings. Suddenly there arose a strange rattling, a groaning of timbers. The bishop ceased reading. People were rising to their feet. The building was shifting, swaying, with a sickening upward vibration, as though it were being trotted on some Brobdingnagian knee. Barbara felt a qualm like the first touch of _mal de mer_. "_Ji-shin! Ji-shin!_" rose the cry, and there was a rush for the open air. In another moment she found herself out of doors with the frightened crowd. It was her first experience of earthquake, and the terror had gripped her bodily. The wet trees were waving to and fro like gigantic fans, and a dull moan like an echo in a subterranean cavern seemed to issue from the very ground. A section of tiling slid from the Chapel roof with a crash. "Rather severe that, for Tokyo," said the bishop at her elbow, where he stood calmly, watch in hand. "Almost two minutes and vertical movement." "Two minutes!" she gasped. She had thought it twenty. The nauseating swing had ceased, but in an instant, with a vicious wrench, it began again. "The secondary oscillations," he said. "It will all be over in a ..." As he spoke, the air swelled with a horrible, crunching, grinding roar, like the complaint of a million riven timbers. Across the lane a sinister dust-cloud sprang into the air like a monstrous hand with spread fingers. "It is one of the temples!" said the bishop, and hurried with the rest, Barbara following him. The paved yard was filling with a throng. Agitated priests and acolytes ran hither and thither and slate-colored nuns, with shaven heads and pale, frightened faces, peered through the bamboo-lattices of the nunnery. The newer temple faced the open space as usual, but across the hedged garden no ornate roof now thrust up its Tartar gables. Instead was a huddle of wreckage, upon which lay the huge roof, crumpled and shattered, like the fragments of a gigantic mushroom. From the tangle projected beam ends, coiled about with painted monsters, and here and there in the cluttered _débris_ lay great images of unfamiliar deities. Over all hung a fine yellow dust, choking and penetrating. What was under those ruins? Barbara shivered. She was quite unconscious of the mud and the pelting rain. The bishop drew her under the temple porch, and they stood together watching the men now working with mattocks, saws and with loose beams for levers, prying up a corner of the fallen roof. It seemed an hour they had stood there, when a priest, bareheaded, his robes caked with mud, came from the clustering crowd. The bishop questioned him in Japanese. Barbara guessed from his face what the priest had answered! She waited quiveringly. Through the bishop's mind swift thoughts were passing. He knew by hearsay of the recluse--knew that he was not an Oriental. He had often seen the placard on the little gate: "Maker of Buddhas." He had never passed it without a pang. It seemed a satirical derision of the holiest ideal of the West--a type and sign of reversion, a sardonic mockery of the Creed of Christ. He was a priest holding the torch of the true light to this alien people, and here, a dark shadow across its brightness, had stood this derisive denial. Yet now, perhaps, this man stood on the threshold of the hereafter--and he was a man of his own race! He turned to Barbara. "Wait here for me," he said. "I am going in. I will come back to you as soon as I can." CHAPTER XLVI THE GOLDEN CRUCIFIX The bishop went quickly through the crowd to a gap under the great gables, where the beams had been sawed through and the rubbish shoveled to one side, making a difficult way into the interior. The enormous span of the roof had sunk sidewise, splitting its supporting beams and bending the walls outward, but its great ridge had remained intact and it now stretched, a squat, ungainly lean-to, over what had been the altar. The space was strewn with brasses, fragments of fretted and carven doors, and splintered beneath a mass of tiling lay a great image of Kwan-on. The daylight came dimly in through the chinks in the ruin. The air was warm and close and had a smell of pulverized plaster, of stale incense and rotting wood. A group of priests stood on the altar platform beside a huddle of wadded mats and brocaded draperies, on which a man was lying, his open eyes upturned to the painted monsters on the twisted tangle of rafters. The bishop hesitated, then came close. The man's head turned toward him--for an instant he seemed to shrink into the cushions; then in his eyes, dark with the last shadow, came a swift yearning. He spoke to the priests and they drew back. "Arthur," he said, "don't you know me?" A gasping sound came from the leaning bishop. "John! John Fairfax!" he cried, composure dropping from him, and fell on his knees. "After these years!" The other lifted his hand and touched the bishop's pale, smooth-shaven face. "I am going, Arthur," he said. "I never intended to speak, though I've seen you often.... I thought it was best. Did she--did my wife never tell you?" "Never a word, John! I have never known!" cried the bishop, in a shaken voice. "It was my fault. All mine! I--never believed as she did, Arthur, and here in the East what was breath and bread to her, to me came to seem all mumbo-jumbo. I had had a hard life, and I wanted comfort--for her. Then I found out about the gold-lacquer." He paused to gather the strength that was fast ebbing. "I got the formula from a crazy priest, and I began in a small way--the idol-making, I mean. I had a shop at Saga. At first it was only for the mandarins in the China trade, and ... no one knew. But the lacquer grew famous, and within a year I was shipping to Rangoon and Thibet. I made all sorts of praying-tackle. Then--then I quarreled with my agent, and--he told my wife. She didn't believe it, but one day ... he brought her to where I was at work. I was modeling an Amida for a temple in Nagasaki!" He threw an arm across his face and moaned. "She left me that night. A ship was in the harbor. I ... never saw her again. I never knew I had a daughter till a week ago!... I never knew!" There was a silence. "I have seen her. She must never guess, Arthur! She thinks I ... died in Nagasaki. It's better so. Promise me!" "I promise, John," said the bishop. "I promise." The bell of the temple across the inclosure began to strike. "It sounds ... like the bell of the old Greek church," the failing voice said. "When I left home the priest said I would do nothing good. But--" the grim ghost of a smile touched his lips--"I made ... good idols, Arthur!" The smile flickered out. "My little girl! My own, own daughter! Don't you ... think it was cruel, Arthur?" "Would you like to see her?" asked the bishop. "She is just outside." The wan face was illumined. "Yes, yes," he said. "God bless you, Arthur! Bring her--but quickly!" For a few moments there was stillness. The priests whispered together, but approached no nearer. In the other temple, the _Bioki-Fuji_, the Buddhist ceremony of Sick-Healing, had begun for the injured man, and the muffled pounding of the _mok'gyo_ came dully into the propped ruins. The dying man's eyes were closed when Barbara knelt down and took his chilling hand between hers. "It is I," she said softly. His gaze was dimming, but he knew her. "I can't see your face much longer," he said, "but I can feel your hands. How long ago it seems ... our Flower-of-Dream. It bloomed to-day, my dear." She was weeping silently. There was a pause, in which the wind droned through the shattered timbers. The dying man's free hand wandered feebly at his side, found a gold-lacquer crucifix, and drew it closer. "The white cross on the roof. It ... called me back!" He tried to lift the golden crucifix. "I've been ... making this for a long time. I was outside when the shock came, but I ... went back to save it.... I should like it to be ... in your Chapel, Barbara." She laid her young cheek against his hand; she could not speak. Across the silence the bishop's low and broken voice rose in the Prayer for the Sick: "_O most merciful God, who, according to the multitude of Thy mercies, dost so put away the sins of those who truly repent, that Thou rememberest them no more: Open Thine eye of mercy.... Renew in him, most loving Father.... Impute not unto him his former sins...._" * * * * * "Are you still there, Barbara?" "Yes." "A little longer." Death was heavy on his tongue. "_Namu Amida Butsu!_" he muttered. "But at the end--the old things--the old faith--" The tears ran down the bishop's face. "They are all dead now," came the broken whisper through the closing darkness. "There is no one to forgive me, except--" "God will forgive you!" said the bishop, with a sob. But the idol-maker did not hear. CHAPTER XLVII "IF THIS BE FORGETTING" The sailing-master of the yacht _Barbara_, with his mate and crony, sat in the main saloon, whiling away a tedious hour. The room bore all the earmarks of "a rich man's plaything." It was tastefully and luxuriously furnished. The upholstery was of dark green brocade, thin Persian prayer-rugs were on the hardwood floor, and electric bulbs in clusters were set in silver sconces, which swung with a long, slow motion as the yacht rocked to the deepening respiration of the sea. At one side a small square table held the remains of a comfortable refection, and by it, on a stand, sat a phonograph with which the two men had been gloomily diverting themselves. But though the _repertoire_ of the instrument was extended, it had brought little satisfaction to-night. The last irksome fortnight of inactivity had made each selection trite and familiar. Moreover, the captain's spirits were not of the best. The abrupt change of ownership, followed hard by the death of the yacht's former master, was a _bouleversement_ that had confused his automatic temperament, and the sight of the double-locked cabin-door in the saloon was a daily depressant. He had never seen the yacht's new owner, though she had written him that he might expect her at any time, and the enigma of a future under a woman's orders troubled his sturdy and unimaginative mind. "Wish to the Lord she'd come, if she's ever coming!" he muttered, as the phonograph ran down with a wheeze. "This is two days I've kept the dinghy lying at the _hatoba_." The mate nodded. It was not the first time the remark had been made. "I wonder why she ordered his cabin door kept locked?" he said. "Papers," returned the captain sapiently. "Wants to seal 'em up for the executor. New owner must be rich, I guess. I'd like to know what she paid for the outfit. First time I ever signed under a new skipper sight unseen!" "Miss Barbara Fairfax," mused the mate. "Nice name. Curious only one piece of mail should come for her--and second class, too." He picked up a thin package from the table, folded in dark paper. This had been made sodden by the rain; now it parted and a flat, black disk of hard rubber slipped from it and rolled across the floor. "Blamed if it isn't a phonograph record," he said, as he picked it up. "It's out of the wrapper now--let's try it." He set it in place and rewound the spring, and the saloon filled with a chorus of chirps and tinklings from quivering catgut smitten by ivory plectrums. "_Samisen!_" said the captain. "I've heard 'em in the tea-houses. Give me a fiddle for mine, any day." The yacht's cabin-boy entered. "The dinghy's coming, sir," he said. "Lady and gentleman aboard of her." The captain got up hastily, put out a hand and stopped the machine. "Take away those dishes, and be quick about it," he ordered. "Mr. Rogers, pipe up the men." He hurried on deck and watched the bobbing craft approach. Under the rising wind the sea was lifting rapidly and the dinghy buried its nose in the spray. Presently he was giving a helping hand to the visitors at the break in the rail, looking into a pair of brown eyes that he thought were the saddest he had ever seen, and replying to a voice that was saying: "I am Miss Fairfax, Captain Hart, and this is my uncle, Bishop Randolph." * * * * * The train which brought Barbara and the bishop from Tokyo had crawled for miles along what seemed a narrow ribbon laid on a yellow floor. The steady, continuous downpour had flooded the rice-fields and the landscape was a waste of turbid freshet, the rivers deep and swollen torrents. At one bridge a small army of workmen were dumping loads of stone about a pier-head and shoring-up the track with heavy timbers. The train crossed this at a snail's pace, that inspired anxiety. "I'm not an engineer," the bishop had said, "but I prophesy this bridge won't be safe to-morrow unless the water falls." The early daylight dinner at the hotel had been well nigh a silent ceremonial. That day, with the temple solitary, Barbara had gone down into a deeper Valley of Shadow. Just as her longing to go to him in her trouble had seemed to her overwrought, so now her grief was strangely poignant. When she thought of him her mind was a confusion of tremulous half-thoughts and new emotions. She could not know that the voice she dimly heard was the call of blood--that she was in the grip of that mighty instinct of filiation which strengthens the life-currents of the world. Her grief--mysterious because its springs were haunting and unknown--added its aching pang now to the misery that had encompassed her. She had felt the fierce bounding of the stout little boat, the gusts of windy spray that flew over them, with a tinge of relief, since the buffeting made the inner pain less keen. As she stood at length, with her task, in the cabin whose door had been so long locked, she remembered the white-robed priests of Kudan Hill, stalking barefooted across the hot coals. Her soul, she thought, must tread a fiery path on which rested no miracle of painlessness, and which had no end. Above her she could hear the irregular footfalls of the bishop on the tilting deck, and the shrill humming of the wind in the ventilators. It seemed to be mocking her. Before the world she was living a painful pretense. Even her uncle believed her to be grieving for the man whose life had gone out that night at Nikko! When all had been done and the papers sealed in a portmanteau for delivery to the Consul-General, Barbara came into the brilliant saloon. The yacht was pitching heavily and she could stand with difficulty. Steadying herself against the table, she saw the empty wrapper addressed to herself. It bore a Nikko postmark. Who could have sent it here? As she stood holding the paper in her hand, the bishop entered. "Captain Hart thinks we would better stay aboard to-night, Barbara," he said. "There is a nasty sea and we should be sure of a drenching in the dinghy. We have no change of clothing, you know." "You will be quite comfortable, Miss Fairfax," the captain's voice spoke deferentially from the doorway. "The guest-rooms are always kept ready." "Very well," she said, a little wearily. "That will be best, no doubt." She held up the torn wrapper. "What was in this, I wonder?" The captain confessed his indiscretion with embarrassment, and she absolved him with a smile that covered a sharper pang than she had yet felt that evening. For that thin disk had been on the hillside that Nikko night--perhaps had heard that quarrel, had seen that blow, had watched a man crawling, staggering foot by foot, till he collapsed against the frame that held it! By what strange chance had it been sent to her here? Her uncle bade her good night presently, being an indifferent sailor, and betook himself to bed. The room that had been prepared for her opened into the saloon. She was too restless to retire, and after a time she climbed up the companion-way to the windy deck. The vaulted sapphire of the sky had been swept clean of cloud and the stars sparkled whitely. Off at one side, a flock of sinister shadows, she could make out the Squadron of battle-ships, and beyond, in a curving line, the twinkling lights of the Bund. Could it ever again be to her that magical shore she had first seen from a ship's deck, with hills which the cherry-trees made fairy tapestries of green-rose, and mountains creased of purple velvet and veined with gold? The great white phantom lifting above them--would it henceforth be but a bulk of ice and stone, no longer the shrine of the Goddess-of-Radiant-Flower-Bloom? The sky--would it ever again seem the same violet arch that had bent over a Tokyo garden of musk flowers and moonlight? Would the world never seem beautiful to her again? All about her the foam-stippled water glowed with points of phosphorescence, as though a thousand ghostly lanterns were afloat. It made her think of the festival of the _Bon_, of which Thorn had told her, when the _Shoryo-buné_--the boats of the departed spirits--in lambent flotillas, go glimpsing down to the sea. How unbelievable that she should never see him again! She felt a sudden envy of the placid millions encircling her to whose faith no life was ever lost, whose loved ones were ever coming back in the perennial cherry-blooms, the maple-leaves, the whispering pines. Her love would come back to her only in bitter memories, in painful thoughts that would shame and burn. All else beside, she had been Austen Ware's promised wife. How could she still feel love for the man who had caused his death? Yet--if she must--if she could never tear that image from her breast! Like the reflection of a camera-obscura, memory painted a sudden picture on the void; she saw herself sitting amid the branches of a tulip-tree, while some one sang--a song the wind was humming in the cordage: "Forgotten you? Well, if forgetting Be yearning with all my heart, With a longing, half pain and half rapture, For the time when we never shall part; If the wild wish to see you and hear you, To be held in your arms again-- If this be forgetting, you're right, dear, And I have forgotten you then." Great, slow tears gathered in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. CHAPTER XLVIII WHILE THE CITY SLEPT Daunt accompanied his chief that evening to a dinner at the Nobles' Club--a "stag," for conventional functions had been discontinued since the royal death had cast a pall over the stay of the Squadron. As they drove thither a nearer shadow was over the Ambassador's spirits. His thoughts would stray to Barbara and her misfortune, which seemed so deep and irreparable. He had eventually accepted his wife's diagnosis as to Daunt's _tendresse_, but he had a confidence that his Secretary of Embassy, though hard-hit, would bear no scars. He could not guess all that lay beneath the brave domino Daunt was wearing. The affair was a late one, with various native divertisements: top-spinners, painters whose exquisite brush-etchings, done in a few seconds, were given as mementoes to the guests, and jugglers who, utterly without paraphernalia, caused live fowl to appear in impossible places. Toward the close the Ambassador found himself seated beside the Minister of Marine. "Very clever," he said, as a Chinese pheasant flew out of an inverted opera-hat. "I almost believe he could produce my missing dog if he were properly urged." "Have you lost one?" asked the Admiral. "I'm sorry." The Ambassador laughed. "It was really something of a relief," he said, and told the story of the Russian wolf-hound which had so curiously disappeared on the evening of Doctor Bersonin's call. "The oddest thing about it," he ended, "is that, though the name of the Embassy was on his collar, nothing has been heard of him." The two men chatted for some time on things in general, the conversation veering to the Squadron. The Ambassador thought the other seemed somewhat distrait. At two the affair ended and the carriages drew up to the windy porte-cochère. There was a confidential matter which the Ambassador wished to speak of with his host. He had mentioned it, but no fitting opportunity had occurred. At the door the Admiral recalled it, suggesting with a quizzical reference to the other's American fondness for late hours that, as his house was on the way, the Ambassador stop there, while they had their talk over a cigar. The latter, therefore, departed in the Admiral's carriage, and Daunt drove alone to the Embassy, directing the coachman to go in a half-hour for his chief. In the past three days Daunt had fought a constant battle. Every feature of that night at Nikko was stamped indelibly on his mind. The passionate resentment, the agony of protest that had come to him at the ball, when he had received the torn fragments of his letter to Barbara, returned in double force, opposing a strange, new sense of shame that his thought should follow her even into the tragic shadow where she now dwelt. Yet--for fancy will not be denied--his brain would again and again circle the same somber treadmill: _We have done those things which we ought not to have done!_ He seemed to hear her say it on the dark hillside. Her voice had had that in it which, against his will, had thrilled him. What had she done that she regretted? She had spoken of the day in the cave at Enoshima--had seemed to wish him to believe that she had not then been acting a part. Could anything have happened in that one day's interval so utterly to change her? She had been unhappy, for he had surprised her weeping. What was it she had wished to "confess?" So to-night his gloomy reflections ran--to their submerging wave of self-reproach. He let himself into the Chancery with his latch-key, to get his evening's mail. A telegram had been laid on his desk. It was a cipher from Washington, and he opened the safe at once and from the inner drawer took out the official code books. He sat down at one of the desks and began the decoding of the text. For a time he worked mechanically--as it were, with but one-half of his brain--tracing each group of figures in the bulky volume, transposing by the secret key, dragging, in the complicated process, sense and coherency from the meaningless digits. Then he sat staring at the result: "Large short selling to-day in European bourses and in New York (comma) unexplainable on usual grounds (comma) is creating anxiety (period) Can scarcely be explained except on hypothesis that secret group of dealers have suddenly come into possession of information which leads them to consider the international situation ominous (period) Newspapers in ignorance of anything extraordinary (period) London and Paris evidently puzzled (period) Has situation developed new phases and in your opinion does it contain possible element of danger (period) Hasten reply." A full five minutes Daunt sat motionless, revolving the matter in all its bearings. An answer must be sent without delay. A part of that answer might be found in the departure of the Squadron. The newspapers had announced its receipt of sailing-orders, but the news had yet to be verified. The Naval Minister could give this verification. He went at once to the stables, where the carriage was about to start for the Ambassador. He sprang in. A little later he was at the Admiral's official residence and his chief was perusing the message. After a moment's thought the Ambassador read it aloud. Daunt had made a move to retire, but the Admiral stopped him. "Pray don't go yet," he said. "There is something I should like to say on this matter, and I count on your discretion, Mr. Daunt, as on His Excellency's. Since the American Government attaches significance to that peculiar incident, I think no harm can come from an exchange of opinion. It may help us both." He paused a moment, his foot tapping the floor. "The news contained in that telegram," he continued presently, "for the past two days has caused my Government great concern. Your Excellency will understand when I say that the particular objects of this attack (if I may so call it) are precisely those securities which would suffer most were Japan's peace or prosperity threatened. There has seemed to be a concurrence in it not purely fortuitous. Back of this selling is no mere opinion--it is too assured for that. Some interest or individual abroad is apparently banking heavily on a belief that Japan is about to enter a period of stress!" The Ambassador spoke for the first time. "_Abroad?_" he said shrewdly. The Admiral looked at him an instant without speaking. His expression changed swiftly. He rose and went quickly to the telephone in the next room. "He is talking with the Secret Service," said Daunt, in a low tone. In a few moments their host returned. There was something in his face that made the Ambassador's keen eye kindle. "The suggestion was most pertinent," he said. "There is one man in Japan who, exclusive of the commercial codes, has sent in the past two days cipher telegrams to New York, London and Berlin." He took a short turn about the room in some agitation. "Your Excellency," he said, stopping short, "I make a confident of you. That man is Doctor Bersonin." The Ambassador started. "Pray absolve me," said the Admiral quickly, "from an apparent indiscretion. Doctor Bersonin is no longer in the Japanese service. His contract expired at noon to-day. It will not be renewed. As one of _my_ Government I speak to you, as the representative of _your_ Government, concerning a private individual whose acts are in the purview of us both. The circumstances are extraordinary, but I think the occasion justifies this conversation." He rang a bell sharply and his private secretary entered. "Bring me," he said in Japanese, "report number eleven of Lieutenant Ishida Hetaro." When it was brought, he turned to a leaf underscored scored with red. "Your Excellency," he said, "interested me profoundly this evening by the account of the disappearance of your dog. I am going to ask Mr. Daunt--who reads Japanese so fluently--to give a running translation of this." Daunt took the manuscript--as perfectly executed as an inscription in Uncial Greek--and began to read. As he translated, his breath came more quickly, and the Ambassador leaned forward across the table. Yet the words chronicled nothing more than the curious disappearance from the laboratory of a tiny song-bird--_and a steel pen-rest_. The close of the narrative drew an exclamation from the Ambassador's lips. For it told of feathery sprays of reddish-brown powder on the expert's desk, and he seemed to see himself, his study lamp in his hand, bending over curious whorls of dust on his own piazza. "May I ask," said the Admiral, "whether the episode of the dog suggested to Your Excellency the possibility that your caller might himself be able to solve the mystery of the animal's disappearance?" The Ambassador's reply came slowly, but with deliberate emphasis: "It did. The more so, from our previous conversation. In my study I have the model of a Dreadnaught. We were discussing this, and the doctor described the fighting machine of the future--an atomic engine which should utilize some newly discovered law of molecular action, a machine that might be carried in a single hand, to which a battle-ship would be, as he expressed it, 'mere silly shreds of steel.' He spoke, I thought, with a strange confidence that seemed almost unbalanced. In connection with the conversation, the later incident, I confess, left a deep impression. Yet the idea it suggested was so incredible that I have never spoken of it to any one before." "Suppose," said the Admiral, "that the man we are discussing has actually constructed such a machine. What possible connection can there be between that and a confidence in some near event which will lower Japan's credit in the eyes of the world?" Before the Ambassador replied there was the sound of voices outside--a sudden commotion and a woman's agitated protestations. The secretary came in hurriedly and whispered to the Admiral. A door slammed in the hall, there was the sound of a short struggle, and a girl burst into the room. She threw herself at the Admiral's feet, panting broken sentences. Her _kimono_ was torn and muddied, her blue-black hair was loosened, and her face white and pitifully working. A man had darted after her--he was the Admiral's _aide_. He grasped her arm. "She has been at the Department," he said in English, with a glance at the visitors. "They detained her there, but she got away. They have telephoned a warning that she might attempt to see you." She struggled against him, her eyes sweeping the circle about her with a passionate entreaty. Suddenly she saw the Ambassador. She lifted her face, swollen with crying, to him: "You--nod know me--Haru?" she faltered, "_né_? Say so!" "Haru!" he exclaimed. Then, turning to the Admiral, "I know the child," he said. "She was companion to one of our house-guests till a week ago, when she disappeared from her home." His host made an exclamation of pity. "It is _no-byo_, no doubt," he said, using the word for the strange Japanese brain-fever which is akin to madness. "She must be cared for at once." He leaned and spoke soothingly to her. A spasm seized Haru. She tore herself from the _aide's_ grasp and, falling prone, beat her small fists on the floor. "They will none of them listen! They will none of them listen!" she screamed, in Japanese. "They call it the fever, and they will not hear! And to-morrow it will be too late!" A peal of hysteric laughter shook her, mixed with strangling sobs. "Are all the gods with Bersonin-_San_?" At that name the Admiral's face changed swiftly. "Leave her with me," he said, "and wait in the anteroom." "But, Excellency--" The other lifted his hand, and the _aide_ withdrew with the secretary. His two callers had risen, but he stayed them. "We have gone far along the road of confidence to-night," he said in a low tone. "If you are willing, we will go to the end." He bent and drew the girl to a sitting posture. "Tell us," he said gently, "what brought you here." CHAPTER XLIX THE ALARM As the three men listened to the swift, broken story, there was no sound save the rustle of the wind outside, the clack of a night-watchman, and the ticking of the clock on the marble mantel. The crouching form, the sodden garments, the passionate intensity of the slim, clutched hands, the fire in the dark eyes--all lent effect to a narrative instinct with terrible truth. The Ambassador's knowledge of the colloquial was limited, but he knew enough to grasp the story's main features. It capped the edifice of suspicion and furnished a direful solution to what had been mysterious. Once the Admiral's eyes met his, and each knew that the other _believed_. Terrible as its meaning was--pointing to what black depths of abysmal wickedness--it was true! The Admiral listened with a countenance that might have been carved of metal, but the faces of the others were gray-white. Later was to come to both the pathos and meaning of the sacrifice this frail girl had laid on the knees of her country's gods, but for the hour, all else was swallowed up in the horrifying knowledge, struck through with the sharp fact that one of the partners in this devilish enterprise, however expatriate, was of their own nation. To Daunt this was intensified by his own acquaintance with Phil. Memories swept him of that worthless, ribald career--the evil intimacy with Bersonin--the gradual dominance of the bottle, which in the end had betrayed him! With a singular separateness of vision, he seemed, in lightning-like flashes, to see that betrayal: the blind infatuation, the slow enticements, the reckless, intoxicated triumph, the final surrender. He seemed to see Haru, her secret won, running panting through the wind. He saw Phil waking at last from his drunken slumber--to what shame and penalty? He shuddered. * * * * * When the secretary entered at the crisp sound of the Admiral's bell, he started at the pallid countenances in the room. The Japanese girl stood trembling, half-supported by the Admiral's arm. The latter spoke--in a voice that held no sign of feeling. It was to present the young man to the girl in the most formal and elaborate courtesy. "The _Ojo-San_ deigns to be for but an hour the guest of my mean abode," he said. "Instruct my _karei_ that in that unworthy interval he may offer her august refreshment and afterward prepare her proper escort and conveyance. Meantime, send my _aide_ to me." The secretary's gleam of astonishment veiled itself under oriental lashes, and a tinge of color warmed the whiteness of Haru's cheek. He bowed to her profoundly. As he deferentially opened the door, she turned back, swayed, and sank suddenly prone in a deep, sweeping obeisance. An instant the Admiral stood looking after her. "The petal of a plum-blossom," he said, "under the hoof of the swine!" His manner changed abruptly as the _aide_ entered. He spoke in quick, curt Japanese, in a tone sharp and exact as steel shears snipping through zinc: "Something has transpired of great moment. There is no time to deal with it by the ordinary channels. It is of the first importance--the _first_ importance!--that I reach Yokohama within the hour. You will call up Shimbashi and order a special train with right of way. This admits of _no delay_! Send for my carriage at once. You will accompany me. We leave in ten minutes." The _aide_ went out quickly while he seated himself at his desk and began to write rapidly. "Two battle-ships!" he said suddenly, wheeling in his seat. "With the human lives on them! Perhaps even war between two or more nations! Gods of my ancestors! All this to hang on the loyalty of a mere girl!" The Ambassador, pacing the floor, snapped the lid of his watch. "It must still be close to two hours of sunrise," he said in an agitated voice. "Surely there is time!" The Admiral was consulting an almanac when the _aide_ reëntered. "Here is a telegram," he said. "Put it on the wire at once. It must arrive before us." "Excellency," said the _aide_, "the train is not possible. The service to Yokohama ceased at six o'clock. The rains--there is a washout." His chief pondered swiftly. "It must be left to others, then. Call up the emergency long-distance for Yokohama and give me a clear wire at once to the Governor's residence. I must make the telegraphic instructions fuller." He bent over the desk. Trepidation was on the _aide's_ face when he returned this time. "Excellency the accident to the line was the failure of the bridge over the Rokuga-gawa. It carried both the telegraph and telephone conduits. No wire will be working before noon to-morrow." The Admiral half-rose. He stretched out his hand, then drew it back. "The wireless!" exclaimed the Ambassador. The _aide's_ troubled voice replied. Whatever the necessity he knew that it was a crucial one. "The mast was displaced by to-day's earthquake," he said. "The system is temporarily useless." There was a moment of blank silence. The Admiral sat staring straight before him. The only sign of agitation was his labored breathing. "Can a horse get through?" The other shook his head. "Not under three hours. It would have to be by _détour_--and there are no relays." "A motor car?" "Impossible!" exclaimed the Ambassador. "By the long road and in better weather my Mercedes can not do it under eighty minutes." The Admiral lifted himself from his chair. His eyes were bloodshot and on his forehead tiny veins had sprung out in branching clusters of purple. "In the name of _Shaka_! Yokohama harbor but a handful of miles away, and cut off utterly? It must be reached, I tell you! _It must be reached!_" His voice was low-pitched, but terrible in its intensity. "Drive to the Naval College and ask for twenty cadets--its swiftest runners--to be sent after you to Shimbashi. A locomotive can take them as far as the river. If there are no _sampan_, they can swim. Make demand in my authority. Not a minute is to be lost!" He put what he had been writing into the _aide's_ hand. "Read this in the carriage. It will serve as instruction." The _aide_ thrust the paper into his breast and vanished. The Admiral looked about him through stiffened, half-closed eyelids. Then, under the stress, it seemed, of a mighty shudder--the very soul of that overwhelming _certainty_ of the peril awaiting the red dawn on that bungalow roof above the Yokohama anchorage--the racial impassivity, the restraint and repression of emotion that long generations of ingrain habit have made second nature to the Japanese, suddenly crumbled. He struck his hand hard against the desk. "Has not Japan toiled and borne enough, that this shame must come to her?" His deep voice shook. "Your Excellency--Mr. Daunt--in all this land where heroism is hackneyed and sacrifice a fetish, there is no prince or coolie who, to turn aside this peril, would not give his body to the torture. Yet must we sit here helpless as _Darumas_! If man but had wings!" Daunt stiffened. He felt his heart beat to his temples. He started to his feet with an exclamation. "But man _has_ wings!" he cried. What of the long hours of toil and experiment, the gray mornings on Aoyama parade-ground when his Glider had carried him circling above the tree-tops? Could he do it? With no other word he darted to the hall. They heard his flying feet on the gravel and a quick command to a _betto_. The wind tossed back the word into the strained quiet. "Aoyama!" exclaimed the Ambassador, as the hoof-beats, lashed to an anguish of speed, died into silence. "His Glider!" A sudden hope flashed into the Admiral's face. "The gods of _Nippon_ aid him!" he said. CHAPTER L WHOM THE GODS DESTROY There was one whose guilty eyes were closed to the red danger so near. In the house in the Street-of-the-Misty-Valley, under the green mosquito netting, Phil lay in a log-like slumber. The soft light of the paper _andon_ flowed over the gay wadded _f'ton_, the handsome besotted face with its mark of the satyr and, at one side, a little wooden pillow of black lacquer. There was no sound save the sweep of the wind outside and the heavy breathing of the unconscious man. For three nights past, since his wild motor-ride from Nikko, he had not slept, save in illusory snatches, from which he had waked with the sweat breaking on his forehead. Short as were these, they had held horrid visions, broken fragments of scenes that waved and clustered about the lilied altar in the Ts'kiji cathedral, echoing to the solemn service of the dead. Again and again there had started before him the stolid ring of blue-clad coolie women, swaying as they had swayed to the straw-ropes of the pile-driver in the moat-bottom with their weird chant-- _"Yó--eeya--kó--ra!_ _Yó--eeya--kó--ra!"_ And now they chanted a terrible refrain: _"Thou--shalt--not--kill!"_ To-night, however, deeper potations had done their work. He was dreaming--yellow dreams like the blackguard fancyings of the half-world--visions in which he moved, a Prince of Largesse, through unending pleasures of self-indulgence. He was on an European Boulevard, riding with Haru by his side in silk and pearls, and people turned to gaze as he went by. But now, with sinister topsyturvydom, the dream changed. The _cocher_ drove faster and faster, into a mad gallop. He turned his head and Phil saw that the face under the glazed hat was the face of his dead brother. The staring pedestrians began to pursue the carriage. They showered blow after blow on it, till the sound reverberated like thunder. Not the ghosts of his dream, but a hand of flesh and blood was knocking. It was on the outer _shoji_ and the frail dwelling shook beneath it. The servant, sunk in bovine sleep, heard no sound, but the chauffeur in the automobile that throbbed outside the wistaria gate, rose from his seat, and across a bamboo wattle a dog barked and scrambled venomously. Phil's eyes opened and he sat up giddily. He went unsteadily to the door and unfastened the _shoji_, blinking at the great form that strode past him into the inner apartment. Bersonin's gaze swept the room. "The girl!" he said hoarsely. "Where is she?" Phil looked about him dazedly--at the tumbled _f'ton_, the deserted wooden pillow. Haru gone? His senses, clouded by intoxication, took in the fact dully, as a thing of no meaning. The expert grasped him by his shoulder and shook him till the thin silk of the _kimono_ tore under the enormous white fingers. The violence had its effect. The daze fell away. Phil broke into loud imprecations. "Did you tell her anything?" Phil's tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. "What is--what makes you think--" he stammered. Bersonin's face was a greenish hue. His great hands shook. "To-night," he said, in a whisper, "to-night--an hour ago--I saw her on the street. I wasn't sure at first, but I know now it was she! A naval officer was with her. _He took her into the house of the Minister of Marine!_" The other gave a low cry. A chalky pallor overspread his features. "Haru?--no, Bersonin! You're crazy, I say. She--she would never tell!" Fury and terror blazed out on the big man's countenance. A sharp moan came from his lips. "So she _did_ know! You told her then! O, incredible fool!" For an instant the demon of murder looked from the doctor's eyes. Phil quailed before him. A frenzy of fear twisted his features; he felt the passion that had been his undoing shrivel and fade like a parchment in a flame. His voice rose in a kind of scream: "Don't look at me like that!" he raved. "I was a fool to trust her, but it's done now. It's done, I tell you, and you can't undo it! What can they do to us? They may find the machine, but what can they _prove_? We're foreigners! They can't touch us without proof!" He had no thought now of the millions that were to have been his. All the grandiloquent pictures he had painted of the future faded in panic. He trembled excessively. "Proof!" sneered Bersonin savagely. "There would have been none if--_it happened_! I had arranged that! In its operation _the machine destroys itself_! And neither of us is in Yokohama to-night." Phil's ashen face set; his tongue curled round his parched lips. "What is to be done? Can we still--" "Listen," said the doctor. "A single hour more, even with your cursed folly, and all would have been well, for no trains are running and all wires are down. I heard this afternoon, too, that the wireless is out of order." "Then--then--they can not--" Phil's voice shook with a nauseous eagerness. "Wait! When I saw the girl there, I was suspicious. I watched. In a little while your friend Daunt came from the gate. In some way he happened to be there. The _betto_ was flogging the horses like a crazy man. He came in this direction!--Can't you understand? His aëroplane! He is going to use it as a last chance. If he succeeds, we may spend our lives in the copper mines. If he can be stopped, we may win yet! There will be nothing but the tale of a Japanese drab--that and nothing else!" Phil flung on his clothing in a madness of haste. The desperate dread that had raged in him was become now a single fixed idea, frosted over by a cold, demented fury. Unhealthy spots of red sprang in his white cheeks; his eyes dilated to the mania of the paranoiac. Hatless, he rushed through the little garden, cleared the rear hedge at a bound, and fled, like a runaway from hell, toward the darkness of the vast parade-ground. CHAPTER LI THE LAUGH As Bersonin stood by the wistaria gate beside the pulsing motor, confused thoughts rushed through his mind into an eddying phantasmagoria. The fear and agitation which he had kept under only by an immense self-control returned with double weight. All was known--thanks to the brainless fool in whom he had relied! The Government knew. The wild tale the Japanese girl had told had been believed! Had there been suspicions before? He thought of the espionage he had fancied had been kept of late on his movements, of the silent, saturnine faces he had imagined dogged his footsteps. Even his servants, even Ishida, with his blank visage and fantastic English, might be-- He looked sharply at the chauffeur. He was lighting a cigarette in the hollow of his hands; the ruddy flare of the match lit the brown placid face, the narrow, secret-keeping eyes. He tried to _force_ his mind to a measure of control, to look the situation in the face. If Phil failed. If the aëroplane won against darkness and wind--if the bungalow was reached in time, and the machine made harmless. Nothing would happen. Who, then, would believe the girl's wild story? Who could show that he had made it? He had worked at night, alone in his locked laboratory. Besides, it would tell nothing. It would yield its secret only to the master mind. And if its presence on the roof damned anybody, it would not be him! _He_ had not put it there. _He had not been in Yokohama in three days!_ If the aëroplane did not start--he remembered the look on Phil's face when he rushed away!--or if it failed. With its own deadly ray, the very machine would vanish. Phil had not known this--could not have told. The searchers would find nothing! The news would have flashed along the cables that must roll up for him vast sums in the panic of markets. And there would be nothing to bring the deed home to him! Nothing? The warning had been given _before the fact_. The Government had taken alarm. Bureaus were buzzing already. Sooner or later the accusation would be running through the street, swiftly and stealthily, from noble to merchant, from coolie to beggar, from end to end of this seething oriental city--wherein he was a marked man! What mattered it whether there were evidence on which a court would condemn him? The story of his huge _coup_ in the bourses would be told--would rise up against him. He remembered suddenly a tale he had heard--of a traitor to Japan cut to pieces in a tea-house. An icy sweat broke out on his limbs. Where was there any refuge? On a foreign ship? There were many in the bay. He longed with a desperate longing for the touch of a deck beneath his feet, a bulwark of blue water between him and possible vengeance. At Kisaraz' on the Chiba Road, a dozen miles to the north in the curve of the bay, was his summer villa, his frequent resort for week-end. His naphtha launch lay there, always ready for use. He could reach it in an hour. "Get into the tonneau," he said to the chauffeur. "I'll drive, myself." He took the wheel the other resigned, threw on the clutch, and the clamorous monster moved off down the quiet lane. Past ranks of darkened _shoji_, with here and there a barred yellow square; by lanterned tea-houses, alight and tinkling, past stolid, pacing watchmen in white duck clothing, and sauntering groups of night-hawk students chanting lugubrious songs--faster and faster, till the chauffeur clutched the seat with uneasiness. The fever of flight was on his master now. He began to imagine voices were calling after him. From a police-box ahead a man stepped into the roadway waving a hand. It was no more than a warning against over-speed, but the gesture sent a thrill of terror through the big man at the wheel. He swerved sharply around a corner, skidding on two wheels. Bersonin muttered a curse as he peered before him, for the stretch was brilliantly illuminated. He was on the Street-of-Prayer-to-the-Gods, which to-night seemed strangely alive with hubbub. That afternoon, with the passing of the rain, there had been held a neighborhood _hanami_, a "flower-viewing-excursion." A score of families, with picnic paraphernalia, had trooped to the wistaria arbors of far-distant Kameido, to return in the small hours laden with empty baskets and somnolent babies. To-morrow, like to-day, would be holiday, when school and work alike should be forgotten. The cavalcade had just returned--afoot, since the trams had ceased running at midnight--the men merry with _saké_, the women chattering. A few children, still wakeful, scampered here and there. The chauffeur leaned forward with an exclamation--they had all but run down a hobbling figure. "Keep your hands off!" snarled Bersonin. "Let them get out of the way!" The automobile dashed on, the people scattering before it. There was a small figure in the roadway, however, of whom no one took account--a six year old. Ishikichi had not gone to the _hanami_ that day. For many hours that long afternoon, while his mother cared for the sick father, he had beat the tiny drum that soothed a baby's fret, comforted by the promise that he should be waked in the great hour when the crowd came home. Stretched on his worn _f'ton_ that night, he had puzzled over the situation--the hard, blank fact that because they had no money, they must give up the shop, which was the only home he knew. When they took his father away to the _byo-in_, the sick-house, what would he and his mother and the baby-_San_ do? Would they stand, like the _kadots'ke_, playing a _samisen_ at people's doors? It was not honorably pleasant to be a _kadots'ke_! Only men could earn money, and it would be so long before he became a man. So he had been pondering when he went to sleep. Now, standing in the road, he heard the hum of the rushing motor, and a quick thought,--born of that instinct of sacrifice for the parent, that is woven, a golden thread, in the woof of the Japanese soul--darted into his baby brain. One of the big fire-wagons of the _seiyo-jin_ was coming! When the carriage killed Toru, his playmate, the foreigner had sent much money to Toru's house. He was not sorry any more, because the white-faced man whom he liked, who lived in the temple, had told him what a fine thing it had been. For Toru's honorable father had been fighting with the _Gaki_, the no-rice-devils--it was almost like a war--and Toru had died just as the brave soldiers did in battle. A great purpose flooded the little soul. Was he not brave, too? So, as Bersonin, with a snarl, shook off the hand of the chauffeur and threw the throttle wide open, Ishikichi did not scamper with the rest. With his hands tightly clenched in his patched _kimono_, his huge clogs clattering on the roadway, he ran straight into the path of the hurtling mass of steel. There was a sudden, sickening jolt. The car leaped forward, dragging something beneath it that made no sound. The chauffeur hurled himself across the seat on the gear, and the automobile stopped with a grinding discord of screeching pistons. A surge of people came around it--a wave without outcry, but holding a hushed murmur like the sea. _Shoji_ were opening, doorways filling the street with light. A man bent and drew something gently from between the wheels. With a writhing oath the expert wrenched at the clutch. "Go on!" he said savagely. "How dare you stop without my orders?" The Japanese made no reply, but the arms that braced the wheel were rigid as steel. Bersonin sank back in his seat, his massive frame quivering, his eyes glittering like flakes of mica. But for this, in ten minutes he would have been clear of the city, flying along the Chiba Road! What if he were detained? He felt strange, chilly tendrils plucking at his flesh, and a hundred fiery needles seemed pricking through his brain. Peering over his shoulder, with his horrible fear on him, he saw the crowd part to admit a woman who, quite silently, but with haste, came forward and knelt on the ground. There was no movement from the crowd. In a hush like that of death, the mother rose with Ishikichi in her arms. The white, still face looked pitifully small. One clog swayed from its thong between the bare toes. The faded _kimono_ was stained with red. She spoke no word. There was no tear on her face. But in the dreadful silence, she turned slowly with her burden and looked steadily at the twitching face in the car--looked and looked. The chauffeur swung himself from the seat into the crowd. An insane desire had been creeping stealthily on Bersonin. He had felt it coming when he faced the truth in Phil's cringing admission. The horrible compulsion to laughter was on him. The damnable man-hysteria had him by the throat. He fought it desperately, as one fights a wild beast in the dark. In vain. His jaws opened. He laughed--a dreadful peal of merriment that echoed up and down the latticed street. And as he laughed, he knew that he raised a peril nearer, more fearful even than that from which he had been flying. There was an instant's shocked calm, like the silence which follows the distant spurt of blue flame from the muzzle of a Krupp gun. Then, like its answering detonation--in such a menacing roar as might arise from the brink of an Inferno--the silence of the quiet street burst into awful sound. * * * * * Ten minutes later but a single lighted _shoji_ glimmered on the darkened thoroughfare. The roadway was deserted save for a soldierly figure in policeman's uniform who stood thoughtfully looking at a huddle in the dim roadway--a mixture of wrenched and battered iron and glass, in the midst of which lay an inert, shapeless something that might have been a bundle of old clothes fallen from a scavenger's cart. CHAPTER LII THE VOICE IN THE DARK Barbara rested ill in her cabin bed that night. Confused dreams troubled her, mingling familiar thoughts in kaleidoscopic confusion, dragging her from one tangle to another in a wearying rapidity against which she struggled in vain. One thing ran through them all--the gold-lacquer Buddha that had stood on the Sendai chest in her bedroom at the Embassy; only it seemed to be also that lost image before which she had used to sit as a child. She had no feeling of awakening, but all at once the visions were gone and she lay open-eyed, swinging to the movement of the sea, feeling the night to be very long. There came over her a creeping oppression--a sense of terror of the night, of its hidden mysteries and occult forces. The darkness seemed to be holding some dreadful, stolid, lethargic thing that sprawled from horizon to horizon. A small, noiseless clock was hung beside the bed. She could see its pale face in the light of the thick ground-glass bulb that served as night-lamp. It was nearly four o'clock. She twisted back the tawny-brown surge of her hair, rose, and dressed as hastily as she could in the lurching space. Then she opened the door and passed into the saloon. A roll of the yacht slammed to the cabin door and left her in darkness. She felt for the electric switch, but before she could find it, another movement sent her reeling against a stand. She threw out her arm to stay her fall and struck something. There was a clicking sound, a soft whir, and then the music of _samisen_ filled the dark room. She realized that she had staggered against the phonograph in the corner and that the shock had started its mechanism. Wincing, she groped her way to a chair and sat down trembling. The music died away. There was a pause, a sharp click, a curious confusion of sounds, and then husky and filmy, _a human voice_: "Barbara!" She caught her hands to her throat, her blood chilling to ice. It was the voice of Austen Ware, speaking, it seemed to her, from the world beyond. She crouched back, breathing fast and hard, while the voice went on, in strange broken periods, threaded by a whir and clamor that seemed the noise of the wind outside. "What is that I knocked over? It's buzzing and wheels are turning in it--or is it the pain? Can't you stop it, Barbara? No, I know you aren't here, really. I'm all alone ... I must be light-headed. How stupid!" The strange truth came to her in a stab of realization. What she heard was no supernatural voice. In its fall that night the phonograph's spring had been released and the _samisen_ record had registered also the delirious muttering of the dying man. She felt herself shuddering violently. "I can't go any farther.... You--you've done it for me, Phil. It ... was the second blow. It seemed to crash right through...." Barbara's heart was beating to bursting. "Austen, Austen," she whispered to herself, in an agony. "Tell me! Was it _Phil_? You can't know what you're saying!" "No one must know it. The law would ... no, no! What good would it do now? He's a bad egg, but I ... I was always proud of the family name. Barbara! Remember, it _wasn't Phil_! It _wasn't Phil_!" She fell on her knees, her hands clasping the arms of the chair, thrilling to the truth beneath that pitiful denial. Phil, not Daunt! The man she had loved had no stain of blood on his soul! She sobbed aloud. With the whir of the machinery there mixed a grating, scratching discord, as though an automaton had attempted to laugh. "How ridiculous it seems to die like this! Only this morning I was so near ... so near to what I wanted most. It was your losing the locket that checkmated me. Why couldn't I have found it instead of Phil?... Did I tell you I was there that day, Barbara--behind the _shikiri_, when you followed the Japanese girl into the house? I could see just what you were thinking ... I would never have told you the truth ... never." With a faint cry Barbara dragged herself backward. In the illusion, everything about her for the instant vanished. The yacht's walls had rolled away. She was on a gloomy hillside, and a stricken man was speaking--confessing. Again the ghastly attempt to laugh. "A contemptible thing, wasn't it! I knew that. I've ... I've felt it.... I never seemed contemptible to myself before. But I should have had you, and that ... would have repaid. It was all coming my ... way. Then, just the dropping of a locket, and ... Phil ... and now, it's all over!" Barbara felt herself engulfed in a wave of complex emotions. She was torn with a great repugnance, a greater joy, and a sense of acute pity that overmastered them both. Then there rolled over all the recollection that what she now listened to was but a mechanical echo. The hillside faded, the walls of the yacht came back. "I never believed in much, and I'm going without whining. Are you near, Barbara? Sometimes there are many people around me ... and then only you. I ... I think I'm beginning to wander!" She was weeping now, unrestrained. There was a long pause, in which the whir of the wheels rasped on. Then-- "Is it your ... arms I feel, Barbara? Or ... is it...." That was all. The wheels whirred on a little longer, a click and--silence. Only the rush of the wind outside and the passionate sobbing of the girl who knelt in the dark room, her face buried in her hand, her heart tossed on the cross-tides of anguish and of joy. A long time she knelt there. She was recalled by a confusion on the deck above her--shouts and a hastening of feet. She lifted her face. The dawn had come--its pale, faint radiance sifted through the heavy glass ports and dimly lit the room. The shouts and running multiplied. She sprang to her feet, opened the door and hurried up the companion-way. CHAPTER LIII A RACE WITH DAWN In that furious pace toward Aoyama, Daunt had been consumed by one thought: that upon his single effort hung the saving of human lives--the covering of a shame to his own nation--the turning away of a foul allegation from the repute of a friendly Empire. He knew that minutes were valuable. On the long, dimly-lighted roadways where the flying hoofs beat their furious tattoo, few carts were astir, and the trolleys had not yet appeared on the wider thoroughfares. The rain had washed the air clean, the wind was dustless and sweet, and the stars were palely bright. Once a policeman signaled and the driver momentarily slackened speed--then on as before. The horses were white with foam when they reached the parade-ground. Here Daunt leaped down and wrenched both lamps from the carriage. "Go home," he said to the _betto_, and running through a clump of trees, struck across the waste. The Japanese stared after him mystified, then with a philosophic objurgation, turned and drove the sweating horses home at a walk. Daunt ran to a low door in the long garage. The key was on a ring in his pocket. He went in, locking the door behind him. There were no electric lights--he had been there heretofore only by day--and the carriage lamps made only a subdued glimmer that was reflected from the polished metal of the great winged thing resting on its carrier. He threw off his evening coat and set feverishly to work. After its single trial the new fan-propeller had been unshipped for a slight alteration, and the flanges had not yet been reassembled. There were delicate adjustments to be made, wire rigging to be tautened, a score of minute tests before all could be safe and sure. He worked swiftly and with concentration, feeling his mind answering to the stress with an absolute coolness. At length the last attachment was in place, the final bolt sent home and one of the lamps lashed close in the angle of the wind screen. He took his place and the engine started its familiar double rhythm: pst-pst--pst-pst--pst-pst, as the explosive drop fell faster and faster. He leaned and broke the clutch which held the big double doors of the building. They swung open and he threw on the gear. And suddenly, as the propeller began to spin, in the instant the Glider started in its rush down the guides, Daunt was aware that some one had darted through the doors. He had a flashing view of a white, disheveled face, heard a cry behind him--then the prow of the Glider tilted abruptly, the air whistled past the screens, the great flat field sank away, and he was throbbing steeply upward, against the sweep of the wind. Daunt threw himself forward--the bubble in the spirit-level clung to the top of its tube. Rapidly he warped down the elevation-vanes till slowly, slowly, the telltale bubble crept to the middle of the level. What was the matter? The engine was working well, yet there was a sense of heaviness, of sluggishness that was unaccountable. He looked to either side, before him, behind him. His fingers tightened on the clutches. Just forward of the whirling propeller he made out the figure of a man, lying flat along the ribs of the Glider's body, clutching the steel guys of the planes, looking at him. For a moment he stared motionless. It was this extra weight that had sent the Glider reeling prow-up--had made it unresponsive to control. The man who clung there had aimed to prevent the flight! Daunt leaned to let the full beam of the flaring lamp go past him. A quick intuition had told him whose were the eyes that had glittered across the throbbing fabric; but the face he saw now was infuriate with a new look that made him shiver. It was incarnate with the daredevil of terror. Phil had been a drunkard; he was drunk now with the calculate madness of overmastering fear. As he gazed, a flitting, irrelevant memory crossed Daunt's mind, of a day at college, years before, when by a personal appeal, he had saved Phil from the disgrace of expulsion. And now it was Phil--_Phil!_--clinging there, with desperate, hooked fingers, struggling to consummate a crime that must sink him for ever! Pst-pst--pst-pst--pst-pst; on the Glider drove. With a fierce effort, Daunt crushed down the sense of unreality and swiftly weighed his position. The other was directly in front of the propeller, a perilous place. Only the guy-wire was in his reach. Between them was a shuddering space. To land in the darkness to rid the aëroplane of that incubus, was impossible. He must go on. Could he win with such a terrible handicap? He set his teeth. Tilting the lateral vanes, he soared in a wide serpentine, peering into the deep, resounding dark below. Tokyo lay a vast network of tiny pin-pricks of fire. He had never been so high before, had been content to sweep the tree-tops. To the left a bearded scimitar of light, merged by blackness, marked the bay. Daunt swung parallel with this. Pst-pst--pst-pst--pst-pst. The wind tore in gusts through the structure, the planes vibrating, the guys humming like the strings of a gigantic harp. His clothing dragged at his body. He was too high; he leaned over the mass of levers and the Glider slid down a long, steep descent, till in the starlight he could see the blue-gray blur of roofs, the massed shadows of little parks of trees. Now he was passing the edge of the city--now below him was the gloom of the rice-fields. A low sobbing sound came in the wind; it was the bubbling chorus of the frogs, and across it he heard the bark of a peasant's dog. To the right a dark hill loomed without warning, with a dim congeries of red tea-houses. It was the famous Ikegami, the shrine of the Buddhist saint Ichiren, famed for its plum-gardens. It fell away behind, and now, far off, a score of miles ahead, grew up on the horizon a misty blotch of radiance. Yokohama! He swerved, heading out across the lagoon, straight as the bee flies for the shimmering spot. Pst-pst--pst-pst--faster and faster spat the tiny explosions. The Glider throbbed and sang like a thing alive, and the hum of the propeller shrilled into a scream. Tokyo was far behind now, the pale glow ahead rising and spreading. To the right he could see the clumped lights of the villages along the railroad, Kamata--Kawasaki--Tsurumi. He dropped still lower, out of the lash of the wind. Suddenly a flying missile struck the forward plane, which resounded like a great drum. A drop of something red fell on his bare hand and a feathered body fell like a stone between his feet. A dark carpet, dotted with foam, seemed to spring up out of the gulf. Daunt threw himself at the levers and rammed them back. The Glider had almost touched the sea--for a heartbreaking instant he thought it could never rise. He heard the curl of the waves, and a cry from behind him. Then, slowly, slowly, breasting the blast, it came staggering up the hill of air to safety. The sky was perceptibly lightening now. Daunt realized it with a tightening of all his muscles. It was the first tentative withdrawal of the forces of the dark. Should he be in time? With his free hand he loosened the coil of the grapnel. Suddenly the chances seemed all against success. A feeling of hopelessness caught him. He thought of the two men he had left behind, waiting--waiting. What message would come to them that morning? The engine was doing its best, every fiber of tested steel and canvas ringing and throbbing. But the creeping pallor of the night grew apace. Kanagawa:--the Glider swooped above it, left it behind. The misty glow was all around now, lights pricked up through the shadow. Yokohama was under his feet, and ahead--the darker mass toward which he was hurtling--was the Bluff. Slowly, with painful anxiety, he swung the huge float in to skirt the cliff's seaward edge. There was the naval hospital with its flag-staff. There beyond, was the familiar break in the rampart of foliage--and there, flapping in the wind, was the awning on the flat roof of the Roost. In the dawning twilight, it seemed a monstrous, leprous lichen, shuddering at the unholy thing it hid. Daunt threw out the grapnel. He curved sharply in, aslant to the wind, flung down his prow and swooped upon it. There was a tearing, splintering complaint of canvas and bamboo; the Glider seemed to stop, to tremble, then leaped on. Turning his head, Daunt saw the awning disappear like a collapsed kite. He caught a glimpse, on the steep, ascending roadway of a handful of naked men running staggeringly, one straggler far behind. The thought flashed through his mind that these were the cadets from the Naval College. But they would be too late! The sun was coming too swiftly. The sky was a tide of amethyst--the dawn was very near! He came about in a wide loop that took him out over the bay, making the turn with the wind. For a fraction of a second he looked down--on the Squadron of battle-ships, a geometrical cluster of black blots from which straight wisps of dark smoke spun like raveled yarn into the formless obscurity. A shrill, mad laugh came from behind him. Daunt was essaying a gigantic figure-of-light whose waist was the flat bungalow roof. It was a difficult evolution in still sunlight and over a level ground. He had now the semi-darkness, and the sucking down-drafts of the wind that made his flight, with its driving falls and recoveries, seem the careless fury of a suicide. Yet never once did his hand waver, never did that strange, tense coolness desert him. As he swept back, like a stone in the sling of the wind, he saw the thing he had come to destroy. It had the appearance of a large camera, set on a spidery tripod near the edge of the flat roof, its lens pointing out over the anchorage. Landing was out of the question; to slacken speed meant to fall. He must strike the machine with the body of the Glider or with the grapnel. To strike the roof instead meant to be hurled headlong, mangled or dead, his errand unaccomplished, down somewhere in that medley of roofs and foliage. The chances that he could do this seemed suddenly to fade to the vanishing point. A wave of profound hopelessness chilled his heart. With Phil's mad, derisive laughter ringing in his ears, he dropped the Glider's stem and drove it obliquely across. The grapnel bounded and clanged along the tiling, missing the tripod by three feet. On, in an upward staggering lunge, then round once more, wearing into the wind. There was no peal of laughter now from the man clinging to the steel rib. With the clarity of the lunatic Phil saw how close the swoop had been. The scourge of the wind and the rapid flight through the rarefied air had exalted him to a cunning frenzy. He had no terror of the moment--all his fear centered in the to-morrow. To his deranged imagination the black square on the tripod represented his safety. He had forgotten why. But Bersonin had made him see it clearly. It must not be touched! Daunt was the devil--he was trying to send him to the copper-mines, to work underground, with chains on his feet, as long as he lived! The Glider heeled suddenly and slid steeply downward. Daunt gripped the levers and with all his strength warped up the forward plane. He felt a pang of sharpened agony. He, too, would fail! The crash was almost upon him. But the Glider hung a moment and righted. Farther and farther he twisted the laterals, till she swam up, oscillating. A jerk ran through her after framework; he turned his head. Clinging with foot and hand, his hair streaming back from his forehead, his lips wide, Phil was drawing himself, inch by inch, along the sagging guy-wire toward him. For a rigid second Daunt could not move a muscle. Then, caught by the upper wind, the perilous tilting of the planes awoke him. He swung head on, wavered, and swooped a last time for the roof. Pst-pst--pst-pst--Crash! The curved irons of the grapnel tore away the coping--slid, screaming. A jolt all but threw him from his seat. There were running feet somewhere far below him--a battering and shattering of glass in the piazza. He felt a sudden clearance and the big aëroplane plunged sidewise out over the bay, with a black, unwieldy weight, that spun swiftly, hanging on its grapnel. A shout tore its way from his lips. Heedless of direction, he wrenched with his fingers to unship the grapnel chain. At the same instant the first sunbeam slid across the waves and turned the misty gloom to the golden-blue glory of morning. And with it, as though the voice of the day itself, there went out over the water, above the sweep of the wind, a single piercing-sweet note of music, like the cry of a great, splendid bird calling to the sunrise. Fishermen in tossing _sampan_, and sailors on heaving _junk_ heard it, and whispered that it was the cry of the _kaminari_, the thunder-animal, or of the _kappa_ that lures the swimmer to his death. An icy blast seemed to shoot past the Glider into the zenith. Staring, Daunt realized that one of the great planes, the propeller, the after-framework, with the man who had clung to it, were utterly gone--that the Glider, like a dead bird caught by the thudding twinge of a bullet, was lunging by its own momentum--to its fall! Had Phil fallen, or was it-- Suddenly he felt himself flung backward, then forward on his face. The spreading vanes, crumpled edgewise, like squares of cardboard, were sliding down. He saw the shipping of the bay spread beneath him--the twin lighthouses, one red, one white, on the ends of the breakwater--the black Dreadnaughts--a steamer with bright red funnels--a fleet of fishing _sampan_ putting out. All were swelling larger and larger. The wind, blowing upward around him, stole his breath, and he felt the blood beating in his temples. He heard ships' bells striking, and across the sound a temple-bell boomed clearly. A mist was coming before his eyes. Just below him was a white yacht; it seemed to be rushing up to meet him like a swan. Thoughts darted through his brain like live arrows. The battle-ships were saved! No shameful suspicion should touch Japan's name in the highways of the world! What matter that he lost the game? What did one--any one--count against so much? He thought of Barbara. He would never know now what she had been about to tell him that night at the Nikko shrine! He would never see her again! But she would know ... she would know! The sound of the sea--a great roaring in his ears. CHAPTER LIV INTO THE SUNLIGHT On the deck of the white yacht the captain rose to his feet. The battle fought on that huddle of blankets for the life of the man so hardly snatched from the sea had been a close one, but it had been won. His smile of satisfaction overran the group of observant faces at one side, the bishop watching with strained anxiety, and the girl, who pillowed in her arms that unconscious head with its drenched, brown curls. "Don't you be afraid, Miss Fairfax," he said, with bluff heartiness. "_He'll_ be all right now!" The assurance came to Barbara's heart with an infinite relief that he could not guess. At the first sight of the huge bird-like thing slipping down the sky she had known the man clinging to its framework was Daunt. The stricken moments while the wreck of the great vanes lay outspread on the water--the launch of the yacht's boat, and the lifting of the limp form over its gunwale--the cruelly kind ministrations that had brought breath back to the inert body--these had seemed to her to consume dragging hours of agony. A thunder of guns roared across the water, but she scarcely heard. Her eyes were fixed on theface to which the tide of life was returning. Again the roar, and now the sound pierced the saturating darkness. It called the numbed senses back to the sphere of feeling--to a consciousness of an immense weariness and a gentle motion. It seemed to Daunt as though his head rested on a pillow which rose and fell to an irregular rhythm. He stirred. His eyes opened. Memory dawned across them. Haru's story--the windy flight on the Glider--the sick sense of failure--the plunge down, and down, and the water leaping toward him! Had he failed? A third time the detonation rang out. He started, made an effort to rise. His gaze swept the sea. There, flags flying, bands playing, a line of Dreadnaughts was steaming down the harbor. "The battle-ships!" he said, and there was triumph in his eyes. He turned his head and saw the bishop, the silent crew, the relieved countenance of the captain. Realization came to him. Soft arms were about him; the pillow that rose and fell was a woman's heaving breast! His gaze lifted, and Barbara's eyes flowed into his. He put out a hand weakly and whispered her name. She did not speak, but in that look a glory enfolded him. It was not womanly pity in her face--it was far, far more, something wordless, but eloquent, veiled, yet passionately tender. He knew suddenly that after the long night had come the morning, after the pain and the misunderstanding all would be well. For an instant he closed his eyes, smiling. The darkness was gone for ever. His head was on her heart, and it was her dear arms that were lifting him up, into the sunlight, the sunlight, the sunlight! CHAPTER LV KNOW ALL MEN BY THESE PRESENTS Long, windless, golden days of spring and falling cherry-petals, with cloud-piles like fleecy pillars, with fringing palm-plumes and bamboo foliage turning from yellow cadmium to tawny green. Drowsy, lotos-eating days of summer among purple hills wound in a luminous elfin haze. Days of typhoon and straight-falling rain. Sunsets of smouldering crimson and nights under a blue-black vault palpitating with star-swarms or a waste of turquoise, liquid with tropic moonlight. Languorous days of autumn by the Inland Sea, when the dying summer's breath lingers like the perfume of incense, and the mirroring lilac water deepens to bishop's-purple. So the mild Japanese winter comes--slowly, under a high, keen sky, bringing at last its scourging of dust and wind, its chill, opaque nights with their spectral fog veiling the trembling flames of the constellations, and its few, rare days when the evergreen earth is covered with a blanket of snow. There came one such day when Daunt stood with Barbara by the huge stone _torii_ at the gateway of the _Mon-to_ temple on the Hill-of-the-Spirit. The air was softly radiant but not cold, the translucent heavens tinted with a fairy mauve, which on the horizon merged into dying hyacinth. The camelia hedges stood like blanched rows of crystalled beryl, the stalwart _mochi_ trees were cased in argent armor, and the curving porch of the temple, the roof of the near-by nunnery, the forest of bronze lanterns and the square stone tablets in the graveyard were capped with soft rounded mounds of snow. It lay thickly over the paved space save where a wide way had been cleared to the temple steps, for the day was a _saijits'_, a holy day, when the people gather to worship. Across the lane they could see the Chapel lifting its white cross into the clear blue. From its chancel arch was hung a crucifix of gold-lacquer, where the declining sun, shining through the stained glass of the rose-window, each evening touched it to shimmering color. The altar to-day was fragrant with the first plum-blossoms; two hours ago the bishop, standing before it, had read the sacred office which had made them man and wife. The carriage which was to take them to Shimbashi Station waited now at the end of the lane while Barbara brought a branch of the early blooms to lay on a Buddhist grave in a tenantless garden. In one of the farther groups before the temple steps was a miniature _rick-sha_ drawn by a servant. It held a child who had not walked since a night when, with clenched hands and brave little heart, he had run into the path of a speeding motor-car. On the breast of his wadded _kimono_ was a knot of ribbon at which the other children gazed in awe and wonder. It had been pinned one night to a small hospital shirt when the wandering eyes were hot with fever and the baby face pinched and white, by a lady whom Ishikichi had thought must be the Sun Goddess at very least, and before whom the attendants of that room of pain had bowed to the very mats. He knew that in some dim way, without quite knowing how, he had helped that great, mysterious something that meant the Government of Japan, and that he should be very proud of it. But Ishikichi was far prouder of the fine foreign front that had displaced the poor little shop in the Street-of-prayer-to-the-Gods. Nearer the gateway, on the edge of the gathering, stood an old man, his face seamed and lined, but with eye clear and young and a smile on his face. The crest on his sleeve was the _mon_ of an ancient and honored _samurai_ family. He leaned on the arm of his adopted son--a Commander of the Imperial Navy whose name had once been Ishida Hetaro. They stood apart, regarding not the Temple, but the low building across the hedge, behind whose bamboo lattice dim forms passed and repassed. "Look," said Barbara suddenly, and touched Daunt's arm. A woman's figure had paused at the lattice of the nunnery. She was dressed in slate-color and her delicate features and close-shaven head gave her a singularly unearthly appearance, like an ethereal and angelic boy. The little two-wheeled carriage drew up at the lattice and a slender hand reached out and patted the round cropped head of its occupant. As the vehicle was drawn away, the nun looked up and across the yard--toward the old _samurai_ and the young naval officer. The wraith of a flush crept into her cheek. She smiled, and they smiled in return, the placid Japanese smile which is the rainbow of forbidden tears. A second they stood thus, then the slate-colored figure drew back and was gone, and the old man, supported by the younger arm, passed slowly out of the yard. Barbara's eyes were still on the lattice as Daunt spoke. "What is it?" he asked. "The face of the nun there," she said, with vague wistfulness. "It reminds me of some one I have known. Who can it be, I wonder!" They crossed the yard, and entered the deserted garden. The great ruin at its side was covered with friendly shrubs and the all-transfiguring snow. The line of stepping-stones had been swept clean and beside the frost-fretted lake an irregular segment of rock, closely carved with ideographs, had been planted upright. It stood in mystic peace, looking between the snow-buried, birdless trees toward the horizon where Fuji-San towered into the infinite calm--a magical mountain woven of a world of gems, on which the sun's heart beat in a tumult. At the base of the stone slab were Buddhist vases filled with green leaves in fresh water, and in one of these Barbara placed the branch of plum-blossoms. Its pink petals lay against the brown rock like the kiss of spring on a wintry heart. As she arranged the sprays, Daunt stood looking down on her bent head, where, under her fur hat, the sun was etching gold-hued lines on the soft copper of her hair. He had taken a yellowed envelope from his pocket. "Do you remember, dearest," he said, "that I once told you of an old envelope in the Chancery safe bearing the name of Aloysius Thorn?" "Yes," she answered wonderingly. "It was opened, after his death, while you were away. It contained his will. I turned it into Japanese, as best I could, for the temple priests. It is carved there on the stone. The Ambassador gave the original to the bishop, and he handed it to me to-day for you. He thought you would like to keep it." He drew the paper from the discolored envelope and handed it to her. She sat down on a boulder and unfolding the faded sheets, began to read aloud, in a voice that became more and more unsteady: "KNOW ALL MEN BY THESE PRESENTS, that I, Aloysius Thorn, of the city of Tokyo, in Tokyo-fu, Empire of Japan, being in health and of sound and disposing mind and memory, do make and publish this my last will and testament, devising, bequeathing and disposing in the manner following, to wit: "Item: I give, devise and bequeath to Japanese children, inclusively, for and through the term of their childhood, the woods of cryptomeria, with their green silences, and the hillsides with the chirpings of bell-crickets in the _sa-sa_ grass and the fairy quiverings of golden butterflies. I give them the husky crow and the darting swallow under the eaves. And I devise to them all lotos-pools on which to sail their straw _sampan_, the golden carp and the lilac-flashing dragon-fly in and above them, and the _dodan_ thickets where the _semi_ chime their silver cymbals. I also give to them all temple yards, wheresoever situate, and all moats, and the green banks thereunto appertaining, for their playgrounds, providing, however, that they break no tree or shrub, remembering that trees, like children, have souls. And I devise to them the golden fire of the morning and all long, white clouds, to have and to hold the same, without let or hindrance. These the above I bequeath to them, possessing no little child of my own with whom to share my interest in the world. "To boys especially I give and bequeath all holidays to be glad in, and the blue sky for their paper kites. To girls I give and bestow the rainbow _kimono_, the flower in the hair and the battledore. And I bequeath them all kinds of dolls, reminding them that these, if loved enough, may some time come alive. "Item: To young men, jointly, I devise and bequeath the rough sports of _kenjuts'_ and of _ju-jits'_, the _shinai_-play and all manly games. I give them the knowledge of all brave legends of the _samurai_, and especially do I leave them the care and respect for the aged. I give them all far places to travel in and all manner of strange and delectable adventures therein. And I apportion to them the high noon, with its appurtenances, to wit: the heat and burden of the day, its commotions, its absorbing occupations and its fiercer rivalries. I give to them, moreover, the cherry-blossom, the flower of _bushido_, which, falling in the April of its bloom, may ever be for them the symbol of a life smilingly yielded in its prime. "To young women, I give and devise the glow of the afternoon, the soft blue witchery of pine shadows, the delicate traceries of the bamboo and the thin, low laughter of waterfalls. I devise to them all manner of perfumes, and tender spring blossoms (save in the one exception provided hereinbefore), such as the plum-blossom and the wistaria, with the red maple-leaves and the gorgeous glories of the chrysanthemum. And I give to them all games of flower-cards, and all divertisements of music, as the _biwa_, the flute and the _samisen_, and of dances whatsoever they may choose. "Item: To the aged I bequeath snowy hair, the long memories of the past and the golden _ihai_ on the Buddha-Shelf. I give them the echo of tiny bare feet on the _tatamé_, and the grave bowing of small shaven heads. I devise to them the evening's blaze of crimson glory and the amber clouds above the sunset, the pale _andon_ and the indigo shadows, the dusk dance of the yellow lanterns, the gathering of friends at the moon-viewing place and the liquid psalmody of the nightingale. I give to them also the winter, the benediction of snow-bent boughs and the waterways gliding with their silver smiles. I give to them sufficient space to lie down within a temple ground that echoes the play of little children. And finally I bequeath to them the love and blessing of succeeding generations for the blossoming of a hundred lives. "In testimony whereof, I, the said Aloysius Thorn--" * * * * * Barbara's voice broke off. Her eyes were wet as she folded the paper. Daunt drew her to her feet, and with his arm about her, they stood looking out across the white city lying in all its ghostly glamour--the many-gabled watch-towers above the castle walls, the glistening plateau of Aoyama with its dull red barracks, the rolling sea of wan roofs, and far beyond, the creeping olive of the bay. In the clear distance they could see the lift of Kudan Hill, and the gray pile of the Russian Cathedral. Standing in its candle-lighted nave, they had listened to Japanese choir-boys hymning the Birth in Bethlehem. The next Christmas they two would be together--but in another land! "Minister to Persia!" she said. "I am glad of your appointment, for it means so much to your career. And yet--and yet--" In the temple yard behind them an acolyte, wading knee-deep in the snow, swung the cedar beam of the bell-tower and the deep-voiced boom rolled out across the cradling hush. Again and yet again it struck, the waves of sound throbbing into volume through the still air. It came to them like a firm and beautiful voice, the articulate echo of the Soul of Japan. The whinny of restive horses stole over the hedges. Silently Daunt held out his hand to her. She bent and picked a single plum-blossom from the branch and slipped it into the yellow envelope. For a last time she looked out across the distance. "The beautiful country!" she said. THE END Transcriber Notes: Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS. Throughout the document, the oe ligature was replaced with "oe". Throughout the document, an "o" with a macron the was replaced with "[=o]", and a "u" with a macron the was replaced with "[=u]". Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. Those words were retained as-is. The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate. Errors in punctuation, inconsistent hyphenation, and idiosyncratic spellings were not corrected unless otherwise noted. In the table of contents, "BANZAI NIPPON" was replaced with "BANZAI NIPPON!" On page 1, "Rosicrusian" was replaced with "Rosicrucian". On page 12, "tauntness" was replaced with "tautness". On page 30, "exhiliration" was replaced with "exhilaration". On page 36, "cockaboo" was replaced with "cockatoo". On page 40, "pastelles" was replaced with "pastels". On page 114, "xilophone" was replaced with "xylophone". On page 193, "rich'sha" was replaced with "rick'sha". On page 206, "rich'sha" was replaced with "rick'sha". On page 213, "oramented" was replaced with "ornamented". On page 373, "irony plectrons" was replaced with "ivory plectrums". On page 417, "scimetar" was replaced with "scimitar". 
54815	----	courtesy of the Digital Library@Villanova University (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) YANKEE BOYS IN JAPAN [Illustration: "With a shrill cry trembling upon his lips, Nattie felt himself falling through space." (See page 107)] YANKEE BOYS IN JAPAN OR THE YOUNG MERCHANTS OF YOKOHAMA BY HENRY HARRISON LEWIS AUTHOR OF "The Valley of Mystery," "Won at West Point," "King of the Islands," etc. [Illustration: Logo] NEW YORK AND LONDON STREET & SMITH. PUBLISHERS Copyright, 1903 By STREET & SMITH Yankee Boys in Japan CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I--Three Characters are Introduced 7 II--Nattie Arrives Opportunely 15 III--Grant is Mysterious 23 IV--The Attack of the Ronins 33 V--The Man with the Gladstone Bag 41 VI--Mr. Black Receives a Surprise 50 VII--Nattie Carries His Point 59 VIII--One Conspirator Defeated 68 IX--Disaster Threatens 77 X--Mori Shows His Generosity 85 XI--Nattie Makes a Discovery 92 XII--The Struggle in the "Go-down" 101 XIII--Willis Round Escapes 108 XIV--The Beginning of the Celebration 116 XV--The Wrestling Match 124 XVI--After the Victory 131 XVII--The Turning Up of a Bad Penny and its Results 138 XVIII--Evil Tidings 148 XIX--Bad News Confirmed 154 XX--The Man Beyond the Hedge 162 XXI--A Prisoner 170 XXII--The Pursuit 177 XXIII--Patrick Shows His Cleverness 184 XXIV--Grant Beards the Lion 192 XXV--A Plan, and its Failure 200 XXVI--Grant Attempts to Escape 207 XXVII--In Front of the Old Castle 215 XXVIII--Sumo's Army 223 XXIX--A Mysterious Disappearance 230 XXX--The Tragedy in the Tunnel 239 XXXI--Ralph Secures Reinforcements 245 XXXII--The Flashing of the Swords 252 XXXIII--"Grant! Brother, is it You?" 258 XXXIV--The Mysterious Forces of Nature 264 XXXV--Retribution! 270 XXXVI--Conclusion 276 YANKEE BOYS IN JAPAN. CHAPTER I. THREE CHARACTERS ARE INTRODUCED. It was early in the afternoon of a July day. A warm sun beaming down with almost tropical fervency glinted through the open windows of an office in the foreign settlement of Yokohama, Japan. The room, a large one, furnished with desks and chairs, and the various equipments of such an apartment, contained a solitary occupant. He--it was a youth of not more than nineteen years of age--was leaning back in an easy, revolving chair, with his hands resting upon an account book laid open on a light bamboo desk. His face, as seen in the glare of the light, was peculiar. The expression was that termed old-fashioned by some. He had queer, puckered eyes, and many wrinkles here and there, but the chin was firm and resolute, and the forehead lofty--marks of intelligence and great shrewdness. There was something in the pose of the body, however, that did not denote either gracefulness or symmetry. Presently he arose from his chair and moved with a halting gait toward window opening into an outer court. Then it became evident that he was a cripple. One leg, the right, was shorter than its mate. There was also a droop in the shoulders that betokened a lack of physical strength, or many years of ill health. Notwithstanding this misfortune, the youth had a cheerful nature. As he glanced out into the court, with its huge-leafed palms, shady maples, and the ever-present bamboos, he whistled softly to himself. Presently the faint tinkling notes of a _samisen_--a native square-shaped banjo--came to his ears from a neighboring building. Then the rat-tat of the hourglass-shaped drum called _tsuzumi_ joined in, and the air was filled with a weird melody. With something like a sigh, the young man turned back to his work. Bending over the book, he added up interminable columns of figures, jotting down the results upon a pad at his elbow. A stranger entering from the teeming street would have noted something amiss in this office. He would have seen that the half-dozen desks, with the exception of that being used by the solitary occupant, were thickly covered with dust. A delicate tracery of cobwebs held in its bondage the majority of the chairs. There were others festooning the row of books and pasteboard files upon a number of shelves lining the walls. Over in one corner was an open fireplace, looking grim and rusted, and above a lacquered side table swung a parrot cage, desolate and empty. It was a scene of disuse, and it had its meaning. It was the counting-room of John Manning, "Importer and Trader," as a tarnished gilt sign over the outer door informed the passerby. But the master of it, and of the huge warehouse back on the bay, had gone to his last rest many months before. He had been the sole owner of the business--which rumor said had fallen into decay--and when he went to join his helpmate, he left two sons to fight the battle of life. One, Grant Manning, we now see hard at work in the old office. The other, Nathaniel Manning, or "Nattie," as he was familiarly called by his associates, was at that moment on his way to the office to join his brother. Just fifteen years had John Manning conducted business as an importer and trader in the foreign quarter of Yokohama. At first his firm had prospered, but the coming of new people, and severe competition had finally almost forced the American to the wall. He died leaving his affairs in a muddle, and now Grant, after months of delay and litigation, was puzzling his brain over the carelessly kept books and accounts. Five years previous Nattie had been sent home to New England to school. He was on the point of entering Harvard when the word came that his father had suddenly passed away. In the letter Grant had added that but little remained of their father's money, and that his presence was also needed to help settle the accounts. For several months after Nattie's arrival in Japan nothing could be done. At last the elder brother had cleared up matters sufficiently for the boys to see where they stood. On the day on which this story opens Grant had arranged an appointment with his brother, and was now awaiting his coming with the patience characteristic of him. The task he had taken upon himself was not the lightest in the world. The books were in almost hopeless confusion, but by dint of hard application Grant had finally made out a trial balance sheet. As he was adding the finishing touches to this, he suddenly heard the sounds of an animated controversy in the street. An exclamation uttered in a familiar voice caused him to hastily leave his desk and open the door leading outside. As he did so a couple of _jinrikishas_--two-wheeled carriages pulled by coolies--came into sudden collision directly in front of the office. Each vehicle was occupied by a fashionably dressed lad. They were gesticulating angrily, and seemed on the point of coming to blows. The _kurumayas_, or _jinrikisha_ men, were also bent on hostilities, and the extraordinary scene was attracting a dense crowd of blue-costumed natives. Rushing bareheaded into the street, Grant grasped one of the lads by the arm, and exclaimed: "What under the sun does this mean, Nattie? What is the cause of this disgraceful row?" "It's that cad, Ralph Black," was the wrathful reply. "He made his _kurumaya_ run the _'rikisha_ in front of mine on purpose to provoke a quarrel. He will have enough of it if he don't look out." "Not from you, Nattie Manning!" insolently called out the youth in the other vehicle. "You are very high and mighty for a pauper." Nattie gave a leap from his carriage with the evident intention of wreaking summary vengeance upon his insulter, but he was restrained by Grant. Ralph Black, a stocky-built youth of eighteen, with an unhealthy complexion, probably thought that discretion was the better part of valor as he hastily bade his _kurumaya_ carry him from the spot. The brothers gave a final glance after the disappearing _jinrikisha_, and then entered the office, leaving the crowd of straw-sandaled natives to disperse before the efforts of a tardy policeman. "Nattie, when will you ever learn to avoid these disgraceful rows?" remarked Grant, seating himself at his desk. "Since your return from the States you have quarreled with Ralph Black four or five times." "I acknowledge it, brother, but, really, I can't help it," replied Nattie, throwing himself into a chair. "The confounded cad forces himself upon me whenever he can. He is insolent and overbearing, and I won't stand it. You know I never liked Ralph. Before I left for the States we were always rowing. He is a mean, contemptible sneak, and if there is anything on earth I hate it is that." The lad's face flushed with passion, and as he spoke he struck the arm of the chair with his clinched fist. In both appearance and actions, the brothers were totally different. Stalwart for his age, clean-limbed, a handsome face, crowned by dark, clustering hair, Nattie would have attracted admiration anywhere. As stated before, Grant was a cripple, deformed and possessed of a quaint, old-fashioned countenance, but readers of human nature would have lingered longer over the breadth of his brow, and the kindly, resolute chin. Nattie would have delighted athletes, but his elder brother--a truce to descriptions, let their characters speak for themselves as the story progresses. Grant smiled reprovingly. He had a great liking for Nattie, but he regretted his impulsiveness. None knew better than he that the lad was all right in his heart, but he needed a rudder to his ship of life. "I suppose it is hard to bear sometimes," he acknowledged. "It is a pity that you are compelled to antagonize the fellow just when we are placed in such a predicament. I have gone over the books from end to end, but I declare I can't find any further references to the payment of the debt." "We are sure father settled it, anyway." "But we can't prove it, more's the pity. The last entry in father's personal account book is this: 'Paid this date the sum of five thousand, six hundred dollars ($5,600.00) to----' it ends there." Grant's voice lowered as he added: "At that moment he fell from his chair, you know, and died before help could come." Both were silent for a while, then Nattie reached for the book in question, and glanced over it. Finally he said, with decision: "That entry certainly means that father paid back Mr. Black the debt of five thousand dollars, with six per cent. interest for two years, on the day of his death." "There isn't the slightest doubt of it in my mind. I cannot find the faintest trace of any similar debt in the books. But Mr. Black swears the amount was not paid, and he threatens to sue the estate." "Nice work for a reputable English exporting merchant. But I don't put it above him. The sire of such a son as Ralph Black would do almost anything, in my opinion." CHAPTER II. NATTIE ARRIVES OPPORTUNELY. "I am afraid he will push us to the wall if he can," replied Grant, taking up the balance sheet. "If Mr. Black compels us to pay, or rather repay the debt, it will leave us penniless. This little trouble with Ralph will probably cause him to take immediate action. Ralph has great influence over his father, you know." "How does the estate stand?" asked Nattie, flecking a speck of dust from his carefully creased trousers. "Badly enough. Briefly speaking, our liabilities, not counting the Black debt, are seventy-three thousand, eight hundred and ten dollars and forty-three cents, and the available assets, including everything--this building, the warehouse, and our home on the heights--are exactly eighty thousand dollars." "Then we would have over six thousand dollars to the good if we could prove that father had really paid the English importing merchant?" "Yes, in round numbers. Six thousand one hundred and eighty-nine dollars and fifty-seven cents. But there is no use in beating around the bush, Nattie. We must face the issue squarely. We can't prove it, and we are ruined." The younger brother sprang to his feet and paced restlessly up and down the office. There was a gleam in his eyes that boded ill for certain persons if they should ever be placed in his power. Halting abruptly in front of Grant, he said, passionately: "It's a confounded shame that we should lose everything. Father was fifteen years building up this trade, and now it must all go because of that villain's treachery. You have gone over the books and know how the business stands. If we had money could we continue the business with any success?" "Well, I should say so," replied Grant, earnestly. "We have been agents and correspondents of the best American houses. Why, when the business stopped, father had orders for almost one hundred thousand dollars' worth of petroleum, flour, calico, sugar and machinery. Then there are the exports. The firm of Broadhead & Company, of Philadelphia, wanted a consignment of rice and silk." "You are well known to the government people also." "None better. I can say without boasting that I stand higher with them than any other foreigner in business here. There is Yoshisada Udono, the secretary to the Minister of War; and the sub-admiral of the navy, Tanaka Tamotsu. I have some influence with both, and in case of supplies I think I can hold my own. But what is the use of talking. We haven't the money, nor can we get it." Nattie walked over to the window leading into the court, and glanced thoughtfully at the boxed walks, now overgrown with weeds. He plucked a sprig of bamboo, and returned to the center of the room. There was a smile upon his face. "I have a plan, brother, which may work and may not," he said. "It can be tried." Grant leaned back and eyed him in silence. "You remember Mori Okuma?" continued Nattie. "Of course. I know him well. He returned to Japan with you. He has been at Yale for several years. What about him?" "Coming over on the steamer I became very chummy with him. He is as nice a Japanese youth as you can find in sight of the volcano of Fuji San, which about includes the islands, you know. Well, his people are dead, and he is the sole heir to over fifty thousand dollars in good hard money." "And you propose?" "To ask him to go in with us," replied Nattie, quietly. "He told me he wished to invest his wealth if possible. He thought of returning to the States, but he can be talked out of that. What do you think of it?" Grant was visibly excited. He arose from his chair and paced back and forth with queer little steps. He ran one white hand over his brow in a way he had. His face lost some of its careworn expression, and he finally became radiant with hope. "Nattie, if we can induce him to form a firm with us our fortunes are made," he said, eagerly. "Twenty thousand dollars, not half of his capital, will square up everything and place us in running order. Just think of it! It will mean the defeat of many ill-wishers; it will save father's name from the disgrace of a failure, and it'll keep the old house going. When can you see him? How about bringing him here this afternoon? I can show him the books in a jiffy." "I declare, brother, this is really the first time I ever saw you excited," laughed Nattie. "Why, you positively look like another fellow. Just bide here for a while, and I'll look Mori up. He'll be down to the tea house near the bank, I suppose." He brushed his sleeves where dust from the desk had soiled them, jauntily placed his cork sun-helmet upon his head, and sauntered from the offices, leaving Grant still trotting up and down in unwonted animation. The latter was alert and boyish. His face actually beamed--it was wonderful how the hope had changed him. The mere thought that money might be secured and the house--his father's firm in which he had loved to labor--would be saved from the disgrace of bankruptcy was enough. The youth--he was nothing more in years--whistled a merry air, and limped to the window leading into the street. Drawing the curtain aside, he glanced forth, then started back with an exclamation of surprise. "Ah, they are at work early," he muttered. "I fancy the son's malevolence has brought this call." A knock sounded at the door. Grant threw it open, and bowed politely to a man and a youth standing upon the threshold. The former, an austere Englishman, with dark side whiskers and a peculiar pallor of face, entered first. He was followed by a stocky-built youth, clad in fashionable garments. It was father and son, comprising the well-known firm of importers and traders, Jesse Black & Company. Ralph gave Grant a malicious glance and seemed particularly pleased at something. The elder Black marched majestically to a seat near the center of the desk, and, after brushing the dust from it, settled himself with a grunt. All this with not a word. The head of the firm glanced half contemptuously at the many evidences of disuse surrounding him; then he drew from an inner pocket a bill with several lines of writing upon it. This he handed to Grant. "I suppose you know why I am here?" he asked, in a harsh voice. "I believe I can guess," quietly replied the cripple. "That bill will tell you. This estate owes me five thousand, six hundred dollars, not counting later interest. I need the money. Can you pay it to-day?" "Mr. Black, you know I cannot. It is simply impossible. I am trying to get affairs straightened up so that I can settle father's debts, but I am not quite ready." "Make him pay or threaten to sue," muttered Ralph, in a voice intended for his father's ears. Grant overheard the words, however. His eyes, generally so gentle, flashed, and he turned sharply on the ill-favored youth. "I am conducting this conversation with Mr. Black," he said, sternly. "I understand why this note has been presented to-day. It is your doings. Simply because you had a quarrel with my brother, and he threatened to chastise you, you retaliate by demanding this money. If the truth was known, the entire debt was paid by my father on the day of his death." For a moment a silence death-like in its intensity followed this bold speech. Father and son glared at Grant as if hardly believing their ears. The elder merchant's pallor seemed to increase, and he furtively moistened his lips with his tongue. Ralph's face paled, and then flushed until the cords stood out in his forehead. Clinching his fists he strode over to where the cripple was standing near the bamboo desk. "What's that you say?" he demanded, hoarsely. "Do you know what you mean, you puny wretch? It is an accusation of fraud, that's what it is. Retract those words, or I'll cram the lie down your throat." If Grant had faults, cowardice was not one of them. He thoroughly realized that he would be no match in a tussle with Ralph Black, but that fact did not daunt his spirit. "If you are coward enough to strike me, go ahead," he replied, calmly. "I will retract nothing. I say that I fully believe my father paid your debt on the day of his death. I know----" He was interrupted by Ralph. Wild with rage, the youth reached out and grasped Grant with his left hand, then he raised the other, and was on the point of aiming a blow at him when the front door suddenly flew back. Two young men stood in the opening. There was an exclamation of amazement, which died away in a note of wrath, then one of the newcomers darted forward, and in the twinkling of an eye Master Ralph found himself lying under a tall desk considerably confused and hurt, both bodily and in feelings. Then Nattie, for it was he, turned on Mr. Black, who tried to speak, but only stammering words came from his lips. The merchant had watched the affair with dilated eyes. He remained motionless until he saw his son stricken down; then, with a cry, he snatched up a heavy ruler lying upon the bamboo desk. As he raised it to strike at Nattie, the latter's companion, who had hitherto remained in the doorway, ran forward and grasped his arm. There was a brief struggle, in which both Nattie and the newcomer participated, then the Blacks, father and son, found themselves forced into the street. [Illustration: "As Black raised the heavy ruler to strike at Nattie the latter's companion ran forward and grasped his arm." (See page 22)] CHAPTER III. GRANT IS MYSTERIOUS. The occupants of the office waited for a few moments to see if the English merchant and his hopeful offspring cared to continue the scrimmage, but no attempt was made to open the door. Nattie glanced through the window, and saw them retreating up the street as fast as they could walk. "Well, did you ever see the beat of that?" he finally exclaimed, turning back to his companions. "What is the meaning of it all, brother?" Grant, who was still fuming with indignation, explained the affair in detail. Presently he quieted down and concluded by saying, regretfully: "I am very sorry it occurred. To have such a row in this office is simply disgraceful. It also means an immediate suit for that debt, and any amount of trouble." "We'll see if it can't be prevented," replied Nattie, cheerfully. "This is Mori Okuma, brother. You remember him." The lame youth turned with outstretched hand and a smile of welcome to his brother's friend. The young Japanese, whose modest garb and quiet manner proclaimed the high-class native, responded cordially to the greeting. He appeared to be not more than eighteen years of age. He had the kindly eyes and gentle expression of his race. "I am greatly obliged to you for your assistance," said Grant. "But I must apologize for such a scene. It is unfortunate that you found this generally respectable office the theatre for a brawl. Believe me, it was entirely unsolicited on my part." "Oh, Mori don't mind that," broke in Nattie, with a laugh. "I'll wager a _yen_ it reminded him of old times. He was center rush in the Yale football team, you know." Mori smiled, and shook a warning finger at his friend. "I must confess that it did me good to see that old scoundrel thrown into the street," he said, naïvely. "I know him well. My father had dealings with him several years ago. And the son is a savage, too. He intended to strike you, the coward." "I'll settle all scores with him one of these days," said Nattie, grimly. Then he added, in a businesslike voice: "I have spoken to Mori about the firm, brother. He thinks favorably of the idea, and is willing to consult with us on the subject. Suppose you show him the books and explain matters." "I will do that with the greatest pleasure," replied Grant, smilingly. "I presume my brother has told you about how we stand, Mr. Okuma?" "Oh, bother formalities!" exclaimed Nattie, with characteristic impatience. "Call him Mori. He is one of us." The young Japanese bowed courteously. "We are friends," he said, "and I hope we will soon be partners." The lame youth fervently echoed the wish. Calling attention to the balance sheet he had recently drawn up, he explained the items in detail, proving each statement by ample documents. Mori listened intelligently, nodding his approval from time to time. Presently Nattie slipped out into the street, returning after a while with a _musmee_, a native tea-house waitress. The girl, _petite_ and graceful in her light-blue robe and voluminous _obi_, carried in her hands a lacquered tray, upon which were three dainty cups and a pot of tea. Sinking to her knees near the desk, the _musmee_ placed the tray on the floor, and proceeded to serve the fragrant liquid. Work was stopped to partake of the usual afternoon refreshments, and the boys chatted on various subjects for five or ten minutes. Finally Nattie gave the _musmee_ a few _sen_ (Japanese cents) and dismissed her. She performed several elaborate courtesies, and withdrew as silently as she had come. The task of explaining the affairs of the firm of John Manning was resumed. "Now you understand everything," said Grant, half an hour later. "You can see that with fresh capital we should carry on quite an extensive business. The Black debt, which I explained to you, has crippled us so that we will have to fail if we can't secure money. We believe it was paid, but unfortunately, there are no traces of the receipt." "I hardly think Mr. Black would hesitate to do anything for money," replied Mori, thoughtfully. "Your esteemed father undoubtedly settled the debt." "We have written contracts with the twelve American houses on this list," continued Grant. "Then there is the chance of securing that order from the government for the Maxim revolving cannon and the fifteen million cartridges. We also have a standing order for lacquered ware with four New York firms. In fact, we would have ample business for eight months ahead." "There's money in it, Mori," chimed in Nattie. "I can't explain things like Grant, but I believe we can carry the majority of trade in this city and Tokio. What do you think of it?" "I am quite impressed," replied the Japanese youth, with a smile. "I have no doubt that we can do an extensive business. You will pardon me if I defer giving you an answer until to-morrow at this hour. As I understand it, you wish me to invest twenty thousand _yen_ against your experience and the orders on hand?" "And our contracts," quickly replied Grant. "They are strictly first-class." "And the contracts," repeated Mori, bowing. "They are certainly valuable. I think you can rely upon a favorable answer to-morrow. Until then I will say _sayonara_." "_Sayonara_. We will be here at four o'clock to-morrow afternoon," said Nattie and Grant, seeing their new friend to the door. "Now, I call that settled," exclaimed the former, tossing his helmet in the air and adroitly catching it on the end of his cane. "I am certain Mori will go in with us. He's a thoroughly good fellow, and can be depended on." Grant was not so demonstrative, but the happy expression on his face spoke volumes. He bustled about the office, restoring the books to the safe, closed the various windows, and then announced, cheerily: "I think we deserve a little vacation, Nattie. Suppose we knock off now and have an early dinner out at home. Then we can go to the theatre to-night. Horikoshi Shu is going to play in the 'Forty-seven Ronins.'" His brother shrugged his shoulders as if the latter prospect was not entirely to his taste. "I confess I can't see much in Japanese theatricals since my visit to the States," he replied, "but we'll take it in. Dinner first, eh? Well, come along." Leaving the office to the care of a watchman, they walked down the street toward the custom house. Grant recognized and bowed to a score of persons within the few blocks. It was evident that he was well known in the foreign mercantile circles of Yokohama. "They will be surprised when they hear that we have resumed business," remarked Nattie, with a grin. "It will be unpleasant news to some," replied his brother, dryly. "If we have the success I anticipate I wouldn't be astonished if we found the whole crew banded against us. Black & Company can influence the three German houses and probably others." Nattie snapped his fingers in the air in defiance. They presently came to a _jinrikisha_ stand, and selecting two vehicles promising comfort, were soon whirling away homeward. The distance to the suburb on the heights where the Mannings lived was fully three _ris_, or more than six miles, but the _karumayas_ made little of the task. These men, the "cab horses" of Japan, clad in their short tunics, straw sandals, and huge mushroom-shaped hats of the same material, possess wonderful energy. They think nothing of a couple of miles at full speed, and the apparently careless manner in which they tread their way through mazes of crowded streets is awe-inspiring to the foreign visitor. It was an old story to Grant and Nattie, however, and they leaned back against the soft cushions in comfort. After passing the custom house the _karumayas_ turned into the Japanese town. Here the scene changed instantly. Here the broad roads dwindled to narrow lanes lined with quaint wooden shops, apparently half paper-glazed windows. Broad banners bearing the peculiar native characters fluttered in the breeze. Here and there could be seen the efforts of an enterprising Japanese merchant to attract trade by means of enormous signs done in comical English. The _'rikishas_ whirled past crowded _sake_, or wine shops, with red-painted tubs full of queer liquor; past crockery stores with stock displayed on the floors; past tea houses from which came the everlasting strains of the _samisen_ and _koto_; on, on, at full speed until at last a broad open way was gained which led to the heights. Espying a native newsboy trotting by with his tinkling bell attached to his belt, Nattie called him, and purchased a copy of the English paper, the Japan _Mail_. "I'll see what Brinkley has to say about the trade," he smiled. "To-day's work has interested me in the prices of tea, and machinery, and cotton goods, and all of that class of truck. Hello! raw silk has gone up several cents. Rice is stationary, and tea is a trifle cheaper." "That's good," called out Grant from the other _'rikisha_. "I can see my way to a good cargo for San Francisco if this deal with Mori comes to pass. Any mention made of purchases?" "Black & Company are down for a full cargo of woollen and cotton goods, and the Berlin Importing Company advertise a thousand barrels of flour by next steamer." "We can beat them on prices. They have to buy through a middle man, and we have a contract straight with Minneapolis. I'll see what----" "Jove! here's something that touches me more than musty contracts," interrupted Nattie, eagerly scanning the paper. "The Committee on Sports of the Strangers' Club intend to hold a grand celebration on the seventh of July to celebrate the anniversary of Commodore Perry's arrival in the Bay of Yeddo, and the first wedge in the opening of Japan to the commerce of the foreign world. Subscriptions are asked." "We will give five hundred dollars," promptly replied Grant. "In a case like this we must not be backward." "That's good policy. You hold up the honor of our house at that end, and I'll see that we don't suffer in the field." "What do you mean?" "Why, there are to be athletic sports galore," chuckled Nattie, in high glee. "A very novel programme is to be arranged. It will consist of ancient Japanese games and modern European matches. There is to be a grand wrestling contest among the foreign residents. That suits me clear down to the ground. And the funny thing about it is that no one is to know the name of his antagonist until he enters the ring." "That will certainly add to the interest." "I should say so. I am going to send my name in to the secretary to-morrow. Let me see; this is the second of July. That means four days for practice. I'll secure old Matsu Doi as a trainer. Whoop! there will be loads of fun, and--what under the sun is the matter?" Grant had arisen in his _'rikisha_ and was staring back at a shabby-appearing native house they had just passed. For the purpose of taking a short cut to the road leading up the bluff the _karumayas_ had turned into a squalid part of the native town. The streets were narrow and winding, the buildings lining them mere shells of unpainted wood. "What is the matter?" repeated Nattie, stopping the carriage. Instead of replying, Grant tumbled from his _jinrikisha_ with surprising agility, and stepped behind a screen in front of a rice shop. Then he beckoned to his mystified brother, and with a peremptory gesture ordered the _karumayas_ to continue on up the street. CHAPTER IV. THE ATTACK OF THE RONINS. "What on earth is the matter with you?" repeated Nattie, for the third time. "What have you seen?" "Sh-h-h! there he is now," replied Grant, peeping out from behind the screen. "I thought as much." The younger lad followed his brother's example, and peered forth. A few rods down the crooked street was a small tea house which bore the worst reputation of any in Yokohama. It was noted as being the resort for a class of dissolute Samurai, or Ronins, as they are generally termed. These men, relics of the Ancient Order of Warriors, are scattered over the country in cities and towns. Some have finally exchanged the sword for the scales or plowshare, but there are others wedded to a life of arrogant ease, who have refused to work. Too proud to beg, they are reduced to one recourse--thievery and ruffianism. The strict police laws of Japan keep them in general control, but many midnight robberies and assassinations are properly laid to their door. On glancing from his place of concealment, Nattie saw three men, whose dress and air of fierce brutality proclaimed them as Ronins, emerge from the tea house. They were immediately followed by a stocky-built young man, clad in English costume. It was Ralph Black. He cast a cautious glance up and down the street, then set out at a rapid walk for the Bund, or foreign settlement. Nattie gave a low whistle of surprise. "Well, I declare!" he exclaimed. "Is it possible he has fallen so low as to frequent such a place?" "I hardly think so," replied Grant. "What was he doing in there, then?" "I will tell you. He is out of sight now. Come, we'll catch up with the _'rikishas_. When we were passing that tea house I chanced to look through the window. Imagine my surprise when I saw Ralph engaged in close conversation with a villainous-looking Ronin. It struck me at once that something was up, so I motioned you to follow me from the carriages. What do you think of it?" "It is deuced queer." "Ralph Black is unscrupulous. He hates both of us, and in my opinion he wouldn't stop at anything to avenge himself." "Then you think?" "That he is arranging to have us assaulted some night by those villainous Ronins," replied Grant, gravely. Nattie halted, and, clinching his fists, glanced back as if minded to return. "If I thought so I'd settle it now," he said, angrily. "Nonsense. What could you do in a row with three or four cutthroats? It is only a supposition of mine. I would be sorry to believe that even Ralph Black would conspire in such a cowardly manner. Still we should keep an eye out during the next week or so, anyway. Here are the _'rikishas_. Jump in, and we'll go home." The balance of the trip to the bluff was made without incident. By the time the Manning residence was reached the incident had been displaced by something of apparent greater importance. Nattie's mind was filled with thoughts of the triumphs he intended to win in the wrestling match on the seventh of July, and Grant was equally well occupied in the impending resurrection of the importing firm. The home of the Mannings--that occupied by them in summer--was a typical Japanese house. It was low and squat, consisted of one story only, and the walls were of hard wood eked out with bamboo ornaments. The numerous windows were glazed with oiled paper, and the roof was constructed of tiles painted a dark red. The grounds surrounding the structure were spacious, and in the rear stretched a garden abloom with richly-colored native plants. Ancient trees, maple, weeping willow, and fir afforded ample shade from the afternoon sun, and here and there were scattered stone vases and Shinto images. A moderately-sized lake occupied the center of the garden. Ranging along the front of the house was a raised balcony to which led a short flight of steps. Ascending to this, the boys removed their shoes, exchanging them for straw sandals. Passing through an open door, they entered the front room of the dwelling. A servant clad in white garments immediately prostrated himself and awaited the commands of his masters. Grant briefly ordered dinner served at once. Other servants appeared, and by the shifting of a couple of panels (Japanese walls are movable) the apartment was enlarged. The floor was of matting--delicate stuffed wicker an inch thick, and of spotless hue--and the entire room was devoid of either chair or table. To an American boy the preparations for dinner would have been surprising, to say the least. But Grant and Nattie were thoroughly conversant with native styles, and the only emotion they displayed was eager anticipation. In lieu of tables were two little boxes about a foot square, the lids of which were lifted and laid on the body of the box, with the inner surface up. This was japanned red, and the sides of the box a soft blue. Inside were stored rice bowl, vegetable dish, and chopstick case. At the announcement of the meal, Grant and his brother seated themselves upon the floor and prepared to partake of the food set before them with equally as much appetite as if the feast had been spread in American fashion. Both boys had lived the most of their youthful lives in Japan, and they had fallen into the quaint ways of the people with the adaptability of the young. Mr. Manning had early taken unto himself the literal meaning of the old saw, "When you are in Rome, do as the Romans do," and his sons had dutifully followed his example. After dinner the boys sat for a while on the front balcony, and then prepared for the theatre. _Jinrikishas_ were summoned, and a rapid journey made to the home of native acting in Yokohama. The peculiarity of Japanese theatricals is that a play generally commences in the morning, and lasts until late at night. For this reason our heroes found the building comfortably filled with parties at that moment eating their simple evening repast. The theatre was a large square structure, situated in the center of a small park. The interior was decorated with innumerable paper lanterns, and covering the walls were enormous, gaudily-painted banners setting forth in Japanese characters the fame of the performers. The stage filled one entire side, and was equipped with a curtain similar to those found in American theatres. There were no wings, however, and no exit except through the auditorium. On the remaining three sides were balconies, and near the ceiling was a familiar gallery filled with the native small boys. The floor was barren of chairs, being divided into square pens, each holding four people. The partitions were one foot in height, and elevated gangways traversed the theatre at intervals, permitting of the passage of the audience to their respective boxes. As usual in all Japanese structures, the spectators removed their shoes at the entrance, being provided with sandals by the management for the time being. The last act of the drama was commenced shortly after the boys reached their inclosure, and it proceeded without intermission until ten o'clock. Grant and Nattie left ten minutes before the end for the purpose of avoiding the crowd. There were a number of people in front of the building and innumerable _'rikishas_ with their attendant _karumayas_. As the boys emerged from the door they were accosted by two men dressed as coolies. Each exhibited a comfortable carriage, and their services were accepted without question. "What shall it be, home?" asked Nattie, with a yawn. "Yes, we may as well return. There is nothing going on in town" replied Grant. "I have a little writing to do, anyway." Stepping into his vehicle, he bade the man make good time to the bluff. Both boys were preoccupied, and they paid little attention to the crowd through which they passed. They also failed to see a signal given by one of the supposed _karumayas_ to a group of three natives standing near the corner of the theatre. The easy swinging motion of the _jinrikishas_ lulled their occupants to rest, and both Grant and his brother were on the verge of dozing before a dozen blocks had been covered. The night was dark, it being the hour before the appearance of a new moon. Thick clouds also added to the obscurity, blotting out even the feeble rays of the starry canopy. A feeling of rain was in the air. Down in the quarter where lay the foreign settlement a soft glow came from the electric lights. The deep-toned note of a steamer's whistle sounded from the bay. The bell of a modern clock tolled the half hour, and before the echoing clangor had died away the two _'rikishas_ carrying the boys came to a sudden stop. Nattie aroused himself with a start and glanced around half angrily at being disturbed. Before he could utter a protest or ask the reason for the halt both coolies unceremoniously disappeared into a neighboring house. Grant had barely time to notice that they were in a narrow way devoid of lanterns, when there came a rush of footsteps from behind, and three dark figures made an attack upon the carriage. There was a vicious whiz of a heavy sound, and the right edge of Nattie's _'rikisha_ body was neatly lopped off. The crashing of wood brought the boys to a realization of their position. They knew at once that they were being attacked by thugs. With an exclamation of excitement, Nattie leaped from his carriage. Another spring, and he was close to Grant. Then, with incredible quickness, the resolute lad produced a revolver from an inner pocket and fired point-blank at the nearest Ronin. [Illustration: "With incredible quickness, Nattie produced a revolver from an inner pocket and fired point-blank, at the nearest Ronin." (See page 40)] CHAPTER V. THE MAN WITH THE GLADSTONE BAG. The extreme gloom and the excitement of the moment caused Nattie to aim badly, and the bullet whizzed past the object for which it was intended, striking the ground several paces away instead. The shot had one result, however. It caused the assailants to hesitate. One even started to retreat, but he was checked by a guttural word from the evident leader. The slight delay was instantly taken advantage of by the boys. Still holding his weapon in readiness for use, Nattie hurriedly wheeled both _'rikishas_ between them and the Ronins. Thus a barricade was formed behind which Grant and Nattie sought refuge without loss of time. As yet, not a word had been exchanged. In fact, the events had occurred in much less time than it takes to describe them. Now Grant took occasion to remark in tones of deep conviction: "This is Ralph Black's work, Nattie. It is the sequel to my discovery of him in that low tea house this afternoon. He has bribed these cutthroats to assault us." "No doubt. But we can't stop to probe the why and wherefore now. They intend to attack us again. It's a good job I brought this gun with me to-night. I have six shots left, and I'll put them to use if--look out! they are coming!" While speaking, he noticed something stealthily advancing through the darkness. He took rapid aim, but before he could pull the trigger he was struck upon the shoulder by a stone which came from in front. The force of the blow was sufficient to send him staggering against one of the _'rikishas_. He dropped the revolver, but it was snatched up by Grant. The lame youth instantly used it, firing hastily through the wheel of one of the carriages. A shrill cry of pain came from the shadows, then a loud shout sounded at the lower end of the street. Twinkling lights appeared, and then echoing footsteps indicated that relief was at hand. The thugs were not slow in realizing that retreat was advisable under the circumstances. They gave the boys a parting volley of stones, then all three disappeared into an adjacent house. "Are you injured, brother?" anxiously asked Grant, bending over Nattie. "No; a bruise, that's all. The police are coming at last, eh? They must have heard the shots. What are you going to say about this affair? Will you mention your suspicions?" "No; it would be useless. We have no proof that he set these men upon us. We must bide our time and watch the scamp. Hush! they are here." A squad of Japanese police, carrying lanterns, dashed up at a run. Their leader, a sub-lieutenant, wearing a uniform similar to that of a French gendarme, flashed his light over the capsized _'rikishas_ and their late occupants; then he asked the cause of the trouble in a respectful tone. "We have been waylaid and attacked by three Ronins bent on robbery," replied Grant, in the native tongue. "We were on our way home from the theatre and while passing through this street were set upon and almost murdered." "Which way did the scoundrels go?" hastily queried the lieutenant. "Through that house. The _karumayas_ fled in that direction also." Leaving two of his men with the boys, the leader started in pursuit of the fugitives. No time was wasted in knocking for admission. One of the policemen placed his shoulder to the door and forced it back without much effort. A moment later the sounds of crashing partitions and a glare of light from within indicated that a strict search was being carried on. Grant and Nattie waited a moment; then the latter said: "Suppose we go home. We might hang around here for hours. If they catch the rascals they can call for us at the house." Grant favored the suggestion. He told one of the policemen to inform the lieutenant of their address, then he and his brother secured a couple of _'rikishas_ in an adjacent street, and were soon home once more. The excitement of the night attack had driven sleep from them, so they remained out upon the cool balcony and discussed the events of the day until a late hour. After viewing the situation from all sides, it was finally decided that a waiting policy should prevail. To boldly accuse Ralph Black of such a nefarious plot without stronger proof was out of the question. "If any of the Ronins or the _karumayas_ are captured, they may be induced to confess," said Grant. "In that case we can do something. Otherwise, we will have to bide our time." Both boys arose early on the following morning and started for the office immediately after breakfast. They called in at the main police station on their way downtown and learned that nothing had been seen of the Ronins or _jinrikisha_ men. The officer in charge promised to have the city scoured for the wretches, and apologized profusely for the outrage. On reaching the office, Grant called in several coolies and set them to work cleaning up the interior. By noon the counting-room had lost its former appearance of neglect. The desks and other furniture were dusted, the books put in order, and everything arranged for immediate work. At the "tiffin," or midday lunch hour, the brothers dropped in at a well-known restaurant on Main Street. As they entered the front door a youth arose hastily from a table in the center and disappeared through a side entrance. It was Ralph Black. "If that don't signify guilt, I'm a chicken," remarked Nattie, with a grim smile. "He's a fool." "All he needs is rope enough," replied Grant, in the same tone, "and he will save us the trouble of hanging him. I suppose he was ashamed or afraid to face us after last night's treacherous work." On returning to the counting-room they found the young Japanese, Mori, awaiting them. To say that he was cordially greeted is but half the truth. There was an expression upon his face that promised success, and Nattie wrung his hand until the genial native begged him to desist. "My answer is ready," he announced, producing a bundle of papers. "I suppose you are anxious to know what it is?" "You don't need to tell us," chuckled Nattie, "I can read it in your eyes. Shake, old boy! Success to the new firm!" "You have guessed aright," said Mori. "And I echo with all my heart what you say. Success to the new firm of Manning Brothers & Okuma. If you will come with me to your consul we will ratify the contract without loss of time." Grant's eyes were moist as he shook hands with the young Japanese. "You are indeed a friend," he exclaimed, fervently. "You will lose nothing by it, I assure you. If hard work and constant application to duty will bring us success, I will guarantee that part of it." An hour later the newly-formed firm of importers and traders was an acknowledged fact. In the presence of the American Consul as a witness, Mori paid into the foreign bank the sum of twenty thousand dollars, and Grant, as his late father's executor, turned over to the firm the various contracts and the mortgages on the warehouse and office building. "The very first thing we must see about is that debt of Black & Company," announced the lame youth. "It won't do to have the new firm sued. We will call at their office now and pay it under a written protest." "Yes, and deposit their receipt in the bank," added Nattie, grimly. "Nothing was found of the first receipt?" asked Mori, as they left the consulate. "Not a sign. I have searched through all the papers in the office, but without result. There is some mystery about it. Father never was very orderly in keeping documents, but it is hard to believe that he would mislay a paper of that value." "Who was in the office when your father--er--when the sad end came?" "Three clerks under the charge of a bookkeeper named Willis Round. Mr. Round was seated at a desk next to father's at the moment. I was in the outer office." "Was your father lying upon the floor when you were called?" asked Mori; then he added, hastily: "Forgive me if I pain you, Grant. Perhaps we had better allow the subject to drop." "No, no. I see what you are driving at. You think that possibly Mr. Round may have stolen the receipt?" "Exactly. Take a case like that; a valuable paper and an unscrupulous man within easy reach, and you can easily see what would happen. I don't remember this Mr. Round. What kind of a man was he?" "I never liked him," spoke up Nattie. "He had a sneaking face, and was always grinning to himself, as if he had the laugh on other people. Then I saw him kick a poor dog one day, and a man who would do that is not to be trusted." "I guess you are right," agreed Grant. "Come to think of it, I never liked Mr. Round myself. He was a thorough bookkeeper though, and knew his business." "Where is he now?" asked Mori. "I think he left for England. He was an Englishman, you know. After our firm closed he waited around town for a while, then I heard somebody say he returned to London." The office of Black & Company was on the Bund, only a few squares from the consulate, so the boys walked there instead of taking the omnipresent _jinrikishas_. The building was a dingy structure of one story, and bore the usual sign over the door. As Grant and his companions entered the outer office a tall, thin man, carrying a much-worn Gladstone bag, brushed past them and vanished down the street. The lame youth glanced at the fellow's face, then he turned to Nattie with a low whistle. "There's a queer thing," he said. "If that man wore side whiskers, I would wager anything that he was Mr. Willis Round himself." CHAPTER VI. MR. BLACK RECEIVES A SURPRISE. "You don't say?" ejaculated the lad, stopping near the door. "Why, perhaps it was. Wait, I'll follow him and see." Before either Grant or Mori could offer an objection, Nattie darted from the office into the street. There were several clerks in the counting-room, and they eyed the newcomers curiously. At the far end of the room was a door leading into the private office of the firm. A hum of voices came from within. Grant waited a moment undecided what to do, then he approached a clerk, and asked him to announce to Mr. Black that Grant Manning wished to see him on important business. The message produced immediate results. The fellow had hardly disappeared when the senior member himself stalked majestically into the outer apartment. Waving an official document in one hand, he glowered at the lame youth and exclaimed, in a harsh voice: "Your call will do you no good, sir. I have already instituted the suit. I suppose you have come to beg for time, as usual?" "You suppose wrong, sir," coldly replied Grant. "Well, what is the object of this visit, then?" "Please make out a receipt for the full amount of our debt." Mr. Black's face expressed the liveliest amazement. The door leading to the inner office creaked, and Ralph's familiar countenance appeared in the opening. It was evident that he had been listening. "W-h-hat did you say?" gasped the merchant. "Please make out a receipt in full for the money owed to you by the firm of Manning & Company," repeated Grant, calmly. "Then you mean to pay it?" "Yes." "But how can you? It is over fifty-eight hundred dollars, boy." "Five thousand, eight hundred and fifty dollars, in round numbers," replied the lame youth, in a businesslike voice. "The receipt, please. I will draw you a check for the amount at once." He drew a small book from his pocket, and proceeded to write the figures as if such items were mere bagatelles in his business. Mori, who had been an interested but silent spectator now stepped forward and whispered a few words to Grant. The latter nodded, and said, again addressing Mr. Black: "By the way, sir, I think you had better accompany me to the American or English consulate. In view of past happenings, I prefer to have a reputable witness to this payment." The merchant's face flushed a deep red, and then paled again. Before he could reply, Ralph emerged from the inner office and advanced toward Grant with his hands clinched and a threatening look upon his dark countenance. "What do you mean, you scoundrel?" he stormed. "Do you dare to insult my father in his own office? I've a notion to----" He broke off abruptly and lowered his hands. Mori had stepped before Grant in a manner there was no mistaking. The young Japanese was small of stature, but there was an air of muscular solidity about him which spoke eloquently of athletic training. "No threats, Ralph Black," he exclaimed, coolly. "We are here on a matter of business with your father. Please remember that you have to deal with me as well as Mr. Manning." "What have you to do with it?" grated the youth. "Mind your own business." "That is exactly what I am doing," was the suave reply. "Enough of this contention," suddenly exclaimed Mr. Black, with a semblance of dignity. "Ralph, return to the inner office. I will soon settle these upstarts. Simmons, a receipt for the debt owed us by Manning." The latter sentence was addressed to a clerk, who promptly came forward with the required paper. Taking it, the merchant extended his hand for the check. Grant hesitated and glanced at Mori. That youth nodded his head, and whispered: "We may as well waive the precaution of having it paid before the consul. The receipt will answer the purpose. There are two of us, you know." "Well, do you intend to pay?" impatiently demanded Mr. Black. The lame youth gave him the check without deigning to reply. The merchant glanced at the amount, then he eyed the signature in evident surprise. "What does this mean?" he asked, harshly. "This is signed 'Manning Brothers & Okuma.' What absurdity is this?" "It means what it says, sir," answered Grant, a suspicion of triumph in his voice. "I may as well tell you what Yokohama will know before night. The importing and trading firm of Manning & Company has been revived. Mr. Okuma here is a partner in the house, and we commence business at once. You act as if you do not believe me, sir. Please satisfy yourself by sending to the foreign bank." As it happened, at that moment a clerk from the bank in question entered the office with some papers. A brief question addressed to him by the merchant brought instant proof of the lame youth's words. As if dazed, Mr. Black gave him the receipt and entered the inner office without a word. Grant and Mori left at once. They looked up and down the street for Nattie, but he was not in sight. After waiting for several moments at the corner they set out for the counting-room. The young Japanese seemed preoccupied at first as if buried in thought, but he finally turned to his companion and said: "There is something about this business of the Black debt that I do not understand. How is it you could find no trace of the payment at the bank or among your canceled checks? It would surely be there." "Why, I thought I had explained that to you," replied Grant. "The money paid them by my father was in cash, not by check. I remember that on that day we had received almost six thousand dollars in English gold from the skipper of a sailing ship. The money was placed in the small safe." "And it was gone when you examined the safe after your father's death?" "Exactly. That is why I am so positive the debt was paid. That fact and the unfinished entry in father's book is proof enough." "It certainly is," replied Mori, with conviction. "Well, something may turn up in time to establish the fact. Here is the office. We will wait until Nattie returns." In the meantime an important scene had taken place in the counting-room they had just left. After their departure, Mr. Black cleared his private apartment of his secretary and closing the door leading to the outer room, bade his son draw a chair up to the desk. The merchant's face appeared grim and determined. He nervously arranged a pile of papers before him, and then, with the air of a man who had recently heard unpleasant news, he confronted Ralph. "Did you hear what that crippled whelp said?" he asked. "Yes," sullenly replied his son. "He's induced Mori Okuma to go in with him, and they intend to commence business at once." "Do you know what that means to us?" "Another rival, I suppose. Well, we needn't be afraid of them." "Zounds! you can be stupid at times, sir. We have every reason to be alarmed at the formation of the new firm. If you paid more attention to the affairs of Black & Company and less to running around with the sports of Yokohama, you would be of more assistance to me." "What is the matter now?" snarled the youth, arising from his chair. "These rows are getting too frequent, and I won't stand it. I am no baby to be reproved by you whenever you please. I won't----" "Sit down!" thundered the merchant. "Don't be a fool." Then he added, more mildly: "Remember that I am your father, Ralph. It is sometimes necessary to reprove you as you must acknowledge. But enough of that now. We have a more weighty subject to discuss. You evidently do not see what this new firm means to us. I can explain in a few words. You have doubtless heard rumors of trouble with China about Corea?" "Yes, but that is an old tale. I heard it two years past." "Well, there is more truth in it now than you believe. I have private means of obtaining information. If I am not mistaken we will have war before the end of the present year." "What of it?" The merchant held up his hands in evident disgust. "It is easy to be seen that you have little of the instincts of a merchant in you," he said, bitterly. "Hold! I do not intend to reprove you. I will not waste the time. If you don't know, I will tell you that war means the expenditure of money, and the purchase of arms and stores. I know that the government is preparing for the coming conflict, and that they need guns and ammunition and canned provisions." "Why don't you try for the contracts then?" "I intend to. As you may remember, that little affair of the fodder last year for the cavalry horses has hurt my credit with the war department. I think I still stand a show, however--if there are no other bidders." "How about the German firms?" "Their rivalry won't amount to anything, but if this Grant Manning comes in he will secure the contracts without the shadow of a doubt. Why, he is hand-in-glove with Secretary Yoshisada Udono, of the army. The Japanese fool thinks Grant is the soul of honesty, and the cleverest youth in Japan besides." Ralph leaned forward in his chair, and pondered deeply for a moment. Then, tapping the desk with his fingers, he said, slowly, and with emphasis: "I understand the case now. It means a matter of thousands of pounds to us, and we must secure the contract, come what will. If these Manning boys stand in our way we must break them, that's all. One thing, we have a good ally in Willis Round. With him as----" He was suddenly interrupted by a sound at the door. Before either could move it was thrown open, admitting a tall, thin man, carrying a much-worn Gladstone bag. Behind him and almost at his heels was Nattie Manning, an expression of determination upon his handsome face. CHAPTER VII. NATTIE CARRIES HIS POINT. When Nattie left his brother and Mori in the office of Black & Company, it was with the determination to ascertain whether the tall, thin man with the Gladstone bag was really the late bookkeeper, Willis Round. If the lad had been asked why he was placing himself to so much trouble for such a purpose he could not have answered. There was no reason why Round should not return to Yokohama if he so minded. And he had every right to remove his whiskers if he chose to do so; and again, there was no law to prevent him from calling upon the firm of Black & Company. Still, in view of recent circumstances, it seemed suspicious to Nattie, and he sped down the street with the firm resolve to prove the identity at once. As the reader may have conjectured, the younger Manning brother had a strong will of his own. It was his claim, not uttered boastfully, that when he set a task unto himself, he generally carried it out if the thing was possible. He proved that characteristic in his nature in the present instance. On reaching the corner of the next street, which happened to be the broad thoroughfare running at right angles from the Bund, he caught sight of his man in the door of a famous tea house much frequented by the good people of Yokohama. The fellow had paused, and was glancing back as if suspicious of being followed. On seeing Nattie, he turned quickly and disappeared into the tea house. When the lad reached the entrance, he found the front room untenanted save by a group of waiter girls. They greeted his appearance with the effusive welcome of their class, but he brushed them aside with little ceremony and passed on into the next apartment. This also was empty. The more imposing tea houses of Japan are generally two-story structures, divided into a multitude of small and large rooms. The one in question contained no less than a round dozen on the ground floor, and as many in the second story. There was no central hall, but simply a series of public rooms extending from front to rear, with private apartments opening on each side. Nattie had visited the place times out of mind, and he knew that an exit could be found in the rear which led through a small garden to a gate, opening upon a back street. The fact caused the lad to hasten his steps. While hurrying through the fourth apartment, he heard voices in a side room. They were not familiar, but he halted at once. Suppose Round--if it were he--should take it into his head to enter one of the private apartments? He could easily remain concealed until a sufficient time had elapsed, and then go his way unseen. For a brief moment Nattie stood irresolute. If he remained to question the _matsumas_ it would give the evident fugitive time to escape by the rear gate. And if he hurried through the garden and out into the back street, Round could leave by the main entrance. "Confound it! I can't stay here twirling my thumbs," he exclaimed. "What shall it be, back gate or a search through the blessed shanty? I'll leave it to chance." Thrusting a couple of fingers into a vest pocket, he extracted an American quarter, and flipped it into the air. "Heads, I search these rooms; tails, I go out the back gate," he murmured, catching the descending coin with great dexterity. "Tails it is. Here goes, and may I have luck," he added. Hurrying through the remaining apartments, he vanished into the garden just as a tall, thin man carrying a Gladstone bag cautiously opened a side door near where Nattie had juggled the coin. There was a bland smile upon the fellow's face, and he waved one hand airily after the youth. "Ta, ta, Master Manning," he muttered. "I am thankful to you for leaving the decision to a piece of money. It was a close call for me, as I do not care to have my identity guessed just at present. Now that the coast is clear, I'll drop in on the Blacks again and tell them to be careful." Making his way to the main entrance, he called a passing _'rikisha_ and ordered the _karumaya_ to carry him to the Bund through various obscure streets. In the meantime, Nattie had left the garden by way of the rear gate. A hurried glance up and down the narrow thoroughfare resulted in disappointment. A search of adjacent streets produced nothing. Considerably crestfallen, the lad returned to the tea house and questioned the head of the establishment. He speedily learned to his chagrin that the man for whom he had been searching had left the place not five minutes previously. "Just my luck," he murmured, petulantly. "Here, Komatsu, give this to a beggar; it's a hoodoo." The affable manager accepted the ill-omened twenty-five cent piece with many bows and subsequently placed it among his collection of rare coins, with the inscription: "Yankee Hoodoo. Only one in Yokohama. Value, ten _yen_." It was with a very disconsolate face that Nattie left the tea house on his way to the office of the new firm. He felt positive in his mind that the thin man was really Willis Round, and the actions of the fellow in slipping away so mysteriously tended to increase the lad's suspicions. "If he cared to return to Yokohama, he could do so," he reasoned, while walking down Main Street. "It's no person's business that I can see. And if he desired to increase his ugliness by shaving off his whiskers it was his own lookout. But what I don't like is the way he sneaked out of Black's counting-room without speaking to us. He was certainly trying to avoid recognition, and that's flat. "I wonder what he had to do with that debt?" added the lad, after a while. "He is mixed up with the Blacks in some way, and I'll wager the connection bodes ill to some one. Perhaps it is to us." He had reached this far in his reflections when he chanced to look down a small alley leading from the main thoroughfare to a public garden. A _jinrikisha_ was speeding past the outlet. The vehicle contained one man, and in an instant Nattie recognized in him the subject of his thoughts. To cover the distance to the garden was a brief task for the lad's nimble feet. As he emerged from the alley, however, he plumped into a couple of American man-of-war's men. The collision carried one of them into the gutter, but the other grasped wildly at his supposed assailant's collar. [Illustration: "Nattie plumped into a couple of American man-of-war's men. The collision carried one of them into the gutter, but the other grasped wildly at his supposed assailant's collar." (See page 64)] He missed, but nothing daunted, the sailor started in pursuit, calling out in a husky voice at every step. In his eagerness to catch up with Willis Round, Nattie had continued his flight. The hubbub and outcry behind him soon brought him to a halt, and he faced about just as several policemen and a dozen foreigners and native citizens joined in the chase. What the outcome would have been is hard to say had not help arrived at that opportune moment in the shape of a friend--a clerk at the legation--who suddenly appeared in the doorway of a private residence within a dozen feet of the lad. "What is the matter, Manning?" hastily asked the newcomer. As quick as a flash Nattie bounded past him, and closed the door just as the infuriated sailor reached the spot. "For goodness' sake, old fellow, get me out by the back way!" breathed the lad. "I haven't time to explain now. I'll tell you all about it this afternoon. I am following a man, and I mustn't lose him. Let me out by the rear, please." Considerably mystified, the clerk obeyed. A moment later Nattie was again speeding down a street toward the Bund. As luck would have it, he caught sight of his man at the next corner. The _jinrikisha_ had stopped in front of Black & Company's office. Hurrying ahead, the lad contrived to enter the door at the heels of the fugitive. He stepped lightly across the counting-room, and was within a foot of him when he threw open the door leading into the merchant's private office. At sight of them both Ralph and his father sprang to their feet. Totally unsuspicious of the proximity of his pursuer, the tall, thin man tossed his portmanteau upon a chair, and was on the point of greeting the occupants of the office when he saw them looking behind him in evident surprise. He turned, gave Nattie one startled glance, then made an involuntary movement as if contemplating flight. The lad barred the way, however. Grinning triumphantly, he lifted his hat with a polite bow, and said: "Why, this is an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Round. I did not know you had returned to Yokohama. How is everything in London?" "What are you talking about?" growled the fellow. "I don't know you." "Indeed! How poor your memory must be. You worked for my father as confidential clerk and bookkeeper for many years. Surely you must remember his son, Nattie Manning?" The mocking tone caused Round to frown darkly. He saw that further denial was useless. Curtly turning his back to Nattie, he stalked to a chair and sat down. During this little byplay Ralph had been staring at the intruder in a peculiarly malevolent manner. "What do you want in here?" he demanded, at last. "This is our private office, and we receive people by invitation only. Get out." "With the greatest pleasure," sweetly replied Nattie. "I have secured all that I desire. I wanted to satisfy myself as to that man's identity, and I have succeeded. The removal of one's whiskers don't always form an effectual disguise, you know. Ta! ta!" He left the office with a triumphant smile, and quickly made his way to the counting-room of the new firm. Grant and Mori were engrossed in drawing up several tables of import orders, but they gave instant attention to his story. "It certainly proves one thing," remarked the lame youth. "Mr. Willis Round attempted to visit Yokohama in disguise. Now what can be his reason?" Before either Nattie or Mori could reply, the front door was thrown open, and the very man they were discussing stepped into the office. There was an expression of cordial good nature upon his face, and he advanced with one hand extended in a friendly attitude. CHAPTER VIII. ONE CONSPIRATOR DEFEATED. "How do you do, Master Grant? I am pleased to see you," exclaimed the newcomer. "And Master Nattie here is still the same good-looking lad as of old. Is this the new member of the firm? The old company has called in native blood, eh? Well, it is not a bad idea." Disregarding the cold stare of surprise given him by Grant, the speaker seated himself in a comfortable chair and gazed blandly around the office. He was a man of extreme attenuation of features, and restless, shifting eyes. He was modestly clad in a dark suit of English tweed, and carried the conventional cane of bamboo. For a moment there was an awkward silence, then Nattie laughed--a short, curt laugh, which brought a perceptible flush to Round's sunken cheeks. "So you are our old bookkeeper after all?" said the lad, with a sly wink at Mori. "Yes, I am inclined to believe so," replied the visitor, airily. "I have an explanation to make about that little incident, my boy. D'ye see, I returned from London by way of India yesterday morning. I had my reasons for arriving incog., therefore I denied myself to you this afternoon. As the cat is out of the bag now, I'll tell you all about it." He paused and glanced at his auditors. Nothing daunted by their evident coldness, he resumed, in the same light manner: "I had a little deal on with the government here and certain people in England, and I came over to push it through. Remembering the firm of Black & Company, I went to them first. The interview was not satisfactory, however. Hearing that you had resumed your father's business. I lost no time in coming here. Am I right in believing that you are open for valuable contracts?" Both Nattie and Mori instinctively left the conversation to Grant. In a matter of business, he was the proper person, they well knew. The lame youth leaned back in his chair, and eyed the visitor with extreme gravity. "So you are here to do business with us, Mr. Round?" he asked, slowly. "Yes." "May I ask the nature of the contracts?" The ex-bookkeeper arose to his feet and walked with catlike steps to the front door. Opening it slightly, he peered forth. Then he repeated the performance at the remaining doors and windows. Evidently satisfied, he returned to the desk. Bending over, he said, in a stage whisper: "Government." "Yes, I know," exclaimed Grant, impatiently. "You said that before. But for what class of articles?" "Arms and ammunition, my boy. I have inside information. I know that Japan will be at war with China before the end of the year. I also know that the government intends to place an order for many millions of cartridges and hundreds of thousands of rifles and revolvers within a very short time." "Indeed?" "Yes. Now, I represent two firms--one English and one German, and we wish to secure a resident agent in Japan. I can recommend you to them, and I will on one condition." "What is it?" asked Grant, drumming nervously upon the desk. Nattie leaned forward in evident expectancy. He knew that the drumming was an ominous sign on his brother's part, and that a climax was impending. "I wish to remain in Yokohama, and I desire a situation. If you will give me the same position I formerly occupied in this office, I will secure you the good will of my firms. What do you say?" Grant selected a letter from a pile on the desk and glanced over it. He smiled as if particularly well pleased at something, and then asked in a suave voice: "When did you leave London, Mr. Round?" "Why--er--on the second of last month." "And when did you reach that city after leaving my father's service?" "What the deuce?--I mean, about two months later. Why do you ask these questions?" "Then you have been away from Japan for some time?" "Of course. I could not be in London and in this country very well," replied Round, with a sickly smile. "It is certainly strange," remarked Grant, reading the letter again. "Have you a twin brother, sir?" At this apparently preposterous query, the visitor lost his affability. "No, I haven't," he almost shouted. "Mr. Manning, I did not come here to lose valuable time in answering silly questions. I have made you a proposition in good faith. Will you please give me a reply?" "So you wish to enter our employ as bookkeeper?" "Yes." "And if we engage you we can become the agents of your English and German firms in this matter of the government contracts?" "Yes, yes." Grant arose from his chair, and leaning one hand upon the desk, he added, impressively: "Will you also promise to clear up the mystery of the Black debt, Mr. Round?" Nattie and Mori, who were keenly watching the visitor's face, saw him pale to the very lips. He essayed to speak, but the words refused to come. Finally regaining his composure by a violent effort, he replied, huskily: "I don't understand you, Grant. What mystery do you mean?" "You know very well, sir." The lame youth's voice was sharp and cutting. Nervously wiping his face, Mr. Round glanced down at the floor, then cast a furtive glance at his companions. If ever guilt rested in a man's actions, it did then with those of the ex-bookkeeper. He probably recognized the futility of his chances, as he started to leave without further words. He was not to escape so easily, however. "You have not heard my answer to your proposition," called out Grant, with sarcasm. "I'll tell you now that we would not have you in this office if you paid us a bonus of a thousand pounds. You had better return to your confederates, Black & Company, and inform them that their effort to place a spy in this office has failed." "You will regret these words," retorted Round, with a muttered oath. "I'll show you that you are not so smart as you think." "Have a care, sir," replied the lame youth. "Perhaps we will be able to prove your connection with that debt swindle, and send you up for it." "Bah! You are a fool to----" He did not finish the sentence. At that juncture, Nattie, who had been quietly edging his way across the office, bounded forward. There was a brief struggle, a crash at the door, and suddenly the visitor found himself in the street, considerably the worse for the encounter. "That's the proper way to get rid of such callers," remarked the lad, cheerfully. "Talk is all right in its place, but actions are necessary at times. What a scoundrel he is!" "He is a discovered villain," said Mori, quaintly. "In the expressive language of the American street gamin, 'We are on to him.' He was evidently sent here by the Blacks as a spy. By the way, what was in that letter?" Grant laughed, and tossed the document to the young Japanese. "It was simply a bluff. I had an idea the man had not left the country, so I pretended to read a letter giving that information. He bit beautifully." "One thing is certain," remarked Mori, with a shrug of his shoulders. "We have made an implacable enemy." "What's the difference?" chimed in Nattie. "The more the merrier. We need not fear anything from Willis Round. He's a dead duck now." "So Black & Company have wind of the impending contracts, eh?" mused Grant. "I must run up and see Secretary Udono at once. I think I can prove to him that we are worthy of the contracts. Nattie, take this advertisement and have it inserted in all the foreign and native papers. Tell them to place it on the first page in display type. We'll let the world know that we are ready for business." "I'll call on several old friends of my father in the morning and bid for the next tea and rice crop," said Mori, jotting down the items in his notebook. "How much can we use this quarter?" "All we can secure," was the prompt reply. "I intend to cable our American houses at once. The New York and San Francisco firms are good for two shiploads at the very least. By the way, Nattie, while you are out just drop in on Saigo Brothers and see what they have on hand in lacquered novelties. Speak for a good order to go on the steamer of the tenth." During the next two hours the three members of the new firm were head and ears in business. Grant was in his element, and Mori seemed to like the routine also. But Nattie presently yawned, and left on his errands. Outdoor life was evidently more to his taste. In the press of work the incidents connected with the visit of Willis Round were forgotten. Grant and Mori labored at the office until almost midnight. After attending to the advertisements Nattie inspected the company's "go down," or warehouse, and made preparations for the receiving of tea. The following day was spent in the same manner, and on the second morning the purchases of the firm began to arrive. By noon Manning Brothers & Okuma were the talk of Yokohama. Grant's popularity and business reputation secured him a warm welcome in the trade. A force of native clerks was installed in the office under charge of an expert foreign bookkeeper. It was finally decided to assign the drumming up of trade to Grant, and the interior buying and selling to Mori. Nattie was to have charge of the shipping and the care of the warehouse. The latter found time, however, to practice for the coming wrestling match on the seventh of July. He had secured the services of a retired wrestler, and was soon in great form. As can be expected, he awaited the eventful day with growing impatience. CHAPTER IX. DISASTER THREATENS. Grant Manning was a youth wise beyond his years. His continued ill health and his physical frailty kept him from mixing with the lads of his age. The seclusion drove him to self-communion and study. As a general rule, persons suffering from physical deformity or lingering sickness are compensated by an expansion of mind. It is the proof of an immutable law. The blinding of one eye increases the strength of the other. The deaf and dumb are gifted with a wonderful sense of touch. Those with crippled legs are strong of arm. The unfortunates with brains awry are endowed with muscles of power. In Grant's case his intellect made amends for his deformity of body. He loved commercial work, and the several years passed in the counting-room under his father's _régime_ had made him a thorough master of the business. When orders commenced to find their way to the new firm he was in his element. As I have stated before, he had many friends in Yokohama and the capital, Tokio, and the native merchants made haste to open trade with him. To aid this prosperity, was the fact that no stain rested upon the firm of John Manning & Company. The very name was synonymous with honesty, integrity and merit. Foreign houses established in Eastern countries too often treat their customers as uncivilized beings destined to be tricked in trade. John Manning had never entertained such an unwise policy, and his sons now felt the results. The announcements in the various papers brought an avalanche of contracts and orders. On the fourth day after the birth of the new firm, Mori--who was really a shrewd, far-seeing youth--had secured the cream of the tea and rice crop. He was also promised the first bid for silks. On his part, Grant had secured a satisfactory interview with the secretary of war in regard to the army contracts for arms and ammunition. Business was literally booming, and every foreign importing firm in Yokohama felt the new competition. It is not to be supposed that they would permit the trade to slip away without an effort to retain it. Not the least of those disturbed was the firm of Black & Company, as can well be imagined. The merchant and Ralph were wild with rage and despair. Orders from various English houses were on file for early tea and rice, but the market was empty. Mori had been the early bird. "If this continues we will have to close our doors," exclaimed Mr. Black, gloomily. "I could not buy a dozen boxes of tea this morning, and we have an order of three hundred to leave by to-morrow's steamer. The fiend take that crippled whelp! He is here, there, and everywhere, and the natives in town are begging for his trade." "He will make a pretty penny raising the prices too," replied his son, in the same tone. "Why, he and that Japanese fool have made a regular corner in rice." "But he is not going to increase the price, if rumor speaks the truth. Although he has control of the crop, he ships it to America at the old rates." "That is a shrewd move," acknowledged Ralph, reluctantly. "It will make him solid with every firm in the United States. What is the matter with all of the old merchants, eh? Fancy a man like you letting a boy get the best of him in this manner. If I was the head of an established house and had gray hairs like you I'd quit the business." This brutal speech caused the merchant to flush angrily. He was on the point of retorting, but he checked himself and remained buried in thought for some time. His reflections were bitter. It was humiliating to think that a firm of boys should step in and steal the trade from men who had spent years in the business. The brow of the merchant grew dark. He would not stand it. If fair means could not avail, he would resort to foul. His conscience, long deadened by trickery, formed no bar to his resolution. Striking the desk with his open hand, he exclaimed: "I will do it no matter what comes." "What's up now, dad?" asked Ralph, with a show of interest. He added, sneeringly: "Are you awakening from your 'Rip Van Winkle' sleep? Do you think it is time to get up and circumvent those fools? Name your plan, and I will give you my help with the greatest pleasure." "You can assist me. We must destroy the credit of the new firm. They have a working capital of only twelve or thirteen thousand dollars. I learned this morning that they had given notes for ninety days for twice that amount of money. It is also said that the firm of Takatsuna & Company has sold them ten thousand dollars' worth of tea at sight. Grant arranged for an overdraw with a native bank inside of an hour. Now if we can get up a scare, Takatsuna will come down on the bank for his money, and the bank will call on the Mannings for it." "That is a great scheme," said Ralph, admiringly. "We will try it at once." "Go to Round's hotel and bring him here. In the meantime I will finish the details, my son. If all goes well, that cripple and his brother will be paupers before night." "And we will be able to fill our orders by to-morrow at the latest. If Manning Brothers & Okuma fail, the dealers will gladly come to us." "I do not care a snap of a finger for the tea business," replied Mr. Black, contemptuously. "It is that army contract I am after. I have been told that Grant has had an interview with the secretary. Now, if we don't kill the firm they will have the plum as sure as death. Bring Round here without delay." Ralph laughed as he walked to the door. "Willis has been in the sulks since he failed to carry out our little scheme of placing him in the Manning counting-room as a spy. He hates them worse than ever. He will prove a valuable ally in the present plan." In the course of an hour he returned with the ex-bookkeeper. Before noon strange rumors commenced to circulate among the foreign merchants and the banks. By one o'clock the native houses were agog with the news. Men met on the Bund and talked over the startling intelligence. At two a representative from the firm of Takatsuna called at the office of Manning Brothers & Okuma. "I am very sorry," he said, "but my firm is in pressing need of money. It is short notice, I acknowledge, but we must have the ten thousand dollars you owe us for tea at once." Grant looked surprised, but he politely sent the representative to the Yokohama bank where the check had been negotiated. In half an hour an urgent call came from the bank for the senior member of the firm. When Grant returned to the office his face wore an anxious expression. "Boys, our enemies are at work," he said. "It is said on 'Change that we are pinched for funds. Black & Company are urging the native merchants to ask for their bills. The bank paid Takatsuna their money, but the directors want it refunded at once." He had hardly ceased speaking before a knock sounded at the door of the private office. Nattie opened it, giving admission to a portly Japanese. The newcomer's dress was disordered, and he appeared wild with anxiety. It was the president of the Yokohama bank. At his heels were several merchants and half a dozen reporters. Ill news travels fast. Regardless of ceremony, the visitors crowded into the office. Grant's face became set, and his eyes glittered. Nattie appeared highly amused. He saw the comical side of the invasion, not the serious. It was really a critical moment. In commercial circles there is nothing more disastrous and credit-snapping than a run on a bank, or the failure to promptly pay a bill. The standing of a new firm is always uncertain. Like gold, it requires time and a trial in the fire of experience. Grant realized the danger at once. As the newcomers surged into the office, he arose from the desk and grasped the back of his chair with a clutch of despair. His thoughts traveled fast. He saw the ruin of his hopes, the success of his enemies; and he almost groaned aloud. Outwardly he was calm, however. Politely greeting the president of the bank, he asked the nature of his business. With feverish hands, the man produced a paper, and requested the payment of the ten thousand dollars. "Remember, my dear sir, I am first on the spot," he said. The words were significant. It meant a call for money from all creditors. It meant the swamping of their credit and absolute failure. Preserving his calmness, Grant picked up the firm's check-book, and glanced over the stubs. Of the twenty thousand dollars paid in by Mori, but a trifle over one-half remained. There were other creditors at the door. To pay one meant a demand from the others. To refuse the payment of the bank's debt was to be posted as insolvent. That meant ruin. Sick at heart, Grant was on the point of adopting the latter course, when there came a sudden and most unexpected change in the state of affairs. CHAPTER X. MORI SHOWS HIS GENEROSITY. During the scene in the private office of the firm Mori had remained silent and apparently indifferent. Apparently only--those who knew him best would have augured from the appearance of the two bright red spots in his dark cheeks that he was intensely interested. He watched the movements of the crowd at the door, he listened to the demand of the bank president, and he noted Grant's struggle to appear calm. Then just as the lame youth turned from the check-book to his auditors with an announcement of their failure to pay trembling upon his lips, the young Japanese introduced himself into the proceedings. "What is the meaning of this, sir?" he asked the president, sharply. "What do you wish?" "I am here for my money," was the defiant reply. "I have presented the note, and I await payment." "Don't you think this is rather sudden?" asked Mori, with a suspicious calmness in his voice. "It was negotiated but yesterday. Why this haste?" "I want my money," was the only answer vouchsafed. "And you at the door," continued the Japanese youth, turning his gaze in that direction. "Are you here for the same reason?" Some one in the rear rank replied in the affirmative. Mori's eyes flashed. Taking a private check-book from his pocket, he rapidly wrote several lines therein, and, detaching a leaf, tossed it to Grant. "Pay them, every one," he said, carelessly. "You will find that sufficient, I think." The lame youth eagerly read the check, and then his face became suffused with emotion. The amount called for was thirty thousand dollars! Mori had placed his whole fortune to the firm's account! Afraid to trust his voice, Grant hobbled over to the youthful native, and, in the presence of the whole assemblage, threw his arms around him. "God bless you!" he exclaimed. "You are a friend and a man." "Nonsense," replied Mori, gently. "It is nothing. Pay these cattle off, and put them down in your black book. Pay them in full and rid the office of the mob for good. And, understand," he added, addressing the bank president and his companions, "we will have no further dealings with you. Hereafter we will trade with men not liable to scare at the slightest rumor." The official took the check extended him by Grant with a crestfallen air. He saw that he had made a mistake and had lost the business of the new firm. Too late he recalled the fact that he had really heard nothing of moment. Rumors had been circulated, but try as he would, he could not recollect their source. The remaining creditors also suffered a revulsion of feeling. Some attempted to slink away, but the three members of the firm singled them out one by one, and compelled them to accept checks for the amount of their bills. In an hour eighteen thousand dollars had been paid out, but the credit of the firm was saved. When the last man had been sent away Nattie and Grant overwhelmed the clever young Japanese with congratulations and heartfelt thanks. Mori's modesty equaled his generosity, and he threatened them with immediate dissolution if they did not refrain. "It is nothing, my friends," he exclaimed, for the hundredth time. "I am only glad that I was able to furnish the money." "You must withdraw the entire amount just as soon as it is available," insisted Grant. "We should hear from the American houses within five weeks, and then we will return to the old basis." "I would like to have a photograph of old Black's face when he hears the news," said Nattie, with a grin. "Or, better still, overhear his comments." "It was a shrewd trick, but it failed, I am glad to say," remarked the lame youth. "We must take advantage of the opportunity and clinch the effect. Now is the time to set our credit upon a solid foundation." Taking several sheets of paper, he scribbled half a dozen lines upon them. "Nattie, take these to the different newspaper offices, and have them inserted in to-morrow's issues," he said. "Then drop in at the printing office and tell Bates to work up a thousand posters to be displayed about town. How does this sound? "'TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: "'A despicable attempt having been made this day by certain interested parties to injure the credit of the undersigned firm, notice is hereby given that all outstanding bills will be settled in full at ten A. M. to-morrow. A reward of one thousand _yen_ is also offered for information leading to the conviction of the person or persons starting the slander. "'MANNING BROTHERS & OKUMA'" "That is just the thing!" exclaimed Mori. "It could not be better. We'll have the posters distributed broadcast over Yokohama and also Tokio. Make it five instead of one thousand, Grant. Really, I believe that little affair will do us a great deal of good. It is an excellent advertisement." Nattie hurried away to the printing office, and by night the two cities were reading the posters. At ten o'clock the following morning fully two score merchants had called upon the firm, but they came to ask for trade, not to present bills. The conspiracy had resolved itself into a boomerang, and the firm of Manning Brothers & Okuma was more prosperous than ever. Black & Son were correspondingly depressed. The failure of their latest scheme caused the elder merchant much humiliation. At a meeting held in his office, attended by Ralph and Mr. Round, it was resolved to stick at nothing to defeat the enemy. "It is war to the knife now," exclaimed the head of the firm, grinding his teeth. "Something must be done before the first of next month, as the army contracts will be awarded then." "And that means a little trifle of twenty thousand pounds, eh?" replied the ex-bookkeeper, softly rubbing his hands. "Yes, one hundred thousand dollars. That is clear profit." "Many a man would commit murder for less than that," mused Ralph, absently stabbing the arm of his chair with a penknife. Mr. Black gave his son a keen glance. "Yes," he said, in a peculiar tone. "Whole families have been put out of the way for as many cents. But," he added, hastily, "there is no such question in our case. Ha! ha! the idea is simply preposterous!" His companions echoed the laugh, but in a strained fashion. Ralph continued to stare moodily at the floor. After a while Willis Round announced that he had a proposition to make. "You said a few moments ago that it was war to the knife now," he commenced. "Yes." "It is to your interest to ruin the new firm before the awarding of the army contracts, eh?" "Certainly. If they are in business by the end of the present month they will secure the valuable contracts without a doubt." "What would you give if they were rendered unable to bid for them?" The merchant stared at his questioner half contemptuously. "Why do you ask? You do not think you could ruin them single-handed?" he asked, banteringly. "Never you mind," was the dogged reply. "Answer my question. What would you give if the contracts were placed in your way?" "Twenty per cent. of the profits and our assistance in any scheme you may propose. Do you really mean to say that you have a plan promising success?" The merchant left his chair in his eagerness and approached the ex-bookkeeper. Ralph showed a renewed interest also. Before replying, Round cautiously opened the door leading into the counting-room. After satisfying himself, he talked long and earnestly to his companions. At the conclusion the faces of the merchant and his son were expressive of the liveliest satisfaction. There was trouble still in store for the new firm of Manning Brothers & Okuma. CHAPTER XI. NATTIE MAKES A DISCOVERY. During the important and engrossing events of the past few days Nattie had not forgotten the sport promised for the seventh of the month. He was passionately fond of athletics, and he never let slip an opportunity to participate in all that came his way. Extensive preparations had been made for the celebration of the treaty made by Commodore Perry in the year 1853. Not only the foreign residents were to take part, but the natives themselves promised a great _matsura_, or festival. The committee of the Yokohama Club, under whose auspices it was to take place, had secured the racing grounds upon the bluff. A varied programme had been arranged to cover the entire day. The sports had been divided into two parts, modern racing and games in the forenoon, and ancient native ceremonies after tiffin. The main feature of the latter was to be a grand wrestling match between foreigners. To add to the interest, the competitors were to remain unknown to each other until the moment of their appearance in the ring. Nattie had given in his name among the first. The prize offered was a valuable medal and a crown of laurel. For several days the lad had devoted his idle hours to practice with a retired native wrestler. The evening before the seventh he was in fine fettle. As an added chance, however, he resolved to take one more lesson from his instructor--a final bout to place him in good trim for the morrow. The scene of the practice matches was in the large "go-down," or warehouse, of the firm, located near a canal separating the bluff from the native quarter. The appointment for the evening was at nine, and shortly before that hour Nattie left a tea house on his way to the place of destination. The day had been sultry, and toward nightfall threatening clouds gathered over the bay. Rain promised, but that fact did not deter the lad. As his _'rikisha_ sped along the Bund he recalled the points already taught him by his master in the art of wrestling, and he fancied the ringing of cheers and the outburst of plaudits were already greeting him. The Manning "go-down" was a large square structure of stone, with iron shutters and massive doors. It was considered fireproof, and had as a watchman a brawny Irishman recently paid off from a sailing ship. His name was Patrick Cronin, and he claimed to be an American by naturalization. On reaching the entrance Nattie looked around for the fellow, but he was not in sight. Taking a key from his pocket, he opened a narrow door leading into a little corner office. As he passed inside there came a wild gust of wind and a downpour of rain. The storm had burst. "Good job I arrived in time," muttered the lad. "Whew! how it does pour down. Looks as if it has started in for three or four hours at least. If it keeps on I needn't expect old Yokoi. I wonder where Patrick is?" He whistled shrilly and thumped upon the floor with his cane, but only the echoes came to his ears. After a moment of thought he lighted a lantern and sat down near a window opening upon a narrow alley running between the building and the canal. The absence of the watchman was certainly strange. It was his duty to report at the "go-down" at six o'clock. In fact, Nattie had seen him that very evening. The building was full of valuable silks, teas, and lacquered ware, intended for shipment on the following day. Thieves were rampant along the canal, several daring robberies having occurred during the past week. Then again there was always the danger of fire. As the lad sat in his chair and thought over the possible results of the Irishman's dereliction, he grew thoroughly indignant. "By George! he'll not work for us another day," he muttered, giving the stick a vicious whirl. "I'll wager a _yen_ he is in some groggery at this very moment drinking with a chance shipmate." Going to the door he glanced out into the night. The rain was still descending in torrents, and it was of that steadiness promising a continuation. When Nattie returned to his seat it was with the resolution to keep guard over the firm's property himself. It meant a long and lonely watch with naught save the beating of the rain, the dreary gloom of the interior, and the murmuring sounds from the nearby bay for company. The lad had a stout heart, however, and he settled himself for the vigil without more ado. He found comfort in the anticipation of a scene with the recreant watchman in the morning. He made up his mind even to refuse him admission if he returned to the "go down" that night. The minutes dragged slowly, and at last the watcher found himself nodding. "Jove! this won't do," he exclaimed, springing from his chair. "I am as bad as Patrick. The lantern is going out also. Wonder if I have any matches in my pocket?" He searched, but without favorable results. A hasty examination revealed the unwelcome fact that the oil receptacle was empty. In another moment the light flickered and died out, leaving the little office in darkness. Disturbed in spirit, Nattie went to the door, almost inclined to visit some neighboring warehouse or shop for oil and matches. One glance at the deluge still falling drove the idea from his head. He was without umbrella or rain coat, and to venture for even a short distance would mean a thorough drenching--something to be religiously avoided in Japan during the summer season. "Heigho! I am in for it, I suppose. Confound that Irishman! I would like to punch his empty noddle for this. Here I am in the dark, condemned to remain all night without sleep, and--by jingo!" A very sudden and painful thought had occurred to the lad. The morrow was the day upon which he was to shine as a wrestler! The seventh of July; the day of sports in celebration of Commodore Perry's treaty. "I'll be fit for athletics and wrestling matches if I stay around here and lose my sleep!" murmured Nattie, ruefully. "Why, I'll be all played out, and a five-year-old boy could throw me. But what in thunder can I do? I can't leave and run the risk of the place catching fire. There's more than twenty thousand dollars' worth of stuff in here, and it would be just nuts to a thief to find himself among all those silks." It was impossible to communicate with either Grant or Mori. The streets in the warehouse district were unfrequented, and in such a violent storm even the policemen would hie themselves to a convenient shelter. Muttering maledictions upon the head of the absent watchman, Nattie closed the door and returned to his seat near the window. Occasional flashes of lightning illuminated the outside, and during one of these the lad espied a man crossing the bridge at the corner of the building. Thinking it might be some kindly person who would not disdain to carry a message, he hurried to the door leading into the street. As he opened it he heard voices. The newcomer had paused and was looking back at the indistinct figure of a second man on the other side of the canal. In the intervals of light Nattie observed the person nearest him start back and evidently expostulate with his follower. They were barely ten yards away, and by the aid of a brilliant flash of lightning the lad noticed something familiar in the appearance of both men. One was tall and thin, while the other had a short, stumpy form and a rolling lurch as he wavered vaguely near the end of the bridge. "Get back, man. What do you want to come out in this wet for when you have a cozy nook in yon house? Go back, I say." It was the attenuated individual who had spoken. He placed one hand upon his companion's arm, but the fellow staggered away and replied: "Got--hic--my dooty ter do. Oi'm too long away as 'tis, m' boy. Dash ther--hic--rain. It ain't wetter in th' blooming ocean, knife me if 'tis." "You are a fool to come out in it, I say. Return to the house, and I'll join you presently. There are three more bottles of prime stuff in the closet. Break one out and help yourself." "But me dooty, man! It has never been said that--hic--Pat Cronin ever went back on a job. Ask me shipmates. Why, they sing er song about me: "'So he seized th' capstan bar, Like a true honest tar, And in spite or tears and sighs Sung yo! heave ho!'" "Shut up; you will have the police after us," expostulated the other. "Do you intend to return to the house, or shall I lock up the bottles? Answer me, yes or no?" "Sure and Oi don't want to lose th' drink, but----" "Yes, or no?" "Ah, it's th' funny man ye are. He! he! he! Phwy don't yer git fat? If Oi----" "Then it is 'no,' eh? Well, here----" "Hould an, me buck. Oi'll go back and take another swig. Then to me dooty, yer understand. Here goes. "'So he seized th' (hic) capstan bar, Like a true honest tar, And in spite of----'" The husky notes died away, a door slammed in one of a row of wooden shanties across the bridge, and all was quiet. The tall, thin man glanced keenly after his companion; then, slipping up to the Manning "go-down," he examined the entrance. It was locked. Inserting a key he soon gained admission. As he softly closed the door again he stood within a pace of Nattie. It had not taken the lad many seconds to catch the drift of affairs. He knew full well that Patrick's tempter was no other than Willis Round, the firm's ex-bookkeeper. His presence in that locality during a heavy storm, his familiarity with the recreant watchman, the evident and successful attempt to entice him away from his post, could have only one meaning. He had designs on the property of his enemies. Long before Patrick had lurched back to the shanty Nattie had slipped into the office. When he heard the key grating in the lock he was not surprised; but he was considerably puzzled as to the best manner in which he should treat the situation. "If I only had my revolver I would bring the scoundrel to terms," he muttered, regretfully. "I had to leave it home this night of all nights. As it is, I haven't a solitary weapon. A bamboo cane wouldn't hurt a fly. Ah, I'll try the lantern." Creeping across the floor he secured the object just as the ex-bookkeeper reached the door. Returning to his post, the lad waited with rapidly beating heart. CHAPTER XII. THE STRUGGLE IN THE "GO-DOWN." That Willis Round meant injury was plainly evident. But whether he came as a thief or incendiary was yet to be ascertained. He knew the ground well, so he lost little time in entering. After closing the door he hesitated. At his elbow stood the brave lad with lantern raised in readiness. At the first sign of a light, or the scratch of a match, he meant to strike with all the power of his arm. The lantern was a heavy iron affair, and Willis Round was as near death at that moment as he probably had been during his eventful career. His knowledge of the "go-down's" interior saved him. After a brief pause he started toward the main portion of the warehouse. At his heels crept Nattie, silent, determined, resolute. The main room of the warehouse was crowded with bales of silk, chests of tea, and various boxes containing lacquered ware. These had been arranged in an orderly manner with passageways extending between the different piles. In one thing the lad had an advantage; he was thoroughly conversant with the arrangement of the goods, while Round had only a general knowledge of the interior. The latter stumbled several times, but he made no move to show a light. Presently Nattie felt his curiosity aroused. What could be the man's object? Was it theft of valuable silks or deliberate incendiarism? That the fellow had a certain destination in view was made evident by his actions. During the day the place was lighted by large glazed windows at the ends and on each side, but at night these were closed with iron shutters. In the roof were several long skylights, and through them an occasional glare came from the lightning, which still fitfully shot athwart the sky. It was by the aid of one of these that the lad finally saw the intruder halt near a pile of tea chests. The flash lasted only an instant, but it brought out in clear relief the attenuated figure of the scoundrel. He was standing within reach of a number of boxes packed ready for shipment on the morrow. They were wrapped in straw matting, and nearby was a little heap of the same material to be used on other chests. It was highly inflammable. This fact recurred to the lad with startling significance, and he involuntarily hurried forward. Before he could realize his mistake he was within a step of Round. A slight cough from the latter caused Nattie to abruptly check himself. With a gasp of excitement he shrank back, and slipped behind a large bale of silks. The next moment a blinding flash of lightning revealed the interior of the warehouse. Before it died away the plucky lad peered forth, but only to find that a change had taken place in affairs. The ex-bookkeeper was not in sight. It was an unwelcome discovery, to say the least. With the enemy in view, it was easy to keep track of his intentions. Now he might be retreating to any part of the vast "go-down" where in temporary security he could start a conflagration at his leisure. "I must find him at all hazards," muttered Nattie, somewhat discomfited. "Why didn't I bring matters to a point in the office? or why didn't I strike him down while I had the chance a moment ago? I'll not fool any more." Grasping the iron lantern in readiness for instant use, he slipped forward step by step. At every yard he paused and listened intently. The silence was both oppressive and ominous. He would have given a great deal if even a rustle or a sigh had reached his ears. As time passed without incident the lad grew bolder. His anxiety spurred him on. He hastened his movements and peered from side to side in vain endeavor to pierce the gloom. Where had the man gone? Probably he was even then preparing to strike the match that would ignite the building. Unable to endure longer the suspense, Nattie swung into a side aisle and ran plump into some yielding object. There was a muttered cry of surprise and terror; then, in the space of a second, the interior resounded with shouts and blows and the hubbub of a struggle. At the very start Nattie lost his only weapon. In the sudden and unexpected collision the lantern was dashed from his hand. Before he could recover it he felt two sinewy arms thrown about his middle, then with a tug he was forced against a bale. It required only a moment for the athletic lad to free himself. Long training at sports and games came to his aid. Wriggling toward the floor, he braced himself and gave a mighty upward heave. At the same time, finding his arms released, he launched out with both clinched fists. There was a thud, a stifled cry, and then a pile of tea chests close at hand fell downward with a loud crash. Quick to realize his opportunity, Nattie slipped away and placed a large box between his antagonist and himself. The scrimmage had only served to increase his anxiety and anger. When he regained his breath he called out, hotly: "You confounded scoundrel, I'll capture you yet. I know you, Willis Round, and if this night's work don't place you in prison it'll not be my fault." The words had hardly passed his lips when the lad was unceremoniously brought to a realization of his mistake. There was a whiz and a crash and a small box dropped to the floor within a foot of him. He lost no time in shifting his position. "Aha! two can play at that game," he muttered. Picking up a similar object, he was on the point of throwing it haphazard when he became aware of a loud knocking in the direction of the door. Almost frantic with relief and joy, he dropped the missile and started toward the spot. Fortunately gaining the little apartment without mishap, he inserted his key in the lock with trembling hands, and attempted to turn it. Just then a maudlin voice came from outside: "Phwere is the lock, Oi wonder? By the whiskers av St. Patrick, Oi never saw such a night. Cronin, ye divil, yer fuller than Duffy's goat. But ye are a good fellow. "'So Oi seized th' capstan bar, Like a true honest tar, And in spite----' "Murther! Oi can't git in at all, at all. Oi'll go back to the bottle. Me new friend has--hic--left me, but Oi have his whiskey. Here goes for th' house once more." Disgusted at the discovery that it was only the tipsy watchman, Nattie had again made his way back into the "go-down" proper. As he crossed the threshold of the door leading from the office, he heard the rattling of iron. The sound came from the far end. A second later there was a faint crash, and a gust of wind swept through the vast apartment. "He has opened a window. He is trying to escape." Throwing all caution away, the lad recklessly dashed down the central passageway. It did not take him long to reach the spot. The fury of the storm caused the opened shutter to swing back and forth with a melancholy grinding of the hinges. Climbing upon the sill, Nattie slipped through the opening and dropped outside. He had barely reached the ground when he was suddenly seized, and, with a fierce effort, sent staggering across the walk separating the building from the canal. He made a frantic effort to save himself, but it was too late. With a shrill cry trembling upon his lips, he felt himself falling through space; then, with a loud splash, he struck the water's surface! CHAPTER XIII. WILLIS ROUND ESCAPES. No man, or boy, for that matter, knows just what he can do until put to the test. We may think we know the limit of our strength or endurance, but we cannot prove it until an emergency arises. Then we are often found mistaken in our previous surmises, and, need it be said, much to our amazement. Nature is a wise mother. She has provided in all a reserve force which only needs the touch of an exigency to cause it to appear full powered. A task is set before you--you cannot do it in your opinion; but you try--and succeed. You are in peril; only a miracle of strength or shrewdness will save you. Involuntarily you act, and, lo! the miracle comes from your good right arm or your brain. A lad learning to swim places a dozen yards as the extent of his powers. He enters the water; is carried beyond his depth; swept away by an undertow, and swims successfully the length of three city blocks. It was his reserve force and the stimulating fear of death that brought him safely to shore. When Nattie Manning felt himself falling into the canal, sent there by Willis Round's cunning arm, he realized only one emotion, and that was rage--overpowering, consuming anger. He was wild with wrath to think that he had been tricked by the ex-bookkeeper, and the flames of his passion were not lessened by discomfiture. It seemed that he had barely touched the water before he was out, climbing hand over hand up the jagged stone side. To this day he does not know how he emerged so quickly, or by what latent force of muscle he dragged himself to the passageway. He gained the spot, however, and, thoroughly saturated with water, set out at the top of his speed after his assailant, whose shadowy figure scurried along in front of him toward the bay. What the lad hoped to accomplish he could not well tell himself, but he continued the pursuit with the keen determination of a bloodhound. A short distance back of the "go-down," a narrow street ran from the bluff to the center of the city. It crossed the canal with the aid of a low bridge, and was occupied by storehouses. The storm was passing away. The rain had slackened perceptibly, and the wind had died down to occasional puffs. In the south lightning could still be seen, but it was the mere glowing of atmospheric heat. In that part of Yokohama devoted to mercantile warehouses, the street lamps were few and far between. There was one at the junction of the bridge and passageway, however, and when Nattie dashed into its circle of illumination, he suddenly found himself confronted by a uniformed policeman. The latter immediately stretched out his arms and brought the lad to a halt. Then drawing his short-sword, he demanded in peremptory tones the meaning of his haste. Seeing the futility of resisting the official, Nattie hurriedly made known his identity, and explained the events of the night. Brief as was the delay, when the two started in pursuit of the fugitive, enough time had been wasted to permit him to escape. A hasty search of the neighborhood brought no results. Willis Round was out of reach. "No matter," remarked the lad, at last. "I know him, and it won't be difficult to apprehend the scoundrel." Returning to the "go-down" with the officer, he closed the window and then dispatched the man to the nearest messenger office with a note for Grant. In due time the police official returned with assistance. Patrick Cronin was found helplessly intoxicated in a nearby house, and unceremoniously lugged away to jail. The lame youth was prompt in his appearance on the scene. He brought with him a servant of the family, who was installed as watchman until the morrow. Relieved from his responsibility, Nattie accompanied his brother home, and after explaining the affair in detail, proceeded to take the rest he needed for the wrestling match of the next day. On reporting at the office the following morning, he found Grant and Mori still discussing Willis Round's actions. A report from the police stated that nothing had been accomplished. The fugitive was still at liberty, and in all probability had left the city. "I'll wager a _yen_ he is speeding as fast as the train can carry him to either Nagasaki or Kobe," remarked Mori. "He'll try to get a ship and leave the country." Grant shook his head doubtfully. "In my opinion, he will not do that," he said. "There are too many places in the interior where he can hide until this affair blows over." "If the scoundrel ever shows his face in Yokohama I'll see that he is placed behind the bars," exclaimed Nattie, vindictively. "He deserves little mercy at our hands. If an all-wise Providence had not sent me to the 'go-down' last night we would now be considerably out of pocket." "What will we do with Patrick Cronin?" "Discharge him; that's all. We can't prove any connection with Round. The latter simply tempted him away from his duty with a bottle of whiskey. It will be impossible to bring a criminal charge against the Irishman." "I will see that he remains in jail for a couple of weeks, anyway," decided Grant. "He deserves some punishment." "When shall we close up?" asked Nattie, gayly. "This is a great holiday, you know. We are due at the race track by ten." "It's a quarter past nine now," replied the young Japanese, looking at his watch. "Suppose we start at once?" The suggestion was acted upon with alacrity. Leaving the office in charge of a native watchman, the three youths took _jinrikishas_ and proceeded to the "bluff," where the sports of the day were to take place. The storm of the preceding night had ended in delightful weather. The tropical rays of the sun were tempered by a cooling breeze from the bay. The air was glorious with briskness, and so clear that the majestic peak of Fuji San seemed within touch. The city was in gala attire. Banners of all nations were flaunting in the breeze, but after the Japanese flag of the Rising Sun, the grand old Stars and Stripes predominated. It could not be said that the firm of Manning Brothers & Okuma had failed in patriotism. Streaming from a lofty flagstaff on the roof was an immense American ensign, and draping the _façade_ of the building were others intertwined with the standard of the country. The streets were decorated with arches and bunting, and every second native wore a little knot of red, white and blue. It was a unique celebration, from one point of view. Many years before, the gallant Commodore Perry had sailed into the Bay of Yokohama with a message of good will from the then President of the United States to the ruler of Japan. At that time the island kingdom was walled in by impassable bulwarks of exclusiveness and hatred of foreigners. For thousands of years she had calmly pursued her course of life, lost to civilization, and satisfied with her reign of idols and depths of barbarism. It required a strong hand to force a way to the central power, and time waited until the Yankee commodore appeared with his fleet of ships. Other nations had tried to pierce the barrier. England, France, Germany made repeated attempts, but were repulsed. The Dutch secured a foothold of trade, but on the most degrading terms. Their representatives were compelled to approach the mikado and grovel upon their knees with heads bowed in the dust. In this debasing attitude were they greeted with the contempt they deserved, and as slaves to Japan. Much as Americans desired commercial relations with the country, they would not accept them with humility. In the selection of an envoy the United States could not have decided on a better man than Commodore Perry, brother of the hero of Lake Erie. Firm, implacable, intelligent, and generous withal, he was the fitting choice. On reaching Japan he was met with refusals and evasions. He persisted, and finally the august ruler sent a minor official to confer with the foreigner. "I am here as personal representative of the United States of America, and I will see no one save the mikado himself, or his highest official," replied the bluff naval officer. "I have ten ships and two hundred guns, and here I stay until I am received with the formalities due my President." He finally won the point, and after the usual delay, a treaty was made between the two countries, to the amazement of the civilized world. This was the entering wedge which resulted in the Japan of to-day. Lifted from her barbarism, she has reached a high plane among nations. Small wonder that her people celebrate the anniversary, and honor the memory of the immortal Commodore Perry. With apologies for this digression, I will again take up the thread of the story. CHAPTER XIV. THE BEGINNING OF THE CELEBRATION. _En route_ to the "bluff" the boys came upon a curious procession. As stated above, the whole town was enjoying a _matsura_, or festival. As Nattie aptly remarked, it was the Fourth of July, Decoration Day and Christmas thrown into one. In the present case the spectacle was one calculated to make a foreigner imagine himself in the interior of Africa. Approaching the _jinrikishas_ occupied by Grant and his companions was a bullock cart, upon which a raised platform and scaffolding twenty feet high had been constructed. The bullock and all were covered with paper decorations, green boughs and artificial flowers. In front a girl with a grotesque mask danced and postured, while a dozen musicians twanged impossible instruments and kept up an incessant tattoo on drums. On foot around the _bashi_, as the whole structure is called, were twenty or thirty lads naked as to their legs, their faces chalked, their funny little heads covered with straw hats a yard wide, and their bodies clad in many-colored tunics, decked out with paper streamers and flowers. In front, on all sides, behind, and even under the wheels, were scores of children marching to the tune of the band--if it could be so called--much as the youths of America do in the processions, be it circus or otherwise, in our country. The boys forming the guard to the bullock cart marched step by step with military precision, chanting at the top of their voices, and banging upon the ground a long iron bar fitted with loose rings. The colors, the songs, the dance and the clanging iron, formed together a combination calculated to draw the attention of every person not deaf, dumb and blind. To the boys it was a common sight, and they bade their _karumayas_ hurry forward away from the din. On reaching the field on the "bluff," they found an immense throng awaiting the commencement of ceremonies. The race track had been laid out in fitting style, and innumerable booths, tents and _kiosks_ filled two-thirds of the space. The morning hours were to be devoted to ancient Japanese games, and the time after tiffin to modern sports and matches, including the event of the day, the wrestling. Mori Okuma--an athlete in both European and native sports--was listed in a bout at Japanese fencing, so he left his companions for a dressing-tent. Nattie and Grant glanced over the vast concourse of people, and exchanged bows with their many friends. The Americans and English in foreign countries keep green in their memory the land of their birth, and in all places where more than one foreigner can be found a club is organized. It is a sort of oasis in the desert of undesirable neighbors, and forms a core around which cluster good fellowship and the habits and customs of home. The Strangers' Club in Yokohama had a membership of six hundred, and they were well represented in the present assemblage. Grant and Nattie were well-known members, and they counted their friends by the hundred. In looking over the field the latter espied a group in the grand stand which immediately attracted his attention. He pointed them out to his brother. "There is Mr. Black and the two German merchants," he said. "They have their heads together as if discussing some weighty problem. I wonder where Ralph is? He is interested in athletics." "I'll wager a _yen_ he is about somewhere. So the Germans are hobnobbing with our esteemed enemy, eh? I'll warrant we are the subject of conversation. I don't like the way Swartz and Bauer conduct business, and I guess they know it. They can form an alliance if they wish to. We needn't lose any sleep over it." "There comes Ralph. He is looking in this direction. I wonder what he thinks about the failure of his confederate, Willis Round, to injure us? To the deuce with them, anyway! The fencing is about to commence." The clapping of hands and a prolonged cheer proclaimed the beginning of the sports. The _yobidashi_, or caller-out, took his stand upon a decorated box, and announced a bout at fencing between the ever-pleasant and most worthy importing merchant, Mori Okuma, and the greatly-to-be-admired doctor-at-law, Hashimoto Choye. At the end of this ceremonious proclamation he introduced our friend and his antagonist. Both were small in stature, and they presented rather a comical appearance. Each was padded out of all proportions with folds of felt and leather. Upon their heads were bonnet-shaped helmets of metal, and each wore a jacket of lacquered pieces decidedly uncomfortable to the eye. At the word of command attendants rushed in with the weapons. These were not broadswords, rapiers, nor cutlasses, but a curious instrument composed of a number of strips of bamboo, skillfully wrought together and bound. The end was covered with a soft skin bag, and the handle was very much like that of an ordinary sword. Armed with these the combatants faced each other, and at the sound of a mellow bell fell to with the utmost ferocity. Slash, bang, whack, went the weapons; the fencers darted here and there, feinted, prodded, cut and parried, as if they had to secure a certain number of strikes before the end of the bout. It was all very funny to those unaccustomed to the Japanese style of fencing, and the naval officers from the various warships in port roared with laughter. To the natives it was evidently deeply interesting, and they watched the rapid play of the weapons as we do the gyrations of our favorite pitcher in the national game. At the end of five minutes the game was declared finished. The umpire, an official of the city government, decided in favor of Mori, and that youth fled to the dressing-tent to escape the plaudits of the audience. He received the congratulations of Grant and Nattie with evident pleasure, however. The next item on the programme was a novel race between trained storks. Then came a creeping match between a score of native youngsters, and so the morning passed with jugglery and racing and many sports of the ancient island kingdom. At noon tiffin was served to the club and its guests in a large pavilion placed in the center of the grounds. The ceremonies recommenced at two o'clock with a running match between a dozen trained athletes. Of all the spectators, probably the happiest was Grant Manning. Deprived of participation in the various sports by his deformity, he seemed to take a greater interest from that very fact. He clapped his hands and shouted with glee at every point, and was the first to congratulate the winners as they left the track. The time for the great event of the day finally arrived. At three the master of ceremonies, clad in _kamishimo_, or ancient garb, mounted his stand and announced in stentorian tones: "The next event on the programme will be a contest in wrestling between six gentlemen of this city. Those persons whose names are listed with the secretary will report in the dressing-tent." "That calls me," cried Nattie, gayly. "Boys, bring out your rabbits' feet and your lucky coins." "You don't know the name of your antagonist?" asked Mori. "No; nor will I until we enter the ring. Small matter. I feel in fine trim, and I intend to do the best I can. So long." "Luck with you, Nattie," called out all within hearing, casting admiring glances after the handsome, athletic lad. Directly in front of the grand stand a ring had been constructed something after the fashion of the old-time circus ring. The surface was sprinkled with a soft, black sand, and the ground carefully leveled. Overhead stretched a canopy of matting, supported by a number of bamboo poles wrapped in red, white and blue bunting. At the four corners of the arena were mats for the judges, and in the center an umpire in gorgeous costume took his place. By permission of the Nomino Sakune Jinsha Society, which controls the national game of wrestling in the empire, their hereditary judges were to act in the present match. After Nattie disappeared in the dressing-tent a short delay occurred. As usual, the audience indicated their impatience with shouts and calls, and the ever-present small boy made shrill noises upon various quaint instruments. Suddenly a herald with a trumpet emerged from the tent, and the vast concourse became quiet. He sounded a blast, the canvas flaps of two openings were pulled aside, and two lads bare as to chest and with legs clad in trunks bounded into the arena. A murmur of surprise came from the audience; the antagonists faced each other, and then glared a bitter defiance. From one entrance had come Nattie Manning, and from the other--Ralph Black! CHAPTER XV. THE WRESTLING MATCH. Nattie's several encounters with the younger member of the English firm had been duly discussed in the club, and the discomfiture of the elder merchant during his call upon Grant had been a toothsome morsel for the gossipers of the city. The enmity between the houses of Manning and Black was the common talk among the foreigners of Yokohama. They were aware of the cause of the trouble, and knew the suspicions concerning the payment of the now-famous debt. And when the opening of the flaps in the dressing-tent had disclosed the youths destined to face each other for the supremacy of the wrestling ring, a murmuring sound rolled through the concourse like the echoes of a passing wind. "It's young Black and Nattie Manning!" cried more than one. "Whew! there will be a warm tussle now." Over in one corner of the grand stand Grant and Mori sat in amazement. The _dénouement_ was entirely unexpected to them. Not long did they remain silent. Up sprang the lame youth, his kindly face glowing with excitement. Mounting a vacant chair despite his infirmity, he shook a bundle of English notes in the air, and shouted: "Ten to one on my brother! Ten to one! ten to one! Twenty pounds even that he secures the first two points! Whoop! where are the backers of the other side? I'll make it fifteen to one in five-pound notes. Who will take the bet?" In the meantime Mori had not been idle. Forcing his way directly to where Mr. Black was sitting with the Germans, he shook a bag of coin in the air, and dared them to place a wager with him. Following his example came half a dozen American friends of the new firm, and presently the grand stand resounded with the cries of eager bettors. Down in the arena Nattie and Ralph stood confronting one another like tigers in a forest jungle. The former's face was set with determination. He had long wished for just such an opportunity. It had come at last. Ralph's face wore a peculiar pallor. It was not fear, but rather that of one who felt the courage of desperation. He well knew there was little difference in physical strength between them, but he appeared to lack the stamina of honesty and merit. Both lads were in the pink of condition, and they formed a picture appealing to the hearts of all lovers of athletics. There was not an ounce of superfluous flesh on either. If anything, Ralph was slightly taller, but Nattie's arms gave promise of greater length and muscle. Presently the din in the grand stand ceased. Wagers had been given and taken on both sides with great freedom. Grant had collapsed into a chair with his purse empty and his notebook covered with bets. Mori was still seeking takers with great persistency. A blast was sounded on the herald's trumpet, and the eyes of the vast audience were centered on the ring. The judges took their places, the umpire hopped to the middle, and with a wave of his fan gave the signal. Nattie and Ralph faced each other, eye to eye. Slowly sinking down until their hands rested upon their knees, they waited for an opportunity to grapple. The silence was intense. The far-away echoes of a steamer's whistle came from the distant bay. A chant of voices sounding like the murmur of humming-birds was wafted in from a neighboring temple. The hoarse croaking of a black crow--the city's scavenger--came from a circling figure overhead. A minute passed. Nattie straightened. Ralph followed his example. Warily they approached each other. Face to face, and eye to eye; intent upon every step, they began to march sideways; always watching, always seeking for an opening. Their hands twitched in readiness for a dash, a grip, a tug. Each had his weight thrown slightly forward, and his shoulders slouched a little, watching for an unwary move. Nattie feinted suddenly. His right arm darted out, he touched Ralph's shoulder, but the English youth dodged, only to be grasped by the waist by his antagonist's left hand. There was a sharp tug, a whirl of the figures, then they broke away, each still upon his feet. A vast sigh came from the audience, and Grant chuckled almost deliriously. The antagonists rested, still confronting each other. Ralph's pallor had given way to an angry flush. His lips moved as if muttering oaths. Nattie remained cool and imperturbable. His was the advantage. Coolness in combat is half the battle. Those in the audience that had risked their money upon the merchant's son began to regret their actions. The match was not won, however. At the end of five minutes a signal came from the umpire. Before the flash of his brilliantly decorated fan had vanished from the eyes of the audience, Nattie darted forward and clashed breast to breast against Ralph. The latter put forth his arms blindly, gropingly; secured a partial hold of his opponent's neck, essayed a backward lunge, but in the hasty effort stumbled and suddenly found himself upon his back with the scattering gusts of sand settling around him. And then how the grand stand rang with cheers! "First bout for Manning!" "A fair fall, and a great one!" High above the tumult of sounds echoed a shrill voice: "Thirty to one on my brother! I offer it in sovereigns! Take it up if you dare!" The victor stood modestly bowing from side to side, but there was a glitter of pride in his eyes which told of the pleasure he felt--doubly a pleasure, because his antagonist was Ralph Black. The latter had been assisted to his feet by the men appointed for the purpose. He was trembling in every limb, but it was from rage, not exhaustion. His breath came in short, quick gasps, and he glared at Nattie as if meditating an assault. Again the umpire's fan gave the signal, and once more the combatants faced each other for the second point. And now happened a grievous thing for our heroes. Nattie was not ordinarily self-assured. There was no room in his character for conceit; but his triumph in the present case caused him to make a very serious mistake. He failed at this critical moment to bear in mind Moltke's famous advice: "He who would win in war must put himself in his enemy's place." Flushed with his victory he entered into the second bout with a carelessness that brought him to disaster in the twinkling of an eye. Ralph Black, smarting under defeat, kept his wits about him, however, and, adopting his opponent's tactics, made a fierce rush at the instant of the signal. Grasping Nattie by the waist, he forced him aside, and then backward with irresistible force. The result--the lad found himself occupying almost the same spot of earth which bore Ralph's former imprint. Now was the time for the opposition to cheer, and that they did right royally. Counter shouts came from the American faction, and again Grant and Mori's voices arose above the tumult inviting wagers. Five minutes of rest, then came the time for the final and decisive bout. It was with very different feelings that Nattie passed to the center of the ring now. His handsome face plainly bespoke humiliation, but there was a flash of the eyes which also announced a grim and desperate determination. It was like that of Ben Hur when he swept around the arena with his chargers on the last circle. Ralph was plainly elated. He paused long enough to wave one hand toward a group of friends; then the twain faced for the last time. It was evident from the outset that the bout would not last very long. Warily, and with the utmost caution, the lads confronted each other. Side by side they edged and retreated. A silence as of the tombs of forgotten races fell upon the audience. Suddenly--no man's eyes were quick enough to see the start--Nattie dropped almost on all fours at Ralph's feet. He lunged forward, grasped the English youth's hips, then with a mighty effort which brought the blood in a scarlet wave to his face, he surged upward, and, with a crash, the merchant's son lay a motionless heap in the center of the arena! And the match was won! CHAPTER XVI. AFTER THE VICTORY. The match was won, and Nattie had come out victorious. There was an instant of silence after the clever throw--silence like that which precedes a storm--then the grounds rang with a tumult of applause. With shouts and yells, with clapping of hands and piercing whistles the vast audience proclaimed their appreciation. Men nearer the ring climbed over the low railing and lifting the blushing lad to their shoulders, formed the nucleus of a triumphal procession. Around the arena they marched until at last Nattie struggled free by main force. Retreating to the dressing-tent, he disappeared within its shelter, followed by Grant and Mori. The latter were so filled with joy that they could not find qualifying words in either language, so they shouted alternately in Japanese and English. In the meantime the defeated wrestler had been brought to a realization of his discomfiture by his father and several surgeons. The fall had stunned him, but no bones were broken. Leaning on his parent, he retired to a _jinrikisha_ and left the field without changing his costume. In the dressing-tent Nattie and his companions were holding gay carnival over the victory. The little apartment was crowded with Americans, both civilian and naval, and it soon became evident that the triumph was being regarded as an international affair. It was a victory of the American element over the English. The difference between Nattie and Ralph had given way to something of greater importance. Through some unexplained reason a strong undercurrent of jealousy exists between members of the two countries in foreign climes, and evidences crop to the surface at intervals. It generally manifests itself in just such occasions as the present, and from the moment Nattie and Ralph were matched together in the arena, the American and English took sides with their respective countrymen. The overwhelming importance of the first match detracted all interest from those following, and the celebration was soon brought to a close. Nattie and his companions finally escaped from the field. At Grant's invitation a number of the Americans accompanied him to a well-known tea house in the city where dinner was served in honor of the occasion. Of course the victor was the lion of the feast, but he bore his honors modestly. On being called upon for a speech he displayed greater trepidation than when he confronted his antagonist in the arena. At last yielding to the vociferous invitation, he arose from his chair and said, bluntly: "I am no hand to talk, my friends. In our firm my Brother Grant is my mouthpiece. But I can say that I appreciate this honor, and that I am almighty glad I defeated Ralph Black. I guess you know the reason why. I thank you for your kindness." Then he abruptly resumed his seat, amid the cheers of the party who voted him a good fellow with the enthusiasm of such occasions. The impromptu banquet came to an end in due time, and the coming of the morrow found the boys again at work in the counting-room of Manning Brothers & Okuma. It was with a chuckle of great satisfaction that Grant counted up the results of his wagers made in the grand stand. He checked off each item with glee, and finally announced to his companions that he was three hundred pounds ahead. "I don't care a broken penny for the money," he said. "In fact, I intend to turn it over to the hospital fund, but it's the fact of beating those Englishmen that tickles me. Nattie, if you had permitted Ralph Black to throw you in that last bout I would have disowned you and retired to a Shinton monastery." "My, what a fate I saved you from!" grinned his brother. "Fancy you a monk with that hoppity-skip foot of yours. But how is Ralph? Have either of you heard?" "Some one told me this morning that he was feeling very sore--in spirits," laughed Mori. "They say he took the early train for Kobe, where he intends to stay until his humiliation has a chance to disappear." "I'll wager a _yen_ yesterday's work has not increased his liking for us," carelessly remarked the lame youth. "What did you get out of his father and those Germans, Mori? I saw you hovering about them with a bag of coin. Did the old man do any betting?" "Five hundred dollars. I gave him odds of seven to one. I also have the German merchants, Swartz and Bauer, listed for a cool thousand. Whew! won't they groan in bitterness of spirit when I send over for the money?" "I only regret one thing in the whole affair," said Nattie. "And that is my confounded carelessness in permitting Ralph to throw me in the second bout. It was a case of 'swell-head,' I suppose. The first throw was so easy I thought all the rest would be like it. However, all's well that ends well. The match is won, and the English will sing low for a time." During the balance of the week the members of the new firm labored early and late arranging their shipments of tea and silks. Each steamer carried a consignment of goods to America, and in return came cargoes of merchandise, flour, printed goods, machinery and wool. The events of the past few days had advertised the firm to such an extent that the volume of business became burdensome. In due course of time the flood of money turned and began to flow back into the coffers. Bills outstanding at short periods matured, and the bank account assumed healthy proportions. Mori was compelled to withdraw his last loan of thirty thousand dollars, given at a most critical point in the firm's brief existence despite his protest. At the end of the third week two extra warehouses were leased, and the clerical force in the office doubled. All this was very comforting to Grant and his associates, but there still remained a more valuable prize. The rumors of war between China and Japan, which had bubbled to the surface of the political caldron many times during the past year, now began to attract public attention. The government disclaimed any idea of impending war, but it quietly proceeded with its preparations at the same time. It was known among the merchants that a large order for arms and ammunition would be given out on the first day of August, and the competition became very keen. Through his personal friendship with the secretary of war, and the integrity of the new firm, Grant was acknowledged as possessing the best chance. There was one company, however, that had not given up hope of securing the prize, and that was the firm of Black & Son. The reader will doubtless remember the meeting held in the English merchant's office between father and son and the ex-bookkeeper, Willis Round. At that consultation the latter had disclosed a plan for the defeat of Grant Manning. The affair of the "go-down," when Round was foiled in his attempt to start a conflagration, delayed the schemes of the conspirators, but the near approach of the time for awarding the valuable contract, again found them at work. Mr. Black was the only one of the three present in Yokohama. Willis Round was an exile for obvious reasons, and Ralph chose to absent himself after the wrestling match on the seventh of July. By arrangement the twain met in an interior village north of the capital, where they schemed and plotted for the downfall of their enemies. At the expiration of two weeks Patrick Cronin was released from jail and advised by the authorities to leave the country. Thus everything promised peace for our heroes, and the prosperity of honest labor fell to their lot day by day. All three were too shrewd to allow such a pleasant state of affairs to lull their watchfulness. They knew that in war silence is ominous, and that many a maneuver is projected under the veil of a temporary truce. As it came to pass, however, something occurred that deceived even Nattie's suspicious eye. CHAPTER XVII. THE TURNING UP OF A BAD PENNY AND ITS RESULTS. Nattie's duties as warehouseman and shipper of the firm took him aboard the shipping of the port day by day. When a consignment of tea or silk was conveyed from the "go-down" in lighters to the steamers riding at anchor in the bay, the lad would visit the vessels to see that the goods were checked properly. Also when the smaller coasting craft would arrive from other ports with cargoes from the local agents of the firm, Nattie's duty carried him on board to sign the receipts. One morning while on the latter journey to a coaster from Kobe he was surprised to see an old acquaintance among the crew. It was the recreant watchman, Patrick Cronin. Still harboring resentment for the fellow's actions on that memorable night when Willis Round made his dastardly attempt to fire the "go-down" with its valuable contents, Nattie passed him without recognition. After attending to his business on board, he started to leave the little steamer. As he was preparing to descend to his cutter, he felt a touch upon his shoulder. Turning, he saw Patrick with an expression of great humility upon his rugged face. "What is it?" asked Nattie, sharply. "I beg your pardon, sir, but could Oi have a bit of a talk wid yer?" replied the Irishman, pleadingly. "Well, what do you wish to say? Make haste; I am in a hurry." "Could yer step back here a bit where we won't be overheard, sir? It's something of interest to yourself Oi have to say, sir. Maybe ye'll think it's valuable information Oi have before Oi'm through." Laughing incredulously, Nattie walked over to the break of the forecastle, and bade his companion proceed with his yarn. He thought it would prove to be a sly attempt to secure another position with the firm, and he firmly intended to refuse the request. "Now what is it?" he again demanded, impatiently. "It's mad ye are at me, Oi suppose?" "See here, Patrick Cronin, if you have anything to tell me, speak out. My time is too valuable to waste just now. If you intend to ask for a situation with the firm you had better save your breath. One experience with you is enough." Instead of becoming angry at this plain talk, Patrick set to chuckling with good humor. "Oi don't blame yer for being down on me," he said, with what seemed very like a wink. "Oi should not have let that spalpane tempt me wid th' drink. Oi have it in for him, and by th' same token that's why Oi'm now talking to yer." "Do you know where Willis Round is?" quickly asked Nattie. "Maybe Oi do, and maybe Oi don't. It's for you to say, sir." "For me to say? What have I to do with it?" "Would yer like to capture him?" asked Patrick, cunningly. Nattie thought a moment before replying. Would it really be worth the candle to bring the ex-bookkeeper to justice? The chase might entail a journey and some expense. But then would it not be advisable for the sake of future peace to have Round behind prison bars? "As long as he is at liberty," thought the lad, "we can expect trouble. This chance of disarming him should not be neglected." "Yes; I would very much like to capture the fellow," he added, aloud. "I suppose you know where he is, or you would not mention the subject." "I do know his whereabouts this blessed minute." "Well?" The Irishman leered significantly. "Ah, you wish to sell the information, I suppose?" said Nattie, a light breaking in upon him. "It's wise ye are." "Can you tell me exactly where he is, so that I can send and have him arrested?" "No, no. Ye mustn't send the police, sir. If ye want to capture the spalpane ye must go yerself, or wid a friend. The boobies of officers would spoil everything. If Oi give the man away Oi must be sure he will be put in prison, as he'd kill me for informing on him." "Oh, I see," said Nattie, contemptuously. "You wish to save your precious skin. Well, if it is worth while I'll go for him myself, or probably take Mori. Now where is he?" "Is the information worth twenty pounds, sir?" "No; decidedly not." Patrick looked discomfited. "But think of th' good Oi'm doing yer," he pleaded. "Mister Round is a bad man, and he'll keep yer in a torment of suspense until ye put him away. Won't ye make it twenty pounds, sir?" "No." "Then how much?" "Half that is a big amount for the information." "Call it twelve pounds, and it's a bargain." "All right; but understand, you are not to get a cent until the man is captured." "Oh, Oi'll agree to that. Oi'll go wid yer if ye pay the fare." "Very well. Now where is Willis Round?" "He's stopping in Nagasaki." "Nagasaki? What part?" "That Oi'll show yer in due time. He's hid away in a place ye wouldn't dream of lookin' into. When do you want to start, sir?" "As soon as possible. We can leave on the evening train and reach there by daylight. Get your discharge from the steamer and report to me at the station about six o'clock." "And who will ye take besides me, sir? It'll be just as well to have a mate, as there's no telling what'll happen." Nattie eyed the speaker keenly. "So you think there will be no trouble in effecting the capture, eh?" he said. "No; but it's a good thing to be prepared in this worruld." "There is more truth than poetry in that," was the grim reply. "I think Mr. Okuma will accompany me. He intended to run down in that direction before long, anyway. Now don't fail, Patrick. Be at the station at six." The ex-watchman waved his hand in assent as the lad entered his boat, then he retreated to the forecastle with an expression of great satisfaction upon his face. During the balance of the morning he proceeded about his work with evident good humor. Shortly before noon he borrowed a piece of paper and an envelope from the purser, and laboriously indited a letter with the stump of a lead pencil. Sealing the epistle, he wrote upon the back: "MISTER JESSE BLACK, ESQ., "The Bund, forninst Main Street, "Yokohammer, Japan." After regarding his work with complacency, he asked the captain for his discharge. On being paid off, he went ashore and disappeared in the direction of the general post office. In the meantime Nattie had returned to the office, supremely unconscious of Patrick's duplicity. He found Grant and Mori making up the invoices for a cargo of lacquered ware. He explained his news at once. "It's a good chance to strike Black & Son a blow they will be not likely to forget in a hurry," he added, throwing himself into a chair. "Perhaps we can get a confession from the fellow, also." "You mean about that debt?" asked Mori. "Yes. When he is compelled to face a five years' sentence for attempted arson perhaps he'll 'split' on his confederates. In that case if it turns out as we suspect, the English firm will be wiped out." Grant shook his head doubtfully. "I do not like the source of your information, Nattie," he said. "In my opinion, Patrick Cronin is not to be trusted." "Oh, he's all right. He has it in for Round for playing him such a trick, and he is trying to get even. Then the twelve pounds is something to him." "We might run down to Nagasaki," thoughtfully remarked the Japanese youth. "I intended to drum up trade in that direction, anyway. It will be a nice little trip, even if nothing comes of it." "Something tells me that it will be a wild-goose chase," replied Grant. "You can try it, though. I can spare both of you for three or four days about now. You need a vacation, anyway." "What about yourself, brother?" asked Nattie, generously. "You have worked harder than either of us. Why can't you come also?" "What, and leave the business go to the dogs! Oh, no, my dear boy. What would I do with a vacation? I am never happier than when I am pouring over accounts in this office, believe me. Get away with you now. Run home and pack up for your trip. But let me give you a bit of advice." "What is it?" "Take revolvers, and see that the cartridges are in good condition. Also, don't go poking about the suburbs of Nagasaki without a squad of police." "One would think we are bound after a band of outlaws in the Indian Territory at home," laughed Nattie. "Willis Round is not such a formidable man as all that." "No; but you don't know who else you may have to contend with. Another thing: keep your eye on Patrick Cronin. Good-by." On reaching the station that evening Mori and Nattie found the Irishman awaiting their arrival. He was all smiles and good humor, and his rugged face was as guileless as that of a new-born babe. Verily the human countenance is not always an index to one's true nature. "It's plazed Oi am to see yer, gentlemen," he said, suavely. "I did think ye might be after changing yer minds. It's near train time now." "We are here," replied Nattie, briefly. "Get into the car." He purchased three tickets, for Nagasaki by way of Kobe and followed them into the train. A moment later the long line of coaches left the station and rolled rapidly on into the night. After a brief stop at Kobe, which was reached shortly before daybreak, the train resumed its course along the edge of the sea. A short distance from the city the tracks were laid directly upon the coast, only a parapet of stone separating the rails from the water's edge. Feeling restless and unable to sleep, Nattie left his bed, and throwing on his outer clothing, stepped out upon the platform. He was presently joined by Mori, and the twain stood watching the flitting panorama. A storm, which had been gathering in the south, presently broke, lashing the broad surface of the sea into an expanse of towering waves. As the gale increased in force, the caps of water began to break over the parapet in salty spray. "Whew! I guess we had better beat a retreat," exclaimed Mori, after receiving an extra dash of moisture. "Wait a moment," pleaded Nattie. "I hate to leave such a grand scene. What a picture the angry seas make! My! that was a tremendous wave! It actually shook the train." "Murder and saints!" groaned a voice at his elbow. "Phwat is the matter, sir? Is it going to sea we are in a train of cars? 'Tis the first time Patrick Cronin ever traveled on a craft without masts or hull. Oi think it do be dangerous along here, saving yer presence." Before either Nattie or Mori could reply to the evidently truthful remark, a line of water, curling upward in threatening crests, dashed over the parapet and fairly deluged the platforms. It was with the greatest difficulty the three could retain their hold. Now thoroughly alarmed, they endeavored to enter the car. Suddenly the speed of the train became lessened, then it stopped altogether. A moment later the grinding of heavy driving wheels was heard, and the line of coaches began to back up the track. It was a precaution taken too late. Before the cars had obtained much headway a wall of glistening water was hurled over the parapet with resistless force, sweeping everything before it. Amid the shouts and screams of a hundred victims the coaches and engine were tumbled haphazard from the track, piling up in a mass of wreckage against the cliff. CHAPTER XVIII. EVIL TIDINGS. To those who have not experienced the coming of sudden disaster, word descriptions are feeble. It is easy to tell how this and that occurred; to speak of the wails and cries of the injured; to try to depict the scene in sturdy English, but the soul-thrilling terror, the horror, and physical pain of the moment must be felt. In the present case the accident was so entirely unexpected that the very occurrence carried an added quota of dreadful dismay. The spot had never been considered unsafe. At the time of construction eminent engineers had decided that it would be perfectly feasible to lay the rails close to the edge of the sea. A stout parapet of stone afforded ample protection, in their opinion, but they had not gauged the resistless power of old ocean. The coming of a fierce south wind worked the mischief, and in much less time than is required in the telling, the doomed train was cast a mass of wreckage against the unyielding face of the cliff. The first crash extinguished the lights, adding impenetrable darkness to the scene. It found Nattie and Mori within touch of each other. They instinctively grouped together; but a second and more violent wrench of the coach sent them flying in different directions. The instinct of life is strong in all. The drowning wretch's grasp at a straw is only typical of what mortals will do to keep aglow the vital spark. Terror-stricken, and stunned from the force of the shock, Nattie still fought desperately for existence. He felt the coach reeling beneath his feet, he was tossed helplessly like a truss of hay from side to side, and then almost at his elbow he heard a familiar voice shrieking: "Mercy! mercy! The blessed saints have mercy upon a poor sinner. Oi'm sorry for me misdeeds. Oi regret that Oi was even now going against the law. Oi confess that Oi meant to lead them two young fellows away so that----" The words ended in a dreadful groan as the car gave a violent lurch, then Nattie felt a shock of pain and he lost consciousness. When he came to, it was to find the bright sun shining in his face. It was several moments before he could recognize his surroundings. A sound as of persons moaning in agony brought back the dreadful truth. He found himself lying upon a stretcher, and near at hand were others, each bearing a similar burden. The temporary beds were stretched along the face of the cliff. A dozen feet away was a huge mass of shattered coaches and the wreck of a locomotive. A number of Japanese were still working amid the _débris_, evidently in search of more victims of the disaster. Nattie attempted to rise, but the movement caused him excruciating pain in the left shoulder. A native, evidently a surgeon, was passing at the moment, and noticing the action, he said, with a smile of encouragement: "Just keep quiet, my lad. You are all right, merely a dislocation. Do not worry, we will see that you are well taken care of." "But my friend?" replied the boy, faintly. "His name is Mori Okuma, and he was near me when the accident occurred. Can you tell me anything of him? Is he safe?" "Is he one of my countrymen, a youth like yourself, and clad in tweed?" "Yes, yes." "Well, I can relieve your anxiety," was the cheering reply. "He is working like a trooper over there among the coaches. It was he who rescued you and brought you here. Wait; I will call him." A moment later Mori made his appearance, but how sadly changed was his usually neat appearance. His hat was gone, his clothing torn and disordered, and his face grimed with dust and dirt. He laughed cheerily, however, on seeing Nattie, and made haste to congratulate him on his escape. "This is brave," he exclaimed. "You will soon be all right, old boy. No, don't try to get up; your arm is dislocated at the shoulder, and perfect quiet is absolutely necessary." "But I can't lie here like a stick, Mori," groaned the lad. "What's a dislocation, anyway? It shouldn't keep a fellow upon his back." "You had better take the doctor's advice. The relief train will start for Kobe before long, and once in a good hotel, you can move about. This is a terrible accident. Fully twenty persons have lost their lives, and as many more wounded." "Have you seen anything of Patrick Cronin?" "No, nothing. It is thought several bodies were carried out to sea when the water rolled back after tearing away the parapet. His may be one of them." The Irishman's words, heard during the height of the turmoil, returned to Nattie. He now saw the significance of the Irishman's cry. "Something is up, Mori," he said, gravely, explaining the matter. "It certainly seems as if Patrick was leading us on a wild-goose chase." "That was Grant's impression, anyway. Did the fellow really use those words?" "Yes, and he evidently told the truth. He was in fear of death, and he confessed aloud that he was leading us away so that something could happen. At the interesting moment his voice died away to a groan, then I lost consciousness." "What do you think he could have meant?" "It is something to do with the Blacks, I'll wager." "But does he know them?" "He is acquainted with Willis Round, and that is the same thing." Mori seemed doubtful. "You don't think he intended to lead us into a trap?" he asked, incredulously. "Hardly, but----" "Grant?" Nattie sat up in the stretcher despite the pain the effort caused him. "Mori, we must communicate with him at once," he said. "There is no telling what could happen while we are away. Confound it! I'll never forgive myself if this should prove to be a ruse. Can you telegraph from here?" "No, we must wait until we reach Kobe. Now don't excite yourself, my dear fellow. You will only work into a fever, and that will retard your recovery. I really think we are mistaken. But even if it should prove true, it won't mend matters by making yourself worse." The lad fell back with a groan. He acknowledged the wisdom of Mori's remark, and he remained quiet until the relief train finally carried him with the balance of the survivors to the city they had recently left. Mori hastened to the telegraph office after seeing his charge to a hotel. What Nattie suffered in spirit during the Japanese youth's absence can only be measured by the great love he bore his crippled brother. The very thought that something had happened to him was anguish. He knew that Grant was bravery itself despite his physical disability, and that he would not hesitate to confront his enemies single-handed. When the turning of the door knob proclaimed Mori's return, Nattie actually bounded from the bed and met him halfway. One glance at the Japanese youth's face was enough. Evil news was written there with a vivid brush. In one hand he held a telegram, which he gave to his companion without a word. CHAPTER XIX. BAD NEWS CONFIRMED. Nattie took the telegram with a sinking heart. He had already read disquieting news in Mori's face, and for a moment he fumbled at the paper as if almost afraid to open it. Finally mustering up courage, he scanned the following words: "Message received. Grant cannot be found. He left office at usual time last night, but did not appear at his home. Have done nothing in the matter yet. Wire instructions. Sorry to hear of accident." It was signed by the chief bookkeeper, a Scotchman, named Burr. He was a typical representative of his race, canny, hard-headed, and thoroughly reliable. Sentiment had no place in his nature, but he was as impregnable in honesty as the crags of his own country. Poor Nattie read the telegram a second, then a third time. The words seemed burned into his brain. There could be only one meaning: Grant Manning had met with disaster. But where, and how? And through whom? The last question was easily answered. "Mori," he said, with a trembling voice, "this is the work of the Blacks and that scoundrel, Willis Round." "Something may have happened, but we are not yet certain," gravely replied the Japanese youth. "Surely Grant could take a day off without our thinking the worse." "You do not know my brother," answered the lad, steadfastly. "He hasn't a bad habit in the world, and the sun is not more regular than he. No, something has happened, and we must leave for Yokohama by the first train." "It is simply impossible for you to go," expostulated Mori. "The doctor said you must not stir from bed for three days at the very least. I will run down at once, but you must remain here." "If the affair was reversed, Grant would break the bounds of his tomb to come to me," Nattie replied, simply. "Send for a surgeon and ask him to fix this shoulder for traveling. I want to leave within an hour." The young Japanese threw up both hands in despair, but he left without further words. In due time the man of medicine appeared and bandaged the dislocated member. A few moments later Nattie and Mori boarded the train for the north. As the string of coaches whirled through valley and dell, past paddy fields with their queer network of ridges and irrigating ditches; past groups of open-eyed natives dressed in the quaint blue costumes of the lower classes; through small clusters of thatched bamboo houses, each with its quota of cheerful, laughing babies, tumbling about in the patches of gardens much as the babies of other climes do, Nattie fell to thinking of the great misfortune which had overtaken the firm. "If something has happened to Grant--which may God forbid--it will be greatly to the interest of Jesse Black," he said, turning to his companion. "Everything points in their direction. The first question in such a case is, who will it benefit?" "You refer to the army contracts?" "Yes. It means to the person securing them a profit of over one hundred thousand dollars, and that is a prize valuable enough to tempt a more scrupulous man than the English merchant." "I think you are right. If Grant has been waylaid, or spirited away, which is yet to be proven, we have something to work on. We will know where to start the search." Yokohama was reached by nightfall. Mori had telegraphed ahead, and they found Mr. Burr, a tall, grave man with a sandy beard, awaiting them. He expressed much sympathy for Nattie's condition, and then led the way to the _jinrikishas_. "I can explain matters better in the office," he said, in answer to an eager question. "'Tis an uncou' night eenyway, and we'll do better under shelter." Compelled to restrain their impatience perforce, his companions sank back in silence and watched the nimble feet of the _karumayas_ as they trotted along the streets on the way to the Bund. Turning suddenly into the broad, well-lighted main street, they overtook a man pacing moodily toward the bay. As they dashed past, Nattie glanced at him; then, with an imprecation, the lad stood up in his vehicle. A twinge of pain in the disabled shoulder sent him back again. Noting the action, Mori looked behind him, and just in time to see the man slip into a convenient doorway. It was Mr. Black. "Keep cool, Nattie," he called out. "Confronting him without proof won't help us." "But did you see how he acted when he caught sight of us?" "Yes, and it meant guilt. He tried to dodge out of our sight." On reaching the office, Mr. Burr led the way inside. Lighting the gas, he placed chairs for his companions, and seated himself at his desk. "Noo I will explain everything," he said, gravely. "But first tell me if ye anticipate anything serious? Has Mr. Grant absented himself before?" "Never," Nattie replied to the last question. "Weel, then, the situation is thus: Last night he left here at the usual hour and took a _'rikisha_ in front of the door. I was looking through the window at the time, and I saw him disappear around the corner of Main Street. I opened the office this morning at eight by the clock, and prepared several papers and checks for his signature. Time passed and he did na' show oop. "At eleven I sent a messenger to the house on the 'bluff.' The boy returned with the information from the servants that Mr. Grant had not been home. Somewhat alarmed, I sent coolies through the town to all the places where he might have called, but without results. I received your telegram and answered it at once. And that's all I know." The information was meager enough. Nattie and Mori exchanged glances of apprehension. Their worst fears were realized. That some disaster had happened to Grant was now evident. The former sprang to his feet and started toward the door without a word. "Where are you going?" asked the Japanese youth, hastily. "To see Mr. Black," was the determined reply. "The villain is responsible for this." "But what proof can you present? Don't do anything rash, Nattie. We must talk it over and consider the best plan to be followed. We must search for a clew." "And in the meantime they will kill him. Oh, Mori, I can't sit here and parley words while my brother is in danger. I know Ralph Black and his father. They would not hesitate at anything to make money. Even human life would not stop them." "That may be. Still, you surely can see that we must go slow in the matter. Believe me, Grant's disappearance affects me even more than if he was a near relative. I intend to enter heart and soul into the search for him. Everything I possess, my fortune, all, is at his disposal. But I must counsel patience." The tears welled in Nattie's eyes. He tried to mutter his thanks, but his emotion was too great. He extended his hand, and it was grasped by the young native with fraternal will. The Scot had been eying them with his habitual placidity. The opening of a crater under the office floor would not have altered his calm demeanor. "Weel, now," he said, slowly, "can you no explain matters to me? I am groping about in the dark." "You shall be told everything," replied Mori. He speedily placed him in possession of all the facts. Mr. Burr listened to the story without comment. At the conclusion he said, in his quiet way: "I am no great hand at detective work, but I can see as far thro' a millstone as any mon with twa gude eyes. Mister Grant has been kidnaped, and ye don't need to look farther than the Black's for a clew." "That is my opinion exactly," exclaimed Nattie. "I am with you both," said Mori, "but I still insist that we go slow in accusing them. It stands to reason that to make a demand now would warn the conspirators--for such they are--that we suspect them. We must work on the quiet." "You are right, sir," agreed Mr. Burr. "What is your plan?" asked Nattie, with natural impatience. "It is to place Mr. Burr in charge of the business at once, and for us to start forth in search of possible clews. I will try to put a man in the Black residence, and another in his office. We must hire a number of private detectives--I know a dozen--and set them to work scouring the city. The station master, the keeper of every road, the railway guards, all must be closely questioned. And in the meantime, while I am posting Mr. Burr, you must go home and keep as quiet as you can. Remember, excitement will produce inflammation in that shoulder, and inflammation means many days in bed." The authoritative tone of the young Japanese had its effect. Grumbling at his enforced idleness, Nattie left the office and proceeded to the "bluff." Mori remained at the counting-room, and carefully drilled the Scotchman in the business on hand. CHAPTER XX. THE MAN BEYOND THE HEDGE. It was past midnight when he finally left with Mr. Burr, but the intervening time had not been wasted. Orders, contracts and other details for at least a week had been explained to the bookkeeper, and he was given full powers to act as the firm's representative. After a final word of caution, Mori parted with him at the door, and took a _'rikisha_ for the Manning residence. He found Nattie pacing the floor of the front veranda. The lad greeted him impatiently. "Have you heard anything?" he asked. "Not a word. I have been busy at the office since you left. Everything is arranged. Mr. Burr has taken charge, and he will conduct the business until this thing is settled. We are lucky to have such a man in our employ." "Yes, yes; Burr is an honest fellow. But what do you intend to do now?" "Still excited, I see," smiled Mori. He shook a warning finger at the lad, and added, seriously: "Remember what I told you. If you continue in this fashion I will call a doctor and have you taken to the hospital." "I can't help it," replied Nattie, piteously. "I just can't keep still while Grant is in danger. You don't know how anxious I am. Let me do something to keep my mind occupied." "If you promise to go to bed for the rest of the night I will give you ten minutes now to discuss our plans. Do you agree?" "Yes; but you intend to remain here until morning?" "No, I cannot spare the time. I must have the detectives searching for clews before daylight." "Mori, you are a friend indeed. Some day I will show you how much I appreciate your kindness." "Nonsense! You would do as much if not more if the case was reversed. Now for the plans. To commence, we are absolutely certain of one thing: Patrick Cronin was in the scheme, and he was sent to get us out of the way while Ralph and Willis Round attended to Grant." "I am glad the Irishman met with his just deserts," exclaimed Nattie, vindictively. "He is now food for fishes." "Yes; a fitting fate. The accident cannot be considered an unmixed catastrophe. If it had not occurred we would have gone on to Nagasaki, and have lost much valuable time. As it is, we are comparatively early. What we need now is a clew, and for that I intend to begin a search at once." "Would it do any good to notify the American Consul?" "No; our best plan is to keep the affair as quiet as possible. We will say nothing about it. If Grant is missed we can intimate that he has gone away for a week. "Now go to bed and sleep if you can," he added, preparing to leave. "I will call shortly after breakfast and report progress." With a friendly nod of his head he departed on his quest for detectives. Nattie remained seated for a brief period, then he walked over to a bell-pull, and summoned a servant. At his command the man brought him a heavy cloak, and assisted him to don his shoes. From a chest of drawers in an adjacent room the lad took a revolver. After carefully examining the charges he thrust it into his pocket and left the house. The night was hot and sultry. Not a breath of wind stirred, and the mellow rays of a full moon beamed down on ground and foliage, which seemed to glow with the tropical heat. Notwithstanding the discomfort Nattie drew his cloak about him and set out at a rapid walk down the street leading past the Manning residence. From out on the bay came the distant rattle of a steamer's winch. The stillness was so oppressive that even the shrill notes of a boatswain's whistle came to his ears. An owl hooted in a nearby maple; the melancholy howl of a strolling dog sounded from below where the native town was stretched out in irregular rows of bamboo houses. The lad kept to the shady side of the road, and continued without stopping until he reached a mansion built in the English style, some ten or eleven blocks from his house. The building stood in the center of extensive grounds, and was separated from the street by an ornamental iron fence and a well-cultivated hedge. It was evidently the home of a man of wealth. In fact, it was the domicile of Mr. Black and his son Ralph. What was Nattie's object in leaving the Manning residence in face of Mori's warning? What was his object in paying a visit to his enemy at such an hour of the night? Anxious, almost beside himself with worry, suffering severely from his dislocated shoulder, and perhaps slightly under the influence of a fever, the lad had yielded to his first impulse when alone, and set out from home with no settled purpose. On reaching the open air he thought of Jesse Black. The mansion was only a short distance away; perhaps something could be learned by watching it. The conjecture was father to the deed. Selecting a spot shaded by a thick-foliaged tree, Nattie carefully scanned the _façade_ of the building. It was of two stories, and prominent bow-windows jutted out from each floor. The lower part was dark, but a dim light shone through the curtains of the last window on the right. A bell down in the Bund struck twice; it was two o'clock. At the sound a dark figure appeared at the window and thrust the shade aside. The distance was not too great for Nattie to distinguish the man as the English merchant. Drawing himself up the lad shook his fist at the apparition. The action brought his head above the hedge. Something moving on the other side caught his eye, and he dodged back just as a man arose to his feet within easy touch. Breathless with amazement, Nattie crouched down, and parting the roots of the hedge, peered through. The fellow was cautiously moving toward the house. Something in his walk seemed familiar. Presently he reached a spot where the moon's bright rays fell upon him. A stifled cry of profound astonishment, not unmingled with terror, came from the lad's lips, and he shrank back as if with the intention of fleeing. He thought better of it, however, and watched with eager eyes. A dozen times the man in the grounds halted and crouched to the earth, but finally he reached the front entrance of the mansion. A door was opened, and a hand was thrust forth with beckoning fingers. The fellow hastily stepped inside and vanished from view, leaving Nattie a-quiver with excitement. The dislocated shoulder, the pain, the fever, all were forgotten in the importance of the discovery. "That settles it," he muttered. "I am on the right track as sure as the moon is shining. Now I must enter that house by hook or crook. But who would believe that miracles could happen in this century? If that fellow wasn't----" He abruptly ceased speaking. The door in the front entrance suddenly opened, and a huge dog was thrust down the stone steps. Nattie knew the animal well. It was a ferocious brute Ralph had imported from England that year. As a watchdog it bore a well-merited reputation among the natives of thieving propensities. It was dreaded because it thought more of a direct application of sharp teeth than any amount of barking. Its unexpected appearance on the scene altered matters considerably. "Dog or no dog, I intend to find my way into that house before many minutes," decided the lad. "It is an opportunity I cannot permit to pass." He drew out his revolver, but shook his head and restored it again to his pocket. A shot would alarm the neighborhood and bring a squad of police upon the scene. The brute must be silenced in some other manner. Naturally apt and resourceful, it was not long before Nattie thought of a plan. Cautiously edging away from the hedge until he had reached a safe distance, he set out at a run toward home. Fortunately, the street was free from police or pedestrians, and he finally gained the Manning residence without being observed. Slipping into the garden he whistled softly. A big-jointed, lanky pup slouched up to him and fawned about his feet. Picking up the dog, he started back with it under his right arm. The return to the English merchant's house was made without mishap. Reaching the hedge, Nattie lightly tossed the pup over into the yard. It struck the ground with a yelp, and a second later a dark shadow streaked across the lawn from the mansion. As the lad had anticipated, the dog he had brought did not wait to be attacked, but started along the inner side of the hedge with fear-given speed. In less than a moment pursuer and pursued disappeared behind an outlying stable. Chuckling at the success of his scheme, Nattie softly climbed the fence and leaped into the yard. The lawn was bright with the rays of the moon, but he walked across it without hesitation, finally reaching the house near the left-hand corner. As he expected, he found a side door unguarded save by a wire screen. A swift slash with a strong pocket-knife gave an aperture through which the lad forced his hand. To unfasten the latch was the work of a second, and a brief space later he stood in a narrow hall leading to the main corridor. CHAPTER XXI. A PRISONER. On reaching the main stairway he heard voices overhead. The sound seemed to come from a room opening into the hall above. Quickly removing his shoes, the lad tied the strings together, and throwing them about his neck, he ascended to the upper floor. Fortunately, Nattie had visited the Black mansion in his earlier days when he and Ralph were on terms of comparative intimacy. He knew the general plan of the house, and the knowledge stood him in good stead now. The room from which the sound of voices came was a study used by the English merchant himself. Next to it was a spare apartment filled with odd pieces of furniture and what-not. In former days it was a guest chamber, and the lad had occupied it one night while on a visit to the merchant's son. He remembered that a door, surmounted by a glass transom, led from the study to the spare room, and that it would be an easy matter to see into the former by that means. He tried the knob, and found that it turned at his touch. A slight rattle underneath proclaimed that a bunch of keys was swinging from the lock. Closing the door behind him, he tiptoed across the apartment, carefully avoiding the various articles of furniture. To his great disappointment, he found that heavy folds of cloth had been stretched across the transom, completely obstructing the view. To make it worse, the voices were so faint that it was impossible for him to distinguish more than an occasional word. "Confound it! I have my labor for my pains!" he muttered. "It's a risky thing, but I'll have to try the other door." He had barely reached the hall when the talking in the next room became louder, then he heard a rattling of the knob. The occupants were on the point of leaving the study. To dart into the spare room was Nattie's first action. Dropping behind a large dressing-case, he listened intently. "Well, I am thoroughly satisfied with your part of the affair so far," came to his eager ears in the English merchant's well-known voice. "It was well planned in every respect. You had a narrow escape though." A deep chuckle came from the speaker's companion. "No suspicion attaches to me," continued Mr. Black. "I met the boys last night, but I don't think they saw me." "Oh, didn't we?" murmured Nattie. "You can go now. Give this letter of instructions to my son, and tell him to make all haste to the place mentioned. Return here with his answer as quickly as you can. In this purse you will find ample funds to meet all legitimate expenses. Legitimate expenses, you understand? If you fall by the wayside in the manner I mentioned before you will not get a _sen_ of the amount I promised you. Now--confound those rascally servants of mine! they have left this room unlocked! I must discharge the whole lot of them and get others." Click! went the key in the door behind which Nattie crouched. He was a prisoner! The sound of footsteps came faintly to him; he heard the front entrance open; then it closed again, and all was silent in the house. After waiting a reasonable time he tried the knob, but it resisted his efforts. Placing his right shoulder against the wood he attempted to force the panel, but without avail. "Whew! this is being caught in a trap certainly! A pretty fix I am in now. And it is just the time to track that scoundrel. Mr. Black must have been talking about poor Grant." Rendered almost frantic by his position, Nattie threw himself against the door with all his power. The only result was a deadly pain in the injured shoulder. Almost ready to cry with chagrin and anguish, he sat down upon a chair and gave himself up to bitter reflections. Minutes passed, a clock in the study struck three; but still he sat there a prey to conflicting emotions. He now saw that he had acted foolishly. What had he learned? They had suspected the Blacks before, and confirmation was not needed. The discovery of the visitor's identity was something, but its importance was more than counterbalanced by the disaster which had befallen Nattie. The recent conversation in the hall indicated that the merchant's companion would leave at once for a rendezvous to meet Ralph, and possibly Grant. "And here I am, fastened in like a disobedient child," groaned the lad. "I must escape before daylight. If I am caught in here Mr. Black can have me arrested on a charge of attempted burglary. It would be just nuts to him." The fear of delay, engendered by this new apprehension, spurred him to renewed activity. He again examined the door, but speedily gave up the attempt. Either a locksmith's tools or a heavy battering-ram would be necessary to force it. Creeping to the one window opening from the apartment, Nattie found that he could raise it without much trouble. The generous rays of the moon afforded ample light. By its aid he saw that a dense mass of creeping vines almost covered that side of the mansion. "By George! a chance at last!" Cautiously crawling through the opening he clutched a thick stem and tried to swing downward with his right hand. As he made the effort a pain shot through his injured shoulder so intense that he almost fainted. He repressed a cry with difficulty. Weak and trembling, he managed to regain the window sill. Once in the room he sank down upon the floor and battled with the greatest anguish it had ever been his lot to feel. To add to his suffering, came the conviction that he would be unable to escape. He remembered the telltale slit he had made in the screen door. When daylight arrived it would be discovered by the servants, and a search instituted throughout the house. "Well, it can't be helped," mused the lad. "If I am caught, I'm caught, and that's all there is about it." It is a difficult thing to philosophize when suffering with an intense physical pain and in the throes of a growing fever. It was not long before Nattie fell into a stupor. He finally became conscious of an increasing light in the room, and roused himself enough to glance from the window. Far in the distance loomed the mighty volcano of Fuji San, appearing under the marvelous touch of the morning sun like an inverted cone of many jewels. A hum of voices sounded in the lower part of the house, but no one came to disturb him. Rendered drowsy by fever, he fell into a deep slumber, and when he awoke it was to hear the study clock strike nine. He had slept fully five hours. Considerably refreshed, Nattie started up to again search for a way to effect his escape. The pain had left his shoulder, but he felt an overpowering thirst. His mind was clear, however, and that was half the battle. "If I had more strength in my left arm I would try those vines once more," he said to himself. "Things can't last this way forever. I must--what's that?" Footsteps sounded in the hall outside. They drew nearer, and at last stopped in front of the spare-room door. A hand was laid upon the knob, and keys rattled. "We have searched every room but this," came in the smooth tones of the English merchant. "Go inside, my man, and see if a burglar is hiding among the furniture. Here, take this revolver; and don't fear to use it if necessary." Like a hunted animal at bay, the lad glared about him. Discovery seemed certain. Over in one corner he espied a chest of drawers. It afforded poor concealment, but it was the best at hand. To drag it away from the wall was the work of a second. When the door was finally opened, Nattie was crouched behind the piece of furniture. He heard the soft steps of a pair of sandals; he heard chairs and various articles moved about, then the searcher approached his corner. Desperate and ready to fight for his liberty, he glanced up--and uttered a half-stifled cry of amazement and joy! CHAPTER XXII. THE PURSUIT. It is always the unexpected that happens. When Nattie glanced up from his place of refuge behind the chest of drawers, he saw a young man clad as a native servant looking down at him. There was the gayly colored cloth tied around the head; the _kimono_, or outer garment cut away at the neck, and the plain silk kerchief tied with a bow under the ear. But the face was not that of a native _waallo_, or houseman; it was Mori Okuma himself, the very last person on earth Nattie expected to find in the spare room of the Black mansion. The young Japanese started back in profound surprise, his eyes widened, and he nearly called out; but a warning motion from the concealed lad--who recovered his coolness with marvelous rapidity--checked him. "It is I; Nattie!" came to his ears. "Take old Black away and return as soon as possible. I have a clew; we must leave here immediately." Regaining his composure with an effort, Mori continued his search among the other articles of furniture. "No one here, excellency," he said, at last. "Then the scoundrel who cut that screen door has decamped," replied Mr. Black, who had remained near the door with commendable precaution. "Go down to the pantry and help the rest count the silver. By the way, what is your name?" "Kai Jin, excellency." "Well, Kai, see that you behave yourself and you can remain in my service. But if you are lazy or thievish, out you go." His voice died away in muffled grumbling down the hall. Finally left to himself, Nattie emerged from his hiding place and executed several figures of a jig in the middle of the floor. "Wonders will never cease," he muttered, with a chuckle of joy. "Fancy finding Mori here, and just in the nick of time. He's a great lad. He disguised himself and took service in the house. He would make a good detective." He was still pondering over the queer discovery when a noise at the door indicated that some one was on the point of entering. A warning whisper proclaimed that it was Mori. The Japanese youth entered quickly and closed the heavy oaken portal behind him. He was shaking with suppressed laughter. Running over to Nattie, he grasped his hand and wrung it heartily. "I ought to scold you for disobeying my orders, but really this is too funny for anything," he said. "How under the sun did you get in here?" "Easy enough; I walked in last night. How did you get in?" "I am a member of his excellency's staff of servants. Ha, ha! I almost laughed in his lean old face this morning when he engaged me. But explain yourself, Nattie; I am dying to hear your news. You said you had a clew." "Hadn't we better get out of this house before we talk?" "Plenty of time. Mr. Black has gone to the office, and the servants are below stairs. When we are ready we can walk out through the front entrance without a word to anybody." Thus reassured, Nattie told how he had left home the preceding night and the events that followed. When he came to the part relating to the man beyond the hedge, the English merchant's midnight visitor, Mori started at him in amazement. "Impossible!" he exclaimed. "Why, he was killed in the accident near Kobe." "Not so. I saw the fellow's face almost as clearly as I see yours now. It was Patrick Cronin, and I'll stake my life on that." "Then the scoundrel escaped after all?" "Yes; to receive his just dues at the hangman's hands, I suppose. But I haven't told you of my clew. I overheard Black and Patrick talking out in the hall there. It seems that Cronin has a letter which he is to deliver without delay to Ralph at some rendezvous. That it relates to Grant is certain. By following the Irishman we can find my brother." "It will be easy enough," replied Mori, his eyes expressing his delight. "The fellow won't try to hide his steps, as it were. He considers the accident a good veil to his existence. Nattie, it was a lucky inspiration, your coming here last night." "Then I am forgiven for disobeying orders, eh?" smiled the lad. "In this case, yes, but don't do it again. How is your shoulder?" "First-chop, barring a little soreness. It will be all right in a day or two. Come, let's leave here before we are discovered." The exit from the building and grounds was made without mishap. The lads hastily returned to the Manning residence, where Nattie ordered breakfast served at once. On entering the garden, the lanky pup used by him as a decoy to Ralph's watchdog came bounding from the rear. He had evidently escaped without feeling the teeth of the larger animal. The meal was dispatched in haste, then 'rikishas were taken to the Bund. While Nattie waited in the firm's office, Mori utilized the central police station in tracing Patrick Cronin. In less than an hour word came that a man answering his description had been seen leaving the city on horseback by way of the road leading to Tokio. "That settles it!" exclaimed the Japanese youth. "We must take the train for the capital at once. That is," he added, anxiously, "if you think you are able to travel." "I am fit for anything," promptly replied Nattie. "Come, we must not lose a moment." On their way to the station they stopped at the telegraph office and wired the chief of police of Tokio a full description of Patrick. After a consultation, they added: "Do not arrest the man, but have your best detective shadow him wherever he may go. All expenses will be met by us." "To capture him now would destroy our only clew," said Nattie. "He might confess to save himself, and then, again, he might not. If he should remain silent we would have no means of finding Grant's whereabouts." The nineteen miles to Japan's populous capital were covered in short order. Brief as was the time, the lads were met at the depot by an officer in civilian's clothes, who reported that their man had been seen to take a train at Ueno, a small suburb on the outskirts of Tokio. "We are doing excellently," chuckled Mori. "The fool thinks he is safe and he travels openly. At this rate the chase will be as easy as falling off a log, to use an Americanism." "He has five hours' start. We must telegraph ahead to the conductor of his train." "And to every station." "That has been done, sir," spoke up the police official. "The last word received stated that he was still on board when the train passed Motomiya." "When can we leave?" The man consulted a time-table patterned after those used in the United States, and announced that an express would depart within twenty minutes. Hurrying to a neighboring hotel, the lads ate "tiffin," and returned in time to embark upon the second stage of the chase. When the train steamed into a way station three hours later a railway employee in gorgeous uniform approached them with a telegram. Hastily opening the envelope, Nattie read, with keen disappointment: "HEADQUARTERS, Tokio. "Our detective reports that the man he had been following managed to evade him at Yowara, and has completely disappeared. Local police are searching the mountains." CHAPTER XXIII. PATRICK SHOWS HIS CLEVERNESS. Nattie and Mori exchanged glances of dismay. "Confound it! isn't that provoking?" exclaimed the latter. "That stupid detective had to let him slip just when the chase commenced to be interesting." "Patrick must have suspected something, and he was sly enough to fool his follower. Now what are we going to do?" "Get off at Yowara and take up the search ourselves; that's all we can do. Surely some one must have seen the Irishman. The very fact that he is a foreigner should draw attention to him. Don't worry, old boy; we'll find him before many hours have elapsed." "I sincerely hope so," replied Nattie, gazing abstractedly through the coach window. After a moment of silence he said, suddenly: "Perhaps Yowara is the rendezvous where he is to meet Ralph. Do you know anything about the place?" "No, except that it is a small town of seven or eight hundred inhabitants. It is where people leave the railway for the mountain regions of Northern Japan. In a remote part of the interior are three volcanoes, one of them being Bandai-San, which is famous for its eruptions." "Bandai-San?" slowly repeated Nattie. "Isn't it at the base of that volcano where those peculiar mud caves are found?" Mori eyed his companion inquiringly. "What are you driving at?" he asked. "Just this: It struck me that Ralph and Willis Round would certainly try to find a hiding place for Grant where they need not fear pursuit, or inquisitiveness from the natives. I have heard that these caves are avoided through superstitious reasons. Now why----" "By the heathen gods, I believe you have guessed their secret!" impulsively exclaimed Mori. "It is certainly plausible. A better hiding place could not be found in all Japan. The natives will not enter the caves under any consideration. They say they are occupied by the mountain demons, and to prove it, tell of the awful noises to be heard in the vicinity." "Which are caused by internal convulsions of the volcano, I suppose?" "No doubt. The mountain is generally on the verge of being shaken by earthquakes, but it is some time since one occurred. It's a grewsome place enough." "We will search it thoroughly just the same," said Nattie, grimly. On reaching Yowara, they found the recreant detective at the station. He had recently returned from a trip through the surrounding country, but had not discovered any trace of the Irishman. He appeared crestfallen and penitent. The boys wasted little time with him. Proceeding to the village hotel, or tea house, they sent out messengers for three _jinrikishas_ and in the course of an hour were ready to start into the interior. The spare vehicle was loaded with canned food and other stores, as the railroad town would be the last place where such articles could be purchased. Each had brought a brace of good revolvers and plenty of ammunition from Yokohama. Mori personally selected the _karumayas_, or _'rikisha_ men, from a crowd of applicants. He chose three stalwart coolies to pull the carriages, and three _bettos_, or porters, to assist on mountainous roads. One of the latter was a veritable giant in stature and evidently of great strength. He was called Sumo, or wrestler, by his companions, and seemed to possess greater intelligence than the average members of his class. Mori eyed him approvingly, and told Nattie that he would be of undoubted assistance in case of trouble. Before leaving the village, the Japanese youth bought a keen-edged sword, similar to those worn by the ancient warriors, or _samurais_, and presented it to Sumo, with the added stipulation that he would be retained as a guard at increased pay. The fellow shouted with delight, and speedily showed that he could handle the weapon with some skill. Thus equipped, the party left the railroad and set out for a village called Inawashiro, fifteen _ris_, or thirty miles distant. In Japan the coolie rule is twenty minutes' rest every two hours. Their method of traveling is at a "dog trot," or long, swinging pace, which covers the ground with incredible swiftness. Mori's skill in selecting the _karumayas_ soon became apparent, the distance to the destination being almost halved at the end of the first stretch. The country through which the boys passed was flat and uninteresting, the narrow road stretching across a broad expanse of paddy fields, dotted with men, women and children knee-deep in the evil-smelling mud. When a halt was called to rest and partake of refreshments, Mori accosted a native coolie, a number of whom surrounded the party, and asked if aught had been seen of a fiery-faced, red-whiskered foreigner clad in the heavy clothing of the coast. The man eyed his questioner stupidly, and shook his head. The sight of a couple of copper _sen_, or cents, refreshed his memory. He had noticed a short, squat foreigner (called _to-jin_) in the interior. He was mounted upon a horse and had passed four hours before. "Four hours?" echoed Mori, addressing Nattie. "Whew! he has a good start. And on a horse, too. That is the reason we could get no trace of him in the outskirts of Yowara. He must have left the train before it stopped and skipped into the brush, where he managed to secure a mount. He is certainly clever." "But not enough to fool us," replied Nattie, complacently. "We will be hot on his trail before he reaches the caves." After the customary rest of twenty minutes, the party resumed the road. As they proceeded the general contour of the country changed. The flat, plain-like fields gave way to rolling woodlands and scattered hills. The second hour brought them to the small village of Inawashiro. Here was found a well-kept tea house, with spotless matted floor, two feet above the ground, a quaint roof, and the attendance of a dozen polite servants. Before the party had barely reached their resting place, the entire inhabitants, men, women and children, thronged about to feast their eyes upon a _to-jin_. Inquiry developed the fact that Patrick had passed through the town not quite two hours before. This was cheering news. They were gaining on him. A brief lunch, and again to the road. Nattie and Mori examined their revolvers after leaving the village. Sumo cut a sapling in twain to prove his prowess. At the end of the fourth mile a crossroad was reached. One, a broad, well-kept thoroughfare, led due north, while the other, apparently merely a path running over a hill in the distance, bore more to the westward. Mori called a halt. "Which shall we take?" he asked, scratching his head in perplexity. "That is the question," replied Nattie, ruefully. "Confound it! we are just as apt to take the wrong one as not. If we could run across some person who has seen Patrick we would be all right." "Here comes a _yamabushi_, excellency," spoke up Sumo, pointing his claw-like finger up the path. "It is a priest," exclaimed Mori, a moment later. "Perhaps he can enlighten us." Presently a tall, angular man emerged from the narrower road and slowly approached them. He was clad in a peculiar robe embroidered with mystical figures, and wore his hair in long plaits. In one hand was carried a bamboo staff, with which he tapped the ground as he walked. Mori saluted him respectfully. "Peace be with you, my children," said the priest, mildly. "May your days be long in good works, and your soul as lofty as Fuji San," replied the Japanese youth, with equal politeness. "Pray tell us, father, have you seen aught of a red-bearded foreigner traveling by horse?" "I passed him two _ris_ back. He was a barbarian, and beat his animal with severity. Which is against the teachings of----" The good man's words were lost in the distance. Nattie and Mori, with their _'rikishas_ and attendants, darted past him and scurried up the path at their utmost speed. It was scurvy repayment for the information, but the news that Patrick had been seen within four miles acted as a spur. "Don't falter, men," called out Mori, urging the _karumayas_. "Ten _yen_ extra to each if you tarry not until I give the word. On ahead, Sumo; watch for the foreigner. Be cautious and return when you sight him." The gigantic _betto_ scurried up the path in advance and disappeared past a clump of bushes. The _jinrikishas_ speeded as fast as their pullers could trot. As the party darted by an overhanging mass of rock a head was thrust forth from behind it. The face of the man was broad and burned by the sun, and under the chin was a tuft of reddish whisker. The eyes were sharp and piercing, and they danced with triumphant glee as they peered after the cavalcade. "Oh, ho! oh, ho! so it's ye, me bold Nattie? It's a good thing Oi thought of taking a quiet look to see if Oi was being followed. It's a bit of a trick Oi learned in India, and it'll prove to be the death of ye, me boys. Oi'll just take another path to the rendezvous, and see if we can't kind of waylay yez." CHAPTER XXIV. GRANT BEARDS THE LION. It is now time to return to Grant Manning. It is well for the reader to know how the lame youth became the innocent cause of all the trouble. The night of the departure of Nattie and Mori on their trip to Nagasaki found him through with his work at the usual hour. He parted from Mr. Burr at the door, and taking a _'rikisha_, started for home. While passing through Main Street near the tea house where Nattie had played the memorable game of hide-and-seek with Willis Round, he caught sight of his friend, the secretary to the war minister. Grant was always ready to do business. Years spent in the counting-room with his father had taught him the value of personal influence in securing contracts. The expected order for arms and ammunition was too valuable a prize for any chance to be neglected. His acquaintance with the secretary was of long standing. It had commenced at a private school in Tokio, which both Grant and the Japanese had attended in earlier days. The boyish friendship had survived the passing of time--that greatest strain upon youthful ties--and when the native gained his present position in the war office, he remembered the Mannings. The greeting was cordial, and an adjournment was made to a private room in the _chaya_ or tea house. There the friends talked at length over matters in general, and Grant was given many valuable hints concerning the army contract. It was past eight o'clock when the conference ended. With mutual _sayonaras_, or parting salutations, they separated at the door, and Grant entered his waiting _jinrikisha_. Before the man could start the vehicle a Japanese boy ran up, and with much bobbing of his quaint little head, begged the favor of a word with the excellency. "What is it, my lad?" asked the lame youth, kindly. Between sobs and ready tears the boy explained that he was the son of one Go-Daigo, a former porter in the warehouse under the _régime_ of the elder Manning. He was now ill of a fever, penniless, and in dire misfortune. Would the excellency condescend to visit him at his house in a street hard by the Shinto temple? "I am very sorry to hear of Go's misfortune," replied Grant, with characteristic sympathy, "but wouldn't it answer the purpose if you take this money," producing several _yen_, "and purchase food for him? To-morrow you can call at the office and I'll see what I can do for him." The excellency's kindness was of the quality called "first-chop," but the bedridden Go-Daigo was also suffering from remorse. He feared that he would die, and he did not care to leave the world with a sin-burdened soul. He knew a secret of value to the new firm. Would the excellency call at once? "A secret concerning the new firm?" echoed Grant, his thoughts instantly reverting to the Englishman and his son. "It may be something of importance. Lead the way, child; I will follow." Ten minutes' travel through crooked streets brought the _'rikisha_ to a typical native house a hundred yards from a large, red-tiled temple. The youthful guide led the way to the door and opened it; then he vanished through an alley between the buildings. Grant passed on in, finding himself in an apartment unfurnished save by a matting and several cheap rugs. A dim light burning in one corner showed that the room was unoccupied. An opening screened by a gaudy bead curtain pierced the farther partition. Clapping his hands to give notice of his arrival, the lame youth awaited the appearance of some one connected with the house. Hearing a slight noise behind him, he turned in that direction. A couple of stalwart natives advanced toward him from the outer door. Before Grant could ask a question, one of them sprang upon him, and with a vicious blow of a club, felled him to the floor. The assault was so rapid and withal so entirely unexpected that the unfortunate victim had no time to cry out, or offer resistance. As he lay upon the matting, apparently lifeless, a youth stepped into the room through the bead curtain. He bent over the prostrate form, and after a brief examination, said, in Japanese: "You know how to strike, Raiko. You have put him to sleep as easily as a cradle does a drowsy child. He won't recover his senses for an hour at least. Bring the cart and take him down to the landing. First, change his clothes; you may be stopped by a policeman." The coolie addressed, a stalwart native, with an evil, scarred face, produced a number of garments from a chest, while his companion stripped Grant of his handsome business suit. A few moments later he was roughly clad in coarse shoes, tarry trousers, and an English jumper. A neckkerchief and a woolen cap completed the transformation. As thus attired the lame youth resembled nothing more than an English or American deep-water sailor. To add to the disguise, the coolie addressed as Raiko, rubbed grime upon the delicate white hands and face. Then a two-wheeled cart was brought to the door, and the pseudo mariner dumped in and trundled down toward the docks. The youth, he who had given the orders, and who was, as the reader has probably guessed, no other than Ralph Black, left the house by another entrance, well pleased at the success of his stratagem. Raiko and his cart were stopped by an inquisitive gendarme, but the coolie had been primed with a ready excuse. "Plenty _sake_; foreign devil," he said, sententiously. "He drunk; take him down to ship for two _yen_." The officer of the peace had seen many such cases in his career, and he sauntered away to reflect on the peculiar habits of the foreigners from beyond the water. On reaching the English _hatoba_, or dock, Raiko found Ralph awaiting him. The merchant's son was enveloped in a huge cloak, and he carefully avoided the circles of light cast by the electric globes. At his command Grant was unceremoniously dumped into a rowboat moored alongside the pier, then he followed with the stalwart coolie. Lying out in the bay was a coasting junk, with sails spread ready for departure. Pulling alongside of this, poor Grant was lifted on board, and ten minutes later the Japanese vessel was sailing down the Bay of Tokio bound out. As the ungainly craft passed Cape King, and slouched clumsily into the tossing waters of the ocean, the lame youth groaned, raised his hands to his aching head, and sat up. He glanced about him at the unfamiliar scene, then struggled to his feet. The swaying deck caused him to reel and then stagger to the low bulwark. He thought he was dreaming. He looked at the white-capped waves shimmering unsteadily under the moon's rays; the quaint, ribbed sails looming above; the narrow stretch of deck ending in the high bow and stern, and at the half-clad sailors watching him from the shadows. He glanced down at his tarred trousers and coarse shoes, then he gave a cry of despair. It was not an ugly nightmare. It was stern reality. His enemies had triumphed; he had been abducted. The proof of valor is the sudden test of a man's courage. The greatest coward can face a peril if it is familiar to him. It is the unexpected emergency--the blow from the dark; the onslaught from the rear--that tries men's souls. The consternation caused by a shifting of scenes such as had occurred to Grant can be imagined. From an ordinary room in an ordinary native house in Yokohama to the deck of a junk at sea, with all its weirdness of detail to a landsman, is a decided change. The lame youth could be excused if he had sunk to the deck bewildered and in the agonies of terror. But he did nothing of the sort. As soon as he could command the use of his legs, he promptly marched over to a sailor grinning in the shadows of the mainmast, and catching him by the arm, sternly ordered him to bring the captain. "Be sharp about it, you dog," he added. "I will see the master of this pirate or know the reason why." Awed by his tone, the fellow slunk off and speedily produced the captain of the junk. But with him came Ralph Black, smoking a cigar, and with an insolent smile upon his sallow face. "Ah! Grant, dear boy," he said, with a fine show of good fellowship; "I see you have quite recovered from your little accident." "Accident, you scoundrel!" exclaimed the lame youth. "What do you mean? I demand an explanation of this outrage. Why am I dragged out here like a drunken sailor? You must be crazy to think that you can perpetrate such an injury in this century without being punished." "I'll take the chances," replied Ralph, with a sneer. Then he added, angrily: "Be careful how you call names, and remember once for all that you are in my power, and if I say the word, these sailors will feed you to the sharks. In fact, I really think it would be best, anyway." "I always thought you off color, but I never believed you would prove to be such a cold-blooded villain as you undoubtedly are. You and your worthy father couldn't meet business rivals in the open field of competition, but you needs must resort to violence and underhand methods. I'll have the pleasure of seeing both of you behind the bars before----" With a snarl of rage, the merchant's son sprang upon the daring speaker. Grasping him by the throat, he called loudly to the junk's captain: "Over with him, Yoritomo! Help me throw him into the sea. Dead men tell no tales!" CHAPTER XXV. A PLAN, AND ITS FAILURE. The lower order of criminals are seldom courageous. Personal bravery is not found in the same soul that harbors a disregard for laws human and divine. The thief cornered in the dark will fight, but simply with the desperation of a rat at bay. It was to this natural law that Grant owed his life. Yoritomo, the captain of the junk, was a scoundrel at heart, but he had a wholesome regard for justice as meted out in Japan. A number of years spent on the penal farms had taught him discrimination. While there he had witnessed--and even assisted at--several executions for murder, and the terror of the scene remained with him. A golden bribe offered by the Blacks had purchased his services in the abduction of Grant, but when Ralph, in his insane rage, called to him for assistance in throwing the lame youth into the sea, he peremptorily refused. Instead, he called several sailors to his aid, and rescued Grant from Ralph's grasp. "I'll permit of no murder on my junk," he said in Japanese. "You have paid me well to help you carry this fellow to the Bay of Sendai, and I will do it, but no violence, sir." "What do you mean, dog?" shouted the discomfited youth. "How dare you interfere? If I wish to get rid of him I'll do so." "Not on board this vessel," replied the captain, doggedly. "I suppose you are afraid of your neck?" sneered Ralph. "Yes, I am. I run enough danger as it is. How do we know that we were not seen in Yokohama? My craft is engaged in trade along the coast, and is well known. When your prisoner's absence is found out the authorities will secure a list of all shipping leaving the port on such a date. I will be suspected with the rest." Ralph remained silent. A craven at heart, he would not have dared attack one physically able to offer resistance. The picture drawn by the captain was not pleasant. What if the truth should be discovered? It would mean disgrace and a long term in prison. And he had just contemplated a murder! The punishment for such a crime is death. The youth shuddered at his narrow escape. He scowled at his prisoner, then stalked aft to the mean little cabin under the shadow of the wing-like sails. Grant had been a silent spectator of the scene. When Ralph made the violent attack on him, he struggled as best he could, but he was no match for his athletic assailant, and would have undoubtedly succumbed if it had not been for the timely aid of the captain. The latter's unexpected action sent a ray of hope through the lame youth. Possibly he could be bribed to further assist him! Grant was philosopher enough to know that honor does not exist among thieves. The bonds of fraternity found among honest men is unknown in the criminal walks of life. When Ralph left the deck Grant drew Yoritomo aside, and boldly proposed a plan evolved at that moment by his fertile brain. He did not mince words, but went to the point at once. "Captain, a word with you," he said. "I wish to tell you that you are making a bad mistake in being a party to this abduction. You probably know the laws of your country, but you do not know that such crimes against foreigners are punishable by death in many cases." Yoritomo shifted uneasily, but made no reply. "Do you know who I am?" continued Grant, impressively. The captain shook his head. "Indeed! You must belong to one of the lower provinces, then. Have you ever heard of the firm of Manning & Company, dealers and importing merchants?" "Yes." "Well, my name is Grant Manning, and I am now head of the firm. I am also a personal friend of his excellency, Yoshisada Udono, of the War Department, and of the Superintendent of Prisons in Tokio. Ah, I see that you know what the latter means. You have been a prisoner in your time, eh?" "Yes, excellency." The words were respectful, and the lame youth took hope. He followed up his advantage. "The young man who bribed you to assist in his nefarious plot is crazy. No sane man would attempt such a desperate scheme nowadays. You are sure to be discovered before many days. The detectives are even now after you. I have relatives and friends who will move heaven and earth to rescue me, or to secure revenge if aught happens to me. Discovery means death to you. You are even now standing in the shadow of the gallows." Grant had lowered his voice to an impressive whisper. The tone, the surroundings, the situation had their effect upon the listener. He trembled from head to foot. He fell upon his knees at his companion's feet and begged for mercy. "Oh, excellency," he pleaded, "I crave your pardon. I acknowledge that I am guilty. Mr. Black offered me a large sum to help in your abduction. I need the money, for I am very poor. I accepted, and now I lose my life." "Not necessarily so," replied the lame youth, repressing a feeling of exultation with difficulty. "If you will do as I say I will assure you of a pardon, and promise you money in addition. What did the Blacks agree to pay you?" "Two hundred _yen_, excellency." "And for that paltry sum, not equal to one hundred American dollars, you have run such risks. You are a fool!" "Yes, excellency." "Now, I'll promise to see that you are not punished, and I will also give you twice that amount if you head in to the nearest port and put me ashore. What do you say?" Yoritomo hesitated. "Remember your fate when the authorities capture you, which they surely will before long. Don't be a dolt, man. I will pay you double what the Blacks promise, and assure you of a pardon besides." "Can you pay me the money now?" asked the captain, cunningly. He had evidently recovered from his fears--enough, anyway, to drive a shrewd bargain. "Part of it, and give you good security for the balance," replied Grant, confidently. He reached in the pocket where he generally kept his purse, but found it empty. A hurried search disclosed the fact that his valuable gold watch and a small diamond stud were also gone. He had been robbed. "The confounded thieves!" he exclaimed. "They have completely stripped me." "Then you have no money?" asked Yoritomo, incredulously. "No; I have been robbed by those people. I will give you my word that I'll pay you the four hundred _yen_ the moment I set foot in Yokohama. Or, if you wish, I'll write a note for the amount, and you can collect it at any time." "Have you anything to prove that you are Grant Manning?" queried the captain, suspiciously. Grant bit his lips in annoyance. The question boded ill for his chances of escape. The hurried search through his pockets had shown him that he had nothing left; not even a letter or a scrap of paper. He was compelled to answer in the negative. "I thought so," cried Yoritomo, scornfully. "You have tried to play a pretty game, my brave youth, but it didn't work. You Grant Manning? Ha! ha! ha! Mr. Black told me who you are. You are a rival in love, and he is taking this means of getting rid of you. So you would try to wheedle me with lies? I have a mind to let him throw you overboard as he intended. Begone forward, or I'll tell my men to scourge you!" "You are making a serious mistake," replied Grant, with dignity. "You will live to repent your actions. I am----" "Begone, I say!" interrupted the captain, menacingly. "Here, Tomo, Haki, drive this fool forward!" Sick at heart and almost discouraged, the lame youth limped toward the bow. As he passed the mainmast a coolie slipped from behind it and entered the cabin. It was Raiko, Ralph's man. He had overheard the futile attempt, and proceeded forthwith to tell his master. CHAPTER XXVI. GRANT ATTEMPTS TO ESCAPE. During the rest of the voyage up the coast Grant was kept forward with the sailors. Ralph carefully avoided him, and, in fact, seldom appeared on deck. Shortly before midnight on the second day out the prisoner was awakened from a troubled sleep by the entrance of several men in his little apartment forward. One of these was Raiko. Without a word of explanation, the coolie seized Grant and with the aid of his companions, bound him hand and foot. An hour later the junk was brought to anchor and the sails furled. Then a boat was lowered, and Grant, Ralph, and Raiko were rowed ashore by members of the crew. As they left the craft, Yoritomo leaned over the clumsy rail, and called out, sneeringly: "How about that four hundred _yen_ and the free pardon? Your little plan didn't work, eh? Farewell, excellency, Grant Manning!" The prisoner maintained a dignified silence, but at heart he felt sore and discouraged. While on the junk he considered himself almost safe from violence, but Ralph's cowardly assault and the grim, evil face of the coolie. Raiko, boded little good. The night was clear, and a full moon cast its mellow rays over the scene. The junk had anchored in an extensively landlocked bay. Across to the right were several twinkling lights, proclaiming the presence of a town. But where the boat had landed were simply clumps of bushes and sandy dunes. The little party set out at once for the interior. Grant's feet had been loosened, but his hands still remained fastened. Raiko walked in advance, and it soon became evident that he was familiar with the country. At the end of the first hour a halt was made in a grove of trees near a hill. The coolie disappeared, leaving the prisoner in Ralph's care. After he had gone Grant attempted to engage the merchant's son in conversation, but without avail. He absolutely refused to speak. Presently Raiko returned with three horses and another native. The lame youth was lifted upon one and secured in such a manner that he could not escape; then the others were mounted by the remaining members of the party and the march resumed. Raiko went first, as usual, then Ralph, leading the prisoner's steed, and finally the new coolie bringing up the rear. It was a strange procession, but there were none to witness it, the narrow paths followed being entirely deserted. Several hours passed in this manner. The moon sank behind the western mountains, leaving the scene in darkness. Mile after mile was covered without a halt. The aspect of the country changed from hill to plain, from valley to heights. Rivers were forded, bridges crossed, and lakes skirted, and still no word between the members of the cavalcade. During all this time Grant had not remained idle. He was not a youth prone to despair. The result of his conversation with the junk's captain had certainly discouraged him for the moment, but with the vivacity of youth he speedily recovered his spirits and set about for a way to better his situation. In the first place, he found that the jolting of his mount, which he had railed against at the commencement, had actually loosened his bonds. His arms had been tied behind him with a leather thong around the wrists and elbows. The discovery sent a thrill of hope through him. Working steadily, but without making the slightest sound, he finally succeeded in freeing both hands. The operation took some time, and it was not until after the moon had disappeared that he completed the task. Meanwhile, his mind had also moved rapidly. He formulated a plan. It was nothing less than to wait for a favorable opportunity, and to make a bold dash for freedom. Burdened as he was, with a deformed and feeble frame, Grant was no coward, nor was he lacking in valor of spirit. He knew that the attempt would be productive of danger. It would draw the fire of his companions, and, moreover, lead to terrible risks to life and limb, but he was perfectly willing to brave all if by so doing he could effect his escape. During the weary hours spent on board the junk he had thought over his abduction and the events leading to it. The actions of the Blacks were almost inexplicable. It had never occurred to him that they would resort to such desperate measures. He had read of such cases in books of romance treating of life in the earlier centuries, but to believe that an English merchant in Japan should carry off a business rival in the present day was almost beyond his credulity. "It is the last move of a man driven to the wall," he had concluded, and not without a feeling of triumph, it must be confessed. "We have taken the market from him, and simply because the market chose to come to us, and we have beaten his firm and others in both the export and import trades. And as a final straw, it seemed as if the valuable army contracts would also come to us. Fool! he should have known that Nattie and Mori could easily secure them even if I had dropped out of sight." This was not so, and only his innate sense of modesty compelled him to say it. Nattie and Mori, the Blacks, and all the foreign population of Japan knew that only Grant could win the prize. His business tact, his personal friendship with the powers at the head of the government, and his well-known reputation for honesty were the virtues forming the magnet that would attract the golden plum. The outrageous assault of Ralph on board the junk had shown Grant how desperate his enemies were. It hinted strongly at nothing short of murder. No man, no matter how brave, can walk in the shadow of a threatened death without inwardly wishing himself free from danger. Grant was as others in the same situation. He was willing to face any known peril to escape the unknown fate awaiting him at the end of the journey. Then he had a natural desire to turn the tables on his enemies; to cause their defeat and punishment, and not least of all, to reach Tokio in time to secured the coveted army contracts. As the night became darker the little party hovered together. As stated before, Ralph was leading Grant's horse, and forming the rear of the cavalcade was the new coolie. Raiko was almost out of sound ahead. The lame youth felt in his pockets, and to his great joy found a penknife which had been overlooked by the greedy coolie. Waiting until they rode into a narrow valley running between high hills, the prisoner softly reached forward and severed the leading thong. Then, with a fierce tug of his hands, he caused his mount to wheel sharply. This sudden action brought the horse ridden by Grant in collision with that of the hindmost coolie. The shock unseated the fellow, who was naturally unprepared, and he fell to the ground with a cry of terror. Belaboring his steed with one hand, the prisoner dashed down the valley like a whirlwind. He had not gone fifty yards before he heard a prodigious clatter of hoofs, then with a loud report a revolver was discharged behind him. The bullet flew wide of the mark, as could be expected under the circumstances, but it served its purpose just the same. At the sound Grant's horse dashed sideways, stumbled over a hummock of earth or rock, and with a crash, animal and rider fell in a heap against the edge of rising ground. Fortunately, the lame youth escaped injury, but the terrific fall partially stunned him, and he was unable to resist when, a moment later, Ralph rode up and seized him. Raiko followed close behind, and the other coolie limped up in time to assist in rebinding the prisoner. After seeing him again seated upon the horse, Ralph launched forth in a tirade of abuse, which he emphasized by brutally striking the prisoner with his whip. "Thought you would give us the slip, eh?" he cried. "You crippled puppy. I've a good notion to beat you to death! We're having too much trouble with you, anyway, and I think I will end it right here." "You will receive full measure for this outrage some day, you coward," retorted Grant, whose discomfiture had made him careless of consequences. "None but a brute would act as you are doing. No, I'll not stop talking. I don't care a snap of my little finger for your threats. Do what you please, but remember there will be a day of retribution." The English youth evidently thought so, too, as he desisted, and mounting, rode ahead with the leading strap attached to his saddle. This time extra precautions were taken. Grant's legs were fastened by a thong running under his horse, and his arms were securely bound. The journey was continued without halt or incident until a gradual lighting of the eastern sky proclaimed the advent of dawn. The first rays of the sun found the cavalcade upon the summit of a verdure-crowned hill. Down below, nestling in the center of an extensive valley, was the shimmering waters of a large lake, and, looming massively on the farther shore, could be seen the ruins of an ancient feudal castle. "Thank goodness! the rendezvous at last!" exclaimed Ralph. "Now, to see if Patrick is here before us." CHAPTER XXVII. IN FRONT OF THE OLD CASTLE. In the meantime how had Nattie and his party fared in their pursuit of the wily Irishman? It will be remembered that Sumo had gone ahead as a scout, leaving the others to follow more at leisure. This was found necessary by the increasing difficulty of drawing the _jinrikishas_ along the primitive path. It had narrowed in places to such an extent that only by the most careful efforts could the vehicles be taken past. The road became obstructed with huge bowlders, fallen from the surrounding heights, and finally the trunk of a large tree, shattered by lightning, was encountered. "We will have to leave the _'rikishas_ in charge of one of the men," answered Nattie, regretfully. "It will handicap us considerably," replied Mori, in the same tone. "We cannot expect to catch up with Patrick, mounted as he is. From the speed he has been making, though, his animal must be tired out. I think--what is up now?" The question was called forth by a peculiar action on Nattie's part. The lad had been standing intently eying the fallen monarch of the forest. Suddenly he tossed his helmet into the air with a cry of joy. "What fools we are!" he added. "Why, this tree has been here at least a month." "Well, what of it?" "Mori, I am ashamed of you. Can't you see that a horse couldn't pass here? Look at those limbs and that mass of foliage. If Patrick is ahead of us he must have abandoned his horse. Where is the animal?" "By Jove! you are right. The Irishman must have doubled on us after meeting that priest. Idiots that we are to permit a man like that to pull the wool over our eyes. We must go back and take the other road." Before Nattie could reply, Sumo scrambled over the tree and advanced toward them. "Masters, the red-bearded foreigner has deceived us. I met a man half a _ris_ up the path. He has been working there since daylight, and he says no one has passed him except the priest." "That settles it," exclaimed Mori. "Come; we must return to the crossroad." "I have also learned that this path and the main road meet about five _ris_ beyond this hill," continued Sumo. The coolie's information was indeed welcome, and little time was lost in retracing their steps. On reaching the crossroad, however, darkness, which had been threatening for some time, settled down. The coming of night presented a serious obstacle to the continuation of the pursuit. "I am afraid we must put up somewhere until morning," said Mori, as the party halted. Nattie instantly expostulated. "We will never be able to trace Patrick," he insisted. "No, we must keep on, darkness or no darkness." "And run the risk of passing him during the night, eh? If he is cunning enough to fool us once, he'll certainly try it again. No, our best plan is to proceed to Invoro, a small village, a couple of miles from here, and rest until daylight. Then we can resume the pursuit with some chance of tracking the Irishman. Anyway, we are reasonably certain his destination is the caves at the foot of Bandai-San." Nattie was forced to acknowledge the wisdom of his companion's plan, but it was with a heavy heart that he gave his consent. The trip to the village was made without incident. Accommodations were secured at a primitive tea house, and preparations made for spending the night. Inquiry elicited the cheering news that a foreigner such as described had passed through the town several hours previous. He had halted to secure food for himself and horse, and had then continued his journey. "We are still on the right track, you see," said Mori, to Nattie. "Don't worry, old boy. This road leads to the volcano, and all we need do is to set out at daybreak and go straight to the caves. I am so sure that we will find Grant there that I have dispatched a messenger to the governor of this district asking for the assistance of the rural police." "I don't place much faith in them," replied Nattie, doubtfully. "I think we had better proceed alone until we are thoroughly sure Ralph Black and Grant are at the caves. Then we can send for reinforcements. A large body of police would only give the alarm, and probably drive them somewhere else in search of a hiding place." "All right; I will leave word to hold the gendarmes here until we call for them. Now try to get a little sleep. You will tire yourself out and retard the recovery of that shoulder." The lad protested that he could not close his eyes, but nature demanded her meed of rest, and he slumbered soundly until the party was called at the first signs of day. After a brief breakfast the chase was resumed, all feeling remarkably refreshed by the night's rest. "I feel like a new man," announced Mori, quaffing huge draughts of the brisk morning air from his _'rikisha_. "I really believe I am good for a dozen Patricks if it comes to a tussle." "Which it is bound to do," replied Nattie, cheerily. "You can anticipate a fight, old fellow. Ralph Black and Willis Round will not give up without a struggle. Why, imagine what defeat means to them! They will be compelled to leave the country immediately." "If we permit them to," interposed the Japanese youth, meaningly. "Yes, you are right. With their scheme ruined, the house of Black will tumble like a mansion built of cards. If captured, they will be brought to trial before the English Minister and probably sentenced to a long term in prison. They must have been desperate to resort to such a plan." "It's gold--bright, yellow gold, my dear boy," replied his companion, sagely. "It is only another case of man selling his liberty, if not his soul, for the almighty dollar. The hundred thousand _yen_ profit in those army contracts proved too much for the Englishman. And I guess personal revenge has something to do with it." "No doubt. Still it is hard to believe that a sane man would take such chances. I wonder what they expected to do after the awarding of the contracts? They surely could not hope to keep Grant a prisoner for many months?" "I have thought it over, and I believe Mr. Black expected to clear out after furnishing the arms and ammunition, if he secured the prize. He felt that his business had dwindled after the organization of our firm, and that he might as well retire with the money realized if he could. He did not anticipate that we would discover his plot and pursue his son." "Well, I am glad to say that he is mightily mistaken." The invigorating air of the early morning hours caused the _jinrikisha_ men to race along the road at their utmost speed, and it was not long before the party arrived at the spot where the path taken the night before rejoined the main thoroughfare. A short rest was taken, then, with renewed strength, the pursuit was continued. At the end of an hour a lake was sighted some distance ahead. It was a large body of water, evidently grandly situated in a basin formed by three hills and a lofty mountain. Pointing to the latter, which reared its conical head twelve thousand feet above the level of the lake, Mori said, impressively: "The volcano of Bandai-San." "And at its base are the caves?" eagerly asked Nattie. "Yes, the mud caves where we hope Ralph and Mr. Round have taken their prisoner." "What is that on the edge of the lake? It seems to be a ruin." "That's the _shiro_, or old castle of Yamagata. By Jove! I had forgotten that it was here. It is a feudal pile, and has a quaint history. I will tell you something of it as we ride along. The road passes the entrance." Bidding the _karumayas_ run together, Mori continued: "It was a stronghold of an ancient _daimio_, or prince. He ruled the country around here for many years. He was very wealthy, and spent an immense sum of money on the castle. You can see by its extent and the material that it cost no small amount. The walls are of stone, some of the blocks being forty feet long by ten feet in width, and many have a thickness of an English yard. "Those two lofty towers were once surmounted with huge fish made of copper, and covered with plates of gold. You can imagine the temptation to the peasants. One windy night a robber mounted an immense kite and tried to fly to the top of the first tower for the purpose of stealing the golden scales, but he was caught and boiled alive in oil." "They had an extremely pleasant manner of executing people in Japan in the early days," remarked Nattie, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Yes, but during the same period, my boy, the English broke their criminals on a wheel, and quartered them. It was six of one and half a dozen of the other." By this time the party had neared the ruined entrance to the castle. Nattie's curiosity had been aroused by Mori's tale, and he leaned forward to tell his _jinrikisha_ man to stop, when there came a clattering of hoofs from the interior of the castle, and a cavalcade rode out upon the broken drawbridge. Hoarse cries of mutual surprise rang out, then both parties came to a sudden halt facing each other. A wild shout of joy came from Nattie: "Grant! Grant! I have found you at last!" CHAPTER XXVIII. SUMO'S ARMY. For a better understanding of what follows it will be well to explain the situation of the castle of Yamagata, and its general construction. It was located on the southern edge of Lake Inawashiro, and covered a large extent of ground. The main portion of the building was well preserved, consisting of a line of massive stone battlements with a lofty tower at each end. In the interior rose a shattered wall, all that was left of the extensive partitions. There were two entrances, one at the main drawbridge, still in good condition, and another nearer the lake. The latter was choked up with stones and various _débris_. A moat ran around three sides of the pile, connecting with the lake, which touched the fourth wall. The road ran past the front of the castle, and in the vicinity were numerous huts occupied by coolies working in the rice fields. An extensive forest of maple and willows lined a good part of the lake. Rising in the distance to the north was the majestic peak of Bandai-San. So much for description. When Nattie and Mori heard the tramping of horses in the interior they were entirely unprepared to see issue from the main entrance a cavalcade composed of Ralph Black, Willis Round and Patrick Cronin, with Grant a prisoner in the center. The party was further augmented by Raiko and two brother coolies. For an instant the mutual surprise was so great that neither side made a movement. Nattie broke the spell by leaping from his _'rikisha_ with the glad cry: "Grant! Grant! I have found you at last!" The words had scarcely left his lips when Ralph Black, who was in advance, dashed the spurs into his horse, and whirled around. There was a brief scramble and confusion, then the whole cavalcade rode helter-skelter back into the castle. Grant was dragged with them, being still tied hand and foot. An instant later, an ancient portcullis, which had survived the ravages of time, fell into place with a crash, completely blocking the entrance. The sudden retreat of Ralph and his party left Nattie and Mori staring after them as if powerless to move. Their inaction did not last long, however. Wild with rage they darted across the drawbridge, but only to find the portcullis--an arrangement of timbers joined across one another after the manner of a harrow--barring their way. Seizing one part of it, Nattie attempted to force himself through, but he was met with a bullet that whizzed past his head in dangerous proximity to that useful member. Simultaneous with the report there appeared on the other side Ralph and the ex-bookkeeper. Both carried revolvers, which they flourished menacingly. Deeming discretion the better part of valor, Nattie and Mori dodged behind a projecting corner of the massive entrance. A taunting laugh came to their ears. "Why don't you come in and rescue your brother, you coward?" called out the merchant's son. "What are you afraid of?" The epithet and the insulting tone was too much for Nattie's hot young blood, and he was on the point of rushing forth from his shelter, regardless of consequences, when he was forcibly detained by Mori. "Stop! Don't be foolish," explained the young Japanese. "He is only trying to get a shot at you." "But I can't stand being called a coward by a cur like that." "We will repay him in good time. We have them cornered, and all we have to do is to see that they don't get away while we send for the authorities. Don't ruin everything by your rashness." "Why don't you storm the castle like the knights of old?" jeered Ralph, just then. "We are waiting for you." "You are a scoundrel and a fool," retorted Nattie, grimly, heeding his companion's advice. "We've got you in a trap, and we'll mighty soon turn you and your brother conspirators over to the law." "Talk is cheap," replied a voice from within the castle, but there was far less confidence in the tone. The speaker was Willis Round. Presently Patrick made himself heard. "Why don't yez lift that fine-tooth comb thing and go out and fight them?" he asked, impatiently. "It's meself that can whip the whole lot, although Oi shouldn't be the one to tell it. Sally forth, Oi say, and sweep the spalpanes intid the lake." It is unnecessary to say that his belligerent proposal was not adopted by his more discreet companions. There was a murmur of voices, as if the three were holding a consultation, then all became quiet. In the meantime, Nattie and Mori looked about them. Back in the road were the _karumayas_, still standing near their _jinrikishas_. One of the porters was with them, but Sumo had disappeared. The absence of the giant native struck the boys as peculiar, and they wondered whether he had fled at the first shot. Through the forest on the right they saw the outlines of several huts, and running toward the castle were three or four natives, evidently attracted by the revolver report. Turning their attention to themselves Nattie and Mori found that they were in a peculiar situation. Where they had taken refuge was a spot behind the projecting stone frame of the main entrance. There the drawbridge extended out a few feet, barely permitting room for two. There was no way of retreating from it save across the bridge in plain view of those in the castle. "Whew! We are nicely situated," remarked Mori. "How are we going to reach the road, I wonder?" "I guess we'll have to run for it," replied Nattie, doubtfully. "Yes, and get potted before we had gone three steps." "Wait, I'll peep out and see if they are still on guard." Cautiously edging his way toward the center of the bridge, the lad glanced into the interior of the castle. He dodged back with great promptness, and said, with a grimace: "That bloodthirsty Irishman is standing near the portcullis with two big revolvers pointed this way." "Where are the others?" "I couldn't see them." Mori looked grave. "They are up to some trick," he said. "I wonder if there is any way by which they could leave?" "Not without they find a boat, or try to swim the lake." "Don't be too sure of it. These old _shiros_ sometimes contain secret passages leading from the interior. They could fool us nicely if they should stumble across a tunnel running under the moat." "Confound it! we can't remain here like two birds upon a limb," exclaimed Nattie, impatiently. "We'll have to make a dash for it. Come on; I'll lead." He gathered himself together to dart across the fifteen feet of bridge, but before he could start a loud hail came from the forest to the north of the castle. Looking in that direction, they saw Sumo advancing with a whole host of natives. There were at least forty in the party, and each appeared to be armed with some sort of weapon. There were ancient guns, long spears, swords, reaping hooks and a number of plain clubs. With this martial array at his heels the giant porter approached the scene, bearing himself like a general at the head of a legion. As he walked, he flourished the sword given him by Mori, and kept up a running fire of orders to his impromptu command. At another time it would have been comical in the extreme, but under the circumstances, both Nattie and Mori hailed his appearance with joy. Alas for their hopes! "Courage, masters!" shouted Sumo. "Wait where you are. We will drive the scoundrels from their stronghold. March faster, my braves; get ready to charge." But at that interesting moment the little army arrived opposite the entrance. "Bang, bang!" went Patrick's revolvers, and in the twinkling of an eye the whole forty natives took to their heels, bestrewing the road with a choice collection of farming implements, ancient swords and clubs. Sumo had discretion enough to drop behind a stump, from which place of safety he watched the flight of his forces with feelings too harrowing to mention. CHAPTER XXIX. A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. Despite their position, Nattie and Mori were compelled to laugh. And from within came a hoarse burst of merriment that fairly shook the air. "Ha, ha! ho, ho! Look at the monkeys, will ye! Watch them run at the sound of a shot. Worra! Patrick Cronin, did ye live to see the day when forty men would scoot from the sight of yer face?" The fellow's taunts were cut short in a manner unpleasant to his feelings. While he was dancing about inside, crowing over his victory, Mori crept behind his shelter and let drive with his pistol. The bullet cut a hole in Patrick's sleeve, and sent him backward in hot haste. Seeing their advantage, both Nattie and the young Japanese darted across the drawbridge, reaching the shelter of the forest without mishap. There they were joined by Sumo, who appeared thoroughly discomfited. "I thought they would fight, masters," he explained. "But it seems they would rather work in the paddy fields than face firearms. We are not all like that. If you wish, I will face that red-bearded foreigner myself, and I'll cut his comb for him, too." "That is not necessary, Sumo," replied Nattie, with a smile. "We know you are brave, but we won't put you to such a test. A man's strength is as nothing before a leaden bullet." "One good thing," said Mori, "we are away from that trap on the drawbridge. Now we must arrange to capture the scoundrels. Sumo, who is a good man to send to the nearest town for police?" The porter recommended one of the _karumayas_, and the fellow was immediately dispatched on a run with a written message to the chief official of the province. This matter attended to, Nattie and the young Japanese enlisted the services of a part of Sumo's former forces and established a line of spies around the land side of the castle. Several natives were sent to a small village on the shore of the lake for boats, then the two youthful commanders established themselves within hailing distance of the castle entrance. They could see Patrick pacing up and down, still alert. Nattie waved his white handkerchief as a flag of truce, and hailed him. "What do yez want?" growled the fellow, angrily. "Tell Ralph Black to come to the door." "Not Oi. Oi'm no sarvant for the likes of yez." "But I wish to speak with him, fool. It will be to his interest, probably." "I am here," suddenly replied a voice, and the merchant's son showed himself through the portcullis. "What have you to say, Nattie Manning?" "I want to tell you that you will save time and trouble by surrendering my brother." "You don't say!" sneered Ralph. "And suppose we don't look at it in that light?" "You are a fool, that's all." "It is easy to call names out there." "It would be still easier if I had you here." "Let me explain matters a little, Ralph," spoke up Mori, quietly. "You are in a bad box, and you know it. You and your father have committed a serious crime against the law by abducting Grant, and you will suffer for it." "That's our lookout," was the reckless reply. "We have arranged matters so that you cannot hope to escape," continued the young Japanese. "We have sent a messenger to the authorities, and in the course of a few hours a force of police will come to our assistance. It will then be an easy matter to capture you." "You think so?" "We know it to be so." "Don't be too sure, John." Now, if there is anything on earth that will anger a native of Japan, it is the appellation "John." It places them on the same level with the Chinamen in America, who conduct the familiar and omnipresent laundry, and, look you, the Japanese rightly consider themselves much above their brother Asiatics. Mori felt the insult keenly, but he was too much of a gentleman to retort in kind. Nattie--hot-tempered, impulsive lad--could not restrain himself. "You cowardly brute!" he shouted, shaking his fist at Ralph. "I'd give half of what I expect to own on this earth to have you before me for five minutes." The merchant's son paled with anger, but he discreetly ignored the challenge. "What would you do, blowhard?" he blustered. "You think yourself something, but I can bring even you to your knees." "We will see about that when the officers of the law arrive," replied Nattie, grimly. "As I said before, don't be too sure. I have not played all my cards." Mori and Nattie exchanged glances. What could the fellow mean? Ralph speedily informed them. "Do you think I would tamely submit to arrest and go from here with the certain knowledge that my destination would be a long term in a prison?" he snarled. "Do you think I am a fool? I have a safeguard here in the person of your puny, crippled brother." Again Mori and Nattie asked themselves what the fellow meant. Was it possible he would be villain enough to resort to personal violence. The younger Manning paled at the very thought. "What would you do?" he called out, and his voice was unsteady. Ralph laughed, triumphantly. "I see I have touched the right spot," he replied. "I'll tell you in a very few words. If you do not permit us to go free from here and give your solemn promise--I guess you had better put it in writing--that you will not molest us for this, and also that you will withdraw from the competition for those army contracts, I'll kill Grant Manning with my own hands." Nattie was very white when the English youth finished. His worst fears were realized. That Ralph meant what he said he firmly believed. Not so Mori. "Don't pay any attention to his threats," whispered the latter. "He is only trying what you Americans call a 'bluff.' He wouldn't dare do any such thing. He thinks too much of his own neck, the precious scoundrel." As if in refutation of his opinion, Ralph called out in determined tones: "I mean what I say. I would rather hang than live ten or fifteen years in prison. I leave it to you. You can take your choice. I will give you ten minutes to make up your minds, and if, at the end of that time, you do not agree to my terms it'll be the last of your brother." "Come away where we can talk without being under the eye of that miserable villain," said Mori, gravely. "Wait; I wish to try a last chance," replied Nattie. He added in a loud voice: "In the castle, there. Willis Round, Cronin, do you intend to abide by Ralph Black's murderous proposition?" "That Oi do, and if he'd take my advice, he'd kill th' lot of yez," instantly replied the Irishman. The ex-bookkeeper's answer was longer in coming, and it was not so emphatic, but it was to the same effect. Nattie was turning away sadly when he heard Grant's familiar voice saying, resolutely: "Do not give in, brother. Wait for the police, and you can capture them. Ralph won't----" The sentence remained unfinished. The speaker's captors had evidently interposed with effect. Nattie and Mori walked sadly to the edge of the forest. They left Sumo in front of the entrance on watch. "There isn't any use talking about it," said the former. "We must agree to his terms. I wouldn't have a hair of Grant's head harmed for all the contracts on earth. True, he may be lying, but it is better to run no risks. What do you think about it?" "I believe you are right. We will permit them to go free, but we'll wait until the expiration of the time mentioned. Perhaps something will turn up. I hate to see that scoundrel and his mates crowing over us." "I have known Ralph Black a great many years, but I never thought he would prove to be such a thoroughly heartless and desperate villain. As a boy he was headstrong and willful. He delighted in cruelty to animals, and was brutal to those weaker than himself, but I little dreamed he would come to this." "The boy was father to the man," replied Mori, philosophically. "He had it in him from birth. It is hereditary; see what his father is. Well, the time is almost up, and we might as well go and confess ourselves beaten. Ugh! it is a bitter pill to swallow." On rejoining Sumo they found that worthy moving uneasily about in front of the entrance. They saw also that the space behind the portcullis was empty. The tramping of horses came from within, but there were no signs of Ralph or his companions. "Where in the deuce have they gone?" exclaimed Nattie, anxiously. "I do not know, excellency," replied the porter. "The funny man with the fire hair and the youth went away from the door a few minutes ago. The tall, thin man, ran up to them and said something in a voice full of joy, then they all disappeared." "Something is up," exclaimed Mori, then he hailed the castle in a loud voice. There was no reply. Nattie repeated the summons, but with the same result. Now thoroughly alarmed, he and the young Japanese advanced to the portcullis and beat upon it with their weapons. An echoing sound came from the gloomy interior, but that was all. Sumo was instantly bidden to bring men with axes, and others were sent along the shore of the lake to see if an attempt at escape had been made. In due time the barrier at the entrance was broken away, and the two lads, followed by their native allies, rushed past into the ruins. Over in one corner of what had been the main yard were five horses tethered to several posts. Stores and articles of clothing were scattered about, but of the fugitive party there was no sign. A hasty search was made of the different apartments; the remains of the roof were examined; the outer walls inspected, but at last Nattie and his companions were compelled to acknowledge themselves baffled. The entire party, prisoner and all, had mysteriously disappeared. CHAPTER XXX. THE TRAGEDY IN THE TUNNEL. Greatly puzzled, the lads searched the interior again and again. Not a place large enough to accommodate even a dog was omitted. The towers were mere shells, with here and there a huge beam of wood, all that was left of the different floors. A door opening upon the lake was found, but it had been impassable for years. Masses of _débris_, encumbering the castle, were moved about, but nothing was discovered until finally the giant, Sumo, while delving into the darkest corner of the most remote apartment, suddenly stepped into a hole, and narrowly saved himself by grasping at the edge. His cries brought the whole party helter-skelter into the room. A torch of resinous pine was lighted, and the mystery revealed. The hole was the jagged entrance to a tunnel, the bottom of which was dimly visible in the rays cast by the flickering light. "It is a secret exit from the castle," cried Nattie. "Quick! bring other torches; we must follow at once." "I thought we would find something of the kind," remarked Mori, no less excited. "All these old _shiros_ have such outlets. It is fortunate we have found this so easily. The other party cannot be very far in advance." There was much running about, but finally a start was made with an ample supply of torches. Sumo was the only native that could be induced to accompany the lads, the others hanging back in superstitious terror. Word was left with one of the _'rikisha_ men to hold the police at the castle until word arrived, then Nattie and Mori eagerly descended into the cavity, Sumo bringing up the rear with the sticks of pine and his ancient sword. A few crumbling steps led to the bottom, which was about twelve or thirteen feet from the floor. A little heap of dust at the lower level bore the imprints of several feet. It was proof enough that the fugitives had entered the tunnel. A couple of yards from the entrance the excavation made a sharp descent. The floor was thick with slime, and moisture dripped from overhead. The tunnel became smaller and smaller and traces of masonry were found. "We are passing under the moat," said Mori, elevating his torch. "Ugh! what a dreadful place this is." Nattie made no reply. He walked ahead steadily, and ever kept his eyes in advance, as if eager to catch sight of the fugitives. Huge rats peered at the party from sheltered nooks, or darted across their path, as if careless of molestation. The silence was intense; the solitude painful. Presently the air became foul. It was thick and heavy with an odor like that of a tomb. On turning a corner they suddenly came upon a row of human skeletons stretched out in an orderly manner upon the floor. It was a ghastly spectacle, and brought a terrified cry from Sumo. He stopped and appeared unwilling to cross the bones. "Come on, or remain alone," said Nattie, grimly. The giant porter promptly followed them, but his huge frame shook with superstitious fear. At the end of five minutes, a brief halt was made. The tunnel was filled with a dark, moldy air, difficult to breathe. Gasping and coughing, Mori turned an inquiring eye to his friend. "We must not turn back," replied the lad. "They passed through here, and we can also. Come; we are losing time. See, the torches are burning out. If we do not hasten we will be left in darkness." The very possibility of such a dread occurrence sent the trio on almost at a run. To be left in darkness in the tunnel, with its ghastly tenants, was terrifying to contemplate. Sumo magnified the horrors a hundredfold through his ignorance, and his plight was pitiful to see. On, on; the torches flickering; grotesque shadows surrounding them; the atmosphere becoming more dank and difficult to breathe with each passing moment. Huge rodents pattering before, their sharp, piercing eyes gleaming like the optics of fleeing demons; a dripping of water here and puddles of foul scum there. Only one thing strengthened the little party as they sped along, and that was the knowledge that other humans had passed through the same horrors but a few brief moments before. "How much farther?" gasped Mori, for the tenth time. "How much farther?" echoed Sumo, with a groan. "Heart up," replied Nattie, redoubling his speed. "We must be almost there. Don't give up. Remember Ralph and the others took the same journey. Are they more brave than we?" "You are right, my boy. We must persist; the end cannot be far away." They had already traveled a distance at least equal to two city blocks. The tunnel had made various turns, but as yet they had not encountered any side excavations. This was fortunate, as it permitted them to continue ahead without any doubt as to the proper passage. Presently, to the unspeakable delight of all three, the air became less foul. "We are almost there," cried Nattie, cheerily. "Courage, courage!" It was time. The torches, mere pine slivers, had burned away until only a few inches remained. They had started with an ample supply, but while passing the ghastly array of skeletons, Sumo had dropped the reserve bundle in his terror. Suddenly the one carried by Mori gave out; then Nattie's gave a feeble splutter and expired. Presently, however, the floor in the tunnel began to brighten, and finally, on turning a corner, a feeble speck of light became perceptible in the distance. "The end, thank God!" shouted Mori. The echoes of his voice had hardly died away when a most dreadful thing happened. Without the slightest warning to herald its approach there came a terrific rending shock. It seemed as if the very bowels of the earth had collapsed in one great crash. Nattie and Mori and Sumo were thrown to the ground with violent force, and there they lay mercifully deprived of consciousness, while around them the walls and roof and floor of the tunnel heaved and pitched in the throes of an earthquake. The disturbance only lasted a moment, but it was some time before the little party recovered. Nattie was the first to stagger to his feet. The torch had gone out, leaving an impenetrable darkness. The welcoming light--the light proclaiming the exit from the tunnel--had disappeared. The lad was bewildered, almost daft, and small wonder. He lurched about until at last he stumbled and fell across Mori. The shock brought the young Japanese to his senses. Then Sumo scrambled to his feet. Panic-stricken, they started to run. Slipping, staggering, sorely bruising themselves against the sides of the passage, they fled in overwhelming terror. A yard, ten yards, a hundred yards, and then they brought up with a crash against an impenetrable barrier of rock and earth. The exit was closed! CHAPTER XXXI. RALPH SECURES REINFORCEMENTS. "The exit is closed!" The cry came simultaneously from all three. Shrill and with a terrible weight of despair it echoed through the tunnel. Then came a weird crooning. It was the death-song of Sumo's people. Mori stopped him with a fierce command, saying, harshly: "Silence, dog! Would you add to our misery? Silence, I say!" The result of civilization now became apparent. The first natural feeling of terror passed, the reaction came, and both Nattie and the young Japanese were able to discuss their situation with more or less calmness. "This is dreadful, simply dreadful," said the latter; "but we must face it and see what can be done to save ourselves." "What was it, an earthquake?" "Yes, but not much of a shock. We felt it down here; above ground it was simply a wave of minor strength." "But others may come, masters," exclaimed the porter, with chattering teeth. "You are right. We must hasten back the way we came. The shock has barred our passage in this direction; only the castle exit remains to us." There was little time lost in commencing the retreat. Grasping hands the three staggered along the tunnel floor, walking, running, and even crawling at times. The dust that had filled the excavation immediately after the earthquake soon settled, and the breathing became easier. Presently Nattie stopped. "What is the matter?" anxiously asked Mori. "Grant--what of him?" replied the lad, pitifully. "Do you think they succeeded in leaving before the shock came?" "Undoubtedly. We saw the exit, and had almost gained it. They had at least ten minutes' start. Don't worry; Grant is safe." Reassured, Nattie resumed the flight with his companions. In due time they came to the crypt occupied by the skeletons, but Sumo never faltered. That terror had paled before a greater. A foreboding that another barrier might be encountered brought a pallor to the cheeks of the fugitives. The fear was fortunately without foundation. The passage remained clear, and in due course of time they reached the bottom of the steps leading to the castle floor. Weary, worn out, their clothing disordered and torn, and with the fear of death still lingering in their faces, the three painfully scrambled into the air and flung themselves, gasping for breath, upon the stone pavement of the inner yard of the _shiro_. The place was deserted. The coolies and _'rikisha_ men had evidently fled at the first signs of the earthquake. Presently a confused murmur of voices from the outside indicated that they were still within easy call. After a brief moment of rest Nattie staggered to his feet, and, followed by his companions, emerged upon the drawbridge. Their appearance was received with shouts of astonishment and awe. To the superstitious eyes of the natives, they were as beings of another world. That any mortal could survive the clutches of the _jishin_, or earthquake, while in its domains underground was not possible. With one accord the terrified natives fled for the forest. They were speedily brought to a halt by Mori, who was in no mood for foolishness. Rushing after them, he grasped the nearest and fiercely ordered him to bring food and _sake_, the mild wine of the country. "Fools; what think you?" he exclaimed. "We are not ghosts. We have escaped from the tunnel through the aid of a merciful Providence. We are exhausted, and require meat and drink." With many ejaculations of awe and amazement the _karumayas_ obeyed. Before eating, Mori, Nattie and Sumo removed the tattered remnants of their clothing, and bathed themselves in the cool waters of the lake. Then a few mouthfuls of food were taken. The wine put new life in the lads. Refreshed and invigorated, they prepared for the pursuit. It was decided without caution that the caves must be reached without delay. "I am positive it is their destination," said Nattie. "Undoubtedly. We will follow the scoundrels with the aid of their own horses. Sumo, you and two others come with us. The rest can wait for the arrival of the police. Forward!" After the party had ridden a short distance, Mori was seen to cast many anxious glances toward the mighty peak of Bandai-San. It was in plain view, apparently on the other shore of the lake, and its sloping reaches spoke eloquently of the ages in which the flow of molten lava had created the majestic mountain. "What is the matter?" asked Nattie. "I don't like the looks of the old fellow this morning," replied the young Japanese. "Do you see that misty vapor hovering over the summit. That means activity of the volcano. Mark my words, it is on the eve of an eruption." "Yes, Bandai-San is awaking from his long sleep," put in Sumo. "That earthquake must have had something to do with it," said Nattie. "No doubt. It may be the forerunner of a strong disturbance." As they rode on, the curious cloud became more pronounced. Fearing the recurrence of a shock, the party avoided the shelter of trees, and kept to the open as much as possible. After leaving the neighborhood of the lake a road was encountered, so bad that it was necessary to walk the horses. At last it degenerated into a mere path among the narrow paddy fields. A collection of rude huts hardly numerous enough to deserve the title of village was reached after a while. Singularly enough, there were no inhabitants visible. Not the slightest signs of life could be seen save the still smoking embers of a fire outside of one of the houses. This apparent air of desertion was rendered all the more strange because of the intense interest generally created among the natives by the cavalcade. "Find out what is the matter, Sumo," directed Mori. The giant cantered up to one of the huts and rapped lustily upon the wall with his sword. Presently a head was thrust through a hole in the thatch, but it immediately disappeared on seeing the warlike porter. "Come out of that," Sumo shouted, authoritatively. "Give my masters some information, or I'll burn your hut about your ears. Out, I say!" There was a moment of delay, then a shrinking, half-clad Japanese coolie crept from the door and cast himself at Sumo's feet. He was evidently greatly terrified. He wailed aloud, and refused to raise his head from the dust. Impatient at the delay, Mori and Nattie rode up and commanded the wretch to speak. "Did a party composed of foreigners and several coolies with a prisoner pass through here recently?" asked the former. "Yes, excellency," stammered the man. "There were seven in all. They stopped here, and compelled twenty of our best men to accompany them. They made them carry reaping-hooks and almost all the provisions in town. They took my store of rice for the winter." "Whew! Ralph intends to prepare for a siege," exclaimed Nattie. "What a fool he is! Men and provisions, eh? What can he hope to do against the authorities?" "Did they state their destination?" Mori asked the native. "No, but they went in that direction," he replied, pointing beyond Bandai-San. "That's the way to the caves," muttered Nattie, then he added, aloud: "How long have they been gone?" "Not twenty minutes, excellency. Look! you can see the dust still lingering above the bushes upon that hill. They are not to the base of the mountain yet." After tossing the man a couple of _yen_, to repay him for the loss of his rice, Nattie put spurs to his horse and led the way up the path. Presently the party reached a species of tableland, near the summit of an almost inaccessible hill which rose near the base of the volcano. CHAPTER XXXII. THE FLASHING OF THE SWORDS. The spot seemed wild and desolate, there being no evidence of cultivation or of human habitation. On one side extended numerous deep ravines, which gave an air of solemnity to the scene. The narrow, seldom-used path turned sharply to the left in a direction away from their destination. A halt was called upon a natural platform overgrown with brambles. Sumo, who had some knowledge of woodcraft, leaped from his horse and examined the brush. "They have passed here, masters," he announced. "I find little threads hanging to the thorns; and the grass is trampled in places." "We must proceed with caution," said Mori, restraining Nattie, who had already started. "Remember, Ralph has a number of men with him, and he is liable to ambuscade us." "I will go on ahead," volunteered the giant porter, swinging his massive sword vindictively. "You follow slowly. If I see anything I will make the sound of a wild crow." "Don't lose any time in your scouting," said Nattie, impatiently. "Confound them, they'll get away from us yet." Leaving his horse in charge of one of the coolies, Sumo slipped through the brush and disappeared down one of the ravines. After looking to their weapons, the rest silently followed. They had barely traveled a hundred yards when the harsh cry of a wild crow came to their ears; then before the echoes had died away, the fierce clashing of steel thrilled the air. "He has been attacked," shouted Nattie, putting his horse to the bushes. "Quick, we have them now!" With the rest at his back, he dashed down a gentle slope into the head of the ravine. Passing a large clump of trees they came upon a most thrilling scene. Two hundred yards from the hill the valley narrowed to a space not wider than a city sidewalk. The "gut" was formed by a huge mass of earth, which had fallen from the heights overhead. The bottom was evidently the dry bed of a mountain stream, and innumerable bowlders and jagged pieces of flint were scattered here and there, rendering walking difficult. The scenery was an afterthought. That which instantly attracted the attention of Nattie and Mori was the figure of a native almost as large as Sumo standing at the beginning of the narrow passage. The fellow was armed with a sword, which he shook vindictively at the party. Several feet away stood the giant porter, calmly whetting the huge weapon given him by Mori. Farther up the ravine stood the Irishman, Patrick Cronin. The man grinned impudently on seeing the newcomers, then he turned and disappeared behind a mass of underbrush. "After him!' shouted Nattie, riding headlong into the valley. "Hold!" The abrupt warning came from Sumo. He had strode in the way with one hand raised. "What do you mean?" demanded Mori. And as he spoke he leveled his revolver at the challenging figure standing in the middle of the "gut." "Don't shoot him, excellency," exclaimed Sumo, imploringly. "That is Raiko, the thug. I knew him in Yokohama. He did me an injury once. Now, I claim satisfaction." "What nonsense is this?" shouted Nattie. "Would you delay us, man?" "It will not take long," replied Sumo, with a scowl directed toward Raiko. "I'll promise you his head in the song of a stork. See! I commence." He sprang forward, and with great agility threw himself upon Raiko. The latter uttered a shrill cry, seemingly of exultation and defiance, and in the twinkling of an eye the ancient enemies were engaged in what evidently promised to be mortal combat. Human nature is not proof against the thrill and excitement of war. Much as we deplore fighting, there is something in the clash of arms that fascinates us. From the glorious spectacle of marshaled armies to the duel between individuals, there is a charm not to be resisted by mankind of any degree. Nattie and Mori were not different in that respect from other lads. They were both truthful, honest, manly boys, with a just knowledge of right and wrong, but deep down in their hearts was a little of the old leaven with which we are still afflicted more or less. For the moment they forgot their quest and watched the fight with eager eyes. The two combatants were equally matched. If anything, Sumo was slightly taller, but Raiko made up for the discrepancy in a greater breadth of shoulders. Both were armed with the heavy two-edged sword formerly used by the ancient _daimios_, and they were fairly skilled in the practice. Raiko had the advantage in position. Where he had taken his stand was a spot elevated a foot or more above the rest of the ravine. Sumo, however, had greater room in which to swing his weapon, and in case of pressure he had the ravine at his back. At the first onslaught the play was furious, and the rocks rang with the clash of steel. Cut, slash, went the swords. Backward and forward sprang the antagonists. Now to the right, now to the left, dodging, leaping, advancing, and retreating. In the midst of it all came the hissing murmur of strained voices. Tongues were going as well as arms--words keen with venom; phrases sharpened with hate played their part in the fierce duel. Presently the fury of the combat had slackened. Nature was calling a halt. Of the two, Raiko had suffered the most. He was bleeding in a dozen places. But Sumo had not entirely escaped. A broad, raw wound on his right thigh showed where his antagonist's sword had tasted blood. Like two bucks weary with strife, the twain backed away from one another and, leaning upon their weapons, glared with unabated hatred. The respite was momentary. Ere Nattie and Mori could speak they were at it again. "Dog! Robber of the lame!" shouted Sumo, aiming a shrewd blow at his enemy. "Your career is ended. Now for a taste of revenge. Remember the night at the _matsura_? Remember the cowardly thrust thou gavest my brother?" "Yes; and I have one such for thee, worm!" retorted Raiko. "Thou bulk of nothingness, I'll send thee to the offal heap to-day, and--ugh! ugh!" With a harsh cry, almost inhuman in its intensity, he fell against the side of the ravine, sent there by a terrible downward blow from Sumo's triumphant sword. Leaping upon his prostrate enemy, the giant porter gave a sweep of the weapon, then he stood erect with Raiko's gory head in his grasp! CHAPTER XXXIII. "GRANT! BROTHER, IS IT YOU?" The scene was tragic. A ray from the afternoon sun glinted down through a rift in the foliage, bringing out in bold relief the warrior figure of the giant. Thus he stood for a moment, evidently tasting his triumph to the full, then, with a contemptuous laugh, he tossed the head of his fallen foe upon the prostrate trunk. "Send me to the offal heap, thou braggart?" he exclaimed. "Where art thou now, Raiko? It was a lie to be answered with the rest of thy sins at the foot of the throne of Buddha. Poof! that was an easy fight. Now I try conclusions with the fiery-bearded foreigner." Turning, he sped up the ravine and vanished from sight, leaving Nattie and Mori eying one another in astonishment. "What a bloodthirsty wretch it is!" said the latter. "Civilization is merely skin deep in some," dryly replied his companion. "This is a sorry spectacle even in the interior of your country. Don't you think we should feel ashamed?" "I don't know but that you are right," was the naïve reply. "But, confound it all, Nattie, Sumo had great provocation, and, remember, he fought in our interests." "Then we will forgive him. I'll harbor a little contempt for myself for some time, though. Let somebody bury the body, or take it to the nearest village. Come; we have lost too much time as it is." "Sumo is as rash as he is brave," remarked Mori, as he rode along at his friend's side. "If he don't watch out, Patrick will nab him." While trotting across a rocky shelf, Nattie chanced to look up toward the cone of the nearby volcano. To his surprise, he saw that the vapory mist had given way to a dense volume of pitch-black smoke. Little tongues of flame shot athwart the column at intervals, and hovering over the summit was a cloud of ashes glinting dully in the sun. "That looks threatening," he exclaimed, calling Mori's attention to it. "By Jove, Bandai-San is in eruption," was the instant reply. "It is the first time in my memory, too." Then he added, gravely: "Nattie, this comes at a bad time." "Why?" "If there should be a flow of lava--which is highly probable--our stay in this neighborhood will be dangerous." "Does it ever reach this far?" "No; but we must pass near the base of the mountain on our way to the caves." "And the other party?" "They will be placed in peril also." "Then we must catch them before they reach there," exclaimed Nattie, urging his horse forward. "I don't care a snap for Ralph or his crew, but Grant----" "Sh-h-h! Some one is coming down the ravine." A dull noise, like the scrambling of naked feet over the gravel and rocky soil of the dry river bed, came to their ears. It increased until at last it became evident that a considerable body of men were approaching. "Quick! out of the way!" exclaimed Nattie, turning sharply to the right. Reining in his steed behind an overhanging mass of earth, he drew his revolver and waited in silence. Mori soon joined him. They had barely concealed themselves when a score of half-naked natives dashed past, uttering cries of alarm as they ran. They were apparently wild with terror. The cause was speedily explained. While hurrying down the ravine more than one would pause and cast fearful glances toward the smoking crater of old Bandai-San. The impending eruption was the secret of their flight. "It is the body of villagers taken away by Ralph," said Mori. "Their terror of the volcano has proved stronger than their fear of the foreigners. Good! I am glad they have abandoned him. Now he won't have such an overwhelming force." "Did you notice whether the two other coolies were with them? I mean those who were with Ralph at the castle?" "I think I did see one. Humph! you can rest assured that very few natives will remain in the neighborhood when a volcano is spouting fire. I even wonder that Sumo----" As if the name carried the magic power of conjuring, it was barely uttered when the bushes on the left slope of the ravine parted and the giant porter strode into view. "Hail, masters," he said, stopping and wiping his perspiring face. "Where have you been? What have you seen?" asked Nattie and Mori, in a breath. "I was in chase of the devil with the red beard." "Did you see him?" Sumo laughed grimly. "Yes, as the hunter sees the hawk in its flight," he replied. "Red-beard is swift in his pace when danger threatens." "Did you see the others?" eagerly asked Nattie. "No, but I followed them close to the mud caves. Poof! they are fools. Know they not that the demon of the mountain, old 'Jishin' himself, lives there? And now is his hunting time. See! Bandai-San is angry. He sends forth fire and smoke. Presently the river that runs molten red will flow down the mountainside." "Are you afraid?" rather contemptuously asked Nattie. "Not of mortal, master; but it is no shame to bow to the wrath of the gods. Whither go you?" "In search of my brother," was the terse reply, and the lad set spurs to his horse. "You shall not go alone," spoke up Mori, riding after him. Sumo glanced after their retreating forms, then he cast his eyes upward to where the smoke over the crater was assuming a ruddy tinge. It was enough. Tossing up his arms, he started off at a long trot and vanished over the bit of tableland at the head of the ravine. His superstitious fears had proved the victor. "Mori, you are a friend indeed," said Nattie, when the young Japanese rejoined him. "But I cannot permit you to run unnecessary risks for our sake. Return while you have the chance." "Not much," was the hearty reply. "Where you go I go. You insult me. Do you think I would leave you and Grant in the lurch? Not if ten thousand volcanoes were to erupt. Tut! tut! that will do. Not another word." "I will say this, old fellow," gratefully. "You will never regret your actions on this trip. We will find some way to repay you." On up the valley rode the two friends, side by side. Presently a place was reached where it became necessary to leave the horses and continue on foot. Shortly after they had dismounted there came a deep rumbling noise and the earth trembled beneath their feet. Pale but resolute, they strode along. There was a smell of sulphur in the air; the leaves of the scrubby trees were coated with impalpable gray ashes, and a sifting cloud of powdery fragments fell upon them. Suddenly, while passing around an abrupt bend in the ravine, they saw ahead of them the figure of a youth limping in their direction. Nattie gave the newcomer one startled glance, then he rushed forward, crying: "Grant! Brother, is it you?" CHAPTER XXXIV. THE MYSTERIOUS FORCES OF NATURE. It was Grant. Hobbling along as fast as his crippled limbs could carry him, he threw himself into his brother's arms, and for a moment they forgot all else in the emotion of their greeting. Then Mori came in for his well-earned share. The amount of handshaking and incoherent expressions that followed was wonderful. Mutual explanations were demanded and given with hearty good will. The lame youth told briefly his experiences on board the junk, then he added: "After we left that dreadful tunnel running from the castle I almost gave up hope. I felt instinctively that you were underground when that first earthquake shock came, and I was awfully worried." "We escaped, as you can see," said Nattie, with a happy grin. "If not you are pretty lively ghosts," said Grant, in the same vein; then he continued: "That brute Ralph hurried us along the mountain for a while. Then we stopped at a village and compelled some of the poor natives to accompany us. I tell you, Ralph Black must be crazy. None but a lunatic would hope to escape from the law for such an outrage. Fancy him thinking he could take me to a cave in the mountain and keep off the lawful forces of the country." "It is past belief," remarked Mori. "But tell us, how did you manage to escape?" "I am coming to that. But hadn't we better leave this neighborhood? Ralph and Patrick are liable to follow me at any moment." "Where is Willis Round?" quickly asked Nattie, noting the omission of the bookkeeper's name. Grant smiled. "We needn't fear anything from him," he said. "Is he dead?" "No; he helped me to escape." "What!" "It is a fact. Wait; I'll tell you. After we arrived in the vicinity of the caves--which are dreadful places, by the way--Round slipped up to me and began to talk about matters in general. Before he had said many words I saw his object. He was trying to 'hedge,' as they call it in racing parlance." "To crawl out of the scrape, eh?" "Yes; I led him on, and he presently asked me point-blank if I would promise to save him from punishment if he should help me to escape. I replied that I would do what I could for him, but I would promise nothing. He was content with that, and after a while he succeeded in cutting the thongs binding my hands. "Shortly after, while we were hurrying through a dense copse I slipped behind and ran as fast as I could on the back trail. It was a risky piece of business, as Ralph had threatened to shoot me if I made another attempt to escape." "And the villain would do it, too," said Nattie. "I believe he would. The boy is crazy--clean stark crazy. None but a lunatic would do as he has done." "They must see their mistake now," remarked Mori, grimly. "They do. Willis Round is nearly frightened to death. Patrick still remains obstinate and advises a general slaughter of all, but I think he is weakening. The natives they took from the village deserted on account of the threatening eruption of the volcano." All three glanced up to the summit of Bandai-San. The smoke and flame had increased in volume. It was a terrifying sight and instinctively the little party moved toward the head of the ravine. They had walked only a short distance when a tremor shook the earth, sending a mass of dirt and rocks tumbling down the side of the valley. Then, in the twinkling of an eye, a thick cloud of ashes was showered upon them. Now thoroughly frightened, the boys set out at a run, Nattie and Mori assisting the crippled youth, one on each side. Suddenly a dull shock, like the explosion of a mine, almost knocked them prostrate, and directly in front they saw the earth fly from a conical hole in the side of the ravine with the impetus of a hundred-ton gun. When the dust and _débris_ settled, they beheld a small crater, probably fifteen feet in width, occupying a spot a dozen yards above the dry bed of the stream. It was only a small affair as craters go, but the mysterious operation of the natural volcanic forces sent a thrill through the lads, and they scrambled to their feet with but one intent, and that was to leave the place as quickly as possible. "Come!" hoarsely exclaimed Mori, turning a face pallid with dread to his companions. "We haven't a moment to lose. If an eruption should occur and the lava flow down this side of the mountain nothing could save us from a horrible death." "Is it as bad as that?" gasped Nattie, glancing fearfully toward the volcano. The answer came not in words. Suddenly, and with terrific force a thunderous report rent the air. Darkness darker than midnight fell upon the scene as if a pall had descended upon them from the heavens. A blinding shower of hot ashes and sand rained in torrents, then--then while the three lads groveled with their faces in the dust the earth rocked and rocked, and rocked again. Presently--was it a moment or an eternity?--a strange hissing noise became apparent. Multiply the escaping steam from an overcharged boiler ten thousand times and you would only have a faint idea of the terrible noise that filled the air to the exclusion of all other sounds. For the space of many seconds the earth continued to undulate like the surface of the sea. Explosion after explosion came in rapid succession, each seeming greater than its predecessor, until at last one came that shook the earth to its foundations. To the three lads prone in the little ravine it was as if the end of the world had come. They lost all thought of time or place. They remained bowed down before the majestic forces of nature, incapable of moving, or speaking, or even thinking. In time the dread convulsions ceased. Ill with a nausea like that of the sea, Grant and Nattie and Mori finally scrambled to their feet and attempted to run. It was a futile effort. Their trembling limbs refused to carry them, and they sank back once more. Let not the reader think it cowardice. No more brave and sturdy youths than Nattie and Mori could be found in all Japan. And Grant--if feeble in frame and prone to disease physically, his soul was absolutely fearless in the common happenings of life. Only those who have experienced the awful feeling incidental to one of those terrible convulsions of nature called earthquakes can testify as to its effect on the human mind. It is the most mysterious, and the most dreadful force known to man. The writer speaks from experience, having narrowly escaped with his life from one encountered while on a journey through a Central American republic. It came without warning, and in its duration of not more than eight seconds--think of it!--leveled hundreds of houses and claimed a score of human lives. Its immediate effect was as if the earth was slipping away and one's grasp lost on all things mundane. CHAPTER XXXV. RETRIBUTION! It was some time before the boys could again regain their feet. As the minutes slipped past without a recurrence of the shocks their courage and self-confidence returned. They did not stop to discuss the matter, but promptly obeyed their first instinct, which was to leave the accursed spot without delay. They had barely started down the ravine with tottering limbs when Nattie, who was in the rear heard a hoarse cry behind him. It was not human. It was harsh and gurgling, like the scream of a wild fowl in the clutches of a giant eagle. The lad paused and glanced back, then he cried out in horror. His companions instantly turned and looked in the direction indicated by his outstretched hand. Approaching them at a staggering walk was the almost unrecognizable figure of a tall, thin man. His clothing hung in charred tatters from a frame that seemed bent and distorted, evidently from some great calamity; the hat was gone, the hair burned away, and caking the lower limbs as high as the knees was a mass of grayish, slimy mud. As he advanced in a series of tremulous lurches he stretched forth his hands in piteous supplication. Presently he fell to the ground and lay there writhing like a wounded animal. The boys ran to his side. They gave him one glance, then recoiled in horrified amazement. "Heavens above!" cried Grant; "it is Willis Round!" The poor wretch at their feet twisted around and revealed a scarred, marked face with sightless eyes. After great effort, he whispered, hoarsely: "Water! water! Give me water!" Luckily, Nattie carried a canteen-shaped bottle of the precious fluid. Bending over, he placed it to the sufferer's lips. With what joy and relief did he drink! The draught placed new life in him. He presently gasped: "Who is--is here? Is it Grant--Grant Manning?" "Yes, it is I," quickly replied the lame youth. "Can I do anything for you? Ha! why do I ask such a question? Quick, Nattie, Mori; we must take him to the nearest town. He needs medical attendance at once." "It is too late," groaned Round. "I am a dead man. The end of the world is at hand, and I am caught in sin. The others----" "What of them?" asked Grant, eagerly. "They are gone." "Dead?" "Yes; the volcano was shattered by the eruption, the liquid mud and earth--ugh!--rolled down to the caves. I saw it in time and almost succeeded in--in escaping. But Ralph and Patrick were buried under thousands--ugh!--of tons of molten earth." For the first time since the convulsion the boys glanced up at the peak of Bandai-San. To their awe they saw that its shape had been totally changed. Instead of the graceful cone with its dimple of a crater, it now seemed shorn of half its height. The summit was simply a jagged edge of cliff-like reaches. [1]In plain view to the left was a peculiar river, almost black in color, and evidently rolling down the steep slope of the mountainside like the waters of a cascade. Dense clouds of steam hovered over it, and plainly apparent in the air were strange, weird sounds impossible to describe. The grewsome sight brought back the first feeling of terror, and for a moment the lads eyed one another in doubt. The desire to flee soon passed away, however, and they again turned their attention to the prostrate wretch. A change was coming over him. It needed no medical skill to tell that the man was dying. Nattie gave him more water, and others made a couch of their coats, but that was all. Willis Round was beyond mortal aid. In the course of half an hour he gave a gasp, half arose upon his elbow and then fell back lifeless. He was buried where he had died. Scooping a shallow grave in the soft earth he was placed tenderly within and left to his last rest. As they hurried away from the spot a strange silence fell upon Grant and his companions. One brief hour before they had been eager in their denunciations of Ralph Black and his fellow conspirators. Now all that was changed. An awful fate had overtaken them in the very midst of their sins. In the presence of the dread retribution all animosity was forgotten. Their death was from the awful hand of Nature, and their tomb under thousands of tons of Mother Earth! With all possible speed the boys left the eventful ravine. The horses tethered near the spot of tableland had disappeared, evidently stampeded by the convulsions. In due time the village from which Ralph had taken his reinforcements was reached. It was entirely deserted. At a small town beyond the castle of Yamagata, reached late in the afternoon, Sumo was found with other natives more brave than their fellows. The giant porter became wild with delight and ran forth to meet the tired wayfarers. "Welcome! thrice welcome!" he shouted, bowing his huge bulk almost to the ground. "And thou escaped from old 'Jishin' after all? Glad am I, excellencies; glad am I! But where are the fugitives? And where is the foreigner, old Red-Beard?" "They are dead," gravely replied Mori. "They were killed by the eruption. Get us meat and drink at once, coward. I am minded to punish you for your desertion, dog." Sumo shrugged his shoulders philosophically. "As thou will, little master," he replied. "Punish if it be in thy heart. I would have fought for thee if mortal enemies threatened, but what is my puny arm to that of the underground demon?" "I do not blame you for running away, Sumo," spoke up Nattie, with an involuntary shudder. "It was an awful experience, and one I have no desire to meet again." "Amen!" fervently exclaimed Grant. That afternoon and night the boys rested. At daybreak on the following day they started for the nearest railway station, in _jinrikishas_. As reports came in from the country nearest to the other slope of Bandai-San the terrible nature of the calamity became apparent. Whole towns had been swept away by the dreadful sea of molten mud thrown from the crater. Thousands had been injured, and a thousand lost. Many miles of land had been ruined. The destruction was almost irreparable. At Tokio the boys purchased new outfits. They remained a few hours in the capital, and then left for Yokohama. At Nattie's personal request, Sumo had accompanied them. It was the lad's intention to install the giant as a factotum of the firm in the counting-room. It was late in the morning when they steamed into the railway station. As they left the train, Mori turned to Grant with a cry of dismay. "By Jove! do you know what day this is?" he asked, excitedly. "No--that is--it's----" "The first of August, and the bids for those army contracts are to be opened at noon!" FOOTNOTE: [1] An actual occurrence. On the sixteenth of July, 1888, the volcano of Bandai-San, in Northern Japan, exploded, killing a thousand people. The mountain was almost rent asunder, one-third being turned into liquid mud! CHAPTER XXXVI. CONCLUSION. "The army contracts!" echoed Grant. "Why, bless my soul, you are right! This is the day set by the war department for opening them." All three lads instinctively glanced at the station clock. "Great Scott!" exclaimed Nattie; "it's after eleven!" "In less than an hour the board will sit, and at Tokio--twenty miles away!" Mori cried. "We have lost the chance after all." "Not without a struggle," firmly replied the lame youth. "There's Mr. Burr over there. He is here to meet us. Nattie, take him to the nearest stationer, and purchase three or four quires of official paper, pen and ink. Be back in five minutes. Mori, come with me." While Nattie, too bewildered to speak, hurried away on his errand, Grant grasped the Japanese youth's arm, and almost ran to the station master's office. They found the official seated at his desk. "What time does the next train leave for the capital?" asked Grant. "At eleven-thirty, sir." "Too late. How long will it take you to start a special train?" The railway employee stared at his questioner in surprise. "A special train for Tokio?" he asked. "Yes." "We couldn't have it ready under twenty minutes. Why, what----" "Never mind the reason, sir," interrupted Grant, impatiently. "I must be in Tokio before twelve o'clock." "It is impossible, sir." "Not at all. It must be done. Where is the engine that brought the train in a few moments ago?" "It is still in the station, but it will go to the running sheds before long." "I must have that engine," exclaimed Grant, with determination. "I will pay you five hundred _yen_ for an hour's use of it. I will also give a bonus of fifty _yen_ each to the engineer and fireman." Five minutes later a powerful locomotive left the station, bearing the party. A small table had been secured, and hard at work upon it was Mr. Burr, writing for dear life as Grant dictated. The line was clear, telegraphic orders having been sent to that effect from Yokohama, and the intricate mass of iron flew upon its journey at the rate of seventy miles an hour. It was a strange spectacle, and one never before witnessed in all Japan. To the engineer and fireman, native born, it was a novelty indeed, and they cast many curious glances at the group upon the tender. As the miles were covered at terrific speed, the ponderous engine swayed and rocked like a ship in distress. But amid the lurching and tossing of the fabric, Grant stood imperturbably droning word after word, sentence upon sentence, while the canny Scot jotted them down as best he could. The document was a lengthy one, full of circumlocution and dreary phrases, but at the end of twelve minutes, when the outskirts of Tokio came in sight, it was finished. The three members of the firm affixed their names just as the panting engine came to a sudden stop in the railway station of the capital. _Jinrikishas_ with fleet _karumayas_ had been ordered by telegraph. The distance to the war department was at least a mile. Springing into the vehicles, the party were carried swiftly through the streets, a promise of ten times the usual fare having lent wings to the men's feet. A clock observed midway indicated a quarter of twelve. "On, on, men!" cried Grant, imploringly. "Fifty _yen_ each if you do it before the stroke of twelve." The promise was as a whip to a spirited horse. From lagging steps the _karumayas_ bounded into a run. Down the narrow streets they darted, past gardens, through thoroughfares crowded with pedestrians; on, on, until at last, with a final spurt, the four _jinrikishas_ came to a halt in front of the Japanese war office. Leaving Mr. Burr to settle with the coolies--who had well earned their pay--Grant dashed into the building just as the first stroke of a sonorous bell overhead proclaimed the hour of noon. As he passed through the entrance he noticed a door at the right bearing upon its panels in Japanese, "War Department. Office of the Army Board." It was standing slightly ajar, and from the interior came a confused murmur of voices. Something prompted Grant and his companions to stop and peer through. Seated at a large desk were several officers in uniform and other gentlemen in civilian's clothes. In the center was Yoshisada Udono, Grant's friend. Occupying chairs in the main portion of the room were the German merchants of Yokohama, Swartz and Bauer, and Ralph's father, Jesse Black. The warning bell had reached the seventh stroke! Arising to his feet with a triumphant smile upon his lean, suave face, the English merchant advanced to the desk and laid thereon a packet. As he turned to resume his seat there was a noise at the door, and the lame youth marched in with calm dignity. "Ah, I see I am just in time," he said, with a pleasant smile. "Mr. Udono, will you please accept our bid for the contracts?" "Certainly, Grant, with the greatest pleasure," quickly replied the secretary. "Where have you been? I actually thought you would be----" He was interrupted by a snarl of mingled stupefaction and rage. Mr. Black, who had been staring open mouthed at the lads, sprang forward, and shouted: "It is too late! It is past the time. The hour of twelve----" "Has not struck yet," quietly interrupted Grant. "Listen! ten, eleven, twelve! I was three seconds to the good." If ever baffled fury sat enthroned on a man's countenance it did then upon that of the English merchant. He was speechless with anger and disappointment. Shaking his fist in Grant's face, he stammered and choked in a futile effort to berate him. "Mr. Black, a word with you," suddenly said Nattie, stepping up. The lad's tone was full of meaning. He turned and added to his brother and Mori: "Let us leave for some quiet place and have it over with. You know we have a sad duty to perform." "What, what's that?" asked the merchant, in alarm, recovering his speech. "My son Ralph! What of him? Don't tell me he is injured." "Come with us," replied Grant, evasively. Leaving Mori to make a brief explanation to Mr. Udono, Nattie and he took the Englishman into a side room and there told the story of his son's awful end. It is a strange commentary on human nature that even the vilest beast contains a well of tenderness. The hand that slays in cruel sport can also caress with fond affection. The African mother has her maternal love; the foulest rogue a word of kindness. Mr. Black was an unscrupulous man. He was a scoundrel at heart, but there was an oasis in the desert of his immoral nature. It was his love for his son Ralph. The news of his offspring's death came as a terrible blow. His grief was pitiful. The spectacle of a strong man weeping in agony of spirit swept away all thoughts of punishment. Grant exchanged glances with his brother, and then said, sadly, but with firmness: "Mr. Black, we know everything. We know fully your connection with the foul plot to abduct me, but we are content with our triumph over you. We could have you arrested and sent to prison for a term of years, but we will be merciful. You can go forth in freedom, but on certain conditions." The miserable man stood listening with bowed head. "You must leave Japan at once," continued Grant, "and also make restitution of the money overpaid to you on account of our father's debt. That debt was paid to you before his death, and you know it." "No, Grant, your father did not pay me," replied Mr. Black, brokenly. "Then you still deny it!" exclaimed the lame youth, his voice growing hard. "I will explain. I received part of the money, but not from your father. The day Mr. Manning died in his office I received a call from Willis Round. He said that he had taken the fifty-six hundred dollars in gold from the safe, and would divide with me if I would promise to back him up in pushing the firm to the wall. It was his idea to purchase the good will of the business at a forced sale and start in for himself. I--I consented, but our plans have failed." "Through no fault of yours," said Nattie, _sotto voce_. "Do you agree to the conditions?" asked Grant. "Yes, I will do as you say," replied the disgraced merchant. "I will repay you and leave this country at once. I am content to do so. Oh, Ralph, my son, my son!" He tottered from the room, and that was the last the lads saw of him. On the following day a messenger brought to them in their office at Yokohama a package of money containing the amount previously paid to Mr. Black. Before the end of the week he had settled up his affairs and left Japan. It was heard later that he had returned to England, where he went into retirement with the money saved from his business. It is to be hoped he sought repentance for his misdeeds. In these o'er-true tales it is a pleasure to part with some characters, but painful to bid farewell to others. A writer has his likes and dislikes, even in his own literature. It is said that the immortal Dickens cried when he penned the description of Little Nell's death in the "Old Curiosity Shop," and that his heart stirred with a curious anger as he chronicled the villainies of Bill Sykes in another story. It is probably for a similar reason that I do not like to write the words that will put an end for all time to Grant and Nattie and Mori. We have spent many pleasant half hours together. It has been a pleasure to depict their honesty, and manliness, and truth, to watch their brave struggle against misfortune, and at last to record their final triumph. They will succeed in life--integrity and moral worth always do. They secured the famous contract, and made a legitimate profit from it. That was before the recent war between China and Japan. They invested their increased capital, and are now, at the present date, on the fair road to fortune. Mr. Burr is the manager of their Yokohama house. Mori is in general charge of the business in Japan, and Grant and Nattie are now traveling in the United States visiting their relatives and quietly keeping an eye out for the trade. Sumo is established in the main office as porter and messenger. He sports a gorgeous uniform and is ever relating to the small boys of the neighborhood his memorable fight with Raiko, the thug, at the foot of old Bandai-San. And now, in the language of those gentle people, the Japanese, I will say "_Sayonara!_" THE END. Did you like this story? Yes? Then let us help you to select another. _Some of Street & Smith's Books for Young People by Popular Authors_.... A COMPLETE LIST WILL BE SENT .... UPON APPLICATION .... STREET & SMITH'S BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE BOOKS FOR BOYS. THE CREAM OF JUVENILE FICTION. Boys' Own Library. A selection of the best books written by the most popular authors for boys. The titles in this splendid juvenile series have been selected with care, and as a result all the stories can be relied upon for their excellence. They are bright and sparkling, not overburdened with lengthy descriptions, but brimful of adventure from the first page to the last--in fact, they are just the kind of yarns that appeal strongly to the healthy boy who is fond of thrilling exploits and deeds of heroism. Among the authors whose names are included in Boys' Own Library are Horatio Alger, Jr., Edward S. Ellis, James Otis, Arthur M. Winfield and Frank H. Converse. Cloth, 135 titles. Illustrated. Attractive covers. Price, per volume, 75 cents. Boys' Own Library. Adventures of a Telegraph Boy Horatio Alger, Jr. Adventures of a Young Athlete Matthew White, Jr. Arthur Helmuth Edward S. Ellis. Beach Boy Joe Lieut. James K. Orton. Boats, Bats and Bicycles Ernest A. Young. Bob Porter at Lakeview Academy Walter Morris. Bound for Annapolis Ensign Clarke Fitch, U.S.N. Boy Boomers Gilbert Patten. Boy Cattle King Gilbert Patten. Boy from the West Gilbert Patten. Boys in the Forecastle George H. Coomer. Butcher of Cawnpore William Murray Graydon. Cadet's Honor, A Lieut. Fred'k. Garrison, U.S.A. Cadet Kit Carey Lieut. Lounsberry. Camp in the Snow, The William Murray Graydon. Campaigning with Braddock William Murray Graydon. Canoe and Camp-Fire St. George Rathborne. Captain Carey Lieut. Lounsberry. Centreboard Jim Henry Harrison Lewis. Chased Through Norway James Otis. Check Number 2134 Edward S. 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Street & Smith, 238 William St., New York City. 
58378	----	generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) [Illustration: UMÉ SAN IN THE FIELD OF IRIS] LITTLE PEOPLE EVERYWHERE UMÉ SAN IN JAPAN BY ETTA BLAISDELL McDONALD AND JULIA DALRYMPLE Authors of "Manuel in Mexico," "Raphael in Italy," "Kathleen in Ireland," etc. [Illustration] Illustrated BOSTON LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 1909 _Copyright, 1909_, BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. _All rights reserved._ Published September, 1909. Printers S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A. PREFACE Japan is a paradise of flowers and of treasure-flowers, as the Japanese mothers call their babies. In no other country in the world do they both form so large a part of the daily life of the people. From the first white plum blossom to the last gorgeous chrysanthemum the path of the days is strewn with beautiful blossoms; and from the time of the Dolls' Festival to the New Year's Celebration there is a constant round of simple pleasures for the children. Happy children! who are always laughing and never crying; who are taught filial respect, reverence, and unquestioning obedience, but are surrounded in their homes with an atmosphere of kindness, cheerfulness and loving care. It is true that the New Japan is very different from the Old. Railway trains and electric cars are taking the place of the jinrikisha and kago; modern school-houses, with desks, chairs, blackboards, and the latest methods of teaching are fast replacing the tiny school-room with its matted floors and its lessons learned by rote. But the spirit of the common people is unchanged. The children play the same games and listen to the same delightful tales; and their fathers and mothers hold to their old superstitions, their ancestor-worship and their love of nature. This story is a picture of the simple life of a Japanese family. To follow little Umé San through the year, to play with her dolls on the days of the Dolls' Festival, to go with her to the parks to admire the cherry blossoms or chrysanthemums and join the crowds who are celebrating these joyous seasons, to feed the goldfishes and doves in the temple gardens, to buy toys and gifts in the streets of shops, and to welcome the New Year with festivity and merrymaking, is to catch a glimpse of the rare charm and spirit that pervade life in this "Land of the Rising Sun." CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. LITTLE MISS PLUM BLOSSOM . . . . . . . 1 II. UMÉ'S BIRTHDAY . . . . . . . . . 9 III. TEI BUYS A DOLL . . . . . . . . . 18 IV. THE DOLLS' FESTIVAL . . . . . . . . 26 V. A VISIT TO THE TEMPLE . . . . . . . 36 VI. CHERRY-BLOSSOM TIME . . . . . . . . 42 VII. THE FLAG FESTIVAL . . . . . . . . 51 VIII. THE SINGING INSECTS . . . . . . . . 57 IX. A TRIP TO KAMAKURA . . . . . . . . 63 X. THE ISLAND OF SHELLS . . . . . . . . 74 XI. A DAY IN SCHOOL . . . . . . . . . 82 XII. YUKI SAN IN THE STREET OF SHOPS . . . . . 88 XIII. THE EMPEROR'S BIRTHDAY . . . . . . . 95 XIV. DARUMA SAMA . . . . . . . . . . 104 XV. NEW YEAR'S DAY . . . . . . . . . 111 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Umé San in the Field of Iris . . . . FRONTISPIECE Boys Playing Marbles . . . . . . . _Page_ 12 Umé Riding in a Jinrikisha . . . . . " 37 "The Cherry Trees in Ueno Park are in full Blossom" . . . . . . . . " 42 There was a Fish for every Boy . . . . " 52 Fujiyama, the Sacred Mountain . . . . " 69 "Nothing can harm the Great Buddha" . . . " 73 "Umé caught her first Glimpse of the Lovely Green Island" . . . . . . . . " 74 The Street of Shops and Asakusa Temple . . " 91 UMÉ SAN IN JAPAN CHAPTER I LITTLE MISS PLUM BLOSSOM The little plum tree in the garden had blossomed regularly every year for ten years on the twentieth day of the second month. That day was Plum Blossom's birthday. On the day that she was born the little plum tree had blossomed for the first time. For that reason she was called Umé, which is the Japanese word for "plum blossom"; and for her sake the tree had opened its first blossoms on that same day for the next nine years. Now, on the day before her eleventh birthday, all the buds were closed hard and fast. Umé looked at them just before going to bed and there seemed no chance of their opening for several days. "Perhaps the weather will be fine to-morrow, Umé-ko," said her mother, as she spread a wadded quilt on the floor for her little daughter's bed. "If it is, and the sun shines honorably bright, the buds may open before the hour of sunset." "I will say a prayer to Benten Sama that it may be so," answered Umé. Benten Sama is the Japanese goddess of good fortune, to whom the little girl prayed very often. She knelt upon the mat and bent down until her forehead touched the floor, after the Japanese manner of making an honorable bow. She clapped her hands softly three times, and then rubbed one little pink palm against the other while she prayed. "Dear Benten Sama," she said, "grant that just one little spray of the plum blossoms may open to-morrow." For a moment she was very still, and then she added, "If they are open when I first wake in the morning, I will honorably practise on my koto for one whole hour after breakfast." Then little Umé Utsuki slipped into her bed upon the floor, laid her head on the thin cushion of her wooden pillow, and drew the soft puff under her cunning Japanese chin. "Good-night, dear Benten Sama," she whispered softly, and fell asleep with the words of an old Japanese song on her drowsy tongue:-- "Evening burning! Little burning! Weather, be fair to-morrow!" The buds on the plum tree outside were closed hard and fast, and the house walls about Umé were also tightly closed. The bright moon in the heavens could find no chink through which to send a cheering ray to little Umé San. All through the night the frost sparkled on the bare twigs of the dwarf trees in the garden. All through the night the plum tree stood still and made no sign that Benten Sama had heard Umé's prayer. When the moonbeams grew pale in the morning light the buds were still tightly closed. Umé stirred in her bed on the floor, crept softly to the screen in the wall and pushed it open. She moved the outer shutter also along its groove and stepped off the veranda without even stopping to put on her white stockings or her little wooden clogs. Down the garden path to the plum tree she pattered as fast as her bare feet could carry her. Alas, there was nothing to be seen on her plum tree but brown buds! She looked up into the gray morning sky and tried to think of something else; but her gay little kimono covered a heart that was heavy with disappointment. The tears tried to force their slow way into her eyes, but the little girl blinked them back again. Umé's ten years had been spent in learning the hard lesson of bearing disappointments cheerfully. Now, with the shadow of tears filling her eyes, she tried to bring the shadow of a smile to her tiny mouth. "Benten Sama did not honorably please to open the buds," she whispered with a sob. Then, standing on the frosty ground, with her bare toes numb from the cold, Umé made a rebellious little resolve deep in her heart where she thought Benten Sama would know nothing about it. She resolved not to practise on her koto at all after breakfast. There were two reasons for making the resolve so secretly. She might wish to pray to Benten Sama again some time, although if the goddess were not going to answer her prayers it did not seem at all likely; and besides, it was being very disobedient, because it was the rule that she must practise one-half hour every morning after breakfast. Suddenly she realized that her disobedience would hurt her mother, who was not at all to blame because the plum tree had not blossomed; but just as her resolution began to weaken, her mother came out upon the veranda and called to her. "The plum branch which your august father brought home only a week ago is full of blossoms," she said, as she led the child back into the house. It was true. In a beautiful vase on the floor of the honorable alcove stood a spray of white plum blossoms. Umé's mother pushed the sliding walls of the room wide open so that the morning sun might shine full upon the flowers. The little girl ran across the matted floor and knelt joyously before them. "They are most honorably welcome!" she cried, and bent her forehead to the floor in salutation. She forgot at once her disappointment in the garden and her resolve not to practise. She touched the sweet blossoms with loving fingers and called her brother to look at the beautiful things. "Come Tara San! Come and look at the eldest brother of a hundred flowers!" she called. Not only Tara, her brother, but Yuki, her baby sister, also came to bend over the blossoms in delight. The spray stood in a brown jar filled with moist earth; here and there the brown color of the jar was flecked with drifts of white to represent the snow on bare earth, and the branch looked like a tiny tree growing out of the ground. The plum is the first of all the trees to blossom in Japan, and for that reason it is called "eldest brother" to the flowers. While the children touched the blossoms gently and chattered their delight, their mother was busy, waking the servants, sliding back all the wooden shutters of the house, folding the bedding and putting it away in the closets. Umé left her flower-gazing and sprang to her own puffs before her mother could touch them. "I will put them away," she said, and folded them carefully as she had been taught to do. After breakfast they would have to be taken out and aired; but the room must first be put in order for the morning meal. Umé's bed was made, as are all Japanese beds, by spreading a quilted puff upon the floor. With another puff over her, and a wooden block on which to rest her head, the little girl slept as comfortably as most people sleep on mattresses and soft pillows. Umé laughed softly now as she folded the puffs away in their closet. "There are still many things to make my birthday a happy one," she said to herself. "There will be a game with Cousin Tei after breakfast, and perhaps she will give me a gift." She said the last words in a whisper, so that her mother would not hear. No matter how much she might long for a gift, it was not becoming in her to speak of it beforehand. She was sure that there would be gifts from her father and mother and from the respected grandmother. That was to be expected, and had even been hinted. The grandmother had mentioned an envelope of paper handkerchiefs the very day before, after Umé had made an unusually graceful bow to her. In her heart Umé wanted most a pair of little American shoes, but she had never dared to ask for them because her father did not like the dress of the American women. In fact, he often told Umé to observe carefully how much more graceful and attractive the kimono is than the strange clothing worn by the foreign people. The little girl sighed as she remembered it. Just then she heard her father's step in the next room and turned quickly to bow before him. The maids had brought several lacquered trays into the room, one for each member of the family, and had set them near together on the floor. Each tray had short legs, three or four inches high, and looked like a toy table. On the tray was placed a pair of chopsticks, a dainty china bowl and a tiny cup. Now one maid was beginning to fill the bowls with boiled rice and another was pouring tea into the cups. All three children remained standing until the father entered the room. Then each one, even Baby San, bowed before him, kneeling on the floor and touching his forehead to the mat and saying, "Good morning, honorable Father." To their mother the children bowed in the same way, and also to their grandmother when she came into the room. Everything would have been most quiet and proper but for the baby. She liked to bump her little forehead on the floor so well that she kept on kotowing to old black Tama, the tailless cat, who stalked into the room. As if that were not enough, she bowed to each one of the breakfast trays until her mother seated her before one of them and gave her a pair of tiny chopsticks. Then there was the waiting until the grandmother and the father and mother were served, which seemed to the baby to take too long a time. She beat the tray with her chopsticks and called for the rice-cakes even as they were disappearing down the honorable throat of her father. Tara laughed. He was very fond of his little sister. That she should do such an unheard-of thing as to demand cakes from her father seemed to him exceedingly funny. His father smiled, too. "Your grandmother will have a task to teach you what is proper, Yuki San," he said. At last the breakfast of rice, tea and raw fish was over. The little lacquer trays were all taken out of the room, and the father was ready to go to his silk shop. His jinrikisha was waiting at the garden gate. In their place on the flat stone at the house entrance stood his wooden clogs, and all the family gathered at the door to bid him "Sayonara." CHAPTER II UMÉ'S BIRTHDAY Umé stood still, looking after her father until his jinrikisha was out of sight. Down in her heart there was an uneasy feeling that she was going to do wrong. She had resolved to omit her koto practice, and having made such a resolve it seemed to her as binding as a promise. But now was the time she had always given to her practice; now, when her mother was busy with household cares. "I will go first to cousin Tei's," she said to herself, and ran to her grandmother's room to find her mother. "O Haha San," she said, "may I have your honorable permission to go to cousin Tei's house?" "Yes, Daughter," answered her mother, and went on matching the silk pieces of the grandmother's new kimono. Umé stepped down from the veranda into the garden path; then she stopped and looked back into the room where her koto lay. Something within her told her to go back. It was the strong sense of obedience to duty which makes such a large part of the life of every Japanese girl. She felt it so strongly that she took one step backward. Then the resolve made in the early morning, when she was disappointed at not seeing the plum blossoms, flashed into her memory. She slipped her feet into her wooden clogs, turned toward the garden and clattered swiftly down the path. All the flowering shrubs were still wrapped in their winter kimonos of straw and it seemed to Umé that they knew about her disobedience. The cherry trees and the dwarf pine trees waved their branches backward toward the house. She passed the little hill, the pond with its bridge, and the stone lantern, and she remembered that one day her father had told her that they all stood for obedience. But she ran forward, shaking her naughty little head as if to shake away every good influence. At the farther end of the garden a tiny gateway led into her cousin Tei's garden, through which she ran to the house. Tei was standing on the veranda bouncing a ball. "Come, Tei," said Umé. "Let us go to the street of shops and buy some sweets. It is my birthday and I have ten sen." Tei was so much in the habit of obeying that she obeyed Umé, and the two little girls went into the city streets, where they found so many things to interest them that Umé quite forgot her koto practice. It was not a common thing for the two children to wander away in this manner. They had so many playthings and so much room in the two gardens that they were quite contented to play together at home all day long after they had finished their house duties and the lessons at school were over. Today the children were to have a holiday; and while Umé's mother thought she was at Tei's house, Tei's mother thought her little daughter was at her cousin Umé's. It was the middle of the afternoon before the two little girls returned home. They went first to the street of toy-shops and Umé bought a big red ball and a fairy-story book full of the most delightful pictures. Then they sat down on the temple steps to look at the pictures, and would have read the story, too, but in a moment a man came down the street with a crowd of merry children following him. He stopped in front of Umé and quickly made five or six butterflies out of pieces of colored paper he took from his sleeve pocket. The man blew the butterflies up into the air and kept them flying about by waving a big fan. At last he made a beautiful yellow one light on Tei's hair. "Keep it," said Umé, "it will bring good luck," and she gave the man a rin for it. At one of the booths near the temple she bought two baked sweet potatoes and some rice-cakes, and the little girls ate their luncheon, holding the crumbs for the pigeons that flew down to eat from their outstretched hands. Now the sen were all spent; but there were still many pleasant things for the two little girls to do. They ran down to the pond in the temple garden to look at the goldfish. Then they played a game with the new ball, and watched a group of boys playing marbles. They even played blind-man's-buff with some of the other children, and were really very happy. [Illustration: Boys Playing Marbles. _Page_ 12.] Perhaps they would not have thought to go home at all if Umé had not remembered the tea-party in honor of her birthday. Her father was to come home from his shop earlier than usual, so that the family might drink tea together. "Come, Tei," she said at last, "it is nearly the hour of tea-drinking. Let us go home." Obedient Tei turned at once, saying only, "It would have been good to read the fairy story in the picture-book." But Umé had not heard what Tei said. For the first time in many hours she was thinking of the koto practice. "Did you ever do anything disobedient, Tei?" she asked. Tei thought very hard for a few moments. "Yes," she said at last, "I once put the cherry blossoms into the chrysanthemum vase when the honorable mother told me not to do so." Umé looked at Tei in surprise. "But how could you?" she asked. "They must have hurt your intelligent eyes after you put them there." Tei shook her head. "I thought they looked pretty," she confessed. Umé looked doubtful. After a moment she said, "I could never have put them in that vase; it would have looked wrong from the first. But I ran away from my koto practice to-day, perhaps that was just as bad." It was Tei's turn to look surprised. "How could you do it?" she asked in horror. "All the gods will talk about you." Umé shook her head. "It was not hard to do it," she said, "and it is true that I have not thought about it in this whole beautiful day. I do not understand why." "It is because there have been so many other things to think about," said Tei; but she went home and told her mother that she thought Umé would feel the displeasure of the gods because of her disobedience. As for Umé, she said nothing about it at first. Her father was at home and the little girl slipped out of her clogs and into the room like a gay butterfly. "I have returned, honorable Father," she said, fluttering to her knees and spreading her kimono sleeves as widely as they would go above her head. At the same time she bobbed the saucy little head upon a mat. Once would have been quite enough, but Umé did it several times. "That will do," said her father at last. He saw that the child was excited. Umé's grandmother saw it also and spoke reprovingly. "Little girls should never behave in a way to draw the honorable eyes of their parents upon them in displeasure," she said. But Umé had discovered the tray of gifts standing on the floor. There were several packages, each neatly wrapped in white paper with a bit of writing on it, and tied with red and white paper ribbons. Before she touched them Umé made a deep bow before her grandmother, saying, "Truly, thanks!" Then to her father she said, "O Chichi San, have I your generous permission to open the packages?" The permission was given and happy little Umé knelt on the floor beside the tray and opened one package after another. From every one she took first a tiny piece of dried fish wrapped in colored paper, which is nearly always given with a present in Japan. "These are for good luck," she said, and placed the bits of fish carefully in a little lacquered box. Of course there was the envelope of paper handkerchiefs from her grandmother. There was also a beautiful new kimono from her mother, and from her father there was a hairpin with white plum blossoms for ornament. Tara gave her a doll dressed in a kimono like her own new one. "I kept it in the godown for a whole week of days," he told her. "Yes," said the mother softly, "and it was not very hard to make such a small kimono secretly." "I shall call her Haru," said Umé, "because she has come to me in the first days of the honorable springtime." "On the day that I brought the hairpin home and hid it in your mother's sleeve," said her father with a smile, "I felt deeply deceitful." Suddenly Umé felt very unhappy. She looked at all the loving faces and remembered that she, too, had this very day been most deceitful. "Now let us look at Umé's plum tree," said the grandmother. All the family rose from the floor and followed the good father into the garden. Yuki San toddled along on her wooden clogs, and behind the baby marched tailless Tama, keeping a sharp eye on the baby's hands. Tama did not like the feeling of those little hands. They stopped under the plum tree and the father pointed to the branches. Umé looked, and the sight of the tree sent the blood into her face and then out of it. The buds all over the branches were shyly shaking out their white petals. Umé heard her father say, "We must now write fitting poems and fasten them to the heavenly-blossoming branches." She saw all the family go back into the house for the brushes, ink and slips of paper, but she remained under the tree. She was too unhappy to make poems, and she felt sure that no thought of hers could be pleasing to the gods at this time. "Benten Sama heard my prayer," she whispered; "and while I was disobedient, the plum tree has blossomed." In a few moments her mother returned to the garden. "Condescend to hear my unworthy poem," she said, and read it aloud from a slip of paper. "The illustrious sun called to the brown buds and the blossoms obeyed." Umé hung her head. She only, it seemed, had been disobedient; even the buds had obeyed the call of the sun. Just then Tara ran from the house. "My miserable poem is about the lovely sunset," he said, and read, "The joyful blossoms blush under the rosy glances of the sunset sky." The father took the poems and fastened them to a branch of the tree. As he did so he looked down at his little daughter. "What unhappy thought clouds your face, Umé-ko?" he asked gently. Umé began to cry. It was a long time since she had done such a thing. Little Japanese children are always taught not to permit their faces to show either grief or anger; but Umé's tears fell in spite of all her efforts to keep them back. At the sight of her tears a silence fell upon the whole family. Even little Yuki looked at her in surprise as she told the story of her disobedience. It was the grandmother who spoke first. "Our spirits are poisoned that you have been so forgetful of our teaching," she said; "but I have learned many things in my long life. It is our honorable privilege to forgive your disobedience, if you are truly sorry for it, because this is your birthday." Little Umé counted that forgiveness as the best of all her birthday gifts. CHAPTER III TEI BUYS A DOLL "A whole year of months is a very long time, is it not, Umé?" "Yes, Tei." "Would you like to stay shut up in a dark room as long as that, the way the dolls do?" "No indeed, Tei, and I would not stay shut up. I would find some way out and would run away." "Just as we did on your birthday," said Tei. "Oh, Tei, why did you speak of that? I had put that unworthy memory away in a dark place with all my other bad deeds and was never going to think of it again." "Just as we put away the dolls in the godown after the Dolls' Festival is over, Umé?" Umé laughed. "I had not thought of that, but it is so," she said. All the time the two little girls were talking they were busily preparing breakfasts for their dolls. They had five or six small trays and on each one they placed chopsticks and bowls, and cups about as big as thimbles. The room in which they were playing was the honorable guest room, the best one in the Utsuki house. On one side of the room was a sight to make any little girl jump for joy. As many as five long shelves had been placed along the wall, arranged one above another like steps, and more than one hundred dolls were grouped on the shelves. "Here are dolls of all honorable sizes! Ten sen for each, and all honorable prices!" chanted Umé, just as she had heard the toy-peddler cry. There were indeed dolls of all sizes and kinds. There were big dolls and little dolls, boy dolls and girl dolls. Some were over a hundred years old, and others looked quite new. On the top shelf stood five emperors with their empresses, and on the lowest shelf, among the toys, Haru was standing beside a new doll which Umé's mother had given her for this Dolls' Festival. This festival, on the third day of the third month, is the most important one of the whole year to little Japanese girls. For nearly a week Umé and her mother had been busy preparing for this festival. They had set the shelves in place, covered them with gorgeous red cotton crêpe, and had then brought boxes and boxes and bags and bags of dolls and toys from the godown. The godown is the fireproof building which may be seen in almost every Japanese garden. It is built of brick or stone, usually painted white, and has a black tiled roof and a heavy door which is always shut and locked. If the family is a very wealthy one, with a great many treasures, the godown must be large; if there are but few treasures the building may be smaller. It is quite necessary to have some such place, which cannot easily be destroyed, because Japan is so often visited by earthquakes, and in the cities there are often terrible fires. Perhaps this explains why the Japanese have so little furniture and so few ornaments in their houses. "I hope that there will not be a fire or an earthquake while the dolls are in the house," said Umé, standing off to see if there were a pair of chopsticks on each tray. "How many dolls are there on the shelves?" asked Tei. "I don't know," answered Umé. "There are all of mine and my mother's and my mother's mother's. And again there are some of her mother's mother's. And besides that there are some of her mother's mother's, and so on, and so on,--to the time of Confucius." "That can't be quite true, Umé," said Tei, who was always very exact in her statements. "Confucius lived many hundred years ago, and I don't think there is a doll in all Japan as old as that." "I said, 'and so on and so on,'" said Umé. "If you keep on you must get to Confucius some time." She filled the little dishes with rice-cakes for the dolls' breakfasts while she talked, and Tei poured tea into the tiny cups. "Oh, Umé, when your words once make an honorable beginning they always have trouble in finding an end." "Oh, Tei, sometimes it might be well if your own words were sooner to find an honorable end." Tei laughed and changed the subject. "I have heard," she said, "that there is a country where the little girls do not have a Dolls' Festival." "Yes," answered Umé, "I also have heard as much, and that they sometimes give away their dolls when they are too old to play with them." "Give them away! Give the dear dolls away!" cried Tei, fairly choking with horror. "Yes, but perhaps they do not respect them as much as we do," said Umé, as she placed a breakfast tray before an emperor and empress on their throne. "There must be some reason for it," said Tei. "Of course they cannot have a Dolls' Festival if they do not keep their dolls. But still there is no need to keep the dolls if they never have a festival." The two children stood back and looked at the shelves. On the step below the emperors knelt the court musicians, some playing on the koto, some on the samisen, and others beating tiny drums. There were also many court ladies, dressed in lovely silks and crêpes, their black hair fastened with jeweled hairpins. "Are they not beautiful?" asked Tei, clasping her hands. Umé looked tenderly at the lower shelves, where the more common dolls and toys were placed. "These are like the people we see every day, and I love them," she told Tei; "but when I look at the emperor dolls it makes me think of our own beloved Emperor, and I would give up all my toys for him." "Yes," said Tei, "I would give my life for him." At that moment she caught sight of a baby doll tied to the back of its nurse, and it reminded her of something very pleasant. "I held my new baby brother in my arms this morning," she said. "I am glad of the honorable baby," said Umé, "because now you are permitted to share the Festival of the Dolls with me." "Yes," added Tei, "and I am also permitted to go to the shops to-day and buy a new doll. See all the sen the august father gave me this morning," and Tei took a handful of coins from her sleeve pocket. Umé clapped her hands. "We will go as soon as all the dolls have had their breakfast," she said. "I will strap Haru on my back, and you shall strap your new doll on your back, and we will play that they are truly babies." She sprang to her feet as she said it, and danced up and down the room, clapping her hands and singing a queer little tune. "I have the most honorably best time in the whole year when the Dolls' Festival comes," she cried. It was not to be wondered at. Then all the dolls and toys and games that little girls love to play with are set out on the shelves in the honorable guest room; and for three days they have a holiday from school and play all the day long. The doll-shops are always merry with children waiting to buy dolls and crowded with dolls waiting to be bought. But there were so many interesting things to see in the streets that Tei and Umé were a long time in reaching the doll-shop. Once they stopped to watch the firemen who ran past them on their way to a fire. The fire-stations in Tokio are tall ladders which are made to stand upright in the street, with a tub at the top in which the watchman sits. This tub looks like a crow's-nest on the mast of a vessel. Beside it is a big bell which the watchman strikes when he sees a fire anywhere. The firemen run through the streets headed by a man carrying a large paper standard, which they place near the burning house. They are very helpful in saving the women and children, but as they dislike to desert their standard they are not always of much use in putting out the fire. House-owners give the firemen a great many presents to keep them faithful to their duty. As the two little girls watched the men running to the fire with a little box of a hand-engine, and with the beautiful standard in the lead, they thought it a fine sight. "Tara says he is going to be a fireman when he grows up," said Umé. "He says it is because a fireman gets so many presents." Tei shook her head. "It is a sad thing when a fire burns a thousand houses as it did in our city last year," she said. "I do not like to think of it." "We need have no fear," said Umé lightly. "Our fathers have extra houses packed away in their godowns." "That is true," said Tei, "but many others are not so wisely fortunate." Just then they reached the doll-shop and the fires were forgotten. "Oh, the lovely dolls!" cried Umé clapping her hands. There were a hundred bright kimono sleeves pushing and reaching toward the shelves of dolls in the shop. There were fifty little Japanese girls chattering together about the smiling face of one and the beautiful silk kimono of another. The click of wooden clogs, the clank of Japanese money, and the merry talk of the children, all trying to be heard at the same time, made it a jolly affair. The doll chosen by Tei was the one which was being admired by two other little girls at the same moment. It was a boy baby with pink cheeks and black eyes and a little fringe of very black hair; and it was dressed in a lovely red silk kimono covered with yellow chrysanthemums. "It is very like the new brother at home," said Tei, as she counted out the sen and gave them to the doll-shopman. Then she strapped the doll on her back and the two little girls went home slowly, talking of the wonderful baby brother who had come to Tei's house the week before. "The house has to be very quiet, because the honorable baby is not yet well," said Tei. "He has been very ill. I could not have gone with you to the city streets on your birthday if the baby had been well. Every one was glad to have me out of the house, so that it might be kept very still." CHAPTER IV THE DOLLS' FESTIVAL When Umé and Tei reached home, carrying their dolls on their backs, they found Yuki on the veranda. "My geta! Yuki's geta!" the baby called as soon as she saw her sister coming down the garden path; and she stood on one clog and held up the other little white-stockinged foot. Small as she was, Yuki-ko could slip her feet into her wooden clogs without any help when she could find them; but Saké, the dog, generally found them first and as there was never a bone for him to hide, he liked to hide the tiny shoes. Now, as usual, one of the clogs was missing from the flat step where the baby had last left it. "Perhaps it is under the plum tree, O Yuki San," said Umé, and ran to find it, but it was not there. "What a pity that Saké makes us so much trouble!" she said to Tei. "It is plain to be seen that the good dog Shiro was no ancestor of his." "What good dog Shiro?" asked Tei. "The dog of the man who made the dead trees to blossom," answered Umé as she looked under the quince bushes; but the missing clog was not there. Several days later the gardener found it buried under the bush of snow blossoms; but Umé gave up looking for it when she did not find it in any of Saké's favorite places. "It is such a long time since I heard the story of the good man who made trees blossom, that I have nearly forgotten it," said Tei; but Umé was talking to Yuki. "Be happy, little treasure-flower," she said to the baby. "You shall have a new pair of clogs; and you may come with us now and help serve tea to the honorable dolls." Baby Yuki forgot her clogs at once. She knelt upon the floor and held up her tiny hands for the tea-bowl. "Oh, Umé! She is too little to whip the tea," said Tei when she saw that her cousin meant to give the baby a bowl of tea powder and a bamboo brush with which to whip it into foam. "I will watch her," answered Umé. "It may be that the dolls forget all they learn about the tea-ceremony when they are shut up in the godown for a whole year. While I am teaching Yuki San, they may learn it all over again by most carefully watching us." Tei laughed. "The illustrious dolls always behave most honorably well," she said. "Perhaps it is because they do not forget from year to year, but spend all their time in remembering." Just then there was a happy little gurgle from the baby. Umé turned quickly to see what she was doing. "O Yuki San! Yuki San!" she cried, running to the rescue. But it was too late! While Umé had been talking with Tei, the baby had been pouring the tea over her head. She was still holding the bowl above her head when Umé looked, and the water was still trickling down over her hair and into her eyes. She smiled sweetly up into Umé's face. "The honorable fountain!" she said. "The Japanese tea-ceremony has nothing to do with the honorable fountain in the garden," said Umé as she clapped her hands for old Maru, the nurse. "Naruhodo!" said old Maru, as she brought towels and wiped the tea from the baby and the mat with many exclamations of amazement. "Naruhodo!" she repeated, as she watched the two older children try to teach something of the tea-ceremony to the baby. But Yuki San was soon tired of sitting still. She like to watch the tea powder foam in the bowl, but when she tried to put her tiny hands into the dish and play they were fishes, Umé gave her a doll and sent her off to play by herself. "It will never do for the dolls to see such unworthy actions," Umé told Tei. "They will think it is all a part of the august tea-ceremony." It was much easier to teach the dolls without the baby's help, and there was everything to teach them with. There was a toy kitchen with its charcoal brazier, its brushes and dishes. There was a toy work-box with thread, needles and silk. There were toy quilts and wooden pillows and flower vases; and there were toy jinrikishas with their runners. Umé and Tei taught the dolls the proper bowings for the street and those for the house. They changed the food on the trays, and taught the girl dolls that they must most carefully wait upon the boy dolls, as Umé herself had been taught to wait upon Tara, although she was older than her brother. Umé even read aloud with much emphasis from the "Book of Learning for Women": "Let the children be always taught to speak the simple truth, to stand upright in their proper places, and to listen with respectful attention." There are many other directions in the book, all of which the little women of Japan learn by heart. Umé would have read many of the rules to the dolls, but her mother called both children to leave their play and go with the grandmother and old Maru to listen to story-telling in the street of theaters. "It is a very different thing to tell the simple truth at one time and to listen to honorable stories at another," said Umé to the dolls as she left them. In the street of theaters are many little booths in which there are men who tell the most enchanting stories. Sometimes they tell fairy stories, sometimes ghost stories, and sometimes stories of Japanese gods and heroes. Umé and Tei liked the fairy stories best of all. "The old man in this booth tells fairy stories faithfully well," said the grandmother as they stopped before a tiny house decorated with paper parasols and lanterns, and with a long red banner floating above it from a bamboo pole. "Honorably deign to enter," said a little woman crouching at the door. Maru gave the woman four sen and the little party entered and joined a group of about twenty women and girls who were seated on mats in front of the story-teller. "Hear, now, the story of the good old man who made dead trees to blossom!" said the story-teller, waving his fan over his head and then clapping it in his hand three times to call attention to his words. Umé and Tei looked at one another and clasped their hands beneath their chins. "Just what we were respectfully speaking about in the morning hour!" murmured Tei. Umé nodded and would have said something in answer, but her grandmother said, "Hush!" "Once upon a time two men lived side by side in a little village," said the story-teller, looking at Umé. Umé again nodded her head. She knew the story perfectly well, but the Japanese children love to hear the same stories told over and over again. "One of these men was kind and generous," continued the story-teller. "The other was envious and cruel. Neither one of them had any children to pay them honor in their old age; but the kind man and his wife were always doing good. One day they found a dog which they took to their home and taught as they would have taught a child, to be obedient and faithful. "They named the dog Shiro, and fed him with the mochi cake which tastes best after the New Year is made welcome with much joy and ceremony." Umé and Tei nodded and smiled at one another. "But Shiro knew nothing about the New Year festival," went on the story-teller. "He was happy all the day long in following the good old man about and getting a kind pat from the gentle hand. "One day he began digging for himself in a corner of the garden. Scratch! went his two paws as fast as he could make the dirt fly, and the good old man took his spade and dug in the spot to find what could be hidden in the dirt. "He was rewarded by finding an honorable quantity of coins; enough to keep him and his wife comfortable for many months. "But the envious man, the unworthy neighbor, hearing of this good fortune, asked to borrow the dog. "'Yes, truly,' answered the other and sent Shiro home with his neighbor, although the obedient creature had always been driven away from the neighbor's gate with sticks and harsh words. "'Now you must find treasure for me,' said the bad man who knew nothing about kindness to animals, for he pushed the poor dog's nose into the earth so deeply that Shiro was nearly smothered. "The dog did truly begin scratching, but when the cruel man dug in that place, he found nothing but rubbish, which so enraged him that he killed the obedient animal and buried his body under a pine tree. "At last the good man, wondering why Shiro did not return, went to his neighbor and asked the reason. 'Ah, he was a bad dog!' answered the other. 'He would find nothing but rubbish in the ground for me, and so I killed him and he lies under the pine tree.' "'It was a great pity to kill him,' said the good man. 'We should be kind to all animals, because it may be that the souls of our ancestors return and live in their bodies.' "'What is done cannot now be helped,' the bad neighbor answered. "So Shiro's master bought the tree, cut it down and took it home." Umé and Tei nodded again. The mystery was to begin in the story and they drew closer to the grandmother. "The spirit of the little dog spoke to his master in the night," said the story-teller, "and told him to make a tub from the pieces of the tree. It must be just such a tub as the mochi-makers use at New Year's time, and in the tub the old man must make mochi for Shiro. "So the good old man did as he was bidden, thinking to put some of the cakes before the tablet on the god-shelf as an offering to the spirit of the obedient dog. "But when he put the barley into the tub and began to pound it, the quantity of barley increased until there was all that the man and his wife could use for their needs for a long time. "This also, the envious neighbor saw, and he borrowed the tub as he had borrowed the dog, thinking to have as much barley meal for himself. "But although the tub overflowed with the grain, it was all worthless; so poor that no one could eat it. A second time the man was angered and he pounded the tub to pieces in his rage. "The patient old man gathered up the pieces and used them for fire-wood, saving the ashes as the spirit of Shiro directed him to do. "In his garden there was an old dead tree. The spirit of the dog bade him sprinkle some of the ashes upon the branches of this tree and he obediently did so. "Immediately, pop! The branches were suddenly covered with beautiful double cherry blossoms. "People from far and wide flocked to see the sight, and among them was a prince who begged the old man to do the same thing for one of his trees which had long been dead. "When his tree blossomed as the first had done, he was so pleased that he gave the old man many valuable gifts of silk and rice and sent him home, to be known as the 'old man who could make dead trees blossom.'" When the story-teller finished, he disappeared behind a red curtain and there was nothing for Umé and Tei to do but go home. "It is a good thing that the story was no longer," said Umé, "because Tara is going to help me build a toy garden for my dolls." Tara helped to build the garden, to be sure, but the two little girls waited upon him and listened to him, and not once forgot that in Japan girls and women must follow their brothers. They must never try to lead them. "Go and get the spade from the garden-house, Umé," Tara said to his sister. "Bring some small stones from the rockery," he told Tei, and both little girls obeyed without a word. At the end of the third day of the Dolls' Festival there was a charming toy garden at one end of the veranda. In the garden there was a tiny lake bordered with flowering shrubs, a little hill with trees growing around it, a path leading to the lake beside which grew peach trees in full bloom, and there were even two tiny stone lanterns and a little temple on the hill. It had been a wonderful holiday for the little girls and they were sorry that it was all over, but they cheerfully helped to pack the dolls and toys away in boxes and carry them back to the godown. CHAPTER V A VISIT TO THE TEMPLE "O Haha San," said Umé, "when we took little Yuki San to the temple for the first time, with whom did I sit in the jinrikisha?" "It is not strange that you have no memory of it, little Plum Blossom," said her mother. "Why, honorable mother?" "Because you were ill from eating too many sweets the day before, and had to stay at home in your bed." Umé laughed. "Now I do remember it," she said. "My unworthy head danced like a geisha girl when I tried to stand on my two feet." Umé's mother looked at her little daughter reprovingly. "Do not speak so easily of such girls, Umé-ko," she said. "Was Tara taken to the temple when he was thirty days old?" "Yes, my daughter." "But, Mother San, with whom did I ride then?" "With O Ba San." "I wish I could go to-day with Tei," said Umé. "It is time for them even now to begin the journey," answered her mother. "You may perhaps ride in the same jinrikisha with your little cousin." Umé made a deep bow to her mother, slipped into her clogs at the veranda step, and ran swiftly through the garden to her cousin's house. Everything there was in a great state of excitement. The new baby, dressed in a most gorgeous red silk kimono with the family crest embroidered on the back and sleeves, was going to make his first visit to the temple. "Yes, you may come with me," said Tei to Umé, after asking the honorable father's permission. [Illustration: Umé Riding in a Jinrikisha. _Page_ 37.] The pale little mother leaned back in her jinrikisha beside the nurse who carried the beautiful boy. The father, very proud to have a son who would carry on the family name, rode in the first jinrikisha, and the little party took their way to the famous Kameido Temple in the eastern part of the city. "It was not until three days ago that the baby was well enough to have his head shaved," Tei confided to Umé. "But I thought it must always be done on the seventh day," said Umé. Tei shook her head. "The august father commanded that it should not be done," she said. "The baby was so frail that there have been no visits from anyone since he was first seen in our house." "Then the baby might just as well have been a girl," said Umé decidedly. "Oh no!" said Tei. "There have been dozens of presents of rice and silk, and many other things. And there have been letters of congratulation. And to-day, when we return from the temple, many, many people will come to see the baby, because they could not come before." "What name was given to the baby on the seventh day?" asked Umé curiously. "He is to be called Onda," answered Tei. Before Umé could ask any more questions they had reached the temple. Everything seemed to go wrong with Tei. She caught her clog as she was getting out of the jinrikisha and fell upon her nose. It bled a little, just enough to make her say pitifully, "Oh, how truly sad! It will never bring good luck to the dear brother." But Umé was always quick at thinking of a way out of trouble. Near the entrance to the temple stood a deep basin filled with water. With this water everybody washes his hands before going in to pray. Umé lifted a spoonful of the water and rubbed it over her cousin's nose. "That will make it as well as ever," she told Tei. "What is that in your other hand?" asked Tei, seeing that Umé was using only one hand, and that the other was tightly closed. "It is a rice-cake to feed to the goldfish in the temple lake." One can always buy rice-cakes at the temple gate, but Umé had thoughtfully brought one from her home. Umé would have almost preferred feeding the fish to seeing the ceremony of placing the new baby under the protecting care of the patron saint of the temple. Baby Onda's father had chosen the God of Learning to be his son's patron saint. He wished to have the child become very studious and know thoroughly all the wisdom of Confucius and the old, old gods of learning and wisdom. Before going into the temple everyone slipped out of his clogs, washed his hands, and made several bows at the entrance. Tei's father then pulled a rope which rang a bell to attract the attention of the god. There was a moment when he clapped his hands together three times to be sure that the god was listening. After that he asked very earnestly that his little son might be carefully guarded and guided along the rough path of wisdom. Then he clapped his hands twice to show that his prayer was ended. It was so solemn and impressive to little Umé that she forgot her rice-cake and let it drop to the temple floor as she clasped her own hands in prayer. Then followed the gift to the gods, and one to the priest of the temple. The priest blessed the new baby and he was safely placed under the care of Sugawara-no-Michizanè, the God of Literature, in the Kameido Temple in the city of Tokio. The ceremony was not very long. The moment it was over Umé and Tei stole as quickly as they could out of the temple, and ran down to the lake where the goldfish were waiting to be fed. Of course they stayed there so long, feeding first one fish and then another, and watching them spread their fan-like tails and glide away to nibble the bits of rice-cake, that Tei's father came to look for them. "We have no more time," he said gently to them. "Unless we are soon at our unworthy house, all the honorable guests will be there before us." The jinrikisha runners were told to hurry home, and they obeyed so well that Umé and Tei clung to one another and gave little shrieks of delight. Hardly had they reached home when the guests really did begin to arrive. All the relatives and friends came by ones and twos and threes; some in jinrikishas and some on foot,--all who had sent presents and all who had waited to bring them. Umé and Tei counted the different pairs of clogs that were left at the veranda steps, and there were over one hundred pairs. "Such an illustrious crowd!" said Tei, drawing in her breath with excitement. But there was little time to count and look. The two children were needed to help pass tea and cakes to the visitors. It was dark before everybody was at last gone and the baby's first party was over. "Baby Onda is tired with so much looking and holding and praising," said Umé to her mother as they went home through the gardens. "He will never go to sleep again, or else he will sleep for a week of days." "He is an honorable boy child," answered her mother. "A boy must learn early to bear hardships." "It is no hardship to receive honorable praise," said little Umé. CHAPTER VI CHERRY-BLOSSOM TIME "The cherry trees in Ueno Park are in full blossom to-day," read Umé's father in the morning paper. "The Emperor visited the park yesterday to see the beautiful flowers." [Illustration: "The Cherry Trees in Ueno Park are in full Blossom." _Page 42._] Umé turned from looking at the cherry blossoms in the garden to look at her mother who stood on the veranda. "Something will honorably give way in my heart, O Haha San," she said. "What do you mean, Umé-ko?" asked her mother. "My heart is greatly joyous over so many blossoms," answered the little girl. "It has grown so big that I would feel better if it should take itself to the godown and leave me without it." "Foolish Umé!" said her mother, but she smiled at the child's fancy. "The joy began to grow with the first pink buds," Umé went on, "and now that all the cherry trees everywhere are in blossom,--in our garden, in Tei's garden, and in all the gardens; along the streets and river banks, and in all the parks, my heart is bursting with gladness." "When hearts feel that way," said her mother, "it is because they wish to offer thanks to the gods. We will all go to the temple to-day and leave a gift, and then we will go to the beautiful Ueno Park, where there will be many others who feel the way that you do in their hearts." "It is the way we Japanese always feel when the cherry trees hang out their pink garlands," said Umé's father. Tara was bouncing a ball in the garden and heard this talk about the cherry blossoms. "Wait until my festival," he said, "and then you will see what it is really like to feel gladness." "Your festival," said Umé, "and pray what may your honorable festival be?" "The fish-tree festival is the one I like," answered Tara, and he gave his ball a great toss into the air. Umé looked puzzled for a moment, then she cried, "Oh, he means the Flag Festival!" "Come, children," interrupted their mother, "find the lunch boxes and help to put all in peaceful readiness for our journey to the park." Tara picked up Baby Yuki and gave her a toss into the air. In doing so he discovered that she had lost her name-label. It is a common thing for a Japanese child to wear a wooden label tied around his neck, on which his name and address are printed. Then if he is lost he can be returned to his home. Tara made a new label and tied it so firmly around the baby's neck that her tiny fingers could not possibly loosen the strings. "Now, O Yuki San," he said, "you are all ready to go to the park, where you can get lost a dozen times if you wish, honorable Sister," and he gave her another toss for good luck. In the meantime Umé found that her clog string was broken. "I may as well get a new string for each clog," she said. "When one breaks, I find that the other soon breaks also, for loneliness." But there were no extra strings hanging in the clog-closet where some were usually to be found, and Umé had a great hunt for them. Yuki San, and not Saké, was the thief this time. She had put them carefully away in one of the drawers of the writing cabinet the day before, when she was playing that her shoe was a doll-baby and must be tied to her back with its strings. By the time they were all dressed in their finest clothes, three jinrikishas were waiting at the gate, and Tara rode off proudly with his father, while Baby San sat beside her mother, and Umé rode with her grandmother. The streets were crowded with people dressed in gay kimonos and carrying paper parasols or fans. Some were riding, some were walking, and all were happily chatting and laughing. "Is everyone in the whole world going to Ueno Park?" Umé asked her grandmother, and immediately forgot her question in listening to the sounds of gongs and tinkling bells that filled the air. The joyous sound of bells is always a part of the Cherry-blossom Festival in Tokio, and makes the city a very merry place. The long avenue leading up to the entrance of the park, which is on the brow of a high hill, was arched overhead with the blossoming branches of the cherry trees. "The pink mist almost hides the blue sky," said Umé, "but the sunshine comes dancing through. See how gently it touches the pink petals with its rosy light!" The little party rode through the park looking at the cherry trees and watching the crowds of people. Umé kept her poor grandmother's head bobbing to right and left as she spoke of one strange sight and then another. First it was, "O Ba San, look at the Japanese baby in the American baby-carriage. It cannot be that he likes it as well as riding on his sister's back." Next it was, "O Ba San, see the little foreign children playing with the cake-woman's stove." Umé would have liked to stop the jinrikisha man and watch the white-faced children as they made little batter cakes and fried them over the charcoal. "We must not stop now," said her grandmother. "Your honorable father will tell us when we may stop." Umé came as near pouting as a Japanese maiden can. "I think I have heard that the foreign children tell their fathers when they wish to stop in the honorable ride," she murmured. "They are all barbarians, those foreigners," said her grandmother. "You can see by the gardens of flowers that they wear upon their heads, that they know nothing of propriety." Umé, who had never worn a hat in her life, could say nothing to that. Every little foreign girl she saw was wearing a hat on her head on which there were many flowers of half a dozen different colors and kinds. Although it was a sight to hurt her eyes, Umé would have been glad to leave the jinrikisha and study the dresses of the little foreigners. Most of all she wished to join them in their play of cake-making. "They must be glad to come to Japan and learn so many new ways to be happy, O Ba San," she said. The grandmother did not quite understand Umé's way of thinking. "In what way?" she asked. "To ride among the beautiful cherry trees, with their delicious pink odors, in the beginning," said Umé. "I know that in no other country can the trees be so lovely and hold so many flowers." As if her father knew that Umé longed to see something of the foreign children's play, he stopped his own jinrikisha man at that very moment, and the rest of his party stopped beside him. Under a particularly large and beautiful cherry tree a group of both foreign and Japanese children were gathered around a peddler who carried a tray of candies upon his head. In one hand he held a drum and on his shoulder perched a monkey dressed in a bright colored kimono. The man danced and sang a funny song about the troubles of Daruma, a snow man. Once in a while he beat the drum, and all the time he was jumping and twisting about until it seemed as if his tray of candies must surely fall off his head to the ground; but it never did. When the monkey jumped from his master's shoulder and snatched off one of the boys' caps, putting it on his own head, all the people, big and little, screamed with joy. By that time a great crowd of merrymakers had collected, and Umé's father told his coolie to go on. So the little party started on again, and soon passed an open space among the trees where Japanese fireworks were shooting into the air. The Japanese send off their fireworks in the daytime, as well as at night, to make their festivals more festive. The swish of the quick flight of a rocket into the air made every one look up. In a moment a big paper bird popped out of the rocket and came sailing slowly down to light on the top of one of the trees. Then another rocket, and still another, was sent up, and from one came a golden dragon with a long red tongue and a still longer tail. Umé's father dismissed all of the jinrikisha coolies, and after they had watched the fireworks a little while, the family went into a tea-house to eat their lunch and rest from the confusion. As Tara looked out over the gaily dressed crowds he said boastfully, "There can be no other country in the world with such fine, brave people." "It is true that we are a brave people," his father answered. "Many times, when I was no older than you are, little son, has my mother wakened me very early in the morning and put a toy sword into my hand. 'Your companions are out playing the sword-game. Join them!' were her words. And although the ground was white with snow, and I was very sleepy, I always went as she bade me." Tara looked at his father in admiration. "There has been much fighting with real swords here in this very park," his father continued. "There was once a big battle under these cherry trees where you see nothing to-day but crowds of happy people with no thought of anything but enjoying the Cherry-blossom Festival." "I shall not be perfectly happy until I have made cakes as the foreign children were doing," said Umé. In the path outside the tea-house Umé had caught sight of a woman with a little charcoal fire in a copper brazier, which she thought her father might also see. The little old woman was neatly dressed, and carried over her right shoulder a bamboo pole from which hung the brazier, a griddle, some ladles and cake-turners. There was also a big blue and white jar of batter and a smaller one of sauce. Umé's father beckoned to the woman, and to the children's joy she brought the things to the tea-house door, where Umé was allowed to make cakes for the whole family. Baby San toddled up the steps with a cake for the grandmother. On the way she tumbled down and dropped it in the dirt. Then a fresh one had to be made and carried very carefully up the steps. There were many children, with their fathers and mothers, coming and going past the tea-house. There were groups of students and parties of young ladies; there were jugglers and toy peddlers; and over everything the cherry trees were scattering their falling petals. There was a merry-go-round near the tea-house, and the crowds of people made it a gay place with their fun and frolic. It was lucky that Baby Yuki had her tag around her neck. Once she slipped beyond her mother's watchful care and was only found after much questioning and searching. When, at last, she was placed once more in her mother's arms, the grandmother said that it was time to go home. "We have seen many cherry blossoms, and Umé's heart must be peacefully small once more," she said. "It is better to go home before we tire of so much merriment." The jinrikisha men trotted all the way home, and the happy day was over all too soon. CHAPTER VII THE FLAG FESTIVAL It was the fifth day of the fifth month, which is the day of the Flag Festival in Japan. Tara slipped out of his wooden clogs and ran into the room where Umé was gathering her books together for school. "Baby Onda's fish is up at last," he shouted, "and as far as you can see the ocean of air is full of fishes. Did I not say that the fifth day of the fifth month would be filled with gladness?" he demanded. "Yes, Tara, but I have far too much to do to talk with you now," said Umé very primly. "At least you can condescend to come out on the veranda just one moment to look at cousin Onda's fish." "Very well, honorable Brother," said Umé, and she followed him to the veranda. Both children laughed aloud at the sight of the enormous paper carp flying from the top of the bamboo pole on their cousin's house. The fish was at least twenty feet long and was made of strong Japanese paper. Its great mouth and eyes were wide open and it had swallowed so much air that it looked filled to bursting. A mighty wind blew it this way and that, up and down, making it look like a real fish that had been caught with a hook and was trying to escape. "Onda's father is augustly proud because he has a son," said Umé. "He has found the biggest fish in all Tokio to fly, and the people will know that he has only a very little son." "He will grow larger," said Tara loyally. "And as he grows larger the fish will grow smaller," answered Umé. "Your own fish is only half as large as Onda's." From a pole in the Utsuki house flew Tara's fish, while from poles as far as the eye could see flew fishes of all sizes and colors. Some poles held two, three, or even five or six fishes. There was a fish for every boy who lived in every house, and every fish was a carp, because in Japan the carp is the fish that can swim against the swift river currents and leap over waterfalls. [Illustration: There was a Fish for every Boy. _Page 52._] For the little Japanese girls there is the Dolls' Festival, and for the boys is this Flag Festival, when they stay at home from school and play all day long. They fly kites, spin tops, tell stories and are told tales of the brave heroes of Japan. In the room where the dolls had sat in state for the girls there is now a shelf for the boys' toys. There are many toy soldiers, figures of great heroes, men in armor, men wearing helmets and carrying swords, and some carrying guns or drawing tiny cannon on wheels. Tara had his soldiers arranged as if they were fighting a battle, and it was truly a most warlike scene. The morning had been full of excitement. Tara had already observed the day by taking a bath in very hot water steeped with iris flowers. He had arranged his toys and soldiers. He had been to the kite-maker and bought a huge kite decorated with a picture of the sun in the brilliant red color which is dear to all Japanese children. He had also run over in his mind the stories that he could remember of Japanese warriors of the past, for well he knew that before the day was over his mother would question him about them all. He had also recited his catechism to Umé, and had answered bravely all the questions as she read them. "What do you love best in the world?" "The Emperor, of course." "Better than your father and mother?" "He is the father of my father and mother." "What will you give the Emperor?" "All my best toys, and my life when he needs it." Now he was busy tying a long silk string to his kite and getting it ready to fly. Umé forgot her school books and ran down the garden path to look once more at the bed of iris which was now in full bloom beside the brook. "To-morrow I will gather some of the leaves and flowers," she said, "and arrange them in the tall green jar for the alcove. That will keep away evil spirits from our home." Then she ran back to the house, making the motions of the flying fishes with her hands. "If I were an honorable boy," she cried, "I would sail away from Japan to every country where there are dragons, and kill them all. Then I would come back home again and tell all about it, so that all the children and their children, as long as Japan lasts, would learn about me!" Tara looked at Umé as contemptuously as a Japanese boy ever looks at his sister, which is not saying much, because in Japan the boys and girls are taught to be most polite to each other. "That is not the way of a true patriot," he said. "We men must stay at home and defend our country from enemies that may attack us from without. True glory will find us; we do not need to run all over the world looking for it, and then perhaps, miss it after all." "Well spoken, my son," said his father from the veranda, where he had heard Tara's words. To Umé he said, "Our bravest men, the men who have given their lives for their country, and whose names will ever be spoken with reverence by our children's children, have died in the home-land." He spoke solemnly, and Tara, who adored his father, moved close to his side as if to catch his brave spirit. Umé also loved her father. She was grieved that he should speak to her in a tone of rebuke. She whirled about and fluttered to his other side, nestling under his arm and smiling the sweetest of smiles up into his face. "Now I see, O Chichi San, why we fly the brave carp for our boys," she said prettily, "and why we steep the hardy iris flower in their bath water." Her father looked down into her face. "You knew that very well before," he said with a smile. "You have heard of the wonderful strength of the carp ever since Tara was born. You know that every father who flies a paper carp for his son at this festival time does it with the hope that the boy will heed the sign and grow courageous and strong to overcome every obstacle." But Umé still smiled up into her father's face. She felt that he was not yet quite pleased with her. "Will you not come home early from the honorable business and tell us stories of the old war heroes?" she asked softly. "The mother tells them faithfully well, leaving out no brave detail, but she has never fought, as you have done, for our beloved Emperor. It is you alone who can make us feel the joy of battle so that even I wish I could wear a sword and fight with it for our country." Umé had conquered. Her father put his hand upon her head in loving consent. "When our women also are ready to give their lives for Japan," he said, "the country will never suffer defeat." But Umé told her cousin Tei later in the day that one need not always fight to win a victory. CHAPTER VIII THE SINGING INSECTS Umé sat on the edge of the veranda, taking coins from a little silk bag and spreading them out before her. "Ichi, ni, san, shi, go," she counted, up to fourteen. "Fourteen sen," she said. "If I had one more I could buy the kind of singing insect I like best." "What is that?" asked Tara. "It is a kirigirisu." "What shall you buy, then?" asked Tara. "I shall have to buy a suzumushi, and two other honorably cheap ones," Umé told him. "Ask the august father for one more sen," Tara advised. But Umé shook her head. "The august father has given me all the sen he has for me this month," she answered. "How do you know?" "Because I have already asked for one more sen, and that was his honorable answer." "I have one sen which you may have if you will let me call the kirigirisu partly mine," said Tara. "I have a black cricket, a little grass lark, that I caught in our own garden last night, and it chirps so cheerfully that I do not need to buy any other singing insect." "It does not matter whose insect it is," said Umé, "if it only sings." So Tara gave his sen to Umé and she went to find Tei, who went with her down to the street of shops. There, among numberless other booths, the children found one where nothing but singing insects were for sale. The insects were of different colors and sizes. Some were black, some were brown and some were bright green. The one that Umé chose looked much like a brown grasshopper. "He sings most musically in the hours of darkness," said the insect merchant. "While you lie in your bed he will say to you, 'Tsuzuré--sasé, sasé, sasé.'" Both little girls laughed at the words, which mean, "Torn clothes--patch up, patch up, patch up." "They are strange words for the honorable insect-singer," said Tei. Each insect was in a little cage which was made of horsehair or fine strands of bamboo. The cages were of different shapes and sizes for the different kinds of insects. Some were tall and shaped like a bee-hive, some were oblong and others were square. Umé's kirigirisu was in a cage four inches long. Tei also had a few sen. She looked at many insects carefully and finally chose a beautiful bright green grasshopper that made a sound like the weaving of a loom:--"Ji-i-i-i, chon-chon! Ji-i-i-i, chon-chon!" Then home trotted the two little girls with their cunning cages. It was a very warm day and the good mother was waiting for them with cups of cold tea. She looked at the insects and smiled at the baby who kotowed an honorable welcome to them. "When I was a child," she said, "my unselfish mother told me a wise story about those same two insects." Immediately the children seated themselves. "We will be most respectfully quiet and listen, if you will tell it to us," said Umé. "Long, long ago," began the mother, "when Japan was young, there were two faithful and obedient daughters who supported their blind old father by the labor of their hands. The elder girl spent all her days in weaving while the other was just as industriously sewing. In that way they took faithful care of their blind father for many years. "Finally the old man died, and so deeply did the two daughters mourn for him that soon they died also. "One summer evening a strange sound was heard on their graves. It was a new sound that no one had ever heard there before, and it was made by two little insects which were swinging and singing on a blade of grass above the place where the two daughters lay. "On the tomb of the elder was a pretty green insect, producing sounds like those made by a girl weaving,--'Ji-i-i-i, chon-chon! Ji-i-i-i, chon-chon!' This was the first weaver-insect. On the tomb of the younger sister was an insect which kept crying out,--'Tsuzuré--sasé, sasé! tsuzuré--sasé sasé, sasé!' ('Torn clothes--patch up, patch up! Torn clothes--patch up, patch up, patch up!') This was the first kirigirisu. "Since that time these same little insects cry to every Japanese mother and daughter to work well before the cold winter days, to do all the weaving and sewing and mending and have the winter clothing ready. "We used to believe that the spirits of the two girls took these shapes," she ended. In the silence that followed the story, Tei's little insect sang, "Ji-i-i, chon-chon! Ji-i-i, chon-chon!" and Umé's answered, "Tsuzuré, sasé, sasé! Tsuzuré, sasé, sasé!" The night was creeping over the garden. The sound of the temple bells rang through the air, and little flashes of light twinkled in unexpected places. The children gathered closer to the mother and begged for one more story before bed-time. "Did you ever hear of Princess Splendor?" she asked. The children never had heard the story, and their mother told it to them. "She was a beautiful little moon-child who came down to the world hundreds of years ago. There was but one way for her to come, and that was on a silver moonbeam. "While she sat on a pine branch resting from her journey, a wood-cutter found her and took her to his home, where she stayed for many years. "But the Emperor, passing through the forest, wondered why the little brown house of the wood-cutter shone with such a wonderful glow, and when he found that there was a beautiful moon-child there, he went to see her. "By day or by night it was just the same with the house; it always shone with the glory of the Princess Splendor. "Of course the Emperor wished to marry her; but he had been too late in finding her, because she was to return to her home in the moon at the end of twenty years, and the end of the twenty years had come. "She begged to stay with the Emperor and began to weep, but it was of no use. The moon-mother took her home and tried to comfort her; but her tears went on falling, and they take wings to themselves as fast as they fall. These fireflies are the golden tears of the lovely Princess Splendor." It was quite dark when the story was finished, and Tei jumped up. "I must go home and show the intelligent insect to my honorable mother," she said. "Tara and I will walk across the gardens with you," said Umé. She reached under the veranda for three slender bamboo poles, while Tara ran for candles to put in the paper lanterns which hung on the end of the poles. Soon the three lanterns went bobbing down the garden path through the dusk, and the sound of happy voices floated back to the mother. "It was of no use!" said Umé's voice. "What was of no use?" asked Tara. "Princess Splendor could not marry the right prince," answered Umé. The mother smiled, and rising, carried Yuki San into the house, while the temple bells were still ringing through the twilight. CHAPTER IX A TRIP TO KAMAKURA It was a hot morning in midsummer. The veranda shutters had been open all night and the shoji had been only half closed so that tiny breezes might creep through to cool the pink cheek of Umé San, as she lay on the floor under a thin silk coverlet. All night the kirigirisu had sung in his cage near Umé's bed; and all night the mosquitoes had buzzed and sung outside of Umé's own cage of green mosquito netting. At four o'clock, just as the sun peeped into the room, Umé opened her eyes. "Oh, little kirigirisu," she whispered, "I like your singing much better than that of the mosquitoes. Gladly would I put them all in a cage in the godown." Then she thought of her morning-glories and pattered out into the garden to look at them. "How lovely they are," she said, as she touched them gently with her fingers. "This white one makes me think of Fujiyama when it is covered with snow; and this pink one is like the mountain at sunrise." As she spoke, the little girl looked across the city roofs to where her beloved mountain, Fujiyama, lifted its head like an inverted flower, tinged with the pink of the rising sun. Just then her father came out to look at the morning-glories, too, and after the morning greetings, Umé told him her fancy about Fujiyama. "Your thought is a poem, little daughter," said her father. "This very day you shall see the mountain in all its glory. Here we can see only its snow-capped crown, but on the way to Kamakura there are wonderful views of our sacred Fuji." After breakfast there were great preparations for the journey to Kamakura. First, each one in the family, one after the other, had to take a hot bath. Then the best kimonos were put on, and the best paper parasols were taken out of a long box in the godown. One servant ran to order the jinrikishas to take them to the station. Another packed rice, pickled radishes, and tiny strips of raw fish into the lunch boxes. Umé's mother was in every part of the house at once, and even the grandmother seemed excited at the thought of going to the seashore. Umé ran across the garden to tell Tei about the trip and bid her cousin sayonara, and Tara found a box of his best fishhooks and tucked them into his sleeve pocket. "I may catch an eel," he said, "and then we can have it fried for our dinner." At last the whole family were in the jinrikishas and were whirled so fast to the station that they had to wait a long time for the train. The children were glad to stand on the platform, watching the throngs of people and seeing the interesting sights. Newsboys were running everywhere calling their papers; strangely-dressed foreigners were hiring jinrikisha-runners to take them over the city; a police sergeant was walking up and down; and electric cars were bringing passengers to the station with much ringing of bells and clanging of gongs. "I fear Yuki-ko will not like her first ride in a train," said Umé, as the child hid her face in her mother's kimono at the sight of a big engine. "I well remember my first sight of an engine," said the grandmother. "When I was a little girl there was not a railroad track in all Japan. When the first trains ran through the country, the peasant women thought the engines were horrible demons, and ran screaming away from the puffing and hissing." "I, too, remember the first engines," said the father. "Many were the honorably strange sights that went with them. One morning a man took off his clogs at this admirable station and set them with worthy care upon the platform before he entered the train. It was his peaceful expectation to find them waiting for him when he left the train in Yokohama." At that moment an engine came puffing down the track, and soon they were all seated in one of the open cars and gliding swiftly out of the city. The children pointed out to each other the lotus blossoms in the moats, the little boats in the canal and the freight boats on the Sumida river. The father and mother talked about the tea-farms and the fields of rice and millet through which they were passing. Many crows flew cawing over the heads of men and women who were working in the deep mud of the rice fields. "Pretty birds!" called Baby San. "She means the white herons," said Tara. Dozens of the long-legged herons were stalking about in the muddy fields near the track; and farther away, many pieces of white paper fluttered from strings which were stretched across the fields of rice. Yuki San saw no difference between the birds and the fluttering bits of white paper. "Those small white ones scare the unworthy crows away, little flower Sister," explained Tara; but the baby sister shook her head and said, "No, pretty birds!" Umé turned the baby's head gently away from the fluttering scarecrows. "Look at the pretty flowers," she said. Beautiful lotus blossoms were growing in the muddy ditches beside the track. The baby bobbed her head to them and begged them to stand still, but they all hurried past the hands she held out to them. "The lotus is Buddha's flower," said O Ba San. "It grows out of the dirt and slime to give us blossoms of rare beauty. Such may be the growth of our hearts if we choke not their good impulses." "It is a long way from Buddha's flower to his mountain," said Umé, as she looked off to where Fuji rose in the distance. "Is it true," asked Tara, "that on the days when we cannot see the mountain through the mist, it is because it has gone on a visit to the gardens of the gods?" "That is what I always thought when I was a child," his grandmother answered. "And do many pilgrims every year climb the long way up its steep sides to the top?" "Yes, my child." "And must I also climb to the top some day, if I wish to please the gods?" "Yes, unless the gods should honorably please to take away your power to climb." "Oh," gasped Umé, "I hope the gods will never do that!" She looked anxiously at her feet and said, "I hope they will never need my feet for anything. So unworthily short a time have I used them, that they cannot be fit for the gods." "Let your use of them be always in the service of the gods, and the more honorably old they grow, the more favor will they find in the sight of the gods," answered her grandmother. But Tara did not like such serious talk. "How does the earth get back on the mountain--the earth that the pilgrims bring down every day on their sandals?" he asked. "It is said that it goes back of itself by night," his grandmother replied, and added, "but I would rather speak of the path of straw sandals which the pilgrims leave behind them as they toil up the rough sides of Fujiyama." "Then what do they do?" asked Umé. "They take many pairs with them, so that when one pair is worn out they may have others." "But I thought the pilgrims were honorably poor," said Umé. "Not always," said her grandmother. "And sandals cost but an insignificant sum. A pair may be bought for a few rin." "Then I will go myself, some time," said Umé, as if the only reason she had never been to the mountain-top was because she had never known the price of sandals. But before they could say anything more they were in Yokohama, where they were to leave the train and ride in jinrikishas to Kamakura. After they had left this city, with its busy streets, its harbor dotted with boats and big foreign ships riding at anchor, the road led along a bluff from which there was a beautiful view of the bay. It was intensely hot and the noonday sun beat fiercely down upon them. Umé held a big paper parasol carefully over her grandmother, and Tara and his father waved their fans slowly back and forth to catch the little breezes from the sea. In the distance were green fields of rice, little vegetable farms, tiny houses, low blue hills, and beyond all, Fujiyama, rising majestically to the clear blue sky. [Illustration: Fujiyama, the Sacred Mountain. _Page 69._] As they were whirled past a little village they heard a deep booming sound, and caught sight of an immense drum under an open shed, which was being beaten by two men. "What is that?" asked Tara. "Everywhere there has been no rain and the rice is drying in the fields," replied his father, "so drums are beaten and prayers are made to the gods that it may rain." "Water is truly desirable," said Tara. "My unworthy throat is this moment as dry as the rice fields." "Not far before us is a rocky pool shaded by ancient pines," said his father. "There pure august water will be given." The rocky pool was a delightful resting-place. The stone basin was filled with water by a spring that leaped out of the heart of the cliff. The water overflowed the basin and formed a stream which ran along beside the road. Many travelers were sitting on low benches under the pines, the men smoking and the women and children chatting merrily. Two women were washing clothes in the brook, and Tara and his sisters slipped off their sandals and white tabi, tucked up their kimonos and splashed about in the water. The mother took the food from the lunch boxes, spread it on dainty paper napkins and called the children to come and eat. "Truly thanks for this honorable food," said Umé, when she finished her luncheon. Then, as she looked up at the spring, she added, "The water which comes from the cliff sings a happy little song." "It is like the spring of youth," said the grandmother. "Deign honorably to tell the story of the spring of youth," said the father, taking a pipe from his sleeve pocket and filling its tiny bowl. "Long ago a poor wood-cutter lived in a hut in the forest with his old wife," said the grandmother. "Every day the old man went out to cut wood and the woman stayed at home weaving. "One very hot day the old man wandered farther than usual, looking for wood, and he suddenly came to a little spring which he had never seen before. The water was clear and cool and he was very thirsty, so he knelt down and took a long drink. It was so good that he was about to take another--when he caught sight of his own face in the water. "It was not his own old face. It was the face of a young man with black hair, smooth skin and bright eyes. He jumped up, and discovered that he no longer felt old. His arms were strong, his feet were nimble and he could run like a boy. He had found the Fountain of Youth and had been made young again. "First he leaped up and shouted for joy; then he ran home faster than he had ever run before in his life. His wife did not know him and was frightened to see a stranger come running into the house. When he told her the wonder she could not at first believe him, but after a long time he convinced her that the young man she now saw standing before her was really her old husband. "Of course she wished to go at once to the spring of youth and become as young as her husband, so he told her where to find it in the forest and she set out, leaving him at home to wait for her return. "She found the spring and knelt down to drink. The water was so cool and sweet that she drank and drank, and then drank again. "The husband waited a long time at home for his wife to come back, changed into a pretty, slender girl. But she did not come back at all, and at last he became so anxious that he went into the forest to find her. "He went as far as the spring, but she was nowhere to be seen. Just as he was about to go back home again he heard a little cry in the grass near the spring. Looking down he saw his wife's kimono and a baby,--a very small baby, not more than six months old. "The old woman had drunk so much of the water that she had been carried back beyond the time of youth to that of infancy. The wood-cutter picked the baby up in his arms, and it looked up at him with a tiny smile. He carried it home, murmuring to it and thinking sad thoughts." The story was finished and the jinrikishas were ready to take them on to Kamakura. "I have heard so much about the wonderful Buddha that I do not wish to see anything else in Kamakura," said Umé, as they walked through the grounds of the long-vanished temple. There was no need to tell the children to walk quietly and speak reverently before Buddha. Umé looked up into the solemnly beautiful face, into the half-closed eyes that seemed to watch her through their eyelids of bronze, and knelt quietly in prayer. "Nothing can harm the Great Buddha," said the father, after the prayers had been said and the offering given to the priest. "Six hundred and fifty years has he sat upon his throne. Once he was sheltered by a temple, but centuries ago a tidal wave, following an earthquake, swept away the walls and roof and left the mighty god still seated on his lotus-blossom throne." [Illustration: "Nothing can harm the Great Buddha." _Page 73._] As they turned to walk toward the village Umé said to her mother, "When I have heard the thunder I have always thought it was this Great Buddha, very angry about something. Now that I have seen his peaceful face I know it is not so." "No," answered her mother. "Many thousands of girls and boys have seen Great Buddha's face as you saw it to-day. They have grown to be men and women, and their children have looked upon his face, but it is always calm and peaceful." CHAPTER X THE ISLAND OF SHELLS From Buddha's image at Kamakura to Enoshima, the island of shells, there is first a ride in jinrikishas through the low screen of hills that shuts the little village away from the sea; then there is a walk across the wet sands if the tide is out, or over a light wooden bridge if the waves wash over the path. It was late in the afternoon when the jinrikisha men trotted down from the hills through a deep-cut path to the shore, and Umé could hear the slow rollers breaking on the sands before she caught her first glimpse of the lovely green island. [Illustration: "Umé caught her first Glimpse of the Lovely Green Island." _Page 74._] The tide was coming in, but the water was still so shallow that the children were permitted to take off their sandals and tabi, and patter across the sands in their bare feet, while the older people walked slowly across the bridge. The sands were strewn with lovely shells, left by the tide, and Baby Yuki soon had the sleeve pockets of her kimono filled full of pearly beauties that looked like peach blossoms. Tara cared nothing for the shells. He spoke about the great tortoise which is said to live among the caves of the island, and of the bronze dragons which twisted around the gate through which they passed to enter the long climbing street of the town. "I will ask the august father if we may visit the cave of the dragon," he said. "Japan must have been full of dragons once," said Umé. "Who killed them all?" "They turned into the honorable dragon-flies, to drive away the mosquitoes," answered Tara. "There have been no dragons seen alive in Japan since the holy Buddha walked on the mountain," said his father. "Tell us about it, please," begged Umé. "Long ago," began the father, "as Shaka Sama, our most holy Buddha, walked on the mountain-top at eventime, he looked into the depths below and saw there the great dragon who knew the meaning of all things. Shaka Sama asked him many questions and to them all he received wise answers. "Finally he asked the sacred question which he most wished to understand; but the dragon replied that, before revealing this last great mystery, he must first be fed for his endless hunger. "Shaka Sama promised to give himself to the dragon after he should have been told this great truth. Then the dragon uttered the sacred mystery and the god threw himself into the abyss as he had promised. "But just as the fearful jaws were about to close over the holy man, the dragon was changed into a great eight-petaled lotus flower which held the Buddha up in its cup and bore him back to his place on the mountain." "I thought there was a dragon in the cave at Enoshima to guard Benten Sama's temple," said Umé. "There is no need of a dragon on the island," said her father. "The fisher boys who pray to her for good fortune make faithful guardians of her temple." "Is it to help the fisher boys on sea, as well as unworthy little girls on land, that she has so many arms?" asked Umé. But her father was leading the way along the rough street of the beautiful island, and did not answer. Enoshima seems to be the home of all the shells in Japan. They lie heaped in all the houses and shops; shells as white and lustrous as moonlight, as rosy as dawn, as delicate as a baby's fingers. There are thousands and thousands of them piled together like the fallen petals of the pink cherry blossoms. The street is lined on each side with tea-houses and little shops, and in every one may be seen miracles of shell-work. There are strings of mother-of-pearl fishes, of mother-of-pearl birds, tiny kittens, and foxes and dogs. There are mother-of-pearl storks and beetles and butterflies, crabs and lobsters, and bees made of shell poised on the daintiest of shell flowers, and there are necklaces, pins and hairpins in a hundred shapes. Baby Yuki went about with her head bent to one side, holding her ear to the mouth of the largest shells, wherever she could find them. Deep in their pink chambers she could hear the sound of the sea, and the dull roar pleased her. After listening to each one she would look up into her mother's face with a happy smile. Their father bought ornaments for the children, a necklace of wee, shimmering, mother-of-pearl fishes for the baby, a tortoise of pearl-shell for which Tara begged, and a spray of shell flowers for Umé. For Tara he bought also a glass cup blown double, with a tiny shell in the liquid between the glass. Of course it was soon broken and, after they had climbed the steep steps to the temples and prayed to Benten Sama in her own island home, they went back to the shops and bought another. Afterwards they sat upon the rocks and watched the tide flow in from the sea. Over the water skimmed the white sails of returning boats; the dragon's light, which we call phosphorescence, played at the edge of the waves, and there was no sound save that of the evening bells. The twilight fell, making a gray sky in which rode a silver crescent. "The Lady Moon," whispered Umé, and she joined her little hands, bent her head, and gave the prayer of welcome to O Tsuki Sama. The father broke the stillness at last by telling the story of the famous warrior, Yoritomo, who made Kamakura a famous city hundreds of years ago. "But Kamakura has been burned these many years," he said. "People come here now only to see Great Buddha and Enoshima." "No," said Umé, "I came for something else. I came to ask Benten Sama for something which I very much wish." "What is it?" asked Tara. But Umé shut her lips together and shook her head that she would not tell. "Were you afraid she would not hear you anywhere but in her own temple?" he asked again. Umé nodded her head. "I will surely find out what it was that you asked from her," said Tara mischievously. Tara usually did find out Umé's little secrets in some way, either by making fun or by teasing her. "O Maru San has put an honorable stillness upon her august tongue," he would say with a laugh. "O Maru San" means "Honorable Miss Round," and when Tara said it, Umé knew he was making fun of her. Little Japanese girls and boys do not like to be ridiculed. So, when Tara spoke that way, it usually ended in Umé's saying, "Don't call me that name, Tara. My secret was only about the tea-party that Tei and I are going to have in the garden." And soon Tara would know just what kind of cakes they were going to have; because in Japan the cakes are made to suit the season, if one wishes to have an elaborate party. Then, although it says in the book of "The Greater Learning for Women," that at the age of seven, boys and girls must not sit on the same mat nor eat at the same table, Tara was often invited to Umé's tea-parties. Now, although they stayed all night at the inn at Enoshima and there was plenty of time to find out Umé's secret, she did not tell it, and Tara finally concluded that it was something more important than a tea-party. In the early morning they stood once more upon the seashore, to watch the sun rise out of the ocean. The children forgot everything else in looking at the beautiful sight. "It is like our noble flag!" said Tara. Japan is called "The Land of the Rising Sun," and the emblem of the country is a round red sun on a white ground. The children long remembered the beauty of that morning. In front of them the great sun rose in a cloudless sky; behind them Fuji lifted his noble head, and the blue sea stretched on either side as far as they could see. At last the father said, "We will return to Tokio, to-day. We have had a pleasant and honorable holiday." "I wish first to find some of the intelligent crabs that make straight tracks by crawling sideways," said Tara. He had seen in the tea-house at Enoshima some wonderful crabs, and hoped to find one for himself. "And I wish to buy return gifts for Tei and Baby Onda in the shops!" said Umé. So while Tara hunted for crabs after breakfast, Umé and her mother hunted for gifts. The little boy found no large crabs; neither did he find any good place to fish for eels, but Umé found a lovely pearly necklace for Tei, and a pink shell for Onda. In her eagerness to reach home and show the gifts, she gave little thought to the beautiful sights to be seen from the train. She heard her grandmother say, "There are some fine young bamboo saplings. They would look well beside the gate-pine-tree at New Year time." She heard Tara ask, "Why are they used in the gateway arch?" and her grandmother answered, "Because they stand for constancy and honesty." "I will ask Benten Sama constantly for my wish to be fulfilled," said Umé to herself. When they reached home, she ran at once to find Tei, but Tei had gone that very morning on a journey to Nikko. CHAPTER XI A DAY IN SCHOOL What country is it that starts its children off to school very early in the morning? Japan, of course, the island kingdom, "The Land of the Rising Sun,"--and that is as it should be. It was early in the "hour of the hare," as time would have been reckoned in the days of old Japan; but the American clock in the kitchen said half-past six, when Umé finished dressing for school. She wore a plum-colored plaited skirt, with a blue kimono tucked inside, and she said to her mother, "May I now go to the honorable lesson-learn school, O Haha San?" There was plenty of time between half-past six and seven o'clock for her to reach the school building and be in line with the other children when they greeted the teacher. But all the other little girls were bending up and down in their greeting to the teacher when Umé at last slipped into her place among them. She said her happy "Ohayo!" just after the other lips were all closed upon the "good-morning." She whispered to Tei as they slipped into their seats, "We must eat our unworthy lunches together. I have brought a bad piece of pickled radish for you. It was because I ran back to the dirty house for it that I was honorably late." The Japanese people are all alike! When they mean one thing they say another. Umé really meant that their lunch was delicious; that her pickled radish was the best to be had in Tokio; and her house the sweetest and cleanest in the world; but it would have been very bad manners to say so; and to be late to school is not at all honorable in Japan. But Japan is a country where the people do everything in an original way. The carpenter pulls his saw toward him when he saws, and the planer pulls his plane toward him when he planes a board. Everybody sits down to work, and the horse goes into the stall tail first. The Japanese school children can never understand how the English children can make sense out of books that one reads from left to right and from the top to the bottom of the page. Umé's teacher read the lesson aloud and the children read it after her. They read from the bottom to the top of the page, from right to left, and from the end of the book to the beginning. From seven until twelve o'clock the children were busy with their lessons and recitations, stopping to eat their lunches in the middle of the forenoon, and for a short recess at the end of every hour. Umé loved to go to school. Tara always said, "It is because I am obliged to, that I go to school," but Umé knew that her school-days were the happiest she would have for many years. After they were over, she would go to her husband's house and take the lowest place in his family, as is the custom of Japanese maidens. Before that time she must learn to sew, cook and direct the servants in every household duty; she must also learn the tea-ceremony and the ceremony of flower arrangement. All these things she learns, as well as reading, writing and music. The tea-ceremony, which sounds so simple, is a very old and difficult one. Every position of the one who conducts it, as well as that of the bowl, spoon, tea-caddy and towel, is regulated by rule. Bowls are used instead of teapots, and tea powder instead of tea leaves. There is a sweeping of the room at the right time, and a walking out into the garden at another right time. Oh, it is not so simple as it sounds! The ceremony of arranging flowers is also very hard to learn. People who have learned it thoroughly are said to have charming dispositions as a reward of merit. They are gentle, self-controlled, peaceful-hearted and always at ease in the presence of their superiors, besides having many other virtues. Umé enjoyed it all. Everything she did was prettily and gracefully done. Whether she bent over a difficult, unruly spray of blossoms, or over her writing brush to make the difficult characters, her sweet oval face was never clouded. After the writing lesson was over on this opening day, she took her copy book, which was soggy with much India ink and water, and beckoned Tei to take hers also into the yard. There they spread the books in the sun to dry. Tei's family had been away for a month for the sake of Baby Onda's health, and the two little girls had not seen each other until now. "What did you see at Nikko?" asked Umé. "We saw the most beautiful building in Japan; the tomb of the great Iyeyasu," answered Tei. "I also was at Nikko and played with Tei in the temple yard," said a third child who overheard their talk. The three little girls walked back to the school-room together and Umé said, "I have asked my mother to take me to Nikko some time." "There are beautiful temples there," said Tei. "The mad pony of the illustrious Iyeyasu is there in a stable which has wonderful carvings over the doorway. It was there we saw the three monkeys your honorable mother spoke about one day." Umé drew her breath in a long sigh. "I have always wished to see those monkeys," she said. "After you have seen them," said Tei, "you will never again wish to see evil, hear evil, nor speak evil." The little girls drew away from one another and fell into the three positions. They made a cunning picture as they stood, Umé with her fingers over her ears, Tei with her mouth covered, and the third little girl covering her eyes. The teacher stood in the doorway and smiled--"The little dumb monkey, the little deaf monkey, and the monkey that will not see any evil!" he said. The three little monkeys bowed to the ground and ran laughing for their lunch boxes. "What do you think Tara is doing in his school this minute?" asked Tei, as they began eating rice-cakes. "He is perhaps having military drill," said Umé. "Or he maybe is hearing about Iyeyasu; that when he went into battle he wore a handkerchief over his head, but after the victory he put on his helmet." Tei sighed. "I wish there were not so many things to learn about our great heroes," she said. Umé laughed. "Let not the honorable teacher hear you say such a thing," she said, "else we shall have another history book given us, with the example of brave and loyal Japanese women to read in it." No country in the world has so many books of history for the children to learn as Japan. It was not strange that Tei sometimes found it wearisome. There was all the history of Old Japan to be learned, as well as all about the New Japan, and even Umé was never sorry when the noon hour arrived and they were dismissed from school. They bowed low to the teacher, and the teacher bowed low to them, and they clattered toward home with a great chattering of soft voices. But the voices were all hushed when Umé told her playmates that she had visited Benten Sama's temple at Enoshima in the time of great heat. "Oh, Umé! what favor did you ask of the dear goddess?" asked Tei. Umé shook her head, as she had done when Tara asked her the same question. "I will wait and see if she grants it to me before I tell it to any one," she said, and opened her pretty paper parasol. CHAPTER XII YUKI SAN IN THE STREET OF SHOPS Asakusa Temple and its beautiful grounds are in the eastern part of the city of Tokio. Jinrikisha runners could cover the distance between the Utsuki house and Asakusa Temple in fifteen or twenty minutes, but Baby Yuki was two hours on the way, because she toddled along so slowly and stopped so often to watch the children who were playing in the streets. The baby slipped quietly out of the house while her mother was having her honorable hair dressed. It takes a hair-dresser about two hours to dress a Japanese lady's honorable hair, but fortunately it has to be done only once in five or six days because the hair is never mussed at night. The women in Japan keep their heads peacefully quiet all night, letting their necks only rest upon the thin cushion of their wooden pillow. In this way the soft rolls and puffs of their shining black hair are not disturbed, and even the big pins do not have to be removed. Hair-dressers go from house to house as often as they are needed, and when Baby Yuki saw one come into the room and begin taking down her mother's hair, she began quietly taking her way along the stepping stones to the gate. Once outside the gate she trotted along toward the bridge over the moat. This moat ran around the old feudal castle where a daimyo used to live, and Yuki-ko often went as far as the bridge with Umé or Tara when they started off for school. Sometimes all three of the children went there to look at the green lotus leaves or the beautiful lotus blossoms which cover the water in July and August. But to-day Baby Yuki did not stop on the bridge. She crossed it and clattered down the street to a far corner where a street-peddler was selling toys. Japanese peddlers are always very pleasant people, and this one danced and sang funny songs which the baby was only too glad to hear. Up one street and down another the man took his way, stopping wherever he found a few little children to listen to him; and one or two children from every group followed along with Yuki San, making a pretty sight. A foreign lady with a camera stopped her jinrikisha-man, saying, "That is the very smallest child I ever saw standing on its own two feet and walking with other children in the street. One of the older girls should carry the baby on her back." Baby Yuki stood on the outside of the group, making a pretty picture all by herself. She was so clean and sweet that the lady determined to follow her and take several pictures. She dismissed her jinrikisha and became a child with the others, following where the peddler led. At last they reached Asakusa street, which leads to Asakusa Temple. This street is lined with booths on each side, and in each booth there is a man selling toys, or candies, or paper parasols, or kites, or something to tempt the rin and sen out of a child's pocket. Wherever there is a temple in a Japanese city there is also a toy-shop, and where there is a toy-shop there is, of course, a toy which one must surely buy. The children love to buy the toys and play with them in the temple gardens. In the gardens of Asakusa Temple there are ponds filled with goldfish and silverfish and carp. These fish are tame and will eat from the children's fingers because children have fed them for years and years. Just outside the gateway to the temple, old women sit beside little tables and sell saucers full of food for the fishes in the ponds and the doves that live in the temple eaves. And where one person sells anything many other people also sell something. They sell, the children buy, and the doves and fishes are fed. "It is like the 'House that Jack Built,'" said the American lady. "This is the pond that held the fish, that ate the cakes, that lay in the dish and were sold in the booths with all kinds of toys, from dolls to kites, for girls and boys." [Illustration: The Street of Shops and Asakusa Temple. _Page 91._] It does not take the little street of shops a long time to reach the temple steps, in Asakusa; but it does take the little people a long time to get through the street. Baby Yuki stopped to kotow to the first old woman she saw selling beans. In that moment the toy-peddler and all the children seemed to disappear. The baby looked around for them, and was frightened to find that she was all alone. But before she had time to realize that she was lost, the foreign lady had bought beans from the old woman and poured them into the baby's hands, and the doves were flying down to pick up the beans as she scattered them in the street. From feeding the doves it was but a step to other joys. The lady bought a paper parasol at one of the booths, at another a doll and a Japanese lantern on the end of a slender bamboo stick. She tied the doll to the baby's back, tilted the parasol over her shoulder, gave her the lantern to hold, and took her picture. Then she took the child's hand and they walked along together until they came to an old woman who sat on the ground holding a tray of paper flowers. The lady stopped to buy some of the flowers, and might have gone on buying gifts--for there was no end to the toys for sale in that short street--but the paper flowers had to be opened in a bowl of water. To find the bowl of water the big lady and the little girl had to pass under the temple gate and walk off among the trees and fish-ponds till they came to a tea-house. There they sat down to rest, and a maid brought tea and cakes for them to eat, and a bowl of water for the flowers. There are always picnics going on in the grounds of the temple, especially at chrysanthemum time; but there was never a prettier picnic sight than the one made by Yuki-ko San and her foreign friend as they knelt on the mats, sipping their tea, and watching the tiny paper flowers change into all sorts of shapes. Some of the flowers became beautiful potted plants, about an inch tall. Others changed into trees, or birds, and one even took the shape of Fujiyama, the lofty mountain. They seemed like fairy trees and birds, and not until the last one had opened did Yuki San lift her little face from the bowl of water. Then she spoke for the first time. "Yuki take little birds home to O Chichi San," she said. "Mercy! the child is lost and I don't know how to find her people," said the foreign lady. But the maid who served the cakes said, "She must have a name-label around her neck." Fortunately she had, and not only the street where she lived, but also the street and number of her father's shop, was written on it. It was so far to either place that the lady said very sensibly, "We will take a carriage." So she called a jinrikisha-man, and off they went to the father's shop. At a little distance from the silk shop, where the father sat waiting for customers, the lady stopped her runner and put the little girl down upon the ground. "Run to your O Chichi San," she said, pointing to the shop, and then she watched the baby to see if she found the right father. In the meantime someone else was hurrying to find her father. It was Umé, who had been sent with one of the maids to tell the sad news that Baby Yuki had wandered away from home and was surely lost. Just as Umé reached the silk shop and poured out her story, who should toddle along with her hands full of toys, dropping one and then another as she kotowed her fat little body over them, but the baby herself. Of course there was much talk, and many questions were asked of her; but the child could only say that "Haha San with many hands" had given her the toys and brought her to her father. "It was Benten Sama," said Umé. It is well known that Benten Sama has eight hands, and who but Benten Sama would give Baby Yuki so many lovely gifts and bring her safely through the city streets to her father's shop? As they took the baby home to her frightened mother, Umé said softly to her father, "Yuki-ko San did as much in finding you as Fishsave did when he found his father." And her father answered, "The tie between fathers and children is honorably strong." But Umé was already thinking that probably Benten Sama would answer her prayer. As they passed the foreign lady, who was still sitting in her jinrikisha at the corner of the street, Umé looked longingly at the tan-colored shoes she was wearing. "Red ones with black heels are prettier," she said to herself. CHAPTER XIII THE EMPEROR'S BIRTHDAY "Let the Emperor live forever!" sang Umé, on the third day of the eleventh month. This day is the Emperor's birthday, and all loyal Japanese pray that their ruler may see the chrysanthemum cup go round, autumn after autumn, for a thousand years. Autumn is the loveliest month of all the year in Japan. Then the maples put on their glorious crimson and orange colors, and the chrysanthemums fling out their beautiful many-colored petals to the sun. The Japanese say that the maples are the crimson clouds that hang about the sunset of their flower life. From February until November different flowers reign, one after another, for a few short weeks. First comes the plum blossom, about which everyone writes a poem. Next the great double cherry blossoms make the island look like a lovely pink cobweb on the blue sea. After that, wistaria blossoms, five or six feet long, hang from trellises and flutter in the breeze; and so on, until at last the chrysanthemum, the royal flower, says "Sayonara," and the sun of the flower-year has set. "The last flower is honorably the best," said Umé, as she hovered over the masses of color in the garden-beds. She looked like a beautiful blossom herself in her blue silk kimono. Chrysanthemums in deep golden brown and palest pink were embroidered in the silk. Her undergarment of pink showed at the throat; and about her waist was a pink sash embroidered with blue. That sash was Umé's delight. It was tied in an immense bow behind, and Tara had never been able to find the ends that he might pull them out and so tease his sister a little. On her feet Umé wore black lacquer clogs and white stockings, with the great toe in a room by itself. Her hair was carefully drawn up to the top of her head, where it was tied with a broad piece of blue crêpe, and then formed into several puffs at the back. A brilliant pink chrysanthemum pin was stuck through the puffs in one direction and a butterfly pin in the other. Umé's pins and sashes were her dearest treasures! The finishing touch was given to her face and lips. Rice powder made her skin look very white, and a touch of paint made her cheeks and mouth very red, although they were quite red enough before. Her mother was wholly pleased with Umé's appearance, but Umé shook her head over the clogs; she wished for something different. "It is time to make the honorable start to the gardens, Umé-ko!" called her mother at last, and the little girl left the flowers and took her seat in the waiting jinrikisha. Umé was going with her mother, first to make an offering at the temple, then to look at the flowers in the gardens at Dango-Zaka. Tara was going with his father to see the Emperor review the troops. Yuki San was not forgotten. She was going with her grandmother to play in the gardens at Asakusa once more. All wore their festival clothes, as was proper on the Emperor's birthday. Tara and his father wore kimonos, but they were much darker in color than Umé's; their sashes were narrower, and there were no bows in the back. Yuki-ko was the really gorgeous one. Her kimono was of bright red silk, her sash pale yellow. A gold embroidered pocket hung from the sash and in the pocket she carried a charm to keep her safe from harm in case something happened to her name-label. The "honorable start" was made at last and the three jinrikisha coolies dashed through the gate, one behind the other, Tara and his father in the lead. A fuzzy caterpillar was humping his way along the road outside the gate. The three runners turned aside and left a large part of the road to the caterpillar, although so much room was more than the fuzzy creature needed. The men thought that perhaps the soul of an ancestor might be in the little insect, and they feared to crush it. The city was in its gayest holiday attire. Red and white Japanese flags adorned every house. Men dressed in uniform were hurrying through the streets, soldiers were marching toward the parade grounds, and there were crowds of happy people everywhere. After riding over the wooden bridge Tara and his father took their way to the Emperor's review, while the other two jinrikishas turned toward Asakusa Temple. Umé sat up very straight, making herself as tall as possible, and said, as she watched her father being whirled down the street, "My son, it is now my unworthy privilege--" then stopped, because her mother looked at her in reproof. "It is my unworthy privilege to remind you that respectful children do not thus mimic their parents in voice and word," said her mother gravely. "I will ask to be forgiven when we are in the temple," said Umé penitently. She was still serious when she dropped a rin into the grated box that waits always for offerings in the temples. "May I write a prayer to the goddess Kwannon?" she asked, as the coin clinked against others in the box. "Is there something you very much desire, Umé-ko?" asked her mother with a smile. Umé nodded. "There is something I have asked from every one of the gods and goddesses you have ever told me about," she said. "I have been asking for it constantly ever since my last plum-blossom birthday." "Kwannon is the goddess of mercy; perhaps she will be merciful to you and grant your wish, whatever it may be," said her mother. So Umé wrote her wish on a slip of paper and hung it where hundreds of other prayers were hanging on a lattice in front of a shrine. Afterwards she went with her mother to the corner where the god Binzuru was waiting to cure any sort of disease. Umé's mother had an ache in her back. She rubbed her hand gently over the back of the god and then tried to rub her own back; but it was not easy to reach between her shoulders and rub the pain away. After she finished reaching, her back ached more than before. "We will go to the gardens at Dango-Zaka; there we shall forget our aches in looking at the lovely flowers," she told Umé. Baby Yuki was already feeding the goldfish and did not care whether her mother stayed at Asakusa Temple or not. So the two rode away through the city streets toward the district of Dango-Zaka. Sometimes they mounted a hill from which they could look over the city and see the flags fluttering in the breeze; sometimes they crossed a canal crowded with heavily-laden scows; sometimes they passed through business streets where people sat in their houses or shops with the front walls all open to the sidewalk. The people sat and worked, or ate their lunch, or sold their wares, as if they were all a part of one great family with the people in the streets and had no secrets from them. Wells and water-tanks stood at convenient distances along the streets, and from their jinrikishas Umé and her mother saw crowds of women washing rice and chatting with one another as they worked. At the chrysanthemum gardens there were many little gates, at each one of which Umé paid four sen before they could enter and look at the flowers in living pictures. The gardeners in Japan make all sorts of wonderful stories and pictures with the chrysanthemums. Here you will see a ship filled with gods and goddesses. There you will be astonished at the sight of a sail set to carry a junk over a chrysanthemum sea. Somewhere else you will come upon an open umbrella, a flag, a demon or a dragon; there is no end to the quaint fancies! It is hard to understand how these pictures can be made until one learns that the gardeners have been at the business for several generations. They say that, to have a thing well done, your children and grandchildren must do it after you. To make the chrysanthemum pictures, they tie the branches of the plants, and even the tiny flowers, to slender bamboo sticks; there is also a delicate frame of copper wire through which the flowers are sometimes drawn, and sometimes the gardeners use light bamboo figures of boats and dragons and gods. The faces of the people in the flower pictures are paper or plaster masks. It would really be too much to ask the gardeners to make chrysanthemum expressions. Nowhere outside of Japan will you find such curious pictures! It was very late when Umé and her mother reached home again. Now the houses on both sides of the streets were hung with festoons of flags and lanterns on each of which was the round red sun of Japan. The wide-opened shutters showed brightly lighted rooms in which the families were entertaining friends or having tea and cakes; they sat on the floors, which were covered with scarlet blankets in honor of the Emperor. In the shops were tempting displays of fruits, fish and toys, and in the distance Umé could see the fireworks which were being set off in the palace grounds. Tara and his father were already at home, but the boy was far too excited over the grand review of the Emperor's troops to listen to anything his sister had to tell. "He is an honorably wonderful man, our most illustrious Emperor," said Tara. "My admirable father told me that he never stood upon his own feet until he was sixteen years old." "I think that is not so honorably wonderful," said Umé stoutly. But when she took both of her own feet up at the same time, to try how it could be done, she found herself suddenly upon the floor. "Did he walk upon his august head?" she demanded. "Umé," said her mother, "speak not so disrespectfully of the Son of Heaven!" But Tara explained: "He was carried about all the time, and shown only to very noble people once in a while. But when he became a man, he said it should all be different. And he put down all the old nobility that had kept him so honorably helpless, and then he made everything as it is to-day in Japan. "Under the old rule, no one was allowed to leave the country and we knew no other people except the Chinese. Now we know the whole world and can teach the other nations many things." Just then old Maru entered the room with tea and cakes. The cakes looked exactly like maple leaves. There were also candies made to look like autumn grasses and chrysanthemums. Umé clapped her hands and danced about the room. "May the Emperor live forever!" she sang; and Tara wheeled and marched like a soldier, shouting, "May Japan never be conquered!" CHAPTER XIV DARUMA SAMA Among the stories which O Ba San told to Umé and her brother was one about Daruma Sama. Daruma Sama was a Japanese saint who lived many, many years ago. It was his great desire to cross the sea on a leaf, but in order to do so it was first necessary for him to pray long and sincerely to the gods. He knelt in prayer for many years, and at last his feet and legs fell from his body because they had been idle so long a time. In all the toy-shops there are images of this saint with his large head and big round body which has no trouble in sitting still. The Japanese children make their snow men in the image of Daruma Sama. They give him a charcoal ball for each eye and a streak of charcoal for his nose and mouth, and then they have a fine snow man. It was almost the end of the year before Tara had an opportunity to make a Daruma. In Tokio snow rarely covers the ground for more than twenty-four hours at a time, and sometimes there is a winter with almost no snow at all. But one evening, only two days before the New Year Festival, the air was so chilly that the veranda shutters were all tightly closed and the shoji drawn together, while the family sat around the fireplace. Lift up the square of matting in the middle of a Japanese living-room and you will find, sunk in the floor, a stone-lined bowl a few inches deep. This is the fireplace. When the day is cold the maid puts a shovelful of live coals into this bowl, places a wooden frame about a foot high over it, and covers all with a quilt. Then the cold ones may sit around the fire on the floor, draw the quilt over their knees and into their laps, and soon become perfectly warm. Tara and Umé had heard many a delightful story as they sat snuggled under the warm quilt on winter evenings. On this evening their father said suddenly, "The white snow-flakes will fall to-night and cover the earth as the white plum blossoms cover the trees." Tara sprang from under the quilt and ran to open the shutters so that he might see for himself how the weather looked outside. He was so eager that his fingers slipped and pushed a hole through the paper covering of the shoji. His mother looked sadly at the torn place. "It was only this morning," she said, "that I put new papers on the shoji to be in readiness for the New Year. Baby Yuki's fingers had made many holes in the paper walls." In a moment Tara ran back into the warm room. "It is faithfully true,"' he cried. "Even now white flakes are falling." In the morning it was as if they had moved to a different world. The snow made the garden, with its trees and pond and bridge, look like fairyland. "I will go to the garden-house for my stilts," said Tara, "then I can walk about in the snow on my heron-legs as the white herons walk in the mud of the rice-fields." Stilts are made of bamboo sticks, and are called "heron-legs," after the long-legged snowy herons that strut about in the wet fields. Wooden clogs will lift their wearers out of the mud of the streets in bad weather; but the boys are always glad of an excuse to get out their stilts. They walk on them so much that they become expert in their use and can run and even play games on them. Umé looked rather sadly at the new white world outside. "The snow has come too soon," she said. "Why?" asked Tara. "Because I have no time for play," answered Umé. "There are gifts to finish, and I must also help the honorable mother to make all clean and sweet for the New Year." "Let the gifts honorably wait until the hour of the horse," said Tara, "so that you may play with us this morning in the garden." But Umé went dutifully to her sewing. She was making a bundle handkerchief for Tei out of a piece of bright colored crêpe with her family crest embroidered on it. After that was finished she made a lucky-bag to hang on the New Year's arch at the house door. The lucky-bag was made of a square of Japanese paper. Into it Umé put several things which are known to bring good luck--a few chestnuts, a bit of dried fish, and a dried plum. She tied them up in the paper with a red and white paper string, and put the bag away until the arch should be ready. New Year's Day is the most important time in the whole year in Japan. It is the day when all the people, from the highest to the lowest, have a holiday. For days, and even weeks, preparations are made to celebrate the festival with proper ceremony. Never are the streets of the cities and towns so filled with gayly dressed crowds of people hurrying here and there, buying and selling, as during the last days of the dying year. Every house is thoroughly cleaned from roof to veranda, the shoji are covered with fresh papers, new kimonos and sashes are made, new hairpins purchased, new mats are laid on the floors and the old ones are burned. On the last day of the old year every room is dusted with the feathery leaves of a green branch of bamboo. Then the gateway is decorated with a beautiful arch, one of the Japanese symbols of health, happiness and prosperity. On each side of the gateway two holes are dug in which are planted small pine trees. On the left is the tree which represents the father, on the right is the mother-pine. Beside these are set the graceful stems of the bamboo, the green leaves towering above the low roof and rustling in the wind. From one bamboo stalk to the other is hung a thick rope of rice-straw, beautifully plaited and knotted, to give a blessing to the household and keep out all evil spirits. From this rope hang yellow oranges, and scarlet lobsters which with their crooked bodies signify long life and an old age bent with years. There are also fern leaves, a branch of camellia, a piece of seaweed, a lucky-bag, flags, and strips of white paper which are supposed to be images of men offering themselves to the gods. Everything about the pine-tree arch has a meaning, and signifies wishes for health, strength, happiness, obedience, honor and a long life. Of course there must be a decoration inside the house as well. Tara and Umé went to the shops with their father to choose one for the alcove room, after the Daruma Sama was made and Umé's sewing finished. The children chose a harvest ship, a junk about two feet long, made of straw with twigs of pine and bamboo in the bow and stern. It was loaded with many bales of make-believe merchandise in which were little gifts, and was sprinkled with gold-dust to make it look bright. There was a red sun on one side of the boat and the sails were of scarlet paper. On the way home they passed a shop where foreign shoes were offered for sale, and where some one at that moment was buying a pair of red shoes for a little girl about as old as Umé. Umé held her father still to watch the child try them on her little feet, and they certainly made the feet look very pretty. Umé's father smiled at the look in his daughter's eyes, but he soon drew her away to a toy-shop out of sight of the little red shoes. There they bought a ball for Baby Yuki and gifts for the mother and grandmother, going home only when they could carry nothing more. If ever there is a time and place when enticing red shoes can be forgotten, it is New Year's time among the shops in Japan. No one ever thinks of staying indoors then, else he would miss the gayest, liveliest, brightest time of the whole year. The shop-keepers have to fill their shelves with great quantities of new things to match the New Year; there are new games, new kimonos, new clogs, new toys for sale everywhere, and even the story-tellers brighten up their old stories to make them seem like new. That last day before the New Year was a very busy one in the Utsuki household. There were gifts to be put into dainty packages, the pine-tree arch to be decorated, the last stitches to be taken in the new kimonos, and the last bills to be paid--even the smallest one that might possibly have been overlooked. There is a beautiful custom in Japan of beginning the year without a debt. Every bill is paid and no one owes a single sen when the old year dies and the new year dawns. When at last Umé said her honorable good-night to her father and mother and went to her wooden pillow she was very tired. As she crept under the warm coverlet she whispered drowsily, "May Benten Sama, or Kwannon, or one of the illustrious goddesses give me what I have prayed for so long." Then she fell fast asleep. CHAPTER XV NEW YEAR'S DAY "So many honorable sounds!" murmured Umé drowsily, and she listened for a moment without opening her eyes. It was New Year's morning, so early that the sun was only just rising. Umé could hear the clapping of many hands outside the house. "I, myself, meant to welcome the illustrious sun with the hand-joy," she said to herself, and sprang from her bed with wide-open eyes. It took but a moment to slip into a thick kimono and push open the shoji. Someone had already opened the wooden shutters and Umé reached the corner of the street in time to see the round red sun send his first beams over the snow-covered roofs. She clapped her hands joyously and bowed a welcoming "Ohayo" to the great ball of light. "Now I shall surely begin the year with good luck!" she said to herself as she slipped back into the house. She closed the shoji and cuddled again between the soft quilts for warmth. Then it occurred to her to wonder why she had not seen her mother, who always rose very early, among the group that was greeting the New Year sun. The air was filled with the sound of joy bells which were ringing from all the temples. One hundred and eight strokes must they ring, twelve times nine, to keep all evil spirits away from the city in this new year. But there were other sounds which came from within the house. Was it,--yes, it surely was the sound of a little new baby's cry. Again Umé was out of bed and pattering across the room to open her shoji. Her father was standing before the alcove in the honorable guest room, and he read the question in her face before Umé could ask it. "Yes," he said, "a new son has come to our unworthy house on this morning of the New Year." Umé bowed her forehead to the floor, "Omedeto, O Chichi San," she said. "I am most respectfully happy. May I go to see him and bid him honorable welcome?" "After the breakfast is faithfully eaten, it may perhaps be permitted," answered her father. Then he asked, "Was there not some gift you have asked from the gods in the year that has passed?" "I have asked many times for a gift, but neither the gods nor the goddesses have yet given it to me." "Have you ever asked the generous mother for it?" "No, O Chichi San." "Why have you not asked your insignificant father?" "O Chichi San, I feared you would not permit me to have what I most wished." Her father looked at her gravely and took a package from his kimono sleeve. He gave it to Umé, saying as he did so, "Your thoughtful mother asked me to buy this in the foreign shop and give it to you this morning." The package was tied with red and white paper string. Umé took it in both hands, raised it to her forehead, bowed her thanks, and opened it. Inside the package was a pair of red shoes with black heels! "O Chichi San, how worthily beautiful!" and Umé danced about the room, clasping the pretty things to her heart. "This is what I have asked of Benten Sama and Kwannon and of the other goddesses," she said with shining eyes. Then she stood still and said wonderingly, "But I did not ask for a baby brother, although he was more to be desired." "Your mother gives both the shoes and the baby brother to you," said her father. "May I not go to her and give her many thanks truly?" asked Umé. "Your mother is ill," said her father. "It may be that she will never speak to us again." "Oh, no!" cried Umé in great distress. She looked at the little red shoes and suddenly dropped them to the floor. "Benten Sama may have them, if she will only make my honorable mother well," she said. The pretty things which she had dreamed of, and longed for, and begged of all the gods, suddenly became of no value to her except as an offering to save her mother's life. She knelt at her father's feet and bowed her head to the floor. "Have I your noble permission to go to Asakusa Temple and pray to the good Kwannon that my mother may become well?" she asked. "Yes," her father answered, "and it may be that a gift of that which you most treasure will be pleasing to the Goddess of Mercy." Umé looked down at the little red shoes, gathered them up and tucked them into her kimono sleeve; then ran to ask old Maru to go with her to the temple. The little girl had never before been to the temple on so sad an errand. "See," said old Maru as the jinrikisha-man took up his shafts, "the gate-pine-tree is giving you an honorable message." Umé looked back as the old nurse continued, "When autumn winds blow the leaves from the other trees and leave them sad and cheerless, the pine holds its needles more green and vigorous than ever. We should be like the pine, brave to conquer our troubles when they come." Umé tried to smile. "I will be obediently brave," she said. Old Maru nodded approvingly. "As the pine stands for strength and the bamboo for uprightness, so the fern means hope and the seaweed good fortune." Umé began to be a little cheerful. "I dreamed of Fujiyama, the sacred, in the night," she said, "that means great happiness." "Yes," said old Maru comfortably, "everything points to good fortune this morning. Let us hope that the merciful goddess will be gracious to grant our prayer." The sound of the temple bells still filled the air. Everywhere the streets and houses were decorated with paper lanterns and flags and banners, each one white with a round red sun. The lanterns were strung in rows across the streets and on the houses from the low eaves to the veranda posts. At the temple they hung at every possible point from roof to steps. Umé and Maru went reverently through all the ceremony of washing the hands and mouth, ringing the bell, dropping the offering of coins in the box and buying the rice-cakes. They left their clogs at the entrance among several other pairs, for many sad hearts had come to the temple with petitions on this early morning of the New Year. When Umé left the temple the pretty red shoes were lying at the feet of the Goddess Kwannon, and the child's face looked full of hope. As they sat in the jinrikisha old Maru said, "One can never do too much for the honorable mother." Then she added proudly, "No other nation in the world can show such examples of filial love as Japan." "What do you mean?" asked Umé, who could listen to a story now that her heart was lightened of its fear. "I mean the example of the four and twenty paragons," replied the nurse. "The gods never gave me a son. If they had I should have prayed that he might be like the paragon who, when he himself was very old, became a baby so that his parents might not realize how old they had grown." "But I thought we Japanese liked to become very old," said Umé, puzzled. "I always say 'Ohayo, old woman,' to the batter-cake woman at the corner, and she is gratefully pleased." "That is true. But the paragon showed his filial affection by acting as a baby," persisted old Maru. "It was a noble thing to do." "How many paragons were there?" asked Umé. "Four and twenty," replied the old woman. "Was one of them a little girl, and did she give up her red shoes?" asked Umé. Old Maru looked doubtful. "It was a long time ago," she said. "I think no red shoes had been made in the world at that time." But Umé was again thinking of her mother. "Tell the jinrikisha-man to go faster," she urged. The man was trotting along, looking at every pine-tree arch. The treeless streets, as far as one could see, were a bower of pine and bamboo. Little children ran into the road, dressed in new kimonos and sashes. Boys were making images of Daruma Sama in the snow, messengers were bearing gifts from one house to another, and men dressed in uniform were already going to pay their respects to their beloved Emperor. Some of the streets were almost impassable because of the number of beautifully dressed girls who were playing battledore and shuttlecock. The air was full of the bright fluttering toys as they were struck from one player to the other, and the silver world was a very merry place as Umé rode swiftly toward her home. "If only the honorable mother is augustly well, and the new baby strong," she said wistfully, "our humble household might be the gayest of them all." As they drew near to their own gateway, Umé clapped her hands. Tara and his father were in the garden and an enormous kite was just rising into the air. It was decorated with a great red sun and a bright red carp, and had a long tail of red and blue papers flying behind it. Higher and higher it rose, the tail turning and twisting in the wind. "I know my honorable mother is better!" cried Umé, beside herself with joy. "The chestnuts did not go into the lucky-bag for nothing," said old Maru contentedly. "I knew they would bring an answer to our prayer." But Umé did not hear her. She left the old woman picking her way carefully along the snowy stepping-stones while she flew to her father. "Is my admirable mother better?" she asked breathlessly. "Yes," answered her father. "O Doctor San says she will soon be well." "It is because the gracious Kwannon was pleased with the red shoes," said Umé softly. PRONOUNCING VOCABULARY AND DICTIONARY Ä sä'k[.u] sä=, a temple in Tokio. B[=a]=, grandmother. B[)e]n't[)e]n Sä'mä=, a goddess of love and good fortune. chi chi= (ch[=e]'ch[=e]), father. ch[)o]p'st[)i]cks=, small sticks used in eating. cl[)o]gs=, a wooden shoe worn to lift the feet out of the mud. C[)o]n f[=u]'cius= (shius), a celebrated Chinese philosopher. Dä r[.u]'mä Sä'mä=, a Japanese god. [)E]n [=o] shi'mä= (sh[=e]), a small island on the east coast of Japan. Shima means island. Fu ji ya ma= (f[.u]'j[=e] yä'mä), an extinct volcano, the highest mountain of Japan. Yama means mountain. gei sha= (g[=a]'sh[.a]), a dancing girl. ge ta= (g[=a]'t[.a]), wooden clogs. g[=o]=, five. g[=o]'d[ow)]n=, a fireproof building used as a storehouse. hä'hä=, mother. i chi= ([=e]'ch[=e]), one. j[)i]n rïk'[)i] shä=, a two-wheeled carriage drawn by a man. j[)u][n=]k=, a flat-bottomed, sea-going sailing vessel. Kä mä'k[.u] rä=, a small town on the east coast of Japan. Ka mei do= (kä m[=a]'d[=o]), a temple in Tokio. ki mo no= (k[=e] m[=o]'n[=o]), a garment resembling a dressing-gown, worn by men, women, and children in Japan. K[)i]n tä'r[=o]=, a Japanese hero. ki ri gi ri su= (k[=e] r[=e] g[=e]'r[=e] s[.u]), a singing insect. k[=o]=, little. k[=o]'t[=o]=, a musical instrument somewhat like a harp. k[=o]'t[ow)]=, bow the forehead to the ground. Kwän'n[)o]n=, the goddess of mercy. Mä'r[.u]=, round, a name sometimes given to girls. ni= (n[=e]), two. Nä r[.u] h[=o]'d[=o]=, an exclamation. [=O]=, honorable, the Japanese honorific. [=O] B[=a] Sän=, honorable Grandmother Mrs. O hay o= ([=o] h[=i]'[=o]), "honorable early," good-morning. o mé dé to= ([=o] m[=a] d[=a]'t[=o]), "honorable congratulation." [=O] yä'mä=, a mountain near Yokohama. r[)i]n=, a coin, one tenth of a sen, one twentieth of a cent. s[)a]n=, three. Sän=, Mr., Mrs., or Miss; a title of respect. sa ké= (sä'k[=a]), a liquor made from rice. Sä'mä=, Mr., Mrs., or Miss; a title of respect. s[)a]m'[)i] s[)e]n=, a musical instrument resembling a banjo. s[)e]n=, a coin worth one tenth of a yen, one half of a cent. shi= (sh[=e]), four. s[.u]'zu=, an insect. S[.u] gä wä'rä-n[=o]-M[)i]ch [)i] zä'né= (n[=a]), a Japanese goddess. ta bi= (tä'b[=e]), stockings, with a place for the big toe. Tä'mä=, jewel; often used as a girl's name. Tä'rä=, a boy's name. Tei= (t[=a]), a girl's name. To ki o= (t[=o]'k[=e] [=o]), the capital of Japan. U mé= ([.u] m[=a]'), plum blossom; often used as a girl's name. Ut su ki= ([.u]t s[.u]'k[=e]), a family name. y[)e]n=, a coin worth about fifty cents. Transcriber Notes: Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. Passages in bold were indicated by =equal signs=. Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS. Throughout the document, the latin letter a with a dot above was replaced with [.a]. The latin letter u with a dot above was replaced with [.u]. The latin letter a with breve was replaced with [)a]. The latin letter e with breve was replaced with [)e]. The latin letter i with breve was replaced with [)i]. The latin letter o with breve was replaced with [)o]. The latin letter u with breve was replaced with [)u]. The latin letter a with macron was replaced with [=a]. The latin letter e with macron was replaced with [=e]. The latin letter i with macron was replaced with [=i]. The latin letter o with macron was replaced with [=o]. The latin letter u with macron was replaced with [=u]. The latin letter n with a line below was replaced with [n=]. The latin letters ow with a curved line below was replaced with [ow)]. Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. Those words were retained as-is. The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate. Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted. On page 31, a comma was added after "said". On page 42, a closing quotation was added after "are in full Blossom." On page 74 the hyphen in jinrikisha-men was replaced with a space. On page 94, "payer" was replaced with "prayer". On page 116, "moring" was replaced with "morning". 
578	----	DOWN WITH THE CITIES! By Nakashima Tadashi Copyright (c) 1996 By Nakashima Tadashi Translation from the Japanese of "Toshi wo Horobose," first serialized in the periodical Kankyo Hakai, reprinted in 1992 in book form by the Japan Communal Society Association, and republished as a commercially available book in 1994 by Maijisha Publishing Co. This translation is of the earliest version, and does not reflect subsequent updates, additions, and changes by the author. Permission for posting on Project Gutenberg has been securied by the translator from all concerned parties. This translation is to be distributed freely throughout the world to anyone at all, and is not to be sold for commercial profit. Mr. Nakashima (born 1920) is a self-sufficient farmer in the hill country of Gifu Prefecture, Japan. He entered the Army in 1939, and was in Taiwan at the end of the war. In 1945 he returned to his family farm and began farming. In 1954 Mr. Nakashima began raising free-range chickens, and embarked on the long process of developing his method of producing "natural eggs," for which he is now well known in Japan. About 1975 he started studying the writings of the Edo Period thinker Ando Shoeki. He has also written a book entitled "Minomushi Kakumei -- Dokuritsu Noumin no Sho" (The Bagworm Revolution -- A Book for Independent Farmers). The author has also written and published extensively on free-range chicken farming. The order of Japanese personal names follows East Asian custom: surname followed by given name. Some footnotes are the author's, and others are the translator's. The latter are identified by the notation "(Translator's note)" at the end of those footnotes. ================================================== ================================================== PREAMBLE Saying "Down with the cities!" is not a rash statement. If we do not get rid of the cities, the human race will disappear from the face of the Earth. The cities are none other than the source of all pollution, and the root of all evil. One may try to leave the cities as they are and get rid of only the pollution, but it will be wasted effort. Environmental destruction and pollution are caused by none other than the functioning of the urban machine; pollution is, we may say, the unavoidable respiratory function, metabolic function, and bowel movements of the cities. If we plug up the nose, mouth, and anus of a human being, is it possible to continue living? Therefore, if we are to banish urban pollution from the Earth, we must eliminate the cities themselves. CHAPTER I Urban Sprawl The cities are spreading out like amoebae. No matter what part of the world, and no matter what kind of political or economic system, the expansion of the cities is more than apparent wherever you look. If urbanization continues in this manner, the entire surface of the Earth will in time be covered with cities. I should explain that by urbanization I do not mean merely the spread of what we normally call "cities." In urbanization I include interurban buildups, those along train lines and roads, housing developments, tourist facilities at resorts, rural factories, and a host of other things. We must also consider the buildups in the centers of villages, and asphalt roads in (what is mistakenly considered to be) the boondocks as a kind of urbanization. In other words, the city is not just something that we distinguish from the country by region alone; we must also make a clear distinction in accordance with differences in industries (that is, class). To wit, the city is a place that is home to the secondary and tertiary industries, or is a place where the employees of such industries dwell. No matter how far back in the sticks one goes, if one finds anything relating to the secondary or tertiary industries -- such as public facilities or concrete river bank walls -- such a place must also be recognized as the city. Let us then examine the reasons for the unbounded, continuous expansion of the cities. Reason One Throughout the entire world, in no matter what country, "modernization" is the glorious banner under which all people gather. If something is done under the name of modernization, it is considered good, and if it stands in the way of modernization, it is automatically evil. Modernization: Expressed in different terms it is the prosperity of the secondary and tertiary industries. [1] And since these industries are based in the cities, modernization means urbanization. Right now, all around the world, increasing numbers of people are, with the aim of achieving modernization, engaging in the secondary and tertiary industries, and that is why we witness the further, inevitable expansion of the cities. As long as modernization is not negated as an evil, urbanization will continue unabated. Reason Two Modernization -- if we look at this in another way we see that it is the pursuit of Convenience, Extravagance, and Ease; it signifies the ceaseless advance toward infinite prosperity. And the pursuit of convenience, extravagance, and ease is none other than an expression of instinctual human greed -- we want to have it easier and eat more delectable cuisine, we want to do more stimulating things, we want objects that are rarer and more beautiful. Thus the secondary and tertiary industries, in manufacturing and supplying us with festivals and entertainment and trinkets and gewgaws, are able to scale the heights of prosperity, and the cities thereby continue their boundless expansion. Reason Three There is one other abettor of urbanization that we must not overlook: the bewitching power of the money economy. In order to make more money, the city manufactures more merchandise than necessary, and forces services down our throats. Charged with the economic mission known as the Pursuit of Profit, the secondary and tertiary industries work hard at money making, and this too leads to the expansion of the cities. The above three elements -- (1) a national policy of modernization, i.e., urbanization; (2) the instinctive desire of human beings for prosperity, i.e., urbanization; (3) the Pursuit of Profit, which propels the secondary and tertiary industries to make more and more money, i.e., urbanization -- combine to cause the increasing spread of the cities. This is symbolized in, for example, the construction industry. Urbanization is, in more concrete terms, the covering of everything with concrete. Whether buildings or roads or riverbanks or seashores, the rule of thumb in modern times is to make it out of concrete. There are, to be sure, occasional pea gravel gardens or dirt playing fields in the cities, but these are few and far between. Cities are made by smothering the ground with concrete. Indeed, the city can be understood as construction itself. Never-Ending Construction The world is full of construction officials, who, if they cannot plan some kind of project, are capable of nothing but yawning; the proprietors of construction companies, who, in order to make money, cannot rest from their labors for a minute; the pitiful part-time farmers who pay back their loans by engaging in construction work; the proprietors of cement and gravel companies who will be in a pickle if they cannot get someone to use the tons of building materials they have made; the truckers and the dealers in construction machinery and fuel for them; the big shot politicians like Tanaka Kakuei whose life work is pork barrel; the idiotic voters who weep for joy over the services brought in by construction (that is, urbanization)... With an arrangement like this, it is almost assured that, even if the vast oceans dry up, there will always be construction going on in the world. At this rate, it will not be that far in the future before they are carrying out construction work among the peaks of the Himalayas. There are some who will say, "Come now, they wouldn't go so far as to do such unnecessary work in the Himalayas," but if this is so, then when all the construction work in the world has been completed and there is no more to be done, is it possible to think that the Ministry of Construction will disband itself, that the construction companies will go belly up, that the cement companies will close down, or that the part-time farmers will hang themselves? There is no doubt that when such a time comes they will carry out needless construction work like covering over the peaks of the Himalayas with concrete. There will be no end to construction work, and consequently the urbanization of the Earth's surface will continue until the ground disappears entirely. [2] Even now, in every place imaginable, they are building solid concrete walls in places where, they think, perhaps once in a thousand years there will be a landslide; they needlessly dig up bamboo groves which will most assuredly not be washed away, and stack up concrete blocks. There are instances in which by merest chance, such a place is visited by natural disaster, and they take the matter to court saying that it is the government's oversight. In actuality, however, the authorities, whom one would expect to be bitter over losing the case, are smiling contentedly. This is because the government has obtained proof of the need to pour astronomical sums of money into a totally needless construction project, the excuse being that one never knows when disaster will strike. Though the government and the construction companies openly plan and carry out needless construction projects everywhere so the contractors can profit, there is little fear that the citizens will ever take them to court over any of it. In addition, the government uses construction projects to stimulate the economy. Using construction bonds as a convenient cover, it spurts out wads of money (merely in order to make it circulate a little better), dig up our precious land, and cover it over with concrete. [3] Why must they go to such lengths to stimulate the economy? It is for no other reason than to facilitate the even greater activities of the secondary and tertiary industries, which results in the waste, contamination, and destruction of the city. Chapter I Notes 1 It is possible to modernize agriculture (a primary industry) as well, but this becomes possible only with the intervention of the secondary and tertiary industries. Agriculture is meant to be in accord with the cycle of Nature; it is supposed to be ceaseless repetition. 2 Indeed, this has already been realized in Japan, for the Ministry of Construction is building a gargantuan concrete embankment on Mt. Fuji, Japan's highest. (Translator's note) 3 In comparison with construction bonds, the money-losing savings bonds are still better. This is because the savings bonds are not used to directly destroy the land (though it will come around to that sooner or later). CHAPTER II The Evils of the City If we were to assume that the city brought no harm to either human beings or to the Earth, there would be no need for a discussion (or condemnation) of the spread of the cities as in the previous chapter. Yea, it would be verily the opposite: Just as most urbanites believe, the city is an ultimate good since it helps them achieve prosperity. We may even say, then, that urbanization must be aggressively promoted not only quantitatively (in terms of the city's boundless expansion), but also qualitatively (in the quest of ever greater modernization and technological advances). But sorry to say, such is just not the case. The city is, in actuality, the very root of the evils that threaten the future of humanity and the Earth. Though to the denizens of the city it is a good, since it allows them to pursue convenience, extravagance, and ease (that is, prosperity), that "good" is, minute by minute, turning into a future -- yea, a present -- evil, and we (the city dwellers first) will in time be exterminated by the city's poisons. So that the city can pursue convenience, extravagance, and ease, we must be visited by the accumulation of waste, destruction, and contamination, which will, needless to say, end in a dreadful catastrophe. The City's Endless Plunder The city itself is unproductive, and cannot supply its own needs. No matter how many trinkets and gimcracks the manufacturing and processing industries make, this cannot be called production; we must in fact regard this as the consumption of resources and energy. Since the city is therefore nonproductive and non-self sufficient it must either rob all needed supplies from some other place or lose the ability to keep itself alive and functioning. Urban residents will not be able to pursue extravagance and ease, let alone continue living. Because it robs everything from another place the city causes trouble for others, and trashes the Earth is the process. Let us now try listing the various evils inherent in the city's plundering ways. Evil One The first evil is deforestation. Cities were first built by chopping down the forests. No matter what city, unless it floats in the air or on the water, the place it occupies was most likely originally forest. Thus the city, in order to establish itself, cut the trees. And though it is the destroyer of trees, the city at the same time requires the oxygen produced by trees (for its overflowing people, its legions of automobiles, and its multitudes of factories). Counting on the oxygen from the trees of other areas, the city is barely able to maintain its life and functions. If that were all, we might be able to put up with it, but the high-handed, arrogant city, in order to increase its benefits and extravagance, continually plunders and destroys the forests in these other areas as well. If one goes to the port at Shimizu, one can see the shiploads of lumber and pulp robbed from the forests of developing nations. The countries thus plundered are now watching their clearcuts turn into wasteland and desert. Thus, by means of producing vast quantities of throwaway wrapping paper and packing boxes, and its idiotic newspapers, magazines, and leaflets, by becoming drunk on its own extravagance and convenience, the city is cutting its own throat; it is carrying on activities that contribute to the reduction of its all-important oxygen. What is more, after consuming these vast quantities of paper, the city disposes of them by burning, consuming yet more oxygen. The city should take a good look at what is happening. By plundering the forests of the southern hemisphere it is not only bringing about a crisis there. It is using up its own supply of trees as well -- the trees without which it cannot survive. Evil Two The second evil is the plunder of farmland. In the previous section I wrote that the city was built by destroying the forests, but land which was formerly forested is first and foremost that which can and should be used for farming. The cities are built almost solely on the level, most fertile land. And other urbanized areas, such as those along rail lines and roads, or the centers of villages -- though there are a few places which have been made by cutting into the mountains -- have been built on plundered farmland. The urbanization of farmland is accomplished by such high-handed legal stratagems as taxing the land as if it were residential property, or employing urban planning laws. The residents of the cities had best not forget that the very farmland they continue to urbanize is the source of their food. Evil Three The third evil is, as I mentioned in the previous chapter, the covering of the earth with concrete. In order to profit from plundered farmland, the city usually covers it with concrete, thereby making the land forever useless. All living things are borne and nourished by the Land. Rain is absorbed by the Land, becoming the source of well water and stream water, water that is released gradually in dry times by means of the Land's regulatory and retaining capabilities. The Land also purifies all contaminants (except for things like heavy metals and chemicals). The Land has, for millions of years, continued its work of reducing waste products, dead plants, and fallen leaves by means of bacterial action, and returning them to the soil. But by covering the Land with concrete we paralyze this function, and it dies. Dead land (concrete) will not grow plants or absorb water, or give it forth in dry times. And contaminants on concrete just stink without being purified; if we don't clean up the mess we cannot even live there. The functions of the earth -- giving life to the plants and animals, regulating the rainwater, purifying waste and returning it to the soil -- may be said to form the main artery of Nature's cyclical function. If the earth is blocked off, the flow of blood will halt, and the Earth will turn into a dead planet. And it is none other than concrete that is responsible for cutting off the flow of blood. The big city is a great mass of concrete, and it is here that the rape of the Land attains its highest perfection. Should the multitudes of buildings collapse, how would they dispose of the mountains of rubble? No matter where they put the rubble, it will cover the earth, and the bottom of the ocean should also be considered earth. Whether a factory, an office building, or a paved road, once it is built we have condemned some part of the Land to be covered with it. The more you block off the Land, the more the functions of nature are necessarily impaired, and we will pay for this sooner or later. The net of Heaven is coarse, but allows nothing to escape [4] -- is it possible that Nature will miss this or generously overlook it? Evil Four The fourth evil is the theft of the farm population. The cities have burgeoned by stealing the farm population. The expansion of the cities is in other words the growth of those employed by the secondary and tertiary industries, and the growth of the secondary and tertiary population represents the decline of the farming population. In order to feed a large non-tilling population with a small farming population, labor-saving, high-yield agriculture is an absolute necessity, and this leads to plundering, contaminating agriculture using machines that run on petroleum. As long as the increased secondary and tertiary population tries to enjoy a modern lifestyle (convenience, extravagance, and ease), it only stands to reason that the consumers (the non-tilling population) will have to put up with, and pay the price of, contaminated agricultural produce. Evil Five The fifth evil is squeezing food out of the farmers. Since the concrete cities are incapable of supplying themselves with food, the inhabitants must, in order to survive, squeeze everything they eat -- be it an apple, a tomato, or a grain of rice -- out of the farming villages. Long ago the cities expropriated agricultural produce through the feudal lords and landlords, and in more recent times they forced the farmers to give it up by means of the Food Control Act. Now, however, they take mountains of food by means of money. These are necessary, desperate measures taken to keep the cities alive. No matter what means they employ, the cities must forever (until they collapse into rubble) continue to extort food from the farmers. They can do nothing else, even if they have to send in the military and seize food from the farmers at gunpoint. What is more, as long as one has to rip it off, why not grab the best (even dogs and cats take the best first)? That is why the feudal lords and landlords issued orders for rice to be sent to them. "Millet will not do. Such is for farmers to eat." Thus they ruled. And now the city dwellers say, "Let us pay a lot of money for sasanishiki and koshihikari." [5] How is this different from the arrogance of the feudal lords and landlords? In this way the best of the agricultural produce continues to flow into the cities, while in the country we continue to satisfy ourselves with the leftovers. It ought to be the other way around. Evil Six The sixth evil is the destruction of the seashore and the prodigal consumption of marine products. Once upon a time Tokyo Bay was a famous fishing ground for shorefish, but now the shore of the bay is concrete and great quantities of sewage pour into the water, destroying the fishing. In order to make things better for themselves, the cities have destroyed the natural seashores (it is not just Tokyo Bay -- the better half of Japan's seashores are concrete) and sacrificed the lives of the fishermen living there. The shore has always been the greatest mechanism for the sea's ability to purify itself. [6] Great numbers of marine organisms live near the shores, so that as long as we do not cover them with concrete and fill the littoral areas with garbage, there is no need to go far out to sea to fish, thereby being a nuisance to other countries. Japan's deep sea fishing industry, for example, has taken too many shrimp near Indonesia, and in order to get 8,000 tons of shrimp, once discarded 70,000 tons of fish (according to an Asahi Shimbun feature entitled "Food"). Extravagant city dwellers will pay high prices for shrimp, but they will not pay much for other marine foods, and since the fishermen cannot make money by offering ordinary fish, all the dead ones are thrown back into the sea after sorting. Such fish are a precious source of protein for the people of Indonesia. Thus the egomaniacal cities waste 70,000 tons of fish so that they can gorge themselves on shrimp (I will answer later to the charge that people in the country eat shrimp, too). And what is more, they so recklessly take shrimp that the shrimp are now in danger of running out. Just as with the forests, Indonesia's fish crisis is intimately connected with our cities' appetite. Evil Seven The seventh evil is the copious consumption of resources and energy. The functions of the cities are supported by vast quantities of energy and underground resources. Almost all these resources are used to maintain the extravagance and convenience of the cities (like elevators, automatic doors, neon signs, transportation systems, heating, and air conditioning), and to make idiotic trinkets and gewgaws (like cars, cameras, televisions, and robots). The cities (industries) are built on the assumption that petroleum and metals will be supplied forever, and in unlimited quantities. However, it should be manifest even to a little child that such things are limited, and what remains dwindles day by day. The incredible fight over, and waste of, resources is an indication, along with the pursuit of profit inherent in a money economy, of the competitive ideology of the city mind. Modern urban civilization -- that is, the extravagance and prosperity of the cities -- is a fruitless blossom fed by this waste of energy and underground resources. Evil Eight The eighth evil is the excessive consumption of oxygen and water. The consumption of oxygen is just as I noted in the section on forests (Evil One). Were it not for oxygen, even the convenient energy provided by petroleum would not be available. Oxygen is the most important thing in maintaining the functions of the cities, and they consume it with wild abandon. Oxygen decreases minute by minute, so that in time we too might not have enough to breathe (it is said that in one minute a jet consumes as much oxygen as a human being consumes in a year). The cities also think nothing of wasting water for convenience and money-making, for their flush toilets and their factories. The cities take water from others by force, and then dump their wastes everywhere. Evil Nine The ninth evil is the way the city forces sacrifices on others so it can obtain electricity and water. The egotism of the city is more than apparent in its method of obtaining electricity and water. We all remember when Tokyoites insisted that, in order that they could live a convenient, pleasant life, it was only natural that the village of Okawachi sink beneath the waters of a dam reservoir. In this way the farmers of the village were turned out of the place that had been their home for generations, while the citizens of Tokyo, in their pursuit of convenience, extravagance, and ease (not to mention money-making), never even looked back. And the tragedy of such obscure villages is just like that of the villages ruined by nuclear power. Why don't the cities build their nuclear reactors right in the middle of the cities? Why don't they build them in one of their seaside industrial zones? If city residents do not have enough water for their flush toilets or electricity for their automatic doors (though I would expect they too have hands with which to open doors), they should leave the cities. The Evils of Urban Wastes The preceding nine sections are an outline of the plundering, destructive acts that the cities must perpetrate in order to maintain themselves. Now, having consumed all of these plundered resources, the cities are left with wastes -- both industrial and human -- and they then proceed to dump them on others, all the while thinking it a perfectly natural thing to do. No matter that the cities have been so devilishly clever in devising a civilization built on all manner of amazing apparatuses -- the law of conservation of matter guarantees that they cannot do away with their garbage by sleight of hand. Let us now list and examine the various evils of the cities as represented by their wastes. 1. Carbon Dioxide The first of the wastes is the excessive release of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere. The result of robbing great amounts of oxygen and consuming it is the production of similarly great amounts of carbon dioxide. Trees would be expected to consume this carbon dioxide and deliver oxygen to us, but since the cities are also destroying the trees, this conversion process cannot keep up; if there were no cities in the world, we could expect the consumption and production of oxygen to be in balance. Thus the amount of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere steadily increases, and it is said that by the years 2025-2050, there will by twice as much in the atmosphere as there was before industrialization. Because of the greenhouse effect the temperature at the surface of the Earth will rise two or three degrees, the glaciers will melt, and the surface of the oceans will rise five meters above their present levels. Most of the big cities of the world will then be flooded. They shall reap as the have sown. 2. Atmospheric Pollution by Exhaust The second is the production of particulate matter and exhaust gases. Prodigious amounts of poisonous gases and particulate matter pour from the smokestacks of the cities' innumerable factories, from the throngs of automobiles crowding their streets, and from the swarms of jets in the skies (and even a little from all the cigarettes; I will answer later to the charge that we have cigarettes and cars in the country, too). Not only does all this pollute the atmosphere, it is also said that the particulate matter blocks the light of the sun, thus causing a drop in the temperature on the Earth. There is no reason to believe that this will be balanced off satisfactorily by the greenhouse effect. The increase in carbon dioxide, poisonous gases, and particulate matter in the atmosphere threatens the lives of all living things on our Earth. 3. Depletion of the Ozone Layer The third is the depletion of the stratospheric ozone layer. Those ever-so-convenient city inventions the jet plane and the aerosol spray, and the nitrogen fertilizer that the city invented to dominate the farming villages, are the instruments by which the city is destroying the ozone layer. The effects of the exhaust gases and nitrogen oxides released in the stratosphere by jet planes will, in the final estimation, reduce the ozone by 6.5 percent. And it is thought that the CFCs used in aerosol sprays, which rise to high altitudes upon their release, will, even if their use continues at the 1974 rate, cause a 14 percent loss of the ozone over the next 50 years. The nitrogen suboxide released when the nitrogen fixed in chemical nitrogen fertilizers is denitrified will, it is estimated, cause a future 3.5 percent reduction of ozone. A 1 percent reduction in ozone translates to a 2 percent increase in ultraviolet radiation reaching the Earth's surface, and an increase in ultraviolet radiation is a threat to all living things on Earth; it is said that, if nothing is done about this -- if the ozone layer continues to be destroyed -- certain species will be faced with extinction. Since all species in their interactions work to maintain the ecosystem, the loss of even one could signify grave consequences for the ecosystem as a whole. As for human beings, should there be a 10 percent reduction in ozone, it is thought that cases of skin cancer could increase 20 to 30 percent. The cities steal nitrogen and oxygen from the atmosphere, they rob metals and petroleum from the earth, and their wonderful scientific achievement is to put us and the entire ecosystem in mortal danger by means of the production and use of their inventions. 4. Sewage Fourth is the dumping of sewage into the ocean. In order to maintain convenience, extravagance, and ease, the city must somehow dispose of the great amounts of water it converts into sewage, and that sewage always ends up in the ocean. The amount of sewage produced is about equal to the amount of water consumed. This sewage is treated and divided into water and sludge; the sludge is used for landfills, and the water goes to the sea via the sewage system. However, since this treatment is not perfect the water flowing into the ocean contains, depending upon the substance, 10-60 percent of what it originally contained. In addition, most cities have a sewage system in which rain water is collected along with the sewage, so that on a rainy day the treatment plants cannot handle the volume, and the result is that some of it goes to the sea just as it is. Thus the ocean has become a cesspool. Washing one's hands means that one must dirty some water. And doing the laundry means that one pollutes the ocean by cleaning one's clothes. Flush toilets are no different. As long as I can live under sanitary conditions, it doesn't matter if the ocean becomes polluted -- this is the egotism that the city is built upon. 5. Mountains of Garbage and Wastes The fifth is landfills of garbage and sludge. No matter what kind of garbage one has, it is quite impossible, even if one changes its form or appearance, to make it disappear. Unburnable solid trash goes without saying, but burnable trash is no different: even after burning, the gaseous part disperses in the atmosphere, and the ashes still remain. And there is no proof that these are harmless. Even if the city had the technology to make them harmless, these great amounts of waste (ashes) must still be put somewhere, and that will cause problems for someone. The cunning, arrogant city is able to maintain the pleasantness of its own environment by shoving its tons of garbage off on the country, or by dumping it in the ocean. But do we tolerate it when someone dumps his garbage in his neighbor's house in order to keep his own clean? The beautiful cities and spic-and-span factories which receive awards from the Environment Agency are showing us that they are shoving more garbage off on others than are other cities and factories. Of all the kinds of trash brought out of the cities the most voluminous is demolition wastes. It is said that this makes up one-third of the waste from the big cities. Whenever they begin some new enterprise, they remove the old buildings since they are now just in the way. And the place they discard this waste is (take for example Nagoya) farmland purchased for the purpose. Every bit of junk that the city produces in order to achieve even greater benefit and extravagance (even the wastes produced in one day could not be kept in the city) are taken to the country and forced off on us. If the people in the country bought some land in the city and began to haul things like straw, wood chips, and rocks to the city and dumped them there, would the city stand by silently and allow this? Second to demolition wastes, the wastes of greatest volume are those created by the manufacturing and processing industries. Next come domestic wastes, and then those produced by the services (included are of course such poisonous substances as mercury, PCBs, and ABS). These wastes are disposed of, along with the sludge from sewage treatment plants, on land or in landfills near the ocean. [7] 6. The Flood of Merchandise The sixth is the flood of products (merchandise). I have already written about how, in its activities of manufacturing and processing, the city robs and wastes resources; how it spreads pollution everywhere; how it shoves its garbage off on others. But these are not the only evils inherent in the city's industries. The city produces vast quantities of products (merchandise), piles them high everywhere, and threatens the very future of human society with this flood. [8] Look at the packs of automobiles crowding the roads. Look at the great quantities of agricultural chemicals in use. Look at the mountains of medicine and food additives being shoved down our throats. It is the same for the worthless cigarettes produced in mountainous quantities; for the oceans of alcohol meant to help city people forget that there is no longer any meaning in their lives; for the heaps of records and tapes, which, like sonic narcotics, produce noise and dementia; for the weekly magazines and comic books that overflow with idiotic stories and pictures -- one could go on without limit. It would not be an overstatement to say that all merchandise produced by the city is the same. And just as I mentioned before with jet planes and aerosols, they produce pollution not only when they are used, but, as outlined in section five, become pollution themselves after use, thus causing the utmost trouble for people in other places. No matter what product, it cannot stand up to use indefinitely; sooner or later it becomes trash and the city must dispose of it somehow (these days we see many products that were made purposely to last only a short time). [9] Everywhere we look we see discarded junk like televisions, washing machines, and automobiles (strangely enough, these were supposed to be the very symbols of prosperity) -- does it not make one feel the desolation foretelling the end of an age? When a tiger dies it leaves its hide, but when city merchandise dies, it leaves more evil. [10] Will human beings in the end be crushed under the load of their merchandise and trash? [11] 7. Excessive Services Forced onto Us The seventh is how the city forces excessive services off on us. Take, for example, public employees. It is said that the number of public employees increases at a fixed rate. Even that illustrious, tyrannical dictator Hitler met with defeat when, in an effort to streamline the government, he ran up against the firm resistance of the bureaucrats, so there is no reason to believe that today's pusillanimous cabinet members or boneheaded Government Reorganization Committee members would be able to change anything no matter how many handstands they perform. The overpaid bureaucrats, in order to increase their staff and expand their territory, are continually planning new "services" and getting their politico friends to appropriate money for them. It is the citizens who have to put up with these nuisances. Fill out this form, cooperate in this survey -- there is no end to their worthless, time-consuming services. Private service enterprises are no different in that they hard-sell services. These days we see the emergence of strange, previously unheard-of services, and there are numerous instances of their swindling the innocent public for all they can get. There is no saying where all this will stop. According to 1982 employment survey results published by the Gifu Prefectural Statistics Section, a mere 0.9 percent of all youths 15 to 24 years of age are employed in primary industries (this figure has shown a steady yearly decline). This means that the other 99.1 percent are making a living in the spiffy secondary and tertiary industries. Let us take careful note of the fact that the present urbanizing social structure allows only 0.9 percent of the young to feed the other 99.1 percent prodigal sons. 8. The City as Warmonger The eighth is that the city is a warmonger. Both guns and ammunition are made by the city. And nuclear weapons go without saying. Needless to say, those who directly manufacture and sell weapons for killing people are the merchants of death, but a careful look reveals that the cities are chock full of merchants of death. If I may be allowed an extreme statement, I would say that it is not an overstatement to say that those who engage in the secondary and tertiary industries are all merchants of death. For example, those who manufacture and sell such harmful things as food additives, agricultural chemicals, cigarettes, automobiles, and jet planes, and make money at it, are all merchants of death. But this hardly bears mentioning. "But surely...not me!" However, even the sacred profession of teacher, those relieved because they believe they are innocent, are just as guilty as the merchants of death as long as they engage in any kind of education, for all education teaches "progress," "development," "improvement," and "prosperity," i.e., destruction and contamination. And physicians, practitioners of the benevolent art of medicine, work in tandem with the drug companies, dribbling, injecting, inserting, and popping huge quantities of drugs into their patients, bringing about iatrogenic diseases; they are but epigones of the merchants of death. And the entertainers, professional athletes, men of letters, painters, composers, critics, and even the archeologists and anthropologists, who appear to be able to excuse themselves by saying that their work at least does no harm -- these leisureologists all plan ways to continue their idle and gluttonous [12] ways without dirtying their own hands; sitting back in their armchairs they force the small number of farmers to carry on labor-saving, high-yield agriculture, and contribute to poisoning by agricultural chemicals, frequent occurrences of greenhouse diseases, and the production of great quantities of contaminated agricultural produce. As long as this state of affairs continues, they can never remove themselves from the ranks of the merchants of death. Having thus listed some professions, I wonder if there is even one person living in the cities who can prove that he or she is an exception? Even if it is possible to demonstrate this, there is still no possible way to deny the fact that urban dwellers are living in the city for convenience, extravagance, and ease, and that they are accomplices to the city's plundering and destructive acts. While it was obvious that the producer of murderous weapons is the city, let us in addition take note of the fact that the city is also the starter of wars. As I wrote in the beginning of this chapter, the city itself is non-self-supporting and non-productive, so that if it does not commandeer its supplies from some other place (and since the city cannot clean itself, if it does not shove its garbage off on someone else), it cannot maintain its functions or continue its activities. Competition among cities then naturally arises, and if a dispute cannot be resolved by money or discussion, they resort to a settlement by means of armed force. There is no telling how many wars of this kind have been fought in human history. In the country (which will be defined in Chapter III) it is possible to keep oneself alive by self-sufficient practices and the blessings of Nature, so there is at least no reason why one must resort to war. You, in the cities! If you still insist on getting rid of nuclear weapons, then you must first dismantle the city, which is both the hotbed and ringleader of war. If you do not do so, you will be destroyed by the nuclear weapons that the city itself has produced. [13] NOTES 4 Lao Zi, chapter 73: "Heaven's net is great in size; though its mesh is coarse, nothing gets through." Usually interpreted to mean that Nature never lets evil go unpunished. (Translator's note) 5 The finest, and most expensive, varieties of rice. (Translator's note) 6 If river water flows through 100 meters of rocks, sand, and plants, impurities will be removed, but even if it flows through a thousand-meter length of concrete channel, it will not be purified. 7 In an interview (Asahi Shimbun, July 24, 1985 evening edition) with one of the promoters of the "Phoenix Project," a land fill planned for the disposal of Osaka-area wastes, the interviewed person recognized the fact that "if we burn 100 tons of garbage, 15 tons of ashes remain." The project, which will destroy what little remains of Osaka Bay's natural seashore, was ironically named after the phoenix since, its promoters claim, though the ocean will be filled in, the area will be reborn as new land for Japan. Though the total planned volume of the landfill is a staggering 45 million cubic meters, it will serve the needs of the area for a mere six years. (Translator's note) 8 Though the cities are already overflowing with manufactured goods, why is it that the cities madly pursue increased production? This is, as I mentioned before, due to the magical power of money. In order to make more money -- that is, in the pursuit of profit -- people are manipulated by the magical strings of money, and thus increase production. No matter what the original purpose of money, it has always been used as a weapon to seize food. At present, however, it is used not only to bring food to the cities, but is also the life blood of all industrial activities. Thus its role is to carry on by force the destruction and contamination of the natural environment, the robbery and waste of resources, the overproduction of goods, and dumping of wastes on others ("As long as we pay money, no one will gripe even if we make a mess of things."). I could have established a separate section for the harm caused by money, but will let this note serve for now. 9 The average lifetime of a one-family home in Japan is now said to be 20-25 years. (Translator's note) 10 A play on the proverb "When a tiger dies it leaves its hide, but when a man dies he leaves his name." (Translator's note) 11 I am not especially trying to ignore the "good" of the city's products, but allow me to remind the reader that there is no denying the harm rendered to people by cigarettes, food additives, and cars. 12 "Idle and gluttonous" (fukou donshoku) is a term from the Japanese feudal-age thinker Ando Shoeki, whom Nakashima will introduce later. I have borrowed the translation from E. H. Norman. (Translator's note) 13 On a special program, "Earth in Flames," aired by NHK on August 5, 1984, they told of the effects of a nuclear attack on Tokyo (a single one-megaton bomb exploded over Tokyo Tower). The many high-rise buildings, the Shinkansen trains, jet planes, and cars on the expressways would all be set afire and blown away in an instant; furthermore, computer operators, people enjoying themselves downtown, housewives shopping in the marketplaces, and children playing on the school playgrounds would similarly be blown away in an instant, their flesh half melted; in this way the six million people within a 15 km radius of the explosion would all die instantly. This is bad, but I must take issue with the view that all these Tokyoites are just innocent, pitiful victims. There is absolutely no difference in this case between the attacked and the attacker, because both are destructive, rapacious, haughty, arrogant, tyrannical cities. The civilization of the city, which produced the high-rise buildings, the Shinkansen, the jet planes, the computers, and the supermarkets likewise produced nuclear weapons. Therefore, if we are to get rid of nuclear weapons, we must also get rid of the cities. Nuclear weapons are like the bull's horns -- we cannot just cut off the horns and then believe it is all right to let the bull go on living. You in the cities! Open your eyes! Your belief that if we just get rid of nuclear weapons then we are assured everlasting peace and prosperity is nothing more than a delusion. In order to maintain this peace and prosperity how much evil (destruction, contamination, waste) must the city perpetrate? What great catastrophes must the city bring down upon humanity and the Earth? There is little difference between dying by nuclear weapons and dying by contamination and destruction. If the city is destroyed (of course it will take the rest of us down with itself) by its own nuclear weapons, then it will have reaped as it has sown. Special Chapter The City and Food -- The Excess, Insufficiency, and Importation of Rice -- Whether or not to import rice is COMPLETELY the problem of the city. Can there truly be a reason why the farmers must be up in arms over this issue? It is absurd that this problem of rice excesses and shortages should be fussed over as if it controlled the fate of the farmers! [14] The Farmers Have No "Food Problem" Originally farmers were people who grew their own food and survived on that, and if because of frosts they lost half their rice crops, they would get along on the half they were able to harvest. The cities (consumers), however, receive the full impact of that lost half of the rice crop, so this must therefore be considered a big problem which completely controls the fate of the city. If on the other hand there is a bountiful harvest of rice the farmers have cause for celebration, and have no reason to consider this a burden. Even if they have far too much rice for themselves they can give it to their domestic animals, and if they still have some left over (or if they have no animals) they can return it to the earth. It is also of no concern to the farmers whether the city decides to import rice or not (there is no reason why farmers must eat imported rice even though they still have some stored), so this is therefore purely the consumers' problem. Thus it comes down to being simply a matter of the city securing its staple food from its own country or another country, and making the wrong choice could mean running out of food. If the city relies upon another country for its staple food, and this supply is for some reason interrupted, then logic dictates it is the people in the cities, and not the farmers, who will be in a pickle. Don't tell me that this is my egotism. What I want to make plain here is that the city (the system) is taking a problem that completely controls its own destiny, and making it look as though it controls the destiny of the farmers, thereby trying to solve the entire food problem by sacrificing the farmers. This is nothing other than another one of the city's deceptive stratagems. Nothing exhibits the stupidity of the farmers to the world more than their being taken in by this trick, and then going down to the ports to demonstrate against the importation of rice. [15] The insufficiency and importation of rice is the perfect chance to eliminate (or at least shrink) the cities. Farmers! If there is a shortage of rice, we should reduce, not increase, production. Help promote the rice shortage! Don't oppose rice imports! Until the authorities take action, voluntarily reduce your rice acreage! Produce only enough for yourself and your animals! If you prepare yourself for an austere life, then it is the cities, and not the farmers, who will find themselves in a bind. If the trees do not produce many nuts, then the number of squirrels will decrease. It is a self-evident truth that, if supplies of the staple food fall, the number of cities will be reduced correspondingly. When farmers have been deceived by the cities, believe the food problem is their own, say that we must at all costs stop the importation of rice, and demand that government rice stocks be opened -- when even the farmers begin to talk this way -- we can only say that their delusions and stupidity have attained the zenith. Are they trying to bring about again that terrible past of plunder when our ancestors, in years of famine, had even their own stocks of rice taken from them as tax, and starved to death in shame? We must not be fooled by their demands to break out the stored rice. Even if you have to throw it in the gutter, don't give it to the city. This will be the best means of bringing about the shrinkage of the cities. Let the cities import food if they like. When in their dangerous tightrope act they run up against some unforeseen circumstance, it will be of NO concern to the farmers. Why Feed the Hand that Pollutes? "The farmers have a duty to provide the citizens (actually the cities) with food." This is the noble-sounding great cause that the city always brandishes, and the farmers believe it without question. This faith of the farmers is proof of what I meant previously when I said that the city (that is, the secondary and tertiary industries) changes a problem that completely controls its own destiny into one which controls that of the farmers, and through this deft trickery attempts to solve its food problem by sacrificing the farmers. And since this is blind faith, the farmers do not realize at all that this is a trick; the city coolly gives the farmers the responsibility for the food problem, and the farmers themselves take on this responsibility wholeheartedly. The city, in other words, has made the farmers believe blindly that supplying the cities with food is their duty. A duty to feed the citizens (cities)? There is no such thing! I may be repeating myself, but this "duty" is nothing more than an artifice invented by the city -- which cannot live even a day without robbing food from the farmers -- to take that food; such an unwritten law has not, of course, always existed as a law of Nature. Did not Nature decree that we either gather or produce our own food? We must not be deceived. Though you farmers believe from the bottom of your hearts that "agriculture is a sacred profession," that is but a belief brought about as a result of your having fallen prey to the city's plundering stratagems, and is no different from before when, controlled by the slogan "Japan is the nation of the gods," young men from the farms gave their lives for the state. Farmers! When you believe that "farming is the sacred profession," [16] when you fall for the idea that "the farmers have a duty to supply food to the citizens," when, with sweat on your brow and mud on your hands, you are put on the run by your machines in order to answer to the demand for great quantities of food, you are preserving and promoting the "evils of the city" that I outlined in Chapter II. That which you nourish by working your fingers to the bone is none other than the source of all pollution, the root of all evil, that is, the city dwellers, the prodigal sons. In view of this situation, the "sacred profession" in which you believe is actually an evil that nourishes evil. We must immediately root it out. If we do not eradicate this evil, there will soon be no hope for us. There is absolutely no reason why you must expose yourself to dangerous agricultural chemicals, suffer under onerous debts, and work yourself into the ground in order to feed the likes of those who make cigarettes, food additives, cars, and jet planes, thus spreading pollution all over the place; those who make guns, bullets, nuclear weapons, and preparations for murder; the people who force needless governmental services onto us; or people like singers, dancers, and athletes who make their living by exciting others. I will say it once again: Don't answer their demands for great supplies of food! A shortage of the staple food, rice, is an excellent opportunity for us. If the city people do not have enough to eat they will realize their error, and this will engender the shrinkage of the cities, which will in turn bring about the amelioration of the city's evils. This is what Ando Shoeki meant when he said, "The idle and gluttonous should simply be punished by death." The Alternatives Pressing Humankind Let us note that allowing land to lay idle is, as a matter of fact, the best possible way to make the switch to organic farming. It is said that making a sudden switch to organic farming is difficult for our arable land, which has been ruined by agricultural chemicals and chemical fertilizers, but if one lets the land lay idle and avails oneself of the following method, the land will come back to life in only one year, and one will be able to raise good rice with absolutely no agricultural chemicals or chemical fertilizers. On idle paddies just dump great quantities of such things as straw, grass, chicken manure, garbage from your kitchen, and dregs and lees from starch and tofu, if you can get them free. After you have done this, the weeds will grow luxuriously. Cut them and then either let them lie as they are, or (if you have animals) feed them to your animals and return the weeds to the soil in the form of manure. If you continue this for one season you will find that the next year, even if you begin with no fertilizer at all, mature seedlings planted a little late and wider apart than usual will grow beautifully and strong, and you will get big ears of rice even without adding any fertilizer during the season. Truly great is the recovery power of Nature. By letting some land lay idle you can get two birds with one stone: begin the shrinkage of the cities, and manage the switch to organic agriculture. Remember, the object here is not to produce great quantities of rice, but to produce healthy rice without the use of chemicals; if the farmers eat just a little good-quality rice, that is all that matters. Now at this time a food panic will arise, and it is inevitable that the cities will ransack the farming villages in their search for rice. But if we do not get rid of the pus, the sore will not heal. In the attempt to deal a blow to the powerful cities, we must prepare ourselves for a little bloodletting. It may be expecting too much to achieve our goal without payment of any kind. Whether in the country or in the cities, we are faced with two clear alternatives, represented by the following two attitudes: "As long as I can gain happiness (extravagance and prosperity) now, it's all right if humanity perishes in the future," and "Even if we experience more unhappiness (austerity and a smaller scale lifestyle) than at present, humanity will survive." These are the alternatives, and we must choose one of them. I think that, even if there is a little bloodletting, and even if the cities retreat and life becomes much more inconvenient and difficult than it is now, we should let the human race continue to exist on this Earth. Fortunately, a full belly (extravagance) engenders laziness, but an empty belly (austerity) engenders hope. As long as, ensconced in the midst of plenty, we continue our extravagant lives, we will never have the opportunity to experience real happiness. Supplementary Comment on "Rice Shortages" It is said that the rice shortage (a shortage of a magnitude that brought about the need to import rice) is the result of four continuous years of bad weather, but a bigger cause is man-made -- the meddling of the city. The first of the city's mistakes is its infamous policy of reducing rice acreage. To say that "since there's too much rice you must till fewer paddies" is nothing more than a kindergartner's idea for a solution. Is this the best idea that the elite bureaucrats in the Ministry of Agriculture could come up with? And when we see that the politicians representing the farming villages just let this pass, it is obvious that they are not much smarter. Long ago, in China, they say that even with nine years' worth of rice stored they still had shortages. So what is all the excitement over a three or four months' excess? You, in the cities! This is the rice you're eating. Offer all those office buildings as rice storage facilities. We should fill those buildings up with unhulled rice. Should there ever be a food shortage, all those office buildings and hotels will be worthless compared to rice. When the Pol Pot regime instituted the barter system, the capitol of Phnom Penh was instantly converted into an empty shell. This is because the former residents left the hotels and offices behind and went from farming village to farming village in search of food. If we were to set a nine years' supply of rice as our goal there would be no shortages because of frost damage, and no need to import rice; at the same time there would be no need for an acreage reduction policy. In such a situation there should be no need to discuss costs. Since this is the rice that they would all be eating, they should do the work for free. When it comes down to actually carrying out this plan, the money economy will probably fall apart, anyway. [17] The second of the human-caused disasters is the infrastructure industry. In order to build infrastructure, the government blows trillions of yen destroying the paddies tilled by generations of ancestors, and for that reason we are seeing a reduction in the rice harvests (let us not overlook the effects of the dense planting by machines, the damage due to causing the rice to grow too thickly, and the ill effects of the great quantities of chemicals). The government says that the farmers benefit from infrastructure, but we are actually the victims of it. In reality those who benefit are the government; the farming co-ops; the manufacturers of machines, fertilizers, and agricultural chemicals; the rice wholesalers; and the consumers, all of whom belong to the cities. What this means is that the city has created a system by which it can control the production of our staple food as it pleases. The stupid farmers have given the city permanent control over the production of rice for a mere pittance in subsidies. Our traditional method of producing rice, which boasts a history of several thousand years, has also been negated by the city (government, farming co-ops, machinery manufacturers), and the city has been able to achieve a system of rice production that suits its own purpose, that is, a system which makes full use of large machinery and agricultural chemicals, and which saddles the farmers with debts. That this new system of rice production (involving the planting of immature seedlings, dense planting, and early planting) is susceptible to frost damage, is the price the city must naturally pay. The third is the desire of the Epicurean city dwellers to eat the famous varieties of particularly tasty rice. It is for this reason that the farmers plant more and more "sasanishiki" and "koshihikari," strains that are particularly susceptible to frost, blight, and wind damage. On the other hand, strains that are resistant to cold and disease, since they do not taste as good, have all but disappeared from the paddies. This is why I say that frost damage is human-caused. The fourth is the decline in the will of the farmers to produce. It would seem to be a mistake to ascribe the loss of the farmers' enthusiasm to the city, but sad to say, it is completely the fault of the city. It is because the city has meddled with the production of food that the farmers have lost their will to produce. Who was it that promoted the eating of bread (that considered eating rice bad) and increased the imports of wheat? It was not the farmers of Japan. It was clearly the city -- the politicians and traders and nutritionists of the tertiary industries -- who made deals with the U.S. Department of Agriculture and grain traders. It was then that the farmers began to lose the will to produce. The creation of agribusiness in the early 1960s by means of the structural improvement of agriculture, in which the government was highly instrumental, resulted in debts for the farmers, the increase in the scale of agricultural operations, and the supply of great amounts of agricultural produce, which was accomplished by making the farmers busier than ever. The ability of the farmers to supply themselves with food -- their independence -- was completely lost at this time, and agriculture became highly dependent on the secondary and tertiary industries (chemical fertilizers, machinery, fuel, subsidies, etc.). This dependence is in other words the loss of autonomy; the farmers became prisoners and lackeys totally controlled by the politicos, the co-ops, the manufacturers, the trading companies, and the consumers, and their will to produce rice declined precipitously. And what did they do to the remaining small-scale farmers? They made a big deal of the difference in income between the secondary/tertiary industries and the farmers, and promoted the move to the cities. As the number of farmers shrank, the urban population burgeoned, and where the government was not successful in getting them off the farm, they at least managed to create many Sunday farmers and part-time farmers. So the farmers, who were busy making money in town, lost interest in rice production, and they performed field work hastily with machinery, and neglected to apply compost to their paddies. During the same period of time the raising of domestic animals became an industry independent of agriculture, this because Japanese agriculture was taken in by the stratagems of the big U.S. grain companies. Feeding great numbers of domestic animals with nothing but compound feed burdened the farmers with heavy debts, and this situation remains unchanged to the present day. [18] But an even greater problem is that the loss of domestic animals to the farmer has resulted in the loss of manure (compost) to be returned to the soil, and this has in turn resulted in the forced use of larged amounts of chemical fertilizers and agricultural chemicals, and the weakening of food plants because of damage to the soil. The fifth is the standardization of rice-growing techniques by means of standardized agricultural education. Just as I mentioned earlier, it is needless to say that much of this standardization is the result of the interference of the government and farming co-ops, which is part and parcel of their infrastructure. But the farmers themselves, who accepted this system, looked with disdain upon the traditional and appropriate farming methods of their ancestors who farmed the same land, prevented these methods from being passed on, went off to far away schools to learn standardized modern farming methods from a teacher that had never once held a hoe, and thus created an environment conducive to the acceptance of intrusion by the government and the co-ops (of course, most of the people who received this education became white collar workers, and so became those who also control agriculture and the farmers). In this way both Hokkaido and Kyushu now grow rice in the same way, and no longer have the diverse methods to deal with problems such as unusual weather, diseases, insects, and wind damage. Still, they may claim that the per-hectare yields of modern agriculture are increasing, but how far can we trust the statistics of the Ministry of Agriculture? It is my suspicion that true yields will not jibe with desktop statistics which take into consideration such things as Staple Food Control Act accounts, the rice acreage reduction policy, and incentives for importation. The above is a very general explanation, but we can see the "rice shortage" (or decrease in stores) does not find its only cause in unavoidable things like frost damage, but is due largely to the gratuitous meddling of the city. Postscript Without really planning it, I touched upon something I am going to cover in Chapter V, "Down with the Cities!", so I would like to mention here that by "Down with the cities!" I do not mean "Down with the people in the cities!" This I shall treat in detail in Chapter V. SPECIAL CHAPTER NOTES 14 This chapter was written at the time the Japanese government imported rice from South Korea. The government suddenly discovered that it had no reserves of rice except for very old stores, unacceptable because of the high level of bromine (caused by fumigants). (Translator's note) 15 Some groups of farmers went down to the ports during the unloading of the South Korean rice to protest. The January, 1985 issue of Gendai Nogyo ("Modern Agriculture") published a photo story about some young farmers in Miyagi Prefecture who protested the government's policies by producing all the rice they could. (Translator's note) 16 If harvesting rice is a sacred occupation, then a snake's capture of a frog is also a sacred occupation. There were originally no human occupations which could be considered sacred. 17 It was at a time when China carried on no trade with other countries that they said, "Though we have a nine years' store of rice, it is still insufficient" (of course, at that time other countries were also incapable of exporting). However, at present, when arable land all over the globe is eroding and being otherwise ruined, and the population is growing explosively, there is no doubt that food for human beings is heading for insufficiency. Though for Japan imports are still possible, it will become difficult to import in the future, and we will be in the same position as ancient China. When such a food crisis results, we must not allow the money economy to interfere with food storage. Also, since money serves as the lubricant by which all the city's evils arise, we must get rid of it sooner or later. 18 Debts are an excellent means of exploitation. In order to pay back their loans, the farmers must work themselves into the ground and offer large amounts of animal products. CHAPTER III The City and the Country In Chapter II we learned that as long as the cities continue to exist, urban pollution -- which is the product of the cities' activities -- is unavoidable. We also learned that urban pollution is at the same time the pollution of the Earth, and that, other than the cities, there can be no other destroyer and contaminator of the Earth. In only a brief, cursory inspection we saw that there are far more deadly, serious kinds of pollution than we can count on two hands, and that the city is the sole perpetrator of these pollution crimes, and the source of all the evils that threaten humanity and the Earth. The Entire Japanese Archipelago Has Been Urbanized However, the cunning and arrogant city has shifted the responsibility for the destruction of the Earth -- a responsibility that is clearly its own -- to others, insisting that the pollution is the product of the science civilization or that it is brought about by the industrial state. And it goes without saying that the country is included within that civilized state. In the country as well as in the city they drive cars, burn propane gas, use electricity, smoke cigarettes, waste paper, spread agricultural chemicals, and drain detergent into the rivers and lakes; as long as the country belongs to the civilized state, it cannot escape the fact that it is an accomplice. Thus saying, the city attempts to shift part of the blame for pollution onto the country. And what is more, the city also tries to justify its own pollution as an unavoidable phenomenon of a modern state. But sorry to say, this is not at all consistent with reality. The "country" that the city speaks of -- as if it had made some great and wonderful discovery -- is not the real country at all, but a fake, a red herring meant to keep us from seeing the truth. The real country is what is left after we have removed all urban influence. It is, in other words, that which can still exist after the cities have disappeared from the Earth. The country that the city speaks of is a fake country that is under the influence of the city. When country people (actually half-urbanized people) ride in cars, drive tractors, watch television, smoke cigarettes, eat processed foods, burn petroleum, use electric lights, and read the newspaper, they are living a life that would be impossible without the city; this is therefore what we should probably call an "urbanized country." If we go a little bit further we could say that such a place does not even deserve the name "country" for it is none other than the city itself. Let us take a look at a typical farm family. The son is a white collar worker, and so of course belongs to the city. The head of the household is a part-time farmer who farms on Sunday, and belongs to the city Monday through Saturday. Even on Sunday when he does his farm work, he belongs to the city if he benefits from petroleum and agricultural chemicals. If, after he comes home from the fields, he drinks beer and watches television, he belongs to the city. In this way we can see that, in the entire country of Japan there is not a single place that has not been urbanized, not a single place that deserves to be called "country." Yea, it is not going too far to say that the chilling breath of this devil the city can be felt now in the remotest corners of the villages, and that the country has been completely occupied by the city, or shall we say, the commercialism of the city. But this is reality, says the city. We must recognize reality as it is. We must respect reality. The Real, Invisible Country However, when we take a close look we see that though they chant Reality! Reality! we can at any time invert this reality, and having done so we can see that what has been inverted is just as much "reality" as that which came before. There is no mistaking the fact that the country before urbanization was reality, and that the country after urbanization has become the kind of reality we now have. It is therefore assured that after inverting the present reality (that is, after eradicating the cities and doing away with their influence) the real country that remains will immediately become reality. And so, rather than saying "The reality is that the country no longer exists," it is more accurate to say "If we remove the presently existing 'urbanized country,' that which remains is in reality the country itself." I will say it once more: The real country is what remains after we get rid of the cities. If propane gas stops arriving from the city, then we will burn firewood; if matches to light our firewood stop coming from the city, then we will warm ourselves by burrowing under piles of straw, and eat uncooked brown rice and raw potatoes instead of cooked food; if the city stops sending shrimp taken from far out at sea, we will give up eating shrimp and catch and eat locusts and digger wasps; if salt no longer comes from the city we will consider it an unexpected blessing since it is only human beings who ruin their health by eating too much salt (we never hear of wild animals ingesting too much salt and damaging their health); if shoes stop coming from the city we will make sandals out of straw; if aluminum sashes and bricks stop coming from the city we can build sunken huts with logs and straw; if there is no electricity we will go to bed at sundown and rise with the sun to work in the fields. This is the country. This real country at present no longer exists (except in certain "uncivilized" places in the world), but if we get rid of the cities everyone will find themselves plunged immediately into this kind of country life, and that will instantly become "reality." And is there in this real country any place where pollution can be produced? The Fate of the Wealth- and Prosperity-Seeking Cities The city and the country -- this is none other than the contrast between extravagance (wealth) and austerity (indigence). China, which aims to modernize itself, has begun saying that "Being wealthy is the Right Way" (essay in the People's Daily), and has found it necessary to discard the immortal virtue, alive in China since long ago, that "Wealth is evil, indigence is honorable." That such a thing has come to pass is proof that China could not overcome the lure of extravagance. The present urbanization of the developing countries (including that behemoth, China) is proceeding relentlessly as they seek "wealth," "modernization," and "extravagance." In the near future, it is said, Mexico city will become a city of 20 million, outstripping New York (UN population survey). When in this way the developing countries achieve the same level of modernization as the developed countries, it will be time for humanity to pay the fiddler. If, for example, 90 percent of China's one billion people, in their quest for ease and gluttony (i.e., modernization, wealth, and prosperity), come to live in the cities, they will demand an incredible amount of resources, and create an equally incredible amount of poisons. The reason the developed nations achieved modernization is that they were able to rob the developing nations of all manner of materials, and discard the leftover garbage in every place imaginable. If urbanization spreads to every corner of the globe there will no longer be anyone to rip off, and no place to stash the trash. Needless to say, the developed countries will not stand for "the slide back into poverty," nor the developing nations for "eternal poverty." So of course we find everyone insisting that they won't listen to anything like "Let's now wear straw sandals instead of shoes," or "Let's continue to wear straw sandals." They all believe that indigence (austerity) is an evil, but it is nothing compared with the much greater evil that we shall perish from the Earth. Listen! Steamed dumplings will of course fill your empty stomach, and you therefore consider them beneficial. However, should you eat too many you'll get sick, and those dumplings that you considered "beneficial" will suddenly become "harmful." Changing the planet into fields and gardens may be all right, but changing it into cities is not. This is because the city depends upon urbanized land for it survival (oxygen and food), and cannot continue to exist even one day without it. But the country, even if it does not depend upon the city, can always continue to live as long as it depends upon nature (self-sufficiency and austerity). In spite of this, the country suffers losses day by day, and the cities continue to expand. [19] Has humanity finally been marked for ruin? Supplementary Remarks on the Distinction Between the City and the Country If there is no money the city cannot survive, but even if there is no money, the country will continue to exist. Unless Nature itself disappears, the country will not disappear. It is money that supports the city (allows the city to control and exploit the country); money maintains the functions of the city, and allows it to continue its activities. If the use of money were to be outlawed the city would immediately find itself unable to maintain its functions, and its activities would cease. This is not an empty argument, for in Cambodia the Pol Pot regime demonstrated that it can be done. The use of money was prohibited, and the people were forced to conduct business by barter. Immediately the city people went from farming village to farming village in search of food, and in no time at all the capital city of Phnom Penh was reduced to an empty shell. This was a great experiment in which we saw that , without dropping even one bomb, and by merely banishing currency, it is possible to eliminate the cities in a single stroke. [20] Money is used in the country because of the influence of the city (the damaging influence of urban commercialism). Even if we have no money, things will be peaceful. But perhaps it would be better to express it this way: If we have no money things will be far more peaceful than if we do. Money is making a mess of the country, and it allows the city to rob the country of its food. Long ago our ancestors lived outside the bounds of the money economy, and so as long as they had salt, there was no need to buy anything. [21] "Farmer" means a person who does a hundred different kinds of work, [22] and originally the farmers did everything for themselves, supplying their own food, clothing, and shelter. They wove cloth, and they made sandals. They dug wells, and they thatched roofs. They made ropes, and they gathered firewood. Not only that, almost all the materials they used were recyclable products of the fields and forests (I will later discuss the necessity for the tools -- hatchets, sickles, and saws -- they used to cut and assemble these materials). "As long as they have salt..." I wrote, but even if they do not have salt the farmers can somehow get along. Wild animals such as squirrels, raccoons, and monkeys do not ingest so much salt, but they maintain themselves in perfect health. It is only human beings who eat too much, thereby suffering from hardening of the arteries and high blood pressure. There is plenty of salt contained in natural foods; Nature, I expect, made human beings the same way it made squirrels and monkeys. * * * Since the city depends mainly for its existence upon nonrenewable underground resources, its functions will of course be paralyzed, and its activities will come to a halt, when the resources run out. The cities, therefore, will perish first with the discontinuance of the money economy, and second with shortage of natural resources. The country can always get along without such underground resources, just as wild animals and primitive societies do. Next (and this is directly related to my remarks on money), the cities will disappear with a cutoff in the supply of food. The reason the cities will perish if there is no money is because, first and foremost, it is money that the city uses to plunder the country for food. As I have said time and again, the city itself is nonproductive, and cannot supply its own food. It cannot continue to survive without robbing (this includes imports) every last grain of rice from the country. A cutoff in the food supply is the best means of triggering the fall of the cities. It is the city which, for its own benefit, and for progress and development, continues to control and destroy the natural environment, and it is the country that lives by being in accord with the flow of Nature. This is the decisive difference between the city and the country, and the all-important fork in the road where we separate that which perishes from that which will endure. The flow of Nature is a cycle. The four seasons come and go, night and day are repeated (the Earth repeats the rotation on its axis, and its revolution around the sun). Rain falls, the water soaks into the earth, and becomes a spring. Spring water flows into mountain streams, then makes its way to rivers, and then into the ocean, where it evaporates. Rising into the sky it forms clouds, and falls once again on the Land, starting the cycle anew. Parents give birth to children, children to grandchildren; from seed to seed the relay of Life continues. And the remains of all things that have died are converted into humus by the Land (its self-purifying mechanism), where they again become the source of nourishment for life (soil). Plants grow, animals then consume the plants, and the cycle starts all over again. There is no end to this repetition. We may say that this cycle is eternity itself. [23] It is therefore not a mistake to say, "Nature is a cycle, and that cycle is eternity." The Cycle Is the True Substance of the Country and Agriculture Furthermore, in this cycle, i.e., repetition, there is no "progress." From time immemorial the Earth has continued its rotation and revolution. In the center of the solar system the sun has continued to blaze. For tens of millions, hundreds of millions of years, there has been not the slightest development or improvement. In Nature there is no "progress." The biological idea of evolution is adaptation to the environment, and is different from progress. For example, the functioning of human brains and hands has advanced, whereas the sensitivity of our ears, eyes, and noses has regressed. These changes are the results of the adaptation of intelligence and nerves to the environment, i.e., external stimuli. For the same reason, the necks of giraffes and the ears of rabbits became long. If evolution is the same as progress, then can we also say that it was progress when the dinosaurs became too big? Well then, the country (agriculture) must be in accordance with the eternal cycle and progress-less repetition of Nature. Last year I planted seeds in the spring, watched them grow in the summer, and harvested my crops in the fall. This year I will do the same. And next year I will no doubt do it again. It only stands to reason that if the cycle of Nature never changes, a kind of agriculture that is closely joined to the cycle is also eternally unchanging (needless to say, I speak here of true country agriculture, not of modern agriculture). It is a simple and boring repetition, but this is what makes agriculture what it is. The essence and true characteristic of agriculture must be this simple, boring repetition. In the modern city, which holds industry supreme, there is no such repetition. Yea, it is the very essence of the city that it cannot have repetition. Even if, after the limited resources have all been dug out of the ground, the city tries to repeat something, it cannot because there is nothing left. Such ineffective one-way movement means stagnation, and stagnation means an irrevocable loss. The more the city becomes aware of the inevitable future awaiting it after the depletion of its resources, the more it tortures itself with worry. The cities then fight among themselves, each trying to grab more resources than the others, thus hastening their own demise by frantic squandering. Momentary (as opposed to cyclical and eternal) prosperity is the fruitless blossom that blooms upon buried resources. To the modern industries (i.e., the city), repetition is a fatal blow. The city has a short life, and therefore no time for leisurely repetition. The categorical commands given to the city are Progress, Development, and Prosperity. In the country it is possible to eat rice even if we produce it just as we did one hundred years ago, but in the city you'll not find anyone who is able to watch the same television they watched ten years ago. The city must have even one step forward, even one millimeter's change. The same can be said for people who make their living by getting the attention of the world with literature and painting, for they are always thrashing about wildly, trying to find a new style, or trying to breathe newness into things. This quest for novelty ultimately leads to poetry and prose and pictures that we find are impossible to understand. Nikita Khrushchev termed this "a pig's tail" thereby earning the reprobation of the literati, but I think he was correct and justified in saying so. Ah, the idiocy of those who believe they are the cultured just because they follow what is new or strange. So in this way people put all their energies into this mad rush forward, ever forward, while single-mindedly screeching about such things as Creativity, Challenge, Freedom, Individuality, and Progress. If they just sit around they'll be left behind, and being left behind is serious business (this is the urban competition mentality). This stern competition mentality has started the big race to ruin, and continues its fearsome advance with the entire society in tow (an effect produced in combination with the Pursuit of Profit). * * * And now a final word to modern agriculture -- Nature has repeated the same cycle over and over again for billions of years. If agriculture, which is in an inextricably close relationship with this cycle, shows unusual progress and development (by accepting the intervention of the secondary and tertiary industries) in spite of this relationship with the natural cycle, then it is not at all surprising that distortion will arise. By distortion I mean the contamination of the land (our food), the loss of topsoil, the accumulation of salts in the soil, and the loss of humus. If we assume that progress in agriculture has made our lives more affluent, then we must pay a terrible price for that affluence. In order to live an extravagant "life," we must give up our survival. CHAPTER III NOTES 19 By invading the country and urbanizing it, the city is, more than anything else, destroying the very source of its life. 20 Please note that I do not support any of the barbarisms perpetrated by Pol Pot. 21 Since in those days (the feudal age) the feudal lords seized food directly from the farmers, there was no need to include the farmers in the monetary economy. The farmers were dragged into the monetary economy when the Meiji government decreed the switch from payment in kind to cash payment. 22 A literal rendering of one of the Japanese words for "farmer." (Translator's note). 23 It is said that even in space everything disintegrates in the end, but if a part of the universe (for example, the Milky Way Galaxy) disintegrates, the planets and stars turning to dust and scattering throughout space, then this becomes interstellar matter which floats about in space; this dust again gathers to form stars, and a new system is born. This too is the repetitious movement of the universe, movement which requires tens of billions of years. Chapter IV The Origin of the Cities Just as the sun exists in the heavens, the cities exist on Earth. Just as there is water in the great oceans, there are the cities on land. Or at least this is what most people seem to believe. If one does not believe so, then it would probably be impossible to blithely make one's home in the city. But sorry to say, the city is nothing at all like the sun or the oceans, for it has only the most tenuous, bubble-like existence. The World before the Appearance of the City No matter how grand an existence urbanites try to give the city, it is unfortunately nothing more than a phantom born a mere ten thousand years ago or less as the final bubble of human history -- or as the explosive with which it will destroy itself. This is just like the Japanese Army, which, though it called itself the Imperial Army, and (believing that it had existed from the beginning of time) boasted of its own enduring existence, was wiped out in less than a hundred years. It would not be at all strange if, just as the Japanese Army (I am here distinguishing it from the Self Defense Forces) perished in only one hundred years, the cities perish after ten thousand. * * * Let us take a look at the origin of the city. At the time when human beings kept themselves alive by hunting, fishing, and gathering, it seems that there were no cities. And there were probably no cities even after the beginning of agriculture, when people made farm implements, clothing, and houses while tilling the soil. Why was it that way? It was because at that time people gathered their own food or produced it themselves, and in this kind of world there is no need for the cities. In Japan this corresponds to the period of time from the latter half of the Jomon Period to the first half of the Yayoi Period (the first half of the Jomon Period and the time prior to that does not concern us here). During the Jomon Period, in which the economy was based on gathering, the resources in any one given area were limited, so that if the population increased this would cause a shortage. It was therefore impossible for people to concentrate in one place; they kept moving around so that there were always small numbers of people living scattered over the land (just as wild animals stake out their own territory). There was some cooperation in their life of hunting, fishing, and gathering, but for the most part each person took part in gathering, making religious offerings, and dividing up the food according to the customs of the group (Yazaki Takeo, The Developmental Process of Japanese Cities). Under such an economic system it was impossible to store anything for a long time, so there were no rich and no poor. Since this was a society which had no written records, the people had to depend upon their rich knowledge of past experience for the methods by which they adapted to the extremities of Nature, and this was the reason that experienced elders were respected, and in positions of leadership as the heads of groups. In those days each individual made all tools for gathering and for consumption, so that there was no one who specialized in handicraft, and thus no distinctions of social position. Even the head of a group did not step out of his bound, for the head of a group, while leading, did not exploit. [24] The Yayoi culture came from the continent (China). Therefore the transition to the metal culture was not a natural development of the Jomon culture, but a revolutionary change that occurred suddenly as a result of the influence of the continental culture. The technology of wet rice agriculture also came to Japan at this time. Rice became a staple food along with those things obtained by hunting and fishing. It became possible for people to live sedentary lives in the vicinity of their fields; communities increased their supportive power, and there appeared villages of several hundred families. People began to work together ever more closely, and there were divisions in social functions. On the whole, society took on a class structure that was based upon power. Land, which was the principal means by which each family made its living, was not individually owned, but held in common by the village, and so it was necessary to tightly control the use of land and water, and the distribution of agricultural implements and labor. The headman succeeded to this position of authority. One can sense that the birth of the city is nigh, but in the first part of the Yayoi Period people were still abiding by the law of Nature, which states that one must either gather or produce one's own food. Even the village headman still had to grow his own rice. The City's Origins When did the city make its appearance in Japan? We may say that it happened when the gods marked the human race for ruin. When a system made up of the dominators and the dominated, the exploiters and the exploited, became necessary, the city came into existence as none other than the mechanism of domination and exploitation (see note 24). Whether it be Mesopotamia, Egypt, China, or whatever place where ancient civilizations arose, the city did most decidedly not arise as an instrument for the prosperity of civilization (or culture); it was without doubt a mechanism for idleness and gluttony set up by the dominators and their ilk, as well as those hangers on who hoped to profit, such as merchants and craftsmen. Urban civilization (culture) is nothing more than a means of achieving idleness and gluttony. In Japan the city appeared in the latter part of the Yayoi Period. Technology (culture) developed, the scale of communities expanded, and the social organization became complicated. As a result the various regions took on distinctive cultures based on their respective functions, and there appeared villages which were groups of people specializing in the manufacture of clay, stone, or metal implements. Groups of people whose sole occupation was the manufacture of things -- this was without a doubt the beginning of the city. Just as I stated in Chapter I, the city is the base of the secondary and tertiary industries, or the place which is home to those employed by those industries; it is none other than the organization of idleness and gluttony. If there are even a few people who, finding their sole employment in the secondary and tertiary industries, make their living at it (or if there is the possibility of such), then we must consider this the beginning of the city. Scholars believe that in the latter part of the Yayoi Period there were people whose sole occupation was the manufacture of things, and this means that the city came into being at that time. There is no proof that in the later Yayoi the group heads -- that is, the dominators -- grew no food but were engaged solely in politics. But judging from the general conditions in late Yayoi society (particularly the considerable advances in technology, and the furthering of functional divisions in the economy), it is possible that there were a few group heads who filled their bellies by engaging solely in politics (in the Tomb Period there were countless such people). It is here that I see the origin of the city. And if we agree with those who say that the city was created by merchants, then, whether they dealt in necessities or luxuries, with the appearance of even a small-scale place where the merchants work (i.e., the market), we must again consider this the birth of the city. In the late Yayoi there was of course bartering, but there is no evidence that this was conducted by those who did nothing but barter (perhaps full-time merchants did not make their appearance until the Nara Period). In addition we find there were Buddhist monks and Shinto priests, as well as soldiers and bureaucrats, who are the very models of idleness and gluttony, and they came in droves to the early cities. From the continent came Buddhism, and from the Tomb Period to the Nara Period, the number of monks increased steadily; it is said that in the 32nd year of Empress Suiko's reign [623] there were 46 temples and 1,385 monks and nuns. Public officials and soldiers no doubt showed a similar increase. There were 12 gates surrounding Itabuki Palace of Empress Kogyoku [reigned 642-645] in Asuka, and there were guards posted at each one of them. In the fifth century the Yamato state unified the land, establishing the Jingikan and the Daijokan departments in the central government; in the Daijokan there was a Prime Minister, as well as others like a Minister of the Left, and a Minister of the Right. Under them there were eight ministries, which handled all the business of the state, and a system of officials. The land was divided up into Kinai, and seven Regions, and the seven Regions were further divided into over sixty locally governed provinces. These were further divided into smaller districts and villages. And to govern all of these the state appointed provincial governors, district governors, village heads, and so on. When the capital was based in Nara there were, among those assembled in the city, over 130 persons who were what we may call the aristocracy, and the officials, including those down to the lowest ranks, numbered about ten thousand (the population of Nara at that time was 200,000). And since these officials, monks, and priests had their attendants, assistants, concubines, servants, errand boys, and slaves, it would seem that the greater part of the 200,000 people living in Nara in some way or another belonged to the temples, shrines, and the palace. The City as a Means of Supporting Idleness and Gluttony In this way the city came into being, underwent transformation, and developed. To put it more simply, politics brought the city into being as a place for domination (exploitation). Those who wished to fill their bellies under the wing of the rulers gathered in the same place, thus causing the growth of the city as an organ of exploitation. Now let us take a jump into the future. The city as a political entity has a 5,000-year history, but it is said that the industrial city has at best a 200-year history. According to Toshi Mondai no Kiso Chishiki ["Basic Knowledge of Urban Problems"], "Ancient cities were by and large organs of exploitation built upon a ruler, the priesthood, and the military, but with the advancement of industrialization, exchange and division of labor became the principal means of control in the social organization, and when that happened the scale and form of the city changed fundamentally. [25] These phenomena, known as industrialization, and urbanization in the age of industrialization, transcend the differences between capitalist and socialist states, as well as the differences between developed and undeveloped nations. [26] These are, we may say, phenomena which represent a change common to the whole world." In this quote the author is describing the limitless expansion of the modern city that I spoke of in Chapter I, "Urban Sprawl." This is the problem that we must concern ourselves with solely; what I wanted to get a general idea of here was whether or not it is historical fact that the ancient city, which is the ancestor of the modern city, came into being as a system (even on a small scale) made up of the dominators and the dominated, and the exploiters and the exploited, and if it arose in order to establish a World of Laws [27] (a society based upon laws devised by human beings) for idleness and gluttony. And I also wanted to know if the city, which now stands before us like the Rock of Gibraltar, was really born long ago as humanity's golden banner, and if, in a Natural World (a world governed by the laws of Nature), it is a necessity. I wonder if it was really the wish of Nature that the city come into being? By looking into the past we have been able to get an idea, however vague, of the process by which the city came into being, and just as we thought, it came into being at the hands of master politicos and men of the cloth as a means of abandoning agricultural labor, skillfully plundering the fruits of the farmers' labor, and achieving idleness and gluttony. To put it even more tersely, the city came into being the moment such activities began. It is virtually impossible for the city to come into being any other way. According to the previous quote, the ancient city was an organ of exploitation, and this is the essence of the modern city as well. The only difference is that the modern city has made it possible to plunder more skillfully, in a more complex manner, and in greater amounts. To put it another way, it was not the desire of the farmers (the country, that is, the Natural World) that the city came into being. It is true that many farmers helped to build the palaces, but this was corvee labor exacted at the request (or rather the command) of the city. I am quite sure that an examination of history will show that the farmers did not willingly have anything to do with the establishment of the city. The city, in other words, was brought into existence by the urban ego itself, and not at the request of the Natural World or the country; it was not born as the golden banner under which all are to gather naturally. The city is therefore a foreign body borne by the World of Laws; its existence is merely temporary, and we would be better off without it. The city: Is it not the crystallization of human greed and wickedness? (Convenience and extravagance and ease. Trinkets and gewgaws and amusement. Progress and change and expansion. Plundering and destruction and contamination...) Therefore we should not feel a sense of loss at the disappearance of the city. It will, in the near future, perish anyway because of dwindling natural resources and nuclear war. So we must realize that it would not be such a terrible thing to get rid of the cities. Supplementary Remarks In just the last 5,000 years human beings have achieved rapid progress. Even the Jomon Period was a mere 10,000 years ago. When we consider it in the light of the millions of years since humanity appeared, 10,000 years is only the most recent few moments of our existence. It is extremely unusual that we should have achieved such fatal development in this short a time. Perhaps we should assume that the gods have, during this short time, allowed humanity this rapid progress. Let us note the fact that wild animals have shown no progress in millions of years, for foxes and raccoons are still living the same lives as foxes and raccoons. The rapid changes, increasing complexity of social structure, and urbanization achieved by humanity in the last 5,000 years must seem extremely unusual when considered in the light of Nature's timeless cycle. The city: the final, transient bubble of human history. It would not be strange at all if the gods had chosen the city as the means to destroy humanity. The city is the explosive that will bring about the ruin of humanity. If we assume that in order to cause the manufacture of that explosive, Nature took the unusual step of allowing us a single great leap in progress in a short period of time, then this was either done on a whim of Nature (the gods) or a severe test by the laws of evolution (yes, I will say evolution here). The gods gave human beings wisdom (by means of evolution), and that wisdom built the city. The city has visited us with a crisis. When the laws of evolution led to wisdom, the gods perhaps decided to use humanity in an experiment to see what would happen. The gods are no doubt grinning and watching to see what happens to the human beings who think themselves so clever since they have invented jet planes and computers, recombined genes, and made nuclear weapons and nuclear power plants. [28] To the gods: You granted humanity wisdom, but I don't believe you meant that wisdom to be used in vain for progress, expansion, and prosperity. To the people: How about giving up the use of this wisdom for the attainment of convenience and development, and using it instead now for regression and austerity? And how about, if not eradicating the cities, at least resolving to shrink the cities? Let us get rid of nuclear weapons. And while we're at it, let's tear down the nuclear reactors. Let's remove escalators and automatic doors. Let's drastically reduce the numbers of jets and automobiles. Let's give up traveling abroad (and that goes for trips within the country as well -- being one with the land also means that we remain stationary). Let's cancel the construction of airports. Stop using moving walkways and walk with your legs instead. Stop using pulp to make idiotic comic books, handbills, and wrapping paper. Let's stop the manufacture of cigarettes, detergents, and food additives. Let's stop taking so much medicine. Reduce further the amounts of agricultural chemicals and chemical fertilizers. Let's stop building so many roads. Let's leave the seashore in its natural state. In order to shrink the cities let's send the extra labor to the farms. Let's promote the redistribution and further division of land. Let's all work hard for the production of food that isn't poisoned. Weed the fields and gardens by hand, and return compost to the soil. There is no limit to that which we must do for scaling down, regression, and austerity. It is for these things that humanity must use the gift of the gods (wisdom) to its fullest extent. People! (Assuming that the gods are even a little bit good), they know that wisdom is a double edged sword, and they are testing us to see how we will use it. CHAPTER IV NOTES 24 Domination and exploitation are actually two sides of the same coin. But if we must make a distinction, then domination is a means of exploitation. It also follows that the city does not come into being by means of domination without exploitation. 25 The scale and form of the modern city is basically different from that of the ancient city, but in essence they are basically the same. We should note that both the ancient and the modern city are organizations for plunder and domination; the modern city, by means of industrialization and technological innovation, has grown to huge proportions. 26 In this instance, instead of saying that it transcends the differences between developed and non-developed countries, we should say that urbanization itself constitutes the efforts of the non-developed countries to overtake the developed countries by progress and development (or by means of living beyond their means). 27 "World of Laws" and "Natural World" are terms from Ando Shoeki. (Translator's note) 28 Truth is absolute, but good is relative. Since the gods are absolute they are truth, but they cannot be good. To the farmers the rice weevil is an evil, but to the manufacturers of agricultural chemicals, it is a good. And to the gods the rice weevil is, just like the farmers and manufacturers of agricultural chemicals, merely another form of life. It is nothing more than the arbitrary decision and wishful thinking of human beings to believe that the gods are on the side of good. This is where we find the fundamental error of religion. CHAPTER V Down with the Cities! "Down with the cities!" means that the people of the cities will survive, and "Prosperity for the cities!" means that the people of the cities will perish. If We Do Not Halt Urbanization, There Is No Future for Humanity or the Earth There is no problem with turning the entire planet into country, but we must not turn it all into cities. If the entire planet is country then, even though we cannot hope for an extravagant and convenient life, the survival of humanity (as well as the lives of all other living things) is completely assured. However, if the entire planet is urbanized, then we cannot hope for our own survival or that of any other living thing. This is because it is impossible for the city to survive even for a day unless it depends upon the country. Anyone should be able to understand this much. Unless one has gone completely bananas, it should be impossible to believe that the city can keep itself alive. Yet in spite of this fact, every day sees the loss of the country, and the expansion of the cities. Just look at the donut phenomenon (the building of more apartment complexes) occurring around the big cities. Just look at the plastering of everything with concrete and the leisure facilities along train lines and roads. Just look at how the polluting industries are evacuating to the country. Just look at the rise in tourism all over the country (tourist facilities represent urbanization: cable cars, scenic roads, parking lots, rest facilities, hotels, stores). And look also at the centers of towns and villages that are now halfway between the city and the country. The cities continue their amoebae-like expansion. This limitless prosperity of the cities means the decline and fall of the country, which is the city's life line, and that means the strangling of the city's prosperity, and the end of life for the city. If at this time people do not find the courage to curb urbanization and begin the return of the city to the country, we will have eternal regrets. Time has all but run out, and it may already be too late. Still, we must do what can be done to exercise the little remaining hope for humankind and the Earth. We must get rid of the cities. In Saving the City We Will Lose Everything No matter what counterargument, no matter what reason there could be, we cannot expect to save ourselves while preserving the city. If we exterminate ourselves we will lose everything. [29] What could be more important to us than our own survival? Freedom? Will we still have to defend it even after we are gone? Progress? Must we continue with it even if it means self-destruction? Scholarship? Must we still pursue it even if it drives us to catastrophe? Culture? Must we maintain it even if it brings about a crisis? All these great and grand things will be worth nothing after we are gone. It is the same for the prosperity of the nation-state, the elevation of national prestige, the flourishing of a people, and for convenience, extravagance, and ease, as well as traditions and customs. Even while humanity is still around they are not worth a pig's tail (this is because they come about by oppressing and exploiting the country, and by destroying and contaminating the environment, or they are the means whereby such things are accomplished). How can there be a reason for preserving such things when it means our own ruin? ANDO SHOEKI: A Great Sage Who Taught Us to Eradicate the Cities "Scholarship and learning steal the way of tilling and gain the respect of the people by means of idleness and gluttony; since they are created by means of private law they are plots to steal the Way. Therefore the more one engages in learning, the more one glorifies the stealing of the Way. Learning is that which therefore conceals this theft... Learning is scheming words meant to deceive the people and eat gluttonously, and is a great fault. Therefore the idleness and gluttony of the sages and Buddhas is a stinking and filthy evil. Learning is a means of hiding this stench and filth." (This quote and the following are taken from The Struggle of Ando Shoeki by Terao Goro.) Ando Shoeki lived during the Genroku Period (1703-1762), and was a doctor in northern Honshu. A great pioneer sage who took a path taken by no one before him, he is the only revolutionary thinker which Japan can boast of to the world. [30] Learning is not the Way of Heaven, but a means of achieving idleness and gluttony which human beings created with private law -- this is the truth which Shoeki expounded. We must not, I should think, preserve the cities for the sake of that which "conceals theft," thereby driving humanity to catastrophe. "The sages of all the ages, the Buddhas, the bodhisattvas, the arhat, Zhuangzi, Laozi, physicians, those who created the laws of the gods, all scholars, ascetic practitioners, priests and monks -- they are all the idle and gluttonous, the dregs of society who steal the Way. Therefore all laws, the preaching of the Dharma, and storytelling are all ways of justifying theft, and nothing more. Their books, which number in the millions, all record justifications for theft; the more wise their aphorisms, and the more clever their turn of phrase, the more they justify theft, and the more we must deplore them... They steal the Way, establish their private laws, and live lives of idleness and gluttony while lecturing on their various theories... They deceive the people with their many theories in order to eat gluttonously... Note well what they are doing...! We should behead them." And this is the reason why it has always been the object of education to teach the techniques of idleness and gluttony. At present, moreover, education is aiming for more than that. It is no overstatement to say that, either directly or indirectly, all education exists to bring upon us the catastrophic ruin in which progress ends. If we intend to keep this from happening, we must not preserve the cities. "The way of agriculture... is the way found naturally in all people; so we naturally till the soil, and naturally weave clothes, that is, we produce our own food, and we weave our own clothes; this comes before all other teachings." You in the cities! We do not need all your extra baggage. The way of direct cultivation [31] depends only upon the blessings of Nature; it is the Way of Heaven in which we live by flowing with Nature. "When we carry on tilling and weaving by being in accordance with the four seasons, with Nature, and with the advance and retreat in the motions of the essences, we are living with the Way of Heaven, and there will be, therefore, no irregularities in the agricultural activities of human beings." Nature is a cycle, and this cycle is eternity; in this repetition there is no progress. Shoeki is saying that there must be no progress or change in the agriculture which is carried on in accordance with the flow of Nature (the cycle). Shoeki saw from the beginning that progress in agriculture spurs on the development of the secondary and tertiary industries, that is, the city, thereby abetting the city's evils, which would in the end wipe out humanity. It is idiocy to stubbornly defend that which invites ruin, and that which invites ruin is the progress of the city. Business and Money are the Prime Evils "Merchants do not till the soil; business in its profit-seeking is the root of all evil. "Merchants are gangsters who buy and sell... They come up with schemes for increasing their profits, they curry favor with rulers, deceive the scholars, farmers, and artisans, and compete with each other in their profit-seeking... They are the men of monstrous profits and harmful greed. They wish to make their way through the world without tiring themselves with labor; they curry favor with those both above and below themselves with artifice, a servile countenance, flattery, and lies; they deceive their own fathers, sons, and brothers... Immoral in the extreme, even in their dreams they do not know of the natural way of human beings. "Money is the great originator of all desire and all evil. Since the appearance of money we have lived in a world of darkness, confused desires, and rampant evils." Is it not exactly the same in the present day? Money and Business -- they have always been the symbols of the city. "And the master artisans, the makers of vessels, the weavers -- the sage uses them to build towers, fancy houses, and beautiful chambers, or for military purposes. And the artisans curry favor with those of all classes by means of artful language; seduced by the lust for more commissions, they hope for the occurrence of disasters." In the present age we see parallels in the manufacture of such needless, and often harmful, things like trinkets and gewgaws, cars, cameras, televisions, jets, and computers, which only waste resources and spew forth pollution, and in the fact that the manufacturers of weapons and explosives hope that there will be a war, that pharmaceutical companies hope there will be lots of sick people, that manufacturers of agricultural chemicals hope there will be more rice weevils, and that construction companies hope there will be more natural disasters. "Songs, dancing, chanting, teas ceremonies, go, backgammon, gambling, drinking and carousing, the koto, the biwa, the samisen, all arts, drama, plays... are the evil accomplices of confusion and disorder; they are all worthless amusements of the idle and gluttonous, and the businesses of pleasure; they are the frivolity which destroys oneself and one's family." Shoeki is saying that games and the arts are merely means for achieving idleness and gluttony. Festivals! Amusement! Leisure! say our modern tertiary industries (the city), investing great amounts of resources, time, and money in their wild abandon to idiotic entertainment and events. Shoeki's statement was a severe criticism of just such things. The Idle and Gluttonous Dominators "Should Simply be Put to Death" It is with this that Shoeki then concentrates his stinging attack upon those in command of the secondary and tertiary industries (the city, i.e., an assembly of the idle), their thieves' bosses, the sages and clergymen (dominators), who are the very incarnation of plunder. "Those who eat gluttonously without tilling the soil are the great criminals who steal the True Way of Heaven and Earth... Though they be sages and men of the cloth, scholars, or great wise men, they are still robbers. "Sage is another name for criminal. "The Confucian Gentlemen are the leaders of the highway robbers. "Sage Emperor is another name for robber. "Know ye that those of later ages will call them horse manure, but they will not call them the scholars and the clergy. This is because horse manure has more value." ("Scholars and the clergy" here refers to the dominators and their ilk -- all harm and no good.) It would not do to get rid of these worthless and harmful robbers and criminals (the leaders of the idle and gluttonous) with such half-baked methods as trying to educate them. It is impossible to change these inveterate robbers by talking with them, by persuading them, or by educating them. Shoeki here makes a timeless statement: "They should simply be put to death" -- there is nothing to do but to overthrow them. This is nothing other than a call to an heroic, unparalleled revolution. Of Ando Shoeki Terao Goro says, "Shoeki is worthy of being called the Marx of the Genroku Period," but I think that Shoeki's theory is backed by thorough revolutionary thought and a penetrating view of society that far exceeds that of Marx, and is more highly developed. Shoeki was a more radical revolutionary thinker. * * * Whereas Marx sought the source of class confrontation in the bourgeoisie and the proletariat, Ando Shoeki found it in those who practice direct cultivation on the one hand, and the idle and gluttonous on the other. The factory workers, distributors, and buyers and sellers who were, to Marx, "our camp," were not so to Shoeki, who thought that they too belonged to the idle and gluttonous classes, and that if we do not dismantle such a system, we will not be able to realize a true "communistic society" (Natural World). The Overthrow of the Urbanizing Mechanism Is Essential to a True Revolution Verily it was the dominators (feudal lords) and farm operators who were the medium of plunder by which were fed the huge secondary and tertiary industrial population -- the city -- which loomed behind them. (The scholars, clergy, and officials were subjectively the chief instigators of plunder, but objectively they were merely the medium of plunder.) Shoeki insisted that, before anything else, we must close the portal, we must block the doorway of plunder. These ideas are quite different from the theories of Marx, who considered the medium of plunder (the bourgeoisie) to be the ultimate enemy while believing that the great hordes of the idle and gluttonous slithering in the shadow of the bourgeoisie were the allies of the revolution. Shoeki was truly the first to insist upon the eradication of the cities. In Marxist revolution theory, there is a surprising -- and actually quite fatal -- error in that it does not call for the dismantling of the city, that is, the liquidation of the idle and gluttonous. Without the overthrow of the urbanizing mechanism in human society -- a mechanism which cannot but engender the formation of the idle and gluttonous hordes -- we cannot achieve true revolution. So just take a look, please, at where the spreading world socialist revolution is leading (even if it is but a precursor of the communist revolution): power, oppression, progress, expansion, modernization, urbanization, industrialization, militarization, destruction, contamination, prodigality, and corruption. A Natural World in which All Till the Soil Directly, and There Are No Groups of Idlers The "natural world" that Shoeki imagined had no exploitation or oppression whatsoever; its aim was a self-governing commune with common ownership, labor by all, and equality. It was a primitive communist society which could not be realized without, first of all, the overthrow of the bloodsucking ruling class, and then that of the non-tilling idlers (those who contaminate and destroy). It was a society of contraction, regression, austerity, and one in which all practiced direct cultivation. If one leaves the great hordes of the idle, plundering, and gluttonous just as they are, and then tries to achieve the transition to communistic society (of course, this assumes the abolition of capitalist society), can we really expect the establishment of a utopia in which there are neither the exploiters nor the exploited? Sorry to say, agriculture has always had a relationship of confrontation with business and the manufacturing industries, as well as with the tertiary industries. The famous Meiji-era Marxist, Dr. Kawakami Hajime, lamented, saying, "If agriculture declines, how can business and industry prosper?" But in his book Respect for Japanese Agriculture he wrote, "The development of a healthy national economy depends upon the balanced prosperity of agriculture, industry, and business." Ever true to Marxism, he did not at all notice the antagonism between agriculture on the one hand, and industry and business on the other. And so the modern socialist revolution, which does not include the dismantling of the urbanization mechanism, is not in the least what could be called a revolution, for it is merely a system in which the corrupt bosses plunder the produce of the regime in place of the aristocracy and the bourgeoisie, and this holds even if they are able to make the transition to the communist revolution, but have not dismantled the cities. In other words, we end up with a situation in which state power, in place of the bourgeoisie, carries out oppression and exploitation. This is a mere passing of power from one hand to another (I will disregard here the relative merits and demerits of the various regimes), so that there is no real difference between the old regime and any new one brought to power by an election victory. Perhaps this is the reason that both the Socialist Party and the Communist Party switched their tactics to those of emphasis on election campaigns. Military Power, Religion, and Money as Instruments of Domination From long ago, force of arms and religion have been used as the means of domination. In a state governed by laws, it looks as though laws take the place of these, but behind the laws is the force of arms (the military and the police), and out in plain view is money, about which I shall have more to say later. And the backbone of laws is religion, which includes morals, ethics, tradition, and customs. There is no need to say much about military power. Control and oppression by military force, a conventional technique, is very common, with just a few examples being the ancient attempts to subjugate the Korean peninsula, the struggles between the Taira and Minamoto, the Warring States, the feudalist military government, Manchuria, the China Incident, and so on without limit. In addition, as everyone knows, in between these big wars and incidents the dominators were constantly making use of military force to gain power for themselves. And the present military, though they call themselves the Self Defense Forces, will, when the time comes, point their guns in this direction. I will have to say a little about religion. I speak here not only of Buddhism, Shinto, Christianity, and the new religions, but also of all blind faith and superstitions. There is no telling how, from ancient times, the blind faith of loyalty (originally Confucianism) has been an advantage to the dominators, and a disadvantage to the dominated. Good examples of this are the elimination of those in the way by harakiri, and the honoring of the war dead at Yasukuni Shrine. The dominators have always deceived us with superstitions which say that if we are not perfectly loyal, we will be punished. And now the blind faith in the omnipotence of science [32] is making possible the augmentation of the city's functions, thereby inviting the growth of the plundering classes. The traditional religions teach us not to become attached to material things, and as proof to that they tell us to make offerings. Show the extent of your belief, they say, with a widow's mite. And in this way, with each small drop adding to their ocean of wealth, they have built not only their head temples and headquarters, but boast of their branch temples, missions, and other splendorous buildings, ostentatiously display their decorations, feed their priests and officials, and scale the heights of prosperity with only contemptuous regard for the poverty of the people. And very important here is the fact that the dominators, in the shadow of religion, have used these religious teachings as tools for the placation of the people, and through exchange have offered the riches concentrated in the shrines and temples as the capital resource for domination. This is without a doubt the reason that the central government has, from the Tomb Period through the Nara and Heian Periods, helped the religions prosper. If We Banish Money, the Cities Will Perish In addition to the force of arms and religion, money has been an instrument of domination and exploitation. Money: It would be hard to find anything else that is so convenient, so easily used, so powerful an instrument of domination. The arrogant belief that, as long as one has money, one can do anything, is not mere arrogance; money is in actuality the mechanism by which the functions and activities of the city are supported, and the means by which people so freely manipulate the city's functions in order to bring about prosperity. The reason burglars and thieves (in this case I am not referring to the dominators) always take money is because they too, as long as they have money, can get anything they want, be it goods or services. Big shot politicos get sweaty palms at the thought of fat bribes because as long as they have money they can feed great numbers of hangers-on and wield great power. Simple logic, then (and here we at last come to the stage where we get rid of the cities), dictates that all we have to do to get rid of the cities is banish money. This is not idle speculation, for the Cambodian regime of Pol Pot actually proved it could be done (forgive me for harping on this one example, but no other government has had the guts to do the same thing). Proving no exception to the rule, the growing urbanization phenomenon in the developing countries has brought about unfavorable trade imbalances and the devastation of the countryside, as well as the importation of food, which engenders even more losses of foreign currency. No matter how high the government raises its voice and orders the citizens to till the fields, once the people have had a taste of idleness and gluttony they squat in the city and refuse to budge. The Pol Pot regime, which had come to the end of its rope, prohibited the use of money and made everyone barter. So the citizens, who could no longer get food with money, went from one farming village to another in search of food, and the capital of Pnom Penh immediately became a ghost town. This was a great experiment which proved that, without dropping a single bomb, and by merely banishing money, the glory of the city can be wiped out in the space of a day. Criticism of the Productivity Remarks by Sony's Honorary Chairman Ibuka Masaru, the honorary chairman of Sony, said, "There is a 1,500-fold difference in productivity between agriculture and industry." (A statement made during a committee meeting on the issue of internationalization in agriculture, and included in the book Food, published by the Asahi Shimbun.) He also said, "Rather than having the farmers produce crops, it would be better to hand them money and let them be idle." And, "All agriculture should be transferred to Southeast Asia." [33] He even declared that "hanging on to an industry which has lost its competitiveness is none other than a big loss to the country." A difference of 1,500 times -- this means that agriculture has but 1/1,500th the productive capacity of industry, and is therefore a great loss to the country. What a jump in logic that is. It is natural that there is a difference in the productivity of industry, which night and day produces things in time intervals of minutes and seconds, and agriculture, which harvests farm products only once or twice a year. So if we proceed along the same logical lines, it means that we must destroy all farmland in the world and build upon it efficient factories. So, Mr. Chairman, let us assume that the cities of Japan end as Phnom Penh did (ultimately it will surely happen when the food runs out). If you try to exchange 1,500 Sony transistor radios for one bag of rice, do you think the farmers will listen? Even if a farmer received 1,500 essentially worthless transistor radios, he would not even have a place to put them. Mr. Chairman. If industry has 1,500 times the productive capacity of agriculture, then does it not make sense to say that agricultural products should have 1,500 times the value of industrial products? This is the reason that, if we were to barter, you would not even be able to get one bag of rice for 1,500 Sony products. This is a good example of how the interposition of money has evilly exploited farm produce. There Are no Mice with the Requisite Bravery We have seen that if we banish money, industry will perish, commerce will languish, the services will tread water, and the cities will die, but is there a mouse with the bravery to put a bell around the cat's neck? Outside of Pol Pot, there is probably not a mouse in the whole world with the bravery to try it. As long as "the government" does not find the resolve to banish money, it will not be possible, but if we get rid of money, the first to be put out on a limb is none other than "the government" itself. Is it possible that any government in the world could find the guts to make the rope for its own hanging? Money: The means by which domination and exploitation can be most easily and effectively achieved. It is inconceivable that people would abandon it, at least voluntarily. (Of course, if the situation grows objectively worse on a global scale, money will perforce change into worthless little pieces of paper and metal.) Is Stopping the Food Supply Possible? The reason that the city would perish immediately with the banishment of money is that the city would be unable to purchase food. (With the banishment of money the movements of raw materials, wastes, and merchandise will slow, and the functioning of the city will become paralyzed, but the city will not perish immediately.) But if we carry our thinking one step further, we see that, even if we do not get rid of money, we can get rid of the cities by merely shutting off the food supply. There is no doubt that, if shipments of food stopped right now, the mountains of food in the grocery stores would not even last two days. No matter how badly the residents of the cities want to stay there, no matter how well they hunker down, no matter how many new and wonderful machines they make, no matter how rare the arts they display, no matter how far they pursue abstruse learning, they cannot do a thing on an empty belly, so they will all abandon the cities, crying, and go to the country in search of food. Thus the cities will become ghost towns. Cutting off the supply of food is, at the distribution stage, known as shipping refusal. If the farming cooperatives would find the bravery to do this, cutting off the food supply would not be impossible. But sad to say, the co-op is on the side of the city; it is the city itself. Even if the heavens and the earth reversed themselves, it is doubtful that the co-op would ever stand with the farmers. The co-op makes it look as though it is the ally of the farmers, but this is a mere gesture. Anyone will tell you that, if there were to be a rice shortage, the co-op, which is the wicked agent for the city's plundering, would never let the city starve, even if it had to scratch together every last grain of the farmers' rice stocks. So much for the co-op. There is no need to discuss the traders and the wholesalers. Shipping refusal would, ultimately, end in total failure. The Mammonistic Farmers Cannot Become Revolutionaries Would it be possible, then, for the farmers to refuse to sell? This would not be impossible if the farmers would not fear repression, if they would steadfastly refuse to supply the city with food even if the military came with their guns, and there was a little bloodshed. The city can live a bit longer by importing food (the president of Sony can take charge when the time comes), but that cannot be helped. How long the city can keep itself alive depends upon the skill of the president. The real problem, as I see it, is that among the farmers there are quite a few mammonists who have for some time been nursed along by the money economic system. There are without a doubt great numbers of traitors. If there are many farmers who, taking advantage of a food shortage, sell food for high prices in secret deals, any efforts to stop the sale of food to the city are bound to end in failure. The "farmer power" of those farmers who gird their loins and go into Tokyo to demonstrate is actually greed power. It is their greed which gives the city a place into which it can dig its claws. The city then rips off great amounts of food for a mere pittance (or for loans). Ah, the pitiful farmers! This greedy egotism is the (historically and socially inevitable) pathetic mentality that has been deeply implanted in the farmers who for generations have suffered from the poverty brought about by cruel plundering. Was this the reason Marx chose the city laborers as the soldiers in his revolution instead of the farmers? * * * To say "Refuse to sell food!" or "Down with the cities!" seems extremely cruel and subversive, but it is nothing compared to the unmitigated robbery and tyranny that the city has committed during the last five thousand years. It Is the Plundering and Destructive Idlers Who Are the Subversive Elements When we say "Down with the cities!" we do not at all mean that we should kill all the city dwellers. We are merely saying, "Give up your extravagance." We are saying, "Stop your insatiable plundering." We are saying, "Dismantle that mechanism of plunder." We are saying, "Let us create a society of austerity in which all practice direct cultivation." [34] Why is it cruel and seditious to say "Give up being a robber"? Why is it wrong to say "Stop driving others into poverty so that you can, by their sacrifices, live an extravagant life"? Long ago the farmers, no longer able to bear the burden of harsh exploitation, sent representatives to the feudal lords to plead for reductions in the amount of rice they had to send as tribute. The reply was, "You insolents! Do you not fear your master? Such effrontery cannot be forgiven!" And they were decapitated. This is outrageous. The insolents were the feudal lords (idlers) who, in order to continue their own extravagance and gluttony, cruelly robbed the farmers. And their spirit of idleness comes all the way down to our modern city. Even now if we were to say, "Stop plundering for your own extravagance!" "Stop destroying for your own ease!" or "Be satisfied with a life of austerity!" the city would surely consider us subversive elements, and look upon us with severe disapproval. The real subversive elements are the city dwellers themselves, who continue their rapacious and destructive ways as if it is their natural right, who nonchalantly continue their lives of convenience, while contentedly patting their fat bellies. Should We Be "Thankful" for Urban Civilization? As I mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, there are many who believe that the flourishing of civilization and culture is more important than anything else; that the city, the value of which is absolute, is contributing 100 percent to such; and that the city is sacred and must not be desecrated. Though I have already said quite a bit on this subject, I would here like to go into it in a little more detail. For example, the believers say that the civilization of the Shinkansen train and the jet has made considerable contributions to politics, economics, and culture. A company of singers that performs in Tokyo at noon can give the same performance in Osaka in the evening. "Is this not a wonderful world we live in?" they say. Who are they kidding? This silver-tongued, idiotic lot of singers, these idle and gluttonous bloodsuckers, go from Tokyo to Osaka on the Shinkansen which wastes incredible amounts of energy, assaults our ears with noise, and runs on rails over the concrete ties which are destroying the land. Then in Osaka they sing the same idiotic songs. Now, tell me what I should be thankful for. Should I be thankful for the activities of such people who, with each passing minute, bring about the increasing devastation of the Earth? Politicians can take jets to other countries, thereby enabling them to take care of important political affairs in little time, and the believers claim that this is a blessing of our modern urban civilization. They say that the ability of international traders to jet to other countries and quickly conclude business deals is due to the same. And they say that, thanks to the jet civilization, it is possible for old and young alike to freely go to other countries, learn more abut the world and soak up culture. Let us not be fooled. When politicians hurry to other countries by jet and confer with other politicians, it is almost always to insure the progress and prosperity of their own countries. And as I have said before, progress and prosperity are inseparable from environmental contamination and the destruction of the Earth. Should we really be thankful when politicians, in order to discuss such things, jet to other countries, destroy the ozone layer, waste energy, produce noise pollution, and do it all with tax money? When international traders (the "economic animals") go to other countries, the purpose is of course to plunder the developing nations, or to suck up to the industrialized nations (although an overabundance of merchandise in their warehouses is clearly the result of squandering resources and squeezing labor to produce more than is necessary, they believe implicitly that this state has come about because other countries do not buy, so they try to hard-sell more by dumping). Should we be thankful that they hurry by jet to other countries so that they can cause trouble for the developing countries and cause more trade friction with the industrialized countries? Everyone and his dog are going to foreign countries these days. Quiz programs on television usually bait people with promises of foreign travel. What are all these people whizzing off to other countries for, on the jets that boast of being the worst polluters? Is it to see the rare beauty of foreign scenery? Are there no mountains in Japan? Is there no ocean? There is little difference between the ocean at Boso and that in Hawaii. In the mountains near their homes there are places they are unfamiliar with. All those people who have no time to consider the appearance of a single tree, to feel the pathos of a single blade of grass -- what do they expect to experience abroad? Is it that the scale is different? If you pine after magnificence, then stand where you are and look up at the sun's great orb. Lift your eyes to the night sky and gaze at the cosmos. What? Your want to research foreign sexual customs? You lecherous slobs! [35] Travel abroad in the name of study and training is none other than for the purpose of learning the techniques of idleness and gluttony, or to make preparations for contamination and destruction. Even in Japan there is much of this going on, but in whatever country it is the extreme of evil. Are we supposed to be thankful when people go abroad for sightseeing, sex, or study, and then come back bug-eyed with amazement? Are we supposed to be thankful that, because of their activities, the Earth is more devastated minute by minute? The "wonderful world we live in" is the "city." We must take drastic measures to get rid of the city. Even If We Do Not Eradicate the Cities, They Are Fated to Perish But the city has underestimated the situation. "If you think it's possible to get rid of the cities, then go ahead and try," it says. "What can you accomplish in your frenzied condition?" Well, this certainly is true. Once the city realizes that it is impossible to banish currency or get the farmers and co-ops to stop food shipments, it is natural to sit back and relax, for the city is right. However, let us note once more that, though we cannot get rid of the cities by our own actions, the cities are in actuality bound to perish (I will treat this in a later chapter). The city's underestimation of the situation will lead to its own fall in the near future. The depletion of mineral resources, the drying up of the oil fields, nuclear war, the destruction and contamination of the environment, food shortages, economic panic, computers, robots, overproduction, backlogged inventories, trade friction, violence by the unemployed -- these will all lead to uninhabited cities. But the city's swaggering, unconcerned attitude toward these things will only bring about a crises state that much sooner. As long as the city continues to underestimate the dangers, to waste without a moment's afterthought, to make more nuclear weapons, to urbanize farmland, to change the forests to desert, to contaminate the land and the sea, to develop convenient machines, to produce an overabundance of goods -- as long as the city continues in this manner, how many more years can it live without a care? The prophet Nostradamus, who has been 99 percent accurate, says that in July 1999 the Great King of Fear will come down from the sky, and humanity will face annihilation. This would seem to be right on target, since the cities are heading for destruction at full speed, and will probably perish at that very time. Unfortunately, this bit of prophecy cannot but hit the bull's eye. There Will Be No Cities in the Twenty-First Century The cities are bound to perish, and they have not long to live. Even if we do nothing but stand by and twiddle our thumbs, the cities will suffer automatic annihilation. There will be no cities in the twenty-first century. It is nonsensical to believe that in the next century the Earth will be covered with 20 million cities. This is almost the same as the estimate that, should the population continue to increase at the present rate (and assuming the absence of epidemics, war, and starvation), population density 700 years hence will be such that there is one person per each square foot, including the mountains. If people estimate that in the twenty-first century 20 million cities will swell to cover the Earth, then it is for that very reason that the cities will perish. And if they estimate that the population density will become such that there is one person for every square foot of land, then it is for that very reason that humanity will perish. There is no doubt that this will come to pass. The rails have been laid, and the city is rolling along right on course. From whatever angle, and with however sympathetic eyes, we look at the city, we cannot but conclude that it is bound to perish by reason of the urbanization phenomenon itself. Even now, Nostradamus is surely watching from afar, boasting over the accuracy of his prediction, and laughing at the insatiable progress, prosperity, and obsessive delusions of us human beings. I will say it once more: The cities are bound to perish. Even if I were to swing at the ground with a maul and miss, there is no mistake in predicting so. Even if the sun rises in the west, and even if the rivers run upstream, there is no way to stop the annihilation of the cities. Verily, in the next century the city must make reparations for its 5,000 years of wickedness. The Only Way to Save Ourselves and the Earth Is to Cut Ourselves Off from the City But if the cities are bound to perish anyway, why not just let things go on as they are? many will say. The fact is, we cannot just sit around and wait for it to happen, because it will then be too late. The cities are trying to ruin the whole Earth in order that they themselves will perish. We must not allow ourselves to be dragged down with them. Though it may appear cowardly, we must cut ourselves off from the cities before that time comes. Cutting ourselves off from the cities will first of all help prevent their further expansion, and begin their contraction. And this is not impossible, for our ancestors long ago did the same thing. Let us not allow this to be a mere dream; let us try to use that one slim chance given humanity and the Earth. Now is the Time to Escape from the City I now appeal to the people in the city to give up those white collar jobs and get out of the city. If even one of you leaves the city and takes up farming, that makes possible the contraction of the city by 1/9,000,000th. It also makes possible the lessening of the city's evils by the same 1/9,000,000th. Escape from the city is not only the victim's flight from the city, which he feels cannot last much longer, but it is also a withdrawal from the position of the malefactor -- those accomplices of evil, the city dwellers who refuse to budge. And I also want to appeal to those in the farming villages to stop producing vast quantities of food, and to embark on self-sufficient farming. For every one of you that ends your dependence on the city (actually the dependence of the city on you) and becomes an independent farmer, we will be able to chase 1/90,000,000th of the city's population out of the city, and reduce the city's evils by the same amount. (At present 10 percent of the Japanese population farms, and the other 90 percent lives in the cities. This works out to one farmer feeding nine idlers, so for every one farmer that stops feeding the city, we can shrink the city by nine people.) The city is, of course, perfectly free to feed itself with food imports. It can import all the vegetables, fruit, meat, and eggs that it likes. When the time comes, the president of Sony can take charge. Becoming an independent farmer -- I can call this the "Bagworm Revolution." The combined effect of leaving those white collar jobs and becoming an independent farmer will without a doubt prevent the expansion of the cities and begin their contraction. I am sure that this is the one ray of light, the one hope, we have of assuring our survival, and we must take advantage of it before the cities see their final collapse. CHAPTER V NOTES 29 Optimists will say, "Humanity will not necessarily perish because of the cities. As a matter of fact, it is not impossible that, because of the progress of science and technology, we will perpetuate ourselves by the acceleration of prosperity." But before coming at me with this counterargument, they must prove the following: -> that no matter how many resources we squander, they will never run out. -> that no matter how much we contaminate the atmosphere and the oceans, it will not affect living things. -> that the more drugs and food additives we ingest, the healthier we will become. -> that matter (trash) is not imperishable, that it can be destroyed. -> that the more land we cover with concrete, the greater our chances of survival. -> that nuclear weapons were made so that they would not be used (in other words, that Hiroshima and Nagasaki were exceptions). And there are still zillions more that they must prove! And what is really important is that the opposite of each one of these zillions is extremely easy to prove. 30 See E. Herbert Norman, Ando Shoeki and the Anatomy of Japanese Feudalism. Reprint edition published in 1979 by University Publications of America, Inc. (Translator's note) 31 A term of Shoeki's which means that all people grow their own food. (Translator's note) 32 This blind faith is implanted in us, on a national, yea, an international scale, from the time we are in elementary school, and we have come to the point where there is no greater "faith" than this. To the question, "Science is the standard for everything; if we cannot believe in science, then what must we believe in?" one must reply, "There is only the Way of Heaven. The Way of Nature is a cycle with neither progress nor development; wild animals commit themselves to this cycle and live out their lives this way. Blind faith in science is a privilege given only to human beings, but unfortunately they will perish in the near future because of scientific progress. 33 The land in Southeast Asian countries is the precious means of food production to those who live there (there are also the forests which maintain the ecosystem and convert carbon dioxide into oxygen for us). It is preposterous to abandon the agriculture of one's own country and invade another. Such arrogant corporate minds crowd the cities of the entire world so that now reckless development runs rampant in Southeast Asia, Africa, and the Amazon basin, and desertification and devastation of the land proceed at an astonishing pace. It is said that "before civilization there are trees; after civilization there is desert," and this will probably come to pass since the land is being sacrificed for the sake of today's prosperity, and in time we will find the survival of all things on Earth (including ourselves) seriously threatened ("The Twenty-First Century's Warning," special program aired on NHK, November 8, 1984 at 8 p.m.). 34 Japan has six million hectares of arable land, and this works out to five ares per person. One person can probably grow enough on five ares to live. It is therefore possible for all 220 million Japanese to become direct cultivators. Let them sing songs, draw pictures, and make trinkets and gewgaws during the time they are not working in the fields. 35 The author is referring to the so-called "prostitution tours" in which Japanese men allegedly travel to Southeast Asian countries to shop for many things, including women. (Translator's note) CHAPTER VI Disengagement from the City The cities will perish of their own accord, [36] but we do not know exactly when that will happen, and we must in the meantime work for the contraction and decline of the cities. It is therefore necessary for us to immediately begin building a society in which it is possible to live without the cities. We need resolve, mental preparedness, countermeasures, and a warmup. Helping the City Perish so that We Can Make the Escape To build our resolve and begin our warmup we must prepare for the collapse of the city. Without a rehearsal our resolve is a mere fantasy, and our warmup is nothing more than flailing our arms about without throwing the ball. How can we, during this time when the city still stands grandly before us, bring about conditions under which it will perish? There is only one way, and that is to disengage ourselves from the city. Looking for a way to avoid the evils of the city while at the same time receiving in full the blessings of urban civilization is like trying to get milk from a bull. There is no difference at all between this and the Zen priest who, while attired in a resplendent brocaded robe, preaches to people on how to rid themselves of earthly passions. "Disengagement" from the city is the first of the preparations we must make in order to get ready for its collapse, and it is also a means of shrinking the city. So disengagement from the city comes first -- but this is easier said than done. Once one makes the attempt, one finds that there are countless obstacles, and that virtually all of them are difficult to overcome since they are not of our making (for example, a lack of courage or resolve), but are obstacles put in our path by the city. The Structure of the City Does Not Readily Permit "Disengagement" For example, the city (government) commands us to pay taxes. "Since, as a citizen of the state and of your local government, you receive their benefits, it is only natural that you be required to help support them," it explains. And what happens if one replies in the following manner? "You make it look that way, but in actuality tax money is none other than the capital for the nourishment of state power and for your compulsory, excessive services. With your power and services, and with the farming villages as your springboard, you maintain the urban social structure, develop the urban economy, spur on urban prosperity, and protect and nurture urban civilization and culture. I do not need the blessings of the nation-state or of the local government, and so I'm not going to pay taxes." And with that they come to take it from you, a classic example of power in action. Should you remove them by force, you are arrested and thrown in prison. * * * The city also orders us to pay for education (textbooks, school supplies, transportation, uniforms, etc.). "Education is necessary," says the city, "so that you can live as a member of modern society." Our reply is, "Though it first appears that way, education in actuality only teaches people how to be idle and gluttonous. It merely teaches people that which is used for contamination, destruction, and waste. I do not want to pay money for education that endangers the future of humanity." The city comes back with, "Don't you realize how helpful education is in the formation of human character?" "Are you telling me that one of the gifts of education is the skillful concealment of evildoing by those in positions of power? Wild animals receive no education, yet we see not one criminal among them." At this the city waves tradition, custom, and the constitution in front of us, and finds a way to force education on us. * * * Shrines and temples (these are also the city) try forcing us to contribute money. "That family over there gave some tens of thousands of yen; the family next door donated several thousand. Please give what you can..." It is only natural, they say, that the believers (?) bear the costs of decorating the temples and buying new robes for the priests. "You idle and gluttonous bloodsuckers! The insolence of you to try and clothe yourself in warm robes and fill your bellies, without tilling the soil, by the mere glib chanting of some sort of incantation. I won't give you a single red cent." And at this their eyes emit fire and they reply with a threat: "You'll pay for this! May the gods (Buddha) punish you immediately. In the near future you will be visited by calamity, so get ready!" And then they continue to press for donations through the back door by sending the shrine or temple representative who is some influential citizen of the village. * * * The farmers' co-op comes to ask for help in raising more capital. "The co-op is a cooperative union which exists for the sake of the farmers. It is natural that the members must come up with the capital to support the co-op's activities." "The coop as a union for the farmers exists only in charter; in actuality it is operated solely for its own benefit. Is this not the reason the co-op, whether it be loans or sales, constantly exploits the farmers? It is as if the co-op has switched from 'cooperative union' to 'corporation.' I cannot give you money for capital which will be used for corporate profits, or to exploit the farmers." And the reply is, "So you have no need for loans or farm machinery or fertilizer, do you? Well then, don't come crying to the co-op when your crops are destroyed by blight or weevils!" * * * The United States tells us to stimulate domestic demand in order to redress the trade imbalance, and the politicians join the chorus, promoting aggressive fiscal policies (throwing wads of money in every direction), and insisting that we must vitalize the economy. Of course the manufacturers are delighted, and put pressure on us to Buy! Buy! However, we have reached the saturation point, and cannot consume any more; we have no more time or energy to expend on consumption (our drawers are full of clothes, our houses are full of all manner of electrical appliances, and our bellies are ready to burst; we have to play golf, we have to travel, we have to play pachinko and mahjong, we have to enjoy our stereos and video recorders, we have to read newspapers and weekly magazines -- all 24 hours of the day will not take care of it). We don't want anything else; don't come at us with the need to stimulate domestic demand, we say, but they counter by asking if we are traitors who intend to stand by and watch as our country goes down. It's all right if your belly bursts, so eat more bread! Use a car for only one year and then trash it and buy another! Wear clothes only once and then throw them away! Forget and leave your camera at the station! Throw your watches in the ocean! And so the government and corporations imperiously demand. Let us note incidentally that Japan became a trading country precisely because there was no hope for an increase in domestic demand. If there is a trade imbalance because of excess exports, they ought to address the cause. In fine, it would help much if they would stop overproduction. It does not make any sense to compete with other manufacturers in overproduction, and then try to shove the products down people's throats. Could we hope that they won't try to solve this problem by war? The Only Possible, Sensible Way Is the Practice of "Independent Farming" We have seen, therefore, that it is virtually impossible to disengage oneself from the city completely since the city clings to us tenaciously. It is said that when Saigyo [37] was ready to leave on his sea voyage he kicked his own child away from the boat -- that is, he shook off earthly passions -- and departed resolutely. However, the city will not bow out so readily; with the strongest manacles (and, when the need arises, with police, courts, and the military) it tries to prevent our leaving. This cannot be helped. If we cannot then completely rid ourselves of the city's entanglements, then we must allow only the least possible involvement with the city, and shake off the major restraints it imposes on us. Let us do as the lizard does when it flees, leaving only the tip of its tail. There is no other way to flee from something that clings to us like our very shadow. To be specific, the only way to accomplish this is to practice "independent farming." Unless we do this, there is no way at all to escape the city. For example, let us say one quits a white collar job and takes up painting in order to support oneself. This will not do, for unless one is recognized by the city for one's art and is compensated for it -- that is, joins the plunder activities of the city -- then there is no way to make a living. Indeed, such activity is the city itself. Independent farming, as I mentioned in the previous chapter, is natural cycle farming, which depends upon nothing but Nature; animal and human wastes are returned to the soil, and the produce of the land then feeds the animals and human beings. As long as one continues this type of farming, there is no room for the city -- government, co-ops, manufacturers, corporations, and consumers -- to butt in. One is self-sufficient and independent, and there is no fear of failure whatever may come. Reducing One's Contact with the City to the Least Possible Extent These are the basics of readying oneself for the demise of the city. If one does just this much, then it does not matter when the city perishes. However, during the transition period, one cannot escape the entanglements of the city, so while receiving in the smallest measure the blessings of the city (that is, while supplying the city with only the smallest amount), we ready ourselves for the impending demise of the city, decide how to deal with it, train ourselves for it, and continue to deepen our relationship only with Nature. And this is also the best way to bring about the contraction of the city. Let us now, in light of the foregoing examples, see how one can, while beginning the practice of independent agriculture, lessen one's ties with the city to the maximum possible extent. * * * The more money one makes, the more they take in taxes. If one has only enough income to barely get along, then under the present tax system it is not necessary to pay very much. However, it seems that one is still bound to pay local and prefectural taxes. * * * Compulsory education as required by the constitution cannot be helped, but we should think carefully about anything more than that. The universities, in particular, are none other than training facilities for the Contamination and Destruction Reserve Corps, [38] so we must regard them as the enemy and stay away. The only education necessary to independent farmers is the farming methods peculiar to their family and region as passed on to them by their parents, grandparents, and village elders. The study of anything more than that is the sham egotism of the urban economic society, the urban competitive society, the urban cultural society, or the urban glory society. If the co-op threatens us with no more loans, no more fertilizer, and no more agricultural chemicals, this is actually something to be thankful for, since to natural-cycle, self-sufficient agriculture such things are needless and harmful. Since the co-op cannot force us to do things as the government can, it is all right to refuse their every request without worrying about being arrested and thrown in jail. * * * Since religion is a narcotic used as a means of plunder, one must resolve never to fall for any of their tricks. The only thing we need consider important are the laws of Nature. Though it was never possible for the gods and Buddha to be Good, they make them look like a bundle of Good, and, using this to their own advantage (that is, for plundering), they make judgments concerning Good and Evil; it is this deceptiveness of the established religions which we must pass judgment on. The judgments of the gods and Buddha must be those of Nature. Truth, equality, cold impartiality -- the Net of Heaven lets no rebellion against Nature go unpunished. If the religions use the magisterial authority of the gods and Buddha to extort, establish themselves in idleness and gluttony, bring about the contamination of their food by joining the city in exploiting the farmers, and take part in the city's plundering, prodigality, and destruction, then Nature (the gods) will surely make them pay. Even if one says, "Stick it up your nose!" to the gods, one will not be punished, but no matter how much one prostrates oneself before the gods, if, at the same time, one contaminates the Land and food by spreading agricultural chemicals on them, the gods (Nature) will surely visit one with cruel punishment. * * * Independent farmers must be mentally prepared for a life of austerity. So it should not be worth getting excited if, quite suddenly, things like televisions, cars, cameras, computers, videotape machines, pianos, refrigerators, and washing machines disappear from our lives. Having them is convenient, but even if we do not have them, there should be no problem. In fact, such things only bring about sloth, obesity, and surfeit, not to mention the pollution engendered by their production and use. It is stupid to shackle ourselves to the city for such things. Just because we cannot go see a play or take a trip does not mean that harm will befall us, so there should be nothing to worry about. Living without such things does not even require the aforementioned warmup; as long as we have our minds made up to live without them it does not matter even if they disappear tomorrow. Though it may be all right if we make occasional use of needless things during the period of transition, we must not run after them crying when the time comes to bid a final farewell. No matter how often the government and big business enjoin us to consume more in order to improve the economy, we should calmly ignore them. We must not forget that the best action we can take to bring about the contraction of the cities is to live a life of austerity, and to stop giving them so much food. What Do We Need Most in Order to Guarantee Our Survival? In order to keep themselves alive, what do wild [39] animals want, search for, and find value in? They desire no government, they desire no agricultural cooperatives, they desire no education or learning, paintings, travel, glory, or praise and recognition (no medals and awards). They desire food (finding food sums up their existence) and a simple place to sleep. And a little sex once or twice a year... With only those things wild animals find everything they need to live out their lives. To them, all other things (like education, government, religion, the Tee Vee, automobiles, travel, and medals -- that is, the city) have not the slightest value whatsoever. Even automobiles worth millions of yen, and paintings worth billions of yen are not worth a pig's tail to them. It is only human beings who madly seek things which are, to the sustenance of life, utterly worthless, thereby bringing upon themselves incalculable harm, and hurrying down the road to ruin. Human Beings must Learn from Wild Animals It should be quite evident, then, what is most necessary for survival. The sun, air, water, the land -- these are by far and without a doubt the most precious things to us. Yet, even if we do not seek them, Nature will give us unlimited amounts free. Or perhaps one should say that it is always there in the form of "Nature itself"; as long as we do not contaminate it, destroy it, or cover it with concrete, it will always be there for us. Just as with wild animals, if human beings have food, a modest dwelling, and clothing, it is possible to survive, self-sufficient and independent. Most other things are add-ons, playthings, luxuries, trouble, disaster (like recessions), and poisons (like cigarettes and food additives). Therefore, indispensable to us now is preparation -- a warmup -- this in order to get the things we really need. As for all other things, especially those which are to Nature worthless and harmful -- convenience, extravagance, ease, glory, praise, and all other urban paraphernalia -- it would be best to shut them out of our lives from the start. One does not need gorgeous clothing. The desire for beautiful clothing is the desire for a means to conceal one's own shortcomings. Clothes make the man, as they say; trying to increase one's own value by dressing in fine clothes is a way of advertising one's own worthlessness. A uniform is a means of boasting of the city's power; military uniforms, medals, parliamentary ID tags, and priests' splendorous robes are all means of domination devised to make people bow down before them. And decorating armor and helmets, which are supposedly meant to ward off arrows and swords, was the creation of display calculated to impress, not only one's enemies, but also allies and common people with one's majesty. If the stable boy gets nice clothes, then why not a military uniform on a fox, and a fancy kimono on a badger? But whether or not their status rises as a result is another matter. First of all, they hate wearing such troublesome things, and will show considerable resistance if someone tries to put them on; you may not be able to get them on the animal at all. It is because they are natural. And it is here that we find the difference between the city, which is built upon human law, and wildness, which finds its foundation in the law of Nature. The purpose of clothing is to ward off the cold and to keep from getting wet in the rain. If need be, we should be prepared to cut a hole in a gunny sack for our head and wear that. And we should wear light clothing, because it is best for our health to expose our skin to the outside air. Let us begin preparing ourselves right now. Preparation for our Escape from the City Concerning living quarters: Putting up grand buildings, equipping them with all sorts of conveniences, and decorating them lavishly is, just as with clothing, done to boast of one's own greatness, and in order to satisfy one's desire for convenience, extravagance, and ease. And most important, in order to build such structures, precious resources are used unsparingly, great destruction and contamination are wrought by the mining, transport, and processing of the said resources, and great amounts of pollution are generated by the use of such homes or workplaces. What is more, this increase in the number of buildings causes the further decrease in the area of the country, and the cities continue their expansion. There is no limit to the desire for an anti-Nature, modern urban lifestyle. Small or old houses are continually being torn down (the remains are discarded in the country or in the ocean), and big, new buildings are put up. They call this the development of the cities, but just as I have demonstrated, this development is actually what is threatening the continuing existence of the cities. It was some foreigner who made fun of Japanese houses by calling them "rabbit hutches," and a certain idiotic Japanese critic then used the same expression as an instrument of self-deprecation. However, Kamo no Chomei [40] demonstrated that a ten-foot square hut was quite big enough as a place to live. If the population continues to increase at the present rate, without war, epidemics, or famine, in 700 years we will reach a population density at which there will be one person per square foot, including the mountains. It seems to me that it would be much more important to put up with living in rabbit hutches and saving our farmland. Living in cramped, stuffy apartment buildings and falling on your face every time there is an earthquake is naturally the price one should pay for living in the city in order to realize a life of ease. If you do not like it, then leave the city and go to live in the country. Build a log cabin in the country and live there. Even if it is destroyed by a typhoon or an earthquake, you can repair it the very next day. What is more, you can repair it by yourself, without the help of anyone else. It would do us well to prepare ourselves by learning how to build the sunken dwellings of ancient times. We should ready ourselves by recognizing that it is best for human beings to live on a dirt floor. Is It Possible to Produce Food without the City? Concerning food: The intervention (interference) of the city (that is, the secondary and tertiary industries) in the production of food is considerable, and for this reason it has become possible to produce great quantities of high-yield crops with reduced labor. If the city's participation were to disappear it would mean the instant disintegration of this production system, and agriculture would be dealt a severe blow. At least this is the way the city boasts of its superior position, and causes the country to bow before it, cutting a magnificent figure. But we should not worry too much about this. The kind of agricultural system that would become unable to function without the city is actually none other than a suck-up-to-the-city agriculture that is locked into the city's plunder system. However, to natural cycle, small-scale, self-sufficient agriculture, the city's meddling is actually a nuisance; as long as we have the blessings of Nature there is not the slightest difficulty. The object of the city's interference is to continue plundering the country. There is here perhaps one thing we should be aware of, and that is the necessity of certain tools -- not tilling and threshing machines, but such things as sickles and hoes. Without the help of the city it might be difficult to find such things unless we revive the part-time blacksmiths of the Edo Period or earlier. In former times the part-time farmers who made water conduits, baskets, and sifters lived in every village. When they were not working in the fields they made and repaired farm implements and household goods. But since their main occupation was farming, they had little time to make such things, and thus did not become real merchants. They do not make things to sell, but when they were asked (modern industries that produce too much can learn something here). And there should be no need for large-scale iron works if they get the raw materials from iron sand as the swordsmiths did. Abandon Anti-Nature Urban Dietary Habits The city haughtily tells us that we must have, if not refrigerators, electric rice cookers, propane gas, blenders, artificial flavoring, and sugar, then at least essential items like pots and bowls and salt, and that without such urban blessings we would not be able to go on living. But let us not get excited. If there be a need, we should be ready to do without even pots and bowls and salt. And if at the same time we make up our minds to do without such things, and begin the preparations for a new dietary life, we begin to see to what extent urban dietary life is anti-Nature, and how it is leading us down the road to self-destruction. Wild animals all eat what is natural for them to eat. Squirrels eat nuts, cats eat mice. Should we ignore this simple fact, feeding mice to squirrels and chestnuts to cats, neither will be able to go on living. This is the great iron hammer of Heaven that falls on those who ignore these laws. What an animal naturally eats is decided by instinct, and instinct here is preference, and the ability to obtain what it needs. A cat is not able to eat chestnuts, nor does it care at all for the taste or flavor of chestnuts; a squirrel, on the other hand, has the claws and teeth with which to open and eat chestnuts, and it finds them quite delicious as well. But how about human beings? Extremely clever and arrogant as they are, human beings ignored the laws that governed what they should eat. Learning how to use utensils, fire, and various seasonings, they were able to eat things which, originally, they could not eat, or should not eat. The things human beings desire and can obtain and eat without the use of tools or fire are, for example, nuts and fruit, plants, seeds, potatoes, small fish, and eggs (if you give a monkey an egg it will skillfully break the shell and suck out the contents -- monkeys and human beings naturally eat the same things). So it is that, no matter how much of a brave and strong Tarzan one is, it is probably quite impossible to catch and butcher bovine animals and whales with one's bare hands. The Human Diet: Crime and Punishment By the use of utensils, fire, and seasonings human beings changed their natural diets, thereby increasing almost limitlessly the things they can eat, and by transforming themselves into hunting, eating animals, have increased their numbers dramatically. On the other hand, however, they weakened themselves physically. Not only that, they also process their natural foods with heat and seasonings, thus killing the life within their food, destroying the cells, and substantially decreasing the beneficial effects of the food. Thus if we do not stuff our bodies full we cannot get enough nutrition, and this has brought about the transformation of the human being into the greatest eating animal on Earth. Note first of all that human beings suffer serious tooth decay, something we don't see much in wild animals. We catch colds all the time. We are troubled by chronic digestive disorders (only humans use bathroom tissue; if an animal is healthy its excrement will not stick to its body). We perspire profusely (since perspiration is a means of getting rid of wastes, sweating a lot is proof that one's body is full of sewage; no matter how hot it is, one should perspire only moderately). And in recent years we have come to live in fear of chronic illness brought on by the compound effects of many chemical substances that are foreign to our bodies. Though the net of Heaven is course, it has not overlooked the human rebellion against our natural diet. The fact that human beings have barely managed to survive in spite of this is due to the fact that we have continued, as we should, to consume some fruit and vegetables raw. Raw vegetables with meat, pickled vegetables with white rice, and fruit for dessert. Our Modern Diet has Brought about Sickness and the Weakening of Our Bodies Utensils and fire and seasoning -- the great transformation in the natural diet of human beings, and the great rebellion against Nature. This is known as cooking or cuisine. And in cooking we find the following three regrettable elements: 1. How can one, using utensils and heat and seasonings, make it possible to eat things which one cannot ordinarily eat? 2. How can one make things taste good, and stuff a lot into one's stomach? 3. How can one destroy the life and cells of one's food, thereby diminishing its effect? What we must be aware of here is that even the provincial cooking of a hundred years ago varies not a bit from these themes, and even if we look back 50 or 100 thousand years, there is little difference. They say that our remaining canine teeth prove that primitive human beings were carnivorous animals, but I do not believe it. Almost a million and a half years ago human beings had already learned how to use fire, thereby changing their natural diets. Canine teeth were no doubt used to open and eat chestnuts and other hard nuts. Human beings are born with both fists tightly clenched. If you put a stick in a baby's hands it will hang from the stick, and if you lift the stick, the upper half of the baby's body will follow. If you provide some stimulus to the soles of its feet, the baby's toes will bend as if they are trying to grasp something. This indicates that, even now, the structure of the human body is adapted to climbing trees in search of fruit and nuts, and it has changed little from millions of years ago. This also shows that there ought to be no change in the human diet, either. It was, after all, quite impossible for human beings to become lions or hyenas. In addition to (or in connection with) the three elements of cooking described above, human beings have committed further crimes: They have changed the shape and appearance of their food, pulverized it, analyzed it, extracted it, mixed it, and compounded it. Wild animals eat what is natural for them to eat, and they eat it in its original form, thereby obeying this iron-clad law of Nature. Thus they maintain their health without a single doctor, a single pill, or a single hospital. It is only human beings that make brown rice into white rice; remove the hull of wheat and grind it into white powder; remove the head and bones of fish, leaving only the soft flesh; separate the fats from milk and make it into butter; or extract vitamins and make them into pills. Because of this it is only human beings that suffer from corpulence, undue loss of weight, sickness, and early aging and death. Seeing that they were in trouble, people then founded the nutritional sciences, and began calculating everything -- consume a certain percent of this, so many grams of this, or so many milliliters of that. But it turns out to be half-baked, for we can see that the results of those school lunches, which are models of nutritional science, are fat and sickly children. Just compare these children with wild animals, which do not study the nutritional sciences, but manage to keep themselves fit and trim. Let Us Begin Training Ourselves to Eat Things Raw We ought to begin training ourselves to eat things raw and in their original form, and we should eat things that we can obtain with our bare hands. Even if it is only a handful a day, we should try eating brown rice, wheat, and corn (not to mention fruit and vegetables) raw and unprocessed. We should not underestimate the positive effect of even this little bit. Eating even one grain raw will do us that much good. The net of Heaven is coarse but lets nothing escape -- those who make light of one grain of brown rice will find themselves bound by the erroneous idea of "permissible levels." There is no gainsaying that, for every one milligram of food additives one consumes, the liver suffers correspondingly. The law of permissible levels, which is convenient for the manufacturers of such additives, is not to be found in Nature. One must chew a hundred times and secrete three cupfuls of saliva in order to eat a handful of uncooked brown rice. It is impossible to eat it otherwise. Is the reader aware that the hull portion of cooked brown rice passes through the gut and is found in great quantity in one's excrement? This is the result of cooking the rice in order to make it easier to eat, but if one eats it uncooked the hull too is well chewed. In saliva there is a hormone called parotin which helps order the body's functions. What is more, chewing something hard strengthens the teeth, and also stimulates the working of the brain. In addition, the real flavor of something is revived by eating it raw. For instance, if one eats and compares raw corn and cake, one is well aware of how the cake is a tasteless lump of dead matter, and how the raw corn is most delicious, and overflowing with life force. Just try offering a lion raw and cooked meat, or a chicken wheat and crackers, and see for yourself which one they will choose. For those people whose sense of taste has been artificially deadened and who claim that they cannot eat raw food because it tastes terrible, I offer the following advice: Go a day without eating and then try it. And those who have bad teeth and cannot eat raw grain can grind it into powder with a stone mortar and knead it with water. Health Recovery and Food Conservation: Eat it Raw If you eat cooked brown rice instead of cooked white rice, you will need only two-thirds as much, and if you eat the brown rice uncooked, you will find you can eat only one-third as much. By making white rice one discards the best part, and by cooking it one kills the cells and the life within; thus, in order to take in sufficient nutrients, one must stuff great amounts into one's stomach. By eating it uncooked, one needs only one-third as much. If you cook your greens you can eat a lot, but uncooked you can only eat about one-third as much. And this leads us to a great discovery -- that eating things raw and uncooked contributes substantially to food conservation. A special program on NHK noted that, in the event that food imports were totally halted, even if we made all our golf courses and superhighways into bean and potato fields, still 35 million people would starve to death. But if we ate all our food raw, all those people would be saved. In addition, by eating things raw there would be no leftovers. It is said that in Japan cooked and killed leftovers that are discarded amount to 10 millions tons a year, but if we eat, for example, brown rice and corn uncooked, then there will never be any leftovers. And even if we converted all our rice paddies to organic production, causing the yield to drop to one-third, there would be no shortage of rice even under present conditions if everyone ate uncooked brown rice. It Is the City that Needs the Country So we have seen that, just as I wrote earlier, eating things in their original form, as well as unprocessed and raw, can contribute to the recovery of health. In addition, it will also help conserve food. We will not be troubled in the least when the food imports stop, or when the hospitals and drug companies fold. What is more, there is yet a third great service done by eating things raw and in their original form: It is possible to become totally independent of the city. When we become independent the city will be in a pickle, but we shall not suffer. As long as we have hands and feet and a mouth, it is possible for us, just as it is for wild animals, to nourish ourselves without bowls, chopsticks, pots and pans, propane gas, knives, chopping boards, oil, soy sauce, sugar, or even salt. Wild animals do not take in an especially large amount of salt, and yet I have never heard of wild animals damaging their health because of this. It is only human beings who take in abnormally large quantities, thereby suffering from arteriosclerosis and high blood pressure. It is said that human beings only require 0.1 grams of salt per day. But Japanese on the average take in 20 grams per day, and even those people who are on reduced salt diets ingest 10 grams a day, so this means that we are taking in between 100 and 200 times the needed amount. One-tenth of one gram is an amount naturally found in food, and that should be enough; human beings should not be any different from wild animals. The salt refining factories and the salt retailers can go belly up any time they like. It is idiotic to believe that people must ingest the same proportion of salt as is contained in the blood. One should consider that 0.1 gram of salt has accumulated in the blood. If you suddenly reduce the amount of salt you ingest you will experience a kind of "cold turkey" in which you feel tired, but this is just because the body is used to a lot of salt. If you put up for just one week, it will pass. One should require no warmup even in order to reduce one's salt intake to 1/100th of the usual. We have therefore seen the city's last bastion of control -- salt -- crumble before our very eyes. We do not need the city at all in order to live. It is the city that needs the country in order to continue its existence. Chapter VI Notes 36 The cause of the city's demise will be, for example, a lack of resources, the insufficiency of food, or the contamination of the environment. However, this all depends much upon the changes surrounding the city, so perhaps one should say that the city will perish from "without." Still, the entity responsible for engendering this cause from without is none other than the city (it is the city which squanders resources, brings ruin upon the farming villages, and contaminates the environment), so I think it is correct to say that the city will perish "automatically." 37 Buddhist monk and poet (1118-1190). (Translator's note) 38 It goes without saying that some disciplines, like technical chemistry, civil engineering, mechanical engineering, and nuclear physics are directly linked to the destruction and contamination of the environment, but those leisurely disciplines that seem to do no harm, like the fine arts, archeology, and anthropology, are indirectly responsible for harming the Earth since their practitioners refuse to sweat or dirty their own hands, and continue to pat their fat bellies, which are full of the labors of the few remaining farmers, thus forcing the farmers into labor saving, high-yield, contaminating, plundering farming methods. 39 The characters for "wild" are here read as those for "natural." The author therefore equates "wild" with "natural." (Translator's note) 40 Poet and writer (1155-1216). Nakashima refers in particular to a work called Hojoki, written when Kamo no Chomei lived in a small hut. CHAPTER VII The Disintegration of the City Even if we do absolutely nothing, and let things continue on as they are, the city will automatically perish. Even if I should swing at the ground with a maul and miss, the demise of the city will surely come to pass. Indulging in Ease, the City Destroys the Future In a corner of northern Africa, out on the desolate sands, there was a small stand of trees, barely keeping itself alive. In the top of a tree was a boy lopping off branches with a hatchet, and below there were a few goats greedily eating the leaves. This was a scene of Africa's final hour as shown on television. [41] Around the trees, as far as one could see, there was only barren land; after the goats consumed the leaves on these trees, there would be nothing. The goats were facing starvation, and the boy, who lived on the goats' milk, would be visited by the same fate. "Does this boy know," said the voice of the television, "that he is cutting his own throat? Even if he does, this is the only way to live until tomorrow." You, in the cities! Can you view this merely as the misfortune of others? The fate of this boy is the fate of the city. You too are cutting limbs off trees every day. In order to live through the day (or, more precisely, in order to continue enjoying convenience, extravagance, and ease, to continue the pursuit of profit, to seek glory and praise, and to continue your stupid competition) you keep on lopping off branches. It does not matter to you if this is the march of death; you continue to waste the few remaining resources, to destroy and contaminate our irreplaceable natural environment, to reduce the amount of farmland, which is your lifeline. How much longer do you think you can live while sacrificing your own future? Petroleum: the City's Support; Petroleum: the City's Demise Even if the prediction that petroleum will run out in another 30 years is wrong, this does not mean that there is an unlimited amount. It is an undeniable fact that, for every drop of petroleum used, the reserves will be reduced by that same amount. And it is not just petroleum, for the same rule holds true for iron, copper, aluminum, and uranium, and it is no different for the so-called new materials. As long as there is no proof that these new materials are made from a vacuum, and that their process of manufacture requires no energy, there is no denying that any new material invented is subject to the same fate. Let us note also that since these buried resources are used in close conjunction with one another, the city will be threatened by a lack of even one of them. For example, should there be a shortage of manganese, steelmaking will suffer. If we run short of copper, there will be no more motors that use copper wire in their coils, and whole industrial sector will be paralyzed. Here they cannot say that "even if we run out of copper, we can use tin or nickel." Petroleum is the same in that there is no replacement. We hear that nuclear power will act in its place, but then nuclear power cannot be used as the raw material for manufactured articles, and even in the field of energy it is said that, if we do not have an amount of petroleum which corresponds to one-fourth the energy gained from nuclear power, it is impossible to operate the nuclear power plants. Nature's Retaliation Is Assured So we have seen that when the petroleum runs out (whether it be 30 or 50 years in the future, it does not matter) the modern city will perish, but there is one other noteworthy matter here, and that is, before the oil wells run dry, the city must perish twice for the sake of petroleum. One reason is that, because of the poisons released by petroleum, the city will become uninhabitable. We have already seen that, when one traces them back to the source, the physical cause of all forms of pollution is petroleum. No matter to what extent the city was made to flush untreated wastes into the rivers and oceans, no matter how impudent the urbanites are, and no matter how much the people at the Environment Agency shirk their duties, if petroleum suddenly disappeared from before our very eyes, it is sure that 80 percent of our present pollution (including chemicals, food additives, and agricultural chemicals) would disappear along with it. Will the city perish because of petroleum's poisons, or because of its disappearance? It is almost as if petroleum was discovered for the purpose of eradicating the cities. Verily, the sum total of the petroleum poisons in the whole world is exactly that needed to get rid of the cities. Nature is making an example of the cities for us. No matter what reason there could be, the arrogant and extravagant city cannot be expected to give up petroleum until it has consumed the last drop, so noting what the future will bring, Nature promised the Earth that the cities would perish. The city must pay a price commensurate with the convenience and extravagance (in reality, the destruction and contamination) it has thus far enjoyed, and that price is the demise of the city. This is the great Iron Hammer of Nature (Nature's retaliation). The Petroleum Grabfest Will End in Total Nuclear War The second way in which the city will perish for the sake of petroleum is the total nuclear war brought on by the frantic scramble for petroleum. The city will have no choice. The urbanites are steeped in the prosperity of the city -- convenience, extravagance, ease, the Pursuit of Profit, production competition, glory, and praise, all gained by means of squandering petroleum -- and there is no mistaking that, when they begin to have that terrible feeling that the oil is about to run out, they will go mad and try to rob it from others. [42] Should the city just try to be gentlemanly about the matter, it will be totally paralyzed, so no matter what stands in the way, the city will without reserve begin the fight for petroleum. Nuclear war will begin in this way, and most of the cities in the world -- including the urbanized country -- will be destroyed. It will be the end of humanity except for those in the back country of New Guinea or the Amazon. When this time comes it will be too late for warnings, countermeasures, or practice of any kind. We must realize that our time for extinction has come, and calmly reap as we have sown. [43] The Inevitable Fate of the City: Development = Doom "Digging one's own grave" -- Here is the expression which has described the city since it first appeared on Earth. In Chapter IV, I noted that the city itself is the explosive that came into being in order to get rid of the city, and verily, the city has, by means of choosing the course of growth and development, rushed down the road to oblivion since the time it first appeared. There has never been an instance of the city lessening, even for a day, its efforts to destroy itself, or resting in its labors to dig its own grave. The reason for establishing the city is to achieve ease and gluttony, and the attainment of this objective necessitates plunder, destruction, and contamination; this is none other than the rush down the road to ruin. There is no other possible course for the city to follow. Should one hope for another course for the city to follow, it would have to be the complete negation of the city's reason for being, and the cessation of ease and gluttony (plunder, destruction, and contamination, i.e., the functions of the city). One must always keep in mind that, should one, with one's mind set on ease and gluttony, establish the city and allow it to continue its activities, ruin is its inevitable fate. Therefore, since ruin is the city's mission, it is only natural that the city's all-pervading image is that of a person digging his own grave. And then, in order that the city can execute its mission with even greater effectiveness, it continues adding on, stacking up, coupling, compounding, and amplifying, in that way helping to hasten its own demise. Recently the New City Image has made its appearance. The Self-Destructive Apparatus of Civilization Cannot Be Stopped A robot manufacturing company introduced robots into its own robot factory. This is because it was impossible for the company to compete in the marketplace unless it made an example of its own factory. No longer able to continue operations, it went belly up. In this way the manager of the robot factory was forced to risk his life in the establishment of a roboticized robot factory. Upon completion of the factory, the manager and 600 employees all lost their jobs. It was for that reason (and also to become a model for the industry) that they did it. In order to remain on the cutting edge of technology and stay out in front of the competition it was necessary to build a factory that would allow the presence of not a single human being. "Right now we are working like bees in order to build an apparatus that will cut our own throats," said one of the employees in a television interview. "This will eventually take place in all factories. It can't be helped -- if we don't do it, the company will fold. Lately I've been giving serious thought to becoming a hired hand on a dairy farm in Hokkaido after I lose this job." But not all 600 could find jobs herding cattle, and not all of them could do the job even if they were asked. An economy based on money generates legions of idle people hungry for money, and they come up with all sorts of schemes to make a living, such as the investment magazines, and the recent Toyota Trading Company scandal. [44] Nowadays robots can do just about anything, and we rejoice over how convenient and quick everything has become, and over civilization's progress, but we had better look again, because civilization is robbing us of our jobs. Whether in developed or developing countries, civilization is the enemy of human survival. I have described one of the new conditions under which the city will self-destruct (or become uninhabited). The city, which once achieved prosperity by means of civilization, will soon perish by means of civilization. How could this possibly be stopped? The Contradictions and Tyranny of the City Render Recycling Impossible I have noted many times that by means of destroying the forests and transforming the land into desert the city is not only bringing about crises for the developing countries, but is also threatening its own existence. Knowing just this is enough to tell us that the city has not long to live. It should be evident to anyone that the city is responsible for the fearsomely rapid spread of the deserts in the developing countries, the increase in barren land, the decrease in the amount of oxygen, the increase in the amount of carbon dioxide, and, more than anything else, the shortage of pulp. The future of the city depends in a large measure upon its all-important paper -- wrapping paper, cardboard boxes, bathroom tissue, newspapers, magazines, and computer printing paper. So the city is saddled with the contradiction that it cannot stop its profligacy. The regions which produce the wood for this paper are turning into deserts minute by minute. The other day an employee of a factory that makes chips from imported wood came to see my chickens. "Every day my factory converts an awesome amount of imported wood into chips," he said, "and it is all used to produce the wrapping paper used in department stores. For stupid vanity and convenience we are plunging the developing countries into crisis, and cutting our own throats at the same time. I can no longer bear the futility, or being party to the great crime of doing such work. I want to become a self-sufficient farmer, and so came to see your chickens." * * * I also noted earlier that the city continues its limitless expansion on a global scale, and that, inversely proportional to this, farmland is limitlessly plundered. This too shows us that the city is not long for this world. The contradictions and tyranny of the urbanites, who seek to continue their gluttony even as they steal the farmland that produces their food, are beyond the comprehension of the ordinary person. A short time ago I happened to visit a public facility in Fukui, and spoke to one of the personnel. "This area used to be prime rice paddies," he explained. "But as you can see, it is now a fine public meeting hall and a big parking lot. In this way we continue to lose farmland. When I think of what will eventually happen, shivers run down my spine." In the neighborhood of my daughter's farm they are talking about making a golf course. If they go through with the plan, the developers will purchase the fields and wooded areas around my daughter's farm and make it all into a golf course. I asked if anyone was opposing this plan and was told that not one person in the village was against it. If anyone were to oppose the plan they would be ostracized from the village since, once the golf course is completed, not only will the fields and woods be transformed into piles of money, but there will be a rest facility, a restaurant, and jobs. In this way little effort is required of the city in order to steal more farmland and urbanize it. And what is really surprising is that I have not yet heard of any plan to convert the city into farmland. Biotechnology: Violating the Province of Nature The city is replete with evidence of self-destruction, and it projects many images of people digging their own graves, so one could not possibly write about all of them. But I would like to add a final word about biotechnology. The work of evolving and fostering the species is the province of Nature, and has taken billions of years. Whether it be a single grass seed or a single tree leaf, nothing came into being overnight; each thing is the product of the complex and wondrous interaction of species that have repeated adaptation and selection over an incomprehensibly long time. If, in this net of interaction among species, even one of the nodes should exhibit unusual development or disappear, the balance of the ecosystem is disturbed; species that cannot stand the strain will perish, and the ecosystem then reorganizes itself to seek a new point of balance. This is what I mean by natural selection (the dispensation of Nature). But now we see those cleverly conceited, high-handed, and arrogant human beings invading the province of Nature, and trying their hand at biotechnology; in a short period of time they are attempting to change that which Nature has taken billions of years to make, or to create something new. The species adapt to their environments (air, water, sunlight, the Land, and the net of interactions among species) and survive by maintaining their balance through mutual assistance, but in order to do this it requires the total history of its own evolution since the time it appeared. If human beings now carry through with their desire to make sudden changes in the species, there is a danger that the balance of the ecosystem will require a great upheaval (the iron hammer of Nature) in order to correct the distortion brought about by human violence and seek the next level of balance. This is Nature's retaliation. Nature's retaliation will first of all attack human beings directly (in correcting the imbalance brought about by biotechnology, there is no better way than striking down its inventor, human beings). If we continue eating strange new creations which are not of the earth and which violate the natural diet of human beings (for example, soybean protein cultured in tanks with colonic bacteria, or isomerized sugars and oligosaccharides made from transformed biomass) cell regeneration will be adversely affected, and assimilation will be disturbed. By changing our diets and ingesting synthetic chemical compounds we will increase the incidence of cancer and liver disorders. Because the purveyors of news will perish as well, they will not give us the news that "humanity perished after eating artificial food." By producing our own food and by assimilating the blessings of Nature in our own locale, we can at least preserve the unurbanized portion of the land. The city will take a lot with it when it goes. Chapter VII Notes 41 The reason Africa is turning into a wasteland is not because of drought, but because of the city's meddling. It was the deception of the city that made the native peoples of Africa, who formerly, though poor, managed to provide themselves with all their own food, believe they must escape poverty, keep domestic animals, destroy their verdure, and ultimately dig their own graves. (Rain clouds do not arise in regions with no trees. Droughts are man-made, and they further make it difficult to reestablish trees. In this way deserts form, and the land dies for good.) 42 It appears that the United States, in order to prepare for the future shortage of petroleum, is now embarking upon a policy of closing its own oil fields and depending solely upon imports. When the world's petroleum starts to run out and other countries begin to panic, the U.S. will quietly tap its own carefully stocked reserves, and, ignoring the panic of other countries, work for its own prosperity and world hegemony. But it remains to be seen if things go as they plan. If the U.S. tries to keep all the oil to itself it will have to fight with other countries, whether they be enemies or allies, and it will no doubt come under concentrated nuclear attack. 43 Gensuikin [The Japanese Congress against A and H Bombs] is expecting too much if they believe that world peace will come about with the disappearance of nuclear weapons. If you want to get rid of a skin eruption you must see to the health of your entire body; it does no good just to remove the eruption. Should you get rid of nuclear weapons but leave the city -- totally dependent upon petroleum and other buried resources -- just as it is, new eruptions will continue without end. Even if there are no nuclear weapons, new machines of mass killing will appear without end. In time the oil will begin to run out, and the city will sense that it is about to perish; at this point the Great Petroleum Grabfest will inevitably begin, and it will not matter whether or not there are nuclear weapons. After all, the city will be desperate. The city will no doubt use chemical weapons. It will spread deadly bacteria all over the place. It will use neutron bombs and death rays as well. The city will make use of the latest high technology, and all manner of new weapons which have been secretly developed will have their first battlefield tests here. Once this war begins there will be none of those half-hearted attempts at talking peace. If, because of a reconciliation many human beings remain, the problem of who gets the oil will still remain, and everyone will feel as if they have not attained the object of their war, which is the maintenance of the prosperity of the indolent classes. In this war it is impermissible to allow the continued existence of those who do not belong to the indolent classes. Prisoners of war and slaves are nothing but an impediment. As long as one has oil (and mineral resources) machinery will act as one's slaves and servants. That is why the urban indolent classes will start the petroleum war. By "indolent classes" I mean those people who claim that they "cannot live" without elevators, air conditioners, refrigerators, jets, trains, cars, telephones, computers, robots, vacuum cleaners, washing machines, propane gas, instant noodles, bread, ice cream, sake, beer, cigarettes, songs, dancing, sports, television, newspapers, and magazines. These people are, in other words, the city people, the secondary/tertiary industry people. If they did not have oil, it would be impossible for them to maintain the civilization and culture I have described above, so to them oil has a greater and more necessary existence than does the Earth. The disappearance of oil is of greater significance to them than the disappearance of the Earth. This is why they will do everything in their power to seize the oil. 44 A company that allegedly cheated countless people out of great amounts of money by means of high-pressure sales tactics and fake gold. (Translator's note) CHAPTER VIII Everybody Farms -- Escaping the City, Becoming a Farmer -- Since the city is the Great Evil that will ruin humanity and the Earth, we must somehow get rid of it. In order to accomplish this, it is important for as many people as possible to break away from the city and become independent farmers, and to take up Natural Cycle Farming, in which one does not depend upon the city, but only upon the blessings of Nature. It follows that the conventional professional farmers must extricate themselves from modern urbanized high-quantity agriculture and establish themselves in self-sufficient compound small-scale farming. As the numbers of such farmers grow, the city will shrink and weaken, and when the effect has grown sufficiently, the city will perish. A Society in which Everyone Farms Guarantees Our Future Above is the blueprint for the eradication of the cities that I gave in Chapter V. To express it succinctly, it is the return to primitive communistic society in which everyone farms; it is the sliding back into an anarchistic agrarian society that has no need of state power; it is the realization of an agrarian society that has ceased all harmful and wasteful activities (i.e., the activities of the secondary and tertiary industries). [45] Getting out of the city and beginning to farm is, as I noted in Chapter VI, easier said than done owing to a number of difficulties. Especially difficult to the city white collar worker is getting land. I have repeatedly said that the agriculture problem is one of agrarian population, [46] and that the problem of the agrarian population is one of land. [47] Not only is the land problem the root of the agricultural problem, it is of such great significance that it influences, not only the city, but also all of humanity, all other living things, and yes, the fate of the entire Earth (just look at the present state of things -- the city digs up the land and continues to cover it with concrete; the end result is that we will have starvation in the middle of convenience). The Land Is Nature Itself And now we arrive at the obvious question -- who shall possess the Land? The answer is that it shall not be possessed by individuals; it is not the territory of local governments nor of nation-states; it was not meant for the public use of all the peoples of the world; and it is not held in common by all the living things on the Earth. The Land is none other than Nature itself. Long before living things -- including human beings -- appeared on the Earth the Land already existed. It is therefore perfectly well for us to conclude that the Land belongs to no one; it is the Earth itself, it is Nature itself. So it is unpardonable for anyone, no matter who, to destroy or contaminate the Land. It is the vilest act of desecration to use the Land for selfish purposes, or to use it arbitrarily for the benefit of a group or a nation-state. What is known to the city as construction and development is to Nature (the country) nothing less than violent acts of destruction and contamination. The countless large buildings in the big cities (which look like the many monuments in a cemetery), paved roads, amusement parks, subways, factories, and public facilities found in the country also tear up the Land and cover it with concrete. [48] None of these things can be made without hurting the Earth. There is no need to go into detail over what will happen as the final result of destroying the Land and wounding the Earth. It is mistaken to believe that Nature will continue to put up with the high-handedness of the city. Nature has been bent almost as far as it can be bent, and when it reaches its limit it will slap back at us with a force equal to that exerted upon it (just like an earthquake). Nature will surely deal a great blow, and sadly, that time is near. [49] The Only Laws We Need Follow Are Those of Nature As things stand now, there is no future for humanity or the Earth. We are hopelessly locked into the mechanism of the economic society, but if we do not put a stop to all construction work now, we will regret it forever. We must find the resolution to overthrow the economic society (the city). Material productive power is a poweful force that shackles us with money, so we must first of all reexamine material productive power, and then return to the ancient past (material productive power did surely not exist from the start) to see how things were. What we will probably find is that, while there were no "rules of the economic society," there were the Laws of Nature. Since wild animals all live according to these laws you will never find a wolf or a pheasant destroying the Earth. What wild animal has ever tried to make the Land its private possession, and then used it for its own selfish purposes? Abolish Private Ownership of Land The Land is, most emphatically, the property of Nature, yea, it is Nature itself. Human beings also, when they use the Land, merely borrow it from Nature for the time they need it; when we have finished we must return it to Nature in its original state. Returning the Land in its original state -- this requires the abolition of private land ownership. Human beings, presumptuous as they are, mistakenly believe that the Land is their own, and that is why they harm it without a moment's reflection. The same goes for farmland. Since farmland is treated as a private asset, people occupy it and try to increase their wealth; they fall prey to the idea that because it is their own they can do whatever they like with it (like contaminating it with agricultural chemicals); and they believe that land is a commodity, and so they scheme to make money by selling it. The culmination of these effects has brought about the present, all but hopeless, plight of agriculture. (Though it is called "agriculture," modern agriculture is actually a harmful practice and a rebellion against Nature. It is only natural cycle agriculture that can claim the right to borrow land from Nature.) At first sight, it looks as though the private ownership of land engenders a feeling of loving attachment to one's farmland, and supports an ideology by which the land is well taken care of, but it is actually the opposite. "It's my land, so if I want to tear it up or sell it, that's my business." And particularly depressing is the fact that ruining the land before selling it brings in a higher price! The tenant farmers of yore, though they did not own their land, took care of it as they did their own children, maintaining and building its fertility by applying great amounts of composted organic matter. Nowadays everyone farms their own land, but we see that in all parts of the country the farmland is going to ruin. (Another major factor influencing the degree of farmland deterioration is the amount of imported food.) So what I would like to see the government do here is, in place of Nature, take full responsibility for the preservation of the Land, and embark upon a program of national management (it is of course best if we can live like animals in Nature, for they experience no disorder even without government, [50] but since it will be some time before we reach that stage, this is the one thing I would like the government to do). Private ownership of farmland (and all other land, too, for that matter) should be abolished, and the government, acting on behalf of Nature, should lend the farmland to those who wish to till it, and only for the time they actually use it. When the tiller has finished, the land is returned, and the government lends it to the next person. If the government reorganizes the present Registry Office and brings in the necessary personnel, they should be able to take care of this much without the use of computers. If they attach a serial number to each plot and lend farmland according to the number of family members, this could be done even without the Ministry of Agriculture. Even if everyone in Japan decides to farm, and requests flood the Registry Office, there should be about five ares of land for each person, which is enough to grow one's own food. Needless to say, the large-scale farms should be dismantled. Even if those in the city want to farm but can find no land by themselves, we should be able to help them find it. We must not overlook the fact that those who have had it with big city life (or those who sense the danger in big city life) are burning with the desire to take up farming. Without these conditions, it is impossible to get people out of the cities and onto the farm. Under the present system the people have a right to quit farming, but urbanites have no opportunity to take up farming. This faulty policy is responsible for the drop in the farming population, and the rise of the urban population. The sons and daughters of farmers, who show aversion to farming are free to seek destruction by moving to the city, but urbanites who fear the collapse of the city are unfortunately prevented from leaving because of the land ownership system. It seems to me that, rather than those who hate farming and run to the city, the urbanites who, deeply concerned with the future of humanity, have given up on the city and burn with the desire to take up farming, will be of far more use to the future of humanity and the Earth. * * * And now a word to those who, hunkering down in the city, continue to dream of a luxurious and pleasant life: As long as you exploit the farmers, and live in the city with the intention of continuing your easy, gluttonous lifestyle without dirtying your own hands, it is only natural that you must be satisfied with very little space and with an anti-Nature environment. That is urbanization. If the population did not abandon the country, gather together in one place, and destroy the natural environment, urbanization would be impossible. Not satisfied with their cramped quarters and unpleasant environment, the deluded politicians and arrogant urbanites came up with the "Urban Planning Law," which is legislation meant to seize more farmland, and by means of this law they force the conversion of more farmland into urbanized areas. The urbanites had best not forget that the farmland which they desire to urbanize produces the food that keeps them alive. Perhaps they want to live in great mansions without eating anything. The spacious gardens we find in the Tanaka Mansion and other such places should be used to grow soybeans and vegetables, and the urban residents, including the rich, should put up with living in cramped, high-rise buildings. It is only natural that such people, seeking ease in the city, pay such a price. Though their buildings fall over in an earthquake, and though they are cramped and stuffy, they must accept these conditions. When the time comes, as it inevitably will, they will have to make up for the shortage of imported food by growing their own in baseball fields, parks, and roadsides. * * * In the dominating classes of the present system there are great numbers of people who, using the institution of private land ownership as a basis to make money, attempt to maintain their own superior position (there are very few famous politicians who have never conducted any land dealings), so hoping for the abolition of this institution is like seeking hot water under the ice. To these dominators, losing land (or losing the means to pacify the land-dazzled dominated classes with land) means loosing everything, and that everything is power and property; they would be cutting their own throats. Since abolishing private land ownership is far easier said than done, we must push forward with our plans for escape from the city and taking up farming while under the present system. It is fine for those with financial resources to buy land in an depopulated part of the country, but it is not advisable for those without money to borrow it and buy land. Money moves around according to the laws of business and industry, so trying to match it to the speed of agriculture, which is bound by the laws of Nature (an extremely slow-paced productivity) is like entering an automobile race with a horse-drawn cart. Unless one is, from the very beginning, prepared for failure, it is dangerous to borrow money to get one's start. Even if the interest rate is half that for business, or if someone will pay the interest for you (as with a subsidy, for example), it is likely that you will be paying the loan back for the rest of your life. No matter how much you work the amount you owe will not diminish, but will in fact increase steadily due to the devilish plundering effect of money (a stratagem known as the market principle). Thus it is best to borrow or rent land first. The age when people inherited farms from their parents is coming to a close. Children who grew up watching their parents labor hard on the farm rarely ever choose to follow in their parents' footsteps, and experiences. Of course things are different for people who are in line to be doctors, teachers, or actors -- professions which can skim the sweet juices (jobs which, no matter how hard one must study, offer far greater financial rewards than farming) -- but most farm children choose not to follow in their parents' footsteps, so they study hard, get into a university, and choose a fruitful profession (one that makes them a lot of money). The eldest son (almost all children are eldest sons) goes to the university, gets a job, and settles down in the city. In time his parents on the farm grow old, and find that there is no one to inherit the farm and carry on the work; the parents cannot, at this point, demand that their son return to the farm, and the son, for his part, has gained a respectable position, and does not want to sacrifice this in order to become a farmer (besides, he has tasted fully the sweetness of idleness and gluttony, and could not possibly, in such a physical condition, take on the work of a farmer). So he has no choice but to take in his aging parents and look after them. And thus the reduction in the farming population continues. This phenomenon can be found in every farming village in the country. The people who flowed into the city on the crest of the rapid economic growth tidal wave are now, 30 years later, finding that the time has come to take in their parents, whether they like it or not. This problem will grow rapidly more serious within the next 10 years or so. Needless to say, as is symbolized by such officialese as "farmland mobility," "coordination of farmland use," and "fostering core farmers," the farmland that thus goes unused will be gathered up and passed into the hands of aggressive farm operators (i.e., those who affirm the good of mass offerings to the city and who like to be on the receiving end of the city's plundering), whereupon they will increase the scale of their operations and carry on with the industrialization of agriculture (this is known as the "intensive" use of farmland). Because of this policy most of the farmland will either be sucked up by such farmers, or will be invaded and exploited by other industries. However, this policy will be successful only in the easily-accessible farming villages. There will be no dilettantes who, knowing from the start that they will lose money, will rent much farmland in the inconvenient mountain villages where people never made much money to start with. We can therefore expect the farmland in the remote villages to fall into permanent disuse after the aged farmers move to the city. For those who wish to get out of the city and take up farming, such isolated mountain villages are good places to borrow land and get started. Long ago human beings lived and survived in the foothills of the mountains, so such a place -- the border between the plains and the mountains, is certainly the ideal environment for people. Though it may be an economically poor place to live, it is ecologically ideal. * * * Even though one may have left the city and fled to an inconvenient mountain village to take up farming, it is impossible to guarantee that one will thus be able to survive into the twenty-first century. Even if, in the event of a nuclear war, one managed to avoid a full-scale nuclear attack, the Earth will cool as a result of nuclear war, and agriculture will suffer a severe blow. There is no assurance that those who have left the city and taken up farming in the mountains will be safe. One may of course conceal about two years' worth of grain in a pit solo, but there are yet difficult problems such as residual radiation and the pillaging of starving people. Still, when the city destroys itself by means of its own poisons (the peace of waste, contamination, and destruction), the independent farmers will not, as the modernized mass-offering farmers will, be dragged down with it. I shall explain the reason for this in the final chapter. Chapter VIII Notes 45 [The author actually uses a term meaning literally "all the members of an ethnic group farm."] The reason I say "ethnic-group farming" instead of "citizen farming" is because I deny the existence of the nation-state. I believe that the nation-state is a power structure, a structure of domination and plunder (i.e., the root of urban evils). If we negate the great evils of the nation-state, then of course the nation-state itself is negated. If we negate the nation-state, then of course there are no "citizens," and what remains is a group of people known as an ethnic group or race. On the other hand, the use of distinguishing terms like "ethnic group" and "race" breeds racism, small-mindedness, and exclusivism, so perhaps it would be better to employ terms like "humanity" or "Earth people." But since my discussion in this chapter concerns mainly the island country of Japan, I will ask the reader's indulgence and slip by with this makeshift term. 46 A social structure in which few farmers feed a great number of idlers forces the farmers into labor-saving, high-yield, mass-supply agriculture, and this necessitates the heavy use of agricultural chemicals and chemical fertilizers, as well as making the farmers neglect the application of compost to the land. The inevitable result is oil-soaked fields and a kind of agriculture characterized by contamination, plunder, and destruction. One could also say that the idlers, by means of the progress of science and technology, have promoted the mechanization and contamination of agriculture, thus making it possible for a handful of farmers to feed legions of idlers. The city sucks up everything. Therefore food contamination is, simply put, brought about by the social structure, not by the laziness and greed of farmers. Needless to say, the contempt for agriculture and the priority of the secondary and tertiary industries are also causes of the fall in the farming population. When over half the people were farmers, half the content of our language and song books were based in the farming villages, and the stories and songs glorified agriculture and the farmers, but now that less than half the population are farmers, such stories and songs have all but disappeared. For the same reason, one rarely if ever sees the farming villages or the farmers in television shows or in the piles of magazines and novels. In this case it is an inversion to say that the contempt for agriculture and the respect for urban industries have brought about the reduction in the farm population. Changes in the social structure are brought about by the power relationships of material productive capacity (or the money economy); social trends and consciousness is merely a reflection of such. Therefore the contempt for agriculture is not a problem of education or attitude, but decidedly one of social structure. 47 This is the main theme of this chapter, and so I will write in more detail about this later. But now I would like to emphasize here that increasing the agrarian population (that is, sending the secondary/tertiary population back to the farms), getting everyone to pull weeds by hand, make compost, give up agricultural chemicals, and produce modest quantities of clean vegetables, while being our goal, is quite impossible and unrealistic unless we solve the land problem. 48 There is no other building material which has so well built the arrogant city and wrought such damage to the Land as concrete. Has there ever been an instance in which cement was used for a purpose other than to plaster over the Land? Whether it is made into buildings, fences, wharves, Hume pipe, or to make channels, its ultimate role is inevitably to block off the Land. So for every bag of cement that is produced, that much more of the Land will be covered over. And the cement factories are running at full capacity every day, turning out great amounts of cement (to cover over the Land), and sending it to be sold in the city. "Urbanization" can now be perfectly equated to "concretization." 49 Nostradamus hinted that "the crisis of humanity will come raining down from the sky," but, while I have no intention of contending with the Great Nostradamus, I believe that the crisis of humanity will come from the Land -- not as fast as falling from the sky, but just as surely. I have said it many times, and I will say it again: As long as our present "peace" continues as it is -- destruction of the forests, desertification, the loss of topsoil and the accumulation of salts, the contamination of soil and water with synthetic chemicals, and the accompanying expansion of the cities -- we will see the desolation of the Land continue. "Peace" signifies the stability, prosperity, and prodigality of the city, and it is impossible to maintain this kind of peace without sacrificing the Land. It is "peace" that destroys the Land and leads humanity to ruin. Furthermore, if a war should start Nostradamus will be correct; either way, it means we have no future. The only thing that will barely guarantee our survival is a scaled-down life, a life of regression and austerity. To put it another way, our survival depends solely upon the disappearance of the Maker of Peace (the peace of prosperity and ease), that is, the city. 50 The reason wars over land do not occur in the natural world as they do in the human world is because other living things take and accumulate no more than they need. A lion kills no more than it needs to eat its fill, and a sparrow will not store up more insects and seeds after it has eaten enough. Only human beings, for whatever reason, establish economic societies, and go wild over the accumulation of wealth. If we too do not know sufficiency we will surely perish. Wild (natural) animals should be our model. CHAPTER IX Independent Farming Of all the occupations on Earth, the only one that allows us to be independent is farming. All occupations other than farming must depend at least upon agriculture, or else they have no source of life; for this reason independence is impossible. If, as a result of their contempt for agriculture, the other occupations try to become independent of it, their practitioners will soon die! Agriculture is, at the least, none other than a "means in itself" for maintaining one's own life, so as long as one does not seek excesses such as convenience, extravagance, and ease, and is prepared for a life of austerity, it is possible to become totally independent. What on earth do people mean, then, when they say, "It's impossible to get along just by farming. One can't keep food on the table by being a farmer"? It is one thing if one is referring to factories or apartment buildings in the concrete cities, but such a remark is quite incomprehensible if the speaker is a person who has the land which produces the food by which he can keep himself alive. But of course we know that these people mean it is impossible for them to acquire the trinkets and gimcracks and pleasures that urban extravagance offers. The secondary and tertiary industries, in their infinite mercy, make their governments grant subsidies to agriculture, which is the only occupation on earth capable of independence, but this is nothing less than a clever reversal meant to pull the wool over our eyes. That agriculture must continually curry favor with others as well as suffer great difficulties is without a doubt because of the deception, dirty tricks, and schemes of Money (or the schemes and plundering of the money economy, known as the "market principle"), as characterized by agricultural subsidies. Could there possibly be any other reason? I therefore believe that in order for agriculture to avoid the interference of the secondary and tertiary industries, it must first become independent of money. Money cheats the farmers; the devilish machinery of the money economy makes the farmers take on debts, and its phantom money (loans) make double plunder possible. Note well that the ultimate cause of the farmers' privation lies in the exchange of food for pieces of paper, and that subsidies are mere bait to prepare for plunder. Money: An Instrument of Plunder The mint churns out tons of money, and with government bonds as the medium, wads of this money roll to all corners of the country (as, for example, the salaries of public employees and appropriations for public works projects). [51] Some of this paper money is saved, and some of it is used to buy food. If you take it to the store and throw it into a shopping basket, it changes magically into food. So there is absolutely no basis for asserting that money will not be used for the plunder of food. If there were no such plunder by means of money, it would be impossible for the city to survive for even a day unless it took food by force. Let us assume now that part of that money which was saved is now lent out to the farmers in the form of agricultural loans. It will be immediately consumed by the purchase of machinery, fertilizers, and agricultural chemicals, whereby it is returned to the pockets of Capital; all that remains with the farmers are debts. And just as I pointed out before, these debts contribute, over a long period of time, to the plunder of agricultural products. In order to pay back their loans, the farmers must work themselves into the ground, continually offering great quantities of farm products to the city. Money is none other than a weapon for the purpose of ripping off agricultural produce. Control of Agriculture with Debts During a meeting at which was discussed the internationalization of agriculture, Ibuka Masaru, the Honorary President of Sony, said that "Agriculture has only 1/1,500th the productive power of industry." Since money as well is produced at 1,500 times the efficiency of food, it too functions according to the same logic as industry does. (For example, let us say that you borrow money from the bank. If you turn out goods at the rate of several tens a minute, you can pay back the principle with interest in only a short time. Or, if you move several thousand units of your product around in a certain way, you can always pay back the money you borrowed for capital.) But Nature moves according to very slow rhythms, and agriculture is bound by the laws of Nature; to try and make agriculture move at the fast pace of money inevitably means that agriculture will be left behind. Should one borrow money in order to get started in agriculture, one will find that, even if the interest is half what it would be for business or industry (or even if one gets someone to pay the interest for one -- for example, a subsidy), it will be quite impossible to pay back the loan by means of agricultural produce alone. The same goes for dairy farmers in Hokkaido, for those who raise cattle, for those who raise broilers and laying chickens, for citrus farmers, for mechanized farmers, and even for the American farmer, the incarnation of the large-scale modern farming method (it is said that, as of 1985, American agriculture is 54 trillion in debt). And this is not the only way money oppresses agriculture, for it has yet to rout the farmer decisively. * * * If, for example, there is a bumper crop of cabbage, the total cost of harvest, sorting, packing, shipping and kickbacks at the market is sometimes far greater than the selling price of the cabbage. The more the farmers ship, the more money they lose, and so there are times when they plow the cabbage into the fields with a bulldozer. The more the farmers work (the more food they offer the city), the more money they lose. Has there ever been such an idiotic system? And that is money economics for you -- the devilish machine (the market principle) invented by the city. It is quite true that, after a certain point, one needs no more agricultural products since stuffing oneself full might bring about digestive disorders. An excess of other products will not bring about indigestion, and as long as one has a place to put them, it is possible to have many in order to feed one's vanity. It is the market principle that takes advantage of this one weak point of agriculture. The market principle -- another way of expressing this is "business." For example, the price of eggs is not decided as a result of competitive selling on the market; in actuality, a few market big shots make the decision after seeing how many and what kind of eggs are being shipped into the market at Tokyo. Local prices are based upon the price in Tokyo, so when Tokyo gets a lot of eggs, the price in other places is low even if there are not enough eggs. Therefore the market principle is a business technique, the art of wheeling and dealing. Back a hundred or so years ago, this was a tea-producing region. Every year at tea-picking time the broker would visit the farmers. "This year the price of tea is higher than ever. Give it everything you've got, and pick every last leaf." Joyful at the news, the farmers would work their hardest, squeezing every last bit out of their tea fields. The broker, watching for the moment when the tea was ready, would run breathlessly to the farmers with a telegram in hand: "This is terrible! I've just received a telegram from Yokohama -- the price for new tea has fallen to rock bottom!" Thus it was the simplest thing for the merchant to use business technique to deceive the farmers. Thus the merchants, waving the golden banner of "market principle," used the necessity and preservability of agricultural products to their own advantage. We must not fall for such tricks. Food is none other than that which supports life. Even if the harvest brings in more than is needed, the food that ends up in the stomachs of the idlers must have, as that which supports their lives, a very great value. If, Mr. Ibuka, agriculture has only 1/1,500th the productive capacity of industry, then agricultural produce must have 1,500 times the value of industrial products, right? This is the true market principle, and the just appropriation of value. A proper deal would exchange 1,500 transistor radios at 30,000 each for one bag of rice. Thus the market principle is a tricky scheme whereby the merchants do the same with the essential portion of agricultural produce (i.e., that which goes into the bellies of the idlers) as they do with the excess -- they cause the price to hit rock bottom. In Nature, where there is no such scheming, there is also no market principle. No matter how many zebras there are, if all it takes is one to fill the belly of a lion, the lion will find infinite value in that one zebra. Therefore, the market principle is the illegitimate child of the money economy. Merchants cannot carry on business without money. It is money that causes prices to nose-dive. With bartering, it is impossible to get a head of cabbage from someone without giving something fair in return. Getting that head of cabbage without giving something of like value in return is robbery, pure and simple. The techniques of business, then, are the same as the laws by which robbers operate. We must get rid of the robbers. We must also get rid of the city, which inevitably brings robbers into existence. And we must get rid of money, which makes possible the functions and activities of the city. If we allow the continued existence of money, it will not only keep plundering agriculture, but it will also destroy us. Getting away from Money: The Bagworm Revolution Money makes us squander resources, destroy Nature, and contaminate the environment. These urban evils (the activities of the city) are all carried out "under duress" because of money. It is because of money (the pursuit of profit) that, even though there is absolutely no need, we continue to squander resources, strew pollution, and compete madly in the production of yet more. [52] It is because of money that we search desperately for more construction work to do. The purpose of public works projects is to "make the money circulate," but this cannot be done without destroying Nature. Money is trashing the Earth. "Money is the root of all evil. Since money appeared, all of creation has been dark, and greed and evil have ruled the world." Shoeki was already saying this in the middle of the Edo Period, before the advent of industrial society. Money is the root of all the above evils, and if we do not immediately (it may already be too late) banish it from the Earth, we will experience a most grave crisis, but since money is the life blood of the city, banishing it will require an earthshaking occurrence, and the useless softies in the city will not be able to bear it. They will put up a desperate struggle, and, using everything at their disposal (the cream of science and technology), they will try to preserve money. It is for this very reason that we will be unable to avoid disaster. This is a despairing situation. We must despair of banishing money, and we must despair of avoiding catastrophe. Previously I examined this problem from a different angle, and said that we must not waste our effort trying to change something that is hopeless to change, but that we should begin by putting distance between ourselves and money. Should we continue to cling to, and depend upon, that which is a weapon of plunder and the ultimate cause of destruction, the plundering will become worse, and we will advance toward ruin with ever greater speed. Before anything else, we must cease our tightrope act. Getting away from money will not insure our safety, but we can at least avoid direct entanglement. The more we depend upon economic ties with the city, the greater is the danger, but the more distance we can put between ourselves and the city's poisons, the less chance there is of our being dragged directly into the morass when the city begins to disintegrate. To depend completely upon the city (listen up, you large-scale farmers!) while expecting at the same time to come out unscathed when the city falls is like hoping for safety in an airplane that is about to crash. When the city begins to disintegrate, shrink, and recede, pollution will lessen and Nature's power of recovery will awaken by the same degree. In time we will again have a livable environment. Until that time comes, we must, without the help of the city, establish ourselves so that we can survive without it. This is the Bagworm Revolution. City Prosperity, Country Destitution Parting company with money is exactly the same as parting company with the city. In Chapter VI, I wrote in detail about this, but I would like to make some comments here on lessening one's dependence on the city, and increasing one's dependence on Nature. Here I offer some concrete proposals for Natural Cycle Organic Farming. Until relatively recently, almost all Japanese farmers practiced self-sufficient farming; they had some domestic animals, returned the manure and their own wastes to the Land, and fed themselves and their animals with the food harvested from the Land. If one farms thus, it is not at all difficult to be independent, and the blessings (i.e., interference) of the city are totally unnecessary. Even though these farmers are independent, they were poverty-stricken, but this was not at all due to the retrogressive and closed nature of self-sufficient agriculture. Their destitution was due fully to the high-handed plunder of the city. You critics out there! You must not evade the real question. If the farmers of both former and modern ages were destitute because of agriculture's retrogressive character, then why is modern petroleum-based agriculture, as represented by American agriculture, suffering under such onerous debts? There has never been any problem other than that which has always dogged agriculture: the plunder of the city. The problem is that the critics and politicians take for granted their right to fill their bellies without soiling their own hands. Note that the proletariat and farmer literature of the recent past examined in detail the destitution, greed, and ignorance of the farmers, and wrote that almost all of it had been brought about by the high-handedness of the bourgeoisie and the evil landlords, but this is ridiculous. As I demonstrated in Chapter V, the true criminals are the vast hordes of non-tilling, gluttonous idlers, the proletariat writers among them. The landlords, who were held up for criticism as the bad guys, were merely the medium though which the city carried on its plunder. Such off-the-mark literary investigation does not even rate a snort. If, as Shoeki wrote, we establish a system wherein emperors, scholars, and beggars all till the soil and produce their own food, then how can there possibly be "the glory that plunders," "the prosperity of the city," and "the destitution of the country"? Independent Agriculture Let us now imagine a kind of agriculture that is like the natural cycle self-sufficient farming of former times (the kind they told us needed nothing as long as they had salt), but which in addition is not the object of plunder. And, using this as a blueprint, let us see how we can establish it in this modern world, in which modern agriculture is flourishing. Since I have some chickens, I will talk about this from my own experience of chicken farming. If one has chickens then rice is free, vegetables are free, potatoes and fruit are free; things we human beings eat -- that which keeps us alive -- are all free. Since I produce rice to feed myself, I do not sell it, and I do not produce much more than I need. And of course there is no need to pile on agricultural chemicals. Even if for this reason the amount harvested drops a little, no one will complain. As long as I grow enough to eat for one year, it is not worth worrying about the amount of the harvest. If one applies poisons and produces so much poisoned rice that one cannot eat it at all, the final result is only damage to one's health. I sell a few eggs. Since they are natural eggs, they have great value, sometimes selling for twice the market price. I feed the chickens many things that are ordinarily thrown away, so I spend about half as much as usual on feed. Even when the chickens lay fewer eggs than usual I always come out ahead. The money I get from these eggs represents what I described in Chapter VI: the smallest possible link with the meddling city. With this money I pay what I must, like taxes, contributions, education, and the like. When the cities perish I will no longer need this money, and I will not have to sell eggs any more. When that time comes I will substantially reduce the number of chickens down to where I can supply all their feed myself. Every year I apply chicken manure to my fields to build up the soil, so my plants are highly resistant to insects and disease. Of course there are insects, and disease sometimes occurs during cold and wet weather. However, I have never lost everything to insects or disease, and for the past 30 years I have always had enough to eat. Healthy human beings have resistance to worms, tuberculosis, tooth decay, and viruses, but sickly people are always suffering illness. We can observe the same phenomenon in food plants. If one raises the plants organically and supplies them sufficiently with the blessings of Nature (air, sunlight, water, the Land), one will have healthy plants that are highly resistant to disease and insects. Even if you lose 20 percent, the other 80 percent will survive. We need only eat this to insure our own survival. This is what I mean by self-sufficient agriculture. We must also supply ourselves with farm implements and items for household use. Our forebears all did this, and that is why they apparently "needed only salt." In addition, almost all of these implements were made of recyclable materials like bamboo, wood, and straw, where they did not have to live in fear of running out of underground resources, and they did not pollute the environment in their manufacture. What is more, once these things wore out, they could be discarded just as they were, for they would in time decompose and return to the soil. Is there any room in this kind of agriculture for contamination, destruction, and profligacy? What need is there of money, or of living in fear of the self-destruction brought about by money? Become a Lone Wolf To summarize: Independent farming signifies that which is independent of money, and independence from money is the same as independence from the city. Independence from the city means independence from government, from agricultural cooperatives, from the manufacturers and services, and, if we go a little bit further, independence from the consumers. The consumers are not being kind to the farmers by buying their produce; the farmers are blessing the consumers with what is left over after they grow enough for themselves. So if we stop giving food to the consumers, we will become independent of them. The independence described above is independence from our immediate enemy, so our mission is clear. If one has the determination and resolution to carry through it should somehow be possible. As a matter of fact, though our numbers are still small, people doing just this are scattered throughout the entire country, so it is not at all impossible. Though difficult, one can in fact avoid the disaster assured by our present society of prosperity. But there is one thing I would like to emphasize here, and it is that we must endeavor to achieve an even more difficult kind of independence. Allow me to explain. First of all, independence from one's neighbors (this can be construed as independence from custom, from convention, and from history). "Solidarity" and "cooperation" sound good, but in reality this means merely giving in to the meddling of one's neighbors, and what is more, those neighbors are repulsive cowards who have been dirtied by their toadying to the city. The "common sense" and "reality" that they value so highly are none other than the old customs that have been cultivated in order to make them nourish and preserve the city. Do you have the bravery to become independent of these shackles? The farmer spirit is almost the same as the sycophant spirit. That spirit of sycophancy -- it is licking the boots of the feudal lords, the landlords, the politicians, and the agricultural cooperatives; it is sucking up to the extravagant and self-centered city housewives, to the teachers, to the policemen, to the celebrities and writers and critics (just recall the servile fawning of the farmer who is asked to say something on television in front of some celebrities). That spirit of sycophancy is directly concerned with the farmer next door. If the neighbor does it, I will too. "What? The neighbor got a new combine? Quick -- call the co-op!" In the world there are legions of farmers like this. They must stay abreast of their neighbors in everything. They cannot stand to get behind their neighbors in rice planting, harvesting, contributions, or travel. But it is not only their neighbors. They observe the movements of everyone in the neighborhood, worrying so much about getting behind that they are quite forlorn. This mental state has been brought about by the strong will to stay together with the other farmers, a strategy which was meant to help them bear the oppression of the city. It is not mistaken to say that this crisis mentality -- the constant fear of falling out of step with the group and being trampled to death -- has engendered this complex toward "the farmer next door." Every farmer should become a lone wolf. Any farmer who is not prepared to become a lone wolf is not qualified to preach independent farming. Only a perverse person will establish true independence. "The neighbor planted his rice? Well then, I will wait another month before I plant mine." This kind of perversity will bring about true independence. As long as one produces food only for oneself, why should it be necessary to keep watching one's neighbors and worry about what they are doing? Even if you make a mistake and harvest only half of what you had planned, then consume that half and survive on it. If that is not enough, then eat wild plants. Independent farming does not necessarily mean following in the footsteps of large-scale agriculture, which produces an overabundance of contaminated food and makes great offerings of food to the city (in actuality, this is none other than urban-dependent agriculture). Go ahead and laugh (it is the laugher who must expend the effort; the act requires nothing of me), but we must plant when and what we please. Still, this does not mean we should ignore the right time to plant. It does not matter if we have coincidental similarities with our neighbors. Perversity for the sake of perversity is not good. If you want to reduce your acreage then do it without worrying about government policy. If you are producing enough rice for yourself, then there is no need for any more paddy acreage. Instead produce beans or potatoes, or whatever you like. But when you reduce paddy acreage, you must not consider taking subsidies for it. This is just a clever government device for shackling you. * * * But there is an unfortunate side to this as well: We must even consider becoming independent of our families. Even a family is an individual subject to independence. It has a character with its own individuality. Even the education mothers [53] know very well that things never go the way they wish. "The neighbor has planted his rice," say Grandpa and wife, "so if we don't plant ours soon, we'll become the laughing stock of the county." And they keep harping on this. If one plants rice too early it will grow too quickly, and one is sure to be visited by blight, leafhoppers, and blow-downs. Yet, one's family members, in their drive to do as the neighbors do, continue to insist on early planting. But here is where one must firmly stand one's ground, and standing one's ground means independence from the family. No matter what Grandpa and the wife say, stand by your own beliefs. If they will not listen, then let them plant their own half early, and when their paddies are overrun with blight and insects, make sure they realize that it is their own fault. Farmers should note well that true independence signifies an existence of splendid isolation in which one holds to one's own principles. * * * If in this way lone wolves (i.e., self sufficient, austere people of splendid isolation) populate the world, and if, no matter where one looks, there are only perverse farmers who do not toady to the city, then before we know it (that is, without the need for violence) and inevitably, the social revolution will have taken place. The city, on its way to deconstruction, will begin to shrink (the city will not be able to bear the food shortage), [54] and the secondary and tertiary industries will find there is no way to stop their decline. Therefore the pollution of the Earth -- the waste, contamination, and destruction -- will decrease precipitously, and we will be able to have a little hope for the future of humanity and the Earth. It is then we will realize that there is still a little hope of saving ourselves. When that time comes, we will want to tear down the now useless city buildings and return the Land to its original form, but we will find that tearing them down and discarding the waste requires vast amounts of energy, and that, no matter where we discard this rubble it will cover Land, so the city may just become a huge ghost town. Therefore we must now try to prevent its further spread. The people will till the little remaining land, and will reproduce only as many people as that arable land will support. Thus, if we take a cold, hard look at the future, we see that the only way for us to survive is to either exterminate the urban poison, or to eke out an existence as lone-wolf farmers. Even if the city perishes, we must not let it take us down with itself. Chapter IX Notes 51 Government bonds are ordinarily distributed among, and forced off on the city banks, and after a time the Bank of Japan pays the interest and purchases them. Then the government buys them back from the Bank of Japan with the paper money it has overproduced. Problems such as whose account book the bonds are listed in, when they will be redeemed, etc., are of only superficial concern because the principle objective is to spread overproduced money around the country. It is just like a magician transforming leaves into wads of money, for there is hardly any sleight of hand which is as easy, advantageous, or interesting. And since every government in the world is competing in this maneuver, no one can avoid inflationary government debts. Inflation during times of recession is a strange phenomenon that owes its existence to this magician's trick. That is why every year sees a rise in prices and countering pay raises, as well as greater amounts of money in circulation. On the other hand, if there were no inflation (i.e., if they did not print more money and flood the country with it), there would probably be another economic panic as there was in the 1930s when the big capitalists had all the money and everyone else had none. 52 One could say that the spirit of urban competition and glory has brought about excessive production, but this spirit has been nurtured by the money economy itself. It is no mistake to say that, if there were no money, there would also not be such insane competition and glory-seeking. 53 Term describing a common type of mother in Japan. Since people are usually judged not by ability, but by their academic credentials, the education mothers send their children to private evening schools and make them study hard so the children will be able to pass the difficult examinations for the most prestigious high schools and universities. (Translator's note) 54 When this time comes, there will be no way to get by on imported food. The city will forget that it has repeatedly invaded and plundered other countries, driving them to desperation, and will, in order to continue its own gluttony, attempt to maintain its food imports by force, ignoring the starvation of other peoples. But where on this depleted planet is the city going to find the land to nourish itself? 
5960	----	Proofreading Team LITTLE SISTER SNOW BY FRANCES LITTLE Author of "The Lady of the Decoration" WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY GENJIRO KATAOKA 1909 TO MY NIECE ALICE HEGAN RICE IN MEMORY OF MANY HAPPY MONTHS SPENT TOGETHER IN JAPAN LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS A fervent, whispered prayer . . . _Frontispiece_ With outstretched hands and flying feet She would throw her into the ditch The two old people Yuki San was called before her father With paint and brush she fell to work At the slightest sound she listened Not willing to be surpassed in salutation "My heart bleed for lonely" She busied herself with serving the tea Very helpless and lonesome To make good her promise to the gods CHAPTER I A quaint old Japanese garden lay smiling under the sunshine of a morning in early spring. The sun, having flooded the outside world with dazzling light, seemed to sink to a tender radiance as it wooed leaf and bud into new life and loveliness. It loosened the tiny rivulet from the icy fingers of winter, and sped it merrily on its way to a miniature lake, where shining goldfish darted here and there in an ecstasy of motion. It stole into the shadows of a great pine-tree, and touched the white wings of the pigeons as they cooed the song of mating-time. It gleamed on the sandy path that led to the old stone lantern, played into the eyes of Kwannon, the Goddess of Mercy, and finally lost itself in the trees beyond. Under a gnarled plum-tree, that for uncounted years had braved the snow and answered joyously the first call of spring, a little maiden stood and held out eager hands to catch the falling blossoms. The flowering-time was nearly done, and the child stood watching the petals twirl quickly down, filling the hollows and fashioning curious designs on the mossy grass. The softest of breezes coming across the river, over the thick hedge, saucily blew a stray petal straight into the child's face. To Yuki Chan it was a challenge, and with outstretched hands and flying feet she gave chase to the whirling blossoms. Round and round the old tree, into the hedge, and up the sandy path she raced, her long sleeves spreading like tiny sails, her cheeks flushed to the same crimson as her flowery playmates. A sudden stillness in the air ended the romp. Yuki Chan returned to her playground beneath the tree, and taking her captured petals from the folds of her kimono, began to count her trophies. "Ichi, ni, san, ichi, ni, san," she rhythmically droned, three being the magical number that would bring good luck if the petals were properly arranged and the number repeated often enough. But the monotony of repetition brought rest, and soon Yuki Chan, forgetting to count, made a bed of the fallen petals and turned her face toward the little straw-roofed house from which noises of busy preparation came. It was a birthday. Not Yuki Chan's, for that came with the snow-time. This was the third day of the third month, which in the long ago was set apart as the big birthday of all little girls born in the lovely island, and was celebrated by the Festival of Dolls. Yuki Chan lay with her slim body stretched in the warmth of the sun. In every graceful line was the imprint of high breeding; her white face, so unusual with her race, was stamped with the romance and tragedy of centuries; while her eyes, limpid and luminous, looked out at the world with eager, questioning interest. Through the wide-open _shoji_ of the house she caught glimpses of her father and mother hurrying and holding consultations. She marked frequent visits to the old warehouse that held the household treasures, and the bringing out of bundles wrapped in yellow cloth. The air brought her whiffs of cooking food, and the flower- and fish-men deposited a fair part of their stock on the porch. But Yuki Chan was banished from these joys of preparation because of naughtiness, and as she lay in the warm sunshine she thought of her recent wickedness. She smiled as she remembered how she had hid her father's pipe that he might work the faster, and broken the straps of her mother's wooden shoes, so that she could not go outdoors. She laughed softly when she thought of the stray cat which she had brought into the house and coaxed to drink milk while she, with skilful fingers and a pair of scissors, transformed her smooth fur into a wonderful landscape garden. Short work had made kitty's head slick and shiny, like a lake, with a stray bristle or two, which stood for trees. In the middle of her back stood Fuji, the great mountain, with numberless little Fujis to keep company. Many winding paths ran down kitty's legs to queer, shapeless shrines, and it was only when Yuki Chan had insisted on making a curious old pine-tree with twisted limbs of kitty's short and stubby tail that trouble ensued, and she had been requested by her mother to take her honorable little body to the garden. Yuki Chan remembered her mother's beautiful smile of love as she gently chided her, and recalled the note of trouble in the kind voice. Was the mother sorry because she had stuck out a very pink tongue at a cross-eyed old image that sat on the floor on the very spot that she wanted to step upon? Or was it--and Yuki Chan grew grave--that the last _go rin_ had been spent for the new dress she was to wear that day? All her short life Yuki Chan had lived in a house of love, but no veil of affection, no sacrifice, could shield her from the knowledge of poverty. She had never seen her mother wear but one festival dress, yet her own little kimono was ever bright and dainty, and even the new brocade of the dolls' dresses stood alone with the weave of gold and tinsel. A solemn thought, like a pebble dropped into water, caused circle after circle to trouble her childish mind. She did not quite understand, but she knew there was something she must learn. She had been naughty and weighed her mother's spirits. She had caused a grave look in her father's kind eyes, and had sent the household pets scattering with her mischief. Now she must be good--very good--else the fox spirit would come upon her, and she would go through life an unhappy soul. She would give more obedience to the honorable mother, whose every word had been a caress. It was as if for the first time the great book of life opened before her and, though unconscious of its meaning, the first word she saw spelled Duty. The noises from the house grew fainter. The child, with blinking eyes, lay gazing straight above her. Overhead the branches overflowed into a canopy of crimson, which shut out the great real world and opened into a fairy world wherein only the untried feet of youth may tread and the fragile flowers of child-dreams bloom. The gates thereto are slight but strong, and only knowledge erects an impassable barrier. The wind sang its lullaby through the blossoms of the tree, and sleep would soon have overtaken Yuki Chan had not a peculiar sound aroused her and caused her eyes to fly wide open. Once before she had heard it, and it had meant death to the big robin who lived in the branches above. The cry came from the mother bird this time and brought Yuki Chan to her feet. Through the shower of blossoms, brought down by the mad fluttering of wings, she saw a tiny half-feathered thing struggling in the sharp claws of her lately acquired pet. With certainty of success, the cat let its victim weakly flutter an inch or two away, then reaching out a cruel paw drew it back. Twice repeated, the green eyes narrowed to slits, and Yuki Chan, horrified, saw big red drops slowly dripping from either side of the whiskered mouth. Terror held her for a moment as she heard the crunching of small bones, then white passion enveloped her as she stole noiselessly from behind and closed her two small hands around the furry throat. _"Baka!"_ she cried from between her clenched teeth. _"Baka_--to eat the baby birds! This day will I ask Oni to make you into a stone, which every foot will kick and hurt, and you can neither move nor cry. You cruel, cruel beast!" In vain the cat struggled. Yuki Chan held it firmly at arm's-length while she decided what was to be its fate. Looking sternly at the offender, her lips rounded into a long-drawn "s-o," the light of anticipated revenge danced in her eyes. At last she knew what to do, O most honorable but very ugly cat! She would throw her into the ditch, where great crawling frogs with popping eyes would stick out long tongues; where flying things would sting, and creeping things would bite; where the great tide would come later and take her out to the big, big ocean, where there was neither milk to drink nor birds to eat. At the thought of her furry playmate floating alone and hungry in the vast place which, to Yuki Chan, had neither beginning nor end, something of pity touched her heart, and she slightly loosened her grasp. The cat gained a good breath and used it. In the fight for freedom a sharp claw was drawn down the child's arm, leaving a line of red in its course. Compassion took flight, and Yuki Chan, clutching anew, went swiftly down the path that led to the street, with a watchful eye on the lodge of the keeper of the gate. The keeper was very old, and very cross, and lately had acquired a curious idea that little girls must ask his honorable permission to go in and out the gate. One day he actually threatened punishment, and Yuki Chan, in her scorn, invited him to cut off his head with a sword, that he might save his face. Now the way was clear. She turned her head and bumped her small body against the weight of the heavy gates until they swung slightly apart and permitted her to slip through. So intent was her purpose to reach the ditch across the street that she did not see an approaching jinrikisha, and before she knew it she had been tumbled over and sent rolling to the side of the road. Still clutching the kitten, she sat up and rubbed the dust from her eyes. Standing over her was the jinrikisha man, and beside him was his passenger, a young American boy, whose light hair and blue eyes held her spell-bound. He was brushing the dust from her kimono, and his foreign tongue made strange sounds. "Say, kid," the boy was saying, as he transferred the dust from his hands to his handkerchief, "glad you're not hurt or got any bones cracked. Where's your mama, or your papa, or your nurse, to give you a spanking and keep you off the street?" As he talked Yuki Chan grew fascinated watching his mouth, and forgot, for a moment, her direful intention. The cat, again taking advantage of her relaxed hold, began to tug for freedom, and a lively struggle ensued. The boy, looking on, began to laugh, a laugh that began in his eyes, ran over his face and down into his throat, whence it came again in a shout of boyish merriment. Yuki Chan, looking from him to the smiling jinrikisha man, grew crimson with anger. With a swift movement she ran toward the ditch. Divining her purpose by the look in her eyes, Dick Merrit went gallantly to the rescue of the kitten. He was tall for his sixteen years, and his long strides more than matched the pattering steps of the slip of a girl who raced before him. "No, you don't, kiddie," he cried; "your manicured cat is not going into the ditch, if we have to scrap for it." Merrit caught Yuki Chan in one arm, and again and again loosened her fingers from the struggling kitten. "Iya, Iya!" the child screamed; but Merrit, as determined as she, held her firmly, and ended by lightly slapping first one little hand and then the other. The child, thus coming into contact for the first time with physical force, relaxed her grasp and gazed in amazement at the boy's determined face. "I guess your 'Iya' means no, little lady, and I say 'Iya' too," said Merrit, taking the cat into his arms and smoothing its uneven back. "You are not going to put it into the ditch. Why don't you give it to me? I am getting up a collection of cats and things at the school, and I'd like to take this queer specimen along. Ask her if I can have it." The jinrikisha man, who stood a smiling spectator, saw Dick Merrit's hand move toward his pocket, and was instantly alert and eager to settle the matter. "Him ve'y bad girl," he said; "him make dead for catty. You give me ten sen, I take girl homely. You have much of catty." But Dick declined all interference, and putting the cat inside his coat he stooped down and took one of Yuki Chan's unresisting hands. Her sleeve fell back, and he saw the long red scratch. "Hello! The cat had an inning too, didn't she? I'd like to chuck her for hurting you, but I can't let you give her a bath in that dirty hole. Never mind, I'll take her home, and some day I'll bring you something. I bet you don't understand a word I'm saying, but I'll be hanged if I know how to make you." Feeling rather helpless, Dick talked on, patting first Yuki Chan and then the cat. The child stood speechless and looked deep into his eyes, not having entirely recovered from the shock of the first blow she had ever received. "You'll be good, won't you?" he went on coaxingly, "not drown any more cats and things?" Yuki Chan, with the intuition that only a child can have, suddenly bridged the gulf of strange language and understood. With the quick movement of a nestling bird, she bent forward and laid her cheek against the boy's shoulder. It was not only complete surrender, but allegiance to the conqueror. Dick rose, red and confused. Then he climbed into the jinrikisha, trying to ignore the smiles of the man. Yuki Chan, with her hands joined just below her sash, bent her body like a half-shut jack-knife. "Arigato--arigato," she said politely, as she bowed again and again. "Him say t'ank you," interpreted the jinrikisha man. "Good-by," called Dick. "Don't forget--be good!" Yuki Chan watched the back of the jinrikisha and the swinging brown legs of the jinrikisha man that showed beneath. She had forgotten the cat, but she still remembered the kind look in the blue eyes of the boy. "Yuki, Yuki!" came the voice of the mother in her native tongue. "Come, the feast is prepared, and the sandals are worn from my feet running to seek you. Hurry! before the red beans grow cold." The child sent a long-drawn "Hei" in answer to her mother, then to herself she said over and over: "Be goodu--be goodu." She had heard the words a few times before, but they were associated with her visits to the mission-school and a certain oblong box out of which came sticks of red and white with a very sweet taste. Now, as she said them, a new meaning seemed to play about them. She slipped through the gate and walked with unhurried feet toward the small house, so gay in its festal plumage. As she passed the old plum-tree she looked up and saw the mother bird cuddling her babies beneath her breast. Some tender thought lighted the child's face into a strange beauty, as a stray sunbeam finds a hidden flower and glorifies it. Turning her face upward to the nest, she patted her own cheek and said: "Be goodu, Yuki, be goodu." CHAPTER II In the springtime a Japanese house is a fairy-like thing, with only top and bottom of straw and a few upholding posts to give it a look of substance. Yuki Chan's house was typical. The paper screens were carefully put away during the day, that the breezes might play unobstructed through the house. At night the heavy wooden doors were fitted into grooves and served not only to keep out the night air, but also the evil spirits that come abroad when the great sun ceases watching. Binding the whole was a narrow porch, showing a floor polished like a mirror from the slipping and sliding of generations of feet. Yuki Chan first learned to know her face in its reflections and, alas! by the same method had learned the saucy fascination of sticking out her small pink tongue. On the side of the porch toward the plum-tree the child found her father and mother waiting. The two old people sat on gay cushions with hands folded and feet crossed. Their festal attire bore the marks of a once careless luxury, but now shabbiness tried to hide itself under the bravery of tinsel, where once had been pure gold. Each year the struggle of obsolete methods of business and the intricacies of progress plowed the furrows a little deeper in the man's face, and when his eyes, that in youth had blazed with ambition, grew wistful and troubled, he dropped them that his wife might not see. But what silence could hide from this frail woman any mood of the man she had served with mind and body and soul these many years? When she came to him as a shy bride on trial, she knew no such word as love. Duty was her entire vocabulary, and she asked nothing and gave all. Many little souls had come to her, with hands all crimped and pink, like new-blown cherry-leaves, only to close their eyes and pass out to the good god Jizo, who is always waiting to help little children across the river of death. In years gone by, night after night sleep had flown before the terror that another woman would be brought into the house that the family name might not die out. Silently she would slip out to the little shrine and pour out passionate words of prayer that just one little soul might be permitted to live. No matter how long the night, nor how bitter the struggle, morning always found her bright and cheerful, bending every effort to invent new diversions for her husband. She labored to anticipate every wish, and even though she did without, she provided him the best of comfort. Working far into the night, secretly disposing of her small personal treasures, acquiescing in his most trivial statements, she planned that no slightest gap in the domestic arrangement should suggest itself to him. The woman worked and prayed and waited. Then she triumphed. In the wake of a great snow-storm came the longed-for child, and they called her Yuki, after the snow that had brought them their wish. Hand in hand with Yuki Chan came love, and bound the hearts of the man and woman with ties of a desire fulfilled. From that time to this love had prevailed, and as Yuki Chan climbed on the porch, besmirching its shining surface with her muddy little feet, that had been guiltless of sandals all day, the faces of the two old people lighted up with sudden joy. Yuki Chan looked ruefully at the muddy prints she had made and realized that she had been a most impolite little girl. Remembering her recent resolve, she sought the eyes in which she had never seen any light for her save that of love. She drew close, and reaching down took her mother's hand, hard and cracked by labor, and laying her cheek against it said, with a voice sure of forgiveness and sweet desire for atonement: "Go men nasai." The mother, with a courtly but playful air, granted her pardon with a low salutation. Then with a rush of affection that no convention could stem, she folded the child to her heart and lived another moment of supreme joy. The father sat by, making no comment, his eyes bright and twinkling. Then he suggested that their Majesties, the dolls, had been waiting long on the shelf. Was it not time they were receiving a visit? The years of toil were telling on both father and mother, but they daily refreshed themselves at the overbrimming fountain of Yuki Chan's youth, and now, as they each took one of her hands to go in to see the dolls, they were so gay that the child suggested that instead of walking they should do the new one-two-three-hop she had learned at the kindergarten. It was unheard-of conduct, but it was for Yuki Chan, and father and mother stumped along, cheered on by the small girl who was trying to keep time, but was breathless through sheer excess of happiness. There was nothing in the room to impede their progress. No chairs with treacherous legs to trip over, no beds, nor tables with sharp corners --nothing whatever but the matting, soft and thick, where Yuki Chan had practised all the gymnastics of childhood unbruised and unharmed. Half skipping, half hopping, and wholly undone with laughter and exertion, the three at last reached the place where, for six years, offerings had been made for the gift of the child who stood to these two for love. Arranged in the best room in the house, on five long red-covered shelves, were dolls. Big dolls and little dolls, thin ones and fat ones, each one to represent some royal man or woman of the long ago, and dressed in a fashion of a time almost forgotten. There was Jimmu Tenno, the first real emperor. His hair was done in a curious fashion and his dress was of a wonderful brocade, while his hands clasped two fierce-looking swords. There was Jingo, too, who had won fame and lasting honor by her wonderful fighting, and was so great she had to sit by the emperors and look down on the other empresses. Such a lot of them! Some worthy to be remembered every day in the year, others the more quickly forgotten the better. Yuki Chan knew them all by heart, and she lingered before those she liked and quickly passed those she did not care for. She could not be rude to an emperor, even though he had been dead hundreds of years. She was really not very afraid of the greatness of the old doll men and women who sat on the shelf, still it was well to be careful about handling them. She might be turned into a lizard or a snake, just as the old lodge-keeper had said. But her delight was in the miniature toilet articles of solid silver, costly gold lacquer, and porcelain, so tiny, so beautifully carved they must have meant the eyesight of some workman, only too glad to shut out the sunlight forever if he might produce just one perfect thing. The things, however, that made Yuki Chan clap her hands and the nesting birds perk up their heads at the sound of her clear, sweet laugh were the funny little lacquer carts in which the royalty was supposed to ride, drawn by impossible fat bullocks, so bow-legged that their curves formed a big round O. Yuki Chan made her red lips into the same shape, and called her mother to look. She pretended to feed the dolls with real food and wine, and actually played with the five court musicians, because they were partly servants and it did not matter. Her tongue ran in ceaseless chatter. Her father and mother hovered around her, repeating the history of all those wonderful people. Yuki Chan listened very little, so concerned was she with her own comments, until she happened to see an anxious look creep into her mother's eyes. It was something every little girl must know, and if Yuki Chan's honorable ears refused to open, how would she learn? Then Yuki Chan nestled close, and gave little pats of love and tried to listen. THE shadows of the bamboo grew long and slim as the sun kissed them good night. The sails skimmed homeward on a silver sea as the west covered its rosy pink in a veil of deepest blue. The young birds in the old plum-tree did not stir at the loving touch of the mother who, with a soft bill, searched and sought for the lost one. The plum-blossoms lingered yet for a night as the air had grown chill. Within the house Yuki Chan, still dressed, lay on the floor, weary with the wonders of the day. Her mother took from a small inclosure beneath a shelf many soft comforts with which she arranged the child's bed. Yuki Chan, talking all the time in a low monotone, tried to unravel a tangle in her mind of birds and cats and dolls. It was all getting unmanageable and very hazy, when her mother gathered her into her arms, and quickly casting aside her two garments laid her gently in a bath of caressing warmth. A moment more and the little maiden lay like a rose-leaf in her bed. The night-lamp made shadowy ghosts of all it touched, and one gleam of light, escaping the paper shade, hung like an aureole above the head of Yuki Chan's mother as she knelt with clasped hands before the Buddha on the shelf. Her moving lips had only one refrain: "The child, the child, the child." Yuki Chan watched the play of the light in the half-dark room. What funny things those shadows made, and, strangely enough, one more wonderful than all the rest grew into the shape of the boy, and his lips were saying, "Be good." Then Yuki Chan lost herself in a mist of drowsiness, and her mother sat by, and kept time with her hand as she chanted rather than sang: "Sleep, little one, sleep. The sparrows are nodding. Beneath the deep willow-trees The night-lamp is burning. Thy mother is watching, Sleep, little one, sleep." CHAPTER III Twelve times had the plum-tree scattered its petals to the wind, and Yuki San [Footnote: The honorific _Chan_, used only in childhood, is changed to _San_ in later years.] had passed from childhood into girlhood, and had already touched the border of that grave land of grown-up, where all the worries lie. For though she was apparently only a larger edition of the spoiled, impulsive happy child of old, yet often her eyes were shadowed with the struggle of shielding her aging father and mother from the poverty that was coming closer day by day. During the three years she had been gaining her education at the English mission-school, they had toiled unceasingly that she might have the best the country could afford, but now that she had returned after her long struggle with a strange language and a strange people, it was but fitting that she should take up her duties as the daughter of an impoverished family of high rank. The father, grown old and feeble, gave up the battle for existence, and being a devout Buddhist, turned his thoughts upon Nirvana, which he strove diligently to enter by perpetual meditation and prayer. The mother, used to guidance and unable to think or plan for herself, turned helplessly to Yuki San. The duties were heavy for girlish shoulders, and often as the dawn crept over the mountains it found the girl wide-eyed and still, trying to solve the problem of modest demand and meager supply. She had learned many things at the mission-school. She could read and write English imperfectly, she could recite the multiplication table faster than any one else, she could perform the most intricate figures in physical culture, and if she had infinite time she could play three hymns on the organ. These varied accomplishments, however, seemed of little assistance in showing her how to stretch her father's small pension beyond the barest necessities of the household. Tales had been told her of a great land, far beyond her sea-bound home, where women of the highest birth went out to work in the busy world. How she had marveled at their boldness and wondered at the customs that would permit it! Now she half envied them their freedom, and sighed over the iron-bound etiquette that forbade a departure from her father's roof save for the inevitable end of all Japanese women--a prearranged marriage. It was for this she had been so carefully trained in all phases of housekeeping, and in all the intricacies of social life. Her education from birth had been with a view of making smooth the path of her future husband that his home might be peaceful and he untroubled. Each day as the burden grew heavier she fought her battle with the bravery and courage of youth. With jests and chatter she served her parents' simple meals, constantly urging them to further indulgence of what she pretended was a great feast, but which in reality she had secretly sacrificed some household treasure to obtain. She deftly turned the rice-bucket as she served, that they might not see the scant supply. With great ceremony she poured the hot water into the bowls, insisting that no other _sake_ was made such as this. Her determination to keep them happy and ignorant of the true conditions taxed her every resource, but it was her duty, and duty to Yuki San was the only religion of which she was sure. But one day a great event happened in the little home. Yuki San was called before her father and told, in ceremonious language, that a marriage had been arranged for her with Saito San, a wealthy officer in the Emperor's household. She laid her head upon the mats and gave thanks to the gods. Now her father and mother would live in luxury for the rest of their lives! Saito San was to her only a far-away, shadowy being, whom she was to obey for the rest of her life and whose house she was to keep in order. He was a means to an end, and entered into her thoughts merely as one to whom she was deeply grateful. Youth and all its joys were strong within her, and the pressure of poverty gone, her whole nature rebounded with delight. Many times had marriage been proposed for her, for the story of her beauty and obedience had spread, but her father guarded his treasure zealously, and it was not until an offer came, suiting his former rank and condition, that he gave his consent. Now, when he saw the happy light in the eyes of his child, and saw the color come into her cheeks, he laid his hands upon her head and blessed her. When Yuki San was by herself she clapped her hands joyfully. "I make happy like 'Merican," she whispered. "Hooray, hooray! now my troublesome make absence," and she hurried away to put a thank-offering before the household god. Having arranged all preliminaries and instructed the mother to sell every household treasure that his child's clothes might do honor to the rich man's house, the father went back once more to his pipe and his dreams. Yuki San and her mother were up with the sun, sewing and embroidering, and going about their daily task with zest and song. The past trials were forgotten and the future not considered. One morning, not many weeks after the marriage had been arranged, Yuki San heard the call of the _Yubin_ San, and running out to meet him, received a strange-looking letter. The envelope was white and square, and straight across the middle, in very plain English, was her name and address. Puzzled, she turned it over and over, then broke the seal. The picture of the big hotel at the top of the sheet was so distracting that for a time she could get no further, but a word here and there and the signature at the end finally made her cry out with delight and surprise. "Oh! it's from that funny lil' boy what gave spank to my hands long time ago. He want to come to my house for stay. Listen." There was no one to listen but her own happy self, and lying flat upon the floor she propped her glowing face between her palms, while she read aloud from the letter spread before her: YOKOHAMA. Miss YUKI INOUYE-- _Dear Miss Inouye_: I wonder if you remember an American boy with whom you had an encounter in your very early days, because he dared to thwart your plans concerning a cat? I remember it very well, and the jolly picnics and excursions that you and my mother and I took together afterward. I hope you have not forgotten me, for I am going to claim the privilege of the conqueror in that old battle and ask a favor of you. My Government has sent me out to your country on some important business, and finding there was no hotel close to my work, I wrote to the school where my mother and I visited twelve years ago, and asked them to recommend a family that would be good enough to take me in for two months. Strangely enough your father's name was suggested, and when I read that the only daughter both spoke and wrote English, and that her name was Yuki San, my mind flew back to my "Little Sister Snow" of the days gone by. Could your father manage to accommodate me for a couple of months, if I promise to be very good and take up as little room as possible? If you think he can, please wire me here at Yokohama, and I'll come straight down. Hoping to see you very soon, I am Your old friend, RICHARD MELTON MERRIT. Yuki San turned the letter this way and that, and vainly tried to decipher the strange words. It was undoubtedly English, but not the English she was used to. She ran for her small dictionary and diligently searched out the meaning of each phrase. Yes, she remembered the boy--he had light hair, and blue eyes that laughed, and he was a big, big boy and carried her on his shoulder. She sat with the folded letter clasped carefully in her hands and gave herself up to joyous anticipation. A foreign guest was coming to stay two whole months in her house; after that she was to be married and wear her beautiful kimono, and give rich gifts to her father and mother. Surely Buddha was caring for her! There had been grave moments of doubt about it since she left the mission-school, for he had never seemed to listen, though she prayed him night and day. But he had been only waiting to send all her happiness at once--he was a good god, kind and thoughtful. To-morrow, before the sun touched the big pine-tree on the mountain-top, she would go to the temple and tell him so. Yuki San's plans found favor with her parents, chiefly because of their great desire to give her pleasure, and incidentally because the board of the foreigner would swell the fund that was needed for her marriage. The plighted maid to them was already the wife, and the danger of a youthful heart defying tradition and clearing the bars of conventionality to reach its own desire was something unknown to these simple people. The child wished the foreigner to come--they could give her few pleasures--she should have her desire. The sending of the telegram was the first exciting thing to be attended to. Five times Yuki San rewrote the short message, finding her fingers less deft than her tongue in framing an English sentence. Gravely and with effort she wrote: "I give you all my house. Your lovely friend, Yuki." But she shook her head over this and tried again: "You have the welcome of my heart. Yuki." This, too, fell short of her ideal, so she decided to send simply two words of which she was quite sure: "Please come." The days that followed were crowded with busy preparation. The difficulty of providing the ease and comfort that the presence of so honorable a guest demanded taxed to the utmost Yuki San's resourceful nature. Gaily she set her wits and fingers to work--placing a heavy brass _hibachi_ over a black scorch in the matting, fitting new rice-paper into the small wooden squares of the _shoji_, and hanging _kakemono_ over the ugly holes made by the missing plaster in the wall. From one part of the house to another she flitted, laughing and working, while the old garden echoed her happiness and overflowed with blossom and song. On the day of Merrit's expected arrival, when the last flower had been put in the vases, and the last speck of dust flecked from the matting, Yuki San's keen eyes detected a torn place in the paper door which separated the guest-chamber from the narrow hall. A puzzled little frown drew her black brows together, but it soon fled before her smile. "Ah!" she cried, "idea come quickly! I write picture of bamboo on teared place." With paint and brush she fell to work, and beneath her skilful fingers the ugly tear disappeared in a forest of slender _take_ which stretched away to the foot of a snow-capped mountain. With a last touch she sank back on her heels and viewed her work with deep satisfaction. "All finished," she said, opening wide her arms; "no more to do now but wait for that time 'Merican sensei call jollyful!" A laugh behind her made her turn her head quickly, and there in the doorway stood a tall foreigner, with outstretched hand of welcome. Hand-shaking was an unknown art with Yuki San, so after one startled upward glance she touched her head to the floor in gracious courtesy. All her gay spirits and freedom of speech vanished, and she was instantly enveloped in a mist of shyness and reserve that Merrit's direct look did not serve to lessen. With lowered eyes, she ushered him into the larger living-room, and bade him be seated and accept all the hospitality her father's poor house could give. After a long and tiresome journey Merrit found something inexpressibly charming in the quiet, picturesque place, and in the silent young girl who sat so demurely in the shadow. He tactfully ignored her timidity by talking cheerful nonsense about impersonal things, treating her as a bashful child who wanted to be friends but hardly dared. As he talked Yuki San gained courage, and ventured many curious glances at the broad-shouldered young fellow, whose figure seemed completely to fill the room. At first she saw only a strange foreigner, but gradually, as she watched his face and listened to his unfamiliar speech, she discovered a long-lost playmate. Through all the years that she had struggled for an education at the mission-school, English had been invariably associated with a tall, awkward, foreign boy, whose mouth made funny curves and whose eyes laughed when he made strange sounds. How big and splendid and handsome he had grown! How different his clothes from any she had ever seen before! How white his long hands, whose strong, firm touch she remembered so well! She looked and looked again, drinking in the tones of his deep voice, till the throbbing of her heart sent a flood of crimson to her cheeks. But gradually her shyness wore away, and when Merrit asked her how in the world he was to conduct his business with so few Japanese words at his command, she ventured to answer: "I know; I give you the teach of Nippon, you give me the wise of dat funny 'Merican tongue." "That's a go!" said Dick, as he held out his hand to close the bargain. But the girl drew back, troubled. "No, no, you no _go_! You stay. I give you all my intellect of Nippon speech. Please!" and she looked up pleadingly. Merrit laughed outright. "That's all right, Yuki San; I am going to stay, and we will begin school in the morning." By this time the mother and father had learned of the guest's arrival and hurried in to bid him welcome. The unpacking of his steamer-trunk and the disposal of his possessions in his small apartment was a matter of interest to the whole family. Each article was politely examined and exclaimed over, and when Merrit drew out a package of photographs and showed them his home and family and friends, the excitement became intense. That night Yuki San lay once more on her soft _futon_ and watched the shadow of the night-lamp play upon the screens. Nothing was changed in the homely room since she had lain there in her babyhood: the same little lamp, the same little Buddha on the shelf looking at her with inscrutable eyes. Yuki San stirred restlessly. "Dat most nice girl in picture," she said to herself. "Him make marry with dat girl, he say." Then she added inconsequently, with a sigh, "I much hope Saito San go to war for long, long time." CHAPTER IV For two halcyon months Yuki San lived in a dream. The ample compensation Merrit insisted upon making for the hospitality extended to him more than met the modest needs of the little household, and once again, as in the earlier days, they went on jolly excursions, visited ancient temples, and picnicked under the shadow of the _torii_. The father and mother always trotted close behind, and Yuki San, vastly pleased with her ability, gaily translated the speeches from one to another. She talked incessantly, laughing over her own mistakes, and growing prettier and more winsome every day. Merrit was glad to fill his leisure time in such pleasant companionship. Yuki San was the same little bundle of charm he remembered of old, with her innocence untouched, and a heart whose depths had never yet been stirred. He teased her, and taught her, and played with her, as he would have played with a merry child. Naturally gentle and affectionate, he unconsciously swept Yuki San to the borderland of that golden world where to awaken alone is agony. One morning, when the heavy mists of the valley lay in masses of pink against the deeper purple of the mountain, and his Highness, the sun, his face flushed from his long climb, was sending his first glances over the sunny peaks of Fuji-yama, Yuki San arose, after a sleepless night, and faced the morning with sorrowful eyes. "You ve'y lazy, Mister Sun, this morning," she said, shaking a finger at him in reproof; "where you the have been? Why you not come the more early and make light for my busy?" She tied the long sleeves of her bright kimono out of her way, and twisting a bit of cloth about her head, fell to dusting the _shoji_ and setting the small room in order. "I must the hurry," she said, as she kept up her brisk dusting. "I make the food so quick as that Robin San steal berry for his babies. To-day him one big, big day, but him no glad day. Merrit San go away." She paused in her work, and a look of pain darkened her eyes, but she shook her head reproachfully. "Ah, Yuki San, you make sorry voice and your heart is thinking tears. You naughty girl! Quick you make the fire to rise in _hibachi_ and give that Merrit San his _gohan_--same thing what that funny 'Merica call breakfast." After the steam had begun to rise from the vessels on several _hibachi_, Yuki San, flushed by her exertions, rested upon her heels before the door that led into the garden. As she fanned her flushed face with her sleeve, she glanced again and again toward the narrow stairway that led to the chamber above, and at the slightest sound she listened in smiling expectancy. From outside the wall came the gentle slip-slap of the water against the _sampan_, and the cheerful banter of the owners as they made ready for the work of the day. Circling the garden, the fern-like maples made a note of vivid crimson amid the feathery green of the bamboo. Every feature of the place was closely associated with her short happy life. She had learned to walk on the soft sandy paths, she had spelled out her first characters on the old stone-lantern. She had whispered her secrets to the broken-nosed image of Kwannon, who sat in the shadow of the pines, and there under the plum-tree she had caught the naughty kitten that first brought her and Merrit San together. As she sat, with folded hands, and watched the sunshine on the dewy leaves and flowers, her intense, restless, vivacious body relaxed in sudden languor and her soft mouth drooped in wistfulness. A splash in the pool below attracted her, and looking down she saw the gleaming bodies of the goldfish as they leaped into the air. Instantly she was all life and volubility. "Yuki San one big bad girl; she no remember li'l fish. They always like hungry baby San in early morning. I make fast to fill big hole inside--ve'y li'l outside." Slipping her half-stockinged feet out of her straw house-shoes, she stepped into her wooden _geta,_ and passing a shelf, filled her hands with round rice-cakes. The edge of the water turned to gold as the fish crowded close. Yuki San scattered the crumbs and stood watching the wriggling mass for a moment, then said: "You ve'y greedy li'l fish. I never no can fill your bodies. Now I get flower for Merrit San's breakfast." She made her way over the flat mossy stones, passed the miniature Fuji where dwelt the spirit of the wondrous "Lady who made the flowers to bloom." She paused before the gorgeous chrysanthemums and looked long at the morning-glories, with their tender tints of dawn. But at last she spied on a rose-bush, set apart from the rest, a single white rose with a heart of red. With a little cry of satisfaction, she thrust her hands among the thorns to pluck it. The rebound of the bush sent fluttering to her feet a brilliant purple butterfly. Tender to all living things, Yuki San dropped quickly to her knees and folded the half-chilled creature between the palms of her warm hands. "Ah, Cho Cho San," she said, "the day of yesterday you so big and strong. The morning of to-day you have the weakness of cold body. That Jack Floss him ve'y naughty boy!" She put her moist red lips to her folded palms and the warmth of her breath stirred to action the gauzy creature she held captive. "You no must kick, Cho Cho San! Have the patience. I make you warm, I give you one more day of happy." Yuki San's wooden shoes sent a sharp click into the quiet morning air as she quickly crossed the arched bridge and followed the path to the stone image beyond the pool. With a touch as soft as the wings she held, the girl lightly balanced the now thoroughly warmed butterfly on the broad forehead of the Goddess of Mercy. In sharp contrast to the spirit of the scene came the clear, rollicking strains of an American air, whistled by some one coming down the steps. For a moment Yuki San stood motionless, pressing her lips softly to the rose she held. Then, with a swift pitter-patter, she ran back to the house. "The top of the morning to the honorable Miss Snow," said Merrit, who quite filled the doorway. Not willing to be surpassed in salutation, Yuki San laid a hand on each knee, and bending her back at right angles, replied with mock gravity: "Ohayo Gozaimasu-Kyo wa yoi O tenki." Merrit knew she had him at a disadvantage in her own language, but, always delighted to see the play of her dimples and the soft pink creep into her cheeks when he teased, he stood by her now, big and stern, and growling. "See here, Yuki San, otherwise Miss Snow, you just come off your high stilts of that impossible lingo, and speak nice English suitable for a little boy like me to understand." "Li'l boy like you!" she rippled, "li'l boy like you! Merrit San him so long when he make Japanese bow he come down from top like big bamboo-tree--so!" Putting her hands high above her head, she bent till the tips of her fingers touched the floor. Still bent, she twisted her head till her eyes, bright with laughter, looked straight into Merrit's. He lifted his eyebrows quizzically. "See here, Yuki San, you are fast developing the symptoms of a coquette." She quickly straightened her back, and with a smile of bewilderment, exclaimed: "Me croquette? No, no; croquette, him li'l chicken-ball what you eat. I no can be eat!" Merrit shouted with delight, then grew grave. "No, Yuki San, you don't ever want to be a coquette. You want to be your sweet little self, and make a good wife to that handsome soldier Saito, with all his gold braid and dingle-dangles. But what about breakfast? You see, my train leaves in an hour. If you don't give me something to fill my honorable insides, I'll have to eat you, sure enough." In mock fear she quickly brought a low table from an inner room, and with deft hands placed the steaming soup and broiled fish before him. The knife and fork were a concession to Merrit's inability to wield the chopsticks, and sitting on his heels was Merrit's concession to the inability of the house to provide a chair. "Hello!" he said, picking up a long-stemmed rose, "where did you find this beauty?" "I guessed her with my nose," the girl answered. "You know what make her heart so red? Long time ago, most beautiful princess love with wrong man. Make Buddha ve'y angly, and he turn her body into white rose. But her heart just stay all time red 'cause of beautiful love that was there." "My! he's a fierce old customer, that Buddha of yours," said Merrit. Yuki San paused in the filling of the rice-bowl and looked at him gravely: "Merrit San, do you know God?" "Do I know God?" he repeated, with a half-embarrassed laugh. "Yes, Christians' God, what you must love and love, but no never can see till die-time come. You know, Merrit San?" Then, lowering her voice in earnest inquiry, she went on: "You believe that Christians' God more better for Japanese girl than Buddha?" For a moment Merrit felt the hot blood of confusion rise to his temples. The role of spiritual adviser was a new and somewhat embarrassing one. Struggling for expression, he floundered hopelessly. "I--I--I guess I don't know very much about it. But there's one sure tip, Yuki San, the Christians' God is all right. You can't lose out if you pin to him." He stammered like a foolish schoolboy, but struggled bravely on: "When things get pretty thick and you've struck bottom, that's the time you find out. I know. I've been there. More's the pity I don't remember it oftener!" "And you think him more better for me?" asked Yuki San, still perplexed. "You bet I do!" said Merrit with conviction. "Take my word for it and don't forget." "I no forget," she said. A sliding of the screen and a call from the court-yard announced the arrival of the jinrikisha men, who had come for the baggage. Merrit thrust back his half-finished breakfast. "By Jove! I'd most forgotten this is my last meal with you. Just to think all that tiresome old government contract is finished and I'll soon be on my way to the other side!" "You want to see other side?" she asked. "Mama San not there no more." Then seeing his face darken, she laid a quick hand of sympathy on his. "I have the sorrowful for you," she said earnestly, then went on hastily: "That other side! Yes, I know that most beautiful 'Merica. Most big ship in the world come rolling into Hatoba. Merrit San so long and big, stand way out front and see over much people. Then he cry out, 'Herro!' herro!' with glad and much joyful. He see that lovely girl like picture waiting there!" Without pausing for a reply, she pushed open a door and called in Japanese to her father and mother, who never made their appearance till Merrit's breakfast was finished. "Come, make ready to give our guest an honorable departure," she said. In the small courtyard facing the street the girl found the men, with their jinrikishas and baggage-wagon, waiting to convey Merrit to the station. She carefully directed the tying on of the various trunks and bags, and placed the family just where they should stand that the greatest honor might be done the departing guest. As Merrit came out of the little house and reached for his shoes, which stood waiting at the side, Yuki San started toward him, eager to serve him to the last. Merrit motioned her back. "Don't come too near, Yuki San. If you happened to fall into one of those shoes, you'd be lost for ever and ever, and that big Mr. Saito would be inviting me to cut off my head." Yuki San laughed and smoothed the cushions in the jinrikisha while she gave minute directions to the jinrikisha men. Merrit made his adieu with high good humor, and so many big words that Yuki San was hard pressed to interpret. He invited the family and all their relatives to come to see him in America. When he reached Yuki San he held out his hand. Made shy by the unusual ceremony, she timidly laid a cold and unresponsive little palm in his. He looked down from his height with tender memories of all her gentle courtesies. "Good-by, little snow-girl," he said. "I'll never forget Japan, nor you." She withdrew her hand and looked inquiringly up at him. "Some long time you come back?" Merrit climbed into the jinrikisha "No, Yuki San, you know I'll soon have a little home of my own to work and care for. I'll be a busy man for the next few years, so I guess I'll not come back." As in a dream, Yuki San saw the men adjust their hats and tighten their sashes as they took their places in front of the small vehicle. Mechanically she bowed her farewell with the rest of the family, but she did not join their "Sayonara." She watched the swift moving of the jinrikisha wheels, then she saw Merrit turn at the gate and wave his hat as he joyously called: "Good-by, Yuki San, God bless you!" The girl stood still, her eyes on the empty gate. Like a lonely, hurt child her lip quivered, and she caught it between her teeth to steady it. "Ah, Yuki," cried her mother, "some spirit has wished you harm. A drop of blood rests on your lips." Yuki San drew her hand across her mouth, and lightly answered that maybe a robin had tried to steal a cherry. But to herself she murmured: "My heart bleed for lonely. He _never_ come back." CHAPTER V The following day a host of accumulated duties and various preparations for the first ceremonious visit of the groom-elect kept Yuki San's hands and mind busy, and if sometimes a sob rose in her throat, or her eyes strayed wistfully from her task, she resolutely refused to let herself dwell upon the past. The marriage, which had been dutifully accepted as a matter of course and looked forward to as a financial relief to the entire family, had never held any particular interest for her, but now even the preparations, which had hitherto excited her interest and enthusiasm, found her listless and indifferent. She would be mistress over a great mansion and many servants, and her days were to be spent in arranging for the physical comfort of Saito and the entertainment of his friends. The arrangement had seemed so simple, and so right, and she had been gratified that a desirable husband had been found. But now she could neither understand nor explain to herself her new and strange resistance. She only knew that for the first time in her life there was rebellion against the inevitable. As she rested her tired body before beginning her toilet for the afternoon, she remembered an American teacher at school who had been _in love_ with the man she was soon to marry. She remembered how she had hidden behind the trees to see this young teacher run to the gate to meet the postman, and her own failure to see why these letters should bring such joy. She, with other girls, had spent a whole recess acting this scene amid peals of laughter. Now it all came back to her with new meaning, and it seemed neither strange nor amusing. She leaned her head against the open _shoji_ and looked out into the garden, radiant and beautiful in the high noon of a perfect autumn day. The working world paused in a brief sleep and the music of the garden was hushed, while the insects sought the shadow of green leaves. Peace was within and without, save in the girl's awakening heart. "Ah, Sensei," she murmured through her trembling lips. "Then I make fun for your letter of love. Forgive my impolite. Now I the understanding have." Yuki San chose her toilet for the coming visit with due regard for all convention. There must be no touch of purple--that being the color soonest to fade made it an evil omen. She selected an _obi_ of rare brocade, the betrothal gift of Saito, the great length of which expressed the hope of an enduring marriage. As she dressed, her mother flitted about her, chatting volubly and in such high spirits that Yuki San's heart was warmed. The elaborate trousseau had caused the little household many a sacrifice, but the joy in the hearts of the old people more than justified them. Presently the clatter of the jinrikisha in the courtyard announced the arrival of the guest. Yuki San heard the long ceremonious greeting of her father. She saw her mother hasten away to do her part and, left alone, she sat with troubled eyes and drooping head. The strange feeling in her heart, one moment of joy and one of pain, bewildered and frightened her. No thought of evading her duty crossed her mind, but her whole being cried out for a beautiful something she had just found, but which it was futile to hope for in her new life. At the call of her mother, Yuki San silently pushed open the screen and made her low and graceful greeting. Custom forbidding her to take part in the conversation, she busied herself with serving the tea, listening while Saito San recounted various incidents of the picturesque court-life, or told of adventures in the recent war. After all the prescribed topics had been discussed and the farewells had been said, Yuki San retained a vague impression of a small, middle-aged man, with many medals on his breast, who looked at her with kind, unsmiling eyes. It was not till after the simple evening meal that Yuki San found the chance to slip away to the little upper room which had been Merrit's for two months. Nothing there had been touched, for the old mother claimed that to set a room in order too soon after a guest's departure was to sweep out all luck with him. The girl entered and stood, a ghostly image, in the soft and tender light of the great autumn moon as it lay against the paper doors and filled the tiny room. Through the half-light Yuki San saw many touches of the late inmate's personality. A discarded tie hung limply from a hook on the wall, a half-smoked cigar and a faded white rose lay side by side on the low table. From the garden the sad call of a night-bird, with its oft-repeated wail, seemed to voice her loneliness, and with a sob she sank upon her knees beside the cot. Long she lay in an abandonment of grief, beating futile wings against the bars of fate. At last, throwing out her arms, she touched a small object beneath the pillow. Drawing it toward her, she took it to the open _shoji_, and by the bright moonlight she saw a small morocco note-book. She puzzled over the strange figures on the first few pages, but from the small pocket on the back cover she drew forth a picture that neither confused nor surprised. It was the girl Merrit had told her about--the girl to whom he was going so joyously. It was a face full of the gladness of life and love, whose laughing eyes looked straight into Yuki San's with such a challenge of friendship and good will that the girl smiled back at the picture and laid it gently against her warm cheek. She sought out each detail of hair and dress as she held it for closer inspection, then replacing it in the pocket she said softly: "He have the big, big love for you. You give him the happy. I close my heart about you." On the back of the book in letters of gold she spelled out the strange word, "Diary." She puzzled for a moment, then she remembered where she had seen it before. The young American teacher had written in just such a book, and when she asked its meaning, the teacher had said it was her best friend, her confidant, to whom she told her secrets. For a moment Yuki San stood with the book in her hand, then she said impulsively: "Diary! I make diary, too. I speak my thoughts to you. I tole you all my secrets. Maybe my lonely heart will flew away." CHAPTER VI THE DIARY OF YUKI SAN _First Entry_ 'Merican Sensei say she have one closest friend in little book. I tell my troublesome to this little book what spells "Diary" in gold letters on back. I make it my closest friend what no never speaks the words of yours when heart overflows with several feelings. I write for Merrit San, but his eyes no must never see. Just my heart speak to his heart in that 'Merican tongue what he understands. Japanese girl very naughty if she love man. She made for the take care of man's mother, man's house. Very bad for Japanese girl to say love when she marry with man. Merrit San say 'Merican girl speak love with eyes when lips are shame. Japanese girl cover the eye with little curtain when man comes. She no must peep out one little corner. No must see, no must hear, no must speak the love. So I make little book guess my heart each day. The happy days are pass away, and the flowers are bloom and birds will return to me again, but where can I find Merrit San? How I feel the sorry and the lonesome when I think I can't find him no more in this long island. I no can express my heart with words. I never the forget of his kindness to me. Big lamp by Merrit San's desk no never burn so bright for me. It make funny little crooked shadow of my body on _shoji_. Merrit San's body always make big and strong black picture. I saw it last time big moon look over mountain. I took walk in garden and I thinking this time next moon Merrit San will not be here. Though the lamplight shines through the _shoji,_ still in next month the owner of the light will be different and the ache come into my heart. Whole Japan are changed, and everything I see or hear makes me think of him; but my thoughts of him never, never changed, yet more and more increase and longing for him all time. My heart speak the much word of love for Merrit San. My eyes grow shame to say it. Little book, close my secret! _Second Entry_ ALL day many rains come down in garden. He steals flowers' sweetness and damp my heart with lonesome. Last rainy day Merrit San teached me more better English, and he laugh very long when I read the English writing with my Japanese tongue. He say: "Ah, Yuki San, you very funny little girl!" Then I teach him the play of _go ban_, and he make the pain in his head with the several thoughts how he must move the black or white. He try long, long time, then he shake his big feest, and he say: "You've got me beat, little sister; you've got me sure." I laugh, but I think much thoughts. _I_ no hurt Merrit San with beat, and girl with much laugh in her eyes have got him for surely. I no understand that funny 'Merican tongue. Merrit San so many time call me little sister, and he say my soul all white like my name. What _is_ my soul? Ah, that same spirit what leave my body and go out 'cross that many seas to safe Merrit San's journey. I keep that soul all purely and white all of because Merrit San call me Little Sister Snow. One day I take Merrit San with me to very old temple. Sun, him so bright he make all leaves to dance with glad. Green lizard take sleep on stone step while big honey-bee sing song. All things have the joyful, and my feets just touch earth with lightsome. I go inside temple and say one very little pray to Amida, for I have the hurry. When I go back, Merrit San he say: "See here, Yuki San, you no waste time over pray. You get the trouble with that old gentleman if you have not the careful." Then I say: "Next time I give him little money and make big smoke with incense," and he say, "Yuki, you very good girl." Just by temple's side is little bamboo-tree which have very nice story. One good god he like this bamboo, and he like the beautiful love. He say give names of man and woman to boughs of bamboo and make the tie together with long pin of thorn. Give the low bow, and by and by the dear wish in heart will be truly. Merrit San he no can know what I do, but he hold the high boughs of bamboo down and I name him and me and make the tie together. The dear wish of my heart come not truly. It is full of sad. _Third Entry_ What shall I do to less my anxious? To-day at temple I ask Buddha. He never speak. He always look far away at big sea. He no care, though tears of the heart make damp the kimono sleeve. The Christians' God I no can see. But Merrit San say he is everywhere and listens for voice of troublesome. I no can make him hear, though I say the loud prayer. Buddha very ugly old god. Maybe him cross when he see very pretty Japanese girl make the low bow to him. I believe Christians' God more better than Buddha, because Merrit San say he make everything truly. He make me, he make Merrit San, he make the beautiful love. Maybe some day that big God hear about Japanese girl's heart of trouble and speak the peace. To-day one long so busy day. Many silk must be sewed into fine kimono for the when I go to live in other house. Sometimes I very glad I go to other house. I make the many comforts of my mother and my father. To-day I see the much cold in my father's body. Very soon he have nice warm kimono with sheep's fur all inside. Then I make the glad heart, I marry with Japanese man. It is getting little cold, and every night the moon is so clear. These day crickets are singing among the grasses. Those make me to think of Merrit San more and more. This fall was quite changed to me. At first Merrit San never come back to me as I expect in dreamy way. I have the feel of very helpless and lonesome. Before, though I had some trouble or unhappiness, if I saw Merrit San's smile everything was taken clear away and my heart was full with cheer and happy. Ah, Merrit San, though it makes my cheek red with hot to write the speak, I love you most. Buddha very naughty old god to say nothing truly is. _Fourth Entry_ Ah, Merrit San, what you suppose I have dream last night? I was so happy that I cannot tell with my tongue nor pen. That _you_ come back! I could no word speak out with so much glad. I had many things to tell you before I wake, but I could not even one thing. You say you stay ten days. It is too short, but it far more better is than half night. Oh, I wish so bad I did not wake up from dream! I was tearful with much disappoint, then I remember that day you go to big 'Merica you call back "God bless you, Yuki San," and with my heart I make one soft prayer to Christians' God. When big temple bell wake me up and all birds, my troublesome was more light, and I make so big breakfast for my father and my mother, my pocket began to tell the loneliness, and I could not perform all my wishes. When I write these letters Merrit San is far away at sea on the way of his home. He will have joyful time. I wish I can see her, that girl with the laugh in her eyes. Wonder how she thinks of Japan. Perhaps she would think how small and lonely country and people. One girl in that Japanese country very sad with lonely. But Merrit San say: "Yuki San, you _good girl_, you be good wife." So I make the try to put my lonely heart to sleep. _Fifth Entry_ Time and days goes too fast as running water. Already old month went away and new one have come. It is time for us to do last work on many clothes for new home. When Japanese girl marry with man she take much goods to his house. To-day my father bring what 'Merican call bureau, and many work-box and trays and much fine _futon_ for to sleep on floor with. Next day after this many mens will come and travel all things to other house. Japanese girl wear fine kimono long, long time, and keep for more little girl. Merrit San say 'Merican girl wear fine kimono one time, then she no more like. Then 'Merican girl have much happy in her heart. 'Merican man come to girl's house to marry with her. She no afraid to speak the word of love, though man's mother sit next by him. She no 'fraid of laugh. She has the joyful of life. Japanese girl very happy when she very little girl, or very, very old. But when she goes to man's house to marry with him, she must always be the quiet of little mice and more busy than honey-bee. Very bad. But Japanese girl have the much brave, and holds the happy in her heart when she brings the comforts to her peoples. Merrit San say many more big country than Japan in world. I say, "What is world? I wish I know world like you!" Merrit San stop the laugh and his voice grow still with quiet, then he say: "Ah, Yuki San, little snow-girl like you should not know the world. Cuddle in your little nest and be content." What is content? It is the don't care of anything but the flower-garden in my heart. Wonder if girl with laugh in her eyes have the content? This day I take walk by seas. Last time I take walk so many peoples come with us. I make into Japanese words all Merrit San's funny speaks. We have the much laugh: Merrit San try the eat with chop-sticks. To-day little boat what we ride the water in was broke by its nose and many seas was eating it up. Loud cold wind make pine-trees shivery and sad. Big gray cloud come down and make all black with sorrowful. Sometimes little white waves jump up and dance, but the joyful of last happy day stings my heart. _Sixth Entry_ More long time go running slowly by since you have left us, and as I was thinking of that running and those days and longing for you and my heart getting down in lonely thoughts, _Yubin_ San bring me those package what you sent, Merrit San, and it made me very glad and happy. Hardly can I tell what was in my heart then. Before I can open it I hold it tightly against my breast and kept silence a little while. Tears of sorrow changed into the great joy for a moment when I see your name and your hand of write. I feel as if I receive a new life right in this minute, and I caught a light of hope in yonder. My heartful joy and gladness will not express, and I wish I can go up in high place and shout out and tell all people the joyful of beautiful love. How it make the change in whole earth and life and give the dance of heart. But I will not. Mens and women of Japanese country have not the understand of such lovely thing, and make the shameful of me. So I give silence to my lips and close the door of my heart. Ah, what funny little thing that heart is! In one half live the joyful. Other side have all the painful of life, and when the love come sometimes he knock at wrong door and give the hurtful ache to life. Ah, Merrit San, you give many thankfuls for the lend of my house in your letter. I give the love of you many more thankfuls for coming to my heart, even he knock at two doors. One day me and Merrit San went down to temple where big feast was. Merrit San go inside and look long long time at Buddha, then he say: "Yuki San, what will this old gentleman do to you if you disobey him?" I give little think, then I say, "I no can know--I no never disobey. Buddha say, 'Yuki, take care father and mother all time.' I take care. Him say, 'Yuki, you woman--you not talk too much.' I no talk much. Then him say, 'Yuki, come many time to temple and make light with incense and put little money every time in box.' I give obey and much _go rin_, but Buddha keep all and never give back." Before I finish my speak Merrit San shiver like cold and say, "Come on, Yuki San, let's get out of here and find the sun." Outside I make cherry-wreath while Merrit San tell me story. Him very sweet day--now all gone forever. _Seventh Entry_ Last fine kimono is finished and all baggage is tied. Next day I go to other house. Then my mother will give all house much sweep with new broom, to tell gods I go 'way no more to come back. Maybe they make big fire by gate to tell all peoples I belong to other house now. Ah, little book, to-night I make big fire in my heart and burn all my wickeds in it. Next day I make more fire and burn you. To other house I must go all white and purely as Merrit San say. Ah, Merrit San, you the one big happy in all my life and I never forget all your kindful. You give me the good heart, like sun make flower-bud unclose. You telled me what is soul and purely, and you say be very good wife. One night when moon was big and round and red and river outside wall go spank, spank, you call all my people to garden, and with the 'Merican _samisen_ you sing much songs. Sometimes you very funny, but sometimes when moon specks slip through big pine-tree, I see you very sadful. Now moon speck come on _shoji_ and ache my eyes to look your face once more. I try so much to make picture of man's face I marry with. I no can see anything but much medals on coat, and so many teeths. Merrit San's eyes all blue and twinkly, and face so white and clean. But now he make the joyful with girl with laugh in her eyes, and her feet no touch the ground with much happy. To-morrow I go to other house and no belong to my father and mother. To-day I go temple, and I make promise I no more speak of Merrit San's name; no more the think of his face in my heart. Little book, I weared you close to my breast many days. To-night I sleep with you tight to my heart. You gived me the courage to turn my face to the rising sun of the to-morrow. _Sayonara._ CHAPTER VII The low, deep music of a temple bell rolled down the hillside and echoed through the giant cryptomerias. It stirred to action the creatures of the early dawn and passed out with infinite sweetness to the red-rimmed east of another day. The priests in the old temples chanted their prayers with weird monotony, while a single bird poured out his morning song of love at the door of his mate. The old stone steps leading from temple to temple would have looked as they had a thousand other mornings, gray, grim, and mossy, save for a little figure that slowly took its way up a long and crooked flight. Yuki San was on her way to make good her promise to the gods. Her wooden shoes clicked sharply in the quiet morning air, then hushed as she paused for rest on a broad step. Even the exertion of the long climb had failed to color her white cheeks, but her lips were carmine and her eyes luminous with purpose. The one spot of color about her otherwise sober little figure was a bright-red _furoshike_ held close, in which something was carefully wrapped. A noisy waterfall leaped past her down the hillside in a perpetual challenge to race to the foot. Stern-faced images, grim of aspect, stared at her as she climbed, but Yuki San kept gravely on her way until she reached the open door of the great silent temple. The faint light of the early morning had scarce penetrated the shadows that clung about the gorgeous hangings and rich symbols of this ancient place of worship. A white-robed priest, oblivious to all save his own meditations, paid little heed to the childlike figure as it knelt before the cold, calm, unchanging image of the great Buddha. For a moment Yuki San moved her lips. Still kneeling, she drew from her sash the red _furoshike_ and took from it a small morocco note-book. With light steps she crossed to a brazier, and with a pair of small tongs lifted from it a glowing coal. With steady fingers she pushed aside the many sticks of incense in the great brass vessel before the shrine, and making a little grave among the ashes, she laid within the burning coal the little book. The blue smoke, rising slowly, hung for a moment above the girl's head as a halo, then rose to the feet of Buddha as in supplication for mercy, and was finally lost in the darkness of the heavy roof. The girl watched with wide eyes and parted lips. Clasping her hands, she lifted her face and from her heart came a fervent, whispered prayer. "I make empty my heart of all wicked. Buddha or Christians' God, I no can know which. Please the more better speak into my lonely life the word of peace." She turned from the silent temple on her homeward way. She paused by the clump of bamboo where so short a time before she had gleefully tied together two boughs in the name of Merrit and herself. Tiptoeing to reach the high boughs which Merrit had held for her to tie, she drew them downward to slip the thong that bound them. After holding them to her soft cheek a moment, she let them fly apart, while she closed her eyes and whispered softly: "Good-by, beautiful love, good-by." 
612	----	THE CONSTITUTION OF JAPAN, 1946 Promulgated on November 3, 1946; Put into effect on May 3, 1947. We, the Japanese people, acting through our duly elected representatives in the National Diet, determined that we shall secure for ourselves and our posterity the fruits of peaceful cooperation with all nations and the blessings of liberty throughout this land, and resolved that never again shall we be visited with the horrors of war through the action of government, do proclaim that sovereign power resides with the people and do firmly establish this Constitution. Government is a sacred trust of the people, the authority for which is derived from the people, the powers of which are exercised by the representatives of the people, and the benefits of which are enjoyed by the people. This is a universal principle of mankind upon which this Constitution is founded. We reject and revoke all constitutions, laws, ordinances, and rescripts in conflict herewith. We, the Japanese people, desire peace for all time and are deeply conscious of the high ideals controlling human relationship, and we have determined to preserve our security and existence, trusting in the justice and faith of the peace-loving peoples of the world. We desire to occupy an honored place in an international society striving for the preservation of peace, and the banishment of tyranny and slavery, oppression and intolerance for all time from the earth. We recognize that all peoples of the world have the right to live in peace, free from fear and want. We believe that no nation is responsible to itself alone, but that laws of political morality are universal; and that obedience to such laws is incumbent upon all nations who would sustain their own sovereignty and justify their sovereign relationship with other nations. We, the Japanese people, pledge our national honor to accomplish these high ideals and purposes with all our resources. CHAPTER I. THE EMPEROR Article 1. The Emperor shall be the symbol of the State and of the unity of the people, deriving his position from the will of the people with whom resides sovereign power. Article 2. The Imperial Throne shall be dynastic and succeeded to in accordance with the Imperial House law passed by the Diet. Article 3. The advice and approval of the Cabinet shall be required for all acts of the Emperor in matters of state, and the Cabinet shall be responsible therefor. Article 4. The Emperor shall perform only such acts in matters of state as are provided for in this Constitution and he shall not have powers related to government (2) The Emperor may delegate the performance of his acts in matters of state as may be provided by law. Article 5. When, in accordance with the Imperial House law, a Regency is established, the Regent shall perform his acts in matter of state in the Emperor's name. In this case, paragraph one of the article will be applicable. Article 6. The Emperor shall appoint the Prime Minister as designated by the Diet. (2) The Emperor shall appoint the Chief Judge of the Supreme Court as designated by the Cabinet. Article 7. The Emperor, with the advice and approval of the Cabinet, shall perform the following acts in makers of state on behalf of the people: (i) Promulgation of amendments of the constitution, laws, cabinet orders and treaties; (ii) Convocation of the Diet; (iii) Dissolution of the House of Representatives; (iv) Proclamation of general election of members of the Diet; (v) Attestation of the appointment and dismissal of Ministers of State and other officials as provided for by law, and of full powers and credentials of Ambassadors and Ministers; (vi) Attestation of general and special amnesty, commutation of punishment, reprieve, and restoration of rights; (vii) Awarding of honors; (viii) Attestation of instruments of ratification and other diplomatic documents as provided for by law; (ix) Receiving foreign ambassadors and ministers; (x) Performance of ceremonial functions. Article 8. No property can be given to, or received by, the Imperial House, nor can any gifts be made therefrom, without the authorization of the Diet. CHAPTER II. RENUNCIATION OF WAR Article 9. Aspiring sincerely to an international peace based on justice and order, the Japanese people forever renounce war as a sovereign right of the nation and the threat or use of force as a mean of settling international disputes. (2) In order to accomplish the aim of the preceding paragraph, land, sea, and air forces, as well as other war potential, will never be maintained. The right of belligerency of the state will not be recognized. CHAPTER III. RIGHTS AND DUTIES OF THE PEOPLE Article 10. The conditions necessary for being a Japanese national shall be determined by law. Article 11. The people shall not be prevented from enjoying any of the fundamental human rights. These fundamental human rights guaranteed to the people by this Constitution shall be conferred upon the people of this and future generations as eternal and inviolate rights. Article 12. The freedoms and rights guaranteed to the people by this Constitution shall be maintained by the constant endeavor of the people, who shall refrain from any abuse of these freedoms and rights and shall always be responsible for utilizing them for the public welfare. Article 13. All of the people shall be respected as individuals. Their right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness shall, to the extent that it does not interfere with the public welfare, be the supreme consideration in legislation and in other governmental affairs. Article 14. All of the people are equal under the law and there shall be no discrimination in political, economic or social relations because of race, creed, sex, social status or family origin. (2) Peers and peerage shall not be recognized. (3) No privilege shall accompany any award of honor, decoration or any distinction, nor shall any such award be valid beyond the lifetime of the individual who now holds or hereafter may receive it. Article 15. The people have the inalienable right to choose their public officials and to dismiss them. (2) All public officials are servants of the whole community and not of any group thereof. (3) Universal adult suffrage is guaranteed with regard to the election of public officials. (4) In all elections, secrecy of the ballot shall not be violated. A voter shall not be answerable, publicly or privately, for the choice he has made. Article 16. Every person shall have the right of peaceful petition for the redress of damage, for the removal of public officials, for the enactment, repeal or amendment of law, ordinances or regulations and for other matters, nor shall any person be in any way discriminated against sponsoring such a petition. Article 17. Every person may sue for redress as provided by law from the State or a public entity, in case he has suffered damage through illegal act of any public official. Article 18. No person shall be held in bondage of any kind. Involuntary servitude, except as punishment for crime, is prohibited. Article 19. Freedom of thought and conscience shall not be violated. Article 20. Freedom of religion is guaranteed to all. No religious organization shall receive any privileges from the State nor exercise any political authority. (2) No person shall be compelled to take part in any religious acts, celebration, rite or practice. (3) The state and its organs shall refrain from religious education or any other religious activity. Article 21. Freedom of assembly and association as well as speech, press and all other forms of expression are guaranteed. (2) No censorship shall be maintained, nor shall the secrecy of any means of communication be violated. Article 22. Every person shall have freedom to choose and change his residence and to choose his occupation to the extent that it does not interfere with the public welfare. (2) Freedom of all persons to move to a foreign country and to divest themselves of their nationality shall be inviolate. Article 23. Academic freedom is guaranteed. Article 24. Marriage shall be based only on the mutual consent of both sexes and it shall be maintained through mutual cooperation with the equal rights of husband and wife as a basis. (2) With regard to choice of spouse, property rights, inheritance, choice of domicile, divorce and other matters pertaining to marriage and the family, laws shall be enacted from the standpoint of individual dignity and the essential equality of the sexes. Article 25. All people shall have the right to maintain the minimum standards of wholesome and cultured living. (2) In all spheres of life, the State shall use its endeavors for the promotion and extension of social welfare and security, and of public health. Article 26. All people shall have the right to receive an equal education correspondent to their ability, as provided by law. (2) All people shall be obligated to have all boys and girls under their protection receive ordinary educations as provided for by law. Such compulsory education shall be free. Article 27. All people shall have the right and the obligation to work. (2) Standards for wages, hours, rest and other working conditions shall be fixed by law. (3) Children shall not be exploited. Article 28. The right of workers to organize and to bargain and act collectively is guaranteed. Article 29. The right to own or to hold property is inviolable. (2) Property rights shall be defined by law, in conformity with the public welfare. (3) Private property may be taken for public use upon just compensation therefor. Article 30. The people shall be liable to taxations as provided by law. Article 31. No person shall be deprived of life or liberty, nor shall any other criminal penalty be imposed, except according to procedure established by law. Article 32. No person shall be denied the right of access to the courts. Article 33. No person shall be apprehended except upon warrant issued by a competent judicial officer which specifies the offense with which the person is charged, unless he is apprehended, the offense being committed. Article 34. No person shall be arrested or detained without being at once informed of the charges against him or without the immediate privilege of counsel; nor shall he be detained without adequate cause; and upon demand of any person such cause must be immediately shown in open court in his presence and the presence of his counsel. Article 35. The right of all persons to be secure in their homes, papers and effects against entries, searches and seizures shall not be impaired except upon warrant issued for adequate cause and particularly describing the place to be searched and things to be seized, or except as provided by Article 33. (2) Each search or seizure shall be made upon separate warrant Issued by a competent judicial officer. Article 36. The infliction of torture by any public officer and cruel punishments are absolutely forbidden. Article 39. In all criminal cases the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial by an impartial tribunal. (2) He shall be permitted full opportunity to examine all witnesses, and he shall have the right of compulsory process for obtaining witnesses on his behalf at public expense. (3) At all times the accused shall have the assistance of competent counsel who shall, if the accused is unable to secure the same by his own efforts, be assigned to his use by the State. Article 38. No person shall be compelled to testify against himself. (2) Confession made under compulsion, torture or threat, or after prolonged arrest or detention shall not be admitted in evidence. (3) No person shall be convicted or punished in cases where the only proof against him is his own confession. Article 39. No person shall be held criminally liable for an act which was lawful at the time it was committed, or of which he has been acquitted, nor shall he be placed in double jeopardy. Article 40. Any person, in case he is acquitted after he has been arrested or detained, may sue the State for redress as provided by law. CHAPTER IV. THE DIET Article 41. The Diet shall be the highest organ of state power, and shall be the sole law-making organ of the State. Article 42. The Diet shall consist of two Houses, namely the House of Representatives and the House of Councillors. Article 43. Both Houses shall consist of elected members, representative of all the people. (2) The number of the members of each House shall be fixed by law. Article 44. The qualifications of members of both Houses and their electors shall be fixed by law. However, there shall be no discrimination because of race, creed, sex, social status, family origin, education, property or income. Article 45. The term of office of members of the House of Representatives shall be four years. However, the term shall be terminated before the full term is up in case the House of Representatives is dissolved. Article 46. The term of office of members of the House of Councillors shall be six years, and election for half the members shall take place every three years. Article 47. Electoral districts, method of voting and other matters pertaining to the method of election of members of both Houses shall be fixed by law. Article 48. No person shall be permitted to be a member of both Houses simultaneously. Article 49. Members of both Houses shall receive appropriate annual payment from the national treasury in accordance with law. Article 50. Except in cases provided by law, members of both Houses shall be exempt from apprehension while the Diet is in session, and any members apprehended before the opening of the session shall be freed during the term of the session upon demand of the House. Article 51. Members of both Houses shall not be held liable outside the House for speeches, debates or votes cast inside the House. Article 52. An ordinary session of the Diet shall be convoked once per year. Article 53. The Cabinet may determine to convoke extraordinary sessions of the Diet. When a quarter or more of the total members of either house makes the demand, the Cabinet must determine on such convocation. Article 54. When the House of Representatives is dissolved, there must be a general election of members of the House of Representatives within forty (40) days from the date of dissolution, and the Diet must be convoked within thirty (30) days from the date of the election. (2) When the House of Representatives is dissolved, the House of Councillors is closed at the same time. However, the Cabinet may in time of national emergency convoke the House of Councillors in emergency session. (3) Measures taken at such session as mentioned in the proviso of the preceding paragraph shall be provisional and shall become null and void unless agreed to by the House of Representatives within a period of ten (10) days after the opening of the next session of the Diet. Article 55. Each House shall judge disputes related to qualifications of its members. However, in order to deny a seat to any member, it is necessary to pass a resolution by a majority of two-thirds or more of the members present. Article 56. Business cannot be transacted in either House unless one third or more of total membership is present. (2) All matters shall be decided, in each House, by a majority of those present, except as elsewhere provided in the Constitution, and in case of a tie, the presiding officer shall decide the issue. Article 57. Deliberation in each House shall be public. However, a secret meeting may be held where a majority of two-thirds or more of those members present passes a resolution therefor. (2) Each House shall keep a record of proceedings. This record shall be published and given general circulation, excepting such parts of proceedings of secret session as may be deemed to require secrecy. (3) Upon demand of one-fifth or more of the members present, votes of the members on any matter shall be recorded in the minutes. Article 58. Each house shall select its own president and other officials. (2) Each House shall establish its rules pertaining to meetings, proceedings and internal discipline, and may punish members for disorderly conduct. However, in order to expel a member, a majority of two-thirds or more of those members present must pass a resolution thereon. Article 59. A bill becomes a law on passage by both Houses, except as otherwise provided by the Constitution. (2) A bill which is passed by the House of Representatives, and upon which the House of Councillors makes a decision different from that of the House of Representatives, becomes a law when passed a second time by the House of Representatives by a majority of two-thirds or more of the members present. (3) The provision of the preceding paragraph does not preclude the House of Representatives from calling for the meeting of a joint committee of both Houses, provided for by law. (4) Failure by the House of Councillors to take final action within sixty (60) days after receipt of a bill passed by the House of Representatives, time in recess excepted, may be determined by the House of Representatives to constitute a rejection of the said bill by the House of Councillors. Article 60. The Budget must first be submitted to the House of Representatives. (2) Upon consideration of the budget, when the House of Councillors makes a decision different from that of the House of Representatives, and when no agreement can be reached even through a joint committee of both Houses, provided for by law, or in the case of failure by the House of Councillors to take final action within thirty (30) days, the period of recess excluded, after the receipt of the budget passed by the House of Representatives, the decision of the House of Representatives shall be the decision of the Diet. Article 61. The second paragraph of the preceding article applies also to the Diet approval required for the conclusion of treaties. Article 62. Each House may conduct investigations in relation to government, and may demand the presence and testimony of witnesses, and the production of records. Article 63. The Prime Minister and other Ministers of State may, at any time, appear in either House for the purpose of speaking on bills, regardless of whether they are members of the House or not. They must appear when their presence is required in order to give answers or explanations. Article 64. The Diet shall set up an impeachment court from among the members of both Houses for the purpose of trying judges against whom removal proceedings have been instituted. (2) Matters relating to impeachment shall be provided by law. CHAPTER V. THE CABINET Article 65. Executive power shall be vested in the Cabinet. Article 66. The Cabinet shall consist of the Prime Minister, who shall be its head, and other Ministers of State, as provided for by law. (2) The Prime Minister and other Minister of State must be civilians. (3) The Cabinet, in the exercise of executive power, shall be collectively responsible to the Diet. Article 67. The Prime Minister shall be designated from among the members of the Diet by a resolution of the Diet. This designation shall precede all other business. (2) If the House of Representatives and the House of Councillors disagrees and if no agreement can be reached even through a joint committee of both Houses, provided for by law, or the House of Councillors fails to make designation within ten (10) days, exclusive of the period of recess, after the House of Representatives has made designation, the decision of the House of Representatives shall be the decision of the Diet. Article 68. The Prime Minister shall appoint the Ministers of State. However, a majority of their number must be chosen from among the members of the Diet. (2) The Prime Minister may remove the Ministers of State as he chooses. Article 69. If the House of Representatives passes a non-confidence resolution, or rejects a confidence resolution, the Cabinet shall resign en masse, unless the House of Representatives is dissolved with ten (10) days. Article 70. When there is a vacancy in the post of Prime Minister, or upon the first convocation of the Diet after a general election of members of the House of Representatives, the Cabinet shall resign en masse. Article 71. In the cases mentioned in the two preceding articles, the Cabinet shall continue its functions until the time when a new Prime Minister is appointed. Article 72. The Prime Minister, representing the Cabinet, submits bills, reports on general national affairs and foreign relations to the Diet and exercises control and supervision over various administrative branches. Article 73. The Cabinet, in addition to other general administrative functions, shall perform the following functions: (i) Administer the law faithfully; conduct affairs of state; (ii) Manage foreign affairs; (iii) Conclude treaties. However, it shall obtain prior or, depending on circumstances, subsequent approval of the Diet; (iv) Administer the civil service, in accordance with standards established by law; (v) Prepare the budget, and present it to the Diet; (vi) Enact cabinet orders in order to execute the provisions of this Constitution and of the law. However, it cannot include penal provisions in such cabinet orders unless authorized by such law. (vii) Decide on general amnesty, special amnesty, commutation of punishment, reprieve, and restoration of rights. Article 74. All laws and cabinet orders shall be signed by the competent Minister of state and countersigned by the Prime Minister. Article 75. The Ministers of state, during their tenure of office, shall not be subject to legal action without the consent of the Prime Minister. However, the right to take that action is not impaired hereby. CHAPTER VI. JUDICIARY Article 76. The whole judicial power is vested in a Supreme Court and in such inferior courts as are established by law. (2) No extraordinary tribunal shall be established, nor shall any organ or agency of the Executive be given final judicial power. (3) All judges shall be independent in the exercise of their conscience and shall be bound only by this Constitution and the laws. Article 77. The Supreme Court is vested with the rule-making power under which it determines the rules of procedure and of practice, and of matters relating to attorneys, the internal discipline of the courts and the administration of judicial affairs. (2) Public procurators shall be subject to the rule-making power of the Supreme Court. (3) The Supreme Court may delegate the power to make rules for inferior courts to such courts. Article 78. Judges shall not be removed except by public impeachment unless judicially declared mentally or physically incompetent to perform official duties. No disciplinary action against judges shall be administered by any executive organ or agency. Article 79. The Supreme Court shall consist of a Chief Judge and such number of judges as may be determined by law; all such judges excepting the Chief Judge shall be appointed by the Cabinet. (2) The appointment of the judges of the Supreme Court shall be reviewed by the people at the first general election of members of the House of Representatives following their appointment, and shall be reviewed again at the first general election of members of the House of Representatives after a lapse of ten (10) years, and in the same manner thereafter. (3) In cases mentioned in the foregoing paragraph, when the majority of the voters favors the dismissal of a judge, he shall be dismissed. (4) Matters pertaining to review shall be prescribed by law. (5) The judges of the Supreme Court shall of retired upon the attainment of the age as fixed by law. (6) All such judges shall receive, at regular stated intervals, adequate compensation which shall not be decreased during their terms of office. Article 80. The judges of the inferior courts shall be appointed by the Cabinet from a list of persons nominated by the Supreme Court. All such judges shall hold office for a term of ten (10) years with privilege of reappointment, provided that they shall be retired upon the attainment of the age as fixed by law. (2) The judges of the inferior courts shall receive, at regular stated intervals, adequate compensation which shall not be decreased during their terms of office. Article 81. The Supreme Court is the court of last resort with power to determine the constitutionality of any law, order, regulation or official act. Article 82. Trials shall be conducted and judgment declared publicly. (2) Where a court unanimously determines publicity to be dangerous to public order or morals, a trial may be conducted privately, but trials of political offenses, offenses involving the press or cases wherein the rights of people as guaranteed in Chapter III of this Constitution are in question shall always be conducted publicly. CHAPTER VII. FINANCE Article 83. The power to administer national finances shall be exercised as the Diet shall determine. Article 84. No new taxes shall be imposed or existing ones modified except by law or under such conditions as law may prescribe. Article 85. No money shall be expended, nor shall the State obligate itself, except as authorized by the Diet. Article 86. Cabinet shall prepare and submit to the Diet for its consideration and decision a budget for each fiscal year. Article 87. In order to provide for unforeseen deficiencies in the budget, a reserve fund may be authorized by the Diet to be expended upon the responsibility of the Cabinet. (2) The Cabinet must get subsequent approval of the Diet for all payments from the reserve fund. Article 88. All property of the Imperial Household shall belong to the State. All expenses of the Imperial Household shall be appropriated by the Diet in the budget. Article 89. No public money or other property shall be expended or appropriated for the use, benefit or maintenance of any religious institution or association or for any charitable, educational benevolent enterprises not under the control of public authority. Article 90. Final accounts of the expenditures and revenues of State shall be audited annually by a Board of Audit and submitted by the Cabinet to the Diet, together with the statement of audit, during the fiscal year immediately following the period covered. (2) The organization and competency of the Board of Audit shall determined by law. Article 91. At regular intervals and at least annually the Cabinet shall report to the Diet and the people on the state of national finances. CHAPTER VIII. LOCAL SELF-GOVERNMENT Article 92. Regulations concerning organization and operations of local public entities shall be fixed by law in accordance with the principle of local autonomy. Article 93. The local public entities shall establish assemblies as their deliberative organs, in accordance with law. (2) The chief executive officers of all local public entities, the members of their assemblies, and such other local officials as may be determined by law shall be elected by direct popular vote within their several communities' Article 94. Local entities shall have the right to manage their property, affairs and administration and to enact their own regulations within law. Article 95. A special law, applicable to one local public entity, cannot be enacted by the Diet without the consent of the majority of the voters of the local public entity concerned, obtained in accordance with law. CHAPTER IX. AMENDMENTS Article 96. Amendment to this Constitution shall be initiated by the Diet, through a concurring vote of two-thirds or more of all the members of each House and shall thereupon be submitted to the people for ratification which shall require the affirmative vote of a majority of all votes cast thereon, at special referendum or at such election as the Diet shall specify. (2) Amendments when so ratified shall immediately be promulgated by the Emperor in the name of the people, as an integral part of this Constitution. CHAPTER X. SUPREME LAW Article 97. The fundamental human rights by this Constitution guaranteed to the people of Japan are fruits of the age-old struggle of man to be free; they have survived the many exacting tests for durability and are conferred upon this and future generations in trust, to be held for all time inviolate. Article 98. This Constitution shall be the supreme law of the nation and no law, ordinance, imperial rescript or other act of government, or part thereof, contrary to the provisions hereof, shall have legal force or validity. (2) The treaties concluded by Japan and established laws of nations shall be faithfully observed. Article 99. The Emperor or the Regent as well as Ministers of State, members of the Diet, judges, and all other public officials have the obligation to respect and uphold this Constitution. CHAPTER XI. SUPPLEMENTARY PROVISIONS Article 100. This Constitution shall be enforced as from the day when the period of six months will have elapsed counting from the day of its promulgation. (2) The enactment of laws necessary for the enforcement of this Constitution the election of members of the House of Councillors and the procedure for the convocation of the Diet and other preparatory procedures for the enforcement of this Constitution may be executed before the day prescribed in the preceding paragraph. Article 101. If the House of Councilors is not constituted before the effective date of this Constitution, the House of Representatives shall function as the Diet until such time as the House of Councilors shall be constituted. Article 102. The term of office for half the members of the House of Councillors serving in the first term under this Constitution shall be three years. Members falling under this category shall be determined in accordance with law. Article 103. The Ministers of State, members of the House of Representatives, and judges in office on the effective date of this Constitution, and all other public officials, who occupy positions corresponding to such positions as are recognized by this Constitution shall not forfeit their positions automatically on account of the enforcement of this Constitution unless otherwise specified by law. When, however, successors are elected or appointed under the provisions of this Constitution, they shall forfeit their positions as a matter of course. 
613	----	CONSTITUTION OF THE EMPIRE OF JAPAN, 1889 Imperial Oath Sworn in the Sanctuary in the Imperial Palace (Tsuge-bumi) We, the Successor to the prosperous Throne of Our Predecessors, do humbly and solemnly swear to the Imperial Founder of Our House and to Our other Imperial Ancestors that, in pursuance of a great policy co-extensive with the Heavens and with the Earth, We shall maintain and secure from decline the ancient form of government. In consideration of the progressive tendency of the course of human affairs and in parallel with the advance of civilization, We deem it expedient, in order to give clearness and distinctness to the instructions bequeathed by the Imperial Founder of Our House and by Our other Imperial Ancestors, to establish fundamental laws formulated into express provisions of law, so that, on the one hand, Our Imperial posterity may possess an express guide for the course they are to follow, and that, on the other, Our subjects shall thereby be enabled to enjoy a wider range of action in giving Us their support, and that the observance of Our laws shall continue to the remotest ages of time. We will thereby to give greater firmness to the stability of Our country and to promote the welfare of all the people within the boundaries of Our dominions; and We now establish the Imperial House Law and the Constitution. These Laws come to only an exposition of grand precepts for the conduct of the government, bequeathed by the Imperial Founder of Our House and by Our other Imperial Ancestors. That we have been so fortunate in Our reign, in keeping with the tendency of the times, as to accomplish this work, We owe to the glorious Spirits of the Imperial Founder of Our House and of Our other Imperial Ancestors. We now reverently make Our prayer to Them and to Our Illustrious Father, and implore the help of Their Sacred Spirits, and make to Them solemn oath never at this time nor in the future to fail to be an example to our subjects in the observance of the Laws hereby established. May the heavenly Spirits witness this Our solemn Oath. Imperial Rescript on the Promulgation of the Constitution Whereas We make it the joy and glory of Our heart to behold the prosperity of Our country, and the welfare of Our subjects, We do hereby, in virtue of the Supreme power We inherit from Our Imperial Ancestors, promulgate the present immutable fundamental law, for the sake of Our present subjects and their descendants. The Imperial Founder of Our House and Our other Imperial ancestors, by the help and support of the forefathers of Our subjects, laid the foundation of Our Empire upon a basis, which is to last forever. That this brilliant achievement embellishes the annals of Our country, is due to the glorious virtues of Our Sacred Imperial ancestors, and to the loyalty and bravery of Our subjects, their love of their country and their public spirit. Considering that Our subjects are the descendants of the loyal and good subjects of Our Imperial Ancestors, We doubt not but that Our subjects will be guided by Our views, and will sympathize with all Our endeavors, and that, harmoniously cooperating together, they will share with Us Our hope of making manifest the glory of Our country, both at home and abroad, and of securing forever the stability of the work bequeathed to Us by Our Imperial Ancestors. Preamble [or Edict] (Joyu) Having, by virtue of the glories of Our Ancestors, ascended the throne of a lineal succession unbroken for ages eternal; desiring to promote the welfare of, and to give development to the moral and intellectual faculties of Our beloved subjects, the very same that have been favored with the benevolent care and affectionate vigilance of Our Ancestors; and hoping to maintain the prosperity of the State, in concert with Our people and with their support, We hereby promulgate, in pursuance of Our Imperial Rescript of the 12th day of the 10th month of the 14th year of Meiji, a fundamental law of the State, to exhibit the principles, by which We are guided in Our conduct, and to point out to what Our descendants and Our subjects and their descendants are forever to conform. The right of sovereignty of the State, We have inherited from Our Ancestors, and We shall bequeath them to Our descendants. Neither We nor they shall in the future fail to wield them, in accordance with the provisions of the Constitution hereby granted. We now declare to respect and protect the security of the rights and of the property of Our people, and to secure to them the complete enjoyment of the same, within the extent of the provisions of the present Constitution and of the law. The Imperial Diet shall first be convoked for the 23rd year of Meiji and the time of its opening shall be the date, when the present Constitution comes into force. When in the future it may become necessary to amend any of the provisions of the present Constitution, We or Our successors shall assume the initiative right, and submit a project for the same to the Imperial Diet. The Imperial Diet shall pass its vote upon it, according to the conditions imposed by the present Constitution, and in no otherwise shall Our descendants or Our subjects be permitted to attempt any alteration thereof. Our Ministers of State, on Our behalf, shall be held responsible for the carrying out of the present Constitution, and Our present and future subjects shall forever assume the duty of allegiance to the present Constitution. CHAPTER I. THE EMPEROR Article 1. The Empire of Japan shall be reigned over and governed by a line of Emperors unbroken for ages eternal. Article 2. The Imperial Throne shall be succeeded to by Imperial male descendants, according to the provisions of the Imperial House Law. Article 3. The Emperor is sacred and inviolable. Article 4. The Emperor is the head of the Empire, combining in Himself the rights of sovereignty, and exercises them, according to the provisions of the present Constitution. Article 5. The Emperor exercises the legislative power with the consent of the Imperial Diet. Article 6. The Emperor gives sanction to laws, and orders them to be promulgated and executed. Article 7. The Emperor convokes the Imperial Diet, opens, closes, and prorogues it, and dissolves the House of Representatives. Article 8. The Emperor, in consequence of an urgent necessity to maintain public safety or to avert public calamities, issues, when the Imperial Diet is not sitting, Imperial ordinances in the place of law. (2) Such Imperial Ordinances are to be laid before the Imperial Diet at its next session, and when the Diet does not approve the said Ordinances, the Government shall declare them to be invalid for the future. Article 9. The Emperor issues or causes to be issued, the Ordinances necessary for the carrying out of the laws, or for the maintenance of the public peace and order, and for the promotion of the welfare of the subjects. But no Ordinance shall in any way alter any of the existing laws. Article 10. The Emperor determines the organization of the different branches of the administration, and salaries of all civil and military officers, and appoints and dismisses the same. Exceptions especially provided for in the present Constitution or in other laws, shall be in accordance with the respective provisions (bearing thereon). Article 11. The Emperor has the supreme command of the Army and Navy. Article 12. The Emperor determines the organization and peace standing of the Army and Navy. Article 13. The Emperor declares war, makes peace, and concludes treaties. Article 14. The Emperor declares a state of siege. (2) The conditions and effects of a state of siege shall be determined by law. Article 15. The Emperor confers titles of nobility, rank, orders and other marks of honor. Article 16. The Emperor orders amnesty, pardon, commutation of punishments and rehabilitation. Article 17. A Regency shall be instituted in conformity with the provisions of the Imperial House Law. (2) The Regent shall exercise the powers appertaining to the Emperor in His name. CHAPTER II. RIGHTS AND DUTIES OF SUBJECTS Article 18. The conditions necessary for being a Japanese subject shall be determined by law. Article 19. Japanese subjects may, according to qualifications determined in laws or ordinances, be appointed to civil or military or any other public offices equally. Article 20. Japanese subjects are amenable to service in the Army or Navy, according to the provisions of law. Article 21. Japanese subjects are amenable to the duty of paying taxes, according to the provisions of law. Article 22. Japanese subjects shall have the liberty of abode and of changing the same within the limits of the law. Article 23. No Japanese subject shall be arrested, detained, tried or punished, unless according to law. Article 24. No Japanese subject shall be deprived of his right of being tried by the judges determined by law. Article 25. Except in the cases provided for in the law, the house of no Japanese subject shall be entered or searched without his consent. Article 26. Except in the cases mentioned in the law, the secrecy of the letters of every Japanese subject shall remain inviolate. Article 27. The right of property of every Japanese subject shall remain inviolate. (2) Measures necessary to be taken for the public benefit shall be any provided for by law. Article 28. Japanese subjects shall, within limits not prejudicial to peace and order, and not antagonistic to their duties as subjects, enjoy freedom of religious belief. Article 29. Japanese subjects shall, within the limits of law, enjoy the liberty of speech, writing, publication, public meetings and associations. Article 30. Japanese subjects may present petitions, by observing the proper forms of respect, and by complying with the rules specially provided for the same. Article 31. The provisions contained in the present Chapter shall not affect the exercises of the powers appertaining to the Emperor, in times of war or in cases of a national emergency. Article 32. Each and every one of the provisions contained in the preceding Articles of the present Chapter, that are not in conflict with the laws or the rules and discipline of the Army and Navy, shall apply to the officers and men of the Army and of the Navy. CHAPTER III. THE IMPERIAL DIET Article 33. The Imperial Diet shall consist of two Houses, a House of Peers and a House of Representatives. Article 34. The House of Peers shall, in accordance with the ordinance concerning the House of Peers, be composed of the members of the Imperial Family, of the orders of nobility, and of those who have been nominated thereto by the Emperor. Article 35. The House of Representatives shall be composed of members elected by the people, according to the provisions of the law of Election. Article 36. No one can at one and the same time be a Member of both Houses. Article 37. Every law requires the consent of the Imperial Diet. Article 38. Both Houses shall vote upon projects of law submitted to it by the Government, and may respectively initiate projects of law. Article 39. A Bill, which has been rejected by either the one or the other of the two Houses, shall not be brought in again during the same session. Article 40. Both Houses can make representations to the Government, as to laws or upon any other subject. When, however, such representations are not accepted, they cannot be made a second time during the same session. Article 41. The Imperial Diet shall be convoked every year. Article 42. A session of the Imperial Diet shall last during three months. In case of necessity, the duration of a session may be prolonged by the Imperial Order. Article 43. When urgent necessity arises, an extraordinary session may be convoked in addition to the ordinary one. (2) The duration of an extraordinary session shall be determined by Imperial Order. Article 44. The opening, closing, prolongation of session and prorogation of the Imperial Diet, shall be effected simultaneously for both Houses. (2) In case the House of Representatives has been ordered to dissolve, the House of Peers shall at the same time be prorogued. Article 45. When the House of Representatives has been ordered to dissolve, Members shall be caused by Imperial Order to be newly elected, and the new House shall be convoked within five months from the day of dissolution. Article 46. No debate can be opened and no vote can be taken in either House of the Imperial Diet, unless not less than one-third of the whole number of Members thereof is present. Article 47. Votes shall be taken in both Houses by absolute majority. In the case of a tie vote, the President shall have the casting vote. Article 48. The deliberations of both Houses shall be held in public. The deliberations may, however, upon demand of the Government or by resolution of the House, be held in secret sitting. Article 49. Both Houses of the Imperial Diet may respectively present addresses to the Emperor. Article 50. Both Houses may receive petitions presented by subjects. Article 51. Both Houses may enact, besides what is provided for in the present Constitution and in the Law of the Houses, rules necessary for the management of their internal affairs. Article 52. No Member of either House shall be held responsible outside the respective Houses, for any opinion uttered or for any vote given in the House. When, however, a Member himself has given publicity to his opinions by public speech, by documents in print or in writing, or by any other similar means, he shall, in the matter, be amenable to the general law. Article 53. The Members of both Houses shall, during the session, be free from arrest, unless with the consent of the House, except in cases of flagrant delicts, or of offenses connected with a state of internal commotion or with a foreign trouble. Article 54. The Ministers of State and the Delegates of the Government may, at any time, take seats and speak in either House. CHAPTER IV. THE MINISTERS OF STATE AND THE PRIVY COUNCIL Article 55. The respective Ministers of State shall give their advice to the Emperor, and be responsible for it. (2) All Laws, Imperial Ordinances, and Imperial Rescripts of whatever kind, that relate to the affairs of the state, require the countersignature of a Minister of State. Article 56. The Privy Councillors shall, in accordance with the provisions for the organization of the Privy Council, deliberate upon important matters of State when they have been consulted by the Emperor. CHAPTER V. THE JUDICATURE Article 57. The Judicature shall be exercised by the Courts of Law according to law, in the name of the Emperor. (2) The organization of the Courts of Law shall be determined by law. Article 58. The judges shall be appointed from among those, who possess proper qualifications according to law. (2) No judge shall be deprived of his position, unless by way of criminal sentence or disciplinary punishment. (3) Rules for disciplinary punishment shall be determined by law. Article 59. Trials and judgments of a Court shall be conducted publicly. When, however, there exists any fear, that such publicity may be prejudicial to peace and order, or to the maintenance of public morality, the public trial may be suspended by provisions of law or by the decision of the Court of Law. Article 60. All matters that fall within the competency of a special Court, shall be specially provided for by law. Article 61. No suit at law, which relates to rights alleged to have been infringed by the illegal measures of the administrative authorities, and which shall come within the competency of the Court of Administrative Litigation specially established by law, shall be taken cognizance of by Court of Law. CHAPTER VI. FINANCE Article 62. The imposition of a new tax or the modification of the rates (of an existing one) shall be determined by law. (2) However, all such administrative fees or other revenue having the nature of compensation shall not fall within the category of the above clause. (3) The raising of national loans and the contracting of other liabilities to the charge of the National Treasury, except those that are provided in the Budget, shall require the consent of the Imperial Diet. Article 63. The taxes levied at present shall, in so far as they are not remodelled by a new law, be collected according to the old system. Article 64. The expenditure and revenue of the State require the consent of the Imperial Diet by means of an annual Budget. (2) Any and all expenditures overpassing the appropriations set forth in the Titles and Paragraphs of the Budget, or that are not provided for in the Budget, shall subsequently require the approbation of the Imperial Diet. Article 65. The Budget shall be first laid before the House of Representatives. Article 66. The expenditures of the Imperial House shall be defrayed every year out of the National Treasury, according to the present fixed amount for the same, and shall not require the consent thereto of the Imperial Diet, except in case an increase thereof is found necessary. Article 67. Those already fixed expenditures based by the Constitution upon the powers appertaining to the Emperor, and such expenditures as may have arisen by the effect of law, or that appertain to the legal obligations of the Government, shall be neither rejected nor reduced by the Imperial Diet, without the concurrence of the Government. Article 68. In order to meet special requirements, the Government may ask the consent of the Imperial Diet to a certain amount as a Continuing Expenditure Fund, for a previously fixed number of years. Article 69. In order to supply deficiencies, which are unavoidable, in the Budget, and to meet requirements unprovided for in the same, a Reserve Fund shall be provided in the Budget. Article 70. When the Imperial Diet cannot be convoked, owing to the external or internal condition of the country, in case of urgent need for the maintenance of public safety, the Government may take all necessary financial measures, by means of an Imperial Ordinance. (2) In the case mentioned in the preceding clause, the matter shall be submitted to the Imperial Diet at its next session, and its approbation shall be obtained thereto. Article 71. When the Imperial Diet has not voted on the Budget, or when the Budget has not been brought into actual existence, the Government shall carry out the Budget of the preceding year. Article 72. The final account of the expenditures and revenues of the State shall be verified and confirmed by the Board of Audit, and it shall be submitted by the Government to the Imperial Diet, together with the report of verification of the said board. (2) The organization and competency of the Board of Audit shall of determined by law separately. CHAPTER VII. SUPPLEMENTARY RULES Article 73. When it has become necessary in future to amend the provisions of the present Constitution, a project to the effect shall be submitted to the Imperial Diet by Imperial Order. (2) In the above case, neither House can open the debate, unless not less than two-thirds of the whole number of Members are present, and no amendment can be passed, unless a majority of not less than two-thirds of the Members present is obtained. Article 74. No modification of the Imperial House Law shall be required to be submitted to the deliberation of the Imperial Diet. (2) No provision of the present Constitution can be modified by the Imperial House Law. Article 75. No modification can be introduced into the Constitution, or into the Imperial House Law, during the time of a Regency. Article 76. Existing legal enactments, such as laws, regulations, Ordinances, or by whatever names they may be called, shall, so far as they do not conflict with the present Constitution, continue in force. (2) All existing contracts or orders, that entail obligations upon the Government, and that are connected with expenditure, shall come within the scope of Article 67. (The above is the semi-official translation, which appeared in H. Ito, Commentaries on the Constitution of the Empire of Japan, trans. M. Ito, 1889.) 
47002	----	(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) THE USURPER Episode in Japanese History BY JUDITH GAUTIER TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY ABBY LANGDON ALGER BOSTON ROBERTS BROTHERS 1884 CONTENTS. I. THE LEMON GROVE II. NAGATO'S WOUND III. FEAST OF THE SEA-GOD IV. THE SISTER OF THE SUN V. THE KNIGHTS OF HEAVEN VI. THE FRATERNITY of BLIND MEN VII. PERJURY VIII. THE CASTLE OF OWARI IX. THE TEA-HOUSE X. THE TRYST XI. THE WARRIOR-QUAILS XII. THE WESTERN ORCHARD XIII. THE MIKADO'S THIRTY-THREE DINNERS XIV. THE HAWKING-PARTY XV. THE USURPER XVI. THE FISHERMEN OF OSAKA BAY XVII. DRAGON-FLY ISLAND XVIII. THE PRINCIPALITY OF NAGATO XIX. A TOMB XX. THE MESSENGERS XXI. THE KISAKI XXII. THE MIKADO XXIII. FATKOURA XXIV. THE TREATY OF PEACE XXV. CONFIDENCES XXVI. THE GREAT THEATRE OF OSAKA XXVII. OMITI XXVIII. HENCEFORTH MY HOUSE SHALL BE AT PEACE XXIX. THE HIGH-PRIESTESS OF THE SUN XXX. BATTLES XXXI. THE FUNERAL PILE THE USURPER. AN EPISODE IN JAPANESE HISTORY. (1615.) CHAPTER I. THE LEMON GROVE. Night was nearly gone. All slept in the beautiful bright city of Osaka. The harsh cry of the sentinels, calling one to another on the ramparts, broke the silence, unruffled otherwise save for the distant murmur of the sea as it swept into the bay. Above the great dark mass formed by the palace and gardens of the Shogun[1] a star was fading slowly. Dawn trembled in the air, and the tree-tops were more plainly outlined against the sky, which grew bluer every moment. Soon a pale glimmer touched the highest branches, slipped between the boughs and their leaves, and filtered downward to the ground. Then, in the gardens of the Prince, alleys thick with brambles displayed their dim perspective; the grass resumed its emerald hue; a tuft of poppies renewed the splendor of its sumptuous flowers, and a snowy flight of steps was faintly visible through the mist, down a distant avenue. At last, suddenly, the sky grew purple; arrows of light athwart the bushes made every drop of water on the leaves sparkle. A pheasant alighted heavily; a crane shook her white wings, and with a long cry flew slowly upwards; while the earth smoked like a caldron, and the birds loudly hailed the rising sun. As soon as the divine luminary rose from the horizon, the sound of a gong was heard. It was struck with a monotonous rhythm of overpowering melancholy,--four heavy strokes, four light strokes; four heavy strokes, and so on. It was the salute to the coming day, and the call to morning prayers. A hearty youthful peal of laughter, which broke forth suddenly, drowned these pious sounds for an instant; and two men appeared, dark against the clear sky, at the top of the snowy staircase. They paused a moment, on the uppermost step, to admire the lovely mass of brambles, ferns, and flowering shrubs which wreathed the balustrade of the staircase. Then they descended slowly through the fantastic shadows cast across the steps by the branches. Reaching the foot of the stairs, they moved quickly aside, that they might not upset a tortoise creeping leisurely along the last step. This tortoise's shell had been gilded, but the gilding was somewhat tarnished by the dampness of the grass. The two men moved down the avenue. The younger of the pair was scarcely twenty years old, but would have passed for more, from the proud expression of his face, and the easy confidence of his glance. Still, when he laughed, he seemed a child; but he laughed seldom, and a sort of haughty gloom darkened his noble brow. His costume was very simple. Over a robe of gray crape he wore a mantle of blue satin, without any embroidery. He carried an open fan in his hand. His comrade's dress was, on the contrary, very elegant. His robe was made of a soft white silk, just tinged with blue, suggestive of reflected moonlight. It fell in fine folds to his feet, and was confined at the waist by a girdle of black velvet. The wearer was twenty-four years old; he was a specimen of perfect beauty. The warm pallor of his face, his mockingly sweet eyes, and, above all, the scornful indifference apparent in his whole person, exercised a strange charm. His hand rested on the richly wrought hilt of one of the two swords whose points lifted up the folds of his black velvet cloak, the loose hanging sleeves of which were thrown back over his shoulders. The two friends were bare-headed; their hair, twisted like a rope, was knotted around the top of their heads. "But where are you taking me, gracious master?" suddenly cried the older of the two young men. "This is the third time you have asked that question since we left the palace, Iwakura." "But you have not answered once, light of my eyes!" "Well! I want to surprise you. Shut your eyes and give me your hand." Iwakura obeyed, and his companion led him a few steps across the grass. "Now look," he said. Iwakura opened his eyes, and uttered a low cry of astonishment. Before him stretched a lemon grove in full bloom. Every tree and every shrub seemed covered with hoar-frost; on the topmost twigs the dawn cast tints of rose and gold. Every branch bent beneath its perfumed load; the clusters of flowers hung to the ground, upon which the overburdened boughs trailed. Amid this white wealth which gave forth a delicious odor, a few tender green leaves were occasionally visible. "See," said the younger man with a smile, "I wanted to share with you, my favorite friend, the pleasure of this marvellous sight before any other eye rested on it. I was here yesterday: the grove was like a thicket of pearls; to-day all the flowers are open." "These trees remind me of what the poet says of peach-blossoms," said Iwakura; "only here the snow-flakes of butterflies' wings with which the trees are covered have not turned rose-colored in their descent from heaven." "Ah!" cried the younger man sighing, "would I might plunge into the midst of those flowers as into a bath, and intoxicate myself even unto death with their strong perfume!" Iwakura, having admired them, made a slightly disappointed grimace. "Far more beautiful blossoms were about to open in my dream," said he, stifling a yawn. "Master, why did you make me get up so early?" "Come, Prince of Nagato," said the young man, laying his hand on his comrade's shoulder, "confess. I did not make you get up, for you did not go to bed last night." "What?" cried Iwakura; "what makes you think so!" "Your pallor, friend, and your haggard eyes." "Am I not always so?" "The dress you wear would be far too elegant for the hour of the cock.[2] And see! the sun has scarcely risen; we have only reached the hour of the rabbit."[3] "To honor such a master as you, no hour is too early." "Is it also in my honor, faithless subject, that you appear before me armed? Those two swords, forgotten in your sash, condemn you; you had just returned to the palace when I summoned you." The guilty youth hung his head, not attempting to defend himself. "But what ails your arm?" suddenly cried the other, noticing a thin white bandage wound about Iwakura's sleeve. The latter hid his arm behind him, and held out the other hand. "Nothing," he said. But his companion grasped the arm which he concealed. The Prince of Nagato uttered an exclamation of pain. "You are wounded, eh? One of these days I shall hear that Nagato has been killed in some foolish brawl. What have you been doing now, incorrigible and imprudent fellow?" "When Hieyas, the regent, comes before you, you will know only too much about it," said the Prince; "you will hear fine things, O illustrious friend, in regard to your unworthy favorite. Methinks I already hear the sound of the terrible voice of the man from whom nothing is hid: 'Fide-Yori, ruler of Japan, son of the great Taiko-Sama, whose memory I revere! grave disorders have this night troubled Osaka.'" The Prince of Nagato mimicked the voice of Hieyas so well that the young Shogun could not repress a smile. 'And what are these disorders?' you will say. 'Doors broken open, blows, tumults, scandals.' 'Are the authors of these misdeeds known?' 'The leader of the riot is the true criminal, and I know him well.' 'Who is he?' 'Who should it be but the man who takes a share in every adventure, every nocturnal brawl; who, but the Prince of Nagato, the terror of honest families, the dread of peaceful men?' And then you will pardon me, O too merciful man! Hieyas will reproach you with your weakness, dwelling upon it, that this weakness may redound to the injury of the Shogun and the profit of the Regent." "What if I lose patience at last, Nagato," said the Shogun; "what if I exile you to your own province for a year?" "I should go, master, without a murmur." "Yes; and who would be left to love me?" said Fide-Yori, sadly. "I am surrounded by devotion, not by affection like yours. But perhaps I am unjust," he added; "you are the only one I love, and doubtless that is why I think no one loves me but you." Nagato raised his eyes gratefully to the Prince. "You feel that you are forgiven, don't you?" said Fide-Yori, smiling. "But try to spare me the Regent's reproaches; you know how painful they are to me. Go and salute him; the hour of his levee is at hand; we will meet again in the council." "Must I smile upon that ugly creature?" grumbled Nagato. But he had his dismissal; he saluted the Shogun, and moved away with a sulky air. Fide-Yori continued his walk along the avenue, but soon returned to the lemon grove. He paused to admire it once more, and plucked a slender twig loaded with flowers. But just then the foliage rustled as if blown by a strong breeze; an abrupt movement stirred the branches, and a young girl appeared among the blossoms. The Shogun started violently, and almost uttered a cry; he fancied himself the prey to some hallucination. "Who are you?" he exclaimed; "perhaps the guardian spirit of this grove?" "Oh, no," said the girl in a trembling voice; "but I am a very bold woman." She issued from the grove amidst a shower of snowy petals, and knelt on the grass, stretching out her hands to the King. Fide-Yori bent his head toward her, and gazed curiously at her. She was of exquisite beauty,--small, graceful, apparently weighed down by the amplitude of her robes. It seemed as if their silken weight bore her to her knees. Her large innocent eyes, like the eyes of a child, were timid and full of entreaty; her cheeks, velvety as a butterfly's wings, were tinged with a slight blush, and her small mouth, half open in admiration, revealed teeth white as drops of milk. "Forgive me," she exclaimed, "forgive me for appearing before you without your express command." "I forgive you, poor trembling bird," said Fide-Yori, "for had I known you and known your desire, my wish would have been to see you. What can I do for you? Is it in my power to make you happy?" "Oh, master!" eagerly cried the girl, "with one word you can make me more radiant than Ten-Sio-Dai-Tsin, the daughter of the Sun." "And what is that word?" "Swear that you will not go to-morrow to the feast of the God of the Sea." "Why this oath?" said the Shogun, amazed at this strange request. "Because," said the young girl, shuddering, "a bridge will give way beneath the King's feet; and when night falls, Japan will be without a ruler." "I suppose you have discovered a conspiracy?" said Fide-Yori, smiling. At this incredulous smile the girl turned pale, and her eyes filled with tears. "O pure disk of light!" she cried, "he does not believe me! All that I have hitherto accomplished is in vain! This is a dreadful obstacle, of which I never dreamed. You hearken to the voice of the cricket which prophesies heat; you listen to the frog who croaks a promise of rain; but a young girl who cries, 'Take care! I have seen the trap! death is on your path!' you pay no heed to her, but plunge headlong into the snare. But it must not be; you must believe me. Shall I kill myself at your feet? My death might be a pledge of my sincerity. Besides, if I have been deceived, what matters it? You can easily absent yourself from the feast. Hear me! I come along way, from a distant province. Alone with the dull anguish of my secret, I outwitted the most subtle spies, I conquered my terrors and overcame my weakness. My father thinks me gone on a pilgrimage to Kioto; and, you see, I am in your city, in the grounds of your palace. And yet the sentinels are watchful, the moats are broad, the walls high. See, my hands are bleeding; I burn with fever. Just now I feared I could not speak, my weary heart throbbed so violently at sight of you and with the joy of saving you. But now I am dizzy, my blood has turned to ice: you do not believe me." "I believe you, and I swear to obey you," said the king, touched by her accent of despair. "I will not go to the feast of the God of the Sea." The young girl uttered a cry of delight, and gazed with gratitude at the sun as it rose above the trees. "But tell me how you discovered this plot," continued the Shogun, "and who are its authors?" "Oh! do not order me to tell you. The whole edifice of infamy that I overthrow would fall upon my own head." "So be it, my child; keep your secret. But at least tell me whence comes this great devotion, and why is my life so precious to you?" The girl slowly raised her eyes to the King, then looked down and blushed, but did not reply. A vague emotion troubled the heart of the Prince. He was silent, and yielded to the sweet sensation. He would fain have remained thus, in silence, amidst these bird songs, these perfumes, beside this kneeling maiden. "Tell me who you are, you who have saved me from death," he asked at last; "and tell me what reward I can give you worthy of your courage." "My name is Omiti," said the young girl; "I can tell you nothing more. Give me the flower that you hold in your hand; it is all I would have from you." Fide-Yori offered her the lemon twig; Omiti seized it, and fled through the grove. The Shogun stood rooted to the spot for some time, lost in thought, gazing at the turf pressed by the light foot of Omiti. [1] Lord of the kingdom. This is the same title as Tycoon, but the latter was not created till 1854. [2] Six hours after noon. [3] Six o'clock in the morning. CHAPTER II. NAGATO'S WOUND. The Prince of Nagato had returned to his palace. He slept stretched out on a pile of fine mats; around him was almost total darkness, for the blinds had been lowered, and large screens spread before the windows. Here and there a black lacquer panel shone in the shadow and reflected dimly, like a dull mirror, the pale face of the Prince as he lay on his cushions. Nagato had not succeeded in seeing Hieyas: he was told that the Regent was engaged with very important business. Pleased at the chance, the young Prince hurried home to rest for a few hours before the council. In the chambers adjoining the one in which he slept servants came and went silently, preparing their master's toilette. They walked cautiously, that the floor might not creak, and talked together in low tones. "Our poor master knows no moderation," said an old woman, scattering drops of perfume over a court cloak. "Continual feasting and nightly revels,--never any rest; he will kill himself." "Oh, no! pleasure does not kill," said an impudent-looking boy, dressed in gay colors. "What do you know about it, imp?" replied the woman. "Wouldn't you think the brat spent his life in enjoyment like a lord? Don't talk so boldly about things you know nothing of!" "Perhaps I know more about them than you do," said the child, making a wry face; "you haven't got married yet, for all your great age and your great beauty." The woman threw the contents of her flask in the boy's face; but he hid behind the silver disk of a mirror which he was polishing, and the perfume fell to the ground. When the danger was over, out popped his head. "Will you have me for a husband?" he cried; "you can spare me a few of your years, and between us we'll make but a young couple." The woman, in her rage, gave a sharp scream. "Will you be quiet?" said another servant, threatening her with his fist. "But who could listen to that young scamp without blushing and losing her temper?" "Blush as much as you like," said the child; "that won't make any noise." "Come, Loo, be quiet!" said the servant. Loo shrugged his shoulders and made a face, then went on listlessly rubbing his mirror. At this instant a man entered the room. "I must speak to Iwakura, Prince of Nagato," he cried aloud. All the servants made violent signs to impose silence on the new-comer. Loo rushed towards him and stopped his mouth with the rag with which he was polishing the mirror; but the man pushed him roughly away. "What does all this mean?" he said. "Are you crazy? I want to speak to the lord whom you serve, the very illustrious daimio who rules over the province of Nagato. Go and tell him, and stop your monkey tricks." "He is asleep," whispered a servant. "We cannot wake him," said another. "He is frightfully tired," said Loo, with his finger on his lip. "Tired or not, he will rejoice at my coming," said the stranger. "We were ordered not to wake him until a few moments before the hour for the council," said the old woman. "I sha'n't take the risk of rousing him," said Loo, drawing his mouth to one side.-- "Nor I," said the old woman. "I will go myself, if you like," said the messenger; "moreover, the hour of the council is close at hand. I just saw the Prince of Arima on his way to the Hall of a Thousand Mats." "The Prince of Arima!" cried Loo; "and he is always late!" "Alas!" said the old woman; "shall we have time to dress our master?" Loo pushed aside a sliding partition and opened a narrow passage; he then softly entered Nagato's bedroom. It was cool within, and a delicate odor of camphor filled the air. "Master! master!" said Loo in a loud voice, "the hour has come; and besides there is a messenger here." "A messenger!" cried Nagato, raising himself on one elbow; "what does he look like?" "He is dressed like a samurai:[1] he has two-swords in his sash." "Let him come in at once," said the Prince, in a tone of agitation. Loo beckoned to the messenger, who prostrated himself on the threshold of the room. "Approach!" said Nagato. But the messenger being unable to see in the dark hall, Loo folded back one leaf of a screen which intercepted the light. A broad band of sunshine entered; it lighted up the delicate texture of the matting which covered the wall and glistened on a silver stork with sinuous neck and spread wings, hanging against it. The messenger approached the Prince and offered him a slender roll of paper wrapped in silk; then he left the room backwards. Nagato hastily unrolled the paper, and read as follows: "You have been here, illustrious one, I know it! But why this madness, and why this mystery? I cannot understand your actions. I have received severe reprimands from my sovereign on your account. As you know, I was passing through the gardens, escorting her to her palace, when all at once I saw you leaning against a tree. I could not repress an exclamation, and at my cry she turned towards me and followed the direction of my eyes. 'Ah!' she said, 'it is the sight of Nagato that draws such cries from you. Could you not stifle them, and at least spare me the sight of your immodest conduct?' Then she turned and looked at you several times. The anger in her eyes alarmed me. I dare not appear before her to-morrow, and I send you this message to beg you not to repeat these strange visits, which have such fatal consequences to me. Alas! do you not know that I love you, and need I repeat it? I will be your wife whenever you wish.... But it pleases you to adore me as if I were an idol in the pagoda of the Thirty-three thousand three hundred and thirty-three.[2] If you had not risked your life repeatedly to see me, I should think you were mocking me. I entreat you, expose me to no more such reproofs, and do not forget that I am ready to recognize you as my lord and master, and that to live by your side is my dearest desire." Nagato smiled and slowly closed the roll; he fixed his eyes upon the streak of light cast on the floor from the window, and seemed lost in deep revery. Little Loo was greatly disappointed. He had tried to read over his master's shoulder; but the roll was written in Chinese characters, and his knowledge fell short of that. He was quite familiar with the Kata-Kana, and even knew something of Hira-Kana; but unfortunately was entirely ignorant of Chinese writing. To hide his vexation, he went to the window and lifting one corner of the blind, looked out. "Ah!" he said, "the Prince of Satsuma and the Prince of Aki arrive together, and their followers look askance atone another. Ah! Satsuma takes precedence. Oh! oh! there goes the Regent down the avenue. He glances this way, and laughs when he sees the Prince of Nagato's suite still standing at the door. He would laugh far louder if he knew how little progress my master had made in his toilet." "Let him laugh, Loo! and come here," said the Prince, who had taken a pencil and roll of paper from his girdle and hastily written a few words. "Run to the palace and give this to the King." Loo set off as fast as his legs could carry him, pushing and jostling those who came in his way to his utmost. "And now," said Iwakura, "dress me quickly." His servants clustered about him, and the Prince was soon arrayed in the broad trailing trousers which make the wearer look as if he were walking on his knees, and the stiff ceremonial mantle, made still more heavy by the crest embroidered on its sleeves. The arms of Nagato consisted of a black bolt surmounting three balls in the form of a pyramid. The young man, usually so careful of his dress, paid no attention to the work of his servants; he did not even glance at the mirror so well polished by Loo, when the high pointed cap, tied by golden ribbons, was placed on his head. As soon as his toilette was complete he left the palace; but so great was his abstraction that, instead of getting into the norimono awaiting him in the midst of his escort, he set off on foot, dragging his huge pantaloons in the sand, and exposing himself to the rays of the sun. His suite, terrified at this breach of etiquette, followed in utter disorder, while the spies ordered to watch the actions of the Prince hastened to report this extraordinary occurrence to their various masters. The ramparts of the royal residence at Osaka, thick, lofty walls flanked at intervals by a semicircular bastion, form a huge square, which encloses several palaces and vast gardens. To the south and west the fortress is sheltered by the city; on the north the river which flows through Osaka widens, and forms an immense moat at the foot of the rampart; on the east, a narrower stream bounds it. On the platform of the walls grows a row of centenarian cedars of a sombre verdure, their level branches projecting horizontally across the battlements. Within, a second wall, preceded by a moat, encloses the parks and palaces reserved for the princes and their families. Between this wall and the ramparts lie the houses of soldiers and officials. A third wall surrounds the private palace of the Shogun, built upon a hill. This building is of simple but noble design. Square towers with roof upon roof rise here and there from the general mass. Marble stair-ways, bordered by slender lacquer railings, and decorated at the foot by bronze monsters or huge pottery vases, lead to the outer galleries. The terrace before the palace is covered with gravel and white sand which reflects back the splendor of the sun. In the centre of the edifice stands a large, lofty, and magnificently ornate square tower. It supports seven roofs, whose angles are bent upward; on the topmost roof two enormous goldfish[3] writhe and twist, glittering so that they may be seen from every point of the city. In that part of the palace nearest to this tower is the Hall of a Thousand Mats, the meeting-place for the Council. The lords arrived from all directions, climbed the hill, and moved towards the central portico of the palace, which opens upon a long gallery loading directly into the Hall of a Thousand Mats. This lofty, spacious hall is entirely bare of furniture. Movable partitions sliding in grooves intersect it and, when closed, form compartments of various sizes. But the partitions are always opened wide in such a way as to produce agreeable effects of perspective. The panels in one compartment are covered with black lacquer decorated in gold, in another of red lacquer or of Jeseri wood, the veins of which form natural and pleasing designs. Here, the screen, painted by a famous artist, is lined with white satin heavily embroidered with flowers; there, on a dead gold ground, a peach-tree loaded with its pink blossoms spreads its gnarled branches; or perhaps merely an irregular sprinkling of black, red, and white dots oil dark wood dazzles the eye. The mats which cover the floor are snow white, and fringed with silver. The nobles, with their loose pantaloons falling below their feet, seem to move forward on their knees, and their robes brush the mats with a continuous sound, like the murmur of a waterfall. The spectators, moreover, preserve a religious silence. The _Hattamotos_, members of an order of nobility, recently instituted by the Regent, crouch in the farthest corners, while the _Samurais_, of ancient lineage, owners of fiefs and vassals of princes, pass these newly made nobles by, with scornful glances, and come perceptibly closer to the great drawn curtain veiling the platform reserved for the Shogun. The _Lords of the Earth_, princes supreme in their own provinces, form a wide circle before the throne, leaving a free space for the thirteen members of the Council. The councillors soon arrive. They salute each other, and exchange a few words in low voices; then take their places. On the left, presenting their profile to the drawn curtain, are the superior councillors. They are five in number, but only four are present. The nearest to the throne is the Prince of Satsuma, a venerable old man with a long face full of kindness. Next to him is spread the mat of the absentee. Then comes the Prince of Satake, who bites his lip as he carefully arranges the folds of his robe. He is young, dark-skinned, and his jet black eyes twinkle strangely. Next to him is established the Prince of Ouesougi, a fat and listless-looking man. The last is the Prince of Isida, a short, ugly-faced fellow. The eight inferior councillors crouching opposite the throne are the princes of Arima, Figo, Wakasa, Aki, Tosa, Ise, and Coroda. A stir is heard in the direction of the entrance, and every head is bent to the ground. The Regent advances into the hall. He moves rapidly, not being embarrassed, like the princes, by the folds of his trailing trousers, and seat's himself, cross-legged, on a pile of mats to the right of the throne. Hieyas was at this time an old man. His back was slightly bent, but he was broad-shouldered and muscular. His head, entirely shaven, revealed a high forehead, with prominent eyebrows. His thin lips, cruel and obstinate in expression, were deeply marked at the corners with downward wrinkles. His cheek-bones were extremely marked, and his prominent eyes flashed forth abrupt and insincere glances. As he entered, he cast an evil look, accompanied by a half-smile, towards the vacant place of the Prince of Nagato. But when the curtain rose, the Shogun appeared, leaning with one hand on the shoulder of his youthful councillor. The Regent frowned. All the spectators prostrated themselves, pressing their foreheads on the ground. When they rose, the Prince of Nagato had taken his place with the rest. Fide-Yori seated himself, and motioned to Hieyas that he might speak. Then the Regent read various unimportant reports,--nominations of magistrates, movements of the troops on the frontier, the change of residence of a governor whose term had expired. Hieyas explained briefly and volubly the reasons which had actuated him. The councillors ran their eyes over the manuscripts, and having no objection to make, acquiesced by a gesture. But soon the Regent folded all these papers and handed them to a secretary stationed near him; then resumed his speech, after first coughing:-- "I called this special meeting to-day," he said, "that its members might share the fears which I have conceived for the tranquillity of the kingdom, on learning that the severe supervision ordered over the European bonzes and such Japanese as have embraced their strange doctrine, are strangely relaxed, and that they have resumed their dangerous intrigues against the public peace. I therefore demand the enforcement of the law decreeing the extermination of all Christians." A singular uproar arose in the assembly,--a mixture of approval, surprise, cries of horror and of anger. "Would you witness a renewal of the hideous and bloody scenes whose terror still lingers in our minds?" cried the Prince of Satake with his wonted animation. "It is odd to affirm that poor people who preach nothing but virtue and concord can disturb the peace of an empire," said Nagato. "The Daimio speaks well," said the Prince of Satsuma; "it is impossible for the bonzes of Europe to have any effect upon the tranquillity of the kingdom. It is therefore useless to disturb them." But Hieyas addressed himself directly to Fide-Yori. "Master," said he, "since no one will share my anxiety, I must inform you that a dreadful rumor is beginning to circulate among the nobles and among the people." He paused a moment, to add solemnity to his words. "It is said that he who is still under my guardianship, the future ruler of Japan, our gracious lord, Fide-Yori, has embraced the Christian faith." An impressive silence followed these words. The spectators exchanged glances which said clearly that they had heard the report, which might have a solid basis. Fide-Yori took up the word. "And should a calumny spread by ill-intentioned persons be avenged upon the innocent I I command that the Christians shall not be molested in any way. My father, I regret it, thought it his duty to pursue with his wrath and to exterminate those unhappy men; but I swear, while I live, not one drop of their blood shall be shed." Hieyas was stupefied by the resolute accent of the young Shogun; for the first time he spoke as a master, and commanded. He bowed in sign of submission, and made no objection. Fide-Yori had attained his majority, and if he was not yet proclaimed Shogun it was because Hieyas was in no haste to lay down his power. He did not, therefore, wish to enter into open strife with his ward. He set the question aside for the time being, and passed to something else. "I am told," he said, "that a nobleman was attacked and wounded last night on the Kioto road. I do not yet know the name of this noble; but perhaps the Prince of Nagato, who was at Kioto last night, heard something of this adventure?" "Ah! you know that I was at Kioto," muttered the Prince; "then I understand why there were assassins on my path." "How could Nagato be at Osaka and at Kioto at one and the same time?" asked the Prince of Satake. "There is nothing talked of this morning but the water-party which he gave last night, and which ended so merrily with a fight between the lords and the sailors from the shore." "I even got a scratch in the squabble," said Nagato, smiling. "The Prince traverses in a few hours distances that others would take a day to go over," said Hieyas; "that's all. Only, he does not spare his horses; every time he comes back to the palace, his animal falls down dead." The Prince of Nagato turned pale, and felt for the sword missing from his girdle. "I did not suppose that your anxious care extended even to the beasts of the kingdom," said he, with an insolent irony. "I thank you in the name of my dead horses." The Shogun, full of alarm, cast supplicating glances at Nagato. But it seemed as if the Regent's patience were proof against all trials to-day. He smiled and made no reply. However, Fide-Yori saw that anger smouldered in his friend's soul; and dreading some fresh outburst, he put an end to the council by withdrawing. Almost immediately one of the palace guards informed the Prince of Nagato that the Shogun was asking for him. The Prince said a pleasant word to several nobles, bowed to the rest, and left the hall without turning his head in the direction of Hieyas. When he reached the apartments of the Shogun, he heard a woman's voice, petulant, and at the same time complaining. He caught his own name. "I have heard all," said the voice,--"your refusal to accede to the wishes of the Regent, whom you suffered to be insulted before your very eyes by the Prince of Nagato, whose impudence is truly incomparable; and the rare patience of Hieyas, who did not take up the insult from respect for you, from pity for him whom you believe to be your friend, in your ignorance of men." Nagato recognized the speaker as the Shogun's mother, the beautiful and haughty Yodogimi. "Mother," said the Shogun, "turn your thoughts to embroidery and dress: that is woman's sphere." Nagato entered hurriedly, that he might not longer be an unsuspected listener. "My gracious master asked for me," he said. Yodogimi turned and blushed slightly on seeing the Prince, who bowed low before her. "I have something to say to you," said the Shogun. "Then I will retire," said Yodogimi bitterly, "and go back to my embroidery." She crossed the room slowly, rustling her trailing silken robes, and casting as she went out a singular look at Nagato, compounded of coquetry and hate. "You heard my mother," said Fide-Yori. "Yes," said Nagato. "Every one is anxious to detach me from you, my friend: what can be their motive?" "Your mother is blinded by some calumny," said the Prince; "the others see in me a clear-sighted foe, who can outwit the plots which they contrive against you." "It was of a plot I wished to speak to you." "Against your life?" "Precisely. It was revealed to me in a strange fashion, and I can scarcely credit it; yet I cannot resist a certain feeling of uneasiness. To-morrow, at the feast of the God of the Sea, a bridge will give way beneath me." "Horrible!" cried Nagato. "Do not go to the feast." "If I stay away," said Fide-Yori, "I shall never know the truth, for the plot will not be carried out. But if I go to the feast," he added with a smile, "if the conspiracy really exist, the truth would be somewhat difficult of proof." "To be sure," said Nagato. "Still, our doubts must be set at rest; some means must be found. Is your route fixed?" "Hieyas has arranged it." Fide-Yori took a roll of paper from a low table and read:-- "Yedogava Quay, Fishmarket Square, Sycamore Street, seashore. Return by Bamboo Hill and Swallow bridge. "The wretches!" cried Iwakura; "that is the bridge swung across the valley!" "The place would be well chosen indeed," said the Shogun. "It must be that bridge; those crossing the countless city canals would not expose you to death by crumbling under your feet, but at the utmost to a disagreeable bath." "True," said Fide-Yori; "and from the Swallow bridge I should be hurled upon the rocks." "Have you full trust in my friendship for you?" asked the Prince of Nagato, after a moment's thought. "Can you doubt it, Iwakura?" said the Shogun. "Very well, then. Fear nothing, feign complete ignorance, let them lead the way, and march straight up to the bridge. I have thought of a way to save you, and yet discover the truth." "I trust myself to you, friend, in perfect confidence." "Then let me go; I must have time to carry out my scheme." "Go, Prince; I place my life in your hands untremblingly," said the Shogun. Nagato hastened away, first saluting the king, who replied by a friendly gesture. [1] Noble officer in the service of a daimio or prince. [2] Temple at Kioto containing 33,333 idols. [3] These fish actually exist, and are valued at an immense sum, many placing it as high as a million dollars. CHAPTER III. FEAST OF THE SEA-GOD. Next day, from early dawn, the streets of Osaka were full of movement and mirth. The people prepared for the feast, rejoicing in the thought of coming pleasures. Shops, the homes of artisans and citizens, opening full upon the street, afforded a free view of their modest interiors, furnished only with a few beautifully colored screens. Voices were heard, mixed with bursts of laughter; and now and then some mischievous child struggled out of his mother's arms, while she was trying to dress him in his holiday attire, and frisked, and danced with glee upon the wooden stairs leading from the house to the road. He was then recalled with cries of pretended anger from within, the father's voice was heard, and the child returned to his mother, trembling with impatience. Sometimes a little one would cry: "Mother, mother! Here comes the procession!" "Nonsense!" said the mother; "the priests have not even finished dressing yet." But still she moved towards the front of the house, and, leaning over the light balustrade, gazed into the street. Carriers, naked save for a strip of stuff knotted round their waists, hastened rapidly by, across their shoulders a bamboo stick, which bent at the tip from the weight of a package of letters. They went in the direction of the Shogun's residence. Before the barber's shops the crowd was thicker than elsewhere; the boys could not possibly shave all the chins presented, or dress all the heads offered. Customers awaiting their turn chatted gayly outside the door. Some were already dressed in their holiday garb, of bright colors, covered with embroidery. Others, more prudent, naked to the waist, preferred to finish their toilet after their hair was dressed. Vegetable-sellers and fish-merchants moved about through the throng, loudly praising their wares, which they carried in two buckets hanging from a cross piece of wood laid over one shoulder. On every side people were trimming their houses with pennants, and streamers, and embroidered stuffs covered with Chinese inscriptions in gold on a black or purple ground; lanterns were hung up, and blossoming boughs. As the morning advanced, the streets became fuller and fuller of merry tumult. Bearers of norimonos, clad in light tunics drawn tightly round their waist, with large shield-shaped hats, shouted to the people to make room. Samurais went by on horseback, preceded by runners, who, with lowered head and arms extended, forced a passage through the crowd. Groups paused to talk, sheltered from the sun by huge parasols, and formed motionless islands in the midst of the surging, billowy sea of promenaders. A doctor hurried by, fanning himself gravely, and followed by his two assistants carrying the medicine-chest. "Illustrious master, are you not going to the feast!" cried the passers-by. "Sick men pay no heed to feasts," he answered with a sigh; "and as there are none for them, there can be none for us." On the banks of Yedogava the excitement was still greater. The river was literally hidden by thousands of vessels; the masts trimmed, the sails still unset, but ready to unfurl, like wings; the hatchways hung with silks and satins; the prows decked with banners whose golden fringe, dipped into the water, glittered in the sun, and stained the azure stream with many-colored ripples. Bands of young women in brilliant attire came down the snowy steps of the river-banks cut into broad terraces. They entered elegant boats made of camphor-wood, set off by carvings and ornaments of copper, and filled them with flowers, which spread perfumes through the air. From the top of Kiobassi--that fine bridge which resembles a bent bow--were hung pieces of gauze; crape, and light silk, of the most delicate colors, and covered with inscriptions. A gentle breeze softly stirred these lovely stuffs, which the boats, moving up and down, pushed aside as they passed. In, the distance glistened the tall tower of the palace and the two monstrous goldfish which adorn its pinnacle. At the entrance to the city, to right and left of the river, the two superb bastions looking out to sea displayed on every tower, at each angle of the wall, the national standard, white with a scarlet disk, --an emblem of the sun rising through the morning mists. Scattered pagodas upreared above the trees against the radiant sky their many roofs, curled upward at the edge in Chinese fashion. The pagoda of Yebis, the divinity of the sea, attracted especial attention upon this day; not that its towers were higher, or its sacred doors more numerous, than those of neighboring temples, but from its gardens was to start the religious procession so eagerly awaited by the crowd. At last, in the distance, the drum sounded. Every ear was bent to catch the sacred rhythm familiar to all: a few violent blows at regular intervals, then a hasty roll, gradually fading and dying, then again abrupt blows. A tremendous roar of delight rose from the crowd, who instantly took their places along the houses on either side of the streets through which the procession was to pass. The Kashiras, district police, rapidly stretched cords from stake to stake, to prevent the throng from trespassing on the main street. The procession had started; it had passed through the Tory, or sacred gateway which stands outside the pagoda of Yebis; and soon it defiled before the impatient multitude. First came sixteen archers, one behind the other, in two lines, each man at a convenient distance from the other. They wore armor made of plates of black horn fastened together by stitches of red wool. Two swords were thrust through their sashes, barbed arrows extended above their shoulders, and in their hands they held huge bows of black and gold lacquer. Behind them came a body of servants bearing long staffs tufted with silk. Then appeared Tartar musicians, whose advent was announced by a joyous racket. Metallic vibrations of the gong sounded at intervals, mingled with drums beaten vigorously, shuddering cymbals, conch-shells giving out sonorous notes, shrill flute-tones, and blasts of trumpets rending the air, formed such an intensity of noise, that the nearest spectators winked and blinked, and seemed almost blinded. After the musicians came, borne on a high platform, a gigantic crawfish, ridden by a bonze. Flags of every hue, long and narrow, bearing the arms of the city, and held by boys, swung to and fro about the enormous crustacean. Following, were fifty lancers, wearing round lacquer hats, and carrying on their shoulders a lance trimmed with a red tassel. Two servants led next a splendidly caparisoned horse, whose mane, drawn up above his neck, was braided and arranged like a rich fancy trimming. Standard-bearers marched behind this horse; their banners were blue, and covered with golden characters. Then advanced two great Corean tigers, with open jaws and bloodshot eyes. Children in the crowd screamed with fright; but the tigers were of pasteboard, and men, hidden in their paws, made them move. A monstrous drum, of cylindrical form, followed, borne by two bonzes; a third walked beside it and struck the drum incessantly with his clenched fist. Finally came seven splendidly dressed young women, who were received with merry applause. These were the most famous and most beautiful courtesans of the town. They walked one after the other majestically, full of pride, each accompanied by a maid, and followed by a man who held a large silken parasol over her. The people, who knew them well, named them as they passed. "There's the woman with the silver teal!" Two of those birds were embroidered on the large loose-sleeved cloak which she wore over her many dresses, whose collars were folded one above the other upon her breast. The cloak was of green satin, the embroidery of white silk, mixed with silver. The fair one's headdress was stuck full of enormous tortoise-shell pins, forming a semicircle of rays around her face. "That one there, that is the seaweed woman!" The beautiful growth, whose silken roots were lost in the embroideries of the cloak, floated out from the stuff and fluttered in the wind. Then came the beauty with the golden dolphin; the beauty with the almond-blossoms; the beauties with the swan, the peacocks, and the blue monkey. All walked barefooted upon high clogs made of ebony, which increased their apparent height. Their heads bristled with shell-pins, and their faces, skilfully painted, seemed young and charming under the soft shadow of the parasol. Behind these women marched men bearing willow-branches; then a whole army of priests, carrying on litters, or under pretty canopies with gilded tops, the accessories, ornaments, and furniture of the temple, which was purified during the progress of the procession. After all these came the shrine of Yebis, the God of the Sea, the indefatigable fisher who spends entire days wrapped in a net, a line in his hand, standing on a rock half submerged in the water. The octagonal roof was covered with blue and silver, bordered with a pearl fringe, and surmounted by a great bird with outspread wings. This shrine, containing the God Yebis invisible within, was borne by fifty bonzes naked to the waist. Behind, upon a litter, was borne the magnificent fish consecrated to Yebis, the _Akama, or scarlet lady_,--the favorite dish of all those who are fond of dainty fare. Thirty horsemen armed with pikes ended the procession. The long train crossed the city, followed by the crowd which gathered in its rear; it reached the suburbs, and after a long march came out upon the sea-shore. Simultaneously with its arrival, thousands of vessels reached the mouth of Yedogava, which wafted them gently towards the ocean. The sails were spread, the oars bit the water, banners floated on the breeze, while the sun flashed myriad sparkles across the blue, dancing waves. Fide-Yori also reached the shore by the road that skirts the river bank; he stopped his horse and sat motionless in the midst of his suite, which was but scanty, the Regent being unwilling to eclipse the religious _cortége_ by the royal luxury. Hieyas himself was carried in a norimono, as were the mother and wife of the Shogun. He declared himself ill. Fifty soldiers, a few standard-bearers, and two out-runners formed the entire escort. The arrival of the young Prince divided the attention of the crowd, and the procession of Yebis no longer sufficed to attract every eye. The royal headdress, a sort of oblong golden cap placed upon Fide-Yori's head, made him easily recognizable from a distance. Soon the religious procession filed slowly before the Shogun. Then the priests with the shrine left the ranks and went close down to the water's edge. Upon this the fishermen and river boatmen suddenly ran up with cries, bounds, and gambols, and threw themselves upon the bearers of Yebis. They imitated a battle, uttering shouts, which grew more and more shrill. The priests made a feigned resistance; but soon the shrine passed from their shoulders to those of the stout sailors. The latter with howls of joy rushed into the sea and drew their beloved god through the clear waves, while bands of music, stationed on the junks which ploughed the sea, broke into merry melody. At last the sailors returned to land, amidst the cheers of the crowd, who soon scattered, to return in all haste to the town, where many other diversions awaited them,--open-air shows, sales of all sorts, theatrical representations, banquets, and libations of saki. Fide-Yori left the beach in his turn, preceded by the two runners and followed by his train. They entered a cool and charming little valley, and took a road which, by a very gentle slope, led to the summit of the hill. This road was utterly deserted, all access to it having been closed since the evening before. Fide-Yori thought of the plot, of the bridge which was to give way and hurl him into an abyss. He had dwelt upon it all night with anguish; but beneath this bright sun, amidst this peaceful scene, he could no longer believe in human malice. And yet the path chosen for the return to the palace was strange. "We will take this road to avoid the crowd," said Hieyas; but he had only to close another way to the people, and the King might have gone back to the castle without making this odd circuit. Fide-Yori looked about for Nagato; he was nowhere to be seen. Since morning the Shogun had twenty times inquired for him. The Prince was not to be found. Sad forebodings seized upon the young Shogun. He suddenly asked himself why his escort should be so scanty, why he was preceded by two runners only. He looked behind him, and it seemed to him as if the norimono-bearers slackened their pace. They reached the brow of the hill and soon Swallow bridge appeared at the turn of the road. As his eye fell upon it, Fide-Yori involuntarily reined in his horse; his heart beat violently. The frail bridge, boldly flung from one hill to another, crossed a very deep valley. The river, rapid as a torrent, leaped over the rocks with a dull, continuous noise. But the bridge seemed as usual to rest firmly upon the smooth rocks which jutted out beneath it. The runners advanced unshrinkingly. If the conspiracy existed, they knew nothing of it. The young King dared not pause; he seemed to hear echoing in his ears Nagato's words: "March fearlessly towards the bridge!" But the beseeching tones of Omiti also thrilled through his mind he recalled the oath which he had uttered. Nagato's silence alarmed him above all else. How many things might occur to foil the Prince's plan! Surrounded by skilful spies who watched his slightest acts, he might have been carried off and prevented from communicating with the King. All these thoughts rushed tumultuously into Fido-Yori's brain, the last supposition making him turn pale. Then, by one of those mental freaks often noted in situations of extreme peril, he suddenly recalled a song which he had sung as a child, to make himself familiar with the chief sounds of the Japanese language. He mechanically repeated it:-- "Color and perfume fade away. What is there in this world that is permanent? The day which is passed, vanishes in the gulf of oblivion. It is like the echo of a dream. Its absence causes not the slightest distress." "I learned that when a mere child," murmured the King; "and yet I now shrink and hesitate at the possibility of death." Ashamed of his weakness, he urged his horse forward. Just then a loud noise was heard on the opposite side of the bridge; and, suddenly turning the corner of the road, angry horses, with flying mane and bloodshot eyes, appeared, dragging behind them a chariot laden with the trunks of trees. They hastened towards the bridge, and their furious feet rang doubly loud upon the wooden flooring. At the sight of these animals coming towards them Fide-Yori's whole escort uttered cries of terror, the porters dropped their norimonos, the women jumped out of them in alarm, and, gathering up their ample robes, fled hastily away. The runners, whose feet already touched the bridge, turned abruptly, and Fide-Yori instinctively sprang to one side. But all at once, like a cord which, too tightly stretched, breaks, the bridge gave way with a loud crash; it first bent in the centre, then the two fragments rose suddenly in the air, scattering a shower of pieces on every hand. The horses and the car were plunged into the river, the water dashing in foam to the very brow of the hill. For some moments one animal hung by his harness, struggling above the gulf; but his bonds gave way and he fell. The tumultuous stream quickly bore to the sea horses, floating tree trunks, and all the remnants of the bridge. "Oh, Omiti!" cried the King, motionless with horror, "you did not deceive me! This then was the fate reserved for me! Had it not been for your devotion, sweet girl, my mangled body would even now be flung from rock to rock." "Well, master, you possess the knowledge that you wished. What do you think of my team?" cried a voice close beside the King. The latter turned. He was alone, all his servants had abandoned him; but he saw a head rising from the valley. He recognized Nagato, who quickly climbed the stony elope and stood beside the King. "Ah, my friend! my brother!" said Fide-Yori, who could not restrain his tears. "What have I ever done to inspire such hatred? Who is the unhappy man whom my life oppresses, and who would fain hurry me from the world?" "Would you know that wretch?--would you learn the name of the guilty man?" said Nagato with a frown. "Do you know him, friend? Tell me his name." "Hieyas!" said Nagato. CHAPTER IV. THE SISTER OF THE SUN. It was the warmest hour of the day. All the halls of the palace at Kioto were plunged in cool darkness, thanks to the lowered shades and open screens before the windows. Kioto is the capital, the sacred city, the residence of a god exiled to earth, the direct descendant of the celestial founders of Japan, the absolute sovereign, the high priest of all the forms of religion practised throughout the kingdom of the rising sun, in fact, the Mikado. The Shogun is only the first among the subjects of the Mikado; but the latter, crushed beneath the weight of his own majesty, blinded by his superhuman splendor, leaves the care of terrestrial affairs to the Shogun, who rules in his stead, while he sits alone, absorbed in the thought of his own sublimity. In the centre of the palace parks, in one of the pavilions built for the nobles of the court, a woman lay stretched upon the floor which was covered with fine mats. Suddenly she rose upon her elbow and plunged her dainty fingers in the dark masses of her hair. Not far from her, an attendant, crouched on the ground, was playing with a pretty dog of a rare species, which looked like a ball of black and white silk. A koto, or musical instrument with thirteen strings, a writing-case, a roll of paper, a fan, and a box of sweetmeats were scattered over the floor, which no furniture concealed. The walls were made of cedar wood, carved in open work or covered with brilliant paintings enhanced by gold and silver; half-closed panels formed openings through which other halls were visible, and beyond these still other apartments. "Mistress, you are sad," said the attendant. "Shall I strike the koto-strings, and sing a song to cheer you?" The mistress shook her head. "What?" cried the maid, "Fatkoura no longer loves music? Has she then forgotten that she owes the light of day to it? For when the Sun-goddess, enraged with the gods, withdrew into a cavern, it was by letting her hear divine music for the first time that she was led back to heaven!" Fatkoura uttered a sigh, and made no answer. "Shall I grind some ink for you? Your paper has long remained as stainless as the snow on Mount Fusi. If you have a grief, cast it into the mould of verse, and you will be rid of it." "No, Tika; love is not to be got rid of; it is a burning pain, which devours one by day and by night, and never sleeps." "Unhappy love, perhaps; but you are beloved, mistress!" said Tika, drawing nearer. "I know not what serpent hidden in the depths of my heart tells me that I am not." "What!" said Tika in amaze, "has he not revealed his deep passion by a thousand acts of folly? Did he not come but lately, at the risk of his life,--for the wrath of the Kisaki might well prove fatal,--merely to behold you for one instant?" "Yes; and he vanished without exchanging a single word with me, Tika!" added Fatkoura, seizing the young girl's wrists in a nervous grasp. "He did not even look at me." "Impossible!" said Tika; "has he not told you that he loved you?" "He has; and I believed him, because I was so eager to believe. But now I believe him no longer." "Why?" "Because if he loved me he would have married me long since, and taken me to his estates." "But the affection which he bears his master keeps him at the Court of Osaka!" "So he says; but is that the language of love I What would I nob sacrifice for him!... Alas! I thirst for his presence! His face, so haughty, and yet so gentle, floats before my eyes! I long to fix it, but it escapes me! Ah! if I might but spend a few happy months with him, I would gladly kill myself afterwards, lulling myself to sleep with my love; and my past happiness would be a soft winding-sheet for me." Fatkoura burst into sobs and hid her face in her hands. Tika strove to console her. She threw her arms around her, and said a thousand affectionate things, but could not succeed in calming her. Suddenly a noise was heard at the other end of the room, and the little dog began to yelp. Tika rose quickly and ran out, to prevent any servant from entering and seeing the emotion of her mistress; she soon returned beaming. "It is he! it is he!" she exclaimed. "He is here; he wishes to see you." "Do not jest with me, Tika!" said Fatkoura, rising to her feet. "Here is his card," said the young girl; and she offered a paper to Fatkoura, who read at a glance:-- "Iwakura Teroumoto Mori, Prince of Nagato, entreats the honor of admission to your presence." "My mirror!" she cried frantically. "I am horrible thus,--my eyes swollen, my hair disordered, dressed in a robe without embroidery! Alas! instead of weeping, I should have foreseen his coming, and busied myself with my toilette from early dawn!" Tika brought the mirror of burnished metal, round as the full moon, and the box of perfumes and cosmetics. Fatkoura took a pencil and lengthened her eyes. But her hand trembled, she made too heavy a line; then, wishing to repair the mistake, only succeeded in smearing her whole cheek with black. She clenched her fists with rage, and ground her teeth. Tika came to her aid, and removed the traces of her awkwardness. She placed upon the lower lip a little green paint, which became pink on contact with the skin. To replace the eyebrows, which had been carefully plucked out, she made two large black spots very high upon her forehead; to make the oval of her face longer, she sprinkled a little pink powder on her cheek-bones; then rapidly removed all the apparatus of the toilette, and threw over her mistress's shoulders a superb kirimon. Then she left the hall at full speed. Fatkoura, trembling violently, stood beside the gotto as it lay on the floor, one hand holding up her mantle heavy with ornament, and eagerly fixed her gaze on the entrance. At last Nagato appeared. He advanced, placing one hand on the golden hilt of one of his two swords, and, bowing with graceful dignity, said: "Pardon me, fair Fatkoura, if I come like a storm which sweeps across the sky unannounced by any foreboding clouds." "You are to me like the sun when it rises from the sea," said Fatkoura, "and you are always expected. Stay! but a moment since I wept for your sake. See! my eyes are still red." "Your eyes are like the evening and the morning stars," said the Prince. "But why did they drown their rays in tears? Can I have given you any cause to grieve?" "You are here, and I have forgotten the cause of my sorrow," said Fatkoura, smiling; "perhaps I wept because you were far away." "Why can I not be always here?" cried Nagato, with such an accent of truth that the young woman felt all her fears vanish, and a flash of joy illumined her countenance. Perhaps, however, she mistook the meaning of the Prince's words. "Come closer," she said, "and rest upon these mats. Tika will serve us with tea and a few delicacies." "Could I not first send the Kisaki a secret petition of the utmost importance?" asked Nagato. "I seized upon the pretext of this precious missive in order to get away from Osaka," he added, seeing a shadow on Fatkoura's brow. "The sovereign has been vexed with me since your last appearance; I dare not approach her, or send any of my servants to her." "And yet this note must be in her hands with the briefest possible delay," said Nagato, with a slight frown. "What shall we do?" said Fatkoura, whom this trifling mark of distress had not escaped. "Will you come with me to one of my illustrious friends, the noble Iza-Farou No-Kami? She is in favor just now; perhaps she will help us." "Let us go to her at once," said the Prince. "Let us go," said Fatkoura with a sigh. The young woman called Tika, who had remained in the next room, and signed to her to draw a sliding-panel, which opened upon a gallery encircling the pavilion. "Are you going out, mistress?" said Tika. "Shall I summon your suite?" "We are going incognito, Tika, to take a walk in the orchard. Really," she added, with her finger on her lips, "we are going to visit the noble Iza-Farou." The maid bent her head in token of understanding. Fatkoura 'bravely set foot on the balcony, but sprang back hastily with an exclamation. "It's a furnace," she cried. Nagato picked up the fail lying upon the floor. "Courage!" he said; "I will cool the air nearest your face." Tika took a parasol, which she opened over her mistress's head, and Nagato waved the huge fan. They set out, sheltered at first by the projecting roof. Fatkoura led the way. Now and then she touched her finger-tips to the open-work cedar balustrade, and uttered a baby shriek at its burning contact. The pretty silken-haired dog, who had felt obliged to join the party, followed at a distance, growling, doubtless, remarks upon the madness of a walk at such an hour of the day. They turned the corner of the house, and found themselves in front of it, at the top of a broad staircase leading to the garden, between two balusters ornamented with copper balls; a third baluster, in the centre of the staircase, divided it into two parts. In spite of the intolerable heat and the vivid light, whose reflection from the sandy soil fairly blinded them, Fatkoura and the Prince of Nagato pretended to be walking with no other object than to pick a few flowers and admire the charming prospect which lay before them at every step. Although the gardens were deserted, they knew that the eye of the spy was never closed. They made haste to reach a shady alley, and soon arrived at a group of sumptuous pavilions scattered among the trees and connected by covered galleries. "It is here," said Fatkoura, who, far from looking in the direction of the buildings of which she spoke, was leaning over a little pond filled with water so clear as to be almost invisible. "Just see that pretty fish!" she said, purposely raising her voice; "I should think he was carved from a block of amber. And that one who looks like a ruby sprinkled with gold! he seems hanging in mid air, the water is so transparent. See, his fins are like black gauze, and his eyes like balls of fire! Decidedly, of all the dwellers in the palace, Iza-Farou has the finest fish." "What, Fatkoura!" cried a feminine voice from the interior of a pavilion, "are you out at such an hour? Is it because you are a widow that you take so little care of your skin, and let it be destroyed by the sun?" A blind was half raised, and Iza-Farou thrust out her pretty head, bristling with light tortoise-shell pins. "Ah!" she said, "the lord of Nagato! You will not pass by my house without honoring me by entering," she added. "We will come in with pleasure, thanking the fate which led us in this direction," said Fatkoura. They went up the steps leading to the pavilion, and moved on through the flowers filling the balcony. Iza-Farou came towards them. "What had you to tell me?" she said to her friend in a low voice, as she gracefully saluted the Prince. "I need your help," said Fatkoura; "you know I am in disgrace." "I know it; shall I sue for your pardon? But can I assure the Queen that you will never again commit the fault which angered her so deeply?" said Iza-Farou, casting a mischievous glance at Nagato. "I am the only criminal," said the Prince, smiling. "Fatkoura is not responsible for the actions of a madman like me." "Prince, I think she is proud to be the cause of what you call mad acts; and many are the women who envy her." "Do not jest with me," said Nagato; "I am sufficiently punished by having drawn down the wrath of her sovereign upon the noble Fatkoura." "But that is not the question in point," cried Fatkoura. "The Lord of Nagato is bearer of an important message which he wishes to transmit to the Kisaki secretly. He first came to me; but as I cannot approach the Queen just now, I thought of your kind friendship." "Trust the message to me," said Iza-Farou, turning to the Prince; "in a very few moments it shall be in the hands of our illustrious mistress." "I am overcome with gratitude," said Nagato, taking from his bosom a white satin wrapper containing the letter. "Wait here for me; I will return soon." Iza-Farou took the letter, and ushered her guests into a cool and shady hall, where she left them alone. "These pavilions communicate with the Kisaki's palace," said Fatkoura; "my noble friend can visit the sovereign without being seen by other eyes. May the gods grant that the messenger bring back a favorable answer, and I may see the cloud which darkens your brow vanish!" The Prince seemed, in fact, absorbed and anxious; he nibbled the tip of his fan as he paced the room. Fatkoura followed him with her eyes, and her heart involuntarily stood still; she felt a return of the dreadful agony which had so recently wrung tears from her, and which the presence of her beloved had suddenly calmed. "He does not love me," she murmured in despair; "when his eyes turn towards me, they alarm me by their cold and almost contemptuous expression." Nagato seemed to have forgotten the presence of the young woman; he leaned against a half-open panel, and seemed lost in a dream, at once sweet and poignant. The rustle of a dress upon the mats that covered the floor drew him from his revery. Iza-Farou returned; she seemed in haste, and soon appeared at the corner of the gallery. Two young boys, magnificently attired, followed her. "These are the words of the divine Kisaki," said she, as soon as she was within speaking distance of Nagato: "'Let the suppliant make his request in person.'" At these words Nagato turned so pale, that Iza-Farou, frightened, thinking that he would faint, rushed towards him, to prevent him from falling. "Prince," she cried, "be calm! Such a favor is, I know, enough to cause your emotion: but are you not used to all honors?" "Impossible!" muttered Nagato, in a voice which was scarcely audible; "I cannot appear before her." "What!" said Iza-Farou, "would you disobey her command?" "I am not in court-dress," said the Prince. "She will dispense with ceremony for this time only, the reception being secret. Do not keep her waiting longer." "So be it; lead the way!" suddenly exclaimed Nagato, who had now apparently conquered his emotion. "These two pages will conduct you," said Iza-Farou. Nagato left the room rapidly, preceded by the Kisaki's two servitors; but not so rapidly that he did not hear a stifled cry which broke from the lips of Fatkoura. After walking for some time, and passing through the various galleries and halls of the palace without paying the slightest heed to them, Nagato came to a great curtain of white satin, embroidered in gold, whose broad folds, silvery in the light, leaden-hued in the shade, lay in ample heaps upon the ground. The pages drew aside this drapery; the Prince advanced, and the quivering waves of satin fell together again behind him. The walls of the hall which he entered glittered faintly in the dim light; they gave out flashes of gold, the whiteness of pearls and purple reflections, while an exquisite perfume floated in the air. At the end of the room, beneath curtains fastened back by golden cords, sat the radiant sovereign in the midst of the silken billows of her scarlet robes; the triple plate of gold, insignia of omnipotence, rose above her brow. The Prince grasped the vision with one involuntary look; then, dropping his eyes as if he had gazed upon the sun at noon, he advanced to the centre of the room and fell upon his knees; then slowly his face sank to the ground. "Iwakura," said the Kisaki, after a long pause, "what you ask of me is serious. I desire certain explanations from your own lips before I prefer your request to the sublime master of the world, the son of the gods, my spouse." The Prince half rose, and strove to speak, but could not; he felt as if his bosom would burst with the frantic throbbing of his heart. The words died on his lips, and he remained with downcast eyes, pale as death. "Is it because you think me angry with you that you are so much alarmed?" said the Queen, looking at the Prince for an instant with surprise. "I can forgive you, for your crime is but slight. You love one of my maidens, that is all." "Nay, I do not love her!" cried Nagato, who, as if he had lost his senses, raised his eyes to his sovereign. "What matters it to me?" said the Kisaki abruptly. For one second their gaze met; but Nagato closed his guilty eyes, and trembling at his own audacity, awaited its punishment. But after a pause the Kisaki went on in a quiet voice: "Your letter reveals to me a terrible secret; and if what you imagine is true, the peace of the kingdom may be deeply affected." "That is why, Divine Sister of the Sun, I had the boldness to beg for your all-powerful intercession," said the Prince, unable completely to master the quiver in his voice. "If you grant my prayer, if I obtain what I ask, great misfortunes may be prevented." "You know, Iwakura, that the Celestial Mikado is favorable to Hieyas; would he believe in the crime of which you accuse his favorite I and would you be willing to maintain in public the accusation hitherto kept secret?" "I would maintain it to Hieyas' very face," said Nagato firmly; "he is the instigator of the odious plot which came near costing my young master his life." "That affirmation would endanger your own life. Have you thought of that?" "My life is a slight thing," said the Prince. "Besides, the mere fact of my devotion to Fide-Yori is enough to attract the Regent's hatred. I barely escaped assassination by his men a few days ago, on leaving Kioto." "What, Prince! is that indeed possible?" said the Kisaki. "I only mention the unimportant fact," continued Nagato, "to show you that this man is familiar with crime, and that he is anxious to rid himself of those who stand in the way of his ambition." "But how did you escape from the murderers?" asked the Kisaki, who seemed to take a lively interest in the adventure. "The sharp blade of my sword and the strength of my arm saved my life. But why should you waste your sublime thoughts upon so trifling an incident?" "Were the assassins numerous?" inquired the Queen, curiously. "Ten or twelve, perhaps. I killed several of them; then I gave my horse the spurs, and he soon put a sufficient distance between them and me." "What!" said the Kisaki meditatively, "is the man who has the confidence of my divine spouse so fierce and treacherous? I share your fears, Iwakura, and sad forebodings overwhelm me; but can I persuade the Mikado that our presentiments are not vain? At least I will try to do so, for the good of my people and the salvation of the kingdom. Go, Prince; be at the reception this evening. I shall then have seen the Lord of the World." The Prince, having prostrated himself, rose, and with his head still bent towards the earth, withdrew backwards from the room. As he reached the satin curtain, he once more almost involuntarily raised his eyes to the sovereign, who followed him with her gaze. But the drapery fell and the adorable vision disappeared. The pages led Iwakura to one of the palaces reserved for sovereign princes passing through Kioto. Happy to find himself alone, he stretched himself upon a pile of cushions, and, still deeply moved, gave himself up to a delicious revery. "Ah!" he murmured, "what strange joy fills my soul! I am intoxicated; perhaps it comes from breathing the air that surrounds her! Ah! terrible madness, hopeless longing which causes me such sweet suffering, how much you must be increased by this unexpected interview! Already I had often fled from Osaka; exhausted, like a diver perishing for want of air, I came hither, to gaze upon the palaces which hide her from my sight, or to catch an occasional glimpse of her in the distance as she leaned over a balcony, or paced the garden paths surrounded by her women; and I bore hence a store of happiness. But now I have breathed the perfume which exhales from her person, her voice has caressed my ear, I have heard my name tremble on her lips! Can I now be content with what has hitherto filled up my life? I am lost; my existence is ruined by this impossible love; and yet I am happy. Soon I shall see her again, no longer under the constraint of a political audience, but able to dazzle myself at my ease with her beauty. Shall I have strength to conceal my agitation and my criminal love? Yes, divine sovereign, before thee only my haughty spirit falls prostrate, and my every thought turns towards thee as the mists to the sun. Goddess, I adore thee with awe and respect; but alas! I love thee as well, with a mad tenderness, as if thou wert but a mere woman!" CHAPTER V. THE KNIGHTS OF HEAVEN. Night had come; to the heat of the day had succeeded a delicious coolness, and the air was full of perfume from the garden flowers, wet with dew. The balconies running outside the palace halls in which the evening diversions were to take place, were illuminated, and crowded with guests, who breathed the evening air with delight. The Prince of Nagato ascended the staircase of honor, bordered on either hand by a living balustrade of pretty pages, each holding in his hand a gilded stick, at the end of which hung a round lantern. The Prince passed through the galleries slowly, on account of the crowd; he bowed low when he encountered any high dignitary of the Court, saluted the princes, his equals, in friendly phrase, and approached the throne room. This hall shone resplendent from the myriad rays of lanterns and of lamps. A joyous uproar filled it as well as the neighboring apartments seen through the widely opened panels. The maids-of-honor chattered together, and their voices were-blended with the slight rustle of their robes, as they arranged the ample folds. Seated on the right and left of the royal dais, these princesses formed groups, and each group had its hierarchic rank and its especial colors. In one the women were arrayed in pale-blue robes flowered with silver; in another in green, lilac, or pale-yellow gowns. Upon the dais covered with soft carpets, the Kisaki shone resplendent in the midst of the waves of satin, gauze, and silver brocade formed by her full scarlet and white robes, scintillating with precious stones. The three vertical plates surmounting her diadem looked like three golden sunbeams hovering above her brow. Certain princesses had mounted the steps to the throne, and, kneeling upon the topmost one, talked merrily with their sovereign; the latter sometimes littered a low laugh, which scandalized some silent old prince, the faithful guardian of the severe rules of etiquette. But the sovereign was so young, not yet twenty years old, that she might readily be pardoned if she sometimes ceased to feel the weight of the crown upon her head; and at her laughter, joy spread on every side, as the songs of the birds break forth with the first rays of the sun. "The supreme gods be praised!" said one princess in an undertone to her companions, "the sorrow that oppressed our sovereign has passed away at last; she is gayer than ever this evening." "And in what a clement mood!" said another. "There is Fatkoura restored to favor. She mounts the stops to the throne. The Kisaki has summoned her." In fact Fatkoura stood upon the last step of the royal dais; but the melancholy expression of her features, her fixed and bewildered gaze, contrasted strangely with the serene and happy look imprinted upon every face. She thanked the Kisaki for granting her pardon; but she did it in a voice so sad and so singularly troubled that the young Queen trembled, and raised her eyes to her former favorite. "Are you ill?" she asked, surprised at the change in the young woman's features. "With joy at winning forgiveness, perhaps," stammered Fatkoura. "You need not remain for the feast if you are not well." "I thank you," said Fatkoura, bending low, as she moved away and was lost in the crowd. The notes of a hidden orchestra were soon heard, and the entertainment began. A curtain was drawn aside in the wall opposite the throne, and revealed a charming landscape. Mount Fusiyama appeared in the background, rearing its snow-sprinkled peak above a necklace of clouds; the sea, of a deep blue, dotted with a few white sails, lay at the foot of the mountains: a road wound along among trees and thickets of flowering shrubs. Then a young man entered; he hung his head; he seemed tired and sad. The orchestra was silent. The young man lifted up his voice. He told how misfortune had pursued him. His mother died of grief because the fields cultivated by her husband grew more and more sterile. He followed his mother's coffin with tears, then almost killed himself with work to support his aged father; but the father died in his turn, leaving his son so destitute, that he had not money enough to bury him. He then sold himself as a slave, and with the price of his liberty paid the last marks of respect to his father. Now he was on his way to his master to comply with the terms of the contract. He was going off, when a most beautiful woman appeared in his path. The young man gazed at her in mute admiration. "I have a favor to beg of you," said the woman. "I am alone and forsaken; accept me for your wife: I will be devoted and faithful to you." "Alas!" said the young man, "I have not a single possession, and even my body is not my own. I have sold myself to a master, to whom I am now on my way." "I am skilled in the art of weaving silk," said the unknown; "take me to your master; I will manage to make myself useful." "I consent with all my heart," said the youth; "but how comes it that a woman so beautiful as you is willing to take a poor man like me for her husband?" "Beauty is nothing in comparison with the qualities of the heart," said the woman. "In the second part, the husband and wife are seen working in their master's gardens,--the man cultivating flowers, the wife embroidering a marvellous tissue which she had woven. The master walked about, overlooking his slaves; he approached the young woman and examined her work. "Oh, what splendid stuff!" he exclaimed; "it is of inestimable value." "I would gladly exchange it for our liberty." The master agreed to the bargain, and set them free. Then the husband fell at his wife's feet; he thanked her enthusiastically for having thus delivered him from bondage. But the woman was transformed; she became so brilliant, that the young man, dazzled, could look at her no longer. "I am the celestial weaver," said she; "your courage and industry and your filial piety touched me, and, seeing your misery, I descended from heaven to help you. All that you may henceforth undertake shall succeed if you never depart from the path of virtue." So saying, the divine weaver rose to heaven and resumed her place in the house of the silkworms.[1] The orchestra then played a dance. The curtain fell, and soon rose again. It revealed the garden of a pagoda, with its thickets of bamboos, its light edifices, with their huge roofs supported by a vast number of beams of every hue. Then scene followed upon scene in pantomime, one having no connection with the other. Religious or military legends were represented, fabulous heroes and symbolic characters appeared in antique costume, some wearing the egg-shaped mitre and the tunic with long open sleeves, others having on their head the old-fashioned crestless helmet, with its gold ornaments, which protected the nape of the neck, or wearing a fantastic headdress, broad and high, in the form of a pyramid of gold, decorated with fringes and tiny bells. Then the stage was cleared; and after a prelude from the orchestra, young and lovely dancing-girls appeared, clad in gorgeous dresses, with the wings of birds or butterflies on their shoulders, and long antennas on their foreheads which quivered gently above their golden crowns, wrought in open-work. They performed a slow graceful dance, full of undulating rocking movements; their figure ended, they formed groups on either side of the stage, while comic dancers, disguised in false noses and extravagant costumes, entered and concluded the spectacle by a wild dance full of blows and tumbles. From the beginning of the representation the Prince of Nagato had leaned against a wall near the stage, and, half hidden in the folds of a curtain, while every eye was fixed upon the mimic scene, he gazed ecstatically upon the smiling and radiant sovereign. It seemed as if the Queen felt oppressed by this ardent and tenacious gaze, for she turned her head, and her eyes rested on the Prince. The latter did not lower his eyes--an all-powerful charm prevented him from doing so; that look, descending towards him like a sunbeam, scorched him. For a moment he felt as if he had lost his senses; it seemed as if the Kisaki smiled upon him very faintly. She instantly cast down her eyes and examined the bracelet encircling her arm; then, lifting her head, she appeared to follow the course of the performance attentively. When the curtain fell for the last time, in the midst of the hubbub of conversation renewed after a prolonged silence, a woman paused before Nagato. "I know your secret, Prince!" she said, in a low, but threatening tone. "What do you mean?" cried Nagato; "I do not understand you, Fatkoura." "You understand me very well," replied Fatkoura, looking steadily at him; "and you may well turn pale, for your life is in my hands." "My life!" murmured the Prince; "I would bless any one who would rid me of it." The young woman had moved away; but a great stir now occurred around the Queen. All the maids-of-honor had risen, and silence again fell upon the assembly. The Kisaki stepped down from her throne; she advanced slowly through the hall, dragging a weight of satin after her. The princesses in groups, according to their rank, followed at a distance, stopping whenever she stopped. All the guests bowed low as she passed. She spoke a few words to an illustrious Daimio or a lady of high rank, then went on; in this way she reached the Prince of Nagato. "Iwakura," said she, drawing from her bosom a sealed letter wrapped in a piece of green satin, "give this paper to the Shogun's mother from me." And she added in a lower tone: "It is what you asked for. The Mikado's orders are that you shall only make use of this document when you are sure that Hieyas is about to perjure himself." "Your orders shall be faithfully executed," said Nagato, tremblingly taking the letter. "This very night I will return to Osaka." "May your journey be prosperous!" said the Kisaki in a strangely gentle voice. Then she passed on; the Prince still heard the rustle of her dress on the mats for a brief moment. An hour later Nagato left the Dairi,[2] and was on his way. In traversing the city he was obliged to keep his horse to a walk, lest he should run over some of the merry throng that blocked the streets. Huge lanterns of glass, paper, gauze, or silk shone on every hand; their many-colored lights cast odd reflections upon the faces of the passers, who, as they changed position, looked pink, blue, lilac, or green. The horse was somewhat frightened by the deafening uproar that pervaded Kioto. There were shouts of laughter from women standing before a puppet-show; a tambourine ringing an incessant accompaniment to the marvellous feats of a band of conjurors; angry cries from a quarrel degenerating into a brawl; a silver bell struck by the finger of fate in response to some sorcerer who foretold the future to an attentive circle; the shrill songs of the priests of Odji-gongem performing a sacred dance in the garden of a pagoda; then the clamor of a whole army of beggars, some mounted on stilts, others accoutred in historic costume, or wearing in lieu of hat a vase containing a flourishing shrub in full bloom. Here were mendicant friars, clad in red, with shaven head, puffing up their cheeks and drawing from silver whistles sounds, whose acuteness pierced the tumult and rent the ear; priestesses of the national form of worship passed along, singing and waving a holy-water sprinkler of white paper,--the symbol of purity; a dozen young bonzes playing on all sorts of instruments, listened eagerly, to catch the measure of the melody which they were executing in spite of the general commotion, while farther on a tortoise-charmer beat a tam-tam with rapid strokes, and blind men, sitting at a temple door, thumped with all their might on bells bristling with bronze pimples. From time to time nobles of the Mikado's Court forced their way through the crowd; they were going incognito to the theatre or to one of the tea-houses which were kept open all night, and in which, set free from the rigors of etiquette, they could drink and enjoy themselves at their ease. Nagato, too, travelled incognito and alone; he had not even an out-runner to disperse the crowd before him. He managed, however, to leave the city without injuring any one. Then he gave the reins to his impatient steed, who galloped quickly along a magnificent avenue of sycamores, bordered by pagodas, temples, and chapels, which glided swiftly by to right and left, and from which a fragment of prayer or sacred song reached his ear. Once he turned and cast a long look behind. He saw through the branches the tomb of Taiko-Sama, Fide-Yori's father; he thought that the ashes of that great man must quiver with joy as he who bore safety to his son passed by. He left the suburbs behind him and climbed a low hill. He then cast a last look on that city so dear to his heart. It was wrapped in a luminous fog, red in the midst of the blue light cast by the moon upon the surrounding mountains. On the slopes, among the trees, scattered roofs of pagodas shone like mirrors. The golden chrysanthemum which surmounts the door of the Dairi caught a ray, and looked like a star suspended over the city. But all disappeared behind the brow of the hill; the last sound from Kioto faded and died. The Prince heaved a sigh; then, urging his horse, he flew like an arrow through the land. He passed through several villages huddled by the roadside, and at the end of an hour reached Yodo. He traversed the town without slackening pace, and rode by a castle, whose lofty towers were brilliantly lighted, while the water in the moats glittered back a reflection. This castle belonged to Yodogimi, the Shogun's mother; it was then inhabited by General Harounaga, a favorite of that princess. "I have little confidence in the valor of the handsome warrior who sleeps behind those ramparts," muttered the Prince, glancing at the silent castle. A moment later he was galloping through a rice-field. The moon was mirrored on every side in the pools of water from which the slender blades grew. The rice-plantation looked like a vast pond; delicate white vapors floated here and there in sheets close to the ground, and a few great black buffaloes lying half in the water slept quietly. Nagato checked his panting horse; soon he dropped the bridle on its neck, and bowing his head, plunged anew into his despotic revery. The animal fell into a walk, and the pre-occupied Prince left him to his own gait. Nagato saw once more the brilliant palace halls, and the sovereign advancing towards him; he fancied he heard again the rustle of her robes. "Ah!" he exclaimed suddenly, "this letter which has lain in her bosom now rests on my heart and burns me." He drew the letter hastily from his breast. "Alas! I must part with this priceless relic," he murmured. All at once he pressed it to his lips. The touch of the soft stuff, the familiar perfume exhaled from it, sent an ardent thrill through the Prince's veins. He shut his eyes, overcome by a delicious ecstasy. An uneasy neigh from his horse roused him from his dream. He restored the royal missive to his bosom and looked around him. Fifty paces in front of him, a group of trees cast its shadow across the road. Nagato thought he saw something stir in that shadow. He seized the pike fastened to his saddle, and urged on his horse, which plunged and reared, reluctant to advance. The Prince's doubts were soon solved: armed men awaited his coming. "What, again!" he cried. "The Regent must be very anxious to get rid of me." "This time he will not fail!" replied one of the assassins, riding full upon him. "You have not got me yet!" said Nagato, turning his horse aside. His opponent, borne onwards by the impetus of his sally, passed close by him without reaching him. "Rash fool that I am," muttered the Prince, "thus to expose this precious paper to the chances of my fate!" Naked swords gleamed around him. His assailants were so numerous that they could not all approach the object of their attack at once. Nagato was the most skilful fencer in the entire kingdom; he was both cool and daring. Whirling his pike about him, he broke several sword-blades, the splinters falling in a shower of blood; then, forcing his horse to execute a series of rapid leaps, he escaped for a moment the blows which were aimed at him. "I can certainly defend myself for a few instants more," he thought, "but I am plainly lost." A buffalo, aroused, uttered a long and melancholy bellow; then nothing more was heard but the clink of steel and the stamping of horses. But suddenly a voice rang through the darkness. "Courage, Prince!" it cried; "we come to your aid!" Nagato was covered with blood, but he struggled bravely still. The voice lent him new strength, while it paralyzed the assassins, who exchanged anxious glances. The rapid beat of horses' hoofs was heard, and before any recognition was possible, a body of horsemen fell upon the assailants of the Prince. Nagato, exhausted, withdrew slightly to one side, and with surprise and confusion watched the defenders who had arrived so opportunely. These men were beautiful to behold in the moonlight, which illumined the rich embroideries of their dress, and drew azure sparkles from their light helmets, decorated in open-work. The Prince recognized the costume of the Knights of Heaven, the Mikado's guard of honor. Soon nothing was left of the assassins despatched by the Regent, but corpses. The conquerors wiped their weapons, and the leader of the troop approached Nagato. "Are you seriously wounded, Prince?" he asked. "I do not know," replied Nagato; "in the heat of battle I felt nothing." "But your face is bathed in blood." "True," said the Prince, putting his hand to his cheek. "Will you dismount?" "No; I am afraid I should not be able to remount. But talk of me no more; let me thank you for your miraculous intervention, which saved my life, and ask you by what chain of circumstances you were on this road at this hour." "I will tell you all soon," said the knight; "but not before you have dressed the wound which has bled so profusely." Water was brought from a neighboring pool, and the Prince's face was washed with it; a tolerably deep Cut was found on his forehead, near the temple. Nothing could be done for the time being but to bandage his head tightly. "You have other wounds, have you not?" "I think so; but I feel strong enough to reach Osaka." "Very well, let us be off!" said the knight; "we will talk as we ride." The little troop took up the line of march. "You intend to escort me then?" said Nagato. "We are ordered not to leave you, Prince; but the accomplishment of that duty is a pleasure to us." "Will you do me the honor to acquaint me with your glorious name?" said Nagato, bowing. "You know me, Nagato; I am Farou-So-Chan, Lord of Tsusima." "The husband of the lovely Iza-Farou, whom I had the honor of seeing this very day!" exclaimed Nagato. "Forgive me! I should have recognized you by the terrible blows that you dealt my opponents; but I was blinded by blood." "I am proud and happy to have been chosen to help you, and to prevent the unfortunate results which your reckless daring might have caused." "I acted with unpardonable levity indeed," said Nagato; "I had a right to risk my life, but not to expose the precious message which I bear." "Let me tell you, dear Prince, that the envelope which you carry contains nothing but a blank paper." "Is it possible?" cried Nagato; "have I been tricked? In that case I cannot survive the affront." "Calm yourself, friend," said the Prince of Tsusima, "and hear me. After the feast this evening, no sooner had she re-entered her apartments, than the divine Kisaki summoned me: 'Farou,' she said, 'Prince Nagato leaves Kioto to-night. I know that his life is in danger, and that he may fall into an ambuscade. Therefore, instead of the message which he supposes he is bearing, I have only given him an empty envelope. The true letter is here,' she added, showing me a little casket. 'Take fifty men with you, and follow the Prince at a distance. If he is attacked, go to his rescue; if not, rejoin him at the gate of Osaka, and give him this casket without letting him know that you have borne him escort.' I have it here, Prince; only you have a matchless horse, and we almost came too late to help you." Nagato was deeply moved by this revelation; he remembered how sweetly the sovereign had wished him a prosperous journey, and could not help seeing a sign of interest in his safety in what had taken place. And then he thought that he might now retain that treasure, that letter which she had worn upon her heart for a whole evening. The rest of the journey was silent. Fever had seized Nagato; the chill of coming dawn made him shiver, and he began to feel weakened by the loss of blood. When they reached the gates of Osaka, the sun had risen. Tsusima took from his saddle-bow a tiny crystal box, closed by a cunningly knotted silk cord. "Here, Prince," said he, "the precious letter is contained in this box. Farewell! May your wounds be speedily healed!" "Farewell!" replied Nagato; "thanks once more for risking your precious life for mine, which is of small worth." Having saluted each of the little band of horsemen, Nagato made his way through one of the city gates, and pricking his horse, soon reached the palace. When Loo saw his master enter, pale as a ghost, and covered with blood, he fell on his knees, where he remained mute with amazement. "Come," said the Prince, "shut your gaping mouth, and get up; I am not dead yet. Call my servants, and run for the doctor." [1] Constellation of the Scorpion. [2] Royal residence. CHAPTER VI. THE FRATERNITY OF BLIND MEN. A few hours later, groups of courtiers stood beneath the veranda of the palace of Hieyas; anxious to be the first to greet the real master, they awaited his wakening. Some leaned against the cedar columns that supported the roof, others, standing firm on their legs, one hand on their hip, crumpling the silky folds of their loose tunic, listened to one of their number as he told an anecdote, doubtless very entertaining, for it was followed with the utmost attention, and the auditors let fall an occasional laugh, instantly stifled out of respect for the slumbers of the illustrious sleeper. The narrator was the Prince of Tosa, and the Prince of Nagato the hero of the adventure that he recounted. "Yesterday," he said, "the sun was setting when I heard a noise at my palace gate. I went to the window, and saw my servants wrangling with a troop of blind men. The latter were bent on entering, and all talked at once, striking the flagstones with their sticks; the lackeys shouted to drive them off, and no one heard what the other said. I was beginning to lose my temper at the scene, when the Prince of Nagato appeared; my servants at once bowed low before him, and at his order admitted the blind men into the pavilion used as a stable for the horses of my visitors. I went out to meet the Prince, curious to hear an explanation, of this comedy. "'Make haste!' he said as he entered, throwing a bundle on the floor; 'let us take off our robes, and dress in these costumes.' "'But why?' I asked, looking at the costumes, which were little to my taste. "'What!' said he, 'is not this the hour when we may drop the weary pomp of our rank, and become free and happy men?' "'Yes,' said I; 'but why use our liberty to muffle ourselves in that ugly garb?' "'You shall see; I have a scheme,' said the Prince, who was already disrobing; then, putting his lips to my ear, he added, 'I marry, to-night. You'll see what a lark it will be.' "'What! you're going to be married, and in that dress?' I cried, looking at the Prince in his beggarly disguise. "'Come, hurry,' he said; 'or we sha'n't find the bride.' The Prince was half way downstairs. I quickly donned a dress like his, and, urged by curiosity, followed him. "'But,' I exclaimed, 'all those blind men whom you quartered in the stable?' "'We will join them.' "'In the stable?' I asked. "I did not understand a blessed thing; but I had confidence in the whimsical fancy of the Prince, and I patiently waited for him to solve the mystery. The blind men had collected in the great courtyard of the palace, and I saw that we were dressed precisely like them. The poor fellows had the most comical faces imaginable, with their lashless eyelids, their flat noses, their thick lips, and their stupidly happy expression. Nagato put a staff in my hand, and said: 'Let us be off.' "The gates were thrown open. The blind men, holding one another by the skirt, started out, tapping the ground with their sticks as they went. Nagato, bending his back and shutting his eyes, followed in their rear. I saw that I was expected to do the same, and I tried my best to imitate him. There we were in the streets in the train of that band of blind men. I could restrain myself no longer. I was seized with a frantic fit of laughter, which all my comrades soon shared." "Nagato has certainly lost his senses!" cried the Prince of Tosa's hearers, writhing with laughter. "And Tosa was scarcely better!" "The Prince of Nagato, he never laughed," continued the story-teller; "he was very angry. I tried to find out something of the Prince's plans from the blind man nearest me, but he knew nothing of them. I only learned that the corporation of which I formed a part belonged to that confraternity of blind men whose business it is to go among the middle classes to rub sick people and those who are not strong. The idea that we might perhaps have to rub some one, sent me off again into such a fit of merriment that, in spite of my efforts to keep a straight face to please the Prince, I was obliged to stop and sit down on a stone to hold my sides. "Nagato was furious. 'You'll put a stop to my marriage,' he said. "I set off again, winking my eyes and imitating the gait of my strange fellow-travellers as best I could. They struck the ground with their sticks, and, at this noise, people leaned from their windows and called them in. In this way we came to a house of poor appearance. The noise of sticks was redoubled. A voice demanded two shampooers. "'Come,' said Nagato to me; 'this is the place.' "Leaving the band, we went up a few steps and found ourselves in the house. I saw two women, whom Nagato awkwardly saluted, turning his back to them as he did so. I hastily shut my eyes and bowed to the wall. But I managed to half open one eye again, prompted by curiosity. There were a young girl and an old woman, probably her mother. "'Take us first,' said the latter; 'you shall rub my husband later.' "She then squatted on the floor and bared her back. I foresaw that the old woman would fall to my lot, and that I must certainly play the part of shampooer. Nagato was lost in salutations. "'Ah! ah! ah!' he mumbled, as inferiors do when saluting a person of high rank. "I began to rub the old lady violently, and she uttered lamentable groans; I struggled bravely to resist the laugh which again rose in my throat and nearly choked me. The girl had uncovered one shoulder, modestly, as if we had had eyes. "'It is there,' she said; 'I gave myself a blow, and the doctor said that it would do me good to be rubbed.' "Nagato began to rub the young girl with amazing gravity; but all at once he seemed to forget his rôle of blind man. "'What beautiful hair you have!' said he. 'There's one thing certain: if you were to adopt the headdress of noble women, you would not have to resort, as they do, to all sorts of devices for lengthening your hair.' "The young girl gave a shriek and turned round; she saw Nagato's very wide open eyes fixed upon her. "'Mother!' she exclaimed, 'these are no blind men!' "The mother fell flat on the floor; and surprise taking away all her senses, she made no effort to rise, but began to utter yells of rare shrillness. "The father ran in in a fright. "As for me, I gave free vent to my mirth, and rolled on the ground, unable to hold in longer. To my great surprise, the Prince of Nagato threw himself at the workman's feet. "'Forgive us,' said he. 'Your daughter and I want to be married; and as I have no money, I resolved to follow the custom of the country and carry her off, to avoid wedding expenses. According to custom also, you must forgive us, after playing the stem parent for a little while.' "'I marry that man!' said the girl; 'but I don't know him in the least.' "'You think my daughter would take a scamp like you fora husband?" cried the father. 'Be off! out of the house in a trice, if you don't want to be acquainted with my fists.' "The sound of his angry voice began to attract a crowd before the house. Nagato gave a long-drawn whistle. "'Will you go!' cried the man of the people, scarlet with rage; and, amidst the most vulgar insults and objurgations, he raised his fist upon Nagato. "'Do not strike one who will soon be your son,' said the Prince, catching him by the arm. "'You, my son! You will sooner see the snow on Fusiyama blossom with flowers.' "'I swear that you shall be my father-in-law,' said the Prince, throwing his arms round the fellow's waist. "The latter struggled in vain; Nagato bore him from the house. I then approached the balustrade, and saw the crowd collected outside, dispersed by the runners preceding a magnificent procession,--music, banners, palanquins, all bearing the Prince's arms. The norimonos stopped at the door, and Nagato stuffed his father-in-law into one of them, which he closed and fastened with a pad-lock. I saw what I was to do; I clutched the old woman and settled her in another palanquin, while Nagato went back to got the girl. Two norimonos received us, and the procession set out, while the music sounded gayly. We soon reached a charming establishment in the midst of the prettiest garden I ever saw. Everything was lighted up; orchestras hidden among the foliage played softly; busy servants ran to and fro. "'What is this enchanting palace?' said I to Nagato. "'Oh! a trifle,' he answered scornfully; 'it is a little house which I bought for my new wife.' "'He is crazy,' thought I, 'and will utterly ruin himself; but that's not my affair.' "We were led into a room, where we put on splendid dresses; then we went down into the banquet-hall, where we met all Nagato's young friends, Satake, Foungo, Aki, and many others. They received us with enthusiastic shouts. Soon the bride, superbly dressed, entered, followed by her father and mother, stumbling over the folds of their silken robes. The father seemed quite calm, the mother was flurried, and the young girl so astounded that she kept her pretty mouth wide open. Nagato declared that he took her for his wife, and the marriage ceremony was complete. I never saw so merry a one. The feast was most delicate, everybody was soon drunk, and I among the rest; but I had myself carried hack to the palace about three o'clock for a brief rest, for I wanted to be present this morning at the Regent's levee." "That is the most absurd story I ever heard," said the Prince of Figo. "There is certainly no one like Nagato for knowing how to carry out a joke." "And he is really married?" asked another lord. "Very really," said the Prince of Tosa; "the marriage is legal, in spite of the woman's low rank." "The Prince invents new follies every day, and gives splendid feasts; he must come to an end of his vast fortune ere long." "If he is ruined, it will please the Regent, who does not love him over much." "Yes; but it will grieve the Shogun, who is exceedingly fond of him, and who will never let him want for money." "Hollo!" cried the Prince of Tosa, "there comes Nagato back to the palace." A procession was indeed passing through the gardens. On the banners and on the norimono, borne by twenty men, were visible the insignia of the Prince,--a black bolt surmounting three balls in pyramidal form. The _cortége_ marched quite near the veranda which sheltered the nobles, and through the curtains of the norimono they saw the young Prince dozing on his cushions. "He surely won't come to the Regent's levee," said one lord; "he would run the risk of falling asleep on the shoulder of Hieyas." "Nagato never comes to pay his respects to Hieyas; he detests him profoundly; he is his avowed enemy." "Such an enemy is not much to be feared," said the Prince of Tosa. "On his return from these nightly escapades he is only fit for sleeping." "I don't know whether that is the Regent's opinion." "If he thought otherwise, would he endure from him insults serious enough to condemn him to hara-kiri? If the Prince still lives, he owes it to the clemency of Hieyas." "Or to the loving protection of Fide-Yori." "Doubtless Hieyas is only generous through regard for the master; but if all his enemies were of Nagato's mind, he might esteem himself happy." While the courtiers thus chatted away the time of waiting for his waking, Hieyas, who had risen long before, paced his chamber, anxious, uneasy, bearing on his care-worn face the marks of sleeplessness. A man stood near the Regent, leaning against the wall; he watched him stride up and down; this man was a former groom, named Faxibo. Hostlers had enjoyed considerable favor since the accession to power of Taiko-Sama, who was originally an hostler. Faxibo was deeper than any other person in the confidence of the Regent, who hid nothing from him, and even thought aloud in his presence. Hieyas constantly raised the blind from the window and looked out. "Nothing," he said impatiently; "no news. It is incomprehensible." "Be patient for a few moments more," said Faxibo; "those whom you sent out upon the Kioto road cannot have returned yet." "But the others! There were forty of them, and not one has returned! If he has escaped me again, it is maddening." "Perhaps you exaggerate the man's importance," said Faxibo. "It is a love-affair that attracts him to Kioto; his head is full of follies." "So you think; and I confess that this man terrifies me," said the Regent vehemently, pausing before Faxibo. "No one ever knows what he is doing; you think him here, he is there. He outwits the most cunning spies: one declares that he followed him to Kioto, another swears that he has not lost sight of him for an instant, and that he has hot left Osaka; all his friends supped with him, while he was fighting on his return from the Miako[1] with men stationed by me. I think him asleep, or busy with his own affairs: one of my schemes is on the eve of success; his hand descends upon me at the last, moment. The empire would long since have been ours if it had not been for him; my partisans are numerous, but his are no less strong, and he has the right on his side. Stay: that plan which I had so skilfully arranged to rid the country, under the guise of accident, of a sovereign without talent and without energy,--that plan which was to throw the power into my hands,--who frustrated it? Who was the accursed coachman who urged that infernal team across the bridge? Nagato! He, always he. However," added Hieyas, "some one else, one of my allies, must have played the traitor, for it is impossible that any other can have guessed the scheme. Ah! if I knew the villain's name, I would at least gratify myself by an awful revenge." "I told you what I was able to discover," said Faxibo. "Fide-Yori exclaimed at the moment of the crash: 'Omiti, you were right!'" "Omiti! Who is Omiti? I do not know the name." The Regent had advanced into the hall adjoining his chamber, which was divided, by a large screen only, from the veranda where the nobles were awaiting his coming. From within, this screen admitted of seeing without being seen. Hieyas heard the name of Nagato uttered; he approached eagerly, and signed to Faxibo to come close to him. Thus they heard the whole story of the Prince of Tosa. "Yes," muttered Hieyas; "for a long time I took him for a man of dissolute morals and of no political importance; that was why I at first favored his intimacy with Fide-Yori. How deeply I repent it, now that I know what he is worth!" "You see, master," said Faxibo, "that the Prince, doubtless warned of your project, did not quit Osaka." "I tell you he was at the Miako, and did not leave there until far on in the night." "And yet the Prince of Tosa was with him until very late." "One of my spies followed him to Kioto; he entered the city in broad daylight, and remained there until midnight." "It is incomprehensible," said Faxibo. "Stay! there he is, going home," he added, seeing Nagato's procession. "Is it really he who occupies the litter?" asked Hieyas, trying to look out. "I think I recognized him," replied Faxibo. "Impossible! it cannot be the Prince of Nagato, unless it be his corpse." At this moment a man entered the chamber, and prostrated himself with his face on the ground. "It is my envoy," cried Hieyas. "Speak quickly, come I What have you learned?" he cried to the messenger. "I went to the part of the road to which you directed me, all-powerful master," said the envoy. "At that spot the ground was strewn with corpses; I counted forty men and fifteen horses. Peasants were hovering around the dead; some felt of them, to see if there were no lingering trace of life. Others pursued the wounded horses, which were running about the rice-fields. I asked what had happened. They told me that no one knew; but at sunrise they saw a band of horsemen pass, belonging to the divine Mikado; they were on their way to Kioto. As for the corpses lying by the roadside, red with their blood, they all wore dark costumes, without any armorial bearings, and their faces were half hidden by their headdress, after the fashion of bandits and assassins." "Enough!" exclaimed Hieyas, frowning; "go!" The envoy retired, or rather fled. "He has escaped me again," said Hieyas. "Well! I must deal the blow with my own hand. The end which I would attain is so noble, that I should not hesitate to use infamous means to overthrow the obstacles which rise in my path. Faxibo," he added, turning to the ex-groom, "usher in those who wait. Their presence may drive away the sad forebodings which oppressed me all night." Faxibo lifted aside the screen, and the nobles entered one after another to greet the master. Hieyas observed that the courtiers were loss numerous than usual; none were present except those princes who were wholly devoted to his cause, and some few indifferent people who sought a special favor of the Regent. Hieyas, still talking with the lords, moved out upon the veranda and looked around. It seemed to him that an unusual bustle pervaded the palace courts. Messengers were starting off every moment, and princes coming up in their norimonos, in spite of the early hour. All were proceeding towards Fide-Yori's palace. "What is the matter?" thought he; "whence comes all this stir I what mean these messengers bearing orders of which I know nothing?" And, full of alarm, he dismissed the lords with a gesture. "You will excuse me, I know," he said "the interests of the country call me." But before the princes had taken leave, a soldier entered the room. "The Shogun, Fide-Yori, begs the illustrious Hieyas to be good enough to come before his presence at once," said he; and without waiting for an answer, he departed. Hieyas stopped the lords who were about to leave. "Wait for me here," he said; "I do not know what is going on, but I am devoured by anxiety. You are devoted to me; I may possibly need you." He saluted them with a wave of the hand, and went slowly out, his head bent, followed only by Faxibo. [1] That is to say, the capital. CHAPTER VII. PERJURY. When he entered the hall where Fide-Yori was waiting for him, Hieyas saw that something important was about to occur. All the party devoted to the son of Taiko-Sama were assembled there. Fide-Yori wore for the first time, that warlike and royal costume which he alone had the right to assume. The cuirass of black horn girt his body, and heavy skirts, made of a series of plates fastened together by stitches of red silk, fell over a pair of loose trousers confined from the ankle to the knee by velvet gaiters. He had a sword on his left side, and another on the right. Three golden stars glittered on his breast; his hand rested upon an iron wand. The young man was seated on a folding stool such as warriors use in their tents. On his right stood his mother, the beautiful Yodogimi, pale and nervous, but splendidly arrayed; on his left, the Prince of Mayada, who shared the regency with Hieyas; but being very old, and for some time past an invalid, this Prince held himself aloof from business matters. He however kept watch over Hieyas, and maintained the interests of Fide-Yori as far as possible. On one side were the princes of Satsuma, Satake, Arima, Aki, and Issida; on the other, the warriors,--General Sanada-Sayemon-Yoke-Moura at their head,--in battle array; Aroufza, Moto-Tsoumou, Harounaga, Moritzka, and a very beautiful and serious young man, named Signenari. All the Shogun's friends, in fact, and all the mortal enemies of the Regent were assembled; yet Nagato was absent. Hieyas cast a haughty glance around the assembly. "Here I am," he said, in a firm voice; "I am waiting. What are your wishes?" A profound silence was the only answer. Fide-Yori turned away his eyes from him in horror. At last the Prince of Mayada began to speak. "We wish nothing from you but justice," said he; "we would simply recall to you a fact which you seem to have forgotten,--that your term of regency as well as mine, expired some months since, Hieyas; and in your zeal for governing the empire you have not heeded this. The son of Taiko-Sama is now of a fit age to reign; your rule is therefore over. It only remains for you to lay down your powers at the master's feet, and render him an account of your conduct, as I shall render an account of my actions while he was under our tutelage." "You do not consider what you say," cried Hieyas, his face growing purple with rage; "you apparently mean to urge the country to its ruin!" "I have spoken gently," replied Mayada; "do not force me to assume a different tone." "You desire an inexperienced child," continued Hieyas, heedless of the interruption, "to wield the power before he has had any practice in the difficult profession of the head of a nation. It is as if you put a heavy porcelain vase into the hands of a new-born babe: he would let it fall to the ground, and the vase would break into a thousand bits." "You insult our Shogun!" exclaimed the Prince of Satake. "No," said Hieyas; "Fide-Yori himself will agree with me. I must initiate him slowly into my labors, and point out to him the possible solutions of the questions now in debate. Has he ever paid any heed to the affairs of the nation? His young intelligence was not yet ripe, and I spared him the fatigues of government. I alone possess the instructions of the great Taiko, and I alone can carry on the vast work which he undertook. The task is not yet accomplished. Therefore, in obedience to that venerated chief, I must, in spite of your opinion, retain in my own hands the power intrusted to me by him; but, to show you how highly I esteem your advice, from this day forth the youthful Fide-Yori shall share the grave cares whose burden I have hitherto borne alone. Answer, Fide-Yori," added Hieyas; "say for yourself if I have spoken after your own heart." Fide-Yori slowly turned his ashen face towards Hieyas and gazed at him fixedly. Then, after a moment's silence, he said in a voice somewhat trembling, although full of scorn: "The noise made by Swallow bridge as it fell beneath my tread has not made me deaf to your voice." Hieyas turned pale before him whom he had striven to send to his death; he was humbled by his crime. His lofty intelligence suffered from these spots of blood and dirt which bespattered it; he saw them in the future darkening his name, which he longed to render glorious, certain that his duty towards his country was to keep in his own hands the power of which he was worthier than any other. He felt a sort of indignation at being obliged to compel by force that which public interest should have eagerly required of him. However, resolved to struggle to the end, he raised his head, bowed for an instant beneath the weight of tumultuous thoughts, and cast a savage and overbearing glance around the room. A threatening silence had followed the Shogun's words. It was prolonged until it became painful; the Prince of Satsuma broke it at last. "Hieyas," he said, "I summon you in my master's name to lay down the powers with which you were invested by Taiko-Sama." "I refuse!" said Hieyas. A cry of amazement escaped from the lips of all the nobles. The Prince of Mayada rose; he advanced slowly towards Hieyas, and drew from his breast a paper yellowed by age. "Do you recognize this?" said he, unfolding the writing, which he held before the eyes of Hieyas. "Was it indeed with your blood that you traced your traitorous name here side by side with my loyal one? Have you forgotten the form of the oath,--'The powers which you intrust to us we will restore to your child upon his majority; we swear it on the remains of our ancestors, before the luminous disk of the sun'? Taiko fell peacefully asleep when he saw those few scarlet lines; to-day he will rise from his tomb, perjurer, to curse you." The old man, trembling with anger, crumpled in his hands the oath written in blood and flung it in Hieyas' face. "But do you really think that we shall let you thus despoil our child before our eyes?" he continued. "Do you think, because you do not choose to give up what you have taken, that we will not wrest it from you? The crimes which you plot have clouded your intellect; you have no soul or honor left; you dare to stand erect before your master,--before him whom you strove to kill!" "He not only tried to take my life," said Fide-Yori; "that man, more savage than the tiger, has this night caused the murder of my most faithful servant, my dearest friend, the Prince of Nagato!" A shudder of horror passed over the assembly, while a flash of joy illumined the eyes of Hieyas. "Rid of that formidable foe," he thought, "I shall soon master Fide-Yori." As if replying to his thought, the voice of Nagato was heard. "Do not rejoice too soon, Hieyas," it said; "I am alive, and still in condition to serve my young master." Hieyas turned quickly, and saw the Prince, who had just lifted a heavy curtain, and now entered the hall. Nagato looked like a ghost; his eyes, glittering with the light of fever, seemed larger and blacker than usual. His face was so pale that it could hardly be distinguished from the narrow white bandage spotted with blood which bound his head. A spasm of pain shook his limbs, and caused a crystal box that sparkled in his hand to quiver. General Yoke-Moura ran to him. "What madness, Prince!" he cried, "to rise and walk, after losing so much blood, and in spite of the orders of your doctors!" "Bad friend!" said Fide-Yori, "will you never cease to play with your life?" "I will become the slave of the doctors in obedience to the undeserved interest that you take in me," said the Prince, "when I have fulfilled the mission with which I am charged." Hieyas, filled with alarm, had taken refuge in utter silence; he watched and waited, casting frequent glances at the door, as if anxious to escape. "I should offer you this casket on my knees, and you should receive it on your knees," said the Prince; "for it contains a message from your lord and master and ours, from him who holds his power from Heaven, from the all-powerful Mikado." Nagato prostrated himself and offered the casket to the Shogun, who bent his knee as he took it. Hieyas felt sure that this casket contained his final doom; and he thought that now, as always, it was the Prince of Nagato who triumphed over him. Meanwhile Fide-Yori had unfolded the Mikado's message and ran his eye over it. An expression of joy irradiated his countenance. He raised his eyes, wet with tears, to Nagato, thinking in his turn that it was always through him that he triumphed. "Prince of Satsuma," said he, extending the letter to the aged lord, "read this divine writing aloud to us." The Prince of Satsuma read as follows:-- "I, the direct descendant of the Gods who founded Japan, I lower my eyes to the earth, and I see that much time has elapsed since the death of that faithful servant of my dynasty, Taiko-Sama, whom my predecessor named General-in-chief of the kingdom. The son of that illustrious leader, who rendered great services to the country, was six years old when his father died; but time has sped for him as for all men, and he is now of an age to succeed his father; wherefore I name him in his turn General-in-chief of the kingdom. "In a few days the knights of Heaven shall solemnly announce to him my will and pleasure, that none may be ignorant of it. "Now, trusting to Fide-Yori the cares of government, I replunge myself in the mysterious absorption of my superhuman dream. "Given at the Dairi, in the nineteenth year of Nengo-Kai-Tio (164). "GO-MITZOU-NO." "That is unanswerable," said Hieyas, bowing his head; "the supreme master has ordered,--I obey. I lay down the powers which were confided to me; and after the insults to which I have submitted, I know what remains for me to do. I hope that those who have managed this matter may not repent their success some day, and that the country may not have cause to groan under the weight of misfortune which may befall it." He went out, after uttering these words, and all the lords rejoicing, gathered around the young Shogun and congratulated him. "You should congratulate my friend and brother, Nagato," said Fide-Yori; "it was he who accomplished everything." "All is not ended yet," said Nagato, who seemed thoughtful; "you must instantly sign Hieyas' death-warrant." "But you heard what he said, friend; he said that he knew what remained for him to do. He is even now about to perform the hara-kiri." "Certainly," said the Prince of Satsuma. "He knows the code of nobility," said the Prince of Aki. "Yes; but he despises its customs, and will not conform to them," said Nagato. "If we do not promptly condemn that man, he will escape us; and once free, he is capable of daring anything." The Prince of Nagato had unfolded a roll of white paper, and offered a brush dipped in ink to the Shogun. Fide-Yori seemed to waver. "To condemn him thus without a trial!" he said. "A trial is of no avail," replied Nagato. "He has perjured himself, and failed in respect to you before the whole Council; moreover he is an assassin." "He is my wife's grandfather," murmured the Shogun. "You can repudiate your wife," said Nagato. "While Hieyas lives, there can be no peace for you, no safety for the country." Fide-Yori seized the brush, wrote the warrant, and signed it. Nagato handed the order to General Sanada-Sayemon-Yoke-Moura, who instantly left the room. He soon returned, his countenance disfigured by wrath. "Too late!" he cried; "the Prince of Nagato was right: Hieyas has fled!" CHAPTER VIII. THE CASTLE OF OWARI. On the shores of the Pacific Ocean, at the top of a rocky cliff, stands the fortress of the Princes of Owari. Its walls, pierced with loopholes, are so constructed as to follow the lay of the land. They are masked here and there by groups of trees and shrubs, whose fresh verdure is in happy contrast with the ragged walls of rust-colored rock. From the summit of the fortress the view is very fine. A little bay rounds to the foot of the hill, and affords safe shelter for the junks and barks which skim the clear water in all directions; farther away the blue waves of the Pacific trace a darker line against the sky. On the land-ward side rises a chain of mountains, cultivated in patches to their very tops. Between the mountains lie valleys, where we may see villages nestling in a grove, near a brook; then the valleys end in the heart of more hills. A broad and well-kept road winds along the undulating ground to the foot of the castle of Owari. This road, known as the Tokaido, was built by Taiko-Sama; it intersects the entire kingdom, traversing the domains of the Daimios, and is under the sole jurisdiction of the Shogun. The Prince who ruled over the province of Owari was at this time living in his castle. About the third hour after noon on the day that Hieyas fled from Osaka, the sentinel posted on the loftiest tower of the palace of Owari cried out that he saw a troop of horsemen galloping along the Tokaido. The Prince was at the moment in one of the courts of the castle, crouched upon his heels, his hands resting on his thighs. He was attending a lesson in hara-kiri taken by his young son. The child, seated on a mat in the centre of the court, held in both hands a short, blunt sword, and raised his pretty artless face, already serious in its cast, towards his instructor, seated opposite him. Women were looking on from a gallery above; and their dresses made bright spots of color against the delicate tints of the carved wood-work. Enormous butterflies, birds, flowers, or variegated balls were embroidered on their robes; every head was bristling with big yellow tortoise-shell pins. They chattered together with a thousand bewitching airs and graces. In the court, leaning against the upright post of a bronze lantern, a young girl in a closely fitting dress of sky-blue crape, with all the folds drawn to the front, fixed an absent gaze upon the little lord; in her hand she held a screen, upon which was painted a humming-bird. "Hold the sword firmly," said the teacher; "apply it by the point, below the left ribs; be careful that the edge of the blade is turned to the right. Now grasp the hilt in your hand, and bear on with all your strength; then quickly, without moderating your pressure, move your weapon horizontally towards your right side. In this way you will cleave your body in twain according to strict rule." The child went through the motions with such violence that he tore his robe. "Good! good!" exclaimed the Prince of Owari, striking his thighs with his open hands. "The little fellow has plenty of courage!" At the same time he raised his eyes to the women leaning from the balcony, and imparted his impression to them by a sign of the head. "He will be brave and intrepid as his father," said one of them. It was just then that news was brought to the Prince of the appearance of a band of horsemen on the royal road. "Doubtless a neighboring lord coming to visit me incognito," said the Prince; "or else these horsemen are merely passing travellers. At any rate, there is no reason to interrupt the lesson." The teacher then made his pupil repeat the list of incidents which oblige a man of noble race to rip himself open; namely, to incur the displeasure of the Shogun, or receive from him a public reprimand; to disgrace himself; to avenge an insult by slaying its originator; voluntarily or involuntarily to permit the escape of prisoners intrusted to one's care; and innumerable other nice cases. "Add," said the Prince of Owari, "to be wanting in respect to one's father. In my opinion, a son who insults his parents can only expiate that crime by performing hara-kiri." At the same time he cast another look at the women, which meant: "It is well to inspire children with a dread of paternal authority." At this moment a loud noise of horses pawing the pavement was heard in an adjoining court-yard, and an imperious voice called out: "Lift the drawbridge! Close the gates!" The Prince of Owari sprang to his feet. "Who gives orders in my house?" said he. "I!" answered the same voice. And at the same time a group of men entered the second court. "The Regent!" cried the Prince of Owari, falling prostrate. "Rise, friend!" said Hieyas, with a bitter smile; "I have no longer any right to the honors that you render me; I am, for the moment, your equal." "What has happened?" anxiously inquired the Prince. "Dismiss your women," said Hieyas. Owari made a sign; the women disappeared. "Take your brother away, Omiti," said he to the young girl, who had turned terribly pale at the entrance of Hieyas. "Is your daughter's name Omiti?" exclaimed the latter, his face growing suddenly purple. "Yes, master. Why do you ask?" "Call her back, I beg." Owari obeyed. The young girl returned, trembling, and with downcast eyes. Hieyas looked at her fixedly with an expression on his face which would have alarmed any one who knew the man. The maiden, however, raised her head, and an undaunted spirit was apparent in her eyes,--a sort of self-renunciation. "It was you who betrayed us," said Hieyas in a dull, heavy voice. "Yes," said she. "What does this mean?" cried the Prince of Owari with a start. "It means that the plot so carefully contrived within these castle walls, so mysteriously concealed from all, was surprised and revealed by her." "Wretch!" cried the Prince raising his clenched fist against his daughter. "A woman,--a child,--to ruin a political conspiracy!" continued Hieyas. "A vile pebble, to make you stumble, and hurl you headlong to the ground! It is a mockery!" "I will kill you!" yelled Owari. "Kill me! what will it matter?" said the girl. "I have saved the King. Is not his life worth mine? I have long awaited your vengeance." "You shall wait no longer!" said the Prince, seizing her by the throat. "No; do not kill her!" said Hieyas. "I will take her punishment into my own hands." "So be it!" said Owari; "I abandon her to you." "It is well!" said Hieyas, signing to Faxibo not to lose sight of the young girl. "But let us leave what is past and gone; let us look towards the future. Are you still devoted to me?" "Can you doubt it, master? And must I not now struggle to repair the wrong done you by one of my family without my knowledge?" "Listen, then. A conspiracy has suddenly wrested the power from my hands. I contrived to escape the death that threatened me, and fled in the direction of my principality of Mikawa. Your domains lie between Osaka and my province. Your fortress overlooks the sea, and can bar the passage of soldiers coming from Osaka; that is why I stopped here, to bid you collect your troops as quickly as possible and put your country in a state of defence. Guard your castle well. I will stay here, where I am safe from sudden attack, while my faithful comrade, Ino-Kamo-No-Kami" (Hieyas pointed to a nobleman in his escort, who bowed low to the Prince of Owari, the latter returning his salute), "proceeds to the castle of Mikawa, fortifies the whole province, and gives the alarm to all the princes my allies." "I am your slave, master; dispose of me." "Give orders to your soldiers at once." The Prince of Owari left the courtyard. Servants ushered their master's guests into cool, airy apartments, and served them with tea, sweetmeats, and a light meal. Soon Ino-Kamo-No-Kami took leave of Hieyas, who gave him his final instructions; and taking with him two of the lords who had accompanied them thither, he remounted his horse and left the castle. Hieyas then called Faxibo. The latter was engaged in devouring a honey-cake, never taking his eyes from Omiti, as she sat in a corner of the room. "Can you disguise yourself so that none shall know you?" he asked him. "So that you yourself would not know me," said Faxibo. "Good! To-morrow morning you will return to Osaka and arrange to learn all that goes on in the palace. Moreover, you will travel with a woman." Hieyas leaned towards the ex-groom and whispered in his ear. An evil smile hovered upon Faxibo's lips. "Good, good!" he said; "to-morrow at dawn I will be ready to start." CHAPTER IX. THE TEA-HOUSE. In one of the suburbs of Osaka, not far from the beach whose white sandy slope stretches down to the sea, stood an immense building, whose roofs, of various heights, rose far above the level of the neighboring houses. The front of this edifice opened full upon a busy street, always crowded, and full of noise and confusion. The first floor had a series of broad windows, closed by gay-colored blinds, which were often opened wide by a push from one of the inquisitive young women whose peals of laughter rang upon the air. At the corners of the various roofs banners floated and large lozenge-shaped lanterns swung; the ground-floor consisted of a wide gallery open to the street and protected from the sun and wind by a light roof. Three big black characters, inscribed on a gilded panel, formed the sign of the establishment, and ran as follows,--"The Day-Break Inn. Tea and Saki." Towards noon the balcony was crowded with customers; they sat with crossed legs upon the mat which covered the floor; they drank saki, or hid their faces in the cloud of steam rising from the cup of tea, upon which they blew lustily, to cool it. Women, coquettishly arrayed and carefully painted, moved gracefully about from group to group, carrying the hot drink. In the background you might see smoking stoves and pretty china cups and dishes arranged upon sets of red lacquer shelves. Every moment fresh passers-by, cango-bearers, and men carrying burdens would stop, ask for a drink, pay, and hurry off again. Sometimes a quarrel would arise in front of the inn and degenerate into a brawl, to the great delight of the patrons. For instance, a pedler ran against a dealer in shells and cuttle-fish; his basket of wares was upset, and all the fish fell to the ground and rolled in the dirt. High words rained on either side, traffic was hindered, a crowd collected and took sides with one or the other of the contending parties, and soon two hostile armies were ready to try the fate of arms. But a shout arose: "The cable! the cable! Don't fight; bring a cable!" Some of the spectators hurried off, bustled into one house after another, and at last, finding what they wanted, came running back with a large rope. Then the lookers-on took up their stand in front of the houses, leaving a free space for those who were to struggle. The latter seized the rope in both hands, there being fifteen on each side, and began to pull with all their might and main. The rope stretched and shook, then held firm. "Courage! Hold tight! Don't let go!" was the cry on every side. However, after struggling long against fatigue, one of the parties suddenly let go the rope. The victors fell all together in a heap, with their legs in the air, amidst the shouts and laughter of the mob, who ran to their rescue. They were helped to their feet, and a reconciliation was signed and sealed by copious draughts of saki. The inn was thronged, and the maids were beside themselves with such an overflow of custom. Just then an old man, leading a girl by the hand, contrived to stop a waitress as she passed, and catch her by the sleeve. "I want to speak to the master of this establishment," he said. "You choose your time well," said the girl, with a roar of laughter. By a sudden movement she freed herself, and was gone before the old man could add another word. "I will wait," said he. A cask of saki was staved in, and the jolly drinkers talked and laughed noisily. But all at once silence fell upon them; the shrill sound of a flute and the music of a stringed instrument were heard. The sounds came from the rooms above. "Listen! listen!" was the general cry. Some of the passers stopped to hear. The sound of a woman's voice was heard. The words of the song were clearly audible:-- "When Iza-Na-Gui descended to earth, his companion, Iza-Na-Mi, met him in a garden. "'How delightful to meet such a handsome young man!' she exclaimed. "But the God, in displeasure, replied: 'It is not fitting for the woman to speak first; meet me again.' "They parted, and they met each other once more. "'How agreeable to meet such a lovely girl!' said Iza-Na-Gui. "Which of the two spoke first?'" The voice ceased; the accompaniment went on for a few moments more. A discussion ensued among the drinkers; they replied to the question asked by the singer. "Of course the God was saluted first," said some. "No, no! It was the Goddess!" shouted others. "The will of the God cancelled the first salutation." "Did he cancel it?" "To be sure I to be sure! They began again, as if nothing had ever happened." "Which does not annul what had occurred; and so the woman spoke first." The argument threatened to wax warm; but all ended by a larger number of cups being emptied. Soon the throng thinned off, and the tavern grew quiet again. A servant woman then noticed the old man leaning against an upright post, and still holding the young girl by the hand. "Do you want a cup of tea or saki?" asked the woman. "I wish to speak to the keeper of the tea-house," answered the man. The servant looked at the old man. His head was covered with a large hat of woven reeds, like the cover of a round basket; his costume, much worn, was of brown cotton. He held in his hand a fan, on which was marked the road from Yeddo to Osaka, the distance from one village to another, the number and importance of the inns, etc. The woman then examined the young girl. She was shabbily dressed. Her robe, of faded blue, was torn and dirty; a fragment of white stuff twisted about her head partially concealed her face. She leaned on a black-and-red paper parasol, torn in various places; but she was strangely beautiful and graceful. "Have you come to make a sale?" asked the maid of the inn. The old man made a sign that he had. "I will tell the master." She went off, and soon returned. The master followed her. He was a man of repulsive plainness. His little squinting black eyes were scarcely visible between the narrow fissure of his absurdly wrinkled eyelids; his mouth, widely removed from his long, thin nose, destitute of teeth and adorned with a few stiff sparse hairs, gave a sly and mean expression to his pock-marked countenance. "You want to get rid of that young woman?" said he, rolling one eyeball, while the other one disappeared round the corner of his nose. "To get rid of my child!" screamed the old man. "I only consent to part from her to protect her from misery and want." "Unfortunately I have more women now than I need; and they are every one of them quite as pretty as she is. My house is entirely full." "I will look elsewhere," said the old man, making a pretence of going. "Don't be in such a hurry," said the landlord; "if your demands are not too extravagant, perhaps we can come to terms." He made the man a sign to follow him into the entrance hall from which he had just come; this hall looked out on a garden, and was quite empty. "What can your girl do, I say?" asked the frightful squint-eyed fellow. "She can embroider, she can sing, and play on several instruments; she can even compose a quatrain at a pinch." "Ah-ha! is that so? And how much do you want for her?" "Four kobangs." The innkeeper was about to exclaim, "No more!" but he restrained himself. "That's exactly what I was going to offer you," said he. "Well, it's a bargain," said the old man; "I hire her to you to do whatever you bid her, for a term of twenty years." The buyer hurriedly brought brushes and a roll of paper, and drew up a bill of sale, which the old man readily signed. The young girl meantime stood like a statue; she did not waste a look on the old man, who pretended to wipe away a tear as he pocketed the kobangs. Before leaving, he bent towards the innkeeper's ear and whispered: "Keep your eye on her; watch her well; she will try to escape." Then he quitted the Day-Break Tea-house; and whoever saw him, as he turned the corner of the street, change his pace, rubbing his hands and outstepping the nimblest, might well have suspected the reality of his old age and his white beard. CHAPTER X. THE TRYST. The Prince of Nagato lay stretched upon a black satin mattress, one elbow buried in a cushion and the other arm held out to a doctor crouching beside him. The doctor was feeling his pulse. At the Prince's bedside, Fide-Yori, seated on a pile of mats, fixed an anxious look upon the wrinkled but impenetrable face of the physician. An enormous pair of spectacles, with round black-rimmed glasses, lent a comical expression to the grave face of the worthy man of science. Near the entrance of the room knelt Loo, his forehead touching the floor, in honor of the King's presence. He amused himself by counting the silver threads in the fringe of the carpet. "The danger is over," said the doctor at last; "the wounds have closed; and still the fever continues, for some reason which I cannot understand." "I will explain it to you," said the Prince, eagerly drawing back his arm; "it is my impatience at being nailed to this bed, and forbidden to enjoy the open air." "What, friend!" said the Shogun, "when I myself come hither to share your captivity, are you so impatient to be free?" "You know very well, dear lord, that it is for your affairs that I am so anxious to be up and doing; the departure of the embassy which you are sending to Kioto cannot be indefinitely delayed." "Why did you ask me as a special favor to make you chief of that embassy?" "Is it not my delight to serve you?" "That is not your only motive," said Fide-Yori with a smile. "You allude to my supposed love for Fatkoura," thought Nagato, smiling in his turn. "If the Prince is reasonable, if he gives up this over-excitement which exhausts him, he may start in three days," said the doctor. "Thanks!" cried Nagato; "that news is better than all your drugs." "My drugs are not to be despised," said the doctor; "and you must take the one which I will send you presently." Then he bowed low to the King and his noble patient, and retired. "Ah!" exclaimed Fide-Yori when he was alone with his friend, "your impatience to be off proves to me that I am not mistaken. You are in love, Iwakura; you are beloved; you are happy!" And he heaved a deep sigh. The Prince looked at him, surprised at this sigh, and expecting a confidence; but the young man blushed slightly, and changed the conversation. "You see," said he, opening a volume which he held on his knee, "I am studying the book of the laws; I am looking to see if it does not need softening and altering." "It contains one article which I would advise you to suppress," said Nagato. "Which?" "That which treats of mutual suicide for love." "How does it run?" said Fide-Yori, turning over the leaves. "Ah! here it is:-- "'If two lovers swear to die together, and commit hara-kiri, their bodies shall be handed over to the officers of justice. If one of them be not mortally wounded, he or she is to be treated as the murderer of the other. If both survive the attempt, they shall be ranked as reprobates.'" "That is shameful," said Nagato; "hasn't one a right to escape by death from a grief too heavy to be endured?" "There is a religion which says not," murmured Fide-Yori. "That of the European bonzes! That whose doctrines public rumor says you have accepted," said Nagato, striving to read his friend's face. "I have studied that creed, Iwakura," said the Shogun. "It is pure and impressive, and the priests who teach it seem full of abnegation. While our bonzes think of nothing but making money, they scorn wealth. And then, you see, I cannot forget the terrible scene which I once witnessed, nor the sublime courage of the Christians as they submitted to the horrible tortures which my father ordered to be inflicted on them. I was a child then. I was taken to see them executed, to teach me, so my guardians said, how such creatures should be treated. It was near Nangasáki, on the hill. That nightmare will never cease to trouble my dreams. Crosses were planted on the slope so thickly that the hill seemed covered with a forest of dead trees. Among the victims, whose noses and ears had all been cut off, walked three little children,--I seem to see them still,--disfigured and bleeding, but revealing a strange courage in the face of death. All the poor wretches were fastened to the crosses, and their bodies were pierced with lances; the blood ran in streams. The victims made no outcry; as they died, they prayed that Heaven would pardon their executioners. The spectators uttered frightful shrieks, and I, overcome by terror, screamed with them, and hid my face on the breast of the Prince of Mayada, who held me in his arms. Soon, in spite of the soldiers, who beat them back and struck at them with their lances, those who witnessed that dreadful scene rushed up the hill to wrangle for some relic of those martyrs, whom they left naked on their crosses." As he spoke, the Shogun continued to turn over the pages of his book. "Exactly," he said, with a movement of horror; "here is the very edict pronounced by my father when he commanded the massacre:-- "'I, Taiko-Sama, devote these men to death, because they come to Japan, calling themselves ambassadors, although they are not so; because they remain in my domains without my leave, and preach the law of the Christians, contrary to my commands. I decree that they shall be crucified at Nangasáki.'" Fide-Yori tore out this and several ensuing pages, containing laws against the Christians. "I have found what I wanted to expunge," he said. "You do well, master, to spread your protecting arm over those mild and inoffensive men," said Nagato; "but beware lest the report which spreads from mouth to mouth, and accuses you of being a Christian, take shape, and your enemies use it against you." "You are right, friend; I will wait till my power is firmly established, to declare my sentiments, and atone, as far as may be, for the blood spilled before my very eyes. But I must leave you, dear invalid; you are growing tired, and the doctor ordered you to rest. Be patient; you are nearly cured." The Shogun left the room with an affectionate glance at his friend. No sooner had he gone, than Loo sprang up; he yawned, stretched himself, and made a thousand grimaces. "Come, Loo!" said the Prince, "run out into the gardens for a little while; but don't throw stones at the gazelles, or frighten my Muscovy ducks." Loo hastened away. When he was alone, the Prince drew quickly from under his mattress a letter wrapped in green satin; he placed it on his pillow, leaned his cheek against it, and closed his eyes to sleep. This letter was the one given him by the Kisaki; he preserved it as a precious treasure, and his only joy was to inhale its faint perfume. But, to his great distress, it had seemed to him, for some days past, as if the perfume were evaporating; perhaps, accustomed to inhale it, he did not notice it so strongly. Suddenly the Prince rose up; he remembered that inside the envelope this subtle and delicious perfume would doubtless be better preserved. He broke the seal, which he had not hitherto touched, thinking that the envelope was empty; but to his great surprise he drew out a paper covered with written characters. He uttered a cry and tried to read, but in vain. A red veil shimmered before his eyes; there was a buzzing in his ears; he feared lest he should faint, and rested his head on the pillow. He, however, succeeded in calming himself, and again looked at the writing. It was an elegantly worded quatrain. The Prince read it with indescribable emotion:-- "Two flowers bloomed on the banks of a stream. But, alas! the stream divided them. "In each corolla lay a drop of dew, the shining spirit of the flower. "Upon one of them the sun fell; he made it sparkle. But she thought: Why am I not on the other bank? "One day these flowers hung their heads to die. They let fall their luminous soul like a diamond. Then the two drops of dew met at last, and were mingled in the stream." "She gives me a tryst," cried the Prince, "farther away, later on, in another life. Then she has guessed my love! She loves me, then! O Death! can you not hasten? Can you not bring nearer the celestial hour of our reunion?" The Prince may have thought his wishes granted; for, falling back on his cushions, he lost consciousness. CHAPTER XI. THE WARRIOR-QUAILS. In a delightful landscape in the midst of a thick wood stands the summer residence of the Kisaki, with its pretty roofs of gilded bark. The thick foliage of the lofty trees seemed loath to make way for those glittering house-tops, which projected on every side of the palace, shading a broad veranda, whose floor was covered with carpets, and strewn with silk and satin cushions worked in gold. The prospect is not extensive, and the dwelling seems shut in by cool green vegetation. Emerald reeds flaunt their slender leaves like banners on the breeze, uprearing silvery, flaky plumes. Orange-bushes bloom beside tall bamboos, and mingle their sweet-scented flowers with the red blossoms of the wild cherry. Farther away, large camelias climb the trees; at their feet big red leaves, covered with light down, unfold beside tall heaths, so delicate, so airy, that they look like tufts of green feathers. Above this first plane of verdure, palms, bananas, oaks, and cedars interlace their branches and form an inextricable network, through which the light filters, tinged with a thousand varying hues. A brook glides slowly over a bed of thick moss, and its crystal stream is slightly troubled by a water-hen of lovely plumage, who just ruffles it with her wings as she chases a dragon-fly, whose slim body flashes forth metallic reflections. But more brilliant and more splendid than the flowers, the velvety moss, or the silvery shadows on the stream, are the dresses of the women who sit on the veranda. The Kisaki, surrounded by her favorite ladies and a few young lords, the noblest of the Court, is witnessing a quail-fight. On account of the heat, the sovereign wears a light robe of pigeon-colored silk gauze,--a shade of green which she alone has the right to use. In place of the three plates of gold which form her crown, she has arranged in her hair three daisies with silver leaves. Over her left ear, from the head of a long pin buried in her hair, hangs, at the end of a slender gold chain, a huge pearl of rare beauty and perfect shape. Two young boys, in costumes differing only in color, crouch upon their heels, face to face, watching the contest between the pretty birds, ready to pick up the dead and bring forward fresh combatants. "How little chance of winning I have," said a lord with an intellectual cast of countenance, "I, who dared to bet against my Queen!" "You are the only one who was so bold, Simabara," said the Kisaki; "but if you win, I am sure that every one will bet against me in the next fight." "He is likely to triumph," said the Prince of Tsusima, husband of the beautiful Iza-Farou-No-Kami. "What!" cried the Kisaki, "have I so nearly lost?" "See, your champion weakens!" "Courage! one more effort! courage, little warrior!" said the Queen. The quails, with bristling feathers and neck outstretched, paused for a moment, gazing motionless, each at the other, then sprang to the attack again; one of them fell. "Ah! all is over," cried the Queen, rising to her feet; "the bird is dead! Simabara has won." Young girls now handed about sweetmeats and delicacies of various kinds, with tea gathered on the neighboring mountains; and the sports ceased for a time. Then a page approached the Kisaki, and told her that a messenger had been waiting for some moments with news from the palace. "Let him enter," said the sovereign. The messenger advanced, and prostrated himself. "Speak," said the Kisaki. "Light of the World!" said the man, "the embassy from the Shogun has arrived." "Ah!" exclaimed the Kisaki. "And who are the princes that compose it?" "The Princes of Nagato, Satsuma, Ouesougi, and Satake." "It is well!" said the Kisaki, dismissing the messenger by a sign. "These gentlemen will weary of waiting for an audience," she continued, addressing the princes grouped about her. "The Mikado, my divine master, is at the summer-palace with all his wives and his Court; the Dairi is almost deserted. Tsusima, go, seek out these princes, and conduct them hither; they shall share our sports. Let pavilions be prepared for them within the limits of the residence," she added, turning to her women. Her orders were transmitted to the interior of the house, and the Prince of Tsusima, bowing profoundly, withdrew. The Dairi was not more than half-an-hour's journey away from the summer-palace, so that an hour was all-sufficient time to go and come. "Prepare a fresh combat," said Kisaki. The fowlers cried aloud the names of the combatants: "Gold Spur!" "Rival of Lightning!" "Gold Spur is a stranger," said the sovereign. "I will bet on Rival of Lightning; I consider him matchless: he killed Coral Beak, who had slaughtered untold adversaries." All the spectators followed the Queen's example. "If that is so," she cried, laughing, "I will bet alone against you all; I will join myself to the fortunes of Gold Spur." The struggle began. Rival of Lightning rushed forward with the speed which had won him his name. Usually, he disabled his foe at the first onslaught; but now he fell back, leaving a few feathers in his antagonist's beak, the latter being untouched. "Well done! well done!" was the shout on every side. "Gold Spur begins wonderfully well!" Some of the noblemen squatted on their heels, to follow the fight more closely. The birds closed for the second time. But nothing was to be seen except a confused heap of quivering plumes; then Rival of Lightning fell with bleeding head, and Gold Spur proudly placed one foot upon the body of his conquered enemy. "Victory!" cried the Kisaki, clapping her small milk-white hands. "Gold Spur is the monarch of the day; to him belongs the prize collar." One of the princesses fetched a black lacquer box containing a gold ring set with rubies and coral, from which hung a tiny crystal bell. The victor was brought to the Queen, who, taking the ring in two fingers, put it round the bird's neck. Other fights followed; but the Kisaki, strangely absent-minded, paid little heed to them. She listened to the myriad noises of the forest, and seemed annoyed by the babbling of the brook, which prevented her hearing distinctly a very faint and far-off sound. It might have been the slight clash of swords thrust into a noble's girdle, the crunching of the sand on one of the paths beneath the tread of approaching guests, or the sudden snap of a fan rapidly opened and shut. An insect, a passing bird, drowned this almost imperceptible sound. However it soon grew louder; everybody heard it. Cheerful voices were mingled with it. "Here come the ambassadors!" said Simabara. Soon after, they heard the clang of arms, as the Princes laid off their weapons before appearing in the sovereign's presence. Tsusima came forward from the interior of the house and announced the noble envoys, who appeared in their turn, and prostrated themselves before the Kisaki. "Rise!" said the young woman hastily, "and learn the laws which govern our little Court of Flowers. Ceremonious etiquette is banished from it; I am regarded as an elder sister. Every one is free and at ease, and has no duty, but to devise fresh diversions. The watchword here is mirth." The lords rose; they were soon surrounded, and questioned in regard to recent events at Osaka. The Kisaki cast a rapid glance at the Prince of Nagato. She was struck by the look of weakness imprinted upon the young man's whole frame; but she surprised in his eyes a strange gleam of pride and joy. "He has read the verses that I gave him," she thought. "How foolish I was to write what I did!" Still, she signed to him to approach. "Rash man!" she cried, "why did you undertake a journey when you are still so weak and ill?" "You deigned to protect my life, divine Queen," said the Prince; "could I longer delay coming to testify my humble gratitude?" "It is true that my foresight saved you from death, but it did not succeed in preserving you from frightful wounds," said the Queen. "It seems as if all your blood had flowed from your veins; you are as pale as these jasmine-flowers." She showed him a blossoming spray which she held in her hand. "You must have suffered greatly," she added. "Ah! dare I confess to you," cried Nagato, "that to me physical suffering is a comfort? There is another and far more painful wound,--that which is killing me, which leaves me no rest or peace." "What!" said the Kisaki, disguising her profound emotion with a smile, "is this the way that you obey my wishes? Did you not hear me say that gayety reigns here? Speak no more of death or sorrow; let your soul unbend beneath the balmy breath of this beautiful and invigorating scene. You shall pass some days here; you shall see what a rural and delightful life we lead in this retreat. We rival in simplicity our ancestors, the shepherds, who first pitched their tents on this soil. Iza-Farou," she continued, addressing the Princess, who passed before the house just then, "I should like to hear a story; call our companions, and put an end to their political debates." Soon all the privileged people admitted to the intimacy of the Queen were assembled. They went into the outer hall of the house. The Kisaki ascended a low platform, covered with carpets and cushions, and half reclined upon them. The women took their places on her left, the men on her right; and servants at once placed upon the ground, before each, a small gold plate containing dainties and warm drinks. Through all the open panels the scented air of the woods entered the spacious room, which was filled with a greenish light, reflected from the neighboring trees. The walls were wonderfully decorated; fabulous animals, the bird Foo, the unicorn, and the sacred tortoise stood out in bold relief from a background of azure, gold, or purple, and a screen of _cloisonné_ enamel, in tints of turquoise and brown, described its zigzags behind the dais. There was no furniture, nothing but thick mats, cushions, and satin hangings ornamented with birds, embroidered in circles of gold. "I declare to you at the outset," said the Kisaki, "that I shall not utter a word. I am seized with an overwhelming laziness and indifference. Besides, I want to hear stories, and not to tell them." Loud protests were made against this announcement. "I am not to be moved," said the Queen, laughing; "you shall not even persuade me to pronounce a few words of flattery when your stories are done." "Never mind!" cried Simabara; "I will tell the story of the wolf changed into a young girl." "Do! do!" exclaimed the women; "we like the title." "An old wolf--" "Oh! he was old, was he?" said a young princess, with a look of contempt. "You know very well that to give shelter to a human soul, an animal must be old." "True! true!" cried the listeners; "go on!" "An old wolf," said Simabara, "lived in a cave near a much travelled road. This wolf had an insatiable appetite. He therefore frequently left his cavern, went to the side of the road, and gobbled up a passer-by. But this mode of procedure was not at all to the taste of the travellers, and they ceased to frequent that road; so that little by little it became quite deserted. The wolf meditated long and deeply, seeking a way to put an end to this state of things. Suddenly he disappeared, and every one supposed he was dead. Some bold people ventured along the road, and there they saw a lovely young girl, who smiled bewitchingly upon them. "'Will you follow me, and rest in a cool, delightful spot,' she said. "None thought of refusing; but no sooner had they left the road, than the young girl returned to her former shape of an old wolf, and devoured the travellers; then she resumed her fair form and returned to the roadside. From that day forth not a traveller has escaped the jaws of the wolf." The princes loudly applauded this story; but the women protested. "That is to say that we are dangerous traps hidden beneath flowers," said they. "The flowers are so beautiful that we shall never see the trap," said the Prince of Tsusima, with a laugh. "Come!" said the Queen; "Simabara shall drink two cups of saki, for hurting the feelings of the women." Simabara merrily drained the cups. "Formerly," said Princess Iza-Farou, flashing a mischievous glance at Simabara, "heroes were plenty. There were Asahina, who could seize in each hand a warrior in full armor and hurl him to a great distance; Tametomo, with his terrible bow; Yatsitsone, whose only shield was his open fan; and how many more! Their lofty deeds were the constant theme of conversation. It was said, among other things, that on one occasion Sousige, the unrivalled cavalier, returning from a journey, saw several of his friends crouching round a chess-board; he spurred his horse over, their heads, and the animal stood motionless on his hind feet in the centre of the board. The players, struck dumb, thought that the knight had dropped from heaven. Nowadays I hear nothing to compare with that." "Good! good!" exclaimed Simabara; "you would infer that none of us are capable of such a remarkable feat of horsemanship, and that the age of heroes is passed." "That is exactly the idea that I wished to convey," said Iza-Farou, bursting into laughter; "was I not bound to reply to your impudent wolf?" "She had a right to avenge us," said the Kisaki; "she shall not be punished." "Flower-of-the-Reed knows a story, but she won't tell it!" cried a princess, who had been whispering with her neighbor. Flower-of-the-Reed hid her face behind the loose sleeve of her robe. She was a very young girl, and somewhat shy. "Come, speak!" said the Kisaki, "and don't be alarmed; we have nothing in common with Simabara's wolf." "Very well! This is my story," said Flower-of-the-Reed, suddenly reassured. "In the Island of Yezo lived a young man and a maiden who loved each other tenderly. They had been betrothed from their cradles, and had never been parted. The girl was fifteen years old, and the young man eighteen. The date of their marriage was soon to be fixed. Unhappily the son of a rich man fell in love with the girl, and asked her father for her hand; and he, heedless of his former promises, gave it to him. The young couple pleaded in vain; the father was firm. Then the girl went to her lover in despair. "'Listen!' said she; 'as we must be parted in this world, death shall unite us. Let us go to the tomb of your ancestors, and there kill ourselves.' "They did as she proposed; they lay down upon the tomb and stabbed themselves. But the rejected lover had followed them. When he no longer heard their voices, he approached and saw them stretched out side by side, motionless, hand in hand. "While he bent over them, two white butterflies rose from the tomb and flew gayly upwards, fluttering their wings. "'Ah!' angrily cried the jealous survivor, 'it is they! They have escaped me; they escape into glory; they are happy! But I will follow them, even into heaven!' "So saying, he seized the dagger which lay upon the tomb, and in his turn struck himself to the heart. "Then a third butterfly rose into the air. But the others were far away; he could never reach them. "Even now, to this very day, if you look among the flowers, when spring comes back to us, you will see the two winged lovers pass, side by side. Look again; you will soon see the jealous one, who follows, but can never overtake them." "Indeed," said Iza-Farou, "butterflies are always grouped in that way: two flutter about together, and a third follows them at a distance." "I have noticed that peculiarity too, without knowing the reason for it," said the Kisaki. "The story is pretty; I never heard it before." "The Prince of Satsuma must tell us something," said Flower-of-the-Reed. "I!" exclaimed the old man in some alarm; "but I don't know any stories." "Yes! yes! you know plenty," exclaimed the women; "you must tell us one." "Then I will relate an adventure which happened not long since to the Prince of Figo's cook." This announcement provoked a general outburst of merriment. "You will see," said Satsuma, "you will see that this cook had a good deal of wit. In the first place, he is very skilful at his trade, which is not a thing to be despised; and moreover he pays extreme attention to the minutest details of his work. A few days ago, however, at a feast to which I went, the servants brought in a bowl full of rice and uncovered it before the Lord of Figo. What was the latter's surprise to see in the middle of the snowy rice a black insect, quite motionless, because it was cooked! The Prince turned white with rage. He summoned the cook; and seizing the ignoble insect with the tips of his ivory chopsticks, he presented it to the fellow with a terrible look. There was nothing left for the unfortunate servant but to rip himself up as speedily as possible. But it seemed that that operation was not at all to his liking; for, approaching his master with every sign of the most lively joy, he took the insect and ate it, pretending to think that the Prince did him the honor to offer him a taste of the repast. The guests began to laugh at this display of quick wits. The Prince of Figo himself could not help smiling, and the cook was rescued from death." "Good! good!" cried all the listeners; "there's a story which cannot offend any one." "It is Nagato's turn," said Tsusima, "he must know delightful stories." Nagato started as if aroused from a dream; he had heard nothing, noticed nothing, absorbed as he was in the ecstatic contemplation of the goddess whom he adored. "You want a story?" he asked, looking at the company as if he saw them for the first time. He reflected for a few seconds. "Very well; you shall have one," he said. "There was once a tiny pond, born upon a day of storm and tempest. It was formed upon a mossy bed, and violets and pretty flowering-shrubs surrounded it and bent over it. The clouds, its kindred, had not yet quite dispersed, when the birds came, dipping the tips of their wings in its waters, and delighting it with their songs. It was happy, and rejoiced in life, finding it good. But soon the clouds vanished, and something marvellously dazzling appeared high overhead. The water sparkled; diamond-like ripples traversed its surface; it was changed to a magnificent casket of jewels. But the clouds came back, the vision disappeared. What sorrow then, and what regrets! The pond found no more pleasure in the songs of the birds; he despised the reflections cast upon his bosom by the flowers on his shores; everything looked dark and ugly to him. At last the sky cleared again, and this time for a long period. The bright wonder reappeared; the pond was again penetrated with warmth, splendor, and joy; but he felt that he was dying beneath those golden darts, which grew more and more fiery. Yet if a light branch threw its shadow over him, if a fine mist sprang up and served him as a shield, how he cursed them for delaying his delicious annihilation for one moment! The third day he had not one drop of water left: the pond had been swallowed by the sun." This tale plunged the princesses in sweet reveries. The men declared that Nagato had invented a new form of story-telling, and that his improvisation ought to be put into poetry. The Queen, who understood that the Prince spoke for her ear alone, almost involuntarily threw him a look full of melancholy pleasure. The day neared its close. Two princesses now knelt before the Kisaki, to take her orders for the next day's diversions. "To-morrow," said she, after a few moments' consideration, "we will have a rustic breakfast and a poetic contest in the western orchard." The party soon broke up, and the embassy was conducted to the pavilions, embowered in shrubs and flowers, which had been assigned to it. CHAPTER XII. THE WESTERN ORCHARD. When the Prince of Nagato woke next day he experienced a feeling of well-being and of joy to which he had long been a stranger. Yielding to the brief and idle revery which is like the dawn of wakening consciousness, his eye wandered over the dancing shadows of the leaves without, cast upon the closed blinds by the sun. Myriads of birds warbled and chattered, and one might almost think that the light itself sang in that medley of clear voices. The Prince thought of the happy day which lay before him; it was an oasis in the dry and burning desert of his love. He repulsed the thought of speedy departure, with its train of attendant griefs, to give himself wholly up to the delights of the present; he was calm and happy. The night before, his mind full of memories, his heart filled with emotion, he knew that sleep would hold persistently aloof. He therefore ordered a drink to be prepared which would prevent insomnia. A secret feeling of coquetry led him to avoid a feverish night. He was aware of his own beauty, having been told of it frequently; and the glance of every woman he met repeated the story daily. Had not his grace of person and of face, the charm which emanated from him, had their share in attracting the favorable notice of the Queen? They therefore deserved to be guarded from the inroads of fever and fatigue. Calling his servants, the Prince demanded a mirror, and examined himself with eager haste. But the first glance allayed his fears. His pallor had recovered the warm tints of which illness had robbed it; the blood returned to his lips; and yet his eyes still retained something of their feverish lustre. He paid an almost childish attention to the details of his dress, choosing the sweetest perfumes, the softest garments, of the faint but clear blue tint which he preferred. When he left his pavilion at last, the guests were already assembled before the Kisaki's palace. His arrival caused a sensation. The men went into raptures over his toilette; the women dared not speak. But their silence was most flattering; it might be translated thus: He is worthy to be loved, even by a queen; for that perfectly beautiful body is the temple of the most refined spirit and the noblest heart in the kingdom. The Princess Iza-Farou-No-Kami approached Nagato. "You have not asked me for news of Fatkoura, Prince," said she. The Prince had never thought of Fatkoura, nor had he even noted her absence. "She was ill yesterday," continued the Princess; "but the announcement of your arrival restored her to health. Depressed as she has been for some time, your return may perhaps console her. You will see her directly; she is with the Kisaki. She is on duty this week. Well! have you nothing to say?" The Prince knew not what to say; in fact, Fatkoura's name roused both remorse and weariness in him. He reproached himself for inspiring this woman with love for him, or rather for appearing to respond to the love which he guessed she felt. He had used this false passion as a screen between the curious gaze and the sun of his real love. But he no longer had the strength to keep up his _rôle_ of fond lover; and instead of the pity and friendship which he strove to feel for his unfortunate victim, Fatkoura only inspired him with deep indifference. The arrival of the Kisaki enabled him to dispense with any answer to Iza-Farou. The Queen advanced from the veranda, greeting her guests with a gracious smile as they bent one knee to the ground. As they were to climb a mountain and pass over narrow paths, the Kisaki had donned a less ample robe than she usually wore. Her sea-green gown was of crape, wrinkled slightly, like the surface of a lake ruffled by the wind; a broad cloth of gold girdle bound her waist and formed a huge knot at the back. A branch of chrysanthemum in full bloom was embroidered upon one end of this sash. The Queen had in her hair large pins of light tortoise-shell elaborately wrought, and on her brow was a small round mirror surrounded by a row of pearls. Soon a magnificent chariot, drawn by two black buffaloes, approached the palace. This chariot, surmounted by a roof and covered with gilding, looked like a summer-house. It was closed by blinds, which the Kisaki ordered to be raised. The princesses and lords took their places in norimonos drawn by a large number of men in rich array, and they set joyously forth. The day was superb, a light breeze cooled the air, and they would not be troubled by the heat. At first they passed through the gardens of the royal residence. The chariot thrust aside the straggling branches which grew across the paths, it frightened away the butterflies, and broke the flowers from their stems. Then they reached the wall that surrounds the summer-palace, and went through the lofty gateway crowned by the Mikado's bird, the Foo-Houan,--a mythological creature which took part in the creation of the world. They then followed the wall along its exterior; next they took a road bordered by tall trees and leading to the mountains. There the whole Court got down to continue the journey on foot. They formed into groups, servants opened parasols, and the ascent of the mountain was merrily begun. The Kisaki walked first. Alert and active as a young girl, she ran a few steps, gathered wild flowers from the bushes; then, when she had too large a collection, she threw them away. The merry company chatted and laughed; each one walked at his own pace. Here and there a lord took off the lacquered hat which looked like a circular shield and hung it at his belt; then he fixed his open fan in his hair twisted like a rope, so that it projected like a penthouse over his forehead. At times an opening in the bushes revealed the city, which seemed to spread out as they rose higher and higher; but they did not stay to gaze, for their first stop was to be on the terrace before the temple of Kiomidz,--that is, the temple of pure water,--whence the view is very fine. This temple rests on one side upon immensely tall pillars of wood, reaching down to the very foot of the mountain; on the other it is supported by a rough hewn rock. It shelters beneath its broad roof, covered with blue porcelain tiles, a divinity with a thousand arms. Upon the terrace, covered with large pebbles, which extends in front of the temple, camp-stools had been arranged, that the noble party might rest, and enjoy the beauty of the view at their ease. They soon arrived and took their places. Kioto lay before them, with its countless low but elegant houses, encircling the vast park of the Dairi,--a lake of verdure from which rose here and there, like an islet, a broad and magnificent roof. The eye could readily follow the clear line traced around the park by the walls. To the south of the city a river, the Yedogava, glistened in the sun. The plain, rich and well cultivated, stretched beyond. Another watercourse, the Wild Goose River, flows through the heart of the town, near the fortress of Nisio-Nosiro, which rears its lofty ramparts and its square tower, crowned by a roof with upturned edges. Behind the city lay a semicircle of high hills covered with vegetation and with temples of every sort, rising one above the other on the slopes, scaling them, and half hidden in foliage and flowers. The nobles pointed out to one another the temple of Iasacca, or the Eight Escarpments; the tower of To-Tse, with its five series of airy roofs; the chapel of Guihon, containing nothing but a round metal mirror, and surrounded by a vast number of pretty houses, to which people repair for tea and saki; then, lower down, nearer the plain, on the road that loads to Fusimi, the colossal pagoda of Daibouds, very lofty, very splendid, and containing within its gardens the temple of the Thirty-three thousand three hundred and thirty-three Idols,--a very long and narrow building. The party went into ecstasies over the beauty of the situation. They delighted to lose their way in fancy in the complicated network formed by the city streets, filled with a brilliant throng, the enclosures and the courtyards, which from that height seemed like open boxes. With a single glance they traversed all Kioto; beside the river they saw a large open space, surrounded by a palisade, that was the parade-ground of the Knights of Heaven, some of whom were now galloping about the enclosure, their embroidered robes, their lances, and helmets flashing in the sun. The dark, green mountains stood out in bold relief against the clear blue sky; some more distant peaks were violet hued; the atmosphere was so pure that the little city of Yodo was plainly visible, joined to Kioto by the long ribbon-like road crossing the golden fields. The Kisaki rose. "Let us be off!" she cried. "We must not linger here too long; we must drink, higher up, the water of the cascade of Otooua, which gives prudence and wisdom,--so the bonzes claim." "Is there no fountain whose water has the power to make men light-hearted and careless?" said Simabara; "I would rather wet my lips in that." "I don't see what you would gain," said a princess, laughing; "if there be such a fountain, you have most certainly tasted its waters." "If there were one which made us forget life, and believe in a dream without awaking," said the Prince of Nagato, "I would drink to intoxication of it." "I would content myself with that which gives prudence, were I in your place," said Fatkoura, who had not yet exchanged a word with Nagato. Her bitter and satirical voice made the Prince shudder. He did not reply, but hastened to rejoin the Queen, who was climbing a stone staircase hewn in the steep side of the mountain. This staircase, bordered by shrubs whose interlaced branches formed a verdant canopy above it, led to the cascade of Otooua. The sound of the water was already audible as it gushed from three fissures in the rock, and fell from a height into a small pond. The Kisaki arrived first; she knelt on the grass and dipped her hands in the clear water. A young bonze ran forward with a golden cup; but the sovereign dismissed him with a sign, and advancing her lips, swallowed the water held in the hollow of her hand, then rose and shook her fingers. A few drops fell upon her dress. "Now," said she, laughing, "Buddha himself has no more wisdom than I." "You laugh," said Simabara; "for my part, I believe in the virtues of the water: that is why I do not taste it." They took a very rough path. Its very look made the women utter cries of alarm. Some declared that they would never risk their lives on such a road; but the lords went first, and extended their shut fans to the most timid, and thus the top of the mountain was reached. But then the cries of distress were redoubled. Before them lay a tiny torrent, which ran babbling over the stones; it must be crossed by jumping from rock to rock, at the risk, if one were awkward, of wetting the feet. The Kisaki asked Nagato to let her lean on his shoulder, and passed safely over. Some of the women followed her; then turned to laugh, quite at their ease, at those who dared not venture. One young princess paused in mid-stream, standing on a rock; she held close about her the ample folds of her robe; and, half laughing, half dismayed, would neither go forward nor backward. She only resolved upon crossing the dangerous ford when her friends threatened to leave her alone in the middle of the torrent. There were but a few steps more to be taken ore they reached the western orchard, which is surrounded by a hedge of tea-plants. The Queen pushed open a lattice-gate, and entered the enclosure. It was the most enchanting spot imaginable. The spring, at this height, is somewhat tardy; and while in the valley the fruit-trees had already shed all their flowers, here they were in full bloom. Upon the undulating surface carpeted with thick turf, plum-trees covered with tiny white stars, apricots, apple-trees, peach-trees with their pink flowers, cherries decked with dark-red bloom, bent and twisted and stretched in every direction their dusky branches, whose roughness formed a marked contrast to the frailty of the petals. In the middle of the orchard a large carpet was spread on the grass, and a red satin curtain, held up by gilded poles, flapped above it. A collation was served on this rug in costly china dishes. The guests gladly squatted around the trays loaded with dainty provisions; the walk had given all an appetite. The women arranged themselves in two groups to the right and left of the Kisaki; the men took their seats opposite her at a respectful distance. The most outspoken gayety soon reigned throughout the noble assembly; laughter bubbled from every lip. They chattered loudly, and no one heeded the melodies discoursed by an orchestra hidden behind a screen made from fibres of the reed. Fatkoura alone wore a gloomy look and remained silent. The Princess Iza-Farou studied her by stealth with increasing surprise; she also looked from time to time at the Prince of Nagato, who seemed lost in a delightful dream, but never turned his eyes in the direction of Fatkoura. "What has happened?" murmured the Princess. "He has certainly ceased to love her; and I thought the wedding was so near at hand!" The feast ended, the Kisaki rose. "Now," said she, "to work! Let each one of us draw inspiration from Nature to compose a quatrain in Chinese characters." They scattered in various directions beneath the trees; each one went apart and reflected. Some paused before a blossoming branch; others walked slowly along, their gaze fixed on the ground, or with head uplifted towards what could be seen of the sky through the constellations of snowy or rose-tinted flowers. Some lazy spirits stretched themselves at full length on the turf and closed their eyes. The bright and lively hues of their dresses shone forth gayly against the green, and added one more charm to the landscape. Soon all the poets were recalled. The time fixed for the framing of the quatrain had elapsed. They assembled and sat down on the grass. Servants brought in a huge bronze bowl, upon the sides of which writhed sculptured dragons in the midst of imaginary shrubbery. This bowl was full of white fans, decorated only by a slight sketch in one corner. On one was a tuft of iris; on another a few slender reeds, a cottage by a lake, over which bent a willow, or a bird grasping a branch of almond-flowers in his claws. Each competitor took one of these fans, upon which he was to write his verse. Brushes and India ink ready mixed were also brought. Soon the black characters stood in four perpendicular rows upon the white surface of the fans; the poems were finished. Each poet read his own quatrain aloud. The Princess Iza-Farou began:-- "THE FIRST FLOWERS. "How fleeting, in life, is the time When we have only joys, hopes, and no regrets? Which is the most delicious moment of spring? That when not a single flower has yet faded." Lively approval hailed this poem. When silence was restored, Simabara took up the word:-- "THE LOVE OF NATURE. "I lift my head, and I see a flock of wild geese. Among those travellers one, who erst was in the van, now lags behind her mates. See how she flies behind the rest. Why does she linger thus? Because from the heights of heaven she wonders at the beauty of the scene." "Good! good!" cried the listeners. Some of the princes repeated the last line, shaking their heads with satisfaction. Several other quatrains were read; then the Kisaki repeated hers:-- "THE SNOW. "The sky is clear; the bees hum o'er the garden beds; A balmy breeze blows through the trees; It makes the plum-blossoms fall in showers. How delightful is the spring snow!" "You are the master of us all!" was the enthusiastic shout. "What are our verses beside yours!" "Our great poet, Tsourai-Iouki,[1] never wrote a more perfect poem than that," said the Prince of Nagato. "It was from that poet I drew my inspiration," said the Kisaki, smiling with pleasure. "But it is your turn to read, Iwakura," she continued, glancing at the Prince. Nagato opened his fan and read:-- "THE WILLOW. "The thing which we love more than all else, we prefer that no one else should love. It belongs to another. So the willow, which takes root in our garden, Bends, blown by the wind, and adorns our neighbor's wall with its branches." "The illustrious Tikangue[2] might be your brother," said the Kisaki; "there is no quatrain in his works superior to that. I wish to preserve the fan that your hand has illustrated; give it to me, I beg." Nagato approached the Queen, and, kneeling, offered her the fan. Fatkoura abruptly recited the following lines, which she improvised on the spur of the moment:-- "The pheasant runs through the fields; he attracts all eyes by his gilded plumage; He cries aloud as he seeks his food. Then he turns towards his mate, And through love for her he involuntarily betrays the place of his retreat to men." The Queen frowned, and paled slightly. A transport of rage made her heart palpitate; for she saw that Fatkoura, by this improvisation, hurled an outrageous insult at Nagato and herself. She slandered her sovereign with the daring of a soul which has lost all, and offers one buckler to revenge,--despair. The Kisaki, feeling her inability to punish, was seized by a vague terror, and repressed her wrath. If she acknowledged that she understood the injurious intention of Fatkoura's words, must she not confess to a guilty prepossession,--an interest unworthy of her majesty,--in the love to which her beauty had given birth in the heart of one of her subjects? She complimented Fatkoura in a very quiet voice upon the elegance of her poem; then she sent her by a page the prize offered for competition. It was a charming collection of poems, no longer than a man's finger; the fashion being for the smallest books possible. Some hours later, while the Prince of Nagato, leaning over the edge of the terrace, was gazing down from the mountain top at the setting sun, which shed its purple glory across the sky, the Kisaki drew near him. He lifted his eyes to her face, thinking that she wished to speak to him; but she was silent, her eyes fixed on the horizon, and full of sadness; she preserved a solemn attitude. The reflection from the western sky disguised her pallor. She repressed some painful emotion, and strove to restrain a tear that trembled on her lashes and dimmed her sight. Nagato felt a sort of terror; he was sure that she was going to say something dreadful to him. He would fain have prevented her from speaking. "Queen," said he, softly, as if to dismiss the danger, "the sky looks like a great rose-leaf." "It is the last falling leaf of day," said the Kisaki,--"of the day which is sinking into the past, but whose memory our spirits will preserve as a day of joy and peace,--perhaps the last." She turned away to hide her tears, which, despite her efforts, flowed fast. The Prince's heart was oppressed with inexpressible agony; he was like the victim who sees the knife at his throat. He dared not speak, lest he should hasten the sacrifice. Suddenly the Kisaki turned to him. "Prince," said she, "I have something to say to you: you must marry Fatkoura." Nagato stared at the Queen in dismay; he saw her eyes were wet with tears, but full of a calm and irrevocable resolve. He slowly bowed his head. "I will obey," he murmured. And while she moved quickly away, he hid his face in his hands, and gave vent to the sobs which were stifling him. [1] The two latter quatrains are translated from Tsourai-Iouki, one of the most famous poets of Japan. [2] An illustrious Japanese poet, author of the verses entitled "The Willow." CHAPTER XIII. THE MIKADO'S THIRTY-THREE DINNERS. The sublime Son of the Gods was bored. He sat cross-legged on a raised dais covered with mats, between curtains of gold brocade which hung from the ceiling and were drawn back in heavy folds on either side. A succession of rooms opened, one from another, before the monarch's gaze. He thought that he was very majestic; then he yawned. The one hundred and ninth Mikado, Go-Mitzou-No, although young, was excessively fat,--made so, no doubt, by the almost constant inaction of his life. His face was pale, no ray of sun ever resting on it; several chins reposed upon his breast; his purple robes fell about him in ample folds; the lofty plate of gold adorned his brow. At his right were arranged all the insignia of his omnipotence,--the sword, the mirror, and the iron tablet. The Mikado found his existence monotonous. Every action of his life was arranged in advance, and must be accomplished in accordance with the most minute etiquette. If he left the precincts of the palace, he was shut up in a superb vehicle drawn by buffaloes; but he felt suffocated in that close box, and preferred to remain on his throne. If he wished to admire the flowers in his garden beds, he must go out in company with a vast suite, and the annals of the kingdom made careful note of the event. The greater part of his time was supposed to be passed in meditation: but to tell the truth, he meditated very little; his intellect had become blunted. When he tried to think, the strangeness of the ideas that buzzed confusedly through his brain astonished him. Some of his fancies were criminal, some ludicrous. The latter amused him; but he dared not laugh, knowing that he was watched. He would then strive to bring his mind back to celestial things; but it wearied him, and he returned to his whimsical dreams. Sometimes he was seized by an irresistible desire to move about, to run and jump and leap; but that would ill comport with the silent immobility appropriate to the descendant of the Gods. One day, however,--or rather one night, the mysteriously achieved his desire. He slipped out of bed, and while all around him slept, he performed a wild dance; no one ever knew it,--at least so he thought. As he never saw anything but the bent back of his subjects, he may really have supposed that he belonged to a superior race, and that the common herd of men walked on all fours. And yet he thought that they sometimes treated him like a child. His bow and arrows were taken away, because on one occasion, while a body of delegates from the Shogun lay prostrate before his throne, he let fly an arrow at the highest dignitary among them. In spite of the rage which sometimes boiled within him, he dared not rebel; his inaction, the perpetual association with women, who alone could serve him, had weakened his courage. He felt that he was at the mercy of his ministers; he feared lest he should be assassinated. And yet, at times, an immense pride took possession of him; he felt divine blood course through his veins; he knew that the earth was not worthy to be trodden beneath his feet, that the race of men had no right to behold his face; and he dreamed of making thicker still the veils which separated him from the world. Then, the very next moment, he would fancy that perfect happiness lay in solitary rambles over the mountains, in working in the open air, in being the lowliest of men; then he would be seized by a vague despair, he would groan and bewail his fate. But he was soon persuaded that his grief was nothing but a homesick longing for heaven, his native land. Just now the Mikado was ready to receive the envoys from Fide-Yori. They had come to testify the latter's gratitude towards the supreme ruler, who had conferred the title of Shogun upon him. The curtains were drawn before the throne; then the princes were ushered in, falling at once upon their faces, with arms extended in front of them. After a long delay the curtain was drawn aside. Profound silence reigned: the princes remained with their faces on the floor, motionless. The Mikado considered them from the height of his throne, and made silent reflections upon the arrangement of the folds of their garments, on a sash end which had turned over and showed him the wrong side. He thought that the crest of Satsuma, a cross within a circle, looked like a dormer window barred by two bamboo slats. Then he wondered what they would all think if he were suddenly to utter frantic yells! How he would like to see them jump up, with stupefied faces! In a few moments the curtain was again let down; the princes withdrew backwards. Not one word had been uttered. After the audience the Mikado left the platform and was stripped of his very burdensome state dress. Robed once more in simpler garments, he bent his steps towards the apartments in which he took his meals. Go-Mitzou-No regarded the dinner-hour as the most agreeable moment in the day; he prolonged it as much as he possibly could. The Mikado liked good living; he had a decided preference for certain dishes. On account of these preferences a terrible difficulty had formerly arisen. The Son of the Gods could not reasonably be expected to bend his lofty mind to the details of the kitchen and decide upon the dishes he would eat; and yet no more could he submit to the caprices of his cooks or his ministers. After prolonged reflection the Mikado found a way to reconcile all parties. He ordered that thirty-three entirely different dinners should be prepared for him every day, to be served in thirty-three saloons. It then only remained for him to walk through those rooms, and choose the meal that pleased him best. Sometimes it happened that after eating one dinner he would go into another hall and eat a second. When he crossed the threshold of the first of the thirty-three rooms, twelve very noble and most beautiful damsels received him. They alone were entitled to wait upon him. Their hair, in the presence of their lord, must be undone, and hang dishevelled in the folds of their trailing garments. The Mikado had seated himself on a mat before the dinner of his choice, and had begun to eat, when the Kisaki entered, unannounced. She, too, when appearing before the supreme master, was obliged to wear her hair flowing loosely. Her superb black tresses were therefore unconfined, and fell in waves to the very ground. The Mikado raised his eyes to her in amazement, and hurriedly swallowed the morsel that he had in his mouth. "My beloved companion," said he, "I did not expect to see you!" "My divine lord," she replied, "I have come to inform you that I shall very soon lose one of my women; the fair Fatkoura is about to marry." "Very good! very good!" said the Mikado; "and whom?" "The Prince of Nagato." "Ah-ha! I consent to the marriage." "And what princess do you name to take the place of the one who is to leave me?" "I will name any one whom you may select." "I thank you, master," said the Kisaki; "and I depart from your divine presence, imploring your pardon for having dared to interrupt your repast." "Oh, it's no matter!" said Go-Mitzou-No, who hastened, as soon as his wife had gone, to make up for lost time. CHAPTER XIV. THE HAWKING-PARTY. Some days after the reception of the embassy, towards the tenth hour of the morning, the hour of the serpent, a young cavalier rode at full speed along the road which leads from Osaka to Kioto. At that hour the road is very crowded; beasts of burden, pedlers, men and women of the people pass and repass along its entire length. Peasants carry the produce of their fields to the suburban towns; they are on their way to Fusimi, Yodo, and Firacca. Merchandise of every kind is taken from Osaka to Kioto,--rice, salt-fish, metals, and precious woods; while Kioto sends to the city of the Shogun tea, silk, bronze vases, and various sorts of lacquered ware. The young horseman paid not the faintest heed to the crowd; he gave his steed the reins, and urged him on with his voice. Moreover, the road was always free before him; people sprang quickly aside at the sound of the furious galloping feet, and the passers-by retreated to the roadside, which was bordered here and there with houses made of beech-wood. The rider moved so rapidly that, in spite of all their efforts, the curious could not distinguish his features. "It's a warrior," said one; "I saw the gleam of his weapons." "That was no great thing to see," said another; "every time he moved he glittered like lightning." "It's a warrior of high rank; I saw the gold thongs of his whip of office." "Is he a general?" "Ask the swallow, as she flies, to see whether the copper horns shine upon his helmet; she alone is capable of overtaking that knight." When he reached Kioto, the young soldier did not slacken his pace; he rode through the city at a gallop, and entering the palace, inquired for the envoys of the Shogun. "They are at the summer-palace," was the answer; "or rather they are not there. They have joined our divine Kisaki in the chase; they started at sunrise." "In which direction did they go?" "Towards the shores of Lake Biva, at the foot of the mountains," replied the lackey; "but, my lord, do you wish to join the illustrious hunters?" "Bring me a horse," said the young man coldly, without answering the question. At the same time he alighted, and the servant led away his weary steed; soon two grooms brought forward another, equipped, and full of spirit. The soldier again mounted, and rode away. Lake Biva lies behind the chain of hills that surrounds Kioto. To reach it, several valleys must be traversed, and many roundabout paths pursued. The young man could not keep his horse at a steady gallop, on account of the many hills up and down which lay his course. Sometimes, instead of following the windings of the road, he galloped over the thick grass in the valleys, to cut short his journey. At the end of an hour he came out upon the lake-shore; but then he did not know which way to turn. The lake, blue as a sapphire, stretched before him far as the eye could roach. To right and left rose small copses and thickets and brown rocks; whilst beyond them lay broad pastures covered with moss and heath. Of the hunt, no trace, no sign by which he might guess in which direction he was to follow. The young soldier seemed in no wise disconcerted by this circumstance; he spurred his horse up a slight eminence and gazed around him. He then perceived, in the midst of a bamboo grove, the roof of a tiny temple half buried in the trees. Thither he hurried, and, without dismounting, rudely struck the alarm-bell. The noise waked the keeper of the temple, a bald-headed old bonze, with long, thin face. He ran out, rubbing his eyes. "Do you know which way the royal hunt went?" said the young man. "This morning I heard the barking of dogs, the neighing of horses, and loud laughter," said the bonze; "but I saw nothing. The hunters did not pass this way." "Then they must have gone to the right," said the warrior, dropping a piece of silver into the alms-chest covered with a lattice work of bamboo. He started off at a gallop. He rode for a long time, pausing occasionally to listen. At last he heard a distant barking, although the shore lay desolate before him. He stopped, and looked in all directions. The barking came from the mountains; the sound of horses' hoofs was also indistinctly heard. Suddenly, without a break, the sounds became loud and clear. Black dogs sprang from a narrow gorge between the hills, speedily followed by men on horseback. The entire hunt passed before the young man. He recognized the Kisaki by the red gauze veil which floated around her. Some of the princesses held a hooded falcon upon their left fist. The lords bent forward, ready to let fly their arrows; each grasped a huge black lacquer bow. As all the hunters had their heads thrown back, and were watching a falcon chasing a buzzard, high in the heavens, they passed without observing the young warrior. The latter at once rode alongside of them. The dogs started a pheasant, which rose screaming from a bush. A fresh falcon was unleashed. As he rode, the soldier sought out, among the nobles, the Prince of Nagato, and approached him. "Stay, Iwakura!" he cried; "Fide-Yori sends me to you." The Prince turned his head with a start; he drew in his horse. They lingered behind. "Signenari!" exclaimed Nagato, as he recognized the young leader. "What has happened?" "I bring important news," said Signenari. "Civil war threatens us. Hieyas has levied armies; he holds half Japan. With an amazing promptitude, he has collected large forces,--far superior to ours. The danger is imminent; therefore the master desires to rally all his followers around him." "Alas! alas!" cried Nagato, "the future alarms me! must the land, then, be bathed in the blood of its own children? What does General Yoke-Moura say?" "Yoke-Moura is full of energy and confidence; he has assembled a council of war. But still another misfortune has befallen us: we have lost the Prince of Mayada." "Is he dead, that dear old man?" said Nagato, bowing his head,--"the only one who never yielded to the invading power of Hieyas! He could not have loved Fide-Yori more dearly, had he been his father. It was he who, on the death of the Tycoon, brought the little boy into the Hall of a Thousand Mats and presented him to the princes, who swore allegiance to him. How many have betrayed him since that day. How many more will yet betray him! Poor Mayada, you alone could win some semblance of respect from Hieyas; now he fears nothing mortal." "He shall fear us, I swear it to you!" cried Signenari, with an heroic flash in his eye. "You are right! Forgive me for this temporary weakness," said the Prince, lifting his head. "I am so crushed with grief that this sad news overwhelmed me for an instant." The hunters had noticed the Prince of Nagato's absence. Supposing some accident had occurred, an alarm was raised, and the whole Court came flying back. They soon perceived the Prince, talking with Signenari. They joined and surrounded them, asking a thousand questions. The dogs barked, some of the horses reared and plunged; the falconers recalled their birds, who refused to obey, and continued to pursue their prey. "What has happened?" said one. "It's a messenger." "Does he bring tidings from Osaka?" "Bad news!" Nagato led Signenari to the Kisaki's side. The Queen was mounted on a white horse covered with a network of pearls, and decked with silken head-tassels. "Here is the bravest of your soldiers," said Nagato, turning to Signenari. "He comes from Osaka." Signenari bowed low; then resumed his grave and reserved attitude. "Speak!" said the Kisaki. "Divine Sovereign, it is with pain that I disturb your pleasures," said Signenari; "but I must inform you that the peace of your kingdom is threatened. Hieyas has raised a part of Japan in revolt; he is preparing to attack Osaka, that he may usurp the power intrusted to your servant Fide-Yori by the celestial Mikado." "Is it possible!" exclaimed the Kisaki. "Would Hieyas dare commit such a crime? Has the man no soul, that, to satisfy his insatiate ambition, he does not hesitate to arm brothers against brothers, and to shed on Japanese soil the blood of Japan's sons? Are you sure of what you state?" "The news was brought to Osaka last night by messengers sent in hot haste by the princes; the latter were hurriedly striving to fortify their provinces. The Daimio of Arima arrived this morning at dawn and confirmed the news of the messengers. Scouts were instantly sent to various points, and the Shogun ordered me to recall his ambassadors as swiftly as possible, to hold a council." "Let us return to the palace," said the Kisaki. The party set out silently; only the princesses whispered together as they stared at the young warrior. "What a beauty he is?" "You might take him for a woman!" "Yes; but what daring in his eye!" "What coldness too! His tranquil gravity disquiets and alarms." "He must be terrible in battle." "Terrible, too, to her who loves him; his heart seems to be of steel, like his sword. Do not look at him so steadily." Nagato rode up to the Queen. "These events will delay your marriage, Iwakura!" said she, with a strange feeling of delight. "Yes, Queen," said the Prince; "and the chances of war are many: perhaps it may never take place. However, as Fatkoura is publicly known as my betrothed, I wish her to go, until the wedding, to my castle of Hagui, where she will live with my father. If I die, she will bear my name, and be ruler over the province of Nagato." "You are right," said the Kisaki; "but death will spare you. I will make vows for your preservation." Nagato looked at her reproachfully. He dared not speak, but his eyes expressed his thought; they said plainly: "You know that death would be sweeter to me than the union which you force me to make." The Kisaki, deeply moved, turned away her head and spurred on her horse. They returned to the Dairi. When the Mikado learned the tidings of probable war, he seemed afflicted; but in secret he rejoiced. He did not love the Regent, nor did he care much more for the Shogun. Although he was their sovereign lord, he had a confused feeling that they ruled him. He knew that they both kept a watchful eye on him, and he feared them. He was therefore delighted to think that they would mutually inflict on each other all the evil that he wished them both. That same day the envoys of Fide-Yori left Kioto and returned to Osaka. CHAPTER XV. THE USURPER. In less than two months, as Signenari had stated, Hieyas had made himself dreaded; he had at his beck and call an army which public report numbered at five hundred thousand. The provinces of Sagama, Mikawa, and Sourouga, which belonged to him, had furnished large bodies of soldiers. The lord of Owari, the most devoted of Hieyas' allies, had commanded every able-bodied man in his principality to take up arms; so that there was not a laborer left upon his lands. The Prince of Tosa was powerfully entrenched in the large Island of Shikoku, lying to the south of the kingdom, opposite Osaka Bay. From that point he threatened the Shogun's capital. The majority of the sovereign lords of Japan, confident of the success of Hieyas, lent him their aid, and held their forces at his disposal. Hieyas had established himself at Yeddo,--then a mere suburb, whose fine strategic position tempted him. Situated about mid-distance of the length of the great Island of Nipon, at the extreme end of a bay which cut deeply into the land, and surrounded by high mountains, it was easily fortified, and once fortified, impregnable. Moreover, its position in the centre of Japan, in view of the small width of the island, allowed communication by land to be readily cut off between the large Island of Yezo, the northern part of Nipon, and its southern portion, in which lay Kioto, Osaka, and the principalities of Fide-Yori's partisans. In this way, one half of Japan was insulated, and thus forced to remain neutral, or take sides with Hieyas. The aged Regent displayed an unparalleled activity. In spite of his advanced years and precarious health, he proceeded to every spot where he thought his influence necessary. With those princes who were hostile to him, he feigned that he still held the power no longer his, and claimed from them the number of troops which they were bound to furnish the Government in time of war. Then he hastily despatched those men to distant points. In case his enemies learned the truth, they were thus disabled from harming him. But after realizing these daring schemes, and preparing for the violent struggle necessary in order to usurp the supreme power, Hieyas felt so weak, so enfeebled by fever and pain, that he imagined he was about to die. He speedily summoned his son, who was then residing at the castle of Mikawa. Fide-Tadda, son of Hieyas, was at this time forty-five years old. He was a man of no great personal valor, but patient, persevering, and submissive to minds superior to his own. He professed a boundless admiration for his father. He instantly hastened to the side of Hieyas, taking with him his youngest daughter, a lovely girl of fifteen. Hieyas lived in a stronghold which he had built years--before at Yeddo, and which was not yet wholly finished. From the room in which he lay, stretched on thick cushions, he saw through the large window the beautiful Fusiyama, from whose snow-covered summit issued a column of delicate white smoke. "Is that your daughter?" said Hieyas, as Fide-Tadda approached him with the girl. "Yes, illustrious father; this is the younger sister of the Shogun's wife." "The Shogun's wife!" repeated Hieyas, shaking his head and sneering. "The little thing is very pretty," he added, after inspecting the young girl minutely, making her blush and drop her long black lashes on her cheeks. "Take good care of her; I shall need her." Then he made a sign to dismiss the child. "I may die, my son," he said when he was alone with Fide-Tadda; "that is why I sent for you. I wish to give you my last instructions,--to trace out the line of conduct which you are to follow when I am no more." On hearing his father speak in this way, Fide-Tadda could not repress his tears. "Stop, stop!" cried Hieyas, smiling; "do not weep for me yet, I am not dead; and you shall see that my mind, is not impaired, as that old Mayada would have people think. Listen to me, and treasure my words in your memory." "Every word that falls from your mouth is to me what a fine pearl would be to a miser." "I will be brief," said Hieyas; "talking tires me. Know first, my son, that the predecessor of Go-Mitzou-No, the present Mikado, once honored me with the title of Shogun. It was after the death of Taiko. I made no parade of the title, not wishing to offend the friends of Fide-Yori. I allowed the princes and the people to fall into the habit of calling me the Regent. What mattered the name by which the power was known, so long as the power rested in my hands? But now the title of Shogun is of the utmost importance to me, for it is hereditary, and I can abdicate in your favor. You spoke just now of the Shogun. I am the Shogun. Fide-Yori did indeed receive the same title, and I never reminded his insolent councillors that it was really mine. I acted prudently. I was in their hands; they might have slain me. But now I undertake this war,--be well assured of it,--as sole representative of the legal power. I have had embroidered off my banners the three chrysanthemum leaves, the insignia given me by the former Mikado; and it is in the name of his heir that I lead my armies on to battle. I act without his authority, true; but as soon as I gain the victory he will approve my acts." Hieyas paused for an instant, and drank a little tea. "Only," he soon resumed, "death may surprise me,--it threatens me even now; and my work must be finished after I am gone. That is why I now abdicate in your favor. You will remain at the castle of Mikawa, sheltered from the hazards of war, watching over your daughter, who may serve for one of my plans, until the day when victory shall proclaim you master of Japan; then you will establish your residence at Yeddo, the best-situated city in the kingdom. Now I will try to put clearly before you the object for which you are to strive in your government of the nation. Taiko-Sama, who was a man of genius, although he was the son of a peasant, conceived the plan, as soon as he gained power, of uniting the sixty-one petty kingdoms composing Japan into a single kingdom, to be ruled by the Shogun. The life of one man was not long enough to see this project realized. Taiko, nevertheless, undertook it with great vigor, always carefully concealing his intentions. I alone was the confidant of his hopes, and hitherto I have revealed them to no one. When Taiko plunged the princes into the war with China, which seemed to so many an act of madness, it was done to weaken the nobles by a costly war, and to keep them away from their provinces for a time. While he led them to the field, I carried out his orders at home. I superintended the construction of the Tokaido,--that broad road which impudently passes directly through regions formerly subject to their own princes only; I summoned to Osaka the wives and children of the absent lords, under pretext of protecting them from all danger, if by any accident the Chinese army should invade the land. When the princes returned, we refused to let the women go home. They were to live permanently at Osaka; they are still there, precious hostages, who answer for the fidelity of their husbands and fathers. As Taiko was also a great warrior, victory crowned his dangerous enterprise and strengthened his power. "The Mikado had long paid little heed to the affairs of the empire. Taiko thought it well that he should pay even less attention to them; he made his power imaginary.... Listen!" continued Hieyas, lowering his voice: "this power must be diminished still more; the Mikado must retain merely the title of sovereign. Load him with honors, deify him more and more, so that he may lift his eyes to heaven, and turn them away from earth forever. "Taiko was interrupted by death in the execution of his task, which was but just begun; the princes are still powerful and rich. Continue this work after me; parcel out the kingdoms, sow discord between the nobles. If two friends hold neighboring principalities, forbid them to reside within their domains at one and the same time; if they are foes, on the contrary, let them dwell together. War will break out between them, and one at least will be enfeebled. Always keep their wives at Yeddo. Bring into fashion a ruinous luxury; the women will help you in this. Empty the coffers of their husbands, that they may be forced to sell their estates. But if one of them be rich enough to provide for all these outlays, pay him a visit, and oblige him to spend his last bit of gold to receive such an honor fitly. Be careful to close Japan strictly against all strangers: the princes might make formidable alliances with them. Therefore let no ship coming from distant countries enter our ports. Seek out the Christians and massacre them remorselessly: they are capable of fomenting revolt and insubordination. You understand me fully, my son? You must strive to make of Japan a single empire, subject to but one master. But this end will be long and difficult of attainment, and man's life is brief; wherefore, when time has blanched your hair, you must summon your son, as I summoned you to-day, and transmit my words to him. I have finished." "Father," said Fide-Tadda, kneeling before Hieyas, "I swear to fulfil your wishes to the letter." "Good, my child; but send for the doctor," said Hieyas, who breathed laboriously, exhausted by his long discourse. The doctor was brought. "Illustrious scholar," said Hieyas, looking fixedly at him, "am I very ill?" "No, master," said the doctor, with some hesitation. "I command you to speak nothing but the truth. Am I very ill? "Yes," said the physician. "In danger of death?" "Not yet; but the life of fatigue which you lead may hasten your end." "Could I live to see the end of the war which I am undertaking, supposing that it should last six moons?" "Oh, yes!" said the doctor; "you might oven prolong the war considerably beyond that time." "Well! then I am rich," cried Hieyas, laughing. "I need not be in haste; I will take a few days of rest." CHAPTER XVI. THE FISHERMEN OF OSAKA BAY. A strange commotion reigned in the castle of Fide-Yori. Military leaders, clad in ponderous cuirasses, constantly passed through the gate in the outer wall; the tread of their horses' hoofs re-echoed from the lofty vaulted roof. They hurriedly entered the third enclosure, and reached the Shogun's palace. Fide-Yori, in a room opening from the Hall of a Thousand Mats, was holding council, surrounded by the chiefs of his army and those princes who were most loyal to him. The young Shogun's brow was clouded; he did not hide his anxiety, shared by most of the warriors. Some, however, full of trust and ardor, strove to raise their master's courage. "Our situation is not desperate," said General Sanada-Sayemon-Yoke-Moura, the most skilful soldier in the empire; "we must face it coolly. Hieyas has but one advantage over us: while we had no thought of war, he was collecting his armies; he is ready to begin the strife; we are not prepared. But in a few days this inferiority will cease to exist; our troops will be in marching order, and, the contest will become equal. For the present, therefore, we must occupy the enemy with trifling skirmishes,--keep him at a distance,--while we assemble our forces around Osaka." "My advice is, that you should attack Hieyas at once, and not allow him to assume the offensive," said General Harounaga, a soldier of little merit, who had been rapidly promoted by the active protection of Yodogimi, the Shogun's mother. "How can you think of such a thing?" exclaimed young Signenari. "Our army would be slaughtered in a few hours by forces three times its size. We must occupy the forts, and protect ourselves from any surprise until all our forces are assembled. If Hieyas has not then attacked us, it will be time enough to take the offensive." "I maintain my proposition," said Harounaga. "I have an idea that Hieyas's army is not nearly so numerous as you suppose. How, in the space of a single moon, could he make himself so formidable?" "We cannot act on suppositions," said Yoke-Moura; "and we are in no condition to make an attack. The first thing to be done is to increase the army." "How many soldiers have we at the present time?" asked Fide-Yori. "Let me see," said Yoke-Moura: "Signenari, who, in spite of his youth, has just been honored with the rank of general, has twenty thousand men under him; Harounaga has as many; Moto-Tsoumou and Massa-Nori each command ten thousand soldiers; Moritzka has fifteen thousand, and Yama-Kava five thousand. I am at the head of thirty thousand troops. That makes a total of one hundred and ten thousand soldiers." "By what means shall we swell the list?" said the Shogun. "You do not consider, master," said Yoke-Moura, "that the Princes have not yet sent in the troops which they are bound to furnish you in time of war, and that these troops will at least treble the number of your army." "Nor must we forget," cried the Prince of Aki, "that certain provinces are directly threatened by Hieyas or his allies, and that those provinces will be obliged to withhold their soldiers, under penalty of instant invasion." "The most exposed provinces," said Signenari, glancing at a map, "are those of Satsuma, Nagato, and Aki, on account of their vicinity to the principalities of Figo and Tosa." "What!" exclaimed Fide-Yori, "have the Prince of Figo and the Prince of Tosa deserted me?" "Alas! friend," said Nagato, "you did not know it; and yet I long since told you of their treachery. But your pure soul cannot believe in crime." "If it be so," said the Shogun, "the Princes must keep their soldiers, and return at once to take command of them. You must leave me, Iwakura." "I will send a substitute," said the Prince of Nagato. "I have decided to remain here. But let us not think of that; let us hasten to act, and to send our troops to their various posts; let no time be lost in idle words." "I agree with Yoke-Moura," said the Shogun; "the enemy must be kept off from Osaka while we assemble our forces." "Let General Moritzka start immediately with his fifteen thousand men," said Yoke-Moura; "let him proceed to the province of Isye, and inform the prince who governs that country of our plan for defence. He can leave him five thousand men, with orders to watch the movements of the lord of Owari, his neighbor, and to blockade his fortress, if possible. Then let Moritzka traverse the breadth of Japan; and, leaving on the frontiers of the rebellious provinces as many men as he may deem requisite, enter the principality of Wakasa, and there establish himself. With the armies levied by the princes of that region we shall soon have nearly forty thousand men on the frontier. Yama-Kava and his five thousand soldiers will encamp on the shores of Lake Biva, behind Kioto; the Knights of Heaven can then join them, and take up their quarters on the heights. Harounaga will lead his army to Yamashiro, and cover Osaka on the north; Signenari will occupy the Island of Awadsi, to the south of Osaka, and hold in check the traitor lords of Tosa and Figo, whose attack at this time would be much to be dreaded. The rest of the army will remain in the suburbs of the city, ready to move to those points most in danger." "There is no change to be made in the plan which you propose," said the Shogun; "let all be done as you direct, and without delay." The Generals knelt in turn before the Shogun; then left the room. "Princes," said the Shogun to the nobles who remained with him, "return to your estates. Let those whose domains are threatened retain their soldiers; let the others immediately send me all the men at their disposal." The princes bowed before their master, in order of their rank,--Satsuma, Ouesougui, Arima, Aki, Wakasa; then they withdrew. Fide-Yori was left alone with Nagato. "Iwakura," he said, looking him in the eye, "what do you think of this war?" "I think that it will be bloody; but justice is on our side. Even if conquered, we shall be noble and glorious; and Hieyas, were he victor, would be covered with reproach. We have youth, strength, and energy. Hope marches before our armies." "I thank you, friend, for your attempt to encourage me by your own confidence. My heart is full of anxiety." "I must leave you, master," said the Prince of Nagato; "I must call together my troops." "What do you mean?" "Do you think that I would rest inactive, useless, here? Do you think that I would look on and see others slaying and being slain, and not join the fray? I have no soldiers, but I will find some." "At least, I entreat you not to summon those who guard your lands; do not leave your domains open to invasion." "I have no idea of doing so," said the Prince; "I will not send for those soldiers. Not that I care to preserve my principality, but my father resides at the castle of Hagui, and my betrothed has lately joined him. I must shield their precious lives behind the living rampart of my loyal army. Not one man shall leave the province of Nagato." "Well, where will you get the troops of which you speak?" asked the Shogun. "That is a secret," said the Prince. "When my forces have accomplished some valiant deed, I will bring the men before you." "I cannot guess your schemes," said Fide-Yori; "but I am sure that you will do nothing that is not noble and heroic. Go, my friend." Prince Nagato returned to his palace, where he found assembled some twenty samurai, his vassals, who came to ask his orders. "Hold yourself in readiness to travel," said the Prince; "collect your servants and prepare your baggage. Before sunset you shall know my purpose." Nagato went up to his own apartments; but as he approached them a strange noise fell upon his ear. "What is going on?" he muttered. He hurriedly entered the room opening from his bedchamber. He then discovered that it was little Loo who was making all this uproar by his own unaided efforts. He was armed with a notched sword, and revolved around a screen decorated with life-sized figures of warriors. Loo stamped his foot, uttered singular howls, insulted these motionless warriors, and transfixed them mercilessly with his weapon. "What are you about there?" cried the Prince, half angry, half amused. Loo, at sight of his master, threw down his sword and fell on his knees. "What does all this mean?" repeated Nagato. "Why are you hacking my furniture to pieces?" "I am practising for the war," said Loo, in a voice which he vainly strove to render piteous. "That," he added, pointing to the screen, "is the castle of Owari, with its garrison; I was the army of the Shogun." The Prince bit his lips, to hide his mirth. "Would you be brave, Loo?" said he. "Oh, yes," said the child; "and if my sword only cut, I should fear no one." "I fancy that if these warriors, instead of silk and satin, were made of flesh and blood, you would take to your heels in a trice." "Not at all!" cried Loo, squatting on his heels. "I am often very bad, and I often get into a fight. Once I pulled a gatekeeper's ear because he would not let me pass, pretending it was too late. While he called for help and held on to his ear, I jumped over the gate. Another time I was chasing a stork, which I had wounded with a stone, when a big dog came at me with his mouth open. I caught him by the neck, and gave him such a squeeze that he ran off yelping; but I was very angry with that dog, all the same, because I lost the stork meantime." The Prince meditated as he listened to Loo's stories. He remembered that he had often heard of his exploits; they had been reported to him, with the advice to dismiss his youthful follower. "Would you like to go to the war with me!" said he, suddenly. "O master," cried Loo, clasping his hands, "I entreat you to take me! I am more supple than a serpent, more agile than a cat; I can slip in anywhere. You shall see that I can make myself useful. Besides, the very first time that I am frightened, you can cut off my head." "It is a bargain," said the Prince, smiling. "Go, put on a very simple dress of some dark color, and hold yourself ready to accompany me. I shall want you to-night." Nagato went into his chamber, while Loo, wild with delight, ran off with a bound. The Prince was about to strike upon a bell to summon his servants, when he thought he heard a faint scratching under the floor. He stopped and listened; the noise was repeated more distinctly. Nagato closed the open panels around the room; then, coming back to that point in the floor where the noise was heard, he lifted the mat, and searched for a knot in the wood, upon which he pressed his finger. A portion of the floor then slid aside, and discovered a staircase, leading down into darkness. A man mounted the last steps, and entered the room. At the first glance the fellow looked like Nagato; he seemed like a rough sketch for the perfect statue realized in the Prince. "Where have you been, my poor Sado?" said the Prince. "I had forgotten you." "I have married; I am happy," said Sado. "Ah! I remember, now,--the story of the princes disguised as blind men, and carrying off a whole family! You have a pretty wit. That adventure occupied many idle minds for weeks. But what do you want? Do you lack money?" "Master, I came to tell you that I am ashamed of the life which I lead." "What! Have you forgotten our agreement?" "No, your Highness; I forget nothing. I was a criminal; I was about to be beheaded when you pardoned me, because your illustrious father exclaimed, as he saw me: 'That man looks like you, Iwakura!'" "I pardoned you also," said the Prince, "because, in my eyes, your crime was slight; you killed your enemy to avenge an insult, nothing more. But what were the conditions of my pardon?" "Blind obedience, devotion unto death. I came to remind you of that to-day." "What?" "Unto death...." repeated Sado, emphasizing each syllable. "Well, you still live; you are not released from your oath." "Master," said Sado, in a serious tone, "I am of noble origin; my ancestors were vassals of your ancestors, and until the day when indignation led me to commit a crime, no stain over dimmed the lustre of our name. You saved me from death; and instead of making me expiate my error by a laborious life, you made my existence an unending feast. In your name I have enacted a thousand mad freaks; I have displayed a reckless luxury; I have enjoyed life, fortune, honors, as if I were an all-powerful prince." "Well, you did me a favor by executing my orders; no more. Your resemblance to me served to deceive my enemies and cheat their spies." "You have driven your enemies away for the present," continued Sado; "and my _rôle_ of young madcap is ended. But consider, your Highness, what services I might render you in the war now beginning. Thanks to skilfully prepared cosmetics, I can make my face present a perfect image of your own; I am accustomed to imitate your voice and gait. Many of your friends know me only, and to them I am the true Prince of Nagato. What an advantage to possess a double on the field of battle! I could attract the enemy in one direction, while you acted on the opposite side. You would be thought here, while you were elsewhere. I have accomplished my mission well when it was only necessary to play the fool, and spend money by the handful. I will do even better when I must be brave, and shed my blood for you." "Your noble origin is revealed by your words," said the Prince, "and I esteem you highly enough to accept your offer. I know your ability in matters of war; it will be valuable to us. But you must know that the risks will be very great in this conflict." "My life is yours,--do not forget that, master; and if chance destines me to die for you some day, the stain upon my name will be effaced." "Very well," said the Prince, hurriedly. "You will set off for my dominions; the neighboring lords threaten them seriously. You will put yourself at the head of my troops; you will defend the territory. But my supposed presence in my kingdom may attract around it many enemies. Remember, whatever happens, to uphold the honor of my name; remember that to all you are the Prince of Nagato." "By dint of imitating you I have acquired something of your spirit," said Sado. "I swear to be worthy of you!" "I trust you," said the Prince. "I know how intelligently you have carried out the strange character which I confided to you; all the adventures performed by you in my name ended to my honor. That is why I give you full powers now. You will leave here, taking with you a numerous suite, and I will take the subterranean road. Tell me where it comes out." "There are two exits, master," said Sado,--"one which opens into a hut occupied by a fisherman, on the shores of the Yedogava; the other, into my wife's house. For, as I told you, I have married a charming young girl, whom I loved." "What will become of her if you die?" "I leave her in your care, my lord." "Make all your arrangements in regard to her at once," said the Prince. "I too may be killed, and not return; my treasury is at your discretion." "Thanks, generous Prince," said Sado, kneeling at Nagato's feet. "Have you any further commands?" "You will give the Shogun the letter which I am about to write." The Prince took a sheet of paper made from the fibre of the bamboo, and decorated with blossoming bind-weed, and wrote rapidly:-- "MASTER,--If they tell you that I have changed my mind, and have gone to my estates, do not believe it, but let them say so still. "IWAKURA." He handed the note to Sado. "Now," said he, "hide yourself an instant behind that screen, that no one may see us together. When I have gone, you will proceed according to my orders." "May happiness go with you!" said Sado, concealing himself. "Thanks for the wish," said the Prince, sighing. He drew aside a panel, and called Loo. The little servant hastened in. He was dressed like an artisan's child, but had put his sword in his girdle. He helped his master to don a costume without any ornament; then the Prince, opening a box, wrapped in his sash a considerable sum of money. "Now let us be off," said he, approaching the staircase. Loo looked at the open trap-door, without showing the least surprise. A lighted lantern stood on the upper step. He took the lantern, and began to descend; the Prince followed him, and closed the trap-door. They then went down fifty steps, and found themselves in a small square chamber, very damp and cold, which had two outlets. "In which direction shall we go, master?" asked Loo, looking at the diverging paths. The Prince paused to take his bearings; then said: "To the right." They entered the narrow corridor, supported here and there by large upright posts of black wood, and walked for about half an hour; they then reached the foot of a staircase, up which they climbed. This flight of steps led to the one room of a fisher's hut. "Here we are," said Nagato, gazing about him. The room was deserted, and almost empty; some few blackened nets formed a sort of drapery upon the walls; in one corner a light boat was laid on its side. "It's not beautiful here," said Loo, with a scornful air. The door was fastened on the inside with an iron bar. Nagato raised it, and slid the panel aside in its groove. The sun had set, night drew rapidly near; but the sky was still empurpled, the river blood-red. A few large boats were visible, moored near the bank; other vessels were coming back from sea. The sailors took in the sails of woven reeds; the sound of the ring as it slipped down the mast was heard distinctly. A few fishermen climbing the steep steps from the water, and dragging their dripping nets, returned slowly to their homes. Already the big rectangular lanterns were lighted before the tea-shops; a joyous clamor began to rise from their gardens and open halls. The Prince, followed by Loo, turned towards the largest of these establishments; but to his great surprise, when he entered the balcony, already crowded with people, he was greeted with enthusiastic shouts. "It is my worthy Sado who wins me this popularity," he thought. "His highness! his highness!" was the cry. "Bring saki! open fresh casks! The Daimio wants every man to get drunk!" "We will! we will! So drunk that we can't tell the moon from the sun." "But we want plenty of saki,--plenty, plenty! Then we can sing the ancient song of 'Dainogon-Ootomo'." They shouted this song in chorus:-- "Is there aught on earth more precious than saki? If I were not a man, I would fain be a tun." Upon this a sailor, naked to the waist, with a broad, unprepossessing face, approached the Prince. "We will drink by and by," said he. "The last time we met, you cut my cheek open with your fist. I'd like to break a rib or two for you; after that we shall be friends." "Do you know whom you're talking to?" cried Loo indignantly, rushing upon the man of the people. The latter pushed him off; but the child seized his arm, and bit it till the blood came. The sailor yelled with pain. "The fellow's a regular wolf!" he shrieked. And he fell upon Loo with clenched fists; but the Prince grasped him by the wrists. "Let that child alone," said he; "I will fight you if you like. What is your name?" "Don't you know?" "I've forgotten." "A prince may easily forget a common sailor's name," was the shout from all sides. "His name is Raiden, like the God of Storms." "Very well, Raiden," said Nagato; "let us fight since you bear me a grudge." "First set me free," said Raiden, who struggled in vain to release himself. The Prince loosed his hold. The sailor, clenching his fists, glared at his opponent for one moment, then sprang upon him; but Nagato, by a single sudden and violent motion, sent him rolling on the floor, amidst a great crash of broken china, among the cups and bottles ranged upon the ground. All the spectators burst out laughing. "Now you're satisfied," they said. "You have done more than a kobang's worth of damage; if the Prince doesn't pay, you'll have to sell a good many fish to settle the bill." "I will pay," said the Prince. "But speak, Raiden, do you wish to continue the fight?" "No, I thank you," said Raiden; "I fell into some boiling tea, and I shall have to smart for it. Besides, you are stronger than ever to-night; I should get whipped." "The saki! the saki! if the quarrel is over," said the spectators. "Speak, Prince! In what fashion will you amuse us to-night?" "First let us drink," said the Prince. "This is scarcely a time for rejoicing. Sad news are spread through the castle; all hearts are uneasy, for civil war is at hand. The pranks which we have played are out of season now,--like the flowers and leaves when the first gales of winter blow." Saki was brought. Utter silence ensued; all eyes were fixed on the Prince. "I have come to talk to you, who have been my companions in pleasure," he continued. "You love fighting, you are brave, you are strong; will you be my comrades still, and fight under my command, against the enemies of Fide-Yori?" "To be sure we will!" cried several sailors. "But our wives and children; what will become of them?" "Who will feed them in our absence?" "You know very well that gold flows from my fingers like water from a fountain. I will not let you leave your trade and risk your lives without paying you handsomely. How much does a fisherman earn in a day?" "That depends; on bad days, when the sea is very rough, we don't make so much as an itzibou. Good hauls of the net sometimes bring in half a kobang." "Well! I will pay you half a kobang a day while the war lasts." "It's too much! it's too much!" was the general shout; "our blood is not worth so much." "I will not take back my words," said the Prince. "But consider," cried Raiden: "there are a great many of us; if you engage us all at that price, the sum total will be considerable." "I can count," said the Prince, smiling. "I want two hundred men: that makes one hundred kobangs a day, three thousand kobangs a month, thirty-six thousand a year." Raiden opened his eyes wide. "Where will you get so much money?" "You have no idea of the wealth of princes," said Nagato, astonished at this strange discussion. "I shall scarcely notice the outlay; so have no scruples." "Good! good! If that is so, we accept," exclaimed the sailors. "For that price you can have us cut into fifty pieces," said Raiden, who had not yet recovered from his surprise. "You will run great dangers," said the Prince; "you must be bold and loyal." "He who fights the sea has no fear of men," said a sailor; "we are accustomed to danger." "Listen!" said Nagato: "you will choose among your boats fifty of the best and strongest; you will make no change in their peaceful aspect; you need not remove your fishing-tackle; but hold them ready to put to sea at the first signal." "Agreed!" said Raiden. "I will provide you with arms," continued the Prince, "but you will carefully conceal them; you must look like fishermen, and not like soldiers." "Very good; we understand!" cried Raiden, as, standing with his arms folded, he listened attentively to the Prince. "I have no further orders to give you for the present," said Nagato; "only keep our bargain secret." "We will not tell it even to the gulls that fly over the sea." The Prince opened his belt, and threw a piece of gold on the ground. "Our engagement begins from to-day for those who are here present," said he, "and I will count out a hundred kobangs to each one. You will choose among your mates the number of men needed to make up my little army. Engage the bravest and most discreet." "Sailors are not chatterboxes," said Raiden, "particularly fishermen; noise frightens the fish. Come, Loo," said he; "the Prince is ready to count out the money." Loo approached, and began to arrange the little plates of gold in piles. Each man came forward in his turn and gave his name, which Nagato wrote upon a long strip of paper. The Prince looked with pleasure on the frank and daring faces of these men, who had sold him their lives. He thought that seldom at court had he met the loyal look which shone here in every eye. The majority of these men were bare-chested, revealing their vigorous muscles. They laughed with pleasure as they took their money. Soon the Prince left the tea-house, and ascended the banks of the river. For a long distance he could hear the laughter and the voices of the sailors, who, as they drank their saki, sang loudly the song of Dainogon-Ootomo. Loo, who heard it for the first time, tried to recall it, and hummed it as he marched behind the Prince: "If I were not a man, I would fain be a tun." CHAPTER XVII. DRAGON-FLY ISLAND. The beautiful Yodogimi wept. She stood leaning against a black lacquer panel, one arm raised with a gesture of grief, her fingers pressed lightly against the smooth, shining wall, her head thrown back, and somewhat inclined towards her shoulder. She wept, without forgetting to be beautiful. Yodogimi was nearly forty years old. Who would have thought it from her charming face and form? Her large eyes were still brilliant, her lips fresh, her complexion clear; and the single rope-like twist of her hair, when released from its pins, rolled to the floor like a dark serpent. The Princess, as was her habit, was magnificently arrayed; a costly girdle clasped her slender waist, and the embroideries of her robe were of marvellous workmanship. A few steps away from her stood General Harounaga, her lover, in full armor, his gold-thonged whip in his hand. He stared at the floor and struggled to force a tear, but could not. From time to time he heaved a deep sigh. "Alas, alas!" exclaimed Yodogimi, "you will go, you will forget me; perhaps die!" "I may die," said the General, "but I can never forget you." "Die! Have you no heart, that you can talk to me of death I Men are cruel; they swear devotion, and then, for a mere nothing, they forsake us." "It is not my fault. War has broken out; I must start for Yamashiro with my men." "And if I command you to stay?" "I must disobey, Princess." "You confess it unblushingly! Well, I forbid you to leave me!" "So be it," said the General. "I cannot resist your wishes; but this very evening I shall commit suicide." "Because you are tired of my society?" "No; because I should be dishonored; and no one should ever outlive dishonor." "Oh, I am mad!" said Taiko-Sama's widow, wiping her eyes. "I speak like a child; I counsel you to play a coward's part. Go; do not spare your blood. If you die, I too will die. How handsome you are in fighting dress!" she added, looking admiringly at him. "Is it for the enemy's eyes that you adorn yourself thus?" "It is the custom," said Harounaga; "besides, the arrows rebound from these overlapping plates of horn, and no blow of the sword can pierce them." "Do not talk so; I seem to see you in the thick of the fight," cried Yodogimi. "I see the arrows fly, I hear the clash of steel. What will become of me during these long days of agony and alarm?" "Yamashiro is not far from Osaka," said the General; "I will send you frequent news from the camp." "Yes, promise me you will. Send a messenger every day." "You shall hear from me every day. Farewell, most beautiful of princesses!" "Farewell, bold warrior! Hay Heaven grant us a speedy meeting!" Harounaga withdrew; and as he passed across the palace courtyard, Yodogimi leaned from the window for a final glimpse of him. The page who held the warrior's horse informed the General, as he helped him to the saddle, that most alarming reports were current in the castle. The advance-guard of the enemy had been seen at Soumiossi; that is, but a few leagues from Osaka. The Shogun's troops had, therefore, failed to blockade the entire breadth of the Island of Nipon, as was their purpose. Harounaga hurriedly rejoined his division, which was waiting for his coming, to march forth from the castle ramparts. Several knights galloped to meet him. The Shogun had just reached the encampment, and was inquiring for Harounaga. "Do not go to Yamashiro," he shouted, as soon as he saw him; "proceed to Soumiossi, and try to crush the rebels, if it be true that they are already established there." "I fly, master," answered Harounaga; "and I swear to conquer." A few moments later, he left Osaka with his army. At the same hour a number of fishing-boats, taking advantage of the tide, left the harbor, and, driven by a strong breeze, reached the open sea. It was Nagato's fleet. The Prince was one of the first to learn of the appearance of Hieyas' soldiers at Soumiossi. He at once decided to put to sea and cruise about the regions threatened. Each boat was manned by four sailors; that in which Nagato sat contained one more person,--Loo; the latter had caught a few fish, and with frank cruelty watched their dying struggles. Raiden was at the helm. The Prince, lying in the bottom of the boat, gazed vaguely up at the huge brown sail, which cracked and swelled, and at the entangling ropes and cordage; he was lost in revery. The same dream always filled his soul; it was like the sea, which reflects the sky forever. Every incident, every action disturbed the Prince painfully, made him melancholy; they were so many clouds veiling his love, preventing him from utter absorption in it. And yet his noble disposition impelled him to devote himself to the service of his sovereign, to shed his blood for him,--save him,--if it were possible; but despite himself, he often forgot the war, Hieyas, intrigue, and crime,--as, when silence is restored, one forgets the noise that broke it for a time.--He then invoked in fancy, a look bent upon him, a sweet voice, a corner of a veil raised by the wind and brushing his lips; he recalled the sudden thrill which that light touch sent throbbing through his veins. Sometimes he thought that perhaps she too was dreaming of him, and he followed the errant fancy into space. The waves rocked him gently, and encouraged him in these idle dreams; the wind blew, the swelling sail looked like an immense crescent; the water, driven rapidly back, splashed up at the bow. "It is that I may not be parted from her," he murmured, "that I engage in this strange adventure. I reckon on chance to furnish me with occasions to serve my Prince; for if I were asked to explain my plan for the campaign, I should be vastly puzzled. My only purpose is to bear down upon the most perilous points, fight with fury, and then sail away without making myself known. But in General Yoke-Moura's opinion a small body of independent troops, coming up in the midst of a battle, sometimes tip the scales of victory, and do great service.... I remember this very opportunely, to justify my conduct," added the Prince, smiling. The fifty boats composing the flotilla were scattered broadcast over the sea. Loo said that they looked like a swarm of butterflies on the point of drowning. Towards noonday they drew near the shore. Soumiossi was close at hand, and Nagato desired to land, that he might, if possible, collect fresh information in regard to the hostile army. A small cove sheltered the vessels, which neared shore; the greater part remained in the offing, only twenty men accompanying the Prince, who took a road a hundred paces from the beach and apparently leading to a village. They walked on for some time; but all at once the foremost men, who had turned the corner, came running back. "A Daimio! a Daimio!" they shouted. "Well, what is that to us?" said Nagato. "If we block up the road, they will walk directly over us, or else chop off our heads," said Raiden. "Go, Loo," said the Prince, "and see what name is written on the post at the roadside. If the lord whose coming it announces be less noble than I, we will throw the post to the ground; and although I have no train of followers, the Prince shall make room for me." Loo, having looked about for an instant, ran up to one of the posts which noblemen erect on roads by which they mean to travel, announcing the day on which they shall pass by. The child soon returned with a look of utter amazement. "It is you, master, who are to pass this way!" said he. "What?" said the Prince. "It's written on the board," said Loo: "'The all-powerful Iwakura-Teroumoto-Mori, Prince of Nagato, will traverse this region on the tenth day of the fifth moon.'" "Silence, Loo!" said the Prince; "let nothing surprise you, and be discreet ... Sado must be on his way to my dominions," he added aside to himself. Already, in a light cloud of dust, the out-runners of the procession turned the corner of the road. Then came lackeys, scribes, and cooks, bearing all sorts of utensils. The sailors knelt by the roadside; the Prince hid behind a hedge of wild roses. The first group passed, followed by some twenty horses loaded with chests, boxes, and bundles wrapped in red leather; then by a large number of men carrying pikes, banners, swords, bows, quivers, and umbrellas. A crowd of servants came next; each man bore on his shoulder a highly varnished box, which held the clothes and other personal property of the Prince. Then appeared in succession, officers wearing magnificent weapons and princely lances, adorned with cock's plumes and leathern thongs,--grooms led along richly caparisoned horses; a Samurai, followed by two lackeys, holding at arm's length the hat with which, when he sets foot on the ground, the Prince protects himself from the sun; another lord carrying a parasol in a black velvet case; behind them the servants and baggage of these nobles marched in silence. Then came twenty-eight pages wearing round hats, preceding the litter of the Prince. Those pages moved in a peculiar way; at each step they kicked back with one foot, lifting it as high as possible, and at the same time thrust one hand forward, as if to swim. Finally, the norimono of the lord approached, borne by eight men, who advanced slowly, taking short steps, carrying on the palm of one hand the single shaft, passing over the palanquin like a bent bow, the other outstretched hand seeming to impose silence and express respectful awe. Upon the black lacquer, dotted with gilded nails, which covered the sides of the norimono, were the armorial bearings of the ruler of Nagato,--three balls surmounted by a bolt. The inside of this great box was hung with gay-colored silk stuffs, and upon a mattress covered with a velvet carpet the Prince reclined and thumbed a book. The norimono passed, and the procession ended with a throng of grooms, pages, and banner-bearers, who marched in perfect order and the most profound silence. "Really," said Raiden, rising, and brushing the dust from his knees, "all that is very fine; but I'd rather be a sailor, and walk freely about, without all that cumbersome train." "Be quiet," said another man; "you'll vex the Prince." "I've no doubt he agrees with me," said Raiden; "since, being a prince, he turned sailor." They now reached the nearest village; and before they had time to ask a question, were fully informed in regard to all they wished to know. Several neighboring towns had emigrated to this one. The streets were choked with people, carts, and animals. A tremendous hubbub arose from the mob of men and beasts. The buffaloes bellowed in affright, and crushed one another; the pigs, who were trodden upon, uttered shrill squeals; the women groaned, the children cried; and the story of recent events passed from mouth to mouth. "They've taken Dragon-fly Island." "Opposite Soumiossi, you can see them from the shore. The inhabitants of the island had no time to escape." "They came in three war-junks,--three fine junks gilded in spots, with very tall masts, and flags streaming in every direction." "Are they the Mongols?" asked certain old men, who had a confused remembrance of ancient wars and foreign invasions. "No; it is the Regent, who wants to have the Shogun killed." "How many soldiers landed on the island?" asked Raiden, who had slipped in among the crowd. "Nobody knows; but there were a great many; the junks were full of them." "About fifteen hundred men," thought Raiden. "It's the advance-guard of Hieyas' army," said the Prince of Nagato in a low voice. "If Fide-Yori's troops do not arrive promptly, Osaka is in the utmost danger. Let us put to sea again," he continued; "I have a plan, which, although desperate, may succeed." Before leaving the village, Nagato ordered Raiden to buy a quantity of carpenter's tools. Then they went back to the shore and re-embarked. Towards evening the little fleet hove in sight of Soumiossi, and found shelter behind a promontory which completely hid it. The place was most beautiful; enormous trees, whose naked roots clung like the claws of some bird of prey to rocks and earth, overhung the sea; bushes and shrubs swung above them tufts of gorgeous bloom; the waves were strewn with fallen petals, which floated about, collected in small islets or long wreaths. The waves, dashing against sharp rocks, cast up white foam; gulls fluttered about, like the froth of the sea turned into birds. The water was of a uniform tint of satiny blue, shot with silver, and the sky still shimmered in liquid gold, reflected from the setting sun. In the distance lay Dragon-fly Island, green and fresh, with its strange insect-like outlines; the coast of Soumiossi, one ruddy glow, displayed its jagged cliffs; and at the extreme point of the promontory a tiny pagoda reared its peaked roof, tiled with porcelain, all the angles apparently raised by the four chains which bound them to a golden arrow. The Prince thought of another sunset,--that which he had witnessed from the mountain top near Kioto, with the Queen at his side. He closed his eyes, and saw her before him, so beautiful, so noble in the mute avowal of her grief, her lashes glittering with tears, turning upon him her pure gaze, and commanding him to marry her rival. The least details of her speech, her gesture, the little mirror upon her brow flashing like a star, were graven upon his memory with amazing distinctness. "That was a sad moment," he thought; "and yet, as I recall it, it seems to have been full of fascination. At least she was there,--I saw her, I heard her; the sound of her voice was like balm, to heal the cruelty of her words. But now, what agony to live! Time seems like a boundless sea, where no rock or mast permits the exhausted bird an instant's rest!" Three very light canoes were now launched, scarcely visible above the water. As soon as night fell, Nagato chose eight men from the most adventurous of his crew, together with Raiden and another sailor named Nata. They got into the canoes, three men in each. "If you hear shots, come to our rescue," said the Prince of Nagato to those who were left behind. And the three boats moved noiselessly off. Those who manned them were armed with swords and daggers; moreover, they took with them the tools bought in the village, and several matchlock guns. These weapons--a foreign invention, often damaged or imperfect--generally refused to go off, or else exploded in the hands of their owners. They were accordingly equally dreaded by those who used them and those against whom they were directed. The Prince had contrived to get fifty new and well-made guns, which was a large supply for his little army; still, the sailors regarded the strange machines with a certain distrust. The boats glided along in the shadow, steering straight for Dragon-fly Island. The noise of the oars, handled cautiously, mingled with the myriad dull sounds of the sea. A light breeze rose, and whistled in their ears. As they approached the island they tried to move more and more silently. Already they could see fires among the trees. They were not far from shore, for they could distinctly hear the measured tread of a patrol upon the bank. The Prince ordered his men to row round the island in search of the war-junks. They lay at anchor close to the shore, having Dragon-fly Island between them and the Soumiossi coast. They were soon visible to the men in the canoes, their vast hulls and lofty masts outlined in black upon the less intense darkness of the sky; lying almost on a level with the water as they were, the junks seemed enormous to them. Upon each one, a lantern burned at the foot of the mast, hidden from time to time by the sentinel as he paced up and down the deck. "Those sentinels will see us," said Raiden, in a low voice. "No," replied the Prince; "the lantern lights up the spot where they are, and prevents them from distinguishing anything in the darkness where we are. Let us now approach; and may our mad enterprise tend to our glory!" The three boats moved off one after the other, and each one came alongside one of the ships without making more noise than a gull as it dips into the wave. The canoe which contained the Prince had approached the largest of the junks. It lay between the other two. The shadow was thicker than ever beneath the bulging sides of the vessel. The black water splashed, and dashed the little boat against the giant hull; but the noise was lost in the incessant shock of the water and the continual fall of one wave after another upon the shores of the island. "Let us stay here," said the Prince, in a scarcely audible voice. "Even if they looked from the deck, they would never see us here." "True," said Raiden, "but we could not work here; the boat is not steady enough. If we could reach the prow of the vessel, we should be better off." "So be it," said the Prince. All three, kneeling in the bottom of the boat, pressed with their hands against the junk, and thus advanced rapidly. Sometimes an involuntary collision, which seemed to them to make a terrible noise, made them pause; then they went on again. They reached the ship's prow. At that moment the sentinel cried: "Oho!" He was answered from the other junks: "Oho!" "Oho!" Then all was silent once more. "To work," said Nagato. Their plan was merely to sink these great ships by making a hole in them below the water-line, large enough to let in the sea. "What rocks and reefs can do with the greatest ease, we may perhaps achieve by taking a little trouble," was the Prince's thought. The tools which had been used in the construction of the ship's hull might now be useful in destroying a fragment of it. It would be quite enough to make an opening as big as a man's hand, or to remove a plank. The water, which only asks to be let in and glide everywhere, would be quite content with that. Raiden, leaning from the canoe, felt the slimy sides of the ship, and searched under the sticky moss, under paint and tar, for the heads of the nails which held the planks together. The Prince and the sailor Nata tried to hold the boat as nearly stationary as might be. Raiden took a tool from his belt, and with great exertion dug out a few nails. "This ship is well built," said he; "the nails are as long as sword-blades; besides, they are rusty, and as firm in the wood as big teeth in a young jaw." "Do you think we can carry out our plan?" "I certainly hope so," said Raiden. "It is impossible that a nobleman like you could take such trouble for nothing; only I am very awkwardly situated, with my head down, and obliged to pull out the nails obliquely. I must get into the water." "Are you crazy?" said Nata. "The sea is very deep here." "There must be a rope in the boat." "Yes," said Nata. "Very well; fasten the two ends to the seat." Nata quickly obeyed, and Raiden passed the rope under his arms. "In this way I shall be suspended in the water," said he; and he slid silently over the side of the boat. For more than an hour he worked in the darkness, without uttering a single word; and as his hands moved beneath the water, he made no noise. Nothing was audible save the monotonous tread of the sentinel and the dash of the waves against the ship. "Pass me the saki," said Raiden at last; "I am cold." "It is my turn to work," said Nata. "Get into the boat again." "It is done," said Raiden. "I have taken out the nails all round a plank as long as our boat, and as broad as Nata is from shoulder to shoulder." "Then you have fully succeeded," said the Prince. "Not yet; the most difficult part remains. The plank is dovetailed, into its two neighbors, and affords no hold by which I can pull it out." "Try to slip your tool into the crack." "I have been trying, but in vain," said Raiden; "the plank must be pushed from the inside." "That cannot be done," said Nagato. Raiden raised his head; he looked at the ship's hull. "Is there not a port-hole up there over our heads?" he asked. "I see nothing," said the Prince. "You are not accustomed, as we are, to see through the darkness on stormy nights," said Nata; "but I see the port-hole very plainly." "Some one must get in there, and push out the plank," said Raiden. "You are crazy; none of us could squeeze through that narrow opening." "If little Loo were here," muttered Raiden, "he would get in there soon enough, he would!" At this moment the Prince felt something move between his legs, and a small figure rose from the bottom of the boat. "Loo knew that he would be wanted!" it cried. "What! Are you there?" said the Prince. "Then we are saved," said Raiden. "Quick!" said Loo; "lift me up to the window." "Listen!" said Raiden, in a low voice. "As soon as you get in, you are to feel along the wall, and count five planks down, straight under the opening. The sixth you will push; but as soon as you feel it yield to your hand, you must stop, and hurry back. If you push it entirely out, the water, pouring into the hold, will drown you." "All right!" said the boy. Nata stood leaning his back against the junk. "You are not afraid, Loo?" said the Prince. Loo, without a word, shook his head. He was already upon Nata's shoulders, and clinging to the edge of the port-hole with both hands. Soon he thrust in his head and shoulders; then his legs followed, and he was lost to sight. "It must be even darker in there than out here," said Nata, who had his ear close to the ship's side. They waited. The time seemed to them long; their anxiety made them motionless. At last a cracking noise was heard. Raiden felt the plank move. A second push made it start from its place. "Enough! enough! or you are lost!" said Raiden, not daring to raise his voice. But the child heard nothing; he continued to use his clenched fists with all his strength. Soon the plank fell, and floated off upon the waves. At the same time, with a roar, the water streamed into the ship. "And the child! the child!" cried the agonized Prince. Raiden thrust his arms despairingly into the yawning hole, black and tumultuous as it was. "Nothing! nothing!" said he, grinding his teeth. "He has been carried off by the force of the water." At this moment cries were heard from one of the neighboring junks. Lights flashed hither and thither on the deck; they seemed in the darkness to move through the air of their own will. "Our friends may need us," said Nata. "We cannot desert that poor boy," said the Prince, "while there is a hope of saving him; we will not stir from the spot." All at once Raiden uttered a shout of joy; he felt a small cold hand upon the edge of the hole in the ship's side. He soon drew the child out, and dropped him into the boat. Loo did not stir; he had fainted. Raiden climbed hastily into the boat, dripping wet as he was. "That poor fellow is about done for," said Nata, pushing off from the junk. "Let us join the others," said Nagato; "perhaps they have not finished their work." The shouts increased; the alarm was given on every hand. Lights were seen moving about on the shores of the island, and the sound of arms snatched up in haste was heard. "We sink! we sink!" cried the crew of the junks. Several men sprang into the sea, and swam, puffing and blowing, towards land. Terror had reached its height among the troops. The junks sank rapidly; the water bubbled and boiled as it poured into their holds. The enemy was at hand, and yet invisible. The more lights were brought, the blacker seemed the sea. The Prince of Nagato leaned from the canoe, and vainly strove to pierce the gloom with his eye. Suddenly a violent shock made his boat start and quiver, dancing about in strange fashion for some moments. "We can see no more than you," said a voice; "excuse us, Prince, for giving you such a knock." "Oh, it's you!" said Nagato; "did you succeed?" "We should be at work still, if our task were not accomplished. We have gnawed through the wood like an army of rats, and made a big hole in the junk." "Good, good!" said the Prince; "you are indeed valuable assistants." "Let us sheer off," said Raiden; "they have long-boats still; they may pursue us." "And our comrades?" "They'll take care of themselves; be sure of that. Perhaps they have escaped already." The soldiers fired a few arrows at hap-hazard, which fell like rain in the water around the canoes. "They are so awkward that they might hit us without meaning to do so!" said Nata, laughingly. "Sheer off!" shouted Raiden, rowing vigorously. The darkness now began to grow less profound; a pale gleam spread across the sky like a drop of milk in a glass of water. On the edge of the horizon the light grew stronger, though still vague and faint. It was the dawn of the rising full moon. Soon, like the point of a sword-blade upon the horizon, the planet shed a steel-like lustre. At once a trail alternately dark and light ran along the sea to the shore; bluish sparks crackled and glittered on the crest of the waves; then the moon appeared like the arch of a bridge, and at last rose wholly into sight, like a metal mirror. They were now out of reach of the soldiers. Nata took the oars; Raiden rubbed Loo's temples with saki as he lay across the Prince's knees. "At least he is not dead, poor child!" said Nagato, putting his hand on Loo's heart. "No. See, his little chest heaves slowly; he breathes; but he is frozen. We must strip off his wet clothes." They undressed him; Nata took off his outer garment and wrapped the boy in it. "That brat don't know what fear is," said Raiden. "Don't you remember, Prince, how he bit me when I wanted to fight you? I have but one wish now; that is, that he might bite me again." The sailor tried to separate Loo's locked teeth, and poured a quantity of saki down his throat. The boy swallowed it the wrong way, sneezed, coughed; then opened his eyes. "What! then I am not dead?" he asked, gazing about him. "Well, it seems not," cried the delighted Raiden. "Will you drink?" "Oh, no!" said Loo, "I've had quite enough to drink. Salt water is very nasty; I never tasted it before. I shall have to eat a great many banana preserves before I can get rid of the taste." "Are you in pain?" said the Prince. "No," said Loo; "but tell me if the junk has sunk." "Nothing but the tip of her mast can be seen by this time," said Nata. "The success of our enterprise is largely due to you." "You see, master, that I am of some use," said Loo, with great pride. "To be sure; and you are as brave as the bravest man," said the Prince. "But how did you get here?" "Ah! that's just it! I saw that you were determined to leave me behind, so I hid under the bench." "But tell me," cried Raiden, "why you pushed the plank so hard, in spite of all my warnings?" "I wanted to make sure that the junk did not escape; and then I heard a noise in the ship. I had to make haste. Besides, I don't think I could have climbed back again at any rate. There were all sorts of beams and ropes, and chains that tripped me up; for I couldn't see any more than if I'd had my head in a black velvet bag." "And when that mass of water fell upon you, what did you think?" "I thought that I was killed, but that the junk would surely sink. I heard the thunder roar, and I swallowed gallons. The water ran in at my nose, my mouth, and my ears; and then I knew no more, felt no more!" "You were very near death, my poor Loo," said the Prince; "but for your fine conduct I will give you a handsome sword, well sharpened, and you can wear it in your sash like a lord." Loo cast a look full of pride at his companions, whose faces were lighted up by the moon, and smiled broadly, showing two deep dimples. A misty blue light shone across the sea, so that they could see off for some distance. "Two junks have disappeared," said Nagato, gazing in the direction of the island; "the third is still afloat." "I think I see boats hovering about her; do you think our friends can have been taken by surprise?". All at once the junk keeled over on one side; and instantly a small boat was shoved off, and moved rapidly away. The ship's boats, full of soldiers, chased her, sending a thick flight of arrows after her. Several shots were fired from the junk. "Let us hasten to their aid!" exclaimed the Prince. Raiden had already changed the course of the canoe; the other boat, which accompanied them, followed alongside. "They will never let themselves be taken," said Raiden, who kept turning his head to look, as he rowed. In fact, the light canoe flew over the waves, while the heavier long-boats, loaded down with men, moved very slowly. "The junk is sinking! the junk is sinking!" shouted Loo, clapping his hands. In truth the last vessel remaining above the surface sank slowly; then with one impulse disappeared. "Victory! Victory!" cried the sailors and the Prince. "Victory!" was the answering cry from the hotly pursued canoe, which came nearer and nearer. The three boats were soon side by side. "Let them chase us," said the Prince; "and do not move too quickly to deprive them of all hope of catching us." A few shots were fired; several soldiers fell, and were immediately thrown overboard, to lighten the boats. An arrow struck Raiden in the shoulder; but its force was spent; it merely pricked him, and fell into the canoe. "That was well aimed," said Raiden. The moon was in mid-heaven; but the polished mirror was dimmed as if by a breath. It soon assumed a rosy tint; then became cottony; then was nothing more than a white cloud. The blue and silver color of the sky was shadowed by a tinge of pale amethyst, which spread rapidly from the horizon; violet lights shimmered over the sea. It was day. Behind the promontory, the Prince's fleet had heard the shots which were to be their signal; they at once left the shore and spread their sails, which assumed the lovely hue of peach-blossoms in the first sunbeams. As soon as they were within reach of his voice, the Prince of Nagato, standing up in the canoe, shouted with all his might:-- "Surround those long-boats! Cut off their retreat! Capture them!" Loo danced with delight. "After sinking the big craft, we confiscate the little ones," said he. The soldiers saw their danger; they put about, and tried to escape. But how could they contend in a trial of speed with oars against those great sails swelling in the morning breeze? The boats were quickly overtaken, then passed. The soldiers gave up all for lost. By steering straight upon them, and with a single blow, one of those large vessels could sink them in a second. They hastily threw their weapons into the water, in sign of submission. The men were hauled on board; then the long-boats were swamped and sunk. "Go seek your monstrous mother at the bottom of the sea!" cried Loo, as he watched them go down. The three canoes then joined the flotilla. The Prince and his sailors boarded the large vessels. Loo related to those who had been left behind how they had swamped the enemy's junks, how he got drowned in a hole, then was brought back to life again, to wear a sword like a lord. The prisoners were counted as they stood with heads bent, resigned, and waiting for their fate. There were fifty of them. "Our bold plan succeeded better than we could have hoped," said the Prince; "I am still lost in amaze at its realization; but since Marisiten, the god of battles, the divinity with six arms and three faces, has been so far favorable to us, do not let us rest from our labors yet. We must now surround Dragon-fly Island, and cut it off from the rest of the world, until the Shogun's army comes to our relief." "Hurrah! hurrah!" cried the sailors, made enthusiastic by their recent victory. "How many soldiers are there on the island?" the Prince asked one of the prisoners. The soldier hesitated; he looked up and down, then right and left, as if asking advice. All at once he decided to speak. "Why should I hide the truth?" said he. "There are two thousand." "Very well!" exclaimed the Prince; "let us make for the island, and allow no one to quit it; then we shall have, not fifty prisoners, but two thousand." Loud cheers greeted Nagato's words; they set off. Soon the saki went round; the sailors chanted a war-song, which they sang, each in his own fashion, producing a lively but deafening melody. The deepest consternation reigned in the island. No one could believe his own eyes. The junks, so strong and so beautiful, sank suddenly in the sea; the boats, full of soldiers, did not come back. Who could this enemy be, who struck in the dark? The sentinels had only seen a frail canoe, manned by three men, who, impudently clinging to the ship, hammered away at the hull with all their might and main, and ripped it up; then fled, setting them at defiance. So there were no more ships; even boats were lacking. They had no means of leaving the island. There they were established, as if in a fortress surrounded by an immense moat. Protected by their war-junks, it was an excellent position indeed. But now the fortress proved their prison; if speedy succor did not come, they were lost. The chief in command of these two thousand men--his name was Sandai--ordered the two best boats to be chosen from the wretched craft belonging to the inhabitants of the island. This order being executed, he appointed five men to each. "You will set off in all haste," said he, "and rejoin the main body of the army. You will then inform the General of our distressing situation." The boats started; but when they had gone a little way, they saw a vast circle of motionless sails, which barred their passage. The boats retraced their course. They were blockaded. Sandai collected all the provisions, taking the animals and crops of the inhabitants. There was a week's supply; besides, they could catch fish. "We must build big rafts, and try to reach the mainland unseen, by night," said the leader. The men set to work, felled trees, stripped off the branches; thus the day passed. They worked all night as well; but next morning they saw a glitter and commotion on the Soumiossi shore. General Harounaga's army had arrived. That gay warrior, on his side, was greatly embarrassed. He did not know what to do in face of the foe divided from him by the sea. The fleet was taking in stores at Osaka; it was not yet ready to sail. If he had to wait for its coming before making an attack, the enemy might escape him. Harounaga encamped his troops on the beach, pitched his tent, and retired into it to consider the situation. Meantime his soldiers fired a few arrows in the direction of the island, by way of salute; they fell in the water, the island being out of range. Nevertheless, towards noon, a well-aimed arrow fell just outside Harounaga's tent, and stuck quivering in the sand. A paper was fastened to the feathered end of the arrow, which was plucked up and taken to the General. Harounaga unfolded the paper, and read as follows:-- "Prepare for attack. The enemy are in your power. I have deprived them of all means of escape. I will provide you with means of reaching them." The note was not signed. The General left his tent, and gazed across the water. A fishing-boat was crossing leisurely from Dragon-fly Island to the Soumiossi shore. "Whom can this letter be from?" thought Harounaga. "Is any one jesting with me? Am I to transport my whole army in that vulgar boat?" But, as he looked, other boats appeared upon the ocean; they came nearer; their number grew. Harounaga counted them. "Well! well!" he said, "the project seems feasible. Come, my men!" he cried, "take up your arms; here is a fleet to carry us across!" As soon as the movement of the troops was apparent, the boats advanced to the shore. The Prince of Nagato was first to land. The Prince recognized the General. "Ah! it's that stupid Harounaga," he muttered. Loo leaped ashore. He wore a superb sword at his waist. "Twenty men to a boat," he shouted. "There are forty of them, which will make eight hundred men to each voyage." The General came forward. "What! Prince Nagato!" he exclaimed. "I am Naiboum,"[1] said the Prince; "all the glory of the affair shall fall to you." "A sovereign expose himself thus to the risk of battle!" said Harounaga, in surprise. "I wage war at my caprice, subject to no one; and I find a certain pleasure in these novel sensations." "You!--you used to care for nothing but feasting!" "I prefer warfare now," said the Prince, smiling; "I am fickle." Shots and confused clamor were heard in the distance. "What is that?" asked the General. "A false attack upon the other side of the island, to favor the landing of your soldiers." "Why, you are as good a General as I am," said Harounaga. The Prince hid a contemptuous smile behind his fan. The boats, loaded with men, put off from shore, the General accompanying the Prince. Loo had picked up a sort of trumpet; and, leaning forward, blew into it with all his might and main. Hieyas' soldiers awaited them in a body, on the opposite coast, ready to oppose the landing to their utmost; arrows began to fly thick and fast from both parties. The Prince of Nagato sent forward to right and left a boat full of men armed with guns. They overwhelmed the foe, who had no firearms, with an incessant volley of shot. Upon shore a furious hand-to-hand fight soon followed. Men fought up to their knees in the water; sword-strokes made the foam splash high. Sometimes two adversaries would pull each other down, roll over, and disappear. Dead bodies and quantities of arrows floated on the waves. Sailors caught hold of the boats, and pushed them violently out to sea. One strong stroke of the oar brought them back. Then some would hang their whole weight on one side, hoping to capsize them. The hands clutching the edge were hewed at with sabres; the blood spurted out, then trailed upon the water like torn rags. When a boat was empty, it returned in haste to fetch more soldiers; soon the partisans of the Usurper were crushed. They surrendered. The dead and wounded were numerous. The latter were laid upon the sand, their wounds were dressed, and they were encouraged with kind, fraternal words. Were they not brothers? They wore the same uniform, they spoke the same language. Some wept as they recognized friends in the enemy's ranks. The vanquished men sat upon the ground in an attitude of utter despair; they crossed their hands upon their knees, and bowed their heads. Their swords and bows were gathered up and made into heaps, which were given to the victors. The Prince of Nagato and the General advanced into the interior of the island. Harounaga swung from his wrist the golden-thonged whip; the scales of his cuirass clattered and clashed as he strode along with one hand on his hip. "Bring forward the leader of the rebels," said the Prince. Sandai came forward. He still wore the varnished black leather mask, fitted to the helmet, and worn in battle; he removed it, and revealed his melancholy visage. The presence of Nagato strangely troubled this chieftain, who had formerly asked and obtained his interest with Fide-Yori. He had afterwards joined the Regent from ambitious motives, and now he betrayed his first sovereign. Nagato's calm and scornful gaze made him feel all the infamy of his conduct; he saw that he could never again hold up his head under the double humiliation of defeat and dishonor. Moreover, the Prince seemed to him clad in peculiar majesty. Amidst his warriors in full armor, their heads protected by strong helmets, Iwakura stood bareheaded, dressed in a black silk robe with a slight tracery in gold; on his hands were white satin gloves, reaching to the elbow, and above each arm a stiff plastron forming an epaulette, and making his shoulders seem very broad. In this guise he looked more formidable than all the rest. The Prince played carelessly with his fan, and did not appear to recollect that he had ever known Sandai. "Rebel," he said, without raising his voice, "I do not ask you if you will renounce your crime, and return to the service of your true lord. Pride, I know, survives honor in the heart of man, and you would refuse." "Prince," said Sandai, "before the battle your voice might have recalled me to my duty, and brought me to your feet; but after defeat no leader can disown his acts and serve his conqueror. Therefore I cannot consent to yield." "So be it; I will send you back to the master of your choice," said Nagato. "You will set off alone, unaccompanied by page or squire; you will rejoin Hieyas, and say to him this: 'General Harounaga conquered us; but it was the Prince of Nagato who sank the junks which might have rescued us.'" "Illustrious Daimio," said Sandai, without any sign of anger, "I am a general, and not a messenger. I may be guilty, but I am not a coward; I can endure merited insult without revolt, but I cannot survive it. Send some other messenger to Hieyas; and let him add to the tidings he bears the news of my death." Profound silence followed this speech. All understood the General's intention, and no one desired to oppose him. Sandai seated himself upon the ground. He drew one of his swords,--the shorter of the two; then; having saluted the Prince, he ripped himself up with a single blow. "That deed raises you in my eyes," said Nagato, who was perhaps still heard by the dying man. "Let this warrior be buried upon the island, with the pomp appropriate to his rank," said Harounaga. Sandai's body was borne away. "Now," said the Prince, "I will take a little rest. I begin to recall the fact that I spent the whole night upon the sea, and that I never closed my eyes for a second. The victory is as complete as possible. It only remains for you, Harounaga, to establish communications between Soumiossi and the island which you have conquered. You can do so by the aid of rafts, forming a kind of bridge. Despatch messengers to Fide-Yori, occupy the island and the neighboring coasts, keep a watch over the sea, and await fresh orders from Osaka." "Thanks for your precious advice," said the General. "You are the true victor. Will you permit me to say so to our much-loved lord?" "No," said the Prince; "announce it to Hieyas only. I desire my name to ring in his ear like a threat." With these words the Prince of Nagato withdrew. Night fell, quiet and cool; then it passed away, and day reappeared. General Harounaga came from his tent, and inquired if the Prince had waked. He had grown accustomed to taking his orders and advice. It spared him the trouble of thinking. He had a thousand questions to ask. A messenger ran to the tent which had been pitched for Nagato. It was half open; but on looking in, the Prince was found to be absent. "He may have gone back to his boat," said Harounaga. They hastened to the shore. There was not a sail on the sea; the Prince of Nagato's fleet had vanished. [1] That is, incognito. CHAPTER XVIII. THE PRINCIPALITY OF NAGATO. At the beginning of hostilities, Fatkoura, according to the arrangement made by the Prince, had been despatched to Hagui, the castle of her betrothed, under an escort provided by the Queen, to protect her from the dangers of the road. She also took all her household. In the midst of her despair and disappointed love, she felt a cruel pleasure. "There are three of us miserable now," she thought. She had agreed to marry the Prince, with an idea of being avenged. Besides, how could she refuse? The Kisaki had ordered the marriage, nobly sacrificing her own unacknowledged love; moreover, everybody in the palace knew Fatkoura's feeling for the Prince of Nagato. She had revealed it unhesitatingly, in the pride of her joy, when she thought herself beloved. She left the Court hastily, tired of wearing a smiling mask before her friends, whose congratulations overwhelmed her. During the journey, she saw nothing of the lovely country through which she passed. She kept her eyes fixed on the matting of her norimono, her grief growing ever more profound. Sometimes she sent for Tika; and the girl would crouch down opposite her, and gaze at her with anxious pity, trying to rouse her from her melancholy revery. "Just see, mistress!" she would say; "see what a pretty river, the color of absinthe, runs between those velvety hills. Every shade of green is to be found there,--the green of the pale willow, of the dark cypress, of the silvery birch, of the turf, bright as an emerald; each adds its varying hue. And look, the moss, to make that green too, has crept all over the water-mill, whose image is reflected in the water. And yonder those reeds# which look like swords, and those ducks, flapping their wings and flying away with necks outstretched,--they are as green as is the rest of the landscape." Fatkoura did not heed her. "He will come back to you," said Tika, giving up all hope of turning the thoughts of her mistress from her persistent grief; "when you are his wife he will love you again, you are so beautiful." "He never loved me, and I don't want him to love me," said Fatkoura; "for I hate him." Tika sighed. "I have but one pleasure, and that is to know that he suffers; that she too--she who crushes me by her power and her matchless beauty--is devoured by sorrow. They love, and they may not confess it. I am one obstacle the more between them. The Mikado might have died; then she could have married him." "A Kisaki! marry a prince!" exclaimed Tika. "You forget," said Fatkoura, "that Nagato's ancestor was next in rank to the Mikado. Iwakura's crest still proclaims the fact, for it consists of two Chinese characters, meaning: 'The highest rank.' In the days when I loved the Prince of Nagato, the Son of the Gods himself could not have driven him from my heart." "You love him more than ever," murmured Tika. Sometimes Fatkoura was moved with pity for her own fate. She recalled the time when the delight of being loved filled her soul; and she wept bitterly. But tears failed to comfort her. "I am a fool!" she said; "I long to weep upon his shoulder; I fain would pour out my anguish to his cold and cruel heart!" Then her anger grew strong within her once more. At last she reached the town of Hagui, situated on the shores of the Japanese Sea. She entered the superb gateway of the ancient fortress of the Princes of Nagato. In the first courtyard Iwakura's father came forward to meet her, and greeted her kindly, saying: "Welcome to your home, Princess of Nagato." Though sixty years old, he was straight and strong. In the nobility of his features the young woman traced some likeness to Iwakura. The Prince had abdicated in favor of his eldest son some years before; he now devoted himself to the education of his youngest boy, a lad of thirteen, who stood beside him, and upon whose head his hand rested. Fatkoura was forced to smile and seem cheerful. She hid her mouth behind her sleeve, with that modest and affectionate gesture familiar to Japanese women; then she knelt for a moment at the Prince's feet. He treated her in a fatherly manner,--made her splendid presents, installed her in the state apartments, showed her his domains, gave entertainments for her, and got up hunting parties in her honor. Fatkoura experienced a strange emotion amid these surroundings, which so vividly recalled her betrothed. She saw the room in which he was born; the playthings broken by his childish hands; his first clothes, which still retained the impress of a figure graceful even then. She was told a thousand pretty anecdotes of his adored infancy; then the heroic deeds of the boy and man, his literary triumphs, the nobility of his soul, his goodness and devotion. The old Prince never wearied of the tale; and the father's love tortured and increased the woman's unhappy passion. Then a sort of resignation came to her. By dint of hiding her grief she buried it in the depths of her soul, and diminished it. She tried to forget that she was not beloved; she found comfort in the strength of her own affection. "I love," she would say to herself; "that is enough. I will be content to see him, to hear his voice, to bear his name. I will be patient. Time, perhaps, may cure his passion. Then he will take pity on my long suffering; he will remember all that I have endured for his sake; his heart will be softened; he will love me. I shall end my days in happiness with him; I shall be the mother of his children." When the rumors of war were confirmed, anxiety took possession of all hearts; the life of the absent one was in danger. "Where is he at this moment?" asked Fatkoura. "He is at the most perilous post, I am sure," replied the old nobleman. He said this with pride, holding his head erect; but his voice trembled, and tears stood in his eyes. Then more details reached the castle. The Princes of Figo and Tosa threatened Osaka, and also the province of Nagato. Iwakura's father raised an army, and despatched troops to the frontier. "We have one ally, the Prince of Aki," said he; "besides, we shall not be attacked. No one has a grudge against us.". He was mistaken. The soldiers sent forward by him had not yet reached the limits of the kingdom, when the Prince of Tosa landed on the shores of the inland sea. Full of alarm, the Prince sent a deputation to his neighbor, the lord of Aki, who declared that he intended to remain neutral in the war. "He is a traitor, an infamous wretch!" cried old Nagato, when his envoys brought him back this answer. "Well, we will defend ourselves unaided,--with no hope of victory, to be sure, but with the certainty that we shall not dim the lustre of our former glory." When he was alone with Fatkoura, the Prince let all his despondency appear. "I pray," said he, "that my son may remain with the Shogun, and not return here. Attacked by these powers, we cannot possibly conquer. If he were here, he would rush to his death; and who would avenge us then?" A party of horsemen now entered the castle. The Prince turned pale as he saw them. They wore Nagato's crest upon their shields. "Do you bring news of my son?" he asked, in an unsteady voice. "Illustrious lord, the Prince of Nagato is in good health," said a Samurai. "He is at this moment on the borders of the kingdom, busy rallying the army around him. He intends to march against the Prince of Figo." "Aki has betrayed us; does my son know that?" said the Prince. "He knows it, master. The Prince passed through the province subject to that wretch; he supposed him friendly, but was treacherously attacked. Thanks to his unequalled bravery, he scattered his assailants; but half his baggage was lost." "What orders did he send us through you?" "These, sire: the Prince of Nagato begs you to levy an extra number of troops and despatch them to meet the Prince of Tosa, who is advancing towards Chozan; then to double the defenders of the fortress, take in large supplies of provisions, and shut yourself up in it; he also requests that you will put me in command of the troops sent against Tosa." These orders were at once executed. One event followed another in rapid succession. Other messengers arrived. The Prince of Nagato gave battle in the northern part of the kingdom, in the territory of Suwo; the lord of Suwo, a vassal of the Prince of Aki, favored the landing of Figo's men. But Iwakura defeated these troops on the inland sea; many were drowned, others took refuge on board the ships lying at anchor. Meantime the lord of Suwo's little army attacked the Prince in the rear, trying to cut him off from the province of Nagato; but the army was completely routed, and the Prince was able to regain his kingdom. Then Figo, supported by fresh forces, reappeared on the outskirts of Nagato; and Iwakura prepared to repulse a second attack. But while the Prince of Nagato triumphed in the northern part of his domains, the Prince of Tosa invaded them on the south. The province of Nagato, the extreme point of the Island of Nipon, is bounded on three sides by the sea,--on the south-east by the inland sea divided from the Pacific Ocean by the islands of Shikoku and Kiu-Shiu; on the west by the Straits of Corea; on the north by the Japan Sea; and on the east a mountain chain separates it from the principalities of Suwo and Aki. The Prince of Tosa came from the Island of Shikoku by way of the Bungo Channel, crossing the inland sea directly to Chozan. His plan was to march through the province straight upon Hagui, the capital, situated on the other side, upon the shores of the Japan Sea. Tosa encountered the troops hastily levied and sent to the front by the old lord of Nagato; but those raw recruits gave way before the well-trained army of the invader, and beating a retreat, fell back upon Hagui. Preparations were then made to maintain a siege. The stronghold stood some distance from the town, upon an eminence surrounded by a moat; from the top of its towers could be seen the fields and the sea. Tosa's army soon covered the plain. The old lord watched it from the fortress. "My daughter," said he to Fatkoura, "I wish you had stayed in Kioto!" "Father," replied the young woman, "it is my duty and my pleasure to be here in my husband's castle, when it is in danger." Moreover her peril distressed her but little. Her anger was dead; she felt nothing now but love; she trembled for her dear one's life; frightful anguish rent her soul. The arrival of a messenger did not allay her fears. "Since that man left him," she thought, "he might have died twenty times over." But the castle was blockaded; messengers could no longer reach them. The town made a brave resistance, but was captured on the fifth day; then began the siege of the stronghold. The Prince of Tosa himself directed the siege. The enemy first constructed a long roof of wood, covered with plates of iron; then they raised it upon very tall posts, to which they fastened it. This formed a species of penthouse, which they placed in the moat. They then brought earth, stones, and brushwood, which they flung into the water. The arrows aimed at them rebounded from the roof of the penthouse. Huge blocks of stone were hurled from the castle on the hill, to crush this dangerous refuge; but their force was deadened as they rolled, and most of them fell into the moat,--only serving to help the besieging party in their labor, as they quietly went on filling up a portion of the moat, under the sheltering roof which they had built. No more projectiles were therefore thrown from the ramparts. The soldiers made a sally; and marching down the road which winds around the hill like a ribbon, approached the moat. To reach the point where the foe was at work, they were forced to quit the road, protected by a double row of cypress-trees, and march across the slippery grass which carpeted the steep slope of the hill. The soldiers did their best; but they found it almost impossible to fire under these circumstances, while they themselves afforded a fine target to their adversaries. The wounded rolled down hill and fell into the moat. Nagato's men gave up the attempt perforce, and returned to the castle. The enemy finished their work without any trouble; making a broad dyke to the foot of the hill, over which the army might pass. They then stormed the fortress, which resisted bravely, and refused to surrender. The besieged party fought to the last upon, the crumbling walls. The victors rushed in, threw open the doors, let down the bridge; and the Prince of Tosa entered the castle of Nagato to the sound of triumphal music. The sight which met his eyes in the first courtyard which he entered, affected him most disagreeably. There had been no time to bury the dead, who had been collected in this court, in a sitting posture, their backs against the wall. There were nearly a hundred bodies, with greenish faces, gaping mouths, and staring eyes, their arms hanging limp; they were terrible to behold. The Prince of Tosa fancied that they glared at him, and forbade him to enter. As he was superstitious, he was on the point of turning back. But he soon mastered his weakness, went on into an inner hall of the palace, and ordered the old lord, his women, children, and entire household, to be brought before him. They soon appeared. There were aged women, some accompanying a decrepit father, young girls, and children. The lord of the castle came forward, leading his son, and followed by Fatkoura. "If you wish to destroy these women," said old Nagato, looking at Tosa with scorn, "say so at once, that I may curse you, and call down every possible affliction upon your head." "What do I care, whether they live or die?" cried Tosa. "You yourself, having abdicated, count for nothing, and I spare your gray hairs. I seek among you a hostage of sufficient value to guarantee the submission of the Prince of Nagato; for, having won the victory, I cannot remain upon his lands. The war summons me in another direction. Which shall I take," he continued,--"the son, or the father? The child is very young yet, and of no importance; for want of a better, I will carry off the father." "Take me with him then!" exclaimed the boy. Suddenly Fatkoura stepped forward. "Since you think his father too old, and his brother too young," she cried, "take captive the sovereign's wife, if you consider her worthy regret." "Certainly I will take you; for you must be passionately loved," said Tosa, struck by Fatkoura's beauty. "Why have you betrayed yourself, my daughter?" muttered old Nagato. "Why not let me go?" "Is she really Iwakura's wife?" asked the conqueror, stirred by a doubt. "I command you to give me a truthful answer, Nagato." "Every word which my mouth utters is the word of truth," said Nagato. "This woman is my son's wife, for they have pledged their troth; nothing but the war delayed the wedding." "Very well; let Iwakura seek his bride in the castle of the Princes of Tosa; and the ransom which he must pay for her shall be proportioned to the value of the treasure which I bear off." "What have you done? what have you done?" sighed the old Prince. "How shall I ever dare to tell my son that his wife is a prisoner?" "You should be thankful," said the Prince of Tosa; "for see how generous I am. I give you your life,--your own life, that of your son, and the lives of all your household; I permit you to rebuild the shattered walls of your castle, and am content with this one captive." "I am ready to go," said Fatkoura, glad to be sacrificed for the safety of the rest; "may I take a maid with me?" "One or several, and as much baggage as you choose," said the Prince of Tosa. "You will be treated by me as a sovereign should be." That very night Fatkoura left the castle of Nagato. She vainly strove to restrain her tears as she passed over the threshold in her norimono, borne by the retainers of the victor. "I shall never come back!" she cried. Tika too wept. When they had gone a short distance, Fatkoura made the palanquin-bearers halt; and leaning from the window, gazed for the last time at the fortress of Hagui, on the brow of the hill, already outlined in black against the crimson sky. "Farewell! farewell!" she cried, "last refuge of my undying hope. Behind your walls, home of my beloved, I still could dream of a remote and lingering bliss. But it is ended; I am vowed to despair. The last ray which shone upon my path fades with the dying day." The men resumed their journey, and the castle was lost to sight. The Prince of Tosa left half his army in Nagato's domains. Messengers brought him word that Figo had been unable to break through the enemy's lines, but that on hearing the news of the siege of Hagui, Iwakura had suddenly departed, to march to the rescue of the fortress. He started by night, and silently; in the morning the field was found deserted. Figo intended to follow him up; but victory would be assured if they could bar the enemy's march and crush him between two armies. Tosa gave his orders to the leaders of the troops whom he left behind; then hastened on to Chozan, where his ships awaited him. He was reluctant to leave his dominion longer without protection, fearing the vicinity of the Prince of Awa, whom he supposed to be loyal to Fide-Yori. When the junks had left the coast, and were sailing the inland sea, towards the Bungo Channel, the Prince visited his prisoner. He had established her in a superb tent, in the stem of the finest ship, the one in which he himself embarked. Fatkoura sat upon a bench covered with rich rugs; her eyes were fixed upon the shores of Nagato, now disappearing in the distance, bathed in light. "Have you any wish which I can gratify, fair Princess?" asked Tosa. "Shall I order sweetmeats to be brought? would you like to hear the sound of the flute or biva?"[1] "All my wishes rest behind in the land which I have left," she replied; "I have but one wish now,--to die." "I respect your grief," said the Prince, and withdrew. But he did not go far. He paced the deck, and, as if involuntarily, he frequently approached the tent which sheltered Fatkoura. Tika watched him out of the corner of her eye. He had changed his military costume, and was dressed with much care. The Prince of Tosa was thirty years old. He was rather fat and short; his brown skin set off his white teeth to advantage; and his eyes, veiled by heavy lids, had a look of amiability. Tika thought the Prince quite charming; and she smiled faintly every time that he heaved a sigh or cast a furtive glance at Fatkoura, who watched the wake of the vessel. "She is beautiful, is she not?" she said to herself. "You think that the Prince of Nagato is very lucky to have such a bride; you would like to take her from him. I guessed your purpose instantly. From the moment that you saw her in the castle of Hagui, you had eyes for no one else, and you carried her off with all speed; you feared lest her lover should come in time to wrest her from you. But you'll have your labor for your pains; she will never love you.... Not that I would not pray for your success," continued Tika, carrying on her monologue; "if she could be cured and become Princess of Tosa, I should rejoice sincerely. The Prince of Nagato, too, would consent to the match with pleasure; but that, you cannot suspect." The Prince of Tosa also scanned the young waiting-maid from time to time. "Yes, yes! I understand," muttered Tika; "you examine the stepping-stone which may possibly help you to reach her." Soon the girl got up; and, as if to breathe more freely, moved about the deck. She leaned over the bulwarks, and looked across the sea; but all the time she slyly watched the Prince's movements. "Oh! you will come to me," said she, "I am very sure of that. Let us see how you will begin the conversation." The Prince did indeed approach her, though slowly, and with some hesitation. Tika looked away. "The air is fresher here, is it not, young woman?" said the Prince at last, pausing in front of her. "Well, that is commonplace enough," thought Tika, who replied by bowing her head. "Why doesn't your mistress take a little walk? Why not let this light breeze cool her heated brow?" "The wind which blows from the land of exile is more burning than flames of fire," said Tika, in a solemn tone. "Is it so dreadful, then, to dwell in one castle rather than in another?" said the Prince. "Fatkoura shall be treated like a queen. I swear that I desire her captivity to be more sweet than liberty is to most people. Tell me what does she like?" "Did she not tell you that she cared for nothing now? Once she was fond of dress, and music, and festivity; more than all else she loved to hear the footsteps of her lover on the outer gallery." "She was very fond of this Nagato, then?" "She loved him as he deserved to be loved; he is the most perfect knight imaginable." "There are others as good," said Tosa. "You think so!" cried Tika, with an incredulous air; "I never heard of them." "He loves her madly, I suppose?" "How could any one help loving her?" "True, she is beautiful," said the Prince, casting a look at Fatkoura. "You think her beautiful now, when her eyes are drowned in tears, and when she scorns the aid of paint and dress. If you had seen her when she was happy!" "I will do my utmost to bring back a smile to her lips," said Tosa. "There is but one way to do that." "What is it? Tell me." "To restore her to her husband." "You mock me," cried the Prince, with a frown. "I, sir!" said Tika, clasping her hands; "do you think I would deceive you, and that it would not be the best way to make my mistress happy? I know that you will not try it; so you will never see her smile." "Very well! then she must be sad," said Tosa; "I shall not set her free." "Alas!" sighed Tika. "Silence!" cried the Prince, stamping his foot. "Why do you say alas? what difference does it make to you whether you wait upon her here or there. Don't you see that she has fascinated me, and that I am miserable?" The Prince moved away as he said these words, while Tika pretended to be lost in profound surprise. "I did not think that you would confide in me quite so soon," she muttered when he was gone. "I divined your secret long ago; but you little guess how ready I am to favor your love." Tika then went back to sit at the feet of her mistress. "You desert me, to talk with our jailer," said Fatkoura. "It was he who came to talk to me, mistress," said Tika; "and in the space of a few moments he told me very strange things." "What did he tell you?" "Must I repeat his words? you will not be angry?" "I don't know; but speak." "Well, he said that you were the jailer, and he was your prisoner." "What do you mean?" "That the Prince of Tosa loves Fatkoura, and that if she is skilful, she can make him obey her every whim." "I despise him too much to heed whether he loves or hates me?" said Fatkoura, turning away her head. "He is not so contemptible," said Tika; "he is a very powerful and very illustrious prince." "Can you speak in such terms of our mortal enemy, Tika?" said Fatkoura, looking at her severely. "Do not scold me," said Tika, with a caressing air. "I must hate him less, since I know that your grace has conquered him, and that in a few hours you have subjugated his heart." "Yes, you cannot forget that another turns his eyes from me, and you are grateful to this man for repairing the outrage inflicted upon me!" said Fatkoura, hiding her face in her hands. As the sea was smooth and the voyage pleasant, instead of travelling by land, they skirted the coasts of the Island of Shikoku, weathered Cape Tosa, and after sailing north-ward for some hours in the Pacific Ocean, the junks entered the harbor of Kotsi. The city was gay with flags, banners, and lanterns; the streets were strewn with blossoming boughs. The sovereign made a triumphal entry at the head of his victorious troops. When they had passed through the town and entered the precincts of the castle, the Prince himself led Fatkoura to the pavilion chosen for her. It was the palace of the Queen of Tosa, who had been dead for several years. "I am deeply pained that the joyous clamor which greeted me should grate upon your ear," said the Prince to his prisoner; "I could not forbid my people to give way to their delight, but I suffered for your sake." "I heard nothing; my mind was elsewhere," replied Fatkoura. Several days passed before the Prince visited the young woman. His budding love made him timid, and he was amazed at this novel feeling. One morning he went for a solitary walk in that part of the park inhabited by Fatkoura. Tika was lying in wait for him, and without a word to her mistress, appeared upon the balcony. The Prince beckoned to her, and she obeyed. "Is she as sad as ever?" he asked, "Yes." "She hates me, I suppose?" "I don't know," said Tika. "I made you a confession the other day which I should have withheld," said the Prince; "did you repeat it to your mistress?" "I never hide anything from her, sir." "Ah!" eagerly exclaimed the Prince, "what did she say when she learned of my love for her?" "She said nothing, but hid her face in her hands." The Prince sighed. "I must see her at any cost!" he cried. "For three days I have deprived myself of that pleasure, and I am worn out; I forget that I am her master." "I will announce your visit to her," said Tika, going hastily back into the house. A moment later, Tosa stood before Fatkoura. He thought her even more lovely than the last time that he saw her. Sorrow had ennobled her beauty; her complexion, free from cosmetics, revealed its feverish pallor, and her eyes wore an expression of proud resignation which was most touching. The Prince was agitated, and could not utter a sound. She saluted him by raising her sleeve to her mouth. She was first to speak. "If there be one spark of pity in your soul," she said, in a voice trembling with tears, "do not leave me in this terrible state of uncertainty; give me some tidings of my husband!" "I am afraid to sadden you still more, by telling you tidings delightful to me, though wretched for you, since you are my enemy." "Go on, I conjure you!" cried the terrified Fatkoura. "Well, then, the Prince of Figo's army, ably seconded by my men, has triumphed over the Prince of Nagato, who fought bravely, I must acknowledge. At this moment he is probably a prisoner. The latest bulletin informs me that, with barely a hundred men, Nagato intrenched himself in a small grove; my troops have surrounded him, and escape is impossible." Fatkoura bent her head in utter despair. He conquered! She could not believe it; she could not imagine him unhappy. In her eyes he was always triumphant, he was foremost,--the noblest, the handsomest of all; besides, how could he be a prisoner, when he might escape captivity by death? She raised her eyes to the lord of Tosa, doubting his words. "You are hiding the truth from me," she said, with a look of painful intensity; "you hope to prepare me for the fatal blow,--he is dead!" "I have spoken frankly," said Tosa; "he will be taken alive. But I would give you one piece of advice,--forget that fellow," he added, irritated by Fatkoura's distress. "Forget him! I!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands. "You must; all is over for him. Do you think that I would let him go free,--the man whom Hieyas detests so much that he will raise any one who shall rid him of that foe, to the foremost rank in the empire; the man who humbled us all by his luxury, his wit, his beauty; the man whom you love, and who is my rival?--for I love you." "You love me!" cried Fatkoura, in horror. "Yes," sighed the Prince; "and I came hither to tell my love; but you led me on to speak of things regarding which I would fain have been silent. I am well aware that my love must be odious to you at first. But you must accustom yourself to it; there is nothing offensive to you in it. I am free, and I offer to make you my wife. Think that the Prince of Nagato has ceased to exist." Tosa then withdrew, that he might not hear Fatkoura's reply. He was angry with her, and dissatisfied with himself. "I was brutal," thought he, "I did not speak as I should have done; but jealousy suddenly devoured my soul. It is a fierce pain, which I never knew before." He wandered all the rest of the day in the gardens, treating harshly all who approached him. "She will never love me," he said to himself, "I have no means of winning her heart; but if the Prince of Nagato falls into my hands I will take vengeance on him." Fatkoura was equally restless; she went from one room to another, wringing her hands and weeping silently. She dared not ask any further questions; but each hour as it passed added to her anxiety. One night she heard an unwonted noise in the castle; the drawbridges were lowered, the clash of arms rang out. She rose, and ran to the window; she saw lights shining through the trees. "Get up, Tika!" she cried, rousing the young girl. "Try to slip in unseen and overhear what is said; try to find out what is going on in the castle." Tika dressed rapidly, and left the palace silently. Her mistress followed her with her eyes, but she was soon lost in the darkness. When she returned she was ashy pale, and pressed her hand to her heart. "The Prince of Nagato has just entered the palace," she gasped; "I saw him pass by with a guard of soldiers. He was loaded with chains; his weapons had been taken from him." At these words Fatkoura uttered a loud shriek, and fell to the floor. "Can she be dead?" exclaimed Tika, in alarm, kneeling beside her mistress. She put her ear to Fatkoura's breast. Her heart beat rapidly, but her eyes were shut; she was cold and motionless. "What shall I do? what shall I do?" said Tika, not daring to call, her mistress having forbidden her to admit any of the servants apportioned to her by the Prince of Tosa. The fainting-fit lasted a long time. When Fatkoura re-opened her eyes, it was day. She looked at Tika for a moment in surprise; but her memory soon returned. She rose abruptly. "We must save him, Tika," she exclaimed, with feverish excitement; "we must get him out of this castle." "Has she lost her mind?" thought Tika. "Come," continued Fatkoura; "let us see if we can find out in what part of the palace he is confined." "Are you in earnest, mistress? At this time of day? The sun has not yet drunk up the morning dews. We should be suspected if we were seen walking so early, especially as you have never once left your room since you came here." "No matter; you can say that fever drove me from my bed. Come!" Fatkoura stepped down into the garden, and walked straight forward. The grass was still dripping wet; the trees and bushes were bathed in rosy light; the topmost peaks of the great castle-tower, touched by the first rays of the sun, glittered, moist with dew. Tika followed her mistress. They came to the palisade enclosing their particular domain. The door was only on the latch; the prisoners were free to roam at will within the well-guarded fortress. The soldiers who brought Prince Nagato were encamped in the avenues of the park. The greater number slept, lying flat on their stomachs, with their heads on their arms; others, crouching round a dying fire, ate rice from large straw-covered bowls. "Tika," said Fatkoura, looking at these men and the weapons which gleamed beside them, "a sword is a faithful comrade, that opens the door to the other life, and allows one to escape dishonor. The conqueror robbed me of my dagger. Try to steal the sword of one of those soldiers." "Mistress!" said Tika, casting a frightened glance at the young woman. "Obey me!" said Fatkoura. "Then we must move away from those who are awake, and keep in the background; the rustle of our robes might betray us." Tika glided between the beds of flowers; then stretched herself on the grass, and reached out as far as she could towards a soldier lying on the edge of the path. He slept upon his back, his nose in the air. His sword lay by his side. The girl touched the weapon with the tips of her fingers. Her nails made a slight sound against the scabbard. Her heart beat violently. The soldier did not stir. She advanced yet a little, and seized the sword by the middle; then she slid slowly back across the grass. "I have it, mistress!" she whispered, returning to Fatkoura. "Give it to me! Give it to me! I shall feel easier with that defender near me." Fatkoura hid the sword in her bosom; then walked quickly away, heedless where she went. Suddenly she found herself within a few paces of the palace inhabited by the Prince of Tosa. People were coming and going. She heard the sound of voices; she drew still nearer, and knelt behind a bush to listen. She overheard a few words, and found that some one was congratulating the Prince upon his recent capture. "I thank you," said Tosa, "for sharing the joy I feel at this occurrence. Nagato is the most bitter enemy of our great Hieyas; so that it is a great glory for me to have delivered him from this detested foe. Nagato will be executed to-morrow, at noon, in the precincts of the fortress; and I shall send his head to Hieyas." Fatkoura had strength not to cry out. She went back to Tika. She had learned enough. Her pallor was alarming, but she was calm. She pressed the sword against her flesh. It hurt her, but it calmed her. "Return, I entreat you, mistress," said Tika. "If we should be discovered, our purpose would be suspected, and we should be thrown into prison." "You are right," said Fatkoura; "but it is absolutely necessary for me to know in what part of the palace Nagato lies. His captor means to kill him; he is condemned to a disgraceful death. If I cannot save him, I can at least give him the means to die nobly." "I can pass unobserved," said Tika; "I can talk with the servants without arousing suspicion. I will contrive to find out what you want to know." Fatkoura returned to the palace, and fell upon her cushions, depressed and almost unconscious. Tika was absent a long time. When she came back, her mistress was still in the same place, motionless. "Well, Tika?" she cried, as soon as she saw the girl. "I know where he is, mistress; I have seen the pavilion where he lies. I can guide you thither." "Come!" said Fatkoura, rising to her feet. "Are you mad?" cried Tika. "It is broad daylight still. We must wait for night." "True," said Fatkoura; "let us wait." She sank back. Until evening she remained without moving or speaking, her eyes fixed upon the same spot on the floor. When it was quite dark, she rose and said, "Come!" Tika made no objection, and they set off. They traversed the gardens once more, skirted other houses and courtyards. The girl found her way by looking from time to time at the great tower, upon which a lantern burned. "You see that small house with two roofs, outlined clear against the sky? It is there." "The window is lighted," said Fatkoura. "Is he there? Is it indeed possible? Conquered, captive, about to die!" They went on. "Are there soldiers there?" asked Fatkoura, in a low voice. "I do not know," said Tika; "I see no one." "If I cannot speak to him, I will throw the sword through that open window." They walked on, and down a slight slope. All at once Fatkoura felt herself clasped by a strong arm, which held her back. "Another step, and you would have fallen into a deep ditch, which lies just beneath your feet," said a voice. Fatkoura recognized the Prince of Tosa. "All is over," she muttered. He still held her; she made desperate efforts to release herself from his grasp, but could not succeed. "Is it thus you thank me for saving your life?" said he. "Luckily, I was forewarned of the walk you meant to take to-night, and I followed you, to preserve you from danger. Do you suppose that your every word and movement are not faithfully reported to me? Do you suppose that I did not know your mad plan to deliver your lover, or provide him with the means to escape my vengeance?" "Release me, wretch!" groaned Fatkoura, struggling. "No," said the Prince; "you shall remain in my embrace. Your touch enchants me. I am determined to love you, whether you will or no. Still, I will make one last attempt to win your affection. Give me your love, and I will let you carry Nagato the sword which you stole from one of my soldiers." "That offer is quite worthy of you!" said Fatkoura, with disdain. "You refuse?" "The Princess of Nagato will never dishonor her name." "Then you must give up that weapon," said the Prince, himself drawing it from Fatkoura's bosom. "You might escape me by death, which would distress me sorely. Consider my offer; you have until to-morrow to decide. Up to the hour of the execution, at which you will be present, it will be in your power to procure your husband a more easy death." The Prince then led her back to the palace, where he left her. She was so overwhelmed by terror and despair that it seemed to her she no longer existed. She fell into a troubled sleep; but all the hideous creations of her feverish dreams were less horrible than the reality. When she waked, her first thought stopped the beating of her heart, and bathed her brow in cold perspiration. The Prince of Tosa sent to know her decision, and for what form of death the Prince of Nagato was to prepare. "Say to Tosa," haughtily replied the Princess, "that he may cease to insult me by feigning to believe that I could tarnish Nagato's name by committing an act of infamy." She was then informed that the execution would take place before her windows, just as the sun began to sink towards the west. "That odious lord thinks, perhaps," said Fatkoura, when she was once more alone with Tika, "that I shall survive the death of him who is dearer to me than my own life. He thinks that the blow which strikes him before my very eyes will not kill me too. He little knows a woman's heart." Tika, confounded, said nothing. Sitting at the feet of her mistress, her tears flowed silently. People came and went outside the house, the gravel crackling under the many feet. Fatkoura approached the window, and peered through the blind. Upright posts had been planted around the bare space extending before the palace front. Men, mounted on ladders, beat the ends of these posts with hammers, to drive them into the ground. Then they brought chests of black lacquer with silver corners, and took from them white silk hangings, which were fastened to the posts in such a way as to enclose the square in a wall of silk. Mats were spread on the ground; a pure white one with a red fringe in the centre; upon this mat the condemned man was to sit. A folding-chair was placed beneath Fatkoura's window for the Prince of Tosa, who desired to witness the execution. The miserable young woman paced her chamber in a fever; she moved away from the window, then returned to it against her will. Her teeth chattered; a sort of terrible impatience took possession of her; she was afraid to wait. Soldiers entered the square; then came Samurais, the vassals of the Prince of Tosa. The latter gathered in groups, and with one hand on their swords, talked in under-tones, blaming the conduct of their lord. "To refuse the hara-kiri to one of the noblest among the sovereign princes of Japan! I cannot understand the sentence," said one. "It is unheard of," said another, "even when it is a question of simple Samurais like us." "He wants to send the Prince of Nagato's head to Hieyas." "If the Prince had administered justice to himself, the corpse's head might have been cut off secretly, without dishonor to the memory of the noble victim." "The lord of Tosa undoubtedly has some reason to hate Nagato." "Never mind! Hatred does not excuse injustice." When the hour for the execution arrived, the blinds were rolled up in Fatkoura's apartment. The distracted young woman fled to the farthest corner of the palace; she hid her head in the folds of a satin curtain, that she might be blind and deaf, and might stifle the sound of her sobs. But all at once she rose, and wiped her eyes. "Come, Tika!" she exclaimed, "it is not thus that Iwakura's wife should act; I must restrain my grief. Help me to that window!" When she appeared, leaning upon Tika, deep silence reigned among the spectators,--a silence full of respect and compassion. The Prince of Tosa arrived at the same moment. He raised his eyes to her; but she let fall upon him a look so charged with hate and scorn that his head sank; and seating himself upon the folding-chair, he gave a sign for the prisoner to be brought in. The latter came forward nonchalantly, with a disdainful smile upon his lips. His chains had been removed, and he toyed with his fan. Two executioners walked behind him, bare-legged, dressed in black tunics confined at the waist by a belt, in which was a long sword. He stepped upon the white mat which was to be reddened with his blood a few moments later; then he raised his head. Fatkoura felt a strange thrill. The man who stood before her was not the Prince of Nagato. The gaze of the enamoured girl, which had lingered so often and so long upon the features of the beloved, could not be deceived even by a resemblance which cheated the whole world. She did not hesitate an instant. She did not see the brilliant eye, or the melancholy smile, or the haughty brow of him who filled her heart. "I knew that he could not be conquered and humiliated," she said to herself, seized by a wild joy, which she with difficulty disguised. The prisoner's doom was read aloud. He was condemned to have his hands, and then his head, hewn off. "The infamy with which you would brand me does but dishonor you," exclaimed the prisoner. "My hands have never committed any but noble deeds, and do not deserve to be severed from the arms which guided them. But invent whatever torments you please, torture me as you will, I shall remain a prince, and you sink to the rank of on executioner. I fought with all my strength against the enemies of our legitimate lord; you betrayed him for another, who betrayed him too, and you craftily attacked my kingdom when there was no ground for war between us. You wanted my head to sell it to Hieyas for a good price; the dishonor is yours. What do I care for your ridiculous sentence!" "Who is this man who speaks so boldly?" thought Fatkoura. The Samurais approved the prisoner's words; they declared their dissatisfaction to the Prince of Tosa. "Do not refuse him the death of a noble," they said; "he has done nothing to merit such severity." Tosa's soul was filled with rage. "My vengeance is not sufficient," said he, gnashing his teeth; "I wish I could think of something still more dreadful." "But you can think of nothing," said the prisoner, laughing; "you always lacked imagination. Do you recollect, when you followed me in the merry pranks which I invented? You never could originate anything; but your brain next day would rehearse our inventions of the day before." "Enough!" shouted Tosa; "I will tear off your flesh with pincers, and pour boiling pitch into your wounds." "That is only an improvement on the moxas invented by physicians. Try again; that's a trifle." "I cannot explain that man's heroic conduct," thought Fatkoura; "he knows that he is taken for another, and he carries on an imposture which leads him to a sure and frightful death." She longed to proclaim the truth,--to say that this man was not the Prince of Nagato; but she thought that no one would believe her. Besides, as he was silent himself, he must have grave reasons for acting as he did. "I swear to avenge you in the most startling fashion," she cried aloud. "It is the Prince of Nagato's bride who takes the oath; and she will keep it." "Thanks, divine Princess!" said the prisoner; "you are the only cause I have to regret my life. Tell my master that I died cheerfully for him, seeing a proof of our superiority and our future glory in the scarce-glutted wrath of my jailer." "You shall speak no more," exclaimed the Prince of Tosa, with a sign to the executioner. Sado's head was severed at a single blow. A torrent of blood deluged the white mat, and the body fell. Fatkoura could not repress a shriek of horror. The Samurais turned away their heads with a frown, and silently retired, bowing to the Prince of Tosa. The latter, filled with shame and anger, shut himself up in his palace. That very night a messenger, bearing a bloody head, wrapped in red silk and contained in a straw sack, left the castle of Tosa. [1] A sort of guitar. CHAPTER XIX. A TOMB. The news of the victory gained at Soumiossi by General Harounaga was swiftly conveyed to Osaka. Yodogimi herself announced it to Fide-Yori with rapturous joy; nor did she disguise the pride which her lover's triumph caused her. But some peasants, coming from Soumiossi, related the details of the battle; and the Prince of Nagato's name was universally substituted for that of Harounaga. Yodogimi forbade the circulation of such a slander under penalty of severe punishment; she lost her temper, and wearied her son with fierce recriminations. Fide-Yori let her rave, loudly praising Harounaga, and quietly thanking his faithful friend for his untiring devotion. Unluckily other and sad tidings soon effaced the joy caused by this first victory. Hieyas did not execute any of the movements anticipated; he did not attack Osaka on the south. General Signenari was therefore inactive in the Island of Awadsi, and yet no one dared recall him thence; nor did he make any attempt to break through the lines which barred the Island of Nipon. His army, divided into small detachments, came by sea, landed at different points on the coast near Osaka; then, by night, surprised and carried a position. Attiska, Hieyas' general, soon took possession of a village near the capital. This news spread through Osaka, and terror ran riot. The Shogun's soldiers were massacred. At the moment of attack, their leader, Oussouda, was absent; he was revelling in a suburban tea-house. General Sanada-Sayemon-Yoke-Moura was anxious to attack the victors at once, and if possible dislodge them from the position they had won. Fide-Yori begged him to do nothing of the sort. "Your army is not large enough to lay siege to a village," said he; "and if by any mishap you were defeated, the city would be left defenceless. Recall the troops which you sent to Yamashiro, and until their arrival let us be content to defend Osaka." Yoke-Moura reluctantly obeyed; but he employed skilful spies to watch the enemy's movements. Soon the troops came back from Yamashiro. A conflict was imminent. But now Yoke-Moura refused to quit the city or to give battle. He no longer left the fortress; he paced to and fro day and night, restless and uneasy, apparently seeking for something. At night especially, accompanied only by his son Daiske, a lad of sixteen, he wandered incessantly along the outer wall. The sentinels, who saw him pass and repass with his son, carrying a lantern, could not fathom his conduct, and thought that the General had gone mad. Every now and then Yoke-Moura would fall on his knees and press his ear to the ground. Daiske held his breath. Once, the General sprang up Hastily, greatly agitated. "Is it the blood buzzing in my ears?" he cried; "I thought I heard something. Listen, my son, and see if I was mistaken." The boy knelt in his turn, and laid his ear to the ground. "Father," said he, "I distinctly hear distant blows,--muffled, but regular." The General listened again. "Yes, yes!" said he; "I hear them very plainly too; they are the strokes of a pick against the earth. It is there! We have them now; we are saved from a terrible danger!" "What is it, father?" asked Daiske. "What is it? Hieyas' soldiers are digging an underground passage, which leads from their camp, passes below the city, and the moat, and will open here." "Is it possible?" cried Daiske. "Fortunately a spy warned me betimes of the work which they had in hand; but no one knew where the mouth of the tunnel was to be. If I had left the castle, as Fide-Yori wished, we should have been lost." "It was high time to discover the point they had chosen for invading the fortress," said Daiske, who was still listening; "they are not far off." "They have one day's labor more," said Yoke-Moura. "Now I know where they are, I will watch them. But follow me, my son; I would confide to you alone the delicate mission which must now be executed." The General returned to the pavilion which he occupied in the castle grounds. He wrote a long letter to the commander of the troops returned from Yamashiro, whose name was Aroufza, and who was a brother of Harounaga. He gave this officer all the necessary instructions for the next day's battle. When he had done, he called a peasant, who was waiting in the next room. "This fellow knows the place where the tunnel begins," said Yoke-Moura to his son. "When the moment has come, he will lead the army thither. You will go with him. Try not to be seen by any one. Carry this letter to Aroufza, and tell him that he must carry out my orders exactly, and allow himself to be guided by this man. Be prudent, be adroit, my boy! It is easy to reach Aroufza's camp; but remember that you must get there unseen, that you may not rouse the suspicions of the spies whom Hieyas doubtless has in our midst. As soon as you arrive, send me a messenger." "I will start at once, under cover of darkness," said Daiske. "In a few hours, father, you shall hear from me." The young man then set off with the spy. At daybreak Yoke-Moura proceeded to pay his respects to the Shogun. Fide-Yori received him coldly. He was displeased with the General, not understanding his inaction. "Yoke-Moura," said he, "my confidence in your great valor and your devotion to my person alone prevent me from ordering you to make an immediate attack. Here are three whole days lost. What are you about? Why delay so long?" "I could not begin until I had found something which I was seeking," said Yoke-Moura. "What do you mean?" exclaimed the Shogun, seized by a dreadful fear; and in his turn he wondered if the General's mind was affected. He examined him; but the warrior's face expressed a cheerful tranquillity. "I have indeed heard," continued Fide-Yori, "that for some time you have been roaming about, day and night, like a lunatic." "I am resting now," said the General; "I have found what I was looking for." The Shogun bowed his head. "Decidedly," he thought, "he is mad." But Yoke-Moura answered his thought. "Wait till to-morrow before you judge me," said he; "and do not be uneasy, master, if you hear a noise to-night." With these words, he withdrew to issue orders to his soldiers. He sent two thousand men out of the city, to, encamp upon a slight eminence in sight of the enemy. "He is preparing for the attack," said the people of Osaka; and they swarmed over the hills, to the towers of pagodas, and all high places. Fide-Yori himself, with a few courtiers, climbed to the topmost story of the great Goldfish tower, in the centre of the fortress. From there he could see Aroufza's troops in the plain, about eight thousand strong; and farther away, betrayed by the flashing of their weapons and of their armor, the enemy, encamped near a small wood. In the direction of the sea, in the bay, the war squadron was taking in stores; nearer at hand, the city streets, intersected by innumerable canals, like azure ribbons, were filled with an anxious crowd. All labor was suspended; every one was waiting for what was to come. The troops never budged. Fide-Yori grew tired of looking; a secret irritation began to rise within him. He asked for Yoke-Moura. "The General is nowhere to be found," was the answer. "His men are under arms, ready to start at the first signal; but up to the present moment only two thousand troops have left the fortress." Finally, towards evening, the enemy made a movement, and advanced towards the city. Instantly the soldiers posted on the hill by Yoke-Moura rushed furiously down. A few shots were fired. The fight began. The enemy were superior in numbers. At the first shock the Shogun's men were driven back. "Why does not Aroufza move?" said the Shogun. "Is there a traitor in the camp? I really cannot understand the matter." Hurried footsteps were now heard in the tower, and in a moment Yoke-Moura appeared upon the platform. He held in his arms a great truss of rice-straw. The men who followed him carried brushwood. The General hurriedly thrust aside the courtiers, and even the Shogun, built an enormous pile, and set fire to it. The flame soon rose, clear and bright. Its light illumined the tower, and hid the plain, now dimmed by twilight. Yoke-Moura, leaning over the balustrade, shielded his eyes with his hands, and strove to pierce the darkness with his gaze. He saw that Aroufza's army moved. "Good!" said he; and he went rapidly down the stairs without answering the many questions with which he was plied. He took up his post at some distance from the point where the tunnel was to open. It was finished; for the strokes of the pick had ceased at noon. Only a thin layer of earth was left, which might be pierced at the last moment. At nightfall the General had listened, and had heard the tread of feet. The enemy had entered the subterranean passage. It was then that he kindled the flame upon the tower. At that signal Aroufza was to attack the enemy at the other end of the tunnel. It was now entirely dark. Yoke-Moura and his men waited in the most profound silence. At last slight blows were heard. They were cautiously dealt, to make as little noise as possible. The General and his men, motionless in the shadow, listened eagerly. They heard clods of earth drop, and then the heavy breathing of the laborers. Soon a man put his head and shoulders through the opening, standing out in relief in shadow more intense than the darkness itself. He stepped forth, and another followed. No one stirred. They advanced carefully, looking in every direction, until about fifty had appeared; then all at once, with ferocious cries, the watchers rushed upon them. They tried to fall back upon the tunnel. "We are betrayed!" they shouted to their comrades. "Do not come out! Fly!" "Yes, traitors, your plots are discovered," said Yoke-Moura; "and you have dug your own tomb." All those who had issued from the tunnel were slaughtered. The shrieks of the dying filled the palace. People ran up with lights. Fide-Yori came himself, between two lines of servants bearing torches. "This is what I was looking for, master," said the General, showing him the yawning hole. "Do you think now that I was right not to leave the fortress?" The Shogun was dumb with surprise at the sight of the danger he had run. "Not another man shall leave that tunnel alive!" cried the General. "But they will escape at the other end," said Fide-Yori. "You were surprised just now at Aroufza's inaction on the plain. He was waiting for the best part of the hostile army to enter this passage, that he might close the door on them." "Then they are lost!" said the Shogun. "Forgive me, bravest of my warriors, for having doubted you one moment. But why did you not tell me what was going on?" "Master," said the General, "there are spies everywhere: they are in the fortress, in your palace, in my chamber. One word overheard, and they were warned. At the least alarm, the bird I hoped to catch would have flown." The enemy had now ceased coming from the tunnel. "They fancy they can escape," said Yoke-Moura; "they will return when they find that their retreat is cut off." Soon, in fact, cries of distress were heard. They were so heartrending that Fide-Yori shuddered. "Unhappy wretches!" he muttered. Their situation was horrible indeed; in that narrow passage, where two men could barely move abreast, where it was hard to breathe, those desperate soldiers, mad with fear, pushed and crushed each other in the darkness, frantic fur light at any cost, even were it the light of night, which would have seemed brilliant to them in comparison with that ill-omened gloom. A terrible shove forced several men out of the tunnel, only to fall upon the swords of the enemy. Amid their shrieks were heard confused cries:-- "Mercy! we surrender." "Open! let us out." "No," said Yoke-Moura; "no pity for such traitors as you. I repeat, you have dug your own tomb." The General ordered stones and earth to be brought, to fill up the opening. "Desist, I entreat you!" said Fide-Yori, pale with emotion; "those cries tear my heart. They only ask to surrender. Take them prisoners; that will suffice." "You need not entreat me, master," said Yoke-Moura; "your wishes are my commands. Hollo there!" he added, "stop your noise; you are pardoned; you may come out." The howls were redoubled. It was impossible to get out. The frightful crowding had suffocated many of the men, whose corpses blocked the mouth of the passage; they formed a solid rampart, increased with every instant, and impassable. All must perish; their struggles shook the ground; they trod one another down, bit one another; their swords pierced each the other's side; their armor was broken with their bones; they died amidst the blackest darkness, stifled in a sepulchre too narrow for their bodies. All attempts to clear away the mouth of the tunnel were vain. "What an awful thing war is!" exclaimed Fide-Yori, hastening away, entirely overcome. Soon the cries became less frequent; then utter silence was restored. "All is over, they are all dead," said Yoke-Moura; "nothing remains but to close up the tomb!" Five thousand men had perished in that subterranean passage, but a few leagues in length! CHAPTER XX. THE MESSENGERS. Hieyas had himself advanced with fifty thousand men to within a few leagues of Soumiossi. He proceeded thither by water, keeping off the coast, lest he should be seen by the soldiers of Massa-Nori, encamped upon the borders of the province of Isse. All the defensive plans set on foot by Fide-Yori's generals were promptly made known to Hieyas, and he set his wits to work to foil the schemes of his opponents. He let them blockade the Island of Nipon; and, putting out to sea, advanced towards their lines, landing between Osaka and Kioto. He desired to lay siege to Osaka as soon as possible; for the capture of that town would end the war. Although really ill, he had gone thus far that he might be at the very centre of the conflict, his feeble nerves not being able to bear a state of suspense. It was he who had planned the tunnel under the city and the moat, to steal an entrance into the fortress; he knew it to be impregnable by open force, and thought that this bold enterprise might succeed. The loss of the two thousand soldiers captured on Dragon-fly Island annoyed him; but General Attiska's conquest of a village very near Osaka consoled him. He impatiently awaited the result of the adventure, sitting in his tent gazing out before him at the ocean with its tossing junks. The sea was very rough; a gale of wind blew in the offing, and raised high waves, which broke in foam upon the shore. It was bad for small boats and for fishing-smacks. The Prince of Nagato's fleet was even then at sea. He started from Soumiossi, intending to come nearer to the point occupied by the enemy, to sec whether they mustered strong, and if Hieyas had really advanced thus far. Nagato could not believe it to be so. But the wind rose, and suddenly became furious. "We must make for shore, and quickly too," cried Raiden, examining the horizon, where mountains of slate-colored clouds were suddenly upreared. "You think we cannot remain at sea?" asked the Prince. "If we are here an hour hence, we shall never see land again." "Luckily the squall blows from the sea," said Nata, "and we shall be driven straight on shore." "All right," said Nagato; "all the better, that I don't like the way the boat dances. Will this last long?" "Of course," said Raiden, "our sails may help us a little; but we shall bob about." "The wind will carry us along," said Loo, loading himself down with bundles of rope and chain, to make himself heavier. The sail was hoisted, and the boat began to speed over tire waves; leaping high in the air, then plunging down into the depths, it leaned first to one side, then to the other, the sail touching the water. The horizon was no longer visible on either hand, but only a succession of bills and valleys, which rose and fell; sometimes a wave broke into the boat with a sharp sound, as if a handful of stones had been thrown in. Loo was stunned by the force of the wind, which never paused, and which dashed a shower of foam into his face; he again felt on his lips the salty taste which he so disliked when he came near drowning. "Hand me the scoop," said Nata; "the boat is full of water." Loo hunted about for a moment, and then said: "I can't find it; I see nothing. The wind blows my eye-lashes into my eyes." The Prince himself picked up the scoop, and handed it to the sailor. "Are we very far from land still?" he asked. Raiden stood upon a bench, holding to the mast, and looked across the waves. "No, master," he replied; "we're forging ahead. We shall be there in a few moments." "And the other boats?" said Loo; "they're not in sight." "Oh, I can see them," said Raiden. "Some of them are close in shore; others are farther off than we are." "Where shall we land?" asked the Prince. "Upon a hostile shore, perhaps; for nowadays Japan is like a chess-board: the white squares belong to Fide-Yori, and the red ones to Hieyas." "So long as we are not cast on the rocks, we're all right," said Nata; "the Usurper will pay no attention to poor sailors like us." "I am no sailor,--not I," said Loo, displaying his sword. "I am a lord." The sky was darkened; a dull, rumbling sound rolled around the horizon. "My patron saint is beginning to talk to us," said Raiden. "Bear to the left, Nata," he added; "we're steering right upon a reef. More, more! Look out, Prince! Take care, Loo! We've caught it now; we're in for it!" And in fact the storm was let loose, and the waves broke madly against the shore. They dashed up furiously; the frothing crests were blown forward; then they poured down like cataracts. Others ran back, leaving a broad sheet of white foam behind them on the sand. The sail was quickly lowered; the mast was unshipped. They were forced to yield their boat to the mercy of the waves. But it seemed impossible that the boat should fail to be shattered by the frightful billows which struck blow after blow upon the frail bark, breaking against it, and now and again dashing directly over it. Fortunately, they approached land very rapidly. Raiden suddenly sprang into the midst of the tumultuous waves. He found firm footing, and pushed the boat at the stem with all his might. Nata jumped overboard too, and pulled at the chain. Soon the keel was buried deep in the sand, and the crew landed hastily. "How terrible the sea is!" said the Prince of Nagato, when he was safe on shore. "How it howls, how it roars! What despair, what frenzy urges it on! Does it not seem to fly the pursuit of some powerful enemy? It is indeed a miracle that we have escaped." "People don't always escape, unfortunately," said Raiden; "it devours many a poor sailor. How many of my comrades lie beneath its waves! I sometimes think I hear them in the storm; and I believe that it is with the voice of shipwrecked men that the sea laments and groans." All the boats had now landed without serious mishap, although some were partly shattered by the violence with which they were hurled against the shore. "Where are we?" said the Prince. "Let us try to find out." The boats were drawn as far as possible out of reach of the sea and the party left the smooth, white beach, which stretched as far as eye could see. Above the low dune formed by the drifted sand was a broad and partially cultivated plain, which seemed to be deserted. A few huts were in sight, towards which they went. They called aloud, but no one answered. "The noise of the wind has deafened us," said Loo; and he began to thump on the doors with fists and feet. The huts were empty. "It seems we are in the table of Hieyas on the chess-board which you just mentioned," said Raiden; "the peasants would not fly from the Shogun's troops." "If we are near the enemy, so much the better," said the Prince, "since we are in search of them." "How black it is!" cried Loo. "It seems like night." "The storm is at hand," said Nata. "Those huts are just what we want, to shelter us." The rain began to fall in torrents; the few trees scattered over the plain bent to the ground, with all their branches blown one way; and the thunder rattled. The sailors hurried into the deserted huts; they were exhausted, and lying down, fell fast asleep. Meantime the Prince, leaning against a door, stared out at the furious rain, as it gullied the earth, or was broken by the wind and blown away in fine spray. But Iwakura saw nothing. His thoughts were in the palace at Kioto, on the veranda, amid flowers. He saw the Queen come slowly down the stairs, seeking him with her eyes, half smiling at him. He began to feel an intolerable pang at this long separation. He thought that he might die without seeing her again. Two men now appeared on the plain. Lashed by the tempest, they hurried along the path. Nagato instinctively hid behind the door, and watched them. They were dressed like peasants; but the wind, which lifted their clothes in a lawless fashion, showed that they were armed with swords. They walked straight towards the huts. The Prince roused Raiden and Nata, and showed them these armed peasants, who still advanced, blinded by the rain. "You see," said he, "in time of war, fishermen are not what they appear to be; neither are peasants." "Those fellows have exchanged their spades for swords," said Raiden. "Where are they going? Are they friends or foes?" "We shall soon know," said Nagato; "for we will take them prisoners." The two men came forward with heads down, to keep the rain from their faces; they supposed the huts to be empty, and ran to them for shelter. "Come, come in! Come and dry yourselves!" cried Raiden, when they were close at hand. "The rain rebounds from your skulls like the water of a cataract from a rock." On hearing his voice, the new arrivals started back, and took to their heels. They were soon overtaken. "What does this mean?" said Raiden. "Why do you run away so quickly? Have you anything to conceal?" "You must let us see what it is," said Nata, with his good-natured laugh. All the sailors had waked; they collected in one hut. The two men were brought before the Prince. Each wore on his head a mushroom-shaped hat, which hid half his face; on the shoulders of each was a rude cloak of unbraided straw, which made him look like a thatched roof. They dripped with rain. "Who are you?" asked Nagato. They looked at the Prince with a bewildered, simple air; one of them stammered out something unintelligible. "Speak more distinctly," said Nagato. "Who are you?" Then the two cried together: "Peasants." Loo, who was sitting on the ground, chin in hand, watching them, burst out laughing. "Peasants!" said he; "monkeys you'd better say. Your assumed simplicity ill conceals your malice." "Why did you try to run away?" said the Prince. "I was afraid," said one, kicking the ground and scratching his head. "I was afraid," repeated the other. "You are not peasants," said the Prince; "why have you two swords hidden in your belt?" "Because--there is war about; it is well to be armed." "There is war about," repeated the other. "Come!" cried Raiden, "speak the truth. We are friends of Hieyas; if you belong to us, you have nothing to fear." One of the men cast a rapid glance at Raiden. "Strip them of their arms and search them," said the Prince to the sailor. "By all the Kamis, but you have fine swords!" exclaimed Raiden; "they must have cost you dear. You must be very rich peasants." "We took them from some dead soldiers." "Then you are thieves!" exclaimed Loo. "What's that?" said the sailor, snatching a paper carefully hidden under the robe of one of the strangers. "As we can't escape, we may as well own the truth; we are messengers," said one man, dropping his stupid look. "That is a letter written to Hieyas by General Attiska." "Very good," said Raiden, handing the letter to Nagato. "If you really serve the same master as we," said the other messenger, "do not keep us any longer; let us finish our errand." "When it stops raining," said Loo. The Prince opened the little paper bag closed at one end with rice paste, and took out the letter. It read as follows:-- "General Attiska falls prostrate before the illustrious and all-powerful Minamoto Hieyas. Happy days are followed by wretched days; and I have the shame and sorrow to announce a disaster. The tunnel scheme, so carefully elaborated by your lofty intellect, was carried out. With vast pains, thousands of soldiers, working night and day, finally finished the work; we were sure of success. But Marisiten, the God of Battles, was cruel to us. By I know not what treachery, Yoke-Moura was forewarned; and I scarcely dare confess to you that five thousand heroes met their death in the narrow passage which we dug, while the enemy lost not a single man. We have regained the position in the village lost for a time. Nothing therefore is yet compromised, and I hope soon to be able to send you the news of a brilliant victory. "Written beneath the walls of Osaka, this fifth day of the seventh moon, in the first year of the Shogun Fide-Tadda." "A fine piece of news indeed, my friends!" said the Prince, who read the letter aloud; "and I will take it to Hieyas myself. I am anxious to enter his camp--to insinuate myself into his very tent." "Then you are not friends of Hieyas, as you said?" asked one of the messengers. "No, we are no friends of his!" said Nagato; "but what difference does that make to you, so long as I agree to carry the message in your place?" "That's true! After all, it's all one to me; the more so as the bearer of ill tidings is apt to be ill received." "Where is Hieyas' camp?" "Half-an-hour's journey from here." "In which direction?" "To the left, on the borders of the plain; he is quartered in a wood." "Hieyas is there in person?" "He is." "Is there a password to enter the camp?" "There is!" said the messenger, reluctantly. "You know it?" "Of course; but I ought not to reveal it." "Then Hieyas won't get the message." "That's so! You have fully made up your mind to keep us?" "Entirely!" said Nagato; "and to do you no harm if you speak the truth; to kill you if you deceive us." "Well, then, the password is: Mikawa." "The name of the province over which Hieyas is ruler," said Nagato. "Exactly! Moreover you must show the sentinels three chrysanthemum leaves engraved on an iron plate." The speaker drew a tiny iron plate from his girdle, and gave it to the Prince. "Is that all?" asked Nagato; "have you told the truth?" "I swear I have. Besides, our lives are in your hands, and answer for our sincerity." "Best yourselves, then; but give us your hats and straw cloaks." The messengers obeyed; then lay down to sleep in one corner of the hut. "You will go with me, Raiden," said the Prince. The sailor, proud to be chosen, held his head erect. "And I?" said Loo, with a wry face. "You will stay with Nata," said the Prince. "Later on, perhaps this very night, I shall need you all." Loo moved away, disappointed. They waited until evening; then the Prince and Raiden, disguised as peasants in their turn, proceeded towards Hieyas' camp. The sailors watched their leader's departure with some uneasiness. "May your enterprise succeed!" they cried. "May Marisiten guard you!" The rain had stopped, but the wind still blew; it passed with a silky hiss over the grass, laid by the storm; heavy clouds drifted rapidly across the clear sky, covering and then revealing the slender crescent moon. The forest stood out on the horizon at the end of the plain. "Have you no directions to give me, master?" asked Raiden, when they had nearly reached the wood. "Be observant, and remember all you see," said the Prince. "I want to find out whether the enemy's camp is open to attack at any point; if so, I will summon Harounaga, who is still at Soumiossi, and we will try to beat Hieyas. At any rate, we will see if we can't discover some of his schemes." The sentinels had already noted the arrivals, and shouted, "Who goes there?" "Messengers!" answered Raiden. "Where do you come from?" "From Osaka; sent by General Attiska." "Do you know the password?" "Mikawa!" cried the sailor. A soldier approached with a lantern. Then the Prince drew from his girdle the iron plate upon which were graven the chrysanthemum-leaves. "Come along!" said the soldier; "the master is most impatient to see you." They went farther into the wood. A few lanterns swung from the trees, sheltered from the wind by a couple of shields. Iwakura and Raiden walked over straw brought from the tents by people going to and fro. At intervals stood a soldier bearing a long lance, a quiver on his back, erect and motionless; behind the trees, in the half-open tents, sat other soldiers drinking or sleeping. Beyond, all was thick darkness. Hieyas' tent was pitched in the centre of an open glade, which had been cleared into a square space, hung round with scarlet draperies suspended from pikes. Over the tent floated a large banner, streaming and fluttering in the wind; two archers leaned against either side of the opening. The messengers were ushered in. Hieyas sat upon a folding-chair. He seemed bowed by age, bent nearly double, his head resting on his breast, his lower lip hanging, his eyes pale and moist. From his attitude and dull look no one would have guessed at the powerful genius and tenacious will within that weak and hideous form. Yet the spirit watched, clear and bright, wearing out the body, and enduring fatigue with heroic indifference. "News from Osaka?" he said. "Speak! be quick!" The letter was handed to him, and he opened it hurriedly. The wind blew into the tent, making the flame flicker in the lanterns as they hung from the central tent-pole. The forest rustled angrily, and the sound of the sea breaking on the beach was plainly heard. Hieyas showed nothing of the emotion which he felt on reading General Attiska's letter. He beckoned to several officers standing in the tent, and handed them the despatch. Then he turned to the messengers, saying: "Did Attiska give you a verbal message besides this letter?" Before Raiden could answer, several men entered the tent. "Master!" cried a soldier, "here are more messengers, all coming at the same moment from different points." "Well! well!" said Hieyas, "let them come forward." One of the new-comers advanced and knelt. He carried something under his cloak. "Illustrious lord," he said, in a firm, triumphant tone, "I come from the castle of Tosa. I bring you, in my master's name, the head of the Prince of Nagato." This time Hieyas could not hide his emotion. His lips trembled; he extended his quivering hands with senile eagerness. Raiden gave a start when he heard the messenger's words; but the Prince, with a sign, ordered him to be silent. "I'm curious to see that head," muttered the sailor. The man uncovered a bag of braided straw, closed at one end by a rope, and untied it. Hieyas directed a lantern to be brought, saying: "Is it really true? is it really true? I cannot believe it." The envoy drew the head from the bag. It was rolled in a piece of red silk, which seemed dyed with blood. The wrapper was removed; then Hieyas took the head in his hands and rested it on his knees. A man standing beside him threw the full light of the lantern upon it. The head was so pale that it seemed made of marble; the jet-black hair, knotted on top of the skull, shone with bluish lustre; there was a slight frown upon the brow; the eyes were closed; a mocking smile contracted the discolored lips. "If the Prince were not by my side, I should swear that that head was cut from his shoulders," said the astonished Raiden. Nagato, painfully moved, seized the sailor's hand in a nervous grasp. "My poor Sado!" he muttered; "loyal unto death, as you promised!" Hieyas, his head bent, gazed greedily at the head upon his knees. "It is he! it is he!" said the Usurper; "he is vanquished at last, he is dead, the man who lavished so many insults upon me, and who always escaped my vengeance! Yes, there you lie, motionless and frightful to look upon, you whom every woman's eye followed with a sigh, whom every man secretly envied and strove to imitate. You are even paler than your wont; and despite the scornful expression which your features still retain, you can no longer scorn any one; your glance will no longer cross mine, like the meeting of hostile swords; you can no longer stand in my path. You were a noble soul, a great mind,--I acknowledge that; unfortunately you did not see how disinterested my projects were, and how useful to the country. You devoted yourself to a lost cause, and I was forced to crush you." "Indeed!" muttered Raiden. The messenger then described the Prince's capture and execution. "His arms were taken from him!" exclaimed Hieyas; "he was not allowed to kill himself?" "No, your lordship, he was beheaded alive; and up to the moment that his head fell, he never ceased to insult his victor." "Tosa is a zealous servant," said Hieyas, with a shade of irony. "He is an infamous wretch," murmured the Prince of Nagato, "and he shall bitterly expiate his crime. I will avenge you, brave Sado!" "How cold death is!" said Hieyas, his hands growing chill at the touch of that pale flesh; he turned, and gave Sado's head to one of the officers standing near him. "Tosa may ask me what he will," he added, addressing the envoy; "I can refuse him nothing. But there was another messenger; what tidings does he bring?" The second messenger advanced, and prostrated himself in his turn. "Yet another piece of good news, master," said he; "your soldiers have taken Fusimi, and are about to begin the attack on Kioto." At these words Nagato, who still held Raiden's hand, pressed it so violently that the poor fellow almost screamed. "Attack Kioto! What does that mean?" whispered the Prince, with horror. "If that is so," said Hieyas, rubbing his hands, "the war will soon be over. The Mikado once in our power, Osaka must fall of its own accord." "We must be off," said the Prince, in Raiden's ear. "Hieyas is just dismissing the messengers," said Raiden. As they raised the drapery which enclosed the tent, a red glow lighted up the woods. "What is that?" asked Hieyas. Several officers left the tent to inquire. A vast flame arose in the direction of the sea; the wind fanned it, and brought the sound of crackling, snapping wood. "What can be burning on that shore?" was the cry. "There are no villages that way." "It is some boats," said a man, who came running in. "Our boats!" sighed Raiden; "well, that's nice!" "No one knows where they came from; all at once they were seen stranded on the beach." "Are there many of them?" "Some fifty. We went up to them; they were empty. Those large boats, well equipped, struck us as suspicious." "We thought of Soumiossi." "So we set fire to them; now they're blazing brightly." "What a pity! what a pity!" said Raiden; "our fine boats! What shall we do?" "Silence!" said the Prince; "let us try to get away." "I'm afraid it won't be so easy as to enter." They saw that they were free to roam about the camp, no one heeding them; and they moved off in search of an outlet. "Kioto attacked, and I am here!" said the Prince, a prey to strange agitation. "Our fleet is destroyed. I need two hundred horses; where am I to get them?" "There are plenty of them here," said Raiden; "but how are we to get hold of them?" "We will come back with our comrades," said the Prince; "see how the horses are fastened." "Merely by the bridle to the trunk of a tree." "They are tied behind the tents in groups of five or six, as well as I can see in the darkness." "Yes, master." "We must capture them." "We will do whatever you command," said Raiden, without objecting that it was impossible. They had reached the edge of the woods, at the point where they had entered the camp. The sentinels were being changed, and the man who had let them in recognized them. "Going already!" he said. "Yes," said Raiden; "we carry orders." "Good luck to you!" said the soldier; and he signed to his substitute to let them pass. "Well! they almost drive us out," said Raiden, when they were in the plain. The Prince walked quickly; they soon reached the huts. All the sailors were awake, and in great dismay. They ran to meet the Prince. "Master, master!" they shouted, "our boats are burned. What is to become of us?" "It was that wretch of a Hieyas who did this," cried Loo; "but I will be revenged on him." "Have you your weapons?" asked Nagato. "Certainly; we have our swords and our guns." "Well, you must now show me that your courage is worthy of my confidence. We must perform an act of heroism which may cost us our lives. We must enter the camp of Hieyas, jump upon his horses, and ride towards Kioto. If we are not dead, we shall be in the sacred city before sunrise." "Very good!" said Loo; "let us enter Hieyas' camp. I have an idea of my own." "We will follow you," said the sailors; "our lives are yours." "The camp is but ill guarded," said the Prince; "the undertaking may succeed. Darkness will conceal us from the eyes of our enemies; the noise of the wind in the trees will prevent them from hearing the sound of our footsteps. One thing only distresses me; that is, that we have not time to steal away the head of the brave man who died for me, that we may bury it with the respect it deserves." "What head?" whispered Loo, to Raiden. "I'll tell you all I know about it," whispered back the sailor. "Let us divide," said the Prince; "we have more chance of passing unnoticed, singly. If we can meet again, it will be on the other side of the wood. May the Kamis protect us." The sailors dispersed. The darkness was profound, and they disappeared abruptly. Loo lingered behind with Raiden, to question him in regard to what he had seen in the camp. When he had heard enough, the lad escaped, and ran before. He had a plan,--indeed he had two, since he had learned the story of the severed head: he meant to carry off that head, and then to be avenged for the firing of the boats. It was child's play for him to slip into the camp unseen. He had the soft tread of a cat; he could leap, glide, and creep on all fours, without stirring a blade of grass; he would not have waked a watch-dog. The lights in the camp guided him; he ran straight towards the edge of the wood; he wanted to be the first to enter. He was almost upon the sentinel before he saw him; but he fell flat on his face. The man did not see him; as soon as the guard had gone, the boy passed on. "Here I am," said he, squeezing through a thicket; "the worst is over now." The wind still blew; vivid flashes of lightning now and then filled the night. "Ah, God of Storms!" said Loo, as he ran along on all fours under the trees, "you're behaving very badly. Strike your gongs as much as you like, but put out your lantern. As for you, Futen, Spirit of the Wind, blow, blow! harder still!" With the exception of the sentinels, the whole camp slept; when the wind died away, at internals the regular breathing and occasional snores of the men could be heard. Loo took his way, by Raiden's directions, to Hieyas' tent. He reached it, and recognized the red draperies which formed a wall around the tent. Two archers stood before the entrance. Above them, on posts, hung lanterns. "Yes, yes! stare out to sea at the dying flames of our burning boats," said Loo; "that will keep you from seeing me." He slipped under the hangings, flattening himself against the earth; but to reach the tent, he had still a large, light, open space to cross. He hesitated a moment, and cast a glance at the archers. "Their backs are towards me," said he; "besides, I believe they are asleep at their posts." He rose, and swiftly gained the edge of the canvas; then he glided in. A blue lantern lit up the interior of the tent. Hieyas, stretched on a silken mattress, the upper part of his body raised by a number of cushions, slept a troubled sleep; sweat stood in beads upon his brow; he breathed heavily. Loo raised his eyes to the aged Regent, and made a grimace at him; then he looked about the tent. On a mat, not far from his master, slept a servant. A writing-case and a few cups of rare porcelain were placed on a low stool of black wood; in one corner, a complete suit of mail, sinking under its own weight, produced the effect of a man chopped up into pieces. A large red lacquer chest, upon which were raised in relief the three chrysanthemum-leaves, Hieyas' crest, caught the light and glittered. Against this box rested the straw sack containing Sado's head. Hieyas desired to keep it till the next day, to display it to all his soldiers. Loo guessed that the head must be in this bag; he crawled to it and opened it; but at that instant Hieyas awoke. He uttered several groans of distress, wiped his forehead, and took a little of a drink prepared for him. The boy hid behind the chest, and held his breath. Soon the old man fell back upon his cushions and dozed again. Then Loo drew the head from the bag, and made off with it. He was hardly out of the tent when shouts of alarm sounded on every hand. The neighing of horses and the shock of arms were heard above the continual rustling of the trees in the wind. Hieyas waked a second time; and rising all breathless from the sudden start, drew aside the hangings which shut in the tent. A flash of lightning dazzled him; then he saw nothing but intense darkness. But soon, by the light of a fresh flash, longer and more brilliant than the first, he saw, with awful horror, the man whom he supposed dead, whose lifeless head he had held in his hands but a short time since, the Prince of Nagato, sword in hand, pass by on a horse which seemed to Hieyas to make no sound. His enfeebled nerves, his mind overwrought by fever, prevented him from reacting against this superstitious terror; his strength of mind forsook him; he uttered a frightful cry. "A ghost! a ghost!" he yelled, spreading fear throughout the entire camp. Then he fell heavily to the ground, unconscious. He was thought to be dead. Some of his officers also recognized the Prince of Nagato, and no less alarmed than Hieyas, put the climax to the confusion in the ranks. The cry, "A ghost!" ran from mouth to mouth. The soldiers, who had come out at the shout of alarm, fled precipitately back to their tents. Some one, of more heroic mould, proposed examining the bag, to see if the head was still there. When he found that it had vanished, this unbeliever set up a frightful howl. Confusion was at its height; all the men fell on their faces, loudly invoking the Kamis, or Buddha, according to their special form of faith. The Prince of Nagato and his men were much surprised at the greeting they received; but they took advantage of it, and traversed the wood undisturbed. When they were on the other side of the grove, they waited for one another; then counted their numbers. Not one was missing; all were on horseback. "Truly, the Kamis protect us," said the sailors; "who would have thought the expedition would turn out so well!" "And that we should be taken for ghosts!" They were about to resume their journey, when Raiden suddenly exclaimed: "But where is Loo?" "That's true," said the Prince; "he's the only one who has not returned." "And yet he started first," said Raiden. They waited a few moments. "Unfortunately," said the Prince, "the duty which calls me suffers no delay. We must go; but it is with pain that I abandon that faithful boy." Abandon Loo, the delight of all,--he who reminded the fathers of their children,--the scornful little hero, somewhat cruel, but fearless, and always gay! They set out with aching hearts; all sighed. "What can have happened to him? Perhaps he has lost his way in the darkness," said Raiden, looking constantly back. They had gone on for perhaps ten minutes, when those who were behind thought they heard a hurried gallop. They stopped and listened. A horse was indeed coming; shouts of laughter were soon mingled with the hoof-beats. It was Loo. "Raiden!" he shouted, "come and catch me; I shall fall. I can't stand it any longer; I've laughed too hard?" Raiden hastened back to meet the boy. "Well," said he, "so here you are! Why did you lag behind so long? You gave us a great fright." "Because I had a great deal to do," said Loo; "you got through your work before I did." "What have you been about?" "Take that first," said Loo, offering Raiden the severed head; "it 'a as heavy as lead." "What! so you contrived to get hold of that?" "Yes," said Loo, who kept looking behind him; "and they think down yonder that it started off on its travels alone; and so they're all half crazed with fear." They now put their horses to the gallop, to catch up with the Prince and his companions. "Has the boy come back?" asked Nagato. "Yes, master; and he brings you the head of the man who looked so much like you," cried Raiden, with a sort of paternal pride. "That's not all I did," said Loo, still looking back; "see the pink light yonder? Shouldn't you think the sun was rising?" "The sky is really illumined," said the Prince; "I should say it was the reflection from some fire." "That's just what it is," said Loo, clapping his hands; "the woods are burning." "You set them on fire!" cried Raiden. "Did I not swear to avenge our fine boats, which lie in ashes on the beach?" said Loo, with much dignity. "How did you manage it? Tell us all about it," said the sailor. "Ah!" cried Loo, "I never laughed so much in my life! I had no sooner stolen the martyr's head than I heard shouts and cries in all directions. Then I looked for a horse to be ready for flight. Still, I had no idea of running away yet. When I had mounted the beast of my choice, I broke off a pitchy bough, and lit it at a lantern, which I unhooked and threw into the straw of the horse's litter. That straw kindled at once, and the wind fanned my torch to a flame. I started off, setting fire to everything as I went. To my great surprise the soldiers, instead of springing upon me and wringing my neck, fell on their knees when they saw me, stretched out their hands to me, and entreated me to spare them; some taking me for Tatsi-Maki, the dragon of the Typhoons, others for Marisiten, fancying that my horse was the wild boar upon which the God of Battles rides. I nearly split my sides with laughter; and the more I laughed the more frightened they were. So I came through the forest at my ease, firing here a banner, there a dead tree or a bundle of fodder." "I never could have believed that an army could be so alarmed by a child!" cried Raiden, laughing heartily in his turn. "If you had seen them," said Loo, "how they stuttered and shook! And well they might; for every one of them thought that a ghost had stretched out his arm and waved a sword at Hieyas, who instantly fell dead." "Yes," said Nata; "they took us for a legion of ghosts." The light of the burning forest spread across the sky to the zenith. The Prince turned his head and gazed. "Loo," said he, "I am daily thankful that I brought you with me; you have the daring of a hero, and a lion's heart in your frail body. These exploits deserve a splendid reward. I give you the title of Samurai." On hearing this, Loo was speechless with emotion. He looked at Raiden, as he ambled along by his side; then suddenly threw himself into his arms. At the Prince's order, several men dismounted and dug a grave with their swords by the roadside, to bury the head of the brave Sado. "We will come and fetch it later on, and pay it fitting honors," said the Prince. Stones were piled on the grave when it had been filled up, to mark it. "Now," said the Prince, "let us hasten; we must be at Kioto before day dawns." They set off at a gallop, a few men going before as scouts. The Prince also outrode the rest of his party. He wanted to be alone, to hide his emotion and his anxiety. He had not dreamed; the messenger had indeed told Hieyas that the attack on Kioto was about to begin. Attack the sacred capital of the Mikados! Lay hands on the divine person of the Son of the Gods! Nagato could not credit such sacrilege. Moreover, the idea that the Kisaki was in danger overwhelmed him. She, insulted in her sovereign power by one of her subjects, alarmed by battle-cries, by the sound of war, perhaps constrained to fly! The thought put him into a frantic rage. He was surprised that he had not sprung at Hieyas' throat, to strangle him with his own hands when he spoke of Kioto. "I pitied and respected his age," thought he; "does such a man merit pity?" And yet, amidst these feelings of anger and dismay, he could not repress a sense of deep joy. To be near her, to see her again, once more to hear that voice, of whose accents his ears were ever greedy! Was it possible? His bosom swelled; a smile hovered on his lips; he saw only her. "It is Destiny that directs me," he said. "Fate prevented me from going far from Kioto; a presentiment warned me that she would need me." How did he hope to defend the sacred city against forces which were undoubtedly large? He could not have told himself. Yet he did not doubt that he should triumph over his adversaries, however many they might be. There are sovereign wills which rule events, which carry away the combatants in battle, exalt their courage, render them terrible. The Prince of Nagato felt such an irresistible determination within his breast. To save her, he felt as if he could scatter an army single-handed. CHAPTER XXI. THE KISAKI. Kioto was only five leagues distant from the camp of Hieyas; but as the victorious party occupied the side towards Fusimi, the Prince of Nagato was obliged to take a roundabout route, by the shores of Lake Biva. Day was beginning to dawn; darkness still covered the earth. But sky and water began to brighten; a fine mist hung here and there. The lake is shaped like the musical instrument called a biva; it stretches behind the mountains surrounding Kioto, and divides them from the town. The long and narrow part, forming the handle of the guitar, branches out into a river, and, describing a semicircle, enters Kioto from the south. By the orders of General Sanada-Sayemon-Yoke-Moura, General Yama-Kava was to encamp with his five thousand men on the shore of the lake at the foot of the mountains; but as he advanced, the Prince of Nagato became sure that Yama-Kava had abandoned the position. He found traces of the camp, ashes of dead fires, and holes dug for the tent-poles. "What does this mean?" he thought. "If the General has left his post, danger must have called him elsewhere. Perhaps the conflict has not yet begun; perhaps all is over, and I have come too late." At this idea the Prince, a prey to a terrible pang, urged his horse towards the mountain, and hurried up a steep and almost inaccessible path. If he succeeded in climbing the slope, he could reach Kioto in a few moments, instead of wasting several hours in winding along the shores of the lake and river. Loo was first to follow in his master's tracks. All the sailors soon imitated his example, after recalling the advance-guard. With great difficulty they gained the crest of the hill; it was connected by a slight descent with another and loftier peak, the mountain of Oudji, upon which the most delicate tea is grown. The western orchard, the scene of the poetical tourney presided over by the Kisaki, lay in the path of the Prince. He leaped the fence and crossed the orchard, this being the shortest way. The trees were loaded with fruit, the over-burdened boughs bending to the ground. The Prince paused at the brink of the terrace, where the city lay in full view, just at the spot where the Queen had approached him a few months before, and spoken to him with tears in her eyes. He cast a rapid glance at Kioto. From various points rose a column of black smoke, which was also visible within the precincts of the Dairi. The palace and city must, therefore, have been set on fire. The fortress of Nisio-Nosiro, on Wild Goose River, was besieged; the Knights of Heaven were doubtless defending it. The Mikado must have taken refuge behind its ramparts. Farther off, on the other side of the town, a fight was going on between Yama-Kava's men and the soldiers of Hieyas. The latter were almost masters of Kioto. Yama-Kava still held the eastern portion of the city; but Hieyas' banner floated from every other point. The Prince of Nagato, with frowning brow, devoured the scene spread out at his feet. He bit his lips till they bled; full of wrath, he preserved his clearness of judgment, and coolly examined the situation. When a conflict occurs in a city, the combatants are perforce scattered. The plan of the streets, their lack of breadth, necessitates a division of numbers. The battle is parcelled out; there is no unity of movement; each street and square has its individual contest, ignoring the phases of those close by. The Prince of Nagato instantly saw the advantage to be gained from this disposition of the battle. His little troop, nothing on the plain, where its weakness would be apparent, might produce a happy effect by an impetuous dash, taking the enemy unawares in the rear, and possibly causing confusion in the ranks. The Prince decided quickly, uttered a shout to rally his men, who had managed to join him by dint of much pains; then he spurred his horse down the opposite slope of the high hill, and cried: "Follow me!" The descent was most dangerous; but the energy of the men seemed to be communicated to their steeds. They reached the bottom without accident; then plunged with frightful speed into the street most crowded with soldiers. The sound made by the sudden tramp of horses' hoofs upon the paved road was tremendous. The soldiers turned, saw the street filled with cavalry, and with the instinctive dread which men on foot feel for men on horseback, they strove to keep out of the way; pushing and stumbling over each other, in an attempt to reach a cross street. The riders fired a few shots, which only hastened the flight of the pedestrians. In the twinkling of an eye the street was emptied; and the fugitives spread terror as they ran, supposing that they were trapped between two armies. The street entered by Nagato was very long, traversing almost the entire town, and ending in a small square. At the other extremity, the streets opening into it were occupied by Yama-Kava's soldiers. Upon the square itself the enemy had centred their forces. The conflict had but just begun. Although inferior in numbers, the partisans of Fide-Yori did not flinch. At the mouth of the square the Prince halted; he was master of the street; it was important to keep it. "Let twenty men defend the other end of this street," he cried, "and two men station themselves at every alley opening into it. Now we must let Yama-Kava's soldiers know that they are to make an effort to join us." Raiden sprang forward. A hailstorm of arrows wrapped, him round; his horse fell; the sailor rose; he was wounded; but he managed to reach the other side of the square. A discharge of musketry rattled, and picked off a number of men. An empty space was formed in front of the street occupied by the Prince; the hostile troops gathered about their leaders, to devise measures; and they decided to abandon the square and fall back upon the neighboring streets. They executed this movement, which was almost a retreat. Nothing was easier now for Yama-Kava's men than to effect a junction with those of Nagato. The former crossed the square in double-quick time, and gained the conquered street. Soon their General himself appeared, on horseback, masked, clad in his armor of black shell, lance in hand. "It is the lord of Nagato!" he exclaimed, as he recognized the Prince. "I am no longer amazed to see the enemy so roughly repulsed. Victory seems to be your slave." "If it be true that I have her in my chains, may she never recover her liberty!" said the Prince. "What is going on here?" he added. "What sacrilege, what unprecedented crime, do we behold?" "Incredible indeed," said the General. "Hieyas proposes to carry off the Mikado, and burn the town." "For what purpose?" "I do not know." "I think I can guess," said the Prince; "the Mikado, once in his power, would be forced to proclaim Hieyas Shogun; the entire nation would declare itself for Hieyas, and Fide-Yori would be obliged to lay down his arms." "There is no limit to that man's audacity!" "Where is the Mikado now?" asked the Prince. "In the fortress of Nisio-Nosiro." "So I supposed; and I fancy that you and I have hit upon the same plan of battle." "You honor me," said the General. "You mean to spread your army, I fancy, from this street, like a lake becoming a river, and surround the foe. In this way the enemy will be cut off from the shores of the Kamon-Gawa, and the attack on the fortress, of scanty numbers, as it seems to me, will be isolated. You will then fall back upon the fortress and seek shelter within its walls." "That was indeed my intention," said the General; "but without your help I fear I should have failed to force my way through the hostile ranks." "Well, now lead your men towards the fortress, while I hold our adversaries here as long as possible." The General set off. The soldiers of Hieyas returned. The nascent panic was allayed. From every lane on the left they attacked the street which separated them from the river; they were received with volleys of shot and arrows. They retreated; then returned to the charge. "We must barricade those alleys," said the Prince. "With what?" The hermetically closed houses seemed dead. Their mute, blind aspect showed that it would be useless to knock; for it would awake no echo in the soul of the terrified inhabitants. The blinds were wrenched from their hinges, the windows broken open, the houses entered. A sort of pillage began; everything was thrown into the street,--screens, bronze vases, lacquer chests, mattresses, and lanterns. With astonishing rapidity all this was heaped up pell-mell at the mouth of the different lanes. A tea-merchant was entirely stripped; all the exquisite varieties of the aromatic herb, wrapped in silk paper, in leaden boxes, or in valuable caskets, went to swell the pile, and were offered to the ravages of arrows and shot. The air was filled with perfume. The enemy fought furiously, but could not cross the street. In the direction of the river was heard the sound of another conflict raging there. The Prince sent one of his men that way, saying: "Come and tell us as soon as Yama-Kava wins." The struggle now became desperate; several barricades were forced; men fought hand to hand in the street filled with dust and smoke. "Courage, courage!" shouted Nagato to his troops; "a moment more!" At last the messenger returned. "Victory!" he cried; "Yama-Kava has crossed the river." Then Nagato's men began to fall back. Yama-Kava, protected by the Knights of Heaven, who overwhelmed his assailants with arrows from the top of the towers, entered the fortress with his five thousand soldiers. The Mikado was thenceforth out of danger; seven thousand men behind the ramparts being fully equal to the ten thousand exposed troops of the hostile General. The latter, filled with wrath, his orders unheeded, seeing the mistake he had made by involving his men in the labyrinth of streets, sprang to the head of his troops, to inspire them with fresh courage, force the passage so bravely defended, and reach the banks of the Kamon-Gawa. He found himself face to face with the Prince of Nagato; both were on horseback. They gazed at each other for an instant. "It is you, then," cried the Prince, "who serve as the instrument of a crime so odious that it seems incredible! It is you who have the impudence to raise your hand against the divine Mikado!" For his only answer, the General flung a dart at Nagato, which grazed his sleeve. The Prince responded by a shot, fired at close range. The warrior fell upon his horse's neck without a sound,--to rise no more. The news of his death spread quickly; the soldiers, left without a leader, wavered. "His sacrilegious daring brought him ill luck," said they; "it may well be fatal to us too." The Prince, who noted this hesitation and the vague remorse springing up in the souls of the soldiers, hit upon a scheme adapted to render the victory decisive if it produced the effect which he expected. He ran to the brink of the Wild Goose River, and shouted to the soldiers who guarded the fortress: "Lead the Mikado to the top of the tower." His idea was caught. Go-Mitzou-No was sought in all haste, and conducted by force, more dead than alive, to the highest tower of the castle. The Sun Goddess seemed to cast all her rays upon that divine man, who was fully her peer. The Mikado's red robes shone resplendent; the lofty sheet of gold which formed, his crown gleamed upon his brow. "The Son of the Gods! the Son of the Gods!" was the universal shout. The soldiers raised their heads; they saw that dazzling mass of purple and gold at the top of the tower,--the man whom they were forbidden to behold, the man surrounded by an awful spell, and whom they had just outraged. They thought that the Mikado was about to take his flight and leave earth behind forever, in punishment of the wickedness of men. They threw down their arms and fell upon their knees. "Mercy!" they cried; "do not desert us! What will become of us without you?" "Sublime lord! all-powerful master! we are base wretches; but thy goodness is infinite!" "We will abase ourselves in the dust; we will moisten it with the tears of our repentance." Then they burst into invectives against their leaders. "They drove us to it, they led us astray!" "They intoxicated us with saki, to take away our senses!" "The General paid for his crime with his life!" "Let him be accursed!" "May he be devoured by foxes!" "May the great judge of hell be pitiless towards him!" The Mikado's eyes wandered over the city; he saw smoke rising on every hand. He extended his arm, and pointed with his finger to the burning buildings. The soldiers below imagined this gesture to be an order; they rose and flew to extinguish the flames which they themselves had kindled. The victory was complete. The Prince of Nagato smiled as he saw how exactly the Mikado's appearance had answered his anticipations. But all at once, just as he was about to step upon the drawbridge and enter the fortress in his turn, frantic servants came running along the banks of the Kamon-Gawa. "The Queen!" they cried; "they are carrying off the Queen!" "What say you?" exclaimed the Prince, turning pale. "Then the Queen is not in the fortress?" "She had no time to seek refuge there, she is at the summer-palace." Without staying to hear more, 'Nagato sprang like an arrow in the direction of the palace, followed by such of his soldiers as were left,--scarcely fifty able-bodied men. But they soon lost sight of the Prince; and, not knowing their way, went astray. Nagato quickly reached the door of the summer-palace. Pages stood at the threshold. "That way! that way!" they cried to the Prince, pointing to the road which led to the base of the mountains. Nagato turned and put the spurs to his horse. Unfortunately the road was bordered by trees, and was very winding, so that he could see but a short distance before him. Nothing was visible. His horse reared, and sprang forward. To lighten its load, he throw away his gun. After ten minutes of this mad race he saw the hind-quarters of a horse in a cloud of dust. The Prince was gaining ground; he soon saw a floating veil, and a man, who turned his head in alarm. "What man is that who dares clasp her in his arms?" thought Nagato, gnashing his teeth. The despoiler plunged into a valley; the Prince was dose upon him. The man, seeing that all was lost, slipped down from his horse and escaped on foot, leaving the Queen behind. The Prince thought he recognized in the fugitive Faxibo, the groom promoted to be the confidant of Hieyas. It was indeed he. This rogue, who respected nothing, seeing that the day was lost and the Mikado out of reach, thought of the Kisaki, alone and defenceless in the summer-palace; he at once realized the value of such a prize, and resolved to carry off his sovereign. He entered the palace, on the plea of being an envoy from Yama-Kava. He was on horseback; the Queen stepped forward on the balcony. He instantly seized her, and fled before the servants had recovered from their surprise. The Prince had no time to pursue Faxibo, as the horse which bore the Queen continued to run. Nagato rushed after her and caught her in his arms; she had fainted. He carried her into the shade of a tea-shrub, and laid her on the grass; then he dropped upon one knee, trembling with emotion, desperate, and distracted. The furious course which he had just run, the fatigue of the fight, and his sleepless night, clouded his mind. He thought that he was dreaming; he gazed at the being who had never ceased to occupy his every thought, and blessed the illusion which led him to fancy her beside him. Lying in a careless, graceful position, very pale, her head thrown back, her body swathed in a lilac crape robe whose folds were stirred by the rapid palpitations of her heart, she seemed asleep. Her sleeve was slightly disarranged, revealing her arm; her little hand, stretched out upon the grass, palm uppermost, looked like a water-lily. "What supreme beauty!" thought the enraptured Prince; "assuredly the Goddess of the Sun could be no more resplendent! Light seems to radiate from her white skin; her mouth is crimsoned with the life-blood of a flower; her large eyes, beneath their long black lashes, are like two swallows drowned in milk. Do not fade, celestial vision! Remain ever thus: my eyes are riveted upon thee!" Gradually a sense of reality returned to him; he remembered that she was suffering, while he forgot to aid her. But what could he do? He looked around him for a brook or waterfall; he saw nothing. Then he opened his fan and waved it gently above the Queen's face. She remained motionless. The Prince took her hand, thinking that she might be cold; but he sprang quickly to his feet and started back, alarmed by the deep agitation which the touch of those soft warm fingers aroused in his bosom. He called; no one replied. Those who had followed him in pursuit of the Queen's abductor, instead of turning into the valley, had kept straight on. Nagato returned to the Kisaki; it seemed to him that she stirred. He knelt beside her once more, and gazed into her face. She opened her eyes; then shut them again, as if dazzled by the light. The Prince bent over her. "Beloved Queen," he sighed, "revive! revive!" She opened her eyes a second time, and saw the Prince. Then an enchanting smile hovered upon her lips. A bird sang above them. "Is it you, Iwakura?" she said, in a faint voice; "have you come back to me at last? You see that death is merciful, and has reunited us!" "Alas!" said the Prince, "we still live." The Kisaki sat up, and leaning on one hand, looked all about her, striving to recollect what had happened; then her eyes returned to Nagato. "Did not some man tear me from my palace, and carry me brutally away?" she asked. "A miserable wretch did indeed commit that crime, worthy of a thousand deaths." "What did he mean to do with me?" "He meant to imprison you, so that he might impose his own terms on the Mikado." "Villain!" cried the Queen. "I can guess the rest," she added: "you pursued my ravisher, and rescued me. I am not surprised. I called upon you in the midst of my danger! Just now, when I lost consciousness, I thought of you; I invoked your aid." With these words the Kisaki cast down her eyes and turned away her head, as if ashamed of such an avowal. "Oh! I conjure you," cried the Prince, "do not take back those words; do not repent that you pronounced them!" The Kisaki raised her large eyes to the Prince with a prolonged gaze. "I do not repent," she said. "I love you; I acknowledge it proudly. My love is as pure as a star; I have no cause to conceal it. I have reflected much in your absence. I was terrified by the feeling which took deeper possession of me daily; I considered myself criminal; I strove to conquer my heart, to silence my thoughts; but to no avail. Can the flower refuse to bud and bloom,--the star refuse to shine? Can the night rebel when day triumphs over it, as you have triumphed over my soul?" "Do I hear aright? Do lips like yours address such words to me?" exclaimed the Prince. "You love me! you, the Daughter of the Gods! Then let me bear you hence; let us fly from the kingdom to some distant land which will be a paradise. You are mine if you love me. I have been so miserable! Now my happiness weighs me to the ground. Come, let us hasten; life is too short to hold such bliss." "Prince," said the Queen, "the confession which I have made to you, being what I am, should show you how far my love is removed from earthly thoughts. I do not belong to myself in this world; I am a wife; I am a sovereign; no guilty deed can ever be committed by me. My soul surrenders itself to you, against my will; could I hide it from you? But if I spoke to-day, it was merely because we shall never meet again on earth." "Never meet again!" cried the Prince, in horror. "Why do you say so cruel a thing? Why, after opening heaven to my gaze for a brief instant, do you hurl me suddenly down to the torments of hell? To be deprived of your presence will as surely kill me as to be deprived of light and air." Nagato covered his face, to hide the tears which he could not restrain. But the Queen gently drew his hands aside, saying: "Do not weep. What is life? A trifle by the side of eternity. We shall meet again, I am very sure." "But if death deceive us," said the Prince; "if life ends in annihilation; if all is over with the last sigh?" "That is impossible," she answered with a smile, "because my love is infinite." "It is well," said the Prince; "I will kill myself." "Swear that you will do nothing of the kind!" exclaimed the Kisaki. "What do we know of the will of Heaven? We may not have the right to escape our destiny; and if we do not yield to it, we may be forced to return to earth.". "But it is impossible; I cannot endure to live!" said the Prince. "Do you not see how I suffer? You say you love me, and you torture me thus!" "Do you think I do not suffer too? I swear to you that I will die of my love without taking refuge in suicide." The Prince had thrown himself upon the sod, his face in the grass; convulsive sobs shook his frame. "You drive me to despair, Iwakura!" cried the Queen; "all my strength will vanish before your grief. I am but a woman in your presence; my will is no longer supreme. What must I do to dry your tears?" "Allow me to see you from time to time as heretofore," said the Prince; "then only can I consent to wait for death." "Meet again after what I have told you!" "I will forget it, if need be, divine friend; I will remain your humble and submissive servant. No word or look shall ever betray the just pride which fills my soul." The Queen smiled as she saw happiness once more illumine the still moist eyes of the Prince. "You have vanquished me," said she; "and yet I thought my resolution fixed. May I never be punished for my weakness!" "Punished! For what?" said the Prince. "What evil do we commit? Are not all the nobles of the Court admitted to your presence? Should I alone be exiled because I am blind to everything but your beauty? Would not that be unjust?" "It would be wise and prudent," said the Queen, sighing, "But I have yielded; let us say no more about it, but return to the palace," she added; "my people must be seeking for me still. We must let them know that I am safe." "Oh, stay one moment more!" murmured the Prince; "we shall never again meet as now, in the midst of Nature, alone, far from every eye. Civil war, crime, and sacrilege were required to bring about this condition of things. To-morrow all the ceremony of your rank will surround you once more; I can only address you from afar." "Who knows what may happen yet?" said the Queen. "The Mikado sought refuge in the fortress, which was at once surrounded by soldiers; I was forced to remain in the summer-palace. All this has happened since morning. The rebels had the upper hand--" "But since then they have been completely conquered," said the Prince; "the hostile General is killed, and his army has surrendered; the Mikado is free. But let us not talk of that. What matters the war? Tell me: how long have you loved me?" "Ever since I knew you," said the Kisaki, casting down her eyes. "I never suspected it, until jealousy revealed my love to me." "You jealous!" "Yes, and madly. I felt a strange and constant pain; I could not sleep; all pleasures annoyed me. I gave way to my anger continually, and I abused my women. The one whom I thought you loved, I loathed. One evening I drove her from my presence because she betrayed her love by an exclamation on seeing you leaning against a tree. I returned to my palace. I can see you still in the moonlight, pale, with burning eyes." "Did you not see that I looked at you alone?" "No; and all night long I wept in silence." "Oh, do not drive me mad!" cried the Prince. "You see," said she, "I conceal nothing from you; I lay my heart bare before you, confident of your loyalty." "I am worthy of your confidence," said the Prince; "my love is as pure as your own." "A few days later," continued the Queen, "you knelt before me in the audience-chamber. Surprised at your emotion, I permitted myself to speak of my maid-of-honor. You cried out that you did not love her, casting upon me a look in which all your soul was visible. Do you remember what a scornful, angry air I assumed? If you knew what ineffable joy overwhelmed me: the gazelle seized in the tiger's claws, then let suddenly loose, must feel something of my sensations. I knew then that it was I whom you loved; your look and your emotion told me so. When I left you, I hurried into the gardens and wrote the verses which I gave you so indifferently. "They lie here upon my heart," said the Prince; "they never leave me." "Do you recognize this?" said the Kisaki, showing the Prince a fan thrust into the girdle of silver brocade which encircled her waist. "No," said Nagato; "what may that be?" She took out the fan, and opened it. It was of white paper, sprinkled with gold. In one corner was a tuft of reeds and two storks flying over; at the other end were four lines of poetry, written in Chinese characters. "The thing which we love more than all else, we prefer that no one else should love. It belongs to another. So the willow, which takes root in our garden, Bends, blown by the wind, and adorns our neighbor's wall with its branches." "Those are the verses which I wrote in the western orchard!" cried the Prince. "Have you preserved that fan?" "I never use any other," said the Kisaki. They broke into pleased laughter, forgetful of their past sufferings, dwelling with delight on this moment of happiness. The Queen no longer spoke of returning to the palace. "If you were my brother!" she suddenly exclaimed; "if I might pass my life in your society without giving rise to slander, how swiftly the days would pass." "And you wanted to drive me from you, cruel one!" "The queen issued that order; before your tears the woman could not obey! But tell me now, how did you happen to fall in love with me?" "I have long loved you," said the Prince. "My love was born before you ever saw me. When my father abdicated in my favor, I came to take the oath of allegiance to the Mikado. As I left the audience-chamber, you passed by me on the balcony. I thought it was Ten-Sio-Dai-Tsin herself; I was mute with surprise and admiration. Your eyes were lowered; your long lashes cast a shadow on your cheeks. I can see you now, if I close my eyes. A white peacock was embroidered on your robe; lotos-blossoms decked your hair; your hand, hanging by your side, negligently-waved a fan of pheasant-plumes. It was only a flash: you disappeared; but thenceforth I lived but for you.--I did not return to the palace until a year later." "It was then I first saw you," said the Queen. "Every one was talking of you; my women never wearied of the theme; your praises were on every lip. I was curious to see the hero to whom every virtue was attributed, who was adorned with every grace. Hidden behind a blind, I watched you as you crossed the great courtyard of the Dairi. I thought that rumor did not do you justice; and I moved away, strangely agitated." "As for me, I left the palace without seeing you again; I was a prey to gloomy sorrow. For a year I had patiently awaited the moment when I hoped I might catch another glimpse of you; and the year's delay ended in disappointment. I could not help coming back a few days later; on this occasion I was admitted to a festival at which you were present. It was then that I perceived the interest felt for me by Fatkoura, and formed the wicked scheme of concealing the overwhelming passion which possessed me behind a feigned love." "How she must suffer, unfortunate girl, to love, and not be loved in return!" said the Kisaki. "I pity her with all my heart. Where is she now?" "At my castle of Hagui, with my father. I have sent a messenger thither to bring me the latest tidings in regard to events there. My father must think me dead; for you probably do not know that my kingdom has been pillaged, my fortress taken, and my head cut off. But what do I care? I would give my kingdom and the whole world just to see the pretty dimple at the corner of your mouth when you smile." "Ah!" said the Queen, "I, too, would cheerfully give up my crown, and all the splendors that surround me, to be your wife and live with you. But do not let us think of what is impossible," she added; "let us remember that our hope lies beyond the limits of this world." Saying this, she raised her eyes to heaven. "Look, friend!" she exclaimed; "see those clouds lit up by rosy reflections; the sun is setting already. Is it possible!" "Alas!" said the Prince; "then we must return to the haunts of men." "Do not be too sad," she whispered; "for we shall meet again." The Prince rose, and went in search of the horses. The one which he had ridden lay dead from exhaustion; the other, being very weary, had halted a few paces away. He led it back to the Queen, and helped her into the saddle; then he cast a last regretful glance at the valley which he was about to leave. With a deep sigh he took the horse by the bridle and led it over the turf. Just as the Kisaki and the Prince left, the bush which had shaded them rustled, and a man who had been hidden behind it ran off. CHAPTER XXII. THE MIKADO. Thus it was that Kioto escaped the danger which it had incurred; the battle was over, the fires quenched. The Queen, carried off by guilty hands while the city was given over to terror and dismay, was brought back by the Prince of Nagato to a people drunk with joy. The houses, so tightly closed a few hours before, were thrown wide open; everybody flocked into the streets; the inhabitants chatted with the soldiers; barrels of saki were rolled out and tapped. Men danced and sang; they thought themselves dead, and were alive. There was good cause for rejoicing; shouts went up from every street and square; they spread from mouth to mouth, and soon the whole city repeated: "Glory to the Mikado!" "Death to Hieyas!" "Curses on his race!" "Blessings on General Yama-Kava!" "Praises to the Knights of Heaven!" "And glory to the Prince of Nagato, to whom we owe the victory!" cried one fellow. "And who restores our divine Kisaki to us," said another. The Prince at this moment appeared, leading the horse that bore the Kisaki. The crowd parted, and fell prostrate before her in sudden silence, which ceased abruptly as soon as she had passed. The Queen had drawn her veil over her face; with one hand she held its light folds upon her breast. The horse, flecked with foam, puffed and panted as he moved. Nagato held the animal by the bridle, and occasionally turned to the Queen, who smiled at him behind her gauzy veil, while every forehead touched the ground. Thus they reached the fortress of Nisio-Nosiro, and crossed its ramparts. The Knights of Heaven came out to receive the Kisaki. Her women remained at the summer-palace; she was asked whether they should be summoned. "Why should they?" said she; "shall we not return to the palace?" No one dared to tell her that the Mikado, his fears still unallayed, refused to quit the fortress, and intended to leave it no more. The Son of the Gods was indignant; victory had not appeased either his terror or his wrath. He, attacked in his own palace,--not by Mongols, nor by Chinese! His own people--that is, his slaves, those who were not worthy to utter his name--had had the unheard-of audacity to take up arms against him! His sacred person was constrained not only to walk, but to run! The Mikado, whose mere glance should reduce a man to ashes, had fled, pale with fear; the stiff folds of his satin robes were disturbed; he stumbled over the abundance of his drapery as he ran through the streets! What had become of the sacred majesty, the divine prestige, of the descendant of the Gods amidst this fatal adventure? Go-Mitzou-No, furious, trembling, and astounded, was not assuaged by victory. He ordered a general massacre of all the soldiers who had surrendered. "They will rise against me again!" he said. "Kill them, to the last man!" "We will kill them by and by," ventured to reply the Minister of the Right Hand, one of the highest dignitaries of the Dairi; "just now those ten thousand additional troops are most necessary to us." Then the Mikado cried out: "Let Hieyas be brought before me! Let his eyes be put out, his entrails torn from him; let him be cut into small pieces!" "By and by," said the Minister of the Left Hand "just now Hieyas is out of our reach." "Assemble all your warriors, all the princes and ministers," then screamed the Mikado; "I desire to inform them of my will." No one had any objection to make; but the general surprise was great. The Mikado having a will of his own; manifesting the desire to make a speech! Such a thing had never occurred since Yorimoto, in the reign of Tsoutsi-Mikado, repulsed the Mongol invasion, and received the title of Shogun for that brave deed. Since that time the Shoguns had reigned in the name of the Mikados, who had never dreamed of taking back the sceptre intrusted by them to other hands. Had the true master waked at last from his long torpor? did he intend to grasp the power once more, and govern his kingdom for himself? The ministers looked at each other in vague alarm. Some of them secretly favored Hieyas; others were faithful to the dynasty of the Mikados; but they lacked energy, and dreaded any revolt against those who were masters of the army. But since the fancy took the Son of the Gods to issue his commands, his ministers could not refuse to obey. The nobles and warriors were speedily assembled in the most spacious hall in the fortress. The Mikado sat cross-legged upon a dais surrounded by a low balustrade; the folds of his robes were arranged about him. Then the lords took their seats on the floor, each holding a long, narrow screen before his face, to oppose some obstacle between his gaze and his sovereign's face. The Prince of Nagato, with Farou-So-Chan, leader of the Knights of Heaven, Simabara, General Yama-Kava, all the ministers, and all the nobles, were present. Go-Mitzou-No's angry eye wandered over their heads; he swelled up his cheeks, which were even more pasty than usual; then breathed noisily, as if he wanted to scatter a few grains of dust. At last he found speech,--abrupt, and somewhat plaintive. "So," he said, "I am no longer master; I am no longer the representative of the Gods! I am besieged, I am outraged; an attempt is made to seize upon my person! I am amazed that you still live. What does all this mean? Is this the way you treat a god? I am the Mikado; that is, the supreme lord. Do you forget that fact? I am here on earth for the good of mankind, when I might be with my family in heaven. If things go on in this way, I will desert you. What! you do not tremble? What are you thinking of? Have you not noticed the signs of anger given by my celestial progenitors? Reflect and remember! But a short time since, a mountain suddenly rose out of the sea opposite the Island of Fatsisio. Is not that terrible? Is not that a mark of the displeasure with which mankind has inspired the Gods? The earth shall shake yet again, and all shall be overthrown. Did there not fall a rain of hairy locks in the suburbs of Osaka only a few days after that mountain rose up out of the water? Was not that a sign of misfortune? Are you blind and deaf? Have you ceased to understand the threats of Heaven? Are you hardened in crime? Do you fear nothing, that you do not shake before the breath of my wrath?" "We are your faithful servants!" said the Minister of the Right Hand. "I, Go-Mitzou-No, the one hundred and nineteenth of my race," said the Mikado, "have been insulted; and if the earth is not cleft in twain, it is solely because my feet yet rest upon its surface; it is spared for my sake. Yes, my subjects--mere men--came to the Dairi; they forced the doors; they strove to seize upon me,--to imprison the Son of the Gods! And to escape them I was forced to fly! A Mikado fly from men! I am choked with rage. I will plunge you all into darkness; I will put out the sun; I will turn the sea topsy-turvy; I will dash the earth into a thousand pieces." "We are your submissive slaves!" said the Minister of the Left Hand. "If you are my slaves, obey!" screamed the Son of the Gods. "I command that all shall come to an end; the war shall cease, and everything return to its accustomed order." "Divine Lord! master of our destinies!" said the Prince of Nagato, "will you allow me to speak in your presence?" "Speak!" said the Mikado. "The monster whose name is Hieyas," said the Prince, "fears nothing, and insults the gods. But if the command which you have just issued were made known to him in the face of all Japan, he would be obliged to obey, and consent to peace." "Explain yourself," said Go-Mitzou-No. "It is with pain that I confess," continued the Prince, "that, in spite of the many defeats he has undergone, Hieyas is still the stronger; his allies increase daily. But they would rapidly diminish, and all would soon abandon him, if he should openly resist an order universally known to emanate from the Mikado." "No doubt of that," exclaimed the ministers and nobles. "What shall I do?" asked the Mikado, turning to the Prince of Nagato. "Sublime master," said the Prince, "my opinion is that you should despatch a herald to proclaim your will in every city and village; at the same time addressing to Fide-Yori and Hieyas a large deputation, charged to inform them that the war is to cease, since such is your pleasure." "Your advice shall be followed," said the Mikado; "it is good. To reward you for it, I give you the title of Nai-dai-Tsin." "Sire," cried the Prince, "I am not worthy of such an honor." "Let the envoys he sent off promptly," said the Mikado. "No more war; let us have peace and repose as of old. I feel exhausted by all these emotions," he added in a lower tone, turning to the prime minister; "it might easily kill me." They soon separated. On leaving the castle, the Prince of Nagato met a messenger in search of him. "Whence come you?" asked Iwakura. "From Nagato." Then the messenger related all the events that had occurred in that province,--the various battles, the taking of Hagui, and the capture of Fatkoura by the lord of Tosa. "What!" cried Nagato, "Fatkoura is in the hands of that scoundrel, who beheads princes! I must not delay my vengeance another moment. I will set off at once to deliver her, and make that infamous wretch pay dearly for his crimes and his impertinence." He then inquired for his little troop, anxious to learn how many the skirmish of the morning had left him. Of the two hundred sailors, eighty had been killed, and fifty wounded; about sixty being in fit condition to resume their march. Raiden's arm had been pierced by an arrow; but the bone was uninjured. The sailor had had his wound dressed, and declared that it did not pain him at all. He begged the Prince to let him go with him. "The journey will do me good," said he; "besides, there are not more than sixty of us. That's very few to capture a kingdom; and in so small a number, one man more or less counts for something." "I need twenty thousand men to march against Tosa," said the Prince; "I shall ask the Shogun to let me have them. So you see that you may well afford yourself a little rest." "Is it because I have not behaved well, that you want to drive me from you?" asked Raiden. "No, brave servant," said the Prince, smiling; "come if you will. You can stay at Osaka if your wound troubles you." "Shall we start at once?" asked the sailor. "Are you crazy?" cried the Prince. "We have spent a hard night, and a still harder day; you are wounded: and it never occurs to you to take a little rest! I confess that, if you are indefatigable, I, who am by nature very inert, feel quite exhausted." "If sleep is permitted, I shall sleep with a good will," said Raiden, laughing; "but if you thought best to start off again, I could have held out a little longer." "Where is Loo?" asked the Prince; "I lost sight of him in the thick of the fight." "He's asleep in a house on the shore, and so sound asleep that I could pick him up and carry him off without his ever knowing it. That young Samurai earned his sleep well; he snatched a gun from one of our dead comrades, and I hear that he fought like a little devil." "Is he wounded?" "Fortunately, he escaped without a scratch." "Well, go join him, and take a little repose; to-morrow, at noon, we will start." Next day Nagato went to take leave of the Kisaki. She had returned to the summer-palace, where he found her surrounded by her women. "You leave the city which owes its triumph to you so soon, and without taking time for rest?" she exclaimed. "I leave with an aching heart," said the Prince; "but an imperative duty calls me. Before the peace is signed, I must avenge the insult to my name; I must save Fatkoura, my betrothed." "Is Fatkoura in danger?" "She is the prisoner of the Prince of Tosa; a messenger brought me the news yesterday." "Such reasons admit of no reply," said the Queen. "Make haste to punish that villain; and may the God of Battles be with you." Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke: he was about to run new dangers; to expose his life,--perhaps to die. "I believe that I am invincible," said Nagato; "an all-powerful goddess protects me." The Kisaki forced herself to smile. "May you triumph, and return speedily," said she. The Prince retired. As he left the hall he fixed a last lingering look upon her; a singular feeling of disquiet chilled his blood. "Every time that I part from her I feel as if I should never see her again," he muttered. She too gazed at him, a prey to the same anguish; she pressed to her lips the tip of the fan which the Prince had given her. He tore himself from her presence. That very night he reached Osaka, and went at once to the Shogun. "Is it you!" joyfully exclaimed Fide-Yori. "I did not hope to see you so soon; your presence is a consolation to me amid the cares that overwhelm me." "What!" said Iwakura, "when we are victorious! Why are you sad?" "How can you ask me, friend? True, Yoke-Moura drove the enemy from the village that they held near Osaka; but Harounaga has just been completely routed in his retreat on Yamashiro. Two thirds of the kingdom are in the power of our foe." "No matter! We won the day at Soumiossi; we cast confusion into the camp of Hieyas; we triumphed at Kioto. And the Son of the Gods, starting for a moment from his torpor, is about to order the two parties to be reconciled." "Hieyas will refuse." "He cannot refuse; he cannot revolt openly against the Mikado." "He who attacked him with such sacrilegious daring!" "He attacked him to gain possession of his person, and dictate his own terms to him. The Mikado a captive would be a mere nobody; the Mikado free, and grasping the reins of power once more, is omnipotent." "Hieyas will impose conditions which I cannot accept. It is his interest to continue the war." "Nevertheless, he will be obliged to obey for the moment; and our most pressing need is a few months of respite." "To be sure; we could then assemble all our forces. Communication is cut off; the armies of the various princes have not arrived." "Are Signenari and his twenty thousand men still on the Island of Awadsi?" asked the Prince. "Still," said the Shogun; "and the young General is desperate at being reduced to inaction." "I was just going to ask you to issue orders for him to open the campaign." "What do you mean?" "I have a personal injury to avenge. I entreat you to lend me that army." "On whom do you wish to be revenged, friend?" said the Shogun. "On one of those who betrayed you,--on the Prince of Tosa. He has attacked my kingdom, plundered my fortress, carried off my bride; and deceived by a resemblance into thinking he had captured me, he refused the man the death of a nobleman, and cut off the head of one of my servants." "Such things can indeed only be washed out in blood," said Fide-Yori. "I will give you an order for Signenari, and I put a war-junk at your disposal. Do not spare that infamous Tosa,--that envious, cowardly traitor, unworthy of the rank he holds." "I will raze his towers, burn his harvests, and kill him as one would butcher a hog," said the Prince; "only regretting that he has but one life to pay for all his crimes." "May you succeed!" said the Shogun. "Alas!" he added, "I was so glad to see you; and you come only to go again! What solitude! what an empty void about me! What sorrow! My heart is gnawed by a secret grief which I must not reveal. Some day I will confide it to you; that will solace me." The Prince raised his eyes to the Shogun's face; he remembered that several times before, a confession had risen to the King's lips, and had been arrested there by a sort of timid modesty. Now, as then, Fide-Yori was embarrassed, and turned away his head. "What can it be?" thought Nagato. Then he added aloud: "My vengeance once appeased, I promise to leave you no more." As he left the Shogun's apartments, the Prince of Nagato met Yodogimi. "Ah! you are here, illustrious victor!" she said, bitterly; "you come to receive the praises due your noble deeds." "It is only when falling from your lovely lips that praise is pleasant to my ear," said the Prince, bowing with somewhat exaggerated politeness; "but you favor me with none but rude and scornful words." "If we are enemies, it is your own fault," said Yodogimi. "I never wished to offend you; it was my slight merit which wrought my ruin. You declared war against me; but I never accepted the challenge, and I remained your slave." "A very humble slave! who attracts all the light to himself, allowing no one else to shine in his presence!" "Am I really so resplendent?" said the Prince. "Against your will, you see, you let fall the praises which you refused me." "Cease your raillery!" cried Yodogimi. "I seize this opportunity to tell you that while all the world admire and love you, I detest you." "She cannot forgive me for Harounaga's defeat," muttered the Prince. Yodogimi withdrew, hurling an angry glance at Nagato. The beautiful Princess once loved Iwakura in secret. The Prince would not see her love; hence the hatred with which she pursued him. Nagato left the palace; and, a few hours after, set sail for the Island of Awadsi. CHAPTER XXIII. FATKOURA. The captive of the lord of Tosa found her days long and monotonous. She waited for her avenger, sure of his coming, but impatient at the delay. She was tormented by the love, steadily gaining strength, with which Tosa pursued her. After the execution of the man whom he supposed to be Nagato, he had abstained from visiting her; then, seeing that Fatkoura's grief was not violent, and that she seemed resigned, he took courage and renewed his importunities. Sometimes he was humble, submissive, suppliant; sometimes he raged and stormed; and again, he would try to melt her by his tears. But she was still implacable. "Your tears," said she, "are like the tiger's, when he fears his victim will escape him." "You shall never escape me," shouted Tosa. Fatkoura was severe with Tika; she saw that the maid favored the Prince's love. Tika schemed to make her mistress Princess of Tosa. "The Prince of Nagato is dead!" thought she. "Besides, Fatkoura was quickly consoled for his loss." "You are free now," she said to her mistress one day; "you can love the Prince of Tosa." "I shall never love any one but Iwakura," was the young woman's answer. "Love a dead man! That won't last," thought Tika. But from that day forth Fatkoura ceased to talk to her; she did not even permit the girl to remain in her presence. Tika wept outside the door; her mistress pretended not to hear her. Yet she missed her maid more than she was willing to confess. This companion of her misfortunes, this confidant of her griefs and her sorrows, was a necessity of her life. Captivity seemed harder to her since she had exiled her from her side; she especially missed the girl's conversation. Finally, she resolved to forgive her, and to confess to her that the Prince still lived. She accordingly summoned her. The repentant Tika knelt in the centre of the room, hid her face behind her flowing sleeves, and her tears fell fast. "You will never mention the Prince of Tosa to me again," said Fatkoura. "Never, mistress," sobbed Tika; "except to curse him." "Well, I forgive you. Talk to me of my beloved as you used to do." "Alack! he is dead," said Tika; "I can only mourn with you." "Don't you think I was speedily consoled?" Tika, in surprise, looked up at her mistress, who smiled. "Why, I thought--" she stammered, "I thought he was wrong to submit to defeat in your presence." "What if I were to tell you that he was never defeated, that he is alive--." "He triumphs over your heart; he lives in your imagination: that is what you mean." "No; he still breathes the breath of life." "Alas, that is impossible! Before our eyes--I shudder to think of it still--his ghastly head fell to the ground." "That man, whose death we witnessed, was not Iwakura." "Has grief affected her reason?" thought Tika, scrutinizing her mistress in some alarm. "You think me mad?" said Fatkoura, "You shall see, when he comes to open the doors of our prison, whether I speak the truth.". Tika dared not contradict her mistress; she pretended to believe that Nagato lived. "Better this strange hallucination than her former blank despair!" she thought. They then began to talk of the absent one as had been their wont in the Dairi. They recalled the words that he had spoken, the anecdotes he had told. They tried to imitate the tones of his voice. They reconstructed his every dress, rehearsed, his features, his smile, his attitude. Often they would hold a long discussion over some detail or date, or a simple phrase which he had uttered. In this fashion the hours glided rapidly by. Every day the Prince of Tosa sent presents to Fatkoura,--flowers, rare birds, marvellous fabrics. Every day Fatkoura let the birds fly, threw the silks and flowers from the window. The Prince never wearied. At noon he would pay a visit to the prisoner, and discourse of his love. One day, however, he entered Fatkoura's room with a strange expression on his face. He dismissed Tika with a gesture that suffered no reply; then he stepped towards Fatkoura, and gazed at her fixedly. "You are firmly resolved to resist me still?" said he, after a pause. "Now and always; and to hate as much as I despise you." "That is your final answer? Think again." "I do not need to think. I hated you from the first moment I saw you; I shall hate you to my death." "Very well!" cried the Prince, in a terrible voice; "I can force you to become my wife." "I defy you to do so," said Fatkoura, who never quailed before the Prince's gaze. "I will conquer you, I swear, as I conquered your lover." Fatkoura smiled scornfully. "Yes," resumed the Prince, "you have exhausted my patience. My love made me merciful, timid,--even shy. I implored, I wept, I waited! I left your grief time to heal. Your repeated refusals inflamed my passion; I was enraged; then I humbled myself. But I am tired of this prolonged torture; my prayers are over. No more gentleness, no more tears; you must henceforth be the one to weep and entreat. For the last time, will you love me?" "Truly you have a singular nature," said Fatkoura. "The vulture does not seek gratitude from the bird he strangles in his clutch; and you insist on love from a woman whose husband you have killed!" "I know that you can never love me," said Tosa. "Still, you shall say that you do; you shall strive to make me think you do." "I am curious to learn what means you will employ to make me say such things." "You will know them soon enough," said the Prince, withdrawing. From that day a series of sufferings for the prisoner began. At first they separated her from Tika, and locked her into her room; then they stopped up the windows, only letting a few rays of light enter from above. In this way Fatkoura was deprived of seeing the gardens, and of the cool evening air. She was served with food she did not like. Gradually, all utensils for her personal use disappeared. Each day made her situation worse. At last none of the servants would wait on her. She was put into a prison cell, and finally removed to a dungeon, where she had to wait all day for a bowl of cold rice. "These are the means he takes to win my love!" said Fatkoura, sustained by a hope of rescue. But one day, abruptly, these stern measures ceased. The young woman was brought back to the rooms which she had at first occupied. Tika was restored to her, and seemed very happy. "The province of Tosa is invaded," she exclaimed. "An army is at hand; we shall be set free." "I told you he would come, my lord, my beloved spouse!" said Fatkoura. "He comes to deliver us from our troubles, and to avenge the man who died so bravely in his place." "I heard no mention of any one but General Signenari, sent by the Shogun." "Be assured that Iwakura is with him." "It may be so," said the girl. "It is so! I shall see him again at last! After so many trials, happiness will return! Is anything known of the fight?" "The Prince of Tosa set off hurriedly. His soldiers, who did not expect this attack, and were resting on their laurels, were completely beaten. The Shogun's army is but a few leagues away." "It will soon be beneath these walls," said Fatkoura, "and we shall have to undergo a second siege. But while at Hagui we longed for victory, we now tremble with desire to be vanquished." Several days passed in feverish expectation. Suddenly, the Prince of Tosa's army, put to rout, returned to the fortress in confusion. The gates were closed, and the siege began. The assailants, leaving the besieged no time for reflection, stormed the place. A terrible uproar filled the castle. Within, were dismay, continual coming and going, shouts and cries; without, uninterrupted blows. Tika ran in search of news; returned; then started out again. On the third day, the soldiers suddenly rushed to one point: a breach was effected. Cries of discouragement rose on all sides. "Better surrender." "We can't hold out long." "We are lost." Towards noon the Prince of Tosa entered Fatkoura's room abruptly. She was standing by the window, looking out; her face was radiant with joy. She turned, and saw her enemy gazing at her with folded arms. A sort of instinctive terror took possession of her as she beheld him. He was pale, with a sinister expression. In his right hand he grasped a bloody sword, which dripped upon the floor. He quietly returned it to his belt. "The battle is lost," he said, with a scowl; "I am conquered." "The man whom you thought to dishonor is at your gates, and comes to chastise your crimes," said Fatkoura. "Ah! You know that Nagato is not dead," cried the Prince. "But what does it matter? He is there, it is true; he comes to deliver you: but before he takes you back," he added, in tones of thunder, "before he crosses the crumbling walls of my castle,--mark me well!--you shall be mine." Fatkoura sprang back, and darted to the farthest corner of the room. "You may fancy," continued Tosa, "that I did not abandon the field for nothing. The victors are at my heels; there is no time to be lost in idle entreaties." As he said this he sprang towards her. "Help!" she shrieked in an agonized voice; "Tika, help! Nagato, come to my rescue!" Tosa laid his hand upon her mouth. "What's the use of shrieking?" said he; "nobody will come. Submit! for you are mine at last; you shall not escape me now." He encircled her with his arms; but all at once he saw something gleam above him. Fatkoura had snatched a dagger from the Prince's belt. "You are wrong; I shall escape you yet once again," said she. "My last thought is for you, Iwakura!" Tosa uttered a loud cry. He saw the dagger buried to the hilt in the young woman's breast; then she drew it out and threw it to the ground. At that instant the panel which closed the entrance flew in splinters. The Prince of Nagato, sword in hand, rushed into the room and leaped upon the Prince of Tosa. "Ah, wretch!" he shouted; "you insult your captive and my betrothed! You add this unparalleled crime to all your former misdeeds! But the hour of vengeance is at hand; the earth shall be rid of you!" Tosa had drawn his sword; he struck it against Nagato's blade. But he shuddered; a superstitious fear froze his blood; he felt that he was about to die. Iwakura, with irresistible force, drove him back to the other side of the room, and brought him to a stand against the wall. Tosa, with bloodshot eyes, glared wildly at his foe; he could but ill defend himself. Nagato dashed the sword from his hand. "Now you shall die!" he cried; "I will kill you,--not as a man frees himself of a loyal enemy, but as he would crush a scorpion." And with one fearful blow, he nailed him to the wall by the throat. Fatkoura had not fallen. She stood leaning against the wall, her hand pressed to her wound. The blood gushed between her fingers. The Prince of Nagato left his enemy writhing in awful agony, and ran to her; he saw the blood flowing in rivers. "What is it?" he cried. "I am dying," said Fatkoura. She sank to the ground. The Prince knelt beside her, and supported her on his knees. "Is there no one here?" he cried. "Let some one bring a doctor." "I implore you," said Fatkoura, "do not call; nothing can heal my wound. It was to prevent a stain upon your name that I struck home; I cannot be saved. Let no one enter; let me die by your side, as I could not live there." "Unfortunate girl! and I have brought you to this!" cried the Prince. "You die for me after a life of suffering,--you, so fair, so young, and so formed for happiness? Ah! why was I placed upon your path?" "I was happy for a time," said Fatkoura, "very happy; for you seemed to love me. But I have dearly paid for those days of joy. What did I do to you, cruel one, that you should desert me as you did?" "You guessed the reason, sweet Princess. An all-powerful, invincible love turned me from you; my will refused to obey my reason any longer." "Yes! how can we struggle against love? I know the power it gains, I, who vainly strove to hate you. Yes! you have felt those sharp pangs, that aimless expectation, those fevered dreams, those hopes that would not die; you have known those sobs which would not be stifled, those tears that burned like drops of fire. A prey to hopeless love, you suffered as I did. Is it not frightful, and can you not pity me?" "I would give my life to repair the harm I have done you." "There is no rest by night or day, is there? It seems as if you were at the foot of a precipice lined with steep rocks, which you fain would climb, yet fall back again and again. But I am mad," added Fatkoura; "your suffering was nothing as compared to mine, for you were loved." The Prince started. "Yes, she loved you; I know it," resumed Fatkoura, with a faint sigh. "Do you think that the jealous eye of the woman you scorned could fail to read her face I--how its pride died away when she looked at you; how her voice, against her will, would soften when she spoke to you; what happy tremors when you came, what sadness when you went! I watched and noted all; each discovery was like a sword thrust into my heart; rage, hate, and love devoured my soul. No, you never suffered as I did." "Do not overwhelm me, Fatkoura!" said the Prince. "I did not deserve such love; see how I have rewarded it! You are dying for my sake, and I cannot save you. The horrible grief that rends me at this moment avenges you for much of the suffering that I have caused you." "I am happy now," said Fatkoura. "I might have died before you came; and I am with you." "But you shall not die!" cried the Prince. "Am I mad, that I stand here, stunned by horror, instead of bringing you help, or having your wound dressed? You are young; you will recover." "Why should?" said Fatkoura. "Would you love me then?" "I would love you then as now, with an infinite affection." "With a brother's love," Fatkoura whispered, with a bitter smile. "Let me die." "Alas! that blood which flows so fast, and bears your life with it!" exclaimed the Prince, frantic with grief. He began to utter frenzied shouts. They were heard. Soldiers and servants rushed in. General Signenari also appeared, still stained with blood from the battle. All stood aside, to let him pass. "What is the matter, Prince?" he cried. "A doctor, for Heaven's sake, and at once!" said Nagato. "My betrothed has stabbed herself, to escape the outrages of the infamous Tosa; she is dying." Fatkoura had fainted. The palace doctor soon came. He bared the wound, and when he saw it, he looked anything but encouraging. "She did not spare herself," he said. "Can she be saved?" asked the Prince of Nagato. The doctor shook his head. "I think not," said he; "the steel went in too deep. If I were to dress the wound, I might stanch the blood; but it would still flow from within, and suffocate her." "And if you do not stanch the wound?" "She will die in a very few moments." The doctor brought the edges of the wound together. As he touched the sensitive spot, Fatkoura never stirred. He shook his head again. "A bad sign," he muttered. When the dressing was done, he forced between the young woman's lips the neck of a small bottle holding a strengthening cordial, and made her drink it. Fatkoura soon re-opened her eyes; she still lay across Nagato's knees. Tika sobbed at her feet. She cast an uneasy look at those who filled the room; with a slow and painful gesture signed to them to go. Signenari dismissed them, and withdrew; only the doctor and Tika remained. "You disobeyed me, Iwakura," said the dying girl in a voice which grew ever weaker; "why did you call in help?" "To save you." "I am lost. Saved, rather," she added; "what should I do in this world?" Spasms seized her; she stretched out her arms; the blood choked her. "Air!" she gasped. Tika flew to open all the windows, and her mistress saw her. "Good-by, Tika," she said; "you see that he was not defeated, that he was not dead! We shall never talk of him again." The girl wept, with her face buried in her hands. Fatkoura raised her eyes to the Prince. "Let me look at you," she said; "it is so long since my eyes have mirrored your image. How handsome you are, my beloved!--You know," she went on, turning to the doctor, "he is my husband. He came to set me free; but Tosa would have outraged me, and I killed myself." She spoke in a dull, broken voice, growing weaker and weaker. Her eyes opened wide; a waxen pallor over-spread her face. "You will speak of me to your father, Iwakura," she resumed; "he loved me well! I told him that I should never see the castle again. I was almost happy there. I saw the room where you were born, your baby dresses--Ah! I have loved you fondly!" She gasped; drops of sweat stood on her brow. She tore the bandage from her wound. "Iwakura!" she said, "I cannot see you; lean over me--nearer--Ah!" she shrieked, "to go when he is here!" "She is dying!" cried the agonized Prince. "She is dead," said the doctor. Tika uttered a howl of grief. The Prince hid his face in his hands. "All her sufferings are over now," said the doctor; "she is at rest, and forgets her troubles in the serene tranquillity of the last sleep." CHAPTER XXIV. THE TREATY OF PEACE. Hieyas consented to close the war; but, as Fide-Yori predicted, his terms were hard. "I demand," he said, "the execution of one of the three following alternatives: let Fide-Yori give up the fortress, and spend seven years at Yamato; let me receive Yodogimi as hostage; or let the walls of Osaka be razed, and the moats filled up." The last proposition only was received with favor by the assembled generals in council of war. But Yoke-Moura regarded the destruction of the ramparts as almost sacrilegious. "This peace will not last long," said he; "and If the war is renewed, what will become of us with our dismantled castle?" There was a question of letting Yodogimi go. "My mother! How can you think of such a thing?" cried the Shogun. "Such a hostage once in his hands, we should cease to be aught but the slaves of Hieyas." "True," exclaimed General Harounaga; "it is impossible." "Our walls once destroyed, we are left defenceless. War is preferable to such a peace," broke in Yoke-Moura. He would willingly have surrendered Yodogimi; he cared but little for a woman. "Hieyas specifies," said some one, "that the moats are to be filled up in such a way that children of three can run up and down into them at play." "Ten thousand laborers are to be set to work on the walls in all haste," said another. Yoke-Moura sighed. "We must accept that condition," said the Shogun; "we are forced to do so. At the least suspicion of war, we can build up the walls and dig out the moats again." "As you insist," said Yoke-Moura, "I will follow your advice; let us demolish the fortress." "Let General Signenari proceed to Hieyas' camp to exchange treaties of peace; he will represent me worthily; and, I am sure, will acquit himself nobly in this delicate affair." "I will strive to deserve the trust with which you honor me," said Signenari. "I await your orders to depart." "You have scarcely sheathed the sword with which you punished the province of Tosa," said the Shogun; "if you require a day's rest, take it." "I will start this evening," said Signenari. That same day, in fact, the young General, accompanied by a large and splendid escort, set off for the camp of Hieyas. Hieyas, after the burning of the forest, in which a part of his men perished, had taken up his quarters on the neighboring plain. He was unwilling to abandon a position so near Osaka. When reinforcements reached him, he marched against Harounaga, who still occupied Soumiossi. The General was beaten, and his army routed. Hieyas, however, left only an advance-guard in the conquered territory, and returned to his camp, where he received the decree of peace emanating from the Mikado. He then summoned several of the lords of his council,--Owari, Dathe, Todo, Coroda. All agreed that it was impossible to resist the command of the Son of the Gods; that they must feign to yield, but create some obstacle to the signing of the treaty. "Let us manage to make Fide-Yori refuse to sign the treaty of peace," said Hieyas. "In that way the wrath of Heaven will fall on his head." To his great surprise, he was informed of the arrival of an envoy from Osaka; then Fide-Yori accepted the terms he offered. "Whom has he sent?" asked Hieyas. "General Signenari." The young warrior, whose heroism was well known, inspired even his enemies with profound esteem. When he rode through the camp in his military dress, the sovereign princes saluted him; but Signenari paid no heed to their greetings. "What is the meaning of this haughty bearing?" asked a nobleman. "He represents the Shogun, Fide-Yori; he cannot return a salute." He was conducted to the master's tent. Hieyas was seated at the back on a folding-stool; to right and left of him, mats were spread upon the ground. The princes and generals were present. Signenari was invited to take his place with the princes; but he did not seem to understand, and sat down opposite Hieyas. "That is right," said one of the lords, in a low voice; "that warrior, young as he is, has already acquired the dignity and prudence of a veteran." Signenari unrolled a paper. "These are the words of my master, the Shogun Fide-Yori, son of the Shogun Taiko-Sama," said he. And he read the roll, which he held in both hands:-- "I, Fide-Yori, general-in-chief of the armies of the Mikado, in order to put an end to the unjust war declared against me by Hieyas, which lays the kingdom waste, consent to accept one of the alternatives proposed by my opponent for the conclusion of peace: I will destroy the outer wall of the fortress of Osaka, and I will fill up the moats; therefore all hostilities are to cease, and arms to be laid down. "I write this in all sincerity, on the fifteenth day of the second moon of the autumn, in the nineteenth year of the Nengo-Kai-Tio, and I sign with my blood. "FIDE-YORI." "If this be so," said Hieyas, in his weak and trembling voice, "I agree to the peace." He ordered writing materials to be brought, and dictated to a secretary:-- "I, Minamoto Hieyas, proclaimed Shogun by the predecessor of Go-Mitzou-No, in the name of the Shogun Fide-Tadda, in whose favor I have abdicated, consent to put an end to the war, on condition that Fide-Yori has the walls of the castle of Osaka pulled down and the moats filled up in such fashion that children of three may run up and down into them at play." A new brush and a long needle were then handed to Hieyas, with which he was to prick the tip of his finger and sign in his own blood. He pricked himself slightly, and only obtained a small, pale drop; still, he signed, and the treaty was handed to Signenari. "That will not do," said the General, glancing at the document; "the writing is too pale. Your name is illegible; try again." "But," said Hieyas, "I am old; I am weak and ill; to me a drop of blood is very precious." Signenari pretended not to hear. Hieyas, with a sigh, pricked himself afresh, and retraced his signature; then only did the young General give him the treaty signed by Fide-Yori. CHAPTER XXV. CONFIDENCES. Frantic mirth pervaded Osaka. That city of pleasure, of luxury, and of perpetual feasts detested war, political quarrels, mourning,--everything that prevented amusement; diversion being the chief aim of the inhabitants. And now the war was over! The faces lengthened by sorrow and alarm could be exchanged for the laughing, radiant visages of joy. At the first news of peace, the whole town began to dance: sailors on the quays of the Yedogawa, merchants on their doorsteps, and servants in the palace courtyards. Nor were rich citizens, officials, and nobles less delighted, if they were somewhat more reserved in the expression of their joy. The princesses particularly were enchanted; confined in their palaces, separated from their husbands, they seemed to grow old during the war. They waked as from a nightmare. At last they were permitted to be beautiful once more, to smile, and to adorn themselves. They flew to their great lacquer-chests, scattering odors of musk and sandal-wood as they pulled out the magnificent robes which they had packed away, in order to array themselves in gowns of more sombre hues. The floors were strewn with a picturesque medley of satin, silk and crape of the most delicate tints. But on inspection, regarding these garments as faded and tumbled, they sent for dealers, tailors, and embroidering women. On the very evening of the promulgation of the peace, the Court announced a water-party, to which all the wealthy inhabitants of Osaka were invited. Excitement ran riot. There was very little time for preparation, or for trimming the boats. Evening came; the river was lighted up. Thousands of boats, decked with wreaths of lanterns, left the river banks and glided slowly off, some up, some down the stream. The royal barks soon appeared. Larger and handsomer than the others, they were carpeted with silken fabrics, which hung over and dragged in the water, and lighted-by huge round lanterns of gauze or painted glass, surrounded by the variegated flutter of countless banners. Under the shelter of superb awnings, in the soft light of the lamps, lay graceful women, carelessly stretched upon cushions, amidst the ample folds of their flowing robes. The embroidery of their kirimons glittered, and the great shining pins in their hair gleamed. Nobles sat beside them, uttering a thousand nothings, at which they laughed and threw back their heads. Luminous ripples danced upon the waves. At the broadest part of the river, where the hills are cut into terraces for a long distance, fire-works were arranged on frames: they were to be sent off on the arrival of the Court. A vast crowd of noisy, merry people were stationed on the terraces to see the festivities. The spectators, some standing, others seated or lying down, carried every one a lantern, and took part in the illumination. Barrels of saki were plentiful; they rolled down the hills; they pitched and tumbled about amid shouts and laughter. Some fell into the water: it was quite a farce to pull them out; some sank; but still everybody was soon intoxicated. Fide-Yori was present in disguise. With the Prince of Nagato, he occupied a light skiff carrying one faint light. Two men standing in the prow steered. Half lying on their cushions, the friends silently watched the boats as they came and went. The clear voice of the singers of national legends was heard, accompanied by the biva or the samsin. Bands of music passed, and drowned with their noisy bray the sweet feminine tones. But suddenly the fire-works blazed out, rockets shot through the air, Bengal lights exploded, and let fall a shower of stars. Once begun, the fire-works knew no interruption; the show-pieces were renewed as fast as they vanished in smoke. There was a constant hiss, and crack, and sparkle. The boat which bore Fide-Yori crossed that in which sat his mother, Yodogimi. The Princess, in a flood of light, appeared in a dazzling toilette. Her boat was entirely draped in gold brocade; the purple satin awning had pearl tassels at each corner. General Harounaga, completely drunk, laughed noisily, lolling on a pile of cushions. The Shogun turned away his head, and the boat passed. Fide-Yori still heard the soldier's shouts of laughter ringing in his ears. The Prince of Nagato was lost in revery; he saw nothing but the reflection of the lights in the water. He seemed to behold the glow of burning coals, of jewels, of flames and of molten metal. But he tore himself from his dream, thinking that the silence had lasted too long, and raised his eyes to the Shogun. Fide-Yori's face expressed a deep melancholy; however, the young man examined every boat that passed, with an eager look. Nagato watched him for some moments. "Whom does he seek?" he wondered. Fide-Yori was evidently looking for some one; he heaved a heavy sigh every time that he was disappointed in his hope. "Master," said Iwakura at last, "the whole nation rejoices to-day. I thought that sorrow found shelter in my heart alone; but I see that you have kept your share of it." "I ought indeed to look happy," said Fide-Yori, "but, to you, I show myself as I am. I have an aching heart, my friend, and nothing can allay my pain. The kingdom is at peace, but I am not?" "What is it, my beloved prince?" said Nagato; "do you not remember that, a few days ago, you promised to confide your grief to me!" "I have long desired to do so. I know not what strange restraint has prevented me. I felt as if the emotion, at once so bitter and so sweet, which I now experience for the first time, should be told to no one until she who inspires it had heard my tale." "You are in love, friend; I suspected it. But why should you suffer from your love?" "The woman I love saved my life. I never saw her but once. Her name is Omiti; that is all I know of her," said the Shogun. "Poor dear Prince!" cried Nagato; "and you were never able to trace her?" "Alas, no!" "Do you know to what class she belongs?" "She is the daughter of a noble," said Fide-Yori; "her language and her dress told me that. But were she the lowest reprobate, if ever Heaven permit me to find her, she shall be my wife." "We will seek her together," said Nagato. "I seek her even now in the midst of this crowd. Every boat that passes, laden with women, quickens the beating of my heart." "Then you think that she lives in Osaka?" said the Prince of Nagato. "I hope and think so," said Fide-Yori. "Then she is certainly at this festival. What young girl would stay at home to-day?" "So I thought, friend," replied the Shogun; "that is why I am here." "Come, give me a hasty sketch of her whom you love," said Nagato, "so that I may help you in your search." "She is full of exquisite grace; small; her eyes are very large; she has a childish air; her smile is a flower wet with dew." "The portrait is somewhat lacking in detail," said Iwakura, smiling. "Never mind; let us look for her; you are here to correct the errors that I make." They ordered their men to row rapidly, and to traverse every part of the river furrowed by illuminated boats. Their light skiff flew over the water like a swallow. It went, came, glided from one side of the stream to the opposite shore, never coming in contact with any other. Not one craft escaped the eager scrutiny of the two friends; but their search was in vain. "Her name is Omiti; you know nothing more?" asked Nagato. "Nothing; but I fancy that the family to which she belongs is hostile to me. When she told me of the existence of a conspiracy, she refused to give me the names of its authors." "Ah!" suddenly exclaimed Nagato, "just see that girl over there. Isn't she the very one you are looking for? I never saw such lovely eyes.". Fide-Yori turned quickly. "Bah!" said he, "you're mocking me; her lips are thick, and her nose is flat." "So they are," said Nagato. "Forgive me; she looked pretty from a distance." Their boat reached the point where the river widened, and where fire-works continued to shoot heavenward. Fide-Yori, in his turn, uttered a loud exclamation. Through a score of blazing rockets he thought he spied Omiti's face; and he was not mistaken. "There, there!" he cried; "follow that boat; hurry!" The rowers hastily tacked; but they had to make a _détour_; the great rafts from which the fire-works were sent off blocked the way. When they had passed them, no one knew which boat they were to follow. Fide-Yori had observed nothing but the maiden's face; he saw it no longer. He had noticed neither the number of lanterns nor the colors of the banners. Besides, just at this point there was such a bewildering array of boats of every shape and size, that it was impossible to move. Fide-Yori trembled with agitation and alarm. "She will escape me," said he. "Must I find her only to lose her, after waiting so long?" "Did you see which way the boat went?" asked Iwakura. "I thought it went up stream." "Well, let us row that way, then; they can't have gone far. One is fairly held captive here. We shall find her again." Fide-Yori took courage. "Row up the river," he cried to his men. The young Shogun leaned over the edge and gazed eagerly about. Several people recognized him. Numbers of princesses of the royal household, lords, and generals passed close by him. He saw his mother and General Harounaga again; but the face he sought had vanished. "Perhaps we were too hasty," said he. They retraced their course; then went up stream once more. "The festivities are almost over!" Fide-Yori cried, suddenly. "Let us go to the outskirts of the throng and wait for that boat; when it makes for home, it must pass us." "Which way shall we go?" said Nagato. "Towards the upper town; there are no houses of nobles in the direction of the sea." They waited in vain; the boat did not appear. It had gone down the river, and proceeded towards the suburbs. Fide-Yori went back to the palace discouraged. The Prince of Nagato tried to console him. "Are you very sure that the woman you saw was the one you are looking for?" said he. "Sure!" cried Fide-Yori. "I never saw her face but once; but my eyes can never forget it." "Then," said the Prince, "instead of being sad, rejoice. You only imagined that she lived in this city; now you are certain she does. So we are sure of finding her. You must give another entertainment, and she will be there." "You are right, friend," said Fide-Yori; "you shall help me; we will search the city. We will find her yet; she shall be my wife. Then my life, which has been but a series of sorrows and disillusions, will begin to brighten. Let us start to-morrow, eh? We'll open the campaign before a new festival can be arranged; we will study the city, district by district; we'll wrest her secret from her. Oh! you have given me fresh courage; you have almost made me happy!" Hope illumined the young Shogun's eyes, a smile trembled on his lips. All at once a cloud darkened his brow. "How cruel and selfish I am!" he exclaimed. "You, my best friend, my devoted brother, have just lost the woman whom you love; she died a frightful death. And I insult your grief by talking of my love and my hopes. How dare I be gay when you are wretched!" "Master," said Nagato, "I feel a deep regret for the woman who died for my sake; I cherished a brotherly affection for her. But my betrothed was not my beloved." "What do I hear?" cried Fide-Yori; "you lift a great weight from my heart. I supposed you were crushed forever. Then you may be happy yet, as well as I." Iwakura shook his head. "My love is made up of light and shade," said he. "I can never be entirely happy; it is composed half of celestial bliss, and half of utter misery. Such as it is, however, it is my whole life." "Whom do you love, then?" asked Fide-Yori. "Oh, Master!" said the Prince, covering his eyes with his hand, "do not ask me." "It is so sweet to talk of the loved one! See! since I made you my confidant, my trouble has diminished by half." "I am condemned to silence." "Even to me? Is it thus you love me? I regret that I opened my heart to you." "If I should confess the object of my love, you would shun the subject forever." "Is it my mother?" "No," said Nagato, smiling. "Who is it? Tell me, I beseech you!" "The Kisaki." "Unhappy man!" cried Fide-Yori; and, as the Prince had predicted, he added not another word. Next day the work of demolishing the ramparts began. Ten thousand men attacked them; they stood firm. No one knew what to do next. The stones rested on sloping ground, and seemed as if riveted in their places. Above, on the terre-plein, which formed a spacious terrace, cedar-trees grew, and cast a heavy shade. The first breach was made in the towers projecting at intervals from the walls. They were thrown down into the moat; then huge blocks were dragged from the walls, and the work was ended. Only the shattered walls seemed to be still standing; the stones were not there, the mountain of earth remained; but the moat was filled up. While this work of destruction was going on, the city continued to make merry. Fide-Yori ordered a huge bell to be cast, and dedicated it solemnly to the temple of Buddha; upon this bell were engraved the words: _Henceforth my house shall be at peace_. On the occasion of the consecration public rejoicings were held, and a splendid performance was announced to be given at the chief theatre in Osaka. A new play was to be brought out, entitled, "The Taiko-Ki," that is to say, the story of Taiko. This semi-historical work was written in honor of Fide-Yori's father. The moment was well chosen for its performance, and the preparations were therefore hastened on. But as the stage-setting was to be very elaborate, no positive date could be fixed. Nothing else was talked of throughout the city. Places were reserved in advance; from five to six kobangs[1] were paid for a seat. The women eagerly arranged their drosses for the occasion; tailors and embroiderers were beside themselves with commissions. The praises of the leading actor, who was to take the part of Taiko, were loudly sung. Everybody knew him; he was famous. He had been nicknamed Nariko-Ma, the "Humming-Top." Fide-Yori, too, waited impatiently for the day of the performance. He hoped that Omiti would be present; and there at least she could not escape him. His search throughout the city with Prince Nagato had been fruitless. It was not so easy as they had fancied, to enter every house and ask for the young girl. They began with the homes of the nobility. That was comparatively easy. The Shogun honored the wives of the absent lords with a visit incognito; it was his whim to see the family of the princesses. He thus passed in review all the noble maidens of Osaka. To enter the houses of wealthy citizens, the two friends were forced to don a disguise, and were not always well received. Their devices to get a glimpse of the daughters of the house varied. They sometimes pretended to have seen an article of priceless value drop from a young girl's sleeve, and were unwilling to return it to any but herself. Or they would say they were sent by an old man in utter despair, who had lost his only daughter, and was looking for a girl of the same age, and bearing some likeness to her, that he might leave his immense fortune to her. This latter invention, of the Prince of Nagato, was quite successful. But the task was a long one; they had already spent a week in the search, and had only visited the palaces and one street in Osaka. "We shall never contrive to see every house in this great city," said Fide-Yori; "we are crazy to think of doing it." "We may grow old before we find her whom we seek," replied Nagato. "No matter, let us go on looking; perhaps we shall come across her in the very next house we enter." Fide-Yori sighed. "Let us wait till the doors of the theatre are thrown open," said he. At last huge posters, printed on silk or colored paper, announced the date of the performance. "We shall see her at the theatre; she will be there, I feel sure," said the Shogun, clinging to that hope. [1] Twelve to fifteen dollars. CHAPTER XXVI. THE GREAT THEATRE OF OSAKA. On one of the largest of the canals which intersect Osaka in every direction stands the theatre, with its broad façade, capped by two roofs. You can go to the play in a boat; you can also go on foot, or in a norimono; for a quay paved with blue flag-stones runs in front of the building, and divides it from the canal. Two huge blue-silk banners, covered with Chinese characters, hang from flag-staffs at either corner of the house, rising high above the roof. Upon large tablets, on a gold ground, are painted the principal scenes in the plays to be performed. They are painted with marvellous wealth of color, and depict warriors, princesses, gods, and demons in the most exaggerated attitudes. Sometimes, instead of a picture, we find a combination of stuffs arranged in broad relief, velvet, crape, or satin, representing the dresses of the various characters, and producing the most brilliant effects. From the red cross-beams beneath the roof hang enormous lanterns, round in shape on the lower floor, square upstairs. On the ridge-pole, a fabulous animal, something like a dog or lion, juts forward, opening wide his jaws, with bristling mane and tail. By eight o'clock in the morning--the dragon's hour--the crowd collected before the doors of the Grand Theatre. Those who had no hope of admittance meant at least to enjoy the dazzling spectacle of the arrival of wealthy citizens and elegantly dressed ladies. On each side of the principal entrance, reached by a broad staircase, were reared lofty platforms, upon which various delegates from the company of actors stood forth, in street dress, fan in hand. In pompous style, with merry gestures and grimaces, they loudly commended the pieces which they were to give to the public, praising the splendor of the costumes and stage setting, and the incomparable merit of the players; and when that subject was exhausted, they amused the mob by all sorts of jokes, puns, and anecdotes, delivered with comic gravity, and accompanied by the perpetual motion of the fan, handled in skilful, graceful style. Soon the favored portion of the public, who were able to engage their seats in advance, arrived from all sides. Across the two bridges arching the canal to right and left of the theatre came norimonos and cangos, their bearers advancing with measured pace, and following one after the other in infinite succession; from every street appeared countless palanquins. The black lacquer glittered in the sun, the dresses of the women, in haste to enter, had the fresh tints of newly opened flowers. Some young men arrived on horseback; they threw the bridle to the groom, who ran before them, and mounted the stairs to the theatre hurriedly. Under the shade of broad parasols came various families on foot. Upon the canal a throng of boats besieged the landing-stage; the rowers exchanged hard words; the women stepped on shore with little shrieks of alarm. They were followed by maid-servants carrying magnificent boxes of carved ivory, mother-of-pearl, or sandal-wood. The hall was soon filled, and the doors were closed. The interior of the theatre was rectangular in shape, the parquet divided into square spaces separated by partitions about ten inches high. Two aisles led from the back of the house to the stage, which latter was not divided by any practical boundary from the body of the house, both being upon the same level. These aisles seemed intended rather for occasional exits and entrances of the actors, than for the accommodation of visitors, the partitions between the boxes being sufficiently broad to allow the spectators to reach the places reserved for them. The journey, however, was not without peril, and was accomplished amid screams and bursts of laughter. The women, hampered by their handsome dresses, advanced cautiously, stumbling occasionally. The men offered their arms, to help them into the boxes; but some preferred to sit upon the edge and slide gracefully down. Each compartment held eight persons, who squatted upon the matted floor; and as soon as they were seated, a servant, attached to the theatre, brought them tea and saki on a lacquer tray, with pipes and a brazier. Raised above the parquet on three sides of the hall was a double row of boxes, the fourth side being occupied by the stage. These boxes, very richly decorated on a background of red or black lacquer, were the most select part of the play-house, especially those in the upper stage. There the most elegant coquettes displayed their magnificent toilets. The aspect of the theatre was delightful; most of the women were beautiful, with their dead-white skins, their glossy hair and dusky eyes. The rustle of silk, the shimmer of satin, the bright colors and the embroideries, formed a splendid spectacle. The married women were easily recognized by their teeth blackened with a mixture of iron filings and saki, by their plucked eyebrows, and by their sash tied in an enormous knot directly in front. The young girls made the knot at the back, and left their teeth to their natural whiteness. They also dressed their hair differently. Instead of letting it hang in a long twist, or gathered in a heavy mass on the top of the head, they combed it over the forehead, arranged it in wings on either side of the face, and fashioned it into an elaborate and voluminous chignon. Some might substitute, for the tortoise-shell pins generally used, others of similar length, but made of filagree gold; their neighbors might prefer to adorn their hair with nothing but flowers and silk cords. The men were no less fond of dress; crape, brocade, and velvet not being forbidden for their wear. Some had an embroidered scarf on one shoulder, one end hanging forward; the longer the scarf was, the higher the social rank of the wearer. When he saluted a superior he must bend until the scarf touched the ground. Therefore the longer it was, the less he had to bend. A party of nobles appearing incognito, their faces hidden by black crape hoods, showing nothing but their eyes, filled the lower row of boxes. But one of these, very near the stage, remained empty; it was suddenly thrown open, and a woman appeared. The spectators could not repress a cry of amazement upon recognizing Yodogimi. Was it possible?--the Shogun's mother entering a theatre openly! Had she lost all respect for custom and decorum, and for herself! The veil of light gauze, fastened to the big pins in her headdress, and covering her face, although it might show her desire to preserve her incognito, in no way masked the Princess; she was recognized at the first glance. Still, surprise soon gave way to admiration. Every one was glad she had not hidden her charming face, which the transparent veil did but embellish. Besides, the extraordinary dress worn by Yodogimi took the audience by storm. Her robe was woven of pale gold, covered with fine pearls and grains of crystal; she seemed to radiate light, as if the stars were imprisoned in the folds of the stuff. The Princess smiled as she saw how promptly the first sensation of displeasure was overcome by admiration. She took her seat slowly; and when she was settled in her place, a masked warrior was seen standing behind her. Then the faint clamor of a gong, the trill of a couple of flutes, and a few muffled blows on a tambourine were heard. The musicians took up their instruments; the play was about to begin. The audience turned to the stage; it was closed by a curtain covered with huge lozenges, and in the centre of which appeared, upon a scarlet disk, an immense Chinese character, standing for the name of "Humming-Top," the famous and unrivalled actor. A rich silk merchant had presented this curtain in his honor; it was not to be changed until Humming-Top should be surpassed or equalled by one of his colleagues. The curtain moved; and a man, drawing it slightly aside, came forward. The instant he appeared, the hubbub which filled the hall ceased abruptly. The man saluted the audience with all sorts of grimaces. He was dressed like a wealthy lord, and held in his hands a paper cylinder, which he began to unroll. The people hung upon his words in profound silence; and yet they all knew that no one could unravel the sense of them. For such is the mission of this individual: he is to speak without being understood. If any one discover the true meaning of what he reads from his roll, he has missed his object. Still, he is to read the text literally, without skipping a word, or adding a syllable. The paper contains an outline of the piece to be played, the names of the characters, the actors, and the scene of action. The herald, by clipping his words and phrases, by uniting things that should be divided; by pausing where there is no pause, managed to mar his test completely, to make absurd mistakes and ridiculous jokes, at which the public laughed till the tears ran down their cheeks. Still they listened; they tried to guess the true meaning. But the speaker was clever: he withdrew, leaving no one a whit the wiser. When he had disappeared, noisy strains of music sounded behind the scenes, and the curtain rose. The scene represented an elegant apartment with a large window opening upon a country landscape; rich screens, a bed,--that is, a velvet mattress,--and a number of cushions, furnished the chamber. The audience at once recognized the scenery of one of the most popular plays in the repertory of the theatre. "It's the third act of the Vampire!" was whispered on every hand. Only this one act of the Vampire, which is the best and most dramatic, was given. The public expressed their satisfaction by a prolonged murmur, and the curtain fell. During the intermission most of the audience left the hall, and stormed the adjoining tea-house. There the morning meal was served, or merely warm drinks and a few dainties, amidst an indescribable tumult and confusion. Every one expressed his opinion of the merits of the play just witnessed, and of the actors' skill. Their gestures, their cries and contortions, were imitated. Some attempted to repeat their capers, to the great amusement of the spectators; others played chess, morra, or dice. The wait was a long one. The lads who took the part of women in the first piece were to appear in the second as well; they must have time to rest, take a bath, and change their dresses. But the time passed pleasantly; people ate, smoked, and laughed, and then flocked merrily back to the theatre. The appearance of the hall was entirely different; all the ladies in the boxes had changed their dresses, the new ones being still more gorgeous than the first. All eyes were bent on Yodogimi, eager to see how she could contrive a second toilet worthy of that which had so recently dazzled all beholders. Again they were mute with surprise. She seemed clothed in jewels and woven flames; her robe was one mass of humming-bird feathers, which flashed like sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and burning coals. Those living gems had been slaughtered whole-sale to form an ample garment, which cost the price of a castle. The herald reappeared, delivered a speech no less mysterious than the first, and the curtain rose. A scene from the Onono-Komat-Ki was now given. Onono-Komat was a lovely maiden attached to the Court of Kioto. Having a passion for poetry, she devoted herself to study, and composed verses; but in her love of perfection, the poem once written, she washed it out and began again. Young men fell in love with her beauty, and persecuted her with their attentions. She repulsed them, and continued her favorite studies. But the persistent suitors could not pardon her disdain; by base calumny they brought her into disgrace. The inspired maiden left the palace, and wandered at random. By degrees she became poorer and poorer; but her love of poetry never failed. She contemplated the beauties of nature, and sang of them with rare perfection of style. Age came; her hair turned white; she was completely destitute, roaming from village to village, leaning on a staff, a basket on her arm, and living on alms. Children gathered round her when she sat at the gates of a temple; she smiled sweetly on them, and taught them pretty verses. Sometimes a bonze would respectfully ask leave to copy one of the poems stowed away in her basket. The inspired singer died; then only was hatred silenced, and her glory shone forth. She was deified, and her memory is reverenced by all men. After representing various portions of the play descriptive of the life of Onono-Komat, a burlesque interlude was played, and then the Taiko-Ki at last began. The curtain went up on a vast scene representing an encampment of soldiers. The General's tent, rising high above the rest, was pitched in the centre. Envoys came running in dismay, gesticulating wildly with arms and legs. "The General! the General! we must see the General at once!" they cry. Then the curtains of the tent are parted, and Taiko appears. The Humming-Top had succeeded in reproducing exactly the attitude and dress of the hero he represented. The audience showed their satisfaction. Those who, in their youth, had seen the illustrious Shogun, fancied they beheld him once more. "What do you want?" says Taiko. The emissaries dare not open their lips. "Well!" says Taiko, frowning, and clapping his hand to his sword. "Sire, while you fight your country's foes, Mitsou-Fide, to whom you intrusted the care of the kingdom, has seized the power." At this news, Taiko's face passes successively from surprise to anxiety and fury. Meanwhile a man carrying a light on the end of a long bamboo pole, held it close to the actor's face, that the public might not lose any of his facial expression. "Let us be off!" cries Taiko;' "my presence alone can restore order in the palace." He gives the command of his troops to one of his officers, and leaves the stage by a raised passage through the parquet, and disappears through a heavy curtain. The stage revolved, and revealed the interior of a pagoda. Taiko enters. He asks for a night's rest in the pagoda, and is told that Mitsou-Fide has just arrived with his wife and mother. They are travelling, and have stopped here. Taiko starts violently. "My enemy so near!" he exclaims. "Shall I fly? No; I must disguise myself." He calls for a razor, shaves his head, and slips on the dress of a bonze. He has scarcely fastened it, when Mitsou-Fide enters, and casts a suspicious glance at Taiko; the latter, to appear at his ease and quite calm, begins to sing a simple air, popular throughout the kingdom:-- [Illustration: music bars] "From the mountain top I gaze down into the valley. The cucumbers and the hawthorn, hope of the harvest, are in bloom." "Come here, bonze," says Mitsou-Fide. "My mother is tired after her journey; you may prepare a bath for her." "Who would have thought that I came here to play the part of servant?" cries Taiko, turning towards the audience with most wonderful facial expression. "I obey," he adds aloud. The bath-room was only divided from the apartment which occupied the stage by a screen covered with oiled paper. Taiko prepares the bath; amusing the audience meantime by a thousand comical remarks, accompanied by appropriate grimaces. Mitsou-Fide's mother, enters, and asks if the bath is ready. On the affirmative reply of the false bonze, she disappears behind the screen. But Mitsou-Fide learns that Taiko is in the pagoda, and now rushes up in a rage, shouting loudly for his enemy. "He is in the bath," says a priest. "He shall not escape me." Taiko, during this scene, creeps off. Mitsou-Fide cuts a long stock of bamboo in the garden, sharpens one end of it, and hardens it over the coals in a bronze chafing-dish. Then marching up to the dividing-screen, he pierces the paper with this impromptu spear, and thinking to slay his enemy, kills his mother. "What have I done?" he exclaims in alarm, on hearing a woman's shriek. "You have killed your mother!" says his young wife, entering, pale with horror, and trembling like a leaf. "Repent! repent while she expires!" she cries, in a monotonous chant. "This cruel murder, committed by your hand, is the vengeance of Heaven! Did I not bid you beware of betraying your master? You usurped the power. See to what ambition leads you; you have killed your mother! At least repent while she expires." "Alas! alas!" howls the murderer; "let us leave this accursed spot, let us fly! Remorse rends my heart! For three days I possessed the power: my punishment is terrible. My mother slain by my own hand! I cannot believe it!" He bursts into the bath-room; then comes out, with all the signs of despair bordering on madness. The stage again revolves, and represents a field. Taiko in battle array, surrounded by soldiers, waits to intercept his enemy, who is about to escape. Mitsou-Fide crosses the stage with a scanty train of attendants; he is hemmed in by Taiko's men. The latter, after a long speech, in which he overwhelms his unworthy servant with reproaches, takes him prisoner and loads him with chains. The curtain falls; the play is over. It interested the audience deeply; in certain situations they discovered analogies to the events which had so recently troubled the country. Hieyas was often mentally substituted for Mitsou-Fide. Everybody went home highly delighted. Everybody? No. Fide-Yori had death in his soul. Omiti was not at the performance. Nagato tried in vain to comfort his friend. "I shall never see her again!" he cried. "I hoped that I might yet be happy in this life; but misfortune clings to me persistently. Look you, friend," he continued, "I long to die; I am overwhelmed with sorrow. My mother's conduct, her mad and ruinous extravagance, displayed in public, fill my heart with bitterness. Several times, when I heard the rough voice of that soldier whom she is weak enough to love, I was on the point of leaping into their box, slapping him in the face, and driving her out, with the righteous wrath evoked by such a disregard of all propriety and decency. And then my anger died at a gentle thought which took possession of me. I hoped that she would come,--that maiden in whom my every hope is centred; I searched the hall with an eager glance. She did not come! All is ended; all is desolate within me; and the life which she preserved I would fain lay down forever!" CHAPTER XXVII. OMITI. Winter had come; days of burning heat had given place to days of frost and ice. The leaden sky seemed to have changed places with the earth, now dazzlingly bright in its white robes of snow. In the outskirts of Osaka the deserted shore had preserved intact the thick coat of wadding dropped from the clouds. The waves, reflecting the dull gray heavens, looked like ink. Scattered rocks jutted from the ground at intervals; the snow clung to their sharp angles. Gulls, disturbed in their flight by the wind, flapped their wings; they seemed dark and dirty against this whiteness. The last house of the suburb extended its high garden fence along the beach; it was covered with snow, and the swinging sign, which hung from two posts flanking the door, was quite illegible. The big lanterns swelling forward at either side of the entrance had been drawn in and fastened by hooks; a small penthouse sheltered them. The triple roof of the house seemed thatched with silver. This was the Day-Break Inn. It was here that Omiti had for many long days endured the cruel fate imposed upon her. She suffered in silence, with a proud resignation which accepts neither pity nor consolation. She sacrificed herself to save the lord of the kingdom. She yielded without a murmur to the consequences of her sacrifice; but she sometimes thought that it would have been more merciful to kill her. She had no wish to see the King again, although she had not ceased to love him. Her love was born of a maiden's dream. Before she over saw Fide-Yori, that young prince, said to be handsome and amiable, filled her thoughts; and as she embroidered, she mused and wove a web of fancy about his image. When she discovered the horrid plot which threatened the life of him who filled her soul, she felt as if she should die of terror; but her longing to save him gave her the strength and courage of a hero. In her single interview with the King, in the lemon grove, she saw that her heart had not erred, and that she should never love any other man. But the idea that he might love her never even occurred to her; her modesty forbade it; and since, sold for the general pleasure, she had sunk to the lowest grade in the social scale, the mere thought of again standing in Fide-Yori's presence made her blush with shame. Often rich merchants from the town would bring their wives to the tea-house, to spend a few hours in the company of the gaizha girls, who instructed them in the art of acquiring elegant manners, taught them to play the samsin, and to compose verses. Sometimes the fine lady, crouching opposite Omiti, listening, with half-open lips, to the girl's plaintive tones, was surprised to see sudden tears flood the singer's eyes. But she supposed it was a seductive wile; and going home, would strive to weep as she struck the strings of her instrument. Beneath its snowy mantle, behind its closed windows, and although it appeared quite silent from without, the tea-house was full of people and of noise. For several weeks it had been thronged daily by a crowd of people of all classes, who seemed to assemble there for some secret purpose. The master of the establishment was undoubtedly in league with these men; he always mingled in their conversation,--indeed he often seemed to direct and inflame it. They talked of the affairs of the nation. The general misery was frightful. This civil war, coming just at the time when the fields most needed the master's eye, had injured the harvests; several crops were utterly destroyed by the armies, others were poor; famine threatened all that part of the kingdom which still belonged to Fide-Yori. In the north, on the contrary, everything throve and flourished. While rice was scarce in the neighborhood of Osaka, it was sold at half price in the northern provinces; but Hieyas absolutely forbade it to be exported to the south, and the Shogun took no pains to have a supply brought from elsewhere. While the people died of starvation, the Court displayed an unexampled luxury: every day were given receptions, feasts, and banquets. Yodogimi excited the popular wrath; she exhausted the treasury. The taxes were raised, and salaries lowered. The Government had plainly gone mad. The Court danced on the verge of an abyss, dragging their trains of gold and satin after them, to the sound of bewildering music. All were blind; no one thought of the possible resumption of the war. Men got drunk, they laughed and sang within the fallen walls of the fortress; they took no steps to restore the army to its former footing, or to increase it if possible. Yoke-Moura had vainly striven to act; money was wanting: the caprices and ruinous extravagance of the Princess Yodogimi absorbed it all. And the Shogun, what was he about? Plunged in a mysterious melancholy, he wandered in his gardens solitary and alone, doing nothing, apparently laying down the power. It was evident that Hieyas only waited for an opportunity to give the last blow to that crumbling structure. But why should he wait? The old man's wisdom was in strange contrast with the young man's improvidence and the folly of his Court. Hieyas must be summoned; his accession would save the nation from misery and want. Why should they be reduced to the last extremity? An effort must be made to bring about the inevitable issue as soon as might be. Omiti, with growing fear, daily heard similar discourses. The guests of the inn changed; the same men did not always return. They went elsewhere, to stir up rebellion and wrath. It was plain that emissaries from Hieyas were mixed with these artisans. The Usurper felt the value of a movement in his favor at Osaka; he was anxious to provoke it. Moreover the careless indifference of the Court was of wonderful help to him. Omiti saw all this; she wrung her hands, and wept with despair. "Then there is no one who dares to warn him of his danger!" she cried, in her sleepless nights. One day, as she sat in her room embroidering, she noticed that the people talking in the room below had dropped their voices. Usually they cared very little who heard them. Her heart leaped in her bosom. "I must hear what they say," she murmured. She ran to the top of the staircase; and holding fast to the railing, glided to the lowest step as lightly as air, and succeeded in catching a few disjointed sentences. "Yes, that beach is unfrequented." "We will enter the inn by the door which opens from the sea." "And we will leave on the street side in small groups." "The soldiers must be disguised as mechanics." "Of course; but they will keep their weapons under their cloaks." "The city is already greatly agitated; we will proceed to the fortress in a body, and summon the Shogun to abdicate." "If he refuses, we will enter the palace and take possession of him." Omiti shivered with horror. "I must get away from here," she muttered; "I must give the alarm." The conspirators continued: "We must hasten; to-morrow, at nightfall, the soldiers may land." "Directly after, a cargo of wheat and rice will arrive." Omiti went back to her room. She had heard enough; her resolve was taken. A sort of mystical ardor filled her soul. "My mission in this world is to save him, to hold him back on the edge of the precipice," she thought with exaltation. "This is the second time that I have discovered a guilty secret,--a plot against the man whom I loved before I ever knew him. The will of Heaven is displayed in this. Once more I will point out his peril to him; my feeble hand shall stay the execution of the crime." She considered the means she might employ to escape from the house. Two other young women shared her chamber at night. She could not trust them; they did not like her, and were devoted to their master. Upon the ground-floor all the doors were closed on the inside by heavy bars; besides, the men servants, who had charge of the cellar department, slept down stairs. Therefore it was useless to think of escape in that direction. There remained the window; it was somewhat high above the ground, but that was not what troubled Omiti. How could she open the window without rousing the other women If she succeeded in doing it without a noise, the cold air blowing into the room would wake them. Omiti thought of the window that opened on the staircase landing. But the one in her room looked upon the street, while the other opened into the garden; and once in the garden, she still had the fence to climb. "No matter," thought Omiti; "I'll get out of the window on the stairs." But how? She had no ladder at her disposal. With a rope? Where should she get a rope without arousing suspicion? She decided to manufacture one. Her comrades had gone for a walk, and she had plenty of time. Opening the boxes containing her clothes, she took out various strong silk dresses and cut them into strips. She then braided these strips together, and fastened the strands by hard knots. Then she rolled up the rope, and hid it under her mattress. "Now," said she, "I am sure I can save him." The day seemed long to her; the fever of expectation made her tremble nervously; her teeth chattered at intervals. The other girls came back, their cheeks rosy with the cold; they wearied Omiti with the recital of all they had seen and done. They had gone to the banks of the Yedogawa to see if the ice was drifting. They fancied they saw a few floating blocks, but perhaps it was only snow; for there was snow everywhere, even on the golden fishes that crowned the high tower of the fortress, which were turned to silver. The wind was icy; but, to ward off the cold, the men had put on embroidered velvet ear-caps.... Omiti paid no attention to the interminable chatter of the women. She was delighted to see the lanterns lighted. Darkness had come, but the long evening still lay before her. She could not eat any supper; and feigned illness, to avoid singing or playing the biva. She returned to her room, where her companions soon joined her; their walk had tired them, and they quickly fell asleep. The noise, the laughter, and songs of the men who were getting tipsy below lasted yet a long time. But at last she heard the familiar sound of the bars dropping into their places; every one was gone. She waited another half-hour, to give the servants time to sleep soundly; then, without the slightest noise, she rose, took the rope from under her mattress, and slid slightly aside the panel opening on the staircase, shutting it when she had passed. She listened, and heard nothing but a few snores, which were very reassuring. She opened the window; the night air made her shudder. She leaned out, and looked down; the white snow afforded a dim light. "It is high," thought the young girl; "will my rope be long enough?" She fastened it to the window-frame, and unrolled it. It reached the ground, and even trailed a little on the snow. Omiti wound her gown about her, and knelt on the edge of the window. But as she was about to intrust herself to that frail cord, a sort of instinctive fear took possession of her; she hesitated. "What!" said she, "I tremble for my life when his is in danger!" She let herself go abruptly, holding to the rope with both hands. A sharp pain almost forced a scream from her; she felt as if her arms would be pulled from their sockets; her hands were torn as she slid rapidly down. But all at once one of the knots in the silk gave way under her weight, and the rope broke. She fell upon the snow, which swallowed her up. But her fall was deadened; and she rose to her feet, feeling no pain, but a sudden lassitude. After shaking off the snow, with which she was covered, she crossed the garden and gained the fence. Luckily the door was only fastened by a big round bolt; after several attempts, she succeeded in drawing it back. She was on the shore, out of that ill-omened house, free at last! The strong wind blew sharp from the sea, whose monotonous roar she heard. She began to run, sinking ankle deep in the snow, which rose behind her in clouds of glittering particles. She was in such haste to be gone from the tavern, that instead of going round the corner of the house into the street upon which the front door opened, she followed the garden fence, which soon came to an end, and was replaced by a wall running round another enclosure. "I will enter the city by the next lane that opens on the beach," thought Omiti. She reached a sort of open square on the sea-shore, bordered on the other side by a semicircle of wretched huts, half hidden in their mantles of snow. In the middle, a lighted lantern, hanging from a post, made a shimmering, blood-red spot. The light was very dim. The young girl took a few steps into the square, but suddenly recoiled with a cry of horror: she saw an awful face gazing down at her from above the lantern. At the scream uttered by the young girl, a myriad other shrieks rang out from the bills of countless crows; who, roused abruptly, flew up and circled in the air in aimless fashion. Omiti was soon surrounded by the ill-omened birds. Motionless with fright, she thought herself the victim of some hallucination, and rubbed her eyes, trying to take in and understand what she saw. That face still glared at her; she had snow in her eyebrows, her hair, her open mouth, and her haggard eyes. At first Omiti thought she saw a man leaning against the post; but on looking closer, she found that the head, without a body, was suspended to a nail by the hair, and she recognized that she was in the square where all the public executions took place. The ground was covered with mounds,--graves hastily dug for the victims. The body of the last criminal had been left at the foot of the post; a dog, busily scratching the snowy shroud that veiled the corpse, uttered a long howl, and fled with a bloody fragment in his jaws. A large bronze statue of Buddha, seated on a lotos, was visible, spotted with white flakes. Omiti conquered her terror and crossed the square, stretching out her arms to drive away the crowd of ravenous crows which flocked about her. They pursued her with their melancholy shrieks, which were mingled with the roar of the sea. The young girl went rapidly down a narrow street, illumined by no ray of light. The snow had been trampled, and she walked through icy mud. The darkness was profound; it was not even mitigated by the whiteness of the earth. Omiti kept close to the walls, to feel her way. But the houses did not follow in regular order; there were vacant spaces; she sometimes lost her guide. Her feet sank in pits of soft snow, which began to melt in places. She fell, then rose again; the edge of her dress was soaked. She felt benumbed with cold. "Shall I ever reach my journey's end?" she thought. Another street appeared, crossing the first; a few lights glittered down its length. Into this Omiti turned. Without knowing it, the girl was passing through the very worst quarter of the city. Thieves, disreputable women, and vagabonds of every sort congregate there. There, too, may be found a peculiar class of men, the Ronins. These are young men, sometimes noble, dragged down by dissipation to the lowest stage of ignominy. Driven from their homes or stripped of their office, but preserving the right to wear two swords, they take refuge among the criminal classes, give themselves over to all sorts of shameful industries, assassinate at other people's orders, are the leaders of bands, and exercise great influence over the villains among whom they live. A few hours earlier it would have been impossible for the young girl to enter this region without being attacked, insulted, or carried by main force into some of the evil dens of which it is composed. Fortunately the night was far advanced; the streets were empty. But another obstacle awaited Omiti: this quarter of the city is shut in by a gate guarded by a watchman. How could she make him open the door at this hour? What excuse could she give to the suspicious and probably surly keeper? Omiti considered this as she walked. She soon saw the wooden gate at the end of a street, lighted by several lanterns; she noticed the hut, made of planks, for the gatekeeper's shelter. "I must be bold," she thought; "if I manifest the slightest uneasiness he will distrust me." She marched straight up to the door. The man was probably asleep, for the sound of her footsteps did not bring him out. Omiti measured the gate with her eye. It was impossible to climb over; it was surmounted by barbed iron wires. The young girl, her heart beating hard, knocked at the hut. The keeper came out with a lantern. He was well wrapped in a wadded robe, and his head was lost in the folds of a brown woollen scarf; he looked sickly, and besotted with drink. "What's the matter?" said he, in a hoarse voice, lifting his lantern to a level with Omiti's face. "Open the door," said the girl. The fellow burst out laughing. "Open the door at this time of night?" he cried; "you're crazy." And he turned on his heel. "Stop!" said she, holding him fast; "my father is sick, and sent me to fetch the doctor." "Very well, there are plenty of doctors here. There's one not ten steps away; there's another in Grasshopper Street; and still a third at the corner of Thieves' Lane." "But my father has no faith in any but his own physician, who lives in another district." "Go home and to sleep!" said the man. "That's all a lie; but you can't fool me. Good night!" He was about to close the door of his hut. "Let me pass," cried Omiti, in despair, "and I swear you shall be paid beyond your utmost hopes." "You have money, then?" said, the keeper, turning quickly back. Omiti recollected that she had a few kobangs in her sash, and said, "Yes." "Why didn't you say so in the beginning?" He took the monstrous key that hung from his belt and went to the gate. Omiti gave him a kobang. It was a large amount to the ill-paid man, who drank up his wages as fast as he earned them. "With such a reason in your hands, there was no need to put your father to death!" said he, throwing open the gate. "Which is the shortest way to reach the banks of the Yedogawa?" she asked. "Walk straight ahead. You'll come to another gate; it opens on the shore." "Thank you!" said she. And she moved rapidly away. The road was better; the snow had been shovelled away and piled in heaps. "How I am safe," thought the happy girl, heedless of the fatigue that weighed her down. She gained the second gate. But now she knew what she was to do to have it opened. The keeper was pacing up and down, stamping his feet, to keep warm. "I'll give you a kobang if you'll open the gate," she exclaimed. The man stretched out his hand and put the key in the lock. Omiti passed through; she was on the bank of the river. She had only to climb up to the castle now. The road was long, but unimpeded. She walked bravely forward, drawing her gown close about her, to ward off the cold. The guardians of the night passed on the other shore, striking their tambourines, to announce the last watch of the night. When the young girl reached the castle, a wan and pallid light was struggling to break through the clouds. The snow resumed its dazzling bluish whiteness; it seemed to radiate light rather than to absorb it from that gloomy sky, apparently covered with reddish smoke. The castle reared its imposing mass before the young girl's gaze. The lofty towers stood out against the heavens, the broad roofs of the princely pavilions were ranged in order; the cedars along the first terrace had collected on their evergreen branches heavy lumps of snow, fragments of which fell from time to time and slid from bough to bough. Omiti felt the tears come into her eyes when she saw the ruined walls and the filled-up moats. "My poor dear Prince!" she said. "You have given yourself up to your enemy; if the war were to begin again, you would be lost. At least you shall escape once more from the odious conspiracy contrived against you." All were asleep in the castle, except the sentinels pacing to and fro; the fallen ramparts were replaced by living walls. At the moment Omiti touched her goal, she feared she had not the strength to take the few steps necessary to reach the fortress-gate. Soaked with snow, spent with fatigue and excitement, the cold morning air made her shiver from head to foot. Everything swam before her; her pulses throbbed; there was a singing in her ears. She hurried to the gates; the sentinels crossed their lances, to bar her way. "No passing here!" they said. "Yes! I must pass at once,--I must see the King, or you shall be severely punished!" cried Omiti, in broken accents. The soldiers shrugged their shoulders. "Stand back, woman; you are drunk, or mad. Begone!" "I beseech you, let me in. Call some one; I feel as if I were dying. But first I must speak with the King! I must! You hear? Do not let me die before I have said my say." Her voice was so sad and so full of entreaty that the men were moved. "What ails her?" said one. "She is pale as the snow; she might die, as she says." "And if she has something to tell!" "Let us take her to the Prince of Nagato; he can decide whether it's worth hearing." "Well, come in!" said one of the soldiers; "we pity you." Omiti took a few tottering steps; but her strength deserted her. She hurriedly snatched from her bosom a withered flower and held it to the soldiers; then, with a stifled cry, she fell backwards. The embarrassed and uneasy soldiers looked at each other, consulting one another with a glance. "If she is dead," said one, "we shall be accused of killing her." "We'd better throw her into the river." "Yes; but how are we to touch a corpse without making ourselves impure!" "We will purify ourselves according to prescribed laws; that will be better than being sentenced to have our heads cut off." "That's so; let's be quick. Poor thing! it's a pity," added the fellow, leaning over Omiti. "But then it's her own fault: why did she die like that?" Just as they were about to raise her and carry her to the river, a clear young voice was heard singing:-- "Is there aught on earth more precious than saki? If I were not a man, I would fain be a tun!" The soldiers sprang back. A lad came forward well wrapped in a fur-trimmed robe, his head buried in a hood tied under his chin. He proudly rested his velvet-gloved hand upon the hilts of his two swords. It was Loo returning from a nocturnal revel alone and on foot, that he might not be denounced to the Prince of Nagato by his suite; for Loo had a suite of his own, now that he was a Samurai. "What's going on here? Who is this woman stretched motionless on the ground?" he cried, casting a terrible, glance from one soldier to the other. The soldiers dropped on their knees, exclaiming: "Your lordship, we are innocent. She wanted to enter the castle, to speak to the Shogun; touched by her prayers, we were about to let her pass and to conduct her to the illustrious Prince of Nagato, when all at once she fell dead." Loo bent over the young girl. "Donkeys! Dolts! Drinkers of milk! Trodden-down shoes!" he shouted, in a rage, "don't you see that she still breathes, that she has only fainted? You leave her there in the snow instead of going to her aid? To cure you of your stupidity, I'll have you beaten till you drop dead on the spot." The soldiers shook in every limb. "Come," continued Loo, "lift her carefully, and follow me." The men obeyed. As they entered the gate of the fortress, the young Samurai knocked at the guard-house close by. "Renew the sentinels!" he shouted; "I need these fellows." And he went on. The Prince of Nagato was asleep. Loo did not hesitate to rouse him. He knew that the Shogun was trying to find traces of a young girl whom he adored. He had followed the King, in his search through the city, with his master. The fainting woman, whom he had just found at the castle gate, was very like the portrait sketched by Fide-Yori. "Master," he said to the Prince, who, still but half awake, fixed a surprised and sleepy gaze upon him, "I think I have found the object of the Shogun's search." "Omiti!" exclaimed Nagato; "where did you find her?" "In the snow! But come quickly. She is cold and motionless; do not leave her to die." The Prince slipped on a fur-lined garment, and ran to the room where Omiti lay. "This may well be the one we have sought," said he, as he saw her; "let some one call the Shogun. But first send servant-women here, and let them take off this young girl's wet and muddy clothes. Summon also the palace doctor." Omiti was wrapped in the softest furs; the women stirred up the fire burning in a huge bronze bowl. The King came quickly. From the threshold, through the open panels, he saw the girl in the midst of a vast heap of splendid furs and stuffs. He uttered a cry of joy, and rushed towards her. "Omiti," he cried, "is this a dream? Is it you? After so long a separation you are restored to me at last!" At the King's outburst the young girl trembled; she opened her eyes. The doctor arrived, breathless; he knelt beside her, and took her hand. "It is nothing," said he, after he had felt her pulse carefully; "a slight fainting fit, undoubtedly, brought on by cold and fatigue." Omiti, with her large eyes full of surprise, shaded by long quivering lashes, gazed at the people grouped about her. She saw the King at her feet; standing close beside her, the Prince of Nagato, smiling kindly at her; then the grave face of the doctor, made grotesque by an enormous pair of spectacles. She thought she must be the toy of some dream. "Do you suffer, my sweet love?" said Fide-Yori, clasping Omiti's little hand in both his own. "What has happened to you? Why are you so pale?" She looked at the King, and heard his words without comprehending them. Suddenly her memory cleared; she rose abruptly. "I must speak to the Shogun!" she cried; "to him alone, and at once." With a gesture, Fide-Yori dismissed the spectators, but detained the Prince of Nagato. "You can speak before him; he is my dearest friend," said he. "But calm yourself. Why do you look so frightened?" Omiti tried to collect her ideas, troubled by fever. "Because," she said, "Hieyas, by means of wily emissaries, is inciting the citizens of Osaka to rebel, and to hate there lawful lord. An insurrection is to take place this very night, and soldiers disguised as mechanics will land upon the shore in the outskirts of the town. They will enter the city and march upon your dismantled castle, to demand that you shall abdicate your title, or to kill you if you refuse. You do not doubt my words, I hope? Once already you have had proof, alas! that the misfortunes I predict are real." "What!" cried Fide-Yori, his eyes filling with tears, "was it to save me yet again that you came? You are the good genius of my life!" "Make haste and give your orders; take measures to prevent the crimes which are impending," said Omiti; "time presses. It is to be to-night, do you understand? Hieyas' soldiers are to invade your city by treachery." Fide-Yori turned to the Prince of Nagato. "Iwakura," said he, "what do you advise me to do?" "Let us warn General Yoke-Moura. Let him call his men to arms, and watch the shore and the city. Is there not some place where the leaders of the conspiracy are to meet!" he added, addressing Omiti. "There is," said the young girl; "at the Day-break Inn." "Very good; then we must surround the inn and seize the rebels. Do you desire, master, that I should see your orders executed!" "You will make me happy, friend, by doing so." "I leave you, sire," said Nagato. "Let nothing disturb you, and give yourself freely up to the joy of reunion with the woman whom you love." The Prince withdrew. "What does he mean?" thought the astonished Omiti. "The woman whom you love: of whom was he talking?" She was alone with the King, and dared not lift her eyes; her heart throbbed violently. Fide-Yori, too, was troubled; he did not speak, but gazed at the lovely girl who trembled before him. She, lost in blushes, twisted in her fingers a tiny withered twig. "What have you in your hand?" gently asked the Shogun; "is it a talisman?" "Don't you recognize the spray of lemon-blossoms which you gave me when I saw you?" said she. "Just now, when I fainted, I offered it to the sentinels. I thought that they would take it to you, and that the sight of it would recall me to you. But I find it is still in my hand." "What! You kept those flowers?" Omiti raised her clear eyes to the King, revealing her soul in her face; then dropped them quickly. "Because you gave them to me," said she. "You love me, then?" cried Fide-Yori. "O master!" said the startled girl, "I should never have dared to confess the weakness of my heart." "You will not confess your love? Well! I love you with all my soul, and I dare to tell you so." "You love me?--you, the Shogun?" she exclaimed, with touching amazement. "Yes, and I have long waited your coming, wicked one. I have sought you; I was plunged in despair; you have made me suffer cruelly! But since you are here, all is forgotten. Why did you delay so long? Had you no thought of me?" "You were my only thought; it blossomed like a celestial flower in the midst of my sad life; without it I should have died." "You thought of me, while I groaned at your absence; and you did not come?" "I did not know that you had deigned to remember me. Besides, had I known it, I should not have come." "What!" cried the Shogun, "is it thus you love me? Would you refuse to live with me--to be my wife?" "Your wife!" murmured Omiti, with a bitter smile. "Certainly," said Fide-Yori; "why do you look so sad?" "Because I am not worthy even to be numbered with your servants; and when you learn what I have become, you will drive me from you with loathing." "What do you mean?" cried the Shogun, turning pale. "Listen," said the girl, in a hollow voice. "Hieyas came to my father's castle; he found out that I had discovered the frightful plot against your life, and had betrayed it; he had me carried away and sold as servant in a tavern of the lowest class. There I have lived as women live who are slaves. I never left that inn until last night. Once more I overheard a conspiracy against you. I escaped from the window by means of a rope, which broke. Now you are saved, let me go; it is not fit that you should stay any longer in the company of a woman like me." "Hush!" cried Fide-Yori; "what you tell me breaks my heart. But do you think that I could cease to love you? What! It was for my sake you were reduced to servitude; for my sake you have suffered. You have saved my life twice, and you think I would forsake you I would scorn you? You are crazy. I love you more than ever. You shall be queen; do you hear me? How many women in your condition have been bought and married by nobles. You are here; you shall not leave me." "O master!" exclaimed Omiti, "I conjure you, remember your rank; think of the duty you owe to yourself; do not yield to a passing desire!" "Hush, cruel girl!" said the King. "I swear that if you continue to drive me to despair I will slay myself at your feet!" Fide-Yori put his hand to his sword. "Oh! no, no!" shrieked the girl, turning ashy pale "I am your slave; do with me as you will." "My beloved queen!" cried Fide-Yori, clasping her in his arms, "you are my equal, my companion, and not my slave. It is not merely from a spirit of obedience that you yield, is it?" "I love you!" whispered Omiti, raising her beautiful eyes, wet with tears, to the King. CHAPTER XXVIII. HENCEFORTH MY HOUSE SHALL BE AT PEACE. The leaders of the conspiracy were all arrested at the Day-break Inn; but the soldiers of Hieyas, warned betimes, did not disembark; so that although the Shogun was certain that Hieyas was the secret head of the plot, no positive proof could be brought against him. Still it was evident that civil war was about to break out again. General Yoke-Moura thought that it would be best to take the initiative, and carry the war into the enemy's country. The other generals, on the contrary, desired to collect all their forces in and around Osaka, and wait. Discord ensued among the leaders. "You are too rash," they said to Yoke-Moura. "You are fools," replied the General. No decision was reached. Fide-Yori, absorbed in his happiness, would not hear any mention of the war. "Let my generals do their work," said he. At the entreaty of the Prince of Nagato, however, he sent to Hieyas an aged officer named Kiomassa, whose prudence and devotion were well known. "Let him go to Mikawa under the guise of peace," said the Prince, "and endeavor to find out whether Hieyas really means to resume the war. The Mikado ordered him to preserve the peace; the first who infringes upon his decree will incur his wrath. If war is inevitable, let our enemy be the first to offend. Kiomassa owns a castle in the outskirts of Mikawa; he can pay a visit to Hieyas on his way to his estates without rousing suspicion." General Kiomassa set off, escorted by three thousand troops. "I have come to make you a neighborly call," said he to Hieyas, as he entered the castle of Mikawa. Hieyas received him with a mocking smile. "I have always held you in high esteem," he said, "and I am delighted that chance has brought you hither. I said this morning to the nobles of my household, on hearing of your arrival in my dominions, that, save for three things, I saw nothing to reprove in you." "And what are those three things?" said Kiomassa. "First, you travel with an army, which is strange in time of peace; second, you possess a fortress, which seems to threaten my provinces; third and last, you let your beard grow under your chin, contrary to the prevailing style." Kiomassa answered without seeming disturbed: "I travel with an army to preserve myself from all danger, for I think the roads insecure; I have a fortress, of course, for the lodgment of that army. As for my beard, it is very useful to me; when I tie my helmet on, it makes a little cushion under my chin, and keeps it from being chafed." "Very good; keep your beard, but shave away your castle," said Hieyas, smiling; "your soldiers will help you with the work."' "If you insist upon it, I will ask Fide-Yori whether he will authorize me to yield the castle up to you. I shall soon return to my master. Have you no message to send him!" "You may tell him that I am angry with him," said Hieyas. "For what cause?" "Because he has graven the characters composing my name on the bronze bell which he consecrated to the temple of Buddha, and they are beaten morning and night." "What do you mean?" cried Kiomassa. "Fide-Yori had these words inscribed upon the bell: 'Henceforth my house shall be at peace.'" "I tell you that all the characters in my name are used to make up that sentence; and it is upon my name the priest strikes with his bronze mallet, accompanying the blow with curses on my head." "I will inform the Shogun that this coincidence offends you," said Kiomassa, without losing one whit of his composure. He returned to Osaka, and told how he was received by Hieyas. The mocking insolence and the idle quarrel picked by the aged Regent were a sufficient indication of his hostile purpose, which he did not even try to disguise. "His conduct is equivalent to a declaration of war," said Fide-Yori; "we should consider it as such. However, we will make no attack. Let Hieyas stand forth; he will not do so immediately; we shall, undoubtedly, have time to re-dig the moats around the castle. Let the work be begun at once." Some time after this, Fide-Yori repudiated his wife, the granddaughter of Hieyas, and sent her back to her grandfather. He at the same time announced his speedy marriage with Omiti, to whom he had given the title of Princess of Yamato. The two lovers forgot the rest of the world; their happiness blinded them; they had no room for thought of the dangers which threatened them. Besides, to them the only misfortune possible was to be parted; and they were sure, if any disaster occurred, that they could at least die together. They had revisited the lemon grove. Delicate buds began to stud the branches, for spring comes quickly in that climate. The last snow has scarcely melted when the trees grow green. They wandered down the misty garden-paths, hand in hand, enjoying the bliss of being together, of seeing one another otherwise than in imagination or in a dream; for they adored each other, but did not know each other. They had met for an instant only, and the mental image which each had preserved of the other was incomplete and rather different from reality. Every moment brought them some fresh surprise. "I thought you were shorter," said Fide-Yori. "Your eyes seemed to me proud and scornful," said Omiti; "but they are full of infinite tenderness." "How sweet your voice is, my beloved!" resumed the King; "my memory perverted its divine music." Sometimes they embarked in a little boat, and with one stroke of the oar reached the middle of the pond. Upon the bank a tall willow dipped its long green branches in the water; the stiff leaves of the iris pierced the liquid mirror; and water-lilies bloomed on its surface. The betrothed pair cast their lines, and the hook sank, making a series of circles on the water. But the fish nibbled in vain; in vain the light float hovering on the surface of the pond danced a reckless measure; they heeded it not. From one end of the boat to the other, they gazed fondly at each other. But sometimes they noticed that the fish set them at nought; then their clear laughter rang out, mingling with the song of the birds. He was twenty-three, she eighteen. Yet it was Omiti who occasionally concerned herself about the war. "Do not forget your duties as a king in your love for me," said she; "do not forget that we are threatened with war." "Your heart is at peace with mine," said Fide-Yori; "why do you talk of war?" However, the Shogun might safely devote himself to his love. The Prince of Nagato took his place, arranged the defence, and strove to bring about harmony among the generals, who were all at odds, and only thought of thwarting one another. Harounaga in particular gave him abundant cause for anxiety. He forbade his men to dig the moat around the castle. "That is work for slaves," said he; "and you are warriors." The soldiers of the other companies, unwilling to be less sensitive than their comrades, in their turn refused to work. So that after the lapse of a month and a half children could still run up and down into the moat at play. Nagato was obliged to inflict severe punishments, and order was restored by degrees. Signenari pitched his camp on the plain to the north of the city; Yoke-Moura took up his quarters on the hill called Yoka-Yama, and Harounaga on Tchaousi-Yama. All the rest of the troops guarded the shore, or were collected in the fortress. Moreover, Nagato had charged Raiden and his mates to enlist all who would fight; and the brave sailors had gathered ten thousand volunteers. Thus defended, it was difficult to take the city by surprise. Nagato's eagle eye was everywhere; he had fortified the two bastions which stand at the entrance to Osaka, on either side of the river. By the help of the canals intersecting the entire town, by destroying a certain number of bridges, he had contrived to make a moat, and to insulate the district containing the fortress. The Prince seemed unwearied. With such a leader, who thought of everything, and kindled the ardor of the troops by his words and his example, the city might be defended, and still hope. But all at once Nagato left Osaka. One evening a horseman paused at the door of his palace. Nagato recognized Farou-So-Chan, one of the nobles especially attached to the service of the Kisaki. Iwakura never saw any one who came from the Dairi without a palpitation of the heart. On this occasion his emotion was yet more marked. Farou-So-Chan was charged with a particular and secret mission. "Here is a letter which the Kisaki directed me to place in your hands," said he, with a melancholy gravity which struck Nagato. He unfolded the letter with trembling fingers; it exhaled the delicate perfume which he loved so much. It read as follows:-- "On the tenth day of the fifth moon go to the province of Ise, to the temple of Ten-Sio-Dai-Tsin, at nightfall; kneel on the threshold of the temple and remain in prayer until a young priest approaches you and touches you on the shoulder; then rise and follow him; he will conduct you to me." Nagato lost himself in conjectures. What could be the meaning of this singular tryst at the doors of the temple of the Sun-Goddess in the province of Ise? Was it a trap? No; for Farou-So-Chan was the messenger. But then he should see her again; all anxiety faded before that delightful prospect. The tenth day of the fifth moon was the very next day but one. The Prince had barely time to reach the spot at the hour appointed, and he started in haste. CHAPTER XXIX. THE HIGH-PRIESTESS OF THE SUN. The earliest temple to Ten-Sio-Dai-Tsin is situated in the province of Ise, and is bathed by the waves of the Pacific Ocean. According to sacred legend, the Goddess Sun was born upon the very site of the temple. Here antique tradition and vague legends of a bygone age are religiously preserved by the priests, who meditate upon the deep meaning of their symbolism. In the mysterious time before the world existed, the confused assemblage of elements floated in space. That which afterwards became earth, that which became the heavens, was then mingled together as the yolk and the white are blended in the embryo egg. But three immaterial gods arose,--the Supreme God, the Creator of Souls, and the Creator of Matter; and chaos ceased. The heavy and opaque bodies were gathered together, and formed the earth; the light and subtile portions rose, and became the heavens. Soon from the soft and slimy mass constituting the earth arose, among the floating fogs, a half-open, velvety flower, bearing in its cup the nascent Reed God. He brooded for countless years over the infant world. The Spirit of the Waters came after him, and reigned for a thousand million years. During these immeasurable periods of time one god succeeded to another in heaven, until the seventh of the divine dynasties ruled in the invisible ether. One day, from the height of a bridge that spanned the clouds, the God Iza-Na-Gi and his companion, Iza-Na-Mi, looked down upon the earth. "I see nothing but an immense expanse of waters," said the God. He stirred the surface of the sea with his jewel-tipped spear; the mud and ooze bubbled, rose, and spread over the waters. Thus the primitive island of Japan was formed. Soon it was covered with vegetation; it was peopled with birds and beasts, and became so attractive that Iza-Na-Gi and his companion descended and came to dwell there. The birds taught them love, and the Sun-Goddess was born; then the divine couple gave birth to the Spirits of the Wind, the Rain, and the Volcano; to the Moon God, "who gazes through the darkness of night;" and finally to the first men, whose posterity peopled the island. Then the creators of Japan re-ascended to heaven, confiding the government of the world to their beloved daughter, the Sun-Goddess. All the subjects of the bright divinity are bound, at least once in their lifetime, to make a pilgrimage to her temple at Naikou, to purify their souls. Therefore that city is always thronged with pilgrims coming and going,--some in norimonos or on horseback; others,--and these are more meritorious,--on foot, carrying a straw mat which serves as bed, and a long wooden spoon, to dip water from the roadside stream. The temple is of the utmost simplicity of construction. It is a small structure, open on one side, surmounted by a broad thatched roof, surrounded by hundred-year-old cedars, and preceded at the distance of twenty paces by a tory, or sacred gateway, composed of two tall posts leaning slightly together, and united at the top by two crossbeams, the uppermost being arched upwards at the ends. The temple contains nothing but a large round mirror of polished metal,--symbol of purity and perspicacity. Opposite this mirror, upon the few wooden steps leading to the temple, the Prince of Nagato knelt at the moment appointed by the Kisaki. It was already night; the moon had risen, and its light, broken by the thick screen of leaves and branches, fell upon the ground. Solitude reigned around the temple; the priests had returned to the sumptuous pagodas adjacent to this rustic monument of the earliest ages; the pilgrims had departed; nothing was to be heard but the low rustle of the cedars in the wind. The Prince listened. Involuntarily impressed by the sanctity of the spot, the night seemed strangely solemn to him. The silence was somewhat menacing; the shade of the cedars was hostile; the azure eye of the moon seemed to weep upon his upturned face. Why did such unspeakable agony oppress his soul? What was he about to hear? Why was the Queen at Naikou, instead of at her palace? A hundred times he asked himself these questions, which he could not answer. At last he felt a light touch on his shoulder; he rose; a young bonze stood beside him; he walked away without a word. Nagato followed. They traversed bamboo groves, avenues of cedars, and reached a broad stone staircase, rising between two slopes, upon which the moon cast a snowy light; they climbed these stairs, leading to the terrace of a high pagoda, whose pointed roof, narrow as an inverted lily, was terminated by a slender spire. The young bonze paused, signed to Nagato to remain where he was, and retired. The Prince then saw a white form issuing from the pagoda and advancing towards him from the shadow of the roof. The light of the moon struck full upon it, and he recognized the Kisaki. She was clad in a long sleeveless tunic of white silk, over a garment of cloth of gold. It was the dross of the high-priestess of the Sun. "Queen!" cried the Prince, springing toward her, "am I the victim of a dream? That dress--" "Is henceforth mine, Iwakura," said she. "I have laid aside my crown; I have drawn nearer to Heaven. Still, from a last feeling of weakness, I wanted to see you once more, to bid you farewell for ever." "Ah! perjured one!" exclaimed the Prince; "so this is the way you keep your promises!" "Come," said the Queen, "the night is mild; let us leave this exposed place." They entered a long path bordered with bushes and filled with silvery mists. "Listen," said she; "and do not condemn me unheard. Many things have happened since you left Kioto. Know, friend, that on the day,--the recollection of which still charms me against my will,--the day on which you saved me, and we talked together so long, sitting beneath a bush, a man was listening to all we said." "Impossible!" cried the Prince, in alarm. "It is true; he who carried me off, instead of escaping, returned and overheard us. He was a spy of Hieyas. That perfidious wretch knew how to profit by the secret which his servant discovered; he revealed it to the Mikado. At first the Son of the Gods was incredulous; he was filled with indignation against the infamous villain who stained the land with blood. But by skilful wiles Hieyas contrived to change the sentiments of the Mikado, and to win his confidence. He cited, as a proof of our guilty understanding, your devotion and heroic conduct at the time of the attack on Kioto. Then the Son of the Gods called me to him, and when I stood before him he handed me a paper upon which our conversation was reported, but perverted and made infamous. Falsehood never stained my lips. I proudly owned that my heart was yours, though never while I lived should I have cause to blush for my deeds. But after this confession I could no longer remain at the Dairi. The high-priestess of Ten-Sio-Dai-Tsin had died some time previous. She was my husband's sister. I asked permission to fill her sacred office, desiring to end my life in retreat. The Mikado at once sent me the title that I craved, and a few days later married the granddaughter of Hieyas,--a child of fifteen." "Oh, grief!" exclaimed the Prince, falling at the Queen's feet. "For my sake, you have descended from your throne; you have left the palace of your ancestors, to kneel, sad and alone, in the shade of a temple,--you, the smiling divinity whom a whole nation adored." "I shall love this solitude, Iwakura," said she. "Here at least I am free; I am delivered from the affection of a husband whom I did not love, although he was a god. My thoughts shall be wholly yours." "Why will you not fly with me? Have we not suffered enough? You love me, and I only breathe because you are on this earth. Why should we torture ourselves thus? Come! Let us exile ourselves! You are my country; my world is the spot where your feet rest! What do we care for what the gossips say? The celestial music of our love will drown their despicable voices. What does the bird who soars aloft, intoxicated with light, care for the hiss of the reptiles writhing in the swampy mire?" "Hush, friend!" said she; "do not make me repent my wish to see you once more." "Why will you not hear me? why are you so merciless, so cruel? If your husband has taken another wife, you are free." "No, Prince, I have not fallen so low; the Mikado has added one more to the number of his wives, but he has not raised her to the rank which I held. I am his equal, and he is still my lord and master. If I were really free, despite the blame I might incur, I would drain the nuptial cup with you, and I would live wherever you liked." "Ah! I will kill the man who parts us!" cried the Prince, whose mind began to wander. "Silence, Iwakura!" said the Queen, in a grave voice. "Behold the dress I wear; think what I am. Henceforth I belong to this world no more; its fevers, its follies can touch me no longer. Purified by the divine flame of the Sun, I must meditate upon her mysterious and creative essence, become absorbed in her splendor, let her rays penetrate my being, identify myself with her light, and become as pure as she, until the day when my soul shall fly hence and receive its merited reward." "Forgive me!" said the Prince. "What matters one man's despair? I was mad to entreat you. See, I am calm now,--calm as the dead in their tombs. Forgive me for offending your ears by my too human words." "I have power to pardon you now," said she; "and I absolve you with all my soul. Rise, friend! we must part." They retraced their steps. At the end of this path, bathed in diffused light, all would be over for them; they must part to meet no more. Involuntarily the high-priestess slackened her pace. The Prince's sudden calm terrified her; she felt assured that it was the result of an irrevocable resolve. He was silent, and gazed at her with a peaceful expression. "He means to die," thought she. But she felt that nothing she might say would shake him in his determination. They had reached the end of the garden-walk, and advanced along the terrace. "Farewell!" said she. As she uttered the word, her heart seemed to break within her; she was on the point of falling into the Prince's arms, exclaiming: "Take me; let us go where you will!" "Farewell!" he whispered; "do not forget that you have given me your tryst on the threshold of another life." She fled with a sob. As she reached the pagoda, she turned back for the last time. She seemed some super-natural being, standing in the moonlight, in her robe of gold, which glittered beneath her silk tunic, white as her face. Iwakura stretched out his arms to her; but the high-priestess of the Sun vanished in the darkness, which wrapped her round and hid her forever. CHAPTER XXX. BATTLES. Heiyas was at the gates of Osaka with an army of three hundred thousand men. Coming from the northern provinces, he had traversed the great Island of Nipon, crushing, as he passed, the detachments stationed to guard the country. The soldiers of Fide-Yori died like heroes; not one flinched. The troops of the princes, on the contrary, made but a feeble resistance. However, it was impossible to stay the course of Hieyas' army, mighty as a river swollen by rain. It reached Osaka, and surrounded the city. Without pausing for rest, it attacked the town simultaneously on every side. Fide-Yori had divided his army into three bodies of fifty thousand each: Signenari and Moritzka commanded the first; Harounaga, Moto-Tsoumou, and Aroufza, the second; Yoke-Moura, the third. The soldiers were valiant; their leaders determined to die if they could not conquer. The first shock of arms was terrible. The men fought with unparalleled fury and desperation. Had their numbers been equal, Fide-Yori's troops must have carried the day; they were so resolved to be slaughtered rather than retreat, that they were not to be shaken. General Yoke-Moura was attacked by twenty thousand men armed with muskets, having himself but ten thousand stationed on the hill called Yoka-Yama; his men also had guns. One discharge of musketry followed another in rapid succession, until the ammunition was exhausted. Yoke-Moura was only waiting for that moment, having noticed that his adversaries were merely armed with guns and swords, and carried no lances. He then rushed headlong down the hill. His troops, lance in hand, fell upon their opponents, who, almost defenceless, fled in disorder. Signenari, too, after a bloody battle succeeded in driving back the enemy; but at all other points the generals, overwhelmed by numbers, were defeated, and forced to retreat into the interior of the town with what soldiers remained to them. Evening came, and brought a pause in the fighting. The weary soldiers lay down in the city streets, on the bridges, on the banks of the various canals. Signenari and Yoke-Moura alone were still outside Osaka, one on the plain, the other on the hill. When night had fairly come, a man advanced to the foot of Yoka hill and asked to speak with General Sanada-Sayemon-Yoke-Moura, having a message from Hieyas. He was conducted to the warrior's tent, and Yoke-Moura recognized one of his former companions-in-arms. "You come from Hieyas? You!" exclaimed the General, in a tone of reproach. "Yes, friend, I believe in the powerful genius of that man; I know how much his triumph will benefit the nation. And yet, now that I stand before you, I scarcely dare mention the offer which I am directed to make you." "Then it is a disgraceful one." "Judge for yourself. Hieyas feels the highest respect for your valor, and he thinks that to vanquish you would be a defeat for him; because your death would rob the country of its noblest soldier. He proposes that you should join his standard; your terms shall be his." "If Hieyas really feels a particle of respect for me," replied Yoke-Moura, "why does he feign to think me capable of selling myself? You can tell him that were he to give me half Japan, I would not even consider his offer; and that it is my glory to remain loyal to the master whom I have always served, and for whom I would gladly die." "I was prepared for your answer; and if I accepted the mission offered to me, it was only from a desire to see my old comrade once more." "You did not fear the just reproaches I might lavish upon you?" "No; for I did not feel myself guilty. Now a strange remorse torments me at the sight of your calm, brave loyalty. I see that my deeds, dictated by wisdom, are not worth the folly of your blind fidelity." "Well! it is not too late to repent; stay with us." "I will do so, friend. If I fail to return, Hieyas will understand that the man who came to buy you with bribes has given you his soul." The same proposal was made to General Signenari. "Hieyas offers to gratify my every desire!" exclaimed the youthful General. "Very well; then let him send me his head!" Next day considerable forces were gathered before Signenari's camp. The young warrior knew that the battle in which he was about to engage must be his last. He went the rounds of the camp, exhorting his men before the fight. Grave, gentle, and handsome as any woman, he passed along the ranks, tolling his attentive men how slight a value should be attached to life; not hiding the fact that the result of the day must be either death or dishonor. He added that a glorious death was enviable, and the life of a coward not worth that of a dog. He then returned to his tent, and despatched a message to his mother, informing her that he was about to die, and sending her a costly dagger in remembrance of himself. Next he stepped to the mirror; and pouring perfume upon his head, placed on it his helmet of black horn, crowned in front with a copper plate of crescent shape; he tied it under his chin, and cut the loose ends of silk cord. This signified that he would never untie them again; that he vowed himself to death. If his head were taken to the victor, the latter would understand that he had allowed himself to be killed voluntarily. The battle began, Signenari opening the attack; he rushed eagerly forward at the head of his men. The first of the fight was favorable to them; they broke the enemy's ranks, and slaughtered great numbers of them. Signenari's army, decimated the night before, and reduced to scanty numbers, pierced the enemy's ranks as a ship ploughs through the waves; but they closed behind the little band, who were surrounded and captured, but still undaunted. The soldiers of Hieyas thought they had imprisoned the whirlwind. Desperate men are terrible. The carnage was awful; the wounded went on fighting; the earth, bathed in blood, grew slippery; men stumbled in the mud; it seemed almost as if it had rained. But ten thousand men could not hold out long against one hundred thousand. Still the heroes who encircled the youthful leader were not conquered; they did not flinch; they met death on the ground that had been wrested from them. But their numbers lessened rapidly; soon there was nothing left in the centre of the army but a vast heap of corpses. Signenari, covered with wounds, fought on like a lion; he was alone. The enemy wavered before him, they admired his courage; but some one shot an arrow at him, and he fell. Hieyas was on the battle-field in a litter. His men brought him the fair young head of Signenari. He saw that the helmet-strings were cut, and inhaled the perfume with which the hair was soaked. "He preferred death to joining my cause," he said, with a sigh. "This victory saddens me as if it were a defeat." The same day Fide-Yori, sending for Yoke-Moura, asked him what now remained to be done. "We must attempt a general sortie to-morrow," he replied. "All the remnants of the various armies assembled in the city make a sum total of about sixty thousand men; to which we must add the garrison of the fortress, the ten thousand men still left of my command, and the ten thousand volunteers that you have collected. We may venture to undertake the struggle." "Shall you return to the city?" asked the Shogun. "It will be better, I think, for me to keep my advanced position on the hill. When the army is set in motion I will attack the enemy from another point, so that he may be obliged to divide his forces." All the officers were called together for consultation. The gravity of the situation silenced the quarrels which usually separated them; all yielded to Yoke-Moura. "The enemy's forces extend entirely round the city," said the General; "so that at whatever point you make your attack, you will be met by numbers fully equal to your own. The sortie must be effected on the south, so that, if possible, you may drive the enemy into the sea. Lot the leaders cheer their men by word and deed, and we may triumph yet.". "I will take my place at the head of the army," cried Fide-Yori. "Let the royal insignia, borne before my father in battle, be drawn from their velvet cases, and the gilded gourds mounted on scarlet handles, which have always been the signal for victory whenever they appeared, be brought forward. That reminder of Taiko-Sama will inspire the men; it will recall the former triumphs, the glorious battles won in its shadow. This talisman will protect us, and will fill the perfidious Hieyas with alarm, calling up before him the image of the man whose trust he has betrayed." The generals returned to their troops, to prepare them for the decisive battle of the morrow. Fide-Yori hastened to his betrothed. "This may be the last day that we shall spend together," he said; "I must not lose a second of it." "What say you, sire?" asked Omiti. "If you die, I die too; and we shall be reunited--to part no more." "Never mind," said the King, with a sad smile; "I could wish that our happiness had lasted a little longer upon this earth,--it has been so brief, and my misery so long. And you! so gentle, so devoted, you have suffered ills of every sort for my sake; and for your reward, when I longed to load you with riches, honors, and joy, I can only offer you the spectacle of the horrors of war and the prospect of speedy death." "You gave me your love," replied Omiti. "Oh, yes!" cried the King; "and that love, which was my first, would have been my last; it would have filled my whole life. Why can I not carry you far from here,--escape this struggle and this slaughter? What care I for power? It never gave me any pleasure. To live with you in some deep retreat, forgetting men and their guilty ambitions,--that would be true felicity." "Let us not think of that," said Omiti; "it is an idle dream. To die together is an additional delight, which will not be denied us." "Alas!" cried the Shogun, "my youth revolts at the thought of death. Since I have found you again, dear heart, I have forgotten the contempt which I was taught for this transitory life; I love it, and I would not quit it." Under cover of night, Harounaga contrived to regain the heights of Tchaousi, which he had lost. General Yoke-Moura had advised him to make the attempt, whose success would allow him to protect the Shogun's sally. All was ready for the final effort: the soldiers were full of ardor; their leaders were hopeful. Fide-Yori was encouraged; he believed that they would be victorious. One thing, however, grieved him, and that was the absence at this supreme moment of his most faithful friend, his wisest counsellor, the Prince of Nagato. What had become of him? What had happened to him? No news had been heard of him since he left Osaka so abruptly, three weeks before. "He is dead, since he is not by my side in the hour of danger," thought the Shogun, sighing heavily. From the earliest dawn the inhabitants of Osaka thronged the approaches to the fortress; they wanted to see the Shogun come forth from the castle in battle array, in the midst of his richly dressed warriors. While they waited they chatted with the soldiers encamped in the streets, pouring them out bumpers of saki. The aspect of the city was joyful; in spite of all that had occurred, the gay disposition of the citizens gained the upper hand. They were going to see a fine sight; they were happy. Towards the eighth hour the gates of the second wall of the stronghold were opened wide, and revealed a confused mass of banners floating among the bright rays of the tall spears. The first division of the Shogun's lancers advanced, wearing cuirasses; on their heads the helmet with visor, hollowed at the neck, and ornamented over the forehead with a sort of copper crescent; lance in hand, a little flag fastened behind the left shoulder. Then came the archers, their brows bound with a strip of white stuff, the ends streaming behind them, their backs bristling with long arrows, holding in their hands the tall lacquer bow. After them marched strange creatures, who looked more like huge insects or fantastic shellfish than like men. Some wore above their grinning black masks a large helmet decked with copper antennæ; others had their heads adorned with monstrous horns curving inward, and their masks bristled with red or white mustaches and eyebrows; or else they had a hood of mail brought over the face and head, leaving nothing visible but their eyes. The plates of their armor, made of black horn, were square, heavy, and oddly arranged; still, beneath the parti-colored silken stitches fastening the sheets of horn together, they produced a fine effect. These warriors, dressed as were their ancestors, were armed with halberds, monstrous bows, and two-handed swords. They filed by in long lines, to the great admiration of the people. At last Fide-Yori appeared upon a horse with braided mane. Before him were borne the gilded gourds, which had never been taken from the castle since the last victories of Taiko-Sama. They were hailed with enthusiastic shouts. "I intrust them to you," cried Fide-Yori, showing his army the glorious insignia. He said no more; and drawing his sword, rode off at a gallop. The whole army, moving with heroic impetus, left the city. The people followed them beyond the suburbs. From the summit of the hill, Yoke-Moura watched Fide-Yori and his troops march out from Osaka and deploy in the plain. He awaited the Shogun's first offensive movement to attack Hieyas' men. "Certainly," thought the General, "victory is possible. Signenari, who met death so nobly yesterday, did the enemy much injury; I myself repulsed with considerable loss the detachment which attacked my position. We may cut to pieces that division of the army upon which the Shogun pounces. Then the two hostile forces will be almost equal; and with equal numbers we shall surely triumph." Fide-Yori's army halted on the plain, occupying the ground where Signenari's camp had been pitched the day before. "What can they be waiting for?" wondered Yoke-Moura; "why do they pause in their forward movement?" The leaders ran to the flanks of the various battalions. Strange agitation prevailed in the ranks; evidently something new had occurred. They hesitated; they were making plans. All at once the whole army wavered, faced about, and retracing their steps, re-entered the city. "What does that mean?" cried Yoke-Moura, amazed, and pale with rage. "What sudden madness has seized upon them? It is a mockery! Are they cowards?" The soldiers of Hieyas then advanced across the plain abandoned by Fide-Yori. At the same moment Yoke-Moura's men gave the alarm. They were attacked on two sides at once. "It is well," said Yoke-Moura; "all is now lost." He summoned his young son, Daiske. "My son," said he, "return to the city; rejoin the Shogun, and say to him that nothing is left for me now but to die a glorious death for him, as I intend to do before evening. Remain with the master while he lives, and die with him." "Father," said Daiske, casting an imploring look at the General, "I would rather die with you." "Do as I bid you, my son," said Yoke-Moura, his voice trembling slightly. A tear rolled down the boy's cheek; but he made no answer, and went. The General watched him for an instant as he descended the hill, sighed, and then plunged abruptly into the thick of the fight. Without resistance, without exchanging one shaft with the enemy, the Shogun's army had returned to the city in disorder! The people could not believe their own eyes. What had happened? Why should rout precede the battle? This is what really occurred: Harounaga, suddenly abandoning the position which he held on the hill, hastened towards Fide-Yori, accompanied by a man coming from the camp of Hieyas. This man, who was a relative of Hieyas, declared that the majority of the army had gone over to Hieyas, and that when the fight began Fide-Yori would be hemmed in and taken prisoner by his own men. He said that he had surprised this secret, and hastened to warn the Shogun, to prevent his falling into an odious trap. "Return to the fortress," said he to Fide-Yori. "In the shelter of its ramparts you may defend yourself still, and die nobly; while here you are at the victor's mercy." After some hesitation the troops returned to the city. This tale of treachery was completely false: it was an act of perfidy planned by Hieyas, who, although he was strong, did not disdain to employ a ruse. But the people refused to accept the plea; the retreat of the soldiers produced a fatal effect. "They don't know how to behave!" was the cry. "They are lost; all is ended!"-- "After all, it's no concern of ours." Half the citizens began to desire the accession of Hieyas. The Shogun had no sooner returned to his castle, than the hostile army attacked the outskirts of the city. The inhabitants shut themselves up in their houses. A terrible conflict ensued; the ground was defended inch by inch, and yet the enemy advanced. They fought in the narrow streets, on the brink of the canals, upon whose waves, red with blood, dead bodies rocked to and fro; every bridge was carried after a desperate struggle. Little by little, Fide-Yori's troops were driven back towards the fortress. Inside the castle the confusion was great. No one thought of defending the outer wall; the bastions no longer existed; the moat had not been re-dug to a depth of more than two feet. All withdrew into the second enclosure; but there they were too remote to offer any aid to those who fought. The latter, after three hours of struggle, were repulsed to the walls of the castle; they invaded the first courtyard, and shouted to those within to open the second, otherwise they must be crushed against the walls. Yodogimi cried to the men to open the gates. All the doors were thrown wide at once, and the soldiers rushed in. But the enemy were at their heels; when they had passed, the doors could not be closed, and the followers of Hieyas came in behind them. Fide-Yori, with a thousand men, had taken refuge in the third courtyard of the castle, which contained the great goldfish tower, the residence of the Shogun, and a few palaces of the most noble princes. He did not hope to to defend himself, but merely that he and his family might not be captured alive. In a hall of his palace, drawn sword in hand, between his mother and his betrothed, he gazed through the open window, and with bowed head listened to the awful clash of arms behind the second wall. Many of his troops surrendered. The man whose duty it was to guard the gilded gourds of Taiko-Sama, whose name was Tsou-Gawa, burned them outside the palace, before the eyes of Fide-Yori. "All is over!" murmured the Shogun. "O you who are dearest in all the world to me, you must die for me and with me! I must take your life to save you from falling into the hands of the victors alive." He looked at his naked blade; then raised his eyes to his mother and sweet Omiti with a bewildered air. "Is there no way to save them?" he cried; "to let them live? What does it matter to the victor, so I but die!" "Live without you!" said Omiti, in a tone of reproach. Both women were pale, but calm. "No, it is impossible!" suddenly exclaimed the Shogun. "I cannot see their blood flow; I cannot see them die; let me be the first to expire!" CHAPTER XXXI. THE FUNERAL PILE. "No one shall die!" suddenly shouted a voice, as Fide-Yori turned his blade against himself. The Prince of Nagato appeared on the threshold; Loo stood beside him. "Oh, my brother!" cried the Shogun, rushing towards him, "I did not hope to see you again." "I knew that victory was impossible," said Nagato, "and I was busy preparing means for your escape when your final effort should fail. You are the sole offshoot of your race; you are vanquished now; but later your dynasty may flourish." "Is it really in your power to save us?" said the Shogun. "Yes, master," said Iwakura. "A boat awaits you on the shores of the Yedogawa; it is manned by Raiden, a brave sailor, whose loyalty I know. He will take you out to sea. There a large junk, belonging to the Prince of Satsuma, lies at anchor ready to receive you. As soon as you embark in her she will set sail for the Island of Kiu-Shiu. The lord of Satsuma, the most powerful prince of your kingdom, the most faithful of your subjects, will open his province and his castle to you; there you may live happily with the wife of your choice until the day of vengeance dawns." "I recognize your untiring devotion," said the Shogun, his eyes dim with tears. "But how can I leave the castle,--how pass through the frenzied hordes which surround it,--without being massacred?" "You will leave as I entered," said the Prince, "undisturbed by any one. If you will follow me to my palace," he added, bowing low to the two princesses, "I will show you the road that you must take to quit the fortress." "Prince," said Yodogimi, "your generosity fills me with confusion; I, who have so often striven to injure you, now see how unjust and blind I was. Tell me that you pardon my past errors, or I cannot submit to be saved by you." "I have nothing to forgive, Princess," said Nagato; "it is I who am guilty of the boundless misfortune to have displeased you." "Come, let us begone," said the Shogun, "you can explain yourselves later." They left the hall; Loo walked before. In the outer court of the palace the insignia of Taiko-Sama still burned, forming a mass of smouldering coals. As he passed them, Fide-Yori turned away his head. They reached the Prince of Nagato's dwelling, and entered his chamber. The trap-door leading to the subterranean path by which the brave Sado was wont to gain admittance to the palace was open. "This is the way," said he; "it leads to a fisherman's hut on the banks of the Yedogawa. There Raiden awaits you with the boat. Go; Loo will guide you through this underground road." "What!" cried Fide-Yori, "will you not go with us?" "No, master, I remain here; I have work yet to do." "Are you mad? To linger in this palace, which will soon be entirely overrun! What have you yet to do? You will be unable to escape." "Do not be anxious about me," said Iwakura, with a strange smile; "I shall escape, I promise you." "Iwakura!" cried the Shogun, gazing at his friend in alarm, "you mean to die! I understand you; but I will not accept safety at such a price. I am master still, am I not? Very well; I command you to follow me." "My beloved lord," said Nagato, in a firm voice, "if it be true that I have served you loyally, do not refuse me the first favor that I ask,--do not order me to leave this palace." "I do not order, friend, I conjure you not to rob me of a companion such as you; I entreat you to fly with us." "I join my supplications to those of my son," said Yodogimi; "do not send us forth with sorrow in our hearts." "Illustrious Prince," said Omiti, in her sweet, shy tones, "it is the first time I have ever spoken to you; but I too would venture to entreat you not to persist in your cruel resolution." Loo fell upon his knees. "Master!" he cried; but he could say no more, and burst into tears. "I recommend this boy to you," said Nagato. "Then you are deaf to our prayers?" said the Shogun. "Can nothing that we say move you?" "If she were lost to you," said the Prince, turning to Omiti, "could you consent to live? Oh, cannot you, to whom I have confided the dread secret of my life, understand how painful my existence is? Do you not see the joy that sparkles in my eyes, now that I approach the end of my sufferings? Had I been unable to serve you, I should long since have ended the torment of life. You are not victorious, as I would wish to see you; but I behold you in some safe retreat, full of flowers, joy, and love. You will be happy, if not powerful; you need me no longer. I am free; I can die." "Ah, cruel friend!" said Fide-Yori, "I see that your resolve is irrevocable." "Make haste!" said the Prince; "you have delayed too long. Reach the shore; Raiden will conceal you under the sail in the bottom of the boat; then he will take the oars. Loo will hold the helm." "No, no!" shrieked the boy, clinging fast to his master's dress, "I cannot go; I will die with you." "Obedience is a good servant's first duty, Loo," said the Prince, gently. "I command you henceforth to obey the master of us both, and to serve him unto death." Loo flung himself, sobbing, down the dark stairs of the underground passage. The two women followed him; then the Shogun descended in his turn. "Farewell! farewell! my friend, my brother! noblest, best, most faithful of my subjects!" he exclaimed, his tears flowing fast. "Farewell, illustrious friend!" said the Prince; "may your happiness last as long as your life!" He then closed the trap-door. At last he was alone. Then he returned to the courtyard of the palace; and taking a burning brand from the still smouldering brazier, set fire to all the princely pavilions and to Fide-Yori's palace, going through every room. Then he reached the goldfish tower, and kindled a conflagration on every floor. At the top he flung away his brand, and leaned upon the red lacquer railing of the platform, which was surmounted by a broad roof turned up at the corners and supported by four substantial pillars. The Prince gazed towards the sea. The little boat was already at the mouth of the Yedogawa. Alone upon the water, it seemed to attract the attention of the victorious soldiers encamped upon the beach; but Raiden the fisher cast his net, and the reassured soldiers allowed the boat to pass. In the offing the Prince of Satsuma's junk formed a tiny dark spot against the purple of the setting sun. The atmosphere was incomparably clear; the sea seemed like a huge turquoise. The shouts of the soldiers were heard around the castle. "Fide-Yori has set fire to the palace; he will perish in the flames," they yelled. Those who were still within the shelter of the third courtyard opened the doors and rushed out; they surrendered. Besides, the battle had ceased; the Usurper was at the gate of the fortress. The spectators knelt as he passed; he was greeted with cheers, and proclaimed the sole and legitimate Shogun. This was on the second day of the sixth moon of the first year of Nengo-Gen-Va.[1] From the summit of the tower the Prince of Nagato saw the litter in which Hieyas lay; he heard the triumphant clamor which hailed him. "Glory and royal power are nothing in comparison with happy love," he murmured, turning back to look at the boat which held his friends. It was out at sea now, out of reach of the soldiers; the sail was set, and the boat skimmed swiftly over the waves. "They are safe," said the Prince. Then he turned his eyes in another direction, towards Kioto and Naikou. He saw the beginning of the road that leads to the sacred city, which he had travelled so often; he saw the coast outlined against the azure sea, and stretching away till it was lost in the distance, towards the province where the ancient temple of Ten-Sio-Dai-Tsin stands. He seemed longing to distinguish, across the distance, the form of her whom he was never to see again. The sun disappeared; the glare of the conflagration began to overpower the light of day. The palace of the Shogun, at the foot of the tower, was a vast furnace, which, seen from above, appeared like a lake of fire tossed by a tempest. The flames surged and seethed, and reared lofty crests, like waves in a storm. Now and then a cloud of red smoke passed before the Prince's eyes, obscuring the horizon. The entire tower was burning; a fearful roar, mingled with a continual crackling sound, filled its walls. The topmost platform, however, was not yet kindled, but already the floor cracked and shook. A jet of flame leaped up and touched the edge of the roof. "Come, liberating fire!" cried the Prince; "come and allay the devouring fires of my soul! Extinguish, if you can, the inextinguishable flame of my love." He took from his bosom a crumpled paper, and unfolding it, raised it to his lips; then read it for the last time by the lurid light of the conflagration. "One day these flowers hung their heads to die. They let fall their luminous soul like a diamond. Then the two drops of dew met at last, and were mingled in the stream." The heat was intolerable. The paper suddenly blazed up in the Prince's fingers. He gasped for breath; he felt that he was dying. "My beloved," he cried, "I go before! Do not make me wait too long at the tryst!" Like the huge petals of a fiery flower, the flames shut in the last floor; they spread to the roof. The two monstrous goldfish writhed on the ridge-pole as if suddenly endowed with life; then they melted, and flowed down in two incandescent streams. Soon the entire edifice fell in with a terrible crash, and an immense sheaf of sparks and flame streamed up to heaven. [1] June 2, 1615. 
5173	----	This eBook was produced by John B. Hare and proofread by Carrie R. Lorenz. THE RELIGION OF THE SAMURAI A STUDY OF ZEN PHILOSOPHY AND DISCIPLINE IN CHINA AND JAPAN by KAITEN NUKARIYA Professor of Kei-O-Gi-Jiku University and of So-To-Shu Buddhist College, Tokyo 1913 CONTENTS INTRODUCTION (1) The Southern and Northern Schools of Buddhism (2) The Development and Differentiation of Buddhism (3) The Object of this Book is the Explaining of the Mahayanistic View of Life and the World (4) Zen holds a Unique Position among the Established Religions of the World (5) The Historical Antiquity of Zen (6) The Denial of Scriptural Authority by Zen (7) The Practisers of Zen hold the Buddha as their Predecessor, whose Spiritual Level they Aim to Attain (8) The Iconoclastic Attitude of Zen (9) Zen Activity (10) The Physical and Mental Training (11) The Historical Importance CHAPTER I HISTORY OF ZEN IN CHINA 1. The Origin of Zen in India 2. The Introduction of Zen into China by Bodhidharma 3. Bodhidharma and the Emperor Wu 4. Bodhidharma and his Successor, the Second Patriarch 5. Bodhidharma's Disciples and the Transmission of the Law 6. The Second and the Third Patriarchs 7. The Fourth Patriarch and the Emperor Tai Tsung 8. The Fifth and the Sixth Patriarchs 9. The Spiritual Attainment of the Sixth Patriarch 10. The Flight of the Sixth Patriarch 11. The Development of the Southern and the Northern School of Zen 12. The Missionary Activity of the Sixth Patriarch 13. The Disciples under the Sixth Patriarch 14. Three Important Elements of Zen 15. Decline of Zen CHAPTER II HISTORY OF ZEN IN JAPAN 1. The Establishment of the Rin Zai School of Zen in Japan 2. The Introduction of the So To School of Zen 3. The Characteristics of Do-gen, the Founder of the Japanese So To Sect 4. The Social State of Japan when Zen was Established by Ei-sai and Do-gen 5. The Resemblance of the Zen Monk to the Samurai 6. The Honest Poverty of the Zen Monk and the Samurai 7. The Manliness of the Zen Monk and the Samurai 8. The Courage and Composure of Mind of the Zen Monk and the Samurai 9. Zen and the Regent Generals of the Ho-jo Period 10. Zen after the Downfall of the Ho-jo Regency 11. Zen in the Dark Age 12. Zen under the Toku-gawa Shogunate 13. Zen after the Restoration CHAPTER III THE UNIVERSE IS THE SCRIPTURE OF ZEN 1. Scripture is no More than Waste Paper 2. No Need of the Scriptural Authority for Zen 3. The Usual Explanation of the Canon 4. Sutras used by the Zen Masters 5. A Sutra Equal in Size to the Whole World 68 6. Great Men and Nature 7. The Absolute and Reality are but an Abstraction 8. The Sermon of the Inanimate CHAPTER IV BUDDHA, THE UNIVERSAL SPIRIT 1. The Ancient Buddhist Pantheon 2. Zen is Iconoclastic 3. Buddha is Unnamable 4. Buddha, the Universal Life 5. Life and Change 6. The Pessimistic View of Ancient Hindus 7. Hinayanism and its Doctrine 8. Change as seen by Zen 9. Life and Change 10. Life, Change, and Hope 11. Everything is Living according to Zen 12. The Creative Force of Nature and Humanity 13. Universal Life is Universal Spirit 14. Poetical Intuition and Zen 15. Enlightened Consciousness 16. Buddha Dwelling in the Individual Mind Enlightened Consciousness is not an Intellectual Insight 18. Our Conception of Buddha is not Final 19. How to Worship Buddha CHAPTER V THE NATURE OF MAN 1. Man is Good-natured according to Mencius 2. Man is Bad-natured according to Siun Tsz 3. Man is both Good-natured and Bad-natured according to Yan Hiung 4. Man is neither Good-natured nor Bad-natured according to Su Shih 5. There is no Mortal who is Purely Moral 6. There is no Mortal who is Non-moral or Purely Immoral 7. Where, then, does the Error Lie? 8, Man is not Good-natured nor Bad-natured, but Buddha natured 9. The Parable of the Robber Kih 10. Wang Yang Ming and a Thief 11. The Bad are the Good in the Egg 12. The Great Person and the Small Person 13. The Theory of Buddha-Nature adequately explains the Ethical States of Man 14. Buddha-Nature is the Common Source of Morals 15. The Parable of a Drunkard 16. Shakya Muni and the Prodigal Son 17. The Parable of the Monk and the Stupid Woman 18. 'Each Smile a Hymn, each Kindly Word a Prayer' 19. The World is in the Making 20. The Progress and Hope of Life 21. The Betterment of Life 22. The Buddha of Mercy CHAPTER VI ENLIGHTENMENT 1. Enlightenment is beyond Description and Analysis 2. Enlightenment Implies an Insight into the Nature of Self 3. The Irrationality of the Belief of Immortality 4. The Examination of the Notion of Self 5. Nature is the Mother of All Things 6. Real Self 7. The Awakening of the Innermost Wisdom 8. Zen is not Nihilistic 9. Zen and Idealism 10. Idealism is a Potent Medicine for Self -Created Mental Disease 11. Idealistic Scepticism concerning Objective Reality 12. Idealistic Scepticism concerning Religion and Morality 13. An Illusion concerning Appearance and Reality 14. Where does the Root of the Illusion Lie? 15. Thing-in-Itself means Thing-Knowerless 16. The Four Alternatives and the Five Categories 17. Personalism of B. P. Bowne 18. All the Worlds in Ten Directions are Buddha's Holy Land CHAPTER VII LIFE 1. Epicureanism and Life 2. The Errors of Philosophical Pessimists and Religious Optimists 3. The Law of Balance 4. Life Consists in Conflict 5. The Mystery of Life 6. Nature favours Nothing in Particular 7. The Law of Balance in Life 8. The Application of the Law of Causation to Morals 9. The Retribution in the Past, the Present, and the Future Life 10. The Eternal Life as taught by Professor M?nsterberg 11. Life in the Concrete 12. Difficulties are no Match for an Optimist 13. Do Thy Best and Leave the Rest to Providence CHAPTER VIII THE TRAINING OF THE MIND AND THE PRACTICE OF MEDITATION 1. The Method of Instruction adopted by Zen Masters 2. The First Step in the Mental Training 3. The Next Step in the Mental Training 4. The Third Step in the Mental Training 5. Zazen, or the Sitting in Meditation 6. The Breathing Exercise of the Yogi 7. Calmness of Mind 8. Zazen and the Forgetting of Self 9. Zen and Supernatural Power 10. True Dhyana 11. Let Go of Your Idle Thoughts 12. 'The Five Ranks of Merit' 13. 'The Ten Pictures of the Cowherd' 14. Zen and Nirvana 15. Nature and Her Lesson 16. The Beatitude of Zen APPENDIX ORIGIN OF MAN PREFACE INTRODUCTION CHAPTER I REFUTATION OF DELUSIVE AND PREJUDICED (DOCTRINE) CHAPTER II REFUTATION OF INCOMPLETE AND SUPERFICIAL (DOCTRINE) 1. The Doctrine for Men and Devas 2. The Doctrine of the Hinayanists 3. The Mahayana Doctrine of Dharmalaksana 4. Mahayana Doctrine of the Nihilists CHAPTER III THE DIRECT EXPLANATION OF THE REAL ORIGIN 5. The Ekayana Doctrine that Teaches the Ultimate Reality CHAPTER IV RECONCILIATION OF THE TEMPORARY WITH THE REAL DOCTRINE INTRODUCTION Buddhism is geographically divided into two schools[FN#1]--the Southern, the older and simpler, and the Northern, the later and more developed faith. The former, based mainly on the Pali texts[FN#2] is known as Hinayana[FN#3] (small vehicle), or the inferior doctrine; while the latter, based on the various Sanskrit texts,[4] is known as Mahayana (large vehicle), or superior doctrine. The chief tenets of the Southern School are so well known to occidental scholars that they almost always mean the Southern School by the word Buddhism. But with regard to the Northern School very little is known to the West, owing to the fact that most of its original texts were lost, and that the teachings based on these texts are written in Chinese, or Tibetan, or Japanese languages unfamiliar to non-Buddhist investigators. [FN#1] The Southern School has its adherents in Ceylon, Burma, Siam, Anan, etc.; while the Northern School is found in Nepal, China, Japan, Tibet, etc. [FN#2] They chiefly consist of the Four Nikayas: (1) Digha Nikaya (Dirghagamas, translated into Chinese by Buddhaya?as, A.D. 412-413); (2) Majjhima Nikaya (Madhyamagamas, translated into Chinese by Gautama Sanghadeva, A.D. 397-398); (3) Sanyutta Nikaya (Samyuktagamas, translated into Chinese by Gunabhadra, of the earlier Sung dynasty, A.D. 420 479); (4) Anguttara Nikaya (Ekottaragamas, translated into Chinese by Dharmanandi, A.D. 384-385). Out of these Hinayana books, the English translation of twenty-three suttas by Rhys Davids exist in 'Sacred Books of Buddhist,' vols. ii.-iii., and of seven suttas by the same author in 'Sacred Books of the East,' vol. xi. [FN#3] The Southern Buddhists never call their faith Hinayana, the name being an invention of later Buddhists, who call their doctrine Mahayana in contradistinction to the earlier form of Buddhism. We have to notice that the word Hinayana frequently occurs in Mahayana books, while it does not in Hinayana books. [FN#4] A catalogue of the Buddhist Canon, K'-yuen-luh, gives the titles of 897 Mahayana sutras, yet the most important books often quoted by Northern Buddhist teachers amount to little more than twenty. There exist the English translation of Larger Sukhavati-vyuha-sutra, Smaller Sukhavati-vyuha-sutra, Vajracchedika-sutra, Larger Prajna-paramita-hradya-sutra, Smaller Prajna-paramita-hrdaya-sutra, by Max M?ller, and Amitayur-dhyana-sutra, by J. Takakusu, in 'Sacred Books of the East,' vol. xlix. An English translation of Saddharma-pundarika-sutra, by Kern, is given in 'Sacred Books of the East,' Vol. xxi. Compare these books with 'Outlines of Mahayana Buddhism,' by D. Suzuki. It is hardly justifiable to cover the whole system of Buddhism with a single epithet[FN#5] 'pessimistic' or 'nihilistic,' because Buddhism, having been adopted by savage tribes as well as civilized nations, by quiet, enervated people as well as by warlike, sturdy hordes, during some twenty-five hundred years, has developed itself into beliefs widely divergent and even diametrically opposed. Even in Japan alone it has differentiated itself into thirteen main sects and forty-four sub-sects[FN#6] and is still in full vigour, though in other countries it has already passed its prime. Thus Japan seems to be the best representative of the Buddhist countries where the majority of people abides by the guiding principle of the Northern School. To study her religion, therefore, is to penetrate into Mahayanism, which still lies an unexplored land for the Western minds. And to investigate her faith is not to dig out the remains of Buddhist faith that existed twenty centuries ago, but to touch the heart and soul of Mahayanism that enlivens its devotees at the present moment. [FN#5] Hinayanism is, generally speaking, inclined to be pessimistic, but Mahayanism in the main holds the optimistic view of life. Nihilism is advocated in some Mahayana sutras, but others set forth idealism or realism. [FN#6] (1) The Ten Dai Sect, including three sub-sects; (2) The Shin Gon Sect, including eleven sub-sects; (3) The Ritsu Sect; (4) The Rin Zai Sect, including fourteen sub-sects; (5) The So To Sect; (6) The O Baku Sect; (7) The Jo Do Sect, including two sub-sects; (8) The Shin Sect, including ten sub-sects; (9) The Nichi Ren Sect, including nine sub-sects; (10) The Yu Zu Nen Butsu Sect; (11) The Hosso Sect; (12) The Ke Gon Sect; (13) The Ji Sect. Out of these thirteen Buddhist sects, Rin Zai, So To, and O Baku belong to Zen. For further information, see 'A Short History of the Twelve Japanese Buddhist Sects,' by Dr. B. Nanjo. The object of this little book is to show how the Mahayanistic view of life and of the world differs markedly from that of Hinayanism, which is generally taken as Buddhism by occidentals, to explain how the religion of Buddha has adapted itself to its environment in the Far East, and also to throw light on the existing state of the spiritual life of modern Japan. For this purpose we have singled out of thirteen Japanese sects the Zen Sect, [FN#7] not only because of the great influence it has exercised on the nation, but because of the unique position it holds among the established religious systems of the world. In the first place, it is as old as Buddhism itself, or even older, for its mode of practising Meditation has been handed down without much alteration from pre-Buddhistic recluses of India; and it may, on that account, provide the student of comparative religion with an interesting subject for his research. [FN#7] The word Zen is the Sinico-Japanese abbreviation of the Sanskrit Dhyana, or Meditation. It implies the whole body of teachings and discipline peculiar to a Buddhist sect now popularly known as the Zen Sect. In the second place, in spite of its historical antiquity, ideas entertained by its advocates are so new that they are in harmony with those of the New Buddhists;[FN#8] accordingly the statement of these ideas may serve as an explanation of the present movement conducted by young and able reformers of Japanese Buddhism. [FN#8] There exists a society formed by men who have broken with the old creeds of Buddhism, and who call themselves the New Buddhists. It has for its organ 'The New Buddhism,' and is one of the influential religious societies in Japan. We mean by the New Buddhists, however, numerous educated young men who still adhere to Buddhist sects, and are carrying out a reformation. Thirdly, Buddhist denominations, like non-Buddhist religions, lay stress on scriptural authority; but Zen denounces it on the ground that words or characters can never adequately express religious truth, which can only be realized by mind; consequently it claims that the religious truth attained by Shakya Muni in his Enlightenment has been handed down neither by word of mouth nor by the letters of scriptures, but from teacher's mind to disciple's through the line of transmission until the present day. It is an isolated instance in the whole history of the world's religions that holy scriptures are declared to be 'no more than waste[FN#9] paper by religionists, as done by Zen masters. [FN#9] Lin Tsi Luh (Rin-zai-roku). Fourthly, Buddhist as well as non-Buddhist religions regard, without exception, their founders as superhuman beings, but the practisers of Zen hold the Buddha as their predecessor, whose spiritual level they confidently aim to attain. Furthermore, they liken one who remains in the exalted position of Buddhaship to a man bound by a gold chain, and pity his state of bondage. Some of them went even so far as to declare Buddhas and Bodhisattvas to be their servants and slaves.[FN#10] Such an attitude of religionists can hardly be found in any other religion. [FN#10] "Shakya and Maitreya," says Go So, "are servants to the other person. Who is that other person?" (Zen-rin-rui-ju, Vol. i., p. 28). Fifthly, although non-Buddhist people are used to call Buddhism idolatry, yet Zen can never be called so in the accepted sense of the term, because it, having a grand conception of Deity, is far from being a form of idol-worship; nay, it sometimes even took an iconoclastic attitude as is exemplified by Tan Hia, [FN#11] who warmed himself on a cold morning by making a fire of wooden statues. Therefore our exposition on this point will show the real state of existing Buddhism, and serve to remove religious prejudices entertained against it. [FN#11] A Chinese Zen teacher, well known for his peculiarities, who died in A.D. 824. For the details of this anecdote, see Zen-rin-rui-ju, Vol. i., P. 39. Sixthly, there is another characteristic of Zen, which cannot be found in any other religion-that is to say, its peculiar mode of expressing profound religious insight by such actions as the lifting up of a hair-brush, or by the tapping of the chair with a staff, or by a loud outcry, and so forth. This will give the student of religion a striking illustration of differentiated forms of religion in its scale of evolution. Besides these characteristics, Zen is noted for its physical and mental training. That the daily practice of Zazen[FN#12] and the breathing exercise remarkably improves one's physical condition is an established fact. And history proves that most Zen masters enjoyed a long life in spite of their extremely simple mode of living. Its mental discipline, however, is by far more fruitful, and keeps one's mind in equipoise, making one neither passionate nor dispassionate, neither sentimental nor unintelligent, neither nervous nor senseless. It is well known as a cure to all sorts of mental disease, occasioned by nervous disturbance, as a nourishment to the fatigued brain, and also as a stimulus to torpor and sloth. It is self-control, as it is the subduing of such pernicious passions as anger, jealousy, hatred, and the like, and the awakening of noble emotions such as sympathy, mercy, generosity, and what not. It is a mode of Enlightenment, as it is the dispelling of illusion and of doubt, and at the same time it is the overcoming of egoism, the destroying of mean desires, the uplifting of the moral ideal, and the disclosing of inborn wisdom. [FN#12] The sitting-in-meditation, for the full explanation of which see Chapter VIII. The historical importance of Zen can hardly be exaggerated. After its introduction into China in the sixth century, A.D., it grew ascendant through the Sui (598-617) and the Tang dynasty (618-906), and enjoyed greater popularity than any other sect of Buddhism during the whole period of the Sung (976-1126) and the Southern Sung dynasty (1127-1367). In these times its commanding influence became so irresistible that Confucianism, assimilating the Buddhist teachings, especially those of Zen, into itself and changing its entire aspect, brought forth the so-called Speculative philosophy.[FN#13] And in the Ming dynasty (1368-1659) the principal doctrines of Zen were adopted by a celebrated Confucian scholar, Wang Yang Ming,[FN#14] who thereby founded a school, through which Zen exercised profound influence on Chinese and Japanese men of letters, statesmen, and soldiers. As regards Japan, it was first introduced into the island as the faith first for the Samurai or the military class, and moulded the characters of many distinguished soldiers whose lives adorn the pages of her history. Afterwards it gradually found its way to palaces as well as to cottages through literature and art, and at last permeated through every fibre of the national life. It is Zen that modern Japan, especially after the Russo-Japanese War, has acknowledged as an ideal doctrine for her rising generation. [FN#13] See 'A History of Chinese Philosophy,' by Ryukichi Endo, and A History of Chinese Philosophy,' by Giichi Nakauchi. [FN#14] For the life of this distinguished scholar and soldier (1472-1529), see 'A Detailed Life of O Yo Mei� by Takejiro Takase, and also 'O-yo-mei-shutsu-shin-sei-ran-roku.' CHAPTER I HISTORY OF ZEN IN CHINA 1. Origin of Zen in India. To-day Zen as a living faith can be found in its pure form only among the Japanese Buddhists. You cannot find it in the so-called Gospel of Buddha anymore than you can find Unitarianism in the Pentateuch, nor can you find it in China and India any more than you can find life in fossils of bygone ages. It is beyond all doubt that it can be traced back to Shakya Muni himself, nay, even to pre-Buddhistic times, because Brahmanic teachers practised Dhyana, or Meditation,[FN#15] from earliest times. [FN#15] "If a wise man hold his body with its three parts (chest, neck, and head) erect, and turn his senses with the mind towards the heart, he will then in the boat of Brahman cross all the torrents which cause fear. "Compressing his breathings let him, who has subdued all motions, breathe forth through the nose with the gentle breath. Let the wise man without fail restrain his mind, that chariot yoked with vicious horses. "Let him perform his exercises in a place level, pure, free from pebbles, fire, and dust, delightful by its sounds, its water, and bowers; not painful to the eye, and full of shelters and eaves. "When Yoga, is being performed, the forms which come first, producing apparitions in Brahman, are those of misty smoke, sun, fire, wind, fire-flies, lightnings, and a crystal moon. "When, as earth, water, light, heat, and ether arises, the fivefold quality of Yoga takes place, then there is no longer illness, old age, or pain for him who has obtained a body produced by the fire of Yoga. The first results of Yoga they call lightness, healthiness, steadiness, a good complexion, an easy pronunciation, a sweet odour, and slight excretions "(Cvet. Upanisad, ii. 8-13). "When the five instruments of knowledge stand still together with the mind, and when the intellect does not move, that is called the highest state. "This, the firm holding back of the senses, is what is called Yoga. He must be free from thoughtlessness then, for Yoga comes and goes" (Katha Upanisad, ii. 10, 11). "This is the rule for achieving it (viz., concentration of the mind on the object of meditation): restraint of the breath, restraint of the senses, meditation, fixed attention, investigation, absorption-these are called the sixfold Yoga. When beholding by this Yoga, be beholds the gold-coloured maker, the lord, the person, Brahman, the cause; then the sage, leaving behind good and evil, makes everything (breath, organs of sense, body, etc.) to be one in the Highest Indestructible (in the pratyagatman or Brahman) " (Maitr. Upanisad, vi. 18). "And thus it has been elsewhere: There is the superior fixed attention (dharana) for him-viz., if he presses the tip of the tongue down the palate, and restrain the voice, mind, and breath, he sees Brahman by discrimination (taraka). And when, after the cessation of mind, he sees his own Self, smaller than small, and shining as the Highest Self, then, having seen his Self as the Self, he becomes Self-less, and because he is Self-less, he is without limit, without cause, absorbed in thought. This is the highest mystery--viz., final liberation " (Maitr. Upanisad, vi. 20). Amrtab. Upanisad, 18, describes three modes of sitting-namely, the Lotus-seat (Padmasana), the sitting with legs bent underneath; the mystic diagram seat (Svastika); and the auspicious-seat (Bhadrasana);--while Yogacikha directs the choice of the Lotus-posture, with attention concentrated on the tip of the nose, hands and feet closely joined. But Brahmanic Zen was carefully distinguished even by early Buddhists[FN#16] as the heterodox Zen from that taught by the Buddha. Our Zen originated in the Enlightenment of Shakya Muni, which took place in his thirtieth year, when he was sitting absorbed in profound meditation under the Bodhi Tree. [FN#16] The anonymous author of Lankavatara-sutra distinguishes the heterodox Zen from the Hinayana Zen, the Hinayana Zen from the Mahayana Zen, and calls the last by the name of the Buddha's Holy Zen. The sutra is believed by many Buddhists, not without reason, to be the exposition of that Mahayana doctrine which Acvaghosa restated in his Craddhotpada-castra. The sutra was translated, first, into Chinese by Gunabbadra, in A.D. 443; secondly, by Bodhiruci in A.D. 513; and, thirdly, by Ciksanada in A.D. 700-704. The book is famous for its prophecy about Nagdrajuna, which (according to Dr. Nanjo's translation) is as follows: "After the Nirvana of the Tathagata, There will be a man in the future, Listen to me carefully, O Mahatma, A man who will hold my law. In the great country of South, There will be a venerable Bhiksu The Bodhisattva Nagarjuna by name, Who will destroy the views of Astikas and Nastikas, Who will preach unto men my Yana, The highest Law of the Mahayana, And will attain to the Pramudita-bhumi." It is said that then he awoke to the perfect truth and declared: "All animated and inanimate beings are Enlightened at the same time." According to the tradition[FN#17] of this sect Shakya Muni transmitted his mysterious doctrine from mind to mind to his oldest disciple Mahakacyapa at the assembly hold on the Mount of Holy Vulture, and the latter was acknowledged as the first patriarch, who, in turn, transmitted the doctrine to Ananda, the second patriarch, and so till Bodhidharma, the twenty-eighth[FN#18] patriarch. We have little to say about the historical value of this tradition, but it is worth while to note that the list of the names of these twenty-eight patriarchs contains many eminent scholars of Mahayanism, or the later developed school of Buddhism, such as Acvaghosa,[FN#19] Nagarjuna,[FN#20] Kanadeva,[FN#21] and Vasubhandhu.[FN#22] [FN#17] The incident is related as follows: When the Buddha was at the assembly on the Mount of Holy Vulture, there came a Brahmaraja who offered the Teacher a golden flower, and asked him to preach the Dharma. The Buddha took the flower and held it aloft in his hand, gazing at it in perfect silence. None in the assembly could understand what he meant, except the venerable Mahakacyapa, who smiled at the Teacher. Then the Buddha said: "I have the Eye and Treasury of Good Dharma, Nirvana, the Wonderful Spirit, which I now hand over to Mahakacyapa." The book in which this incident is described is entitled 'Sutra on the Great Brahman King's Questioning Buddha to Dispel a Doubt,' but there exists no original text nor any Chinese translation in the Tripitaka. It is highly probable that some early Chinese Zen scholar of the Sung dynasty (A.D. 960-1126) fabricated the tradition, because Wang Ngan Shih (O-an-seki), a powerful Minister under the Emperor Shan Tsung (Shin-so, A.D. 1068-1085), is said to have seen the book in the Imperial Library. There is, however, no evidence, as far as we know, pointing to the existence of the Sutra in China. In Japan there exists, in a form of manuscript, two different translations of that book, kept in secret veneration by some Zen masters, which have been proved to be fictitious by the present writer after his close examination of the contents. See the Appendix to his Zen-gaku-hi-han-ron. [FN#18] The following is the list of the names of the twenty-eight patriarchs: 1. Mahakacyapa. 2. Ananda. 3. Canavasu. 4. Upagupta. 5. Dhrtaka. 6. Micchaka. 7. Vasumitra. 8. Buddhanandi. 9. Buddhamitra. 10. Parcva. 11. Punyayacas. 12. Acvaghosa. 13. Kapimala. 14. Nagarjuna. 15. Kanadeva. 16. Rahulata. 17. Samghanandi. 18. Samghayacas. 19. Kumarata. 20. Jayata. 21. Vasubandhu. 22. Manura. 23. Haklanayacas. 24. Simha. 25. Vacasuta. 26. Punyamitra. 27. Prajnyatara. 28. Bodhidharma. The first twenty-three patriarchs are exactly the same as those given in 'The Sutra on the Nidana of transmitting Dharmapitaka,' translated in A.D. 472. King Teh Chwen Tang Iuh (Kei-toku-den-to-roku), a famous Zen history of China, gives two elaborate narratives about the transmission of Right Dharma from teacher to disciple through these twenty-eight patriarchs, to be trusted without hesitation. It would not be difficult for any scholar of sense to find these statements were made from the same motive as that of the anonymous author who gives a short life, in Dirghagama-sutra, of each of the six Buddhas, the predecessors of Shakya Muni, if he carefully compare the list given above with the lists of the patriarchs of the Sarvastivada school given by San Yin (So-yu died A.D. 518) in his Chuh San Tsung Ki (Shutsu-san zo-ki). [FN#19] One of the founders of Mahayana Buddhism, who flourished in the first century A.D. There exists a life of his translated into Chinese by Kumarajiva in A.D. 401-409. The most important of his works are: Mahayanacraddhotpada-castra, Mahalankara-sutra-castra, Buddha-caritakavya. [FN#20] The founder of the Madhyamika school of Mahayana Buddhism, who lived in the second century A.D. A life of his was translated into Chinese by Kumarajiva in A.D. 401-409. Twenty-four books are ascribed to him, of which Mahaprajñaparamita-castra, Madhyamika-castra, Prajnyadipa-castra, Dvadacanikaya-castra, Astadacakaca-castra, are well known. [FN#21] Sometimes called Aryadeva, a successor of Nagarjuna. A life of his was translated into Chinese by Kumarajiva in A.D. 401-409. The following are his important works: Cata-castra, 'Castra by the Bodhisattva Deva on the refutation of four heretical Hinayana schools mentioned in the Lankatvatara-sutra'; 'Castra by the Bodhisattva Deva on the explanation of the Nirvana by twenty Hinayana teachers mentioned in the Lankavatara-sutra.' [FN#22] A younger brother of Asamga, a famous Mahayanist of the fifth century A.D. There are thirty-six works ascribed to Vasubandhu, of which Dacabhumika-castra, Aparimitayus-sutra-castra, Mahapari-nirvana-sutra-castra, Mahayana-catadharmavidyadvara-castra, Vidya-matrasiddhi-tridaca-castra, Bodhicittopadana-castra, Buddha-gotra-castra, Vidyamatrasiddhivincatigatha-castra, Madhyantavibhaga-castra, Abhidharma-koca-castra, Tarka-castra, etc., are well known. 2. Introduction of Zen into China by Bodhidharma. An epoch-making event took place in the Buddhist history of China by Bodhidharma's coming over from Southern India to that country in about A.D. 520.[FN#23] It was the introduction, not of the dead scriptures, as was repeatedly done before him, but of a living faith, not of any theoretical doctrine, but of practical Enlightenment, not of the relies of Buddha, but of the Spirit of Shakya Muni; so that Bodhidharma's position as a representative of Zen was unique. He was, however, not a missionary to be favourably received by the public. He seems to have behaved in a way quite opposite to that in which a modern pastor treats his flock. We imagine him to have been a religious teacher entirely different in every point from a popular Christian missionary of our age. The latter would smile or try to smile at every face he happens to see and would talk sociably; while the former would not smile at any face, but would stare at it with the large glaring eyes that penetrated to the innermost soul. The latter would keep himself scrupulously clean, shaving, combing, brushing, polishing, oiling, perfuming, while the former would be entirely indifferent to his apparel, being always clad in a faded yellow robe. The latter would compose his sermon with a great care, making use of rhetorical art, and speak with force and elegance; while the former would sit as absolutely silent as the bear, and kick one off, if one should approach him with idle questions. [FN#23] Buddhist historians differ in opinion respecting the date of Bodhidharma's appearance in China. Compare Chwen Fah Chan Tsung Lun (Den bo sho ju ron) and Hwui Yuen (E-gen). 3. Bodhidharma and the Emperor Wu. No sooner had Bodhidharma landed at Kwang Cheu in Southern China than he was invited by the Emperor[FN#24] Wu, who was an enthusiastic Buddhist and good scholar, to proceed to his capital of Chin Liang. When he was received in audience, His Majesty asked him: "We have built temples, copied holy scriptures, ordered monks and nuns to be converted. Is there any merit, Reverend Sir, in our conduct?" The royal host, in all probability, expected a smooth, flattering answer from the lips of his new guest, extolling his virtues, and promising him heavenly rewards, but the Blue-eyed Brahmin bluntly answered: "No merit at all." This unexpected reply must have put the Emperor to shame and doubt in no small degree, who was informed simply of the doctrines of the orthodox Buddhist sects. 'Why not,' he might have thought within himself, 'why all this is futile? By what authority does he declare all this meritless? What holy text can be quoted to justify his assertion? What is his view in reference to the different doctrines taught by Shakya Muni? What does he hold as the first principle of Buddhism?' Thus thinking, he inquired: "What is the holy truth, or the first principle?" The answer was no less astonishing: "That principle transcends all. There is nothing holy." [FN#24] The Emperor Wu (Bu-Tei) of the Liang dynasty, whose reign was A.D. 502-549.] The crowned creature was completely at a loss to see what the teacher meant. Perhaps he might have thought: 'Why is nothing holy? Are there not holy men, Holy Truths, Holy Paths stated in the scriptures? Is he himself not one of the holy men?' "Then who is that confronts us?" asked the monarch again. "I know not, your majesty," was the laconic reply of Bodhidharma, who now saw that his new faith was beyond the understanding of the Emperor. The elephant can hardly keep company with rabbits. The petty orthodoxy can by no means keep pace with the elephantine stride of Zen. No wonder that Bodhidharma left not only the palace of the Emperor Wu, but also the State of Liang, and went to the State of Northern Wei.[FN#25] There he spent nine years in the Shao Lin[FN#26] Monastery, mostly sitting silent in meditation with his face to the wall, and earned for himself the appellation of 'the wall-gazing Brahmin.' This name itself suggests that the significance of his mission was not appreciated by his contemporaries. But neither he was nor they were to blame, because the lion's importance is appreciated only by the lion. A great personage is no less great because of his unpopularity among his fellow men, just as the great Pang[FN#27] is no less great because of his unpopularity among the winged creatures. Bodhidharma was not popular to the degree that he was envied by his contemporary Buddhists, who, as we are told by his biographers, attempted to poison him three times,[FN#28] but without success. [FN#25] Northern Gi dynasty (A.D. 386-534). [FN#26] Sho-rin-ji, erected by the Emperor Hiao Ming of Northern Wei A.D. 497. [FN#27] Chwang-tsz in his famous parable compares a great sage with the Pang, an imaginary bird of enormous size, with its wings of ninety thousand miles. The bird is laughed at by wrens and sparrows because of its excessive size. [FN#28] This reminds us of Nan Yoh Hwui Sz (Nan-gaku-e-shi, died A.D. 577), who is said to have learned Zen under Bodhidharma. He says in his statement of a vow that he was poisoned three times by those who envied him. 4. Bodhidharma and his Successor the Second Patriarch. China was not, however, an uncultivated[FN#29] land for the seed of Zen--nay, there had been many practisers of Zen before Bodhidharma. [FN#29] The translation of Hinayana Zen sutras first paved the way for our faith. Fourteen Zen sutras, including such important books as Mahanapanadhyana-sutra, Dhyanacarya-dharmasanyjnya-sutra, Dhyanacarya-saptatrimcadvarga-sutra, were translated by Ngan Shi Kao (An-sei-ko) as early as A.D. 148-170. Cullamargabhumi-sutra was translated by K' Yao (Shi-yo) in A.D. 185; Dharmatara-dhyana-sutra by Buddhabhadra in A.D. 398-421; Dhyananisthitasamadhi-dharma-parygya-sutra by Kumarajiva in A.D. 402; 'An Abridged Law on the Importance of Meditation' by Kumarajiva in A.D. 405; Pancadvara-dhyanasutra-maharthadharma by Dharmamitra in A.D. 424-441. Furthermore, Mahayana books closely related to the doctrine of Zen were not unknown to China before Bodhidharma. Pratyutpanna-buddhasammukhavasthita-samadhi was translated by K' Leu Cia Chan (Shi-ru-ga-sen) in A.D. 164-186; Vimalakirttinirdeca-sutra, which is much used in Zen, by Kumarajiva in A.D. 384-412; Lankavatara-sutra, which is said to have been pointed out by Bodhidharma as the best explanation of Zen, by Gunabhadra in A.D. 433; Saddharma-pundarika-sutra, in its complete form, by Kumarajiva in A.D. 406; Avatamsaka-sutra by Buddhabhadra in A.D. 418; Mahaparinirvana-sutra by Dharmaraksa in A.D. 423. If we are not mistaken, Kumarajiva, who came to China A.D. 384, made a valuable contribution towards the foundation of Zen in that country, not merely through his translation of Zen sutras above mentioned, but by the education of his disciples, such as Sang Chao (So-jo, died A.D. 414), Sang Shang (So-sho, whose writings undoubtedly influenced later Zen teachers. A more important personage in the history of Zen previous to the Blue-eyed Brahmin is Buddhabhadra, a well-known Zen master, who came over to China A.D. 406. His translation of Dharmatara-dhyana-sutra (which is said to have been preached by Bodhidharma himself when he was in India) and that of Avatamsaka-sutra may be said without exaggeration to have laid the corner-stone for Zen. He gave a course of lectures on the Zen sutra for the first time in China in A.D. 413, and it was through his instruction that many native practisers of Zen were produced, of whom Chi Yen (Chi-gon) and Huen Kao (Gen-ko) are well known. In these days Zen should have been in the ascendant in India, because almost all Indian scholars-at least those known to us-were called Zen teachers-for instance, Buddhabhadra, Buddhasena, Dharmadhi, and some others were all Zen scholars. Chinese Buddhist scholars did no less than Indian teachers toward the uprising of Zen. The foremost among them is Hwui Yuen (E-on, died A.D. 414), who practised Zen by the instruction of Buddhabhadra. He founded the Society of the White Lotus, which comprised eighteen eminent scholars of the age among its members, for the purpose of practising Meditation and of adoring Buddha Amitabha. We must not forget that during the Western and the Eastern Tsin (Shin) dynasties (A.D. 265-420) both Taoism and Buddhism grew prosperous to no small extent. And China produced, on the one hand, Taoists of an eccentric type, such as the Seven Wise Men of the Bamboo Forest, while she gave birth to many recluse-like men of letters, such as Tao Yuen Ming (To-yen-mei, died A.D. 427) and some others on the other. Besides there were some scholars who studied Buddhism in connection with Taoism and Confucianism, and led a secluded life. To the last class of scholars belonged Chwen Hih (Hu dai shi), known as Chwen the Great. He is said to have been accustomed to wear a Confucianist hat, a Buddhist robe, and Taoist shoes. It was in A.D. 534 that he presented a memorial to the Emperor Wu, in which he explained the three grades of good. "The Highest Good consists," says he, "in the emptiness of mind and non-attachment. Transcendence is its cause, and Nirvana is its result. The Middle Good consists in morality and good administration. It results in a peaceful and happy life in Heaven and in Earth. The Lowest Good consists in love and protection of sentient beings." Thus his idea of good, as the reader will see without difficulty, is the result of a compromise of Taoism and Buddhism. Sin Wang Ming (Sin-o-mei, On the Mind-King), one of his masterpieces, together with other minor poems, are still used as a textbook of Zen. This fact unmistakably proves that Taoist element found its way into the constituents of Zen from its very outset in China. All that he had to do was to wait for an earnest seeker after the spirit of Shakya Muni. Therefore he waited, and waited not in vain, for at last there came a learned Confucianist, Shang Kwang (Shin-ko) by name, for the purpose of finding the final solution of a problem which troubled him so much that he had become dissatisfied with Confucianism, as it had no proper diet for his now spiritual hunger. Thus Shang Kwang was far from being one of those half-hearted visitors who knocked the door of Bodhidharma only for the sake of curiosity. But the silent master was cautious enough to try the sincerity of a new visitor before admitting him to the Meditation Hall. According to a biography[FN#30] of his, Shang Kwang was not allowed to enter the temple, and had to stand in the courtyard covered deep with snow. His firm resolution and earnest desire, however, kept him standing continually on one spot for seven days and nights with beads of the frozen drops of tears on his breast. At last he cut off his left arm with a sharp knife, and presented it before the inflexible teacher to show his resolution to follow the master even at the risk of his life. Thereupon Bodhidharma admitted him into the order as a disciple fully qualified to be instructed in the highest doctrine of Mahayanism. [FN#30] King Teh Chwen Tang Luh (Kei-toku-den-to-roku), published by Tao Yuen (Do-gen) A.D. 1004, gives a detailed narrative concerning this incident as stated here, but earlier historians tell us a different story about the mutilation of Shang Kwang's arm. Compare Suh Kas San Chwen (Zoku-ko-so-den) and Hwui Yuen (E-gen). Our master's method of instruction was entirely different from that of ordinary instructors of learning. He would not explain any problem to the learner, but simply help him to get enlightened by putting him an abrupt but telling question. Shang Kwang, for instance, said to Bodhidharma, perhaps with a sigh: "I have no peace of mind. Might I ask you, sir, to pacify my mind?" "Bring out your mind (that troubles you so much)," replied the master, "here before me! I shall pacify it." "It is impossible for me," said the disciple, after a little consideration, "to seek out my mind (that troubles me so much)." "Then," exclaimed Bodhidharma, "I have pacified your mind." Hereon Shang Kwang was instantly Enlightened. This event is worthy of our notice, because such a mode of instruction was adopted by all Zen teachers after the first patriarch, and it became one of the characteristics of Zen. 5. Bodhidharma's Disciples and the Transmission of the Law.[FN#31] [FN#31] For details, see Chwen Tang Luh and Den Ka Roku, by Kei Zan. As for the life of Bodhidharma, Dr. B. Matsumoto's 'A Life of Bodhidharma' may well be recommended to the reader. Bodhidharma's labour of nine years in China resulted in the initiation of a number of disciples, whom some time before his death he addressed as follows: "Now the time (of my departure from this world) is at hand. Say, one and all, how do you understand the Law?" Tao Fu (Do-fuku) said in response to this: "The Law does not lie in the letters (of the Scriptures), according to my view, nor is it separated from them, but it works." The Master said: "Then you have obtained my skin." Next Tsung Chi (So-ji), a nun, replied: "As Ananda[FN#32] saw the kingdom of Aksobhya[FN#33] only once but not twice, so I understand the Law". The master said: "Then you have attained to my flesh." Then Tao Yuh (Do-iku) replied: "The four elements[FN#34] are unreal from the first, nor are the five aggregates[FN#35] really existent. All is emptiness according to my view." The master said: "Then you have acquired my bone." Lastly, Hwui Ko (E-ka), which was the Buddhist name given by Bodhidharma, to Shang Kwang, made a polite bow to the teacher and stood in his place without a word. "You have attained to my marrow." So saying, Bodhidharma handed over the sacred Kachaya, [FN#36] which he had brought from India to Hwui Ko, as a symbol of the transmission of the Law, and created him the Second Patriarch. [FN#32] A favourite disciple of Shakya Muni, and the Third Patriarch of Zen. [FN#33] The: name means I Immovable,' and represents the firmness of thought. [FN#34] Earth, water, fire, and air. [FN#35] (1) Rupa, or form; (2) Vedana, or perception; (3) Samjnya, or consciousness; (4) Karman (or Samskara), or action; (5) Vijnyana, or knowledge. [FN#36] The clerical cloak, which is said to have been dark green. It became an object of great veneration after the Sixth Patriarch, who abolished the patriarchal system and did not hand the symbol over to successors. 6. The Second and the Third Patriarchs. After the death of the First Patriarch, in A.D. 528, Hwui Ko did his best to propagate the new faith over sixty years. On one occasion a man suffering from some chronic disease called on him, and requested him in earnest: "Pray, Reverend Sir, be my confessor and grant me absolution, for I suffer long from an incurable disease." "Bring out your sin (if there be such a thing as sin)," replied the Second Patriarch, "here before me. I shall grant you absolution." "It is impossible," said the man after a short consideration, "to seek out my sin." "Then," exclaimed the master, "I have absolved you. Henceforth live up to Buddha, Dharma, and Samgha."[FN#37] "I know, your reverence," said the man, "that you belong to Samgha; but what are Buddha and Dharma?" "Buddha is Mind itself. Mind itself is Dharma. Buddha is identical with Dharma. So is Samgha." "Then I understand," replied the man, "there is no such thing as sin within my body nor without it, nor anywhere else. Mind is beyond and above sin. It is no other than Buddha and Dharma." Thereupon the Second Patriarch saw the man was well qualified to be taught in the new faith, and converted him, giving him the name of Sang Tsung (So-san). After two years' instruction and discipline, he[FN#38] bestowed on Sang Tsung the Kachaya handed down from Bodhidharma, and authorized him as the Third Patriarch. It is by Sang Tsung that the doctrine of Zen was first reduced to writing by his composition of Sin Sin[FN#39] Ming (Sin zin-mei, On Faith and Mind), a metrical exposition of the faith. [FN#37] The so-called Three Treasures of the Buddha, the Law, and the Order. [FN#38] The Second Patriarch died in A.D. 593--that is, sixty-five years after the departure of the First Patriarch. [FN#39] A good many commentaries were written on the book, and it is considered as one of the best books on Zen. 7. The Fourth Patriarch and the Emperor Tai Tsung (Tai-so). The Third[FN#40] Patriarch was succeeded by Tao Sin (Do-shin), who being initiated at the age of fourteen, was created the Fourth Patriarch after nine years' study and discipline. Tao Sin is said never to have gone to bed for more than forty years of his patriarchal career.[FN#41] In A.D. 643 the Emperor Tai Tsung (627-649), knowing of his virtues, sent him a special messenger, requesting him to call on His Majesty at the palace. But he declined the invitation by a memorial, saying that be was too aged and infirm to visit the august personage. The Emperor, desirous of seeing the reputed patriarch, sent for him thrice, but in vain. Then the enraged monarch ordered the messenger to behead the inflexible monk, and bring the head before the throne, in case he should disobey the order for the fourth time. As Tao Sin was told of the order of the Emperor, he stretched out his neck ready to be decapitated. The Emperor, learning from the messenger what had happened, admired all the more the imperturbable patriarch, and bestowed rich gifts upon him. This example of his was followed by later Zen masters, who would not condescend to bend their knees before temporal power, and it became one of the characteristics of Zen monks that they would never approach rulers and statesmen for the sake of worldly fame and profit, which they set at naught. [FN#40] He died in A.D. 606, after his labour of thirteen years as the teacher. [FN#41] He died in A.D. 651-that is, forty-five years after the death of the Third Patriarch. 8. The Fifth and the Sixth Patriarchs. Tao Sin transmitted the Law to Hung Jan (Ko-nin), who being educated from infancy, distinguished himself as the Abbot of the Hwang Mei Monastery at Ki Cheu. The Fifth Patriarch, according to his biographer, gathered about him seven hundred pupils, who came from all quarters. Of these seven hundred pupils the venerable Shang Sin (Jin-shu) was most noted for his learning and virtues, and he might have become the legitimate successor of Hung Jan, had not the Kachaya of Bodhidharma been carried away by a poor farmer's son of Sin Cheu. Hwui Nang, the Sixth Patriarch, seems to have been born a Zen teacher. The spiritual light of Buddha first flashed in his mind when he happened to hear a monk reciting a sutra. On questioning the monk, be learned that the book was Vajracchedika-prajnya-paramita-sutra,[FN#42] and that Hung Jan, the Abbot of the Hwang Mei Monastery, was used to make his disciples recite the book that it might help them in their spiritual discipline. Hereupon he made up his mind to practise Zen, and called on Hung Jan at the Monastery. "Who are you," demanded the Fifth Patriarch, "and whence have you come?" "I am a son of the farmer," replied the man, "of Sin Cheu in the South of Ta Yu Ling." "What has brought you here?" asked the master again. "I have no other purpose than to attain to Buddhahood," answered the man. "O, you, people of the South," exclaimed the patriarch, "you are not endowed with the nature of Buddha." "There may be some difference between the Southern and the Northern people," objected the man, "but how could you distinguish one from the other as to the nature of Buddha?" The teacher recognized a genius in the man, but he did not admit the promising newcomer into the order, so Hwui Nang had to stay in the Monastery for eight months as a pounder of rice in order to qualify himself to be a Zen teacher. [FN#42] The book was translated into Chinese by Kumarajiva in A.D. 384. 417; also by Bodhiruci in A.D. 509, and by Paramartha in A.D. 592; then by Hiuen Tsang in A.D. 648. Many commentaries have been written on it by the prominent Buddhist authors of China and Japan. 9. The Spiritual Attainment of the Sixth Patriarch. Some time before his death (in 675 A.D.) the Fifth Patriarch announced to all disciples that the Spirit of Shakya Muni is hard to realize, that they should express their own views on it, on condition that anyone who could prove his right realization should be given with the Kachaya and created the Sixth Patriarch. Then the venerable Sung Siu, the head of the seven hundred disciples, who was considered by his brothers to be the man entitled to the honour, composed the following verses: "The body is the Bodhi-tree.[FN#43] The mind is like a mirror bright on its stand. Dust it and wipe it from time to time, Lest it be dimmed by dust and dirt." [FN#43] The idea expressed by these lines is clear enough. Body is likened to the Bodhi-tree, under which Shakya Muni attained to his supreme enlightenment; for it is not in another body in the future existence, but in this very body that one had to get enlightened. And mind is pure and bright in its nature like a mirror, but the dirt and dust of passions and of low desires often pollute and dim it. Therefore one should dust and wipe it from time to time in order to keep it bright. All who read these lines thought that the writer was worthy of the expected reward, and the Fifth Patriarch also, appreciating the significance of the verses, said: "If men in the future would practise Zen according to this view, they would acquire an excellent result." Hwui Nang, the rice-pounder, hearing of them, however, secretly remarked that they are beautiful, but hardly expressive of the Spirit of Shakya Muni, and wrote his own verses, which ran as follows: "There is no Bodhi-tree,[FN#44] Nor is there a mirror stand. Nothing exists from the first What can be dimmed by dust and dirt?" [FN#44] These verses have often been misunderstood as expressive of a nihilistic view, but the real meaning is anything but nihilistic. Mind is pure and bright in its essence. It is always free from passions and mean desires, just as the sun is always bright, despite of cloud and mist that cover its face. Therefore one must get an insight into this essential nature of Mind, and realize that one has no mean desires and passions from the first, and also that there is no tree of Bodhi nor the mirror of Enlightenment without him, but they are within him. Perhaps nobody ever dreamed such an insignificant fellow as the rice-pounder could surpass the venerable scholar in a religious insight, but the Fifth Patriarch saw at once an Enlightened Soul expressed in those lines; therefore he made up his mind to give the Kachaya to the writer, in whom he found a great spiritual leader of future generations. But he did it secretly at midnight, lest some of the disciples from envy do violence to Hwui Nang. He was, moreover, cautious enough to advise his successor to leave the Monastery at once, and go back to the South, that the latter might conceal his Enlightenment until a time would come for his missionary activities. 10. Flight of the Sixth Patriarch. On the following morning the news of what had happened during the night flew from mouth to mouth, and some of the enraged brothers attempted to pursue the worthy fugitive. The foremost among them, Hwui Ming (E-myo), overtook the Sixth Patriarch at a mountain pass not very far from the Monastery. Then Hwui Nang, laying down the Kachaya on a rock by the road, addressed the pursuer: "This is a mere symbol of the patriarchal authority, and it is not a thing to be obtained by force. Take it along with you, if you long for it." Upon this Hwui Ming, who began to be ashamed of his base act, tried to lift the Kachaya, but in vain, for it was, as he felt, as heavy as the rock itself. At last he said to the Sixth Patriarch: "I have come here, my brother, not for the sake of this robe, but for the sake of the Law. Grant my hearty desire of getting Enlightened." "If you have come for the Law," replied Hwui Nang, "you must put an end to all your struggles and longings. Think neither of good nor of evil (make your mind pure from all idle thoughts), then see how is, Hwui Ming, your original (mental) physiognomy!" Being thus questioned, Ming found in an instant the Divine Light of Buddha within himself, and became a disciple of the Sixth Patriarch. 11. The Development of the Southern and of the Northern School of Zen. After the death of the Fifth Patriarch the venerable Shang Siu, though not the legitimate successor of his master, was not inactive in the propagation of the faith, and gathered about him a number of enthusiastic admirers. This led to the foundation of the Northern school of Zen in opposition to the Southern school led by the Sixth Patriarch. The Empress Tseh Tien Wa Heu,[FN#45] the real ruler of China at that time, was an admirer of Shang Siu, and patronized his school, which nevertheless made no further development. [FN#45] The Emperor Chung Tsung (Chu-so, A.D. 684-704) was a nominal sovereign, and the Empress was the real ruler from A.D. 684 to 705. In the meanwhile the Sixth Patriarch, who had gone to the South, arrived at the Fah Sing Monastery in Kwang Cheu, where Yin Tsung (In-shu), the abbot, was giving lectures on the Mahayana sutras to a number of student monks. It was towards evening that he happened to overhear two monks of the Monastery discussing about the flag floating in air. One of them said: "It is the wind that moves in reality, but not the flag." "No," objected the other, "it is the flag that moves in reality, but not the wind." Thus each of them insisted on his own one-sided view, and came to no proper conclusion. Then the Sixth Patriarch introduced himself and said to them: "It is neither the wind nor the flag, but your mind that moves in reality." Yin Tsung, having heard these words of the stranger, was greatly astonished, and thought the latter should have been an extraordinary personage. And when he found the man to be the Sixth Patriarch of Zen, he and all his disciples decided to follow Zen under the master. Consequently Hwui Nang, still clad like a layman, changed his clothes, and began his patriarchal career at that Monastery. This is the starting-point of the great development of Zen in China. 12. Missionary Activity of the Sixth Patriarch. As we have seen above, the Sixth Patriarch was a great genius, and may be justly called a born Zen teacher. He was a man of no erudition, being a poor farmer, who had served under the Fifth Patriarch as a rice-pounder only for eight months, but he could find a new meaning in Buddhist terms, and show how to apply it to practical life. On one occasion, for instance, Fah Tah (Ho-tatsu), a monk who had read over the Saddharma-pundarika-sutra[FN#46] three thousand times, visited him to be instructed in Zen. "Even if you read the sutra ten thousand times," said the Sixth Patriarch, who could never read the text, "it will do you no good, if you cannot grasp the spirit of the sutra." "I have simply recited the book," confessed the monk, "as it is written in characters. How could such a dull fellow as I grasp its spirit?" "Then recite it once," responded the master; "I shall explain its spirit." Hereupon Fah Tah began to recite the sutra, and when he read it until the end of the second chapter the teacher stopped him, saying: "You may stop there. Now I know that this sutra was preached to show the so-called greatest object of Shakya Muni's appearing on earth. That greatest object was to have all sentient beings Enlightened just as He Himself." In this way the Sixth Patriarch grasped the essentials of the Mahayana sutras, and freely made use of them as the explanation of the practical questions about Zen. [FN#46] One of the most noted Mahayana sutras, translated by Dharmaraksa (A.D. 286) and by Kumarajiva (A.D. 406). The reader has to note that the author states the essential doctrine in the second chapter. See " Sacred Books of the East," vol. xxi., pp. 30-59. 13. The Disciples under the Sixth Patriarch. Some time after this the Sixth Patriarch settled himself down at the Pao Lin Monastery, better known as Tsao Ki Shan (So-kei-zan), in Shao Cheu, and it grow into a great centre of Zen in the Southern States. Under his instruction many eminent Zen masters qualified themselves as Leaders of the Three Worlds. He did not give the patriarchal symbol, the Kachaya, to his successors, lest it might cause needless quarrels among the brethren, as was experienced by himself. He only gave sanction to his disciples who attained to Enlightenment, and allowed them to teach Zen in a manner best suited to their own personalities. For instance, Huen Kioh (Gen-kaku), a scholar of the Tien Tai doctrine,[FN#47] well known as the Teacher of Yung Kia[FN#48] (Yo-ka), received a sanction for his spiritual attainment after exchanging a few words with the master in their first interview, and was at once acknowledged as a Zen teacher. When he reached the zenith of his fame, he was presented with a crystal bowl together with rich gifts by the Empress Tseh Tien; and it was in A.D. 705 that the Emperor Chung Tsung invited him in vain to proceed to the palace, since the latter followed the example of the Fourth Patriarch. [FN#47] The Teacher of Tien Tai (Ten-dai, A.D. 538-597), the founder of the Buddhist sect of the same name, was a great scholar of originality. His doctrine and criticism on the Tripitaka greatly influenced the whole of Buddhism after him. His doctrine is briefly given in the second chapter. [FN#48] His Ching Tao Ko (Sho-do-ka), a beautiful metrical exposition of Zen, is still read by most students of Zen. After the death[FN#49] of the Sixth Patriarch (A.D. 713), the Southern Zen was divided into two schools, one being represented by Tsing Yuen (Sei-gen), the other by Nan Yoh (Nan-gaku.) Out of these two main schools soon developed the five[FN#50] branches of Zen, and the faith made a splendid progress. After Tsing Yuen and Nan Yoh, one of the junior disciples of the Sixth Patriarch, Hwui Chung (E-chu), held an honourable position for sixteen years as the spiritual adviser to the Emperor Suh Tsung (A.D. 756762) and to the Emperor Tai Tsung (A.D. 763-779). These two Emperors were enthusiastic admirers of Zen, and ordered several times the Kachaya of Bodhidharma to be brought into the palace from the Pao Lin Monastery that they might do proper homage to it. Within some one hundred and thirty years after the Sixth Patriarch, Zen gained so great influence among higher classes that at the time of the Emperor Suen Tsung (A.D. 847-859) both the Emperor and his Prime Minister, Pei Hiu, were noted for the practice of Zen. It may be said that Zen had its golden age, beginning with the reign of the Emperor Suh Tsung, of the Tang dynasty, until the reign of the Emperor Hiao Tsung (1163-1189), who was the greatest patron of Buddhism in the Southern Sung dynasty. To this age belong almost all the greatest Zen scholars[FN#51] of China. [FN#49] There exists Luh Tan Fah Pao Tan King (Roku-so-ho-bo-dan-kyo), a collection of his sermons. It is full of bold statements of Zen in its purest form, and is entirely free from ambiguous and enigmatical words that encumber later Zen books. In consequence it is widely read by non-Buddhist scholars in China and Japan. Both Hwui Chung (E-chu), a famous disciple of the Sixth Patriarch, and Do-gen, the founder of the Soto Sect in Japan, deny the authority of the book, and declare it to be misleading, because of errors and prejudices of the compilers. Still, we believe it to be a collection of genuine sections given by the Sixth Patriarch, though there are some mistakes in its historical narratives. [FN#50] (1) The Tsao Tung (So-to) Sect, founded by Tsing Yuen (died in A.D. 740) and his successors; (2) the Lin Tsi (Rin-Zai) Sect, founded by Nan Yoh (died in 744) and his successors; (3) the Wei Yan (Yi-gyo) Sect, founded by Wei Shan (Yi-san, died in 853) and his disciple Yen Shan (Kyo-zan, died in 890); (4) the Yun Man (Un-mon) Sect, founded by Yun Man (died in 949); (5) the Pao Yen (Ho-gen) Sect, founded by Pao Yen (died in 958). [FN#51] During the Tang dynasty (A.D. 618-906) China produced, besides the Sixth Patriarch and his prominent disciples, such great Zen teachers as Ma Tsu (Ba-so, died in 788), who is probably the originator of the Zen Activity; Shih Teu (Seki-to, died in 790), the reputed author of Tsan Tung Ki (San-do-kai), a metrical writing on Zen; Poh Chang (Hyaku-jo, died 814), who first laid down regulations for the Zen Monastery; Wei Shan (Yi-san), Yang Shan (Kyo-zan), the founders of the Wei Yang Sect; Hwang Pah (O-baku, died in 850), one of the founders of the Lin Tsi Sect, and the author of Chwen Sin Pao Yao, (Den-sin-ho-yo), one of the best works on Zen; Lin Tsi (Rin-zai, died in 866), the real founder of the Lin Tsi Sect; Tung Shan (To-zan, died in 869), the real founder of the Tsao Tung Sect; Tsao Shan (So-zan, died in 901), a famous disciple of Tung Shan; Teh Shan (Toku-san, died in 865), who was used to strike every questioner with his staff; Chang Sha (Cho-sha, died in 823); Chao Cheu (Jo-shu, died in 897); Nan Tsuen (Nan-sen, died in 834); Wu Yeh (Mu-go, died in 823); who is said to have replied, 'Away with your idle thoughts,' to every questioner; Yun Yen (Un-gan, died in 829); Yoh Shan (Yaku-san, died in 834); Ta Mei (Tai-bai, died in 839), a noted recluse; Ta Tsz (Dai-ji, died in 862); Kwei Fung (Kei-ho, died in 841), the author of 'The Origin of Man,' and other numerous works; and Yun Ku (Un-go, died in 902). To the period of the Five Dynasties (A.D. 907-959) belong such teachers as Sueh Fung (Set-po, died in. 908); Huen Sha (Gen-sha, died in 908); Yun Man (Un-mon, died in 949), the founder of the Yun Man Sect; Shen Yueh (Zen-getsu, died in 912), a renowned Zen poet; Pu Tai (Ho-tei, died in 916), well known for his peculiarities; Chang King (Cho-kei, died in 932); Nan Yuen (Nan-in, died in 952); Pao Yen (Ho-gen, died in 958), the founder of the Pao Yen Sect. During the Sung dynasty (A.D. 960-1126) appeared such teachers as Yang Ki (Yo-gi, died in 1049), the founder of the Yang Ki School of Zen; Sueh Teu (Set-cho, died in 1052), noted for poetical works; Hwang Lung (O ryu, died in 1069), the founder of the Hwang Lung School of Zen; Hwang Lin (Ko-rin, died in 987); Tsz Ming (Ji-myo, died in 1040); Teu Tsy (To-shi, died in 1083); Fu Yun (Fu-yo, died in 1118); Wu Tsu (Go-so, died in 1104); Yung Ming (Yo-myo, died in 975), the author of Tsung King Luh (Shu-kyo-roku); Ki Sung (Kai-su, died in 1071), a great Zen historian and author. In the Southern Sung dynasty (A.D. 1127-1279) flourished such masters as Yuen Wu (En-go, died in 1135), the author of Pik Yen Tsih (Heki-gan-shu); Chan Hieh (Shin-ketsu, flourished in 1151); Hung Chi (Wan-shi, died in 1157), famous for his poetical works; Ta Hwui (Dai-e, died in 1163), a noted disciple of Yuen Wu; Wan Sung (Ban-sho), flourished in 1193-1197), the author of Tsung Yun Luh (Sho-yo-roku); Ju Tsing (Nyo-jo), died in 1228), the teacher to Do-gen, or the founder of the So-to Sect in Japan. To this age belong almost all the eminent men of letters,[FN#52] statesmen, warriors, and artists who were known as the practisers of Zen. To this age belongs the production of almost all Zen books,[FN#53] doctrinal and historical. [FN#52] Among the great names of Zen believers the following are most important: Pang Yun (Ho-on, flourished in 785-804), whose whole family was proficient in Zen; Tsui Kiun (Sai-gun, flourished in 806-824); Luh Kang (Rik-ko), a lay disciple to Nan Tsun; Poh Loh Tien (Haku-raku-ten, died in 847), one of the greatest Chinese literary men; Pei Hiu (Hai-kyu, flourished 827-856), the Prime Minister under the Emperor Suen Tsung, a lay disciple to Hwang Pah; Li Ngao (Ri-ko, lived about 806), an author and scholar who practised Zen under Yoh Shan; Yu Chuh (U-teki, flourished 785-804), a local governor, a friend of Pang Yun; Yang Yih (Yo-oku, flourished in 976), one of the greatest writers of his age; Fan Chung Ngan (Han-chu an, flourished 1008-1052), an able statesman and scholar; Fu Pih (Fu shitsu, flourished 1041-1083), a minister under the Emperor Jan Tsung; Chang Shang Ying (Cho-sho-yei, 1086-1122), a Buddhist scholar and a statesman; Hwang Ting Kien (Ko-tei-ken, 1064-1094), a great poet; Su Shih (So-shoku, died in 1101), a great man of letters, well known as So-to-ba; Su Cheh (So-tetsu, died in 1112), a younger brother of So-to-ba, a scholar and minister under the Emperor Cheh Tsung; Chang Kiu Ching (Cho-Kyu-sei, flourished about 1131), a scholar and lay disciple of Ta Hwui; Yang Kieh (Yo-ketsu, flourished 1078-1086), a scholar and statesman. [FN#53] Of doctrinal Zen books, besides Sin Sin Ming by the Third Patriarch, and Fah Pao Tan King by the Sixth Patriarch, the following are of great importance: (1) Ching Tao Ko (Sho-do-ka), by Huen Kioh (Gen-kaku). (2) Tsan Tung Ki (San-do-kai), by Shih Ten (Seki-to). (3) Pao King San Mei (Ho-kyo-san-mai), by Tung Shan (To-zan). (4) Chwen Sin Pao Yao (Den-sin-ho-yo), by Hwang Pah (O-baku). (5) Pih Yen Tsih (Heki-gan-shu), by Yuen Wu (En-go). (6) Lin Tsi Luh (Rin-zai-roku), by Lin Tsi (Rin-zai). (7) Tsung Yun Luh (Sho-yo-roku), by Wan Sung (Ban-sho). Of historical Zen books the following are of importance: (1) King teh Chwen Tan-Luh (Kei-toku-den-to-roku), published in 1004 by Tao Yuen (Do-gen). (2) Kwan Tang Luh (Ko-to roku), published in 1036 by Li Tsun Suh (Ri-jun-kyoku). (3) Suh Tang Luh (Zoku-O-roku), published in 1101 by Wei Poh (I-haku). (4) Lien Tang Luh (Ren-O-roku), published in 1183 by Hwui Wang (Mai-o). (5) Ching Tsung Ki (Sho-ju-ki), published in 1058 by Ki Sung (Kwai-su). (6) Pu Tang Luh (Fu-O-roku), published in 1201 by Ching Sheu (Sho-ju). (7) Hwui Yuen (E-gen), published in 1252 by Ta Chwen (Dai-sen). (8) Sin Tang Luh (Sin-W-roku), published in 1280-1294 by Sui (Zui). (9) Suh Chwen Tang Luh (Zoku-den-to-roku), by Wang Siu (Bun-shu). (10) Hwui Yuen Suh Lioh (E-gen-zoku-ryaku), by Tsing Chu (Jo-chu). (11) Ki Tang Luh (Kei-to-roku), by Yung Kioh (Yo-kaku). 14. Three Important Elements of Zen. To understand how Zen developed during some four hundred years after the Sixth Patriarch, we should know that there are three important elements in Zen. The first of these is technically called the Zen Number--the method of practising Meditation by sitting cross-legged, of which we shall treat later.[FN#54] This method is fully developed by Indian teachers before Bodhidharma's introduction of Zen into China, therefore it underwent little change during this period. The second is the Zen Doctrine, which mainly consists of Idealistic and Pantheistic ideas of Mahayana Buddhism, but which undoubtedly embraces some tenets of Taoism. Therefore, Zen is not a pure Indian faith, but rather of Chinese origin. The third is the Zen Activity, or the mode of expression of Zen in action, which is entirely absent in any other faith. [FN#54] See Chapter VII. It was for the sake of this Zen Activity that Hwang Pah gave a slap three times to the Emperor Suen Tsung; that Lin Tsi so often burst out into a loud outcry of Hoh (Katsu); that Nan Tsuen killed a cat at a single stroke of his knife in the presence of his disciples; and that Teh Shan so frequently struck questioners with his staff.[FN#55] The Zen Activity was displayed by the Chinese teachers making use of diverse things such as the staff, the brush[FN#56] of long hair, the mirror, the rosary, the cup, the pitcher, the flag, the moon, the sickle, the plough, the bow and arrow, the ball, the bell, the drum, the cat, the dog, the duck, the earthworm--in short, any and everything that was fit for the occasion and convenient for the purpose. Thus Zen Activity was of pure Chinese origin, and it was developed after the Sixth Patriarch.[FN#57] For this reason the period previous to the Sixth Patriarch may be called the Age of the Zen Doctrine, while that posterior to the same master, the Age of the Zen Activity. [FN#55] A long official staff (Shu-jo) like the crosier carried by the abbot of the monastery. [FN#56] An ornamental brush (Hos-su) often carried by Zen teachers. [FN#57] The giving of a slap was first tried by the Sixth Patriarch, who struck one of his disciples, known as Ho Tseh (Ka-taku), and it was very frequently resorted to by the later masters. The lifting up of the brush was first tried by Tsing Yuen in an interview with his eldest disciple, Shih Ten, and it became a fashion among other teachers. The loud outcry of Hoh was first made use of by Ma Tsu, the successor of Nan Yoh. In this way the origin of the Zen Activity can easily be traced to the Sixth Patriarch and his direct disciples. After the Sung dynasty Chinese Zen masters seem to have given undue weight to the Activity, and neglected the serious study of the doctrine. This brought out the degeneration severely reproached by some of the Japanese Zen teachers. 15. Decline of Zen. The blooming prosperity of Zen was over towards the end of the Southern Sung dynasty (1127-1279), when it began to fade, not being bitten by the frost of oppression from without, but being weakened by rottenness within. As early as the Sung dynasty (960-1126) the worship of Buddha Amitabha[FN#58] stealthily found its way among Zen believers, who could not fully realize the Spirit of Shakya Muni, and to satisfy these people the amalgamation of the two faiths was attempted by some Zen masters.[FN#59] [FN#58] The faith is based on Larger Sukhavati-vyuha, Smaller Sukhavati-vyuha, and Amitayus-dhyana-sutra. It was taught in India by Acvaghosa, Nagariuna, and Vasubandhu. In China Hwui Yuen (E-on, died in A.D. 416), Tan Lwan (Don-ran, died in 542), Tao Choh (Do-shaku), and Shen Tao (Zen-do) (both of whom lived about 600-650), chiefly taught the doctrine. It made an extraordinary progress in Japan, and differentiated itself into several sects, of which Jodo Shu and Shin Shu are the strongest. [FN#59] It is beyond all doubt that Poh Loh Tien (Haku-raku-ten) practised Zen, but at the same time believed in Amitabha; so also Su Shih (So-shoku), a most noted Zen practiser, worshipped the same Buddha, Yang Kieh (Yo-keteu), who carried a picture of Amitabha wherever he went and worshipped it, seems to have thought there is nothing incompatible between Zen and his faith. The foremost of those Zen masters of the Sung dynasty that attempted the amalgamation is Yung Ming (Yo-myo, died in 975), who reconciled Zen with the worship of Amitabha in his Wan Shen Tung Kwei Tsih (Man-zen-do-ki-shu) and Si Ngan Yan Shan Fu (Sei-an-yo-sin-fu). He was followed by Tsing Tsz (Jo-ji) and Chan Hieh (Shin-ketsu, lived about 1151), the former of whom wrote Kwei Yuen Chih Chi (Ki-gen-jiki-shi), and the latter Tsing Tu Sin Yao (Jo-do-sin-yo), in order to further the tendency. In the Yuen dynasty Chung Fung (Chu-ho, died in 1323) encouraged the adoration of Amitabha, together with the practice of Zen, in his poetical composition (Kwan-shu-jo-go). In the Ming dynasty Yun Si (Un-sei, died in 1615), the author of Shen Kwan Tseh Tsin (Zen-kwan-saku-shin) and other numerous works, writing a commentary on Sukhavati-vyuha-sutra, brought the amalgamation to its height. Ku Shan (Ku-zan, died in 1657), a Zen historian and author, and his prominent disciple Wei Lin (E-rin), axe well known as the amalgamators. Yun Ming declared that those who practise Zen, but have no faith in Amitabha, go astray in nine cases out of ten; that those who do not practise Zen, but believe in Amitabha, are saved, one and all; that those who practise Zen, and have the faith in Amitabha, are like the tiger provided with wings; and that for those who have no faith in Amitabha, nor practise Zen, there exist the iron floor and the copper pillars in Hell. Ku Shan said that some practise Zen in order to attain Enlightenment, while others pray Amitabha for salvation; that if they were sincere and diligent, both will obtain the final beatitude. Wei Lin also observed: "Theoretically I embrace Zen, and practically I worship Amitabha." E-chu, the author of Zen-to-nenbutsu ('On Zen and the Worship of Amitabha'), points out that one of the direct disciples of the Sixth Patriarch favoured the faith of Amitabha, but there is no trustworthy evidence, as far as we know, that proves the existence of the amalgamation in the Tang dynasty. This tendency steadily increasing with time brought out at length the period of amalgamation which covered the Yuen (1280-1367) and the Ming dynasties (1368-1659), when the prayer for Amitabha was in every mouth of Zen monks sitting in Meditation. The patrons of Zen were not wanting in the Yuen dynasty, for such a warlike monarch as the Emperor Shi Tsu (Sei-so), 1280-1294) is known to have practised Zen under the instruction of Miao Kao, and his successor Ching Tsung (1295-1307) to have trusted in Yih Shan,[FN#60] a Zen teacher of reputation at that time. Moreover, Lin Ping Chung (Rin-hei-cha, died in 1274), a powerful minister under Shi Tsu, who did much toward the establishment of the administrative system in that dynasty, had been a Zen monk, and never failed to patronize his faith. And in the Ming dynasty the first Emperor Tai Tsu (1368-1398), having been a Zen monk, protected the sect with enthusiasm, and his example was followed by Tai Tsung (1403-1424), whose spiritual as well as political adviser was Tao Yen, a Zen monk of distinction. Thus Zen exercised an influence unparalleled by any other faith throughout these ages. The life and energy of Zen, however, was gone by the ignoble amalgamation, and even such great scholars as Chung Fung,[FN#61] Yung Si,[FN#62] Yung Kioh,[FN#63] were not free from the overwhelming influence of the age. [FN#60] The Emperor sent him to Japan in 1299 with some secret order, but he did nothing political, and stayed as a Zen teacher until his death. [FN#61] A most renowned Zen master in the Yuen dynasty, whom the Emperor Jan Tsung invited to visit the palace, but in vain. [FN#62] An author noted for his learning and virtues, who was rather a worshipper of Amitabha than a Zen monk. [FN#63] An author of voluminous books, of which Tung Shang Ku Cheh (To-jo-ko-tetsu) is well known. We are not, however, doing justice to the tendency of amalgamation in these times simply to blame it for its obnoxious results, because it is beyond doubt that it brought forth wholesome fruits to the Chinese literature and philosophy. Who can deny that this tendency brought the Speculative[FN#64] philosophy of the Sung dynasty to its consummation by the amalgamation of Confucianism with Buddhism especially with Zen, to enable it to exercise long-standing influence on society, and that this tendency also produced Wang Yang Ming,[FN#65] one of the greatest generals and scholars that the world has ever seen, whose philosophy of Conscience[FN#66] still holds a unique position in the history of human thought? Who can deny furthermore that Wang's philosophy is Zen in the Confucian terminology? [FN#64] This well-known philosophy was first taught by Cheu Men Shuh (Shu-mo-shiku, died in 1073) in its definite form. He is said to have been enlightened by the instruction of Hwui Tang, a contemporary Zen master. He was succeeded by Chang Ming Tao (Tei-mei-do, died in 1085) and Chang I Chwen (Tei-i-sen, died in 1107), two brothers, who developed the philosophy in no small degree. And it was completed by Chu Tsz (Shu-shi, died in 1200), a celebrated commentator of the Confucian classics. It is worthy to note that these scholars practised Meditation just as Zen monks. See 'History of Chinese Philosophy' (pp. 215-269), by G. Nakauchi, and 'History of Development of Chinese Thought,' by R. Endo. [FN#65] He was born in 1472, and died in 1529. His doctrine exercised a most fruitful influence on many of the great Japanese minds, and undoubtedly has done much to the progress of New Japan. [FN#66] See Den-shu-roku and O-ya-mei-zen-sho. CHAPTER II HISTORY OF ZEN IN JAPAN 1. The Establishment of the Rin Zai[FN#67] School of Zen in Japan. [FN#67] The Lin Tsi school was started by Nan Yoh, a prominent disciple of the Sixth Patriarch, and completed by Lin Tsi or Rin Zai. The introduction of Zen into the island empire is dated as early as the seventh century;[FN#68] but it was in 1191 that it was first established by Ei-sai, a man of bold, energetic nature. He crossed the sea for China at the age of twenty-eight in 1168, after his profound study of the whole Tripitaka[FN#69] for eight years in the Hi-yei Monastery[FN#70] the then centre of Japanese Buddhism. [FN#68] Zen was first introduced into Japan by Do sha (629-700) as early as 653-656, at the time when the Fifth Patriarch just entered his patriarchal career. Do-sho went over to China in 653, and met with Huen Tsang, the celebrated and great scholar, who taught him the doctrine of the Dharma-laksana. It was Huen Tsang who advised Do-sho to study Zen under Hwui Man (E-man). After returning home, he built a Meditation Hall for the purpose of practising Zen in the Gan-go monastery, Nara. Thus Zen was first transplanted into Japan by Do-sho, but it took no root in the soil at that time. Next a Chinese Zen teacher, I Kung (Gi-ku), came over to Japan in about 810, and under his instruction the Empress Danrin, a most enthusiastic Buddhist, was enlightened. She erected a monastery named Dan-rin-ji, and appointed I Kung the abbot of it for the sake of propagating the faith. It being of no purpose, however, I Kung went back to China after some years. Thirdly, Kaku-a in 1171 went over to China, where he studied Zen under Fuh Hai (Buk-kai), who belonged to the Yang Ki (Yo-gi) school, and came home after three years. Being questioned by the Emperor Taka-kura (1169-1180) about the doctrine of Zen, he uttered no word, but took up a flute and played on it. But his first note was too high to be caught by the ordinary ear, and was gone without producing any echo in the court nor in society at large. [FN#69] The three divisions of the Buddhist canon, viz.: (1) Sutra-pitaka, or a collection of doctrinal books. (2) Vinaya-pitaka, or a collection of works on discipline. (3) Abhidharma-pitaka, or a collection of philosophical and expository works. [FN#70] The great monastery erected in 788 by Sai-cho (767-822), the founder of the Japanese Ten Dai Sect, known as Den Gyo Dai Shi. After visiting holy places and great monasteries, he came home, bringing with him over thirty different books on the doctrine of the Ten-Dai Sect.[FN#71] This, instead of quenching, added fuel to his burning desire for adventurous travel abroad. So he crossed the sea over again in 1187, this time intending to make pilgrimage to India; and no one can tell what might have been the result if the Chinese authorities did not forbid him to cross the border. Thereon he turned his attention to the study of Zen, and after five years' discipline succeeded in getting sanction for his spiritual attainment by the Hu Ngan (Kio-an), a noted master of the Rin Zai school, the then abbot of the monastery of Tien Tung Shan (Ten-do-san). His active propaganda of Zen was commenced soon after his return in 1191 with splendid success at a newly built temple[FN#72] in the province of Chiku-zen. In 1202 Yori-iye, the Shogun, or the real governor of the State at that time, erected the monastery of Ken-nin-ji in the city of Kyo-to, and invited him to proceed to the metropolis. Accordingly he settled himself down in that temple, and taught Zen with his characteristic activity. [FN#71] The sect was named after its founder in China, Chi I (538-597), who lived in the monastery of Tien Tai Shan (Ten-dai-san), and was called the Great Teacher of Tien Tai. In 804 Den-gyo went over to China by the Imperial order, and received the transmission of the doctrine from Tao Sui (Do-sui), a patriarch of the sect. After his return he erected a monastery on Mount Hi-yei, which became the centre of Buddhistic learning. [FN#72] He erected the monastery of Sho-fuku-ji in 1195, which is still prospering. This provoked the envy and wrath of the Ten Dai and the Shin Gon[FN#73] teachers, who presented memorials to the Imperial court to protest against his propagandism of the new faith. Taking advantage of the protests, Ei-sai wrote a book entitled Ko-zen-go-koku-ron ('The Protection of the State by the Propagation of Zen'), and not only explained his own position, but exposed the ignorance[FN#74] of the protestants. Thus at last his merit was appreciated by the Emperor Tsuchi-mikado (1199-1210), and he was promoted to So Jo, the highest rank in the Buddhist priesthood, together with the gift of a purple robe in 1206. Some time after this he went to the city of Kama-kura, the political centre, being invited by Sane-tomo, the Shogun, and laid the foundation of the so-called Kama-kura Zen, still prospering at the present moment. [FN#73] The Shin Gon or Mantra Sect is based on Mahavairocanabhi-sambodhi-sutra, Vajracekhara-sutra, and other Mantra-sutras. It was established in China by Vajrabodhi and his disciple Amoahavajra, who came from India in 720. Ku kai (774-835), well known as Ko Bo Dai Shi, went to China in 804, and received the transmission of the doctrine from Hwui Kwo (Kei-ka), a, disciple of Amoghavajra. In 806 he came back and propagated the faith almost all over the country. For the detail see 'A Short History of the Twelve Japanese Buddhist Sects' (chap. viii.), by Dr. Nanjo. [FN#74] Sai-cho, the founder of the Japanese Ten Dai Sect, first learned the doctrine of the Northern School of Zen under Gyo-hyo (died in 797), and afterwards he pursued the study of the same faith under Siao Jan in China. Therefore to oppose the propagation of Zen is, for Ten Dai priests, as much as to oppose the founder of their own sect. 2. The Introduction of the So-To School[FN#75] of Zen. [FN#75] This school was started by Tsing-Yuen (Sei-gen), an eminent disciple of the Sixth Patriarch, and completed by Tsing Shan (To-zan). Although the Rin Zai school was, as mentioned above, established by Ei-sai, yet he himself was not a pure Zen teacher, being a Ten Dai scholar as well as an experienced practiser of Mantra. The first establishment of Zen in its purest form was done by Do-gen, now known as Jo Yo Dai Shi. Like Ei-sai, he was admitted into the Hi-yei Monastery at an early age, and devoted himself to the study of the Canon. As his scriptural knowledge increased, he was troubled by inexpressible doubts and fears, as is usual with great religious teachers. Consequently, one day he consulted his uncle, Ko-in, a distinguished Ten Dai scholar, about his troubles. The latter, being unable to satisfy him, recommended him Ei-sai, the founder of the new faith. But as Ei-sai died soon afterwards, he felt that he had no competent teacher left, and crossed the sea for China, at the age of twenty-four, in 1223. There he was admitted into the monastery of Tien Tung Shan (Ten-do-san), and assigned the lowest seat in the hall, simply because be was a foreigner. Against this affront he strongly protested. In the Buddhist community, he said, all were brothers, and there was no difference of nationality. The only way to rank the brethren was by seniority, and he therefore claimed to occupy his proper rank. Nobody, however, lent an ear to the poor new-comer's protest, so he appealed twice to the Chinese Emperor Ning Tsung (1195-1224), and by the Imperial order he gained his object. After four years' study and discipline, he was Enlightened and acknowledged as the successor by his master Ju Tsing (Nyo-jo died in 1228), who belonged to the Tsao Tung (So To) school. He came home in 1227, bringing with him three important Zen books.[FN#76] Some three years he did what Bodhidharma, the Wall-gazing Brahmin, had done seven hundred years before him, retiring to a hermitage at Fuka-kusa, not very far from Kyo-to. Just like Bodhidharma, denouncing all worldly fame and gain, his attitude toward the world was diametrically opposed to that of Ei-sai. As we have seen above, Ei-sai never shunned, but rather sought the society of the powerful and the rich, and made for his goal by every means. But to the Sage of Fuka-kusa, as Do-gen was called at that time, pomp and power was the most disgusting thing in the world. Judging from his poems, be seems to have spent these years chiefly in meditation; dwelling now on the transitoriness of life, now on the eternal peace of Nirvana; now on the vanities and miseries of the world; now listening to the voices of Nature amongst the hills; now gazing into the brooklet that was, as he thought, carrying away his image reflected on it into the world. [FN#76] (1) Pao King San Mei (Ho-kyo-san-mai, 'Precious Mirror Samadhi'), a metrical exposition of Zen, by Tung Shan (To-zan, 806-869), one of the founders of the So To school. (2) Wu Wei Hien Hueh (Go-i-ken-ketsu. 'Explanation of the Five Categories'), by Tung Shan and his disciple Tsao Shan (So-zan). This book shows us how Zen was systematically taught by the authors. (3) Pih Yen Tsih (Heki-gan-shu, 'A Collection and Critical Treatment of Dialogues'), by Yuen Wu. 3. The Characteristics of Do-gen, the Founder of the Japanese So To Sect. In the meantime seekers after a new truth gradually began to knock at his door, and his hermitage was turned into a monastery, now known as the Temple of Ko-sho-ji.[FN#77] It was at this time that many Buddhist scholars and men of quality gathered about him but the more popular he became the more disgusting the place became to him. His hearty desire was to live in a solitude among mountains, far distant from human abodes, where none but falling waters and singing birds could disturb his delightful meditation. Therefore he gladly accepted the invitation of a feudal lord, and went to the province of Echi-zen, where his ideal monastery was built, now known as Ei-hei-ji.[FN#78] [FN#77] It was in this monastery (built in 1236) that Zen was first taught as an independent sect, and that the Meditation Hall was first opened in Japan. Do-gen lived in the monastery for eleven years, and wrote some of the important books. Za-zen-gi ('The Method of Practising the Cross-legged Meditation') was written soon after his return from China, and Ben-do-wa and other essays followed, which are included in his great work, entitled Sho-bo-gen-zo) ('The Eye and Treasury of the Right Law'). [FN#78] The monastery was built in 1244 by Yoshi-shige (Hatano), the feudal lord who invited Do-gen. He lived in Ei-hei-ji until his death, which took place in 1253. It is still flourishing as the head temple of the So To Sect. In 1247, being requested by Toki-yori, the Regent General (1247-1263), he came down to Kama-kura, where he stayed half a year and went back to Ei-hei-ji. After some time Toki-yori, to show his gratitude for the master, drew up a certificate granting a large tract of land as the property of Ei-hei-ji, and handed it over to Gen-myo, a disciple of Do-gen. The carrier of the certificate was so pleased with the donation that he displayed it to all his brethren and produced it before the master, who severely reproached him saying: "O, shame on thee, wretch! Thou art -defiled by the desire of worldly riches even to thy inmost soul, just as noodle is stained with oil. Thou canst not be purified from it to all eternity. I am afraid thou wilt bring shame on the Right Law." On the spot Gen-myo was deprived of his holy robe and excommunicated. Furthermore, the master ordered the 'polluted' seat in the Meditation Hall, where Gen-myo was wont to sit, to be removed, and the 'polluted' earth under the seat to be dug out to the depth of seven feet. In 1250 the ex-Emperor Go-sa-ga (1243-1246) sent a special messenger twice to the Ei-hei monastery to do honour to the master with the donation of a purple robe, but he declined to accept it. And when the mark of distinction was offered for the third time, he accepted it, expressing his feelings by the following verses: "Although in Ei-hei's vale the shallow waters leap, Yet thrice it came, Imperial favour deep. The Ape may smile and laugh the Crane At aged Monk in purple as insane." He was never seen putting on the purple robe, being always clad in black, that was better suited to his secluded life. 4. The Social State of Japan when Zen was established by Ei-sai and Do-gen. Now we have to observe the condition of the country when Zen was introduced into Japan by Ei-sai and Do-gen. Nobilities that had so long governed the island were nobilities no more. Enervated by their luxuries, effeminated by their ease, made insipient by their debauchery, they were entirely powerless. All that they possessed in reality was the nominal rank and hereditary birth. On the contrary, despised as the ignorant, sneered at as the upstart, put in contempt as the vulgar, the Samurai or military class had everything in their hands. It was the time when Yori-tomo[FN#79] (1148-1199) conquered all over the empire, and established the Samurai Government at Kama-kura. It was the time when even the emperors were dethroned or exiled at will by the Samurai. It was the time when even the Buddhist monks[FN#80] frequently took up arms to force their will. It was the time when Japan's independence was endangered by Kublai, the terror of the world. It was the time when the whole nation was full of martial spirit. It is beyond doubt that to these rising Samurais, rude and simple, the philosophical doctrines of Buddhism, represented by Ten Dai and Shin Gon, were too complicated and too alien to their nature. But in Zen they could find something congenial to their nature, something that touched their chord of sympathy, because Zen was the doctrine of chivalry in a certain sense. [FN#79] The Samurai Government was first established by Yoritomo, of the Minamoto family, in 1186, and Japan was under the control of the military class until 1867, when the political power was finally restored to the Imperial house. [FN#80] They were degenerated monks (who were called monk-soldiers), belonging to great monasteries such as En-ryaku-ji (Hi-yei), Ko-fuku-ji (at Nara), Mi-i-dera, etc. 5. The Resemblance of the Zen Monk to the Samurai. Let us point out in brief the similarities between Zen and Japanese chivalry. First, both the Samurai and the Zen monk have to undergo a strict discipline and endure privation without complaint. Even such a prominent teacher as Ei-sai, for example, lived contentedly in such needy circumstances that on one occasion[FN#81] he and his disciples had nothing to eat for several days. Fortunately, they were requested by a believer to recite the Scriptures, and presented with two rolls of silk. The hungry young monks, whose mouths watered already at the expectation of a long-looked-for dinner, were disappointed when that silk was given to a poor man, who called on Ei-sai to obtain some help. Fast continued for a whole week, when another poor follow came in and asked Ei-sai to give something. At this time, having nothing to show his substantial mark of sympathy towards the poor, Ei-sai tore off the gilt glory of the image of Buddha Bhecajya and gave it. The young monks, bitten both by hunger and by anger at this outrageous act to the object of worship, questioned Ei-sai by way of reproach: "Is it, sir, right for us Buddhists to demolish the image of a Buddha?" "Well," replied Ei-sai promptly, "Buddha would give even his own life for the sake of suffering people. How could he be reluctant to give his halo?" This anecdote clearly shows us self-sacrifice is of first importance in the Zen discipline. [FN#81] The incident is told by Do-gen in his Zui-mon-ki. 6. The Honest Poverty of the Zen Monk and the Samurai. Secondly, the so-called honest poverty is a characteristic of both the Zen monk and the Samurai. To get rich by an ignoble means is against the rules of Japanese chivalry or Bushido. The Samurai would rather starve than to live by some expedient unworthy of his dignity. There are many instances, in the Japanese history, of Samurais who were really starved to death in spite of their having a hundred pieces of gold carefully preserved to meet the expenses at the time of an emergency; hence the proverb: "The falcon would not feed on the ear of corn, even if he should starve." Similarly, we know of no case of Zen monks, ancient and modern, who got rich by any ignoble means. They would rather face poverty with gladness of heart. Fu-gai, one of the most distinguished Zen masters just before the Restoration, supported many student monks in his monastery. They were often too numerous to be supported by his scant means. This troubled his disciple much whose duty it was to look after the food-supply, as there was no other means to meet the increased demand than to supply with worse stuff. Accordingly, one day the disciple advised Fu-gai not to admit new students any more into the monastery. Then the master, making no reply, lolled out his tongue and said: "Now look into my mouth, and tell if there be any tongue in it." The perplexed disciple answered affirmatively. "Then don't bother yourself about it. If there be any tongue, I can taste any sort of food." Honest poverty may, without exaggeration, be called one of the characteristics of the Samurais and of the Zen monks; hence a proverb: "The Zen monk has no money, moneyed Monto[FN#82] knows nothing." [FN#82] The priest belonging to Shin Shu, who are generally rich. 7. The Manliness of the Zen Monk and of the Samurai. Thirdly, both the Zen monk and the Samurai were distinguished by their manliness and dignity in manner, sometimes amounting to rudeness. This is due partly to the hard discipline that they underwent, and partly to the mode of instruction. The following story,[FN#83] translated by Mr. D. Suzuki, a friend of mine, may well exemplify our statement: [FN#83] The Journal of the Pali Text Society, 1906-1907. When Rin-zai[FN#84] was assiduously applying himself to Zen discipline under Obak (Huang Po in Chinese, who died 850), the head monk recognized his genius. One day the monk asked him how long he had been in the monastery, to which Rin-zai replied: 'Three years.' The elder said: 'Have you ever approached the master and asked his instruction in Buddhism?' Rin-zai said: 'I have never done this, for I did not know what to ask.' 'Why, you might go to the master and ask him what is the essence of Buddhism?' [FN#84] Lin Tsi, the founder of the Lin Tsi school. "Rin-zai, according to this advice, approached Obak and repeated the question, but before he finished the master gave him a slap. "When Rin-zai came back, the elder asked how the interview went. Said Rin-zai: 'Before I could finish my question the master slapped me, but I fail to grasp its meaning.' The elder said: 'You go to him again and ask the same question.' When he did so, he received the same response from the master. But Rin-zai was urged again to try it for the third time, but the outcome did not improve. "At last he went to the elder, and said 'In obedience to your kind suggestion, I have repeated my question three times, and been slapped three times. I deeply regret that, owing to my stupidity, I am unable to comprehend the hidden meaning of all this. I shall leave this place and go somewhere else.' Said the elder: 'If you wish to depart, do not fail to go and see the master to say him farewell.' "Immediately after this the elder saw the master, and said: 'That young novice, who asked about Buddhism three times, is a remarkable fellow. When he comes to take leave of you, be so gracious as to direct him properly. After a hard training, he will prove to be a great master, and, like a huge tree, he will give a refreshing shelter to the world.' "When Rin-zai came to see the master, the latter advised him not to go anywhere else, but to Dai-gu (Tai-yu) of Kaoan, for he would be able to instruct him in the faith. "Rin-zai went to Dai-gu, who asked him whence he came. Being informed that he was from Obak, Dai-gu further inquired what instruction he had under the master. Rin-zai answered: 'I asked him three times about the essence of Buddhism, and he slapped me three times. But I am yet unable to see whether I had any fault or not.' Dai-gu said: 'Obak was tender-hearted even as a dotard, and you are not warranted at all to come over here and ask me whether anything was faulty with you.' "Being thus reprimanded, the signification of the whole affair suddenly dawned upon the mind of Rin-zai, and he exclaimed: 'There is not much, after all, in the Buddhism of Obak.' Whereupon Dai-gu took hold of him, and said: 'This ghostly good-for-nothing creature! A few minutes ago you came to me and complainingly asked what was wrong with you, and now boldly declare that there is not much in the Buddhism of Obak. What is the reason of all this? Speak out quick! speak out quick!' In response to this, Rin-zai softly struck three times his fist at the ribs of Dai-gu. The latter then released him, saying: 'Your teacher is Obak, and I will have nothing to do with you.' "Rin-zai took leave of Dai-gu and came back to Obak, who, on seeing him come, exclaimed: 'Foolish fellow! what does it avail you to come and go all the time like this?' Rin-zai said: 'It is all due to your doting kindness.' "When, after the usual salutation, Rin-zai stood by the side of Obak, the latter asked him whence he had come this time. Rin-zai answered: "In obedience to your kind instruction, I was with Dai-gu. Thence am I come.' And he related, being asked for further information, all that had happened there. "Obak said: 'As soon as that fellow shows himself up here, I shall have to give him a good thrashing.' 'You need not wait for him to come; have it right this moment,' was the reply; and with this Rin-zai gave his master a slap on the back. "Obak said: 'How dares this lunatic come into my presence and play with a tiger's whiskers?' Rin-zai then burst out into a Ho,[FN#85] and Obak said: 'Attendant, come and carry this lunatic away to his cell.'" [FN#85] A loud outcry, frequently made use of by Zen teachers, after Rin-zai. Its Chinese pronunciation is 'Hoh,' and pronounced 'Katsu' in Japanese, but 'tsu' is not audible. 8. The Courage and the Composure of Mind of the Zen Monk and of the Samurai. Fourthly, our Samurai encountered death, as is well known, with unflinching courage. He would never turn back from, but fight till his last with his enemy. To be called a coward was for him the dishonour worse than death itself. An incident about Tsu Yuen (So-gen), who came over to Japan in 1280, being invited by Toki-mune[FN#86] (Ho-jo), the Regent General, well illustrates how much Zen monks resembled our Samurais. The event happened when he was in China, where the invading army of Yuen spread terror all over the country. Some of the barbarians, who crossed the border of the State of Wan, broke into the monastery of Tsu Yuen, and threatened to behead him. Then calmly sitting down, ready to meet his fate, he composed the following verses "The heaven and earth afford me no shelter at all; I'm glad, unreal are body and soul. Welcome thy weapon, O warrior of Yuen! Thy trusty steel, That flashes lightning, cuts the wind of Spring, I feel." [FN#86] A bold statesman and soldier, who was the real ruler of Japan 1264-1283. This reminds us of Sang Chao[FN#87] (So-jo), who, on the verge of death by the vagabond's sword, expressed his feelings in the follow lines: "In body there exists no soul. The mind is not real at all. Now try on me thy flashing steel, As if it cuts the wind of Spring, I feel." [FN#87] The man was not a pure Zen master, being a disciple of Kumarajiva, the founder of the San Ron Sect. This is a most remarkable evidence that Zen, especially the Rin Zan school, was influenced by Kumarajiva and his disciples. For the details of the anecdote, see E-gen. The barbarians, moved by this calm resolution and dignified air of Tsu Yuen, rightly supposed him to be no ordinary personage, and left the monastery, doing no harm to him. 9. Zen and the Regent Generals of the Ho-Jo Period. No wonder, then, that the representatives of the Samurai class, the Regent Generals, especially such able rulers as Toki-yori, Toki-mune, and others noted for their good administration, of the Ho-jo period (1205-1332) greatly favoured Zen. They not only patronized the faith, building great temples[FN#88] and inviting best Chinese Zen teachers[FN#89] but also lived just as Zen monks, having the head shaven, wearing a holy robe, and practising cross-legged Meditation. [FN#88] To-fuku-ji, the head temple of a sub-sect of the Rin Zai under the same name, was built in 1243. Ken-cho-ji, the head temple of a subsect of the Rin Zai under the same name, was built in 1253. En-gaku ji, the head temple of a sub-sect of the Rin Zai under the same name, was built in 1282. Nan-zen-ji, the head temple of a sub-sect of the Rin Zai under the same name, was erected in 1326. [FN#89] Tao Lung (Do-ryu), known as Dai-kaku Zen-ji, invited by Tokiyori, came over to Japan in 1246. He became the founder of Ken-cho-ji-ha, a sub-sect of the Rin Zai, and died in 1278. Of his disciples, Yaku-o was most noted, and Yaku-o's disciple, Jaku-shitsu, became the founder of Yo-genji-ha, another sub-sect of the Rin Zai. Tsu Yuen (So-gen), known as Buk-ko-koku-shi, invited by Toki-mune, crossed the sea in 1280, became the founder of En-gaku-ji-ha (a sub-sect of the Rin Zai), and died in 1286. Tsing Choh (Sei-setsu), invited by Taka-toki, came in 1327, and died in 1339. Chu Tsun (So-shun) came in 1331, and died in 1336. Fan Sien (Bon-sen) came together with Chu Tsun, and died in 1348. These were the prominent Chinese teachers of that time. Toki-yori (1247-1263), for instance, who entered the monastic life while be was still the real governor of the country, led as simple a life, as is shown in his verse, which ran as follows: "Higher than its bank the rivulet flows; Greener than moss tiny grass grows. No one call at my humble cottage on the rock, But the gate by itself opens to the Wind's knock." Toki-yori attained to Enlightenment by the instruction of Do-gen and Do-ryu, and breathed his last calmly sitting cross-legged, and expressing his feelings in the following lines: "Thirty-seven of years, Karma mirror stood high; Now I break it to pieces, Path of Great is then nigh." His successor, Toki-mune (1264-1283), a bold statesman and soldier, was no less of a devoted believer in Zen. Twice he beheaded the envoys sent by the great Chinese conqueror, Kublai, who demanded Japan should either surrender or be trodden under his foot. And when the alarming news of the Chinese Armada's approaching the land reached him, be is said to have called on his tutor, Tsu Yuen, to receive the last instruction. "Now, reverend sir," said. he, "an imminent peril threatens the land." "How art thou going to encounter it?" asked the master. Then Toki-mune burst into a thundering Ka with all his might to show his undaunted spirit in encountering the approaching enemy. "O, the lion's roar!" said Tsu Yuen. "Thou art a genuine lion. Go, and never turn back." Thus encouraged by the teacher, the Regent General sent out the defending army, and successfully rescued the state from the mouth of destruction, gaining a splendid victory over the invaders, almost all of whom perished in the western seas. 10. Zen after the Downfall of the Ho-Jo Regency. Towards the end of the Ho-Jo period,[FN#90] and after the downfall of the Regency in 1333, sanguinary battles were fought between the Imperialists and the rebels. The former, brave and faithful as they were, being outnumbered by the latter, perished in the field one after another for the sake of the ill-starred Emperor Go-dai-go (1319-1338), whose eventful life ended in anxiety and despair. [FN#90] Although Zen was first favoured by the Ho-jo Regency and chiefly prospered at Kama-kura, yet it rapidly began to exercise its influence on nobles and Emperors at Kyo-to. This is mainly due to the activity of En-ni, known as Sho-Ichi-Koku-Shi (1202-1280), who first earned Zen under Gyo-yu, a disciple of Ei-sai, and afterwards went to China, where he was Enlightened under the instruction of Wu Chun, of the monastery of King Shan. After his return, Michi-iye (Fuji-wara), a powerful nobleman, erected for him To-fuku-ji in 1243, and he became the founder of a sub-sect of the Rin Zai, named after that monastery. The Emperor Go-saga (1243-1246), an admirer of his, received the Moral Precepts from him. One of his disciples, To-zan, became the spiritual adviser of the Emperor Fushi-mi (1288-1298), and another disciple, Mu kwan, was created the abbot of the monastery of Nan-zen-ji by the Emperor Kame-yama (1260-1274), as the founder of a sub-sect of the Rin Zai under the same name. Another teacher who gained lasting influence on the Court is Nan-po, known as Dai-O-Koku-Shi (1235-1308), who was appointed the abbot of the monastery of Man-ju-ji in Kyo to by the Emperor Fushi-mi. One of his disciples, Tsu-o, was the spiritual adviser to both the Emperor Hana-zono (1308-1318) and the Emperor Go-dai-go. And another disciple, Myo-cho, known as Dai-To-Koku-Shi (1282-1337), also was admired by the two Emperors, and created the abbot of Dai-toku-ji, as the founder of a sub-sect of the Rin Zai under the same name. It was for Myo-cho's disciple, Kan-zan (1277 1360), that the Emperor Hana-zono turned his detached palace into a monastery, named Myo-shin-ji, the head temple of a sub-sect of the Rin Zai under the same name. It was at this time that Japan gave birth to Masa-shige (Kusu-noki), an able general and tactician of the Imperialists, who for the sake of the Emperor not only sacrificed himself and his brother, but by his will his son and his son's successor died for the same cause, boldly attacking the enemy whose number was overwhelmingly great. Masa-shige's loyalty, wisdom, bravery, and prudence are not merely unique in the history of Japan, but perhaps in the history of man. The tragic tale about his parting with his beloved son, and his bravery shown at his last battle, never fail to inspire the Japanese with heroism. He is the best specimen of the Samurai class. According to an old document,[FN#91] this Masa-shige was the practiser of Zen, and just before his last battle he called on Chu Tsun (So-shun) to receive the final instruction. "What have I to do when death takes the place of life?" asked Masa-shige. The teacher replied: "Be bold, at once cut off both ties, The drawn sword gleams against the skies." Thus becoming, as it were, an indispensable discipline for the Samurai, Zen never came to an end with the Ho-jo period, but grew more prosperous than before during the reign[FN#92] of the Emperor Go-dai-go, one of the most enthusiastic patrons of the faith. [FN#91] The event is detailed at length in a life of So-shun, but some historians suspect it to be fictitious. This awaits a further research. [FN#92] As we have already mentioned, Do-gen, the founder of the Japanese So To Sect, shunned the society of the rich and the powerful, and led a secluded life. In consequence his sect did not make any rapid progress until the Fourth Patriarch of his line, Kei-zan (1268-1325) who, being of energetic spirit, spread his faith with remarkable activity, building many large monasteries, of which Yo-ko-ji, in the province of No-to, So-ji-ji (near Yokohama), one of the head temples of the sect, are well known. One of his disciples, Mei ho (1277-1350), propagated the faith in the northern provinces; while another disciple, Ga-san (1275-1365), being a greater character, brought up more than thirty distinguished disciples, of whom Tai-gen, Tsu-gen, Mu-tan, Dai-tetsu, and Jip-po, are best known. Tai-gen (died 1370) and big successors propagated the faith over the middle provinces, while Tsu-gen (1332-1391) and his successors spread the sect all over the north-eastern and south-western provinces. Thus it is worthy of our notice that most of the Rin Zai teachers confined their activities within Kamakura and Kyo-to, while the So To masters spread the faith all over the country. The Shoguns of the Ashi-kaga period (1338-1573) were not less devoted to the faith than the Emperors who succeeded the Emperor Go-dai-go. And even Taka-uji (1338-1357), the notorious founder of the Shogunate, built a monastery and invited So-seki,[FN#93] better known as Mu-So-Koku-Shi, who was respected as the tutor by the three successive Emperors after Go-dai-go. Taka-uji's example was followed by all succeeding Shoguns, and Shogun's example was followed by the feudal lords and their vassals. This resulted in the propagation of Zen throughout the country. We can easily imagine how Zen was prosperous in these days from the splendid monasteries[FN#94] built at this period, such as the Golden Hall Temple and the Silver Hall Temple that still adorn the fair city of Kyo-to. [FN#93] So-seki (1276-1351) was perhaps the greatest Zen master of the period. Of numerous monasteries built for him, E-rin-ji, in the province of Kae, and Ten-ryu-ji, the head temple of a sub-sect of the Rin Zai under the same name, are of importance. Out of over seventy eminent disciples of his, Gi-do (1365-1388), the author of Ku-ge-shu; Shun-oku (1331-1338), the founder of the monastery of So-koku-ji, the head temple of a sub-sect of the Rin Zai under the same name; and Zek-kai (1337-1405), author of Sho-ken-shu, are best known. [FN#94] Myo-shin-ji was built in 1337 by the Emperor Hana-zono; Ten-ryu-ji was erected by Taka-uji, the first Shogun of the period, in 1344; So-koku-ji by Yosh-imitsu, the third Shogun, in 1385; Kin-Kaku-ji, or Golden Hall Temple, by the same Shogun, in 1397; Gin-kaku-ji, or Silver Hall Temple, by Yoshi-masa, the eighth Shogun, in 1480. 11. Zen in the Dark Age. The latter half of the Ashikaga period was the age of arms and bloodshed. Every day the sun shone on the glittering armour of marching soldiers. Every wind sighed over the lifeless remains of the brave. Everywhere the din of battle resounded. Out of these fighting feudal lords stood two champions. Each of them distinguished himself as a veteran soldier and tactician. Each of them was known as an experienced practiser of Zen. One was Haru-nobu[FN#95] (Take-da, died in 1573), better known by his Buddhist name, Shin-gen. The other was Teru-tora[FN#96] (Uye-sugi, died in 1578), better known by his Buddhist name, Ken-shin. The character of Shin-gen can be imagined from the fact that he never built any castle or citadel or fortress to guard himself against his enemy, but relied on his faithful vassals and people; while that of Ken-shin, from the fact that he provided his enemy, Shin-gen, with salt when the latter suffered from want of it, owing to the cowardly stratagem of a rival lord. The heroic battles waged by these two great generals against each other are the flowers of the Japanese war-history. Tradition has it that when Shin-gen's army was put to rout by the furious attacks of Ken-shin's troops, and a single warrior mounted on a huge charger rode swiftly as a sweeping wind into Shin-gen's head-quarters, down came a blow of the heavy sword aimed at Shin-gen's forehead, with a question expressed in the technical terms of Zen: "What shalt thou do in such a state at such a moment?" Having no time to draw his sword, Shin-gen parried it with his war-fan, answering simultaneously in Zen words: "A flake of snow on the red-hot furnace!" Had not his attendants come to the rescue Shin-gen's life might have gone as 'a flake of snow on the red-hot furnace.' Afterwards the horseman was known to have been Ken-shin himself. This tradition shows us how Zen was practically lived by the Samurais of the Dark Age. [FN#95] Shin-gen practised Zen under the instruction of Kwai-sen, who was burned to death by Nobu-naga (O-da) in 1582. See Hon-cho-ko-so-den. [FN#96] Ken-shin learned Zen under Shu-ken, a So Ta master. See To-jo-ren-to-roku. Although the priests of other Buddhist sects had their share in these bloody affairs, as was natural at such a time, yet Zen monks stood aloof and simply cultivated their literature. Consequently, when all the people grew entirely ignorant at the end of the Dark Age, the Zen monks were the only men of letters. None can deny this merit of their having preserved learning and prepared for its revival in the following period.[FN#97] [FN#97] After the introduction of Zen into Japan many important books were written, and the following are chief doctrinal works: Ko-zen-go-koku-ron, by Ei-sai; Sho bo-gen-zo; Gaku-do-yo-zin-shu; Fu-kwan-za-zen-gi; Ei-hei-ko-roku, by Do-gen; Za-zen-yo-zin-ki; and Den-ko-roku, by Kei-zan. 12. Zen under the Toku-gana Shogunate. Peace was at last restored by Iye-yasu, the founder of the Toku-gana Shogunate (1603-1867). During this period the Shogunate gave countenance to Buddhism on one hand, acknowledging it as the state religion, bestowing rich property to large monasteries, making priests take rank over common people, ordering every householder to build a Buddhist altar in his house; while, on the other hand, it did everything to extirpate Christianity, introduced in the previous period (1544). All this paralyzed the missionary spirit of the Buddhists, and put all the sects in dormant state. As for Zen[FN#98] it was still favoured by feudal lords and their vassals, and almost all provincial lords embraced the faith. [FN#98] The So To Sect was not wanting in competent teachers, for it might take pride in its Ten-kei (1648-1699), whose religious insight was unsurpassed by any other master of the age; in its Shi getsu, who was a commentator of various Zen books, and died 1764; in its Men-zan (1683-1769), whose indefatigable works on the exposition of So To Zen are invaluable indeed; and its Getsu-shu (1618-1696) and Man-zan (1635-1714), to whose labours the reformation of the faith is ascribed. Similarly, the Rin Zai Sect, in its Gu-do (1579-1661); in its Isshi (1608-1646); in its Taku-an (1573-1645), the favourite tutor of the third Shogun, Iye-mitsu; in its Haku-in (1667-1751), the greatest of the Rin Zai masters of the day, to whose extraordinary personality and labour the revival of the sect is due; and its To-rei (1721-1792), a learned disciple of Haku-in. Of the important Zen books written by these masters, Ro-ji-tan-kin, by Ten-kei; Men-zan-ko-roku, by Men-zan; Ya-sen-kwan-wa, Soku-ko-roku, Kwai-an-koku-go, Kei-so-doku-zui, by Haku-in; Shu-mon-mu-jin-to-ron, by To-rei, are well known. It was about the middle of this period that the forty-seven vassals of Ako displayed the spirit of the Samurai by their perseverance, self-sacrifice, and loyalty, taking vengeance on the enemy of their deceased lord. The leader of these men, the tragic tales of whom can never be told or heard without tears, was Yoshi-o (O-ishi died 1702), a believer of Zen,[FN#99] and his tomb in the cemetery of the temple of Sen-gaku-ji, Tokyo, is daily visited by hundreds of his admirers. Most of the professional swordsmen forming a class in these days practised Zen. Mune-nori[FN#100](Ya-gyu), for instance, established his reputation by the combination of Zen and the fencing art. [FN#99] See "Zen Shu," No. 151. [FN#100] He is known as Ta-jima, who practised Zen under Taku-an. The following story about Boku-den (Tsuka-hara), a great swordsman, fully illustrates this tendency: "On a certain occasion Boku-den took a ferry to cross over the Yabase in the province of Omi. There was among the passengers a Samurai, tall and square-shouldered, apparently an experienced fencer. He behaved rudely toward the fellow-passengers, and talked so much of his own dexterity in the art that Boku-den, provoked by his brag, broke silence. 'You seem, my friend, to practise the art in order to conquer the enemy, but I do it in order not to be conquered,' said Boku-den. 'O monk,' demanded the man, as Boku-den was clad like a Zen monk, 'what school of swordsmanship do you belong to?' Well, mine is the Conquering-enemy-without-fighting-school.' 'Don't tell a fib, old monk. If you could conquer the enemy without fighting, what then is your sword for?' 'My sword is not to kill, but to save,' said Boku-den, making use of Zen phrases; 'my art is transmitted from mind to mind.' 'Now then, come, monk,' challenged the man, 'let us see, right at this moment, who is the victor, you or I.' The gauntlet was picked up without hesitation. 'But we must not fight,' said Boku-den, 'in the ferry, lest the passengers should be hurt. Yonder a small island you see. There we shall decide the contest.' To this proposal the man agreed, and the boat was pulled to that island. No sooner had the boat reached the shore than the man jumped over to the land, and cried: 'Come on, monk, quick, quick!' Boku-den, however, slowly rising, said: 'Do not hasten to lose your head. It is a rule of my school to prepare slowly for fighting, keeping the soul in the abdomen.' So saying he snatched the oar from the boatman and rowed the boat back to some distance, leaving the man alone, who, stamping the ground madly, cried out: 'O, you fly, monk, you coward. Come, old monk!' 'Now listen,' said Boku-den, 'this is the secret art of the Conquering-enemy-without-fighting-school. Beware that you do not forget it, nor tell it to anybody else.' Thus, getting rid of the brawling fellow, Boku-den and his fellow-passengers safely landed on the opposite shore."[FN#101] The O Baku School of Zen was introduced by Yin Yuen (In-gen) who crossed the sea in 1654, accompanied by many able disciples.[FN#102] The Shogunate gave him a tract of land at Uji, near Kyo-to, and in 1659 he built there a monastery noted for its Chinese style of architecture, now known as O-baku-san. The teachers of the same school[FN#103] came one after another from China, and Zen[FN#104] peculiar to them, flourished a short while. [FN#101] Shi-seki-shu-ran. [FN#102] In-gen (1654-1673) came over with Ta-Mei (Dai-bi, died 1673), Hwui Lin (E-rin died 1681), Tuh Chan (Doku-tan, died 1706), and others. For the life of In-gen: see Zoku-ko-shu-den and Kaku-shu-ko-yo. [FN#103] Tsih Fei (Soku-hi died 1671), Muh Ngan (Moku-an died 1684), Kao Tsuen (Ko-sen died 1695), the author of Fu-so-zen-rin-so-bo-den, To-koku-ko-so-den, and Sen-un-shu, are best known. [FN#104] This is a sub-sect of the Rin Zai School, as shown in the following table: TABLE OF THE TRANSMISSION OF ZEN FROM CHINA TO JAPAN. 1. Bodhidharma. 2. Hwui Ko (E-ka). 3. San Tsang (So-san). 4. Tao Sin (Do-shin). 5. Hung Jan (Ko nin). ---THE NORTHERN SECT 6. Shang Siu (Jin-shu). ---THE SOUTHERN SECT 6. Hwui Nang (E-no). ---THE RIN ZAI SCHOOL. 7. Nan Yoh (Nan-gaku). ---10. Gi-ku. ---11. Lin Tsi (Rin-zai). ---21. Yuen Wu (En-go). ---22. Fuh Hai (Bukkai). ---28. Kaku-a. ---THE O BAKU SCHOOL. 42. In-gen. ---25. Hti Ngan (Kyo-an). ---26. Ei-sai. ---THE SO TO SCHOOL. 7. Tsing Yuen (Sei-gen). ---8. Shih Teu (Seki-to). ---11. Tung Shan (To-zan). ---23. Ju Tsing (Nyo-jo). ---24. Do-gen. The O Baku School is the amalgamation of Zen and the worship of Amitabha, and different from the other two schools. The statistics for 1911 give the following figures: The Number of Temples: The So To School 14,255 The Rin Zai School 6,128 The O Baku School 546 The Number of Teachers: The So To School 9,576 The Rin Zai School 4,523 The O Baku School 349 It was also in this period that Zen gained a great influence on the popular literature characterized by the shortest form of poetical composition. This was done through the genius of Ba-sho,[FN#105] a great literary man, recluse and traveller, who, as his writings show us, made no small progress in the study of Zen. Again, it was made use of by the teachers of popular[FN#106] ethics, who did a great deal in the education of the lower classes. In this way Zen and its peculiar taste gradually found its way into the arts of peace, such as literature, fine art, tea-ceremony, cookery, gardening, architecture, and at last it has permeated through every fibre of Japanese life. [FN#105] He (died 1694) learned Zen under a contemporary Zen master (Buccho), and is said to have been enlightened before his reformation of the popular literature. [FN#106] The teaching was called Shin-gaku, or the 'learning of mind.' It was first taught by Bai-gan (Ishi-da), and is the reconciliation of Shintoism and Buddhism with Confucianism. Bai-gan and his successors practised Meditation, and were enlightened in their own way. Do-ni (Naka-zawa, died 1803) made use of Zen more than any other teacher. 13. Zen after the Restoration. After the Restoration of the Mei-ji (1867) the popularity of Zen began to wane, and for some thirty years remained in inactivity; but since the Russo-Japanese War its revival has taken place. And now it is looked upon as an ideal faith, both for a nation full of hope and energy, and for a person who has to fight his own way in the strife of life. Bushido, or the code of chivalry, should be observed not only by the soldier in the battle-field, but by every citizen in the struggle for existence. If a person be a person and not a beast, then he must be a Samurai-brave, generous, upright, faithful, and manly, full of self-respect and self-confidence, at the same time full of the spirit of self-sacrifice. We can find an incarnation of Bushido in the late General Nogi, the hero of Port Arthur, who, after the sacrifice of his two sons for the country in the Russo-Japanese War, gave up his own and his wife's life for the sake of the deceased Emperor. He died not in vain, as some might think, because his simplicity, uprightness, loyalty, bravery, self-control, and self-sacrifice, all combined in his last act, surely inspire the rising generation with the spirit of the Samurai to give birth to hundreds of Nogis. Now let us see in the following chapters what Zen so closely connected with Bushido teaches us. CHAPTER III THE UNIVERSE IS THE SCRIPTURE[FN#107] OF ZEN 1. Scripture is no More than Waste Paper. [FN#107] Zen is not based on any particular sutra, either of Mahayana or of Hinayana. There are twofold Tripitakas (or the three collections of the Buddhist scriptures)-namely, the Mahayana-tripitaka and the Hinayana-tripitaka. The former are the basis of the Mahayana, or the higher and reformed Buddhism, full of profound metaphysical reasonings; while the latter form that of the Hinayana, or the lower and early Buddhism, which is simple and ethical teaching. These twofold Tripitakas are as follows: THE MAHAYANA-TRIPITAKA. The Sutra Pitaka.-The Saddharma-pundarika-sutra, Samdhi-nirmocana-sutra, Avatamsaka-sutra, Prajnyaparamita-sutra, Amitayus-sutra, Mahaparinirvana-sutra, etc. The Vinaya Pitaka.--Brahmajala-sutra, Bodhisattva-caryanirdeca, etc. The Abhidharma Pitaka.--Mahaprajnyaparamita-sutra, Mahayana-craddhotpada-castra, Madhyamaka-castra, Yogacarya bhumi-castra, etc. THE HINAYANA-TRIPITAKA. The Sutra Pitaka.--Dirghagama, Ekottaragama, Madhyamagama, Samyuktagama, etc. The Vinaya Pitaka.--Dharmagupta-vinaya, Mahasamghika-vinaya, Sarvastivada-vinaya, etc. The Abhidharma Pitaka.--Dharma-skandha-pada, Samgiti-paryaya-pada, Jnyanaprasthana-castra, Abhidharma-kosa-castra, etc. The term 'Tripitaka,' however, was not known at the time of Shakya Muni, and almost all of the northern Buddhist records agree in stating that the Tripitaka was rehearsed and settled in the same year in which the Muni died. Mahavansa also says: "The book called Abhidharma-pitaka was compiled, which was preached to god, and was arranged in due order by 500 Budhu priests." But we believe that Shakya Muni's teaching was known to the early Buddhists, not as Tripitaka, but as Vinaya and Dharma, and even at the time of King Acoka (who ascended the throne about 269 B.C.) it was not called Tripitaka, but Dharma, as we have it in his Edicts. Mahayanists unanimously assert the compilation of the Tripitaka in the first council of Rajagrha, but they differ in opinion as to the question who rehearsed the Abhidharma; notwithstanding, they agree as for the other respects, as you see in the following: The Sutra Pitaka, compiled by Ananda; the Vinaya Pitaka, compiled by Upali; the Abhidharma Pitaka, compiled by Ananda--according to Nagarjuna (Mahaprajnyaparamita-castra). The Sutra Pitaka, compiled by Ananda; the Vinaya Pitaka, compiled by Upali; the Abhidharma Pitaka, compiled by Kacyapa according to Huen Tsang (Ta-tan-si-yu-ki). The Sutra Pitaka, compiled by Ananda; the Vinaya Pitaka, compiled by Upali; the Abhidharma Pitaka, compiled by Purna--according to Paramartha ('A Commentary on the History of the Hinayana Schools'). The above-mentioned discrepancy clearly betrays the uncertainty of their assertions, and gives us reason to discredit the compilation of Abhidharma Pitaka at the first council. Besides, judging from the Dharma-gupta-vinaya and other records, which states that Purna took no part in the first council, and that he had different opinions as to the application of the rules of discipline from that of Kacyapa, there should be some errors in Paramartha's assertion. Of these three collections of the Sacred Writings, the first two, or Sutra and Vinaya, of Mahayana, as well as of Himayana, are believed to be the direct teachings of Shakya Muni himself, because all the instructions are put in the mouth of the Master or sanctioned by him. The Mahayanists, however, compare the Hinayana doctrine with a resting-place on the road for a traveller, while the Mahayana doctrine with his destination. All the denominations of Buddhism, with a single exception of Zen, are based on the authority of some particular sacred writings. The Ten Dai Sect, for instance, is based on Saddharma-pundarika-sutra; the Jo Do Sect on Larger Sukhavati-vyuha, Smaller Sukhavati-vyuha, and Amitayus-dhyana-sutra; the Ke Gon Sect on Avatamsaka-sutra; the Hosso Sect on Samdhi-nirmocana-sutra. Zen is based on the highest spiritual plane attained by Shakya Muni himself. It can only be realized by one who has attained the same plane. To describe it in full by means of words is beyond the power even of Gotama himself. It is for this reason that the author of Lankavatara-sutra insists that Shakya Muni spoke no word through his long career of forty-nine years as a religious teacher, and that of Mahaprajnyaparamita-sutra[FN#108] also express the same opinion. The Scripture is no more nor less than the finger pointing to the moon of Buddhahood. When we recognize the moon and enjoy its benign beauty, the finger is of no use. As the finger has no brightness whatever, so the Scripture has no holiness whatever. The Scripture is religious currency representing spiritual wealth. It does not matter whether money be gold, or sea-shells, or cows. It is a mere substitute. What it stands for is of paramount importance. Away with your stone-knife! Do not watch the stake against which a running hare once struck its head and died. Do not wait for another hare. Another may not come for ever. Do not cut the side of the boat out of which you dropped your sword to mark where it sunk. The boat is ever moving on. The Canon is the window through which we observe the grand scenery of spiritual nature. To hold communion directly with it we must get out of the window. It is a mere stray fly that is always buzzing within it, struggling to get out. Those who spend most of their lives in the study of the Scriptures, arguing and explaining with hair-splitting reasonings, and attain no higher plane in spirituality, are religious flies good for nothing but their buzzing about the nonsensical technicalities. It is on this account that Rin-zai declared:[FN#109] 'The twelve divisions of the Buddhist Canon are nothing better than waste paper.' [FN#108] Mahaprajnyaparamita-sutra, vol. 425. [FN#109] Rin-zai-roku. 2. No Need of the Scriptural Authority for Zen. Some Occidental scholars erroneously identify Buddhism with the primitive faith of Hinayanism, and are inclined to call Mahayanism, a later developed faith, a degenerated one. If the primitive faith be called the genuine, as these scholars think, and the later developed faith be the degenerated one, then the child should be called the genuine man and the grown-up people be the degenerated ones; similarly, the primitive society must be the genuine and the modern civilization be the degenerated one. So also the earliest writings of the Old Testament should be genuine and the four Gospels be degenerated. Beyond all doubt Zen belongs to Mahayanism, yet this does not imply that it depends on the scriptural authority of that school, because it does not trouble itself about the Canon whether it be Hinayana or Mahayana, or whether it was directly spoken by Shakya Muni or written by some later Buddhists. Zen is completely free from the fetters of old dogmas, dead creeds, and conventions of stereotyped past, that check the development of a religious faith and prevent the discovery of a new truth. Zen needs no Inquisition. It never compelled nor will compel the compromise of a Galileo or a Descartes. No excommunication of a Spinoza or the burning of a Bruno is possible for Zen. On a certain occasion Yoh Shan (Yaku-san) did not preach the doctrine for a long while, and was requested to give a sermon by his assistant teacher, saying: "Would your reverence preach the Dharma to your pupils, who long thirst after your merciful instruction?" "Then ring the bell," replied Yoh Shan. The bell rang, and all the monks assembled in the Hall eager to bear the sermon. Yoh Shan went up to the pulpit and descended immediately without saying a word. "You, reverend sir," asked the assistant, "promised to deliver a sermon a little while ago. Why do you not preach?" "Sutras are taught by the Sutra teachers," said the master; "Castras are taught by the Castra teachers. No wonder that I say nothing."[FN#110] This little episode will show you that Zen is no fixed doctrine embodied in a Sutra or a Castra, but a conviction or realization within us. [FN#110] Zen-rin-rui-shu and E-gen. To quote another example, an officer offered to Tung Shan (To-zan) plenty of alms, and requested him to recite the sacred Canon. Tung Shan, rising from his chair, made a bow respectfully to the officer, who did the same to the teacher. Then Tung Shan went round the chair, taking the officer with him, and making a bow again to the officer, asked: "Do you see what I mean?" "No, sir," replied the other. "I have been reciting the sacred Canon, why do you not see?"[FN#111] Thus Zen does not regard Scriptures in black and white as its Canon, for it takes to-days and tomorrows of this actual life as its inspired pages. [FN#111] Zen-rin-rui-sha and To-zan-roku. 3. The Usual Explanation of the Canon. An eminent Chinese Buddhist scholar, well known as Ten Dai Dai Shi (A.D. 538-597), arranged the whole preachings of Shakya Muni in a chronological order in accordance with his own religious theory, and observed that there were the Five Periods in the career of the Buddha as a religious teacher. He tried to explain away all the discrepancies and contradictions, with which the Sacred Books are encumbered, by arranging the Sutras in a line of development. His elucidation was so minute and clear, and his metaphysical reasonings so acute and captivating, that his opinion was universally accepted as an historical truth, not merely by the Chinese, but also by the Japanese Mahayanists. We shall briefly state here the so-called Five Periods. Shakya Muni attained to Buddhaship in his thirtieth year, and sat motionless for seven days under the Bodhi tree, absorbed in deep meditation, enjoying the first bliss of his Enlightenment. In the second week he preached his Dharma to the innumerable multitude of Bodhisattvas,[FN#112] celestial beings, and deities in the nine assemblies held at seven different places. This is the origin of a famous Mahayana book entitled Buddhavatamsaka-mahavaipulya-sutra. In this book the Buddha set forth his profound Law just as it was discovered by his highly Enlightened mind, without considering the mental states of his hearers. Consequently the ordinary hearers (or the Buddha's immediate disciples) could not understand the doctrine, and sat stupefied as if they were 'deaf and dumb,' while the great Bodhisattvas fully understood and realized the doctrine. This is called the first period, which lasted only two or three[FN#113] weeks. [FN#112] Bodhisattva is an imaginary personage, or ideal saint, superior to Arhat, or the highest saint of Hinayanism. The term 'Bodhisattva' was first applied to the Buddha before his Enlightenment, and afterwards was adopted by Mahayanists to mean the adherent of Mahayanism in contradistinction with the Cravaka or hearers of Hinayanism. [FN#113] Bodhiruci says to the effect that the preachings in the first five assemblies were made in the first week, and the rest were delivered in the second week. Nagarjuna says that the Buddha spoke no word for fifty-seven days after his Enlightenment. It is said in Saddharma-pundarika-sutra that after three weeks the Buddha preached at Varanasi, and it says nothing respecting Avatamsaka-sutra. Though there are divers opinions about the Buddha's first sermon and its date, all traditions agree in this that he spent some time in meditation, and then delivered the first sermon to the five ascetics at Varanasi. Thereupon Shakya Muni, having discovered that ordinary bearers were too ignorant to believe in the Mahayana doctrine and appreciate the greatness of Buddhahood, thought it necessary to modify his teaching so as to adjust it to the capacity of ordinary people. So he went to Varanasi (or Benares) and preached his modified doctrine--that is, Hinayanism. The instruction given at that time has been handed down to us as the four Agamas,[FN#114] or the four Nikayas. This is called the second period, which lasted about twelve years. It was at the beginning of this period that the Buddha converted the five ascetics,[FN#115] who became his disciples. Most of the �ravakas or the adherents of Hinayanism were converted during this period. They trained their hearts in accordance with the modified Law, learned the four noble truths,[FN#116] and worked out their own salvation. [FN#114] (1) Anguttara, (2) Majjhima, (3) Digha, (4) Samyutta. [FN#115] Kondanynya, Vappa, Baddiya, Mahanana, Assaji. [FN#116] The first is the sacred truth of suffering; the second the truth of the origin of suffering--that is, lust and desire; the third the sacred truth of the extinction of suffering; the fourth the sacred truth of the path that leads to the extinction of suffering. There are eight noble paths that lead to the extinction of suffering--that is, Right faith, Right resolve, Right speech, Right action, Right living, Right effort, Right thought, and Right meditation. The Buddha then having found his disciples firmly adhering to Hinayanism without knowing that it was a modified and imperfect doctrine, he had to lead them up to a higher and perfect doctrine that he might lead them up to Buddhahood. With this object in view Shakya Muni preached Vimalakirtti-nirdeca-sutra[FN#117], Lankavatara-sutra, and other sutras, in which he compared Hinayanism with Mahayanism, and described the latter in glowing terms as a deep and perfect Law, whilst he set forth the former at naught as a superficial and imperfect one. Thus he showed his disciples the inferiority of Hinayanism, and caused them to desire for Mahayanism. This is said to be the third period, which lasted some eight years. [FN#117] This is one of the most noted Mahayana books, and is said to be the best specimen of the sutras belonging to this period. It is in this sutra that most of Shakya's eminent disciples, known as the adherents of Hinayanism, are astonished with the profound wisdom, the eloquent speech, and the supernatural power of Vimalakirtti, a Bodhisattva, and confess the inferiority of their faith. The author frequently introduces episodes in order to condemn Hinayanism, making use of miracles of his own invention. The disciples of the Buddha now understood that Mahayanism was far superior to Hinayanism, but they thought the higher doctrine was only for Bodhisattvas and beyond their understanding. Therefore they still adhered to the modified doctrine, though they did no longer decry Mahayanism, which they had no mind to practise. Upon this Shakya Muni preached Prajnyaparamita-sutras[FN#118] in the sixteen assemblies held at four different places, and taught them Mahayanism in detail in order to cause them to believe it and practise it. Thus they became aware that there was no definite demarcation between Mahayanism and Hinayanism, and that they might become Mahayanists. This is the fourth period, which lasted about twenty-two years. Now, the Buddha, aged seventy-two, thought it was high time to preach his long-cherished doctrine that all sentient beings can attain to Supreme Enlightenment; so he preached Saddharma-pundarika-sutra, in which he prophesied when and where his disciples should become Buddhas. It was his greatest object to cause all sentient beings to be Enlightened and enable them to enjoy the bliss of Nirvana. It was for this that he had endured great pain and hardships through his previous existences. It was for this that he had left his heavenly abode to appear on earth. It was for this that he had preached from time to time through his long career of forty-seven years. Having thus realized his great aim, Shakya Muni had now to prepare for his final departure, and preached Mahaparinirvana-sutra in order to show that all the animated and inanimate things were endowed with the same nature as his. After this last instruction he passed to eternity. This is called the fifth period, which lasted some eight years. [FN#118] Nagarjuna's doctrine depends mainly on these sutras. These five periods above mentioned can scarcely be called historical in the proper sense of the term, yet they are ingeniously invented by Ten Dai Dai Shi to set the Buddhist Scriptures in the order of doctrinal development, and place Saddharma-pundarika in the highest rank among the Mahayana books. His argument, however dogmatic and anti-historical in no small degree, would be not a little valuable for our reader, who wants to know the general phase of the Buddhist Canon, consisting of thousands of fascicles. 4. Sutras used by Zen Masters. Ten Dai failed to explain away the discrepancies and contradictions of which the Canon is full, and often contradicted himself by the ignoring of historical[FN#119] facts. [FN#119] Let us state our own opinion on the subject in question. The foundation of Hinayanism consists in the four Nikayas, or four Agamas, the most important books of that school. Besides the four Agamas, there exist in the Chinese Tripitaka numerous books translated by various authors, some of which are extracts from Agamas, and some the lives of the Buddha, while others are entirely different sutras, apparently of later date. Judging from these sources, it seems to us that most of Shakya Muni's original teachings are embodied into the four Agamas. But it is still a matter of uncertainty that whether they are stated in Agamas now extant just as they were, for the Buddha's preachings were rehearsed immediately after the Buddha's death in the first council held at Rajagrha, yet not consigned to writing. They were handed down by memory about one hundred years. Then the monks at Vaisali committed the so-called Ten Indulgences, infringing the rules of the Order, and maintained that Shakya Muni had not condemned them in his preachings. As there were, however, no written sutras to disprove their assertion, the elders, such as Yaca, Revata, and others, who opposed the Indulgences, had to convoke the second council of 700 monks, in which they succeeded in getting the Indulgences condemned, and rehearsed the Buddha's instruction for the second time. Even in this council of Vaisali we cannot find the fact that the Master's preachings were reduced to writing. The decisions of the 700 elders were not accepted by the party of opposition, who held a separate council, and settled their own rules and doctrine. Thus the same doctrine of the Teacher began to be differently stated and believed. This being the first open schism, one disruption after another took place among the Buddhistic Order. There were many different schools of the Buddhists at the time when King Acoka ascended the throne (about 269 B.C.), and the patronage of the King drew a great number of pagan ascetics into the Order, who, though they dressed themselves in the yellow robes, yet still preserved their religious views in their original colour. This naturally led the Church into continual disturbances and moral corruption. In the eighteenth year of Acoka's reign the King summoned the council of 1,000 monks at Pataliputra (Patna), and settled the orthodox doctrine in order to keep the Dharma pure from heretical beliefs. We believe that about this time some of the Buddha's preachings were reduced to writing, for the missionaries despatched by the King in the year following the council seem to have set out with written sutras. In addition to this, some of the names of the passages of the Dharma are given in the Bharbra edict of the King, which was addressed to the monks in Magadha. We do not suppose, however, that all the sutras were written at once in these days, but that they were copied down from memory one after another at different times, because some of the sutras were put down in Ceylon 160 years after the Council of Patna. In the introductory book of Ekottaragama (Anguttara Nikaya), now extant in the Chinese Tripitaka, we notice the following points: (1) It is written in a style quite different from that of the original Agama, but similar to that of the supplementary books of the Mahayana sutras; (2) it states Ananda's compilation of the Tripitaka after the death of the Master; (3) it refers to the past Buddhas, the future Buddha Maitreya, and innumerable Bodhisattvas; (4) it praises the profound doctrine of Mahayanism. From this we infer that the Agama was put in the present form after the rise of the Mahayana School, and handed down through the hand of Mahasanghika scholars, who were much in sympathy with Mahayanism. Again, the first book of Dirghagama, (Digha Nikaya), that describes the line of Buddhas who appeared before Shakya Muni, adopts the whole legend of Gotama's life as a common mode of all Buddhas appearing on earth; while the second book narrates the death of Gotama and the distribution of his relies, and refers to Pataliputra, the new capital of Acoka. This shows us that the present Agama is not of an earlier date than the third century B.C. Samyuktagama (Samyutta Nikaya) also gives a detailed account of Acoka's conversion, and of his father Bindusara. From these evidences we may safely infer that the Hinayana sutras were put in the present shape at different times between the third century B.C. and the first century A.D. With regard to the Mahayana sutras we have little doubt about their being the writings of the later Buddhist reformers, even if they are put in the mouth of Shakya Muni. They are entirely different from the sutras of Hinayanism, and cannot be taken as the preachings of one and the same person. The reader should notice the following points: (1) Four councils were held for the rehearsal of the Tripitaka namely, the first at Rajagrha, in the year of Shakya Muni's death; the second at Vaisali, some 100 years after the Buddha; the third at the time of King Acoka, about 235 years after the Master; the fourth at the time of King Kanishka, the first century A.D. But all these councils were held to compile the Hinayana sutras, and nothing is known of the rehearsal of the Mahayana books. Some are of opinion that the first council was held within the Sattapanni cave, near Rajagrha, where the Hinayana Tripitaka was rehearsed by 500 monks, while outside the cave there assembled a greater number of monks, who were not admitted into the cave, and rehearsed the Mahayana Tripitaka. This opinion, however, is based on no reliable source. (2) The Indian orthodox Buddhists of old declared that the Mahayana sutras were the fabrication of heretics or of the Evil One, and not the teachings of the Buddha. In reply to this, the Mahayanists had to prove that the Mahayana sutras were compiled by the direct disciples of the Master; but even Nagarjuna could not vindicate the compilation of the doubtful books, and said (in Mahaprajnyaparamita-castra) that they were compiled by Ananda and Manjucri, with myriads of Bodhisattvas at the outside of the Iron Mountain Range, which encloses the earth. Asanga also proved (in Mahayanalankara-sutra-castra) with little success that Mahayanism was the Buddha's direct teachings. Some may quote Bodhisattva-garbhastha-sutra in favour of the Mahayana; but it is of no avail, as the sutra itself is the work of a later date. (3) Although almost all of the Mahayana sutras, excepting Avatamsaka-sutra, treat of Hinayanism as the imperfect doctrine taught in the first part of the Master's career, yet not merely the whole life of Gotama, but also events which occurred after his death are narrated in the Hinayana sutras. This shows that the Mahayana sutras were composed after the establishment of early Buddhism. (4) The narratives given in the Hinayana sutras in reference to Shakya Muni seem to be based on historical facts, but those in the Mahayana books are full of wonders and extravagant miracles far from facts. (5) The Hinayana sutras retain the traces of their having been classified and compiled as we see in Ekottaragama, while Mahayana books appear to have been composed one after another by different authors at different times, because each of them strives to excel others, declaring itself to be the sutra of the highest doctrine, as we see in Saddharma-pundarika, Samdhinirmocana, Suvarnaprabhasottamaraja, etc. (6) The dialogues in the Hinayana sutras are in general those between the Buddha and his disciples, while in the Mahayana books imaginary beings called Bodhisattvas take the place of disciples. Moreover, in some books no monks are mentioned. (7) Most of the Mahayana sutras declare that they themselves possess those mystic powers that protect the reader or the owner from such evils as epidemic, famine, war, etc.; but the Hinayana sutras are pure from such beliefs. (8) The Mahayana sutras extol not only the merits of the reading, but the copying of the sutras. This unfailingly shows the fact that they were not handed down by memory, as the Hinayana sutras, but written by their respective authors. (9) The Hinayana sutras were written with a plain style in Pali, while the Mahayana books, with brilliant phraseology, in Sanskrit. (10) The Buddha in the Hinayana sutras is little more than a human being, while Buddha or Tathagata in the Mahayana is a superhuman being or Great Deity. (11) The moral precepts of the Hinayana were laid down by the Master every time when his disciples acted indecently, while those of the Mahayana books were spoken all at once by Tathagata. (12) Some Mahayana sutras appear to be the exaggeration or modification of what was stated in the Hinayana books, as we see in Mahaparinirvana-sutra. (13) If we take both the Hinayana and the Mahayana as spoken by one and the same person, we cannot understand why there are so many contradictory statements, as we see in the following: (a) Historical Contradictions.--For instance, Hinayana sutras are held to be the first sermon of the Buddha by the author of Saddharma-pundarika, while Avatamsaka declares itself to be the first sermon. Nagarjuna holds that Prajnya sutras are the first. (b) Contradictions as to the Person of the Master.--For instance, Agamas say the Buddha's body was marked with thirty-two peculiarities, while the Mahayana books enumerate ninety-seven peculiarities, or even innumerable marks. (c) Doctrinal Contradictions.--For instance, the Hinayana sutras put forth the pessimistic, nihilistic view of life, while the Mahayana books, as a rule, express the optimistic, idealistic view. (14) The Hinayana sutras say nothing of the Mahayana books, while the latter always compare their doctrine with that of the former, and speak of it in contempt. It is clear that the name 'Hinayana' was coined by the Mahayanists, as there is no sutra which calls itself 'Hinayana.' It is therefore evident that when the Hinayana books took the present shape there appeared no Mahayana sutras. (15) The authors of the Mahayana sutras should have expected the opposition of the Hinayanists, because they say not seldom that there might be some who would not believe in and oppose Mahayanism as not being the Buddha's teaching, but that of the Evil One. They say also that one who would venture to say the Mahayana books are fictitious should fall into Hell. For example, the author of Mahaparinirvana-sutra says: "Wicked Bhiksus would say all Vaipulya Mahayana sutras are not spoken by the Buddha, but by the Evil One." (16) There are evidences showing that the Mahayana doctrine was developed out of the Hinayana one. (a) The Mahayanists' grand conception of Tathagata is the natural development of that of those progressive Hinayanists who belonged to the Mahasamghika School, which was formed some one hundred years after the Master. These Hinayanists maintained that the Buddha had infinite power, endless life, and limitlessly great body. The author of Mahaparinirvana-sutra also says that Buddha is immortal, his Dharma-kaya is infinite and eternal. The authors of Mahayana-mulagata-hrdayabhumi-dhyana-sutra and of Suvarnaprabha-sottamaraja-sutra enumerate the Three Bodies of Buddha, while the writer of Lankavatara-sutra describes the Four Bodies, and that of Avatamsaka-sutra the Ten Bodies of Tathagata. (b) According to the Hinayana sutras, there are only four stages of saintship, but the Mahasamghika School increases the number and gives ten steps. Some Mahayana sutras also enumerate the ten stages of Bodhisattva, while others give forty-one or fifty two stages. (c) The Himayana sutras name six past Buddhas and one future Buddha Maitreya, while the Mahayana sutras name thirty-five, fifty-three, or three thousand Buddhas. (d) The Hinayana sutras give the names of six Vijnyanas, while the Mahayana books seven, eight, or nine Vijnyanas. (17) For a few centuries after the Buddha we hear only of Hinayanism, but not of Mahayanism, there being no Mahayana teacher. (18) In some Mahayana sutras (Mahavairocanabhisambodhi-sutra, for example) Tathagata Vairocana takes the place of Gotama, and nothing is said of the latter. (19) The contents of the Mahayana sutras often prove that they were, composed, or rewritten, or some additions were made, long after the Buddha. For instance, Mahamaya-sutra says that Acvaghosa would refute heretical doctrines 600 years after the Master, and Nagarjuna would advocate the Dharma 700 years after Gotama, while Lankavatara-sutra prophesies that Nagarjuna would appear in South India. (20) The author of San-ron-gen-gi tells us Mahadeva, a leader of the Mahasamghika School, used Mahayana sutras, together with the orthodox Tripitaka 116 after the Buddha. It is, however, doubtful that they existed at so early a date. (21) Mahaprajnyaparamita-castra, ascribed to Nagarjuna, refers to many Mahayana books, which include Saddharma-pundarika, Vimalakirtti-nirdeca, Sukhavati-vyuha, Mahaprajnyaparamita, Pratyutpanna-buddhasammukhavasthita-samadhi, etc. He quotes in his Dacabhumivibhasa-castra, Mahaparinirvana, Dacabhumi, etc. (22) Sthiramati, whose date is said to be earlier than Nagarjuna and later than Acvaghosa, tries to prove that Mahayanism was directly taught by the Master in his Mahayanavataraka-castra. And Mahayanottaratantra-castra, which is ascribed by some scholars to him, refers to Avatamsaka, Vajracchedikka-prajnyaparamita, Saddharmapundarika, Crimala-devi-simhananda, etc. (23) Chi-leu-cia-chin, who came to China in A.D. 147 or A.D. 164, translated some part of Mahayana books known as Maharatnakuta-sutra and Mahavaipulya-mahasannipata-sutra. (24) An-shi-kao, who came to China in A.D. 148, translated such Mahayana books as Sukhavati-vyaha, Candra-dipa-samadhi, etc. (25) Matanga, who came to China in A.D. 67, is said by his biographer to have been informed of both Mahayanism and Hinayanism to have given interpretations to a noted Mahayana book, entitled Suvarnaprabhasa. (26) Sandhinirmocana-sutra is supposed to be a work of Asanga not without reason, because Asanga's doctrine is identical with that of the sutra, and the sutra itself is contained in the latter part of Yogacaryabhumi-castra. The author divides the whole preachings of the Master into the three periods that he might place the Idealistic doctrine in the highest rank of the Mahayana schools. (27) We have every reason to believe that Mahayana sutras began to appear (perhaps Prajnya sutras being the first) early in the first century A.D., that most of the important books appeared before Nagarjuna, and that some of Mantra sutras were composed so late as the time of Vajrabodhi, who came to China in A.D. 719. To say nothing of the strong opposition raised by the Japanese scholars,[FN#120] such an assumption can be met with an assumption of entirely opposite nature, and the difficulties can never be overcome. For Zen masters, therefore, these assumptions and reasonings are mere quibbles unworthy of their attention. [FN#120] The foremost of them was Chuki Tominaga (1744), of whose life little is known. He is said to have been a nameless merchant at Osaka. His Shutsu-jo-ko-go is the first great work of higher criticism on the Buddhist Scriptures. To believe blindly in the Scriptures is one thing, and to be pious is another. How often the childish views of Creation and of God in the Scriptures concealed the light of scientific truths; how often the blind believers of them fettered the progress of civilization; how often religious men prevented us from the realizing of a new truth, simply because it is against the ancient folk-lore in the Bible. Nothing is more absurd than the constant dread in which religious men, declaring to worship God in truth and in spirit, are kept at the scientific discovery of new facts incompatible with the folk-lore. Nothing is more irreligious than to persecute the seekers of truth in order to keep up absurdities and superstitions of bygone ages. Nothing is more inhuman than the commission of 'devout cruelty' under the mask of love of God and man. Is it not the misfortune, not only of Christianity, but of whole mankind, to have the Bible encumbered with legendary histories, stories of miracles, and a crude cosmology, which from time to time come in conflict with science? The Buddhist Scriptures are also overloaded with Indian superstitions and a crude cosmology, which pass under the name of Buddhism. Accordingly, Buddhist scholars have confused not seldom the doctrine of the Buddha with these absurdities, and thought it impious to abandon them. Kaiseki,[FN#121] for instance, was at a loss to distinguish Buddhism from the Indian astronomy, which is utterly untenable in the face of the fact. He taxed his reason to the utmost to demonstrate the Indian theory and at the same time to refute the Copernican theory. One day he called on Yeki-do[FN#122] a contemporary Zen master, and explained the construction of the Three Worlds as described in the Scriptures, saying that Buddhism would come to naught if the theory of the Three Worlds be overthrown by the Copernican. Then Yeki-do exclaimed: "Buddhism aims to destroy the Three Worlds and to establish Buddha's Holy Kingdom throughout the universe. Why do you waste your energy in the construction of the Three Worlds?"[FN#123] [FN#121] A learned Japanese Buddhist scholar, who died in 1882. [FN#122] A famous Zen master, the abbot of the So-ji-ji Monastery, who died in 1879. [FN#123] Kin-sei-zen-rin-gen-ko-roku. In this way Zen does not trouble itself about unessentials of the Scriptures, on which it never depends for its authority. Do-gen, the founder of the Japanese So To Sect, severely condemns (in his Sho-bo-gen-zo) the notions of the impurity of women inculcated in the Scriptures. He openly attacks those Chinese monks who swore that they would not see any woman, and ridicules those who laid down rules prohibiting women from getting access to monasteries. A Zen master was asked by a Samurai whether there was hell in sooth as taught in the Scriptures. "I must ask you," replied he, "before I give you an answer. For what purpose is your question? What business have you, a Samurai, with a thing of that sort? Why do you bother yourself about such an idle question? Surely you neglect your duty and are engaged in such a fruitless research. Does this not amount to your stealing the annual salary from your lord?" The Samurai, offended not a little with these rebukes, stared at the master, ready to draw his sword at another insult. Then the teacher said smilingly: "Now you are in Hell. Don't you see?" Does, then, Zen use no scripture? To this question we answer both affirmatively and negatively: negatively, because Zen regards all sutras as a sort of pictured food which has no power of appeasing spiritual hunger; affirmatively, because it freely makes use of them irrespective of Mahayana or Hinayana. Zen would not make a bonfire of the Scriptures as Caliph Omar did of the Alexandrian library. A Zen master, having seen a Confucianist burning his books on the thought that they were rather a hindrance to his spiritual growth, observed: "You had better burn your books in mind and heart, but not the books in black and white."[FN#124] [FN#124] Ukiyo-soshi. As even deadly poison proves to be medicine in the band of a good doctor, so a heterodox doctrine antagonistic to Buddhism is used by the Zen teachers as a finger pointing to the principle of Zen. But they as a rule resorted to Lankavatara-sutra,[FN#125] Vajracchedika-prajnya-paramita-sutra,[FN#126] Vimalakirtti-nirdeca-sutra[FN#127] Mahavaipulya-purnabuddha-sutra[FN#128] Mababuddhosnisa-tathagata-guhyahetu-saksatkrta-prasannatha-sarvabhodhi sattvacarya-surangama-sutra,[FN#129] Mahapari-nirvana-sutra,[FN#130] Saddharma-pundarika-sutra, Avatamsaka-sutra, and so forth. [FN#125] This book is the nearest approach to the doctrine of Zen, and is said to have been pointed out by Bodhidharma as the best book for the use of his followers. See Nanjo's Catalogue, Nos. 175, 1761 177. [FN#126] The author of the sutra insists on the unreality of all things. The book was first used by the Fifth Patriarch, as we have seen in the first chapter. See Nanjo's Catalogue, Nos. 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15. [FN#127] The sutra agrees with Zen in many respects, especially in its maintaining that the highest truth can only be realized in mind, and cannot be expressed by word of mouth. See Nanjo's Catalogue, Nos. 144, 145, 146, 147, 148, 149. [FN#128] The sutra was translated into Chinese by Buddhatrata in the seventh century. The author treats at length of Samadhi, and sets forth a doctrine similar to Zen, so that the text was used by many Chinese Zenists. See Nanjo's Catalogue, Nos. 427 and 1629. [FN#129] The sutra was translated into Chinese by Paramiti and Mikacakya, of the Tang dynasty (618-907). The author conceives Reality as Mind or Spirit. The book belongs to the Mantra class, although it is much used by Zenists. See Nanjo's Catalogue, No. 446. [FN#130] The author of the book sets forth his own conception of Nirvana and of Buddha, and maintains that all beings are endowed with Buddha-nature. He also gives in detail an incredible account about Gotama's death. 5. A Sutra Equal in Size to the Whole World. The holy writ that Zen masters admire is not one of parchment nor of palm-leaves, nor in black and white, but one written in heart and mind. On one occasion a King of Eastern India invited the venerable Prajnyatara, the teacher of Bodhidharma, and his disciples to dinner at his own palace. Finding all the monks reciting the sacred sutras with the single exception of the master, the King questioned Prajnyatara: "Why do you not, reverend sir, recite the Scriptures as others do?" "My poor self, your majesty," replied he, "does not go out to the objects of sense in my expiration nor is it confined within body and mind in my inspiration. Thus I constantly recite hundreds, thousands, and millions of sacred sutras." In like manner the Emperor Wu, of the Liang dynasty, once requested Chwen Hih (Fu Dai-shi) to give a lecture on the Scriptures. Chwen went upon the platform, struck the desk with a block of wood, and came down. Pao Chi (Ho-shi), a Buddhist tutor to the Emperor, asked the perplexed monarch: "Does your Lordship understand him?" "No," answered His Majesty. "The lecture of the Great Teacher is over." As it is clear to you from these examples, Zen holds that the faith must be based not on the dead Scriptures, but on living facts, that one must turn over not the gilt pages of the holy writ, but read between the lines in the holy pages of daily life, that Buddha must be prayed not by word of mouth, but by actual deed and work, and that one must split open, as the author of Avatamsaka-sutra allegorically tells us, the smallest grain of dirt to find therein a sutra equal in size to the whole world. "The so-called sutra," says Do-gen, "covers the whole universe. It transcends time and space. It is written with the characters of heaven, of man, of beasts, of Asuras,[FN#13l] of hundreds of grass, and of thousands of trees. There are characters, some long, some short, some round, some square, some blue, some red, some yellow, and some white-in short, all the phenomena in the universe are the characters with which the sutra is written." Shakya Muni read that sutra through the bright star illuminating the broad expanse of the morning skies, when he sat in meditation under the Bodhi Tree. [FN#13l] The name of a demon. Ling Yun (Rei-un) read it through the lovely flowers of a peach-tree in spring after some twenty years of his research for Light, and said: "A score of years I looked for Light: There came and went many a spring and fall. E'er since the peach blossoms came in my sight, I never doubt anything at all." Hian Yen (Kyo-gen) read it through the noise of bamboo, at which he threw pebbles. Su Shih (So-shoku) read it through a waterfall, one evening, and said: "The brook speaks forth the Tathagata's words divine, The hills reveal His glorious forms that shine." 6. Great Men and Nature. All great men, whether they be poets or scientists or religious men or philosophers, are not mere readers of books, but the perusers of Nature. Men of erudition are often lexicons in flesh and blood, but men of genius read between the lines in the pages of life. Kant, a man of no great erudition, could accomplish in the theory of knowledge what Copernicus did in astronomy. Newton found the law of gravitation not in a written page, but in a falling apple. Unlettered Jesus realized truth beyond the comprehension of many learned doctors. Charles Darwin, whose theory changed the whole current of the world's thought, was not a great reader of books, but a careful observer of facts. Shakespeare, the greatest of poets, was the greatest reader of Nature and life. He could hear the music even of heavenly bodies, and said: "There's not the smallest orb which thou beholdest, But in his motion like an angel sings." Chwang Tsz (So-shi), the greatest of Chinese philosophers, says: "Thou knowest the music of men, but not the music of the earth. Thou knowest the music of the earth, but not the music of the heaven."[FN#132] Goethe, perceiving a profound meaning in Nature, says: "Flowers are the beautiful hieroglyphics of Nature with which she indicates how much she loves us." [FN#132] Chwang Tsz, vol. i., p. 10. Son-toku[FN#133] (Ninomiya), a great economist, who, overcoming all difficulties and hardships by which he was beset from his childhood, educated himself, says: "The earth and the heaven utter no word, but they ceaselessly repeat the holy book unwritten." [FN#133] One of the greatest self-made men in Japan, who lived 1787-1856. 7. The Absolute and Reality are but an Abstraction. A grain of sand you, trample upon has a deeper significance than a series of lectures by your verbal philosopher whom you respect. It contains within itself the whole history of the earth; it tells you what it has seen since the dawn of time; while your philosopher simply plays on abstract terms and empty words. What does his Absolute, or One, or Substance mean? What does his Reality or Truth imply? Do they denote or connote anything? Mere name! mere abstraction! One school of philosophy after another has been established on logical subtleties; thousands of books have been written on these grand names and fair mirages, which vanish the moment that your hand of experience reaches after them. "Duke Hwan," says Chwang Tsz,[FN#134] "seated above in his hall, was" (once) reading a book, and a wheelwright, Phien, was making a wheel below it. Laying aside his hammer and chisel, Phien went up the steps and said: 'I venture to ask your Grace what words you are reading?' The duke said: 'The words of sages.' 'Are these sages alive?' Phien continued. 'They are dead,' was the reply. 'Then,' said the other, 'what you, my Ruler, are reading is only the dregs and sediments of those old men.' The duke said: [FN#134] Chwang Tsz, vol. ii., p. 24. 'How should you, a wheelwright, have anything to say about the book which I am reading? If you can explain yourself, very well; if you cannot, you shall die.' The wheelwright said: 'Your servant will look at the thing from the point of view of his own art. In making a wheel, if I proceed gently, that is pleasant enough, but the workmanship is not strong; if I proceed violently, that is toilsome and the joinings do not fit. If the movements of my hand are neither (too) gentle nor (too) violent, the idea in my mind is realized. But I cannot tell (how to do this) by word of mouth; there is a knack in it. I cannot teach the knack to my son, nor can my son learn it from me. Thus it is that I am in my seventieth year, and am (still) making wheels in my old age. But these ancients, and what it was not possible for them to convey, are dead and gone. So then what you, my Ruler, are reading is but their dregs and sediments." Zen has no business with the dregs and sediments of sages of yore. 8. The Sermon of the Inanimate. The Scripture of Zen is written with facts simple and familiar, so simple and familiar with everyday life that they escape observation on that very account. The sun rises in the east. The moon sets in the west. High is the mountain. Deep is the sea. Spring comes with flowers; summer with the cool breeze; autumn with the bright moon; winter with the fakes of snow. These things, perhaps too simple and too familiar for ordinary observers to pay attention to, have had profound significance for Zen. Li Ngao (Ri-ko) one day asked Yoh Shan (Yaku-san): "What is the way to truth?" Yoh Shan, pointing to the sky and then to the pitcher beside him, said: "You see?" "No, sir," replied Li Ngao. "The cloud is in the sky," said Yoh Shan, "and the water in the pitcher." Huen Sha (Gen-sha) one day went upon the platform and was ready to deliver a sermon when he heard a swallow singing. "Listen," said he, "that small bird preaches the essential doctrine and proclaims the eternal truth." Then he went back to his room, giving no sermon.[FN#135] [FN#135] Den-to-roku and E-gen. The letters of the alphabet, a, b, c, etc., have no meaning whatever. They are but artificial signs, but when spelt they can express any great idea that great thinkers may form. Trees, grass, mountains, rivers, stars, moons, suns. These are the alphabets with which the Zen Scripture is written. Even a, b, c, etc., when spelt, can express any great idea. Why not, then, these trees, grass, etc., the alphabets of Nature when they compose the Volume of the Universe? Even the meanest clod of earth proclaims the sacred law. Hwui Chung[FN#136] (E-chu) is said first to have given an expression to the Sermon of the Inanimate. "Do the inanimate preach the Doctrine?" asked a monk of Hwui Chung on one occasion. "Yes, they preach eloquently and incessantly. There is no pause in their orations," was the reply. "Why, then, do I not hear them?" asked the other again. "Even if you do not, there are many others who can hear them." "Who can hear them?" "All the sages hear and understand them," said Hwui Chung. Thus the Sermon of the Inanimate had been a favourite topic of discussion 900 years before Shakespeare who expressed the similar idea, saying: "And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in everything." [FN#136] A direct disciple of the Sixth Patriarch. "How wonderful is the Sermon of the Inanimate," says Tung Shan (To-zan). "You cannot hear it through your ears, but you can hear it through your eyes." You should hear it through your mind's eyes, through your heart's eyes, through your inmost soul's eyes, not through your intellect, not through your perception, not through your knowledge, not through your logic, not through your metaphysics. To understand it you have to divine, not to define; you have to observe, not to calculate; you have to sympathize, not to analyze; you have to see through, not to criticize; you have not to explain, but to feel; you have not to abstract, but to grasp; you have to see all in each, but not to know all in all; you have to get directly at the soul of things, penetrating their hard crust of matter by your rays of the innermost consciousness. "The falling leaves as well as the blooming flowers reveal to us the holy law of Buddha," says a Japanese Zenist. Ye who seek for purity and peace, go to Nature. She will give you more than ye ask. Ye who long for strength and perseverance, go to Nature. She will train and strengthen you. Ye who aspire after an ideal, go to Nature. She will help you in its realization. Ye who yearn after Enlightenment, go to Nature. She will never fail to grant your request. CHAPTER IV BUDDHA, THE UNIVERSAL SPIRIT 1. The Ancient Buddhist Pantheon. The ancient Buddhist pantheon was full of deities or Buddhas, 3,000[FN#137] in number, or rather countless, and also of Bodhisattvas no less than Buddhas. Nowadays, however, in every church of Mahayanism one Buddha or another together with some Bodhisattvas reigns supreme as the sole object of worship, while other supernatural beings sink in oblivion. These Enlightened Beings, regardless of their positions in the pantheon, were generally regarded as persons who in their past lives cultivated virtues, underwent austerities, and various sorts of penance, and at length attained to a complete Enlightenment, by virtue of which they secured not only peace and eternal bliss, but acquired divers supernatural powers, such as clairvoyance, clairaudience, all-knowledge, and what not. Therefore, it is natural that some Mahayanists[FN#138] came to believe that, if they should go through the same course of discipline and study, they could attain to the same Enlightenment and Bliss, or the same Buddhahood, while other Mahayanists[FN#139] came to believe in the doctrine that the believer is saved and led up to the eternal state of bliss, without undergoing these hard disciplines, by the power of a Buddha known as having boundless mercy and fathomless wisdom whom he invokes. [FN#137] Trikalpa-trisahasra-buddhanrama-sutra gives the names of 3,000 Buddhas, and Buddhabhisita-buddhanama-sutra enumerates Buddhas and Bodhisattvas 11,093 in number. See Nanjo's Catalogue, Nos. 404, 405, 406, 407. [FN#138] Those who believe in the doctrine of Holy Path. See 'A History of the Twelve Japanese Buddhist Sects,' pp. 109-111. [FN#139] Those who believe in the doctrine of the Pure Land. 2. Zen is Iconoclastic. For the followers of Bodhidharma, however, this conception of Buddha seemed too crude to be accepted unhesitatingly and the doctrine too much irrelevant with and uncongenial to actual life. Since Zen denounced, as we have seen in the previous chapter, the scriptural authority, it is quite reasonable to have given up this view of Buddha inculcated in the Mahayana sutras, and to set at naught those statues and images of supernatural beings kept in veneration by the orthodox Buddhists. Tan Hia (Tan-ka), a noted Chinese Zen master, was found warming himself on a cold morning by the fire made of a wooden statue of Buddha. On another occasion he was found mounting astride the statue of a saint. Chao Chen (Jo-shu) one day happened to find Wang Yuen (Bun-yen) worshipping the Buddha in the temple, and forthwith struck him with his staff. "Is there not anything good in the worshipping of the Buddha?" protested Wang Yuen. Then the master said: "Nothing is better than anything good."[FN#140] These examples fully illustrate Zen's attitude towards the objects of Buddhist worship. Zen is not, nevertheless, iconoclastic in the commonly accepted sense of the term, nor is it idolatrous, as Christian missionaries are apt to suppose. [FN#140] Zen-rin-rui-shu. Zen is more iconoclastic than any of the Christian or the Mohammedan denominations in the sense that it opposes the acceptance of the petrified idea of Deity, so conventional and formal that it carries no inner conviction of the believers. Faith dies out whenever one comes to stick to one's fixed and immutable idea of Deity, and to deceive oneself, taking bigotry for genuine faith. Faith must be living and growing, and the living and growing faith should assume no fixed form. It might seem for a superficial observer to take a fixed form, as a running river appears constant, though it goes through ceaseless changes. The dead faith, immutable and conventional, makes its embracer appear religious and respectable, while it arrests his spiritual growth. It might give its owner comfort and pride, yet it at bottom proves to be fetters to his moral uplifting. It is on this account that Zen declares: "Buddha is nothing but spiritual chain or moral fetters," and, "If you remember even a name of Buddha, it would deprive you of purity of heart." The conventional or orthodox idea of Buddha or Deity might seem smooth and fair, like a gold chain, being polished and hammered through generations by religious goldsmiths; but it has too much fixity and frigidity to be worn by us. "Strike off thy fetters, bonds that bind thee down Of shining gold or darker, baser ore; Know slave is slave caressed or whipped, not free; For fetters tho' of gold, are not less strong to bind." --The Song of the Sannyasin. 3. Buddha is Unnamable. Give a definite name to Deity, He would be no more than what the name implies. The Deity under the name of Brahman necessarily differs from the Being under the appellation of Jehovah, just as the Hindu differs from the Jew. In like manner the Being designated by God necessarily differs from One named Amitabha or from Him entitled Allah. To give a name to the Deity is to give Him tradition, nationality, limitation, and fixity, and it never brings us nearer to Him. Zen's object of worship cannot be named and determined as God, or Brahman, or Amitabha, or Creator, or Nature, or Reality, or Substance, or the like. Neither Chinese nor Japanese masters of Zen tried to give a definite name to their object of adoration. They now called Him That One, now This One, now Mind, now Buddha, now Tathagata, now Certain Thing, now the True, now Dharma-nature, now Buddha-nature, and so forth. Tung Shan[FN#141] (To-zan) on a certain occasion declared it to be "A Certain Thing that pillars heaven above and supports the earth below; dark as lacquer and undefinable; manifesting itself through its activities, yet not wholly comprisable within them." So-kei[FN#142] expressed it in the same wise: "There exists a Certain Thing, bright as a mirror, spiritual as a mind, not subjected to growth nor to decay." Huen Sha (Gen-sha) comparing it with a gem says: "There exists a bright gem illuminating through the worlds in ten directions by its light."[FN#143] [FN#141] Tung Shan Luh (To-zan-roku, 'Sayings and Doings of Ta-zan') is one of the best Zen books. [FN#142] So-kei, a Korean Zenist, whose work entitled Zen-ke-ki-kwan is worthy of our note as a representation of Korean Zen. [FN#143] Sho-bo-gen-zo. This certain thing or being is too sublime to be named after a traditional or a national deity, too spiritual to be symbolized by human art, too full of life to be formulated in terms of mechanical science, too free to be rationalized by intellectual philosophy, too universal to be perceived by bodily senses; but everybody can feel its irresistible power, see its invisible presence, and touch its heart and soul within himself. "This mysterious Mind," says Kwei Fung (Kei-ho), "is higher than the highest, deeper than the deepest, limitless in all directions. There is no centre in it. No distinction of east and west, and above and below. Is it empty? Yes, but not empty like space. Has it a form? Yes, but has no form dependent on another for its existence. Is it intelligent? Yes, but not intelligent like your mind. Is it non-intelligent? Yes, but not non-intelligent like trees and stone. Is it conscious? Yes, but not conscious like you when waking. Is it bright? Yes, but not bright like the sun or the moon." To the question, "What and who is Buddha?" Yuen Wu (En-go) replied: "Hold your tongue: the mouth is the gate of evils!" while Pao Fuh (Ho-fuku) answered to the same question: "No skill of art can picture Him." Thus Buddha is unnamable, indescribable, and indefinable, but we provisionally call Him Buddha. 4. Buddha, the Universal Life. Zen conceives Buddha as a Being, who moves, stirs, inspires, enlivens, and vitalizes everything. Accordingly, we may call Him the Universal Life in the sense that He is the source of all lives in the universe. This Universal Life, according to Zen, pillars the heaven, supports the earth, glorifies the sun and moon, gives voice to thunder, tinges clouds, adorns the pasture with flowers, enriches the field with harvest, gives animals beauty and strength. Therefore, Zen declares even a dead clod of earth to be imbued with the divine life, just as Lowell expresses a similar idea when he says: "Every clod feels a stir of might, An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers." One of our contemporary Zenists wittily observed that 'vegetables are the children of earth, that animals which feed on vegetables are the grand-children of earth, and that men who subsist on animals are the great-grand-children of earth.' If there be no life in earth, how could life come out of it? If there be no life, the same as the animal's life in the vegetables, how could animals sustain their lives feeding on vegetables? If there be no life similar to ours in animals, how could we sustain our life by subsisting on them? The poet must be in the right, not only in his esthetic, but in his scientific point of view, in saying- "I must Confess that I am only dust. But once a rose within me grew; Its rootlets shot, its flowerets flew; And all rose's sweetness rolled Throughout the texture of my mould; And so it is that I impart Perfume to them, whoever thou art." As we men live and act, so do our arteries; so does blood; so do corpuscles. As cells and protoplasm live and act, so do elements, molecules, and atoms. As elements and atoms live and act, so do clouds; so does the earth; so does the ocean, the Milky Way, and the Solar System. What is this life which pervades the grandest as well as the minutest works of Nature, and which may fitly be said 'greater than the greatest and smaller than the smallest?' It cannot be defined. It cannot be subjected to exact analysis. But it is directly experienced and recognized within us, just as the beauty of the rose is to be perceived and enjoyed, but not reduced to exact analysis. At any rate, it is something stirring, moving, acting and reacting continually. This something which can be experienced and felt and enjoyed directly by every one of us. This life of living principle in the microcosmos is identical with that of the macrocosmos, and the Universal Life of the macrocosmos is the common source of all lives. Therefore, the Mahaparinirvana-sutra says: "Tathagata (another name for Buddha) gives life to all beings, just as the lake Anavatapta gives rise to the four great rivers." "Tathagata," says the same sutra, "divides his own body into innumerable bodies, and also restores an infinite number of bodies to one body. Now be becomes cities, villages, houses, mountains, rivers, and trees; now he has a large body; now he has a small body; now he becomes men, women, boys, and girls." 5. Life and Change. A peculiar phase of life is change which appears in the form of growth and decay. Nobody can deny the transitoriness of life. One of our friends humorously observed: "Everything in the world may be doubtful to you, but it can never be doubted that you will die." Life is like a burning lamp. Every minute its flame dies out and is renewed. Life is like a running stream. Every moment it pushes onward. If there be anything constant in this world of change, it should be change itself. Is it not just one step from rosy childhood to snowy age? Is it not just one moment from the nuptial song to the funeral-dirge? Who can live the same moment twice? In comparison with an organism, inorganic matter appears to be constant and changeless; but, in fact, it is equally subjected to ceaseless alteration. Every morning, looking into the mirror, you will find your visage reflected in it just as it was on the preceding day; so also every morning, looking at the sun and the earth, you will find them reflected in your retina just as they were on the previous morning; but the sun and the earth are no less changeless than you. Why do the sun and the earth seem changeless and constant to you? Only because you yourself undergo change more quickly than they. When you look at the clouds sweeping across the face of the moon, they seem to be at rest, and the moon in rapid motion; but, in fact, the clouds, as well as the moon, incessantly move on. Science might maintain the quantitative constancy of matter, but the so-called matter is mere abstraction. To say matter is changeless is as much as to say 2 is always 2, changeless and constant, because the arithmetical number is not more abstract than the physiological matter. The moon appears standing still when you look at her only a few moments. In like manner she seems to be free from change when you look at her in your short span of life. Astronomers, nevertheless, can tell you how she saw her better days, and is now in her wrinkles and white hair. 6. Pessimistic View of the Ancient Hindus. In addition to this, the new theory of matter has entirely over thrown the old conception of the unchanging atoms, and they are now regarded to be composed of magnetic forces, ions, and corpuscles in incessant motion. Therefore we have no inert matter in the concrete, no unchanging thing in the sphere of experience, no constant organism in the transient universe. These considerations often led many thinkers, ancient and modern, to the pessimistic view of life. What is the use of your exertion, they would say, in accumulating wealth, which is doomed to melt away in the twinkling of an eye? What is the use of your striving after power, which is more short-lived than a bubble? What is the use of your endeavour in the reformation of society, which does not endure any longer than the castle in the air? How do kings differ from beggars in the eye of Transience? How do the rich differ from the poor, how the beautiful from the ugly, bow the young from the old, how the good from the evil, how the lucky from the unlucky, how the wise from the unwise, in the court of Death? Vain is ambition. Vain is fame. Vain is pleasure. Vain are struggles and efforts. All is in vain. An ancient Hindu thinker[FN#144] says: "O saint, what is the use of the enjoyment of pleasures in this offensive, pithless body--a mere mass of bones, skins, sinews, marrow, and flesh? What is the use of the enjoyment of pleasures in this body, which is assailed by lust, hatred, greed, delusion, fear, anguish, jealousy, separation from what is loved, union with what is not loved, hunger, old age, death, illness, grief, and other evils? In such a world as this, what is the use of the enjoyment of pleasures, if he who has fed on them is to return to this world again and again? In this world I am like a frog in a dry well." [FN#144] Maitrayana Upanisad. It is this consideration on the transitoriness of life that led some Taoist in China to prefer death to life, as expressed in Chwang Tsz (Su-shi):[FN#145] "When Kwang-zze went to Khu, he saw an empty skull, bleached indeed, but still retaining its shape. Tapping it with his horse-switch, he asked it saying: 'Did you, sir, in your greed of life, fail in the lessons of reason and come to this? Or did you do so, in the service of a perishing state, by the punishment of an axe? Or was it through your evil conduct, reflecting disgrace on your parents and on your wife and children? Or was it through your hard endurances of cold and hunger? Or was it that you had completed your term of life?' "Having given expression to these questions, he took up the skull and made a pillow of it, and went to sleep. At midnight the skull appeared to him in a dream, and said: 'What you said to me was after the fashion of an orator. All your words were about the entanglements of men in their lifetime. There are none of those things after death. Would you like to hear me, sir, tell you about death?' 'I should,' said Kwang-zze, and the skull resumed: 'In death there are not (the distinctions of) ruler above minister below. There are none of the phenomena of the four seasons. Tranquil and at ease, our years are those of heaven and earth. No king in his court has greater enjoyment than we have.' Kwang-zze did not believe it, and said: 'If I could get the Ruler of our Destiny to restore your body to life with its bones and flesh and skin, and to give you back your father and mother, your wife and children, and all your village acquaintances, would you wish me to do so?' The skull stared fixedly at him, and knitted its brows and said: 'How should I cast away the enjoyment of my royal court, and undertake again the toils of life among mankind?'" [FN#145] 'Chwang Tsz,' vol. vi., p. 23. 7. Hinayanism and its Doctrine. The doctrine of Transience was the first entrance gate of Hinayanism. Transience never fails to deprive us of what is dear and near to us. It disappoints us in our expectation and hope. It brings out grief, fear, anguish, and lamentation. It spreads terror and destruction among families, communities, nations, mankind. It threatens with perdition the whole earth, the whole universe. Therefore it follows that life is full of disappointment, sufferings, and miseries, and that man is like 'a frog in a dry well.' This is the doctrine called by the Hinayanists the Holy Truth of Suffering. Again, when Transcience once gets hold of our imagination, we can easily foresee ruins and disasters in the very midst of prosperity and happiness, and also old age and ugliness in the prime and youth of beauty. It gives rise quite naturally to the thought that body is a bag full of pus and blood, a mere heap of rotten flesh and broken pieces of bone, a decaying corpse inhabited by innumerable maggots. This is the doctrine called by the Hinayanists the Holy Truth of Impurity.[FN#146] [FN#146] Mahasaptipatthana Suttanta, 7, runs as follows: "And, moreover, bhikkhu, a brother, just as if he had been a body abandoned in the charnel-field, dead for one, two, or three days, swollen, turning black and blue, and decomposed, apply that perception to this very body (of his own), reflecting: 'This body, too, is even so constituted, is of such a nature, has not got beyond that (fate).'" And, again, Transience holds its tyrannical sway not only over the material but over the spiritual world. At its touch Atman, or soul, is brought to nothing. By its call Devas, or celestial beings, are made to succumb to death. It follows, therefore, that to believe in Atman, eternal and unchanging, would be a whim of the ignorant. This is the doctrine called by the Hinayanists the Holy Truth of No-atman. If, as said, there could be nothing free from Transience, Constancy should be a gross mistake of the ignorant; if even gods have to die, Eternity should be no more than a stupid dream of the vulgar; if all phenomena be flowing and changing, there could be no constant noumena underlying them. It therefore follows that all things in the universe are empty and unreal. This is the doctrine called by the Hinayanists the Holy Truth of Unreality. Thus Hinayana Buddhism, starting from the doctrine of Transience, arrived at the pessimistic view of life in its extreme form. 8. Change as seen by Zen. Zen, like Hinayanism, does not deny the doctrine of Transience, but it has come to a view diametrically opposite to that of the Hindus. Transience for Zen simply means change. It is a form in which life manifests itself. Where there is life there is change or Transience. Where there is more change there is more vital activity. Suppose an absolutely changeless body: it must be absolutely lifeless. An eternally changeless life is equivalent to an eternally changeless death. Why do we value the morning glory, which fades in a few hours, more than an artificial glass flower, which endures hundreds of years? Why do we prefer an animal life, which passes away in a few scores of years, to a vegetable life, which can exist thousands of years? Why do we prize changing organism more than inorganic matter, unchanging and constant? If there be no change in the bright hues of a flower, it is as worthless as a stone. If there be no change in the song of a bird, it is as valueless as a whistling wind. If there be no change in trees and grass, they are utterly unsuitable to be planted in a garden. Now, then, what is the use of our life, if it stand still? As the water of a running stream is always fresh and wholesome because it does not stop for a moment, so life is ever fresh and new because it does not stand still, but rapidly moves on from parents to children, from children to grandchildren, from grandchildren to great-grandchildren, and flows on through generation after generation, renewing itself ceaselessly. We can never deny the existence of old age and death--nay, death is of capital importance for a continuation of life, because death carries away all the decaying organism in the way of life. But for it life would be choked up with organic rubbish. The only way of life's pushing itself onward or its renewing itself is its producing of the young and getting rid of the old. If there be no old age nor death, life is not life, but death. 9. Life and Change. Transformation and change are the essential features of life; life is not transformation nor change itself, as Bergson seems to assume. It is something which comes under our observation through transformation and change. There are, among Buddhists as well as Christians, not a few who covet constancy and fixity of life, being allured by such smooth names as eternal life, everlasting joy, permanent peace, and what not. They have forgotten that their souls can never rest content with things monotonous. If there be everlasting joy for their souls, it must be presented to them through incessant change. So also if there be eternal life granted for their souls, it must be given through ceaseless alteration. What is the difference between eternal life, fixed and constant, and eternal death? What is the difference between everlasting bliss, changeless and monotonous, and everlasting suffering? If constancy, instead of change, govern life, then hope or pleasure is absolutely impossible. Fortunately, however, life is not constant. It changes and becomes. Pleasure arises through change itself. Mere change of food or clothes is often pleasing to us, while the appearance of the same thing twice or thrice, however pleasing it may be, causes us little pleasure. It will become disgusting and tire us down, if it be presented repeatedly from time to time. An important element in the pleasure we derive from social meetings, from travels, from sight-seeings, etc., is nothing but change. Even intellectual pleasure consists mainly of change. A dead, unchanging abstract truth, 2 and 2 make 4, excites no interest; while a changeable, concrete truth, such as the Darwinian theory of evolution, excites a keen interest. 10. Life, Change, and Hope. The doctrine of Transcience never drives us to the pessimistic view of life. On the contrary, it gives us an inexhaustible source of pleasure and hope. Let us ask you: Are you satisfied with the present state of things? Do you not sympathize with poverty-stricken millions living side by side with millionaires saturated with wealth? Do you not shed tears over those hunger-bitten children who cower in the dark lanes of a great city? Do you not wish to put down the stupendous oppressor--Might-is-right? Do you not want to do away with the so-called armoured peace among nations? Do you not need to mitigate the struggle for existence more sanguine than the war of weapons? Life changes and is changeable; consequently, has its future. Hope is therefore possible. Individual development, social betterment, international peace, reformation of mankind in general, can be hoped. Our ideal, however unpractical it may seem at the first sight, can be realized. Moreover, the world itself, too, is changing and changeable. It reveals new phases from time to time, and can be moulded to subserve our purpose. We must not take life or the world as completed and doomed as it is now. No fact verifies the belief that the world was ever created by some other power and predestined to be as it is now. It lives, acts, and changes. It is transforming itself continually, just as we are changing and becoming. Thus the doctrine of Transience supplies us with an inexhaustible source of hope and comfort, leads us into the living universe, and introduces us to the presence of Universal Life or Buddha. The reader may easily understand how Zen conceives Buddha as the living principle from the following dialogues: "Is it true, sir," asked a monk of Teu tsz (To-shi), "that all the voices of Nature are those of Buddha?" "Yes, certainly," replied Teu tsz. "What is, reverend sir," asked a man of Chao Cheu (Jo-shu), "the holy temple (of Buddha)?" "An innocent girl," replied the teacher. "Who is the master of the temple?" asked the other again. "A baby in her womb," was the answer. "What is, sir," asked a monk to Yen Kwan (Yen-kan), "the original body of Buddha Vairocana?"[FN#147] "Fetch me a pitcher with water," said the teacher. The monk did as he was ordered. "Put it back in its place," said Yen Kwan again.[FN#148] [FN#147] Literally, All Illuminating Buddha, the highest of the Trikayas. See Eitel, p. 192. [FN#148] Zen-rin-rui-shu. 11. Everything is Living according to Zen. Everything alive has a strong innate tendency to preserve itself, to assert itself, to push itself forward, and to act on its environment, consciously or unconsciously. The innate, strong tendency of the living is an undeveloped, but fundamental, nature of Spirit or Mind. It shows itself first in inert matter as impenetrability, or affinity, or mechanical force. Rock has a powerful tendency to preserve itself. And it is hard to crush it. Diamond has a robust tendency to assert itself. And it permits nothing to destroy it. Salt has the same strong tendency, for its particles act and react by themselves, and never cease till its crystals are formed. Steam, too, should have the same, because it pushes aside everything in its way and goes where it will. In the eye of simple folks of old, mountains, rivers, trees, serpents, oxen, and eagles were equally full of life; hence the deification of them. No doubt it is irrational to believe in nymphs, fairies, elves, and the like, yet still we may say that mountains stand of their own accord, rivers run as they will, just as we say that trees and grass turn their leaves towards the sun of their own accord. Neither is it a mere figure of speech to say that thunder speaks and hills respond, nor to describe birds as singing and flowers as smiling, nor to narrate winds as moaning and rain as weeping, nor to state lovers as looking at the moon, the moon as looking at them, when we observe spiritual element in activities of all this. Haeckel says, not without reason: "I cannot imagine the simple chemical and physical forces without attributing the movement of material particles to conscious sensation." The same author says again: "We may ascribe the feeling of pleasure and pain to all atoms, and so explain the electric affinity in chemistry." 12. The Creative Force of Nature and Humanity. The innate tendency of self-preservation, which manifests itself as mechanical force or chemical affinity in the inorganic nature, unfolds itself as the desire of the preservation of species in the vegetables and animals. See how vegetables fertilize themselves in a complicated way, and how they spread their seeds far and wide in a most mysterious manner. A far more developed form of the same desire is seen in the sexual attachment and parental love of animals. Who does not know that even the smallest birds defend their young against every enemy with self -sacrificing courage, and that they bring food whilst they themselves often starve and grow lean? In human beings we can observe the various transformations of the self-same desire. For instance, sorrow or despair is experienced when it is impossible; anger, when it is hindered by others; joy, when it is fulfilled; fear, when it is threatened; pleasure, when it is facilitated. Although it manifests itself as the sexual attachment and parental love in lower animals, yet its developed forms, such as sympathy, loyalty, benevolence, mercy, humanity, are observed in human beings. Again, the creative force in inorganic nature, in order to assert itself and act more effectively, creates the germ of organic nature, and gradually ascending the scale of evolution, develops the sense organs and the nervous system; hence intellectual powers, such as sensation, perception, imagination, memory, unfold themselves. Thus the creative force, exerting itself gradually, widens its sphere of action, and necessitates the union of individuals into families, clans, tribes, communities, and nations. For the sake of this union and co-operation they established customs, enacted laws, and instituted political and educational systems. Furthermore, to reinforce itself, it gave birth to languages and sciences; and to enrich itself, morality and religion. 13. Universal Life is Universal Spirit. These considerations naturally lead us to see that Universal Life is not a blind vital force, but Creative Spirit, or Mind, or Consciousness, which unfolds itself in myriads of ways. Everything in the universe, according to Zen, lives and acts, and at the same time discloses its spirit. To be alive is identically the same as to be spiritual. As the poet has his song, so does the nightingale, so does the cricket, so does the rivulet. As we are pleased or offended, so are horses, so are dogs, so are sparrows, ants, earthworms, and mushrooms. Simpler the body, simpler its spirit; more complicated the body, more complicated its spirit. 'Mind slumbers in the pebble, dreams in the plant, gathers energy in the animal, and awakens to self-conscious discovery in the soul of man.' It is this Creative, Universal Spirit that sends forth Aurora to illuminate the sky, that makes Diana shed her benign rays and �olus play on his harp, wreathes spring with flowers, that clothes autumn with gold, that induces plants to put forth blossoms, that incites animals to be energetic, and that awakens consciousness in man. The author of Mahavaipulya-purnabuddha-sutra expressly states our idea when he says: "Mountains, rivers, skies, the earth: all these are embraced in the True Spirit, enlightened and mysterious." Rin-zai also says: "Spirit is formless, but it penetrates through the world in the ten directions."[FN#149] The Sixth Patriarch expresses the same idea more explicitly: "What creates the phenomena is Mind; what transcends all the phenomena is Buddha."[FN#150] [FN#149] Rin-zai-roku. [FN#150] Roku-so-dan-kyo. 14. Poetical Intuition and Zen. Since Universal Life or Spirit permeates the universe, the poetical intuition of man never fails to find it, and to delight in everything typical of that Spirit. "The leaves of the plantain," says a Zen poet, "unfold themselves, hearing the voice of thunder. The flowers of the hollyhock turn towards the sun, looking at it all day long." Jesus could see in the lily the Unseen Being who clothed it so lovely. Wordsworth found the most profound thing in all the world to be the universal spiritual life, which manifests itself most directly in nature, clothed in its own proper dignity and peace. "Through every star," says Carlyle, "through every grass blade, most through every soul, the glory of present God still beams." It is not only grandeur and sublimity that indicate Universal Life, but smallness and commonplace do the same. A sage of old awakened to the faith[FN#151] when he heard a bell ring; another, when he looked at the peach blossom; another, when he heard the frogs croaking; and another, when he saw his own form reflected in a river. The minutest particles of dust form a world. The meanest grain of sand under our foot proclaims a divine law. Therefore Teu Tsz Jo-shi), pointing to a stone in front of his temple, said: "All the Buddhas of the past, the present, and the future are living therein."[FN#152] [FN#151] Both the Chinese and the Japanese history of Zen are full of such incidents. [FN#152] Zen-rin-rui-shu and To-shi-go-roku. 15. Enlightened Consciousness. In addition to these considerations, which mainly depend on indirect experience, we can have direct experience of life within us. In the first place, we experience that our life is not a bare mechanical motion or change, but is a spiritual, purposive, and self-directing force. In the second place, we directly experience that it knows, feels, and wills. In the third place, we experience that there exists some power unifying the intellectual, emotional, and volitional activities so as to make life uniform and rational. Lastly, we experience that there lies deeply rooted within us Enlightened Consciousness, which neither psychologists treat of nor philosophers believe in, but which Zen teachers expound with strong conviction. Enlightened Consciousness is, according to Zen, the centre of spiritual life. It is the mind of minds, and the consciousness of consciousness. It is the Universal Spirit awakened in the human mind. It is not the mind that feels joy or sorrow; nor is it the mind that reasons and infers; nor is it the mind that fancies and dreams; nor is it the mind that hopes and fears; nor is it the mind that distinguishes good from evil. It is Enlightened Consciousness that holds communion with Universal Spirit or Buddha, and realizes that individual lives are inseparably united, and of one and the same nature with Universal Life. It is always bright as a burnished mirror, and cannot be dimmed by doubt and ignorance. It is ever pure as a lotus flower, and cannot be polluted by the mud of evil and folly. Although all sentient beings are endowed with this Enlightened Consciousness, they are not aware of its existence, excepting men who can discover it by the practice of Meditation. Enlightened consciousness is often called Buddha-nature, as it is the real nature of Universal Spirit. Zen teachers compare it with a precious stone ever fresh and pure, even if it be buried in the heaps of dust. Its divine light can never be extinguished by doubt or fear, just as the sunlight cannot be destroyed by mist and cloud. Let us quote a Chinese Zen poet to see how Zen treats of it:[FN#153] "I have an image of Buddha, The worldly people know it not. It is not made of clay or cloth, Nor is it carved out of wood, Nor is it moulded of earth nor of ashes. No artist can paint it; No robber can steal it. There it exists from dawn of time. It's clean, although not swept and wiped. Although it is but one, Divides itself to a hundred thousand million forms." [FN#153] See Zen-gaku-ho-ten. 16. Buddha Dwelling in the Individual Mind. Enlightened Consciousness in the individual mind acquires for its possessor, not a relative knowledge of things as his intellect does, but the profoundest insight in reference to universal brotherhood of all beings, and enables him to understand the absolute holiness of their nature, and the highest goal for which all of them are making. Enlightened Consciousness once awakened within us serves as a guiding principle, and leads us to hope, bliss, and life; consequently, it is called the Master[FN#154] of both mind and body. Sometimes it is called the Original[FN#155] Mind, as it is the mind of minds. It is Buddha dwelling in individuals. You might call it God in man, if you like. The following dialogues all point to this single idea: On one occasion a butcher, who was used to kill one thousand sheep a day, came to Gotama, and, throwing down his butcher-knife, said "I am one of the thousand Buddhas." "Yes, really," replied Gotama. A monk, Hwui Chao (E-cha) by name, asked Pao Yen (Ho-gen): "What is Buddha?" "You are Hwui Chao," replied the master. The same question was put to Sheu Shan (Shu-zan), Chi Man (Chi-mon), and Teu Tsz (To-shi), the first of whom answered: "A bride mounts on a donkey and her mother-in-law drives it;" and the second: "He goes barefooted, his sandals being worn out;" while the third rose from his chair and stood still without saying a word. Chwen Hih (Fu-kiu) explains this point in unequivocal terms: "Night after night I sleep with Buddha, and every morning I get up with Him. He accompanies me wherever I go. When I stand or sit, when I speak or be mute, when I am out or in, He never leaves me, even as a shadow accompanies body. Would you know where He is? Listen to that voice and word."[FN#156] [FN#154] It is often called the Lord or Master of mind. [FN#155] Another name for Buddha is the Original Mind" (Kechi-myaku-ron). [FN#156] For such dialogues, see Sho-yo-roku, Mu-mon-kan, Heki-gan-shu. Fu-kiu's words are repeatedly quoted by Zen masters. 17. Enlightened Consciousness is not an Intellectual Insight. Enlightened Consciousness is not a bare intellectual insight, for it is full of beautiful emotions. It loves, caresses, embraces, and at the same time esteems all beings, being ever merciful to them. It has no enemies to conquer, no evil to fight with, but constantly finds friends to help, good to promote. Its warm heart beats in harmony with those of all fellow beings. The author of Brahmajala-sutra fully expresses this idea as he says: "All women are our mothers; all men our fathers; all earth and water our bodies in the past existences; all fire and air our essence." Thus relying on our inner experience, which is the only direct way of knowing Buddha, we conceive Him as a Being with profound wisdom and boundless mercy, who loves all beings as His children, whom He is fostering, bringing up, guiding, and teaching. "These three worlds are His, and all beings living in them are His children."[FN#157] "The Blessed One is the mother of all sentient beings, and gives them all the milk of mercy."[FN#158] Some people named Him Absolute, as He is all light, all hope, all mercy, and all wisdom; some, Heaven, as He is high and enlightened; some, God, as He is sacred and mysterious; some, Truth, as He is true to Himself; some, Buddha, as He is free from illusion; some, Creator, as He is the creative force immanent in the universe; some, Path, as He is the Way we must follow; some, Unknowable, as He is beyond relative knowledge; some, Self, as He is the Self of individual selves. All these names are applied to one Being, whom we designate by the name of Universal Life or Spirit. [FN#157] Saddharma-pundarika-sutra. [FN#158] Mahaparinirvana-sutra. 18. Our Conception of Buddha is not Final. Has, then, the divine nature of Universal Spirit been completely and exhaustively revealed in our Enlightened Consciousness? To this question we should answer negatively, for, so far as our limited experience is concerned, Universal Spirit reveals itself as a Being with profound wisdom and boundless mercy; this, nevertheless, does not imply that the conception is the only possible and complete one. We should always bear in mind that the world is alive, and changing, and moving. It goes on to disclose a new phase, or to add a new truth. The subtlest logic of old is a mere quibble of nowadays. The miracles of yesterday are the commonplaces of to-day. Now theories are formed, new discoveries are made, only to give their places to newer theories are discoveries. New ideals realized or new desires satisfied are sure to awaken newer and stronger desires. Not an instant life remains immutable, but it rushes on, amplifying and enriching itself from the dawn of time to the end of eternity. Therefore Universal Life may in the future possibly unfold its new spiritual content, yet unknown to us because it has refined, lifted up, and developed living beings from the am�ba to man, increasing the intelligence and range of individuals, until highly civilized man emerge into the plane of consciousness-consciousness of divine light in him. Thus to believe in Buddha is to be content and thankful for the grace of His, and to hope for the infinite unfoldment of His glories in man. 19. How to Worship Buddha. The author of Vimalakirtti-nirdeca-sutra well explains our attitude towards Buddha when he says: "We ask Buddha for nothing. We ask Dharma for nothing. We ask Samgha for nothing." Nothing we ask of Buddha. No worldly success, no rewards in the future life, no special blessing. Hwang Pah (O-baku) said: "I simply worship Buddha. I ask Buddha for nothing. I ask Dharma for nothing. I ask Samgha for nothing." Then a prince[FN#159] questioned him: "You ask Buddha for nothing. You ask Dharma for nothing. You ask Samgha for nothing. What, then, is the use of your worship?" The Prince earned a slap as an answer to his utilitarian question.[FN#160] This incident well illustrates that worship, as understood by Zen masters, is a pure act of thanksgiving, or the opening of the grateful heart; in other words, the disclosing of Enlightened Consciousness. We are living the very life of Buddha, enjoying His blessing, and holding communion with Him through speech, thought, and action. The earth is not 'the vale of tears,' but the glorious creation of Universal Spirit; nor man 'the poor miserable sinner' but the living altar of Buddha Himself. Whatever we do, we do with grateful heart and pure joy sanctioned by Enlightened Consciousness; eating, drinking, talking, walking, and every other work of our daily life are the worship and devotion. We agree with Margaret Fuller when she says: "Reverence the highest; have patience with the lowest; let this day's performance of the meanest duty be thy religion. Are the stars too distant? Pick up the pebble that lies at thy feet, and from it learn all." [FN#159] Afterwards the Emperor Suen Tsung (Sen-so), of the Tang dynasty. [FN#160] For the details, see Heki-gan-shu. CHAPTER V THE NATURE OF MAN 1. Man is Good-natured according to Mencius.[FN#161] Oriental scholars, especially the Chinese men of letters, seem to have taken so keen an interest in the study of human nature that they proposed all the possible opinions respecting the subject in question-namely, (1) man is good-natured; (2) man is bad-natured; (3) man is good-natured and bad-natured as well; (4) man is neither good-natured nor bad-natured. The first of these opinions was proposed by a most reputed Confucianist scholar, Mencius, and his followers, and is still adhered to by the majority of the Japanese and the Chinese Confucianists. Mencius thought it as natural for man to do good as it is for the grass to be green. 'Suppose a person has happened,' he would say, 'to find a child on the point of tumbling down into a deep well. He would rescue it even at the risk of his life, no matter how morally degenerated he might be. He would have no time to consider that his act might bring him some reward from its parents, or a good reputation among his friends and fellow-citizens. He would do it barely out of his inborn good-nature.' After enumerating some instances similar to this one, Mencius concludes that goodness is the fundamental nature of man, even if he is often carried away by his brutal disposition. [FN#161] Mencius (372-282 B.C.) is regarded as the best expounder of the doctrine of Confucius. There exists a well-known work of his, entitled after his own name. See 'A History of Chinese Philosophy,' by R. Endo, and also 'A History of Chinese Philosophy' (pp. 38-50), by G. Nakauchi. 2. Man is Bad-natured according to Siun Tsz[FN#162] (Jun-shi). The weaknesses of Mencius's theory are fully exposed by another diametrically opposed theory propounded by Siun Tsz (Jun-shi) and his followers. 'Man is bad-natured,' says Siun Tsz, 'since he has inborn lust, appetite, and desire for wealth. As he has inborn lust and appetite, he is naturally given to intemperance and wantonness. As he has inborn desire for wealth, he is naturally inclined to quarrel and fight with others for the sake of gain.' Leave him without discipline or culture, he would not be a whit better than the beast. His virtuous acts, such as charity, honesty, propriety, chastity, truthfulness, are conduct forced by the teachings of ancient sages against his natural inclination. Therefore vices are congenial and true to his nature, while virtues alien and untrue to his fundamental nature. [FN#162] Siun Tsz's date is later by some fifty years than Mencius. Siun Tsz gives the reason why man seeks after morality, saying that man seeks what he has not, and that he seeks after morality simply because he has not morality, just as the poor seek riches. See 'A History of Chinese Philosophy' (pp. 51-60), by G. Nakauchi, and 'A History of Development of Chinese Thought,' by R. Endo. These two theories are not only far from throwing light on the moral state of man, but wrap it in deeper gloom. Let us raise a few questions by way of refutation. If man's fundamental nature be good, as Mencius maintains, why is it easy for him to be vicious without instruction, while he finds it hard to be virtuous even with instruction. If you contend that good is man's primary nature and evil the secondary one, why is be so often overpowered by the secondary nature? If you answer saying that man is good-natured originally, but he acquires the secondary nature through the struggle for existence, and it gradually gains power over the primary nature by means of the same cause, then the primitive tribes should be more virtuous than the highly civilized nations, and children than grownup people. Is this not contrary to fact? If, again, man's nature is essentially bad, as Siun Tsz holds, how can he cultivate virtue? If you contend that ancient sages invented so-called cardinal virtues and inculcated them against his natural inclination, why does he not give them up? If vices be congenial and true to man's nature, but virtues be alien and untrue to him, why are virtues honoured by him? If vices be genuine and virtue a deception, as you think, why do you call the inventors of that deceiving art sages? How was it possible for man to do good before these sages' appearance on earth? 3. Man is both Good-natured and Bad-natured according to Yan Hiung[FN#163] (Yo-yu). According to Yang Hiung and his followers, good is no less real than evil, and evil is no more unreal than good. Therefore man must be double-natured-that is, partly good and partly bad. This is the reason why the history of man is full of fiendish crimes, and, at the same time, it abounds with godly deeds. This is the reason why mankind comprises, on the one hand, a Socrates, a Confucius, a Jesus, and, on the other, a Nero and a Kieh. This is the reason why we find to-day a honest fellow in him whom we find a betrayer to-morrow. [FN#163] Yan Hiung (died A.D. 18) is the reputed author of Tai Huen (Tai-gen) and Fah Yen (Ho-gen). His opinion in reference to human nature is found in Fah Yen. This view of man's nature might explain our present moral state, yet it calls forth many questions bard to answer. If this assertion be true, is it not a useless task to educate man with the purpose of making him better and nobler? How could one extirpate man's bad nature implanted within him at his origin? If man be double-natured, how did he come to set good over evil? How did he come to consider that he ought to be good and ought not to be bad? How could you establish the authority of morality? 4. Man is neither Good-natured nor Bad-natured according to Su Shih (So-shoku).[FN#164] The difficulty may be avoided by a theory given by Su Shih and other scholars influenced by Buddhism, which maintains that man is neither good-natured nor bad-natured. According to this opinion man is not moral nor immoral by nature, but unmoral. He is morally a blank. He is at a crossroad, so to speak, of morality when he is first born. As he is blank, he can be dyed black or red. As he is at the cross-road, he can turn to the right or to the left. He is like fresh water, which has no flavour, and can be made sweet or bitter by circumstances. If we are not mistaken, this theory, too, has to encounter insurmountable difficulties. How could it be possible to make the unmoral being moral or immoral? We might as well try to get honey out of sand as to get good or evil out of the blank nature. There can be no fruit of good or evil where there is no seed of good or bad nature. Thus we find no satisfactory solution of the problem at issue in these four theories proposed by the Chinese scholars--the first theory being incompetent to explain the problem of human depravity; the second breaking down at the origin of morality; the third failing to explain the possibility of moral culture; the fourth being logically self-contradictory. [FN#164] Su Shih (1042-1101), a great man of letters, practiser of Zen, noted for his poetical works. 5. There is no Mortal who is Purely Moral. By nature man should be either good or bad; or he should be good as well as bad; or he should be neither good nor bad. There can be no alternative possible besides these four propositions, none of which can be accepted as true. Then there must be some misconception in the terms of which they consist. It would seem to some that the error can be avoided by limiting the sense of the term 'man,' saying some persons are good-natured, some persons are bad-natured, some persons are good-natured and bad-natured as well, and some persons are neither good-natured nor bad-natured. There is no contradiction in these modified propositions, but still they fail to explain the ethical state of man. Supposing them all to be true, let us assume that there are the four classes of people: (1) Those who are purely moral and have no immoral disposition; (2) those who are half moral and half immoral; (3) those who are neither moral nor immoral; (4) those who are purely immoral and have no moral disposition. Orthodox Christians, believing in the sinlessness of Jesus, would say he belongs to the first class, while Mohammedans and Buddhists, who deify the founder of their respective faith, would in such case regard their founder as the purely moral personage. But are your beliefs, we should ask, based on historical fact? Can you say that such traditional and self-contradictory records as the four gospels are history in the strict sense of the term? Can you assert that those traditions which deify Mohammed and Shakya are the statements of bare facts? Is not Jesus an abstraction and an ideal, entirely different from a concrete carpenter's son, who fed on the same kind of food, sheltered himself in the same kind of building, suffered from the same kind of pain, was fired by the same kind of anger, stung by the same kind of lust as our own? Can you say the person who fought many a sanguinary battle, who got through many cunning negotiations with enemies and friends, who personally experienced the troubles of polygamy, was a person sinless and divine? We might allow that these ancient sages are superhuman and divine, then our classification has no business with them, because they do not properly belong to mankind. Now, then, who can point out any sinless person in the present world? Is it not a fact that the more virtuous one grows the more sinful he feels himself? If there be any mortal, in the past, the present, and the future, who declares himself to be pure and sinless, his very declaration proves that he is not highly moral. Therefore the existence of the first class of people is open to question. 6. There is no Mortal who is Non-Moral or Purely Immoral. The same is the case with the third and the fourth class of people who are assumed as non-moral or purely immoral. There is no person, however morally degraded he may be, but reveals some good nature in his whole course of life. It is our daily experience that we find a faithful friend in the person even of a pickpocket, a loving father even in a burglar, and a kind neighbour even in a murderer. Faith, sympathy, friendship, love, loyalty, and generosity dwell not merely in palaces and churches, but also in brothels and gaols. On the other hand, abhorrent vices and bloody crimes often find shelter under the silk hat, or the robe, or the coronet, or the crown. Life may fitly be compared with a rope made of white and black straw, and to separate one from the other is to destroy the rope itself; so also life entirely independent of the duality of good and bad is no actual life. We must acknowledge, therefore, that the third and the fourth propositions are inconsistent with our daily experience of life, and that only the second proposition remains, which, as seen above, breaks down at the origin of morality. 7. Where, then, does the Error Lie? Where, then, does the error lie in the four possible propositions respecting man's nature? It lies not in their subject, but in the predicate-that is to say, in the use of the terms 'good' and 'bad.' Now let us examine how does good differ from bad. A good action ever promotes interests in a sphere far wider than a bad action. Both are the same in their conducing to human interests, but differ in the extent in which they achieve their end. In other words, both good and bad actions are performed for one end and the same purpose of promoting human interests, but they differ from each other as to the extent of interests. For instance, burglary is evidently bad action, and is condemned everywhere; but the capturing of an enemy's property for the sake of one's own tribe or clan or nation is praised as a meritorious conduct. Both acts are exactly the same in their promoting interests; but the former relates to the interests of a single individual or of a single family, while the latter to those of a tribe or a nation. If the former be bad on account of its ignoring others' interests, the latter must be also bad on account of its ignoring the enemy's interests. Murder is considered bad everywhere; but the killing of thousands of men in a battle-field is praised and honoured, because the former is perpetrated to promote the private interests, while the latter those of the public. If the former be bad, because of its cruelty, the latter must also be bad, because of its inhumanity. The idea of good and bad, generally accepted by common sense, may be stated as follows: 'An action is good when it promotes the interests of an individual or a family; better when it promotes those of a district or a country; best when it promotes those of the whole world. An action is bad when it inflicts injury on another individual or another family; worse when it is prejudicial to a district or a country; worst when it brings harm on the whole world. Strictly speaking, an action is good when it promotes interests, material or spiritual, as intended by the actor in his motive; and it is bad when it injures interests, material or spiritual, as intended by the actor in his motive.' According to this idea, generally accepted by common sense, human actions may be classified under four different heads: (1) Purely good actions; (2) partly good and partly bad actions; (3) neither good nor bad actions; (4) purely bad actions. First, purely good actions are those actions which subserve and never hinder human interests either material or spiritual, such as humanity and love of all beings. Secondly, partly good and partly bad actions are those actions which are both for and against human interests, such as narrow patriotism and prejudiced love. Thirdly, neither good nor bad actions are such actions as are neither for nor against human interests--for example, an unconscious act of a dreamer. Lastly, purely bad actions, which are absolutely against human interests, cannot be possible for man except suicide, because every action promotes more or less the interests, material or spiritual, of the individual agent or of someone else. Even such horrible crimes as homicide and parricide are intended to promote some interests, and carry out in some measure their aim when performed. It follows that man cannot be said to be good or bad in the strict sense of the terms as above defined, for there is no human being who does the first class of actions and nothing else, nor is there any mortal who does the fourth class of actions and nothing else. Man may be called good and bad, and at the same time be neither good nor bad, in that he always performs the second and the third class of actions. All this, nevertheless, is a more play of words. Thus we are driven to conclude that the common-sense view of human nature fails to grasp the real state of actual life. 8. Man is not Good-natured nor Bad-natured, but Buddha-natured. We have had already occasion to observe that Zen teaches Buddha-nature, which all sentient beings are endowed with. The term 'Buddha-nature,'[FN#165] as accepted generally by Buddhists, means a latent and undeveloped nature, which enables its owner to become Enlightened when it is developed and brought to actuality.[FN#166] Therefore man, according to Zen, is not good-natured nor bad-natured in the relative sense, as accepted generally by common sense, of these terms, but Buddha-natured in the sense of non-duality. A good person (of common sense) differs from a bad person (of common sense), not in his inborn Buddha-nature, but in the extent of his expressing it in deeds. Even if men are equally endowed with that nature, yet their different states of development do not allow them to express it to an equal extent in conduct. Buddha-nature may be compared with the sun, and individual mind with the sky. Then an Enlightened mind is like the sky in fair weather, when nothing prevents the beams of the sun; while an ignorant mind is like the sky in cloudy weather, when the sun sheds faint light; and an evil mind is like the sky in stormy weather, when the sun seems to be out of existence. It comes under our daily observation that even a robber or a murderer may prove to be a good father and a loving husband to his wife and children. He is an honest fellow when he remains at home. The sun of Buddha-nature gives light within the wall of his house, but without the house the darkness of foul crimes shrouds him. [FN#165] For a detailed explanation of Buddha-nature, see the chapter entitled Buddha-nature in Sho-bo-gen-zo. [FN#166] Mahaparinirvana-sutra may be said to have been written for the purpose of stating this idea. 9. The Parable of the Robber Kih.[FN#167] Chwang Tsz (So-shi) remarks in a humorous way to the following effect: "The followers of the great robber and murderer Kih asked him saying: 'Has the robber also any moral principles in his proceedings?' He replied: 'What profession is there which has not its principles? That the robber comes to the conclusion without mistake that there are valuable deposits in an apartment shows his wisdom; that he is the first to enter it shows his bravery; that he makes an equal division of the plunder shows his justice; that he never betrays the fellow-robbers shows his faithfulness; and that he is generous to the followers shows his benevolence. Without all these five qualities no one in the world has ever attained to become a great robber.'" The parable clearly shows us Buddha-nature of the robber and murderer expresses itself as wisdom, bravery, justice, faithfulness, and benevolence in his society, and that if he did the same outside it, he would not be a great robber but a great sage. [FN#167] The parable is told for the purpose of undervaluing Confucian doctrine, but the author thereby accidentally touches human nature. We do not quote it here with the same purpose as the author's. 10. Wang Yang Ming (O-yo-mei) and a Thief. One evening when Wang was giving a lecture to a number of students on his famous doctrine that all human beings are endowed with Conscience,[FN#168] a thief broke into the house and hid himself in the darkest corner. Then Wang declared aloud that every human being is born with Conscience, and that even the thief who had got into the house had Conscience just as the sages of old. The burglar, overhearing these remarks, came out to ask the forgiveness of the master; since there was no way of escape for him, and he was half-naked, he crouched behind the students. Wang's willing forgiveness and cordial treatment encouraged the man to ask the question how the teacher could know such a poor wretch as he was endowed with Conscience as the sages of old. Wang replied: "It is your Conscience that makes you ashamed of your nakedness. You yourself are a sage, if you abstain from everything that will put shame on you." We firmly believe that Wang is perfectly right in telling the thief that he was not different in nature from the sages of old. It is no exaggeration. It is a saving truth. It is also a most effective way of saving men out of darkness of sin. Any thief ceases to be a thief the moment he believes in his own Conscience, or Buddha-nature. You can never correct criminals by your severe reproach or punishment. You can save them only through your sympathy and love, by which you call forth their inborn Buddha-nature. Nothing can produce more pernicious effects on criminals than to treat them as if they were a different sort of people and confirm them in their conviction that they are bad-natured. We greatly regret that even in a civilized society authorities neglecting this saving truth are driving to perdition those criminals under their care, whom it is their duty to save. [FN#168] It is not conscience in the ordinary sense of the term. It is 'moral' principle, according to Wang, pervading through the Universe. 'It expresses itself as Providence in Heaven, as moral nature in man, and as mechanical laws in things.' The reader will notice that Wang's Conscience is the nearest approach to Buddha-nature. 11. The Bad are the Good in the Egg. This is not only the case with a robber or a murderer, but also with ordinary people. There are many who are honest and good in their homesteads, but turn out to be base and dishonest folk outside them. Similarly, there are those who, having an enthusiastic love of their local district, act unlawfully against the interests of other districts. They are upright and honourable gentlemen within the boundary of their own district, but a gang of rascals without it. So also there are many who are Washingtons and William Tells in their own, but at the same time pirates and cannibals in the other countries. Again, there are not a few persons who, having racial prejudices, would not allow the rays of their Buddha-nature to pass through a coloured skin. There are civilized persons who are humane enough to love and esteem any human being as their brother, but so unfeeling that they think lower creatures as their proper food. The highly enlightened person, however, cannot but sympathize with human beings and lower creatures as well, as Shakya Muni felt all sentient beings to be his children. These people are exactly the same in their Buddha-nature, but a wide difference obtains among them in the extent of their expressing that nature in deeds. If thieves and murderers be called bad-natured, reformers and revolutionists should be called so. If, on the other hand, patriotism and loyalty be said to be good, treason and insurrection should likewise be so. Therefore it is evident that a so-called good person is none but one who acts to promote wider interests of life, and a so-called bad person is none but one who acts to advance narrower ones. In other words, the bad are the good in the egg, so to speak, and the good are the bad on the wing. As the bird in the egg is one and the same as the bird on the wing, so the good in the egg is entirely of the same nature as the bad on the wing. To show that human nature transcends the duality of good and evil, the author of Avatamsaka-sutra declares that 'all beings are endowed with the wisdom and virtue of Tathagata.' Kwei Fung (Kei-ho) also says: "All sentient beings have the Real Spirit of Original Enlightenment (within themselves). It is unchanging and pure. It is eternally bright and clear, and conscious. It is also named Buddha-nature, or Tathagata-garbha." 12. The Great Person and Small Person. For these reasons Zen proposes to call man Buddha-natured or Good-natured in a sense transcendental to the duality of good and bad. It conveys no sense to call some individuals good in case there is no bad individual. For the sake of convenience, however, Zen calls man good, as is exemplified by Shakya Muni, who was wont to address his hearers as 'good men and women,' and by the Sixth Patriarch in China, who called everybody 'a good and wise one.' This does not imply in the least that all human beings are virtuous, sinless, and saintly-nay, the world is full of vices and crimes. It is an undeniable fact that life is the warfare of good against evil, and many a valiant hero has fallen in the foremost ranks. It is curious, however, to notice that the champions on the both sides are fighting for the same cause. There can be no single individual in the world who is fighting against his own cause or interest, and the only possible difference between one party and the other consists in the extent of interests which they fight for. So-called bad persons, who are properly designated as 'small persons' by Chinese and Japanese scholars, express their Buddha-nature to a small extent mostly within their own doors, while so-called good persons, or 'great persons' as the Oriental scholars call them, actualize their Buddha-nature to a large extent in the whole sphere of a country, or of the whole earth. Enlightened Consciousness, or Buddha-nature, as we have seen in the previous chapter, is the mind of mind and the consciousness of consciousness, Universal Spirit awakened in individual minds, which realizes the universal brotherhood of all beings and the unity of individual lives. It is the real self, the guiding principle, the Original Physiognomy[FN#169] (nature), as it is called by Zen, of man. This real self lies dormant under the threshold of consciousness in the minds of the confused; consequently, each of them is inclined to regard petty individual as his self, and to exert himself to further the interests of the individual self even at the cost of those of the others. He is 'the smallest person' in the world, for his self is reduced to the smallest extent possible. Some of the less confused identify their selves with their families, and feel happy or unhappy in proportion as their families are happy or unhappy, for the sake of which they sacrifice the interests of other families. On the other hand, some of the more enlightened unite their selves through love and compassion with their whole tribe or countrymen, and consider the rise or fall of the tribe or of the country as their own, and willingly sacrifice their own lives, if need be, for the cause of the tribe or the country. When they are fully enlightened, they can realize the unity of all sentient lives, and be ever merciful and helpful towards all creatures. They are 'the greatest persons' on earth, because their selves are enlarged to the greatest extent possible. [FN#169] The expression first occurs in Ho-bo-dan-kyo of the Sixth Patriarch, and is frequently used by later Zenists. 13. The Theory of Buddha-Nature adequately explains the Ethical States of Man. This theory of Buddha-nature enables us to get an insight into the origin of morality. The first awakening of Buddha-nature within man is the very beginning of morality, and man's ethical progress is the gradually widening expression of that nature in conduct. But for it morality is impossible for man. But for it not only moral culture or discipline, but education and social improvement must be futile. Again, the theory adequately explains the ethical facts that the standard of morality undergoes change in different times and places, that good and bad are so inseparably knit together, and that the bad at times become good all on a sudden, and the good grow bad quite unexpectedly. First, it goes without saying that the standard of morality is raised just in proportion as Buddha-nature or real self extends and amplifies itself in different times and places. Secondly, since good is Buddha-nature actualized to a large extent, and bad is also Buddha-nature actualized to a small extent, the existence of the former presupposes that of the latter, and the mess of duality can never be got rid of. Thirdly, the fact that the bad become good under certain circumstances, and the good also become bad often unexpectedly, can hardly be explained by the dualistic theory, because if good nature be so arbitrarily turned into bad and bad nature into good, the distinction of good and bad nature has no meaning whatever. According to the theory of Buddha-nature, the fact that the good become bad or the bad become good, does not imply in the least a change of nature, but the widening or the narrowing of its actualization. So that no matter how morally degenerated one may be, he can uplift himself to a high ethical plane by the widening of his self, and at the same time no matter how morally exalted one may be, he can descend to the level of the brute by the narrowing of his self. To be an angel or to be a devil rests with one's degrees of enlightenment and free choice. This is why such infinite varieties exist both among the good and the bad. This is why the higher the peak of enlightenment the people climb, the more widely the vista of moral possibilities open before them. 14. Buddha-Nature is the Common Source of Morals. Furthermore, Buddha-nature or real self, being the seat of love and the nucleus of sincerity, forms the warp and woof of all moral actions. He is an obedient son who serves his parents with sincerity and love. He is a loyal subject who serves his master with sincerity and love. A virtuous wife is she who loves her husband with her sincere heart. A trustworthy friend is he who keeps company with others with sincerity and love. A man of righteousness is he who leads a life of sincerity and love. Generous and humane is he who sympathizes with his fellow-men with his sincere heart. Veracity, chastity, filial piety, loyalty, righteousness, generosity, humanity, and what not-all-this is no other than Buddha-nature applied to various relationships of human brotherhood. This is the common source, ever fresh and inexhaustible, of morality that fosters and furthers the interests of all. To-ju[FN#170] expresses the similar idea as follows: "There exists the Inexhaustible Source (of morality) within me. It is an invaluable treasure. It is called Bright Nature of man. It is peerless and surpasses all jewels. The aim of learning is to bring out this Bright Nature. This is the best thing in the world. Real happiness can only be secured by it." Thus, in the first place, moral conduct, which is nothing but the expression of Buddha-nature in action, implies the assertion of self and the furtherance of one's interests. On this point is based the half-truth of the Egoistic theory. Secondly, it is invariably accompanied by a feeling of pleasure or satisfaction when it fulfils its end. This accidental concomitance is mistaken for its essence by superficial observers who adhere to the Hedonistic theory. Thirdly, it conduces to the furtherance of the material and spiritual interests of man, and it led the Utilitarians to the confusion of the result with the cause of morality. Fourthly, it involves the control or sacrifice of the lower and ignoble self of an individual in order to realize his higher and nobler self. This gave rise to the half-truth of the Ascetic theory of morality. [FN#170] To-ju Naka-e (died A.D. 1649), the founder of the Japanese Wang School of Confucianism, known as the Sage of Omi. 15. The Parable of a Drunkard. Now the question arises, If all human beings are endowed with Buddha-nature, why have they not come naturally to be Enlightened? To answer this question, the Indian Mahayanists[FN#171] told the parable of a drunkard who forgets the precious gems put in his own pocket by one of his friends. The man is drunk with the poisonous liquor of selfishness, led astray by the alluring sight of the sensual objects, and goes mad with anger, lust, and folly. Thus he is in a state of moral poverty, entirely forgetting the precious gem of Buddha-nature within him. To be in an honourable position in society as the owner of that valuable property, he must first get rid himself of the influence of the liquor of self, and detach himself from sensual objects, gain control over his passion, restore peace and sincerity to his mind, and illumine his whole existence by his inborn divine light. Otherwise he has to remain in the same plight to all eternity. [FN#171] Mahaparinirvana-sutra. Lot us avail ourselves of another figure to explain more clearly the point at issue. Universal Spirit may fitly be likened to the universal water, or water circulating through the whole earth. This universal water exists everywhere. It exists in the tree. It exists in the grass. It exists in the mountain. It exists in the river. It exists in the sea. It exists in the air. It exists in the cloud. Thus man is not only surrounded by water on all sides, but it penetrates his very body. But be can never appease his thirst without drinking water. In like manner Universal Spirit exists everywhere. It exists in the tree. It exists in the grass. It exists in the ground. It exists in the mountain. It exists in the river. It exists in the sea. It exists in the bird. It exists in the beast. Thus man is not merely surrounded by Spirit on all sides, but it permeates through his whole existence. But he can never be Enlightened unless he awakens it within him by means of Meditation. To drink water is to drink the universal water; to awaken Buddha-nature is to be conscious of Universal Spirit. Therefore, to get Enlightened we have to believe that all beings are Buddha-natured--that is, absolutely good-natured in the sense that transcends the duality of good and bad. "One day," to cite an example, "Pan Shan (Ban-zan) happened to pass by a meat-shop. He heard a customer saying: 'Give me a pound of fresh meat.' To which the shopkeeper, putting down his knife, replied: Certainly, sir. Could there be any meat that is not fresh in my shop?' Pan Shan, hearing these remarks, was Enlightened at once." 16. Shakya Muni and the Prodigal Son. A great trouble with us is that we do not believe in half the good that we are born with. We are just like the only son of a well-to-do, as the author of Saddharma-pundarika-sutra[FN#172] tells us, who, being forgetful of his rich inheritance, leaves his home and leads a life of hand-to-mouth as a coolie. How miserable it is to see one, having no faith in his noble endowment, burying the precious gem of Buddha-nature into the foul rubbish of vices and crimes, wasting his excellent genius in the exertion that is sure to disgrace his name, falling a prey to bitter remorse and doubt, and casting himself away into the jaw of perdition. Shakya Muni, full of fatherly love towards all beings, looked with compassion on us, his prodigal son, and used every means to restore the half-starved man to his home. It was for this that he left the palace and the beloved wife and son, practised his self-mortification and prolonged Meditation, attained to Enlightenment, and preached Dharma for forty-nine years; in other words, all his strength and effort were focussed on that single aim, which was to bring the prodigal son to his rich mansion of Buddha-nature. He taught not only by words, but by his own actual example, that man has Buddha-nature, by the unfoldment of which he can save himself from the miseries of life and death, and bring himself to a higher realm than gods. When we are Enlightened, or when Universal Spirit awakens within us, we open the inexhaustible store of virtues and excellencies, and can freely make use of them at our will. [FN#172] See 'Sacred Books of the East,' vol. xxi., chap. iv., pp. 98-118. 17. The Parable of the Monk and the Stupid Woman. The confused or unenlightened may be compared with a monk and a stupid woman in a Japanese parable which runs as follows: "One evening a monk (who was used to have his head shaved clean), getting drunk against the moral precepts, visited a woman, known as a blockhead, at her house. No sooner had he got into her room than the female fell asleep so soundly that the monk could not wake her nap. Thereupon he made up his mind to use every possible means to arouse her, and searched and searched all over the room for some instrument that would help him in his task of arousing her from death-like slumber. Fortunately, he found a razor in one of the drawers of her mirror stand. With it he gave a stroke to her hair, but she did not stir a whit. Then came another stroke, and she snored like thunder. The third and fourth strokes came, but with no better result. And at last her head was shaven clean, yet still she slept on. The next morning when she awoke, she could not find her visitor, the monk, as he had left the house in the previous night. 'Where is my visitor, where my dear monk?' she called aloud, and waking in a state of somnambulation looked for him in vain, repeating the outcry. When at length her hand accidentally touched her shaven head, she mistook it for that of her visitor, and exclaimed: 'Here you are, my dear, where am I myself gone then?" A great trouble with the confused is their forgetting of real self or Buddha-nature, and not knowing 'where it is gone.' Duke Ngai, of the State of Lu, once said to Confucius: "One of my subjects, Sir, is so much forgetful that he forgot to take his wife when be changed his residence." "That is not much, my lord," said the sage, "the Emperors Kieh[FN#173] and Cheu[FN#174] forgot their own selves."[FN#175] [FN#173] The last Emperor of the Ha dynasty, notorious for his vices. His reign was 1818-1767 B.C. [FN#174] The last Emperor of the Yin dynasty, one of the worst despots. His reign was 1154-1122 B.C. [FN#175] Ko-shi-ke-go. 18. 'Each Smile a Hymn, each Kindly Word a Prayer.' The glorious sun of Buddha-nature shines in the zenith of Enlightened Consciousness, but men still dream a dream of illusion. Bells and clocks of the Universal Church proclaim the dawn of Bodhi, yet men, drunk with the liquors of the Three Poisons[FN#176] Still slumber in the darkness of sin. Let us pray to Buddha, in whose bosom we live, for the sake of our own salvation. Let us invoke Buddha, whose boundless mercy ever besets us, for the Sake of joy and peace of all our fellow-beings. Let us adore Him through our sympathy towards the poor, through our kindness shown to the suffering, through our thought of the sublime and the good. "O brother man, fold to thy heart thy brother; Where pity dwells, the peace of God is there; To worship rightly is to love each other, Each smile a hymn, each kindly word a prayer." --Whittier. Let, then, your heart be so pure that you may not be unworthy of the sunshine beaming upon you the light of Universal Spirit. Let your thought be so noble that you may deserve fair flowers blooming before you, reminding you of merciful Buddha. Let your life be so good that you may not be ashamed of yourself in the presence of the Blessed One. This is the piety of Mahayanists, especially of Zenists. [FN#176] Lust, anger, and folly. 19. The World is in the Making. Our assertion is far from assuming that life is now complete, and is in its best state. On the contrary, it is full of defects and shortcomings. We must not be puffed up with modern civilization, however great victory it has scored for its side. Beyond all doubt man is still in his cradle. He often stretches forth his hands to get at his higher ideal, yet is still satisfied with worthless playthings. It is too glaring a fact to be overlooked by us that faith in religion is dying out in the educated circles of society, that insincerity, cowardice, and double-tongue are found holding high positions in almost ever community, that Lucrese and Ezzeling are looking down upon the starving multitude from their luxurious palace, that Mammon and Bacchus are sometimes preying on their living victims, that even religion often sides with Contention and piety takes part in Cruelty, that Anarchy is ever ready to spring on the crowned beings, that philosophy is disposed to turn the deaf ear to the petition of peace, while science provides fuel for the fire of strife. Was the golden age of man, then, over in the remote past? Is the doomsday coming instead? Do you bear the trumpet call? Do you feel the earth tremble? No, absolutely no, the golden age is not passed. It is yet to come. There are not a few who think that the world is in completion, and the Creator has finished His work. We witness, however, that He is still working and working, for actually we hear His hammer-strokes resounding through heaven above and earth beneath. Does He not show us new materials for His building? Does He not give new forms to His design? Does He not surprise us with novelties, extraordinaries, and mysteries? In a word, the world is in progress, not in retrogression. A stream does not run in a straight line. It now turns to the right, now to the left, now leaps down a precipice, now waters rich fields, now runs back towards its source; but it is destined to find its outlet in the ocean. So it is with the stream of life. It now leaps down the precipice of revolution. Now it enriches the fertile field of civilization. Now it expands itself into a glassy lake of peace. Now it forms the dangerous whirlpool of strife. But its course is always toward the ocean of Enlightenment, in which the gems of equality and freedom, jewels of truth and beauty, and treasures of wisdom and bliss can be had. 20. The Progress and Hope of Life. How many myriads of years have passed since the germs of life first made appearance on earth none can tell; how many thousands of summers and winters it has taken to develop itself into higher animals, no scientist can calculate exactly. Slowly but steadily it has taken its swerving course, and ascending stop by step the series of evolution, has reached at length the plane of the rational animal. We cannot tell how many billions of years it takes to develop ourselves and become beings higher than man himself, yet we firmly believe that it is possible for us to take the same unerring course as the organic germs took in the past. Existing humanity is not the same as primitive one. It is quite another race. Our desires and hopes are entirely different from those of primitive man. What was gold for them is now iron for us. Our thoughts and beliefs are what they never dreamed of. Of our knowledge they had almost none. That which they kept in veneration we trample under our feet. Things they worshipped as deities now serve us as our slaves. Things that troubled and tortured them we now turn into utilities. To say nothing of the customs and manners and mode of living which underwent extraordinary change, we are of a race in body and mind other than the primitive forefathers of good old days. In addition to this we have every reason to believe in the betterment of life. Let us cast a glance to the existing state of the world. While the Turco-Italian war was raising its ferocious outcry, the Chinese revolution lifted its head before the trembling throne. Who can tell whether another sanguinary affair will not break out before the Bulgarian bloodshed comes to an end? Still we believe that, as fire drives out fire, to borrow Shakespeare's phrase, so war is driving out war. As an ocean, which separated two nations in the past, serves to unite them now, so a war, which separated two people in the past, brings them to unity now. It goes without saying, that every nation groans under the burden of cannons and warships, and heartily desires peace. No nation can willingly wage war against any other nation. It is against the national conscience. It is no exaggeration to say the world is wholly the ear to hear the news from the goddess of peace. A time will surely come, if our purpose be steady and our resolution firm, when universal peace will be restored, and Shakya Muni's precept, 'not to kill,' will be realized by all mankind. 21. The Betterment of Life. Again, people nowadays seem to feel keenly the wound of the economical results of war, but they are unfeeling to its moral injuries. As elements have their affinities, as bodies have their attractions, as creatures have their instinct to live together, so men have their inborn mutual love. 'God divided man into men that they might help each other.' Their strength lies in their mutual help, their pleasure is in their mutual love, and their perfection is in their giving and receiving of alternate good. Therefore Shakya Muni says: "Be merciful to all living beings." To take up arms against any other person is unlawful for any individual. It is the violation of the universal law of life. We do not deny that there are not a few who are so wretched that they rejoice in their crimes, nor that there is any person but has more or less stain on his character, nor that the means of committing crimes are multiplied in proportion as modern civilization advances; yet still we believe that our social life is ever breaking down our wolfish disposition that we inherited from our brute ancestors, and education is ever wearing out our cannibalistic nature which we have in common with wild animals. On the one hand, the signs of social morals are manifest in every direction, such as asylums for orphans, poorhouses, houses of correction, lodgings for the penniless, asylums for the poor, free hospitals, hospitals for domestic animals, societies for the prevention of cruelty to animals, schools for the blind and the dumb, asylums for the insane, and so forth; on the other hand, various discoveries and inventions have been made that may contribute to the social improvement, such as the discovery of the X rays and of radium, the invention of the wireless telegraph and that of the aeroplane and what not. Furthermore, spiritual wonders such as clairvoyance, clairaudience, telepathy, etc., remind us of the possibilities of further spiritual unfoldment in man which he never dreamed of. Thus life is growing richer and nobler step by step, and becoming more and more hopeful as we advance in the Way of Buddha. 22. The Buddha of Mercy. Milton says: "Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt; Surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled. But evil on itself shall back recoil, And mix no more with goodness. If this fail, The pillared firmament is rottenness, And earth's base built on stubble." The world is built on the foundation of morality, which is another name for Universal Spirit, and moral order sustains it. We human beings, consciously or unconsciously, were, are, and will be at work to bring the world into perfection. This idea is allegorically expressed in the Buddhist sutra,[FN#177] which details the advent of a merciful Buddha named Maitreya in the remote future. At that time, it says, there will be no steep hills, no filthy places, no epidemic, no famine, no earthquake, no storm, no war, no revolution, no bloodshed, no cruelty, and no suffering; the roads will be paved smoothly, grass and trees always blooming, birds ever singing, men contented and happy; all sentient beings will worship the Buddha of Mercy, accept His doctrine, and attain to Enlightenment. This prophecy will be fulfilled, according to the sutra, 5,670,000,000 years after the death of Shakya Muni. This evidently shows us that the Mahayanist's aim of life is to bring out man's inborn light of Buddha-nature to illumine the world, to realize the universal brotherhood of all sentient beings, to attain to Enlightenment, and to enjoy peace and joy to which Universal Spirit leads us. [FN#177] See Nanjo's Catalogue, Nos. 204-209. CHAPTER VI ENLIGHTENMENT 1. Enlightenment is beyond Description and Analysis. In the foregoing chapters we have had several occasions to refer to the central problem of Zen or Enlightenment, whose content it is futile to attempt to explain or analyze. We must not explain or analyze it, because by doing so we cannot but mislead the reader. We can as well represent Enlightenment by means of explanation or analysis as we do personality by snapshots or by anatomical operations. As our inner life, directly experienced within us, is anything but the shape of the head, or the features of the face, or the posture of the body, so Enlightenment experienced by Zenists at the moment of their highest Samadhi[FN#178] is anything but the psychological analysis of mental process, or the epistemological explanation of cognition, or the philosophical generalization of concepts. Enlightenment can be realized only by the Enlightened, and baffles every attempt to describe it, even by the Enlightened themselves. The effort of the confused to guess at Enlightenment is often likened by the Zenists to the effort of the blind who feel an elephant to know what it looks like. Some of them who happen to feel the trunk would declare it is like a rope, but those who happen to feel the belly would declare it is like a huge drum; while those who happen to feel the feet would declare it is like the trunk of a tree. But none of these conjectures can approach the living elephant. [FN#178] Abstract Contemplation, which the Zenists distinguish from Samadhi, practised by the Brahmins. The author of 'An Outline of Buddhist Sects' points out the distinction, saying: "Contemplation of outside religionists is practised with the heterodox view that the lower worlds (the worlds for men, beasts, etc.) are disgusting, but the upper worlds (the worlds for Devas) are desirable; Contemplation of common people (ordinary lay believers of Buddhism) is practised with the belief in the law of Karma, and also with disgust (for the lower worlds) and desire (for the upper worlds); Contemplation of Hinayana is practised with an insight into the truth of Anatman (non-soul); Contemplation of Mahayana is practised with an insight of Unreality of Atman (soul) as well as of Dharma (thing); Contemplation of the highest perfection is practised with the view that Mind is pure in its nature, it is endowed with unpolluted wisdom, free from passion, and it is no other than Buddha himself." 2. Enlightenment implies an Insight into the Nature of Self. We cannot pass over, however, this weighty problem without saying a word. We shall try in this chapter to present Enlightenment before the reader in a roundabout way, just as the painter gives the fragmentary sketches of a beautiful city, being unable to give even a bird's-eye view of it. Enlightenment, first of all, implies an insight into the nature of Self. It is an emancipation of mind from illusion concerning Self. All kinds of sin take root deep in the misconception of Self, and putting forth the branches of lust, anger, and folly, throw dark shadows on life. To extirpate this misconception Buddhism[FN#179] strongly denies the existence of the individual soul as conceived by common sense-that is, that unchanging spiritual entity provided with sight, hearing, touch, smell, feeling, thought, imagination, aspiration, etc., which survives the body. It teaches us that there is no such thing as soul, and that the notion of soul is a gross illusion. It treats of body as a temporal material form of life doomed to be destroyed by death and reduced to its elements again. It maintains that mind is also a temporal spiritual form of life, behind which there is no immutable soul. [FN#179] Both Mahayana and Hinayana Buddhism teach the doctrine of Anatman, or Non-self. It is the denial of soul as conceived by common sense, and of Atman as conceived by Indian heterodox thinkers. Some Mahayanists believe in the existence of real Self instead of individual self, as we see in Mahaparinirvana-sutra, whose author says: "There is real self in non-self." It is worthy of note that the Hinayanists set forth Purity, Pleasure, Atman, and Eternity, as the four great misconceptions about life, while the same author regards them as the four great attributes of Nirvana itself. An illusory mind tends either to regard body as Self and to yearn after its material interests, or to believe mind dependent on soul as Ego. Those who are given to sensual pleasures, consciously or unconsciously, bold body to be the Self, and remain the life-long slave to the objects of sense. Those who regard mind as dependent on soul as the Self, on the other hand, undervalue body as a mere tool with which the soul works, and are inclined to denounce life as if unworthy of living. We must not undervalue body, nor must we overestimate mind. There is no mind isolated from body, nor is there any body separated from mind. Every activity of mind produces chemical and physiological changes in the nerve-centres, in the organs, and eventually in the whole body; while every activity of body is sure to bring out the corresponding change in the mental function, and eventually in the whole personality. We have the inward experience of sorrow when we have simultaneously the outward appearance of tears and of pallor; when we have the outward appearance of the fiery eyes and short breath, we have simultaneously the inward feeling of anger. Thus body is mind observed outwardly in its relation to the senses; mind is body inwardly experienced in its relation to introspection. Who can draw a strict line of demarcation between mind and body? We should admit, so far as our present knowledge is concerned, that mind, the intangible, has been formed to don a garment of matter in order to become an intelligible existence at all; matter, the solid, has faded under examination into formlessness, as that of mind. Zen believes in the identification of mind and body, as Do-gen[FN#180] says: "Body is identical with mind; appearance and reality are one and the same thing." Bergson denies the identification of mind and body, saying:[FN#181] "It (experience) shows us the interdependence of the mental and the physical, the necessity of a certain cerebral substratum for the psychical state-nothing more. From the fact that two things are mutually dependent, it does not follow that they are equivalent. Because a certain screw is necessary for a certain machine, because the machine works when the screw is there and stops when the screw is taken away, we do not say that the screw is equivalent of the machine." Bergson's simile of a screw and a machine is quite inadequate to show the interdependence of mind and body, because the screw does cause the machine to work, but the machine does not cause the screw to work; so that their relation is not interdependence. On the contrary, body causes mind to work, and at the same time mind causes body to work; so that their relation is perfectly interdependent, and the relation is not that of an addition of mind to body, or of body to mind, as the screw is added to the machine. Bergson must have compared the working of the machine with mind, and the machine itself with body, if be wanted to show the real fact. Moreover, he is not right in asserting that "from the fact that two things are mutually dependent, it does not follow that they are equivalent," because there are several kinds of interdependence, in some of which two things can be equivalent. For instance, bricks, mutually dependent in their forming an arch, cannot be equivalent one with another; but water and waves, being mutually dependent, can be identified. In like manner fire and heat, air and wind, a machine and its working, mind and body.[FN#182] [FN#180] The master strongly condemns the immortality of the soul as the heterodox doctrine in his Sho-bo-gen-zo. The same argument is found in Mu-chu-mon-do, by Mu-so Koku-shi. [FN#181] 'Creative Evolution,' pp. 354, 355. [FN#182] Bergson, arguing against the dependence of the mind on brain, says: "That there is a close connection between a state of consciousness and the brain we do not dispute. But there is also a close connection between a coat and the nail on which it hangs, for if the nail is pulled out, the coat will fall to the ground. Shall we say, then, that the shape of the nail gave the shape of the coat, or in any way corresponds to it? No more are we entitled to conclude, because the psychical fact is hung on to a cerebral state, that there is any parallelism between the two series, psychical and physiological." We have to ask, in what respects does the interrelation between mind and body resemble the relation between a coat and a nail? 3. The Irrationality of the Belief of Immortality. Occidental minds believe in a mysterious entity under the name of soul, just as Indian thinkers believe in the so-called subtle body entirely distinct from the gross body of flesh and blood. Soul, according to this belief, is an active principle that unites body and mind so as to form an harmonious whole of mental as well as bodily activities. And it acts through the instrumentality of the mind and body in the present life, and enjoys an eternal life beyond the grave. It is on this soul that individual immortality is based. It is immortal Self. Now, to say nothing of the origin of soul, this long-entertained belief is hardly good for anything. In the first place, it throws no light upon the relation of mind and body, because soul is an empty name for the unity of mind and body, and serves to explain nothing. On the contrary, it adds another mystery to the already mysterious relationships between matter and spirit. Secondly, soul should be conceived as a psychical individual, subject to spacial determinations--but since it has to be deprived by death of its body which individualizes it, it will cease to be individuality after death, to the disappointment of the believer. How could you think anything purely spiritual and formless existing without blending together with other things? Thirdly, it fails to gratify the desire, cherished by the believer, of enjoying eternal life, because soul has to lose its body, the sole important medium through which it may enjoy life. Fourthly, soul is taken as a subject matter to receive in the future life the reward or the punishment from God for our actions in this life; but the very idea of eternal punishment is inconsistent with the boundless love of God. Fifthly, it is beyond all doubt that soul is conceived as an entity, which unifies various mental faculties and exists as the foundation of individual personality. But the existence of such soul is quite incompatible with the well-known pathological fact that it is possible for the individual to have double or treble or multiple personalities. Thus the belief in the existence of soul conceived by the common sense turns out not only to be irrational, but a useless encumbrance on the religious mind. Therefore Zen declares that there is no such thing as soul, and that mind and body are one. Hwui Chung (Ye-chu), a famous disciple of the Sixth Patriarch in China, to quote an example, one day asked a monk: "Where did you come from?" "I came, sir, from the South," replied the man. "What doctrine do the masters of the South teach?" asked Hwui Chung again. "They teach, sir, that body is mortal, but mind is immortal," was the answer. "That," said the master, "is the heterodox doctrine of the Atman!" "How do you, sir," questioned the monk, "teach about that?" "I teach that the body and mind are one," was the reply.[FN#183] [FN#183] For further explanation, see Sho-bo-gen-zo and Mu-chu-mon-do. Fiske, [FN#184] in his argument against materialism, blames the denial of immortality, saying: "The materialistic assumption that there is no such state of things, and that the life of the soul ends accordingly with the life of the body, is perhaps the most colossal instance of baseless assumption that is known to the history of philosophy." But we can say with equal force that the common-sense assumption that the life of soul continues beyond the grave is, perhaps, the most colossal instance of baseless assumption that is known to the history of thought, because, there being no scientific evidences that give countenance to the assumption, even the spiritualists themselves hesitate to assert the existence of a ghost or soul. Again he[FN#185] says: "With this illegitimate hypothesis of annihilation the materialist transgresses the bounds of experience quite as widely as the poet who sings of the New Jerusalem with its river of life and its street of gold. Scientifically speaking, there is not a particle of evidence for either view." This is as much as to say there is not a particle of evidence, scientifically speaking, for the common-sense view of soul, because the poet's description of the New Jerusalem is nothing but the result of the common-sense belief of immortality. [FN#184] 'The Destiny of Man,' p. 110. [FN#185] 'The Destiny of Man,' pp. 110, 111. 4. The Examination of the Notion of Self. The belief in immortality is based on the strong instinct of self-preservation that calls forth an insatiable longing for longevity. It is another form of egoism, one of the relics of our brute forefathers. We must bear in mind that this illusion of the individual Self is the foundation on which every form of immorality has its being. I challenge my readers to find in the whole history of mankind any crime not based on egoism. Evil-doers have been as a rule pleasure-hunters, money-seekers, seekers after self-interests, characterized by lust, folly, and cruelty. Has there been anyone who committed theft that he might further the interests of his villagers? Has there been any paramour who disgraced himself that lie might help his neighbours? Has there been any traitor who performed the ignoble conduct to promote the welfare of his own country or society at large? To get Enlightened, therefore, we have to correct, first of all, our notions concerning Self. Individual body and mind are not the only important constituents of Self. There are many other indispensable elements in the notion of Self. For instance, I have come into existence as another form of my parents. I am theirs, and may justly be called the reincarnation of them. And again, my father is another form of his parents; my mother of hers; his and her parents of theirs; and ad infinitum. In brief, all my forefathers live and have their being in me. I cannot help, therefore, thinking that my physical state is the result of the sum total of my good and bad actions in the past lives I led in the persons of my forefathers, and of the influence I received therein;[FN#186] and that my psychical state is the result of that which I received, felt, imagined, conceived, experienced, and thought in my past existences in the persons of my ancestors. [FN#186] This is the law of Karma. Besides this, my brothers, my sisters, my neighbours--nay, all my follow-men and fellow-women are no other than the reincarnation of their parents and forefathers, who are also mine. The same blood invigorated the king as well as the beggar; the same nerve energized the white as well as the black men; the same consciousness vitalized the wise as well as the unwise. Impossible it is to conceive myself independent of my fellow-men and fellow-women, for they are mine and I am theirs--that is, I live and move in them, and they live and move in me. It is bare nonsense to say that I go to school, not to be educated as a member of society, but simply to gratify my individual desire for knowledge; or that I make a fortune, not to lead the life of a well-to-do in society, but to satisfy my individual money-loving instinct; or that I seek after truth, neither to do good to my contemporaries nor to the future generations, but only for my individual curiosity or that I live neither to live with my family nor with my friends nor with anyone else, but to live my individual life. It is as gross absurdity to say that I am an individual absolutely independent of society as to say I am a husband with no wife, or I am a son to no parents. Whatever I do directly or indirectly I contribute to the common fortune of man; whatever anyone else does directly or indirectly determines my fate. Therefore we must realize that our Selves necessarily include other members of the community, while other members' Selves necessarily comprehend us. 5. Nature is the Mother of All Things. Furthermore, man has come into existence out of Nature. He is her child. She provided him food, raiment, and shelter. She nourishes him, strengthens him, and vitalizes him. At the same time she disciplines, punishes, and instructs him. His body is of her own formation, his knowledge is of her own laws, and his activities are the responses to her own addresses to him. Modern civilization is said by some to be the conquest of man over Nature; but, in fact, it is his faithful obedience to her. "Bacon truly said," says Eucken,[FN#187] "that to rule nature man must first serve her. He forgot to add that, as her ruler, he is still destined to go on serving her." She can never be attacked by any being unless he acts in strict conformity to her laws. To accomplish anything against her law is as impossible as to catch fishes in a forest, or to make bread of rock. How many species of animals have perished owing to their inability to follow her steps! How immense fortunes have been lost in vain from man's ignorance of her order! How many human beings disappeared on earth from their disobedience to her unbending will! She is, nevertheless, true to those who obey her rules. Has not science proved that she is truthful? Has not art found that she is beautiful? [FN#187] Eucken's 'Philosophy of Life,' by W. R. Royce Gibbon, p. 51. Has not philosophy announced that she is spiritual? Has not religion proclaimed that she is good? At all events, she is the mother of all beings. She lives in all things and they live in her. All that she possesses is theirs, and all that they want she supplies. Her life is the same vitality that stirs all sentient beings. Chwang Tsz[FN#188] (So-shi) is right when he says: "Heaven, Earth, and I were produced together, and all things and I are one." And again: "If all things be regarded with love, Heaven and Earth are one with me." Sang Chao (So-jo) also says: "Heaven and Earth are of the same root as we. All things in the world are of one substance with Me."[FN#189] [FN#188] Chwang Tsz, vol. i., p. 20. [FN#189] This is a favourite subject of discussion by Zenists. 6. Real Self. If there be no individual soul either in mind or body, where does personality lie? What is Real Self? How does it differ from soul? Self is living entity, not immutable like soul, but mutable and ever-changing life, which is body when observed by senses, and which is mind when experienced by introspection. It is not an entity lying behind mind and body, but life existent as the union of body and mind. It existed in our forefathers in the past, is existing in the present, and will exist in the future generations. It also discloses itself to some measure in vegetables and animals, and shadows itself forth in inorganic nature. It is Cosmic life and Cosmic spirit, and at the same time individual life and individual spirit. It is one and the same life which embraces men and nature. It is the self-existent, creative, universal principle that moves on from eternity to eternity. As such it is called Mind or Self by Zenists. Pan Shan (Ban-zan) says: "The moon of mind comprehends all the universe in its light." A man asked Chang Sha (Cho-sha): "How can you turn the phenomenal universe into Self ?" "How can you turn Self into the phenomenal universe?" returned the master. When we get the insight into this Self, we are able to have the open sesame to the mysteries of the universe, because to know the nature of a drop of water is to know the nature of the river, the lake, and the ocean--nay, even of vapour, mist, and cloud; in other words, to get an insight into individual life is the key to the secret of Universal Life. We must not confine Self within the poor little person called body. That is the root of the poorest and most miserable egoism. We should expand that egoism into family-egoism, then into nation-egoism, then into race-egoism, then into human-egoism, then into living-being-egoism, and lastly into universe-egoism, which is not egoism at all. Thus we deny the immortality of soul as conceived by common sense, but assume immortality of the Great Soul, which animates, vitalizes, and spiritualizes all sentient beings. It is Hinayana Buddhism that first denied the existence of atman or Self so emphatically inculcated in the Upanisads, and paved the way for the general conception of Universal Self, with the eulogies of which almost every page of Mahayana books is filled. 7. The Awakening of the Innermost Wisdom. Having set ourselves free from the misconception of Self, next we must awaken our innermost wisdom, pure and divine, called the Mind of Buddha,[FN#190] or Bodhi,[FN#191] or Prajnya[FN#192] by Zen masters. It is the divine light, the inner heaven, the key to all moral treasures, the centre of thought and consciousness, the source of all influence and power, the seat of kindness, justice, sympathy, impartial love, humanity, and mercy, the measure of all things. When this innermost wisdom is fully awakened, we are able to realize that each and everyone of us is identical in spirit, in essence, in nature with the universal life or Buddha, that each ever lives face to face with Buddha, that each is beset by the abundant grace of the Blessed One, that He arouses his moral nature, that He opens his spiritual eyes, that He unfolds his new capacity, that He appoints his mission, and that life is not an ocean of birth, disease, old age, and death, nor the vale of tears, but the holy temple of Buddha, the Pure Land,[FN#193] where be can enjoy the bliss of Nirvana. [FN#190] Zen is often called the Sect of Buddha-mind, as it lays stress on the awakening of the Mind of Buddha. The words 'the Mind of Buddha' were taken from a passage in Lankavatara-sutra. [FN#191] That knowledge by which one becomes enlightened. [FN#192] Supreme wisdom. [FN#193] Sukhavati, or the land of bliss. Then our minds go through an entire revolution. We are no more troubled by anger and hatred, no more bitten by envy and ambition, no more stung by sorrow and chagrin, no more overwhelmed by melancholy and despair. Not that we become passionless or simply intellectual, but that we have purified passions, which, instead of troubling us, inspire us with noble aspirations, such as anger and hatred against injustice, cruelty, and dishonesty, sorrow and lamentation for human frailty, mirth and joy for the welfare of follow-beings, pity and sympathy for suffering creatures. The same change purifies our intellect. Scepticism and sophistry give way to firm conviction; criticism and hypothesis to right judgment; and inference and argument to realization. What we merely observed before we now touch with heart as well. What we knew in relation of difference before we now understand in relation of unity as well. How things happen was our chief concern before, but now we consider as well bow much value they have. What was outside us before now comes within us. What was dead and indifferent before grows now alive and lovable to us. What was insignificant and empty before becomes now important, and has profound meaning. Wherever we go we find beauty; whomever we meet we find good; whatever we get we receive with gratitude. This is the reason why the Zenists not only regarded all their fellow-beings as their benefactors, but felt gratitude even towards fuel and water. The present writer knows a contemporary Zenist who would not drink even a cup of water without first making a salutation to it. Such an attitude of Zen toward things may well be illustrated by the following example: Sueh Fung (Sep-po) and Kin Shan (Kin-zan), once travelling through a mountainous district, saw a leaf of the rape floating down the stream. Thereon Kin Shan said: "Let us go up, dear brother, along the stream that we may find a sage living up on the mountain. I hope we shall find a good teacher in him." "No," replied Sueh Fung, "for he cannot be a sage who wastes even a leaf of the rape. He will be no good teacher for us." 8. Zen is not Nihilistic. Zen judged from ancient Zen masters' aphorisms may seem, at the first sight, to be idealistic in an extreme form, as they say: "Mind is Buddha" or, "Buddha is Mind," or, "There is nothing outside mind," or, "Three worlds are of but one mind." And it may also appear to be nihilistic, as they say: "There has been nothing since all eternity," "By illusion you see the castle of the Three Worlds"; "by Enlightenment you see but emptiness in ten directions."[FN#194] In reality, however, Zen[FN#195] is neither idealistic nor nihilistic. Zen makes use of the nihilistic idea of Hinayana Buddhism, and calls its students' attention to the change and evanescence of life and of the world, first to destroy the error of immutation, next to dispel the attachment to the sensual objects. [FN#194] These words were repeatedly uttered by Chinese and Japanese Zenists of all ages. Chwen Hih (Fu-dai-shi) expressed this very idea in his Sin Wang Ming (Shin-o-mei) at the time of Bodhidharma. [FN#195] The Rin-zai teachers mostly make use of the doctrine of unreality of all things, as taught in Prajnya-paramita-sutras. We have to note that there are some differences between the Mahayana doctrine of unreality and the Hinayana doctrine of unreality. It is a misleading tendency of our intellect to conceive things as if they were immutable and constant. It often leaves changing and concrete individual objects out of consideration, and lays stress on the general, abstract, unchanging aspect of things. It is inclined to be given to generalization and abstraction. It often looks not at this thing or at that thing, but at things in general. It loves to think not of a good thing nor of a bad thing, but of bad and good in the abstract. This intellectual tendency hardens and petrifies the living and growing world, and leads us to take the universe as a thing dead, inert, and standing still. This error of immutation can be corrected by the doctrine of Transcience taught by Hinayana Buddhism. But as medicine taken in an undue quantity turns into poison, so the doctrine of Transcience drove the Hinayanists to the suicidal conclusion of nihilism. A well-known scholar and believer of Zen, Kwei Fung (Kei-ha) says in his refutation of nihilism:[FN#196] "If mind as well as external objects be unreal, who is it that knows they are so? Again, if there be nothing real in the universe, what is it that causes unreal objects to appear? We stand witness to the fact that there is no one of the unreal things on earth that is not made to appear by something real. If there be no water of unchanging fluidity, how can there be the unreal and temporary forms of waves? If there be no unchanging mirror, bright and clean, bow can there be the various images, unreal and temporary, reflected in it? If mind as well as external objects be nothing at all, no one can tell what it is that causes these unreal appearances. Therefore this doctrine (of the unreality of all things) can never clearly disclose spiritual Reality. So that Mahabheri-harakaparivarta-sutra says: " All the sutras that teach the unreality of things belong to the imperfect doctrine " (of the Shakya Muni). Mahaprajnya-paramita-sutra says The doctrine of unreality is the entrance-gate of Mahayana." [FN#196] See the appendix, chap. ii., 'The Mahayana Doctrine of Nihilism.' 9. Zen and Idealism. Next Zen makes use of Idealism as explained by the Dharmalaksana School of Mahayana Buddhism.[FN#197] For instance, the Fourth Patriarch says: "Hundreds and thousands of laws originate with mind. Innumerable mysterious virtues proceed from the mental source." Niu Teu (Go-zu) also says: "When mind arises, various things arise; when mind ceases to exist, various things cease to exist." Tsao Shan (So-zan) carried the point so far that he cried out, on hearing the bell: "It hurts, it pains." Then an attendant of his asked "What is the matter?" "It is my mind," said he, that is struck."[FN#198] [FN#197] Appendix, chap. ii., 'The Mahayana Doctrine of Dharmalaksana.' [FN#198] Zen-rin-rui-shu. We acknowledge the truth of the following considerations: There exists no colour, nor sound, nor odour in the objective world, but there are the vibrations of ether, or the undulations of the air, or the stimuli of the sensory nerves of smell. Colour is nothing but the translation of the stimuli into sensation by the optical nerves, so also sounds by the auditory, and odours by the smelling. Therefore nothing exists objectively exactly as it is perceived by the senses, but all are subjective. Take electricity, for example, it appears as light when perceived through the eye; it appears as sound when perceived through the ear; it appears as taste when perceived through the tongue; but electricity in reality is not light, nor sound, nor taste. Similarly, the mountain is not high nor low; the river is not deep nor shallow; the house is not large nor small; the day is not long nor short; but they seem so through comparison. It is not objective reality that displays the phenomenal universe before us, but it is our mind that plays an important part. Suppose that we have but one sense organ, the eye, then the whole universe should consist of colours and of colours only. If we suppose we were endowed with the sixth sense, which entirely contradicts our five senses, then the whole world would be otherwise. Besides, it is our reason that finds the law of cause and effect in the objective world, that discovered the law of uniformity in Nature, and that discloses scientific laws in the universe so as to form a cosmos. Some scholars maintain that we cannot think of non-existence of space, even if we can leave out all objects in it; nor can we doubt the existence of time, for the existence of mind itself presupposes time. Their very argument, however, proves the subjectivity of time and space, because, if they were objective, we should be able to think them non-existent, as we do with other external objects. Even space and time, therefore are no more than subjective. 10. Idealism is a Potent Medicine for Self-created Mental Disease. In so far as Buddhist idealism refers to the world of sense, in so far as it does not assume that to to be known is identical with to be, in so far as it does not assert that the phenomenal universe is a dream and a vision, we may admit it as true. On the one hand, it serves us as a purifier of our hearts polluted with materialistic desires, and uplifts us above the plain of sensualism; on the other hand, it destroys superstitions which as a rule arise from ignorance and want of the idealistic conception of things. It is a lamentable fact that every country is full of such superstitions people as described by one of the New Thought writers: 'Tens of thousands of women in this country believe that if two people look in a mirror at the same time, or if one thanks the other for a pin, or if one gives a knife or a sharp instrument to a friend, it will break up friendship. If a young lady is presented with a thimble, she will be an old maid. Some people think that after leaving a house it is unlucky to go back after any article which has been forgotten, and, if one is obliged to do so, one should sit down in a chair before going out again; that if a broom touches a person while someone is sweeping, bad luck will follow; and that it is unlucky to change one's place at a table. A man took an opal to a New York jeweller and asked him to buy it. He said that it had brought him nothing but bad luck, that since it had come into his possession he had failed in business, that there bad been much sickness in his family, and all sorts of misfortune had befallen him. He refused to keep the cursed thing any longer. The jeweller examined the stone, and found that it was not an opal after all, but an imitation.' Idealism is a most potent medicine for these self-created mental diseases. It will successfully drive away devils and spirits that frequent ignorant minds, just as Jesus did in the old days. Zen makes use of moral idealism to extirpate, root and branch, all such idle dreams and phantasmagoria of illusion and opens the way to Enlightenment. 11. Idealistic Scepticism concerning Objective Reality. But extreme Idealism identifies 'to be' with 'to be known,' and assumes all phenomena to be ideas as illustrated in Mahayana-vidyamatra-siddhi-tridaca-castra[FN#199] and Vidyamatra-vincati-castra,[FN#200] by Vasubandhu. Then it necessarily parts company with Zen, which believes in Universal Life existing in everything instead of behind it. Idealism shows us its dark side in three sceptic views: (1) scepticism respecting objective reality; (2) scepticism respecting religion; (3) scepticism respecting morality. [FN#199] A philosophical work on Buddhist idealism by Vasubandhu, translated into Chinese by Hiuen Tsang in A.D. 648. There exists a famous commentary on it, compiled by Dharmapala, translated into Chinese by Hiuen Tsang in A.D. 659. See Nanjo's Catalogue, Nos. 1197 and 1125. [FN#200] A simpler work on Idealism, translated into Chinese by Hiuen Tsang in A.D. 661. See Nanjo's Catalogue, Nos. 1238, 1239, and 1240. First it assumes that things exist in so far as they are known by us. It is as a matter of course that if a tree exists at all, it is known as having a trunk long or short, branches large or small, leaves green or yellow, flowers yellow or purple, etc., all of which are ideas. But it does not imply in the least that 'to be known' is equivalent to 'to be existent.' Rather we should say that to be known presupposes to be existent, for we cannot know anything non-existent, even if we admit that the axioms of logic subsist. Again, a tree may stand as ideas to a knower, but it can stand at the same time as a shelter in relation to some birds, as food in relation to some insects, as a world in relation to some minute worms, as a kindred organism to other vegetables. How could you say that its relation to a knower is the only and fundamental relation for the existence of the tree? The disappearance of its knower no more affects the tree than of its feeder; nor the appearance of its knower affects the tree any more than that of kindred vegetables. Extreme idealism erroneously concludes that what is really existent, or what is directly proved to be existent, is only our sensations, ideas, thoughts; that the external world is nothing but the images reflected on the mirror of the mind, and that therefore objective reality of things is doubtful-nay, more, they are unreal, illusory, and dreams. If so, we can no longer distinguish the real from the visionary; the waking from the dreaming; the sane from the insane; the true from the untrue. Whether life is real or an empty dream, we are at a loss to understand. 12. Idealistic Scepticism concerning Religion and Morality. Similarly, it is the case with religion and morality. If we admit extreme idealism as true, there can be nothing objectively real. God is little more than a mental image. He must be a creature of mind instead of a Creator. He has no objective reality. He is when we think He is. He is not when we think He is not. He is at the mercy of our thought. How much more unreal the world must be, which is supposed to have been created by an unreal God! Providence, salvation, and divine grace--what are they? A bare dream dreamed in a dream! What is morality, then? It is subjective. It has no objective validity. A moral conduct highly valued by our fathers is now held to be immoral by us. Immoral acts now strongly denounced by us may be regarded as moral by our posterity. Good deeds of the savage are not necessarily good in the eyes of the civilized, nor evil acts of the Orientals are necessarily evil before the face of the Occidentals. It follows, then, that there is no definite standard of morality in any place at any time. If morality be merely subjective, and there be no objective standard, how can you distinguish evil from good? How can you single out angels from among devils? Was not Socrates a criminal? Was not Jesus also a criminal? How could you know Him to be a Divine man different from other criminals who were crucified with Him? What you honour may I not denounce as disgrace? What you hold as duty may I not condemn as sin? Every form of idealism is doomed, after all, to end in such confusion and scepticism. We cannot embrace radical idealism, which holds these threefold sceptical views in her womb. 13. An Illusion concerning Appearance and Reality. To get Enlightened we must next dispel an illusion respecting appearance and reality. According. to certain religionists, all the phenomena of the universe are to succumb to change. Worldly things one and all are evanescent. They are nought in the long run. Snowcapped mountains may sink into the bottom of the deep, while the sands in the fathomless ocean may soar into the azure sky at some time or other. Blooming flowers are destined to fade and to bloom again in the next year. So destined are growing trees, rising generations, prospering nations, glowing suns, moons, and stars. This, they would say, is only the case with phenomena or appearances, but not with reality. Growth and decay, birth and death, rise and fall, all these are the ebb and flow of appearances in the ocean of reality, which is always the same. Flowers may fade and be reduced to dust, yet out of that dust come flowers. Trees may die out, yet they are reproduced somewhere else. The time may come when the earth will become a dead sphere quite unsuitable for human habitation, and the whole of mankind will perish; yet who knows that whether another earth may not be produced as man's home? The sun might have its beginning and end, stars, moons, theirs as well; yet an infinite universe would have no beginning nor end. Again, they say, mutation is of the world of sense or phenomenal appearances, but not of reality. The former are the phases of the latter shown to our senses. Accordingly they are always limited and modified by our senses, just as images are always limited and modified by the mirror in which they are reflected. On this account appearances are subject to limitations, while reality is limitless. And it follows that the former are imperfect, while the latter is perfect; that the former is transient, while the latter is eternal; that the former is relative, while the latter is absolute; that the former is worldly, while the latter is holy; that the former is knowable, while the latter is unknowable. These considerations naturally lead us to an assertion that the world of appearances is valueless, as it is limited, short-lived, imperfect, painful, sinful, hopeless, and miserable; while the realm of reality is to be aspired for, as it is eternal, perfect, comfortable, full of hope, joy, and peace-hence the eternal divorce of appearance and reality. Such a view of life tends to make one minimize the value of man, to neglect the present existence, and to yearn after the future. Some religionists tell us that we men are helpless, sinful, hopeless, and miserable creatures. Worldly riches, temporal honours, and social positions-nay, even sublimities and beauties of the present existence, are to be ignored and despised. We have no need of caring for those things that pass away in a twinkling moment. We must prepare for the future life which is eternal. We must accumulate wealth for that existence. We must endeavour to hold rank in it. We must aspire for the sublimity and beauty and glory of that realm. 14. Where does the Root of the Illusion Lie? Now let us examine where illusion lies hidden from the view of these religionists. It lies deeply rooted in the misconstruction of reality, grows up into the illusive ideas of appearances, and throws its dark shadow on life. The most fundamental error lies in their construing reality as something unknowable existing behind appearances. According to their opinion, all that we know, or perceive, or feel, or imagine about the world, is appearances or phenomena, but not reality itself. Appearances are 'things known as,' but not 'things as they are.' Thing-in-itself, or reality, lies behind appearances permanently beyond our ken. This is probably the most profound metaphysical pit into which philosophical minds have ever fallen in their way of speculation. Things appear, they would say, as we see them through our limited senses; but they must present entirely different aspects to those that differ from ours, just as the vibration of ether appears to us as colours, yet it presents quite different aspects to the colour-blind or to the purblind. The phenomenal universe is what appears to the human mind, and in case our mental constitution undergoes change, it would be completely otherwise. This argument, however, is far from proving that the reality is unknowable, or that it lies hidden behind appearances or presentations. Take, for instance, a reality which appears as a ray of the sun. When it goes through a pane of glass it appears to be colourless, but it exhibits a beautiful spectrum when it passes through a prism. Therefore you assume that a reality appearing as the rays of the sun is neither colourless nor coloured in itself, since these appearances are wholly due to the difference that obtains between the pane of glass and the prism. We contend, however, that the fact does not prove the existence of the reality named the sun's ray beyond or behind the white light, nor its existence beyond or behind the spectrum. It is evident that the reality exists in white light, and that it is known as the white light when it goes through a pane of glass; and that the same reality exists in the spectrum, and is known as the spectrum when it goes through the prism. The reality is known as the white light on the one hand, and as the spectrum on the other. It is not unknowable, but knowable. Suppose that one and the same reality exhibits one aspect when it stands in relation to another object; two aspects when it stands in relation in two different objects; three aspects when it stands in relation to three different objects. The reality of one aspect never proves the unreality of another aspect, for all these three aspects can be equally real. A tree appears to us as a vegetable; it appears to some birds as a shelter; and it appears to some worms as a food. The reality of its aspect as a vegetable never proves the unreality of its aspect as food, nor the reality of its aspect as food disproves the reality of its aspect as shelter. The real tree does not exist beyond or behind the vegetable. We can rely upon its reality, and make use of it to a fruitful result. At the same time, the birds can rely on its reality as a shelter, and build their nests in it; the worms, too, can rely on its reality as food, and eat it-to their satisfaction. A reality which appears to me as my wife must appear to my son as his mother, and never as his wife. But the same real woman is in the wife and in the mother; neither is unreal. 15. Thing-in-Itself means Thing-Knowerless. How, then, did philosophers come to consider reality to be unknowable and hidden behind or beyond appearances? They investigated all the possible presentations in different relationships, and put them all aside as appearances, and brooded on the thing-in-itself, shut out from all possible relationship, and declared it unknowable. Thing-in-itself means thing cut off from all possible relationships. To, put it in another way: thing-in-itself means thing deprived of its relation to its knower--that is to say, thing-knower-less. So that to declare thing-in-itself unknowable is as much as to declare thing-unknowable unknowable; there is no doubt about it, but what does it prove? Deprive yourself of all the possible relationships, and see what you are. Suppose you are not a son to your parents, nor the husband to your wife, nor the father to your children, nor a relative to your kindred, nor a friend to your acquaintances, nor a teacher to your students, nor a citizen to your country, nor an individual member to your society, nor a creature to your God, then you get you-in-yourself. Now ask yourself what is you-in-yourself? You can never answer the question. It is unknowable, just because it is cut off from all knowable relations. Can you thus prove that you-in-yourself exist beyond or behind you? In like manner our universe appears to us human beings as the phenomenal world or presentation. It might appear to other creatures of a different mental constitution as something else. We cannot ascertain how it might seem to Devas, to Asuras, to angels, and to the Almighty, if there be such beings. However different it might seem to these beings, it does not imply that the phenomenal world is unreal, nor that the realm of reality is unknowable. 'Water,' the Indian tradition has it, 'seems to man as a drink, as emerald to Devas, as bloody pus to Pretas, as houses to fishes.' Water is not a whit less real because of its seeming as houses to fishes, and fishes' houses are not less real because of its seeming as emerald to Devas. There is nothing that proves the unreality of it. It is a gross illusion to conceive reality as transcendental to appearances. Reality exists as appearances, and appearances are reality known to human beings. You cannot separate appearances from reality, and hold out the latter as the object of aspiration at the cost of the former. You must acknowledge that the so-called realm of reality which you aspire after, and which you seek for outside or behind the phenomenal universe, exists here on earth. Let Zen teachers tell you that "the world of birth and death is the realm of Nirvana"; "the earth is the pure land of Buddha." 16. The Four Alternatives and the Five Categories. There are, according to Zen, the four classes of religious and philosophical views, technically called the Four Alternatives,[FN#201] of life and of the world. The first is 'the deprivation of subject and the non-deprivation of object' that is to say, the denial of subject, or mind, or Atman, or soul, and the non-denial of object, or matter, or things--a view which denies the reality of mind and asserts the existence of things. Such a view was held by a certain school of Hinayanism, called Sarvastivada, and still is held by some philosophers called materialists or naturalists. The second is the 'deprivation of object and the non-deprivation of subject'--that is to say, the denial of object, or matter, or things, and the non-denial of subject, or mind, or spirit-a view which denies the reality of material object, and asserts the existence of spirit or ideas. Such a view was held by the Dharmalaksana School of Mahayanism, and is still held by some philosophers called idealists. The third is 'the deprivation of both subject and object'--that is to say, the denial of both subject or spirit, and of object or matter-a view which denies the reality of both physical and mental phenomena, and asserts the existence of reality that transcends the phenomenal universe. Such a view was held by the Madhyamika School of Mahayanism, and is still held by some religionists and philosophers of the present day. The fourth is 'the non-deprivation of both subject and object'--that is to say, the non-denial of subject and object--a view which holds mind and body as one and the same reality. Mind, according to this view, is reality experienced inwardly by introspection, and body is the selfsame reality observed outwardly by senses. They are one reality and one life. There also exist other persons and other beings belonging to the same life and reality; consequently all things share in one reality, and life in common with each other. This reality or life is not transcendental to mind and body, or to spirit and matter, but is the unity of them. In other words, this phenomenal world of ours is the realm of reality. This view was held by the Avatamsaka School of Mahayanism, and is still held by Zenists. Thus Zen is not materialistic, nor idealistic, nor nihilistic, but realistic and monistic in its view of the world. [FN#201] Shi-rya-ken in Japanese, the classification mostly made use of by masters of the Rin Zai School of Zen. For the details, see Ki-gai-kwan, by K. Watanabe. There are some scholars that erroneously maintain that Zen is based on the doctrine of unreality of all things expounded by Kumarajiva and his followers. Ko-ben,[FN#202] known as Myo-ye Sho-nin, said 600 years ago: "Yang Shan (Kyo-zan) asked Wei Shan (I-san): 'What shall we do when hundreds, thousands, and millions of things beset us all at once?' 'The blue are not the yellow,' replied Wei Shan, 'the long are not the short. Everything is in its own place. It has no business with you.' Wei Shan was a great Zen master. He did not teach the unreality of all things. Who can say that Zen is nihilistic?" [FN#202] A well-known scholar (1173-1232) of the Anatamsaka School of Mahayanism. Besides the Four Alternatives, Zen uses the Five Categories[FN#203] in order to explain the relation between reality and phenomena. The first is 'Relativity in Absolute,' which means that the universe appears to be consisting in relativities, owing to our relative knowledge; but these relativities are based on absolute reality. The second is 'Absolute in Relativity,' which means Absolute Reality does not remain inactive, but manifests itself as relative phenomena. The third is 'Relativity out of Absolute,' which means Absolute Reality is all in all, and relative phenomena come out of it as its secondary and subordinate forms. The fourth is 'Absolute up to Relativity,' which means relative phenomena always play an important part on the stage of the world; it is through these phenomena that Absolute Reality comes to be understood. The fifth is the 'Union of both Absolute and Relativity,' which means Absolute Reality is not fundamental or essential to relative phenomena, nor relative phenomena subordinate or secondary to Absolute Reality--that is to say, they are one and the same cosmic life, Absolute Reality being that life experienced inwardly by intuition, while relative phenomena are the same life outwardly observed by senses. The first four Categories are taught to prepare the student's mind for the acceptance of the last one, which reveals the most profound truth. [FN#203] Go-i in Japanese, mostly used by the So-To School of Zen. The detailed explanation is given in Go-i-ken-ketsu. 17. Personalism of B. P. Bowne. B. P. Bowne[FN#204] says: They (phenomena) are not phantoms or illusions, nor are they masks of a back-lying reality which is trying to peer through them." "The antithesis," he continues,[FN#205] "of phenomena and noumena rests on the fancy that there is something that rests behind phenomena which we ought to perceive but cannot, because the masking phenomena thrusts itself between the reality and us." Just so far we agree with Bowne, but we think he is mistaken in sharply distinguishing between body and self, saying:[FN#206] "We ourselves are invisible. The physical organism is only an instrument for expressing and manifesting the inner life, but the living self is never seen." "Human form," he argues,[FN#207] "as an object in space apart from our experience of it as the instrument and expression of personal life, would have little beauty or attraction; and when it is described in anatomical terms, there is nothing in it that we should desire it. The secret of its beauty and its value lies in the invisible realm." "The same is true," he says again, "of literature. It does not exist in space, or in time, or in books, or in libraries . . . all that could be found there would be black marks on a white paper, and collections of these bound together in various forms, which would be all the eyes could see. But this would not be literature, for literature has its existence only in mind and for mind as an expression of mind, and it is simply impossible and meaningless in abstraction from mind." "Our human history"--he gives another illustration[FN#208]--"never existed in space, and never could so exist. If some visitor from Mars should come to the earth and look at all that goes on in space in connection with human beings, he would never get any hint of its real significance. He would be confined to integrations and dissipations of matter and motion. He could describe the masses and grouping of material things, but in all this be would get no suggestion of the inner life which gives significance to it all. As conceivably a bird might sit on a telegraph instrument and become fully aware of the clicks of the machine without any suspicion of the existence or meaning of the message, or a dog could see all that eye can see in a book yet without any hint of its meaning, or a savage could gaze at the printed score of an opera without ever suspecting its musical import, so this supposed visitor would be absolutely cut off by an impassable gulf from the real seat and significance of human history. The great drama of life, with its likes and dislikes, its loves and hates, its ambitions and strivings, and manifold ideas, inspirations, aspirations, is absolutely foreign to space, and could never in any way be discovered in space. So human history has its seat in the invisible." [FN#204] 'Personalism,' p. 94. [FN#205] Ibid., p. 95. [FN#206] Ibid., p. 268. [FN#207] Ibid., p. 271. [FN#208] 'Personalism,' pp. 272, 273. In the first place, Bowne's conception of the physical organism as but an instrument for the expression of the inner, personal life, just as the telegraphic apparatus is the instrument for the expression of messages, is erroneous, because body is not a mere instrument of inner personal life, but an essential constituent of it. Who can deny that one's physical conditions determine one's character or personality? Who can overlook the fact that one's bodily conditions positively act upon one's personal life? There is no physical organism which remains as a mere passive mechanical instrument of inner life within the world of experience. Moreover, individuality, or personality, or self, or inner life, whatever you may call it, conceived as absolutely independent of physical condition, is sheer abstraction. There is no such concrete personality or individuality within our experience. In the second place, he conceives the physical organism simply as a mark or symbol, and inner personal life as the thing marked or symbolized; so he compares physical forms with paper, types, books, and libraries, and inner life, with literature. In so doing he overlooks the essential and inseparable connection between the physical organism and inner life, because there is no essential inseparable connection between a mark or symbol and the thing marked or symbolized. The thing may adopt any other mark or symbol. The black marks on the white paper, to use his figure, are not essential to literature. Literature may be expressed by singing, or by speech, or by a series of pictures. But is there inner life expressed, or possible to be expressed, in any other form save physical organism? We must therefore acknowledge that inner life is identical with physical organism, and that reality is one and the same as appearance. 18. All the Worlds in Ten Directions are Buddha's Holy Land. We are to resume this problem in the following chapter. Suffice it to say for the present it is the law of Universal Life that manifoldness is in unity, and unity is in manifoldness; difference is in agreement, and agreement in difference; confliction is in harmony, and harmony in confliction; parts are in the whole, and the whole is in parts; constancy is in change, and change in constancy; good is in bad, and bad in good; integration is in disintegration, and disintegration is in integration; peace is in disturbance, and disturbance in peace. We can find something celestial among the earthly. We can notice something glorious in the midst of the base and degenerated. 'There are nettles everywhere, but are not smooth, green grasses more common still?' Can you recognize something awe-inspiring in the rise and fall of nations? Can you not recognize something undisturbed and peaceful among disturbance and trouble? Has not even grass some meaning? Does not even a stone tell the mystery of Life? Does not the immutable law of good sway over human affairs after all, as Tennyson says- "I can but trust that good shall fall At last-far off-at last, to all." Has not each of us a light within him, whatever degrees of lustre there may be? Was Washington in the wrong when he said: "Labour to keep alive in your heart that little spark of celestial fire called conscience." We are sure that we can realize the celestial bliss in this very world, if we keep alive the Enlightened Consciousness, of which Bodhidharma and his followers showed the example. 'All the worlds in ten directions are Buddha's Holy Lands!' That Land of Bliss and Glory exists above us, under us, around us, within us, without us, if we open our eyes to see. 'Nirvana is in life itself,' if we enjoy it with admiration and love. "Life and death are the life of Buddha," says Do-gen. Everywhere the Elysian gates stand open, if we do not shut them up by ourselves. Shall we starve ourselves refusing to accept the rich bounty which the Blessed Life offers to us? Shall we perish in the darkness of scepticism, shutting our eyes to the light of Tathagata? Shall we suffer from innumerable pains in the self-created hell where remorse, jealousy, and hatred feed the fire of anger? Let us pray to Buddha, not in word only, but in the deed of generosity and tolerance, in the character noble and loving, and in the personality sublime and good. Let us pray to Buddha to save us from the hell of greed and folly, to deliver us from the thraldom of temptation. Let us 'enter the Holy of Holies in admiration and wonder.' CHAPTER VII LIFE 1. Epicureanism and Life. There are a good many people always buoyant in spirit and mirthful in appearance as if born optimists. There are also no fewer persons constantly crestfallen and gloomy as if born pessimists. The former, however, may lose their buoyancy and sink deep in despair if they are in adverse circumstances. The latter, too, may regain their brightness and grow exultant if they are under prosperous conditions. As there is no evil however small but may cause him to groan under it, who has his heart undisciplined, so there is no calamity however great but may cause him to despair, who has his feelings in control. A laughing child would cry, a crying child would laugh, without a sufficient cause. 'It can be teased or tickled into anything.' A grown-up child is he who cannot hold sway over his passions. He should die a slave to his heart, which is wayward and blind, if he be indulgent to it. It is of capital importance for us to discipline the heart,[FN#209] otherwise it will discipline us. Passions are like legs. They should be guided by the eye of reason. No wise serpent is led by its tail, so no wise man is led by his passion. Passions that come first are often treacherous and lead us astray. We must guard ourselves against them. In order to gratify them there arise mean desires-the desires to please sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch. These five desires are ever pursuing or, rather, driving us. We must not spend our whole lives in pursuit of those mirage-like objects which gratify our sensual desires. When we gratify one desire, we are silly enough to fancy that we have realized true happiness. But one desire gratified begets another stronger and more insatiable. Thirst allayed with salt water becomes more intense than ever. [FN#209] Compare Gaku-do-yo-jin-shu, chap. i., and Zen-kwan-saku shin. Shakya Muni compared an Epicurean with a dog chewing a dry bone, mistaking the blood out of a wound in his mouth for that of the bone. The author of Mahaparinirvana-sutra[FN#210] has a parable to the following effect: 'Once upon a time a hunter skilled in catching monkeys alive went into the wood. He put something very sticky on the ground, and hid himself among the bushes. By-and-by a monkey came out to see what it was, and supposing it to be something eatable, tried to feed on it. It stuck to the poor creature's snout so firmly that he could not shake it off. Then he attempted to tear it off with both his paws, which also stuck to it. Thereupon he strove to kick it off with both his hind-legs, which were caught too. Then the hunter came out, and thrusting his stick through between the paws and hind-legs of the victim, and thus carrying it on his shoulder, went home.' In like manner an Epicurean (the monkey), allured by the objects of sense (something sticky), sticks to the five desires (the snout and the four limbs), and being caught by Temptation (the hunter), loses his life of Wisdom. [FN#210] The sutra translated by Hwui Yen and Hwui Kwan, A.D. 424-453. We are no more than a species of monkeys, as evolutionists hold. Not a few testify to this truth by their being caught by means of 'something eatable.' We abolished slavery and call ourselves civilized nations. Have we not, nevertheless, hundreds of life-long slaves to cigars among us? Have we not thousands of life-long slaves to spirits among us? Have we not hundreds of thousands of life-long slaves to gold among us? Have we not myriads of lifelong slaves to vanity among us? These slaves are incredibly loyal to, and incessantly work for, their masters, who in turn bestow on them incurable diseases, poverty, chagrin, and disappointment. A poor puppy with an empty can tied to his tail, Thomas Carlyle wittily observes, ran and ran on, frightened by the noise of the can. The more rapidly he ran, the more loudly it rang, and at last he fell exhausted of running. Was it not typical of a so-called great man of the world? Vanity tied an empty can of fame to his tail, the hollow noise of which drives him through life until he falls to rise no more. Miserable! Neither these men of the world nor Buddhist ascetics can be optimists. The latter rigorously deny themselves sensual gratifications, and keep themselves aloof from all objects of pleasure. For them to be pleased is equivalent to sin, and to laugh, to be cursed. They would rather touch an adder's head than a piece of money.[FN#211] They would rather throw themselves into a fiery furnace than to come in contact with the other sex. Body for them is a bag full of blood and pus;[FN#212] life, an idle, or rather evil, dream. Vegetarianism and celibacy are their holy privileges. Life is unworthy of having; to put an end to it is their deliverance.[FN#213] Such a view of life is hardly worth our refutation. [FN#211] Such is the precept taught in the Vinaya of Hinayanists. [FN#212] See Mahasatiptthana Suttanta, 2-13. [FN#213] This is the logical conclusion of Hinayanism. 2. The Errors of Philosophical Pessimists and Religious Optimists. Philosophical pessimists[FN#214] maintain that there are on earth many more causes of pain than of pleasure; and that pain exists positively, but pleasure is a mere absence of pain because we are conscious of sickness but not of health; of loss, but not of possession. On the contrary, religious optimists insist that there must not be any evil in God's universe, that evil has no independent nature, but simply denotes a privation of good--that is, evil is null, is nought, is silence implying sound.' [FN#214] Schopenhauer, 'The World as Will and Idea' (R. B. Haldane and J. Kemp's translation, vol. iii., pp. 384-386); Hartman, 'Philosophy of the Unconsciousness' (W. C. Coupland's translation, vol. iii., pp. 12-119). No matter what these one-sided observers' opinion may be, we are certain that we experience good as well as evil, and feel pain and pleasure as well. Neither can we alleviate the real sufferings of the sick by telling them that sickness is no other than the absence of health, nor can we make the poor a whit richer by telling them that poverty is a mere absence of riches. How could we save the dying by persuading them that death is a bare privation of life? Is it possible to dispirit the happy by telling them that happiness is unreal, or make the fortunate miserable by telling them that fortune has no objective reality, or to make one welcome evil by telling one that it is only the absence of good? You must admit there are no definite external causes of pain nor those of pleasure, for one and the same thing causes pain at one time and pleasure at another. A cause of delight to one person turns out to be that of aversion to another. A dying miser might revive at the sight of gold, yet a Diogenes would pass without noticing it. Cigars and wine are blessed gifts of heaven to the intemperate,[FN#215] but accursed poison to the temperate. Some might enjoy a long life, but others would heartily desire to curtail it. Some might groan under a slight indisposition, while others would whistle away a life of serious disease. An Epicure might be taken prisoner by poverty, yet an Epictetus would fearlessly face and vanquish him. How, then, do you distinguish the real cause of pain from that of pleasure? How do you know the causes of one are more numerous than the causes of the other? [FN#215] The author of Han Shu (Kan Sho) calls spirits the gift of Heaven. Expose thermometers of several kinds to one and the same temperature. One will indicate, say, 60°, another as high as 100°, another as low as 15°. Expose the thermometers of human sensibilities, which are of myriads of different kinds, to one and the same temperature of environment. None of them will indicate the same degrees. In one and the same climate, which we think moderate, the Eskimo would be washed with perspiration, while the Hindu would shudder with cold. Similarly, under one and the same circumstance some might be extremely miserable and think it unbearable, yet others would be contented and happy. Therefore we may safely conclude that there are no definite external causes of pain and pleasure, and that there must be internal causes which modify the external. 3. The Law of Balance. Nature governs the world with her law of balance. She puts things ever in pairs,[FN#216] and leaves nothing in isolation. Positives stand in opposition to negatives, actives to passives, males to females, and so on. Thus we get the ebb in opposition to the flood tide; the centrifugal force to the centripetal; attraction to repulsion; growth to decay; toxin to antitoxin; light to shade; action to reaction; unity to variety; day to night; the animate to the inanimate. Look at our own bodies: the right eye is placed side by side with the left; the left shoulder with the right; the right lung with the left; the left hemisphere of the brain with that of the right; and so forth. [FN#216] Zenists call them 'pairs of opposites.' It holds good also in human affairs: advantage is always accompanied by disadvantage; loss by gain; convenience by inconvenience; good by evil; rise by fall; prosperity by adversity; virtue by vice; beauty by deformity; pain by pleasure; youth by old age; life by death. 'A handsome young lady of quality,' a parable in Mahaparinirvana-sutra tells us, 'who carries with her an immense treasure is ever accompanied by her sister, an ugly woman in rags, who destroys everything within her reach. If we win the former, we must also get the latter.' As pessimists show intense dislike towards the latter and forget the former, so optimists admire the former so much that they are indifferent to the latter. 4. Life Consists in Conflict. Life consists in conflict. So long as man remains a social animal he cannot live in isolation. All individual hopes and aspirations depend on society. Society is reflected in the individual, and the individual in society. In spite of this, his inborn free will and love of liberty seek to break away from social ties. He is also a moral animal, and endowed with love and sympathy. He loves his fellow-beings, and would fain promote their welfare; but he must be engaged in constant struggle against them for existence. He sympathizes even with animals inferior to him, and heartily wishes to protect them; yet he is doomed to destroy their lives day and night. He has many a noble aspiration, and often soars aloft by the wings of imagination into the realm of the ideal; still his material desires drag him down to the earth. He lives on day by day to continue his life, but he is unfailingly approaching death at every moment. The more he secures new pleasure, spiritual or material, the more he incurs pain not yet experienced. One evil removed only gives place to another; one advantage gained soon proves itself a disadvantage. His very reason is the cause of his doubt and suspicion; his intellect, with which he wants to know everything, declares itself to be incapable of knowing anything in its real state; his finer sensibility, which is the sole source of finer pleasure, has to experience finer suffering. The more he asserts himself, the more he has to sacrifice himself. These conflictions probably led Kant to call life "a trial time, wherein most succumb, and in which even the best does not rejoice in his life." "Men betake themselves," says Fichte, "to the chase after felicity. . . . But as soon as they withdraw into themselves and ask themselves, 'Am I now happy?' the reply comes distinctly from the depth of their soul, 'Oh no; thou art still just as empty and destitute as before!' . . . They will in the future life just as vainly seek blessedness as they have sought it in the present life." It is not without reason that the pessimistic minds came to conclude that 'the unrest of unceasing willing and desiring by which every creature is goaded is in itself unblessedness,' and that 'each creature is in constant danger, constant agitation, and the whole, with its restless, meaningless motion, is a tragedy of the most piteous kind.' 'A creature like the carnivorous animal, who cannot exist at all without continually destroying and tearing others, may not feel its brutality, but man, who has to prey on other sentient beings like the carnivorous, is intelligent enough, as hard fate would have it, to know and feel his own brutal living.' He must be the most miserable of all creatures, for he is most conscious of his own misery. Furthermore, 'he experiences not only the misfortunes which actually befall him, but in imagination he goes through every possibility of evil.' Therefore none, from great kings and emperors down to nameless beggars, can be free from cares and anxieties, which 'ever flit around them like ghosts.' 5. The Mystery of Life. Thus far we have pointed out the inevitable conflictions in life in order to prepare ourselves for an insight into the depth of life. We are far from being pessimistic, for we believe that life consists in confliction, but that confliction does not end in confliction, but in a new form of harmony. Hope comes to conflict with fear, and is often threatened with losing its hold on mind; then it renews its life and takes root still deeper than before. Peace is often disturbed with wars, but then it gains a still firmer ground than ever. Happiness is driven out of mind by melancholy, then it is re-enforced by favourable conditions and returns with double strength. Spirit is dragged down by matter from its ideal heaven, then, incited by shame, it tries a higher flight. Good is opposed by evil, then it gathers more strength and vanquishes its foe. Truth is clouded by falsehood, then it issues forth with its greater light. Liberty is endangered by tyranny, then it overthrows it with a splendid success. Manifoldness stands out boldly against unity; difference against agreement; particularity against generality; individuality against society. Manifoldness, nevertheless, instead of annihilating, enriches unity; difference, instead of destroying agreement, gives it variety; particularities, instead of putting an end to generality, increase its content; individuals, instead of breaking the harmony of society, strengthen the power of it. Thus 'Universal Life does not swallow up manifoldness nor extinguish differences, but it is the only means of bringing to its full development the detailed content of reality; in particular, it does not abolish the great oppositions of life and world, but takes them up into itself and brings them into fruitful relations with each other.' Therefore 'our life is a mysterious blending of freedom and necessity, power and limitation, caprice and law; yet these opposites are constantly seeking and finding a mutual adjustment.' 6. Nature Favours Nothing in Particular. There is another point of view of life, which gave the present writer no small contentment, and which he believes would cure one of pessimistic complaint. Buddha, or Universal Life conceived by Zen, is not like a capricious despot, who acts not seldom against his own laws. His manifestation as shown in the Enlightened Consciousness is lawful, impartial, and rational. Buddhists believe that even Shakya Muni himself was not free from the law of retribution, which includes, in our opinion, the law of balance and that of causation. Now let us briefly examine how the law of balance holds its sway over life and the world. When the Cakravartin, according to an Indian legend, the universal monarch, would come to govern the earth, a wheel would also appear as one of his treasures, and go on rolling all over the world, making everything level and smooth. Buddha is the spiritual Cakravartin, whose wheel is the wheel of the law of balance, with which he governs all things equally and impartially. First let us observe the simplest cases where the law of balance holds good. Four men can finish in three days the same amount of work as is done by three men in four days. The increase in the number of men causes the decrease in that of days, the decrease in the number of men causes the increase in that of days, the result being always the same. Similarly the increase in the sharpness of a knife is always accompanied by a decrease in its durability, and the increase of durability by a decrease of sharpness. The more beautiful flowers grow, the uglier their fruits become; the prettier the fruits grow, the simpler become their flowers. 'A strong soldier is ready to die; a strong tree is easy to be broken; hard leather is easy to be torn. But the soft tongue survives the hard teeth.' Horned creatures are destitute of tusks, the sharp-tusked creatures lack horns. Winged animals are not endowed with paws, and handed animals are provided with no wings. Birds of beautiful plumage have no sweet voice, and sweet-voiced songsters no feathers of bright colours. The finer in quality, the smaller in quantity, and bulkier in size, the coarser in nature. Nature favours nothing in particular. So everything has its advantage and disadvantage as well. What one gains on the one hand one loses on the other. The ox is competent in drawing a heavy cart, but he is absolutely incompetent in catching mice. A shovel is fit for digging, but not for ear-picking. Aeroplanes are good for aviation, but not for navigation. Silkworms feed on mulberry leaves and make silk from it, but they can do nothing with other leaves. Thus everything has its own use or a mission appointed by Nature; and if we take advantage of it, nothing is useless, but if not, all are useless. 'The neck of the crane may seem too long to some idle on-lookers, but there is no surplus in it. The limbs of the tortoise may appear too short, but there is no shortcoming in them.' The centipede, having a hundred limbs, can find no useless feet; the serpent, having no foot, feels no want. 7. The Law of Balance in Life. It is also the case with human affairs. Social positions high or low, occupations spiritual or temporal, work rough or gentle, education perfect or imperfect, circumstances needy or opulent, each has its own advantage as well as disadvantage. The higher the position the graver the responsibilities, the lower the rank the lighter the obligation. The director of a large bank can never be so careless as his errand-boy who may stop on the street to throw a stone at a sparrow; nor can the manager of a large plantation have as good a time on a rainy day as his day-labourers who spend it in gambling. The accumulation of wealth is always accompanied by its evils; no Rothschild nor Rockefeller can be happier than a poor pedlar. A mother of many children may be troubled by her noisy little ones and envy her sterile friend, who in turn may complain of her loneliness; but if they balance what they gain with what they lose, they will find the both sides are equal. The law of balance strictly forbids one's monopoly of happiness. It applies its scorpion whip to anyone who is given to pleasures. Joy in extremity lives next door to exceeding sorrow. "Where there is much light," says Goethe, "shadow is deep." Age, withered and disconsolate, lurks under the skirts of blooming youth. The celebration of birthday is followed by the commemoration of death. Marriage might be supposed to be the luckiest event in one's life, but the widow's tears and the orphan's sufferings also might be its outcome. But for the former the latter can never be. The death of parents is indeed the unluckiest event in the son's life, but it may result in the latter's inheritance of an estate, which is by no means unlucky. The disease of a child may cause its parents grief, but it is a matter of course that it lessens the burden of their livelihood. Life has its pleasures, but also its pains. Death has no pleasure of life, but also none of its pain. So that if we balance their smiles and tears, life and death are equal. It is not wise for us, therefore, to commit suicide while the terms of our life still remain, nor to fear death when there is no way of avoiding it. Again, the law of balance does not allow anyone to take the lion's share of nature's gifts. Beauty in face is accompanied by deformity in character. Intelligence is often uncombined with virtue. "Fair girls are destined to be unfortunate," says a Japanese proverb, "and men of ability to be sickly." "He makes no friend who never makes a foe." "Honesty is next to idiocy." "Men of genius," says Longfellow, "are often dull and inert in society; as the blazing meteor when it descends to earth is only a stone." Honour and shame go hand in hand. Knowledge and virtue live in poverty, while ill health and disease are inmates of luxury. Every misfortune begets some sort of fortune, while every good luck gives birth to some sort of bad luck. Every prosperity never fails to sow seeds of adversity, while every fall never fails to bring about some kind of rise. We must not, then, despair in days of frost and snow, reminding ourselves of sunshine and flowers that follow them; nor must we be thoughtless in days of youth and health, keeping in mind old age and ill health that are in the rear of them. In brief, all, from crowns and coronets down to rags and begging bowls, have their own happiness and share heavenly grace alike. 8. The Application of the Law of Causation to Morals. Although it may be needless to state here the law of causation at any length, yet it is not equally needless to say a few words about its application to morals as the law of retribution, which is a matter of dispute even among Buddhist scholars. The kernel of the idea is very simple-like seed, like fruit; like cause, like effect; like action, like influence--nothing more. As fresh air strengthens and impure air chokes us, so good conduct brings about good consequence, and bad conduct does otherwise.[FN#217] [FN#217] Zen lays much stress on this law. See Shu-sho-gi and Ei-hei-ka-kun, by Do-gen. Over against these generalizations we raise no objection, but there are many cases, in practical life, of doubtful nature. An act of charity, for example, might do others some sort of damage, as is often the case with the giving of alms to the poor, which may produce the undesirable consequence of encouraging beggary. An act of love might produce an injurious effect, as the mother's love often spoils her children. Some[FN#218] may think these are cases of good cause and bad effect. We have, however, to analyze these causes and effects in order to find in what relation they stand. In the first case the good action of almsgiving produces the good effect of lessening the sufferings of the poor, who should be thankful for their benefactor. The giver is rewarded in his turn by the peace and satisfaction of his conscience. The poor, however, when used to being given alms are inclined to grow lazy and live by means of begging. Therefore the real cause of the bad effect is the thoughtlessness of both the giver and the given, but not charity itself. In the second case the mother's love and kindness produce a good effect on her and her children, making them all happy, and enabling them to enjoy the pleasure of the sweet home; yet carelessness and folly on the part of the mother and ingratitude on the part of the children may bring about the bad effect. [FN#218] Dr. H. Kato seems to have thought that good cause may bring out bad effect when he attacked Buddhism on this point. History is full of numerous cases in which good persons were so unfortunate as to die a miserable death or to live in extreme poverty, side by side with those cases in which bad people lived in health and prosperity, enjoying a long life. Having these cases in view, some are of the opinion that there is no law of retribution as believed by the Buddhists. And even among the Buddhist scholars themselves there are some who think of the law of retribution as an ideal, and not as a law governing life. This is probably due to their misunderstanding of the historical facts. There is no reason because he is good and honourable that he should be wealthy or healthy; nor is there any reason because he is bad that he should be poor or sickly. To be good is one thing, and to be healthy or rich is another. So also to be bad is one thing, And to be poor and sick is another. The good are not necessarily the rich or the healthy, nor are the bad necessarily the sick or the poor. Health must be secured by the strict observance of hygienic rules, and not by the keeping of ethical precepts; nor can wealth ever be accumulated by bare morality, but by economical and industrial activity. The moral conduct of a good person has no responsibility for his ill health or poverty; so also the immoral action of a bad person has no concern with his wealth or health. You should not confuse the moral with the physical law, since the former belongs only to human life, while the latter to the physical world. The good are rewarded morally, not physically; their own virtues, honours, mental peace, and satisfaction are ample compensation for their goodness. Confucius, for example, was never rich nor high in rank; he was, nevertheless, morally rewarded with his virtues, honours, and the peace of mind. The following account of him,[FN#219] though not strictly historical, well explains his state of mind in the days of misfortune: "When Confucius was reduced to extreme distress between Khan and Zhai, for seven days he had no cooked meat to eat, but only some soup of coarse vegetables without any rice in it. His countenance wore the appearance of great exhaustion, and yet be kept playing on his lute and singing inside the house. Yen Hui (was outside) selecting the vegetables, while Zze Lu and Zze Kung were talking together, and said to him: 'The master has twice been driven from Lu; he had to flee from Wei; the tree beneath which he rested was cut down in Sung; he was reduced to extreme distress in Shang and Kau; he is held in a state of siege here between Khan and Zhai; anyone who kills him will be held guiltless; there is no prohibition against making him a prisoner. And yet he keeps playing and singing, thrumming his lute without ceasing. Can a superior man be without the feeling of shame to such an extent as this?' Yen Hui gave them no reply, but went in and told (their words) to Confucius, who pushed aside his lute and said: 'Yu and Zhze are small men. Call them here, and I will explain the thing to them.' [FN#219] The account is given by Chwang Tsz in his book, vol. xviii., p. 17. "When they came in, Zze Lu said: 'Your present condition may be called one of extreme distress!' Confucius replied: 'What words are these? When the superior man has free course with his principles, that is what we call his success; when such course is denied, that is what we call his failure. Now I hold in my embrace the principles of righteousness and benevolence, and with them meet the evils of a disordered age; where is the proof of my being in extreme distress? Therefore, looking inwards and examining myself, I have no difficulties about my principles; though I encounter such difficulties (as the present), I do not lose my virtue. It is when winter's cold is come, and the hoar-frost and snow are falling, that we know the vegetative power of the pine and cypress. This distress between Khan and Zhai is fortunate for me.' He then took back his lute so that it emitted a twanging sound, and began to play and sing. (At the same time) Zze Lu hurriedly seized a shield and began to dance, while Zze Kung said: 'I did not know (before) the height of heaven nor the depth of earth!'" Thus the good are unfailingly rewarded with their own virtue, and the wholesome consequences of their actions on society at large. And the bad are inevitably recompensed with their own vices, and the injurious effects of their actions on their fellow-beings. This is the unshaken conviction of humanity, past, present, and future. It is the pith and marrow of our moral ideal. It is the crystallization of ethical truths, distilled through long experiences from time immemorial to this day. We can safely approve Edwin Arnold, as he says: "Lo I as hid seed shoots after rainless years, So good and evil, pains and pleasures, hates And loves, and all dead deeds come forth again, Bearing bright leaves, or dark, sweet fruit or sour." Longfellow also says: "No action, whether foul or fair, Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere A record-as a blessing or a curse." 9. Retribution[FN#220] in the Past, the Present, and the Future Life. Then a question suggests itself: If there be no soul that survives body (as shown in the preceding chapter), who will receive the retributions of our actions in the present life? To answer this question, we have to restate our conviction that life is one and the same; in other words, the human beings form one life or one self--that is to say, our ancestors in the past formed man's past life. We ourselves now form man's present life, and our posterity will form the future life. Beyond all doubt, all actions of man in the past have brought their fruits on the present conditions of man, and all actions of the present man are sure to influence the conditions of the future man. To put it in another way, we now reap the fruits of what we sowed in our past life (or when we lived as our fathers), and again shall reap the fruits of what we now sow in our future life (or when we shall live as our posterity). There is no exception to this rigorous law of retribution, and we take it as the will of Buddha to leave no action without being retributed. Thus it is Buddha himself who kindles our inward fire to save ourselves from sin and crimes. We must purge out all the stains in our hearts, obeying Buddha's command audible in the innermost self of ours. It is the great mercy of His that, however sinful, superstitious, wayward, and thoughtless, we have still a light within us which is divine in its nature. When that light shines forth, all sorts of sin are destroyed at once. What is our sin, after all? It is nothing but illusion or error originating in ignorance and folly. How true it is, as an Indian Mahayanist declares, that 'all frost and the dewdrops of sin disappear in the sunshine of wisdom!'[FN#221] Even if we might be imprisoned in the bottomless bell, yet let once the Light of Buddha shine upon us, it would be changed into heaven. Therefore the author of Mahakarunika-sutra[FN#222] says: "When I climb the mountain planted with swords, they would break under my tread. When I sail on the sea of blood, it will be dried up. When I arrive at Hades, they will be ruined at once." [FN#220] The retribution cannot be explained by the doctrine of the transmigration of the soul, for it is incompatible with the fundamental doctrine of non-soul. See Abhidharmamahavibhasa-castra, vol. cxiv. [FN#221] Samantabhadra-dhyana-sutra. [FN#222] Nanjo's Catalogue, No. 117. 10. The Eternal Life as taught by Professor Munsterberg. Some philosophical pessimists undervalue life simply because it is subject to limitation. They ascribe all evils to that condition, forgetting that without limitation life is a mere blank. Suppose our sight could see all things at once, then sight has no value nor use for us, because it is life's purpose to choose to see one thing or another out of many; and if all things be present at once before us through sight, it is of no purpose. The same is true of intellect, bearing, smell, touch, feeling, and will. If they be limitless, they cease to be useful for us. Individuality necessarily implies limitation, hence if there be no limitation in the world, then there is no room for individuality. Life without death is no life at all. Professor Hugo Munsterberg finds no value, so it seems to me, in 'such life as beginning with birth and ending with death.' He says:[FN#223] "My life as a causal system of physical and psychological processes, which lies spread out in time between the dates of my birth and of my death, will come to an end with my last breath; to continue it, to make it go on till the earth falls into the sun, or a billion times longer, would be without any value, as that kind of life which is nothing but the mechanical occurrence of physiological and psychological phenomena had as such no ultimate value for me or for you, or for anyone, at any time. But my real life, as a system of interrelated-will-attitudes, has nothing before or after because it is beyond time. It is independent of birth and death because it cannot be related to biological events; it is not born, and will not die; it is immortal; all possible thinkable time is enclosed in it; it is eternal." [FN#223] 'The Eternal Life,' p. 26. Professor Munsterberg tries to distinguish sharply life as the causal system of physiological and psychological processes, and life as a system of interrelated-will-attitudes, and denounces the former as fleeting and valueless, in order to prize the latter as eternal and of absolute value. How could he, however, succeed in his task unless he has two or three lives, as some animals are believed to have? Is it not one and the same life that is treated on the one hand by science as a system of physiological and psychological processes, and is conceived on the other by the Professor himself as a system of interrelated-will-attitudes? It is true that science treats of life as it is observed in time, space, and causality, and it estimates it of no value, since to estimate the value of things is no business of science. The same life observed as a system of interrelated-will-attitudes is independent of time, space, and causality as he affirms. One and the same life includes both phases, the difference being in the points of view of the observers. Life as observed only from the scientific point of view is bare abstraction; it is not concrete life; nor is life as observed only in the interrelated-will-attitude point of view the whole of life. Both are abstractions. Concrete life includes both phases. Moreover, Professor Munsterberg sees life in the relationship entirely independent-of time, space, and causality, saying: "If you agree or disagree with the latest act of the Russian Czar, the only significant relation which exists between him and you has nothing to do with the naturalistic fact that geographically 'an ocean lies between you; and if you are really a student of Plato, your only important relation to the Greek philosopher has nothing to do with the other naturalistic fact that biologically two thousand years lie between you"; and declares life (seen from that point of view) to be immortal and eternal. This is as much as to say that life, when seen in the relationship independent of time and space, is independent of time and space-that is, immortal and eternal. Is it not mere tautology? He is in the right in insisting that life can be seen from the scientific point of view as a system of physiological and psychological processes, and at the same time as a system of interrelated-will-attitudes independent of time and space. But he cannot by that means prove the existence of concrete individual life which is eternal and immortal, because that which is independent of time and space is the relationship in which he observes life, but not life itself. Therefore we have to notice that life held by Professor Munsterberg to be eternal and immortal is quite a different thing from the eternal life or immortality of soul believed by common sense. 11. Life in the Concrete. Life in the concrete, which we are living, greatly differs from life in the abstract, which exists only in the class-room. It is not eternal; it is fleeting; it is full of anxieties, pains, struggles, brutalities, disappointments, and calamities. We love life, however, -not only for its smoothness, but for its roughness; not only for its pleasure, but for its pain; not only for its hope, but for its fear; not only for its flowers, but for its frost and snow. As Issai[FN#224] (Sato) has aptly put it: "Prosperity is like spring, in which we have green leaves and flowers wherever we go; while adversity is like winter, in which we have snow and ice. Spring, of course, pleases us; winter, too, displeases us not." Adversity is salt to our lives, as it keeps them from corruption, no matter how bitter to taste it way be. It is the best stimulus to body and mind, since it brings forth latent energy that may remain dormant but for it. Most people hunt after pleasure, look for good luck, hunger after success, and complain of pain, ill-luck, and failure. It does not occur to them that 'they who make good luck a god are all unlucky men,' as George Eliot has wisely observed. Pleasure ceases to be pleasure when we attain to it; another sort of pleasure displays itself to tempt us. It is a mirage, it beckons to us to lead us astray. When an overwhelming misfortune looks us in the face, our latent power is sure to be aroused to grapple with it. Even delicate girls exert the power of giants at the time of emergency; even robbers or murderers are found to be kind and generous when we are thrown into a common disaster. Troubles and difficulties call forth our divine force, which lies deeper than the ordinary faculties, and which we never before dreamed we possessed. [FN#224] A noted scholar (1772-1859) and author, who belonged to the Wang School of Confucianism. See Gen-shi-roku. 12. Difficulties are no Match for the Optimist. How can we suppose that we, the children of Buddha, are put at the mercy of petty troubles, or intended to be crushed by obstacles? Are we not endowed with inner force to fight successfully against obstacles and difficulties, and to wrest trophies of glory from hardships? Are we to be slaves to the vicissitudes of fortune? Are we doomed to be victims for the jaws of the environment? It is not external obstacles themselves, but our inner fear and doubt that prove to be the stumbling-blocks in the path to success; not material loss, but timidity and hesitation that ruin us for ever. Difficulties are no match for the optimist, who does not fly from them, but welcomes them. He has a mental prism which can separate the insipid white light of existence into bright hues. He has a mental alchemy by which he can produce golden instruction out of the dross of failure. He has a spiritual magic which makes the nectar of joy out of the tears of sorrow. He has a clairvoyant eye that can perceive the existence of hope through the iron walls of despair. Prosperity tends to make one forget the grace of Buddha, but adversity brings forth one's religious conviction. Christ on the cross was more Christ than Jesus at the table. Luther at war with the Pope was more Luther than he at peace. Nichi-ren[FN#225] laid the foundation of his church when sword and sceptre threatened him with death. Shin-ran[FN#226] and Hen-en[FN#227] established their respective faiths when they were exiled. When they were exiled, they complained not, resented not, regretted not, repented not, lamented not, but contentedly and joyously they met with their inevitable calamity and conquered it. Ho-nen is said to have been still more joyous and contented when be bad suffered from a serious disease, because he had the conviction that his desired end was at hand. [FN#225] The founder (1222-1282) of the Nichi Ren Sect, who was exiled in 1271 to the Island of Sado. For the history and doctrine of the Sect, see I A Short History of the Twelve Japanese Buddhist Sects,' by B. Nanjo, pp. 132-147. [FN#226] The founder (1173-1262) of the Shin Sect, who was banished to the province of Eechigo in 1207. See Nanjo's 'History,' pp. 122-131. [FN#227] The founder (1131 1212) of the Jo Do Sect, who was exiled to the Island of Tosa in 1207. See Nanjo's 'History,' pp. 104-113. A Chinese monk, E Kwai by name, one day seated himself in a quiet place among hills and practised Dhyana. None was there to disturb the calm enjoyment of his meditation. The genius of the hill was so much stung by his envy that he made up his mind to break by surprise the mental serenity of the monk. Having supposed nothing ordinary would be effective, he appeared all on a sudden before the man, assuming the frightful form of a headless monster. E Kwai being disturbed not a whit, calmly eyed the monster, and observed with a smile: "Thou hast no head, monster! How happy thou shouldst be, for thou art in no danger of losing thy head, nor of suffering from headache!" Were we born headless, should we not be happy, as we have to suffer from no headache? Were we born eyeless, should we not be happy, as we are in no danger of suffering from eye disease? Ho Ki Ichi,[FN#228] a great blind scholar, was one evening giving a lecture, without knowing that the light had been put out by the wind. When his pupils requested him to stop for a moment, he remarked with a smile: "Why, how inconvenient are your eyes!" Where there is contentment, there is Paradise. [FN#228] Hanawa (1746-1821), who published Gun-sho-rui-zu in 1782. 13. Do Thy Best and Leave the Rest to Providence. There is another point of view which enables us to enjoy life. It is simply this, that everything is placed in the condition best for itself, as it is the sum total of the consequences of its actions and reactions since the dawn of time. Take, for instance, the minutest grains of dirt that are regarded by us the worst, lifeless, valueless, mindless, inert matter. They are placed in their best condition, no matter how poor and worthless they may seem. They can never become a thing higher nor lower than they. To be the grains of dirt is best for them. But for these minute microcosms, which, flying in the air, reflect the sunbeams, we could have no azure sky. It is they that scatter the sun's rays in mid-air and send them into our rooms. It is also these grains of dirt that form the nuclei of raindrops and bring seasonable rain. Thus they are not things worthless and good for nothing, but have a hidden import and purpose in their existence. Had they mind to think, heart to feel, they should be contented and happy with their present condition. Take, for another example, the flowers of the morning glory. They bloom and smile every morning, fade and die in a few hours. How fleeting and ephemeral their lives are! But it is that short life itself that makes them frail, delicate, and lovely. They come forth all at once as bright and beautiful as a rainbow or as the Northern light, and disappear like dreams. This is the best condition for them, because, if they last for days together, the morning glory shall no longer be the morning glory. It is so with the cherry-tree that puts forth the loveliest flowers and bears bitter fruits. It is so with the apple-tree, which bears the sweetest of fruits and has ugly blossoms. It is so with animals and men. Each of them is placed in the condition best for his appointed mission. The newly-born baby sucks, sleeps, and cries. It can do no more nor less. Is it not best for it to do so? When it attained to its boyhood, he goes to school and is admitted to the first-year class. He cannot be put in a higher nor lower class. It is best for him to be the first-year class student. When his school education is over, he may get a position in society according to his abilities, or may lead a miserable life owing to his failure of some sort or other. In any case he is in a position best for his special mission ordained by Providence or the Hum-total of the fruits of his actions and reactions since all eternity. He should be contented and happy, and do what is right with might and main. Discontent and vexation only make him more worthy of his ruin Therefore our positions, no matter, how high or low, no matter how favourable or unfavourable our environment, we are to be cheerful. "Do thy best and leave the rest to Providence," says a Chinese adage. Longfellow also says: "Do thy best; that is best. Leave unto thy Lord the rest." CHAPTER VIII THE TRAINING OF THE MIND AND THE PRACTICE OF MEDITATION 1. The Method of Instruction Adopted by Zen Masters. Thus far we have described the doctrine of Zen inculcated by both Chinese and Japanese masters, and in this chapter we propose to sketch the practice of mental training and the method of practising Dhyana or Meditation. Zen teachers never instruct their pupils by means of explanation or argument, but urge them to solve by themselves through the practice of Meditation such problems as--'What is Buddha?' What is self?' 'What is the spirit of Bodhidharma?' 'What is life and death?' 'What is the real nature of mind?' and so on. Ten Shwai (To-sotsu), for instance, was wont to put three questions[FN#229] to the following effect: (1) Your study and discipline aim at the understanding of the real nature of mind. Where does the real nature of mind exist? (2) When you understand the real nature of mind, you are free from birth and death. How can you be saved when you are at the verge of death? (3) When you are free from birth and death, you know where you go after death. Where do you go when your body is reduced to elements? The pupils are not requested to express their solution of these problems in the form of a theory or an argument, but to show how they have grasped the profound meaning implied in these problems, how they have established their conviction, and how they can carry out what they grasped in their daily life. [FN#229] The famous three difficult questions, known as the Three Gates of Teu Shwai (To Sotsu San Kwan), who died in 1091. See Mu Mon Kwan, xlvii. A Chinese Zen master[FN#230] tells us that the method of instruction adopted by Zen may aptly be compared with that of an old burglar who taught his son the art of burglary. The burglar one evening said to his little son, whom he desired to instruct in the secret of his trade: "Would you not, my dear boy, be a great burglar like myself?" "Yes, father," replied the promising young man." "Come with me, then. I will teach you the art." So saying, the man went out, followed by his son. Finding a rich mansion in a certain village, the veteran burglar made a hole in the wall that surrounded it. Through that hole they crept into the yard, and opening a window with complete ease broke into the house, where they found a huge box firmly locked up as if its contents were very valuable articles. The old man clapped his hands at the lock, which, strange to tell, unfastened itself. Then he removed the cover and told his son to get into it and pick up treasures as fast as he could. No sooner had the boy entered the box than the father replaced the cover and locked it up. He then exclaimed at the top of his voice: "Thief! thief! thief! thief!" Thus, having aroused the inmates, he went out without taking anything. All the house was in utter confusion for a while; but finding nothing stolen, they went to bed again. The boy sat holding his breath a short while; but making up his mind to get out of his narrow prison, began to scratch the bottom of the box with his finger-nails. The servant of the house, listening to the noise, supposed it to be a mouse gnawing at the inside of the box; so she came out, lamp in hand, and unlocked it. On removing the cover, she was greatly surprised to find the boy instead of a little mouse, and gave alarm. In the meantime the boy got out of the box and went down into the yard, hotly pursued by the people. He ran as fast as possible toward the well, picked up a large stone, threw it down into it, and hid himself among the bushes. The pursuers, thinking the thief fell into the well, assembled around it, and were looking into it, while the boy crept out unnoticed through the hole and went home in safety. Thus the burglar taught his son how to rid himself of overwhelming difficulties by his own efforts; so also Zen teachers teach their pupils how to overcome difficulties that beset them on all sides and work out salvation by themselves. [FN#230] Wu Tsu (Go So), the teacher of Yuen Wu (En Go). 2. The First Step in the Mental Training. Some of the old Zen masters are said to have attained to supreme Enlightenment after the practice of Meditation for one week, some for one day, some for a score of years, and some for a few months. The practice of Meditation, however, is not simply a means for Enlightenment, as is usually supposed, but also it is the enjoyment of Nirvana, or the beatitude of Zen. It is a matter, of course, that we have fully to understand the doctrine of Zen, and that we have to go through the mental training peculiar to Zen in order to be Enlightened. The first step in the mental training is to become the master of external things. He who is addicted to worldly pleasures, however learned or ignorant he may be, however high or low his social position may be, is a servant to mere things. He cannot adapt the external world to his own end, but he adapts himself to it. He is constantly employed, ordered, driven by sensual objects. Instead of taking possession of wealth, he is possessed by wealth. Instead of drinking liquors, he is swallowed up by his liquors. Balls and music bid him to run mad. Games and shows order him not to stay at home. Houses, furniture, pictures, watches, chains, hats, bonnets, rings, bracelets, shoes--in short, everything has a word to command him. How can such a person be the master of things? To Ju (Na-kae) says: "There is a great jail, not a jail for criminals, that contains the world in it. Fame, gain, pride, and bigotry form its four walls. Those who are confined in it fall a prey to sorrow and sigh for ever." To be the ruler of things we have first to shut up all our senses, and turn the currents of thoughts inward, and see ourselves as the centre of the world, and meditate that we are the beings of highest intelligence; that Buddha never puts us at the mercy of natural forces; that the earth is in our possession; that everything on earth is to be made use of for our noble ends; that fire, water, air, grass, trees, rivers, hills, thunder, cloud, stars, the moon, the sun, are at our command; that we are the law-givers of the natural phenomena; that we are the makers of the phenomenal world; that it is we that appoint a mission through life, and determine the fate of man. 3. The Next Step in the Mental Training. In the next place we have to strive to be the master of our bodies. With most of the unenlightened, body holds absolute control over Self. Every order of the former has to be faithfully obeyed by the latter. Even if Self revolts against the tyranny of body, it is easily trampled down under the brutal hoofs of bodily passion. For example, Self wants to be temperate for the sake of health, and would fain pass by the resort for drinking, but body would force Self into it. Self at times lays down a strict dietetic rule for himself, but body would threaten Self to act against both the letter and spirit of the rule. Now Self aspires to get on a higher place among sages, but body pulls Self down to the pavement of masses. Now Self proposes to give some money to the poor, but body closes the purse tightly. Now Self admires divine beauty, but body compels him to prefer sensuality. Again, Self likes spiritual liberty, but body confines him in its dungeons. Therefore, to get Enlightened, we must establish the authority of Self over the whole body. We must use our bodies as we use our clothes in order to accomplish our noble purposes. Let us command body not to shudder under a cold shower-bath in inclement weather, not to be nervous from sleepless nights, not to be sick with any sort of food, not to groan under a surgeon's knife, not to succumb even if we stand a whole day in the midsummer sun, not to break down under any form of disease, not to be excited in the thick of battlefield--in brief, we have to control our body as we will. Sit in a quiet place and meditate in imagination that body is no more bondage to you, that it is your machine for your work of life, that you are not flesh, that you are the governor of it, that you can use it at pleasure, and that it always obeys your order faithfully. Imagine body as separated from you. When it cries out, stop it instantly, as a mother does her baby. When it disobeys you, correct it by discipline, as a master does his pupil. When it is wanton, tame it down, as a horse-breaker does his wild horse. When it is sick, prescribe to it, as a doctor does to his patient. Imagine that you are not a bit injured, even if it streams blood; that you are entirely safe, even if it is drowned in water or burned by fire. E-Shun, a pupil and sister of Ryo-an,[FN#231] a famous Japanese master, burned herself calmly sitting cross-legged on a pile of firewood which consumed her. She attained to the complete mastery of her body. Socrates' self was never poisoned, even if his person was destroyed by the venom he took. Abraham Lincoln himself stood unharmed, even if his body was laid low by the assassin. Masa-shige was quite safe, even if his body was hewed by the traitors' swords. Those martyrs that sang at the stake to the praise of God could never be burned, even if their bodies were reduced to ashes, nor those seekers after truth who were killed by ignorance and superstition. Is it not a great pity to see a man endowed with divine spirit and power easily upset by a bit of headache, or crying as a child under a surgeon's knife, or apt to give up the ghost at the coming of little danger, or trembling through a little cold, or easily laid low by a bit of indisposition, or yielding to trivial temptation? [FN#231] Ryo an (E-myo, died 1411), the founder of the monastery of Sai-jo-ji, near the city of Odawara. See To-jo-ren-to-roku. It is no easy matter to be the dictator of body. It is not a matter of theory, but of practice. You must train your body that you may enable it to bear any sort of suffering, and to stand unflinched in the face of hardship. It is for this that So-rai[FN#232] (Ogiu) laid himself on a sheet of straw-mat spread on the ground in the coldest nights of winter, or was used to go up and down the roof of his house, having himself clad in heavy armour. It is for this that ancient Japanese soldiers led extremely simple lives, and that they often held the meeting-of-perseverance,[FN#233] in which they exposed themselves to the coldest weather in winter or to the hottest weather in summer. It is for this that Katsu Awa practised fencing in the middle of night in a deep forest.[FN#234] [FN#232] One of the greatest scholars of the Tokugawa period, who died in 1728. See Etsu-wa-bun-ko. [FN#233] The soldiers of the Tokugawa period were used to hold such a meeting. [FN#234] Kai-shu-gen-ko-roku. Ki-saburo, although he was a mere outlaw, having his left arm half cut at the elbow in a quarrel, ordered his servant to cut it off with a saw, and during the operation he could calmly sit talking and laughing with his friends. Hiko-kuro (Takayama),[FN#235] a Japanese loyalist of note, one evening happened to come to a bridge where two robbers were lying in wait for him. They lay fully stretching themselves, each with his head in the middle of the bridge, that he might not pass across it without touching them. Hiko-kuro was not excited nor disheartened, but calmly approached the vagabonds and passed the bridge, treading upon their heads, which act so frightened them that they took to their heels without doing any harm to him.[FN#236] [FN#235] A well-known loyalist in the Tokugawa period, who died in 1793. [FN#236] Etsu-wa-bun-ko. The history of Zen is full of the anecdotes that show Zen priests were the lords of their bodies. Here we quote a single example by way of illustration: Ta Hwui (Dai-ye), once having had a boil on his hip, sent for a doctor, who told him that it was fatal, that he must not sit in Meditation as usual. Then Ta Hwui said to the physician: "I must sit in Meditation with all my might during my remaining days, for if your diagnosis be not mistaken, I shall die before long." He sat day and night in constant Meditation, quite forgetful of his boil, which was broken and gone by itself.[FN#237] [FN#237] Sho-bo-gen-zo-zui-mon-ki, by Do-gen. 4. The Third Step in the Mental Training. To be the lord of mind is more essential to Enlightenment, which, in a sense, is the clearing away of illusions, the putting out of mean desires and passions, and the awakening of the innermost wisdom. He alone can attain to real happiness who has perfect control over his passions tending to disturb the equilibrium of his mind. Such passions as anger, hatred, jealousy, sorrow, worry, grudge, and fear always untune one's mood and break the harmony of one's mind. They poison one's body, not in a figurative, but in a literal sense of the word. Obnoxious passions once aroused never fail to bring about the physiological change in the nerves, in the organs, and eventually in the whole constitution, and leave those injurious impressions that make one more liable to passions of similar nature. We do not mean, however, that we ought to be cold and passionless, as the most ancient Hinayanists were used to be. Such an attitude has been blamed by Zen masters. "What is the best way of living for us monks?" asked a monk to Yun Ku (Un-go), who replied: "You had better live among mountains." Then the monk bowed politely to the teacher, who questioned: "How did you understand me?" "Monks, as I understood," answered the man, "ought to keep their hearts as immovable as mountains, not being moved either by good or by evil, either by birth or by death, either by prosperity or by adversity." Hereupon Yun Ku struck the monk with his stick and said: "You forsake the Way of the old sages, and will bring my followers to perdition!" Then, turning to another monk, inquired: "How did you understand me?" "Monks, as I understand," replied the man, "ought to shut their eyes to attractive sights and close their ears to musical notes." "You, too," exclaimed Yun Ka, "forsake the Way of the old sages, and will bring my followers to perdition!" An old woman, to quote another example repeatedly told by Zen masters, used to give food and clothing to a monk for a score of years. One day she instructed a young girl to embrace and ask him: "How do you feel now?" "A lifeless tree," replied the monk coolly, "stands on cold rock. There is no warmth, as if in the coldest season of the year." The matron, being told of this, observed: "Oh that I have made offerings to such a vulgar fellow for twenty years!" She forced the monk to leave the temple and reduced it to ashes.[FN#238] [FN#238] These instances are quoted from Zen-rin-rui-shu. If you want to secure Dhyana, let go of your anxieties and failures in the past; let bygones be bygones; cast aside enmity, shame, and trouble, never admit them into your brain; let pass the imagination and anticipation of future hardships and sufferings; let go of all your annoyances, vexations, doubts, melancholies, that impede your speed in the race of the struggle for existence. As the miser sets his heart on worthless dross and accumulates it, so an unenlightened person clings to worthless mental dross and spiritual rubbish, and makes his mind a dust-heap. Some people constantly dwell on the minute details of their unfortunate circumstances, to make themselves more unfortunate than they really are; some go over and over again the symptoms of their disease to think themselves into serious illness; and some actually bring evils on them by having them constantly in view and waiting for them. A man asked Poh Chang (Hyaku-jo): "How shall I learn the Law?" "Eat when you are hungry," replied the teacher; " sleep when you are tired. People do not simply eat at table, but think of hundreds of things; they do not simply sleep in bed, but think of thousands of things."[FN#239] [FN#239] E-gen and Den-to-roku. A ridiculous thing it is, in fact, that man or woman, endowed with the same nature as Buddha's, born the lord of all material objects, is ever upset by petty cares, haunted by the fearful phantoms of his or her own creation, and burning up his or her energy in a fit of passion, wasting his or her vitality for the sake of foolish or insignificant things. It is a man who can keep the balance of his mind under any circumstances, who can be calm and serene in the hottest strife of life, that is worthy of success, reward, respect, and reputation, for he is the master of men. It was at the age of forty-seven that Wang Yang Ming[FN#240] (O-yo-mei) won a splendid victory over the rebel army which threatened the throne of the Ming dynasty. During that warfare Wang was giving a course of lectures to a number of students at the headquarters of the army, of which he was the Commander-in-chief. At the very outset of the battle a messenger brought him the news of defeat of the foremost ranks. All the students were terror-stricken and grew pale at the unfortunate tidings, but the teacher was not a whit disturbed by it. Some time after another messenger brought in the news of complete rout of the enemy. All the students, enraptured, stood up and cheered, but he was as cool as before, and did not break off lecturing. Thus the practiser of Zen has so perfect control over his heart that he can keep presence of mind under an impending danger, even in the presence of death itself. [FN#240] The founder of the Wang School of Confucianism, a practiser of Meditation, who was born in 1472, and died at the age of fifty-seven in 1529. It was at the age of twenty-three that Haku-in got on board a boat bound for the Eastern Provinces, which met with a tempest and was almost wrecked. All the passengers were laid low with fear and fatigue, but Haku-in enjoyed a quiet sleep during the storm, as if he were lying on a comfortable bed. It was in the fifth of Mei-ji era that Doku-on[FN#241] lived for some time in the city of Tokyo, whom some Christian zealots attempted to murder. One day he met with a few young men equipped with swords at the gate of his temple. "We want to see Doku-on; go and tell him," said they to the priest. "I am Doku-on," replied he calmly, "whom you want to see, gentlemen. What can I do for you?" "We have come to ask you a favour; we are Christians; we want your hoary head." So saying they were ready to attack him, who, smiling, replied: "All right, gentlemen. Behead me forthwith, if you please." Surprised by this unexpected boldness on the part of the priest, they turned back without harming even a hair of the old Buddhist.[FN#242] [FN#241] Doku On (Ogino), a distinguished Zen master, an abbot of So-koku-ji, who was born in 1818, and died in 1895. [FN#242] Kin-sei-zen-rin-gen-ko-roku, by D. Mori. These teachers could through long practice constantly keep their minds buoyant, casting aside useless encumbrances of idle thoughts; bright, driving off the dark cloud of melancholy; tranquil, putting down turbulent waves of passion; pure, cleaning away the dust and ashes of illusion; and serene, brushing off the cobwebs of doubt and fear. The only means of securing all this is to realize the conscious union with the Universal Life through the Enlightened Consciousness, which can be awakened by dint of Dhyana. 5. Zazen, or the Sitting in Meditation. Habit comes out of practice, and forms character by degrees, and eventually works out destiny. Therefore we must practically sow optimism, and habitually nourish it in order to reap the blissful fruit of Enlightenment. The sole means of securing mental calmness is the practice of Zazen, or the sitting in Meditation. This method was known in India as Yoga as early as the Upanisad period, and developed by the followers of the Yoga system.[FN#243] But Buddhists sharply distinguished Zazen from Yoga, and have the method peculiar to themselves. Kei-zan[FN#244] describes the method to the following effect: 'Secure a quiet room neither extremely light nor extremely dark, neither very warm nor very cold, a room, if you can, in the Buddhist temple located in a beautiful mountainous district. You should not practise Zazen in a place where a conflagration or a flood or robbers may be likely to disturb you, nor should you sit in a place close by the sea or drinking-shops or brothel-houses, or the houses of widows and of maidens or buildings for music, nor should you live in close proximity to the place frequented by kings, ministers, powerful statesmen, ambitious or insincere persons. You must not sit in Meditation in a windy or very high place lest you should get ill. Be sure not to let the wind or smoke get into your room, not to expose it to rain and storm. Keep your room clean. Keep it not too light by day nor too dark by night. Keep it warm in winter and cool in summer. Do not sit leaning against a wall, or a chair, or a screen. You must not wear soiled clothes or beautiful clothes, for the former are the cause of illness, while the latter the cause of attachment. Avoid the Three Insufficiencies-that is to say, insufficient clothes, insufficient food, and insufficient sleep. Abstain from all sorts of uncooked or hard or spoiled or unclean food, and also from very delicious dishes, because the former cause troubles in your alimentary canal, while the latter cause you to covet after diet. Eat and drink just too appease your hunger and thirst, never mind whether the food be tasty or not. Take your meals regularly and punctually, and never sit in Meditation immediately after any meal. Do not practise Dhyana soon after you have taken a heavy dinner, lest you should get sick thereby. Sesame, barley, corn, potatoes, milk, and the like are the best material for your food. Frequently wash your eyes, face, hands, and feet, and keep them cool and clean. [FN#243] See Yoga Sutra with the Commentary of Bhoja Raja (translated by Rajendralala Mitra), pp. 102-104. [FN#244] Kei-zan (Jo-kin), the founder of So-ji-ji, the head temple of the So To Sect of Zen, who died at the age of fifty-eight in 1325. He sets forth the doctrine of Zen and the method of practising Zazen in his famous work, entitled Za-zen-yo-jin-ki. 'There are two postures in Zazen--that is to say, the crossed-leg sitting, and the half crossed-leg sitting. Seat yourself on a thick cushion, putting it right under your haunch. Keep your body so erect that the tip of the nose and the navel are in one perpendicular line, and both ears and shoulders are in the same plane. Then place the right foot upon the left thigh, the left foot on the right thigh, so as the legs come across each other. Next put your right hand with the palm upward on the left foot, and your left hand on the right palm with the tops of both the thumbs touching each other. This is the posture called the crossed-leg sitting. You may simply place the left foot upon the right thigh, the position of the hands being the same as in the cross-legged sitting. This posture is named the half crossed-leg sitting.' 'Do not shut your eyes, keep them always open during whole Meditation. Do not breathe through the mouth; press your tongue against the roof of the mouth, putting the upper lips and teeth together with the lower. Swell your abdomen so as to hold the breath in the belly; breathe rhythmically through the nose, keeping a measured time for inspiration and expiration. Count for some time either the inspiring or the expiring breaths from one to ten, then beginning with one again. Concentrate your attention on your breaths going in and out as if you are the sentinel standing at the gate of the nostrils. If you do some mistake in counting, or be forgetful of the breath, it is evident that your mind is distracted.' Chwang Tsz seems to have noticed that the harmony of breathing is typical of the harmony of mind, since he says: "The true men of old did not dream when they slept. Their breathing came deep and silently. The breathing of true men comes (even) from his heels, while men generally breathe (only) from their throats."[FN#245] At any rate, the counting of breaths is an expedient for calming down of mind, and elaborate rules are given in the Zen Sutra,[FN#246] but Chinese and Japanese Zen masters do not lay so much stress on this point as Indian teachers. [FN#245] Chwang Tsz, vol. iii., p. 2. [FN#246] Dharmatara-dhyana-sutra. 6. The Breathing Exercise of the Yogi. Breathing exercise is one of the practices of Yoga, and somewhat similar in its method and end to those of Zen. We quote here[FN#247] Yogi Ramacharaka to show how modern Yogis practise it: "(1) Stand or sit erect. Breathing through the nostrils, inhale steadily, first filling the lower part of the lungs, which is accomplished by bringing into play the diaphragm, which, descending, exerts a gentle pressure on the abdominal organs, pushing forward the front walls of the abdomen. Then fill the middle part of the lungs, pushing out the lower ribs, breastbone, and chest. Then fill the higher portion of the lungs, protruding the upper chest, thus lifting the chest, including the upper six or seven pairs of ribs. In the final movement the lower part of the abdomen will be slightly drawn in, which movement gives the lungs a support, and also helps to fill the highest part of the lungs. At the first reading it may appear that this breath consists of three distinct movements. This, however, is not the correct idea. The inhalation is continuous, the entire chest cavity from the lower diaphragm to the highest point of the chest in the region of the collar-bone being expanded with a uniform movement. Avoid a jerking series of inhalations, and strive to attain a steady, continuous action. Practice will soon overcome the tendency to divide the inhalation into three movements, and will result in a uniform continuous breath. You will be able to complete the inhalation in a couple of seconds after a little practice. (2) Retain the breath a few seconds. (3) Exhale quite slowly, holding the chest in a firm position, and drawing the abdomen in a little and lifting it upward slowly as the air leaves the lungs. When the air is entirely exhaled, relax the chest and abdomen. A little practice will render this part of exercise easy, and the movement once acquired will be afterwards performed almost automatically." [FN#247] Hatha Yoga, pp. 112, 113. 7. Calmness of Mind. The Yogi breathing above mentioned is fit rather for physical exercise than for mental balance, and it will be beneficial if you take that exercise before or after Meditation. Japanese masters mostly bold it very important to push forward. The lowest part of the abdomen during Zazen, and they are right so far as the present writer's personal experiences go. 'If you feel your mind distracted, look at the tip of the nose; never lose sight of it for some time, or look at your own palm, and let not your mind go out of it, or gaze at one spot before you.' This will greatly help you in restoring the equilibrium of your mind. Chwang Tsz[FN#248] thought that calmness of mind is essential to sages, and said: "The stillness of the sages does not belong to them as a consequence of their skilful ability; all things are not able to disturb their minds; it is on this account that they are still. When water is still, its clearness shows the beard and eyebrows (of him who looks into it). It is a perfect level, and the greatest artificer takes his rule from it. Such is the clearness of still water, and how much greater is that of the human spirit? The still mind of the sage is the mirror of heaven and earth, the glass of all things." Forget all worldly concerns, expel all cares and anxieties, let go of passions and desires, give up ideas and thoughts, set your mind at liberty absolutely, and make it as clear as a burnished mirror. Thus let flow your inexhaustible fountain of purity, let open your inestimable treasure of virtue, bring forth your inner hidden nature of goodness, disclose your innermost divine wisdom, and waken your Enlightened Consciousness to see Universal Life within you. "Zazen enables the practiser," says Kei-zan,[FN#249] "to open up his mind, to see his own nature, to become conscious of mysteriously pure and bright spirit, or eternal light within him." [FN#248] Chwang Tsz, vol. v., p. 5. [FN#249] Za-zen-yo-jin-ki. Once become conscious of Divine Life within you, yon can see it in your brethren, no matter how different they may be in circumstances, in abilities, in characters, in nationalities, in language, in religion, and in race. You can see it in animals, vegetables, and minerals, no matter how diverse they may be in form, no matter how wild and ferocious some may seem in nature, no matter how unfeeling in heart some may seem, no matter how devoid of intelligence some may appear, no matter how insignificant some may be, no matter how simple in construction some may be, no matter how lifeless some may seem. You can see that the whole universe is Enlightened and penetrated by Divine Life. 8. Zazen and the Forgetting of Self. Zazen is a most effectual means of destroying selfishness, the root of all Sin, folly, vice, and evil, since it enables us to see that every being is endowed with divine spirituality in common with men. It is selfishness that throws dark shadows on life, just as it is not the sun but the body that throws shadow before it. It is the self-same selfishness that gave rise to the belief in the immortality of soul, in spite of its irrationality, foolishness, and superstition. Individual self should be a poor miserable thing if it were not essentially connected with the Universal Life. We can always enjoy pure happiness when we are united with nature, quite forgetful of our poor self. When you look, for example, into the smiling face of a pretty baby, and smile with it, or listen to the sweet melody of a songster and sing with it, you completely forget your poor self at that enraptured moment. But your feelings of beauty and happiness are for ever gone when you resume your self, and begin to consider them after your own selfish ideas. To forget self and identify it with nature is to break down its limitation and to set it at liberty. To break down petty selfishness and extend it into Universal Self is to unfetter and deliver it from bondage. It therefore follows that salvation can be secured not by the continuation of individuality in another life, but by the realization of one's union with Universal Life, which is immortal, free, limitless, eternal, and bliss itself. This is easily effected by Zazen. 9. Zen and Supernatural Power. Yoga[FN#250] claims that various supernatural powers can be acquired by Meditation, but Zen does not make any such absurd claims. It rather disdains those who are believed to have acquired supernatural powers by the practice of austerities. The following traditions clearly show this spirit: "When Fah Yung (Ho-yu) lived in Mount Niu Teu[FN#251] (Go-zu-san) he used to receive every morning the offerings of flowers from hundreds of birds, and was believed to have supernatural powers. But after his Enlightenment by the instruction of the Fourth Patriarch, the birds ceased to make offering, because be became a being too divine to be seen by inferior animals." "Hwang Pah (O-baku), one day going up Mount Tien Tai (Ten-dai-san), which was believed to have been inhabited by Arhats with supernatural powers, met with a monk whose eyes emitted strange light. They went along the pass talking with each other for a short while until they came to a river roaring with torrent. There being no bridge, the master bad to stop at the shore; but his companion crossed the river walking on the water and beckoned to Hwang Pah to follow him. Thereupon Hwang Pah said: 'If I knew thou art an Arhat, I would have doubled you up before thou got over there!' The monk then understood the spiritual attainment of Hwang Pah, and praised him as a true Mahayanist." "On one occasion Yang Shan (Kyo-zan) saw a stranger monk flying through the air. When that monk came down and approached him with a respectful salutation, he asked: 'Where art thou from? 'Early this morning,' replied the other, 'I set out from India.' 'Why,' said the teacher, 'art thou so late?' 'I stopped,' responded the man, 'several times to look at beautiful sceneries.' Thou mayst have supernatural powers,' exclaimed Yang Shan, 'yet thou must give back the Spirit of Buddha to me.' Then the monk praised Yang Shan saying: 'I have come over to China in order to worship Manyjucri,[FN#252] and met unexpectedly with Minor Shakya,' and, after giving the master some palm leaves he brought from India, went back through the air.'"[FN#253] [FN#250] 'Yoga Aphorisms of Patanyjali,' chap. iii. [FN#251] A prominent disciple of the Fourth Patriarch, the founder of the Niu Teu School (Go-zu-zen) of Zen, who died in A.D. 675. [FN#252] Manyjucri is a legendary Bodhisattva, who became an object of worship of some Mahayanists. He is treated as a personification of transcendental wisdom. [FN#253] Hwui Yuen (E-gen) and Sho-bo-gen-zo. It is quite reasonable that Zenists distinguish supernatural powers from spiritual uplifting, the former an acquirement of Devas, or of Asuras, or of Arhats, or of even animals, and the latter as a nobler accomplishment attained only by the practisers of Mahayanism. Moreover, they use the term supernatural power in a meaning entirely different from the original one. Lin Tsi (Rin-zai) says, for instance: "There are six supernatural powers of Buddha: He is free from the temptation of form, living in the world of form; He is free from the temptation of sound, living in the world of sound; He is free from the temptation of smell, living in the world of smell; He is free from the temptation of taste, living in the world of taste; He is free from the temptation of Dharma,[FN#254] living in the world of Dharma. These are six supernatural powers."[FN#255] [FN#254] The things or objects, not of sense, but of mind. [FN#255] Lin Tsi Luh (Rin-zai-roku). Sometimes Zenists use the term as if it meant what we call Zen Activity, or the free display of Zen in action, as you see in the following examples. Tung Shan (To-Zan) was on one occasion attending on his teacher Yun Yen (Un-gan), who asked: "What are your supernatural powers?" Tung Shan, saying nothing, clasped his hands on his breast, and stood up before Yun Yen. "How do you display your supernatural powers?" questioned the teacher again. Then Tung Shan said farewell and went out. Wei Shan (E-san) one day was taking a nap, and seeing his disciple Yang Shan (Kyo-zan) coming into the room, turned his face towards the wall. "You need not, Sir," said Yang Shan, "stand on ceremony, as I am your disciple." Wei Shan seemed to try to get up, so Yang Shan went out; but Wei Shan called him back and said: "I shall tell you of a dream I dreamed." The other inclined his head as if to listen. "Now," said Wei Shan, "divine my fortune by the dream." Thereupon Yang Shan fetched a basin of water and a towel and gave them to the master, who washed his face thereby. By-and-by Hiang Yen (Kyo-gen) came in, to whom Wei Shan said: "We displayed supernatural powers a moment ago. It was not such supernatural powers as are shown by Hinayanists." "I know it, Sir," replied the other, "though I was down below." "Say, then, what it was," demanded the master. Then Hiang Yen made tea and gave a cup to Wei Shan, who praised the two disciples, saying: "You surpass �ariputra[FN#256] and Maudgalyayana[FN#257] in your wisdom and supernatural powers."[FN#258] [FN#256] One of the prominent disciples of Shakya Muni, who became famous for his wisdom. [FN#257] One of the eminent disciples of Shakya Muni, noted for his supernatural powers. [FN#258] Zen-rin-rui-sku. Again, ancient Zenists did not claim that there was any mysterious element in their spiritual attainment, as Do-gen says[FN#259] unequivocally respecting his Enlightenment: "I recognized only that my eyes are placed crosswise above the nose that stands lengthwise, and that I was not deceived by others. I came home from China with nothing in my hand. There is nothing mysterious in Buddhism. Time passes as it is natural, the sun rising in the east, and the moon setting into the west." [FN#259] Ei-hei-ko-roku. 10. True Dhyana. To sit in Meditation is not the only method of practising Zazen. "We practise Dhyana in sitting, in standing, and in walking," says one of the Japanese Zenists. Lin Tsi (Rin-Zai) also says: "To concentrate one's mind, or to dislike noisy places, and seek only for stillness, is the characteristic of heterodox Dhyana." It is easy to keep self-possession in a place of tranquillity, yet it is by no means easy to keep mind undisturbed amid the bivouac of actual life. It is true Dhyana that makes our mind sunny while the storms of strife rage around us. It is true Dhyana that secures the harmony of heart, while the surges of struggle toss us violently. It is true Dhyana that makes us bloom and smile, while the winter of life covets us with frost and snow. "Idle thoughts come and go over unenlightened minds six hundred and fifty times in a snap of one's fingers," writes an Indian teacher,[FN#260] "and thirteen hundred million times every twenty-four hours." This might be an exaggeration, yet we cannot but acknowledge that one idle thought after another ceaselessly bubbles up in the stream of consciousness. "Dhyana is the letting go," continues the writer--"that is to say, the letting go of the thirteen hundred million of idle thoughts." The very root of these thirteen hundred million idle thoughts is an illusion about one's self. He is indeed the poorest creature, even if he be in heaven, who thinks himself poor. On the contrary, he is an angel who thinks himself hopeful and happy, even though he be in hell. "Pray deliver me," said a sinner to Sang Tsung (So-san).[FN#261] "Who ties you up?" was the reply. You tie yourself up day and night with the fine thread of idle thoughts, and build a cocoon of environment from which you have no way of escape. 'There is no rope, yet you imagine yourself bound.' Who could put fetters on your mind but your mind itself? Who could chain your will but your own will? Who could blind your spiritual eyes, unless you yourself shut them up? Who could prevent you from enjoying moral food, unless you yourself refuse to eat? "There are many," said Sueh Fung (Sep-po) on one occasion, "who starve in spite of their sitting in a large basket full of victuals. There are many who thirst in spite of seating themselves on the shore of a sea." "Yes, Sir," replied Huen Sha (Gen-sha), "there are many who starve in spite of putting their heads into the basket full of victuals. There are many who thirst in spite of putting their heads into the waters of the sea."[FN#262] Who could cheer him up who abandons himself to self-created misery? Who could save him who denies his own salvation? [FN#260] The introduction to Anapana-sutra by Khin San Hwui, who came to China A.D. 241. [FN#261] The Third Patriarch. [FN#262] Hwui Yuen (E-gen). 11. Let Go of your Idle Thoughts.[FN#263] [FN#263] A famous Zenist, Mu-go-koku-shi, is said to have replied to every questioner, saying: "Let go of your idle thoughts." A Brahmin, having troubled himself a long while with reference to the problem of life and of the world, went out to call on Shakya Muni that he might be instructed by the Master. He got some beautiful flowers to offer them as a present to the Muni, and proceeded to the place where He was addressing his disciples and believers. No sooner had he come in sight of the Master than he read in his mien the struggles going on within him. "Let go of that," said the Muni to the Brahmin, who was going to offer the flowers in both his hands. He dropped on the ground the flowers in his right hand, but still holding those in his left. "Let go of that," demanded the Master, and the Brahmin dropped the flowers in his left hand rather reluctantly. "Let go of that, I say," the Muni commanded again; but the Brahmin, having nothing to let go of, asked: "What shall I let go of, Reverend Sir? I have nothing in my hands, you know." "Let go of that, you have neither in your right nor in your left band, but in the middle." Upon these words of the Muni a light came into the sufferer's mind, and he went home satisfied and in joy.[FN#264] "Not to attach to all things is Dhyana," writes an ancient Zenist, "and if you understand this, going out, staying in, sitting, and lying are in Dhyana." Therefore allow not your mind to be a receptacle for the dust of society, or the ashes of life, or rags and waste paper of the world. You bear too much burden upon your shoulders with which you have nothing to do. [FN#264] 'Sutra on the Brahmacarin Black-family,' translated into Chinese by K' Khien, of the Wu dynasty (A.D. 222-280). Learn the lesson of forgetfulness, and forget all that troubles you, deprives you of sound sleep, and writes wrinkles on your forehead. Wang Yang Ming, at the age of seventeen or so, is said to have forgotten the day 'on which he was to be married to a handsome young lady, daughter of a man of high position. It was the afternoon of the very day on which their nuptials had to be held that he went out to take a walk. Without any definite purpose he went into a temple in the neighbourhood, and there he found a recluse apparently very old with white hair, but young in countenance like a child. The man was sitting absorbed in Meditation. There was something extremely calm and serene in that old man's look and bearing that attracted the young scholar's attention. Questioning him as to his name, age, and birthplace, Wang found that the venerable man had enjoyed a life so extraordinarily long that he forgot his name and age, but that he had youthful energy so abundantly that be could talk with a voice sounding as a large bell. Being asked by Wang the secret of longevity, the man replied: "There is no secret in it; I merely kept my mind calm and peaceful." Further, he explained the method of Meditation according to Taoism and Buddhism. Thereupon Wang sat face to face with the old man and began to practise Meditation, utterly forgetful of his bride and nuptial ceremony. The sun began to cast his slanting rays on the wall of the temple, and they sat motionless; twilight came over them, and night wrapped them with her sable shroud, and they sat as still as two marble statues; midnight, dawn, at last the morning sun rose to find them still in their reverie. The father of the bride, who had started a search during the night, found to his surprise the bridegroom absorbed in Meditation on the following day.[FN#265] [FN#265] O-yo-mei-shutsu-shin-sei-ran-roku. It was at the age of forty-seven that Wang gained a great victory over the rebel army, and wrote to a friend saying: "It is so easy to gain a victory over the rebels fortifying themselves among the mountains, yet it is not so with those rebels living in our mind."[FN#266] Tsai Kiun Mu (Sai-kun-bo) is said to have had an exceedingly long and beautiful beard, and when asked by the Emperor, who received him in audience, whether he should sleep with his beard on the comforters or beneath them, be could not answer, since he had never known how he did. Being distracted by this question, he went home and tried to find out how he had been used to manage his beard in bed. First he put his beard on the comforters and vainly tried to sleep; then he put it beneath the comforters and thought it all right. Nevertheless, he was all the more disturbed by it. So then, putting on the comforters, now putting it beneath them, he tried to sleep all night long, but in vain. You must therefore forget your mental beard that annoys you all the time. [FN#266] Ibid. Men of longevity never carried troubles to their beds. It is a well-known fact that Zui-o (Shi-ga)[FN#267] enjoyed robust health at the age of over one hundred years. One day, being asked whether there is any secret of longevity, he replied affirmatively, and said to the questioner: "Keep your mind and body pure for two weeks, abstaining from any sort of impurity, then I shall tell you of the secret." The man did as was prescribed, and came again to be instructed in the secret. Zui-o said: "Now I might tell you, but be cautious to keep yourself pure another week so as to qualify yourself to learn the secret." When that week was over the old man said: "Now I might tell you, but will you be so careful as to keep yourself pure three days more in order to qualify yourself to receive the secret?" The man did as he was ordered, and requested the instruction. Thereupon Zui-o took the man to his private room and softly whispered, with his mouth close to the ear of the man: "Keep the secret I tell you now, even at the cost of your life. It is this-don't be passionate. That is all."[FN#268] [FN#267] This famous old man died in A.D. 1730. [FN#268] Se-ji-hyaku-dan. 12. 'The Five Ranks of Merit.' Thus far we have stated how to train our body and mind according to the general rules and customs established by Zenists. And here we shall describe the different stages of mental uplifting through which the student of Zen has to go. They are technically called 'The Five Ranks of Merit.'[FN#269] The first stage is called the Rank of Turning,[FN#270] in which the student 'turns' his mind from the external objects of sense towards the inner Enlightened Consciousness. He gives up all mean desires and aspires to spiritual elevation. He becomes aware that he is not doomed to be the slave of material things, and strives to conquer over them. Enlightened Consciousness is likened to the King, and it is called the Mind-King, while the student who now turns towards the King is likened to common people. Therefore in this first stage the student is in the rank of common people. [FN#269] Ko-kun-go-i. For further details, see So-to-ni-shi-roku. [FN#268] Ko in Japanese. The second stage is called the Rank of Service,[FN#271] in which the student distinguishes himself by his loyalty to the Mind-King, and becomes a courtier to 'serve' him. He is in constant 'service' to the King, attending him with obedience and love, and always fearing to offend him. Thus the student in this stage is ever careful not to neglect rules and precepts laid down by the sages, and endeavours to uplift himself in spirituality by his fidelity. The third stage is called the Rank of Merit,[FN#272] in which the student distinguishes himself by his 'meritorious' acts of conquering over the rebel army of passion which rises against the Mind-King. Now, his rank is not the rank of a courtier, but the rank of a general. In other words, his duty is not only to keep rules and instructions of the sages, but to subjugate his own passion and establish moral order in the mental kingdom. [FN#271] Bu in Japanese. [FN#272] Ko in Japanese. The fourth stage is called the Rank of Co-operative Merit,[FN#273] in which the student 'co-operates' with other persons in order to complete his merit. Now, he is not compared with a general who conquers his foe, but with the prime-minister who co-operates with other officials to the benefit of the people. Thus the student in this stage is not satisfied with his own conquest of passion, but seeks after spiritual uplifting by means of extending his kindness and sympathy to his fellow-men. [FN#273] Gu-ko in Japanese. The fifth stage is called the Rank of Merit-over-Merit,[FN#274] which means the rank of meritless-merit. This is the rank of the King himself. The King does nothing meritorious, because all the governmental works are done by his ministers and subjects. All that he has to do is to keep his inborn dignity and sit high on his throne. Therefore his conduct is meritless, but all the meritorious acts of his subjects are done through his authority. Doing nothing, he does everything. Without any merit, he gets all merits. Thus the student in this stage no more strives to keep precepts, but his doings are naturally in accord with them. No more he aspires for spiritual elevation, but his, heart is naturally pure from material desires. No more he makes an effort to vanquish his passion, but no passion disturbs him. No more he feels it his duty to do good to others, but he is naturally good and merciful. No more he sits in Dhyana, but he naturally lives in Dhyana at all times. It is in this fifth stage that the student is enabled to identify his Self with the Mind-King or Enlightened Consciousness, and to abide in perfect bliss. [FN#274] Ko-ko in Japanese. 13. 'The Ten Pictures of the Cowherd.'[FN#275] [FN#275] The pictures were drawn by Kwoh Ngan (Kaku-an), a Chinese Zenist. For the details, see Zen-gaku-ho-ten. Besides these Five Ranks of Merit, Zenists make use of the Ten Pictures of the Cowherd, in order to show the different stages of mental training through which the student of Zen has to go. Some poems were written by Chinese and Japanese teachers on each of these pictures by way of explanation, but they are too ambiguous to be translated into English, and we rest content with the translation of a single Japanese poem on each of the ten pictures, which are as follows: The first picture, called 'the Searching of the Cow,' represents the cowherd wandering in the wilderness with a vague hope of finding his lost cow that is running wild out of his sight. The reader will notice that the cow is likened to the mind of the student and the cowherd to the student himself. "I do not see my cow, But trees and grass, And hear the empty cries Of cicadas." The second picture, called 'the Finding of the Cow's Tracks,' represents the cowherd tracing the cow with the sure hope of restoring her, having found her tracks on the ground. "The grove is deep, and so Is my desire. How glad I am, O lo! I see her tracks." The third picture, called 'the Finding out of the Cow,' represents the cowherd slowly approaching the cow from a distance. "Her loud and wild mooing Has led me here; I see her form afar, Like a dark shadow." The fourth 'picture, called 'the Catching of the Cow,' represents the cowherd catching hold of the cow, who struggles to break loose from him. "Alas! it's hard to keep The cow I caught. She tries to run and leap And snap the cord." The fifth picture, called 'the Taming of the Cow,' represents the cowherd pacifying the cow, giving her grass and water. "I'm glad the cow so wild Is tamed and mild. She follows me, as if She were my shadow." The sixth picture, called 'the Going Home Riding on the Cow,' represents the cowherd playing on a flute, riding on the cow. "Slowly the clouds return To their own hill, Floating along the skies So calm and still. The seventh picture, called 'the Forgetting of the Cow and the Remembering of the Man,' represents the cowherd looking at the beautiful scenery surrounding his cottage. "The cow goes out by day And comes by night. I care for her in no way, But all is right." The eighth picture, called 'the Forgetting of the Cow and of the Man,' represents a large empty circle. "There's no cowherd nor cow Within the pen; No moon of truth nor clouds Of doubt in men." The ninth picture, called 'the Returning to the Root and Source,' represents a beautiful landscape full of lovely trees in full blossom. "There is no dyer of hills, Yet they are green; So flowers smile, and titter rills At their own wills." The tenth picture, called 'the Going into the City with Open Hands,' represents a smiling monk, gourd in hand, talking with a man who looks like a pedlar. "The cares for body make That body pine; Let go of cares and thoughts, O child of mine!" These Ten Pictures of the Cowherd correspond in meaning to the Five Ranks of Merit above stated, even if there is a slight difference, as is shown in the following table: THE FIVE RANKS.---THE TEN PICTURES. 1. The Rank of Turning---1. The Searching of the Cow. 2. The Finding of the Cow's Tracks. 2. The Rank of Service---3. The Finding of the Cow. 4. The Catching of the Cow. 3. The Rank of Merit---5. The Taming of the Cow. 6. The Going Home, Riding on the Cow. 4. The Rank of Co-operative Merit---9. The Returning to the Root and Source. 10. The Going into the City with Open Hands. 5. The Rank of Merit-over-Merit---7. The Forgetting of the Cow and the Remembering of the Man. 8. The Forgetting of the Cow and of the Man. 14. Zen and Nirvana. The beatitude of Zen is Nirvana, not in the Hinayanistic sense of the term, but in the sense peculiar to the faith. Nirvana literally means extinction or annihilation; hence the extinction of life or the annihilation of individuality. To Zen, however, it means the state of extinction of pain and the annihilation of sin. Zen never looks for the realization of its beatitude in a place like heaven, nor believes in the realm of Reality transcendental of the phenomenal universe, nor gives countenance to the superstition of Immortality, nor does it hold the world is the best of all possible worlds, nor conceives life simply as blessing. It is in this life, full of shortcomings, misery, and sufferings, that Zen hopes to realize its beatitude. It is in this world, imperfect, changing, and moving, that Zen finds the Divine Light it worships. It is in this phenomenal universe of limitation and relativity that Zen aims to attain to highest Nirvana. "We speak," says the author of Vimalakirtti-nirdeca-sutra, "of the transitoriness of body, but not of the desire of the Nirvana or destruction of it." "Paranirvana," according to the author of Lankavatarasutra, "is neither death nor destruction, but bliss, freedom, and purity." "Nirvana," says Kiai Hwan,[FN#276] "means the extinction of pain or the crossing over of the sea of life and death. It denotes the real permanent state of spiritual attainment. It does not signify destruction or annihilation. It denotes the belief in the great root of life and spirit." It is Nirvana of Zen to enjoy bliss for all sufferings of life. It is Nirvana of Zen to be serene in mind for all disturbances of actual existence. It is Nirvana of Zen to be in the conscious union with Universal Life or Buddha through Enlightenment. [FN#276] A commentator of Saddharma-pundarika-sutra. 15. Nature and her Lesson. Nature offers us nectar and ambrosia every day, and everywhere we go the rose and lily await us. "Spring visits us men," says Gu-do,[FN#277] "her mercy is great. Every blossom holds out the image of Tathagata." "What is the spiritual body of Buddha who is immortal and divine?" asked a man to Ta Lun (Dai-ryu), who instantly replied: "The flowers cover the mountain with golden brocade. The waters tinge the rivulets with heavenly blue." "Universe is the whole body of Tathagata; observed Do-gen. "The worlds in ten directions, the earth, grass, trees, walls, fences, tiles, pebbles-in a word, all the animated and inanimate objects partake of the Buddha-nature. Thereby, those who partake in the benefit of the Wind and Water that rise out of them are, all of them, helped by the mysterious influence of Buddha, and show forth Enlightenment."[FN#278] [FN#277] One of the distinguished Zenists in the Tokugawa period, who died in 1661. [FN#278] Sho-bo gen-zo. Thus you can attain to highest bliss through your conscious union with Buddha. Nothing can disturb your peace, when you can enjoy peace in the midst of disturbances; nothing can cause you to suffer, when you welcome misfortunes and hardships in order to train and strengthen your character; nothing can tempt you to commit sin, when you are constantly ready to listen to the sermon given by everything around you; nothing can distress you, when you make the world the holy temple of Buddha. This is the state of Nirvana which everyone believing in Buddha may secure. 16. The Beatitude of Zen. We are far from denying, as already shown in the foregoing chapters, the existence of troubles, pains, diseases, sorrows, deaths in life. Our bliss consists in seeing the fragrant rose of Divine mercy among the thorns of worldly trouble, in finding the fair oasis of Buddha's wisdom in the desert of misfortunes, in getting the wholesome balm of His love in the seeming poison of pain, in gathering the sweet honey of His spirit even in the sting of horrible death. History testifies to the truth that it is misery that teaches men more than happiness, that it is poverty that strengthens them more than wealth, that it is adversity that moulds character more than prosperity, that it is disease and death that call forth the inner life more than health and long life. At least, no one can be blind to the fact that good and evil have an equal share in forming the character and working out the destiny of man. Even such a great pessimist as Schopenhauer says: "As our bodily frame would burst asunder if the pressure of atmosphere were removed, so if the lives of men were relieved of all need, hardship, and adversity, if everything they took in hand were successful, they would be so swollen with arrogance . . . that they would present the spectacle of unbridled folly. A ship without ballast is unstable, and will not go straight." Therefore let us make our ship of life go straight with its ballast of miseries and hardships, over which we gain control. The believer in Buddha is thankful to him, not only for the sunshine of life, but also for its wind, rain, snow, thunder, and lightning, because He gives us nothing in vain. Hisa-nobu (Ko-yama) was, perhaps, one of the happiest persons that Japan ever produced, simply because he was ever thankful to the Merciful One. One day he went out without an umbrella and met with a shower. Hurrying up to go home, he stumbled and fell, wounding both his legs. As he rose up, he was overheard to say: "Thank heaven." And being asked why he was so thankful, replied: "I got both my legs hurt, but, thank heaven, they were not broken." On another occasion he lost consciousness, having been kicked violently by a wild horse. When he came to himself, he exclaimed: "Thank heaven," in hearty joy. Being asked the reason why he was so joyful, he answered: "I have really given up my ghost, but, thank heaven, I have escaped death after all."[FN#279] A person in such a state of mind can do anything with heart and might. Whatever he does is an act of thanks for the grace of Buddha, and he does it, not as his duty, but as the overflowing of his gratitude which lie himself cannot check. Here exists the formation of character. Here exist real happiness and joy. Here exists the realization of Nirvana. [FN#279] Ki-jin-den. Most people regard death as the greatest of evils, only because they fear death. They fear death only because they have the instinct of self-preservation. Hereupon pessimistic philosophy and religion propose to attain to Nirvana by the extinction of Will-to-live, or by the total annihilation of life. But this is as much as to propose death as the final cure to a patient. Elie Metchnikoff proposes, in his 'Nature of Man,' another cure, saying: 'If man could only contrive to live long enough--say, for one hundred and forty years--a natural desire for extinction would take the place of the instinct for self-preservation, and the call of death would then harmoniously satisfy his legitimate craving of a ripe old age.' Why, we must ask, do you trouble yourself so much about death? Is there any instance of an individual who escaped it in the whole history of mankind? If there be no way of escape, why do you trouble yourself about it? Can you cause things to fall off the earth against the law of gravitation? Is there any example of an individual object that escaped the government of that law in the whole history of the world? Why, then, do you trouble yourself about it? It is no less silly to trouble yourself about death than you do about gravitation. Can you realize that death, which you have yet no immediate experience of, is the greatest of evil? We dare to declare death to be one of the blessings which we have to be thankful for. Death is the scavenger of the world; it sweeps away all uselessness, staleness, and corruption from the world, and keeps life clean and ever now. When you are of no use for the world it comes upon you, removes you to oblivion in order to relieve life of useless encumbrance. The stream of existence should be kept running, otherwise it would become putrid. If old lives were to stop the running stream it would stand still, and consequently become filthy, poisoned, and worthless. Suppose there were only births and no deaths. The earth has to be packed with men and women, who are doomed to live to all eternity, jostling, colliding, bumping, trampling each other, and vainly struggling to get out of the Black Hole of the earth. Thanks to death we are not in the Black Hole! Only birth and no death is far worse than only death and no birth. "The dead," says Chwang Tsz, "have no tyrannical king about, no slavish subject to meet; no change of seasons overtakes them. The heaven and the earth take the places of Spring and Autumn. The king or emperor of a great nation cannot be happier than they." How would you be if death should never overtake you when ugly decrepitude makes you blind and deaf, bodily and mentally, and deprives you of all possible pleasures? How would you be if you should not die when your body is broken to pieces or terribly burned by an accident--say, by a violent earthquake followed by a great conflagration? Just imagine Satan, immortal Satan, thrown down by the ire of God into Hell's fiery gulf, rolling himself in dreadful torture to the end of time. You cannot but conclude that it is only death which relieves you of extreme sufferings, incurable diseases, and it is one of the blessings you ought to be thankful for. The believer of Buddha is thankful even for death itself, the which is the sole means of conquering death. If he be thankful even for death, how much more for the rest of things! He can find a meaning in every form of life. He can perceive a blessing in every change of fortune. He can acknowledge a mission for every individual. He can live in contentment and joy under any conditions. Therefore Lin Tsi (Rin-zai) says: "All the Buddhas might appear before me and I would not be glad. All the Three Regions[FN#280] and Hells might suddenly present themselves before me, and I would not fear. . . . He (an Enlightened person) might get into the fire, and it would not burn him. He might get into water, and it would not drown him. He might be born in Hell, and he would be happy as if he were in a fair garden. He might be born among Pretas and beasts, and he would not suffer from pain. How can he be so? Because he can enjoy everything.'[FN#281] [FN#280] (1) Naraka, or Hell; (2) Pretas, or hungry demons; (3) beasts. [FN#281] Lin Tsi Luk (Rin-zai-roku). APPENDIX ORIGIN OF MAN (GEN-NIN-RON) BY KWEI FUNG TSUNG MIH THE SEVENTH PATRIARCH OF THE KEGON SECT TRANSLATED BY KAITEN NUKARIYA PREFACE Tsung Mih (Shu-Mitsu, A.D. 774-841), the author of Yuen Jan Lun ('Origin of Man'), one of the greatest scholars that China ever produced, was born in a Confucianist family of the State of Kwo Cheu. Having been converted by Tao Yuen (Do-yen), a noted priest of the Zen Sect, he was known at the age of twenty-nine as a prominent member of that sect, and became the Eleventh Patriarch after Bodhidharma, the First Patriarch of the sect, who had come over to China from India about A.D. 520. Some years after he studied under Chino, Kwan (Cho-kwan) the philosophical doctrine of the Avatamsaka School, now known in Japan as the Kegon Sect, and distinguished himself as the Seventh Patriarch of that school. In A.D. 835 he was received in audience by the Emperor Wan Tsung, who questioned him in a general way about the Buddhist doctrines, and bestowed upon him the honourable title of Great Virtuous Teacher, together with abundant gifts. The author produced over ninety volumes of books, which include a commentary on Avatamsaka-sutra, one on Purnabuddha-sutra-prasannartha-sutra, and many others. Yuen Jan Lun is one of the shortest of his essays, but it contains all the essential doctrines, respecting the origin of life and of the universe, which are found in Taoism, Confucianism, Hinayanism, and Mahayanism. How important a position it holds among the Buddhist books can be well imagined from the fact that over twenty commentaries were written on it both by the Chinese and the Japanese Buddhist scholars. It is said that a short essay under the same title by a noted contemporary Confucianist scholar, Han Tui Chi (Kan-tai-shi, who flourished 803-823), suggested to him to write a book in order to make clear to the public the Buddhist view on the same subject. Thus be entitled the book 'Origin of Man,' in spite of his treating of the origin of life and of the universe. Throughout the whole book occur coupled sentences, consisting mostly of the same number of Chinese characters, and consequently while one sentence is too laconic, the other is overladen with superfluous words, put in to make the right number in the balanced group of characters. In addition to this, the text is full of too concise phrases, and often of ambiguous ones, as it is intended to state as briefly as possible all the important doctrines of the Buddhist as well as of the outside schools. On this account the author himself wrote a few notes on the passages that lie thought it necessary to explain. The reader will find these notes beginning with 'A' put by the translator to distinguish them from his own. K. N. ORIGIN OF MAN[FN#282] INTRODUCTION All animated beings that live (under the sun) have an origin, while each of inanimate things, countless in number, owes its existence to some source.[FN#283] There can never be (any being nor) any thing that has (no origin, as there can be no) branch which has no root. How could man, the most spiritual of the Three Powers[FN#284] exist without an origin? [FN#282] The author treats the origin of life and of the universe, but the book was entitled as we have seen in the preface. [FN#283] The same idea and expression are found in Tao Teh King (Do-toku-kyo), by Lao Tsz (Ro-shi, 604-522 B.C.). [FN#284] The Three Powers are-(1) Heaven, that has the power of revolution; (2) Earth, that has the power of production; and (3) Man, that has the power of thought. (It is said),[FN#285] moreover, that that which knows others is intellect, and that that which knows itself is wisdom. Now if I, being born among men, know not whence I came (into this life), how could I know whither I am going in the after-life? How could I understand all human affairs, ancient and modern, in the world? So, for some scores of years I learned under many different tutors, and read extensively (not only) the Buddhist (but also) outside books. By that means I tried to trace my Self, and never stopped my research till I attained, as I had expected, to its origin. [FN#285] The sentence is a direct quotation of Tao Teh King. Confucianists and Taoists of our age, nevertheless, merely know that our nearest origin is the father or the grandfather, as we are descended from them, and they from their fathers in succession. (They say) that the remotest (origin) is the undefinable (primordial) Gas[FN#286] in the state of chaos; that it split itself into the two (different) principles of the Positive and the Negative; that the two brought forth the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and Man, which (in their turn) produced all other things; that man as well as other things originated in the Gas. [FN#286] Such a statement concerning the creation of the universe as the one here given is found in I King (Eeki-kyo). The primordial substance is not exactly 'gas,' but we may conceive it as being something like a nebula. (Some)[FN#287] Buddhists, (however), maintain simply that the nearest (origin) is Karma,[FN#288] as we were born among men as the results of the Karma that we had produced in the past existences; and that the remotest (origin) is the Alaya-vijnyana,[FN#289] (because) our Karma is brought forth by illusion, and (illusion by attachment), and so forth, in one word, the Alaya is the origin of life. Although all of (these scholars) claim that they have already grasped the ultimate truth, yet not in fact. [FN#287] Not all Buddhists, but some of them, are meant here-that is, Hinayanists and Dharma-laksanists. [FN#288] According to Hinayanists, Karma (action) is that moral germ which survives death and continues in transmigration. It may be conceived as something like an energy, by the influence of which beings undergo metempsychosis. [FN#289] According to the Dharma-laksana Sect, Alaya-vijnyana (receptacle-knowledge) is the spiritual Substance which holds the 'seeds' or potentialities of all things. Confucius, Lao Tsz, and Shakya, however, were all the wisest of sages. Each of them gave his teachings in a way different from the other two, that they might meet the spiritual needs of his time and fit to the capacities of men. (So that) the Buddhist and the outside doctrines, each supplementing the other, have done good to the multitude. They were all (intended) to encourage thousands of virtuous acts by explaining the whole chain of causality. They were (also intended) to investigate thousands of things, and throw light on the beginning and on the end of their evolution. Although all these doctrines (might) answer the purpose of the sages, yet there must be some teachings that would be temporary,[FN#290] while others would be eternal. The first two faiths are merely temporary, while Buddhism includes both the temporary and the eternal. We may act according to the precepts of these three faiths, which aim at the peace and welfare (of man), in so far as they encourage thousands of virtuous acts by giving warning against evil and recommending good. (But) Buddhism (alone) is altogether perfect and best of all, in investigating thousands of things and in tracing them back to their first cause, in order to acquire thorough understanding of the natures of things and to attain to the ultimate truth. [FN#290] The temporary doctrine means the teaching preached by Shakya Muni to meet the temporary needs of the hearers. The term is always used in contrast with the real or eternal doctrine. Each of our contemporary scholars, nevertheless, adheres to one school of the (above mentioned) teachings. And there are some (even) among the Buddhists who mistake the temporary for the eternal doctrine. In consequence they are never successful in tracing Heaven, Earth, Man, and other things back to their First Cause. But I am now (going to show how) to infer an Ultimate Cause for thousands of things, not only from the Buddhist, but from outsiders' teachings. First I shall treat of the superficial doctrines, and then of the profound, (in order to) free the followers of the temporary faiths from those (prejudices that prove to be) obstructions in their way to the truth, and enable them to attain to the Ultimate Reality. Afterwards I shall point out, according to the perfect doctrine, how things evolved themselves through one stage after another out of the First Cause (in order to) make the incomplete doctrines fuse into the complete one, and to enable the followers to explain the phenomenal universe.[FN#291] [FN#291] A. 'That is, Heaven, Earth, Man, and other things.' This essay is entitled 'Origin of Man,' and it consists of the (following) four chapters: (1) Refutation of Delusive and Prejudiced (Doctrine); (2) Refutation of Incomplete and Superficial (Doctrine); (3) Direct Explanation of the Real Origin; (4) Reconciliation of the Temporary with the Eternal Doctrine. CHAPTER I REFUTATION OF DELUSIVE AND PREJUDICED (DOCTRINE)[FN#292] According to Confucianism[FN#293] and Taoism all sorts of beings, such as men and beasts, were born out of and brought up by the (so-called) Great Path of Emptiness.[FN#294] That is to say, the Path by the operation of its own law gave rise naturally to the primordial Gas, and that Gas produced Heaven and Earth, which (in their turn) brought forth thousands of things. Accordingly the wise and the unwise, the high and the low, the rich and the poor, the happy and the miserable, are predestined to be so by the heavenly flat, and are at the mercy of Time and Providence. Therefore they (must) come back after death to Heaven and Earth, from which (in turn) they return to the (Path) of Emptiness. The main purpose of these[FN#295] (two) outside teachings is simply to establish morals with regard to bodily actions, but not to trace life to its First Cause. They tell of nothing beyond the phenomenal universe in their explanation of thousands of things. Though they point out the Great Path as the origin, yet they never explain in detail (what is) the direct, and (what) the indirect cause of the phenomenal universe, or how it was created, or how it will be destroyed, how life came forth, whither it will go, (what is) good, (what) evil. Therefore the followers of these doctrines adhere to them as the perfect teachings without knowing that they are merely temporary. [FN#292] A. 'Those of Confucianists and Taoists.' [FN#293] Confucianists are not of exactly the same opinion as Taoists respecting the creation. The Great Path here mentioned refers exclusively to Taoism. [FN#294] The Great Path of Emptiness, Hu Wu Ta Tao, is the technical name for the Taoist conception of the Absolute. It is something existent in an undeveloped state before the creation of the phenomenal universe. According to Tao Teh King, it is 'self-existent, unchangeable, all-pervading, and the mother of all things. It is unnamable, but it is sometimes called the Path or the Great.' It is also called the Emptiness, as it is entirely devoid of relative activities. [FN#295] Confucianism mainly treats of ethical problems, but Taoism is noted for its metaphysical speculation. Now I (shall) raise, in brief, a few questions to point out their weaknesses. If everything in the universe, as they say, came out of the Great Path of Emptiness, that Great Path itself should be the cause of (not only) of wisdom, (but) of folly, (not only) of life, (but) of death. It ought to be the source of prosperity (as well as) of adversity, of fortune (as well as) of misfortune. If this origin exist (as it is supposed) to all eternity, it must be possible neither to remove follies, villainies, calamities, and wars, nor to promote wisdom, good, happiness, and welfare. Of what use (then) are the teachings of Lao Tsz and Chwang Tsz?[FN#296] The Path, besides, should have reared the tiger and the wolf, given birth to Kieh[FN#297] and Cheu,[FN#298] caused the premature deaths of Yen[FN#299] and Jan,[FN#300] and placed I[FN#301] and Tsi[FN#302] in their most lamentable condition. How could it be called a noble (path)? [FN#296] One of the greatest Taoist philosophers, and the author of the book entitled after his name. He flourished 339-327 B.C. [FN#297] The last Emperor of the Hia dynasty, notorious for his vices. His reign was 1818-1767 B.C. [FN#298] The last Emperor of the Yin dynasty, one of the worst despots. His reign was 1154-1122 B.C. [FN#299] Yen Hwui (Gan-kai, 541-483 B.C.), a most beloved disciple of Confucius, known as a wise and virtuous scholar. [FN#300] Jan Poh Niu (Zen-pak-giu, 521- . . . B.C.), a prominent disciple, of Confucius, distinguished for his virtues. [FN#301] Poh I (Haku-i), the elder brother of Tsi, who distinguished himself by his faith and wisdom at the downfall of the Yin dynasty. [FN#302] Shuh Tsi (Shiku Sei), the brother of I, with whom he shared the same fate. Again, if, as they say, thousands of things could come naturally into existence without direct or indirect causes, they should come forth in all places where there are neither direct nor indirect causes. For instance, a stone would bring forth grass, while grass would give birth to man, and man would beget beasts, etc. In addition to this they would come out all at the same time, nothing being produced before or after the others. They would come into existence all at the same moment, nothing being produced sooner or later than the others. Peace and welfare might be secured without the help of the wise and the good. Humanity and righteousness might be acquired without instruction and study. One might even become an immortal genius[FN#303] without taking the miraculous medicine. Why did Lao Tsz, Chwang Tsz, Cheu Kung[FN#304] and Confucius do such a useless task as to found their doctrines and lay down the precepts for men? [FN#303] Degenerated Taoists maintained that they could prepare a certain miraculous draught, by the taking of which one could become immortal. [FN#304] Cheu Kung (Shu-ko), a most noted statesman and scholar, the younger brother of the Emperor Wu (1122-1116 B.C.), the founder of the Chen dynasty. Again, if all things, as they say, were made of the primordial Gas (which has no feeling nor will), how could an infant, just born of the Gas, who had never learned to think, or love, or hate, or to be naughty, or wilful (even begin to think or feel)? If, as they may answer, the infant as soon as it was born could quite naturally love or hate, etc., as it wished, it could (as well) gain the Five Virtues[FN#305] and the Six Acquirements,[FN#306] as it wished. Why does it wait for some direct or indirect causes (to gain its knowledge), and to acquire them through study and instruction? [FN#305] (1) Humanity, (2) Uprightness, (3) Propriety, (4) Wisdom, (5) Sincerity. [FN#306] (1) Reading, (2) Arithmetic, (3) Etiquette, (4) Archery, (5) Horsemanship, (6) Music. Again, they might say life suddenly came into existence, it being formed of the Gas, and suddenly goes to naught (at death), the Gas being dispersed. What, then, are the spirits of the dead (which they believe in)? Besides, there are in history some instances of persons[FN#307] who could see through previous existences, or of persons[FN#308] who recollected the events in their past lives. Therefore we know that the present is the continuation of the past life, and that it did not come into existence on a sudden by the formation of a Gas. Again, there are some historical facts[FN#309] proving that the supernatural powers of spirits will not be lost. Thus we know that life is not to be suddenly reduced to naught after death by the dispersion of the Gas. Therefore (matters concerning) sacrifices, services, and supplications (to the spirits) are mentioned in the sacred books.[FN#310] Even more than that! Are there not some instances, ancient and modern, of persons who revived after death to tell the matters concerning the unseen world, or who[FN#311] appeared to move the hearts of their wives and children a while after death, or who[FN#312] took vengeance (on the enemy), or who[FN#313] returned favours (to their friends)? [FN#307] According to Tsin Shu, a man, Pao Tsing by name, told his parents, when he was five years, that he had been in the previous life a son to Li, an inhabitant of Kuh Yang, and that he had fallen into the well and died. Thereupon the parents called on Li, and found, to their astonishment, that the boy's statement was actually coincident with the fact. [FN#308] Yan Hu, a native of Tsin Chen, recollected, at the age of five, that he had been a son to the next-door neighbour, and that he had left his ring under a mulberry-tree close by the fence of the house. Thereupon he went with his nurse and successfully restored it, to the astonishment of the whole family. [FN#309] All the ancient sages of China believed in spirits, and propitiated them by sacrifices. [FN#310] The sacred books of Confucianism, Shu King and Li Ki. [FN#311] Pang Shang, the Prince of Tsi, is said to have appeared after his death. [FN#312] Poh Yiu, of Ching, is said to have become an epidemic spirit to take vengeance on his enemies. [FN#313] According to Tso Chwen (Sa-den), when Wei Wu, a General of Tsin, fought with Tu Hwui, the dead father of his concubine appeared, and prevented the march of the enemy in order to return favours done to him. The outside scholars might ask, by way of objection, if one live as a spirit after death, the spirits of the past would fill up streets and roads, and be seen by men; and why are there no eye-witnesses? I say in reply that (as) there are the Six Worlds[FN#314] for the dead, they do not necessarily live in the world of spirits. (Even as spirits) they must die and be born again among men or other beings. How can the spirits of the past always live in a crowd? Moreover, if (as you say) man was born of (primordial) Gas which gave rise to Heaven and Earth, and which was unconscious from the very beginning, how could he be conscious all on a sudden after his birth? Why are trees and grass which were also formed of the same Gas unconscious? Again, if, (as you say), the rich and the poor, the high and the low, the wise and the unwise, the good and the bad, the happy and the unhappy, the lucky and the unlucky, are predestinated alike by heavenly decree, why are so many destined by heaven to be poor and so few to be rich? Why so many to be low and so few to be high? In short, why are so many destined to be unlucky and so few to be lucky? [FN#314] (1) The heaven, or the world for Devas; (2) the earth, or the world for men; (3) the world for Asuras; (4) the world for Petras; (5) the world for beasts; (6) hell. If it be the will of Heaven to bless so limited a number of persons at all, and to curse so many, why is Heaven so partial? Even more than that! Are there not many who hold a high position without any meritorious conduct, while some are placed in a low one in spite of their keeping to (the rules of) conduct? Are there not many who are rich without any virtues, while some are poor in spite of their virtues? Are there not the unjust who are fortunate, while the just are unfortunate? Are there not the humane, who die young, while the inhuman enjoy long lives? In short, the righteous (are doomed) to perish, while the unrighteous prosper! Thus (we must infer) that all this depends on the heavenly will, which causes the unrighteous to prosper and the righteous to perish. How can there be reward for the good (as it is taught in your sacred books),[FN#315] that Heaven blesses the good and shows grace to the humble? How can there be punishment for the bad (as it is taught in your holy books),[FN#316] that Heaven curses the evil and inflicts punishment on the proud? [FN#315] Shu King and I King. [FN#316] Ibid. Again, if even all such evils as wars, treacheries, and rebellions depend on the heavenly will, those Sages would be in the wrong who, in the statement of their teaching, censure or chastise men, but not Heaven or the heavenly will. Therefore, even if Shi[FN#317] is full of reproofs against maladministration, while Shu[FN#318] of eulogies for the reigns of the wisest monarchs-even if Propriety[FN#319] is recommended as a most effectual means of creating peace between the governors and the governed, while Music[FN#320] (is recommended as a means of) ameliorating the customs and manners of the people--still, they can hardly be said to realize the Will on High or to conform to the wishes of the Creator. Hence you must acknowledge that those who devote themselves to the study of these doctrines are not able to trace man to his origin. [FN#317] Shu King, a famous book of odes. [FN#318] Shu King, the records of the administrations of the wisest monarchs of old. [FN#319] Li Ki, the book on proprieties and etiquette. [FN#320] It is said in Hiao King that music is the best means to improve customs and manners. CHAPTER II REFUTATION OF INCOMPLETE AND SUPERFICIAL (DOCTRINE)[FN#321] There are in the Buddhist doctrines, to state briefly, the five grades (of development), beginning with the most superficial, and ending with the most profound teachings. (They are as follows:) (1) The Doctrine for Men and Devas; (2) the Doctrine of the Hinayanists; (3) the Mahayana Doctrine of Dharma-laksana; (4) the Mahayana Doctrine of the Nihilists[FN#322]; (5) the Ekaydna Doctrine that teaches the Ultimate Reality.[FN#323] [FN#321] A. 'The imperfect doctrines taught by the Buddha.' [FN#322] A. 'These first four doctrines are treated of in this chapter.' [FN#323] A. 'This is mentioned in the third chapter.' 1. The Doctrine for Men and Devas. The Buddha, to meet temporarily the spiritual needs of the uninitiated, preached a doctrine concerning good or bad Karma as the cause, and its retribution as the effect, in the three existences (of the past, the present, and the future). That is, one who commits the tenfold sin[FN#324] must be reborn after death in hell, when these sins are of the highest grade;[FN#325] among Pretas,[FN#326] when of the middle grade; and among animals, when of the lowest grade. [FN#324] (1) Taking life, (2) theft, (3) adultery, (4) lying, (5) exaggeration, (6) abuse, (7) ambiguous talk, (8) coveting, (9) malice, (10) unbelief. [FN#325] There are three grades in each of the tenfold sin. For instance, the taking of the life of a Buddha, or of a sage, or of a parent, etc., is of the highest grade; while to kill fellow-men is of the middle; and to kill beasts and birds, etc., is of the lowest. Again, to kill any being with pleasure is of the highest grade; while to repent after killing is of the middle; and killing by mistake is of the lowest. [FN#326] Hungry spirits. Therefore the Buddha for a temporary purpose made these (uninitiated) observe the Five Precepts similar to the Five Virtues[FN#327] of the outside doctrine, in order to enable them to escape the three (worst) States[FN#328] of Existence, and to be reborn among men. (He also taught that) those who cultivate[FN#329] the tenfold virtue[FN#330] of the highest grade, and who give alms, and keep the precepts, and so forth, are to be born in the Six Celestial Realms of Kama[FN#331] while those who practise the Four[FN#332] Dhyanas, the Eight Samadhis,[FN#333] are to be reborn in the heavenly worlds of Rupa[FN#334] and Arupa. For this reason this doctrine is called the doctrine for men and Devas. According to this doctrine Karma is the origin of life.[FN#335] [FN#327] The five cardinal virtues of Confucianism are quite similar to the five precepts of Buddhism, as we see by this table: VIRTUES.---PRECEPTS. 1. Humanity.---1. Not to take life. 2. Uprightness.---2. Not to steal. 3. Propriety.---3. Not to be adulterous. 4. Wisdom.---4. Not to get drunk. 5. Sincerity.---5. Not to lie. [FN#328] (1) Hell, (2) Pretas, (3) Beasts. [FN#329] A. 'The Buddhist precepts are different from the Confucian teachings in the form of expression, but they agree in their warning against the evil and in encouraging the good. The moral conduct of the Buddhist can be secured by the cultivation of the five virtues of humanity, uprightness, etc., as though people in this country hold up their hands joined in the respectable salutation, while the same object is attained by those of The Fan, who stand with their bands hanging down. Not to kill is humanity. Not to steal is uprightness. Not to be adulterous is propriety. Not to lie is sincerity. Not to drink spirits nor eat meat is to increase wisdom, keeping mind pure.' [FN#330] (1) Not to take life, (2) not to steal, (3) not to be adulterous, (4) not to lie, (5) not to exaggerate, (6) not to abuse, (7) not to talk ambiguously, (8) not to covet, (9) not to be malicious, (10) not to unbelieve. [FN#331] Kama-loka, the world of desire, is the first of the Three Worlds. It consists of the earth and the six heavenly worlds, all the inhabitants of which are subject to sensual desires. [FN#332] The Buddhists taught the four Dhyanas, or the four different degrees of abstract contemplation, by which the mind could free itself from all subjective and objective trammels, until it reached a state of absolute absence of unconcentrated thought. The practiser of the four Dhyanas would be born in the four regions of the Rupa-lokas in accordance with his spiritual state. [FN#333] Namely, the above-mentioned four degrees of contemplation, and other four deeper ecstatic meditations. The practiser of the latter would be born in the four spiritual regions of Arupa-loka in accordance with his state of abstraction. [FN#334] Rupa-loka, the world of form, is the second of the Three Worlds. It consists of eighteen heavens, which were divided into four regions. The first Dhyana region comprised the first three of the eighteen heavens, the second Dhyana region the next three, the third Dhyana region the following three, and the fourth Dhyana region the remaining nine. Arupa-loka, the world of formlessness, is the third of the Three Worlds. It consists of four heavens. The first is called 'the heaven of unlimited space,' the second 'the heaven of unlimited knowledge,' the third 'the heaven of absolute non-existence,' the fourth 'the heaven of neither consciousness nor unconsciousness.' A. 'None of heavens, or of hells, or of the worlds of spirits, is mentioned in the title of this book, because these worlds are entirely different from ours, and absolutely beyond the sight and hearing. Ordinary people know not even the phenomena actually occurring before them; how could they understand the unseen? So I entitled it simply, "The Origin of Man " in agreement with the worldly teachings. Now that I treat, however, of the Buddhist doctrine, it is reasonable to enumerate these worlds in full.' [FN#335] A. 'But there are three sorts of Karmas: (1) The bad, (2) the good, (3) the immovable. There are the three periods for retribution: (1) In this life, (2) in the next life, (3) in some remote future life.' Now let me raise some questions by way of objection. Granting that one has to be born in the Five States of Existences[FN#336] by virtue of Karma produced (in previous lives), is it not doubtful who is the author of Karma, and who the recipient of its consequences? If it might be said that the eyes, ears, hands, and feet produce Karma, then the eyes, ears, hands, and feet of a newly-dead person are still as they were. So why do they not see and hear and thus produce Karma? [FN#336] The states of--(1) heavenly beings, (2) men, (3) beings in hell, (4) hungry spirits, (5) beasts. If it be said that it is the mind that produces Karma (I ask), what is the mind? If you mean the heart, the heart is a material thing, and is located within the body. How can it, by coming quickly into the eyes and ears, distinguish the pleasing from the disgusting in external objects? If there be no distinction between the pleasing and the disgusting, why does it accept the one or reject the other? Besides, the heart is as much material and impenetrable as the eyes, ears, hands, and feet. How, then, can the heart within freely pass to the organs of sense without? How can this one put the others in motion, or communicate with them, in order to co-operate in producing Karma? If it be said that only such passions as joy, anger, love, and hatred act through the body and the mouth and enable them to produce Karma, (I should say) those passions--joy, anger, and the rest--are too transitory, and come and go in a moment. They have no Substance (behind their appearances). What, then, is the chief agent that produces Karma? It might be said that we should not seek after (the author of Karma) by taking mind and body separately (as we have just done), because body and mind, as a whole, conjointly produce Karma. Who, then, after the destruction of body by death, would receive the retribution (in the form) of pain or of pleasure? If it be assumed that another body is to come into existence after death, then the body and mind of the present life, committing sins or cultivating virtues, would cause another body and mind in the future which would suffer from the pains or enjoy the pleasures. Accordingly, those who cultivate virtues would be extremely unlucky, while those who commit sins very lucky. How can the divine law of causality be so unreasonable? Therefore we (must) acknowledge that those who merely follow this doctrine are far from a thorough understanding of the origin of life, though they believe in the theory of Karma. 2. The Doctrine of the Hinayanists. This doctrine tells us that (both) the body, that is formed of matter, and the mind, that thinks and reflects, continually exist from eternity to eternity, being destroyed and recreated by means of direct or indirect causes, just as the water of a river glides continually, or the flame of a lamp keeps burning constantly. Mind and body unite themselves temporarily, and seem to be one and changeless. The common people, ignorant of all this, are attached to (the two combined) as being Atman.[FN#337] [FN#337] Atman means ego, or self, on which individuality is based. For the sake of this Atman, which they hold to be the most precious thing (in the world), they are subject to the Three Poisons Of lust,[FN#338] anger,[FN#339] and folly,[FN#340] which (in their turn) give impulse to the will and bring forth Karma of all kinds through speech and action. Karma being thus produced, no one can evade its effects. Consequently all must be born[FN#341] in the Five States of Existence either to suffer pain or to enjoy pleasure; some are born in the higher places, while others in the lower of the Three Worlds.[FN#342] [FN#338] A. 'The passion that covets fame and gain to keep oneself in prosperity.' [FN#339] A. 'The passion against disagreeable things, for fear of their inflicting injuries on oneself.' [FN#340] A. 'Wrong thoughts and inferences.' [FN#341] A. 'Different sorts of beings are born by virtue of the individualizing Karma.' [FN#342] A. 'Worlds are produced by virtue of the Karma common to all beings that live in them.' When born (in the future lives) they are attached again to the body (and mind) as Atman, and become subject to lust and the other two passions. Karma is again produced by them, and they have to receive its inevitable results. (Thus) body undergoes birth, old age, disease, death, and is reborn after death; while the world passes through the stages of formation, existence, destruction, and emptiness, and is re-formed again after emptiness. Kalpa after Kalpa[FN#343] (passes by), life after life (comes on), and the circle of continuous rebirths knows no beginning nor end, and resembles the pulley for drawing water from the well.[FN#344] [FN#343] Kalpa, a mundane cycle, is not reckoned by months and years. lt is a period during which a physical universe is formed to the moment when another is put into its place. A. "The following verses describe how the world was first created in the period of emptiness: A strong wind began to blow through empty space. Its length and breadth were infinite. It was 16 lakhs thick, and so strong that it could not be cut even with a diamond. Its name was the world-supporting-wind. The golden clouds of Abhasvara heaven (the sixth of eighteen heavens of the Rupa-loka) covered all the skies of the Three Thousand Worlds. Down came the heavy rain, each drop being as large as the axle of a waggon. The water stood on the wind that checked its running down. It was 11 lakhs deep. The first layer was made of adamant (by the congealing water). Gradually the cloud poured down the rain and filled it. First the Brahma-raja worlds, next the Yama-heaven (the third of six heavens of the Kama loka), were made. The pure water rose up, driven by the wind, and Sumeru, (the central mountain, or axis of the universe) and the seven concentric circles of mountains, and so on, were formed. Out of dirty sediments the mountains, the four continents, the hells, oceans, and outer ring of mountains, were made. This is called the formation of the universe. The time of one Increase and one Decrease (human life is increased from 10 to 84,000 years, increasing by one year at every one hundred years; then it is decreased from 84,000 to 10 years, decreasing by one year at every one hundred years) elapsed. In short, those beings in the second region of Rupa-loka, whose good Karma had spent its force, came down on the earth. At first there were the 'earth bread' and the wild vine for them. Afterwards they could not completely digest rice, and began to excrete and to urinate. Thus men were differentiated from women. They divided the cultivated land among them. Chiefs were elected; assistants and subjects were sought out; hence different classes of people. A period of nineteen Increases and Decreases elapsed. Added to the above-mentioned period, it amounted to twenty Increases and Decreases. This is called the Kalpa of the formation of the universe. "Now let us discuss this point. The Kalpa of Emptiness is what the Taoist calls the Path of Emptiness. The Path or the Reality, however, is not empty, but bright, transcendental, spiritual, and omnipresent. Lao Tsz, led by his mistaken idea, called the Kalpa of Emptiness the Path; otherwise he did so for the temporary purpose of denouncing worldly desires. The wind in the empty space is what the Taoist calls the undefinable Gas in the state of Chaos. Therefore Lao Tsz said, 'The Path brings forth one.' The golden clouds, the first of all physical objects, is (what the Confucianist calls) the First Principle. The rain-water standing (on the wind) is the production of the Negative Principle. The Positive, united with the Negative, brought forth the phenomenal universe. The Brahma-raja-loka, the Sumeru, and others, are what they call the Heaven. The dirty waters and sediment are the Earth. So Lao Tsz said, 'One produces two.' Those in the second region of the Rupra-loka, whose good Karma had spent its force, came down upon the earth and became human beings. Therefore Lao Tsz said, 'The two produce three.' Thus the Three Powers were completed. The earth-bread and different classes of people, and so on, are the so-called 'production of thousands of things by the Three.' This was the time when people lived in eaves or wandered in the wilderness, and knew not the use of fire. As it belongs to the remote past of the prehistoric age, previous to the reigns of the first three Emperors, the traditions handed down to us are neither clear nor certain. Many errors crept into them one generation after another, and consequently no one of the statements given in the various works of scholars agrees with another. Besides, when the Buddhist books explain the formation of the Three Thousand Worlds, they do not confine themselves merely within the limits of this country. Hence their records are entirely different from those of the outsiders (which are confined to China). "'Existence' means the Kalpa of Existence that lasts twenty Increases and Decreases. 'Destruction' means the Kalpa of Destruction that lasts also twenty Increases and Decreases. During the first nineteen Increases and Decreases living beings are destroyed; while in the last worlds are demolished through the three periods of distress (1) the period of water, (2) the period of fire, (3) the period of wind. 'Emptiness' means the Kalpa of Emptiness, during which no beings nor worlds exist. This Kalpa also lasts twenty Increases and Decreases." [FN#344] A. 'Taoists merely know that there was one Kalpa of Emptiness before the formation of this present universe, and point out the Emptiness, the Chaos, the primordial Gas, and the rest, naming them as the first or the beginningless. But they do not know that the universe had already gone through myriads of cycles of Kalpas of formation, existence, destruction, and emptiness. Thus even the most superficial of the Hinayana doctrines far excels the most profound of the outside doctrines.' All this is due to Ignorance which does not understand that no bodily existence, by its very nature, can be Atman. The reason why it is not Atman is this, that its formation is, after all, due to the union of matter and mind. Now (let us) examine and analyze (mind and body). Matter consists of the four elements of earth, water, fire, and wind, while mind consists of the four aggregates of perception,[FN#345] consciousness,[FN#346] conception,[FN#347] and knowledge.[FN#348] [FN#345] A. 'It receives both the agreeable and the disagreeable impressions from without.' It is Yedana, the second of the five Skandhas, or aggregates. [FN#346] A. 'It perceives the forms of external objects.' It is Samjnya, name, the third of the five aggregates. [FN#347] A. 'It acts, one idea changing after another.' It is Samskara, the fourth of the five aggregates. [FN#348] A. 'It recognizes.' It is Vijnyana, the last of the five aggregates. If all (these elements) be taken as Atman, there must be eight Atmans (for each person). More than that! There are many different things, even in the element of earth. Now, there are three hundred and sixty bones, each one distinct from the other. No one is the same as any other, either of the skin, hair, muscles, the liver, the heart, the spleen, and the kidneys. Furthermore, there are a great many mental qualities each different from the others. Sight is different from hearing. Joy is not the same as anger. If we enumerate them, in short, one after another, there are eighty thousand passions.[FN#349] [FN#349] Eighty thousand simply means a great many. As things are thus so innumerable, none can tell which of these (without mistake) is to be taken as the Atman. In case all be taken as the Atman, there must be hundreds and thousands of Atmans, among which there would be as many conflicts and disturbances as there are masters living in the one (house of) body. As there exists no body nor mind separated from these things, one can never find the Atman, even if he seeks for it over and over again. Hereupon anyone understands that this life (of ours) is no more than the temporary union of numerous elements (mental and physical). Originally there is no Atman to distinguish one being from another. For whose sake, then, should he be lustful or angry? For whose sake should he take life,[FN#350] or commit theft, or give alms, or keep precepts? (Thus thinking) at length he sets his mind free from the virtues and vices subjected to the passions[FN#351] of the Three Worlds, and abides in the discriminative insight into (the nature of) the Anatman[FN#352] only. By means of that discriminative insight he makes himself pure from lust, and the other (two passions) puts an end to various sorts of Karma, and realizes the Bhutatathata[FN#353] of Anatman. In brief, he attains to the State of Arhat,[FN#354] has his body reduced to ashes, his intelligence annihilated, and entirely gets rid of sufferings. [FN#350] A. 'He understands the truth of misery.' The truth of Duhkha, or misery, is the first of the four Noble Satyas, or Truths, that ought to be realized by the Hinayanists. According to the Hinayana doctrine, misery is a necessary concomitant of sentient life.' [FN#351] A. 'He destroys Samudaya.' The truth of Samudaya, or accumulation, the second of the four Satyas, means that misery is accumulated or produced by passions. This truth should be realized by the removal of passions. [FN#352] A. 'This is the truth of Marga.' The truth of Marga, or Path, is the fourth of the four Satyas. There are the eight right Paths that lead to the extinction of passions; (1) Right view (to discern truth), (2) right thought (or purity of will and thought), (3) right speech (free from nonsense and errors), (4) right action, (5) right diligence, (6) right meditation, (7) right memory, (8) right livelihood. [FN#353] A. 'This is the truth of Nirodha.' Nirodha, or destruction, the third of the four Satyas, means the extinction of passions. Bhutatathati of Anatman means the truth of the non existence of Atma or soul, and is the aim and end of the Hinayanist philosophy. [FN#354] Arhat, the Killer of thieves (i.e., passions), means one who conquered his passions. It means, secondly, one who is exempted from birth, or one who is free from transmigration. Thirdly, it means one deserving worship. So the Arhat is the highest sage who has attained to Nirvana by the destruction of all passions. According to the doctrine of this school the two aggregates, material and spiritual, together with lust, anger, and folly, are the origin of ourselves and of the world in which we live. There exists nothing else, either in the past or in the future, that can be regarded as the origin. Now let us say (a few words) by way of refutation. That which (always) stands as the origin of life, birth after birth, generation after generation, should exist by itself without cessation. Yet the Five Vijnyanas[FN#355] cease to perform their functions when they lack proper conditions, (while) the Mano-vijnyana[FN#356] is lost at times (in unconsciousness). There are none of those four (material) elements in the heavenly worlds of Arupa. How, then, is life sustained there and kept up in continuous birth after birth? Therefore we know that those who devote themselves to the study of this doctrine also cannot trace life to its origin. [FN#355] A. 'The conditions are the Indriyas and the Visayas, etc.' Indriyas are organs of sense, and Visayas are objects on which the sense acts. Five Vijnyanas are--(1) The sense of sight, (2) the sense of hearing, (3) the sense of smell, (4) the sense of taste, (5) the sense of touch. [FN#356] Mano-vijnyana is the mind itself, and the last of the six Vijnyanas of the Hinayana doctrine. A. '(For instance), in a state of trance, in deep slumber, in Nirodha-samapatti (where no thought exists), in Asamjnyi-samapatti (in which no consciousness exists), and in Avrhaloka (the thirteenth of Brahmalokas). 3. The Mahayana Doctrine of Dharmalaksana.[FN#357] This doctrine tells us that from time immemorial all sentient beings naturally have eight different Vijnyanas[FN#358] and the eighth, Alaya-vijnyana,[FN#359] is the origin of them. (That is), the Alaya suddenly brings forth the 'seeds'[FN#360] of living beings and of the world in which they live, and through transformation gives rise to the seven Vijnyanas. Each of them causes external objects on which it acts to take form and appear. In reality there is nothing externally existent. How, then, does Alaya give rise to them through transformation? Because, as this doctrine tells us, we habitually form the erroneous idea that Atman and external objects exist in reality, and it acts upon Alaya and leaves its impressions[FN#361] there. Consequently, when Vijnyanas are awakened, these impressions (or the seed-ideas) transform and present themselves (before the mind's eye) Atman and external objects. [FN#357] This school studies in the main the nature of things (Dharma), and was so named. The doctrine is based on Avatamsaka-sutra and Samdhi-nirmocana-sutra, and was systematized by Asamga and Vasu-bandhu. The latter's book, Vidyamatra-siddhi-castra-karika, is held to be the best authoritative work of the school. [FN#358] (1) The sense of sight; (2) the sense of hearing; (3) the sense of smell; (4) the sense of taste; (5) the sense of touch; (6) Mano-vijnyana (lit., mind-knowledge), or the perceptive faculty; (7) Klista-mano-vijnyana (lit., soiled-mind-knowledge), or an introspective faculty; (8) Alaya-vijnyana (lit., receptacle-knowledge), or ultimate-mind-substance. [FN#359] The first seven Vijnyanas depend on the Alaya, which is said to hold all the 'seeds' of physical and mental objects. [FN#360] This school is an extreme form of Idealism, and maintains that nothing separated from the Alaya can exist externally. The mind-substance, from the first, holds the seed ideas of everything, and they seem to the non-enlightened mind to be the external universe, but are no other than the transformation of the seed-ideas. The five senses, and the Mano-vijnyana acting on them, take them for external objects really existent, while the seventh Vijnyana mistakes the eighth for Atman. [FN#361] The non-enlightened mind, habitually thinking that Atman and external objects exist, leaves the impression of the seed-ideas on its own Alaya. Then the sixth and the seventh[FN#362] Vijnyana veiled with Avidya, dwelling on them, mistake them for real Atman and the real external objects. This (error) may be compared with one diseased[FN#363] in the eye, who imagines that he sees various things (floating in the air) on account of his illness; or with a dreamer[FN#364] whose fanciful thoughts assume various forms of external objects, and present themselves before him. While in the dream he fancies that there exist external objects in reality, but on awakening he finds that they are nothing other than the transformation of his dreaming thoughts. [FN#362] Avidya, or ignorance, which mistakes the illusory phenomena for realities. [FN#363] A. 'A person with a serious disease sees the vision of strange colours, men, and things in his trance.' [FN#364] A. 'That a dreamer fancies he sees things is well known to everybody.' So are our lives. They are no other than the transformation of the Vijnyanas; but in consequence of illusion, we take them for the Atman and external objects existing in reality. From these erroneous ideas arise delusive thoughts that lead to the production of Karma; hence the round-of rebirth to time without end.[FN#365] When we understand these reasons, we can realize the fact that our lives are nothing but transformations of the Vijnyanas, and that the (eighth) Vijnyana is the origin.[FN#366] [FN#365] A. 'As it was detailed above.' [FN#366] A. 'An imperfect doctrine, which is refuted later.' 4. Mahayana Doctrine of the Nihilists. This doctrine disproves (both) the Mahayana and the Hinayana doctrines above mentioned that adhere to Dharma-laksana, and suggestively discloses the truth of Transcendental Reality which is to be treated later.[FN#367] Let me state, first of all, what it would say in the refutation of Dharma-laksana. [FN#367] A. "The nihilistic doctrine is stated not only in the various Prajnya-sutras (the books having Prajnya-paramita in their titles), but also in almost all Mahayana sutras. The above-mentioned three doctrines were preached (by the Buddha) in the three successive periods. But this doctrine was not preached at any particular period; it was intended to destroy at any time the attachment to the phenomenal objects. Therefore Nagarjuna tells us that there are two sorts of Prajnyas, the Common and the Special. The �ravakas (lit., hearers) and the Pratyekabuddhas (lit., singly enlightened ones), or the Hinayanists, could hear and believe in, with the Bodhisattvas or the Mahayanists, the Common Prajnya, as it was intended to destroy their attachment to the external objects. Bodhisattvas alone could understand the Special Prajnya, as it secretly revealed the Buddha nature, or the Absolute. Each of the two great Indian teachers, �ilabhadra and Jnyanaprabha, divided the whole teachings of the Buddha into three periods. (According to �ilabhadra, A.D. 625, teacher of Hiuen Tsang, the Buddha first preached the doctrine of 'existence' to the effect that every living being is unreal, but things are real. All the Hinayana sutras belong to this period. Next the Buddha preached the doctrine of the middle path, in Samdhi-nirmocana-sutra and others, to the effect that all the phenomenal universe is unreal, but that the mental substance is real. According to Jnyanaprabha, the Buddha first preached the doctrine of existence, next that of the existence of mental substance, and lastly that of unreality.) One says the doctrine of unreality was preached before that of Dharma-laksana, while the others say it was preached after. Here I adopt the latters' opinion." If the external objects which are transformed are unreal, how can the Vijnyana, the transformer, be real? If you say the latter is really existent, but not the former,[FN#368] then (you assume that) the dreaming mind (which is compared with Alaya-vijnyana) is entirely different from the objects seen in the dream (which are compared with external objects). If they are entirely different, you ought not to identify the dream with the things dreamed, nor to identify the things dreamed with the dream itself. In other words, they ought to have separate existences. (And) when you awake your dream may disappear, but the things dreamed would remain. [FN#368] A. 'In the following sentences I refute it, making use of the simile of the dream.' Again, if (you say) that the things dreamed are not identical with the dream, then they would be really existent things. If the dream is not the same as the things dreamed, in what other form does it appear to you? Therefore you must acknowledge that there is every reason to believe that both the dreaming mind and the things dreamed are equally unreal, and that nothing exists in reality, though it seems to you as if there were a seer, and a seen, in a dream. Thus those Vijnyanas also would be unreal, because all of them are not self-existent realities, their existence being temporary, and dependent upon various conditions. "There is nothing," (the author of) Madhyamika-castra[FN#369] says, "that ever came into existence without direct and indirect causes. Therefore there is anything that is not unreal in the world." He says again: "Things produced through direct and indirect causes I declare to be the very things which are unreal." (The author of) Craddhotdada-castra[FN#370] says: "All things in the universe present themselves in different forms only on account of false ideas. If separated from the (false) ideas and thoughts, no forms of those external objects exist." "All the physical forms (ascribed to Buddha)," says (the author of) a sutra,[FN#371] "are false and unreal. The beings that transcend all forms are called Buddhas."[FN#372] Consequently you must acknowledge that mind as well as external objects are unreal. This is the eternal truth of the Mahayana doctrine. We are driven to the conclusion that unreality is the origin of life, if we trace it back according to this doctrine. [FN#369] The principal textbook of the Madhyamika School, by Nagarjuna and Nilanetra, translated into Chinese (A.D. 409) by Kumarajiva. [FN#370] A well-known Mahayana book ascribed to Acvaghosa, translated into Chinese by Paramartha. There exists an English translation by D. Suzuki. [FN#371] Vajracchedha-prajnya-paramita-sutra, of which there exist three Chinese translations. [FN#372] A. 'Similar passages are found in every book of the Mahayana Tripitaka.' Now let us say (a few words) to refute this doctrine also. If mind as well as external objects be unreal, who is it that knows they are so? Again, if there be nothing real in the universe, what is it that causes unreal objects to appear? We stand witness to the fact there is no one of the unreal things on earth that is not made to appear by something real. If there be no water of unchanging fluidity,[FN#373] how can there be the unreal and temporary forms of waves? If there be no unchanging mirror, bright and clean, how can there be various images, unreal and temporary, reflected in it? It is true in sooth that the dreaming mind as well as the things dreamed, as said above, are equally unreal, but does not that unreal dream necessarily presuppose the existence of some (real) sleepers? [FN#373] The Absolute is compared with the ocean, and the phenomenal universe with the waves. Now, if both mind and external objects, as declared above, be nothing at all, no- one can tell what it is that causes these unreal appearances. Therefore this doctrine, we know, simply serves to refute the erroneous theory held by those who are passionately attached to Dharma-laksana, but never clearly discloses spiritual Reality. So that Mahabheri-harakaparivarta-sutra[FN#374] says as follows: "All the sutras that teach the unreality of things belong to an imperfect doctrine (of the Buddha). Mahaprajnya-paramita-sutra[FN#375] says: "The doctrine of unreality is the first entrance-gate to Mahayanism." [FN#374] The book was translated into Chinese by Gunabhadra, A.D. 420-479. [FN#375] This is not the direct quotation from the sutra translated by Hiuen Tsang. The words are found in Mahaprajnya-paramita-sutra, the commentary on the sutra by Nagarjuna. When the above-mentioned four doctrines are compared with one another in the order of succession, each is more profound than the preceding. They are called the superficial, provided that the follower, learning them a short while, knows them by himself to be imperfect; (but) if he adheres to them as perfect, these same (doctrines) are called incomplete. They are (thus) said to be superficial and incomplete with regard to the follower. CHAPTER III THE DIRECT EXPLANATION OF THE REAL ORIGIN[FN#376] 5. The Ekayana Doctrine that Teaches the Ultimate Reality. This doctrine teaches us that all sentient beings have the Real Spirit[FN#377] of Original Enlightenment (within themselves). From time immemorial it is unchanging and pure. It is eternally bright, and clear, and conscious. It is also named the Buddha-nature, or Tathagata-garbha.[FN#378] As it is, however, veiled by illusion from time without beginning, (sentient beings) are not conscious of its existence, and think that the nature within themselves are degenerated. Consequently they are given to bodily pleasures, and producing Karma, suffer from birth and death. The great Enlightened One, having compassion on them, taught that everything in the universe is unreal. He pointed out that the Real Spirit of Mysterious Enlightenment (within them) is pure and exactly the same as that of Buddha. Therefore he says in Avatamsaka-sutra[FN#379]: "There are no sentient beings, the children of Buddha, who are not endowed with wisdom of Tathagata;[FN#380] but they cannot attain to Enlightenment simply because of illusion and attachment. When they are free from illusion, the Universal Intelligence,[FN#381] the Natural Intelligence,[FN#382] the Unimpeded Intelligence,[FN#383] will be disclosed (in their minds)." [FN#376] A. 'The perfect doctrine, in which eternal truth is taught by the Buddha.' [FN#377] The ultimate reality is conceived by the Mahayanist as an entity self-existent, omnipresent, spiritual, impersonal, free from all illusions. It may be regarded as something like the universal and enlightened soul. [FN#378] Tathagata's womb, Tathagata being another name for Buddha. [FN#379] The book was translated into Chinese by Buddhabhadra, A.D. 418-420. [FN#380] The highest epithet of the Buddha, meaning one who comes into the world like the coming of his predecessors. [FN#381] The all-knowing wisdom that is acquired by Enlightenment. [FN#382] The inborn wisdom of the Original Enlightenment. [FN#383] The wisdom that is acquired by the union of Enlightenment with the Original Enlightenment. Then he tells a parable of a single grain of minute dust[FN#384] containing large volumes of Sutra, equal in dimension of the Great Chiliocosmos.[FN#385] The grain is compared with a sentient being, and the Sutra with the wisdom of Buddha. Again he says later:[FN#386] "Once Tathagata, having observed every sort of sentient beings all over the universe, said as follows: 'Wonderful, how wonderful! That these various sentient beings, endowed with the wisdom of Tathagata, are not conscious of it because of their errors and illusions! I shall teach them the sacred truth and make them free from illusion for ever. I shall (thus) enable them to find by themselves the Great Wisdom of Tathagatha within them and make them equal to Buddha.' [FN#384] One of the famous parables in the sutra. [FN#385] According to the Buddhist literature, one universe comprises one sun, one moon, one central mountain or Sumeru, four continents, etc. One thousand of these universes form the Small Thousand Worlds; one thousand of the Small Thousand Worlds form the Middle Thousand Worlds; and the Great Thousand Worlds, or Great Chiliocosmos, comprises one thousand of the Middle Thousand Worlds. [FN#386] This is not an exact quotation of the sutra. Let me say (a few words) about this doctrine by way of criticism. So many Kalpas we spent never meeting with this true doctrine, and knew not how to trace our life back to its origin. Having been attached to nothing but the unreal outward forms, we willingly acknowledged ourselves to be a common herd of lowly beings. Some regarded themselves as beasts, (while) others as men. But now, tracing life to its origin according to the highest doctrine, we have fully understood that we ourselves were originally Buddhas. Therefore we should act in conformity to Buddha's (action), and keep our mind in harmony with his. Lot us betake ourselves once more to the source of Enlightened Spirit, restoring ourselves to the original Buddhahood. Let us cut off the bond of attachment, and remove the illusion that common people are habitually given to. Illusion being destroyed,[FN#387] the will to destroy it is also removed, and at last there remains nothing to be done (except complete peace and joy). This naturally results in Enlightenment, whose practical uses are as innumerable as the grains of sand in the Ganges. This state is called Buddhahood. We should know that the illusory as well as the Enlightened are originally of one and the same Real Spirit. How great, how excellent, is the doctrine that traces man to such an origin![FN#388] [FN#387] The passage occurs in Tao Teh King. [FN#388] A. 'Although all of the above-mentioned five doctrines were preached by the Buddha Himself, yet there are some that belong to the Sudden, while others to the Gradual, Teachings. If there were persons of the middle or the lowest grade of understanding, He first taught the most superficial doctrine, then the less superficial, and "Gradually" led them up to the profound. At the outset of His career as a teacher He preached the first doctrine to enable them to give up evil and abide by good; next He preached the second and the third doctrine that they might remove the Pollution and attain to the Purity; and, lastly, He preached the fourth and the fifth doctrine to destroy their attachment to unreal forms, and to show the Ultimate Reality. (Thus) He reduced (all) the temporary doctrines into the eternal one, and taught them how to practise the Law according to the eternal and attain to Buddhahood. 'If there is a person of the highest grade of understanding, he may first of all learn the most profound, next the less profound, and, lastly, the most superficial doctrine-that is, he may at the outset come "Suddenly" to the understanding of the One Reality of True Spirit, as it is taught in the fifth doctrine. When the Spiritual Reality is disclosed before his mind's eye, he may naturally see that it originally transcends all appearances which are unreal, and that unrealities appear on account of illusion, their existence depending on Reality. Then he must give up evil, practise good, put away unrealities by the wisdom of Enlightenment, and reduce them to Reality. When unrealities are all gone, and Reality alone remains complete, he is called the Dharma-kaya-Buddha.' CHAPTER IV RECONCILIATION OF THE TEMPORARY WITH THE REAL DOCTRINE[FN#389] EVEN if Reality is the origin of life, there must be in all probability some causes for its coming into existence, as it cannot suddenly assume the form of body by accident. In the preceding chapters I have refuted the first four doctrines, merely because they are imperfect, and in this chapter I shall reconcile the temporary with the eternal doctrine. In short, I shall show that even Confucianism is in the right.[FN#390] That is to say, from the beginning there exists Reality (within all beings), which is one and spiritual. It can never be created nor destroyed. It does not increase nor decrease itself. It is subject to neither change nor decay. Sentient beings, slumbering in (the night of) illusion from time immemorial, are not conscious of its existence. As it is hidden and veiled, it is named Tathagata-garbha.[FN#391] On this Tathagata-garbha the mental phenomena that are subject to growth and decay depend. Real Spirit, as is stated (in the Acvaghosa's �astra), that transcends creation and destruction, is united with illusion, which is subject to creation and destruction; and the one is not absolutely the same as nor different from the other. This union (with illusion) has the two sides of enlightenment and non -enlightenment,' and is called Alaya-vijnyana. Because of non-enlightenment,[FN#392] it first arouses itself, and forms some ideas. This activity of the Vijnyana is named 'the state of Karma.[FN#393] Furthermore, since one does not understand that these ideas are unreal from the beginning, they transform themselves into the subject (within) and the object (without), into the seer and the seen. One is at a loss how to understand that these external objects are no more than the creation of his own delusive mind, and believes them to be really existent. This is called the erroneous belief in the existence of external objects.[FN#394] In consequence of these erroneous beliefs, he distinguishes Self and non-self, and at last forms the erroneous belief of Atman. Since he is attached to the form of the Self, he yearns after various objects agreeable to the sense for the sake of the good of his Self. He is offended, (however), with various disagreeable objects, and is afraid of the injuries and troubles which they bring on him. (Thus) his foolish passions[FN#395] are strengthened step by step. [FN#389] A. 'The doctrines refuted above are reconciled with the real doctrine in this chapter. They are all in the right in their pointing to the true origin.' [FN#390] A. 'The first section states the fifth doctrine that reveals the Reality, and the statements in the following sections are the same as the other doctrines, as shown in the notes.' [FN#391] A. 'The following statement is similar to the fourth doctrine explained above in the refutation of the phenomenal existence subject to growth and decay.' Compare �raddhotpada-castra. [FN#392] A. 'The following statement is similar to the doctrine of Dharma-laksana.' [FN#393] Here Karma simply means an active state; it should be distinguished from Karma, produced by actions. [FN#394] A. 'The following statement is similar to the second doctrine, or Hinayanism.' [FN#395] A. 'The following statement is similar to the first doctrine for men and Devas.' Thus (on one hand) the souls of those who committed the crimes of killing, stealing, and so on, are born, by the influence of the bad Karma, in hell, or among Pretas, or among beasts, or elsewhere. On the other hand, the souls of those who, being afraid of such sufferings, or being good-natured, gave alms, kept precepts, and so on, undergo Antarabhava[FN#396] by the influence of the good Kharma, enter into the womb of their mothers.[FN#397] [FN#396] The spiritual existence between this and another life. [FN#397] A. 'The following statement is similar to Confucianism and Taoism.' There they are endowed with the (so-called) Gas, or material (for body).[FN#398] The Gas first consists of four elements[FN#399] and it gradually forms various sense-organs. The mind first consists of the four aggregates,[FN#400] and it gradually forms various Vijnyanas. After the whole course of ten months they are born and called men. These are our present bodies and minds. Therefore we must know that body and mind has each its own origin, and that the two, being united, form one human being. They are born among Devas and Asuras, and so on in a manner almost similar to this. [FN#398] A. 'This harmonizes with the outside opinion that Gas is the origin.' [FN#399] (1) Earth, (2) water, (3) fire, (4) air. [FN#400] (1) Perception, (2) consciousness, (3) conception, (4) knowledge. Though we are born among men by virtue of 'the generalizing Karma,'[FN#401] yet, by the influence of 'the particularizing Karma,'[FN#402] some are placed in a high rank, while others in a low; some are poor, while others rich; some enjoy a long life, while others die in youth; some are sickly, while others healthy; some are rising, while others are falling; some suffer from pains, while others enjoy pleasures. For instance, reverence or indolence in the previous existence, working as the cause, brings forth high birth or low in the present as the effect. So also benevolence in the past results in long life in the present; the taking of life, a short life; the giving of alms, richness, miserliness, Poverty. There are so many particular cases of retribution that cannot be mentioned in detail. Hence there are some who happen to be unfortunate, doing no evil, while others fortunate, doing no good in the present life. So also some enjoy a long life, in spite of their inhuman conduct; while others die young, in spite of their taking no life, and so forth. As all this is predestinated by 'the particularizing Karma' produced in the past, it would seem to occur naturally, quite independent of one's actions in the present life. Outside scholars ignorant of the previous existences, relying simply on their observations, believe it to be nothing more than natural.[FN#403] [FN#401] The Karma that determines different classes of beings, such as men, beasts, Pretas, etc. [FN#402] The Karma that determines the particular state of an individual in the world. [FN#403] A. 'This harmonizes with the outside opinion that everything occurs naturally.' Besides, there are some who cultivated virtues in the earlier, and committed crimes in the later, stages of their past existences; while others were vicious in youth, and virtuous in old age. In consequence, some are happy in youth, being rich and noble, but unhappy in old age, being poor and low in the present life; while others lead poor and miserable lives when young, but grow rich and noble when old, and so on. Hence outside scholars come to believe that one's prosperity or adversity merely depends on a heavenly decree.[FN#404] [FN#404] A. 'This harmonizes with the outside opinion that everything depends on providence.' The body with which man is endowed, when traced step by step to its origin, proves to be nothing but one primordial Gas in its undeveloped state. And the mind with which man thinks, when traced step by step to its source, proves to be nothing but the One Real Spirit. To tell the truth, there exists nothing outside of Spirit, and even the Primordial Gas is also a mode of it, for it is one of the external objects projected by the above-stated Vijnyanas, and is one of the mental images of Alaya, out of whose idea, when it is in the state of Karma, come both the subject and the object. As the subject developed itself, the feebler ideas grow stronger step by step, and form erroneous beliefs that end in the production of Karma.[FN#405] Similarly, the object increases in size, the finer objects grow gradually grosser, and gives rise to unreal things that end in the formation[FN#406] of Heaven and Earth. When Karma is ripe enough, one is endowed by father and mother with sperm and ovum, which, united with his consciousness under the influence of Karma, completes a human form. [FN#405] A. 'As above stated.' [FN#406] A. "In the beginning, according to the outside school, there was 'the great changeableness,' which underwent fivefold evolutions, and brought out the Five Principles. Out of that Principle, which they call the Great Path of Nature, came the two subordinate principles of the Positive and the Negative. They seem to explain the Ultimate Reality, but the Path, in fact, no more than the 'perceiving division' of the Alaya. The so-called primordial Gas seems to be the first idea in the awakening Alaya, but it is a mere external object." According to this view (of Dharmalaksana), things brought forth through the transformations of Alaya and the other Vijnyanas are divided into two parts; one part (remaining), united with Alaya and the other Vijnyanas, becomes man, while the other, becoming separated from them, becomes Heaven, Earth, mountains, rivers, countries, and towns. (Thus) man is the outcome of the union of the two; this is the reason why he alone of the Three Powers is spiritual. This was taught by the Buddha[FN#407] himself when he stated that there existed two different kinds of the four elements--the internal and the external. [FN#407] Ratnakuta-sutra (?), translated into Chinese by Jnyanagupta. Alas! O ye half-educated scholars who adhere to imperfect doctrines, each of which conflicts with another! Ye that seek after truth, if ye would attain to Buddhahood, clearly understand which is the subtler and which is the grosser (form of illusive ideas), which is the originator and which is the originated. (Then) give ye up the originated and return ye to the originator, and to reflect on the Spirit, the Source (of all). When the grosser is exterminated and the subtler removed, the wonderful wisdom of spirit is disclosed, and nothing is beyond its understanding. This is called the Dharma-sambhoga-kaya. It can of itself transform itself and appear among men in numberless ways. This is called the Nirmana-kaya of Buddha.[FN#408] [FN#408] Every Buddha has three bodies: (1) Dharma-kaya, or spiritual body; (2) Sambhoga-kaya, or the body of compensation; (3) Nirmana-kaya, or the body capable of transformation. THE END. 
42732	----	Transcriber's Note: Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. In the caption to the illustration facing page 370, KOLENGSOO should possibly be KULANGSU. THE ENGLISHMAN IN CHINA CHAP. XXIII.: Tsze-kung asked, saying, "Is there one word which may serve as a rule of practice for all one's life?" The Master said, "Is not RECIPROCITY such a word? What you do not want done to yourself, do not do to others." [Illustration: Mr Alcock, at the age of 34. from a drawing by L. A. de Fabeck, 1843. Walker & Cockerell ph. sc.] THE ENGLISHMAN IN CHINA DURING THE VICTORIAN ERA AS ILLUSTRATED IN THE CAREER OF SIR RUTHERFORD ALCOCK, K.C.B., D.C.L. MANY YEARS CONSUL AND MINISTER IN CHINA AND JAPAN BY ALEXANDER MICHIE AUTHOR OF 'THE SIBERIAN OVERLAND ROUTE,' 'MISSIONARIES IN CHINA,' ETC. VOL. I. WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS EDINBURGH AND LONDON MDCCCC _All Rights reserved_ PREFACE. Reminiscences of the Far East called up by the death of Sir Rutherford Alcock in November 1897 prompted the writer to send a contribution on the subject to 'Blackwood's Magazine.' Being appreciated by the family, the article suggested to them some more substantial memorial of the deceased statesman, a scheme with which the writer fell in the more readily that it seemed to harmonise with the task which friends had been already urging upon him--that of writing some account of occurrences in the Far East during his own residence there. For there was no other name round which these events could be so consistently grouped during the thirty years when British policy was a power in that part of the world. As Consul and Minister Alcock was so interwoven with the history of the period that neither the life of the man nor the times in which he lived could be treated apart. And the personal element renders his connection with Far Eastern affairs particularly instructive, for, combining the highest executive qualities with a philosophic grasp of the problems with which he had to deal, he at the same time possessed the faculty of exposition, whereby the vital relation between the theoretical and the practical sides of Far Eastern politics was made plain. The student may thus draw his lessons equally from the actions and the reflections of this great official. The life history of Sir Rutherford Alcock is that of the progressive development of a sterling character making in all circumstances the most of itself, self-reliant, self-supporting, without friends or fortune, without interest or advantage of any kind whatsoever. From first to last the record is clear, without sediment or anything requiring to be veiled or extenuated. Every achievement, great or small, is stamped with the hall-mark of duty, of unfaltering devotion to the service of the nation and to the interests of humanity. A copious and facile writer, he has left singularly little in the way of personal history. The only journal he seems ever to have kept was consigned by him to oblivion, a few early dates and remarks having alone been rescued. When in recent years he was approached by friends on the subject of auto-biography, he was wont to reply, "My life is in my work; by that I am content to be remembered." We must needs therefore take him at his word and judge by the fruit what was the nature of the tree. In the following work the reader may trace in more or less continuous outline the stages by which the present relation between China and foreign nations has been reached. In the earlier portion the course of events indicated is comparatively simple, being confined to Anglo-Chinese developing into Anglo-Franco-Chinese relations. In the latter portion, corresponding roughly with the second volume, the stream becomes subdivided into many collateral branches, as all the Western nations and Japan, with their separate interests, came to claim their share, each in its own way, of the intercourse with China. It is hoped that the data submitted to the reader will enable him to draw such conclusions as to past transactions as may furnish a basis for estimating future probabilities. The scope of the work being restricted to the points of contact between China and the rest of the world, nothing recondite is attempted, still less is any enigma solved. It is the belief of the author that the so-called Chinese mystery has been a source of needless mystification; that the relation between China and the outer world was intrinsically simple; and that to have worked from the basis of their resemblances to the rest of humanity would have been a shorter way to an amicable understanding with the Chinese than the crude attempt to accommodate Western procedure to the uncomprehended differences which divided them. It needed no mastery of their sociology to keep the Chinese strictly to their written engagements and to deter them from outrage. But discussion was the invitation to laxity; and laxity, condoned and pampered, then defiant and triumphant, lies at the root of the disasters which have befallen the Chinese Empire itself, and now threaten to recoil also upon the foreign nations which are responsible for them. This responsibility was never more tersely summed up than by Mr Burlingame in his capacity of Chinese Envoy. After sounding the Foreign Office that astute diplomatist was able to inform the Tsungli-Yamên in 1869 that "the British Government was so friendly and pacific that they would endure anything." The dictum, though true, was fatal, and the operation of it during thirty subsequent years explains most that has happened during that period, at least in the relations between China and Great Britain. A word as to the orthography may be useful to the reader. The impossibility of transliterating Chinese sounds into any alphabetical language causes great confusion in the spelling of names. A uniform system would indeed be most desirable, but common practice has already fixed so many of them that it seems better, in a book intended for general reading, not to depart too much from the conventional usage, or attempt to follow any scientific system, which must, after all, be based upon mispronunciation of the Chinese sounds. As regards personal names, it may be convenient to call attention to the distinction between Chinese and Manchu forms. In the case of the former the custom is to write the _nomen_, or family name, separately, and the _pre-nomen_ (which by Chinese practice becomes the _post-nomen_) by itself, and, when it consists of two characters, separated by a hyphen--_e.g._, Li (_nomen_) Hung-chang (_post-nomen_). In the case of Manchus, who are known not by a family name, but by what may be termed, for want of a better expression, their _pre-nomen_, it is customary to write the name in one word, without hyphens--for example, Kiying, Ilipu. As the Chinese name usually consists of three characters or syllables, and the Manchu usually of two, the form of name affords a _prima facie_ indication of the extraction of the personage referred to. Polysyllabic names, as San-ko-lin-sin, are generally Mongol. The sovereign is not referred to by name, the terms Kwanghsu, Tungchih, and so forth, being the Chinese characters chosen to designate, or, as we might say, idealise the reign, in the same way as impersonal titles are selected for houses of business. I desire to express my deep obligation to Sir Rutherford Alcock's stepdaughter Amy, Lady Pelly, without whose efficient aid the book could not have been compiled. It is a subject of regret to all concerned that Lady Alcock herself did not live to see the completion of a task in the inception of which she took a keen and loving interest. To the other friends who have in different ways helped in the production of the book, and particularly to Mr William Keswick, M.P., for the loan of his valuable Chinnery and Crealock drawings, my best thanks are due. A. M. LONDON, _November 2nd, 1900_. _Postscript._--The legend on the front cover is a paraphrase of Chapter xxiii., Book xv., of the Analects of Confucius, Dr Legge's translation of which has been adopted by me as the motto of these volumes. CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. CHAP. PAGE I. THE ARMY SURGEON-- I. YOUTH 1 II. THE PENINSULA, 1832-1837 8 III. ENGLAND, 1838-1844 23 II. SENT TO CHINA 29 FOREIGN RELATIONS WITH CHINA 31 III. ANTECEDENTS OF THE WAR-- I. THE OPIUM TRADE 42 II. THE SEQUEL TO THE SURRENDER OF OPIUM 55 IV. THE FIRST CHINA WAR, 1839-1842 60 V. THE TREATY OF 1842 78 VI. THE FRUITS OF THE WAR AND PROSPECTS OF PEACE 86 VII. THE NEW INTERCOURSE: CANTON, 1842-1847 93 VIII. THE NEW TREATY PORTS--FOOCHOW, AMOY, NINGPO 112 IX. SHANGHAI 124 I. THE TSINGPU AFFAIR 129 II. REBELLION 135 III. THE CHINESE MARITIME CUSTOMS 143 IV. CREATION OF THE FOREIGN CUSTOMS 149 V. MR ALCOCK'S DEPARTURE FROM SHANGHAI 156 X. CONSUL ALCOCK'S VIEWS ON GENERAL POLICY 161 XI. TRADE UNDER THE TREATY OF NANKING 167 I. TEA 178 II. SILK 187 III. OPIUM 191 IV. CHINESE EXPORTS 200 V. BRITISH EXPORTS 203 VI. NATIVE TRADE 207 XII. SHIPPING 211 XIII. THE TRADERS-- I. FOREIGN 248 II. CHINESE 263 XIV. HONGKONG 271 XV. MACAO 287 XVI. PIRACY 299 XVII. THE ARROW WAR 308 I. THE EARL OF ELGIN AND HIS MISSION 320 II. LORD ELGIN'S SECOND MISSION 349 XVIII. INTERCOURSE UNDER THE TREATIES OF 1858 AND 1860-- I. THE DIPLOMATIC OVERTURE 361 II. NEW PORTS AND OPENING OF YANGTZE 369 III. ADMIRAL HOPE'S POLICY TOWARDS INSURGENTS 375 IV. THE LAY-OSBORN FLOTILLA 387 V. THE END OF THE REBELLION 392 VI. EVACUATION OF CANTON 396 VII. DEATH OF THE EMPEROR 397 VIII. INFLUENCE OF THESE EVENTS ON PROGRESS OF DIPLOMACY 398 APPENDIX. I. NOTE ON OUR PRESENT POSITION AND THE STATE OF OUR RELATIONS WITH CHINA, BY CONSUL ALCOCK, JANUARY 19, 1849 411 II. CONFIDENTIAL DESPATCH BY CONSUL ALCOCK TO SIR GEORGE BONHAM, JANUARY 13, 1852 428 III. CONFIDENTIAL DESPATCH TO SIR GEORGE BONHAM, DATED JUNE 17, 1852. (EXTRACT) 432 IV. ACCOUNT OF THE SALT TRADE ANNEXED TO MR PARKES' SUMMARY OF THE NATIVE MARITIME TRADE OF FOOCHOW, 1846. (EXTRACTS) 439 ILLUSTRATIONS TO THE FIRST VOLUME. PAGE MR RUTHERFORD ALCOCK AT THE AGE OF THIRTY-FOUR. _Frontispiece_ From a drawing by L. A. de Fabeck. MACAO 48 H.M. SHIPS IMOGEN AND ANDROMACHE PASSING BOCCA TIGRIS BATTERIES 70 THE LAKES, NINGPO 114 THE FIRST CONSULAR RESIDENCE AT FOOCHOW 116 BRIDGE OVER RIVER MIN 120 THE SECOND CONSULAR RESIDENCE AT FOOCHOW, 1848 122 BAMBOO BRIDGE AT FOOCHOW 124 COUNTRY WATERWAY NEAR SHANGHAI 126 ENTRANCE TO SZE-KING, NEAR SHANGHAI 136 RUSTIC SCENE NEAR SHANGHAI 156 VILLAGE ON THE CANALS 200 DENT'S VERANDAH, MACAO 294 GEORGE CHINNERY 298 From an oil-painting by himself. SIR FREDERICK BRUCE 348 MR LOCH DEPARTS FROM PEKING FOR ENGLAND WITH CHINESE TREATY 354 MONSEIGNEUR MOUILLI 356 FIRST BRITISH CONSULATE AT KOLENGSOO, 1844 370 MAPS. MAP OF CANTON WATERS 62 YANGTZE AND GRAND CANAL 75 MOUTH OF YANGTZE AND CHUSAN ARCHIPELAGO 132 ROADS AND WATERWAYS BETWEEN PEKING AND TIENTSIN 331 THE ENGLISHMAN IN CHINA. CHAPTER I. THE ARMY SURGEON. I. YOUTH. Birth at Ealing -- Motherless childhood -- Feeble health -- Irregular schooling -- Medical education -- Student days in Paris -- Wax-modelling -- Admission to College of Surgeons -- House Surgeon at Westminster Hospital. Born in the same year as Mr Gladstone, May 1809, John Rutherford Alcock[1] predeceased that statesman by only six months. His birthplace was Ealing, and he died in Westminster, after a residence there in retirement of twenty-seven years. Being a delicate infant, he was baptised in Ealing church when one day old. His childhood was deprived of its sunshine by the loss of his mother, and it does not appear that his father, a medical man of some note, and an artist to boot, was equal to filling the void in the young life. Consequently boyhood had for him none of the halo of a golden age, but was, on the contrary, a grey and cheerless memory, furnishing tests of hardihood rather than those glowing aspirations which generally kindle young ambitions. His early life was passed with relatives in the north of England, and he went to school at Hexham, where he had for companions Sir John Swinburne and Mr Dawson Lambton. Of his school-days there is little to remark. Indeed his early education seems to have been most irregular, having been subject to long and frequent interruptions on account of ill-health, which necessitated sea-voyages and other changes of air. Nevertheless the diligence which was part of his nature compensated for these drawbacks of his youth, and set its seal on his whole after-career. On returning to his father's house at the age of fifteen, the boy began his medical education, being, according to the fashion of the day, apprenticed to his father, and at the same time entered as a student at the Westminster Hospital and the Royal Westminster Ophthalmic Hospital under that distinguished surgeon, G. J. Guthrie. His passion for art had already asserted itself, and he was enabled to indulge it by constant visits to Chantrey's studio, where, "amid the musical sounds of the chisel on the marble, with snatches of airs from the workmen, where all breathed a calm and happy repose, he passed delightful hours." His half-holidays were spent at Chantrey's in modelling. In the following year he visited Paris, and seems ever after to have looked back on the gay city as a kind of paradise, for there the world first really opened to the young man of sixteen. Then began that life of work and enjoyment, so blended as to be inseparable, which continued without intermission for more than seventy years. In the stimulating atmosphere of Paris, and its free and independent life, the boy's faculties rapidly developed. He seemed, indeed, to expand suddenly into full manhood. Destined for the medical profession, he worked hard at anatomy, chemistry, and natural history, while taking also a keen interest in artistic and literary subjects; mastered French and Italian; and, in short, turned his twelve or eighteen months' sojourn to highly practical account. From a small pocket-book containing notes of the journey to France, and part of his work in Paris, we give some extracts illustrative of the boy's character and powers of observation. It was on the 17th of August 1825 that the party embarked at the Custom-House Stairs for Calais, the voyage occupying fourteen hours. On landing the lad "amused himself by observing the effects in the sky and the sea, and by picking up shells, bones of birds and animals, which having remained in the sea until perfectly clean, looked beautiful and white as ivory." Simple things interested him, and after dinner at the Hôtel Meurice in Paris he "listened with much pleasure to a man playing airs on what he called an American flute"--which he goes on to describe: "The tones were mellow in the extreme, and the airs he played I think were much superior in sweetness to any I have ever heard from an instrument so clear," and so on. Obviously a subjective impression; it is his own emancipation that beautifies the simplest things and inspires the simplest sounds. Like the convalescent in Gray-- "The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies, To him are opening Paradise." On his first Sunday in Paris he was "much struck with the beauty of the paintings and a great number of pieces sculptured in _bas-relief_." Then he walked in the gardens of the Tuileries, "which in extent, in statues and in fountains, in the appearance of it taking it altogether, far exceeded anything my imagination had conceived concerning it." At Versailles he was "highly delighted with many of the paintings. The gardens are extremely extensive and the fountains very numerous; ... but it is all extremely artificial, and therefore soon fatigues the eye." In these slight observations are perceptible the artistic instinct and sense of fitness, faculties which served him so admirably in his future work, and might have won him distinction in other fields than those in which his lot was ultimately cast. He was in Paris for a serious purpose, the study of medicine and surgery, and seriously he followed it. At the same time he mixed freely in the artistic and literary society of the French capital, and left none of his talents uncultivated. A characteristic incident in his educational career was his mastering the art of modelling in wax and in plaster. Following up his experiments in Chantrey's studio, he took regular lessons in Paris, and attained such proficiency that, young as he was, he was able to maintain himself while in that city by the sale of his anatomical models. For one of these he mentions receiving fifty guineas, and a few years after "for two arms and two legs the size of life" he notes receiving 140 guineas. These also won for him distinctions at home, for in the year 1825 he was awarded the "Gold Isis Medal" of the Society of Arts, and in the following year the "large gold medal" of that society, for original models in coloured wax. And it may be mentioned as characteristic that although in later years an active member of that society, Sir H. T. Wood, the secretary, who knew him well, was unaware of Sir Rutherford Alcock's having so early in life received the society's medals. "The fact is an interesting one," he says, "and I am glad to have had my attention drawn to it." Some of these works were preserved in the Museum of the College of Surgeons, while others, prepared in special wax, were bought by Government for the use of the Indian medical schools. From the small pocket-book to which we have already referred, and which contains concise notes of his course of instruction in modelling under a M. Dupont, we extract the note of his first lesson. It shows thoroughness of mind, keenness of observation, and the instinct for accuracy which enabled him so soon to attain to excellence in the art, and led to success in all the other pursuits of his life:-- _Sept. 1._--To-day my first lesson in modelling began. I saw M. Dupont work upon a mask of a little boy's face in wax. He opened the eyes, but did not in my opinion make them quite correct. The only thing I observed in particular was his using oil very freely with his tool. I afterwards saw three moulds of a thigh near the hip after amputation, cast in wax. One was soaked in water, another was rubbed with soft-soap, and a third was well oiled. The one that was oiled produced the most perfect cast, but I should have thought both water, soap, and oil were used much too freely. They were all cast in wax of a deep red colour, and one of them was placed in the stump of one of the thighs of the model on which M. Dupont was engaged. It was not quite large enough for the thigh in some places, and too large in others. This he altered without scruple, so that when the stump was finished, though it looked extremely natural, it was by no means accurate. Before quitting the life in Paris the following sample of its popular amusements as they presented themselves to the young student may be interesting to readers, and it is unfortunately the last entry in the pocket-book, and almost the last assistance we shall get from journals during the seventy years of crowded life which followed:-- I went yesterday [Sunday, September 10, 1826] to the Swiss Mountain, very extensive gardens on the Boulevards, where the most respectable part of the pleasure-seeking Parisians assemble on Sunday: you pay ten sous admittance. Here there is a large establishment for dinners where you may dine as at the restaurateurs, in a public room, or there are a long suite of apartments for parties of four, six, or twelve each, looking out into the gardens, and immediately before the windows was the space enclosed by trees, which form a canopy over it, and which is allotted to dancing. On one side is the orchestra; and when I heard it there was a very excellent band of musicians in it. It was rather unfavourable weather, as there were in the course of the day several very heavy showers, yet there seemed to be a very great number of elegantly dressed females and respectable-looking men; and some even highly-dressed, which is a wonder, I think, for the gentlemen in Paris seem to dress as much inferior to us as the French ladies dress better than the English. Indeed it is quite delightful to see the great taste with which they dress and the elegance of contour in all their figures. I don't know how it happens, but I never recollect seeing a French woman that was at all above the lowest class of society that was a slovenly or slattern figure, and very few that were not really elegant, though their faces are, generally speaking, plain. After having dined I went to see the Swiss Mountain, which had made a noise whilst I was at dinner that very much resembled distant thunder. I had no idea what it was; my surprise may therefore be conceived when, on coming suddenly in sight of it, I saw a man, apparently sitting on a chair, whirl past me with a velocity more resembling the speed of lightning than anything I had before seen,--so much so, that though from the top to the bottom where they drop might be about 200 feet, I had merely time to perceive that there was a man seated on some sort of vehicle like a chair. The mountain consisted of boards raised at an angle of about from 60° to 70° with the ground, and gradually becoming level. The distance from where they set off to where they stop I have before stated, I think, to be about 200 feet. This platform is sufficiently broad to allow three of the vehicles to go down and one to return up at the same time--that is to say, there are four iron grooves accurately fitted to the small wheels on which the vehicles move. There are horses as well as chairs for both ladies and gentlemen. I saw several gentlemen on horseback and one lady. The horses appear to me to be real horses' hides, perhaps covering a wooden horse. They are accoutred with saddle, stirrups, and bridle. One person who came down on one of these horses rose and fell in his stirrups as though riding a real horse; it created much laughter, and the people surrounding immediately called out "Un Anglais! un Anglais!" I believe he was an Englishman. It had a ridiculous effect to observe the anxiety depicted on the countenances of the heroes, and compare them, with the knowledge of their perfect safety, with the laughing groups that surrounded them. Sometimes a veteran hero would mount one of the horses and come down with triumph in his countenance; the effect then became still more ridiculous, for he seemed like a great baby mounted on a hobby-horse proportionately large. But so it is through life, I think; one sees people capable of being elated as much by actions little in themselves, but enlarged for the instant by circumstances, as, for instance, in this case--the rapidity of motion, the gay crowd, and the distant music--as they would have been by an action really great in itself but unembroidered by outward show. Hearing the music and wishing to see the dancing I had heard so much of, I approached the dancers. We read that the French enjoy dancing with great zest; certes, to see them dance a quadrille, one would not say so: 'tis true it is a dance in which custom has forbidden much exertion, still the entire listlessness they show induced me to think it was a task rather than a pleasure. But when a lively waltz struck up and the waltzing began, I.... Here the notes break off. Of the student's life of four years from 1828 to 1832 there is little which can or need be said. For two years and a half out of the four he was house surgeon at the Westminster Hospital and the Ophthalmic Hospital, having received, at the age of twenty-one, the diploma from the Royal College to practise surgery. During this period he continued modelling, and took pupils in that art. Writing for periodicals also occupied some of his leisure time. No sooner was his student career ended than an opening presented itself which determined the future course of his life, but in a way very different from what could possibly have been anticipated. II. THE PENINSULA, 1832-1837. Dynastic quarrel in Portugal -- Foreign legion -- Mr Alcock enters the service, 1832 -- Character of the force and its leaders -- Colonel Shaw -- Incidents of the campaign -- Important medical services of Mr Alcock -- Joins the Spanish Foreign Legion, 1836 -- Termination of the campaign. There were troubles in Portugal. The usurper Dom Miguel was on the throne. It was proposed to seat the rightful sovereign, Donna Maria, there--her father, Dom Pedro, ex-Emperor of Brazil, who assumed the title of Duke of Braganza, heading the movement. Sympathy was excited in France and England, in both of which countries irregular forces were levied to co-operate with the constitutional party in Portugal led by his imperial majesty. It was a kind of service which tempted alike young bloods and old soldiers who had been languishing in peace and idleness since 1815, and a small army of "Liberators" was got together in England, with a corresponding naval force. It has been mentioned that young Alcock had studied under the eminent army surgeon Guthrie. Feelings of regard had sprung up between the two which extended far beyond the professional sphere. Not only had the boy been a favourite pupil whose aptitude reflected credit on his teacher, but it is quite evident that a personal affection which lasted their respective lifetimes was rekindled during the years they subsequently spent together in Westminster. When, therefore, Mr Guthrie was applied to by Mr O'Meara, who had been in attendance on Napoleon at St Helena, to recommend a surgeon for the British-Portuguese force, Guthrie sent at once for Alcock and discussed with him his professional prospects. The upshot was that as, considering his youth,--he was then only twenty-two,--it was useless for him to think of beginning practice in London, a few years might be most advantageously passed in military service abroad. The young man was only too eager to close with the offer then made to him, which not only afforded the prospect of active professional work, but seemed to open the way for adventures such as the soul of a young man loveth. Within twenty-four hours of accepting the offer Alcock was on the way to Portsmouth and the Azores. For some time after his arrival there he did duty on board ship. His ambition being cramped by this restricted service, however, he was anxious to be transferred to the military force. He accordingly applied to Colonel Hodges, who commanded the marine battalion, to be taken on his staff. The colonel looked at him with some hesitation owing to his extremely youthful appearance, but on hearing that he had been specially recommended by Guthrie, said, "Oh, that is a different matter; come along." Of the Peninsular expeditions of 1832-37 the interest for the present generation lies less in their origin, aims, and results, than in their conduct and incidents. They were episodes which have left no marks on the general course of history visible to the ordinary observer, and are memorable chiefly for their dramatic effects, the play of character, the exhibitions of personal courage, capacity, and devotion; of jealousy, intrigue, and incapacity; of love and hate; and of the lights and shadows that flit across the theatre of human life. Interferences in other people's quarrels naturally bring to the surface all the incongruities. The auxiliaries are sure to be thought arrogant whether they are really so or not, and the _protégés_ are no less certain to be deemed ungrateful. Each party is apt to underestimate the exploits of the other and to exaggerate his own. They take widely different views of the conditions under which their respective services are rendered; they misconstrue each other's motives, assessing them at their lowest apparent value. Each side looks for certain sentimental acknowledgments from the other, while daily frictions and inevitable misunderstandings continually embitter the disappointment felt at their absence. And there are not two parties, but many. There are wheels within wheels; sections playing on each other tricks which savour of treachery on the one side, while on the other side there may be sulks which are constructive mutiny. The question of pay is naturally a constant source of bitterness, for countries that need foreign assistance are impecunious and dilatory. Few of them would be entitled to the certificate which Dugald Dalgetty gave to his excellent paymasters, the Dutch. Yet in spite of drawbacks, there is a kind of method in the whole business, a movement towards a goal, though at a maximum of cost, with the greatest waste and the most poignant regrets over mismanagement. But what in these irregular campaigns is so remarkable as to be almost repugnant to common reason is the devotion of the mercenary soldier. This inspiriting sentiment, which springs up spontaneously like a wild-flower in desert places, seems to put patriotism in the shade as a motive for sacrifice. The hired soldier, though an alien, is often indeed more faithful than the son of the soil, perhaps for the reason that his allegiance is of a simpler nature, more categorical and explicit. The direct personal character of such alien allegiance and its transferability are exemplified in the lives of soldiers of fortune in general: never better, perhaps, than in the wild and dangerous career of Alexander Gardner, colonel of artillery in the service of Maharaja Ranjit Singh, whose Memoirs have been recently edited by Major Hugh Pearse. Is it the fighting instinct, hereditary heroism, or military discipline that makes the soldier? Is it the cause that inspires him, or is it only devotion to his immediate leader? Explain it how we may, the British Legion both in Portugal and in Spain maintained the character of their race for pluck and tenacity as well as if they had been fighting for their own king and country. And this is rendered still more remarkable when the promiscuous manner of their muster is considered. Clandestine engagements in the slums of Soho, under the guise of labour or emigrant contracts, in evasion of the Foreign Enlistment Acts; surreptitious journeys, as "hop-pickers," to Gravesend; secret embarkations under cover of night; and the disciplining of a mob composed of the dregs of the streets, afford subject of some graphic and humorous descriptions on the part of the officers concerned in raising the squad and licking them into shape. It must have required a very sanguine faith in the radical qualities of the stock for any officer of repute to consent to "march through Coventry" with such a herd of scalliwags. The officer who seems to have had a principal share in collecting these raw levies, and distinguished himself in both campaigns in the Peninsula, in which he bore a leading part, has left us some racy descriptions of the force and its experiences in the field. Sir Charles Shaw was himself a typical soldier by nature and by practice. Circumstances alone would determine whether it should be as a soldier of fortune, a patriot defending hearths and homes, or as an Ishmaelite adventurer, that his sword would be unsheathed. The sporting and adventurous instinct scents danger afar, like the war-horse in the book of Job which laughs at the spears. The manner in which he came to embrace the profession of arms was itself so characteristic as to deserve mention. As a youth he was passionately devoted to sport, and when that momentous question the choice of a profession came up for consideration, sport decided it in favour of law, for the somewhat original reason that the young gentleman had observed that lawyers seemed to enjoy the longest holidays! He had begun his studies, and was on his way to St Andrews to enter on a new course when an incident occurred which diverted the current of his thoughts. He met a batch of French prisoners of war being removed from one garrison to another, whose misery affected him so much that he was instantly seized with the idea of becoming a soldier. The particular form in which the inspiration took him was that he put himself in the position of one of these prisoners and imagined himself the hero of his own and his comrades' deliverance. His studies at St Andrews, perturbed by the new passion, made indifferent progress. The historic golf-links afforded some relief, acting as a kind of neutral soothing medium between antagonistic aspirations. But the final solution of his troubles came from a famous piece of water which is there, called the Witches' Pond. The virtue of this water was great in the barbaric age when the curse of witchcraft lay heavy on the land. The suspected person was thrown into the water. If she floated, her guilt was proven and she was incontinently burned; if she sank, it proved the high specific gravity of flesh and bone. Happy thought! The young man would subject his life's destiny to this convenient ordeal. He would jump into the pond, and either sink as a lawyer or emerge as a soldier! After this original form of baptism, initiation into the mysteries soon followed, and the young soldier saw much active service during the Napoleonic wars in the Peninsula and in the Low Countries. He missed Waterloo through being on other duty, and in the piping times of peace which followed that decisive battle an idyllic life at Richmond seemed to bound the horizon of his unsatisfied ambition for some fifteen years. From a totally unexpected quarter the call to arms reached him in his retreat, and suddenly roused all his sleeping energies. The offer of a commission in the service of the young Queen of Portugal met with an eager response, and Shaw entered heart and soul into the service of Donna Maria. As well as being an active soldier, Major Shaw was a lively correspondent, and it is from his letters to his family that we get the most brilliant flash-lights on the incidents of his military career generally, and more particularly on that exciting portion of it which most concerns the subject of these volumes. These letters were edited and published by himself at the close of the operations in Spain. Colonel Hodges, who commanded the foreign brigade in Portugal, and seems to have left the queen's service in a huff, also published a narrative of the campaign, of which, however, the historical value is not enhanced by its apologetic and explanatory motive. From the contemporary notes of these two officers we get generous and emphatic testimony to the manner in which Mr Alcock acquitted himself under the ordeal of severe military service. Indeed his comrades and commanding officers, first in Portugal and afterwards in Spain, seem to have vied with each other in spontaneous eulogy of the conduct of the young surgeon, none of them more flattering than General De Lacy Evans, who commanded in Spain. It is the record of a hero and a philanthropist, of high military ardour subordinated to still higher duty both to the cause he was serving and to the comrades whose lives were under his care. The valour of a non-combatant makes no less a demand on the virile stamina than the valour of the soldier,--oftentimes indeed more, since he lacks the stimulus of active conflict and confronts danger passive and unarmed. A few extracts from these really remarkable testimonials may still be read with pleasure after the lapse of sixty years. Shaw writes to his family:-- A peasant led the way (they wear no shoes and their feet are like hands). I took off my shoes, and after getting down about fifty yards, I looked up and saw a favourite soldier of mine close above me, and an intimate friend of Ramus, the assistant-surgeon Alcock (a nice young fellow), following. I ordered the soldier to halt; but his answer of, "I'll follow your honour to death, captain," made me silent. I tried military authority with young Alcock, as I saw he was much excited; but no, his professional services were, he thought, required, and follow he would. Every moment expecting he would roll down, I clasped my toes and fingers close to the precipice, that he might fall without sweeping me with him: such is selfish nature! Two or three times I determined to return, but the soldier's speech forced me on. We reached the bottom in about half an hour, and, believe me, I returned thanks. I proceeded along the rocky beach, and there found poor Ramus lying on a rock, in a sleeping position, with all his clothes torn, and a dreadful gash in his head; his body all broken; but with an expression of countenance indicating he had suffered no pain. I was astonished to see him without his shoes; but in ascending a sharp rock I found them, with the marks where his heels had caught as he tumbled backwards head foremost. Finding that our descent had been useless, I told those who had come down that I would not allow them to risk their lives in ascending, and sent off a peasant to get a boat; but he failed both in this and in getting ropes to pull us up. Self again stepped in, and as senior I led the way--one great reason being that no one could tumble back on me! I reached the top--hands torn and feet bruised; and to my joy young Alcock made his appearance, but so faint that I was obliged to supply him liberally with my brandy. The duty which now had to be performed by the medical men was of the most arduous character. The surgeon of the British battalion, Souper, carried away by the military spirit instilled into him by being an actor in the "Three Days of July," resigned his commission as surgeon, and on this day commenced and finished his military career, being killed at Hodges' side while carrying orders to the French battalion. His place was filled up by Mr Rutherford Alcock, who had the same love for "fire," but for a different object--that of being close at hand to give prompt assistance to any one who was wounded. Although young, Alcock was old in knowledge and experience: he was highly respected by all who knew him, and beloved by those who entered into action, as they felt assured that he thought not of his own safety when his services could be of benefit to them. In the most exposed situations I saw him this day, dressing officers and men with the same coolness as if he were in a London hospital; and I cannot refrain from expressing envy at the gratified feeling he must ever possess when he thinks of the number of human beings he has saved by his knowledge, experience, bravery, and activity, both at Oporto, Vittoria, and St Sebastian. But his trials after the fight of the 29th of September were great. Owing to the fights of Pennafiel, Ponte Fereira, and the different affairs on the Lugar das Antas, the wards allotted to the British in the general hospitals were full; therefore, one may form some idea of the misery of the British when scattered among the different hospitals, speaking a language which was not understood. Measures were taken by Hodges and Alcock to gather the wounded foreigners together, but the Minister of War threw every impediment in the way of this; almost making one suspect, that now that the soldier had done his work and was useless, the sooner he died the better. Truth compels me to state a fact I should wish to avoid, but it is right that those who are to be soldiers should know the value that is sometimes put upon their services. The words were made use of by Dom Pedro, but from what I have seen of him, I think others must have at the moment prompted him. The medical man was mentioning that it would be necessary to amputate the legs and arms of some of the British. "No, no," said Dom Pedro, "you British are fond of amputations, because your men are to have pensions, and that is expensive." No application from myself as commanding the battalion; from Alcock, as senior medical officer; nor from Hodges, as the representative of the foreigners, had any effect on Augustinho José Freire: thus the poor fellows, crowded together, without beds, without nurses, without clothes, and even without medicines, died in numbers. The references to Alcock's services are so frequent in these letters, so unconventional and spontaneous, as to prove the deep and lasting impression the young surgeon had made on his companions in arms. "I am glad for all your sakes to tell you that my wounds have healed in an extraordinary manner.... I consider myself greatly indebted to Alcock both for his skill and attention." And at the close of the Portuguese campaign: "I wonder if Alcock knows that he has got the decoration of the Tower and Sword? No man in the service deserves it more, both for bravery and kindness to the wounded." "The scarcity of medicines was dreadful; but with the active and willing assistance of Alcock, and the Portuguese medical gentlemen, it is quite wonderful what has been accomplished." The bad condition of the hospitals at Oporto is the burden of many references in both Shaw's letters and Hodges' more formal narrative; and as the only records of the campaign from Alcock's own pen happen to be in official documents connected with the medical service, we give _in extenso_ one of his despatches, showing in an inexperienced boy of twenty-three a maturity of judgment and a broad grasp of duty, with, what is perhaps more important, a mastery of work, that would not discredit a veteran. OPORTO, _Sept. 20, 1832_. SIR,--The danger to which the patients were found to be exposed by the fire of the enemy caused their removal to a place of greater safety, where they might at least have nothing to fear from the enemy's shells. This change in the arrangements, however, has been in other respects extremely disadvantageous to the sick and wounded men. They are now crowded from the higher parts of the building into the corridors and ground-floors--a situation well known to be unfavourable to the recovery of sick men, from the air being so much less pure. Our own men, including the English sailors, have been placed in one ward, which, though of tolerably large dimensions, is very far from affording the necessary space and quantum of air required for forty-eight or fifty patients, which for some time has been the average--an average which we may rather expect to see increased than diminished during the approaching wet season. Moreover, from peculiar localities, it is quite impossible efficiently to ventilate the room, or to ensure a free circulation of air, which is as essential as any other means employed for the recovery of health. It is under these circumstances that I feel not only authorised, but bound in duty, to draw your attention to the subject; assured that in any measures proposed for the benefit or wellbeing of the men under your command it is only necessary to show they are really required to meet your cordial support. Many difficulties, and many disadvantageous arrangements, have always attended the treatment of the patients in the present establishment; but these last compulsory changes, when added to the former state, place my patients in too dangerous a position to allow me to be silent or inactive. Situated as we are, I cannot promise the speedy recovery of any of the gunshot wounds, nor indeed of the sick generally, and their liability to any of the epidemics unfortunately so common in crowded hospitals renders me exceedingly anxious to have some steps taken to place them in a more favourable position. The means I have to submit for your consideration and approval are, I believe and hope, extremely feasible. I desire to have some large dwelling-house appropriated for the reception of all English and French sick and wounded, by which means the General Hospital would be relieved of nearly a hundred patients, and of those, moreover, who, from the difference of language, are a fruitful and constant source of trouble and inconvenience--nay, more, of irregularity as prejudicial to the patients as it is discreditable to a military establishment of such importance. Many houses well adapted for this purpose might easily be mentioned, already at the disposal of the Government by the flight of the owners. One I could point out at this moment which, from a superficial inspection, I believe might be advantageously appropriated--a corner house in the Praça de St Ildefonso, adjoining the church. The advantages which would accrue from this arrangement cannot for a moment be counterbalanced by the trouble or difficulty of first organising the separate establishment. The patients could then be classed and placed in different rooms, and not, as now, promiscuously crowded together--surgical and medical, fevers and amputations; by which arrangement their liability to any epidemic would be exceedingly diminished, while the patients would be more immediately under the eye and control of the medical attendants. Both surgeon and patient would thus be placed under more favourable circumstances, and the general service much facilitated by the removal of foreign troops from an establishment entirely Portuguese. In glancing at the advantages, I should omit one of very great importance if I did not submit to you the facility it would afford for the good treatment of wounded and sick officers. Instead of being attended at their own quarters, often just within the first line, to their own great risk and the inconvenience of the surgeon, they would be removed to a place of safety, and where, moreover, from being entirely under medical command, their rank would procure them none of those injurious indulgences in the way of diet, &c., which even the wisest of us are apt to risk the enjoyment of when in our power. They might easily enjoy every necessary comfort, while they would be carefully guarded from all imprudent excess. The chief difficulties I foresee, and which I have no doubt will immediately present themselves to your mind, appear to me very far from insurmountable. I require the assistance of no Portuguese officer whatever, except a commissary or purveyor, on whom I can _fully depend_, for the due and regular supply of fuel, meat, wine, fowls, and such other articles as are required for the good treatment of the patients, and which are daily supplied to the General Hospital. This is of the greatest importance, as any irregularity in this branch of the service would not only cripple my efforts, but be of serious injury to all under my care. In addition to this I should require one Portuguese domestic to every fifteen cases, for the purpose of cooking, washing the linen, keeping the wards clean, and such other menial duties as are independent of those appertaining to the orderlies. The expense of a separate establishment ought to be, and would be, of the most trifling kind. The same beds, trussels, and utensils, now exclusively appropriated to us, would be equally serviceable in any other hospital. Two or three boilers, and a few cooking utensils, with a slipper bath, are really the chief and most expensive things required. I may safely leave it to you, sir, to decide if this can cause any grievous outlay. Should it be any convenience, or be deemed by you, sir, advantageous to the service, to the English and French might be added the wounded Portuguese soldiers of your brigade. I have little more to add, but should you require further detail, I beg to refer to a letter addressed to Major Shaw on this subject. I am fully conscious and aware of the labour I am entailing on myself, and that which is still more irksome, the heavy responsibility, but I have a duty to perform. I neither court the labour nor desire the responsibility; but if they come as a consequence of my efforts to do that duty I can look steadfastly on them, and I trust I have energy and perseverance enough to do all that depends upon me in spite of them. My most ardent wish is to prove myself worthy of the confidence you have honoured me with, and the trust conferred upon me.--I have the honour to be, sir, your obedient humble servant, RUTHERFORD ALCOCK. To Colonel HODGES, commanding Foreign Brigade, &c., &c. As the campaign in defence of the Queen of Portugal closed, that in defence of the Queen Christina of Spain opened, and their rough experiences in the former did not deter either Colonel Shaw or Surgeon Alcock from accepting service in the Spanish Legion organised and commanded by De Lacy Evans. "On my arrival in London," writes Shaw in 1836, "you may suppose how delighted I was to find my friend Alcock at the head of the medical department, as his experiences in difficulties made him decidedly the most proper man." As it is no part of our plan to trace the operations, we give one characteristic letter from Colonel Shaw. It is dated San Sebastian, 2 o'clock, May 6, 1836:-- MY DEAR MOTHER.--The steamer is detained, so I write to you once more. I and my brigade are so fatigued and cut up that we have been allowed to return here for the night. We had a terrible morning's work of it, the brigade having lost, in killed and wounded, about 400 men and 27 officers; others not so much. How I escaped I know not; kind Providence was my protector. My watch is smashed, the ball having cut through cloak, coat, trousers, drawers, and shirt, and only bruised me. A spent ball hit me on the chest, and my gaiter was cut across by another. We had dreadful lines to force: very steep, vomiting fire; and the clay up to our ankles made us so slow that they picked as they chose. The enemy not only behaved well behind their lines, but charged out, and twice or thrice put us for a moment in confusion. Alcock is slightly wounded. And as an agreeable pendant to the severe strictures on the state of the Portuguese hospitals, the following may fitly close our extracts from these racy records of arduous military adventure:-- BAYONNE, _September, 1836_. When you land, introduce yourself to my friend Alcock, and beg him to take you through the hospitals. You will, or I am greatly mistaken, be agreeably surprised by the prevailing cleanliness and regularity, as also the care and attendance bestowed on the sick and wounded. Alcock has had a most difficult card to play. He knows well that there are many disabled poor fellows who, if they were in the British service, would be sent to England, certain of receiving their pensions; but he is also aware that a poor fellow sent to England from the service of Queen Christina, instead of receiving his pension, is generally left to starve. It is therefore from a praiseworthy charity that he keeps many in hospital, under his own eye, in order that they may in this manner get as much as will keep body and soul together. Mr Alcock retired from military service in 1837 with the rank of Deputy-Inspector of Hospitals, having received the Order of the Tower and Sword together with the war medal of the three years' service in Portugal, and the Cross of the Order of Charles III. and Commander's Cross of Isabella the Catholic, with medals for the two principal actions against the Carlists. The six years of Peninsular experiences he declared to have been "the most stirring and attractive of his life," and in some portions of that period he had "more complete personal gratification and material happiness than could be safely anticipated in the future." He was now to have six years of quite a different experience, which led up to the turning-point in his life. III. ENGLAND, 1838-1844. Returns to England, 1838 -- Alcock resumes professional work -- Prize essays and publications -- Sir James Paget's testimonial -- A Commissioner for adjusting Peninsular claims -- Appointed Inspector of Anatomy, 1842 -- Imperfections of the Anatomy Act -- Marriage to Miss Bacon, 1841 -- His enforced abandonment of a surgical career. On his return to England in 1838 Alcock at once resumed the work of his profession. In that year he published in a small 8vo volume 'Notes on the Medical History and Statistics of the British Legion of Spain'; and in 1839, and again in 1841, he carried off the Jacksonian prizes of the Royal College of Surgeons awarded for the best essays on subjects selected by the Council. The first of these was "On Concussion or Commotion of the Brain"; the second, "On Injuries of the Thorax and Operations on its Parietes"; and naturally the value of the papers lay in the extent to which the author was able to draw on his own observation and experience of gunshot wounds during his seven years of Peninsular service. Of these contributions to medical literature Sir James Paget remarks that "they may make one regret that he was ever induced to give up the study of surgery. For they show an immense power of accurately observing and recording facts, and of testing his own and others' opinions by the help of all the knowledge of the facts possessed by others at that time.... I doubt whether in the first half of this century better essays on gunshot wounds of the head and of the thorax had been written." And the small volume dealing with hospital experiences in Spain has drawn from the same eminent authority the comment that "it tells in a most graphic and clear manner the difficulties which, sixty years ago, beset the practice of surgery and the care of troops during war. These difficulties may have been greater at that time in Spain than in any other country in Western Europe, and may be thought now impossible, but they may be read with great interest, and one cannot doubt that Sir Rutherford Alcock's true account of them helped to remedy them, ... contributed to the improvement of the medical department of the army in this country." Mr Alcock joined the Royal Medical and Chirurgical Society in 1839, and was appointed Lecturer in Surgery at Sydenham College, where he delivered a series of lectures on complicated injuries, amputations, &c. His professional labours were soon diversified by an employment which could scarcely have been consistent with a large practice, though in the beginning of his surgical career it might not seem to involve much sacrifice except of time. But it was arduous, onerous, and absolutely gratuitous. Great trouble had arisen between the Spanish Government and the Foreign Legion in regard to pay. No settlement could be obtained, and eventually a commission was appointed to examine and adjudicate the numerous claims, to which commission Mr Alcock was appointed by express and unanimous request of the general and the field officers of the corps. His qualifications for such an office were quite exceptional, for to first-rate business capacity, which had been shown in the campaign, he added a knowledge of the language and the country which was not common, and a character which commanded universal confidence. His work on this commission extended over two years, and was brought to a satisfactory termination in 1839. No sooner were the labours of the Spanish commission concluded than Mr Alcock was, in 1840, appointed by the Foreign Office to a similar duty in an Anglo-Portuguese commission constituted by the two Governments to adjust the claims of British subjects who had served in the Miguelite war of 1832-35. The work of that commission also was satisfactorily accomplished in 1844, and, as in the Spanish commission, Mr Alcock's labours were given without remuneration, in order, as he said, that his judgment might be unbiassed.[2] During the course of the Spanish commission Mr Alcock was, in 1842, appointed, on the strong recommendation of Sir Benjamin Brodie, to a post under the Home Office, that of Inspector of Anatomy. It would be distasteful and of no utility to rake up the circumstances which set on foot an agitation culminating in the passing of an Act of Parliament in 1832 known as "The Anatomy Act." Like many other Acts of legislature in this country, it was a compromise by which difficulties were sought to be evaded by cunningly devised phrases whereby the thing that was meant was so disguised as to appear to be something else. "The Act failed in two most important points; it failed in honesty, and was wanting in the extent of the powers conferred." In short, after ten years' trial the Act was becoming unworkable, and a reform in its administration was imperatively demanded. It was at that critical moment that Mr Alcock was nominated as one of the two inspectors under the Act, and he entered on his duties with his well-proved practical energy. Before the end of the first year a long and interesting report was sent in by the inspectors, and we may judge by the sample of the Hospital Report in Oporto how thoroughly they exposed the difficulties and how practically they proposed to overcome them. A second report followed in 1843. But Government is a lumbering machine, always waiting for some stronger compulsion than a mere demonstration of what ought to be; and we are not surprised, therefore, to find fifteen years later, and fourteen after his connection with the Home Department had ceased, Mr Alcock still writing the most lucid and matter-of-fact memoranda on the conditions under which competent inspectors might be induced "to work a very imperfect Act of Parliament." It was during the period under review that the most interesting episode in a young man's life occurred. On the 17th of May 1841, when he had just completed his thirty-second year, he was married to Miss Bacon, daughter of the sculptor of that name. The ceremony took place at St Margaret's, Westminster, Dean Milman, then a Canon of Westminster, officiating. His domestic bliss was unruffled, the couple being profoundly congenial. But now "a change came o'er the spirit of his dream." The career which opened before the young surgeon was full of promise. So far as the personal factor was concerned, no man could have started with a better equipment. There were efficiency, thoroughness, enthusiasm, courage, and common-sense; there were, as we have seen in the student days, manual dexterity and exactness and artistic power of no contemptible order; there was, in short, every attribute of an accomplished surgeon, who must in the course of nature rise to eminence. A chair of military surgery was ready for him at King's College, and an assistant-surgeonship at Westminster Hospital. All that, however, had to be sacrificed and a new departure taken, in consequence of an illness which left its mark in the form of paralysis of hands and arms, and thus put an end to "all dreams of surgical practice." This malady was a legacy from the Peninsula. Like Cæsar, "he had a fever when he was in Spain," a rheumatic fever of a particularly severe type contracted at the siege of San Sebastian. This entailed indescribable pain and misery during many months, and, in spite of partial recoveries, seems to have left its after-effects seven years later in what he calls the "mysterious" affection in his hands. It was indeed considered remarkable that he should have survived an attack of so formidable a character. He never recovered the use of his thumbs, which marred the legibility of his writing to the end of his life. His professional career being thus rudely closed, it might well have appeared to a man of thirty-five that his life was shipwrecked ere the voyage was well begun. It would have been in accord with the short-sighted judgment which men usually form of their own fortunes. But "There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will;"-- and Alcock learned, what many before and since have learned, that prosperity and adversity oft visit men in disguise, and are liable to be mistaken the one for the other. Providence employs for its favourites an alchemy whereby the very ashes of their misery may be transmuted into pure gold; and what looks like disaster is but the rending of the veil which concealed a world of richer promise than that which they abandon with regret. [Illustration] FOOTNOTES: [1] He dropped the "John" so early in life that he was never known by it. [2] The only valuable consideration he received for these labours was bestowed some years later, when his entry into the service of the Foreign Office was ante-dated to 1840, so as to include the period of the Peninsular commissions. CHAPTER II. SENT TO CHINA. Importance of appointment -- New position created by Treaty of Nanking -- Exceptional responsibility of the new consuls -- The evolution and scope of foreign intercourse -- Pioneer traders -- Mutual experiences of Chinese and foreigners -- Results -- English inheritors of the record -- An intolerable state of things -- Drastic remedy -- Where it failed -- Chasm between Eastern and Western ideas -- Commerce alone supplied a safe medium of intercourse -- Its healing qualities -- But social and political concomitants created friction -- Arbitrary interferences of Chinese Government -- Their traditional mode of treating barbarians -- Denial of human rights -- Absence of law in their intercourse -- Spasmodic resistance to Chinese tyranny aggravated the evils -- East India Company submitted for the sake of gain -- Close of the Company's charter -- Followed by endeavour of British Government to establish official intercourse -- Determined resistance of Chinese -- Lord Napier, first British envoy, not received -- Loaded with insults -- Contradictory instructions given by British Government -- To conciliate Chinese as in days of Company, and at same time to open diplomatic relations -- Lord Napier's appeal to experience -- His death at Macao -- Captain Ellis, a third envoy, reverts to the policy of submission -- Has no success. When thus thrown upon his beam-ends in 1844, an appointment was conferred on Mr Alcock which was not only honourable to him but creditable to the Government which selected him. He was among the five chosen to fill the office of consul in China under the treaty of Nanking, which had been concluded in 1842. And if any event in human life be deserving of such distinction, the opening thus provided for the talents of Mr Alcock is on many grounds entitled to rank as providential. To the end of his days he himself recognised that his previous training had not been thrown away, but "had been unconsciously preparing him for the great work of his life." The Minister responsible for the appointment may be excused if, while selecting a man of proved capacity for a post of unknown requirements, he did not realise the full value of the service he was rendering to his country. Governments are not always so perspicacious in gauging the merits of the uncovenanted, and other nominations made under circumstances not dissimilar have shown how easily the efficiency of the candidate may be subordinated to considerations extraneous to the public weal. The China consulates were a new creation, a venture into the unknown, a voyage without landmarks or chart, where success depended on the personal qualities of the pioneer navigators--their judgment, resourcefulness, and faculty of initiative. Great issues hung upon the opening of the new world of the Far East, the success of which was largely in the hands of the agents who were employed, for they were practically beyond the reach of instructions. There was no telegraph, and the so-called Overland Route to India was just beginning to be exploited for the conveyance of mails and passengers. Nor was it possible for even the wisest Government to frame general instructions providing for eventualities out of the range of common experience. The conditions of service were therefore such as to constitute an ordeal under which a bureaucratic official would shrivel into uselessness or worse, while to a strong man they were a powerful stimulant, the very breath of life. It was therefore a matter of serious consequence who should be intrusted with the actual inauguration of the new relations with China; and in the course of the present narrative it will probably appear that it was a happy accident by which the country lost one distinguished surgeon among many and gained in exchange a political representative whose services must be considered unique. FOREIGN RELATIONS WITH CHINA. To understand fully the state of our relations with China created by the treaty of Nanking, the whole history not only of our own commercial intercourse, but of that of the nations who were our forerunners in the Far East, would have to be kept in mind. For much as we tried and hoped then, and ever since, to confine the international question to a few bald propositions respecting trade, personal protection, and so forth, it is impossible to eliminate the historical, the human, and the general political elements from the problem. For both good and evil we are the necessary outcome of our own antecedents, as are the Chinese of theirs, and if we had acquired a stock of experience of the Chinese, no less had they of us; indeed, if we fairly consider the matter, theirs was the more comprehensive. For to the Chinese we represented not ourselves alone, nor the East India Company, nor a generation or two of timid traders, but Christendom as a whole--our Spanish, Portuguese, and Dutch precursors, the Romish propaganda, and all the abortive missions to Peking. For three centuries and more what may be called the foreign education of the Chinese had been proceeding: their habits were being formed in so far as their dealings with strangers were concerned, and their judgment was being trained by the authentic data with which they had been plentifully supplied. European intercourse, in short, had been one long lesson to the Chinese in the art of managing men from the West. Without meaning it, we had been teaching them how to treat us, just as we train animals to perform tricks; and the worst we can say of the Chinese is that they have bettered the instruction, to their loss perhaps as well as ours. In the chronicles of that long history there are many deeds worthy of remembrance, as well as many of another hue, neither being confined to one side. There were good and bad among the early adventurers, as there are at all times in every other section of mankind. Of two brothers, for example, connected with the very early times, the first comer ingratiated himself with the Chinese, and left such a good impression behind him that the second was received with open arms: very soon, however, he abused the liberality of the natives, committing outrages upon them, which led ultimately to his forcible expulsion from the country and to restrictions on the outlets for trade. Taking it as a whole, the record of the pioneers in China is rather a despicable one, in which violence, cupidity, and cowardice formed large ingredients. The English, as latest comers, being served heirs to the turpitudes of all Europe, paid the penalty for the misdeeds and shortcomings of their predecessors and their neighbours, as well as for their own. The penalty was the intolerable degradation they had been made to endure, with ever-increasing aggravation, at the only port where they were permitted to trade--Canton. As there are forms of impurity which can only be cleansed by fire, so there was no possible remedy for the miseries of Anglo-Chinese intercourse short of open war. The hostilities begun in 1839, and brought to a conclusion by the treaty of Nanking in 1842, were naturally held as a drastic liquidation of long-standing grievances and the harbinger of a new era of peace and mutual respect. Why even the decisive and one-sided war should have proved an inadequate solvent of the perennial strife may partly appear as our story proceeds. The chasm between the Chinese and the Western world, as then represented by Great Britain, was in fact much too deep to be bridged over by any convention. Intercommunion between bodies so alien was as the welding of heterogeneous metals, contact without fusion. From one point of view, indeed, circumstances were highly favourable to a sympathetic attachment, for there is no safer medium of intercourse between nations than the commerce which blesses him that buys and him that sells. It was the pursuit of commerce alone that drew men from afar to the Asiatic coasts, and the reciprocal desire on the part of the natives which opened for the strangers, be it ever so little, the gates of the Chinese empire. The purely commercial relation left little to be desired on the side of mutual goodwill. The impression of it left on the mind of old residents in Canton is thus recorded by Mr W. C. Hunter, an American merchant, who lived there from 1824: "From the facility of all dealings with the Chinese who were assigned to transact business with us, together with their proverbial honesty, combined with a sense of perfect security to person and property, scarcely a resident of any lengthened time--in short, any 'Old Canton'--but finally left them with regret." Mr Hunter goes further and testifies to the "vigilant care over the personal safety of strangers who came to live in the midst of a population whose customs and prejudices were so opposed to everything foreign." Why, then, was it that on the ground-level of common material interest, and under the sunshine of the protection spontaneously accorded by authority, the parties failed in two hundred years to evolve between them a _modus vivendi_? The solution of this riddle can only be found in a patient survey of events both before and after the war. It would carry us far beyond our limits even to summarise the history of foreign intercourse with China. Nor is such a task necessary, since our concern lies mainly with those later developments which culminated in the war of 1839-42, a glance at which seems essential to any fair appreciation of the sequel. That there was no material cause of difference between the Chinese Government and people on the one hand and the foreign traders and their representatives on the other was made manifest by the persistence and continuous growth of their mutual commerce. And their common appreciation of the advantages of the trade is shown by the readiness of each in turn to resort to the threat of stopping business as a means of pressure on the other side. It is not therefore the substance, but the accidents and conditions, of the intercourse that generated the friction which led through outrage to reprisals; and the two conditions most fruitful in conflict were the necessary absence of law and the inevitable incomprehension of each others status. Left to themselves, the traders on either side, though without law, would have been a law to themselves, both parties having been habituated to a discipline of custom more potent within its sphere than any code, commercial or penal. But as no problem in life can ever be isolated, so in this case the twofold interference of the State and the populace constantly obstructed the genial flow of commercial intercourse. The interference of the Chinese bore no resemblance to the restrictions imposed on trade by Western Governments, for these, even when most oppressive, are usually specific and calculable. There is a tariff of duties, there are harbour and police regulations, and there are the laws of the land. The peculiarity of the Chinese official supervision of foreign trade was that it was incalculable and arbitrary, governed by cupidities and jealousies, and subject to individual caprice. Having barbarians to deal with, the Chinese authorities followed the maxims of their ancient kings and "ruled them by misrule, which is the true and the only way of ruling them." And finding the barbarians submissive, they grew accustomed to practise on them such indignities as a wanton schoolboy might inflict on a captive animal, unrestrained by any consideration save the risk of retaliation. The Chinese had no conscience to be shocked by the persecution of foreigners, for in relation to them justice and injustice were meaningless terms. Such arrogance was not so much the result of any formulated belief as of a traditional feeling lying at the bottom of their moral conceptions; and just as the Chinese people to-day speak of foreigners, without consciousness of offence, as "devils," so did the best educated officials in the days before the war sincerely regard strangers as an inferior, if not a degraded, race. As late as 1870 a British representative writing to the Chinese Prime Minister complained that "the educated class, both by speech and writing, lets the people see that it regards the foreigner as a barbarian, a devil, or a brute." And there has been no change since except what is enforced by prudence. To the absence of law in their intercourse was therefore superadded a special negation of human rights, naturally accompanied by an overbearing demeanour on the side of the natives. The strangers were in effect outlawed. The attempts made from time to time to assert their independence resembled the spasmodic kicking of the ox against the goad which led rather to aggravation than amelioration of the pain. The prevailing tone was that of submission, inviting more and more aggression, until the cup overflowed and war ensued. If we ask how it could happen that Britons of any class came to submit to such ignominy, the only answer forthcoming is that they did it for the sake of gain. And if, further, we try to press home the responsibility to any particular quarter, there is very little doubt that the principal blame must be laid at the door of the East India Company, which ruled and monopolised the English trade with China until the expiration of their charter in 1834. The Board of Directors in Leadenhall Street demanded remittances, and cared nothing for the indignities which their distant agents might be forced to undergo in order to supply these demands. "The interests at stake were too valuable to be put at issue upon considerations of a personal nature, ... and the Court leave the vindication of the national honour to the Crown." Such was their unchanging attitude. The agents on their side, balancing the pros and cons, concluded that at any cost they must retain the favour of the omnipotent Board. By this course of procedure the prestige which would have protected British subjects from outrage was bartered away; the Chinese were induced by the subservience of the Company's officers to practise constantly increasing insolence, and small blame to them. The demeanour of the Company's representatives was that of men carrying out instructions against their better judgment. Occasionally, indeed, their judgment got the better of their instructions, and they would attempt to make a stand for their rights. A case occurred in 1831 when new restrictions on the export of silver were imposed by the Chinese authorities. Mr H. H. Lindsay, head of the Company's committee, resented the proceeding, and threatened to stop the trade. In the event, however, the committee gave way, and in token of surrender delivered the keys of their factory to a Chinese mandarin. The process which had been consecrated by time naturally did not stop when the principal cause of it was removed. It continued uninterrupted after the monopoly of the Company had ceased. Indeed the case became much aggravated when the British agents, beginning with Lord Napier, became representatives of the Crown instead of the Company. And so little was the position understood by the authorities in Great Britain that, yielding to considerations of convenience, they appointed some of the very men whom the Chinese had been long accustomed to treat with contumely to be the representatives of the King. But the Chinese had a true presentiment of the nature of the changes which this new departure threatened. They had learned from Captain Weddell, Commodore Anson, and others what were the pretensions of the commander of a Kings ship; and then justly inferred that a King's representative would stand on a wholly different footing from a Company's superintendent. They resolved, therefore, to nip in the bud every effort to open international relations, employing to that end all the weapons which were familiar to them. The viceroy of Canton not only declined communication with the British envoy, but imprisoned him and intercepted his letters, so that a naval force was required to release him from captivity. Yet it was not malevolence but policy that guided the hand of the Chinese authorities--the settled policy of keeping foreigners at arm's-length at all costs. The rule of conduct enjoined by the British Government on the first representatives of the Crown in China was emphatically conciliation, as in the time of the East India Company and its superintendents. They were to "cautiously abstain from all unnecessary use of menacing language, or from making any appeal for protection to our military or naval force (except in extreme cases), or to do anything to irritate the feelings or revolt the opinions or prejudices of the Chinese people." That article of the "Sign-manual Instructions to the Superintendents of Trade in China" was faithfully carried out; while the one ordering the envoy to "take up your residence at the port of Canton" could not be obeyed because the Chinese provincial authorities placed their veto on it. The conciliatory demeanour of the British representative was met by the refusal, accompanied by the grossest insults, of the Chinese to receive or acknowledge him. And not by insults only, such as perverting the phonetic rendering of his name by the substitution of characters bearing odious meanings, and by various indignities offered to his person, but by interference with his domestic servants, and even cutting off his food-supply, did they coerce him into abandoning his post at Canton. Their conduct evoked the opinion from Lord Napier, in reporting the incidents to his Government, that "the viceroy of Canton was guilty of an outrage on the British Crown calling for redress," which drew from the Duke of Wellington (February 2, 1835) the chilling comment that "it is not by force and violence that his Majesty intends to establish a commercial intercourse between his subjects and China, but by the other conciliatory measures so strongly inculcated in all the instructions which you have received." Lord Napier's despatches prove that he understood the situation perfectly. "What advantage or what point did we ever gain," he wrote, "by negotiating or humbling ourselves before these people, or rather before their Government? The records show nothing but subsequent humiliation and disgrace. What advantage or what point, again, have we ever lost that was just and reasonable, by acting with promptitude and vigour? The records again assure us that such measures have been attended with complete success." And he recommended his Government "to consult immediately on the best plan to be adopted for commanding a commercial treaty, or a treaty which shall secure the just rights and embrace the interests, public and private, of all Europeans,--not of British alone, but of all civilised people coming to trade according to the principles of international law." Driven to death by Chinese official barbarities, and by the discouragement of his own Government, Lord Napier was succeeded first by one then by another of the East India Company's old staff, who could only maintain themselves by sinking their character as British national envoys and submitting to the indignities which the Chinese more than ever delighted in imposing on them, increasing in virulence in proportion as the resistance to them grew weaker. The line of policy inculcated upon Lord Napier was, in fact, scrupulously followed after his death, notably by Captain Charles Elliot, the third in succession, who received the King's commission in 1836. That officer indeed went far beyond his instructions in his efforts to conciliate the Chinese; for though repeatedly ordered by Lord Palmerston to communicate with the authorities direct, and not through the Hong merchants;[3] and not to head his communications with the word "petition"; and notwithstanding his own reiterated opinion in the same sense, Captain Elliot entirely yielded to the Chinese pretensions. He communicated through the Hong merchants, and explicitly received the "commands" of the authorities with "reverence." As was natural, the more he conceded the more was exacted from him, until conciliation reached the point of exhaustion and there was nothing left to give up. Matters had nearly reached this stage when the British envoy could thus address the Governor of Canton (through the Hong merchants) in 1837: "The undersigned respectfully assures his Excellency that it is at once his duty and his anxious desire to conform in all things to the imperial pleasure." The result of this extreme humility was that Captain Elliot was forced to strike his flag at Canton and withdraw to the Portuguese settlement of Macao, on the ground that he was unable to maintain intercourse with the authorities on the conditions prescribed for him by her Majesty's Government. [Illustration] FOOTNOTE: [3] These were a syndicate appointed by the Chinese Government to conduct the foreign trade and be responsible to the Government for the proceedings of the foreign merchants. CHAPTER III. ANTECEDENTS OF THE WAR. I. THE OPIUM TRADE. Its increase caused alarm to Chinese Government by throwing the balance of trade against China -- English manufacturers deplored the same fact -- Drain of silver -- Government opposition to the importation of opium -- Official participation in the trade -- The reign of sham -- Illustrated by Mr Hunter -- Captain Elliot volunteers to prevent smuggling -- Rebuffed by Canton authorities -- The principal patrons of the opium trade -- Imperial Government and the opium traffic -- Proposals to legalise it -- The Empress -- Commissioner Lin appointed to suppress trade -- His uncompromising proceedings at Canton -- Imprisonment of the foreign merchants, and of the British envoy -- Surrender of opium by Captain Elliot. Commerce itself had also for some time been a source of disquietude, and it is an interesting circumstance that it was the same feature of it which caused anxiety to both sides. The balance of trade was against China, which in the year 1838 had to provide bullion to the amount of upwards of £2,000,000 sterling to pay for the excess of imports over exports. English manufacturers deplored the fact that the purchasing power of China was restricted by the paucity of her commodities suitable for foreign markets, while the Chinese authorities saw with genuine alarm a yearly drain of what they deemed the life-blood of their national wealth; for not only was silver and gold bullion exported in what to them were large amounts, but the vessels which brought raw cotton and opium from India were frequently ballasted for the return voyage with the copper coinage of the country. Crude, arbitrary, and quite ineffectual devices were resorted to by the Chinese for the arrest or mitigation of the leakage of the precious metal. Opium, being the commodity which the people most imperatively demanded, was always paid for in hard cash, while ordinary merchandise might be bartered against Chinese produce. It is not therefore difficult to understand how, without prejudice to moral or political considerations, the article opium should have become so conspicuous a factor in the agony which preceded the war. In characterising the relations then subsisting between the Chinese and foreigners as lawless, it is not meant that China is a country governed without law, although it is true that even in the purely domestic administration of the State legality is systematically travestied. But in connection with foreign relations, and almost as a necessity of the case, every trace of legality was obliterated in practice, and the merchants were constantly entangled in a labyrinth of illusions and pitfalls. No regulation was, or was ever intended to be, carried out as promulgated; it was generally something quite different that was aimed at, and it is literally true that the law was more honoured in the breach than in the observance. Many Chinese eagles swooped on the carcass of foreign trade; various authorities competed for the spoil; and the constantly changing orders were often merely stratagems by which one set of officials sought to steal an advantage over another. The rules of the game were perfectly understood, and the loftiest professions of public duty were the invariable concomitant of the most corrupt practice. The two principal trade authorities in Canton were the viceroy of the two provinces, and the _hoppo_, who held an independent commission from Peking as superintendent of the customs. Smuggling was of course systematic. Though there were severe dormant laws against it whereby unwary individuals might on occasion be entrapped, yet the practice was openly carried on in every department of traffic, its chief patrons being the viceroy and the _hoppo_. The importation of opium was officially prohibited, but no branch of trade was so effectually protected. The depot ships lay in what was regarded as the outer waters of China--that is, the archipelago in the estuary of the Canton river. But the drug was brought to land in the viceroy's own boats and to his profit. The traffic was conducted under a fluctuating arrangement between the native merchants and the authorities, the latter taking frequent occasion to pick quarrels with the former in order to have a pretext for extortion. The fees levied upon the opium-dealers were divided among the officials, but they could never trust each other to deal fairly in the distribution of the takings. By way of check on sharp practice a Chinese war-vessel was in the habit of visiting the receiving ships, taking from them an account of their deliveries, and at the same time making a small levy for the commanders personal behoof, for which a formal receipt was granted. A new _hoppo_ came to Canton in 1837, and, as had been the custom with his predecessors, he inaugurated his commission by issuing drastic edicts, in concert with the viceroy, against the sale of opium, even going through the form of arresting some of the dealers. This demonstration, like all that had gone before, was merely intended to cover a heavier exaction than had yet been levied. The dealers and boatmen refused the terms, and by way of protest the latter burned their boats. Whereupon the two high officers built boats of their own, which, with the Government ones already employed in the business, brought the whole of the opium to Canton. In this manner was the trade resumed after a temporary stoppage caused by the strike of the dealers and boat-owners against the extortions of the viceroy and _hoppo_. Nor was there ever any secret in Peking respecting these proceedings. Indeed the occasion of any high official travelling to the capital was always marked by a great enhancement of the market price of opium, of which the official or his retinue invariably carried a large quantity for sale there. This circumstance was published in the trade circulars printed in Canton, without the least concealment of the name of the mandarin under whose protection the drug was transported. The _hoppo_ was, and still is, an imperial _protégé_, and it was, and is still, perfectly understood that he divides the proceeds of his Canton harvest with his patrons. It is for that purpose that he receives the appointment. And this was a trade proscribed under extreme penalties by imperial edict! It is needless to trace the network of elusion in which the administrative ingenuity of Chinese officialdom was exercised, and the specimen given above may be taken as typical of the system. "Nevertheless, during the year 1838 very serious and determined measures began to be adopted by the Chinese authorities, directed generally against the trade in opium; and imperial edicts threatened death as the punishment for both the dealers in and smokers of the drug." It is hardly possible outside of China to realise the systematic make-believe under which public affairs are carried on. Life and business in Canton, says Mr Hunter,[4] was a conundrum as insoluble as the Sphinx; everything worked smoothly by acting in direct opposition to what we were told to do. Certainly we were told to "listen and obey," to "tremble and not by obstinacy and irregularity to court the wrath of the imperial will"! We were reminded from time to time that we were "sojourning in the land on sufferance." We were threatened and re-threatened with the "direst penalties if we sold _foreign mud_ to the people; truly forbearance could no longer be exercised." Yet we continued to sell the drug as usual. Our receiving ships at Lintin must no longer loiter at that anchorage, but "forthwith either come into port or return to their respective countries." The heart of the ruler of all within the _Four Seas_ was indeed full of compassion and had been indulgent to the barbarians. But now no more delay could be granted, "cruisers would be sent to open their irresistible broadsides" upon the foreign ships. Yet in spite of these terrors the ships never budged. We were "forbidden to wander about except three times a-month, and that not without a linguist," but we walked whenever we pleased, and the linguist is the last person we ever saw. And so on through a long catalogue of prohibitions to the disregard of which the officials themselves were always parties. We get an exact description also of the mode in which the opium trade was carried on from the pen of Mr Hunter, himself an actor as well as an eyewitness. It furnishes a perfect illustration of the reign of sham which prevails generally in China:-- We anchored on the inside of the island of Namoa close by two English brigs, the Omega and Governor Findlay. Inshore of us were riding at anchor two men-of-war junks, with much bunting displayed; one bore the flag of a _foo-tseang_ or commodore. Knowing the "formalities" to be gone through with the mandarins, we expected a visit from one, and until it was made no Chinese boat would come alongside, nor would a junk, not even a bumboat. We had no sooner furled sails and made everything shipshape, when his "Excellency" approached in his gig--a sort of scow as broad as she was long.... He was received at the gangway by Captain Forster. His manner and bearing were easy and dignified. When cheroots and a glass of wine had been offered, the "commodore" inquired the cause of our anchoring at Namoa. The _shroff_ gave him to understand that the vessel, being on her way from Singapore to Canton, had been compelled, through contrary winds and currents, to run for Namoa to replenish her wood and water. Having listened attentively, the great man said that "any supplies might be obtained, but when they were on board, not a moment must be lost in sailing for Whampoa, as the Great Emperor did not permit vessels from afar to visit any other port." He then gravely pulled from his boot a long red document and handed it to his secretary, that we might be informed of its purport. It was as follows:-- _An Imperial Edict._ As the port of Canton is the only one at which outside barbarians are allowed to trade, on no account can they be permitted to wander about to other places in the "Middle Kingdom." The "Son of Heaven," however, whose compassion is as boundless as the ocean, cannot deny to those who are in distress from want of food, through adverse seas and currents, the necessary means of continuing their voyage. When supplied they must no longer loiter, but depart at once. Respect this. TAO-KUANG, _17th year, 6th moon, 4th sun_. This "imperial edict" having been replaced in its envelope and slipped inside of his boot (for service on the chance of another foreign vessel "in distress"), his Excellency arose from his seat, which was a signal for all his attendants to return to the boat, except his secretary. The two were then invited to the cabin to refresh, which being done, we proceeded to business. The mandarin opened by the direct questions, "How many chests have you on board? Are they all for Namoa? Do you go farther up the coast?" Intimating at the same time that _there_ the officers were uncommonly strict, and were obliged to carry out the will of the "Emperor of the Universe," &c. But our answers were equally as clear and prompt, that the vessel was not going north of Namoa, that her cargo consisted of about 200 chests. Then came the question of _cumsha_, and that was settled on the good old Chinese principle of "all same custom." Everything being thus comfortably arranged, wine drunk, and cheroots smoked, his Excellency said "Kaou-tsze" (I announce my departure).... Chinese buyers came on board freely the moment they saw the "official" visit had been made. A day or two after, several merchant junks stood out from the mainland for the anchorage. As they approached we distinguished a private signal at their mastheads, a copy of which had been furnished to us before leaving Capshuymun. We hoisted ours, the junks anchored close to us, and in a surprisingly short time received from the Rose in their own boats the opium, which had been sold at Canton, and there paid for, deliverable at this anchorage. It was a good illustration of the entire confidence existing between the foreign seller in his factory at Canton and the Chinese buyers, and of a transaction for a breach of any of the conditions of which there existed no legal redress on one side or the other. [Illustration: MACAO.] From his asylum in Macao Captain Elliot thought he saw an opportunity for making a fresh attempt to ingratiate himself with the Chinese authorities. Disregarding the fact that the only return for his previous efforts at conciliation had been accumulated insult and odious accusations against himself personally, Captain Elliot resolved on trying once more. So, when the opium agitation broke out in 1838-39, he volunteered his assistance in suppressing smuggling in the river. The viceroy, being the head and front of the abuse, spurned the offer, saying, what was perfectly true, that he could stop the traffic himself by a stroke of the pen. Ignoring the rebuff, Captain Elliot did nevertheless issue an order that "all British-owned schooners, or other vessels habitually or occasionally engaged in the illicit opium traffic, _within_ the Bocca Tigris, should remove before the expiration of three days, and not again return within the Bocca Tigris, being so engaged." And they were at the same time distinctly warned, that if "any British subjects were feloniously to cause the death of a Chinaman in consequence of persisting in the trade within the Bocca Tigris, he would be liable to capital punishment; that no owners of such vessels so engaged would receive any assistance or interposition from the British Government in case the Chinese Government should seize any of them; and that all British subjects employed in these vessels would be held responsible for any consequences which might arise from forcible resistance offered to the Chinese Government, in the same manner as if such resistance were offered to their own or any other Government, in their own or in any foreign country." This gratuitous assumption of the functions of the Chinese executive plunged Captain Elliot into still greater difficulties, and prepared the way for the tragic events which were to follow a year later. In vulgar parlance he "gave himself away" to the Chinese, for in professing to be able to stop opium traffic within the river he tacitly accepted the responsibility of stopping it also in the estuary, where the British depot ships lay at anchor. It was, in fact, the driving home of this responsibility by the Chinese which was the apparent occasion of the war. For it is certain that during his three years of office as representative of the Crown of England Captain Elliot had given no provocation to the Chinese, nor had he in any way withstood their aggression. But a sudden change now came over the scene. The opium question had been for some time debated in the imperial counsels with considerable earnestness, the issue turning on the alternatives of suppressing or legalising the traffic. It seems likely that in those deliberations the reigning emperor, Tao-kuang, played a very secondary part; indeed as an active factor in the government of the country he appears to have been of little more account than his successors have been. He is described as an amiable but weak man, sensible of the difficulties of his country, but misinformed with regard to them by the favourites around him. The most interesting personality about the Imperial Court at that time appears to have been the empress, who had raised herself to that exalted position by her talents as well as by her fascinations. Though her career was a very short one, she exercised a potent influence on affairs throughout the whole empire. She was credited with a rare power of judging men and of selecting them for offices of trust. She was a reformer of abuses and a true patriot; but what was most remarkable, considering the order of ideas which surrounded her, she held liberal views as to the extension of foreign intercourse, and was at the head of the party which was in favour of legalising the opium traffic. A memorial addressed to her urging this measure was submitted by the emperor to the governor of Canton, Tang, who with his colleagues reported on it favourably. The success of the empress's policy enraged her enemies and stirred them to the most strenuous efforts to compass her fall. The emperor, it is said, remained neutral in this strife. The opposition party prevailed, gaining over the emperor to their side while he was smarting from the grief caused by the death of his own son from opium, an event which enlisted his personal feelings against the drug. So far, however, had the question been carried, that the legalisation of the opium trade was fully anticipated by Captain Elliot up to the very hour that the storm burst. The final decision of the Government was to put an end to the trade, for which purpose they sent an imperial commissioner to Canton, armed with full authority to carry out the emperor's edicts. He arrived at his post, March 10, 1839. Commissioner Lin, the best known character, with the exception of Captain Elliot himself, in connection with the war, was a man of uncommon energy and resolution, and was therefore in some respects well chosen for the extraordinary task which was imposed upon him. He was a native of Fukien province, an official of high standing, having been Governor-General of the Central Provinces, the Hu Kwang. He was now appointed Governor-General of the Two Kwang and Imperial Commissioner for dealing with the opium question. As a Chinese administrator he had been popular, and was no doubt possessed of many high qualities.[5] It is possible that had he taken time to study the foreign question with which he had to deal, and had he not been betrayed by his too easy initial successes, he might have been the means of placing the foreign relations of his country on a footing of mutual accommodation. A reasonable man would have perceived the utter impossibility of preventing the Chinese people from purchasing a commodity for which they had an overmastering desire. He showed great ignorance of human nature in proposing to break his countrymen of opium-smoking within a year, after which time offenders were to be beheaded.[6] This was but a sample of his violence and of his incapacity to see two sides of a question. It must be remembered, however, that he had undertaken to carry out the emperor's instructions, and it is difficult to pronounce what amount of latitude he might have allowed himself in the interpretation of them. His proceedings were of an uncompromising character most unusual with Chinese. Possessing full authority, he exercised it to the utmost, terrorising all the local officials into absolute subservience. The governor of Canton, himself deeply implicated in the opium traffic, a fact well known to the Imperial Commissioner, was constrained to save himself by affecting the utmost zeal in executing the commissioner's behests. Having thus disposed of all the opposition with which Chinese high officials have usually to reckon from their subordinates, Lin gave the rein to his headstrong temper, and instead of effecting reform, plunged his country into a war which shattered the imperial prestige. Within three weeks of Lin's arrival in Canton the drastic measures against foreigners, and particularly against the opium trade, culminated in his imprisoning the whole of the merchants within their factories at Canton, menacing them with further outrages on their person. At this crisis Captain Elliot, having left his residence at Macao, made his way under difficulties to Canton, that he might share the captivity of his countrymen and act as their head and mouthpiece. Having thus got the superintendent of trade into his power, Commissioner Lin preferred most extravagant demands upon him, including the delivery to the Chinese of all opium owned by British merchants, which amounted to 20,000 chests valued at upwards of £2,000,000. The imprisoned merchants had no choice but to yield to the demand made upon them by the representative of the British Crown; and as the recent agitations had interfered greatly with the course of trade, their assent to the terms was no doubt soothed by the reflection that they were making a clearance sale of their goods to a solvent purchaser, her Majesty's Government. They issued their delivery orders for the opium on the 27th March 1839. It is to the credit of Commissioner Lin that in a memorial to the throne he commended the loyalty of certain of the British merchants.[7] This grand concession to the demand of Commissioner Lin was but the climax of all the antecedent steps of British submission. There was no haggling, but a prompt and unconditional surrender in the following terms:-- _Elliot to the Imperial Commissioner._ CANTON, _March 27, 1839_. Elliot, &c., &c., has now the honour to receive for the first time your Excellency's commands, bearing date the 26th day of March, issued by the pleasure of the Great Emperor, to deliver over into the hands of honourable officers to be appointed by your Excellency all the opium in the hands of British subjects. Elliot must faithfully and completely fulfil these commands, and he has now respectfully to request that your Excellency will be pleased to indicate the point to which the ships of his nation, having opium on board, are to proceed, so that the whole may be delivered up. The faithful account of the same shall be transmitted as soon as it is ascertained. Captain Elliot did not even give himself time to verify the figures, and in his haste committed himself to the delivery of more opium than was actually in being. The consequence was that he could not deliver until fresh importations arrived, when he was obliged to enter the market as an opium merchant and purchase sufficient to enable him to fulfil his engagement. II. THE SEQUEL TO THE SURRENDER OF OPIUM. Captain Elliot complains of his lengthened imprisonment -- The continued cruelties of Commissioner Lin -- Subservience of the Portuguese -- English merchants driven from their homes in Macao to seek refuge on shipboard -- Pursued by the vengeance of the Commissioner -- Chinese claim absolute jurisdiction over person and property -- Demand for an English seaman for execution. The interesting question in all this is how the Chinese authorities were impressed with the magnanimous sacrifice of over £2,000,000 sterling worth of private property as a ransom for the liberties of British subjects. They were certainly not impressed favourably, for Captain Elliot, together with the whole community, was detained for many weeks after the delivery of the opium close prisoners in Canton, and cut off from all outside communication. A week after the surrender Captain Elliot wrote to Lord Palmerston, "The blockade is increasing in closeness.... This is the first time in our intercourse with this empire that its Government has taken the unprovoked initiative in aggressive measures against British life, property, and liberty, and against the dignity of the British Crown." On the same day the Imperial Commissioner threatened to cut off the water-supply from the beleaguered merchants. A week later Captain Elliot wrote, "The blockade is not relaxed, ... the reverse is the case;" and he was constrained, though with evident reluctance, to characterise "the late measures as public robbery and wanton violence." Commissioner Lin's "continuance of the state of restraint, insult, and dark intimidation, subsequently to the surrender, has classed the case amongst the most shameless violences which one nation has yet dared to perpetrate against another." And there is a forlorn pathos in his confession, a fortnight later, of the futility of "remonstrances from a man in my present situation to a high Chinese officer determined to be false and perfidious." Nor did the Chinese appetite for cruelty cease to grow by what it fed upon even after the crisis of the Canton imprisonment was over. The British community, when forced to seek safety on board of their ships, were pursued from anchorage to anchorage by the implacable vengeance of the Imperial Commissioner. The natives were by proclamation ordered to "intercept and wholly cut off all supplies" from the English, some of whom "had gone to reside on board the foreign ships at Hongkong, and it was to be apprehended that in their extremity some may land at the outer villages and hamlets along the coast to purchase provisions," in which case the "people were to drive them back, fire upon or make prisoners of them." "Even when they land to take water from the springs, stop their progress and let them not have it in their power to drink." Another proclamation stated that "poison had been put into this water; let none of our people take it to drink." During the summer of 1839 many murderous outrages were perpetrated by the Commissioner's orders on English small craft wherever they were found isolated or defenceless. It is not necessary to pursue these barbarities in detail. Sufficient has been advanced to illustrate the spirit in which the Chinese Government, in a time of peace and without a vestige of provocation, drove the retreating and absolutely submissive English to desperation. And their characteristic manner of recompensing servility was illustrated with cynical humour in a long memorandum drawn up during the progress of the war by Commissioner Lin, the author of the savage proceedings just referred to. "Since," he says, "the English are so eager for the recommencement of their traffic, let us couple the grant with another stipulation, that they present us with the head of Elliot, the leader in every mischief, the disturber of the peace, and the source of all this trouble"--the last statement containing more truth than probably the writer himself fully realised. Under such conditions it was obviously impossible to place the persons and property of British subjects at the mercy of Chinese officials. Yet this is what the authorities at Canton insisted upon,--"full submission to Chinese penal legislation, involving capital punishment by Chinese forms of trial." This was no new claim. The Chinese were simply following the precedents. English, French, and Americans had each in turn given up their men to be strangled on the demand of the Chinese authorities, and though the right had not been exercised for nearly twenty years, Lin evidently thought the occasion favourable for reviving it. He furnished a clear explanation of what a Chinese trial would be by demanding of the British representative the unconditional surrender for execution of the alleged murderer of a Chinese. To Captain Elliot's almost penitential protestations, that he had been unable to discover the assumed murderer among the numerous liberty men of ships of more than one nationality who had been in the scuffle, the Chinese authorities paid no regard whatever. The Queen's representative was publicly denounced in scurrilous language by Commissioner Lin for concealing and failing to deliver up an offender, and for criminal violation of the laws of China as "shown by our reiterated proclamations and clear commands." This truculent proclamation being followed by an ultimatum giving ten days for the surrender of the unknown murderer under threat of the extermination of the British community, the latter had to escape in a body from Canton to seek refuge in Macao, whence they were expelled by the authorities of that settlement at the behest of the Chinese commissioner. This act of loyalty on the part of the Portuguese was duly acknowledged by the Imperial Commissioners reply, through his subordinate officials, in the following terms:-- We have received from his Excellency the Imperial Commissioner a reply to our representation that the English foreigners had, one and all, left Macao, and that the Portuguese Governor and Procurador had ably and strenuously aided in their expulsion, and faithfully repressed disorder. The reply is to this effect:-- That the Portuguese Governor and Procurador having thus ably obeyed the commands for their expulsion, evinces the respectful sense of duty of those officers, and merits commendation. I, the High Commissioner, in company with the Governor, will personally repair to Macao to soothe and encourage. And you are required to pay instant obedience hereto, by making this intention known to them. Captain Elliot, in a despatch to the Portuguese governor, characterised his act as a participation "in measures of unprecedented inhospitality and enmity against British subjects."[8] Into the merits of the opium question itself, or of that unique transaction, the surrender of £2,000,000 sterling worth of the commodity by a British agent on the mere demand of a Chinese official, it would be impossible to enter within the limits of space assigned to us. But it is obvious that such a demand, made within two years of the time when the viceroy of Canton was building a flotilla to carry the merchants' drug from the receiving ships to his provincial capital, was something so extravagant that compliance with it must be followed either by open war or by complete submission and the abandonment of China as a trading field. It is of course conceivable that had the ordinary Chinese canon been applied to the case, and the proclamations of Commissioner Lin been interpreted, like those that had gone before, as the inaugural bombast of a newcomer, the demands might have been evaded with impunity. The Portuguese, in fact, did evade them by the simple expedient of sending their opium to sea for a time and bringing it back again. There is some ground for the surmise that the High Commissioner himself reckoned on evasion, and was even embarrassed by his unexpected success in having such an enormous amount of property frankly thrown on his hands. Our collision with China may thus be said to have been brought about by a breach in the continuity of precedents on both sides,--we reckoning up to a certain point on the continuance of sham, and the Chinese on the continuance of submission. Both were misled, and there was no way of reconciliation but by the arbitrament of force. FOOTNOTES: [4] Bits of Old China. Kegan Paul. [5] When he visited Macao later in the year 1839--after the events--there were public demonstrations in his honour, whether prompted by public respect for his despotic power or approval of the use he had just made of it, or merely a recognition of his previously established reputation, may very well remain an open question. [6] Possibly, however, this was but a specimen of the hyperbolic diction which is habitual with the Chinese. An official will threaten his servant with instant decapitation for a trifling offence, meaning nothing whatever thereby. [7] As in its commutation for the surrender of slave property, so now the British Government inflicted serious injustice on the owners of the opium. Captain Elliot's drafts on the Treasury were dishonoured, he having had no authority to draw, and the merchants had to wait four years for a most inadequate payment. [8] "By the treaty of 1703," wrote Sir Anders Ljunstedt, the last chief of the Swedish Company's factory, "Portugal placed herself, as it were, under the protection of Great Britain. This Power never failed to render her ally the assistance she stood in need of either in Europe or her ultramarine dominions." The English had defended Macao against the French in 1803. CHAPTER IV. THE FIRST CHINA WAR, 1839-1842. Captain Elliot despatches his only ship to India with a report of the situation -- The helplessness of the British community and persecutions by the Chinese during three months -- Arrival of two ships -- The Chinese attack them and are defeated -- Expedition from India and England arrives -- Canton river blockaded -- Attempts to appeal to Central Government rebuffed -- Squadron sent to the Peiho -- Kishen appointed to treat -- Expedition returns south -- Negotiations opened near Canton -- Bogue forts destroyed by British ships -- Illusory negotiations -- River blockaded, but commerce partially resumed -- Extensive war preparations by Chinese -- Captain Elliot's confidence in the Chinese -- Hostilities carried on -- Canton commanded and ransomed -- Triumph of the populace -- Operations extended to northern coasts -- Agreement between Captain Elliot and Kishen repudiated by both sovereigns -- Arrival of Vice-Admiral Sir William Parker -- War vigorously prosecuted -- Towns and forts taken -- Nanking threatened -- Commissioners Ilipu and Kiying appointed to treat -- Treaty concluded at Nanking, August 29, 1842 -- The character of Ilipu. Captain Elliot, after the severities to which he and his countrymen had been subjected, despatched a vessel to Calcutta with a report on the situation to the Governor-General of India, making a corresponding report at the same time to London. The departure of this, the only vessel at the disposal of the British agent, left him and the mercantile community in a helpless predicament during three critical months, and it was natural that the Chinese should take advantage of so favourable an opportunity to fill the cup of their cruelties fuller than ever. The only form of reprisal which was left to the unfortunate Captain Elliot was his intimation to the merchants that he had moved both the British and Indian Governments to forbid the admission of tea and other Chinese produce into their territories--an announcement which is said to have irritated Commissioner Lin excessively. On September 11, 1839, however, her Majesty's ship Volage appeared on the scene. Her commander, Captain Smith, considered that the least he could do in defence of his countrymen was to blockade the Canton river by way of retaliation for "the stoppage of the supplies of food by order of the Chinese Government, and for the Chinese people having been ordered to fire upon and seize her Majesty's subjects wherever they went; and that certain of them had been actually cut off." This slight evidence of vitality on the part of the English produced an immediate effect on the Chinese: their violent proclamations against Elliot were withdrawn; provisions were no longer prohibited; and certain negotiations were inaugurated for the resumption of trade _outside_ the Barrier; whereupon Captain Smith promptly raised the blockade. Before long, however, the Chinese resumed their offensive attitude, endeavoured to compel British trading ships to enter within the Bogue, and renewed their demands for the murderer of a Chinaman, failing which the foreign ships were ordered to depart within three days on pain of immediate destruction. They accordingly withdrew to the anchorage of Tongku, which became the rendezvous of all the ships of war. Difficulties continued to increase on both sides, without prospect of any solution, until the 29th of October, when another British man-of-war, the Hyacinth, arrived and joined the Volage. These vessels proceeded to Chuenpee, with Captain Elliot on board, for the purpose of eliciting from the Commissioner some explicit declaration of his intentions. They were at once attacked by the Chinese admiral with a fleet of twenty-nine war-junks, which they beat off; and thus occurred the first hostile encounter between the armed forces of the two nations. [Illustration: MAP OF CANTON WATERS.] Of the operations which followed, extending over nearly three years, full accounts were given at the time, none better than the 'Narrative of the Voyages and Services of the Nemesis from 1840-43,' by W. D. Bernard, with which may be profitably compared Dr Eitel's concise history,[9] published forty years later, with all the documents before him. The British Government came to the conclusion that the limits of forbearance had been overstepped. The action of the Chinese authorities during 1839 forced on it the choice of two alternatives, to abandon British subjects and their interests or to exact reasonable treatment for them from the Chinese. The latter was selected, and it was resolved to demand a commercial treaty under which foreign trade might be carried on with security to person and property. In support of this decision military and naval forces, equipped in England and in India, assembled on the coast of China during the spring of 1840. Among the novelties of this equipment were a number of small light-draught iron steamers, the most famous of which was the Nemesis, built for the Honourable Company by Mr Laird of Birkenhead, drawing only six feet laden. This exceedingly mobile little craft, under her energetic commander, W. H. Hall, performed almost incredible services as the maid-of-all-work of the expedition. The blockade of the Canton river, which had been established and withdrawn several times, was finally declared on the 28th of June 1840, as a first step in the regular war programme, by Commodore Sir Gordon Bremer. A few days later the command of the fleet was assumed by Rear-Admiral the Hon. George Elliot, who was also appointed joint-plenipotentiary with Captain Charles Elliot. Before commencing a general war upon the Emperor of China every resource was exhausted for opening communications with the Imperial Government through other channels than that of Canton. The frigate Blonde was despatched for this purpose to the harbour of Amoy, where the local officials not only refused to receive a letter from the English admiral, but ordered an attack upon the boat conveying it on shore. The frigate retaliated for this insult by opening fire upon the Chinese batteries and war-junks, after which she returned to Hongkong to report proceedings to the admiral. About this time, early in July 1840, the island of Chusan was taken and occupied. The attempt to deliver a letter from Lord Palmerston addressed to the Cabinet at Peking, by way of Ningpo, having been frustrated by the authorities at that port, a blockade was established of Hangchow Bay and the mouth of the Yangtze. It had been Captain Elliot's favourite device, as it came to be that of all his successors, to apply pressure to the Court of Peking by means of a blockade of this the main artery of the Chinese empire, and it was by following up this scheme that the war thus commenced in 1840 was actually brought to a successful issue in 1842. The attempts to gain access to the Court through the southern seaports having failed, the venue was shifted to the neighbourhood of the capital itself. A heavy squadron of ships accordingly anchored off the mouth of the Peiho--a demonstration which was sufficiently menacing to the capital to induce the Court to appoint an official to parley with Captain Elliot, and also to receive the undelivered letter from Lord Palmerston. Kishen, a Manchu of high rank, was chosen for this service by the emperor. The first, perhaps the sole, object of Kishen's diplomacy was to relieve the apprehensions of the Court by procuring the prompt withdrawal of the foreign forces. This end was achieved in one short conference with Captain Elliot, when Tientsin was pronounced to be too near the emperor's palace for negotiations, and it was decided that the scene should be shifted back to Canton, a new commissioner being appointed to supersede Lin, the impracticable. The squadron thereupon, about the end of September, withdrew to Chusan. It was generally believed that an armistice had been arranged pending negotiations, but it was soon discovered that the only truce made applied exclusively to the island of Chusan, where it had been declared. The two English plenipotentiaries repaired to Macao in November. All this while extensive preparations for hostilities were vigorously prosecuted in the neighbourhood of Canton. Attempts to communicate under flag of truce were repelled by force, and it was remarked that the Chinese were sufficiently well versed in the significance of the white flag to make free use of it for their own protection, while disregarding its employment by the other side. The Imperial Commissioner, Kishen, reached Canton at the end of November, his arrival coinciding in point of time with the invaliding of Admiral Elliot, the co-plenipotentiary, thus leaving the British negotiations once more in the sole hands of Captain Elliot until such time as Sir Gordon Bremer was appointed as his associate. Of the two diplomatists who had now to confront each other it would be difficult to say whether the English or Chinese was the more anxious to avert hostilities. To avoid precipitating a conflict negotiations were not pressed home by either party, nor were any steps taken to give effect to the conference which had been held between them at Tientsin. The hostile demonstrations of the Chinese, and the extraordinary exertions they were putting forth to place themselves in a position to bar the entrance to the river, compelled the British naval commander-in-chief to assume the offensive by attacking the outer defences at its mouth. The forts and guns were destroyed as well as the Chinese fleet of war-junks, native Indian troops and Royal Marines forming an important part of the attacking force. There remained extensive fortifications within the embouchure, and every preparation was made on both sides for resuming the contest on the following morning; but just as the British guns were about to open fire a small sampan, with an old woman and a man on board, was sent off by the Chinese admiral proposing a cessation of hostilities. This unpromising overture did actually eventuate in an armistice, holding out the prospect of a treaty of peace, but with the details as usual carefully kept in the background. During the period of truce granted by Captain Elliot the Chinese continued as active as ever in strengthening and extending their defences. This necessitated continued precautions on the British side, for it is to be noted throughout all the proceedings that the naval and military commanders never shared the illusions of Captain Elliot as regards the conciliatory intentions of the Chinese. They formed their opinions upon what they saw with their eyes, and not by what any Chinese official professed with his lips. On January 20, thirteen days after the attack on Chuenpee forts, Captain Elliot announced from Macao that "preliminary arrangements had been concluded. Hongkong was to be ceded, and an indemnity of $6,000,000 to be paid by the Chinese; direct official intercourse on terms of equality, and trade to be resumed, within ten days." This good effect, he added, was "due to the scrupulous good faith of every eminent person with whom negotiations are still pending." The British plenipotentiary did not lose an hour in carrying out his part of the incomplete compact, which was the substantial one of rendering back to the Chinese their captured forts. The ceremony of the rendition of the Chuenpee forts was performed on the 21st, when the British flag was formally struck and the Chinese hoisted in its place under a salute from the flagship. On the other side the occupation of Hongkong by the British forces proceeded just as if the arrangements between the plenipotentiaries had been definitive. Serious conferences then ensued between the British and Chinese plenipotentiaries within the river, at a point known as the Second Bar. The blockade was nevertheless maintained, so that a French corvette which arrived to watch the course of events was unable to enter the river. Captain Elliot, however, invited her commander to accompany him and "assist" at his interview with Kishen. In the meanwhile the conciliatory attitude of the Chinese commissioner was severely denounced from the throne, and while these conferences were proceeding, messengers of war were on their way from Peking charged with nothing less than the extermination of the barbarians. Kishen was degraded, and instead of peaceable negotiations, a proclamation was placarded on the walls of Canton offering $50,000 each for the heads of the British plenipotentiary and the commodore. After the expiration of this one-sided truce open hostilities were re-entered upon. The Bogue forts had to be once more captured, and the British flag re-hoisted. That accomplished, the blockade of the river was raised. This somewhat remarkable step was no doubt due to the overmastering anxiety shown throughout by Captain Elliot for the immediate resumption of trade, he having learnt in the Company's school to place the current season's business above every other consideration. It appears certain that the quite disproportionate value attached by him to this one object obscured his perspective, if indeed it did not vitiate his whole policy. Trading vessels were permitted to proceed up-river, but under the peculiar reservation that the stakes, chains, and barriers placed by the Chinese to obstruct navigation should first be removed. The fleet, nevertheless, had still to fight its way up to Canton, Captain Elliot meanwhile never ceasing to make overtures of peace to the Chinese. There were truces and suspensions of hostilities, all of the same nature, binding only on one side, and such a medley of peace and war as seemed rather to belong to the middle ages than to the nineteenth century. Trade was pushed on all the more briskly for the general fear that the duration of peace was likely to be brief; and as both parties were alike interested in getting the season's produce shipped, the Chinese authorities were not ill-pleased to see commerce thus carried on while they employed the interval in hurrying forward their grand preparations for the crushing of the invading force. Hostilities were suspended by an agreement on March 20, 1841, and Captain Elliot, after residing some time in the foreign factory, where he had opportunities of sounding the disposition of the new commissioners, declared himself perfectly satisfied with their "assurances of good faith," which he repeated in the same public manner a fortnight later--that is, a month after the suspension of hostilities. On leaving the Canton factory Captain Elliot, strong in the faith he professed, urged on the senior naval officer the propriety of moving his ships away from the city in order to show our peaceful disposition, the guard of marines which had been stationed for the protection of the factories to be at the same time withdrawn. The mercantile community by no means participated in the confidence of the plenipotentiary, nor, as we have said, did the naval commanders. Indeed so little satisfied were they with the turn of affairs, that Sir Gordon Bremer left in a Company's steamer for Calcutta to lay the situation before the Governor-General of India.[10] This occurred in the middle of April. In the beginning of May troops were seen pouring into the forts near the city. An immense number of fire-rafts in preparation to burn the fleet could not be concealed, while placards of a most menacing character were posted about the city walls. Captain Elliot, whether he was shaken in his belief in the pacific assurances of the Chinese authorities or not, returned to the scene, on board the Nemesis, on the 10th of May, and it is said that, in order to show the Chinese that he still believed in their good faith, he was accompanied on this one occasion by his wife, probably the first European woman who had set foot in Canton. Several weeks more elapsed before the British plenipotentiary allowed himself to be finally disillusioned. Then he issued a proclamation to the merchants warning them to be prepared to leave the factories at a moment's notice, while the inevitable Nemesis was moved close up for the protection of the foreign community generally. The Chinese had employed the greatest ingenuity in masking their warlike preparations, and even at the last, when they saw that concealment was no longer possible, they attempted to allay the apprehensions of the foreigners by issuing an edict in order "to calm the feelings of the merchants and to tranquillise commercial business,"--their object being, as it was confidently alleged, to take the whole community by surprise and completely annihilate them. [Illustration: H.M. SHIPS IMOGEN AND ANDROMACHE PASSING BOCCA TIGRIS BATTERIES.] Although thus attempting to lull the foreigners, the Chinese authorities had previously warned the natives, through the elders, to remove their families and effects from the neighbourhood of the river. On the very day after the soothing proclamation, May 21, the signal for the renewal of the war was given by the launching of a number of ingeniously contrived fire-rafts, which were dropped down by the tide upon the English vessels with the design of burning them at their anchors. This scheme failed in its object, partly from miscalculation,--only ten or twelve out of about a hundred being ignited,--and partly from the intrepidity of the British officers and seamen in grappling with those they could reach in their boats, and towing them out of their intended course. Indeed the destructive effects of these elaborate engines were turned on the Chinese themselves, some of the rafts taking the ground close to the city and setting fire to the suburbs. This fiasco was followed on the one side by an attack on the forts and the destruction of a very large fleet of war-junks, and on the other by the demolition and pillage of the foreign factories, not however without some curious discrimination. The attack on Canton was now undertaken in earnest. On the 26th May the heights in rear of the city had been captured and were held in force, so that the whole Chinese position was completely commanded. Everything was ready for the assault, which would have been a bloodless affair, an elevation just within the wall affording a military vantage-ground from which the whole city could have been dominated without the least risk by a very small force. At this critical moment Captain Elliot appeared to stay the hand of Sir Hugh Gough and Commodore Senhouse, the commanders of the military and naval forces respectively. Captain Elliot had, in fact, granted a truce in order to discuss, not the terms of peace with China, but merely the conditions on which the British forces should retire from Canton. The principal of these were that the city should be evacuated by all the Chinese and Manchu troops, estimated at 45,000, over whom the authorities proved that they had perfect control; and that the authorities should pay the ransom of $6,000,000, in consideration of which all the river forts were to be restored to the Chinese, under the proviso that the forts below Whampoa were not to be rearmed until the final conclusion of peace. From first to last 1200 pieces of cannon had been captured or destroyed in these river forts, which would in any case have taken some time to replace. The incident which closed this transaction having an important bearing upon future events, it merits particular attention. Two days after the agreement was concluded the armed Braves of the city and locality began to assemble in great numbers on the heights threatening the British position, and they even advanced to the attack. Fighting ensued, which lasted two days, during which the Chinese force was constantly augmenting, and, though more than once dispersed by the British, it was only to reassemble in greater numbers and renew the attack. Thus the ransoming of the city seemed to be but the beginning of strife. At length the British commander insisted upon the prefect of Canton going out to the Braves and causing them to disperse, after which the British force re-embarked. The incident left on the minds of the Cantonese the conviction that they were invincible, for they took to themselves the whole credit of expelling the barbarians.[11] This belief was destined to bear much bitter fruit in after-days. The emperor repudiated all these pacific arrangements, and ordered that as soon as the English ships had withdrawn new and stronger forts were to be erected and armed. After the anomalous episode of Canton the war was transferred to the northern coasts. Hongkong, with its capacious and well-sheltered harbour and facilities for ingress and egress, was found to be an admirable naval and military base, and the island soon became a scene of intense activity afloat and ashore. The Chinese were attracted to it in great numbers. Tradesmen, mechanics, builders, carpenters, servants, boatmen, market-people, and common labourers flocked into the island, where one and all found profitable employment both under the British Government and in connection with the commercial establishment which had already been set up there. It is estimated that during the year 1841 not less than 15,000 natives from the mainland had taken up their quarters in the new possession of Great Britain, and were naturally of material assistance in the fitting out of the great expedition which was about to invade the eastern seaboard. One drawback, unfortunately, soon showed itself in the sickness and mortality of the troops, who were attacked by a fever attributed, rightly or wrongly, to the breaking up of the soil, which was composed of decomposed granite. Possibly, however, the hardships of campaigning in the unhealthy delta of the Canton river predisposed the men, when the excitement was over, to attacks of the diseases associated with the name of Hongkong. This disastrous epidemic left to the colony an evil reputation, which survived many years of hygienic improvement. The agreement concluded between Captain Elliot and Kishen, repudiated by the emperor, was no less emphatically disapproved of by the Government of Great Britain. Captain Elliot was recalled, and quitted China on August 24, Sir Henry Pottinger, the new plenipotentiary, having arrived, in company with Vice-Admiral Sir William Parker, on the 10th, to the great joy of every one. The war was thereupon pursued systematically and with vigour. The twelve months over which these operations extended will not seem long if we consider that the coast of China, with its marvellous archipelago, was then scarcely known to navigators; that the ships were propelled by sails; that they had to operate nearly 1000 miles from their base--and that a place of which they held precarious possession; and that the greatest caution was required in moving a squadron of fifty vessels, besides transports and store-ships. Indeed the real matter for surprise--and it reflects the highest credit on the officers concerned--is that in an expedition of such magnitude, including the advance of 200 miles up the Yangtze, a river till then quite unknown, so few casualties occurred. It should also be remembered that in this war against China precautions of quite unusual stringency were observed for the protection of private property and the avoidance of injury to the population. The Chinese Government was allowed ample time for reflection between each step in the hostile advance, yet neither the capture of the coast forts and cities nor the incursions which were made from convenient points into the interior sufficed to bring the Court of Peking to sue for terms. Amoy, Chinhae, Chapu, Ningpo, Wusung, and Shanghai were taken in succession, and Chusan was reoccupied. The Chinese defence of these various places was far from contemptible, excepting only as regarded the antiquity of its methods and the inefficiency of its weapons. The fortifications at the various ports were very extensive, and were mounted with an immense number of guns. The troops in most cases stood bravely the attack by superior weapons and skill, in several cases waiting for the bayonet charge before abandoning their earthworks. It was not until the fleet had made its way up the Yangtze, secured the Grand Canal which connects the rich rice-growing provinces with the northern capital, and had taken its station in front of Nanking, the southern capital, that the strategic centre of the empire was reached. [Illustration: YANGTZE AND GRAND CANAL.] At Nanking, therefore, commissioners were appointed to treat with Sir Henry Pottinger, and as they had nothing to do but acquiesce in his demands with the best grace, while at the same time saving the face of the Imperial Government as much as the circumstances of such a surrender would allow, the long-desired treaty of commerce was at last concluded on August 29, 1842. The two Imperial Commissioners intrusted with the negotiations were men of the highest distinction and rank, Ilipu and Kiying. Of the latter it was said that he was the first high officer who since the commencement of the war had dared to tell the naked truth to his imperial master. Their joint memorial to the throne, on which the imperial instructions for signing the treaty were based, was remarkable for its clearness, simplicity, and outspokenness, contrasting in these respects strongly with the customary tone of flattery, evasion, and bombast. Of Kiying we shall hear further in the sequel. Ilipu was already an old man and infirm. His name is never mentioned by contemporary writers without respect amounting almost to veneration. Governor-general in Nanking, he had been appointed Imperial Commissioner and ordered to Ningpo to get the dependent island Chusan cleared of foreigners. He had thus been brought into communication with the foreign commanders in connection with the occupation of Ningpo and the capture of Chapu, out of which a correspondence ensued alike honourable to both sides. A number of Chinese prisoners, after having their wounds attended to and their wants provided for, with a small present of money, were restored to liberty by the British commander. This unexpected action seemed to impress Ilipu, who in return sent down to Chapu a number of English prisoners, who had been for some time incarcerated at Hangchow, treating them handsomely, according to his lights. The despatch of the prisoners was accompanied by a respectful letter to Sir Hugh Gough and Sir William Parker, probably the first communication deserving to be so styled that ever passed between a high Chinese officer and a foreigner. These circumstances augured well for the success of future intercourse. Ilipu was sent to Canton as High Commissioner to arrange details as to the carrying out of the treaty. He died there, and was succeeded by Kiying, who brought the ratification of the treaty to Hongkong in June 1843. [Illustration] FOOTNOTES: [9] Europe in Asia. Luzac & Co. [10] Commodore Senhouse, who succeeded temporarily to the command, was so mortified by the course of diplomacy that his death at Hongkong in the month of June 1841 was believed to have been hastened thereby. His dying request was that his body should be taken to Macao, for burial, as he feared that further conciliatory measures might result in Hongkong being given back to the Chinese. [11] In a proclamation issued in 1844 it was said, "Remember how our people were persuaded not to fall upon and massacre your soldiers." CHAPTER V. THE TREATY OF 1842. A one-sided bargain -- Not deemed by Chinese obligatory -- Condemned by powerful parties -- The Chinese conscience against it -- Fulfilment therefore could not be voluntary -- The Chinese and Manchus compared -- Repugnance to treaty common to them both -- Much determination needed to obtain fulfilment. Out of such antecedents in peace and war it was a moral impossibility that normal international relations between Chinese and foreigners should follow the conclusion of peace. The treaty signed at Nanking by Sir Henry Pottinger in 1842, simple and explicit in its grammatical construction, and fulfilling as far as words could do so all the conditions of a charter of fair trade, was tainted with the vices of a one-sided bargain. Indeed the Chinese did not regard it in the light of a bargain at all, but as a yoke temporarily imposed on them which it was their business to shake off. Sir John Davis has told us that "at Peking almost every Chinese of rank and influence was opposed to the fulfilment of the stipulations of the treaty. The negotiators of it shared in the odium of the cowardly generals who had deceived their sovereign by false representations of their powers of defence." The obligations of the treaty, in fact, sat so lightly on their consciences, that only so far as they were held rigorously to its provisions would they observe them. The open-mouthed denunciation of the treaty in high quarters was but the textual confirmation of what was obvious in the nature of the case, that the Chinese Government regarded the treaty of Nanking as a _ruse de guerre_, a mere expedient for purchasing present relief, "a temporary arrangement in order to recover from our losses." The official animus and the political conscience were thus entirely on the side of what we call bad faith, a state of things which has come down unabated to our own time, though prudence on the one side and pressure on the other have generally toned down the outward manifestation of it. Fulfilment of the treaty under these circumstances could only be hoped for by the actual employment of the coercive agency which had secured its signature, or by the conviction, firmly rooted in the minds of the Chinese, that such agency was always ready to be invoked. But as perpetual coercion on the part of Great Britain was not to be thought of, the establishment and maintenance of satisfactory working relations demanded on the part of the British agents responsible for the execution of the treaty a rare combination of personal qualities. They had, in fact, to assume a power which they did not possess, to trade upon the prestige which their country had gained by the success of its arms, trusting that their pretensions might be tacitly acquiesced in. Had this attitude been consistently maintained, in small as well as in great things, from the very outset, there is no telling whether the observance of the treaty might not have become a matter of Chinese routine, and in time acquired the sacred authority of custom. But the contrary was the case, and it was not the observance but the non-observance of the treaty that was allowed to acquire the sanction of custom. The conduct of the war offered conclusive evidence that though certain individuals, from either better knowledge or higher principle than their contemporaries, were inclined to meet their enemies fairly, yet the conscience of the State, as authoritatively represented in the emperor's edicts, rejected as absurd the notion of keeping any kind of faith with the barbarians. Hence the barren result of all appeals to the binding authority of the compact, unless when backed by force; hence also the efficacy of every application of force in the dealings of foreign nations with China whether before or after the treaty of 1842. This consideration is indeed of the essence of our Chinese relations, though habitually ignored in the conduct of our intercourse. As regards the attitude of the Chinese Government towards foreigners in connection with the war and the peace, an interesting and suggestive distinction has been drawn by Sir John Davis between the two elements in the Government, the Chinese and the Manchu,--a distinction which has been independently made by other observers. It is therefore a point well worthy of being kept in view both in the conduct of official intercourse and in speculations as to the future of the Chinese empire. Sir John Davis, who, first as a Company's agent in China, then for a short time as British envoy before the war, and eventually chief superintendent of trade for some years after that event, had much experience in dealing with officials of the two races, is emphatic on the point that moderation and humanity were always found on the side of the Manchus, while implacable ferocity allied with treachery distinguished the Chinese officials. The war, he says, was solely the work of the latter, the peace, of the former. "New Tajin was a thorough Chinese, and, like the rest of his tribe, vociferous for war while it was absent, but unable to sustain its presence; while the Tartars were generally advocates for peace, though they did their duty in an emergency." The antithetic character of the two races shown collectively and individually has been a matter of general remark by foreigners acquainted with both. "Ilipu," says Davis, "a Manchu by birth, possessed the un-Chinese quality of straightforwardness and honesty of purpose.... As an early adviser of the sovereign, he had endeavoured to dissuade him from risking a foreign quarrel in making the English a party to the question of restricting the consumption of opium among his own subjects." The Manchu Kishen, who replaced Commissioner Lin on the failure of the latter, was also a man of good faith. He did his best first to avoid and then to terminate the war, and in the middle of it concluded a convention with Captain Elliot by which Hongkong was ceded and six millions of dollars were to be paid as ransom for Canton. Yet having been admonished by the emperor "to arouse the patriotism of the nation and send the heads of the rebellious barbarians to Peking in baskets, for to treat them reasonably is out of the question," he had to excuse himself by resort to a false pretence of treachery. The convention he represented as a ruse, because "his reinforcements were yet far off"; but he declared that, "bearing the barbarians many a grudge," he only abided his time "for exterminating them whenever it can be done." In the impeachment of that capable statesman one of the charges was, "You gave to the barbarians Hongkong as a dwelling-place, contrary to our law of indivisibility," to which he was fain to answer, "I pretended to do so, from the mere force of circumstances, to put them off for a time, but had no such serious intention; ... a mere feint to avert the further outrages of the barbarians." He took up similar ground in apologising for the conduct of Admiral Kwan, a brave and respectable officer, who had asked and obtained an armistice in the Canton river: "He has agreed to a truce with the barbarians merely to gain time and be in a state to resist them." The courtesy of the Manchus was no less conspicuous. Lord Jocelyn, as quoted by Mr Hunter, remarked, after a meeting with Kishen: "He rose at our entrance and received the mission with great courtesy and civility. Indeed the manners of these high mandarins would have done honour to any courtier in the most polished Court of Europe." A French envoy was similarly impressed in an interview with Kiying: "I have visited many European Courts," he said, "and have met and known many of the most distinguished men belonging to them, but for polished manners, dignity, and ease I have never seen these Chinese surpassed." While the noblest of the officials were thus driven to assume a perfidy which was not really in their heart in order to accommodate themselves to the prevailing temper, the baser minds were clamouring open-mouthed for meeting honour with dishonour. For it is instructive to recall that the most truculent officials--Commissioner Lin, for example--based their slippery strategy on the known good faith of the barbarians, "which made their engagements sacred," as the Roman generals took advantage of the Sabbatical prejudices of the Jews. The Chinese could afford to play fast and loose with their end of the rope, knowing the other end to be secured to a pillar of good faith. The commissioners who signed the treaty in their report to the throne also testified that "the English had acted with uniform sincerity." The confiding spirit of the English tempted the common run of Chinese officials to practise systematic deception. Thus a disreputable Tartar, who was governor of Canton, reported that he had "resolved to get rid of them by a sum of money, as by far the cheapest way.... But once having got rid of them, and blocked up all the passages leading to Canton, we may again cut off their commerce, and place them in the worst possible position," thus anticipating almost to the letter what took place at the Taku forts in the second war between 1858-59. A pamphlet, attributed to Commissioner Lin, whose wanton atrocities had provoked the war, after testifying to the habitual good faith of the barbarian, urged the Government "never to conclude a peace: an armistice, a temporary arrangement for the present, in order to recover from our losses, is all we desire." The Manchu and Chinese races are the complement of each other in the economy of the State. The Manchus, with their military heredity, were best fitted for the imperial _rôle_, while the Chinese are by tradition rather men of business than administrators. From which it may be inferred that the material progress of the country will rest more with the Chinese with all their faults than with the Manchus with their governing instincts. The Peking Court, indeed, has been long under the numerically preponderant influence of the Chinese, and except in matters of dynastic interest they are Chinese rather than Manchu ethics which govern the acts of State. The counsels of such men as Lin and the Chinese party generally prevailed, as we have seen, over those of the distinguished Manchus, some of them belonging to the imperial family, who had to do with the foreign imbroglio, and it was in full accord with Chinese sentiment that the Emperor Tao-kuang was brought to declare that such a nation as the English should not be allowed to exist on the earth. Much of the hostility to the treaty may no doubt be fairly referable to the military humiliation of a Government to whom war was rebellion and rebellion parricide. Nor is the exasperation of the Chinese against their conquerors to be measured by those chivalrous standards which have been evolved from the traditions of nations accustomed, even in war, to meet as equals. They were playing the game under a different set of rules. But when every such allowance has been made, the moral principle governing Chinese official conduct cannot be designated by any word in Western vocabularies but perfidy. Belligerency as understood by Western nations did not enter into their conception, and their war tactics of kidnapping, poisoning the water, torturing and massacring prisoners, and so forth, differed little from their procedure in time of peace, being in either case based on the implicit negation of human rights in connection with foreigners. It may thus be seen what difficulties had to be encountered, even under the treaty, in guiding the intercourse between Chinese and foreigners into safe and peaceable channels; how much depended on the tact and capacity of the newly appointed consuls, and how little assistance they could hope for from the department which commissioned them. For no matter how perspicacious the Home Government might from time to time be, they were as much in the hands of their representatives after as they had been before the war. The distance was too great and the communication too slow for the most vigilant ministry to do more than issue general instructions. "The man on the spot" would act as his judgment or his feelings or his power prompted as emergencies might arise, and we have seen how even the clear intentions of Lord Palmerston were thwarted by the idiosyncrasies of some of his agents in China. [Illustration] CHAPTER VI. THE FRUITS OF THE WAR AND PROSPECTS OF PEACE. Pretensions of British and Chinese irreconcilable -- International equality inconceivable by Chinese -- British aims as set forth by merchants -- The inadequacy of their demands -- Clearer insight of their Government -- Unsteadiness of British policy -- Consistency of Chinese policy -- Treaty to be observed so far as needful to obviate another war -- Canton irreconcilable -- Ransoming the city in 1841 the cause of much subsequent trouble there. The pretensions of the contending parties being absolutely irreconcilable, no spontaneous accommodation was possible between them. The Chinese could never acknowledge, or even comprehend, equality among nations, the single relationship of victor and victim being the beginning and the end of their international ethics. If, therefore, they ever set before their minds the issue to be decided by a war, it must have assumed the brutal but simple oriental form, Whose foot is to be on the other's neck? The question, then, to be submitted to the ordeal of battle between Great Britain and China was, Which should be the uppermost; which should henceforth dictate to the other? In justice to the Chinese, it must be admitted that they realised more clearly than their adversary what the quarrel really signified. What disconcerted them and led to chronic misunderstanding in the sequel was the after-discovery that the victor was slack in claiming the fruits of his victory. Whether they really expected success to attend their arms may be an open question, for their ingrained habit of boasting of their prowess may have deceived even themselves. With this caveat the temper in which the Chinese entered on hostilities may be gathered from a proclamation of the High Commissioner and the viceroy of Canton in September 1839:-- Let it be asked [they say], though the foreign soldiers be numerous, can they amount to one tenth-thousandth part of ours? Though it be allowed that the foreign guns are powerful and effective, can their ammunition be employed for any long period and not be expended? If they venture to enter the port, there will be but a moment's blaze and they will be turned to cinders. If they dare to go on shore, it is permitted to all the people to seize and kill them. How can these foreigners then remain unawed? From the British point of view the object of the China expedition was set forth with conspicuous moderation by the merchants of London and of the great industrial centres. And here it seems not unfitting to remark upon the lively and intelligent interest which the commercial community of that period was wont to take in the affairs of China. The trade of Great Britain and of British India with that country had not reached the annual value of £12,000,000 sterling including treasure, yet we find in the years 1839 and 1840 a series of ably drawn memorials to Government bearing the signatures of all the important houses in the kingdom, showing the most intimate acquaintance with everything that was passing in China, even though they failed to apprehend the full signification thereof. The signatories of these papers pointed out without circumlocution the measures necessary to be taken in order to place the commercial interests of her Majesty's subjects on a satisfactory footing. It would appear, therefore, that it was from the independent merchants and manufacturers of Great Britain and British India that the true inspiration came to Lord Palmerston, who was then Foreign Minister; and not the inspiration only, but the courage which was needed to throw over the pusillanimous traditions of the Honourable East India Company, and to apply the maxims of common-sense to our relations with the Chinese authorities. Among the memorials addressed to, and by request of, the Foreign Secretary, that from the East India and China Association, representing the merchants of London interested in the Far East, gives perhaps the clearest exposition of the whole case from the commercial point of view. After a succinct historical _résumé_ of our successes and failures in China, each traced to its cause, the memorialists state their opinion that "submission will now only aggravate the evil, and that an attempt should be made, supported by a powerful force, to obtain such concessions from China as would place the trade upon a secure and permanent footing." And they conclude with an outline of the commercial treaty which they think would conduce to that result. _First._ Admission not only to Canton, but to certain ports to the northward--say Amoy, Fuh-cho-foo, Ningpo, and the Yang-che-keang and Kwan-chou--situated between 29° and 32° north latitude, near the silk, nankin, and tea districts, and it is on this coast that the chief demand for British woollens, longells, and camlets exists. _Second._ Commercial relations to be maintained at these places, or at Canton, generally with the Chinese natives; but if the trade be limited to certain _hongs_, which we must strongly deprecate, then the Government to be guarantees of the solvency of such parties so chosen by it. _Third._ That British subjects in China carrying on a legitimate trade shall not be treated by the Government or its officials as inferiors, but be left free in their social and domestic relations to adopt European customs, to possess warehouses, and to have their wives and families with them, and to be under the protection of the Chinese laws from insult and oppression. _Fourth._ That a tariff of duties, inwards and outwards, be fixed and agreed upon by the British and Chinese Governments, and no alteration be made but by mutual consent. _Fifth._ That the Queen's representative, as superintendent of the trade, be allowed direct communication with the Emperor and his Ministers, as well as with the local authorities; and that he be permitted to reside at Peking, or at a given port, for the protection of British subjects and the regulation of the trade. _Sixth._ That in the event of any infraction of the Chinese laws, the punishment for the same shall be confined to the offender; and British subjects shall not be considered responsible for the acts of each other, but each man for his own--the innocent not being confounded with the guilty. _Seventh._ That supposing the Chinese to refuse opening their ports generally, the cession by purchase, or otherwise, of an island be obtained, upon which a British factory could be established. Upon terms such as these the British trade with China could, we think, be carried on with credit and advantage to this country; and if force must be used to obtain them, we cannot believe that the people of Great Britain and the European community in general would offer any objection to its exercise; at least we humbly suggest that the adoption of this course is worth the trial, for if it be not followed, the only alternative seems to be the abandonment of this important and growing commerce to smugglers and to piracy.--We have, &c., G. G. DE H. LARPENT. JOHN ABEL SMITH. W. CRAWFORD. These stipulations, and the hypothetical form in which they were advanced, show how imperfect, after all, was the grasp which the mercantile community had as yet taken of the situation. While fully recognising the necessity of force and urging its employment, they yet seem to have clung to the hope that in some way or another the expected treaty was to be the result of amicable negotiation. They did not clearly realise that as without force nothing could be obtained, so with force everything could be. And from what an abyss the status of British subjects had come to be regarded when it could be deemed a boon that they be placed under the protection of Chinese law--instead of being kept for ever outside the pale of law and of common human suffrages! Fortunately the Government, profiting by past experience and better versed in political science, held a more consistent course than that marked out for it by the merchants, and went far beyond them in the concessions demanded of the Chinese Government. Instead of trusting to Chinese law, protection for the persons and property of British subjects was provided for under the laws of Great Britain, a stipulation in the treaty which has been the palladium of the liberties of all nationalities in China for sixty years. The ambiguity which characterised the public appreciation of the China question, even when expressed through the most authoritative channel, deserves to be noted here on account of the influence it was destined to exercise on the future conduct of affairs; for though the British Government was perspicacious in the conduct of the war and in arranging terms of peace, yet, lacking the sustained support of a well-instructed public opinion, its Chinese policy was subject to many backslidings. During protracted intervals of inadvertence the pernicious influences which it was the purpose of the war to suppress were allowed to regain lost ground, with the result that during the whole sixty years our Chinese intercourse has been marred by the chronic recrudescence of the old hostile temper which inspired the outrages before the war. On the part of the Chinese Court there was undoubtedly a desire for such substantial fulfilment of the treaty as might obviate the risk of a renewal of the war. The final instruction of the Emperor Tao-kuang while the negotiations were proceeding was, "Be careful to make such arrangements as shall cut off for ever all cause of war, and do not leave anything incomplete or liable to doubt." And so long, at least, as the material guarantee of Chusan was retained by Great Britain--that is, until 1846--no open violation was to be apprehended. The Chinese war party, however--as distinguished from the more reasonable Manchus--were furious in their denunciations of the treaty; and it was the opinion of Sir John Davis that the situation was only saved by the financial exhaustion of the country: "the ordinary taxes could not be collected." There would in any circumstances have been a strong presumption of covert evasion being resorted to, a presumption which was reduced to a certainty by the indulgence extended to that ancient focus of mischief, Canton. By one of those aberrations of judgment which it is scarcely unfair to call characteristic, Captain Elliot desired to save Canton, of all places in the Chinese empire, from the pressure of war, and in 1841, in the midst of hostilities on the coast, he accepted ransom for the city, a transaction so inexplicable that her Majesty's Treasury, at a loss what to do with the money, after much explanatory correspondence declared itself unable to appropriate the fund in the manner intended by her Majesty's representative. The arrogance of the Cantonese had been so immeasurably puffed up by this misguided clemency that the peace left the populace of the city and district absolutely convinced of their invincibility. As the eradication of this dangerous delusion was among the primary purposes of the war, so the pandering to the pride of Canton proved, as was inevitable, the malignant root of all subsequent bitterness.[12] FOOTNOTE: [12] It is impossible to review, however summarily, the events of that period without free reference to the officer who was during the time charged with the care of British interests in China. But no pretence is made in these pages to pass a verdict on the public record of Captain Elliot. His acts involved too many solecisms in finance, for one thing, to have escaped the attention of Parliament; but, like others who come before that tribunal, he was neither attacked on his merits nor defended on his merits. None could question the sincerity of the encomiums passed by the Duke of Wellington and Lord Melbourne on his "courage, coolness, and self-devotion"; to which might well be added a quite exceptional fearlessness of responsibility. But the first representatives of the British Crown in China were doomed to failure by the nature of their commission. The terms of their instructions were more than contradictory--they were mutually destructive. To conciliate the Chinese while opening official relations with them was to mix the ingredients of an explosive. A dilemma was, in fact, presented unwittingly by the British Government to their agents. Lord Napier impaled himself on one horn--that of claiming a diplomatic status; Captain Elliot on the other--that of gaining over the Government by conciliation; and no earthly skill could have saved either of them. CHAPTER VII. THE NEW INTERCOURSE: CANTON, 1842-1847. The fundamental difficulty of giving effect to the treaty -- Necessity for thoroughness -- Character of Kiying, Imperial Commissioner -- His amicable relations with British Superintendent of Trade -- Turbulence of Canton -- Outrages on British merchants -- Condoned by Chinese Government, if not encouraged both by imperial and provincial authorities -- Sir John Davis's testimony -- His passive treatment -- False policy of allowing Chinese Government to screen itself behind the mob -- Postponement of entry into city -- Climax in affair -- Evacuation of Chusan -- Increase of insults at Canton -- Sir John Davis palliates and then asks for redress -- Sudden reaction in his policy consequent on Lord Palmerston's becoming Foreign Secretary -- His clear despatches -- Sir John Davis makes a raid on the river defences -- Has the city at his mercy -- But makes an unsatisfactory agreement -- Withdraws protection in spite of remonstrance of merchants -- Massacre of six Englishmen in 1847 -- Redress -- Whole question of British protection brought up -- Canton consul objects to ship of war at factories -- Palmerston orders one to be there -- Agreement to defer entry into city till 1849 -- People intoxicated with their success -- The potency of the people -- Its limitations -- Interesting correspondence -- Final agreement dictated by people and signed by Sir John Davis and Kiying. To carry out a treaty which was odious to Chinese officials in general, most of all to the bureaucracy and populace of the main centre of intercourse, Canton, required an effort analogous to that of maintaining a body of water at an artificial level--success in either case depending on completeness. It is easier to keep the reservoir intact than to compromise with leakages, as in certain conditions of the human will total abstinence is less irksome than moderation. To carry out the treaty, the whole treaty, and nothing but the treaty, would seem, therefore, to have been the obvious course for British agents to follow, a course suited equally to strong and to weak characters. This was, no doubt, understood by some, though not by all, of the British staff,--fifty years ago, as in our own day; but in the distribution of the _personnel_ it fell out that the fundamental condition of success was least realised just where it was most imperatively needed--to wit, at that intermittent volcano, Canton. For even the close proximity of the chief superintendent--only 120 miles distant--at Hongkong was insufficient to keep the cistern of our Canton relations water-tight. Sir John Davis, on the whole a competent official, shared to some extent in the common human imperfection of knowing what was right without always doing, or being able to do, it. He is indeed himself the most candid witness to the breakdown of the patchwork policy which he permitted to grow up in Canton, perhaps because he could not do otherwise. The first British plenipotentiaries under treaty were exceptionally fortunate in their Chinese colleague, the High Commissioner, Kiying. He being a near kinsman of the emperor, and, with Ilipu, the principal instrument in promoting the conclusion of peace, his appointment must have been considered the best recognition the Court could accord of the validity of the treaty. "Kiying," says Sir J. Davis, "was by far the most remarkable person with whom Europeans have ever come in contact in that part of the world; the most elevated in rank as well as the most estimable in character." Intercourse with Kiying, therefore, was pleasant, and conducive to self-respect. Both officials were unfortunate in having to reckon with an intractable peace-disturbing element in their mutual relations. This is the name which, for want of a more exact designation, must be given to the people of Canton, "who, through every event since 1839, remained incorrigible in the real hatred and affected contempt for foreigners." It has always been, and still is, the practice of the Chinese authorities to make use of the populace in their aggressions on strangers. There is at all times in China, as in most countries, an inexhaustible fund of anti-foreign sentiment ready to be drawn upon by agitators, whether within the Government circle or not, and subject also to spontaneous explosion. By working on these latent passions, and inflaming the popular mind by the dissemination of odious calumnies, Government could at any moment foment an anti-foreign raid. It was a political engine in the use of which Chinese officialdom had become thoroughly expert. It was tempting by its cheapness, and it had, moreover, the special fascination for them that in the event of being called to account for outrage they could disavow the excesses of the "poor ignorant people." Such a force, however, is not without its drawbacks to those who employ it. Like a fire, which is easy to kindle but hard to control, the popular excitement was apt to extend beyond the limits assigned by its instigators, and many an engineer has thus been hoist by his own petard. "Otho had not sufficient authority to prevent crime, though he could command it," says Tacitus; and the observation fits the case of successive generations of Chinese rulers as if it had been written for each one of them separately. The rowdy population of Canton enjoyed special immunity from official control. Not only had they been habitually pampered for two hundred years, and diligently taught to tyrannise over and despise foreigners, but during the war they were allowed to organise themselves independently of the authorities, and to claim the honour of driving the invaders off on the occasion when the city was admitted to ransom. On the mendacious reports of these transactions reaching him, the emperor not only bestowed rewards on the leaders but encouraged the populace to further hostile measures against the foreigners. The liberal distribution of arms during the war proved afterwards a powerful incentive to crimes of violence, of which outrages on foreigners were but one development. The self-organised, self-trained bands of Canton were by no means disposed to submit tamely to the new order of things, in the settlement of which they had had no voice. They had bettered their official instruction in the storing up and practising of hatred and contempt for foreigners, and they did not choose suddenly to recant merely because their Government had been coerced into making a treaty in a distant province. Consequently, within three short months of its signature notices were placarded inciting the people to violence; very soon an organised attack on the British factories was made, and the buildings were burned down. So far from attempting to repress such outrages, the governor of Canton, "while the ruins were still smoking," reported to the throne that the people "in their natural indignation had committed some excesses against the grasping barbarians," and a very gracious answer was vouchsafed to an offer of the people of certain outlying villages to join the armed bands of the city. The Imperial Government as well as the provincial government was thus identified with the popular hostility to foreigners, and opposition to the fulfilment of the treaty. "The excesses of the Canton mob," writes Sir John Davis, "were perpetually and annually resumed, up to the public decapitation of the four murderers of the Englishmen in 1847, with the subsequent punishment of eleven more." But this is surely remarkable testimony from the Minister of Great Britain who was charged with the protection of his nationals[13] from wrong? With British garrisons in occupation of Kulangsu and Chusan, a military and naval force in Hongkong, and a Chinese commissioner professedly willing to afford protection and redress to foreigners, the acquiescence of the British authorities in these recurrent outrages seems to stand in need of explanation. The native authorities, it was clear, would not, even if they dared, coerce the Canton populace. Kiying himself, though meaning to be just, and ready to enforce redress against individual culprits, recoiled before the mob. So it would appear did the British representative, who, though vigilant in requiring compliance with the treaty in minor respects, seemed to be paralysed whenever the Cantonese were in question. He had been too long accustomed to their practices not to be aware of the cumulative quality of these outrages, and he was too practical a philosopher not to know the wisdom of arresting the virulent stream at its fountain-head. Yet "the miserable policy of the Chinese Government ... had permitted the populace of Canton ... to reach the culminating-point of organised misrule in 1846," British merchants being the sufferers. Why was nothing done to protect them at least from the consequences of this misrule? The intricacies of the relation between the criminal rabble of Canton and the authorities there it would be hopeless to unravel, just as it would be vain to make such an attempt with regard to analogous cases which are to this day of constant recurrence. But no special penetration is needed to discover the falsity of a policy of allowing an organised government to plead its inability to control its own populace. Once admit such a plea and the security of the stranger is gone, for he has relinquished his hold on the Government without being compensated by any alternative security. Such was the state of things which had been allowed to grow up in Canton, producing the only fruit possible--outrage, ever increasing in violence and ending in massacre. The postponement of the right of entry into the city conferred by treaty was a test case which gave the Chinese the clue to the weakness of British policy. The consequences would have been less pernicious had the right been frankly surrendered from the first, for to have it merely deferred from time to time on the avowed ground of the populace not being ready to acquiesce in it was to flatter the mob beyond measure while feeding their passion for violence. It was in this manner that the British Government had "given itself away" to the lawless rowdies of Canton. The "climax" referred to by Sir John Davis occurred at an interesting juncture of time, for it was in 1846 that the last British soldier quitted Chinese soil, and Sir John Davis testifies that the restoration of Chusan had produced a change for the worse in the tone of the Chinese authorities. Kiying himself forgot his urbanity and acted "with a degree of _brusquerie_, not to say insolence, never before exhibited by him." A riotous attack on the foreign factories broke out in July 1846, in which the merchants were compelled in a body to defend themselves against an immense number of assailants. For this outbreak Sir John Davis blamed one of the English merchants, and got him irregularly fined by the consul. A murderous assault was committed on two British seamen in the city of Canton in October following. In the ordinary routine he reported the occurrence to the Foreign Office in a despatch of seven lines. "Two English merchant seamen," he said, "having strayed into the town, had been violently ill-used by the populace"; adding that he "considered it to be the duty of the consul to prevent seamen wandering through Canton." He at the same time instructed the consul to find some means of punishing the master of the ship for allowing his men liberty, and proposed placing greater power in the hands of the consul for the restraint of British subjects generally. Above this level the plenipotentiary seemed unable to rise. In March 1847 an English party of six, including Colonel Chesney, commanding the Royal Artillery in Hongkong, narrowly escaped murder at the hands of a riotous mob during an excursion up the Canton river. They strayed much farther than the two sailors had done, and if they did not fare worse it was due to the almost miraculous interposition of a Chinese officer with his followers, he himself being roughly handled by the mob. It would not do to apply to Colonel Chesney's case the homoeopathic treatment which was thought appropriate to the others, and Sir John Davis made a formal demand on the Chinese authorities for the punishment of the aggressors. The cup of Chinese iniquity was deemed full, and the avenger was at last let loose. Whence, it is pertinent to ask, came this sudden access of vigour in the British representative? The juncture of time above referred to was interesting from another point of view, for coincidently with the evacuation of Chusan and the renewed arrogance of the Chinese, a political event took place in the western hemisphere which had an important bearing on the whole attitude of Great Britain. There was a change of Government, Palmerston succeeding Aberdeen at the Foreign Office. The influence of Lord Palmerston on Chinese affairs during his long public career was so remarkable, that the ebb and flow of British prestige may be traced as closely by his periods of office as the course of the oceanic tide by the phases of the moon. Let any patriotic Englishman ransack the records of the sixty odd years of that statesman's full activity, and he will find no despatch or speech on the subject of China, even down to our own day, that will afford him such genuine satisfaction as those emanating from Lord Palmerston. They are so much the embodiment of common-sense that they might sometimes be considered commonplace; practical, true, clear as a bugle-note. He had been barely six months in office when one of his terse despatches to Sir John Davis turned that cautious official for the time being into a hero. The astonishment of Sir John may be imagined when, in reply to his placid report of the outrage on the two seamen, he received a curt communication from the Foreign Office in which his attention was directed to the punishment, not of the victims, but of the perpetrators, of the outrage. I have [wrote Lord Palmerston, January 12, 1847] to instruct you to demand the punishment of the parties guilty of this outrage; and you will, moreover, inform the Chinese authorities in plain and distinct terms that the British Government will not tolerate that a Chinese mob shall with impunity maltreat British subjects in China whenever they get them into their power; and that if the Chinese authorities will not by the exercise of their own power punish and prevent such outrages, the British Government will be obliged to take the matter into their own hands. Sir John Davis was the more ready to respond to this stirring appeal that it reached him just as he had entered on a correspondence with the Chinese respecting the attack on Colonel Chesney's party. The turn of the tide was marked with unusual distinctness in a single sentence of the plenipotentiary's despatch dated March 27, 1847. "The records of the Foreign Office," wrote Sir John, "will convince your lordship that during the last three years I have been rigidly tied down by my instructions to the most forbearing policy.... The time has, in my opinion, certainly arrived when decision becomes necessary and further forbearance impolitic." The inspiration of these instructions may be inferred from a speech of Lord Stanley's in 1845, in which he said, speaking of China, "I believe, so far as our later experience has gone, that there is no nation which more highly values public faith in others; and up to the present moment I am bound to say there never was a government or a nation which more strictly and conscientiously adhered to the literal fulfilment of the engagements into which it had entered." This from a Minister of the Crown, after three years of continuous outrages in Canton and of refusal to fulfil a specific article in the treaty, reflects either on the superintendent of trade in China as having withheld information from the Government, or on the Government itself in arriving at conclusions diametrically opposed to the tenor of their agent's despatches. If it be any justification of the Government theory to say so, the sentiments expressed by Lord Stanley were echoed by the newspapers of the day. "The Chinese," said one of them, "have acted with exemplary good faith, nor is there the least probability of their failing in future to do so." Under the new afflatus, and backed handsomely by the naval and military commanders, Sir John Davis proceeded to prick the bubble of mob lawlessness and to reduce the Anglo-Chinese relations to working order. This he did by a sudden raid on the Canton river defences, without apparently any diplomatic preliminaries. By a brilliant feat of arms General D'Aguilar with a detachment from the Hongkong garrison, conveyed by three small steamers of the China squadron, swept the defences of the Canton river, blew up the magazines, spiked 827 pieces of heavy cannon, and placed the city of Canton "entirely at our mercy, ... all without the loss of one British life." Under the intoxication of such a triumph the plenipotentiary might be pardoned the illusion that the Canton troubles were now at an end. "The Chinese yielded in five minutes what had been delayed as many months." And yet it proved to be a fool's paradise after all in which he found shelter, for the old fatality of half-measures that has marred so many British victories overshadowed Sir John Davis's first essay in diplomacy. The agreement in seven articles concluded with Kiying on April 6, 1847, contained such blemishes as the British negotiator could perceive clearly enough when the work of other officials was in question. Having laid down broadly that the good faith of the Chinese Government bore a direct relation to the hostages they had given, yet the plenipotentiary, when he came to business on his own account, abandoned the securities which were actually in his hands, and, either from misgivings of some sort, or under the impulse of a sudden reconversion, he threw himself unreservedly on the good faith of the Chinese without any guarantee whatever. With regard to the protection to be afforded to the merchants and the prevention of attacks upon them, Lord Palmerston wrote in December 1846: "Wherever British subjects are placed in danger, in a situation which is accessible to a British ship of war, thither a British ship of war ought to be, and will be ordered, not only to go but to remain as long as its presence may be required. I see no reason for cancelling the instructions given to you for the constant presence of a ship of war within reach of the factories at Canton." This promise of Lord Palmerston's was the sheet-anchor of the merchants' security. The question of having a ship of war close to the factories divided the mercantile from the local official view, and as the Home Government had so clearly adopted the former, the merchants took courage to stand up for what they deemed their rights. Learning that Sir John Davis, in the plenitude of his military success, had resolved to withdraw all her Majesty's forces from Canton, they ventured to make a strong remonstrance against such a step. Sir John, however, while consenting to the retention of a portion of the force, never allowed himself to be convinced of the need of any such measure. Writing to his Government in August 1847, he declared that "the Canton factories were never less in need of the presence of such a vessel than at present,"--an opinion frequently reiterated until November 20, when "for the first time since the peace it may be confidently predicated that a steamer will not be required." This was within sixteen days of the most cruel and revolting massacre of six young Englishmen at Hwang-chu-ke, within three miles of the city. The absence of a ship of war at that moment was deeply deplored, because several of the victims were kept alive long enough to have been rescued had there been any British force at hand. This massacre naturally produced a profound impression on the Canton community, who felt that their warnings and petitions had been cruelly disregarded. The resident British merchants, in a memorial to Lord Palmerston, quoted his lordship's own instruction as to the stationing of a British ship of war at Canton, and said "it was with the utmost surprise and regret they beheld that officer [Sir J. Davis] shutting his eyes to the danger that menaced us, ... and withholding the protection he had been directed to afford." "The heavy calamity which has befallen us," they add, "is the result of this infatuation." So much for the protection of life and property resulting from the armed expedition of 1847. The value of the new agreement, purely local in its bearing, which was the result of the successful invasion, was esteemed but lightly by the merchants. In their memorial, written in the month of August, they said: "If it is not deemed expedient to carry out a general measure in the manner contemplated by the 4th article of the new agreement, it would be much better that the merchants be again left to themselves"; while respecting the military raid and its consequences, they represented that "the just alarm occasioned by the expedition four months ago, and the excitement kept up by these fruitless negotiations, have done incalculable injury to the trade without bettering the position of foreigners in the least." Such diverse views of policy held by the principal parties concerned are typical of the relations which have subsisted between the protectors and the protected throughout a great part of the period which has elapsed since the British Government established relations with China in 1834. These occurrences at Canton and the decided action taken by the British Government brought up in a definite form the whole question of the safety of British interests in China, and the means by which it was to be secured. The conversion of Sir John Davis, though much, was not everything. The aim of Lord Palmerston's policy was still liable to be deflected by the perturbing influence of a minor planet in the system. The consul in Canton gave him almost as much trouble in his day as the famous Tiverton butcher did afterwards in his; and the patience with which his lordship endeavoured to enlighten his agent on the most elementary principles of human action was admirable. It had been the practice of the consul "to report to your Excellency another wanton and unprovoked attack on the part of the populace upon a party of Englishmen," and at the same time to deprecate any measures of defence, whether by organising volunteers among the residents or having a British ship of war stationed where she could be seen. The consul's object in all this was to avoid exciting suspicion in the minds of the Chinese populace. Sir John Davis, who had all along agreed with the consul, had now to tell his subordinate that "Viscount Palmerston was of opinion that we shall lose all advantages which we have gained by the war if we take the low tone which has been adopted at Canton." We must stop [continued his lordship] on the very threshold any attempt on their part to treat us otherwise than as their equals.... The Chinese must learn and be convinced that if they attack our people and our factories they will be shot.... So far from objecting (as the Consul had done) to the armed association, I think it a wise security against the necessity of using force.... Depend upon it that the best way of keeping any men quiet is to let them see that you are able and determined to repel force by force, and the Chinese are not in the least different in this respect from the rest of mankind. In the light of the history of the subsequent fifty years, one is tempted to say that Lord Palmerston's dictum puts the eternal China question in a nutshell. But when we reflect on the consequences of a man "of great experience" needing such lectures and yet left for years undisturbed at a centre of turbulence like Canton, can we greatly wonder at the periodical harvest of atrocities which followed? The one important article in the April agreement was that suspending for a definite period of two years the operation of the article of the treaty of Nanking conferring the right of entering the city of Canton and the other ports of trade. Sir John Davis demanded either permission to "return your Excellency's visit in the city, or that a time be specifically named after which there shall be general free ingress for British subjects." To which Kiying replied, "The intention of entering the city to return my visit is excellent. The feelings of the people, however, are not yet reconciled to it." And Kiying easily had his way. Sir John thereupon explicitly sanctioned a definite delay of two years in the exercise of this treaty right, representing the privilege in his report to Lord Palmerston as of little importance. Such, however, was not the view either of the Chinese or the British community of Canton. The throwing open of the city was by the latter considered the essential object of the recent expedition, and in their memorial to Lord Palmerston the merchants stated that the Braves having declared their determination to oppose the English at all costs, the withdrawal of our troops _re infectâ_ "intoxicated all ranks of the people with an imaginary triumph." Exclusion from the city thus remained as a trophy in the hands of the reactionaries, to become in 1856 the crux of a new dispute and a new war. It was no imaginary, but a very real, triumph for "the people"; and even looking back on the transaction with the advantage of fifty years' experience, it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that it was an inversion of judgment to have a city entirely at your mercy and then yield to the city instead of making the city yield to you. The least that could have been expected was, that while the troops were on the spot they should have vindicated the treaty of Nanking once for all by opening the city gates and thus eliminating the most pregnant source of future strife. On one point Sir John Davis was in agreement with the memorialists--namely, in "tracing back the conduct of the Canton populace to the operations of 1841, on which occasion they were spared by our forces at the rear of the city." But the merchants were pointing out to Lord Palmerston that Sir John Davis was himself implicitly following that very precedent. The China career of Sir John Davis was destined to a tragic finale, for in the midst of a series of decidedly optimistic despatches he was startled by the news of the Hwang-chu-ke murders. Expiation was as prompt as could have been reasonably expected, the High Commissioner not daring to afford provocation for a further punitive expedition which might not have ended quite so easily as that of the previous April. The Canton imbroglio of 1847 threw into strong relief the potency of the Chinese demos and its relation to the Central Government. The pretensions of the populace and the stress of events drove the Imperial Government into a corner and forced it to show its hand, with the result that the occult combination which had been the despair of British officials for fourteen years was resolved into its elements, and for a time made amenable to treatment. It was demonstrated by this experiment that though the Imperial Government dared not, except in extremity, oppose any popular movement, yet when necessity required the authorities assumed an easy mastery. Sir John Davis wrote in one of his latest despatches, "Kiying had clearly proved his power over the people when he chooses to exercise it." Coerced themselves, the authorities applied corresponding coercion to the people, even at the behest of foreigners, "truckling" to whom was equally disgraceful to both the Chinese parties. The interaction of the two Powers exemplified in a memorable way the principle of all Chinese intercourse, that boldness begets timidity and gentleness arrogance. When the people asserted themselves the authorities yielded and fell into line with them, and when the authorities asserted themselves the people succumbed. Such were the lessons of the Canton operations of 1847, lessons since forgotten and relearned again and again at ever-increasing cost. But the relations between the Government and the people bore also a quasi-diplomatic character. They dealt with each other as if they were two Estates of the realm having parallel or concurrent jurisdiction. The most remarkable phase, however, of the popular pretensions which was evolved under the unaccustomed pressure of the British Minister was the attempt of the populace to diplomatise direct with him. So curious an incident may still be studied with profit. The new departure of the people was the more startling in that they had been hitherto known only as a ferocious and lawless mob addicted to outrage, whose hatred of foreigners gained in bitterness by a long immunity from reprisals. Now that they had felt the "mailed fist" of a man of fact, and were almost in the act of delivering up their own heroes for execution, they sought to parley with the Power they had despised. The elders of the murderous villages, in the midst of his stern demands, sent a memorial to Sir John Davis full of amity and goodwill. "Come and let us reason together" was the burden of this novel address. The elders proposed a convention for the suppression of outrages, somewhat on the lines of the Kilmainham Treaty, to supersede the law of the land. "The former treaty drawn up in Kiangnan was not well understood by the common people"; in other words, it was wanting in validity, for "the resolutions of Government are in nowise to be compared to those self-imposed by the people.... Were not this preferable to the fruitless proclamations and manifestos of government?" "It has, therefore," they say, "been resolved to invite the upright and influential gentry and literati of the whole city to meet together, and, in concert with the wealthy and important merchants of your honourable nation, establish a compact of peace." Though he could not receive such a communication officially, Sir John Davis forwarded a copy to the Foreign Office, to whom he imparted his belief that the author was no other than Kiying himself--a surmise which was soon confirmed. The paper was extensively circulated; its arguments and phraseology were adopted by Kiying in his official correspondence with Sir John Davis. "The compact of peace" which closed their negotiations amounted to no more, indeed, than police protection for foreigners in their country walks, which, however, was counterbalanced by a new restriction excluding them from the villages as they had already been from the city. The interesting point is that, such as it was, it was the proposal of the people ratified by the two plenipotentiaries. * * * * * From this hurried sketch of affairs at Canton during the first five years of the new intercourse we see that the secular policy of China had undergone no change as a result of the treaty. The settled determination of the Government to exclude foreigners from the country and keep them in strict subjection at the farthest maritime outpost of the empire had been overcome by violence; but the Chinese never abandoned the hope of retrieving their position in whole or in part, nor did they forego any opportunity of avenging their military defeat. A frontal attack being out of the question, the invader could be perpetually worried by guerilla tactics, his sentries caught napping, his chiefs bamboozled: what had been lost through force might thus be won back by force and fraud judiciously blended, for craft is the natural resource of the weak. The conditions of the contest have varied with the international developments of fifty years, but time has worked no change in the nature of the struggle East _v._ West. FOOTNOTE: [13] This convenient term, borrowed from the French, saves many periphrases and sometimes an ambiguity. Neither "fellow-countrymen," "fellow-subjects," nor "fellow-citizens" fully expresses the relationship between an official in an extra-territorialised country and those whom he protects and governs. CHAPTER VIII. THE NEW TREATY PORTS--FOOCHOW, AMOY, NINGPO. Visit of Chinese commissioners to Hongkong -- A supplementary treaty negotiated -- Chinese thereby obtain control of junk trade of colony -- Vain efforts to recover the lost ground -- New ports criticised -- Amoy -- Alcock's temporary residence there, 1844 -- Interpreter Parkes -- Foochow -- Bad beginning -- Insolence of mandarin and mob -- Lost ground recovered during Alcock's consulate -- His family arrive -- Little trade -- Difficulties of diverting the Bohea trade from old routes -- Alcock's commercial reports -- Their grasp of salient points in a fresh range of subjects. It accorded with the fitness of things that the negotiator of the treaty should remain to carry out its provisions. Sir Henry Pottinger was appointed the first Governor of Hongkong, Chief Superintendent of Trade, and Minister Plenipotentiary for Great Britain; Kiying and two associates Imperial Commissioners for China. Intercourse between them was of the most agreeable character. Though the wound to the pride of China was deep and still fresh, the Imperial Commissioners' acceptance of the new state of things exceeded what the most stoical philosophy could call for. They came in person, on invitation, to the alienated island, there to exchange the ratifications of the Nanking treaty; entered heartily into the life of the community, showed great interest in their nascent institutions, and "returned to Canton charmed with English civilisation." China then was really converted, and Kiying the patron saint of the young colony! That adroit Manchu, however, had a purpose to serve by his effusive _bonhomie_: it was nothing less than to undermine the treaty of Nanking. So long as Sir Henry Pottinger was negotiating under the guns of her Majesty's ships he was master of the situation, but when pitted against the Chinese in the open field the position was reversed, for they had definite aims and knew how to gain them. Arrangements were found necessary for the conduct of trade at the five consular ports; the relations between the colony of Hongkong and the empire of China, as regards criminals, debtors, &c., required definition; and, more important still, the native shipping frequenting its harbour had to be regulated. The negotiations required for these purposes afforded Kiying a favourable opportunity for giving effect to the reactionary policy of the Chinese Government. The supplementary treaty was negotiated at the Bogue between Sir Henry Pottinger and Kiying in October 1843. The Chinese version seems to have been signed by the British agent without his having before him a textual English translation: by its provisions the Chinese authorities engaged to protect the junk traffic in colonial waters. Sir Henry Pottinger did not realise the kind of weapon he had thus placed in the hands of his friends until its damaging effects were demonstrated by experience. Then what had been lost by diplomacy was sought to be partially regained by persuasion. To this end strenuous efforts were made by successive governors of Hongkong to induce Kiying to forego some of the powers which had been inadvertently conferred on him, as their exercise was proving ruinous to the trade of the island. But as this result was precisely what had been intended by the Chinese, nothing short of another war would have moved them to yield a single point. His hesitation to exercise the right of entry into the city of Canton conferred by the treaty of Nanking, while allowing the Chinese the full advantage of the concessions gained by them under the supplementary treaty, must likewise be held as a blemish on the policy of Sir Henry Pottinger. The best palliation of these errors of the first treaty-maker is perhaps to be found in the fact that his successors, with many years of actual experience to guide them, have fallen into the same errors of both omission and commission. In other respects Sir Henry Pottinger's arrangements for giving effect to the treaty seem to have been as practical as the untried circumstances would allow. [Illustration: THE LAKES, NINGPO.] The opening of the new ports, with the exception of Shanghai, was unfavourably commented upon by a section of the English press, not perhaps unwilling to score a point against the "Tory Government, which was alone answerable for the treaty of Nanking." They denounced the opening of so many ports on the ground that it would only multiply points of collision with the Chinese. Three years later the 'Times' pronounced "Amoy, Foochow, and Ningpo as good for nothing as places of trade," while Hongkong itself was equally despised as a commercial colony. Some of the journals resuscitated the idea which had been freely discussed during the years preceding the war, and advocated the acquisition in sovereignty of islands as emporia instead of ports on the mainland, and it is worthy of remark that the same idea was again revived by Mr Cobden twenty years later. "Get two other small islands," he said in 1864; "merely establish them as free ports" on the model of Hongkong. And this with a view to superseding the treaty ports on the coast, where trade had been established for twenty years. Three of the new ports--Shanghai, Ningpo, and Amoy--were opened under Sir Henry Pottinger's auspices in 1843; Foochow in 1844. These places, distributed at approximately equal intervals along the coast-line of 1000 miles between Shanghai and Canton, were not chosen at random. They had all been at one time or another entrepots of foreign commerce with either Europe, Southern Asia, or Japan. Foochow had been many years before strongly recommended by one of the East India Company's tea-tasters as most desirable for the shipment of tea. An expedition equipped by the Company under Mr Hamilton Lindsay, who, like the other servants of the Company, was versed in the Chinese language, visited the northern coast in the chartered ship Amherst in 1832, and gained the first authentic information concerning the commercial capabilities of Shanghai. Mr Gutzlaff, who acted as secretary and coadjutor to Mr Lindsay's mission, made several adventurous voyages, including one in Chinese disguise, in a native junk, to Tientsin. Though the coast had not yet been surveyed, and navigation was in consequence somewhat dangerous, a good deal of fairly accurate information, some of it already obsolete, was by these means placed at the disposal of those who made the selection of the treaty ports. Ningpo was noted for its literary culture, for the respectability and intelligence of its inhabitants, and their friendly disposition towards foreigners. But although it was the entrepot of a flourishing coasting trade, the shallowness of its river, the want of anchorage at its embouchure, and its vicinity to Shanghai, combined to preclude the growth of foreign commerce at the port of Ningpo. * * * * * [Illustration: THE FIRST CONSULAR RESIDENCE AT FOOCHOW.] It was to Foochow that Mr Alcock was appointed in 1844, by Mr Davis (as he then was), who had recently succeeded Sir Henry Pottinger. The new consul, however, made his actual _début_ at Amoy, where he was detained for four months, from November 1844 to March 1845, acting for the titular consul at that port. There he at once displayed that energy and clear-sightedness which were to become so conspicuous in his subsequent career. Two important matters had to be arranged within the period named--the evacuation of the island of Kulangsu by the British garrison and the future residence of the consul. Trifling as this last may seem, it was a matter of no small consideration in China, where, to paraphrase Polonius, the dwelling oft proclaims the man. It was one of the innumerable devices of the Chinese authorities for degrading new-comers in the eyes of the populace to force them to live, as at Canton, within a confined space or in squalid tenements. Mr Alcock knew by instinct the importance of prestige, while his Peninsular training had taught him the value of sanitation. Following these two guiding stars, he overbore the obstruction of the officials, and not only obtained a commodious site but had a house built to his own specification during his temporary incumbency of the office. That, and his general bearing towards the authorities, stamped on the Amoy consulate the impress of dignity which has never been wholly effaced. He was most fortunate, it must be allowed, in his instruments, chiefly in the interpreter whom he found at Amoy, a man, or rather a boy--for he was only sixteen--entirely after his own heart. That was Harry Parkes, one of the bravest and best of our empire-builders. It is indeed to the journals and letters of Sir Harry Parkes, edited by Mr Stanley Lane-Poole, and to notes supplied for that biography by Sir Rutherford Alcock himself in 1893, that we are chiefly indebted for the record of their joint proceedings at Amoy, Foochow, and to some extent also Shanghai, from 1844 to 1848. The consul made a favourable first impression on the young interpreter, who described him in a family letter as "tall but slimly made, standing about six feet in his boots; ... very gentlemanly in his manners and address, and exceedingly polite." It was not, however, till he reached his proper post, Foochow, that the mettle of the new consul and interpreter was seriously tested. Foochow was of superior rank to the other two ports, being, like Canton, at once a provincial capital and the seat of a governor-general or viceroy of two provinces--namely, Fukien and Chêkiang--and possessing a Manchu garrison. The Chinese Government was believed to have been most reluctant to open Foochow as a trading port at all, which seemed reason enough for the British negotiators insisting on its being opened. Its trade was small, which perhaps rendered the port the more suitable for the experimental purpose of testing the principles which were to govern the new intercourse. As the leading occurrences there have been set forth at some length by Mr Stanley Lane-Poole in the above-mentioned work, there is the less reason for us to linger over details. We find that on arrival at the end of March 1845 Mr Alcock discovered that he had not to maintain, but to regain, the prestige which had already been lost at Foochow. Canton was, in fact, repeating itself both as regards the arrogance of the Chinese and the acquiescence of British officials. Exclusion from the city and various other indignities had been imposed on the consul, who, on his part, had followed the course which had proved so fatal at Canton of currying favour by submission. Living in a shed,[14] where Mr Davis on a flying visit was ashamed to receive return calls from the native authorities, keeping up no great state, afraid even to hoist his consular flag for fear of hurting the feelings of the Chinese, the consul soon brought upon himself and his nationals the inevitable consequences of his humility. Mob violence and outrages, encouraged at first by the authorities in order to cow the foreigners, had attained dimensions which at last alarmed the authorities themselves, all within two years of the opening of the port. Mr Alcock set himself sternly to oppose this downward current, but a year elapsed before the violence of the people and the studied rudeness of the officials were finally stamped out. For, curiously enough, as Mr Lane-Poole has so well pointed out, every outrage in Canton found its echo at Foochow, showing clearly where lay the "centre of disturbance," as our meteorologists express it. In the end, however, the ascendancy of the British authority was completely achieved. The consul and the interpreter between them succeeded in getting proud Tartars put in the common pillory and lesser ruffians severely flogged, while before they left Foochow in 1846 they had extorted from the authorities substantial pecuniary compensation for injuries sustained by British subjects. The credit of these vigorous measures no doubt belonged in the first instance to Sir John Davis, the chief superintendent, who had been so struck with the deplorable condition of things on his first official visit to the port in 1844 that he empowered the new consul to find the remedy. The effect of this resolute policy on the mandarins was as prompt and natural as the effect of the submissive policy had been, and it is instructive to read the testimony of Sir John Davis that, after redress had been exacted, "the consul was on the best terms with the local authorities," which is the perpetual lesson taught in all our dealings with the Chinese. Foochow is distinguished among the coast ports of China by the beauty and even grandeur of its scenery and the comparative salubrity of its climate. The city itself contains above half a million of people, covers an extensive area on the left bank of the river Min, and is connected with the foreign quarter by a stone bridge of forty-five "arches," which are not arches but spaces between the piers on which huge granite slabs are laid horizontally, forming the roadway. The houses and business premises of the merchants, the custom-house and foreign consulates, are all now situated on Nantai, an island of some twenty miles in circumference, which divides the main stream of the Min from its tributary, the Yungfu. In the early days the British consulate was located within the walled city, in the grounds of a Buddhist temple, three miles from the landing-place and business quarter on Nantai, and approached through narrow and exceedingly foul-smelling streets. Mrs Alcock joined her husband as soon as tolerable accommodation could be prepared for her, and being the first foreign lady who had set foot in the city, her entry excited no small curiosity among the people. A year later Mrs and Miss Bacon, Mrs Alcock's mother and sister, were added to the family party, and though curiosity was still keen, they were safely escorted through the surging crowd to their peaceful _enclave_ in the heart of the city. The situation was suggestive of monastic life. Being on high ground the consulate commanded a superb mountain view, with the two rivers issuing from their recesses and the great city lying below forming a picturesque foreground, while in the middle distance the terraced rice-fields showed in their season the tenderest of all greens. The circumstances were conducive to the idyllic life of which we get a glimpse in the biography of Sir Harry Parkes, who shared it. He speaks in the warmest terms of the kindness he received from Mr and Mrs Alcock, who tended him through a fever which, but for the medical skill of the consul--no other professional aid being available--must have ended fatally. They helped him with books, enlarged his field of culture, and there is no doubt that daily intercourse with this genial and accomplished family did much to supply the want of that liberal education from which the boy had been untimely cut adrift. The value of such parental influence to a lad who had left school at thirteen can hardly be over-estimated, and he did not exaggerate in writing, "I can never repay the Alcocks the lasting obligations I am under to them." [Illustration: BRIDGE OVER RIVER MIN.] During the first few years there was practically no foreign trade at Foochow except in opium, which was conducted from a sea base beyond port limits, a trade which was invisible alike to Chinese and British authorities in the sense in which harlequin is invisible to clown and pantaloon. The spasmodic attempts which were made to open up a market for British manufactures met with no encouragement, for only one British merchant maintained a precarious existence, and the question of abandoning the port was mooted. The prospect of commercial development at Foochow depended on its vicinity to that classic centre of the tea cultivation, the famous Bohea range, about 250 miles to the westward, whose name, however, was used to cover many inferior products. Ten years more elapsed before this advantageous position was turned to practical account, owing to the serious obstacles that stood in the way of changing the established trade route to Canton and the absence of aggressive energy sufficient to overcome them. Through the enterprise of an American merchant in alliance with Chinese, Foochow began to be a shipping port for tea about the year 1853, growing year by year in importance until it rivalled Canton and Shanghai. But as its prosperity has always rested on the single article, the fortunes of the port have necessarily fallen with the general decay of the Chinese tea trade. Apart from the task of putting the official intercourse on a good working basis, of maintaining order between the few foreigners, residents, and visitors, and the native population, the consular duties at a port like Foochow were necessarily of the lightest description. But it was not in Mr Alcock's nature to make a sinecure of his office. He was a stranger to the country, about which he had everything to learn. He was surrounded by problems all of great interest, and some of them pressing urgently for solution, and he had to make a success of his port or "know the reason why." Among the fruits of his labours during the latter part of his term at Foochow are a series of commercial reports, partly published by Government, which bear witness to exhaustive research into every circumstance having any bearing on the genesis of trade, and applying to those local, and to him absolutely novel, conditions the great root principles which are of universal validity. Considering how alien to his previous experience was the whole range of such subjects, his at once grappling with them and firmly seizing their salient features showed a mind of no common capacity. For there was nothing perfunctory about those early treatises; on the contrary, they were at once more polished and more profound than most things of the same kind which have appeared during the subsequent half century. The principal generalisations of recent commentators on the trade of China were in fact set forth in the three Foochow consular reports of 1845-46, while many supposed new lights which the discussions of the last few years have shed on Chinese character and methods had been already displayed, and in a more perfect form, in the buried records of the superintendency of trade in China. [Illustration: THE SECOND CONSULAR RESIDENCE AT FOOCHOW, 1848.] [Illustration] FOOTNOTE: [14] "Mr Lay, who has been officiating as consul for some weeks, has been located in a miserable house built on piles on a mud flat, apart from the city, and above the bridge, where the tide, as it ebbs and flows, daily sweeps up to his door; and all efforts to obtain even decent accommodation in the city, where he is entitled to demand it, or in any but this pestilent locality, have been in vain."--'Times' Correspondent, Hongkong, October 22, 1844. CHAPTER IX. SHANGHAI. Shanghai -- Importance of its situation -- Consul Balfour -- Germ of municipal institutions -- The foreign settlements -- Confidence and civility of the natives -- Alcock appointed consul, 1846 -- Excursions into the country -- Their limitations -- Responsibilities of consuls. Of the four new ports, Shanghai, by far the most important, had been fortunate in the selection of its first consul. This was Captain George Balfour of the Madras Artillery, who, like a wise master-builder, laid the foundations of what is now one of the greatest emporia in the world. Captain Balfour had managed the beginnings of the settlement so judiciously that the merchants enjoyed the fullest facilities for prosecuting their business, while the consul maintained good relations with the native authorities and no hostile feeling existed between the foreign and native communities. The circumstances of the place were favourable to all this: the foreign residents were not, as at Canton, confined to a narrow space; they had abundance of elbow-room and perfect freedom of movement in the surrounding district, which was well provided with footpaths and an excellent system of waterways. The people of that part of the country are of a peaceable and rather timid disposition. Altogether, a healthy condition of things had grown up, there seemed to be no grievance felt on either side, while the material prosperity of the natives rapidly increased as a result of a great and expanding foreign trade, to which they had never been accustomed. The regulation of business accommodation and residence was very simple and worked automatically. A certain area, ample for every purpose that could be foreseen, was set apart by the Chinese Government for the residence of foreigners, the location having been indicated by Sir Henry Pottinger on his way from Nanking after the signing of the treaty. The rights of the native proprietors were in no way interfered with, the merchants and others who desired to settle were at liberty to deal with the natives for the purchase of building lots, and as the prices paid were so much above the normal value of the land there was no essential difficulty in effecting purchases. But there being so many interested parties, several years elapsed before the whole area had passed into the possession of foreign occupants. The land remained the property of the Crown, held under perpetual lease, subject only to a small ground-rent, which was collected through the consulates, as at this day. Roads were gradually marked out and jetties for boats were built on the river frontage, and what is now a municipal council served by a large secretarial staff and an imposing body of police, and handling a budget amounting to £130,000, came into existence under the modest title of a "Committee for Roads and Jetties." In the beginning there seems to have been an idea of forming separate reservations of land for the subjects of the three treaty Powers--Great Britain, France, and the United States; but the exigencies of business soon effaced the theoretical distinction as between England and America, whose separate ideal settlements were merged for all practical purposes into one cosmopolitan colony, in which the Powers coming later on the scene enjoyed the same rights as the original pioneers. [Illustration: BAMBOO BRIDGE AT FOOCHOW.] To ground thus wisely prepared Mr Alcock succeeded in the autumn of 1846. His four months at Amoy and eighteen at Foochow were only preparatory for the real work which lay before him in the consulate at Shanghai, whither he carried in his train the interpreter Parkes, with whom he had grown accustomed to work so efficiently. Shanghai by this time was already realising the position assigned to it by nature as a great commercial port, and the resident community, 120 Europeans all told, was already forming itself into that novel kind of republic which is so flourishing to-day, while its commercial interests were such as to give its members weight in the administration of their own affairs as well as in matters of public policy. [Illustration: COUNTRY WATERWAY NEAR SHANGHAI.] The level country round Shanghai was, as we have said, very favourable for excursions by land and water, affording tourists and sportsmen congenial recreation. The district was in those days remarkably well stocked with game. Pheasants of the "ring-necked" variety, now so predominant in English preserves, abounded close up to the city wall, and were sometimes found in the gardens of the foreign residents. Snipe, quail, and wildfowl were plentiful in their season, the last named in great variety. All classes of the foreign community took advantage of the freedom of locomotion which they enjoyed. Newly arrived missionaries, no less than newly arrived sportsmen, were encouraged by the ease and safety with which they could prosecute their vocation in the towns and villages accessible from Shanghai. Within the radius authorised by treaty the foreigners soon became familiar objects in a district which is reckoned to support a population as dense as that of Belgium. Not only did friendly relations exist, but a wonderful degree of confidence was established between the natives and foreign tourists. It was not the custom in those days for foreigners to carry money, the only coinage available being of a clumsy and non-portable character. They paid their way by "chits" or orders upon their comprador, and it was not uncommon for them in those early days to pay for supplies during their excursions into the interior by a few hieroglyphics pencilled on a scrap of paper, which the confiding peasant accepted in perfect good faith, and with so little apprehension that sometimes a considerable interval would elapse before presentation of these primitive cheques--until, perhaps, the holder had occasion to make a journey to Shanghai. But although the foreigner in his proper costume moved freely within the prescribed area, it was considered hazardous to venture beyond these limits. It was also, of course, a nominal contravention of the treaty, for the consequences of which the traveller must take the whole risk. Those, therefore--and they were exceedingly few--who could not repress the desire to penetrate into the interior adopted as a disguise the costume of the natives. It was thus that Fortune made his explorations into the tea districts of China. The notion that either difficulty or danger attended these distant excursions gradually disappeared, and about the year 1855 sportsmen and travellers began to explore the forbidden country without any disguise at all, to the great amusement of the populace, and to the profit of the priests of the temples where they found accommodation. The consular authorities occupied a peculiar and highly responsible position in China. Their nationals being exempt from native jurisdiction, and subject only to the laws of their own country, promulgated, interpreted, and, when occasion arose, executed, by the consul, that functionary was morally answerable to the people and the Government of China for the good behaviour of his countrymen. On the other hand, it was his primary duty to defend them against all aggression of the Chinese. Between these two opposite duties the consul needed all the discretion, courage, and good judgment that he could command; and it was but natural that individual temperament or the pressure of local circumstances should cause diversity in the mode in which the consuls interpreted their instructions and balanced the different claims of their public duty. As has been said before, Captain Balfour had shown himself most judicious in all his arrangements for the protection and advancement of his countrymen in Shanghai. Foreseeing, notwithstanding the peaceable disposition of the natives, that risks might attend unfettered intercourse with the interior, he had thought it prudent to restrict the rambles of British subjects to the limits of a twenty-four hours' journey from Shanghai,--a limit which coincided with curious exactness with the "thirty-mile radius" of defence against the rebels which was laid down by Admiral Hope eighteen years later. I. THE TSINGPU AFFAIR. Attack on three missionaries -- Redress extorted by Consul Alcock -- Its lasting effect. Affairs in Shanghai had followed a placid and uneventful course until an incident occurred which brought into sudden activity the latent forces of disorder. Within little more than a year after the arrival of Mr Alcock at his new post an outrage was perpetrated on the persons of three English missionaries, which led to the first and the last important struggle between the British and Chinese authorities in Shanghai. The assailants of Messrs Medhurst, Lockhart, and Muirhead, the three missionaries concerned, were not the peaceably disposed natives of the place, but the discharged crews of the Government grain-junks, who had been cast adrift by the officials and left to shift for themselves after the manner of disbanded soldiers. The attack took place at a small walled town called Tsingpu, within the authorised radius, and the three Englishmen came very near losing their lives. Mr Alcock lost not a moment in demanding full redress from the Chinese authorities, who instinctively sheltered themselves under the old evasive pleas which had proved so effective at Canton. It happened that the highest local official, the Taotai, had had experience of the southern port, and, entirely unaware that he was confronted in Shanghai with a man of very different calibre from any he had encountered before, he brought out all the rusty weapons of the Canton armoury, in sure and certain hope of reducing the consul's demands to nullity. Evasion being exhausted, intimidation was tried, and the consul and his interpreter were threatened with the vengeance of an outraged people, quite in the Canton manner. But intimidation was the very worst tactics to try on two Englishmen of the stamp of Alcock and Parkes, and when that card had been played the Chinese game was up. The situation was one of those critical ones that test moral stamina, that discriminate crucially between a man and a copying-machine. It was also one which illuminated, as by an electric flash, the pivotal point of all our relations with China then as now, for the principle never grows old. It is therefore important to set forth the part played by the responsible officer, the support he obtained, the risks he ran, and the effective results of his action. An absolutely unprovoked murderous outrage had been perpetrated on three Englishmen; the Chinese authorities refused redress with insolence and evasion; acquiescence in the denial of justice would have been as fatal to future good relations at Shanghai as it had been in the previous decade in Canton. What was the official charged with the protection of his countrymen to do? He had no instructions except to conciliate the Chinese; there was no telegraph to England; communication even with the chief superintendent of trade at Hongkong, 850 miles off, was dependent on chance sailing vessels. Delay was equivalent to surrender. Now or never was the peremptory alternative presented to the consul, who, taking his official life in his hands, had to decide and act on his own personal responsibility. Had time allowed of an exchange of views with the plenipotentiary in Hongkong, we know for certain that nothing would have been done, for the first announcement of Mr Alcock's strong measures filled Mr Bonham (who had just succeeded Sir John Davis) with genuine alarm. Considering the instructions [he wrote] with which you have been furnished from the Foreign Office, dated December 18, 1846, and the limited power and duties of a consul, I cannot but express my regret that you should have taken the steps you have seen fit to do without previous reference to her Majesty's plenipotentiary, as undoubtedly, under the peremptory orders recently received from her Majesty's Government, I should not have considered myself warranted in sanctioning, &c., &c. Fortunately for the consul and for the peaceful development of British trade, one of Palmerston's specific instructions had been obeyed in Shanghai. There was a British ship of war in port, the 10-gun brig Childers, and, what was of still more importance, a real British _man_ on board of her, Commander Pitman, who shared to the full the Consul's responsibility for what was done. The measures adopted by Consul Alcock--when negotiation was exhausted--were to announce to the Chinese authorities that, until satisfaction had been obtained, no duties should be paid on cargo imported or exported in British ships: furthermore, that the great junk fleet of 1400 sail, laden and ready for sea with the tribute rice for Peking, should not be allowed to leave the port. The Childers, moored in the stream below the junk anchorage, was in a position to make this a most effective blockade. The rage of the Taotai rose to fever heat, and it was then he threatened, and no doubt attempted to inflame the populace and the whole vagabond class. The Taotai ordered some of the rice-laden junks to proceed; but though there were fifty war-junks to guard them, the masters dared not attempt to pass the ideal barrier thrown across the river by the resolute Captain Pitman. [Illustration: MOUTH OF YANGTZE AND CHUSAN ARCHIPELAGO.] The outrage took place on the 8th of March. On the 13th the consul presented an ultimatum to the Taotai giving him forty-eight hours to produce the criminals. This being disregarded, the measures above referred to were enforced, with the full approval, it may be mentioned, of the consuls of the two other treaty Powers. At the same time Vice-Consul Robertson, with Parkes for interpreter, was despatched to Nanking on board her Majesty's ship Espiègle to lay the whole case before the viceroy of Kiangnan. The matter was there promptly attended to, full redress was ordered, and the culprits punished exactly three weeks after the assault. The embargo on the rice-junks was removed, and affairs resumed their normal course.[15] The effect of this lesson has never been effaced, harmony having prevailed between British and Chinese officials and people in Shanghai and the province from that day to this. The circumstances were of course very unusual which placed such ready means of bloodless coercion in the hands of the British consul. The fortuitous coincidence of the time of the outrage with the period of departure of the grain fleet placed a weapon in the consul's hands which of itself would have eventually brought the Chinese to terms, should the matter in the mean time not have been taken out of the hands of the consul and dealt with from Hongkong by the plenipotentiary, whose views have been given above. So soon as the detention of the grain fleet became known to the Government of Peking, orders of a very drastic nature would undoubtedly have been despatched to the viceroy of the province, and both he and his subordinate would have been made answerable for their incompetence in imperilling the supply of rice for the Government. But the pressure was doubly intensified by the appearance of a foreign ship of war under the walls of Nanking. Six years had not elapsed since a similar demonstration had brought the Government to its knees, and to have allowed such an invasion a second time would have drawn down the imperial wrath on the luckless provincial authorities. For Nanking differs from the other provincial capitals, such as Canton and Foochow, inasmuch as it is near the strategic centre of the empire, commanding the main artery of communication with the interior of the country, at the point of intersection of the Yangtze river by the famous Imperial Canal which connects the capital with the richest region in the Yangtze valley. A blockade of the sea-going grain fleet with a simultaneous blockade of these inland waters, so easily effected, would have throttled China. The viceroy, who sent a report on the transaction to the throne by special express, explained away his own hasty action by saying "that the appearance of the barbarian chiefs at the provincial city may have caused anxiety in the sacred breast." The verdict of the Home Government on the episode was substantially the same as that on Sir John Davis's brilliant expedition on the Canton river the year before: "Gratified with your success, but don't do it again;" in other words, "Do it at your peril, leaving us to applaud or repudiate according to the event." Perhaps it would be more just to say that there were then, as always, conflicting views in the British Cabinet, the apparent vacillations of the Government depending a good deal on which of its members happened, for the moment, to have the parole,--whether the Foreign Secretary, the Colonial Secretary, or other Minister indited the despatch. Commenting some years later on the general question of our relations with China, Mr Alcock wrote as follows: "A salutary dread of the immediate consequences of violence offered to British subjects, certainty of its creating greater trouble and danger to the native authorities personally than even the most vigorous efforts to protect the foreigners and seize their assailants will entail, seems to be the best and only protection in this country for Englishmen." Palmerston himself could not have laid down the law and common-sense of the case with greater precision. II. REBELLION. Taiping rebellion -- Rebel occupation of Shanghai -- Encroachment of investing force on foreign settlement -- Driven off by Anglo-American forces -- The French quarrel with insurgents -- Consequent enlargement of French concession -- The assumption of self-government by the Anglo-American community -- Exemplary conduct of Chinese authorities after their defeat -- French belligerency -- Difficult question of neutrality -- Treatment of native refugees. Affairs went smoothly and prosperously in Shanghai for another five years, when the greatest calamity that has visited China in modern times cast its shadow on the province and on the city. The appalling ravages of the Taiping rebellion, which, originating in the southern province of Kwangsi, followed the great trade-routes to the Yangtze-kiang and down the course of that stream, leaving absolute desolation in its wake, reached the southern capital, Nanking, on March 8, 1853. The city was paralysed, and surrendered on the 19th, apparently without a struggle; the whole Tartar garrison, numbering 20,000, were put ruthlessly to the sword, not a soul being spared. The whole country, officials and people alike, was thrown into a state of abject fear. The ease with which such Government forces as there were succumbed to the onslaught of the rebel hordes may very well have prompted the rowdy element, which exists more or less everywhere, to make raids on their own account. Such a band, belonging as was supposed to certain secret societies, but without any connection with the main body of the Taipings, who were at the time applying fire and sword to the populous towns on the Yangtze, surprised and captured the walled city of Shanghai. "The news," says an eyewitness, "came like thunder from a clear sky;" there was no thought of the city being in danger either from within or without. The people were panic-stricken at first, but fear with them seemed near akin to criminality, and the scene enacted was what was repeated thousands of times and over a wide area--one of general pillage and destruction. "Several hundred of the usually innocent and simple country-folk--who must have scented their prey as the eagle does the carcass, for as yet it was early morning--fell upon the custom-house, whence they carried off chairs, tables, windows, doors, everything that was portable, leaving the floor littered with books and papers, which were being kicked about and trodden on in a most unceremonious way." [Illustration: ENTRANCE TO SZE-KING, NEAR SHANGHAI.] For a period of eighteen months, beginning in September 1853 and ending in February 1855, these rebels held possession of the city. It took a little time before the authorities were able to gather any force to expel them. But they did commence a species of siege which ultimately succeeded in its object. There would be no interest in tracing its progress. What we have to note is the effect which the interregnum produced on the relations between the foreign officials and community and the Chinese. The first was of a very remarkable character, being nothing less than an armed collision between such foreign forces as could be mustered and the imperialist troops who were investing the city. The Chinese soldiers were in camp at a short distance outside of the foreign settlement, which was exempt from the operations of the war. But the discipline of Chinese troops is never very efficient, and unruly stragglers from the camps kept the foreigners in the settlement in constant hot water. It became, in fact, dangerous for them to take their recreation in the open ground at the back of the settlement, which was used as a racecourse. Immunity from reprisals produced its invariable result, and the aggressions of the soldiery became more persistent and better organised. The foreigners were at last driven to retaliate in their own defence. After a formidable inroad of the Chinese troops, the three treaty consuls met hastily and decided on sending a demand to the Chinese general for the withdrawal of all his soldiers from the vicinity of the settlement, failing which, his position would be attacked at four o'clock the same afternoon by all the available foreign forces. These were, marines and bluejackets from her Britannic Majesty's ships Encounter and Grecian, marines and sailors from the United States ship Plymouth, some sailors from the merchant ships in port, and about 200 of the residents as infantry volunteers. The English force was commanded by Captain O'Callaghan, who was accompanied by Consul Alcock; the Americans were led by Captain Kelley, who was accompanied by Consul Murphy; while the volunteers were commanded by Vice-Consul Wade, subsequently her Majesty's Minister to China. The attack on the Chinese position was completely successful; indeed there was apparently very little resistance, a circumstance which was attributed by Mr Wetmore, who was in the action from beginning to end, to the uncovenanted co-operation of the rebels within the city. It was, nevertheless, according to him, writing nearly forty years after, "a hazardous, if not a reckless, undertaking." Her Majesty's Government, in a despatch from the Foreign Office dated June 16, "entirely approved of Mr Alcock's proceedings, and they considered that he displayed great courage and judgment in circumstances of no ordinary difficulty"; while the British community unanimously conveyed their warmest thanks to Consul Alcock, Vice-Consul Wade, and the naval officers concerned, for "saving their lives and property from the most imminent jeopardy." And they add that "any symptoms of hesitation and timid policy would inevitably have led to serious consequences and far greater loss of life." It is to be remarked that the French took no part in this common defence of the settlement, in explanation of which it must be noted that they had never fallen kindly into the cosmopolitan system, but as years went on kept themselves more and more apart, expanding what was a mere consular residence until it covered two populous suburbs embracing half of the circuit of the walled city, and what began as a settlement came to be spoken of as a "concession." In this situation it was not difficult for them to pick a quarrel on their own account with the rebels, which led to an ineffectual bombardment of the city by French ships of war moored close under the walls. Guns were then landed in the suburb, which was thereafter embraced within the limits of the French concession, the houses being demolished to give play to the artillery. A cannonade lasting many days resulted in a practical breach in the city wall, which was followed up by a combined assault by the French and the imperialist troops, with whom they had allied themselves. The attack was repulsed with severe loss to the assailants. Among the results of these operations and of the lapse of organised government during eighteen months the most direct was perhaps the establishment of the French on the ground where their batteries had been placed. For reasons military or otherwise, a _tabula rasa_ was made of an immense populous suburb, the ground then admitting of easy occupation and the laying out of streets and roads. The area thus occupied by the French is separated from the cosmopolitan settlement of Shanghai by a tidal creek. Results less showy, but more important in the interests of humanity and international commerce, were very soon apparent in the cosmopolitan settlement. The first of these was the assumption by the foreign community of the function of self-government and self-protection, and the foundation of that important municipality, which has established as fine a record of public service as any such body has ever done. The inroads of vagabondage and crime would, without the protective measures extemporised for the occasion, have swamped the foreign quarter and reduced it to the desolate condition of the native city. And this necessity of relying on their own strength has no doubt given to the community of Shanghai that tone of self-confidence which has characterised successive generations of them. The effect of the collision on the relations between the foreign and Chinese authorities can hardly be understood without some explanatory words. In countries where the soldier, sudden and quick in quarrel, seeks the bubble reputation in the cannon's mouth, there is a psychological figment called military honour, which may be symbolised in various ways, as, for example, by a rag at the end of a stick for which brave men will cheerfully die. The warlike traditions which have evolved European codes of honour have no existence in China. _Revanche_, therefore, did not enter into the heads of the defeated Chinese commanders, who contented themselves with posting placards about their camps stating that "the barbarians were about to be annihilated, but that they had ransomed themselves for 300,000 taels, and that an additional 300,000 would be required." Their conduct, however, was quite exemplary during the remainder of the siege, their chief solicitude being to avoid encroaching on the foreign quarter. Whatever be the explanation, the fact is that the Chinese were on better terms with the foreign officials after than they had been before the battle of "Muddy Flat," fought on the 4th of April 1854. Within ten days they were amicably settling in concert the ground for a new camp, which would not hamper the military operations of the besiegers nor yet compromise the sanctity of the foreign settlement. Thus there was no obstacle whatever in the way of concerting with the nearest representatives of the Government of China all those measures which were demanded by the position of neutrality assumed by the British Government between the insurgents and imperialist forces, and also for the regulation and control of the Chinese refugees, who poured into the foreign settlement to escape the rapine of savage war. The neutrality of the British representative was difficult to maintain: by force of circumstances it took a benevolent form towards the beleaguered rebels, who were dependent for their continued existence upon supplies received from and through the foreign settlement. The situation was complicated by the action of the French, who, having quarrelled with the insurgents, entered on the stage as a third belligerent. Thereupon the French authorities made a grievance of "the scandal of supplies being furnished to the declared enemies of the French in the sight and under the protection of our English guard," France being at the time allied with Great Britain in prosecuting the war in the Crimea. Consul Alcock, whose sense of propriety had already been considerably shocked by the facilities which the position of the cosmopolitan settlement afforded for conveying supplies into the city, treated the appeal of his French colleague with respect, and made it the text of a representation to the senior naval officer, urging him, if possible, to devise means in conjunction with the measures which were already being adopted in the settlement for enforcing British neutrality, so that "we may be able to give an honest answer to all three belligerents--imperialists, insurgents, and French." This policy was at the same time proclaimed by a unanimous resolution of the largest meeting of residents ever, up to that time, assembled in Shanghai. The question of the influx of refugees seems not to have met with such a prompt solution, but that was due rather to the British plenipotentiary's caution than to the obstruction of the Chinese. In a despatch to Sir John Bowring, dated June 5, 1854, the consul thus describes the evil in question:-- As regards the strange and altogether unsatisfactory position in which we are placed by the pouring in of a large Chinese population, who have squatted down within our limits contrary to the standing edicts of their own authorities, and run up whole streets of wooden and brick tenements, giving cover to every species of vice and filth, I have only to remark that a walk through the settlement [the governor was expected on a visit] will, I am convinced, satisfy your Excellency that the evil is already too great and increasing at too rapid a rate to be overlooked. The health of foreign residents, the security of their property, and the very tenability of the place as a foreign location, alike render it imperative that a jurisdiction of some kind should be promptly and energetically asserted. The important negotiations which, within three months, issued in the birth of the Foreign Maritime Customs, must be regarded as by far the most important outcome of the rebel episode of 1854-55. III. THE CHINESE MARITIME CUSTOMS. Extent and audacity of smuggling -- Alcock's determination to suppress it -- His report on the position -- Corruption of the Chinese customs service -- Efforts of the British Government to co-operate in collecting dues -- Nullified by treaties with other Powers -- Consequent injury to all foreign trade -- Unexpected solution of the difficulty during the interregnum -- Impetus given to trade by the Taiping rebellion -- Alcock with French and American consuls takes over the customs and collects all dues in trust for the Chinese Government -- Promissory notes employed -- Conditions which made it impossible to enforce payment -- Notes ultimately cancelled. Certain crying evils in foreign intercourse having arrested the attention of Consul Alcock from the day of his arrival in China, he bent himself strenuously to the task of overcoming or mitigating them. They formed the subject-matter of many anxious reports to his superiors, for Mr Alcock always took both a serious and a comprehensive view of his duties. For many years there seemed little hope of a successful issue to these labours; but at last a rift in the clouds opened up the prospect of coping with at least one of them, and that was smuggling. So universal was this practice that it seemed a necessary and natural feature of all commercial dealings in China. As its roots lay deep in the Chinese character and civilisation, no stigma attached to the venality of the officials charged with the collection of the maritime revenues. Although the practice was in extent universal, it was by no means wholesale in degree, and where the facilities for evading duties were so tempting, merchants must often have been astonished at their own moderation. Among the legends of the coast, it is true, there were certain _tours de force_ in the way of smuggling which made good topics for walnuts-and-wine conversation among a community which was rather lacking in subjects of general interest,--as of an apocryphal ship clearing from China in ballast or with coal which would mysteriously land in England a full cargo of tea, which had been taken on board without being passed through the custom-house. Conversely, a shipload of manufactured goods taken on board in England would melt on the passage to China like a cargo of ice, so far as the records in the Chinese custom-house would show. One special feat was kept alive, post-prandially, for many years as the acme of audacious smuggling. British goods were entered at the custom-house "for re-exportation," and no duty paid. The merchant packed the empty cases with silk, which was thus shipped under the original English marks, and was described as calicoes, on which a "drawback" was claimed of import duties which had never been paid at all. Such racy anecdotes belonged to the order of Rabelaisian humour which inspired the boast of a certain Lancashire manufacturer at the time when, owing to the scarcity and high price of cotton, the "filling" of shirtings with plaster of Paris and other substances to make up the required weight of the piece was raised to almost the dignity of a fine art. Complaints being made by the consumer that the cloth so compounded would not wash, this genial Lancastrian declared that for his part he would never rest satisfied until he could turn out his calicoes without any cotton in them at all. Shanghai, of course, was the great centre of the smuggling trade. What smuggling was done at Canton, being the only other important entrepot, was on a system which was regulated by the customs authorities themselves, and the testimony of Mr Alexander Matheson before the House of Commons Committee was to the effect that their tariff was so light that it was not worth the merchant's while to smuggle. Such, however, was not the view taken by Mr Consul Alcock, who regarded the smuggling system as a very serious evil, against which he waged a relentless war. He not only compelled, as far as lay in his power, the British merchants to comply with the letter of the treaty in their dealings with the customs, but he further considered himself bound to enforce on the Chinese officials themselves the proper discharge of their duty. In these efforts to abolish irregular practices, which all deplored, many of the British merchants were only too willing to co-operate with the consul's efforts, and the Foreign Office was repeatedly moved to take some action in the reform of these abuses. The difficulties and anomalies of the situation were fully set forth by Mr Alcock in many reports made to his superior, the chief superintendent of trade, as the following extract, written in 1851, will exemplify:-- How the commercial and custom-house system of the West and the very opposite principles and practice of the East might be combined so that both should work together with the least possible friction and prejudice, was a difficult problem, no doubt, for those who had the framing of existing treaties. How even the trading operations of foreign merchants, based upon good faith and honesty, could be in any way associated with the corrupt and inept administration of the Chinese custom-house, so that the revenue of the latter alone should be liable to suffer and not the foreign trade, though apparently a simpler task, seems to have presented to the negotiators insuperable difficulties. For one or other of these problems, nevertheless, it was essential they should find some adequate solution, or whatever treaties might be signed their real mission was unfulfilled, and the basis of all future trading relations left unstable and unsatisfactory. We cannot suppose this important fact was overlooked by the British Government, which, on the contrary, appears to have sought earnestly to meet the difficulty by undertaking in good faith to co-operate with the Chinese authorities in collecting the duties on British trade. Neither is it clear that failure would have attended such a course had not a disturbing element been speedily introduced from without for which adequate provision does not seem to have been made. We allude to the ratification of treaties with other Governments which should repudiate all obligation on this point to contribute to the protection of the Chinese revenue. It might have been supposed that the Chinese Government, having obtained so great and unquestionable an advantage from the Power they had most to fear, would scarcely have been so foolish as to throw it away upon the first occasion, yet such proved to be the fact, and some credit was taken by the United States commissioner for the omission of all co-operative clauses. Two treaties in consequence came into operation, founded upon different principles--the one subversive of the other in a very essential point. So much was this the case that no fair trial could be given to the provisions of the British treaty respecting the payment of duties, and any attempt to act upon the system contemplated in it became altogether unpracticable so soon as the alteration of our navigation laws opened our ports to foreign shipping. We found that to secure the essential objects of these treaties as they now stand there is one thing plainly wanting and yet essential, an honest and efficient custom-house, and who does not see that this is unattainable in China? Too much or too little has been done, therefore. We should either have refused to concede a right to levy maritime duties, or obtained as the condition some better guarantee for its impartial exercise. It should have been remembered that although a foreign Power might give this right to the Emperor of China, it could not so easily give him honest and faithful servants, without which custom-house duties cannot be fairly levied. The very attempt to profit by such a right partially, and with manifestly imperfect means, could not fail to prove injurious to the trade it was the great object of the treaties to develop and protect. It is superfluous now to say that against this evil no sufficient provision was made, and the result has been perpetual and irreconcilable antagonism. From the first day the American treaty came into operation the contracting parties, Chinese and foreign, have been placed in a false position in regard to each other and to the permanent interests of both. The emperor had obtained a right he could not unaided duly exercise, and the foreign merchant was laid under a legal obligation which under such circumstances tended to make his trading privileges nugatory. The former was daily exposed to the loss of the whole or a part of a revenue to which he was by treaty legally entitled, as the price of commercial privileges to the foreigner; and the latter, in so far as he recognised his obligation to pay to such revenue, was debarred from trading with advantage or profit. Loss to the custom-house is palpably only one of the mischiefs resulting, and injury to foreign trade is the direct consequence in a far more important degree. There may be some disposed to question this, but when no man can calculate on entering into an operation within 15 or 20 per cent of the prime cost of his merchandise before it shall leave his hands, and his next-door neighbour may gain advantage over him to this amount, while the ordinary margin of profit seldom exceeds that range, it is difficult to arrive at any other conclusion. And when we consider that the natural tendency of partial smuggling is to raise the price in the buying and to lower it in the selling market, its disastrous influence on the general prosperity of the trade must be too plain to admit of contradiction. However it may temporarily enrich a few, it must eventually impoverish many. The British plenipotentiary may have thought that smuggling, so far as the interests of trade were concerned, would affect only the Chinese revenue: the American commissioner clearly must have concluded so, and on this supposition acted. But experience has abundantly proved such a conclusion erroneous, and based upon a partial view of the whole case. The solution of all these difficulties, and the end of the apparently hopeless struggle to set things right, came about in a way that must have been totally unexpected by all parties. It was through the capture of Shanghai by the rebel band in 1853. The day the city fell the functions of the custom-house ceased, but trade continued without interruption; indeed the export trade was naturally stimulated by the eagerness of the natives to convert their produce into money, and by the desire of the foreign merchants to get their purchases safely on board ship. But there was no one in a position to collect the dues. Mr Alcock, never timid when he had a case for action which satisfied his own mind, proposed to his French and American colleagues, who also never seemed to hesitate to follow his lead, a method of bridging over the interregnum of the Chinese authority and at the same time establishing for the first time the precedent of collecting full duties. The plan was that the consuls should themselves perform the functions which the Chinese officials had never performed--take a rigid account of the goods landed and shipped, and receive the amount of the duty on them, to be held in trust for the Chinese Government when it should once more be resuscitated in Shanghai. Not in coin, however, but in promissory notes payable on conditions which were complicated by the necessity of maintaining equality of treatment between the various nationalities concerned. The contingencies were, in fact, such that it would never have been possible to enforce payment of the notes, and in the end they were all cancelled and returned to the merchants, so that during the ten months between September 1853 and July 1854 there were no duties collected at all at the port of Shanghai. IV. CREATION OF THE FOREIGN CUSTOMS. The provisional system -- British and American ships pay full dues -- Other nations enter and clear free -- Americans follow the same course -- Alcock's strict views of neutrality -- Danger of infringing it by establishment of Government officials within the foreign colony -- Breakdown of the provisional system -- Alcock calls upon the Imperial Government -- Custom-house re-established by the Taotai Wu -- Reappearance of all abuses -- Alcock's remonstrances -- Antecedents of Wu -- He makes private arrangements and admits vessels free of dues -- Alcock allows British ships to do likewise -- Shanghai thus becomes a free port -- Alcock's efforts to meet the difficulty -- First idea of the foreign customs -- Conditions of success -- Conference with the Taotai -- Delegates appointed -- New custom-house inaugurated July 12, 1854 -- Mr H. N. Lay appointed Inspector-General -- Conditions and essential features which caused immediate and permanent success of the foreign customs. The "provisional system," as it was called, worked smoothly for four months, but not equally, for while British and American ships paid full duties (in conditional promissory notes), those of other nationalities, having mercantile consuls, were entered and cleared exempt from all duty. One Prussian, one Hamburg, two Siamese, one Austrian, three Danish, and two Spanish--in all ten vessels--were so cleared between September and January, which was, of course, a serious injustice to the competing merchants on whose ventures full duties were levied. In vain might the British consul argue that the cargoes of these defaulting ships bore no larger a proportion to the whole trade than in normal conditions the smugglers would bear to the honest traders. The American consul, sympathising with the latter, notified on January 20, 1854, his secession from the provisional compact, to which decision he gave immediate effect by allowing two vessels, the Oneida and Science, to depart without payment or security of any kind. It was impossible after this for the British authorities to continue to lay a burden on their nationals from which competitors were thus freeing themselves, the more especially as on broader considerations their collecting duties at all for the Chinese had been, three years previously, pronounced inexpedient by the British Government. However commendable, therefore, on political and moral grounds, and however convenient as a stop-gap, the provisional system was doomed. The next move was by some means or other to procure the re-establishment of a legal Chinese custom-house. This would have been done at an earlier period but for the strict views held by Mr Alcock on the question of neutrality between the belligerents. The soil of the foreign settlement had been declared sacred and neutral. To permit any Chinese authority to use it even for fiscal purposes seemed a violation of its neutrality. Besides, native officials exercising their functions there would have had either to protect themselves by military force, however small, or to be protected by the foreigners, in either case compromising the neutrality of the settlement. When the Chinese officials proposed as an alternative to discharge customs functions afloat in the river, the same objections presented themselves. The foreigners must in that case also have defended the revenue collectors from attack by the rebels. The customs authority therefore remained dormant. But on the breakdown of the provisional system whereby the three treaty consuls acted as trustees for the Chinese Government, there was no alternative left between making Shanghai absolutely a free port and setting up some sort of native custom-house. As the lesser evil--to say no more--Mr Alcock chose the latter, and within three weeks of the lapse of the provisional system he had "called upon the imperial authorities to re-establish a custom-house in some convenient locality," offering at the same time to afford them the necessary facilities for working it. The custom-house was, in fact, re-established by the Taotai Wu on February 9, when the provisional system of collecting duties, a system never favoured by the British Government, was finally and officially terminated. The reinstatement of the custom-house under the superintendency of the Taotai Wu was the signal for the prompt reappearance of all the worst irregularities in an exaggerated form. The admonitions that official received from Mr Alcock on his treaty rights and on the necessity for strictness and impartial accuracy were completely thrown away. The Taotai had been formerly a merchant in Canton, under the name Samqua; and whether it was the passion for a "deal" inspired by early training, or the corruption of good manners by subsequent association with official life, or, as is most likely, a double dose of both, without the checks appropriate to either, he, the superintendent of customs, fell at once to making private bargains with individual merchants. By arrangement with him a Bremen ship, the Aristides, was allowed to enter and clear without complying with a single customs or port regulation or the payment of any dues, save what may have been paid to Wu himself by way of douceur. Two American ships and one British were dealt with in similar fashion. These facts being brought to the notice of Mr Alcock, he called the Taotai to account, and on receiving only subterfuges instead of explanation, he thenceforth allowed openly to British ships the same privileges that the Chinese authorities had voluntarily, though secretly, conferred on those who chose to make corrupt bargains with them. That is to say, Shanghai became now--from April 1854--absolutely a free port. At last, then, there was a real _tabula rasa_ inviting a fresh experiment; and Mr Alcock immediately applied his mind to devising some new expedient to meet the difficulty. The Chinese superintendent, however willing to compound to his own advantage for the customs dues, was as little pleased with its complete abolition as the foreign authorities themselves, and he had made sundry alternative proposals, based on his experience at Canton, for the effective collection of duties. It seemed, however, that in the hands of such a facile official, or any one likely to succeed him, his remedies against smuggling were worse than the disease, and the necessity of a new departure began seriously to occupy the minds of the treaty consuls. The outcome was a novel scheme, which was mooted in a despatch to Sir John Bowring, dated May 1, 1854, in which Consul Alcock, while recognising that "the attempt will not be unaccompanied by serious difficulties," declared that he "did not relinquish all hope of success _if the collection of duties can in any way be brought under the effective control of the three treaty Powers as to the executive of the custom-house administration_." "On any other basis," he added, "I believe every effort to benefit the Chinese revenue and at the same time protect the honest merchant must in the nature of things prove nugatory." The idea took further shape in a memorandum of suggestions drawn up by Mr Alcock on 15th June, when he stated that "the sole issue out of the difficulties by which the whole subject is beset under existing treaties is to be sought in the combination of a _foreign element of probity and vigilance with Chinese authority_." He adds as the first condition of success the "free concurrence of the Chinese authorities" in any scheme which may be concocted, and then proposes "the association with the Chinese executive of a responsible and trustworthy foreign _inspector of customs_ as the delegate of the three treaty Powers, to be appointed by the consuls and Taotai conjointly at a liberal salary." This is put down at $6000 per annum, the whole foreign staff to cost $12,000, and various details of administration follow. It argues well for the absence of international jealousy in those days that Mr Alcock proposed that a French gentleman of the name of Smith, in the French consular service, should be the inspector whom he and the American consul agreed to recommend to the Taotai. In a despatch to M. Edan on the 27th of June 1854 he solicited his official sanction to the appointment. The next step was a conference where the three treaty consuls--Alcock, Murphy, and Edan--received the Taotai, who discussed with them and then adopted substantially, though with some modifications, the "suggestions" above quoted. Instead of one delegate from the three consuls, it was decided that each was to appoint one, the three delegates then forming a "board of inspectors with a single and united action." As many questions of national and international jurisdiction were likely to arise out of the executive functions of the inspectors, provision was made for dealing with them, and as far as human ingenuity could foresee without any experience to guide, every contingency, down to the minutiæ of internal administration, was considered in the instructions given to the inspectors. The announcement of the newly-constituted Customs Board was formally made by the consuls on July 6, and the new custom-house was inaugurated on the 12th, the three inspectors being Mr T. F. Wade, British; Mr Lewis Carr, American; and M. Smith, French. The new custom-house was an immediate success: it fulfilled every purpose for which it was created, yielding its full revenue to the Chinese Government, and putting an end to the temptations of traders to seek illicit advantages over each other. It says much for the soundness of the principles on which it was established that not only has the custom-house of 1854 survived the shock of rebellion and war, of extended treaties, of the multiplication of trading-ports from five to thirty and of treaty Powers from three to thirteen, but its roots have struck deep and its branches have spread wide over every portion of the empire, and that in spite of the opposition of powerful provincial officials, whose revenues it curtailed by diverting them into the imperial channel. The triumvirate Board under which the institution was launched was little more than nominal, the direction of the customs being a one-man power from the outset, one only of the three inspectors possessing either the knowledge, capacity, or zeal needed to infuse life into the new department. The first English inspector, who was only lent for a time to start the new enterprise, was replaced in a few months by Mr H. N. Lay, interpreter to the consulate, who definitively retired from the British in order to enter the Chinese service, while Mr Wade returned to his vice-consular duties. The functions of the Board of Inspectors were soon consolidated in the office of Inspector-General, which was conferred upon Mr Lay, and held by him until 1863, when he was obliged to resign the service of the Chinese Government in consequence of their failure to ratify his engagements in connection with the Osborn flotilla. It only remains to mention in this place that coincident with the establishment of the maritime customs in Shanghai came the instructions from her Majesty's Government to cancel the promissory notes, amounting to a million of dollars, which had been given by the British merchants for duties during the interregnum, the conditions attached rendering them legally invalid. Although the organisation of the foreign customs was an expedient to meet an emergency never likely to recur, the transaction, nevertheless, forms a brief epitome of the ideal foreign relations with China, and it is useful therefore to note what were its essential features and the conditions of its creation. _First._ The Chinese Government were reduced to helplessness and were amenable to advice. _Second._ Corruption and laxity were inherent in their nature and ineradicable except by external force. _Third._ The external force, to be savingly applied, must not be subversive of Chinese authority, but must supply the element in administration in which the natives are absolutely wanting, and which is so tersely summarised by Mr Alcock as "vigilance and probity." _Fourth._ This combination of Chinese authority with foreign vigilance and probity, which has rendered the Chinese customs service a kind of miracle of reform, was capable of renovating the whole Chinese administration. Why it has not been extended into the other departments of state is only another form of lament over lost opportunities. _Fifth._ That the system was established on the broadest cosmopolitan basis. V. MR ALCOCK'S DEPARTURE FROM SHANGHAI. Promoted to Canton -- Impression he had made upon the European colony of Shanghai -- Their confidence in his integrity and ability -- His domestic life -- First literary work -- Condition of affairs at Canton -- Difficulties and obstructions -- Alcock leaves for home before the outbreak of 1856. With these distinguished services Mr Alcock's career in Shanghai was brought to a close. He was promoted to the senior consulate at Canton, but he remained long enough in his northern post to see the city of Shanghai once more in possession of the constituted authorities and the restoration of peace in the vicinity of the port. Being practically starved out, the insurgents set fire to the city and made the best escape they could during the night, which happened to be the last night of the Chinese year, 17th February 1855. Some may have escaped, but the greater part fell into the hands of their enemies, and for weeks afterwards many a ghastly trophy in the neighbourhood attested the ruthless treatment which the fugitives received, recalling the realistic picture in a certain epitaph of Villon. [Illustration: RUSTIC SCENE NEAR SHANGHAI.] On his departure from Shanghai in April of that year Mr Alcock received a flattering testimonial from the British residents, who were cordially joined by both French and Americans. This compliment had the special value of being practically unanimous, while yet by no means undiscriminating. As a curious characteristic of the social relations of the community at that time, it may be mentioned that the document was presented in two parts, substantially the same, but differently worded. The explanation of the dual presentation is to be found in the etiquette which was commonly observed between the Montagues and the Capulets of the period, it being considered a point of honour that neither should follow the signature of the other; hence the two leading members of the community had each to head a separate list. It was impossible for an officer of such strict views and such an uncompromising character to live for eight years in the midst of an independent population whom he had to treat as his subjects without provoking occasional resentment, and creating friction in carrying out the details of his administration. Moreover, his public acts were of too decisive a quality to commend themselves to universal approval. Yet, frankly recognising all this, the memorialists state, "In whatever degree as individuals we may have approved or dissented from any of your acts of public policy, we are all ready to do justice to the singleness of purpose and sense of public duty under which you have uniformly acted. We believe that you have throughout held in view your conscientious convictions of what was right and just, and that no undue external influence has at any time operated to divert you from them." In fact, the Shanghai community--_quorum pars fui_--were proud of their consul, and looked up to him as soldiers do to a commander in whom they have absolute confidence. They felt themselves ennobled by contact with a character _sans peur et sans reproche_. Above all, he represented before the Chinese authorities the dignity of his country in a manner which has rarely been equalled, and gratitude for that patriotic service would of itself have covered a multitude of sins. The feeling of respect so generated reconciled the residents to that which in another man might have been held to savour of coldness, for in social life he was reserved, if not somewhat haughty in his bearing,--partly no doubt from temperament, but chiefly from absorption in the duties and responsibilities of his office, in researches into all the matters which concerned his work, and in the study of subjects which were congenial to his mind. It may also be said, without reflection on either party, that those robust recreations which engrossed the leisure of younger men--and the community was very young--were not of a kind with which the consul had much personal sympathy. His own distractions were more of a literary and reflective order. He did not unbend to gain popularity. His domestic life left him nothing to desire in the way of society. To his wife he was most devoted, and to her he addressed, in half soliloquy, a series of thoughts on religious subjects which reveal more than anything the deep earnestness of his nature. When this loving helpmeet was snatched from his side in March 1853, the calm exterior was little disturbed; but having to face that immense gap in his life, he was thrown more than ever on his mental resources. His isolation was the more keenly felt when he was relieved from the heavy demand which the affairs of Shanghai had made on his energies, and it was in the comparative leisure of Canton that he composed his first serious political contribution to periodical literature, an outlet for his thoughts which proved such an attraction to him to the end of his life. His first essay was an article in the 'Bombay Quarterly Review' on "The Chinese Empire and its Destinies," published in October 1855. It was soon followed by a second, entitled "The Chinese Empire and its Foreign Relations," a paper which fills no less than seventy-eight pages of the 'Review.' The two together form an able disquisition on the state of China which has not become obsolete by lapse of time. It was during the same period also that he composed that series of short essays which were published anonymously under the title of 'Life's Problems.' Instead of attempting any appreciation of that little volume, we prefer to quote the impression it made on one reader many years afterwards. In a letter of Dora Greenwell, published in her Memoirs, she says: "I have met with a friend, a book that seems to take my whole rational nature along with it. I have seen no such book now or at any former time; and it is a book I have often longed for, yet never hoped for--a book contemplating _life_ as it is in a Christian spirit, yet from the natural standpoint." The consulate in Canton during the year that Mr Alcock occupied the post presented nothing of sensational interest. There was a superficial lull there, the lull before the storm which burst in October 1856, after Mr Alcock had left for home on his first well-earned furlough. The chronic obstruction to business and the old difficulties in communicating with the Chinese authorities formed the burden of his reports to his chief, Sir John Bowring. The question of direct intercourse and of access to the city, which had been put off from time to time, was still unsettled. The definitive postponement of the treaty right of entry till 1849 had not rendered the solution of it one whit easier. On the contrary, the concession had only served to confirm the Chinese officials and people in their determination to resist the claim for ever. On the accession of Lord Palmerston to the Premiership in 1855 the dormant claim was revived, and Sir John Bowring was instructed by the Government to obtain unrestricted intercourse with the native authorities and the full exercise of the right of admission to all the cities which were opened to trade, Canton included. To repeated applications of this tenor the Viceroy Yeh replied by the traditional evasions, thus laying the train for the explosion which soon followed. Mr Alcock being personally severed from the chain of events which led to the outbreak of hostilities in the autumn of 1856, it will be convenient here to suspend the narrative and glance at some of those general questions which form the subject-matter of our relations with China. FOOTNOTE: [15] See this whole transaction described in his characteristic manner by De Quincey in his brochure on China, originally published in Titan, 1857. CHAPTER X. CONSUL ALCOCK'S VIEWS ON GENERAL POLICY. Essays on international relations -- Foresight -- Its connection with succeeding events -- The Canton city question resuscitated. Among serious students of the international problems arising out of the forced intercourse of the Western nations with China, Sir Rutherford Alcock occupies the first rank. In the long roll of consular and diplomatic agents employed by the British Government since 1833 he stands alone in the effort to evolve a reasonable working scheme out of the chaos of blunders and misunderstandings which marked the opening of China to foreign trade. Mr Taylor Meadows, another consular officer, though equally far-sighted, was perhaps too philosophical for the exigencies of current business. Consul Alcock's political philosophy, on the other hand, grew entirely out of the facts with which he had to deal from day to day, and was therefore essentially practical. It might seem that fifty-year-old disquisitions on what we now call the "China question" must have too much of the musty odour of ancient history about them to afford profitable reading to a generation which has only been aroused by the thunder of events to take an interest--and that as yet perfunctory--in the affairs of the Far East. But as Mr Alcock had the faculty of getting to the heart of things, of seizing the principles which do not change, his early studies have lost neither validity nor value through the lapse of years. On these well-digested observations, accordingly, modern inquirers may confidently rely as on a corner-stone of Anglo-Chinese politics well and truly laid. And the lapse of time, so far from detracting from the utility of these opinions, enhances their value. For by extending the base of observation over a long period, errors due to personal equation, change of circumstance, and other temporary causes, are eliminated from the survey, and the seeker after truth is thus furnished with a trustworthy criterion by which he may verify his conclusions. The forecast of 1849, realised in the developments of 1900, affords strong proof that the earlier generalisations were not the result of ingenious speculation. It seems reasonable, therefore, here to introduce some of the reflections of Consul Alcock while he was as yet comparatively new to China. These occur in various forms, as in confidential despatches, in private memoranda, and notes for literary articles apparently never extended. One of these notes, dated January 19, 1849, summing up the results of six years' working of the treaty of Nanking, may well serve as a landmark in the record of foreign intercourse with China. Some extracts from this and other papers are printed for the convenience of the reader in an Appendix to the present volume.[16] Though bearing directly on the policy of the time when they were written, they are no less applicable to present circumstances. They show that nothing had changed then, as nothing has changed since, in the attitude of the Chinese to foreign nations. "The same arrogant and hostile spirit exists, and their policy is still to degrade foreigners in the eyes of the people.... Without the power [on our part] of commanding attention to any just demands, there is every reason to believe the Chinese rulers would still be the most impracticable of Orientals.... We cannot hope that any effort of ours or of the emperor would suffice to change at once the character and habits of the people or even the population of a city." While advocating a resolute policy in maintaining all British rights granted by treaty, the far-sighted consul uttered a timely caution against pushing demands for concessions too far. In this he was in accord with the policy, often enunciated by the British Government, of not imperilling what we already possessed by striving after more. Mr Alcock indicates clearly the danger which threatened British interests from the prospective influx of Western Powers pressing through the doors which Great Britain might be constrained to open:-- Powers who, having no such great interests to jeopardise, are without this beneficial and most needful check, and may therefore be induced to repeat at a semi-barbarian Court the intrigues and counter-projects for the destruction of our influence and the injury of our trade in the East which are at work in our own times in every capital in Europe, as formerly in India and the Eastern Archipelago. Nor could a much more accurate description of the state of affairs now existing be given than the picture of the future drawn by Consul Alcock:-- Russia, France, Spain, Portugal, Holland, and America, with their several jealousies and united rivalry with England, their missionary enterprises or commercial and political schemes clashing in their aim and development, are all capable of creating such turmoil, strife, and disturbance throughout the empire, if free access to the Court and the provinces were insisted upon by Great Britain, as could only end in the ejection of Europeans from China as formerly from Japan, or an intestine war in which European force would probably be involved on opposite sides, and to their mutual destruction as States with commercial interests in the country. These, again, might lead to attempts at territorial possession, suggested in the first instance, as in India, in self-defence, and afterwards continued from necessity. With Russia spreading her gigantic arms to the north and east, Great Britain on the south and west, Spain, Holland, and Portugal with their colonies in the Chinese and Indian seas, a struggle for superiority on the soil of China for exclusive advantages or predominant influence might be centred in Peking and embroil the whole of Europe in hostile relations. An interesting feature in the prognostications of both Mr Alcock and Mr Meadows in those early days was the ignoring of the Power which is now assuming such an active part in the rearrangement of the Far East. Germany was not even thought of as a world Power, but her entry on the stage has only added confirmation to the soundness of all these predictions. The more immediate significance, however, of the elaborate exposition of the Anglo-Chinese situation which we are now considering, lay in its connection with the chain of events which followed within a few years, and its coincidence with the progress in the views of the British Government, which might almost be traced back to the date of the paper. The year 1849 was one of the critical epochs in foreign intercourse with China, for it was then that the last promissory note as to the opening of Canton became due, and was dishonoured. The years of grace successively granted to the Chinese authorities to enable them to prepare for the execution of the treaty stipulation had been used by them, or at any rate by the populace, to render its execution permanently impossible. Mr Bonham, who proceeded up the river to apply for the fulfilment of the agreement of 1847, which promised admission to the city within two years, was received, not with the suave evasion of Kiying but with the coarse rebuff of Governor-General Seu, who amid popular enthusiasm caused a memorial arch to be erected to commemorate the third repulse of the barbarians. The turning-point of affairs had been now reached; the scales fell from the eyes of the British Government. Reluctantly they were driven to the conclusion that they had for seven years been trifled with, that their agents, one after another, had been duped; that while they deluded themselves by imagining that by their concessions they were pouring oil on water, they were, in fact, throwing that inflammable substance on fire. Such systematic blunders could not be made with impunity. It began, in short, to be perceived that the ground so weakly surrendered at Canton could not be recovered without, in the prophetic words of Lord Palmerston, "coming to blows" once more with the Chinese. The attention of the British Government being thus seriously directed to China, they entered into correspondence with their plenipotentiary, the governor of Hongkong, as to the best means of arresting the decline of British prestige and of placing the interests of trade and residence on a satisfactory footing. The plenipotentiary had no resource but one for obtaining either information or advice on such large questions, and that was always Consul Alcock at Shanghai, a thousand miles from the seat of trouble, who had not then even seen Canton. Mr Alcock was alert to respond to the invitation of his chief, copiously, fearlessly, and with masterly lucidity as well as comprehensiveness. In a despatch to Sir George Bonham dated January 13, 1852, the development of the new policy may be traced.[17] And the whole situation is fully laid bare in a further despatch of June 17, 1852.[18] This confidential official correspondence,[19] carried on for a number of years, constitutes a natural introduction to the chapter of history which was about to open. In the transactions which led to a second rupture with China Consul Alcock had personally no part, for he was on leave in England, but there also his voice was heard in the discussion of the causes and objects of the war. In a series of letters to the press, during 1857-58, commenting on the progress of events, Mr Alcock endeavoured to keep the British public informed of what was transpiring in China, the reasons for it, and the probable consequences. These letters were republished in pamphlet form, of course anonymously. FOOTNOTES: [16] See Appendix I. [17] See Appendix II. [18] See Appendix III. [19] See Appendices I., II., and III. CHAPTER XI. TRADE UNDER THE TREATY OF NANKING. Trade the sole motive in all British and American dealings with China -- Simplicity of this trade -- Chief staple imports and exports -- Data for any review of Chinese trade -- Mutual alarm caused by excess of imports -- Peculiar conditions of British trade -- Entailing a loss of over 30 per cent, yet steadily maintained -- System of barter -- Consequent impossibility of clear accounts -- And ignorance of position at any given moment -- Trade also hampered by traditions of the East India Company -- Such as that of keeping large stores on hand -- Gradual improvement on these methods -- Advantages of landed investment in China -- Perceived and acted on by the Jesuits -- And later by foreign merchants -- The American trade -- Similarity of currency -- Excess of Chinese exports met by shipments of specie -- And later by credits on London banks. Whatever may be said of that of other nations, the intercourse of Great Britain and the United States with China, from the earliest period to the latest, whether in peace or war, has had no other object than trade between the nations, and therefore all the steps in that intercourse must be judged in their relation to the promotion of international commerce. War and diplomacy, geographical exploration and reforms, even literary researches and mutual instruction, being all ancillary to the main purpose, it seems fitting to consider as briefly as may be what manner of thing it was which set, and still keeps, all these auxiliary forces in motion. From its first introduction till now one feature has characterised the Chinese foreign trade, and that is its simplicity. Both on the export and the import side a few staple commodities have made up its whole volume, and in this respect the statistics of to-day differ but little from those of fifty years ago. The leading Chinese imports at the conclusion of the first war were: From India, opium and raw cotton, to which has been added, since the development of steam factories, cotton yarn. From England, plain bleached and unbleached cotton goods, cotton yarn, some descriptions of woollens, iron and lead, account for nearly the whole value. The trade from the United States and the continent of Europe in those days did not greatly affect the general aggregate. The exports of Chinese produce were at the period in question almost confined to the one article--tea. Subsequently silk grew into importance, and soon exceeded in value the great speciality of China. Rhubarb was a commodity on which, next to tea, the Chinese affected to lay much stress, on the ground that foreigners were dependent upon it for the preservation of their health, and that stopping the supply might offer an easy means of coercing them. But the article never assumed any important commercial value. Sugar, camphor, and matting were also among the exports, the last named being much in demand in the United States. It is only of recent years, however, that anything like assorted cargoes of produce have been sent away from the Chinese ports. The trade has passed through many vicissitudes, has had its periodical ebb and flow, but has on the whole been prosaically progressive. And this has been especially the case with the imports of British and other Western produce. It would be instructive to review the circumstances of the Chinese trade at successive stages of its progress, and to note the grievances of merchants and manufacturers at different epochs and the obstacles to commercial development as they were felt from time to time. It would be more interesting to do this were it possible to discriminate between permanent causes and temporary accidents. But it is not always what is of the most lasting importance that makes the strongest impression upon those who are actively engaged in the struggle for life. The trader does not greatly differ from the world at large in his love of a whipping-boy--that is to say, in the common tendency to attribute mischances to objective rather than to subjective causes. Prosperity, like good health, is, to those who enjoy it, its own sufficient explanation, the normal reward of the merit each one takes to himself as a matter of course. Adversity, on the other hand, is assigned to demonic origin, its victims being martyrs to the powers of nature or the hostile combinations of men. For these reasons it would be as difficult to gather from their own accounts what were the real helps and what the real hindrances to the traders' progress, as to draw general conclusions on the state of agriculture from conversations with working farmers. The commercial circular is a familiar product of the modern era of open trade. It undertakes to record the actual state of markets and to give the reasons why they are not otherwise. If one were to circumnavigate the globe and compare the ordinary run of these reports issuing from the great emporia, one feature would be found common to them all--it is the bogy. Everything would be for the best--but for certain adverse influences. It may be the vagaries of some Finance Minister or Tariff Commission, the restraint of princes, war, pestilence, or famine--inundations here and droughts there; but a something there must always be to explain away the moral accountability of the individual traders, manufacturers, or planters. China and Japan have seldom been without such fatalistic obstacles to commerce. For many years the rebellion was the _bête noire_ of merchants, then the mandarins, and smaller rebellions; the scarcity of specie at one period, at another the superabundance of cheap silver. In Burma the King of Ava stood for long as the root of all commercial evil. In Japan the Daimios and the currency served their turn. India is never without calamities sufficient to account for perhaps more than ever happens there. All such drawbacks, however, though real enough as far as they go, are never exhaustive, and seldom even reach to the core of the problem. They are as atmospheric phenomena, to be observed, taken advantage of, or provided against, and are extremely interesting to the individuals immediately affected by them. But as regards the general course of trade, such incidents are but as storms on the surface of the deep oceanic currents: it is the onward sweep of the great volume of traffic that alone possesses public interest. Of the circumstances which influence the course and direction of that beneficent current a collation of the utterances of traders would yield but a refracted account. So that in order to appreciate the progress of commerce we have to fall back on the unadorned columns of statistical tables, which themselves leave something to be desired on the score of completeness.[20] With regard to certain periods of the China trade we have rather full data, as, for instance, in the decade following the war, when the working of the trade exercised the minds both of British merchants and of their Government in a degree which has scarcely been equalled since. The same may be predicated of the Chinese Government also, and, as has been observed in a previous chapter, it was an interesting coincidence that during that critical period it was the self-same grievance that pressed on both sides--namely, the insufficiency of the Chinese exported produce to pay for the goods imported. The effect of this on the Chinese Government was to excite unfeigned alarm at the steady drain of silver required to pay for the excess of their imports. On the British side the grievance came home to the manufacturers in the form of the incapacity of the Chinese to take off an adequate quantity of the products of English looms. The remedy proposed from the two sides was thoroughly characteristic of their respective traditions. On the Chinese side it was negative, obstructive, prohibitory, and absolutely vain. On the British side the proposal was positive, expansive, and in accord with the spirit of modern commerce. The Chinese remedy was to forbid the export of silver and the import of opium, which, being the article in most urgent demand, was usually paid for in bullion or in coined dollars. The English remedy was to stimulate the export of Chinese produce. But here a paradox stands in the way of a clear perception of the position. The British trade was being carried on at a loss, which some of the merchants estimated at 33 per cent on the round venture. That is to say, manufactured goods were sold in China at a loss of 15 to 20 per cent, and the proceeds, being invested in Chinese produce, realised a further loss on sale in England of 17 or 20 per cent. To account for this unremunerative trade being carried on voluntarily year after year, it is necessary to remember the great distance of the two markets in the days before the introduction of steam and the shortening of the voyage by the piercing of the Suez Canal. We have to allow also for the gambling or speculative element which animates all commerce, and the "hope-on-hope-ever" spirit without which no distant adventure would ever be undertaken. The rationale of the phenomenon was reduced to a very simple expression by Mr Gregson, who, when asked by the Committee of the House of Commons if he could explain "the singular proceeding of continuing the trade for a series of years with perpetual losses on it," replied: "The manufacturers reason that as the losses have been considerable the exports will fall off, and therefore they may export again. They are generally deceived, because their neighbours taking the same view, the exports are kept up and the loss continues." The case thus bluntly stated by Mr Gregson was not such a temporary phase as might naturally have been concluded. The same remarkable features continued for many years afterwards more or less characteristic of the China trade, so that had another commission been appointed to consider the subject they would have been surprised to find the old riddle still awaiting solution, Why so regular and simple a trade should be carried on apparently without profit? The data of supply and demand being well ascertained, prices remunerative to the merchant might have been expected to arrange themselves automatically. Further explanations seem, in fact, required to supplement Mr Gregson's, and some of these must appear somewhat whimsical and farfetched to the general reader. The peculiar method in vogue of stating accounts was not perhaps without its influence in obscuring the merchants' perceptions of the merits of their current operations. The trade being virtually conducted by barter, the sale of a particular parcel of goods did not necessarily close the venture. A nominal price was agreed upon between buyer and seller for the convenience of account-keeping, but this almost always had reference to the return investment in tea or other produce. So that British goods were regarded as a means of laying down funds in China for the purchase of tea, while tea was regarded as a return remittance for the proceeds of manufactured goods, and as a means of laying down funds in England for further investments in the same commodity for shipment to China. The trade thus revolving in an eternal circle, having neither beginning nor end, it was impossible to pronounce definitely at what particular point of the revolution the profit or loss occurred. A bad out-turn of goods exported would, it was hoped, be compensated for by the favourable result of the produce imported, and _vice versâ_, _ad infinitum_. Thus no transaction stood on its own merits or received the unbiassed attention of the merchants. Their accounts did not show the actual amount of loss or gain on a particular invoice, the formula simply recording the price at which the venture, as an operation in exchange, "laid down the dollar." The par value of that coin being taken at 4s. 4d., the out-turn of a sterling invoice which yielded the dollar at any price below that was of course a gain, or anything above it a loss. But the gain or loss so registered was merely provisional. The dollar as such was never realised: it was but a fiction of the accountant, which acquired its substantial value only when reinvested in Chinese produce. The final criterion, therefore, was how much the dollar invoices of Chinese produce would yield back in sterling money when sold in London, and how that yield compared with the "laid-down" cost of the dollar in China. But even that finality was only provisional so long as the circuit of reinvestment was uninterrupted. Merchants were not called upon to face their losses as they were made, nor could they realise their profits as they were earned. Long before one year's account could be closed, the venture of one or two subsequent years had been launched beyond recall, and the figures of the newest balance-sheet related to transactions which, having already become ancient history, were but a dry study compared with the new enterprises bearing the promise of the future and absorbing the whole interest of the merchant. Business was thus carried on very much in the dark, the eyes of the trader being constantly directed forward, while past experience was not allowed its legitimate influence in forming the judgment. A blind reliance on the equalising effect of averages was perhaps the safest principle on which such a commerce could be carried on. The merchants themselves were wont to say that after drawing the clearest inferences from experience, and making the most careful estimates of probabilities, the wisest man was he who could act contrary to the obvious deductions therefrom. Business thus became a kind of concrete fatalism. The China trade was, moreover, much hampered by certain traditions of the East India Company which long clung to its skirts. One of these relics of conservatism, transmitted from the days of the maritime wars, was the principle of storing up merchandise at both termini. It was an understood thing that the Company should never keep less than two years' supply of tea in the London warehouses, and long after the Company ceased to trade stocks of that commodity often amounted to nearly twelve months' consumption. Similarly, manufactured goods were accumulated, whether of set purpose or from the mere force of habit, in the China depots. The merchant seemed to have inherited the principle of holding merchandise for some ideal price, locking up his own or his constituents' capital, incurring cumulative charges on commodities which were all the while deteriorating in value, and eventually perhaps selling under some financial or other pressure. A certain satisfaction seems to have been derived from the contemplation of a full "go-down," as if the merchandise there stored had been realised wealth instead of a block to such realisation. That primitive state of affairs is now a thing of the past, since the progress of the world during the last thirty years has revolutionised not the foreign trade of China, but the peculiar system on which it was carried on. The distribution of capital and the services of Exchange banks exploded many conservative doctrines. The first merchants who, perceiving the necessity of reforming the habits of the trade, boldly resolved to "sell and repent" on the arrival of their merchandise, were pitied by their more antiquated neighbours, and thought to be likely to stand much in need of repentance. But in their case wisdom has been justified of her children. This bald sketch of the trade customs inherited from the East India Company, though typical, is by no means exhaustive. There were, both before and after the treaty of Nanking, many byways and specialities and exceptions by which the vicious circle was broken with happy results to the individuals. Indeed at all points there have been collateral avenues to fortune, contributory enterprises more profitable than those which were purely commercial. The various ways of taxing commerce, as by insurance, freightage, storage, lighterage, packing, financing, &c., have afforded, on the whole, safe and good returns on capital. In countries where family improvidence is prevalent, and where capital is scarce and dear, as is the case generally in the Far East, both the opportunity and the inducement to invest in real estate are afforded to those who are in a position to take advantage of them,--for the same conditions which bring property into the market provide the tenants for the new proprietors. By following with that singleness of purpose which distinguishes all their proceedings the line of financial policy so obviously suggested by this state of things, the Jesuits, Lazarists, and other religious orders have gradually accumulated in every locality where they have settled a very large amount of house property in and around populous centres. By this means they have laid whole communities of natives, and even foreigners, under permanent tribute to the Church, and have thereby rendered their missions independent of subventions from Christian countries. Many of the foreign merchants, following this worldly-wise example, have in like manner rendered themselves independent of mercantile business. The American trade was for the most part exempt from the drawbacks as well as the advantages of the circuit system. The similarity of currency helped to simplify American commerce with China, and though from an early period the United States exported manufactures to that country, these went but a little way in payment for the products which they imported from China. Hence large shipments of specie had to be made to purchase their cargoes. No statistics exist, but Mr Hunter incidentally mentions one ship carrying amongst other cargo $350,000, and three other vessels carrying between them $1,100,000, which may be taken as typical of the course of trade prior to the abolition of the East India Company's monopoly. This mode of paying for produce was succeeded in after-years by credits on London banks, drafts under which supplied the most convenient medium of remittance to shippers of opium and other produce from India. The circuit was trilateral, and to a considerable extent remains so. I. TEA. Causes of bad state of trade -- Failure of hopes built on "free" trade -- Efforts for improvement -- Select Committee of 1847 -- Excessive duties in England -- Irregularities in valuation -- Annual consumption at this time -- Revenue from the duties -- Beginnings of the India tea trade -- Mr Robert Fortune -- Lord William Bentinck, Governor-General, introduces tea culture, 1834 -- Assam Company founded 1839 -- Fortune's missions to China -- Tea-plant indigenous in India -- Progress of scientific culture -- Vicissitudes of the trade -- Ultimate success of the India and Ceylon trade -- An example of Western as against Eastern methods -- Tea-planting introduced in Ceylon -- Rapid increase there -- Why China has been supplanted in the market -- Ingenuity and enterprise of the Indian planters -- A victory of race and progress -- Obstructive measures of the Chinese Government. There was an apparent inconsistency in the outcry for larger quantities of Chinese produce to balance the trade, while the small quantity that did come forward could only be sold at a loss. The explanation may partly be found in the "boom" which naturally ensued on the emancipation of the China trade from the oppressive monopoly of the East India Company, and in the disappointment which, no less naturally, succeeded the boom. To some extent also the onerous imposts laid upon the principal article of export--tea--by the British Exchequer might be held responsible for the anomaly; for the English duties were a mechanical dead-weight on the trade, impeding the free play of the other economic factors. There was a practically unlimited supply of tea in China, and a growing demand for it in England, and yet some £2,000,000 in specie was annually sent away from China as the balance of trade. How to commute that amount of silver into tea for the benefit of both countries might be said to be the problem before the merchants and their Governments. The only means which appeared to them feasible to effect this object was to lower the British import duty. Among many interesting particulars concerning the actual state of the Chinese trade at that time, we get from the report of the Select Committee of the House of Commons on "Commercial Relations with China," of 1847, an insight into the difficulties, such as in our day can scarcely be imagined, which stood in the way of any reduction of the tea duties. On the opening of what was called free trade with China--"free," that is to say, of the East India Company's monopoly--the duty was 96 per cent _ad valorem_ on all teas sold at or under 2s. a pound, or 100 per cent on all above that price. These _ad valorem_ duties worked iniquitously for both the Government and the merchants, the Customs levying the higher rate when the lower was appropriate, and the merchants redressing the injustice in their own fashion when occasion served. An attempt was made to remedy this regrettable situation by the reduction of tea to three classifications, and the conversion of the _ad valorem_ duties into specific duties ranging from 1s. 6d. to 3s. per pound on these classifications. The arrangement was still found unworkable, and the most glaring irregularities were common. The same parcel of tea, absolutely uniform in quality, divided between London and Liverpool, would be assessed in one port on the lower, and in the other on the higher, scale of duties, and the Customs would grant no redress, though the overcharge might be ruinous to the trader. This impossible state of things was remedied in 1836, when the duties were converted to one uniform rate of 2s. per pound on all teas. Subsequently 5 per cent was added to this, so that the duty in 1847 was 2s. 2¼d. The object to which the Government inquiry was primarily directed was to gauge the effect on the consumption of tea of the raising or lowering of the duties, on which depended the ultimate retail price. The admission of competition in the Chinese trade in 1834 had the immediate effect of reducing the "laid-down" cost of tea, which promptly reacted upon the consumption of the article in England. But as the import duty remained unaltered, while the prime cost of the tea was much lowered, the Exchequer derived the whole benefit from the increased consumption. The annual consumption at that time in Great Britain was 1 lb. 10 oz. per head, or 46,000,000 lb. in total, and it was shown that in every instance where the duty was lower the consumption was proportionately greater. In the Isle of Man, where the duty was 1s. per pound, the consumption quickly rose, when the restriction on the quantity allowed to be imported there was removed, to 2 lb. 10 oz. per head. In the Channel Islands it was 4 lb. 4 oz. per head. "In Newfoundland, Australia, and other colonies the consumption is very much larger per head than it is in this country." The Australian colonies have maintained to the present day their pre-eminence as tea-drinkers, their consumption averaging no less than 10 lb. per head. Consumption in Russia and the United States is estimated at a little over 1 lb. per head of the population. The colonists have always been the most intelligent consumers of the article. Forty years ago they substituted good black teas for the pungent green which had supplied the wants of the mining camps and primitive sheep stations, and within the last few years they have shown their appreciation of the flavoury Ceylon leaf by taking every year a larger quantity in relative displacement of the rougher qualities which come from India. The "geographical distribution" of the taste for tea presents some rather curious facts. In the United Kingdom, for example, dealers find that Irish consumers demand the best quality of tea. The United States remained faithful to their green tea long after that description was discarded in Australia; and even when black tea came to be in part substituted, it was not the Ceylon or Chinese Congou, but the astringent Oolong kinds, such as are so largely supplied from Japan, which met the taste of American consumers. The cost price of tea had been so much reduced by the abolition of the East India Company's monopoly that the fixed rate of duty, instead of being equivalent, as it had been when originally fixed, to 100 per cent on the value, was estimated to average 165 per cent on Congou tea, which was much beyond what the Legislature intended when the tariff was decided; for while they reckoned on getting a revenue of £3,600,000, the increase in the quantity had been so considerable that the yield of the duty had risen to £5,000,000. The arguments and the evidence in favour of reducing the duties were unanswerable from every point of view. Yet the utmost which the advocates in 1847 seem to have hoped for was that it might be reduced to 1s. per pound, which they considered would entail a temporary loss to the revenue. But we see in our day that the Government draws nearly £4,000,000 from the article on a tariff rate of 4d. per pound, while the consumption per head of population has risen to 6 lb., or a total of 235,000,000 lb. per annum. While the mercantile community were thus straining after means of developing the tea trade from China there were causes at work, of which they seemed to have no suspicion, which have completely revolutionised that trade, reducing China to a quite secondary position as an exporter. Among the witnesses examined before the Committee of 1847 there was one who may almost be said to have held the fate of the Chinese tea trade in his hands, though probably he himself was unaware of it. This was Mr Robert Fortune, curator of the Physic Gardens at Chelsea, who had travelled in some of the tea districts of China as agent of the Horticultural Society of London, being also commissioned by the East India Company to investigate the processes of the growth and manufacture of tea in China, and to bring to India seeds and plants as well as skilled workmen to manipulate the leaves. The idea of cultivating tea in India had long been entertained by the Company. The plant itself had been found indigenous in Upper Assam twenty years before Fortune's day, but no practical notice was taken of the discovery until 1834, when the Government of India resolved to attempt the culture of the leaf. The scheme received its first embodiment in a Minute of Lord William Bentinck, the first Governor-General of India,[21] in 1834. The plan he laid down was to "select an intelligent agent, who should go to Penang and Singapore and in conjunction with authorities and the most intelligent of Chinese agents should concert measures for obtaining the genuine plant, and actual cultivators." The state of affairs in China at the time did not favour the prosecution of such an enterprise. The native resources of India, however, began at once to be utilised. The Assam Company, the pioneer of tea-culture, was established in 1839, and continues its operations to our own day. After the treaty of peace and the successful establishment of trade at the new ports in China, Lord William Bentinck's ideas were realised in the two missions of Fortune, who succeeded in conveying to India nearly 20,000 plants from both the black and green tea countries of Central China. Although, judging from subsequent experience, India might by her unaided efforts have developed this great industry, yet it can hardly be doubted that the enterprise of the practical Scottish gardener applied the effective stimulus which raised tea-growing to the rank of a serious national interest. Hybridisation between the imported Chinese plants and those of indigenous growth proceeded actively, no less than one hundred varieties being thus produced. Planters now consider that the native plant would have served all their purposes without any intermixture, but probably nothing short of practical experience would have persuaded them of this. The vicissitudes of tea-growing in India have been so sharp that they would form of themselves an interesting episode of industrial history. Mania and panic alternated during the experimental stages of the enterprise, with the inevitable result of wholesale transfers of property, so that of the early pioneers comparatively few were destined to enjoy the ultimate reward of their sacrifices. Difficulties of many kinds dogged the steps of the planters, among these being the unsatisfactory land tenure and the supply of labour. The mortality among the imported coolies was for many years so heavy that the Government was eventually obliged to interfere with severe regulations, which were imposed in 1863. These and other difficulties being successfully grappled with, the prosperity of the industry flowed as smoothly as the Niagara river below the Falls, until the supply of tea from India and Ceylon had completely swamped that from the original home of the trade. The supplanting of Chinese by Indian tea in the markets of the world--for even Russia is now an importer of the latter--is an interesting example of the encroachment of Western enterprise on the ancient province of Eastern habits. These are of course only general terms, for from all such comparisons Japan must be either excluded or classed rather among the foremost of the progressive nations than among her nearest geographical neighbours. When tea-cultivation was once shown to be "payable" in British Indian territory the energy of the Western people was quickly brought to bear on the industry, and through several cycles of success and failure, and over the dead bodies, so to speak, of many pioneers, the production available for and distributed in the English market has steadily grown from nothing up to 154,000,000 lb. per annum. The cultivation of tea was introduced at a much later period into Ceylon, where it most opportunely took the place of coffee, which had been ruined by disease, and already the deliveries of tea from that island press hard on that from India itself, having reached 90,000,000 lb., or more than half of the Indian supply. The rate of progress in Ceylon has been most remarkable. In 1883 the most experienced residents in the island considered themselves sanguine in predicting that the export of tea would eventually reach the total of 20,000,000 lb.--it being at that time under 1,000,000 lb. While the products of India and Ceylon have thus been advancing by leaps and bounds, the import from China has dwindled down to 29,000,000 lb.,--about one-tenth part of a trade of which forty years ago she held an easy monopoly. How has such a gigantic displacement been brought about? Primarily, no doubt, from the vigorous following up of the discovery that tea could be profitably grown in India. But beyond that it is a victory of race over race, of progress over stagnation, of the spirit of innovation and experiment over that of conservative contentment. The Indian planters have made a personal study of all the conditions of tea-culture, have selected their plants, invented machinery to do all that the Chinese have done for centuries by manipulation, have put ample capital into the enterprise, and used the utmost skill in adapting their product to the taste of their customers. Moreover, they have by dint of advertising all over the world, attending exhibitions, and many other devices, forced their commodity into markets which would never have come to them. There was, on the other hand, no one interested in the success of Chinese tea-growers, whose plantations are in the interior of the country, subdivided into garden-plots, with no cohesion among their owners for aggressive purposes. For though the Chinese can and do combine, it is usually in a negative sense, to obstruct and not to promote action, whereas the tea-growers of India have shown examples of intelligent co-operation of the aggressive and productive kind, not wasting power in seeking to impede rivals, but devoting their whole energies to the prosecution of their own business. And they have their reward. The short-sightedness of the Government has no doubt contributed to the decline of the Chinese tea trade, through the excessive duties of one kind and another which they have continued to levy on the article from the place of growth to the port of shipment. It is fair to remember, however, that their exactions bear most heavily on the low grades, which, notwithstanding, continue to be shipped in quite as large quantities as is desirable in the interest of consumers; while the superior qualities, which are quite able to bear the taxes, have almost ceased to be imported into Great Britain, the whole supply finding its way to Russia. That country has long been celebrated, and justly so, for the excellence of its tea, for which fantastical reasons are wont to be given. The true reason is very simple. Russian merchants purchase the fine Chinese teas for which no market can now be found in England, the public taste having run so exclusively on the product of India and Ceylon that a cup of good Chinese tea has become a luxury reserved for those who have facilities for obtaining the article outside the ordinary channels of trade. II. SILK. Balance of trade adjusted by Shanghai silk trade -- China the original silk country -- Silk chiefly exported from Canton -- Advantages of the new port of Shanghai -- Disease attacks the silkworm in Europe -- Shanghai supplies the deficit -- Efforts in Italy and France to obtain healthy seed from China and Japan -- Disease overcome by M. Pasteur -- Renewed prosperity of the European producers shared by the Chinese. Within six years of the time when the merchants of England were earnestly seeking a remedy for the crying evil of the balance of trade against China, the whole difficulty had disappeared through the operation of natural causes. The great factor in bringing about the change was the rapid growth of the trade of Shanghai, and more particularly the large exportation of raw silk from that port. "The noble article," as the Italians fondly call it, already in 1853 represented a larger value than the tea exported; the turn of the tide had come; the balance of trade had shifted; and in a very few years silver flowed into the country more copiously than it had ever flowed out. Of all the materials of commerce silk is perhaps the most classical. A fibre so lustrous, so pure, and so durable, has been the desire of all nations ancient and modern, and the peculiar interest excited by its humble origin enveloped the subject in myths and legends during the earlier intercourse between Europe and Asia. China was known to the ancients as the cradle of sericulture, deriving, in fact, from its most famous product the name Serica, by which it was known to the Greeks and Romans. There is not a silk-producing country in the world which is not directly or indirectly indebted to China for the seed of the insect, if not also for the introduction of the white mulberry-tree, upon the leaves of which the caterpillar is fed. Though rivals have sprung up in many countries both in Europe and in Asia, China has not lost its reputation, or even its pre-eminence, as a producer of the article. The vicissitudes of the silk trade and cultivation would afford more varied interest than the comparatively simple annals of the displacement of tea. Though the subject falls outside the scope of the present work, the changes that have taken place in Chinese commerce cannot be intelligently followed without some reference to the animated competition which has been going on for more than forty years among the great silk-producing countries. The first in rank among these was Italy, France following at a considerable distance. The wants of Europe had been mainly supplied during centuries by the product of these countries, India and the Levant and some others contributing also their share. Japan had been growing silk for her own use during all the time that intercourse with the rest of the world was prohibited by severe laws, and she came later into the field as an exporter. The quantity obtained from China previous to the opening of the five ports was all derived from the southern provinces, and was exported from Canton. In nothing was the pre-eminence of the new port of Shanghai over its older rival destined to be more marked than in the development of the silk trade. Its position within an easy canal journey of the richest silk-growing districts in the whole empire gave to the northern port advantages which were promptly turned to account in co-operation between the foreign and the native merchants, resulting before many years in the growth of a healthy and most satisfactory trade. The supply of the article having up to that time been regulated by the home demand, the entry of an outside customer had a very stimulating effect upon the Chinese growers. Some years elapsed before the product of the newly opened districts could be fully tested and appreciated by the manufacturers in Europe. This time was well employed by the Chinese cultivators and traders in maturing their arrangements for bringing larger supplies to the foreign market, suited to the requirements of the new purchasers, as far as they were understood. The supply and demand had progressed evenly, admitting of good profits to both sides, until a stage was reached when the trade and cultivation were both ready to respond to a new stimulus, and just then the new stimulus was applied. Disease began to attack the silkworms in Europe; the production of Italian and other silk became precarious, and inadequate to the demands of the manufacturing trade. Into the vacuum thus created supplies from China were ready to pour in, and highly remunerative prices awaited them. The export from Shanghai for the year 1856 was very large, and the result encouraged growers and native and foreign merchants to put forth still greater efforts in the following year, when the shipments from that port reached 90,000 bales, worth probably £10,000,000 sterling. These shipments, thrown on the market during the money panic of 1857, resulted disastrously, but the impetus given to the trade continued to be felt during many subsequent years. The Italians in the meanwhile, driven to their wits' end to save so valuable an industry, tried first to obtain healthy seed from China and Japan. The first experiments being unsuccessful, the eggs having hatched during the voyage, steamers were specially chartered and carefully fitted up with conveniences for preserving the precious commodity. Experiment was also made of sending the seed by the caravan route through Siberia to save the risk of premature incubation. In fact, Jason's quest of the Golden Fleece was scarcely characterised by more varied adventures than that of the Italians--the French also joining to a certain extent--after a healthy breed of silkworm. After many years of anxious and almost desperate efforts, some success was obtained in introducing Chinese and Japanese seed into Europe; but the produce of the exotic seed also in time became liable to attacks of the parasite, and it was not till science came to the aid of the cultivators that the true remedy was finally applied, and an important item in the national wealth of Southern Europe was saved. It was M. Pasteur who eventually furnished the means of detecting in the egg the germ of the destructive parasite; so that by sorting out the infected eggs and destroying them the race was purified. Thus the way was opened for the restoration of European culture to more than its pristine prosperity; for the many valuable lessons which the cultivators learnt in the school of their adversity have stood them in good stead now that fortune has again smiled upon them. Notwithstanding the revival of European silk-culture, the silks of China and Japan and other Eastern countries still hold their own in the Western markets, and continue to form an important constituent of the export trade of the Far East.[22] The European markets to which they are consigned are no longer indeed English, but French, German, American, and others, the last forty years having witnessed a revolution in the silk industries of Great Britain, and a virtual transference of the old industries of Spitalfields, Norwich, Macclesfield, and other districts to her manufacturing rivals. III. OPIUM. The largest and most interesting Chinese import -- Peculiarities of the trade -- Nominally contraband -- But openly dealt in -- Ships anchored in the Canton river -- Or near the trading-ports -- Wusung -- Opium cargoes discharged into old hulks before entering Shanghai port -- Importance of the opium traffic as a factor in foreign intercourse -- The opium clippers -- The opium market liable to much variation -- Piracy -- The clippers were armed -- Occasionally attacked -- Anomalous position -- Alcock's aversion to the opium traffic -- His reasons -- Experience at Shanghai modifies his opinion -- The trade being bound up with our Indian and Chinese commerce -- No attempt to stop it could do other than aggravate the mischief -- Still wishes to see the trade modified or abolished -- Despatch to Sir J. Bowring -- His desire to devise some scheme -- His last proposal of 1870 -- Ambiguous attitude of the British Government -- Inheritors of the East India Company's traditions -- These forbad the carrying of opium in their ships -- Question of legalising the traffic -- 1885 Chinese Government trebles the import duty and asks the help of the Hongkong Government for its collection. The most interesting constituent of trade in China has always been opium, especially since the product of British India was so much improved and stimulated by the Government as practically to supersede in the China market the demand for the production of other countries. The value of the opium imported exceeded that of all other articles, the figures being returned at $23,000,000 and $20,000,000 respectively for the year 1845. As the exports of Chinese produce were at that time estimated at $37,000,000, it is evident that opium played a most important part in the adjustment of the balance of trade; and as it came from India and the returns from it had to go thither, opium and raw cotton, which also came from India, formed the pivot of exchange. As the opium was paid for in silver and not by the barter of produce, it was natural to charge it with the loss of the silver which was annually shipped away from China, and which was assumed to reach the amount of £2,000,000 sterling, though that seems to be an exaggeration. The trade in this commodity differs from all ordinary commerce in the conditions under which it has been carried on, and in the sentiments which have grown up concerning it. Until the treaty made by Lord Elgin in 1858 the importation of opium had been for many years nominally contraband, while yet the trade in it was as open as that in any other commodity and was as little interfered with by the Government. Laxity and connivance being the characteristics of Chinese officialdom, there would be nothing extraordinary even in the official patronage of a traffic which was forbidden by the State, so that it would not be safe to infer from the outward show what the real mind of the responsible Government was on that or any other subject. The necessity of saving appearances, an object always so dear to the Chinese heart, necessitated a special machinery for conducting the trade in opium. Before the war, as has been already said, the ships carrying the drug anchored at certain rendezvous in the estuary of the Canton river, where they delivered their goods on the order of the merchants who were located in Canton or Macao. The vessels also made excursions up the coast, where they had direct dealings with the Chinese, the master acting as agent for the owners. And when the northern ports were opened, after the treaty of Nanking, the opium depot ships were stationed at convenient points on the coast in the vicinity of the trading-ports. The most important of these stations was at Wusung, on the Hwangpu river, nine miles by road from Shanghai. There were sometimes a dozen, and never less than half-a-dozen, hulks moored there, dismantled, housed-in, and unfit for sea. The supply was kept up in the earlier days by fast schooners and latterly by steamers, which in the period before the treaty of 1858 discharged their opium into these hulks without surveillance of any kind, and then proceeded up the river to Shanghai with the rest of their cargo, which, though often consisting of but a few odd packages, was taken charge of by the custom-house with the utmost punctilio, while the valuable cargo of opium was ignored as if it did not exist. The opium trade was a ruling factor in the general scheme of foreign intercourse and residence in China. The postal communication, for example, on the coast and between India and China was practically dependent on it; for, being a precious commodity, it could afford to pay very high charges for freight, and the opium clippers could be run regardless of expense, as will be more fully described in the Chapter on "Shipping." The high value of the article influenced the conduct of the trade in a variety of ways, one in particular being that the vessels carrying it had to go heavily armed. The coast of China before the war and after swarmed with pirates, to whom so portable an article as opium offered an irresistible temptation. The clippers on the coast were usually small schooners from 100 to 200 tons burthen, and though with their superior sailing powers they could always take care of themselves in a breeze, they would have been helpless in a calm unless prepared to stand to their guns. It was sometimes alleged by those opposed to the traffic that these vessels were little better than pirates themselves, inasmuch as they were forcing a trade prohibited by the laws of the empire, and were armed to resist the authorities. The opium-carriers were not unfrequently attacked by pirates, sometimes captured and destroyed by them; but there never seems to have been any interference or complaint on the part of the Government, even when prompted thereto by British consuls. Nevertheless it was an anomalous state of things, though one far from unusual in the first third of the century, that European vessels should ply their trade armed like privateers. The attitude of Consul Alcock towards the opium trade was, from the earliest days of his consulship in Foochow until his final departure from China in 1870, one of consistent aversion, so decided, indeed, that in some of the arguments adduced in his Foochow reports against the trade the conclusion somewhat outran the premisses, as he in after years acknowledged by marginal notes on those earlier despatches:-- A trade prohibited and denounced alike as illegal and injurious by the Chinese authority constitutes a very anomalous position both for British subjects and British authorities, giving to the latter an appearance of collusion or connivance at the infraction of the laws of China, which must be held to reflect upon their integrity and good faith by the Chinese. No small portion of the odium attaching to the illicit traffic in China falls upon the consular authorities under whose jurisdiction the sales take place, and upon the whole nation whose subjects are engaged in the trade; and the foundations of the largest smuggling trade in the world are largely extended, carrying with them a habit of violating the laws of another country. The opium is of necessity inimical and opposed to the enlargement of our manufacturing trade. That which has been said of war may with still greater force apply to the illicit traffic in opium, "It is the loss of the many that is the gain of the few." Whichever way we turn, evil of some kind connected with this monstrous trade and monopoly of large houses meets our eye. In order to do justice to the agents in the traffic, he adds in the same report on the trade for 1845-- While the cultivation and sale of opium are sanctioned and encouraged for the purposes of revenue in India, and those who purchase the drug deriving wealth and importance from the disposal of it in China are free from blame, it is vain to attempt to throw exclusive opprobrium upon the last agents in the transaction. These were the impressions of a fresh and presumably unprejudiced mind taking its first survey of the state of our commercial intercourse with China. They were reflections necessarily of a somewhat abstract character, formed on a very limited acquaintance with the actualities of a trade which did not yet exist in Foochow. A few years' experience at the great commercial mart of Shanghai widened the views of the consul materially, and showed him that there was more in this opium question than meets the eye of the mere philosopher. A confidential report on the subject made in 1852 treats the matter from a more statesman-like as well as a more businesslike point of view. In that paper he does more than deplore the evil, and while seeking earnestly for a remedy, fully recognises the practical difficulties and the danger of curing that which is bad by something which is worse. The opium trade [he observes in a despatch to Sir John Bowring] is not simply a question of commerce but first and chiefly one of revenue--or, in other words, of finance, of national government and taxation--in which a ninth of the whole income of Great Britain and a seventh of that of British India is engaged. The trade of Great Britain with India in the year 1850 showed by the official returns an export of manufactures to the value of £8,000,000, leaving a large balance of trade against that country. A portion of the revenue of India has also to be annually remitted to England in addition, for payment of the dividends on Indian stock and a portion of the Government expenses. These remittances are now profitably made _viâ_ China, by means of the opium sold there; and failing this, serious charges would have to be incurred which must curtail both the trade and the resources of the Indian Exchequer. In China, again, scarcely a million and a half of manufactured goods can find a market; yet we buy of tea and silk for shipment to Great Britain not less than five millions, and the difference is paid by opium. A trade of £10,000,000 in British manufactures is therefore at stake, and a revenue of £9,000,000--six to the British and three to the Indian Treasury. Which of these is the more important in a national point of view,--the commerce, or the revenue derived from it? Both are, however, so essential to our interests, imperial and commercial, that any risk to either has long been regarded with distrust and alarm, and tends to give a character of timidity to our policy and measures for the maintenance of our relations with China--the more disastrous in its results, that to the oriental mind it is a sure indication of weakness, and to the weak the Chinese are both inexorable and faithless. That the opium trade, illegal as it is, forms an _essential element_, interference with which would derange the whole circle of operations, must be too apparent to require further demonstration. Reference to the practical details of the colossal trade in which it plays so prominent a part shows that it is inextricably mixed up with every trading operation between the three countries, and that to recognise the one and ignore the other is about as difficult in any practical sense as to accept the acquaintance of one of the Siamese twins and deny all knowledge of his brother. _No attempt of the British Government to stop or materially diminish the consumption could possibly avail_, or be otherwise than productive of aggravated mischief to India, to China, and to the whole world, by giving a motive for its forced production where it is now unknown, and throwing the trade into hands less scrupulous, and relieved of all those checks which under the British flag prevent the trade from taking the worst characters of smuggling, and being confounded with other acts of a lawless and piratical nature affecting life and property, to the destruction of all friendly or commercial relations between the two races. It is also sufficient to bear in mind that it is a traffic, as has been shown, which _vitalises_ the whole of our commerce in the East; that without such means of laying down funds _the whole trade_ would languish, and its present proportions, colossal as they are, soon shrink into other and insignificant dimensions; that the two branches of trade are otherwise so _inextricably interwoven_, that no means could be devised (were they less essential to each other) of separating them. And finally, although Great Britain has much to _lose_, China in such a quixotic enterprise has little or nothing to _gain_. Notwithstanding all these weighty considerations, Mr Alcock never swerved in his desire to see "the opium trade, with all its train of contradictions, anomalies, and falsifying conditions," modified, if not done away with. In a careful despatch to Sir John Bowring dated May 6, 1854, reviewing our whole position in China, he thus expresses himself:-- Any modification for the better in our relations must, I believe, begin here. We must either find means of inducing the Chinese Government to diminish the evil by legalising the trade, or enter the field of discussion ... with a stone wall before us.... The legalisation would go far to diminish the obstacle such an outrider to our treaty creates; but far better would it be, and more profitable in the end in view of what China might become commercially to Europe, America, and to Great Britain specially, if the Indian Government abandoned their three million sterling revenue from the cultivation of opium, and our merchants submitted to the temporary prejudice or inconvenience of importing silver for the balance of trade. Nearly twenty years afterwards we find Mr Alcock still engaged on the problem how to diminish the trade in opium without dislocating both the trade and finance of India, his last act on retiring from China in 1870 having been to propose a fiscal scheme of rearrangement by which the opium trade might undergo a process of slow and painless extinction.[23] The attitude of the British Government towards the opium trade has always been ambiguous. Succeeding to the inheritance of the East India Company as the great growers of opium, they had to carry on its traditions. These had led the Company in its trading days into some striking inconsistencies, for though they cultivated the poppy expressly for the China market, employing all the intelligence at their command to adapt their product to the special tastes of the Chinese, they yet refused to carry a single chest of it in their own ships which traded to China. By this policy they thought they could exonerate themselves in face of the Chinese authorities from participation in a trade which was under the ban of that Government. The importation of the drug was thus thrown upon private adventurers, and whenever the subject was agitated in Canton and Macao, none were so warm in their denunciations of the trade as the servants of the East India Company. This was notably the case with Captain Elliot, who, after leaving the Company's service and becoming representative of the Crown, never wearied in his strictures on the opium traffic. The question of legalising the traffic had frequently before been considered by the Chinese Government,[24] and it was fully expected that this was the policy which would prevail in Peking in 1837. The pendulum swung to the opposite side, namely, that of prohibition, and legalisation was not adopted until 1858. But once adopted, the idea made such progress that in 1885 the Chinese Government made a successful appeal to the British Government to be allowed to treble the import duty authorised in 1858, and that the Colonial Government of Hongkong should render them special assistance in collecting it. IV. CHINESE EXPORTS. Efforts of the consuls to stimulate trade -- Alcock's work at Foochow -- His despatches -- Exhibition of 1851 -- Exhibits of Chinese produce sent by Alcock. [Illustration: VILLAGE ON THE CANALS.] The continuous efforts made by the consuls in the first decade after the treaty to stimulate the action of foreign merchants in laying hold of all the opportunities offered to them for extending their connections with the Chinese trade ought not to be passed over without notice. It was the burden of Consul Alcock's labours while in Foochow to gather information from every source, to digest it as well as he was able, and to lay it before his countrymen; and if he, in his despatches to the plenipotentiary, sometimes reflected on what seemed to him the apathy and want of enterprise of the merchants, that must be set down to a laudable zeal to make his office fruitful of benefit to his country. The same spirit animated his proceedings in Shanghai. The demand made for exhibits for the Great Exhibition of 1851 found Mr Alcock and his lieutenant Parkes eager to supply samples of Chinese products of every kind likely to be of commercial interest. On applying to the mercantile community of Shanghai for their co-operation in collecting materials, he found them not over-sanguine as to the results of such an effort, and in his despatch of December 1850 to the plenipotentiary he remarks that "the British and foreign residents in Shanghai appeared to feel that the impossibility of gaining access to the great seats of manufacture or the producing districts for raw material placed them in too disadvantageous a position to do justice either to themselves or the resources of the empire, which could only be very inadequately represented, and in a way more calculated to mislead than instruct." "The conclusion," he goes on to say, "at which the mercantile community has arrived has gone far to paralyse all exertion on my part." Nevertheless, with the restricted means at his disposal, he set to work to collect specimens of Chinese produce and industry and to transmit them to the Board of Trade for the use of the Commissioners. Of objects of art he sent a great variety in bronze, inlaid wood, porcelain, soapstone, and enamels, and the fancy articles which have since acquired such great reputation in the world that dealers in European and American capitals send out commissions every year to make extensive purchases. Colours used by the Chinese for dyeing purposes in twenty shades of blue, silk brocades, and many valuable products of the Chinese looms, were well represented, and the commoner utensils, such as scissors, needles, and razors, some of which were within the last few years specially recommended in consular reports to the notice of English manufacturers, as if the suggestion were made for the first time. Of raw material, samples were sent of hemp, indigo, and many other natural products; and when it is considered how eager the British mercantile community appeared to be to increase their importation of Chinese produce--be it tea, silk, or any other commodity--in order to balance the export trade, it is interesting to observe that in those early days a number of articles of export were described and classified, with an account of the districts of their origin, which have only taken their place in the list of exports from China within the last twenty years or so. These were sheep's wool of six different descriptions, and camels' hair, which are now so extensively dealt in at the northern ports of China. Perhaps these articles were not seen in bulk by foreigners until after the opening of the new ports in 1861, and it is worthy of remark that even after this discovery, and sundry experimental shipments, many years elapsed before the special products of Northern China became recognised articles of foreign trade. These now include straw plait, sheep's wool, goats' wools, goats' skins, dogs' skins, camels' hair, horses' tails, pigs' bristles, and a number of other articles of export which might perfectly well have been brought to the foreign market of Shanghai even before the opening of the northern ports. What was wanted was the knowledge that such products were procurable and the organisation of a market for their disposal in China, in Europe, and the United States. To stimulate inquiry into these matters was an object of the consular reports of the early days, and the fact that the seed then sown seemed to have been buried in sterile soil for thirty years affords a reasonable prospect that from the more advantageous basis on which commercial men now stand still larger developments of international commerce may be reserved to future adventurers. V. BRITISH EXPORTS. Slow increase -- Turn of the scale by the Shanghai silk trade -- Consequent inflow of silver to China -- Alcock's comment on the Report of Select Committee -- His grasp of the true state of affairs. This department of trade presents little else but a record of very slow improvement, with some rather violent fluctuations due to obvious and temporary causes. In the first year after the treaty of Nanking the value of shipments to China from the United Kingdom was £1,500,000; in 1852, £2,500,000; in 1861, £4,500,000, decreasing in 1862 to £2,300,000, and rising in 1863 to £3,000,000; after which period it steadily increased to £7,000,000, at which it has practically remained, with the exception of two or three years between 1885 and 1891, when it rose to £9,000,000. The theory of the merchants who gave evidence before the Committee of 1847, that an increase in the exports from China was all that was needed to enable the Chinese to purchase larger quantities of manufactured goods, has by no means been borne out by the subsequent course of trade. For although the Chinese exports have been greatly extended since then, that of silk alone having more than sufficed to pay for the whole of the imports from abroad, there has been no corresponding increase in the volume of these importations. What happened was merely this, that the drain of silver from China, which was deplored on all sides up till about 1853, was converted into a steady annual inflow of silver to China.[25] Consul Alcock, having been requested by her Majesty's chief superintendent of trade to make his comments on the Report of the Select Committee, dealt comprehensively with the whole question of the trade between Europe, India, and China, and evinced a wider grasp of the true state of the case than the London merchants had done. In a despatch dated March 23, 1848, the following passages occur:-- Nearly the whole of the evidence furnished by the witnesses on our trade is calculated to mislead those imperfectly acquainted with the details. The existence of this relation [the importation of opium and raw cotton from India] is kept out of sight, and conclusions are suggested which could only be maintained if the Indian imports into China did not form a part of our commerce, and did not come in direct competition with the import of staple manufactures. To counteract as far as may be in my power the erroneous tendency of the partial evidence which the Blue-Book contains on this part of the subject, I have ventured for the information of her Majesty's Government to bring forward such facts and inferences as seem to me to place in the strongest light the fallacy of the argument mainly insisted upon before the Committee--viz., that we have only our own consumption of tea to look to as indicating the extent to which we can exchange our manufactures--that this is the only limit of our imports into China. But imports of what? Not certainly of cotton and woollen goods, for we already export of tea and silk from China to the value of some four millions sterling, and cannot find a profitable market for manufactured goods to the amount of two millions; and a somewhat similar proportion, or disproportion rather, may be traced during the monopoly of the East India Company, during the free-trade period prior to the commencement of hostilities, and since the treaty. Say that from a reduction of the tea duties or any other cause we _double_ our _exports_ from China as we have already done since 1833, from what data are we to infer that in this same proportion the export into China of British manufactures will increase; or in other words, that for every additional million of tea there will be an equivalent value expended upon our cotton fabrics? The anticipated result is contradicted by all past experience in China, and a moment's reflection must show that the essential elements have been overlooked. 1st, That there is a balance of trade against the Chinese of some $10,000,000, which must adjust itself before any increase of our exclusively British imports into China can be safely or reasonably expected, for which an additional export of 20,000,000 lb. of tea and 10,000 bales of silk is required. 2ndly, That if such increase of our exports hence restored the balance of trade to-morrow, the proportion in which an increased import of our goods would take place must depend upon the result of a competition of cotton goods against opium and raw cotton--all three objects in demand among the Chinese; and the proportion of each that may be taken under the assumed improvement depends upon the relative degree of preference exhibited by our customers for the different articles. The two latter have proved formidable rivals to our manufactures, nor is there any reason to anticipate beneficial change in that respect. The argument, therefore, that the only limit to our imports into China is the consumption of tea and silk in Great Britain, if meant to be applied, as it appears to be in the evidence, exclusively to British imports--that is, to cotton and woollens--is fallacious, and can only be sustained by dropping the most important features of the import trade, by treating opium and raw cotton as though they had neither existence nor influence upon our British staple trade. The influence of this mode of reasoning is calculated to be the more mischievous that it comes from gentlemen of practical mercantile information, and purports to suggest a remedy for an evil which is, in truth, of our own creating, and must recur as often and as certainly as the same causes are in operation. The trade in China during the last three years has been a losing, and in many instances a ruinous, trade, not because the English do not drink more tea, or the Chinese do not find it convenient to wear more cotton of our manufacture, but simply because in such market the supply has not been carefully regulated by an accurate estimate of the probable demand. Our merchants at home have unfortunately been led by such reasoning as I have quoted to assume that in proportion as we purchase more tea the Chinese would lay out more money in cotton goods, and that the one might be taken as a true estimate of the other. Hence came shipments after the treaty so disproportioned to the actual wants or state of demand in the Chinese market that an immediate glut, with the consequent and necessary depreciation in price, followed. Nor did the evil end here: a return was of necessity to be made for this enormous over-supply of goods, hence more tea was shipped than the legitimate demand of the English markets would have suggested or justified, and at the other end of the chain the same depreciation and ruinous loss was experienced.... I have submitted in this and the preceding Reports my strong conviction that other conditions than a mere increase in our exports hence are essential. Of these I have endeavoured to show the principal and most important are access to the first markets, the removal of or efficient control over all fiscal pretexts for restricting the free circulation of our goods in the interior and the transit of Chinese produce thence to the ports, and, finally, the abolition of all humiliating travelling limits in the interior, which more than anything else tends to give the Chinese rulers a power of keeping up a hostile and arrogant spirit against foreigners, and of fettering our commerce by exactions and delays of the most injurious character. The conditions of the trade were, in fact, simpler than the merchants had imagined. The Chinese entered into no nice estimates of the balance of imports and exports, but purchased the goods which were offered to them so far as they were adapted to their requirements--and there is no other rule for the guidance of foreign manufacturers in catering for the great Chinese market. VI. NATIVE TRADE. Inter-provincial trade -- Advantages of the employment of foreign shipping -- China exports surplus of tea and silk -- Coasting-trade -- Salt. The great reservoir of all foreign commerce in China is the old-established local inter-provincial trade of the country itself, which lies for the most part outside of the sphere of foreign interest excepting so far as it has come within the last forty years to supply the cargoes for an ever-increasing fleet of coasting sailing-ships and steamers. This great development of Chinese commerce carried on in foreign bottoms was thus foreshadowed by Mr Alcock as early as 1848:-- The disadvantages under which the native trade is now carried on have become so burdensome as manifestly to curtail it, greatly to the loss and injury of the Chinese population, enhancing the price of all the common articles of consumption: any measures calculated, therefore, to exempt their commerce from the danger, delay, and loss attending the transport of valuable produce by junks must ultimately prove a great boon of permanent value, though at first it may seem the reverse. In a political point of view the transfer of the more valuable portion of their junk trade to foreign bottoms is highly desirable, as tending more than any measures of Government to improve our position by impressing the Chinese people and rulers with a sense of dependence upon the nations of the West for great and material advantages, and thus rebuking effectually the pride and arrogance which lie at the root of all their hostility to foreigners. In a commercial sense the direct advantage would consist in the profitable employment of foreign shipping to a greater extent: it would also assist the development of the resources of the five ports--more especially those which hitherto have done little foreign trade. I have entered into some details to show how the carrying trade may work such results, particularly in reference to sugar, which promises to pave the way at this port to large shipments in this and other articles for the Chinese. A more effective blow will be given to piracy on the coast by a partial transfer of the more valuable freights to foreign vessels than by any measures of repression which either Government can carry out, for piracy will, in fact, cease to be profitable.... A further extension of the trade between our Australian settlements and China, and our colonies in the Straits with both, may follow as a natural result of any successful efforts in this direction,--the addition of a large bulky article of regular consumption like sugar alone sufficing to remove a great difficulty in the way of a Straits trade.... If this can be counted upon, I think it may safely be predicated that at no distant period a large and profitable employment for foreign shipping will be found here totally exclusive of the trade with Europe. It has been said with regard to tea that the quantity sold for export is but the overflow of what is produced for native consumption, and to silk the same observation would apply. Essentially a consuming country, it is the surplus of these two articles that China has been able to afford which has constituted the staple of export trade from first to last. It is an interesting question whether there may not be surpluses of some other Chinese products to be similarly drawn upon. If the foreign trade has been distinguished by its simplicity, being confined to a very few standard commodities, such cannot be predicated of the native trade, which is of a most miscellaneous character. It is impossible to give any statistical account of the coast and inland traffic of China. Any estimate of it would be scarcely more satisfactory than those which are so loosely made of the population. In the early days, when the ports opened by the treaty of 1842 were still new ports, great pains were taken by the consuls to collect all the information they could respecting purely Chinese commerce, which they not unnaturally regarded as the source whence the material of an expanded foreign trade might in future be drawn. Especially was this the case at Foochow under the consulship of Mr Alcock and the assistantship of his energetic interpreter, Parkes. We find, for instance, among the returns compiled by that industrious officer of three months' trading in 1846, the quantities and valuations of over fifty articles of import and as many of export given in great detail: imports in 592 junks of 55,000 tons, and of exports in 238 junks of 22,000 tons. Of the sea-going junks he gives an interesting summary, distinguishing the ports with which they traded and their tonnage, with short abstracts of the cargoes carried. These amounted for the year to 1678 arrivals from twenty different places, and 1310 departures for twenty-four places; and this at a port of which the consul wrote in 1847, "No prospect of a British or other foreign trade at this port is apparent in the very remotest degree." Every traveller in every part of China is astonished at the quantity and variety of the merchandise which is constantly on the move. It is this that inspires confidence in the boundless potentialities of Chinese commerce, which seems only waiting for the link of connection between the resources of the empire and the enterprise of the Western world. Besides the sea-borne trade of which it was possible to make these approximate estimates, there is always in China an immense inland trade; and at the time when piracy was rampant on the coast, and before the aid of foreign ships and steamers was obtained, all the goods whose value enabled them to pay the cost of carriage were conveyed by the inland routes, often indeed from one seaport to another, as, for instance, between Canton and Foochow, Ningpo, Shanghai, &c.; and it is still by the interior channels that much of the trade is done between Shanghai and the provinces to the north of it, which would appear, geographically speaking, to be more accessible from their own seaports. The relation of the Government to the inter-provincial trade is, in general terms, that of a capricious tax-gatherer, laying such burdens on merchandise as it is found able and willing to bear. The arbitrary impositions of the officials are, however, tempered by the genius of evasion on the part of the Chinese merchant, and by mutual concession a _modus vivendi_ is easily maintained between them. The item of trade in which Government comes into most direct relation with the trader is the article salt, which is produced all along the sea-coast, and is likewise obtained from wells in the western provinces. Like many other Governments, the Chinese have long treated salt as a Government monopoly. As the manner in which this is carried out illustrates in several points the ideas that lie at the root of Chinese administration, some notes on the subject made by Parkes at Foochow in 1846, and printed in an appendix to this volume, may still be of interest.[26] FOOTNOTES: [20] The annual value of the whole foreign trade with China, imports and exports, is now about £70,000,000. [21] His predecessors had been governors of Fort William in Bengal. [22] Eastern countries send to Europe half of the whole consumption of the West--China yielding 35 per cent to 40 per cent of the entire supply, Japan 12 per cent. [23] It is worth notice that this consistent opponent of the opium trade during fifty active years should have come under the ban of the Anti-Opium Society in England when the discussion of this important question degenerated into a mere polemic. [24] Import duty had been regularly levied on opium for a hundred years, the prohibition of importation having been decreed after 1796 (Eitel). [25] During the last two decades important factors--such as foreign loans, armaments, and the like--have so influenced the movements of gold and silver that they bear no such simple relation to the "balance of trade" properly so called as was formerly the case. [26] See Appendix IV. CHAPTER XII. SHIPPING. The East Indiaman -- Opium clippers -- Coasting craft -- Trading explorations -- Yangtze -- Japan -- Ocean trade -- American shipping -- Gold in California -- Repeal of British Navigation Laws -- Gold in Australia -- Ocean rivalry -- Tonnage for China -- Regular traders -- Silk -- British and American competition -- The China clipper -- Steam -- The Suez Canal -- Native shipping -- Lorchas. Next in importance to the merchandise carried was the shipping which carried it. That stately argosy, the East Indiaman, was already invested with the halo of the past. Her leisurely voyages, once in two years, regulated by the monsoons, landing the "new" tea in London nearly a year old, and her comfortable habits generally, were matters of legend at the time of which we write. But a parting glance at the old is the best way of appreciating the new. The East Indiaman was the very apotheosis of monopoly. The command was reserved as a short road to fortune for the _protégés_ of the omnipotent Directors in Leadenhall Street, and as with Chinese governors, the tenure of the post was in practice limited to a very few years, for the Directors were many and their cognates prolific. So many, indeed, were their privileges, perquisites, and "indulgences" that a captain was expected to have realised an ample independence in four or five voyages; the officers and petty officers having similar opportunities, proportionate to their rank. They were allowed tonnage space, the captain's share being 56 tons, which they could either fill with their own merchandise or let out to third parties. The value of this, including the intermediate "port-to-port" voyage in India, may be judged from the figures given by one captain, who from actual data estimated the freight for the round voyage at £43 per ton. The captains enjoyed also the passage-money, valued by the same authority at £1500 per voyage. There were other "indulgences," scarcely intelligible in our days, which yet yielded fabulous results. These figures are taken from a statement submitted to the Honourable Company by Captain Innes, who claimed, on behalf of himself and comrades, compensation for the loss they sustained through the cessation of the monopoly. The captain showed that he made, on the average of his three last voyages, £6100 per voyage--of which £180 was pay!--without counting "profits on investments," for the loss of which he rather handsomely waived compensation. £8000 to £10,000 per voyage was reckoned a not extravagant estimate of a captain's emoluments. The Company employed chartered ships to supplement its own, and the command of one of them was in practice put up to the highest bidder, the usual premium being about £3000 for the privilege of the command, which was of course severely restricted to qualified and selected men. That such incredible privileges should be abused, to the detriment of the too indulgent Company, was only natural. The captains, in fact, carried on a systematic smuggling trade with Continental ports as well as with ports in the United Kingdom where they had no business to be at all, though they found pretexts, _à la Chinoise_, such as stress of weather or want of water, if ever called to account. The Channel Islands, the Scilly Islands, and the Isle of Wight supplied the greatest facilities for the illicit traffic, and their populations were much alarmed when measures were threatened to suppress it. The inspecting commander reported officially from St Mary's, in 1828, "that these islands were never known with so little smuggling as this year, and the greatest part of the inhabitants are reduced to great distress in consequence, for hitherto it used to be their principal employment."[27] The ships were also met by accomplices on the high seas which relieved them of smuggled goods. What is so difficult to understand about such proceedings is that the Court of Directors, though not conniving, seemed helpless to check these irregularities. Their fulminations, resolutions, elaborate advertisements, and measures prescribed for getting evidence against offenders, bore a curious resemblance to those futile efforts which are from time to time put forth by the Chinese Government, which is equally impotent to suppress illicit practices in its administration. One cause of this impotence was also very Chinese in character. The smugglers had friends in office, who supplied them with the most confidential information. The East India Company, nevertheless, in one important respect received value for its money--in the competence of its officers. The greatest pains were taken to secure the efficiency of the service, for the ships were more than mere carriers or passenger-boats. They were maintained on a war-footing, and were manned by thoroughly disciplined crews. Many gallant actions at sea, even against regular men-of-war, stand to the credit of the Indiamen. But what conceivable freight-money or profits on merchandise could support a trade carried on under such luxurious conditions! It was magnificent, indeed, but it was not business, and no surprise need be felt that the East India Company, while furnishing its employees with the means of fortune, made very little for its shareholders by either its shipowning or mercantile operations. The Company was a standing example of that not uncommon phenomenon, the progressionist become obstructionist, blocking the door which it opened. For many years it had played the part of dog-in-the-manger, keeping individual traders out while itself deriving little if any benefit from its monopoly. Whenever independent merchants succeeded--under great difficulties, of course--in gaining a footing, they invariably proved the superiority of their business methods; and it is to them, and not to the Company, that the development of trade in the Far East is due. English shipowners had constantly agitated for a share in the traffic round the Cape, and there were many Indian-owned ships engaged in the China trade, the Company's ostentatious abstention from carrying the opium which it grew affording this favourable opening for private adventurers. It is somewhat surprising that the seafaring nations of the world, who were free from the restrictions which so cramped the British shipowners, should have suffered to endure so long a monopoly so baseless as that of the East India Company. The fact seems to prove the general depression of maritime energy in the early part of the century. But succeeding to such a patriarchal _régime_, it is little wonder that the common merchantmen, reduced to reasonable economical conditions, should have reaped a bountiful harvest. The Company's terms left a very handsome margin for shrinkage in the freight tariff, while still leaving a remunerative return to the shipowner. The expiration of the Company's charter, therefore, gave an immense stimulus to the common carriers of the ocean; though, starting from such an elevated plateau of profits, the inducements to improvements in the build and management of ships were not very urgent. The size of the ships and their capacity for cargo underwent slow development in the first half of the century. The East Indiamen averaged about 1000 tons, some ships being as large as 1300, while those chartered by the Company seem to have run about 500 tons. All were bad carriers, their cargo capacity not exceeding their registered tonnage. In the ordinary merchant service which succeeded large ships were deemed unsuited to the China trade, 300 tons being considered a handy size, until the expansion of trade and necessity for speed combined with economical working forced on shipowners a larger type of vessel. Of quite another class were the opium clippers, which also in a certain sense represented monopoly in its long struggle with open trade--the monopoly of capital, vested interests, and enterprise. The clippers, first sailing craft and then steamers, were able by means of the advantages they possessed to prolong the contest into the 'Sixties; indeed the echo of it had scarcely died away when the Suez Canal and the telegraph cable revolutionised the whole Eastern trade at a single stroke. The precious cargoes they carried, and scarcely less valuable intelligence, supplied the means of maintaining the opium-carriers in the highest efficiency. Every voyage was a race, the rivalry being none the less animated for the smallness of the competing field. Indeed, when reduced to a duel, the struggle became the keenest. It was only towards the close of the period that the opium-clipper system attained its highest organisation. The great China houses of Jardine, Matheson, & Co., and Dent & Co., then ran powerful steamers--the former firm chiefly between Calcutta and Hongkong--their time of departure from the Indian port being regulated so as to enable them to intercept the English mail-steamers on their arrival in Singapore, where they received on board their owners' despatches, with which they proceeded at once to Hongkong before the mail-steamer had taken in her coal. They had speed enough to give the P. and O. steamer two days on the run of 1400 miles; and making the land in daylight, they would slip into one of the snug bays at the back of the island at dusk and send their private mail-bag to the merchant-prince to digest with his port, and either lie hidden under the cliffs or put to sea again for a day or two with perhaps a number of impatient passengers on board. The rival house of Dent & Co. devoted their energies more especially to the China coast. Their fast steamers would start from Hongkong an hour after the arrival of the Indian and English mail, landing owners' despatches at the mouth of the Yangtze, whence they were run across country to Shanghai. To gain exclusive possession of a market or of a budget of news for ever so brief a period was the spur continuously applied to owners, officers, and men. How the public regarded these operations may be inferred from a note in Admiral Keppel's diary of 1843: "Anonymous opium-clipper arrived from Bombay with only owners' despatches. Beast." All this of course presupposed a common ownership of ship and cargo, or great liberties, if not risks, taken with the property of other people. In the years before the war this common management of ship and cargo was a simple necessity, for opium had to be stored afloat and kept ready for sailing orders. The 20,000 chests surrendered in 1839 might have been all sent away to Manila or elsewhere had that course of procedure been determined on. Captain John Thacker, examined before the Parliamentary Committee of 1840, being asked what he would have done in case the Chinese had ordered away the opium, answered, "I would have sent mine away to the Malay Islands, to exchange it for betel-nut and pepper.... I had a ship at Canton that I could not get freighted with tea, and I intended to send her away with the opium." A kind of solidarity between ship and cargo was thus an essential of the trade at that time, and what originated in necessity was continued as a habit for many years after its economical justification had ceased. The ambition of owning or controlling ships became a feature of the China trade, the smaller houses emulating the greater. It seemed as if the repute of a merchant lacked something of completeness until he had got one or more ships under his orders, and the first use the possession was put to was usually the attempt to enforce against all comers a quasi-monopoly either in merchandise or in news. To be able to despatch a vessel on some special mission, like Captain Thacker, had a fascination for the more enterprising of the merchants, which may perhaps be referred back to the circumstance that they were men still in the prime of life. The passion was kept alive by the inducements offered by a series of events which crowded on each other between the years 1858 and 1861. Before that time the spread of rebellion, the prevalence of piracy, and the general state of unrest and distrust which prevailed among the Chinese commercial classes, threw them on the protection of foreign flags, and the demand for handy coasting craft was generously responded to by all maritime nations, but chiefly by the shipowners of Northern Europe. Such a mosquito fleet was perhaps never before seen as that which flew the flags of the Hanse Towns and of Scandinavia on the China coast between 1850 and 1860; and many a frugal family on the Elbe, the Weser, and the Baltic lived and throve out of the earnings of these admirably managed and well-equipped vessels. The vessels were mostly run on time-charters, which were exceedingly remunerative; for the standard of hire was adopted from a period of English extravagance, while the ships were run on a scale of economy--and efficiency--scarcely then dreamed of in England. A schooner of 150 tons register earning $1500 per month, which was a not uncommon rate, must have paid for herself in a year, for the dollar was then worth 5s. Yet the Chinese also made so much money by subletting their chartered tonnage that foreigners were tempted into the same business, without the same knowledge or assurance of loyal co-operation at the various ports traded with. The habit of handling ships in this way, whether profitably or not, had the effect of facilitating the despatch of reconnoitring expeditions when openings occurred, and they did occur on a considerable scale within the period above mentioned. The year 1858 was an epoch in itself. It was the year of the treaty of Tientsin, which threw open three additional trading-ports on the coast, three within the Gulf of Pechili, and three on the Yangtze. Of the three northern ports, excepting Tientsin, very little was known to the mercantile community, and the selection of Têng-chow and Newchwang by the British plenipotentiary shows what a change has in the interval come over the relative intelligence of the Government and the merchants; for in those days, it would appear, the Government was as far in advance of the merchants in information about China as the merchants of a later period have been in advance of the Government. These unknown, almost unheard-of, ports excited much interest during the year that elapsed between the signing of the treaty and its ratification. Information about them from Chinese sources was therefore diligently sought after. Within a couple of miles of the foreign settlement of Shanghai--and it was the same thing in the Ningpo river--compact tiers of large sea-going junks lay moored head and stern, side to side, forming a continuous platform, so that one could walk across their decks out into the middle of the river. Their masts, without yards or rigging, loomed like a dense thicket on the horizon. Of their numbers some idea may be formed when we remember that 1400 of them were found loaded at one time in 1848 with tribute rice. Of this enormous fleet of ships and their trade the foreign mercantile community of Shanghai was content to remain in virtual ignorance. They traded to the north, and were vaguely spoken of as "Shantung junks"--Shantung then standing for everything that was unknown north of the thirty-second parallel. The map of China conveyed about as much to the mercantile communities on the coast in those days as it did to the British public generally before the discussions of 1898. These junks carried large quantities of foreign manufactured goods and opium to the unknown regions at the back of the north wind, of which some of the doors were now being opened. How was one to take advantage of the opening, and be first in the field? Time must be taken by the forelock, and a certain amount of commercial exploration entered into in order to obtain data on which to base ulterior operations. Accordingly in the spring of 1859, a few months before the period fixed for the exchange of ratifications of the treaty, several mercantile firms equipped, with the utmost secrecy, trading expeditions to the Gulf of Pechili. Their first object was to discover what seaport would serve as the entrepot of Têngchow, since that city, though near enough to salt water to have been bombarded for a frolic by the Japanese navy in 1894, possessed no anchorage. The several sets of argonauts, among whom was the writer of this book, seeking for such an anchorage, found themselves, in the month of April, all together in the harbour of Yentai, which they misnamed Chefoo, a name that has become stereotyped. Obviously, then, that would be the new port, especially as the bay and the town showed all the signs of a considerable existing traffic. It was full forty miles from Têngchow, but there was no nearer anchorage. The foreign visitors began at once to cultivate relations with the native merchants, tentatively, like Nicodemus, making their real business by night, while the magnificent daylight was employed in various local explorations. These were full of fresh interest, the Shantung coast being the antithesis of the Yangtze delta; for there were found donkeys instead of boats, stony roads instead of canals, bare and barren mountains instead of soft green paddy- or cotton-fields, stone buildings, and a blue air that sparkled like champagne. Our own particular movable base of operations was one smart English schooner, loaded with mixed merchandise, and commanded by a sea-dog who left a trail of vernacular in his wake. Soon, however, we were able to transfer our flag to a commodious houseboat, of a hybrid type suited to the sheltered and shallow waters of the Lower Yangtze, but not, strictly speaking, seaworthy. Next, a Hamburg barque came and acted as store-ship, releasing the English schooner for more active service. The master of that craft was also a character, full of intelligence, but rough, and the trail of tobacco juice was over all, with strange pungent odours in the cuddy. Having thus inserted the thin end of the wedge, pegged out mentally the site of the future settlement, and trifles of that sort, the pioneers of commerce waited for the official announcement of the port being opened. Meantime there was the unknown Newchwang to be discovered, at the extreme north-east corner of the Gulf of Liaotung, and for this purpose the boat aforesaid presented a very tempting facility. The trip was accomplished, not without anxiety and detention on the way by stress of weather, and the British flag was shown in the Liao river, to the best of our knowledge, for the first time in May 1859. Many other ports and harbours in the gulf were visited during the summer and autumn. Weihai-wei became very familiar, not as a place of trade, which it never was, but as a convenient anchorage better sheltered than Chefoo. How blind were the pioneers to the destinies of these gulf ports and the gulf itself! How little did they dream of the scenes that peaceful harbour was to witness, the fortifications which were to follow, the Chinese navy making its last desperate stand there like rats caught in a trap; and finally, the British flag flying over the heights! The treaty of course was not ratified, though the news of the repulse of the British plenipotentiary at Taku only reached the pioneers in the form of tenebrous Chinese rumours with an ominous thread of consistency running through their various contradictions. The most conclusive evidence, however, of the turn affairs had taken was the interference of the officials with the native merchants and people at Chefoo, whom they forbade intercourse with the foreigners, and made responsible for the presence of the foreign ships. The ships, therefore, had to move out of sight, and it was in this predicament that the harbour of Weihai-wei offered such a welcome refuge. To put an end to the intolerable suspense in Chefoo the Hamburger was got under weigh and sailed to the westward. On approaching the mouth of the Peiho the situation at once revealed itself: not one English ship visible, but the Russian despatch-boat America, and one United States ship, with which news was exchanged, and from which the details of the Taku disaster were ascertained. This news, of course, knocked all the commercial adventures which had been set on foot in the gulf into "pie." Nothing remained but to wind them up with as little sacrifice as possible,--a process which was not completed till towards Christmas. The three ports to be opened on the Yangtze stood on quite a different footing. They had not been named, and their opening was somewhat contingent on the position of the hostile forces then occupying the river-banks. The navigation, moreover, was absolutely unknown above Nanking, and it was left to Captain Sherard Osborn to explore the channel and to Lord Elgin to make a political reconnaissance at the same time in H.M.S. Furious, of which cruise Laurence Oliphant has left us such a delightful description. It was not, however, till 1861 that the great river was formally opened by Admiral Sir James Hope. Trade then at once burst upon the desolate scene like the blossoms of spring. On the admiral's voyage up to Hankow, on the 600 miles of stream scarcely a rag of sail was to be seen. Within three months the surface of the river was alive with Chinese craft of all sorts and sizes. The interior of China had for years been dammed up like a reservoir by the Taipings, so that when once tapped the stream of commerce gushed out, much beyond the capacity of any existing transport. The demand for steamers was therefore sudden, and everything that was able to burn coal was enlisted in the service. The freight on light goods from Hankow to Shanghai commenced at 20 taels, or £6, per ton for a voyage of three days. The pioneer inland steamer was the Fire Dart, which had been built to the order of an American house for service in the Canton river. She was soon followed by others built expressly for the Yangtze, and before long regular trade was carried on. Again the tradition asserted itself of every mercantile house owning its own river steamer, some more than one. Steamers proved a mine of wealth for a certain time. Merchants were thereby enticed into a technical business for which they had neither training nor aptitude, and the natural consequences were not very long delayed. While on the subject of river steamers, it is interesting to recall that in the beginning English merchants sent their orders for the Yangtze to the United States. The vessels were light, roomy, and luxurious, admirably adapted to their work. In the course of a few years, however, the tables were turned, and the Americans themselves came to the Clyde builders with their specifications, and had their river steamers built of iron. Many economies and great improvements have been made in the construction and management of these vessels since 1861, but we need not pursue the matter into further detail here. The opening of the Yangtze made a revolution in the tea trade, for the product of Central China, which formerly was carried on men's backs over the Meiling Pass to Canton, could now be brought by water cheaply and quickly to Hankow, which in the very year of its opening became a subsidiary shipping port--subsidiary, that is, to Shanghai, where the ocean voyage began. Before long, however, this great central mart became an entrepot for ocean traffic. To the steamer Scotland, owned by Messrs W. S. Lindsay & Co. and commanded by Captain A. D. Dundas, R.N., belongs the honour of being the first ocean steamer to ascend the river to Hankow, and thereby opening the interior of China to direct trade with foreign countries. And within two years a sailing vessel was towed up the river and loaded a cargo of the new season's tea for London. But the most interesting item in the budget of that _annus mirabilis_ 1858 was the opening of Japan to foreign intercourse. To contemporaries it was the discovery of a new world of activity, intelligence, beauty--an elaborate civilisation built on strange foundations. Could the veil of the future have been withdrawn for the men of that day, how their imaginations would have been staggered before the unrolling of an epic transcending in human interest all the creations of fiction! But before all things there was trade to be done with awakening Japan, nobody knew what or how; while the seductive novelties of the life, the art, the scenery, and the laws contested the supremacy of the claims of mundane commerce. Here was an ideal opening for the commercial pioneer. What kind of merchandise would the Japanese buy, and what had they to sell, were naturally the first objects of inquiry. For this purpose ships with trial cargoes had to be sent hither and thither to explore, and there was work here for the kind of handy craft that had had such a run on the China coast. By their means was the foreign trade of the Japanese ports opened to the world. The clipper ship Mirage, laden with Manchester goods in which the late Sir John Pender was interested, lay several days in Shanghai waiting orders to proceed on an experimental trip to Japan as early as 1858, but the owners wisely concluded that the venture would be premature. So far we have dealt only with what may be considered as the outriders of the host, and the subject would be very incomplete without giving some account of the main body, the common carriers of the international trade, filling by far the most important place in the economical system of the countries of their origin. While endeavouring to confine our attention as much as possible within the limits of the field embraced by the China, developing later into the Far Eastern, trade, the progress of the merchant shipping employed therein cannot be fully understood except from a standpoint more cosmopolitan. For the history of the Eastern shipping is intimately bound up with events which were taking place in other and widely-separated quarters of the globe in the middle of this century. Within the space of three to four years events happened of a world-moving character, forming the basis of the commercial revolution that has set its mark on the second half of the century. The catholicity of commerce and its unfailing inventiveness in supplying human wants were wonderfully illustrated at this time. Events so different in their nature as the potato blight in one hemisphere, the production of gold in another, and the abrogation of the Navigation Laws in England, combined within these few years to revolutionise the world's shipping trade. In the year 1847 the world was first startled by the definitive announcement of gold discoveries in California, and four years later a similar phenomenon appeared in Australia. Coincidently with these events the first Universal Exhibition of the industries of all nations was held in Hyde Park, and whatever we may think of the relative influence of that and of the gold discoveries, there can be but one opinion as to the splendid advertisement which the Exposition lent to the golden promise of the Antipodes and the East Pacific. Thenceforth the whole world, industrial, commercial, and financial, beat with one pulse, a fact which has received constantly accumulating illustrations until the present day. It was as if the sectional divisions of the globe had been united in one great pool, forced to maintain a common level, subject only to disturbances of the nature of rising and falling waves. The new supplies of gold, by making money plentiful, inflated the price of all commodities and stimulated production in every department of agriculture and manufacture; but the time-worn yet ever-new passion for wealth, disseminated afresh throughout the civilised world, probably acted more powerfully on the material progress of mankind than the actual possession of the new riches. The rapid peopling of desert places created a demand for the necessaries of life--food, clothing, housing, tools, and appliances of every description. In a word, the tide of humanity, rushing to America for food and to the goldfields for the means of buying it, made such calls on the carrying powers of the world as could not be satisfied without a stupendous effort. Of all nations the most responsive to the stimulus was beyond doubt the United States: it was there that shipbuilding had been making the most gigantic advances. The total tonnage afloat under the American flag bade fair at one time to rival that of Great Britain. The attention of the American shipping interest had been particularly directed towards China, where excellent employment rewarded the enterprise, not only in the ocean voyage out and home, but also in the coasting trade, which included the portable and very paying item of opium. English merchants and shipowners did not, of course, resign their share in the China trade without a struggle; but they were fighting on the defensive, and under the disadvantages incidental to that condition of warfare. Every improvement they introduced in the efficiency of their ships in order to cope with the advances of their rivals was promptly followed by a counter-move which gave the wide-awake Americans again the lead. About 1845 an important step forward was taken in the despatch of a new type of vessel from the United States to China which surpassed in speed the newest and best English ships. The British reply to this was the building of clippers, initiated in 1846 by Messrs Hall of Aberdeen. The first of these, a small vessel, having proved successful in competing for the coasting trade of China, larger ships of the clipper type were constructed, and so the seesaw went on. Then emigration to the United States, chiefly from Ireland, made demands on the available tonnage which was indifferently met by vessels unfit for the work, and the American builders were not slow to see the advantage of placing a superior class of vessel on this important Atlantic service. Following close on this salutary competition--East and West--came one of the epoch-making events just alluded to, the gold-mining in California, which more decisively than ever threw the advantage in the shipping contest on the side of the United States. The ocean was the true route to California for emigrants and material; but the voyage was long, and impatience of intervening space being the ruling temper of gold-seekers, the shortening of the time of transit became a crying want for the living cargoes, and scarcely less for the perishable provisions which the new ships were designed to carry. Speed, comfort, and capacity had therefore to be combined in a way which had never before been attempted. The result was the historical American clipper of the middle of the century, beautiful to look on with her cloud of white cotton canvas, covering every ocean highway. These were vessels of large capacity, carrying one-half more dead-weight than their registered tonnage;[28] built and rigged like yachts, and attaining a speed never before reached on the high seas. The pioneer of this fine fleet made the voyage from New York to San Francisco, a "coasting voyage" from which foreign flags were excluded, and returned direct in ballast, the owners realising a handsome profit on the outward passage alone. The Americans not only had the Californian trade practically in their own hands, but were prompt to turn the advantage which that gave them to profitable account in the competition for the trade of China. The ships, when empty, sailed across the Pacific, loading, at Canton or Shanghai, tea and other produce for London or New York, the three-cornered voyage occupying little more time than the direct route to China and back to which English ships were then confined. As the American clippers earned on the round about a third more freight than English ships could obtain on their out-and-home voyage, competition bore very hard on the latter. Larger and finer ships were constantly being added to the American fleet until they almost monopolised the trade not only between New York and San Francisco, but also between China and Great Britain. British shipping was, in fact, reduced to the greatest depression, the falling off in the supply of new tonnage being almost commensurate with the increase of that of the United States. A phenomenal advance was recorded also in the entries of foreign ships into British ports to the displacement of British-owned tonnage. It was at this most critical juncture that the heroic remedy of repeal of the Navigation Laws in 1850 consigned British shipowners to absolute despair; for if they could not hold their own while protected by these laws, how were they to survive the removal of the last barrier from the competition of the whole world? But the darkest hour was, as often happens, that before the dawn. The withdrawal of protective legislation proved the turning-point in the fortunes of the British shipowner. In part it was an efficient cause, inasmuch as it threw the shipowner entirely on his own resources for his existence. He had to look to improvements in the efficiency and economy of his ships, for which it must be admitted there was considerable room. There were many conservative prejudices to be got rid of--that one, for example, which held it dangerous to have less than one foot in breadth to four in length, the adherence to which rendered British ships oval tubs compared with the American, which had for many years been proving the superiority of five and even six to one. The English axiom, which had so long resisted plain reason, had at last to yield to necessity. And so with many other antiquated conditions, including the quality and qualifications of masters, officers, and seamen. The exertions made in Great Britain to improve merchant shipping were at once stimulated and immeasurably assisted by the gold discoveries in Australia, an island in the South Pacific more absolutely dependent on sea communication than San Francisco on the American continent had been. It was, moreover, in British territory, where no exclusive privileges could be enjoyed, and where competition was entirely unfettered. Of course the clipper fleet of the United States was prepared to do for Australia what it had done so well for California; but the prospect of the carrying trade between Great Britain and her colonies falling into alien hands aroused the spirit of the English to make a supreme effort to at least hold their own, if not to recover lost ground. The seven seas soon became alive with rival clipper ships of great size and power, and the newspapers chronicled the runs they made to Australia and California in days, as they now record the hours consumed on steamer voyages across the Atlantic. Ancient barriers seemed to be submerged, and fusion of the ocean traffic of the world into one great whole opened the way to a new dispensation in the history of merchant shipping. Tonnage was tonnage all the world over, and became subject to the comprehensive control in which the gold and silver produced in distant countries was held by the great financial centres. But the ocean telegraph was not yet, and for twenty years more many gaps were left in the system of ocean communications, whence resulted seasons of plethora alternating with scarcity in particular lines of traffic. There was probably no trade in which the overflow of the new output of tonnage was more quickly felt than in that of China. It became a common custom for vessels of moderate size which had carried goods and emigrants to Australia and California, whence no return cargoes were at that period to be had, to proceed to India or China in ballast--"seeking." This was a source of tonnage supply which the merchants resident in those countries had no means of reckoning upon, though such a far-reaching calculation might not be beyond the powers of a clear head posted at one of the foci of the commercial world. An example may be quoted illustrative of the local tonnage famine which occasionally prevailed during that transition period. An English ship arrived in ballast at Hongkong from Sydney in 1854. The owner's local agent, or "consignee," recommended the captain to proceed at once north to Shanghai, where, according to latest advices, he would be sure to obtain a lading at a high rate of freight. The cautious skipper demurred to taking such a risk, and refused to move unless the agent would guarantee him £6, 10s. per ton for a full cargo for London. This was agreed. The ship reached the loading port at a moment when there was no tonnage available and much produce waiting shipment, and she was immediately filled up at about £7 or £8 per ton. It fell to the lot of this particular vessel, by the way, to carry a mail from Hongkong to Shanghai, the P. and O. Company's service being then only monthly, and no other steamer being on the line. It was just after the outbreak of the war with Russia. About a couple of days after the departure of the Akbar--for that was her name--when it was considered quite safe to do so, a resident American merchant, unable to contain himself, boasted of having sent by this English vessel the despatches of the Russian admiral under sealed cover to a sure hand in Shanghai. The recipient of this confidence, like a good patriot, reported the circumstance promptly to the governor of the colony, and he to the senior naval officer, who with no less promptitude ordered a steam sloop, the Rattler, to proceed in chase of the ship. The pursuit was successful; the Russian despatches were taken out and brought back to Hongkong, where they were submitted to the polyglot governor, Sir John Bowring. Another incident of the same period will show how it was possible for a bold operator to exploit the tonnage of the world on a considerable scale without the aid of the telegraph, or even of rapid communication by letter. One such operator in London, reckoning up the prospective supply and demand of tonnage throughout the world, foresaw this very scarcity in China of which we have just given an illustration. He thereupon proceeded to charter ships under various flags and engaged in distant voyages to proceed in ballast to the China ports, there to load cargoes for Europe. The wisdom of the operation was far from clear to the charterer's agents in China when they heard of ships coming to them from the four quarters of the world at a time when freights were low, with but little prospect of improvement, so far as they could see; but their outlook was circumscribed. Though as the ships began to arrive the difficulty of providing profitable freightage seemed to presage the ruin of the venture, yet subsequent arrivals justified the prevision of its author by earning for him highly remunerative freights. The tide had really risen as it had been foreseen; but it soon receded, and before the last charter had been fulfilled the time-factor, which is fatal to so many well-laid schemes, interposed, and probably caused the early profits to be swallowed up in the final losses. The bulk of the China traffic, however, was carried not by these erratic outsiders but by the regular traders, which loaded in London, Liverpool, or New York with manufactured goods, coal, and metals, and returned from China with tea, silk, and other produce. It must have been a profitable business, for the average freight homeward in the 'Forties and 'Fifties seems to have been about £5 per ton; and if we allow even one-third of that for the outward voyage, it would give the shipowner somewhere about £7 for the round voyage, which was accomplished with ease within the twelve months. It must be remembered, however, that the expenses of running were proportionately high on the small vessels which were then in the trade. In the course of time, when speed and facilities of despatch at home and abroad had been further improved, the clippers from London took in Australia in the outward voyage by way of filling up the time until the tea crop was brought to market. When the great increase in the export of silk took place a special rate was paid on it to favourite ships on account of its high value. But though this precious article could afford, when necessary, extreme rates of freight, its total bulk was too small--about one-tenth of that of tea--to affect seriously the general carrying trade of China. A certain quantity was regularly shipped by the "overland route"--that is, by P. and O. Company's steamers to Suez, and thence by rail to Alexandria, to be there reshipped for its ultimate destination, Marseilles or Southampton. But the capacity of the steamers was so small that only a _pro rata_ allotment of space was made to applicants, and the freight charged for it was at the rate of £25 per ton. Under exceptional conditions one sailing ship in the year 1856 carried a silk cargo of 6000 bales, valued at £750,000 sterling, which was said to be the largest amount ever ventured, up to that time, in any merchant vessel. It was so unexpectedly large that the shippers were unable fully to cover their risk by insurance. A singular fatality attended the outset of this voyage, showing the fallibility of human judgment even under the most favourable circumstances. The commander of this ship had been perhaps the most successful in the China trade, and it was the extraordinary confidence that was placed in his judgment that induced the merchants to intrust to his care merchandise of such enormous value. Though much impressed with the sense of personal responsibility for its safety, he was yet tempted by a fine starlit night to break ground from the anchorage at Shanghai and drop down the river to Wusung, where he touched on the well-known bar, and was passed by the outward-bound mail-steamer the following morning. The ship was of course reported "on shore," and so the letters ordering insurance which the mail-steamer carried were rendered useless. The master, though the ship had lain but a few hours on soft mud, dared not proceed to sea with such a valuable cargo without examining the ship's bottom. To do this he had to be towed back to Shanghai, fourteen miles by river, discharge, strip off the copper, replace it, reload the cargo, and recommence the voyage. It proved much the longest she had ever made, and there was great anxiety among the merchants, especially among those of them who were only partially insured. But as fate would have it, while the ship was on the high seas her cargo was growing in value, the silk famine in Europe having in the mean time clearly declared itself; so that what with the delay of a month or two at the start and several weeks more on the passage, a time was gained for sufficient profit to accrue on the silk to lay the foundation of several respectable fortunes, and the commander, to whose error of judgment the result was due, was received in London with acclamation and with substantial gratuities from some of the fortunate owners of his cargo. The lucky craft was the Challenger, Captain Killick, which had distinguished herself in racing against the American clipper Nightingale in 1852 and 1863, and was the first sailing-vessel to load tea at Hankow in 1863,--a historic ship. During the time of the deepest gloom in shipping circles, consequent on the repeal of the Navigation Laws, at a meeting where the ruin of the industry was proclaimed in chorus by the shipowners present, one man had the courage to rise up and stem the current of depression. "The British shipowners have at last sat down to play a fair and open game with the Americans, and, by Jove! we will trump them," were the words of Mr Richard Green, the eminent shipbuilder of Blackwall, as quoted by Mr W. S. Lindsay in his 'History of Merchant Shipping.' Mr Lindsay adds that Mr Green was as good as his word, for shortly after he built, to the order of Mr Hamilton Lindsay, a China merchant, the ship Challenger, of 600 or 700 tons, expressly to match the American Challenge, more than double her size, and thought to be the fastest ship then afloat. Though the two never met, the performances of the English, whether for speed or for dry carrying, quite eclipsed the American ship. It was with another competitor that the pioneer Blackwall clipper tried conclusions, and the circumstance suggests a somewhat whimsical association of the evolution of the China clipper with the Great Exhibition. A ship of exquisite model and finish had been built in America for the purpose of conveying visitors to that great gathering. She was put into the China trade, for which by her size she was well suited. Whether by prearrangement or not, she met the Challenger in 1852 in Shanghai, where they were both laden with tea simultaneously. Immense excitement was aroused, which took the usual form of heavy wagers between the respective partisans on the issue of the race to London. It was a close thing, as sportsmen say, the British ship coming in two days ahead of her rival. Dissatisfied, as the owner of a yacht or of a racehorse is apt to be with his defeat, certain changes were made by the owners of the Nightingale in her equipment for the next year's voyage. The race was again run from the same port, on the same conditions--and with the same result, only still more in favour of the English ship. A general excitement about such a trivial matter as the relative speed of two ships was only to be accounted for by the awakening consciousness of the significance of the English shipping revival which was then beginning. The interest extended much beyond the circle of those directly concerned. The deck of a mail steamer, to take an instance, became suddenly animated as the signals of a sailing-vessel were read out. Speaking a ship at sea was no such unusual occurrence, but when the name of Challenger was passed round, passengers and crew rushed to the side, gazing intently on the shapely black hull and white sails reflecting the morning sun. She was in the Straits of Malacca, on her way back to China to run her second heat. A young man among the passengers betraying ignorance of the cause of the commotion felt as small as if unable to name the last Derby winner. The world at that time seemed to have grown young. Imagination was directed to a dawn gilded with promise which the sequel has surely not belied! Thus the China Sea became a principal battle-ground whereon the struggle for ascendancy between the ships of Great Britain and the United States was most strenuously fought out. It was, as Mr Green said, a fair and open contest, alike creditable to both sides, and an unmixed benefit to the world at large. The energy of the English shipping interest was thoroughly aroused, and the shipowners and shipbuilders of Scotland came speedily to the front. In a few years after the issue was joined between the United States and Great Britain, the shipbuilders of the latter country found a potent auxiliary in iron, which began to be used for sailing-ships.[29] The vessel that led the way in this innovation, combining great speed with the other conditions of success, was the Lord of the Isles, Captain Maxton, of Greenock, which distinguished herself by beating two of the fastest American clippers of twice her size in the run from Foochow to London in 1856. The gradual introduction of steam on long voyages, which followed the free use of iron, was also to the advantage of the British competitors; and thus from a combination of favouring circumstances and dogged efforts to turn them to account, the ascendancy of British shipping was finally established. * * * * * In sketching the performances of these vessels we have somewhat anticipated the advent of that famous fleet of tea clippers which commanded the traffic of the Far East for something like fifteen years. For the beginnings of that struggle we have to go back to the year 1851, when the Leith clipper Ganges raced two Americans, the Flying Cloud and Bald Eagle, from China to London, finishing up with an interesting tack-and-tack contest up Channel from Weymouth, the English ship passing Dungeness six hours ahead. At that period the odds in mere numbers were so overwhelming against the English vessels that such occasional victories as the above were calculated to inspire the builders with courage to persevere. The Aberdeen clippers, Stornoway, Chrysolite, and Cairngorm, worthily followed the London-built Challenger in disputing the prize of speed with the best of their American contemporaries; and after the race of 1856, won, as has been mentioned, by the iron ship Lord of the Isles of Greenock, the American flag was practically eliminated from the annual contest. Competition, however, by no means slackened on that account, but rather increased in intensity. Past achievements opened the eyes of those interested to the possibilities of indefinite improvement in the build, rig, and equipment of ships, so that the idea took root and became a passion. Each year brought forth something new, giving birth in the following year to something still newer, until a type of ship was evolved which seemed to be the acme of design and execution. British clippers raced against each other for the blue ribbon of the ocean with as great zest as they had ever done when other flags were in the field. The competition for speed received a great stimulus from the opening of Foochow as a regular tea-shipping port in 1856. The port had been hindered by official restrictions from enjoying its natural advantages at an earlier period, and it was mainly due to the enterprise of the leading American house that these obstacles were at last removed and the produce of the Bohea hills diverted to its proper outlet. The event marked an epoch in the tea trade; for Foochow being so much closer to the plantations than the other two ports, it became possible to put on board there the first growth of the season with a prospect of landing the new teas in London a couple of months earlier than the trade had been accustomed to. It may be mentioned as one of the curiosities of conservatism that this very circumstance was used to the commercial prejudice of shipments from the new port. It was revolutionising the established routine of the trade, would interfere with the summer holidays, and it was gravely argued that October was the very earliest time when the London buyers could be induced to attend to the tea-market. But the fragrance of the new tea was irresistible in dispersing such cobwebs. So far from its coming too early to market, the best shipbuilders in the world were soon engaged in constructing ships that would accelerate the arrival of the new tea by as much as a couple of days. And so hungry was the trade that special arrangements were made to facilitate the brokers obtaining samples to sell by before the vessel passed Gravesend, and he would be an obscure grocer who was not able to display in his shop window a tea-chest bearing the name of the clipper on the day following her arrival in the dock. The annual tea-race from Foochow thus became one of the events of the year. Premiums were paid to the winner, and sliding scales of freight were in course of time introduced, graduated by the number of days on passage. No better proof could be adduced of the high excellence of the ships as well as of the good seamanship of their commanders than the exceeding closeness of the running on that long ocean voyage of twelve thousand miles. Several times it happened that vessels starting together would see nothing of each other during the hundred days' passage until the fog lifting in the Downs would reveal them close together, from which point the winning of the race depended on the pilot or the tug. Of the great race of 1866 Mr W. S. Lindsay, from whose valuable work on Merchant Shipping we have drawn freely for these details, says: "This race excited extraordinary interest among all persons engaged in maritime affairs. Five ships started--the Ariel, Taeping, Serica, Fiery Cross, and Taitsing. The three first left Foochow on the same day, but lost sight of each other for the whole voyage until they reached the English Channel, where they again met, arriving in the Thames within a few hours of each other." Very fast passages continued to be made after that time. The Ariel and Spindrift raced in 1868, and the Titania made a quick run in 1871; but Mr Lindsay awards the palm to the Sir Lancelot and Thermopylæ as "the two fastest sailing-ships that ever traversed the ocean." The former vessel, 886 tons register, made the run from Foochow to London in ninety days in 1868, and an interesting fact is recorded by the owners of that fine ship bearing on the propelling power of sails. Many experienced navigators had during the clipper-racing entertained misgivings as to the value of the excessive amount of sail and the heavy rig which were deemed necessary to the equipment of a clipper. The ships, they said, "buried themselves under the press of canvas." Writing seven years after the performance just mentioned, the owner of the Sir Lancelot said: "After the mania for China clipper-sailing I had 8 feet cut off from all the lower masts, and reduced the masts aloft and the yards in proportion. Yet with that (and no doubt a proportionately reduced crew) she maintained her speed undiminished." This was not an uncommon experience.[30] It is not to be supposed that the produce of China or the imports into the country were all carried by clipper ships. Theirs was a special service reserved for the most valuable produce and for the first few weeks of the season. After that fitful fever the trade of the year settled down to what may be called daily-bread conditions, when ships with moderate speed, large capacity, and frugally sailed, made steady and substantial profits for their owners. It is a commonly accepted maxim that the race--for profits, at all events--is not always to the swift. It was a saying of Mr Green, whose firm owned a large fleet of ships in the Australian and Indian trade, that in his balance-sheet for the year he found that his slow ships had paid for his fast ones. Nor did this economic rule lose its validity when steam came to supersede sail. The clippers proper had not had a clear run of fifteen years when steamers began to trespass on their preserves. The possibility of a successful steam voyage round the Cape began to be proved in 1864, and was demonstrated in 1866, when Mr Alfred Holt of Liverpool first established his "blue-funnel" line, beginning with the Ajax, Achilles, and Agamemnon. But though sailing clippers were displaced, the sporting element in the China trade was not extinguished. The opening of the Yangtze revived the interest in early arrivals of tea by bringing the "black leafs" of Hunan and Hupeh to the sea nearly as soon as the "red leafs," whose outlet was Foochow. The produce of the central provinces up till 1861 was conveyed by a slow and expensive route, a considerable portion of it on the backs of porters, to Canton. Hankow when opened became at once the entrepot for these teas, and sea-going ships began to load their cargoes in the very heart of the Chinese empire. For some years there had been two sets of races--one from Foochow and one from Hankow--which took the wind out of each other's sails, and the sport became somewhat stale. It was the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869, and the consequent improvements in the construction of steamships, that gave its full value to the Yangtze as a trade route. For then ocean steamers loaded at Hankow with all the advantages of the short route and convenient coaling-stations, and the old excitement of the Foochow racing was revived under a still higher pressure. Every year witnessed some new design for combining the maximum cargo and coal stowage with the maximum speed, so that new tea, which but a few years before was landed in November, now came to market early in July. The last great race occurred in 1883 between the Glenogle and Stirling Castle. By that time Indian tea was rapidly gaining the ascendant in the great consuming marts, displacing the Chinese article, which could no longer afford the prestige of being carried by steamers built and run regardless of expense. Thenceforth all Far Eastern produce found an everyday level; merchandise was carried to and fro by regular lines, with measured intervals of sailing, all the year round, freights were fixed by common agreement, and the trade assumed a character of an omnibus traffic on a large scale. The Suez Canal produced an immense lateral extension of trade with China by bringing the Black Sea, Mediterranean, and North Sea ports into direct communication with the ports of the Far East. The Russian volunteer fleet, composed of very large and swift steamers, each capable of conveying 2000 troops, carried tea direct from Hankow to Odessa. Trade with Marseilles and Genoa was developed by British and German enterprise as well as by the Messageries Maritimes of France. Antwerp, Bremen, and Hamburg became the terminal ports for important lines of steamers. The mercantile navy of Japan had not risen into general notice during the earlier time with which we are principally concerned, and it would deserve a treatise by itself. * * * * * By a process of natural selection native shipping in China and Japan has been extensively superseded by foreign, and an immense dislocation of capital has in consequence taken place. The effect of this has been severely felt on the China coast, especially in such large shipping ports as Taku, Shanghai, and Ningpo, where there were in former days large and prosperous shipowning communities. The disturbance has probably been much less marked in Japan, owing to the greater agility of the people in adapting themselves to inevitable changes. Certain it is that in both countries there is still a large junk fleet employed in the coasting trade, being protected against foreign as well as steam competition by their light draught and their privilege of trading at ports not opened to foreign trade. The temptation to evade the prohibition of foreign flags led in former days to sundry bizarre effects on the coast of China. The natives, finding it to their advantage to employ foreign vessels, exercised their ingenuity in making them look like Chinese craft. This would at first sight appear no easy matter, seeing that the Chinese junks carried no yards and their hulls were of a construction as different from that of a modern ship as was possible for two things to be which were intended for the same purpose. The junks possessed certain qualities conducive to buoyancy and safety, such as water-tight bulkheads, which at once strengthened the hull and minimised the danger of sinking. But their sailing properties, except with the wind "free," were beneath contempt. Their weatherly and seaworthy qualities commended vessels of foreign construction to the Chinese traders, while the talisman of the flag was deemed by them a protection against pirates, and perhaps also, on occasion, against official inquisition. Probably what on the whole the native owner or charterer would have preferred was that his ship should pass for foreign at sea and for native in port. To this end in some cases resort was had to hermaphrodite rigging, and very generally to two projecting boards, one on each side of the figurehead, bearing the staring Chinese eye, such as the junks south of the Yangtze carry. The open eye on the ship's bow was to enable the Chinese port officials to close theirs to the unauthorised presence of strangers, and thus everything was arranged in the manner so dear to the Chinese character. In the south of China the advantage of the flag was sought without the foreign appearance of the vessel. The foreign flag was hoisted on native-built small craft, a large fleet of which hailed from Macao under Portuguese colours, and were from time to time guilty of great irregularities on the coast. The Chinese of Hongkong, British subjects born and bred, registered their vessels and received colonial sailing letters, renewable at frequent intervals, as a check on bad behaviour. With these papers short trips were made along the south coast, and a local trade was carried on in the estuary of the Canton river. These vessels of about 100 or 200 tons burthen were called "lorchas," of which we shall hear more in subsequent chapters. [Illustration] FOOTNOTES: [27] For interesting details of the smuggling organisation which lasted up to the middle of the present century, see 'Smuggling Days and Smuggling Ways,' by the Hon. Henry N. Shore, R.N. [28] The modern ship carries 70 to 75 per cent of dead-weight over her registered tonnage, and of weight and measurement combined about double. [29] The American and British clippers were originally built of wood sheathed with metal. After that came trial of iron ships coated with tallow, but finally at the climax of the sailing clippers' notable races they were all of composite construction--_i.e._, iron frames planked with wood and sheathed with yellow metal. This type of vessel (now out of date) was the essential feature of the fastest sailing China clippers. Thereupon followed the iron and steel steamship as the permanent carrier, and the white-winged argosies were no more! [30] Mr James MacCunn of Greenock says that all these racing clippers, which were practically the same size, carried double crews, numbering about thirty-three all told, equal to that of a 2500-tons merchantman of to-day. The Sir Lancelot, besides the shingle ballast below the tea, carried 100 tons fitted kentledge in the limbers stowed between skin and ceiling, whereby great "stiffness" was ensured--a factor of much value in beating down the China Sea against the monsoon, and at other times in "carrying on" under a heavy press of canvas. CHAPTER XIII. THE TRADERS. I. FOREIGN. Their relations to their official representatives -- And to the trading interests of their own countries -- Their unity -- High character -- Liberality -- Breadth of view. In the preceding portions of this narrative it has been shown how much the character of the principal officials on both sides influenced the progress of events. There was, however, yet another factor which contributed in a lesser degree and in a different manner to the general result which ought not to be entirely omitted from consideration, and that was the personal qualities and traditional characteristics of the two trading communities, foreign and Chinese. It was they who created the subject-matter of all foreign relations, and stood in the breach in all the struggles between foreign and native officials. It was their persons and their fortunes which were ever at stake; it was they who first felt the shock of disturbance, and were the first to reap the fruits of peace. The relation of the foreign mercantile community to their official representatives was not always free from friction, because the same high authority which enjoined on the officials the protection of the persons and the promotion of the interests of the lay community empowered them also to rule over these their _protégés_, and to apply to them an arbitrary discipline in accordance with what they conceived to be the exigencies of the time. Duty in such circumstances must often have assumed a divided aspect, and rules of action must frequently have been put to a severe strain; nor is it surprising that, owing to these peculiar relationships, the resident communities should not have been able on all occasions to see eye to eye with the agents of their Governments. In their national and representative character the China merchants were wont at different crises to have moral burdens laid on them which did not properly fit their shoulders. They were little affected by the shallow moralism of the pulpit, which, taken literally, would have counselled general liquidation and the distribution of the proceeds among the poor, leaving the common creditor out of account; but official sermons also were on certain occasions preached to, or at, the merchants, implying some obligation on their part to sacrifice individual advantage to the greater good of the greater number. Were there no other answer to such altruistic monitions, it would be sufficient to plead that under such theories of duty commerce could not exist, and its political accessories would become superfluous. No road to commercial prosperity has been discovered which could dispense with the prime motive for the exertion which makes for progress--to wit, individual ambition, cupidity, or by whatever term we choose to designate the driving power of the complex machine of civilised life. Mammon is, after all, a divinity whose worship is as universal as that of Eros, and is scarcely less essential to the preservation of the race. Nor is it by collective, but by strictly individual, offerings that these deities are propitiated, and the high purposes of humanity subserved. It is no reproach, therefore, to the China merchants that they should have seized every opportunity for gain, totally irrespective of the general policy of their country. It was not for them to construe portents, but to improve the shining hour. And if it should at any time happen that the action of private persons, impelled by the passion for gain, embarrassed a diplomatist in his efforts to bring about some grand international combination, the fault was clearly his who omitted to take account of the ruling factor in all economic problems. The trade was not made for Government policy, but the policy for the trade, whose life-blood was absolute liberty of action and a free course for individual initiative. The success of British trade as a whole could only be the aggregate of the separate successes not otherwise attainable than by each member of the mercantile fraternity performing his own part with singleness of purpose. Nothing certainly could ever justify any trader in foregoing a chance of gain for the sake of an ideal benefit to the community, even if it were likely to be realised. A distinction must be drawn between the tradesman and the statesman. Though their functions may sometimes overlap, their respective duties to the State are of a different though complementary character. To the charge which from time to time has been levelled at the China merchants, that they were too narrow and too selfish, it may be plausibly replied that, on the contrary, they were if anything too broad; for their individual interests were not so bound up with general progress as are the interests of colonists in a new country, where co-operation is essential. Progress meant, to the China merchants, the admitting of the flood of competition, which they were in no condition to meet. The general interests of the country required the opening of new markets; in a lesser degree the interests of the manufacturing section required the same thing; but the interests of the merchants, albeit they appeared to represent their country and its industries, were in fact opposed to expansion. Yet so strong in them was the race instinct for progress that their private advantage has oftentimes actually given way to it, so that we have seen throughout the developments of foreign intercourse with China the resident merchants placing themselves in the van in helping to let loose the avalanche which overwhelmed them and brought fresh adventurers to occupy the ground. Nor has the relation of the merchants, even to the operations in which they were engaged, been always clearly understood. Although they personified their national trade in the eyes of the world, the merchants were never anything more than the vehicles for its distribution, having no interest in its general extension, though a powerful interest in the increase of their individual share. The productions which provided the livelihood of many thousands of people in China, and perhaps of a still larger number in Great Britain and other manufacturing countries, did not concern them. A percentage by way of toll on merchandise passing through their warehouses was the limit of their ambition. A clear distinction should therefore be drawn between the merchant and the producer or manufacturer; on which point some observations of Wingrove Cooke[31] are worth quoting:-- "The calculations of the merchants do not extend beyond their own business. Why should they? Fortunately for himself, the merchant's optics are those of the lynx rather than those of the eagle. An extremely far-sighted commercial man must always run risks of bankruptcy, for the most absolutely certain sequences are often the most uncertain in point of time." The same writer, however, comments on the ignorance and narrowness of both British traders and manufacturers, and their failure to avail themselves of the opportunities offered to them of exploiting the trading resources of the Chinese. "There is no spirit of inquiry abroad," he says, "no energy at work, no notion of distracting the eye for a moment from watching those eternal shirtings, no thought whether you cannot make better shift with some other class of goods. Manchester made a great blind effort when the ports were opened, and that effort failed. Since then she has fallen into an apathy, and trusts to the chapter of accidents." As for the merchants on whom manufacturers relied to push the sale of their wares, "they come out here," he says, "to make fortunes in from five to seven years, not to force English calicoes up into remote places. Their work is to buy Chinese produce, but," he goes on, "if the English manufacturer wants extraordinary exertion, carefully collected information, and persevering up-country enterprise--and this is what he does want--he must do it himself. The British export trade will not maintain mercantile houses, but it would pay for travelling agents acting in immediate connection with the home manufacturers, who should keep their principals at home well informed, and who should work their operations through the established houses here. The evil is that British goods are not brought under the eyes of the Chinaman of the interior cities." The inaccuracies of some of these comments need not obscure the shrewd and prophetic character of the general advice tendered to the British manufacturers. After an interval of forty years they have begun to act upon it, and though their progress has as yet been slow, they are taking to heart another portion of Mr Cooke's advice, that "all dealing with the interior of China is impossible unless your agents speak the language of the people." A certain divergence between the official and non-official view of affairs had begun to show itself in the period before the war. Before the close of the East India Company's monopoly the independent merchants perceived that their interests, as well as those of the Company itself, were prejudiced by the truckling tactics of its agents, and though few in number, the mercantile community began to give utterance to their grievances and to show they had a mind of their own on public commercial policy. As the whole position of foreigners in China rested on premisses which were essentially false, disappointment, irritation, and alarm were chronic. Every one concerned, official and unofficial, was aggrieved thereby, while no one was disposed to accept blame for the grievance. A tendency to recrimination was the natural consequence. When their representatives failed to protect them against the aggressions of the Chinese the merchants complained, while the officials in their turn were not indisposed to retort by alleging provocative or injudicious conduct on the part of the merchants themselves as contributory to the ever-recurrent difficulties. Through the retrospective vista of two generations it is easy now to see where both parties were at fault--the merchants in making too little account of the difficulties under which their representatives were labouring, and the officials in failing to perceive that the causes of their disagreements with the Chinese lay altogether deeper than the casual imprudence of any private individual, even if that could be established. The despatches of the earlier "superintendents," notably those of Sir George Robinson, betray a certain jealousy of the political influence supposed to be wielded by the mercantile community of Canton working through their associations in England, and the superintendents seemed therefore concerned to cast discredit on mercantile opinion. It would have been strange enough, had it been true, that an isolated community of a hundred individuals should be torn by faction, yet it is a fact that on their assumed disagreements an argument was based for invalidating the representations which they occasionally made to the Home Government. Their views were disparaged, their motives impugned, and their short-sighted selfishness deplored. The note struck in 1835 has been maintained with variations down almost to our own day,--a circumstance which has to be borne in mind by those who aim at a fair appreciation of British relations with China during the last sixty years. Far, however, from being a disunited flock, the mercantile body in China generally have on the whole been singularly unanimous in their views of the political transactions with which their interests were bound up; while as to the old community of Canton, no epithet could be less appropriate than one which would imply discord. Concord was the enforced effect of their circumstances. Imprisoned within a narrow space, surrounded by a hostile people, exposed to a constant common peril, the foreign residents in Canton were bound to each other by the mere instinct of self-preservation. They became, in fact, what Nelson called his captains, a "band of brothers." The exclusion of females up till 1842, and the deterrent conditions of married life there even under the treaty, made it essentially a bachelor community, living almost like one family, or as comrades in a campaign. Of the disinterested hospitality and good-fellowship which continue to this day, even in the maturity of their domestic development, to characterise the foreign communities in China, the germ is doubtless to be discovered in that primitive society which oscillated between Canton and Macao during the thirty years which ended in 1856, in which year their factories were for the last time destroyed, and the old life finally broken up. But there is something more to be credited to these early residents than the mutual loyalty prescribed for them by the peculiar conditions of their life. They exemplified in a special degree the true temper and feelings of gentlemen,--a moral product with which local conditions had also, no doubt, something to do. They lived in glass houses, with open doors; they could by no means get away from one another, or evade a mutual observation which was constant and searching. Whatever standards, therefore, were recognised by the community, the individual members were constrained to live up to them in a society where words and deeds lay open to the collective criticism. And the standard was really a high one. Truth, honour, courage, generosity, nobility, were qualities common to the whole body; and those who were not so endowed by birthright could not help assuming the virtue they did not possess, and, through practice, making it eventually their own. Black sheep there were, no doubt, but being never whitewashed, they did not infect the flock, as happens in more advanced communities. These intimate conditions favouring the formation of character were powerfully reinforced by the one feature of European life in China which was external to the residents, their contact with the surrounding mass of Chinese. The effect of intercourse with so-called inferior races is a question of much complexity, and large generalisations on such subjects are unsafe, each case being best considered on its proper merits. In their intercourse with the Chinese, certain points stood out like pillars of adamant to fix the principles by which the foreign residents were obliged to regulate their bearing towards the natives. In the first place, the strangers formed units hemmed in and pressed upon by thousands; therefore they must magnify themselves by maintaining an invincible prestige, they must in the eyes of that alien world always be heroes, and they must present a united front. Extending the same principles from the material to the moral sphere, the foreigners must maintain the reputation of their caste for probity, liberality, and trustworthiness. Their word must be as good as their bond; they must on no account demean themselves before the heathen, nor tolerate any temptation from a Chinese source to take unfair advantage of their own kind, the Caucasian or Christian, or by whatever term we may indicate the white man. Whatever their private differences, no white man must permit himself to acquiesce in the disparagement of his own people in the view of the people of the country. They must be, one and all, above suspicion. Such were some of the considerations which were effective in maintaining the character of Europeans in China. Although association with a race so alien as the Chinese, with such different moral standards, must have had the usual deteriorating effects of such contact, yet the positive gain in the formation of character from the practice of such maxims of conduct as those above indicated probably left a balance of advantage with the China merchants. The case would be imperfectly stated were mention not made of the process of natural selection which constituted the merchants a body of picked men. China was a remote country. It offered neither the facility of access nor the scope for adventure which in more recent times have attracted such streams of emigration to distant parts of the world. The mercantile body was a close corporation, automatically protected by barriers very difficult to surmount. The voyage itself occupied six months. Letters were rarely answered within a year. Hence all the machinery of business had to be arranged with a large prescience. Even after the opening of the overland route to Suez communication with China was maintained by sailing-ships up till 1845, when the Lady Mary Wood, the first steamer of the P. and O. Company, reached Hongkong, with no accommodation for more than a few passengers, and carrying no more cargo than a good-sized lighter. And later still, when steamers carried the mails fortnightly to China, the expense of the trip was so great that only a chosen few could afford it. It took £150 to £170 to land a single man in Hongkong, and in those days when extensive outfits were thought necessary, probably as much more had to be laid out in that way. The merchants who established themselves in China after the opening of the trade were either themselves men of large means, or they were the confidential representatives of English and American houses of great position. There were no local banks, operations extended over one or two years, an immense outlay of capital was required, and credit had to be maintained at an exceedingly high level, not only as between the merchants in China and their correspondents in London, Liverpool, New York, and Boston, but between both and the financial centre of the world. Through such a winnowing-machine only good grain could pass. It was a natural result that the English and American merchants both in China and India should have been superior as a class to the average of other commercial communities. And what was true of partners and heads of houses was no less so of their "assistants." There were no "clerks," as the term is commonly used in England, except Portuguese hailing from the neighbouring settlement of Macao. The young men sent from England were selected with as much care as it was possible to bestow, for they were precious. Not only were they costly, but it might take a year to make good casualties. Besides, in countries situated as China was then, where contingencies of health were never out of mind, it was not worth while to send out one who was a clerk and nothing more. There must be potential capacity as well, since it could never be foreseen how soon emergencies might arise which would require him to assume the most responsible duties. Hence every new hand engaged must enjoy the fullest confidence both of his immediate employers and of the home firm to which they were affiliated. As might be expected under such circumstances, family connections played a large part in the selection, and the tendency of the whole system was to minimise the gulf which in advanced societies separates the master from the man. In education and culture they were equals, as a consequence of which the reins of discipline might be held lightly, all service being willingly and intelligently rendered. The system of devolution was so fully developed that the assistant was practically master in his own department, for the success of which he was as zealous as the head. The "mess" _régime_ under which in most houses the whole staff, employers and employees, sat at one table, tended strongly in the direction of a common social level. What still further contributed much to raise the position of assistants was the tradition which the merchants both in India and China inherited from the East India Company of what may be called pampering their employees. They were permitted to carry on trade on their own account, in the same commodities and with the same buyers and sellers, in which they possessed advantages over their employers in having all the firm's information at command with the privilege of using its machinery free of cost. The abuses to which such a system was liable are too obvious to be dwelt upon; but to be himself a merchant, sometimes more successful than his principal, though without his responsibilities, certainly did not detract from the social status of the assistant. Sixty years ago the China community was composed of men in the prime of life. The average age was probably not over thirty--a man of forty was a grey-beard. In this respect an evolutionary change has come over the scene, and the average age of the adult residents must have risen by at least ten years. But the China community in all its stages of development has maintained the colonial characteristic of buoyancy and hopefulness. Reverses of fortune never appalled its members. Having been early accustomed to the alternations of fat years and lean, a disastrous season was to them but the presage of a bountiful one to follow; while a succession of bad years made the reaction only the more certain. This wellspring of hope has often helped the China merchants to carry the freshness of spring even into the snows of winter. The nature of their pursuits, moreover, fostered a comprehensive spirit. Trained in the school of wholesale dealing, and habituated to work on large curves, the China merchants have all through felt the blood of the merchant princes in their veins, and it has even been alleged to their disadvantage that, like the scions of decayed families the world over, the pomp and circumstance were maintained after the material basis had in the natural course of affairs vanished. Nay, more, that the grandiose ideas appropriate to the heirs of a protected system have disqualified them for the contest in small things which the latter days have brought upon them. Of that restricted, protected, quasi-aristocratic, half-socialistic society some of the traditions and spirit remain; but the structure itself could not possibly withstand the aggression of modern progress, and it has been swept away. New elements have entered into the composition of the mercantile and general society of the Far East, its basis has been widened and its relations with the great world multiplied. In innumerable ways there has been improvement, not the least being the development of family life and the more enduring attachment to the soil which is the result of prolonged residence. Living, if less luxurious, is vastly more comfortable, more refined, and more civilised, and men and women without serious sacrifices make their home in a country which in the earlier days was but a scene of temporary exile. Charities abound which were not before needed; the channels of humanity have broadened, though it cannot be said at the cost of depth, for whatever else may have changed, the generosity of the foreign communities remains as princely as in the good old days. Yet is it permissible to regret some of the robuster virtues of the generation that is past. The European solidarity _vis-à-vis_ the Chinese world, which continued practically unbroken into the eighth decade of the century, a tower of moral strength to foreigners and an object of respect to the Chinese, has now been thrown down. Not only in private adventures have foreigners in their heat of competition let themselves down to the level of Chinese tactics, but great financial syndicates have immersed themselves in intrigues which either did not tempt the men of the previous generation or tempted them in vain; and even the Great Powers themselves have descended into the inglorious arena, where decency is discarded like the superfluous garments of the gladiator, and where falsity, ultra-Chinese in quality, masquerades in Christian garb. The moral ascendancy of Christendom has been in a hundred ways shamelessly prostituted, leaving little visible distinction between the West and the East but superior energy and military force. Take them for all in all, the China merchants have been in their day and generation no unworthy representatives of their country's interests and policy, its manhood and character. Their patriotism has not been toned down but expanded and rationalised by cosmopolitan associations, and by contact with a type of national life differing diametrically from their own. Breadth and moderation have resulted from these conditions, and a habit of tempering the exigencies of the day by the larger consideration of international problems has been characteristic of the mercantile bodies in China from first to last. And though statesmanship lies outside the range of busy men of commerce, it must be said in justice to the merchants of China that they have been consistently loyal to an ideal policy, higher in its aims and more practical in its operation than that which any line of Western statesmen, save those of Russia, has been able to follow. It had been better if the continuous prognostications of such a compact body of opinion had been more heeded. II. CHINESE. Business aptitude -- High standard of commercial ethics -- Circumstances hindering great accumulations. As it requires two to make a bargain, it would be an imperfect account of the China trade which omitted such an important element as the efficiency of the native trader. To him is due the fact that the foreign commerce of his country, when uninterfered with by the officials of his Government, has been made so easy for the various parties concerned in it. Of all the accomplishments the Chinese nation has acquired during the long millenniums of its history, there is none in which it has attained to such perfect mastery as in the science of buying and selling. The Chinese possess the Jews' passion for exchange. All classes, from the peasant to the prince, think in money, and the instinct of appraisement supplies to them the place of a ready reckoner, continuously converting objects and opportunities into cash. Thus surveying mankind and all its achievements with the eye of an auctioneer, invisible note-book in hand, external impressions translate themselves automatically into the language of the market-place, so that it comes as natural to the Chinaman as to the modern American, or to any other commercial people, to reduce all forms of appreciation to the common measure of the dollar. A people imbued with such habits of mind are traders by intuition. If they have much to learn from foreigners, they have also much to teach them; and the fact that at no spot within the vast empire of China would one fail to find ready-made and eager men of business is a happy augury for the extended intercourse which may be developed in the future, while at the same time it affords the clearest indication of the true avenue to sympathetic relations with the Chinese. In every detail of handling and moving commodities, from the moment they leave the hands of the producer in his garden-patch to the time when they reach the ultimate consumer perhaps a thousand miles away, the Chinese trader is an expert. Times and seasons have been elaborately mapped out, the clue laid unerringly through labyrinthine currencies, weights, and measures which to the stranger seem a hopeless tangle, and elaborate trade customs evolved appropriate to the requirements of a myriad-sided commerce, until the simplest operation has been invested with a kind of ritual observance, the effect of the whole being to cause the complex wheels to run both swiftly and smoothly. To crown all, there is to be noted, as the highest condition of successful trade, the evolution of commercial probity, which, though no monopoly of the Chinese merchants, is one of their distinguishing characteristics. It is that element which, in the generations before the treaties, enabled so large a commerce to be carried on with foreigners without anxiety, without friction, and almost without precaution. It has also led to the happiest personal relations between foreigners and the native trader. When the business of the season was over [says Mr Hunter][32] contracts were made with the Hong merchants for the next season. They consisted of teas of certain qualities and kinds, sometimes at fixed prices, sometimes at the prices which should be current at the time of the arrival of the teas. No other record of these contracts was ever made than by each party booking them, no written agreements were drawn up, nothing was sealed or attested. A wilful breach of contract never took place, and as regards quality and quantity the Hong merchants fulfilled their part with scrupulous honesty and care. The Chinese merchant, moreover, has been always noted for what he himself graphically calls his large-heartedness, which is exemplified by liberality in all his dealings, tenacity as to all that is material with comparative disregard of trifles, never letting a transaction fall through on account of punctilio, yielding to the prejudices of others wherever it can be done without substantial disadvantage, a "sweet reasonableness," if the phrase may be borrowed for such a purpose, which obviates disputation, and the manliness which does not repine at the consequences of an unfortunate contract. Judicial procedure being an abomination to respectable Chinese, their security in commercial dealings is based as much upon reason, good faith, and non-repudiation as that of the Western nations is upon verbal finesse in the construction of covenants. Two systems so diametrically opposed can hardly admit of real amalgamation without sacrifice of the saving principle of both. And if, in the period immediately succeeding the retirement of the East India Company, perfect harmony prevailed between the Chinese and the foreign merchant, the result was apparently attained by the foreigners practically falling in with the principles and the commercial ethics of the Chinese, to which nothing has yet been found superior. The Chinese aptitude for business, indeed, exerted a peculiar influence over their foreign colleagues. The efficiency and alacrity of the native merchants and their staff were such that the foreigners fell into the way of leaving to them the principal share in managing the details of the business. When the venerable, but unnatural, Co-hong system of Old Canton was superseded by the compradoric, the connection between the foreign firm and their native staff became so intimate that it was scarcely possible to distinguish between the two, and misunderstandings have not unfrequently arisen through third parties mistaking the principal for the agent and the agent for the principal. Such a relationship could not but foster in some cases a certain lordly abstraction on the part of the foreign merchant, to which climatic conditions powerfully contributed. The factotum, in short, became a minister of luxury, everywhere a demoralising influence, and thus there was a constant tendency for the Chinese to gain the upper hand,--to be the master in effect though the servant in name. The comprador was always consulted, and if the employer ventured to omit this formality the resulting transaction would almost certainly come to grief through inexplicable causes. Seldom, however, was his advice rejected, while many of the largest operations were of his initiation. Unlimited confidence was the rule on both sides, which often took the concrete form of considerable indebtedness, now on the one side now on the other, and was regularly shown in the despatch of large amounts of specie into the far interior of the country for the purchase of tea and silk in the districts of their growth. For many years the old practice was followed of contracting for produce as soon as marketable, and sometimes even before. During three or four months, in the case of tea, large funds belonging to foreign merchants were in the hands of native agents far beyond the reach of the owners, who could exercise no sort of supervision over the proceedings of their agents. The funds were in every case safely returned in the form of produce purchased, which was entered to the foreign merchant at a price arbitrarily fixed by the comprador to cover all expenses. Under such a _régime_ it would have needed no great perspicacity, one would imagine, to foretell in which pocket the profits of trading would eventually lodge. As a matter of fact, the comprador generally grew rich at the expense of his employer. All the while the sincerest friendship existed between them, often descending to the second or third generation.[33] It would be natural to suppose that in such an extensive commercial field as the empire of China, exploited by such competent traders, large accumulations of wealth would be the result. Yet after making due allowance for inducements to concealment, the wealth even of the richest families probably falls far short of that which is not uncommon in Western countries. Several reasons might be adduced for the limitation, chiefly the family system, which necessitates constant redistribution, and which subjects every successful man to the attentions of a swarm of parasites, who, besides devouring his substance with riotous living, have the further opportunity of ruining his enterprises by their malfeasance. Yet although individual wealth may, from these and other causes, be confined within very moderate limits, the control of capital for legitimate business is ample. Owing to the co-operative system under which the financiers of the country support and guarantee each other, credit stands very high, enabling the widely ramified commerce of the empire to be carried on upon a very small nucleus of cash capital. The banking organisation of China is wonderfully complete, bills of exchange being currently negotiable between the most distant points of the empire, the circulation of merchandise maintaining the equilibrium with comparatively little assistance from the precious metals. The true characteristics of a people probably stand out in a clearer light when they are segregated from the conventionalities of their home and forced to accommodate themselves to unaccustomed conditions. Following the Chinese to the various commercial colonies which they have done so much to develop, it will be found that they have carried with them into their voluntary exile the best elements of their commercial success in their mother country. The great emporium of Maimaichên, on the Siberian frontier near Kiachta, is an old commercial settlement mostly composed of natives of the province of Shansi, occupying positions of the highest respect both financially and socially. The streets of the town are regular, wide, and moderately clean. The houses are solid, tidy, and tasteful, with pretty little courtyards, ornamental door-screens, and so forth, the style of the whole being described as superior to what is seen in the large cities within China proper. The very conditions of exile seem favourable to a higher scale of living, free alike from the incubus of thriftless relations and from the malign espionage of Government officials. In the Philippine Islands and in Java the Chinese emigrants from the southern provinces have been the life and soul of the trade and industry of these places. So also in the British dominions, as at Singapore and Penang, which are practically Chinese Colonies under the British flag. Hongkong and the Burmese ports are of course no exceptions. The description given by Mr Thomson[34] of the Chinese in Penang would apply equally to every part of the world in which the Chinese have been permitted to settle:-- Should you, my reader, ever settle in Penang, you will be there introduced to a Chinese contractor who will sign a document to do anything. His costume will tell you that he is a man of inexpensive yet cleanly habits. He will build you a house after any design you choose, and within so many days, subject to a fine should he exceed the stipulated time. He will furnish you with a minute specification, in which everything, to the last nail, will be included. He has a brother who will contract to make every article of furniture you require, either from drawings or from models. He has another brother who will fit you and your good lady with all sorts of clothing, and yet a third relative who will find servants, and contract to supply you with all the native and European delicacies in the market upon condition that his monthly bills are regularly honoured. It is, indeed, to Chinamen that the foreign resident is indebted for almost all his comforts, and for the profusion of luxuries which surround his wonderfully European-looking home on this distant island. The Chinese are everywhere found enterprising and trustworthy men of business. Europeans, worried by the exhaustless refinements of the Marwarree or Bengali, find business with the Chinese in the Straits Settlements a positive luxury. Nor have the persecutions of the race in the United States and in self-governing British colonies wholly extinguished the spark of honour which the Chinese carry with them into distant lands. An old "'Forty-niner," since deceased, related to the writer some striking experiences of his own during a long commercial career in San Francisco. A Chinese with whom he had dealings disappeared from the scene, leaving a debt to Mr Forbes of several thousand dollars. The account became an eyesore in the books, and the amount was formally "written off" and forgotten. Some years after, Mr Forbes was surprised by a visit from a weather-beaten Chinese, who revealed himself as the delinquent Ah Sin and asked for his account. Demurring to the trouble of exhuming old ledgers, Mr Forbes asked Ah Sin incredulously if he was going to pay. "Why, certainly," said the debtor. The account was thereupon rendered to him with interest, and after a careful examination and making some corrections, Ah Sin undid his belt and tabled the money to the last cent, thereupon vanishing into space whence he had come. FOOTNOTES: [31] China in 1857-58. Routledge. [32] The Fankwae at Canton. [33] Apart from their liberality in the conduct of business, the generosity of the Chinese mercantile class, their gratitude for past favours, are so remarkable as to be incomprehensible to the Western mind. An account of them would read like a "fairy tale." [34] The Straits of Malacca, &c. By J. Thomson. CHAPTER XIV. HONGKONG. Two British landmarks -- Chinese customs and Hongkong -- Choice of the island -- Vitality of colony -- Asylum for malefactors -- Chinese official hostility -- Commanding commercial position -- Crown Colony government -- Management of Chinese population -- Their improvement -- English education -- Material progress -- Industrial institutions -- Accession of territory. The past sixty years of war and peace in China have left two landmarks as concrete embodiments of British policy--the Chinese maritime customs and the colony of Hongkong. These are documents which testify in indelible characters both to the motives and to the methods of British expansion throughout the world. For good and for evil their record cannot be explained away. Both institutions are typically English, inasmuch as they are not the fulfilment of a dream or the working out of preconcerted schemes, but growths spontaneously generated out of the local conditions, much like that of the British empire itself, and with scarcely more conscious foresight on the part of those who helped to rear the edifice. The relation of the British empire to the world, which defies definition, is only revealed in scattered object-lessons. India throws some light upon it--the colonies much more; and though in some respects unique in its character, Hongkong in its degree stands before the world as a realisation of the British ideal, with its faults and blunders as well as with its excellences and successes. The want of a British station on the China coast had long been felt, and during the ten years which preceded the cession innumerable proposals were thrown out, some of which distinctly indicated Hongkong itself as supplying the desideratum. But as to the status of the new port the various suggestions made neutralised each other, until the course of events removed the question out of the region of discussion and placed it in the lap of destiny. The earliest English visitors to the island described it as inhabited by a few weather-beaten fishermen, who were seen spreading their nets and drying their catch on the rocks. Cultivation was restricted to small patches of rice, sweet-potatoes, and buckwheat. The abundance of fern gave it in places an appearance of verdure, but it was on the whole a treeless, rugged, barren block of granite. The gentlemen of Lord Amherst's suite in 1816, who have left this record, made another significant observation. The precipitous island, twelve miles long, with its deep-water inlets, formed one side of a land-locked harbour, which they called Hongkong Sound, capable of sheltering any number of ships of the largest size. Into this commodious haven the English fugitives, driven first from Canton and then from Macao, by the drastic decree of the Chinese authorities in 1839, found a refuge for their ships, and afterwards a footing on shore for themselves. Stern necessity and not their wills sent them thither. The same necessity ordained that the little band, once lodged there, should take root, and growth followed as the natural result of the inherent vitality of the organism. As Dr Eitel well points out, this small social body did not originate in Hongkong: it had had a long preparatory history in Macao, and in the Canton factories, and may be considered, therefore, in the light of a healthy swarm from the older hives. During the first few years of the occupation the selection of the station was the subject of a good deal of cheap criticism in the press. A commercial disappointment and a political failure, it was suggested by some that the place should be abandoned. It was contrasted unfavourably with the island of Chusan, which had been receded to China under the same treaty which had ceded Hongkong to Great Britain; and even as late as 1858 Lord Elgin exclaimed, "How anybody in their senses could have preferred Hongkong to Chusan seems incredible." But, in point of fact, there had been little or no conscious choice in the matter. The position may be said to have chosen itself, since no alternative was left to the first British settlers. As for Chusan, it had been occupied and abandoned several times. The East India Company had an establishment there in the beginning of the eighteenth century, and if that station was finally given up either on its merits or in favour of Hongkong, it was certainly not without experience of the value of the more northerly position. Whatever hypothetical advantages, commercial or otherwise, might have accrued from the retention of Chusan, the actual position attained by Hongkong as an emporium of trade, a centre of industry, and one of the great shipping ports in the world, furnishes an unanswerable defence both of the choice of the site and the political structure which has been erected on it. Canton being at once the centre of foreign trade and the focus of Chinese hostility, vicinity to that city was an indispensable condition of the location of the British entrepot, and the place of arms from which commerce could be defended. And it would be hard even now to point to any spot on the Chinese coast which fulfilled the conditions so well as Hongkong. The course of its development did not run smooth. It was not to be expected. The experiment of planting a British station in contact with the most energetic as well as the most turbulent section of the population of China was not likely to be carried out without mistakes, and many have been committed. Indeed, from the day of its birth down to the present time domestic dissensions and recriminations respecting the management of its affairs have never ceased. This was inevitable in a political microcosm having neither diversity of interest nor atmospheric space to soften the perspective. The entire interests of the colony were comprised within the focal distance of myopic vision. Molehills thus became mountains, and the mote in each brother's eye assumed the dimensions of animalcula seen through a microscope. The bitter feuds between the heads of the several departments of the lilliputian Government which prevailed during the first twenty years must have been fatal to any young colony if its progress had depended on the wisdom of its rulers. Happily a higher law governs all these things. Freedom carried with it the necessary consequences, and for many years the new colony was a tempting Alsatia for Chinese malefactors, an asylum for pirates, who put on and off that character with wonderful facility, and could hatch their plots there fearless of surveillance. When the Taiping rebellion was at its height, piracy became so mixed with insurrection that the two were not distinguishable, and it required both firmness and vigilance on the part of the authorities to prevent the harbour of Hongkong becoming the scene of naval engagements between the belligerents. During the hostilities of 1857-58 a species of dacoity was practised with impunity by Chinese, who were tempted by rewards for the heads of Englishmen offered by the authorities of Canton. It cannot, therefore, be denied that the immigrants from the mainland in the first and even the second decade of its existence were leavened with an undesirable element, causing anxiety to the responsible rulers. The Chinese authorities, as was natural, waged relentless war on the colony from its birth. Though compelled formally to admit that the island and its dependencies were a British possession, they still maintained a secret authority over the Chinese who settled there, and even attempted to levy taxes. As they could not lay hands on its trade, except the valuable portion of it which was carried on by native craft, they left no stone unturned to destroy that. By skilful diplomacy, for which they are entitled to the highest credit, they obtained control over the merchant junks trading to Hongkong, and imposed restrictions on them calculated to render their traffic impossible. By the same treaty they obtained the appointment of a British officer as Chinese revenue agent in Hongkong--a concession, however, disallowed by the good sense of the British Government. But the Chinese were very tenacious of the idea of making Hongkong a customs station, never relaxing their efforts for forty years, until the convention of 1886 at last rewarded their perseverance by a partial fulfilment of their hopes. For reasons which, if not very lofty, are yet very human, the diplomatic and consular agents of Great Britain have never looked sympathetically on the colony--indeed have often sided with the Chinese in their attempts to curtail its rights. Nor has the Home Government itself always treated the small colony with parental consideration. Before it was out of swaddling-clothes the Treasury ogre began to open his mouth and, like the East India Company, demand remittances. A military establishment was maintained on the island, not for the benefit of the residents, but for the security of a strategical position in the imperial system. The colonists were mulcted in a substantial share of the cost, which the governor was instructed to wring out of them. The defences themselves, however, were neglected, and allowed to grow obsolete and useless, and, if we mistake not, it was the civil community, and not the Government, that insisted on their being modernised. The compromise eventually arrived at was, that the colonists provided the guns and the imperial Government the forts. An interesting parallel to this was the case of Gibraltar, which possessed no dock until the civil community by sheer persistence, extending over many years, at length overcame the reluctance of the British Government to provide so essential an adjunct to its naval establishment. The colony had suffered much from the war with China, but the Home Government refused it any participation in the indemnity extorted from the Chinese. But these and other drawbacks were counterbalanced, and eventually remedied, by the advantages offered by a free port and a safe harbour. Standing in the fair way of all Eastern commerce, which pays willing tribute to the colony, Hongkong attracted trade from all quarters in a steadily increasing volume, and became the pivot for the whole ocean traffic of the Far East.[35] The tide of prosperity could not be stayed--it invaded every section of the community. The character of the Chinese population was continuously raised. The best of them accumulated wealth: the poorest found remunerative employment for their labour. Crime, with which the colony had been tainted, diminished as much through the expulsive power of material prosperity as from the judicious measures of the executive Government, for the credit must not be denied to successive administrators for the improvement in the condition of the colony. Among those none was more deserving of praise than Sir Richard MacDonnell (1865-72), who on catching sight, as he entered the harbour, of an enormous building, which he was told was the jail, remarked, "I will not fill that, but stop the crime;" and he was nearly as good as his word,--a terror to evil-doers. A Crown colony is the form of government which challenges the most pungent criticism. The elected members of its legislature, being a minority, can only in the last resort acquiesce in the decisions of the official majority who constitute the executive Government. Such a minority, however, is by no means wanting in influence, for it is, after all, publicity which is the safeguard of popular liberty. The freedom of speech enjoyed by an Opposition which has no fear of the responsibility of office before its eyes widens the scope of its criticisms, and imparts a refreshing vigour to the invective of those of its members who possess the courage of their convictions. It reaches the popular ear, and the apprehension of an adverse public opinion so stimulated can never fail to have its effect on the acts of the Administration. Under such a _régime_ it seems natural that, other things being equal, each governor in turn should be esteemed the worst who has borne rule in the colony, and in any case his merits are never likely to be fairly gauged by any local contemporary estimate. King Stork, though fair and far-seeing, may be more obnoxious to criticism than King Log, who makes things pleasant during his official term. Hongkong being established as a free port, the functions of Government were practically limited to internal administration, and the question of greatest importance was the control of the Chinese population which poured in. This was a new problem. Chinese communities had, indeed, settled under foreign rule before, as in the Straits Settlements, in Java, and in Manila, but at such distances from their home as rendered the settlers amenable to any local regulations which might be imposed on them. Distance even acted as a strainer, keeping back the dregs. But Hongkong was nearer to China than the Isle of Wight is to Hampshire. Evil-doers could come and go at will. It could be overrun in the night and evacuated in the morning. Spies were as uncontrollable as house-flies, and whenever it suited the Chinese Government to be hostile, they proved their power to establish such a reign of terror in the colony that it was dangerous to stray beyond the beat of the armed policeman. Clearly it was of primary importance to come to terms with the native community, to reduce them to discipline, to encourage the good and discourage the bad among the Chinese settlers. As their numbers increased the public health demanded a yet stricter supervision of their habits. Sanitary science had scarcely dawned when the colony was founded, and its teachings had to be applied, as they came to light, to conditions of life which had been allowed to grow up in independence of its requirements. To tolerate native customs, domestic habits, and manner of living, while providing for the general wellbeing of a community in a climate which at its best is debilitating, taxed the resources of the British executive, and of course gave rise to perpetual recrimination. But the thing has been accomplished. Successive conflagrations have co-operated with the march of sanitary reform and the advance in their worldly circumstances in so improving the dwellings of the population, that their housing now compares not unfavourably with that of the native cities of India. The Southern Chinese are naturally cleanly, and appreciative of good order when it is judiciously introduced among them, even from a foreign source. A more complex question was that of bringing an alien population such as the Chinese within the moral pale of English law, for law is vain unless it appeals to the public conscience. The imposition of foreign statutes on a race nursed on oral tradition and restrained from misdoing by bonds invisible to their masters was not an undertaking for which success could be safely foretold. The effect of a similar proceeding on the subtle natives of India has been described as "substituting for a recognised morality a mere game of skill, at which the natives can give us long odds and beat us." "The mercantile and money-lending classes in India," says Mr S. S. Thorburn, "delight in the intricacy and surprises of a good case in court." With the Chinese it has been otherwise. The population of Hongkong have so far assimilated the foreign law that, whether or not it satisfies their innate sense of right, it at least governs their external conduct, and crime has been reduced very low: as for litigation, it is comparatively rare; it is disreputable, and has no place in the Chinese commercial economy. The best proofs of their acceptance of colonial rule is the constantly increasing numbers of the Chinese residents; the concentration of their trading capital there; their investments in real estate and in local industries; their identification with the general interests of the colony, and their adopting it as a home instead of a place of temporary exile. The means employed to conciliate the Chinese must be deemed on the whole to have been successful. There was first police supervision, then official protection under a succession of qualified officers, then representation in the Colonial Legislature and on the commission of the peace. The colonial executive has wisely left to the Chinese a large measure of a kind of self-government which is far more effective than anything that could find its expression in votes of the Legislature. The administration of purely Chinese affairs by native committees, with a firm ruling hand over their proceedings, seems to fulfil every purpose of government. The aim has been throughout to ascertain and to gratify, when practicable, the reasonable wants of the Chinese, who have responded to these advances by an exhibition of public spirit which no society could excel. It is doubtful whether in the wide dominion of the Queen there are 250,000 souls more appreciative of orderly government than the denizens of the whilom nest of pirates and cut-throats--Hongkong. As an educational centre Hongkong fulfils a function whose value is difficult to estimate. From the foundation of the colony the subject engaged the attention of the executive Government, as well as of different sections of the civil community. The missionary bodies were naturally very early in the field, and there was for a good many years frank co-operation between them and the mercantile community in promoting schools both for natives and Europeans. In time, however, either their aims were found to diverge or else their estimate of achievement differed, and many of the missionary teaching establishments were left without support. After an interval of languor, however, new life was infused into the educational schemes of the colony. The emulation of religious sects and the common desire to bring the lambs of the flock into their respective folds inspired the efforts of the propagandists, their zeal reacting on the colonial Government itself with the most gratifying results, so far at least as the extension of the field of their common efforts was concerned. The Chinese had imported their own school systems, while taking full advantage of the educational facilities provided by the Government and the Christian bodies. Being an intellectual race, they are well able to assimilate the best that Christendom has to offer them. But the colonial system contents itself with a sound practical commercial education, which has equipped vast numbers of Chinese for the work of clerks, interpreters, and so forth, and has thus been the means of spreading the knowledge of the English language over the coast of China, and of providing a medium of communication between the native and European mind. The material progress of Hongkong speaks volumes for the energy of its community. The precipitous character of the island left scarcely a foothold for business or residential settlement. The strip which formed the strand front of the city of Victoria afforded room for but one street, forcing extensions up the rugged face of the hill which soon was laid out in zig-zag terraces: foundations for the houses are scarped out of the rock, giving them the appearance of citadels. The locality being subject to torrential rains, streets and roads had to be made with a finished solidity which is perhaps unmatched. Bridges, culverts, and gutters all being constructed of hewn granite and fitted with impervious cement, the storm-waters are carried off as clean as from a ship's deck. These municipal works were not achieved without great expense and skilfully directed labour, of which an unlimited supply can always be depended on. And the credit of their achievement must be equally divided between the Government and the civil community. The island is badly situated as regards its water-supply, which has necessitated the excavation of immense reservoirs on the side farthest from the town, the aqueduct being tunnelled for over a mile through a solid granite mass. These and other engineering works have rendered Hongkong the envy of the older colonies in the Far East. No less so the palatial architecture in which the one natural product of the island has been turned to the most effective account. The quarrying of granite blocks, in which the Chinese are as great adepts as they are in dressing the stones for building, has been so extensive as visibly to alter the profile of the island. A great deficiency of the island as a commercial site being the absence of level ground, the enterprise of the colonists has been incessantly directed towards supplying the want. Successive reclamations on the sea-front, costing of course large sums of money, have so enlarged the building area that the great thoroughfare called Queen's Road now runs along the back instead of the front of a new city, the finest buildings of all being the most recent, standing upon the newly reclaimed land. It is characteristic of such improvements, that, while in course of execution, they should be deemed senseless extravagance, due to the ambition of some speculator or the caprice of some idealist, thus perpetually illustrating the truth of the Scottish saying, "Fules and bairns should never see a thing half done." Hongkong has been no exception to so universal a rule. The industrial enterprise of the colony has fully kept pace with its progress in other respects. The Chinese quarter resembles nothing so much as a colony of busy ants, where every kind of handicraft is plied with such diligence, day in and day out, as the Chinese alone seem capable of. The more imposing works conducted by foreigners occupy a prominent place in the whole economy of the Far East. Engineering and shipbuilding have always been carried on in the colony. Graving-docks capable of accommodating modern battleships, and of executing any repairs or renewals required by them as efficiently as could be done in any part of the world, constitute Hongkong a rendezvous for the navies of all nations. Manufactures of various kinds flourish on the island. Besides cotton-mills, some of the largest sugar-refineries in the world, fitted with the most modern improvements, work up the raw material from Southern China, Formosa, the Philippines, and other sugar-growing countries in the Eastern Archipelago, thus furnishing a substantial item of export to the Australian colonies and other parts of the world. The colony has thereby created for itself a commerce of its own, while its strategical situation has enabled it to retain the character of a pivot on which all Far Eastern commerce turns. This pivotal position alone, and not the local resources of the place, enabled the colony to found one of the most successful financial organisations of the modern world. The Hongkong and Shanghai Bank has had a history not dissimilar from that of the colony as a whole, one of success followed by periods of alternate depression and elation. Now in the trough of the wave and now on its crest, the bank has worked its way by inherent vitality through all vicissitudes of good or bad fortune, until it has gone near to monopolising the exchange business of the Far East, and has become the recognised medium between the money-market of London and the financial needs of the Imperial Chinese administration. It should not be overlooked as a condition of its success that the great Hongkong Bank, like all other successful joint-stock enterprises, whether in Hongkong or in China, has from its origin borne a broad international character. Though legally domiciled in a British possession, representative men of all nationalities sit on its board and take their turn in the chairmanship as it comes round. The international character, indeed, may be cited as one of the elements of the success of the colony itself. No disability of any kind attaches to alien settlers, not even exclusion from the jury panel. They are free to acquire property, to carry on business, to indulge their whims, and to avail themselves of all the resources of the colony, and enjoy the full protection of person and property which natural-born British subjects possess. They come and go at their pleasure, no questions asked, no luggage examined, no permits required for any purpose whatever coming within the scope of ordinary life. Nor are they even asked whether they appreciate these advantages or not; in fact they are as free to criticise the institutions under which they live as if they had borne their part in creating them, which, in fact, they have done, and this it is which marks the vitality of the British system, whether in the mother country or in its distant dependencies. The exceedingly cramped conditions of life on the island having proved such an obstacle to its development, the acquisition of a portion of the mainland forming one side of the harbour was at an early period spoken of as a desideratum for the colony. The idea took no practical shape, however, until the occupation of Canton by the Allied forces under the administration of Consul Parkes; and it is one of the most noteworthy achievements of that indefatigable man that, during the time when Great Britain was in fact at war with the Government of China, he should have succeeded, on his own initiative, in obtaining from the governor of the city a lease of a portion of land at Kowloon, which was subsequently confirmed by the convention of Peking in 1860. The improvement of artillery and other means of attack on sea-forts left the island very vulnerable, and the measures taken by the various European Powers to establish naval stations on the Chinese coast, together with the efforts which the country itself was making to become a modern military Power, rendered it a matter of absolute necessity, for the preservation of the island, that a sufficient area of the adjacent territory should be included within its defences. Following the example set by Germany and Russia, the British Government concluded an arrangement with the Government of China by which the needed extension was secured to Great Britain under a ninety-nine years lease. A convention embodying this agreement was signed at Peking in June 1898. FOOTNOTE: [35] The tonnage entered and cleared for the year 1898 amounted to 17,265,780, of which one-half was under the British flag. CHAPTER XV. MACAO. Contrast with Hongkong -- An interesting survival -- Trading facilities -- Relations with Chinese Government -- Creditable to both parties -- Successful resistance to the Dutch -- Portuguese expulsion from Japan -- English trading competitors enjoy hospitality of Macao -- Trade with Canton -- Hongkong becomes a rival -- Macao eclipsed -- Gambling, Coolie trade, Piracy -- Population -- Cradle of many improvements -- Distinguished names. The three hours' transit from Hongkong to Macao carries one into another world. The incessant scream of steam-launches which plough the harbour in all directions night and day gives place to the drowsy chime of church bells, and instead of the throng of busy men, one meets a solitary black mantilla walking demurely in the middle of a crooked and silent street. Perhaps nowhere is the modern world with its clamour thrown into such immediate contrast with that which belongs to the past. The settlement of Macao is a monument of Chinese toleration and of Portuguese tenacity. The Portuguese learnt at an early stage of their intercourse the use of the master-key to good relations with the Chinese authorities. It was to minister freely to their cupidity, which the Portuguese could well afford to do out of the profits of their trading. To "maintain ourselves in this place we must spend much with the Chinese heathen," as they themselves said in 1593 in a letter to Philip I. Macao is, besides, an interesting relic of that heroic age when a new heaven and a new earth became the dream of European adventurers. The spot was excellently well suited for the purposes, commercial and propagandist, which it was destined to serve; for in spite of the crimes and cruelties of the sixteenth century argonauts, the religious element was strongly represented in all their enterprises.[36] Situated outside the river proper, though within its wide estuary, and open to the sea, the settlement yet communicates by an inner passage or branch of the Pearl river with the city of Canton. It possesses two sheltered harbours adequate to the nautical requirements of the Middle Ages. The small peninsula of Macao combined business conveniences with salubrity of climate in a degree absolutely unrivalled in the torrid zone. Its picturesque scenery was always found refreshing to the eye wearied by long contemplation of brick walls, malarious swamps, or the monotonous glare of the melancholy ocean. From the Chinese point of view, also, it was an ideal location for strangers, since they could be thus kept out of sight, isolated like a ship in quarantine, and put under effective restraint. The situation lent itself to the traditional Chinese tactics of controlling barbarians by stopping their food-supply, a form of discipline of which the efficacy had been proved at an early period in the history of the colony. The Chinese adopted all the measures they could think of to confine traders to Macao, where certain indulgences were held out to them, subject to good behaviour. The Portuguese adventurers of the early sixteenth century, to whom the modern world owes so much, did well in pitching on this "gem of the orient earth and open sea" as a link in their chain of trading stations, which extended from the coasts of Africa to the Japanese islands. To trade as such the Chinese Government never seem to have had any objection, nor, would it appear, to foreigners as such. So long as there was nought to fear from their presence, the ancient maxim of cherishing men from afar could be followed without reserve, for the Chinese are by nature not an unkindly people. Tradition, indeed, claims for the settlement of foreigners in the Cantonese archipelago a purely hospitable origin, a storm-beaten vessel having in the year 1517 received permission from the local authorities to repair damages and dry her cargo there. The Portuguese frequented several harbours before they settled at Macao, their principal station being the island of Sanchuan, where Xavier was buried. About the middle of the sixteenth century, the city of Canton being besieged by a large piratical force whose base of operations was Macao, the high provincial authorities in their extremity sought the aid of the Portuguese, who came promptly to the rescue of the city, defeated the pirates, and captured their stronghold. Moved by mixed feelings of gratitude and policy, the Canton authorities thereupon sanctioned the Portuguese occupation of Macao, not ill-pleased to set up at that strategic point so effective a counterpoise to the native pirates. It said as much for the tact of the Portuguese as for the forbearance of the Chinese authorities that such an isolated position as that of Macao should have been held without force, and only on the prestige of past achievements, on terms of mutual amity, for nearly four hundred years. The Portuguese squatters paid to the Chinese Government a ground-rent of about £150 per annum, in consideration of which they enjoyed practical independence. "The merchants, fully aware that their settlement at Macao was due neither to any conquest, nor as a return for services by co-operating in destruction of pirates, bore in mind two principles--to be on good terms with the provincial authorities, and to improve as much as possible their exclusive trade with China." The forms of administrative authority were indeed maintained by the Chinese, their permission being required to reside and to build houses and so forth--regulations which were more vexatious, perhaps, in theory than in fact. The exercise of Chinese jurisdiction over the person was asserted with moderation as regards the Portuguese, though full authority was maintained over the native population. The Portuguese, however, became dissatisfied with the relationship which had worked smoothly for three hundred years, and when the treaty-making era arrived they sought means to improve their status. By persistent efforts they gradually freed themselves from the overlordship of China, this object being finally attained by good diplomacy in 1887, when the Imperial Government ceded to Portugal sovereign rights over Macao in consideration of assistance rendered by the colony in the collection of the Chinese opium revenue. Macao did not escape the fortunes of the long war of commercial supremacy which was waged between Holland and Portugal, but the colony successfully resisted two attempts to reduce it in 1622 and 1627. Its resources at that period enabled the diminutive settlement even to play some part in the game of empire in China itself, for we are told that a force of 400 men from India, under the command of two Portuguese officers, proceeded by land to Peking to support the last Ming emperor in his struggle with the invading Manchus. These auxiliaries returned whence they came without seeing active service. Although the Dutch failed to take military possession of Macao, they took other trading colonies, and succeeded eventually in wresting from the Portuguese their Asiatic commerce. They supplanted them entirely in Japan, whose "gold and spoils" had greatly enriched the colony. Being expelled, not without reason, in 1662, the Portuguese fugitives from Japan retired to Macao. Other competitors also began to appear and to assert their right to participate in the trade of the Far East, and Macao became the hostelry for merchants of all nations, who carried on business with the great Chinese emporium, Canton. Chief among these guests were the Dutch and English East India Companies, both of which maintained establishments at Macao for some two hundred years. The English Company had made use of the Macao anchorage first under a treaty with the viceroy of Goa, and subsequently under Cromwell's treaty with the Portuguese Government in 1654, which permitted English ships to enter all the ports in the Portuguese Indies. Before the close of the seventeenth century ships were despatched direct from England to Macao. The English adventurers were not satisfied with the privilege of anchoring so far from the great emporium, but direct trade with Canton had yet to be fought for. The energetic Captain Weddell, commanding the ship London, in 1655 met the obstructive tactics of the Cantonese authorities by bombarding the Bogue forts and forcing his way up the river, after which he was received in friendly audience by the viceroy, and was granted full participation in the Canton trade, much to the chagrin, it is said, of the jealous Macao merchants. The loss of its own direct commerce was thus compensated for by the tribute which the Portuguese colony was able to levy upon the general trade of China, by whomsoever carried on. Massive houses, with immense verandahs running all round them, and spacious and cool interior recesses, attest to this day the ancient glory of Macao. Though now neglected, and perhaps converted to baser uses, they afford a glimpse of the easy life led by the Company's agents and the merchants in the days before the treaty. During the business season, which was in the cool months, the whole mercantile community repaired to the factories at Canton while the ships lay at the deep-water anchorage of Whampoa, and between these two points the work of the year was done--arduous enough, no doubt, while it lasted. In spite of some contemporary testimony to the contrary, one can hardly conceive the quasi-imprisonment within the Canton factories as a kind of life to be enjoyed, but only as one to be endured for an object. At any rate, when the last cargo of tea had been shipped off the scene was like the break-up of a school. The merchants and their whole establishment betook themselves to their sumptuous river barges, and glided down the stream to Macao, where the luxury of a long holiday awaited them. Once at least in every year the foreigners were in full accord with the Chinese authorities, who sternly forbade loitering, and kept up the form of peremptorily sending the merchants away as soon as their business had been done. Nevertheless, those who desired to remain found no difficulty. The Portuguese colony, whether or not under compulsion, played an ungracious part in the troubles which preceded the outbreak of war between Great Britain and China. To evict from their houses a company of helpless people and drive them to sea, even at the bidding of an oriental tyrant, was a proceeding little in keeping with the traditions of Lusitanian chivalry. But Englishmen may very well forgive the Portuguese this act of inhumanity, since it compelled the fugitives to seek a home of their own in the Canton waters, destined to eclipse the fading glories of "la cidade do nome de Deos da Macao." The treaty of 1842, which enabled British merchants to set up house for themselves, deprived Macao of a large portion of its revenue; but even under this eclipse the era of its prosperity did not then come quite to an end. The occupation of Hongkong supplied to British traders all the wants which Macao had previously furnished, accompanied by a security which the Portuguese Administration was unable to confer. Its harbour was incomparably superior, fulfilling all the requirements of a modern seaport. These advantages were irresistible; nevertheless, the merchants vacated with evident reluctance the roomy mansions in which the pleasantest part of their lives had been spent. Several of them retained possession of their Macao homes, using them for purposes of recreation. "Dent's comfortable quarters at Macao" afforded an agreeable retreat for Admiral Keppel, and no doubt many others of the nautical brotherhood before and after his time; for the sea-breezes of Macao were almost as great a relief to the denizens of Queen's Road as to the community which, after the treaty, was permanently quartered in the Canton factories. To this day Macao, well served by fast and commodious steamers, remains a favoured resort for week-end tourist parties, picnics, honeymoons, and the like. [Illustration: DENT'S VERANDAH, MACAO.] The population of Macao is estimated at 75,000 Chinese and under 4000 Portuguese, of whom the percentage of pure blood is not large. The so-called Portuguese of the Chinese coast differ from those of Goa as the Chinese differ from the Indian natives. They supply a want in the general economy: in China, as clerks, for whose work they have, like the indispensable babu, a natural aptitude; in India, as domestic and personal servants. With the increase of typewriting and the practice of dictation in mercantile establishments the clerical services of the Macaese are likely to assume less importance. They are good Catholics, smoke cigarettes, and are harmless. Though for many years Macao suffered depression from the loss of its foreign trade, its natural advantages in course of time attracted to it new branches of industry, which to some extent revived its drooping prosperity. Foreign and native merchants found it convenient to conduct a certain portion of their trade in tea and silk and other articles in the quiet old city, where burdens were light and labour abundant. Traffic of a less desirable character found also its natural domicile in the colony. It became the headquarters of the lucrative coolie trade, which there for many years found an asylum where it feared no law, human or divine. To the credit of the Portuguese Government, however, this traffic was abolished in 1874. Opium and gambling licences now provide the chief contributions to a colonial revenue, the surplus of which over expenditure furnishes a respectable annual tribute to the needy mother country. There is yet another species of enterprise historically associated with the colony which cannot be altogether omitted, though it should be mentioned with the extenuating circumstances. Piracy, as we have seen, was rampant on the coasts of Asia, as it was also in Europe, before Vasco da Gama doubled the Cape; and it was not to be expected in an age when successful buccaneers in the Atlantic were earning distinction by harassing the common enemy Spain, that an isolated colony in remote Asia, detached from Europe a century and a half earlier, should have anticipated the ethical refinements of the awakening conscience of Christendom. Slavery itself was tolerated among the most enlightened races until the middle of the present century, and if the Macaese did feel a sneaking toleration for mitigated forms of it, as well as for other species of criminality which flourished all round them, it must be admitted the temptation lay very near to their hand. They had been brought up for centuries in close familiarity with the practices of the sea-rover. Though it cannot be said that piracy ever took rank as a domestic institution in patriarchal Macao, yet the openings for young men were much restricted by family custom, and instances have been reported of improvident sons laying unfilial hands on their fathers' junks on the coast with a view to rectifying the balance of the family finance. Whether or not such modes of redress were ever actually carried into effect, the fact that legends of this character should have woven themselves into the tissue of local gossip within comparatively recent times, and in connection with well-known names, indicates a state of feeling which should be allowed for in considering the relation of Macao to Chinese piracy. The influence of Macao on the history of foreign relations with China extended much beyond the sphere of mere commercial interests. For three hundred years it was for foreigners the gate of the Chinese empire, and all influences, good and bad, which came from without were infiltrated through that narrow opening, which also served as the medium through which China was revealed to the Western world. It was in Macao that the first lighthouse was erected, a symbol of the illuminating mission of foreigners in China. It was there also that the first printing-press was set up, employing movable type instead of the stereotype wooden blocks used by the Chinese. From that press was issued Morrison's famous Dictionary, and for a long series of years the Chinese Repository, a perfect storehouse of authentic information concerning the Chinese empire, conducted chiefly by English and American missionaries. The first foreign hospital in China was opened at Macao, and there vaccination was first practised. It was from Macao that the father of China missions, Matteo Ricci, started on his adventurous journey through the interior of the country in the sixteenth century, ultimately reaching the capital, where he established an influence over the Imperial Court scarcely less than miraculous, thus laying the foundation-stone of the Catholic propaganda in China. The little Portuguese settlement has therefore played no mean part in the changes which have taken place in the great empire of China. Of the personages associated with its history, the most brilliant, or at least the best known, was St Francis Xavier, the apostle of the Indies,--a man of so magnetic a character that he was credited with the miraculous gift of tongues, while as a matter of fact he seems not to have been even an ordinarily good linguist, speaking to the natives of the Far East only through an interpreter. Xavier died and was buried in the neighbouring island of Sanchuan, whence his remains were transferred first to Macao itself and afterwards to Goa. The names of Xavier and Ricci cast a halo over the first century of the existence of Macao. Another of the earlier residents of world-wide fame was the poet Camöens, who in a grotto formed of granite blocks tumbled together by nature, almost washed by the sea, sat and wrote the Portuguese epic 'The Lusiad,' celebrating the adventures of the great navigator Vasco da Gama. Of names belonging to the present century, or the English period, two only need be mentioned here. One was Robert Morrison, the father of English sinology, who was sent to China by the London Missionary Society in 1807. This remarkable man had mastered the initial difficulties of the Chinese language before leaving England. This he accomplished by the aid of a young Cantonese, and by diligent study of MSS. in the British Museum, and of a MS. Latin-Chinese dictionary lent to him by the Royal Society. His teacher accompanied him on the long voyage to China, during which Morrison laboured "from morning to midnight." In Canton a Pekingese teacher, a Catholic convert, was obtained, and the study of Chinese was carried on assiduously. The most enduring monument of these labours was the Chinese-English dictionary, which was printed by the East India Company at a cost of £15,000. This standard work has been the fountain from which all students of Chinese have drawn since his time. Art has had but one representative, an Irish gentleman named George Chinnery, who resided in Macao from 1825 till his death in 1852. Of Mr Chinnery's drawings and paintings there are many scattered collections, on some of which we have been able to draw for the illustrations in these volumes. [Illustration: GEORGE CHINNERY. (_From an oil-painting by himself._)] FOOTNOTE: [36] Nomenclature alone sufficiently attests this fact--whether of the ships that carried them or of the lands they christened, as Natal, Trinidad, &c. The gigantic cross carved in the granite face of Table Mountain (it is said) by Vasco da Gama proclaimed to the wide ocean the sanctity of his mission. English adventurers were strongly imbued with the same pious spirit. Down to our own day marine policies open with the words, "In the name of God, Amen"; while the bill of lading, which within the past generation has become packed with clauses like a composite Act of Parliament--all tending to absolve the owner from responsibility as carrier--formerly began with the words, "Shipped by the grace of God," and ended with the prayer that "God would send the good ship to her desired port in safety." CHAPTER XVI. PIRACY. Association with Hongkong and Macao -- Activity of British navy in suppressing piracy -- Its historic importance -- Government relations with pirates -- The convoy system -- Gross abuse -- Hongkong legislation -- Progress of steam navigation -- Fatal to piracy. A factor which has done so much to shape commercial intercourse with China as piracy cannot be properly ignored in a survey like the present. The settlements of Hongkong and Macao were forced into contact with this time-honoured institution, for these places are situated as near to the piratical centre as they are to that of the typhoon zone. From the time of the first war down to quite recent years the British squadron on the China station was almost engrossed in the two duties of surveying the coast and rivers, and of repressing piracy,--services which were not interrupted even during the progress of a war with the Imperial Government. Both proceedings were anomalous, being a usurpation of the sovereign functions of the Chinese Government. That Government, however, never evinced more than a languid interest in operations against its piratical subjects. Piracy, as such, seems indeed to have enjoyed that fatalistic toleration which the Chinese Government and people are wont to extend to every species of abuse, on the principle that what cannot be cured must be endured. Nor is China the only country where banditti have established with their future victims a conventional relation like that of certain predatory animals which are said to live on easy terms with the creatures destined to become their prey. Successful leaders, whether of brigands or of sea-rovers, have from time to time attained high political status in the empire. Wingrove Cooke says:-- Whenever anything occurs of historic importance we always find that some bandit has had a hand in it. The land was always full of them. When the Tartars possessed themselves of China, one of these bandit chiefs had just possessed himself of Peking, and the last of the Ming race had just hanged himself. It was a pirate who drove the Dutch out of Formosa; the son of a "celebrated pirate" who helped the Cantonese to defend their city against the Tartars; and it was a pirate who the other day destroyed the Portuguese piratical fleet at Ningpo. In all ages and at all times China has been coasted by pirates and traversed by bands of robbers. In the 'Peking Gazette,' which he quotes, the Imperial Government itself thus describes the rule of the robbers:-- They carry off persons in order to extort ransoms for them; they falsely assume the characters of police officers; they build fast boats professedly to guard the grain-fields, and into these they put from ten to twenty men, who cruise along the rivers, violently plundering the boats of travellers, or forcibly carrying off the wives and daughters of the _tanka_ boat people. The inhabitants of the villages and hamlets fear these robbers as they would tigers, and do not offer them any resistance. The husbandman must pay these robbers a charge, else as soon as his crop is ripe it is plundered, and the whole field laid bare. In the precincts of the metropolis they set fire to places during the night, that, under pretence of saving and defending, they may plunder and carry off. When it suits the Government to enlist rebels or robbers in its service it condones their misdeeds, and confers on them rank and honour. The chief of the Black Flags, who kept up a guerilla war against the French in Tongking, was a recent case in point, as was also, if report speaks truly, the late gallant Admiral Ting, who perished in the Chinese forlorn-hope at Weihai-wei in 1895. The relationship between the authorities and the freebooters is often of so equivocal a character, that foreign naval officers in their crusade against pirates may have failed at times to make the proper discrimination. Vessels seized as pirates occasionally escaped the fate which should have awaited them by proving themselves revenue protectors. But if the Government ever suffered from cases of mistaken identity, the balance was handsomely redressed; for piracy and smuggling being ingeniously blended, the forces of the British colony might in their turn be induced, by information supplied by the Chinese authorities, to act as revenue cruisers, under the belief that they were being led against pirates. The hard fights resulting in the destruction of piratical fleets bearing all the evidences of criminality were, however, too frequent to permit any doubt as to the general character of the craft so treated. But the anti-piratical agency was not confined to the commissioned officers of her Majesty's navy. Foreigners of all nations were drawn into the coasting traffic, in various capacities, as an antidote to piracy, with benefit, no doubt, to legitimate trade, yet not without some serious drawbacks. Dr Eitel tells us that during the first decade after the war the waters of Hongkong swarmed with pirates, that the whole coast-line was under the control of a blackmailing confederacy, and that the peaceful trading junk was obliged to be heavily armed, so that externally there was nothing to distinguish a trader from a pirate. During this period European seamen took service with the native pirates who made Hongkong their headquarters, whence they drew their supplies, and where they kept themselves informed as to the movements of valuable merchandise and of war-vessels. Foreigners were enlisted also in the service of the honest trader; Chinese merchants began to charter small European sailing-vessels for coasting voyages, whereby they gained the protection of a European flag, the prestige of a European crew, and the better sea-going qualities of a European vessel. Steamers also began to be employed to convoy the native junks. The extension of the convoy system brought in its train the most terrible abuses, the class of foreigners so employed being as ready to sell their services to the pirates as to the merchants, and to turn from protector to oppressor of the honest trader with as much facility as Chinese fishermen and pirates interchange their respective parts. Many tragedies were enacted along the coast and rivers of China--many more, no doubt, than ever became known to the foreign public. Mr Medhurst, consul at Shanghai, said that the foreigners employed by the Chinese to protect their property on the water were guilty of atrocities of all kinds in the inner waters, which the Chinese authorities and people were unable to prevent. And Mr Adkins, consul at Chinkiang on the Yangtze, reported in the same year, 1862, a series of brutal murders committed by foreigners on the river, with which the native authorities declined to interfere. The criminals, not being amenable to any jurisdiction but their own, were thus left free to commit their outrages, unless some representative of their own country happened to be on the spot. The Taiping rebellion attracted desperate characters from all quarters, to whom it was a matter of indifference under what flag they served--pillage being their sole inducement. The only conspicuous case of trial of a foreigner for piracy was that of a young American, Eli Boggs, who was condemned in the Supreme Court of Hongkong in 1857, and sentenced to transportation for life. From such experiences it is to be apprehended that should any part of the Chinese empire become disorganised, lawless foreigners will be a more terrible scourge to the inhabitants than even the native pirates and bandits. Of the abuses developed by the convoy system, and of the character of the foreigners concerned therein, a graphic yet matter-of-fact account is given by Wingrove Cooke. As the state of rampant lawlessness which prevailed at the time on the China coast, and the traditional attitude of the Government towards freebooters, are so perfectly illustrated in his concise narrative of the destruction of a Portuguese convoy, no apology is needed for quoting a passage or two from Mr Cooke's letter dated Ningpo, August 24, 1857:-- The fishing-boats which ply off the mouth of the river Yung pay convoy duties to the extent of 50,000 dollars a-year; and the wood-junks that ply between Ningpo and Foochow, and the other native craft, raise the annual payment for protection to 200,000 dollars (£70,000) annually. These figures are startling, but I have taken pains to ascertain their correctness. The vessels employed in this convoy service were Portuguese lorchas. These vessels were well armed and equipped. There were no mandarin junks and no Portuguese ships of war to cope with them or control them, and they became masters of this part of the coast. It is in the nature of things that these privateers should abuse their power. They are accused of the most frightful atrocities. It is alleged that they made descents upon villages, carried off the women, murdered the men, and burnt the habitations. They became infinitely greater scourges than the pirates they were paid to repel. It is alleged, also, that complaints to the Portuguese consul were vain; that Portuguese sailors taken red-handed and handed over to this consul were suffered to escape from the consular prison. Rightly or wrongly, the Chinese thought that the consul was in complicity with the ruffians who were acting both as convoy and as pirates.... The leader of the pirate fleet was--I am going back now to a time three years ago--a Cantonese named A'Pak. The authorities at Ningpo, in their weakness, determined to make terms with him rather than submit to the tyranny of the Portuguese. A'Pak was made a mandarin of the third class; and his fleet--not altogether taken into Government pay, for that the Chinese could not afford--was nominally made over to A'Pak's brother.... After a few of these very sanguinary provocations, A'Pak--not, it is believed, without the concurrence of the Taotai of Ningpo--determined to destroy this Portuguese convoy fleet. For this purpose A'Pak's brother collected his snake-boats and convoy junks from along the whole coast, and assembled about twenty of them, and perhaps 500 men. The Portuguese were not long in hearing of these preparations, but they seem to have been struck with panic. Some of their vessels went south, some were taken at the mouth of the river. Seven lorchas took refuge up the river, opposite the Portuguese consulate. The sailors on board these lorchas landed some of their big guns, and put the consulate in a state of defence, and perhaps hoped that the neighbourhood of the European houses and the character of the consulate would prevent an attack. Not so. On the day I have above mentioned the Canton fleet came up the river. The Portuguese consul immediately fled. The lorchas fired one broadside at them as they approached, and then the crews deserted their vessels and made for the shore. About 200 Cantonese, accompanied by a few Europeans, followed these 140 Portuguese and Manila-men ashore. A fight took place in the streets. It was of very short duration, for the Portuguese behaved in the most dastardly manner. The Manila-men showed some spirit, but the Portuguese could not even persuade themselves to fight for their lives behind the walls of their consulate. The fortified house was taken and sacked by these Chinamen, the Portuguese were pursued among the tombs, where they sought refuge, and forty of them were shot down, or hunted and butchered with spears.... Merciless as this massacre was, and little as is the choice between the two sets of combatants, it must be owned that the Cantonese acted with purpose and discipline. Three trading Portuguese lorchas which lay in the river with their flags flying were not molested; and no European, not a Portuguese, was even insulted by the infuriated butchers. The stories current of Souero and his Portuguese followers rivalled the worst of the tales of the buccaneers, and public opinion in Ningpo and the foreign settlement was strongly in favour of the Cantonese. But if Hongkong was the centre of piratical organisation, it was also the centre of effort to put it down. The exploits of her Majesty's ships, destroying many thousands of heavily-armed piratical junks, were loyally supplemented by the legislation and the police of the Colonial Government, which were continuously directed towards the extermination of piracy. These measures, however, did not appear to make any material impression on the pest. As part of his general policy of suppressing crime, the most drastic steps were taken by Sir Richard MacDonnell against pirates. He struck at the root of the evil within the colony itself by penalising the receivers of stolen goods, and by a stricter surveillance over all Chinese vessels frequenting the harbour. He also endeavoured to secure the co-operation of the Chinese Government, without which no permanent success could be hoped for. This was not, indeed, the first time that Chinese co-operation had been invoked. In one of the hardest fought actions against a piratical stronghold--that of Sheipu Bay, near Ningpo, in 1856--her Majesty's brig Bittern was towed into action through the bottle-neck of the bay by a Chinese-owned steamer. But the assistance rendered to the Government of Hongkong by the steam-cruisers of the Chinese customs service was of too ambiguous a character to be of real use, smugglers rather than pirates being the object of the Chinese pursuit--smugglers of whom the high Chinese officials had good reason to be jealous. The result of the police activity and of regulations for the coast traffic was a great diminution in the number of piracy cases brought before colonial magistrates. This, however, by itself was not conclusive as to the actual decrease of the crime, for it may only have indicated a change of strategy forced on the pirates by the vigorous action of the Colonial Government. Foreign vessels were by no means exempt from the attentions of the piratical fleets, though they seldom fell a prey to open assault at sea. A different form of tactics was resorted to where foreigners were the object of attack: it was to embark as passengers a number of the gang with arms secreted, who rose at a signal and massacred the ship's officers. Even after steam vessels had virtually superseded sailers on the coast this device was too often successful through want of care on the part of the master. These attacks were carried out with great skill and daring, sometimes on the short passage of forty miles between Hongkong and Macao, and in several instances almost within the harbour limits of Hongkong itself. While awarding full credit to the indefatigable exertions of the British squadron in China--the only one that ever troubled itself in such matters--and to the unremitting efforts of the colony of Hongkong, the reduction, if not the extinction, of armed piracy on the coast of China must be attributed largely to the commercial development, in which the extension of the use of steam has played the principal part. Organised by foreigners, and employed by Chinese, lines of powerful steamers have gradually monopolised the valuable traffic, thus rendering the calling of the buccaneer obsolete and profitless. Foreign traders, however, do well not to forget the debt they owe to the institution which they have superseded. But for the pirates, and the scarcely less piratical exactions of officials, the Chinese would not have sought the assistance and the protection of foreign men, foreign ships, or foreign steamers. Piracy has thus not only worked towards its own cure, but has helped to inaugurate an era of prosperous trade, based on the consolidation of the interests of Chinese and foreigners, such as may foreshadow further developments in which the same elements of success may continue in fruitful combination. CHAPTER XVII. THE ARROW WAR, 1856-1860. Lorchas -- Outrage on the Arrow -- Question of access to city -- Tone of British Foreign Office -- Firm tone of British Government -- Destruction of Canton factories and flight of foreign residents -- Operations in river. From the earliest days of the British occupation it had been the aim of the Canton authorities to destroy the "junk" trade of Hongkong by obstructive regulations, for which the supplementary treaty of 1843 afforded them a certain warrant. But as the Chinese began to settle in large numbers on the island the claims of free commerce asserted themselves, and gradually made headway against the restrictive schemes of the mandarins. The Government fostered the legitimate commercial ambition of the Chinese colonists by passing ordinances whereby they were enabled to register vessels of their own, sail them under the British flag, and trade to such ports as were open to British shipping. Certificates of registry were granted only to men of substance and respectability who were lessees of Crown land in the colony. The class of vessel for which colonial registers were granted was of native build and rig, more or less modified, of good sea-going qualities, known by the local name of lorcha. Naturally the Canton authorities looked askance at any measure aimed at the liberation of trade, and so truculent an imperial commissioner as Yeh was not likely to miss an opportunity of wreaking vengeance on the "native-born" who dared to exercise privileges derived from residence in the hateful colony. One of these registered vessels was the Arrow, commanded by an Englishman and manned by Chinese. This vessel was in the course of her traffic boarded at Canton at midday on October 8, 1856, by order of the Chinese authorities, with marked official ostentation, her crew forcibly carried off on a charge, according to a Chinese version, "of being in collusion with barbarians," and her ensign hauled down. How this outrage on the British flag was perpetrated, how resisted, and what came of it, have been so often set forth that there is no need to dwell upon the details here. The traditional insolence of the Chinese was reasserted in all its virulence, as in the days of Commissioner Lin, and once more the British agents were confronted with the dilemma of aggravating past griefs by submission or of putting their foot down and ending them. A single-minded and courageous man was in charge of British interests in Canton, and, left with a free hand, there could be no doubting the line Mr Parkes would take. The decision, however, lay with Sir John Bowring, governor of Hongkong, her Majesty's plenipotentiary and superintendent of trade, and with the naval commander-in-chief, Sir Michael Seymour. We have seen that the likelihood of sooner or later having to clear accounts with the authorities of Canton had not been absent from the mind of her Majesty's Government for some years previously, though by no initial act of their own would they have brought the question to a crisis. If the governor entertained doubts whether the Arrow insult furnished adequate provocation, his decision was materially helped by the deadlock in relations which followed. A simple _amende_ for the indignity offered to the flag was asked for, such as the Chinese were adepts in devising without "losing face"; but all discussion was refused; the viceroy would not admit any foreign official to a personal conference. The small Arrow question thus became merged in the larger one of access to the city, and to the provincial authorities, which had on various pretexts been denied to the British representatives in contravention of the treaty of 1842. It happened that the question had lately assumed a somewhat definite place in the agenda of the British plenipotentiary. Lord Clarendon had in 1854 instructed Sir John Bowring to take any opportunity of bringing the "city question" to a solution, and Sir John addressed a long despatch to Commissioner Yeh on the subject in April of that year. It had no effect, and was followed up a few months later by an effort in another direction. The turbulent character of the Cantonese people and the impracticable arrogance of the imperial officers who successively held office there had often prompted an appeal to Cæsar, and more than one attempt had been made in times gone by to submit the Canton grievances to the judgment of the Imperial Court. These attempts were inspired by a total misconception of the relations between the provinces and the capital. In the year 1854, however, it was decided to renew the effort to open direct communications with the Imperial Government. And circumstances seemed to promise a more favourable issue to the mission than had attended preceding ones. The time had come when a revision of the tariff and commercial articles of the treaties might be claimed, and besides the standing grievance at Canton there were sundry matters in connection with the fulfilment of the treaties which together constituted a justifying pretext for an unarmed expedition to the Peiho. The chances of a favourable reception were thought to be strengthened by the combination of the Treaty Powers. Sir John Bowring and the American Minister, Mr McLane, accordingly went together, with a competent staff of interpreters, to Tientsin, where they were soon followed by the French secretary of Legation. High officials were appointed to treat with them, because it was feared that if some courtesy were not shown them the barbarians would return south and join the rebels, who were then threatening the southern provinces. But the net result of the mission was that it was allowed to depart in peace. Lord Elgin, commenting on the proceedings, sums up the instructions to the Chinese officials, gathered from the secret reports afterwards discovered, as, "Get rid of the barbarians," which would be an equally exhaustive rendering of all the instructions ever given to Chinese plenipotentiaries. On the occasion of this visit to the Peiho the foreign plenipotentiaries resorted, as had been done on sundry previous occasions, to the oriental custom of approaching a great man gift in hand. In the depleted condition of the imperial treasury they calculated that the recovery of the duties unpaid during the recent interregnum at Shanghai would be a tempting bait to the Peking Government. The offer, however, could not, it would appear, be intelligibly conveyed to the minds of the northern functionaries: unacquainted with commercial affairs, and misconstruing the proposal as a plea for the forgiveness of arrears, they at once conceded the sop to Cerberus, pleased to have such a convenient way of closing the mouths of the barbarians. In December following a favourable opportunity seemed to present itself for renewing the attack on the exclusiveness of Canton. The Taiping rebels had blockaded the river, and in a "pitched battle" defeated the imperialist fleet and were actually threatening the city. In this emergency Yeh implored the aid of the English forces. Sir John Bowring thereupon proceeded to Canton with a naval force of five ships to protect the foreign factories, the presence of the squadron having at the same time the desired deterrent effect on the rebels, who withdrew their forces. Now at last the governor felt confident that the barrier to intercourse was removed, and he applied to the viceroy for an interview; but Yeh remained obdurate, refused audience as before, and with all the old contumely. Precisely the same thing had happened in the north in 1853, when the governor of Kiangsu applied through Consul Alcock to the superintendent of trade, Sir George Bonham, for the assistance of one of her Majesty's ships in defending Nanking against the expected attack of the Taipings. Divers communications of like tenor had, during several months, led up to this definite application. The appeal was most urgent, and yet in the title given to her Majesty's plenipotentiary the two important characters had been omitted, indicating that his power emanated from the ruler of an "independent sovereign state." "Such an omission," remarked Mr Alcock, "is characteristic of the race we have to deal with, for even in a time of danger to the national existence they cannot suppress their arrogance and contempt for barbarians." Arrogant and contemptuous of course they were, and yet it may perhaps be questioned whether such terms fully explain the mutilation of the plenipotentiary's official titles. Although they had been compelled by mechanical force to accord titles implying equality to foreign officials, yet in the innermost conviction of the Chinese an independent sovereign State was at that time almost unthinkable, and could only be expressed by a solecism. If, therefore, we ask how an imperial commissioner could demean himself by soliciting protection from the barbarians to whom he was denying the scantiest courtesy, we have to consider the point of view from which China had from time immemorial and without challenge regarded all the outer States. For it is the point of view that is paradoxical. To Yeh, considering barbarians merely as refractory subjects, there was no inconsistence in commanding their aid, while denying their requests. The position is analogous to that of Ultramontanes, who claim tolerance for themselves in heretical communities by a divine right which excludes the idea of reciprocity. This key to the history of foreign intercourse with China is too often forgotten. Nothing daunted, Sir John returned to the charge in June 1855, on the occasion of the appointment of the new consul, Mr Alcock, whom he asked permission to introduce to the Imperial Commissioner. His letter was not even acknowledged for a month, and then in the usual contemptuous terms. So far, indeed, from Yeh's being mollified by the assistance indirectly accorded to him in defending the city from rebel attack, or by the succession of respectful appeals made to him by Sir John Bowring, a new campaign of aggression was inaugurated against the lives and liberties of the foreign residents in Canton. This followed the traditional course. Inflammatory placards denouncing foreigners, and holding them up to the odium of the populace, were extensively posted about the city and suburbs in the summer of 1856. These, as usual, were followed by personal attacks on isolated Englishmen found defenceless, and, following the precedents of ten years before, the outbreaks of anti-foreign feeling in Canton found their echo also in Foochow, where an American gentleman met his death in a riot which was got up there in July. So serious was the situation becoming that Mr Consul Parkes, who had succeeded Mr Alcock in June, solemnly warned the Imperial Commissioner that such acts, if not promptly discountenanced by the authorities (who of course were well known to be the instigators), must inevitably lead to deplorable consequences. The Chinese reply to this remonstrance was the outrage on the lorcha Arrow. To isolate that incident, therefore, would be wholly to miss the significance of it: it would be to mistake the match for the mine. Those who were on the spot and familiar with antecedent events could have no doubt whatever that, in condoning the present insults, the British authorities would have invited greater and always greater, as in the days of Lin. The tone of recent despatches from the Foreign Office fortified the governor in taking a strong resolution; the clearness of Consul Parkes' view made also a deep impression on him; and yet another factor should not be altogether overlooked which contributed its share in bringing the two responsible officials to a definite decision. It was not an unknown phenomenon in public life that two functionaries whose co-operation was essential should mistrust each other. This was distinctly the case with Sir John Bowring and Sir Michael Seymour. They needed some connecting medium to make them mutually intelligible, and it was found in the influence of local public opinion. The mercantile community, which for twenty years, or as long as they had had utterance, had never wavered in the conviction that in strength alone lay their safety, were to a man for vigorous measures at Canton. And it happened that, scarcely perceived either by themselves or by the other parties concerned, they possessed a special channel for bringing the force of their views to bear on the two responsible men. Sir John Bowring had himself deplored "the enormous influence wielded by the great and opulent commercial houses" when adverse to his projects. He was now to experience that influence in another sense, without perhaps recognising it, for when the wind is fair it makes slight impression on those whose sails it fills. Among the business houses in China two stood pre-eminent. One had a son of the plenipotentiary for partner; both were noted for their princely hospitality, especially to officers of the navy. "Those princely merchants, Dent & Co., as well as Matheson," writes Admiral Keppel in his Diary, "kept open house. They lived in palaces." One of the two buildings occupied by the former firm, "Kiying House," which some twenty years later became the Hongkong Hotel, was as good as a naval club for all ranks, while admirals and post-captains found snug anchorage within the adjoining domain of the seniors of the firm. The two great houses did not always pull together, but on this occasion their separate action, converging on a single point, was more effectual than any half-hearted combination could have been. Night after night was the question of Canton discussed with slow deliberation and accumulating emphasis in the executive and the administrative, the naval and the political, camps respectively. Conviction was imbibed with the claret and cheroots, and it was not altogether without reason that what followed has sometimes been called the "Merchants' War." The die was cast. The great Canton bubble, the bugbear of a succession of British Governments and representatives, was at last to be pricked, though with a delay which, however regrettable at the time, perhaps conduced to greater thoroughness in the long-run. Those of our readers who desire to trace the various operations against Canton during the twelve months which followed cannot do better than consult Mr Stanley Lane-Poole's 'Life of Sir Harry Parkes,' the volume of 'Times' correspondence by that sage observer and vivacious narrator, Mr Wingrove Cooke, and the delightful sailors book recently published by Vice-Admiral Sir W. R. Kennedy. The campaign unfolded itself in a drama of surprises. The force at the admiral's disposal being too small to follow up the initial movement against the city, which gave no sign of yielding by first intention, Sir Michael Seymour had to content himself with intimating to the Viceroy Yeh that, notwithstanding his Excellency's interdict, he had, with a guard of bluejackets, visited the Viceregal Yamên; and with keeping hostilities alive by a blockade of the river while awaiting reinforcements. The Arrow incident occurred in October. In December the foreign factories were burned by the Chinese, and the Viceroy Yeh issued proclamations offering rewards for English heads. The mercantile community retired to Hongkong, a few to the quieter retreat of Macao. The vengeance of Commissioner Yeh pursued them exactly as that of Commissioner Lin had done in 1839. Assassinations were not infrequent on the outskirts of the city of Victoria; and in January 1857 the principal baker in the colony was induced to put a sack of arsenic into his morning supply of bread, which only failed of its effect through the excess of the dose acting as an emetic. The early portion of the year 1857 was enlivened by active operations in hunting out Chinese war-junks in the various creeks and branches of the river, commenced by Commodore Elliot and continued on a brilliant scale by Commodore H. Keppel, who arrived opportunely in the frigate Raleigh, of which he speaks with so much pride and affection in his Memoirs. That fine vessel, however, was lost on a rock approaching Macao, sinking in shallow water in the act of saluting the French flag, a war vessel of that nationality having been descried in the anchorage. The commodore and his officers and crew, thus detached, were soon accommodated with small craft good for river service, and in a very short time they made a memorable cutting-out expedition as far as the city of Fatshan, destroying formidable and well-posted fleets of war-junks in what the commodore described as "one of the prettiest boat actions recorded in naval history." Sir W. Kennedy served as a midshipman in those expeditions, and his descriptions supply a much-needed supplement to that of the Admiral of the Fleet, correcting it in some particulars and filling in the gaps in a wonderfully realistic manner. No adequate estimate can be formed of the importance of the year's operations in the Canton river without reading Admiral Kennedy's brilliant but simple story. The Canton imbroglio made the kind of impression that such occurrences are apt to do in England. The merits of the case being usually ignored, the bare incidents furnish convenient weapons with which to assail the Government that happens to be in office. Under such conditions statements can be made and arguments applied with all the freedom of a debating club. The Arrow trouble occasioned a temporary fusion of the most incongruous elements in English politics. When Lord Derby, Lord Lyndhurst, Bishop Wilberforce, Mr Cobden, Mr Bright, Mr Gladstone, and Mr Disraeli were found banded together as one man, it was neither common knowledge nor any sincere interest in the question at issue, but "unanimosity" towards the Premier, that inspired them. The Opposition orators took their brief from the published despatches of Commissioner Yeh, which they assumed as the starting-point of the China question, and found no difficulty whatever in discovering all the nobility and good faith on the Chinese side, the perfidy and brutality on the side of the British representative. Though successful in carrying a vote of censure on the Government, the attitude of the Coalition did not impress the public, and Lord Palmerston's appeal to the electorate was responded to by his being returned to power by a large majority. How very little the question itself affected public men in England may be inferred from the notices of it in the Memoirs, since published, of leading statesmen of the period. The fate of China, or of British commerce there, was not in their minds at all, their horizon being bounded by the immediate fate of the Ministry, to them the be-all and end-all of national policy. What deplorable consequences all over the world have arisen from the insouciance of British statesmen as regards all matters outside the arena of their party conflicts! Sir John Bowring was made the scapegoat of the war. A philosophical Radical, he had been president of the Peace Society, and his quondam friends could not forgive a doctrinaire who yielded to the stern logic of facts. As consul at Canton he had had better opportunities of studying the question of intercourse with the Chinese than any holder of his office either before or since his time. No one had worked more persistently for the exercise of the right of entry into Canton. Superseded in the office of plenipotentiary by the appointment of the Earl of Elgin as High Commissioner for Great Britain, Sir John Bowring remained Governor of Hongkong, and it fell to him to "do the honours" to his successor, from whom he received scant consideration. Indeed Lord Elgin made no secret of his aversion to the colony and all its concerns, and marked his feeling towards the governor by determining that he should never see the city of Canton--that Promised Land so soon to be opened to the world through Sir John's instrumentality. I. THE EARL OF ELGIN AND HIS MISSION. Capture of Canton -- The Treaty of Tientsin -- Comments on the treaty -- Sequel to the treaty -- Omission to visit Peking -- Comments thereon -- How to deal with Chinese -- Commissioners to Shanghai to negotiate the tariff -- Two pressing questions to be settled -- Delay of Commissioners' arrival -- Resentment of Lord Elgin and change of tactics re Canton -- Canton question same as Chinese question -- Chinese demand for abandonment of Resident Minister -- Lord Elgin's assent -- Comments thereon -- Treaty with Japan -- The Taku disaster. The transports bringing the troops from England were meanwhile hurrying at top speed--not in those days a very high one--round the Cape of Good Hope, and the navy was being reinforced by several powerful ships, including the mosquito squadron of gunboats which were destined to play so useful a part, first in the operations of war, and subsequently in patrolling the coast and rivers for the protection of peaceful traders. Lord Elgin's arrival in Hongkong, coinciding in time with that of the frigates Shannon, commanded by Sir William Peel, and Pearl, Captain Sotheby, put heart into the long-suffering British community at the port. But sinister news from India had reached Lord Elgin on his voyage to China, in consequence of which, and on the urgent request of the Governor-General, he took on himself to intercept the troopships wherever they could be met with, and turn their course to Calcutta. Before he had been many days in Hongkong, foreseeing an indefinite period of inaction in China, and being obliged in any case to wait the arrival of his French colleague, without whom no French co-operation could be had, Lord Elgin determined to proceed himself to Calcutta, taking with him the two frigates Shannon and Pearl. This welcome reinforcement not only arrived opportunely in India, but, as is well known, did heroic service in throwing back the tide of mutiny. Fortune seemed in all this to be favouring the Chinese, nothing more hurtful threatening them than a passive blockade of the Canton river and its branches. But a fresh expedition was promptly despatched from England to take the place of that which had been diverted to India. A body of 1500 marines arrived in the autumn, and on them, supplemented by the Hongkong garrison, devolved the duty of bringing China to terms, the navy, of course, being the essential arm in all these operations. Lord Elgin returned to China in ample time to meet the French plenipotentiary, Baron Gros. His lordship's policy had from the first been an interesting theme for speculation, not less so as the time for putting it in force drew near. It had been surmised that his object would be to leave Canton alone, and set out on another wild-goose chase to the north. That so futile a scheme should not be carried out without at least a protest, the mercantile community met Lord Elgin on his arrival in June with an address couched in the following terms:-- We venture upon no opinion at present respecting the readjustment of our relations with the empire at large, though always prepared to hold our advice and experience at your lordship's command; but upon that branch of the question which we distinguish as the "Canton difficulty" we would take this, the earliest opportunity, of recording our opinion--an opinion founded upon long, reluctant, and, we may add, traditional experience--that any compromise of it, or any sort of settlement which shall stop short of the complete humiliation of the Cantonese,--which shall fail to teach them a wholesome respect for the obligations of their own Government in its relations with independent Powers, and a more hospitable reception of the foreigner who resorts to their shores for the peaceable purposes of trade,--will only result in further suffering to themselves and further disastrous interruptions to us. Many of us have already been heavy sufferers by the present difficulty. It must be apparent to your lordship that our best interests lie upon the side of peace, and upon the earliest solid peace that can be obtained. But, notwithstanding this, we would most earnestly deprecate any settlement of the question which should not have eliminated from it the very last element of future disorder. The meaning of these weighty words, as interpreted by Wingrove Cooke, was, "You must take Canton, my lord, and negotiate at Peking with Canton in your possession." And he adds, "Such is the opinion of every one here, from the highest to the lowest." We learn from his private letters that it was by no means the opinion of the new plenipotentiary. "The course I am about to follow," he writes, "does not square with the views of the merchants." Yet his reply to their address was so diplomatic that he was able to say "it gave them for the moment wonderful satisfaction." The editor of Lord Elgin's letters suppresses the rest of the sentence. The new plenipotentiary hoped even "to conclude a treaty in Shanghai, and hasten home afterwards,"--a hope which could only coexist with an entire disregard of our whole previous experience in China; almost, one might argue, with an entire ignorance of the record.[37] On his return from India, however, and on the assembling of the Allied forces, he found that the course prescribed by history and common-sense was, after all, the only practical one to follow, and that was to commence hostilities at Canton. Yet Lord Elgin seems to have submitted to the inexorable demands of circumstances with no very good grace. Indeed his attitude towards the Canton overture and his mission generally was decidedly anomalous. The two leading ideas running through the published portion of his correspondence were, "It revolts me, but I do it"; and, "Get the wretched business over and hurry home." Lord Elgin's mental constitution, as such, is of no interest to us except as it affected his acts and left its impress on the national interests in China. From that point of view, however, it is public property, and as much an ingredient in the history as any other quality of the makers of it. First, we find him at variance with the Government which commissioned him, in that he speaks with shame of his mission: "That wretched question of the Arrow is a scandal to us." Why? Her Majesty's Government had deliberated maturely on the Arrow question, had referred it to their law officers, had concluded it was a good case, and had written unreservedly in that sense to their representative in China. Was it, then, greater knowledge, or superior judgment, that inspired Lord Elgin to an opposite opinion? And in either case would it not have been better to have had the point cleared up before undertaking the mission? But, in point of fact, the Arrow question was not the question with which Lord Elgin had to deal, as it had long before been merged, as we have said, into the much larger one of our official relations with China. The truth seems to be that Lord Elgin came to China filled with the conviction that in all our disputes the Chinese had been the oppressed and we the oppressors. Of our intercourse with them he had nothing more complimentary or more definite to say than that it was "scandalous." For his own countrymen he had never a good word, for the Chinese nothing but good--until they came into collision with himself, when they at once became "fools and tricksters." Having assembled a hostile force in front of Canton, he writes, December 22, 1857, "I never felt so ashamed of myself in my life.... When I look at that town I feel that I am earning for myself a place in the Litany immediately after 'plague, pestilence, and famine.'" Becoming gradually reconciled to events, however, he writes, "If we can take the city without much massacre I shall think the job a good one, because no doubt the relations of the Cantonese with the foreign population were very unsatisfactory." But why "massacre," much or little? It was but a phantasy of his own he was thus deprecating. The curious point is, however, that Lord Elgin imagined that everybody was bent on this massacre except himself, and when all was over, and "there never was a Chinese town which suffered so little by the occupation of a hostile force," he appropriates the whole credit for this satisfactory issue! "If," he writes, "Yeh had surrendered on the mild demand made upon him, I should have brought on my head the imprecations both of the navy and the army, and of the civilians, the time being given by the missionaries and the women." An insinuation so purely hypothetical and so sweeping would not be seriously considered in any relation of life whatsoever; but no one who knows either the navy or the army would hesitate to affirm that the humanity of every officer and man in these services was as much beyond reproach as Lord Elgin's own, albeit it might assume a different form of expression. When the city, "doomed to destruction from the folly of its own rulers and the vanity and levity of ours," had been occupied, and the bugbear of massacre had vanished, the object of Lord Elgin's sympathies became shifted: "I could not help feeling melancholy when I thought that we were so ruthlessly destroying"--not the place or the people, but--"the prestige of a place which has been for so many centuries intact and undefiled by the stranger." Had he written this after witnessing some of the horrors of the city described by Wingrove Cooke, possibly these regrets for its defilement might have been less poignant. But though reverence for the mere antiquity of China is a most salutary lesson to inculcate in these our days, it is pathetic to see the particular man whose mission was to humble her historical prestige tortured by compunctions for what he is doing. One is tempted to wish the "job" had been intrusted to more commonplace hands. Some of those English officials by whose vanity and levity the "city was doomed to destruction" were also writing their private letters, and this was the purport. "I confidently hope," wrote Mr Parkes, before Lord Elgin's first arrival in China, "that a satisfactory adjustment of all difficulties may be attained with a slight effusion of blood. Canton, it is true, must fall. I see no hope of any arrangement being arrived at without this primary step being effected, but I trust that with the fall of that city hostilities may end, and that the emperor may then consent to receive a representative at Peking." However, as soon as he gets to actual business with the Chinese, Lord Elgin finds that he also has to be stern even as others. As early as January 10, 1858, a week after the occupation of the city, "I addressed the governor in a pretty arrogant tone. I did so out of kindness, as I now know what fools they are, and what calamities they bring upon themselves, or rather on the wretched people, by their pride and trickery." But what the novice was only beginning to find out the veterans had learned years before.[38] His attitude to his countrymen generally is scarcely less censorious than towards the officials who had borne, and were yet to bear, the burden and heat of the day in China. From Calcutta he wrote:-- It is a terrible business being among inferior races. I have seldom from man or woman since I came to the East heard a sentence which was reconcilable with the hypothesis that Christianity had ever come into the world. Detestation, contempt, ferocity, vengeance, whether Chinamen or Indians be the object. From China:-- The whole world just now is raving mad with a passion for killing and slaying, and it is difficult for a person in his sober senses, like myself, to keep his own among them. Again:-- I have seen more to disgust me with my fellow-countrymen than I saw during the whole course of my previous life.... I have an instinct in me which loves righteousness and hates iniquity, and all this keeps me in a perpetual boil.... The tone of the two or three men connected with mercantile houses in China whom I find on board is all for blood and massacre on a great scale. The perennial fallacy that underlies the "one-righteous-man" theory from the days of Elijah the Tishbite downwards, and the ineptitude of all indiscriminate invective, would be sufficient answer to such sweeping maledictions. Below these ebullitions of the surface, however, there lay a grave misgiving in Lord Elgin's mind concerning his mission as a whole, in which many thoughtful people must have shared: "Whose work are we engaged in when we burst thus with hideous violence and brutal energy into these darkest and most mysterious recesses of the traditions of the past?" This was written at Tientsin after the passage of the forts, and it is well worth recalling, now that the vultures of Europe are wheeling round the moribund empire. Canton city was occupied by the Allies on January 2, 1858. Commissioner Yeh was captured, carried on board the paddle-sloop Inflexible, and conveyed to Calcutta, where he eventually died. His absence made it easier to deal with the other authorities. He is perhaps the only Chinese official who has ever been made personally responsible for attacks on foreigners. A provisional government was established under three commissioners nominated by the Allied commanders-in-chief, though in fact the labour and responsibility rested solely on one of the three, Mr Parkes. Having induced the native governor, Pikwei, to resume his functions and administer the affairs of the city, under supervision, order was partially established, and the chiefs, diplomatic and military, withdrew--much too abruptly, it was generally thought--to prepare an expedition to the north. But the commissioners were left with inadequate forces to maintain order, fettered as they were by instructions which rendered them immobile. The British admiral, after nearly a year and a half's experience in the river, might have known something of the Canton problem, while the Allied plenipotentiaries apparently understood nothing of it. This was shown by what contemporary opinion designated Lord Elgin's "first symptom of weakness." When the figurehead Pikwei was brought from his prison to be invested with authority under the Allied commanders he coolly claimed precedence of the English admiral and general, and Lord Elgin, contrary to his own pre-arrangement of seats, &c., conceded the claim, thereby striking the keynote of the relations which were to exist between the Allied commissioners and the Chinese officials. Lord Elgin had occasion to remember this when, in 1860, Prince Kung tried to lead him into a similar trap, whereby he himself would have been relegated to a second place. The result of these arrangements was very much what might have been expected. Finding the foreign garrison passive, the turbulent elements in the city and the surrounding villages soon began to fan the embers of their former fires. They refused to consider themselves conquered, and set about reorganising their forces as they had done on previous occasions, and, beginning with secret schemes of assassination, they became emboldened by impunity, and by-and-by mustered courage to attack and annoy the garrison of the city, which was as helpless to repel insults as the mounted sentries at the Horse Guards. The army of occupation was besieged, the prestige of the capture of the city was in a few months wholly dissipated, and the officials and gentry affected to believe that the barbarians were only in the river, their presence in the city being ostentatiously ignored in public correspondence. During the whole of the year 1858 the cry went up continuously from the commissioners and military commanders, but it remained practically unheeded by the chiefs in the far north, except in so far that they drew still shorter the tether of the beleaguered force, in order that they might avoid all possible collision with their Chinese assailants. Lord Elgin at first deemed the turbulence at Canton a good reason for effecting a speedy settlement with the Imperial Government; but, as we shall see presently, that settlement when made had no influence at all upon either the Government officials or the gentry and populace of that city. The solution of the Canton problem was found in an entirely different direction. It may be mentioned here that besides the administration of the city, several important matters of business were arranged during the commissionership of Mr Parkes. There was the question of the site at Shameen for the future residence of foreigners; and the regulation of coolie emigration, which had been carried on in an unsatisfactory manner; and last, not least, the first lease of Kowloon, on the mainland facing Hongkong, and forming one side of the harbour. This important concession, as already said, was negotiated on the sole initiative of Mr Parkes, the military authorities being talked into it afterwards. It was the first response to the demand of Wingrove Cooke, Why we had not taken possession of the peninsula of Kowloon, for "if any other Powers should do so--and what is to prevent them--the harbour of Hongkong is lost to us." Several important exploratory expeditions were also undertaken in 1859, in which Parkes was everywhere warmly received by officials and people, one of these excursions being far up the West river, the opening of which, however, to foreign trade remained in abeyance for forty years thereafter. [Illustration: ROADS AND WATERWAYS BETWEEN PEKING AND TIENTSIN.] The next object of the plenipotentiaries, of course, was to negotiate at Peking, or wherever properly accredited negotiators could be met with, Canton being held in pledge. Progress was slow, because the fleet was so largely composed of sailing-vessels, which must wait for the fair monsoon; and the plenipotentiaries did not assemble within the river Peiho--the forts at its mouth having been silenced and the guns captured--until June. There followed Lord Elgin to Tientsin the French, American, and Russian Ministers, all bent on making treaties and on observing each other. The resources of Chinese resistance having been provisionally exhausted, imperial commissioners came to arrest the further progress of the foreigners by negotiations, or, to speak with strict accuracy, to concede the minimum that was necessary to induce them to depart. Such, we may be sure, was the beginning and the end of their instructions then, as it was afterwards. The work of negotiation, so far as the form went, seems to have fallen to Mr H. N. Lay, whose place was very soon to know him no more; but, in the words of Lord Elgin, "anybody could have made the treaty." The contents of the treaty, signed June 26, 1858, fulfilled the instructions of Lord Clarendon, and the commercial articles which constituted its main body corresponded substantially with the desiderata of the merchants as set forth in their memorials in response to the invitation of Lord Elgin, the treaty going in advance of their demands on certain points and falling short of them on others. Opium was not mentioned, but was afterwards placed on the tariff; and a toleration clause for the Christian religion was inserted, without much apparent consideration for the consequences involved in it. A special memorandum from Consul Alcock, called for by the Foreign Office, had dwelt mainly on the precautions which should accompany the exercise of such new privileges as promiscuous residence in the interior; but, excepting in the case of merchants, where little or no risk was involved, the warnings of Mr Alcock were unheeded alike in the text of the treaty and in the subsidiary regulations. "The most important matter gained by the treaty," however, in the opinion of Lord Elgin, was "the resident Minister at Peking," "without which," wrote Mr Parkes, "the treaty was not worth a straw." And substituting "lost" for "gained," such was also the opinion of the Chinese negotiators. It was, indeed, the universal opinion. Diplomatic representation at Peking might be fairly considered to have been the primary object of the war of 1857-58, as commercial extension and access to Canton had been that of 1839-42. And when "the miserable war was finished" and "his liberty regained" Lord Elgin cleared out his force, bag and baggage, as if he had been escaping from something, leaving not a trace behind. As this move constituted a veritable crisis in Anglo-Chinese relations, it seems advisable for a moment to consider its bearings. Judging after the event, it is of course easy to perceive the fatal error of Lord Elgin in hurrying away from the Peiho. A fair criticism of his policy will confine itself strictly to the circumstances as known at the time. His experience had so closely resembled that of his predecessors, that he was aware that the Chinese were "yielding nothing to reason and everything to fear." He had seen with his own eyes the Queen's ratifications of previous treaties exhumed from a collection of miscellaneous papers in Canton, they being, as Commissioner Yeh remarked, not worth sending to Peking; he knew that the treaty of Nanking had been observed by the Chinese only as far as force or fear compelled them, and that its crucial stipulation had been for many years evaded, and then with unmasked arrogance repudiated; he knew that the very war in which he had been engaged, and his whole mission to China, were caused and provoked by the refusal of the provincial authorities to admit his predecessors or himself within the walls of Canton. In his own ultimatum to Commissioner Yeh, Lord Elgin had asked no more than the execution of the treaty of Nanking, which included access to the city of Canton, and compensation for damage to British property. Yet the Chinese Government, dreading war as they did, had notwithstanding incurred its hazards rather than open the gates of a distant provincial city. How, then, were they likely to regard the, to them, infinitely greater outrage of resident foreign Ministers in the sacred capital itself? This demand was practically the only one against which the Chinese commissioners made a stand. When everything had been written down ready for signature they drew back, saying it was as much as their heads were worth to subscribe such a condition. The answer was a peremptory threat to march on Peking, whereupon the commissioners signed the paper without another word. The crisis did not last twenty-four hours. No one could believe that a miracle of conversion had been wrought in that time, or that the enforced signature of the Imperial Commissioners had changed a fundamental principle of Chinese policy. What, under these circumstances, was the "present value" of the treaty? Was it so much as conceivable that it would be voluntarily carried out? Was it not evident rather that it was signed under _duresse_ solely with the immediate view of getting the barbarians out of doors and leaving the key within? What said the imperial decree published in the 'Peking Gazette'? "The barbarians[39] had come headlong with their ships to Tientsin. Moved by the commands of Kweiliang and his colleagues, they have now weighed anchor and stood out to sea." If our former treaty needed a material guarantee for its execution, how much more this one? The test of good faith was in Lord Elgin's own hands; he should clearly have applied it, and presented himself at Peking for audience of the emperor. Perhaps it would have been refused, in which case he would have at least known where he stood. A campaign against Peking would have been easy with the handy force he possessed, or at the worst he could have occupied Tientsin and the Taku forts until all questions were settled. This was the view generally held at the time both by officials and the lay community in China, before any untoward consequences had revealed themselves. It was strongly expressed by Parkes, who deplored "the ominous omission that Lord Elgin had gone away to Japan without entering Peking or having an audience with the emperor." We have not the advantage of knowing what Wingrove Cooke would have said of it, but we may infer the prevailing opinion by what another newspaper correspondent wrote from Shanghai on the receipt of the first news of the signing of the treaty:-- SHANGHAI, _July 13, 1858_.[40] The "Chinese War," properly so called, has now reached its termination, and the fleet in the Gulf of Pechili is dispersing. Lord Elgin arrived here yesterday with the new treaty, which his brother, the Hon. F. Bruce, carries home by the present mail. The document will not be published until it is ratified by the Queen, but in the mean time the chief points of it may be tolerably well guessed at. The diplomatists are confident that the new treaty will "give satisfaction." That is saying a good deal, but how could it be otherwise than satisfactory? The emperor was so terror-struck by our audacious advance on Tientsin, that he was ready to concede everything we wanted rather than see us approach any nearer to his capital. There could have been but little discussion--the ambassadors had simply to make their terms. The new treaty, then, provides for indemnification for losses at Canton, a contribution towards the expenses of the war (for which Canton is held as a guarantee), the opening of more ports for trade, freedom of access to the interior, toleration for Christians, and a resident Minister at Peking. The only omission seems to be that Lord Elgin did not himself go to Peking; for unless the right of residence at the capital receives a practical recognition from the Chinese Government at once, it will certainly lead to vexatious discussion whenever we wish to exercise it. The right of entry into Canton, conceded by the treaty of Nanking, but not insisted on through the timidity of our representatives, ought to have taught us a useful lesson. While the emperor is in a state of alarm anything may be done with him, but when the pressure is removed and the fleet dispersed, Pharaoh's heart will certainly be hardened, and then Chinese ingenuity will be employed in evading as many of the provisions of the treaty as they dare. Let us hope, however, that when the weather cools a little and the thing can be done comfortably, Lord Elgin may still pay a friendly visit to his new allies at their headquarters [which he more than once threatened to do]. Such was contemporary opinion unbiassed as yet by visible effects. When the tragedy took place a year later, of course people spoke out more clearly. Parkes then wrote:-- The Chinese Government never intended, nor do they intend, if they can avoid it, to carry out the Elgin treaty. It was granted by them against their will, and we omitted all precautions necessary to ensure its being carried out--I mean, in quitting Tientsin as we did in July 1858, instead of remaining there until the treaty had been actually carried into effect. You will recollect in what a hurry the admiral and Lord Elgin, one and all, were to leave and run off to recreate in Japan and elsewhere. By that step they just undid all they had previously done. Writing eighteen months after the event, and six months after the Taku repulse, Laurence Oliphant fully confirmed the views of Parkes. "The political importance," he observed, "of such an achievement"--_i.e._, a march to Peking--"it is impossible to overestimate. The much-vexed question of the reception of a British Minister at the capital would have been set at rest for ever." He then goes on to give a number of exculpatory reasons for the omission, which would have been more convincing had they been stated by Lord Elgin himself in despatches written at the time. Nor was Lord Elgin's own explanation to the House of Lords any more satisfying. "In point of fact," he said, "I was never charged with the ratification of the treaty. The treaty was never placed in my possession. I never had the option of going to Peking." If his lordship had had a better case he would never have elected to rest his vindication on a piece of verbal finesse. Yet this speech gave their Lordships for the moment "wonderful satisfaction."[41] The omission to consummate the treaty was followed a few months later by an act of commission of which it is difficult to render any clear account, and which Oliphant in his 'Narrative' makes no attempt to explain, merely reproducing the official despatches. Before leaving China Lord Elgin pulled the key-stone from the arch of his own work, reducing the treaty to that condition which Parkes had described as "not worth a straw." At the instance of the Chinese commissioners he moved her Majesty's Government to suspend the operation of "the most important" article in it, the residence of a British Minister in Peking. It is needless to follow the arguments, utterly unreal and having no root either in history or in experience, by which this fatal course was urged upon the Government, for they were of the same species as those which had induced her Majesty's Ministers to tolerate for fourteen years the exclusion of their representatives from Canton, the right to enter which city had just been recovered by force. It is most instructive to mark, as the key to many failures, how, like successive generations of youth, successive British agents in China have failed to profit by the experience of their predecessors, and have had in so many cases to buy their own at the expense of their country; for we see still the same thing indefinitely repeating itself, like a recurring decimal. Even at this the end of the nineteenth century we seem as far off as ever from laying hold of any saving principle, though it stares at us out of the whole panorama of our intercourse. Lord Elgin's procedure afforded at once the best example what to do and the clearest warning what to avoid in China, and it is the most useful for future guidance for the reason that effect followed cause as closely as report follows flash. It was his fate, much against his will apparently, to wage war on China in order to revindicate a right which had lapsed through the weakness and wrong-headedness of certain British representatives; yet in the closing act of a perfectly successful war he commits the self-same error on a more comprehensive scale, entailing on some future Government and plenipotentiary the necessity of making yet another war on China to recover what he was giving away. What is the explanation of this continuous repetition of the same mistake? It would seem that, knowing nothing of the Chinese, yet imagining they know something, the representatives of Great Britain and of other Powers, notably the United States, have been in the habit of evolving from their own consciousness and keeping by them a subjective Chinaman with whom they play "dummy," and of course "score horribly," as the most recent diplomatic slang has it. Their despatches are full of this game--of reckoning without their host, who, when brought to book, turns out to be a wholly different personage from the intelligent automaton kept for Cabinet use. Then, under the shock of this discovery, denunciations of treachery--black, base, and so forth--relieve the feelings of the foiled diplomat, while the substance of his previous triumph has quite eluded him. To this kind of illusion Lord Elgin was by temperament more predisposed than perhaps any of his predecessors save Captain Elliot. Though convinced by his first encounter that Chinese statesmen were "fools and tricksters," the simulacrum soon asserted supremacy over the actuality of experience, and to the honour of the very persons so stigmatised he committed the interests of his country, abandoning all the securities which he held in his hand. But what, then, is the secret of dealing with the Chinese which so many able men, not certainly intending to make failures, have missed? This interesting question is thus partially answered by Wingrove Cooke. "The result of all I hear and see," he wrote, "is a settled conviction that at present we know nothing--absolutely nothing--of the nature of those elements which are at work inside China. Crotchets, &c., are rife, but they are all the offspring of vain imaginings, not sober deductions from facts.... Treat John Chinaman as a man, and exact from him the duties of a civilised man, and you will have no more trouble with him." Which is but a paraphrase of Lord Palmerston's prescription to consider the Chinese as "not greatly different from the rest of mankind." Such, however, has always been too simple a formula for the smaller minds. They would complicate it by trying, with ludicrous effect, to get behind the brain of the Chinese and play their opponent's hand as well as their own. Probably it matters less on what particular footing we deal with the Chinese than the consistency with which we adhere to it. To treat them as _protégés_, and excuse them as minors or imbeciles while yet allowing them the full licence and privileges of the adult and the sane, is manifestly absurd. To treat them as dependent and independent at the same time can lead to nothing but confusion and violent injustice. To allow engagements with them to become waste paper is the surest road to their ruin and our discomfiture. To let our Yea be Yea, and our Nay, Nay, is as much the Law and the Prophets in China as it is throughout the world of diplomacy. To this simplicity Lord Elgin had attained, at least in theory, when he told the merchants of Shanghai that in dealing with Chinese officials he had "been guided by two simple rules of action. I have never preferred a demand which I did not believe to be both moderate and just, and from a demand so preferred I have never receded." What misgiving troubled the repose of Lord Elgin as to the good faith of the Imperial Government on which he had ventured so much, may be partly inferred from his avidity in catching at any straw which might support his faith. Hearing that "his friends the two Imperial Commissioners" who had signed the treaty were appointed to meet him in Shanghai to arrange the tariff, Lord Elgin welcomed the news as "proof that the emperor has made up his mind to accept the treaty." But as the emperor had already, by imperial decree dated 3rd July, and communicated in the most formal manner to Lord Elgin, expressly sanctioned the treaty before the plenipotentiary left Tientsin, wherefore the anxiety for further proofs of his good intentions? "This decree was forced out of the emperor," Mr Oliphant tells us, "by Lord Elgin's pertinacity"--and the threat of bringing up to Tientsin a regiment of British soldiers then at the mouth of the river! As a matter of fact, the mission of the two Imperial Commissioners was of quite another character from that assigned to it by Lord Elgin. The two men were sent to complete their task of preventing by every means the advent of the barbarians to Peking, just as Lord Elgin himself was, two years later, sent back to China to finish his work, which was to bring the said barbarians into the imperial city. Between two such missions there could be neither reconciliation nor compromise. There is authority for stating that the Imperial Commissioners were expressly sent by the emperor to Shanghai (1) to annul the whole treaty of Tientsin, and (2) failing the whole, as much of it as possible, but especially the article providing for a Minister at Peking. The ostensible purpose of the mission, from the foreign point of view, was the settlement of the tariff and trade regulations,--about which, however, the Chinese cared very little,--and delegates were appointed for this purpose. The labour was conscientiously performed, on one side at any rate, and the result was highly creditable to the delegates. It was by insertion in the tariff of imports that opium became recognised, chiefly, it would appear, at the instance of the United States Minister, Mr W. B. Reed, who was on the spot. Apart from the tariff two principal questions occupied the minds of the negotiators of the treaty--the actual situation at Canton on the part of the English, and the prospective residence in Peking on the part of the Chinese. Lord Elgin hoped, by an appeal to the treaty of peace, to put an end to the hostile proceedings of officials and people which had harassed the occupying force in Canton with impunity for nine months. But it was the treaty itself against which officials, gentry, and braves were making war, just as they had done in the case of the treaty of 1842. There was no ambiguity about the movement. The Government was carried on not in Canton but in the neighbouring city of Fatshan, where the Governor-General Huang, who had been appointed to succeed Yeh, held his court and issued his decrees. Two months after the occupation of Canton the puppet whom the Allies had installed there admitted that the object of the assemblage of braves was to retake the city. Two months after the signature of the treaty and its acceptance by the emperor the Governor-General Huang was publicly offering a reward of $30,000 for the head of Parkes, and was stimulating the people in every way to expel the foreigners from the city. All this was in perfect accord both with imperial policy and with Chinese ethics. It had the full sanction of the emperor, just as similar operations had formerly had of his father. For the grand purpose of destroying or impairing the treaty there was no distinction in the Chinese mind between legitimate and illegitimate, honourable or treacherous, methods. Lord Elgin, who had returned from Japan to Shanghai to meet the Imperial Commissioners in September, disappointed at their non-arrival, opened communications with them by a threat of returning to Tientsin and thus saving them the trouble of completing their slow journey to Shanghai. On their eventual arrival there he opened a diplomatic campaign against Canton by a demand (October 7) to know under what authority Huang and the military committees were organising attacks on the Allies. In reply the Imperial Commissioners naïvely proposed to promulgate the treaty. This frivolous answer provoked the rejoinder (October 9) that the treaty had been three months before publicly sanctioned by imperial decree, that something more than "documents and professions" were required to satisfy Lord Elgin on a question of "peace or war," and he demanded the removal of the Governor-General Huang. The commissioners then said they had denounced Huang to the throne, and hoped for his removal at no very distant date. They would also move his Majesty the Emperor to withdraw his authority from the hostile militia. Canton being thus disposed of, as he supposed, Lord Elgin proceeded to other business. But the hostilities at Canton continued without the least abatement for three months longer, until something more strenuous than diplomatising with the Imperial Commissioners was resorted to. The British Government had at last become exasperated, and the Foreign Secretary, Lord Malmesbury, wrote on October 14 to Lord Elgin, "The most severe measures against the braves are the only ones which will obtain the recognition by the Cantonese of the treaty of Tientsin." It was not long before Lord Elgin himself became converted to the same belief, for on January 20, 1859, he wrote to General van Straubenzee, after some successful reprisals he had made on the village braves, that "advantage should be taken of the cool weather to familiarise the rural inhabitants of the vicinity of Canton with the presence of our troops, and to punish severely braves or others who venture to attack them." By this time also he had realised that the promise on which he relied in October had been evaded, and he told the Imperial Commissioners on January 22 that he would "have nothing more to say to them on Canton matters,--that our soldiers and sailors would take the braves into their own hands." The effect of the new tactics was immediate and satisfactory. When the Allied troops began to move about they were welcomed in the very hotbeds of hostility. "At Fatshan," writes General van Straubenzee on January 28, "we were received most courteously by the authorities and respectfully by the people." A five-days' excursion to Fa Yuen, the headquarters of the anti-foreign committee, was likewise a perfect success; and so everywhere throughout the Canton district. Lord Elgin was now able to assume a bolder tone with the Imperial Commissioners and address them in still plainer terms. "The moderation of the Allies," he wrote to them in February, "has been misunderstood by the officials and gentry by whom the braves are organised.... This habit of insult and outrage shall be put down with the strong hand.... It shall be punished by the annihilation of all who persist in it." There was no need for any such extreme remedy, for as soon as the burglars realised that the watch-dog had been loosed they ceased from troubling the household, and fell back on peaceful and respectable ways of life. "With the cessation of official instigation," Lord Elgin wrote in March, "hostile feeling on the part of the inhabitants appears to have subsided," thus falling into line with Consul Alcock, who wrote: "Clear proof was furnished that the long-nurtured and often-invoked hostility of the Cantonese was entirely of fictitious growth, due exclusively to the inclinations of the mandarins as a part of the policy of the Court of Peking." And then, too, the difficulty of removing the Governor-General Huang disappeared. He had, in fact, been unsuccessful in expelling the barbarians, just as Yeh had been, and the imperial decree superseding him naturally followed. His presence or absence had then become of no importance to the Allies, as, had he remained, he would have accepted the accomplished fact of the foreign supremacy with as good a grace as the gentry and their braves had done, for they never contemplated endangering their lives by fighting. Outrages on stragglers, assassination, kidnapping, and bravado filled up the repertory of their militant resources, and when these were no longer effective they retired into private life as if nothing had happened. The officials were no less acquiescent once they realised that they had a master. The interest of this Canton episode lies in its relation to the Chinese question generally. Foreign intercourse with China is marked by a rhythm so regular that any part of it may be taken as an epitome of the whole, like a pattern of wall-paper. From Canton we learn that calculation of national advantage or danger, argument from policy, even threats which are not believed, are so much "clouds and wind," not profitable even as mental exercises. What alone is valid is concrete fact; not treaties, but the execution of them. * * * * * The Imperial Commissioners had in good time presented their own demand on Lord Elgin, and in most becoming terms, for between preferring and meeting a request there is all the difference in the world. The two Chinese signatories of the treaty frankly avowed that they had signed without scrutiny under military pressure, and that certain stipulations were highly inconvenient to the Imperial Government, particularly the right of keeping a Minister in residence in Peking. Lord Elgin agreed to move his Government, and the Government consented to waive the right, conditionally. Lord Elgin laid stress on the retention of the right as a right, forgetting that in China a right conditionally waived is a right definitely abandoned. Nor only so, but so far from consolidating what remains, it constitutes a vantage-ground for demanding further concessions, and in other fields of international relations besides that of China. Nothing therefore could have been wider of the mark than any expectation that "the decision of her Majesty's Government respecting residence in Peking would induce the Chinese Government to receive in a becoming manner a representative of her Majesty when he proceeds to the Peiho to exchange the ratification." Experience pointed to quite the opposite effect. These critical remarks are by no means intended either to belittle Lord Elgin's good work, to depreciate his real statesmanship, or to scoff at his sensibility and high-mindedness. But his errors being like a flaw in a steel casting, pregnant with destruction, and as the same kind of flaw continues to vitiate many of our smaller diplomatic castings, the China question could not really be understood without giving proper consideration to them. For the rest, as a despatch writer Lord Elgin was both copious and able--he did not take a double first at Oxford for nothing. Still, his writings and orations are scarcely the source whence one would seek for light and leading on the Chinese problem. They are vitiated by self-vindication. Many of them are elaborate efforts to make the worse appear the better reason, while their political philosophy is based too much on speculative conceptions where ascertained data were available. On the last day of July 1858 Lord Elgin with his suite set out on their memorable voyage to Japan, the narrative of which has been so skilfully woven by Laurence Oliphant. This episode will claim our attention later. His lordship came, saw, and conquered--returned to China in a month crowned with fresh laurels. At Shanghai he saw the tariff settled, and then performed another pioneer voyage of prodigious significance. This was up the Yangtze as far as the great central emporium Hankow. Captain Sherard Osborn was the Palinurus of that original and venturesome voyage. After that, Lord Elgin bent his steps towards England; but before leaving China the ghosts of things done and undone haunted him. "A variety of circumstances lead me to the conclusion that the Court of Peking is about to play us false," was the melancholy epitaph he wrote on his mixed policy, on his honest attempt to make war with rose-water, and his subordination, on critical occasions, of judgment to sentiment. Meantime his brother Frederick, who had carried the Tientsin treaty to London, was returning with it and the Queen's ratification and his letter of credence as British Minister to China. The _dénoûment_ of the plot was now at hand. The real mind of the Chinese Government was finally declared in the sanguinary reception the new envoy met with at the entrance of the Peiho in June 1859. Frederick Bruce was generally considered a man of larger calibre than his elder brother. "In disposition he was a fine, upright, honourable fellow," writes Sir Hope Grant, "and in appearance tall and strong made, with a remarkably good expression of countenance." But it took even him a long time to fathom the new situation. After his disastrous repulse from the Taku forts he wrote in August, "I regret much that when the permanent residence was waived it was not laid down in detail what the reception of the Minister at Peking was to be." But it was no question of detail that barred his passage to Peking. It was the settled determination never to see the face of any foreign Minister; and it seems strange that it should have taken not only another year but another war finally to convince the British plenipotentiaries and their Government that the message of China from first to last, from Peking and Canton, had been to fling the treaty in their face. [Illustration: SIR FREDERICK BRUCE.] II. LORD ELGIN'S SECOND MISSION. Invasion of Peking -- Convention of Peking -- Establishment of the British Legation -- Russian and British, a contrast. The Chinese perfidy at Taku had of course to be avenged. A formidable expedition was equipped by the Allied Powers, Lord Elgin and Baron Gros being reappointed as plenipotentiaries. The history of the famous Peking campaign of 1860, with its tragic incidents, has been impressed on the world by so many writers, military and civil, most of them actors in the scenes they depict, that the barest outline of events may suffice in this place. In the preliminary agreement between the two Governments, the British military force was limited to 10,000 effectives; but the number actually placed in the field exceeded that figure by the consent of the French, whose forces were between 6000 and 7000. The British contingent was commanded by General Sir Hope Grant, the French by General Montauban, afterwards created Count Palikao,--"a fine, handsome, soldier-like man, apparently under sixty years of age." The naval forces were commanded respectively by Vice-Admiral Sir James Hope, "a tall, noble-looking man, with a prepossessing and most gentlemanlike appearance,"[42] and by Admiral Page, "a superior man with a great deal of dry humour, but bad-tempered."[43] The friction arising between Allies working together, waiting for each other, consulting at every step, taking precedence of each other on alternate days, at first vexatious, was in the end overcome by the tact of the commanders on both sides. The first operation of war was to occupy the harbour of Chusan as an intermediate base. After that the British force was conveyed in transports to Talien-wan, where they were disembarked, while the French were landed at Chefoo, on the opposite shore of the Gulf of Pechili. At these points preparations were made for the intended descent on the coast of the province of Chihli, between 200 and 300 miles to the westward. The British force included 1000 cavalry in splendid condition, and a battery of Armstrong guns, then for the first time used in active service. The French had no cavalry, the attempts to import horses from Japan were not successful, and the scarcity of draught-animals on their side caused great delay in the sailing of the expedition from the temporary depots. At length on July 26 a fleet of over 200 sail--a magnificent spectacle--carried the two armies to within twenty miles of the Peiho, where they anchored, waiting for favourable weather and a minute reconnaissance. The one piece of strategy in the campaign was the choice of a landing-place. The Taku forts, which had been strong enough to repulse Sir James Hope with severe loss a year before, had been further strengthened, for to the Chinese it was a matter of life and death to bar the entrance to the Peiho. The chain barrier across the mouth of the river could not be forced under the concentrated fire of the forts; only the lightest draught vessels could approach within five miles; and a frontal attack was not to be thought of. But a decided difference of opinion between the Allied generals had disclosed itself as to the mode of procedure. The French commander was determined to land on the coast to the southward of the forts; the English was still more resolute in selecting as a landing-place the mouth of the Peitang river, eight miles northward of Taku. So irreconcilable were their views that it was agreed that each should go his own way, only starting simultaneously. After more careful study, however, General Montauban came to think better of his own scheme, and proposed to Sir Hope Grant to join him in the landing at Peitang. So on August 2 the first detachments of 2000 from each army were disembarked, and the campaign proper commenced. The forts at Peitang were easily occupied, "a kind old man" pointing out where there were loaded shells which would explode on foot pressure on a gun-lock laid so as to fire a train. By means of a raised causeway leading through a sea of "briny slush," positions were reached whence the Taku forts could be attacked from the rear. Though bravely defended, the forts on the left bank were captured, and as they commanded those on the opposite bank no resistance was offered by the latter. The Peiho was thus opened for the conveyance of troops and stores to Tientsin, which was made the base of operations for the advance of the Allied armies on Peking. The military movements were hampered by the presence of the two plenipotentiaries, who stopped on the way to negotiate with the unbeaten foe. Delay was not the only untoward consequence of these proceedings. At one moment a military disaster seemed to have been narrowly escaped. Taking advantage of the singular credulity of the Allies, the Chinese, while engaging them in friendly negotiations, had planned to decoy the army into a convenient camping-ground at Changchia-wan, towards which the troops were marching, when, "To my surprise," writes the commander-in-chief, "we found a strong Tartar picket, who retired on our approach; and a little farther on were seen great bodies of cavalry and infantry, the latter drawn up behind a large nullah to our right front, displaying a number of banners." In the meantime the envoys, Parkes, Loch, and other officers, who had been negotiating with the higher mandarins at Tungchow, a couple of miles off, were seized and made prisoners with their escort, all being subsequently cruelly tortured, and most of them massacred, in accordance with Chinese practice in war. Sir Hope Grant, finding his army of 4000 men in process of being hemmed in, attacked and routed the Chinese troops on September 18, resuming his march on the 21st, when the remainder of his force had joined him. He had not gone far, however, when the way was again barred, and another action had to be fought at the bridge Pali-chiao, ten miles from Peking, where General Montauban distinguished himself, and whence he derived his title. Far from owning themselves defeated, the Chinese on the morrow resumed negotiations as between equals. The Imperial Commissioners who had mismanaged the affair were replaced by Prince Kung, a brother of the emperor, who sent letters under a flag of truce, saying he was ready to come to terms, but "said nothing about our poor prisoners." The Allied plenipotentiaries declined to treat until the captives should be returned, whereupon Prince Kung sent another letter saying they were safe, but would only be sent back on the restitution of the Taku forts and the evacuation of the river by the Allied fleets. Lord Elgin had demanded that he should deliver the Queen's letter in person to the emperor. Prince Kung refused this demand, which Lord Elgin incontinently abandoned. Waxing bolder, Prince Kung next threatened that the entry of the Allied forces into the capital would be followed by the instant massacre of the prisoners. The plenipotentiaries retorted by intimating that the surrender of prisoners was a necessary condition of the suspension of hostilities. A week having been wasted in this vain seesaw, an ultimatum was sent into Peking on September 30. This was answered by the Chinese inviting the Allies to retire to Changchia-wan, the scene of the great defeat of their army, offering to sign the treaty there. And so the contest was maintained until the Allied artillery was planted within sixty yards of the north gate, and the hour was about to strike when the wall was to be battered down. Most valuable information--the topography of the city--had been supplied by General Ignatieff, who accompanied the Allies. A map which he lent to Sir Hope Grant showed every street and house of importance in Peking, laid down by a scientific member of the Russian mission in the city. The data had been obtained by traversing the streets in a cart, from which angles were taken, while an indicator fixed to the wheel marked the distances covered. Without this plan the attack would have been made from the south side, as proposed by General Montauban, which would have involved a march through the commercial or Chinese quarter, and the surmounting first of the Chinese and then of the Tartar wall. The map made it clear that from every point of view the north side offered the most eligible point of attack, where nothing intervened between a great open plain and the wall of the Manchu city. Passing over the dramatic incidents of the destruction of the Summer Palace, an act of calculated vengeance for the murder and maltreatment of envoys and prisoners, the flight of the emperor on a hunting tour to Jêho, whence he never returned, the release of the prisoners and their account of the captivity, the new treaty was signed at the Hall of Ceremonies on October 22, 1860, by Prince Kung, "a delicate gentlemanlike man, evidently overcome with fear," and his coadjutor, Hangki. The treaties of Tientsin were ratified, and some further indemnities exacted. The special provisions introduced into the French treaty will be referred to in a subsequent chapter.[44] The closing scene was marked by a degree of haste somewhat recalling Tientsin in 1858. The very slow advance on Peking brought the climax of the campaign unpleasantly close to the season when communication by water would be shut off by ice; "the weather became bitterly cold, some of the hills being covered with snow." And Sir Hope Grant's never-failing counsellor, Ignatieff, with "his usual extreme kindness," furnished him with the most important information that the Peiho would soon become frozen up and it would be unsafe to linger in Peking. Mr Loch's galloping off with the treaty, as shown in the illustration, was rather typical of the whole business. The treaty as such was of little consequence--the fulfilment of its provisions was everything. [Illustration: MR LOCH DEPARTS FROM PEKING FOR ENGLAND WITH CHINESE TREATY.] Some lessons, nevertheless, had been learned in the school of diplomatic adversity. Peking was not left without a _locum tenens_ of the Minister, Tientsin was not left without a garrison, and the Taku forts were occupied by the Allies for a couple of years after the final conclusion of peace. "Ring out the old; ring in the new." There seemed a natural fitness in the Hon. Frederick Bruce succeeding the Earl of Elgin as Minister plenipotentiary, and there was a dramatic finish in the farewell ceremonial when the retiring representative of the Queen vacated the seat of honour, placing therein his younger brother, whom he introduced to Prince Kung as the accredited agent of Great Britain. The new era was inaugurated; a real representative of her Britannic Majesty was installed in the capital of the Son of Heaven. The season was late, and though two palaces had been granted on lease for the residences of the British and the French Ministers, many alterations and repairs were needed to render them fit for occupation, which could not be effected before the closing of the sea communication by ice. The Ministers therefore resolved to withdraw from Peking for the winter, placing their respective legations in charge of a junior consular officer, Mr Thomas Adkins, who volunteered to hold the post until the return of the plenipotentiaries in the following spring. Mr Adkins was not the only foreign sojourner in the Chinese capital. There was a French Lazarist priest, Mouilli by name, who, having successfully concealed himself among his native Christians during the military advance of the Allies, emerged from his hiding-place on the triumphant entry of the ambassadors, and showed himself in the streets in a sedan chair with four bearers. There was the permanent Russian establishment within the city, with its unbroken record of 173 years. Originally composed of prisoners taken at the siege of Albazin, it had become a seminary of the Orthodox Church and a political _vedette_ of the Russian empire, invaluable to the two masterful diplomatists who appeared suddenly on the scene in the years 1858 and 1860. The mission served as a speculum through which Russia could look into the inner recesses of the Chinese State, while to the Chinese it was a window of bottle-glass through which the external world was refracted for them. The Russian Government selects its agents on the principle on which we select university crews or All-England elevens--namely, the most fit. So important and far-sighted a scheme as the Peking mission was not left to chance or the claims of seniority, but was maintained in the highest efficiency. Its members--six ecclesiastical and four lay--were changed every ten years. All of them, from the Archimandrite downwards, were accomplished linguists, speaking Chinese like the natives, and masters also of the Manchu and Mongol languages. Their relations with the Chinese officials were unostentatious, yet brotherly. Few secrets, either of administration, dynastic politics, or official intrigue, no communications between the Government, provincial or imperial, and any foreigners, escaped record in the archives of the Russian mission. The _personnel_ were protected from outrage or insult by their own tact and their traditional prestige; and as the Daimios of Japan in their anti-foreign manifestos declared that every foreigner could be insulted with impunity except the Russians, so in China the name was a talisman of security. While the Anglo-French expedition was marching towards Peking the Russian Secretary, M. Popoff, had occasion to leave that city and pass the night at a native inn on the road to Tientsin. The place became filled with the retreating Chinese soldiery, and M. Popoff had the pleasure of hearing their excited conversation respecting himself. They were for dragging him out and killing him on the spot, when the landlord interposed. "That foreigner is a Russian," said he; "it will be dangerous to lay a hand on him." [Illustration: MONSEIGNEUR MOUILLI.] M. Popoff's errand was to meet General Ignatieff, who was making his way to Peking with the Allied forces. It was of the utmost importance that he should arrive simultaneously with the French and English plenipotentiaries in order to save China from her doom. China's extremity was Russia's opportunity for showing the sincerity of her long unbroken friendship. The foreigners had come to possess themselves of the empire and destroy the dynasty. Their ruthless character was soon to be shown in the burning and pillage of the Summer Palace. The Chinese Court's apprehension of the impending calamity was proved by the flight of the emperor to a quasi-inaccessible retreat. In that terrible crisis no sacrifice would have been deemed by the imperial family too great to "get rid of the barbarians." Confirming their own worst fears as to the designs of the invaders, General Ignatieff revealed to them the only way of salvation. Nothing would arrest the schemes of the Allies but the intervention of a strong Power friendly to China. He had it in his power to make such representations to Baron Gros and Lord Elgin as would induce them to withdraw their troops. This essential service he offered to the Chinese for a nominal consideration. Only a rectification of frontier by inclusion of a sterile region inhabited by robbers and infested by tigers, where no mandarin could make a living, fit only for a penal settlement, with a rugged sea-coast where no Chinese sail was ever seen. Prince Kung jumped at the providential offer of deliverance, and so that great province called Primorsk, with its 600 miles of coast-line, which gave to Russia the dominion of the East--"Vladivostock"--was signed away by the panic-stricken rulers of China. A year later this transaction cropped up in conversation over the teacups, after the business of the day had been disposed of, between Prince Kung and a certain foreign diplomatist, who remarked that there was never the remotest intention on the part of the Allies of keeping a single soldier in China after the treaty was made. The Prince looked aghast, then said solemnly, "Do you mean to say we have been deceived?" "Utterly," replied the other; and then the dejection of the Prince was such as the foreigner, who lived to enjoy a twenty-years' acquaintance with him, declared he never saw in his or any other Chinese countenance. Thus General Ignatieff, without any force, in the vulgar sense, of his own, was adroit enough and bold enough to wield the forces of his belligerent neighbours so as to carry off the only solid fruit of the war, while fulfilling the obligations of friendship for China and denouncing her spoilers. The Russian envoy had not the same incentive to hurry away from Peking as the other treaty-makers had, for the ice which would imprison them would afford him the most expeditious road for travel homewards through Siberia. He was nearly as much relieved as Prince Kung himself at getting rid of these "barbarians," for then he had the field of diplomacy all to himself. He made his treaty, and departed during the winter by the back door, across Mongolia. Ignatieff was a man well known in English society, and thoroughly conversant with England. Like most educated Russians, he was affable and sympathetic--a "charming fellow." He was courteous and companionable to the _locum tenens_ of the English Legation, and in taking leave of Mr Adkins expressed the opinion that he would be all right in his isolation so long as the emperor did not return to Peking, but in that event his position would not be an enviable one. However, "if you fear any trouble, go over to the Russian mission: they will take care of you." The winter of 1860 left the statesmen of China some food for reflection. The thundering legions had passed like a tornado which leaves a great calm behind it. The "still small voice" had also departed, with a province in his _chemadán_, gained without a shot or even a shout. Two strongly contrasted foreign types had thus been simultaneously presented to the astonished Chinese. Can it be doubted which left the deeper impression? Preparations were made during the winter for receiving the foreign Ministers in the spring. A department of Foreign Affairs was created under the title of "Tsung-li Koh Kwoh She Yu Yamên," or briefly, "Tsungli-Yamên," the three original members being Prince Kung, Kweiliang, and Wênsiang. The Yamên was established by imperial decrees in January; Mr Bruce and M. Bourboulon arrived in March 1861, when diplomacy proper began, the thread of which will be resumed in a later section. [Illustration] FOOTNOTES: [37] "Verily," writes Wingrove Cooke, "Sir John Bowring, much abused as he is both here and at home, has taken a more common-sense view of these matters than the high diplomatists of England and France." [38] Before the conclusion of his second mission Lord Elgin's opinion of at least one of those whom at the outset he disparaged had undergone considerable modification. "Parkes," he wrote in 1860, "is one of the most remarkable men I ever met for energy, courage, and ability combined. I do not know where I could find his match." [39] Lord Elgin protested against the use of this tabooed term, but took no exception to the statement as to his having obeyed the commands of the Imperial Commissioners. [40] 'The Scotsman,' September 18, 1858. [41] It seems to have been a general opinion at the time that Lord Elgin was deterred from proceeding to Peking by the protestations of his learned advisers, who declared that his doing so would "shatter the empire." [42] Sir Hope Grant's Journal. [43] Ibid. [44] Vol. ii. p. 224. CHAPTER XVIII. INTERCOURSE UNDER THE TREATIES OF 1858 AND 1860. I. THE DIPLOMATIC OVERTURE. Spontaneous fulfilment of treaties not to be expected -- Retreating attitude of foreign Ministers -- Repression of British tourists -- Hostility of Pekingese -- Conciliation fails -- Chinese refuse to conclude treaty with Prussia -- Glimpse of the real truth -- Rooted determination to keep out foreigners -- Absence of the sovereign -- Female regents -- Diplomatic forms in abeyance -- Foreign Ministers' task complicated by assumed guardianship of China -- Pleasant intercourse with Manchu statesmen. When Mr Bruce and M. Bourboulon took up their residence in Peking on March 22, 1861, diplomacy was as yet a white sheet on which it was their part to trace the first characters. The treaty--for all the treaties were substantially one--was their charter; its integral fulfilment their only safety. For as it had not been a bargain of give-and-take between equals, but an imposition pure and simple by the strong upon the weak, there would be no spontaneous fulfilment of its obligations, rather a steady counter-pressure, as of water forcibly confined seeking out weak spots in the dam. Moreover, the two parties to the treaty, foreigners and Chinese, were not acquainted with each other: aims, incentives, temper and character, and the nature of the considerations by which they respectively would be influenced, were all obscure. It was an uncertain situation, calling for vigilance and caution. There can be no doubt the pregnant importance of the first steps was realised by the representatives on both sides. The thoughts of the Chinese on that critical occasion can only be inferred from their acts. Of what was uppermost in the minds of the foreigners, or at least of the English Minister, we have some slight indications from the pen of a member of his staff, who, though not himself in the diplomatic circle, claims to be the authorised chronicler of the early days of the mission. This pretension is implicitly indorsed by the fact that the preface to Dr Rennie's book[45] was written in Government House, Calcutta, whither he followed Lord Elgin in the capacity of physician. When the Ministers had only been five days in Peking Dr Rennie wrote as follows: "Now is commencing perhaps the most difficult part of a permanent English residency at Peking--namely, the satisfying the Chinese that we are a tolerably harmless and well-intentioned people, inclined to live with them on terms of amity rather than the contrary, and that the desire of our Government is that its subjects should respect, as much as is consistent with reason, their national prejudices." Such an immaculate sentiment placed in the very forefront of an ambassadorial programme, ushered in at the cost of two wars which shook the foundations of the Chinese empire, leaves something to be desired as a justification for being in Peking at all. But Dr Rennie indicates no other purpose for which foreign legations were established there. He does not get beyond the mere "residency." A viceroy of India proclaiming at each stage of a "progress" that he was a man of peace, a bride hoping to lead a passably virtuous life, would scarcely be more naïve than a foreign Minister's pious aspiration to behave tolerably well to the Chinese. For where was the "difficulty," one is tempted to ask? It is explained by Dr Rennie. Two English officers, it appears, had made an excursion to the Great Wall without the necessary consular and local authorisation, and had further shown "the bad taste, at a date so recent to its destruction," to visit the Summer Palace. A formal complaint of these indiscretions met Mr Bruce on his arrival, and credit must be given to the Chinese for their appreciation of the tactical value of what Scotswomen call "the first word of flytin'." They moved the first pawn, and put the British Minister at once on the defensive. He responded by an arbitrary exercise of authority whereby Englishmen were prohibited from visiting Peking. The restriction possessed little direct importance, since few persons were then affected by it; but as the opening act of the new diplomacy, its significance could hardly be overrated. Though "only a little one," it was a recession from the right conferred on the subjects of all treaty Powers to travel for business or pleasure not only to Peking, but throughout the Chinese empire. It was as the tuning-fork to the orchestra. It is not permissible to suppose that the British Minister had not good reasons for swerving from the principle of exercising rights, great and small, for which, as he well knew, experience in China had been one long, unbroken, cogent argument. Dr Rennie furnishes his readers with the reason. "The Chinese," he observes, "would seem to be very sensitive"; and "taking all the circumstances into consideration, ... the fear that casual visits on the part of strangers ... may prove antagonistic to the establishment of a harmonious feeling at the opening of a new era in our intercourse with the Chinese," the Minister resolved to keep Englishmen (and only them) out of the capital. This explanation, like that of the purpose of the Legation itself, leaves on us a sense of inadequacy. These hyper-sensitive people had been engaged, only six months before, in torturing and massacring foreign envoys and prisoners, for which atrocities the destruction and sack of Yuen-ming-yuen was thought to be not too severe a reprisal. That the high officials who had committed these cruelties and endured the penalty should suddenly become so delicate that they could not bear the thought of a harmless tourist looking upon the ruins of the palace seems a somewhat fantastical idea. As for the sensitiveness of the townspeople, Dr Rennie himself had some experience of it three days after penning the above remarks. "A good deal of shouting and hooting," he says, was followed by "stones whizzing past me." Then "my horse was struck by a stone" and bolted. A similar experience befell another member of the Legation on the same day in another part of the city. Dr Rennie believed the stones to have been thrown by boys, which is probable enough. The favourite Chinese official palliation of outrages on foreigners is to attribute them to youths and poor ignorant people, which, however, in nowise softens the impact of the missile. Let us give the Chinese full credit for the virtues they possess--and they are many--but no one familiar with the streets of Peking would consider delicacy their predominant characteristic. View the diplomatic incident how we please, it cannot be denied that the Chinese drew first blood in the new contest, and at the same time practically tested the disposition of the invading force. Another "straw" from Dr Rennie's journal may be noticed as indicating the set of the current. _Apropos_ of the first commercial case that had been sent up from the ports to the Minister, he records the conclusion that "in almost every dispute which arises between ourselves and the Chinese we are in the first instance in the wrong; but, unfortunately [for whom?], the Chinese equally invariably adopt the wrong method of putting matters right," so that "the original wrong committed by us is entirely lost sight of." The observation refers exclusively to mercantile affairs, and it was a rather large generalisation to make after a month's experimental diplomacy in Peking. The Minister soon found that his efforts to placate the Chinese Government were not producing the intended effect. It was not the "casual visitor" that in any special way annoyed them, but the foreigner in all his moods and tenses, most of all Mr Bruce himself, his colleagues and their staff, medical and other, and all that they stood for. General Ignatieff had not, after all, conjured away the foreign plague, nor were the Chinese statesmen entirely reassured even as to their immunity from the military danger. In the month of April Admiral Hope, Brigadier-General Staveley, and Mr Parkes visited Peking, and were courteously received; but Prince Kung was visibly relieved, Dr Rennie tells us, when assured that the admiral was not to remain there. As for the general, his presence in the vicinity was inevitable so long as a considerable British and French force remained in garrison in Tientsin and Taku. Like the Ministers themselves, he was an unpleasant necessity to be endured as well as may be. But being thus obliged to tolerate the greater evil, it would appear to Western reasoning that an admiral more or less in an inland town need not have so greatly upset Chinese equanimity. Prince Kung, however, was not yet able to look on such matters with Western eyes. Every foreigner kept at arm's-length, no matter what his rank or condition, was a gain, as every locust destroyed is a gain to the peasant. So when the Prussian envoy, Count Eulenberg, presented himself, the British Minister vouching for his respectability, for the purpose of making a treaty on the lines of those already made and ratified, his efforts were frustrated by every plausible device. The envoy was relegated to the most distant point at which it was deemed feasible to stay his progress--namely, Tientsin, where negotiations were vexatiously protracted during four months. The first and final sticking-point was the claim to residence in the capital, which the Chinese absolutely refused to concede. Eventually they agreed to compound for a deferred entry ten years after signature. This by haggling was finally reduced to five years, and the treaty was thereupon concluded in August 1861. The old Canton tactics were thus revived, as if nothing had happened since 1857. As the echo of Mr Bruce, Dr Rennie's comment on the proceeding is worth noting. "Looks very like merely gaining time, in hopes that, before that period expires, _all foreign residence in the capital_ will be at an end." Here we catch a glimpse of the fundamental truth underlying all Chinese diplomacy from first to last--the purpose, never relaxed for an instant, of some day expelling foreigners from the country. No foreigner could hope to unravel the tangle of Chinese reasoning so as to comprehend in what manner the exclusion of one State was to assist in the eviction of the representatives of four Great Powers already established in the capital; but it may be inferred from the above remark that Mr Bruce was beginning to perceive that good behaviour towards the Chinese was not the be-all and end-all of the functions of a British representative in China. There was another side. We know, in fact, though Dr Rennie does not record it, that Mr Bruce began to see the necessity of making a stand against the reactionary pressure of the Chinese; that he was resolved on bending the Ministers of the Yamên to his will--being satisfied he could do it--instead of yielding to theirs in the vain hope of gaining their confidence. The grand desideratum had been at last obtained, access to the capital; but how different the realisation from the anticipation! There was no sovereign and no Court, only the shell of the nut without the kernel. And as diplomacy began so it continued, in successive illusions, partially dispelled, yet clung to with slow-dying hope. At first sight, no doubt, the task of the foreign representatives seemed an easy one: they had but to lay down the law to a defeated Power, to hammer the softened metal. This course would have been as simple in fact as it was in principle had they been united, and had it been possible for them to take a simple view of their mission; but from the first their duty to their respective countries was complicated, and in varying degrees, by what they conceived to be their duty towards China. It was inevitable that the attempt to follow two lines of policy divided by such cleavage should result in a fall into the crevasse. China, in fact, was too large a subject for either the treaty Powers or their agents to grasp. She made huge demands on the humanity, the indulgence, and the protection of the Powers who had broken down her wall of seclusion, and she had nothing in kind to offer them in return--neither gratitude nor co-operation, nor even good faith. For this China could be blamed only in so far as her own welfare was hindered by her irresponsiveness, for her statesmen were not far wrong in attributing to any motive rather than pure philanthropy the obtrusive solicitude of the Western Powers. International relations even between kindred peoples are in the nature of things selfish, or worse; and the more they assume an altruistic mask the more they lie open to suspicion. In this cynical view of the attitude of her neighbours China has never wavered. Yet it was not all illusion and Dead Sea apples. Something had been gained by diplomatic access to the capital. The elaborate insolence of the Chinese mandarin had been exchanged for the urbanity of the well-bred Manchu. It became possible to converse. Foreigners were listened to with attention, and answered with an open countenance. The change was incalculable. It recalled the days of Lord Macartney and the Emperor Kienlung, of Sir John Davis's pleasant intercourse with Kiying, and of the agreeable impression left by the Manchu statesmen who were concerned from 1841 onwards in the conduct of war or the conclusion of peace. If to the kindly personal relations which characterised the earlier years of Peking diplomacy no permanent tangible result could be definitely ascribed, who can tell what evils were staved off or calamity averted by these friendly amenities? In order, however, to appreciate the state of affairs in Peking in 1865, it is necessary to fill the gap in our narrative by an outline of events following the ratification of the treaty of Tientsin and Convention of Peking in October 1860. II. NEW PORTS AND OPENING OF THE YANGTZE. Seven new coast ports -- Admiral Hope's Yangtze expedition -- His relations with Taiping rebels -- Hankow, Kiukiang, and Chinkiang opened to trade -- Panic in Hankow, and exodus of population for fear of rebels. The new ports opened to trade--Tientsin, Newchwang, and Chefoo in the North; Swatow, and two Formosan ports; Kiungchow in Hainan--added considerably to the range of foreign commerce, and necessitated a large extension of the foreign customs and of the consular services. But the most important feature in the new arrangements was the effective opening of the river Yangtze. It was interesting, as giving access to the commercial centre of the empire; and as bringing foreigners into direct contact, possibly conflict, with the Taiping rebels. For the banks of the great river were at the time checkered with the alternate strongholds of rebels and imperialists. Trade must therefore either be carried on on sufferance from both, or be efficiently protected from the interference of either belligerent. Obviously this was a matter to be gone about discreetly. The course and capabilities of the great waterway, and the disposition of the military forces on its banks, had been well reconnoitred by Lord Elgin himself in 1858; and the ports to be opened, which were left unnamed in the treaty, were pretty definitely indicated in the survey then made. There were to be three in all. Chinkiang, which had been recently recovered from the rebels, situated at the intersection of the Imperial Canal and the Yangtze-kiang, was definitely fixed. The two others farther up river remained to be selected. The opening of the river was by treaty made contingent on the restoration of imperial authority on its banks; but as there was nothing more likely to accelerate that consummation than commercial traffic on the river, the Chinese Government acquiesced in the British authorities making the experiment, at their own risk as regarded possible trouble with the insurgents. The object was to "throw open the general coasting trade of the river"; and Lord Elgin, on his departure from China, left the undertaking in the hands of Admiral Hope, to whom he attached Mr Parkes, withdrawn for the occasion from his duties as commissioner in Canton. [Illustration: FIRST BRITISH CONSULATE AT KOLENGSOO, AMOY, 1844.] The admiral started from Shanghai in advance of Mr Parkes, with a squadron of light-draught steamers, on February 11, 1861. He carried an exploring expedition composed of Colonel Sarel, Captain Blakiston, Mr Shereshewsky, and Dr A. Barton, whose proceedings are reported in Blakiston's 'Five Months on the Upper Yangtze'; several American missionaries; two Frenchmen, afterwards distinguished, MM. Eugène Simon and A. Dupuis, the latter proving the means of eventually giving Tongking to France; a French military attaché; Lieut.-Colonel Wolseley, D.A.Q.-M.G.; and a delegation from the Shanghai Chamber of Commerce, with several private persons. Whether the pilots presumed upon light draught and steam power, or whether the course of the river had changed so much since the previous surveys were made, the vessels got stranded, one after another, in the estuary; and as each grounded a companion was told off to stand by her, so that before they had got clear of what is known as the Langshan Crossing (the home of the famous breed of black poultry) the admiral's tender, the Coromandel, was the only vessel left in a mobile condition. Not to lose time, the admiral determined to push on in that non-combatant craft to Nanking, the rebel capital, and test the temper and intentions of the Taipings. As the steamer slowly approached the landing-place, in bright sunshine and a still atmosphere, the batteries on the river front were crowded, but remained silent. "What will you do, sir, if they fire?" the admiral was asked. "Oh, I will just drop down out of range, and send and ask them what they mean by it," he replied, with deep deliberate utterance, not unlike Beaconsfield's. An officer was sent ashore to parley, some rebel officers came on board, and the prospect of an amicable understanding appeared to be satisfactory. It was a critical juncture in the history both of the Taiping movement itself and of foreign relations with it and with China. Without exaggeration, it may be said that the proximate fate of the Taipings then lay hidden within the brain of Sir James Hope, and each occasion of contact between him and them during the next few months added its definite contribution to the data on which the momentous decision was ultimately taken. Although he had then no higher opinion of the Taipings than that they were "an organised band of robbers," the admiral was resolved to give them fair play; and since no diplomatic intercourse could be held with insurgents, he determined to take relations with them under his own supervision (March 8, 1861). "The principle I shall adopt being that in the district of country of which they hold possession the Taiping authorities must be regarded as those of the _de facto_ Government, ... and this principle being likely to lead to the payment of double duties (to rebels and imperialists) on all trade conducted at places in their possession, I am desirous of definite instructions on the subject." The first point to be settled with the rebel authorities at Nanking was the non-molestation of British traffic passing up and down the river within range of their batteries or otherwise, to secure which object it had been determined to station a ship of war abreast of the city. The sanction of the Taiping chiefs was wanted to this arrangement, which, however, without such sanction, it would have been all the more necessary to insist upon. The second point affected the general relations between foreign trade and the rebel movement. The next aim of the admiral was to arrive at an understanding with the leaders for the neutralisation of Shanghai and Wusung within an area of thirty miles round these two places. Not being prepared to enter into definite negotiations until the arrival of Mr Parkes, who had not yet joined the expedition, Sir James Hope returned to the squadron which he had left aground in the lower reaches of the river. But thinking the time and the opportunity might be usefully employed in gathering some acquaintance with the Taipings at their headquarters, he landed three volunteers at Nanking, whose presence he ascertained would not be unwelcome to the authorities there. They were to remain in the city as the guests of the rebels till the admiral's return. The party consisted of Lieut.-Colonel Wolseley, Mr P. J. Hughes, vice-consul designate of Kiukiang, and one of the Shanghai delegates. They were joined on shore by the Rev. William Muirhead, missionary, who had reached Nanking by land from Shanghai. The party was thus a thoroughly representative one. On the return of the admiral a week later, accompanied by Mr Parkes, the arrangements for a guard-ship were satisfactorily settled after some puerile obstruction, and the expedition proceeded on its way up the river to Hankow, where, as also at Kiukiang and Chinkiang, consular officers were established; and the Yangtze was declared open by notification in Shanghai on March 18, 1861. The expedition was fruitful in information concerning the rebels, all tending to confirm the purely destructive character of the movement. Certain incidents of the voyage were also most instructive to the visitors. While the expedition was still at Hankow the Taipings had captured a walled city, fifty miles distant, which had been passed by the squadron on its way up a few days before. The news created a universal panic throughout the three cities, Wuchang, Hanyang, and Hankow, and the scene which followed could not be paralleled. It is thus laconically referred to in the report of the delegates of the Chamber of Commerce: "The abandonment was most complete, not a house nor a shop was open, and it became equally impossible to purchase goods, to check quotations, or pursue inquiries." One day the deep Han river was so packed with junks that one might almost walk from bank to bank over their mat coverings. The next day everything that could float was crowded with fugitive families with their household stuff huddled precariously on the decks, and such a fleet as, for number and picturesqueness, was probably never seen, covered the broad bosom of the Yangtze, making slow headway under sail against the current. Mr Parkes, eminently a man of fact, thus describes what he was witness to:-- Darkness fell upon crowds of the people lying with their weeping families, and the _débris_ of their property, under the walls of Wuchang, anxious only to escape from defences that should have proved their protection.... The noise and cries attending their embarkation continued throughout the night, but daylight brought with it a stillness that was not less impressive than the previous commotion. By that time all the fugitives had left the shore, and the river, as far as the eye could reach, was covered with junks and boats of every description bearing slowly away up-stream the bulk of the population of three cities, which a few days before we had computed at 1,000,000 of souls. Of what came of this and many such another melancholy exodus of humanity, without resources, ready to brave any death rather than fall into the hands of the destroyers, there is no record; and the scene at Hankow, magnified a hundred times, would give an inadequate conception of the havoc of the fifteen years of the Taiping rebellion. III. ADMIRAL HOPE'S POLICY TOWARDS INSURGENTS. Devastation only to be expected of them -- Enforces neutrality and respect for foreign property -- Thirty-mile radius round Shanghai -- Hesitancy of British Minister and Foreign Office -- Overcome by firmness of Admiral -- Capture of Ningpo by rebels -- Arrangements for trade there -- Bad faith of rebels -- Shanghai to be defended -- Its dangerous position -- Ravages of rebels -- Offensive movements against them -- Clearing of the thirty-mile radius -- Cordial relations between English and French admirals -- Mr Bruce won over -- The campaign -- Recapture of Ningpo -- Chinese raise foreign force -- Ward -- Burgevine -- Chinese statesmen who organised the suppression of the rebellion -- General Gordon takes command of the "Ever-Victorious Army." None of the spectators was more profoundly impressed than Admiral Hope, and the spectacle undoubtedly helped to mature his views on the demerits of the rebellion. On April 6 he wrote to the Admiralty: "A period of anarchy, indefinite in duration, appears likely to ensue, in which the commercial towns of the empire will be destroyed, and its most productive provinces laid waste. For this state of things, so destructive to foreign trade, I see no remedy except the recognition by both parties, if practicable, of the neutrality of the consular ports, which would then become places of security in which the Chinese merchants and capitalists could take refuge." And towards the realisation of this scheme the first step was the obligation laid upon the rebel Government at Nanking that their forces should not approach within thirty miles of Shanghai or Wusung. This idea, however, was but slowly assimilated by her Majesty's Minister at Peking and by the Government at home, and Lord Russell, while approving generally of the admiral's policy, stipulated that no force be used except in direct defence of British property. Mr Bruce wrote able despatches from Peking, in which the pros and cons, the contingencies and risks, of alternative courses were so well balanced, that the only practical conclusion that could possibly issue therefrom was that eventually arrived at,--to leave the decision to the admiral with a promise of support, whatever course he might adopt. The Foreign Office and the Peking Legation, in fact, faithfully represented the orthodox view of affairs, whereby national policy is primarily reduced to a game of safety for officials, and to the application of theories and general principles often having little bearing on the actualities of the case. The admiral's mind was cast in a different mould. To him the exigencies of the situation were everything, the official balance very little, the fear of responsibility nothing. The man on the spot, seeing clearly the right thing to do and resolved to do it, was bound in the end to gain the Government to his side, for Governments like a strong arm to lean on. With men like Sir James Hope there was no risk of complications arising, for complications arise mostly from the nervous dread of them, never from going straight and clear to the objective point. It needed a visit of the admiral to Peking, however, and the best part of a year's correspondence, to convert the British Government point by point to his views. Meantime the Taiping rebels advanced to Ningpo, the defence of which Mr Bruce had refused to sanction, and they captured the city on December 9, 1861, after engaging not to do so. The leaders there were interviewed by the French Admiral Protêt and the English Captain Corbett with a view to gaining a comprehension of their plans, and "to prevent the atrocities of which they have hitherto been guilty, and to endeavour to effect an arrangement by which trade can be conducted from the town. The French Rear-Admiral Protêt will act in concert with me," wrote Admiral Hope to Corbett, December 7. After the capture of the city the admiral instructed Captain Corbett that if the rebels wished to levy any duties, he was to see that in amount they did not exceed those stipulated in the imperial tariff. Arrangements were also made by the three treaty Powers for the protection of foreign life and the safety of the foreign quarter. The position was, however, a very difficult one, as the rebels had no idea of order or of keeping faith. Indeed the problem of protecting British subjects while observing Lord Russell's neutrality instructions was fast becoming impossible, for the conventions made with the Taiping authorities in Nanking were disregarded by them, and Shanghai itself was threatened. The admiral's conception of what was required for the protection of British interests was all the while undergoing steady development, and in January he wrote that Kiukiang and Hankow had become as essential to our trade as Shanghai. Writing a month later, he pressed his plans still more definitely upon the Admiralty. "On every occasion," he said on February 21, 1862, "on which I have reported the state of Shanghai since my return here, it has been my duty to bring the devastation and atrocities committed by the rebels in its immediate vicinity very prominently under their Lordships' notice. These proceedings have been conducted at a distance much too close to be consistent with the respect due to the occupation of the town by French and English forces, or to leave its supplies of provisions and native trade unaffected." The tension was at length relieved by the relaxation of Earl Russell's restrictions. He had already said that "it might be expedient" to protect the treaty ports, and that he was "of opinion that we ought to defend Shanghai and Tientsin as long as our forces [the garrison left from the Peking campaign] occupied these ports." But now, on March 11, 1862, he took a more practical view of the whole situation, and issued her Majesty's commands that "Admiral Hope should not only defend Shanghai and protect the other treaty ports, but also the British flag and the Yangtze, and generally that British commerce is to have the aid of her Majesty's ships of war." During the winter of 1861-62 matters had become very critical in Shanghai. The rebel chiefs sent an intimation to the foreign consuls that it was their intention to capture the town, and they proceeded to burn the villages and ravage the country on both sides of the river within gun-shot of the military lines. Special local measures of defence were adopted by the residents, and fugitives in thousands flocked into the only asylum where their lives were safe. The pressure of these events led to yet more definite action on the part of Sir James Hope, who perceived that the effective defence of Shanghai and its sources of supply involved aggressive movements against the rebels in order to drive them out of all the places they occupied within the thirty-mile radius. In all these proceedings the admiral went hand in hand with his French colleague, and with the commanders of the French and British military forces. An agreement signed by the four on February 13, 1862, settled the immediate question of the defence of the city of Shanghai. An appeal to the British Minister completed his conversion to a "forward policy." "I strongly recommend," wrote the admiral on February 22, "that the French and English commanders should be required by yourself and M. Bourboulon to free the country from rebels within a line"--specified; and the reply was as hearty and free from ambiguity as could be wished: "We can no more suffer Shanghai to be taken by famine or destroyed by insurrection than we can allow it to be taken by assault; and it requires but little experience in China to be assured that the effect of remaining on a strict defensive within the walls is to convince our assailants that we are unable to meet them in the field." The plan of campaign was settled in an agreement signed by Sir James Hope, Admiral Protêt, and Brigadier Staveley, April 22, 1862, and was carried out to the letter during the early summer and the autumn following. At an early period of the operations Admiral Protêt was killed: his loss was deeply lamented, most of all by his British colleague, with whom relations of exceptional intimacy had sprung up. "The extent to which I enjoyed his confidence and regard will ever prove a source of unmingled satisfaction to me," wrote Sir James Hope on the day of the admiral's death, May 17, 1862, himself at the time confined to his cabin by wounds. The rebel forces in Ningpo, who had been on their good behaviour for a short time, became aggressive and insulting, even going the length of offering rewards for foreign heads in the good old mandarin fashion. It is well to remember that even in their unkempt condition, and with everything to gain from the goodwill of foreigners, the Taiping rebels lacked nothing of the most arrogant of Chinese assumptions. The pretensions of the chief far exceeded those of the Emperors of China. The Taipings required foreigners to be subject to their jurisdiction, and they habitually applied derogatory terms to foreign countries. Such things were regarded much as the eccentricities of a lunatic might be. Nevertheless they were a faithful reflex of what is rooted in the Chinese mind. The position of foreigners and the foreign ships there having thus been rendered intolerable, the city was recaptured from the rebels by Commander Roderick Dew in the same month--a brilliant feat of arms. After the capture he wrote: "In the city itself, once the home of half a million of people, no trace or vestige of an inhabitant could be seen.... The canals were filled with dead bodies and stagnant filth." The recapture of Ningpo was the beginning of an Anglo-Franco-Chinese campaign against the rebels in Chêkiang which was carried on simultaneously with that round Shanghai. It is needless to follow in detail the operations which culminated two years later in the final suppression of the Taiping rebellion; but the relations which grew up between the British and French commanders on the one side, and the Chinese military forces which were being organised on the other, were so fruitful in results as to merit their being held in particular remembrance. Though the history has been many times written, it may still not be considered supererogatory to trace some of the points of contact between the native and foreign motives and plans of action, and the evolution of the defensive idea which was the product of the combination. The Taiping rebellion had devastated the central and southern provinces many years before the Chinese Government roused itself to a serious effort to resist it. The movement of repression originated with the Governor-General of the Hu provinces, whose chief lieutenant and successor was Tsêng Kwo-fan, Governor-General of Kiangnan at the time of which we now speak. His brother, Tsêng Kwo-chuan, the Governor of Chêkiang province, was the military leader, and Li Hung-chang, the most capable and energetic of them all, was governor of the province of Kiangsu. The imperialist forces had been gradually closing on Nanking, and it was thought probable that this hemming-in process forced the rebels to seek outlets and new feeding-grounds in the populous districts of Kiangsu and Chêkiang. The rebels had enlisted a number of foreigners in their ranks, and made great efforts to supply themselves with foreign arms and ammunition, for which purpose, among others, communication with the sea was most important for them. Li, _futai_ (governor), also began to enlist foreigners and raise a special corps, drilled and armed in foreign fashion, and led by foreign officers. The foreign agent in this enterprise on the imperialist side was Frederick Ward, to whom Mr Bruce referred in May 1861 as "a man called Ward, an ex-Californian fillibuster." Within a year Mr Bruce wrote, "In the Chinese force organised and led by Mr Ward I see the nucleus of a military organisation which may prove most valuable in the disturbed state of China." The truth is, "Ward's force," which became known by its high-flown Chinese title of the "Ever-Victorious Army," was seized on from its origin by Sir James Hope, whose encouragement and support were essentially serviceable to it in its early days. The admiral treated Ward as a comrade, fighting by his side, and thus giving the new levy a military status. While the Chinese troops were yet raw he co-operated with them by capturing positions from the rebels and trusting Ward's men to hold them, on the assurance of their leader that they were equal to that duty. Ward himself was an unpretentious, cool, and daring man, reckless of his own life. During his brief campaign he was riddled with bullets, one of which entering his mouth destroyed the palate and impaired his speech, and before long the fatal missile reached its mark. He was succeeded in the command by his second, Burgevine, who, though a good soldier, lacked Ward's tact and moderation, and got into trouble with his paymasters, to whom he used violence and threats. He was deposed from the command by Governor Li, which brought about a serious crisis, for the disciplined force of foreigners and Chinese was left without a head. In this emergency Li applied to the British authorities for the loan of an officer to command the disciplined force. The responsibility of the British representatives, naval and military, became thus extended to finding a suitable Englishman to replace Burgevine. Their first selection was Captain Holland, R.M., who held the post for a short time, and was succeeded by Captain C. G. Gordon, R.E. Gordon had arrived in China in 1860 in time to share in the last act of the Peking campaign; he passed the year 1861 at Tientsin, where he was highly esteemed as a model man and meritorious officer. In the winter of 1861 he had conferences with Mr Bruce and Prince Kung on the question of suppressing the rebellion; but none of their ideas, nor the policy of the British Government, were then sufficiently advanced to lead to any practical result. Gordon accompanied his corps to Shanghai in the spring of 1862, and was engaged in the operations for clearing the thirty-mile radius under General Staveley, who spoke warmly of his daring reconnoitring services, for which Gordon had been already distinguished in the Crimea. In the following winter he was busy surveying and mapping the country which had been reconquered from the rebels, and in the spring of 1863 he was offered by his chief the leadership of Ward's force. Gordon's was no doubt the best selection that could have been made, having regard only to the abilities which were then recognised in him; for though General Staveley knew him well both in Tientsin and Shanghai, it is not claimed for him, or any one else, that he had prescience of those transcendent qualities and that magnetic power which the subsequent campaign against the rebels was the means of bringing to light. When Gordon took command of the "Ever-Victorious," the force had had two years' training and regular campaigning, and the men were entitled to rank as veteran troops. Gordon, however, was to infuse new life into the corps by his dynamic personality and by the diligent use of the regenerative agency of "Sergeant What's-his-name." The number of foreigners actually employed in the force is doubtful, but detailed returns of killed and wounded in the course of a year's operations gave a hundred names. Gordon's faculty of control was probably more severely tested by his management of that motley foreign crew than of the whole indigenous force; but the best of which it was capable was got out of this fortuitous concourse of men, and under the inspiration of the commander several names of distinction emerged from the cosmopolitan group. When Gordon took over the command in March 1863 it was six months since the thirty-mile radius had been entirely cleared of rebels, and the first duty of the "Ever-Victorious" was to keep that area clear; its second to carry the war as far as it was able into the regions beyond. Its efficiency, especially for this latter purpose, depended on the support and co-operation of the British and French commanders, whose troops remained in occupation of the treaty port of Shanghai. For a time there was danger of a lapse in this co-operation. The dismissed General Burgevine carried his grievances to Peking, and made such an impression by his plausible address on the American and British Ministers there, that Mr Bruce espoused his cause and wrote strong despatches to the British commander, Staveley (April 10, 1863), urging the reinstatement of Burgevine and the suppression of Gordon, to whom it was to be explained that the step was no reflection on him, &c. Again and again the Minister returned to the charge, both to the commander in Shanghai and to the Foreign Office at home; but the Governor Li was firm, and adduced such cogent reasons for the dismissal of Burgevine that Major-General Brown, who had just succeeded to the British command, joined Li in resolutely protesting against the removal of Gordon, whom, it may be remarked, the English general had never yet seen. The men on the spot prevailed against the man who was theorising from a distance, and on the worst data conceivable, the culprit's own account of himself. Mr Bruce, who, as we have seen, was well acquainted with Gordon, must have had reasons for his policy not given in his official despatches, for these were inadequate and narrow for a man of his large capacity. We have said Major-General Brown had not then seen Gordon. He had arrived from India in April to relieve General Staveley of the command of the British troops in China. He was a wiry man and of an active temperament, and rapidly mastered the situation. Probably to him is due the credit of the first true perception of what manner of man this young engineer officer was. General Brown was for a few days after his arrival a guest in one of the spacious _hongs_ in the Shanghai settlement, which had a wide verandah, giving access to all the bedrooms. One morning very early the general, excited by a message that had just reached him, rushed round in _déshabillé_ calling for his host with a piece of coarse Chinese paper in his hand. "Do you know Major Gordon?" he said. "Why, yes, a very nice fellow, and reported to be a first-rate officer." "But," exclaimed the general, "he is a genius! Just look what I have received from him from the front," and he unfolded the whitey-brown paper with some rough diagrams, and a few not very legible pencil notes indicating his position and plan of attack on Taitsan (where Captain Holland had been repulsed) and Kuensan,[46] both cities on the line of communication with the provincial capital, Soochow. "The man is a genius," reiterated the general, "and must be supported." A few days later another of these cryptic missives arrived, when a similar scene was repeated with redoubled emphasis. "I tell you that man is a military genius; that's what I call him, a military genius," said the dapper little soldier in his vivacious reiterative manner. "I'll support him for all I am worth." And then he developed his own plan of relieving the "Ever-Victorious" of garrison duty, leaving the whole force--secure of its base--free to engage in aggressive operations. This plan of giving effective support to Gordon's force was carried out to the letter, as subsequently described by the general in his official despatches reporting the capture of Taitsan and Kuensan: "I had a field force acting in conjunction, as a support, moving on the extreme edge of our boundary, ... which was of great assistance to Major Gordon in his operations." He adds: "Kuensan having fallen, Major Gordon now proposes to make it his headquarters; ... and as the _futai_ intends to make Taitsan his headquarters, I shall bring it within the boundary, thus giving the imperialists every confidence to hold it, knowing they could receive support from me at any moment." How vital to the fortunes of the "Ever-Victorious Army" was this decided action of General Brown's was seen when, three months later, General Burgevine had gone over, with a certain following of malcontents, to the Taipings, a movement which suggested to Gordon serious misgivings as to the loyalty of the foreigners remaining in his own force. Burgevine, however, had no success in the rebel camp, and soon, in a secret interview with Gordon, sued for safe-conduct and amnesty. Improving his acquaintance, however, with the new commander of the "Ever-Victorious," Burgevine's next proposal was the bold one of eliminating as between themselves all questions of conflicting loyalty to the respective belligerents by throwing over both, and by joining forces on their own account, to capture Soochow, and there raise an army to march on Peking. It was a partnership which did in nowise commend itself to Gordon, but the proposal served to show how shrewd Li Hung-chang had been in his estimate of the deposed leader. IV. THE LAY-OSBORN FLOTILLA. Orders sent through Mr Hart to Mr Lay -- Fleet equipped under Captain Osborn, R.N. -- Ratification of their agreements refused in Peking -- Government would not place foreigners in a position of authority -- Misunderstandings and final sacrifice of Mr Lay -- Ships paid off and sold -- Crucial question the recapture of Nanking. The invincible distrust of foreign auxiliaries which dominates Chinese policy and prevents the empire from ever having an army or a navy, received another signal illustration in the same year in the great fiasco of the Lay-Osborn flotilla. Mr H. N. Lay, Inspector-General of Chinese Maritime Customs, was in England on leave in 1861, his _locum tenens_ in Peking being Mr (now Sir) Robert Hart. Conferences with the Chinese Ministers on the naval weakness of the empire resulted in a very important decision, in consequence of which Mr Hart was empowered to send to Mr Lay orders for certain armed vessels to be officered and manned by Englishmen. Mr Lay executed the rather "large order" according to his lights, engaging Captain Sherard Osborn to command the fleet, which was equipped on a war-footing. The foreign enlistment difficulties of the British Government were overcome, as the Government was by that time ready to go to any length in assisting the Government of China. The fleet duly arrived in China, and Mr Lay and Captain Osborn presented themselves in Peking to obtain ratification of their agreements from the Imperial Government. This was refused, the force was disbanded, and the ships sold, at a heavy pecuniary sacrifice to the Chinese, for they made no demur about payment. The rock on which the scheme seemed to split was the contention of Mr Lay that the fleet was imperial, and that the commodore should take no orders from viceroys or provincial authorities, but only from the emperor, and through Mr Lay himself. This was a shock to the very edifice of Chinese Government, conceived of as feasible only under the belief that in its helpless condition the Government must accede to anything. But the scheme was really impossible. So also, however, was the alternative of provincialising the naval force, as has been shown by subsequent failures in the attempt to use the services of British officers in the Chinese navy. Such an instance of reckoning without your host was never heard of before or since. It was like a practical joke on a titanic scale. The ships were actually there, manned, officered, and armed. It was a dangerous knot, which had to be promptly cut or untied. Following the line of least resistance, Mr Lay was made the scapegoat, on whose head the Minister "laid both his hands"--rather heavily--"confessing over him the iniquities of all," and sending him away into the wilderness. In the general interest the sacrifice of Mr Lay was perhaps the safest way out of the imbroglio, for he was a pugnacious little man in whose hands despotic power might have been attended with inconvenience. Nevertheless, the blame of the failure belonged to all the parties concerned--to Prince Kung, Wênsiang, Mr Hart, Mr Bruce, and the British Government. They each entered into the scheme with different ideas, more or less vague, except Mr Lay's own, which had perforce to be reduced to the definite when he came to draw up contracts with British naval officers, and to meet the strict requirements of British law. The Chinese Ministers of course could have no conception what a foreign-equipped navy really meant, nor had they probably fully divulged what was really in their mind; Mr Lay and Mr Hart were young men with large ideas, but without experience; Mr Bruce was a man of the world who had seen service, and was, from his position, the most responsible of them all, and therefore the most culpable in deceiving himself, and allowing the British Government to be misled. He approved of the project, or it could never have been carried out. But what was it precisely that he approved of? He "saw with pleasure that Captain Osborn was about to reorganise the preventive service" (October 6, 1862), and as late as February 8, 1863, he wrote to Prince Kung of the "speedy arrival of the steam flotilla which your Imperial Highness has so wisely ordered"--as if it were a pair of official boots! Yet on the arrival of the flotilla it was found that everybody concerned was at cross-purposes, and the question naturally suggests itself, what steps her Majesty's Minister had taken to satisfy himself as to the real intentions of Prince Kung, whether they had been properly transmitted by Mr Hart and correctly interpreted by Mr Lay and fully communicated to her Majesty's Government. It appears that Mr Bruce had, in fact, undergone a change of mind--induced, no doubt, by cogent considerations--during Mr Lay's final sojourn in Peking. Having received a message from the Minister urging a stiff attitude with the Chinese Government and promising the full support of the Legation, Mr Lay proceeded to the Yamên and laid down the law strongly, as his manner was, in the full assurance that he had the British Minister at his back. But after thus burning his boats he found himself abandoned, for reasons of State which he was unable to appreciate. Such was the account of the crisis given at the time by Mr Lay himself to a confidential friend then residing in Peking. For the Chinese Government the scheme was necessarily a leap in the dark. For the British Government it involved a violent reversal of recently declared policy, and on a most important issue. It was consequently a case where extreme and minute precautions against possible misunderstandings would not have been superfluous, yet--so far as has yet been made public, for there is doubtless a missing link in the record--such seem to have been wholly absent from the inception of the enterprise. The crux of the question, no doubt, was the position of Nanking. The lever Mr Lay employed to secure acceptance of his conditions was the prospect of the immediate capture of the Taiping capital, against which the provincial Government, represented by the Viceroy Tsêng, his brother, and the governor of Kiangsu, Li, were expending their forces. The temptation was exceedingly strong to close with Lay and secure the services--probably much overrated for that particular object--of the new flotilla, were it even by recourse to some ambiguous phrase which might leave a loophole of escape from the agreement when its immediate object had been served. Something like this might have been attempted but for the uncompromising attitude of Li Hung-chang, for it was he who smashed the flotilla scheme. It was true, he allowed, that the assistance of the ships would enable the viceroy's forces to capture the city at once; but, he added confidently, we shall succeed in time by our own resources, and it were better to lose the city and the province, and even the empire itself, than to place such power as Lay demanded in the hands of any foreigner. Burgevine was fresh in the _futai's_ mind--was indeed at that very time in the rebel camp near him. Li's arguments clinched the matter. The flotilla was never commissioned. The whole chapter of experiences of the campaign in Kiangsu has left a vivid impression on the mind of Li Hung-chang: it was the most interesting period of his life, but no incident of it imparts such vivacity to his reminiscences as that of the Lay-Osborn fleet. Nothing warms him to dramatic locution like a reference to that episode. V. THE END OF THE REBELLION. Gordon's brilliant campaign -- His quarrel with Li Hung-chang -- And reconciliation -- Other French and English officers co-operate in suppression of rebellion -- Russian aid offered. Gordon's campaigning lasted one year: it was marked by great successes, sundry reverses, more than one crisis, and many discouragements. The famous quarrel with the _futai_ Li was illustrative of several points of great utility to be borne in mind in considering the working relations of Eastern and Western peoples; but perhaps its chief interest lay in its revelation of the independent and dominating character of Gordon himself, which was his distinguishing mark through life. After a confused and scarcely intelligible bargain with the rebel chiefs at Soochow, by which their lives were to be spared, they were beheaded by order of Li. Gordon resented this, and, like another Achilles, withdrew to his tent. For this he was warmly applauded by General Brown, Mr Bruce, and the Foreign Office, who all denounced Li as the most odious criminal, with whom no further communication should be held. When, two months later, Gordon, without consultation with any of these parties, but not without friendly advice, changed his mind, resumed his friendship with the governor and active operations in the field, the same chorus of approval greeted his action as had previously been pronounced of his inaction. Mr Bruce wrote on February 10, 1864, to Prince Kung, among other things, that "Major Gordon is to be relieved from any communication with Governor Li." Within a week Gordon, of his own motion, had abandoned that position, leaving to the Minister to explain the change of attitude in any way he pleased, which he did by resort to that token coinage of diplomatic fiction which serves the domestic purposes of the craft, but has no market-value outside its conventional domain. An able explanatory letter from Mr Hart, the new Inspector-General of Customs, who investigated the transaction on the spot, would have afforded to the Minister colourable grounds for "revision" of the earlier judgment, had he been allowed time to avail himself of it. But Gordon's action forced his hand, and left him no choice but to acquiesce first and find his reasons afterwards. The Foreign Office, however, being at a distance, could not be swung back again so quickly, and they had, on the impulse of the first advices, withdrawn their sanction for Major Gordon's serving the Chinese at all. This order reached him after he had, on his own motion, definitely resigned the service, so that there was no further clashing of authorities. Though the force contributed materially to the suppression of the rebellion, the final act, the capture of Nanking, was left to the unaided resources of the Viceroy Tsêng. Not the least of Gordon's successes was the peaceable dissolution of the force when it had done its work; for the establishment was, for its size, enormously costly, and it was a two-edged sword in the hands of the Chinese. The "Ever-Victorious Army" was happy in the opportuneness of its death. A prolonged existence might easily have dispelled the wonderful prestige it had gained in its short career and limited scope. Perhaps, after all, its place in history owes everything to the personality of its last leader, whose legacy to mankind is not so much a catalogue of achievements as a life--immortal. The renown of Gordon and the brilliancy of his exploits have thrown unduly into the shade the Anglo-Chinese and Franco-Chinese campaign in the neighbouring province of Chêkiang, which had Ningpo for its sea base. In their degree these operations were no less essential to the ultimate overthrow of the rebellion than those in the province of Kiangsu, and, among many others, the names of Prosper Giquel, who afterwards managed the arsenal at the Pagoda anchorage, Foochow, and of the large-hearted bishop, Mgr. Delaplace, afterwards translated to the metropolitan see, where he died, deserve to be had in remembrance. Sundry risings in other provinces caused trouble and apprehension; but we may, for the purposes of this narrative, consider that the year 1864 witnessed the closing scene of the great rebellion. It would be impossible, within any reasonable space, to follow even in outline the course of that stupendous devastation, exceeding in its wanton waste of human life the horrors of the Thirty Years' War in Germany: our concern has been only with that side of the movement with which foreign nations were forced into contact, with its political bearing, and its influence on the position of the Chinese Government. It happened that only two of the Powers were directly concerned in offensive operations against the rebels, but in the task of suppression they had the moral support of them all. Indeed, but for the French and English activity it seems probable that Russia was ready single-handed to undertake the whole business. The Russian Government from time to time signified its approval of the action taken by the French and English in assisting the Chinese Government to put down the rebellion. Russia was included in the thanks of the Chinese to their foreign allies; she had at least furnished material in the shape of "10,000 rifles and several cannons." These arrived in Peking, after a protracted journey, at a time when the Russian Minister deemed it expedient to explain to his British colleagues that the arms had reference only to the rebellion. Moreover, Russia had, or professed to have, serious intentions of sending a large force of her own to co-operate in its suppression. M. Petchroff, a member of the Russian Legation, spent a month in Shanghai in the autumn of 1862 in frequent conferences on this subject with the Chinese authorities, the report of which he carried in person to Admiral Popoff, who was at the time in Japan. M. Petchroff called upon the British admiral while in Shanghai, and informed him of this project. It was not carried out, as Prince Gortchakoff explained to Lord Napier, because the Russian Government had not force enough available to render effective assistance, but they wished to show the Chinese that they were in hearty sympathy with the Anglo-French policy, and might, for moral effect, show their flag in co-operation, so far as prudence would allow. The importance of putting an end to the rebellion, and the value of foreign aid in doing so, were fully realised by the Peking Government. Of this the abortive, but costly, Osborn flotilla furnished proof enough; and the honours bestowed on Gordon by imperial decree were an expression of the unspeakable relief which was felt in the palace at the dispelling of the hideous nightmare. A final decree summing up the movement, in a tone of restrained sincerity not usual in these conventional documents, says: "Words cannot convey any idea of the misery and desolation he [the Taiping chief] caused; the measure of his iniquity was full, and the wrath of both gods and men was roused against him." VI. EVACUATION OF CANTON. Good feeling and compliments on both sides -- Mr Parkes's able administration of the city. An event which passed off without the slightest sensation, because without hitch, was the evacuation of Canton by the Allied troops in October 1861. Were it only for one clause in the proclamation issued by the high Chinese authorities on the occasion, this transaction would form a valuable historical landmark:-- During the occupation of Canton by the allied troops of England and France during a period of four years, their conduct has never been otherwise than friendly towards the military and people of the whole city, and the military and people having also corresponded with courtesy and friendship, harmony has been maintained from first to last. Now that the troops are being withdrawn, the consuls of England and France will continue to reside within the city, while the merchants and people of all nations will constantly pass in and out, or reside therein at their pleasure. It remains the duty of yourselves, the military and people, to continue to them the same respectful and courteous relations that have prevailed during the occupation. Compare this with the state of things existing only three years before! Much of the success of the occupation and its good permanent results were unquestionably due to the high qualities of Parkes, the British commissioner, who thus modestly refers to the matter in his despatch: "The confidence of the people in a strong and inoppressive Government, added to their own governable character, materially facilitated the task of maintaining order in a vast and most intricate city containing a population of upwards of 1,000,000 inhabitants." The "Canton question" was thus finally disposed of to the satisfaction of all parties. VII. DEATH OF THE EMPEROR. His flight from the capital -- Succession of his son -- Regency of the two empresses -- Prince Kung's sanguinary _coup d'état_. Next in importance to the suppression of the Taiping rebellion, the death of the Emperor Hsienfêng marked the period we are now considering. That unfortunate monarch, who deserted his capital against the strongest remonstrances of his advisers, on the approach of the Allied forces, died at his hiding-place in August 1861, and his only son was proclaimed in his stead under the style of Tungchih. The new emperor was a child, and provision had to be made for a regency. How this regency fell into the hands of two empresses--one the mother of the young emperor, the other the true widow of the deceased--was not very well understood by the foreigners then in the capital. Prince Kung's _coup d'état_, by which the three male members of the regency were elaborately arraigned and then assassinated, was not organised to get rid of any imaginary "anti-foreign faction," as was too easily assumed at the time, but simply and solely to place the empire at the feet of himself and the emperor's mother. "Parties" in Peking have always been, and are to this day, a puzzle to foreigners, who, having seldom at the moment any trustworthy means of informing themselves, are apt to be carried away by "cries," sometimes got up for the purpose of misleading them,--for the Chinese are not at all averse from turning to account the half knowledge on which foreigners are prone to form their opinions. VIII. INFLUENCE OF THESE EVENTS ON PROGRESS OF DIPLOMACY. Inadequacy of foreign diplomacy -- Absence of sovereign -- Allies committed to protection of China -- Coercion impossible -- Large outlook of Mr Bruce -- The provincial _versus_ imperial administration -- Attempt to force Central Government to coerce provincial -- Contemptuous attitude of Chinese Ministers -- Sir F. Bruce's despair -- He clutches at various straws -- General reaction of Chinese. How did these various occurrences influence the progress of diplomatic relations with the Government? We have seen that diplomacy in Peking was a venture launched on imported capital, which, meeting with no indigenous support, was doomed from the first to feed upon itself. There was no dialect through which the foreign idea could translate itself to Chinese comprehension, no medium by which Chinese political conceptions could be made intelligible to the foreigner. When Gordon could not get his meaning filtered through an interpreter, he called for a dictionary and put his finger on the word "idiotcy"--and the most orthodox interpreting could not get much beyond this point in establishing a common currency for the interchange of national ideas. The initial difficulty in imposing foreign forms, foreign terms, foreign procedure--of revolutionising at a stroke a system of administration petrified by ancient usage--would have existed even if the statesmen of China had been sincere converts to the innovation. The contrary was, of course, the case: they were as much opposed to the new relations as they had been to the military invasion itself. No help, therefore, was to be expected from the Chinese side in creating a workable scheme of international intercourse. They desired nothing of that kind, their ambition soaring no higher than the creation of a buffer against which external impulsion might expend its force. That buffer was the Tsungli-Yamên. Foreign diplomacy, therefore, if it were to subsist at all, must subsist on its own resources, the foundation of which was force. The force that brought foreigners to Peking must, either _in esse_ or _in posse_, for an indefinite time keep them there and render them efficient. Force no doubt would have enabled the foreign Ministers to bring about even those structural changes in the Chinese system which were necessary to clear the ground for the operation of their diplomacy. But if there was one thing more than another of which Western Governments were determined to convince themselves, it was that the law of force was finally abrogated in China; that on a certain day at a certain hour, coincident with the signing (by force) of a sheet of paper, the spirit of hostility had departed from the Chinese mind; and that the law of love and reason was, without preamble, to take the place of that which had brought about the new relations. Whether believed in or not, this curious paradox was to be the rule of all future action. The game that opens with the "king" off the board, and is afterwards continued with the "queen" protected, is an obviously impossible one. The foreign Ministers had to do with a Government of irresponsibility, and instead of teaching its members from the outset to recognise their new obligations--training them as children, which as regards foreign matters they really were--the foreign Ministers began by treating the Chinese Government rather as an infant too delicate for discipline, with the familiar results of such treatment. The diplomats betrayed so much anxiety to lure the sovereign back to his palace, that the Chinese Ministers soon learned to exploit this feeling for their own ends. That such and such a concession "would have a good effect at Jêho" was inducement enough to the foreign representatives to waive one point after another in the transaction of public business. When the emperor died, after six months of this _régime_ of indulgence, the position was changed materially for the worse,--for the diplomats had now a veritable infant on their hands, with a female regent "behind the curtain." No prospect thenceforth of even the initial formality of delivering letters of credence until the child should grow up, by which time many things might happen. Thus the European scheme of diplomacy, which was to have been imposed bodily on the Court of Peking, stumbled heavily on the threshold, and never recovered itself. But the Chinese recovered. Their fear of the "fierce barbarians" disappeared as they saw them throw away their weapons, and the process was resumed by which the fruits of the war and of the treaties of peace were gradually nibbled away. And of course the whole idea of coercing the Imperial Government, even had it ever been entertained, was openly reduced to nullity when the foreign Powers interfered for the suppression of the rebellion. The Allies could not knock down with one hand what they were propping up with the other, and thus the Imperial Government not only enjoyed immunity, but knew that they possessed it,--that their late conquerors were now fully committed to the upholding of the integrity of China and the maintenance of the dynasty. Any liberties might consequently be taken: remonstrances from the foreigners would be loud in proportion to their hollowness, but the barbarians could not attack a citadel full of their own hostages. Although remoteness from the scene of action and imperfect acquaintance with local requirements were apt to invalidate his conclusions on points of detail, and to compel him occasionally to follow where he might have been expected to guide the action of his subordinate executive, yet whenever Sir Frederick Bruce delivered his mind on the position of China and her foreign relations as a whole, his views were large, luminous, and statesmanlike. He foresaw from the first what the degradation of the Chinese Government must inevitably lead to. His outlook is revealed in a brief sentence in one of his earlier despatches: "The weakness of China rather than her strength is likely to create a fresh Eastern question in these seas." There need be little doubt that that idea dominated his Chinese diplomacy. Severity, or even strictness, may well have seemed on the face of the matter inconsistent with the pious wish to strengthen China, yet we now know that what she then most needed was to be braced up to the fulfilment of her obligations as a necessity of her own wellbeing. The field of diplomacy in the orthodox sense being closed, and there being no foreign interests in Peking, the subject-matter for the Ministers' activity was furnished entirely from the trading-ports. Of these there were fifteen open in 1861. The kind of questions which arose may be generally defined as claims arising out of breaches of treaty by provincial officials, for which redress was sought from the Central Government. This was a reversal of Chinese methods, which, even had the Government been well disposed, would not have been easy to effect; and as the Government was hostile, difficulty became impossibility. The British Minister after a year's trial began to realise the magnitude of his Sisyphean task. "In a country like China," he wrote to the Foreign Office in July 1862, "where the principles of administration differ entirely from those practised by us, the conclusion of a treaty is the commencement, not the termination, of difficulties." To a consul he wrote at the same time: "The important result to be gained by the establishment of direct relations with the Government of Peking is the avoidance of local acts of violence.... Time will elapse before the new system will work smoothly and efficiently, ... but you must not go beyond pacific efforts to remedy the abuses complained of." A few months later, in a general circular to consuls, he thus carefully recapitulated the instruction:-- The object to be attained is that of forcing the local officials to observe the treaty ... through the pressure brought to bear upon them by the Peking Government, and thus escape from the false position in which we have hitherto been placed of coercing the local authorities and people, and thus doing the work of the Imperial Government. To initiate this new system of relations is a task which can only be effected gradually and patiently; but the attempt must be steadily and perseveringly made, in order that the Chinese Government may be forced to teach its people, &c. And at the same time he summed up the situation to the Foreign Office in these words: "Our relations with China cannot be put upon a safe footing until the Imperial Government itself compels its local officers to observe treaties"--a matter in which the Central Government itself most needed compulsion! But all this about "forcing" the local officials and "forcing" the Imperial Government, without using any force, recalls the ancient Chinese maxim of "ruling barbarians by misrule." The world rested securely enough on the tortoise, but what did the tortoise itself rest on? With grim satisfaction must the Chinese Ministers have watched the foreigners entering on a desert campaign where they would exhaust their strength without reaching the enemy. The warnings and threats which alone the Minister allowed himself to use to enforce his demands or his admonitions, as the case might be, were to the Chinese mere blank cartridge. Prince Kung, replying to one of those minatory despatches, "imagines that his Excellency uses this outspoken language for the purpose of stimulating the Chinese Government to activity. His Highness is sure that it is not his Excellency's desire to act in the manner indicated." And so on indefinitely. The impression made on the Chinese Government by the force of foreign diplomacy was likened by an American Minister twenty years afterwards to "boxing a feather-bed." The policy above described, inaugurated by Mr Bruce and followed consistently by the British Government, was pithily termed by Lord Salisbury, when in Opposition, as an "ideal policy" in pursuit of which the concrete interests of the country were allowed to lapse. It would be tedious to trace in detail the process of disintegration of treaty rights which followed these interesting overtures. It will be more to the purpose to cite the British Minister's review of the results twelve months later in a despatch to Prince Kung. This despatch and the reply to it were deemed so important at the time that they were separately called for by the House of Commons, and were published as independent Blue Books (Nos. 6 and 8, 1864):-- Sir Frederick Bruce wished the Prince of Kung to understand that he had reason to be greatly dissatisfied 1. With the general disregard of treaty provisions manifested at the ports. 2. With the tone of the Government generally towards foreigners. It is entirely due to the exertions of the Allied forces that Shanghai and Ningpo are not now in rebel possession. Had Shanghai fallen, the imperial authority would have received a blow from which it could never have recovered.... Sir F. Bruce did not look for any extraordinary demonstration of gratitude for these services, but he had hoped that the Central Government would at least have insisted on the faithful observance of the treaty at the ports. He had hoped also that it would have addressed itself with some increase of vigour to the organisation of a competent executive. These expectations have not been realised. At several of the ports the treaty is daily broken in matters great and small; and the Central Government, if not unwilling, shows itself unable to enforce a better order of things. The orders sent by the Foreign Board, when Sir Frederick Bruce complains, are not carried out, either because the local authorities do not stand in awe of the Foreign Board or because they do not believe the Foreign Board issues them in earnest.... The Foreign Board has gone through the form of issuing instructions, but the causes of complaint remain as they were, either because the local authorities do not fear or because the Foreign Board does not care. Seeing that none of the authorities complained of have been punished or removed, that officials notoriously hostile to foreigners have been appointed to places in which they have increased opportunity of indulging in their anti-foreign tendencies, while officials of friendly disposition have been withdrawn, Sir Frederick Bruce is induced, however reluctantly, to infer that if the Imperial Government be not adverse to friendly intercourse, it is, at all events, indisposed to do what is necessary to teach the people and local authorities that China is sincerely desirous of friendly relations with foreign Powers.... It is for the Chinese Government to consider whether it will listen to these warnings, &c. _Prince Kung's Reply, 19th June 1863._ With reference to the proposition on which the British Minister's note insists, that the treaty should rank with the law, the Prince has to observe that the principle that the treaty is identical with the laws of the Imperial Government, and that breach of treaty is the same thing as violation of the law, is the principle on which the Government of China proceeds, and its only desire is that foreign nations should regard the treaty in the same light.... As regards the cases still undetermined in the provinces, the Prince hopes that the British Minister will refer to the record and inform him, case by case, of the particulars of each, and the Yamên will at once write to the Provincial Governments concerned to hurry them with the cases enumerated.... _Sir Frederick Bruce's Reply, July 2, 1863._ Your Imperial Highness states in explicit terms that the Government of China recognises the treaties as the law of the empire in its relations with foreigners, and that breaches of treaty are considered violations of those laws. But the despatch of your Imperial Highness contains nothing to show that this principle will be carried out in practice. I stated instances in which the authorities, in spite of the remonstrances of her Majesty's consul, had deliberately set aside the letter of the treaty for no other object than to curtail the privileges of her Majesty's subjects. Your Imperial Highness in your reply does not allude to these cases, nor do you inform me that any steps have been taken to remedy these grievances or to prevent a repetition of such conduct. I am simply requested to send in a list of the grievances complained of; and I am informed that the local authorities will be urged to settle them with speed. Such a proposal is entirely unsatisfactory; for what reason have I to suppose that the instructions now to be sent by your Imperial Highness will be attended to, when I see that the orders which I am assured were given by your Imperial Highness for the redress of outrages such as ... have been disobeyed? In these State Papers the relations present and prospective between China and the outer world are accurately represented. Putting aside local and temporary questions, the despatches might be dated 1873, 1883, or 1893, for the position remained substantially the same during the three decades. The attitude of the British Minister we see to be one of hopeless pleading and vague admonition; of the Chinese Ministers, elastic resistance. One wonders how far, under the mask of dull decorum, the Chinese entered into the real humour of the situation: foreigners chafing impotently, but with their teeth drawn, occupying themselves largely with the preservation of China and the dynasty; urging reforms, military, financial, and administrative, while putting up with the non-fulfilment of the commonest obligations. Sir F. Bruce was much too wise a man not to be perfectly conscious of the negative result of foreign diplomacy in Peking. His private letters, some of which were published by Mr Lay in 1864, are more emphatic on the point than his public despatches. He saw it was a case for desperate remedies, but unfortunately he had no remedy except such as aggravated the disease. Like a drowning man, Sir Frederick Bruce clutched at one straw, then another--first at the inspectorate of customs, then at the collective body of his colleagues--to redress the balance which lay so heavily against him. We see in the despatch of June 12, 1863, the inception of what became known as the "co-operative policy." That was an arrangement by which the cause of one foreigner was to be made the cause of all, so that the treaty Powers might present a solid front to the Chinese. Unfortunately such a policy bears no fruit, since half-a-dozen Powers with separate interests, and of varying tempers, can only unite in doing nothing. The co-operative policy, therefore, by tying the hands of all the Powers, rendered the Chinese more secure than ever from outside interference. From Sir Frederick Bruce's despatches it may be gathered that the reason for the non-success of the Peking diplomacy was, that it was not founded on fact. It assumed that the Government of China was centralised instead of decentralised; that the administration of the empire hinged on the initiative of Peking, from which distant point the resident Ministers could protect their respective national interests throughout the empire. This hypothesis, which might have graced an academic debate, was acted upon as if it was a reality, and the struggle to make it so has absorbed the resources of diplomacy for forty years. The real fact, however, was quite otherwise. The distinctive character of Chinese Government is not autocracy, but democracy and provincial autonomy. The springs of action work from below, not from above, and to reverse this order of the ages was to convert a court of appeal into a court of first instance: to sue for a tradesman's debt before the Lord Chancellor, requiring the legal machinery to be first turned upside down. Diplomacy in China has thus been a disheartening effort to drive in a wedge by its thick end without adequate leverage. It is possible, indeed, that force might have accomplished even as much as that, but force was the one thing the use of which was proscribed. The redress of grievances being sought not where it could have been exacted, at the point affected, but in the capital, the Central Government was called on to exercise over the provincial officials a kind of control which had never been exercised before. The provincial officials, relieved from the local pressure which they respected, easily evaded the novel and unconstitutional interference of the capital, and violated the treaties with an impunity unknown in the days before the admission of the foreign Ministers to Peking. The treaties, no doubt, had become the "law of the land" so far as a mere barbarian phrase could make them so, but a full-grown tree of Western legality could not so easily transplant itself to an alien and refractory soil. The argument from legality appealed, therefore, to the ear only. The practical conclusion to which Sir Frederick Bruce was led is very simply stated in two paragraphs of his letters to Prince Kung: "My object has been to seek redress through the Imperial Government, and to do away with the necessity of seeking redress by forcible demonstrations at the ports. But it is evident that the reluctance of your Imperial Highness to enter frankly into this policy renders my efforts ineffectual." "Either the Imperial Government is unwilling to use its influence to cause the treaties to be fairly carried out, or it has not the power to cause its orders to be obeyed." Sir Frederick would have hit still nearer the mark if he had omitted the "either," "or," and said simply the Imperial Government was _both_ unwilling and unable. Notwithstanding these definite views, the experiment of forcing a centralisation which would have been a revolution on the unintelligible Government of China had to be continued through many weary years that were to follow, during which time the rights conferred by treaty on foreigners fell more and more into abeyance. The progress in that direction made in the two first years is thus summarised by Mr H. N. Lay, the first Inspector-General of Customs, on his return to China in 1863:-- When I left China the emperor's Government, under the pressure of necessity, and with the beneficial terror established by the Allied foray to Peking in 1860 fresh in their recollection, was in the best of moods, willing to be guided, grateful for help, and in return for that help prepared to do what was right by the foreigner. What did I find on my return? The face of things was entirely changed. There was the old insolent demeanour, the nonsensical language of exclusion, the open mockery of all treaties.... In short, all the ground gained by the treaty of 1858 had been frittered away, and we were thrust back into the position we occupied before the war,--one of helpless remonstrance and impotent menace; ... the labour of years lost through egregious mismanagement. The Foreign Board looked upon our European representatives as so many _rois fainéants_.... Prince Kung was no longer accessible.... He professed to be engaged with more important matters. FOOTNOTES: [45] Peking and the Pekingese. [46] Kunshan or Quinsan. APPENDIX I. NOTE ON OUR PRESENT POSITION AND THE STATE OF OUR RELATIONS WITH CHINA, BY CONSUL ALCOCK, JANUARY 19, 1849. _Section I._ The lesson of the past is very legibly written in the history of our relations,--oppression in the Chinese, increased by submission in the English. Resistance of the latter followed by concession in the former may be read in every stage, and the influence of the late war, beyond the tangible effects embodied in the provisions of the treaties, has been limited very much to outward forms: there is reason to suspect that the policy of the Chinese has been masked, not changed. The same arrogant and hostile spirit exists, and their policy is still to degrade foreigners in the eyes of the people, and to offer every obstacle which may _with safety_ be interposed to any extended intercourse,--objects which they seek to carry out by various covert and indirect means. In this sense the letter of the treaty is often quoted, but any large interpretation can only be secured under a moral compulsion, as the least objectionable alternative. This may not, perhaps, be wholly owing to bad faith, for distrust and fear of foreigners probably influences the result. Hence all the principal advantages enjoyed under the treaty are only held by a species of personal tenure of precarious character, and a consul at one of the ports may lose more in a week than her Majesty's Government may find it easy to recover with costly and embarrassing efforts in a year. Our present relations consist in a never-ceasing struggle, under veiled appearances of amity; and the treaty extorted by force is generally sought to be eluded by cunning. They have no objection to the foreign trade as one of the elements of their own prosperity, though they much underrate its importance; but to make it wholly acceptable [to them], the former humiliating conditions are wanting. The whole effort of the Chinese rulers seems to be limited to preserving peace as the first object, and, so far as may be compatible with this, to assimilate our present to our ancient position as the second. From the general bearing of our relations in connection with the past and the future, the nature and extent of the disadvantages under which we labour may be easily deduced:-- 1. Local insecurity to person and property at Canton. 2. Want of access to the first markets and of the means of pushing and verifying the consumption of our manufactures in the interior. 3. Ill-adjusted rates of duty on several important articles. 4. Want of reciprocity and equality in our political relations, and a certain inferiority in our position social and political. By the first we are menaced with perpetual danger of fatal collision and interruption to our commerce, while our general position is at the same time prejudiced. By the second we are deprived of any large market for our goods, and pay dearer for native produce. By the third the Straits, Indian, and the native carrying trade are all impeded in their growth and dwarfed in their proportions; and by the fourth insuperable difficulties in remedying abuses or amending our relations are encountered, our only means of action being upon Canton and its governor, acting as an imperial commissioner. The full and rapid development of our commerce, a new and profitable field for our manufactures, and a better guarantee for the maintenance of our friendly relations, are the chief advantages to be sought in the removal of these disabilities. The practicability of maintaining our relations on their present unsatisfactory footing in the south must be very doubtful, nor is there much hope that any of the essential advantages above specified may be gained incidentally in the natural progress of time, and still less that the grounds of alarm should of themselves disappear. The causes of all that is bad in our position spring from too deep a source, and may be traced too far back, to admit of any such hope: a rooted conviction in the minds of a whole population, derived from traditional knowledge of the humiliating and derogatory position voluntarily accepted by foreigners, cannot be effaced by a treaty, or even a short successful war which passed over the city that was the offending cause almost harmless. How far it may be possible to convert popular contempt and dislike into respect and fear, we cannot judge from experience: hitherto, in the steps taken to that end, either too much or too little has been attempted. There are practical difficulties of a peculiar and altogether local character [it is obvious] to any immediate amelioration of our position at Canton which do not exist elsewhere. Setting aside these considerations, it will be found that all that is most valuable and important in the advantages to be desired are of a nature to be granted by the sole exercise of the emperor's will: greater freedom of access, the modification of half-a-dozen items in the tariff, even the exchange of envoys between the two Courts, if this were deemed expedient, are all matters to be decided by a stroke of the vermilion pencil. No hostile populations interpose a practical negative to concessions such as these. The grounds upon which we may claim the revisal of some of the provisions of existing treaties are derived from the well-established conditions of all permanent relations of a friendly and commercial character between sovereign States in the civilised world. We may claim of right a modification of the basis of our relations on the injury resulting to our interests from the bad faith or impuissance (it matters little which) of the Chinese Government in giving execution to the treaties in force. We may insist upon prejudicial limits being abolished, since they have plainly failed in their ostensible object to secure freedom from molestation or injury which was the condition of their acceptance. If it be the traditional policy of the Tartar dynasty to keep foreigners at the outer confines of the empire and in a degrading position, it may with better justice be the policy of Great Britain to obtain a direct action upon their centre, and freedom from idle and vexatious restrictions. The right of a nation to interdict intercourse and commerce, and therefore to determine upon what conditions it shall exist, is but an imperfect right, and subject to such modifications as the rights of other nations to the use of innocent objects of utility dictate; and the refusal of a common right is an abuse of the sovereign power, and an injury to be resisted. China, however disposed its rulers may be to deny the fact, is one of a community of nations with common rights and obligations, and any claim to exemption from the recognised terms of national intercourse is inadmissible in the interest of all other countries. To admit such a right of exemption would be to allow the arrogated superiority in power and civilisation, and to pamper the hostile conceit of her people. So long as the sovereign States of Europe will permit so obvious an inference it cannot be matter of surprise, and scarcely subject of reproach, to the Chinese, that they should be so ready to assert and so pertinacious in acting upon it. But even if exclusion from the territories, from all trade and intercourse, were an absolute right in the first instance, the Chinese have forfeited all claim to its exercise--first, by voluntarily entering into relations political and commercial in ages past with other States and people, by exchange of embassies, by opening their ports and territories and encouraging trade; and secondly, by aggressive wars and invasion of the territory of Europe by the Tartar and Mongolian races who have ruled the country. China preserves her undoubted right of self-preservation as a political society and an empire, but this does not involve the incidental right of interdicting intercourse, because her own history shows that danger does not necessarily follow unlimited access, since as late as the seventeenth century such free communication existed with foreigners; and secondly, because the right of decision must be shared by the interdicted party. _Section II._ It is not enough, however, to determine the abstract principles upon which a policy may be founded--that which is just may not always be most expedient, and if both the one and the other, it may not be practicable. The chief difficulties to be encountered in any attempt to place our relations on an improved basis may be traced to three principal sources:-- The Canton popular traditions and hostility. The treaties in force. The contraband trade in opium. The characteristic features of our position at Canton and their origin are too well known to require illustration. To our political relations before the war, and the humble and in every way derogatory attitude assumed towards the Chinese, is clearly to be traced their present insolence, assumed superiority, and hostility on finding it questioned. The principle of narrow boundaries and restricted limits confirmed by the Treaty of Nanking virtually sanctioned the tradition of the past, which no mere verbal assertion of equality thus practically contradicted can modify. The repudiation of this principle and the establishment of a different footing seem to be essential to our political equality, which would form the best foundation of an improved social and commercial position, most especially in the south. Were our chief political relations with the Chinese Government not centred at Canton, it is very evident that that port would lose much of the importance which now attaches to the sayings and doings of its turbulent mob and impracticable authorities. Were the centre of our political action anywhere else, the local difficulties, troublesome as they are, must soon merge into comparative insignificance, and such a measure as this would seem an easier task to accomplish than to change the habits and the prejudices of a whole population. If we turn from Canton and its unsatisfactory history of oriental insolence and presumption on the one side, and undue submission to their exigencies on the other, and consider the exemption from all such characteristics at Shanghai, the respective influences of the treaties and of local circumstances may be deduced by a comparison of the two chief ports. The various concurring circumstances terminating in the Tsingpu outrage, which threatened to approximate the position of the British at Shanghai to that occupied at Canton, have been detailed in the correspondence of the period. The position was seriously affected by the comparative immunity of whole villages participating in the murders at Canton in the previous year, by the atrocious features of the crime itself, and by the assumed necessity of the consul's inaction pending a reference to her Majesty's plenipotentiary, occupying several weeks. Prompt redress was imperiously demanded by the interests at stake and the sinister aspect of affairs, and to enforce this coercive means were employed, leaving nothing to be desired. The most important of the results obtained was the demonstration of a power to shift the centre of action from a port where no progress could be made to a vulnerable point nearer to Peking where immediate attention could be commanded, and this was supplied by the mission to Nanking. From these two circumstances--the serious deterioration of our position, and the prompt and efficacious remedy provided--an important conclusion may be drawn as to our means of effecting any required change in our relations. In an empire vast in area as China, with an overflowing population, it is no slight advantage to be enabled, without a single battle, to invest and vigorously blockade the capital; and this it is in our power to effect by a small squadron at the mouth of the Grand Canal in the early spring, when Peking is dependent for its supplies for the year on the arrival of the grain and tribute junks by that channel. A more effective means of coercion this than the destruction of twenty cities on the confines of the Chinese territory or on the coast. With a starving Court and population around him, flight or concession appears to be the emperor's only alternatives. The facility and the certainty with which this object may be attained are important considerations. The insurmountable obstacles to the advance of a European army into the interior are rendered nugatory and altogether unimportant by the knowledge of this highroad to the heart of the empire. The maintenance of our present relations is probably in no slight degree due to the secret consciousness of their weakness at this point. In any future policy that may be adopted, therefore, these facts and views are calculated to supersede the necessity for active hostilities, and must tend to avert from a peaceful and industrious population all the worst calamities of war, at the same time that they free her Majesty's Government from the embarrassment of a costly and protracted war _in prospectu_. A simple and ready resource for commanding attention to any just demands is indeed invaluable in China, and without it there is every reason to believe the Chinese rulers would still be the most impracticable of Orientals. With such a power, no insuperable obstacles exist to the satisfactory solution of difficulties without either costly effort or interruption to the trade of the five ports; and it was the long-matured conviction of our powerful action, by means of a command over the necessary supplies for Peking, that dictated the course followed in the Tsingpu affair. The Chinese view of the opium trade and our agency in it forms perhaps the chief obstacle to our taking that high ground with the rulers, and good position with the people, which the extension of our commercial interests demands. Let us look, then, to this opium traffic and the influence it actually exercises upon our position in China. It is no question here whether opium should be classed in the category of medicines, stimuli, or fatal poisons; the Chinese have decided that for themselves, and regard it only as a poison, and the British as the great producers, carriers, and sellers of the drug, to our own great profit and their undoubted impoverishment and ruin. Nor does their conviction end here: they believe to maintain this traffic we made war and dictated a humiliating peace, and that we are prepared to do so again, if they ventured on any interference to its prejudice. These opinions may be false or true in their foundation, that is not the question, but, What is the influence they are calculated to exercise? Hostility and distrust can alone be traced to this source. No other feelings flow from it, and the consequences will meet us at every turn of our negotiations, in our daily intercourse, and every changing phase of our relations. As it overshadows with a sinister influence the whole field of our political action, so must it be seriously taken into account and calculated upon as an adverse element in all we attempt in China. Accepted as _un fait accompli_, the best means of neutralising and counteracting its bad effects are alone to be considered, since the enormous capital, large revenue, and inseparable connection of our legitimate trade with opium, as a means of laying down funds in China, involved in the traffic, precludes all idea of its cessation or removal. The effective protection lent to the chief opium-dealers, in their capacity of British merchants, resident at the ports under the provisions of the treaty, and the manifest inability of the Chinese either to bring the legal proof we should require against these principals, or of attacking by force their agents in the glaring infraction of the Chinese laws, at the opium stations, no doubt flings an air of insincerity over all our protestations of non-intervention, while there is mockery in the invitation to assail large fleets of heavily-armed European vessels. Even if the Chinese for a single moment believed in the honesty of our declarations, they know the utter futility of any means of attack they possess against such superior force as the opium fleets present. This is the view taken by the Chinese, who, though they do not confess their own weakness, do not disguise or deny it to themselves. The obstacles which these opinions create and fling in our path whenever advantages are sought at the hands of the Chinese in furtherance of our national interests are to be overcome before any progress can be made. There are three modes of dealing with them:-- 1. By arguments to prove the fallacy of their assumption that we were either the original cause of this traffic, or have now the power to put an end to it, or finally, that it is an unmixed evil. 2. By a modification in the demands we should, without this consideration, be entitled to insist upon. 3. By a mixture of kindness and decision, of instruction and intimidation, and, in last resort, by coercion for the attainment of all just and necessary concessions. And as we should naturally begin with the first, and may eventually find ourselves compelled to resort to the last, so no doubt it will be expedient many times to combine all the different methods of overcoming the active or inert resistance we encounter in the Chinese rulers. As to any remedy to be applied to the evils of the opium trade, there seems to be none open to either Government but its legalisation, which would strip it of its contraband character, and remove from the emperor the open reproach to his authority, while it might be made to yield a large revenue to his treasury. If on a question of national policy or morality, this measure, as the lesser of two evils, is declined, there seems to be no help for the mischief which must accrue to us from being the chief agents in the traffic. But it is useless to disguise from ourselves the injurious influence it will unfailingly exercise upon our political action, when any rights on our part are weighed, and it is this which may entail the necessity of our flinging the weight of the sword into the opposite scale--sheathed it may be, but not the less significant and compulsory in its effect. The opium grief and the Canton hostility thus work together and dovetail into each other to our manifest prejudice, that port continuing to enjoy its old privilege of being the great exponent and centre of both. There we meet in their least veiled form the national adverseness to foreigners concentrated and localised--the conviction of injury and loss at our hands from opium, heightened into asperity and bitterness by the arrogance of their tempers and the consciousness of their weakness. In no other port does it seem likely the same overt expression and concentration of adverse feelings will ever be experienced. It would appear the more important, therefore, to modify the virulent form they assume at Canton, and remove the bad precedent and example incessantly furnished by the Cantonese. The entrance into the city is obviously a question of principle, not of any _direct_ practical advantage in a _commercial_ sense. The freedom from annoyance, and security to property, are more truly so, and of these two the latter, by far the most essential and important to our interests, seems only to require more storage room for goods, away from a dense Chinese suburb which renders insurance from risk of fire impossible, and entails upon our merchants all the additional danger of fraud in the Chinese warehouse-keepers, who are of necessity the custodians of our goods. We cannot hope that any effort of ours or of the emperor will suffice to change at once the character and habits of a people, or even of the population of a city. But the last war has shown that with us it rests to bring at any time the pretensions of the Chinese rulers down to a nearer level with their military power; and if they cannot from inherent weakness do all that may be desirable, neither are they in a position to refuse any concession, clearly at their option to grant, and such are these which it would seem most important to Great Britain to secure: the nature of our demands and the circumstances under which they shall be preferred are considerations of policy and expediency. But the real question, and by far the most important, it will be obvious, is rather what it may be wise to demand, than what it may be possible to obtain. The danger of collision between the rival civilisations of the East and West has long been foreseen, instinctively felt by the Chinese, and more clearly discerned by Europeans in the result of the late war; and the larger commercial interests growing up under, and in spite of, the present system of restrictions, has only tended, by partially extending the points of contact without placing our relations on a plain basis of reciprocity and equality, to increase the chances. It can only be hoped that the gradual introduction of European arts and ideas and their fructification may in some degree fuse and harmonise the discordant elements before the course of events which otherwise tend to precipitate a violent and disastrous collision are beyond our control. To such a peaceful and beneficial termination of the difficulties which unavoidably beset our relations with China, the efforts of all Western Powers should in the common interest be directed. These considerations must act as the most powerful checks to any initiative measures of a large and comprehensive character for the improvement of our position and the more rapid development of our commerce. In this point of view the two greatest obstacles to any advance are the large commercial interests and national revenue at stake, and the danger of being followed by the envoys of other foreign Powers who, having no such great interests to jeopardise, are without this beneficial and most needful check, and may therefore be induced to repeat at a semi-barbarian Court the intrigues and counter-projects for the destruction of our influence and the injury of our trade in the East which are at work in our own times in every capital in Europe, as formerly in India and the Eastern Archipelago. Russia, France, Spain, Portugal, Holland, and America, with their several jealousies and united rivalry with England, their missionary enterprises or commercial and political schemes clashing in their aim and development, are all capable of creating such turmoil, strife, and disturbance throughout the empire, if free access to the Court and the provinces were insisted upon by Great Britain, as could only end in the ejection of Europeans from China as formerly from Japan, or an intestine war in which European power would probably be involved on opposite sides, and to their mutual destruction as States with commercial interests in the country. These, again, might lead to attempts at territorial possession, suggested in the first instance, as in India, in self-defence, and afterwards continued from necessity. With Russia spreading her gigantic arms to the north and east, Great Britain on the south and west, Spain, Holland, and Portugal with their colonies in the Chinese and Indian seas, a struggle for superiority on the soil of China for exclusive advantages or predominant influence might be centred in Peking and embroil the whole of Europe in hostile relations. The same objection applies to all efforts to enlarge our intercourse and remove limitations, and has ever prevailed. It was recognised as an objection to the last war. The course of events urged on by the opium trade left but little alternative at the last, or there can be no doubt, with the additional fear of the uncertain result of a struggle with a vast empire like China, the resources of which were so imperfectly known, the British Government would have been deterred from any onward step, as these motives did in effect prevent any hostile aggression, so long as it was possible to avoid it, without the sacrifice of our trade. The war over, it again prevailed, and we are once more in a position to accept as final the increased but limited advantages resulting, or to try for more, and by our policy to avert or provoke disturbing causes which must lead to change. The moderation which marked, and the policy which dictated, our treaties carried us back to the old ground of a nation trading by sufferance, under limitations and restrictions which kept us at the boundaries of the empire, and with us the rest of the Western world, the only difference being enlarged facilities and better guarantees for the pursuit of trade on the coast-line, and within the restricted limits of the five ports selected. It is now for the British Government to determine whether we should rest content with the revenue derived from an import of some 60 million lb. of tea and the export from India of 40,000 chests of opium, netting together some 7 millions sterling to the British and Indian Government, together with the incidental advantage of the raw produce of silk, promising to render us independent of Europe and the adjoining markets for the supply of this staple of an important branch of our manufactures at a cheaper rate, and the market for Indian cotton, the circumstances which lend to China nearly all its importance; or take measures, not free from danger and difficulty, of great prospective magnitude, both in a political and commercial sense, to make China a great market for our manufactures also. At present the Chinese take considerably less than 2 millions sterling in annual value out of an aggregate production of some 70 millions. In this respect they are of less importance to us as customers than the West India colonies, the Italian States and islands, or one of the larger European States, so small a fraction do they absorb. The prospect that would urge us on should be the hope of seeing China take of our manufactures as large a share as all Europe, and instead of a couple of millions, create a demand for more than twenty. The produce of tea and silk we have, the market for opium and Indian cotton is ours. We want an equally large and beneficial market for our manufactures--our cotton fabrics, woollens, linen, and cutlery, for which our powers of production are all but unlimited. Two questions suggest themselves, therefore, on the solution of which the decision should depend, it being assumed as unquestioned that something of risk and danger to that which we have must attend all effective efforts to win that which is as yet wanting. To the first four great commercial objects involved in our relations with China, as above specified, shall we sacrifice the fifth? Or shall we peril all for the attainment of the fifth, by the endeavour to create a market for our manufactures which at present exists only in its rudiments, and to a small fractional value? If the extreme exiguity of the market for manufactures be not held to justify the voluntary incurrence of great risk or danger to our tea, silk, opium, and raw cotton trade, which form the great bulk of our commerce as it exists at the present day, British and Indian, it will only remain to be determined what are the various secondary means at our disposal for the improvement of this fifth or manufacturing branch as the primary object, and their respective chances of success on the one hand and dangers attending their adoption on the other. For the dangers, it must be well understood, are of two kinds--those attending failure, and those which may be consequent upon, and the ulterior results of, success in the first instance. It being borne in mind that whatever we ask and obtain will be claimed and enjoyed by others, it is necessary to consider to what use they are liable to be turned by foreign Powers over whom we can exercise no control, and whose interests or national jealousies may clearly be adverse to our position in China and the advancement of our commerce. To these various heads of a subject in every point of view great and important, and surrounded by doubts and difficulties of the most embarrassing character, the best information that can be brought by any one individual is insufficient for a perfectly satisfactory solution of the questions which must be discussed. All that can be attempted is to throw some additional light upon the general bearing of the whole, and to contribute such data and practical inferences, illustrative of our present position and its future prospects, as may help to suggest a safe conclusion as circumstances develop new phases in our relations and call for action. _Section III._ Assuming the present basis of our relations to continue, the best course to be pursued in actual circumstances, more especially for the maintenance of our advantageous position in the north, is worthy of consideration. The instructions lately received from her Majesty's Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs are of a nature to suggest inquiry under the three heads to which they refer:-- 1. Recourse to the authorities by British subjects in danger of popular violence. 2. Reference in all cases to her Majesty's plenipotentiary for instructions. 3. The verification of the punishment awarded to Chinese offenders. In reference to the instructions under the first of these heads, it is to be observed that even with such unusual facilities as some of the older missionaries possess who speak the dialect, and are often familiar with the localities they visit, the resource indicated cannot be counted upon as available. In the Tsingpu affair, as soon as they actually became sensible of danger, it was clearly impossible, nor in one case in a hundred is it probable, that such a resource will be in their power. In these cases the authorities keep out of the way, they and all their ragged staff of runners and police; and if otherwise, moved by a fear of worse consequences from the acts of the nearest British authority, the means they take to rescue a maltreated foreigner are miserably ineffective and uncertain in their results. Whoever will read the details of the species of rescue effected in the Tsingpu business will see that it was by the merest chance the three Englishmen had not their brains beaten out, either before the arrival of the disguised runners or while they were waiting an opportunity of stepping in to render the unfortunate sufferers any service. It must be clear, therefore, that access to the authorities in emergencies of this nature must always be difficult and generally impracticable for a foreigner. Retreat to a boat or other place of safety is as little likely to be attainable. A salutary dread of the immediate consequences of violence offered to British subjects, the certainty of its creating greater trouble and danger to the native authorities personally than even the most vigorous efforts to protect the foreigner and seize their assailants will entail, seems to be the best and only protection in this country for Englishmen. When the Chinese authorities of all ranks, from the viceroy at Nanking to the lowest police runners, are thoroughly imbued with this feeling, it will not only rouse them to greater energy but find its way to the populace by certain steps, and render such exertion unnecessary, and the nationality of an Englishman will become his safeguard. Hence the impolicy, not to say impossibility, of treating instances of personal outrage such as that of Tsingpu as police cases, and leaving redress to the ordinary administration of Chinese laws. Where justice exists only nominally, and her image should be represented not only blind but deaf, deplorable consequences would result from such a course. There seems to be a democratic spirit among the Chinese which renders the authorities especially averse to risk collision with the populace or any popular feeling. The Chih-hsien is himself exposed to insult and violence if he attempt to enforce the collection of the taxes in a bad season, and but lately he was besieged here in his own _yamên_. Not ten days ago the Taotai paid 1600 taels of silver to secure a piece of building-ground at the urgent demand of the French consul, rather than exert his authority to compel the owners to take the fair value of $400 offered, and upon the posts put up to mark the boundaries these parties did not hesitate to prohibit its appropriation. The principal check upon the people, and safeguard for the authorities in cases of popular disturbance, seems to be the conviction under which every Chinese quails, of the terrible vengeance that may pursue them and their families, the tumult once over, if they should have been marked or recognised. In proportion as the magistrate is helpless before numbers, is his power large of wreaking summary and vengeful punishment upon each of the individuals that may form the mob, once separated from each other. Considerations such as these necessarily influence her Majesty's consul on the spot, who each day has under his eyes these significant details, national and administrative. Where danger threatens to involve the persons or the property of British subjects, his sole direct resource is to fall back upon the treaty, and to cover with the ægis of national inviolability individual interests. By any other course he falls inevitably into the hopeless condition of one waiting for such redress as the common course of justice in China usually affords, where everything assuming its form is venal and arbitrary. The result of all efforts made to secure the apprehension of thieves or the recovery of property stolen from foreigners is conclusive as to the kind of security to be obtained for British subjects where infractions are dealt with as affairs of police in which justice is to take its ordinary course. In scarcely one instance has any redress been obtained since the port was opened. If thieves are overtaken, it is only that they may disgorge their booty for the benefit of the police sent after them, and the larger the amount the less chance is there of either apprehension or restitution. Witness Mr Hubertson's robbery, where his servant went off with nearly $10,000 in gold and silver, and he was promptly traced and pursued. Then in reference to the standing orders that, in case of difficulty arising, reference shall invariably be made to her Majesty's plenipotentiary for instructions. Instances have been very numerous showing the nullity of any means of action on the local authorities here through the Imperial Commissioner at Canton, not only in these matters, but in those treated on higher grounds, and affecting our political position. Last year (1847) not only a list of cases where no satisfactory exertion had been made to obtain redress for property stolen was forwarded, but the consul urged upon Sir John Davis, her Majesty's plenipotentiary at the time, the urgent necessity for the removal of the then acting magistrate at Shanghai, who had openly reviled a consulate servant for taking the service of the barbarians, and dismissed him without redress. The only answer to be obtained from his Excellency Kiying was to the effect that the Chih-hsien, as a territorial officer, was not under his jurisdiction. Fortunately he was removed very shortly for misconduct in the management of Chinese affairs,--for however injurious his proceedings to the British, it was obvious neither redress nor assistance was to be obtained from Canton and the Imperial Commissioner. The paramount necessity of protecting its subjects in distant countries is of course well understood by her Majesty's Government, and in an oriental State this can only be effected by letting it be known and felt that whoever attacks one of the solitary subjects will be held to have attacked the sovereign and the nation. By this policy a firman, far more potent than the Grand Seignior's in his own territory, is given to every Englishman abroad, ensuring his freedom from injury all over the world. The treaty viewed in this light becomes a real and efficient bulwark against encroachments, and without such safeguard, with Chinese management, it would at no distant period in all its most important provisions become null and void. No doubt inconvenience results from the necessity of treating casualties of collision between subjects of different countries as infractions of a solemn treaty; but the oriental, and in some respects very peculiar, character of the Chinese, and our relations with them, must be borne in mind, and the lesser of two evils chosen with such discretion and judgment as the circumstances imperatively demand. At a distant and isolated port like Shanghai, where a brig of war is by no means permanently stationed, the consul is left to his own resources, separated by an interval of many weeks from the assistance of her Majesty's plenipotentiary. When difficulties and emergencies supervene, it is only by prompt demands for redress, and firm resistance to any virtual negation of the rights and privileges guaranteed by treaty, that he can hope successfully to defend the very important interests confided to his charge. As regards the practicability and expediency of verifying the punishments of any Chinese offender by the presence of a British officer when a sentence is carried into execution, the instruction received could only have been partially applicable to the Tsingpu offenders had it been earlier received, for the most serious punishment was banishment to a penal settlement in Tartary. But the whole subject is one of peculiar difficulty, nor can any hope be entertained of submitting in this place a satisfactory solution. It has long been felt that of all the provisions of the two treaties, that which provided for the due administration of the laws on Chinese offenders was the most nugatory. The chief difficulty consists in a British officer being present at all during a trial in a Chinese court, assuming the right were to be granted by treaty. Where the ordinary mode of questioning is by torture, a process utterly repugnant to our notions of justice and our sense of what is due to humanity and truth, are we by our presence to sanction and be made parties to such proceedings? Or are we to interfere and insist upon justice being administered not according to their usages, but ours? The objection to both courses seems equally valid, and yet without the presence of an efficient officer there is no guarantee whatever for the due administration of justice. As regards the presence of an officer at punishments, unless he is in a position to identify the criminal, which must often from the circumstances of the case be impossible, it may be questioned whether our national character is not in danger of being compromised without the real object of such risk being attained. Nothing could more effectually tend to lower us in the opinion of the Chinese than to be imposed upon by the jugglery of a substituted criminal, or the punishment of an innocent man at our instigation, or even the illegal and excessive punishment of a real offender. Yet to all these we are exposed when we take upon ourselves to watch the course of justice and verify the execution of the sentences. It may finally be observed that there are punishments recognised in the Chinese code revolting for their brutality, which an English officer could scarcely sanction with his presence without discredit to our national feeling. A lesser objection exists in the frequency of minor punishments for theft and petty misdemeanours, so that an interpreter would be required for this duty alone. These are some of the practical difficulties to the effective exercise of any check upon the proceedings of the Chinese authorities in criminal informations against Chinese subjects, and to devise a remedy may require more consideration than has probably yet been given to the subject. From this review of our actual position at the most favourably situated of the northern ports, and the means by which it has been preserved from deterioration, and in many essential points materially improved, a correct inference may be drawn of the injurious consequences of any retrograde influence from Canton, direct or indirect. APPENDIX II. CONFIDENTIAL DESPATCH BY CONSUL ALCOCK TO SIR GEORGE BONHAM, JANUARY 13, 1852. I have the honour to acknowledge the receipt of your Excellency's confidential despatch of the 17th ultimo, and although the departure of the Audax within three days of its receipt leaves me but little time for consideration or inquiry, I have devoted so much time and thought to the subject during the last five years that I venture to reply without delay. On the general scope of coercive measures adapted to ensure success in any negotiations with the Chinese Government, and more especially on the blockade of the Grand Canal as a very cogent means, I have already in my confidential report of January 19, 1849, and subsequently in another of February 13, 1850, submitted the opinion I had formed after long and careful study of our position in China; and further inquiries and experience of the people we have to deal with have only served to confirm the views contained in those reports. I took the responsibility of sending Mr Vice-Consul Robertson with the Espiègle to Nanking in the spring of 1848 with the strong conviction that at that particular season, with the tribute of grain uncollected and a thousand of these grain-junks actually under an embargo at Shanghai, any demonstration of force in the neighbourhood of the Grand Canal _would command immediate attention_, and the result went far to establish the accuracy of the conclusion. Circumstances since then have, however, altered both in a favourable and an adverse sense. Taokuang, with his humiliating experience of the superiority of our arms and his known and acknowledged desire to avoid any further collision during his reign, is no longer on the throne; and his young successor, untaught by the experience of his father, has given very unequivocal signs of disposition to enter upon a different policy. On the other hand, a protracted and serious insurrection in the southern provinces has drained his treasury, weakened his authority, and now threatens, unless he finds means by force or bribery to put the insurgents down, at no distant period to affect the stability of his throne. If the arrogance of youth in the new sovereign should therefore dispose him on the one side to venture on a crusade against Western Powers, his perilous position in regard to his own provinces cannot fail to impress upon him the prudence of at least temporising until a more convenient season. I am led to think, therefore, from all I can learn, that the two contrary forces will go far to neutralise each other, and that Hsienfêng, with all his hostile feeling, will be at the _present moment_ as accessible to reason, from the peculiarly embarrassing position in which he is placed, if backed by coercive means, as was his predecessor at the conclusion of the war. From this your Excellency will perceive that I deem the present time, from the political condition of China, more favourable than any later period may be for the success of coercive measures. As regards the season of the year to be selected, both in reference to the navigation of the Yangtze-kiang and the transmission of the grain tribute, the blockading should not be commenced later than April. During the summer the sun melts the snow on the mountains and sends down the freshets, swelling the river until it overflows its banks with great accession of violence to the current. When the fleet sailed up in July 1842 many of the soundings taken were over paddy-fields, and altogether out of the bed of the river, as the soundings and observations of the Espiègle clearly demonstrated. The tribute also begins to be sent up to Peking from some parts as early as April. A fleet of grain-junks were at the mouth of the canal when the Espiègle made her appearance at the end of March in 1848. How far a blockade at the present time would have the desired effect--that is, if made effective before the month of May--is a question upon which I cannot feel any doubt. Much would of course depend upon the suddenness of the descent, and therefore upon the previous secrecy observed; much upon the available nature of the force employed. Besides two or three large-class vessels, I am strongly persuaded there should be at least two small steamers of light draught of water, and one or two brigs, which would be quite as effective against any force the Chinese could bring to bear, and far more manageable and serviceable, as well as less costly, than larger vessels. If the result aimed at were not very promptly attained, it might be necessary to retake Chinkiang-fu as a base of operations, and to detach two or three small-class vessels to watch the entrances of water-courses and canals nearer the mouth of the Yangtze-kiang, of which there are at least four, and through them junks with tribute might otherwise pass to the north and into the Grand Canal at some point above the Yangtze-kiang, and between it and the Yellow river. There is also a very free communication with all the lowland districts south of the Yangtze-kiang and the north above Nanking by means of the _Seu ho_, which runs from Soochow west into the Yangtze-kiang at _Wu Hu_ and _Taiping_. But from this point northward there does not appear to be any good water communication leading to the Grand Canal without descending the Yangtze-kiang as far as _Iching_ and _Kwachow_ on the two mouths of the Grand Canal at its junction with the Yangtze-kiang below Nanking. These secured would therefore stop the main traffic by the _Seu ho_ route to the north for the relief of Peking. My own impression is that if no warning were given, nor time allowed for previous preparation, our demands would be granted within one month of the commencement of the blockade. If from any unforeseen cause, however, the negotiations were protracted, and the Chinese Government had leisure to recover from its panic and adopt plans for obtaining tribute and grain by circuitous routes, it would be in that case that Chinkiang-fu might be required, together with a good watch on the various tributaries of the Yangtze-kiang below and eastward of Nanking already referred to; and perhaps on the coast towards the Yellow river and the Peiho two or three cruisers might be required to intercept junks _sent by sea_ with tribute. Such in effect is the intention of the Chinese Government at the present moment, without any reference to us. The grain to be collected from the eight provinces, divided into upper and lower, consists of the common grain and of white rice, the latter for the consumption of the emperor and his Court, which it is intended shall be sent this season by sea from _Shanghai_,--a circumstance peculiarly favourable to the success of any blockading measures, since, as it would be necessary under any contingencies to cover Shanghai and our large interests there with an effective force, the same means would enable her Majesty's Government to lay an embargo on a large and especially important portion of the tribute already collected in the port. I do not imagine it would be contemplated to abandon Shanghai, and I am far from thinking it would be either necessary or expedient--though at Ningpo, Foochow, and perhaps Amoy, it might be considered well--to withdraw the few foreigners for a time. At Canton, no doubt, it would be imperative either to give adequate protection or to abandon the place. On this point I am scarcely called upon to offer an opinion. It probably does not enter into any plans contemplated to strike a blow at Canton, or to adopt any measure necessarily entailing bloodshed and heavy loss: were it otherwise, no doubt the fall of Canton and the humiliation of the Cantonese would in itself go far to read a salutary lesson throughout the empire, and especially at Peking, where there is reason to believe they look upon Canton and the Cantonese as affording the great barrier to our progress, from our inability to make any impression either upon the city or the people. I do not, of course, presume to offer these suggestions on the general measures which might be found needful for the protection of British interests along the coast, and the distribution and economising of our forces while a blockade on the Yangtze-kiang was being effected, as better informed than your Excellency on such points, but merely refer to them incidentally as necessary parts of any plan for demanding redress by coercive measures at the mouth of the Grand Canal. For the better illustration of the points touched upon in this despatch in reference to the different points of access to the Grand Canal, either coastwise or by the Yangtze-kiang below Nanking and the two mouths of the canal, which will have to be borne in mind, I beg to enclose a very rough and hasty plan of the main channels, taken chiefly from the elaborate map of the empire published under the Jesuits, and which Mr Medhurst, when my last confidential report was in hand, was good enough at my suggestion to work at on an enlarged scale, availing himself of all the additional information, by comparison of maps, itineraries, &c., that was accessible. I shall be glad if in this somewhat hasty reply to your Excellency's despatch I have been able to afford such information as you have desired; but if not, or upon any other points it should appear that further inquiries can be prosecuted advantageously and without creating suspicion, I shall be happy to give my best efforts to carry out your Excellency's instructions. APPENDIX III. CONFIDENTIAL DESPATCH TO SIR GEORGE BONHAM, DATED JUNE 17, 1852. (EXTRACT.) If I might without presumption express an opinion on our general policy in China, I should add that it seems in danger of being paralysed by the two antagonistic forces [alluded to in the preamble], and by necessities difficult to reconcile. The magnitude and extreme importance of our interests in the East--in commerce and revenue (for, as I have shown, the China trade is the connecting-link between Great Britain and India, and necessary to complete the circle of trading operations)--suggest on the one hand the necessity of avoiding all measures that may rashly jeopardise such interests, yet nevertheless make it imperative on the other to adopt firmly and unhesitatingly whatever steps may be necessary to prevent loss or deterioration. How these can best be reconciled is the problem to be solved. As late as the last war, throughout all our previous intercourse the attempt had been made to arrive at the solution by a system of temporising and concession, even to that which was unjust and injurious, and this steadily carried out, with a few rare and brief exceptions. Our policy since the treaty has manifested a tendency to an opposite course, encouraged no doubt by the result of the first determined stand made. It has, nevertheless, been so hesitatingly developed that we appear to halt between the two. In words we have asserted resistance to insult or wrongful treatment, but in acts we have not seldom temporised and submitted. The fruit of this policy we now are beginning to reap. Principles of action have sometimes been asserted and then abandoned, instead of being persisted in until the end was accomplished. In dealing with the Chinese, however, nothing appears to be so necessary as to keep the ground once assumed. If this be true, there cannot be too much caution used in first asserting or contending for a right; but that step once taken, there is no safe halting-place between it and full success. A course of alternate opposition and submission cannot do otherwise than end in defeat; and defeat in this country is never limited to its immediate consequences. It has appeared, on looking back through the ten years which have now elapsed since the termination of the war, that the first half of the period was passed in comparative security under the strong influence its events were calculated to exercise on the Chinese mind; but, true to their invariable policy, they have never ceased to seek by every means in their power to make the British authorities develop under what instructions they were acting and to penetrate into their true spirit, in order to ascertain the limits to which our sufferance would extend and the nature of the powers of resistance or retaliation her Majesty's Government were ready to authorise. I think it cannot be matter of doubt to any one resident in China throughout this period, that during the latter portion the Chinese have felt assured of the essentially pacific determination of our Government and the policy of endurance and sufferance in all cases of minor wrongs. And, assured under such a system (with the known impossibility of any direct action in Peking), they have, during the last two years more especially, felt emboldened, systematically, by a series of apparently small encroachments and aggressions, to undermine our position, and to restore, as nearly as may be, the state of things existing before the war, extending the system to all the ports. With this conviction I have thought it desirable to bring before her Majesty's plenipotentiary in detail many illustrations of the deteriorating influences at work at this port, and now venture to pass these rapidly in review, that their collective evidence may not be wanting. And in order that I may be brief, I shall merely note in the margin the number and dates of various despatches bearing upon similar matters, without further reference to their contents. By these I think it will be seen that the general current and tendency of all the official acts for the last two years upon which I have frequently commented as they occurred has been distrust, and strongly adverse alike to our trade and the stability of our position. Evidence, I think, will be found in these records to establish the fact that the present Taotai Wu (or Samqua, as he is more familiarly known, of Canton trading memory) has been especially selected as the chief agent to initiate, and the fit instrument for carrying out, a retrograde policy: his character, means, and the general direction of his efforts to damage our local position, territorial and social--to cripple and restrict our trade, and to Cantonise the whole of our relations both with people and authorities in the north--are all in keeping with this mission, and incomprehensible on any other supposition. The steps of his progress have been carefully watched, and in the despatches noted in the margin traced, together with their effects--neither very apparent on the surface. These may perhaps best be considered by aid of a somewhat arbitrary division as to subjects rather than chronologically, for they have generally run on conterminous and parallel lines. Starting from the Tsingpu affair, in the spring of 1848, and his baffled efforts to pluck from us the best fruit of the risks incurred to vindicate an important principle, from which date he hung about the place--in the background it is true, but not the less busy as a spy from Nanking, between which place and Shanghai, occasionally acting Taotai, at others absent, he oscillated until the fit time appeared to have arrived. After the accession of the new emperor, Lin was displaced from the Taotai office, and he was finally installed by "imperial appointment" to put his hand to the work before him. His steps may be traced in the sinister influences and obstruction brought to bear upon all our interests. The _land tenure and regulations_ under which a foreign colony had rapidly risen covering more than a hundred acres of land, as an element of strength and independence to the British more especially, seems to have excited both the jealousy and the fears of the Chinese authorities. There seemed no limit to its progress and development; each year saw more and more land occupied, while houses of a large and costly description rapidly filled up the vacant spaces. Before Wu came _ostensibly_ upon the scene some progress had been made in the creation of difficulties, and the authorities having in the spring of 1849 granted a large and absurdly disproportionate tract to the French, over which the French consul claimed a territorial jurisdiction, the national susceptibilities of the Americans gave the opportunity of bringing French and Americans, and the latter and the English, into collision, and they were not slow to profit by it to set the land regulations practically aside while officially appearing to uphold them. The desire of the community to carry out an extravagant and not very practicable scheme for a new park or exercise-course that should enclose nearly the whole arable ground and villages within our limits afforded the next opportunity, and the arrogant humour and superstitions of the Fukein clans supplied the ready instruments for inflicting a second blow upon the rights and security of the foreigner at Shanghai connected with the occupation of land. These attacks and aggressions have since been perseveringly followed up--popular commotions, abusive and menacing placards, having all been used in turns to the damage of our position, and the result has been discredit, broken regulations, divided and antagonistic pretensions between the two most numerous classes of foreign residents--the British and American--and between all foreigners and the Fukein clans, the most turbulent and aggressive of the native population at the port,--a result of which, looking to all the present embarrassment and future danger to our interests it is calculated to produce, I am bound to say I think Samqua may well be proud. The national vanity of the French leading them to an absurd and useless acquisition, the love of exercise of the British leading the equestrians to press an ill-advised and impracticable scheme for a three-mile racecourse, and the national susceptibilities of the Americans leading them to dispute the land tenure which hitherto had been the condition of their own security,--all have been adroitly turned to the greatest advantage, to the profit of the Chinese and the serious detriment of the foreigner. The progress made in creating obstacles to our _commerce_ has been not less worthy of remark. For a system of total laxity in the custom-house administration under Lin a capricious alternation of vigilance and neglect, under which oppressive acts of partiality and injustice are frequently perpetrated, has been substituted, to the great derangement of operations in trade. The carrying trade has been harassed and impeded, and the Taotai is now actively engaged in efforts to get the cargo-boats under his exclusive control, and to organise a _cohong_ of five firms on the model of the ancient establishments at Canton, while already--I believe at his suggestion (indeed he scarcely denies it)--information has reached me that a new transit duty of seven mace per picul has been levied at Chung-An on the produce proceeding thence from the Black Tea districts to Shanghai. A duty of over 7 per cent, in violation of one of the most important of our treaty stipulations, with a monopoly of cargo-boats, a right to levy new transit duties, and a _cohong_--the three leading advantages secured by the treaty vanish. It is vain to disguise the fact, for nothing can be clearer or more certain. On these points I have been collecting detailed information, and shall shortly be enabled to write more fully on the subject. I beg your Excellency in the meantime to rest assured that the main facts have already been placed beyond doubt. In connection with these, freedom of access to different points in the interior and with Ningpo by the inland route as advantages long enjoyed have also attracted attention, and some more feeble efforts have been made to throw obstacles in the way. In the _administration of justice_ perhaps more than in any other directions adverse influences have been brought to bear with complete effect. Redress for any injury inflicted on a foreigner, protection from frauds, or recovery of debts, are all wholly unattainable. The action of the Chinese tribunals in our behalf is null and void, and the course taken by the authorities in all cases referred to there amounts to a total denial of justice. The act of the Taotai in seizing and flogging Mr ----'s boatmen was only wanting to withdraw from the foreigners all protection dependent upon the Chinese laws and their administration under our treaties. Under these three heads, therefore, I would sum up the progressive and evident deterioration in our position here. The tenure of land, the operations of trade, the administration of justice, have all been objects of attack, and with serious prejudice. That, however, which is at present evident as the effect of the steps taken, forms but a small part of the injury which will in a very short period be too manifest to be overlooked if no determined steps are taken to reverse the policy now pursued. The time, I am firmly persuaded, has arrived for meeting by energetic action these insidious attacks--as the _least dangerous course_--if our most important interests here are really to be defended with any effect. How this may best be done I feel your Excellency is entitled to demand from the officer who seeks so earnestly to impress you with a conviction that action is necessary, and I have no wish to shrink from the responsibility of suggesting measures by which I conceive some positive good may be effected, to repair the mischief, and much impending evil at all events averted. In reference to the land, also, it would seem very desirable that some understanding should be come to with the United States _chargé d'affaires_ by which any participation in the advantages of the British location, consistent with the security of all, should be freely conceded, while anything incompatible _with this condition_ must be as certainly resisted, in their interest not less than ours. If Dr Parker prove impracticable I see no resource but a reference home, when I trust all the real importance of the questions at issue to the _interests of British trade and the British position at this port_ will be steadily kept in view; nor should it be forgotten that in its maintenance all foreign States are deeply interested, whatever the Americans for the moment may think. Any injury to our position must recoil with double force upon so weak and small a minority as they are when left to stand alone. As regards the measures now in progress for organising a _cohong_, levying new transit duties, and creating a monopoly of cargo-boats, all tending in the most serious degree to fetter our trade, in indirect violation of the express stipulations of our treaty, I confess there seems to be but one course consistent with the credit of our Government or the defence of our interests, and that is resolutely and firmly to resist them as infractions of treaty. Two modes of doing this, however, suggest themselves. The one is by active proceedings--prohibiting the payment of any maritime duties by British subjects until satisfaction is obtained, and a distinct intimation that if this does not suffice other _and more determined measures should follow_. The other involves a system of _negation_ that would be peculiarly embarrassing to the Chinese local authorities, and eventually to the Government at Peking. This may be carried out by simply holding the treaty to be _in abeyance_ by their own acts, and declining to take any steps with British subjects to enforce the conditions--whether as regarded customs, access to the interior, the purchase of land, or the administration of justice--so long as the measures objected to were persisted in. In reference to these two courses, I will not hesitate to say that, if left to my discretion, I should adopt the first; but the condition of ultimate success would be the certainty that, if the object was not attained by such means, her Majesty's Government would feel pledged to send a squadron to the mouth of the Grand Canal next spring with an imperative demand for the Taotai's disgrace and the reversal of all this obnoxious policy, and authority to resort to coercive measures if not listened to. If, however, it should be deemed preferable to incur the risk of doing nothing--or what, I confess, appears to me even more dangerous, to make protests, or demonstrations which there is no serious intention of following up to their legitimate conclusion--the negative policy is of course the only one to be attempted. The responsibility of the initiative would then be thrown upon the Chinese themselves. The tables would be turned, and the Chinese will be left to right themselves as they best could, while a large revenue will slip through their hands and manifold complications and embarrassments in their relations with foreigners arise to their confusion. The task, in fine, they now assign to us would devolve upon them, and their sole remedy, if they did not choose to give way, would be to stop the trade; but as that would be a plain and ostensible _casus belli_, they will not attempt it. If, on the other side, nothing effective be done, I must frankly state my conviction that our position in the north will rapidly deteriorate, and our relations be embroiled, if not irreparably injured. I believe means for the amelioration of both may be safely taken, and have long been required; but I feel still more strongly convinced that at no distant period they _must_ be taken, and the longer they are delayed the greater will be the ultimate cost, and the more imminent the hazard to our future trade and relations with China. If I am correct in these inferences, the conclusion of the whole must be that the time has arrived when it will be no longer safe to defer strong and effective measures in defence of our interests, and that there is a clear necessity for present action to avert at no distant period a costly war and a shock to this empire it is so ill capable of sustaining, that it must of necessity be attended with great peril not only to the present dynasty but to the existing social organisation of the country. APPENDIX IV. ACCOUNT OF THE SALT TRADE ANNEXED TO MR PARKES' SUMMARY OF THE NATIVE MARITIME TRADE OF FOOCHOW, 1846. (EXTRACTS.) They have constituted the sale of salt a monopoly, which they place in the hands of a set of merchants whom they hold liable for the payment of a fixed amount of tax. This, in some instances, falls rather heavy upon them, but proves an easy measure to the authorities, who have thus but little trouble or expense of collection. All the supplies of salt are drawn from the sea-shore, and consequently there is an appointment of salt inspector in every maritime province, who superintends everything connected with the _gabelle_: he holds a high rank and receives good emoluments from the Government, 3000 taels per annum. It also forms one of the duties of the governor-general of the province to act as chief superintendent of salt excise. Most of the supplies from Fukien have to be sent into the interior and the adjacent province of Kiangsi _viâ_ Foochow. The salt is made all along the shore to the southward.... The salt is made at these places by people belonging to the various localities, and the manufacture gives employment to numbers of individuals, who in those sterile districts have few other means of subsistence. The general method of manufacture is to collect the saturated loam from the beach in heaps, and thence to draw off the brine by drainage into large but shallow-built vats, when crystallisation is effected by exposure to the natural heat of the sun. The brine being all extracted from the heap, it is removed to the beach, and the same earth, having been immersed in the salt-tide, can again be used. In fine weather great quantities can thus be expeditiously manufactured, but a succession of rain stops the works, and a scarcity in the supplies is the consequence. The producers are exempted from all taxes or charges on the part of the Government, on the consideration that they are in mean labouring circumstances, though many of the salt-farms are very extensive, and some of their conductors possessed of better competence than the merchants, on whom the whole burden of taxation falls. Junks are despatched to these places by the salt merchants for freights. The Government system of exacting a fixed annual amount of _gabelle_ is very defective, and places the trade, which might prosper under other management, on an unhealthy basis. When the trade is dull, it becomes still more depressed by the nature of the liabilities that the merchants have at all times equally to bear, and which then become burdensome; and again, on the other hand, in case of a thriving season, the revenue is in no way advantaged. Their wretched executive, however, prevents any improvement. They therefore content themselves with fixing a stated sum, upwards of 300,000 taels per annum; and if they can secure the requisite number of persons to undertake to dispose of a certain quantity of salt that will yield excise to this amount, they are content. Thus each merchant is bound to conduct the sale of the quantity that he undertakes, or rather is held responsible for the amount of duty due on such quantity, and having once paid this up, should he be so disposed, he is at perfect liberty to transport and sell more salt on his own account, duty free; whilst, on the other hand, should he, from a glut in the market or other circumstances, not be able to dispose of the quantity of which he had undertaken the sale, he has still to pay duty on the whole at a fixed unalterable rate. It is therefore the imminent risk attending salt speculations that causes people of property to be so averse towards entering them. They involve a great outlay of capital, with continual liability but uncertain remuneration. Thus, if a man embarks the whole or greater part of his means in speculations which do not succeed, he becomes instantly embarrassed with the Government, and, with no incomings to relieve him, may perhaps not succeed in recovering his first failure. Most of the merchants being men who are selected merely on account of their capital, the management of their business is entirely in the hands of those they employ, for whose honesty or capacity they are mainly dependent for success. The charges and expenses connected with carrying on a salt business are very great. Yet there are several instances of old merchants employing good managing men, and possessing plenty of supporting capital, having amassed large fortunes in the trade, though, on the contrary, cases are much more numerous of speculators having suffered losses and contracted debts with the Government. A debt to the State of no less than 1,450,000 taels by the salt dealers of Foochow has thus gradually collected. The nomination of salt merchants is almost invariably compulsory, and no one can retire from the business without he is totally unable from want of means to continue in it. In these cases the reflection that they were obliged to undertake the transactions that led to their ruin must add increased poignancy to their losses. When once, however, they have undertaken a transaction, they are much favoured by the authorities, who give them entertainments and confer honours and distinctions upon them. There are head merchants appointed, who hold some control over the proceedings of the others. To be a head merchant a man must be of known character and not owing anything to the Government. They are responsible for all the other merchants, who, however trustworthy, have all to be secured by the head merchants. In case of any merchant becoming in arrears with the payment of his duties, the salt inspector orders the head merchants to limit him to a certain time in which to liquidate all charges. According as the case needs, the head merchants convene and consult as to whether they should pray for an extension of the term or require some of the other merchants in substantial circumstances to lend the necessary amounts, or perhaps they may proceed to pay it themselves. If also they find that any of the other merchants are incompetent, from want of means, to manage their business, they represent the same to the salt inspector, that they may be allowed to retire. At present there are four head merchants out of a total of sixty-one.... Smuggling is also carried on to some extent. As this, however, affects the vital interests of the salt merchants, they show great vigilance in investigating and reporting to the authorities any instances that may come within their knowledge, and for this purpose fit up and maintain several small vessels which keep up a constant watch against contraband proceedings. There are a multiplicity of fees and charges which prove very onerous to the merchants. [Here follows a list of forty-seven separate fees, dues, and charges, amounting to 15,300 taels, or about £5000 sterling, on 900,000 lb. weight, or about one-eighth of a penny per lb.] END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS. 
5350	----	This eBook was created by Steve Solomon (www.soilandhealth.org) and Charles Aldarondo (pg@aldarondo.net). FARMERS OF FORTY CENTURIES OR PERMANENT AGRICULTURE IN CHINA, KOREA AND JAPAN By F. H. KING, D. Sc. 1911 PREFACE By DR. L. H. BAILEY. We have not yet gathered up the experience of mankind in the tilling of the earth; yet the tilling of the earth is the bottom condition of civilization. If we are to assemble all the forces and agencies that make for the final conquest of the planet, we must assuredly know how it is that all the peoples in all the places have met the problem of producing their sustenance out of the soil. We have had few great agricultural travelers and few books that describe the real and significant rural conditions. Of natural history travel we have had very much; and of accounts of sights and events perhaps we have had too many. There are, to be sure, famous books of study and travel in rural regions, and some of them, as Arthur Young's "Travels in France," have touched social and political history; but for the most part, authorship of agricultural travel is yet undeveloped. The spirit of scientific inquiry must now be taken into this field, and all earth-conquest must be compared and the results be given to the people that work. This was the point of view in which I read Professor King's manuscript. It is the writing of a well-trained observer who went forth not to find diversion or to depict scenery and common wonders, but to study the actual conditions of life of agricultural peoples. We in North America are wont to think that we may instruct all the world in agriculture, because our agricultural wealth is great and our exports to less favored peoples have been heavy; but this wealth is great because our soil is fertile and new, and in large acreage for every person. We have really only begun to farm well. The first condition of farming is to maintain fertility. This condition the oriental peoples have met, and they have solved it in their way. We may never adopt particular methods, but we can profit vastly by their experience. With the increase of personal wants in recent time. the newer countries may never reach such density of population as have Japan and China; but we must nevertheless learn the first lesson in the conservation of natural resources, which are the resources of the land. This is the message that Professor King brought home from the East. This book on agriculture should have good effect in establishing understanding between the West and the East. If there could be such an interchange of courtesies and inquiries on these themes as is suggested by Professor King, as well as the interchange of athletics and diplomacy and commerce, the common productive people on both sides should gain much that they could use; and the results in amity should be incalculable. It is a misfortune that Professor King could not have lived to write the concluding "Message of China and Japan to the World." It would have been a careful and forceful summary of his study of eastern conditions. At the moment when the work was going to the printer, he was called suddenly to the endless journey and his travel here was left incomplete. But he bequeathed us a new piece of literature, to add to his standard writings on soils and on the applications of physics and devices to agriculture. Whatever he touched he illuminated. CONTENTS PREFACE INTRODUCTION FIRST GLIMPSES OF JAPAN GRAVE LANDS OF CHINA TO HONGKONG AND CANTON UP THE SI-KIANG, WEST RIVER EXTENT OF CANALIZATION AND SURFACE FITTING OF FIELDS SOME CUSTOMS OF THE COMMON PEOPLE THE FUEL PROBLEM, BUILDING AND TEXTILE MATERIALS TRAMPS AFIELD THE UTILIZATION OF WASTE IN THE SHANTUNG PROVINCE ORIENTALS CROWD BOTH TIME AND SPACE RICE CULTURE IN THE ORIENT SILK CULTURE THE TEA INDUSTRY ABOUT TIENTSIN MANCHURIA AND KOREA RETURN TO JAPAN INTRODUCTION A word of introduction is needed to place the reader at the best view point from which to consider what is said in the following pages regarding the agricultural practices and customs of China, Korea and Japan. It should be borne in mind that the great factors which today characterize, dominate and determine the agricultural and other industrial operations of western nations were physical impossibilities to them one hundred years ago, and until then had been so to all people. It should be observed, too, that the United States as yet is a nation of but few people widely scattered over a broad virgin land with more than twenty acres to the support of every man, woman and child, while the people whose practices are to be considered are toiling in fields tilled more than three thousand years and who have scarcely more than two acres per capita,* more than one-half of which is uncultivable mountain land. *[Footnote: This figure was wrongly stated in the first edition as one acre, owing to a mistake in confusing the area of cultivated land with total area.] Again, the great movement of cargoes of feeding stuffs and mineral fertilizers to western Europe and to the eastern United States began less than a century ago and has never been possible as a means of maintaining soil fertility in China, Korea or Japan, nor can it be continued indefinitely in either Europe or America. These importations are for the time making tolerable the waste of plant food materials through our modern systems of sewage disposal and other faulty practices; but the Mongolian races have held all such wastes, both urban and rural, and many others which we ignore, sacred to agriculture, applying them to their fields. We are to consider some of the practices of a virile race of some five hundred millions of people who have an unimpaired inheritance moving with the momentum acquired through four thousand years; a people morally and intellectually strong, mechanically capable, who are awakening to a utilization of all the possibilities which science and invention during recent years have brought to western nations; and a people who have long dearly loved peace but who can and will fight in self defense if compelled to do so. We had long desired to stand face to face with Chinese and Japanese farmers; to walk through their fields and to learn by seeing some of their methods, appliances and practices which centuries of stress and experience have led these oldest farmers in the world to adopt. We desired to learn how it is possible, after twenty and perhaps thirty or even forty centuries, for their soils to be made to produce sufficiently for the maintenance of such dense populations as are living now in these three countries. We have now had this opportunity and almost every day we were instructed, surprised and amazed at the conditions and practices which confronted us whichever way we turned; instructed in the ways and extent to which these nations for centuries have been and are conserving and utilizing their natural resources, surprised at the magnitude of the returns they are getting from their fields, and amazed at the amount of efficient human labor cheerfully given for a daily wage of five cents and their food, or for fifteen cents, United States currency, without food. The three main islands of Japan in 1907 had a population of 46,977,003 maintained on 20,000 square miles of cultivated field. This is at the rate of more than three people to each acre, and of 2,349 to each square mile; and yet the total agricultural imports into Japan in 1907 exceeded the agricultural exports by less than one dollar per capita. If the cultivated land of Holland is estimated at but one-third of her total area, the density of her population in 1905 was, on this basis, less than one-third that of Japan in her three main islands. At the same time Japan is feeding 69 horses and 56 cattle, nearly all laboring animals, to each square mile of cultivated field, while we were feeding in 1900 but 30 horses and mules per same area, these being our laboring animals. As coarse food transformers Japan was maintaining 16,500,000 domestic fowl, 825 per square mile, but only one for almost three of her people. We were maintaining, in 1900, 250,600,000 poultry, but only 387 per square mile of cultivated field and yet more than three for each person. Japan's coarse food transformers in the form of swine, goats and sheep aggregated but 13 to the square mile and provided but one of these units for each 180 of her people while in the United States in 1900 there were being maintained, as transformers of grass and coarse grain into meat and milk, 95 cattle, 99 sheep and 72 swine per each square mile of improved farms. In this reckoning each of the cattle should be counted as the equivalent of perhaps five of the sheep and swine, for the transforming power of the dairy cow is high. On this basis we are maintaining at the rate of more than 646 of the Japanese units per square mile, and more than five of these to every man, woman and child, instead of one to every 180 of the population, as is the case in Japan. Correspondingly accurate statistics are not accessible for China but in the Shantung province we talked with a farmer having 12 in his family and who kept one donkey, one cow, both exclusively laboring animals, and two pigs on 2.5 acres of cultivated land where he grew wheat, millet, sweet potatoes and beans. Here is a density of population equal to 3,072 people, 256 donkeys, 256 cattle and 512 swine per square mile. In another instance where the holding was one and two-thirds acres the farmer had 10 in his family and was maintaining one donkey and one pig, giving to this farm land a maintenance capacity of 3,840 people, 384 donkeys and 384 pigs to the square mile, or 240 people, 24 donkeys and 24 pigs to one of our forty-acre farms which our farmers regard too small for a single family. The average of seven Chinese holdings which we visited and where we obtained similar data indicates a maintenance capacity for those lands of 1,783 people, 212 cattle or donkeys and 399 swine,--1,995 consumers and 399 rough food transformers per square mile of farm land. These statements for China represent strictly rural populations. The rural population of the United States in 1900 was placed at the rate of 61 per square mile of improved farm land and there were 30 horses and mules. In Japan the rural population had a density in 1907 of 1,922 per square mile, and of horses and cattle together 125. The population of the large island of Chungming in the mouth of the Yangtse river, having an area of 270 square miles, possessed, according to the official census of 1902, a density of 3,700 per square mile and yet there was but one large city on the island, hence the population is largely rural. It could not be other than a matter of the highest industrial, educational and social importance to all nations if there might be brought to them a full and accurate account of all those conditions which have made it possible for such dense populations to be maintained so largely upon the products of Chinese, Korean and Japanese soils. Many of the steps, phases and practices through which this evolution has passed are irrevocably buried in the past but such remarkable maintenance efficiency attained centuries ago and projected into the present with little apparent decadence merits the most profound study and the time is fully ripe when it should be made. Living as we are in the morning of a century of transition from isolated to cosmopolitan national life when profound readjustments, industrial, educational and social, must result, such an investigation cannot be made too soon. It is high time for each nation to study the others and by mutual agreement and co-operative effort, the results of such studies should become available to all concerned, made so in the spirit that each should become coordinate and mutually helpful component factors in the world's progress. One very appropriate and immensely helpful means for attacking this problem, and which should prove mutually helpful to citizen and state, would be for the higher educational institutions of all nations, instead of exchanging courtesies through their baseball teams, to send select bodies of their best students under competent leadership and by international agreement, both east and west, organizing therefrom investigating bodies each containing components of the eastern and western civilization and whose purpose it should be to study specifically set problems. Such a movement well conceived and directed, manned by the most capable young men, should create an international acquaintance and spread broadcast a body of important knowledge which would develop as the young men mature and contribute immensely toward world peace and world progress. If some broad plan of international effort such as is here suggested were organized the expense of maintenance might well be met by diverting so much as is needful from the large sums set aside for the expansion of navies for such steps as these, taken in the interests of world uplift and world peace, could not fail to be more efficacious and less expensive than increase in fighting equipment. It would cultivate the spirit of pulling together and of a square deal rather than one of holding aloof and of striving to gain unneighborly advantage. Many factors and conditions conspire to give to the farms and farmers of the Far East their high maintenance efficiency and some of these may be succinctly stated. The portions of China, Korea and Japan where dense populations have developed and are being maintained occupy exceptionally favorable geographic positions so far as these influence agricultural production. Canton in the south of China has the latitude of Havana, Cuba, while Mukden in Manchuria, and northern Honshu in Japan are only as far north as New York city, Chicago and northern California. The United States lies mainly between 50 degrees and 30 degrees of latitude while these three countries lie between 40 degrees and 20 degrees, some seven hundred miles further south. This difference of position, giving them longer seasons, has made it possible for them to devise systems of agriculture whereby they grow two, three and even four crops on the same piece of ground each year. In southern China, in Formosa and in parts of Japan two crops of rice are grown; in the Chekiang province there may be a crop of rape, of wheat or barley or of windsor beans or clover which is followed in midsummer by another of cotton or of rice. In the Shantung province wheat or barley in the winter and spring may be followed in summer by large or small millet, sweet potatoes, soy beans or peanuts. At Tientsin, 39 deg north, in the latitude of Cincinnati, Indianapolis, and Springfield, Illinois, we talked with a farmer who followed his crop of wheat on his small holding with one of onions and the onions with cabbage, realizing from the three crops at the rate of $163, gold, per acre; and with another who planted Irish potatoes at the earliest opportunity in the spring, marketing them when small, and following these with radishes, the radishes with cabbage, realizing from the three crops at the rate of $203 per acre. Nearly 500,000,000 people are being maintained, chiefly upon the products of an area smaller than the improved farm lands of the United States. Complete a square on the lines drawn from Chicago southward to the Gulf and westward across Kansas, and there will be enclosed an area greater than the cultivated fields of China, Korea and Japan and from which five times our present population are fed. The rainfall in these countries is not only larger than that even in our Atlantic and Gulf states, but it falls more exclusively during the summer season when its efficiency in crop production may be highest. South China has a rainfall of some 80 inches with little of it during the winter, while in our southern states the rainfall is nearer 60 inches with less than one-half of it between June and September. Along a line drawn from Lake Superior through central Texas the yearly precipitation is about 30 inches but only 16 inches of this falls during the months May to September; while in the Shantung province, China, with an annual rainfall of little more than 24 inches, 17 of these fall during the months designated and most of this in July and August. When it is stated that under the best tillage and with no loss of water through percolation, most of our agricultural crops require 300 to 600 tons of water for each ton of dry substance brought to maturity, it can be readily understood that the right amount of available moisture, coming at the proper time, must be one of the prime factors of a high maintenance capacity for any soil, and hence that in the Far East, with their intensive methods, it is possible to make their soils yield large returns. The selection of rice and of the millets as the great staple food crops of these three nations, and the systems of agriculture they have evolved to realize the most from them, are to us remarkable and indicate a grasp of essentials and principles which may well cause western nations to pause and reflect. Notwithstanding the large and favorable rainfall of these countries, each of the nations have selected the one crop which permits them to utilize not only practically the entire amount of rain which falls upon their fields, but in addition enormous volumes of the run-off from adjacent uncultivable mountain country. Wherever paddy fields are practicable there rice is grown. In the three main islands of Japan 56 per cent of the cultivated fields, 11,000 square miles, is laid out for rice growing and is maintained under water from transplanting to near harvest time, after which the land is allowed to dry, to be devoted to dry land crops during the balance of the year, where the season permits. To anyone who studies the agricultural methods of the Far East in the field it is evident that these people, centuries ago, came to appreciate the value of water in crop production as no other nations have. They have adapted conditions to crops and crops to conditions until with rice they have a cereal which permits the most intense fertilization and at the same time the ensuring of maximum yields against both drought and flood. With the practice of western nations in all humid climates, no matter how completely and highly we fertilize, in more years than not yields are reduced by a deficiency or an excess of water. It is difficult to convey, by word or map, an adequate conception of the magnitude of the systems of canalization which contribute primarily to rice culture. A conservative estimate would place the miles of canals in China at fully 200,000 and there are probably more miles of canal in China, Korea and Japan than there are miles of railroad in the United States. China alone has as many acres in rice each year as the United States has in wheat and her annual product is more than double and probably threefold our annual wheat crop, and yet the whole of the rice area produces at least one and sometimes two other crops each year. The selection of the quick-maturing, drought-resisting millets as the great staple food crops to be grown wherever water is not available for irrigation, and the almost universal planting in hills or drills, permitting intertillage, thus adopting centuries ago the utilization of earth mulches in conserving soil moisture, has enabled these people to secure maximum returns in seasons of drought and where the rainfall is small. The millets thrive in the hot summer climates; they survive when the available soil moisture is reduced to a low limit, and they grow vigorously when the heavy rains come. Thus we find in the Far East, with more rainfall and a better distribution of it than occurs in the United States, and with warmer, longer seasons, that these people have with rare wisdom combined both irrigation and dry farming methods to an extent and with an intensity far beyond anything our people have ever dreamed, in order that they might maintain their dense populations. Notwithstanding the fact that in each of these countries the soils are naturally more than ordinarily deep, inherently fertile and enduring, judicious and rational methods of fertilization are everywhere practiced; but not until recent years, and only in Japan, have mineral commercial fertilizers been used. For centuries, however, all cultivated lands, including adjacent hill and mountain sides, the canals, streams and the sea have been made to contribute what they could toward the fertilization of cultivated fields and these contributions in the aggregate have been large. In China, in Korea and in Japan all but the inaccessible portions of their vast extent of mountain and hill lands have long been taxed to their full capacity for fuel, lumber and herbage for green manure and compost material; and the ash of practically all of the fuel and of all of the lumber used at home finds its way ultimately to the fields as fertilizer. In China enormous quantities of canal mud are applied to the fields, sometimes at the rate of even 70 and more tons per acre. So, too, where there are no canals, both soil and subsoil are carried into the villages and there between the intervals when needed they are, at the expense of great labor, composted with organic refuse and often afterwards dried and pulverized before being carried back and used on the fields as home-made fertilizers. Manure of all kinds, human and animal, is religiously saved and applied to the fields in a manner which secures an efficiency far above our own practices. Statistics obtained through the Bureau of Agriculture, Japan, place the amount of human waste in that country in 1908 at 23,950,295 tons, or 1.75 tons per acre of her cultivated land. The International Concession of the city of Shanghai, in 1908, sold to a Chinese contractor the privilege of entering residences and public places early in the morning of each day in the year and removing the night soil, receiving therefor more than $31,000, gold, for 78,000 tons of waste. All of this we not only throw away but expend much larger sums in doing so. Japan's production of fertilizing material, regularly prepared and applied to the land annually, amounts to more than 4.5 tons per acre of cultivated field exclusive of the commercial fertilizers purchased. Between Shanhaikwan and Mukden in Manchuria we passed, on June 18th, thousands of tons of the dry highly nitrified compost soil recently carried into the fields and laid down in piles where it was waiting to be "fed to the crops." It was not until 1888, and then after a prolonged war of more than thirty years, generaled by the best scientists of all Europe, that it was finally conceded as demonstrated that leguminous plants acting as hosts for lower organisms living on their roots are largely responsible for the maintenance of soil nitrogen, drawing it directly from the air to which it is returned through the processes of decay. But centuries of practice had taught the Far East farmers that the culture and use of these crops are essential to enduring fertility, and so in each of the three countries the growing of legumes in rotation with other crops very extensively for the express purpose of fertilizing the soil is one of their old, fixed practices. Just before, or immediately after the rice crop is harvested, fields are often sowed to "clover" (Astragalus sinicus) which is allowed to grow until near the next transplanting time when it is either turned under directly, or more often stacked along the canals and saturated while doing so with soft mud dipped from the bottom of the canal. After fermenting twenty or thirty days it is applied to the field. And so it is literally true that these old world farmers whom we regard as ignorant, perhaps because they do not ride sulky plows as we do, have long included legumes in their crop rotation, regarding them as indispensable. Time is a function of every life process as it is of every physical, chemical and mental reaction. The husbandman is an industrial biologist and as such is compelled to shape his operations so as to conform with the time requirements of his crops. The oriental farmer is a time economizer beyond all others. He utilizes the first and last minute and all that are between. The foreigner accuses the Chinaman of being always long on time, never in a fret, never in a hurry. This is quite true and made possible for the reason that they are a people who definitely set their faces toward the future and lead time by the forelock. They have long realized that much time is required to transform organic matter into forms available for plant food and although they are the heaviest users in the world, the largest portion of this organic matter is predigested with soil or subsoil before it is applied to their fields, and at an enormous cost of human time and labor, but it practically lengthens their growing season and enables them to adopt a system of multiple cropping which would not otherwise be possible. By planting in hills and rows with intertillage it is very common to see three crops growing upon the same field at one time, but in different stages of maturity, one nearly ready to harvest one just coming up, and the other at the stage when it is drawing most heavily upon the soil. By such practice, with heavy fertilization, and by supplemental irrigation when needful, the soil is made to do full duty throughout the growing season. Then, notwithstanding the enormous acreage of rice planted each year in these countries, it is all set in hills and every spear is transplanted. Doing this, they save in many ways except in the matter of human labor, which is the one thing they have in excess. By thoroughly preparing the seed bed, fertilizing highly and giving the most careful attention, they are able to grow on one acre, during 30 to 50 days, enough plants to occupy ten acres and in the mean time on the other nine acres crops are maturing, being harvested and the fields being fitted to receive the rice when it is ready for transplanting, and in effect this interval of time is added to their growing season. Silk culture is a great and, in some ways, one of the most remarkable industries of the Orient. Remarkable for its magnitude; for having had its birthplace apparently in oldest China at least 2700 years B. C.; for having been laid on the domestication of a wild insect of the woods; and for having lived through more than 4000 years, expanding until a million-dollar cargo of the product has been laid down on our western coast and rushed by special fast express to the cast for the Christmas trade. A low estimate of China's production of raw silk would be 120,000,000 pounds annually, and this with the output of Japan, Korea and a small area of southern Manchuria, would probably exceed 150,000,000 pounds annually, representing a total value of perhaps $700,000,000, quite equaling in value the wheat crop of the United States, but produced on less than one-eighth the area of our wheat fields. The cultivation of tea in China and Japan is another of the great industries of these nations, taking rank with that of sericulture if not above it in the important part it plays in the welfare of the people. There is little reason to doubt that this industry has its foundation in the need of something to render boiled water palatable for drinking purposes. The drinking of boiled water is universally adopted in these countries as an individually available and thoroughly efficient safeguard against that class of deadly disease germs which thus far it has been impossible to exclude from the drinking water of any densely peopled country. Judged by the success of the most thorough sanitary measures thus far instituted, and taking into consideration the inherent difficulties which must increase enormously with increasing populations, it appears inevitable that modern methods must ultimately fail in sanitary efficiency and that absolute safety can be secured only in some manner having the equivalent effect of boiling drinking water, long ago adopted by the Mongolian races. In the year 1907 Japan had 124,482 acres of land in tea plantations, producing 60,877,975 pounds of cured tea. In China the volume annually produced is much larger than that of Japan, 40,000,000 pounds going annually to Tibet alone from the Szechwan province and the direct export to foreign countries was, in 1905, 176,027,255 pounds, and in 1906 it was 180,271,000, so that their annual export must exceed 200,000,000 pounds with a total annual output more than double this amount of cured tea. But above any other factor, and perhaps greater than all of them combined in contributing to the high maintenance efficiency attained in these countries must be placed the standard of living to which the industrial classes have been compelled to adjust themselves, combined with their remarkable industry and with the most intense economy they practice along every line of effort and of living. Almost every foot of land is made to contribute material for food, fuel or fabric. Everything which can be made edible serves as food for man or domestic animals. Whatever cannot be eaten or worn is used for fuel. The wastes of the body, of fuel and of fabric worn beyond other use are taken back to the field; before doing so they are housed against waste from weather, compounded with intelligence and forethought and patiently labored with through one, three or even six months, to bring them into the most efficient form to serve as manure for the soil or as feed for the crop. It seems to be a golden rule with these industrial classes, or if not golden, then an inviolable one, that whenever an extra hour or day of labor can promise even a little larger return then that shall be given, and neither a rainy day nor the hottest sunshine shall be permitted to cancel the obligation or defer its execution. I FIRST GLIMPSES OF JAPAN We left the United States from Seattle for Shanghai, China, sailing by the northern route, at one P. M. February second, reaching Yokohama February 19th and Shanghai, March 1st. It was our aim throughout the journey to keep in close contact with the field and crop problems and to converse personally, through interpreters or otherwise, with the farmers, gardeners and fruit growers themselves; and we have taken pains in many cases to visit the same fields or the same region two, three or more times at different intervals during the season in order to observe different phases of the same cultural or fertilization methods as these changed or varied with the season. Our first near view of Japan came in the early morning of February 19th when passing some three miles off the point where the Pacific passenger steamer Dakota was beached and wrecked in broad daylight without loss of life two years ago. The high rounded hills were clothed neither in the dense dark forest green of Washington and Vancouver, left sixteen days before, nor yet in the brilliant emerald such as Ireland's hills in June fling in unparalleled greeting to passengers surfeited with the dull grey of the rolling ocean. This lack of strong forest growth and even of shrubs and heavy herbage on hills covered with deep soil, neither cultivated nor suffering from serious erosion, yet surrounded by favorable climatic conditions, was our first great surprise. To the southward around the point, after turning northward into the deep bay, similar conditions prevailed, and at ten o'clock we stood off Uraga where Commodore Perry anchored on July 8th, 1853, bearing to the Shogun President Fillmore's letter which opened the doors of Japan to the commerce of the world and, it is to be hoped brought to her people, with their habits of frugality and industry so indelibly fixed by centuries of inheritance, better opportunities for development along those higher lines destined to make life still more worth living. As the Tosa Maru drew alongside the pier at Yokohama it was raining hard and this had attired an army after the manner of Robinson Crusoe, dressed as seen in Fig. 1, ready to carry you and yours to the Customs house and beyond for one, two, three or five cents. Strong was the contrast when the journey was reversed and we descended the gang plank at Seattle, where no one sought the opportunity of moving baggage. Through the kindness of Captain Harrison of the Tosa Maru in calling an interpreter by wireless to meet the steamer, it was possible to utilize the entire interval of stop in Yokohama to the best advantage in the fields and gardens spread over the eighteen miles of plain extending to Tokyo, traversed by both electric tram and railway lines, each running many trains making frequent stops; so that this wonderfully fertile and highly tilled district could be readily and easily reached at almost any point. We had left home in a memorable storm of snow, sleet and rain which cut out of service telegraph and telephone lines over a large part of the United States; we had sighted the Aleutian Islands, seeing and feeling nothing on the way which could suggest a warm soil and green fields, hence our surprise was great to find the jinricksha men with bare feet and legs naked to the thighs, and greater still when we found, before we were outside the city limits, that the electric tram was running between fields and gardens green with wheat, barley, onions, carrots, cabbage and other vegetables. We were rushing through the Orient with everything outside the car so strange and different from home that the shock came like a bolt of lightning out of a clear sky. In the car every man except myself and one other was smoking tobacco and that other was inhaling camphor through an ivory mouthpiece resembling a cigar holder closed at the end. Several women, tiring of sitting foreign style, slipped off--I cannot say out of--their shoes and sat facing the windows, with toes crossed behind them on the seat. The streets were muddy from the rain and everybody Japanese was on rainy-day wooden shoes, the soles carried three to four inches above the ground by two cross blocks, in the manner seen in Fig. 2. A mother, with baby on her back and a daughter of sixteen years came into the car. Notwithstanding her high shoes the mother had dipped one toe into the mud. Seated, she slipped her foot off. Without evident instructions the pretty black-eyed, glossy-haired, red-lipped lass, with cheeks made rosy, picked up the shoe, withdrew a piece of white tissue paper from the great pocket in her sleeve, deftly cleaned the otherwise spotless white cloth sock and then the shoe, threw the paper on the floor, looked to see that her fingers were not soiled, then set the shoe at her mother's foot, which found its place without effort or glance. Everything here was strange and the scenes shifted with the speed of the wildest dream. Now it was driving piles for the foundation of a bridge. A tripod of poles was erected above the pile and from it hung a pulley. Over the pulley passed a rope from the driving weight and from its end at the pulley ten cords extended to the ground. In a circle at the foot of the tripod stood ten agile Japanese women. They were the hoisting engine. They chanted in perfect rhythm, hauled and stepped, dropped the weight and hoisted again, making up for heavier hammer and higher drop by more blows per minute. When we reached Shanghai we saw the pile driver being worked from above. Fourteen Chinese men stood upon a raised staging, each with a separate cord passing direct from the hand to the weight below. A concerted, half-musical chant, modulated to relieve monotony, kept all hands together. What did the operation of this machine cost? Thirteen cents, gold, per man per day, which covered fuel and lubricant, both automatically served. Two additional men managed the piles, two directed the hammer, eighteen manned the outfit. Two dollars and thirty-four cents per day covered fuel, superintendence and repairs. There was almost no capital invested in machinery. Men were plenty and to spare. Rice was the fuel, cooked without salt, boiled stiff, reinforced with a hit of pork or fish, appetized with salted cabbage or turnip and perhaps two or three of forty and more other vegetable relishes. And are these men strong and happy? They certainly were strong. They are steadily increasing their millions, and as one stood and watched them at their work their faces were often wreathed in smiles and wore what seemed a look of satisfaction and contentment. Among the most common sights on our rides from Yokohama to Tokyo, both within the city and along the roads leading to the fields, starting early in the morning, were the loads of night soil carried on the shoulders of men and on the backs of animals, but most commonly on strong carts drawn by men, bearing six to ten tightly covered wooden containers holding forty, sixty or more pounds each. Strange as it may seem, there are not today and apparently never have been, even in the largest and oldest cities of Japan, China or Korea, anything corresponding to the hydraulic systems of sewage disposal used now by western nations. Provision is made for the removal of storm waters but when I asked my interpreter if it was not the custom of the city during the winter months to discharge its night soil into the sea, as a quicker and cheaper mode of disposal, his reply came quick and sharp, "No, that would be waste. We throw nothing away. It is worth too much money." In such public places as rail way stations provision is made for saving, not for wasting, and even along the country roads screens invite the traveler to stop, primarily for profit to the owner more than for personal convenience. Between Yokohama and Tokyo along the electric car line and not far distant from the seashore, there were to be seen in February very many long, fence-high screens extending east and west, strongly inclined to the north, and built out of rice straw, closely tied together and supported on bamboo poles carried upon posts of wood set in the ground. These screens, set in parallel series of five to ten or more in number and several hundred feet long, were used for the purpose of drying varieties of delicate seaweed, these being spread out in the manner shown in Fig. 3. The seaweed is first spread upon separate ten by twelve inch straw mats, forming a thin layer seven by eight inches. These mats are held by means of wooden skewers forced through the body of the screen, exposing the seaweed to the direct sunshine. After becoming dry the rectangles of seaweed are piled in bundles an inch thick, cut once in two, forming packages four by seven inches, which are neatly tied and thus exposed for sale as soup stock and for other purposes. To obtain this seaweed from the ocean small shrubs and the limbs of trees are set up in the bottom of shallow water, as seen in Fig. 4. To these limbs the seaweeds become attached, grow to maturity and are then gathered by hand. By this method of culture large amounts of important food stuff are grown for the support of the people on areas otherwise wholly unproductive. Another rural feature, best shown by photograph taken in February, is the method of training pear orchards in Japan, with their limbs tied down upon horizontal over-bead trellises at a height under which a man can readily walk erect and easily reach the fruit with the hand while standing upon the ground. Pear orchards thus form arbors of greater or less size, the trees being set in quincunx order about twelve feet apart in and between the rows. Bamboo poles are used overhead and these carried on posts of the same material 1.5 to 2.5 inches in diameter, to which they are tied. Such a pear orchard is shown in Fig. 5. The limbs of the pear trees are trained strictly in one plane, tying them down and pruning out those not desired. As a result the ground beneath is completely shaded and every pear is within reach, which is a great convenience when it becomes desirable to protect the fruit from insects, by tying paper bags over every pear as seen in Figs. 6 and 7. The orchard ground is kept free from weeds and not infrequently is covered with a layer of rice or other straw, extensively used in Japan as a ground cover with various crops and when so used is carefully laid in handfuls from bundles, the straws being kept parallel as when harvested. To one from a country of 160-acre farms, with roads four rods wide; of cities with broad streets and residences with green lawns and ample back yards; and where the cemeteries are large and beautiful parks, the first days of travel in these old countries force the over-crowding upon the attention as nothing else can. One feels that the cities are greatly over-crowded with houses and shops, and these with people and wares; that the country is over-crowded with fields and the fields with crops; and that in Japan the over-crowding is greatest of all in the cemeteries, gravestones almost touching and markers for families literally in bundles at a grave, while round about there may be no free country whatever, dwellings, gardens or rice paddies contesting the tiny allotted areas too closely to leave even foot-paths between. Unless recently modified through foreign influence the streets of villages and cities are narrow, as seen in Fig. 8, where however the street is unusually broad. This is a village in the Hakone district on a beautiful lake of the same name, where stands an Imperial summer palace, seen near the center of the view on a hill across the lake. The roofs of the houses here are typical of the neat, careful thatching with rice straw, very generally adopted in place of tile for the country villages throughout much of Japan. The shops and stores, open full width directly upon the street, are filled to overflowing, as seen in Fig. 9 and in Fig. 22. In the canalized regions of China the country villages crowd both banks of a canal, as is the case in Fig. 10. Here, too, often is a single street and it very narrow, very crowded and very busy. Stone steps lead from the houses down into the water where clothing, vegetables, rice and what not are conveniently washed. In this particular village two rows of houses stand on one side of the canal separated by a very narrow street, and a single row on the other. Between the bridge where the camera was exposed and one barely discernible in the background, crossing the canal a third of a mile distant, we counted upon one side, walking along the narrow street, eighty houses each with its family, usually of three generations and often of four. Thus in the narrow strip, 154 feet broad, including 16 feet of street and 30 feet of canal, with its three lines of houses. lived no less than 240 families and more than 1200 and probably nearer 2000 people. When we turn to the crowding of fields in the country nothing except seeing can tell so forcibly the fact as such landscapes as those of Figs. 11, 12 and 13, one in Japan, one in Korea and one in China, not far from Nanking, looking from the hills across the fields to the broad Yangtse kiang, barely discernible as a band of light along the horizon. The average area of the rice field in Japan is less than five square rods and that of her upland fields only about twenty. In the case of the rice fields the small size is necessitated partly by the requirement of holding water on the sloping sides of the valley, as seen in Fig. 11. These small areas do not represent the amount of land worked by one family, the average for Japan being more nearly 2.5 acres. But the lands worked by one family are seldom contiguous, they may even be widely scattered and very often rented. The people generally live in villages, going often considerable distances to their work. Recognizing the great disadvantage of scattered holdings broken into such small areas, the Japanese Government has passed laws for the adjustment of farm lands which have been in force since 1900. It provides for the exchange of lands; for changing boundaries; for changing or abolishing roads, embankments, ridges or canals and for alterations in irrigation and drainage which would ensure larger areas with channels and roads straightened, made less numerous and less wasteful of time, labor and land. Up to 1907 Japan had issued permits for the readjustment of over 240,000 acres, and Fig. 14 is a landscape in one of these readjusted districts. To provide capable experts for planning and supervising these changes the Government in 1905 intrusted the training of men to the higher agricultural school belonging to the Dai Nippon Agricultural Association and since 1906 the Agricultural College and the Kogyokusha have undertaken the same task and now there are men sufficient to push the work as rapidly as desired. It may be remembered, too, as showing how, along other fundamental lines, Japan is taking effective steps to improve the condition of her people, that she already has her Imperial highways extending from one province to another; her prefectural roads which connect the cities and villages within the prefecture; and those more local which serve the farms and villages. Each of the three systems of roads is maintained by a specific tax levied for the purpose which is expended under proper supervision, a designated section of road being kept in repair through the year by a specially appointed crew, as is the practice in railroad maintenance. The result is, Japan has roads maintained in excellent condition, always narrow, sacrificing the minimum of land, and everywhere without fences. How the fields are crowded with crops and all available land is made to do full duty in these old, long-tilled countries is evident in Fig. 15 where even the narrow dividing ridges but a foot wide, which retain the water on the rice paddies, are bearing a heavy crop of soy beans; and where may be seen the narrow pear orchard standing on the very slightest rise of ground, not a foot above the water all around, which could better be left in grading the paddies to proper level. How closely the ground itself may be crowded with plants is seen in Fig. 16, where a young peach orchard, whose tree tops were six feet through, planted in rows twenty-two feet apart, had also ten rows of cabbage, two rows of large windsor beans and a row of garden peas. Thirteen rows of vegetables in 22 feet, all luxuriant and strong, and note the judgment shown in placing the tallest plants, needing the most sun, in the center between the trees. But these old people, used to crowding and to being crowded, and long ago capable of making four blades of grass grow where Nature grew but one, have also learned how to double the acreage where a crop needs more elbow than it does standing room, as seen in Fig. 17. This man's garden had an area of but 63 by 68 feet and two square rods of this was held sacred to the family grave mound, and yet his statement of yields, number of crops and prices made his earning $100 a year on less than one-tenth of an acre. His crop of cucumbers on less than .06 of an acre would bring him $20. He had already sold $5 worth of greens and a second crop would follow the cucumbers. He had just irrigated his garden from an adjoining canal, using a foot-power pump, and stated that until it rained he would repeat the watering once per week. It was his wife who stood in the garden and, although wearing trousers, her dress showed full regard for modesty. But crowding crops more closely in the field not only requires higher feeding to bring greater returns, but also relatively greater care, closer watchfulness in a hundred ways and a patience far beyond American measure; and so, before the crowding of the crops in the field and along with it, there came to these very old farmers a crowding of the grey matter in the brain with the evolution of effective texture. This is shown in his fields which crowd the landscape. It is seen in the crops which crowd his fields. You see it in the old man's face, Fig. 18, standing opposite his compeer, Prince Ching, Fig. 19, each clad in winter dress which is the embodiment of conversation, retaining the fires of the body for its own needs, to release the growth on mountain sides for other uses. And when one realizes how, nearly to the extreme limits, conservation along all important lines is being practiced as an inherited instinct, there need be no surprise when one reflects that the two men, one as feeder and the other as leader, are standing in the fore of a body of four hundred millions of people who have marched as a nation through perhaps forty centuries, and who now, in the light and great promise of unfolding science have their faces set toward a still more hopeful and longer future. On February 21st the Tosa Maru left Yokohama for Kobe at schedule time on the tick of the watch, as she had done from Seattle. All Japanese steamers appear to be moved with the promptness of a railway train. On reaching Kobe we transferred to the Yamaguchi Maru which sailed the following morning, to shorten the time of reaching Shanghai. This left but an afternoon for a trip into the country between Kobe and Osaka, where we found, if possible, even higher and more intensive culture practices than on the Tokyo plain, there being less land not carrying a winter crop. And Fig. 20 shows how closely the crops crowd the houses and shops. Here were very many cement lined cisterns or sheltered reservoirs for collecting manures and preparing fertilizers and the appearance of both soil and crops showed in a marked manner to what advantage. We passed a garden of nearly an acre entirely devoted to English violets just coming into full bloom. They were grown in long parallel east and west beds about three feet wide. On the north edge of each bed was erected a rice-straw screen four feet high which inclined to the south, overhanging the bed at an angle of some thirty-five degrees, thus forming a sort of bake-oven tent which reflected the sun, broke the force of the wind and checked the loss of heat absorbed by the soil. The voyage from Kobe to Moji was made between 10 in the morning, February 24th, and 5 .30 P. M. of February 25th over a quiet sea with an enjoyable ride. Being fogbound during the night gave us the whole of Japan's beautiful Inland Sea, enchanting beyond measure, in all its near and distant beauty but which no pen, no brush, no camera may attempt. Only the eye can convey. Before reaching harbor the tide had been rising and the strait separating Honshu from Kyushu island was running like a mighty swirling river between Moji and Shimonoseki, dangerous to attempt in the dark, so we waited until morning. There was cargo to take on board and the steamer must coal. No sooner had the anchor dropped and the steamer swung into the current than lighters came alongside with out-going freight. The small, strong, agile Japanese stevedores had this task completed by 8:30 P. M. and when we returned to the deck after supper another scene was on. The cargo lighters had gone and four large barges bearing 250 tons of coal had taken their places on opposite sides of the steamer, each illuminated with buckets of blazing coal or by burning conical heaps on the surface. From the bottom of these pits in the darkness the illumination suggested huge decapitated ant heaps in the wildest frenzy, for the coal seemed covered and there was hurry in every direction. Men and women, boys and girls, bending to their tasks, were filling shallow saucer-shaped baskets with coal and stacking them eight to ten high in a semi-circle, like coin for delivery. Rising out of these pits sixteen feet up the side of the steamer and along her deck to the chutes leading to her bunkers were what seemed four endless human chains, in service the prototype of our modern conveyors, but here each link animated by its own power. Up these conveyors the loaded buckets passed, one following another at the rate of 40 to 60 per minute, to return empty by the descending line, and over the four chains one hundred tons per hour, for 250 tons of coal passed to the bunkers in two and a half hours. Both men and women stood in the line and at the upper turn of one of these, emptying the buckets down the chute, was a mother with her two-year-old child in the sling on back, where it rocked and swayed to and fro, happy the entire time. It was often necessary for the mother to adjust her baby in the sling whenever it was leaning uncomfortably too far to one side or the other, but she did it skillfully, always with a shrug of the shoulders, for both hands were full. The mother looked strong, was apparently accepting her lot as a matter of course and often, with a smile, turned her face to the child, who patted it and played with her ears and hair. Probably her husband was doing his part in a more strenuous place in the chain and neither had time to be troubled with affinities for it was 10:30 P. M. when the baskets stopped, and somewhere no doubt there was a home to be reached and perhaps supper to get. Shall we be able, when our numbers have vastly increased, to permit all needful earnings to be acquired in a better way? We left Moji in the early morning and late in the evening of the same day entered the beautiful harbor of Nagasaki, all on board waiting until morning for a launch to go ashore. We were to sail again at noon so available time for observation was short and we set out in a ricksha at once for our first near view of terraced gardening on the steep hillsides in Japan. In reaching them and in returning our course led through streets paved with long, thick and narrow stone blocks, having deep open gutters on one or both sides close along the houses, into which waste water was emptied and through which the storm waters found their way to the sea. Few of these streets were more than twelve feet wide and close watching, with much dodging, was required to make way through them. Here, too, the night soil of the city was being removed in closed receptacles on the shoulders of men, on the backs of horses and cattle and on carts drawn by either. Other men and women were hurrying along with baskets of vegetables well illustrated in Fig. 21, some with fresh cabbage, others with high stacks of crisp lettuce, some with monstrous white radishes or turnips, others with bundles of onions, all coming down from the terraced gardens to the markets. We passed loads of green bamboo poles just cut, three inches in diameter at the butt and twenty feet long, drawn on carts. Both men and women were carrying young children and older ones were playing and singing in the street. Very many old women, some feeble looking, moved, loaded, through the throng. Homely little dogs, an occasional lean cat, and hens and roosters scurried across the street from one low market or store to another. Back of the rows of small stores and shops fronting on the clean narrow streets were the dwellings whose exits seemed to open through the stores, few or no open courts of any size separating them from the market or shop. The opportunity which the oriental housewife may have in the choice of vegetables on going to the market, and the attractive manner of displaying such products in Japan, are seen in Fig. 22. We finally reached one of the terraced hillsides which rise five hundred to a thousand feet above the harbor with sides so steep that garden areas have a width of seldom more than twenty to thirty feet and often less, while the front of each terrace may be a stone wall, sometimes twelve feet high, often more than six, four and five feet being the most common height. One of these hillside slopes is seen in Fig. 23. These terraced gardens are both short and narrow and most of them bounded by stone walls on three sides, suggesting house foundations, the two end walls sloping down the hill from the height of the back terrace, dropping to the ground level in front, these forming foot-paths leading up the slope occasionally with one, two or three steps in places. Each terrace sloped slightly down the hill at a small angle and had a low ridge along the front. Around its entire border a narrow drain or furrow was arranged to collect surface water and direct it to drainage channels or into a catch basin where it might be put back on the garden or be used in preparing liquid fertilizer. At one corner of many of these small terraced gardens were cement lined pits, used both as catch basins for water and as receptacles for liquid manure or as places in which to prepare compost. Far up the steep paths, too, along either side, we saw many piles of stable manure awaiting application, all of which had been brought up the slopes in backets on bamboo poles, carried on the shoulders of men and women. II GRAVE LANDS OF CHINA The launch had returned the passengers to the steamer at 11:30; the captain was on the bridge; prompt to the minute at the call "Hoist away" the signal went below and the Yamaguchi's whistle filled the harbor and over-flowed the hills. The cable wound in, and at twelve, noon, we were leaving Nagasaki, now a city of 153,000 and the western doorway of a nation of fifty-one millions of people but of little importance before the sixteenth century when it became the chief mart of Portuguese trade. We were to pass the Koreans on our right and enter the portals of a third nation of four hundred millions. We had left a country which had added eighty-five millions to its population in one hundred years and which still has twenty acres for each man, woman and child, to pass through one which has but one and a half acres per capita, and were going to another whose allotment of acres, good and bad, is less than 2.4. We had gone from practices by which three generations had exhausted strong virgin fields, and were coming to others still fertile after thirty centuries of cropping. On January 30th we crossed the head waters of the Mississippi-Missouri, four thousand miles from its mouth, and on March 1st were in the mouth of the Yangtse river whose waters are gathered from a basin in which dwell two hundred millions of people. The Yamaguchi reached Woosung in the night and anchored to await morning and tide before ascending the Hwangpoo, believed by some geographers to be the middle of three earlier delta arms of the Yangtse kiang, the southern entering the sea at Hangchow 120 miles further south, the third being the present stream. As we wound through this great delta plain toward Shanghai, the city of foreign concessions to all nationalities, the first striking feature was the "graves of the fathers", of "the ancestors". At first the numerous grass-covered hillocks dotting the plain seemed to be stacks of grain or straw; then came the query whether they might not be huge compost heaps awaiting distribution in the fields, but as the river brought us nearer to them we seemed to be moving through a land of ancient mound builders and Fig. 24 shows, in its upper section, their appearance as seen in the distance. As the journey led on among the fields, so large were the mounds, often ten to twelve feet high and twenty or more feet at the base; so grass-covered and apparently neglected; so numerous and so irregularly scattered, without apparent regard for fields, that when we were told these were graves we could not give credence to the statement, but before the city was reached we saw places where, by the shifting of the channel, the river had cut into some of these mounds, exposing brick vaults, some so low as to be under water part of the time, and we wonder if the fact does not also record a slow subsidence of the delta plain under the ever increasing load of river silt. A closer view of these graves in the same delta plain is given in the lower section of Fig. 24, where they are seen in the midst of fields and to occupy not only large areas of valuable land but to be much in the way of agricultural operations. A still closer view of other groups, with a farm village in the background, is shown in the middle section of the same illustration, and here it is better seen how large is the space occupied by them. On the right in the same view may be seen a line of six graves surmounting a common lower base which is a type of the larger and higher ones so suggestive of buildings seen in the horizon of the upper section. Everywhere we went in China, about all of the very old and large cities, the proportion of grave land to cultivated fields is very large. In the vicinity of Canton Christian college, on Honam island, more than fifty per cent of the land was given over to graves and in many places they were so close that one could step from one to another. They are on the higher and dryer lands, the cultivated areas occupying ravines and the lower levels to which water may be more easily applied and which are the most productive. Hilly lands not so readily cultivated, and especially if within reach of cities, are largely so used, as seen in Fig. 25, where the graves are marked by excavated shelves rather than by mounds, as on the plains. These grave lands are not altogether unproductive for they are generally overgrown with herbage of one or another kind and used as pastures for geese, sheep, goats and cattle, and it is not at all uncommon, when riding along a canal, to see a huge water buffalo projected against the sky from the summit of one of the largest and highest grave mounds within reach. If the herbage is not fed off by animals it is usually cut for feed, for fuel, for green manure or for use in the production of compost to enrich the soil. Caskets may be placed directly upon the surface of a field, encased in brick vaults with tile roofs, forming such clusters as was seen on the bank of the Grand Canal in Chekiang province, represented in the lower section of Fig. 26, or they may stand singly in the midst of a garden, as in the upper section of the same figure; in a rice paddy entirely surrounded by water parts of the year, and indeed in almost any unexpected place. In Shanghai in 1898, 2,763 exposed coffined corpses were removed outside the International Settlement or buried by the authorities. Further north, in the Shantung province, where the dry season is more prolonged and where a severe drought had made grass short, the grave lands had become nearly naked soil, as seen in Fig. 27 where a Shantung farmer had just dug a temporary well to irrigate his little field of barley. Within the range of the camera, as held to take this view, more than forty grave mounds besides the seven near by, are near enough to be fixed on the negative and be discernible under a glass, indicating what extensive areas of land, in the aggregate, are given over to graves. Still further north, in Chihli, a like story is told in, if possible, more emphatic manner and fully vouched for in the next illustration, Fig. 28, which shows a typical family group, to be observed in so many places between Taku and Tientsin and beyond toward Peking. As we entered the mouth of the Pei-ho for Tientsin, far away to the vanishing horizon there stretched an almost naked plain except for the vast numbers of these "graves of the fathers", so strange, so naked, so regular in form and so numerous that more than an hour of our journey had passed before we realized that they were graves and that the country here was perhaps more densely peopled with the dead than with the living. In so many places there was the huge father grave, often capped with what in the distance suggested a chimney, and the many associated smaller ones, that it was difficult to realize in passing what they were. It is a common custom, even if the residence has been permanently changed to some distant province, to take the bodies back for interment in the family group; and it is this custom which leads to the practice of choosing a temporary location for the body, waiting for a favorable opportunity to remove it to the family group. This is often the occasion for the isolated coffin so frequently seen under a simple thatch of rice straw, as in Fig. 29; and the many small stone jars containing skeletons of the dead, or portions of them, standing singly or in rows in the most unexpected places least in the way in the crowded fields and gardens, awaiting removal to the final resting place. It is this custom, too, I am told, which has led to placing a large quantity of caustic lime in the bottom of the casket, on which the body rests, this acting as an effective absorbent. It is the custom in some parts of China, if not in all, to periodically restore the mounds, maintaining their height and size, as is seen in the next two illustrations, and to decorate these once in the year with flying streamers of colored paper, the remnants of which may be seen in both Figs. 30 and 31, set there as tokens that the paper money has been burned upon them and its essence sent up in the smoke for the maintenance of the spirits of their departed friends. We have our memorial day; they have for centuries observed theirs with religious fidelity. The usual expense of a burial among the working people is said to be $100, Mexican, an enormous burden when the day's wage or the yearly earning of the family is considered and when there is added to this the yearly expense of ancestor worship. How such voluntary burdens are assumed by people under such circumstances is hard to understand. Missionaries assert it is fear of evil consequences in this life and of punishment and neglect in the hereafter that leads to assuming them. Is it not far more likely that such is the price these people are willing to pay for a good name among the living and because of their deep and lasting friendship for the departed? Nor does it seem at all strange that a kindly, warm-hearted people with strong filial affection should have reached, carry in their long history, a belief in one spirit of the departed which hovers about the home, one which hovers about the grave and another which wanders abroad, for surely there are associations with each of these conditions which must long and forcefully awaken memories of friends gone. If this view is possible may not such ancestral worship be an index of qualities of character strongly fixed and of the highest worth which, when improvements come that may relieve the heavy burdens now carried, will only shine more brightly and count more for right living as well as comfort? Even in our own case it will hardly be maintained that our burial customs have reached their best and final solution, for in all civilized nations they are unnecessarily expensive and far too cumbersome. It is only necessary to mentally add the accumulation of a few centuries to our cemeteries to realize how impossible our practice must become. Clearly there is here a very important line for betterment which all nationalities should undertake. When the steamer anchored at Shanghai the day was pleasant and the rain coats which greeted us in Yokohama were not in evidence but the numbers who had met the steamer in the hope of an opportunity for earning a trifle was far greater and in many ways in strong contrast with the Japanese. We were much surprised to find the men of so large stature, much above the Chinese usually seen in the United States. They were fully the equal of large Americans in frame but quite without surplus flesh yet few appeared underfed. To realize that these are strong, hardy men it was only necessary to watch them carrying on their shoulders bales of cotton between them, supported by a strong bamboo; while the heavy loads they transport on wheel-barrows through the country over long distances, as seen in Fig. 32, prove their great endurance. This same type of vehicle, too, is one of the common means of transporting people, especially Chinese women, and four six and even eight may be seen riding together, propelled by a single wheelbarrow man. III TO HONGKONG AND CANTON We had come to learn how the old-world farmers bad been able to provide materials for food and clothing on such small areas for so many millions, at so low a price, during so many centuries, and were anxious to see them at the soil and among the crops. The sun was still south of the equator, coming north only about twelve miles per day, so, to save time, we booked on the next steamer for Hongkong to meet spring at Canton, beyond the Tropic of Cancer, six hundred miles farther south, and return with her. On the morning of March 4th the Tosa Maru steamed out into the Yangtse river, already flowing with the increased speed of ebb tide. The pilots were on the bridge to guide her course along the narrow south channel through waters seemingly as brown and turbid as the Potomac after a rain. It was some distance beyond Gutzlaff Island, seventy miles to sea, where there is a lighthouse and a telegraph station receiving six cables, that we crossed the front of the out-going tide, showing in a sharp line of contrast stretching in either direction farther than the eye could see, across the course of the ship and yet it was the season of low water in this river. During long ages this stream of mighty volume has been loading upon itself in far-away Tibet, without dredge, barge, fuel or human effort, unused and there unusable soils, bringing them down from inaccessible heights across two or three thousand miles, building up with them, from under the sea, at the gateways of commerce, miles upon miles of the world's most fertile fields and gardens. Today on this river, winding through six hundred miles of the most highly cultivated fields, laid out on river-built plains, go large ocean steamers to the city of Hankow-Wuchang-Hanyang where 1,770,000 people live and trade within a radius less than four miles; while smaller steamers push on a thousand miles and are then but 130 feet above sea level. Even now, with the aid of current, tide and man, these brown turbid waters are rapidly adding fertile delta plains for new homes. During the last twenty-five years Chungming island has grown in length some 1800 feet per year and today a million people are living and growing rice, wheat, cotton and sweet potatoes on 270 square miles of fertile plain where five hundred years ago were only submerged river sands and silt. Here 3700 people per square mile have acquired homes. The southward voyage was over a quiet sea and as we passed among and near the off-shore islands these, as seen in Japan, appeared destitute of vegetation other than the low herbaceous types with few shrubs and almost no forest growth and little else that gave the appearance of green. Captain Harrison informed me that at no time in the year are these islands possessed of the grass-green verdure so often seen in northern climates, and yet the islands lie in a region of abundant summer rain, making it hard to understand why there is not a more luxuriant growth. Sunday morning, March 7th, passing first extensive sugar refineries, found us entering the long, narrow and beautiful harbor of Hongkong. Here, lying at anchor in the ten square miles of water, were five battleships, several large ocean steamers, many coastwise vessels and a multitude of smaller craft whose yearly tonnage is twenty to thirty millions. But the harbor lies in the track of the terrible East Indian typhoon and, although sheltered on the north shore of a high island, one of these storms recently sunk nine vessels, sent twenty-three ashore, seriously damaged twenty-one others, wrought great destruction among the smaller craft and over a thousand dead were recovered. Such was the destruction wrought by the September storm of 1906. Our steamer did not go to dock but the Nippon Yusen Kaisha's launch transferred us to a city much resembling Seattle in possessing a scant footing between a long sea front and high steep mountain slopes behind. Here cliffs too steep to climb rise from the very sidewalk and are covered with a great profusion and variety of ferns, small bamboo, palms, vines, many flowering shrubs, all interspersed with pine and great banyan trees that do so much toward adding the beauty of northern landscapes to the tropical features which reach upward until hidden in a veil of fog that hung, all of the time we were there, over the city, over the harbor and stretched beyond Old and New Kowloon. Hongkong island is some eleven miles long and but two to five miles wide, while the peak carrying the signal staff rises 1,825 feet above the streets from which ascends the Peak tramway, where, hanging from opposite ends of a strong cable, one car rises up the slope and another descends every fifteen to twenty minutes, affording communication with business houses below and homes in beautiful surroundings and a tempered climate above. Extending along the slopes of the mountains, too, above the city, are very excellent roads, carefully graded, provided with concrete gutters and bridges, along which one may travel on foot, on horseback, by ricksha or sedan chair, but too narrow for carriages. Over one of these we ascended along one side of Happy Valley, around its head and down the other side. Only occasionally could we catch glimpses of the summit through the lifting fog but the views, looking down and across the city and beyond the harbor with its shipping, and up and down the many ravines from via-ducts, are among the choicest and rarest ever made accessible to the residents of any city. It was the beginning of the migratory season for birds, and trees and shrubbery thronged with many species. Many of the women in Hongkong were seen engaged in such heavy manual labor with the men as carrying crushed rock and sand, for concrete and macadam work, up the steep street slopes long distances from the dock, but they were neither tortured nor incapacitated by bound feet. Like the men, they were of smaller stature than most seen at Shanghai and closely resemble the Chinese in the United States. Both sexes are agile, wiry and strong. Here we first saw lumber sawing in the open streets after the manner shown in Fig. 33, where wide boards were being cut from camphor logs. In the damp, already warm weather the men were stripped to the waist, their limbs bare to above the knee, and each carried a large towel for wiping away the profuse perspiration. It was here, too, that we first met the remarkable staging for the erection of buildings of four and six stories, set up without saw, hammer or nail; without injury to or waste of lumber and with the minimum of labor in construction and removal. Poles and bamboo stems were lashed together with overlapping ends, permitting any interval or height to be secured without cutting or nailing, and admitting of ready removal with absolutely no waste, all parts being capable of repeated use unless it be some of the materials employed in tying members. Up inclined stairways, from staging to staging, in the erection of six-story granite buildings, mortar was being carried in baskets swinging from bamboo poles on the shoulders of men and women, as the cheapest hoists available in English Hongkong where there is willing human labor and to spare. The Singer sewing machine, manufactured in New Jersey, was seen in many Chinese shops in Hongkong and other cities, operated by Chinese men and women, purchased, freight prepaid, at two-thirds the retail price in the United States. Such are the indications of profit to manufacturers on the home sale of home-made goods while at the same time reaping good returns from a large trade in heathen lands, after paying the freight. Industrial China, Korea and Japan do not observe our weekly day of rest and during our walk around Happy Valley on Sunday afternoon, looking down upon its terraced gardens and tiny fields, we saw men and women busy fitting the soil for new crops, gathering vegetables for market, feeding plants with liquid manure and even irrigating certain crops, notwithstanding the damp, foggy, showery weather. Turning the head of the valley, attention was drawn to a walled enclosure and a detour down the slope brought us to a florist's garden within which were rows of large potted foliage plants of semi-shrubbery habit, seen in Fig. 35, trained in the form of life-size human figures with limbs, arms and trunk provided with highly glazed and colored porcelain feet, hands and head. These, with many other potted plants and trees, including dwarf varieties, are grown under out-door lattice shelters in different parts of China, for sale to the wealthy Chinese families. How thorough is the tillage, how efficient and painstaking the garden fitting, and how closely the ground is crowded to its upper limit of producing power are indicated in Fig. 36; and when one stops and studies the detail in such gardens he expects in its executor an orderly, careful, frugal and industrious man, getting not a little satisfaction out of his creations however arduous his task or prolonged his day. If he is in the garden or one meets him at the house, clad as the nature of his duties and compensation have determined, you may be disappointed or feel arising an unkind judgment. But who would risk a reputation so clad and so environed? Many were the times, during our walks in the fields and gardens among these old, much misunderstood, misrepresented and undervalued people, when the bond of common interest was recognized between us, that there showed through the face the spirit which put aside both dress and surroundings and the man stood forth who, with fortitude and rare wisdom, is feeding the millions and who has carried through centuries the terrible burden of taxes levied by dishonor and needless wars. Nay, more than this, the man stood forth who has kept alive the seeds of manhood and has nourished them into such sturdy stock as has held the stream of progress along the best interests of civilization in spite of the driftwood heaped upon it. Not only are these people extremely careful and painstaking in fitting their fields and gardens to receive the crop, but they are even more scrupulous in their care to make everything that can possibly serve as fertilizer for the soil, or food for the crop being grown, do so unless there is some more remunerative service it may render. Expense is incurred to provide such receptacles as are seen in Fig. 37 for receiving not only the night soil of the home and that which may be bought or otherwise procured, but in which may be stored any other fluid which can serve as plant food. On the right of these earthenware jars too is a pile of ashes and one of manure. All such materials are saved and used in the most advantageous ways to enrich the soil or to nourish the plants being grown. Generally the liquid manures must be diluted with water to a greater or less extent before they are "fed", as the Chinese say, to their plants, hence there is need of an abundant and convenient water supply. One of these is seen in Fig. 38, where the Chinaman has adopted the modern galvanized iron pipe to bring water from the mountain slope of Happy Valley to his garden. By the side of this tank are the covered pails in which the night soil was brought, perhaps more than a mile, to be first diluted and then applied. But the more general method for supplying water is that of leading it along the ground in channels or ditches to a small reservoir in one corner of a terraced field or garden, as seen in Fig. 39, where it is held and the surplus led down from terrace to terrace, giving each its permanent supply. At the upper right corner of the engraving may be seen two manure receptacles and a third stands near the reservoir. The plants on the lower terrace are water cress and those above the same. At this time of the year, on the terraced gardens of Happy Valley, this is one of the crops most extensively grown. Walking among these gardens and isolated homes, we passed a pig pen provided with a smooth, well-laid stone floor that had just been washed scrupulously clean, like the floor of a house. While I was not able to learn other facts regarding this case, I have little doubt that the washings from this floor had been carefully collected and taken to some receptacle to serve as a plant food. Looking backward as we left Hongkong for Canton on the cloudy evening of March 8th, the view was wonderfully beautiful. We were drawing away from three cities, one, electric-lighted Hongkong rising up the steep slopes, suggesting a section of sky set with a vast array of stars of all magnitudes up to triple Jupiters; another, old and new Kowloon on the opposite side of the harbor; and between these two, separated from either shore by wide reaches of wholly unoccupied water, lay the third, a mid-strait city of sampans, junks and coastwise craft of many kinds segregated, in obedience to police regulation, into blocks and streets with each setting sun, but only to scatter again with the coming morn. At night, after a fixed hour, no one is permitted to leave shore and cross the vacant water strip except from certain piers and with the permission of the police, who take the number of the sampan and the names of its occupants. Over the harbor three large search lights were sweeping and it was curious to see the junks and other craft suddenly burst into full blazes of light, like so many monstrous fire-flies, to disappear and reappear as the lights came and went. Thus is the mid-strait city lighted and policed and thus have steps been taken to lessen the number of cases of foul play where people have left the wharves at night for some vessel in the strait, never to be heard from again. Some ninety miles is the distance by water to Canton, and early the next morning our steamer dropped anchor off the foreign settlement of Shameen. Through the kindness of Consul-General Amos P. Wilder in sending a telegram to the Canton Christian College, their little steam launch met the boat and took us directly to the home of the college on Honam Island, lying in the great delta south of the city where sediments brought by the Si-kiang--west, Pei-kiang--north, and Tung-kiang--east--rivers through long centuries have been building the richest of land which, because of the density of population, are squared up everywhere to the water's edge and appropriated as fast as formed, and made to bring forth materials for food fuel and raiment in vast quantities. It was on Honam Island that we walked first among the grave lands and came to know them as such, for Canton Christian College stands in the midst of graves which, although very old, are not permitted to be disturbed and the development of the campus must wait to secure permission to remove graves, or erect its buildings in places not the most desirable. Cattle were grazing among the graves and with them a flock of some 250 of the brown Chinese geese, two-thirds grown, was watched by boys, gleaning their entire living from the grave lands and adjacent water. A mature goose sells in Canton for $1.20, Mexican, or less than 52 cents, gold, but even then how can the laborer whose day's wage is but ten or fifteen cents afford one for his family? Here, too, we saw the Chinese persistent, never-ending industry in keeping their land, their sunshine and their rain, with themselves, busy in producing something needful. Fields which had matured two crops of rice during the long summer, had been laboriously, and largely by hand labor, thrown into strong ridges as seen in Fig. 40, to permit still a third winter crop of some vegetable to be taken from the land. But this intensive, continuous cropping of the land spells soil exhaustion and creates demands for maintenance and restoration of available plant food or the adding of large quantities of something quickly convertible into it, and so here in the fields on Honam Island, as we had found in Happy Valley, there was abundant evidence of the most careful attention and laborious effort devoted to plant feeding. The boat standing in the canal in Fig. 41 had come from Canton in the early morning with two tons of human manure and men were busy applying it, in diluted form, to beds of leeks at the rate of 16,000 gallons per acre, all carried on the shoulders in such pails as stand in the foreground. The material is applied with long-handled dippers holding a gallon, dipping it from the pails, the men wading, with bare feet and trousers rolled above the knees, in the water of the furrows between the beds. This is one of their ways of "feeding the crop," and they have other methods of "manuring the soil." One of these we first met on Honam Island. Large amounts of canal mud are here collected in boats and brought to the fields to be treated and there left to drain and dry before distributing. Both the material used to feed the crop and that used for manuring the land are waste products, hindrances to the industry of the region, but the Chinese make them do essential duty in maintaining its life. The human waste must be disposed of. They return it to the soil. We turn it into the sea. Doing so, they save for plant feeding more than a ton of phosphorus (2712 pounds) and more than two tons of potassium (4488 pounds) per day for each million of adult population. The mud collects in their canals and obstructs movement. They must be kept open. The mud is highly charged with organic matter and would add humus to the soil if applied to the fields, at the same time raising their level above the river and canal, giving them better drainage; thus are they turning to use what is otherwise waste, causing the labor which must be expended in disposal to count in a remunerative way. During the early morning ride to Canton Christian College and three others which we were permitted to enjoy in the launch on the canal and river waters, everything was again strange, fascinating and full of human interest. The Cantonese water population was a surprise, not so much for its numbers as for the lithe, sinewy forms, bright eyes and cheerful faces, particularly among the women, young and old. Nearly always one or more women, mother and daughter oftenest, grandmother many times, wrinkled, sometimes grey, but strong, quick and vigorous in motion, were manning the oars of junks, houseboats and sampans. Sometimes husband and wife and many times the whole family were seen together when the craft was both home and business boat as well. Little children were gazing from most unexpected peek holes, or they toddled tethered from a waist belt at the end of as much rope as would arrest them above water, should they go overboard. And the cat was similarly tied. Through an overhanging latticed stern, too, hens craned their necks, longing for scenes they could not reach. With bare heads, bare feet, in short trousers and all dressed much alike, men, women, boys and girls showed equal mastery of the oar. Beginning so young, day and night in the open air on the tide-swept streams and canals, exposed to all of the sunshine the fogs and clouds will permit, and removed from the dust and filth of streets, it would seem that if the children survive at all they must develop strong. The appearance of the women somehow conveyed the impression that they were more vigorous and in better fettle than the men. Boats selling many kinds of steaming hot dishes were common. Among these was rice tied in green leaf wrappers, three small packets in a cluster suspended by a strand of some vegetable fiber, to be handed hot from the cooker to the purchaser, some one on a passing junk or on an in-coming or out-going boat. Another would buy hot water for a brew of tea, while still another, and for a single cash, might be handed a small square of cotton cloth, wrung hot from the water, with which to wipe his face and hands and then be returned. Perhaps nothing better measures the intensity of the maintenance struggle here, and better indicates the minute economies practiced, than the value of their smallest currency unit, the Cash, used in their daily retail transactions. On our Pacific coast, where less thought is given to little economies than perhaps anywhere else in the world, the nickel is the smallest coin in general use, twenty to the dollar. For the rest of the United States and in most English speaking countries one hundred cents or half pennies measure an equal value. In Russia 170 kopecks, in Mexico 200 centavos, in France 250 two-centime pieces, and in Austria-Hungary 250 two-heller coins equal the United States dollar; while in Germany 400 pfennigs, and in India 400 pie are required for an equal value. Again 500 penni in Finland and of stotinki in Bulgaria, of centesimi in Italy and of half cents in Holland equal our dollar; but in China the small daily financial transactions are measured against a much smaller unit, their Cash, 1500 to 2000 of which are required to equal the United States dollar, their purchasing power fluctuating daily with the price of silver. In the Shantung province, when we inquired of the farmers the selling prices of their crops, their replies were given like this: "Thirty-five strings of cash for 420 catty of wheat and twelve to fourteen strings of cash for 1000 catty of wheat straw." At this time, according to my interpreter, the value of one string of cash was 40 cents Mexican, from which it appears that something like 250 of these coins were threaded on a string. Twice we saw a wheelbarrow heavily loaded with strings of cash being transported through the streets of Shanghai, lying exposed on the frame, suggesting chains of copper more than money. At one of the go-downs or warehouses in Tsingtao, where freight was being transferred from a steamer, the carriers were receiving their pay in these coin. The pay-master stood in the doorway with half a bushel of loose cash in a grain sack at his feet. With one hand he received the bamboo tally-sticks from the stevedores and with the other paid the cash for service rendered. Reference has been made to buying hot water. In a sampan managed by a woman and her daughter, who took us ashore, the middle section of the boat was furnished in the manner of a tiny sitting-room, and on the sideboard sat the complete embodiment of our fireless cookers, keeping boiled water hot for making tea. This device and the custom are here centuries old and throughout these countries boiled water, as tea, is the universal drink, adopted no doubt as a preventive measure against typhoid fever and allied diseases. Few vegetables are eaten raw and nearly all foods are taken hot or recently cooked if not in some way pickled or salted. Houseboat meat shops move among the many junks on the canals. These were provided with a compartment communicating freely with the canal water where the fish were kept alive until sold. At the street markets too, fish are kept alive in large tubs of water systematically aerated by the water falling from an elevated receptacle in a thin stream. A live fish may even be sliced before the eyes of a purchaser and the unsold portion returned to the water. Poultry is largely retailed alive although we saw much of it dressed and cooked to a uniform rich brown, apparently roasted, hanging exposed in the markets of the very narrow streets in Canton, shaded from the hot sun under awnings admitting light overhead through translucent oyster-shell latticework. Perhaps these fowl had been cooked in hot oil and before serving would be similarly heated. At any rate it is perfectly clear that among these people many very fundamental sanitary practices are rigidly observed. One fact which we do not fully understand is that, wherever we went, house flies were very few. We never spent a summer with so little annoyance from them as this one in China, Korea and Japan. It may be that our experience was exceptional but, if so, it could not be ascribed to the season of our visit for we have found flies so numerous in southern Florida early in April as to make the use of the fly brush at the table very necessary. If the scrupulous husbanding of waste refuse so universally practiced in these countries reduces the fly nuisance and this menace to health to the extent which our experience suggests, here is one great gain. We breed flies in countless millions each year, until they become an intolerable nuisance, and then expend millions of dollars on screens and fly poison which only ineffectually lessen the intensity and danger of the evil. The mechanical appliances in use on the canals and in the shops of Canton demonstrate that the Chinese possess constructive ability of a high order, notwithstanding so many of these are of the simplest forms. This statement is well illustrated in the simple yet efficient foot-power seen in Fig. 42, where a father and his two sons are driving an irrigation pump, lifting water at the rate of seven and a half acre-inches per ten hours, and at a cost, including wage and food, of 36 to 45 cents, gold. Here, too, were large stern-wheel passenger boats, capable of carrying thirty to one hundred people, propelled by the same foot-power but laid crosswise of the stern, the men working in long single or double lines, depending on the size of the boat. On these the fare was one cent, gold, for a fifteen mile journey, a rate one-thirtieth our two-cent railway tariff. The dredging and clearing of the canals and water channels in and about Canton is likewise accomplished with the same foot-power, often by families living on the dredge boats. A dipper dredge is used, constructed of strong bamboo strips woven into the form of a sliding, two-horse road scraper, guided by a long bamboo handle. The dredge is drawn along the bottom by a rope winding about the projecting axle of the foot-power, propelled by three or more people. When the dipper reaches the axle and is raised from the water it is swung aboard, emptied and returned by means of a long arm like the old well sweep, operated by a cord depending from the lower end of the lever, the dipper swinging from the other. Much of the mud so collected from the canals and channels of the city is taken to the rice and mulberry fields, many square miles of which occupy the surrounding country. Thus the channels are kept open, the fields grow steadily higher above flood level, while their productive power is maintained by the plant food and organic matter carried in the sediment. The mechanical principle involved in the boy's button buzz was applied in Canton and in many other places for operating small drills as well as in grinding and polishing appliances used in the manufacture of ornamental ware. The drill, as used for boring metal, is set in a straight shaft, often of bamboo, on the upper end of which is mounted a circular weight. The drill is driven by a pair of strings with one end attached just beneath the momentum weight and the other fastened at the ends of a cross hand-bar, having a hole at its center through which the shaft carrying the drill passes. Holding the drill in position for work and turning the shaft, the two cords are wrapped about it in such a manner that simple downward pressure on the hand bar held in the two hands unwinds the cords and thus revolves the drill. Relieving the pressure at the proper time permits the momentum of the revolving weight to rewind the cords and the next downward pressure brings the drill again into service. IV UP THE SI-KIANG, WEST RIVER On the morning of March 10th we took passage on the Nanning for Wuchow, in Kwangsi province, a journey of 220 miles up the West river, or Sikiang. The Nanning is one of two English steamers making regular trips between the two places, and it was the sister boat which in the summer of 1906 was attacked by pirates on one of her trips and all of the officers and first class passengers killed while at dinner. The cause of this attack, it is said, or the excuse for it, was threatened famine resulting from destructive floods which had ruined the rice and mulberry crops of the great delta region and had prevented the carrying of manure and bean cake as fertilizers to the tea fields in the hill lands beyond, thus bringing ruin to three of the great staple crops of the region. To avoid the recurrence of such tragedies the first class quarters on the Nanning had been separated from the rest of the ship by heavy iron gratings thrown across the decks and over the hatchways. Armed guards stood at the locked gateways, and swords were hanging from posts under the awnings of the first cabin quarters, much as saw and ax in our passenger coaches. Both British and Chinese gunboats were patrolling the river; all Chinese passengers were searched for concealed weapons as they came aboard, even though Government soldiers, and all arms taken into custody until the end of the journey. Several of the large Chinese merchant junks which were passed, carrying valuable cargoes on the river, were armed with small cannon and when riding by rail from Canton to Sam Shui, a government pirate detective was in our coach. The Sikiang is one of the great rivers of China and indeed of the world. Its width at Wuchow at low water was nearly a mile and our steamer anchored in twenty-four feet of water to a floating dock made fast by huge iron chains reaching three hundred feet up the slope to the city proper, thus providing for a rise of twenty-six feet in the river at its flood stage during the rainy season. In a narrow section of river where it winds through Shui Hing gorge, the water at low stage has a depth of more than twenty-five fathoms, too deep for anchorage, so in times of prospective fog, boats wait for clearing weather. Fluctuations in the height of the river limit vessels passing up to Wuchow to those drawing six and a half feet of water during the low stage, and at high stage to those drawing sixteen feet. When the West river emerges from the high lands, with its burden of silt, to join its waters with those of the North and East rivers, it has entered a vast delta plain some eighty miles from east to west and nearly as many from north to south, and this has been canalized, diked, drained and converted into the most productive of fields, bearing three or more crops each year. As we passed westward through this delta region the broad flat fields, surrounded by dikes to protect them against high water, were being plowed and fitted for the coming crop of rice. In many places the dikes which checked off the fields were planted with bananas and in the distance gave the appearance of extensive orchards completely occupying the ground. Except for the water and the dikes it was easy to imagine that we were traversing one of our western prairie sections in the early spring, at seeding time, the scattered farm villages here easily suggested distant farmsteads; but a nearer approach to the houses showed that the roofs and sides were thatched with rice straw and stacks were very numerous about the buildings. Many tide gates were set in the dikes, often with double trunks. At times we approached near enough to the fields to see how they were laid out. From the gates long canals, six to eight feet wide, led back sometimes eighty or a hundred rods. Across these and at right angles, head channels were cut and between them the fields were plowed in long straight lands some two rods wide, separated by water furrows. Many of the fields were bearing sugar cane standing eight feet high. The Chinese do no sugar refining but boil the sap until it will solidify, when it is run into cakes resembling chocolate or our brown maple sugar. Immense quantities of sugar cane, too, are exported to the northern provinces, in bundles wrapped with matting or other cover, for the retail markets where it is sold, the canes being cut in short sections and sometimes peeled, to be eaten from the hands as a confection. Much of the way this water-course was too broad to permit detailed study of field conditions and crops, even with a glass. In such sections the recent dikes often have the appearance of being built from limestone blocks but a closer view showed them constructed from blocks of the river silt cut and laid in walls with slightly sloping faces. In time however the blocks weather and the dikes become rounded earthen walls. We passed two men in a boat, in charge of a huge flock of some hundreds of yellow ducklings. Anchored to the bank was a large houseboat provided with an all-around, over-hanging rim and on board was a stack of rice straw and other things which constituted the floating home of the ducks. Both ducks and geese are reared in this manner in large numbers by the river population. When it is desired to move to another feeding ground a gang plank is put ashore and the flock come on board to remain for the night or to be landed at another place. About five hours journey westward in this delta plain, where the fields lie six to ten feet above the present water stage, we reached the mulberry district. Here the plants are cultivated in rows about four feet apart, having the habit of small shrubs rather than of trees, and so much resembling cotton that our first impression was that we were in an extensive cotton district. On the lower lying areas, surrounded by dikes, some fields were laid out in the manner of the old Italian or English water meadows, with a shallow irrigation furrow along the crest of the bed and much deeper drainage ditches along the division line between them. Mulberries were occupying the ground before the freshly cut trenches we saw were dug, and all the surface between the rows had been evenly overlaid with the fresh earth removed with the spade, the soil lying in blocks essentially unbroken. In Fig. 43 may be seen the mulberry crop on a similarly treated surface, between Canton and Samshui, with the earth removed from the trenches laid evenly over the entire surface between and around the plants, as it came from the spade. At frequent intervals along the river, paths and steps were seen leading to the water and within a distance of a quarter of a mile we counted thirty-one men and women carrying mud in baskets on bamboo poles swung across their shoulders, the mud being taken from just above the water line. The disposition of this material we could not see as it was carried beyond a rise in ground. We have little doubt that the mulberry fields were being covered with it. It was here that a rain set in and almost like magic the fields blossomed out with great numbers of giant rain hats and kittysols, where people had been unobserved before. From one o'clock until six in the afternoon we had traveled continuously through these mulberry fields stretching back miles from our line of travel on either hand, and the total acreage must have been very large. But we had now nearly reached the margin of the delta and the mulberries changed to fields of grain, beans, peas and vegetables. After leaving the delta region the balance of the journey to Wuchow was through a hill country, the slopes rising steeply from near the river bank, leaving relatively little tilled or readily tillable land. Rising usually five hundred to a thousand feet, the sides and summits of the rounded, soil-covered hills were generally clothed with a short herbaceous growth and small scattering trees, oftenest pine, four to sixteen feet high, Fig. 44 being a typical landscape of the region. In several sections along the course of this river there are limited areas of intense erosion where naked gulleys of no mean magnitude have developed but these were exceptions and we were continually surprised at the remarkable steepness of the slopes, with convexly rounded contours almost everywhere, well mantled with soil, devoid of gulleys and completely covered with herbaceous growth dotted with small trees. The absence of forest growth finds its explanation in human influence rather than natural conditions. Throughout the hill-land section of this mighty river the most characteristic and persistent human features were the stacks of brush-wood and the piles of stove wood along the banks or loaded upon boats and barges for the market. The brush-wood was largely made from the boughs of pine, tied into bundles and stacked like grain. The stove wood was usually round, peeled and made from the limbs and trunks of trees two to five inches in diameter. All this fuel was coming to the river from the back country, sent down along steep slides which in the distance resemble paths leading over hills but too steep for travel. The fuel was loaded upon large barges, the boughs in the form of stacks to shed rain but with a tunnel leading into the house of the boat about which they were stacked, while the wood was similarly corded about the dwelling, as seen in Fig. 44. The wood was going to Canton and other delta cities while the pine boughs were taken to the lime and cement kilns, many of which were located along the river. Absolutely the whole tree, including the roots and the needles, is saved and burned; no waste is permitted. The up-river cargo of the Nanning was chiefly matting rush, taken on at Canton, tied in bundles like sheaves of wheat. It is grown upon the lower, newer delta lands by methods of culture similar to those applied to rice, Fig. 45 showing a field as seen in Japan. The rushes were being taken to one of the country villages on a tributary of the Sikiang and the steamer was met by a flotilla of junks from this village, some forty-five miles up the stream, where the families live who do the weaving. On the return trip the flotilla again met the steamer with a cargo of the woven matting. In keeping record of packages transferred the Chinese use a simple and unique method. Each carrier, with his two bundles, received a pair of tally sticks. At the gang-plank sat a man with a tally-case divided into twenty compartments, each of which could receive five, but no more, tallies. As the bundles left the steamer the tallies were placed in the tally-case until it contained one hundred, when it was exchanged for another. Wuchow is a city of some 65,000 inhabitants, standing back on the higher ground, not readily visible from the steamer landing nor from the approach on the river. On the foreground, across which stretched the anchor chains of the dock, was living a floating population, many in shelters less substantial than Indian wigwams, but engaged in a great variety of work, and many water buffalo had been tied for the night along the anchor chains. Before July much of this area would lie beneath the flood waters of the Sikiang. Here a ship builder was using his simple, effective bow-brace, boring holes for the dowel pins in the planking for his ship, and another was bending the plank to the proper curvature. The bow-brace consisted of a bamboo stalk carrying the bit at one end and a shoulder rest at the other. Pressing the bit to its work with the shoulder, it was driven with the string of a long bow wrapped once around the stalk by drawing the bow back and forth, thus rapidly and readily revolving the bit. The bending of the long, heavy plank, four inches thick and eight inches wide, was more simple still, It was saturated with water and one end raised on a support four feet above the ground. A bundle of burning rice straw moved along the under side against the wet wood had the effect of steaming the wood and the weight of the plank caused it to gradually bend into the shape desired. Bamboo poles are commonly bent or straightened in this manner to suit any need and Fig. 46 shows a wooden fork shaped in the manner described from a small tree having three main branches. This fork is in the hands of my interpreter and was used by the woman standing at the right, in turning wheat. When the old ship builder had finished shaping his plank he sat down on the ground for a smoke. His pipe was one joint of bamboo stem a foot long, nearly two inches in diameter and open at one end. In the closed end, at one side, a small hole was bored for draft. A charge of tobacco was placed in the bottom, the lips pressed into the open end and the pipe lighted by suction, holding a lighted match at the small opening. To enjoy his pipe the bowl rested on the ground between his legs. With his lips in the bowl and a long breath, he would completely fill his lungs, retaining the smoke for a time, then slowly expire and fill the lungs again, after an interval of natural breathing. On returning to Canton we went by rail, with an interpreter, to Samshui, visiting fields along the way, and Fig. 47 is a view of one landscape. The woman was picking roses among tidy beds of garden vegetables. Beyond her and in front of the near building are two rows of waste receptacles. In the center background is a large "go-down", in function that of our cold storage warehouse and in part that of our grain elevator for rice. In them, too, the wealthy store their fur-lined winter garments for safe keeping. These are numerous in this portion of China and the rank of a city is indicated by their number. The conical hillock is a large near-by grave mound and many others serrate the sky line on the hill beyond. In the next landscape, Fig. 48, a crop of winter peas, trained to canes, are growing on ridges among the stubble of the second crop of rice, In front is one canal, the double ridge behind is another and a third canal extends in front of the houses. Already preparations were being made for the first crop of rice, fields were being flooded and fertilized. One such is seen in Fig. 49, where a laborer was engaged at the time in bringing stable manure, wading into the water to empty the baskets. Two crops of rice are commonly grown each year in southern China and during the winter and early spring, grain, cabbage, rape, peas, beans, leeks and ginger may occupy the fields as a third or even fourth crop, making the total year's product from the land very large; but the amount of thought, labor and fertilizers given to securing these is even greater and beyond anything Americans will endure. How great these efforts are will be appreciated from what is seen in Fig. 50, representing two fields thrown into high ridges, planted to ginger and covered with straw. All of this work is done by hand and when the time for rice planting comes every ridge will again be thrown down and the surface smoothed to a water level. Even when the ridges and beds are not thrown down for the crops of rice, the furrows and the beds will change places so that all the soil is worked over deeply and mainly through hand labor. The statement so often made, that these people only barely scratch the surface of their fields with the crudest of tools is very far from the truth, for their soils are worked deeply and often, notwithstanding the fact that their plowing, as such, may be shallow. Through Dr. John Blumann of the missionary hospital at Tungkun, east from Canton, we learned that the good rice lands there a few years ago sold at $75 to $130 per acre but that prices are rising rapidly. The holdings of the better class of farmers there are ten to fifteen mow--one and two-thirds to two and a half acres--upon which are maintained families numbering six to twelve. The day's wage of a carpenter or mason is eleven to thirteen cents of our currency, and board is not included, but a day's ration for a laboring man is counted worth fifteen cents, Mexican, or less than seven cents, gold. Fish culture is practiced in both deep and shallow basins, the deep permanent ones renting as high as $30 gold, per acre. The shallow basins which can be drained in the dry season are used for fish only during the rainy period, being later drained and planted to some crop. The permanent basins have often come to be ten or twelve feet deep, increasing with long usage, for they are periodically drained by pumping and the foot or two of mud which has accumulated, removed and sold as fertilizer to planters of rice and other crops. It is a common practice, too, among the fish growers, to fertilize the ponds, and in case a foot path leads alongside, screens are built over the water to provide accommodation for travelers. Fish reared in the better fertilized ponds bring a higher price in the market. The fertilizing of the water favors a stronger growth of food forms, both plant and animal, upon which the fish live and they are better nourished, making a more rapid growth, giving their flesh better qualities, as is the case with well fed animals. In the markets where fish are exposed for sale they are often sliced in halves lengthwise and the cut surface smeared with fresh blood. In talking with Dr. Blumann as to the reason for this practice he stated that the Chinese very much object to eating meat that is old or tainted and that he thought the treatment simply had the effect of making the fish look fresher. I question whether this treatment with fresh blood may not have a real antiseptic effect and very much doubt that people so shrewd as the Chinese would be misled by such a ruse. V EXTENT OF CANALIZATION AND SURFACE FITTING OF FIELDS On the evening of March 15th we left Canton for Hongkong and the following day embarked again on the Tosa Maru for Shanghai. Although our steamer stood so far to sea that we were generally out of sight of land except for some off-shore islands, the water was turbid most of the way after we had crossed the Tropic of Cancer off the mouth of the Han river at Swatow. Over a sea bottom measuring more than six hundred miles northward along the coast, and perhaps fifty miles to sea, unnumbered acre-feet of the richest soil of China are being borne beyond the reach of her four hundred millions of people and the children to follow them. Surely it must be one of the great tasks of future statesmanship, education and engineering skill to divert larger amounts of such sediments close along inshore in such manner as to add valuable new land annually to the public domain, not alone in China but in all countries where large resources of this type are going to waste. In the vast Cantonese delta plains which we had just left, in the still more extensive ones of the Yangtse kiang to which we were now going, and in those of the shifting Hwang ho further north, centuries of toiling millions have executed works of almost incalculable magnitude, fundamentally along such lines as those just suggested. They have accomplished an enormous share of these tasks by sheer force of body and will, building levees, digging canals, diverting the turbid waters of streams through them and then carrying the deposits of silt and organic growth out upon the fields, often borne upon the shoulders of men in the manner we have seen. It is well nigh impossible, by word or map, to convey an adequate idea of the magnitude of the systems of canalization and delta and other lowland reclamation work, or of the extent of surface fitting of fields which have been effected in China, Korea and Japan through the many centuries, and which are still in progress. The lands so reclaimed and fitted constitute their most enduring asset and they support their densest populations. In one of our journeys by houseboat on the delta canals between Shanghai and Hangchow, in China, over a distance of 117 miles, we made a careful record of the number and dimensions of lateral canals entering and leaving the main one along which our boat-train was traveling. This record shows that in 62 miles, beginning north of Kashing and extending south to Hangchow, there entered from the west 134 and there left on the coast side 190 canals. The average width of these canals, measured along the water line, we estimated at 22 and 19 feet respectively on the two sides. The height of the fields above the water level ranged from four to twelve feet, during the April and May stage of water. The depth of water, after we entered the Grand Canal, often exceeded six feet and our best judgment would place the average depth of all canals in this part of China at more than eight feet below the level of the fields. In Fig. 51, representing an area of 718 square miles in the region traversed, all lines shown are canals, but scarcely more than one-third of those present are shown on the map. Between A, where we began our records, before reaching Kashing, and B, near the left margin of the map, there were forty-three canals leading in from the up-country side, instead of the eight shown, and on the coast side there were eighty-six leading water out into the delta plain toward the coast, instead of the twelve shown. Again, on one of our trips by rail, from Shanghai to Nanking, we made a similar record of the number of canals seen from the train, close along the track, and the notes show, in a distance of 162 miles, 593 canals between Lungtan and Nansiang. This is an average of more than three canals per mile for this region and that between Shanghai and Hangchow. The extent, nature and purpose of these vast systems of internal improvement may be better realized through a study of the next two sketch maps. The first, Fig. 52, represents an area 175 by 160 miles, of which the last illustration is the portion enclosed in the small rectangle. On this area there are shown 2,700 miles of canals and only about one-third of the canals shown in Fig. 51 are laid down on this map, and according to our personal observations there are three times as many canals as are shown on the map of which Fig. 51 represents a part. It is probable, therefore, that there exists today in the area of Fig. 52 not less than 25,000 miles of canals. In the next illustration, Fig. 53, an area of northeast China, 600 by 725 miles, is represented. The unshaded land area covers nearly 200,000 square miles of alluvial plain. This plain is so level that at Ichang, nearly a thousand miles up the Yangtse, the elevation is only 130 feet above the sea. The tide is felt on the river to beyond Wuhu, 375 miles from the coast. During the summer the depth of water in the Yangtse is sufficient to permit ocean vessels drawing twenty-five feet of water to ascend six hundred miles to Hankow, and for smaller steamers to go on to Ichang, four hundred miles further. The location, in this vast low delta and coastal plain, of the system of canals already described, is indicated by the two rectangles in the south-east corner of the sketch map, Fig. 53. The heavy barred black line extending from Hangchow in the south to Tientsin in the north represents the Grand Canal which has a length of more than eight hundred miles. The plain, east of this canal, as far north as the mouth of the Hwang ho in 1852, is canalized much as is the area shown in Fig. 52. So, too, is a large area both sides of the present mouth of the same river in Shantung and Chihli, between the canal and the coast. Westward, up the Yangtse valley, the provinces of Anhwei, Kiangsi, Hunan and Hupeh have very extensive canalized tracts, probably exceeding 28,000 square miles in area, and Figs. 54 and 55 are two views in this more western region. Still further west, in Szechwan province, is the Chengtu plain, thirty by seventy miles, with what has been called "the most remarkable irrigation system in China." Westward beyond the limits of the sketch map, up the Hwang ho valley, there is a reach of 125 miles of irrigated lands about Ninghaifu, and others still farther west, at Lanchowfu and at Suchow where the river has attained an elevation of 5,000 feet, in Kansu province; and there is still to be named the great Canton delta region. A conservative estimate would place the miles of canals and leveed rivers in China, Korea and Japan equal to eight times the number represented in Fig. 52. Fully 200,000 miles in all. Forty canals across the United States from east to west and sixty from north to south would not equal, in number of miles those in these three countries today. Indeed, it is probable that this estimate is not too large for China alone. As adjuncts to these vast canalization works there have been enormous amounts of embankment, dike and levee construction. More than three hundred miles of sea wall alone exist in the area covered by the sketch map, Fig. 52. The east bank of the Grand Canal, between Yangchow and Hwaianfu, is itself a great levee, holding back the waters to the west above the eastern plain, diverting them south, into the Yangtse kiang. But it is also provided with spillways for use in times of excessive flood, permitting waters to discharge eastward. Such excess waters however are controlled by another dike with canal along its west side, some forty miles to the east, impounding the water in a series of large lakes until it may gradually drain away. This area is seen in Fig. 53, north of the Yangtse river. Along the banks of the Yangtse, and for many miles along the Hwang ho, great levees have been built, some-times in reinforcing series of two or three at different distances back from the channel where the stream bed is above the adjacent country, in order to prevent widespread disaster and to limit the inundated areas in times of unusual flood. In the province of Hupeh, where the Han river flows through two hundred miles of low country, this stream is diked on both sides throughout the whole distance, and in a portion of its course the height of the levees reaches thirty feet or more. Again, in the Canton delta region there are other hundreds of miles of sea wall and dikes, so that the aggregate mileage of this type of construction works in the Empire can only be measured in thousands of miles. In addition to the canal and levee construction works there are numerous impounding reservoirs which are brought into requisition to control overflow waters from the great streams. Some of these reservoirs, like Tungting lake in Hupeh and Poyang in Hunan, have areas of 2,000 and 1,800 square miles respectively and during the heaviest rainy seasons each may rise through twenty to thirty feet, Then there are other large and small lakes in the coastal plain giving an aggregate reservoir area exceeding 13,000 square miles, all of which are brought into service in controlling flood waters, all of which are steadily filling with the sediments brought from the far away uncultivable mountain slopes and which are ultimately destined to become rich alluvial plains, doubtless to be canalized in the manner we have seen. There is still another phase of these vast construction works which has been of the greatest moment in increasing the maintenance capacity of the Empire,--the wresting from the flood waters of the enormous volumes of silt which they carry, depositing it over the flooded areas, in the canals and along the shores in such manner as to add to the habitable and cultivable land. Reference has been made to the rapid growth of Chungming island in the mouth of the Yangtse kiang, and the million people now finding homes on the 270 square miles of newly made land which now has its canals, as may be seen in the upper margin of Fig. 52. The city of Shanghai, as its name signifies, stood originally on the seashore, which has now grown twenty miles to the northward and to the eastward. In 220 B. C. the town of Putai in Shantung stood one-third of a mile from the sea, but in 1730 it was forty-seven miles inland, and is forty-eight miles from the shore today. Sienshuiku, on the Pei ho, stood upon the seashore in 500 A. D. We passed the city, on our way to Tientsin, eighteen miles inland. The dotted line laid in from the coast of the Gulf of Chihli in Fig. 53 marks one historic shore line and indicates a general growth of land eighteen miles to seaward. Besides these actual extensions of the shore lines the centuries of flooding of lakes and low lying lands has so filled many depressions as to convert large areas of swamp into cultivated fields. Not only this, but the spreading of canal mud broadcast over the encircled fields has had two very important effects,--namely, raising the level of the low lying fields, giving them better drainage and so better physical condition, and adding new plant food in the form of virgin soil of the richest type, thus contributing to the maintenance of soil fertility, high maintenance capacity and permanent agriculture through all the centuries. These operations of maintenance and improvement had a very early inception; they appear to have persisted throughout the recorded history of the Empire and are in vogue today. Canals of the type illustrated in Figs. 51 and 52 have been built between 1886 and 1901, both on the extensions of Chungming island and the newly formed main land to the north, as is shown by comparison of Stieler's atlas, revised in 1886, with the recent German survey. Earlier than 2255 B. C., more than 4100 years ago, Emperor Yao appointed "The Great" Yu "Superintendent of Works" and entrusted him with the work of draining off the waters of disastrous floods and of canalizing the rivers, and he devoted thirteen years to this work. This great engineer is said to have written several treatises on agriculture and drainage, and was finally called, much against his wishes, to serve as Emperor during the last seven years of his life. The history of the Hwang ho is one of disastrous floods and shiftings of its course, which have occurred many times in the years since before the time of the Great Yu, who perhaps began the works perpetuated today. Between 1300 A. D. and 1852 the Hwang ho emptied into the Yellow Sea south of the highlands of Shantung, but in that year, when in unusual flood, it broke through the north levees and finally took its present course, emptying again into the Gulf of Chihli, some three hundred miles further north. Some of these shiftings of course of the Hwang ho and of the Yangtse kiang are indicated in dotted lines on the sketch map, Fig. 53, where it may he seen that the Hwang ho during 146 years, poured its waters into the sea as far north as Tientsin, through the mouth of the Pei ho, four hundred miles to the northward of its mouth in 1852. This mighty river is said to carry at low stage, past the city of Tsinan in Shantung, no less than 4,000 cubic yards of water per second, and three times this volume when running at flood. This is water sufficient to inundate thirty-three square miles of level country ten feet deep in twenty-four hours. What must be said of the mental status of a people who for forty centuries have measured their strength against such a Titan racing past their homes above the level of their fields, confined only between walls of their own construction? While they have not always succeeded in controlling the river, they have never failed to try again. In 1877 this river broke its banks, inundating a vast. area, bringing death to a million people. Again, as late as 1898, fifteen hundred villages to the northeast of Tsinan and a much larger area to the southwest of the same city were devastated by it, and it is such events as these which have won for the river the names "China's Sorrow," "The Ungovernable" and "The Scourge of the Sons of Han." The building of the Grand Canal appears to have been a comparatively recent event in Chinese history. The middle section, between the Yangtse and Tsingkiangpu, is said to have been constructed about the sixth century B. C.; the southern section, between Chingkiang and Hangchow, during the years 605 to 617 A. D.; but the northern section, from the channel of the Hwang ho deserted in 1852, to Tientsin, was not built until the years 1280-1283. While this canal has been called by the Chinese Yu ho (Imperial river), Yun ho (Transport river) or Yunliang ho (Tribute bearing river) and while it has connected the great rivers coming down from the far interior into a great water-transport system, this feature of construction may have been but a by-product of the great dominating purpose which led to the vast internal improvements in the form of canals, dikes, levees and impounding reservoirs so widely scattered, so fully developed and so effectively utilized. Rather the master purpose must have been maintenance for the increasing flood of humanity. And I am willing to grant to the Great Yu, with his finger on the pulse of the nation, the power to project his vision four thousand years into the future of his race and to formulate some of the measures which might he inaugurated to grow with the years and make certain perpetual maintenance for those to follow. The exhaustion of cultivated fields must always have been the most fundamental, vital and difficult problem of all civilized people and it appears clear that such canalization as is illustrated in Figs. 51 and 52 may have been primarily initial steps in the reclamation of delta and overflow lands. At any rate, whether deliberately so planned or not, the canalization of the delta and overflow plains of China has been one of the most fundamental and fruitful measures for the conservation of her national resources that they could have taken, for we are convinced that this oldest nation in the world has thus greatly augmented the extension of its coastal plains, conserving and building out of the waste of erosion wrested from the great streams, hundreds of square miles of the richest and most enduring of soils, and we have little doubt that were a full and accurate account given of human influence upon the changes in this remarkable region during the last four thousand years it would show that these gigantic systems of canalization have been matters of slow, gradual growth, often initiated and always profoundly influenced by the labors of the strong, patient, persevering, thoughtful but ever silent husband-men in their efforts to acquire homes and to maintain the productive power of their fields. Nothing appears more clear than that the greatest material problem which can engage the best thought of China today is that of perfecting, extending and perpetuating the means for controlling her flood waters, for better draining of her vast areas of low land, and for utilizing the tremendous loads of silt borne by her streams more effectively in fertilizing existing fields and in building and reclaiming new land. With her millions of people needing homes and anxious for work; who have done so much in land building, in reclamation and in the maintenance of soil fertility, the government should give serious thought to the possibility of putting large numbers of them at work, effectively directed by the best engineering skill. It must now be entirely practicable, with engineering skill and mechanical appliances, to put the Hwang ho, and other rivers of China subject to overflow, completely under control. With the Hwang ho confined to its channel, the adjacent low lands can be better drained by canalization and freed from the accumulating saline deposits which are rendering them sterile. Warping may be resorted to during the flood season to raise the level of adjacent low-lying fields, rendering them at the same time more fertile. Where the river is running above the adjacent plains there is no difficulty in drawing off the turbid water by gravity, under controlled conditions, into diked basins, and even in compelling the river to buttress its own levees. There is certainly great need and great opportunity for China to make still better and more efficient her already wonderful transportation canals and those devoted to drainage, irrigation and fertilization. In the United States, along the same lines, now that we are considering the development of inland waterways, the subject should be surveyed broadly and much careful study may well be given to the works these old people have developed and found serviceable through so many centuries. The Mississippi is annually bearing to the sea nearly 225,000 acre-feet of the most fertile sediment, and between levees along a raised bed through two hundred miles of country subject to inundation. The time is here when there should he undertaken a systematic diversion of a large part of this fertile soil over the swamp areas, building them into well drained, cultivable, fertile fields provided with waterways to serve for drainage, irrigation, fertilization and transportation. These great areas of swamp land may thus be converted into the most productive rice and sugar plantations to be found anywhere in the world, and the area made capable of maintaining many millions of people as long as the Mississippi endures, bearing its burden of fertile sediment. But the conservation and utilization of the wastes of soil erosion, as applied in the delta plain of China, stupendous as this work has been, is nevertheless small when measured by the savings which accrue from the careful and extensive fitting of fields so largely practiced, which both lessens soil erosion and permits a large amount of soluble and suspended matter in the run-off to be applied to, and retained upon, the fields through their extensive systems of irrigation. Mountainous and hilly as are the lands of Japan, 11,000 square miles of her cultivated fields in the main islands of Honshu, Kyushu and Shikoku have been carefully graded to water level areas bounded by narrow raised rims upon which sixteen or more inches of run-off water, with its suspended and soluble matters, may be applied, a large part of which is retained on the fields or utilized by the crop, while surface erosion is almost completely prevented. The illustrations, Figs. 11, 12 and 13 show the application of the principle to the larger and more level fields, and in Figs. 151, 152 and 225 may be seen the practice on steep slopes. If the total area of fields graded practically to a water level in Japan aggregates 11,000 square miles, the total area thus surface fitted in China must be eight or tenfold this amount. Such enormous field erosion as is tolerated at the present time in our southern and south Atlantic states is permitted nowhere in the Far East, so far as we observed, not even where the topography is much steeper. The tea orchards as we saw them on the steeper slopes, not level-terraced, are often heavily mulched with straw which makes erosion, even by heavy rains impossible, while the treatment retains the rain where it falls, giving the soil opportunity to receive it under the impulse of both capillarity and gravity, and with it the soluble ash ingredients leached from the straw. The straw mulches we saw used in this manner were often six to eight inches deep, thus constituting a dressing of not less than six tons per acre, carrying 140 pounds of soluble potassium and 12 pounds of phosphorus. The practice, therefore, gives at once a good fertilizing, the highest conservation and utilization of rainfall, and a complete protection against soil erosion. It is a multum in parvo treatment which characterizes so many of the practices of these people, which have crystallized from twenty centuries of high tension experience. In the Kiangsu and Chekiang provinces as elsewhere in the densely populated portions of the Far East, we found almost all of the cultivated fields very nearly level or made so by grading. Instances showing the type of this grading in a comparatively level country are seen in Figs. 56 and 57. By this preliminary surface fitting of the fields these people have reduced to the lowest possible limit the waste of soil fertility by erosion and surface leaching. At the same time they are able to retain upon the field, uniformly distributed over it, the largest part of the rainfall practicable, and to compel a much larger proportion of the necessary run off to leave by under-drainage than would be possible otherwise, conveying the plant food developed in the surface soil to the roots of the crops, while they make possible a more complete absorption and retention by the soil of the soluble plant food materials not taken up. This same treatment also furnishes the best possible conditions for the application of water to the fields when supplemental irrigation would be helpful, and for the withdrawal of surplus rainfall by surface drainage, should this be necessary. Besides this surface fitting of fields there is a wide application of additional methods aiming to conserve both rainfall and soil fertility, one of which is illustrated in Fig. 58, showing one end of a collecting reservoir. There were three of these reservoirs in tandem, connected with each other by surface ditches and with an adjoining canal. About the reservoir the level field is seen to be thrown into beds with shallow furrows between the long narrow ridges. The furrows are connected by a head drain around the margin of the reservoir and separated from it by a narrow raised rim. Such a reservoir may be six to ten feet deep but can be completely drained only by pumping or by evaporation during the dry season. Into such reservoirs the excess surface water is drained where all suspended matter carried from the field collects and is returned, either directly as an application of mud or as material used in composts. In the preparation of composts, pits are dug near the margin of the reservoir, as seen in the illustration, and into them are thrown coarse manure and any roughage in the form of stubble or other refuse which may be available, these materials being saturated with the soft mud dipped from the bottom of the reservoir. In all of the provinces where canals are abundant they also serve as reservoirs for collecting surface washings and along their banks great numbers of compost pits are maintained and repeatedly filled during the season, for use on the fields as the crops are changed. Fig. 59 shows two such pits on the bank of a canal, already filled. In other cases, as in the Shantung province, illustrated in Fig. 60, the surface of the field may be thrown into broad leveled lands separated and bounded by deep and wide trenches into which the excess water of very heavy rains may collect. As we saw them there was no provision for draining the trenches and the water thus collected either seeps away or evaporates, or it may be returned in part by underflow and capillary rise to the soil from which it was collected, or be applied directly for irrigation by pumping. In this province the rains may often be heavy but the total fall for the year is small, being little more than twenty-four inches hence there is the greatest need for its conservation, and this is carefully practiced. VI SOME CUSTOMS OF THE COMMON PEOPLE The Tosa Maru brought us again into Shanghai March 20th, just in time for the first letters from home. A ricksha man carried us and our heavy valise at a smart trot from the dock to the Astor House more than a mile, for 8.6 cents, U. S. currency, and more than the conventional price for the service rendered. On our way we passed several loaded carryalls of the type seen in Fig. 61, on which women were riding for a fare one-tenth that we had paid, but at a slower pace and with many a jolt. The ringing chorus which came loud and clear when yet half a block away announced that the pile drivers were still at work on the foundation for an annex to the Astor House, and so were they on May 27th when we returned from the Shantung province, 88 days after we saw them first, but with the task then practically completed. Had the eighteen men labored continuously through this interval, the cost of their services to the contractor would have been but $205.92. With these conditions the engine-driven pile driver could not compete. All ordinary labor here receives a low wage. In the Chekiang province farm labor employed by the year received $30 and board, ten years ago, but now is receiving $50. This is at the rate of about $12.90 and $21.50, gold, materially less than there is paid per month in the United States. At Tsingtao in the Shantung province a missionary was paying a Chinese cook ten dollars per month, a man for general work nine dollars per month, and the cook's wife, for doing the mending and other family service, two dollars per month, all living at home and feeding themselves. This service rendered for $9.03, gold, per month covers the marketing, all care of the garden and lawn as well as all the work in the house. Missionaries in China find such servants reliable and satisfactory, and trust them with the purse and the marketing for the table, finding them not only honest but far better at a bargain and at economical selection than themselves. We had a soil tube made in the shops of a large English ship building and repair firm, employing many hundred Chinese as mechanics, using the most modern and complex machinery, and the foreman stated that as soon as the men could understand well enough to take orders they were even better shop hands than the average in Scotland and England. An educated Chinese booking clerk at the Soochow railway station in Kiangsu province was receiving a salary of $10.75, gold, per month. We had inquired the way to the Elizabeth Blake hospital and he volunteered to escort us and did so, the distance being over a mile. He would accept no compensation, and yet I was an entire stranger, without introduction of any kind. Everywhere we went in China, the laboring people appeared generally happy and contented if they have something to do, and showed clearly that they were well nourished. The industrial classes are thoroughly organized, having had their guilds or labor unions for centuries and it is not at all uncommon for a laborer who is known to have violated the rules of his guild to be summarily dealt with or even to disappear without questions being asked. In going among the people, away from the lines of tourist travel, one gets the impression that everybody is busy or is in the harness ready to be busy. Tramps of our hobo type have few opportunities here and we doubt if one exists in either of these countries. There are people physically disabled who are asking alms and there are organized charities to help them, but in proportion to the total population these appear to be fewer than in America or Europe. The gathering of unfortunates and habitual beggars about public places frequented by people of leisure and means naturally leads tourists to a wrong judgment regarding the extent of these social conditions. Nowhere among these densely crowded people, either Chinese, Japanese or Korean, did we see one intoxicated, but among Americans and Europeans many instances were observed. All classes and both sexes use tobacco and the British-American Tobacco Company does a business in China amounting to millions of dollars annually. During five months among these people we saw but two children in a quarrel. The two little boys were having their trouble on Nanking road, Shanghai, where, grasping each other's pigtails, they tussled with a vengeance until the mother of one came and parted their ways. Among the most frequent sights in the city streets are the itinerant vendors of hot foods and confections. Stove, fuel, supplies and appliances may all be carried on the shoulders, swinging from a bamboo pole. The mother in Fig. 63 was quite likely thus supporting her family and the children are seen at lunch, dressed in the blue and white calico prints so generally worn by the young. The printing of this calico by the very ancient, simple yet effective method we witnessed in the farm village along the canal seen in Fig. 10. This art, as with so many others in China, was the inheritance of the family we saw at work, handed down to them through many generations. The printer was standing at a rough work bench upon which a large heavy stone in cubical form served as a weight to hold in place a thoroughly lacquered sheet of tough cardboard in which was cut the pattern to appear in white on the cloth. Beside the stone stood a pot of thick paste prepared from a mixture of lime and soy bean flour. The soy beans were being ground in one corner of the same room by a diminutive edition of such an outfit as seen in Fig. 64. The donkey was working in his permanent abode and whenever off duty he halted before manger and feed. At the operator's right lay a bolt of white cotton cloth fixed to unroll and pass under the stencil, held stationary by the heavy weight. To print, the stencil was raised and the cloth brought to place under it. The paste was then deftly spread with a paddle over the surface and thus upon the cloth beneath wherever exposed through the openings in the stencil. This completes the printing of the pattern on one section of the bolt of cloth. The free end of the stencil is then raised, the cloth passed along the proper distance by hand and the stencil dropped in place for the next application. The paste is permitted to dry upon the cloth and when the bolt has been dipped into the blue dye the portions protected by the paste remain white. In this simple manner has the printing of calico been done for centuries for the garments of millions of children. From the ceiling of the drying room in this printery of olden times were hanging some hundreds of stencils bearing different patterns. In our great calico mills, printing hundreds of yards per minute, the mechanics and the chemistry differ only in detail of application and in dispatch, not in fundamental principle. In almost any direction we traveled outside the city, in the pleasant mornings when the air was still, the laying of warp for cotton cloth could be seen, to be woven later in the country homes. We saw this work in progress many times and in many places in the early morning, usually along some roadside or open place, as seen in Fig. 65, but never later in the day. When the warp is laid each will be rolled upon its stretcher and removed to the house to be woven. In many places in Kiangsu province batteries of the large dye pits were seen sunk in the fields and lined with cement. These were six to eight feet in diameter and four to five feet deep. In one case observed there were nine pits in the set. Some of the pits were neatly sheltered beneath live arbors, as represented in Fig. 66. But much of this spinning, weaving, dyeing and printing of late years is being displaced by the cheaper calicos of foreign make and most of the dye pits we saw were not now used for this purpose, the two in the illustration serving as manure receptacles. Our interpreter stated however that there is a growing dissatisfaction with foreign goods on account of their lack of durability; and we saw many cases where the cloth dyed blue was being dried in large quantities on the grave lands. In another home for nearly an hour we observed a method of beating cotton and of laying it to serve as the body for mattresses and the coverlets for beds. This we could do without intrusion because the home was also the work shop and opened full width directly upon the narrow street. The heavy wooden shutters which closed the home at night were serving as a work bench about seven feet square, laid upon movable supports. There was barely room to work between it and the sidewalk without impeding traffic, and on the three other sides there was a floor space three or four feet wide. In the rear sat grandmother and wife while in and out the four younger children were playing. Occupying the two sides of the room were receptacles filled with raw cotton and appliances for the work. There may have been a kitchen and sleeping room behind but no door, as such, was visible. The finished mattresses, carefully rolled and wrapped in paper, were suspended from the ceiling. On the improvised work table, with its top two feet above the floor, there had been laid in the morning before our visit, a mass of soft white cotton more than six feet square and fully twelve inches deep. On opposite sides of this table the father and his son, of twelve years, each twanged the string of their heavy bamboo bows, snapping the lint from the wads of cotton and flinging it broadcast in an even layer over the surface of the growing mattress, the two strings the while emitting tones pitched far below the hum of the bumblebee. The heavy bow was steadied by a cord secured around the body of the operator, allowing him to manage it with one hand and to move readily around his work in a manner different from the custom of the Japanese seen in Fig. 67. By this means the lint was expeditiously plucked and skillfully and uniformly laid, the twanging being effected by an appliance similar to that used in Japan. Repeatedly, taken in small bits from the barrel of cotton, the lint was distributed over the entire surface with great dexterity and uniformity, the mattress growing upward with perfectly vertical sides, straight edges and square corners. In this manner a thoroughly uniform texture is secured which compresses into a body of even thickness, free from hard places. The next step in building the mattress is even more simple and expeditious. A basket of long bobbins of roughly spun cotton was near the grandmother and probably her handiwork. The father took from the wall a slender bamboo rod like a fish-pole, six feet long, and selecting one of the spools, threaded the strand through an eye in the small end. With the pole and spool in one hand and the free end of the thread, passing through the eye, in the other, the father reached the thread across the mattress to the boy who hooked his finger over it, carrying it to one edge of the bed of cotton. While this was doing the father had whipped the pole back to his side and caught the thread over his own finger, bringing this down upon the cotton opposite his son. There was thus laid a double strand, but the pole continued whipping hack and forth across the bed, father and son catching the threads and bringing them to place on the cotton at the rate of forty to fifty courses per minute, and in a very short time the entire surface of the mattress had been laid with double strands. A heavy bamboo roller was next laid across the strands at the middle, passed carefully to one side, back again to the middle and then to the other edge. Another layer of threads was then laid diagonally and this similarly pressed with the same roller; then another diagonally the other way and finally straight across in both directions. A similar network of strands had been laid upon the table before spreading the cotton. Next a flat bottomed, circular, shallow basket-like form two feet in diameter was used to gently compress the material from twelve to six inches in thickness. The woven threads were now turned over the edge of the mattress on all sides and sewed down, after which, by means of two heavy solid wooden disks eighteen inches in diameter, father and son compressed the cotton until the thickness was reduced to three inches. There remained the task of carefully folding and wrapping the finished piece in oiled paper and of suspending it from the ceiling. On March 20th, when visiting the Boone Road and Nanking Road markets in Shanghai, we had our first surprise regarding the extent to which vegetables enter into the daily diet of the Chinese. We had observed long processions of wheelbarrow men moving from the canals through the streets carrying large loads of the green tips of rape in bundles a foot long and five inches in diameter. These had come from the country on boats each carrying tons of the succulent leaves and stems. We had counted as many as fifty wheelbarrow men passing a given point on the street in quick succession, each carrying 300 to 500 pounds of the green rape and moving so rapidly that it was not easy to keep pace with them, as we learned in following one of the trains during twenty minutes to its destination. During this time not a man in the train halted or slackened his pace. This rape is very extensively grown in the fields, the tips of the stems cut when tender and eaten, after being boiled or steamed, after the manner of cabbage. Very large quantities are also packed with salt in the proportion of about twenty pounds of salt to one hundred pounds of the rape. This, Fig. 68, and many other vegetables are sold thus pickled and used as relishes with rice, which invariably is cooked and served without salt or other seasoning. Another field crop very extensively grown for human food, and partly as a source of soil nitrogen, is closely allied to our alfalfa. This is the Medicago astragalus, two beds of which are seen in Fig. 69. Tender tips of the stems are gathered before the stage of blossoming is reached and served as food after boiling or steaming. It is known among the foreigners as Chinese "clover." The stems are also cooked and then dried for use when the crop is out of season. When picked very young, wealthy Chinese families pay an extra high price for the tender shoots, sometimes as much as 20 to 28 cents, our currency, per pound. The markets are thronged with people making their purchases in the early mornings, and the congested condition, with the great variety of vegetables, makes it almost as impressive a sight as Billingsgate fish market in London. In the following table we give a list of vegetables observed there and the prices at which they were selling. ----------------------------------------------------------- LIST OF VEGETABLES DISPLAYED FOR SALE IN BOONE ROAD MARKET, SHANGHAI, APRIL 6TH, 1900, WITH PRICES EXPRESSED IN U. S. CURRENCY.-- --------------------------------------------------------- Cents Lotus roots, per lb. 1.60 Bamboo sprouts, per lb. 6.40 English cabbage, per lb. 1.33 Olive greens, per lb. .67 White greens, per lb. .33 Tee Tsai, per lb. .53 Chinese celery, per lb. .67 Chinese clover, per lb. .58 Chinese clover, very young, lb. 21.33 Oblong white cabbage, per lb. 2.00 Red beans, per lb. 1.33 Yellow beans, per lb. 1.87 Peanuts, per lb. 2.49 Ground nuts, per lb. 2.96 Cucumbers, per lb. 2.58 Green pumpkin, per lb. 1.62 Maize, shelled, per lb. 1.00 Windsor beans, dry, per lb. 1.72 French lettuce, per head .44 Hau Tsai, per head .87 Cabbage lettuce, per head .22 Kale, per lb. 1.60 Rape, per lb. .23 Portuguese water cress, basket 2.15 Shang tsor, basket 8.60 Carrots, per lb. .97 String beans; per lb. 1.60 Irish potatoes, per lb. 1.60 Red onions, per lb. 4.96 Long white turnips, per lb. .44 Flat string beans, per lb. 4.80 Small white turnips, bunch .44 Onion stems, per lb. 1.29 Lima beans, green, shelled, lb. 6.45 Egg plants, per lb. 4.30 Tomatoes, per lb. 5.16 Small flat turnips, per lb. .86 Small red beets, per lb. 1.29 Artichokes, per lb. 1.29 White beans, dry, per lb. 4.80 Radishes, per lb. 1.29 Garlic, per lb. 2.15 Kohl rabi, per lb. 2.15 Mint, per lb. 4.30 Leeks, per lb. 2.18 Large celery, bleached, bunch 2.10 Sprouted peas, per lb. .80 Sprouted beans, per lb. .93 Parsnips, per lb. 1.29 Ginger roots, per lb. 1.60 Water chestnuts, per lb. 1.33 Large sweet potatoes, per lb. 1.33 Small sweet potatoes, per lb. 1.00 Onion sprouts, per lb. 2.13 Spinach, per lb. 1.00 Fleshy stemmed lettuce, peeled, per lb. 2.00 Fleshy stemmed lettuce, unpeeled, per lb. .67 Bean curd, per lb. 3.93 Shantung walnuts, per lb. 4.30 Duck eggs, dozen 8.34 Hen's eggs, dozen 7.30 Goat's meat, per lb. 6.45 Pork, per lb. 6.88 Hens, live weight, per lb. 6.45 Ducks, live weight, per lb. 5.59 Cockerels, live weight, per lb. 5.59-- --------------------------------------------------------- This long list, made up chiefly of fresh vegetables displayed for sale on one market day, is by no means complete. The record is only such as was made in passing down one side and across one end of the market occupying nearly one city block. Nearly everything is sold by weight and the problem of correct weights is effectively solved by each purchaser carrying his own scales, which he unhesitatingly uses in the presence of the dealer. These scales are made on the pattern of the old time steelyards but from slender rods of wood or bamboo provided with a scale and sliding poise, the suspensions all being made with strings. We stood by through the purchasing of two cockerels and the dickering over their weight. A dozen live birds were under cover in a large, open-work basket. The customer took out the birds one by one, examining them by touch, finally selecting two, the price being named. These the dealer tied together by their feet and weighed them, announcing the result; whereupon the customer checked the statement with his own scales. An animated dialogue followed, punctuated with many gesticulations and with the customer tossing the birds into the basket and turning to go away while the dealer grew more earnest. The purchaser finally turned back, and again balancing the roosters upon his scales, called a bystander to read the weight, and then flung them in apparent disdain at the dealer, who caught them and placed them in the customer's basket. The storm subsided and the dealer accepted 92c, Mexican, for the two birds. They were good sized roosters and must have dressed more than three pounds each, yet for the two he paid less than 40 cents in our currency. Bamboo sprouts are very generally used in China, Korea and Japan and when one sees them growing they suggest giant stalks of asparagus, some of them being three and even five inches in diameter and a foot in height at the stage for cutting. They are shipped in large quantities from province to province where they do not grow or when they are out of season. Those we saw in Nagasaki referred to in Fig. 22, had come from Canton or Swatow or possibly Formosa. The form, foliage and bloom of the bamboo give the most beautiful effects in the landscape, especially when grouped with tree forms. They are usually cultivated in small clumps about dwellings in places not otherwise readily utilized, as seen in Fig. 66. Like the asparagus bud, the bamboo sprout grows to its full height between April and August, even when it exceeds thirty or even sixty feet in height. The buds spring from fleshy underground stems or roots whose stored nourishment permits this rapid growth, which in its earlier stages may exceed twelve inches in twenty-four hours. But while the full size of the plant is attained the first season, three or four years are required to ripen and harden the wood sufficiently to make it suitable for the many uses to which the stems are put. It would seem that the time must come when some of the many forms of bamboo will be introduced and largely grown in many parts of this country. Lotus roots form another article of diet largely used and widely cultivated from Canton to Tokyo. These are seen in the lower section of Fig. 70, and the plants in bloom in Fig. 71, growing in water, their natural habitat. The lotus is grown in permanent ponds not readily drained for rice or other crops, and the roots are widely shipped. Sprouted beans and peas of many kinds and the sprouts of other vegetables, such as onions, are very generally seen in the markets of both China and Japan, at least during the late winter and early spring, and are sold as foods, having different flavors and digestive qualities, and no doubt with important advantageous effects in nutrition. Ginger is another. crop which is very widely and extensively cultivated. It is generally displayed in the market in the root form. No one thing was more generally hawked about the streets of China than the water chestnut. This is a small corm or fleshy bulb having the shape and size of a small onion. Boys pare them and sell a dozen spitted together on slender sticks the length of a knitting needle. Then there are the water caltropes, grown in the canals producing a fruit resembling a horny nut having a shape which suggests for them the name "buffalo-horn". Still another plant, known as water-grass (Hydropyrum latifolium) is grown in Kiangsu province where the land is too wet for rice. The plant has a tender succulent crown of leaves and the peeling of the outer coarser ones away suggests the husking of an ear of green corn. The portion eaten is the central tender new growth, and when cooked forms a delicate savory dish. The farmers' selling price is three to four dollars, Mexican, per hundred catty, or $.97 to $1.29 per hundredweight, and the return per acre is from $13 to $20. The small number of animal products which are included in the market list given should not be taken as indicating the proportion of animal to vegetable foods in the dietaries of these people. It is nevertheless true that they are vegetarians to a far higher degree than are most western nations, and the high maintenance efficiency of the agriculture of China, Korea and Japan is in great measure rendered possible by the adoption of a diet so largely vegetarian. Hopkins, in his Soil Fertility and Permanent Agriculture, page 234, makes this pointed statement of fact: "1000 bushels of grain has at least five times as much food value and will support five times as many people as will the meat or milk that can be made from it". He also calls attention to the results of many Rothamsted feeding experiments with growing and fattening cattle, sheep and swine, showing that the cattle destroyed outright, in every 100 pounds of dry substance eaten, 57.3 pounds, this passing off into the air, as does all of wood except the ashes, when burned in the stove; they left in the excrements 36.5 pounds, and stored as increase but 6.2 pounds of the 100. With sheep the corresponding figures were 60.1 pounds; 31.9 pounds and 8 pounds; and with swine they were 65.7 pounds; 16.7 pounds and 17.6 pounds. But less than two-thirds of the substance stored in the animal can become food for man and hence we get but four pounds in one hundred of the dry substances eaten by cattle in the form of human food; but five pounds from the sheep and eleven pounds from swine. In view of these relations, only recently established as scientific facts by rigid research, it is remarkable that these very ancient people came long ago to discard cattle as milk and meat producers; to use sheep more for their pelts and wool than for food; while swine are the one kind of the three classes which they did retain in the role of middleman as transformers of coarse substances into human food. It is clear that in the adoption of the succulent forms of vegetables as human food important advantages are gained. At this stage of maturity they have a higher digestibility, thus making the elimination of the animal less difficult. Their nitrogen content is relatively higher and this in a measure compensates for loss of meat. By devoting the soil to growing vegetation which man can directly digest they have saved 60 pounds per 100 of absolute waste by the animal, returning their own wastes to the field for the maintenance of fertility. In using these immature forms of vegetation so largely as food they are able to produce an immense amount that would otherwise be impossible, for this is grown in a shorter time, permitting the same soil to produce more crops. It is also produced late in the fall and early in the spring when the season is too cold and the hours of sunshine too few each day to permit of ripening crops. VII THE FUEL PROBLEM, BUILDING AND TEXTILE MATERIALS With the vast and ever increasing demands made upon materials which are the products of cultivated fields, for food, for apparel, for furnishings and for cordage, better soil management must grow more important as populations multiply. With the increasing cost and ultimate exhaustion of mineral fuel; with our timber vanishing rapidly before the ever growing demands for lumber and paper; with the inevitably slow growth of trees and the very limited areas which the world can ever afford to devote to forestry, the time must surely come when, in short period rotations, there will be grown upon the farm materials from which to manufacture not only paper and the substitutes for lumber, but fuels as well. The complete utilization of every stream which reaches the sea, reinforced by the force of the winds and the energy of the waves which may be transformed along the coast lines, cannot fully meet the demands of the future for power and heat; hence only in the event of science and engineering skill becoming able to devise means for transforming the unlimited energy of space through which we are ever whirled, with an economy approximating that which crops now exhibit, can good soil management be relieved of the task of meeting a portion of the world's demand for power and heat. When these statements were made in 1905 we did not know that for centuries there had existed in China, Korea and Japan a density of population such as to require the extensive cultivation of crops for fuel and building material, as well as for fabrics, by the ordinary methods of tillage, and hence another of the many surprises we had was the solution these people had reached of their fuel problem and of how to keep warm. Their solution has been direct and the simplest possible. Dress to make fuel for warmth of body unnecessary, and burn the coarser stems of crops, such as cannot be eaten, fed to animals or otherwise made useful. These people still use what wood can be grown on the untillable land within transporting distance, and convert much wood into charcoal, making transportation over longer distances easier. The general use of mineral fuels, such as coal, coke, oils and gas, had been impossible to these as to every other people until within the last one hundred years. Coal, coke, oil and natural gas, however, have been locally used by the Chinese from very ancient times. For more than two thousand years brine from many deep wells in Szechwan province has been evaporated with heat generated by the burning of natural gas from wells, conveyed through bamboo stems to the pans and burned from iron terminals. In other sections of the same province much brine is evaporated over coal fires. Alexander Hosie estimates the production of salt in Szechwan province at more than 600 million pounds annually. Coal is here used also to some extent for warming the houses, burned in pits sunk in the floor, the smoke escaping where it may. The same method of heating we saw in use in the post office at Yokohama during February. The fires were in large iron braziers more than two feet across the top, simply set about the room, three being in operation. Stoves for house warming are not used in dwellings in these countries. In both China and Japan we saw coal dust put into the form and size of medium oranges by mixing it with a thin paste of clay. Charcoal is similarly molded, as seen in Fig. 72, using a by-product from the manufacture of rice syrup for cementing. In Nanking we watched with much interest the manufacture of charcoal briquets by another method. A Chinese workman was seated upon the earth floor of a shop. By his side was a pile of powdered charcoal, a dish of rice syrup by-product and a basin of the moistened charcoal powder. Between his legs was a heavy mass of iron containing a slightly conical mold two inches deep, two and a half inches across at the top and a heavy iron hammer weighing several pounds. In his left hand he held a short heavy ramming tool and with his right placed in the mold a pinch of the moistened charcoal; then followed three well directed blows from the hammer upon the ramming tool, compressing the charge of moistened, sticky charcoal into a very compact layer. Another pinch of charcoal was added and the process repeated until the mold was filled, when the briquet was forced out. By this simplest possible mechanism, the man, utilizing but a small part of his available energy, was subjecting the charcoal to an enormous pressure such as we attain only with the best hydraulic presses, and he was using the principle of repeated small charges recently patented and applied in our large and most efficient cotton and hay presses, which permit much denser bales to be made than is possible when large charges are added, and the Chinese is here, as in a thousand other ways, thoroughly sound in his application of mechanical principles. His output for the day was small but his patience seemed unlimited. His arms and body, bared to the waist, showed vigor and good feeding, while his face wore the look of contentment. With forty centuries of such inheritance coursing in the veins of four hundred millions of people, in a country possessed of such marvelous wealth of coal and water power, of forest and of agricultural possibilities, there should be a future speedily blossoming and ripening into all that is highest and best for such a nation. If they will retain their economies and their industry and use their energies to develop, direct and utilize the power in their streams and in their coal fields along the lines which science has now made possible to them, at the same time walking in paths of peace and virtue, there is little worth while which may not come to such a people. A Shantung farmer in winter dress, Fig. 18, and the Kiangsu woman portrayed in Fig. 73, in corresponding costume, are typical illustrations of the manner in which food for body warmth is minimized and of the way the heat generated in the body is conserved. Observe his wadded and quilted frock, his trousers of similar goods tied about the ankle, with his feet clad in multiple socks and cloth shoes provided with thick felted soles. These types of dress, with the wadding, quilting, belting and tying, incorporate and confine as part of the effective material a large volume of air, thus securing without cost, much additional warmth without increasing the weight of the garments. Beneath these outer garments several under pieces of different weights are worn which greatly conserve the warmth during the coldest weather and make possible a wide range of adjustment to suit varying changes in temperature. It is doubtful if there could he devised a wardrobe suited to the conditions of these people at a smaller first cost and maintenance expense. Rev. E. A. Evans, of the China Inland Mission, for many years residing at Sunking in Szechwan, estimated that a farmer's wardrobe, once it was procured, could be maintained with an annual expenditure of $2.25 of our currency, this sum procuring the materials for both repairs and renewals. The intense individual economy, extending to the smallest matters, so universally practiced by these people, has sustained the massive strength of the Mongolian nations through their long history and this trait is seen in their handling of the fuel problem, as it is in all other lines. In the home of Mrs. Wu, owner and manager of a 25-acre rice farm in Chekiang province, there was a masonry kang seven by seven feet, about twenty-eight inches high, which could be warmed in winter by building a fire within. The top was fitted for mats to serve as couch by day and as a place upon which to spread the bed at night. In the Shantung province we visited the home of a prosperous farmer and here found two kangs in separate sleeping apartments, both warmed by the waste heat from the kitchen whose chimney flue passed horizontally under the kangs before rising through the roof. These kangs were wide enough to spread the beds upon, about thirty inches high, and had been constructed from brick twelve inches square and four inches thick, made from the clay subsoil taken from the fields and worked into a plastic mass, mixed with chaff and short straw, dried in the sun and then laid in a mortar of the same material. These massive kangs are thus capable of absorbing large amounts of the waste heat from the kitchen during the day and of imparting congenial warmth to the couches by day and to the beds and sleeping apartments during the night. In some Manchurian inns large compound kangs are so arranged that the guests sleep heads together in double rows, separated only by low dividing rails, securing the greatest economy of fuel, providing the guests with places where they may sit upon the moderately warmed fireplace, and spread their beds when they retire. The economy of the chimney beds does not end with the warmth conserved. The earth and straw brick, through the processes of fermentation and through shrinkage, become open and porous after three or four years of service, so that the draft is defective, giving annoyance from smoke, which requires their renewal. But the heat, the fermentation and the absorption of products of combustion have together transformed the comparatively infertile subsoil into what they regard as a valuable fertilizer and these discarded brick are used in the preparation of compost fertilizers for the fields. On account of this value of the discarded brick the large amount of labor involved in removing and rebuilding the kangs is not regarded altogether as labor lost. Our own observations have shown that heating soils to dryness at a temperature of 110 deg C. greatly increases the freedom with which plant food may be recovered from them by the solvent power of water, and the same heating doubtless improves the physical and biological conditions of the soil as well. Nitrogen combined as ammonia, and phosphorus, potash and lime are all carried with the smoke or soot, mechanically in the draft and arrested upon the inner walls of the kangs or filter into the porous brick with the smoke, and thus add plant food directly to the soil. Soot from wood has been found to contain, as an average, 1.36 per cent of nitrogen; .51 per cent of phosphorus and 5.34 per cent of potassium. We practice burning straw and corn stalks in enormous quantities, to get them easily out of the way, thus scattering on the winds valuable plant food, thoughtlessly and lazily wasting where these people laboriously and religiously save. These are gains in addition to those which result from the formation of nitrates, soluble potash and other plant foods through fermentation. We saw many instances where these discarded brick were being used, both in Shantung and Chihli provinces, and it was common in walking through the streets of country villages to see piles of them, evidently recently removed. The fuel grown on the farms consists of the stems of all agricultural crops which are to any extent woody, unless they can be put to some better use. Rice straw, cotton stems pulled by the roots after the seed has been gathered, the stems of windsor beans, those of rape and the millets, all pulled by the roots, and many other kinds, are brought to the market tied in bundles in the manner seen in Figs. 74, 75 and 76. These fuels are used for domestic purposes and for the burning of lime, brick, roofing tile and earthenware as well as in the manufacture of oil, tea, bean-curd and many other processes. In the home, when the meals are cooked with these light bulky fuels, it is the duty of some one, often one of the children, to sit on the floor and feed the fire with one hand while with the other a bellows is worked to secure sufficient draft. The manufacture of cotton seed oil and cotton seed cake is one of the common family industries in China, and in one of these homes we saw rice hulls and rice straw being used as fuel. In the large low, one-story, tile-roofed building serving as store, warehouse, factory and dwelling, a family of four generations were at work, the grandfather supervising in the mill and the grandmother leading in the home and store where the cotton seed oil was being. retailed for 22 cents per pound and the cotton seed cake at 33 cents, gold, per hundredweight. Back of the store and living rooms, in the mill compartment, three blindfolded water buffalo, each working a granite mill, were crushing and grinding the cotton seed. Three other buffalo, for relay service, were lying at rest or eating, awaiting their turn at the ten-hour working day. Two of the mills were horizontal granite burrs more than four feet in diameter, the upper one revolving once with each circuit made by the cow. The third mill was a pair of massive granite rollers, each five feet in diameter and two feet thick, joined on a very short horizontal axle which revolved on a circular stone plate about a vertical axis once with each circuit of the buffalo. Two men tended the three mills. After the cotton seed had been twice passed through the mills it was steamed to render the oil fluid and more readily expressed. The steamer consisted of two covered wooden hoops not unlike that seen in Fig. 77, provided with screen bottoms, and in these the meal was placed over openings in the top of an iron kettle of boiling water from which the steam was forced through the charge of meal. Each charge was weighed in a scoop balanced on the arm of a bamboo scale, thus securing a uniform weight for the cakes. On the ground in front of the furnace sat a boy of twelve years steadily feeding rice chaff into the fire with his left hand at the rate of about thirty charges per minute, while with his right hand, and in perfect rhythm, he drew back and forth the long plunger of a rectangular box bellows, maintaining a forced draft for the fire. At intervals the man who was bringing fuel fed into the furnace a bundle of rice straw, thus giving the boy's left arm a moment's respite. When the steaming has rendered the oil sufficiently fluid the meal is transferred, hot, to ten-inch hoops two inches deep, made of braided bamboo strands, and is deftly tramped with the bare feet, while hot, the operator steadying himself by a pair of hand bars. After a stack of sixteen hoops, divided by a slight sifting of chaff or short straw to separate the cakes, had been completed these were taken to one of four pressmen, who were kept busy in expressing the oil. The presses consisted of two parallel timbers framed together, long enough to receive the sixteen hoops on edge above a gap between them. These cheeses of meal are subjected to an enormous pressure secured by means of three parallel lines of wedges forced against the follower each by an iron-bound master wedge, driven home with a heavy beetle weighing some twenty-five or thirty pounds. The lines of wedges were tightened in succession, the loosened line receiving an additional wedge to take up the slack after drawing back the master wedge, which was then driven home. To keep good the supply of wedges which are often crushed under the pressure a second boy, older than the one at the furnace, was working on the floor, shaping new ones, the broken wedges and the chips going to the furnace for fuel. By this very simple, readily constructed and inexpensive mechanism enormous pressures were secured and when the operator had obtained the desired compression he lighted his pipe and sat down to smoke until the oil ceased dripping into the pit sunk in the floor beneath the press. In this interval the next series of cakes went to another press and the work thus kept up during the day. Six hundred and forty cakes was the average daily output of this family of eight men and two boys, with their six water buffalo. The cotton seed cakes were being sold as feed, and a near-by Chinese dairyman was using them for his herd of forty water buffalo, seen in Fig. 78, producing milk for the foreign trade in Shanghai. This herd of forty cows one of which was an albino, was giving an average of but 200 catty of milk per day, or at the rate of six and two-thirds pounds per head! The cows have extremely small udders but the milk is very rich, as indicated by an analysis made in the office of the Shanghai Board of Health and obtained through the kindness of Dr. Arthur Stanley. The milk showed a specific gravity of 1.028 and contained 20.1 per cent total solids; 7.5 per cent fat; 4.2 per cent milk sugar and .8 per cent ash. In the family of Rev. W. H. Hudson, of the Southern Presbyterian Mission, Kashing, whose very gracious hospitality we enjoyed on two different occasions, the butter made from the milk of two of these cows, one of which, with her calf, is seen in Fig. 79, was used on the family table. It was as white as lard or cottolene but the texture and flavor were normal and far better than the Danish and New Zealand products served at the hotels. The milk produced at the Chinese dairy in Shanghai was being sold in bottles holding two pounds, at the rate of one dollar a bottle, or 43 cents, gold. This seems high and there may have been misunderstanding on the part of my interpreter but his answer to my question was that the milk was being sold at one Shanghai dollar per bottle holding one and a half catty, which, interpreted, is the value given above. But fuel from the stems of cultivated plants which are in part otherwise useful, is not sufficient to meet the needs of country and village, notwithstanding the intense economies practiced. Large areas of hill and mountain land are made to contribute their share, as we have seen in the south of China, where pine boughs were being used for firing the lime and cement kilns. At Tsingtao we saw the pine bough fuel on the backs of mules, Fig. 80, coming from the hills in Shantung province. Similar fuels were being used in Korea and we have photographs of large pine bough fuel stacks, taken in Japan at Funabashi, east from Tokyo. The hill and mountain lands, wherever accessible to the densely peopled plains, have long been cut over and as regularly has afforestation been encouraged and deliberately secured even through the transplanting of nursery stock grown expressly for that purpose. We had read so much regarding the reckless destruction of forests in China and Japan and had seen so few old forest trees except where these had been protected about temples, graves or houses, that when Rev. R. A. Haden, of the Elizabeth Blake hospital, near Soochow insisted that the Chinese were deliberate foresters and that they regularly grow trees for fuel, transplanting them when necessary to secure a close and early stand, after the area had been cleared, we were so much surprised that he generously volunteered to accompany us westward on a two days journey into the hill country where the practice could be seen. A family owning a houseboat and living upon it was engaged for the journey. This family consisted of a recently widowed father, his two sons, newly married, and a helper. They were to transport us and provide sleeping quarters for myself, Mr. Haden and a cook for the consideration of $3.00, Mexican, per day and to continue the journey through the night, leaving the day for observation in the hills. The recent funeral had cost the father $100 and the wedding of the two sons $50 each, while the remodeling of the houseboat to meet the needs of the new family relations cost still another $100. To meet these expenses it had been necessary to borrow the full amount, $300. On $100 the father was paying 20 per cent interest; on $50 he was compelled to pay 50 per cent interest. The balance he had borrowed from friends without interest but with the understanding that he would return the favor should occasion be required. Rev. A. E. Evans informed us that it is a common practice in China for neighbors to help one another in times of great financial stress. This is one of the methods: A neighbor may need 8000 cash. He prepares a feast and sends invitations to a hundred friends. They know there has been no death in his family and that there is no wedding, still it is understood that he is in need of money. The feast is prepared at a small expense. The invited guests come, each bringing eighty cash as a present. The recipient is expected to keep a careful record of contributing friends and to repay the sum. Another method is like this: For some reason a man needs to borrow 20,000 cash. He proposes to twenty of his friends that they organize a club to raise this sum. If the friends agree each pays 1000 cash to the organizing member. The balance of the club draw lots as to which member shall be number two, three, four, five, etc., designating the order in which payments shall be made. The man borrowing the money is then under obligation to see that these payments are met in full at the times agreed upon. Not infrequently a small rate of interest is charged. Rates of interest are very high in China, especially on small sums where securities are not the best. Mr. Evans informs me that two per cent per month is low and thirty per cent per annum is very commonly collected. Such obligations are often never met but they do not outlaw and may descend from father to son. The boat cost $292.40 in U. S. currency; the yearly earning was $107.50 to $120.40. The funeral cost $43 and $43 more was required for the wedding of the two sons. They were receiving for the services of six people $1.29 per day. An engagement for two weeks or a month could have been made for materially lower rates and their average daily earning, on the basis of three hundred days service in the year, and the $120.40 total earning, would be only 40.13 cents, less than seven cents each, hence their trip with us was two of their banner days. Foreigners in Shanghai and other cities frequently engage such houseboat service for two weeks or a month of travel on the canals and rivers, finding it a very enjoyable as well as inexpensive way of having a picnic outing. On reaching the hill lands the next morning there were such scenes as shown in Fig. 82, where the strips of tree growth, varying from two to ten years, stretched directly up the slope, often in strong contrast on account of the straight boundaries and different ages of the timber. Some of these long narrow holdings were less than two rods wide and on one of these only recently cut, up which we walked for considerable distance, the young pine were springing up in goodly numbers. As many as eighteen young trees were counted on a width of six feet across the strip of thirty feet wide. On this area everything had been recently cut clean. Even stumps and the large roots were dug and saved for fuel. In Fig. 83 are seen bundles of fuel from such a strip, just brought into the village, the boughs retaining the leaves although the fuel had been dried. The roots, too, are tied in with the limbs so that everything is saved. On our walk to the hills we passed many people bringing their loads of fuel swinging from carrying poles on their shoulders. Inquiries regarding the afforestation of these strips of hillside showed that the extensive digging necessitated by the recovery of the roots usually caused new trees to spring up quickly as volunteers from scattered seed and from the roots, so that planting was not generally required. Talking with a group of people as to where we could see some of the trees used for replanting the hillsides, a lad of seven years was first to understand and volunteered to conduct us to a planting. This he did and was overjoyed on receipt of a trifle for his services. One of these little pine nurseries is seen in Fig. 84, many being planted in suitable places through the woods. The lad led us to two such locations with whose whereabouts he was evidently very familiar, although they were considerable distance from the path and far from home. These small trees are used in filling in places where the volunteer growth has not been sufficiently close. A strong herbaceous growth usually springs up quickly on these newly cleared lands and this too is cut for fuel or for use in making compost or as green manure. The grass which grows on the grave lands, if not fed off, is also cut and saved for fuel. We saw several instances of this outside of Shanghai, one where a mother with her daughter, provided with rake, sickle, basket and bag, were gathering the dry stubble and grass of the previous season, from the grave lands where there was less than could be found on our closely mowed meadows. In Fig. 85 may be seen a man who has just returned with such a load, and in his hand is the typical rake of the Far East, made by simply bending bamboo splints, claw-shape, and securing them as seen in the engraving. In the Shantung province, in Chihli and in Manchuria, millet stems, especially those of the great kaoliang or sorghum, are extensively used for fuel and for building as well as for screens, fences and matting. At Mukden the kaoliang was selling as fuel at $2.70 to $3.00, Mexican, for a 100-bundle load of stalks, weighing seven catty to the bundle. The yield per acre of kaoliang fuel amounts to 5600 pounds and the stalks are eight to twelve feet long, so that when carried on the backs of mules or horses the animals are nearly hidden by the load. The price paid for plant stem fuel from agricultural crops, in different parts of China and Japan, ranged from $1.30 to $2.85, U. S. currency, per ton. The price of anthracite coal at Nanking was $7.76 per ton. Taking the weight of dry oak wood at 3500 pounds per cord, the plant stem fuel, for equal weight, was selling at $2.28 to $5.00. Large amounts of wood are converted into charcoal in these countries and sent to market baled in rough matting or in basketwork cases woven from small brush and holding two to two and a half bushels. When such wood is not converted into charcoal it is sawed into one or two-foot lengths, split and marketed tied in bundles, as seen in Fig. 77. Along the Mukden-Antung railway in Manchuria fuel was also being shipped in four-foot lengths, in the form of cordwood. In Korea cattle were provided with a peculiar saddle for carrying wood in four-foot sticks laid blanket-fashion over the animal, extending far down on their sides. Thus was it brought from the hills to the railway station. This wood, as in Manchuria, was cut from small trees. In Korea, as in most parts of China where we visited, the tree growth over the hills was generally scattering and thin on the ground wherever there was not individual ownership in small holdings. Under and among the scattering pine there were oak in many cases, but these were always small, evidently not more than two or three years standing, and appearing to have been repeatedly cut back. It was in Korea that we saw so many instances of young leafy oak boughs brought to the rice fields and used as green manure. There was abundant evidence of periodic cutting between Mukden and Antung in Manchuria; between Wiju and Fusan in Korea; and throughout most of our journey in Japan; from Nagasaki to Moji and from Shimonoseki to Yokohama. In all of these countries afforestation takes place quickly and the cuttings on private holdings are made once in ten, twenty or twenty-five years. When the wood is sold to those coming for it the takers pay at the rate of 40 sen per one horse load of forty kan, or 330 pounds, such as is seen in Fig. 87. Director Ono, of the Akashi Experiment station, informed us that such fuel loads in that prefecture, where the wood is cut once in ten years, bring returns amounting to about $40 per acre for the ten-year crop. This land was worth $40 per acre but when they are suitable for orange groves they sell for $600 per acre. Mushroom culture is extensively practiced under the shade of some of these wooded areas, yielding under favorable conditions at the rate of $100 per acre. The forest covered area in Japan exclusive of Formosa and Karafuto, amounts to a total of 54,196,728 acres, less than twenty millions of which are in private holdings, the balance belonging to the state and to the Imperial Crown. In all of these countries there has been an extensive general use of materials other than wood for building purposes and very many of the substitutes for lumber are products grown on the cultivated fields. The use of rice straw for roofing, as seen in the Hakone village, Fig. 8, is very general throughout the rice growing districts, and even the sides of houses may be similarly thatched, as was observed in the Canton delta region, such a construction being warm for winter and cool for summer. The life of these thatched roofs, however, is short and they must be renewed as often as every three to five years but the old straw is highly prized as fertilizer for the fields on which it is grown, or it may serve as fuel, the ashes only going to the fields. Burned clay tile, especially for the cities and public buildings, are very extensively used for roofing, clay being abundant and near at hand. In Chihli and in Manchuria millet and sorghum stems, used alone or plastered, as in Fig. 88, with a mud mortar, sometimes mixed with lime, cover the roofs of vast numbers of the dwellings outside the larger cities. At Chiao Tou in Manchuria we saw the building of the thatched millet roofs and the use of kaoliang stems as lumber. Rafters were set in the usual way and covered with a layer about two inches thick of the long kaoliang stems stripped of their leaves and tops. These were tied together and to the rafters with twine, thus forming a sort of matting. A layer of thin clay mortar was then spread over the surface and well trowelled until it began to show on the under side. Over this was applied a thatch of small millet stems bound in bundles eight inches thick, cut square across the butts to eighteen inches in length. They were dipped in water and laid in courses after the manner of shingles but the butts of the stems are driven forward to a slope which obliterates the shoulder, making the courses invisible. In the better houses this thatching may be plastered with earth mortar or with an earth-lime mortar, which is less liable to wash in heavy rain. The walls of the house we saw building were also sided with the long, large kaoliang stems. An ordinary frame with posts and girts about three feet apart had been erected, on sills and with plates carrying the roof. Standing vertically against the girts and tied to them, forming a close layer, were the kaoliang stems. These were plastered outside and in with a layer of thin earth mortar. A similar layer of stems, set up on the inside of the girts and similarly plastered, formed the inner face of the wall of the house, leaving dead air spaces between the girts. Brick made from earth are very extensively used for house building, chaff and short straw being used as a binding material, the brick being simply dried in the sun, as seen in Fig. 89. A house in the process of building, where the brick were being used, is seen in Fig. 90. The foundation of the dwelling, it will be observed, was laid with well-formed hard-burned brick, these being necessary to prevent capillary moisture from the ground being drawn up and soften the earth brick, making the wall unsafe. Several kilns for burning brick, built of clay and earth, were passed in our journey up the Pei ho, and stacked about them, covering an area of more than eight hundred feet back from the river were bundles of the kaoliang stems to serve as fuel in the kilns. The extensive use of the unburned brick is necessitated by the difficulty of obtaining fuel, and various methods are adopted to reduce the number of burned brick required in construction. One of these devices is shown in Fig. 79, where the city wall surrounding Kashing is constructed of alternate courses of four layers of burned brick separated by layers of simple earth concrete. In addition to the multiple-function, farm-gown crops used for food, fuel and building material, there is a large acreage devoted to the growing of textile and fiber products and enormous quantities of these are produced annually. In Japan, where some fifty millions of people are chiefly fed on the produce of little more than 21,000 square miles of cultivated land, there was grown in 1906 more than 75,500,000 pounds of cotton, hemp, flax and China grass textile stock, occupying 76,700 acres of the cultivated land. On 141,000 other acres there grew 115,000,000 pounds of paper mulberry and Mitsumata, materials used in the manufacture of paper. From still another 14,000 acres were taken 92,000,000 pounds of matting stuff, while more than 957,000 acres were occupied by mulberry trees for the feeding of silkworms, yielding to Japan 22,389,798 pounds of silk. Here are more than 300,000,000 pounds of fiber and textile stuff taken from 1860 square miles of the cultivated land, cutting down the food producing area to 19,263 square miles and this area is made still smaller by devoting 123,000 acres to tea, these producing in 1906 58,900,000 pounds, worth nearly five million dollars. Nor do these statements express the full measure of the producing power of the 21,321 square miles of cultivated land, for, in addition to the food and other materials named, there were also made $2,365,000 worth of braid from straw and wood shavings; $6,000,000 worth of rice straw bags, packing cases and matting; and $1,085,000 worth of wares from bamboo, willow and vine. As illustrating the intense home industry of these people we may consider the fact that the 5,453,309 households of farmers in Japan produced in 1906, in their homes as subsidiary work, $20,527,000 worth of manufactured articles. If correspondingly exact statistical data were available from China and Korea a similarity full utilization of cultural possibilities would be revealed there. This marvelous heritage of economy, industry and thrift, bred of the stress of centuries, must not be permitted to lose virility through contact with western wasteful practices, now exalted to seeming virtues through the dazzling brilliancy of mechanical achievements. More and more must labor be dignified in all homes alike, and economy, industry and thrift become inherited impulses compelling and satisfying. Cheap, rapid, long distance transportation, already well started in these countries, will bring with it a fuller utilization of the large stores of coal and mineral wealth and of the enormous available water power, and as a result there will come some temporary lessening of the stress for fuel and with better forest management some relief along the lines of building materials. But the time is not a century distant when, throughout the world, a fuller, better development must take place along the lines of these most far-reaching and fundamental practices so long and so effectively followed by the Mongolian races in China, Korea and Japan. When the enormous water-power of these countries has been harnessed and brought into the foot-hills and down upon the margins of the valleys and plains in the form of electric current, let it, if possible, be in a large measure so distributed as to become available in the country village homes to lighten the burden and lessen the human drudgery and yet increase the efficiency of the human effort now so well bestowed upon subsidiary manufactures under the guidance and initiative of the home, where there may be room to breathe and for children to come up to manhood and womanhood in the best conditions possible, rather than in enormous congested factories. VIII TRAMPS AFIELD On March 31st we took the 8 A. M. train on the Shanghai-Nanking railway for Kunshan, situated thirty-two miles west from Shanghai, to spend the day walking in the fields. The fare, second class, was eighty cents, Mexican. A third class ticket would have been forty cents and a first class, $1.60, practically two cents, one cent and half a cent, our currency, per mile. The second class fare to Nanking, a distance of 193 miles, was $1.72, U. S. currency, or a little less than one cent per mile. While the car seats were not upholstered, the service was good. Meals were served on the train in either foreign or Chinese style, and tea, coffee or hot water to drink. Hot, wet face cloths were regularly passed and many Chinese daily newspapers were sold on the train, a traveler often buying two. In the vicinity of Kunshan a large area of farm land had been acquired by the French catholic mission at a purchase price of $40, Mexican, per mow, or at the rate of $103.20 per acre. This they rented to the Chinese. It was here that we first saw, at close range, the details of using canal mud as a fertilizer, so extensively applied in China. Walking through the fields we came upon the scene in the middle section of Fig. 92 where, close on the right was such a reservoir as seen in Fig. 58. Men were in it, dipping up the mud which had accumulated over its bottom, pouring it on the bank in a field of windsor beans, and the thin mud was then over two feet deep at that side and flowing into the beans where it had already spread two rods, burying the plants as the engraving shows. When sufficiently dry to be readily handled this would be spread among the beans as we found it being done in another field, shown in the upper section of the illustration. Here four men were distributing such mud, which had dried, between the rows, not to fertilize the beans, but for a succeeding crop of cotton soon to be planted between the rows, before they were harvested. The owner of this piece of land, with whom we talked and who was superintending the work, stated that his usual yield of these beans was three hundred catty per mow and that they sold them green, shelled, at two cents, Mexican, per catty. At this price and yield his return would be $15.48, gold, per acre. If there was need of nitrogen and organic matter in the soil the vines would be pulled green, after picking the beans, and composted with the wet mud. If not so needed the dried stems would be tied in bundles and sold as fuel or used at home, the ashes being returned to the fields. The windsor beans are thus an early crop grown for fertilizer, fuel and food. This farmer was paying his laborers one hundred cash per day and providing their meals, which he estimated worth two hundred cash more, making twelve cents, gold, for a ten-hour day. Judging from what we saw and from the amount of mud carried per load, we estimated the men would distribute not less than eighty-four loads of eighty pounds each per day, an average distance of five hundred feet, making the cost 3.57 cents, gold, per ton for distribution. The lower section of Fig. 92 shows another instance where mud was being used on a narrow strip bordering the path along which we walked, the amount there seen having been brought more than four hundred feet, by one man before 10 A. M. on the morning the photograph was taken. He was getting it from the bottom of a canal ten feet deep, laid bare by the out-going tide. Already he had brought more than a ton to his field. The carrying baskets used for this work were in the form of huge dustpans suspended from the carrying poles by two cords attached to the side rims, and steadied by the hand grasping a handle provided in the back for this purpose and for emptying the baskets by tipping. With this construction the earth was readily raked upon the basket and very easily emptied from it by simply raising the hands when the destination was reached. No arrangement could be more simple, expeditious or inexpensive for this man with his small holding. In this simple manner has nearly all of the earth been moved in digging the miles of canal and in building the long sea walls. In Shanghai the mud carried through the storm sewers into Soochow creek we saw being removed in the same manner during the intervals when the tide was out. In still another field, seen in Fig. 93, the upper portion shows where canal mud had been applied at a rate exceeding seventy tons per acre, and we were told that such dressings may be repeated as often as every two years though usually at longer intervals, if other and cheaper fertilizers could be obtained. In the lower portion of the same illustration may be seen the section of canal from which this mud was taken up the three earthen stairways built of the mud itself and permitted to dry before using. Many such lines of stairway were seen during our trips along the canals, only recently made or in the process of building to be in readiness when the time for applying the mud should arrive. To facilitate collecting the mud from the shallow canals temporary dams may be thrown across them at two places and the water between either scooped or pumped out, laying the bottom bare, as is often done also for fishing. The earth of the large grave mound seen across a canal in the center background of the upper portion of the engraving had been collected in a similar manner. In the Chekiang province canal mud is extensively used in the mulberry orchards as a surface dressing. We have referred to this practice in southern China, and Fig. 94 is a view taken south of Kashing early in April. The boat anchored in front of the mulberry orchard is the home of a family coming from a distance, seeking employment during the season for picking mulberry leaves to feed silkworms. We were much surprised, on looking back at the boat after closing the camera, to see the head of the family standing erect in the center, having shoved back a section of the matting roof. The dressing of mud applied to this field formed a loose layer more than two inches deep and when compacted by the rains which would follow would add not less than a full inch of soil over the entire orchard, and the weight per acre could not be less than 120 tons. Another equally, or even more, laborious practice followed by the Chinese farmers in this province is the periodic exchange of soil between mulberry orchards and the rice fields, their experience being that soil long used in the mulberry orchards improves the rice, while soil from the rice fields is very helpful when applied to the mulberry orchards. We saw many instances, when traveling by boat-train between Shanghai, Kashing and Hangchow, of soil being carried from rice fields and either stacked on the banks or dropped into the canal. Such soil was oftenest taken from narrow trenches leading through the fields, laying them off in beds. It is our judgment that the soil thrown into the canals undergoes important changes, perhaps through the absorption of soluble plant food substances such as lime, phosphoric acid and potash withdrawn from the water, or through some growth or fermentation, which, in the judgment of the farmer, makes the large labor involved in this procedure worth while. The stacking of soil along the banks was probably in preparation for its removal by boat to some of the mulberry orchards. It is clearly recognized by the farmers that mud collected from those sections of the canal leading through country villages, such as that seen in Fig. 10, is both inherently more fertile and in better physical condition than that collected in the open country. They attribute this difference to the effect of the village washing in the canal, where soap is extensively used. The storm waters of the city doubtless carry some fertilizing material also, although sewage, as such, never finds its way into the canals. The washing would be very likely to have a decided flocculating effect and so render this material more friable when applied to the field. One very important advantage which comes to the fields when heavily dressed with such mud is that resulting from the addition of lime which has become incorporated with the silts through their flocculation and precipitation, and that which is added in the form of snail shells abounding in the canals. The amount of these may be realized from the large numbers contained in the mud recently thrown out, as seen in the upper section of Fig. 95, where the pebbly appearance of the surface is caused by snail shells. In the lower section of the same illustration the white spots are snail shells exposed in the soil of a recently spaded field. The shells are by no means as numerous generally as here seen but yet sufficient to maintain the supply of lime. Several species of these snails are collected in quantities and used as food. Piles containing bushels of the empty shells were seen along the canals outside the villages. The snails are cooked in the shell and often sold by measure to be eaten from the hand, as we buy roasted peanuts or popcorn. When a purchase is made the vender clips the spiral point from each shell with a pair of small shears. This admits air and permits the snail to be readily removed by suction when the lips are applied to the shell. In the canals there are also large numbers of fresh water eel, shrimp and crabs as well as fish, all of which are collected and used for human food. It is common, when walking through the canal country, to come upon groups of gleaners busy in the bottoms of the shallow agricultural canals, gathering anything which may serve as food, even including small bulbs or the fleshy roots of edible aquatic plants. To facilitate the collection of such food materials sections of the canal are often drained in the manner already described, so that gleaning may be done by hand, wading in the mud. Families living in houseboats make a business of fishing for shrimp. They trail behind the houseboat one or two other boats carrying hundreds of shrimp traps cleverly constructed in such manner that when they are trailed along the bottom and disturb the shrimps they dart into the holes in the trap, mistaking them for safe hiding places. On the streets, especially during festival days, one may see young people and others in social intercourse, busying their fingers and their teeth eating cooked snails or often watermelon seeds, which are extensively sold and thus eaten. This custom we saw first in the streets of a city south of Kashing on the line of the new railway between Hangchow and Shanghai. The first passenger train over the line had been run the day before our visit, which was a festival day and throngs of people were visiting the nine-story pagoda standing on a high hill a mile outside the city limits. The day was one of great surprises to these people who had never before seen a passenger train, and my own person appeared to be a great curiosity to many. No boy ever scrutinized the face of a caged chimpanzee closer, with purer curiosity, or with less consideration for his feelings than did a woman of fifty scrutinize mine, standing close in front, not two feet distant, even bending forward as I sat upon a bench writing at the railway station. People would pass their hands along my coat sleeve to judge the cloth, and a boy felt of my shoes. Walking through the street we passed many groups gathered about tables and upon seats, visiting or in business conference, their fingers occupied with watermelon seeds or with packages of cooked snails. Along the pathway leading to the pagoda beggars had distributed themselves, one in a place, at intervals of two or three hundred feet, asking alms, most of them infirm with age or in some other way physically disabled. We saw but one who appeared capable of earning a living. Travel between Shanghai and Hangchow at this time was heavy. Three companies were running trains, of six or more houseboats, each towed by a steam launch, and these were daily crowded with passengers. Our train left Shanghai at 4:30 P. M., reaching Hangchow at 5:30 P. M. the following day, covering a distance along the canal of something more than 117 miles. We paid $5.16, gold, for the exclusive use of a first-cabin, five-berth stateroom for myself and interpreter. It occupied the full width of the boat, lacking about fourteen inches of footway, and could be entered from either side down a flight of five steps. The berths were flat, naked wooden shelves thirty inches wide, separated by a partition headboard six inches high and without railing in front. Each traveler provided his own bedding. A small table upon which meals were served, a mirror on one side and a lamp on the other, set in an opening in the partition, permitting it to serve two staterooms, completed the furnishings. The roof of the staterooms was covered with an awning and divided crosswise into two tiers of berths, each thirty inches wide, by board partitions six inches high. In these sections passengers spread their beds, sleeping heads together, separated only by a headboard six inches high. The awning was only sufficiently high to permit passengers to sit erect. Ventilation was ample but privacy was nil. Curtains could be dropped around the sides in stormy weather. Meals were served to each passenger wherever he might be. Dinner consisted of hot steamed rice brought in very heavy porcelain bowls set inside a covered, wet, steaming hot wooden case. With the rice were tiny dishes, butterchip size, of green clover, nicely cooked and seasoned; of cooked bean curd served with shredded bamboo sprouts; of tiny pork strips with bean curd; of small bits of liver with bamboo sprouts; of greens, and hot water for tea. If the appetite is good one may have a second helping of rice and as much hot water for tea as desired. There was no table linen, no napkins and everything but the tea had to be negotiated with chop sticks, or, these failing, with the fingers. When the meal was finished the table was cleared and water, hot if desired, was brought for your hand basin, which with tea, teacup and bedding, constitute part of the traveler's outfit. At frequent intervals, up to ten P. M., a crier walked about the deck with hot water for those who might desire an extra cup of tea, and again in the early morning. At this season of the year Chinese incubators were being run to their full capacity and it was our good fortune to visit one of these, escorted by Rev. R. A. Haden, who also acted as interpreter. The art of incubation is very old and very extensively practiced in China. An interior view of one of these establishments is shown in Fig. 96, where the family were hatching the eggs of hens, ducks and geese, purchasing the eggs and selling the young as hatched. As in the case of so many trades in China, this family was the last generation of a long line whose lives had been spent in the same work. We entered through their store, opening on the street of the narrow village seen in Fig. 10. In the store the eggs were purchased and the chicks were sold, this work being in charge of the women of the family. It was in the extreme rear of the home that thirty incubators were installed, all doing duty and each having a capacity of 1,200 hens' eggs. Four of these may be seen in the illustration and one of the baskets which, when two-thirds filled with eggs, is set inside of each incubator. Each incubator consists of a large earthenware jar having a door cut in one side through which live charcoal may be introduced and the fire partly smothered under a layer of ashes, this serving as the source of heat. The jar is thoroughly insulated, cased in basketwork and provided with a cover, as seen in the illustration. Inside the outer jar rests a second of nearly the same size, as one teacup may in another. Into this is lowered the large basket with its 600 hens' eggs, 400 ducks' eggs or 175 geese' eggs, as the case may be. Thirty of these incubators were arranged in two parallel rows of fifteen each. Immediately above each row, and utilizing the warmth of the air rising from them, was a continuous line of finishing hatchers and brooders in the form of woven shallow trays with sides warmly padded with cotton and with the tops covered with sets of quilts of different thickness. After a basket of hens' eggs has been incubated four days it is removed and the eggs examined by lighting, to remove those which are infertile before they have been rendered unsalable. The infertile eggs go to the store and the basket is returned to the incubator. Ducks' eggs are similarly examined after two days and again after five days incubation; and geese' eggs after six days and again after fourteen days. Through these precautions practically all loss from infertile eggs is avoided and from 95 to 98 per cent of the fertile eggs are hatched, the infertile eggs ranging from 5 to 25 per cent. After the fourth day in the incubator all eggs are turned five times in twenty-four hours. Hens' eggs are kept in the lower incubator eleven days; ducks' eggs thirteen days, and geese' eggs sixteen days, after which they are transferred to the trays. Throughout the incubation period the most careful watch and control is kept over the temperature. No thermometer is used but the operator raises the lid or quilt, removes an egg, pressing the large end into the eye socket. In this way a large contact is made where the skin is sensitive, nearly constant in temperature, but little below blood heat and from which the air is excluded for the time. Long practice permits them thus to judge small differences of temperature expeditiously and with great accuracy; and they maintain different temperatures during different stages of the incubation. The men sleep in the room and some one is on duty continuously, making the rounds of the incubators and brooders, examining and regulating each according to its individual needs, through the management of the doors or the shifting of the quilts over the eggs in the brooder trays where the chicks leave the eggs and remain until they go to the store. In the finishing trays the eggs form rather more than one continuous layer but the second layer does not cover more than a fifth or a quarter of the area. Hens' eggs are in these trays ten days, ducks' and geese' eggs, fourteen days. After the chickens have been hatched sufficiently long to require feeding they are ready for market and are then sorted according to sex and placed in separate shallow woven trays thirty inches in diameter. The sorting is done rapidly and accurately through the sense of touch, the operator recognizing the sex by gently pinching the anus. Four trays of young chickens were in the store fronting on the street as we entered and several women were making purchases, taking five to a dozen each. Dr. Haden informed me that nearly every family in the cities, and in the country villages raise a few, but only a few, chickens and it is a common sight to see grown chickens walking about the narrow streets, in and out of the open stores, dodging the feet of the occupants and passers-by. At the time of our visit this family was paying at the rate of ten cents, Mexican, for nine hens' and eight ducks' eggs, and were selling their largest strong chickens at three cents each. These figures, translated into our currency, make the purchase price for eggs nearly 48 cents, and the selling price for the young chicks $1.29, per hundred, or thirteen eggs for six cents and seven chickens for nine cents. It is difficult even to conceive, not to say measure, the vast import of this solution of how to maintain, in the millions of homes, a constantly accessible supply of absolutely fresh and thoroughly sanitary animal food in the form of meat and eggs. The great density of population in these countries makes the problem of supplying eggs to the people very different from that in the United States. Our 250,600,000 fowl in 1900 was at the rate of three to each person but in Japan, with her 16,500,000 fowl, she had in 1906 but one for every three people. Her number per square mile of cultivated land however was 825, while in the United States, in 1900, the number of fowls per square mile of improved farm land was but 387. To give to Japan three fowls to each person there would needs be an average of about nine to each acre of her cultivated land, whereas in the United States there were in 1900 nearly two acres of improved farm land for each fowl. We have no statistics regarding the number of fowl in China or the number of eggs produced but the total is very large and she exports to Japan. The large boat load of eggs seen in Fig. 97 had just arrived from the country, coming into Shanghai in one of her canals. Besides applying canal mud directly to the fields in the ways described there are other very extensive practices of composting it with organic matter of one or another kind and of then using the compost on the fields. The next three illustrations show some of the steps and something of the tremendous labor of body, willingly and cheerfully incurred, and something of the forethought practiced, that homes may be maintained and that grandparents, parents, wives and children need neither starve nor beg. We had reached a place seen in Fig. 98, where eight bearers were moving winter compost to a recently excavated pit in an adjoining field shown in Fig. 99. Four months before the camera fixed the activity shown, men had brought waste from the stables of Shanghai fifteen miles by water, depositing it upon the canal bank between layers of thin mud dipped from the canal, and left it to ferment. The eight men were removing this compost to the pit seen in Fig. 99, then nearly filled. Near by in the same field was a second pit seen in Fig. 100, excavated three feet deep and rimmed about with the earth removed, making it two feet deeper. After these pits had been filled the clover which was in blossom beyond the pits would be cut and stacked upon them to a height of five to eight feet and this also saturated, layer by layer, with mud brought from the canal, and allowed to ferment twenty to thirty days until the juices set free had been absorbed by the winter compost beneath, helping to carry the ripening of that still further, and until the time had arrived for fitting the ground for the next crop. This organic matter, fermented with the canal mud, would then be distributed by the men over the field, carried a third time on their shoulders, notwithstanding its weight was many tons. This manure had been collected, loaded and carried fifteen miles by water; it had been unloaded upon the bank and saturated with canal mud; the field had been fitted for clover the previous fall and seeded; the pits had been dug in the fields; the winter compost had been carried and placed in the pits; the clover was to be cut, carried by the men on their shoulders, stacked layer by layer and saturated with mud dipped from the canal; the whole would later be distributed over the field and finally the earth removed from the pits would be returned to them, that the service of no ground upon which a crop might grow should be lost. Such are the tasks to which Chinese farmers hold themselves, because they are convinced desired results will follow, because their holdings are so small and their families so large. These practices are so extensive in China and so fundamental in the part they play in the maintenance of high productive power in their soils that we made special effort to follow them through different phases. In Fig. 101 we saw the preparation being made to build one of the clover compost stacks saturated with canal mud. On the left the thin mud had been dipped from the canal; way-farers in the center were crossing the foot-bridge of the country by-way; and beyond rises the conical thatch to shelter the water buffalo when pumping for irrigating the rice crop to be fed with this plant food in preparation. On the right were two large piles of green clover freshly cut and a woman of the family at one of them was spreading it to receive the mud, while the men-folk were coming from the field with more clover on their carrying poles. We came upon this scene just before the dinner hour and after the workers had left another photograph was taken at closer range and from a different side, giving the view seen in Fig. 102. The mud had been removed some days and become too stiff to spread, so water was being brought from the canal in the pails at the right for reducing its consistency to that of a thin porridge, permitting it to more completely smear and saturate the clover. The stack grew, layer by layer, each saturated with the mud, tramped solid with the bare feet, trousers rolled high. Provision had been made here for building four other stacks. Further along we came upon the scene in Fig. 103 where the building of the stack of compost and the gathering of the mud from the canal were simultaneous. On one side of the canal the son, using a clam-shell form of dipper made of basket-work, which could be opened and shut with a pair of bamboo handles, had nearly filled the middle section of his boat with the thin ooze, while on the other side, against the stack which was building, the mother was emptying a similar boat, using a large dipper, also provided with a bamboo handle. The man on the stack is a good scale for judging its size. We came next upon a finished stack on the bank of another canal, shown in Fig. 104, where our umbrella was set to serve as a scale. This stack measured ten by ten feet on the ground, was six feet high and must have contained more than twenty tons of the green compost. At the same place, two other stacks had been started, each about fourteen by fourteen feet, and foundations were laid for six others, nine in all. During twenty or more days this green nitrogenous organic matter is permitted to lie fermenting in contact with the fine soil particles of the ooze with which it had been charged. This is a remarkable practice in that it is a very old, intensive application of an important fundamental principle only recently understood and added to the science of agriculture, namely, the power of organic matter, decaying rapidly in contact with soil, to liberate from it soluble plant food; and so it would be a great mistake to say that these laborious practices are the result of ignorance, of a lack of capacity for accurate thinking or of power to grasp and utilize. If the agricultural lands of the United States are ever called upon to feed even 1200 millions of people, a number proportionately less than one-half that being fed in Japan today, very different practices from those we are now following will have been adopted. We can believe they will require less human bodily effort and be more efficient. But the knowledge which can make them so is not yet in the possession of our farmers, much less the conviction that plant feeding and more persistent and better directed soil management are necessary to such yields as will then be required. Later, just before the time for transplanting rice, we returned to the same district to observe the manner of applying this compost to the field, and Fig. 105 is prepared from photographs taken then, illustrating the activities of one family, as seen during the morning of May 28th. Their home was in a near-by village and their holding was divided into four nearly rectangular paddies, graded to water level, separated by raised rims, and having an area of nearly two acres. Three of these little fields are partly shown in the illustration, and the fourth in Fig. 160. In the background of the upper section of Fig. 105, and under the thatched shelter, was a native Chinese cow, blindfolded and hitched to the power-wheel of a large wooden-chain pump, lifting water from the canal and flooding the field in the foreground, to soften the soil for plowing. Riding on the power-wheel was a girl of some twelve years, another of seven and a baby. They were there for entertainment and to see that the cow kept at work. The ground had been sufficiently softened so that the father had begun plowing, the cow sinking to her knees as she walked. In the same paddy, but shown in the section below, a boy was spreading the clover compost with his hands, taking care that it was finely divided and evenly scattered. He had been once around before the plowing began. This compost had been brought from a stack by the side of a canal, and two other men were busy still bringing the material to one of the other paddies, one of whom, with his baskets on the carrying pole appears in the third section. Between these two paddies was the one seen at the bottom of the illustration, which had matured a crop of rape that had been pulled and was lying in swaths ready to be moved. Two other men were busy here, gathering the rape into large bundles and carrying it to the village home, where the women were threshing out the seed, taking care not to break the stems which, after threshing, were tied into bundles for fuel. The seed would be ground and from it an oil expressed, while the cake would be used as a fertilizer. This crop of rape is remarkable for the way it fits into the economies of these people. It is a near relative of mustard and cabbage; it grows rapidly during the cooler portions of the season, the spring crop ripening before the planting of rice and cotton; its young shoots and leaves are succulent, nutritious, readily digested and extensively used as human food, boiled and eaten fresh, or salted for winter use, to be served with rice; the mature stems, being woody, make good fuel; and it bears a heavy crop of seed, rich in oil, which has been extensively used for lights and in cooking, while the rape seed cake is highly prized as a manure and very extensively so used. In the early spring the country is luxuriantly green with the large acreage of rape, later changing to a sea of most brilliant yellow and finally to an ashy grey when the leaves fall and the stems and pods ripen. Like the dairy cow, rape produces a fat, in the ratio of about forty pounds of oil to a hundred pounds of seed, which may be eaten, burned or sold without materially robbing the soil of its fertility if the cake and the ashes from the stems are returned to the fields, the carbon, hydrogen and oxygen of which the oil is almost wholly composed coming from the atmosphere rather than from the soil. In Japan rape is grown as a second crop on both the upland and paddy fields, and in 1906 she produced more than 5,547,000 bushels of the seed; $1,845,000 worth of rape seed cake, importing enough more to equal a total value of $2,575,000, all of which was used as a fertilizer, the oil being exported. The yield of seed per acre in Japan ranges between thirteen and sixteen bushels, and the farmer whose field was photographed estimated that his returns from the crop would be at the rate of 640 pounds of seed per acre, worth $6.19, and 8,000 pounds of stems worth as fuel $5.16 per acre. IX THE UTILIZATION OF WASTE One of the most remarkable agricultural practices adopted by any civilized people is the centuries-long and well nigh universal conservation and utilization of all human waste in China, Korea and Japan, turning it to marvelous account in the maintenance of soil fertility and in the production of food. To understand this evolution it must be recognized that mineral fertilizers so extensively employed in modern western agriculture, like the extensive use of mineral coal, had been a physical impossibility to all people alike until within very recent years. With this fact must be associated the very long unbroken life of these nations and the vast numbers their farmers have been compelled to feed. When we reflect upon the depleted fertility of our own older farm lands, comparatively few of which have seen a century's service, and upon the enormous quantity of mineral fertilizers which are being applied annually to them in order to secure paying yields, it becomes evident that the time is here when profound consideration should be given to the practices the Mongolian race has maintained through many centuries, which permit it to be said of China that one-sixth of an acre of good land is ample for the maintenance of one person, and which are feeding an average of three people per acre of farm land in the three southernmost of the four main islands of Japan. From the analyses of mixed human excreta made by Wolff in Europe and by Kellner in Japan it appears that, as an average, these carry in every 2000 pounds 12.7 pounds of nitrogen, 4 pounds of potassium and 1.7 pounds of phosphorus. On this basis and that of Carpenter, who estimates the average amount of excreta per day for the adult at 40 ounces, the average annual production per million of adult population is 5,794,300 pounds of nitrogen; 1,825,000 pounds of potassium, and 775,600 pounds of phosphorus carried in 456,250 tons of excreta. The figures which Hall cites in Fertilizers and Manures, would make these amounts 7,940,000 pounds of nitrogen; 3,070,500 pounds of potassium, and 1,965,600 pounds of phosphorus, but the figures he takes and calls high averages give 12,000,000 of nitrogen; 4,151,000 pounds of potassium, and 3,057,600 pounds of phosphorus. In 1908 the International Concessions of the city of Shanghai sold to one Chinese contractor for $31,000, gold, the privilege of collecting 78,000 tons of human waste, under stipulated regulations, and of removing it to the country for sale to farmers. The flotilla of boats seen in Fig. 106 is one of several engaged daily in Shanghai throughout the year in this service. Dr. Kawaguchi, of the National Department of Agriculture and Commerce, taking his data from their records, informed us that the human manure saved and applied to the fields of Japan in 1908 amounted to 23,850,295 tons, which is an average of 1.75 tons per acre of their 21,321 square miles of cultivated land in their four main islands. On the basis of the data of Wolff, Kellner and Carpenter, or of Hall, the people of the United States and of Europe are pouring into the sea, lakes or rivers and into the underground waters from 5,794,300 to 12,000,000 pounds of nitrogen; 1,881,900 to 4,151,000 pounds of potassium, and 777,200 to 3,057,600 pounds of phosphorus per million of adult population annually, and this waste we esteem one of the great achievements of our civilization. In the Far East, for more than thirty centuries, these enormous wastes have been religiously saved and today the four hundred million of adult population send back to their fields annually 150,000 tons of phosphorus; 376,000 tons of potassium, and 1,158,000 tons of nitrogen comprised in a gross weight exceeding 182 million tons, gathered from every home, from the country villages and from the great cities like Hankow-Wuchang-Hanyang with its 1,770,000 people swarming on a land area delimited by a radius of four miles. Man is the most extravagant accelerator of waste the world has ever endured. His withering blight has fallen upon every living thing within his reach, himself not excepted; and his besom of destruction in the uncontrolled hands of a generation has swept into the sea soil fertility which only centuries of life could accumulate, and yet this fertility is the substratum of all that is living. It must be recognized that the phosphate deposits which we are beginning to return to our fields are but measures of fertility lost from older soils, and indices of processes still in progress. The rivers of North America are estimated to carry to the sea more than 500 tons of phosphorus with each cubic mile of water. To such loss modern civilization is adding that of hydraulic sewage disposal through which the waste of five hundred millions of people might be more than 194,300 tons of phosphorus annually, which could not be replaced by 1,295,000 tons of rock phosphate, 75 per cent pure. The Mongolian races, with a population now approaching the figure named; occupying an area little more than one-half that of the United States, tilling less than 800,000 square miles of land, and much of this during twenty, thirty or perhaps forty centuries; unable to avail themselves of mineral fertilizers, could not survive and tolerate such waste. Compelled to solve the problem of avoiding such wastes, and exercising the faculty which is characteristic of the race, they "cast down their buckets where they were", as *A ship lost at sea for many days suddenly sighted a friendly vessel. From the mast of the unfortunate vessel was seen a signal, "Water, water; we die of thirst!" The answer from the friendly vessel at once came back, "Cast down your bucket where you are." A second time the signal, "Water, water; Send us water!" ran up from the distressed vessel, and was answered, "Cast down your bucket where you are." And a third and fourth signal for water was answered, "Cast down your bucket where you are." The captain of the distressed vessel, at last heeding the injunction, cast down his bucket, and it came up full of fresh sparkling water from the mouth of the Amazon river. *Booker T. Washington, Atlanta address. Not even in great cities like Canton, built in the meshes of tideswept rivers and canals; like Hankow on the banks of one of the largest rivers in the world; nor yet in modern Shanghai, Yokohama or Tokyo, is such waste permitted. To them such a practice has meant race suicide and they have resisted the temptation so long that it has ceased to exist. Dr. Arthur Stanley, Health officer of the city of Shanghai, in his annual report for 1899, considering this subject as a municipal problem, wrote: "Regarding the bearing on the sanitation of Shanghai of the relationship between Eastern and Western hygiene, it may be said, that if prolonged national life is indicative of sound sanitation, the Chinese are a race worthy of study by all who concern themselves with Public Health. Even without the returns of a Registrar-General it is evident that in China the birth rate must very considerably exceed the death rate, and have done so in an average way during the three or four thousand years that the Chinese nation has existed. Chinese hygiene, when compared with medieval English, appears to advantage. The main problem of sanitation is to cleanse the dwelling day by day, and if this can be done at a profit so much the better. While the ultra-civilized Western elaborates destructors for burning garbage at a financial loss and turns sewage into the sea, the Chinaman uses both for manure. He wastes nothing while the sacred duty of agriculture is uppermost in his mind. And in reality recent bacterial work has shown that faecal matter and house refuse are best destroyed by returning them to clean soil, where natural purification takes place. The question of destroying garbage can, I think, under present conditions in Shanghai, be answered in a decided negative. While to adopt the water-carriage system for sewage and turn it into the river, whence the water supply is derived, would be an act of sanitary suicide. It is best, therefore, to make use of what is good in Chinese hygiene, which demands respect, being, as it is, the product of an evolution extending from more than a thousand years before the Christian era." The storage of such waste in China is largely in stoneware receptacles such as are seen in Fig. 109, which are hard-burned, glazed terra-cotta urns, having capacities ranging from 500 to 1000 pounds. Japan more often uses sheltered cement-lined pits such as are seen in Fig. 110. In the three countries the carrying to the fields is oftenest in some form of pail, as seen in Fig. 111, a pair of which are borne swinging from the carrying pole. In applying the liquid to the field or garden the long handle dipper is used, seen in Fig. 112. We are beginning to husband with some economy the waste from our domestic animals but in this we do not approach that of China, Korea and Japan. People in China regularly search for and collect droppings along the country and caravan roads. Repeatedly, when walking through city streets, we observed such materials quickly and apparently eagerly gathered, to be carefully stored under conditions which ensure small loss from either leaching or unfavorable fermentation. In some mulberry orchards visited the earth had been carefully hoed back about the trunks of trees to a depth of three or four inches from a circle having a diameter of six to eight feet, and upon these areas were placed the droppings of silkworms, the moulted skins, together with the bits of leaves and stem left after feeding. Some disposition of such waste must be made. They return at once to the orchard all but the silk produced from the leaves; unnecessary loss is thus avoided and the material enters at once the service of forcing the next crop of leaves. On the farm of Mrs. Wu, near Kashing, while studying the operation of two irrigation pumps driven by two cows, lifting water to flood her twenty-five acres of rice field preparatory to transplanting, we were surprised to observe that one of the duties of the lad who had charge of the animals was to use a six-quart wooden dipper with a bamboo handle six feet long to collect all excreta, before they fell upon the ground, and transfer them to a receptacle provided for the purpose. There came a flash of resentment that such a task was set for the lad, for we were only beginning to realize to what lengths the practice of economy may go, but there was nothing irksome suggested in the boy's face. He performed the duty as a matter of course and as we thought it through there was no reason why it should have been otherwise. In fact, the only right course was being taken. Conditions would have been worse if the collection had not been made. It made possible more rice. Character of substantial quality was building in the lad which meant thrift in the growing man and continued life for the nation. We have adverted to the very small number of flies observed anywhere in the course of our travel, but its significance we did not realize until near the end of our stay. Indeed, for some reason, flies were more in evidence during the first two days on the steamship, out from Yokohama on our return trip to America, than at any time before on our journey. It is to be expected that the eternal vigilance which seizes every waste, once it has become such, putting it in places of usefulness, must contribute much toward the destruction of breeding places, and it may be these nations have been mindful of the wholesomeness of their practice and that many phases of the evolution of their waste disposal system have been dictated by and held fast to through a clear conception of sanitary needs. Much intelligence and the highest skill are exhibited by these old-world farmers in the use of their wastes. In Fig. 113 is one of many examples which might be cited. The man walking down the row with his manure pails swinging from his shoulders informed us on his return that in his household there were twenty to be fed; that from this garden of half an acre of land he usually sold a product bringing in $400, Mexican,--$172, gold. The crop was cucumbers in groups of two rows thirty inches apart and twenty-four inches between the groups. The plants were eight to ten inches apart in the row. He had just marketed the last of a crop of greens which occupied the space between the rows of cucumbers seen under the strong, durable, light and very readily removable trellises. On May 28 the vines were beginning to run, so not a minute had been lost in the change of crop. On the contrary this man had added a month to his growing season by over-lapping his crops, and the trellises enabled him to feed more plants of this type than there was room for vines on the ground. With ingenuity and much labor he had made his half acre for cucumbers equivalent to more than two. He had removed the vines entirely from the ground; had provided a travel space two feet wide, down which he was walking, and he had made it possible to work about the roots of every plant for the purpose of hoeing and feeding. Four acres of cucumbers handled by American field methods would not yield more than this man's one, and he grows besides two other crops the same season. The difference is not so much in activity of muscle as it is in alertness and efficiency of the grey matter of the brain. He sees and treats each plant individually, he loosens the ground so that his liquid manure drops immediately beneath the surface within reach of the active roots. If the rainfall has been scanty and the soil is dry he may use ten of water to two of night soil, not to supply water but to make certain sufficiently deep penetration. If the weather is rainy and the soil over wet, the food is applied more concentrated, not to lighten the burden but to avoid waste by leaching and over saturation. While ever crowding growth he never overfeeds. Forethought, after-thought and the mind focused on the work in hand are characteristic of these people. We do not recall to have seen a man smoking while at work. They enjoy smoking, but prefer to do this also with the attention undivided and thus get more for their money. On another date earlier in May we were walking in the fields without an interpreter. For half an hour we stood watching an old gardener fitting the soil with his spading hoe in the manner seen in Fig. 26, where the graves of his ancestors occupy a part of the land. Angleworms were extremely numerous, as large around as an ordinary lead pencil and, when not extended, two-thirds as long, decidedly greenish in color. Nearly every stroke of the spade exposed two to five of these worms but so far as we observed, and we watched the man closely, pulverizing the soil, he neither injured nor left uncovered a single worm. While he seemed to make no effort to avoid injuring them or to cover them with earth, and while we could not talk with him, we are convinced that his action was continually guarded against injuring the worms. They certainly were subsoiling his garden deeply and making possible a freer circulation of air far below the surface. Their great abundance proved a high content of organic matter present in the soil and, as the worms ate their way through it, passing the soil through their bodies, the yearly volume of work done by them was very great. In the fields flooded preparatory to fitting them for rice these worms are forced to the surface in enormous numbers and large flocks of ducks are taken to such fields to feed upon them. In another field a crop of barley was nearing maturity. An adjacent strip of land was to be fitted and planted. The leaning barley heads were in the way. Not one must be lost and every inch of ground must be put to use. The grain along the margin, for a breadth of sixteen inches, had been gathered into handfuls and skillfully tied, each with an unpulled barley stem, without breaking the straw, thus permitting even the grains in that head to fill and be gathered with the rest, while the tying set all straws well aslant, out of the way, and permitted the last inch of naked ground to be fitted without injuring the grain. In still another instance a man was growing Irish potatoes to market when yet small. He had enriched his soil; he would apply water if the rains were not timely and sufficient, and had fed the plants. He had planted in rows only twelve to fourteen inches apart with a hill every eight inches in the row. The vines stood strong, straight, fourteen inches high and as even as a trimmed hedge. The leaves and stems were turgid, the deepest green and as prime and glossy as a prize steer. So close were the plants that there was leaf surface to intercept the sunshine falling on every square inch of the patch. There were no potato beetles and we saw no signs of injury but the gardener was scanning the patch with the eye of a robin. He spied the slightest first drooping of leaves in a stem; went after the difficulty and brought and placed in our hand a cutworm, a young tuber the size of a marble and a stem cut half off, which he was willing to sacrifice because of our evident interest. But the two friends who had met were held apart by the babel of tongues. Nothing is costing the world more; has made so many enemies, and has so much hindered the forming of friendships as the inability to fully understand; hence the dove that brings world peace must fly on the wings of a common language, and the bright star in the east is world commerce, rising on rapidly developing railway and steamship lines, heralded and directed by electric communication. With world commerce must come mutual confidence and friendship requiring a full understanding and therefore a common tongue. Then world peace will be permanently assured. It is coming inevitably and faster than we think. Once this desired end is seriously sought, the carrying of three generations of children through the public schools where the world language is taught together with the mother tongue, and the passing of the parents and grandparents, would effect the change. The important point regarding these Far East people, to which attention should be directed, is that effective thinking, clear and strong, prevails among the farmers who have fed and are still feeding the dense populations from the products of their limited areas. This is further indicated in the universal and extensive use of plant ashes derived from fuel grown upon cultivated fields and upon the adjacent hill and mountain lands. We were unable to secure exact data regarding the amount of fuel burned annually in these countries, and of ashes used as fertilizer, but a cord of dry oak wood weighs about 3500 pounds, and the weight of fuel used in the home and in manufactures must exceed that of two cords per household. Japan has an average of 5.563 people per family. If we allow but 1300 pounds of fuel per capita, Japan's consumption would be 31,200,000 tons. In view of the fact that a very large share of the fuel used in these countries is either agricultural plant stems, with an average ash content of 5 per cent, or the twigs and even leaves of trees, as in the case of pine bough fuel, 4.5 per cent of ash may be taken as a fair estimate. On this basis, and with a content of phosphorus equal to .5 per cent, and of potassium equal to 5 per cent, the fuel ash for Japan would amount to 1,404,000 tons annually, carrying 7020 tons of phosphorus and 70,200 tons of potassium, together with more than 400,000 tons of limestone, which is returned annually to less than 21,321 square miles of cultivated land. In China, with her more than four hundred millions of people, a similar rate of fuel consumption would make the phosphorus and potassium returned to her fields more than eight times the amounts computed for Japan. On the basis of these statements Japan's annual saving of phosphorus from the waste of her fuel would be equivalent to more than 46,800 tons of rock phosphate having a purity of 75 per cent, or in the neighborhood of seven pounds per acre. If this amount, even with the potash and limestone added, appears like a trifling addition of fertility it is important for Americans to remember that even if this is so, these people have felt compelled to make the saving. In the matter of returning soluble potassium to the cultivated fields Japan would be applying with her ashes the equivalent of no less than 156,600 tons of pure potassium sulphate, equal to 23 pounds per acre; while the lime carbonate so applied annually would be some 62 pounds per acre. In addition to the forest lands, which have long been made to contribute plant food to the cultivated fields through fuel ashes, there are large areas which contribute green manure and compost material. These are chiefly hill lands, aggregating some twenty per cent of the cultivated fields, which bear mostly herbaceous growth. Some 2,552,741 acres of these lands may be cut over three times each season, yielding, in 1903, an average of 7980 pounds per acre. The first cutting of this hill herbage is mainly used on the rice fields as green manure, it being tramped into the mud between the rows after the manner seen in Fig. 114. This man had been with basket and sickle to gather green herbage wherever he could and had brought it to his rice paddy. The day in July was extremely sultry. We came upon him wading in the water half way to his knees, carefully laying the herbage he had gathered between alternate rows of his rice, one handful in a place, with tips overlapping. This done he took the attitude seen in the illustration and, gathering the materials into a compact bunch, pressed it beneath the surface with his foot. The two hands smoothed the soft mud over the grass and righted the disturbed spears of rice in the two adjacent hills. Thus, foot following foot, one bare length ahead, the succeeding bunches of herbage were submerged until the last had been reached, following between alternate rows only a foot apart, there being a hill every nine to ten inches in the row and the hands grasping and being drawn over every one in the paddy. He was renting the land, paying therefor forty kan of rice per tan, and his usual yield was eighty kan. This is forty-four bushels of sixty pounds per acre. In unfavorable seasons his yield might be less but still his rent would be forty kan per tan unless it was clear that he had done all that could reasonably be expected of him in securing the crop. It is difficult for Americans to understand how it is possible for the will of man, even when spurred by the love of home and family, to hold flesh to tasks like these. The second and third cuttings of herbage from the genya lands in Japan are used for the preparation of compost applied on the dry-land fields in the fall or in the spring of the following season. Some of these lands are pastured, but approximately 10,185,500 tons of green herbage grown and gathered from the hills contributes much of its organic matter and all of its ash to enrich the cultivated fields. Such wild growth areas in Japan are the commons of the near by villages, to which the people are freely admitted for the purpose of cutting the herbage. A fixed time may be set for cutting and a limit placed upon the amount which may be carried away, which is done in the manner seen in Fig. 115. It is well recognized by the people that this constant cutting and removal of growth from the hill lands, with no return, depletes the soils and reduces the amount of green herbage they are able to secure. Through the kindness of Dr. Daikuhara of the Imperial Agricultural Experiment Station at Tokyo we are able to give the average composition of the green leaves and young stems of five of the most common wild species of plants cut for green manure in June. In each 1000 pounds the amount of water is 562.18 pounds; of organic matter, 382.68 pounds; of ash, 55.14 pounds; nitrogen, 4.78 pounds; potassium, 2.407 pounds, and phosphorus, .34 pound. On the basis of this composition and an aggregate yield of 10,185,500 tons, there would be annually applied to the cultivated fields 3463 tons of phosphorus and 24,516 tons of potassium derived from the genya lands. In addition to this the run-off from both the mountain and the genya lands is largely used upon the rice fields, more than sixteen inches of water being applied annually to them in some prefectures. If such waters have the composition of river waters in North America, twelve inches of water applied to the rice fields of the three main islands would contribute no less than 1200 tons of phosphorus and 19,000 tons of potassium annually. Dr. Kawaguchi, of the National Department of Agriculture and Commerce, informed us that in 1908 Japanese farmers prepared and applied to their fields 22,812,787 tons of compost manufactured from the wastes of cattle, horses, swine and poultry, combined with herbage, straw and other similar wastes and with soil, sod or mud from ditches and canals. The amount of this compost is sufficient to apply 1.78 tons per acre of cultivated land of the southern three main islands. From data obtained at the Nara Experiment Station, the composition of compost as there prepared shows it to contain, in each 2000 pounds, 550 pounds of organic matter; 15.6 pounds of nitrogen; 8.3 pounds of potassium, and 5.24 pounds of phosphorus. On this basis 22,800,000 tons of compost will carry 59,700 tons of phosphorus and 94,600 tons of potassium. The construction of compost houses is illustrated in Fig. 116, reproduced from a large circular sent to farmers from the Nara Experiment Station, and an exterior of one at the Nara Station is given in Fig. 117. This compost house is designed to serve two and a half acres. Its floor is twelve by eighteen feet, rendered watertight by a mixture of clay, lime and sand. The walls are of earth, one foot thick, and the roof is thatched with straw. Its capacity is sixteen to twenty tons, having a cash value of 60 yen, or $30. In preparing the stack, materials are brought daily and, spread over one side of the compost floor until the pile has attained a height of five feet. After one foot in depth has been laid and firmed, 1.2 inches of soil or mud is spread over the surface and the process repeated until full height has been attained. Water is added sufficient to keep the whole saturated and to maintain the temperature below that of the body. After the compost stacks have been completed they are permitted to stand five weeks in summer, seven weeks in winter, when they are forked over and transferred to the opposite side of the house. If we state in round numbers the total nitrogen, phosphorus and potassium thus far enumerated which Japanese farmers apply or return annually to their twenty or twenty-one thousand square miles of cultivated fields, the case stands 385,214 tons of nitrogen, 91,656 tons of phosphorus and 255,778 tons of potassium. These values are only approximations and do not include the large volume and variety of fertilizers prepared from fish, which have long been used. Neither do they include the very large amount of nitrogen derived directly from the atmosphere through their long, extensive and persistent cultivation of soy beans and other legumes. Indeed, from 1903 to 1906 the average area of paddy field upon which was grown a second crop of green manure in the form of some legume was 6.8 per cent of the total area of such fields aggregating 11,000 square miles. In 1906 over 18 per cent of the upland fields also produced some leguminous crop, these fields aggregating between 9,000 and 10,000 square miles. While the values which have been given above, expressing the sum total of nitrogen, phosphorus and potassium applied annually to the cultivated fields of Japan may be somewhat too high for some of the sources named, there is little doubt that Japanese farmers apply to their fields more of these three plant food elements annually than has been computed. The amounts which have been given are sufficient to provide annually, for each acre of the 21,321 square miles of cultivated land, an application of not less than 56 pounds of nitrogen, 13 pounds of phosphorus and 37 pounds of potassium. Or, if we omit the large northern island of Hokkaido, still new in its agriculture and lacking the intensive practices of the older farm land, the quantities are sufficient for a mean application of 60, 14 and 40 pounds respectively of nitrogen, phosphorus and potassium per acre, and yet the maturing of 1000 pounds of wheat crop, covering grain and straw as water-free substance, removes from the soil but 13.9 pounds of nitrogen, 2.3 pounds of phosphorus and 8.4 pounds of potassium, from which it may be computed that the 60 pounds of nitrogen added is sufficient for a crop yielding 31 bushels of wheat; the phosphorus is sufficient for a crop of 44 bushels, and the potassium for a crop of 35 bushels per acre. Dr. Hopkins, in his recent valuable work on "Soil Fertility and Permanent Agriculture" gives, on page 154, a table from which we abstract the following data: APPROXIMATE AMOUNTS OF NITROGEN, PHOSPHORUS AND POTASSIUM REMOVABLE PER ACRE ANNUALLY BY Nitrogen, Phosphorus, Potassium, pounds. pounds. pounds. 100 bush. crop of corn 148 23 71 100 bush. crop of oats 97 16 68 50 bush. crop of wheat 96 16 58 25 bush. crop of soy beans 159 21 73 100 bush. crop of rice 155 18 95 3 ton crop of timothy hay 72 9 71 4 ton crop of clover hay 160 20 120 3 ton crop of cow pea hay 130 14 98 8 ton crop of alfalfa hay 400 36 192 7000 lb. crop of cotton 168 29.4 82 400 bush. crop of potatoes 84 17.3 120 20 ton crop of sugar beets 100 18 157 Annually applied in Japan, more than 60 14 40 We have inserted in this table, for comparison, the crop of rice, and have increased the crop of potatoes from three hundred bushels to four hundred bushels per acre, because such a yield, like all of those named, is quite practicable under good management and favorable seasons, notwithstanding the fact that much smaller yields are generally attained through lack of sufficient plant food or water. From this table, assuming that a crop of matured grain contains 11 per cent of water and the straw 15 per cent, while potatoes contain 79 per cent and beets 87 per cent, the amounts of the three plant food elements removable annually by 1000 pounds of crop have been calculated and stated in the next table. APPROXIMATE AMOUNTS OF NITROGEN, PHOSPHORUS AND POTASSIUM REMOVABLE ANNUALLY PER 1,0000 POUNDS OF DRY CROP SUBSTANCE Nitrogen, Phosphorus, Potassium, pounds. pounds. pounds. Cereals. Wheat 13.873 2.312 8.382 Oats 13.666 2.254 9.580 Corn 13.719 2.149 6.676 Legumes. Soy beans 30.807 4.070 14.147 Cow peas 25.490 2.745 19.216 Clover 23.529 2.941 17.647 Alfalfa 29.411 2.647 14.118 Roots. Beets 19.213 3.462 30.192 Potatoes 15.556 3.210 22.222 Grass. Timothy 14.117 1.765 13.922 Rice 9.949 1.129 6.089 From the amounts of nitrogen, phosphorus and potassium applied annually to the cultivated fields of Japan and from the data in these two tables it may be readily seen that these people are now and probably long have been applying quite as much of these three plant food elements to their fields with each planting as are removed with the crop, and if this is true in Japan it must also be true in China. Moreover there is nothing in American agricultural practice which indicates that we shall not ultimately be compelled to do likewise. X IN THE SHANTUNG PROVINCE On May 15th we left Shanghai by one of the coastwise steamers for Tsingtao, some three hundred miles farther north, in the Shantung Province, our object being to keep in touch with methods of tillage and fertilization, corresponding phases of which would occur later in the season there. The Shantung province is in the latitude of North Carolina and Kentucky, or lies between that of San Francisco and Los Angeles. It has an area of nearly 56,000 square miles, about that of Wisconsin. Less than one-half of this area is cultivated land yet it is at the present time supporting a population exceeding 38,000,000 of people. New York state has today less than ten millions and more than half of these are in New York city. It was in this province that Confucius was born 2461 years ago, and that Mencius, his disciple, lived. Here, too, seventeen hundred years before Confucius' time, after one of the great floods of the Yellow river, 2297 B. C., and more than 4100 years ago, the Great Yu was appointed "Superintendent of Public Works" and entrusted with draining off the flood waters and canalizing the rivers. Here also was the beginning of the Boxer uprising. Tsingtao sits at the entrance of Kiaochow Bay. Following the war of Japan with China this was seized by Germany, November 14, 1897, nominally to indemnify for the murder of two German missionaries which had occurred in Shantung, and March 6th, 1898, this bay, to the high water line, its islands and a "Sphere of Influence" extending thirty miles in all directions from the boundary, together with Tsingtao, was leased to Germany for ninety-nine years. Russia demanded and secured a lease of Port Arthur at the same time. Great Britain obtained a similar lease of Weihaiwei in Shantung, while to France Kwangchow-wan in southern China, was leased. But the "encroachments" of European powers did not stop with these leases and during the latter part of 1898 the "Policy of Spheres of Influence" culminated in the international rivalry for railway concessions and mining. These greatly alarmed China and uprisings broke out very naturally first in Shantung, among the people nearest of kin to the founders of the Empire. As might have been expected of a patriotic, even though naturally peaceful people, they determined to defend their country against such encroachments and the Boxer troubles followed. Tsingtao has a deep, commodious harbor always free from ice and Germany is constructing here very extensive and substantial harbor improvements which will be of lasting benefit to the province and the Empire. A pier four miles in length encloses the inner wharf, and a second wharf is nearing completion. Germany is also maintaining a meteorological observatory here and has established a large, comprehensive Forest Garden, under excellent management, which is showing remarkable developments for so short a time. Our steamer entered the harbor during the night and, on going ashore, we soon found that only Chinese and German were generally spoken; but through the kind assistance of Rev. W. H. Scott, of the American Presbyterian Mission, an interpreter promised to call at my hotel in the evening, although he failed to appear. The afternoon was spent at the Forest Garden and on the reforestation tract, which are under the supervision of Mr. Haas. The Forest Garden covers two hundred and seventy acres and the reforestation tract three thousand acres more. In the garden a great variety of forest and fruit trees and small fruits are being tried out with high promise of the most valuable results. It was in the steep hills about Tsingtao that we first saw at close range serious soil erosion in China; and the returning of forest growth on hills nearly devoid of soil was here remarkable, in view of the long dry seasons which prevail from November to June, and Fig. 118 shows how destitute of soil the crests of granite hills may become and yet how the coming back of the forest growth may hasten as soon as it is no longer cut away. The rock going into decay, where this view was taken, is an extremely coarse crystalline granite, as may be seen in contrast with the watch, and it is falling into decay at a marvelous rate. Disintegration has penetrated the rock far below the surface and the large crystals are held together with but little more tenacity than prevails in a bed of gravel. Moisture and even roots penetrate it deeply and readily and the crystals fall apart with thrusts of the knife blade, the rock crumbling with the greatest freedom. Roadways have been extensively carved along the sides of the hills with the aid of only pick and shovel. Close examination of the rock shows that layers of sediment exist between the crystal faces, either washed down by percolating rain or formed through decomposition of the crystals in place. The next illustration, Fig. 119, shows how large the growth on such soils may be, and in Fig. 120 the vegetation and forest growth are seen coming back, closely covering just such soil surfaces and rock structure as are indicated in Figs. 118 and 119. These views are taken on the reforestation tract at Tsingtao but most of the growth is volunteer, standing now protected by the German government in their effort to see what may be possible under careful supervision. The loads of pine bough fuel represented in Fig. 80 were gathered from such hills and from such forest growth as are here represented, but on lands more distant from the city. But Tsingtao, with its forty thousand Chinese, and Kiaochow across the bay, with its one hundred and twenty thousand more, and other villages dotting the narrow plains, maintain a very great demand for such growth on the hill lands. The wonder is that forest growth has persisted at all and has contributed so much in the way of fuel. Growing in the Forest Garden was a most beautiful wild yellow rose, native to Shantung, being used for landscape effect in the parking, and it ought to be widely introduced into other countries wherever it will thrive. It was growing as heavy borders and massive clumps six to eight feet high, giving a most wonderful effect, with its brilliant, dense cloud of the richest yellow bloom. The blossoms are single, fully as large as the Rosa rugosa, with the tips of the petals shading into the most dainty light straw yellow, while the center is a deep orange, the contrast being sufficient to show in the photograph from which Fig. 121 was prepared. Another beautiful and striking feature of this rose is the clustering of the blossoms in one-sided wreath-like sprays, sometimes twelve to eighteen inches long, the flowers standing close enough to even overlap. The interpreter engaged for us failed to appear as per agreement so the next morning we took the early train for Tsinan to obtain a general view of the country and to note the places most favorable as points for field study. We had resolved also to make an effort to secure an interpreter through the American Presbyterian College at Tsinan. Leaving Tsingtao, the train skirts around the Kiaochow bay for a distance of nearly fifty miles, where we pass the city of the same name with its population of 120,000, which had an import and export trade in 1905 valued at over $24,000,000. At Sochen we passed through a coal mining district where coal was being brought to the cars in baskets carried by men. The coal on the loaded open cars was sprinkled with whitewash, serving as a seal to safe-guard against stealing during transit, making it so that none could be removed without the fact being revealed by breaking the seal. This practice is general in China and is applied to many commodities handled in bulk. We saw baskets of milled rice carried by coolies sealed with a pattern laid over the surface by sprinkling some colored powder upon it. Cut stone, corded for the market, was whitewashed in the same manner as the coal. As we were approaching Weihsien, another city of 100,000 people, we identified one of the deeply depressed, centuries-old roadways, worn eight to ten feet deep, by chancing to see half a dozen teams passing along it as the train crossed. We had passed several and were puzzling to account for such peculiar erosion. The teams gave the explanation and thus connected our earlier reading with the concrete. Along these deep-cut roadways caravans may pass, winding through the fields, entirely unobserved unless one chances to be close along the line or the movement is discovered by clouds of dust, one of the methods that has produced them, and we would not be surprised if gathering manure from them has played a large part also. Weihsien is near one of the great commercial highways of China and in the center of one of the coal mining regions of the province. Still further along towards Tsinan we passed Tsingchowfu, another of the large cities of the province, with 150,000 population. All day we rode through fields of wheat, always planted in rows, and in hills in the row east of Kaumi, but in single or double continuous drills westward from here to Tsinan. Thousands of wells used for irrigation, of the type seen in Fig. 123, were passed during the day, many of them recently dug to supply water for the barley suffering from the severe drought which was threatening the crop at the time. It was 6:30 P. M. before our train pulled into the station at Tsinan; 7:30 when we had finished supper and engaged a ricksha to take us to the American Presbyterian College in quest of an interpreter. We could not speak Chinese, the ricksha boy could neither speak nor understand a word of English, but the hotel proprietor had instructed him where to go. We plunged into the narrow streets of a great Chinese city, the boy running wherever he could, walking where he must on account of the density of the crowds or the roughness of the stone paving. We had turned many corners, crossed bridges and passed through tunneled archways in sections of the massive city walls, until it was getting dusk and the ricksha man purchased and lighted a lantern. We were to reach the college in thirty minutes but had been out a full hour. A little later the boy drew up to and held conference with a policeman. The curious of the street gathered about and it dawned upon us that we were lost in the night in the narrow streets of a Chinese city of a hundred thousand people. To go further would be useless for the gates of the mission compound would be locked. We could only indicate by motions our desire to return, but these were not understood. On the train a thoughtful, kindly old German had recognized a stranger in a foreign land and volunteered useful information, cutting from his daily paper an advertisement describing a good hotel. This gave the name of the hotel in German, English and in Chinese characters. We handed this to the policeman, pointing to the name of the hotel, indicating by motions the desire to return, but apparently he was unable to read in either language and seemed to think we were assuming to direct the way to the college. A man and boy in the crowd apparently volunteered to act as escort for us. The throng parted and we left them, turned more corners into more unlighted narrow alleyways, one of which was too difficult to permit us to ride. The escorts, if such they were, finally left us, but the dark alley led on until it terminated at the blank face, probably of some other portion of the massive city wall we had thrice threaded through lighted tunnels. Here the ricksha boy stopped and turned about but the light from his lantern was too feeble to permit reading the workings of his mind through his face, and our tongues were both utterly useless in this emergency, so we motioned for him to turn back and by some route we reached the hotel at 11 P. M. We abandoned the effort to visit the college, for the purpose of securing an interpreter, and took the early train back to Tsingtao, reaching there in time to secure the very satisfactory service of Mr. Chu Wei Yung, through the further kind offices of Mr. Scott. We had been twice over the road between the two cities, obtaining a general idea of the country and of the crops and field operations at this season. The next morning we took an early train to Tsangkau and were ready to walk through the fields and to talk with the last generations of more than forty unbroken centuries of farmers who, with brain and brawn, have successfully and continuously sustained large families on small areas without impoverishing their soil. The next illustration is from a photograph taken in one of these fields. We astonished the old farmer by asking the privilege of holding his plow through one round in his little field, but he granted the privilege readily. Our furrow was not as well turned as his, nor as well as we could have done with a two-handled Oliver or John Deere, but it was better than the old man had expected and won his respect. This plow had a good steel point, as a separate, blunt, V-shaped piece, and a moldboard of cast steel with a good twist which turned the soil well. The standard and sole were of wood and at the end of the beam was a block for gauging the depth of furrow. The cost of this plow, to the farmer, was $2.15, gold, and when the day's work is done it is taken home on the shoulders, even though the distance may be a mile or more, and carefully housed. Chinese history states that the plow was invented by Shennung, who lived 2737-2697 B. C. and "taught the art of agriculture and the medical use of herbs". He is honored as the "God of Agriculture and Medicine." Through my interpreter we learned that there were twelve in this man's family, which he maintained on fifteen mow of land, or 2.5 acres, together with his team, consisting of a cow and small donkey, besides feeding two pigs. This is at the rate of 192 people, 16 cows, 16 donkeys and 32 pigs on a forty-acre farm; and of a population density equivalent to 3072 people, 256 cows, 256 donkeys and 512 swine per square mile of cultivated field. On another small holding we talked with the farmer standing at the well in Fig. 27, where he was irrigating a little piece of barley 30 feet wide and 138 feet long. He owned and was cultivating but one and two-thirds acres of land and yet there were ten in his family and he kept one donkey and usually one pig. Here is a maintenance capacity at the rate of 240 people, 24 donkeys and 24 pigs on a forty-acre farm; and a population density of 3840 people, 384 donkeys and 384 pigs per square mile. His usual annual sales in good seasons were equivalent in value to $73, gold. In both of these cases the crops grown were wheat, barley, large and small millet, sweet potatoes and soy beans or peanuts. Much straw braid is manufactured in the province by the women and children in their homes, and the cargo of the steamer on which we returned to Shanghai consisted almost entirely of shelled peanuts in gunny sacks and huge bales of straw braid destined for the manufacture of hats in Europe and America. Shantung has only moderate rainfall, little more than 24 inches annually, and this fact has played an important part in determining the agricultural practices of these very old people. In Fig. 123 is a closer view than Fig. 27 of the farmer watering his little field of barley. The well had just been dug over eight feet deep, expressly and solely to water this one piece of grain once, after which it would be filled and the ground planted. The season had been unusually dry, as had been the one before, and the people were fearing famine. Only 2.44 inches of rain had fallen at Tsingtao between the end of the preceding October and our visit, May 21st, and hundreds of such temporary wells had been or were being dug all along both sides of the two hundred and fifty miles of railway, and nearly all to be filled when the crop on the ground was irrigated, to release the land for one to follow. The homes are in villages a mile or more apart and often the holdings or rentals are scattered, separated by considerable distances, hence easy portability is the key-note in the construction of this irrigating outfit. The bucket is very light, simply a woven basket waterproofed with a paste of bean flour. The windlass turns like a long spool on a single pin and the standard is a tripod with removable legs. Some wells we saw were sixteen or twenty feet deep and in these the water was raised by a cow walking straight away at the end of a rope. The amount and distribution of rainfall in this province, as indicated by the mean of ten years' records at Tsingtao, obtained at the German Meteorological Observatory through the courtesy of Dr. B. Meyermanns, are given in the table in which the rainfall of Madison, Wisconsin, is inserted for comparison. Mean monthly rainfall. Mean rainfall In 10 days. Tsingtao, Madison, Tsingtao, Madison, Inches. Inches. Inches. Inches. January .394 1.56 .131 .520 February .240 1.50 .080 .500 March .892 2.12 .297 .707 April 1.240 2.62 .413 .840 May 1.636 3.62 .545 1.207 June 2.702 4.10 .901 1.866 July 6.637 3.90 2.212 1.300 August 5.157 3.21 1.719 1.070 September 2.448 3.15 .816 1.050 October 2.258 2.42 .753 .807 November .398 1.78 .132 .593 December .682 1.77 .227 .590 ------------ Total 24.682 31.65 While Shantung receives less than 25 inches of rain during the year, against Wisconsin's more than 31 inches, the rainfall during June, July and August in Shantung is nearly 14.5 inches, while Wisconsin receives but 11.2 inches. This greater summer rainfall, with persistent fertilization and intense management, in a warm latitude, are some of the elements permitting Shantung today to feed 38,247,900 people from an area equal to that upon which Wisconsin is yet feeding but 2,333,860. Must American agriculture ultimately feed sixteen people where it is now feeding but one? If so, correspondingly more intense and effective practices must follow, and we can neither know too well nor too early what these Old World people have been driven to do; how they have succeeded, and how we and they may improve upon their practices and lighten the human burdens by more fully utilizing physical forces and mechanical appliances. As we passed on to other fields we found a mother and daughter transplanting sweet potatoes on carefully fitted ridges of nearly air-dry soil in a little field, the remnant of a table on a deeply eroded hillside, Fig. 124. The husband was bringing water for moistening the soil from a deep ravine a quarter of a mile distant, carrying it on his shoulder in two buckets, Fig. 125, across an intervening gulch. He had excavated four holes at intervals up the gulch and from these, with a broken gourd dipper mended with stitches, he filled his pails, bailing in succession from one to the other in regular rotation. The daughter was transplanting. Holding the slip with its tip between thumb and fingers, a strong forward stroke plowed a furrow in the mellow, dry soil; then, with a backward movement and a downward thrust, planted the slip, firmed the soil about it, leaving a depression in which the mother poured about a pint of water from another gourd dipper. After this water had soaked away, dry earth was drawn about the slip and firmed and looser earth drawn over this, the only tools being the naked hands and dipper. The father and mother were dressed in coarse garb but the daughter was neatly clad, with delicate hands decorated with rings and a bracelet. Neither of the women had bound feet. There were ten in his family; and on adjacent similar areas they had small patches of wheat nearly ready for the harvest, all planted in hills, hoed, and in astonishingly vigorous condition considering the extreme drought which prevailed. The potatoes were being planted under these extreme conditions in anticipation of the rainy season which then was fully due. The summer before had been one of unusual drought, and famine was threatened. The government had recently issued an edict that no sheep should be sold from the province, fearing they might be needed for food. An old woman in one of the villages came out, as we walked through, and inquired of my interpreter if we had come to make it rain. Such was the stress under which we found these people. One of the large farmers, owning ten acres, stated that his usual yield of wheat in good season was 160 catty per mow, equivalent to 21.3 bushels per acre. He was expecting the current season not more than one half this amount. As a fertilizer he used a prepared earth compost which we shall describe later, mixing it with the grain and sowing in the hills with the seed, applying about 5333 pounds per acre, which he valued, in our currency, at $8.60, or $3.22 per ton. A pile of such prepared compost is seen in Fig. 126, ready to be transferred to the field. The views show with what cleanliness the yard is kept and with what care all animal waste is saved. The cow and donkey are the work team, such as was being used by the plowman referred to in Fig. 122. The mounds in the background of the lower view are graves; the fence behind the animals is made from the stems of the large millet, kaoliang, while that at the right of the donkey is made of earth, both indicative of the scarcity of lumber. The buildings, too, are thatched and their walls are of earth plastered with an earthen mortar worked up with chaff. In another field a man plowing and fertilizing for sweet potatoes had brought to the field and laid down in piles the finely pulverized dry compost. The father was plowing; his son of sixteen years was following and scattering, from a basket, the pulverized dry compost in the bottom of the furrow. The next furrow covered the fertilizer, four turned together forming a ridge upon which the potatoes were to be planted after a second and older son had smoothed and fitted the crest with a heavy hand rake. The fertilizer was thus applied directly beneath the row, at the rate of 7400 pounds per acre, valued at $7.15, our currency, or $1.93 per ton. We were astonished at the moist condition of the soil turned, which was such as to pack in the hand notwithstanding the extreme drought prevailing and the fact that standing water in the ground was more than eight feet below the surface. The field had been without crop and cultivated. To the question, "What yield of sweet potatoes do you expect from this piece of land?" he replied, "About 4000 catty," which is 440 bushels of 56 pounds per acre. The usual market price was stated to be $1.00, Mexican, per one hundred catty, making the gross value of the crop $79.49, gold, per acre. His land was valued at $60, Mexican, per mow, or $154.80 per acre, gold. My interpreter informed me that the average well-to-do farmers in this part of Shantung own from fifteen to twenty mow of land and this amount is quite ample to provide for eight people. Such farmers usually keep two cows, two donkeys and eight or ten pigs. The less well-to-do or small farmers own two to five mow and act as superintendents for the larger farmers. Taking the largest holding, of twenty mow per family of eight people, as a basis, the density per square mile would be 1536 people, and an area of farm land equal to the state of Wisconsin would have 86,000,000 people; 21,500,000 cows; 21,500,000 donkeys and 86,000,000 swine. These observations apply to one of the most productive sections of the province, but very large areas of land in the province are not cultivable and the last census showed the total population nearly one-half of this amount. It is clear, therefore, that either very effective agricultural methods are practiced or else extreme economy is exercised. Both are true. On this day in the fields our interpreter procured his dinner at a farm house, bringing us four boiled eggs, for which he paid at the rate of 8.3 cents of our money, but his dinner was probably included in the price. The next table gives the prices for some articles obtained by inquiry at the Tsingtao market, May 23rd, 1909, reduced to our currency. Cents Old potatoes, per lb 2.18 New potatoes, per lb 2.87 Salted turnip, per lb .86 Onions, per lb 4.10 Radishes, bunch of 10 1.29 String beans, per lb 11.46 Cucumbers, per lb 5.78 Pears, per lb 5.73 Apricots, per lb 8.60 Pork, fresh, per lb 10.33 Fish, per lb 5.73 Eggs, per dozen 5.16 The only items which are low compared with our own prices are salted turnips, radishes and eggs. Most of the articles listed were out of season for the locality and were imported for the foreigners, turnips, radishes, pork, fish and eggs being the exceptions. Prof. Ross informs us that he found eggs selling in Shensi at four for one cent of our money. Our interpreter asked a compensation of one dollar, Mexican, or 43 cents, U. S. currency, per day, he furnishing his own meals. The usual wage for farm labor here was $8.60, per year, with board and lodging. We have referred to the wages paid by missionaries for domestic service. As servants the Chinese are considered efficient, faithful and trustworthy. It was the custom of Mr. and Mrs. League to intrust them with the purse for marketing, feeling that they could be depended upon for the closest bargaining. Commonly, when instructed to procure a certain article, if they found the price one or two cash higher than usual they would select a cheaper substitute. If questioned as to why instructions were not followed the reply would be "Too high, no can afford." Mrs. League recited her experience with her cook regarding his use of our kitchen appliances. After fitting the kitchen with a modern range and cooking utensils, and working with him to familiarize him with their use, she was surprised, on going into the kitchen a few days later, to find that the old Chinese stove had been set on the range and the cooking being done with the usual Chinese furniture. When asked why he was not using the stove his reply was "Take too much fire." Nothing jars on the nerves of these people more than incurring of needless expense, extravagance in any form, or poor judgment in making purchases. Daily we became more and more impressed by the evidence of the intense and incessant stress imposed by the dense populations of centuries, and how, under it, the laws of heredity have wrought upon the people, affecting constitution, habits and character. Even the cattle and sheep have not escaped its irresistible power. Many times in this province we saw men herding flocks of twenty to thirty sheep along the narrow unfenced pathways winding through the fields, and on the grave lands. The prevailing drought had left very little green to be had from these places and yet sheep were literally brushing their sides against fresh green wheat and barley, never molesting them. Time and again the flocks were stampeded into the grain by an approaching train, but immediately they returned to their places without taking a nibble. The voice of the shepherd and an occasional well aimed lump of earth only being required to bring them back to their uninviting pastures. In Kiangsu and Chekiang provinces a line of half a dozen white goats were often seen feeding single file along the pathways, held by a cord like a string of beads, sometimes led by a child. Here, too, one of the most common sights was the water buffalo grazing unattended among the fields along the paths and canal banks, with crops all about, One of the most memorable shocks came to us in Chekiang, China, when we had fallen into a revery while gazing at the shifting landscape from the doorway of our low-down Chinese houseboat. Something in the sky and the vegetation along the canal bank had recalled the scenes of boyhood days and it seemed, as we looked aslant up the bank with its fringe of grass, that we were gliding along Whitewater creek through familiar meadows and that standing up would bring the old home in sight. That instant there glided into view, framed in the doorway and projected high against the tinted sky above the setting sun, a giant water buffalo standing motionless as a statue on the summit of a huge grave mound, lifted fully ten feet above the field. But in a flash this was replaced by a companion scene, and with all its beautiful setting, which had been as suddenly fixed on the memory fourteen years before in the far away Trossachs when our coach, hurriedly rounding a sharp turn in the hills, suddenly exposed a wild ox of Scotland similarly thrust against the sky from a small but isolated rocky summit, and then, outspeeding the wireless, recollection crossed two oceans and an intervening continent, bringing us back to China before a speed of five miles, per hour could move the first picture across the narrow doorway. It was through the fields about Tsangkow that the stalwart freighters referred to, Fig. 32, passed us on one of the paths leading from Kiaochow through unnumbered country villages, already eleven miles on their way with their wheelbarrows loaded with matches made in Japan. Many of the wheelbarrow men seen in Shanghai and other cities are from Shantung families, away for employment, expecting to return. During the harvest season, too, many of these people go west and north into Manchuria seeking employment, returning to their homes in winter. Alexander Hosie, in his book on Manchuria, states that from Chefoo alone more than 20,000 Chinese laborers cross to Newchwang every spring by steamer, others finding their way there by junks or other means, so that after the harvest season 8,000 more return by steamer to Chefoo than left that way in the spring, from which he concludes that Shantung annually supplies Manchuria with agricultural labor to the extent of 30,000 men. About the average condition of wheat in Shantung during this dry season, and nearing maturity, is seen in Fig. 127, standing rather more than three feet high, as indicated by our umbrella between the rows. Beyond the wheat and to the right, grave mounds serrate the sky line, no hills being in sight, for we were in the broad plain built up from the sea between the two mountain islands forming the highlands of Shantung. On May 22nd we were in the fields north of Kiaochow, some sixty miles by rail west from Tsingtao, but within the neutral zone extending thirty miles back from the high water line of the bay of the same name. Here the Germans had built a broad macadam road after the best European type but over it were passing the vehicles of forty centuries seen in Figs. 128 and 129. It is doubtful if the resistance to travel experienced by these men on the better road was enough less than that on the old paths they had left to convince them that the cost of construction and maintenance would be worth while until vehicles and the price of labor change. It may appear strange that with a nation of so many millions and with so long a history, roads have persisted as little more than beaten foot-paths; but modern methods of transportation have remained physical impossibilities to every people until the science of the last century opened the way. Throughout their history the burdens of these people have been carried largely on foot, mostly on the feet of men, and of single men wherever the load could be advantageously divided. Animals have been supplemental burden bearers but, as with the men, they have carried the load directly on their own feet, the mode least disturbed by inequalities of road surface. For adaptability to the worst road conditions no vehicle equals the wheelbarrow, progressing by one wheel and two feet. No vehicle is used more in China, if the carrying pole is excepted, and no wheelbarrow in the world permits so high an efficiency of human power as the Chinese, as must be clear from Figs. 32 and 61, where nearly the whole load is balanced on the axle of a high, massive wheel with broad tire. A shoulder band from the handles of the barrow relieves the strain on the hands and, when the load or the road is heavy, men or animals may aid in drawing, or even, when the wind is favorable, it is not unusual to hoist a sail to gain propelling power. It is only in northern China, and then in the more level portions, where there are few or no canals, that carts have been extensively used, but are more difficult to manage on bad roads. Most of the heavy carts, especially those in Manchuria, seen in Fig. 203, have the wheels framed rigidly to the axle which revolves with them, the bearing being in the bed of the cart. But new carts of modern type are being introduced. In the extent of development and utilization of inland waterways no people have approached the Chinese. In the matter of land transportation they have clearly followed the line of least resistance for individual initiative, so characteristic of industrial China. There are Government courier or postal roads which connect Peking with the most distant parts of the Empire, some twenty-one being usually enumerated. These, as far as practicable, take the shortest course, are often cut into the mountain sides and even pass through tunnels. In the plains regions these roads may be sixty to seventy-five feet wide, paved and occasionally bordered by rows of trees. In some cases, too, signal towers are erected at intervals of three miles and there are inns along the way, relay posts and stations for soldiers. We have spoken of planting grain in rows and in hills in the row. In Fig. 130 is a field with the rows planted in pairs, the members being 16 inches apart, and together occupying 30 inches. The space between each pair is also 30 inches, making five feet in all. This makes frequent hoeing practicable, which is begun early in the spring and is repeated after every rain. It also makes it possible to feed the plants when they can utilize food to the best advantage and to repeat the feeding if desirable. Besides, the ground in the wider space may be fitted, fertilized and another crop planted before the first is removed. The hills alternate in the rows and are 24 to 26 inches from center to center. The planting may be done by hand or with a drill such as that in Fig. 131, ingenious in the simple mechanism which permits planting in hills. The husbandman had just returned from the field with the drill on his shoulder when we met at the door of his village home, where he explained to us the construction and operation of the drill and permitted the photograph to be taken, but turning his face aside, not wishing to represent a specific character, in the view. In the drill there was a heavy leaden weight swinging free from a point above the space between the openings leading to the respective drill feet. When planting, the operator rocks the drill from side to side, causing the weight to hang first over one and then over the other opening, thus securing alternation of hills in each pair of rows. Counting the heads of wheat in the hill in a number of fields showed them ranging between 20 and 100, the distance between the rows and between the hills as stated above. There were always a larger number of stalks per hill where the water capacity of the soil was large, where the ground water was near the surface, and where the soil was evidently of good quality. This may have been partly the result of stooling but we have little doubt that judgment was exercised in planting, sowing less seed on the lighter soils where less moisture was available. In the piece just referred to, in the illustration, an average hill contained 46 stalks and the number of kernels in a head varied between 20 and 30. Taking Richardson's estimate of 12,000 kernels of wheat to the pound, this field would yield about twelve bushels of wheat per acre this unusually dry season. Our interpreter, whose parents lived near Kaomi, four stations further west, stated that in 1901, one of their best seasons, farmers there secured yields as high as 875 catty per legal mow, which is at the rate of 116 bushels per acre. Such a yield on small areas highly fertilized and carefully tilled, when the rainfall is ample or where irrigation is practiced, is quite possible and in the Kiangsu province we observed individual small fields which would certainly approach close to this figure. Further along in our journey of the day we came upon a field where three, one of them a boy of fourteen years, were hoeing and thinning millet and maize. In China, during the hot weather, the only garment worn by the men in the field, was their trousers, and the boy had found these unnecessary, although he slipped into them while we were talking with his father. The usual yield of maize was set at 420 to 480 catty per mow, and that of millet at 600 catty, or 60 to 68.5 bushels of maize and 96 bushels of millet, of fifty pounds, per acre, and the usual price would make the gross earnings $23.48 to $26.83 per acre for the maize, and $30.96, gold, for the millet. It was evident when walking through these fields that the fall-sowed grain was standing the drought far better than the barley planted in the spring, quite likely because of the deeper and stronger development of root system made possible by the longer period of growth, and partly because the wheat had made much of its growth utilizing water that had fallen before the barley was planted and which would have been lost from the soil through percolation and surface evaporation. Farmers here are very particular to hoe their grain, beginning in the early spring, and always after rains, thoroughly appreciating the efficiency of earth mulches. Their hoe, seen in Fig. 132, is peculiarly well adapted to its purpose, the broad blade being so hung that it draws nearly parallel with the surface, cutting shallow and permitting the soil to drop practically upon the place from which it was loosened. These hoes are made in three parts; a wooden handle, a long, strong and heavy iron socket shank, and a blade of steel. The blade is detachable and different forms and sizes of blades may be used on the same shank. The mulch-producing blades may have a cutting edge thirteen inches long and a width of nine inches. At short intervals on either hand, along the two hundred and fifty miles of railway between Tsingtao and Tsinan, were observed many piles of earth compost distributed in the fields. One of these piles is seen in Fig. 133. They were sometimes on unplanted fields, in other cases they occurred among the growing crops soon to be harvested, or where another crop was to be planted between the rows of one already on the ground. Some of these piles were six feet high. All were built in cubical form with flat top and carefully plastered with a layer of earth mortar which sometimes cracked on drying, as seen in the illustration. The purpose of this careful shaping and plastering we did not learn although our interpreter stated it was to prevent the compost from being appropriated for use on adjacent fields. Such a finish would have the effect of a seal, showing if the pile had been disturbed, but we suspect other advantages are sought by the treatment, which involves so large an amount of labor. The amount of this earth compost prepared and used annually in Shantung is large, as indicated by the cases cited, where more than five thousand pounds, in one instance, and seven thousand pounds in another, were applied per acre for one crop. When two or more crops are grown the same year on the same ground, each is fertilized, hence from three to six or more tons may be applied to each cultivated acre. The methods of preparing compost and of fertilizing in Kiangsu, Chekiang and Kwangtung provinces have been described. In this part of Shantung, in Chihli and north in Manchuria as far as Mukden, the methods are materially different and if possible even more laborious, but clearly rational and effective. Here nearly if not all fertilizer compost is prepared in the villages and carried to the fields, however distant these may be. Rev. T. J. League very kindly accompanied us to Chengyang on the railway, from which we walked some two miles, back to a prosperous rural village to see their methods of preparing this compost fertilizer. It was toward the close of the afternoon before we reached the village, and from all directions husbandmen were returning from the fields, some with hoes, some with plows, some with drills over their shoulders and others leading donkeys or cattle, and similar customs obtain in Japan, as seen in Fig. 134. These were mostly the younger men. When we reached the village streets the older men, all bareheaded, as were those returning from the fields, and usually with their queues tied about the crown, were visiting, enjoying their pipes of tobacco. Opium is no longer used openly in China, unless it be permitted to some well along in years with the habit confirmed, and the growing of the poppy is prohibited. The penalties for violating the law are heavy and enforcement is said to be rigid and effective. For the first violation a fine is imposed. If convicted of a second violation the fine is heavier with imprisonment added to help the victim acquire self control, and a third conviction may bring the death penalty. The eradication of the opium scourge must prove a great blessing to China. But with the passing of this most formidable evil, for whose infliction upon China England was largely responsible, it is a great misfortune that through the pitiless efforts of the British-American Tobacco Company her people are rapidly becoming addicted to the western tobacco habit, selfish beyond excuse, filthy beyond measure, and unsanitary in its polluting and oxygen-destroying effect upon the air all are compelled to breathe. It has already become a greater and more inexcusable burden upon mankind than opium ever was. China, with her already overtaxed fields, can ill afford to give over an acre to the cultivation of this crop and she should prohibit the growing of tobacco as she has that of the poppy. Let her take the wise step now when she readily may, for all civilized nations will ultimately be compelled to adopt such a measure. The United States in 1902 had more than a million acres growing tobacco, and harvested 821,000,000 pounds of leaf. This leaf depleted those soils to the extent of more than twenty eight million pounds of nitrogen, twenty-nine million pounds of potassium and nearly two and a half million pounds of phosphorus, all so irrecoverably lost that even China, with her remarkable skill in saving and her infinite patience with little things, could not recover them for her soils. On a like area of field might as readily be grown twenty million bushels of wheat and if the twelve hundred million pounds of grain were all exported it would deplete the soil less than the tobacco crop in everything but phosphorus, and in this about the same. Used at home, China would return it all to one or another field. The home consumption of tobacco in the United States averaged seven pounds per capita in 1902. A like consumption for China's four hundred millions would call for 2800 million pounds of leaf. If she grew it on her fields two million acres would not suffice. Her soils would be proportionately depleted and she would be short forty million bushels of wheat; but if China continues to import her tobacco the vast sum expended can neither fertilize her fields nor feed, clothe or educate her people, yet a like sum expended in the importation of wheat would feed her hungry and enrich her soils. In the matter of conservation of national resources here is one of the greatest opportunities open to all civilized nations. What might not be done in the United States with a fund of $57,000,000 annually, the market price of the raw tobacco leaf, and the land, the labor and the capital expended in getting the product to the men who puff, breathe and perspire the noxious product into the air everyone must breathe, and who bespatter the streets, sidewalks, the floor of every public place and conveyance, and befoul the million spittoons, smoking rooms and smoking cars, all unnecessary and should be uncalled for, but whose installation and up-keep the non-user as well as the user is forced to pay, and this in a country of, for and by the people. This costly, filthy, selfish tobacco habit should be outgrown. Let it begin in every new home, where the mother helps the father in refusing to set the example, and let its indulgence be absolutely prohibited to everyone while in public school and to all in educational institutions. Mr. League had been given a letter of introduction to one of the leading farmers of the village and it chanced that as we reached the entrance way to big home we were met by his son, just returning from the fields with his drill on his shoulder, and it is he standing in the illustration, Fig. 131, holding the letter of introduction in his hand. After we had taken this photograph and another one looking down the narrow street from the same point, we were led to the small open court of the home, perhaps forty by eighty feet, upon which all doors of the one-storied structures opened. It was dry and bare of everything green, but a row of very tall handsome trees, close relatives of our cottonwood, with trunks thirty feet to the limbs, looked down into the court over the roofs of the low thatched houses. Here we met the father and grandfather of the man with the drill, so that, with the boy carrying the baby in his arms, who had met his father in the street gateway, there were four generations of males at our conference. There were women and girls in the household but custom requires them to remain in retirement on such occasions. A low narrow four-legged bench, not unlike our carpenter's sawhorse, five feet long, was brought into the court as a seat, which our host and we occupied in common. We had been similarly received at the home of Mrs. Wu in Chekiang province. On our right was the open doorway to the kitchen in which stood, erect and straight, the tall spare figure of the patriarch of the household, his eyes still shining black but with hair and long thin straggling beard a uniform dull ashen gray. No Chinese hair, it seems, ever becomes white with age. He seemed to have assumed the duties of cook for while we were there be lighted the fire in the kitchen and was busy, but was always the final oracle on any matter of difference of opinion between the younger men regarding answers to questions. Two sleeping apartments adjoining the kitchen, through whose wide kang beds the waste heat from the cooking was conveyed, as described on page 142, completed this side of the court. On our left was the main street completely shut off by a solid earth wall as high as the eaves of the house, while in front of us, adjoining the street, was the manure midden, a compost pit six feet deep and some eight feet square. A low opening in the street wall permitted the pit to be emptied and to receive earth and stubble or refuse from the fields for composting, Against the pit and without partition, but cut off from the court, was the home of the pigs, both under a common roof continuous with a closed structure joining with the sleeping apartments, while behind us and along the alley-way by which we had entered were other dwelling and storage compartments. Thus was the large family of four generations provided with a peculiarly private open court where they could work and come out for sun and air, both, from our standards, too meagerly provided in the houses. We had come to learn more of the methods of fertilizing practiced by these people. The manure midden was before us and the piles of earth brought in from the fields, for use in the process, were stacked in the street, where we had photographed them at the entrance, as seen in Fig. 135. There a father, with his pipe, and two boys stand at the extreme left; beyond them is a large pile of earth brought into the village and carefully stacked in the narrow street; on the other side of the street, at the corner of the first building, is a pile of partly fermented compost thrown from a pit behind the walls. Further along in the street, on the same side, is a second large stack of soil where two boys are standing at either end and another little boy was in a near-by doorway. In front of the tree, on the left side of the street, stands a third boy, near him a small donkey and still another boy. Beyond this boy stands a third large stack of soil, while still beyond and across the way is another pile partly composted. Notwithstanding the cattle in the preceding illustration, the donkey, the men, the boys, the three long high stacks of soil and the two piles of compost, the ten rods of narrow street possessed a width of available travelway and a cleanliness which would appear impossible. Each farmer's household had its stack of soil in the street, and in walking through the village we passed dozens of men turning and mixing the soil and compost, preparing it for the field. The compost pit in front of where we sat was two-thirds filled. In it had been placed all of the manure and waste of the household and street, all stubble and waste roughage from the field, all ashes not to be applied directly and some of the soil stacked in the street. Sufficient water was added at intervals to keep the contents completely saturated and nearly submerged, the object being to control the character of fermentation taking place. The capacity of these compost pits is determined by the amount of land served, and the period of composting is made as long as possible, the aim being to have the fiber of all organic material completely broken down, the result being a product of the consistency of mortar. When it is near the time for applying the compost to the field, or of feeding it to the crop, the fermented product is removed in waterproof carrying baskets to the floor of the court, to the yard, such as seen in Fig. 126, or to the street, where it is spread to dry, to be mixed with fresh soil, more ashes, and repeatedly turned and stirred to bring about complete aeration and to hasten the processes of nitrification. During all of these treatments, whether in the compost pit or on the nitrification floor, the fermenting organic matter in contact with the soil is converting plant food elements into soluble plant food substances in the form of potassium, calcium and magnesium nitrates and soluble phosphates of one or another form, perhaps of the same bases and possibly others of organic type. If there is time and favorable temperature and moisture conditions for these fermentations to take place in the soil of the field before the crop will need it, the compost may be carried direct from the pit to the field and spread broadcast, to be plowed under. Otherwise the material is worked and reworked, with more water added if necessary, until it becomes a rich complete fertilizer, allowed to become dry and then finely pulverized, sometimes using stone rollers drawn over it by cattle, the donkey or by hand. The large numbers of stacks of compost seen in the fields between Tsingtao and Tsinan were of this type and thus laboriously prepared in the villages and then transported to the fields, stacked and plastered to be ready for use at next planting. In the early days of European history, before modern chemistry had provided the cheaper and more expeditious method of producing potassium nitrate for the manufacture of gunpowder and fireworks, much land and effort were devoted to niter-farming which was no other than a specific application of this most ancient Chinese practice and probably imported from China. While it was not until 1877 to 1879 that men of science came to know that the processes of nitrification, so indispensable to agriculture, are due to germ life, in simple justice to the plain farmers of the world, to those who through all the ages from Adam down, living close to Nature and working through her and with her, have fed the world, it should be recognized that there have been those among them who have grasped such essential, vital truths and have kept them alive in the practices of their day. And so we find it recorded in history as far back as 1686 that Judge Samuel Lewell copied upon the cover of his journal a practical man's recipe for making saltpeter beds, in which it was directed, among other things, that there should be added to it "mother of petre", meaning, in Judge Lewell's understanding, simply soil from an old niter bed, but in the mind of the man who applied the maternity prefix,--mother,--it must have meant a vital germ contained in the soil, carried with it, capable of reproducing its kind and of perpetuating its characteristic work, belonging to the same category with the old, familiar, homely germ, "mother" of vinegar. So, too, with the old cheesemaker who grasped the conception which led to the long time practice of washing the walls of a new cheese factory with water from an old factory of the same type, he must have been led by analogies of experience with things seen to realize that he was here dealing with a vital factor. Hundreds, of course, have practiced empyrically, but some one preceded with the essential thought and we feel it is small credit to men of our time who, after ten or twenty years of technical training, having their attention directed to a something to be seen, and armed with compound microscopes which permit them to see with the physical eye the "mother of petre", arrogate to themselves the discovery of a great truth. Much more modest would it be and much more in the spirit of giving credit where credit is due to admit that, after long doubting the existence of such an entity, we have succeeded in confirming in fullness the truth of a great discovery which belongs to an unnamed genius of the past, or perhaps to a hundred of them who, working with life's processes and familiar with them through long intimate association, saw in these invisible processes analogies that revealed to them the essential truth in such fullness as to enable them to build upon it an unfailing practice. There is another practice followed by the Chinese, connected with the formation of nitrates in soils, which again emphasizes the national trait of saving and turning to use any and every thing worth while. Our attention was called to this practice by Rev. A. E. Evans of Shunking, Szechwan province. It rests upon the tendency of the earth floors of dwellings to become heavily charged with calcium nitrate through the natural processes of nitrification. Calcium nitrate being deliquescent absorbs moisture sufficiently to dissolve and make the floor wet and sticky. Dr. Evans' attention was drawn to the wet floor in his own house, which be at first ascribed to insufficient ventilation, but which be was unable to remedy by improving that. The father of one of his assistants, whose business consisted in purchasing the soil of such floors for producing potassium nitrate, used so much in China in the manufacture of fireworks and gunpowder, explained his difficulty and suggested the remedy. This man goes from house to house through the village, purchasing the soil of floors which have thus become overcharged. He procures a sample, tests it and announces what he will pay for the surface two, three or four inches, the price sometimes being as high as fifty cents for the privilege of removing the top layer of the floor, which the proprietors must replace. He leaches the soil removed, to recover the calcium nitrate, and then pours the leachings through plant ashes containing potassium carbonate, for the purpose of transforming the calcium nitrate into the potassium nitrate or saltpeter. Dr. Evans learned that during the four months preceding our interview this man had produced sufficient potassium nitrate to bring his sales up to $80, Mexican. It was necessary for him to make a two-days journey to market his product. In addition he paid a license fee of 80 cents per month. He must purchase his fuel ashes and hire the services of two men. When the nitrates which accumulate in the floors of dwellings are not collected for this purpose the soil goes to the fields to be used directly as a fertilizer, or it may be worked into compost. In the course of time the earth used in the village walls and even in the construction of the houses may disintegrate so as to require removal, but in all such cases, as with the earth brick used in the kangs, the value of the soil has improved for composting and is generally so used. This improvement of the soil will not appear strange when it is stated that such materials are usually from the subsoil, whose physical condition would improve when exposed to the weather, converting it in fact into an uncropped virgin soil. We were unable to secure definite data as to the chemical composition of these composts and cannot say what amounts of available plant food the Shantung farmers are annually returning to their fields. There can be little doubt, however, that the amounts are quite equal to those removed by the crops. The soils appeared well supplied with organic matter and the color of the foliage and the general aspect of crops indicated good feeding. The family with whom we talked in the village place their usual yields of wheat at 420 catty of grain and 1000 catty of straw per mow,--their mow was four-thirds of the legal standard mow--the grain being worth 35 strings of cash and the straw 12 to 14 strings, a string of cash being 40 cents, Mexican, at this time. Their yields of beans were such as to give them a return of 30 strings of cash for the grain and 8 to 10 strings for the straw. Small millet usually yielded 450 catty of grain, worth 25 strings of cash, per mow, and 800 catty of straw worth 10 to 11 strings of cash; while the yields of large millet they placed at 400 catty per mow, worth 25 strings of cash, and 1000 catty of straw worth 12 to 14 strings of cash. Stating these amounts in bushels per acre and in our currency, the yield of wheat was 42 bushels of grain and 6000 pounds of straw per acre, having a cash value of $27.09 for the grain and $10.06 for the straw. The soy bean crop follows the wheat, giving an additional return of $23.22 for the beans and $6.97 for the straw, making the gross earning for the two crops $67.34 per acre. The yield of small millet was 54 bushels of seed and 4800 pounds of straw per acre, worth $27.09 and $8.12 for seed and straw respectively, while the kaoliang or large millet gave a yield of 48 bushels of grain and 6000 pounds of stalks per acre, worth $19.35 for the grain, and $10.06 for the straw. A crop of wheat like the one stated, if no part of the plant food contained in the grain or straw were returned to the field, would deplete the soil to the extent of about 90 pounds of nitrogen, 15 pounds of phosphorus and 65 pounds of potassium; and the crop of soy beans, if it also were entirely removed, would reduce these three plant food elements in the soil to the extent of about 240 pounds of nitrogen, 33 pounds of phosphorus and 102 pounds of potassium, on the basis of 45 bushels of beans and 5400 pounds of stems and leaves per acre, assuming that the beans added no nitrogen to the soil, which is of course not true. This household of farmers, therefore, in order to have maintained this producing power in their soil, have been compelled to return to it annually, in one form or another, not less than 48 pounds of phosphorus and 167 pounds of potassium per acre. The 330 pounds of nitrogen they would have to return in the form of organic matter or accumulate it from the atmosphere, through the instrumentality of their soy bean crop or some other legume. It has already been stated that they do add more than 5000 to 7000 pounds of dry compost, which, repeated for a second crop, would make an annual application of five to seven tons of dry compost per acre annually. They do use, in addition to this compost, large amounts of bean and peanut cake, which carry all of the plant food elements derived from the soil which are contained in the beans and the peanuts. If the vines are fed, or if the stems of the beaus are burned for fuel, most of the plant food elements in these will be returned to the field, and they have doubtless learned how to completely restore the plant food elements removed by their crops, and persistently do so. The roads made by the Germans in the vicinity of Tsingtao enabled us to travel by ricksha into the adjoining country, and on one such trip we visited a village mill for grinding soy beans and peanuts in the manufacture of oil, and Fig. 136 shows the stone roller, four feet in diameter and two feet thick, which is revolved about a vertical axis on a circular stone plate, drawn by a donkey, crushing the kernels partly by its weight and partly by a twisting motion, for the arm upon which the roller revolves is very short. After the meal had been ground the oil was expressed in essentially the same way as that described for the cotton seed, but the bean and peanut cakes are made much larger than the cotton seed cakes, about eighteen inches in diameter and three to four inches thick. Two of these cakes are seen in Fig. 137, standing on edge outside the mill in an orderly clean court. It is in this form that bean cake is exported in large quantities to different parts of China, and to Japan in recent years, for use as fertilizer, and very recently it is being shipped to Europe for both stock food and fertilizer. Nowhere in this province, nor further north, did we see the large terra cotta, receptacles so extensively used in the south for storing human excreta. In these dryer climates some method of desiccation is practiced and we found the gardeners in the vicinity of Tsingtao with quantities of the fertilizer stacked under matting shelters in the desiccated condition, this being finely pulverized in one or another way before it was applied. The next illustration, Fig. 138, shows one of these piles being fitted for the garden, its thatched shelter standing behind the grandfather of a household. His grandson was carrying the prepared fertilizer to the garden area seen in Fig. 139, where the father was working it into the soil. The greatest pains is taken, both in reducing the product to a fine powder and in spreading and incorporating it with the soil, for one of their maxims of soil management is to make each square foot of field or garden the equal of every other in its power to produce. In this manner each little holding is made to yield the highest returns possible under the conditions the husbandman is able to control. From one portion of the area being fitted, a crop of artemisia had been harvested, giving a gross return at the rate of $73.19 per acre, and from another leeks had been taken, bringing a gross return of $43.86 per acre. Chinese celery was the crop for which the ground was being fitted. The application of soil as a fertilizer to the fields of China, whether derived from the subsoil or from the silts and organic matter of canals and rivers, must have played an important part in the permanency of agriculture in the Far East, for all such additions have been positive accretions to the effective soil, increasing its depth and carrying to it all plant food elements. If not more than one-half of the weight of compost applied to the fields of Shantung is highly fertilized soil, the rates of application observed would, in a thousand years, add more than two million pounds per acre, and this represents about the volume of soil we turn with the plow in our ordinary tillage operations, and this amount of good soil may carry more than 6000 pounds of nitrogen, 2000 pounds of phosphorus and more than 60,000 pounds of potassium. When we left our hotel by ricksha for the steamer, returning to Shanghai, we soon observed a boy of thirteen or fourteen years apparently following, sometimes a little ahead, sometimes behind, usually keeping the sidewalk but slackening his pace whenever the ricksha man came to a walk. It was a full mile to the wharf. The boy evidently knew the sailing schedule and judged by the valise in front, that we were to take the out-going steamer and that he might possibly earn two cents, Mexican, the usual fee for taking a valise aboard the steamer. Twenty men at the wharf might be waiting for the job, but he was taking the chance with the mile down and back thrown in, and all for less than one cent in our currency, equivalent at the time to about twenty "cash". As we neared the steamer the lad closed up behind but strong and eager men were watching. Twice he was roughly thrust aside and before the ricksha stopped a man of stalwart frame seized the valise and, had we not observed the boy thus unobtrusively entering the competition, he would have had only his trouble for his pains. Thus intense was the struggle here for existence and thus did a mere lad put himself effectively into it. True to breeding and example he had spared no labor to win and was surprised but grateful to receive more than he had expected. XI ORIENTALS CROWD BOTH TIME AND SPACE Time is a function of every life process, as it is of every physical, chemical and mental reaction, and the husbandman is compelled to shape his operations so as to conform with the time requirements of his crops. The oriental farmer is a time economizer beyond any other. He utilizes the first and last minute and all that are between. The foreigner accuses the Chinaman of being always "long on time", never in a fret, never in a hurry. And why should he be when he leads time by the forelock, and uses all there is? The customs and practices of these Farthest East people regarding their manufacture of fertilizers in the form of earth composts for their fields, and their use of altered subsoils which have served in their kangs, village walls and dwellings, are all instances where they profoundly shorten the time required in the field to affect the necessary chemical, physical and biological reactions which produce from them plant food substances. Not only do they thus increase their time assets, but they add, in effect, to their land area by producing these changes outside their fields, at the same time giving their crops the immediately active soil products. Their compost practices have been of the greatest consequence to them, both in their extremely wet, rice-culture methods, and in their "dry-farming" practices, where the soil moisture is too scanty during long periods to permit rapid fermentation under field conditions. Western agriculturalists have not sufficiently appreciated the fact that the most rapid growth of plant food substances in the soil cannot occur at the same time and place with the most rapid crop increase, because both processes draw upon the available soil moisture, soil air and soluble potassium, calcium, phosphorus and nitrogen compounds. Whether this fundamental principle of practical agriculture is written in their literature or not it is most indelibly fixed in their practice. If we and they can perpetuate the essentials of this practice at a large saving of human effort, or perpetually secure the final result in some more expeditious and less laborious way, most important progress will have been made. When we went north to the Shantung province the Kiangsu and Chekiang farmers were engaged in another of their time saving practices, also involving a large amount of human labor. This was the planting of cotton in wheat fields before the wheat was quite ready to harvest. In the sections of these two provinces which we visited most of the wheat and barley were sowed broadcast on narrow raised lands, some five feet wide, with furrows between, after the manner seen in Fig. 140, showing a reservoir in the immediate foreground, on whose bank is installed one of the four-man foot-power irrigation pumps in use to flood the nursery rice bed close by on the right. The narrow lands of broadcasted wheat extend back from the reservoir toward the farmsteads which dot the landscape, and on the left stands one of the pump shelters near the canal bank. To save time, or lengthen the growing season of the cotton which was to follow, this seed was sown broadcast among the grain on the surface, some ten to fifteen days before the wheat would be harvested. To cover the seed the soil in the furrows between the beds had been spaded loose to a depth of four or five inches, finely pulverized, and then with a spade was evenly scattered over the bed, letting it sift down among the grain, covering the seed. This loose earth, so applied, acts as a mulch to conserve the capillary moisture, permitting the soil to become sufficiently damp to germinate the seed before the wheat is harvested. The next illustration, Fig. 141, is a closer view with our interpreter standing in another field of wheat in which cotton was being sowed April 22nd in the manner described, and yet the stand of grain was very close and shoulder high, making it not an easy task either to sow the seed or to scatter sufficient soil to cover it. When we had returned from Shantung this piece of grain had been harvested, giving a yield of 95.6 bushels of wheat and 3.5 tons of straw per acre, computed from the statement of the owner that 400 catty of grain and 500 catty of straw had been taken from the beds measuring 4050 square feet. On the morning of May 29th the photograph for Fig. 142 was taken, showing the same area after the wheat had been harvested and the cotton was up, the young plants showing slightly through the short stubble. These beds had already been once treated with liquid fertilizer. A little later the plants would be hoed and thinned to a stand of about one plant per each square foot of surface. There were thirty-seven days between the taking of the two photographs, and certainly thirty days had been added to the cotton crop by this method of planting, over what would have been available if the grain had been first harvested and the field fitted before planting, It will be observed that the cotton follows the wheat without plowing, but the soil was deep, naturally open, and a layer of nearly two inches of loose earth had been placed over the seed at the time of planting. Besides, the ground would be deeply worked with the two or four tined hoe, at the time of thinning. Starting cotton in the wheat in the manner described is but a special case of a general practice widely in vogue. The growing of multiple crops is the rule throughout these countries wherever the climate permits. Sometimes as many as three crops occupy the same field in recurrent rows, but of different dates of planting and in different stages of maturity. Reference has been made to the overlapping and alternation of cucumbers with greens. The general practice of planting nearly all crops in rows lends itself readily to systems of multiple cropping, and these to the fullest possible utilization of every minute of the growing season and of the time of the family in caring for the crops. In the field, Fig. 143, a crop of winter wheat was nearing maturity, a crop of windsor beans was about two-thirds grown, and cotton had just been planted, April 22nd. This field had been thrown into ridges some five feet wide with a twelve inch furrow between them. Two rows of wheat eight inches wide, planted two feet between centers occupied the crest of the ridge, leaving a strip sixteen inches wide, seen in the upper section, (1) for tillage, (2) then fertilization and (3) finally the row of cotton planted just before the wheat was harvested. Against the furrow on each side was a row of windsor beans, seen in the lower view, hiding the furrow, which was matured some time after the wheat was harvested and before the cotton was very large. A late fall crop sometimes follows the windsor beans after a period of tillage and fertilization, making four in one year. With such a succession fertilization for each crop, and an abundance of soil moisture are required to give the largest returns from the soil. In another plan winter wheat or barley may grow side by side with a green crop, such as the "Chinese clover" (Medicago denticulata, Willd.) for soil fertilizer, as was the case in Fig. 144, to be turned under and fertilize for a crop of cotton planted in rows on either side of a crop of barley. After the barley had been harvested the ground it occupied would be tilled and further fertilized, and when the cotton was nearing maturity a crop of rape might be grown, from which "salted cabbage" would be prepared for winter use. Multiple crops are grown as far north in Chihli as Tientsin and Peking, these being oftenest wheat, maize, large and small millet and soy beans, and this, too, where the soil is less fertile and where the annual rainfall is only about twenty-five inches, the rainy season beginning in late June or early July, and Fig. 145 shows one of these fields as it appeared June 14th, where two rows of wheat and two of large millet were planted in alternating pairs, the rows being about twenty-eight inches apart. The wheat was ready to harvest but the straw was unusually short because growing on a light sandy loam in a season of exceptional drought, but little more than two inches of rain having fallen after January 1st of that year. The piles of pulverized dry-earth compost seen between the rows had been brought for use on the ground occupied by the wheat when that was removed. The wheat would be pulled, tied in bundles, taken to the village and the roots cut off, for making compost, as in Fig. 146, which shows the family engaged in cutting the roots from the small bundles of wheat, using a long straight knife blade, fixed at one end, and thrust downward upon the bundle with lever pressure. These roots, if not used as fuel, would be transferred to the compost pit in the enclosure seen in Fig. 147, whose walls were built of earth brick. Here, with any other waste litter, manure or ashes, they would be permitted to decay under water until the fiber had been destroyed, thus permitting it to be incorporated with soil and applied to the fields, rich in soluble plant food and in a condition which would not interfere with the capillary movement of soil moisture, the work going on outside the field where the changes could occur unimpeded and without interfering with the growth of crops on the ground. In this system of combined intertillage and multiple cropping the oriental farmer thus takes advantage of whatever good may result from rotation or succession of crops, whether these be physical, vito-chemical or biological. If plants are mutually helpful through close association of their root systems in the soil, as some believe may be the case, this growing of different species in close juxtaposition would seem to provide the opportunity, but the other advantages which have been pointed out are so evident and so important that they, rather than this, have doubtless led to the practice of growing different crops in close recurrent rows. XII RICE CULTURE IN THE ORIENT The basal food crop of the people of China, Korea and Japan is rice, and the mean consumption in Japan, for the five years ending 1906, per capita and per annum, was 302 pounds. Of Japan's 175,428 square miles she devoted, in 1906, 12,856 to the rice crop. Her average yield of water rice on 12,534 square miles exceeded 33 bushels per acre, and the dry land rice averaged 18 bushels per acre on 321 square miles. In the Hokkaido, as far north as northern Illinois, Japan harvested 1,780,000 bushels of water rice from 53,000 acres. In Szechwan province, China, Consul-General Hosie places the yield of water rice on the plains land at 44 bushels per acre, and that of the dry land rice at 22 bushels. Data given us in China show an average yield of 42 bushels of water rice per acre, while the average yield of wheat was 25 bushels per acre, the normal yield in Japan being about 17 bushels. If the rice eaten per capita in China proper and Korea is equal to that in Japan the annual consumption for the three nations, using the round number 300 pounds per capita per annum, would be: Population. Consumption. China 410,000,000 61,500,000 tons Korea 12,000,000 1,800,000 tons Japan 53,000,000 7,950 000 tons ----------------------- Total 475,000,000 71,250,000 tons If the ratio of irrigated to dry land rice in Korea and China proper is the same as that in Japan, and if the mean yield of rice per acre in these countries were forty bushels for the water rice and twenty bushels for the dry land rice, the acreage required to give this production would be: Area. Water rice, Dry land rice, sq. miles. sq. miles. In China 78,073 4,004 In Korea 2,285 117 In Japan 12,534 321 ------- ------ Sum 92,892 4,442 Total 97,334 Our observations along the four hundred miles of railway in Korea between Antung, Seoul and Fusan, suggest that the land under rice in this country must be more rather than less than that computed, and the square miles of canalized land in China, as indicated on pages 97 to 102, would indicate an acreage of rice for her quite as large as estimated. In the three main islands of Japan more than fifty per cent of the cultivated land produces a crop of water rice each year and 7.96 per cent of the entire land area of the Empire, omitting far-north Karafuto. In Formosa and in southern China large areas produce two crops each year. At the large mean yield used in the computation the estimated acreage of rice in China proper amounts to 5.93 per cent of her total area and this is 7433 square miles greater than the acreage of wheat in the United States in 1907. Our yield of wheat, however, was but 19,000,000 tons, while China's output of rice was certainly double and probably three times this amount from nearly the same acreage of land; and notwithstanding this large production per acre, more than fifty per cent, possibly as high as seventy-five per cent, of the same land matures at least one other crop the same year, and much of this may be wheat or barley, both chiefly consumed as human food. Had the Mongolian races spread to and developed in North America instead of, or as well as, in eastern Asia, there might have been a Grand Canal, something as suggested in Fig. 148, from the Rio Grande to the mouth of the Ohio river and from the Mississippi to Chesapeake Bay, constituting more than two thousand miles of inland water-way, serving commerce, holding up and redistributing both the run-off water and the wasting fertility of soil erosion, spreading them over 200,000 square miles of thoroughly canalized coastal plains, so many of which are now impoverished lands, made so by the intolerable waste of a vaunted civilization. And who shall venture to enumerate the increase in the tonnage of sugar, bales of cotton, sacks of rice, boxes of oranges, baskets of peaches, and in the trainloads of cabbage, tomatoes and celery such husbanding would make possible through all time; or number the increased millions these could feed and clothe? We may prohibit the exportation of our phosphorus, grind our limestone, and apply them to our fields, but this alone is only temporizing with the future. The more we produce, the more numerous our millions, the faster must present practices speed the waste to the sea, from whence neither money nor prayer can call them back. If the United States is to endure; if we shall project our history even through four or five thousand years as the Mongolian nations have done, and if that history shall be written in continuous peace, free from periods of wide-spread famine or pestilence, this nation must orient itself; it must square its practices with a conservation of resources which can make endurance possible. Intensifying cultural methods but intensifies the digestion, assimilation and exhaustion of the surface soil, from which life springs. Multiple cropping, closer stands on the ground and stronger growth, all mean the transpiration of much more water per acre through the crops, and this can only be rendered possible through a redistribution of the run-off and the adoption of irrigation practices in humid climates where water exists in abundance. Sooner or later we must adopt a national policy which shall more completely conserve our water resources, utilizing them not only for power and transportation, but primarily for the maintenance of soil fertility and greater crop production through supplemental irrigation, and all these great national interests should be considered collectively, broadly, and with a view to the fullest and best possible coordination. China, Korea and Japan long ago struck the keynote of permanent agriculture but the time has now come when they can and will make great improvements, and it remains for us and other nations to profit by their experience, to adopt and adapt what is good in their practice and help in a world movement for the introduction of new and improved methods. In selecting rice as their staple crop; in developing and maintaining their systems of combined irrigation and drainage, notwithstanding they have a large summer rainfall; in their systems of multiple cropping; in their extensive and persistent use of legumes; in their rotations for green manure to maintain the humus of their soils and for composting; and in the almost religious fidelity with which they have returned to their fields every form of waste which can replace plant food removed by the crops, these nations have demonstrated a grasp of essentials and of fundamental principles which may well cause western nations to pause and reflect. While this country need not and could not now adopt their laborious methods of rice culture, and while, let us hope, those who come after us may never be compelled to do so, it is nevertheless quite worth while to study, for the sake of the principles involved, the practices they have been led to adopt. Great as is the acreage of land in rice in these countries but little, relatively, is of the dry land type, and the fields upon which most of the rice grows have all been graded to a water level and surrounded by low, narrow raised rims, such as may be seen in Fig. 149 and in Fig. 150, where three men are at work on their foot-power pump, flooding fields preparatory to transplanting the rice. If the country was not level then the slopes have been graded into horizontal terraces varying in size according to the steepness of the areas in which they were cut. We saw these often no larger than the floor of a small room, and Professor Ross informed me that he walked past those in the interior of China no larger than a dining table and that he saw one bearing its crop of rice, surrounded by its rim and holding water, yet barely larger than a good napkin. The average area of the paddy field in Japan is officially reported at 1.14 se, or an area of but 31 by 40 feet. Excluding Hokkaido, Formosa and Karafuto, fifty-three per cent of the irrigated rice lands in Japan are in allotments smaller than one-eighth of an acre, and seventy-four per cent of other cultivated lands are held in areas less than one-fourth of an acre, and each of these may be further subdivided. The next two illustrations, Figs. 151 and 152, give a good idea both of the small size of the rice fields and of the terracing which has been done to secure the water level basins. The house standing near the center of Fig. 151 is a good scale for judging both the size of the paddies and the slope of the valley. The distance between the rows of rice is scarcely one foot, hence counting these in the foreground may serve as another measure. There are more than twenty little fields shown in this engraving in front of the house and reaching but half way to it, and the house was less than five hundred feet from the camera. There are more than eleven thousand square miles of fields thus graded in the three main islands of Japan, each provided with rims, with water supply and drainage channels, all carefully kept in the best of repair. The more level areas, too, in each of the three countries, have been similarly thrown into water level basins, comparatively few of which cover large areas, because nearly always the holdings are small. All of the earth excavated from the canals and drainage channels has been leveled over the fields unless needed for levees or dikes, so that the original labor of construction, added to that of maintenance, makes a total far beyond our comprehension and nearly all of it is the product of human effort. The laying out and shaping of so many fields into these level basins brings to the three nations an enormous aggregate annual asset, a large proportion of which western nations are not yet utilizing. The greatest gain comes from the unfailing higher yields made possible by providing an abundance of water through which more plant food can be utilized, thus providing higher average yields. The waters used, coming as they do largely from the uncultivated hills and mountain lands, carrying both dissolved and suspended matters, make positive annual additions of dissolved limestone and plant food elements to the fields which in the aggregate have been very large, through the persistent repetitions which have prevailed for centuries. If the yearly application of such water to the rice fields is but sixteen inches, and this has the average composition quoted by Merrill for rivers of North America, taking into account neither suspended matter nor the absorption of potassium and phosphorus by it, each ten thousand square miles would receive, dissolved in the water, substances containing some 1,400 tons of phosphorus; 23,000 tons of potassium; 27,000 tons of nitrogen; and 48,000 tons of sulphur. In addition, there are brought to the fields some 216,000 tons of dissolved organic matter and a still larger weight of dissolved limestone, so necessary in neutralizing the acidity of soils, amounting to 1,221,000 tons; and such savings have been maintained in China, Korea and Japan on more than five, and possibly more than nine, times the ten thousand square miles, through centuries. The phosphorus thus turned upon ninety thousand square miles would aggregate nearly thirteen million tons in a thousand years, which is less than the time the practice has been maintained, and is more phosphorus than would be carried in the entire rock phosphate thus far mined in the United States, were it all seventy-five per cent pure. The canalization of fifty thousand square miles of our Gulf and Atlantic coastal plain, and the utilization on the fields of the silts and organic matter, together with the water, would mean turning to account a vast tonnage of plant food which is now wasting into the sea, and a correspondingly great increase of crop yield. There ought, and it would seem there must some time be provided a way for sending to the sandy plains of Florida, and to the sandy lands between there and the Mississippi, large volumes of the rich silt and organic matter from this and other rivers, aside from that which should be applied systematically to building above flood plain the lands of the delta which are subject to overflow or are too low to permit adequate drainage. It may appear to some that the application of such large volumes of water to fields, especially in countries of heavy rainfall, must result in great loss of plant food through leaching and surface drainage. But under the remarkable practices of these three nations this is certainly not the case and it is highly important that our people should understand and appreciate the principles which underlie the practices they have almost uniformly adopted on the areas devoted to rice irrigation. In the first place, their paddy fields are under-drained so that most of the water either leaves the soil through the crop, by surface evaporation, or it percolates through the subsoil into shallow drains. When water is passed directly from one rice paddy to another it is usually permitted some time after fertilization, when both soil and crop have had time to appropriate or fix the soluble plant food substances. Besides this, water is not turned upon the fields until the time for transplanting the rice, when the plants are already provided with a strong root system and are capable of at once appropriating any soluble plant food which may develop about their roots or be carried downward over them. Although the drains are of the surface type and but eighteen inches to three feet in depth, they are sufficiently numerous and close so that, although the soil is continuously nearly filled with water, there is a steady percolation of the fresh, fully aerated water carrying an abundance of oxygen into the soil to meet the needs of the roots, so that watermelons, egg plants, musk melons and taro are grown in the rotations on the small paddies among the irrigated rice after the manner seen in the illustrations. In Fig. 153 each double row of egg plants is separated from the next by a narrow shallow trench which connects with a head drain and in which water was standing within fourteen inches of the surface. The same was true in the case of the watermelons seen in Fig. 154, where the vines are growing on a thick layer of straw mulch which holds them from the moist soil and acts to conserve water by diminishing evaporation and, through decay from the summer rains and leaching, serves as fertilizer for the crop. In Fig. 155 the view is along a pathway separating two head ditches between areas in watermelons and taro, carrying the drainage waters from the several furrows into the main ditches. Although the soil appeared wet the plants were vigorous and healthy, seeming in no way to suffer from insufficient drainage. These people have, therefore, given effective attention to the matter of drainage as well as irrigation and are looking after possible losses of plant food, as well as ways of supplying it. It is not alone where rice is grown that cultural methods are made to conserve soluble plant food and to reduce its loss from the field, for very often, where flooding is not practiced, small fields and beds, made quite level, are surrounded by low raised borders which permit not only the whole of any rain to be retained upon the field when so desired, but it is completely distributed over it, thus causing the whole soil to be uniformly charged with moisture and preventing washing from one portion of the field to another. Such provisions are shown in Figs. 133 and 138. Extensive as is the acreage of irrigated rice in China, Korea and Japan, nearly every spear is transplanted; the largest and best crop possible, rather than the least labor and trouble, as is so often the case with us, determining their methods and practices. We first saw the fitting of the rice nursery beds at Canton and again near Kashing in Chekiang province on the farm of Mrs. Wu, whose homestead is seen in Fig. 156. She had come with her husband from Ningpo after the ravages of the Taiping rebellion had swept from two provinces alone twenty millions of people and settled on a small area of then vacated land. As they prospered they added to their holding by purchase until about twenty-five acres were acquired, an area about ten times that possessed by the usual prosperous family in China. The widow was managing her place, one of her sons, although married, being still in school, the daughter-in-law living with her mother-in-law and helping in the home. Her field help during the summer consisted of seven laborers and she kept four cows for the plowing and pumping of water for irrigation. The wages of the men were at the rate of $24, Mexican, for five summer months, together with their meals which were four each day. The cash outlay for the seven men was thus $14.45 of our currency per month. Ten years before, such labor had been $30 per year, as compared with $50 at the time of our visit, or $12.90 and $21.50 of our currency, respectively. Her usual yields of rice were two piculs per mow, or twenty-six and two-thirds bushels per acre, and a wheat crop yielding half this amount, or some other, was taken from part of the land the same season, one fertilization answering for the two crops. She stated that her annual expense for fertilizers purchased was usually about $60, or $25.80 of our currency. The homestead of Mrs. Wu, Fig. 156, consists of a compound in the form of a large quadrangle surrounding a court closed on the south by a solid wall eight feet high. The structure is of earth brick with the roof thatched with rice straw. Our first visit here was April 19th. The nursery rice beds had been planted four days, sowing seed at the rate of twenty bushels per acre. The soil had been very carefully prepared and highly fertilized, the last treatment being a dressing of plant ashes so incompletely burned as to leave the surface coal black. The seed, scattered directly upon the surface, almost completely covered it and had been gently beaten barely into the dressing of ashes, using a wide, flat-bottom basket for the purpose. Each evening, if the night was likely to be cool, water was pumped over the bed, to be withdrawn the next day, if warm and sunny, permitting the warmth to be absorbed by the black surface, and a fresh supply of air to be drawn into the soil. Nearly a month later, May 14th, a second visit was made to this farm and one of the nursery beds of rice, as it then appeared, is seen in Fig. 159, the plants being about eight inches high and nearing the stage for transplanting. The field beyond the bed had already been partly flooded and plowed, turning under "Chinese clover" to ferment as green manure, preparatory for the rice transplanting. On the opposite side of the bed and in front of the residence, Fig. 156, flooding was in progress in the furrows between the ridges formed after the previous crop of rice was harvested and upon which the crop of clover for green manure was grown. Immediately at one end of the two series of nursery beds, one of which is seen in Fig. 159, was the pumping plant seen in Fig. 157, under a thatched shelter, with its two pumps installed at the end of a water channel leading from the canal. One of these wooden pump powers, with the blindfolded cow attached, is reproduced in Fig. 158 and just beyond the animal's head may be seen the long handle dipper to which reference has been made, used for collecting excreta. More than a month is saved for maturing and harvesting winter and early spring crops, or in fitting the fields for rice, by this planting in nursery beds. The irrigation period for most of the land is cut short a like amount, saving in both water and time. It is cheaper and easier to highly fertilize and prepare a small area for the nursery, while at the same time much stronger and more uniform plants are secured than would be possible by sowing in the field. The labor of weeding and caring for the plants in the nursery is far less than would be required in the field. It would be practically impossible to fit the entire rice areas as early in the season as the nursery beds are fitted, for the green manure is not yet grown and time is required for composting or for decaying, if plowed under directly. The rice plants in the nursery are carried to a stage when they are strong feeders and when set into the newly prepared, fertilized, clean soil of the field they are ready to feed strongly under these most favorable conditions Both time and strength of plant are thus gained and these people are following what would appear to be the best possible practices under their condition of small holdings and dense population. With our broad fields, our machinery and few people, their system appears to us crude and impossible, but cut our holdings to the size of theirs and the same stroke makes our machinery, even our plows, still more impossible, and so the more one studies the environment of these people, thus far unavoidable, their numbers, what they have done and are doing, against what odds they have succeeded, the more difficult it becomes to see what course might have been better. How full with work is the month which precedes the transplanting of rice has been pointed out,--the making of the compost fertilizer; harvesting the wheat, rape and beans; distributing the compost over the fields, and their flooding and plowing. In Fig. 160 one of these fields is seen plowed, smoothed and nearly ready for the plants. The turned soil had been thoroughly pulverized, leveled and worked to the consistency of mortar, on the larger fields with one or another sort of harrow, as seen in Figs. 160 and 161. This thorough puddling of the soil permits the plants to be quickly set and provides conditions which ensure immediate perfect contact for the roots. When the fields are ready women repair to the nurseries with their low four-legged bamboo stools, to pull the rice plants, carefully rinsing the soil from the roots, and then tie them into bundles of a size easily handled in transplanting, which are then distributed in the fields. The work of transplanting may be done by groups of families changing work, a considerable number of them laboring together after the manner seen in Fig. 163, made from four snap shots taken from the same point at intervals of fifteen minutes. Long cords were stretched in the rice field six feet apart and each of the seven men was setting six rows of rice one foot apart, six to eight plants in a hill, and the hills eight or nine inches apart in the row. The, bundle was held in one hand and deftly, with the other, the desired number of plants were selected with the fingers at the roots, separated from the rest and, with a single thrust, set in place in the row. There was no packing of earth about the roots, each hill being set with a single motion, which followed one another in quick succession, completing one cross row of six hills after another. The men move backward across the field, completing one entire section, tossing the unused plants into the unset field. Then reset the lines to cover another section. We were told that the usual day's work of transplanting, for a man under these conditions, after the field is fitted and the plants are brought to him, is two mow or one-third of an acre. The seven men in this group would thus set two and a third acres per day and, at the wage Mrs. Wu was paying, the cash outlay, if the help was hired, would be nearly 21 cents per acre. This is more cheaply than we are able to set cabbage and tobacco plants with our best machine methods. In Japan, as seen in Figs. 164 and 165, the women participate in the work of setting the plants more than in China. After the rice has been transplanted its care, unlike that of our wheat crop, does not cease. It must be hoed, fertilized and watered. To facilitate the watering all fields have been leveled, canals, ditches and drains provided, and to aid in fertilizing and hoeing, the setting has been in rows and in hills in the row. The first working of the rice fields after the transplanting, as we saw it in Japan, consisted in spading between the hills with a four-tined hoe, apparently more for loosening the soil and aeration than for killing weeds. After this treatment the field was gone over again in the manner seen in Fig. 166, where the man is using his bare hands to smooth and level the stirred soil, taking care to eradicate every weed, burying them beneath the mud, and to straighten each hill of rice as it is passed. Sometimes the fingers are armed with bamboo claws to facilitate the weeding. Machinery in the form of revolving hand cultivators is recently coming into use in Japan, and two men using these are seen in Fig. 14. In these cultivators the teeth are mounted on an axle so as to revolve as the cultivator is pushed along the row. Fertilization for the rice crop receives the greatest attention everywhere by these three nations and in no direction more than in maintaining the store of organic matter in the soil. The pink clover, to which reference has been made, Figs. 99 and 100, is extensively sowed after a crop of rice is harvested in the fall and comes into full bloom, ready to cut for compost or to turn under directly when the rice fields are plowed. Eighteen to twenty tons of this green clover are produced per acre, and in Japan this is usually applied to about three acres, the stubble and roots serving for the field producing the clover, thus giving a dressing of six to seven tons of green manure per acre, carrying not less than 37 pounds of potassium; 5 pounds of phosphorus, and 58 pounds of nitrogen. Where the families are large and the holdings small, so they cannot spare room to grow the green manure crop, it is gathered on the mountain, weed and hill lands, or it may be cut in the canals. On our boat trip west from Soochow the last of May, many boats were passed carrying tons of the long green ribbon-like grass, cut and gathered from the bottom of the canal. To cut this grass men were working to their armpits in the water of the canal, using a crescent-shaped knife mounted like an anchor from the end of a 16-foot bamboo handle. This was shoved forward along the bottom of the canal and then drawn backward, cutting the grass, which rose to the surface where it was gathered upon the boats. Or material for green manure may be cut on grave, mountain or hill lands, as described under Fig. 115. The straw of rice and other grain and the stems of any plant not usable as fuel may also be worked into the mud of rice fields, as may the chaff which is often scattered upon the water after the rice is transplanted, as in Fig. 168. Reference has been made to the utilization of waste of various kinds in these countries to maintain the productive power of their soils, but it is worth while, in the interests of western nations, as helping them to realize the ultimate necessity of such economies, to state again, in more explicit terms, what Japan is doing. Dr. Kawaguchi, of the National Department of Agriculture and Commerce, taking his data from their records, informed me that Japan produced, in 1908, and applied to her fields, 23,850,295 tons of human manure; 22,812,787 tons of compost; and she imported 753,074 tons of commercial fertilizers, 7000 of which were phosphates in one form or another. In addition to these she must have applied not less than 1,404,000 tons of fuel ashes and 10,185,500 tons of green manure products grown on her hill and weed lands, and all of these applied to less than 14,000,000 acres of cultivated field, and it should be emphasized that this is done because as yet they have found no better way of permanently maintaining a fertility capable of feeding her millions. Besides fertilizing, transplanting and weeding the rice crop there is the enormous task of irrigation to be maintained until the rice is nearly matured. Much of the water used is lifted by animal power and a large share of this is human. Fig. 169 shows two Chinese men in their cool, capacious, nowhere-touching summer trousers flinging water with the swinging basket, and it is surprising the amount of water which may be raised three to four feet by this means. The portable spool windlass, in Figs. 27 and 123, has been described, and Fig. 170 shows the quadrangular, cone-shaped bucket and sweep extensively used in Chihli. This man was supplying water sufficient for the irrigation of half an acre, per day, lifting the water eight feet. The form of pump most used in China and the foot-power for working it are seen in Fig. 171. Three men working a similar pump are seen in Fig. 150, a closer view of three men working the foot-power may be seen in Fig. 42 and still another stands adjacent to a series of flooded fields in Fig. 172. Where this view was taken the old farmer informed us that two men, with this pump, lifting water three feet, were able to cover two mow of land with three inches of water in two hours. This is at the rate of 2.5 acre-inches of water per ten hours per man, and for 12 to 15 cents, our currency, thus making sixteen acre-inches, or the season's supply of water, cost 77 to 96 cents, where coolie labor is hired and fed. Such is the efficiency of human power applied to the Chinese pump, measured in American currency. This pump is simply an open box trough in which travels a wooden chain carrying a series of loosely fitting boards which raise the water from the canal, discharging it into the field. The size of the trough and of the buckets are varied to suit the power applied and the amount of water to be lifted. Crude as it appears there is nothing in western manufacture that can compete with it in first cost, maintenance or efficiency for Chinese conditions and nothing is more characteristic of all these people than their efficient, simple appliances of all kinds, which they have reduced to the lowest terms in every feature of construction and cost. The greatest results are accomplished by the simplest means. If a canal must be bridged and it is too wide to be covered by a single span, the Chinese engineer may erect it at some convenient place and turn the canal under it when completed. This we saw in the case of a new railroad bridge near Sungkiang. The bridge was completed and the water had just been turned under it and was being compelled to make its own excavation. Great expense had been saved while traffic on the canal had not been obstructed. In the foot-power wheel of Japan all gearing is eliminated and the man walks the paddles themselves, as seen in Fig. 173. Some of these wheels are ten feet in diameter, depending upon the height the water must be lifted. Irrigation by animal power is extensively practiced in each of the three countries, employing mostly the type of power wheel shown in Fig. 158. The next illustration, Fig. 174, shows the most common type of shelter seen in Chekiang and Kiangsu provinces, which are there very numerous. We counted as many as forty such shelters in a semi-circle of half a mile radius. They provide comfort for the animals during both sunshine and rain, for under no conditions must the water be permitted to run low on the rice fields, and everywhere their domestic animals receive kind, thoughtful treatment. In the less level sections, where streams have sufficient fall, current wheels are in common use, carrying buckets near their circumference arranged so as to fill when passing through the water, and to empty after reaching the highest level into a receptacle provided with a conduit which leads the water to the field. In Szechwan province some of these current wheels are so large and gracefully constructed as to strongly suggest Ferris wheels. A view of one of these we are permitted to present in Fig. 175, through the kindness of Rollin T. Chamberlin who took the photograph from which the engraving was prepared. This wheel which was some forty feet in diameter, was working when the snap shot was taken, raising the water and pouring it into the horizontal trough seen near the top of the wheel, carried at the summit of a pair of heavy poles standing on the far side of the wheel. From this trough, leading away to the left above the sky line, is the long pipe, consisting of bamboo stems joined together, for conveying the water to the fields. When the harvest time has come, notwithstanding the large acreage of grain, yielding hundreds of millions of bushels, the small, widely scattered holdings and the surface of the fields render all of our machine methods quite impossible. Even our grain cradle, which preceded the reaper, would not do, and the great task is still met with the old-time sickle, as seen in Fig. 176, cutting the rice hill by hill, as it was transplanted. Previous to the time for cutting, after the seed is well matured, the water is drawn off and the land permitted to dry and harden. The rainy season is not yet over and much care must be exercised in curing the crop. The bundles may be shocked in rows along the margins of the paddies, as seen in Fig. 176, or they may be suspended, heads down, from bamboo poles as seen in Fig. 177. The threshing is accomplished by drawing the heads of the rice through the teeth of a metal comb mounted as seen at the right in Fig. 178, near the lower corner, behind the basket, where a man and woman are occupied in winnowing the dust and chaff from the grain by means of a large double fan. Fanning mills built on the principle of those used by our farmers and closely resembling them have long been used in both China and Japan. After the rice is threshed the grain must be hulled before it can serve as food, and the oldest and simplest method of polishing used by the Japanese is seen in, Fig. 179, where the friction of the grain upon itself does the polishing. A quantity of rice is poured into the receptacle when, with heavy blows, the long-headed plunger is driven into the mass of rice, thus forcing the kernels to slide over one another until, by their abrasion, the desired result is secured. The same method of polishing, on a larger scale, is accomplished where the plungers are worked by the weight of the body, a series of men stepping upon lever handles of weighted plungers, raising them and allowing them to fall under the force of the weight attached. Recently, however, mills worked by gasoline engines are in operation for both hulling and polishing, in Japan. The many uses to which rice straw is put in the economies of these people make it almost as important as the rice itself. As food and bedding for cattle and horses; as thatching material for dwellings and other shelters; as fuel; as a mulch; as a source of organic matter in the soil, and as a fertilizer, it represents a money value which is very large. Besides these ultimate uses the rice straw is extensively employed in the manufacture of articles used in enormous quantities. It is estimated that not less than 188,700,000 bags such as are seen in Figs. 180 and 181, worth $3,110,000 are made annually from the rice straw in Japan, for handling 346,150,000 bushels of cereals and 28,190,000 bushels of beans; and besides these, great numbers of bags are employed in transporting fish and other prepared manures. In the prefecture of Hyogo, with 596 square miles of farm land, as compared with Rhode Island's 712 square miles, Hyogo farmers produced in 1906, on 265,040 acres, 10,584,000 bushels of rice worth $16,191,400, securing an average yield of almost forty bushels per acre and a gross return of $61 for the grain alone. In addition to this, these farmers grew on the same land, the same season, at least one other crop. Where this was barley the average yield exceeded twenty-six bushels per acre, worth $17. In connection with their farm duties these Japanese families manufactured, from a portion of their rice straw, at night and during the leisure hours of winter, 8,980,000 pieces of matting and netting of different kinds having a market value of $262,000; 4,838,000 bags worth $185,000; 8,742,000 slippers worth $34,000; 6,254,000 sandals worth $30,000; and miscellaneous articles worth $64,000. This is a gross earning of more than $21,000,000 from eleven and a half townships of farm land and the labor of the farmers' families, an average earning of, $80 per acre on nearly three-fourths of the farm land of this prefecture. At this rate three of the four forties of our 160-acre farms should bring a gross annual income of $9,600 and the fourth forty should pay the expenses. At the Nara Experiment Station we were informed that the money value of a good crop of rice in that prefecture should be placed at ninety dollars per acre for the grain and eight dollars for the unmanufactured straw; thirty-six dollars per acre for the crop of naked barley and two dollars per acre for the straw. The farmers here practice a rotation of rice and barley covering four or five years, followed by a summer crop of melons, worth $320 per acre and some other vegetable instead of the rice on the fifth or sixth year, worth eighty yen per tan, or $160 per acre. To secure green manure for fertilizing, soy beans are planted each year in the space between the rows of barley, the barley being planted in November. One week after the barley is harvested the soy beans, which produce a yield of 160 kan per tan, or 5290 pounds per acre, are turned under and the ground fitted for rice, At these rates the Nara farmers are producing on four-fifths or five-sixths of their rice lands a gross earning of $136 per acre annually, and on the other fifth or sixth, an earning of $480 per acre, not counting the annual crop of soy beans used in maintaining the nitrogen and organic matter in their soils, and not counting their earnings from home manufactures. Can the farmers of our south Atlantic and Gulf Coast states, which are in the same latitude, sometime attain to this standard? We see no reason why they should not, but only with the best of irrigation, fertilization and proper rotation, with multiple cropping. XIII SILK CULTURE Another of the great and in some ways one of the most remarkable industries of the Orient is that of silk production, and its manufacture into the most exquisite and beautiful fabrics in the world. Remarkable for its magnitude; for having had its birthplace apparently in oldest China, at least 2600 years B. C.; for having been founded on the domestication of a wild insect of the woods; and for having lived through more than four thousand years, expanding until a $1,000,000 cargo of the product has been laid down on our western coast at one time and rushed by special fast express to New York City for the Christmas trade. Japan produced in 1907 26,072,000 pounds of raw silk from 17,154,000 bushels of cocoons, feeding the silkworms from mulberry leaves grown on 957,560 acres. At the export selling price of this silk in Japan the crop represents a money value of $124,000,000, or more than two dollars per capita for the entire population of the Empire; and engaged in the care of the silkworms, as seen in Figs. 184, 185, 186 and 187, there were, in 1906, 1,407,766 families or some 7,000,000 people. Richard's geography of the Chinese Empire places the total export of raw silk to all countries, from China, in 1905, at 30,413,200 pounds, and this, at the Japanese export price, represents a value of $145,000,000. Richard also states that the value of the annual Chinese export of silk to France amounts to 10,000,000 pounds sterling and that this is but twelve per cent of the total, from which it appears that her total export alone reaches a value near $400,000,000. The use of silk in wearing apparel is more general among the Chinese than among the Japanese, and with China's eightfold greater population, the home consumption of silk must be large indeed and her annual production must much exceed that of Japan. Hosie places the output of raw silk in Szechwan at 5,439,500 pounds, which is nearly a quarter of the total output of Japan, and silk is extensively grown in eight other provinces, which together have an area nearly fivefold that of Japan. It would appear, therefore, that a low estimate of China's annual production of raw silk must be some 120,000,000 pounds, and this, with the output of Japan and Korea, would make a product for the three countries probably exceeding 150,000,000 pounds annually, representing a total value of perhaps $700,000,000; quite equalling in value the wheat crop of the United States, but produced on less than one-eighth of the area. According to the observations of Count Dandola, the worms which contribute to this vast earning are so small that some 700,000 of them weigh at hatching only one pound, but they grow very rapidly, shed their skins four times, weighing 15 pounds at the time of the first moult, 94 pounds at the second, 400 pounds at the third, 1628 pounds at the fourth moulting and when mature have come to weigh nearly five tons--9500 pounds. But in making this growth during about thirty-six days, according to Paton, the 700,000 worms have eaten 105 pounds by the time of the first moult; 315 pounds by the second; 1050 pounds by the third; 3150 pounds by the fourth, and in the final period, before spinning, 19,215 pounds, thus consuming in all nearly twelve tons of mulberry leaves in producing nearly five tons of live weight, or at the rate of two and a half pounds of green leaf to one pound of growth. According to Paton, the cocoons from the 700,000 worms would weigh between 1400 and 2100 pounds and these, according to the observations of Hosie in the province of Szechwan, would yield about one-twelfth their weight of raw silk. On this basis the one pound of worms hatched from the eggs would yield between 116 and 175 pounds of raw silk, worth, at the Japanese export price for 1907, between $550 and $832, and 164 pounds of green mulberry leaves would be required to produce a pound of silk. A Chinese banker in Chekiang province, with whom we talked, stated that the young worms which would hatch from the eggs spread on a sheet of paper twelve by eighteen inches would consume, in coming to maturity, 2660 pounds of mulberry leaves and would spin 21.6 pounds of silk. This is at the rate of 123 pounds of leaves to one pound of silk. The Japanese crop for 1907, 26,072,000 pounds, produced on 957,560 acres, is a mean yield of 27.23 pounds of raw silk per acre of mulberries, and this would require a mean yield of 4465 pounds of green mulberry leaves per acre, at the rate of 164 pounds per pound of silk. Ordinary silk in these countries is produced largely from three varieties of mulberries, and from them there may be three pickings of leaves for the rearing of a spring, summer and autumn crop of silk. We learned at the Nagoya Experiment Station, Japan, that there good spring yields of mulberry leaves are at the rate of 400 kan, the second crop, 150 kan, and the third crop, 250 kan per tan, making a total yield of over thirteen tons of green leaves per acre. This, however, seems to be materially higher than the average for the Empire. In Fig. 188 is a near view of a mulberry orchard in Chekiang province, which has been very heavily fertilized with canal mud, and which was at the stage for cutting the leaves to feed the first crop of silkworms. A bundle of cut limbs is in the crotch of the front tree in the view. Those who raise mulberry leaves are not usually the feeders of the silkworms and the leaves from this orchard were being sold at one dollar, Mexican, per picul, or 32.25 cents per one hundred pounds. The same price was being paid a week later in the vicinity of Nanking, Kiangsu province. The mulberry trees, as they appear before coming into leaf in the early spring, may be seen in Fig. 189. The long limbs are the shoots of the last year's growth, from which at least one crop of leaves had been picked, and in healthy orchards they may have a length of two to three feet. An orchard from a portion of which the limbs had just been cut, presented the appearance seen in Fig. 190. These trees were twelve to fifteen years old and the enlargements on the ends of the limbs resulted from the frequent pruning, year after year, at nearly the same place. The ground under these trees was thickly covered with a growth of pink clover just coming into bloom, which would be spaded into the soil, providing nitrogen and organic matter, whose decay would liberate potash, phosphorus and other mineral plant food elements for the crop. In Fig. 191 three rows of mulberry trees, planted four feet apart, stand on a narrow embankment raised four feet, partly through adjusting the surrounding fields for rice, and partly by additions of canal mud used as a fertilizer. On either side of the mulberries is a crop of windsor beans, and on the left a crop of rape, both of which would be harvested in early June, the ground where they stand flooded, plowed and transplanted to rice. This and the other mulberry views were taken in the extensively canalized portion of China represented in Fig. 52. The farmer owning this orchard had just finished cutting two large bundles of limbs for the sale of the leaves in the village. He stated that his first crop ordinarily yields from three to as many as twenty piculs per mow, but that the second crop seldom exceeded two to three piculs. The first and second crop of leaves, if yielding together twenty-three piculs per mow, would amount to 9.2 tons per acre, worth, at the price named, $59.34. Mulberry leaves must be delivered fresh as soon as gathered and must be fed the same day, the limbs, when, stripped of their leaves, at the place where these are sold, are tied into bundles and reserved for use as fuel. In the south of China the mulberry is grown from low cuttings rooted by layering. We have before spoken of our five hours ride in the Canton delta region, on the steamer Nanning, through extensive fields of low mulberry then in full leaf, which were first mistaken for cotton nearing the blossom stage. This form of mulberry is seen in Fig. 43, and the same method of pruning is practiced in southern Japan. In middle Japan high pruning, as in Chekiang and Kiangsu provinces, is followed, but in northern Japan the leaves are picked directly, as is the case with the last crop of leaves everywhere, pruning not being practiced in the more northern latitudes. Not all silk produced in these northern countries is from the domesticated Bombyx mori, large amounts being obtained from the spinnings of wild silkworms feeding upon the leaves of species of oak growing on the mountain and hill lands in various parts of China, Korea and Japan. In China the collections in largest amount are reeled from the cocoons of the tussur worm (Antheraea pernyi) gathered in Shantung, Honan, Kweichow and Szechwan provinces. In the hilly parts of Manchuria also this industry is attaining large proportions, the cocoons being sent to Chefoo in the Shantung province, to be woven into pongee silk. M. Randot has estimated the annual crop of wild silk cocoons in Szechwan at 10,180,000 pounds, although in the opinion of Alexander Hosie much of this may come from Kweichow. Richard places the export of raw wild silk from the whole of China proper, in 1904, at 4,400,000 pounds. This would mean not less than 75,300,000 pounds of wild cocoons and may be less than half the home consumption. From data collected by Alexander Hosie it appears that in 1899 the export of raw tussur silk from Manchuria, through the port of Newchwang by steamer alone, was 1,862,448 pounds, valued at $1,721,200, and the production is increasing rapidly. The export from the same port the previous year, by steamer, was 1,046,704 pounds. This all comes from the hilly and mountain lands south of Mukden, lying between the Liao plain on the west and the Yalu river on the east, covering some five thousand square miles, which we crossed on the Antung-Mukden railway. There are two broods of these wild silkworms each season, between early May and early October. Cocoons of the fall brood are kept through the winter and when the moths come forth they are caused to lay their eggs on pieces of cloth and when the worms are hatched they are fed until the first moult upon the succulent new oak leaves gathered from the hills, after which the worms are taken to the low oak growth on the hills where they feed themselves and spin their cocoons under the cover of leaves drawn about them. The moths reserved from the first brood, after becoming fertile, are tied by means of threads to the oak bushes where they deposit the eggs which produce the second crop of tussur silk. To maintain an abundance of succulent leaves within reach the oaks are periodically cut back. Thus these plain people, patient, frugal, unshrinking from toil, the basic units of three of the oldest nations, go to the uncultivated hill lands and from the wild oak and the millions of insects which they help to feed upon it, not only create a valuable export trade but procure material for clothing, fuel, fertilizer and food, for the large chrysalides, cooked in the reeling of the silk, may be eaten at once or are seasoned with sauce to be used later. Besides this, the last unreelable portion of each cocoon is laid aside to be manufactured into silk wadding and into soft mattresses for caskets upon which the wealthy lay their dead. XIV THE TEA INDUSTRY The cultivation of tea in China and Japan is another of the great industries of these nations, taking rank with that of sericulture, if not above it, in the important part it plays in the welfare of the people. There is little reason to doubt that the industry has its foundation in the need of something to render boiled water palatable for drinking purposes. The drinking of boiled water has been universally adopted in these countries as an individually available, thoroughly efficient and safe guard against that class of deadly disease germs which it has been almost impossible to exclude from the drinking water of any densely peopled country. So far as may be judged from the success of the most thorough sanitary measures thus far instituted, and taking into consideration the inherent difficulties which must increase enormously with increasing populations, it appears inevitable that modern methods must ultimately fail in sanitary efficiency and that absolute safety must be secured in some manner having the equivalent effect of boiling water, long ago adopted by the Mongolian races, and which destroys active disease germs at the latest moment before using. And it must not be overlooked that the boiling of drinking water in China and Japan has been demanded quite as much because of congested rural populations as to guard against such dangers in large cities, while as yet our sanitary engineers have dealt only with the urban phases of this most vital problem and chiefly, too, thus far, only where it has been possible to procure the water supply in comparatively unpopulated hill lands. But such opportunities cannot remain available indefinitely, any more than they did in China and Japan, and already typhoid epidemics break out in our large cities and citizens are advised to boil their drinking water. If tea drinking in the family is to remain general in most portions of the world, and especially if it shall increase in proportion to population, there is great industrial and commercial promise for China, Korea and Japan in their tea industry if they will develop tea culture still further over the extensive and still unused flanks of the hill lands; improve their cultural methods; their manufacture; and develop their export trade. They have the best of climatic and soil conditions and people sufficiently capable of enormously expanding the industry. Both improvement and expansion of methods along all essential lines, are needed, enabling them to put upon the market pure teas of thoroughly uniform grades of guaranteed quality, and with these the maintenance of an international code of rigid ethics which shall secure to all concerned a square deal and a fair division of the profits. The production of rice, silk and tea are three industries which these nations are preeminently circumstanced and qualified to economically develop and maintain. Other nations may better specialize along other lines which fitness determines, and the time is coming when maximum production at minimum cost as the result of clean robust living that in every way is worth while, will determine lines of social progress and of international relations. With the vital awakening to the possibility of and necessity for world peace, it must be recognized that this can be nothing less than universal, industrial, commercial, intellectual and religious, in addition to making impossible forever the bloody carnage that has ravaged the world through all the centuries. With the extension of rapid transportation and more rapid communication throughout the world, we are fast entering the state of social development which will treat the whole world as a mutually helpful, harmonious industrial unit. It must be recognized that in certain regions, because of peculiar fitness of soil, climate and people, needful products can be produced there better and enough more cheaply than elsewhere to pay the cost of transportation. If China, Korea and Japan, with parts of India, can and will produce the best and cheapest silks, teas or rice, it must be for the greatest good to seek a mutually helpful exchange, and the erection of impassable tariff barriers is a declaration of war and cannot make for world peace and world progress. The date of the introduction of tea culture into China appears unknown. It was before the beginning of the Christian era and tradition would place it more than 2700 years earlier. The Japanese definitely date its introduction into their islands as in the year 805 A. D., and state its coming to them from China. However and whenever tea growing originated in these countries, it long ago attained and now maintains large proportions. In 1907 Japan had 124,482 acres of land occupied by tea gardens and tea plantations. These produced 60,877,975 pounds of cured tea, giving a mean yield of 489 pounds per acre. Of the more than sixty million pounds of tea produced annually on nearly two hundred square miles in Japan, less than twenty-two million pounds are consumed at home, the balance being exported at a cash value, in 1907, of $6,309,122, or a mean of sixteen cents per pound. In China the volume of tea produced annually is much larger than in Japan. Hosie places the annual export from Szechwan into Tibet alone at 40,000,000 pounds and this is produced largely in the mountainous portion of the province west of the Min river. Richard places her direct export to foreign countries, in 1905, at 176,027,255 pounds; and in 1906 at 180,271,000 pounds, so that the annual export must exceed 200,000,000 pounds, and her total product of cured tea must be more than 400,000,000. The general appearance of tea bushes as they are grown in Japan is indicated in Fig. 192. The form of the bushes, the shape and size of the leaves and the dense green, shiny foliage quite suggests our box, so much used in borders and hedges. When the bushes are young, not covering the ground, other crops are grown between the rows, but as the bushes attain their full size, standing after trimming, waist to breast high, the ground between is usually thickly covered with straw, leaves or grass and weeds from the hill lands, which serve as a mulch, as a fertilizer, as a means of preventing washing on the hillsides, and to force the rain to enter the soil uniformly where it falls. Quite a large per cent of the tea bushes are grown on small, scattering, irregular areas about dwellings, on land not readily tilled, but there are also many tea plantations of considerable size, presenting the appearance seen in Fig. 193. After each picking of the leaves the bushes are trimmed back with pruning shears, giving the rows the appearance of carefully trimmed hedges. The tea leaves are hand picked, generally by women and girls, after the manner seen in Fig. 194, where they are gathering the tender, newly-formed leaves into baskets to be weighed fresh, as seen in Fig. 195. Three crops of leaves are usually gathered each season, the first yielding in Japan one hundred kan per tan, the second fifty kan and the third eighty kan per tan. This is at the rate of 3307 pounds, 1653 pounds, and 2645 pounds per acre, making a total of 7605 pounds for the season, from which the grower realizes from a little more than 2.2 to a little more than 3 cents per pound of the green leaves, or a gross earning of $167 to $209.50 per acre. We were informed that the usual cost for fertilizers for the tea orchards was 15 to 20 yen per tan, or $30 to $40 per acre per annum, the fertilizer being applied in the fall, in the early spring and again after the first picking of the leaves. While the tea plants are yet small one winter crop and one summer crop of vegetables, beans or barley are grown between the rows, these giving a return of some forty dollars per acre. Where the plantations are given good care and ample fertilization the life of a plantation may be prolonged continuously, it is said, through one hundred or more years. During our walk from Joji to Kowata, along a country road in one of the tea districts, we passed a tea-curing house. This was a long rectangular, one-story building with twenty furnaces arranged, each under an open window, around the sides. In front of each heated furnace with its tray of leaves, a Japanese man, wearing only a breech cloth, and in a state of profuse perspiration, was busy rolling the tea leaves between the palms of his hands. At another place we witnessed the making of the low grade dust tea, which is prepared from the leaves of bushes which must be removed or from those of the prunings. In this case the dried bushes with their leaves were being beaten with flails on a threshing floor. The dust tea thus produced is consumed by the poorer people. XV ABOUT TIENTSIN On the 6th of June we left central China for Tientsin and further north, sailing by coastwise steamer from Shanghai, again plowing through the turbid waters which give literal exactness to the name Yellow Sea. Our steamer touched at Tsingtao, taking on board a body of German troops, and again at Chefoo, and it was only between these two points that the sea was not strongly turbid. Nor was this all. From early morning of the 10th until we anchored at Tientsin, 2:30 P. M., our course up the winding Pei ho was against a strong dust-laden wind which left those who had kept to the deck as grey as though they had ridden by automobile through the Colorado desert; so the soils of high interior Asia are still spreading eastward by flood and by wind into the valleys and far over the coastal plains. Over large areas between Tientsin and Peking and at other points northward toward Mukden trees and shrubs have been systematically planted in rectangular hedgerow lines, to check the force of the winds and reduce the drifting of soils, planted fields occupying the spaces between. It was on this trip that we met Dr. Evans of Shunking, Szechwan province. His wife is a physician practicing among the Chinese women, and in discussing the probable rate of increase of population among the Chinese, it was stated that she had learned through her practice that very many mothers had borne seven to eleven children and yet but one, two or at most three, were living. It was said there are many customs and practices which determine this high mortality among children, one of which is that of feeding them meat before they have teeth, the mother masticating for the children, with the result that often fatal convulsions follow. A Scotch physician of long experience in Shantung, who took the steamer at Tsingtao, replied to my question as to the usual size of families in his circuit, "I do not know. It depends on the crops. In good years the number is large; in times of famine the girls especially are disposed of, often permitted to die when very young for lack of care. Many are sold at such times to go into other provinces." Such statements, however, should doubtless be taken with much allowance. If all the details were known regarding the cases which have served as foundations for such reports, the matter might appear in quite a different light from that suggested by such cold recitals. Although land taxes are high in China Dr. Evans informed me that it is not infrequent for the same tax to be levied twice and even three times in one year. Inquiries regarding the land taxes among farmers in different parts of China showed rates running from three cents to a dollar and a half, Mexican, per mow; or from about eight cents to $3.87 gold, per acre. At these rates a forty acre farm would pay from $3.20 to $154.80, and a quarter section four times these amounts. Data collected by Consul-General E. T. Williams of Tientsin indicate that in Shantung the land tax is about one dollar per acre, and in Chihli, twenty cents. In Kiangsi province the rate is 200 to 300 cash per mow, and in Kiangsu, from 500 to 600 cash per mow, or, according to the rate of exchange given on page 76, from 60 to 80 cents, or 90 cents to $1.20 per acre in Kiangsi; and $1.50 to $2.00 or $1.80 to $2.40 in Kiangsu province. The lowest of these rates would make the land tax on 160 acres, $96, and the highest would place it at $384, gold. In Japan the taxes are paid quarterly and the combined amount of the national, prefectural and village assessments usually aggregates about ten per cent of the government valuation placed on the land. The mean valuation placed on the irrigated fields, excluding Formosa and Karafuto, was in 1907, 35.35 yen per tan; that of the upland fields, 9.40 yen, and the genya and pasture lands were given a valuation of .22 yen per tan. These are valuations of $70.70, $18.80 and $.44, gold, per acre, respectively, and the taxes on forty acres of paddy field would be $282.80; $75.20 on forty acres of upland field, and $1.76, gold, on the same area of the genya and weed lands. In the villages, where work of one or another kind is done for pay, Dr. Evans stated that a woman's wage might not exceed $8, Mexican, or $3.44, gold, per year, and when we asked how it could be worth a woman's while to work a whole year for so small a sum, his reply was, "If she did not do this she would earn nothing, and this would keep her in clothes and a little more." A cotton spinner in his church would procure a pound of cotton and on returning the yarn would receive one and a quarter pounds of cotton in exchange, the quarter pound being her compensation. Dr. Evans also described a method of rooting slips from trees, practiced in various parts of China. The under side of a branch is cut, bent upward and split for a short distance; about this is packed a ball of moistened earth wrapped in straw to retain the soil and to provide for future watering; the whole may then be bound with strips of bamboo for greater stability. In this way slips for new mulberry orchards are procured. At eight o'clock in the morning we entered the mouth of the Pei ho and wound westward through a vast, nearly sea-level, desert plain and in both directions, far toward the horizon, huge white stacks of salt dotted the surface of the Taku Government salt fields, and revolving in the wind were great numbers of horizontal sail windmills, pumping sea water into an enormous acreage of evaporation basins. In Fig. 196 may be seen five of the large salt stacks and six of the windmills, together with many smaller piles of salt. Fig. 197 is a closer view of the evaporation basins with piles of salt scraped from the surface after the mother liquor had been drained away. The windmills, which were working one, sometimes two, of the large wooden chain pumps, were some thirty feet in diameter and lifted the brine from tide-water basins into those of a second and third higher level where the second and final concentration occurred. These windmills, crude as they appear in Fig. 198, are nevertheless efficient, cheaply constructed and easily controlled. The eight sails, each six by ten feet, were so hung as to take the wind through the entire revolution, tilting automatically to receive the wind on the opposite face the moment the edge passed the critical point. Some 480 feet of sail surface were thus spread to the wind, working on a radius of fifteen feet. The horizontal drive wheel had a diameter of ten feet, carried eighty-eight wooden cogs which engaged a pinion with fifteen leaves, and there were nine arms on the reel at the other end of the shaft which drove the chain. The boards or buckets of the chain pump were six by twelve inches, placed nine inches apart, and with a fair breeze the pump ran full. Enormous quantities of salt are thus cheaply manufactured through wind, tide and sun power directed by the cheapest human labor. Before reaching Tientsin we passed the Government storage yards and counted two hundred stacks of salt piled in the open, and more than a third of the yard had been passed before beginning the count. The average content of each stack must have exceeded 3000 cubic feet of salt, and more than 40,000,000 pounds must have been stored in the yards. Armed guards in military uniform patrolled the alleyways day and night. Long strips of matting laid over the stacks were the only shelter against rain. Throughout the length of China's seacoast, from as far north as beyond Shanhaikwan, south to Canton, salt is manufactured from sea water in suitable places. In Szechwan province, we learn from the report of Consul-General Hosie, that not less than 300,000 tons of salt are annually manufactured there, largely from brine raised by animal power from wells seven hundred to more than two thousand feet deep. Hosie describes the operations at a well more than two thousand feet deep, at Tzeliutsing. In the basement of a power-house which sheltered forty water buffaloes, a huge bamboo drum twelve feet high, sixty feet in circumference, was so set as to revolve on a vertical axis propelled by four cattle drawing from its circumference. A hemp rope was wound about this drum, six feet from the ground, passing out and under a pulley at the well, then up and around a wheel mounted sixty feet above and descended to the bucket made from bamboo stems four inches in diameter and nearly sixty feet long, which dropped with great speed to the bottom of the well as the rope unwound. When the bucket reached the bottom four attendants, each with a buffalo in readiness, hitched to the drum and drove at a running pace, during fifteen minutes, or until the bucket was raised from the well. The buffalo were then unhitched and, while the bucket was being emptied and again dropped to the bottom of the well, a fresh relay were brought to the drum. In this way the work continued night and day. The brine, after being raised from the well, was emptied into distributing reservoirs, flowing thence through bamboo pipes to the evaporating sheds where round bottomed, shallow iron kettles four feet across were set in brick arches in which jets of natural gas were burning. Within an area some sixty miles square there are more than a thousand brine and twenty fire wells from which fuel gas is taken. The mouths of the fire wells are closed with masonry, out from which bamboo conduits coated with lime lead to the various furnaces, terminating with iron burners beneath the kettles. Remarkable is the fact that in the city of Tzeliutsing, both these brine and the fire wells have been operated in the manufacture of salt since before Christ was born. The forty water buffalo are worth $30 to $40 per head and their food fifteen to twenty cents per day. The cost of manufacturing this salt is placed at thirteen to fourteen cash per catty, to which the Government adds a tax of nine cash more, making the cost at the factory from 82 cents to $1.15, gold, per hundred pounds. Salt manufacture is a Government monopoly and the product must be sold either to Government officials or to merchants who have bought the exclusive right to supply certain districts. The importation of salt is prohibited by treaties. For the salt tax collection China is divided into eleven circuits each having its own source of supply and transfer of salt from one circuit to another is forbidden. The usual cost of salt is said to vary between one and a half and four cash per catty. The retail price of salt ranges from three-fourths to three cents per pound, fully twelve to fifteen times the cost of manufacture. The annual production of salt in the Empire is some 1,860,000 tons, and in 1901 salt paid a tax close to ten million dollars. Beyond the salt fields, toward Tientsin, the banks of the river were dotted at short intervals with groups of low, almost windowless houses, Fig. 199, built of earth brick plastered with clay on sides and roof, made more resistant to rain by an admixture of chaff and cut straw, and there was a remarkable freshness of look about them which we learned was the result of recent preparations made for the rainy season about to open. Beyond the first of these villages came a stretch of plain dotted thickly and far with innumerable grave mounds, to which reference has been made. For nearly an hour we had traveled up the river before there was any material vegetation, the soil being too saline apparently to permit growth, but beyond this, crops in the fields and gardens, with some fruit and other trees, formed a fringe of varying width along the banks. Small fields of transplanted rice on both banks were frequent and often the land was laid out in beds of two levels, carefully graded, the rice occupying the lower areas, and wooden chain pumps were being worked by hand, foot and animal power, irrigating both rice and garden crops. In the villages were many stacks of earth compost, of the Shantung type; manure middens were common and donkeys drawing heavy stone rollers followed by men with large wooden mallets, were going round and round, pulverizing and mixing the dry earth compost and the large earthen brick from dismantled kangs, preparing fertilizer for the new series of crops about to be planted, following the harvest of wheat and barley. Large boatloads of these prepared fertilizers were moving on the river and up the canals to the fields. Toward the coast from Tientsin, especially in the country, traversed by the railroad, there was little produced except a short grass, this being grazed at the time of our visit and, in places, cut for a very meagre crop of hay. The productive cultivated lands lie chiefly along the rivers and canals or other water courses, where there is better drainage as well as water for irrigation. The extensive, close canalization that characterizes parts of Kiangsu and Chekiang provinces is lacking here and for this reason, in part, the soil is not so productive. The fuller canalization, the securing of adequate drainage and the gaining of complete control of the flood waters which flow through this vast plain during the rainy season constitute one of China's most important industrial problems which, when properly solved, must vastly increase her resources. During our drive over the old Peking-Taku road saline deposits were frequently observed which had been brought to the surface during the dry season, and the city engineer of Tientsin stated that in their efforts at parking portions of the foreign concessions they had found the trees dying after a few years when their roots began to penetrate the more saline subsoil, but that since they had opened canals, improving the drainage, trees were no longer dying. There is little doubt that proper drainage by means of canals, and the irrigation which would go with it, would make all of these lands, now more or less saline, highly productive, as are now those contiguous to the existing water courses. It had rained two days before our drive over the Taku road and when we applied for a conveyance, the proprietor doubted whether the roads were passible, as he had been compelled to send out an extra team to assist in the return of one which had been stalled during the previous night. It was finally arranged to send an extra horse with us. The rainy season had just begun but the deep trenching of the roads concentrates the water in them and greatly intensifies the trouble. In one of the little hamlets through which we passed the roadway was trenched to a depth of three to four feet in the middle of the narrow street, leaving only five feet for passing in front of the dwellings on either side, and in this trench our carriage moved through mud and water nearly to the hubs. Between Tientsin and Peking, in the early morning after a rain of the night before, we saw many farmers working their fields with the broad hoes, developing an earth mulch at the first possible moment to conserve their much needed moisture. Men were at work, as seen in Figs. 200 and 201, using long handled hoes, with blades nine by thirteen inches, hung so as to draw just under the surface, doing very effective work, permitting them to cover the ground rapidly. Walking further, we came upon six women in a field of wheat, gleaning the single heads which had prematurely ripened and broken over upon the ground between the rows soon to be harvested. Whether they were doing this as a privilege or as a task we do not know; they were strong, cheerful, reasonably dressed, hardly past middle life and it was nearly noon, yet not one of them had collected more straws than she could readily grasp in one hand. The season in Chihli as in Shantung, had been one of unusual drought, making the crop short and perhaps unusual frugality was being practiced; but it is in saving that these people excel perhaps more than in producing. These heads of wheat, if left upon the ground, would be wasted and if the women were privileged gleaners in the fields their returns were certainly much greater than were those of the very old women we have seen in France gathering heads of wheat from the already harvested fields. In the fields between Tientsin and Peking all wheat was being pulled, the earth shaken from the roots, tied in small bundles and taken to the dwellings, sometimes on the heavy cart drawn by a team consisting of a small donkey and cow hitched tandem, as seen in Fig. 202. Millet had been planted between the rows of wheat in this field and was already up. When the wheat was removed the ground would be fertilized and planted to soy beans. Because of the dry season this farmer estimated his yield would be but eight to nine bushels per acre. He was expecting to harvest thirteen to fourteen bushels of millet and from ten to twelve bushels of soy beans per acre from the same field. This would give him an earning, based on the local prices, of $10.36, gold, for the wheat; $6.00 for the beans, and $5.48 per acre for the millet. This land was owned by the family of the Emperor and was rented at $1.55, gold, per acre. The soil was a rather light sandy loam, not inherently fertile, and fertilizers to the value of $3.61 gold, per acre, had been applied, leaving the earning $16.71 per acre. Another farmer with whom we talked, pulling his crop of wheat, would follow this with millet and soy beans in alternate rows. His yield of wheat was expected to be eleven to twelve bushels per acre, his beans twenty-one bushels and his millet twenty-five bushels which, at the local prices for grain and straw, would bring a gross earning of $35, gold, per acre. Before reaching the end of our walk through the fields toward the next station we came across another of the many instances of the labor these people are willing to perform for only a small possible increase in crop. The field was adjacent to one of the windbreak hedges and the trees had spread their roots far afield and were threatening his crop through the consumption of moisture and plant food. To check this depletion the farmer had dug a trench twenty inches deep the length of his field, and some twenty feet from the line of trees, thereby cutting all of the surface roots to stop their draft on the soil. The trench was left open and an interesting feature observed was that nearly every cut root on the field side of the trench had thrown up one or more shoots bearing leaves, while the ends still connected with the trees showed no signs of leaf growth. In Chihli as elsewhere the Chinese are skilled gardeners, using water for irrigation whenever it is advantageous. One gardener was growing a crop of early cabbage, followed by one of melons, and these with radish the same season. He was paying a rent of $6.45, gold, per acre; was applying fertilizer at a cost of nearly $8 per acre for each of the three crops, making his cash outlay $29.67 per acre. His crop of cabbage sold for $103, gold; his melons for $77, and his radish for something more than $51, making a total of $232.20 per acre, leaving him a net value of $202.53. A second gardener, growing potatoes, obtained a yield, when sold new, of 8,000 pounds per acre; and of 16,000 pounds when the crop was permitted to mature. The new potatoes were sold so as to bring $51.60 and the mature potatoes $185.76 per acre, making the earning for the two crops the same season a total of $237.36, gold. By planting the first crop very early these gardeners secure two crops the same season, as far north as Columbus, Ohio, and Springfield, Illinois, the first crop being harvested when the tubers are about the size of walnuts. The rental and fertilizers in this case amounted to $30.96 per acre. Still another gardener growing winter wheat followed by onions, and these by cabbage, both transplanted, realized from the three crops a gross earning of $176.73, gold, per acre, and incurred an expense of $31.73 per acre for fertilizer and rent, leaving him a net earning of $145 per acre. These old people have acquired the skill and practice of storing and preserving such perishable fruits as pears and grapes so as to enable them to keep them on the markets almost continuously. Pears were very common in the latter part of June, and Consul-General Williams informed me that grapes are regularly carried into July. In talking with my interpreter as to the methods employed I could only learn that the growers depend simply upon dry earth cellars which can be maintained at a very uniform temperature, the separate fruits being wrapped in paper. No foreigner with whom we talked knew their methods. Vegetables are carried through the winter in such earth cellars as are seen in Fig. 88, page 161, these being covered after they are filled. As to the price of labor in this part of China, we learned through Consul-General Williams that a master mechanic may receive 50 cents, Mexican, per day, and a journeyman 18 cents, or at a rate of 21.5 cents and 7.75 cents, gold. Farm laborers receive from $20 to $30, Mexican, or $8.60 to $12.90, gold, per year, with food, fuel and presents which make a total of $17.20 to $21.50. This is less for the year than we pay for a month of probably less efficient labor. There is relatively little child labor in China and this perhaps should be expected when adult labor is so abundant and so cheap. XVI MANCHURIA AND KOREA The 39th parallel of latitude lies just south of Tientsin; followed westward, it crosses the toe of Italy's boot, leads past Lisbon in Portugal, near Washington and St. Louis and to the north of Sacramento on the Pacific. We were leaving a country with a mean July temperature of 80 deg F., and of 21 deg in January, but where two feet of ice may form; a country where the eighteen year mean maximum temperature is 103.5 deg and the mean minimum 4.5 deg; where twice in this period the thermometer recorded 113 deg above zero, and twice 7 deg below, and yet near the coast and in the latitude of Washington; a country where the mean annual rainfall is 19.72 inches and all but 3.37 inches falls in June, July, August and September. We had taken the 5:40 A. M. Imperial North-China train, June 17th, to go as far northward as Chicago,--to Mukden in Manchuria, a distance by rail of some four hundred miles, but all of the way still across the northward extension of the great Chinese coastal plain. Southward, out from the coldest quarter of the globe, where the mean January temperature is more than 40 deg below zero, sweep northerly winds which bring to Mukden a mean January temperature only 3 deg above zero, and yet there the July temperature averages as high as 77 deg and there is a mean annual rainfall of but 18.5 inches, coming mostly in the summer, as at Tientsin. Although the rainfall of the northern extension of China's coastal plain is small, its efficiency is relatively high because of its most favorable distribution and the high summer temperatures. In the period of early growth, April, May and June, there are 4.18 inches; but in the period of maximum growth, July and August, the rainfall is 11.4 inches; and in the ripening period, September and October, it is 3.08 inches, while during the rest of the year but 1.06 inch falls. Thus most of the rain comes at the time when the crops require the greatest daily consumption and it is least in mid-winter, during the period of little growth. As our train left Tientsin we traveled for a long distance through a country agriculturally poor and little tilled, with surface flat, the soil apparently saline, and the land greatly in need of drainage. Wherever there were canals the crops were best, apparently occupying more or less continuous areas along either bank. The day was hot and sultry but laborers were busy with their large hoes, often with all garments laid aside except a short shirt or a pair of roomy trousers. In the salt district about the village of Tangku there were huge stacks of salt and smaller piles not yet brought together, with numerous windmills, constituting most striking features in the landscape, but there was almost no agricultural or other vegetation. Beyond Pehtang there are other salt works and a canal leads westward to Tientsin, on which the salt is probably taken thither, and still other salt stacks and windmills continued visible until near Hanku, where another canal leads toward Peking. Here the coast recedes eastward from the railway and beyond the city limits many grave mounds dot the surrounding plains where herds of sheep were grazing. As we hurried toward the delta region of the Lwan ho, and before reaching Tangshan, a more productive country was traversed. Thrifty trees made the landscape green, and fields of millet, kaoliang and wheat stretched for miles together along the track and back over the flat plain beyond the limit of vision. Then came fields planted with two rows of maize alternating with one row of soy beans, but not over twenty-eight inches apart, one stalk of corn in a place every sixteen to eighteen inches, all carefully hoed, weedless and blanketed with an excellent earth mulch; but still the leaves were curling in the intense heat of the sun. Tangshan is a large city, apparently of recent growth on the railroad in a country where isolated conical hills rise one hundred or two hundred feet out of the flat, plains. Cart loads of finely pulverized earth compost were here moving to the fields in large numbers, being laid in single piles of five hundred to eight hundred pounds, forty to sixty feet apart. At Kaiping the country grows a little rolling and we passed through the first railway cuts, six to eight feet deep, and the water in the streams is running ten to twelve feet below the surface of the fields. On the right and beyond Kuyeh there are low hills, and here we passed enormous quantities of dry, finely powdered earth compost, distributed on narrow unplanted area over the fields. What crop, if indeed any, had occupied these areas this season, we could not judge. The fertilization here is even more extensive and more general than we found it in the Shantung province, and in places water was being carried in pails to the fields for use either in planting or in transplanting, to ensure the readiness of the new crops to utilize the first rainfall when it comes. Then the bed of a nearly dry stream some three hundred feet wide was crossed and beyond it a sandy plain was planted in long narrow fields between windbreak hedges. The crops were small but evidently improved by the influence of the shelter. The sand in places had drifted into the hedges to a height of three feet. At a number of other places along the way before Mukden was reached such protected areas were passed and oftenest on the north side of wide, now nearly dry, stream channels. As we passed on toward Shanhaikwan we were carried over broad plains even more nearly level and unobstructed than any to be found in the corn belt of the middle west, and these too planted with corn, kaoliang, wheat and beans, and with the low houses hidden in distant scattered clusters of trees dotting the wide plain on either side, with not a fence, and nothing to suggest a road anywhere in sight. We seemed to be moving through one vast field dotted with hundreds of busy men, a plowman here, and there a great cart hopelessly lost in the field so far as one could see any sign of road to guide their course. Some early crop appeared to have been harvested from areas alternating with those on the ground, and these were dotted with piles of the soil and manure compost, aggregating hundreds of tons, distributed over the fields but no doubt during the next three or four days these thousands of piles would have been worked into the soil and vanished from sight, to reappear after another crop and another year. It was at Lwanchow that we met the out-going tide of soy beans destined for Japan and Europe, pouring in from the surrounding country in gunny sacks brought on heavy carts drawn by large mules, as seen in Fig. 203, and enormous quantities had been stacked in the open along the tracks, with no shelter whatever, awaiting the arrival of trains to move them to export harbors. The planting here, as elsewhere, is in rows, but not of one kind of grain. Most frequently two rows of maize, kaoliang or millet alternated with the soy beans and usually not more than twenty-eight inches apart, sharp high ridge cultivation being the general practice. Such planting secures the requisite sunshine with a larger number of plants on the field; it secures a continuous general distribution of the roots of the nitrogen-fixing soy beans in the soil of all the field every season, and permits the soil to be more continuously and more completely laid under tribute by the root systems. In places where the stand of corn or millet was too open the gaps were filled with the soy beans. Such a system of planting possibly permits a more immediate utilization of the nitrogen gathered from the soil air in the root nodules, as these die and undergo nitrification during the same season, while the crops are yet on the ground, and so far as phosphorus and potassium compounds are liberated by this decay, they too would become available to the crops. The end of the day's journey was at Shanhaikwan on the boundary between Chihli and Manchuria, the train stopping at 6:20 P. M. for the night. Stepping upon the veranda from our room on the second floor of a Japanese inn in the early morning, there stood before us, sullen and grey, the eastern terminus of the Great Wall, winding fifteen hundred miles westward across twenty degrees of longitude, having endured through twenty-one centuries, the most stupendous piece of construction ever conceived by man and executed by a nation. More than twenty feet thick at the base and than twelve feet on the top; rising fifteen to thirty feet above the ground with parapets along both faces and towers every two hundred yards rising twenty feet higher, it must have been, for its time and the methods of warfare then practiced, when defended by their thousands, the boldest and most efficient national defense ever constructed. Nor in the economy of construction and maintenance has it ever been equalled. Even if it be true that 20,000 masons toiled through ten years in its building, defended by 400,000 soldiers, fed by a commissariat of 20,000 more and supported by 30,000 others in the transport, quarry and potters' service, she would then have been using less than eight tenths per cent of her population, on a basis of 60,000,000 at the time; while according to Edmond Théry's estimate, the officers and soldiers of Europe today, in time of peace, constitute one per cent of a population of 400,000,000 of people, and these, at only one dollar each per day for food, clothing and loss of producing power would cost her nations, in ten years, more than $14,000 million. China, with her present habits and customs, would more easily have maintained her army of 470,000 men on thirty cents each per day, or for a total ten-year cost of but $520,000,000. The French cabinet in 1900 approved a naval program involving an expenditure of $600,000,000 during the next ten years, a tax of more than $15 for every man, woman and child in the Republic. Leaving Shanhaikwan at 5:20 in the morning and reaching Mukden at 6:30 in the evening, we rode the entire day through Manchurian fields. Manchuria has an area of 363,700 square miles, equal to that of both Dakotas, Minnesota, Nebraska and Iowa combined. It has roughly the outline of a huge boot and could one slide it eastward until Port Arthur was at Washington, Shanhaikwan would fall well toward Pittsburgh, both at the tip of the broad toe to the boot. The foot would lie across Pennsylvania, New York, New Jersey and all of New England, extending beyond New Brunswick with the heel in the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Harbin, at the instep of the boot, would lie fifty miles east of Montreal and the expanding leg would reach northwestward nearly to James Bay, entirely to the north of the Ottawa river and the Canadian Pacific, spanning a thousand miles of latitude and nine hundred miles of longitude. The Liao plain, thirty miles wide, and the central Sungari plain, are the largest in Manchuria, forming together a long narrow valley floor between two parallel mountain systems and extending northeasterly from the Liao gulf, between Port Arthur and Shanhaikwan, up the Liao river and down the Sungari to the Amur, a distance of eight hundred or more miles. These plains have a fertile, deep soil and it is on them and other lesser river bottoms that Manchurian agriculture is developed, supporting eight or nine million people on a cultivated, acreage possibly not greater than 25,000 square miles. Manchuria has great forest and grazing possibilities awaiting future development, as well as much mineral wealth. The population of Tsitsihar, in the latitude of middle North Dakota, swells from thirty thousand to seventy thousand during September and October, when the Mongols bring in their cattle to market. In the middle province, at the head of steam navigation on the Sungari, because of the abundance and cheapness of lumber, Kirin has become a shipbuilding center for Chinese junks. The Sungari-Milky-river, is a large stream carrying more water at flood season than the Amur above its mouth, the latter being navigable 450 miles for steamers drawing twelve feet of water, and 1500 miles for those drawing four feet, so that during the summer season the middle and northern provinces have natural inland waterways, but the outlet to the sea is far to the north and closed by ice six months of the year. Not far beyond the Great Wall of China, fast falling into ruin, partly through the appropriation of its material for building purposes now that it has outlived its usefulness, another broad, nearly dry stream bed was crossed. There, in full bloom, was what appeared to be the wild white rose seen earlier, further south, west of Suchow, having a remarkable profusion of small white bloom in clusters resembling the Rambler rose. One of these bushes growing wild there on the bank of the canal had over spread a clump of trees one of which was thirty feet in height, enveloping it in a mantle of bloom, as seen in the upper section of Fig. 204. The lower section of the illustration is a closer view showing the clusters. The stem of this rose, three feet above the ground, measured 14.5 inches in circumference. If it would thrive in this country nothing could be better for parks and pleasure drives. Later on our journey we saw it many times in bloom along the railway between Mukden and Antung, but nowhere attaining so large growth. The blossoms are scant three-fourths inch in diameter, usually in compact clusters of three to eleven, sometimes in twos and occasionally standing singly. The leaves are five-foliate, sometimes trifoliate; leaflets broadly lanceolate, accuminate and finely serrate; thorns minute, recurrent and few, only on the smaller branches. In a field beyond, a small donkey was drawing a stone roller three feet long and one foot in diameter, firming the crests of narrow, sharp, recently formed ridges, two at a time. Millet, maize and kaoliang were here the chief crops. Another nearly dry stream was crossed, where the fields became more rolling and much cut by deep gullies, the first instances we had seen in China except on the steep hillsides about Tsingtao. Not all of the lands here were cultivated, and on the untilled areas herds of fifty to a hundred goats, pigs, cattle, horses and donkeys were grazing. Fields in Manchuria are larger than in China and some rows were a full quarter of a mile long, so that cultivation was being done with donkeys and cattle, and large numbers of men were working in gangs of four, seven, ten, twenty, and in one field as high as fifty, hoeing millet. Such a crew as the largest mentioned could probably be hired at ten cents each, gold, per day, and were probably men from the thickly settled portions of Shantung who had left in the spring, expecting to return in September or October. Both laborers and working animals were taking dinner in the fields, and earlier in the day we had seen several instances where hay and feed were being taken to the field on a wooden sled, with the plow and other tools. At noon this was serving as manger for the cattle, mules or donkeys. In fields where the close, deep furrowing and ridging was being done the team often consisted of a heavy ox and two small donkeys driven abreast, the three walking in adjacent rows, the plow following the ox, or a heavy mule instead. The rainy season had not begun and in many fields there was planting and transplanting where water was used in separate hills, sometimes brought in pails from a nearby stream, and in other cases on carts provided with tanks. Holes were made along the crests of the ridges with the blade of a narrow hoe and a little water poured in each hill, from a dipper, before planting or setting. These must have been other instances where the farmers were willing to incur additional labor to save time for the maturing of the crop by assisting germination in a soil too dry to make it certain until the rains came. It appears probable that the strong ridging and the close level rows so largely adopted here must have marked advantages in utilizing the rainfall, especially the portions coming early, and that later also if it should come in heavy showers. With steep narrow ridging, heavy rains would be shed at once to the bottom of the deep furrows without over-saturating the ridges, while the wet soil in the bottom of the furrows would favor deep percolation with lateral capillary flow taking place strongly under the ridges from the furrows, carrying both moisture and soluble plant food where they will be most completely and quickly available. When the rain comes in heavy showers each furrow may serve as a long reservoir which will prevent washing and at the same time permit quick penetration; the ridges never becoming flooded or puddled, permit the soil air to escape readily as the water from the furrows sinks, as it cannot easily do in flat fields when the rains fall rapidly and fill all of the soil pores, thus closing them to the escape of air from below, which must take place before the water can enter. When rows are only twenty-four to twenty-eight inches apart, ridging is not sufficiently more wasteful of soil moisture, through greater evaporation because of increased surface, to compensate for the other advantages gained, and hence their practice, for their conditions, appears sound. The application of finely pulverized earth compost to fields to be planted, and in some cases where the fields were already planted, continued general after leaving Shanhailkwan as it had been before. Compost stacks were common in yards wherever buildings were close enough to the track to be seen. Much of the way about one-third of the fields were yet to be, or had just been, planted and in a great majority of these compost fertilizer had been laid down for use on them, or was being taken to them in large heavy carts drawn sometimes by three mules. Between Sarhougon and Ningyuenchow fourteen fields thus fertilized were counted in less than half a mile; ten others in the next mile; eleven in the mile and a quarter following. In the next two miles one hundred fields were counted and just before reaching the station we counted during five minutes, with watch in hand, ninety-five fields to be planted, upon which this fertilizer had been brought. In some cases the compost was being spread in furrows between the rows of a last year's crop, evidently to be turned under, thus reversing the position of the ridges. After passing Lienshan, where, the railway runs near the sea, a sail was visible on the bay and many stacks of salt piled about the evaporation fields were associated with the revolving sail windmills already described. Here, too, large numbers of cattle, horses, mules and donkeys were grazing on the untilled low lands, beyond which we traversed a section where all fields were planted, where no fertilizer was piled in the field but where many groups of men were busy hoeing, sometimes twenty in a gang. Chinese soldiers with bayonetted guns stood guard at every railway station between Shanhaikwan and Mukden, and from Chinchowfu our coach was occupied by some Chinese official with guests and military attendants, including armed soldiers. The official and his guests were an attractive group of men with pleasant faces and winning manners, clad in many garments of richly figured silk of bright, attractive, but unobtrusive, colors, who talked, seriously or in mirth, almost incessantly. They took the train about one o'clock and lunch was immediately served in Chinese style, but the last course was not brought until nearly four o'clock. At every station soldiers stood in line in the attitude of salute until the official car had passed. Just before reaching Chinchowfu we saw the first planted fields littered with stubble of the previous crop, and in many instances such stubble was being gathered and removed to the villages, large stacks having been piled in the yards to be used either as fuel or in the production of compost. As the train approached Taling ho groups of men were hoeing in millet fields, thirty in one group on one side and fifty in another body on the other. Many small herds of cattle, horses, donkeys and flocks of goats and sheep were feeding along stream courses and on the unplanted fields. Beyond the station, after crossing the river, still another sand dune tract was passed, planted with willows, millet occupying the level areas between the dunes, and not far beyond, wide untilled flats were crossed, on which many herds were grazing and dotted with grave mounds as we neared Koupantze, where a branch of the railway traverses the Liao plain to the port of Newchwang. It was in this region that there came the first suggestion of resemblance to our marshland meadows; and very soon there were seen approaching from the distance loads so green that except for the large size one would have judged them to be fresh grass. They were loads of cured hay in the brightest green, the result, no doubt, of curing under their dry weather conditions. At Ta Hu Shan large quantities of grain in sacks were piled along the tracks and in the freight yards, but under matting shelters. Near here, too, large three-mule loads of dry earth compost were going to the fields and men were busy pulverizing and mixing it on the threshing floors preparatory for use. Nearly all crops growing were one or another of the millets, but considerable areas were yet unplanted and on these cattle, horses, mules and donkeys were feeding and eight more loads of very bright new made hay crossed the track. When the train reached Sinminfu where the railway turns abruptly eastward to cross the Liao ho to reach Mukden we saw the first extensive massing of the huge bean cakes for export, together with enormous quantities of soy beans in sacks piled along the railway and in the freight yards or loaded on cars made up in trains ready to move. Leaving this station we passed among fields of grain looking decidedly yellow, the first indication we had seen in China of crops nitrogen-hungry and of soils markedly deficient in available nitrogen. Beyond the next station the fields were decidedly spotted and uneven as well as yellow, recalling conditions so commonly seen at home and which had been conspicuously absent here before. Crossing the Liao ho with its broad channel of shifting sands, the river carrying the largest volume of water we had yet seen, but the stream very low and still characteristic of the close of the dry season of semi-arid climates, we soon reached another station where the freight yards and all of the space along the tracks were piled high with bean cakes and yet the fields about were reflecting the impoverished condition of the soil through the yellow crops and their uneven growth on the fields. Since the Japanese-Russian war the shipments of soy beans and of bean cake from Manchuria have increased enormously. Up to this time there had been exports to the southern provinces of China where the bean cakes were used as fertilizers for the rice fields, but the new extensive markets have so raised the price that in several instances we were informed they could not then afford to use bean cake as fertilizer. From Newchwang alone, in 1905, between January 1st and March 31st, there went abroad 2,286,000 pounds of beans and bean cake, but in 1906 the amount had increased to 4,883,000 pounds. But a report published in the Tientsin papers as official, while we were there, stated that the value of the export of bean cake and soy beans from Dalny for the months ending March 31st had been, in 1909, only $1,635,000, gold, compared with $3,065,000 in the corresponding period of 1908, and of $5,120,000 in 1907, showing a marked decrease. Edward C. Parker, writing from Mukden for the Review of Reviews, stated: "The bean cake shipments from Newchwang, Dalny and Antung in 1908 amounted to 515,198 tons; beans, 239,298 tons; bean oil, 1930 tons; having a total value of $15,016,649 (U. S. gold)". According to the composition of soy beans as indicated in Hopkins' table of analyses, these shipments of beans and bean cake would remove an aggregate of 6171 tons of phosphorus, 10,097 tons of potassium, and 47,812 tons of nitrogen from Manchurian soils as the result of export for that year. Could such a rate have been maintained during two thousand years there would have been sold from these soils 20,194,000 tons of potassium; 12,342,000 tons of phosphorus and 95,624,000 tons of nitrogen; and the phosphorus, were it thus exported, would have exceeded more than threefold all thus far produced in the United States; it would have exceeded the world's output in 1906 more than eighteen times, even assuming that all phosphate rock mined was seventy-five per cent pure. The choice of the millets and the sorghums as the staple bread crops of northern China and Manchuria has been quite as remarkable as the selection of rice for the more southern latitudes, and the two together have played a most important part in determining the high maintenance efficiency of these people. In nutritive value these grains rank well with wheat; the stems of the larger varieties are extensively used for both fuel and building material and the smaller forms make excellent forage and have been used directly for maintaining the organic content of the soil. Their rapid development and their high endurance of drought adapt them admirably to the climate of north China and Manchuria where the rains begin only after late June and where weather too cold for growth comes earlier in the fall. The quick maturity of these crops also permits them to be used to great advantage even throughout the south, in their systems of multiple cropping so generally adopted, while their great resistance to drought, being able to remain at a standstill for a long time when the soil is too dry for growth and yet be able to push ahead rapidly when favorable rains come, permits them to be used on the higher lands generally where water is not available for irrigation. In the Shantung province the large millet, sorghum or kaoliang, yields as high as 2000 to 3000 pounds of seed per acre, and 5600 to 6000 pounds of air-dry stems, equal in weight to 1.6 to 1.7 cords of dry oak wood. In the region of Mukden, Manchuria, its average yield of seed is placed at thirty-five bushels of sixty pounds weight per acre, and with this comes one and a half tons of fuel or of building material. Hosie states that, the kaoliang is the staple food of the population of Manchuria and the principal grain food of the work animals. The grain is first washed in cold water and then poured into a kettle with four times its volume of boiling water and cooked for an hour, without salt, as with rice. It is eaten with chopsticks with boiled or salted vegetables. He states that an ordinary servant requires about two pounds of this grain per day, and that a workman at heavy labor will take double the amount. A Chinese friend of his, keeping five servants, supplied them with 240 pounds of millet per month, together with 16 pounds of native flour, regarded as sufficient for two days, and meat for two days, the amount not being stated. Two of the small millets (Setaria italica, and Panicum milliaceum), wheat, maize and buckwheat are other grains which are used as food but chiefly to give variety and change of diet. Very large quantities of matting and wrappings are also made from the leaves of the large millet, which serve many purposes corresponding with the rice mattings and bags of Japan and southern China. The small millets, in Shantung, yield as high as 2700 pounds of seed and 4800 pounds of straw per acre. In Japan, in the year 1906, there were grown 737,719 acres of foxtail, barnyard and proso millet, yielding 17,084,000 bushels of seed or an average of twenty-three bushels per acre. In addition to the millets, Japan grew, the same year, 5,964,300 bushels of buckwheat on 394,523 acres, or an average of fifteen bushels per acre. The next engraving, Fig. 205, shows a crop of millet already six inches high planted between rows of windsor beans which had matured about the middle of June. The leaves had dropped, the beans had been picked from the stems, and a little later, when the roots had had time to decay the bean stems would be pulled and tied in bundles for use as fuel or for fertilizer. We had reached Mukden thoroughly tired after a long day of continuous close observation and writing. The Astor House, where we were to stop, was three miles from the station and the only conveyance to meet the train was a four-seated springless, open, semi-baggage carryall and it was a full hour lumbering its way to our hotel. But here as everywhere in the Orient the foreigner meets scenes and phases of life competent to divert his attention from almost any discomfort. Nothing could be more striking than the peculiar mode the Manchu ladies have of dressing their hair, seen in Fig. 206, many instances of which were passed on the streets during this early evening ride. It was fearfully and wonderfully done, laid in the smoothest, glossiest black, with nearly the lateral spread of the tail of a turkey cock and much of the backward curve of that of the rooster; far less attractive than the plainer, refined, modest, yet highly artistic style adopted by either Chinese or Japanese ladies. The journey from Mukden to Antung required two days, the train stopping for the night at Tsaohokow. Our route lay most of the way through mountainous or steep hilly country and our train was made up of diminutive coaches drawn by a tiny engine over a three-foot two-inch narrow gauge track of light rails laid by the Japanese during the war with Russia, for the purpose of moving their armies and supplies to the hotly contested fields in the Liao and Sungari plains. Many of the grades were steep, the curves sharp, and in several places it was necessary to divide the short train to enable the engines to negotiate them. To the southward over the Liao plain the crops were almost exclusively millet and soy beans, with a little barley, wheat, and a few oats. Between Mukden and the first station across the Hun river we had passed twenty-four good sized fields of soy beans on one side of the river and twenty-two on the other, and before reaching the hilly country, after travelling a distance of possibly fifteen miles, we had passed 309 other and similar fields close along the track. In this distance also we had passed two of the monuments erected by the Japanese, marking sites of their memorable battles. These fields were everywhere flat, lying from sixteen to twenty feet above the beds of the nearly dry streams, and the cultivation was mostly being done with horses or cattle. After leaving the plains country the railway traversed a narrow winding valley less than a mile wide, with gradient so steep that our train was divided. Fully sixty per cent of the hill slopes were cultivated nearly to the summit and yet rising apparently more than one in three to five feet, and the uncultivated slopes were closely wooded with young trees, few more than twenty to thirty feet high, but in blocks evidently of different ages. Beyond the pass many of the cultivated slopes have walled terraces. We crossed a large stream where railway ties were being rafted down the river. Just beyond this river the train was again divided to ascend a gradient of one in thirty, reaching the summit by five times switching back, and matched on the other side of the pass by a down grade of one in forty. At many of the farm houses in the narrow valleys along the way large rectangular, flat topped compost piles were passed, thirty to forty inches high and twenty, thirty, forty and even in one case as much as sixty feet square on the ground. More and more it became evident that these mountain and hill lands were originally heavily wooded and that the new growth springs up quickly, developing rapidly. It was clear also that the custom of cutting over these wooded areas at frequent intervals is very old, not always in the same stage of growth but usually when the trees are quite small. Considerable quantities of cordwood were piled at the stations along the railway and were being loaded on the cars. This was always either round wood or sticks split but once; and much charcoal, made mostly from round wood or sticks split but once, was being shipped in sacks shaped like those used for rice, seen in Fig. 180. Some strips of the forest growth had been allowed to stand undisturbed apparently for twenty or more years, but most areas have been cut at more frequent intervals, often apparently once in three to five, or perhaps ten, years. At several places on the rapid streams crossed, prototypes of the modern turbine water-wheel were installed, doing duty grinding beans or grain. As with native machinery everywhere in China, these wheels were reduced to the lowest terms and the principle put to work almost unclothed. These turbines were of the downward discharge type, much resembling our modern windmills, ten to sixteen feet in diameter, set horizontally on a vertical axis rising through the floor of the mill, with the vanes surrounded by a rim, the water dropping through the wheel, reacting when reflected from the obliquely set vanes. American engineers and mechanics would pronounce these very crude, primitive and inefficient. A truer view would regard them as examples of a masterful grasp of principle by some, man who long ago saw the unused energy of the stream and succeeded thus in turning it to account. Both days of our journey had been bright and very warm and, although we took the train early in the morning at Mukden, a young Japanese anticipated the heat, entering the train clad only in his kimono and sandals, carrying a suitcase and another bundle. He rode all day, the most comfortably, if immodestly, clad man on the train, and the next morning took his seat in front of us clad in the same garb, but before the train reached Antung he took down his suitcase and then and there, deliberately attired himself in a good foreign suit, folding his kimono and packing it away with his sandals. From Antung we crossed the Yalu on the ferry to New Wiju at 6:30 A. M., June 22, and were then in quite a different country and among a very different people, although all of the railway officials, employes, police and guards were Japanese, as they had been from Mukden. At Antung and New Wiju the Yalu is a very broad slow stream resembling an arm of the sea more than a river, reminding one of the St. Johns at Jacksonville, Florida. June 22nd proved to be one of the national festival days in Korea, called "Swing day", and throughout our entire ride to Seoul the fields were nearly all deserted and throngs of people, arrayed in gala dress, appeared all along the line of the railway, sometimes congregating in bodies of two to three thousand or more, as seen in Fig. 207. Many swings had been hung and were being enjoyed by the young people. Boys and men were bathing in all sorts of "swimming holes" and places. So too, there were many large open air gatherings being addressed by public speakers, one of which is seen in Fig. 208. Nearly everyone was dressed in white outer garments made from some fabric which although not mosquito netting was nearly as open and possessed of a remarkable stiffness which seemed to take and retain every dent with astonishing effect and which was sufficiently transparent to reveal a third undergarment. The full outstanding skirts of five Korean women may be seen in Fig. 209, and the trousers which went with these were proportionately full but tied close about the ankles. The garments seemed to be possessed of a powerful repulsion which held them quite apart and away from the person, no doubt contributing much to comfort. It was windy but one of those hot sultry, sticky days, and it made one feel cool to see these open garments surging in the wind. The Korean men, like the Chinese, wear the hair long but not braided in a queue. No part of the head is shaved but the hair is wound in a tight coil on the top of the head, secured by a pin which, in the case of the Korean who rode in our coach from Mukden to Antung, was a modern, substantial tenpenny wire nail. The tall, narrow, conical crowns of the open hats, woven from thin bamboo splints, are evidently designed to accommodate this style of hair dressing as well as to be cool. Here, too, as in China and Manchuria, nearly all crops are planted in rows, including the cereals, such as wheat, rye, barley and oats. We traversed first a flat marshy country with sandy soil and water not more than four feet below the surface where, on the lowest areas a close ally of our wild flower-de-luce was in bloom. Wheat was coining into head but corn and millet were smaller than in Manchuria. We had left New Wiju at 7:30 in the morning and at 8:15 we passed from the low land into a hill country with narrow valleys. Scattering young pine, seldom more than ten to twenty-five feet high, occupied the slopes and as we came nearer the hills were seen to be clothed with many small oak, the sprouts clearly not more than one or two years old. Roofs of dwellings in the country were usually thatched with straw laid after the manner of shingles, as may be seen in Fig. 210, where the hills beyond show the low tree growth referred to, but here unusually dense. Bundles of pine boughs, stacked and sheltered from the weather, were common along the way and evidently used for fuel. At 8:25 we passed through the first tunnel and there were many along the route, the longest requiring thirty seconds for the passing of the train. The valley beyond was occupied by fields of wheat where beans were planted between the rows. Thus far none of the fields had been as thoroughly tilled and well cared for as those seen in China, nor were the crops as good. Further along we passed hills where the pines were all of two ages, one set about thirty feet high and the others twelve to fifteen feet or less, and among these were numerous oak sprouts. Quite possibly these are used as food for the wild silkworms. In some places appearances indicate that the oak and other deciduous growth, with the grass, may be cut annually and only the pines allowed to stand for longer periods. As we proceeded southward and had passed Kosui the young oak sprouts were seen to cover the hills, often stretching over the slopes much like a regular crop, standing at a height of two to four feet, and fresh bundles of these sprouts were seen at houses along the foot of the slopes, again suggesting that the leaves may be for the tussur silkworms although the time appears late for the first moulting. After we had left Seoul, entering the broader valleys where rice was more extensively grown, the using of the oak boughs and green grass brought down from the hill lands for green manure became very extensive. After the winter and early spring crops have been harvested the narrow ridges on which they are grown are turned into the furrows by means of their simple plow drawn by a heavy bullock, different from the cattle in China but closely similar to those in Japan. The fields are then flooded until they have the appearance seen in Fig. 12. Over these flooded ridges the green grass and oak boughs are spread, when the fields are again plowed and the material worked into the wet soil. If this working is not completely successful men enter the fields and tramp the surface until every twig and blade is submerged. The middle section in this illustration has been fitted and transplanted; in front of it and on the left are two other fields once plowed but not fertilized; those far to the right have had the green manure applied and the ground plowed a second time but not finished, and in the immediate foreground the grass and boughs have been scattered but the second plowing is not yet done. We passed men and bullocks coming from the hill lands loaded with this green herbage and as we proceeded towards Fusan more and more of the hill area was being made to contribute materials for green manure for the cultivated fields. The foreground of Fig. 211 had been thus treated and so had the field in Fig. 212, where the man was engaged in tramping the dressing beneath the surface. In very many cases this material was laid along the margin of the paddies; in other cases it had been taken upon the fields as soon as the grain was cut and was lying in piles among the bundles; while in still other cases the material for green manure had been carried between the rows while the grain was still standing, but nearly ready to harvest. In some fields a full third of a bushel of the green stuff had been laid down at intervals of three feet over the whole area. In other cases piles of ashes alternated with those of herbage, and again manure and ashes mixed had been distributed in alternate piles with the green manure. In still other cases we saw untreated straw distributed through the fields awaiting application. At Shindo this, straw had the appearance of having been dipped in or smeared with some mixture, apparently of mud and ashes or possibly of some compost which had been worked into a thin paste with water. After passing Keizan, mountain herbage had been brought down from the hills in large bales on cleverly constructed racks saddled to the backs of bullocks, and in one field we saw a man who had just come to his little field with an enormous load borne upon his easel-like packing appliance. Thus we find the Koreans also adopting the rice crop, which yields heavily under conditions of abundant water; we find them supplementing a heavy summer rainfall with water from their hills, and bringing to their fields besides both green herbage for humus and organic matter, and ashes derived from the fuel coming also from the hills, in these ways making good the unavoidable losses, through intense cropping. The amount of forest growth in Korea, as we saw it, in proximity to the cultivated valleys, is nowhere large and is fairly represented in Figs. 210, 213 and 214. There were clear evidences of periodic cutting and considerable, amounts of cordwood split from timber a foot through were being brought to the stations on the backs of cattle. In some places there was evident and occasionally very serious soil erosion, as may be seen in Fig. 214, one such region being passed just before reaching Kinusan, but generally the hills are well rounded and covered with a low growth of shrubs and herbaceous plants. Southernmost Korea has the latitude of the northern boundary of South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama and Mississippi, while the northeast corner attains that of Madison, Wisconsin, and the northern boundary of Nebraska, the country thus spanning some nine degrees and six hundred miles of latitude. It has an area of some 82,000 square miles, about equaling the state of Minnesota, but much of its surface is occupied by steep hill and mountain land. The rainy season had not yet set in, June 23rd. Wheat and the small grains were practically all harvested southward of Seoul and the people were everywhere busy with their flails threshing in the open, about the dwellings or in the fields, four flails often beating together on the same lot of grain. As we journeyed southward the valleys and the fields became wider and more extensive, and the crops, as well as the cultural methods, were clearly much better. Neither the foot-power, animal-power, nor the wooden chain pump of the Chinese were observed in Korea in use for lifting water, but we saw many instances of the long handled, spoonlike swinging scoop hung over the water by a cord from tall tripods, after the manner seen in Fig. 215, each operated by one man and apparently with high efficiency for low lifts. Two instances also were observed of the form of lift seen in Fig. 173, where the man walks the circumference of the wheel, so commonly observed in Japan. Much hemp was being grown in southern Korea but everywhere on very small isolated areas which flecked the landscape with the deepest green, each little field probably representing the crop of a single family. It was 6:30 P. M. when our train reached Fusan after a hot and dusty ride. The service had been good and fairly comfortable but the ice-water tanks of American trains were absent, their place being supplied by cooled bottled waters of various brands, including soda-water, sold by Japanese boys at nearly every important station. Close connection was made by trains with steamers to and from Japan and we went directly on board the Iki Maru which was to weigh anchor for Moji and Shimonoseki at 8 P. M. Although small, the steamer was well equipped, providing the best of service. We were fortunate in having a smooth passage, anchoring at 6:30 the next morning and making close connection with the train for Nagasaki, landing at the wharf with the aid of a steam launch. Our ride by train through the island of Kyushu carried us through scenes not widely different from those we had just left. The journey was continuously among fields of rice, with Korean features strongly marked but usually under better and more intensified culture, and the season, too, was a little more advanced. Here the plowing was being done mostly with horses instead of the heavy bullocks so exclusively employed in Korea. Coming from China into Korea, and from there into Japan, it appeared very clear that in agricultural methods and appliances the Koreans and Japanese are more closely similar than the Chinese and Koreans, and the more we came to see of the Japanese methods the more strongly the impression became fixed that the Japanese had derived their methods either from the Koreans or the Koreans had taken theirs more largely from Japan than from China. It was on this ride from Moji to Nagasaki that we were introduced to the attractive and very satisfactory manner of serving lunches to travelers on the trains in Japan. At important stations hot tea is brought to the car windows in small glazed, earthenware teapots provided with cover and bail, and accompanied with a teacup of the same ware. The set and contents could be purchased for five sen, two and a half cents, our currency. All tea is served without milk or sugar. The lunches were very substantial and put together in a neat sanitary manner in a three-compartment wooden box, carefully made from clear lumber joined with wooden pegs and perfect joints. Packed in the cover we found a paper napkin, toothpicks and a pair of chopsticks. In the second compartment there were thin slices of meat, chicken and fish, together with bamboo sprouts, pickles, cakes and small bits of salted vegetables, while the lower and chief compartment was filled with rice cooked quite stiff and without salt, as is the custom in the three countries. The box was about six inches long, four inches deep and three and a half inches wide. These lunches are handed to travelers neatly wrapped in spotless thin white paper daintily tied with a bit of color, all in exchange for 25 sen,--12.5 cents. Thus for fifteen cents the traveler is handed, through the car window, in a respectful manner, a square meal which he may eat at his leisure. XVII RETURN TO JAPAN We had returned to Japan in the midst of the first rainy season, and all the day through, June 25th, and two nights, a gentle rain fell at Nagasaki, almost without interruption. Across the narrow street from Hotel Japan were two of its guest houses, standing near the front of a wall-faced terrace rising twenty-eight feet above the street and facing the beautiful harbor. They were accessible only by winding stone steps shifting on paved landings to continue the ascent between retaining walls overhung with a wealth of shrubbery clothed in the densest foliage, so green and liquid in the drip of the rain, that one almost felt like walking edgewise amid stairs lest the drip should leave a stain. Over such another series of steps, but longer and more winding, we found our way to the American Consulate where in the beautifully secluded quarters Consul-General Scidmore escaped many annoyances of settling the imagined petty grievances arising between American tourists and the ricksha boys. Through the kind offices of the Imperial University of Sapporo and of the National Department of Agriculture and Commerce, Professor Tokito met us at Nagasaki, to act as escort through most of the journey in Japan. Our first visit was to the prefectural Agricultural Experiment Station at Nagasaki. There are four others in the four main islands, one to an average area of 4280 square miles, and to each 1,200,000 people. The island of Kyushu, whose latitude is that of middle Mississippi and north Louisiana, has two rice harvests, and gardeners at Nagasaki grow three crops, each year. The gardener and his family work about five tan, or a little less than one and one-quarter acres, realizing an annual return of some $250 per acre. To maintain these earnings fertilizers are applied rated worth $60 per acre, divided between the three crops, the materials used being largely the wastes of the city, animal manure, mud from the drains, fuel ashes and sod, all composted together. If this expenditure for fertilizers appears high it must be remembered that nearly the whole product is sold and that there are three crops each year. Such intense culture requires a heavy return if large yields are maintained. Good agricultural lands were here valued at 300 yen per tan, approximately $600 per acre. When returning toward Moji to visit the Agricultural Experiment Station of Fukuoka prefecture, the rice along the first portion of the route was standing about eight inches above the water. Large lotus ponds along the way occupied areas not readily drained, and the fringing fields between the rice paddies and the untilled hill lands were bearing squash, maize, beans and Irish potatoes. Many small areas had been set to sweet potatoes on close narrow ridges, the tops of which were thinly strewn with green grass, or sometimes with straw or other litter, for shade and to prevent the soil from washing and baking in the hot sun after rains. At Kitsu we passed near Government salt works, for the manufacture of salt by the evaporation of sea water, this industry in Japan, as in China, being a Government monopoly. Many bundles of grass and other green herbage were collected along the way, gathered for use in the rice fields. In other cases the green manure had already been spread over the flooded paddies and was being worked beneath the surface, as seen in Fig. 216. At this time the hill lands were clothed in the richest, deepest green but the tree growth was nowhere large except immediately about temples, and was usually in distinct small areas with sharp boundaries occasioned by differences in age. Some tracts had been very recently cut; others were in their second, third or fourth years; while others still carried a growth of perhaps seven to ten years. At one village many bundles of the brush fuel had been gathered from an adjacent area, recently cleared. A few fields were still bearing their crop of soy beans planted in February between rows of grain, and the green herbage was being worked into the flooded soil, for the crop of rice. Much compost, brought to the fields, was stacked with layers of straw between, laid straight, the alternate courses at right angles, holding the piles in rectangular form with vertical sides, some of which were four to six feet high and the layers of compost about six inches thick. Just before reaching Tanjiro, a region is passed where orchards of the candleberry tree occupy high leveled areas between rice paddies, after the manner described for the mulberry orchards in Chekiang, China. These trees, when seen from a distance, have quite the appearance of our apple orchards. At the Fukuoka Experiment Station we learned that the usual depth of plowing for the rice fields is three and a half to four and a half inches, but that deeper plowing gives somewhat larger yields. As an average of five years trials, a depth of seven to eight inches increased the yield from seven to ten per cent over that of the usual depth. In this prefecture grass from the bordering hill lands is applied to the rice fields at rates ranging from 3300 to 16,520 pounds green weight per acre, and, according to analyses given, these amounts would carry to, the fields from 18 to 90 pounds of nitrogen; 12.4 to 63.2 pounds of potassium, and 2.1 to 10.6 pounds of phosphorus per acre. Where bean cake is used as a fertilizer the applications may be at the rate of 496 pounds per acre, carrying 33.7 pounds of nitrogen, nearly 5 pounds of phosphorus and 7.4 pounds of potassium. The earth composts are chiefly applied to the dry land fields and then only after they are well rotted, the fermentation being carried through at least sixty days, during which the material is turned three times for aeration, the work being done at the home. When used on the rice fields where water is abundant the composts are applied in a less fermented condition. The best yields of rice in this prefecture are some eighty bushels per acre, and crops of barley may even exceed this, the two crops being grown the same year, the rice following the barley. In most parts of Japan the grain food of the laboring people is about 70 per cent naked barley mixed with 30 per cent of rice, both cooked and used in the same manner. The barley has a lower market value and its use permits a larger share of the rice to be sold as a money crop. The soils are fertilized for each crop every year and the prescription for barley and rice recommended by the Experiment Station, for growers in this prefecture, is indicated by the following table: FERTILIZATION FOR NAKED BARLEY. Pounds per acre. Fertilizers. N P K Manure compost 6,613 33.0 7.4 33.8 Rape seed cake 330 16.7 2.8 3.5 Night soil 4,630 26.4 2.6 10.2 Superphosphate 132 9.9 ---------------------- Sum 11,705 76.1 22.7 47.5 FERTILIZATION FOR PADDY RICE. Manure compost 5,291 26.4 5.9 27.1 Green manure, soy beans 3,306 19.2 1.1 19.6 Soy bean cake 397 27.8 1.7 6.4 Superphosphate 198 12.8 ---------------------- Sum 9,192 73.4 21.5 53.1 ====== ===== ==== ===== Total for year 20,897 149.5 44.2 100.6 Where these recommendations are followed there is an annual application of fertilizer material which aggregates some ten tons per acre, carrying about 150 pounds of nitrogen, 44 pounds of phosphorus and 100 pounds of potassium. The crop yields which have been associated with these applications on the Station fields are about forty-nine bushels of barley and fifty bushels of rice per acre. The general rotation recommended for this portion of Japan covers five years and consists of a crop of wheat or naked barley the first two years with rice as the summer crop; in the third year genge, "pink clover" (Astragalus sinicus) or some other legume for green manure is the winter crop, rice following in the summer; the fourth year rape is the winter crop, from which the seed is saved and the ash of the stems returned to the soil, or rarely the stems themselves may be turned under; on the fifth and last year of the rotation the broad kidney or windsor bean is the winter crop, preceding the summer crop of rice. This rotation is not general yet in the practice of the farmers of the section, they choosing rape or barley and in February plant windsor or soy beans between the rows for green manure to use when the rice comes on. It was evident from our observations that the use of composts in fertilizing was very much more general and extensive in China than it was in either Korea or Japan, but, to encourage the production and use of compost fertilizers, this and other prefectures have provided subsidies which permit the payment of $2.50 annually to those farmers who prepare and use on their land a compost heap covering twenty to forty square yards, in accordance with specified directions given. The agricultural college at Fukuoka was not in session the day of our visit, it being a holiday usually following the close of the last transplanting season. One of the main buildings of the station and college is seen in Fig. 217, and Figs. 218, 219 and 220, placed together from left to right in the order of their numbers, form a panoramic view of the station grounds and buildings with something of the beautiful landscape setting. There is nowhere in Japan the lavish expenditure of money on elaborate and imposing architecture which characterizes American colleges and stations, but in equipment for research work, both as to professional staff and appliances, they compare favorably with similar institutions in America. The dormitory system was in vogue in the college, providing room and board at eight yen per month or four dollars of our currency. Eight students were assigned to one commodious room, each provided with a study table, but beds were mattresses spread upon the matting floor at night and compactly stored on closet shelves during the day. The Japanese plow, which is very similar to the Korean type, may be seen in Fig. 221, the one on the right costing 2.5 yen and the other 2 yen. With the aid of the single handle and the sliding rod held in the right hand, the course of the plow is directed and the plow tilted in either direction, throwing the soil to the right or the left. The nursery beds for rice breeding experiments and variety tests by this station are shown in Fig. 222. Although these plots are flooded the marginal plants, adjacent to the free water paths, were materially larger than those within and had a much deeper green color, showing better feeding, but what seemed most strange was the fact that these stronger plants are never used in transplanting, as they do not thrive as well as those less vigorous. We left the island of Kyushu in the evening of June 29th, crossing to the main island of Honshu, waiting in Shimonoseki for the morning train. The rice-planted valleys near Shimonoseki were relatively broad and the paddies had all been recently set in close rows about a foot apart and in hills in the rows. Mountain and hill lands were closely wooded, largely with coniferous trees about the base but toward and at the summits, especially on the South slopes, they were green only with herbage cut for fertilizing and feeding stock. Many very small trees, often not more than one foot high, were growing on the recently cut-over areas; tall slender graceful bamboos clustered along the way and everywhere threw wonderful beauty into the landscape. Cartloads of their slender stems, two to four inches in diameter at the base and twenty or more feet long, were moving along the generally excellent, narrow, seldom fenced roads, such as seen in Fig. 223. On the borders and pathways between rice paddies many small stacks of straw were in waiting to be laid between the rows of transplanted rice, tramped beneath the water and overspread with mud to enrich the soil. The farmers here, as elsewhere, must contend against the scouring rush, varieties of grass and our common pigweeds, even in the rice fields. The large area of mountain and hill land compared with that which could be tilled, and the relatively small area of cultivated land not at this time under water and planted to rice persisted throughout the journey. If there could be any monotony for the traveller new to this land of beauty it must result from the quick shifting of scenes and in the way the landscapes are pieced together, out-doing the craziest patchwork woman ever attempted; the bits are almost never large; they are of every shape, even puckered and crumpled and tilted at all angles. Here is a bit of the journey: Beyond Habu the foothills are thickly wooded, largely with conifers. The valley is extremely narrow with only small areas for rice. Bamboo are growing in congenial places and we pass bundles of wood cut to stove length, as seen in Fig. 224. Then we cross a long narrow valley practically all in rice, and then another not half a mile wide, just before reaching Asa. Beyond here the fields become limited in area with the bordering low hills recently cut over and a new growth springing up over them in the form of small shrubs among which are many pine. Now we are in a narrow valley between small rice fields or with none at all, but dash into one more nearly level with wide areas in rice chiefly on one side of the track just before reaching Onoda at 10:30 A. M. and continuing three minutes ride beyond, when we are again between hills without fields and where the trees are pine with clumps of bamboo. In four minutes more we are among small rice paddies and at 10:35 have passed another gap and are crossing another valley checkered with rice fields and lotus ponds, but in one minute more the hills have closed in, leaving only room for the track. At 10:37 we are running along a narrow valley with its terraced rice paddies where many of the hills show naked soil among the bamboo, scattering pine and other small trees; then we are out among garden patches thickly mulched with straw. At 10:38 we are between higher hills with but narrow areas for rice stretching close along the track, but in two minutes these are passed and we are among low hills with terraced dry fields. At 10:42 we are spinning along the level valley with its rice, but are quickly out again among hills with naked soil where erosion was marked. This is just before passing Funkai where we are following the course of a stream some sixty feet wide with but little cultivated land in small areas. At 10:47 we are again passing narrow rice fields near the track where the people are busy weeding with their hands, half knee-deep in water. At 10:53 we enter a broader valley stretching far to the south and seaward, but we had crossed it in one minute, shot through another gap, and at 10:55 are traversing a much broader valley largely given over to rice, but where some of the paddies were bearing matting rush set in rows and in hills after the manner of rice. It is here we pass Oyou and just beyond cross a stream confined between levees built some distance back from either bank. At 11:17 this plain is left and we enter a narrow valley without fields. Thus do most of the agricultural lands of Japan lie in the narrowest valleys, often steeply sloping, and into which jutting spurs create the greatest irregularity of boundary and slope. The journey of this day covered 350 miles in fourteen hours, all of the way through a country of remarkable and peculiar beauty which can be duplicated nowhere outside the mountainous, rice-growing Orient and there only during fifteen days closing the transplanting season. There were neither high mountains nor broad valleys, no great rivers and but few lakes; neither rugged naked rocks, tall forest trees nor wide level fields reaching away to unbroken horizons. But the low, rounded, soil-mantled mountain tops clothed in herbaceous and young forest growth fell everywhere into lower hills and these into narrow steep valleys which dropped by a series of water-level benches, as seen in Fig. 225, to the main river courses. Each one of these millions of terraces, set about by its raised rim, was a silvery sheet of water dotted in the daintiest manner with bunches of rice just transplanted, but not so close nor yet so high and over-spreading as to obscure the water, yet quite enough to impart to the surface a most delicate sheen of green; and the grass-grown narrow rims retaining the water in the basins, cemented them into series of the most superb mosaics, shaped into the valley bottoms by artizan artists perhaps two thousand years before and maintained by their descendants through all the years since, that on them the rains and fertility from the mountains and the sunshine from heaven might be transformed by the rice plant into food for the families and support for the nation. Two weeks earlier the aspect of these landscapes was very different, and two weeks later the reflecting water would lie hidden beneath the growing and rapidly developing mantle of green, to go on changing until autumn, when all would be overspread with the ripened harvest of grain. And what intensified the beauty of it all was the fact that only along the widest valley bottoms were the mosaics level, except the water surface of each individual unit and these were always small. At one time we were riding along a descending series of steps and then along another rising through a winding valley to disappear around a projecting spur, and anywhere in the midst of it all might be standing Japanese cottages or villas with the water and the growing rice literally almost against the walls, as seen in Fig. 226, while a near-by high terrace might hold its water on a level with the chimney-tops. Can one wonder that the Japanese loves his country or that they are born and bred landscape artists? Just before reaching Hongo there were considerable areas thrown into long narrow, much-raised, east and west beds under covers of straw matting inclined at a slight angle toward the south, some two feet above the ground but open toward the north. What crop may have been grown here we did not learn but the matting was apparently intended for shade, as it was hot midsummer weather, and we suspect it may have been ginseng. It was here, too, that we came into the region of the culture of matting rush, extensively grown in Hiroshima and Okayama prefectures, but less extensively all over the empire. As with rice, the rush is first grown in nursery beds from which it is transplanted to the paddies, one acre of nursery supplying sufficient stock for ten acres of field. The plants are set twenty to thirty stalks in a hill in rows seven inches apart with the hills six inches from center to center in the row. Very high fertilization is practiced, costing from 120 to 240 yen per acre, or $60 to $120 annually, the fertilizer consisting of bean cake and plant ashes, or in recent years, sometimes of sulphate of ammonia for nitrogen, and superphosphate of lime. About ten per cent of the amount of fertilizer required for the crop is applied at the time of fitting the ground, the balance being administered from time to time as the season advances. Two crops of the rush may be taken from the same ground each year or it is grown in rotation with rice, but most extensively on the lands less readily drained and not so well suited for other crops. Fields of the rush, growing in alternation with rice, are seen in Fig. 45, and in Fig. 227, with the Government salt fields lying along the seashore beyond. With the most vigorous growth the rush attain a height exceeding three feet and the market price varies materially with the length of the stems. Good yields, under the best culture, may be as high as 6.5 tons per acre of the dry stems but the average yield is less, that of 1905 being 8531 pounds, for 9655 acres, The value of the product ranges from $120 to $200 per acre. It is from this material that mats are woven in standard sizes, to be laid over padding, upholstering the floors which are the seats of all classes in Japan, used in the manner seen in Fig. 228 and in Fig. 229, which is a completely furnished guest room in a first class Japanese inn, finished in natural unvarnished wood, with walls of sliding panels of translucent paper, which may open upon a porch, into a hallway or into another apartment; and with its bouquet, which may consist of a single large shapely branch of the purple leaved maple, having the cut end charred to preserve it fresh for a longer time, standing in water in the vase. "Two little maids I've heard of, each with a pretty taste, Who had two little rooms to fix and not an hour to waste. Eight thousand miles apart they lived, yet on the selfsame day The one in Nikko's narrow streets, the other on Broadway, They started out, each happy maid her heart's desire to find, And her own dear room to furnish just according to her mind. When Alice went a-shopping, she bought a bed of brass, A bureau and some chairs and things and such a lovely glass To reflect her little figure--with two candle brackets near-- And a little dressing table that she said was simply dear! A book shelf low to hold her books, a little china rack, And then, of course, a bureau set and lots of bric-a-brac; A dainty little escritoire, with fixings all her own And just for her convenience, too, a little telephone. Some oriental rugs she got, and curtains of madras, With 'cunning' ones of lace inside, to go against the glass; And then a couch, a lovely one, with cushions soft to crush, And forty pillows, more or less, of linen, silk and plush; Of all the ornaments besides I couldn't tell the half, But wherever there was nothing else, she stuck a photograph. And then, when all was finished, she sighed a little sigh, And looked about with just a shade of sadness in her eye: 'For it needs a statuette or so--a fern--a silver stork Oh, something, just to fill it up!' said Alice of New York. When little Oumi of Japan went shopping, pitapat, She bought a fan of paper and a little sleeping mat; She set beside the window a lily in a vase, And looked about with more than doubt upon her pretty face: 'For, really--don't you think so?--with the lily and the fan. It's a little overcrowded!' said Oumi of Japan." (Margaret Johnson in St. Nicholas Magazine) In the rural homes of Japan during 1906 there were woven 14,497,058 sheets of these floor mats and 6,628,772 sheets of other matting, having a combined value of $2,815,040, and in addition, from the best quality of rush grown upon the same ground, aggregating 7657 acres that year, there were manufactured for the export trade, fancy mattings, having the value of $2,274,131. Here is a total value, for the product of the soil and for the labor put into the manufacture, amounting to $664 per acre for the area named. At the Akashi agricultural experiment station, under the Directorship of Professor Ono, we saw some of the methods of fruit culture as practiced in Japan. He was conducting experiments with the object of improving methods of heading and training pear trees, to which reference was made on page 22. A study was also being made of the advantages and disadvantages associated with covering the fruit with paper bags, examples of which are seen in Figs. 6 and 7. The bags were being made at the time of our visit, from old newspapers cut, folded and pasted by women. Naked cultivation was practiced in the orchard, and fertilizers consisting of fish guano and superphosphate of lime were being applied twice each year in amounts aggregating a cost of twenty-four dollars per acre. Pear orchards of native varieties, in good bearing, yield returns of 150 yen per tan, and those of European varieties, 200 yen per tan, which is at the rate of $300 and $400 per acre. The bibo, so extensively grown in China was being cultivated here also and was yielding about $320 per acre. It was here that we first met the cultivation of a variety of burdock grown from the seed, three crops being taken each season where the climate is favorable, or as one of three in the multiple crop system. It is grown for the root, yielding a crop valued at $40 to $50 per acre. One crop, planted, in March, was being harvested July 1st. During our ride to Akashi on the early morning train we passed long processions of carts drawn by cattle, horses or by men, moving along the country road which paralleled the railway, all loaded with the waste of the city of Kobe, going to its destination in the fields, some of it a distance of twelve miles, where it was sold at from 54 cents to $1.63 per ton. At several places along our route from Shimonoseki to Osaka we had observed the application of slacked lime to the water of the rice fields, but in this prefecture, Hyogo, where the station is located, its use was prohibited in 1901, except under the direction of the station authorities, where the soil was acid or where it was needed on account of insect troubles. Up to this time it had been the custom of farmers to apply slacked lime at the rate of three to five tons per acre, paying for it $4.84 per ton. The first restrictive legislation permitted the use of 82 pounds of lime with each 827 pounds of organic manure, but as the farmers persisted in using much larger quantities, complete prohibition was resorted to. Reference has been made to subsidies encouraging the use of composts, and in this prefecture prizes are awarded for the best compost heaps in each county, examinations being made by a committee. The composts receiving the four highest awards in each county are allowed to compete with those in other counties for a prefectural prize awarded by another committee. The "pink clover" grown in Hyogo after rice, as a green manure crop, yields under favorable conditions twenty tons of the green product per acre, and is usually applied to about three times the area upon which it grew, at the rate of 6.6 tons per acre, the stubble and roots serving for the ground upon which the crop grew. On July 3rd we left Osaka, going south through Sakai to Wakayama, thence east and north to the Nara Experiment Station. After passing the first two stations the route lay through a very flat, highly cultivated garden section with cucumbers trained on trellises, many squash in full bloom, with fields of taro, ginger and many other vegetables. Beyond Hamadera considerable areas of flat sandy land had been set close with pine, but with intervening areas in rice, where the growers were using the revolving weeder seen in Fig. 14. At Otsu broad areas are in rice but here worked with the short handled claw weeders, and stubble from a former crop had been drawn together into small piles, seen in Fig. 230, which later would be carefully distributed and worked beneath the mud. Much of the mountain lands in this region, growing pine, is owned by private parties and the growth is cut at intervals of ten, twenty or twenty-five years, being sold on the ground to those who will come and cut it at a price of forty sen for a one-horse load, as already described, page 159. The course from here was up the rather rapidly rising Kiigawa valley where much water was being applied to the rice fields by various methods of pumping, among them numerous current wheels; an occasional power-pump driven by cattle; and very commonly the foot-power wheel where the man walks on the circumference, steadying himself with a long pole, as seen in the field, Fig. 231. It was here that a considerable section of the hill slope had been very recently cut over, the area showing light in the engraving. It was in the vicinity of Hashimoto on this route, too, that the two beautiful views reproduced in Figs. 151 and 152 were taken. At the experiment station it was learned that within the prefecture of Nara, having a population of 558,314, and 107,574 acres of cultivated land, two-thirds of this was in paddy rice. Within the province there are also about one thousand irrigation reservoirs with an average depth of eight feet. The rice fields receive 16.32 inches of irrigation water in addition to the rain. Of the uncultivated hill lands, some 2500 acres contribute green manure for fertilization of fields. Reference has been made to the production of compost for fertilizers on page 211. The amount recommended in this prefecture as a yearly application for two crops grown is: Organic matter 3,711 to 4,640 lbs. per acre Nitrogen 105 to 131 lbs. per acre Phosphorus 35 to 44 lbs. per acre Potassium 56 to 70 lbs. per acre These amounts, on the basis of the table, p. 214, are nearly sufficient for a crop of thirty bushels of wheat, followed by one of thirty bushels of rice, the phosphorus being in excess and the potassium not quite enough, supposing none to be derived from other sources. At the Nara hotel, one of the beautiful Japanese inns where we stopped, our room opened upon a second story veranda from which one looked down upon a beautiful, tiny lakelet, some twenty by eighty feet, within a diminutive park scarcely more than one hundred by two hundred feet, and the lakelet had its grassy, rocky banks over-hung with trees and shrubs planted in all the wild disorder and beauty of nature; bamboo, willow, fir, pine, cedar, red-leaved maple, catalpa, with other kinds, and through these, along the shore, wound a woodsy, well trodden, narrow footpath leading from the inn to a half hidden cottage apparently quarters for the maids, as they were frequently passing to and fro. A suggestion of how such wild beauty is brought right to the very doors in Japan may be gained from Fig. 232, which is an instance of parking effect on a still smaller scale than that described. On the morning of July 6th, with two men for each of our rickshas, we left the Yaami hotel for the Kyoto Experiment station, some two miles to the southwest of the city limits. As soon as we had entered upon the country road we found ourselves in a procession of cart men each drawing a load of six large covered receptacles of about ten gallons capacity, and filled with the city's waste. Before reaching the station we had passed fifty-two of these loads, and on our return the procession was still moving in the same direction and we passed sixty-one others, so that during at least five hours there had moved over this section of road leading into the country, away from the city, not less than ninety tons of waste; along other roadways similar loads were moving. These freight carts and those drawn by horses and bullocks were all provided with long racks similar to that illustrated in Fig. 108, page 197, and when the load is not sufficient to cover the full length it is always divided equally and placed near each end, thus taking advantage of the elasticity of the body to give the effect of springs, lessening the draft and the wear and tear, One of the most common commodities coming into the city along the country roads was fuel from the hill lands, in split sticks tied in bundles as represented in Fig. 224; as bundles of limbs twenty-four to thirty inches, and sometimes four to six feet, long; and in the form of charcoal made from trunks and stems one and a half inches to six inches long, and baled in straw matting. Most of the draft animals used in Japan are either cows, bulls or stallions; at least we saw very few oxen and few geldings. As early as 1895 the Government began definite steps looking to the improvement of horse breeding, appointing at that time a commission to devise comprehensive plans. This led to progressive steps finally culminating in 1906 in the Horse Administration Bureau, whose duties were to extend over a period of thirty years, divided into two intervals, the first, eighteen and the second, twelve years. During the first interval it is contemplated that the Government shall acquire 1,500 stallions to be distributed throughout the country for the use of private individuals, and during the second period it is the expectation that the system will have completely renovated the stock and familiarized the people with proper methods of management so that matters may be left in their hands. As our main purpose and limited time required undivided attention to agricultural matters, and of these to the long established practices of the people, we could give but little time to sight-seeing or even to a study of the efforts being made for the introduction of improved agricultural methods and practices. But in the very old city of Kyoto, which was the seat of the Mikado's court from before 800 A. D. until 1868, we did pay a short visit to the Kiyomizu temple, situated some three hundred yards south from the Yaami hotel, which faces the Maruyaami park with its centuries-old giant cherry tree, having a trunk of more than four feet through and wide spreading branches, now much propped up to guard against accident, as seen in Fig. 233. These cherry trees are very extensively used for ornamental purposes in Japan with striking effect. The tree does not produce an edible fruit, but is very beautiful when in full bloom, as may be seen from Fig. 234. It was these trees that were sent by the Japanese government to this country for use at Washington but the first lot were destroyed because they were found to be infested and threatened danger to native trees. Kyoto stands amid surroundings of wonderful beauty, the site apparently having been selected with rare acumen for its possibilities in large landscape effects, and these have been developed with that fullness and richness which the greatest artists might be content to approach. We are thinking particularly of the Kiyomizu-dera, or rather of the marvelous beauty of tree and foliage which has overgrown it and swept far up and over the mountain summit, leaving the temple half hidden at the base. No words, no brush, no photographic art can transfer the effect. One must see to feel the influence for which it was created, and scores of people, very old and very young, nearly all Japanese, and more of them on that day from the poorer rather than from the well-to-do class, were there, all withdrawing reluctantly, like ourselves, looking backward, under the spell. So potent and impressive was that something from the great overshadowing beauty of the mountain, that all along up the narrow, shop-lined street leading to the gateway of the temple, seen in Fig. 235, the tiniest bits of park effect were flourishing in the most impossible situations; and as Professor Tokito and myself were coming away we chanced upon six little roughly dressed lads laying out in the sand an elaborate little park, quite nine by twelve feet. They must have been at it hours, for there were ponds, bridges, tiny hills and ravines and much planting in moss and other little greens. So intent on their task were they that we stood watching full two minutes before our presence attracted their attention, and yet the oldest of the group must have been under ten years of age. One partly hidden view of the temple is seen in Fig. 236, the dense mountain verdure rising above and beyond it. And then too, within the temple, as the peasant men and women came before the shrine and grasped the long depending rope knocker, with the heavy knot in front of the great gong, swinging it to strike three rings, announcing their presence before their God, then kneeling to offer prayers, one could not fail to realize the deep sincerity and faith expressed in face and manner, while they were oblivious to all else. No Christian was ever more devout and one may well doubt if any ever arose from prayer more uplifted than these. Who need believe they did not look beyond the imagery and commune with the Eternal Spirit? A third view of the same temple, showing resting places beneath the shade, which serve the purpose of lawn seats in our parks, is seen in Fig. 237. That a high order of the esthetic sense is born to the Japanese people; that they are masters of the science of the beautiful; and that there are artists among them capable of effective and impressive results, is revealed in a hundred ways, and one of these is the iris garden of Fig. 238. One sees it here in the bulrushes which make the iris feel at home; in the unobtrusive semblance of a log that seems to have fallen across the run; in the hard beaten narrow path and the sore toes of the old pine tree, telling of the hundreds that come and go; it is seen in the dress and pose of the ladies, and one may be sure the photographer felt all that he saw and fixed so well. The vender of Oumi's lily that Margaret Johnson saw, is in Fig. 239. There another is bartering for a spray of flowers, and thus one sold the branch of red maple leaves in our room at the Nara inn. His floral stands are borne along the streets pendant from the usual carrying pole. When returning to the city from the Kyoto Experiment Station several fields of Japanese indigo were passed, growing in water under the conditions of ordinary rice culture, Fig. 240 being a view of one of these. The plant is Poligonum tinctoria, a close relative of the smartweed. Before the importation of aniline and alizarin dyes, which amounted in 1907 to 160,558 pounds and 7,170,320 pounds respectively, the cultivation of indigo was much more extensive than at present, amounting in 1897 to 160,460,000 pounds of the dried leaves; but in 1906 the production had fallen to 58,696,000 pounds, forty-five per cent of which was grown in the prefecture of Tokushima in the eastern part of the island of Shikoku. The population of this prefecture is 707,565, or 4.4 people to each of the 159,450 acres of cultivated field, and yet 19,969 of these acres bore the indigo crop, leaving more than five people to each food-producing acre. The plants for this crop are started in nursery beds in February and transplanted in May, the first crop being cut the last of June or first of July, when the fields are again fertilized, the stubble throwing out new shoots and yielding a second cutting the last of August or early September. A crop of barley may have preceded one of indigo, or the indigo may be set following a crop of rice. Such practice, with the high fertilization for every crop, goes a long way toward supplying the necessary food. The dense population, too, has permitted the manufacture of the indigo as a home industry among the farmers, enabling them to exchange the spare labor of the family for cash. The manufactured product from the reduced planting in 1907 was worth $1,304,610, forty-five per cent of which was the output of the rural population of the prefecture of Tokushima, which they could exchange for rice and other necessaries. The land in rice in this prefecture in 1907 was 73,816 acres, yielding 114,380,000 pounds, or more than 161 pounds to each man, woman and child, and there were 65,665 acres bearing other crops. Besides this there are 874,208 acres of mountain and hill land in the prefecture which supply fuel, fuel ashes and green manure for fertilizer; run-off water for irrigation; lumber and remunerative employment for service not needed in the fields. The journey was continued from Kyoto July 7th, taking the route leading northeastward, skirting lake Biwa which we came upon suddenly on emerging from a tunnel as the train left Otani. At many places we passed waterwheels such as that seen in Fig. 241, all similarly set, busily turning, and usually twelve to sixteen feet in diameter but oftenest only as many inches thick. Until we had reached Lake Biwa the valleys were narrow with only small areas in rice. Tea plantations were common on the higher cultivated slopes, and gardens on the terraced hillsides growing vegetables of many kinds were common, often with the ground heavily mulched with straw, while the wooded or grass-covered slopes still further up showed the usual systematic periodic cutting. After passing the west end of the lake, rice fields were nearly continuous and extensive. Before reaching Hachiman we crossed a stream leading into the lake but confined between levees more than twelve feet high, and we had already passed beneath two raised viaducts after leaving Kusatsu. Other crops were being grown side by side with the rice on similar lands and apparently in rotation with it, but on sharp, narrow close ridges twelve to fourteen inches high. As we passed eastward we entered one of the important mulberry districts where the fields are graded to two levels, the higher occupied with mulberry or other crops not requiring irrigation, while the lower was devoted to rice or crops grown in rotation with it. On the Kisogawa, at the station of the same name, there were four anchored floating water-power mills propelled by two pair of large current wheels stationed fore and aft, each pair working on a common axle from opposite sides of the mill, driven by the force of the current flowing by. At Kisogawa we had entered the northern end of one of the largest plains of Japan, some thirty miles wide and extending forty miles southward to Owari bay. The plain has been extensively graded to two levels, the benches being usually not more than two feet above the rice paddies, and devoted to various dry land crops, including the mulberry. The soil is decidedly sandy in character but the mean yield of rice for the prefecture is 37 bushels per acre and above the average for the country at large. An analysis of the soils at the sub-experiment station north of Nagoya shows the following content of the three main plant food elements. Nitrogen Phosphorus Potassium Pounds per million In paddy field Soil 1520 769 805 Subsoil 810 756 888 In upland field Soil 1060 686 1162 Subsoil 510 673 1204 The green manure crops on this plain are chiefly two varieties of the "pink clover," one sowed in the fall and one about May 15th, the first yielding as high as sixteen tons green weight per acre and the other from five to eight tons. On the plain distant from the mountain and hill land the stems of agricultural crops are largely used as fuel and the fuel ashes are applied to the fields at the rate of 10 kan per tan, or 330 pounds per acre, worth $1.20, little lime, as such, being used. In the prefecture of Aichi, largely in this plain, with an area of cultivated land equal to about sixteen of our government townships, there is a population of 1,752,042, or a density of 4.7 per acre, and the number of households of farmers was placed at 211,033, thus giving to each farmer's family an average of 1.75 acres, their chief industries being rice and silk culture. Soon after leaving the Agricultural Experiment Station of Aichi prefecture at An Jo we crossed the large Yahagigawa, flowing between strong levees above the level of the rice fields. Mulberries, with burdock and other vegetables were growing upon all of the tables raised one to two, feet above the rice paddies, and these features continued past Okasaki, Koda, and Kamagori, where the hills in many places had been recently cut clean of the low forest growth and where we passed many large stacks of pine boughs tied in bundles for fuel. After passing Goyu sixty-five miles east from Nagoya, mulberry was the chief crop. Then came a plain country which had been graded and leveled at great cost of labor, the benches with their square shoulders standing three to four feet above the paddy fields; and after passing Toyohashi some distance we were surprised to cross a rather wide section of comparatively level land overgrown with pine and herbaceous, plants which had evidently been cut and recut many times. Beyond Futagawa rice fields were laid out on what appeared to be, similar land but with soil a little finer in texture, and still further along were other flat areas not cultivated. At Maisaka quite half the cultivated fields appear to be in mulberry with ponds of lotus plants in low places, while at Hamamatsu the rice fields are interspersed with many square-shouldered tables raised three to four feet and occupied with mulberry or vegetables. As we passed upon the flood plain of the Tenryugawa, with its nearly dry bed of coarse gravel half a mile wide, the dwellings of farm villages were, many of them surrounded with nearly solid, flat-topped, trimmed evergreen hedges nine to twelve feet high, of the umbrella pine, forming beautiful and effective screens. At Nakaidzumi we had left the mulberry orchards for those of tea, rice still holding wherever paddies could be formed. Here, too, we met the first fields of tobacco, and at Fukuroi and Homouchi large quantities of imported Manchurian bean cake were stacked about the station, having evidently been brought by rail. At Kanaya we passed through a long tunnel and were in the valley of the Oigawa, crossing the broad, nearly dry stream over a bridge of nineteen long spans and were then in the prefecture of Shizuoka where large fields of tea spread far up the hillsides, covering extensive areas, but after passing the next station, and for seventeen miles before reaching Shizuoka we traversed a level stretch of nearly continuous rice fields. The Shizuoka Experiment Station is devoting special attention to the interests of horticulture, and progress has already been made in introducing new fruits of better quality and in improving the native varieties. The native pears and peaches, as we found them served on the hotel tables in either China or Japan, were not particularly attractive in either texture or flavor, but we were here permitted to test samples of three varieties of ripe figs of fine flavor and texture, one of them as large as a good sized pear. Three varieties of fine peaches were also shown, one unusually large and with delicate deep rose tint, including the flesh. If such peaches could be canned so as to retain their delicate color they would prove very attractive for the table. The flavor and texture of this peach were also excellent, as was the case with two varieties of pears. The station was also experimenting with the production of marmalades and we tasted three very excellent brands, two of them lacking the bitter flavor. It would appear that, in Japan, Korea and China there should be a very bright future along the lines of horticultural development, leading to the utilization of the extensive hill lands of these countries and the development of a very extensive export trade, both in fresh fruits and marmalades, preserves and the canned forms. They have favorable climatic and soil conditions and great numbers of people with temperament and habits well suited to the industries, as well as an enormous home need which should be met, in addition to the large possibilities in the direction of a most profitable export trade which would increase opportunities for labor and bring needed revenue to the people. In Fig. 242 are three views at this station, the lower showing a steep terraced hillside set with oranges and other fruits, holding out a bright promise for the future. Peach orchards were here set on the hill lands, the trees six feet apart each way. They come into bearing in three years, remain productive ten to fifteen years, and the returns are 50 to 60 yen per tan, or at the rate of $100 to $120 per acre. The usual fertilizers for a peach orchard are the manure-earth-compost, applied at the rate of 3300 pounds per acre, and fish guano applied in rotation and at the same rate. Shizuoka is one of the large prefectures, having a total area of 3029 square miles; 2090 of which are in forest; 438 in pasture and genya land, and 501 square miles cultivated, not quite one-half of which is in paddy fields. The mean yield of paddy rice is nearly 33 bushels per acre. The prefecture has a population of 1,293,470, or about four to the acre of cultivated field, and the total crop of rice is such as, to provide 236 pounds to each person. At many places along the way as we left Shizuoka July 10th for Tokyo, farmers were sowing broadcast, on the water, over their rice fields, some pulverized fertilizer, possibly bean cake. Near the railway station of Fuji, and after crossing the boulder gravel bed of the Fujikawa which was a full quarter of a mile wide, we were traversing a broad plain of rice paddies with their raised tables, but on them pear orchards were growing, trained to their overhead trellises. About. Suduzuka grass was being cut with sickles along the canal dikes for use as green manure in the rice fields, which on the left of the railway, stretched eastward more than six miles to beyond Hara where we passed into a tract of dry land crops consisting of mulberry, tea and various vegetables, with more or less of dry land rice, but we returned to the paddy land again at Numazu, in another four miles. Here there were four carloads of beef cattle destined for Tokyo or Yokohama, the first we had seen. It was at this station that the railway turns northward to skirt the eastern flank of the beautiful Fuji-yama, rising to higher lands of a brown loamy character, showing many large boulders two feet in diameter. Horses were here moving along the roadways under large saddle loads of green grass, going to the paddy fields from the hills, which in this section are quite free from all but herbaceous growth, well covered and green. Considerable areas were growing maize and buckwheat, the latter being ground into flour and made into macaroni which is eaten with chopsticks, Fig. 243, and used to give variety to the diet of rice and naked barley. At Gotenba, where tourists leave the train to ascend Fuji-yama, the road turns eastward again and descends rapidly through many tunnels, crossing the wide gravelly channel of the Sakawagawa, then carrying but little water, like all of the other main streams we had crossed, although we were in the rainy season. This was partly because the season was yet not far advanced; partly because so much water was being taken upon the rice fields, and again because the drainage is so rapid down the steep slopes and comparatively short water courses. Beyond Yamakita the railway again led along a broad plain set in paddy rice and the hill slopes were terraced and cultivated nearly to their summits. Swinging strongly southeastward, the coast was reached at Noduz in a hilly country producing chiefly vegetables, mulberry and tobacco, the latter crop being extensively grown eastward nearly to Oiso, beyond which, after a mile of sweet potatoes, squash and cucumbers, there were paddy fields of rice in a flat plain. Before Hiratsuka was reached the rice paddies were left and the train was crossing a comparatively flat country with a sandy, sometimes gravelly, soil where mulberries, peaches, eggplants, sweet potatoes and dry land rice were interspersed with areas still occupied with small pine and herbaceous growth or where small pine had been recently set. Similar conditions prevailed after we had crossed the broad channel of the Banyugawa and well toward and beyond Fujishiwa where a leveled plain has its tables scattered among the fields of paddy rice, this being the southwest margin of the Tokyo plain, the largest in Japan, lying in five prefectures, whose aggregate area of 1,739,200 acres of arable lands was worked by 657,235 families of farmers; 661,613 acres of which was in paddy rice, producing annually some 19,198,000 bushels, or 161 pounds for each of the 7,194,045 men, women and children in the five prefectures, 1,818,655 of whom were in the capital city, Tokyo. Three views taken in the eastern portion of this plain in the prefecture of Chiba, July 17th, are seen in Fig. 244, in two of which shocks of wheat were still standing in the fields among the growing crops, badly weathered and the grain sprouting as the result of the rainy season. Peanuts, sweet potatoes and millet were the main dry land, crops then on the ground, with paddy rice in the flooded basins. Windsor beans, rape, wheat and barley had been harvested. One family with whom we talked were threshing their wheat. The crop had been a good one and was yielding between 38.5 and. 41.3 bushels per acre, worth at the time $35 to $40. On the same land this farmer secures a yield of 352 to 361 bushels of potatoes, which at the market price at that time would give a gross earning of $64 to $66 per acre. Reference has been made to the extensive use of straw in the cultural methods of the Japanese. This is notably the case in their truck garden work, and two phases of this are shown in Fig. 245. In the lower section of the illustration the garden has been ridged and furrowed for transplanting, the sets have been laid and the roots covered with a little soil; then, in the middle section, showing the next step in the method, a layer of straw has been pressed firmly above the roots, and in the final step this would be covered with earth. Adopting this method the straw is so placed that (1) it acts as an effective mulch without in any way interfering with the capillary rise of water to the roots of the sets; (2) it gives deep, thorough aeration of the soil, at the same time allowing rains to penetrate quickly, drawing the air after it; (3) the ash ingredients carried in the straw are leached directly to the roots where they are needed; (4) and finally the straw and soil constitute a compost where the rapid decay liberates plant food gradually and in the place where it will be most readily available. The upper section of the illustration shows rows of eggplants very heavily mulched with coarse straw, the quantity being sufficient to act as a most effective mulch, to largely prevent the development of weeds and to serve during the rainy season as a very material fertilizer. In growing such dry land crops as barley, beans, buckwheat or dry land rice the soil of the field is at first fitted by plowing or spading, then furrowed deeply where the rows are to be planted. Into these furrows fertilizer is placed and covered with a layer of earth upon which the seed is planted. When the crop is up, if a second fertilization is desired, a furrow may be made alongside each row, into which the fertilizer is sowed and then covered. When the crop is so far matured that a second may be planted, a new furrow is made, either midway between two others or adjacent to one of them, fertilizer applied and covered with a layer of soil and the seed planted. In this way the least time possible is lost during the growing season, all of the soil of the field doing duty in crop production. It was our privilege to visit the Imperial Agricultural Experiment Station at Nishigahara, near Tokyo, which is charged with the leadership of the general and technical agricultural research work for the Empire. The work is divided into the sections of agriculture, agricultural chemistry, entomology, vegetable pathology, tobacco, horticulture, stock breeding, soils, and tea manufacture, each with their laboratory equipment and research staff, while the forty-one prefectural stations and fourteen sub-stations are charged with the duty of handling all specific local, practical problems and with testing out and applying conclusions and methods suggested by the results obtained at the central station, together with the local dissemination of knowledge among the farmers of the respective prefectures. A comprehensive soil survey of the arable lands of the Empire has been in progress since before 1893, excellent maps being issued on a scale of 1 to 100,000, or about 1.57 inch-to the mile, showing the geological formations in eight colors with subdivisions indicated by letters. Some eleven soil types are recognized, based on physical composition and the areas occupied by these are shown by means of lines and dots in black printed over the colors. Typical profiles of the soil to depths of three meters are printed as insets on each sheet and localities where these apply are indicated by corresponding numbers in red on the map. Elaborate chemical and physical studies are also being made in the laboratories of samples of both soil and subsoil. The Imperial Agricultural Experiment Station is well equipped for investigation work along many lines and that for soils is notably strong. In Fig. 246 may be seen a portion of the large immersed cylinders which are filled with typical soils from different parts of the Empire, and Fig. 247 shows a portion of another part of their elaborate outfit for soil studies which are in progress. It is found that nearly all cultivated soils of Japan are acid to litmus, and this they are inclined to attribute to the presence of acid hydro-aluminum silicates. The Island Empire of Japan stretches along the Asiatic coast through more than twenty-nine degrees of latitude from the southern extremity of Formosa northward to the middle of Saghalin, some 2300 statute miles; or from the latitude of middle Cuba to that of north Newfoundland and Winnipeg; but the total land area is only 175,428 square miles, and less than that of the three states of Wisconsin, Iowa and Minnesota. Of this total land area only 23,698 square miles are at present cultivated; 7151 square miles in the three main islands are weed and pasture land. Less than fourteen per cent of the entire land area is at present under cultivation. If all lands having a slope of less than fifteen degrees may be tilled, there yet remain in the four main islands, 15,400 square miles to bring under cultivation, which is an addition of 65.4 per cent to the land already cultivated. In 1907 there were in the Empire some 5,814,362 households of farmers tilling 15,201,969 acres and feeding 3,522,877 additional households, or 51,742,398 people. This is an average of 3.4 people to the acre of cultivated land, each farmer's household tilling an average of 2.6 acres. The lands yet to be reclaimed are being put under cultivation rapidly, the amount improved in 1907 being 64,448 acres. If the new lands to be reclaimed can be made as productive as those now in use there should be opportunity for an increase in population to the extent of about 35,000,000 without changing the present ratio of 3.4 people to the acre of cultivated land. While the remaining lands to be reclaimed are not as inherently productive as those now in use, improvements in management will more than compensate for this, and the Empire is certain to quite double its present maintenance capacity and provide for at least a hundred million people with many more comforts of home and more satisfaction for the common people than they now enjoy. Since 1872 there has been an increase in the population of Japan amounting to an annual average of about 1.1 per cent, and if this rate is maintained the one hundred million mark would be passed in less than sixty years. It appears probable however that the increased acreage put under cultivation and pasturage combined, will more than keep pace with the population up to this limit, while the improvement in methods and crops will readily permit a second like increment to her population, bringing that for the present Empire up to 150 millions. Against this view, perhaps, is the fact that the rice crop of the twenty years ending in 1906 is only thirty-three per cent greater than the crop of 1838. In Japan, as in the United States, there has been a strong movement from the country to the city as a natural result of the large increase in manufactures and commerce, and the small amount of land per each farmer's household. In 1903 only .23 per cent of the population of Japan were living in villages of less than 500, while 79.06 per cent were in towns and villages of less than 10,000 people, 20.7 per cent living in those larger. But in 1894 84.36 per cent of the population were living in towns and villages of less than 10,000, and only 15.64 per cent were in cities, towns and villages of over 10,000 people; and while during these ten years the rural population had increased at the rate of 640 per 10,000, in cities the increase had been 6,174 per 10,000. Japan has been and still is essentially an agricultural nation and in 1906 there were 3,872,105 farmers' households, whose chief work was farming, and 1,581,204 others whose subsidiary work was farming, or 60.2 per cent of the entire number of households. A like ratio holds in Formosa. Wealthy land owners who do not till their own fields are not included. Of the farmers in Japan some 33.34 per cent own and work their land. Those having smaller holdings, who rent additional land, make up 46.03 per cent of the total farmers; while 20.63 per cent are tenants who work 44.1 per cent of the land. In 1892 only one per cent of the land holders owned more than twenty-five acres each; those holding between twenty-five acres and five acres made up 11.7 per cent; while 87.3 per cent held less than five acres each. A man owning seventy-five acres of land in Japan is counted among the "great landholders". It is never true, however, except in the Hokkaido, which is a new country agriculturally, that such holdings lie in one body. Statistics published in "Agriculture in Japan", by the Agricultural Bureau, Department of Agriculture and Commerce, permit the following statements of rent, crop returns, taxes and expenses, to be made. The wealthy land owners who rent their lands receive returns like these: For paddy field, For upland field, per acre. per acre. Rent $27.98 $13.53 Taxes 7.34 1.98 Expenses 1.72 2.48 Total expenses $9.06 $4.46 Net profit 18.92 9.07 It is stated, in connection with these statistics, that the rate of profit for land capital is 5.6 per cent for the paddy field, and 5.7 per cent for the upland field. This makes the valuation of the land about $338 and $159 per acre, respectively. A land holder who owns and rents ten acres of paddy field and ten acres of upland field would, at these rates, realize a net annual income of $279.90. Peasant farmers who own and work their lands receive per acre an income as follows: For paddy field, For upland field, per acre. per acre. Crop returns $55.00 $30.72 Taxes 7.34 1.98 Labor and expenses 36.20 24.00 ------- ------- Total expense $43.54 $25.98 Net profit 11.46 4.74 The peasant farmer who owns and works five acres, 2.5 of paddy and 2.5 of upland field, would realize a total net income of $40.50. This is after deducting the price of his labor. With that included, his income would be something like $91. Tenant farmers who work some 41 per cent of the farm lands of Japan, would have accounts something as follows: For paddy field, For upland field, 1 crop. 2 crops. per acre. per acre. Crop returns $49.03 $78.62 $41.36 Tenant fee 23.89 31.58 13.52 Labor 15.78 25.79 14.69 Fertilization 7.82 17.30 10.22 Seed .82 1.40 1.57 Other expenses 1.69 2.82 1.66 ------------- ------- Total expenses $50.00 $78.89 $41.66 Net profit --.97 --.27 --.30 This statement indicates that tenant farmers do not realize enough from the crops to quite cover expenses and the price named for their labor. If the tenant were renting five acres, equally divided between paddy and upland field, the earning would be $73.00 or $99.73 according as one or two crops are taken from the paddy field, this representing what he realizes on his labor, his other expenses absorbing the balance of the crop value. But the average area tilled by each Japanese farmer's household is only 2.6 acres, hence the average earning of the tenant household would be $37.95 or $51.86. A clearer view of the difference in the present condition of farmers in Japan and of those in the United States may be gained by making the Japanese statement on the basis of our 160-acre farm, as expressed in the table below: For paddy field. For upland field. Total. For 80 acres. For 80 acres. 160 acres. Crop returns $4,400.00 $2,457.60 $6,857.60 ---------- ---------- ---------- Taxes $587.20 $158.40 $745.60 Expenses 1,633.60 744.80 2,378.40 Labor 1,262.40 1,175.20 2,437.60 ---------- ---------- ---------- Total cost $3,488.20 $2,078.40 $5,561.60 Net return 916.80 379.20 1,296.00 Return including labor 2,179.20 1,554.40 3,783.60 In the United States the 160-acre farm is managed by and supports a single family, but in Japan, as the average household works but 2.6 acres, the earnings of the 160 acres are distributed among some 61 households, making the net return to each but $21.25, instead of $1296, and including the labor as earning, the income would be $39.96 more, or $60.67 per household instead of $3733.60, the total for a 160-acre farm worked under Japanese conditions. These figures reveal something of the tense strain and of the terrible burden which is being carried by these people, over and above that required for the maintenance of the household. The tenant who raises one crop of rice pays a rental of $23.89 per acre. If he raises two crops he pays $31.58; if it is upland field, he pays $13.52. To these amounts he adds $10.33, $21.52 or $13.45 respectively for fertilizer, seed and other expenses making a total investment of $34.22, $53.10 or $26.97 per acre, which would require as many bushels of wheat sold at a dollar a bushel to cover this cost. In addition to this he assumes all the risks of loss from weather, from insects and from blight, in the hope that he may recoup his expenses and in addition have for his services $14.81, $25.52 or $14.39 for the season's work. The burdens of society, which have been and still are so largely burdens of war and of government, with all nations, are reflected with almost blinding effect in the land taxes of Japan, which range from $1.98, on the upland, to $7.34 per acre on the paddy fields, making a quarter section, without buildings, carry a burden of $300 to $1100 annually. Japan's budget in 1907 was $134,941,113, which is at the rate of $2.60 for each man, woman and child; $8.90 for each acre of cultivated land, and $23, for each household in the Empire. When such is the case it is not strange that scenes like Fig. 248 are common in Japan today where, after seventy years, toil may not cease. There is a bright, as well as a pathetic side to scenes like this. The two have shared for fifty years, but if the days have been full of toil, with them have come strength of body, of mind and sterling character. If the burdens have been heavy, each has made the other's lighter, the satisfaction fuller, the joys keener, the sorrows less difficult to bear; and the children who came into the home and have gone from it to perpetuate new ones, could not well be other than such as to contribute to the foundations of nations of great strength and long endurance. Reference has been made to the large amount of work carried on in the farmers' households by the women and children, and by the men when they are not otherwise employed, and the earnings of this subsidiary work have materially helped to piece out the meagre income and to meet the relatively high taxes and rent. 
42365	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustration (a map of Tetsujo's house and garden). See 42365-h.htm or 42365-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42365/42365-h/42365-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42365/42365-h.zip) Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). [=o] represents a letter "o" with a macron (example: d[=o]dan). [=u] represents a letter "u" with a macron (example: Shi--j[=u]). Small capitals were replaced with ALL CAPITALS. THE BREATH OF THE GODS by SIDNEY McCALL Author of "Truth Dexter" Boston Little, Brown, and Company 1905 Copyright, 1905, By Little, Brown, and Company. All rights reserved Published May, 1905 The University Press, Cambridge, U. S. A. BECAUSE OF FAITH AND REVERENCE, AND IN SPITE OF ERRORS WHICH I KNOW TO BE INEVITABLE, I DARE INSCRIBE THIS BOOK TO YAMATO DAMASHII PREFATORY NOTE No character in this book, belonging either to public or private life, is taken as a whole or in part from any person. The characters are wholly imaginary, and no incident is based on any real incident known to the writer. Even in the descriptions of official buildings, memory is laxly used. In the genre studies alone is realism attempted. Most, if not all, of the questions, remarks, and speculations put into the mouths of peasants and servants have been overheard by the writer. THE BREATH OF THE GODS CHAPTER ONE The stone dwelling of Senator Cyrus C. Todd, usually as indistinguishable from its neighbors as is one piano key from another, presented at nine o'clock on this night of November third, nineteen hundred and three, a claim to individuality in the excess of light pouring from every window, from the perpendicular wink of every opening door (opened but to close again as quickly); oozing, it would seem, from the very pores of the pale façade, thereby giving to the great flat rectangle of the house a phosphorescent value that set it six feet out into the night. The upper windows shone more brilliantly than those below. A roller shade had been carelessly left high. Through the film of chamber curtains heads could be seen passing. Once, there was the outflung gesture of a slim, bare arm. Everything bespoke approaching festivity. At this brightest window a silhouette suddenly appeared, sharp, dark, complete. It was that of a Japanese girl with wonderfully looped and curved coiffure, shoulders that sloped tenderly, and a small, straight throat. Just at this moment, on the shadowed entrance-steps below, answering silhouettes began noiselessly to climb. These were men with thin black legs, and strange burdens, black like themselves. They showed angles as of gnarled roots; one, the great curved body of a gigantic spider. The front door, opening instantly to a ring, disclosed them merely as musicians,--Signor Marcellini of Milan and his colleagues,--bearing basso, cello, and flutes, secure in swart cases. The lower rooms of the house were slightly chill. Though flooded with soft light, they were not yet fully illuminated. All doors within stood open. It looked almost as if walls had been taken down, so long and mysterious had grown the vistas. Through all tingled an aromatic smell, something a little alien, like crushed herbs,--pungent, and full of vague suggestion. Mrs. Cyrus C. Todd, flowing now down the palm-set stairway in a purple tide of skirts, frothed with dim lace, stopped at a switchboard half concealed in vines, sent forth a gloved, determined hand, and in an instant the secret of the odor was revealed. The rooms, to their farthest angles, literally exuded chrysanthemums. Senator Todd was said to have expended five thousand dollars for these flowers alone. Perhaps he wished to stamp in gold upon the memory of Washington this coming-out party of his idolized, only child. The conceit was fair enough, for Gwendolen was bright, and blonde, and golden in herself. Statesmen and the wives of statesmen did not fail to observe that chrysanthemums were the insignia of official Japan, and that November third happened,--they emphasized "happened,"--to be the birthday of Japan's beloved Emperor. These two facts, joined with the third, that Senator Todd even now had aspirations to the Tokio mission, made a trio of keen angles to be used as wedges for further speculation. The walls of the lower story had been spread for the occasion with yellow satin, upon which alternated delicate upright strokes of silver and of white. Around, under the ceiling, grew a frieze of living flowers. The great, coarse, woody stems crossed in a lattice-work, with clusters of huge blossoms and green leaves breaking the angles at points of decision possible only to a trained artist, or to a Japanese. The white duck floor-covering spread to a border hand-painted, to match the frieze. Where wall and canvas met, the real flowers again arose,--thick parallel stalks of differing heights, upholding a wainscot border of shaggy gold. Mantles were heaped with them. Japanese pots of them in bloom alternated with conventional ferns and palms. Each electric bulb jutted from the heart of a living flower. The very air had an amber tone. Overhead, invisible footsteps scurried in short flights. They sounded feminine, young, full of excitement. "Heavens!" Miss Gwendolen de Lancy Todd was crying, "where on earth _is_ my other glove? I am sure I just laid it here! And my orchids! Has anybody sat on my orchids? I think I'll have to marry the young person who sent them, though I forget now who it was!" "A person of the name Dodge, n'est-ce-pas?" ventured the little French dressmaker, on her knees beside the fair white vision. Pins, retained at the corners of her mouth, added a crushed softness to the pronunciation. She rhymed it with "targe." "Yes, a name like that, I believe," said Gwendolen, indifferently, and craned her long neck over. "Mother called him some sort of a snip. Are you certain that my dress hangs right now, Madame?" "Oui, oui. It is perfection," declared Madame, sticking the remaining pins into the black front of her dress. "Then at last I am actually ready. I believe there's mother calling now. Where did Yuki go? Oh, I see, over there by the window, as calm and cool as if we were going to church instead of to our first ball!" "Then all my coolness is stopping on my outsides," said the Japanese girl, with a little incipient shrug and giggle, breaking at once into the merriest of low laughs. She crossed the room swiftly, with an unusual, swaying rhythm of movement. "Ah, Gwendolen, my heart it go like yellow butterflies to be downstairs." Gwendolen turned a radiant face to greet her. "Now isn't she a vision!" cried the girl aloud, in fresh access of admiration for her friend. "Madame, what do you think those French painters of yours would say to her--Chavannes, De Monvel, Besnard,--who owe so much to Yuki's art?" "You omit Monsieur Le Beau, who is a painter," said the little woman, shyly. She was on good terms with the girls, and had made Yuki, as well as Gwendolen, chic gowns with the breath of Paris upon them. "I knew well the family of Monsieur Le Beau in France," she hurried on, seeing the distressed flush in Yuki's face. "Non, non, Mamselles. I am a chattering old femme. Let me look at you together before you descend the stair." She sat back upon her heels to enjoy the picture. "Yes," cried Gwendolen, "that's right. Take us both in." Laughingly she drew Yuki's arm, with its long, trailing sleeve of gray, tightly within her own. They rested together, swaying,--smiling,--Yuki's cheek still warm with the name of Pierre Le Beau, two types as far apart as the two sides of earth which had given them race. Gwendolen was fair almost to the extreme of golden blondness. Her features were small and perfectly related; her nose deliciously interrogative at the tip. Her brows and lashes, drawn in a darker hue, gave touches of character and distinction. She was very slender, erect, and was poised as though she grew in the wind. The long tulle draperies shook and stirred as if vitalized by her energy. She was all white and gold. Her heaped-up skeins of hair, amber necklace, gloves, slippers, and stockings gleamed with a primrose hue, and the freckles on her orchids (poor flowers, just caught up hastily from an ignominious corner) repeated the yellow note. Beside her, Yuki Onda, a few inches lacking in height, impressive, nevertheless, and held with a striking yet indefinable difference of line, smiled out like a frail Astarte. Her pallor had an undernote of ivory, where Gwendolen's was of pearl. Her head, with its pointed chin, bore, like a diadem of jet,--balanced, like a regal burden,--the spread wings of her hair. Beneath a white, low brow her eyes made almost a continuous, gleaming line. The little nose came down, straight and firm, with a single brush stroke. All the humanity, the tenderness, the womanhood of her face lay in the red mouth and the small, round chin. Her smile was startling, even pathetic, in beauty. Gwendolen had once said, "There is sometimes something in Yuki's smile that makes me want to fight God for her." Yuki's robe, in deference to hours of pleading from Gwendolen and Pierre Le Beau, was Japanese to the least detail. Mrs. Todd had protested in vain for the "civilized" coming-out gown of white. The robe hung about the girl in long, loose folds of cræpe, mist-gray, rising in soft transitions from the dark band of the hem to pearl tones at the throat. Under it were garments of heavier silk, dawn-colored, showing like morning through thin clouds. Into the curdled substance of the cræpe, cherry-flowers were dyed, or rather, breathed in, by a smiling, wrinkled brown magician at the rim of Yuzen Creek,--pale shapes which glimmered and were gone, rose to the surface and sank again, as though borne in moving water. Besides the black note of her hair there was one strong crash of contrast in the obi, or sash, a broad and dominating zone, black, too, with fire-flies of gold upon it. For hair-ornaments she wore a cluster of small pink flowers that had the look of cherry-blooms, and a great carved ivory pin, pronged like a tuning-fork, an heirloom in her father's family. "Gwendo--_len_! Yu-_kee_! Come down instantly!" rose the voice of Mrs. Todd. "You should have been down ten minutes ago." "Ah, Madame Todd calls," exclaimed the dressmaker, scrambling to her feet. "But you are sure you really admire us, Madame?" challenged Gwendolen, before she would stir. "Oui, charmante, charmante, both are perfection apart--and a vision of paradise together. But go, young ladies, the good mother calls again." The spoiled child stopped for another instant, this time in the doorway. "All right, mother. Coming this instant!" she hurled downstairs; then to the little Frenchwoman she said, "Do not attempt to sit up, Madame. Yuki is to stay all night, and will help me with the pins. After a glimpse at the reception and some of the goodies below, you must hurry home to your little Jeanne. Take plenty of bonbons with you, and I wish to send that great bunch of daisies, with my love. All children love daisies, n'est-ce-pas?" At last they were off. Madame could hear Mrs. Todd, relieved, yet petulant, scolding them the whole descending scale of the stairs. Moving through the perfumed disorder of the room, Madame sought out the daisies, and, with filling eyes, whispered aloud in French, "Now may the good God be kind to that loving heart, and send to it only blessing." Stockings, scarfs, fans, underwear,--a thousand dainty trifles must be gathered up before the little Frenchwoman could give herself consent to go. Madame and Miss Todd had been kind friends to the widowed exile. Far over to one side of the room she stumbled upon a dark heap that showed gleams of a cherry-colored lining. It emitted, as if consciously, an aroma, subtle, faint, unforgettable, strange scented echoes of a distant land. It was Yuki's long black "adzuma-coat," worn from the Japanese Legation, where Baroness Kanrio and the maids had assisted her to dress, and which, in this bright room, she had slipped laughingly to the floor and forgotten. Madame held it out for a moment. Then she folded and laid it softly on the foot of the bed. Her expression had changed slightly. As if with relief, she snatched up a dressing-gown of blue flannel, that cried "Gwendolen" from every turquoise fold. "Gwendolen, where is your father hiding?" demanded Mrs. Todd, severely, as the two girls reached the hall. "Why, how should I know? Dad hasn't worried my mind. Isn't Yuki simply a dream of spring?" "You forget that I have admired Yuki upstairs," said the harassed matron, and turned her back. "There's another carriage sounding as if it wanted to stop! Every wheel goes over my nerve-centre. Cy, _Cy_--rus! Where _is_ that wretched man? The musicians should be playing now. The guests will pour in any instant. There is a carriage stopping! It _has_ stopped! Heavens, I shall go mad!" "Shall Yuki and I run for the drawing-room, mother?" "Yes, yes, dear. Right under that tallest palm. Be sure to stand ahead of Yuki. Cyrus! Cy--_rus_! Oh, he is never anywhere when I want him." Her wails preceded her down the hall. "Are you looking for me, dear?" asked the senator, innocently, strolling out in a leisurely manner from his study, where, against orders, he had been smoking a cigar. "_Am_ I!" panted his wife. "And you've been smoking!" But indignation must be swept aside. "The carriages are stopping, man! Don't you hear them? I'll be in bed for a month if I live through this night! Start up the musicians, and join us immediately in the front drawing-room." "Musicians,--musicians?" murmured Cyrus, looking about, "where are the musicians?" "Not under the hatrack, nor yet in my china-closet," cried his lady, with angry vehemence. "Over there! Yes, there--where you saw the piano wheeled this afternoon; behind that hedge of chrysanthemums!" "Oh, yes, there in the duck-shooters' lodge. All right, old lady. I'll start 'em. Don't get excited!" Guests now streamed upstairs toward the dressing-rooms. Signor Marcellini began his most seductive waltz; and the senator stood beside his heaving spouse just as the first smiling acquaintance crossed the door-sill. "Ah, Governor! Ah, my _dear_ Mrs. Jink!" chortled Mrs. Todd. "This is surely a good omen,--my daughter's first official congratulations to come from you. Gwendolen, let me present Governor Jink and Mrs. Jink, fresh from our own dear Western state. Miss Yuki Onda of Tokio, Mrs. Jink,--Gwendolen's most intimate school-friend, and my Oriental daughter, as I call her. Ah, Sir George! Punctuality is one of the British virtues. Mrs. Blachouse, my daughter, Miss Todd." The reception swung now, full and free, into the sparkling waters of felicity. Laughter, lights, and the rustling of silken skirts on inner mysteries of silk; music held back by the multitudinous small sounds of human intercourse, with now and then a protesting wail from violins and the guttural short snore of a cello! Laughter, and the clink of glasses on metal trays, the scraping of spoons against porcelain, tinkling of ice in fragile vessels, and incessantly the shuffle of footsteps on soundless, unseen floors! Perfumes of dying flowers and foliage, odors of essences, fumes of fresh-cut lemons, and of wine! Outside, at the curbing, a continuous roar and rattling of carriages went on. The covered entrance-way, like an elastic tent drawn out, sheltered a thin moving stream of faces. Behind them the scrape of wheels, stamping of horses, and vociferous bawling of drivers sent a premonitory tingling through the blood. At intervals there came the snort and hiss of that modern Fafnir, the automobile, followed by the nauseating taint of gasoline. To Gwendolen and Yuki it seemed as if the line of visitors would never end. "Yuki, Yuki," whispered the former, "if they keep popping by like this, each with that wooden grin, I shall certainly go into hysterics! Did you see how nearly I broke down in the face of that last fat lady in tight gray sleeves? She looked like a young rhinoceros in its little sister's skin." "I no longer perceive anybody at all," said Yuki, tranquilly. "I only see the small duck called 'oshi-dori' bobbing down, then up, on the Sumida River." "Hush!" whispered Mrs. Todd, in evident excitement. "Here comes the Russian ambassador with his entire suite. I was wondering whether he would snub us because of the war-talk, and Yuki, and the chrysanthemums, and the Mikado's birthday! Now, girls, smile your sweetest!" But the good lady was given a surprise. Yuki leaned back to touch her arm. At the look of irritated inquiry the Japanese girl said clearly, "You must excuse me from this, dear Mrs. Todd; I cannot shake hands with that person. If I shook, I would be the hypocrite." Without waiting for permission or remonstrance, she turned and hurried from the direction in which the Muscovites now approached. Mr. Todd, with hand already extended in welcome, saw nothing of the little by-play. Gwendolen heard, sympathized entirely with Yuki, but wisely held her peace. Mrs. Todd, after a gasp of outraged dignity, recalled herself, perforce, for the new greetings. Yuki had slipped from the line quietly enough. She walked away now quite slowly and with apparent calm. Within, she was turmoil and distress. Had she done right? Had she offended, beyond forgiveness, her kind friends, the Todds? But, looking from the opposite point, how could she touch, even in social insincerity, the hand of a man whom she felt by instinct to be a subtle enemy of her native land? This very minister was suspected by many to be one of the strongest who urged the weak Czar into insult and hostility. Would Mrs. Todd reprove her publicly? Would Baron Kanrio, when he heard, defend the childish impulse? A greater one than Kanrio would soon be here. In the agitation of the moment she had forgotten that tremendous fact. Prince Hagané, her father's feudal lord, or daimyo, often called the "Living War-God of Japan," was to come, for a few moments, to this reception, and partly because of her. A Japanese, no matter how great, seldom neglects the privileges of humanity. Yuki's parents had written that the Prince was to see her, and deliver news. What would he say now,--what would her father say,--if told of this rude and un-Japanese yielding to a personal distaste? "Yet," muttered Yuki to herself, through small clenched teeth, "even should Lord Hagané himself command me, I think I would not touch that Russian's hand." Moving forward slowly, but always in a straight line, she came full against a small white surface on a level with her face, a thing shield-shaped, and framed in black. It did not move aside for her, as similar white patches, vaguely seen, had done. Brought up suddenly, she realized it to be a shirt-front, and presumably behind the shirt-front there must be a living man. "Oh, beg pardon!" she faltered, shrinking back. "I begs much pardons, sir." Two eager hands caught her own. A gay, low voice said, laughing, "I have watched your coming. I willed it. How straight you sped, you beautiful, strange bird!" But Yuki, dazed for the moment, did not answer. She panted slightly, and tried to draw her hands away. "I have waited here, by the conservatory door. You must be tired with standing. Come in with me, and rest." Still unable to command herself, she let the speaker lead her into the warm shadows. She hoped he had not seen her rudeness to the Russian minister. Mrs. Todd swept round an angry glance just in time to see them disappear. Pierre Le Beau found a sheltered seat, and gently, yet in a masterful way, forced her down beside him. "Oh, Yuki, but you are beautiful to-night! Was I not mad enough with love without this new gray snare of mist, these blossoms drifting along an irresistible tide? It is a lifetime since I have seen you." The beating of the girl's heart slowly slackened. "The lifetime of a flower, then," she said, smiling upward. "It was but last night, you know, when we all work so hard with the decorators and the chrysanthemums." "Last century!" he laughed. "I really exist only in the moments when I am with you. All else are dungeon hours, locked with your last 'Good-bye.' Do not shrink from me now, darling. Let me hold you in my arms once this wonderful night." "My hair you will disarrange, and others notice," she pleaded, holding him back with one white hand. "And, dear Pierre, you rumples my mind more than my hair. I must be calm to-night, and cheerful with many. I am the débutante." "You are hard to win," said Pierre, "but I believe I like it so. Your Japanese etiquette is a thorny hedge. More than once I've torn my soul upon it. Ah, but even that could not keep me quite away. You struggled hard, you elf of pearl and mist, but at last you said you loved me,--that you wished to be my wife." He brushed away the hand and caught her. She gave a little shuddering movement in his arms. "That was a terrible, bold thing for a girl of the samurai class to say. My heart shake a finger at me yet, that I have confessed so immodest a thought. I should hereafter be very circumspect with you, to pay for that bad thing!" "Circumspect!" laughed Pierre. "Yes, we shall both be circumspect like this,--and this!" She wrenched herself from his kisses, and stood upright in the narrow path. "No, Pierre; I mean it. Please do not do such things, or my frightened spirit never will return. I must go to Mrs. Todd; I fear she is angered." "Angered,--with you?" asked Pierre, arrested by the sincerity of the girl's protest. Yuki turned her head away. Suddenly he recalled the Russian minister's approach, and connected it with Yuki's flight. He stared at her averted countenance. "Yuki, did you leave your friends,--would you offend them,--rather than greet the Russian ambassador?" "Yes," whispered Yuki, trembling. The radiance of Pierre's face went out, his head sank. "So that was the reason. You would not touch a Russian! As you know, my mother is a Russian." "Oh, it is not _all_ Russians! Do not think that I would wound you. Many are good. Mr. Tolstoi, Mr. Wittee, your honored mother, too, I am sure. They hate, as we, the tyrants that wish to crush the people, and to bring on this cruel, unjust war. I saw the petals of our Emperor's flowers shrivel as he passed them by! I, too, would have shrivelled,--my soul would have turned black,--at his breath." "No war will come!" cried Pierre, vehemently. "I have told you this before. I know it from the inside. There will be no war. Your country will not face Imperial Russia!" "If those bad ones push us just too far,--if they delay replies, and provoke us just a little more,--Nippon will fight, and I think that God will let us win!" "Your Christian God must side with Russia. He cannot aid a nation that does not believe in him!" Pierre's eyes held curiosity and a challenge. Yuki turned slowly to him, answered the look with sombre brooding, and then stared upward to where close moisture of the high glass dome curved space into a frosted shell. "Perhaps, though," she said, pausing between each word, "the Christian God--believe--in--_us_!" Before his surprise found vent her mood and tone had changed. "But, no, no, Pierre; we talk no more of tragic things this night, not of war, and hate, and destiny. It is our ball, Monsieur Pierre Marie Le Beau,--I begs you to remember that. And me and Gwendolen are now in society. I am in society,--is it not nice? Come, let us return to society at once." She caught his arm, laughing, and tried to urge him from the bench. "You witch of moods!" said Pierre. "Are other Japanese girls like you? When I hold you closest, then do you seem most far away. I seize you in a thousand tantalizing forms, only to fear, each time, that never yet have I seen the real Yuki. Ah! take me to your land, my love, and make me one with it. What do I care for war, for Russia, even for France, if once I could believe you entirely my own? You know I am fighting hard to sail with you next spring. The French ambassador here gives me much hope, and in France my relatives are working." "Yes, yes, we shall go together on that great ship," said Yuki, soothingly, "and together we shall seek my dear parents, and ask them for our happiness." Pierre's face lighted. "But you will be true to me no matter whether they give consent or not?" he cried. "Swear it, Yuki." "I will be true to you, Pierre," said Yuki. "You wish to hear that many times, do you not? But I cannot say I will marry you without their consent. But they are kind--they must like you, Pierre." She flushed delicately. "We--we will make them to say '_yes_,' Pierre." Still the young man hesitated. "This condition that you hold so stubbornly is our menace," he began. "I don't urge you to marry me at once, without their good wishes, only to promise that, after trying in every way to gain them, you will take your life into your own hands and come to me." "Why do we fret and worry about such things so far away? You will take from me all joy of our party. Will you not return to the room with me?" "No," said Pierre, seizing a hand in his, "I shall hold you until this is a bit more clear. No, Yuki--" "Yuki,--Yuki!" came a cautious voice, an echo, it seemed, to Pierre's last word. "Where are you? Mother has sent me here. Prince Hagané asked for you. She says to come at once." "Let my hand go. I must hurry. It is Prince Hagané," whispered Yuki, and, slipping deftly from Pierre, she hurried to join her friend. He followed quickly, stopped in the doorway, and stood there, scowling. The crowd had thinned. He could see the heads and shoulders of the two girls moving and whispering together as they sped. Beyond them, surrounded by his suite of glittering officials, Spanish-looking men in broadcloth and gold lace, rose the dark, impressive figure of Prince Hagané. He was in the dull silken robes of his own land, unornamented but for a single decoration,--the highest that a Japanese subject, not a prince of the blood, had ever received. Pierre's first thought was an inconsequent one of childish irritation that the man bore no marks of age. On the other hand, no one could have thought him young. The massive features, bronze in tone, and set in a sort of aquiline rigidity, the conscious, kingly poise of head and throat rising from deep brawny shoulders, the stiff black hair, touched evenly throughout with gray, had none of them the color of youth. Yet beside him youth looked tame, and old age withered. This man was on the very summit of life, the central point of storms, rather than their object. His deep-set eyes gazed now far beyond to the future, then back into the past, with equal certainty of vision. Such was the great man Hagané--"Ko-shaku Hagané," feudal, not imperial, prince; a title signifying the highest rank attainable by a subject not descended from the gods. Native ballads called him the "Right Arm and the Left Ear" of the Emperor. Woodcuts of his splendid, ugly head, set by country farmers within household shrines, proclaimed him the Living War-God of Nippon. His victories and innovations at the time of the Chinese struggle had spread his fame through two worlds. As Yuki and Gwendolen drew near, Mrs. Todd first perceived them. "Here they are. Present me first, Cyrus,--then Gwendolen, then Yuki," the matron gave whispered command. Hagané responded to the first two greetings with unsmiling courtesy, offering a perfunctory extension of his thick hand. "Now, your Highness," said Todd, his thin, jovial voice carrying easily to where Pierre stood, "here's somebody that will look more natural. Step up, Yuki-ko. You aren't afraid!" Hagané had already fixed keen eyes upon the girl. His hands fell to his sides. A faint smile, merely a gleam on metal, hurried across his face. Pierre saw his lips move. Yuki went closer, hesitated, gained courage, and looked up into the broad face. Pierre saw Mrs. Todd and Gwendolen exchange smiling glances. Todd threw back his head to laugh. The smile returned to Hagané, unexpected, intensified, brilliant, as if a new day had broken. Pierre winced. He saw Yuki sway again,--put forth two white hands, falter, then sink suddenly prone, her palms outspread, her white forehead on the floor, her whole slim, crouching body topped by the great black burden of the sash, instinct with reverence not far from adoration. Hagané lifted her immediately, his smile deepening. Mrs. Todd turned away, embarrassed. The small ripple of excitement in the onlookers died; but Pierre, with angry eyes, sought Yuki, and drew her slightly to one side. "When you are my wife there will be no such ridiculous kow-towing," he said. "Who is your friend, Yuki?" asked the great man, stepping condescendingly near. She performed the introduction well, speaking in English without a tremor of the low voice. "Ah," said Hagané, speaking also in English, "I am recently from the country of Monsieur, which, I do not mistake in conjecturing, is France? Perhaps you are a visitor here, like myself." He put out the great hand, and after an imperceptible hesitation Pierre thrust his own within it. The grasp turned him pale. "Your Highness is correct in both surmises," he answered stiffly; "I am of France, and I am a visitor. At an early date I anticipate the pleasure of being in your Highness's country." "Indeed? Pray remind me of this meeting when you arrive, Monsieur. Shall you sail soon?" "Not for many months, I fear," said the Frenchman. "But I shall certainly avail myself of your kind suggestion." Yuki's eyes were urging him to go. The girl herself could not have told why she felt apprehension in the proximity of these two men. Hagané had never been antagonistic to foreigners, and she knew that, in Japan, she and Pierre could not have another friend so powerful. Yet she was uneasy. Pierre, with a last bow, went. The little episode stirred him. The thought rushed through him, too, that here was possibly an invincible friend. He would make the most of it. Even Yuki's abject obeisance, which before had stung him, shone now in the light of desirable dependence on the great man's word. Let him, Pierre, secure his appointment, and, with Hagané his friend, the old gods might shake their heads and growl in vain. He went into the street. The long rooms had suddenly grown too small for his aspirations. One friendly cigarette was smoked, and then another. Life seemed a jolly thing, that hour, to Pierre. CHAPTER TWO Hagané's entrance had broken the receiving line. He became at once the personage, the dominating influence. Guests moved about now, or gathered into little social groups at will. The long apartment filled evenly, a third to the ceiling, with a shifting surface of triangles which were shoulders,--white shoulders, black shoulders, pink shoulders, sometimes a military pair of gold-lace shoulders, each pair surmounted by a head. The rooms, emptying ever, were ever filling, as in some well-constructed drinking-fountain,--the very walls soaked in the hum and timbre of human voices. Gwendolen, freed from the thralls of official hostess-ship, gathered to herself young men in passage, as a spray of scented golden-rod gathers bees. She had a smile for all, a witty retort, or an insinuating whisper, followed by a provocative look. Old maids, and mothers with unattractive daughters, were wont to call Gwendolen a heartless coquette. As for the coquetry, it was indefensible; as to the heart, young men held varying opinions with regard to that coveted article. The social atmosphere, charged with evanescent gayety, intoxicated her. She felt like a flower held under the surface of champagne. Through all the glamour spread a tincture of chrysanthemums. Ever after--sometimes in lands very far away from Washington--the odor of these blossoms had power to bring before her, as in an illuminated vision, the yellow walls, the moving heads, and, clearest of all, the slender, mist-gray figure of Yuki Onda; the delicate, happy face under the great loops of blue-black hair. As Gwendolen talked and strolled, promising a dance to one, refusing it to another, with unreasoning caprice and the manner of a young empress, her hazel eyes, under their long lashes, shot more than once an undetected glance to a certain corner where, beside a pedestal of drooping fern, stood a lonely guest. This person was young, good to look at in a buoyant, breezy sort of way, and of the sex which (alas, yet beyond contesting!) most keenly interested the fair observer. After such glances she usually fell to fondling her sheaf of orchids, and once pressed it up against her face. At this the brown eyes in the corner gleamed, and took on the alertness of a terrier whose master snaps a playful finger. Mrs. Todd became solicitous that her guest of honor should be fed, but hesitated to ask him for fear that her "foreign food" might prove unpalatable. This apprehension was finally confided on tiptoe to her lord. "Heavens! Susan," said the unfeeling mate, with the twinkle which she dreaded, "do you suppose a Japanese commissary department has been trotting beside him through Asia, Europe, Boston, and New York? Set him before a mess of caviare, lobster à la Newburg, and extra dry, and see what he does to it. Where did Gwendolen go?" "She's over there by the punch-bowl, I believe," responded Mrs. Todd, in absent-minded fashion. The good lady still hung, ponderously vague, between her husband's opinion of Hagané's gastronomic culture and her own half-solaced fears. Todd craned his neck over the crowd. "Oh, there she is, just by the punch-table. The young men are thicker than fleas on a candy kitten. Wonder whether it's Gwennie or the punch." "A little of both, I presume," said Mrs. Todd, austerely. She often found her spouse unsympathetic. "I don't blame 'em then,--dinged if I do," cried he, with a joyful, premonitory lurch. A firm hand clutched him. "I'm going for the prince now. He is talking to Yuki. Shall I send her away? She looks as she did on confirmation day, the little idiot. The way these Japanese worship their country and each other is simply ridiculous. What do you think about keeping her with me and the prince, Cy?" Todd glanced at Yuki. His face softened. She had indeed an upraised, glorified look, as if a beatified vision instead of a very solid living man leaned down to her words. "Keep her, by all means. She'll know how to wait on her bronze idol," said he, lightly, and dived into the crowd. Apart from Yuki, Mrs. Todd found unexpected solution in her task of feeding the lion. His private secretary, Mr. Hirai, was not merely an Oxford graduate, but an accomplished man of the world. He made everything easy. At the hostess's first hint of invitation the Japanese started in a solid body toward the supper-rooms. Several ladies who had met members of the party in Boston or New York adhered, smiling, to the moving group. Yuki fell back with the secretary, and began chattering to him in Japanese, her dark eyes slowly turning to stars, her pale cheeks kindling into rosy fire. All of the company centred about Hagané, as thoughts centre about a master will. The occasion which Mrs. Todd dreaded proved to her one of the pleasantest incidents of the whole successful affair. Hagané, in his enjoyment of the delicate fare, entirely justified his host's prophecy. The true hostess is never quite so happy as when she sees her guests enjoying the good things which she, through anxious hours, has been solicitous in providing. Meantime Mr. Todd had reached his daughter. The young men drew back a little in deference to the age and relationship of the intruder, but did not get beyond range of allurement. "It's come, little girl," he whispered, with eyes as young and bright as hers. "It came by wire just a few minutes ago. It's here!" He tapped significantly at the left side of his coat. "The appointment? Oh! does mother know?" "Not yet," admitted the senator, with the look of an urchin caught stealing jam. "Perhaps we'd better--" "You bet we'd better!" She threw back her head and laughed the merriest laugh in all the world. Then she ran her sparkling eyes about the circle of withdrawn, boyish faces. "You must excuse me; dad has a secret, and that means insanity for me if I can't hear it at once. You wouldn't have me go mad--now, would you?--before the first waltz plays!" "Certainly not!" laughed the chorus. "But, Miss Gwendolen," ventured a bold swain, "how about that first waltz? For whom are you keeping it?" "Well," said the girl, pausing, and letting shy archness possess her downcast lids, "I did not want to tell you, but since you force me to it,--I am keeping the first waltz for--mother!" With another laugh, full of bright mockery, she caught her father's arm, and hurried him away. The excitement of the past hour was nothing to what she now felt. Chattering, sparkling, laughing, tossing, gesticulating at times with her sheaf of flowers, she was a slim fountain of youth, with a noon-day sun above it. "You really have the appointment!" she cried to him, when they were well out of hearing. "I knew you must get it, though the President certainly took his time. And we shall sail next spring with Yuki! What! we go _before_ next spring? Oh, how perfectly delicious! And mother doesn't know? Now, dad, I am surprised at you! You must be sure to let mother know first, or her feelings will be hurt. Oh, aren't we a pair of rascals, dad? Such nice rascals! I do like ourselves,--now don't you, dad?" Pierre Le Beau had, a few moments before, abandoned his lonely sentinelship at the conservatory door; but, in the corner where the fern stood, the sturdier watcher, brown of face and square of shoulder, held a tenacious post. A deflection of visual lenses (though to outward appearance his eyes seemed clear enough) kept him from beholding more than one person in the crowded rooms. If she had been aware of the silent challenge, her knowledge was cleverly concealed. Yet now, on her father's arm, she drifted steadily, though with seeming unconsciousness, toward that special nook. The watcher put a hand on a Roman chair beside him, suggestively unoccupied. Abreast of the little group,--the gold chair, great fern, and dim inhabitant--Gwendolen stopped. A smile went forth that lit the shadows, as she said quite clearly, "Thank you, I believe I will. I should like to get a bit of a rest before dancing." Senator Cyrus C. Todd did not lack intuition. "Ah, there's Skimmer. Very chap I wanted to see!" he mumbled to himself, and hurried off in an opposite direction. He of the brown eyes leaned confidently down. "You chose my flowers!" he vaunted. Exultation was not the most desirable note to adopt with Gwendolen. She answered nothing for a moment. She was busy adjusting herself to an "unconscious" pose, as perfect as the bold lines of the chair and her own graceful figure could combine to produce. She looked down upon the orchids with a thoughtful, pensive gaze, then slowly upward to the speaker. "Ah, was it then--you--who sent them?" "Yes; didn't you know? Was it too cheeky, having met you but a glorious once?" No reply. Gwendolen lifted the flowers and brushed her soft lips across them. Her companion drew himself erect among the drooping green shadows of the fern, swallowed hard, and asked, in a chastened voice, "Did that bloomin' blot of a florist forget to put my card in, after all I said?" Gwendolen's upraised eyes were now those of a commiserating dove. "I'm sorry, but I did not see any card among the flowers." The fern had a short ague and stood still. "I'll take a surgeon along when I go to see that florist." "I wouldn't," said the girl, pityingly. "It was the loveliest sheaf I ever saw. He deserves something better than broken bones for arranging it." "Yes, they were jolly. They must have pleased you," said the young man, with a wintry gleam of resignation. "I was bent on finding something that really looked like you. I went all over Washington, New York, and Philadelphia in person. But I was so careful of the card! I told the foo--the man, over and over again, to be sure and enclose it. It was printed out in full,--'T. Caraway Dodge, First Secretary of American Legation, Tokio, Japan.'" "You think you have found something that looks just like me?" asked the girl, slowly, ignoring the latter half of his speech. Her face was full of deprecating interest. She daintily drew forth a single strange blossom, and held it, poised for contrast, against the dark leaves of the fern. Thus detached, it bore an unfortunate resemblance to a ghostly spider. "Oh, not stuck off on a cork, like that!" cried the tortured donor. "All in a lump, don't you know,--beaten up like the whites of eggs, with gold-dust sprinkled over, and parsley around the edges!" "All in a lump--beaten up like eggs--parsley around the edges," began Gwendolen, gravely, when suddenly she tripped and fell against her own laughter. Her pretty shoulders quaked. She bent far over for control, and tried to hide the treacherous mirth. But Dodge had seen enough for him. "By Jiminy! you've been jollying me all the time! And I swallowed it like a bloomin' oyster!" He came around to the front, drew up a stool, flung himself upon it, and looked up with grins that bespoke a renewed zest for life. "Now honest, Miss Todd, you owe me something for this. Didn't you know who sent them? Didn't you really find that card in the box?" "No, I didn't--honest--but--m-mother did!" confessed Gwendolen, now half-stifled with laughter. "And you didn't resent it? And you thought them pretty from the very first moment?" cried the youth, on a high note of satisfaction. He reached up now boldly, took the single flower from her hand, pinched off the end of a long fern-leaf to back it, and deliberately arranged himself a button-hole. Gwendolen wiped the tears of merriment from her bright eyes. "Pretty?" she echoed. "It is too tame a word. I thought them a dream,--an inspiration,--a visual ecstasy!" "Yes, I said they were like you," returned the impudent Dodge, as well as he could for the distorted countenance bent above the process of pinning in his flower. "There," he said, anent this finished operation, "it's in. I think it becomes me. I didn't run my finger to the bone but once. Now tell me what ma-_ma_ thought of the flowers and the card?" In spite of her usual self-possession, the girl was stricken dumb. To add to her confusion, a deep embarrassing blush rose relentlessly to her throat and face, and would not be banished. "You won't repeat it!" cried the terrible youth. "You don't dare to,--but I will. Mama said,--lifting her lorgnettes (here he deliberately mimicked the air of a middle-aged grande dame),--'T. Caraway Dodge! Who is T. Caraway Dodge? Oh, I see,--a snip of an attaché!'" A look into the stupefied face above him showed that his bold guess had been true. Intoxicated by success, he ventured another toss. "If you say the word, I come pretty near repeating your answer." Behind the astonishment, then the consternation of the girl's face, a harder something flashed. She was not accustomed to have the lead so rudely taken. This young person must be disposed of on the instant. His impudence would have given points to Jonah's gourd. She now rose to her feet, held her chin unnecessarily high, and, with the air of a young Lady Macbeth, drawled out,--"I will spare you the trouble, Mr. T. Caraway Dodge. Much as I dislike to be rude, the words I said were these--" She paused. Dodge rose too. The brown eyes and the hazel were nearly on a level. He was laughing. "Well?" he reminded at length. His unconsciousness of offence gave the last flare to her indignation. "I said to those present, 'The sending of so costly a bouquet by Mr. Dodge is a little--er--pushing, and the sender must be told so; but since, by accident,--the flowers just happen to suit my gown--'" "Nonsense!" laughed the rash Dodge, "you never talked that way in your life, unless you deliberately made it up. That's your stunt now, of course. Any one could see it. What is more likely, you said--what I planned for you to say was,--'Oh, here are the flowers I have been waiting for! I think I'll have to marry the person who sent me these!--There's the music of the first waltz! It's a peach! Come,--you haven't promised it, have you? Everybody is waiting for the hostess to begin. Let us start the ball rolling!" In sheer incapacity to resist, a weakness wrought of a benumbing conflict of anger, mirth, and amazement, Gwendolen leaned to him,--and her débutante ball opened with her, joyous, whirling in the arms of Mr. T. Caraway Dodge. After this initial favor, he was rigidly, even scornfully, ignored; but little cared Dodge for that. He had had his day. The impetus given could carry him smiling on through hours of cold neglect. He was determined to be the gayest of that circling round of joy, and succeeded. Stout matrons, lean old maids, Chinese, Spanish, Russian, Dutch, Peruvian, Pole,--just so it wore skirts and could move its feet, all were food for his new mill of ecstasy. Gwendolen danced oftenest with Pierre. He was literally a perfect dancer, and to-night he said that the champagne all went to his heels. Yuki, in her decorous Japanese draperies, wound about by stiff brocades, did not attempt foreign dancing. Hagané and the older members of the suite left early. Hirai, the secretary, remained, evidently charmed by the long eyes of his young countrywoman. During the time she was not talking to him or Pierre, Yuki remained near Mrs. Todd, delighting the soberer friends who came to speak with them by her beauty and intelligence. In the pleasure of seeing this enjoyment of her Oriental protégé, Mrs. Todd forgot to scold about the affair of the Russian minister, and made only one remark about Yuki's undignified and un-American "kow-tow" to the prince. "I was just pushed down, Mrs. Todd," protested Yuki, earnestly. "Some hand from my own land pressed me before I knew. So was I taught to greet our feudal daimyo when I was the very little girl; so all in Nippon, of old customs, greet him now. I will try never again to do such a thing in America." "Well, well, that's all right!" said the matron, patting her slim shoulder. "You are a good little girl, if you did kow-tow. There's Gwendolen with Pierre again! Doesn't she look well to-night?" "Well!" echoed Yuki, as her eyes followed the flying shapes. "'Well' is so faint a little word. To me Gwendolen looks beautiful,--beautiful--like the Sun Goddess in our land. She is like a bush of yama-buki in the wind! I never saw nobody at all so beautiful as our Gwendolen!" "And to think she must give up this brilliant social success, and go to a heathen country for four years!" mused Mrs. Todd, gloomily. She had, of course, been told the great news. If Yuki heard the muttered words, she did not show resentment. The smile of intense affection had not left her face as she said aloud: "Anywhere that Gwendolen goes, I think she will find happiness. She has in her eyes the light of a happy karma. Evil and sorrow cannot stay with her long." "Well, and what of you, my little Japanese daughter?" asked Mrs. Todd, touched by the unselfish words. "Oh, me!" said Yuki, becoming instantly grave. "I do not think about my karma,--each person cannot see his own, or know of it; it clings about him too close. But if I should think--No, I cannot! I am afraid! Ah, here comes back the sunshine. It is Gwendolen, fanning! Ah, so hot a little sunshine is Gwendolen! Sit here, and let me make the fan go fast for you, Gwendolen,--your wrists--your throat--that will make coolness quicker than just your face!" Both girls laughed now, and talked together; Pierre joined them; Dodge ventured near; the senator came up. It was a sparkling group, with the centre always Gwendolen; yet even to Mrs. Todd's unimaginative eyes, the loneliness of the little gray figure, the strange blue-black hair, and pointed, faintly tinted face, struck a note of mystery,--of something very near to sadness. CHAPTER THREE Mr. Cyrus Carton Todd, born in the farming district of Pennsylvania, of English and Scotch ancestry, had, as a mere boy, gone to seek his fortune in the West. This was not, of course, an original thing to do. Young men and old, families and whole communities were, at this time, streaming, like banners, out toward the alluring, unknown lands. Cyrus chose a broad, lonely stretch of moor in the very heart of a state sparsely settled, but not too far from the fertile Mississippi basin. Agriculture, rather than stock-raising, had from the first been his design. The small, hoarded patrimony went into fences, a horse, a plough, and a great lethargic sack of seed. Quick to recognize the advantages of new methods and new machinery, he became, before the age of thirty, one of the successful "large farmers" of his adopted state. He loved, with a passionate, personal love, his broad black fields. He knew, before they ventured one slim, verdant herald to the air, the stirring of immortal essence in his buried grain. He thrilled, sometimes with the stinging of quick tears, when first the green prophecy ran, like an answering cry, from furrow to swart furrow. He moved, at harvest-time, among the hung, encrusted stalks with the deep joy of a creator who sees his work well done. Every process was vital,--the sowing, reaping, storing, and, last of all, the hissing of the great gold torrents as they plunged headlong into caverns of waiting cars. His acreage was wide, but not too wide for his heart. His great working force of men was organized and controlled with the tact and ease of a leader. Mrs. Todd, the daughter of an Illinois farmer, (of late she was successfully forgetting the fact), came into his life when, as a girl of eighteen, she had "visited" a neighbor's home. Todd was then thirty-one. The difference in age seemed great to him, but apparently not to Susan. She arrived in mid-autumn, at the height of a golden yield. Cyrus loved the whole world then, and it was not difficult for the rosy girl to secure for herself a special niche. They were married in the following spring, when the planting was over, and Cyrus's fields ran with an emerald fire. The farmer turned, perforce, to contemplation of his house. Bare walls and rough pine floors were well enough for him, but better should be found for Susan. She assisted him in selecting the new furnishings, and then, with the self-possession known only to a woman and a hen, entered upon her kingdom. Her presence, for a long while after, affected Todd as something in the nature of a miracle. Women had borne little part in his life. The dainty touches of ornament which his wife's quick fingers gave the little home, the good, unheard-of things she cooked for him, the demonstrative affection she was ever ready to bestow (for indeed she loved him dearly), kept him in a sort of daze of unbelieving bliss. He felt that he and life were even. Now he began to learn what money, hitherto a neglected factor in his success, had the power to grant. The plain cottage grew into an attractive, vine-held home. Going to his fields each morning, after a perfect breakfast, he argued aloud to himself, and frequently pinched his own arm to prove the brightness true. Everything prospered. The men liked him, the dogs fawned upon him, the horses whinnied at his voice. And then, just as he told himself he couldn't possibly make room for another joy,--came Gwendolen. Cyrus, when his eyes had cleared of the golden blur, drew a chair to the bed, put his two elbows on the rim, set his face upon his hands, and deliberately made acquaintance with his daughter. The miracle of his wife's love, the immortality of springing seed, the awe left over from his boyish dreams of heaven, all hid themselves in that small, pink frame, and looked out upon him through its feeble gaze. He wished to name her "Susan," after his wife, and, as it happened, after his mother also. Mrs. Todd would not consider it. She desired her child to have a "pretty" name, something high-sounding, even sentimental, that would look well in a novel. Her thought whirred like a distracted magnet between three euphonious points,--"Gwendolen," "Guinevere," and "Theodora." At Guinevere Cyrus at once took an obstinate stand. It suggested to him guinea-hens. "Then 'Theodora,' Cy. What is the matter with 'Theodora'?" "It sounds like the tin tail to a fancy windmill. I can just see it spin!" declared the anxious father. "But the sentiment! It means 'gift of God,'" pleaded Mrs. Todd, in the voice she usually kept for church. "Shucks! She don't need a label, 'made in heaven,'" said Cy. "Nobody 'd take her as coming up from the other place. Why, if she dropped there now, she'd put out flames like a hand extinguisher,--the blessed cheraphim!" "Well, 'Gwendolen,' then. Surely you can't find any such ridiculous objections to 'Gwendolen.'" The young wife now was plainly on the verge of tears. "It's fancy and high-falutin' for my taste," said honest Cyrus, "but it's not so bad as those others. If you want it, have it! I can't stand out against you, darling. I can call her 'daughter' when I'm tired." So Gwendolen she was christened, and in time Cyrus became not only reconciled, but actually proud of the pretty name, saying that it sounded yellow, like her hair. In earlier years of struggle,--pleasant stress it had always been--Cyrus Todd, in the wide, lonely life of the prairie, had become a reader of books. His pious English mother had not died before transmitting to her boy her veneration for the great souls of the past. Among his very few possessions, brought originally from Pennsylvania, were three books;--Shakespeare, the Bible, and, strangely enough, a copy of Marco Polo. During the days of poverty these three formed his sole, incessant reading. Afterward he bought more books, generally bound garbage-heaps of literature, perpetrated in rich boards, and disseminated by strenuous agents who urged to purchase with a glibness unknown to any since Beelzebub. A few good books came to him, generally by a fortuitous mischance. Imitating his neighbors, he sent in subscriptions to the "Western Farmer's Evangel" and "The Horn of Plenty." He read everything, bad or good, keeping new words and phrases strictly out of his daily vocabulary. His time had not yet come for mental segregation. Chiefly because of this modest simplicity of his speech, no one suspected him of the growing passion. Never was a figure less scholarly to view. His keen eyes of bluish green, with their trick of closing slightly from underneath when interested, seemed to look out toward horizons of actual experience, rather than along those shadowy vistas down which the pilgrim band of thinkers moves. His limbs, loosely hung, were made for striding over furrows. His mouth, thin-lipped and straight, sensitive at the corners to any hint of humor or of pathos, showed early lines of shrewdness and self-restraint. Never a great talker, he was, as a listener, an inspiration. His silences in conversation were not of the brooding, introspective kind in which one seems to be planning his own next remark, but of deep and intelligent interest in what his companion was saying. He was alert, practical, interested in many things, sympathetic with many views. Within the badly printed pages of the "Farmer's Evangel" he found his first clue to the outer world. This was an illustrated article on rice culture,--in Japan. Before he had turned the first column he felt the threads of destiny pull. "Them little chaps is all right, I guess," he remarked aloud, at the top of the second column. "No red rust on Johnny Jap!" he murmured admiringly, at the third. With the fourth and last strip of reading, mated to a pictured group of Chinese coolies flailing rye, he let the paper fall and his soul go straying. The descriptions of Japanese method and result were bald enough and full of error. Beneath them, as through a tangled undergrowth, he saw reality. Joining this new knowledge to remembered tales of Marco Polo, an electric spark flashed out. Old Marco was not a mere romancer, then, fellow of Sinbad and Munchausen, but a speaker of truths! There existed still, somewhere on earth, those marvellous countries with old, old cultures stored for us with prophecy, and a crowded generation through which must still run the living sap. If one went west, always west, to the edge of a great water, beyond that water he would reach Japan,--as once Columbus cut the sands of Hispaniola. At that first moment came into Todd's mind, half dreamily, though not the less imperishable because of shimmering mist, a determination to travel, some day, to that Far East, and see for himself what Marco Polo must have seen. Todd, after his marriage, continued to grow rich. The pretty cottage was abandoned for a great house near "town." It had hallways, a porte cochére, and a huge billiard-room which none but the cat ever visited. The town itself, in its spidery focus of busy railways, had not existed when Cyrus first came. He had often strolled, whistling, through future business blocks, and over smoking breweries. The Todds "grew up," as they termed it, with the place, Cyrus specially clinging with tenacious loyalty to the state which had made the background of so much happiness. As Gwendolen passed from a golden childhood into a maidenhood no less bright, Mrs. Todd was heard to murmur reluctantly mild objurgations against the "rawness" of the West, its unconventionality, and lack of true culture. At fourteen, Gwendolen was not only precocious in school-work and music, but her beauty promised to be of so unusual and unmistakable a type that Mrs. Todd took fond alarm, and declared that the child must go at once to New York, where she could be decently "finished." Gwendolen protested and wept. She had her father's happy heart, and thought that nothing could be quite so near perfection as their life at home. Mrs. Todd, secure in her conviction, proved inexorable. Cyrus was appealed to, and something in the dejected look of his face gave his wife a thrill of triumph. She soon prevailed, and Todd, in person, prepared to lead his one lamb to the sacrificial altar of "society." He left her on the brown-stone doorstep in New York, his heart far heavier than her own. The gay metropolis had no attractions then. He took the next train home, tasting his first real sorrow since his mother's death. He felt cold and chill at the thought of the big home emptied now of his idol. Mrs. Todd met him, not with the expected torrent of tears, but with a face red and twitching in excitement. The leading political party of his state had "split," and he, the farmer, Cyrus Todd, was to be run for United States senator. This strange news proved indeed an antidote for melancholy. In less than an hour he had been into town, and learned for himself how the "land lay." Two candidates, well matched, with equal backing, had just been declared by a great uprising of conservative voters utterly unsatisfactory. Todd was asked to be the dark horse. He would have turned from the proposition flattered and abashed, with the one remark that he "wasn't the cut of cloth for a politician," but ambition had begun to work like a fever in the veins of Mrs. Todd. Already the magnate of her small community, she wished to test her powers in the capital itself. She knew that Gwendolen was to be a beauty, and recognized the potency of an attractive débutante, allied to a rich father and an aspiring mama. The longest letter ever penned by her fat hand now sped to Gwendolen. Her arguments were good, though turgidly expressed. Gwendolen took fire. In a tumult of violet-tinted letters, chokingly perfumed, she assured her father that the school in which she now languished was a cheerless jail. She said that the plain fare, particularly the raw beef, choked her, and that the rooms were kept so hot that soon she must go into consumption. Above all, she was dying by inches so far away from her "dear, precious, darling, angelic dad!" It was this last representation that won. Todd gave in his name, made a few public speeches that surprised him more than his friends by their humor, sparkle, and good sense, and with little further effort received the nomination. For more than four years, now, the Todds had lived in Washington. Mrs. Todd's initial step had been to buy a good, substantial home in a fashionable neighborhood. She soon realized that she was not to dominate society; but, after a few months of sulking, she adjusted herself comfortably to the new conditions, and enjoyed her life thoroughly. Gwendolen was put to the best private school in the city. She could be at home now, in the evenings, to play her father "those tinkly, skee-daddly pieces" which he liked. No homely melodies for Senator Todd! His childhood was passed without them, and they bore no tender recollections. Chopin, and an occasional rag-time bit, stirred his veins. Gwendolen's music-master had kept to himself hopes that, in the girl, he might have a brilliant result;--her parents had neither the knowledge nor the insight to perceive it for themselves. Gwendolen was fashioned for brilliant playing. Elemental or sombre music baffled her. She played with laughter, sometimes with fire,--by preference in the full light of the sun. Through Tschaikowsky's broken rainbows she passed like a spirit. Beethoven, in his glad moods, seemed a mirror in which she saw herself. Chopin as a sentimentalist she despised, even while she thrilled to his unearthly delicacy of phrasing. She grew steadily, yet remained unconscious of the increasing power. She only knew that, in certain moods, it was almost a necessity to play, and that people liked to hear her. As time went on, Mr. Todd's political estimate of himself began to be echoed jeeringly by his opponents, and sometimes reluctantly by his friends. He had realized early enough that official exigency in Washington was his cross, his penalty, the price he was doomed to pay. The intricacies of method surprised and repelled him; the insincerity met on all sides he designated despairingly as the "San José scale" of humanity. Graft, political jobbery, the oppressions of power, sickened him. "I don't like it, Susan. I wasn't made for this sort of a harness," he complained one day to his wife. "A fellow can't walk straight or talk straight in this life; and some of these old rum-soaked bosses have actually lost the power of saying what they mean. These female lobbyists, too, they make a man ashamed to look a good wife in the face. I wish we could quit. I like politeness and manners,--I've turned off the road for a sick lizard--but I'll be ding-danged if I can grin and scrape in the evening to a man who, in that same morning's newspaper, has called me a liar and a thief!" Mrs. Todd joined him in a sigh. "I know it's hard, dear. I realize just what you mean. There is some of it in my own career, though of course I don't expect anybody to think of _me_! The airs put on by these mushroom aristocrats who have pulled themselves up by their own boot-straps are enough to make one ill. But we must not think of ourselves. It's Gwennie! Washington is better for her future prospects than our dear Western home. We must try to endure Washington a little longer for her sake." Mrs. Todd made strong effort to look and feel like an impersonal martyr. She did not succeed very well. Hypocrisy had a tendency to shrivel under the keen eyes that now twinkled appreciatively upon her. "Just so," drawled Cyrus. "For daughter's sake only we continue to sip the nauseating draught. I agree, then. I guess our inwards will not be seriously impaired." It was perhaps as near insincerity as Todd ever approached, this clinging, despite better knowledge, to uncultured forms of speech. Even in the senate he showed determination to remain a raw Westerner, rather than identify himself with that sandpapered and lacquered body of gentlemen. His compensations for all discomfort were found in huddled, intoxicating rows on the shelves of the new Congressional Library. Here his interest in the Far East, first awakened by the garrulous Venetian, shone back from a thousand reflecting facets of new truths. He strengthened theory with fact. He knew how many car-loads of Northwestern grain, how many bales of Southern cotton were shipped annually to expanding Asiatic markets from our Pacific ports. He traced the colonial policies of Europe back to the days when adventurous Spaniards had won the timid Philippines, but, seeking further glory, had knocked in vain at the gates of Japan. China, too, the richest prize in the East, he knew to be stirring in her long sleep. He believed that her destiny, central in the future currents of trade, must become the key to the world's development. With keen eyes he watched the joints of the Siberian railway, like a giant centipede, reduplicating, joint by joint, always insidiously, toward the storm centre of the Yellow Sea. The old Romans argued the future from the flight of a bird. It happened now to Todd that the love of one schoolgirl for another brought before him a clearer knowledge of baffling Eastern questions than had all his years of rapt apprenticeship. Miss Onda of Tokio (Onda Yuki-ko, the full name had been registered) arrived, as boarding inmate of the fashionable Washington Academy, only a few weeks after Gwendolen. She was dainty, shrinking, friendless, and pathetically homesick. Gwendolen became her champion. With a great ruffling of wings she kept at bay the impertinent and the curious. Yuki, thankful from the first for the protection, responded more slowly to the love. The Japanese girl was by nature silent, meditative, reserved. Above all she was,--to use her schoolmates' expression--"different." It was fully three months after the initial friendship that the American succeeded in enticing her home. After this, the course of true love ran smooth. Each Friday night not passed with her Japanese friends, the Kanrios, was spent with Gwendolen. Yuki learned to giggle, and to have secrets, and dote on fudge like any American schoolgirl. She learned to dress, too, in the American way, and to heap her soft, dry, blue-black hair into a dusky "pompadour." From the first she was a delight to Todd. He thought of her as a strange bird of Paradise rather than a dove, sent out from the ark of her country, that floated for him, somewhere, on waters of mystery. He encouraged hesitating confidences regarding her home life. Stoically he kept from laughter when her quaint grammatical errors convulsed Gwendolen and Mrs. Todd. Through Yuki he began to suspect the passionate, vital note of loyalty which is the keynote to Japanese character. Memories of her happy childhood seemed never far away. Before the little feet touched earth, while still warm on her nurse's back, she had been taught to drink in visual beauty. Heroism was instilled in her through toys and story-books, and through temple feasts to gods who once were men. Old age was something to be revered, almost envied,--white hairs a benediction. The American levity and callousness shown by the young to the old appeared, from the first, in Yuki's mind, and remained ever after, the chief blot upon a country otherwise beloved. Todd saw that the girl in her own land must have moved as though consciously surrounded by spirit. She said to him that, in Nippon, the air was awake and vital; that there, ever went on about men the tangling and untangling of great forces, to which, the living are as but shadows on a moving stream. Through Yuki, too, he became a friend, even an intimate, of Baron Kanrio, the Japanese minister. To be intimate with any Japanese is a rare privilege, and Todd knew it. Many were the notable evenings spent in Kanrio's small private den, where the two men bent together over records and reports, and over maps whereon they traced with prophetic fingers the contour curves of overflowing races. The insight of the other fairly staggered Todd. Slowly the American breathed in, rather than acquired by grosser senses, something of the patient, confident loyalty to ideals,--the Japanese strength that comes with absolute spiritual unity, the power of race in the living, and, more potent still, in the dead. Late in the afternoon of a bright March day, the fourth and last of Gwendolen's school years in Washington, Mrs. Todd sat alone at a front window of her handsome bedchamber, looking out dreamily into thickening dusk. The day was Friday. Yuki and Gwendolen giggled over a chafing-dish of fudge in a room across the hall. Merry laughter, more often from Gwendolen, rang through the house, trailing pleasant echoes. Mrs. Todd seldom sat alone, and seldom indulged in revery. Now, however, she consciously caressed the reflection that, apart from an obstinate increase of flesh, she had not a trouble in the world. She was proud of her husband, proud of her daughter, pleased with herself. Her mind held no regrets, her closet no skeletons. A familiar step on the sidewalk caused her to look down. The senator was returning early from the library. She smiled with wifely comprehension at the pose of the down-bent head, at the hands thrust, Western fashion, to the full depths of new, English trousers. "Cy has something on his mind," she murmured. "He's coming to hunt me up and get it off." She heard him banging one downstairs door after the other, then running, with the lightness of a boy, up the stairway. His tone expressed relief at seeing her dark shadow-bulk against the window-frame. "Susan! That you?" "Yes. You are early, dear. Shall I ring for lights?" "No--no," cried the other hastily. "I'm a little tired--that's all--and a little--excited. This warm dusk just suits me. It's fine to talk in." After saying this, he remained so long wordless that Mrs. Todd's curiosity urged the question. "Was it anything definite that you had to say?" "Definite! It's worse than definite. It's colossal!" "Say it quick, then. I'll be on pins and needles till you do." "Well, to put it briefly--our U. S. minister at Tokio, _Jap_-an,--Evans, you know,--Brunt Evans of Illinois,--well, Evans is on the point of resigning because of ill health,--and if I want the appointment--if I really try,--" "Yes--yes--don't stop!" "Mother, I _want_ it!" cried the man, in a tone she had not heard him use for years. "You know how I've always felt about that country! I want the appointment as I have never wanted anything since I got you!" His thin hands twitched, his eyes pleaded. He might have been a schoolboy begging for the treasure of a gun, a horse, a holiday. "To give up--Washington, and live in that strange land!" whispered Mrs. Todd, as though fear touched her. "It needn't be but for a matter of four years, mother." "Is there not talk of war with Russia?" "Yes, and that's my chief reason for wanting to go." "Do you realize that Gwendolen, our only child, is to graduate this June, and formally come out next season?" "Yes, and that's my chief reason for wanting to stay." Mrs. Todd pressed her lips together. A suspicious gleam came to her pale eyes. "This is the work of Yuki Onda! You both are infatuated about that girl." "My dear Susan, how utterly unjust! Yuki has no more political influence than our cook. She doesn't dream of this possibility, she or Gwendolen either. You are the only one besides myself to hear." "The girls will be wild when they are told. Gwendolen will be mad to go! Society, flattery, success, a great catch,--all I have worked for--will be nothing!" Todd wisely kept silence. Mrs. Todd rose unsteadily to her feet. "There is no doubt that you all will be frantic to go--all three of you--without a thought for me." Seizing each side of the parted curtain, she stood, as at a tent door, staring out into a blackening sky. "You'll be a big gun out there, Mrs. Cyrus Carton Todd," wheedled a low voice. "Bigger, in some ways, than you'll ever get to be over here. Those foreign embassies are bargain-counters of dukes and princes. The American globe-trotters will be so many kneeling pilgrims at your shrine." Mrs. Todd stared on. Slowly upon the night, as upon a transparency, luminous letters began to form. "Mrs. Todd, the stately and distinguished consort of Minister Cyrus Carton Todd, Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary from the United States to Japan. Miss Gwendolen de Lancy Todd, a famous Washington beauty, now in her first season." Beneath the words appeared, as in a phosphorescent mist, a long, long dining-table, rich with the beauty of lace, cut glass, silver, and flowers; while ringed about it leaned and laughed her guests,--famous men and women of two worlds, members of old nobilities, native princes, and, perhaps, even visitors of blood royal, for who, in these days, would slight an invitation from the representative of earth's greatest republic? Senator Todd pensively regarded the scallops of his wife's uplifted profile. "You'd make a stunning figure in a court dress, mother." She wheeled fiercely upon him. "You are sure Gwendolen suspects nothing?" "Sure. And if you take it like this, dear, she need never know that the chance was offered." His companion gave a small, irrepressible sob. In an instant the long arms were about her. "Now, Susie, don't you be losing any sleep over this. I won't take a step unless you give the word." Dreading his tenderness more than any argument, she pushed him away half laughing, half crying, "No--no--go on with you! I won't be honey-fuggled! I know your ways. It has come upon me rather sudden, and I haven't caught my breath! But you might as well tell Gwennie and be done with it! I couldn't keep such a secret from her, even if you could. It's too b-big! And she'll be just wy-wy-wild to go!" The last sentence was a wail. "Forget it, mother! Drat the whole thing! Let it vanish!" urged Cyrus. "No!" she cried instantly, and shook her head with vehemence. "I can't accept the sacrifice." "Do you agree, then, for me to--to--try?" asked Todd, fighting down a desperate joy. "No-o" she hesitated, "not exactly agree, either; only I'm not willing to take upon myself to stop the whole thing here at the beginning. I'm not the Lord! Maybe this is planned out by higher powers; and then, besides," she added with a gleam of hope, "maybe you won't get it, after all!" Todd's face bore a curious expression. His under lids closed slightly. "No," he repeated slowly, "maybe I won't get it, after all. But it's only fair to tell you that, if I am turned loose to try, I'm going to try like--hell!" CHAPTER FOUR The Todd household slept until late the morning after the party. Next to the efficient hirelings,--those ball-bearing sockets of domestic ease,--the senator himself was first to awake. He came slowly into the day, as though passing from a fair garden into one more fair. That sense of some great good, new-garnered, and in the warm sweet haze of sleep not quite recalled, caressed his smiling lips. In spite of dalliance, the shining consciousness drew near. His appointment had been given! Ah, that was the new glory! He was in effect, at that instant, "Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary" to a Wonderland! It was not the honor that thrilled him, but the opportunity. He would have a niche near the breathing heart of that strange country. Proving himself worthy, he might go deeper, drinking at that spiritual fountain of eternal youth. Lying now on his rich, canopied bed, with all the luxury of modern Occidental life heaped close, Todd told himself that, because of the success, he was all the more a soul, an individual, with better things to seek. He scorned to be a pampered animal, possessed by its possessions. He envied anew the clean, sweet poverty of the samurai's code. He was now at that elevation in life where past events take proper place, as in a landscape, and vistas begin. Yesterday was his fiftieth year. By another coincidence--those clashings of star-beams in his career--his birthday fell on that of the Japanese Emperor. Looking back now, he could see where streams of tendency, taking rise in boyhood, had worked steadily, though through seeming deviations, towards this one great tide of purpose. His lonely interest in rice-culture had been a hidden spring; his coming to Washington, where Japan's development was a living topic instead of a solitary reader's dream, a winding stream of fate. Yuki herself was a deep well of inspiration. Now at last had come his opportunity to serve, in one life-giving effort, his own beloved country,--and Japan. The future widened for him into a deep harbor where great fleets of achievement might find safe anchorage. Yuki entered for the ten o'clock breakfast in full street costume. At Mrs. Todd's lifted eyebrows of inquiry, Gwendolen, who was just behind her friend, explained. "She has an appointment at eleven with her Hindoo idol. Baron Kanrio said last night that dad was to go too. Yuki thought she might be allowed to accompany him, if she were very good." "Of course!" said the senator, heartily. "Glad to have her. Prince Hagané gave me the date, eleven, A. M., but he didn't mention Yuki." "Oh, how could you think it?" drawled saucy Gwendolen. "She's only a girl. He wouldn't notice a girl." "It rather looks as if he _had_ noticed her," retorted Mr. Todd. "A definite appointment! They say his daily average of callers is about two hundred." "It is only for my father's sake. He will give me a message," explained Yuki, hastily. "Gwendolen is right. So great a man do not think much of girls." "Humph," said Gwendolen, "that doesn't go! He stared at you as if you were a candied cherry-petal, and he wanted to swallow you at a gulp. Pierre Le Beau saw it, too. Heavens, how he scowled! A regular Medusa! I expect all the chrysanthemums are turned to yellow onyx by his glare." Yuki gave a start, and then flushed with painful intensity. "Please! Please!" she was beginning, when Mrs. Todd unconsciously interrupted with an exclamation of delight. After her methodical pouring of the coffee, the good lady had plunged into the morning papers. "Ah, Gwendolen, these notices are splendid!--better than I could have hoped. Society reporters are usually so touchy and carping!" "There was one youthful Mr. Dooley that I made sure of," said Gwendolen, calmly, as she cracked an egg. "I had the orchestra strike up 'Call me thine own!' while I took him to a corner and plied him with Louis Roederer, Carte Blanche!" Little Yuki and the senator drove off together. Each had things to think of, though not much to say. The carriage bowled smoothly along asphalt thoroughfares. At close intervals small parks were passed, some round, some angular, but all like emeralds in a web of silver-tinted streets. Now and then the great meerschaum-colored dome of the Capitol came into sudden view, with its suggestion of purpose and of majesty. The girl's neat fawn-tinted dress was now supplemented by furs, and a wide hat of brown velvet, with a silver chain about the crown, and nodding feathers. Her hair, puffed round her face in recent fashion, completed the Americanizing of her attire. From the dainty gloves, thrust deep into her muff, to the soft brown boots, she was modern, chic, Occidental. At the Japanese Legation, both Baron Kanrio and the prince's secretary, Hirai, were awaiting them. The eyes of the latter shone with eagerness at sight of his young compatriot. Kanrio sent them, chattering already of Japan, into the drawing-room to await Yuki's summons. With a slight gesture he beckoned to Todd, and they went together along the hall to the well-known den. Hagané sat in it, alone. The disposition of the few stiff chairs bespoke recent visitors. The library table, covered with green leather, had maps upon it, letters and papers, besides a Japanese smoking outfit and a tray with tea and some small cups. As they entered, the great man slowly rose. He wore again his plain dark native robes. In the relentless daylight he appeared older, more sallow, and at the same time more impressive. His hand-grasp for the senator was cordiality itself. His deep eyes lighted pleasantly, as he said, "Welcome, your Excellency!" Todd started, and then flushed like a boy, at the title. Kanrio grinned with delight. "Oh--er--beg pardon; but it's the first time. Rather knocked me off my pins. Thanks, your Highness! I feel it a good omen to have it come from you." "Shall we be seated?" asked Hagané. "Gomen--nasai," (excuse me) murmured Kanrio, with a gesture. He removed the soiled cups from the table to the top of a low bookcase, then rang for fresh cups and a new pot of tea. He and Hagané took a few sips, Japanese fashion; Todd declined. "I understand, your Excellency, that your appointment as envoy to our small island has come the very recent time?" "Only last night, your Highness." Todd's eyes met in unembarrassed candor those of Hagané. "Of course I've worked for it. My heart was set on it. The Baron here has been an inspiration!" "My dear sir, don't trouble to recall my unimportant service," deprecated Kanrio. "I understand," said Hagané, slowly, "that for some time you have honored our--country--with your studious--interest. If it is not impertinence, may I venture to inquire what--circumstances, what--a--unfamiliar categories--first stung your thought to the pursuit of Far Eastern knowledge?" He spoke very slowly, slurring neither vowel nor consonant, and choosing, it would seem, from a rich vocabulary. Nevertheless he pieced the words together with a slight effort. Todd knitted his brows, not in lack of understanding, but from desire to answer definitely and concisely the comprehensive question. Hagané may have mistaken the silence, for he added immediately, "My English is--stiff,--not well--manoeuvred. My meanings perhaps become involved. Shall not Baron Kanrio stand as--interpreter--for my heavy thought?" "No, no," said Todd, eagerly. "Do not think it, your Highness! I understand perfectly. Your very misuse of some of our slippery old timeworn words is illuminating. It was your question that made me pause, not your way of putting it." "My dear sir," protested Hagané, "I desire you to feel no obligations to answer. I intended, perhaps, a thinner meaning than your own mind has seized. Was it Japanese Art, as with Frenchmen? Statistics, Sociology, Political Economy?" Todd noted the greater ease with which these abstract and philosophic terms were employed. "None of these, your Highness,--and yet all! My study--you will think me presumptuous, I fear,--might not be called less than--the ultimate destiny of your race!" Hagané's smouldering eyes leaped into sudden fire. He looked down quickly, as if to deny the flame. Todd felt the air stir and tingle with a new vibration. "Yes, your Excellency, we are attempting to employ valuable hints from various representative governments of your enlightened West," said he, conventionally. "Hints!" echoed Todd; "that is just the wonder of you! They are hints in reality, thoughts to be absorbed only just so far as you need them, and the rest chucked. You don't stick them on like plaster to cover up a mediæval birthmark. You have quite as much to give as we, and you know it. Haven't I watched and studied, with Kanrio here to coach? You Japanese alone can combine the best of the two civilizations. You can best fuse the experience, character, insight, humanity--of both long-suffering hemispheres. We Americans are just ourselves; but you are we, and all the rest of it! That's why your old gods set you on the fighting line. You are a whole laboratory experiment in sociology, all to yourselves!" "I perceive that you have been thinking carefully upon us," said Hagané, still conventional, contained; but his one upward look, instantly withdrawn, had the "swish" of a scythe. "It isn't all admiration, you know!" exclaimed Todd, with an impulsiveness far more flattering than reserve. "You have made, it seems to me, some thundering bad mistakes,--like the dropping of Port Arthur at the first growl of that bear, Russia. But you've got your second wind all right. You Japanese know, better than any American or Englishman, that Russian preponderance in China means a walled continent of tyranny, the gates guarded by Greek fire. If you conquer, your best interests are at one with the progress of an enlightened twentieth-century world. Now, your Highness, deny it if you can!" He leaned back, his thin face aglow. Hagané apparently had difficulty in keeping eyes upon the table. "You--er--pass through the waving branches," said he, very slowly, "and cleave to the heart of the tree. So only are the rings of epochs counted. Do others of your countrymen think thus?" "Well," said Todd, "to be honest, I judge that most of my countrymen would prefer sitting on the bough, stealing apples, rather than counting concentric rings. I guess love of the East must have been born with me." "Interesting, interesting!" murmured Hagané. "And yet, your Excellency, though indigenous, something must have fed the growth. Every development possess, I think, allotted kind of nourishment." "Oh, events contributed, I presume. Now and then things turned up just when they were wanted." Todd was surprised at his own ease in the great man's presence. He drew inspiration, not awe, from the intelligent eyes and slow, suggestive smile. "Yes, things _came_! I planted your Forty-Seven Ronin into my biggest field of wheat! And my old mule, Kuranosuké, did me better work than any span of horses. Then, your Highness, the baron here--oh, you needn't shake your finger, Baron!--pointed me to heavenly manna; and the child Yuki, my daughter's friend, led me into paths that adult eyes could never have seen." Hagané crushed the red ash of his cigarette, and leaned farther back in his chair. The expression of his face altered slightly,--softened, one might say, were it not still so impressive. If waves of strength and influence had flowed from him before, they ebbed now, leaving consciousness a little thin and dry. Yet all three men smiled faintly, as at a pleasant thought. "Ah, little Onda Yuki-ko, the child of my old kerai." "It is a term meaning 'feudal retainer,'" put in Kanrio, amiably, to Mr. Todd. "Yes," went on Hagané, "I was encouraged last night to see her so strong to look at, and so--pardon vulgarity, your Excellency,--so inoffensive to the eye in personal appearance." Todd flung back his head and laughed outright. "Inoffensive--that's a good one! Why, your Highness, Yuki is quoted as a beauty here in Washington. Artists beg to paint her, and swell photographers to pose. If she intended casting in her lot with us, she could have the pick and choice of half the young bloods here." He sent a merry glance to Kanrio, as for corroboration, but was met by a stare so blank, so baffling, that his smile faded. The prince was carefully, very carefully, lighting a fresh cigarette. "Pardonnez moi!" he mumbled, between coaxing, initial puffs. "It is I who am the stupidity! 'Pick and choice,--young bloods'--I fear I do not quite--er--apprehend." "Your Highness," Kanrio broke in, "Mr. Todd speaks in the idiomatic phrases of society. He desired to transmit the impression that Miss Onda is thought to be beautiful." "Ah, is that it? And--young bloods?" "Young men, I should have said. Pardon my slang. Merely young men, your Highness," explained Cyrus, feeling suddenly quite ill at ease. "Ah, yes," muttered Hagané to himself. "I have a recollection. Last night--" he broke off. His voice was higher and a little careless, as he asked of Todd, directly, "Is Onda Yuki-ko to sail with your family?" "Yes. She had not intended returning till next spring. She wanted to take an extra course in French or something. But she wouldn't stay behind, now that we are going. She and my daughter are like sisters." Todd rose, muttering words to the effect that he had trespassed too long. Hagané rose also. Todd felt resentful, though he could have assigned no definite cause. "Good-morning, your Highness, or, as Miss Yuki has taught me to say, 'Sayonara'! I thank you for the honor of this interview." The word "Sayonara" brought Hagané sharply to himself. "The thanks belong not to me, Excellency," he smiled and stretched out a powerful hand. "Seldom do I so deeply enjoy a conversation with one met for the first time. I consider that Nippon, and our-Sacred Emperor"--(he paused, and the two Japanese bowed deeply,) "are to receive the congratulation." Power and purpose thrilled in his hand-clasp. Todd tingled anew with it. "What a man! What a bottled genius hauled up from a sea of fate!" he said to Kanrio, as they descended the stairs. "Prince Sanétomo is one who does his duty," admitted Kanrio, in an impassive tone. Hirai accompanied Yuki to the office door. They went a little slowly, considering the rank of the summoner, and talked hurriedly in the hall-ways, each reluctant to release a topic so dear. There had been not only Japan and childhood to gloat upon, but, already, reference could be made to a past,--twelve hours old. "Do you remember," and "As you were saying last evening," are potent introductory clauses. Both young people had been born in Tokio, and though unnamed to each other before, soon established unity of class, training, inherited ideals, and childish experiences. The secretary had often heard of Sir Onda Tetsujo, Yuki's father, a knight of the old school, famed for his stern rectitude and his loyalty to a vanished past. With some hesitation Hirai ventured to suggest that he should consider it a privilege to be allowed to call upon Sir Tetsujo and his lady, in their Tokio home. Yuki urged this eagerly. She could send by the younger man messages that seemed too trivial for transmission through Prince Hagané. "Yes, yes,--please call upon them--d[=o]-zo! They will receive you so happily. Ah, and to think that you will see them long, long before I can come! You will reach Nippon before the maples have quite burned themselves away, or Fuji lowered upon her opal cone the full white robe of winter. How am I to endure the waiting? I wish I were to start with the suite of Prince Hagané to-morrow!" Hirai's fine face echoed this sentiment vividly, but he refrained from speech. He was a correct young man, and had no intention of presuming on the young girl's veneer of Americanism. He left her at the door. It had to her fancy, now, the feeling of a shrine, a Shinto temple, approached through paths of childish memories. She lifted one gloved hand to knock, and her lips twitched at the clamorous instinct to raise both hands, rub the palms together, and clap thrice as before a deity. She controlled herself, however, shaking her head a little wistfully, and murmuring as to a voice, "No, though my soul still is Nipponese, I have become a Christian. I am half American, too. I must remember." She gave now a sharp, determined rap. "O-idé!" boomed a deep voice from within. Yuki's knees melted. Whatever the rest of her, they were evidently not American. She entered with downcast eyes. Hagané did not seem to recognize her. He looked hard, and asked, "Is this Onda Yuki-ko?" She lifted the brim of her hat, and let shy eyes rest upon him. "Your Highness, it is Yuki, a worthless young acquaintance with whom you spoke last night." She used the Japanese language, with the full complement of honorifics. "An odd eventuation," said the other, dryly. "I thought to summon the child of my old kerai, the maiden of last evening,--and, behold, a small, pert shade from the Avenue de l'Opéra!" "It does not augustly displease your Highness?" murmured the girl, not understanding his full meaning. "Not at all. It may even prove valuable for Nippon, and Tetsujo could wish no more. But be seated, child. I have scanty moments to dole you, and there are messages." "Lord," murmured Yuki, seating herself on the hard chair indicated, "it is too much for you to burden your exalted memory for my insignificant satisfaction." Hagané ignored the deprecating whisper. Taking a seat deliberately, he began, "At the Shimbashi station of Yedo, where, since many notable officers were to accompany me, a great crowd of well-wishers thronged to say farewell, I soon discerned the dark face and the proud head of your father, Onda Tetsujo." He paused, smiling slightly. The girl said nothing, only bent forward a little, her face full of unconscious excitement. "Close behind him, gentle, clinging, self-effacing, as a good wife should always be, I saw--" Yuki, forgetting her breeding, fairly snatched the words from his mouth. "My mother,--I know, Lord, it was my dear mother! And the old nurse Suzumé, was she there?" "There was, indeed, a female something that incessantly bowed, and drew breath with a ferocity that drowned the hissing of the engine. Has that the air of Suzumé?" "Yes, yes, her very self. Oh, how can I wait to get back home! Ten weeks, Lord, before I am to start!" "The words uttered by your parents were these,--I may not recall the exact terms, but I have their purpose clear. First, Iriya said: 'Tell to our child that empty hearts and a cheerless home ache through this night of absence, for her coming.' Her soft eyes touched my heart, though men call me stern. Ere I could bow assent, your father Tetsujo--ah ha! that old kerai, the unreconstructed feudal knight!--pushed rudely past, and cried to me, 'Taint memory with no such puerile demand, my Lord! Say to the girl that hearts and aches are nothing. As long as I have yen to forward, let her remain until she is fitted, though a woman, to be of some slight service to her land. I pray you, Lord, to judge of her. Should she need to stay full ten years longer, I would not repine. I have no son. She is the substitute. Empty hearts, aching nights, bah! Crumbling barley sugar of a weak spirit! Midzu-amé in a human jar! Good Iriya, my wife, I advise you to cease your prayers before concessive deities, and learn to worship more sincerely our God of War. He is to be the flaming incarnation of this epoch!'" "I can see--I hear them both," said Yuki. "My father is right,--though the tears that must have stung my mother's eyes do now sting mine. Lord, shall you think me fit to go to such a father? I have done what the Americans call--graduate. I have even received prizes for good study." "Do they offer prizes here for doing duty? An immoral practice, especially for the young,--instilling envy, cupidity. But it concerns me not. Your question, Yuki,--are you fitted to return? I cannot give myself time to be satisfied entirely with the fitness; but, for other reasons, I am well aware that it is time for you to return. His Excellency, Mr. Todd, spoke of the first of the New Year. I wish it were to-morrow." "Lord," faltered the girl, "are your august utterances heavy with reproof? Have you charges of misconduct against me?" Her guilty heart ran, as a thief for a hidden treasure, to the thought of Pierre Le Beau and the half-troth her weakness had allowed him to secure. The next words of the great man relieved her strangely. "Nay, nay, little one, I have heard of no wrong. Look not so fearful; one would think me Emma-O, the Lord of Hell, in the flesh. My thought was chiefly that, just now, even your present acquirements might serve Nippon." "Ah, it is of war you hint! Here, many believe that it will not come. Is it to come, Lord?" She had drawn very close. Hagané perceived, as one looking at a picture, the exquisite balance of features in the pointed oval face, the pale width of brow under clouds of dusty hair, the refinement, the trembling sensitiveness of lips and chin. His eyes held a certain keen, inscrutable intentness of regard. The corners now wrinkled slightly with a smile. "A nightingale studies not with a maker of swords," he said slowly. "Yet may the nightingale's note give warning where the sword could not avail. What one has not heard, cannot be told. It is a time when the whispering of leaves is to be shunned, and the fall of the petals counted." Yuki caught her underlip between her teeth to steady its trembling. Again she felt reproved, though nothing could be kinder than the great man's voice. "Four years," he mused aloud, "four years! Small space of time to us who are on the heights,--but to the young, still wandering happily on flowered-covered slopes, it is long, quite long. Ah, little Yuki, it is but yesterday that you came, as a child, to my Tabata villa. You clung timidly, at first, to Tetsujo's hand; but the serving-maids soon won you to the air. After that, at my request, Tetsujo brought you often. You were a scarlet poppy turned loose in that dim old garden. My eye would follow you through passages of the good Tetsujo's somewhat prosy discourse. You used to perch upon the gray rocks of the pond, and fish for hours, throwing back the small wriggling bits of gold as soon as caught. Do you remember, Yuki?" "Yes, Lord, well do I remember," said Yuki, her mouth trembling into laughter. The self-consciousness faded. He knew that it would be so. It was for this that he had contrived the long speech of reminiscence. "Once," she went on shyly, "once, into that pond I fell, screaming with terror to think that certainly, now, all the goldfish would make haste to bite their enemy." "Their best revenge, I take it, was in the cold you caught," laughed the prince. "Nay, Highness," said she, gravely, "no cold at all did I acquire. The maid-servants and thy divine, pitying princess rescued me. They changed my worthless garments, and urged upon me much hot tea and a small, sweet powder. Indeed, but for the trouble my clumsiness occasioned, I enjoyed more the falling into that august pond than the fishing beside it." Hagané smiled a little abstractedly. He did not laugh again. He turned to the table and smoothed the corners of a document. "The villa has no princess now, my child. In my many houses I come and go alone." Yuki looked upon the floor. "My spirit is poisoned by your sorrow, Lord. Forgive my great rudeness in mentioning. I did not know." He drew a short, impatient sigh. "The princess resides again with her own people in Choshiu. But these matters have interest for none but me. Hark, is that not the hour of noon now striking? I must dismiss you." She rose instantly at his words. He followed with more deliberation. She turned to the door, then wavered back to him, distressed evidently by thoughts she shrank from voicing. "Speak, child," he said kindly, "no mad haste is necessary. Say what you will." Still she moved soundless lips. In some inexplicable way she had fallen short. It was not only that she felt she had not reached his highest expectations, but, more definitely, she had failed to reach her own. Her acquired Americanism crackled on her, like a useless husk. She thirsted for new strength. Before her stood one able to give it, yet she could find no words to ask. "It is ten--weeks before I can start home, Lord," she managed at last to articulate. "I am only a girl, but I would die for Nippon, for my Emperor. What--what--" Again she faltered. Hagané took a small hand in his own and smiled reassurance. "Only the very young and inexperienced think it necessary to state willingness to die for a country. Give me the coming thought." "In these last weeks what can I do,--what can I suffer,--how shall I pray,--that I may make myself worthy of return?" The smile on the overhung dark face saddened into a look far tenderer than smiling. Yuki felt virtue, like a fluid, rush through her from his touch. "Keep always to the thought that you are Nipponese,--that you guard, in yourself, an immortal spirit, powerful for good or ill. Let not the tendrils of your outreaching soul cling to alien ideals, for, if so, each in the twining means a wrench and a scar, and the unscarred soul is sweeter to the gods. Think nothing of the body,--of personal desires, of personal reward. Say to yourself always, 'It is enough to be a Nipponese.'" Yuki was already stilled and comforted. "Lord," she said, lifting brave eyes, "I think it true that the lowliest among us, through self-striving, may become a god. My little spark of light has slept until this moment. I can never again be quite the same girl who came into this room. I will curve the memory of your words about my spirit, as one shields his candle from a wind." "In Nippon I see you next, my Yuki. And now, 'Sayonara,' till that time." "Sayonara," whispered Yuki, and hurried out into a new day. CHAPTER FIVE Preparations for an unexpectedly early start kept the Todd family in a condition of strained excitement. When the tension did relax (Mrs. Todd had more than once warned them), they would all probably shoot off into eternity, mere dull bits of leaden weight, as from a boy's rubber sling. Yet in these days the good lady had little time for speculations, whether mournful or the reverse. She, Gwendolen, and Yuki began at once a round of shopping and dressmaking. Officious lady friends who had lived or visited in Japan hastened to tell of certain articles necessary to the civilized female which, absolutely, were not to be procured in Japan. At first Mrs. Todd hearkened eagerly, and made lists for future shopping; but she invariably lost the lists, and, after the first week, began to notice that some particular item declared by one gesticulating visitor to be unpurchasable west of San Francisco, would, by the next, be named as a thing produced in full perfection only by Yokohama cobblers, jewellers, cabinet-makers, tanners, or tailors, as the case might be. Much in the same manner, whereas one matron declared the Japanese servant a fiend, laden with an accumulation of domestic vices from the days of Pharaoh down, the next would congratulate Mrs. Todd on being about to enter upon an experience rare to this hemisphere,--perfect service, intelligently and cheerfully given. The pleasant home on M street was abandoned, the occupants moving to a hotel. This was done that Mrs. Todd might personally supervise the packing and storing of furnishings grown dear through pleasant association. More than one stealthy tear plashed on an unresponsive packing-case. Gwendolen's brimming joy gave room for but one regret. That lived and died in a single glance, as she saw her grand piano, ignominiously tilted, pathetically legless, carried past her through the wide front door, and down to the waiting hearse of a van. Mrs. Todd went to bed, during this strenuous period, immediately after dinner. She urged her daughter to follow the good example and get "rested" for struggles to come. But "No," said Gwendolen, laughing. "There will be plenty of time to rest when I'm old. I can't waste life now!" Many of the girl's evening hours were devoted to Mr. Dodge and what he was pleased to term "Lessons in Japanese." When Yuki and Pierre were present,--Yuki now resided permanently at the Japanese Legation,--the Oriental listener would often need to bury a crimsoning face in crumpled sleeves to hide her mirth. Mr. Dodge's vocabulary was large, especially in the way of amorous and complimentary phrases, but his syntax and his pronunciation were things new on this planet. Pierre laughed too, with a superiority born of Yuki's private instruction. Gwendolen stoutly defended her professor, saying that his way of speaking the language sounded easier and more natural than Yuki's own. Mr. Dodge, by one of those fortuitous happenings that lay, for him, like pebbles, in every chosen path, had found that he would be compelled to return to his post of duty by the same steamer on which the Todds were to sail. When he made this bold announcement, accompanied by a triumphant side-glance at Gwendolen, the girl was surprised to feel her heart give a warning throb. Despite her skill in the game and her audacity, she began to realize that in this young person she had probably met her equal. She rallied quickly in the face of danger. Exhilaration took the place of fear. She knew she was in for a good fight, and began at once to employ her other admirers in the way of Indian clubs and dumb-bells. Dodge very properly went home to South Carolina a few weeks before sailing, and did not return to Washington until the time of final departure. If Yuki trembled at thought of her long days on an enchanted voyage, with Pierre for closest comrade, her new strength, born of Hagané, smiled down the apprehension. Not only would she refuse to yield to that beloved one a deeper pledge, but, if possible, she would win back from him the half-troth already given. She longed to return to her country, to her people, free of obligation. Her reverence demanded it. She should belong only to herself and them. So should she have a clearer road in which to approach the subject of a foreign marriage. Pierre, as yet, refused to see this vital point. He must be made to see. On those long balmy evenings on the ship, with the moon's sweet influence to help her, yes,--she could convince him,--she would triumph! While Senator Todd made his own few preparations, talked with all manner of congressmen on the ever-present topic of the threatened Far Eastern conflict, or reasoned with brother senators who decried so unconventional a thing as resignation from their august midst,--Pierre harassed the French Legation for confirmation of an appointment almost given, yet now, at the last, tantalizingly withheld. After insistent efforts, the best that he could gain was assurance that, in Tokio itself, in the hands of Count Ronsard, the present French minister, he would almost surely find his credentials waiting. Pierre, at his princess-mother's instigation had written personally to this Count Ronsard. "An old, dear friend of ours, mon fils," wrote Madame Olga. "Quite close, I assure you. He will be felicitated to offer what he can." Pierre and Yuki in their many talks had come to believe that an assured diplomatic position in Tokio would greatly strengthen their chances for an early marriage. Their young ardors were to blow the drowsy coals of French and Japanese friendship. Their lives must have an influence for good! At such times the future glowed with a heavenly dawn. Pierre, ever since his arrival in Washington, little less than a year ago, had been a special favorite with Mrs. Todd. In the first place, he was a joy only to look upon, having personal beauty to a degree almost irritating in a man. He possessed, also, that subtler and rarer power called "charm." A great factor in his success was unfailing courtesy toward elderly women. He knew well the might of the chaperon. He cared little for men in any country, and the aggressive American he found peculiarly unattractive. But a woman, no matter what her age, race, or weight, was still a woman. Middleaged sighs fed his vanity equally with the giggling of débutantes in their first snare. He was not a Don Juan, far from it,--but a pleasure-loving, life-loving boy, who had never been refused a thing he wanted, and never intended to grudge himself a moment's delight that could be honorably enjoyed. His ideas of this honor,--it may be well to add,--were French. At different stages in his short career, Pierre had been or tried to be, in turn, a hermit, an atheist, a Roman Catholic priest like Francis of Assisi, an actor of old French classics, a poet, and an artist of the Chavannes school. With him one passion burned supreme. One fuse must disappear before a new one could be lighted. He had met Yuki first in the Todd drawing-rooms, on one of those Friday evenings allotted to the schoolgirls for receiving friends. She chanced to be wearing full Japanese attire of a soft, cloudy blue, a sash brocaded in silver ferns, and a cluster of the gold-colored "icho" berries drooping in her blue-black hair. As his eyes fell upon her, Pierre's past visions went to cold ash. All the poetry, the mysticism, the intellectuality, the exaggeration of discarded hopes flared now into a single new white flame of adoration. December came. Christmas festivities impinged on the travellers' routine of preparations. Days which, at first, Gwendolen had declared interminable, accelerated strangely in progress, like round stones started down a gradual slope. During that last crowded week, Todd had his final, most important interview with the President and the Secretary of State. He was urged to impart with absolute freedom his personal opinions of the coming struggle, and its probable outcome for the world. In return he was given full and satisfactory instructions. He left the executive mansion strengthened in purpose, and clarified in his own beliefs. At the station, on the morning of departure, an unexpectedly large crowd gathered to say "Farewell." Prominent were the Kanrios and their diplomatic suite. Gwendolen's youthful friends of both sexes advanced like an animated flower-garden, so profuse were the bouquets. The French ambassador also was there. A Russian attaché insisted upon kissing Pierre good-bye. The two drawing-rooms of the sleeper "Nurino" were so heaped with dulcet offerings that the legitimate occupants--hurrying in to the warning cry of "Buo-o-o-ord!"--were forced to seek temporary accommodation in the open car. "Why! It's just like setting off for anywhere!" cried Gwendolen, a little blankly, as the train drew out through acrid smoke, and old familiar landmarks began their flight backward, to the city. "Who cares about the setting off? It's the roosting on, that counts!" carolled the optimistic Dodge. The train pulled steadily, now, for the South. After much disagreement and discussion, and the bending of yellow, black, and brown heads over countless railroad folders,--each with its own route in a pulsing artery of red,--they had decided for a southern tour. No one of the party except Dodge, who, if one chose to believe him, held acquaintance with all corners of the globe, had been lower than the Potomac River. Mrs. Todd remembered an aunt, native of New Orleans. The aunt had died long since, but the city remained. They were to have a glimpse of the Gulf Coast, and at least two days in the sleepy, picturesque, yet hugely prosperous Crescent City. The month was January, in most places a bad month for weather; but in this opening of the year 1904 the South was apparently bent upon justifying its conventional adjective of "sunny." The little party left Washington in a scourge of sleet and a pall of gray; it reached New Orleans to find the whole city, creole alleys traced three centuries ago and broad avenues of later wealth, alike glorified,--"paved with afternoon." Scarcely a gulf breeze stirred. The levees by the muddy river lay like saurians, with turpentine and sugar barrels and bursting cotton bales upon their backs, in lieu of scales. In city gardens, palm-trees stood at "present arms" of glossy rectitude. Pansies, daisies, and other small bedding flowers bloomed in the open air. Potted ferns or crotons stood about on broad galleries, or upon the shell-white walks bordering emerald lawns. Gwendolen declared it a delusion, a mirage, deliberately planned for their entanglement. Yuki admitted that even Japan could not offer so tropic a feast to the eye in January. Mrs. Todd found her greatest satisfaction in "doing" the place. Dodge, of course, was cicerone. He led them to the old French market and gave them a strange, steaming elixir, brewed in huge copper vats and misnamed mere "coffee." He knew the small lair called "Beguet's," where alone on earth, he solemnly affirmed, real breakfasts were to be procured. He hired a box at the French Opera for Sunday night. "Sunday!" Mrs. Todd gasped, with upraised hands and eyes. "Sunday!" echoed Yuki, less vociferously, but with a corresponding air of pained astonishment. "Certainement!" ejaculated Pierre, who was beginning to feel at home. "It is transplanted Paris. Why not Sunday night, better than another? All persons have been to mass, except our naughty selves. The piety of the others may chance to include us. God is good! Allons! The opera is Faust, with the full ballet and music. Time means little here! Vive New Orleans!" After a laughing glance into Mrs. Todd's still dubious countenance he whispered, insinuatingly, "It is never to be known in Washington or--Tokio--dear Madame." In the end he carried his point and his party. Never had he been in such spirits. Yuki could scarcely keep her eyes from his radiant face. Mr. Todd declared him a mineral spring that had just blown its way through a boulder. He stopped turbaned mammies or wondering children on the banquets,--which in New Orleans means sidewalks,--that he might elicit, by his correct Parisian French, answers in the delicious native patois. At each success he hugged himself anew. "Ç'est ça, même! Mo pas geignin l'argent pour butin çi lalà!" he murmured ecstatically. "Geignin plein!" Passing the cathedral, Pierre asked of a lounging, large-hipped negress: "Est-ce qu'il y à la messe à la Cathédrale demain?" to receive the impudent answer: "Sainte Pitie! Est-çe que vous croire que le va levé apres so' bon diner au poisson pou' vini donner nous autres la sainte messe? Bon Dieu la Sainte Vierge! Ha! Ha!" "Holy Mother! But it is French, en glacé,--crushed, with the cream swimming and the flavor heightened!" Todd alone stared out across the dim, majestic river through De Soto's eyes. He tried to feel himself the man, to prophesy as that seer had prophesied. The great city and the long levees were builded in that vanished mind, before the first adobe brick was moulded, or the first dark cedar hewn. Now in himself, as Todd the new American minister, he felt the country of his dreams creep nearer, lured by the magnet of the Panama Canal. Within his own life, should God be pleased to spare him to a fair old age, new craft would thread the Mississippi delta, small merchantmen at first, and sailing vessels, each with the banner of the red sun on its mast. Asiatic labor, silent, skilful, insidious, would contest for preeminence with the saturnine Dago, the "cayjin," the Quadroon, and the established African. Each moment, westward from the city, held a novelty and a delight. The sugar-fields of Louisiana, stretching for leaden-colored miles, and soon to be pierced by myriad tiny spears of awakening green, appeared to Yuki a giant sort of rice-field from her own land. "If it were cut up into many small piece, all of different shape and size, with little crooked baby-levees binding the edges,--it would be exacterlee the winter rice-fields of Nippon." Sometimes, in an island of higher ground, the white-columned house of a sugar-planter gleamed, and near it rose mammoth live oaks, huge tumuli of green, the underbranches swaying with grizzled moss. In the open country, such trees crouched low above stealthy creeks, or blotted widening lagoons. While in the city, they had read and heard of recent heavy rains to the West, flooding a wide agricultural district. On the borderland of Texas, they knew they had reached the threatened fields. Cypress, magnolia, sweet gum, and bay trees stood knee deep in a sea of dull chrome, churned from roads of clay. It seemed a lake of yellow onyx. Between the trunks writhed a tropical disorder of vines, palmetto, and undergrowth. In wide, clear spaces, drifting fence rails or half-submerged buildings told of ruin already accomplished. Now the whole unstable sea was covered by a carpet of the floating "water-hyacinth," which, in later months, was to turn the bayous and lagoons into veins of amethyst. It seemed incredible to the little party, staring solemnly from train windows, that they were in temperate America at all. Every floating spar of wood became an alligator's head, every springing tuft of white swamp flower a meditative stork. Night fell swiftly upon the watery forest, sucked down into it as to a familiar lair. With the next morning, the world had changed to a dry desert, above which arched an unrelated sky. "Can we really be on the same planet?" asked Gwendolen; "or in the night, did this little measuring-worm of a train reach up and pull itself to Mars?" Before, behind, everywhere, stretched spaces of exhausted gray sand, rising now and again into nerveless hills. For vegetation were set innumerable rosettes of the spiked yucca, with small heaps of the prickly pear, a cactus bush built up of fleshy bulbs, leaf out of leaf, like inflated green coral. On some of the thorny ridges perched star-like, yellow blooms. On others were stuck thick, purple fingers, known politely by the name of "figs." Dodge remarked sententiously that it was a very interesting plant; though, by raisers of cattle, not considered desirable. "Stock won't eat it a little bit," he explained cherubically. "Get stickers into their noses." "Do you call that thing a plant?" cried Gwendolen, pointing. "It may grow, but it is no more a plant than a canary is a crab." Dodge smiled again, the irritating smile of the well-informed. "Wait till to-morrow in Arizona, if you want to know how it feels to be struck dumb." Gwendolen tossed her head. Her tendency during these initial days was to overact indifference. "I rather think I shall not undergo the humiliation of incapacity to speak! Life heretofore has brought no crises in which I could not command a fairly adequate linguistic expression of my visual experiences." "Whew,--how did you remember it all?" said Dodge under his breath. Yuki turned her intense face from the window. At sight of the absorbed, half-dazed expression, Gwendolen gave a little laugh, crying, "Here is one already nearing the borders of silence! That is Yuki's way. When she begins to feel things, she draws back in her shell, and puts sealing-wax on the door. What is it now, Yuki,--lack of English,--that keeps you so dumb?" "No, not exacterlee," said Yuki, flushing a little at the turning of all eyes. "I have not good English, of course; but I could not say to myself all that I see, even in Nipponese. When too many new thing come, it is like fat people trying to squeeze together through a door,--all get mashed, and none come through." Dodge gazed at the speaker in quizzical admiration. "Miss Onda, I long for a phonograph record. That is a masterly exposition of a profound psychological truth!" Yuki cast a laughing, half-pathetic glance toward Pierre. "Is it very bad names that he is calling me, M. Le Beau?" In spite of Gwendolen's hyperbolic boast, Arizona, next day, came near to fulfilling Dodge's prophecy. The world stretched bigger and broader, as though here, instead of at the Arctic poles, the "flattening-like-an-orange" of our globe took place. The sky, immeasurably remote and tangibly arched, was a thin crystal dome soldered to earth by the lead-line of the horizon. The red sand was hot to look at. The hills, though of vaster proportions, had more of helplessness and degeneracy in their sprawling curves. Yucca grew very closely now, marching up and down the slopes like fierce explosive little soldiers with bayonets too long for them. The objectionable prickly pears vanished. In their places rose a stranger order of being, cacti in tangled bunches, as of green serpents, sometimes with the licking red tongue of a blossom,--hunched woolly lambs of growth on high, thin stilts of shaggy black,--huge green melons, ribbed, spiked, and lazy, that seemed strangely at ease on their burning couches of sand. Far off, against the rim of nothingness, dry, blue mountain shapes emerged, mere tissue filaments of hue. And now, as part of the unreal perspective, giant cacti rose, at first no more than scratches and cross-marks on a window-pane, but coming steadily close. The first that flashed, tall, stark, and tangible, into the very faces of those who watched, brought small exclamations of wonder and distaste. It passed instantaneously, fleeing backward into nothingness,--a herald to proclaim the coming horde. In a few moments, imagination, the sunshine, and the day became mere mediums for the aggressive race. This scorched eternity was made for them. Isolated and defiant, their laws were to themselves. It seemed a deliberate assumption that they should mock reality, taking on the evil forms of crucifix, gallows, skeleton-trees, and mile-posts, where nothing but a famished death was to be pointed. The desert might have been a vast sea-bottom, set with grim coral trees and hardened polyps. "They are a race of evil spirits, petrified," whispered Gwendolen. "I feel their sinister association with our human life. See what shapes they have chosen!" "Yes," said Yuki in return, and caught Gwendolen's hand as if for comfort. "You are right, Gwendolen. I think it is a Buddhist hell of trees." "But what could cause this doom to befall an innocent tree, little sister?" "It must be evil karma," said Yuki, with wide yet shrinking eyes upon the desert. "Perhaps a tree where a blameless man was hanged, perhaps the tree of a martyr's sacrifice,--perhaps even,--" here her voice fell to an intense and dramatic whisper which chilled her listeners while it stirred them, "perhaps that terrible--terrible tree whereon our--Saviour--See--see! now, over there--there--where on top of a hill three great crosses, the middle one so great and black and high,--is it not Gethsemane?" She pointed with a shaking finger, unable to utter more. "Come, Yuki, do not look--I forbid it!" cried Pierre, vehemently. In a moment, with a shudder, he added, "Albrecht Dürer might have dreamed them in a nightmare, had he killed his own child and slept afterward! Mother of God! I shall look no more!" "Nor I either, Pierre," cried Mrs. Todd, in great relief. "You are right to correct Yuki,--she does have such morbid fancies. I've heard her tell stories of ghosts, and incarnations, and those scary things that would make the flesh creep on your bones. Thank heaven, this day is nearly done! Ugh! See how the lengthening shadows spread them on the sand!" Deliberately she pulled down the small window-shade, leaned back, and closed her eyes. "What's the matter, dear? Are you faint?" asked Mr. Todd, bending over her. "No, but I'm thirsty. Ring for some lemonades, Cy. This dust has made my throat as dry as a lime-burner's wig!" Gwendolen rose. "Well, you can have your lemonades, but I am going to watch the desert until night drives down the last black cactus-peg. It's a thing to remember!" "Voilà! It's a thing to forget," challenged Pierre. "Nay, Yuki-ko, you must not follow. Tears are on your cheeks. Stay here, and let us talk of your beautiful land, forgetting the harsh ugliness outside." He, too, leaned over, and pulled down a shade. Yuki made a slight motion of protest, then submitted. "Yes, let us talk of the umé-flowers," she whispered. "They are the first." Gwendolen had taken a seat to herself at the far end of the open compartment. Here, alone, she watched the red sands smoulder into gray. For a brief half-hour the plant shadows stretched elastically into a network of black. Suddenly they sank, as water, into the sand. The upright stalks themselves began to waver and lose shape. An instant more and they would have vanished like their shadows; but now, in the western sky, just where the heated disc of copper had been lowered, an aftermath of glory mocked the night. The cactus forms, against the gleam, acquired new menace and fresh exaggeration. The brightness shut down quickly, like a box-lid, and a universe of stars sprang out. Tangled in their beams, again loomed up the cacti. "Fair maid, thy summons to the lemonade!" said Dodge, close behind her. "By Jove! I almost committed a rhyme! Fair maid,--lemonade,--good combination, think I'll write it on my cuff." At last the girl turned from her desert. Next day, to the outspoken satisfaction of Mrs. Todd, aridity had begun to retreat before civilization. Even the small spot called Yuma seemed, with its station garden of green, a bit of Paradise. Before reaching it, Dodge had carefully printed a large notice, using the top of one of Gwendolen's florist boxes. This he hung in full view of all, at the end of the car. "We approach YUMA. No puns aloud. First offence, one bottle. Second offence, five bottles. Third offence, a whole case. By Order of the General Manager." The few other travellers destined for the long California journey were, by this time, all on friendly terms. No one could have resisted the combined gayeties of Gwendolen, Dodge, and Pierre Le Beau. Yuki, though less responsive, was, as usual, an object both of interest and admiration. In lower California Mrs. Todd averred that at last she was in America. The trip up the coast, with glimpses of Narragansett surf springing up in dazzling whiteness between rows of eucalyptus, pepper, and live-oak trees, or over the roofs of tiled adobe houses, could not turn her from the belief. Near San Jose, cottages peered out from arching vines of rose. Gwendolen was distressed and surprised to find that roses, here, did not bloom continuously, and always in abundance. "They must show like glaciers, when they do come," she admitted. With San Francisco, modern life, society, stress, began, anew. Old acquaintances sent in cards. Gwendolen began a whole volume of new admirers, while Yuki, with Pierre as escort, found certain Japanese friends and acquaintances, one the child of an old family servant of her father's house. To many thousands of voyagers, San Francisco is but a stopping place, a bird-rest for preening. As a fact it is a city which possesses an unusual share of individuality, of "atmosphere," in the sense that writers use. No where else are to be seen such gray and wind-swept streets, where houses stand sidewise, as if mounting flights of stairs, the parlor windows of one house looking through the chimney-pots of its neighbor. Nowhere else are perched palaces like those of San Francisco, or a growth, as huge and strange in its exotic coloring, as Chinatown. The great, round, shimmering bay and Golden Gate are as a loom, and ships of the harbor, shuttles weaving together the nations of East and West. On sailing day, new friends and new flowers gave the little party of the Todds "bon voyage." "If New Orleans is a transplanted Paris, this is a Tschaikowsky Symphonie Orientale translated into terms of American life," said Pierre. Slowly the city turned from a city to a patch of lichen on a rock. Queer little ditches, which they knew for streets, showed lines of perpendicular-crawling beetles, which they recognized to be whizzing electric cars. They watched it all eagerly, leaning far along the stern rail of the ship. Then the sea winds caught them, screaming a welcome into shrinking ears. The white, attendant sea-gulls laughed in harsh appreciation of the antics of the wind. The ocean lifted, and strove, and pounded his cosmic greeting; and,--and,--well--there was a good stewardess on board! CHAPTER SIX The first days of any voyage are admirable in proportion as little, or nothing, is said of them. In this, as in other phases of human intercourse, delicacy lies in restraint rather than in eloquence. Thus is the bloom of society preserved. Mr. Dodge, the self-confident, the experienced, the ubiquitous, was first to "show up." The outer reefs of the California coast do not tend toward placidity. Even Dodge did not care to count the hours since he had begun to feel "sleepy" and had sought his cabin. Mr. Todd next met the sun. To be more accurate, it was a fog, where only a small bright spot, rubbed as in the centre of a tarnished tray, indicated our chief luminary. Todd's cap was pulled very low, his ulster collar very high. His hands disappeared utterly into large pockets. He walked with the jerky directness of a marionette toward the smoking-room. On the third day, when the sun actually shone and the pewter sky was undergoing a gradual transformation into blue enamel, Mr. Todd was able to sit on deck,--he still remained noticeably near the smoking-room,--and to enjoy unprintable yarns from fellow-smokers. Missionary children began to gambol around the promenade deck, and over the feet of swathed and flaccid mortals, lately exhumed, all with the blinking regard of insects suddenly disclosed beneath a garden stone. Dodge, for a wonder, was not in sight. Mr. Todd had his back toward the main-deck exit from the salon, when one of the group about him thumped a knee, stared up, crying, "By G--, look at that!" and called loudly upon his Maker to witness that the sight was fair. Out to the deck had blown a golden apparition,--a tall, slim girl with yellow hair crushed under a wide and most unsailor-like hat of yellow sea-poppies. Her skirts and the rest of her were silken browns and yellows. She made straight for the group, rustling like a small eddy in a heap of autumn-leaves. Todd turned a few inches. At the expression on his face a third convive nudged the speaker. "Oh, er--beg ten thousand pardons--didn't have an idea--" mumbled the crimson one. "Neither did I," said Todd, enigmatically, as he rose. "Oh, dearest of dads," they heard a fresh voice cry. "Now isn't this a world with the top off? I feel like a bunk caterpillar turned into a butterfly." Pierre followed his three emancipated comrades, immediately after "tiffin," as the midday meal hereafter must be called. He was, as usual, immaculate in attire, but bore an air of citric melancholy. Next arose, in all her might, Mrs. Cyrus Carton Todd. In her aggressive costume of starched piqué, fortified by gold lorgnettes and an air carefully adapted from certain acknowledged "grandes dames" of Washington, she took immediate possession of the Captain, the best deck chair, and the passenger list. As wife of a senator and lady of the new American minister to Japan, she was accepted at once, without demur, reigning Empress of the voyage. Sportive infants, oblivious of comfortably extended limbs of lesser mortals, skirted those of Mrs. Todd. Silent Chinese "boys," dispensing beef-tea and gruel, swung pigtails aside from her austere garments. Of the party Yuki alone now abode in the mysterious seclusion of her stateroom. Before sunset, on that third afternoon, the sea, to use the Captain's expression, quieted into a "bloomin' mill-pond." White birds fluttered incessantly about the stern of the ship, sometimes sinking to the waves for an unstable rest, or rising to visit, in one great silver swoop, the startled and delighted passenger deck. Pierre found a chair beside his chaperon. He moved it a confidential three inches nearer before asking, "Will she not be able to come up sometime before to-morrow? This is perfect." "She has commissioned me to say that she will try to make the effort this evening, after our dinner; that is, if--" here she shook a playful finger--"_if_ I will play propriety, and any kindly disposed person could be found to assist her upstairs." "Ah! I'll go down now, and take seat upon her doormat," cried Pierre, in his excitement. "The Chinese coolie might spill chicken broth upon you." The day waned slowly. Passengers were beginning already their postprandial walks. Mrs. Todd nodded patronizingly to one and then to another. "Madame," began Pierre, with his caressing look, "you have been almost as a mother--a good, indulgent mother--to me in that big land of yours. You will continue to be my very good friend in Japan, will you not?" "Why, silly boy, of course I will," she cried. "Have not I always been your friend and Yuki's,--even to the point of what Cyrus called 'entangling alliances'?" "It is because of its preciousness that I want to hear you say it, dear Mrs. Todd. After all, I am ignorant of Japan, and of what social phantoms Yuki and I may have to fight. But with your championship, I am strong, invincible!" He gave her fat hand just the most delicate of pressures. It might have been the touch of a devoted son; it might, had Mrs. Todd been twenty years younger, have been--well, almost anything. His dark, impassioned eyes, the color of new-opened violets, hung on her kindly face. If fault could be found with Pierre, it would be in excess of beauty. From the old blood of France he had received refinement, poise, delicacy,--the throbbing of purple veins in temples as satin-smooth as young leaves, and thin nostrils that shivered at every passing gust of emotion. From the more barbaric, vivid Russian mother had come depth of coloring, the flash of sudden animation, deep blue in the eyes, and gold in the hair. Yet with all its fairness the face was not effeminate. One could think of it, without offence, in the armor of a young crusader, or even behind the mediæval visor of a robber-baron. There might be a hint of cruelty behind the wet crimson of the perfect mouth. To Yuki that face was the epitome of all earthly beauty. Before it, the artist in her knelt, in adoration. Shortly after twilight came the reverberating clamor of the first dinner-gong. Mrs. Todd and her feminine satellites had agreed to "dress." Mrs. Todd had never made acquaintance with a décolleté gown until her entrance into Washington, not so many years before. Now she was wont to declare loudly that she could not really enjoy her evening meal in covered shoulders,--a statement which always brought the twinkles to Todd's eyes. He openly loathed his "tombstone shirt-front;" but Gwendolen, of a later and more favored generation, wore her pretty low-cut frocks as unconsciously as a flower wears its sheath. Pierre sat through the interminable courses, scarcely knowing what he ate or to whom he spoke. His thoughts were all with Yuki. He was to see her again after three endless days! The little cool, slim palm would lie, perhaps, in his. He would hear her voice, as different from these chattering table women all around him as is the sound of running water to the whirr of machines. The past ten days of journeying--though indeed they had not been for a moment entirely alone--left a delicious aroma of familiarity, almost of married friendship. What hours the future was to hold for them in Japan, in Europe, in India! Mrs. Todd's half-teasing voice drew him back from the dear reverie. "Come, Mister Le Beau, dinner is over at last. I noticed that you ate nothing. The Captain has been telling us the most delightful jokes. But we must not forget our promise to Miss Onda. Gwendolen, dear, will you go on deck and see that a chair is made ready for the poor child?" The speaker had been rising ponderously. She turned again to the Captain. "These Japanese are always wretched sailors, I am told." "No good, any of them!" corroborated the Captain, with emphasis. "The sight of a floral anchor at a landlubber's funeral is enough to make them ill." "I wonder how it will be with their admirals before the Russian navy," mused Todd, with pensive eyes on a blue-gowned Chinese steward. "It wouldn't matter either way," sneered the Captain. "No fight is going to come off! I've known these Yokohama Japs for seventeen years, Mr. Todd. A bad lot! They are just trying a game of bluff borrowed from--no offence, gentlemen--from America." The Captain was a Liverpool Englishman. "Just so!" grinned Dodge, "the kind of bluff that works,--recipe handed down by one G. Washington." Pierre and Mrs. Todd approached Yuki's cabin. She heard them, and tottered to the entrance of the tiny passage. Her face shone ghastly white above the square black collar of her adzuma-coat. Pierre instantly drew her arm within his own. She clung to him helplessly for an instant, then, with an obvious effort, rallied and stood erect. "There, there, now, keep to Pierre's arm," encouraged Mrs. Todd, with the smile of a patron deity. "If you'll promise to be good, I'll go ahead and not look around." She preceded them slowly along the passage. Her décolleté back loomed, in the dim light, like the half of a large, round cheese. Yuki, once safely on deck, tucked lovingly among soft rugs and pillows by Gwendolen, found little indeed to say. Mrs. Todd gave orders, before sweeping off to her game of bridge whist, that Yuki must not be teased into talking, but must lie still, and let the night air and the breeze refresh her. Pierre, of course, remained by her side. He cared little though the whole ship knew that he loved the Japanese girl and longed to make her his wife. Dodge and Gwendolen had affairs of their own to settle, and disappeared around the other side. Gradually the deck was deserted by all but Pierre and his companion. He secured a small hand in his own. The girl was too languid, or perhaps too blissful, to demur. "Oh, to be seasick is most unpleasantest thing of all!" she whispered once, with a short but very genuine shudder. "I shall never cross back on this water,--never, never! The little bed downstairs it seem like a grave, and one wish hard that it was truly a grave." After another long silence, broken only by whispered sentences from Pierre, she pointed to a constellation. "How nice and kind the stars are to come out here with us, so far from home! That cluster is exactly the same one I used to watch from my little room at school. When I see it in Japan, and count the stars to be sure all have followed, it will be stranger feeling yet." "Darling," said Pierre, "sometime we are to carry that little shining group the whole way round the world with us,--when you are my wife." The great ship rose softly and sank again, as if breathing. The stars stared in, unwinking. Yuki's face was deepening in sweet content. Every shiver of the engine, every angry hurtling of the insulted waters, thrust them consciously nearer to Japan. Roughening waves, toward the night of the fourth day, indicated, according to the Captain, approach to the Hawaiian Islands. He added, "If any one is keen enough on it to get up at daybreak, he will see the first outlying peaks." Todd, in a passion of romantic interest that was part of the whole marvellous epic, climbed to the deck before dawn. The stars, he fancied, looked coldly upon him, as if they resented his presence at their coming defeat. He leaned far over, watching waves that lapped the sides of the ship in a strange rhythm. Under the brightening day he stared across an ocean apparently as eternal and infinite as space, that stretched, he knew, north and south beyond him, twelve thousand miles of unbroken liquid desert from pole to pole. And yet through the centuries, this perilous waste had been crossed from oasis to island oasis by the frail canoes of men;--dark Polynesian painted savages with marvellous powers of carving and inlaying, who had left traces of their coming from New Zealand to Alaska, and through the Philippines to Japan. He pictured the advent of that first dusky Ulysses who, in feathered armor and a Greek helmet carved from a cinnamon-tree, had here, ages before, terminated his thousand-mile wanderings from a forgotten South. All this had now become a new world for Todd's own light-haired Saxon race to fall heir to, stepping-stones in its inevitable stride to the teeming coasts of Asia. Yuki, too, in such excitement that she could barely stop to dress, had been staring out of the port-hole of her stateroom since an early hour. If one of the great birds swooping incessantly along the sides of the ship had paused to look, he would have seen a small face, white as himself, fitted into the round brass frame. She was there before dawn had quickened under the sea. The mystery and the first unspeakable shiver of a newly created day had been hers. "'And God moved upon the face of the waters,'" whispered reverent Oriental lips. She saw the first dark triangle of land glide toward her through the thinning darkness,--the shimmer of rose and green on half-veiled slopes, the gradual lighting up of tapering peaks,--and then, the full orchestration of the risen sun. She reached the deck to find not only Mr. Todd, but the greater number of the passengers, assembled to watch the gorgeous spectacle from the entrance of Honolulu Bay. Night had rolled up from the sleepy town, and surged in great sails of pearl-tinted cloud up dark blue-green gullies of the hills. Red scars of volcanic slopes burned through the morning, whole peaks seemed incandescent, and terraced gardens, cleared from lower mists, stood outlined in reflected orange light. A few moments more, and the iridescent pageant vanished. Down on the shore, rude wharves and freight-sheds and cheap, new-painted boat-houses stared out impertinently. Back of the harbor front the little town nestled prettily enough in its setting of tropic greens, and half-way up the volcanic cliffs patches of tilled fields or clumps of forest-trees relieved the sandy wastes. At intervals a tall white house among its palms shone out like a child's block, half imbedded in moss. As the ship touched the dock, and the company broke up to watch the native boys diving for coppers, Mrs. Todd gathered her clan together for a holiday on shore. Yuki had decided to wear a white American gown. Gwendolen also was in white, like a great lily. Dodge showed up in spotless duck and a pith helmet; Pierre wore immaculate flannels; while Mrs. Todd, in the stiffest of skirts, the thinnest of lawn waists, and a white linen Alpine hat a trifle too small, looked unfortunately like a perfume bottle with a white leather top. They walked in radiant single-file down the gangway, the faces of all three women changing to sudden blankness at the appalling rigidity of earth, after recent days on a swaying deck. "I--I--don't believe I can walk at all, just yet," said Mrs. Todd, and reached out for her natural protector. In an instant Dodge had whistled up two cabriolets driven by sleepy-eyed Kanakas in California hats. At the market, a low Spanish-looking edifice with no walls, Mrs. Todd insisted upon getting out. Some one on the ship had told her to be sure to see the market; and this the conscientious traveller intended to do, though the very peaks above them seemed to rock and leap with subconscious friskiness. Here thronged a mingled race, both buyers and sellers,--English, Japanese, Chinese, Hawaiians, and Yankees. All the vegetable stands were owned by Chinese, all the fruit by Kanakas. Dodge insisted on the fact as eloquent of racial tendencies. In this magic climate the growth of vegetables is accompanied by an even more fervid growth of weeds, and so requires patient vigilance. Fruit, on the other hand, cultivates itself. "All the lordly Hawaiian has to do," said Dodge, "is to stand or sit under the tree, and let it fall into his lap." Gwendolen took the value from this last remark by indicating a heap of horny "jackfruit,"--a thing the shape and size of a watermelon, which grows out of the trunk, apparently, of live oaks, and asking, scornfully, how much Kanaka would be left when one of those had fallen. The fish dealers' department gleamed with iridescent color. Shrimps and crabs seemed fashioned in Favrille glass. Lobsters wore polka-dots of blue. None of these crustacea had claws, but whether deprived of them by man or nature was never ascertained. As they drove up the narrow avenues, the unique mixture of the population became more apparent. Chinese evidently formed the inferior caste of laborer, content with a daily wage. Cleverer Japanese bustled about newly opened shops of foreign wares, or hung out professional signs of doctor, lawyer, or notary public. The Yankee strolled about with a half-disdainful glance; but the lordliest was not so proud as the ragged sons of Kamehameha, who, preëmpting shady nooks in doorways, stared disapprovingly on the passer-by. In the grounds of the former "palace," members of a present legislature lolled on the green, and nibbled peanuts. Pert Kanaka girls, in New York shirt-waists and automobile veils, minced by the side of fat mamas in Mother Hubbard gowns, generally of red, with huge ruffles about the yoke. "Stop, Cy! Tell the man to stop. There's a druggist! I have several things to get!" "And look! next to it a book-store advertising the latest novels," supplemented Gwendolen. "Doesn't that seem a joke? We must get some. I see souvenirs, and photographs, and--" "I'll tell you what we'd better do. You women-folks get out and shop. Le Beau will stick to Yuki, I guess; while Dodge and I take this carriage around to the post-office,--I've heard there was one,--and try to find out the latest news about the war," cried Mr. Todd. In a quarter of an hour they were back, breathless. "War's coming, and it's coming soon!" panted the senator. "Yes, that's the ticket. Japan has called, and Russia must show her hand or crawfish," supplemented Dodge. "But not really, really--yet _begun_?" whispered Yuki, who had turned very pale. "What _does_ the young man mean?" asked Mrs. Todd, anxiously, of her spouse. "I can't believe in irresponsible war rumors. I _sha'n't_ believe them. Why, only two days before we left Washington, Prince Breakitoff assured me solemnly that the difficulty would never be allowed to reach the point of war." Mr. Todd winked toward his secretary. "Well," he said solemnly, "Prince Breakitoff ought to know more about the facts of the case than a Hawaiian newspaper." "He certainly _ought_ to," said Dodge, ambiguously. "War! Who dares to hint of war?" cried Pierre. "Look at this sky above us, and that tangle of sun and shower dragging rainbow echoes across a peacock-colored bay! Who could be found to fight on such an earth? Do you not say so, too, my Yuki?" Yuki started slightly, and hesitated, as if to form her words. Before she could speak, Dodge had interrupted: "As long as we are so close, would you-all mind walking one more block on foot? The prettiest sight in the town is just to the left of that jutting brick wall down there." He pointed. Mrs. Todd was off. Yuki slipped in close to Gwendolen, and clung to her friend's arm. She did not want to think, just now, of war. Past new American shops they went, ice-cream "parlors," dry-goods displays of underwear,--"marked down" sales, of course,--and windows of ready-made gowns on insipid waxen dummies. Dodge had taken a few feet in advance. He now turned sharply, facing into a narrow street, one of the old native thoroughfares, bordered by walls of brick and stone where moss spread and dampness oozed. On an absurdly narrow pavement squatted a row of fat and shapeless beings, presumably women, half buried in wreaths and coils of strange flowers. "Behold the far-famed lei sellers of Hawaii!" announced Dodge, with an histrionic gesture. "I see no hens," said Mrs. Todd, through raised lorgnettes. "These are a different brand of lei," explained Dodge, without a smile; "flower-wreaths that are to the hat of the Hawaiian dandy what an orchid or a gardenia is to the button-hole of a Fifth Avenue sport." The sellers had sprung instantly into kneeling postures, all as if pulled by a single wire. Brown arms went forth, like those of crabs, flower hung. "Lei, lei, Honolulu lei! Prettie flower! Prettie ladees! Dollar--Fufty cents! Here, ladee, prettie lei, twunty-fi' cents!" "Offer a quarter for three, and see them hustle," said Dodge. "Oh, what visions of beauty!" breathed Gwendolen, and flung down silver coin at random. "See, ropes of carnations! Pink oleanders threaded into regular cables! And oh, the lovely yellow things,--my color,--golden acacias, I believe. I shall loop myself like an East Indian idol in these fragrant necklaces. And what are those purple things, and those? Why, why, I don't know the others at all. I thought I was friends with every flower. They smell like heaven!" "Frangipani, ylang-ylang, stephanotis, plumaria, acacia," rattled Dodge, in the tone and manner of a professional guide. "What a delightful courier you would make, Mr. Dodge!" cried saucy Gwendolen. "I think I'll bespeak your services, now, for my wedding journey." "I'm jolly well apt to be along on that particular trip, you know," retorted the young man, with such cool assurance that all laughed--except Mrs. Todd. That good lady had begun to view, with some apprehension, the over-confident tactics of the attaché. Gwendolen, after an unsuccessful attempt to stare him "down," bent flushed cheeks and laughing eyes to the flowers. "We must all wear _lei_, of course," she cried, a trifle unsteadily. "It's positively the only thing to do on such a day! Yuki, pink carnations will be ravishing on your little white sailor-hat, and also, by a happy coincidence, on Pierre's new Panama. Dad, you and mother must have this divine stephanotis, mixed with a little smilax, for a green old age. Just think of buying strung stephanotis by the yard! And, Mr. Dodge,--last and not least, Mr. T. Caraway Dodge!--" Mockingly she caught up a string of magenta-colored "bachelor buttons," and would have offered them with a curtsey; but already Dodge had carefully wound his helmet in coils of acacia flowers until it had become, in shape and size, an old-fashioned beehive made of gold. This time she presented her back squarely. The others withheld laughter until they should have read the expression on the chaperon's face. But she, oblivious apparently of this new bit of daring, had lorgnettes at her eyes, and was studying carefully a closely written list,--a composite of suggestions, made up for her by admiring ship friends. "Punch Bowl Crater, The Bishop Museum, Banana Plantations, Waki-ki Beach,--note colors on the shoals,--House where R. L. Stevenson resided," she was murmuring, as though to fix each in her memory. Suddenly she looked up. "Cyrus, the carriages! I doubt whether we can get them all in, but I intend to do my best." "Mother!" began Gwendolen, in a note of protest. Yuki was smiling, and Pierre also. As long as they were together, nothing else mattered. The countenance of Dodge, however, had an acrobatic fall from elation to horrified disappointment. At sight of this, Gwendolen actually glittered mischief. "Certainly, mother dear," she hastened to answer. "Let us take everything in,--even a little more, if possible. We all need our minds improved,--and some of us our manners!" Dodge, darting a look into her face, found only trustful innocence. The carriages had arrived. With great ostentation he assisted Mrs. Todd into her place. "I think I shall be able to supply one or two interesting spots not down on that list," he suggested, with a tentative look at the empty cushion beside her. "Claus Spreckels' house, the Infirmary, the Honolulu University with miles of hedges made up of volcanic stone overgrown with night-blooming cereus--you mustn't miss that!" Dodge's eyes and his smile were frankness embalmed and irradiated. Mrs. Todd perforce smiled in reply. "Jump in," she said cordially. "You're quite a treasure in travelling, Mr. Dodge." Gwendolen meekly took a rear seat by her father. As she pressed lovingly against him, sending upward the tiniest little teased smile of discomfiture, his face broke into merry wrinkles. "I think you've found your match this time, little girl," he whispered. "You just wait," nodded the oracular Gwendolen. * * * * * It is a memorable experience, analogous to nothing else in the world, that landing, for one iridescent day, in the Pacific's mid-ocean, throwing one's fancies and one's heart into strange tropic scenes, and then returning at nightfall, like tired, happy children, to the great old mother-nursery of the ship. By the next morning, not even a cloud on that horizon from which we are fleeing betrays the hiding-place of land. At once the island takes proper place as a vision, a mirage of the imagination, where souls of certain privileged beings have met, and are henceforth bound in a unity of mystic comradeship. After such a day, Pacific passengers turn to one another with kindlier smiles, the whole ship changes into one heaving picnic party, old Time himself joins in the holiday, and personal dislikes, brought on board, are flung to the waves. That most of these animosities, like the Biblical bread, return to the owners after not so many days, need not affect present hilarity. As may be supposed, Gwendolen and her closest attendant, Dodge, were small whirling centres in the round of gay diversions. The conventional deck-games were started, and a terminating three days of competitive skill, with prizes bought at Honolulu and marked with the name of the ship and date of voyage, duly announced. Revelry was to culminate in a grand "fancy dress ball," the night before landing, a prize being given to the costumer who showed most skill in fashioning his or her attire from things procurable on board ship, and in carrying out the character assumed. In order to waste no more time upon this function, it may be stated that Mr. T. Caraway Dodge as "Dandy Jim,"--with painted purple rings on a dress shirt and a "claw-hammer" coat a size too small, ebony countenance, lips like two flaming sausages caught loosely at the ends, and a wig fashioned from the hair of his bunk mattress,--sang and cake-walked himself straight to the prize, while defeated contestants rent night with applause and acclamation. From the smoking-room an incessant clinking, as of fairy castanets, fretted the ears of feminine curiosity. Mr. Todd explained that it was merely the sound of checkers and chessmen rattling to the shiver of the ship's screw. The sun came up each morning, small and round, like a mandarin orange; expanded himself into a blinding deity; and at evening went down again, a blood-red orange, into the sea. The days he brought were long and golden, but not long enough for all the practising of bull-board, quoits, shuffle-board, and deck tennis. Each morning, after breakfast, certain acrobatic performances, free of charge, were held. Bag-punching was the children's favorite. One could count on an audience there, of upturned faces, wide-eyed and solemn with admiration. Some of the passengers saw fit to attach pedometers, and walk an incredible number of miles each day. In the evening, Mrs. Todd and bridge whist reigned supreme. The Captain proved to be a player; so, to his present anguish, was Dodge. Gwendolen took an elfish delight in luring this young man to a table, under pretence of desiring to be his partner, and then, at the last moment, slipping in a foreordained substitute; after which she sped off, carolling, to a moonlit deck. Once there, the fuming and impotent Dodge recognized only too clearly what she would do. At least a dozen new acquaintances of the other sex had been made thus far by Gwendolen. It was her wont to dispense Emersonian philosophy and delicately portioned encouragement to those who were fortunate enough to secure her companionship. There was a young Dutch merchant on his way to coffee plantations in Java, very blond and fierce as to mustachios, and mild in the eyes. A Chicago representative, on his way to sell to Eastern potentates his particular make of automobile, had already needed, to quote Gwendolen's own, words, "a slight slackening of speed." An English "leftenant" returning to South Africa, carried with him his own marvellous outfit for the making of afternoon tea, backed by a mammoth English plum-cake in a tin box. He was one to be propitiated, especially toward eight bells on an afternoon. An Austrian viscount posed as the slayer of jungle beasts. "Beeg gam," he called them. He doted upon seeing this timid and shrinking maid cower beneath the bloody wonder of his yarns. No one before had inspired such thrilling denouements as Mees Todd. He recognized her at once for his affinity, and on the night before landing condescended to tell her so. The shock was rude, but he deserved what he got. Pierre and Yuki joined in these several amusements and occupations during the morning and afternoon hours, both being much petted and nattered by the ladies of the ship, as beau ideals of young lovers. In the evenings, on the balmy deck, they were left to themselves. Wonderful talks grew between them,--whispers, sometimes, that the jealous wind tore from their lips before the last word came. Yuki had not won back the half-troth given, nor, on the other hand, had Pierre gained more. Often their talk was of impersonal things. The young man delighted to draw from Yuki quaint phrases of comment, and hints of the Oriental imagery with which her fancy thrilled. She told him the story of the stars, Vega and Aquilla, called in her land the Herd-Boy and the Weaver-Girl; how, for some fault, committed before this little earth was made, they could cross the milky stream of Heaven, and meet, but one night in a year. When he pointed to a flock of flying fish skimming in a blue and silver phantasy above a turquoise floor, she called them the souls of birds that had flown too far from land, and been drowned at sea. Within a few days of landing, a certain change, perceptible, it may be, only to the most sensitive, crept into the elements of air and water, and tinged even the up-piling clouds. Yuki stared now, for long moments, in silence, toward that hidden bank of the West. Pierre felt a change in her; but when he questioned, she laughed a little nervously, and said it was merely the outer edge of Nippon's "aura." Undoubtedly she was restless, a little moody, a trifle excited, and touched, at times, with brooding thoughts. She dreaded the opening with Pierre of topics which, all along, she had tried to avoid. Yet now, so close to home, she must make stronger efforts to free herself. One afternoon at sundown, when the great reverberating "dressing gong" had sent most of the ladies below-stairs, Pierre, hurrying up to Yuki, where, for a half-hour past she had sat alone in a far corner of the deck looking outward, leaned and said: "This promises to be the most wonderful sunset of all. It may be our last. The Captain has just told me that, with good luck, we sight land to-morrow. Do you dare come out with me to the very prow of the ship?" "Yes, I dares," smiled Yuki, rising instantly. "I have wished often to go to that small, lonely point of ship." As they started, he caught up a discarded wrap. "The wind is fresher there," he said. In a few moments she remarked, in a slightly embarrassed tone, "That will be a very good place to say--something." Pierre made no reply. He also had been thinking of it as an excellent place in which to say--something. Together, in silence, they made way over the aerial bridge that connects the triangular front deck with the main one; moving over the heads of steerage passengers, principally Chinese, who squatted in the sunken square to breathe in what they could of the cool, evening breeze. The sun was setting,--"a polished copper gong like that ship one which makes much noise," said Yuki. It sank, clear-cut and very round, just at that point of the horizon where Nippon might be thought to lie. Pierre placed the girl in the small angle at the peak. An arm was stretched behind her, and a hand clung to the rail, to protect them both. He leaned forward until his cheek almost pressed against her own. The soft incessant rush of wind blew her heavy hair back from a forehead spiritually pure and white. Her long, delicately modelled nose and small curved chin made a cameo against the blue-gray stone of dusk. Pierre, watching her intently, saw the last red ray of the sun quiver on her lips. The little hands were raised, as if unconsciously, and clapped thrice, very softly. "Are you praying to your sun-god, little Christian Yuki?" "Oh, no, indeed," said Yuki, quickly. "It is not prayer as we Christians call praying; it is only just our Japanese way of thanking Sun San for his great beauty, and the much good he does flowers, and people, and everything. In Japan we often thanks things just for being beautiful." She smiled up confidingly into his face. Her little hands, now lowered, flecked the rail like bits of white foam. "Then I should pray to you, my darling, for in all this world never was anything more beautiful." She made no effort to answer this, not even by her usual small, deprecating smile and shake of the head. The necessity of what she was to say, blotted from those first moments by visual beauty, now came heavily back to her. She steadied herself, turning slightly to see his face. "Pierre, trust me a little more. Give back that promise,--the promise you won from my weakness. It holds me from my path like a thorn. Our cause will be better without it." Pierre started, and looked at the girl incredulously. "Have you let me lead you here deliberately to ask me such a thing?" "Do not admit anger to your thought, dear Pierre," she pleaded. "I must have said some time. I should have said to you long before this; but we have been so--happy." "Yes," said Pierre, doggedly. "We have been happy; and I intend that we shall be happier still. That promise is all I have to hold you by. I'd draw it tighter if I could." "You will not understand,--you will not try to understand me," said the girl, in a despairing voice. "Such promise given is disrespect to my parents, particularly to my father. If you do not release, I must tell to him, of course. It will be bad for you and me. Can you not trust me? Oh, Pierre, for love's sake, release--!" "Release you!" he interrupted wildly. "This is my answer. It is for love's sake that I hold you, and will hold." He seized her in his arms, and held her with cruel strength. The night had come in fast. He did not care that the watchman by the tall, straight mast might see them. No one could hear the wind-driven, hurrying words. "This is my answer. I hold thus all you have given,--and more. You are sincere, I believe, but mistaken. A weak yielding on my part would make your parents, and perhaps yourself, despise me. I keep what I have, I say, and I demand still more. You must be true to me, no matter what occurs!" "Pierre, Pierre, you trample on your own hope, though you will not see it! To release me generously is your own best way!" "You are the self-deceived," cried Pierre. "Pledge yourself irrevocably. Then only are we strong." In the western sky an orange strip of day remained. A single bird, black against the glow, flew screaming across it, beating curved wings in the wind. "He will not see at all," whispered Yuki, as if to the bird. "Oh, dearest, you cannot know in your calm, innocent heart the scourge of a love like mine! I hunger for you, I thirst! Sobbing, I dream of you, and I wake to new tears that you are still so far away. In pity, in mere mercy to human suffering, say that no other man shall marry you. Say this much at least, that if prejudice and war hold us apart awhile, you will be true to me until we can seek some new road to happiness!" "Do I not know,--do I not know?" she shivered, in answer to the first part of his speech. "Every day my heart is torn to small pieces, all of different size and shape. I do not understand how in sleep they come together once more. You are not lonely in that human suffering." "Oh, you love me!" cried the man. "And on this voyage you love me as you had not done before! Is it not true?" "It is true," sobbed Yuki. "Mine is not love," said Pierre, again holding her fast; "it is hell,--a raging hell of ecstasies! Oh, kiss me, Yuki; give me your lips before I die of joy! Now swear,--swear,--that no word but my own,--no circumstance but death, can loose you from me!" "You torture like the old monks," she panted. "Oh, do not make me say!" "I command you, Yuki," he persisted, feeling new strength as she faltered. "It is my right. We belong to each other. Promise,--promise,--promise,--nothing but death or my word to loose you!" He kissed her again and again, like a madman, pressing his lips down upon hers, catching her hands to kiss, devouring her eyes, cheeks, forehead, hair; while the girl, beaten down by the whirlwind, made no effort to resist. Pierre took the long white ivory pin from her hair, and split it, thrusting the smaller portion into his coat, and returning that, with the ornament still attached, to her hair. "I take this pledge, Yuki," he cried. "You have told me that it binds to the death a Japanese lover. We are bound. I hold you by a tangible bond. The next shall be a small, bright circle on this little hand. Give me the promise, Yuki,--no need to struggle now. Give it me!" "Kwannon protect me," gasped the girl; "I promise!" A sudden vacuum fell. Pierre's breath was hard to recapture. He thought that Yuki had fainted, for her trembling had stopped. He shook one shoulder and bent down to gaze into her set, white face. Her eyes were wide open, and held two stars. She moved her lips now, and leaned far outward, gazing intently, as if watching the flight of an unseen thing. "Yuki, Yuki, what is it,--what do you see?" he cried, in terror. "My soul! I think a small soul fled!" All at once she collapsed into unconsciousness. As Pierre lifted her, he shook springing tears away, and bit his quivering lips as he muttered,--"I feel as if I tortured a child; but she does not realize our perils. Her fast promise is our only hope. Thank God that I could win it!" CHAPTER SEVEN The nearness of land as yet invisible gave to the ship next morning that access of animation noted in the approach to Hawaii, and in the day-distant interval from the Golden Gate. Most of the passengers, scorning to notice a few rough waves, buzzed or moved in groups about the deck. Games were put away. Marine glasses and kodaks came into vogue. Gwendolen's bright eyes, with a pair equally alert and bright beside them, strained vision for the first land. The increase of motion, however slight, served to excuse Yuki's absence. Two persons only assigned a different reason,--her roommate, Gwendolen, and her fiancé, Pierre Le Beau. Pierre had not breakfasted in the salon,--a fact noted by Gwendolen. He came to the upper deck very late, and lacked his usual eager look. Gwendolen saw him instantly. Making some excuse to the group about her, she went to him, saying in her direct, disconcerting way,--"What have you done to my Yuki-ko? She did not sleep all night, and I am sure she was crying! To cry is an unknown thing for Yuki." Pierre met her indignation with pathetic sweetness. He smiled. It was difficult to be harsh with Pierre. He looked past her to the shining water. "If Yuki did not speak of her feeling, should I, even though I knew?" he asked, with the extreme of gentleness. Gwendolen flushed under the implied rebuke. Her purpose, however, was not turned aside. "Yuki is a person whose confidence or whose love should not be forced. From what I know of you both, I believe you coaxed and persuaded her, last night, into some new pledge that her own heart shrank from giving. If this is true, allow me to tell you that you have made a fatal error, Pierre Marie Le Beau." Pierre wheeled to the sea. It was as well that she could not see his face. No longer gentle, it flared into a cruel anger. His sole answer was the slightest, most exasperating of shrugs. Gwendolen saw these signs of irritation, and cried to herself, "Halt." With a laugh that was quite successful for its kind she exclaimed, "Come, Pierre, we must not quarrel just because we both love Yuki. I know I seem rude, but I became Yuki's champion at school, and the habit clings. Forgive me for Yuki's sake." He took the slim, outstretched hand and kissed it, but allowed himself no further words. The girl felt baffled and uncomfortable. She recalled a saying of her father's, "Free speech is a luxury possible only to those whose opinions mean nothing." She felt herself herded with that undesirable class. "Well, I must get back to them," she cried, nodding in the direction of the group lately deserted. "I promised them I'd come back at once." "Is Yuki indisposed this morning?" asked Pierre. "May I not expect her on deck?" His tone was condescending. Gwendolen writhed under it. "She'll be up in half an hour, I guess," she gave answer, and hurried away, rubbing the back of her hand against her dress as she went. Dodge made room for her at the rail. She wedged herself in place with a sigh of content. "Look hard, now!" whispered her companion. "The others haven't a hint. Yes, right out there in front, _hard_!" Gwendolen stared obediently. Surely there was something strange, prophetic on that far blue rim. "Is it--oh, can it be--that little roughened thread in the warp and woof of blue--is it--Japan?" The rumor spun about the ship,--was caught up in whispers,--tangled,--tossed on to the next group. "Japan,--some one has seen Japan!" Men, with feet very much apart, steadied themselves behind beetle-like marine glasses. "By Jove, there she is!" The waves outside fawned and bounded in answering excitement. Dolphins leaped high in air. A whole fleet of "Portuguese men-o'-war" rose to the surface and scurried on before them as if leading a swifter way. "I shall simply pass away with ecstasy!" cried Gwendolen. "Oh, why doesn't Yuki come? Look, Mr. Dodge; I believe I see sails--away off there, between us and the phantom land!" "Doubtless a squad of detached fishing-smacks," said Dodge, with that courier-like precision which seemed part of him on land or in sight of land. "Oh! oh! oh!" shrieked she, jumping up and down like a child. "We are rushing straight for one. It has a square sail laced across the slits with white shoestrings. Oh, we are going to run it down!" "My _dear_!" remonstrated Mrs. Todd at the girl's impetuous manner. Her own kindly face beamed. "Not on your life," said Dodge the Oracle. "They know how to look out for number one. You just watch 'em." Even as he spoke the small skiff darted impudently into the very shadow of their looming bulk, and sped off again like a swallow. Two impassive brown faces lifted for an instant from the great shining heap of bonito in the bottom of the boat, and were lowered. "Not much floral-anchor business about those two, eh, Captain?" asked Mr. Todd, genially, of that magnate, as he strolled toward them. "I admit the coast population to be amphibious," laughed the Captain, "but you can't make admirals out of fishermen. Miss Gwendolen, it will soon be time to look for Few-ji." "Oh, oh!" cried Gwendolen again. She was made up, this morning, of wind-tossed golden hair and expletives. "Certainly no one ever saw it, truly, at such a distance!" "I have," boasted Dodge. "On a clear day I've seen the thing a hundred miles off, when it looked like a little white tee on a blue golf links, don't you know." "Golf links!" echoed Gwendolen. "What an unworthy simile!" "Why not links?--first-class thing, a good links! Don't you play, Miss Todd?" "No," answered Gwendolen, truthfully, "I don't play, but I like to pose, the costumes are so utterly fetching; and I dote on standing with my driver behind me, like girls in illustrated picture papers." She turned to search the shimmering horizon for the vision it would not yield. "Oh, where is that mountain! I wish Yuki would come. It might appear directly for Yuki-ko." "Here is Yuki," said the low, strange voice that could have belonged to no other. Gwendolen seized her. "Good-morning, Miss Onda," smiled Dodge. "Now we are all fit. Kindly invoke your enchanted summit to our wondering gaze. I have been told that it was bad luck to land after a long journey without a glimpse of Fuji-san." "I think the bad luck for only Nipponese," said Yuki. "And the good luck too, I presume, if it turns that way? How inhospitable!" "Yes, I think so. The good luck and the bad luck," was Yuki's serious reply. Pierre, strolling at the rear end of the passenger deck, must have seen Yuki. He made no sign, however, and continued to stroll alone, smoking cigarettes, with a pleasant look or reply for any chance acquaintance, but a mind evidently involved in its own problems. Neither of the girls saw him. They leaned together now upon the rail. Gwendolen had an arm about her friend. Together they stared out toward the land. Dodge had been called away. Mr. and Mrs. Todd were seated, the former carefully counting out bills for various "tips" soon to be distributed. The schoolmates were practically alone. The land showed clearly now its hill and rock formation. Layer after layer, set upright from the sea, vanished into hazy distance. Promontory after promontory tapered down at the far point to a surf-beaten line of rocks. Farther peaks rose in tones of blue,--some thin as water, others rich and dark, like great gentians. On the nearer hills, forests and shaven spots of green appeared. The water around them shone and stirred with sails, the square-laced sails of junks. Bronze-colored boatmen, scantily clad, stood on the swaying edge of a boat and shaded their eyes to peer upward at the strange, white-faced "seiyo-jin." Among the junks, sailless sampan, propelled by one crooked oar, tumbled like queer sea-beetles with a single jointed leg. "Gwendolen," said Yuki, in a very low voice, "do you see a long, green patch, like moss, over on that brown slope?" "Yes; I was thinking it looked like curled parsley." "That is really a forest,--quite a big little forest,--made of sugi, and camphor, and camellia trees. Listen; I thought then that I heard the deep sound of a bell!" "I hear nothing but water and the wind." "It was the temple bell," insisted Yuki. "And now, dear, look more close. Do you not see, right on the edge of beach, a small red something?" "Why, yes; there is a little square of red like the framework of a door." "It is torii,--red torii, or sacred gate; and beyond that gate are many, many stone steps leading up to the temple. Ah! such steps as those,--so quiet, so deep, so still! They lead the heart up before ever the clumsy feet have climbed." * * * * * A little steam launch, bearing the flag of the rising sun, came puffing and squealing toward them. The ship's steps were lowered. Grave, correct Japanese officers took possession. Their news was astounding. War's breath already heated the land. The Japanese minister at St. Petersburg even then made preparation for instant departure, and his Russian colleague in Yedo did the same. The severance of diplomatic relations between the countries meant, of course, no less than a declaration of war. From the moment of hearing this, neither Mr. Todd nor his secretary had a thought for anything besides,--no, not even for pretty Gwendolen, who, for a while, sulked alone, then, seeing it useless, sought consolation in engaging herself to all the unmarried male passengers, one after the other, and most of the ship's officers, irrespective of connubial ties. Pierre and Yuki had met, neither looking with entire frankness into the eyes of the other. To Yuki the promise given meant a haircloth shirt beneath her robe of gladness, a stone dragging her back from flight. To Pierre it was, in all sincerity, their one substantial pledge of future happiness. He was the man. It was for him to judge, not Yuki; and he believed the very reluctance with which she gave the word, a proof of its necessity. It was characteristic of both that no reference was made to the subject most vital in their thoughts. Yuki watched with apparent composure the slow approach to Yokohama Bay, Awa's cone-shaped masses, and the long, green northern coast fading into eastern haze. Fuji had not shone for them,--in spite of a cloudless day. "It sometimes went away like that," Yuki had assured the disappointed ones. "Children thought that it went visiting to the gardens of the gods." The harbor channel was free. The ship went slowly, majestically, like a great deliberate swan, sheer to the stone steps of the wharf. Yuki's reserve faltered. "My people,--oh, my dear people! I think I see their faces in that waiting crowd!" they heard her whisper. She stretched out her arms. A sob choked in her throat. Four years,--four long, long years, and yet how familiar the look of her native land! The little wind-bent pines along the stone dyke had not changed a leaf. Those long, waiting rows of empty jinrikishas might hold one that had been waiting for her through an hour of shopping in the foreign stores of Yokohama. And, oh, the dear welcoming friends there on the steps! Their party was the first to cross the platform of the lowered flight of stairs. Yuki touched the first stone step, and gazed eagerly above her. Yes, that was her mother, that gentlest, sweetest, most beautiful face among them all! Behind her stood Onda Tetsujo, Yuki's father, with his plain blue robes, and gray, nobly poised head. "Mother! Okkasan,--Shibaraku!" (How long the absence!) cried the girl, with a broken note of rapture in her voice. Bounding up the steps, she clasped and was clasped again by the slender gray figure. Tetsujo drew back, a fleeting look of perplexity in his face. He had not recognized Yuki, thus seen, for the first time, in her perfectly adapted foreign garments; but Iriya had known, from the moment her eyes caught the small brown-clad figure at the rail. The mother in her swept away, for the instant, high barriers of Japanese etiquette. She clung to her child, fondling her, pressing trembling lips to the soft young cheeks, and murmuring, "My baby,--my little one,--my treasure, who has come back to me!" A moment later they had drawn apart, both with wet eyes and quivering lips, and small, bashful side-looks of love; for such public demonstration is practically unknown among samurai women. Already these two were a little ashamed of it. Tetsujo realized at last that it was his daughter, but, because of her strange conduct, wore still an uncomprehending wrinkle between his heavy brows. The Todd party, Pierre and Mr. T. Caraway Dodge included, came hesitatingly near. The Japanese crowd drew back, some in distaste, some in politeness, some because their own friends had arrived, and there was no longer a reason for staying. Yuki, with a hand on Gwendolen's arm, began the introductions. When it came to the two young men, she hesitated slightly. Her father's deep, keen eyes rested on the faces first of one, then of the other. The two names, as she hurried them over, were practically unintelligible. Kind-hearted Mrs. Todd, observing Yuki's embarrassment and feeling that she had at least a hint as to its cause, rushed gallantly into the breech. Her efforts centred on shrinking Mrs. Onda. "Are you really Yuki's mother?" she demanded in a loud, playful voice. "You look to me like her sister. I wouldn't believe, unless I were told, that you had more than five years between you." Yuki threw a glance of gratitude toward the speaker. "Mother, Mrs. Todd says that you appear augustly young to be indeed the daughter of a big girl like me." Iriya flushed and bowed, looking more than ever like her daughter. She answered in Japanese, "Please honorably to thank the lady for her compliment, but acquaint her with the fact that I am already lamentably old. On my next birthday I shall be thirty-nine." Tetsujo, having accomplished his share of stiff bows,--not forgetting an extra one for the new American minister,--said to his daughter, "My child, we are indeed happy to welcome you. Now thank your good friends in my name. Suitable presents shall be sent them. We must depart for Yedo." He moved one finger toward three waiting jinrikisha men near-by, and the vehicles, like magic, stood beside him. "Now, already it must be 'Sayonara.' My father desires me to go," said Yuki, and smiled a little tremulously from one foreign face to another. These farewells at the end of a long and pleasant journey are never careless things to say. "Of course I will see all--every one--very soon!" "Yuki! Why, we never thought of this. You mustn't leave us so!" cried Gwendolen, in consternation. "No!" added Pierre, with more vehemence. "It isn't to be thought of. Tell your father that we are counting on you for the day." He stepped close to her. Yuki instinctively shrank. The puzzled look came again to the face of Tetsujo. "Be careful, Pierre! Look at his face! You will make a false move at the start," came Gwendolen's whisper. "Do you expect me to stand here patiently and see her carried away? Non! Mon Dieu, it was to have been the consecrating day of our lives! I do not give it up. I will try speaking myself with her father." "Gwendolen is right. Do not speak!" panted Yuki. But Pierre was not one to relinquish bliss so easily. No move seemed to him quite as undesirable as the one about to take place. Facing the astonished samurai, he began a series of bows which he fondly conceived to embody the finer points of both French and Japanese etiquette. "Monsieur Onda,--Onda San," he commenced eagerly, "Miss Yuki must not go. Ikimasen! Stay here with friends,--tomodachi. She can go your house--afternoon. Please do not take her now." Onda looked blankly and in silence upon the antics of the strange creature. Not one gleam of comprehension enlivened his fixed gaze. "Here, man, let me get to him," said Dodge, thrusting himself in front of Pierre. "I'll translate what you are trying to say, though it isn't a particle of use. Shall I go on?" "Merci." Speaking slowly, in fairly good Japanese, Dodge said, "We having hoped to enjoy the company of your daughter on this first day of landing, I am requested to entreat your august permission to allow her to remain. If you and your wife will join our party also, we shall feel honored by your condescension." "Never told a bigger lie in my life!" was his mental note after this last remark. Tetsujo replied by the courtesy of a stiff bow. With no further glance or word for the speaker, he stepped up into his jinrikisha, and once seated, said to Yuki, "Reply to the speech of the foreigner, my child." "I am to go with my parents, of course," said Yuki, nervously. "I wish it. I did not know you were planning so sure for me to remain. I must go now, at once, but will see you as soon as I may, to-morrow, or perhaps this very afternoon." Iriya had bowed to the foreigners and entered her jinrikisha immediately after Tetsujo. Yuki now climbed into the remaining one, neither Dodge nor Pierre retaining enough self-possession to assist her. The three coolies caught up the shafts for starting. "Here, stop, stop!" cried Gwendolen, springing forward. "Yuki, we don't even know your Tokio address!" Tetsujo gave a gesture and a "cluck." The coolies sprang into action. "Ko-ishikawa, Kobinata, Shi--j[=u]--" trailed off Yuki's voice into the rattling of the streets. "The ogre! I'll catch the next train for Tokio," cried Pierre. "Better stay with us and see about your baggage, Pierre," said Mr. Todd, speaking for the first time. "The girl should go with her people, and you know it." "But, poor boy," said Mrs. Todd, soothingly, her hand touching his arm, "I know how he has counted on seeing the sights with Yuki." * * * * * Onda Tetsujo's spoken order had been "stenshun!" (station), for so have the Japanese incorporated our familiar word. A train was just leaving for Yedo. Three second-class tickets were bought, and the kuruma-men overpaid and dismissed. Had they been merely "paid," a later train would have been taken. The short encounter on the Yokohama pier evidently remained in the master's mind as a most disagreeable impression. While in no sense a stupid man, the quality of Onda's intellect was torpid rather than alert. Things came to him slowly, and remained long. It happened that their train was a "local," stopping at all the small intermediate stations. Between Yokohama and the next stop,--Kanagawa,--not a word was spoken. Yuki felt bewildered, dazed, distressed. What had happened? What was spoiling her home-coming? The promise was not all, for here were her parents, moody and ill at ease, and they as yet knew nothing of her pledge. Surely the few injudicious words Pierre tried to speak should not have wrought all this. Poor Pierre, with his hurt blue eyes and outstretched hand of longing! Well, the American girls used to say that true love never did run smooth. Here she gave a sigh so deep that Iriya started. All three gazed heavily from the windows, only half seeing the villages sweep past, and the wide, gleaming rice-fields in their winter flood, and the long edge of Yedo Bay set with pines, and flecked with shining sails. The gaudy fluttering of small banners above the tea booths of Kawasaki brought a momentary light of pleasure into the girl's eyes. It died down as quickly. Her father's averted face clouded her sun. Yet unconsciously the charm and the glamour of the country was stealing back. At Omori, perhaps the most beautiful of these suburban villages, their compartment, being toward the rear of the train, stopped, it would seem, in the very midst of a grove of "umé" flowers, just coming into bloom. It is an old orchard, knowing many generations of loving care. It is trimmed and tended for beauty alone, the small sour fruit called by foreigners "plums" being uneatable, and no more to the Japanese marketer than are "rose-apples" to us. The trees, set close together so that tips of branches met, were entirely leafless, and frosted over with a delicate lichen growth. On this silver filigree of boughs the blossoms shone, white, crimson, or pink,--translucent gems of flowers. The odor, stealing softly to Yuki in little throbs, smote her as with an ecstasy of remembrance. There is no subtler necromancer than perfume. Through it the past may be reconstructed, dead love quiver into life, and sorrow, often more precious than joy itself, steal back like a loving ghost. Yuki seemed to wake suddenly, as from a troubled sleep. "Why," she cried to herself, "I am at home again! This is Japan!" She sat upright now, eager and vivid, looking from one window to another, a new brightness in her face. The locomotive, which had been restlessly inactive for a few moments past, gave a long, shrill whistle, drew itself together, and prepared for another run. Just as the wheels were turning, a broad-faced woman of the peasant class, with a fat baby on her back, a toddler of two years led by one hand, and a pair of squawking geese held in the other, wriggled herself through the turnstile and waved the shrieking fowls, as signal for the train to stop. The gatekeeper, clutching after her, seized a limb of the sleeping infant. Instantly a human scream added to the clamor of the geese. Heads were thrust from car windows,--the guard, dropping the infant's leg, seized its mother by the sash. He chanced to be a small man, she an unusually large woman. As a consequence she dragged him after her. At this sight a train official, leaning as far outward as he could for laughing, signalled the engineer to "back." The victorious one hurled herself and her living burdens into an already overcrowded third-class car. A place was made for her, not without many exclamations, such as "Domo! Osoi!" (It is late.) "Kodomo-san itai ka!" (Is Mr. Baby hurt?) and a few gruff sounds of "Iya desu yo!" (How disagreeable!) The locomotive, as if conscious of a good deed, tooted more loudly than before, and made another start. Yuki sparkled with delight. "Think of a train official doing that in America!" she laughed aloud. Iriya's answering smile was pathetic in its quickness of response. She moved closer, pressing against Yuki's smart, foreign shoulder. The two began to watch, like happy children, the passing scenes. Tetsujo drew forth his pipe and smoked himself into serenity. He listened now to what the women said. There were other passengers, of course, but Tetsujo and his companions had preëmpted a little corner in the rear. Iriya spoke of old Suzumé, who was waiting so impatiently at home to see her charge,--of little Maru San, a distant connection of Suzumé, who, since Yuki's departure, had been employed as maid-of-all-work about the house. Messages of welcome from friends and relatives were given. At the last, dropping her voice impressively, Iriya spoke of the coming war. "It is inevitable," she said. "Prince Hagané informed Tetsujo only this morning. There can be no doubt." The old scenes, the old interests, glowed anew in the girl's heart. Really they had never left it, but, like certain writing, illegible except in warmth, the pictures slept until the breath of her own land awaked them. She had a strange sense of being slowly turned back to a child. In an English fairy-book a certain Alice could grow tall or short at will by nibbling at a magic mushroom. There had always been magic mushrooms in the East, long, long before that book was written,--strange mountain growths which are the only food of the ghost deer that attend the genii of the forest. Perhaps the little brown sembei which she had just bought at Omori from an insistent peddler was, in reality, a scrap of an enchanted mushroom. Perhaps she was really turning back into the little Japanese Yuki who had never been to America at all, who had never known a foreign lover, or given a promise which her reason told her to refuse. Her heart stopped beating for an instant. She took a second bite of sembei. Again the trouble faded. Yes, surely, it was a magic mushroom. Now merry talk flowed from her smiling lips. Tetsujo moved nearer. She called him "Chichi Sama," as in baby days, and her mother "Haha San." The train made its final stop. A torrent of blue-robed occupants poured out from every car. The sound of wooden clogs upon the concrete floor was like innumerable hollow shells scraped, lip down, upon an empty box. Yuki's heart swept in with the throng. She loved the noise, the bare station, the hissing car, the very dust of the travellers' feet. Tetsujo and Iriya exchanged glances behind her back, and smiled. Their eyes said, "This is our dear one,--our own; not an American changeling, but the daughter for whom we have been yearning." CHAPTER EIGHT From the square, gray platform of Shimbashi station, terraced by stone steps, hung with tiled eaves, and surrounded by a swarming school of black jinrikishas, each with a chattering, gesticulating, blue-clad human horse before it, one dives at will into the iridescent life of modern Yedo. Regarded as a city, it is little more than a collection of villages carelessly swept together; little communities where the same streets catch up altered names; districts with opposing trades, antagonistic feast-days, and rival deities. Tanners preëmpt an unsavory ward. Shoemakers claim for themselves a network of small streets. The dry-goods merchants command an avenue. Pipe-sellers, wine-merchants, tobacconists, book-sellers, marketmen, carpenters,--each guild tends to make a centre for itself. Perhaps, as one consequence of this segregation, Tokio becomes the stronghold of street peddlers. It matters little to the housewife that the nearest market is four miles away, when sections of that market, strapped to boyish shoulders, go crying past her gate with the punctuality of planets. Tokio is a place where circulating libraries literally circulate; where perambulating oil-shops fill lamps on the patron's kitchen step or in the glass frame at his gate, and then stop to light them; where the tailor finishes a quilt or an overcoat on the bedroom floor, and the hair-dresser needs no local habitation. In a great semicircle crowded near the Red Gate of the Imperial University, live and study and brawl and bluster the students,--the future Nogis, Togos, Kurokis, Saigos, Itos, and Oyamas of their race,--now no more than restless young spirits in a recognized democracy of their own. Some of them cook their own meals and patch their own faded hakama,--a species of heroism to make death on a battlefield grow tame. Others "board" in one of the long, barn-like dormitories, or in a convenient cheap lodging-house, often three and four in a room, at the enormous rate of fifty cents a week. Poverty seems to them admirable, nothing whatever to be ashamed of. The Japanese youth of the samurai class is bred to a distaste of bodily luxury. Should one of their number show a leaning toward soft cushions and rich food, the others ridicule him, call him "O Sharé Sama," the Tokio equivalent of "Dandy," and say that his soul grows fat. Yuki sped through all, breathless with the wonder of home-returning. The three jinrikishas, Tetsujo, of course, in the lead, went one after the other in a straight line, as though on an invisible track. Whether in a lane four feet wide, or in an avenue two hundred, this goose-like manner of procedure never changed. Old familiar street-corners, familiar pines, changed shop fronts, appealed to the girl with a sense of reality. Her eyes filled and her heart beat faster as she caught her first glimpse, after four years, of towering moated walls where crawled the "Dragon Pines" of Iyemitsu, and of the high dark roof now sheltering her beloved ruler. Beyond the palace and its moats came foreignized Yedo. Sidewalks were here, though pedestrians still preferred the middle of the street, turning aside good-naturedly at the warning "Hek! hek!" of approaching vehicles. The streets, conspicuously broad, were paved with concrete or with stone. On every side rose buildings just completed, of brick and stone, or great steel frames for other edifices. It might have been Connecticut. The sidewalk trees, set rigidly in hollowed concrete basins, refused to grow in Japanese fashion, and had the poise of elms. Down centres of these streets horse-cars jangled. Work was already started on the superseding electric line. Yuki observed it all with conscious pride, yet her eyes brightened with new eagerness as another quick turn plunged them once more into the heart of feudal Yedo. The streets narrowed now to lanes, bordered on each side with shops,--mere open booths,--flung wide to the dim rear plaster wall. Shelves holding various wares came down sheer to the matted floor. In the middle of the space generally sat the master, while skirmishing about, sometimes in a gloomy slit of a passage to the rear, sometimes up or down stepladder-like stairs to a crouching upper story, could be seen the small apprentices, or kozo. The life of the Japanese kozo forms a literature to itself; but this is not the place to begin it. These were the narrow streets Yuki had longed for. Here were the shop signs swinging wonderful tones of blue, dark crimson, and white, here the great gold Chinese ideograph, sprawling across long banners. In a sort of pause between districts came a hint of suburbs, and, winding through it, Little Pebble River. A river is never more mysterious than when carrying its deep secrets through a busy town. This one, the Koishikawa, dominated the section through which it passed, giving its own name, and establishing certain small industries of dyeing, grinding, fishing, and boating possible nowhere else in Yedo, until the great central artery of the Sumida is reached. Cherry-trees joined finger-tips above the Koishikawa,--real grass crept down its banks to trail finger in the hurrying tide. It was all beautiful, all real, all familiar. From afar the clanging of beaten metal smote the ears. Yuki remembered that the main bridge led almost to the great gate of the Arsenal. A moment later it came into view. Tall chimneys pulsed black worlds of smoke, and corrugated roofs scowled above spiked, enclosing walls. At every gate stood a sentry-box and a soldier in blue uniform. "A mighty noise, young lady!" volunteered Yuki's jinrikisha man, in a hoarse shout. He nodded his head toward the clamor, and then looked backward to bestow on her a confidential grin. In the river, just in front of the arsenal, great muddy barges were poled in and beached,--with loads of coal and copper, iron and wood. "Yes, indeed, it is a terrible noise," answered Yuki politely. "They must be very busy behind those walls." She sighed heavily, but her sigh was lost in the roar of flame. The fact that her country was at that very moment on the verge of war with Russia, perhaps with France also,--with France, Pierre's country!--was one of those thoughts she was trying to keep away. "They work with double force by lamp and by sun," boasted the jinrikisha man, when they had passed the most deafening uproar. "Oh, but the Russians think us children to be cheated and lied to! But we are preparing a lesson for the cowardly bears,--we do not fear them! Look, O Jo San!" He chuckled loudly, and without relaxing his wonderful mechanical trot or falling an inch behind the pace of the two preceding kuruma, unwrapped from his wrist the inevitable twisted tenugui, or hand towel. Keeping one end under his palm, he let the rest stream backward, like a flag. Instead of the usual bird, flower, or landscape etching in indigo blue, the pattern represented a fleet of Japanese war-ships in full engagement with the Russian navy. Under the water-level great communities of deep-sea fish looked expectantly upward, chop-sticks and rice-bowls in their fins. A few Russian sailors, the first of a gorging repast, had commenced to sink downward. The eyes of the fish were admirable in their expression of calm certainty. Thus, before the firing of Togo's first challenge, did the Tokio populace enjoy prophetic visions. Beyond the arsenal, and its huddled concourse of working-men's houses waiting just without the walls, the Koishikawa took a more definite turn to the north. The Onda party, following it, came soon to a region of green lanes and pleasant gardens. The clamor of metal-workers died away. One knew that birds lived in the groves. Before them the highland of the district loomed in great dark masses, and splendid trees of camphor and of pine soared clear against the blue. At foot of the hill "Kobinata" (Little Sunshine) the three jinrikishas halted in unison, and the three runners looked with bovine yet inquiring faces, each upon his living burden. The hillside road, now to be taken, rose steep and white between bamboo hedges. Onda motioned his coolie to lower the shafts. "I am a heavy man, and with my own feet will take the slope," he said. "No, no, honorable master. Indeed I say no!" protested the coolie, while making the greatest haste to obey. "It is not fitting that so exalted a person as your divine lordship should walk. Though I break my worthless bones, I will draw you up that precipice!" Onda, smiling slightly, stepped into the road. Iriya would have followed his example, but he motioned, bidding her, and likewise Yuki, to remain seated. He paused to tuck his blue robe a few inches higher, catching the pointed end-fold in his belt. Iriya and her grunting bearer went by him. He remained standing, waiting for Yuki. Their eyes met, and both smiled. He put one powerful hand to the back of the girl's vehicle, his face being then about on a level with hers, and, ascending the hill beside her, used his supplementary strength at the very steep or stony places. The girl sat very slim and straight, looking eagerly about her. "Father, what is it about this land of ours that makes all things so honorably different,--so strangely beautiful?" "My daughter, it is not well to speak boastfully, even of one's land," answered Tetsujo; but his fine, strong face did not bear out the reproof of his words. "There will be a gate now, soon to the left,--a little gate of straw thatching, tied with loops of black hemp twine! A pine-tree sends one stiff arm across it. On a clear day one sees, in that green frame, the snows of Fuji-san! Oh, can I bear it, father? I _must_ speak. My heart aches already with the loveliness. See, even the trees know that they are beautiful; each has a soul! The trees of America have no souls." "No, from what I have heard and seen of the Americans, their trees have only hardwood centres. It is what the Americans would prefer." "Not all, not all," protested Yuki. "I have a friend, that blonde girl on the hatoba (wharf),--I have other friends who understand us strangely. I think in a previous life they must have been Japanese." "Bah! It is but poor respect you pay our country," answered Tetsujo, half-teasingly. "Ah," he cried, catching her arm, "the little gate, my child,--the pine-tree." Yuki's coolie had stopped without bidding. His face, too, wore the smile of one who loves and understands. The little gate rose straight and square in its deep gold color of old straw, the black knots made fantastic decoration along the ridge, the pine-tree stretched an arm of everlasting green, and over the straight line of the leaves, far, far out to the West, hung the frail cone of Fuji, like a silver bowl inverted. Yuki did not try to speak. Her father and the coolie feasted also in silence. In a few moments the little procession, still wordless, began again the steep ascent. Now Tetsujo's eyes went to the pebbled ground. His next remark seemed at first incongruous. "Did you see the belching of black smoke, my Yuki, and did you hear the clashing of scourged steel?" "Yes, father, and the smoke creeps after us like an evil spirit, even to the foot of Little Sunshine Hill." "Nippon is soon to enter upon mortal struggle with a great and merciless foe. All arts of war and treachery will be used against us. We may not survive." "Father, it must not come,--the gods must divert it!" "Every samurai will give his life. Every child and woman of his race will lie, self-slain, in blood, before the yielding. And yet defeat may be decreed. To be blind is to be weak. We must face unflinchingly the ultimate horror." "The old gods must protect us!" cried the girl. "You are a Christian. The Christian gods will be invoked to aid our enemies." "Oh, father, you hurt me! When I wished to become a Christian, like the other girls, I wrote you many letters,--you did not oppose it then." "Neither do I oppose it now," said Tetsujo. "In things of religious faith each soul should seek an individual path. Because of your intelligence I allowed you to decide. But in patriotism,--in loyalty to your native land,--I still have responsibility. Ah, you are my one child, and most dearly beloved; but if ever I should see in you one taint of selfish swerving,--if I should suspect that through the foreign education the sinews of your love were weak--" Yuki stopped him by a gesture. Her head was proudly lifted. Her eyes gleamed, and her thin nostrils shook,--"Such thoughts as these are not to be spoken between a samurai and his child. My very heart is knit of the fibres of that word 'Nippon.'" "You are certain, Yuki?" Tetsujo's question and his eyes dug deep. Yuki hesitated less than a fraction of thought. "I am certain," she said. A silence rose between them. Yuki's bright joyousness felt a drifting cloud. What did her father mean? Had Prince Hagané spoken ill of her? The promise to Pierre gnawed like a hungry worm. She fought anew the phantoms of love and approaching war. The two laden jinrikisha coolies tugged on with ostentatious groans. The hand towels now came into requisition for the mopping of streaming brows. The road began to curve into a level space, from which hedge-bordered lanes radiated. Again Tetsujo spoke. "That new American envoy,--he with the nose of a sick vulture and the fine yellow eye,--is he favorable to us? Is he one that at all understands us?" "Indeed, my father, he is of wonderful understanding. He and Baron Kanrio are as brothers in thought. Did not Prince Hagané speak of him?" Ignoring the question, Tetsujo went on. "The younger of the two women,--that straw-colored maiden who seems standing on the edge of a small typhoon,--she, I suppose, is the school friend, the Miss Todd, you referred to." "Yes," answered Yuki, a little resentfully. "And she is considered beautiful. I think her augustly beautiful, even as Amaterasu, our Sun Goddess." "Not ours. It may be that other nations have also sun goddesses," said Tetsujo, significantly. "To me all foreign females are of hideous aspect. They look and strut like fowls. And the two young males,--sons of Mr. Todd, I take it,--they are as the painted toys sold in temple booths. Yet, if the foreigners have been kind, it is well to express gratitude, and to send gifts as costly as my purse will allow." "The Todds are rich,--very, very rich,--even as our great silk merchants," cried Yuki, in indignation. "They do not want gifts, or expect them. It is not an American custom. Gwendolen, my friend, my sister, wishes only to be with me, freely, as we have been for four years past." Tetsujo considered. "I could not refuse you a continuance of friendship, my child, though I confess it will irk me greatly to see those strange creatures on my mats. After the first few days of your home-coming,--in a week, perhaps,--you can speak again of this desire." Yuki's heart sank. A week,--and she had promised to see them to-morrow, perhaps this afternoon! She opened her lips to remonstrate, and then thought better of it. If he felt it a concession to admit Gwendolen, daughter of the new American minister, what would he say to Pierre? Deliberately she fought down the rising host of apprehensions. "No," she whispered, "I shall not dwell upon it. I must not spoil my home-coming with uncertain fears. I shall try to be untroubled until I can tell my father all." Well along the top of the hill, Onda re-entered his kuruma, and with the word "hidari" (left), started the little string of vehicles down a path that ran in wavering lines between hedges of various growths. Many were of dwarf bamboo or sa-sa, other of a higher bamboo, springing from resilient stems twenty feet in air. A few were of the small-leafed d[=o]dan, a bush which turns to wet vermilion with the frost. Several were of intertwisted thorn, a cruel and relentless guardian. One showed a flat green wall like that of a three-story city house jutting upon a pavement; but the masonry was all of growth, rafters of thick stems, and facing of the close-clipped evergreen mochi-tree. The small tiled gate jutting from the centre of the lower edge seemed the entrance of a cave. Doubtless behind this imposing and misleading front nestled an unpretentious cot, a well-sweep, a small vegetable and flower garden, and a handful of old trees. Onda's gate, some hundreds of yards further to the north, emerged in wooden simplicity from a sa-sa hedge. Along the street the bamboo only showed. Within it ran a line of well-trained thorn. This fence was characteristic of the race which had planned it; Onda's father and grandfather, and many generations before, had owned this spot of ground in Yedo. Tetsujo, although the first to arrive, remained in his kuruma, while Iriya and Yuki made haste to descend. The former went at once to the gate, pulling aside a thin wooden panel. A little gate-bell jangled, and at the musical summons wooden-shod feet were heard, running down the pathway from the house. Old Suzumé, shrivelled, yellow, her black eyes darting excitement everywhere, fell on her knees in the gateway. She began immediately to mutter a jumble of ceremonious phrases, in the pauses drawing her breath with ferocious energy. Behind her showed a moon-faced maiden, who stared first, as if bewildered, and then suddenly fell to the earth beside Suzumé. "That is sufficient," said Tetsujo, now descending and pushing between them as he entered the gate. "Here, Suzumé, take my purse, and let these good rascals rob us as little as possible. Go within, Maru, and prepare to remove the foreign shoes from the feet of your young mistress." Maru, quaking like a jelly, as she always did when addressed directly by the "august master," obeyed instantly, and knelt at the stone house-step to receive the shoes. Suzumé unwillingly remained at the gate to haggle with the three jinrikisha men. When the shoes were reverently drawn off, dusted on Maru's blue striped apron, and set side by side on the stone step, the little handmaid disappeared around the corner of the house. A moment later was heard the scurrying of soft stockinged feet within. Yuki stretched a hand toward the closed shoji. "No, dear, wait an instant," said Iriya, hurriedly interposing. "Let Maru San open the shoji. She has been rehearsing this for a year." Yuki drew back. "I have forgotten so many things," she murmured, flushing. "They are not lost; they will spring quickly in the warm rain of home love," said Tetsujo, behind them. The shoji were sliding apart, both at once, with noiseless precision. In the opening Maru's globe-like countenance beamed. Now, for the first time, Iriya performed the equivalent of an introduction. "Maru San," she said, in her pleasant voice, "this is our o jo san (honorable young lady of the house), Onda Yuki-ko, for whom we have been longing." "Hai, o jo san! Go kigen y[=o]! Irasshai!" palpitated the little servant, asking her to enter. "I have written you often of Maru," Iriya went on, turning to her daughter. Tetsujo brushed unceremoniously through the group, and strode alone to the big corner guest-room at the rear. "She is the orphaned child of Suzumé's dead husband's stepson," continued Iriya, placidly. "About two years ago she was left quite destitute, so of course her natural home was here. Maru is a good girl, and of much help to us." "Ah, Mistress, Mistress," cried old Suzumé, nearly tripping on her clogs to reach them, "you know well that Maru is a very cat in the sun for laziness." The speaker struggled hard to look severe. "Hai, hai," said Maru, in deprecating confirmation, and bobbed over to the matting. "Why, o jo san, in my opinion Maru is not worth the honorable rice she puts in her gluttonous mouth," said Suzumé, on a high note of satisfaction. "Yet the kind mistress here, besides food and occasional outworn garments, allows her sixty sen each month for spending. Ah, Kwannon Sama, of divine compassion, will reward our mistress for her kind heart!" Iriya laughed, a merry, low laugh, as young as Yuki's own. "I thank you, Suzumé; but do you realize that the master sits alone in the zashiki, with no tea, no coal, no--"? "D[=o]-mo!" exclaimed the old woman, and scrambled rapidly to her feet. "But I become more and more the fool with age, as a tree gathers lichen. I will attend." "Be at leisure, honorable, ancient relative; I will fetch the tea," said Maru. "No," cried Yuki, suddenly stretching out a hand; "I want to take it just as I used to as a little girl. I think it will please my father. Let me take it, Suzumé San!" Maru paused with round, incredulous eyes. "Arà!" cried old Suzumé, scarcely knowing whether she were the more pleased or astonished. "A fashionable, wonderful young lady, educated in America, with numberless young Japanese noblemen waiting to marry her,--and she wishes to bear the tray like a tea-house musumé! Ma-a-a! How strange! Yet it is a good desire. The mistress's face shines with it. It shows your heart has not changed color, o jo san. I will prepare at once. Come, lazy fatling!" This last remark was of course addressed to Maru. In his wide, dim zashiki, or reception-room,--analogous to the drawing-room of the West,--Tetsujo sat alone. He was glad for a moment of solitude. His mind did not move swiftly on any subject. The bewilderment of his first vision of Yuki, changed from a clinging Japanese child to an alert, self-possessed American, had not altogether passed. Then that bobbing, blue-eyed he-creature on the hatoba,--he had given sour food for thought. What language was it that the thing had tried to speak, what wish to utter? Well, at least Yuki was safe now among her home people, away from the influence of all such mountebanks. In a few days she would be wishing to don again her Japanese dress, and then he could begin to believe he had a child. The Onda residence faced directly to the north, thus giving the big guest-chamber and the outlying garden a southern exposure. Two sides of the room, the south and the west, had removable shoji. The inner walls were partly of plaster, partly of sliding, opaque panels of gold, called fusuma. These were painted in war-like designs by Kano artists. To-day the western shoji were all closed; but the sun, just reaching them, shed a mellow tone of light throughout the room. All southern shoji were out, admitting, as it were, the fine old garden as part of the decoration of the room. The day had deepened into one of those quite common to the Tokio winter, where the sunshine battles with a white glamour, scarcely to be called mist, and yet with the softening tone of it. No young spring growth was waking in the garden. All was sombre-green, ochre, or cold gray,--pines and evergreen azaleas, heaped rocks, stone lanterns, bridge, and the pear-shaped water of a pond. In line and structure the garden was still a thing of beauty, planned in an artist's mind. It had the look of a stained-glass window done in faded hues, of old tapestry, of wrought metal. At the corner of the guest-room veranda stood a huge old plum-tree just coming into white bloom. Smiling Yuki, in tailor-made American gown and black stockings, brought in the tray and knelt before her father. The old warrior flushed with pleasure. "Why, this is better than I could have thought!" "I told you I was just your little girl," said Yuki. "And oh, father, I do feel so queerly young and real again! I see everything around me just as I wish. It is like making things come true in dreams." Tetsujo caught her by a slender shoulder, looking deep, deep into answering eyes. For once, no troubled thoughts rose to blur the vision. Suddenly he smiled. "Then make _my_ dream come true, my Yuki; remove the shapeless foreign garment." Yuki sprang to her feet, laughing with delight. "Yes, yes, that is the next real thing to do, of course. I will borrow a kimono from mother, as my trunks have not arrived. But don't let them bring in dinner till I get back. I am so hungry for a real dinner!" "The soup shall not even be poured," promised Tetsujo. She gave a little bow like the dart of a humming-bird, and would have sped past him, but he, catching at a fold of her skirt, detained her. She stopped, and seeing the expression of his face, her own sobered. "Welcome, my daughter," said Tetsujo, in a tone that trembled; "welcome, child of my ancestors,--the last of an honorable race!" CHAPTER NINE Next to the zashiki, or guest-room, around by the corner of the big plum-tree on which, now, great snowy pearls of buds opened with every hour, was the master's benkyo-beya, or study, where sets of Chinese and Japanese classics, often running into a hundred volumes, had snug place in fragrant cabinets of unvarnished cypress wood. Contiguous to this, along the western side, and bounded ten feet farther by the fusuma of her parents' chamber, Yuki's little sleeping-room was tucked away. The stately garden, curving around by the plum-tree, spread here wider paths and less pretentious hillocks. Just in front of Yuki's shoji and the narrow veranda which ran unchecked along the south and west of the house, two sedate gray stones led into a gravelled space. Here were flower-beds somewhat in foreign fashion, but without bordering plants or bricks. Many of the small bushes were resultant from seed-packets mailed by Yuki in Washington. Imported pansies, alyssum, geraniums, marigolds, and ragged-robins grew here in springtime in friendly proximity to indigenous asters, columbine, pinks, and small ground-orchids. These flower spaces were now vacant but for tiny springing communities of chrysanthemum shoots, bare stems of peony with swollen red buds at the tip, and a few indispensable small pines. Beyond it all was the tall hedge of sa-sa shutting out the street, and its ugly inner rind of thorn. The eastern side of the house contained, so to speak, its executive offices, dining-room, servants' quarters, pantry, kitchen, and well-shed. Along this portion (except by the kitchen, which stepped down unaided to a bare earth floor) strips of narrow veranda and convenient stepping-stones led into a vegetable garden, small wood-yard, and strawberry patch. The longest bit of veranda had the dignity of a rail,--a mere upright strip of board, edged heavily on top with bamboo, and pierced with openings cut into the shapes of swallows. [Illustration: TETSUJO'S HOUSE AND GARDEN] It was here, the morning after Yuki's arrival, that the women of the household were to be found. Suzumé chattered incessantly as she washed the breakfast-dishes and passed inward to arrange them on the pantry shelves. Little Maru San, a few feet away, out in the sunshine of the garden, scrubbed at pieces of a ripped-up kimono in a tub that stood high on its own three legs. Afterward she rinsed the bits and spread them smoothly to dry on a board. The tailless white cat, disdainfully satiate after a meal of tea, rice, and fish-bones, curled itself up in a fork of the bare persimmon-tree to sleep. Maru's favorite bantam cock, followed at a respectful distance by two wives and an unidentified black chick, sauntered along the kitchen drain, his yellow eye slanted for a swimming flake of white. The clear, windless air had a smell of new-washed leaves and of foreign violets. Yuki's heart stirred with the deep homeliness of it all. Iriya, noting her expression, asked brightly, "Is my dear one just a little happy to be at home?" "No, mother, not a little happy, but very, very happy. It has been a long time." Iriya was hanging out a bed-quilt of plaid silk, the squares three feet across and of superb coloring. "Yes," she repeated, "it has been a long time." "Why did you let me go at all?" cried Yuki, passionately. "I was your only one. You must have missed me sorely. Sometimes I feel that I never should have gone." "Hush, my jewel." Iriya gave an apprehensive glance toward the other side of the house. "Say not such words where the kind father may hear. He was so proud of you. It was his dearest wish, and Lord Hagané, our daimyo, advised it also. You see, we had no son, and Tetsujo was not willing to give me up that another wife might bring this hope to pass. He has been a good master to me, has Onda Tetsujo." A glow of loving pride softened the regret that this thought of the son, that had not been given, always brought to her. Suzumé looked up from her dish-tub, wrinkling with shrewd smiles. "You have no son--but what of it? Some day you will have a grand son-in-law, a young prince, maybe. Yuki-ko will make a marriage to bring glory to us all." Yuki drooped her head. "I don't want to think of marriage yet. I just want to stay here in this precious home and try to win back some of those four long years which I have lost." "But you are nineteen, Miss Yuki,--nearer twenty, in fact. A terrible age for a young lady of rank to be caught single." "I wish it could be as you wish, my Yuki," sighed Iriya. "But, as Suzumé says, you are nearing twenty. I pray the gods that my son-in-law may not be of too exalted station to receive adoption into this family, instead of your being absorbed into his. That would be the greatest joy life holds for me. But, alas! I am a selfish, talkative old woman to let such thoughts escape. I should wish your marriage to be only that which may possibly serve your country and repay your father for his sacrifices." Yuki lifted a small queer look. "In America, where my father sent me, I was taught, in the matter of marriage, to do some of the thinking myself." Iriya caught her breath. Suzumé stopped washing to stare. Maru, looking up with her round mouth formed for a "Ma-a-a!" jostled the tub in her excitement. It went over with a "swash." The soapy water, with drifting islands of blue cloth, flowed out swiftly, carrying the pompous bantam and his family on the unexpected tide. The cat opened one green eye, then the other. "Come, my child," said Iriya, quickly, to Yuki, "condescend to bear me company to the guest-chamber. I have the flowers to arrange. Perhaps, in America, you have learned some new and beautiful composition." Yuki's queer look deepened into a naughty little laugh and shrug as she turned to obey. She knew perfectly why her mother wished to get her from the hearing of Suzumé and Maru. Tokio is not free from gossip, and, though Suzumé was devoted to the family she served, she dearly loved the start, the incredulity, the deepening interest of a listener's face. To her mother's last suggestion Yuki replied, "I fear not, mother. The only idea of arrangement they have in America is to get many different flowers together, chop them to the same length of stem, and push them down evenly into a shapeless vase with other flowers painted on the sides." "Ah," said Iriya, crestfallen and surprised, "we shall not then adopt the foreign arrangement." The mother and daughter clasped hands, swinging them as children do, and moved along the narrow veranda. They were now skirting the closed shoji of the dining-room. In turning the corner, the plum-tree came into full sight. A hundred blossoms must have opened since the dawn. Yuki broke from her mother with a cry, ran to the tree, and threw her arms about the great trunk. "Oh, you are the most beautiful tree in the whole world!" she said aloud, and looked with adoration up into its shining branches. As Iriya reached her, she lowered her gaze. "Do you remember, mother, that morning four years ago, when I went away, how I clung to this tree last of all, sobbing from my heart the poem that my father taught me?-- "Though bereft and poor, I in exile wandering Far on mount and moor, Happy plum beside my door, Oh, forget not thou the spring." "I remember well," said Iriya, and drew her daughter's outstretched hand to her cheek. Something shone suddenly in Yuki's eyes. "And I wept so passionately that father, half in tears himself, came and entreated me to cease. He said that if I shed more tears upon it, his tree, like that of Michizané, might rise through the air and follow me to exile." "Yes," smiled Iriya; "often have I recalled it in the time of spring, standing under this tree alone." "It really did follow me after all, you know," the girl went on shyly. "It came at night, in dreams, when you and father could not miss it. Did it ever fail to return before the dawn?" "No," returned Iriya, with deep gravity. "The dear tree loves us also. Never once did it fail to return." Tetsujo strode toward them from his study. "How can one ponder on the classics, with pigeons cooing beneath his very eaves?" Yuki clung to him. "You had the classics for four long years when I was away." "So had I water through those four long years, small pigeon,--yet while I live must I thirst. The classics feed deep wells of the soul." He put a strong, loving hand about her, and drew her near. It sprang into Yuki's mind to speak now of her foreign friends, to ask permission to visit them or, at least, to send them her Tokio address. Pierre's beautiful face and blue eyes reproached her. But this moment was too sweet for jeopardy. She pressed her cheek against the rough blue cotton of her father's shoulder. Iriya, stealing nearer, put also a loving arm about the girl. The sunshine made a halo for the three. The plum, loosening its first petals, sent them down in fragrant benediction. So her day passed, a wonderful day, steeped in love and childish recollections. At night, the winds being chill, and the fear of robbers inherent in the Japanese mind, all shoji, and after them the wooden storm panels (amado), were tightly drawn. In the ashes of the great brass hibachi balls of charcoal glowed like incandescent apples. A lamp was suspended from the ceiling, swinging but a few feet above their heads. Here the four women of the household grouped themselves. Tetsujo had gone out for a call. The pieces of kimono, ripped and washed that morning by Maru San, were now to be refashioned. Iriya, Suzumé, and Maru drew forth little sewing-boxes and prepared for work. Yuki, half sitting, half lying on the floor, fondled the tailless cat, and declared boldly that she hated sewing and was not going to begin that part of a Japanese woman's drudgery quite so early. "All good wives love sewing, particularly on the master's nightclothes," said Suzumé, reprovingly, and peering over the rim of huge horn spectacles toward the culprit. "The o jo san will tell us something of foreign habits as we sew," suggested Iriya, the peacemaker. "Yes--yes--I will be what is called over there the bureau of information," laughed wilful Yuki. "Any questions from you, Mr. Cat?" she cried, holding the drowsy animal high above her and smiling into its blinking eyes.--"Do American cats like rice?" "No." "Queer cats, you say,--and so they think of you." "Do they wear tails?" "Yes, long ones." "What do they use them for?" "For getting pinched in doors." "No more questions, Pussy San? Ah, you will never learn. Ruskin says that curiosity forms tendrils of the mind." "What I would like to feel sure of, honorable young lady, is this," began Suzumé, primly, with a disapproving glance toward the cat. "We are ready, Madame Suzumé, speak on," said Yuki, cuddling pussy back into her sleeve. "Is it really true, as newspapers and pictures say, that women over there, even women of decent character, go to evening entertainments with no clothes above the waist, dance with red-faced men until they are on the verge of apoplexy, and then have to be restored by much fanning and a cold medicine called 'punch'?" "Not altogether, good nurse," said Yuki, fighting hard to retain a semblance of gravity. "They wear cloth and flowers, feathers and jewelry above the waist, and arrange them with great beauty; but it is true that they dance with men, and that their shoulders and arms are bare." "That is a strange custom," mused Suzumé. "Even our Sacred Empress condescends to go with bare arms. Why, I wonder, do they wish to expose arms more than legs? There is more leg, and in a supple young girl it is more shapely." "That is too hard a thing for me," laughed Yuki. "Well, Maru, your eyes are big and solemn like the Owl San in our pine. What is your question?" Maru, after much giggling and blushing, confessed to a desire to know, once for all, whether foreigners had toes like real people, or whether, as she had been assured from childhood, they possessed but a single horny hoof, which, from desire to hide the ugliness, they kept in pointed leather cases known as shoes. "That is false entirely. I have seen hundreds of barefoot children in America, and they all had ten toes, even as we." Maru seemed cast down. "Ma-a-a! what foolish tales are spread," she murmured. "Doubtless the foreigners have similar strange beliefs of us." "It is what the great creatures eat that turns me sick," cried old Suzumé, and nearly perforated a finger in her vehemence. "Their soup is like the contents of a slop-bucket, with warm grease swimming on the top. The stuff would choke in a decent person's throat. And then the great heaps of animal flesh,--and greasy vegetables, and implements like gardener's tools to eat them with! And then--Kwannon preserve us--the unspeakable nightmares that come even after the tasting of such food!" "Arà!" cried the maid, roused to new excitement by this recital of horror, "it is said that America is an honorably highly civilized country, and Nippon merely a divine half-civilized country, but I thank the gods who have given me to live in this half-civilized country." * * * * * At bedtime, Yuki, creeping between soft, fragrant futons, drew a deep sigh of childish content. The andon in the corner, shedding its gentle, paper-screened light, continued the impression of sunshine. The girl smiled to find herself again counting the lapped cedar boards of the ceiling, "Hitotsu--futatsu--mitsu--yotsu--" following them into uncertain dimness at the far end of the chamber. As in childhood she speculated upon the possibilities of that small black knot-hole left vacant in the wood. How much smaller now it was than four years ago! Still there was a chance, a pygmy probability, that a very small nedzumi might creep through, and, falling to the floor, scamper over mats and bedding, and--here came the shudder!--over the very face of a sleeper. She drew the bedclothes up spasmodically, then smiled to think how bright would be the eyes of the little mouse, twinkling in semi-darkness. In a moment more, with the smile still on her lips, she was asleep. So a second day passed, and a third,--hushed, golden days, too precious to be imperilled. With the fourth morning, Sunday, came a change. In the night a storm had risen, sweeping down from Kamschatka along the Yezo coast to the wide unsheltered plain of Yedo. Here it wallowed like a great beast in a field, snorting with fury, crushing trees, fences, and houses, and fighting back the black clouds that would have crowded in upon it. Through Yuki's troubled sleep came the sounds of vehicles rattling on foreign streets, and the blurred chime of church-bells. Her first conscious thought was, "It is Sunday. Gwendolen and I must be sure to go to service." The wooden amado of the house chattered with fright. The wind gave long, derisive howls as it swept under the low-hanging roof, clutched and shook the rafters, and then darted out to the heart of the storm once more. Yuki realized slowly that she was not in America at all, that she was at home, in Tokio. With a slower, heavier recognition came the knowledge that her friend Gwendolen was here also, and if she were in Washington could not seem more remote. She heard old Suzumé and Maru straining to open the amado, then Tetsujo's voice calling loudly from his chamber, "Keep them all shut on the eastern side!" "Oh, my dear plum-tree! It will be torn like mist," said the girl aloud. She sat upright, patting instinctively the loops of her hair, dressed now in Japanese fashion. The floating wick of her andon fell over the edge of the saucer and went out, leaving the room in grayer darkness. The foreign clock that hung in the kitchen rang out the hour of seven. "What gloom! The storm must be terrible indeed!" A moment after the girl said, with a shudder, "This is the day on which I am to speak of my love. I hear his voice calling through the wind. I must wait no longer. Yes, I will speak to-day." At breakfast the small family of three was silent and preoccupied. The one glimpse they had taken of the shivering, naked plum-tree would have sufficiently accounted for the depression. Iriya and Yuki sat a little behind the master, eating from their small rice-bowls, and attending in turn upon his wants. As Suzumé crept in to remove the half-emptied dishes, Yuki said to her father, "Father, a little later, when you have smoked and read your paper, may I speak with you?" "Why, certainly, my child," said Tetsujo, kindly, looking up from the damp printed sheet he had already unfurled; "though I may have but few thoughts apart from this terrible storm." "It is a terrible storm," shuddered Iriya. "A great camphor-tree in the Zen Temple garden has fallen. It was a goblin-tree, and the priests fear evil." "I spoke not of the storm in the material universe, but of that vast political tempest brewing over us. Our minister leaves St. Petersburg to-morrow. War has practically come." No comment was made. The three tacitly avoided, each, the glance of the other. Iriya rose quietly, then Yuki. In the door-frame the girl paused. "I shall return in half an hour, father." Tetsujo nodded. "I shall be here." In her own room Yuki moved about mechanically, putting into place her few indispensable possessions,--a silver brush, comb, and hand-glass, her white prayer-book and neat Bible, a picture of Gwendolen in a burnt-leather frame, and a lacquered box containing a second photograph, not of Gwendolen, and a package of letters, all addressed in the same hand. She fought to keep her imagination from the coming war. Its dark omen only strengthened her determination to have things understood. She prayed for strength and self-control. Punctual to the moment she entered the guest-room, bowing again to her father. He looked up from his brooding revery. Something in the girl's face made him ask, "Ah, have you indeed a matter of importance? My little Yuki has gone. This is a woman who comes to speak with me." "Alas, father. Childhood, like the petals of the plum-tree, vanishes at the breath of storms." "What storm can have found you so early, my little one?" Yuki drew in a long breath, and steadied herself for a deliberate reply. In the pause Tetsujo leaned out, and with one motion of his powerful hand flung a panel of the shoji to one side, giving a view of the drenched and storm-tormented garden. On the veranda floor, usually so smooth, beaten plum-petals clung like bits of white leather. The drip from the low-tiled roof enclosed them in the bars of a silver cage. "This is my distress, father," began Yuki. "I am a Japanese girl, with my first loyalty toward you and my native country;--yet, in that new land where you sent me,--I have come--I have grown honorably to feel, almost without warning, the--influence of a--person." Tetsujo looked faintly surprised. "Indeed, I trust so, my child. You would be but a poor, unresponsive creature to have felt no influences. It is from such things that character and knowledge are builded. There were many persons who influenced you, I take it,--some for good, perhaps some for evil. To an intelligent mind a warning is valuable. Now, at home, you will have the leisure to sort and adapt such impressions, casting away those that are trivial and employing those which may be of service to Japan." "It is augustly as you indicate, dear father," returned Yuki, the distress in her dark eyes deepening. "I attempted to observe many things. But the influence I spoke of is not that kind you are thinking. It--it--is a very special influence. In America they call it--love." She bowed her head over slightly. A faint pink tide of embarrassment showed on her forehead and in the small bared triangle of her throat. Tetsujo controlled himself well. "You mean--love--'ai'--the love of a man and a woman who wish to marry?" "In America one thinks very differently of such matters," said Yuki, her eyes still lowered. "Yet I suppose the feeling is honorably the same everywhere. Yes, father, it is of such love that I now must tell you." "We have many Japanese terms for Love," mused Tetsujo. "Love of country, of Our Emperor, of parents, of beauty, of virtue,--but the term which you now employ should not be spoken by a samurai to a woman not his wife. You pay a high price for Western knowledge, my poor child, if already the dew-breath of modesty has dried from your young life." "Father," she pleaded, "I am still a Japanese. I know how it must seem to you. I suffer in the speaking, but still I must speak. I promised. I must speak." "You promised?" echoed Tetsujo, and looked more keenly into her shrinking face. "To whom could you have promised such a thing?" "To him--that one--I first alluded to." She did not attempt now to meet his eyes, but fingered nervously along the edge of her sleeve. "Can it be possible that in that country unmarried youths speak in unmannerly directness to young women of such intimate affairs? I had heard a hint of this unbelievable indelicacy, and once your mother, Iriya, hinted that we should warn you. But I scoffed then at the thought of your needing the admonition. Alas! being a woman, she knew you better than I." His head sank forward. Yuki twisted her slim hands into wisps. "In America all speak of these things, father. They think us immodest for other reasons, and foolishly sensitive in this. The schoolgirls talk--and the matrons. All theatres treat of it--and books are full of it. You sent me no warning--I could not know, of myself. Please, honorably, restrain anger against me." "I must not be angry," muttered Tetsujo, who now gave every symptom of a rising storm of wrath. "I must be calm. But gods! this is a foul spectre to meet at the very outset! Am I to understand that this man--this person--spoke directly to you, and you listened without first receiving permission from your parents? He could have gone, at least, to my friend, and my country's representative, Baron Kanrio." "Father, father," cried the girl, "you _are_ becoming angry. I did not have the time to reflect. In America one does things first and thinks about them afterward. I am not sure that person ever has even met--our noble baron." If she hoped to palliate by this last disclosure she was quickly undeceived. "The gamester--the oaf! Insolent fool! An impostor unknown even by sight to your natural guardian in a distant land! He must be an alien! No Japanese--not even a Yedo scavenger--could have been guilty of that misdeed!" "But he spoke quite openly to my best American friends, the Todds," said Yuki, desperately. Tetsujo's rising excitement and anger lapped like flames about this new thought. "And that Mr. Todd, now come to be minister in our very home,--did he encourage your filial impiety?" "It was not so much Mr. Todd as Madame, his wife, and my schoolmate, Gwendolen," admitted Yuki, with a sinking heart. "Ah, I might have known it," said Tetsujo. His relief was evident. "Only women! Mere cackling geese. America echoes to their shrill voices. That is of no consequence." "In that country women are of much consequence, and everyone speaks openly of affairs of love and--marriage," persisted Yuki, who now clung half hopelessly to this one tangible point. "And you yourself--ingrate--would willingly bestow yourself, without a word from me or your mother, upon a man who is a stranger, and whose conduct, heard from your partial lips, impresses me as characteristic of a fool and an outcast?" His brows were black and twitching. Yuki knew that she must take her stand now or never. "You see only the side of Japanese convention, father. I have given to him a promise. When your consent and that of my mother are gained, I shall be glad to be his wife." Tetsujo started convulsively, then controlled himself. The sudden checking in of passion recoiled through the very air. With rigid hands he stuffed and lighted his small pipe. When he spoke his voice sounded flat and hollow, like beaten wood. "Such a promise, unratified by me, of course means nothing, unless--it be defiance of heaven and of natural decency. It binds no one--you least of all. Consider it unsaid." Yuki looked directly upon him. Her soft feminine chin grew a little squarer, more like his. "That promise is given, father. Neither you nor I have power to recall it. It has gained a living growth in the soul of a third person." She turned half-closed eyes to the garden. Tetsujo went forward in two small stiff jerks. His eyes fastened on her face, as though he saw it for the first time. Veins swelled in his neck, and the fingers on his small pipe-stem grew slowly flat, like the heads of adders. "Is that you speaking, Onda Yuki?" he asked. "The gods grant that I wake from this dream! But if it be reality, then sorrow is to come. If this man be a foreigner, let him stay in his own land! You are mine utterly,--at my disposal in marriage as in all else. There are ways, in Japan, to curb such mad demons as those that now look at me through your eyes. Go! leave me. I shall hear no more of this,--or else it may be that I shall forget my fatherhood, as you your obligations. Go!" "Father," said Yuki, quietly, "you must hear more of this or drive me from the house. You owe me consideration and justice; for the ideas that I have, you yourself sent me to America to gain. You even let me be a Christian. With the Christians marriage is a sacred thing--" "Be still!" said Tetsujo, in a terrible, low voice. His pipe dropped to the floor. The coal burrowed itself, a charred and smoking ring, into the fragrant matting. The odor was that of field-grass burning. The man rocked himself to and fro for control. His lean hands plunged deep into his sleeves, and grasped, one each, a jerking arm. He was terrified at his own obsession of fury, and his soul warned him against a yielding to his madness. His greenish twisted lips writhed horribly once or twice before the next words came. One corner of his mouth went far down at the corner. His words hissed from a small distorted aperture near the chin. "You were allowed to turn Christian for the acquiring knowledge of their foolish--creed. I believed that the soul of a samurai's daughter,--of my daughter,--would be untainted by the immoral portions of their doctrine. I see now my credulity! Gods! I will consume myself with this heat! When you marry--wench,--which shall be soon,--if your Japanese husband approves not of Christianity, you will cease to be Christian!" The two pairs of eyes met, hard, flashing, defiant. Yuki rose to her feet. He sprang after her. His right hand now felt instinctively for the sword-hilts which should have been at his hip. The leering, down-drawn mouth twitched and writhed. "Your words do not lash from me my heritage of race!" she cried aloud. "I am still your daughter,--a samurai's daughter!" With a movement like light she stripped back her left sleeve, baring a white, blue-threaded arm. "Because I am a samurai's daughter I refuse a coward's obedience! Hot blood of a samurai stings these veins no less than those bronze arteries you clutch. Show me reason and I will listen. Apart from that I defy you! I shall be faithful to the man I love even though your legal rights prevent our happiness. Turn me into the street,--slay me with your own hand,--I shall not be compelled into a marriage of your choosing!" Onda clutched his throat. The breath came gurgling like a liquid. For an instant it seemed as if he must hurl himself bodily upon her. Then he stumbled backward against the plaster wall of the room, clawing at its tinted surface. Yuki's eyes never left him. Now he lurched again toward her, then fell back, shaken like a jointed puppet by his own consuming rage. "Gods of my Ancestors! Demons of the deepest Hell! Go, go!--lest indeed I slay you. You fiend--you hannia! From my sight, I say!--I cannot endure--" He cowered again, striking himself into temporary blindness with one powerful fist. "I go, father, in obedience,--not in fear," said the girl's clear voice. He sprawled forward, and fell, sobbing like an exhausted runner. Yuki covered her face and went. CHAPTER TEN With the Imperial Restoration in Japan--an event, in time, just thirty-five years before the date mentioned at the beginning of this story--many of the nobles of Japan met with ruin. This was especially the case with the "hatamoto," a class directly dependent for revenue and patronage upon the favor of the usurping "Shogun." The real Emperor, then a boy of sixteen, living in seclusion at Kioto, was still nominal ruler and spiritual head of the government, forming a sort of "Holy Roman Empire," translated into terms of Buddhism. When, as a result of revolution and many sharp, fierce battles, this boy was brought in triumph to take his rightful place as temporal ruler also, with a new court in the great capital of Tokio, the Shogun, direct descendant of the mighty Iyeyasu, went into dignified retirement. Over-rich monasteries and temples, arrogant after centuries of Tokugawa benefice, were forced to part with broad lands, and even, in certain instances, with personal treasure. The simpler "Shinto" faith, an indigenous nature-spirit and ancestor-worshipping creed, opposed its principles to gorgeous Buddhist forms. The pure spirit of the younger faith and the profundities of its philosophy did not suffer. The blow was aimed at externals. The child-like Japanese soul to-day kneels with equal sincerity at a wayside Shinto shrine or before the gold-hung altars of Sakyamuni. This revolution, then, was threefold and complete. Politics, religion, society, shifted within their national circle and assumed new aspects. The centre of all was the young ruler, Mutsuhito. Now the "kugé," or court nobles of Kioto, who had willingly shared retirement and comparative poverty with this true descendant of the gods, came again into power. But besides these two classes, the hatamoto and other dependent samurai, and the kugé, was still a third,--the most important,--the daimyo or feudal lords of the empire. Some among these had never yet given satisfactory hostages to the Shoguns, and lived always in a state of insolent pride and suppressed insurrection. At need of their Emperor, the true mettle of their loyalty rang out. Men, money, lives, property, were poured out like water for this beloved cause. Those who had been haughtiest to the Shoguns bowed now in deepest reverence to the boy Mutsuhito, in whose veins ran the blood of their ancient dynasty. He was to them truly divine; not in the impossible, superstitious sense, but as a sort of human channel flowing between the old gods and modern men. Through him were reconstruction and new national glory to be gained. A life laid down in his cause were but newly come alive. Prominent among such patriots was the old Daimyo of Konda, father of the present Prince Hagané. His title more literally translated would be that of "Duke," or "Feudal Prince." His lands, lying far to the south, with a rough channel to divide them from the mainland, held almost a separate and independent existence. His chief province, and the one from which he took his title, was Konda. "Hagané" was the family name. At the first hint of national uprising the old daimyo, abandoning his own loved home, came at once to Kioto, and later made the journey with the young Emperor to Yedo. By right he assumed the place of guardian and adviser. The old daimyo was, as it chanced, somewhat learned in foreign matters, and this, in spite of the Shogun's rigid exclusion of all things foreign, of the death-penalty to any Japanese attempting to leave Japan, or, having managed to leave, attempting to return. This was a mighty armor of self-protection to the Tokugawa policy; but, in common with most armor, it had just one small flaw. In this case the flaw was a tiny island, granted to the Dutch, called "Deshima." Not far from the Konda borders lay this innocent fleck of earth, surrounded by blue native seas, and overgrown, like other islands, with tall feathery bamboo, camellia, and camphor trees; and yet, because of its existence, Hagané gained foreign books,--from it he smuggled a Dutch interpreter who could read and write not only his own language, but Japanese. Other curious minds drew near this spring of knowledge; and, partly because of it, long before Perry's expedition to the Far East, the Japanese people had become restless, eager, awake, and in ferment for a national readjustment. Hagané's one son, Sanétomo, a few years older than the boy Emperor, and reared as nearly in friendship with him as reverence would allow, was among the first youths of his class to travel in Europe, and to acquire any European language. Upon his father's death, he was asked by the Emperor to take at once the offices and semi-royal prerogatives of the lamented elder statesman. All the daimyos had received national bonds for the alienation of their fiefs; and thus those who had been most powerful still enjoyed great wealth in their own right. With the Emperor once firmly established, etiquette and the restrictions of court-life began to prove irksome to Sanétomo. One could have continued to practise fine manners under the Shoguns. Here to-day was something better. A new army was to be formed; after that a new navy. Hagané advised adaptation of tactics from the German military school, its unbending automatonism appearing to him a safe restriction for enthusiastic beginners. From the first, however, his mind had been fixed upon the administrative methods of that marvellous small heart of an enormous empire, England. Japan should be to the Far East what England had become to the West. What one island had accomplished, that also could another do. The Japanese nation as a whole went reeling drunk with over-potations of foreign ideas. For a while it seemed that everything Japanese was to be swept away. The small opposition party, frenzied by the apparition, took hideous revenge in murder, assassination, and suicide. Hagané's faith did not for a moment waver. After excess comes nausea, reaction. So had his countrymen, in more than one epoch now long past, drunk in the new. In time they would reject the unneedful, and infuse new power in what they had adopted. The thinkers of his empire could afford to wait. When the new constitution was promulgated in February, 1889, there was rejoicing such as this old earth seldom sees. Hagané was created Minister of War. This position he had continued to hold, with varying intervals. He was now the incumbent. Much of his time was spent, perforce, in the "foreign" official residence, well within sight of the Imperial moats. Most of such edifices in Tokio are depressing. This was particularly cheerless. The house of brick, wood, and plaster, chiefly plaster, stood full two stories high, was of ample dimensions, and had a huge, square, blue-tiled roof. Though planned and built by the most artistic nation now alive, it had not one line of beauty, nor one successful effort after fine proportion. In these early days it seemed an accepted creed among the Japanese that anything to be truly "foreign" must necessarily offend the eye; yet, thought the ingenuous pupils, since ugliness apparently goes in the company of wealth, power, material welfare, and political recognition,--why, by all means, let us be uglier than the foreigners themselves! Around the house lay something called a garden, a watery emulsion of American flower beds and a Japanese landscape creation. The effect of the whole place was amorphous, unstable, depressing, with the one redeeming feature of bigness. Onda Tetsujo, speeding toward this haven in his hired jinrikisha, rattled along the uneven stone of the street, and then turned into the one great entrance of the imposing shell. The garden wall had a secret gate or two, but these were generally kept bolted. The storm of the early morning was abating. A drizzling, discouraged rain, with irregular gusts of wind through it, persisted in efforts to exclude all cheer. Onda knocked at one of the rear doors of the Japanese wing, and was but little surprised to hear, from the man who opened for him, that his Excellency the Prince, having transacted all official business for the day, had now retired to his "besso" (villa) on the high land of suburban "Tabata." Onda re-entered his vehicle and gave the curt order, "Tabata." In the street he added, "Call an atoshi, and pull up the hood and oil-cloth." An atoshi, or "Mr. After," was summoned, the oil-cloth hood of the jinrikisha drawn far over and held in place by a single black cord knotted to one shaft. A sort of oil-cloth lap-robe, hung up in front and hooked to the inner lining of the hood, afforded complete immunity from wetting. Within the careful adjustment sat Tetsujo, blinking and scowling. The day had brought him a new and unwelcomed experience,--defiance from a woman. He wondered, as he was dragged along the viscid street, whether, in the happy, vanished feudal days, any warrior of his clan had known a similar indignity. There was on record the case of a wilful bride who, married against her wishes to an Onda chief, had disguised herself in a suit of armor grown too small for him, and sought heroic death in battle. But even this was better than open insult and defiance. Well, Yuki must be watched closely. Her education and beauty were not to be thrown away on a foreigner who, likely as not, would tire of and desert her. She must marry a young Japanese already well along on the way to official or military promotion. When this Russian war came, Japan would need all her people, men and women. His only child should not be given over to the loose affections of a foreigner. He scowled anew at the thought, and gave so savage a sound that his coolies stopped short in the road to inquire whether the honorable master were in pain. "No," growled Tetsujo, in return, "a warrior does not feel pain; that is for babes and women." A few minutes later the redoubled grunts and groans of his bearers--evidently sharing shamelessly the weaker prerogatives of the other sex--told Tetsujo that they had begun the ascent of the Tabata slope. At the eastern edge, where the hill goes down like a cliff, and one looking far out over rice-fields sees the Sumida River finding a shining road to Tokio, and the great twin peaks of Tsukuba-yama standing guard over the other half of the world, spread the broad eaves of Prince Hagané's villa. Onda gave a sigh of relief as he stepped out under the door-roof. "O tanomi moshimasu!" (I make request) he called, rapping on the closed shoji panels with his knuckles. "Hai!" came almost instantly from within, and a housemaid was on her knees pushing the panels softly aside, a hand on each. "The august one--is he within?" asked the visitor. "Hai! Illustrious Sir. Deign to mount the step, and, seating yourself on the hard mats, be refreshed by our tasteless tea and worthless cakes, while I hasten to announce your joy-giving appearance." Tetsujo dismissed his kuruma men, shook off his shoes, and remained seated on the mats, still with folded arms, still deep in thought. The little maid, returning quickly, murmured that "the noble master would receive his honorable guest at once." * * * * * Prince Hagané sat alone in the great room, immediately surrounded by boxes and trays with tea, writing, and smoking outfits. There was one beautiful hibachi, or firepot, of hammered brass. An English book on International Law lay on the floor beside him among newspapers in Japanese, Chinese, English, French, and German. Passages in these papers had been heavily marked by the blue and red pencil still held in the reader's hand. He did not rise or bow as Tetsujo entered, merely turning his face toward the opened fusuma and saying, "Most welcome, good Tetsujo. Enter and forget the storm." "I fear I have brought the storm in with me, your Highness," Tetsujo could not refrain from crying. He fell on his knees just within the door, bowed many times, and drew in his breath loudly. Hagané lifted an unread newspaper and made several markings while Tetsujo continued his genuflections. Having at last completed a number satisfactory to his sense of propriety, he sat upright. Hagané folded this last paper, and put it into a heap with the others. "Draw nearer," he said with a smile. "It is a day for a chat between old friends. No, be not so humble--nearer yet--I insist. Now--that is better and more companionable. Pour yourself some tea." "Honors are heaped upon your unworthy servant," rejoined Onda, pouring tea, first for the prince, then for himself. "I have just come from the official residence of your Highness. How cold and un-homelike appear all foreign houses; while this--" he paused to look slowly around--"this warms a man's heart to see." "Though insignificant, it has a certain restfulness," admitted the host. "Lacking a mistress, it cannot seem in reality a home." Tetsujo's face clouded. "Speak not to me of mistresses, Lord," he mumbled sourly. Hagané gave him a queer glance, but said nothing. He understood well the nature of his own kerai. So angular a thought as now distressed him must soon work its way to the surface of speech. "To-day I am in mind of the Chinese sage who taught us that all women are mere manifestations of demoniac force. They are sent here to tempt us--to test--to torment. Would that I could reach a heaven of warriors, untainted by their sex--!" "Surely, my Tetsujo," interrupted Hagané, gravely, "those of your household bring no torment. I have never known a better wife than Iriya." "I complain not of Iriya," said the other, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice; "but, Lord, had you seen that ingrate that I must call my daughter! Had you seen Yuki an hour since, you would have perceived what the Chinese mean by she-demons." "Yuki!" echoed Hagané, this time in genuine surprise. "Is there not some mistake? Yuki is spirited; but I cannot picture her as a--demon!" "I will honorably relate the event. My heart, with the memory, seethes and bubbles as a small cauldron." In a voice often shaken from control by passion, with a dark countenance slowly deepening into a bronze red of agitation, Tetsujo imparted the story of his child's defiance. Not once did Prince Hagané lift his head, not even when Tetsujo, beating the matted floor in his rage, roared out, "Her eyes flashed, my Lord, like those of a dragon-maid in battle! They scorched me like sparks! They would not fall though I sent out the whole volume of my will to quench them. It was defiance--defiance--naked and unashamed! The very air around me turned to flame. Murder dried my tongue. Had I worn my short swords as of old,--" Hagané gave an exclamation and looked up. "What then! Are you yourself a demon, Tetsujo,--or a father? Scorn to you, thus speaking of a maid! It was your own strong spirit darting upon you from her bright eyes. Gods! the look of her must have been magnificent!" "Magnificent! Yes, as hell, perhaps, is magnificent! Think you not, Lord, that she deserves death for such impiety?" "My poor Tetsujo," said Hagané, "I pray you, quaff more tea and be calm. You alone cannot walk backward, when the rest of the nation races to the fore. Yuki's death for such a cause would certainly mean your hanging, and, in my opinion, a fate that you would well deserve. Come now, let us reason like men, not squirm and crackle like live devil-fish thrown upon coals. The point of the matter is, that your daughter wishes to marry one of her choice, and not one of yours. Naturally, you oppose this." "Oppose!" echoed Tetsujo, straining in his seat, "I forbid it! I defy her to attempt it! Should she persist, she shall have my curse and that of my ancestors--" "Nay, nay, my Tetsujo, be calm. Anger is the worst leak in a man's store of self-respect. I cannot talk further until you grow calm." He paused and slowly poured for himself a cup of tea, as if to give the old warrior time for self-recollection. Tetsujo drew a tenugui from his sleeve, mopped his damp brow, pulled his kimono collar into smoother folds, and settled, by degrees, into an appearance of tranquillity. Now and again a small convulsive shudder still passed over him, a movement involuntary and uncontrollable, such as is seen in a runaway horse brought suddenly to a stand. "Now let me question," began Hagané's deep tones again. "Answer nothing, my friend, but what I ask. Are you certain that this man, whom our little Yuki thinks she loves, is, indeed, a foreigner?" "I am not honorably certain, your Highness, even of so much. But I think he is a foreigner. No Japanese, not even a street scavenger of Yedo, as I told her--" Hagané raised a hand for silence. "You should, first of all, have ascertained his race, his name, and his profession. He may be a hired Russian spy for all we know." Tetsujo almost bounded from his place. "A Russian spy! God of Battles,--I thought not of that!" "And did you bethink you to inquire whether the--person--had already followed her to this country?" Tetsujo's eyes rolled fearfully. He found no ready words. "My Lord--my Lord--" he gasped. "You now perceive, Tetsujo, there are better things for a man to do with his wits than ignite them, and, with the burning bits, play a foolish jugglery. Our first concern is to find out whether or not that man is here." Tetsujo bowed over to hide his chagrin. "Your wisdom is that of D[=o]-ku and Benkei Sama in one," he murmured. Hagané stuffed and lighted a small pipe. "When you met your daughter on the hatoba at Yokohama were there young males of the party?" "Hai, master. I recall now two strange and alert ones who appeared to be young." "Was one of a pink color, like buds of a kaido bloom, and eyes a deep-blue color?" "All were red and hideous. The one who tried to speak with me had rice-straw on his head in place of decent hair." "Ah," said Hagané, puffing at his pipe. "Yes, your Highness, and in our conversation she informed me that the Todds were well aware of her shameful passion, and that the women upheld it." Silence fell between the men. Tetsujo bit his finger-nails in his impatience. "In three more days," began the other, slowly, "Mr. Todd will be formally presented to his Sacred Majesty; after that ceremony he will not, I think, permit his women to aid Yuki in a marriage which is against your wishes and--mine." Onda gave a joyful start. "Wait," said Hagané, "there is more to be said; I must take a moment's counsel with myself." At these words he fell into a reverie so profound that his spirit seemed to be absent from his breathing body. Tetsujo controlled himself as best he could. The whole affair was galling to his pride. He resented even Hagané's knowing of the indignity; yet he had no recourse but Hagané. The rain-water, trickling with a sound of dull clinking coins down the tin corner-spouts, irritated him to madness. He hated the little wet sparrows who sat up under the eaves and exchanged uncomplimentary remarks about the weather. Hagané's power of concentration was in itself reproof and another source of irritation. The great man came to himself without a start. "Listen, Onda Tetsujo, I will offer advice, but it must be taken entire. I will have no variation, mind you, or personal addition." "I shall receive it humbly, on my head," grumbled the kerai. Hagané controlled a smile. "Upon your return, treat the maiden gently. Defiance is her best armor. We must not be harsh. Win her confidence by renewed kindnesses. If possible, bend your haughty will to the point of expressing regret for this morning's anger." "Excuse myself to a woman--to my own daughter!" "I shall not insist upon that point. I said only if it were possible. Some things are not possible, even to a Buddha." "And this is even such," cried Tetsujo. "Let it pass. My purpose may be accomplished without. It is indispensable, however, that you be kind. Give to her, unsolicited, permission to invite the women of the Todd family to your home." "This, too, is difficult," muttered Tetsujo; "but with the aid of Fudo Bosatsu (Bodhisàttwa of the Fiery Immovability) I can achieve it." "Excellent," said the other; "now for my part. I will, on the day of Mr. Todd's presentation, arrange for a banquet here at Tabata, to which I will invite the family of Mr. Todd and also the two young men whom you saw at Yokohama. If Yuki's foreign lover is here at all, he is of that party." "I am not worthy of such deep thought and consideration at your hands, Lord," said Tetsujo, gratefully. "Be not deceived. It is for Yuki's sake as well. Since her early childhood I have watched with deep interest the growth of her fine intellect and the development of her unusual beauty. Lacking children of my own, I have felt something of a father's affection for her. I too wish to keep her for Japan. I approve not the thought of a foreign marriage." Tetsujo lifted his head. "One question more, your Highness. Is it your belief that Yuki will surely betray herself, if indeed the foreign devil whom she--she--well, the foreign devil,--should arrive?" "I think she cannot utterly deceive us both," said Hagané, diplomatically. Still Onda looked doubtful. "Yesterday I should have said the same; but since this defiance--this exhibition of unwomanly strength--" "My life has been one long school of human character. Yuki will not deceive us both," reiterated the Prince. "I am content. I will now remove my worthless body from your sight, having claimed already far too much of your august consideration." Tetsujo bowed and rose. The other rose also, following him half across the room. "There is yet one bit of counsel," said he. "For the next three days, until the banquet, Yuki must not leave the house alone. Let her go where she will, Tetsujo, but be you always near. If a foreigner should force entrance, or stop your daughter on the street, allow no private speech between them; and if he persist, as mad foreigners will, call the nearest guard, and make free use of my name." "Your mercy is as wide as Heaven, Lord," murmured the kerai, as he finally took his departure. * * * * * Through the gentle and most willing mediator, Iriya, Tetsujo transmitted his willingness to receive Yuki's foreign friends. This sudden clemency, riding on the very back of fury, turned to the girl a masked face of new fear. She knew her father incapable of such sudden reversion, or of the subtlety implied. A stronger power was behind him. She was to be watched and experimented upon. Yet, in spite of this intuitive belief, she could not put aside the opportunity of seeing her friend, of hearing from her lover. A messenger bore her carefully worded note to the American Legation. Mrs. Todd and Gwendolen responded almost instantly. The former overwhelmed her with endearments and reproaches, an exhibition embarrassing to the girl and terrifying to Iriya. The servants peeped in through chinks in the hall shoji, and at this sight Maru clapped a hand to her mouth to keep from shrieking, and, fleeing to the backyard, rocked to and fro, sobbing, "The big foreign lady is eating our young mistress; oh, what terrible creatures are the foreigners!" Meanwhile Mrs. Todd, happily unconscious of the effect she was producing, continued her volley of ejaculations. "My dearest child! _Such_ relief when your note came. Gwendolen and I were almost distracted, weren't we, Gwendolen? Of course Cyrus called us geese, and said we were making mountains out of mole-hills; but Cy is always disagreeable when we get into a twitter. But I can assure you, my dear, there is one man at least who does not think us silly; he has been worse off than either of us, hasn't he, Gwennie?" "Be careful--be careful," said Yuki, in a low voice. Iriya was in the room, a very figure-head of a hostess with her reserved, timid ways and lack of fluent English. She managed now by gestures, and a very careful use of certain phrases learned by rote from a book of foreign etiquette, to invite her guests to be seated. When this was accomplished, not without many suppressed grunts from the stout lady, Gwendolen managed to get near her friend, and to put out a cool, slim hand, with a pressure of re-assuring love. Yuki clasped the hand quickly, but did not forget another warning look. She leaned next toward the great cluster of hot-house flowers which the American girl wore at her belt, and, under cover of examining them, whispered, "My father is already opposed to me. I do not know what to do. Even writing a letter is impossible. Only tell him to be patient, and have faith." "He's beside himself," returned Gwendolen, in the same suppressed voice. "He carries on like a girl at a matinée; but this word from you will help him. Of course all of us knew that something was going wrong." Mrs. Todd, to divert attention from the whisperers, engaged Iriya in vociferous conversation. "Yuki back again! You very happy?" she asked in a loud voice, as if her hostess were deaf. "Yes," rejoined Iriya, timidly, in English, "we are quite hap-pee." "Why, she understands beautifully!" cried Mrs. Todd to the two girls, in triumph, as at a personal achievement. "Mother reads English well, and even in talking she understands things, when one is thoughtful to speak slowly and emphatic, as you have done, dear Mrs. Todd. But she is bashful about the trying," said Yuki. "She needn't be, I'm sure!" cried the matron. "She pronounces real well. But it's a never-ending marvel to me how these people pick it up. Why, there's hardly a shop in the Ginza where they don't talk it! I'm sure I'll never catch on to your queer language, Yuki-ko, if I live here a hundred years." "Come look at my dear plum-tree that I used to talk about in America," said Yuki to Gwendolen, rising as she spoke. Iriya looked up in consternation. Her artless face showed perfectly that she had been forbidden to let Yuki from her sight. Behind a certain closed fusuma panel, the one opening directly into Tetsujo's study, came a very low sound, as if of a stifled cough. Yuki threw a sad little smile back over her shoulder to Iriya. "I am not going from the veranda, mother," she said in English. "Good heavens!" whispered Gwendolen, as they reached the further side of the room, "are you a condemned prisoner already?" "No," said Yuki, "but I am a watched one. It is too humiliating." "Are they afraid Pierre will run away with you?" "They know nothing of Pierre, only that I wish to choose for myself the man I am to marry. They do not even certainly know that he is a foreigner. I must keep them from knowing, or they will be more angrier yet." "Your father is not exactly a lover of foreigners, is he?" asked Gwendolen, dryly. Yuki gave a sorry little smile. "And a Frenchman, Gwendolen,--a Frenchman with the Russian mother! It is going to be a long, hard fight, like the coming war itself. But I must be brave. My promise I have given to Pierre." "Poor darling," cried Gwendolen, clasping her closer, "I almost wish you hadn't; but, of course, when one is in love,--I have a letter for you here. Shall you dare take it?" Yuki flushed and looked miserable, as she said, "Yes, I shall take it, though I must use the deceit. I will for the first time deceive. When we go back, put it on the floor in your handkerchief, and I will take it up. I feel to be sick at the thought of such treachery to my parents; but what am I to do?" Neither had much thought for the beautiful plum-tree now opening optimistic blooms after the storm of yesterday. As the girls came into the room together, Mrs. Todd said to Yuki, "Your mother tells me that you are all invited to the banquet of Prince Hagané for next Friday." "Yes," said Yuki, smiling and seating herself near the speaker, "we have accepted; but at the last moment mother will find some good excuse for staying away. She always does. Is not that true, Mama San?" The substance of the loving gibe being translated, Iriya blushed and tittered, and put her face to her sleeve, like any schoolgirl. "Naugh-tee Yuki-ko," she managed to say, "make bad talk of Mama San!" At this moment the bell of the entrance gate gave a jangle unusually loud and abrupt. Immediately bare feet of servants were heard scurrying about the floors of the house. Iriya drew her head erect to listen. "It is another honorable visitor," she murmured, and half arose, sinking back, as she remembered her husband's injunction. Yuki's heart had begun to beat. There was something most un-Japanese in the harsh, sudden clamor of the tiny bell. Masculine footsteps, unmistakably in foreign shoes, came around by the kitchen side of the house through rows of green "na," and crunched the gravel of the paths. Yuki's face went white. This was a breach of etiquette possible only to a foreigner, and to one newly arrived in Japan. As the group of four women gazed outward, not knowing what to expect, Pierre Le Beau's high-bred, sensitive face, a little worn by the suspense of the past three days, came around the corner, and stared at them across the narrow, polished veranda. Yuki and Iriya were alike incapable of speech. A sulphurous, low growl was heard behind the fusuma. "Shake off your shoes and join us," came Mrs. Todd's loud, jovial command. "If Miss Onda repeats the invitation," said he, with eyes upon the shrinking girl. Iriya bowed without realizing what she did. It was against all decency for women to receive, alone, a male visitor. She longed to call her husband, but did not dare. For once in her courteous, quiet life, Iriya Onda was at a loss what to do. Yuki made up her mind quickly. Though her heart longed, burned to have him near, she knew that he must be sent away. If he came in, Tetsujo would realize instantly who it was, and would transmit the knowledge to his shrewder and more far-sighted monitor. She was helpless, alone, unarmed, but none the less determined to fight the battle of a love to which she had promised fidelity. With effort she raised herself to a stiff, upright posture, and, keeping her voice clear and cold, she said, "Sir, if my honored father were at home he would doubtless entreat you to enter, but in his absence, neither my mother nor myself have authority to take that pleasant duty upon ourselves. If you will pardon my great rudeness, sir, we shall need to be excused from receiving you at all." For an instant the young man stared. Slowly his face grew white. He gave one glance of concentrated love, pain, and resentment, and then passed, without a word, along the edge of the veranda, and under the out-leaning plum-tree. Yuki, watching him with a dying heart, felt that never again could she look upon her favorite tree without seeing that fair, bowed head beneath the branches. Mrs. Todd gaped, incredulous, at the girl. Gwendolen alone realized the situation. She sprang to her feet instantly. "Mother!" she cried, "the young man came for us, of course. We have trespassed too long on Mrs. Onda's hospitality; now let us join our unfortunate visitor at the gate and have him ride home with us, I have something of importance to say to him." Yuki gave a little sob of gratitude and relief. Mrs. Todd, partly comprehending, heaved upward to her feet. "Yes," she said to Gwendolen, but with a disapproving glance poured, full-measure, upon the Japanese girl, "let us ask him to ride home. The poor fellow looked as if the earth had crumbled under his feet." Yuki felt the reproach. She could have laughed aloud at the irony of it. Mrs. Todd walked in what she supposed a stately fashion across the room. Her feet pressed into the soft matting as into a stiff dough, leaving behind her a track of shallow indentations. At parting Gwendolen whispered in her friend's ear, "I understood. Your father has been watching all along. I will make things clear to the other." When the panelled gate was closed once more, and the little bell cold after long reverberation, Yuki felt a great physical shudder. Her nerves demanded of her the respite of tears, but still she held herself in check. The luxury of weeping and the hidden letter alike must wait until a night hour when the rest of the house was asleep. She went out into the sunshine of the garden, well within sight of the house. She tried not to think, or to allow forebodings. Against the old plum-tree she leaned, catching idly the white drifting petals. Each might have been a separate poem, so freighted is Japanese lore with fancies and exquisite imagery drawn from this favorite flower. The transience of life, its sweetness, fidelity to natural law, wifehood and womanly tenderness, rebirth, immortality,--all these thoughts and more came to her softly as the petals came. Through each mood, like the clang and clash of brass through low melody, recurred the vision of Pierre--of his yellow hair beneath the old plum-tree. But with the petals fell uncounted moments, heaped less tangibly into hours. So passed the day and succeeding days. CHAPTER ELEVEN The short interval between the Todds' visit and Prince Hagané's banquet was wrought, within the confines of the Onda home, of small, shifting particles of disquiet, discontent, despondency,--a sort of mist that kept the spirit dark and chill. Tetsujo found difficulty in meeting his daughter's gaze; though, when her face was averted, he looked long, and moodily enough. He had spoken to her more than once, always in forced, crisp speech, chopping his words into inches and weighing each separate cube. Through this mechanical means he informed her that she was to attend Prince Hagané's banquet without fail, and ride there in a double jinrikisha with him, her father. Iriya and the servants were permitted to resume normal relations with the culprit. Externally things went into their old domestic grooves. It came to the girl, not with a shock of surprise, but rather as an insidious growth of conviction, that the decision behind Tetsujo's demeanor was inspired by no less a person than Lord Hagané. At first it seemed incredible that so great a man could concern himself with the affairs of a mere girl. At this very moment he was in the midst of a threatened national crisis. Friendship with her father could scarcely account for all. Hagané must have some personal suspicion of the existence of Pierre, of Pierre's family, and of his attitude toward her. Her mind went back to her meeting with the Prince in Washington. She had been the one to introduce Pierre. Now she tried to recall every look and word of that morning interview, which followed her débutante ball. Again she saw Hagané's stern, scarred face, thrilled to the kindness of his voice as he spoke of her childhood, and pondered anew his meaning in the final admonition to loyalty. Perhaps even then he suspected that she and Pierre were more than friends. No, she could not believe it! Even if he did suspect, it was not certain that he would disapprove. Hagané was known everywhere as a friend to foreigners. He had travelled much, and had seen with his own eyes the splendor and the opportunities of foreign courts. He would know that, as wife of a diplomat, no matter what his country, she could serve her own. At any rate she was soon again to meet the ex-daimyo. She was glad at least of this, and until she judged for herself, would not believe absolutely that the great man was against her. The thought of seeing him, of standing near him, gave her a sort of gentle strength and calm, as one feels when standing beside a great tree. If she could only get a warning to her lover,--to that less strong but dearly loved Pierre! Toward him she was beginning to feel, not only a girl's romantic devotion, but a mother's protecting tenderness. Here in her own country she longed to have her arms around him, shielding and at the same time preventing him from ignorance and prejudice. At Hagané's villa he was possibly to face an ordeal, unwarned by a hint from her. A little hope crept closer. Pierre was a passionate admirer of all the arts of Japan, Hagané an untiring collector. At the Tabata banquet pictures would surely be displayed. It was possible that Pierre's intelligence and appreciation might win him the most powerful of friends. Most of the night before the banquet the young girl lay awake. The faint light of the andon flowed across her, melting into soft grayness at the far end of the room. It ruled, as with a heavy pencil, the overlapping boards of the ceiling. She counted them, but to no purpose. Sleep perched higher. "A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by,--one after one; bees murmuring--" she quoted under her breath, and lay still as a fallen rose. Sleep grinned down from the small, high branches of night. She thought of dark running water, of a green curtain stretched across nothingness, of a deep, bottomless pool; but sleep, the raven, never stirred a feather. Beside her bed, on the soft, matted floor, lay a white prayer-book, a tiny vase containing a few sprays of umé (plum-flower), and a chatelaine watch set with pearls. The watch had been a graduation present from Gwendolen. From time to time Yuki lifted the animated toy, turned its face toward the andon, and held it to her ear, only to fall back with a smothered sigh. "Will the blessed daylight never come?" thought Yuki for the hundredth time. Just as she had relinquished all hope of it, slumber darted down, but in its harsh beak was a dream. She wandered, silent, on a great black moor. Near her feet, as she moved, a dull light flickered, turning all the dry grass red, and making, as it were, a muffled pathway for her guidance. She was searching, searching, searching,--for what, for whom, she could not recall. Her memory was darkened like the moor, and its dull flashes showed alike only empty space. Suddenly, far off to the right, a steadier beacon sprang. Stars seemed to be climbing up by a stair as yet invisible. The moor quivered into an even glow,--a mist rising as from a sea of blood. Not fifty paces from her eyes stood Pierre. He smiled, and stretched out his arms to her. The red glare whitened as it fell on him. Then she knew for what she had been searching. She would have fled to him, but found she could not move at all. Out of the Eastern light now came armed men, lances, falchions, spears, all glittering in the unreal glow. She knew it for a daimyo's procession. It came forward swiftly to the gap which held her wide from Pierre. Decked horses, bullock-carts with huge black-lacquered wheels, and countless warriors, some mounted, some on foot, must pass her. There was movement of tramping; the horses reared and struck heavily on the earth, yet no sound came. Staring at that point from which the long procession rose, she saw it still curving up from an illimitable horizon,--first points of spears and banners; then heads; then men, horses, chariots,--an endless chain. She crouched nearer to the ghosts within her reach, hoping to recognize a friendly face, or at least a kind one, whom she could importune to let her through the line. She peered under hoods and helmets and into the bamboo-blinds of bullock-carts, then fell to earth with a scream, for the faces were not human; each was an ape that grinned at her. In Japan no dream is more prophetic of evil than a dream of apes. At the agonized cry Suzumé ran from her room at the far side of the house. From the adjoining room came Iriya. Fusuma were flung wide. "Forgive--forgive--my rudeness in honorably disturbing you at this hour," gasped the girl. "It was a dream, so terrible a dream!" "Oh, tell it to the nanten-bush, Miss Yuki. There is one beside your doorstone!" screamed little Maru as she came. "Too late!" muttered Suzumé. "Already she has broken silence." "She shivers with fear, poor jewel," said Iriya, chafing the icy hands. "Suzumé, if a coal of fire can be found, brew hot tea for her. That will be best." "A coal always sleeps in my ashes," boasted the nurse. "I shall at once prepare the drink." "Mother, you must not remain awake with me at such an hour," chattered the girl. "Dawn is very near, my child. I hear,--yes, listen,--I hear the first sparrow." "Little friendly sparrow, how I thank you!" cried Yuki, aloud; then throwing herself into her mother's arms, she began to sob. * * * * * That afternoon, when Yuki stepped into the big double kuruma where Tetsujo was already seated, she had never, in spite of sleeplessness and bad dreams, looked more beautiful. Iriya, as her daughter had predicted, found on this last day many excellent reasons for staying at home. The robing of Yuki had occupied several hours. First, the thick black hair must be done in the latest fashion. Happily this, ever changing, was for the moment in a style peculiarly becoming to her. A great wing stood out at each side, concealing all but the lower tips of the ears. A third division, puffed high above the forehead, completed a shining framework to the pale, spiritual face. Among the coils at the back, a strip of dull pink silk was interwoven,--a flesh-colored centre to a great orchid of jet. She wore a single hairpin, a filigree toy of gold and tinsel representing fireflies in a tiny cage. Her gray kimono of thin silk showed the pink undergarment. The delicate hue appeared in puffed and wadded edges also at throat, wrists, and around the hem. Cherry-flowers were dyed at intervals into the substance of the gray. The obi, that crowning glory of a Japanese woman's dress, was of blue gray satin, with embroidered fireflies of gold. Even surly Tetsujo smiled as this fair vision stood upon the doorstone. Little Maru set the high lacquered clogs with pink velvet thongs in readiness. Iriya held out the long black adzuma-coat, while old Suzumé shook odors of incense and sandalwood from the cræpe folds of the head-kerchief called "dzukin." "Sayonara danna san! (master!) Sayonara o jo san!" called the three women on their knees in the doorway. "Sayonara, arigato gozaimasu!" (I thank you!) cried Yuki in return, waving a slender hand from the side of the jinrikisha. Tetsujo seemed not to hear. The unusual proximity brought to the girl, and, as she justly surmised, to Tetsujo also, an unwholesome embarrassment. Each met the difficulty in a characteristic way,--Yuki by throwing her full interest into flashing street scenes about her; Tetsujo by a morose withdrawal into his feudal shell. Twice Yuki spoke concerning some sight that gave her pleasure. Her father's discouraging reply, in both cases, was a grunt. On the slope of Tabata he got out, shook himself like a great dog, and sent Yuki on in the jinrikisha until level land was reached. The girl thought sadly of another hill-ascent, so short a time before; of Tetsujo's kind, loving face as he mounted the slope of Kobinata, his hand on the arm of her little vehicle, his eyes free to her own. Now she was being carried by this same father before a judge, before a man who could help to rule his empire, and yet who, if her fears proved stable, now stooped to coerce a wilful girl. The entrance gate and court of the Tabata villa had taken on, strangely, the look of its master. The gate was of unpolished cedar, studded with brass nails half a foot across, and barred with hinges that might have swung a hill. The massive panels now stood hospitably ajar. Above them leaned a single pine, red-stemmed and tall, of the indigenous Japanese variety. It, too, resembled Hagané. The house beyond was but little larger or more pretentious than that of Onda the kerai; but the variety of woods used in finishing bespoke both taste and great wealth. The roof, with its dark-blue scalloped tiling was edged at the rim with flattened discs of baked clay, and in the centre of each, in rough intaglio, curved the crest of the Hagané clan. Sombre shoji opened, before the visitors had time to dismount. Just within, a superb suitaté, or single screen of gold, painted in snow-laden bamboo trees, shut out interior vistas. Yuki was conducted to a woman's apartment, where she could remove her wraps and examine her shining blue-black coiffure for a misplaced hair. Tetsujo strode to the guest-room. At sight of Prince Hagané seated, still alone, he gave a great sigh of relief. Hagané turned with a smile,--"You love not our foreign friends, good Tetsujo." "I love them as our cat loves pickled plums, my liege." Hagané laughed indulgently. "At least you can distinguish the men from the women,--be sure to give me the signal should one of the young males prove to be he who was with Yuki on the hatoba, and who so rudely forced an entrance to your premises." "I shall not forget," said Tetsujo. The wide room was unchanged but for an unusually elaborate flower-composition in the tokonoma (recess). A most valuable set of pictures, three in number, and all mounted alike on priceless brocade, filled the soft, gray tinted space beyond the flowers. Yuki entered alone. Neither of the men had heard her soft stockinged step, nor her gentle pushing aside of a golden fusuma. "Go kigen (august health), your Highness," she murmured, sinking where she stood and touching her forehead to the floor. "Ah, it is Yuki-ko. Come nearer, child," said the host, kindly. As she moved toward him, his eyes rested with frank delight on the vision of her beauty. "You are now truly a maiden of Japan. That last image of you in Washington, if I remember rightly, was of a small brown wren of Paris." "So at the time you observed, Augustness, and my spirit thereat was poisoned by deep shame." "A thing so easily rectified can scarcely be a cause of shame," smiled Hagané. "You are now as truly Japanese as even your jealous father could desire. Will you kindly clap and serve us tea, small pigeon?" Yuki obeyed instantly and in silence. She was glad to have some occupation for her hands, glad that her eyes had good excuse for drooping. In Prince Hagané's presence the old magnetism, the old troubled sense of his power, again possessed her. Compared with him, nothing else seemed real. He established new values for the spirit. One in the room with him needed no vision to certify his actual place. He dominated and charged the air around him. She felt his eyes as they rested on her slim white hands; she knew when that gaze was turned away. Hagané, indeed, looked long at the girl. At times he appeared to study her with a gentle, speculative gravity. Of her beauty there had never been a doubt, and to-day she looked her best. Hagané's experience of women had been wide. Now he was saying to himself that this was the fairest maiden of the whole world. Her beauty filled the room like perfume. An old Chinese poet in singing of her would have called her "a flake of white jade held against a star." In the statesman's mind fragments of poetry flitted, similes of moon-light, of white blossoms newly opened in the dew, of hillside grasses in the wind, of a young spring willow with a nightingale in the branches. Poetry is as natural to all classes of Japanese as profanity to the average sailor. Hagané gained new delight in imagery. Should a foreigner be allowed to bear away the sweetness of this flower? No; Tetsujo was justified in his indignation. No foreigner should have her. She must marry some young nobleman of her own land; some honorable and brilliant youth with a future, and at least a hint of personal beauty to match her own. Hagané's mind ran rapidly through a list of eligible men. Objections rose at every point. One was of poor health, another lived a life of open immorality, a third possessed a mother of uncertain temper; Yuki-ko must not have her young life crushed by the tyranny of a shrewish mother-in-law. She should by right be married to a statesman, and be mistress at once of an official home. In this way would her beauty and foreign education be brought into immediate service. If he himself were a young man, what rapture to have that living thing, made up of dew and morning, entirely one's own! Hagané drew a single sharp breath and was calm. On the gravelled walk of the entrance court came the sound of a carriage. "His Excellency Mister Todd-u, Madame Todd-u, Mees Todd-u, Mister Douje, and Mister Le Beau," announced a servant in what he thought English. Hagané went forward to meet them. "Welcome to my cottage. Are we all known, one to the other?" "Yes, your Highness," answered Mr. Todd, "unless Mr. Le Beau here is the exception." "Mister Le Beau," repeated Hagané, very distinctly. "I remember with much clearness the meeting with Mister Le Beau. In your admirable dwelling in the capital city of Washington that meeting took place. Yuki--Miss Onda--performed the introduction ceremony. I remember well." "And I, your Highness," instantly answered Pierre, with a succession of the sprightly bows that had so incensed old Onda. "It is to be supposed that I should bear in memory so great an event; but I could not have dared to hope for so great a condescension from you." Hagané replied by a smile and a nod. The latter might have served equally for the kerai who, well within the shadow of Mrs. Todd, made vehement signs of corroboration to his daimyo. The host then asked of the party, "Shall I not order for you foreign chairs? We keep them in the storehouse for such occasions." "Thank you kindly, Prince," answered Mrs. Todd for all; "we'll take the floor. In Rome we do as the Romans do." With a lunge the good lady disposed herself in the centre of the apartment, sitting, as it were, at her own feet. The others placed themselves near her, making roughly the outline of a horseshoe, Dodge being at one end, with Yuki beside him, and Prince Hagané at the other. Gwendolen had with difficulty kept Pierre away from Yuki. "Remember," she had warned, "this may be a sort of Sherlock Holmes affair for making you two betray yourselves and each other. You can't be too careful. Old Hagané is a vibrating lodestone of uncanny intuition, and Onda a parental avalanche just ready to slide!" In the effort to keep his hungry eyes from Yuki, Pierre began to explore the room. His attention was first caught by the arrangement of dwarf pine branches and brown cones, in combination with straggling sprays of a yellow orchid. Then he saw the three paintings beyond. "Saint Raphael! what are those?" he murmured under his breath, and made as if to rise from the floor. All turned to him; he sought only the eyes of his host. "Your Highness," he pleaded, his face vital with intelligence, "if not unpardonably rude, may I rise and examine more closely those marvellous paintings?" Hagané reflected a hint of his brightness. "With greatest pleasure. They are, of course, hung to be seen. I am honored that they attract your notice." Pierre rushed to the tokonoma, taking instinctively the attitudes of a self-forgetting connoisseur. "Say, I can't stay out of this!" cried the minister, and crooked his long legs into the angles of a katydid in his efforts to rise. Following the two others, he reached the tokonoma, planting himself, feet wide apart, exactly in front. Such pictures, painted in sets of three and mounted in single, flexible panels of rich brocade, were designed for hanging in the broad tokonoma of noblemen's houses, or in the living-rooms of priests. This set was in monochrome, on paper which had been stained by time to the color of old ivory. The central painting represented a famous Chinese poet sitting in meditation upon a misty mountain-ledge. The lateral ones were landscapes, one of winter snow, the other, summer fulness. Each illustrated a well-known verse of the poet. "So this is Japanese art,--the real thing,--is it?" asked Mr. Todd of Pierre. "You must excuse me, Prince," he went on to his host, "Pierre is always reading and talking about the beauty of it, but I'll be gosh--I'll be shot, I mean,--if I can tell what it is about. Over in my own country, now, I can distinguish a tree from a vase of Johnny-jump-ups, and a farmyard from a nood female; but with these pictures, somehow, the harder I look the more I seem to be standing on my head." "Cy, I am ashamed of you! _I_ love Japanese art, your Highness, and so does my daughter!" expostulated Mrs. Todd, from the floor. "It is so nice, and thin, and cool. I always recommend Japanese pictures to my friends for their summer cottages, and I am hanging our Legation with them now. Dear Mrs. Y., of Washington,--you know the name, of course,--has the most gorgeous screen of gold-leaf, painted in wildflowers. When she has a big reception she always puts it upside down behind her sofa, because it has more flowers at the bottom than at the top,--and nobody ever notices the difference." The young Frenchman's cheek flushed. He leaned more closely to the paintings, partly to hide his expression. Gwendolen exchanged horrified glances with Dodge, then the sense of fun in both triumphed. Pierre spoke next in low tones, so that none but Hagané could hear him. "I am only a beginner,--a student. There has been little published in foreign languages about your wonderful art, and European collections are rare. Am I wrong in thinking these to be something unusual? The lines of the three flow together like music, yet each is a separate composition. _We_ have nothing like it!" "They are masterpieces by Kano Motonobu," said Hagané. "Mon Dieu!" breathed Pierre, and seemed as if he would devour with new scrutiny the marvellous visions. The host's eyes remained fastened upon his enthusiastic guest. He watched every flicker of intelligence, of changing expression. Suddenly the young man turned, met the look, and smiled. It was like sunlight on a meadow when Pierre smiled. "Your Highness," he murmured, "a touch of art should make the whole world kin! Is it not so? Teach me something more of this new mystery of beauty,--be my friend!" Hagané lowered his lids quickly, but in the downward sweep he caught a glimpse of Yuki's eager, upturned face. She had forgotten herself and her immediate companions. Her spirit had crept over to the strangely mated two who stood before the pictures. "Monsieur honors me by offering such a privilege," said Hagané, in an expressionless tone. He bowed slightly. Pierre drew back, feeling unaccountably rebuffed. Why had the great man said "Monsieur"? Before that, the plain term "Mister" had been employed. Vanity, never very far from the citadel of Pierre's being, posited an explanation. "He calls you by the French title," said Vanity, "because he realizes that no Occidental of another country than France could show such appreciation." Pierre recalled the awful remarks of Todd, the deeper idiocy of his complacent lady. "Yes, that is it," said Pierre to Vanity. Hagané had now re-seated himself. He was a few yards directly across from Dodge and Yuki. He studied furtively the countenance of Dodge. With this regard he was quickly satisfied. The American's clear brown eyes were as free from guile as those of a setter pup. He turned again to Pierre, who had now thrown himself, in a graceful attitude of lounging, beside fair Gwendolen. Gwendolen deflected the glance from her companion. Her merry hazel eyes dwelt with bright friendliness and an utter absence of awe upon the titled host. For the first time Hagané noticed her, looked directly at her, perceived in her something a little more than blown golden hair and girlish audacity. Something in her gaze gave him an impression of pliant boughs, elastic yet imperishable. This trained commander seldom failed to recognize the intangible, unmistakable flash of the thing we call, for a better name, character. Something in answer to it, a salute of his own brave spirit, rose to the deep eyes. A little thrill passed over Gwendolen. "Gracious!" she thought to herself. "That's no mere war-engine, that's a man, and a great one!" To cover her vague embarrassment she leaned to him, letting coquetry blot the real from her face, and pleaded, "Show us some more pictures, please, your Highness. I hear that you have storehouses crammed with them. Even I, in spite of what mother says, appreciate those in the tokonoma. _Please!_" Hagané bowed unsmiling. The mere dainty allurements of a pretty girl seemed to him almost an affront, as if his old nurse should give him a kite to fly, or a top to spin. He fell into thought. After a moment's somewhat uncomfortable silence he said slowly, "There is one painting I should like to show this honorable group of friends; but first its strange history must be told, and I fear that I have not the fluent English." "Oh, we simply must have the story! Your English is all right, Prince; I'll declare it is. Please tell us," cried Gwendolen the irrepressible, and she moved a few inches closer. "Yes, your Highness, your English is wonderful. You don't make half the grammatical mistakes that I do now!" supplemented Mrs. Todd. Hagané drew a slow glance around the semicircle, plunged his hands within his silken sleeves, and began to speak. His voice was very deep, and in some consonant sounds, of a slight harshness. The vowels were full, rich, and resonant. His speech held at command a certain strange, almost benumbing magnetism, a compelling response, such as one experiences in the after-vibrations of a great bell. "Oh, I feel in my bones that it is going to be a ghost story, a real one," whispered Gwendolen, with a shiver of excitement. Hagané did not notice the remark. Todd and Mr. Dodge sent her, in unison, a bright glance of appreciation. "The painting for which I now attempt the speaking," said Hagané, "made, for centuries, the chief altarpiece of a certain old temple in Yamato. It was a very old temple,--yes, among the very first built in Nippon for Buddhist worship. One night, when the black sky was rent with storm, and lightning hurled out many terrible spears, one flash found that temple, burning it swiftly to a square of low red ashes. Everything burned; gold and brass and iron melted like wax--all but the picture; and three days after they found it still on red coals, glowing more fierce and red than they. Nothing was harmed in it except the brocaded edge, and that was soon replaced. This is the picture you shall see." "Oh!" breathed Gwendolen. "Afterward it was conveyed to a famous temple of Kioto; but the head priest, the Ajari, being of timid thought, refused to shelter it. By his order it was carried in secrecy to a much smaller temple, very distant, in the province of Konda, where is my father's home of birth." He paused. The listeners all shifted position a little, all but Yuki, who sat upright and motionless, her soul living in her long dark eyes. "Even in so small a temple its power began to attract many worshippers and wonder-seekers. The fame of it grew like the grasses of summer. At the time of our Restoration, the beginning of that cycle of our time called 'Mei-ji,' its destruction was officially decreed. It was designated 'the object of slavish superstition.' My father was requested, with his own hands, to annihilate it." "Ah," muttered Pierre, with feeling. "But, thank the good God, it wasn't destroyed, since you are soon to show it!" One of Mrs. Todd's thick feet had gone to sleep. She stretched it out under her skirt with great caution. Hagané looked up into Pierre's bright eyes. "As you observe, Monsieur, it was not annihilated. My father made request of Government that it be sold privately to him, and in return he gave pledge that it never again be used--publicly--as the altarpiece. Thus it came into my possession." There had been something suggestive, almost sinister, in his use of the word "publicly." His glance had just brushed Yuki's face. Gwendolen's hands turned cold. "But what power needed to be suppressed--what harm could a picture do?" cried the blonde girl, eagerly. Before attempting an answer, Hagané clapped for a servant, and, with a few low words, sent him off for the picture. He turned, looking first at Gwendolen, then at Yuki. "It is a painting of the Red God, Aizen Bosatsu. It was prayed to, and sacrificed to by men and women who loved. Generally they were persons who wished to become the man and wife against the wishes of parents and guardians; less often, of some guilty one already married, and wishing an impure love. Its strange power is this,--that one consumed with passion, making offerings, passing long nights in prayer, and crying forth incessantly desperate invocation, may see the red flesh and crimson lotos petals fall away like shrivelled bark, revealing the white and shining face of Kwannon the Merciful. This is the reward of those who pray for the strength to be loyal, who wish, in their deeper essence, the ultimate Good. But the painting has another--and more awful power--" "Yes, yes, Lord," whispered Yuki, speaking now for the first time. "Should the mad soul clamor on for earthly desire, ignoring what is high,--then will the Red God burn, burn, burn, even as the heated heart of evil passion burns; and the power of that suppliant to do evil will be strengthened. Circumstances may be compelled, and the wish, however harmful, be attained. With each new triumph of a soul, the merit of the picture deepens; with each malefic use, the evil grows more strong." "What, Lord, would be the penalty--what to a wicked soul would be the price?" asked Yuki's bloodless lips. "Your early training was Buddhistic, child," answered Hagané, in the gentlest of voices. "You know the doctrine of rebirth! Instinct tells you the price already." Tetsujo had withdrawn his eyes from their fierce contemplation of his daughter, as if the sight continually fed his anger. He rocked now, with downcast eyes and folded arms, on his cushion, ignoring everything but his own black thoughts. Gwendolen tried in vain to catch Yuki's eye. She saw that already Yuki was betraying what Hagané and old Onda wished to know. The moment was fatal and memorable. The servant now returned, bearing a long box of dull red lacquer. Yuki shivered so that all saw her. "Examine the quaint carvings of devils, Monsieur," said Hagané to Pierre, with light affability. As Pierre leaned to take the box, Yuki gave an imperceptible start forward, caught her breath, and then resumed self-control. "Gems, all of them!" cried Pierre, in impersonal delight. "They are unbelievable in cleverness. Each seems an evil passion caught in fleeting human form." "Monsieur is intuitive. They are hungry spirits of the Gaki underworld, creatures of ever aching, ever unsatisfied desires. The Hindoo scriptures call them 'preta.' Perhaps you Christians have not such uncomfortable passions, ne?" Gwendolen had another shock to receive. In this new light, flashed past before one realized its presence, Hagané showed to her the eyes of a demon, a creature of power and of passion. She recoiled from him as from the supernatural. The new discomfort was vented on the box. "Let us have the picture, Prince, or I'll go wild. Please, somebody sit on that box,--the squirming devils give me a waking nightmare. Why did anybody want to carve such things?" Hagané smiled a very quiet smile, just on the borderland between his demon and his statesman's self. Yuki, too, watched him, with an intensity of which she was not aware. Slowly he lifted the lid of the box, and took out a long cylindrical roll wrapped in some faded stuff that exhaled a strange, stifling perfume, as of old shrines. Then he rose, with his usual dignified, deliberate motions. The servant, who had been waiting, handed him a small wand tipped with a claw of ivory, such as is used everywhere in Japan for hanging kakémono. Passing the cord over a brass stud on the wall, he leaned over and downward, unrolling the painting by slow inches. At first nothing appeared but a groundwork of dark silk, a surface crackled and blackened as by heat and time. A pointed, thin flame first arose, then a fiery crown of filigree work that hid suggestions of strange animal forms, then a staring countenance of an archaic, Hindoo type, provocative, menacing, appalling! Shoulders rose, swathed thick in springing flame; a body hung with jewels of red gold; arms bended at the elbow, crossed legs just visible through drapery, and lastly the incandescent throne of a vermilion lotos. The thing glowed wet and fresh, like new-spilled blood. Before its artistic wonder was the wonder of vitality, for the image lived,--not in a world of heavy human flesh, nor yet in realms ethereal, but in some raging holocaust where the two worlds chafe and meet. One flaming hand grasped a bunch of golden arrows; from the other depended coils of gold and orange rope. Each petal of the lotos throne stood sharp and clear in an outline of hot gold, and the long, parallel veinings were of copper. In a room suddenly darkened it should spring out in illumination of its own. A scorching breath blew from it. The leer on the god's face deepened. "Ugh!" shuddered Mrs. Todd. She tried to check the exclamation, and apparently none but Dodge, who sat beside her, heard the cry. "Be careful," whispered Dodge. "He does not tell you half. Men have fought and died for that painting. It is one of the famous things of Japan, and almost impossible to see. He surely has a reason in this display." Yuki and Gwendolen were equally still and voiceless. "Mother of God!" Pierre ejaculated, ignoring ceremony, and running to the place where the painting, now in full length, hung. "What a masterpiece! What torment of genius! There is passion in the very curves of the petals,--how they answer the lines of drapery, even the lines of his ugly face! The flaming halo repeats it like a fugue. Mon Dieu! One scarcely can endure such supreme beauty." His voice broke. He turned away. Hagané watched him curiously. "Your Highness," said he, after a very brief interval, and now with frank, tear-bright eyes on the prince, "I know not the morality of it, but I, for one, would not be willing to pray in such fashion that this superb and glorious monster should fade to a silly white. Rather would I add fury to him, and evil,--if that would keep his flame inspired!" Abruptly Hagané turned his face to Yuki. For some moments past he had ignored her. She had no time to struggle for self-control. Her thought lay beached on the ashen face. The two eyes met. In an instant, as if weary, Hagané turned away, and, crossing the room, seated himself near Onda. "Shall we proceed to serve the food, your Highness?" asked another servant, on his knees, in the doorway. "Yes, at once. First roll the picture up, and remove it to the kura." The banquet was in pure Japanese fashion. The entertainment began with the usual foolish mistakes on the part of the foreigners. Yuki was last of all to drift back into the world of the commonplace; Pierre, of the party, being in highest spirits. Everything delighted him,--the food, the trays, the little "ne-san" hired for the occasion to pour saké, the saké itself, the saké bottles,--all! Recklessly now, he forced a position beside Yuki, taking her unresponsiveness as part of the decorum expected of a young girl in Japan. Hagané showed him special favor, plying him with wine, and exchanging numberless tiny cups, each one a step, for Pierre, into further indiscretion. Yuki felt hope slowly die within her. She saw beyond doubt that Hagané was against Pierre and with her father. She knew that she had been chief factor in the betrayal of their love. For a moment she hated, she even despised a little, the man she had been taught to look on as a god. Never had a sweeter sound come to her ears than Mrs. Todd's loud command, "Well, Cy, if we are to go at all, we had better start. This saké is beginning to do queer things to my legs!" At the farewell ceremonies on the doorstep, Hagané managed to whisper to his kerai, "Watch her closely. Let her not leave your sight until you have heard again from me. There is instant danger!" CHAPTER TWELVE Prosper Ronsard, the French minister to Tokio, had formed very early in life the ambition to be a Far Eastern diplomat. His way to the goal was made in regular steps of enjoyment. First there had been Morocco, scarcely more to him now than a far-off memory of yellow sands and white cubes of houses, both emphasized, at effective intervals, by theatrical groups of palms. Then came Cairo,--gay entrancing Cairo! His life there held experiences that old age might lick its chops over. Leaving all else aside, the one flame-tree near his hotel window in Cairo would have burned that memory deep. Then there were French Siam, Tonquin, Nagasaki, and, at last, Tokio. The hot blood of the East flowed now, as native, in Ronsard's veins; but the keen, calculating, questioning judgment of the European statesman kept cool tenure of his brain. In Tokio he found all past Eastern trickery to be useless chaff. Here were no inferior Orientals to browbeat, threaten, or cajole. From Tonquin to Nagasaki he had crossed more than the Yellow Sea; he had sailed over three submerged centuries and landed on a green cliff. Here, in Japan, were men with reasons as clear as his own, and methods that often proved themselves more effective. In the mission to Tokio he soon realized that his full ambition had been won. Every faculty, trained through long apprenticeship, was here needed; and it was part of his intelligence that at times he realized them all as insufficient. That span of "Mysterious Asia" stretched between Algiers and Tonquin, brilliant and pleasurable indeed, was, from the diplomatic standpoint, a mere dank subway coming up at the central station, Tokio. The fascinations of the East, potent as they were, could not quite wean the Parisian from love of his native home. Visits to France were made with strict regularity. It was his wont to declare, and with much show of verity, that the perpetual resident of Paris could never know its real charm. To live there always, paying bills, meeting disappointments, enduring illnesses with the inartistic accompaniments of medicine boxes and physicians, was like having an inexhaustible supply of one's favorite vintage kept in a water-cooler on the back gallery. Ronsard had the true sensualist's gift of extracting flavors. On these home visits he was eagerly sought after by his friends and club fellows, and by the more intelligent among fashionable women. In this latter category shone pre-eminent the widowed Princess Olga Le Beau. Rumor often had it that his next return to the East would be brightened by the wedded companionship of this lady, but each time Rumor hid her face. The princess had married while yet a schoolgirl. Pierre, her only child, was born within the year of the marriage. Before the boy was ten, his father, Gaston Le Beau, died by accident. Slander called it suicide, and hinted that the princess was the cause. Nothing, however, could have been more decorous or more becoming than the mourning of the princess. As slowly she came back to the world of fashion, Pierre was sent away to England to be educated. A growing stripling of a boy is a fatal gauge to his mother's waning youth. He was seldom pressed to come home during the holidays, Princess Olga preferring to visit him in England (a country which she loathed), or sometimes to take small tours with him through infrequented parts of Europe. After his very creditable career at an English university, she urged him tenderly further to improve his mind by travel, and hinted that she would prefer a diplomatic career for him. As she spoke, she was thinking of Ronsard, but doubtless had her reasons for not mentioning him. It was not until the young man's year of residence in America, and his own choice of Tokio as a place at which to open his diplomatic primer, that the power of this intimate family friend had been invoked. As we have seen, Princess Olga gave the name, by letter, to her son. Pierre wrote promptly, but the hastened departure of the Todds, and his determination to sail with them and Yuki, would have given him no time to receive a long and thoughtful answer, even had such been written. Count Ronsard's motto, more or less rigidly adhered to in dealings with his own sex, was "never to write a letter or to destroy one." Knowing that the young man was soon to appear, he calmly waited the event. In official life the French minister was, of course, designated by the simple republican title of "Monsieur." With his friends, the old aristocratic "Count" was permitted and enjoyed. To have slipped Pierre into a second, third, or fourth secretaryship would have been a simple matter. Count Ronsard, however, wisely determined to judge the character of the applicant before admitting him into the bachelor comradeship of the Legation. This square white residence, set in the midst of a fine, walled, daimyo garden left over from feudal days, had never, during the count's long term of service, known feminine sway. High orgies, balls, and state dinners were held there in plenty, but the only women who appeared at them were invited guests or hired geisha. The master of the house carried his bachelor fancy so far that he insisted upon a similar undetached state being preserved by his subordinates. Count Ronsard was a dilettante in music and art, and a professional lover of beauty, especially in the form presented by his friend and countryman, Bouguereau. His favorite writer was Daudet; his favorite luxury, eating. Withal, he was a trained statesman and a subtle diplomat. Pierre, upon his arrival in Tokio, had been urged to make the Legation his temporary home. His first question was, of course, for the appointment. Count Ronsard gave evasive reply. As this continued to be the case, Pierre felt, in decency, that he must cease to press the matter. As days passed, and the count, so indulgent, fatherly, and candid in other things, continued to avoid the discussion of Pierre's hopes, the young man could not fail to draw the conclusion that the elder had his personal reasons for not wishing to come to a decision. Pierre did not greatly care. The anxiety about Yuki kept his thoughts busy. More than once he had been on the point of confiding in Count Ronsard and of asking advice, but each time something prevented. Mrs. Todd, in this stress, was his unfailing sympathizer. Gwendolen was kind, but he knew well that there was now, and always had been, a certain reserve in her approbation of his love-affair. The laxity of hours at the French Legation, and the absence of all restrictions, suited well the boy's present restless temper. The morning after Prince Hagané's banquet he woke to a feeling of heaviness and depression that saké could not altogether account for. Small bits of recollection began to sting him like brier-points left under the skin. He saw now, in Yuki's white face, a protest which, twelve hours before, he had wilfully ignored. Gwendolen's eyes flashed again indignant warning. The extreme attentiveness of the host, a lurid after-image of the pictured god, the innumerable small cups that, at the time, had seemed innocuous, came over him in humiliating memories. "Gwendolen was right. It was all a test, and I, as usual, played the impulsive fool!" thought he, bitterly. On reaching the breakfast-room he was pleasantly surprised to find his host still at table. A heap of letters, opened and unopened, showed the cause of delay. Several with foreign postmarks were at Pierre's plate. As the young man entered, Ronsard touched an electric button, giving four short, peculiar rings. A few seconds later a servant appeared with a tray of steaming coffee and food. "What news from war-centres, your Excellency?" was Pierre's perfunctory question. "Mon Dieu, war is surely coming! We are upon the very verge, though our friends the Russians pretend not to believe. Kurino is to abandon St. Petersburg. I still have a gleam of hope that the Japanese will have common intelligence, and withdraw." "If Kurino leaves, then the Russian minister here must withdraw. I was told yesterday that he too made preparations." "Each move may be a feint. Diplomacy is largely made up of feints." Here he gave a fleshy shrug. "But, my young friend, our speculations will not change events. As the Japanese say, 'Shi-ka-ta ga nai,' which, being interpreted, means, 'Way out, there is none.' Tell me of yourself. You are pale. Do the joys of Tokio prove too arduous?" The speaker, lolling back in his leathern chair, lighted another cigarette, his eighth since breakfast, and turned an inquiring leer upon his companion. Pierre was staring into the smoky coal fire. He had scarcely heard Ronsard's last words. Yet all at once he felt that here was an opportunity to ask the advice he had been craving. "Last night I was at a Japanese banquet, an affair splendid, but small, given to the family of the newly presented American minister, Mr. Todd, by Prince Hagané," he began. Ronsard showed unmistakable interest. "Ah, the prince! The old toad who sits at the heart of empire in Japan. And at his private villa! You are fortunate, Monsieur." Pierre nodded. "And you said a family affair. I hear there is a Miss Todd. Am I to understand that you and the charming Mademoiselle--" Pierre gave a gesture. "No," he said, "not she,--though the charm is unquestioned. Mr. Dodge and I were included because of being ship-comrades with the Todd party. There were also present Miss Onda and her father. Miss Onda was on the ship with us. She was educated in Washington. I knew her there." "Ah," murmured the other, more thoughtfully. "Rumors of Miss Onda's great beauty are already abroad. They will contemplate an official marriage for her with some fortunate heathen, honored in his own land. Cela!" "She will marry no Japanese," said Pierre, quickly. He felt Ronsard's upward look, but did not meet it. His heart moved a little faster. This was his first bold step upon a bridge too narrow for turning. "Ah," murmured Ronsard again. "Yes," repeated Pierre, "she will marry no Japanese. I--I--am in a position to know." "She is already betrothed, perhaps?" "Yes." "And not to a Japanese?" "No." "To an American, I presume. You say she has been educated in that country. _Educated!_ And in America! The thought is droll." "Not to an American either, your Excellency. To one of your own race,--to a Frenchman." "Ah," said Ronsard. It was wonderful what expression he could cram into that small, elastic sound. Evidently the intonation on this occasion was far from pleasing to the listener. Pierre's blue eyes flashed and darkened. Fixing them for the first time steadily on his companion he said, "She is betrothed, your Excellency, to me. Do I receive your felicitations?" His look was a challenge. Ronsard passed a fat hand over his mouth before asking, "With her family's consent?" "Not yet. Our betrothal was in Washington, shortly before sailing, and entered into with the full knowledge and consent of her intimate friends, the Todds. As to the Japanese father's consent, we had planned and hoped to gain it immediately upon reaching Japan." Ronsard's thin eyebrows arched to the very roots of his thin, gray hair. "You have arrived,--two weeks, is it not? You have not gained?" "Things went wrong with me from the instant of landing," said Pierre, dejectedly. "I offended in some unknown way that grim image she calls her parent. I do not know yet in what I did wrong; but he keeps us apart, and prevents her even from writing an explanation. The Todds have seen her but once, and learned only the bald fact of her father's opposition. At the banquet last night we both seemed under espionage,--subjects for dissection, in fact. I am bewildered with the misery of it, your Excellency, for I love the girl. My one hope is that I have her promise, and on her loyalty alone I must now rely." Count Ronsard drew a long, long whiff from his cigarette, and then ostentatiously flipped the ash in air. It dissolved before reaching the floor, a vague little puff of gray nothingness. "That is what the Japanese think of such a promise! The true Jehovah in Japan is the composite will of the family. Is it not partly so in France, Monsieur? If you really desired marriage with this bit of ivory, and--pardon me--so harsh a yoke seems utterly unnecessary, you should have persuaded your inamorata to become a Christian, and, while still in America, have consummated a Christian marriage. Even a Japanese, in these enlightened days, would not dare to attack such a bond." "She is a Christian already," said Pierre. "And for an American marriage I pleaded with a scourged soul. Even Madame Todd advised it; but Yuki-ko would not listen. She must wait, she said, for her family's consent." "Very proper of Mademoiselle," said Ronsard, gravely. As Pierre made no immediate reply, the count went on with his theme, "The Japanese family, my son, is like a large web, or a small solar system. In the midst, as a central sun, or reptile, squats the father. Behind him is the mystery and power of _his_ father, living or dead, and his father's father, back to the visionary era of Jimmu Tenno. All about him, as planets, or flies, are dotted the children, the wife, grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins to the tenth branch, the family servants and their connections, the family cat, the family dog, the family ghost, the priests, soothsayers, physicians,--Mon Dieu, down to the very crickets who chirp beneath the family doorstone. In a question of marriage, all these must be consulted. The bride is no more than a gnat caught somewhere in the web, or a very small satellite belonging to a distant world." "It is of interest, your Excellency," protested Pierre; "but I have no mind to give it. Consider my plight. I am young, madly in love, and touched with despair. I turn to you as a father." "A father?" echoed the count, with a small gleam of amusement in his eyes, "Mother of God! It is a name to conjure with. What will you?" "You have lived here long; you know the country well. Aid me to win the only woman I can ever love." "In lawful marriage? Shall I assist you to inclose yourself in that barbed-wire fence of love?" "There can be no other thought for Miss Onda and me," said Pierre, stiffly. Count Ronsard shrugged. "You are quixotic. I was so at your age. Such sentiments are, I assure you, wasted in this place. The Japanese themselves prefer the laxer course. They very properly execrate these mixed marriages, especially legal mixed marriages." The man's voice was so soft, so kindly, so self-controlled, that Pierre, in a sort of wonder, turned again to study his face. The minister met his look with the friendliest of smiles and a little nod. Then, as if to give the student of physiognomy every chance, he modestly lowered his eyes. It was a face that must have been old even in childhood,--old, and shrewd, and self-indulgent. The unhealthy fat, which gave his body an unstable rotundity, showed here chiefly in the cheeks, sagging them down into loosely filled bags, and drawing long wrinkles in the pull. The forehead, very narrow toward the top, with hair growing downward in a deep point, was as gray as the scant, bristling hair. The whole face, indeed, was gray; its hueless monotony given emphasis by the single note of the underlip which protruded, moist, velvety, and round, like a scarlet fungus from the bark of a rotting tree. "To be candid, my boy," murmured the minister, still with eyelids drooped, "your penchant for Miss Onda was already known to me. A ship is a huge floating laboratory of social gossip. Touch land, voilà, and the germs fly. My attaché, Monsieur Mouquin, chanced to witness your meeting with Papa Onda. He saw your rejection, and the manner in which your betrothed was heartlessly abducted. We--that is, Mouquin and myself--have even ventured to speculate upon possibilities, diplomatic possibilities in the interest of France, that may be lying dormant in your continued--er--friendship with the charming Miss Onda. At the axis of each new twig of history, Monsieur, sits the love of a woman." "I--I trust that I do not clearly understand your Excellency," said Pierre, fighting down, as he spoke, a whole swarm of unsavory intuitions. The count gave a small, resigned sigh, turned slightly in his chair, and tapped with one white hand his heap of opened letters. "Several of these documents suggest the appointment of a certain young Monsieur Le Beau to office in the French Legation at Tokio. The old Duc de St. Cyr is writer of one." "Monsieur le Duc is my great-uncle, and my friend," said Pierre. "You will realize that it becomes my duty to acquaint myself with the calibre of such an applicant, of a youth so highly recommended, and especially at a time when relations between our country and Japan are slightly--er--neuralgic." "I have no previous record in civil service, but I believe I could do something for France." "Ah, that is just the point!" said the count, with more eagerness than he had yet showed. "To serve France,--that is our whole concern. You have had no training, it is true; yet you have already a weapon that old and tried diplomats might weep for. I refer, as you conjecture, to your friendship with Mademoiselle Onda, daughter of Tetsujo Onda, and ward, in a sense, of his Highness Prince Hagané." Pierre, in a flash, was upon his feet. Cigarette ashes tumbled from the folds of his waistcoat. He hurled a newly lighted tube into the fire. "You, sir," he began, with evident effort to control his voice, "you, sir, are experienced, and I am ignorant; you are calm and I am impetuous,--perhaps I should listen courteously to what you wish to say; but I believe it impossible for me to do so. I love this girl as a man loves the woman whom he desires to make his honored wife. In England, where I went to school, I learned ideas, stricter perhaps than Parisian conceptions, of the sacredness and the responsibility of marriage. This girl is a thing of snow. No tie could be too strong, no sacrament too safe, for pledging my fidelity. You see, I could not listen." The count, as the young man was speaking, gazed steadily into the fire. His face remained as expressionless as a leaf. Pierre, striding here and there in his agitation, came back at length to the mantel, and stood still. The count spoke slowly. "It is far better for France and for you that I speak my mind fully; yet, because you are ignorant and impetuous, you cannot, as you say, listen in decent reserve. It is ever so with youth." The deep sadness of the elder man swept aside Pierre's rising indignation. He looked very old now, huddled in the great chair, his hands spread, palm outward, to the blaze. Pierre threw himself on an ottoman near. "Pardon my boorishness. I will listen, Monsieur, though your words be fangs. You are my mother's valued friend, and for that alone I should owe you reverence. Speak what you will." At the re-mention of the word "mother," the same curious look flickered in Ronsard's eyes. He drew a sigh, gathered himself into a more upright posture, and asked of Pierre, in judicial tones, "Let me inquire, Monsieur, whether you and Mademoiselle Onda, or your friends the Todds, have thought out any logical conclusion, should the family of Onda determine that you are to be definitely repulsed?" Pierre dropped his head to his hands. "No, we can think of nothing,--except elopement, and that, now, is impossible." "Have you thought for her of a possible forced marriage?" "To a Japanese? Yes, my God, when have I not thought it! No, Monsieur, I do not think it--I will not; she would accept death sooner than break her troth to me. I have her word, her broken hairpin--" "A menacing implement--" interpolated Ronsard. "Can you think it possible, your Excellency?" "What, the forced marriage?" Ronsard broke off, looked at Pierre, and then, as if in compassion, removed his gaze. "Make it not unendurable," muttered Pierre, through whitening lips. "I make nothing," said Ronsard. "You have begun the train of disaster; I can but trace the map of possible retreat. Yes, I believe truly that the next move in her family will be to marry her off to some eligible suitor,--an old man, probably, one strong enough to keep you and the girl in check. Some worn-out voluptuary, or a War-God in Pig Iron, like old Hagané himself." Pierre raised bloodshot eyes. His mouth writhed and opened, but no words came. The old diplomat's voice had been like cut velvet, woven on wires of steel. "You--you--do not--spare--" Pierre managed to gasp at length. Ronsard wore, if anything, a look of satisfaction. He now lifted a jewelled hand to press and pinch and fondle the moist, warm cushion of the protruding lip. His eyes, from under their drooping lids, darted sharp fusillades of meaning upon his shrinking companion. The very sting restored Pierre. "Yes," resumed the other, as if Pierre had spoken, "in such mariages de convenance personal affection is left aside. Yet how deplorable--how impossible--that a Botticelli in ivory and pearl should never know the joys of ardent love! Opportunities always arise. And then, as wife of a Japanese official, Mademoiselle Onda might prove invaluable to France--invaluable!" Pierre rose this time slowly. Both delicate hands gripped the rim of the table hard. For a moment he shut his eyes that the vision of the sneering, sensual face might not tempt the blow his young arm tingled to inflict. "It is enough," he said, "I was wrong in thinking that I could listen. If your Excellency will now be so good as to excuse me--" Ronsard gave a gesture of good fellowship. He smiled cunningly to himself as Pierre vanished from the room. Self-congratulations fawned upon him. His aim had been true. The poisoned arrow was in place, and though Pierre might snap, or draw it forth, the wound would fester. Among his morning letters one had been carefully concealed. It was of the latest tint and shape of fashion. It smelled of Paris and intrigue. The last words were these, "Say nothing to my headstrong boy of this letter, but, for my sake, keep him from serious entanglement. I object not, you will understand, to passing follies; but let not the handcuffs of a Japanese marriage click. Mon Dieu, think of grandchildren! Yours, for the old time's sake, Olga Le Beau." The count read it through once more, rubbed it thoughtfully against his red lip, and finally, with a sentimental sigh, placed it on the coals. Dropping his head forward, he began to dream. At first it was of Paris, only Paris, with its gay streets, beautiful women, its theatres and supper-rooms. What waste of years to have lived so long away! Yet in the East had been compensations. Diplomacy, as he conceived it, was the highest form of gambling; life itself, a spinning roulette table. Diplomacy was the only profession for one with romance, poetry, passion in his veins, and brains in his skull. Pierre, Olga Brekendorff's child, was fitted for the career, if, at the outset, he did not manacle his own hands. He must not marry, least of all marry a Japanese girl of high connections. Let the girl love him, and be given to another. Visions of purloined state papers, of secrets won in the marriage chamber only to be given France next morning, of Japanese chagrin at the mysterious betrayal of plans, caressed him with leprous fingers. Ah, to be young once more and beautiful, like Pierre! How like his eyes were to the Russian mother! No wonder the Japanese girl loved him! A sharp knock roused him. "Entrez! Oidé!" Mouquin rushed in as if pursued, leaving the door open. Within a few feet of Ronsard he stood still, shivering in an ague of excitement. "Well, what is it? Speak, man. You chatter and grimace like an ape." Mouquin waved a small square of paper printed in Japanese. "An extra! War! They say Togo has fired!" Ronsard leaned forward and snatched the paper. He read Japanese well. "War! Togo fired this morning! Three Russian boats already sunk! Mother of God!" The telephone began a frantic ringing. Mouquin went to it sidewise. "Your Excellency, the Russian minister." "Hold the wire." Ronsard got to his feet. Mouquin still chattered. His words came now in a torrent. He was drunk with the bigness of the hour. "Fired, your Excellency! Japan the pygmy, with no further provocation, has dared fire upon Imperial Russia!" Ronsard eyed the speaker with a sort of scorn. "True, Monsieur, and, as I understand, Japan the pygmy has begun already to sink Imperial Russia." Mouquin stared for a moment at the speaker, seeking a clue to the unexpected words. Perhaps he saw for himself a chance at singularity. He bowed over, gave a low laugh, and backing toward the door cried out, "And has begun to--_sink_ Imperial Russia! Banzai Nippon!" He went out quickly. Ronsard stood quiet by the telephone. It hissed and bubbled like an impaled crab. He lifted the receiver slowly, his eyes still on the door. "I know it now," he murmured, "I have long suspected it. Somewhere in this desert of gray huts Mouquin has a Japanese wife. It was her lips that uttered through him that 'Banzai Nippon.' And so I think it would soon be with the impressionable Pierre. Hello! Oui, it is Ronsard." CHAPTER THIRTEEN Into the wide, white streets of modern Yedo, Pierre stumbled alone. There had been no definite thought in his hurried flight, only a craving to flee from the polluting face and soft, compelling voice of his compatriot. How was it possible for a man with the intelligence of Ronsard to harbor such ideas of Japanese character? Yuki's very presence breathed purity; yet that old man had said--had dared to hint-- Pierre broke away from the recollection, hid his eyes, and groaned. As a consequence he was nearly hurled to earth by a passing kuruma-man, whose warning cry of "Hek! Hek!" had been ignored. Pierre recovered himself with difficulty. The occupant of the vehicle, a stout burgher of the middle class with sulphur-colored socks and a gaudy watch-chain, essayed some laughing excuse; but the wiry human steed, deliberately putting his shafts to the ground, squared himself before the offending "Seiyo-jin" to deliver a volley of heterogeneous oaths, selected at random from the stores of other nations. Pierre, unmoved by these comic insults, apologized to the burgher in three languages, and hurried on. Now for the first time he noticed that flags were being hung at every door. Flags fluttered from the backs of jinrikishas and were stuck on top of pull-cart loads. Past him hurried newsboys with printed hand-bills held eagerly upward. Small bells jangled at their hips. "Nan desu ka?" (What is it?) he asked politely of a passer-by. "Ikusa," was the brief response, accompanied, as Pierre could not help seeing, by a disdainful, yet triumphant scowl. "Ikusa" was a word not included in the Frenchman's short vocabulary. Four University students, with the exaggeratedly short skirts, and the brawny, bare legs of the Satsuma faction, came lurching toward him. All grinned at sight of the alien, and shouted with one voice, "Banzai Nippon!" Pierre understood this phrase at least. "An excellent sentiment," he remarked gravely in English; "but now will you kindly inform me why it seems appropriate to the present moment?" The boys nudged one another and giggled. One of them at length answered in careful English, "Mr. Togo has war already begun. Many Russian battle-ships, having been this day fired upon, have into sea-bottom sinked. All will be sinked! Banzai Nippon!" "Banzai Nippon!" roared his comrades; and the four, with sundry delighted, backward glances at the bewildered foreigner, hurried on. Pierre, ignoring consequences, again stood still. Jinrikishas clattered past him to the right, to the left, singly, or now in long, black strings. The faces of human horses and vehicle occupants were alike vivified by a singular excitement. Many of the little trotting men conversed volubly with those whom they bore. "Ikusa! Ikusa!" was the burden of all speech. "Ikusa," repeated Pierre, dully. "This 'Ikusa' undoubtedly means 'war.'" He knew in his soul that the rumor was true. Visions of the scowling Onda, of Prince Hagané, of the leering, intelligent eyes of Count Ronsard, flew past him with the real faces of the streets. He cursed aloud. "War!" a new wedge between himself and Yuki. He walked on now with nervous energy. "Yu-ki--Yu-ki--Yu-ki,"--his heart and steps kept pace with the refrain. The whole world fell into the despairing swing of it. "Yu-ki--Yu-ki--Yu-ki!" A little Japanese matron, hastening to a sick neighbor's house with the great news, gave him a commiserating glance. Her husband was a sailor on one of the battle-ships now fighting. She was proud and happy. What sorrow could it be that made the young foreigner's eyes so deep and blue? Surely this was not war! It must be love. She had heard that in the affairs of love the foreigners found strange griefs. "D[=o]-mo!" murmured the little dame to herself, "I am grateful to the gods this day to be a Japanese with my husband in a glorious fight." Pierre walked now, still unheeding, in a direction almost due west from the French Legation. On his right hand stretched the long moats edged stiffly with young willows. He had been told that these trees were planted by an adoring people on the day, just fifteen years before, that the Emperor, out of his wise and loving heart, had given to them a parliamentary government. Only fifteen years! The willows had none of them attained full growth, and yet the nation that had planted them had that morning fired upon one of the proudest and most implacable empires of old Europe. On the enormous campus directly in front of the Imperial gates, citizens by thousands were assembling. They surged here and there in a breathless, whispered excitement. Their lowered voices and moving garments made a sound as of the sea. All eyes were turned upward to the Imperial moat walls, where white dots of faces belonging to the court ladies peered over for an instant and vanished. The Emperor was not visible. The crowd did not expect to see him, and had he suddenly manifested himself would have felt chagrin rather than exultation. They knew that his heart was with them, and they reverenced him thus silently with the feeling one has in a vast cathedral, just before the service begins. The Frenchman hurried by with down-bent head, knowing himself an intruder. At the Sakurada gate of the moat system he again took his bearings, and saw that by continuing in a straight course he would reach the American Legation. He realized on the instant that this was the place where he wished to go. In all this beautiful, mysterious land he had but two friends, Mrs. Todd and Gwendolen. On a steep slope facing to the northeast, and leading up by several roads to the broad and thickly populated district of Azabu, Tokio, can be seen a Japanese gate which is large without being imposing, and severe without being dignified. Perhaps the peculiar contours of the land in this unfavored spot, the infelicitous swerve of the road, and an awkward grading of the hill, make the tall gateway always appear just a little uneasy. This is the main entrance of the American Legation. Behind it stands a large structure of wood with office-buildings attached. The contrast of buildings and gate is not cheerful. Nor is the large surrounding garden of less amorphous aspect. A wide stretch of well-kept lawn with no particular outline, disheartening attempts along the edges at bits of Japanese hill and rock formation, together with certain unrelated patches of shrub and tree, coexist in a sort of Eurasian tolerance. Pretty Gwendolen openly called her present domicile a barn. Mrs. Todd had begun at once buying blindly and indiscriminately from peddlers, hawkers, and "curio-men," who infest the official homes of new-comers. As a result, the high walls of the Legation rooms were being rapidly covered with atrocious kakémono, some too high, some too low, and all, from the standpoint of art, utterly vicious. On tables, shelves, and mantelpieces stood gaudy Japanese vases such as a native rag-picker could hardly have been persuaded to use (though the price given by Mrs. Todd for a single article might have educated his son), and various household utensils, each, to the eye of a Japanese visitor, uttering a shriek of incongruity. Should a Japanese lady fill one of her low-ceiled, spacious rooms with foreign lithographs representing lambs, blue-eyed children, baskets of fruit, nude women, jockeys, and landscapes, each in a flaring gold frame, hanging them anywhere from two feet above the matting to the ceiling line itself,--should she, between these rectangular blasphemies, suspend bits of foreign underwear, old neckties, garters, belts, hair-brushes, and egg-beaters, and, to complete the artistic impression, set about on the floor decorated soup-tureens, water-coolers with growing plants, and lard-baskets piled high with Japanese cakes,--an American visitor, entering for the first time, would get much the same impression that Japanese visitors derived from Mrs. Todd's drawing-rooms. On this clear morning of February 9, 1904, the American Legation, in company with all others of the great Eastern capital, hummed and vibrated to the excitement of war. Telephone wires were kept hot. Messengers went back and forth ceaselessly with "chits" (notes) written in English, French, Spanish, German, and other tongues. Carriage-wheels rolled and rattled in every street. Pierre was ushered into the main drawing-room, a place which always made him shudder and think of William Morris. Mrs. Todd, Gwendolen, and Mr. Dodge were already there. The two latter were standing; Dodge evidently was on the point of departure. Mrs. Todd sat close to the soft-coal fire, sewing some green American fringe on a kesa--a Buddhist priest's robe--which she was to use for a piano cover. Gwendolen, first catching sight of the visitor, went forward in her bright, impetuous way. "Thank goodness that you came! Isn't this war-news exciting? Wasn't that banquet last night, after the Red God appeared, a regular skeleton's feast? Have you heard from Yuki this morning?" Before Pierre could segregate the necessary replies, Minister Todd was in the room. He walked slowly, studying, with his thin quaint smile, a large visiting card, apparently just received. He nodded all around, and then addressed himself directly to Dodge. "Prince Hagané has called. Would you advise me to see him alone?" "No, no, Cy. I won't hear to it!" protested Mrs. Todd. "With this war started, he may be intending you bodily harm!" "Nonsense, my dear," said her spouse, patting one plump shoulder. Dodge had been scrutinizing the legend on the pasteboard. "This is his Highness's most rigidly official card. Yes, sir, you will have to see him alone. But don't commit yourself by the faintest hint. We have as yet received no instructions from Washington." "Why, what was that great bunch of cables that came this morning?" asked the lady, with childlike eyes. Todd grinned toward his secretary, who now cast a grinless and apprehensive look in the direction of Pierre. Dodge answered for the office, "Those related to an entirely different matter, Mrs. Todd, a personal matter. Your husband, Minister Todd, has had no instructions with regard to this war just begun." Pierre, reddening slightly, beckoned Gwendolen across the room. They stood staring out across the wide brown lawn. Mr. Todd and his assistant left the room together. Above the Buddhist garment she was desecrating, Mrs. Todd murmured plaintively, "I've known it all along,--though Count Breakitoff in Washington assured me it could not come. I was certain that just as soon as I got over here the horrid thing would break out. Just suppose the Russians capture Tokio! They boast already that they will dictate terms of peace in Tokio before next Christmas day, and the Russian troops are like wild beasts." Here she gave a shudder, and raised her voice. "Oh, Gwendolen, why did we leave Washington, or even our peaceful Western home? I'd give ten thousand dollars to be set down right now in a good Christian wheat-field. This is awful, simply _awful_!" "And I think it glorious, simply glorious!" sang Gwendolen from the window. "Already the prospect tingles in my veins. It is better than a coming-out party, better than auto-mobiling on a road of green glass! I feel that delicious, tragic, matinée feeling I used to have as a child, just as the curtain starts to rise." "And you are not afraid something is going to happen?" asked Mrs. Todd. "I'm only afraid that something isn't going to happen," returned the intrepid one. Pierre sauntered toward the hearth. "I come of a fighting race, yet now I share Madame's views rather than those of her spirited daughter. This war means a new gulf between Yuki and me." Gwendolen's face sobered. "I've thought of that. You are right. It means a wider gulf; it ought to mean a wider gulf." Pierre moved nearer the fire and spread his delicate hands to the flame. "Your tone, Mademoiselle," he began with a most pathetic attempt at lightness, "might imply that the gulf is already of sufficient width to admit despair." Gwendolen threw back her head and looked at him from under long lashes. "I didn't say so," returned she. "Speech is the least satisfactory form of intelligent communication," answered Pierre, still trying to smile himself and her into the delusion that he was but partly in earnest. "Did you see the way that Yuki's father watched us all last night?" asked the girl, irrelevantly. "No, I cannot say I bestowed much attention. Whenever possible, I keep my eyes from unpleasing objects." "You do well, Pierre," asserted Mrs. Todd; "especially in this case. I was next him most of the time, and though I did not look, I have acquired neuralgia in the shoulder which was nearest him." "He wasn't what one would call exactly--gushing," mused Gwendolen. She seated herself now, and fell into a sort of reverie, dropping her chin and catching it in one hand,--a gesture ludicrously like Mr. Todd. Pierre's glance into her face added, it would seem, to his uneasiness. "I presume it is only war that has brought Prince Hagané to call so promptly," said he, tentatively, with a note of challenge in his voice. Gwendolen gave a small sniff. "War! He may call it war,--but it is Yuki! Prince Hagané stands behind that old pickled samurai, Onda; I felt it last night. I tried to hint it to you then, but you were determined not to see." She rose to her feet again, and began to flutter near, in the fashion most disastrous to Mrs. Todd's always sensitive nerves. "Do sit down, Gwendolen, or you will have my brains as tangled as this knot of silk," cried the matron. She began now to jerk at the shining strands, as if they were partly the cause of her irritation. In an instant they were reduced to the condition of a small demented rainbow. Pierre took a low stool, seated himself near the knee of his hostess, and began deftly to unravel the tangle. He had not tried to answer Gwendolen's last remark; perhaps he could not. Something in his face smote the girl's generous heart. She knelt at the other side of Mrs. Todd's ample knee-space, crying, "Pierre, I have hurt you! I am a horrid, brusque girl. I ought to be a telephone 'central.' I didn't mean to hurt." "That's just your way, Gwendolen," admonished Mrs. Todd. "You will do things first, and repent them after. How often have I told you that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure?" "Nay, Madame," entreated Pierre, "speak not so harshly. Miss Gwendolen is merely impulsive. I know her for a good friend of my Yuki, and, I hope, of myself. Such candor may smart a little, but it is beneficial. The truth is, I am sore, wounded, aching, from a talk just held with his Excellency Count Ronsard. I think I came here for balm." "You told him of your--attachment?" questioned Mrs. Todd, eagerly. Gwendolen rose slowly, went over to a divan and seated herself. "Yes," said Pierre, "I told him. And for reasons quite different, quite apart from any that Yuki's friends or relatives might urge, he is antagonistic to the idea of my marriage. Of course his opposition means nothing to me. I care not if the whole of France sailed East to prevent me. My faith is bound to Yuki, and I shall not give her up. But in the matter of official appointment Count Ronsard can make difficulties. Indeed I am convinced that he has been holding my credentials all along, and, for his own whim, will not give them." Gwendolen had listened quietly to the full speech, though her eyes were shining with anger. "The old sinner!" she exclaimed; "the idea of his daring to object to Yuki! What were his reasons, I would like to know!" Pierre flushed. "To put it delicately,--that Yuki is not of French descent." Gwendolen bridled. "Oh, I see! You needn't say any more. Probably he would object to me for the same reason, thinking me an alloy of red Indian and buffalo. For sheer, crass ignorance, commend me to the European savant! Well, I would like to go to Mr. Ronsard and just inform him that there is no king nor emperor of Europe who need not be proud to win my Yuki-ko!" "You may be sure I told him, with enough of vehemence to suit even you, Mademoiselle." "The miserable old wretch!" murmured Mrs. Todd, above the kesa. Gwendolen's gaze, now that the anger died, went moodily to Pierre. He met the look with a smile no less winning for its sadness. "Pierre, you are a dear boy," she said, her own eyes suddenly stung by tears; "I know Yuki loves you, and I can't blame her. I wish--oh, I wish you could be happy together; but--" "Can you not omit that last small word?" The girl sighed deeply, then leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. "Pierre," she was beginning in great seriousness; she had in her mind to ask whether, if once convinced of the impossibility of marriage with Yuki either now or ever, he would still demand from her fidelity, defiance of her parents, and of all the established rules of her class,--still hold her to that promise he had wrung. Since that banquet of the Red God, only the evening before, and now fleeing with strange rapidity into the past,--since she had seen Pierre's very charm and artistic sensitiveness used as clever traps for his entanglement, he meantime suspecting nothing, Gwendolen felt not only that the marriage would be indefinitely postponed, but that it would be finally prevented. The subtlety, the ideality, the self-sacrificing impulses of a Japanese nature indissolubly bound to Pierre must mean sorrow, if not degeneration to both. As well try to graft a French geranium upon the stem of a young bamboo! Before she could put her question, Mr. Todd, re-entering, diverted all interest to himself. Mrs. Todd was first to speak. "Oh, Cy, tell me quick! Has war really begun, or were those reports only to frighten us? Did he confess that war had come?" "He didn't confess, exactly. He admitted war, as he might have admitted that the day was cold or the wind blowing. I never feel quite myself before that man! He charges me with electricity first, and then hypnotizes me afterward. As clearly as I can make out, it was a friendly visit, its particular object being to ascertain correctly the amount of indisposition acquired by each separate guest from last night's revelry." "Revelry," murmured Gwendolen. "I hope you did not tell him that I had nightmare, Cy!" said Mrs. Todd, anxiously. "I did not." "I hope you did tell him that I think Japanese food delicious, and would like to live on it," cried Gwendolen. "I did," said her father. "He looked bored. Evidently charming young American women are nothing to Prince Hagané. His chief concern, it seemed, was Pierre." "I--Monsieur?" echoed Pierre, with a nervous start. "Yes, I can't recall now any very direct questions,--he didn't exactly 'pump,' yet in his esoteric way he let me know that all I could tell him of you he would be glad to learn." Pierre tried to meet Gwendolen's eyes, but she had turned away. "Did you speak of my Russian mother, Mr. Todd?" "No; I had the chance, but dodged it. I thought it none of his Highness's business." "Merci," murmured the other. "Speaking of Dodging it," put in Gwendolen; "where is your secretary?" "He got a 'chit' from the Spanish Legation, and asked for an hour's leave of absence." "That fat Carmen Gil y Niestra," puffed Mrs. Todd. (Mrs. Todd's own weight was over the two hundred mark, yet she was scathing in her scorn of avoirdupois in another.) "These European women are shameless in the way they run after men. She's shadowing Dodge now. I wonder what she can want of him." The good lady applied herself with renewed diligence to her robe. Gwendolen studied the stucco-work of the ceiling. In the somewhat strained silence Pierre rose. Mr. Todd was close to him. He put a hand affectionately on the boy's shoulder, and looked down into his face. Pierre, in spite of efforts for self-control, shrank back, his lips quivering with a prescience of new pain. Gwendolen ran to his defence. "We know what you are going to say. It has been spoken already. Spare us, dad. We are all upset this morning, and when one is upset good advice is an insult. I challenge you to a set at tennis, Pierre. Come, come, the court is perfect, though the skies be gray." Pierre turned eagerly. "Capital, nothing could be better. But my costume,--I have not the necessary flannels, shoes--" He looked himself over in concern. "You have your legs and arms, I presume," said Gwendolen, dryly. Catching up the rackets and a box of balls, she hurried out, leaving the glass door open. "Shut the door, Pierre," called Mrs. Todd. Todd watched the slim young figure as he went. Faithful to Mrs. Todd's admonition, he closed the panel with the greatest care, rattling the knob to show that the latch had caught. Mr. Todd sighed. "I wish that door opened into France, and that I held a St. Peter's key to it," he murmured, as if to himself. Mrs. Todd wondered above the robe. "What's that pretty thing you're making?" asked her spouse, quickly. "A piano cover? Gwendolen ought to play a regular 'Streets of Cairo' potpourri under that. Aren't you afraid the old priest's ghost will haunt you?" "You do talk such nonsense for a grown-up, intelligent man," reproved his dame, but her lips and her eyes smiled. "Those are the times when I make my most sensible remarks," said he, in return. "I suppose you know," retorted his Susan, with doubt in her voice. CHAPTER FOURTEEN Returning home from the princely banquet side by side in the double jinrikisha, not a word had been spoken between Tetsujo Onda and his child. The master went at once into his little study, banging shoji and fusuma close around him. Yuki, forcing back her sad thoughts, related to her mother and the eager servants an account of the many beautiful dishes at the feast. For their amusement she even told a few of the queer foreign mistakes. Some of these were received by Maru San in gasping horror. "Ma-a-a-a!" she cried once. "A foreign lady, rich and educated, leave--one--chopstick--standing on its head in a bowl of rice! Ma-a! But how can I believe that? Miss Yuki must be joking." "Just think what foolish things you would do at a foreign banquet, with their awkward knives, forks, and spoons," said Yuki, smiling. Maru shook her head. This revolution of the poles of etiquette was too much for her brain. Each article of Yuki's attire, beginning with the heavy satin obi (sash), was carefully folded, pressed smooth by the hands, and put away lovingly in a lacquered clothes-chest. Sometimes Iriya performed this service, sometimes Suzumé. Yuki and Maru were both considered too inexperienced for such careful manipulation. That night it was the old warrior's turn to remain awake, staring at the ceiling, spelling out the future by the andon's dim light, and planning ways to rescue his daughter from her mad attachment without inflicting unnecessary pain. For Yuki was indeed the pride of his heart. It was a humiliation as well as a sorrow that she should be willing to repudiate her nationality. With his slow wits and somewhat rigid cast of mind he had not caught the full importance of the evening just passed, or the significance of the test in which the Red God had played so large a part. Yet in his daimyo's eye, as it rested on Yuki, he had seen something that stirred the blood in the old samurai's veins. Surely not even the ladies of the golden Fujiwara age had been more beautiful than Yuki-ko. Then, Hagané was not indifferent to beauty in women. Could it be possible-- But no! Tetsujo dared not let this fancy spread. His skull would split with it. Groaning, he turned on his wooden pillow and tried to sleep--but in vain. Meanwhile his daughter, not twenty feet away, behind her silver fusuma, lay in dreamless quiet. The certainty of Hagané's implication, and the tremendous opposition it involved, steadied and concentrated her. She knew what she had before her and deliberately willed the sleep that should bring strength. In the early dawn, within the sound of her father's restless tossing, she crouched against a shoji, and in the faint pink glow wrote an English letter. Every motion showed care. The rustling of the long sheets of Japanese paper would have betrayed her, so she wrote in pencil on a little pad that bore the name of a stationer in Washington. From time to time she consulted an open letter in a man's writing, a wild, illogical, despairing letter,--the one that Gwendolen had brought some days before. "How will your thoughts be this gray morning, my dear?" she wrote to him. "Last night you were as one stung by happy madness. You would not see nor hear my warnings. Now you will be realizing why I wished to make warnings. Lord Hagané is with my father against us. They wish me not to marry with a foreigner. That terrible painting was a test, and I have betrayed us by my woman's soft heart. Now they are sure that the one I love is in Tokio they will take stronger care against me. Dear Pierre, I do not think there is any hope! We can wait,--or we can die!--just now I believe nothing else is possible. O Pierre! If my weakness offend you, and if already it seem to you far beyond any help,--if you, being the impatience, have not heart to so long wait,--let me go! Forget poor Yuki! Indeed, I should not have promised at all. I belong to my country, as in previous time I said. I must not make sad your bright life. Rather would I be forgotten than bring you to grief. Your Yuki-ko." This letter she addressed to Pierre at the French Legation, stamped, sealed it, and slipped it into the long, hanging sleeve of her kimono, intending, at the first opportunity, to get it into the hands of a postman. After this she arranged her hair and obi quickly and went out into the kitchen where already she heard old Suzumé and Maru San at work. Hardly had she entered when the front gate opened and the newspaper-boy ran in, his small copper bell clamoring on his hip. His bovine face was crimson with suppressed joy. Beside the usual morning sheet he held out a printed extra, shaking it toward her. "Look at this! Honorably read these headlines, o jo san! Banzai Nippon!" he cried. Yuki reached forward for the hand-bill. "It is war! War! Togo has fired!" she read, in a low, tense voice. "War with that great brutal nation, and we have fired! O Nippon! O my Emperor! The ancient gods be with you!" "Three ships already sunk! Three!" screamed the boy, wildly, and tossed up his foreign jockey-cap. "Kwannon preserve us! What has happened--an earthquake?" cried old Suzumé, hastening from the well-curb, and wiping red hands on her apron as she came. "War! War, nurse! Our country is at war this minute, and three Russian battle-ships are already sunk!" "We'll teach the bears that we are not to be trampled--Banzai Nippon!" boasted the paper-boy, as he hurried back to the street. Iriya, not quite dressed, thrust her head from the parted fusuma. "War, Mistress! War, Master! The honorable Mr. Togo has sunk all the Russian battle-ships and beheaded all the generals with his own hand!" shrieked Suzumé. Maru began to cry. "War!" faltered Iriya, and shrank back into the dim room. "Banzai! May our Emperor live a thousand years!" roared Tetsujo. Those outside could hear him hurtling about the narrow room. "Tell them to hang the flags above the gate, woman! Quick! Every moment wasted is a sacrilege! Gods of my Ancestors, at last we fight! Would that I were with Togo!" Iriya, after giving orders for the flags, threw herself before the family shrine, where lights burned always in small, steady, pointed flames. "Ancestral spirits of our home, old deities of this land, give strength to our soldiers and sailors!" she whispered. Tetsujo brushed past her, fully equipped for walking. His old face twitched with eagerness. "Do you not wait for your worthless breakfast, honorable master?" ventured Suzumé. Onda gave a loud laugh and tossed the old dame a handful of coin. "Breakfast! I'm eating and drinking food of the gods! Here! Take this money, and all of you women go to your temple and make offering! I seek the public places where men assemble." Suddenly he halted. Hagané's last words came to his ears. His face turned black, and he slowly walked into the house with bent head. "I had forgotten--I cannot go. Serve the breakfast as usual," he muttered in the voice of an old man. Stumbling into the main room he said under his breath, "Hachiman Sama, help me to endure! On a day like this--I, Onda Tetsujo--I a warrior of Hagané's clan--I must be held here like a tame cock in a bamboo basket! Had I not seen the look in his Highness's eye--I might hurl all aside and take the risk--" Soft footsteps had been following him. He wheeled, to face Yuki. Her eyes were gleaming and steady, though her face had crimsoned with shame. "Father," she began proudly, "I know the reason of your return. All your heart burns to be with other men, and to hear full news of this mighty event. Go, I entreat you! There is no fear of what--you and Prince Hagané think." The old warrior himself now showed embarrassment. He would not meet her gaze, but let his eyes move restlessly about the floor as he answered: "Yes, my old heart strains like a bowstring to be gone--and I do not dare! You defied me once,--my blood grows hot at the thought of it." "Still, I am your daughter," said Yuki. "And I think you will believe me when I offer you my pledge that, from this moment till your return, even though it be a week hence, I shall not leave this house and garden, shall not admit a foreign guest to it nor listen to foreign speech." "I believe you," said Tetsujo, with great relief in his face. "You will neither go nor admit a foreign guest--nor write and receive letters?" Yuki caught up her sleeve. Onda's face darkened. Deliberately drawing forth the letter she offered it to her father, saying, "Here is one I have already written and shall send. Will you not trust me even further and be the one by whose hand it goes?" "Me post it? Me put it in a box?" he asked in amazement. "The meaning it bears is not against your desire, father. Rather may it destroy an evil that already lives. I ask you to take it." "To bargain thus with a mere girl--" the samurai muttered. Then he threw his head back. "My blood is in your veins. I trust you. Give it." Yuki, choking back a little sob, fell at his feet and touched her forehead to the floor. She heard his quick and heavy tread shiver through the house. Then followed, coming in her direction, the gentler steps of Iriya. Yuki lifted her arms. "Mother, mother!" she cried passionately, "why could I not have been born a man? To die for one's country, in battle, with the thought of the Emperor like a cooling draught at the lips! To stand on the great black ship, smiling in storm and snow and fog, driven in like fate itself to glorious chances! Oh, that is to _live!_ But to be a woman--" "Yes," said Iriya, quietly seating herself. "The fortunate are those who know, in this incarnation, full expression of a burning heart." "Do you feel so too, mother?--you, who are always so tranquil and so dear?" "I too am a samurai's daughter. In the strife of Restoration days I saw my father and my brother die--I saw my mother live." "Oh, dearest one, how selfish we young souls are. We are like green fruit that has no mellowness. You have suffered so deeply--and I never guessed." Iriya, with half-closed eyes on the garden, uttered words which until the hour of her death never quite loosed their echoes from the girl's heart. "Young souls are indeed unripe in the ways of love. That suffering of mine was mere indifference to the grief I shall know if, at an hour like this, with Nippon in the throes of re-birth, my only child should become the wife of her enemy." Yuki cowered back. She could not look her mother in the face. Up to this moment she had never dreamed that Iriya had been told anything. The sense of comradeship and of interdependence between a Japanese husband and wife is very strong; but in this case, where Tetsujo's angry violence had been so out of keeping with the whole tenor of his life, Yuki was perhaps justified in feeling that he would prefer to maintain a sullen reticence. Iriya's words, and the way she spoke them, showed not only that she was conversant with the whole threatening situation, but that she had thought and prayed deeply. It did not seem at all the every-day domestic Iriya that spoke, but an older and more impersonal spirit, issuing from borrowed human, lips. An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Iriya sat rigid and upright, as a silver image in a Buddhist niche. Little Yuki, feeling very small and young and human, crept noiselessly to her own room. * * * * * Tetsujo did not return until the following day. He showed evidences of strong excitement, and could not for a while be seated, but strode up and down the matted floor of the house, throwing off ejaculations and phrases of war-news. He had much to tell in his irritating, disjointed way. But Japanese women do not show impatience. They knelt out of range of his feet, but within good hearing, following his motions with feverish eagerness, and snatching at his words as at whizzing fireflies. Names of those killed, quotations from foreign newspapers, reports from the Tokio war-office, maledictions upon himself that he was too old to go,--all came in a scurrying swarm from the samurai's lips. "Refused me--they refused me,--those grinning, foreignized apes at the war-office. Even my daimyo will not help me. An age limit? Gods! Trained men must twirl their thumbs while boys with soft hearts and flabby muscles defend the Emperor! Would that I had ten thousand lives to give, and that each life in passing held the agonies of ten thousand deaths. Even that would be but a handful of blown petals to the whirling majesty of Nippon in the breath of the Eternal.--But wait! There are many young men now, there are hills of powder and river-beds of shot; but when that powder melts like snow in a spring rain, when the last shot stings the air, then may the sword-arm leap to usefulness. The Cossacks cut and slay like demons,--why not we? For whom then will be the cry but for old Onda? Onda Tetsujo! who has cut three bodies through with one slow, steady stroke; who has bared a living bone so swiftly that the slain creature turned inquisitive eyes on death! Bah, I babble and rave like a Meiji actor." "Yet, Lord, it may come,--it may come," whispered Iriya, aloud. "Daily I shall pray and sacrifice that this desire of our hearts be granted." Yuki looked upon these heroic beings that had given her life, and knew the pangs of self loathing. What was she, their only child, now doing for the land they loved? Planning ways of remaining faithful to a foreign lover! She drooped her head still lower. Alas! Had Pierre not taken that promise from her unguarded soul! If Pierre even now would give her up--would understand. Tetsujo, still fuming in a noble rage, cut the floor in cross-lines of hasty striding. He turned at intervals, catching back his flight, raising himself up to silence as if he heard a bugle-note, staring, unseeing, into the garden, then clenching his fists, muttering new imprecations, and throwing himself again into his restless walk. The essence of Yamato Damashii breathed from him. One listened for the clank of steel and shark's-skin armor. His right hand felt incessantly for the vanished sword-hilts. All at once he stopped directly before Yuki, transfixed her with fierce, tormented eyes and cried, "Onda Yuki, you are a samurai's daughter." Yuki met his look. "I am a samurai's daughter." "See that you forget it not." For an instant longer he glared into her upraised face, then flinging himself away he muttered, "Oh, that I had a son to offer,--one son only to serve my land! They would not let me go." He seated himself at last; folded his arms within the short, blue, cotton sleeves; and sank into a brooding revery. With a few days the first frenzy and tumult of the war were over. The nation settled into a state of watchful and sober patriotism. Men turned to practical work, raising money for the war fund, for all knew that it was indeed a struggle for life or death. Yuki had received by mail another letter. Tetsujo was present when it came. She read and re-read it slowly, under his very eyes, and then tore it into scraps, letting them fall in small white flecks upon the red coals of the hibachi. Onda stared at her, fascinated, but found nothing to say. The note was in Pierre's most appealing vein. He urged her, for the sake of both, to be a heroine. He forgave her, a thousand times over, her hint of betrayal of the night before. Again he congratulated himself and her on his foresight in compelling the stricter pledge. "You must see now, my poor, sorrowful darling, that it is the only thing to hold us back from despair." Yuki's heart sagged within her. She attempted no reply. She wondered dully how so flaming a love failed to illuminate reason. Pierre simply could not understand. Well, she must be calm and clear enough for both. Her deepest fear, but half admitted, was that Tetsujo, with Prince Hagané behind, would now attempt to end the matter by marrying her to some young noble of their acquaintance. She hardly dared face the thought of what her home life might become after her repudiation of such an offer. Gwendolen remained apart, and Yuki rightly guessed that it was at Minister Todd's instigation. She never for a moment doubted Gwendolen's loyal affection. This restraint was a proof of it, as also of Mr. Todd's clear judgment. Pierre began now, in his restless misery, to haunt the streets immediately surrounding Yuki's home. Apparently he wished to establish, as a signal, a certain little quaint air from Carmen that he loved. He would whistle a phrase and pause, evidently expecting her to continue with the answering melody. At twilight, one day nearly a week after "the banquet of the Red God" (as she always thought of it), she was standing alone beside her plum-tree, now almost bare of flowers. The sky stretched low and heavy, as a giant tent hung with unspilled rain. No sunlight had come with the day. The wind pinched and stung with dampness. As she stared mournfully upon the falling petals, holding out a languid hand to stay their flight, a few large flakes of snow came down. "I gathered petals, to show thee, love. But now, in my hands they have melted--" she quoted aloud from a classic. Her parents had been talking together in the main corner-room, where now a servant brought lights. On the closed paper shoji, just beside her, the silhouettes of two beloved forms sprang into sudden vivid blackness. Tetsujo's stern, Indian-like profile was turned, while Iriya showed only the outlines of her coiffure, with the droop of slender shoulders and the flower-like poise of a delicate throat. His attitude,--all dignity, self-assertion, manliness; and hers, concessive, yielding, and full of feminine grace,--symbolized to the girl the true relations, in Japan, of man and wife. "And is it not better?" she thought to herself. "Are the aggressive American women happier or more beloved?" She thought of the domestic scandals, the unhappy marriages openly discussed at Mrs. Todd's table. Here, at least, though such sad things did sometimes occur, they seldom became topics of general conversation. The bell of the front gate rang out through the gray air. Yuki, with a sudden leap of the heart she could not account for, threw an arm about the tree and clung to it, listening breathlessly. Through the paper-walled house came clearly the sounds of old Suzumé as she opened the door. "Hai! Hai! Sayo de gozaimasu. Hai, danna!" (Yes, yes. It is augustly so! Yes, master.) Even the sharp indrawn breath was audible. Surely it was a visitor of importance,--and not a foreigner. In an instant a third silhouette was added to the two in the room. This bore a small parcel in its hands, and bowed very deeply before Tetsujo. "A messenger direct from the august Prince Hagané!" said Suzumé's proud voice. Yuki saw the shadow of her father snatch the package and toss aside the cloth furoshiki in which it was wrapped. She saw the shadow open a letter, start, bend his head nearer. She saw strong shadow-hands tremble, and heard a voice, which strove in vain for steadiness, give the orders: "Fold the furoshiki carefully, and return it done up in clean paper. Give to the messenger my respects. There is no immediate reply. Offer him fresh tobacco, tea, and cakes--the best we have." "Hai! Hai! Kashikomarimasu" (Yes, yes! I hear and respectfully obey), murmured Suzumé's voice. Her shadow bobbed once, twice, to the matting, and vanished. Yuki gripped the tree hard. A messenger from Prince Hagané! and that deep, triumphant note in her father's voice! What could it mean? The shadow of Iriya was now reading the note. A cry came. "O my husband! It is too wonderful--too splendid. It will solve all difficulties. I must not believe--" On the cowering girl white snowflakes, her namesakes, fell now quickly, dotting her dark hair. One, falling on a cheek as white, melted slowly, and pretended that it was a tear. "Call the girl!" said Tetsujo. Iriya rose in haste. Yuki sped back along the narrow veranda to her own room. "And summon the two serving-women also!" came Tetsujo's voice, on a higher note. Yuki entered with what calmness she could. The two servants already squatted like bright-eyed toads in the doorway. "Here, girl! Read this letter from his Highness, Prince Hagané," said Onda. "Bow, as you receive it into your unworthy hands." The girl bowed obediently. She read the letter through without a flicker of change on her downcast face. Folding it with scrupulous care she returned it, again bowing, to her wondering father. "Well," he cried, "are your wits gone? What have you to say?" "His Highness does our house too much honor," answered Yuki, quietly. Iriya, watching breathlessly, saw what the puzzled Onda did not see, that, in spite of superb self-control, a slow, sick pallor was stealing into the girl's face. Behind Iriya the two servants, drawn closer as by a magnet, vibrated to suppressed excitement. Onda caught the look of their faces. "Suzumé!" he said, "your young mistress has just been asked in marriage by his Augustness, Prince Hagané, daimyo of our clan." "Ma-a-a!" breathed the women in unison, and fell forward on their faces. "You see what _they_ think of it," said Tetsujo, with a half-contemptuous wave of his hand. "Oh, my daughter," cried Iriya, "it is an honor so great that I cannot yet meet the thought of it. You will be like a Princess of the Blood. Our sacred Empress will meet you face to face as a friend." Tetsujo broke in. "You can serve your country, girl! That's the best of it. The opportunity is incredible. It does not need argument. Well, Yuki! Will you write your humble and grateful acceptance in person, or shall I convey it for you?" "I have not accepted yet." Tetsujo bounded in his place. Iriya caught her breath, and stretched forth two pleading hands, one to each. "Do not anger me, girl!" muttered the father, with visible effort to contain himself. "I am in no mood for violence." "Nor I, father, being already spent with much contention," answered Yuki, wearily. "Indeed, I should attempt no speech at all, but that I see his Highness shields me by commands against rough argument, and the condition that I be given full time to decide." "Bah," cried Tetsujo. "Even a god must have some small weaknesses. Pity to women has always been his.--Well, when shall your answer go--to-night, in the morning, on the first rays of the sun? Speak! for my choler trains me hard!" But Yuki did not hasten to reply. Behind her rigid calm a thousand frightened fancies sped. No thought could be followed to a conclusion in this first whirl of atoms. They went by her in a soundless hurricane,--torn bits of hope, filaments of fear, thin flakes of readjustment. She saw that time must be gained--time, and the opportunity to think. An unqualified refusal would bring upon her immediately consequences and new conditions which she was neither physically nor mentally able to combat. She must achieve an armistice. After an interval that seemed long to her but interminable to the quivering Onda, she raised her face, saying quietly: "After a space of three days, at the hour of twilight, I will myself deliver an answer to Prince Hagané. Will you kindly convey this message?" "She will answer in three days! Lord of Hell! she will condescend to answer my daimyo in three days! This bit of spoken offal--must I present to a deity who burdens himself with you--that your family may be honored, and your cheap foreign attainments used! His magnanimity is inconceivable. To a lesser man it would seem impossible. To marry you openly,--make you a princess,--you, a shivering wench he could have for the taking!" "He could _not_ have me for the taking, and you know it!" said Yuki's low voice, that held an undercurrent of his own. "You shame yourself and me by such raving. If you insult me further I will refuse at once." "Come, Yuki! Come quickly!" whispered the terrified Iriya, dragging at her daughter's sleeve. "Your honored father will strangle in his rage. Never, never, in all our married life have I seen his eyes glare thus! Hasten!" "Yes--hasten--drag her away!" gasped Tetsujo, throwing back his head and clutching his collar. "She is not my daughter! Would that my bones had crumbled--" His words broke off in a gurgle. In her little room Yuki stood gazing down moodily upon the convulsed form of her mother. "I know I ought to feel more pain to see you weep so bitterly, my mother," she said at length. "I tell myself that I should feel, but I cannot feel. Somehow I seem to be wearing armor inside instead of outside. Think of it, mother, what it means to me! I love a man who loves me honorably. I do not ask a sudden marriage,--I would wait patiently until the war is over, and perhaps your heart and father's would be softened toward my hope. I will work for you,--I will go out and be a servant, a teacher,--anything to relieve you of my burden. All I ask is to remain uncompelled toward other marriage. Yet here my father, and an old man older than my father, are trapping me,--they condescend to trap me! Prince Hagané cannot possibly wish me for his wife. He has seen me but twice since I was a child. A man like Hagané does not know love in the sense I have been taught it. Oh, I am like a bird ensnared in chains--in chains so heavy--that I can scarcely stir a link! Being a samurai's daughter I cannot even die." "Yuki! Would you indeed disgrace us by marrying--a Russian?" "Not so long as it seems to you a disgrace. But that will not last forever, mother. This war is to change many things. Can I not belong to myself, just for the time of this war, mother? Will you not plead with father for this boon?" "I dare not! I dare not!" shuddered Iriya. "I fear your father, for the first time in my life.--There! He is calling. I must go." She caught one of the girl's dangling hands and pressed it convulsively against a tear-wet cheek. "May Kwannon soothe your bewildered heart, my loved one!" she murmured, and was gone. "I prefer you to have as little as possible to do with that hardened and ungrateful wretch!" came Tetsujo's voice, as Iriya entered to him. Yuki knew that it was raised purposely for her to hear. Iriya evidently attempted some conciliatory reply, for he burst out angrily, "Don't defend her, woman! It is disrespect to me. I tell you she shall consent, whether she wishes it or not!" Yuki smiled the smile that leaves a taint upon the soul. "There are a few things that even a father--even a Japanese father--cannot do!" she said aloud. CHAPTER FIFTEEN If previous days in the Onda household had been tense, those following were to reach the ultimate limit of nerve-endurance. Immediately after his last tempestuous scene with Yuki, Tetsujo had left the house. Yuki was minded to call after him, protesting that her promise given him on the first day of war did not hold indefinitely. She moved forward, the words nearly sped, when he turned on her a look and gesture so repellent that she cowered, and let him pass. It did not seem at all her father who now looked at her, but rather some angry Spirit of War, in temporary assumption of Onda's body. War! War! War! The streets thrilled to it. The sparrows chirped it. The jinrikisha wheels rattled a pygmy fusillade. In this flare of national ardor all passions burned more hotly, and among them, Tetsujo's indignation against his only child. Iriya, being more inexperienced than Yuki herself in interpretation of men's fiercer moods, could not tell her that such caloric outbursts would die the sooner from their own exaggeration. Yuki moaned, and shut her hot eyes from a future where her father should always be angry, and her mother always trembling. Early next day, after the reading of Hagané's letter, the women of Onda's house were surprised to find their domestic retinue silently increased by the addition of two grim, middle-aged men who called themselves gardeners. From their reading of all "War Extras" that the jangling bell of the newsboy announced, and from their sporadic and often devastating attacks on harmless shrubs, one might have doubted their skill in the professed art. Tetsujo disdained explanation, and gave the one order that they were to be suitably fed at meal-times in the kitchen, and treated with the consideration due to servants hired specially by himself. Iriya had not the heart, scarcely the curiosity, to question. All that day she moved about, a silent, timid figure of protesting obedience. Yuki understood at once that her mother had been told to ignore her. She understood, also, the meaning of the so-called "gardeners," and turned to her father slow, scornful eyes, which he refused to meet. What the young seldom realize, in a case like this, is the suffering of those in authority, who, according to adolescent eyes, delight in imparting sorrow. Yuki was convinced that this strange changeling of a father revelled in his cruelty. She forced herself into defiant composure, chiefly in the hope of detracting from his supposed enjoyment. Her mother's white face was another matter. She looked on that just as little as possible. Old Suzumé and Maru grew to partake of their master's elfish obsession. Their peering faces and bright eyes, quickly withdrawn, maddened her. No hope or thought of solution had come through the troubled night, nor, as yet, with the gray day. Tetsujo had gone, presumably, to convey the detested message to his prince. Yuki's one conscious determination was to send another message to Pierre, which should state clearly and comprehensively the new difficulty that had assailed her. Almost certainly her father had arranged that no more letters should go forth or be received. The gardeners and Suzumé would see to that. At times she had a wild fancy of attempting flight, urging Pierre to rescue her in the fashion of mediæval romance, and to take her to the Todds, or to some Christian missionary, where they could be married and so set beyond the reach of Hagané and her father. But would it set her beyond the black tide of her own remorse? How then should she reconcile her fondest belief, that in a union with Pierre she might serve to bring closer French and Japanese friendship? This would be outrage, anarchy, at the start. Yet something must be done,--something at least to remove her, temporarily, from her father's loathing sight after she should have refused Hagané's proposition. In this, perhaps, Pierre himself could assist, or Gwendolen,--if she could only see Gwendolen. "Gwendolen!" She stretched out her arms to the sunless, vacant sky, and called her friend's name aloud. Whether telepathy is a fact, or merely a pet child of some philosophers, whether or not the ether of the East holds subtler vibrations than our own, it is certain that exactly at this moment Gwendolen awoke in her foreign bed from hurrying dreams of Yuki, and lay awake, staring, a sudden weight of apprehension full upon her. The excitement of war may have sharpened American senses also. Gwendolen's mind ran back for the hundredth time to that strange, memorable banquet. Its meaning grew now more sharp and sinister. Something had taken place there, something intangible, but very real, something decisive, fatal, the effect of which would first appear in Yuki. Gwendolen had as her birthright some of her father's intuitive judgment of character. She had read that night the hatred of foreigners in Tetsujo's sullen face, and did not dislike him for it. Hagané baffled her; but she had noted how deep were the eyes fixed now on Yuki, now on Pierre. Neither of them would wish for Yuki to become the wife of Pierre, and neither did Gwendolen wish it. The girl smiled curiously at her feeling of distaste. It did not seem right for Yuki to marry a foreigner, even an utterly charming and immorally beautiful foreigner like Pierre Le Beau. "I guess I must have been a Japanese in lots of my former incarnations," she said to herself. "Yuki declares it's so, and she should know. But--" here she stopped and drew out her long, unbound yellow hair in two diaphanous, glittering wings. "The fates certainly have put my Oriental soul, this time, into a misleading body!" She was dressing now, and stood before her pretty silver-laden bureau by a sunny south window of the Legation. * * * * * About two hours later of the same day Minister Todd and his secretary, sitting alone in the thrice-guarded sanctum of the former's private office, looked up in incredulous astonishment as a dainty tapping betrayed a feminine guest. Then Todd's thin smile widened. "Gwennie, I'll bet!--and on the war-path! Only that little rascal would have the cheek." Dodge turned away to hide the glow in his brown face. Gwennie it proved to be. She entered, dainty, perfumed, exquisite, in tan-cloth dress and seal-skins that exactly matched her brows and lashes. "I don't expect to be welcomed," she said aggressively, her little white chin high in air. "But I simply had to come." "Well?" This was from the minister. Before stating her plea, Gwendolen threw a bewildering look of entreaty upon the gloating Dodge. "Dad, I can't stand it! I haven't seen or heard anything from Yuki for a week. Pierre Le Beau is driving me mad; and last night I had the scariest dream about Yuki. I feel in my bones that she needs me. Let me go to her, dad! Dearest, darlingest diddy-daddy, say I can go!" Todd put a loving arm about the supplicant, but at the same time he shook his head. "Can't you be patient just a little longer, girlie? Something is bound to turn up soon." "If Prince Hagané is in it, it will be worse than a turn-up; it will be a heave," said Dodge, shaking his head also. "But, dad, I _have_ been patient. You know how I hate being patient. I'm perfectly on edge when I have to wait. Every little bit of me begs to be cut off, and allowed to run in scraps. Oh, don't look so solemn! I'm only a girl. I can't upset the earth. Everything has gone wrong this morning from the minute I stepped out of bed on a tailless cat. You can make it well, daddy. My heart simply tugs in me toward Yuki." At mention of her heart Dodge gave a prolonged and envious sigh. Todd smiled, but Gwendolen only looked indignant. Tears stood in her pretty eyes, and Dodge felt himself to be a brute. "Your Excellency," he said, "if I might be allowed to suggest, why not let me be Miss Todd's escort? If I am along, I think, perhaps--" He broke off with a significant intonation. The two men exchanged glances, and the elder, catching his chin with a characteristic gesture, walked away thoughtfully. "Oh, when dad looks like that, he is going over the entire American Constitution before he answers," cried Gwendolen, in despair. "May I not sit somewhere, Mr. Dodge?" There were but three chairs in the room, the two revolving desk-chairs, and one suggestively rigid and slippery, meant for visitors. Generally, as now, it was heaped with a tottering mass of papers. Dodge, with suspicious alacrity, leaned forward to wheel the minister's chair. Before he could reach it, Gwendolen had thrown herself into the other, and faced the open vitals of his private desk. In the very centre, just out of range of the minister's eye, stood an unframed photograph of Carmen Gil y Niestra, a languorous Spanish beauty lately arrived in Tokio. The picture had come that morning by mail, and was only waiting to be carried to Dodge's rooms; but Gwendolen could not know that. She was humiliated and annoyed to feel a deep, dry sob rise to her throat. At another time, when her best friend was not in trouble, and she hadn't stepped on the cat, she would have made some bright remark about it; but now she dared not trust her voice. Dodge, carefully removing the papers to the floor, seated himself on the visitor's chair, and let his eyes rest with a curious, half-triumphant look upon Gwendolen's downcast face. This young man, unlike others to whom she had chosen to show favor, had not hastened to throw himself at her feet, pleading to be sat upon, trod upon, built upon, anything but the one obvious suggestion that he rise and walk away. He had never tried to take her hand; never once said that he loved her, though the girl until this moment had felt certain of it. Sometimes she had tried to flatter him into the declaration; again she would pique and goad him. The result had been the same. Dodge followed her everywhere, paid her all possible attentions, and said everything but the one thing she had determined to hear. With an instinctive coquette, the desire is not so much to overcome her quarry, as to feel that there is no quarry she cannot overcome. But even from the seductive moonlit decks of the steamship Dodge had escaped, uncommitted. The situation was both piquant and exciting. "Well, Dodge," said the ambassador, at length. "I am willing to take your suggestion. Is the carriage ready, Gwen?" "It's been at your door for hours." "I'll let you go, since you seem to feel so set on it. But be careful of what you say or do, and don't promise anything. Give little Snowflake my love, and tell her I miss her about the house." Gwendolen, without a word of thanks, walked toward the door. "Now, Dodge, remember," warned her father, in a semi-whisper. "If Mr. Dodge is being sent along as a sort of diplomatic nurse, or a keeper to an idiot, I won't have him," flashed the girl. "Nonsense, child!" said her father. "You'd better run along in a hurry before I change my mind. I don't know but as I'm weak--" Without waiting for more, the girl literally ran from the room. Clerks and visitors in the outside offices looked up in wonder. That dry sob in her throat had stirred again. Even her dad, on this horrid day, was cross. Outside the sun had begun to shine brilliantly. The high winds, those scourges of the Tokio winter, were, for the time, at rest. The people in the streets appeared contented and happy enough, trudging along on wooden clogs, or trotting with noiseless, straw-sandalled feet between the shafts of vehicles. The small boys wore miniature flags in their caps. When again she felt mistress of her voice, she said, with an attempt at her usual gay levity, "Now, Mr. Dodge, I intend to know what all that mysterious interchange of glances in the office was supposed to convey." Dodge seemed to think. "I should fancy you'd know by instinct," he answered. "Japan and Russia are at war. America is neutral." "Yes," challenged Gwendolen, "and the earth goes around the sun, and the moon around the earth. But what is that to Yuki and to me?" "You are the daughter of the American minister, and Miss Yuki is under the protection of Prince Hagané. It's the bother of marriage. You must see that she can never marry Le Beau. The worst of it all is that Le Beau's such an ass!" "I don't consider my friend, Mr. Le Beau, an--er--animal," said Gwendolen, all the more stiffly that her statement was not quite true. "I beg your pardon," said her companion, meekly, and relapsed into careful silence. Gwendolen fidgeted. This did not suit her mood at all. She wanted to quarrel. "Yuki and Pierre are frantically in love, poor things! But of course an incipient diplomat doesn't take into consideration anything so trivial as--love." Dodge smiled into her petulant eyes, a sort of elder-brother smile that stung her. "If I am the incipient referred to, you have missed your mark." "You pretend to be Pierre's friend, but you never did like him." "When have I pretended?" "You are jealous because he is so good-looking. All men are that way." "Aren't girls sometimes that way too?" asked he, with elaborate innocence. The shot told. She reddened angrily. "You are very disagreeable this morning, Mr. Dodge." Again fell silence. "Come," said the girl, changing her tactics swiftly. "It is I who am beastly, I know it. I'm going to try now to be good. Tell me honestly, as a friend, do you think that Pierre has absolutely no chance of marrying Yuki?" Dodge studied the restless eyes for sincerity before he answered. "He has a chance. If she is willing to throw over her parents, her Emperor, and her native land, in order to run away to him,--they may find protection. But if I know Japanese character at all, Miss Yuki would die first--and she ought to. The one decent thing for Le Beau is to release her." "But to run away, by night perhaps, in actual danger of her life--oh, how romantic!" sighed Gwendolen, clasping her hands. It was done to irritate, and it succeeded. "Romantic? Damfoolic!" sniffed Dodge, before he could stop himself. "Mr. Dodge!" "By George, it slipped out! I beg your pardon, Miss Todd, I should not have said it." "For what do you ask pardon--the expression, or the thought?" "The expression, of course. I was a mucker to use it in your presence." "Am I to understand that the thought underlying your remarkable utterance is unchanged?" "Why, er--that such a step would be foolish, and--er--unworthy?" stammered the wretched youth, now as greatly disconcerted as even Gwendolen could wish; "why, of course I still think it. I have to think it!" "I approved of it openly. I demand retraction of the thought also." Gwendolen's chance had come. Here was a bone,--a flimsy cartilage, it is true, but still a thing to pick her quarrel over. In the making-up she might find compensation for other recent chagrins. Gwendolen liked to make up. The magnanimous yielding, the condescension on her part, added to the humble gratitude of the recipient, brought a sense of pleasant power. "You demand retraction of the thought," repeated Dodge. He faced her slowly. She was deliberately studying the two American flags embroidered between the blue cotton shoulders of the carriage-driver, high on the box. The delicate profile, uplifted in sunlight, had a translucency in the outline like the petal of a rose. Dodge gazed with hungry heart, but deepening frown. "You didn't mean that." He said it soothingly. "You couldn't insist on anything so utterly childish as the retraction of a personal thought. I've apologized for the words." "Do you refuse, then?" said Gwendolen, with a toss of the head she had seen Julia Marlowe give. "You really mean such a thing?" "I mean it." "Then--I refuse." The girl turned. This time it was Dodge's somewhat ragged profile held against the sky. "You dare to refuse me?" she gasped. Her hazel eyes grew inky; they seemed to shoot off sparkles of jet. "I am at your service for everything else," he said steadily. No other word was spoken until they reached the foot of Kobinata Hill, where the betto, springing lightly to earth, preceded the galloping horses up the slope. "You know," said Dodge, slowly, "this may mean to me giving up every hope of happiness. And it's such a nasty little cause,--like having one's eye put out by a spitball." "Yet you prefer it to retracting one rude, silly thought!" "For God's sake!" cried the badgered youth, "how can a man retract what he still thinks? Do you want me to lie, and say I don't think a thing when I do think it." "Yes," said Gwendolen, with a strange glint in her face. "Lie! Say that you do not think it. I shall be satisfied with that." "I'll be damned if I do!" said Dodge. "I'll lie to please myself, but I won't lie at the bidding of another,--not even you! Shall I stop the carriage and get out?" Gwendolen, with a little choking sound in her throat, turned away. Her gesture seemed an assent. Miserably the young man realized that he was bound by Mr. Todd to remain with her, and overhear the conversation that might ensue. In a moment more he helped her from the carriage in silence, allowing her to precede him to the Onda gate, and up the garden stones to the door. Old Suzumé answered the knock. She parted the entrance shoji very craftily, one bent eye to the crack. Her left cheek could not have been two inches from the floor. This gave an uncanny look, as if a severed head, or one of those long gourd-necked ghosts of Japanese mountains, had appeared to receive them. Gwendolen said, "Oh!" and retreated. Dodge stepped forward boldly, and put one gloved hand into the crack. The old dame shivered at this, and seemed to cower for a spring. A swift, soft rush of feet came through the house, and Yuki, flinging both doors wide, sent a crooked smile toward them. "Come quickly," she panted; "I pray you wait not to remove the shoes. My father is absent. I have prayed for Gwendolen; there is great thing to be said." Dodge shut his teeth together. He was to be needed. Without a look for him, Gwendolen, obeying Yuki's injunction as to shoes, sprang up the one stone doorstep and followed Yuki along a dim corridor. Dodge, more deliberately, motioned Suzumé to remove his shoes, standing first on one foot, then on the other, and balancing himself by the aid of a shoji frame. The untying of shoestrings was a difficult task for excited old fingers. Her beady eyes darted incessantly back into the house. "No harm can be done. I am from the American Legation, and was sent to accompany Miss Todd," said he, in Japanese, pitying the old dame's nervousness. "Hai! hai! Sayo de gozaimasuka?" mumbled she, greatly relieved. She loved and was proud of Yuki; she adored her mistress; but there was a single voice in that house, and it belonged to Tetsujo. Dodge went alone into the house, guiding himself by the voices. They had reached the guest-room. All fusuma and shoji had been closed. Without knocking Dodge pushed aside a silver panel painted with birds. At the same moment Iriya entered by the opposite wall of the room, a mere white ghost of propriety. Yuki, almost in Gwendolen's arms, was pouring out rapid, disjointed, incorrect phrases of English,--sometimes with a whole sentence in her own tongue,--so that the listener could catch the meaning only in fragments. Dodge, after a bow to Mrs. Onda, walked straight to Yuki, took a seat near her, and by his quiet eyes compelled her attention. He began to speak in slow, deliberate Japanese that the mother also might understand. Whether interpreting through his careful pronouncing or divining from his emphasis, Gwendolen, too, seemed to follow him. "In allowing Miss Todd to call this morning, Miss Onda, her father, Minister Todd, has commissioned me to say to you--" "Don't you believe him!" cried Gwendolen, flinging herself bodily before Yuki. She turned flashing eyes upon the speaker. "The poor child has enough to bear already, without your giving more!" "I must deliver your father's message, Miss Todd. And I shall do so, though I have to wait until Miss Onda's father comes." At sound of that dreaded name Gwendolen's courage for the moment fell. Dodge quietly resumed, in Japanese, "While Mr. and Mrs. Todd have only the most affectionate feelings toward Miss Onda, they beg to recall the very delicate international questions raised by the present war. America being neutral--er--Miss Todd's official position--" "Miss Todd's official fiddlestrings," interrupted Gwendolen. "There, Yuki! He's through! That's all he had to say! Now can't we go into your bedroom, or out to the garden, and finish our conversation in peace?" "Gwendolen, dear,--no!" said Yuki, pressing her hand. "It is most terribly serious time with all. I am glad to have Mr. Dodge here; he will not prevent any help,--he will give it. I must now relate, Mr. Dodge," she went on, very brave and self-possessed, "the new, strange circumstance--" Suddenly she flushed the color of a peony, dropped her face in her hands, and murmured to Gwendolen, "Yes, you must say it, Gwendolen. It is such immodest things for Japanese girl to speak! You tell him." "I'm not sure that I understand very clearly myself," said Gwendolen, with a puzzled frown. Iriya stared on, white, motionless, unsmiling. "As far as I can make the trouble out," said Gwendolen, flinging her words to Dodge, rather than speaking them, "Prince Hagané backs Yuki's father, utterly, against Pierre. They won't consider the possibility of her ever marrying him. Worst of all, while her heart is sore with this, they are trying to force her into marriage with some rich old man,--some influential relative, I believe, of Hagané. Isn't he a relative, Yuki?" "No-o! He is not the relative," said Yuki, from behind sheltering hands. "It is himself--he--the Prince Hagané!" "Prince Hagané! Prince Sanétomo Hagané?" cried Dodge, in incredulous surprise. "Good Lord! Why, he's the biggest man in this kingdom, next to the Emperor and the Crown Prince! Has--has he made your father a formal offer of marriage for you, Miss Yuki?" Yuki nodded "Yes." "The old sport! So this has been his game," muttered Gwendolen to herself. At the full name of Hagané, a wintry smile of pride had flashed into Iriya's set face. "Whe-e-ew!" whistled Dodge, again. He could not get this wonder fixed. "I see now why your family is wound up like a spring, Miss Yuki. It's a superlative opportunity for you!" Gwendolen sat so still that first Yuki, then Dodge, stared at her. "What is it you think I can do with Pierre for you, Yuki?" asked the American girl, in a voice as strange as her silence. Yuki was slightly disconcerted. "Only, dear, that I want to be sure the truth is known to Mr. Le Beau. I would have more peace to feel that he knows correctly. And he then will understand why I cannot write to him, or see him, or answer when he sings the song of Carmen I told you." "You intend then to hold to Pierre, and throw over Prince Hagané, no matter what the consequences?" asked Gwendolen, curiously. "I know not about 'throw over.' It sounds a disrespectful word to so great a man. But I am bound to Pierre, as you know, by the promise." Again her face flushed. "I'll wager your father does not consider that promise binding," put in Dodge. "No, not my father, and not Prince Hagané," said Yuki, simply. "But then, you know, they is not me!" "I--er--presume not," answered he, absently. Now that the conversation was all in English, the pale effigy of Iriya did not even turn its eyes from one face to the other. It was her duty to her husband to be present, and so she remained. "Miss Yuki!" flashed out the young man, with new animation. "You haven't asked my advice, and you may not desire it. But let me say one thing. It seems awful to me,--even though I am an American, and can't know all the fine points of Japanese feeling,--to throw over a chance like this for a Frenchman! Is he worth it--?" "How would it seem if you were in the place of Pierre Le Beau?" cried Gwendolen, angrily, before Yuki could speak. The Japanese girl evidently was glad of the question. "Yes, yes!" she repeated. "How would you be?" She hung on his answer. The young man's eyes were cool, his voice crisp and convincing, as he said slowly, "In the first place, I could not imagine myself having forced any binding promise from a girl so far from her home and friends. I might have let her see I loved her,--a fellow can't always help that; but I wouldn't have tied her up in her own words until she had the backing of her own people." Gwendolen was all ready with a scornful word, but Yuki's small ice-cold hand upon her wrist restrained her. Yuki was leaning toward the young man, an eager gleam in her eyes. "Mr. Dodge, what was it that you meant by the su-per-lative opportunity--?" "I seem to be turned into a sort of Information Bureau on other people's morals to-day," smiled Dodge. "But this is an easy one. I meant just what a Japanese would mean,--a rousing good chance for patriotism. Isn't that what you thought?" Yuki's face fell, and her lips trembled. "Yes," she whispered like a child. "That is Japanese thought." "How lofty and superior! A Confucius come to judgment!" cried Gwendolen to Dodge. His calmness, his power of thought, so soon after their fatal quarrel, irritated her. It almost seemed to make light of her influence. Since she could not command, she wished at least to sting him. "And, Yuki, now _I_ have advice to give. If I loved Pierre as you do,--if I loved any man so that the thought of another turned me sick,--I'd be faithful to him until those old moat pines turned somersaults and came up again as grass! I'd marry him, though Jimmu Tenno, with a new sword and mirror, came down to prevent! You say that Pierre goes by here whistling. What's to hinder you from going to him? The women here would not prevent. Some time like this, when your father is absent,--mind, I don't advise the doing it,--only, I say, if you were tortured and driven to despair--" Yuki stopped her by a gesture. "Even that terrible thought has been thinked by me. But even if I wished it,--go to those garden shoji, Gwendolen. Open with some noisiness, and see what occurs." Gwendolen obeyed with vehemence, placing one still booted foot defiantly upon the veranda. Instantly, as if by magic, the two blue-clad gardeners crouched, in threatening attitudes, on the gravelled path below. At sight of the tall blonde girl the men literally froze into grizzled gargoyles. Gwendolen drew back with a cry, then instantly realized the situation. "Vile spies!" she exclaimed. "Hired assassins! If there were a man here, he would drown you in that pond! Go away! Shoo!" she shrieked at the astonished natives. Without a word, they exchanged slow, wondering glances, nodded, and withdrew. Gwendolen slammed the shoji together again. "No wonder you are pale, Yuki," she said, her voice trembling with excitement and indignation; "I never dreamed anybody would dare a thing like this!" "But how intensely romantic!" remarked Dodge, in a low voice, to the ceiling. Yuki did not try to answer. Her head drooped lower, lower, with each instant. Tears were coming in uncontrollable throbs to eyes that had, through deeper troubles, remained dry. This humiliation before friends of another world touched some secret personal spring of pride. She lifted first one gray sleeve, then the other, apologizing in low, broken sentences for the vulgarity of thus displaying grief. Gwendolen threw herself to the floor beside her friend, her own bright eyes becoming springs of sorrow. Dodge rose, standing helplessly near, and wishing himself somewhere else. Upon this lachrymosal tableau entered Tetsujo Onda, and stood for a moment incredulous, in the parted fusuma, like some image of Ojin Tenno, the God of War, a scowl carved deep in his brow. Gwendolen first caught sight of him. Rising to her knees, she tried by looks to wither him away. She might as well have blown seed-arrows from an iron dandelion. Dodge, the diplomat, rushed gallantly to the fore. "Good-morning, Mr. Onda," he began, bowing spasmodically. "Fine morning, isn't it? We were just making a little call in the neighborhood, and ran in to see your wife and daughter,--foreign custom, you know!--and the young ladies have to talk and weep sometimes over their happy, vanished school days!" "Ugh!" grunted the unwilling host, scantily returning one of the many bows. "Just so--just so," said Dodge, with increasing cordiality. "And now we must bid you good day. Miss Todd and I were just on the point of starting. This is the daughter--the only child, you know--of the new American minister to Japan." "I know of her, and you, and the Frenchman, and much else," said Onda, with a disconcerting warp of the lips meant for a smile. "Go! If you love me, make quick goings," whispered Yuki, with her arms around Gwendolen's neck. "With nothing settled--no appointment for you and--" "It is hopeless," put in Yuki, instantly. "Mention no name! They will guard me now much closer. Oh, it's my father's doing, not Hagané; he is noble!" "Then I will see--the other, and tell him clearly. How shall I let you know?" "A telegram. No one will keep that from me. Send it in English,--in hard words, you understand! And, oh, Gwendolen, send it to-morrow before twilight. Pray for me!" Ignoring Tetsujo's increasing rage, Yuki followed her friend to the very door, pausing for a last embrace. "You are my good friend--my golden friend! Nothing between our hearts can ever come. Ne?" "Never! Never! Ne?" answered Gwendolen, trying to smile. Yuki turned, and went back as a prisoner to an inky cell. * * * * * Out on the street, at the carriage-step, two pleasing Americans paused, and eyed each other much with the expression of a pair of young game-cocks. "Well!" said the tan-colored fowl, superbly, "why do you hesitate? Is it to beg paw-don of some one?" "I beg paw-don?" echoed the other, in mild surprise. "No, certainly not! How could you fawncy such a thing? Do _you_?" Gwendolen, with a muffled exclamation, sprang unaided into the carriage. "Go on! Hurry up! American Legation--Koshikwan, I mean! This beastly lingo--" she cried to the driver, and so far forgot herself as to prod him in the American flags. The startled servant looked down and over her, to Dodge, for confirmation. "It's all right, betto!" said Dodge, airily, in Japanese. "I prefer walking back. Take the august young lady home by a long, long road! She has become honorably overheated!" Gwendolen gave the speaker one helpless glare, threw herself back in the seat, and was gone. Dodge stood in the middle of the road, looking after the carriage until bamboo hedges closed in upon it, and the noises of its rattling wheels faded into the myriad sounds of the city below him. CHAPTER SIXTEEN The month of March was at hand. Tempestuous winds howled and whirled in the pine and camphor trees, in the flame-like, springing bamboo groves, and under temple eaves. The air was full of petals and scraps of green. Sometimes a tiny flake of flint stung the face, and between the teeth an uncomfortable grit blew in. Angry gray clouds piled high from the north, westward from the Atlantic, eastward from that "rough and black" water we call the Yellow Sea. The very firmament was in torment. The wind, combated at once by many currents, tore at times great eddies in the gray, letting the sun down in avalanches of light. Yuki saw the shadow and the sun pass, like fleeting ghosts, across the garden; felt the chill and warmth alternating in their wakes. The wind tossed cruelly the branches of cherry-trees, where sharp-pointed buds in clusters, just showing a first hint of pink, were set. The plum-tree was bare but for a few timid green leaves. Now and then a twig or branch snapped, and fell sharply on the gravelled pathway, where instantly one of the blue-robed gardeners advanced to pick it up. In the cowed house Yuki moved like some waxen automaton, living only in the one sense of hearing. Every cry from the street, every wind-jangle of the gate-bell, sent her currents of hope and apprehension. Tetsujo grimly ignored the intensifying strain, but Iriya's pitying eyes turned more often to her child. The servants kept to themselves, whispering and exchanging glances. Now the bamboo hedges which shut out the main street-line bent over, at times almost to the earth, writhing, stretching, and squeaking at the confining strips of wood that sought to hold them erect. Besides the hedge-bamboo, "sa-sa," the fence had an inner line of cruel orange-thorn. Yuki had watched the elemental conflict greedily. Suddenly a snatch of Carmen's love-song rode the wind. It was the sound she had expected. Her little hands sought each other within the silken sleeves, and clutched so fiercely that a nail snapped. Again came the song, nearer this time, just without the gate. It was a strange, incongruous note, as if an English lark should rise from the bruised and battered hedge. Yuki heard a movement in the next room, where Tetsujo sat among his books. Perhaps it was coincidence that Suzumé brought her, exactly at this moment, a fresh tray of tea. The blue gardeners strolled together into full view, and stooped, as if to discuss the condition of a botan bush, now beaten down. Square upon the back of one of them fell a queer winged missive, a scrap of foreign paper weighted with a pebble. Yuki saw it clearly. Old Suzumé, with a stifled gasp, crouched in her place. The girl poured tea for herself, and drank it calmly. The pelted gardener, without so much as a look around, lifted the scrap of paper as if it had been a broken bud, and slipped it, weight and all, into his sleeve. The Carmen song stopped. Suzumé, with a last sly glance, slipped from the room. Yuki pressed one hand to her throat. It would be no harm to sing the answering strain. What though her father and her jailers heard? If once the song sped forth, not even their craft could recall it. Pierre would understand, then, that she heard, but was a prisoner; that even the written note he threw could not be received. Once, twice, the white lips parted, and the slender throat stiffened for an answering phrase; but no sound came. It was as in nightmare dreams, where one seeks to cry aloud, and finds that the voice is gone. Now her father was on his feet. She heard his long, swinging stride go through the house. At the door she heard him kick his wooden clogs, and give a gruff order to O Maru San. Then the harsh scraping feet passed along the garden stones, the little bell clamored, and the gate-panel closed with a bang. "Ma-a-a!" she heard old Suzumé cry. "This is not the master I have known for fifty years. He must be bewitched by a fox." Maru gave a little giggle, which the elder woman quickly suppressed. Iriya, in the guest-room, moved like a cat. Yuki knew that all were against her,--spies, enemies. Passages from the Psalms of her Christian Bible came to the girl. "They compass me round about on every side. I am set in the midst of snares." She ran out into the garden, now, listening for sounds of violence from the street. Nothing came but the wailing of wind. Tetsujo returned as abruptly as he had gone. Yuki, steeling herself against the look of aversion certain to be met, went before him, not questioning, but searching his face with haggard eyes for some possible sign of at least a will-conflict between him and Pierre. She fancied, in her abnormal state of mind, that something of Pierre's thought must cling to his enemy, and so be transmitted to her. But Tetsujo's face was as blank and expressionless as the glazed side of one of Suzumé's tea-jars on the kitchen shelf. Unable to breathe longer that overweighted air, Yuki caught up a gray shawl from her room, and went boldly out again into the garden. The rain had ceased entirely. The wind, though fiercer when it came, came at increasing intervals. Through one of these temporary lulls Yuki reached the bleak little pond. The encircling rocks appeared older, grimmer, and more shrunken. A few of the bordering plants had been twisted and split. One was overturned, its ochre roots clutching at the unfriendly air, the evergreen branches plunged deep into quivering gray water. As if in wonder that so frail a creature as a girl should dare its strength, the storm, crouching and growling for a last effort, hurled the full bulk of its viewless majesty upon her. She was beaten bodily upon the rocks. But for the protecting shawl she might have been blinded, or the long black hair torn from her. For an instant breath stopped; but in the wake of it came exultation. Lifting her head, she smiled a challenge to the storm to snatch her faint soul from her lips, and bear it far, like a petal, on that streaming tide of heaven. The blue-robed gardeners, crouching in the shelter of a rock, stared at her in wonder. Iriya's face came for one white instant to the veranda and vanished. Yuki could hear the very timbers groan. The bands of dead bamboo, lashed in horizontal strips to the living hedge, squeaked and buckled, and squeaked again, in absurd imitation of animate torture. In the pond the pear-shaped water was smitten into one gelatinous, cowering mass. Suddenly the wind went. Sounds all about her of stress and terror changed into whimpers, whispers, moans, and small complainings. The pond-water sprang up in small simultaneous waves which all pawed and clamored at the rooks for explanation. Yuki stood upright, realizing dully her slow return to sanity and poise. The storm had swept her, for a moment, out of her own reach. In the recoil she grudged her soul its habitation. Now the nonchalant gardeners crossed her path, making respectful salutation in transit. Her eyes followed them absently, but all at once became glued to a small sagging point in the left sleeve of the shorter man. As they disappeared around the corner plum-tree, she sank to one of the rocks. As if she had not enough to bear already, without the torture of speculation on the purport of those written words she was never to see! Her hands fell limp, her head sank. The gray shawl crept by unnoticed inches to the earth. Wearily the girl opened the portals of her thought to the same hopeless throng of shrouded visitors,--conjectures, all of them, moving solemnly one behind the other,--creatures without a face,--half-animate forms with no clear direction or purpose except to move on. What was to be the end of it all, for her? There was no answer to that. Tetsujo apparently would neither disown her nor relinquish his determination to marry her quickly. It did not seem much to ask, only to be let alone; and yet in some strange way this had come to be a priceless, impossible boon. Pierre's note she would never see. She had not been able to answer his Carmen song. One way alone remained open for communication, and that was Gwendolen's telegram. She had faith that, in some way, this would get to her. At the cry, "Dempo!" she had determined to rush out in person and demand it. Even though this succeeded, she could not fix great hope on its content. Surely no thought would come to Pierre but the old loving, desperate, appealing cry, "Be true, be faithful, and we may yet find happiness!" How the foreigners harped upon that thought of personal happiness! It was, to most of them, the one definite aim in life. To Pierre--dear, beautiful, joyous Pierre--it was life itself. A Japanese is taught from childhood to look upon happiness as the casual flower of his evergreen garden,--the lotos on a still pond of duty. It is never an incentive, never in itself a conscious reward. She had tried to teach Pierre this, but he had laughed at her, and said it was because Japanese did not know how to love. Yuki fixed thoughtful eyes on a small shrivelled tuft of fern near her feet. Its once graceful fronds were cruelly bruised and twisted, first by frost, and now by this pitiless storm. "I know how it feels," thought Yuki. "My father's harshness, my mother's suffering, and my own desire to be faithful have so wrung and bruised my heart." After a pause she said aloud, "I wonder if it thinks itself really dead?" She stooped down slowly, and parted the sodden, clinging scraps of brown. In the heart a nest of tiny leaflets curled, like baby glow-worms, close wrapped in silky filaments of down. They seemed to shrink from her icy fingers, as if to say: "Let us be still! We are only asleep. Those tattered brown bed-curtains keep us warm." Yuki stood upright again. The expression of her face was altered, and her eyes now slowly softened into tears. "My poor Pierre! my poor Pierre!" she whispered. "If he were just a little more noble, if he were a Japanese, he would say, 'It is best that you should obey your parents, and serve at once your native land.' But he will not say it! And I have promised!" She leaned over for another moment, heaping the dead fern-leaves above their sleeping youth, then walked slowly to the house. One star, at least, shone clear in her troubled firmament. If Pierre should, through Gwendolen's intercession, or through some awakened vision of his own, telegraph, urging her to be true to her better self, no matter what the grief to her plighted love,--then she could wish to marry that great man, Hagané, to pay her filial debt to the now stricken parents, to show her love and loyalty to Nippon! Of course there was no hope that Pierre would do this; but if he should,--if he should--! The wind came again and again, but never so terribly as for that one moment by the pond. Ordinary sounds of domestic life arose from the Onda household, and from the neighbors around it. Cocks began to crow, as if the storm-clearing was of their own contrivance; sparrows chirped. The white tailless cat picked a dainty way along the outer edges of bamboo gutters. Cries of belated peddlers came cheerily from the street. "To-o-fu-u! To-o-fu-u-u!" called the bean-curd man, with his characteristic upward inflection on the last syllable. "Chi-chee! Ichiban chi-chee!" cried the milk-peddler, trotting between the shafts of his small, closed cart. He was very proud of this cart, and because of it considered himself the most aristocratic kitchen-visitor on the hill. Its color was a loud, blasphemous blue. On the sides, in letters of yellow edged with black, were two inscriptions. The first, in Chinese ideographs, announced prompt delivery of the richest and freshest milk. Below it, in English, glowed the startling line, "Fresh Ox-Milk Every Hours." Suzumé had long been a patron of the blue cart. A little thin-necked milk-bottle dangled, now empty, by a bit of white cord, just without the gate. This the milk-boy removed, substituting one that was full, though equally stopperless. The soba-ya (buckwheat-man), lurching and skimming along under a bent kiri-wood pole that bore at one end a chest of drawers and at the other a steaming furnace with bowls, copper-pots, and a ladle, naturally had little voice left for vociferous proclamation. His coming was indicated, at long range, by the click and shiver of copper drawer-handles beating in unison against half-filled boxes. According to the quantity of dry buckwheat in each drawer, the handle uttered a different note. Needless to say, this burdened hawker loitered long at each gate; but at the Onda entrance he stayed longest of all. It was Maru's happy privilege to bargain with these several venders. Her heart found an answering thump and shiver as the soba-ya drew near. "Honorably steamed, or augustly raw, O maiden of the lovely countenance?" asked he of the blushing one. "Augustly boiled, to-day, kind sir,--if you can graciously condescend to bestow the amount of two sens' worth," rejoined Maru, sucking in her breath with ceremonious emphasis as she presented a small green bowl. This flirtation was already becoming talked of in the neighborhood. More than one curious "ba-san" (old woman), relieved by age from personal domestic cares, sought peepholes and crannies in neighboring hedges when the smell of buckwheat warmed the air. The buckwheat man bestowed an encouraging smile. "The noblest of my customers invariably prefer my worthless viands honorably boiled," said he, with a side glance from under the brim of his malachite Derby. "As for that, you, by preparing so deliciously the delectable food, make buying necessary," simpered the purchaser with a rosier glow. A slim and seemingly boneless cur, who also had nostrils for hot buckwheat, scraped a stealthy way along the hedge toward them. He felt that the flirtation might have possibilities for him. "D[=o]-mo!" said the peddler, with deprecating nods. "The stuff is poor, I fear. It is but your divine condescension and pitying heart that make you encourage me." He lifted the copper lid of his cauldron, and began ladling out a goodly portion of the slippery ware. "Who is the mad young foreigner with yellow hair who now haunts the foot of this hill?" asked the peddler, during his precarious occupation. "Ma-a!" cried Maru under her breath. She craned her neck to look furtively up and down the street, and then asked in a confidential whisper, "Is there indeed such a person at the foot of this august hill?" "I speak simple truth. Surely you know of him. In all the roads he is to be seen. He moves so quickly the children say there are two of him. They cry at his approach, though he flings them many rin and sen, and hide faces in their mothers' sleeves." "Repeat it not from me," cautioned Maru. "Aunt Suzumé would surely scorch me with her pipe, should she hear me gossiping. But he is a grand foreigner, son of a king, who is wild with love to marry our Miss Yuki; but she repels him, for she is asked in marriage by a much greater person, of Japan,--a very, very great prince!" Maru swelled her fat chest like a pigeon. The interest in her auditor's face thrilled her. She opened her mouth for further revelations, when a sneeze from the kitchen brought her caution. "I--I dare not tell his name," she added weakly. "You are honorably to be commended for your prudence," gravely declared the soba-ya, though he was swallowing hard this lump of disappointment. "Prudence is an excellent quality, particularly in a wife. Is it true--er--ahem!--is it true, small round one, that the ancient dame who presides over the kitchen of your noble household is, indeed, your one surviving relative?" "Te-he-he!" giggled little Maru in blissful discomfort. "She truly is, O most worthy sir,--but why should you wish to know?" "Much reason is existent," said the other, with such meaning that Maru, after an enraptured gasp, let the entire contents of the bowl tilt, and then fall with a wet thud to the earth. The white cur, having well calculated his chances, reaped the reward of intelligence if not of virtue, and went down the hill with a yelp of joy. "Kwannon help me!" cried the girl at this catastrophe. "For this a great beating may be honorably bestowed upon me!" "Nay, maiden, be calm!" said the gallant youth. "Free of charge will I restore it. Give me the bowl!" Tremblingly she did so. Their fingers met beneath the sage-green rim. Maru's round face glowed more like a peony than ever. "Maru! Ma-_roo_!" came a voice from within. "Is the buckwheat-man boiling you, that so long you remain? Worthless vagabond! Let him leave at once!" "It is Aunt Suzumé! I must go! Again to-morrow you will augustly pause at our broken-down step, will you not?" "Though in the night I should make divine retirement, yet to-morrow at this hour would my ghost return to bring your buckwheat!" protested the swain. With one more gasp of ecstasy, and the crossing of two pairs of small slanting eyes, the lovers separated. A moment later the peculiar click and chitter of the metal handles came back through dying gusts of wind. * * * * * Tetsujo, immediately after luncheon, returned to his book-room, where now he spent all his waking hours. After some indeterminate search among his well-worn favorites, he took down a volume of Toemmei's poems, a venerable old Chinese classic, and began to read aloud. Iriya, in the kitchen, had already begun to discuss the evening meal. Yuki sat, listlessly, with folded hands, in her own room, next to the library. Her one thought now was to hear the cry "Dempo!" which should announce the coming of Gwendolen's telegram. To look out upon an indefinite period of such days as these was almost more than the girl's brave spirit could endure. Yet, to Pierre she had given an oath. She had let him break the long hairpin. If he commanded her "Be firm and true," she would be true, no matter what came! Through these dark, monotonous thoughts, her father's voice, low, rich, and sonorous, with the jerky melodic chant and rhythm imposed by long reading aloud of Chinese literature, flowed up and finally compelled her. So had she been taught to read in childhood, before her long sojourn in a foreign land. "'Let me now return, for my farm and garden are growing wild! As the boat skims lightly along the water, the wind plays with my sleeves. O boatman! how far yet to my home? So far, and yet the hour so late! Now, now at last I see my own loved gate, and enter with joyous rush.'" The deep tones rose as in triumph, then sank again to infinite tenderness. "'The paths to my steps are growing up wild with grass, but the pine and the chrysanthemums still flourish. With my children in my arms I enter the house, drink a refreshing draught, and gaze, and gaze again at the shadows under the garden trees. "'Return! Return! Why should I not return? Let me renounce the intercourse and pleasure of the world! Let me and the world renounce each other! There is nothing more for me to derive from the world!-- "'The farmers come in and tell me that spring is approaching. There are rumors of war in the West. But why should they interfere with my rambles? The trees put on a smile and begin to bud. The streams look busy and begin to flow. What joy to see all things fall due at their season! And yet I am reminded that my season, too, is almost come. Alas! The lodging of man in this Inn of the Universe is but for a single season!'" Yuki's hands were pressed against her breast. In the samurai's slow, fervid utterance one could feel each word fill and thrill the heroic heart before utterance came to the lips. He was deriving strength and comfort from the immortal ode. "'Commit then, O soul, thyself upon the current of things!'" rose the exulting pæan. "'Let me choose my own time. Let me go out for my solitary walk! Let me hobble about the farm on my friendly cane. Let me toil up the Eastern hill, look the clear brook in the face, and sing it my dying songs. So let me end my days as days of themselves may end. So shall my joy flow on with the eternal will of Heaven!'" Yuki sat upright, her wide eyes fixed, as it were, upon the viewless flight of echo. "And they of the Western world say that my people have no true religion, no deep belief. Their souls crawl, where ours take wings! Nippon, Nippon, my country!" The magnificence of her nation's past, the heroism, self-sacrifice inherent in her countrymen, the passionate craving for what is spiritual and sublime, the belief in watchful spirits of dead ancestors, in the divinity and guidance of dead Emperors manifest in the living flesh, came in a flood and bore up the girl's spirit in a tide of light. What were foreign education, foreign friendship, foreign pledges,--love itself,--to a girl of Yamato Damashii? She was Japanese, one small animate cell in a living tissue of race. To serve her country, that, indeed, should be life's worth. "Pierre, Pierre," she sobbed. "I shall not bring you joy, nor can you give to me the duty that it is my part to bear. Let me go, dear one, let me go, and pray to our Christian God that your kisses fade from me, and your blue eyes be turned away. If I were only myself I would die, or defy for you everything. But I am not myself; I am what my ancestors, my parents and my country have made me; I am only one shivering mote of dust in my country's shining destiny. Let me go, my dear; Kwannon will bless you!" Slow, helpful tears began to course, unfelt, along her white cheeks. All at once the physical exhaustion of long, sleepless nights and days unendurable began to tell on her. The glossy head bent over, lower and lower. Tetsujo, after a long pause, had begun an heroic epic of the Heiké clan. The words were indistinct, a sort of splendid blur. She had an impression of horses, arms, war-shouts, and of fluttering banners on distant hills. Then all sounds began to die away. She smiled faintly, and stretched out her slender young limbs upon the soft matting. Soon she was asleep, with the long, regular breaths of childhood. Without stirring, she remained in the unconscious pose for hours. Iriya, peeping in upon her, choked back a little sob of thanksgiving, and turned away to kneel, in her room, before the ancestral shrine. Lights burned here always, and the pleasant aroma of fresh tea was seldom absent. With hands struck very softly together, that the sleeper should not be disturbed, Iriya supplicated the gods of her home and of her nation that the child should be given clearer vision. A European would have demanded personal happiness for her daughter. The Japanese soul sees deeper, and asks, as the highest boon, power to carry out, in this life, that which has been decreed, and so, for the future, to achieve a nobler attitude. * * * * * Just at the hour of twilight Iriya returned, and kneeling, called softly, "Yuki-ko--my heart's treasure--you must awake." Yuki sat upright instantly. "Has the dempo come?" "Yes," said Iriya, presenting a pink sealed missive. "And in the guest-room waits Prince Hagané." Yuki tore the telegram apart, threw open the shoji for more light, and read: "Find it impossible to do anything with P no logic or reason pathetic but a child we all think case hopeless forever in your place would accept H whatever happens I am your loving faithful G." "It is a terribly long message to come in such an expensive way. Surely it is from a foreigner," ventured Iriya. "How long has it been here, mother?" Iriya showed embarrassment. "Since about noon, I believe. Suzumé honorably received it and gave it to her master, as she was bid. Your father would not let you have it now, but that Prince Hagané took it from his hands and sent it. He says you are to read and consider it; also that you must not hasten. What marvellous kindness he always shows, that great man!" Yuki rose slowly. "He is great and kind. Give thanks to him, my mother, and say that I shall enter within a few moments." Iriya prepared to leave. She had searched her daughter's eyes for a loving recognition, but in vain. On the threshold she wavered. "My baby,--my only one!" she cried aloud brokenly, and held out her arms. In an instant, before Yuki could respond, she closed the fusuma and ran toward the guest-room. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Prince Hagané sat in the place of honor, his back to the tokonoma, where new flowers bloomed and incense perfumed the space. His robes, of the usual magnificent quality of silk, had to-night a deep bronze color. The candles, placed one on each side of him, threw down a yellow light, which took the wrinkles from his scarred face and some of the sadness from his mouth. To Tetsujo's feasting eyes he appeared as a god; not the meek, forgiving Buddha whom women and children adore, but some splendid old war-god of Shinto tradition, young with the immortality of youth, yet old as the world in wisdom. The outer shoji stood well apart, letting in the chill, wet sweetness of the night. The storm had now quite died away. The air of the room was so still that the candle-flames stood like balanced flakes of topaz, and the white smoke of the burning incense hung like a silver cord from the gloom above. The moment that Yuki entered, Hagané, with his trained vision, saw that some great spiritual change had taken place. The look of miserable defiance he feared was not there. Iriya had waited for her. The two women advanced to the great visitor, and bowed before him three times, then went back modestly to the far end of the room. Suzumé brought fresh tea, and two new balls of charcoal for the hibachi. As the servant left, Iriya asked of her husband, "Shall I also withdraw?" "It is according to our lord's will," answered Tetsujo, his eyes turning to the prince. "What would you prefer, Yuki-ko?" Hagané's voice was kind. "I should prefer my mother to remain," answered Yuki, without hesitation. "Madame Onda, I beg you to honor us with your presence," said Hagané, with a slight bow. Onda Tetsujo frowned. If his loyal nature allowed him to make one criticism of his daimyo, it was of a certain lax, foreign politeness toward women. The fault seemed to increase with years. Whether Prince Hagané suspected this disapprobation or not, on this occasion at least he made no attempt to modify it. "I have come in person, little Yuki-ko, to hear your thought. No, do not speak yet!" he interpolated, with a slight lifting of the right hand. "Wait until I give you questions to answer! At the beginning there must be quiet discussion between us four, with no haste or opposition on the part of--any." He looked, with these last words, directly at his old retainer. "My Lord, my Lord!" fumed Tetsujo, "shall I be able to contain myself while you condescend to bandy words with a mere girl?" "If I command it, I think you will contain yourself," said the prince, easily. Tetsujo rocked on the matting, gripped his arms tightly, and was silent. "The gods seem to have decreed no happiness for me in marriage," said Hagané, impersonally, to all. "Perhaps they have only new mockery in store, if now, in my old age, I dare take to myself this fair flower. Yet am I tempted; by the good for her, as it seems to me; by my friendship for you, Onda Tetsujo; and by the need for an official mistress of my house. I can give her unusual opportunity to serve Nippon, as in my letter I wrote." Iriya, in her corner, put her face to the floor. "My Lord, even that you have thought it, makes richer the traditions of our house--through ten succeeding generations." "I would not have the child consent because of family honors, my good dame," said Hagané, a little sadly. "Shall I speak now, Lord?" asked Yuki, in her sweet, steady voice. Tetsujo ground his teeth, but managed to keep silent. "Would you speak of the young Frenchman, whose mother is a Russian?" Yuki's eyes fell and her chin quivered. "Yes, your Highness." "Speak!--fully!" said he, after a pause. "He offered me marriage many times, your Highness, and I refused, saying that not without my parents' consent could I answer. Then, at one hour, being weak, I promised. In the foreign land, where you and my father sent me, such promises bind,--even as the oaths of men. I have been bound." "Gods of my ancestors! Must I listen to this cat-mewing?" groaned Onda. "Be quiet! The girl shall speak. Yes, Yuki," he continued, his eyes softening as they returned to her white face, "I felt that you had promised. And so, in my letter, if you will recall, I assured you that you were not bound." "Your Highness!" ventured the girl, at length. "It was your noble thought, your decision, not my own. I am bound." Hagané looked at her in mild wonder, with the faintest touch of a smile. "And not even your daimyo's word can free your childish promise? You have courage." "The mad lynx! Let me deal with her!" panted Tetsujo. "He, my father, so speaks and thinks of me!" broke in the girl, with passionate protest and a wide-flung gesture toward Onda. "In that country no shame is felt for such a promise. Yet my father treats me as an outcast, a blot upon the family name! I ask you, Lord, who are great and strong, to help me!" "To what shall I help you, little one? To marriage with an alien?--repudiation of a country that I serve?" "No, Lord; for of myself I could not marry him, now, with my dear land at war. When I first knew him, war had not become even a threat. Only against--misunderstanding--and, Lord,--being forced--!" Hagané interrupted her with his slight gesture. "You will be forced to nothing!--not now, nor so long as my voice can use the speech of living men! Your decision is valueless unless it be your own. It may be even harmful; for the young branch, held down by force, slashes heaven in its rebound. Nay, child! I would have you bend slowly to my proffered opportunity, weighted by your own ripening desire for loyalty and service. To compel you would be impiety. Believe yourself protected by my word, and by my faith in you! Be calm and think seriously, for upon this hour depends more than you can fathom!" His deep voice boomed into a silence long maintained. One of the tall candles sputtered and flared. Iriya rose quickly to mend it. Tetsujo's arms, within short blue cotton sleeves, were folded and pressed tightly down upon his chest, as if to keep back straining utterance. Through the stillness his quick breaths ran. The girl gazed out now, motionless, beyond Hagané into the wet blankness of the garden. Familiar outlines of rock and bridge and pine kept there, she knew, their changeless postures. Only a fallen darkness hid them. So in her heart must be immovable shapes and living growths of heroism and selfless devotion. An Occidental training superimposed upon a child's fresh fancy; a foreign love, jealously guarding for its own purpose the tissues of new thought,--these things hid the garden of her heart as night now hid her father's garden. Hagané's look and words were bringing dawn, a dawn perhaps of sorrow, a day dragged up from an heroic past, and trailing its own hung clouds of tears. Hagané spoke again. His deep voice calmed and satisfied the unstable silence. He changed his position very slightly, facing Yuki more squarely. He raised his massive chin, and a smile played on a mouth that seemed made for stern sadness. Quite irrelevantly, he began to relate to his small audience an incident of his crowded day. "Do you remember, Tetsujo,--Yuki also may recall from her childhood's impression,--that, as one stands on the jutting corner of my Tabata land, by the large leaning maple,--a corner so steep that it must be upheld by the hewn trunks of pines,--exactly at foot of the cliff stands a very small cottage, with roof patched by the rusted sides of old foreign kerosene cans?" He paused for an answer. Yuki's eyes would not leave the dark mystery of the night. "I remember most clearly, your august Highness," murmured Onda, with a respectful inclination of his head toward the great man, but an indignant scowl in the direction of Yuki. "An aged woman and her only child, a son, live in that house. He is a good son, for though hot with the desire for military service, he has kept steadily to his labor as under-gardener on my place. There seemed to be no one else with whom his mother could find a home. Of late the boy has looked ill. I have overheard the servants say that his soul was attempting to leave the chained body and go off, as it wished, to the battlefield. Such agony as this repression, I believe only our countrymen are capable of experiencing or of enduring." Now, at last, Yuki turned and fixed her look on Hagané. He did not notice this any more than he had seemed to observe her previous indifference. "The youth dutifully kept this longing from the old dame. But she questioned, and through her slow round of domestic services she pondered. Then she came to understand. Perhaps the young soldier-husband, dead for thirty years, had returned--to whisper. Whatever the cause, she came--to--understand." He paused an instant, as if to take a firmer hold upon his voice. "To-day,--scarcely an hour ago, Yuki,--the youth, returning from labor, found his mother--dead--before the family shrine. She had used her husband's short sword. It will be buried with her. The smile upon her old face had gained already the youth and glory of a god's. She left no message; the smile told him all.--To-morrow the son takes passage for Manchuria." Yuki's dawn had come. It hurt her, like the birth of a soul. Hagané saw the same look which, for one fleet instant, he had evoked from her at Washington. His strong heart reeled toward the girl. Iriya was sobbing softly. Tetsujo sat square like a box. He envied the mother and the son. He saw no pathos in the tale, only victory. Those two would be together on the Yalu; while he, Tetsujo, famed warrior, skilled swordsman, must pine at home and listen to the pulings of weak women! The glory grew on Yuki. Above the flowers of the tokonoma, above Hagané's head, hung a tattered battle-flag of their own clan. She recognized it now. Her hands trembled. She lifted them toward Hagané. "Onda Yuki-ko!" he almost whispered, so deep and tense his voice became. "This year, this day, this very hour, may be the pivot of human history upon this planet! And is not the diamond-point on which that mighty turning rests, the Spirit of Japan?" "Banzai Nippon! Dai Nippon! Banzai! Banzai!" shouted Tetsujo, and beat his fists on the matting. Hagané, with a smile that seemed to deprecate yet condone his kerai's vehemence, went on directly to Yuki. "Strange that Western minds--the astute American politician, the journalist, even the cleverest of Europe's statesmen--hardly claim to look forward more than a few years,--five, ten, at best half a century! They want results they shall live to see--after them the deluge! As they have forgotten the very names of their grandfathers, so they ignore their descendants. But we of the East count time in other lengths. We do not bound our horizon with personal aim or the catchword of a day. We owe,--we owe ourselves,--all, to a future that we may not comprehend, but have no right, in our ignorance, to cramp. What we are fighting for at this moment will not be fully realized for two hundred years. Then it will be seen as a great landscape in a valley. Your foreigners are like children that play now in that valley. But every Japanese patriot stands lonely on a mountain,--very lonely, very lonely!" "Is one alone in a shining company of spirits, Lord?" asked Yuki, a wonderful glow now kindling in her long eyes. "Will that youth of whom you told us be lonely, though he stand singly against a squadron of Cossacks? Where is his mother's soul? O Gods of my country! O my dear Christian God! why was it not given to me to be a man?" "Do you think that the soul of a woman who shirks would be less cowardly if put into the body of a man? Even your Christians could tell you better." "Lord! Lord!" cried the girl to him in great stress, "am I indeed of the coward's heart? Is this thing I call fidelity but a shirking?" "A Japanese has no fidelity but to his Emperor!" thundered Onda. "Be quiet, Tetsujo! Listen, poor wavering little heart; I will try to make you understand. You cannot be allowed to marry this man, not because we wish to thwart you, but--" "I said I would not marry him, now,--not now!" "Then what will you do?" asked Hagané. "All are striving to their utmost. What will be your part? Do you intend to sit sullen and inactive here, at home?" "The wench shall remain no longer under my roof!" raged Tetsujo. "She will remain under your roof, good Tetsujo, and be treated with courtesy," corrected the prince. "Let me go as a nurse! Oh, I could never stay with them! Their harsh eyes would flay me! I feel even now their hatred!" "Not mine, my baby, my only child!" wailed Iriya. "Think not so of your mother's imperishable love!" Yuki at last hid her face. The note of anguish in her mother's voice overcame her pathetic defiance. "My official residence is cold and lonely," remarked Hagané, sipping slowly at some tea. "It sorely needs a mistress well acquainted with foreign etiquette. Foreigners are to be met and conciliated. The Emperor himself, and his shining spouse, would receive one who so served her land, and hear from her own lips impressions of America, and the sentiments of the people there toward us. A woman's intuition is keen, and penetrates farther than a man's weightier judgment,--just as the tendrils of a vine creep into lattices which a tree would only darken. It is in such a capacity, Yuki-ko, that you could do immediate good. My disorganized servants would again be set into grooves of usefulness. Another reason, which must not be spoken openly, as yet,--I may soon be called to the front, and the several residences should not be closed." "Lord! You would trust with such responsibilities a weak, untutored girl like me?" "Yes, little one, I would trust you." "And I would be in all respects--your--wife?" asked Yuki, in a very low tone. "Yes. Why not? What is the human body but a petal drifting in the wind? If, for a moment, the bright tint or the fleeting perfume please, is it not best to grasp the trivial pleasure? Yet it is to great things that I call you, Onda Yuki. Things of service, of the spirit, heroism perhaps, perhaps self-sacrifice,--for the flesh is stubborn. This shall be your proof of loyalty to your Emperor and to this land!" "I would gladly die for them!" she cried. Hagané emptied the few dregs of his teacup into the hot ashes of the hibachi, ignoring the ceremonial little bowl put near for the purpose. "It was in Washington, I believe, that once before you made that foolish remark. What use would death be, especially if you seek it as an escape from conditions that do not please you? Cowardice is a crime of the spirit! I see no chance for you to serve but this." "But to be your wife, your wife--while yet he--that other--holds my pledge!" murmured the girl, piteously, under her breath. "I prayed for freedom, but he would not send it--!" Gwendolen's telegraphic words, "I would accept H." came to her like a little gust of refreshing wind. She looked again squarely into Hagané's noble face. For the first time Pierre's rose before her, a little weak, a little over-delicate, with incipient lines of self-indulgence. "My child," said Hagané, almost in a pleading tone, "Japan must not lose you. Put your life into my hands, and let me wield it for our country's need. I believe my motives to be selfless. If indeed your young beauty blurs my vision, then will punishment rightly follow. But I take that hazard. Had I a son, you should be, more fitly, his wife." "If your father's everlasting curse--" Tetsujo began; but Hagané stopped him. "We need no curses, Tetsujo! You are showing yourself unworthy of this brave child. Be quiet, I say; and let her own soul speak to her!" Iriya gasped, and Onda bit his thick lip to the blood. Yuki's lifted face had the pathos of dying music. "Will my soul speak, Lord?" she breathed. The sound of her voice was cold and thin, and touched with a mystic fear. Almost as if gathered in to answer, from the far distance a muffled chorus of a thousand whispering voices quivered in the air,--drawing nearer, nearer,--until the sound seemed to press upon their very hearts. Now over the garden a soft, pale light began to dawn. It grew to a concourse of a thousand spirit-lamps, crossing, recrossing, flickering, then passing on. Feet moving softly, though by the hundred, went by in ghostly rhythm. "Lord! Lord!" panted Yuki, wild-eyed. "What is it? Do you hear also? or is it only I?" Hagané did not answer at once. He watched the girl's face as one watches a changing chemical. When the sound had grown unmistakably human, though of voices kept low and tense with unusual awe, he said quietly, "You have all heard of the brave young Commander Hirosé, who died rescuing his friend, in the second attempt to block Port Arthur. This is a band of Koishikawa students passing down to the railway station to meet him." He stopped, wondering how much the girl could endure. The glare of the white lanterns, borne aloft, ploughed a great soundless trench of light through the trees and houses that line the steep slope of Kobinata's hill. Light surged over the thorn and bamboo hedges of Onda's home, brimming the garden with a tender radiance, and revealing hillock, shrub, and tree as in a faint unearthly dream. It threw a deeper glow into the face of Hagané, and over the battle-flag above him. As for Tetsujo, he listened to the passing of countless feet in sullen gloom. He hated the students that they were young. He envied the death of Hirosé. It would be a clear personal joy to die that way, and have one's name blazoned as a new god. A nobler soul might have cared little for such posthumous recognition; but old Onda's generosity did not reach that height. To him, heaven was a place where spirits swaggered, and bore the two swords of the samurai. Hagané, looking only at Yuki, continued softly: "A hundred thousand lanterns of the dead will be carried this night, for the brave boy. It is but a fragment of his flesh, that was found with a bit of uniform clinging to it; but the precious relic will have--friends, to bear it to the temple. There his young widow, smiling like a statue of Kwannon, awaits it; and his little son, calmly proud that his father has become a great spirit. No heart in Nippon, to-night--but worships--Hirosé!" Hagané's voice had been even enough, and calm; but something in it loosened Yuki's soul from the flesh. Again she stared at him, as if mesmerized. Then suddenly she half rose, leaning toward him, and hurled herself face down on the mats, within reach of his hand. "All that I have to give is dust! The body is nothing! The gods have released me! Take me, great-hearted man, and use me to my country's need!" The shifting footsteps all had passed. The faint reflected glamour of the lanterns spread far below along the level stone road by the Arsenal. The garden was plunged again into blackness. Onda stared, as if dazed, after the lights, then brought his eyes to Yuki's prostrate body. His slow wits could not seize, at once, the realization of so ineffable a hope. Iriya muffled her sobs in her sleeve. Hagané, to reassure Yuki, had put a hand lightly upon her thick hair. No one but the spirits--if they were near--saw a dull red tide of passion surge up to his broad face, swelling his neck into purple veins, and twitching at the sinews of the powerful hands. But his voice, when he answered, was that of a high-priest. "In our Emperor's name, my child, I accept the gift. May the gods assist me to use it worthily!" Tetsujo, half crawling, reached the tea-tray, and drained a stale cup to the dregs. Yuki lay so still that Iriya took fond alarm. The joy and triumph faded from her face. She met Hagané's look with a slight appealing gesture toward her child. Hagané nodded. She crept to Yuki, tugging at her sleeve, and trying to push her up from the floor. Hagané leaned forward, and picked the girl up like a toy. She put out a faltering hand and touched her mother. "Come, come, my treasure!" whispered Iriya. "Let us go together to your little room, where quiet will best restore you!" "One moment, dame!" said Hagané. "I must speak with Tetsujo, in your presence." The old kerai was on his knees, bowing, his exultation only exaggerating his humility. From the impersonal ring of Hagané's orders, he might have been outlining a Manchurian campaign. "Let there be no delay! Since at any hour I may be ordered to the front, I wish the ceremony over, that I may instruct Yuki in certain official duties before I leave. And remember, this is no time for expenditure or display." "Your will is mine, Augustness." "This is Friday. Next Wednesday, then, at my Tabata villa! All shall be in readiness. Is this as you wish, Yuki-ko?" "Your will is mine, Lord," whispered Yuki, echoing unconsciously her father's words. "The child trembles. May I not conduct her to her chamber?" asked Iriya of the prince. "Yes, dame," replied he, kindly. "And, brave little one, farewell! I am overcharged with duties, and may not see you again till Wednesday, at noon. One instant!" The two women paused, Iriya facing him expectantly, Yuki with head hung low. "I want to say, here, in the presence of my too-zealous Tetsujo, that Yuki is to be treated, from this moment, with the respect and dignity that becomes a Princess Hagané. There is to be no espionage; no opposition; no suggestion of restraint of any kind! My entire confidence is with my future wife. Do you understand that, Onda Tetsujo?" "Yes, Lord," growled Tetsujo, crimson with mortification; but he did not forget to bow. In her own room Yuki stood staring, dazed, ignoring her mother's frequent suggestion to be seated. "No! Let me breathe! Let me learn to breathe again!" muttered she at last, and caught her mother's arm as she stepped to the tiny veranda. From the guest-room beyond, where the two men talked, a soft light gleamed, throwing the pebbled paths of the garden into little Milky Ways of light. The shrubs lay round and dark, like a flock of little clouds. Beyond all rose the tall black hedge of bamboo and of thorn. "My child," said the mother, "you have brought to us great happiness and pride. Surely reward will come to you, even in this incarnation. I will pray ceaselessly to Kwannon in your behalf." Yuki leaned closer to her mother. The cool wet smell of the garden already stole away some of the hot bewilderment from her brain. The angry waves of indecision, girlish longing, and patriotism, which had raged so furiously together, now began to recede, leaving bare at last a small white strip of thought. She was safe now, pledged, not to personal joy, but to heroic service. The greatest of all men was to be her teacher, her helper, her--husband! Well, what of it? Nothing was too great a sacrifice for Nippon. And if Pierre would only not misjudge too cruelly! Even in this first vicarious shudder of Pierre's grief, she could not feel that he would suffer long. His agony might at first be intense and uncontrolled, but, through its very exaggeration, would the more swiftly pass. For her sake, now, he must leave Japan. This was the last boon that love should ask of him. From the street, from the other side of that inky bamboo wall, came the low notes of a foreign song,--a strain from Carmen. The girl shivered once, and was still. "Oh, what is it?" cried Iriya, herself on edge, and looking about in terror. Again came the song, soft and clear. The singer stood, evidently, just beyond the bamboos. Yuki's lips writhed together. Her fingers tore and twitched, one hand in the other. "Yuki! My Yuki!" came a voice. "Is it too late?" Suddenly wrenching herself from Iriya's arms, the girl sprang down the two stone steps and plunged into the shadows of the garden. As one fiend-driven, she sped over paths, shrubs, rocks, and prim garden-stakes, until, at the hedge, she hurled herself upon it, beating at it with frantic hands, and sobbing. "Oh, go! Go, beloved! Never again come here! Never sing that song again, or--I cannot live at all! I have promised--promised--a new pledge--stronger than the other! It's of my free will I give myself to him! Go home to your native land! Go! go!" "What sound is that? What do I hear?" cried Tetsujo, from the guest-room balcony. "It is our Yuki, walking in the garden," came Iriya's placid voice. "Disturb not your honorable spirit, Master! I am with the child." Tetsujo returned, to be met by a chiding, half-contemptuous remark from his deity. A moment later, Iriya's ashen face was in the kitchen. "Suzumé! Maru! For the love of Kwannon, come quickly! Miss Yuki is in a dead faint, against the thorn hedge! Her hands are bleeding!--Make no noise! The master and Prince Hagané must not know!" CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Spring storms in Tokio, as in other capitals, sweep clean a wide pathway of days for sunshine and the coming flowers. On the morning after that great tempest which so nearly crushed Yuki against the pond-stones of the garden, scarcely could a shadow be found, so eager was the sun to atone for past misdeeds of her naughty younger brother, the wind. Small crumpled leaves began to straighten. Boughs, mud-soldered to muddy earth, drew slowly upward. The old world stirred like a conscious thing. Pedestrians sent smiling, answering looks of brightness to the sky, as they hurried along to daily work. All over the great city, housewives were busy hanging out bed-clothing, and standing the removable wadded straw mats (tatami) slanting-wise against veranda posts, to get the full strength of the sun. In that vast, merry hive there was one soul, at least, that neither saw the sunshine nor thrilled to the glory of a re-created earth. Pierre Le Beau had been sitting for many moments before an untasted breakfast, his body slouched forward under the table, his eyes fixed vacantly on a square of light slowly pushing its way through an opened window into the room. Count Ronsard, already in his easy-chair, with letters, papers, cigarettes, and an extra cup of coffee on a low stand beside him, lifted, just before opening each fresh missive, a look partly amused, partly irritated upon his sullen compatriot. Tsuna, the butler, cautiously approached, and substituted a fresh cup of coffee for the forgotten cold one. Pierre caught at the edge of the saucer. "Merci, Tsuna," he said with a smile which all his abstraction could not keep from being sweet, "but take all else away. I want nothing--or, at least, I have eaten sufficiently." "Yes, Tsuna," supplemented the minister. "Clear the table, and admit no guests. If a 'chit' comes, bring it in yourself." Pierre would have sunk back into his lethargy, but the count, having by this time finished his mail, deliberately set himself to learn the secret of this new dejection. "What have we here, young lover?" he cried gayly. "Why do you affront the fair morning with your sighs? La, la, I know the symptoms,--the rueful mouth, set eyes, loathed viands,--all speak the distemper of love. Come, now, unburden thyself, mon fils. I have a leisure hour. I see in thee need for brisk philosophy." Pierre shook himself free with difficulty from his haunting visions,--Tetsujo's black face and burning eyes; a windswept hedge, bowing and straining in storm until at the next gust of tempest it must lie flat, like the cover of a book, showing clear her home; the white, strained, watching face; and, later, in a stiller, denser blackness, faint chinks through upright hedge-stems of bamboo falling from a broadly lighted house; his own last desperate song of Carmen; the terrible answering cry; the sound of feet on gravel; the sound of tender hands beating on thorn; a mother's sob; and then,--devouring silence. How had the sun such callousness that it could shine to-day after such a blackness? Ronsard watched him until he turned slow, haggard, miserable eyes. Then the count lowered his own. At this critical point Pierre need not perceive the glimmer of pleased hope. "I am not unacquainted with sorrow,--and of this sort, Pierre," he murmured gently. His voice might have poured from an alabaster jar. Pierre felt the soothing, and still he hesitated to reveal this deepest wound. In their one previous discussion Ronsard's words had been drops of acid. The boy shuddered anew at the remembered sting. And yet he must speak to some one. This anguish could not be borne alone. Later on, Mrs. Todd would purr platitudes above him. He did not wish them yet. Now, in his bewilderment, he needed the advice of a man,--a man's supplementary thought. "I should be glad to speak," he burst out impulsively, "only, dear sir, if you love me, give not that tonic of your worldliness at full strength. I am hurt with life almost to the point of flinging it aside!" Ronsard kept himself from shrugging. "Tut, tut," he said humorously. "Had perplexed lovers the modicum of existences attributed to that interesting animal, the cat, then might they listen to all these small gusty impulses to suicide. And, by the way, where is my Zulika, my soft, blue-tinted amorette? Fast in the sun, I'll wager. Ah, Zulika, core of my heart, come, warm me, while I hear of love!" At his words the great blue Persian who was sleeping near the fire in a spot further cheered by the full light of the morning sun, stirred drowsily, opened a reluctant eye, and closed it. She moved again, with a shrug not unlike her master, gained her feet, stretched her back upward, opened a mouth lined with pink coral, and, with a last reluctant gaze toward the warm spot she was quitting, approached her smiling master. He drew her into the chair by his side, touched her whiskered lips with a finger first dipped into sweetened coffee, shook himself and her into smoother lines of placidity, and turning again directly to Pierre, said, "Now, my son, thy father confessor is at peace. Speak what you will." The episode of the cat did not please Le Beau. Indeed, he loathed all cats, but this one in particular, in spite of its beauty. "Your Excellency," he began in an uncertain tone, "I find the thing difficult, perhaps unnecessary to impart. It has become already beyond the power of any one in office to advise." Ronsard showed interest. He tucked the cat farther out of sight, and said, "If you cannot tell, permit me to hazard a guess. Already Mamselle Onda has received important propositions?" Pierre nodded. He rose to his feet and began a restless walking. "You are far-seeing, your Excellency," he cried bitterly. "It is marriage offered from the worn voluptuary of your suggestion,--from Prince Sanétomo Hagané!" "Hagané!" echoed the other in a low, tense voice. "Though I said that name, Pierre, I scarcely thought it. He is no voluptuary--Mon Dieu!--but a cone of granite! As a parti for that girl, the mere daughter of a rusty samurai, the offer is brilliant, unprecedented! Of course the Onda family--" He paused in a sustained note of interrogation. "As you remark--her family!" sneered the other. "They will coerce her to the point of torture." Ronsard drew his fat lids closer about the brightening eyes. "How long has this been known to you?" "Since yesterday morning. I receive messages from my betrothed through Miss Todd." "Your betrothed is broken-hearted, of course, at the thought of severance from you?" "My betrothed assures me of her _faith_," said Pierre, with a defiant glance. "Ah, she will try it! Poor little devil!" "Monsieur, do not make me repent already." Pierre was angrily beginning, when Tsuna's voice at the door announced, "A letter for M. Le Beau." Ronsard answered. "Bring it in. Shut the door. Where is the chit-book?" "No chit-book or messenger came, your Excellency. It was brought in person by Sir Onda Tetsujo." "Ah! Does he wait?" "No, your Excellency. He turned very quickly. There is no answer." "Give it into the hands of Monsieur Le Beau and depart." "Brought by Onda, in person. It will throw light," murmured Ronsard. Pierre was fumbling and fidgeting at the top of the long, thin Japanese envelope. In an excess of childish impatience he tore it with his teeth. The cat lifted its head at the noise, but was pressed down instantly by the firm hand of its master. It sneezed indignantly, and went to sleep. Pierre, after two flashing readings, burst into a harsh laugh, threw the missive toward Ronsard, and then hurrying to a window, leaned his forehead to the cold glass. The note was in English, written on very thin Japanese rice-paper, six inches wide and perhaps a yard in length. A Japanese writing brush had evidently been used, for in the slow, painful composition the writer had lingered, sometimes for the following word or letter, and where the brush rested a small round blot had spread. It was dated that morning. It contained but one long sentence, built up of participial and relative clauses, as in all Japanese construction. "MR. PIERRE LE BEAU,--My daughter Onda Yuki-ko having last night become by her own will no force the affianced [affianced held three blots] wife of Prince Sanétomo Hagané Minister of War Daimyo of Konda for great honor to her family and service to her native land we respectfully desire you your honorable body from our neighborhood remove entirely or trouble will become, ONDA TETSUJO." Ronsard held it out. "Daudet might have done better in phrasing, but even he could have made the meaning no plainer." Pierre at the window gave a sound of derision, and was still. The count sipped daintily at his coffee, and offered some to the cat, who, mindful of recent indignity, turned her head. Lifting the diaphanous screed, he read it once more carefully, studying, it would seem, each separate word. Pierre raised one delicate hand and tapped on the window-frame the rhythm of an air from Carmen. Still Ronsard gave no sign. "Well, your Excellency, is this all you can remark?" he cried, whirling about as the strain threatened to become unbearable. "Has the father confessor nothing but the husks of literary comparison to offer?" "Softly, my son. Another written communication will, in a moment, be with you. This time it will be a chit, a legitimate chit, in a bright new leather book." "You are pleased to be enigmatic." "Non,--you flatter. There should be no enigmas to a diplomat. This correspondent,--" here he waved the sheet airily,--"has been at work on his creation since the time of dawn. There are full three hours between his first ink and his last. Miss Onda, on the contrary, writes with ease and skill. Her letter of announcement went to Miss Todd. It will soon come to you." "How, in God's name, do you think such things?" cried Pierre, in reluctant admiration. "I seldom think them. They are obliging enough to come to me," said Ronsard, with a deprecating gesture, and sank back to an attitude of waiting. Pierre stared on, half fascinated. There was something sphinx-like about the man,--a gelatinous sphinx, not quite congealed into certainty. Ronsard did not resent the stare. He met it once or twice, smiling, with slight twinkles, or, to be more accurate, slight blinks, of his small pale eyes. He looked now as if he might soon purr, like the cat. "Ah," he murmured at length, with a slight upward gesture of one hand. "The servant-bell again. Your chit, Monsieur. A hundred francs upon it." "Done," said Pierre. He too listened eagerly. As they wait, in listening silence, the reader may as well be initiated into the mysteries of the "chit." In all foreign communities of the Far East, but particularly in those where English influence prevails, three hybrid words become part of the daily vocabulary. The first is "tiffin," the second "amah," the third and most important, "chit." Doubtless there are persons who know the origin of the last. I do not. Literally, it means a written message sent by a native runner. The foreign shops in the Far East abound in chit-books, made, most of them, in Manchester. They can be found in paper, cloth, or leather bindings. The "élite" tend toward Russia leather with a crest or monogram stamped in gold. Chit-books are to social life what check-books are to fiscal. The letter, note, or present comes accompanied by the inevitable "chit-book." The recipient is supposed to sign his name, and the hour, as in a telegram. This duty, in point of fact, is very soon relegated to the head butler, or the ingratiating "amah," a laxity which has produced more than one lawsuit and countless domestic scandals. Tsuna, in due time, appeared with a large black leather book, aggressively and odorously new, a gold spread-eagle on the back. The envelope it accompanied was large and blue. It bore Pierre's name in the clear handwriting of Miss Todd. The count signed the book and whispered Tsuna to remain just outside the door. Before opening the new missive, Pierre threw himself into a chair, his face turned partly away from Ronsard. The latter picked up a rustling Paris newspaper, and over its quivering upper edge watched the smooth cheek of Pierre, his left ear, and the strip of pink neck showing over an immaculate collar. Out of the folds of the blue letter fell a smaller one of white. This was addressed to Gwendolen. At sight of it the young man's heart gave a sick throb. He hid this in his coat, until the other should have been read. "I send you this note of Yuki's in the original, because I want you to see more in the changed handwriting than in the formal words. I am not going to insult you by trying to say anything now, except that I am sorry. I sympathize with your trouble more deeply than you will, perhaps, believe. Come to me when you will. I shall say nothing but kind things. It is a wide gulf of race and of inherited ideals between you and Yuki. No love could hold the arch of a bridge quite so wide. But remember her poor little aching heart! There! I am, as usual, doing just what I vowed I wouldn't do. Oh, Pierre, I am sorry for you,--sorry, sorry! The world doesn't seem a very bright place, this morning, does it? I have been scolding a yama-buki bush that insists upon opening in our garden; but the flowers just laugh in my face. It is an unsympathetic universe! Your friend, "GWENDOLEN." Pierre held Yuki's letter long before reading it. A breath of her subtle personality must have clung to the scrap, for he inhaled from it a new bitterness, a new anguish. With a groan as of physical suffering he threw himself forward, put elbows on his knees, and deliberately forced himself to read, in rigid silence, the following note: "MY DEAR GWENDOLEN, who has been my only sister,--Your telegram having arrived, and Prince Hagané having come to me in person to speak of my duties and the opportunity he could give me at once in this time of trouble and war, I have myself willingly consented to be his wife. I am forced by nobody. You do not think badly of me for this, but some other will think very badly. Oh, please to speak kind and soothing things to that other. His grief is my aching always sorrow. I care not at all for my own, but I care very much for his. He will think me wicked and unfaithful to have broke so solemn pledge, but at the time of breaking I did not seem to myself wicked. We do not know how things sometimes have happened. But this has now happened to me. Ask him to forgive me. The marriage is to be held very soon; in fact, on Wednesday of the coming week. According to Japanese custom I must now be very secluded until that ceremony, not even seeing my sister, which is you. I believe Prince Hagané is to take me after to Kamakura. I do not care where he take me. Oh, Gwendolen, love your Yuki and pray for her to be strong. Always before I have been weak at a crisis. I must not now ever be weak. If pity can be held toward me in Pierre's heart, beseech him to leave Nippon. Your strangely feeling but loving, "YUKI." He let the sheet flutter sidewise to the floor, his eyes absently following. When it was quite still, the address being uppermost, he leaned nearer. "Miss Gwendolen Todd, American Legation, Azabu, Tokio," he read, his lips moving as he formed the words. "Miss Gwendolen Todd," he began, directly, reading again and again. A hand fell gently on his shoulder. "Is there to be an answer, Pierre?" Pierre shook his head. "You will retain the enclosed letter?" Pierre nodded. The count went tip-toeing to the door, and returned to Tsuna the pretentious chit-book. Pierre was apparently fixed in an attitude of melancholy. "Can these letters have told you anything worse?" questioned the gentle voice. "Yes," said Pierre, dully. "It is worse. She is to be married next Wednesday,--and with her own consent. She wishes it. Next Wednesday." Ronsard did not answer. He was trying to look sad. "Wednesday, I tell you," repeated Pierre, now lifting bloodshot eyes. "Next Wednesday! Five days! This is Friday, is it not? Yes." He stopped now to count the days on shaking fingers. "Five more days and she will be his wife. That woman I love,--that pure flower to whom even my honorable devotion seemed desecration! She will lie in that old man's arms,--she will be his wife! God! _God!_ Man!" he screamed, striking the table with one frantic fist, and then rising to hurl himself in torment about the room, "don't stand there screwing into my brain with your fishy eyes! Have you ever known love--do you understand jealousy--have you heard of--hell?" "At your age I knew all three," said Ronsard, calmly. "I went through all, and I live, I eat, I intrigue, I am happy. So shall it be with you, madman!" Pierre threw back his head in a rude clamor, meant for laughter. He was passing near Ronsard at the instant. The elder man reached out and caught his wrist. "Now, Pierre Le Beau, stand still and hear what I have to say!" At the tone of command, rather than the physical detention, Pierre stood still, wondering. "This is the best thing that could possibly happen to you. Yes, be quiet. You shall listen. I've endured sufficient childish railing for one day! It is infinitely the best thing for you--for your mother--for me--for France! I have a diplomatic secret to whisper. That old man Hagané--for once in his life a fool--may be sent at any moment to review the campaign in Manchuria. He and his generals may be great, but Kuropatkin is greater. Do you know what that may mean to you? Ah, I thought so; at the hope of some personal reward you flicker back to sanity. What are the honor and glory of France to such effete sensualists as you? Bah,--it sickens me! And yet, since some day you may become men, you must be dealt with. Hagané, in his supreme self-confidence, urged on, doubtless, by Onda, dares marry this young girl, though he knows her to be in love with you! Will you destroy her love, fool, by smothering it in her contempt? Hagané goes to Manchuria. His young wife mourns,--hélas! I see her weeping in his absence. There are secrets spoken in the nuptial chamber,--documents left in charge of the pretty chatelaine. Pierre, Pierre, celestial revenge hangs like ripe fruit to your hand, let her marry Hagané,--let her love you! Do not revile or scorn her. Wait--wait!" His eyes, twinkling like those of a snake, crawled up Pierre's face to his shrinking gaze. His fat hand still clutched with a grasp that burned. Pierre tried to draw away. Again the repulsion, the fascination in this man battled for his reason. "Wait!" whispered Ronsard once again, and turned. Pierre felt himself released. He stood motionless. His wrist stung as if a sea nettle had lashed it. He looked helplessly around as though searching for something he could not recall. His eyes fell on Yuki's letter. He staggered toward it, snatched it from the floor, pressed it against parched lips, and then, falling on his knees beside the chair, burst into a passion of grief. "Come," whispered Ronsard to the cat. "Come, chérie. We will leave poor Pierre awhile. It is more delicate, n'est-ce pas?" CHAPTER NINETEEN It was inevitable that a lady of Mrs. Todd's social and confidential temperament should already have acquired an inseparable friend. Mrs. Todd had a perpetual thirst for what she called "sympathetic comprehension," by which she meant, in reality, abject flattery. Her husband sometimes treated her deepest emotions with levity. Gwendolen often turned to her complaints a bright indifference more irritating than the husband's soothing smile. The present incumbent was a Mrs. Stunt, resident in Tsukiji, Tokio, wife of an American merchant who had lived in Japan for nearly twenty years. Naturally, Mrs. Stunt knew everything. She was a little woman, with white hair brushed high from a smooth, pink forehead. Her face was round and youthful. Although not an Englishwoman she exuded odors of pink soap. Her eyes were blue, bright, and hard as glass. Her reputation was that of a model wife and mother, a pattern housekeeper, and an exemplary member of the church. People hastened to speak well of her; they raised loud voices in her praise, yet every one knew that Mrs. Stunt, when mounted upon the perfectly kept bicycle she affected, was a wheeled and leaking reservoir of scandal. To the new-comer, or the casual observer, she appeared the very incarnation of trustful candor, speaking of her domestic affairs and those of her neighbors with a simplicity and directness that startled while they convinced. Mrs. Stunt, however, had her secrets. One of these, unshared even by the conjugal ear of timid Mr. Stunt, was her connection,--virtually that of foreign editor,--with a Tokio newspaper, called, of course in Japanese terms, "The Hawk's Eye." In addition to voluminous printed sheets of hurrying ideographs this journal dispensed each day a page of excellent English, and for weekly supplement issued a pamphlet entirely in the borrowed tongue. Mrs. Stunt was never seen to enter the shabby gates of the "Hawk's Eye" building. She turned her face away even in passing the place. She often denounced newspaper women, and, more than once in the company of a friend who tingled or wept under the lash of a personal item, joined in indignation against the cowardly villain, and wondered aloud, "Who on earth that man could be!" The very brief notice of Lord Hagané's coming marriage, tucked away in important Japanese papers like a small spark in a chimney, might have been altogether overlooked, for news of war came in daily, and political excerpts from European papers took much space. But "The Hawk's Eye" found that smouldering spark, the mysterious breath of the foreign editor blew it into new heat, piling tinder of comment high about it, fanned it with the wind of gentle persistency, and lo, the social world of Tokio leaped into flames! Long since, the demure little lady,--having in mind spring clothes for four lanky daughters,--had extracted from her new intimate, saleable particulars concerning Pierre's betrothal, Onda's persecution, and now Yuki's forced acceptance of Prince Hagané. "Nonsense, my dear," had Mrs. Stunt retorted to this concluding bit of romanticism. "Japanese girls don't give a fig who they marry! For a catch like old Hagané your Yuki would have thrown over a dozen spry young Frenchmen, blue eyes and all." From the first instant of meeting Mrs. Stunt and Gwendolen had been inimical. To herself Gwendolen had called the little lady a "bargain-counter snob." In return Mrs. Stunt, keenly aware of the impression she had produced and resentful of it as people usually are of truth, began assorting items for the coming Saturday "Hawk's Eye." Gwendolen's affair with Dodge, their quarrel, his immediate transfer of outward devotion to the shrine of Carmen Gil y Niestra, and Gwendolen's irritability ever since the disagreement, were as bill-boards to the mental gaze of Mrs. Stunt. Kindly injudicious Mrs. Todd did not betray her daughter. There was no need for it. When she wept above a "Hawk's Eye" paragraph that called her idol a "raw Western heiress, who naturally cultivated her acquaintance with ploughs and harrows," it was the part of Mrs. Stunt to comfort her. That small lady, sitting near some more generous and less judicious female friend, her eyes drooping tenderly over a "pinafore for Nan," or a knitted sock for "Baby Tom," absorbed scandal as a sponge absorbs warm water. Yet let us be just. Too much may have been ascribed to Mrs. Stunt. Perhaps even without her thrifty and unfriendly zeal the marriage of so great a lord as Hagané must inevitably have filled the papers and overflowed in irresponsible wide tides of talk. Yet scarcely without her would Pierre's hinted personality have been so openly involved, his parentage stated, and his future course of action philosophized about. The story in its parent "Hawk's Eye" was given with a wealth of imaginative detail possible only to the born "society reporter." In substance it was as follows: Miss Onda had come from America with the Todds. With their approbation she had been openly betrothed, in Washington, to a young Frenchman of pleasing appearance and high connections. (Here a secret marriage, twisted about an interrogation mark, found place.) When asked for his blessing the Japanese father, hitherto unsuspicious of French designs, fell into a fit, out of which three eminent physicians were required to haul him. Yuki was forbidden to hold communication with her lover. The next step was to adorn her in sacrificial and becoming robes and offer her in marriage,--or anything else,--to a certain powerful nobleman, whose third wife,--or was it really his sixth?--had recently, by a fortuitous occurrence, been "returned." Touched by the sorrow of his faithful knight, and influenced perhaps by the lackadaisical beauty of the girl, the nobleman agreed to take her on trial, even going through the form of a legal marriage, that the aspirations of the French lover might be the more certainly destroyed. Pierre, who read and brooded morbidly on these things, was neither soothed nor ennobled thereby. But what of it? Mrs. Stunt's four lanky daughters each had a new spring dress with hats to match! Japanese of the better class, brushing aside like gnats these stinging personalities, approved openly of the father's conduct and of Yuki's swift acquiescence. It was the only thing conceivable. Their only blame for Yuki was that she had listened to a foreigner without first obtaining her father's approbation, an encouragement that might now urge him to be troublesome. They felt indignant that the rejected one should continue to repine for what a Japanese prince had deigned to accept. Old samurai blood grew warm. The daughter of Onda Tetsujo marry a Frenchman with a Russian mother! The very gods held their Asiatic noses. English and American men took, for the most part, the Japanese view. Many Europeans, on the contrary, said openly that they hoped Le Beau would yet "get even" with old Hagané for stealing his sweetheart. With few exceptions, indeed, all women sympathized with Pierre. Pierre was the beau ideal of a despairing lover. His sensitive, beautiful face took on with ease the lines of sleepless grief. His blue eyes, at a moment's warning, could darken from melancholy to tragic anguish. He could sigh in such a manner that his quivering listeners, should Donne happen to be familiar, might have quoted, "When thou so sighest thou sighest not wind, thou sighest my soul away." Pierre's sorrow was genuine enough, but he liked witnesses to his grief. Needless to say that Mrs. Todd and her satellite Stunt were among Pierre's most vociferous supporters. Gwendolen fought many a battle for her school-friend, but the bitterest were pitched under her own roof. "Now, my very dear Miss Todd," expostulated the "Hawk's Eye," "do you not consider at all the misery of Monsheer Le Beau? Miss Onda is to be a princess, happy, courted, with a position in the highest circles. Life can offer her no more. On the other hand look at the jilted lover. I never saw a face that expressed such patient grief. When he turns to me those slow, beautiful blue eyes I'll declare I feel as if I'd like to kill that girl for making him suffer." "Pooh!" said Gwendolen, rudely; "and when he slowly turns them round to me I want to open my parasol and say 'Shoo!' thinking it a cow. I like Pierre well enough. A good deal better than you, I think, if the truth were known, but he is among men what Chopin is among musicians. He enjoys his sufferings and makes music out of them. Of course you wouldn't understand that." Rudely she wheeled and walked away, Mrs. Stunt following with venomous eyes. Gwendolen scarcely recognized herself during these days of trial. She, the joyous one, the sun-maid, now wished to quarrel with the whole world. Of course Dodge's defection, and the ridiculous paragraphs appearing in "The Hawk's Eye," had nothing to do with her nervous condition. The causes were obvious,--Yuki's hurried marriage and Pierre's mischievous pose of despair. Meanwhile the absurdities of gossip increased. Once, stung beyond endurance, the girl threw herself into her father's arms. "Dad, how shall I endure these spreading slanders about my friend? Is there nothing we can do,--nobody to shoot, or challenge, or anything like that?" "Go fire at those sparrows on the lawn." "Don't joke. I can't stand it. Oh, father, you don't know what awful things they whisper. They stop when I come near, saying it is because 'I'm not yet married.' Now just think of the pitchy subtlety of that. Why should people talk so?" Todd held her close. "My little girl," he began, "wherever lonely, sour-hearted women--or men--congregate, there will the cancer-growth of scandal spread. They are the disseminators of half our domestic tragedies. It is a disease like other foul things,--cancer itself, leprosy, diphtheria,--though not so fatal, for the thing they tackle is a man's soul and character, immortal essences, never to be truly tarnished but from within. As I figure it out, scandal is a good deal like fungus. It may be planted anywhere, but it sticks and thrives only where it finds a rotten spot." "Oh, you help me, dad,--you do help me. Of course these rumors cannot hurt the white heart of my darling,--but she must not hear them. One question more, daddy--" Todd stopped her. "It is mail-morning, and that means a busy one. You've had a sermon long enough for one day. Come to think of it, why does Dodge get out of the way when you appear? What have you been doing to my secretary?" Gwendolen gave a small gasp and vanished. Todd looked after her. "I thought that would send her flying." He turned to his desk. His face was very tender. "Poor little one," he murmured, "she's up against her first experiences all in a bunch. God help her! Things hurt worse when we are young. But all will come right, with His help. I know my child was made for happiness. She has the hall-mark of it under her skin. But Yuki--poor little Yuki--!" He shook his head, seated himself, and soon became lost in the voluminous foreign mail. * * * * * Yuki, pale, white, and docile, moved like a determined ghost through vistas of gray hours. In that quiet household came no hint of scandal, and for Yuki's part, had she heard, she would not have greatly cared. The first brief chapter of her life was gone, shut down, like a book, and in its pages was the living flower of her love. She did not suffer now. She felt a dull gladness that she was inevitably committed to her duty. Temptation and further striving had vanished from her days. Except for the sorrow of that dear one there would be no regret. What anguish came personally, through remorse for her broken faith, she would be glad to bear. She had, through faithlessness, won the level of a higher faith. Let her wounds gape and her heart's blood fall like rain! She wished to feel more sorrow than she felt, but nothing came very clearly in these days of preparation. More than once she thought, with a tiny pang of apprehension, "If I have lost the power to feel pain, then are sacrifice and duty alike robbed of their essential oil." Now, in place of averted faces and blank eyes, those of the Onda household fawned about her. Onda made grim overtures. The giggling of Maru San ceased only with her slumber--that, too, was audible--while old Suzumé, darting about the rooms like a gray ferret, babbled out the many titles that her nursling soon would wear, and made coarse jests and prophecies about the future. Iriya alone moved in the silence of her daughter's spirit. The two women grew very close, though no spoken word was used to show it. Wednesday, the marriage day, arrived softly. Yuki neither dreaded nor welcomed it. She had not seen Prince Hagané since the night he took her answer. Quite a number of her parents' relatives, some from distant provinces, came in and gathered in the house to bid the bride farewell, to throw, laughingly, the dried peas after her, to sweep the abandoned dwelling to its farthest corner, and light a bonfire at the gate when she passed through. Yuki, in her white bridal robes and concealing veil of white silk, thin in texture but stiffened in a way that brought it into angular folds about her shoulders, stepped alone into a new jinrikisha. Tetsujo and Iriya, in a double vehicle, followed. These three alone went to Tabata, where they met a corresponding party of the same small number, Prince Hagané, his nearest male relative, the old Duke Shirota, and young Princess Sada-ko, the old duke's granddaughter. Hagané was unmistakably preoccupied. His thoughts did not attach themselves with ease to things or persons. He had an air of relief when the short ceremony came to an end. Yuki now changed her white robe for a dark-hued silk, superb in texture, the gift, according to Japanese etiquette, of her husband. A hairdresser was in readiness to change forever the wide loops of a girl's coiffure into the more elaborate structure of a young matron. The Princess Sada-ko fluttered near, talking prettily and congratulating herself on the acquisition of a new relative. Yuki scarcely heard her. She felt almost nothing. As the last touch came, the thrusting-in of a great tortoise-shell pin, she shuddered very slightly, thinking of that ivory one broken with Pierre Le Beau on the moonlit prow of a ship. With a great clattering and stamping the Hagané coach of ceremony drew up to the entrance-door. Magnificent gray horses in new trappings snorted impatience to be off. Hagané stepped in without a word to Yuki, who, at a nudge from the little princess, meekly followed. The domestic retinue fell on its knees in the doorway and along the pebbled drive. Hagané gave the order, "Shimbashi," waved a hand abstractedly, and the equipage dashed away. The short railway journey was made practically in silence. Hagané said once, as if by way of explanation, "Important and somewhat alarming news has come by secret wire to-day. It is necessary for me to ponder over it." "Honorably do not concern your august mind with a person so insignificant," said Yuki. Far from resenting his silence, the girl was thankful to be left to herself. She watched the scenes outside with eyes at first vague and unintelligent, but which soon gained a soft, increasing brightness. Earth was waking from its long sleep. Yuki felt what many of her own and other races have in such crises felt,--a gratitude to nature that human grief is given no part in it. The grass still is busy, small waxen blossoms lift the leaves of a fallen year, no matter what men may suffer. In moments of keen personal bereavement, when the soul is dazed and blinded by the wonder of its agony, a certain resentment comes. Like the Ayrshire poet we cry, "How can ye be so fresh and fair?" But such grief was not yet Yuki's. Her emotion still partook more of bewilderment than loss. Pierre was not dead. He might yet be happy, happier than with her. This thought brought no personal sting. Hers was not a nature for jealousy. Because of her marriage, through this stern, grave man who sat beside her, she was to be given her opportunity for loyal service. Mistrust of self, apprehensions that mocked and taunted her, a certain shrinking from responsibilities so thickly heaped, rushed inevitably to her mind. On the other hand she had for guidance his great spirit of untarnished patriotism; she had vindicated to her parents all filial obligation, and springtime peeped at her from among the hills. She saw that a thousand nameless, beloved little flowers traced with bright enamelling the leaden dykes of fields. Seedling rice brimmed with gold-green, small, separate pools. Straw-shod farmers trampled, one by one, the rotting stubs of last year's crop into the slime of fields to be new-planted. On low-thatched huts the old leaves of the roof-lilies fed a springing growth. Everywhere decay passed visibly into re-birth. So, thought little Yuki, "The very sorrow I have endured shall feed my new resolves." At the small Kamakura station jinrikishas were awaiting them, accompanied by two persons, an old man and a comely woman of the peasant class, whom Yuki rightly took for family servants. They prostrated themselves upon the cement floor in an excess of demonstration, whispering old-fashioned phrases of congratulation and of welcome. Hagané came back for an instant to things around him. "These are my faithful servants, Bunshichi and his daughter. I do not now recall her name," said he to Yuki, with his kind smile. "They form our entire domestic retinue at Kamakura, for it is here that I come only when in need of true repose and relaxation." "Hai! hai! Danna-San," cried the servants in polite corroboration, and began a new series of deep bows. "Hai!" murmured Yuki, as if in echo of their subservience. The woman, for an instant, met her young mistress's eyes. There was something in the look of wonder, of great kindness, and then,--or so it seemed to Yuki,--of compassion. Hagané entered his kuruma and started off. Yuki and the two servants followed. And so, on this fair March day, the little Princess Hagané approached the first of her many new homes. CHAPTER TWENTY The Hagané villa at Kamakura possessed its own green niche cut deep into encroaching hills, its own curved scimitar of gray sea-beach, its individual rocks, its blue ocean, and bluer sky. A fence of dead bamboo branches, set up on end like fagots, barred out spying curiosity. The house faced directly to the sand. On the three remaining sides the hill-slopes made retreating walls. Upon them grew spindling, wind-tossed pines and loops of wild white clematis and of rose. Through the big, fragrant rooms of the villa all day the sea-winds passed, stirring the few kakemono, and making flowers in bronze vases nod like those more securely rooted on the hills. No attempt had been made at an ornamental garden, except for a few great, gray stones spread with a lichen sparkling from its diet of salty dew, three curious small pines, and spaces of white sand. The placing of these trees and stones hinted of more organic beauty than all the convolutions of the average Occidental millionnaire's park. It is only fair to add that the millionnaire would not agree to this. The first two hours after arrival were devoted by Prince Hagané to the writing of telegrams and letters. These were sent off by messengers as soon as finished. The statesman strode out alone to the shore and walked there, his head bent in meditation, until telegraphic answers began to arrive. These apparently bore reassuring news. He sought out Yuki, his sleeves quite stiff with crumpled missives, and told her that already he had arranged his affairs so that he could have two days to belong to himself alone. "Unless some unforeseen matter of gravest importance should transpire," he added, "I shall not be disturbed. I shall give orders to Bunshichi to bring me no letters that do not bear the Imperial seal. And now, my child," here he seated himself near her, "I may be permitted to recall the fact that I have a wife." For two days Yuki was seldom out of his sight. The shrinking, delicate, humble, exquisite thing, now so entirely his own, fed his stern eyes and heart with ever-deepening satisfaction. Her pallor, her reticence, even the strained smile which she sometimes turned to meet his words, were all as best he liked to have them. An arrogant, self-assertive bride is, to the Japanese, an inhuman monster. On the third morning Bunshichi brought him with his breakfast the accumulated mail of the two days. At sight of the great heap he sent a quizzical glance to Yuki. "It appears, small sweet one," he remarked, "that I am to have no more hours of happy indolence." Before the first ten were read Yuki knew herself forgotten. Her bruised soul stirred within her like a wounded thing recalled to animation. She started violently at his next loud words. "I take the earliest train to Tokio. Have my kuruma waiting." His voice was that of a master, not a lover. Yuki rose swiftly. At the kitchen-step she paused, threw back her head, and took in a few long, long breaths. The servants below waited, open-mouthed, for her orders. Meta's kind voice recalled her. "What do you wish, August Mistress?" "Oh, yes, Meta--I was thinking--I forgot. The master takes the next train to Tokio. When does that train start?" Meta's eye consulted the Waterbury clock. "In twenty minutes, Mistress. Perhaps the Illustrious One will not wish to hasten so swiftly." "Yes, yes, he desires to go at once. Go quickly, Bunshichi, call a kuruma with two runners. Our master is a heavy man." Her commission filled, Yuki returned slowly to the room where her husband still sat reading letters. On the way a thought smote her. "Your Highness, the train in twenty minutes honorably departs. Your kuruma will be in readiness. Was it your august intention that I should accompany you?" Hagané looked up at her in a sort of half-recognition. "You? Accompany? No, of course not. I would not have the time to give you. In a few days more, perhaps. Put those scattered letters and papers into a leathern portfolio. Bunshichi will know what else I need. How fortunate that a train goes so soon!" Between this and the starting moment he had for her neither look nor word. Just as he stepped, however, into the vehicle, he turned as with sudden, loving remembrance, and leaning far down to her said, "These days have been as the heavenly island of Horai set in a sea of raging politics. You are a docile and obedient wife. So shall I inform your father." When he had really gone, and even the heavy clink of jinrikisha wheels on sand was no longer audible, Yuki lifted her head, brushed back the low fall of hair from her forehead, stared at the quiet sea for a moment, and then turned and walked back slowly into the house. For a few moments she wavered, pausing now, now walking swiftly, now looking about as for something she had lost. In such broken, indeterminate angles of advance she reached a little chamber quite remote from the rest, a closet darkened by nearness of a rising cliff. Here she stopped short. A physical shudder ran through the length of her. She moaned, bit her lips back into silence, pressed suddenly white hands upon her vacant eyes, and then, failing all at once, fell to the matting, and lay, face down, along its pallid surface. At last--at last--for a few hours at least this tortured smile, this self-inflicted strain could be shaken off and she, like a driven beast of burden, could lie still, to die, to moan, or slowly to gather back what remained of endurance. Her thoughts buzzed confusedly like a great swarm of bees whose nest has been taken. Through the sweet spring day she lay prone, inanimate, stirring only at a passing sting of consciousness. "My country--my Emperor!" once she moaned aloud. "O Kwannon the Merciful! O my Christian God!--must I live, can I endure it? Already I am cowed and broken. Shall I ever again look a flower in the face?" More than once the kind-hearted maid-servant knelt beside her, urging food and drink, or a walk into the reviving air. Yuki seemed not to hear. After one such unsuccessful excursion, Meta returned to the kitchen, shaking her head. "They have married that beautiful young maiden to our august yet somewhat ancient master, and her heart's love dies within her for another. Oh, I know well enough!" she cried, with a touch of defiance, as her father lifted bleared, protesting eyes; "so was I bartered to the wicked man who beat me and drove me forth. I may be of low estate, but I know a woman's heart." "Then you know the seat of folly," grumbled the old man. "When your husband drove you out, I suppose he had reason; I received you, didn't I?--I allow you still to call me father--" "Yes, and do all your work and mine too for it," muttered the woman. "As for our young mistress," went on the old man, ignoring this last impertinence, "all know her for the most fortunate young woman in this empire and, therefore, in the world. Is she not lawfully married to the richest and most powerful of lords, to Prince Hagané?" Meta seated herself on a low bench and began to clean the fish for dinner. "Yes, father," she answered at length, "and this newly snared fish whose honorable insides I am preparing to remove is to be eaten by that same rich and powerful lord. Does that make the knife in its belly less sharp?" The round sun was bisected by a western hill-top pine when Meta knelt again beside her mistress. "August Lady, you _must_ listen. A telegram has arrived." Yuki sat up instantly. She had begun to tremble. Her hair, now disordered, fell about an ashen face. "Has my master come?" she cried, a wild look flashing into her eyes, but lapsing almost immediately into dulness. She put up both hands and spread wide the night-black wings of her hair. Meta drew down one little hand and thrust the telegram between its fingers. "Oh, a telegram," said Yuki, embarrassed. "Why did you not mention--perhaps Lord Hagané will not come back to-night." She read the few words carefully. Again that faint, sickening throb of relief passed over her. She lifted her head and met the woman's eyes as she said, trying to seem calm and unconcerned, "It is true,--our master cannot come to-night. He bids me remain until further message." Meta bowed. "Condescend to receive my condolence, noble Mistress. You will be honorably lonely, I fear. But such is always the fate of one married to a great statesman like our lord." "Yes," said Yuki, eagerly, "and, Meta, I wish last of all things to become an obstacle in his illustrious path." "Mistress," said the servant, in her honest way, with a smile like sunshine dawning upon the broad, fresh-colored face, "all day you have eaten nothing. May I not prepare a little meal to tempt your appetite?" "You are kind to me, Meta," said the young wife. She put a hand out to the servant's arm. For some reason known only to women, the eyes of both flooded with tears. "Yes," said Yuki, her own smile dawning, "prepare me the little dinner. I will try very hard to eat. Indeed I think even now I am becoming quite ravenous!" Meta, laughing outright, hurried back to the kitchen. She was a good cook, and she knew it. In this same villa-kitchen she had served marvellous dishes to prime ministers and princes, but never before had she worked with a heart so full of love and tender compassion. Never was a meal more daintily served. Slices of tai from the salt waves, embellished with grated daikon and small foreign radishes; lily-bulbs dug from the hills around them and boiled with sugar and wine into balls of crumbling sweetness; lotos roots from the temple pond, sliced thin and served with vinegar, ginger-root and shoyu, salad of yellow chrysanthemums, pickles of coleus, cucumber and egg-plant, the whitest of rice, and tea picked but the week before by the dew-wet hands of little maids at Uji. Yuki was literally betrayed into enjoyment. As she ate, Meta and the old man peeped in at her through the shoji, nudging each other joyously at each new mouthful. Later in the evening, when lamps were lighted, and the shoji all drawn close, the two servants, with that delicate familiarity, that respectful presumption of which they have made an art, found pretext to enter. At first there was but the usual salutation, and the expressions of gratitude that she had condescended to partake of such badly prepared food. One question led to another. In a few moments the three were chatting and laughing like schoolgirls, the old man bearing, in his double superiorities of age and sex, the greater share of the conversation. Yuki soon found that he had a single theme,--the perfections of Prince Hagané. More from kindness of heart than interest, she encouraged him in these reminiscences; but in a very short time she was listening as Desdemona to her Moor. The tales indeed were marvellous. Once, at the age of six, or so said Bunshichi, the little Sanétomo had gone at night alone to a distant graveyard to bring home, as proof of his courage, the severed head of a criminal that day executed. At eight he had slain with his own hand a monstrous mountain-cat, terror of a cringing village. But the story which most impressed the listener was that of a poor leper, a beggar already eaten away beyond hope of relief, who, having asked alms by the roadway, was questioned, the young prince fixing thoughtful eyes upon him, "You ask for money to buy food, is that the best gift I could offer you?" "Nay, Master," answered the thing who once was man, "there is a better." "Name it," said Hagané. "Death," sobbed the beggar. "So think I," cried the boy, and, without further speech, sent his short sword to the leper's heart. Meta always shuddered at this tale; but Yuki raised her head with so still and white a look that the old man felt uneasy, and began to explain at length. "It was really the best gift, Mistress, and after it our princeling had him buried, and many, many prayers said for the rest of his soul. He even caused search to be made for his family." "Do you think I wish excuse for it?" said Yuki, with her strange smile. "I know not which most I envy, the beggar or Prince Hagané." The next day, fair and sweet and practically windless, except in gusts of "pine-wind" from the shore, deepened the balm of her preceding hours. Wild pinks sprang up like a fairy people on the hills. Crows perched and chattered in the garden pines. Little red crabs came out, and all day long drew marvellous maps upon the sand; and the swinging censers of hillside roses burned a little timid incense to the sun. All the forenoon Yuki busied herself about the house. A long letter was written to Iriya filled with descriptions of the day. Frequent excursions to the kitchen kept Meta and old Bunshichi in a condition of expectant smiles. In the afternoon a sudden thought came, bearing to the girl's mind a hint of wonder at her own insensibility. "Why, the Great Buddha is here, not a mile away from me, and not once have I remembered. I will go to him!" Meta heard the stirring, and peeped. "Our mistress goes for a walk," she told her father. "Even now she lifts her adzuma-coat. I will get her geta (clogs). Nothing could be better for her than a walk. It is the good food that gives her strength." "These young things beat their wings like the cliff-birds when the cage first snaps, but soon they come to reason and docility," chuckled the old man over his pipe. "I go to the Great Buddha, Meta San," said Yuki. "Will you not take an umbrella--not even a foreign bat-umbrella--to protect your illustrious head?" "On these short days the sun sinks very early. See, already he becomes entangled, like a boy's red kite, in the branches of those tall hill pines. I need no covering." "Should the august master deign to arrive before your divine reappearance--" suggested Meta, with deference and a deep bow. Yuki's face changed utterly. "I--I--did not think of him," she stammered. "I will not be long absent, and, Meta, should he come, send quickly a runner and a kuruma for me. Do you think he will be angry, Meta, that I went?" "Nay, little Mistress, he would wish it. There is no kinder man alive than Prince Hagané." "I suppose he must be very kind," murmured Yuki, and went with downcast looks into the street. The sense of childish anticipation, of vivid expectancy were gone. Meta, in her effort to be dutiful, had clamped more tightly the manacles her mistress had just begun to endure. Why should she wish to go? What matter that the Buddha waited? It was not for her; she could but drag before it Hagané's obedient wife, a cowed white ghost of duty. She moved forward mechanically. Her head sank still further forward, as if the great black orchid of her hair grew heavier. At every step the lacquered bars of her high clogs went deep into sand, so that it was increasingly hard to walk. A group of children, passing, looked up into the pretty lady's face for a smile, then hurried by in a small panic of fear. It is a strange woman who does not smile at children in Japan. Now she crossed at right angles the one street of the village, a rough and stony thoroughfare lined with opened booths. The street terminates abruptly at the foot of a hill whereon stands an ancient and famous temple of Kwannon the Merciful. Within a hundred yards of this hill an abrupt turn to the right leads into a country of unfenced fields of egg-plant, peanuts, and sweet potatoes; then comes another bit of hard paved road, and then the towering Red Gate of the temple grounds of Buddha. Yuki had noted dully that in little gardens the cherry trees, always earlier here than in Tokio, were fashioning their annual robes of pink. The wind from the sea, now rising, threw petals out into the air before her. She watched the fluttering signals eagerly, but for some morbid reason would not lift her eyes to the tree. She had but one thought now,--a hunger for the Buddha's face. She longed to test herself, to find whether, in the gap between the Christian Yuki and the Princess Hagané, a shred of herself still clung. This shred, it must be, that the Buddha would smile upon. Through the gate she stumbled, her gaze still on the ground. The wide stone pathway stretched soft and pink with fallen bloom. A breeze, entering with her, swept the surface in a mass, as though some one twitched the far end of a long pink rug. Petals filled the air. They came now in a small hurricane, fretting her cheeks with ghostly fingers, burrowing softly in her collar, catching and clinging to the long folds of her robe. A sob stretched in her throat and hurt her. She would not raise her eyes. She reached the two long granite steps leading up to the inner court of the Buddha. Here petals were banked in rosy drifts. She could see the bases of stone lanterns standing before the shrine. An invisible hand seemed pressing on her shoulder. "Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amida Butsu!" sobbed her lost childhood through her trembling lips. An old priest, old beyond the telling, with a face as of wrinkled silver, glided out from among the flower-laden trees. "You are in great grief, my child?" "Yes, reverend sir, in great grief; and it is of that kind which, to a stronger heart, might not be called a grief." "I know; that is a kind hard to endure, but its triumph gives greatest enlightenment. Look to the face of Buddha, and pray for his endurance." "Pitying sir," sobbed the girl, "I have become, while in the foreign land, a Christian." The smile on the old priest's face did not alter. "All new religions are but forms of the old. Buddha will not pity thee less that thou dost call him 'Ye-sus,' for He, too, was a Buddha, even as you and I, daughter, even you and I, through long striving, may become." "I will dare, then, raise my eyes to him," answered the girl. The old man stood very close to her, and as he saw the white face lift, joined his hands and whispered, "Namu Amida Butsu!" A moment later he was gone. Petals eddied and settled where he had stood. At first the young wife felt little emotion of any sort. She gazed steadily into the marvellous, calm face with a glint of gold under the half-closed lids and in the jewel on the forehead. As she looked, it grew to be a thing not smoothed and fashioned by human hands, but by the eyes and hearts of worshippers,--the apotheosis, the embodiment of a majestic faith, so subtly wrought of faith that should belief be changed, it, too, would vanish like a mist, its vibrant particles loosen and dissipate, to recombine in some new symbol. How still it was and calm and self-assured! Its lines were growing rigid like the formula of its creed; but in that changeless, ever-changing, pitying smile, a deathless truth still trembled. Near it the hills seemed little piles of dust; pines, centuries old, mere fern-leaves of a summer. "Give me calm, give me endurance, for they are yours to give!" said the girl, aloud. "I am less than the insects which crawl unnoticed in the grass,--I am a blown petal, frail as these I crush. If my life can serve this land, or aid, in infinitesimal good, my Emperor, why can I not be glad and desire no more?" The sun had fallen far below the hills. A crimson light, a more ethereal tide, flowed across the sea, and soaked up into the fibres of blue horizon mist. A cricket with the chill of winter in his little voice woke into querulous chiding. Yuki shivered and rose to her feet, drawing the robe more tightly. She sent a glance about the wide gardens, and saw that, apparently, she was alone. She turned as if to go, but an overpowering instinct made her lift her face again to the brooding face above her. How colossal, how patient, those dark shoulders bent in the deepening twilight! Around the lotos pedestal, the cherry trees, touched now by dull crimson light, changed to great billows of a smouldering sea. Crows darted through them like strange black fish, then flew off, cawing, to homes in the pines. Again Yuki turned to go, when a voice that froze her to the stone said softly, "Ah, Madame Hagané, what felicity to meet!" Pierre had sprung from some unknown shadow. He must have been watching her and listening to her words. He paused now, debonair, handsome, though a little pale, directly beneath an outcurving granite petal of the Buddha's throne. As she still stared, speechless, he struck a match against the bronze and lighted a cigarette. She could not see, for her own trembling, how his poor hands shook. The red match glare revealed his face as distorted, evil, sinister. "Well," he remarked once more, "have you nothing to say to me?" This time she tried to speak, but no sound came. Her power of motion, too, was in abeyance. He moved three deliberate steps nearer. As though the air were glass, and she repelled by its material force, she went backward the answering distance. Her left hand, clutching behind her, found something hard and cold, and fastened to it eagerly. It was the fin of a bronze dragon in full relief, twining upward, about the trunk of a tall lantern. "Yes, go," she whispered. "Do not speak more words. Go!" Pierre took another stride. She cowered back bodily into the writhing folds. "For the love of God!" she panted. "What if one has ceased to love God?" "In mercy then--in pity--in human pity--go!" Pierre laughed. "_You_ enjoin pity, Madame Hagané? How quaint!" "I am more deeply hurted now than you; but never more must I be weak. I am a wife. I shall serve my native country!" "Does treachery and faithlessness ever serve? You delude yourself. If Hagané is to be your strength, you will fail,--for either Hagané or I must die. I live now only to revenge myself upon him!" The emptiness of the boast, the impotence of the suffering boy to wreak the harm he wished, did not then come to her. The words rang sombre and terrible. "No--no, Pierre," she cried, "not that! Our Emperor needs him--our country needs. Revenge on me, Pierre! I only was faithless. I deserve all harm you will give." "Yes, you were faithless, but it came because of weakness, and the low status of your sex in this barbaric land. Hagané and your father forced you. They threatened, cowed you--tortured you, for all I know. Look at your hands! Mon Dieu, your little hands!" She held them forth to him with a gesture that might have disarmed Beelzebub. "I tore them myself upon that hedge the night you came,--the night I had promised Prince Hagané." Pierre glared at her an instant longer. Oh, he had meant to be so harsh! Nothing was to have softened his just wrath. Through sleepless nights he had scourged himself with memory until his soul was flayed. Yuki should not appeal to him or move him. He would get from her own lips some faltering explanation of her perfidy. Yet now, for all his armor of resolve, two little torn hands held out silently through deepening gloom pulled at his heart,--drew down the visor from his quivering face. Above them bent, like a great cloud, the head and stooping shoulders of the Buddha. "Yuki, Yuki, you have ruined my life! You have killed my soul! I cannot consent to live unless to revenge myself upon the man who has brought us both this agony!" "Pierre, if you say such thing, I must--because I am now Japanese wife--warn my master of it." This new affront to vanity stung Pierre back into some of his assumed relentlessness. "You would defend him,--betray me already? Count Ronsard said it would be so, but I would not listen. Why should you be true to him when you were false as hell to me? I'll kill him, I tell you, and if I cannot kill him in open fight, I will find some way to harm him! I'll have you yet, Madame la Princesse. I do not give you up, even at your own words. You owe me something! Come, come, you owe me reparation,--help me trick him, Yuki. You love me,--ah, I know it! This is my first triumph, that your heart cannot forget. Yes, yes, poor shivering slave, it is Pierre you love. Now, come, deny it! When his arms are around you, do you not think of mine? When his thick lips press you, do you not faint for me? Ah, I have touched you!" "Go--I say to you again, go, and go quickly! You with your own speech cauterize my wound. You are a coward! Your words are vipers which give their deepest venom first to you!" In speaking the girl had drawn herself very erect. Her face, through the twilight, gleamed luminous with inner fire. Over her left shoulder the open mouth of the dragon yawned. Pierre could not meet her look. He cowered back, and pressed his eyes with one trembling hand. "Yuki, Yuki, indeed I scarcely know what I am saying. This misery bewilders me. I cannot eat or sleep. My thoughts surge in my brain like fire in a battened ship. And this is worst of all, that now, so soon, you are tamed,--half reconciled! You have not loved me!" "If I love or not love, I must not now remember. Pierre, pity me a little. Go from Nippon; help me to be the good woman, and the loyal one." But to this appeal Pierre could not reach. "I do not give you up," he muttered sullenly. "And I will harm Hagané when and how I can!" Yuki stepped forward a little, still keeping one hand on the dragon. "Then stand aside, Monsieur Le Beau. I must return." Pierre did not move. "You shall not go," he said in the same sullen fashion. Yuki cast a despairing glance over toward the small house where the old priest lived, then down the long stone walk, now white with petals. No one was in sight. She gave a heavy sigh. On the instant the sound of Japanese clogs came, mounting, apparently, the stone steps of the great red gate. A form of a man in Japanese robes, unusually tall for his race, slow and majestic in approach, now became visible. "Hagané!" she said, with a great repressed cry, and bit her lips to keep from sobbing. "Diable!" echoed Pierre. He gave a single look, a curse, and pitching his cigarette on the stone flag near her, vanished into the shadows of the lotos throne. Yuki, half-fainting now, hung in the coils of the dragon. As though life itself depended on his coming, she watched her husband's calm advance. His stride was slow, splendid, and imposing, each step eloquent of centuries of rulership. On catching sight of her she felt that he smiled. He moved no faster. "My Lord," she murmured, not knowing that she had said it. The cigarette blinked as with a single malevolent eye, and sent up an acrid smoke between them. He stepped over it, apparently unobservant, and held out a hand. Yuki clutched at it. "Why, small sweet one, how white your face gleams through the darkness! And you lie, like a crystal ball of fate, in the old dragon's claws! Well, here is a larger dragon come to bear you home." Yuki tottered toward him. At first touch of his hand had come the sense of renewed power. "I dreamed not, Lord, that your august returning might be so soon, or I should not have left your house. I left with Meta the message--" "She gave it carefully, but I preferred to come in person for thee, little one. Here, lean on me. You tremble. Perhaps the walk has been too long. To-morrow we are to leave this quiet place, and you will be Madame Hagané, wife of the Minister of War,--Madame Hagané, official mistress of a huge and unattractive residence. But you will brighten it, and your friends of the American Legation shall aid you." "I shall try with all my soul and strength, Lord, to be worthy of you." "I do not fear, my child. All things are not to be at once expected of a single small flake of maidenhood and snow. How yet you tremble! Here, I will draw your arm in mine. Cling to me. Never mind if the children on the road laugh at us and say that the old prince is mad with love of his young wife. In the great city I must often forget you. But wait one instant--" He had been standing, half-turned from the great Buddha. Now he faced it, Yuki falling back a little. He raised both hands, rubbed them softly together in invocation, and Yuki, marvelling at him, heard the reverent words, "Namu Amida Butsu! Namu Amida Butsu!" CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE So, without further preparation or experience, was the little Lady Yuki, fresh from her American school, not yet completely readapted to her native environment, installed as mistress of a great, official mansion. The servants, of course, were strangers. A few of these bore to Prince Hagané the relation of "hangers-on," impoverished families of soldiers and retainers left from feudal days. Others had official connection with the place, and remained unmolested through various administrations. For the first twenty-four hours the young wife moved in an atmosphere of dazed unreality. Her first conscious interest was in the mail. She began to watch for letters from her mother, or Gwendolen,--perhaps from that one whom she must forget. The thought of their last interview remained with her as the cruelest of all her wounds. No letter came. Pierre would not, in any case, have written, believing that Hagané had given orders to have all letters pass first under his inspection. The silence of Iriya and Gwendolen had another cause. Her new and exalted rank necessitated from Yuki the initial step. She did not know this, and Hagané, plunged deep already into affairs of state, had not thought to tell her. She lived now almost an isolated existence. Only the head butler dared personally address her. Even he, in requesting orders from "her Highness," bowed and smiled with a sort of deprecating commiseration, as though he recognized her bewilderment. Of her husband she saw little. The longing for her mother and her friend grew poignant. Through the great high-ceiled rooms she wandered. The face of the great dark Buddha often loomed above her. From every shadow she shrank, fearing that Pierre Le Beau might be in hiding. Three miserable days dragged by. On the fourth, Hagané was present at the breakfast-table. News of a great victory had come. The Western world was just beginning to realize the true mettle in the Japanese soul. Hagané read aloud several editorials from English and American papers, and made comment upon them, as though his listener were a man, and his equal. He had ordered a foreign meal, and the coffee and excellent food stimulated the girl. Her husband's companionship and condescension exhilarated her. It was part of a brightening future that, even before their meal was over, the butler should announce, "Madame Onda, mother to her Highness." Yuki gave a small cry of pleasure. Hagané lowered his paper, and paused to smile upon his young wife. He did not give a hint that it was through his direct agency that the visitor had come. "Ah, your eyes brighten at this news more even than at victory!" he laughed. To the servant he said briefly, "Conduct Madame Onda to us here." The servant hesitated, "Your Highness, there is with her also an old attendant, a dame called Suzumé, who--talks." "Shall we bid the chatterer enter, Yuki?" "If your Highness permit," laughed Yuki. "Admit both," said Hagané, and returned to his editorials. Yuki rose to welcome her guests. As the door was flung back Iriya hesitated for a moment on the threshold. Without a glance toward Yuki she hurried to the Prince, and, prostrating herself, bowed again and again, with audible, indrawn breaths. Suzumé, at her heels, followed suit, excelling her mistress in the rapidity of repeated bows, and the power of audible suction. "Nay, little mother of my Yuki," said Hagané, reaching down a hand, "rise now, I pray. Such extreme of deference is not seemly in the mother of a princess. Kindly be at ease in greeting your daughter, and converse as freely as if I were not present." Iriya allowed herself to be persuaded to perch on the very rim of a leather chair and sip at a cup of coffee, while she and Yuki exchanged compliments and inquiries as to the health of the members of their respective families. This is always the first social duty in Japan. It takes the place of "weather." No notice whatever was being taken of old Suzumé, who had continued genuflections and inspiration to the point of vertigo, when Yuki at last came to her assistance. Nothing would induce the old dame to sit on a foreign chair. "She had tried them once," she protested. "They felt like a pile of dead fish on a kitchen bench." Her post, self-assigned, was the extreme corner of the red and green Axminster carpet. While her superiors conversed, she let her keen, sunken eyes dart like dragon-flies from one piece of furniture to the other, from ceiling to floor, from curtain to framed oil-painting, until the very texture of these things must have been photographed on her busy retina. After a few pleasant if perfunctory questions and replies, Prince Hagané rose, saying that he had work in his private office, and afterward must leave the house. "I hope you will remain with Yuki just as long as your domestic duties permit," he had said last of all. Immediately upon his closing of the door, Iriya began congratulating her daughter upon her splendid fortune, and retailing congratulatory messages from relatives and old friends. The little lady's feet, as she sat on the high dining-room chair, did not quite reach to the floor. The draught on her bare ankles just above the tabi (digitated socks) sawed like ice. With a little gesture of entreaty to Yuki, she hurried over to a comfortable sofa, where she nestled, and drew her feet up under her. Yuki smiled at the naïveté of it. Already she felt years older than her mother. She took her place on a chair, drawing forward a tabouret with smoking outfit, and urged her willing guest to the luxury of a small pipe. A sense of freedom, of delight in this sweet companionship, swept for the moment Yuki's hovering responsibilities. "Okkasan, dear Okkasan (honorable mother), I am so happy to be with you! But why did you wait so long?" Her voice was rich with tender reproving. "Three long days! Long as the castle moats when the mud is showing. The prince is in this house but seldom. I have been lonely, mother." "Your father forbade me to write or visit you until official request was made us. Now you are a princess, dear, and far outrank Sir Onda's wife." Yuki flushed. Her eyes sank in embarrassment. "Oh, I had not heard of the strange fact. I beg your pardon, my mother. I am ashamed that it is so." Iriya laughed. "Do you beg my pardon for being a princess, for making your father proud and happy, when--when--he was threatened by such disappointment?" Now Iriya, too, became embarrassed. She had intended not to refer to unhappy topics of the past. Yuki was thinking deeply. "It must be honorably the same cause which keeps my Gwendolen away." A great relief followed the thought. The fear of coldness, of censure, was gone. She smiled into the air before her, thinking of the letter she soon should write. At first, unnoticed by her companions, old Suzumé had risen from her corner and was trotting stealthily about the room. She touched now, softly, each marvellous object within her reach, and talked to herself, the while, in a queer little sing-song monologue. "Ma-a-a! the honorable, huge room, and the wonderful things, all belonging to our Yuki-ko! Foreign carpets with many-colored vegetables painted on them. Strange, puffy beds, high up on legs, like horses (here she patted a French sofa). High tables,--Ma-a-a! with little carpets on them, too, all ravelled at the edges. Big glass wine-cups (here she lifted an iridescent flower-vase)--merciful Buddha! No wonder the august foreigners are so often drunk! Gold is all about, on walls and furniture,--even the pictures have little fences of gold around them! I see a big singing-box (piano) over in the corner. That alone costs hundreds and hundreds of yen. How rich our o jo san must be!" Iriya and Yuki, by this time, had begun to notice the antics and to smile at the crooning of the old woman. She saw it,--nothing escaped the arrow of those jetty orbs,--but it pleased her now to pretend unconsciousness of observation. She placed herself in front of Yuki, as if the young wife were a large dressed doll, and could not listen. "Ma-a-a! Our o jo san, last of the Onda race. There she sits, straight and slim in her foreign chair, just like our Gracious Empress herself when her photograph is taken! Now she is a princess, but once she was only a little girl, carried to school on old Suzumé's bent back. Tee-hee! My back is crooked now as Daruma,--but a princess helped to crook it!" "Don't say such things, Suzumé!" cried Yuki, quickly. "They hurt me!" "Why should it hurt you, Yuki-ko,--I mean, your Highness, when old Suzumé is only proud?" chuckled the beldame, with almost malicious enjoyment. "Let me be crooked, by your favor. Let me hump over like the lobster of long life. A princess curved my back, tee-hee! Ma-a-a! Will your kind eyes moisten for such a thing? Arà! I have ceased. Behold me now, your Highness,--straight and slim as a young willow down by the moat." She threw back her shoulders and swaggered comically. "That is better. How is it that little Maru did not come to-day?" asked Yuki, determined, if possible, to change the current of the old soul's thought. Her effort was strikingly successful. Simultaneously Suzumé's face and hands fell. "Ma-a-a! I am a fool. Moths have eaten my memory! Maru crouches yet outside the street gate, waiting for permission to enter." "And I, too, forgot. Kwannon, forgive my selfishness," murmured Iriya. "Oh, poor, poor Maru!" cried the hostess, her face a bright tangle, now, of smiles and tears, "the cold wind blows down that street. Go quickly, Suzumé. Fetch her, instantly!" The spoiled old servant cast a cunning eye to an electric bell set in its black wood disc. "August Princess," she whined, "deign but to put your smallest finger upon that white pebble yonder, and at once a fine man-servant will enter. Maru will be much comforted to receive her summons from a grand _man_-servant in foreign clothes!" Iriya's face showed vexation at the old servant's forwardness, but Yuki laughed and touched the bell. She was beginning to realize, in a sort of glad wonder, that her heart grew lighter with every smile. Maru came into the room sidewise. At every few steps her knees apparently gave way. She did not know, in a foreign house, just when she was expected to kneel and bow, so kept herself in readiness to drop at an instant's notice. Her face was round, like a dish. Her beady eyes snapped and sparkled with excitement. The small button of a nose, blown on by unfriendly winds, glowed in the centre of her countenance like an over-ripe cherry. At sight of Yuki, she found her cue and grovelled. "How is it?" asked Yuki of her mother, when Maru was at last persuaded to hold her head erect, "that, I not having yet written, you and the servants came to me?" "Why, did you not know of it? Prince Hagané sent, last night, a special messenger." "No, I had not heard. Prince Hagané is very kind." At the curious tone Iriya sent a keen look to her daughter. She did not like the expression gathering on the down-bent face. "Come, my jewel, you have not shown us half the wonders of your new home. Shall not Suzumé and Maru be given bliss? We can stay but an hour." "An hour!" echoed the young wife, in dismay. "That is already half spent. Oh, mother, one hour?" "Such are your father's orders. You know we do not disobey him." Yuki sighed. "I know. Well, let us see all that we can in the short space. This room is but the dining-room, where, as you have seen, we eat foreign meals. There is a Japanese wing and smaller dining-room, which I shall often use when my master is absent. Now let us go into the long hall, then into the zashiki, or drawing-room." In passing the hall-way she saw Maru's eyes fasten on the telephone box. It had, indeed, an unrelated, black look, set so squarely against the flowered wall-paper. Yuki felt the tug on an inspiration. "Come, mother; I shall not need to write to my friend. I shall talk to her through this! Like the old sennin (genii), who whispered to each other from peak to crag of far mountains, I shall talk clearly to the slope of Azabu!" Iriya caught her sleeve. "I fear for you to talk in that strange way, my child. The gods may not like it." "Ah, mother, in America I have talked for hours and was not injured." "Our gods were not in America to see," murmured Iriya, and followed with evident reluctance. Suzumé and Maru came close behind. Yuki boldly pulled down the receiver and held it to her ear. The servants uttered short squeaks like mice. "Moshi, moshi!" called Yuki, giving the Japanese telephone cry. Maru shuddered. "Is it a deaf devil, that the o jo san speaks so loudly?" "A whole nest of devils, Maru San," said Yuki, with mischievous and impressive gravity. "There are green and red devils like those that the lightning bolts bring down, and little foreign devils in boots and beards, and--" "Oh, let us go! let us go!" cried the little maid, and clutched Suzumé's sleeve. "America no K[=o]shikwan," Yuki was replying, in apparent unconcern, to the devils. Suzumé had realized the situation. "Fool!" she said to the cringing Maru, giving a scowl and a light cuff on the ear, "the princess is only telegraphing in talk instead of writing. The house-servants laugh at you. We shall have no face!" By this time the imperilled princess was talking rapidly in English. Her countenance quivered, brightened, changed, as if a person stood before her. In pause of listening she would nod, smile, listen again, giving murmured ejaculations. The verisimilitude proved too much for Maru. In spite of cuffs fiercely renewed, and a desperate effort to keep her limp body from the floor, she sank from her mentor's grasp, clutching the thin old legs, and sobbing, "They are bewitching our Miss Yuki,--I know they are! Foxes are shut in that black box! She will get full of them, and then they will all fly out to eat our hearts!" "They'd have a sop of sour jelly with yours, cuttlefish!" said Suzumé, kicking in disgust. Finally, in utter exasperation, she seized the culprit by the ear, sliding her bodily down the hardwood floor, and depositing her in a moaning heap on the back veranda beneath a water-cooler. "Gwendolen, Gwendolen!" Yuki was crying. "I have just now learned, I think, why you have not come or wrote to me." (Pause.) "Yes, it was just that thing,--my rank, it is called. Alas, do you remember, Gwendolen, that poor little sea-maid how she feel when the proud grandmother beckoned eight large oysters to fasten upon her scales? Well, I have now the pinch of such oysters. But I will not care so much if only you will come!" (Pause.) "My mother is with me, and her servants, but they must go very soon. I will be alone.--Yes, he is to be absent all the day. Oh, come quickly,--quickly,--I cannot bear some more long waiting." Yuki wheeled from the telephone. "She will come, mother; my friend will come! Let us go to the long drawing-room and wait for her. I will send tea and cakes to comfort the silly Maru. Some other day we shall see all of this big house. It is very ugly, though costing much money. That is honorably often the case with foreign things. Oh, mother, I have been so hungry for you and my golden friend! She will be brought to us in the long drawing-room. We are in heart and soul, if not in race, true sisters. How kind she was to me at school! I have written you before. The other girls would tease me. They asked impertinent questions, and would always be tormenting me to dance. Gwendolen was the only one to see how I felt. She protected me, and would not let me dance until my heart began to sing. She knew that real dancing, like poetry, should come only when your heart sings,--not just because you are requested. Sometimes in homesickness I would dance, sometimes in joy of springtime flowers. Those girls tried, too, to dance,--the funny American girls! But they could never learn. Not even Gwendolen could learn, though I taught and taught and taught her!" Excitement bred of the coming visit caught her up like a leaf. Prattling on, she moved swiftly into the long room, beckoning now and then for Iriya to follow. The mother kept at quite a distance, embarrassed by this lack of restraint in a married daughter. In the centre of the room the girl paused, and, as if impelled, threw herself into a pose of wonderful beauty, every bone, every inch of white flesh set, as it were, into visible expression of a poetic thought. "I did not know that ever again I should wish to dance like this," Iriya heard her murmur. "Yes, I am coming back to myself. Even that little soul that fled on the ship,--it may come back last of all, but it will come." Half dreamily she passed into a second pose. The transition was music. Now her long eyes closed into a mere gleaming thread, her lips parted, and trembled. Almost without motion of her mouth she talked on, in broken Japanese phrases, uttering them in rhythms, which subtly related to the gestures of her body. "No, those girls could never dance,--never dance,--with their honorably stiff shoulders and their limbs like trunks of young trees. They attempted it with fervor, but they could not augustly dance. But I will dance again, and my souls will listen. I will dance the dance of the Sun Goddess and of morning, because my friend is coming!" She hummed, now, the tune and the words of a famous classic. Iriya, completely under the spell, sank to the floor in the attitude of a singer, caught up the rhythm, and sang with her: "Night is where thou art not, Oh, my beloved! Night lies in the stone rolled close against thy door. Let the sighs of spring, (My sighing, oh, divine one,) Let the salt waves' weeping (my salt tears) allure thee!" The beautiful gestures flowed one into the next, like currents of living water. "Lo, she awakens; light with shining fingers frets the dark rock fissure. She approaches; see the black rock melt." "Hark! listen!" cried the dancer, and paused with arms outspread. It was as if winds stood still, as if a flower-branch, tossed in air, lost suddenly its power to return. Iriya caught her breath. She too rose. Jinrikisha wheels were on the gravel. "My hour is gone," said Iriya; "I know it from the shadows. I will now return home, taking the servants with me. You remain here, my child, and greet the friend who now enters." "Yes, I will remain here, mother, my dear, dear mother, I will greet my friend," whispered the girl. The glamour of the dance had swept back and held her. Half in the world of poetry, half in the material present, she wavered. The dawn of her friend's coming shone through both. Iriya, with a last, tender look, slipped from the room. Yuki's lip quivered like a child's as she saw her mother go. But now, down the long hall, came the tap-tap of high-heeled foreign shoes. A new tremor stirred Yuki's lips, a little hint of fear hid in her eyes. Gwendolen paused on the threshold. For a long moment the two stood transfixed,--gazing, searching, each the face of the other. Yes, a barrier had grown between them,--the mystery of marriage, the recollection (on Gwendolen's part) of unspeakable slanders, the ghostly, intangible stirring of race antagonism, to which they themselves could not have given name. Yuki began slowly to whiten, but Gwendolen, with a backward toss of the head like Diana on a hilltop, cried out aloud, "My sister!" and the two friends, crashing through phantoms, found each other's arms. They clung close, sobbing and swaying. Whispers started, but never found conclusion. Names were repeated with every intonation of deep love. "My friend,--my Gwendolen!" "Yuki! Yuki! Yuki!" A dozen times they drew back, looked again, and clung closer. Finally they succeeded in reaching a sofa, and sat down, with hands still intertwined. "And you, little you, are the mistress of all this great house! You are to give receptions, and be the chief hostess. I suppose you will chaperon _me_, you chicken! Isn't it a joke?" "It do seem joky," admitted Yuki, with another sigh of full content. "Well, Madame la Princesse, may I give you now my first social commission? I want a prince of my own,--a Japanese prince. Let him be poor,--all the better,--but his trademark, I mean his crest, I insist on having it warranted as the real thing." "What would then become of poor Mr. Dodge?" "Mr. Dodge!" echoed the other, with greatest scorn. "You certainly never had any idea I would look twice at Mr. Dodge! Besides, he is making a fool of himself over that fat, ogling Carmen Niestra. Ugh! She reminds me of a huge suet pudding with sweet sauce. I always suspected Dodge of low sentiments." "I know not of this Miss Carmen," said Yuki, in a troubled voice. "But I like Mr. Dodge, always, very, very much; and I am sure he loved you--distractionately!" "That just about expresses it!" cried Gwendolen; and little Yuki never knew why her friend laughed so heartily, while the dark shadow of an unspoken pain still clouded her bright eyes. "Let's change the subject," the American said quickly. "Dad told me to give you lots of love, and to say that all of us were looking forward to that grand first reception of yours. Next Thursday, isn't it? No, Friday. We got our cards yesterday." "You will come and assist me in the preparing, won't you, dear Gwendolen?" "I couldn't be kept away!" "And Mrs. Todd, too. Your kind mother, will she not come?" Gwendolen averted her face. "The truth is, Yuki, mother takes Pierre's part. Nothing that dad or I can say has influence. That awful Mrs. Stunt owns mother now, body and soul; and Mrs. Stunt has no tender feelings to spare for her own sex." "I am not surprised at your mother, or even greatly hurt. It is right that--he--should have friends to sympathize. Say to your mother, please, that I do not resent." "I'll say nothing of the kind!" cried Gwendolen, indignantly. "It would please Mrs. Stunt too much. Oh, they will be waiting to question me about you. Mrs. Stunt's eyes will glare like those of a hungry hyena. I shall tell them that you are superbly indifferent. That will fetch them! Mrs. Stunt, as it is, will be the first to enter your reception-rooms,--the odious little painted ghoul!" All brightness had faded from the young faces. Each stared upon troubled visions. "Since we are on such topics, Yuki," Gwendolen began, "I might as well tell you and have done with it,--Pierre himself is acting like a spoiled child, a cad. He wants to make trouble." "His threat is to harm Prince Hagané, is it not?" "Yes! But who told you?" She looked sharply at her companion. Yuki apparently had not heard. Gwendolen went on. "Dad simply laughs at him for a foolish blusterer. He says a cricket might as well shake its fists at a grain elevator." "There is no rumor at all that Pierre may go home to France?" "Absolutely none. Ronsard is using him as a cat's-paw. Since your marriage Pierre has been openly announced Second Secretary of the French Legation. A sinecure, but it gives him entrée to all court functions,--to official receptions,--to--_your_ reception, Yuki." "I have thought of this also," said Yuki. "He could not harm my husband in such an open place." "No, but with that demon of a Ronsard behind him he could embarrass, perhaps mortify, both you and Hagané." Yuki fell silent. Her slim hands clasped and unclasped nervously. Her eyes were fixed on a spot of carpet near her feet. "Of course it is certain that so great statesman as Hagané thought of all such dangers before he wished to marry me," she murmured, as much to herself as her companion. "Good gracious, Yuki Onda!" broke in Gwendolen, with startling abruptness. "What are those fearful scars on your hands? Did they torture you after all?" Gwendolen's shocked face and horrified tone expressed more than she would willingly have admitted. Yuki's eyes flashed once. She drew her hands within her sleeves. "How can you say such silly thing? Nipponese do not torture!" Gwendolen, to hide her emotion (for she did not entirely believe Yuki's vehement asseveration) sprang up and began walking up and down the room, near the sofa where Yuki sat, watching her. "What is it that you were about to warn me of Monsieur Le Beau?" asked the latter, calmly. "He is weak--silly--sentimental; bleating all over the place about his blighted hopes,--his ruined life. He makes me ill!" The girl was thankful to expend on the absent Pierre indignation to which she dared not ascribe the real source. Those gashes on her friend's small hands were burned already on her own heart. It did not occur to her that accident had caused them. In a time of such conflict, they must be, necessarily, the marks of cruelty and violence. Yuki guessed the pent-up fount of passion in her friend, for she remarked quite coolly, "I assure you, Gwendolen, those little scratches were made by me,--myself, on our garden hedge. I was the stupidity. No one caused but myself. You know I have never told to you an untruthful thing. As for Monsieur Le Beau, he has all reasons for saying that I have ruined his life." "Ruined his grandmother!" cried the other. "There you are, looking meek again. No wonder that all men are bullies when we turn coward at the first frown. I thank Heaven it was no man, however, that made those scars on you. If it had been--" She stopped short, looking so fierce that Yuki had to smile at her. "Well, Amazon?" she asked. "Oh, I hate all men!--young ones in particular. Pierre thinks his heart is bleeding, but, after all, it is chiefly his precious vanity. He don't like being jilted! Subtract vanity from the average man and you don't leave much beside the fillings of his front teeth. They are all alike! I know them!" She flung herself to the sofa and clasped her arms once more tightly around her friend. The outburst had relieved her; but a new sadness came. Yuki was still very pale. A little pathetic drooping had begun to show at the corners of her lips. Gwendolen was by nature the antagonist of resignation. She hated the dawning look of it on Yuki's face. "Yuki, Yuki, shall we ever be happy again as we were at school? Yet we were restless there. All our thoughts flew westward, far, far westward, and over that broad ocean, to your Japan. We could never be really happy, we thought, until we had reached, together, this country of your birth. Oh, it is beautiful, as you told me! Each day its beauty deepens. I know now what you meant by yama-buki fountains all of gold,--and the wide, still yellow lakes of 'na.' In our Legation garden the cherry-trees are crusted over with tiny pointed rubies, which soon--yes, very soon--must turn to flowers. All that I see is beautiful, and yet, Yuki, think in how short a time life has brought us both deep sorrow!" She drew a sigh, the long, luxurious, despairing sigh of untried youth. Yuki, having griefs more real, echoed it in softer cadence. "Yes, the cherry-buds will open, and the fountain of your yama-buki toss, no matter what we are feeling! Is it not kind to be so? I have heard that your Legation garden is not very--harmonious. Will there be many bright spring flowers in it?" "The garden is a blot, but it is a big blot, and things grow there, thank Heaven! Haven't you ever been to the American Legation at all? Yuki, I have an idea!" "No," Yuki had answered. At the new sparkle of excitement in the fair face she unconsciously sat more erect. "I have an idea!" Gwendolen repeated. "You are now your own mistress. Why can't you drive home with me, and give mother a surprise? Nothing would soften her like that,--the Princess Hagané to call in person!" "Yes, yes, I will do that thing!" cried Yuki, taking fire at once. "How clever you are, Gwendolen! I would sit here mourning for the month and not have such bright idea. I tell you, listen! We will send your jinrikisha off, then you stays to luncheon with me, and after luncheon we takes the pumpkin and some rats and turn them into a great coach with horses, and drive off in splendor, like two little Cinderellas, to your mother's house! Oh, what jolliness! let us go upstairs and remove your hat!" "What!" cried the other, in mock astonishment, "you have an upstairs, and beds for me to fling my wraps upon, and a brush and comb, perhaps, for me to rearrange my locks!" "Come see!" challenged Yuki. They ran off together, Yuki darting up the steps, Gwendolen catching at her flying heels, both laughing, giggling, uttering short shrieks. "Well," panted the American, sitting prone upon the top step, "it seems that life is going to be worth living after all!" CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Except in rare cases the ceremony of marriage among Japanese is still unmodified by foreign innovation. These people prefer to regard it as the most intimate of social functions, a family sacrament, a transition to be made in grave silence, not in the buzz of comment. Congratulations may follow, they never precede, a wedding. In the case of Prince Hagané, his official necessity for a wife appeared significantly enough in the engraved cards of invitation, sent out by hundreds, to announce weekly receptions (beginning with a certain Friday) held by the Prince and Princess Sanétomo Hagané in the residence of the Minister of War. That word "War," printed so smoothly among high-sounding titles, bore little relation to the dark clouds of conflict pouring in about Port Arthur and spreading a sombre pall above Manchuria. Dark, too, was the shadow cast upon the hearts of loyal Nipponese. For a lull had come, a mysterious silence. Explanations were not offered to the people. Dead bodies or fragments of bodies, were still brought home for burial; new troops, by midnight, threaded city streets and crowded the railway stations, bound for the front, yet no sounds of battle came. It was as if a wheel had stopped, throwing out the entire mechanism of a well-ordered campaign. At the Imperial Palace in Tokio conferences were held daily, Hagané, of course, being present. Sometimes Sir Charles Grubb and his American colleague were called. Yuki noted the deepening gloom on her husband's brow. In his scant hours of home-staying he seemed, now, only half-conscious of her existence or its relation to himself. Once or twice he had roused himself to answer kindly enough some question of hers regarding the coming reception. Meanwhile Gwendolen and the young wife were together daily. The "old times" at Washington, to which they so often tenderly referred, as to an epoch centuries removed, gave promise of recrudescence. They laughed, giggled, ate olives, made fudge, and otherwise enjoyed themselves. If the absence of Pierre and the buoyant Dodge saddened at times these innocuous revelries, each girl hid her own regret. Mrs. Todd, as Gwendolen prophesied, had melted instantly. The friendly visit of the Princess Hagané, the gentle pleading of the schoolgirl Yuki, unchanged in spite of her new glittering husk of rank, surprised that small camp of prejudices in its sleep, and soon waved a bright laugh of victory. At the next visit of Mrs. Stunt, however, before the Medusa-like disapprobation of that noble countenance, Mrs. Todd froze timidly again, to be again sun-thawed by Yuki, and recongealed by Mrs. Stunt, until the will-power of the good lady took on, through too frequent tempering, not, indeed, the elasticity of a Damascene blade, but rather the pithiness of an honest vegetable left in a winter nook. During a softened interval Mrs. Todd had promised to stand in Yuki's receiving line. Even at the moment she had given a few sentimental sighs for Pierre, and made a mental reservation that she would "explain" to his satisfaction. When Mrs. Stunt turned a hard, reproving eye, she fain would have rescinded altogether, but this time both Mr. Todd and Gwendolen upheld her. Thus bravely seconded, she dared for once defy her mentor. Mrs. Stunt made gestures of acrid resignation, and turned her face away. During the afternoon she concocted several choice paragraphs for "The Hawk's Eye." A clear, blue day in early March dawned for Yuki's first reception. Sunshine coaxed new flowers from the springing lawn, and rolled apples of joyous discord among the crows and sparrows. The two chief decorators, Gwendolen and Yuki, had not dared to rely on the day for external brightness. Draperies added to the long shapeless windows hung ready to exclude sunshine and storm alike. At Gwendolen's suggestion, candles and quaint candelabra were to give the key-note to decoration. Old junk-shops and second-hand dealers in temple brasses had been rummaged with rich results. Branching clusters of tapers sprang everywhere from plain spaces on the walls. Standing candelabra and quaint single candlesticks occupied tables, mantels, and the tops of cabinets and book-shelves, alternating with bowls and vases of cut flowers. The wall-lights, placed tactfully but a few feet above the head of an average man, threw into softened shadow the vast and disproportionate ceiling. Yuki's delight was pleasant to witness. She never could have dreamed--as she often told her friend--that the old lecture-hall could look so well. The garish hangings and unspeakable oil-paintings became inconspicuous, and were further softened by wreaths of smilax and other imported hot-house vines. As the opening hour approached, Yuki became more and more excited, though her efforts after matronly calm were apparent. Even the knowledge that Pierre would certainly come that afternoon should not daunt her. Nothing had been heard from him since that one interview at Kamakura. Of this Yuki had not spoken, not even to Gwendolen. Well, let him come, and give her pain! She deserved it! Still would friends be left, Gwendolen, and Mr. Todd, and the dear mother, Iriya, and--and her husband, Hagané. Her troubled heart faced round to him, but it was as if she stood before a stone precipice. He was too great; she too close. All through the forenoon of that busy day presents had been arriving. The flood-gates of official recognition had been thrown wide. Gifts of flowers, of fruit in wonderful baskets, of growing plants in exquisitely glazed hana-bachi, came in embarrassing confusion. Baron Tsukeru, who united a passion for Japanese peonies to a more exotic devotion to orchids, sent a great lacquered tray heaped with broken rainbows, hoar-frost, and strange, flying insects turned to flowers. Old Prince Shirota, who had been present at their marriage, sent to the prince and his new princess a box of eggs, together with a humorous poem, saying, "May each smooth egg betoken a life of wedded happiness, and may each year bring an heir. So shall joy and the house of Hagané be immortal!" A cabinet minister sent a case of champagne, also with a poem; but his was paraphrased from Tennyson. Sweetmeats, oranges, and loose flowers came literally by cartloads. The great central offering, however, was a heap of exquisitely wrought confection representing blue waves, with a pair of Miyako-dori, birds symbolic of conjugal felicity, floating upon the sugared sea. This gift, placed reverently upon a little table to itself, needed no card. Upon the unpainted side of the satin-wood box in which it was fashioned, shone the Imperial insignia, a gold chrysanthemum with sixteen petals. The master, twice during the forenoon, had rolled up to the door in his carriage, gone into his private office, closed the doors tightly, and busied himself with desk-drawers and papers. In a few moments he emerged and drove away without having spoken. On a third visit, he came into the drawing-room, in search of Yuki. She and Gwendolen were at the far end, both looking upward and talking (one in English, one in Japanese) to a bewildered servant on a stepladder, who paused to listen, his face copper-yellow among the loops of smilax. Neither heard Hagané until he was fairly upon them. Yuki gave a start; but Gwendolen brought down level eyes and smiled at him. He spoke first to the guest, holding her hand closely for an instant, and uttering some conventional, though, in this case, sincere expressions of gratitude for her kindness to Yuki. He then asked of Yuki the exact hour at which the reception was to commence. He spoke in English. "Four, your Highness," answered Yuki, in the same tongue. "I shall be in this apartment at four," he said, and then took his departure. The two friends watched through the window as he stepped under the porte cochére and entered the carriage. "Your husband is a king among men, my Yuki." "It does not become a Japanese wife to admit so." "The hair he leaves on his barber's floor tingles with more manliness than the whole body of Pierre Le Beau." "It does not become the one who has made Pierre suffer to say so." "Pshaw! Nonsense! He enjoys his suffering. But of course I might have known you would make some such retort. Do you want me to try to keep him away from you this afternoon, or is it part of your penitence to assist him in insulting you?" "Oh, help keep away, if you can!" gasped Yuki. "Prince Hagané will be standing by me then. I wish most of all for him not to be annoyed." "I wonder whether you realize, small Princess--" Gwendolen began, then suddenly stopped. Her look, as she scrutinized the upturned face, was singular; her tone, more curious still. She closed her lips tightly now, as if to forbid the thought to come, shook her blonde head, and facing back to the window tapped a hollow rhythm on the pane. Yuki's cheeks grew hot. "Some one--some one need me, I think," she murmured, and literally ran from the room. * * * * * Prince Hagané, punctual to the instant, fresh from the hands of his man-servant, impressive, unforgettable, in dark native robes of silk, took his place at the head of the receiving line. Yuki wore a robe and obi of splendid brocade, too heavy for an unmarried woman, but now befitting the dignity of a peeress. The colors were her favorite gray and pink, shot through with threads of silver. In her dark hair were pink orchids, the living flowers. She wore no jewelry but a broad gold band on her wedding finger,--a concession to her Christian principles,--and a clasp to her obi-domé, or flat silken cord which holds the great folds in place. This clasp represented intertwisted dragons. Like the ivory pin which she and Pierre had broken, it was an heirloom in her father's family. The new kinswoman, little Princess Sada-ko, was to be near her, above Gwendolen in the line, but lower than the matron, Mrs. Todd. Mr. Todd had "begged off." So also had Yuki's parents. Onda, in fact, spurred by his dread of meeting foreigners, found good pretext for visiting a village nearly a day's ride away. Guests had not begun to arrive. Even the Todds (Gwendolen had gone home two hours before to change her dress) had not yet made appearance. Hagané stood quietly in his place, and let his gaze move slowly through the changed and decorated rooms. The candles gleamed with intense yet softened brilliancy. In an adjoining parlor he could see the corner of a long table spread with rich food. Servants in livery moved about, noiseless as shadows. A distant door was opened. The flames of the candles leaned all one way, fretted a little, then stood upright. A few drops of wax trickled over to the floor. Instantly a servant came with knife and saucer to scrape up the hardening substance. The old Prince Shirota sat in a low chair near the fire, with a late American magazine on his silken knees. Iriya hovered near, devouring with proud eyes this vision of her daughter consorting on equal terms with princes. Servants stole everywhere, soft, sleek, gentle, like well-fed animals. A curious expression grew in the eyes of Hagané. His mouth writhed into a harsh and ugly smile which did not pass. Yuki felt the change in him, glanced up, and shrank a few inches further from his side. He did not notice her. He had been reading, but a few hours before, the written report of a Japanese spy, one of the few who had escaped alive from the very citadel of Port Arthur. The conditions of that fortress were plainly stated: food in abundance, ammunition, men, stone walls practically impregnable, a brave man in command,--all things in Russian favor; and yet by Japanese life that stronghold must be taken, by death the national honor be restored. As their Emperor read, and laid the paper down, he had bent his head, as if praying, and one hand had covered his down-bent eyes. Hagané shivered at that memory. Hunger, privation, cold, the agony of wounds untended, the deeper agony of remembered little ones soon to be fatherless, praying now in distant mountain villages,--this must the Japanese know to full measure. Food and shelter in Manchuria could alleviate, and for such alleviation, money was the only aid. Food, clothing, shelter, ammunition! Why, the very candles fanning out a brief existence on these walls would feed a brave battalion for a week! The table yonder, spread with delicacies for foreigners already gorged,--that long table would bring peace nearer by a hundred cannon detonations. The outer world, civilization so-called, demanded that tawdry ostentation still show her front. "My Lord--your Highness," whispered Yuki, barely touching his sleeve, "has aught offended you?" He looked down into her anxious face. His noble scorn melted into sadness. "Nay, Yuki, I was but counting the lives of soldiers by these candles on the wall." "Lord, so have I thought, even to the point of weeping; yet you had told me to make some display, to have things fair to look on." "I blame you not, my good child. There is no fault at all in you; yet the smell of that rich food sickens me. I long to be in the field with men; to share their handful of cold rice, their shred of salted fish. I hate the silk upon me, the soft rug at my feet, the smiling servants,--how can they smile? When the foreign manikins arrive, it will be hard fighting for me not to laugh at them,--to throw, like some stung cuttle-fish, the inky substance of my scorn--why should they laugh and feast? But, little one, I rave. You have never heard the old volcano growl before? Well, I shall be calm now; let us draw pink clouds about me, and set spring flowers among the fissures of my soul." "I fear you not, my Lord, I but adore your spirit. I, too, in my weak woman's way, have had a thought. Shall we not purchase less rich food another time, and fewer candles? Instead, I shall buy thread and cloth and cotton. I will this very day invite the women here to weekly meeting for sewing. Princess Sada has been telling me that many are already started. We can make bandages, clothing, cover for your brave men. Into the texture we shall weave our very hearts. Tears of pity may, indeed, soothe noble wounds no less than the ointment of our surgeons. Shall it not be so, my husband? May I speak to my friends to-day?" Hagané had lifted one hand to his mouth while she made eager speech. It was steady enough when he answered. "You have pleased me, little one, greatly have you pleased me. I shall speak of this even to our Sacred Sovereigns." Gwendolen came bounding in like a child. "Do you recognize me, Yuki?" she cried, pitching her long cloak backward. "Of course Prince Hagané would not." She stood before the two, a shimmering vision of white, touched at intervals by gleams of primrose hue. Hagané smiled. "If I mistake not greatly, it is the entire costume worn by Miss Todd when first I was honored to make her acquaintance. You called the ball a débutante's I think." "Heavens, Yuki, think of his remembering! I see now, Prince Hagané, that you are truly a great man. What on earth have you been doing to your prince?" she added in a lower tone, as Hagané stepped forward to greet Mr. and Mrs. Todd. "He doesn't look a day over thirty-five, and handsome--He is the noblest-looking man that ever I saw!" Mrs. Todd, resplendent in her favorite mauve satin, violently adorned in butter-colored lace, took her place next to Yuki. She liked well the importance of the position, yet kept furtive glances scurrying toward the door in outlook for Pierre and Mrs. Stunt. It was the apparition of the latter that she dreaded most. She trembled in recalling Mrs. Stunt's threat of forbidding and condemnatory conduct. "Not in Yuki's own house, my dear Mrs. Stunt," she had pleaded. "Don't go to the reception at all if you disapprove so of their behavior. Wait until you meet them outside." To this Mrs. Stunt had replied only by tight lips, and a glance of incorruptible virtue, as one who should say, "Get thee behind me, Satan!" Mrs. Todd envied her friend the rigidity of her moral nature. Mrs. Stunt came among the very first. Although small in stature, she never failed to make herself conspicuous. She had acquired an air of patronage, of condescension. If a person or a group of persons continued to converse within the first few moments of her appearance, she had a way of looking at the offenders, of singling them out, that was never thereafter forgotten. On this occasion she was resplendent in a new gown of silvery gray silk, very tight as to bust and hip, and a trifle scanty as to skirt. A reason for this insufficiency showed in the yokes and sleeves of the Misses Stunt, lank, timid damsels of fifteen and thirteen respectively, who followed with unquestioning eyes their energetic mother. Each had a pinkish frock hung from a "guimpe" of silvery gray. Kind-hearted Mrs. Todd literally held her breath as this important person bore, like a small nickel-plated naphtha launch, straight to the dark sea-rock of her host. The tight gray waist had the sheen of armor. Mrs. Todd watched for the steely reflection in her friend's bright eyes. They were now lifted to the face of Hagané. But no!--barbed lightnings did not flash admonition from their depths. Never were blue china beads more free from righteous indignation than those upraised orbs. She literally grovelled, first at the feet of Lord Hagané, then before his bride. Yuki received her gushing compliments with unsmiling lips. This made no difference. The Misses Stunt were then signalled to grovel. Mrs. Todd's mouth, opened in incredulity during this brief scene, had forgotten to close. Something like indignation tingled through her full veins. Was Mrs. Stunt after all the hypocrite Gwendolen said she was? "Mrs. Stunt!" she called eagerly. Surely some explanation could be made. The valiant one swept by her with a nod. She gave but one short sentence, back-flung, "Dear Mrs. Todd, how very warm you're looking!" Princess Sada, whose title Gwendolen took pains to enunciate distinctly, came in for her share of compliment. The American girl next her, half-angry, half-hysterical with suppressed laughter, was hastily whittling a mental arrow, her keen eye searching, meanwhile, for some weak spot in the self-love of her foe. Mrs. Stunt, scenting trouble,--her perceptions in this regard were canine,--would have avoided the girl, but farther down the line were more Japanese. Another princess might be stowed among them. Mrs. Stunt could not relinquish a possible princess. She gathered up her mantle of effrontery, and went to her doom. "Oh, Mrs. Stunt, not that high, fashionable hand-shake between old friends," cried the clear, sweet voice. Guests now poured into the doors. Many paused to hear the next sound of that pleasing voice. "I can't tell you how glad I am that you have met at last my friend Yuki, the Princess Hagané! You have talked so much about her, and now you have really met. I saw Yuki's joy in the meeting. You were intoxicating in your sincerity, dear Mrs. Stunt, a pewter-mug literally frothing with felicitations! Why, and here is Miss Stunt and Miss Leonora Stunt! Yes, I am glad to see you both; but move on, children; you must get mama to bring you with her on some of her frequent visits to the Legation!" Mrs. Stunt carried her tarnished pewter bravely down the line. She was actually dull, leaden-toned with rage. It was not so much Gwendolen's impertinence that stung her, but the fact of the loud, clear voice, pitched for all to share. Whatever Mrs. Stunt's good opinion of herself, she could not but realize that most of those who overheard rejoiced in the Stunt humiliation. The moment she had spoken, Gwendolen regretted it. "A mean, tawdry, contemptible bit of revenge!" she muttered to herself. "I feel already nearly as vile as she." The girl looked up to meet her father's deep-set eyes. A pathetic little moue, a single pleading gesture, and the tenderness returned to them; but his first look rankled. It had been decided between Mr. Todd and his daughter that he should remain near some door or window in the thick of arriving-time, where at each loud carriage entrance he could draw aside the drapery and try to recognize the equipage. When the French coat-of-arms appeared he was to signal Gwendolen. Of course Le Beau would accompany his chief. The two now were inseparable. The only plan which Gwendolen's thought had suggested was to intercept Pierre at the door, and with what wit and invention then came to her aid, try to separate him from his evil genius, Ronsard, and, if possible, keep him away from Yuki. Dodge entered airily alone. He wore a crimson carnation in his buttonhole and dove-gray "spats" above his patent leather shoes. Seldom now did he accompany the Todd family to any social function. Gwendolen had been asked by her parents the cause of this sudden aloofness, and they had received in turn the ambiguous and not altogether respectful reply, "How should I know? Am I our secretary's keeper?" Dodge paused now near the door through which he had entered. The rooms were filling rapidly. His clear, dog-like eyes of hazel brown threaded the crowd, resting the fraction of an instant on each form. He searched, apparently, for some special object. Gwendolen, in her pretty débutante's gown which should, by rights, have evoked pensive memories, received but the usual light stroke of observation. The brown eyes shot on past her, swept around the walls, came back to the door where the owner of them stood, and then turned about to the entrance hall. "Ah!" said Dodge, under his breath. The eagerness of the sound carried it to Gwendolen's ear. She saw him disappear. A moment later he re-entered with Carmen Gil y Niestra, languid and beautiful, in cream lace and crimson carnations. The two young people came down the line together. Yuki gazed with some curiosity on the face of the Spanish girl. Gwendolen waited for them. She held herself like a young Empress receiving coronation felicitations. The white débutante's dress seemed to become alive as Dodge neared it. One long tulle fold streamed after him as he went by. Gwendolen caught at it angrily. Mr. Todd touched his daughter on the shoulder. She slipped out quietly to the hall-way, threw on the long dark cloak she had left there for the purpose, and was in the doorway before the French barouche had entirely stopped. Pierre issued first, and without having observed her, stood ready to assist his chief. He gave a nervous start as Gwendolen touched him. "Let the count go in alone," she pleaded. "I must speak with you." The minister now emerged, a pendulous and unstable bulk. Gwendolen flew to his side. He looked into a face vital with excitement, hurt pride, vague apprehension. Her eyes were fairly black, her usually pale cheeks, red as Carmen's flowers. Her beauty smote the old sensualist with delight. "Mon Dieu, Mademoiselle, but you are lovely," he murmured partly to himself. Ignoring physical disadvantages, he paused to make her a deep and courtly bow, his hand pressed reverently upon that portion of his torso where, beneath layers of unhealthy fat, squatted the small toad of his heart with the cross of the Legion of Honor about its neck. "I am glad that you think me lovely at this moment," said the girl, coquettishly, swallowing hard her rising disgust. "I want you to help me. Please go in without Pierre. Do not let the usher call his name just yet. I must speak alone with him." Count Ronsard's admiration was supplemented by a shrewd and contaminating look. He and Pierre crossed glances. The minister bowed again, this time with less ceremony. "Whatever beauty asks is already granted." He whispered something to a servant who had stepped up to take Pierre's place. The servant hurried in before. Ronsard climbed heavily, alone, the two stone steps of the portico. Gwendolen had drawn near Le Beau, when the bawl of the usher, in a voice unusually loud and distinct, arrested her. "His Excellency Count Ronsard, Minister of France, Monsieur Pierre Le Beau, Second Secretary to the French Legation." Gwendolen caught her breath. Her eyes began to blaze. At this instant Count Ronsard, now on the top step, gave a cry, tottered, and would have fallen but for Pierre's agile spring. "My ankle, my infernal ankle! I have sprained, perhaps broken it!" he groaned aloud in English. "Your arm, my son, I cannot walk alone." Thus supported, he limped heavily into the drawing-room. Yuki hurried to meet him. A low cushioned chair was wheeled for his convenience. He dominated at once the entire assemblage. Formal greetings ceased. Half a dozen different nationalities crowded in to inquire about the accident. He and Pierre took turns in explanation. French, German, Spanish, Italian, English, Japanese, each was answered courteously in his own tongue. Yuki sent upstairs to her medicine-case for bandages and liniment; but this attention the gallant count repelled. His boot would keep the swelling down, he said, until the sick chamber of his own house could be reached. Gwendolen let fall her cloak in the hall way; whoever would might rescue it. Slowly she entered the drawing-room, paused near the interesting group about the sufferer, and stood watching, her whole slight frame in a hot tingle with impotent anger. No mark of pain rested on the flabby countenance of Ronsard. Pierre looked far more ill. This fact but added to Gwendolen's uneasiness. Yuki had a tender heart for human suffering. She heard the count's brave self-control admired, and her disgust turned to a mental nausea. For the moment no counter-stroke occurred to her. Even the keen eyes of Prince Hagané were, apparently, deceived. He stood near the Frenchman expressing grave concern. Yuki, perforce, remained within calling of her afflicted guest. Hagané at length moved off. Pierre, Ronsard, and Yuki were together, a meeting that Gwendolen had striven against, and plotted to prevent. Gwendolen fancied that her schoolmate already turned more wan, that she trembled and shrank from the low words that were spoken. She was a white dove picked upon by vultures. Mrs. Stunt stood across the room gleaning items with her steely gaze. Discomfited, utterly worsted, Gwendolen trailed slow steps down the lighted vista. She longed for her father, but now he and Prince Hagané had begun to talk. A vacant window, half-hidden in trailing vines, allured her. She hurried to it, threw aside the curtain, and looked out into the deepening twilight. All of this fair March day had been blue and windless. The night was a bowl of liquid sapphire, a deep aerial sea into which the house had been lowered, like a great illuminated bell. So tangible, so intense, was the outer blueness that it seemed to Gwendolen, should she lift the sash an inch, a gentian tide must gurgle in through the fissure, steal along the wall to the shadowy floor, and silently fill the long rooms with a purple flood. That moment brought to the girl her first tinge of worldly bitterness. Heretofore, with the one exception of her quarrel, things had seemed naturally to come right just because she wished it. Even in dreams, things always came right for her. Now, by some shabby turn of fortune, the reverse was true; failure marked every effort. Being young, healthy, and totally unacquainted with real sorrow, it was inevitable that she should luxuriate in an imaginary despair. She stared into the night, envying its cool blue depths of silence and oblivion. She raised long lashes to the stars, gleaming faintly now like small phosphorescent mushrooms springing on a damp blue field, and wondered, sighing, whether on those distant planets lived any girl so miserable as she. "Miss Todd," murmured a low voice. She wheeled back to the lighted room with a gesture so sudden that two large tears splashed upon her cheeks. Dodge stood beside her half-abashed, altogether eager, deeply flushed by the late battle with his pride. Gwendolen's heart gave a bound toward him, then sank down whimpering. The girl, too, felt an overwhelming need for tears. One kind word more from Dodge, one faint concession on her part, and she must surrender utterly, bend down with her face hidden, and sob out her anxieties and her relief. Oh, if they were but alone, and she could "make up" as she longed to do! But now, because all eyes might turn to them, because she had not the self-control to explain, his tenderness must be met by scorn, in self-protection she must lash herself to stoicism by blows rained on him. She drew herself upright. He could not see how feverishly one primrose-colored hand clutched the window-frame. "You have--mis-taken your--corner, Mr. Dodge," she jerked out in a voice that needed to balance every word, like an acrobat on a wire. "Miss Niestra is, I think, in another part of the room." "I have, as you say, mistaken the corner. I shall not offend again," said Dodge. The girl's heart called out after him. She bit her lips to keep back the gush of tears. "Now he will hate me forever and ever! He'll never want to speak to me again," she told herself. She threw her head back, and stepped out into the light. Scrutiny would help to steady her. Count Ronsard still held court, his two attendants being Pierre and Yuki. Gwendolen's generous heart flared into new anger for her friend. "What are my stings to Yuki's!" she cried to herself. "Those two men are devils to torture a woman as I know they are doing!" Gwendolen felt a sense of returning energy. She had found a definite task. Count Ronsard, who flattered himself that he understood all women, to whom raw débutantes were as glass candy jars in a village shop-window, felt a little surprise, perhaps even a little excitement, as Gwendolen, smiling like a tall white angel, bore down upon him, and announced, in her sweetest voice, that she had come to "keep him company." Enlightenment and a challenge lay in her two next sentences. "Bring me that footstool, Pierre. Yuki, darling, let me take your place now as ministering angel to the count. Other guests may need you." Like a snowy bird of Paradise flecked with gold, she perched beside the caged Frenchman. He saw through her feint as clearly as she had seen through his. Having avowed himself incapable of walking, he had no choice but to remain where he was, or to return home. In sheer intellectual delight at the girl's wit and daring, he yielded himself to her snare. Her sentences enwrapped him in bright skeins. Excitement gave her pungency. She realized that she had never talked so well, and even in the midst of it regretted that it had to be wasted on an "old pig." Pierre hovered about sullenly until released by a nod from his chief. No further speech did he obtain with Yuki. Gwendolen noted, with malicious satisfaction, how close the young wife kept to her husband's side, how tenderly the great man leaned and spoke with her. Together they now moved through the crowded rooms, delivering invitations to the sewing-meeting on the following Monday, the first to be held. The air of the room crackled to eager acceptances. Mrs. Stunt's was the explosion of a small torpedo. Tranquillity and her usual pale-rose flush came back to the face of the little princess. Gwendolen's sparkling eyes jeered light into those of Count Ronsard. The man was a great man in his distorted way. As yet life's greatest values were, for him, of the mind. Rising at last with ostentatious and smothered groans, as he prepared to limp to his waiting carriage, he gave the girl her meed of praise. "Mademoiselle," he said gravely, "it would be a happy day for France were you to become the wife of one of her diplomats." "Merci," said Gwendolen, with a French curtsy. "The profession allures me, but--an American diplomat will be good enough for me!" CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE A short whispered colloquy between Hagané, the little Princess Sada-ko, and Yuki, during the reception, a few days before, resulted in the decision that the Japanese ladies should be asked to come quite early to the sewing party; the foreign contingent to be bidden later, about one in the afternoon. To all Japanese the early hours of the day are best. Yuki knew that this was not the case with foreigners. Besides, to have served a hot foreign luncheon to an indefinite number of guests would have taken from the purpose of such a meeting most of its charitable intent, and, very likely, all of the material profit. The simplest of Japanese collations,--a bowl of thin fish soup, rice, tea, a fairy dish of pickles, one sweetmeat, maybe, this could be served with propriety to the Empress herself, had that gracious lady been present. These women worked for their own hero soldiers, for their own adored Nippon. Their utmost efforts were privileges; what the foreign ladies gave might, among themselves, be considered alms. When all had arrived, that is, the foreigners as well as Japanese, they were to be given for entertainment, music of the two worlds. First, English songs from a charming soprano, a Mrs. Wyndham of Yokohama, justly celebrated in the East, as in her own land, for an unusually pure and lovely voice. For Japanese they were to have improvisation and martial chanting from a Satsuma biwa player, a court musician in highest favor with their Majesties. The lending of him to Yuki for this meeting had been a royal answer to Hagané's modest statement of his young wife's plan. The Japanese ladies, mostly of the noble class, began to arrive before the blue morning mists had quite lifted from the long, gleaming surfaces of castle moats; before the wild white herons, perching on great down-sweeping arms of castle pines, had warmed their chilly feathers to the skin; before the budding cherry-boughs had dared unfold a single dripping leaf. By eight o'clock that end of the huge upstairs hall set apart for their exclusive use had few vacant places. The Japanese ladies brought scissors, thimble, and needles; material and thread were contributed by Prince Hagané. Yuki's mother was among the first. Iriya grew younger and prettier with each day, in this new pride and happiness won through her only child. She had not brought the servants. Yuki insisted that they be sent for. They came as upon the chariot of the wind, released by a gruff sound of acquiescence from their master, their blue sleeves flying horizontally in the morning air. Little Maru, whose excessive love for candy kept her in a condition of pink rotundity, gasped joyously for breath. "Ma-a-a!" she cried at first sight of a courtyard filled with crested kuruma; and "Ma-a-a!" again, as she tripped on the top step and fell full-length into the hall; and "Ma-a-a!" once more as the obliging butler stooped to rescue her, until Suzumé, frowning heavily, called her a bean-curd, and bade her cease exclaiming. It was a gentle company that worked in the upper hall. Shining black heads bent as one above tumultuous yards of white cotton cloth. The peculiar odor of cambric and unbleached domestic was mixed with Japanese perfumes of sandalwood and incense, and with the unique aroma of hair-oil made from camellia berries. Work went on steadily. Great white towers of bandages were finished, and removed by servant-maids, who staggered, laughed, and joked softly, as they bore the tottering burdens to the packing-room downstairs. Sounds of hammer and nails arose as the packages went into boxes. They could hear workmen haggling over the spelling of certain Manchurian addresses. In the big hall the nobly-born seamstresses talked, smiled, raised eyebrows, nodded, shook their heads over bad news, and gave small, half-finished exclamations over good, much as a roomful of Western women might have done. The fortunes of war dominated interest. Bereavement had already fallen upon more than one of the gentle company. Death was spoken of quite simply, with no affectation of distress. Universal contempt was expressed for a certain young widow who had been coarse and self-centred enough to faint at her husband's tomb. "Hirotsuné's spirit must have covered his eyes with shame at that sight, and thanked the gods she had borne him no son," said an elderly aunt of the dead hero, Hirotsuné. But not all the conversation was of war. The rise in the price of provisions was commented upon by anxious housewives. In all cases the household expenses had been cut down, and the money deflected to the national treasury. This seemed as natural to them all as that water should flow. "The poor food makes, of course, no difference to us who are adult, or to our boy children," murmured one sweet-faced matron. "But sometimes the babes, and the very old servants, grumble a little at having barley mixed with their rice." Fashions, since no one thought of buying new gowns, was, for once in a female gathering, utterly ignored. Gossip concerning foreign residents, especially women, remained, as usual, an engrossing theme. The latest Yokohama and Tsukijii scandals were whispered, not without zest. These high-nosed, fierce-looking creatures of their own sex were a source of constant marvelling to Japanese women. "Kitsui" (mannish) they were called, as the extreme of disapprobation. Yuki defended them, and gave a softer coloring to some of the alleged misdeeds. Gwendolen she cited as an example of a Western girl who must, in her past incarnations, have been entirely Japanese. The guests listened politely, but Yuki read skepticism on their calm faces. During the long forenoon not once was a voice raised or a loud laugh heard. Yet not one face ever lapsed into indifference. One might have gained from the resilient poise of slender throats an impression of yielding strength. Their chatter was a murmur, with tripping, short interludes of sound, and cooing, long-drawn vowels soft as their own white hands. They were a flock of gray doves in a sheltered niche. Never, one would have said, were creatures more tender, more feminine, more dependent. So would a foreigner have thought, to see them; but a Japanese knows the truth. Not a woman there but might be the child, the parent, the wife of a hero. Many had looked calmly on death. Not one among them would falter at the extremest test of heroic sacrifice, and should the call come, this little sewing band would rise, arm itself with swords, and deal what desperate death it could upon intruding enmity, before at last plunging sharp surrender into its own brave heart. At noon the Japanese meal was served. After it came a little pause of rest, enlivened by smoking from small gold pipes, and the drinking of added cups of tea. Just before one o'clock the sewing was resumed. Then the little silk-clad ladies waited, in deeper agitation than they would have felt in facing Kuropatkin, for the coming of their foreign friends. Mrs. Todd was punctual almost to the minute. With her came Gwendolen and Mrs. Stunt. A slight coolness now existed between the two elder ladies. Mrs. Stunt's explanation that her effusiveness to the Haganés was merely "sarcasm" had failed to convince even so trustful a nature as Mrs. Todd. Coolness, however, did not keep Mrs. Stunt from a neighborhood where she might derive profit. She had walked on foot to the Legation, declaring that her jinrikisha-man was shockingly drunk, and had begged a seat in the American carriage. It was, of course, given, and by the time Yuki's residence was reached the artful one had regained some of her lost favor with Mrs. Todd, and deepened the loathing of the silent Gwendolen. The three came up the stairs together, their foreign shoes pounding in unison, causing the huge, badly constructed house to rattle at every window. "Well!" exclaimed Mrs. Todd, as she lifted her lorgnette to survey the long hall and the gathered company, "a regular sewing-bee, isn't it? And I see, Yuki, you've got the piano upstairs, after all. I didn't believe you'd get it up those steps." Yuki had, of course, met them at the door. She and Gwendolen fell, through force of habit, far in the wake of the bustling dame. Mrs. Stunt kept well beside the leader. The two girls clasped hands shyly, and looked at each other with side glances, like happy children in the first embarrassment of play. Many of the Japanese ladies lifted glances of interest to the tall blonde girl. This must be she of whom the Princess Hagané had spoken, the girl with the face of the Sun Goddess Amaterasu,--with the strayed soul of a Nipponese. She wore this afternoon a simple costume of golden-brown silk. It was just the transition tone between her golden hair and the darker brows and lashes. A wide hat of bronze-colored velvet piled high with paler plumes balanced itself on her delicate head. Bronze-colored gloves ran up the slender arms to the elbow, where the sleeves fell away in a deep pointed ruff. A belt of dull yellow shark's skin and bronze boots completed the costume. The seated women, ignoring the advancing bulk of Madame Todd, the restless insistency of her companion, let smiling eyes rest on Gwendolen, then nodded to each other, and exchanged glances, as if in corroboration of Yuki's previous words. "I am keeping seats for your party, dear Mrs. Todd, over there by that most sunshine window," said Yuki. "Please see that a chair is held for Mrs. Wyndham, who is so very kind to sing for us. Ah, I hear many peoples arriving. I see Mrs. Wyndham now. I will advance to her." Yuki hurried off, and soon returned with the prima donna, whom she delivered into Mrs. Todd's efficient hands. "My _dear_ Mrs. Wyndham," cried that lady. "Oh, I beg pardon. Mrs. Stunt, Mrs. Wyndham; my daughter, Miss Todd, Mrs. Wyndham. I didn't realize that you had not met Miss Todd." "I called at your Legation last Tuesday,--the proper day, I am sure,--but failed to see Miss Todd," said the Englishwoman, stiffly. Mrs. Todd flushed crimson. Mrs. Stunt turned away to hide her satisfaction. A public slight to Gwendolen generally meant, for Mrs. Todd, attempted annihilation of the offender. She turned angered eyes to Mrs. Wyndham, and would have spoken, but Gwendolen pressed her arm. "No, mother dear, don't defend me; I deserve it. Let me speak. Mrs. Wyndham, I am mother's despair at the Legation. I forget reception-days half the time. I--I--" here she lowered her voice to a delicious, confidential whisper, "the fact is I--I _shirk_ them. So many old frumps, you know! It's getting to be a regular hen-roost. But, honest, I am sorry I was out last Tuesday, and I want you to give me another chance." Gwendolen could generally be irresistible when she chose. Now she chose not only to win Mrs. Wyndham, to whose high-bred English face she had taken an instant liking, but to deal another blow to her enemy Mrs. Stunt. In both efforts she was successful, though Mrs. Wyndham did not capitulate all at once. The sparkling hazel eyes and the gray ones met. Suspicion lived a little longer in the latter. "Please," murmured Gwendolen. Suspicion died. "I am always at home on my Wednesdays," said the Englishwoman. "I'll be there," laughed Gwendolen. "Have me a place set at your breakfast-table!" Yuki had vanished to perform her duties of hostess. Mrs. Todd and her small party took the "sunshine" seats, and a Japanese lady whom they had not met brought them foreign sewing materials. Work had not begun with them when a low, plaintive voice leaned to Mrs. Todd's large ear. "Please, please, help me in all ways you can, dear Mrs. Todd. This is much worse than that reception I held downstairs. So many foreign ladies are come,--and they all look at everybody so very hard! Ask kind Mrs. Wyndham to sing just as soon as she are ready, and soon, please." Mrs. Wyndham rose instantly, and looked with composure over the sea of lifted heads. Every chair was now taken, and servants brought up new ones from the rooms downstairs. She was used to audiences, also to commendation. In her hands she held a roll of music. Mrs. Wyndham was one of those colonists--a large class in the Far East--who never forgive Japan for not being England. She emphasized her homesickness by withdrawal from all native interests, except, as now, when she could give pleasure and assistance by her voice. It was her pride that she ate no Japanese products. Everything on her table was "imported." Even her garden held only English flowers. That great sea of spiritual and physical beauty which lies in Japanese character, and in its environment, was to her nonexistent. Such dwellers in the East are like children who, in springtime, search the grass for fallen apples, and never once lift their disappointed faces to the pink canopy of bloom. As may be inferred, all Japanese music was, to Mrs. Wyndham and her intimate associates, mere squeaking, caterwauling, an excruciating discord. She spoke constantly of "civilized" music. She was fond of referring to the English school of harmony. She was exaggerated in her use of English method. "Shall I be compelled to play my own accompaniment?" now asked Mrs. Wyndham. Her pretty face showed concern. "If the music is not too hard I will try," said Gwendolen, springing from her chair, while scissors and thimble fell clattering to the floor. She gave the fallen articles a contemptuous glance, and, without a motion to rescue them, followed Mrs. Wyndham to the piano. A group of young Japanese girls, put in a corner to themselves, exchanged looks of delight, and began to titter like wrens. "How much do the ways of the honorable foreign scissors and thimble resemble those of Japanese scissors and thimble!" they confided one to another. "My thimble generally rolls off the veranda and buries itself among pebbles. I think it possesses an imp!" laughed one. "Mine goes always into the red coals of the hibachi," giggled another. "That is precisely the conduct of my worthless article," added a third. "The water-kettle has to be taken aside, and grandmother scowls. Then we all dig for the thimble with the copper fire-sticks. When we find it, it is quite black, and--Ma-a-a!--so hot, that it must be dropped at once into cold water, where it hisses like the head of a small serpent." "Now what shall I sing for such a crowd as this?" mused Mrs. Wyndham, as she shuffled the loose leaves of her music. Her words had the sound of inner meditation. "What would the Japanese like best?" asked Gwendolen, in a low tone. "Oh, my _dear_! I wasn't thinking of them!" protested the other. "They are incapable of appreciating any real music. I was thinking of our foreign friends." "Yuki Hagané is a Japanese. She loves the best music. Brahms is almost a passion with her. She says that he sounds like the wind in pine-trees, high above a great battle." "Oh, Brahms!" said the other. "I never sing Brahms. He is too harsh and unpoetic. These bellowing contraltos affect him. As for me, I must have something light, poetic, full of melody." "Here is our American McDowell," murmured Gwendolen, and bent her face that its expression might not be seen. "Being patriotic by profession I plead for McDowell." "You do not consider him,--over their heads?" asked the Englishwoman, dubiously. "Oh, well, you can give them Sullivan next time, and bring down the average!" Mrs. Wyndham bent a suspicious look, but Gwendolen's lifted gaze was that of a seraph over a last harp note. "I'll try McDowell. Can you play the accompaniment?" "I can at least attempt it," said Gwendolen, meekly, and forthwith rippled out the prelude with an ease that further deepened suspicion. The song began with a single note, long sustained, the voice striking in abruptly among hurrying chords. Mrs. Wyndham's beautiful voice took it like a star. Suddenly, with another upward swerve, the note wavered, passed into a new kindling as into the life of a bird, and swept along on higher currents with motionless, outspread wings. The foreign ladies exchanged glances of rapture. The Japanese workers, on the other hand, stared first in astonishment, then with growing apprehension. Surely this was not singing! Something must be going wrong with the honorable insides of the kind lady! They stole timid looks toward their hostess, and by her calm, interested face were reassured. Still the piercing note went higher. The singer's throat swelled slightly, and her face turned red. From the group of Japanese girls one hysterical chuckle escaped. That set off the whole lot. Staid matrons bowed convulsed faces to folds of cotton cloth; silken sleeves came into requisition. A few of the foreign ladies looked about and frowned. Yuki half rose from her chair. Now, fortunately, the highest note was reached. It broke its flight with a great twitter of wings. The bars of a staccato love-song began. Again the Japanese women stared, but now in admiration as well as wonder. Never were singing notes so light, so delicate, so silvery! As the song ended (and indeed it had been exquisitely given), the foreign ladies burst into simultaneous applause. Led by the bolder among them, the Japanese followed suit. "Oh, we can't let you stop at _that_, dear Mrs. Wyndham," came Mrs. Stunt's high, rasping voice. "Won't you give us that lovely thing of Goo-nowd's you sung at our last Charity concert?" Mrs. Wyndham consented. After Gounod it was an English ballad, then another and another, until at length the singer, with pretty petulance, turned from the piano saying that she had already monopolized too much time. A great buzzing of thanks and congratulations surged about her. No expression of admiration was too exaggerated. In fact there was none that pretty Mrs. Wyndham had not heard many times before. She accepted these tributes now, as usual, with deprecating smiles, and little protesting shakes of the head, finally declaring that they would make her conceited if they didn't stop. No one noticed the American girl, still at the piano. She gave a swift look around, and seeing that the biwa player had not come, began whispering to the keys the first notes of one of Chopin's most delicate fantasies. Like the down on a moth's wing, it came. Like crystal raindrops, then, mixed with the perfume of bruised petals, and sometimes the distant yearning of a bird. This was music that even the untutored Japanese girls could feel. It held the sound of their own koto strings,--it breathed whispers of their own trees, and winds, and sighing sea-stretches. Gradually all voices in the room ceased. Faster the notes came, though still with a suggestion of whispering. Gwendolen's white hands became a misty blur. The theme drew closer, with now a wind-driven swish of rain and scurrying petals; now the nearer cry of a bird, and a low under-rhythm of human sorrow. The sounds whirled and lifted into melodious agitation. The caged bird seemed to give low plaints of fear; the wind and the rain drove close, dashed into the face of silence, and drew back. Then all sounds died away in waves of exhausted sobbing. Gwendolen sprang up, leaving the piano vibrant. She hurried to the nearest window, turning her face from all in the room. Mrs. Wyndham was the first to speak. Her light laugh had an artificial sound. "And to think, my dear, that I insisted upon knowing whether you could manage my accompaniments!" Gwendolen did not heed. She was tingling with the excitement and unrest that Chopin's music so often brought her. Yuki came softly, slipping a little scarred hand into that of her friend. "I hate Chopin!" cried the American girl, in a low, angry voice. "I wonder why I keep on playing him! Every time I say I won't, and then I go and do it! He is morbid, he is childish, he is French! One sees his weak chin quiver, and the tears roll down his cheek! He wants you to see them. I hate him, I say! But, oh, he is a compelling genius!" "Yes, he do like every one to see him when he cries. But when I hear him I think, 'Oh, what must it be to a person's soul to be able to cry such tears of music!'" A sound at the main entrance-door caused the little hostess to turn. "Ah, there is the Satsuma biwa player! I must now go to him. He, too, makes tears, Gwendolen, but of a different sort. Perhaps you will not wish to cry for him. You may even think him to be funny, as many of the Japanese ladies thought Mrs. Wyndham's beautiful singing to be funny. You must not try to stay,--you and Mrs. Todd,--if it will tire you." As she hurried away Mrs. Wyndham drew slowly near. "You naughty one! I shall owe you a grudge for this. You are not to be forgiven until you promise to come often--often--and let us play sometimes together. You are a genius!" "Not quite that, I think," said Gwendolen, smiling. "Though, indeed, I have never known a friend to take music's place, except Yuki; and now that she is a princess, I suppose I can't feel her to be so much my own. I shall love to come to you and play. Your voice is like sunshine on an English fountain." "Ah!" said the other, "what a charming speech! No man could say anything half so pretty! Now, as reward, I am going to give you a piece of valuable advice." She leaned confidentially near. "Make your escape while you can." She nodded significantly toward the biwa player, who, with Yuki beside him, stood shrinkingly in the doorway. "I've heard him once,--or one like him. It is what you Americans might call 'the limit'!" "You mean for me to go? But I have never heard any Japanese music at all!" protested Gwendolen. "Oh, in that case--" said Mrs. Wyndham, with her delicate shrug. "If you care for the experience!" She hurried off with many protestations of regret. Several other ladies followed her example. The biwa player now stood beside the piano. Two Japanese tatami (padded straw mats six feet in length) were brought in and placed upon the floor. Before inviting him to be seated Yuki made a hesitating little speech to the company, first in English, then in Japanese, saying to the foreigners that while the music to come would doubtless be strange, and possibly displeasing to them, to her and her compatriots it was a trumpet-call to heroism. "It stirs our blood to every drop!" she cried, forgetting, for the instant, her shyness. "It echoes to the brave deeds of a thousand years ago,--it foretells deeds more greater that may come! It is the crying of strong souls, it is breath of our fathers' Gods!" Gwendolen, in that vague sort of way in which impressions of alien customs are formed, had believed all male musicians in Japan to be blind. Some one had told her so, or she had read it. She was surprised, therefore, and interested, to see in this famous singer of battle-hymns a young man, indeed almost a boy, with thin, shaven face, tumultuous black hair not too closely or evenly cut, tossed in thick locks all over his well-poised head; and eyes, large, straight, expressive, and brilliant enough to be the ornament of a young French or Italian seigneur. He showed a slight embarrassment, at first, in the presence of so many women. He was used to the audience of statesmen, to the flashing response of Majesty. Here were not only Japanese girls, mere children, but a great company of high-nosed, pink and purple foreigners. Saturated as he was, made up of lore and legend, with songs of the Lady Sakanouyé, or of Ono no Komachi never far from his lips, even Gwendolen's bright beauty seemed a trifle abnormal, bleached, repellent. Now his hostess, the young Princess Hagané, looked into his eyes, and spoke to him in their own tongue. "Be not concerned, honorable sir, at the presence of foreign women! They cannot understand your words, of course; but I am sure they will listen courteously. As for us,--we Japanese women,--we are the wives, the daughters, the mothers of heroes. Our frail lives toss as thin flames on the altar of prayer. We cannot fight, we can only pray and work. Sing strength to us as we minister to distant soldiers dying, perhaps on barren fields, or heaped, dead, in the ploughed siege-trenches of this fearful war!" His deep eyes seemed to drink of her inspiration, so long was the gaze with which he held her. "I am honored to sing at your bidding," he answered. He had forgotten to bow at the words. He forgot that she was a princess. He recognized her as a spirit. Forever after this slight girl, seen but once, became one of the poet's galaxy of pale, pure stars. For years he could not sing of the death-struggle of the Heiké clan without a vision of her prophetic eyes. He took his seat very slowly on the soft straw mat. Yuki withdrew, and became lost among her guests. The biwa, a large lute in the shape of half a pear, had been held, all this time, closely against the young man's breast. Now, in taking his seat, the instrument was extended to the full length of his right arm. It gave out, under his close grasp, a sleepy hum. For an instant only it was placed apart from him, on the mat, that he might spread and smooth the knees of his silken robe, draw his stiff sleeves into exact angles, and adjust the low kimono collar. Then he turned impatiently again to the lute. It murmured to him; he drew it close, smiling as a mother upon her babe. "Ain't he handsome for a Jap?" whispered Mrs. Stunt to Gwendolen. The girl winced. She was studying him in her own way. His manner, just before beginning, was aloof and reserved, as if he were restating to himself consecration to service. The Japanese women, even the oldest, gazed upon him with deep reverence. "Beethoven may have smiled like that, or St. Francis of Assisi," thought Gwendolen. "It is a look, not of race, but of immortality." The player's head lifted slightly. He was losing consciousness of material presences. His part was with the unseen world; he must draw down currents of a mighty past, and send them as new streams of influence, on through a menaced future. For he was to improvise, not to repeat. His theme alone was set,--a most heroic incident of civil wars, resulting in extermination of a dominating clan. The annihilation of the Heiké might give him text, but the flow of rhythmic words should vibrate, thrill, moan, quicken, purl, or shatter, as the mood of the moment might demand. Doubtless in this pause he was invoking, in full faith, the souls of those dead heroes; offering them possession of his human frame, and entreating higher gods to make him worthy of the test. His low voice and the first three slow notes rose together. The minor quality suggested lamentation. A short passage, rapidly chanted without accompaniment, made the hearts of the listeners beat a little faster. Then voice and instrument clashed together; both whirled nearer, until, all at once,--silence! The player looked about the room in bewilderment. He stared down upon the biwa. He closed his eyes and swayed slightly backward, then forward, then back again. Suddenly he reopened his eyes. They were larger, more brilliant; they flashed a new fire, the glare of battle reflected in their depths. Words now came rapidly. His sentences fell of themselves into long, unstable rhythms. Cadences were lacking. All phrasing, except in rarest intervals, broke into the air with a sob, a sigh, a shuddering gasp. Often now the biwa strings were slashed across by the ivory plectrum, and the human wail rang through vibrating response. Then voice and strings plunged into a seeming discord, a frantic wrack of sound exorcised an instant later by pure calm notes struck separately, like the drip of slow water. In the sense of Western harmony there was none, but something in the weird vibrations of long notes, the intricacies of overtone, and, above all, the unbelievable subtleties of rhythm, gave to one eager American listener, at least, her first insight into a new world of sound. "They are nearer in this, as in all their other arts, to nature," she thought to herself. "They summon the very essences of being, and find skeins for entangling them. Without conscious representation, they suggest to the human ear the lisp of sea winds, the flutter of fire, the rushing monologue of mountain streams. They hear sounds we Westerners never hear. I believe the very mists are audible." As the emotion increased and the subject became more martial, the time of the music grew rapid, broken, syncopated, involved. Soft, melodious passages shattered into jarring notes. Like European troubadours of France, or the meistersingers of mediæval Germany, he yielded himself to the unconscious swing of impulse, and sang what was given him. Lines shortened. Syllables became more staccato. It was dramatic, undidactic--the deeds rather than the thoughts of men. His diction became more simple and direct, with sharp, incisive verbs at the end that rang like smitten steel. His whole body, at times, was shaken. After some terrific passage, while the sobbing lute-strings sustained the passion, his body would bend over and down, as if, in its abandonment to joy, grief, or battle ardor, it would hug the instrument that had become its soul. Now he sang of the hero youth, Atsumori, of his insistence upon honorable death at the hand of his conqueror, Kumagayé. "The Hour of the Hare comes at last, and the red sun advances, Raised like a cry and a shield in the mists of the morning, "Warriors and chiefs and the dauntless brave youth Atsumori Drive to the sea all the hordes of the sweating red demons." The dove-gray garments of the Japanese women, folded so modestly across seemingly quiet breasts, began to stir and palpitate. More than one tear fell upon the bandages. Yuki's face, set now unfalteringly upon the singer, grew ever more white; her long eyes burned, and trembled apart. Unconsciously she went close to him, and, kneeling upon the hard floor, drank of his voice. The group of Japanese maidens hid faces in their bright sleeves. The air stirred and tingled with invisible influences. Gwendolen began to shiver like an animal which knows not its own source of fear. The charged atmosphere, the face, the voice of the singer, Yuki's great glowing eyes, swept in her soul strained chords of unknown feeling. She felt in herself the vibrations of that trembling lute. In its cell a soul, just wakened, fumbled at a new discovered latch. "Surely it must be reincarnation," whispered the girl. "Surely I have felt and seen all this before! Yuki and I together have listened; that look was on her face. Yuki!" The cry was scarcely a whisper. Yuki, many feet away, could not possibly have heard, yet instantly she turned,--the eyes, night-black and hazel, caught and clung together, with half ghostly memories that were the same. "Hissed there the sea with the scorching of steel and of passion, Rolled up the clouds from the sky and the shore in a tumult, There on the sand lies the body of young Atsumori." One great crashing across the strings, "like the tearing of brocade," and the singer's head fell forward,--his frame trembled and shrank, he quivered into stillness. Yuki half crawled to him, holding out a protecting arm, and facing her guests like a young tigress. "Do not any one speak. Do not crowd about him," she cried in English. "His soul will be weary from the long journey." The Japanese women understood, and returned quietly to their sewing. The foreigners tittered, shrugged, and exchanged glances, then they, too, began to work. A servant brought tea to the singer, and a glass of cold water. At length he stretched out a trembling hand to the latter, and having finished the draught, rose quietly and went from the room, with Yuki close behind. A few moments later Gwendolen heard her returning, unaccompanied, along the hall. She went out to meet her, thankful indeed for the privilege of a few words alone. "Yuki-ko," she faltered, "I just wanted to say that at last I understand,--I think I understand entirely." Yuki, still half in the world of shadows, gave her a strange look. "You understand, Gwendolen? Is it my marriage you speak of?" "Oh, so much more than that!" cried the other, with a little sob. "Had you been what the conventional foreigner calls 'faithful,' you would have been the most faithless girl in all the world!" "You are a wonderful friend," said Yuki. Her voice had the strange quality of her look. Both had caught the rhythm of low martial chanting. "But even you, my Gwendolen, did not hear or understand it all. There is tragedy before me. You did not hear that in the music?" "I thought I heard it, darling, but I shut my ears! I shall not believe. We can compel even tragedy, Yuki. Nothing can harm you with Hagané's love!" "It is of that the tragedy come. But do not trouble. If I can serve Nippon, I asks no more of this life." "Yuki, what can you mean?" cried the other, holding her back. "Hush, dearest; do not trouble," smiled Yuki. "See, the guests turn their heads to listen. I must go to them. I have no fear at all." CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Throughout the months of March and early April this strange hiatus in war bulletins hung, like a gray sky, above national enthusiasm. The more dignified of the newspapers still adjured the populace to patience, still exhorted them to have faith in their wise and careful leaders. "The Hawk's Eye," on the other hand, bereft of inflammatory battle themes, served up, with new condiment of ingenious suggestion, the personal gossip of the hour. Few of the weekly issues (those printed entirely in English) omitted a guarded slur upon the conjugal felicity of the Hagané household. Gwendolen came in for her share of veiled allusion. Yuki-ko, each week stung by the contemptible malice of the attack, promised herself that never again should the paper be opened in her home. Gwendolen, at the American Legation, weekly did the same. The results of both resolutions were equally humiliating. This was not a happy time for Gwendolen, creature of sunshine and spring breezes as she seemed. The continued strained relations between herself and Dodge interfered quite seriously at times with the young man's official duties. Mr. Todd leaned more heavily than he knew upon his attaché's four past years of experience in Tokio life, and resented an attitude of one of his own family, which kept Dodge so rigidly within the paling of mere officialdom. Mrs. Todd, who had never professed great friendship for the secretary, now most loudly denounced his "outrageous flirtation" with the Spanish girl, and even declared it an affront upon her Legation. Gwendolen, urged one moment to stop the affair, "as she certainly could by the lifting of a finger," was, the instant after, taunted by her inability to do so. The public friendship between Dodge and the charming Señorita deepened obviously with each day. Hints of an early marriage flecked "The Hawk's Eye." Mrs. Todd began to feel herself personally injured by her wilful daughter. Finally, goaded into action and spurred by her own restless heart, the girl made a counter-move of a sudden and desperate intimacy with Carmen herself. Such things are not unknown in the history of adolescence. Carmen yielded to the American's bright fascination with the caressing languor characteristic of her. The two girls lunched together, dined, drove, and had tea together, and spoke of each other in exaggerated terms of endearment. Dodge, whatever his private surmises, retained an unaltered front. Naturally he and Gwendolen were more often together. She showed to him an air of cherished hostility, varied by small lightning-flashes of appeal. Two feminine currents blew full upon him. Dodge kept his hat on. The beautiful Castilian bore toward him the attitude of an indulgent conqueror. Gwendolen aided this, and whenever possible threw Dodge into the position of Carmen's accepted lover. Also, for some reason known only to herself, she encouraged the Spanish girl in her belief in Dodge's overwhelming adoration. Gwendolen soon discovered that her new friend had an uncontrollable yearning for "dulces," and eagerly embraced this opportunity for demonstrating her new affection. Gwendolen scoured the alleys of old Yedo for novel sweetmeats; she purveyed from the French shops of Yokohama imported dainties; she sent a telegraphic order to a certain New York confectioner. Carmen appreciated and devoured all results. The Japanese confections, which many other European ladies might (without, of course, having tasted) pretend to despise, she declared delicious. The "ama-natto," or small purple bean, boiled and sugar-coated with lilac frosting, she called "fairy marron." Mikan, or small oranges preserved whole, with a flake of cinnamon and ginger, gained an established place on the Spanish Legation table. "Hakka ame," that delicious triangle of peppermint cream, improved from an American missionary's original recipe, vied in public favor, as a hors-d'oeuvre with French bonbons, salted almonds, and olives. Once Carmen's French maid, suspecting, perhaps, more than a purely altruistic intention in Gwendolen's persistent offerings, warned her young mistress against immoderate indulgence in sweet foods, and protested, with many gesticulations and a hint of tears, that the very last importation of Paris gowns already needed the letting out of seams, and would soon be unwearable. "Nonsense, Lizette," smiled the pampered one, "not eat dulces? I have always eaten dulces. How, in the Virgin's name, would one get through a novel without a plate of dulces beside it?" The maid sent a hostile glance to Gwendolen, which the blonde beauty had the conscience not to resent. Rapidly increasing embonpoint was Carmen's one menace to beauty. She had already begun to pray to her patron saint for diminution. On the prie-dieu invariably lay a half-nibbled chocolate. Were not Gwendolen's friendship so open, so obvious, one might have suspected that she connived with fate to circumvent her Carmen's petition; that actually she assisted in the mournful process of burying perfect features and luscious, languorous dark eyes in warm cushions of pink fat. But no, we must not think such things of Gwendolen. Because of the new intimacy and an increasing activity in Tokio society Gwendolen now saw much less of her schoolmate, Yuki. Perhaps it was as well. The Princess Hagané had her own lessons to learn, and they were Japanese lessons. Following close upon her first sewing-meeting came Yuki's presentation to Their Majesties. The court ladies welcomed her into their midst. As in humbler Japanese circles she was immediately asked innumerable questions. In return she began learning, from her high-born interrogants, the new language of extreme court ceremony. Another reception and another sewing-meeting fell due. To the latter of these functions a mere handful of foreign ladies came. Gwendolen and Mrs. Todd were detained, actually, by some globe-trotting Washington associates, who landed that very day at Yokohama. In the two subsequent gatherings foreign attendance ceased altogether. Each reception was, however, a "crush." Gossip is a magnet; the presence of eligible young men not exactly detraction. Mrs. Stunt and others of her kind went openly to see whether Pierre Le Beau would attend, and how he would conduct himself before host and hostess. It was the secret craving of such social vultures that a scene, the more disgraceful the better, be enacted for their entertainment, and the disappointment was correspondingly keen when neither Pierre nor Count Ronsard attended. The count, indeed, sent cards and a gift of flowers. No mention at all was made of the younger man. Three of the Hagané official functions had taken place. March hurled itself gruffly into the outstretched arms of spring. Gwendolen knew why Pierre stayed away and why Ronsard remained so impassive. She had good reasons for not telling Yuki. At her friend's silence the latter wondered. Instinct told her that there was a deeper explanation than mere forgetfulness. More than once she had nerved herself to inquire; but always, just on the point of asking, something had happened to interfere. A new cry, which affected Yuki far more openly, began to ring through the current press. "If complications have arisen in Manchuria let Prince Hagané go and unravel them!" This demand grew in insistence with each day. Presently the whole nation had arisen, and was clamoring, "Send our War Lord, Hagané, to the front!" Yuki waited patiently for her husband to inform her of the reception of this demand in high quarters. Like a good Japanese wife she dared not force the issue. On every side her part, it seemed, was to wait, to command herself, to endure suspense. To an impatient nature such as Gwendolen this would have been torture. To Yuki, trained through centuries of brave ancestors to play her woman's part of uncomplaining quiescence, the strain was not so great. Her ignorance of Pierre seemed, indeed, the heaviest burden. She scanned now the English columns of every paper, hoping against hope that her eyes would seize the printed assurance of his return to France. This was the young wife's prayer, uttered on her knees each night, muttered through pale lips a hundred times each day, that Pierre would go quietly home, and in his own dear land forget the woman who had broken faith with him. His threat against Hagané's life did not sound to her absurd. It re-echoed to her, always with a pang of fear. Love and hate alike give preternatural insight. By injury to Prince Hagané alone could Pierre gain full revenge. By this means he could strip the flesh from the bones of her loyal sacrifice, laying bare the grinning skeleton of a national disaster, wreaked through her. Of course she could not speak these fears to Hagané. There was no one, not even Gwendolen, to whom she could whisper them. Hagané was now seldom at his home. She gathered, once or twice, from gossip of the servants, that he had spent the previous night and day at the Tabata villa, with a small company of statesmen as his guests. In the infrequent visits, she, studying his face with unconscious intensity, saw the same power, the same sadness, the invincible strength unshadowed and unexcited by this renewal of popular hero-worship. The thought that he might leave her alone, to fulfil the duties of his position, brought to the young wife a pang of terror, of misgiving. She believed it to be merely a shrinking from heavy responsibility. To outward appearance she and Hagané stood on opposite shores of an increasing chasm; but in her heart, when she dared listen to its timid pleadings, she knew it to be a narrowing, not a widening, void their joint lives spanned. She could not doubt that he felt some grave pleasure in seeing her on his expected visits to the great shell of his official home. The weekly receptions, where she bore herself with ever-increasing dignity and poise, did indeed give to the husband a deep impersonal satisfaction. It was more than satisfaction that he felt, as he saw the great filled packing-cases sent away each week to suffering soldiers in Manchuria. Once, coming in upon her unannounced, as was his custom, he had suddenly taken the white thing in his arms, thrown her head back to his shoulder, and gazed into her eyes as though to drag from some hidden depth an awakening thought,--a cradled possibility. Yuki's lids drooped under the blinding force of his look. She felt as though a great silent wind blew, pinning her against a rock. Surely in his twitching face was more than a calm self-congratulation! It was the man, the master, summoning by right what was rightly his. Love--strong, terrible, yet tender, showed for an instant in his dark eyes. He went from her as quickly as he had come. No word had broken the silence. During the rest of that day Yuki rocked in her heart a new-born hope, a possibility so strange, so ineffable that she dared not open her eyes to its tiny face. With bowed head and fast-closed lids she hushed it. That day set her feet on the temple-stair of shining prophecy. But how dare she, already to one pledge so faithless, climb upward, even on bleeding knees, to that splendid portico above? April spread her witchery of green and flowers over a thousand barren hills. Wild azaleas, wigelia, and boké (pyrus Japonica) barred the slopes with pink and crimson radiance. Valleys, so lately brown, spread now a wide bloom of violets, a curdled residue of purple morning mists. Earth-dwarfs, congeners of Loki, who people the under-world, drove upward from their subterranean caves huge copper spikes of young bamboo--ten inches across, some of it, as it pierced the mould--a marvellous springing column climbing by joints, two feet a day, toward the sun, and casting off brown sheaths, like outgrown jackets. Children roamed the hedges, the rice-field dykes, and copses (forgotten and unbuilded, sometimes in the very heart of Yedo) for tsukushimbo and the yellow chrysanthemum. All gardens, even those amorphous products of Eurasian uncertainty surrounding the American Legation and Yuki's official home, needed to be fair. Birds came to them, and early butterflies. The sun poured down upon them in equal measure his golden cataracts of joy. Saturday of the first week came. Pierre Le Beau had not been mentioned to the Princess Hagané, nor had she found a printed notice of him containing a hint of information. Cleverly insulated wires of venom, it is true, attached to her name and Hagané's. Sometimes Pierre was subtly referred to, but never openly. Next day, thought Yuki, she would go to church. Perhaps something would be said of him by the ladies who always crowded so eagerly about her carriage door. This weekly service, in the Episcopal church at Tsukijii, formed now the closest tie that bound Yuki to her Western memories. It was anticipated with eagerness. This link, at least, she told herself should not be snapped. Hagané's consent that she continue openly her Christian devotions had been unqualified. The mail that Saturday morning proved unusually large. An American mail-ship was in. Several letters and papers came from trans-Pacific friends, a great many Tokio social invitations, a few notes relating to Red Cross matters, and one folded pamphlet with a Japanese postmark. She knew from its pink wrapping that it was "The Weekly Hawk's Eye." With a slight shudder she put the evil thing aside, with a vague reawakening of the intention to burn it unopened. Slowly she read her letters and invitations. She glanced through the few American papers for any blue markings. All were finished. She leaned to gather them up and have them taken to her private desk upstairs, when the sun, pointing one bright finger through a blind, fell upon the pink wrapper and rested on her name. "Princess Sanétomo Hagané." It looked very cheerful and suggestive. The dull pink of the cheap paper glowed into a rosy hue. Perhaps it was an omen. Perhaps if she were brave and opened the sheet boldly she would find, instead of the usual malicious innuendoes, the announcement that Pierre was leaving for France. Thinking of Hagané's eyes as they had probed her own she flushed, trembled a little, and murmured aloud, "Oh, if he would only go--if Pierre would only go--how happy--" She broke off. A wave of compunction, pity for Pierre, scorn of her own fickleness, rushed upon her. She took the paper hastily, set her lips for what might be in store, and opened at random. Her name was plain enough, and Prince Hagané's. This time headlines had been dared. "Prince Hagané soon to leave his young wife. The Nation demands his presence at the centre of martial differences. Hagané loath to leave his young wife. Who knows what may happen? M. Le Beau raving in delirium at the German hospital in Yokohama." So much she read and paused. Very quietly she folded the paper and slipped it within a gray silk sleeve. She stooped for the crumpled pink wrapping, smoothed it also, and dropped it in her sleeve. Next she gathered into a neat package the mail she had been reading, rang for a maid-servant, and sent the mail up to her boudoir. Her orders were given in the usual low, pleasant voice. In closing, she said, "Should visitors come I am to be found in this room." Again alone, she walked to a western window and stared out at the great square shadow of the house thrown across the awkward garden. Beyond the straight line of the shadow, paths shone brilliantly in the sun, and flowers danced. Spring had come a little early. Everything that had a blossom to show rushed, it would seem, to the perfumed exhibition. Yuki shivered slightly. For the first time she knew that her hands were growing cold. She moved slowly toward the fireplace, an ordinary foreign grate with coal fire burning. Nearer the warmth she drew out again the pamphlet, unfolded and deliberately read the article from the first word to the last. Some passages she dwelt upon, extracting to its full flavor the bitterness of frustrated hope. According to the "Hawk's Eye" correspondent, Pierre had caught germs of malignant malaria, perhaps of typhus, while wandering in a state of great mental agony along the moats that border a certain official dwelling. He was now at the crisis of his malady. Two nurses watched him night and day, for his dementia had made of him a cunning schemer, full of sly efforts to escape. When detained he raved fearfully, saying that he had "things to do." "The Hawk's Eye" ingenuously marvelled as to what these "things" could possibly be. As is usual with articles so inspired the suggestions were far more damaging than any actual statement. She let her hands fall limp. One still clasped the ugly journal. Only a few moments before she had accused herself of heartlessness toward one she had wronged. In her generosity she had almost demanded a deeper suffering, if only it could be directed personally to her offending self, and not include, in its consequences, that great man whose name she now bore. Well, here was her punishment,--a fetid, scalding stream of venom, hurled full and straight at her. Attacks like this were, she knew, less to Hagané than the mud children throw against the base of a lofty statue. His mind moved in a stratum far above such contamination. The nation spoke direct to him. His ear was for his Emperor, the old gods of his race. "Yes," thought the young wife, "I wished to suffer for the wrong I have done, but these writhings of a polluted personality can scarcely be dignified by the name of suffering. It is as if one went forth bravely to combat a knight in armor and encountered a filthy swine. One cannot retaliate upon a beast. Nor,"--here, with a nervous transition to energy, she tore out the offending page,--"nor can I, being his wife, attempt punishment for this defilement." The sound of tearing paper soothed her. One by one she snatched the sheets, crumpling them loosely, and threw each in turn upon the coals, where it twisted, opened its angles, caught in a little puff of smoke, and burned quickly. A sound came to the front door. Some one opened it. She gathered the remaining pages, rolled them hastily into a pithy sphere, and tossed the whole mass to the grate. A soft explosion of smoke and brightness followed. Red light fawned upward to the slender gray figure and excited face. A door of the drawing-room opened, and the draught pulled out from the grate before her a long, pliant tongue of flame. She felt Hagané catch her backward. "That is a risk, to burn papers in these great, ill-constructed chimneys, my little one," he said. Yuki clung to him, staring up into his face to try to judge whether he had already seen the offensive article. He had an unusual animation. She even fancied that his voice shook; but it was not the excitement of anger or disgust. Some national crisis had come. His next words proved the truth of this supposition. "I wish you not cremated this day of all days," he smiled, trying, as she could see, to speak with some lightness. "I need my wife. An opportunity for service has come, more important than all that has gone before. Are you ready, my Princess?" "Lord, I live but to serve you and my land." "We are in a national crisis, Yuki," said her husband. He began to walk up and down the long room with an abandonment to agitation which she had not seen in him before. "A crisis," he repeated. "I shall not explain the matter of it. You need not have the weight and burden of such knowledge, but you can aid me greatly." He paused now near a window. Yuki followed. "I await your pleasure, Lord," she said. He turned to her the deep magnetic gaze she dreaded, yet, strangely enough, longed, at times, to provoke. One massive hand leaned on her shoulder. She had no impulse now to shrink from him. She longed to cower against the strong defence of him, to hide in his breast, in his sleeves, as the frightened souls of little dead children hide in the sleeves of Jizo Sama. As though understanding the unspoken longing he drew her very near. His words were still impersonal. "Some terrible, hidden things long suspected have come to light. I do not believe the wrong past mending. The first step in restitution comes to-day. It is a secret meeting here, in this house,--a small gathering of statesmen, but it may mean to us defeat or victory." "Yes, Lord, I listen. A meeting at this house." "It must appear to be a casual assembling. No servant, not even the good Tora, is to be trusted. When I have given you full instructions I return at once to the palace. Should any unforeseen chance call me back before the hour of one, I charge you speak no words into my ear, nor seek to deflect my thoughts from their ominous course. I bear a heavy burden, Yuki. But the Gods will aid me in my strength." "I will not honorably accost or fret you, Lord." "The statesmen,--and here are the written initials of their names,"--he drew a small scrap of paper from his sleeve--"these seven statesmen, including Sir Charles Grubb and Mr. Todd, will be ushered as usual into these drawing-rooms. If no other guests be present, say to these men in turn, after the first salutations, these exact words: 'I have received from my lord instructions and the initials of your name.' Can you repeat precisely?" Yuki did so. "That is well. Thirteen words, remember. They make to these seven a sort of password. Each, as you speak, is to be conducted to my small office-room to which the wooden doors, and the heavy portiéres also, are to be drawn." "I understand, your Highness. But what am I to do if other visitors come?" "Ah, little Princess Hagané, it is in such straits that your experience of foreign social hypocrisy must be made to serve you. It is of imperative need that you do not leave this room after the hour of the Rat (1 P. M.). Yet it is also imperative that you receive, equally, all guests. Those unbidden you must get from the house." "It is a difficult task, Lord, but it may be done." "That is a brave wife. Remember that not only from the time of the Rat, but this hour, too, this very moment, commences your vigilance. Tale-bearers and enemies may be lurking near. If human ingenuity can keep a meeting secret this will be kept, but, alas, in a time of great issues the dragon's teeth sow spies instead of men. Do you understand all I have said, my Yuki?" "I understand, your Highness, and am honored to do your august bidding." Before leaving her he gazed for another moment steadily into her upraised face. "You are pale to-day as your name, my small snow-wife; yet your eyes move and glitter with a strange unrest." "I beseech your Highness concern not your weighty thoughts with my unimportant outer appearance." "I must not do so, indeed," murmured her husband. "My chief thought now must be my Imperial Master. Farewell, little one. I shall arrive at one, if not before." Yuki followed him to the door for a last wifely obeisance. The carriage had been waiting for some moments. After the loud rattling of wheels came a hollow silence. Yuki stood on the granite doorsteps looking outward with unseeing eyes. The house-shadow shrank closer to the huge cube that cast it. Sunshine, like a golden fluid, brimmed up the azure walls of day. From garden-beds nearby, and from path-borders leading into hazy distance, blossoms beckoned. She saw only an iridescent blur. The jinchoké (called by foreigners Daphen Odora) rose in waxen masses of white or arbutus pink. Azaleas heaped formless hillocks with Tyrian hues, and the long yellow sprays of yama-buki, to which Gwendolen had so often been compared, poised waiting for the breeze, or else tossed in bright indignation at the sudden desertion of a bird. Sweet odors flowed inward, and whispered her to follow. Still half unconsciously she stepped down to the gravelled path and began to walk in the garden. Sometimes, among the beautiful familiar blooms, an alien flower smiled, a budding rose-tree, or a purple blotch of English violets. The thought of Pierre's danger came now with less of acid pain. Perhaps this illness was to save them both--and Hagané. The long hospital days might bring to the young Frenchman clearer judgment, and perhaps a more forgiving heart. In convalescence, surely, he would wish to return to his own land. At such times the spirit is fain to leave the weak body, and speed on before, to childhood's home. She had reached a cluster of the early iris. These were Pierre's flowers, the lilies of his France. She stroked the silken petals as though they were hands. "Pierre, my poor, poor Pierre," she breathed aloud. "My Yuki-ko," came as an echo. Yuki started and looked around in fear. "Little flowers, was it you that spoke my name?" "Yuki," came the low voice again. "Do you grieve for Pierre? Poor Pierre is dead!" He stepped out from behind a cluster of dark cypress-trees. Yuki bit her lips to keep from screaming. Was this the ghost of the man she had loved? "Yuki," said the phantom, with a little chill whine in his voice, "won't you even speak to me?" "Is it you, Pierre, or is it indeed your newly fled spirit come to reproach me?" Pierre ran his hands through his short, dry hair, then dropped them, as if the effort had been too great. He took a step forward. "Why, yes, it is Pierre, after all. I thought I was dead, but I am not. Yes, sweetheart, you may come to me. It is your Pierre." Yuki ran to him and caught one dangling hand. It burned her like hot metal. "You escaped, in spite of your two nurses?" she cried. Pierre began to whimper. "Yes, yes, Yuki, I got away at last. I had things to do. Don't send me back there, Yuki! My room has bars, like a cage." "How did you get away?" "Little Jap nurse couldn't resist me. Told me of a back entry. Nice little nurse in white cap. Jap--cap; cap--Jap. Ha--ha!" "Come, dear," said Yuki, pulling him gently. "I will not send you back. You shall go with me to the little Cha no yu rooms at the far end of this garden. There you can lie down until you feel better. Will you follow me quickly and in silence along this little path?" She pointed. "Indeed I will--no need to ask twice," cried the sick man, and began to giggle like an excited child. "I'd follow you anywhere, Yuki. Are we running away to be married?" "Hush, Pierre; if you laugh and speak so loud others will hear you and send you back to prison. We must be very, very quiet." "Very quiet," echoed Pierre, solemnly. "Never do for old prince to hear us, oh, no!" He began to mince along on the tips of his toes, giggling every now and then at the thought of the trick they were playing. Yuki sped on before him, like a fawn. At the tea-rooms she sprang to the narrow, railless veranda, drawing a single shoji panel carefully to one side. The two small rooms were in order. Sunken into the floor of one was the copper hibachi, two feet square and now filled with cold ashes, an article indispensable to tea-rooms of ceremony. The sun pouring against translucent paper walls flooded the small space with radiance. "What dear little rooms!" exclaimed Pierre, as he scrambled in, panting. "She would call them 'cunning little rooms,' that yellow-haired American girl. What was her name, Yuki? She is not a good friend to poor Pierre; she could not swear it when I asked her. Are these the little rooms where we are to live, Yuki, now that we have run away from the old prince and are married?" "Yes, dear," said Yuki, soothingly. "Here is where Yuki will care for you until a betterness comes. See, I shall heap for you these nice cushions. They are your Japanese pillows. You must lie on them very still, and keep all these shoji shut close until I can go and get some medicine for you." "No!" said Pierre, fractiously. "Medicine no go! Kusuri, ikanai! Too much kusuri every day at hospital. Nurses all carry spoons in their belts. I don't need more medicine, Yuki; only for you to kiss me. You haven't kissed me all day!" He threw himself among the bright cushions and began tossing his head from side to side. "I will kiss you when I get back," said Yuki. "Only promise to lie here very quietly until I can come, and many times I will kiss you." Pierre raised himself on an elbow and looked dubious. "Kiss me before you start," he demanded. "You break promises, you know. And this morning you have such a droll fashion of going suddenly far away, and then starting back quickly, just like the end of a trombone that one is playing. You must be a witch, Yuki, to move so swiftly through the air. Kiss me, or I shall not believe it is really you." With a heart strained to the limit of endurance Yuki knelt beside him on the matted floor and pressed her ashen lips to the red coal of his mouth. Pierre, seizing her with superhuman strength, kissed her again and again, until the tortured woman felt that she must rend the air in clamor to some native god or demon who might save her. This passion, branded on the soul of Prince Hagané's wife, gained a new and terrible power of defilement. In a spasm of anguish she wrenched herself free, went backward from him, and seized the shoji's edge to hold herself. "I will kiss you no more until you take the medicine," she said, with a steadiness that surprised them both. He lurched forward, grasping at a swaying sleeve. She eluded him. "If you are not more controlled I will leave you altogether, and send police to take you back to Yokohama!" He grovelled at her feet and whimpered. "I'll be good. Don't send me, Yuki. But if I lie quite still you'll kiss me many, many times again when you return, won't you?" Yuki hesitated. He dragged himself half upright. "You shall. I'll kill you! I'll kill myself, here! You must kiss me. A wife always kisses her husband. Swear that you will kiss me!" The light of increased madness glared in his beautiful eyes. "Yes, I'll kiss you, I swear it," faltered the girl. Pierre laughed foolishly in his satisfaction. "Then I'll lie still among your pillows, little wife. Old prince sha'n't find us. Put us in boiling oil, that old prince. Don't be gone too long, little wife." Yuki hurried along the intricate paths toward the house. Dry sobs rose one after another slowly, coming relentlessly upward in her slender throat with a distention that grew to agony. "I must not stop to think, I cannot give up now," she panted. "O Kwannon Sama, what am I to do?" This black hour, like some dark chemical, was turning the memory of all other grief to light. The one conscious thought which her mind hugged jealously was Pierre's necessity for medicine. Fortunately, she knew a little of this, and kept a well-filled chest. His fever was terrific. Human pity demanded that she first allay this raving torment of the blood before delivering him to cold officials, or even to Count Ronsard of the French Legation. Her thoughts and plans in this present bewilderment could get no further than the fever-draught now to be given the sick man. With shaking hands she prepared it, and then a second drink, a powerful sleeping-potion. She got back to him as noiselessly as she had come. Apparently no one had seen her. Pierre was now in actual fever-madness. He had thrown coat, waistcoat, and watch in various parts of the room. The cushions were strewn wide. A corner of one rested in hibachi ashes. In one of his hands he clasped tightly the half of a long ivory hairpin. With the patience of a mother and the ingenuity of a wife she coaxed him, at length, into swallowing one of the draughts. He did not demand the promised kisses. He did not know her now, or, rather, the recognitions came in short flashes, like heat lightning. Sometimes he took her to be Gwendolen and accused her angrily of connivance with Hagané and the ambitious Onda family. Again he thought her the German head physician and raved of his wrongs. He passed rapidly from one language to the other, essaying at times his broken Japanese. It was generally in English that he denounced his faithless sweetheart, and the epithets directed against her caused Yuki's heart to sink with shame,--not for herself, but for him. A longer interval of sanity came. He recognized his companion with piteous little cries and tears of joy. He believed that at last they were married, and prattled on of the long, happy future, of their little home in France, until Yuki, having come for the moment to the end of suffering's capacity, listened with a dreary smile and dull ears. The second draught, the sleeping-potion, was to be given in half an hour. Through that interminable time she waited, his head upon her aching knees, his fevered hands reaching ever for her face, her shoulder, until lethargy alone saved her from an answering insanity. The plan was half formed in her dull thoughts to administer this potion, then, when slumber overcame him, to close the shoji, and leave Pierre to sleep away the fiercest fever while she could think out a way of getting him from the garden. But for the political meeting, falling so strangely on this very day, the situation would have possessed no great peril. It would have been merely a sick man who, in delirium, had wandered unknowingly into Hagané's garden. The servants might have found him; Ronsard have been telephoned for, and Prince Hagané himself asked what was best to do. This was what might have been; but here was the matter as it really lay. A Frenchman, and attaché of the Legation,--ill or well no less a Frenchman--concealed in Hagané's garden, sheltered and protected by Hagané's young wife! Yuki gave a convulsive shudder. The sick man gasped, and clutched the air as if he thought himself falling from a height. Fate smiled a thin, hard smile down into Yuki's eyes. The girl did not resent Fate's prophetic stare. Already she knew herself trapped. Her wild thoughts had run since the beginning of eternity in this same ring of fire. There was time for nothing. The one frail chance was that Pierre should sleep on through the meeting undiscovered. Already twelve o'clock had come. From the high land near the samurai Onda's home, a big bell boomed and quivered out over the city. The echoes stirred and shifted tranquil layers of the noon. Fear sank down like soot upon a crouching woman with the sick man on her knees. Pierre, for some moments past, had gradually ceased the restless tossing of his head, and was forgetting to utter short, disjointed words. The fair hair, that had been so stiff and dry, clung now in moist locks about his temple. His delicate hands ceased twitching and picking at Yuki's gown, and fell over limply on the floor. Caught loosely in the right hand lay the broken hairpin. To any Japanese, of any class, this would be fatal evidence. Under her fairy-like touch he gave a start, clutched more firmly at the pin she was trying to take, and threw his hand upward above his heart. Again Fate smiled, and Yuki bowed her head. Now a soft, regular breathing began. The healing sleep was on the sufferer. His face was growing young and gentle. Yuki stared down into it, tearless. Her heart, like some living entity beaten and tortured too long, had lost the power of sensitive response. There was only a dull, incessant aching that was becoming, already, an acknowledged part of her. He was safe. To-day's crisis, at least of the devouring heat, was over. He would awake refreshed and clear. As for her, everything had grown so vague and far-away she cared very little what might happen. The insensibility of reaction bore her outward on a warm tide. Danger lost its meaning, and grew but a shadow-play on life. A Frenchman in Hagané's garden, and a crucial meeting to go on in the house! There was something piquant, fetching, in the idea. Yuki nodded above it and smiled. Oh, she was so tired, so tired of everything! A little malicious something was tapping, tapping, just at the base of her brain. The ache at her heart benumbed her. A desire, dull and insistent as the pain itself, crept to her, just to lie upon the matting near poor Pierre and rest. They belonged together, the weak ones. Chance and disappointment had thrown them about like toys. What had such as they to do with the God Hagané? Yes, she had better fail once more, and it would be the last. Let the grave statesmen come and go, let Hagané seek her! She had nothing to do but the easiest of all things, just to do nothing, and all this benumbing misery would be at an end. She wondered, still smiling, in what way Hagané would kill her. She fingered curiously the stops of a dozen fearful thoughts, and felt no fear. Had law permitted him to carry the two swords of his class, the short one would deal a quick and merciful death. Since he was unarmed perhaps he would simply let one of the servants slay her, not caring to soil his hands with such feeble stains. An influence was coming over her in rhythms, like tepid waves. A delicious lightness blew upon her brain. She gasped for insensibility as for music, dumb, perfumed music, drunk in by pores of the flesh. One small nerve of desire began to tingle. "Oh, let it go on," she cried to her soul; "have no interference! Let me pass into nothingness by this heavenly gliding!" As from a great distance came footsteps and the sound of commonplace voices. Yuki moaned aloud, and crept an inch nearer her companion. "She was seen last coming in this direction," said a speaker; "Ii, the gardener, saw her." "She is not in the adzuma-ya! Can it be that our gracious lady has gone for repose to the tea-rooms?" "Baka!" exclaimed the other whom she now recognized as Tora, the butler; "is not that great official residence sad enough and lonely, that the poor child seeks a more desolate place? I pity her." "Luncheon becomes honorably cold upon the table," murmured the boy, showing compassion in his own way. "And foreign food when chilled, with the grease becoming as wax about the edges, is of all sights the most disgusting." "Arà," sighed Tora, "she eats little enough even when the food is hot." "Those many disgraceful things said of our lady in the newspapers,"--the younger servant was beginning, when Tora stopped him fiercely. "Gossip not of your betters, boy! You should not read such things. There are no truths in printed scandals. Come, not that way, she is not in the tea-rooms. I see a fresh disturbance of the gravel along this path." To the listener's intense relief they turned sharply to the left. Wide awake now with an intensity of sensitiveness that made every stirring leaf an enemy, the young wife crept outward from between two shoji, closing them with the extreme of care. In full sight, on the veranda, lay her little foreign handkerchief. No other woman on the place used lace-bordered handkerchiefs. Tora must have seen and recognized it, and, in an instant, perhaps, of protection, have led the boy aside. Yuki's cheek burned. She dared not think Tora's thoughts. This humiliation was a wound made with a weapon of poor metal, yet she could not, even then, refuse gratitude for the delicate consideration. As the two servants came again into the main part of the garden, their mistress walked quite leisurely a few yards before, stooping now and then to a flower, or gazing up with smiles to a blossoming cherry-branch. "Luncheon is served, your Ladyship," said Tora, gravely, and bowed before her in the path. "I will come immediately," returned Yuki. She did not meet his eyes. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE During the short, uncomfortable meal Tora stood like a painted stake behind his mistress's chair. The "boy," attempting to supply the watchful efficiency his senior for once appeared to lack, kept his small eyes darting from her white face to the "dirty wax" at the edge of her plate, until Yuki thought she must deliver herself over to an attack of laughing hysterics. Tora poured and brought her wine unbidden. Again she resented his presumption, again felt a cowed sense of thanks for his solicitude. Abandoning the table at the first possible moment, she went swiftly upstairs to her own chamber and rang for the maid. The simple morning robe of smooth silk must be changed for a more elaborate afternoon toilette. She selected a curdled gray cræpe with tiny silver pine-leaves sprinkled through it. The under-robe was turquoise blue; her wide sash of blue-black satin brocaded in conventionalized silver pine-branches. The transfer went on with breathless celerity, yet the hands of the mantel clock moved faster still. Ten minutes only lacked to the hour of the Rat. The sound of carriage-wheels crunching gravel rose from the drive below her. Yuki gave a restless motion of her entire body, and turned her face around to the maid, who now tied the great loop of the sash. "Patience an instant longer, your Ladyship," smiled the maid. "Let me but girdle your illustrious person with the obi-domé and I shall be done." "Here is the obi-domé," cried Yuki, her voice betraying her impatience. "I shall retain one clasp while you wind it around the sash." She took up from among the American toilet articles on her dresser the article desired, a flat, soft braid of silk with golden clasps. Yuki, as she had said, held one end against the front of her sash, while the maid dexterously threaded the high sash loop at the back, and brought the answering clasp to its mate. It clicked like an old-fashioned bracelet. A servant knocked on the door. Yuki herself answered. With mingled relief and perturbation she read on the cards the names of Mrs. Todd and Miss Todd. It was an unfortunate time for their visit, yet now as always the thought of Gwendolen's presence brought a little stir of excitement, a sweet glow of true happiness. During her flight downstairs Yuki formed the clearest resolution that had come to her in the distracting day. She would tell Gwendolen of Pierre's presence. If help were possible, Gwendolen would find a way. The new hope brought a little glow to the face which greeted her American friends. A little talk on unimportant, pleasant matters would refresh and steady her. For a moment only did the bright illusion abide. Gwendolen and her mother bore, in common, an air of hesitating excitement. "Oh, what is wrong now?" cried Yuki to them both. "Well, you _are_ quick!" said Gwendolen; "have we become mere transparencies, or do your wits acquire a preternatural alertness in these big rooms? Yes, there is something wrong--not fatally so, only a menace." "We felt it our duty, Yuki--" began Mrs. Todd, on her lowest register. "Now, mother," Gwendolen interrupted, "you promised faithfully to let me tell Yuki in my own way. You sound as if you hooted from a cave. It isn't anything horrid, darling!" This last speech was directly to the princess. "Don't begin to fade away. It is simply that Pierre, who has been ill at the German hospital in Yokohama, escaped this morning, in delirium, and the authorities are after him." "In delirium--raving in _delirium_--the poor tortured boy!" echoed Mrs. Todd's sepulchral tones. "Oh, is that all?" breathed Yuki. Her face showed unmistakable relief. Gwendolen stared at her, incredulous. Mrs. Todd put up her lorgnette. "All! Did I understand you to say all? Is it not enough? Have you known before to-day of his terrible illness?" "No, indeed, I have not, dear Mrs. Todd. And by 'all' I did not mean the heartlessness, as you think. I only meant--I meant--" "Humph!" said the matron, suspicion deepening with the sight of the young wife's confusion. "Perhaps Pierre has been here already. Has he been here, Yuki?" Yuki looked more embarrassed than ever. She hesitated the fraction of an instant. Gwendolen's eyes sent out one hazel gleam. "No, dear Mrs. Todd," answered Yuki; "Monsieur has not set foot in this house since my first reception, many weeks ago." "Humph!" said Mrs. Todd again, and closed her lorgnette with a disappointed snap. "Well, there's time for him yet! You had better look out, for if he is found here--" She shut her lips with a snap like the lorgnette-case. Because of avowed sympathy with Pierre, the good lady had assumed an air of displeasure with Yuki which all the new rank and wealth could not overcome. Yuki, strange to say, liked her the better for it. She hugged the memory of Mrs. Todd's cool looks as a fanatic might have hugged his haircloth shirt. Gwendolen had turned away. She did not wish either Yuki or her mother to gain a hint of her personal thoughts. At Yuki's last statement, her quick mind had supplemented, "He has not set foot in this house. No--but the garden is wide, the steps and galleries inviting." Yuki hid some gnawing secret, of this she was sure. More carriage-wheels crunched the gravel and Yuki's heart at once. "Ah," said Gwendolen, coolly, now beside a window, "here's the Emperor come to see you, Yuki!" Yuki ran forward gasping. Anything might have happened on this reeling day. "No," laughed the other. "I just teased you. But it is some magnate, I assure you. My heavens, what a swagger!" Mrs. Todd, hastening to her daughter's side, drew the window-curtain farther. Her face glowed with satisfaction. "Prince Korin," she announced, "he is a dear man! I shall be pleased to meet him again." "Come along, mother," said Gwendolen, a little brusquely; "he hasn't called on us." "I sha'n't do anything of the kind," said the matron, indignantly. "Prince Korin took me in to dinner last week at the German Legation. Doubtless he will be as much pleased as I to renew the acquaintance." "Please do not urge your mother to depart," Yuki flung back over her shoulder as she went toward the door; "I want to speak with you, Gwendolen, on some important matter." Without a qualm she delivered the wondering peer into the outstretched hands of the American lady. Drawing Gwendolen to a corner of the big room she said, in a low and agitated voice, "He--that one we spoke--he is even now asleep in this garden. It is terrible, but I could not send him off. I gave medicine; he was nearly to die of great illness. Make no sound or look of surprise; no one suspects, unless it is the butler, Tora. Perhaps you can help me. What makes all more dangerous, more terrible, is a secret meeting of state to be held here this very hour. Prince Korin is the first. You and Mrs. Todd must go before Hagané come, or he will feel great anger to me. Your father is to arrive. Oh, Gwendolen, do you see any way to save?" "It is the most frightful complication I ever knew in my life," said Gwendolen, awed for once into calm. "Why, of all days, should the meeting fall on this?" "Some terrible crisis in war. All may depend on this hour,--our very national existence." "I knew something was up. Dad is cross as a bear, and Dodge struts like a turkey. Yuki, there is but one thing. Your husband must be told the moment he enters this house!" "Oh, if I could do that!" cried Yuki. "No such tearing thoughts could I have felt. But he has given orders to me not to disturb his mind on anything until this meeting has passed." "Nonsense, you must disobey of course," said the other; "unless I myself could get Pierre out of the garden." Her practical American wits worked rapidly. "I can do it I think. You must have smaller gates to these high walls." "Yes, yes, on all other days," said Yuki. "But not just for this one day. Everything--everything--for these few hours are bolted. I think it to be karma, Gwendolen. No use to fight for me!" "Now look here, don't go into despair so soon. You say you gave medicine. Is it a sleeping draught?" "Yes, first the strong fever-cure; then, half-hour later, a sleeping potion. It is strong. It would keep the Japanese asleep for many hours." "Go to your husband, Yuki. You must do it; never mind disobedience!" "But if some strange thing that you, not being Japanese, cannot foresee should hold me back, do you think there is other chance?" "Of course," said Gwendolen, "everything is in your favor. He will sleep until after the meeting, and then you can tell your husband. Only the risk--even a tiny risk--is so dreadful I shrink from having you take it." "Yesterday Hagané said to me, 'A wise man never leaves something to chance,'--only in such way does chance surely serve him." "You'll come through. Don't you fret, darling. The police would not dare search for him here. Ah, more statesmen!--this time in humble jinrikishas. The prime minister in a street kuruma! It is time for me to get mother away!" Ignoring the scandalized side-looks of Prince Korin, Gwendolen stooped to her friend, folded her very closely, and whispered a low torrent of words of love, of encouragement, and of confidence that she did not altogether feel. Fate hung dark banners on the false battlements of Yuki's official home. The great square shadow, creeping now toward the east, gathered dampness. Gwendolen shivered violently as she passed under the porte-cochére. "You needn't have been in such a nervous hurry, Gwendolen," said Mrs. Todd, with tart asperity. "Prince Korin and I were having a delightful chat." A beggar, unusual sight for Tokio, crept in through the wide gates toward the fine waiting carriage. The driver leaned over, menacing the intruder with a long whip. Gwendolen stopped him. A sudden impulse made her open and invert her pretty purse. A few silver coins fell into one gloved hand. She leaned down, pressed them on the wondering supplicant, and whispered in English, "You are a Japanese. You have a soul in that foul body. Pray for my Yuki!" Yuki welcomed the new arrivals, repeated her password, and ushered them personally into the office. She stationed herself by a window, now watching and praying that her husband might come soon, and alone. Three more kuruma rattled in,--common street kuruma. In the first two were Sir Charles and a Japanese cabinet minister; in the last, Hagané. The three fell into deep speech before the drawing-room could claim them. Hagané led them, as if by instinct, to the office-door. None seemed to perceive the little hostess, clutching at a window-curtain. "My Lord," she faltered, coming forward swiftly to within a few feet of her husband, "may I speak--" He turned half-recognizing eyes. "Who already have seats in the inner office?" She named the two men. "Two more of our countrymen and Mr. Todd to come," he murmured. "That makes the number." "Cannot I see your Highness a brief instant?" she pleaded. Two more Japanese gentlemen entered on foot. Hagané conducted them to the door of the office. Yuki kept close to him. "Lord, Lord--my husband!" she cried in desperation. The note of appeal at last carried. "Any personal matter must wait, my child," he said, not unkindly, but with a decision that blighted hope. "I thought I instructed you as to this also." Minister Todd arrived. He appeared both anxious and excited. In his hand he carried a leathern portfolio filled with papers. His nod toward her had absent-minded indirectness. "Oh, Yuki, it's you, is it? I suppose you have been coached. Have the rest come?" "Yes,--in the office there, where I am to conduct you. May--may I speak a moment, Mr. Todd?" "Is that the office?" he asked, pointing. "I tell you, little Princess Yuki-ko, big things are doing this day of our Lord. You wish to speak with me?" Hagané's face appeared between the portiéres. "Ah, it is his Excellency of America. Now are all come. This way, if you please, Mr. Todd. Remember, Yuki-ko, leave not this room until I speak with you again, and, if possible, let no guest enter." "My husband," cried the girl, "this matter on my heart is no light thing. I must speak!" Both men turned, frowning slightly. "We cannot attend to hearts just now, my child," said Hagané. "You must defer your communication." "That wasn't like Yuki at all to stop us at such a time," mused Todd, as he followed his host. "Your Excellency," he said to the broad silk-clad back before him, "are you sure that we did well to rebuff that little girl?" "I am only sure, this hour, that our land is menaced." Salutations from the other statesmen interrupted this personal trend of talk. They had passed into the office together. Yuki, standing alone in the centre of the big room, wan with the new rejection, watched them with a curious external interest, and dwelt in her mind upon the difference of character exhibited in the two vanishing backs. The hollow brass rings of the portiéres hissed and clashed together. A steady arm drew the wooden panels of the door. She heard a key turn. She was alone on guard. With a gesture so common to Japanese women she put both hands up lightly to her hair, patting abstractedly the shining loops. A dizziness crept under her eyelids. The ugly walls of the room began slowly to turn on axes of silence. She felt her head droop with the strange drowsiness she had known an hour before; a low moan came from whitening lips. Staggering to a window she threw up a sash, flung the blinds apart, and, clasping her clenched hands upon the sill, knelt, and let her head rest upon them. The inrush of the sweet spring winds, and this interval of quiet, following so closely upon a series of bewildering events, brought soon a balm of healing. Yuki had a nature essentially calm and self-contained. Emotion stirred and sometimes swept her from her feet, but it was an emotion that had no surface-play. Each quiver of her face answered but weakly some fundamental throb of being. She had not the usual girlish terror to bestow on scampering mice and dark corridors. Excitement generally steadied her. The one unruly, unclassifiable influence in her life had been Pierre,--his strange love-making, his exotic fascination. In a little while she rose from her knees, drew a chair toward the opened window, and seated herself. Her eyes, instead of seeking the natural loveliness without, fell, in a new abandonment to thought, upon the great bouquets of Hanoverian roses woven in the foreign carpet at her feet. In the garden-bed just beneath her, bushes of daphne, of azalea and the golden yama-buki were in bloom. A bird, swinging on a spray of the weeping pink cherry just across the path, sang to inattentive ears. Bees droned incessantly. From the closed doors of the little office came a reflected murmur. Now from the blur of tone shot a sudden slap as of a hand struck upon a bare table. A voice cried in English, "Gentlemen! gentlemen!" and a chorus of voices, "Sh-h-h--." Yuki caught herself back to the terrific import of the moment. What were those great men thinking and saying behind the closed doors? And what was her small single danger to the issues they represented? She walked down the west wall of the room in the direction of the office. Two low French windows, opening, indeed, to the very floor, gave upon an uncovered balcony. She parted the glass door-frames of a window and stood still, gazing outward, this way and that, down and along curved paths where sunshine lay like yellow silk, and flying shattered waifs of blossoms made wonderful wind-blown patterns. Her eyes clung longest to a little path just skirting a great stone lantern, for this led to certain tea-rooms at the far end of the garden. Now she walked slowly all around the room, pausing at the main door which led in from the front hallway. Footsteps were advancing. Yuki opened to them. "The noble Sir Onda has arrived,--father to your Highness," said Tora. Yuki hesitated. "Does my mother accompany him?" "No, your Ladyship, it is Sir Onda alone. He desires audience with my august master, but I told him I had received orders to usher all visitors directly to your presence." "Quite right, Tora," said Yuki, trying to smile in a pleasant, unconcerned way. "Now say to my father that his Highness, Prince Hagané is absent, but may return in the space of two hours. I am engaged on certain duties at my Lord's command. And, Tora--" "Yes, your Ladyship." "See that the visitor issues well into the street on leaving, and close the iron gate." "Yes, your Ladyship." The man's words and his bow had been quite as respectful as usual, perhaps a little more than usual, yet Yuki could not divest herself of the impression that there lurked a threat of comprehension, of nearness. "When I have explained all to my prince, we shall, perhaps, send good Tora away to some country estate. I could not endure his presence if I knew he harbored such a belief, and equally impossible is it for me to condescend to self-defence," thought the young wife. In her morbid state of consciousness, she could almost see, as a clairvoyant, Tora creeping to the shoji of the tea-rooms, parting the panels with crafty, expectant fingers; she could hear his gasp of consternation, of not altogether displeased agitation, as he discovered the beautiful young foreigner asleep on the floor, as he gazed, grinning, upon the broken hairpin. Since the butler's knock, and Yuki's few words with him, absolute silence had prevailed in the little office; the very door seemed holding its breath. Yuki heard the panel pushed cautiously to one side, and knew that her husband listened. She went to her former place by the window. Now the bees outside, and the buzz of human voices within, recommenced. Into the latter crept vivacious exclamation. The clink of glasses arose, and now the sharp detonation of a match; more than once a smothered laugh was heard. Yuki sat by the window in apparent calm; her agony of suspense would soon be over. Those were the sounds that come at the end of an important conference, not in the midst of it. She clenched her little hands together within gray sleeves, and faced the office-door, to be in readiness with her smile when the grave procession should emerge. Another ten minutes elapsed, and another; the garden shadows gained visibly in length. Like a little image of propriety, she sat, and, for all her preparation, a small shiver passed along her frame as the office-door at last went flying aside. So set had been her eyes, her thoughts, upon this door, that she had not heard the sound of stealthy footsteps without or the soft brushing aside of clustered shrubs. Pierre stood, bareheaded, under the weeping cherry. The drooping branches, each set along its entire length in single pink amethysts of bloom, enclosed him as in a fountain. The lower part to his knees was hidden in waves of yama-buki. The wind, now rising, concealed with tossing sprays his trembling nook. First the doors of the office, then the thick portiéres had been flung aside by Prince Hagané. The notable company filed in, the Japanese not forgetting the slight, ceremonial bow to Hagané, who stood smiling to let them pass. The last to emerge was Minister Todd. He bore in his hand a paper folded and sealed. Hagané kept close behind him. As the rest of the company came forward, making adieux to the flushed and dignified little hostess, these two stood apart, talking in low tones. Todd now and again tapped the paper by way of emphasis. Pierre, crouching among the sprays of yama-buki, saw and heard it all. His fever and madness were, for the moment, things that had not been. The price he would later pay for this immunity did not trouble him now. He seemed all mind and spirit and keen intelligence, with no encumbering body. Nothing was impossible. He would scarcely have been surprised had he begun to drift toward that inner room without effort, as one sometimes drifts in dreams, and to enter unperceived by any one but Yuki. There she stood, his sweetheart, his promised bride, kept from him by that great monster who towered near and kept talking to the thin American, and kept tapping a paper that bore a great seal, red like blood. It should be blood, Pierre thought, with a slight rise in his excitement,--the blood of that old toad who had cheated him of this flower. But did a toad have blood at all? Well, there was a way to find out! When the American left he would steal in, a new St. George pursuing an uglier dragon. He felt now feverishly in his pockets for a knife, a pistol. He remembered now that the pistol, a pretty toy of silver and pearl given him by a Parisian actress, had been left at the French Legation. A moment after, reason again grasped him. He smiled bitterly, calling himself a child, a fool. Nothing could be worse for France or Yuki either than the death of Hagané at his hands. Some other way must be found. The Japanese themselves had a saying, "If you hate a man, let him live." Yes, let the old man live. Yuki's true lover could yet win her, undrenched in any blood. That paper now,--if he could secure such a paper--Hagané would give any price for such a paper! All the guests had gone but Mr. Todd. He smiled down at Yuki and said, "Well, little girl, I guess Uncle Sam has done your country a good turn." "Madame la Princesse is not burdened by me with state secrets, your Excellency," interposed Hagané, with more than his wonted haste. "I understand. I sha'n't say more," laughed the other. "What was it, Yuki, that you tried to tell us just before the meeting?" Yuki now could afford to smile and look demure; her danger was over. The great strong rock of Hagané's presence was near. "The need is past now, I thank you, Mr. Todd," she said. "Good-bye, both of you. You're looking mighty young and happy, Prince, if there are hard struggles in the nation!" He was gone. Yuki, glancing upward to her husband, was surprised and then herself embarrassed to note signs of discomfiture on that bronze countenance. Was it possible that Todd's light words could move him? Yuki went closer still. She could not meet his eyes, but, oh, the restfulness, the relief in his splendid nearness! Her explanation rushed to her lips and hung there. After the manner of good wives, she must first show interest in what was uppermost in his thoughts, and afterward could gently incline him to her own desire. "Is that the very wonderful paper just signed, Lord?" she asked, putting up a hand. Hagané glanced at the document, then bent to his wife the look she dreaded, yet longed for. Under it she stirred and quivered. "You are a white flower," said Hagané. "Do you really care to know?" "I--I--wish not to be disrespectfully inquisitive," stammered Yuki, "only, if the importance is so great, is there not danger to your august person in bearing it about?" Again Hagané smiled. His young wife hung her crimsoning face. He put out an arm and caught her to him. "Is that your fear--you thing of snow and plum-blossom? Ah, Yuki--Yuki--you are my wife. When this time of stress and peril is at an end, I shall try to teach you something of a brighter hue than duty." Pierre, high on his knees among the yama-buki, saw and heard it all. "If there be danger, you must not bear it! The risk is terrible. Think, Lord, how our country needs you!" Her apprehension lifted her a little from self-consciousness. Hagané's answer was calm, steady, with a thrill in it. "Then who is to bear it, small sweet wife, if I should put it down? But, no, there must be no thought of thee and me--not yet. I belong to the land. In all haste must I take the paper to our Imperial Lord. Every moment means a danger. Ring instantly for the carriage,--I must go!" "The single horse coupé is now being repaired," said Yuki, in a troubled tone, "and, more unfortunate, one of the pair of carriage-horses is ill; but I can order your kuruma with two runners." "Unfortunate," echoed Hagané, in a lower tone, "yet such small annoyances beset the way of all. Ring for my stoutest kuruma, Yuki, and have three runners. They will bear me as swiftly as any horse." "Lord," faltered Yuki, not moving from him, "you assured me that after the meeting I should have speech with you. The matter is indeed of importance, perhaps of great danger." "Well, I will listen, child, if you can be brief. But first touch the bell and give my order." Yuki went across the room from him. He, frowning slightly at the delay, stood as he had been standing, his back squarely to the office-door, his left shoulder toward the opened French window. Yuki, not ten yards before him, had reached the wall where the electric button was set. She raised a slim hand to it, but before she could press it, a certain flicker as of an animated shadow moving in the room behind Hagané drew her curious and anxious glance. The outstretched arm fell, paralyzed. She attempted to speak, to cry aloud, but her throat had turned to cork. Pierre Le Beau was creeping into the room like a thief, a cat, skirting the wall in the direction of the office-door. He caught her frozen stare of terror, and made a defiant gesture, commanding silence. Hagané raised his head. The delay puzzled him. He had been examining again the crimson seal. The look on his wife's face, come with such terrific suddenness, sent something almost like fear through his heart. He thrust the paper in his breast, and turned to scan the room. Pierre was in the safe shelter of the columnar, massed portiére. Yuki clawed and mowed her way through a jungle of fire toward her lord. "Master, master!" she whispered hoarsely. She could say no more, and fell prone on her knees before him, reaching upward for his grasp. "What ails you, child? In the name of Shaka, what has hurt you?" He bent to raise her, but she grovelled, eluding his hands. "I am ill, very ill; let us go quickly to our chamber," she managed to choke out. Now she fluttered backward, luring him, like a wounded bird, her long, gray sleeves trailing after. "In Shaka's name!" he cried again, "I cannot understand the suddenness." Pierre now left the portiére, and stole softly toward the bent back of the prince. Yuki thought him mad, with a new strength and cunning of murderous intent. She sprang up to her feet, hurling all her slight weight against Hagané with such force that he swerved. With a movement like light she had passed him, set her back to his, and was facing Pierre. "Here--here--kill me--not him--" she panted. "I am ready; I do not fear. See how white my breast and soft! Oh, blood will look so pretty here,--like the red seal!" She tore aside the dove-gray folds of her gown. Hagané, wheeling to them, half drew the paper from his breast. The Frenchman saw, and as Hagané turned, lowered his head so that his face might still be hidden, reached out a hand, and, with one demon-directed dart of the nervous fingers had touched, had clutched, had wrenched away the long white screed of fate that bore a single drop of blood. For one awful crash of time, the solid earth split beneath the statesman's feet. Pierre had gone through the low window like a breeze, and his flying track through the shrubs stirred them scarcely more. Hagané staggered as his mind confirmed this strange, annihilating loss. A moment more and he was again calm master of his fate. He took Yuki by a shoulder, held her from him, and scorching her eyes with the scorn of his, said steadily, "So this is what ailed you, Princess Hagané! Why did you give no warning? Tell me the name of the thief." Yuki blinked and moved her head backward and forward through the air. She put up a hand to her throat of cork, and smoothed it. "Answer me, Yuki, who was that man?" She did not answer. Suddenly she sagged to his feet, wrapping her long gray sleeves about his ankles. "Oh, Master, do not kill him! He is a very sick person, yes! I will get the paper for you, Lord. I will get it for you, I will get it!" she chattered in English. Why, at this central crisis of her life, she should have spoken English to a Japanese was something that she never understood. Hagané looked down upon her silently. He could not move for the coils around his feet. He saw clearly that she had reasons for detaining him, and his mind went naturally to the one solution. "This was a lover she protected." Yet he was calm, his grave dignity unassailable. His lips, his chin, his down-bent lids were of metal; only at the temples, veins sprang and stood like branches of dull red coral. "I shall not ask again, Yuki; will you tell me the name of the man who has gone?" Yuki stared up at him through flickering lids. The air snapped into little particles of jet and tinsel. Things were getting the queer look. She feared that she was going to laugh. "Was there a man, Lord?" she questioned. "Gods!" said Hagané. His nostrils blew in and out, and still his voice was even and kind, "Yuki-ko, your country, the life of our Emperor, may be menaced by this theft. Can any bodily passion exonerate this ultimate crime?" A great spasm seized the crouching woman. "Lord, have mercy on my weak heart; but I can get the paper--I alone can get it; I will buy it for you with my life!" "Bah--your life! We do not offer carrion to the Gods. Unloose my feet,--poor soiled thing. Do not touch me!" Yuki hid her face against his feet. Her arms coiled like steel bands. Slowly and deliberately he knelt and untwined, as he might the tendrils of a vine he did not wish to bruise, her clinging arms, the long gray sleeves. There was no roughness in any movement except at the instant when he snapped the obi-domé, intending to use it to bind her wrists. She felt his intention, and waited craftily until he had almost drawn the first noose, then slipping her arms away, encircled again his patient feet, babbling, "Let me get it. He was ill; he did not know. Harm him not. I will get the paper." In her distracted thought some other self, anterior to this, seemed to be at a great distance, running side by side with Pierre, and jerking out to him through failing breath: "I hold Hagané back, but it cannot last very long. Do not harm him,--I will do what you wish, Pierre, I will be what you wish; already Hagané casts me off, but do not harm him. Quick, quick, poor mad boy, my strength fails! Hagané is coming--coming--" His first failure brought no impatience to the statesman. With more elaborate care he again knotted the obi-domé and drew it. He succeeded now in securing the fluttering hands. His one sign of agitation was deep, heavy breathing. As he raised his head from the task, on the white balls of his eyes tiny crimson threads broke through. Yuki stared upward, dazed, into his face. "Look not on me," he said, as he prepared to rise. "Put your false face to the earth. If I thought a shiver of obedience, of loyalty were left in your cringing soul, I would command you to stay here quietly--and seek not to follow, and so make more open this disgrace. Hide your eyes, I say! Sooner would I caress a grave-worm than thee!" He pushed her down with some violence, rose, and hurried to the rear of the house. Yuki turned her face sidewise to follow him. "A kuruma," she heard him call, "and three swift runners! Ten yen each to the men if they start within the moment!" He stood bareheaded in the sunshine, his watch opened in his hands. As if by invocation, the kuruma and the grinning coolies appeared. Yuki crawled a few inches, and strained her dry throat outward, listening for the address he was to give. No effort had been needed for hearing. His voice had the ring, the resonance of a deep bell, as he said aloud, "To the French Legation!" * * * * * Yuki, when she was sure that the whole place had fallen quiet, slowly lifted herself to a sitting posture on the foreign carpet, in the very centre of a huge bunch of vermilion cabbage roses. She gazed with intense scrutiny at one of these unearthly blossoms. It reminded her of something, a very terrible something, which had happened to her long ago. She tried to put a hand out and trace the irregular circle, but something held her hands together. She stared now at the hands, at the twisted obi-domé. Its golden clasps, now broken, hung down and clinked together like the toys on a lady's chatelaine. The sight recalled her to the present, and solved the suggested mystery of the harsh red rose. It was of sealing-wax the flowers had reminded her,--of a great crimson seal, of enamelled paper. "But I kept him back quite a little while," she said aloud, and nodded in satisfaction. "Less danger will come to both because I held Hagané back. How could he know it was Pierre? How could he think so quickly to go to the French Legation? Will Pierre be really there? Oh, he is a terrible man, that great Hagané! Even the voices of the air speak to him! He called me 'carrion,' rather would he fondle a grave-worm than little Yuki! Ah, his eyes said not so this morning, no, not this morning, my great Lord Hagané." She moved her hands restlessly in their bonds. "Poor little hands," she murmured. "He tried to bind you. Shall I set you free?" She put her ear down against them. "Oh, yes, indeed I can release you," she smiled as if the hands had answered. "The obi-domé is soft and insecurely tied. Even a great prince like Hagané cannot tie a knot that a woman's fingers cannot unfasten!" With a few deft turns of the wrist she loosed the cord, letting it slip to the floor. For an instant she stared at the bright red marks on her wrists, then put both hands upward to smooth the loops of her hair. She seemed a little surprised to encounter such disarray, and began thoughtfully to coil up, foreign fashion, the blue-black hair which fell in streams along her shoulders. With a little shiver she drew her kimono together at the throat. "Why did Pierre wake so soon?" she whimpered. "He came and took something from Hagané. He did not understand his own crime, being so very ill. No, he could not have willingly slain Yuki, had he understood. Hagané said that my country, my Emperor, may be harmed through Pierre. I must get the paper back at once, at once! Why am I waiting? Oh, I must go swiftly, as they went!" With spasmodic motions she lifted her trembling body upward. The gorgeous obi, stiff with silver pine-boughs and robbed now of the indispensable obi-domé, slipped down about her in coils, as of a huge wooden shaving. She grasped instinctively at the folds. Her eyes continued to search restlessly the corners of space. "Oh, Pierre, naughty, naughty Pierre!" she went on whispering. "You promised to lie still. You gave your word to Yuki when she helped you. Now they may both need to die,--poor Pierre and little Yuki, too. They may die with the cherry-blossoms all dressed up for them to see! If only my poor head would stop moving, and I could think what I must do!" She put one icy hand against her temple. With the other she tried to keep the falling robes from catching on her feet. Tottering and stumbling, she reached the hall-way. A frightened servant-woman knelt near the door. "Mistress, Mistress, in Amida's name, tell me what terrible thing is here!" Yuki half closed her lids and peered forward, trying to recognize the speaker. "Oh, Iné, is that you? Yes, a terrible thing, two terrible things! My hair has fallen and my obi slips away. Arrange me quickly, Iné, quickly, and call a swift kuruma like Prince Hagané's. I must go somewhere now." "Kashikomarimasu" (I hear and will obey), faltered the woman, but instead of advancing, crouched backward. She was afraid of the strange light in her mistress's eyes. "Quick, I say! Did you not hear me?" cried Yuki, angrily, and clapped both hands together with a sharp sound. The obi fell, surrounding her in one great shimmering wheel. The terror in Iné's face brought the young wife to her senses. "It really is nothing, Iné," she said, trying hard to smile. "I had a little fall there in the drawing-room, and am dazed. Do not concern yourself or speak to the other servants. Go now at once and bring my long black adzuma-coat, another obi-domé and some foreign hair-pins. I have not the time to be entirely redressed. I will await your coming here." Yuki stood at the foot of the steps. The servant sped upward. From the far end of the hall came Tora. The prearranged impassivity of his face was noticeable even to one in Yuki's excited state. "Well, Tora!" she said haughtily. "Did you not wish me, your Ladyship?" asked the man, bowing in exaggerated deference. Yuki felt a hot wave pass along her neck and vanish against the pallor of her cheeks. "I did not," she answered steadily. "But since you are here, I wish you to order my kuruma with two swift runners." "Yes, your Ladyship." He did not move. "You heard my order?" "Your Highness," said the man, turning pale as he spoke, "I am only a servant, but I once lost by death a daughter of your age. There is something I would like to say." Yuki bit her lip; a struggle went on within her. The dip of the scales came through Iné, who now hurried down the stairs. "When I return, Tora," said the young princess; "I am sure you mean to be kind and not presuming. I will speak to you when I return." Tora shook his head as he turned away. As Yuki's kuruma rattled from the gate, he went back musingly alone toward the Cha no yu rooms. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX Mrs. Todd and her daughter, in driving away from the Haganés' official home, had given the order, "Suruga Dai." To be truthful and more accurate, this euphonious, topographical title, spoken in Japanese with a delicious softening of continental "u's," and blurred Italian "g's," was, under Mrs. Todd's crisp American tongue, transformed to the alert and inharmonious "Sew-roo-gar Da-eye." The driver, fortunately inured to these attacks upon national enunciation, drove as straight to the desired spot as if Yuki herself had named it. Suruga Dai, so called because from its elevation can be seen the distant plain of Suruga with its glittering single treasure, Fujiyama, is a curious little welt of land, rising in a small loaf through the very heart of modern Tokio. Official residences climb the slopes, foreign homes perch at the top, Japanese villas and gardens crown it. A fashionable hospital, endowed by the Empress, has risen there within a decade; but, on Suruga Dai, the dominating presence is a huge Greek Church, built and utilized for her own purposes, by Russia. From far down the bay of Yedo, from car windows on the busy, curved track that leads from Yokohama, this edifice stands as a sort of saturnine beacon. Staring, treeless, defiant, with square white walls that hurt the eyes with their blank brilliancy, and a squat blue-tiled roof fashioned to a Byzantine dome, it rises above the verdure-hidden eaves of the Imperial palace, checks the vista to many a narrow street, and hangs, a menace and a humiliation, above the wide plain of alien interests. Boatmen on the Sumida River, poling down rice, and wood, and charcoal from distant villages, glance up toward it with a scowl and a prayer. If they were Romanists they would cross themselves and ask protection of the Virgin. Being heathen, they merely invoke the great living national spirit of their race, bow reverent heads to the thought of their Emperor, and stop at the next police-station to register their names as volunteers for the army. Russia has claimed to believe that the commanding position of this church is indicative of future rulership. They have boasted openly, in the Far East, of this coming thraldom. What the Japanese will do with the inimical temple and its priesthood in case of their ultimate victory over Russia is an interesting problem. With their tolerance for all religious belief, their innate delicacy and dignity, the foreigners who best understand them would certainly predict an unchanged policy of forbearance. Mrs. Todd did not take a great deal of interest in Tokio street scenes. Her mind generally streamed back like vapor to the exalted personage she had recently left, or blew on before to an anticipated welcome. This was the case to-day. Rudely torn from her Prince, she was thinking of the little Countess K----, now in the Suruga Hospital after an attack of appendicitis, to whom she had promised a visit. Count K----, one of the rising statesmen of the country, was a particular friend of Dodge; Minister Todd also believed great things of his future. Gwendolen, beside her mother in the open carriage, answered intelligently, but with obvious lack of interest, the commonplace remarks addressed to her. A foretaste, a prescience of tragedy, lurked like a fog in the air. Companioning Yuki's dilemma came her own,--recognized even in this moment of irritation as incomparably less important, though still maddening with the sting of nettles,--Dodge's foolish devotion to Carmen, his continued coolness to herself. She was not old yet, or experienced enough, to put herself in another's place. Dodge was trying to hurt and humiliate her. Worse still, he was succeeding. She needed to ponder no further. One does not write a geologic treatise on the pebble in one's shoe. Dodge wished to injure her. It was cowardly, unmanly. Dodge prided himself on his Southern blood. Gwendolen, with a sneer, thought him--or tried to believe she thought him--a degenerate specimen of chivalry. If at last he should attempt another overture to her friendship, she would know well how to scorn him! A great jerk of the wheels, and renewed vociferation from the coachman, started the horses in a nervous scamper up the slope. Gwendolen's head went back, the hatpins tugged at her yellow hair. She clutched at the velvet brim of her hat, and at the same moment her lifted eyes fell on the white walls and sagging dome of the Greek Church. The scowl she gave it might have been borrowed from a rice-seller on his barge. "Detestable barbarians!" she muttered. "If they ever _should_ dominate this land!" "Gwendolen," said her mother, also jerked and unnerved by the speed, "you are far too exaggerated in your expression of hatred to Russia. Even Cy says so. You are going to get the Legation into trouble yet!" Gwendolen threw herself back into a corner and sulked--if a thing the color of light and flowers can be said to sulk. She went at least into partial eclipse, and retained her penumbric mood to the hospital and within it. The pleasure of receiving guests seemed, in the case of this little invalid countess, to be entirely cancelled by her distress at remaining rudely on her back, without a single bow. Mrs. Todd tried to put her at her ease, speaking very loudly, as she often did in talking to the Japanese, as if their ignorance of civilized languages lurked in the ears as well as the tongue. Everything in the room was foreign,--the white and brass bed, tables, chairs, spoons and medicine bottles, vases, even the lithograph framed portraits of the Emperor and Empress hanging on the opposite wall. The nurses wore gingham dresses, aprons, and white caps. The cloven hoof showed literally (and with opprobrious connotation deleted) in the thick-soled white, digitated socks on which they sped with the lightness and swiftness of a breeze in a meadow. Relatives of the countess came in presently, greeting and thanking the illustrious visitors in her behalf. In spite of efforts to be at ease, the whole visit crackled and creaked with starched formality. Gwendolen was glad when her mother rose to go. In the short drive home they passed directly by the gate of the French Legation, and skirted the brick and plaster wall which hides a fair garden. "It is a shame for a bachelor to keep this lovely place to himself," observed Mrs. Todd, pensively. "It would be a much worse shame for him to try to marry any decent woman," said the girl, darkly. "Gwendolen! Gwendolen! What on earth has come to you lately? You are not like yourself, these days! You seem to hate the French as much as the Russians. Neither nation is troubling you, just now, nor Yuki either!" The parent put up her lorgnette to study her daughter's fair, dissatisfied face. Gwendolen went back to her corner and the sulks. At the American Legation Mrs. Stunt awaited them. Mrs. Todd went with more than usual willingness to her friend. Gwendolen had not been an inspiring companion. The friendship between the two elder ladies, threatened as we have seen by certain events at Yuki's first reception, had received some skilful soldering, and, being new-painted by Mrs. Stunt's voluminous explanations, had a fictitious lustre. Mrs. Todd was neither far-seeing nor revengeful, yet, quite often now she passed a thoughtful finger across the soldered spot. Gwendolen went alone to a smaller reception-room. She wished to know above all things whether her father was now with Prince Hagané. There was but a single source of information,--Mr. Dodge. At first she thought of going to him in person. What was that "snip," or his opinions, compared with Yuki's danger? Her courage faltered, and she compromised with it by a short note sent into the office by a servant. "Mr. T. Caraway Dodge. "MY DEAR MR. DODGE,--Kindly inform me whether my father, Mr. Todd, is in the office. If not, where he has gone, and at what hour he is expected back. "Very truly, "GWENDOLEN DE LANCY TODD." In a very few moments she flushed, and bit her lip over the following reply: "Miss Gwendolen de Lancy Todd. "MY DEAR MISS TODD,--Your father, Mr. Todd, is not in this office. I am not at liberty to communicate the name of the place to which he has gone. He expects to return about 2.30 P. M. "Very truly, "T. CARAWAY DODGE." "Pshaw! I might have known it!" said Gwendolen, under her breath, as she tore the note to small pieces. She looked at her watch. "Just one, and he can't get here for an hour and a half. What shall I do until he comes?" As if in answer, the luncheon-bell rang. She moved toward the big dining-room, dreading to see Mrs. Stunt. Yes, she was there, wriggling, smiling, opening her innocent blue eyes, as usual. Gwendolen's greeting was civil, and no more. She sat through the meal in silence, and ate practically nothing. Mrs. Stunt tried a few tactful remarks about the girl's "being in love," as a reason for the lack of appetite. After the unquiet meal, Gwendolen saw, with new dismay, that the ladies were to take possession of the main drawing-room. This deprived her of the solace of her piano. She wandered aimlessly about the big rooms, starting a letter to an American friend, and desisting, after the first page, pulling out bureau drawers, and forgetting why she had opened them, doing, in fact, all those vague, self-irritating things that indicate a perturbed and joyless mind. She longed for intelligent human companionship,--for her father. When dad should come, she told herself, she would lose this restless heart. She longed for him and his counsel with a physical hunger. Her mind veered again and again to Dodge, only to be whirled off fiercely. Mrs. Todd as a confidante was impossible, even had the wily Stunt not claimed her. Secure in the conviction of a commonplace mind, good Mrs. Todd would have rushed at once to the Hagané residence, demanded instant audience of Hagané, and failing in that have hastened to the Cha no yu rooms to rescue her ailing protégé. No, Mrs. Todd, with all her kind heart, could not be trusted! The moments passed somehow. Gwendolen saw, through an upper window, her father's approach. He came in a hired street kuruma. Even at this distance she could see that the strain was gone from his face, if not the excitement. He caught a glimpse of her, smiled, and waved to her. Before the girl could reach him, he had entered the office and confronted Dodge. Now she was brave. With dad to guard her, she could brave a hundred such as Dodge. She burst in upon them, giving the coolest of nods to the secretary, and pouring, without warning, a series of petitions and exclamations upon her wondering father. At last he made out that she wished to see him alone. Dodge had been quicker. Already the inner door of the office closed behind him. Todd turned from the blank panel to his daughter. The teasing twitch was on his thin lip, the sparkle in his eye! "No, no, I can't stand it just now,--I'm worried, oh, so horribly worried, and you must help me, dad, as you always do. Am I not your only little girl?" "You rascal," said Todd, seating himself, and drawing her down. "Anything but a rascal to-day, dad. This trouble is real. Yuki may be in danger,--I can't help her. I have thought and thought and thought, until my brain goes round like flying ants in the sun. I can't help. I am an impotent, miserable, feminine girl. What did you see at Yuki's house?" "Why, I saw only what I went to see," answered her father. He gazed with some concern on the chatterer, as if indeed she were light-headed. "The meeting is over safely, then, and nothing happened?" "The meeting is over! How did you know of it? The meeting is over and everything happened. History may be changed because of it!" "Then Pierre did not wake up? Don't think me crazy, dad! I can see that you do. All that time, while you statesmen were closeted with Hagané, Pierre Le Beau lay asleep a little way off, in the garden. Now perhaps you will see what has worried me!" She gave a triumphant look. "Good Lord!" said he. Then again, on a higher note, "Good _Lord_!" He put her from him, rose, and began walking the narrow room. Gwendolen nodded in satisfaction. At last he was stirred as deeply as she could wish. "Yuki isn't to blame. He wandered to that garden in delirium. He must have gone there first thing, for she doesn't know how long he had been in hiding. When she discovered him, the gates were already barred, and Hagané had given her instructions. His fever was awful. She gave him medicine for it, and then a heavy fever mixture, and put him to sleep in the Cha no yu rooms!" "Hagané being in ignorance?" "Yes. She said she was going to try her best to tell him before the meeting, though he had commanded her not to distract his thoughts. She was going to try anyhow, but if she failed, there was nothing for it but to trust the good Lord to keep him asleep until after the meeting, and then to tell her husband immediately." Todd gave a deep breath as of relief. He pushed the hair back from his forehead. "God! It was a risk. She is too young to face such tragic responsibilities! Poor child! poor child! But I guess it's all right now!" Gwendolen heard him mutter. She caught his arm. "You think she is safe? You left husband and wife together?" "Yes, and he looked at her as though she were an angel just come down. I even dared to tease him a little. I told him he looked young and handsome! The old War God almost blushed." Suddenly the smile on his face turned gray. He stood perfectly still, his long arms dangled. Life and youth ebbed from him. "Father! Father!" cried the girl, in agony. "What is it? A terrible thought has come to you! Don't hold it back. I must hear. I will go mad!" Todd seated himself, and touched his handkerchief to his lips. "I think I had better not speak it, daughter." "Tell me, _tell_ me!" said Gwendolen, fiercely. "Look at me,--look into my eyes, father. I have your own strong spirit!" "As I was coming home," began Mr. Todd, obediently, through whitening lips, "I walked the first part of the way, you know, to cool my excitement. The meeting had been terrific in importance,--terrific--" he paused. Gwendolen was now on her knees, reaping every look, every word, with her bright eyes. "Yes, yes; Yuki may be in danger." "A group of fellows were standing in front of the British Legation,--Potter, Wyndham, and some others. They stopped me, and were chaffing and joking as those English try to do, when a rickshaw with three runners whizzed by like a Kentucky handicap, and there was Hagané sitting bolt upright, with a face like an old N[=o] mask. 'That's deuced odd,' says Wyndham; 'not ten minutes ago a yellow-headed foreigner without a hat went by at the same pace. Looks as if Hagané were on the scent.'" "Oh, oh; did he say that the first was--Pierre?" "No, he didn't say it; he didn't need to. They all looked it." For one instant Gwendolen cowered against her father's knees. Then she rose, straight, tall, self-possessed, and held a hand down to her father. "Come, dad," she said, almost with a smile, "we have no time to lose." He sprang up, facing her. The faces glowed with the same purpose, a white fire reflected from surfaces of ivory. Both pairs of eyes burned to black jet. "Come, then," he said simply. He took his hat in passing. She was bareheaded. A sealskin cap was lying on Dodge's desk. She caught it up, as her father had done his hat. Hand in hand they hurried out, Dodge, in wonder, watching them. They went down the Legation hill and there summoned kuruma, with two runners apiece, promising a good reward for haste. Only once the girl spoke. "Oh, dad, my heart weighs me to the earth with its whispers." At the Hagané home they were told that every one was out. Gwendolen's quick eye saw that the servants were frightened, demoralized. She insisted on having English speech with Tora. He came sulkily, and at first refused to understand her words. This man's need for self-control gave Gwendolen her most unbearable twinge of apprehension. "Tora!" she cried aloud, "I love your mistress. I am good friend of Prince Hagané. We wish to do only good things. Don't you understand? I love--good--we will do _good_, not harm. Tell us where she went." Tora studied the two faces intently. "Both Master and the Princess Yuki-ko went ve'y quick, French Legation. Mooch troubles, I think." He turned away, as if wishing to say no more. The eyes of the two Americans met again. "That is a place where I cannot take you, unannounced, my dear," said Mr. Todd. "It is a place, too, where I think I could do little good. But she is unharmed; that is certain. Ronsard cannot afford to have violence there." "Don't fancy things more terrible than they are," said Todd. "I myself am full of hope. If I can get in at all, I can help explain. In the meantime, be very cautious, and go home quietly." "Yes, go home quietly to wait! Oh, I knew that was coming. To wait, to be stretched out flat on the rack of hours, with every little red-hot minute pinching me. But I will go. I trust you, dad, to do the best. I will wait patiently, as meekly as Yuki herself could wait. That is all I don't like about Yuki,--her meekness. Oh, my poor darling, what will those vile men do to you?" Again at the Legation gate she dismissed her two coolies, paying them an incredible sum for immunity from bartering, and walked in, along the gravelled driveway, on foot. Dodge, who had never left the neighborhood of his office window, felt a renewed thrill of rapture at the sight of his cap, set like a brown, inverted bird's-nest, on her bright curls. It would be a different cap. No one should wear it after this consecration. He watched the slight figure with yearning tenderness. Something in her walk, a sort of suppressed excitement in her whole person, showed to him. The unusual hung about her. Deliberately he came out from his den to follow. She gave no backward glances. Across the front of the Legation she hurried, taking a path that led into the garden and wide lawn at the right. At its rim she poised, uncertain; then, as if coming to a swift decision, took a diagonal course across the turf. Exactly in the centre of the wide, green space grew a clump of gigantic mushrooms with white tops and thick blue bodies. As she neared them the mushrooms began to bob and nod in an agitated fashion, while funny little hissing breaths came from the midst. They were the professional lawn-weeders,--little old women with round faces and high cheekbones, each armed with a pygmy sickle. They worked in a tiny grazing squad, devouring, root and all, each intruding tuft of clover, dandelion, pilewort, and even the spring messenger, tsukushimbo, beloved of Japanese children. "Kon-nichiwa," cried the girl, in her high, sweet voice. "Kon-nichiwa (good day), o jo san," responded the little company, rising, as corks on a single wave, and bobbing down again as one. Gwendolen, interested in spite of her anxieties, stood still to watch them. Dodge, unperceived, leaned against a kiri tree at the edge of the lawn, with eyes only for her. Their blue backs with a white ideograph bore the unanimity of a pack of cards. "I feel just like Alice in Wonderland," thought the girl. "Oh, I know I am Alice. They have been painting all the dandelions white. Was this done by order of the duchess?" she asked aloud, and touched a snowy flower with her foot. The little dame nearest sent up a shy, sparkling glance, "Hek! hai! Udzukushii tampopo gozaimasu!" (Ha, yes, unusually fine dandelion honorably is!) She flushed crimson, and went feverishly to work again in the shadow of the tall golden one. Gwendolen watched them for a few moments longer. She seemed again to be undecided, for she looked first toward the house, then outward, to the far end of the garden, where a clump of young sugi trees made a fragrant, shadowy retreat. "That awful Mrs. Stunt must be gone by this. I believe I will go in and let Chopin make me more wretched still," she was thinking. She looked more wistfully toward the far corner. "No, I'll just go over there and have out one big, good cry, with no one to bother me. If I cry in the house, mother will bring me aromatic spirits of ammonia." Acting on the latter impulse, she started, running now toward the trees. "Arà! it runs well!" whispered one of the grass-cutters to a neighbor. "These foreigners all have big, strong legs." "I never can tell the foreign men from the foreign women," remarked another. "_D[=o]_-mo! you simpleton!" retorted the first. She was the one to whom Gwendolen had spoken directly, and though covered with confusion at the moment, now vaunted herself upon the incident, and prepared herself to take precedence in all comments concerning the strange doings of "I-i-jin." "_D[=o]_-mo! it is easy to observe. The men have upper bodies square, like a box, and this box is tightly covered with woollen cloth. From the lower corners of the square come two stiff legs, like posts. Now the women show no legs at all, but the middle of the body is shrunken very small, like a saké gourd about which a string has been tied when it is green. Poor things, it must surely hurt them to be so bound. It is a practice more strange than that of encasing feet, used by Chinese women." "They all look alike to me, I say," repeated the first, unimpressed by this erudition. Perhaps the boastful breath of the speaker awoke a small coal of obstinacy. "The children are small in size, so I know them to be children; but all faces are alike, as the faces of cows, pigs, and horses are alike, and all are hideous!" "That one, now, was not so frightful of aspect," ventured a kindly third, and pointed her sickle to the spot where Gwendolen, having climbed a low hillock, just disappeared beyond. "That one would have been almost good to look at, but for its nose!" "The noses of all are like these sickles," said the dogmatic first. "Buddha teaches us to be content with what cannot be changed. Perhaps to the foreigners themselves the sharp noses are even beautiful!" said the gentler critic. A chorus of hisses and low laughs greeted this unheard-of generosity. The little speaker flushed under the shower of raillery, but did not abandon her humane position. Something in the American girl's face had flashed excitement, a new interest, a feeling almost like recognition, into her narrow vista. She hoped she would be called to work often in this huge garden, where the bright-haired o jo san might wander. Upon the hillock which rose in front of the little sugi grove, corners of rough stone stuck out, and shrubs had been planted, chiefly of azalea. Mingled with the many-colored blossoms, there curved long wands of yama-buki, that most golden flower, the gorse of the Far East. For once Gwendolen passed these waves of beauty by. Down there, over among the tree-trunks where the ground was winter-strewn with fragrant brown shreds of leaves, one could sit and cry to one's heart's content. Deliberately she held back the fast-rising sobs until the haven was gained, and then, hurling herself to earth, gave vent to her grief and prophetic fears. "Oh, my poor little Yuki! What are those hard men saying to you now? What will they do if they think you wrong? And I can't help you! I can do nothing! Oh, I wish we hadn't come to this place! Will any of us ever be happy again? I have my own grief, but I hide it, ashamed, before your peril! Oh, my little sister, my only little sister! If I could only catch you up like a drifting petal, and hide you in my heart, and run away with you back to our other home, back to schooldays, and happiness! But we'll never be young again, we'll never be happy. Oh--oh--oh, my heart will break!" The azaleas stared down in stately dignity; the yama-buki tossed dissent. On a sugi limb quite near, a row of sparrows placed themselves, slowly puffing out their feathers in unison, like so many buns in a warm oven. They cocked their heads suspiciously toward the prostrate girl, and gossiped about her, saying she had stolen her hair from the sun. Dodge, half ashamed of himself, but led on by something stronger than conventionality, passed the nodding group of weeders, answered their salutation in an absent-minded fashion, and continued a slow but unswerving route toward the sugi trees. At the hillock he paused. A curious sound on the other side drew him upward. His brown head pushed a way through the yama-buki limbs. Gwendolen was crying. He stared, not half believing his senses. Gwendolen, the gay, insouciant, defiant, enchanting Gwendolen, weep like this! Sooner should the stars send down beams of soot! A big something that partook of the physical nature of a hedgehog burrowed upward in his throat. Something sweet and unaccustomed stung his lids. "Oh, my heart will break!" sobbed the girl once more. "There 's nobody to help me! There's nobody to listen!" With a single bound Dodge had cleared the hillock and was on his knees beside her. A startled, upward look met him,--expectation, a wild joy, new bitterness,--these flashed in turn across her expressive face. With a wide movement of resistance, she turned away from him and buried her tear-stained face upon her knees. Dodge stood instantly. "Do you mean that I am to go?" he asked. Sobs alone answered him. She could not drive him away. His presence, his nearness, were appallingly sweet. Neither could she yield tamely where she had promised herself a policy of condescension. Despairing of further verbal instruction, and glad in his heart that the repulse had not been more vehement, he walked off a few paces, and seated himself against a tree. Gwendolen held her breath until he was safely on the earth again. She could not have borne his instant desertion. All he had to do now, Dodge was well aware, was simply to wait, and be still. The one thing impossible to Gwendolen was indefinite silence. Even before he began to expect them, the hysterical words came fluttering, as on broken wings, to his ear. "I suppose you are glo--glo--_glo_ating on this scene of my--agony! You li--li--like to see me hideous, with red-rimmed eyes and a gar--gar--_gar_net nose!" Again the head went down, and the tiny lace ball of a handkerchief came into requisition. "I can't see your eyes, Gwendolen, or your nose, either. I am not looking for them. But if they were emerald green it wouldn't phase me. You are in trouble. I didn't know you could cry like this. I wish I could be of some aid, some little comfort to you." Never before had he called her "Gwendolen" in this grave assured tone. No mere love-sick boy could have done it. The voice was that of a man, with a man's power and mastery and self-respect. The woman in her put up a protecting hand, but the deeper nature responded with smiles. Reason, instinct, affection; clamored, like insistent children, for the boon of grace. Her heart leaned down to them. "Recognize him,--confide in him,--win him now, forever," cried the voices. "Nothing can help you, in a time like this, as his love might help. You need him, foolish one,--why not admit it and have peace?" But Vanity and Pride put on horrid masks, and frightened the petitioners. She kept her eyes hidden. "Well, shall I go or stay?" asked Dodge, calmly. The young man listened in admiring wonder at his own smooth tone. How could his thumping heart and brain direct that tranquil flow? "You are wel--wel--welcome to stay if you care to. I don't own the grove," said the girl. Dodge picked a bit of leaf from the earth and began to shred the frail, brown lace. "I was awfully sorry, Miss Todd, not to be able to tell you this morning where the Minister had gone. I am only a servant, you know, and must obey orders." "Oh, it's no matter," said Gwendolen, airily. She was elated to find her spirits, her self-confidence, returning in a tide. "I know all about it now,--a good deal more, I dare say, than you yourself." "I know nothing, except the place where Mr. Todd was to go and the purpose of the meeting. He was about to tell me the result of it, when you came in and carried him off in triumph!" "Not in triumph,--good heavens, not in triumph. This is the most awful day of my life!" She lifted her head now, throwing it backward to the slight wind, and drawing deep breaths. She expected him to urge her confidence, to ask, at least, what trouble had come to her. Already she had more than half decided to tell him all. He was a safe confidant,--one of whom her father would approve,--and--she must admit that, at times, he had clear judgment. He kept an irritating silence. Gwendolen began to fidget. "Well, don't you care whether I suffer or not? I thought you said you wanted to help me!" "I want it more than I want anything else in the world, except one thing," said Dodge, and moved two trees nearer. "Well, well," cried the other, nervously, "I shall tell you. I have been simply dying to tell somebody. To bear a suspense like this all alone is like keeping your fist in a water dyke,--or barring a door with your arm, or some of those dreadful heroic things." Hampered at first by a constantly recalled determination to maintain her dignity, she began the exciting history of the day, starting from the moment when she heard of Pierre's escape, and ending with the visit of her father and herself to the deserted Hagané mansion. Dodge listened to all with an interest that a barometer might feel. He was silent, except for a very few terse, direct questions. Not an exclamation escaped him, and not a point. As she neared the end, Gwendolen's voice gave way, and the little handkerchief was raised. Dodge moved a tree nearer. "Now tell me what you think, tell me truly. I have buried my own thoughts in the earth, and sit here on their grave." "Let my thoughts go there with yours, dear," said her companion, mournfully. "The affair is as bad as it could well be. Luck alone is going to save your friend, and from what I have seen and known of Miss Yuki, she doesn't seem marked out by good luck." She did not resent his hopelessness. Apparently she had foreseen it. The telling of her story had eased while it had wearied her. She gave a long, sobbing sigh, like a child, and let her head droop. Before she knew it Dodge's arm was around her. "I'd give my life to keep this and all other sorrows from you, Gwendolen. But all I can offer now is--myself. Come to me, darling, put your poor tired little head against me, and let me try to comfort you." The girl began to tremble piteously. In her nervous state, the brimming tears soon overflowed. "No--no--" she whispered, trying to push him off. "It is not me you love,--you are Car-car--_car_-men's! She said so. You belong to Car-Carmen!" "I belong to Carmen's cat!" cried Dodge. "What am I to Carmen or Carmen to me?" "Then you de--ceived her!" "Pshaw! I'll make Carmen a sugar man in my image. She'll like that lots better. I love only you--only you, you beautiful, golden, tormenting angel of a girl! If you hadn't kept me on pins and needles, I wouldn't say it! I love _you_, I say. How could any man in his senses ever love any other woman after once seeing you?" Gwendolen tried to be stern. "No," she said again, "you don't love, you don't respect me. You were horrid that day! You defied me to my face. You wouldn't apologize. Will you apologize now?" "Indeed I won't," he cried with a ring of victory. "I'd be a mucker and a sneak to do so, and you would never want to look at me again. Deny it,--and deny that you love me,--oh, Gwendolen, Gwendolen!" With a little sob, in which a golden feather had been caught, she leaned to his arms. He took up the little brown sealskin cap, flung it back to her head, and, in his most boyish, impudent, and ecstatic tone, said in her ear, "You know the penalty for wearing another fellow's hat?" CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN In his favorite small smoking-room at the French Legation, crammed with motley Japanese and Gallic bric-a-brac, Count Ronsard fumbled nervously with his nether-lip. "You sent for me, your Excellency?" said the secretary Mouquin, at the door. "Allons! Entrez! It is the devil!--what our English cousins call 'the beastly bore.' But for his mother, the Princess Olga, I would wash my hands entirely!" He went through the gesture, revolving one fat pudding of a fist about the other, and closing with an outward fling of both, and a shrug that made his body quake. "No news at all, Mouquin?" "Nothing decisive, your Excellency. A mere hint, a hushed rumor, that Le Beau was last traced to the neighborhood of Prince Hagané's official residence." "Sacrebleu! You should have probed." "I asked a few questions guardedly. Your Excellency, one hesitates to put a match to a powder-train." "Quite true, Mouquin. And when did the hushed rumor have it that he was seen,--what hour?" "Before noon,--not long, in fact, after his mysterious escape from the nurses." Ronsard's head dropped forward an inch. A sickly glow drove the usual gray pallor from his face. "Doubtless," ventured the secretary, "Monsieur Le Beau will find his way sooner or later--to you!" "Certainement! Certainement!" cried the other, finding relief in sarcasm. "He will come weeping to the arms of Mother France. Bah! I would that Mother France could greet him with the toes of these boots!" He thrust forward pointed patent-leather tips, and stared at them, as if calculating the punishment they might inflict. Mouquin, not being asked to find a seat, still stood by the door. The very air of the room held in solution, with its blue smoke, the dampness of foreboding. The first secretary's voice sounded thin. "The doctors think this mad exposure means his certain death, your Excellency." "Death! H'm! He'll take good care to stay alive till we're all involved. It's too late for him to die." The other raised his brows but made no answer. "Have an absinthe, Mouquin?" Without noticing that Mouquin shook his head Ronsard leaned over heavily and poured a little of the liquid into a glass, filling it up with water. Without drinking, he stared as if he saw a vision in its milky depths. "Just a chance--the air is thick with plots--Pierre might be feigning--the Princess Hagané--who knows?--perhaps connives, betrays--Pshaw!" Count Ronsard dreamed under his breath. "No further orders, your Excellency?" asked the younger man, patiently, his hand on the door. "No--yes! Bring me the first news of that wandering lunatic--and avoid the police!" The words fell before a fury of feet that bowled down the outer corridor. The door burst open, nearly flinging Mouquin to the floor. Pierre Le Beau reeled in, crimson, panting, wild-eyed, hatless, and waved at the startled minister a large paper sealed with a red seal, round and clear as a Japanese sun. Ronsard in the millionth part of an instant recalled himself. He sat erect, but his eye gleamed beady and keen as a rat's. He was holding back with impartial judgment a riotous flush of hope. But Mouquin, as if hypnotized, locked the door and backed up against it. Pierre's eyes caught the cloudy green of the absinthe, still standing in the minister's glass. He tottered toward it, tried to speak, but merely pointed in jerks with his free hand. Ronsard silently held out the glass and motioned to an empty chair. Pierre drained the drug standing, then fell rather than sat. A sweat sprang suddenly to his skin. The fair hair plastered itself in little brown sickles on his white forehead. "What is it, Pierre?" Ronsard's eyes had not left the document half crumpled in Pierre's fist. His voice had a bracing echo. A returning wave of unhealthy strength warned Pierre to action. "Yes!" he cried, swaying across the table, holding out the paper and shaking it up and down. "I've done it! What you wanted! Sold my honor to Hell for it! Quick! Quick! America! The war!" Pierre's head, not yet balanced by the stealthy drug, reeled, and the large envelope dropped on the table. Ronsard recognized the great Cabinet seal. With a wolfish twitching at the corners of the mouth, which his utmost effort could not control, he slowly pushed his hand across the polished mahogany. Then two currents of thought met, and he paused. The fretfulness, the lax instability of flesh, were gone. He sat stiff, a compact mass, in his broad chair. One could see that behind the ample jowl stretched a great square bone. "First, what is it, Pierre?" he repeated coldly. Pierre rocked in his seat. "A state paper--of utmost import--signed by Grubb and Todd and all the Japanese!--It means alliance!--I saw them all as I crouched in the garden. Read it, quick! The wax is hardly set." Ronsard's mouth watered, but his brain grew firm. "Wonderful! Past belief!" he said. "But tell me how did Monsieur--obtain possession?" He was measuring the depth of Pierre's insanity, gazing desperately for signs of returning judgment. "Is it safe for _me_?" he continued quietly. "Good God, man!" cried Pierre. "Here I win you, with my life, perhaps, the very key to this war--to history for all time--and you prate about safety! Is war safe? Is anything safe?" Ronsard's voice came low and stinging. "Tell me! Where--and how--did you get it?" Pierre was too over-wrought to lie, even had he dared. He swaggered. He stretched forth a hand and snatched the paper defiantly. "I took it--yes, from the body of Prince Hagané! Glorious, wasn't it? Mon Dieu! Think of it! In his official residence!" "It means the Cross of the Legion of Honor," said Mouquin, weakly, against the door. "Hagané!" Ronsard had exclaimed in spite of himself. He knew it meant the utmost of something, but which--glory or dishonor? Either was incredible. "Yes, yes, Pierre," he said soothingly, as to a child; "Hagané's body--I understand. But why--didn't--Hagané stop you?" "Why? It is droll--he could not! He was tied, tangled. His feet were tangled--yes, tightly entangled! He was too busy with that to follow." Pierre's laugh turned Ronsard sick. "What or _who_ entangled him, Pierre?" "You keep her name out of this, damn you!" Ronsard's pendent underlip went gray to the root. "Then she will die, too." He breathed it to himself. Whether Pierre heard or not, his tense attitude relaxed. He cowered back in his chair. Mouquin, thinking he had fainted, ran forward. "No! No more absinthe! No medicine! Coffee! For God's sake, coffee! That may keep me up." A new thought flashed to Ronsard. "Mouquin! Ring, and yourself receive the coffee--just outside the door." His words rang quick and clear. "We must think, now, like gods or demons for swiftness," he went on to Pierre. "Hagané will be with us at once! How did you keep ahead? You must deny, _deny_! Don't you see, it compromises France?" Pierre raised his eyes sleepily. "Hagané--come? No, Excellency! he did not see--" "Madame will tell him, fool." "Never! She will die first." "Ah, allow me, then, to congratulate you," Ronsard permitted himself to sneer. Then swiftly, "You have been seen! The servants! The police--" "Your Excellency," chattered Mouquin, darting a ghastly face through the door, "Prince Hagané is announced. He is coming down the hall--he is _here_!" "I thought I heard footsteps. Hold him, just a moment." Ronsard rose to his feet. With a low whisper that stung with the lash of a knout he bent to Pierre. "Stand, you fool! And if you have never known what it is to be a man, try the feeling now! Hide the paper in your breast. There! Smile, though your face crack!" Pierre thrust the document into his coat and rose to greet Hagané, who entered calm, dignified, and stately, not a fold out of place, nor a hair ruffled. If any characteristic were intensified it was in deliberate tardiness of advance, an undue rigidity of self-restraint. He bowed deeply to Count Ronsard, ignoring, for the moment, the presence of the younger men. "Your Excellency will be surprised, perhaps annoyed, at this unceremonious call. It concerns a personal matter which could not be delayed. There is nothing official, you understand. It lies between Monsieur Le Beau and myself." He turned now to Pierre with the slightest inclination of the head, and then bowed more deferentially to the flaccid Mouquin by the wall. "Anything that brings your Highness is an honor," returned Ronsard, himself placing a chair for the great man. Hagané seated himself with the same painstaking calm. As he did not speak, his host continued, with obvious effort at composure, "What does slightly surprise me, your Highness,--if you will allow me to say it,--is--er--your seeming so certain of finding Monsieur Le Beau here, when your efficient police have been searching--" "Le Beau has been here for some time," put in Mouquin, who was so nervous that he should have been elsewhere. Ronsard winced. A sombre fire flickered in Hagané's eyes. "And am I to infer that the efficient police, of whom his Excellency so kindly speaks, have failed to keep in touch with Monsieur's Legation?" The two young men crossed glances of dismay. Quickly Hagané turned his eyes to Pierre's flushed face. Each moist curl burned it like a scar. "And similarly, I suppose, I am mistaken in thinking that Monsieur Le Beau has but just arrived in great haste." Before an answer could be found, footsteps and a timid knock made interruption. Mouquin craned his neck around to the aperture of the door, altering but slightly the position of his body. "A servant says, Excellency, that the American minister, Mr. Todd, telephones from his Legation that he must see you immediately." "Go, Mouquin, and stop him," said Ronsard, glibly. "Say I am out. But if he is already started wait for him at the door, and be careful to usher him into the small drawing-room, and keep him there till I come. Conciliate him. Your conversation, you understand, is to be on the high C of flippancy." In the short interval Pierre had regained self-control. "Lord Hagané, in what way can I serve you?" He made a great effort to be nonchalant. Hagané leaned slightly toward Ronsard. "Perhaps you have heard, Excellency, that a few moments since, Monsieur Le Beau picked up, in my humble home, quite by accident, a private letter that I had carelessly let fall." "A private letter!" Ronsard turned with well-feigned astonishment to his subordinate. "Oh, no! Monsieur Le Beau is the soul of honor!" Pierre could not think how to weigh the naturalness of indignation against a gentlemanly magnanimity. "The prince is mistaken," he said weakly. "It must have been another man." Without a flicker of anger or impatience Hagané, still facing the count, inquired, "Does the young man act with your authority?" "Mon Dieu, your Highness! No. Monsieur Le Beau has a certain official connection--but in such a _private_ matter"--Spread hands and a shrug completed the thought. "Were you not at my villa this morning?" Hagané had turned suddenly to Pierre. What could the Frenchman say? "No," came the pliant lie. "Come now, Prince Hagané!" began Ronsard, genially. "You see it's all a mistake. Forgive the boy his embarrassment. He is ill. To accuse him of purloining a private letter! Mother of God! In France it means a duel--" "Not purloining, your Excellency," corrected Hagané. "Taking by accident,--quite by accident. That is different. If our young friend was suffering from delirium he may have forgotten. Ask him to feel in his pocket." "It's a damnable lie, hatched for some personal reason," said Pierre. Hagané slowly rose. It was as if bronze moved. Ronsard instinctively imitated him, watching closely. He was convinced, now, that Hagané knew; but could not guess his next move. "My time is valuable to-day," said the Japanese, drawling a little. "I must speak with Monsieur Le Beau alone." Blank silence fell on the group. Hagané looked from one to the other, a slight shade of contempt growing in his eyes. "Is Monsieur Le Beau afraid?" he asked politely. "I assure you, gentlemen, I am unarmed. Even so, he might feel safer with a knife, a pistol. I regret that mine is at home, or I would be pleased to lend it. Perhaps one of these gentlemen can accommodate you." Pierre's face was growing white in a circle about his mouth. He stepped to Ronsard's desk, took out a revolver, a pearl and silver toy, and slammed it on the table between himself and Hagané. "Go, your Excellency!" he said, with eyes on Ronsard. "I, too, desire private speech with him." "Pierre! Pierre! remember France," cried Count Ronsard. Hagané bowed to the speaker. As Ronsard hesitated at the door, Mouquin pushed it open cautiously and brought in the coffee. "Not yet, Excellency," he said. Hagané waved his refusal of a proffered cup. Pierre poured himself three cups in succession, draining quickly each scalding draught. Hagané bowed again to Ronsard. "Now," he said simply. "Get out, Mouquin. Remember, Prince, the boy is ill." "I can take care of myself," Pierre said, his boyish head thrown back. Left alone the two men faced each other. Pierre leaned with one delicate hand on the table. Nervously exalted and chafed by silence he hurled words at his sombre opponent. "If your time is really valuable you waste it, my Lord. I advise you to inquire elsewhere." "Let us be seated," said Hagané, with a pleasant smile. Pierre, as at a physical thrust, went backward into a chair. "Now, shall we smoke?" continued the other, his tone deepening in friendliness. Its suavity had the effect of smothering. Pierre fought it off with a rude weapon. "Certainly, your Highness. Cigarettes or opium?" "Ah! Do you keep the latter luxury?" inquired the prince, with interest. "Have Frenchmen adopted this--vice--also?" "I meant for you only," explained Pierre, foolishly. "You must be a new-comer, unaware that I, myself, had the drug excluded from Japan. You Christian Europeans had already forced it on China." Pierre did not look up or try to answer. He felt his every move a false one. The steadying of the coffee did not come fast enough. He was in a hurry to get in some telling thrust. He must defend himself and Yuki. Count Ronsard should, after all, acknowledge him a man. The smooth, cool tones of the other now flowed like a refreshing liquid through his brain. "Am I right in thinking this your first visit to Japan, Monsieur?" Pierre, half dazed, answered, with instinctive politeness, "My first, yes. But I have for years been interested." "May I venture to ask what special phase of our civilization has been honored with your interest?" Pierre's demon nudged him. "It's woman," he said, with a short, ugly laugh. Hagané's smile grew almost fatherly. "In that you are no exception to the majority of your countrymen, Monsieur." "To be accurate I should have said--_a_ woman." The nobleman took a long whiff at his cigarette before remarking thoughtfully, "It is an unending source of wonder to our students, Monsieur, that you of the West, even your greatest thinkers, take women so seriously. Now with us, apart from the one function of becoming the mothers of our sons, they are to men as playthings to children,--as flowers, or bright-colored birds." "Am I to infer, then, that to your Highness one woman would be about as desirable as another?" "Ah, Monsieur! You are caustic. Not quite that, I protest. There is discrimination, even in playthings. And we must always take into account the effect of physique,--and character,--upon possible sons." At repetition of this sickening thought Pierre's rage gave a convulsive bound. The veins in his temples burned the skin. His delicate hands clenched themselves into steel. He grasped the pistol, brandished it wildly, and putting his face close to Hagané hissed, "Leave out the name of Yuki, and your satyr's thoughts of her, if you expect to live!" The prince's raised hand concealed an expression of amusement. Sadness, not altogether convincing, took its place. Pierre sank back to his chair sulkily, ashamed of his violence. Hagané's eyes lowered themselves, as if in embarrassment, to the table. He toyed with the brittle stem of a wine-glass. "It is unfortunate you are so excitable. For it was just about--Yuki--no, never mind the pistol--that I was thinking to take you into my confidence." Le Beau stared. The prince continued thoughtfully: "You have been her friend--" "I _am_ her friend!" "Exactly. I thought you ought to be told. After to-day there will be--_no_ Princess Hagané. She leaves my roof and must publicly relinquish my name." The prince spoke blandly. Pierre's eyes seemed to protrude. The shock of this menace counteracted the coffee. "She is innocent--" He corrected himself. "Why? What has she done?" Hagané smiled pleasantly. "Her innocence, as you call it, is too dangerous. My duties, you know. She distracts me, tires me. A mere child!" "You never cared for her. You took her from me to show your hellish power. Now you will cast her out, dishonor her--relentlessly, for a new whim!" "Monsieur should know best why I cannot trust her." A wild thought leaped like flame about Pierre's distorted fancy. "Can you mean that she goes utterly free--free to be happy--back to her father's home?" Hagané lowered his eyes. When he spoke his tone was conciliatory, even regretful. "Onda, being my kerai, will scarcely consent to receive her." "Monsters! both of you. I see--I might have known. But the Todds, thank God, are her friends!" Hagané half lifted heavy lids. "Minister Todd,--who has signed that stolen paper,--may--er--hesitate." "Mother of Christ! What will you have me think? What is to be her fate? Some foul black thought still bubbles behind those reptile eyes of yours! Out with it! Is she to be cast forth helpless, friendless, at the mercy of the first charitable stranger--" Hagané lifted a hand. "Now we approach reason though by a somewhat frenzied path. You are the succoring knight. Merely return to me, with unbroken seal, the document I saw you take, and for reward I ask you to receive free, and untrammelled, the person of the present Princess Hagané." Suspicion drove back into shadow a host of eager thoughts. After one incredulous look Pierre burst into a clamor of mirthless laughter. "So it is a bribe! What fools you must truly think all foreigners. Give the princess to me bodily? This is melodrama. Even had I the paper and should return it--I still deny, damn you!--you would take powerful precaution that she did not come." "Do you so greatly distrust your powers of attraction?" "No, nor her love, God bless her! But I distrust you and your Oriental subtleties. She would come--she loves me--but you would not let her. What guarantee can you offer?" Hagané looked pained. "No one has ever doubted my word. But if you need it, take Japan's most sacred oath--by the life of our Emperor! Prevent her? Oh, no. I shall urge--compel." Pierre struggled to preserve his balance. "Even in this barbaric country--have even--_you_--such power? Can you not be called to some account?" "I regret the necessity of being vulgar," said Hagané, in a composed voice, "but I see I must explain. It is my--what you call position--my--er--rank. It might not be possible to every Japanese, Monsieur. But as things are, the woman is as much mine as a French spaniel would be yours. Again I assure you, by the life of my Emperor, she will come. Again I ask, Do you accept my bargain?" Pierre whispered to himself Count Ronsard's words, "Remember France!" He tried to keep his reason, but the wave of hope had surged high. He saw as in a vision Yuki, disgraced, rejected, wandering alone through the wind-swept streets. He saw her face sheltered upon his arm,--that little face so pure, so delicate, so well-beloved. Her desolation touched him for a moment with an unselfish grief. "She is proud--she is brave!" he cried aloud. "Even at your orders will she come?" "I think so, Monsieur. She might possibly consider it a last chance to serve the country she has wronged." "Yes, and she might prefer to die." Hagané sent a curious, cold look to search the young man's thought. "Do Christians dare--to die?" The acid scorn bit deep. "Yes," raved Pierre. "And they dare to live, and, sometimes, they dare to slay! I do not consent, remember. I believe it yet to be a trick, a mockery. If I find it so, I swear in the name of that Christian God whom you blaspheme--if I find that you are holding out the one bribe that you know I would sell my soul to the devil for--thinking to gloat over the new deviltry of snatching it away--I'll--I'll--" He broke off, mouthing for words that would not come. His hand unconsciously fingered the cold surface of the pistol. Again Hagané looked bored, and made a gesture of distaste. "Don't sneer like that, you toad of hell!" shrieked his companion. "You think this bluster,--but I mean it. I mean it terribly!" A sudden sound in the outer hall cut short the threat. Footsteps, in stockinged feet, or in the Japanese tabi, came swiftly. Both men by instinct fixed eyes upon the door. Yuki walked straight to her husband and stood still. Their eyes met. "I thank the Gods that you are safe," she said aloud. Her glance moved quickly to Pierre, surprising on his face a hurt, incredulous expression. "Monsieur, be comforted. It is for the country, not for me," mocked Hagané. "And now, Madame," he said, with bloodshot eyes on Yuki, "have you explanation for this new act of disobedience, of affront to my dignity?" Yuki did not hasten to reply. Whether the power had grown from without or within that childish form, a new strength was now hers. She had the look of one who, after long wandering in a dangerous forest, has spied a path. The gray robe, hastily caught back to decorous lines, showed traces of rough handling. Over her head she had thrown a light wrap called a dzukin. It hid her forehead with a nun-like band, was crossed under the chin, and knotted loosely behind the head. Not a strand of hair emerged. Her face, in the dull silver setting, gleamed like a long white pearl. Hagané observed the change in her. The repulsion left his eyes. He waited in patience, and with some curiosity, for her answer. "I came, your Highness," she vouchsafed at length, "because without me you cannot get the paper." Hagané's eyes went instantly to Pierre. "Yuki, for God's sake are you mad?" cried the Frenchman. "I know of no paper. I have assured him that I do not know of it!" "Give him the paper, Pierre," said the girl, gently. "Through me it was lost, and if I am to have a human soul hereafter--give him the paper." Hagané sucked in bitter triumph from Pierre's discomfiture. His eyes crucified the boyish face. Like a brood of dark vultures his conjectures swooped down to the cowering prey. Yet before Yuki's entrance he had, for a moment, felt talons at his own breast. Instinctively Pierre had clutched at his coat, where the document lay concealed. Hagané said softly, "Perhaps it is as well, Madame, that you have disobeyed. Yet on your lover's countenance I do not observe signs of joyous welcome." "I came looking for no welcome, Lord, nor has personal desire directed me. I have done great wrong. Again has my weakness proved my enemy. But a hope of partial atonement has not gone altogether from me." She stretched both hands to Pierre. "Pierre, if you have known love, give me the paper." "I do not understand," stammered Pierre. "Are you against me for that man? Here is the chance of our revenge,--our passport to happiness. I have not harmed him otherwise. Would you take this one possible chance from me?" "I am not against you, Pierre. I am not for Hagané. It is myself, my wretched, shivering self, for which I plead. No, you cannot understand. I am Japanese. I must regain the paper. Through my cowardice you won it. At any sacrifice you can name I must get it back." Hagané saw how she labored to keep her voice gentle and soothing. She had the accents of a suffering mother who tries to coax a sick child. The husband saw more in the calm, ashen face. "You have yet patriotism," he said, so low that she alone heard. To these words she gave no recognition. She watched the Frenchman as Hagané studied her. The folds of her dzukin, heaped high and light about the slim throat, stifled her. She tugged nervously at it until one end came loose and fell. By inches the flexible fabric crawled down from hair to shoulder, then down her body to the floor. The disorder of the thick hair, one blue-black lock almost hiding her left temple and streaming to her breast, gave her an unfamiliar, a weird, even a supernatural appearance. Hagané still held a cigarette in the death-mask of his face. He took it out now carefully. "You speak of revenge, Monsieur, meaning, of course, the personal revenge. Europeans conceive all offences to be personal. You weaklings have your code,--your jumping-jack ethics. Something touches a spring, and your honor leaps up and crows. You could hardly understand the language we now speak, though our words were purest French. I will attempt to elucidate. This woman refers to an--essence--underlying all personalities and all time. It is a stratum of substance which boils and seethes in our sun, which sets the planets swinging in their steady paths, which ebbs and flows, a thin, resistless tide, down through the world of ghosts. We call it 'En.' You have no better word, I think, than 'Necessity.' This woman had a trust and failed. Sometimes the sabre slash of fatal weakness lays bare a hidden source of strength. I believe it to be so with her. The gods have smiled a ritual of sacrifice! No,--you do not understand. If I sang an obscene song your eyes would sparkle,--now they are bits of dull blue clay.--Onda Yuki-ko!" he said in another tone, and with a voice slightly raised, "have you the thought that, in winning back for your land this stolen document, you become worthy again to be my wife,--to bear my name?" Yuki's head went up a little. If Death himself could smile he would perhaps own the gleam which for an instant lighted her dark eyes. "Lord, we agree that I have failed. There is no deeper degradation. As for resuming your name,--you should have understood, before this, that I shall not need it." Pierre wrinkled his forehead. The three stood. Pierre leaned against the edge of a massive table, and sometimes steadied himself with hands upon it. He bore upon the oaken surface now. The drift of their conversation, though in careful English, was indeed beyond him. Hagané did not menace Yuki. In her look toward him was no hint of fear. Yet between them, across from each to each, in all the space around them, the spider--tragedy--hurried unceasingly, and wove a closing web. They stared out from the black net with faces of calm nobility. An influence shook the Frenchman, vibrated through the particles of his brain, shrank and inflated his soul in its clay vessel. In bewilderment, as one reaches out in the dark, his voice cried, "Is this your sorrow, Yuki? Do you wish still to be his? If you bid me, perhaps I too can sacrifice. Shall I buy his mercy for you with this paper?" He snatched it out, but instead of presenting it, held the white rectangle again against his breast. The seal glared and winked like the inflamed eye of a pygmy Cyclops. This was Pierre's supremest moment. Never again did he reach an equal height. The altitude turned him cold and dizzy. Blood surged in his ears, and tears of self-appreciation, of self-pity, sponged with a misty blur the room and its occupants. Yuki, catching her underlip between her teeth, and bruising her slim hands together for control, went nearer. "Pierre, I thank you. I shall never forget this greatness,--in another world or this. You do much to restore what you, too, have lost. But I cannot bid you sacrifice. Hagané would not take the paper at that price. I myself must find a way to win it." Hagané sat like a mass of clay new fallen from a cliff. Yuki's voice trailed off. An angelic sweetness hung about the echoes. Now the clay was troubled. It stirred heavily. Hagané rose with his usual massive deliberation. "Tell her, Frenchman, the price I had already offered you." "I shall not do it with that pure face before me, Hagané." Hagané bowed. No hint of sarcasm cheapened the salutation. "Then, Yuki, I must speak it. I offered him in exchange for the paper your fair, white body to be his, as a dog is his, as a snatched blossom. That was my bargain." For an instant she swayed and leaned one hand on the table opposite from Pierre. Hagané placed a chair for her. Before sinking to it she spoke, her eyes set on her husband, her voice grave and contained. "Then, Lord Hagané, you have revealed a depth of degradation below the uttermost punishment which I should have thought you willing to bestow." "Also," continued Hagané, "I ventured to declare, and to believe, that you would go to him willingly." Pierre quivered under this insult to the woman he loved. But Yuki did not look ashamed. Pushing back the hair from both temples she bent her eyes upward, as though invoking strength from unseen powers. "Yes, Yuki, darling," cried Pierre, coming to her. "He will free you honorably. You shall be mine forever, and we shall soon forget these horrors of the past. I will give him the paper if you wish it. What do I care for Ronsard or for France if I, with this, can buy your life-long happiness?" Yuki shivered in all the length of her limbs. Hagané turned away. His face could not be seen with the utterance of his next words. Curiously enough they sounded apologetic. "It was the only way I saw, Yuki, the only bribe that such a man might take. Your body, soiled already, have I offered. Do you understand?" Pierre's gaze, too, had fallen. Shame weighed all lids. An abnormal silence came to the little group. Yuki broke it with a long, long breath, as of relief and comprehension. The men looked toward her. Hagané clenched a brown fist to a cluster of throbbing veins. But the Frenchman gaped, incredulous, and gaped again. For Yuki was smiling at something far away. A light already not of earth lay on her waxen brow. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, now, at last, I understand. You will not force the gift, Hagané. It must be mine. Why, Pierre, look not so strange because, at last, I understand. You cannot know yet, poor Pierre, but soon you will know too. I must be yours, of course. Have you not planned, and spied, and--stolen for this?" "Yuki," said Hagané, in a deeply troubled voice, "if Monsieur Le Beau by any chance should give the paper--unconditionally should refuse the price--" "No! no!" she cried, with a quick note of terror, and sprang to her feet again. "Where would be my atonement, my reparation? Think it not, Lord. See that your great mercy be not merciless. I shall go, gladly, gladly, to Monsieur Le Beau; my heart falters not for myself,--but him. It is a cruel deed to him." "And well deserved," muttered Hagané. "Being myself weak, Lord," said the young wife, "I feel that the deserving is, after all, the hardest pang." Pierre dashed his hand across his brow, and went to a small sideboard for a liqueur. Again these strange people were talking their mystic gibberish. Yuki was more clear, indeed. She had stated openly to her husband that she wished to be given to another man. Neither seemed to feel the least delicacy or shame. In Pierre's fastidious thought this fact made a tiny stain for Yuki. The old brute evidently wanted to be rid of her, and she, eagerly accepting freedom, did not shrink from claiming at once a more desirable companionship. At the last moment should he, Pierre, refuse to grasp the prize he had turned criminal in pursuing? No, a thousand times no! Yuki's friendless condition demanded his deepest pity. It was with a faint touch of condescension that he leaned to her, saying, "Do not falter now, Yuki. Our goal is in sight. I will be true to you. I will yet make you happy!" "Happy! happy!" echoed the woman in a ghost's voice. "All foreigners think and say only that one thing,--_happy_! Pierre, Pierre, I need so much more than--happiness!" The pathos of her voice, her small face, touched him to a manlier emotion. She was so young, so white, so helpless! "What it is possible for me to give you I live but to bestow, my darling," he said, and, kneeling, kissed a small, scarred hand. "I can promise love, protection, deep respect,--for the slime of this man shall not cling to you!" Hagané snatched him bodily from the floor. His eyes blazed like a beast's. "Time will come for puling. A few things are yet to be said. Let us conclude the savory bargain. I must be gone." "Yes, let us finish quickly," whispered Yuki. "Gallant lover," continued Hagané to Pierre, "when and how do you wish to claim your prize?" "Now, at once," cried Pierre, rallying a little under the scorn hurled toward him. "You have the eyes of a demon. She would not be safe alone with you. Take the paper now, and let me have her!" Yuki shivered again, and hid her face in her sleeve. "I shall not harm madame. This I can assure you. But the earliest possible hour for your ecstasy will be--to-night!" "To-night--to-night!" moaned Yuki. "It must be so. You cannot pass another night beneath my roof, and there is none who dares receive you but this brawny champion." "To-night! It is an eternity away!" cried Pierre. "See, love, the sun already is low. I hear the moat-crows cawing. To-night we shall begin to live!" "Kwannon Sama--oh, dear Saviour, help me to endure," said Yuki to herself. "To-morrow I join the army in Manchuria. Whatever is to do must be completed before the dawn." "To-night! To-night, this very night!" sang Pierre, like a schoolboy. "They called me sick, but I am already a well man! That was a marvellous draught you gave me in the tea-rooms, Yuki." For the first time Hagané showed a puzzled frown. Yuki explained quickly. "Oh, I had forgotten that you did not know. Pierre wandered delirious into our garden this forenoon, your Highness, just after your instructions to me. I could think of no way to send him off, so I took him to the Cha no yu rooms and gave him a fever mixture and a sleeping-draught. I believed he would remain asleep until after the meeting." "But I didn't," laughed Pierre. "It must have been the God of Good Luck that woke me when he did." "I tried to tell your Highness before the meeting, although you had given me orders not to disturb your mind," went on Yuki to her husband in the same quiet way. "Perhaps you will recall my effort." "I do," said Hagané. "It goes far to exonerate you. Tell me more in detail." Yuki closed her lips. She did not wish to be exonerated, at least by Hagané. This was her one supreme opportunity for full expiation,--for sacrifice. No one should wrest it from her. "I woke in good time," babbled Pierre, to whose brain the liquor was giving a strange lightness. "I saw the statesmen come and go. They whispered and leaned down. I saw Todd, and Sir Charles,--and Yuki by the window. I saw my Lord Hagané come to her with the great paper in his hand. She was going to betray poor Pierre to him, but first the great lord must have his say. He told her of the paper--and then he made iron love--that old lord. I could hear his joints rasp. 'Yuki, you are my wife! When this time of stress and strain is over I shall teach you something of a brighter hue than duty!' Ah, ha! making love, like any schoolboy! She never kissed you as she has kissed me, Hagané. Oh, she cared for me in the little tearooms. We played we were married. Go there; you will find the cushions, the trinkets strewn around, the broken hairpin." A dull purple tide rushed upward to Hagané's face and stayed there. No battle-wounds could sting and torture like the mincing mimicry of the Frenchman's words. His control was superhuman. He leaned an instant nearer the fireplace to flip off a cigarette ash, then faced his companions coolly. "I must remember to investigate the scene of romance." Yuki bowed. If she had craved martyrdom, here were assuring circumstances. Pierre's thoughtless words, Hagané's passionate calm, were prison manacles. They snapped on wrists already scarred. She welcomed the cold compulsion. "Well," Pierre hurried on, "let us get back to business. To-night, you say? I agree, but where?" "Should the noble count permit such base use of it, the most suitable spot would be your Legation," said Hagané. Pierre gave a hiss. His head was on fire again. He must hurry and have things settled before the full conflagration came. "More melodrama! I feel the sincerity of your suggestion. Shall I summon the noble count to be asked?" "Certainly. I shall await him here. Kindly hasten, as the day already wanes." Pierre fell back a little, half in derision, half in apprehensive credulity, like a harlequin in two shades. "You really mean it! Well, I shall go. I will get him if he is to be brought. He must come,--I shall be in need of him. It is all a dream, a fever dream. Will you give parole to stay here till I come back,--you and Yuki?" His bright eyes shot suspiciously from one to the other. There was still so much he did not understand. Hagané sighed. He assumed the expression of one who has had an insect light upon him and whose dignity forbids him to brush it off. "Answer the Frenchman, Yuki-ko." "We will remain, Monsieur Le Beau," said Yuki. Left alone, the husband and wife instinctively drew nearer. After gazing for a long moment Hagané suddenly put out his hands. Yuki thrust hers within them and lifted wide eyes. Her face had a look of blurred moonlight. Out of the mystic whiteness her eyes gleamed like deep spiritual wells, where hopes and possibilities, already death-shadowed, drifted in a spectral sheen. Hagané tightened his clasp, and at the same instant let his own soul come full into his face. Yuki shivered. Her lips parted. Virtue flowed in upon her from his touch. She thought, as in a vision, of the Kioto statue worn smooth by the touch of dying men. What ghostly comfort that image could have held was but a feeble emanation beside the blinding power of this living god. "All things are not yet clear to me," said the man. "Something is hidden, and you jealously conceal the hiding-place. Yet you sheltered that spy. You prevented me from following. Speak your whole heart, Yuki." "If I have a secret, Lord, it is one which aids to purify and consecrate my sacrifice. I long for that sweet hour, Lord. My parched spirit strains toward it." Hagané's lips twitched once. "Yuki, as to the ear of your ancestral gods, tell me, should this paper be regained by means less terrible,--are you worthy to be my wife?" Thinking of her weakness, her great and not ignoble efforts doomed always, it would seem, to failure, and with the knowledge of this man's greatness full upon her, Yuki answered simply, "No." Her very innocence betrayed her and sealed the doom of death. Hagané had a man's thoughts. Pierre's boast--the disordered rooms of the tea-house--the broken hairpin--lashed him with a fiery hail. He groaned and dropped his face. "Yuki, Yuki!" came a voice as though from a mangled soul. "Did you not begin to feel it? I love you! From that first instant in Washington--I have loved you more dearly than I ought. The Gods punish me for my infatuation!" Yuki's cheeks grew faintly tinged. "Once, nay, twice, Lord, my heart bespoke it, but I dared not listen. If a star had slid through the night to my hand, I would sooner believe that I dreamed, awake, than that the heavens had lost a star." "A soul--a face--a heart like thine, Yuki--to be befouled by a Frenchman's love!" he cried in agony. "Dear Lord," whispered the girl, "perhaps by suffering greatly in this life--perhaps in my completeness of expiation--I shall, in the next life, be near thee!" Hagané could only groan. The black spider busied itself about them. A strange stillness fell on Yuki. She put up a hand to her husband's shoulder, drawing him closer. "My soul is like a quiet pool, my husband. Gaze in, softly, and see your own face there. Nay, break not the shining by thy tears. You must help me to suffer greatly. Let no interference come. This last treachery to the weak boy who has loved me is part of the pain. He will forgive me and forget. He will even be happier than for me to live on as your wife--your loved wife! That is too heavenly a thing for one so frail as I. Let me die, Lord, as you and I, though without speech, have agreed upon. At last I shall serve. Will you promise to befriend me to that hour, my husband?" "To that hour and beyond!" groaned Hagané. A moment after, he said, "Do you realize, my Yuki, what may be the power of a soul freed like yours,--shot suddenly from the bowstring of a fixed purpose? It is a thunderbolt of the Gods! Not only in your body's death, but through your free soul, after, shall you aid Nippon!" The wonder in her wide gaze grew. A dawn, it spread circling to outer rims of darkness. Currents of unseen force seemed to whirl in the air about them. "Soul of my Yuki, I shall summon you to fields of death. Stand near me in perplexing hours, cleave to him who is to be thy mate in a nobler rebirth! Breathe your power through me in moments of despair, lift up your voice when a thousand guns roar death, when ghosts spring up like flames, and the commander sobs to hear the cry of 'Victory!' So shall you be worthy!" "Lord! Lord! Already art thou a God, and I thy chosen comrade! Wield my freed spirit to our country's need! At last I shall be strong. Into thy hands--Lord--" Things of the flesh flared up and blew back forever, like scraps of burnt moor-grass. The white flint of her soul had struck from him its spark of immortality! CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT Pierre's visible return was preceded by a great chatter of his voice, now in English, again in French. Evidently he had more than one companion. Hagané and Yuki drew apart. Pierre stood at the door which, with a wide French gesture, he had flung open. The tall figure of Minister Todd entered, followed closely by Count Ronsard. It was the latter who saw to the careful closing of the door. "Mr. Todd!" Yuki faltered, under her breath. Here was a new and terrible trial. Hagané gave her a glance. He saw her slight figure stiffen, and her face grow still again. The light upon his stern countenance was almost as beautiful as her own. Pierre began a hurried and vaporous explanation. "Mr. Todd was here, your Highness, as you were already aware. He desired greatly to come, and his Excellency, the count, wished it!" "Entirely unofficial," Ronsard hastened to add. "It is a personal misunderstanding, nothing more. I have been assuring Mr. Todd that it is utterly unofficial!" Todd raised his thin hand. Reassurance had already come to him. Yuki was safe, and Hagané had the look of an altarpiece. No personal harm, at least, was to be done. "Before this goes one step further I want to say for myself, that unless Prince Hagané is quite willing to have me, I leave at once. I don't pretend to understand what has happened, but I have full faith in Yuki and her husband. There, your Highness! I am through with my little stunt. Shall I strike roots, or reverse the throttle?" "Unless against the wishes of Madame la Princesse, I desire you to remain." "Madame la Princesse!" mocked Pierre, angrily, under his breath. Yuki's dignity equalled that of her husband. "Kindly remain, Mr. Todd," she murmured, with a slight bow. "Your Highness," said Todd, still addressing Hagané, "now tell us how many grains of wheat are in this chaff of foolishness Pierre is giving us! Something about your going to send my little Yuki off like a piece of broken china, for him, Le Beau, to patch together at his leisure. Pshaw! Of course the boy is out of his head!" Hagané thought deeply before he made reply. His sobriety and deliberation gave unusual weight to speech always impressive. Each word was a nail driven straight into the lid of an abandoned hope. "Madame la Princesse has offended in a way peculiarly Japanese,--difficult, I think,--too difficult even for your sympathy and kindness to comprehend. There is no need to dwell upon it. She leaves me of her own free will. She and I understand each other perfectly. That is all! We shall detain you two gentlemen but a moment." "Entirely unofficial, your Excellency will observe," whispered Ronsard, nervously, to the American. "Yes, yes, I made that much out for myself," said Todd to Hagané. "If you intend to separate, it is deplorable, but clearly none of my business. It's the other heinous suggestion, that of handing her over to another man, that makes me hot in the collar. Don't tell me I must believe this of your Highness!" Neither Hagané's eyes nor voice faltered. "The man, Monsieur Le Beau, has a service to perform for Japan. He asks a certain price. Yuki alone can pay that price." "It is simple enough, Mr. Todd," Pierre burst in. The discussion went in a direction distasteful to him. He did not wish the matter of the paper, and its means of acquirement, laid bare. "I can do the prince a service. For it, Yuki becomes my own, as from the beginning she should have been. This little talisman merely rights the mistakes of Fortune." He held out the document, shaking it to attract attention. "The very paper I helped to sign, this day!" said Todd, wondering. "What, in the name of Beelzebub, are you doing with it? Hagané was to guard it with his life! There's something queer in this. I smell foul play! Did Yuki,--could Yuki have--?" He checked himself, reddening at the baseness of his quick suspicion. Yuki, facing him, gave no answering flush. She was white,--white beyond belief in a thing that lived at all. Her low voice gave each syllable full measure. "I was partly--to blame--that Monsieur Le Beau secured that paper. I shall pay his price." Todd's eyes still hung on her, fascinated, incredulous. He could not believe her capable of vileness. He knew that no depth of personal degradation could begin to compare, in the Japanese mind, with an offence against loyalty. It was to them, truly, the sin against the Holy Ghost. Yet, by her own words, Yuki was condemned. His stung thought flashed to Pierre, and fastened on him. "Then, man, it is a double wrong! I do not know yet how you got the thing; but if she is implicated, you owe it to her, far more than yourself, to be decent! In the name of morality,--of honor,--do not sell the thing; give it back without condition! Your proposition is damnable!" "His Excellency Mr. Todd was one who signed the paper; he pleads for its return," murmured Ronsard to the air. "Never mind that!" flashed Todd. "The paper doesn't trouble me a little bit! I am thinking of Yuki!" "But--Mr. Todd--Yuki, she wish to pay that price. She wish to be given--so--to Monsieur!" said the Princess Hagané. Pierre flashed a look of triumph into Todd's dazed eyes. Defiantly he went to Yuki, caught her hand, and kissed it. "You see and hear her for yourself!" vaunted Pierre. Todd appealed dumbly to Hagané for extrication from this amazing skein of tangled interests. Hagané brooded on his wife with tenderness,--with the ache of love,--as over a dying child. Yuki drew her hand from Pierre and went to the minister. "Don't try to understand," she urged him, piteously, "don't defend me! You cannot understand,--not even Gwendolen could understand!" She caught her breath sharply, with a new and untried pang, "Oh, Gwendolen, my dear one!" she moaned, "I had forgotten you. Gwendolen--Gwendolen!" "If I might be allowed to say a word in behalf of France," ventured Ronsard, hesitatingly. "Your Excellency," interrupted Pierre, "let us have no further discussion. I cannot be interfered with, even by you. The thing is done! I have agreed! Prince Hagané protects us all! All are satisfied. Cela!" "Yes, yes," echoed Yuki. "Everything is settled!" "Here's one thing that isn't!" flared out Todd. "I say to you men, French and Japanese alike, damn you for a set of cold-blooded, fanatical politicians! Out of the bunch I respect--no, I despise a little less, Le Beau, for though an egoist and a fool, he is at least on fire with love. As for you two statesmen, there's something rotten in your refrigerators! I know what Le Beau has to sell, of course; and it is not worth the sacrifice of this poor shivering child! Ronsard, speak up for France, without permission or apology. Where is your honor, where that little cross with the red ribbon, that you stand by and see this wedge of opportunity driven by a boy's lust into sand!" "Your Excellency!" thundered Hagané. "Though you signed the paper, it is not yours. I claim it--for Nippon! I alone am responsible!" Yuki cowered an instant, pressing both hands against her ears, then she rallied, and crying, "Do not interfere,--it is Hagané's concern and mine," went up to Todd, and seized his arm for emphasis. He pushed her off. "It may be Hagané's business, but I make it mine! God! These are not the Dark Ages. I'm not the man to stand aside and have a woman burned at the stake of political exigency. I'll turn traitor myself! I'll tell the purport of the paper! I'll wire my resignation to Washington next day! But I won't keep still!" His lean figure flashed with indignation like a gleam that plays along an unsheathed sword. Yuki, wheeling back to him with incredible swiftness, caught down the upraised hand, and strained it to her breast. She threw herself against him, praying, it would seem, for eternal life. "Oh, my friend, you are noble, but you make the terrible mistake! You will kill my soul, which has but just come alive. Let me go to Pierre, as is now planned. You think, maybe, that I do some great sacrifice for my country, like that good girl, Jeanne d'Arc. But you think too high. I am bad! I am the cat! I have no love for Nippon or for Hagané! No, I have the one wish now,--to go to Pierre--to Pierre! I was close to him a moment, and now you come to drag me away. Keep me not from Pierre!" Todd scrutinized her from between stiffening, half-closed eyelids. The gathering corner-wrinkles had the effect of sparks. "It's no good, Yuki!" he said quietly. "It don't work a little bit! I've known you too long!" "Oh, but I _is_ bad, very bad! You didn't know, of course not! I was sly to hide everythings. Pierre and I have arrange so that, in spite of cruel father, and Prince Hagané and all, we comes together at last! Ah, push me off again!" she cried convulsively. "That is right! I care not if I lose you, and Mrs. Todd, and Gwendolen, and my good name,--everything! if only I can go to Pierre this night! Just let me do what I wish, as all have agree but you. Try not to prevent!" At the wild light in her eyes, the impassioned ring of her voice, Todd, his faith for the moment quailing, had pushed her off a few shuddering inches. She clung still to his hand. By this he drew her near again, and probed. Before his first word, she must have surmised the change, for she swayed in his hold, shuddered violently, closed her lids, and let her lips form a few dumb words of prayer. "Yuki!" Todd began, in a voice so low that the others scarcely heard. "Yuki, this is a part you are playing. Eternity is your stage, and tragedy your curtain. The room smells of it. You are not bad. You harbor now a heroic design. I cannot understand, but I believe it to be supreme! Before God, look into my eyes, and tell me the truth. I will not betray you!" She lifted calmly, now, the great, dark orbs. He gazed down into them, to the thought that lay, like a white rock, in the clear depths. In absolute moments the human soul has a speech of its own and an ear to listen. Her lips moved no more. She was not conscious of further effort to make him see. Without grosser statement, knowledge came to him. This life of earth already had lost its hold on her,--Pierre was less than a shadow on a stream. Todd knew that she was to die,--that the discarded shell of the thing he loved would be Pierre's prize. By the same ghostly prescience Hagané knew that certainty had laid her cold touch upon the American. He averted quickly his dark face from the sight. Ronsard, who was nearest, saw a mighty shudder blow upon him; then the face, now twitching, lifted toward the light. His lips moved. Ronsard could not surmise the trend of the broken, muttered words; but Yuki, who had neither heard nor seen, knew that he was praying. Todd loosed the girl's hand now, not in rebuke, but as one incapable of sustaining longer the fragile burden. The alertness, the eagerness went from him. All at once he was a middle-aged man. "And I must stand by and do--nothing!" he whispered, half to himself, half to her. "Oh, you can still do much. You can believe in me,--and Gwendolen will not need to scorn me. I will thank you always, if only for what you have just understood." "Come!" said Hagané, sharply. "A woman's endurance has a limit. The paper, please, Monsieur Le Beau." Ronsard touched Pierre's arm. "Not until you have received your price." "When Yuki comes to me to-night, and not before," said Pierre, valiantly. He was pleased with the sound of his own bravado. Yuki threw a piteous glance toward her husband. "Then shall I accompany, now? I think I can do all, alone." Hagané did not answer her. He held Pierre in a hard gaze. "To-night?" he questioned. "How can I be sure that the seal will be intact?" "Sir!" said Pierre, indignantly, "your suggestion is an insult!" "Ah! do thieves who enter other men's homes to rob them still wave the flag of honor?" Pierre drew back, flushed and scowling, with a muttered curse. Todd gave a great start. It was the first time he had heard the specific charge. How then, if Pierre were a mere common thief, could Yuki be involved? Again he was baffled. He shook his head sadly, and kept silence. Hagané had begun to speak again. "I am willing to refer the matter to arbitration, but shall not consent to the document remaining here. Let it be put into the hands of a third party, until to-night." "Yes," said Yuki, eagerly. "Mr. Todd will keep it. All trust him!" Pierre and Ronsard exchanged apprehensive glances. To refuse was impossible. "An--an--excellent plan," said Ronsard, with a watery beam. "But, since Russia is our ally--" "Utterly unofficial, you know. A purely personal misunderstanding," reminded Todd, not without a gleam of malice. "In your present attitude, Count Ronsard, you can scarcely claim anything further. France's honor hardly rests on--felony! I am willing to hold it; and, if the prince should fail to drive in the sacrificial lamb, otherwise Yuki, France gets the paper, I presume." "Exactly," said Hagané, and Ronsard in a breath. "Only," interpolated Yuki, in her low, clear voice, "no sacrificial lamb is to be driven, your Excellency,--only a woman gaining her soul's desire." Pierre triumphed in glances about the room. Couldn't the fool American see that Yuki was simply dying to get away from old Hagané and come to him! Why this continued talk of sacrifice? It sounded like the Japanese themselves. Pierre sent an ardent, encouraging look to the girl. To his surprise, her face was set steadily upon Hagané, and in his answering gaze was the same embarrassing rapture. "Well," said Todd, sharply, "am I to keep the paper or not?" "My dear colleague," stuttered Ronsard, paddling the air with gestures of concession, "of course, in your keeping it is as safe as--say--in my private desk. Pierre!--" There was a sharp tang to the name. The young man reluctantly handed the envelope to Todd. He took it with a crooked smile. Hagané and Yuki remained calm as statues. "Madame," the host said, with fictitious gayety, "perhaps, as a matter of delicacy, congratulations are not in order; yet allow me to assure you of my good-will and homage!" Yuki met his look. Her face was still expressionless, like a Japanese painting of a high-born lady where repose is the desired essential. Something underlying the white calm disturbed him. After her few gentle words, "I thank your Excellency," he was glad to turn away. "To-night at eight," said Hagané, moving toward the door. "Can all be present at eight?" The three men bowed gravely. Ronsard for once had forgotten etiquette. He was allowing his visitors to leave alone. Yuki, with no further look for Pierre, prepared to follow her husband, but Todd came to himself with a queer, choking little sound. In two long strides he overtook her. "Yuki,--how can. I stand it? You are like my other child! I am in a bed of nettles, and you have tied my hands! I have agreed to take this paper chiefly on the hope that I may stir Le Beau to a nobler issue. You must agree,--you _must_--to a less awful price." Yuki's lifted face was whiter now than any death, but somehow, under the icy surface a flower was frozen. "Pierre will not agree, because I have said I wish to go to him. You have understood the Japanese heart strangely; but even yet,--there are spaces you have not dreamed. I pray God for you to fail, dear Mr. Todd, but I ask his blessing on your kindness. Give to those dear ones at your home, my Sayonara, and my undying love!" Todd writhed as if stung by an unseen serpent. "And yet, within my bounds of confidence and honor, I must reason with Pierre, must speak more fully with Ronsard!" "I trust you utterly," said Yuki, as she faded through the doorway. Ronsard, recalled perhaps by the mention of his name, hurried forward now, and accompanied the noble guests to the portico. Left together, Pierre and Todd eyed each other. On the younger, more beautiful face, vanity and self-satisfaction were spread as scented unguents. The hour was his. He had triumphed! Yuki, in spite of all these grave men, was to be his own. Oh, he would make her happy! It is said that the colorless color 'white' is merely a cunning admixture of all hues. In the same way, the iridescent struggle of contempt, pity, incredulity, disapprobation, whirling together in the American's mind, coalesced into blankness,--the consciousness of a situation hopeless, irremediable. Without a word or exclamation he sank to the nearest chair, put his long, lean arms out upon the table, and laid his face upon them. So the two men remained, until the heavy footsteps of Ronsard came back into the hall,--until he entered, and, casting an eye on the prostrate form, asked of Pierre, in a whisper, "Is his Excellency ill?" "No," said Pierre, irritably. "He is not, but I am. Nobody seems to think of the strain I've been under all this time. With your permission, Excellency, I'll have one of the servants telephone for a physician. This hellish fever is on me again. I must keep my reason until this night is over!" Ronsard, without answering, waddled to a chair, moved his short legs outward, and let the attraction of gravitation do the rest. The room shook with the impact, jangling empty cups and glasses on the table. He drew out a silken handkerchief, and with it odors of violet and vervain. "Oui, oui," he made answer at length, "have your physician. You will need him before you are through. And when the servant comes, kindly order tea, sandwiches, coffee, liqueurs, anything which may strengthen. Bah! It is vaudeville tragedy!" He settled himself with grunts and short groans of distaste. Todd was deliberately overlooked. The silent form gave both observers a sense of uneasiness. Pierre's orders given, strength suddenly deserted him. He went to a couch, where pillows in Japanese brocades were heaped. "With your permission, gentlemen," he muttered. He threw himself down upon his back, bending his head upward into the soft squares, until the profile was drawn thin and clear, as that of a mediæval figure on a tomb. All day long, ever since his escape from the hospital (and could it be possible that his flight had taken place since dawn of this very day?), illness had toyed with him as a jungle tiger with its prey, letting him go free for a moment, only to spring back, fastening deeper claws. Now the fever held him, and moved like a tumultuous sea across which was hung a molten, blinding sheet of brass. Down in the valleys of the waves it was dark, and cold, and terrible. Sea-creatures grimaced at him, holding out long, wavering arms. Oh, the valleys were terrible indeed! But up on the swelling crest was far worse, for there he burned. Sometimes his brain went wild in the torment of flame. His lips blistered and cracked. Once, when he threw a hand suddenly upward, a pink finger-nail split to the flesh. The intervals had a rhythm, a relentless, horrible recurrence. He knew in anticipation the agony of each moment just before it came. Now,--now he was beginning to rise, to be borne up from the liquid, icy trough toward a plane of fire. He groaned aloud, and cowered. Soft footsteps went around the room. Porcelain or some such brittle substance went clashing gently. To him it was as shells of the sea, caught up with him in the wave; caught up from slimy depths, like him; torn from a nether world of cold despair and whirled upward, as he was being whirled! Soon they would crack, too, and the pretty colors be burned and blackened. A voice came out of the water. It sounded like Ronsard's voice. "Look at the young Monsieur! Diable! Fever is gaining. I would he were safely back in the hospital." "Then why not take the responsibility of sending him there?" drawled the American's voice,--that thin, nasal, self-confident voice that Pierre hated. It lashed now, like sea-nettles, in his face. Pierre writhed, and tried to toss aside the pillows. "I won't go back! You need not plan! You cannot force me!" he tried to scream. His parched lips opened. A hissing noise came from his throat. He thought he had really screamed the words, but the quiet, uninterrupted flow of conversation, behind the wall of the wave convicted him terribly of delusion. He gnashed his teeth, struggling to rise. "Good God!" cried Todd, reaching him at a bound. "The man is in convulsions. A doctor, quick, or he'll die here!" Ronsard pressed a bell in frantic haste, and sent all the Legation servants forth in search of physicians, warning each to go in an individual direction. As a natural consequence, they went in a frightened phalanx. Police-officers, seeing the confusion, hurried in. Everywhere was dismay and disorganization. Todd alone retained a little judgment, giving the sick man ammonia to smell, and bathing his forehead with cold water. It was a young American practitioner who first gained the house. Had it been a German (of whom there are several of world-wide reputation resident in Tokio), he, in behalf of his reputation,--not to mention common sense, would certainly have insisted upon sending the invalid back to Yokohama, where, indubitably, he belonged. The American being younger, more imaginative, and with less reputation to jeopardize, might lend himself the more readily to the unusual. Ronsard and Todd, each in his own way,--both, of course, intensely desirous of getting Pierre safely in hospital walls,--nevertheless advanced persuasions to keep him away from the desirable haven until the following morning. The physician was evidently puzzled by the presence of conflicting motives. As a final statement of his own position, he said, "I insist that you gentlemen recognize the measures I must employ to give him an interval of strength and lucidity must take away at least fifty per cent of the patient's chances of recovery!" Todd answered for both. "We understand. It is the dickens of a thing for us to have to decide on; yet, since the man, if in his senses, would consider us traitors to shut him up before eight to-night, I don't see anything else but to let you dose him until that time." "Exactly," corroborated the French minister. "And, doctor," added Todd, in a slightly embarrassed tone, "it is a mess. We can't explain. Mum's the word, you know." "Oh, I knew before you told me," said the young doctor. Then he went to work. An hour later Pierre, gasping, and pouring out from his entire frame the very sap of vitality, still lay on the sofa, his fever gone, his mind clear, uplifted, pellucid, as it had been on awakening in Yuki's tea-rooms three hours before. The doctor had departed. Neither Todd nor the French minister had left the room. The two politicians tacitly understood that neither trusted the other, yet, strange to say, neither resented it. The issue at stake was too big for personal irritation. In the reaction of his excitement Todd pondered anew, with ever deepening foreboding, upon the thing that Yuki's eyes had told him. Ronsard, overflowing in his cushioned chair, brooded of France and her already humiliated ally, Russia. "Le Beau," said Todd, at length, rising and walking in the direction of the sofa, "you're too sick a man to be pounded by all the arguments I have been getting together for you, but there are just a few things I must say, and which his Excellency Count Ronsard here should hear me say." "Speak," said Pierre, languidly; "it will make no difference at all, Monsieur, but I shall listen." "I want you to return that paper quietly, as a gentleman should, and I want you to go back to the hospital, as a rational being should. You are precipitating a crisis that Napoleon in his best days might shrink from, and you are too ill to stand on your feet. You don't know yet what you are doing. Rely on stronger men, just now, and in all your future life you will thank God that you listened!" Pierre shifted his position slightly and tried to smile. Ronsard placed himself at the other end of the couch. His eyes held Todd. "Before Pierre tries to answer, it is but right to him, to France, that I should speak, your Excellency." He went close to Pierre and touched him. "Pierre, I urge, with all the fervor, all the loyalty, all the passion of a son of France, that you give up--not the paper; that is ours,--but the woman. None but a coward and a sensualist would sell away from his country a paper which commands so terrible a price." "I am impaled upon the diameter of widely differing opinions," said Pierre, sarcastically. Todd's next words were very quiet. They were addressed to Ronsard. "The advice of your Excellency is both just and creditable. You speak as a diplomat; I merely as a man. I know what was in the paper, and I know also that a man's honor, that nameless, indescribable essence which makes him a man, once blackened, with the stain eaten in, can never be brightened. Pierre has but an hour or two to change himself from a low thief to a man. Give up the paper, Pierre, and save the woman you say you love!" "Bah!" Ronsard interrupted with a rudeness the others scarcely had believed possible to him; "you accuse Frenchmen of sentimentality, Mr. Todd. What is this desire of yours but sentiment, false sentiment, puerile, absurd? You spur the boy's honor in order to save a woman who probably does not wish to be saved. You play upon him! I see a tear in his youthful eye. He thinks of Madame, deserted,--in need of comfort! Who should condole with her but he? Pouf! If you yearn to be a hero, Pierre, make of that very desire a nobler sacrifice for France! Break your heart if you will, but with the shattered fragments trace the name of France! Upon this paper that you hold, the future of a great war may hang. It has written instructions,--values,--perhaps a secret treaty. Think what it may mean, not only to our own land, to Russia, but to you!" He leaned to finger a little red ribbon dangling from a cigar-box on the table. Pierre's eyes shot a dull gleam. "When Hagané comes, defy him,--break your word, retain the paper, but give back the wife he so easily discards!" Pierre had fallen back in his pillows. "You don't know what you are talking of,--neither knows," he said, tossing his head feverishly. "You will set my veins on fire again with your chatter. Yuki, Hagané and I understand each other--" he broke off with a querulous gesture. Todd had begun to bristle. Sneers were rare to him, but now his lean face assumed one. He caught up the red ribbon which Ronsard had let fall, and cried to him, "You scorned the motive of honor, of pity for a woman, yet wave the red flag of personal ambition. Pierre, can you not see for yourself how flimsy is his argument? You think you understand Yuki and her husband, but you do not. A terrific tragedy hangs over us all. I insist, I implore you, Pierre, try to reason this out for yourself, not as a Frenchman, a lover, or a diplomat, but just as a man,--a man, and what makes him a man, with a little fuse of God sputtering in him, and not an animal minus the fuse, made up of intellect, tastes, and inclinations! Think of that shivering, white-faced girl,--that Oriental Jeanne d'Arc who faced us all so bravely an hour ago. I tell you, man, if you loved her decently, you would turn sick at the thought of receiving her at the hands of her lawful husband. Boy, try to think for once in your life of some one besides yourself,--and may God have mercy on you and my little Yuki." His voice broke on the last word. Ronsard jerked his body, and gave a low sound of irritation. Pierre flared up into feeble passion. "And I tell you, Mr. Todd, that you talk nonsense! I have thought of Yuki,--only Yuki! I think now of no one but Yuki. I too pitied her, and did what I could. I offered to give the paper back into her hands, with the one condition that Hagané should pardon what he fancies her offence and should receive her back openly as his wife. They both refused!" "You did what? Hagané refused _what_?" exclaimed Todd. He thought that the fever was again upon its victim. Ronsard looked concerned and felt Pierre's white forehead. He met their eyes triumphantly. He was pleased at the effect of his words. Something in his boyish face impressed the diplomats with the truth of the unbelievable statement just made. "Now, perhaps you will let me alone for a while," he said disdainfully, and turned his back. The elder men exchanged glances of dismay, and by a common impulse left the couch. Pierre felt himself again a conqueror. His words, like a querulous barking, followed them. "I really do not feel able to endure more talk, or more tobacco-smoke, just now, gentlemen. The doctor said I must have sleep before to-night. If I could only sleep! After a fine deep sleep I should be strong again, the doctor said it! But they will not let me alone,--they talk and argue, but they are ignorant. Yuki and I understand each other." With little childish, spasmodic movements he settled himself among the sheens of brocade, keeping his face to the wall. Small sounds of discontent, passing into moans and feverish starts, came from him. Todd stood, perplexed, by the table. Ronsard, in equal agitation, hovered near, and then with a side glance at the sick boy, crushed his cigarette into a tray. Todd's lean shoulders bent over as with a weight. "After that last," he muttered, "I guess I might as well clear out. Is there anything further to discuss, your Excellency?" he asked of Ronsard. The Frenchman's eyes shifted. His protruding underlip trembled until he felt it shake, and raised a perfumed laden handkerchief for a screen. Todd saw the uncertainty, the battle between etiquette and fear in his colleague's face, and, with a dry smile, took the paper from his breast, slapping it down upon the bare table. "My dear sir, my most valuable friend," began Ronsard, in his oiliest manner, "you tear my heartstrings with the implied doubt. Your honor is not to be questioned. Yet I would be glad to know just where you intend to remain this fateful afternoon." The contrast between his tone and the relief in his fat face were too much for Todd. He threw back his head to laugh. Pierre, already dragged far out in an undertow of sleep, did not turn, but Ronsard glanced up suspiciously. His half-buried eyes had a tinge of red. "It's just this way, Count," said the other, easily. "I know what is in this little billet,--you don't. I assure you that the price is not big enough by half for the promised reward. Yet if it were a thousand times bigger, and if I dreaded and disapproved of the whole business ten thousand times more than I do, yet, having given my word to Prince Hagané and Yuki, and having accepted the--er--shall I call it confidence?--of you and Le Beau, I should keep strictly both to the letter and the spirit of my bargain. I can't imagine, to be frank, the inner workings of a man who could do anything else. I am an American. I have been a senator, and I now represent my Government in a land which fills me with the most intense admiration. Does that put any lubricator on your troubled waves?" "My dear sir," purred the Frenchman, "let us be seated for a moment more. I thank your Excellency for these new assurances, and appreciate the generosity of them. This has been an afternoon of trial for me,--of deep humiliation. Your nobility adds but one more pang, and, in the name of France, I can bear it! I shall give five hundred yen to the poor of Tokio when this most detestable affair is at an end. It is my first experience of the kind, and shall be my last. Pierre's public dismissal from the service of this Legation will be in the morning papers. I shelter him no longer." Todd made no comment. He had refused to take the proffered seat. "Your Excellency, I feel the need of fresh air. I must go. But before leaving you I have two questions to put,--answer or not as you think best." "At your service, Monsieur." "Have you any knowledge of the motive which prompts Yuki to take so strong, so vital a part in this hellish arrangement--and--do you know her offence?" "I can answer both. The first is obvious enough. Madame has the natural desire to pass from the arms of winter to that of spring. The other query,--I cannot give a positive reply, but will share the data." Todd waited in silence. Ronsard arranged his words with some nicety. "In the first excitement of Le Beau's arrival,--as he came in like a maniac, waving a white screed, and gasping out to me its nature,--I cried, 'Then where is Hagané? He must be close behind you!' Pierre, with a meaning glance, assured me that the great man could not follow, being--detained." "Detained? Well, go on!" "I marvelled, as you do, at the phrase. 'Detained,' Pierre said,--entangled, tied, quite cleverly, by Madame and her long gray sleeves. Did you not notice the disarray of Madame's toilette?" Ronsard looked up now full at his colleague, as if to enjoy the effect. Todd steadied himself. He would not give this man the satisfaction of gloating over new wounds. The whole terrible thing came clear to him. He saw why Yuki needed to die. It was no punishment inflicted by Hagané, but a last desperate self-atonement. "Ah!" he answered Ronsard, with wonderful coolness, "I thank your Excellency for the elucidation. It is complete. Now, with your permission, and if your mind is entirely at rest, I will say 'Good-bye until to-night at eight.'" "Certainly," bowed the count, who did not relish this acrobatic reversion to tranquillity. "The disclosure, I trust, makes no difference in your--sentiments." "Heavens, man! how could it? I'm not a tin fish on a red barn, to wheel round with every wind! Don't you see it is as much to me as anybody else that the thing gets back, unopened, to Hagané?" "Yes, yes, I presume so," muttered Ronsard, and accompanied his colleague to the door. The American went out on foot. Ronsard slowly retraced his heavy steps to Pierre. Stopping beside the sleeper, he stared down, first thoughtfully, then in growing antipathy and disgust. France, America, political acumen, possible distinction for himself or Todd,--all were blocked by this sick animal who lay, inert as a log, clear across the current of affairs. Well, endurance came with the thought that a few hours more would see the end! Ronsard turned away at length, moved restlessly around the room, and at last, with a resigned sigh, took out a pack of cards, drew a table before a long pier-glass, and, solemnly dealing two hands, played piquet with his silent, gray shade, until the day went out, and the first purple waves of night came rushing in across a soundless shore. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE It had been said of Mr. Cyrus C. Todd that one might recognize him for an American half a mile away. The alertness, buoyancy, and self-confidence of a growing nation had expression through him. He held himself like a flagstaff from which waved the Stars and Stripes. To-day the bright invisible folds clung about him like a shroud. He felt the weight of tears upon them, tears that soon must be shed. Look where he would, no door of escape for Yuki opened. After all it was so much more Hagané's affair and Pierre's and even Ronsard's! But what comfort would this reply bring to Gwendolen? Ah, there was the pang! Gwendolen, who had known no sister but this frail bit of pearl and moonlight that held so deep a soul! Todd's head sagged between his shoulders. His step lost firmness. He was a man aged, to outward appearance, ten years in a day. An inspiring bit of news had come during that forenoon from Manchuria. The land-engagements by which Russia was to restore her prestige lost at sea, and inflict a terrible retribution on her audacious enemies, had begun, and Japan, as on sea, was victor. At another time Todd would have rejoiced with the nation. Now the whole campaign became to his fevered imagination a colossal Juggernaut destined to crush one little girl,--a wheel of fate (karma, Yuki would have termed it) on which a white moth should be broken. Todd seldom gave himself over to self-communion, yet those long days in the bright loneliness of his wheat-fields had once bred the habit. An ominous and most mysterious factor in his thought was a sense of pre-knowledge, of a relentless inevitability, of the desirability, even, of the sacrifice. The thing came, like a predestined growth, from the soil of necessity. "Joint knit to joint expands the full formed fate." As if, indeed, some ghostly counsellor leaned to him, the event, from which his human, his conventional selves recoiled, shuddering, seemed to his spirit a thing designed, not cruelly, by the Gods themselves. Yet to think of Yuki--his little Yuki--dead with her youth folded like helpless wings about her! The man groaned and stumbled in his path, as, weeks before, Pierre Le Beau, dazed with a more ignoble grief, had groaned and stumbled on these very stones. The day was Friday, the hour approaching five of the afternoon. Little girls in brilliant-colored kimonos played ball, or hop-scotch, or hide-and-seek around the corners of the streets. Solemn-looking babies, with a mat of black hair tipped to the backs of otherwise smoothly shaven heads, loitered, engrossed apparently in Zen meditation, in the vicinity of their elders. The clothes of these pygmy abbots being wadded both in front and back, one, in his abstraction, toppling over, might regain his equilibrium with a single bound, like round-bottomed toys that always stand on end. Infants of a size smaller had warm swallows' nests slung from the backs of elder sisters. These living burdens made no difference at all in the freedom of sports, or in the slumbers of those carried. In hop-scotch, the heads of the babes went up and down with each hop, until the slender necks should have snapped. But, no, babies were meant to pass most of their existence in this manner, and being Japanese, they took it philosophically. Sun, wind, or even a light snow might fall on the upturned faces, and sleep still line the swallow nest. Schoolboys, in little squads, passed at intervals. Some among them must have been of the very lot who had once informed Pierre of the meaning of "Ikusa!" Many wore the foreign school uniform of dark-blue woollen cloth made into scanty trousers and "bob" jackets. With this outfit went, inevitably, coarse leather shoes. Other students had been to their homes to change the regulation school garb for the more comfortable wadded kimono, held in place by soft white girdles in endless yards of cloth, and completed with Japanese geta or clogs. All alike wore dark-blue military caps with the names of their school across the front in Chinese ideographs of gold. Their faces were smooth and brown; their eyes like dark jewels. They looked fearlessly upon the tall American. A few lifted their caps lightly, in token of respect, but many more stared, and often turned away with an independence very close upon audacity. Todd, in spite of his troubled reverie, was beguiled into smiling at them. Few indeed responded to his pleasant look. It savored to them of condescension. Abreast with a small battalion of young swaggerers, Todd, for an experiment, said distinctly, "Banzai Nippon!" The boys stood as if electrified. Todd pointed to his button of the Order of the Rising Sun. Suddenly caps and voices went high in air. "Banzai Nippon! Banzai Nippon!" they shouted. They crowded now about the minister, their faces all smiles, the mistrust vanished. They examined his button eagerly, then his watch-charm, his necktie, pin, and signet-ring. "A-rr-e you the A-mer-i-kan?" asked one, in rheumatic English. "Yes," answered Todd. "I am the new American minister,--A-mer-i-ca no K[=o]shi." This was one of the few Japanese phrases he had acquired. "Banzai Nippon! Banzai Nippon!" came the renewed shout. "American good friend to Nip-pon--yes?" asked another lad. "Huh! We all same lick off Russia's boots," growled a surly youth. "Well, I hope you do,--though you mustn't say I said it!" laughed Todd. "Good-bye! Good-bye! You are fine boys!" "Good-bye! Good-bye, sirr!" called out the boys after him, with caps in hand. It is to be regretted that most of them said, "Gooroo-bye-roo!" but the sentiment, at least, was faultless. Todd, looking back to them, wondered whether there were any incipient Togos, Kurokis, and Haganés among the striplings. He sighed. The untarnished enthusiasms of youth are always saddening,--though very precious. One of the boys looked like Yuki. The likeness led him back, like a jailer, to his dark cell of meditation. "What am I to say to Gwendolen?" was now his despairing cry. Gwendolen's eager questions, Gwendolen's clear eyes,--they would soon be torture-irons. She knew enough of the situation to have a right to all, yet how on earth was he to tell of a thing which no one had stated to himself,--a fleck of terrible certainty drifting to his gaze from Yuki's soul? Now a revulsion against the whole morbid situation flooded his being. He felt as he had sometimes felt in dreams when a horrible thing crept near, and he, though half-conscious that it was only a dream, still sub-consciously must endure the pangs of reality until he could wrench himself awake. Perhaps this also might prove a phantasm of the night! He snatched at the delusion. The voices of young children, the whirr of the low red sun through fleeting jinrikisha wheels, the gentle, restraining touch upon his hand of falling petals, jeered softly at the self-deceiver. The city streets shortened now to purple vistas. Across from the smouldering west a single planet, isolated by its own brightness, preened itself with feathers of light. Todd's thoughts moved on like the shadow-pictures of a revolving lantern. Each was a silhouette, black, angular, menacing. If Yuki had indeed held Hagané inert, if an impulse of love, even of pity for a sick man, had prevented the instant regaining of such a paper, naturally she must get it back, though at the price of her life. But what did the babbling sick boy mean by saying that he had offered to return the paper to Hagané, if only Yuki would be forgiven, and that both as with one voice had refused? Here was the knot that pulled. Hagané did not hate or scorn his young wife; Todd would stake his honor on that point. Never had a human countenance shone with deeper tenderness than that which Hagané had turned on Yuki within a few moments, too, of her wrongdoing. The more urgently she had insisted upon fulfilling the bargain, the brighter the faith in her that Hagané's eyes had betrayed. Yuki's secret was plain enough. She was to die by her own hand, giving her hostage of a soul to Hagané, the body of her death to Pierre. Both she and Hagané had been assiduous to use the one term "body." Todd could understand this much, but what was Hagané's hidden source of light? Here conjecture failed. If Yuki's death were the only possible way of redeeming the paper, all motives would be plain; but Pierre said that he had offered to restore it. This was a great thing for Pierre to have done. Todd's heart ached for the poor, weak, tortured boy, so soon to be overwhelmed in an iridescent wreck of his own making. Yuki was to die! This one thing alone was terrible enough. His weary thought went on in a creaking treadmill. To Hagané the mere fact of death would, of course, be less terrible and less important. Mere animal existence, for its own sake, no matter how pleasant the surroundings, is scorned by a true Japanese. They have other lives to live, even on this old planet. They are to come again, soothed and strengthened by the few years of interval, each in the fresh, new body of a little child. In such tender blossoms of their own race they re-enter a world from which, smiling or shivering, as karma may have tended, they departed. Returning, they are dazed, a little wistful, a little timorous, yet grateful for the new chance. Believing that great sorrow and great temptation come always from the deeds of a previous existence, they meet them bravely, carrying their own burdens, clear in determination to retrieve that past, and mark out for the future a straighter and a higher way. The gentle Amida, Kwannon of Mercy, Jizo with the tender smile,--all may help them. Fudo Sama, immovable in a torment of flame, Monju, Aizen, and the old Shinto Gods may give them strength; but each human soul has wrapped in itself the power of growth and of decay. So, mounting, striving, failing, reconquering, at last the pilgrim may approach that shining mystery the world calls "Nirvana,"--that glare of glory where the soul is swallowed up in light, and so passes on to new realms of a radiance so ineffable that human thought falls helpless and blind before it. He had heard Yuki tell all this to Gwendolen before the days of her Christian conversion. His listening had been more eager than he cared to show. Gwendolen had voiced his thought, as she replied, with a long sigh of wonder, "It does seem reasonable. So many things that we have to guess at are explained by this thing you call reincarnation. Love at first sight, sudden aversions, family tendencies, that queer feeling of having been in a new place many times before--I think I'll turn Buddhist, Yuki; but don't hint it to mama." Yuki had become a Christian. She believed her early religious training to have passed forever. She was sincere and earnest in the new faith. Her face turned, as by a gentle instinct, to the Star of Bethlehem. All that she professed, she believed truly and without question. Yet this life of hers was, after all, but a flower sprung from an eternal stem, whose roots were packed, burrowed, and buried deep in centuries of Eastern mysticism. She had drawn her convictions from her mother's breast, while, to belief of the tender nurse, ancestral spirits hovered and smiled above them both. She had breathed it in each year at Bon Matsuri, the Festival of the Dead, when little boats, laden with prayer and incense and the warmth of human food, went forth to comfort the souls of those who had died at sea, when each hillside cemetery stirred with the soft clashing of ghostly lanterns, luminous in a spectral ether, when little steaming cups of tea, and flowers, and children's toys, were offered to the dead ghost-people. Here were the meeting-places of the living and the dead. Here the two worlds answered, face to face, as reflections in still water. Yuki, in those childish days, no more doubted that hordes of spirits moved about her, lifting her hair, creeping into her sleeve, reaching even to the shelter of her faithful heart, than, later, in America she had doubted the presence of her human schoolmates, sitting in rows before wooden desks. And now, above the blood-wet battlefields, the spirits of the great heroes of the past, worshipped by generations of the Japanese faithful, were hovering, to test, by their supreme standards of valor and endurance, the gray hosts of new aspirants for immortality. Yuki would feel that they were her judges also. And the gentle Gods would be near,--Kwannon, Jizo, Amida--standing in great shining nebulæ of faith on the rim of night. These sweeter visions passed, and the dark monitor in Todd's brain set him the task of fathoming Pierre's deed. The boy had stolen. Contempt swept from the thinker's mind its late compassion. Illness alone might partially excuse it; but in delirium, as in drunkenness, the latent impulse often shows itself. And Pierre, a young French dandy, a thief, expected to make, that night, such a woman as the Princess Hagané utterly his own. Yuki had probably saved his life at the expense of hers. His grateful reward would be to defame her. Then why would Hagané not take her back? Was she unworthy, simply through the act of saving Pierre, or was there a lower reason? No--no--no--the man cried out to himself. Yuki could not be evil. If Hagané believed it of her, he could not have so smiled; he had the look of a high-priest bent upon a beloved penitent. And that Ronsard should have believed,--a man who could speak and understand the Japanese language, who had lived among the people for eleven years! Having faced another blank wall, Todd turned. He fell now to wondering in what way Yuki would choose to die. The long strain began to tell on him. Morbid thoughts and fancies assailed him. He almost gloated over the anticipation of Pierre's agony when he should be paid his price. But how would Yuki die? Would she be alone, or Hagané with her? Would her hand or his deal the final blow--give Death his first sweet sip of her? The two would be together; yes, it must be so; and the scene, unwitnessed though it was, one of unrivalled heroism, the silent speech of two Gods alone on a cloudy mountain-top. And what was he to say to Gwendolen! The treadmill creaked again, and registered the notch of another empty revolution. Now Todd shook himself and raised his eyes to see how far he had come. Not a hundred yards ahead of him began the slope of Azabu. Blackening swiftly against the copper sky loomed the great Japanese entrance to his Legation. Evidently he must decide swiftly what to tell or not to tell his daughter. He thought of Dodge. Dodge knew the Japanese better than he; maybe he knew girls better. In the breaking of the news to Gwendolen he might be of great help. Then the tiny flicker of comfort died. Dodge and Gwendolen were playing at being enemies. They scarcely spoke. It was a lover's quarrel, Todd supposed, for Dodge certainly loved her; and the sudden friendship, on the girl's part, of a successful rival betrayed clearly her sentiments. Lovers' quarrels were well enough in their way; but why should this have come just now when Dodge could be of use? He drew a sigh that racked the meagre frame, and started up the slope. "Kuruma, Dan-na San! Rick-shaw,--Dan-na San?" cried a group of coolies who had a little station at the base of the hill. Their accents were persuasive, even plaintive. They moved forward in a body, the empty black vehicles (inseparable from them as shells from snails) rattling behind them. They clamored like crows. "No, I don't want you. No, I say, I-I-yé! Go back," he cried, and waved them off, with some irritation at their persistence. The smooth gravelled driveway of the hill might have been a trough of viscid red clay, to judge from the slow and dragging steps of the one who now ascended it. The rejected coolies, staring up from the street level, assured one another that the tall foreigner was both sick and stingy. For the latter fault they hoped he would fall down before reaching the top of the hill. Then they would run to him, and charge a yen apiece for picking him up. They began to ascend, stealthily, like human vultures. The dark spot of his ascending head could scarcely have been seen through the opened gate, when, in a whirl of rustling skirts, Gwendolen came down upon him. "I cannot tell her," he muttered between clenched teeth, as she came. "I shall die. She must not know what I believe!" Gwendolen did not reproach him for being late, though he had thought her first words would be a playful chiding. She did not speak at all, only took his arm, pressed it lovingly with her own, and with cheek sometimes laid for an instant against his shoulder made the rest of the ascent with him. The tenderness, the consideration of her manner, touched him profoundly. He looked down into her face, white and fair even in the dying light. She smiled up at him. He saw a new beauty, a hint of new strength in her. For a moment his harassed sense clutched the impossible. Maybe good news of Yuki had come to her! "What is it, child? You look different? What has happened?" She gave a low little laugh, and did not answer. They had nearly reached the gate. In the great shadow a smaller shadow stepped out to join them. Gwendolen put out a white hand and drew it near. "This is what has happened, father--" she whispered. "We are--friends again." "Friends?" echoed Todd; "you and Mr. Dodge,--thank God!" "Friends!" came Dodge's pleasant voice; "well I rather guess not!" "Gwendolen," said her father, drawing her close, "is this true?" She clung to him, crying just a little in her excitement. "Yes, dad, if you are willing--if it will not make you unhappy. He has talked with me,--of the other thing; he has comforted me,--though he believes it to be, oh, so terrible! Are you--willing, dearest father?" Todd put an arm around each, pressing the brown and the golden heads close. "I wish it of all things," he said. "Dodge is an American and a gentleman; nothing is better than that. Just now this--happiness of yours is a gift of God, for I bring nothing joyous." "Tell us everything," pleaded Gwendolen. "I can stand anything now; my heart couldn't break with you one side of it, and h-him the other." Dodge went around to his side. "I--I--guess it would be safer to tell it in the private office," said Todd, beginning to fumble for a handkerchief. "To tell you the truth, Gwen,--I'd really like--if you don't mind, my dears,--to turn woman and have one good cry." "Come on," said Gwendolen; "I'll cry with you. I am so mi-mi-miserable and hap-hap-happy, I just can't--" She broke off in tears. "I'm in!" said Dodge, pulling out his handkerchief. Laughing and crying together, with arms around one another, they went in at the tall gate and to the ambassador's little den. In the big house, in the drawing-room, Mrs. Stunt and Madame Todd exchanged mild confidences and cooking recipes. The latter had refused for once to discuss the affairs either of Pierre or Madame Hagané. And so the night came in. CHAPTER THIRTY Night in Japan, when the day has been all or partly clear, is a deepening mystery, a revelation of purple tones and velvet shadows. In the French Legation garden (designed originally for the delight of a feudal daimyo and afterward given as part of the French concession for official buildings) the soft blurred dusk concealed all but the vaguest suggestions of copse and path and hillock. A wanderer on the dew-drenched gravel might perceive about him, as by instinct, the beauty of line and mass. The smell of daphne and azalea flowers rose with pungent sweetness. Higher trees and mounds, set with rolling shrubs, rose against the sky-line and the stars like great crouching earth-clouds. Pierre moved up and down the driveway just below the steps that led down from a balcony on the quiet west side of the house. Ignoring the doctor's orders, he had come a full hour before the appointed time. Ronsard, seeing his intention, had expostulated vehemently, using both language and gesticulation, but soon shrugged off the obligation with the reviving thought, "Only an hour more, and it will be over!" So Pierre had walked at will. He drew in heavy breaths of the scented, humid air. He believed himself impervious now to further illness. He would not have listened or believed if one had told him that his present interlude of fictitious strength was like the shade of a upas-tree in a scorching desert. One cigarette after another was smoked and thrown at random among the shrubs, where each in turn lay like a malicious glow-worm, hissing and winking away an acrid spite. In the west a faint shining stirred the advent of the moon. At ten minutes to eight o'clock Mr. Todd arrived. He was ushered at once, by order, into the small drawing-room where Ronsard sat. His face had new lines of struggle, and was very pale, but self-possession was evident in every gesture. His first act on reaching Ronsard was to draw out the paper, saying, "This, sir, has not left my body, or been touched by any hand but mine, or been referred to by any speech, since the moment, a few hours since, when I left you." In his long, earnest explanation to Gwendolen and Dodge, Todd had, indeed, carefully refrained from letting them know that he was personal guardian of the document. It might have opened for them another blind trail of argument. During that agonizing interview he had thanked fate a hundred times for the part that Dodge had so opportunely been qualified to play. The clear judgment, intense sympathy, and clever resourcefulness of the young diplomat delighted him even in the midst of tragic exercise. It had taken the utmost skill of both men to overpower Gwendolen's first keen desire to go to her friend, to make the girl see that interference on her part had become impossible. He had left her half-fainting, though still insistent in her belief that God could not allow such a crime! Ronsard rose as the guest entered. He, too, had gained a certain fatalistic calm. In reply to Todd's elaborate explanation, he had said simply, "Return the paper to its place, your Excellency. The farce will soon be over. Shall we not join our young imbecile in the garden?" They paced together wide dimly lighted rooms, and emerged upon the uncovered western balcony. Pierre looked up and, wordless, continued his rapid, nervous strides. "He'll kill himself, the fool," muttered Todd. "The mist piles in like thin cotton." "It is too late even for his death to be of assistance," said Ronsard, with bitter animosity. His small eyes darted loathing after his young compatriot. He thrust pudgy hands deep into pockets below the equator of his belt, and rocked to and fro on his heels. Suddenly the pent-up discomfort, the apprehension, the strain of the situation clutched him anew. "God!" he cried aloud, and shook himself until the fat trembled. "As you say, Monsieur, no man is worth all this, nor woman either, least of all that puling hind yonder! Only a great cause is worth it,--the service for one's native land. I have tried to think of France--of France only. My country is to be cheated. I can do nothing; yet still I wallow in this tepid slime! How has it come about? You will give Hagané the paper, if he brings the woman with him!" He broke off, and after a keen look into Todd's unresponsive face began to walk in short, broken steps up and down the stone flooring. His words had rung out clearly. Pierre must have heard each one; but if so, he made no sign. Pierre had now but one thing to think of,--his price, the woman that would soon be here. Todd leaned against a corner pedestal, and Ronsard, after a moment, paused in his meaningless exercise, and stood again before his colleague. The two pairs of eyes met and fenced. Todd might have been made of wood. After a long glance Ronsard freed his right hand from its pocket and began pulling at the moist, red underlip. "You will of course, in any case, give up the paper at first appearance of Hagané and Madame?" His voice slid querulously upward with interrogation in the pause. "Yes," said Todd, distinctly. "I conceive it to be my part to return the paper at that moment." "Er--had we not better pause to see whether Madame tends to prove after all--recalcitrant?" "The bargain said nothing of that. Pierre gets his price,--the person of Yuki, so they always worded it; Hagané gets the paper. It is simple enough. We don't need a lightning-calculator." "Hark!" said Pierre, pausing, stricken, just beneath them. "Is it not the sound of--wheels?" All became silent, alert, intent. The faint, low crackle and clatter of a kuruma on gravel, a vehicle slowly drawn, came apparently from the far end of the garden, just under the spot where the moon rose. From the battlements of the white house beside them, the great pale house standing upright like an opened volume in the night, a queer flutter came, swart wings went beating against the stars, and a crow laughed aloud with raucous joy. "A crow at night! It means, among these people, death!" said Ronsard. Pierre started violently, and dropped his last cigarette. "Damn the flying fiend!" he cursed aloud. The crunching of wheels drew near. They moved with increasing sluggishness. Each click had a sound of protest. To Pierre's tortured hearing, all noises crawled backward. By this the moon was in the tops of enoki, camphor, and tall camellia trees. Where its light touched curves of shelled and smoothly gravelled paths, the spaces were of snow. Out from the great red pagoda of Shiba temple, not half a mile away, came the first stir, the throb, the murmur of a great bell struck tentatively by its swinging cedar beam, before receiving in full strength the initial stroke of eight. "One!" the great bronze pendant boomed. "Two!" came more slowly and on a higher note, sending swifter ripples to overtake the first scurrying elves of sound. "Three!" "Four!" It swung majestically until the last stroke, piling echoes deep, filled the whole shell of night with discontent, and sank, a dew of sound, on listening leaves. With the first tone, the jinrikisha wheels had stopped. The great crow, shaken from his height, had fled. Pursued far off by melodious echoes, he flapped his wings and screamed. A cricket near the steps awoke, jarred from his winter sleep by vibrant summons. The needle of his shrill, incongruous song pierced to the listeners' hearts. "Mother of God!" cried Pierre, smiting his clammy forehead, "how is it that I live at all?" Around a curved hillock directly bordering a path, straight into unhindered light, came the white hat and stooping shoulders of a coolie. Behind him dragged the dark bulk of a covered vehicle. Pierre half fainted against the steps. "She has come alone--alone--" he cried in exultation. Regaining his feet he wheeled to the two men watching from the balcony. "Gentlemen," he cried with a gesture, "may I entreat you to leave,--for these first moments?" The coolie came on like a heavy machine. Ronsard, at Pierre's question, transferred his weight from one foot to the other, and then looked at Todd. The latter deliberately walked down the shallow steps and stood on the gravel beside Pierre. The white hat of the coolie fronted them like a silver shield. Pierre scowled upon the American, and gave a sound of anger. "I'm sorry," said Todd, calmly. "But I promised to be present during just these first moments. Prince Hagané has my word." "Prince Hagané!" echoed Pierre, with a hoarse laugh that was kin to the crow's. "Where is Prince Hagané? Backed out at the last, as I thought he would--like the coward and bully that he is! There has no Hagané come, don't you see? Only Yuki--my darling--my poor little love. I see her white dress yonder!" The coolie straightened himself, flung the wide hat sideways with a single fierce sweep of arm, and turned to the wondering observers the set, livid face and burning eyes of Hagané. "Prince Hagané is here," he said quietly, and tried to smile. His peasant hat, skimming along the gravel, touched now and again with a hissing sound the surface of small stones. At length in a small patch of moonlight it came to rest, and lay rocking slightly, and gaping upward like a mendicant's bowl. Pierre cowered. Ronsard nearly fell. "Prince Hagané in coolie's garb! What new horror is this?" "Suppose we call it--delicacy," suggested Hagané. "Could any secrecy be too great for such a meeting?" Todd narrowed his lids. Hagané kept a hand close upon one shaft of the little vehicle, conserving the upright posture. The black hood, bent far over to the front, completely concealed the occupant; but the dazzling white of a gown with pale embroideries, and the faint odor of flowers and of sandalwood now stealing upon the night air, should, in any case, have betrayed her sex. "Yuki--Yuki, you have really come!" cried Pierre, and would have rushed to her but for the obstruction of Hagané's arm. "First, the paper," said Hagané. Todd jerked out the document. Ronsard held him. "Wait; there is something damnable in that still white thing there in the rickshaw. Wait and see whether it is really Madame la Princesse, or a substitute." Hagané stared one moment upon the speaker with lips that writhed backward, showing teeth like a baited boar. "His Excellency is always prudent. See, gentlemen, for yourselves, that I have brought my wife. Mr. Todd, have the document ready!" With an almost imperceptible motion Hagané slipped from its nail the black, taut twine that held the lowered hood. It rattled back with the noise of the spokes of a giant fan. Yuki sat upright,--the full moon just behind her,--smiling. The little hands were clasped tightly in her lap. The coils of her orchid hair had the glint and sheen of the crow's wing. "It is Yuki,--certainement!" screamed Pierre, in ecstasy. "Hold back that paper!" roared Ronsard. Todd stood on tiptoe. One long thin arm went up like the derrick of a dredging-machine. His hand held something square and white with a black blotch on it. The arm lowered. Hagané reached up, took the paper, and thrust it deep into the breast of his coolie robe. "The paper--" groaned Ronsard; "it is gone forever!" "But Yuki," cried Pierre, "has come to be mine forever!" "One moment, gentlemen," said Hagané, again restraining Pierre. "You were all present at the agreement between Monsieur Le Beau and me. The paper is now regained, and here is its price; here is Onda Yuki-ko." He placed the shafts of the little vehicle on the lowest stair, and stepped out sheer upon the walk. Pierre, like an animal released, sprang to Yuki, knelt by her, caught her hands, and began whispering words of love. Now for the first time Todd groaned aloud, and walked to a little distance. Ronsard followed him. But the Japanese stood immovable, his eyes on Yuki's face. "My beloved, my beloved,--I know now that I have not believed in this ecstasy! But you are here! Come, dear one, you must be chilled in the night air. How quiet you are and pale! It must be the moonlight. And your little hands are cold! Why do you not speak, love! Are you trying to frighten me? This is not the time for dainty trickery! Speak, for God's sake! I have been so long on the rack my very soul is sore! Why do you smile so, and never change? Your cheek is colder than your hands.--O God, a thought is coming that will turn me, too, into ice! Yuki, Yuki, what strange thing is this rooted in your heart,--what grim hilt with twisted dragons? I see the crest of the Hagané clan! Yuki--Yuki--" "She wishes the dagger not removed, Monsieur. It keeps her sacrificial robes--immaculate." Hagané spoke like a machine. Pierre, the other side of Yuki, rose to his feet. His eyeballs swelled and rolled in the moonlight, giving him a look of frenzy. "Who is that that speaks to me? Has night a voice? What spirit hides behind that mask?" "Death," said Hagané, calmly. Pierre writhed beside the vehicle, and then became very still. The other listeners turned, expecting an outburst of maniacal grief,--perhaps a murderous assault on Hagané. Pierre's composure was more terrible than any speech. He smoothed one of Yuki's hands, and, after a pause, began speaking directly to her. "So this has been his plan, dear? I might have guessed. He knew he was to kill you. Oh, the deed suited him! He called me a thief; but what has he not stolen? Wait for me somewhere, darling,--I cannot say just where it will be; but after--I will meet you. If sickness does not free me, I myself will loose this tortured soul and find you." "She died by her own hand. That dagger was already in her heart as you, with the stolen paper, left my room." "Oh, he is trying to hide,--to shield himself behind you, poor little one!" said Pierre to the dead woman. A shadow on the nearest hillock moved. Todd went nearer to examine it, but could see no living thing. "Time presses," said Hagané, speaking always in the same dull, hopeless way. "Our bargain was clearly stated. Shall I now leave with you the body, Monsieur Le Beau, or shall I retrace my steps as I came, giving honorable burial to the Princess Hagané?" "Le Beau, you cannot hesitate at such a question," cried Todd. "Pierre, Pierre, in the name of France, compromise us no further! You have done harm enough. Let the poor sacrifice go in peace!" Pierre caught Yuki to him, his arm about her shoulder, her glossy hair, with the white flowers, strained against his heart. Like a trapped beast he defied them all. "No, I'll not give her up. You are all false,--all have betrayed me. If I am to have nothing else, I keep at least the frail shell of what she was! Oh, I shall kiss--kiss--kiss--her into life, or myself into her cold, white death. Yes, go, you toad of Hell!" he screamed toward Hagané. "Leave my price with me." "Though dead, she still has reputation--family honor," Hagané said. Pierre threw back his head for a derisive laugh. Just then a strange thing happened. From the hillock nearby a crouching shrub seemed to detach itself and spring. It was a man,--the old samurai Onda. Hagané had told him to be there. Before interposition could be made, he had thrown himself on Pierre, taken Yuki from his arms, thrown her back in the kuruma, and stood in an attitude of menace between them. "Keep your hands from my daughter! Keep your devil's hands from the Princess Hagané!" "Shall we interfere?" whispered Todd to Hagané. "No, I can do all," he said. Then to Onda, "Keep back, old friend. It is his right,--the price that we have paid." "Master, Master," cried the kerai, almost sobbing in his excitement, "let me slay him--let me slay all three! I will die the self-death, or be hanged, with equal satisfaction. Only let me slay!" "These others are just men, and my friends," said Hagané gravely. "The young madman yonder is protected by my word. We must think, too, of Nippon." Old Onda's breathing rasped the silence. "Monsieur Le Beau," said Hagané again, "you are fully determined to retain the body--and give her name to public defamation?" "What else is there for me, devil?" "That you have been her lover,--that you have so deeply injured me,--is that not enough to gloat over?" For an instant Pierre stared. The meaning of the words came to him with a relish. Hagané really believed this thing; then of course he suffered! Very good! A look of malignant triumph grew in Pierre's face. Hagané drank the bitterness with his eyes. Here, at last, thought Pierre, was the undipped heel, the pervious crown. Yuki's body sagged an inch. Pierre stooped to it. Again she was in his arms, and he devoured, with despairing looks, the small, dead face. Hagané, by a fierce gesture, commanded Onda to be still. Todd felt his heart stop, then rise slowly to his throat, and Ronsard, shivering, gripped the American's arm. The moon sailed full into a cloudless sky. Beneath it the great tragedy lay bare. The trend of Pierre's thoughts at this moment he could never afterward recall. His flesh felt as though it melted from him. His brain stirred and pulled at possibilities before unfelt. Voices not of earth said strange things which he almost understood. Yuki's dead smile changed. He saw her lips quiver. Her white face grew to one still prayer. Something like a cooling fluid went into his hot and empty veins. He felt strong again and noble. He regarded Yuki's accuser with a new look. "You lie in saying that thing, Hagané. Is it not enough that you have used, and then slain her, that you now traduce her name? No, you dare not resent my words, coward, liar, slanderer! What is the theft of a paper compared to this? For Yuki's sake, I tell you that no flower hidden in green leaves, no girl-child at its mother's breast, no flake of snow, new-fallen, is purer than this woman. Yes, grin now and tremble!" He went swiftly to the stricken man, and dealt him a blow upon the lips. With gasps of horror the others rushed in. Hagané caught Pierre to his side, and fought off the frenzied Onda. "Back, all of you, stand off, I say!" he thundered. "The man gives me life. Let him strike. Yes, yes," he cried to Pierre, all the hauteur and the terrible bronze composure melted in this new fierce joy; "tear my eyes from their sockets, my tongue from its base,--only repeat that she is pure! How could I know? She let me think it,--your boasts, the broken hairpin! Did she not give you the pledge of the hairpin?" "I took it myself," said Pierre, "and would not give it back, though she pleaded. How could I guess the gross sentiment that is attached to the silly business by such minds as yours? She was pure, I say; give me her body and let me go!" Hagané followed him to the kuruma. He stretched out both hands, now as one entreating mercy. "Poor boy, bound with me on the wheel of fate, listen just a little, if you can command your strength. She shielded you. Then, with her life, she rebought the paper. When you had offered to give it back, if I would consent to the restitution of her wifehood, I asked her if she was worthy to return, and in her conscious innocence, she gave the answer, 'No.' She thought only of the unworthiness of weakness--she whose soul, diluted into eternity, might stock a Christian heaven. In her self-death, she deliberately let me believe her evil, that her atonement might have this added bitterness. Also she may have feared that, being undeceived, I might falter in my promise not to restrain her from expiation. She knew of my love, and we have pledged ourselves to reunion and joint service after death. You cannot understand these things, Monsieur." "No!" said Pierre, in bewilderment, putting his hand to his forehead, "I cannot understand, of course; she was always saying that. I cannot understand, but something whispers--" "Monsieur," cried Hagané, "I am an older, graver man. I have suffered as I think you cannot suffer. Give me back the boon of her body!" Pierre blinked and wavered in the path. These sudden shifting currents of purpose dazed him. The strain was tightening again, and he felt the premonitory breath of fever. He grasped outward into the air. He looked at Yuki, as if for the first time, and moved dumb lips. "You believed this of your wife, yet forgave--helped--loved her--You look forward to having her as your wife in a coming re-birth?" asked Todd, wondering. "Had it been true, it was but sin of the flesh. By death and expiation, she would have cleansed it. The soul would have risen, free." "Mon Dieu, what people!" gasped Ronsard. "There stands the man Onda, scowling at us all,--and not even resenting, from Hagané, his only daughter's death." "Onda will sacrifice to the Gods in gratitude when he knows the whole," said Hagané. Pierre was trying to speak. He vacillated, soul and body, between the dead woman and her husband. "Do not refuse me," murmured Hagané, stepping nearer. Pierre did not shrink. Instead, he, too, went near, as if fascinated. He cleared his throat, pushed back the damp hair from his girlish forehead, and smiled up at the dark, eager face. "Hagané is a great man," he said, tapping the other's arm. "Oh, he is a terrible man! I can refuse him nothing. Yuki says that the Gods of this land speak with him. I believe it. One is standing just behind him now; that is a terrible God, too. He looks like Hagané. He sits like a white flint in a ball of fire. On his arms are the coils of rope that bind the passions; in his right hand is the wheel of fate. No, I will not refuse. Old God must have flowers on his altar. Take white flower, old War God. There she is,--my love--my darling. If only she would not smile!" Hagané caught the boy as he fell, transferring the burden quickly to Ronsard's outstretched arms. He gazed then anew at the face of his wife. "Yuki," he said, as if to her listening spirit, "you are soul of my soul through ten thousand lives. I let you die. It was karma. A flower! A flower! Alas, that a flower should be stung by immortality!" "Get her away, your Highness, before we call the servants and a doctor for Le Beau," whispered Todd, after an agonizing interval. Hagané rose from his knees. "Yes, little Yuki must go with me," he muttered; "I will take her at once, your Excellency." He went toward the coolie hat and stooped. Onda was before him. "It is not seemly, Lord, for you to bear so foul a burden. I will wear the hat, and I pray you take these shoes of mine, giving me the straw sandals." Hagané obeyed passively, his eyes fixed always on Yuki's moonlit face. Now and again he felt in the bosom of his robe for the paper. "Loosen the robe from your girdle, Master," pleaded the kerai. Hagané did so, releasing the caught-up ends. The long, dark garment, though of cotton, restored to him the height and dignity of his usual presence. "Shall I draw the hood of the kuruma?" asked Onda. "Yes, cover her face,--her small white face; the very night may weep and falter at that smile." Onda tucked up his robe, put on the wide hat and the straw sandals, placed himself between the shafts, and started along the driveway. Hagané, moving always slowly, abstractedly, folded his arms, bowed his head, and followed in the attitude of a mourner immediately behind the covered vehicle. "Take my burden for a moment," pleaded Ronsard, when the sound of wheels had quite died away. "I can support--no longer. Let me summon aid. Mon Dieu! this night has made of me an old man." "It has made of me a prophet," said Todd, "for I have met Immortals face to face." CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE The sumptuous obsequies of the young Princess Hagané, become so suddenly and so securely a leading figure in Tokio's official life; her mysterious death (heart failure, the obliging papers called it); Hagané's immediate departure for the seat of war; Pierre Le Beau's re-capture and long, desperate illness (with relapses brought on by further crafty flights, terminating always in a certain hillside grave),--these events co-existent, co-related, formed, inevitably, dazzling bits of speculation pieceable together into various strange patterns. Outwardly the tragedy was as free from suspicion as any such shocking occurrence well could be. The funeral, in deference to Yuki's Christian conversion, was held in the little American Episcopal chapel in Tsukijii, Tokio; the American Bishop, assisted by members of the native clergy, conducting the ceremony in Japanese. Hagané, ponderous, brooding, and self-contained, had walked immediately behind the flower-laden burden. The scowling Tetsujo, with Iriya, followed him. Suzumé was there, alone, for she had refused the petition of Maru San. Next to the family came Gwendolen, shivering, slender, wound in cræpe, on the arm of Mr. Dodge. Behind her walked Cyrus Todd and Mrs. Todd, both in mourning. The strained decorum of the crowded congregation was threatened twice; first, when old Suzumé, bearing a sprig of the mystic mochi tree, tottered up the aisle, and began praying aloud to the black thing into which her nursling had been nailed; and later, just after the words of the Bishop, "I am the Resurrection and the Life," when Gwendolen fainted quietly away. * * * * * After the prescribed nine days of gossip and conjecture, ill-natured ones turned their eyes to the Todds, and chiefly to Gwendolen. The deep withdrawal of the two ladies from the social world of Tokio, the mourning garments worn by them, were interpreted by some observers as mere stinginess, an excuse to abstain from lavish Legation hospitality; but by a larger number as "bids" for Japanese popularity. Also many of the fair sex among European Legations declared (Mon Dieu! it was obvious!) that Gwendolen had seized upon this dank method for the securing of Dodge,--the young American attaché known to be so madly in love with Carmen Gil y Niestra. Gwendolen's ever-growing intimacy with Iriya Onda, and the pathetic content shown by the elder woman in the company of her dead child's closest friend, were charged to the columns of the former category. "The Hawk's Eye" expatiated upon these congenial themes. The Misses Stunt gave an afternoon tea with all of the catering done in Yokohama. * * * * * Later on, when cherry-blossoms covered the whole land in a perfumed glory, Mrs. Todd answered timidly by a bunch of artificial violets on her spring bonnet. Gwendolen still kept to simple black, and it was averred that she did so knowing how marvellously it contrasted with the pearly tints of her flesh and the nervous gold tendrils of her hair. Never had Gwendolen been more beautiful nor, in a strange, deep, half-comprehending way, more tranquilly happy. The light of heroism had come too near ever quite to fade. Love, also, had come, and on the very wings of despair. Yet, behind these facts, was a something unspeakable, precious, vague,--a something apprehended by Dodge also. Even as the two happy ones stood together with eyes looking level toward vistas of almost certain human joy, each felt that compared with the passion of the two immortals, now gone from their lives, this rapture was like the glad hearts of children. Often they spoke of Yuki and her husband. "Oh, but they knew that they were to meet," Gwendolen had cried again and again. "Yuki is with him now,--and after this war, after his last duty to his country and to his Emperor,--they will find each other!" Of poor Pierre, after his departure for France accompanied by Count Ronsard, none of the Todd household ever spoke. Once, some months after the return of the latter to Tokio, Mrs. Todd, in a hushed whisper, as if she were guilty of an indiscretion, asked a single question. The answer was as brief and furtive. In a certain sense it relieved the conscience of the interlocutrix, while it shadowed her complacency. Neither question nor answer was ever retailed to Gwendolen. But all this came much later. The spring immediately following Yuki's death went by in a shimmer of winds, scurrying clouds, and whirling petals. Summer smiled her deeper green in rice-fields under the glint and blur of rain. Then, like a stately deity for whose feet the shining carpet had been spread, a golden autumn came. On the hills vermilion maples burned, each leaf so deeply dyed that its shadow on the sand was red. Hedges of dodan ruled fiery angles over the green lines that summer had drawn. Small carts, man-pulled, with pots of sunny, stiff chrysanthemums, crawled in by dewy morning lanes toward the focus of the capital. Harvesting of grain began, and, presiding over it, the deity of a large, slow moon. In suburban districts the people held festivals and made offerings of tea, vegetables, and money to Inari Sama and her two lean fox-spirits, for the slaying of rice-insects, demanded by the summer's agricultural toil. * * * * * Meantime war had raged on land and sea. The slopes of Port Arthur had been drenched already in insufficient blood. Great battles on the Yalu, epoch-making in enormity and heroism, had been not quite great enough. The Russians, always strongly fortified, numbering always more than the army of their opponents, were able to keep decisive ruin for themselves at bay. The Japanese people did not know a wavering strand of faith. They believed always in their ultimate victory. Each hero, checked in his duty by Russian steel, became on the instant a flaming spirit of war. The mangled body might be tucked away in Manchurian clay, or sent, as a sacred relic, to the beloved homeland; but the freed spirit hung about its brethren, and fought with invincible weapons for the common cause. The women of Japan worked indefatigably. Few lamentations rose from them. They would have considered tears disloyal. The Emperor, behind his gray moat-walls,--half man, half God to them,--sent down his heart among the people. His was the suffering and the loss,--and victory, when it came, was to be his. * * * * * Late in October, at the American Legation, the doors once more stood wide. Pots of chrysanthemums in full bloom crowded near the entrance, and climbed, in groups of two and three, the edges of the stone steps, as if leading a golden invitation. Gwendolen, that morning, standing among them, had dwelt in thought upon another time, scarcely a year past, when she and Yuki had laughed together among such shaggy blooms, when their hands had been tinctured by the stems of them and the air of long reception-rooms flooded with the medicinal fragrance. She did not weep, only stretched her arms outward, whispering, "Yuki, Yuki,--I know you are with him; but just this one day,--my wedding-day,--come back to me!" The marriage ceremony was to take place in the drawing-room. After a luncheon to a score or more of intimate friends, the young couple were to go for a quiet sojourn to Nara. This was the first occasion since Yuki's death that the American girl had worn a color. At the appointed hour she stood within the green-hung window recess like an Easter lily, all white and gold,--a broad white cloth hat, touched with knots of amber. The silent little wedding company drew close. The Bishop cleared his throat professionally. One heard the words, "Dearly Beloved" before he uttered them. At that moment, a bird, attracted maybe by the tall white flower within, flew straight against the pane, and beat against it with fluttering wings. Gwendolen looked up quickly. Her lips moved. "Yuki! Yuki! is it you?" she was saying. Dodge pressed tightly the arm within his own. In spite of strong efforts on the part of Mr. and Mrs. Todd to be at ease, a vague mist of sadness floated in the wide rooms. "There's something awfully doleful about things here," confided a guest to the ubiquitous Mrs. Stunt. "Oh, it's that Hagané woman who died--or was murdered in her bed--last spring. The Legation has been about as cheerful as a morgue ever since. Very inconsiderate to us Americans, I take it!" Mr. Todd saw the faces of the whisperers, and could guess the trend of their words. He shook himself together, and swore that in some way he would manage to dispel the gathering gloom. Now he rushed from one guest to another, his dry wit and quaint remarks soon attracting general attention. Dodge understood, and seconded him with zest. Mrs. Todd stopped the sniffling she had just begun, and produced a diluted smile; the company, catching the infection, tumbled, one over the heels of another, in the race for a precarious joy. The rooms began to echo laughter,--servants smiled as they stole about. A twig of mistletoe, sent all the way from North Carolina, was discovered hanging from the tongue of the floral bell. Kissing of the bride was attempted, and the time-worn jests, pertinent to the occasion, indulged in up to the point of friction. It was at last a company of real wedding guests that took places at the table. Japanese flower symbols of wedded bliss touched elbows with still American vases jammed thick with stemless flowers. The favors were chrysanthemums in enamel, gold, and topaz. Todd saw that the champagne was not delayed. He knew the potency to scatter thought sent up by those springing globules of mirth. "Fill,--all!" he cried, standing, "a toast, a toast to the bride!" Laughing faces turned as one toward Gwendolen, enthroned in a great teakwood chair. She flushed to a rose, under the big hat, but murmured, so that her words could be heard,--"I accept, and drink with you,--against precedent!" As the others lifted brittle stems, she, emptying swiftly the sunny fluid, poured a little water into her glass. The drinking of water as a pledge is used between Japanese as a token of death, of love, in death and beyond it. Dodge, his bright eyes swimming in tenderness, did as she had done. While the company drained the conventional felicity,--this young couple, in silence, unnoticed by those who crowded most closely, drank the pledge of love and loyalty to Yuki's freed spirit. Had it been possible for any face to be more beautiful than Gwendolen's, she--on catching sight of her husband as the water touched his lips--now outrivalled herself. Todd had seen but could not join them. He was self-constituted master of ceremonies. "Next, my new son, Mr. Dodge!" he cried aloud. "Hear! hear!" clamored the company. "And next," said Todd, "to that great man, the Japanese Emperor!" "The Emperor, the Emperor!" ejaculated Dodge, with such vehemence that the assembly had to join or be deafened. "Banzai Nippon!" roared Dodge. "Banzai Nippon!" vociferated Todd. "Banzai Nippon!" the servants echoed in excited underbreaths as they hurried back to pantry and kitchen. "Banzai Nippon!" cried the waiting betto and the kuruma men outside, at first hint of the call. "Banthai Nip-pon!" lisped the the cook's baby, who sat well under the kitchen-table to escape being trod upon, and scraped out a foreign cake-bowl with a single chopstick. * * * * * But Yuki--a snowflake fallen on the windy slope of Aoyama--slept on, smiling, with Hagané's dagger in her heart; and on a rocky promontory across from the impregnable fortress of Liau Tung, a grim, quiet warrior sat alone, with field-glasses dangling limply from his hands, and eyes that saw only a white, white face upturned to his, and lips that murmured, "I know you now, my husband,--and shall wait! Banzai Nippon!" while the cold steel crept nearer to a warm and shrinking heart. Banzai Nippon! _The Most Lovable Heroine in Modern Fiction_ TRUTH DEXTER By SIDNEY McCALL Author of "The Breath of the Gods" 12mo. 375 pages. $1.50 A novel of united North and South of rare power and absorbing interest. It is but fair to say that not one of the novels which appeared last year on either side of the Atlantic (including those from the pen of the most gifted writers) was superior to this in artistic quality, dramatic power, and human interest combined. We do not hope to see it surpassed, even if equalled.--_Philadelphia Telegraph._ Exceptionally clever and brilliant, it has what are rarely found with these dazzling qualities,--delicacy and genuine sentiment.--_Brooklyn Times._ A fine, sweet and strong American romance.--_New York World._ I don't know how to praise it enough. I can't recall any novel which has interested me so absorbingly for years. It is a matchless book!--_Louise Chandler Moulton._ The author at once takes place among the foremost novelists of the day.--_Boston Transcript._ A story that compels attention from start to finish.--_Chicago Record-Herald._ LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., PUBLISHERS, BOSTON _At all Booksellers'_ _Far outside the common run of fiction.--Dial, Chicago_ THE WOOD-CARVER OF 'LYMPUS By M. E. WALLER Author of "A Daughter of the Rich," etc. With frontispiece by Chase Emerson. 12mo. 311 pages. $1.50 A strong tale of human loves and hopes set in a background of the granite mountain-tops of remote New England.--_Brooklyn Eagle._ Hugh Armstrong, the hero, is one of the pronouncedly high class character delineations of a quarter century.--_Boston Courier._ It is a book which does one good to read and which is not readily forgotten; for in it are mingled inextricably the elements of humor and pathos and also a strain of generous feeling which uplifts and humanizes.--Harry Thruston Peck, Editor of _The Bookman_. A few books are published every year that really minister to the tired hearts of this hurried age. They are like little pilgrimages away from the world across the Delectable Mountains of Good.... This year it is "The Wood-Carver of 'Lympus."... It is all told with a primitive sweetness that is refreshing in these days when every writer cultivates the clever style.--_Independent_, New York. The book is as manly as "Ralph Connors," and written with a more satisfying art.--Amos R. Wells, in _Christian Endeavor World_. LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., PUBLISHERS, BOSTON _At all Booksellers'_ _A Masterpiece of Native Humor_ SUSAN CLEGG AND HER FRIEND MRS. LATHROP By ANNE WARNER Author of "A Woman's Will," etc. With Frontispiece. 227 pages. 12mo. $1.00. It is seldom a book so full of delightful humor comes before the reader. Anne Warner takes her place in the circle of American woman humorists, who have achieved distinction so rapidly within recent years.--_Brooklyn Eagle._ Nothing better in the new homely philosophy style of fiction has been written.--_San Francisco Bulletin._ Anne Warner has given us the rare delight of a book that is extremely funny. Hearty laughter is in store for every reader.--_Philadelphia Public Ledger._ Susan is a positive contribution to the American characters in fiction.--_Brooklyn Times._ Susan Clegg is a living creature, quite as amusing and even more plausible than Mrs. Wiggs. Susan's human weaknesses are endearing, and we find ourselves in sympathy with her.--_New York Evening Post._ No more original or quaint person than she has ever lived in fiction.--_Newark Advertiser._ LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., PUBLISHERS, BOSTON _At all Booksellers'_ _Mr. Oppenheim's most Romantic Novel_ THE MASTER MUMMER By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM Author of "A Prince of Sinners," "Anna the Adventuress," "Mysterious Mr. Sabin," etc. Illustrated by F. H. Townsend. 12mo. $1.50 The dexterous craftsmanship in the manipulation of an absorbing plot that characterizes Mr. Oppenheim's work is here applied to the most romantic theme he has as yet conceived. The strange adventures that befel the young Princess of the imaginary kingdom of Bartena, and the significant part the mysterious "Master Mummer" plays in the girl's life, furnish abundant material for a fresh and fascinating modern romance. There are several English novelists of the day whose work may be taken on trust, if one wishes merely to be entertained. Among these writers are Anthony Hope, E. W. Hornung, and E. Phillips Oppenheim. Mr. Oppenheim is the youngest of the three, but in sheer force of imagination, which keeps the reader's interest on the stretch from the beginning to the end of a story, he is easily foremost.--_San Francisco Call._ LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., PUBLISHERS, BOSTON _At all Booksellers'_ * * * * * Transcriber's note: Throughout the document, the oe ligature was replaced with "oe". Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. Those words were retained as-is. The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate. Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted. On page 6, "unforgetable" was replaced with "unforgettable". On page 12, a hyphen was removed after "felt". On page 40, a double quotation mark was replaced with a single quotation mark after "Call me thine own!". On page 96, a period was added after "or with stone". On page 164, "fusilades" was replaced with "fusillades". On page 269, "Here she patted" was replaced with "here she patted". On page 274, a quotation mark was added after "allure thee!" On page 284, "unforgetable" was replaced with "unforgettable". On page 288, a period was added after "Mrs". On page 291, "nationalties" was replaced with "nationalities". On page 301, "Engish" was replaced with "English". On page 393, a single quotation mark after "homage!" was replaced with a double quotation mark. On page 407, "Hagane" was replaced with "Hagané". On page 421, "near by" was replaced with "nearby". 
57861	----	available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 57861-h.htm or 57861-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/57861/57861-h/57861-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/57861/57861-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/mysteriousjapan00stre Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). Small capitals were replaced with ALL CAPITALS. The oe ligature was replaced with "oe". The letter o with macrom ligature was replaced by "[=o]". MYSTERIOUS JAPAN [Illustration: Calligraphy that translates as "Mysterious Japan"] * * * * * * _Books by Julian Street_ ABROAD AT HOME AFTER THIRTY AMERICAN ADVENTURES THE NEED OF CHANGE THE MOST INTERESTING AMERICAN (_A close-range study of Theodore Roosevelt_) PARIS à LA CARTE SHIP-BORED WELCOME TO OUR CITY THE GOLDFISH (_For Children_) SUNBEAMS, INC. MYSTERIOUS JAPAN * * * * * * [Illustration: Photo. by Marguerite Leonard At the top of the temple steps, above Lake Biwa] MYSTERIOUS JAPAN by JULIAN STREET [Illustration: Publisher's logo] With Illustrations from Photographs by the Author and Others Garden City, N. Y., and Toronto Doubleday, Page & Company 1921 Copyright, 1921, by Julian Street All Rights Reserved, Including That of Translation into Foreign Languages, Including the Scandinavian Copyright, 1920, 1921, by McClure's Magazine, Incorporated All Rights Reserved Copyright, 1921, by the Century Company, the Outlook Company, P. F. Collier & Son Company, and the New York Times Printed at Garden City, N. Y., U. S. A. First Edition TO FRANK A. VANDERLIP "_To see once is better than to hear a hundred times_" --MENCIUS CONTENTS PART I CHAPTER PAGE I. DISCUSSING CURIOUS TRAITS OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN . . 1 II. THE ROAD TO TOKYO . . . . . . . . . 16 III. THE CAPITAL AND COSTUMES . . . . . . . 26 IV. EARTHQUAKES AND BURGLARS . . . . . . . 38 V. INVERSIONS AND THE ORIENTAL MIND . . . . . 48 VI. THE ISLES OF COMPLEXITIES . . . . . . . 63 PART II VII. THE GENTLEST OF THE GENTLER SEX . . . . . 81 VIII. MORE ABOUT WOMEN . . . . . . . . . 93 IX. THE NATIONAL SPORT . . . . . . . . 103 X. ON SAKé AND ITS EFFECTS . . . . . . . 115 XI. DIET AND DANCING . . . . . . . . . 127 XII. GEISHA PARTIES . . . . . . . . . 137 XIII. THE NIGHTLESS CITY . . . . . . . . 154 XIV. IN A GARDEN . . . . . . . . . . 163 XV. AN EXPLOSIVE PHILOSOPHER . . . . . . . 172 PART III XVI. GRAND OLD MEN . . . . . . . . . . 183 XVII. RECOLLECTIONS OF VISCOUNT SHIBUSAWA . . . . 201 XVIII. VISCOUNT KANEKO'S MEMORIES OF ROOSEVELT . . . 212 XIX. ARE THE JAPANESE EFFICIENT? . . . . . . 228 XX. JAPANESE-AMERICAN RELATIONS . . . . . . 242 XXI. COURTESY AND DIPLOMACY . . . . . . . 258 PART IV XXII. A RURAL RAILROAD . . . . . . . . . 273 XXIII. ADVENTURES IN A BATH AT KAMOGAWA . . . . . 284 XXIV. A NIGHT AT AN INN . . . . . . . . . 295 XXV. PRETTY GEN TAJIMA . . . . . . . . . 306 XXVI. SUPERSTITIONS AND YUKI'S EYES . . . . . 315 XXVII. "JAPANNED ENGLISH" AND ART . . . . . . 321 XXVIII. SAYONARA . . . . . . . . . . . 335 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS At the top of the temple steps, above Lake Biwa _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE Peasants of the region speak of Fuji as _O Yama_, the "Honourable Mountain" . . . . . . . . 6 With his drum and his monkey he is Japan's nearest equivalent for our old-style organ-grinder . . 22 The Japanese is not a slave to his possessions . . . 38 Sawing and planing are accomplished with a pulling instead of a driving motion . . . . . . . . . 38 The bath of the proletariat consists of a large barrel . 54 While Yuki's fortune was being told I photographed her . 70 You cannot understand Japan without understanding the Japanese woman . . . . . . . . . . . 86 A laundry on the river's brim . . . . . . . 94 Digging clams at low-tide in Tokyo Bay . . . . . 94 Cocoons--Five thousand silk worms make one kimono . . 118 No one without a sweet nature could smile the smile of one of these tea-house maids . . . . . . . . 118 Family luncheon à la Japonaise . . . . . . . 134 Kimi-chiyo was at almost every Japanese-style party I attended . . . . . . . . . . . . 154 It takes two hours to do a geisha's hair . . . . 162 Mrs. Charles Burnett in a 15th-Century Japanese Court costume . . . . . . . . . . . 170 A teahouse garden, Tokyo . . . . . . . . 178 Viscount Shibusawa . . . . . . . . . . 190 Viscount Kentaro Kaneko . . . . . . . . . 190 The film was not large enough to hold the family of this youngish fisherman at Nabuto . . . . . . . 214 Tai-no-ura . . . . . . . . . . . . 230 The theatre street in Kyoto is one of the most interesting highways in the world . . . . . . . . . 246 The gates of the Tanjo-ji temple . . . . . . 246 Nor could a _grande dame_ in an opera box have exhibited more aplomb . . . . . . . . . . . . 262 Pretty Gen was between the shafts . . . . . . 278 The middle-aged coolie hurriedly seated him on the bank . 294 Asakusa, the great popular temple of Tokyo . . . . 310 Saki, the housekeeper, obligingly posed for me . . . 326 PART I MYSTERIOUS JAPAN Far lie the Isles of Mystery, With never a port between; Green on the yellow of Asia's breast, Like a necklace of tourmaline. CHAPTER I _A Day Goes Overboard--A Sunday Schism--A Desert Island--Water, Water Everywhere--Men with Tails--Anecdotes of the Emperor of Korea--Korean Reforms--Cured by Brigands--The Man who Went to Florida--The Black Current--White Cliffs and Coloured Sails--Fuji Ahoy!_ A peculiar ocean, the Pacific. A large and lonely ocean with few ships and many rutty spots that need mending. Ploughing westward over its restless surface for a week, you come to the place where East meets West with a bump that dislocates the calendar. It is as though a date-pad in your hand were knocked to pieces and the days distributed about the deck. You pick them up and reassemble them, but one is missing. Poor little lost day! It became entangled with the 180th meridian and was dragged overboard never to be seen again. With us, aboard the admirable _Kashima Maru_, the lost day happened to be Sunday, which caused a schism on the ship. In the smokeroom, where poker was a daily pastime, resignation was expressed, the impression being that with the lost day went the customary Sunday services. But in reaching this conclusion the smokeroom group had failed to reckon with the fact that missionaries were aboard. The missionaries held a hasty conference in the social hall, and ignoring the irreverent pranks of longitude and time, announced a service for the day that followed Saturday. Upon this a counter-conference was held around the poker table, whereat were reached the following conclusions: That aboard ship the captain's will is, and of a right ought to be, absolute; that the captain had pronounced the day Monday; that in the eyes of this law-abiding though poker-playing group, it therefore _was_ Monday; that the proposal to hold church services on Monday constituted an attempt upon the part of certain passengers to set their will above that of the captain; that such action was, in the opinion of the smokeroom group, subversive to the ship's discipline, if indeed it did not constitute actual mutiny on the high seas; that members of this group could not, therefore, be party to the action proposed; that, upon the contrary, they deemed it their clear duty in this crisis to stand back of the captain; and finally, that in pursuance of this duty they should and would remain in the smokeroom throughout the entire day, carrying on their regular Monday game, even though others might see fit to carry on their regular Sunday game elsewhere in the vessel. * * * * * Had this been the Atlantic crossing we should by now have landed on the other side; yet here we were, pitching upon a cold gray waste a few miles south of Behring Sea, with Yokohama a full week away. Yet land--land of a kind--was not so distant as I had imagined. Early one morning in the middle of the voyage my steward, Sugimoto, came to my cabin and woke me up to see it. (A splendid fellow, Sugimoto; short and round of body, with flesh solid and resilient as a hard rubber ball, and a circular sweet face that Raphael might have painted for a cherub, had Raphael been Japanese.) "Good morning, gentleman," said he. "Gentleman look porthole, he see land." I arose and looked. A flounce of foam a mile or two away across the water edged the skirt of a dark mountain jutting abruptly from the sea. Through a mist, like a half-raised curtain of gray gauze, I saw a wintry peak from which long tongues of snow trailed downward, marking seams and gorges. It was, in short, just such an island as is discovered in the nick of time by a shipwrecked whaler who, famished and freezing in an open boat, has drifted for days through the storm-tossed pages of a sea story. He would land in a sheltered cove and would quickly discover a spring and a cave. He would devise a skilful means of killing seals, would dress himself in their skins, and subsist upon their meat--preceded by the customary clam and fish courses. For three years he would live upon the island, believing himself alone. Then suddenly would come to him the knowledge that life in this place was no longer safe. About the entrance to his cave he would find the tracks of a predatory animal--fresh prints of French heels in the snow! Austere though the island looked, my heart warmed at the sight of it; for there is no land so miserable that it is not to be preferred above the sea. Moreover I saw in this land a harbinger. The Empire of Japan, I knew, consisted of several large islands--to the chief one of which we were bound--and some four thousand smaller ones stretching out in a vast chain. This island, then, must be the first one of the chain. From now on we would no doubt be passing islands every little while. The remainder of the voyage would be like a trip down the St. Lawrence River. Soothed and encouraged by this pleasant thought, and wishing always to remember this outpost of the Island Empire, I asked its name of Sugimoto. "That Araska, gentleman," he answered. "Are you glad to see Japan again, Sugimoto?" "That Araska," he repeated. "Yes. A part of Japan, isn't it?" Sugimoto shook his head. "No, gentleman. Araska American land." "That island belongs to the United States?" "Yes, gentleman. That Araska." I had never heard of an island of that name. Surely Sugimoto was mistaken in thinking it an American possession. "Could you show it to me on the map?" I asked. From my dresser he took a folder of the steamship company and opening to a map of the Pacific, pointed to one of many little dots. "Aleutian Islands," they were marked. They dangled far, far out from the end of that peninsula which resembles a long tongue hanging from the mouth of a dog, the head of which is rudely suggested by the cartographic outlines of our northernmost territory. We had sailed directly away from our native land for a week, only to find ourselves, at the end of that time, still in sight of its outskirts. Like many another of his fellow countrymen, good Sugimoto had difficulties with his _l_'s and _r_'s. He had been trying to inform me that the island--the name of which proved to be Amatisnok--belonged to Alaska. I began to study the map and look up statistics concerning the Pacific Ocean. It was a great mistake. It is not pleasant to discover that three quarters of the world is worse than wasted, being entirely given over to salt water. Nor is it pleasant to discover, when far out on the Pacific, that more than a third of the surface of the earth is taken up by this one ocean. Any thought of getting General Goethals to remedy this matter by filling up the Pacific is, moreover, hopeless, for all the land in the world, if spread over the Pacific's surface, would only make an island surrounded by twenty million square miles of sea. Feeling depressed over these facts I now began to look for points of merit; for we are told to try to find the good in everything, and though I fear I pay but scant attention to this canon when in my normal state ashore, at sea I become another man. On land I have a childish feeling that the Creator has not time to pay attention to me, having so many other people to look after; but a ship far out at sea is a conspicuous object. I feel that it must catch His eye. I feel Him looking at me. And though I hope He likes me, I see no special reason why He should. I am so full of faults, so critical, so prejudiced. Consider, for instance, the way I used to go on about President Wilson and Josephus Daniels and W. J. Bryan. I am afraid that was very wrong in me. Instead of studying their failings I should have remedied my own. I should have given more to charity. I should have been more gentle in expressing my opinions. I should have written often to my sister, who so enjoys getting letters from me. I should have looked for good in everything. Immediately I begin to run about the ship looking for it. And lo! I find it. The ship is comfortable. It seems to be designed to stay on top of the water. The table is beyond criticism. The passengers are interesting. The very vastness of this ocean tends to make them so. Instead of being all of a pattern, as would be one's fellow passengers on an Atlantic liner, they are a heterogeneous lot, familiar with strange corners of the globe and full of curious tales and bits of information. Instead of talking always of hotels in London, Paris, Venice, Rome and Naples, they speak familiarly of Seoul, Shanghai, Peking, Hongkong, Saigon and Singapore. And amongst them are a few having intimate acquaintance with islands and cities so remote that their names sing in the ears like fantastic songs. Fragrant names. The Celebes and Samarkand! There was a little Englishman who hunted butterflies for a museum. He told me of great spiders as big as your two hands, that build their webs between the trees in the jungles of Borneo--I think he said Borneo. But whatever the name of the place, he found there natives having tails from two to four inches long--I think he said two to four inches. But whatever the length of the tails, he had photographs to prove that tails there were. The latest theory of man's evolution, he told me, is not the theory of Darwin, but holds that there existed long ago an intermediary creature between man and ape, from which both are derived--the ape having, I take it, evolved upward into the treetops, while man evolved downward--down, down, down, until at last came jazz and Lenine and Trotzky. Another man had lived for years in Korea. In the old days before it was taken over by Japan, he said, it was a perfect comic-opera country with the Emperor as chief comedian. He knew and liked the Emperor, and told me funny stories about him. Once when His Majesty's teeth required filling the work had to wait until the American dentist in Seoul could have a set of instruments made of gold, that being the only metal permitted within the sacred confines of the Imperial mouth. The concession to build an electric street railway in Seoul was given to Americans on the understanding that they should import motormen from the United States and that these should be held in readiness to fly to the Emperor's aid in case of trouble. A private wire connected the Imperial bedchamber with that of the manager of the street-car company, so that the latter might be quickly notified if help was needed. For more than a year the wire stood unused, but at last late one night the bell rang. The manager leaped from his bed and rushed to the special telephone. But it was not a revolution. The Emperor had just heard about a certain office building in New York and wished to know if it had, in fact, as many stories as had been reported to him. In his fear of revolution or invasion the Emperor built a palace adjoining the American legation. And when, as happened now and then, there came a _coup d'état_, threatening his personal safety, he would get a ladder and climb over the wall separating the back yard of the palace from that of the American minister. This occurring frequently, so embarrassed the latter, that in order to put an end to His Majesty's habit of informal calling, he caused the top of the wall to be covered with inhospitable broken glass. Up to the time of the annexation of Korea by Japan, my informant said, the Koreans were entirely without patriotism, but the Japanese so oppressed them that a strong national feeling was engendered after it was too late. That the Japanese had been harsh and brutal in Korea, he said, was indisputable, but this was the work of militarists, and was contrary to the will of the people of Japan who, when they learned what had been going on, protested with such violence that newspapers had to be suppressed in Japanese cities, and there was clubbing of rioters in the streets by the police. This caused immediate reform in Korea. The brutal Governor General was recalled and was replaced by Admiral Baron Saito, a humane and enlightened statesman who has earnestly striven to improve conditions, with the result that Koreans are to-day being better educated and better governed than they have been within the memory of man. Also they are prospering. First steps are now being taken toward allowing them to participate in their own government, and if conditions seem to justify the extension of their privileges, it is hoped that they may ultimately have home rule. From another passenger I got a story about an American who was captured by brigands in China. The victim was a civil engineer, very skilful at laying out railroad lines. The American International Corporation wished to send him to China to plan a railroad, but he demurred because he was in bad health. Finally, on being pressed by the company, he consented to go if his private physician was sent with him. This was agreed to. In China brigands caught the civil engineer but not the doctor. They kept him for a long time. He was taken from place to place over the roughest country, walking all night, sleeping by day in damp caves, eating coarse and insufficient food. At last he was released. He returned in rugged health. The life of the brigand was just the thing that he had needed. "Out here on the seas, without home newspapers," one thoughtful traveller remarked to me, "we lose touch with the world and never quite make up all that we have lost. When we land we hear about some of the things that have happened, but there are minor events of which we never hear, or of which the news comes to us long after, as a great surprise. I recall one example from my own experience. "In the New England town in which I live there was a banker, a prominent old citizen with a reputation for being very close, and none too scrupulous in the means he sometimes took for making money. "It had for years been his habit to go every winter to Florida, but his daughter, who kept house for him, liked the northern winter and remained at home. "Some years ago, while I was in the Far East, this old man died, but I was gone for a long time and heard nothing of it. When I got back it was winter. One day I met the daughter and stopped to speak to her. It was snowing and a cold wind was whistling down the street. We had been having trouble with the furnace at our house and my mind was full of that. So when I met her I said: "'One good thing--on a day like this you don't have to worry about your father. Furnaces don't get out of order down there where he is.' "Now, when I am away, I have the newspapers saved, and on my return I read them all if it takes me a whole week." * * * * * Somewhere in those seas that lie between the islands of Formosa and Luzon there arises a wide tepid current, known as the Black Current which, flowing northward, tempers the climate of Hondo, the main island of Japan. "To this beneficent stream," remarks the guidebook, "the shores of Nippon owe their luxuriant greenness." As we crossed the Black Current a certain greenness likewise was revealed upon my countenance. I did not find the stream beneficent at all. It was only about two hundred miles wide, however, and by morning the worst of it was past. I came on deck to find the _Kashima Maru_ riding like a placid bulky water-fowl upon a friendly sunlit sea. And far away on the horizon lay a streak of mist that was Japan. In an hour or two the mist attained more substance. It was like a coloured lantern-slide coming slowly into focus. Someone showed me a white dot upon the shadow of a hill and said it was a lighthouse, and some one else discerned a village in a little smudge of buff where land and water met. Gulls were circling around us--gulls with dark serrated margins to their wings; smaller than those we had seen on Puget Sound. Foreign gulls! Since leaving Victoria we had sighted only one ship, but now an unladen freighter, pointing high and showing a broad strip of red underbody, reeled by like a gay drunkard, and was no sooner gone astern than we picked up on the other bow a wallowing stubby caravel with a high-tilted poop like that of the _Santa Maria_--a vessel such as I had never dreamed of seeing asail in sober earnest. And she was hardly gone when we overhauled a little fleet of fishing boats having the lovely colour of unpainted wood, and the slender graceful lines of viking ships. All of them but one carried a square white sail on either mast, but that one had three masts and three sails, two of which were yellow, while the third was of a tender faded indigo. It promised things, that boat with coloured sails! Distant white cliffs, tall and ghostly like those of Dover, brought memories of another island kingdom, far away through the cheek of the world, whose citizens were at this moment sleeping their midnight sleep--_last night_. Presently the white cliffs vanished, giving place to a wall of hills with conical tops and bright green sides splattered with blue-green patches of pine woods. And when I saw the brushwork on those wrinkled cone-shaped hills, so unlike any other hills that I had seen, I knew that Hokusai and Hiroshige, far from being merely decorative artists, had "painted nature as they saw it." The villages along the shore could now be seen more plainly--rows of one-story houses taking their colour from the yellow wood of which they were constructed, and the yellow thatch of their roofs, both tempered by the elements. Then, as I was looking at a village on a promontory reaching out to meet us, some one cried: "Fuji! Come and look at Fujiyama!" and I ran forward and gazed with straining eyes across the sea and the hilltops to where, shimmering white in the far-off sky, there hung--was it indeed the famous fan-shaped cone, or only a luminous patch of cloud? Or was it anything at all? "Where's Fuji?" "Right there. Don't you see?" "No. Yes, now I think----" "It's gone. No! There it is again!" So must the chorus ever go. For Fuji, most beautiful of mountains, is also the most elusive. Later, in Tokyo, when some one called me to come and see it, it disappeared while I was on the way upstairs. Splendid as Vesuvius appears when she floats in opalescent mist above the Bay of Naples with her smoke plume lowering above her, she is, by comparison with Fuji, but a tawny little ruffian. Vesuvius rises four thousand feet while Fuji stands three times as high. And although the top of Pike's Peak is higher than the sacred mountain of Japan by some two thousand feet, the former, starting from a plain one mile above sea-level, has an immense handicap, whereas the latter starts at "scratch." Thus it comes about that when you look at Pike's Peak from the plains what you actually see is a mountain rising nine thousand feet; whereas when you look at Fuji from the sea the whole of its twelve thousand and more feet is visible. Aside from Fuji's size, the things which make it more beautiful than Vesuvius are the perfection of its contour, the snow upon its cone, and the atmospheric quality of Japan--that source of so much disappointment to snapshotting travellers who time their pictures as they would at home. A Japanese friend on the ship told me that though Fuji had been quiescent for considerably longer than a century there was heat enough in some of its steaming fissures to permit eggs to be boiled. Eighteen or twenty thousand persons make the climb each year, he said, and some devout women of seventy years and over struggle slowly up the slope, taking a week or more to the ascent, which is made by able-bodied men in half a day or less. Peasants of the region speak of Fuji not by name but merely as _O Yama_, "the Honourable Mountain," but my Japanese friend added that though the honorific _O_, used so much by his countrymen, was translated literally into English as "honourable," it did not have, in the Japanese ear, any such elaborate and ponderous value, but was spoken automatically and often only for the sake of cadence. [Illustration: Peasants of the region speak of Fuji not by name but merely as _O Yama_, the "Honourable Mountain"] "We say _O_ without thinking," he explained, "just as you begin with 'dear sir,' in writing to a stranger who is not dear to you at all." For Fuji, however, I like the full English polysyllabic of respect. It is indeed an "honourable mountain." The great volcanic cone hanging, as it sometimes seems, in thin blue air, has an ethereal look suggesting purity and spirituality, so that it is not difficult for the beholder from another land to sense its quality of sacredness, and to perceive its fitness to be the abiding place of that beautiful goddess whose Japanese name means "Princess-who-makes-the-Blossoms-of-the-Trees-to-Flower." "There are two kinds of fools," says a Japanese proverb: "--those who have never ascended Fuji and those who have ascended twice." To this category I would add a third kind of fool, the greatest of them all: the fool who fails to appreciate the spectacle of Fuji. A creature who would be disappointed in Fuji would be disappointed in any spectacle, however grand--be it the Grand Cañon, the Grand Canal, or the Grand Central Station. CHAPTER II _The Pier at Yokohama--The Flower-People--A Celestial Suburb--French Cooking and Frock Coats--From a Car-Window--Elfin Gardens--"The Land of Little Children"_ The satisfying thing about Japan is that it always looks exactly like Japan. It could not possibly be any other place. The gulls are Japanese gulls, the hills are Japanese hills, Tokyo Bay is a Japanese bay, and if the steamers anchored off the port of Yokohama are not all of them Japanese, many of them have, at least, an exotic look, with their preposterously fat red funnels or their slender blue ones. Even the little launches from which the port authorities board you as you lie in the harbour are not quite like the launches seen elsewhere, and though the great stone pier, to which at last you are warped in, might of itself fit the picture of a British seaport, the women and children waiting on the pier, trotting along beside the ship as she moves slowly to her berth, waving and smiling up at friends on deck, are costumed in inevitable suggestion of great brilliant flower-gardens agitated by the wind. Amongst these women and children in their bright draperies, the dingy European dress of the male is almost lost, so that, for all its pantaloons and derby hats, Japan is still Japan. Through this garden of chattering, laughing, fluttering human flowers we made our way to--score one for New Japan--a limousine, and in this vehicle were whirled off through the crowd: a jumble of blue-clad coolies wearing wide mushroom hats and the insignia of their employers stamped upon their backs, of rickshas, and touring cars, and motor-trucks, and skirted schoolboys riding bicycles, and curious little drays with tiny wheels, drawn by shaggy little horses which are always led, and which, when left to stand, have their front legs roped. Over a bridge we went, above the peaked rice-straw awnings of countless wooden cargo boats; then up a narrow road, surfaced with brown sand, between rows of delightful little wooden houses, terraced one above the other, with fences of board or bamboo only partly concealing infinitesimal gardens, and sliding front doors of paper and wood-lattice, some of which, pushed back, revealed straw-matted floors within, with perhaps more flower-like women and children looking out at us--the women and the larger children having babies tied to their backs. By some of the doors stood pots containing dwarf trees or flowering shrubs, by others were hung light wooden birdcages from which a snatch of song would come, and in front of every door was a low flat stone on which stood rows of little wooden clogs. Dogs of breeds unknown to me sat placidly before their masters' doors--brown dogs to match the houses, black and white dogs, none of them very large, all of them plump and benignant in expression. Not one of them left its place to run and bark at our car. They were the politest dogs I have ever seen. They simply sat upon their haunches, smiling. And the women smiled, and the children smiled, and the cherry blossoms smiled from branches overhead, and the sun smiled through them, casting over the brown roadway and brown houses and brown people a lovely splattering of light and shadow. And what with all these things, and a glimpse of a _torii_ and a shrine, and the musical sound of scraping wooden clogs upon the pavement and the faint pervasive fragrance, suggesting blended odours of new pine wood, incense, and spice--which is to me the smell of Japan; though hostile critics will be quick to remind me of the odour of paddy fields--what with all these sights and sounds and smells, so alluring and antipodal, I began to think we must be motoring through a celestial suburb, toward the gates of Paradise itself. But instead of climbing onward up the hill to heaven we swung off through a garden blooming with azaleas white, purple, pink, and salmon-colour, and drew up at a pleasant clubhouse. There we had luncheon; and it is worth remarking that, though prepared by Japanese, both the menu and the cooking were in faultless French. The Japanese gentlemen at this club were financiers, officials and prominent business men of Yokohama. One or two of them wore the graceful and dignified _hakama_ and _haori_--the silk skirt and coat of formal native dress--but by far the larger number were habited in European style: some of the younger men in cutaways, but the majority in frock-coats, garments still widely favoured in Japan, as are also congress gaiter shoes--a most convenient style of footwear in a land where shoes are shed on entering a house. Luncheon over, we drove to the station of the electric railroad that parallels the steam railroad from the seaport to the capital--which, by the way, will itself become a seaport when the proposed channel has been dredged up Tokyo Bay, now navigable only by small boats. From the car window we continued our observations as we rushed along. The gage of the steam railway is narrower than that of railways in America and Europe; the locomotives resemble European locomotives and the cars are small and light by comparison with ours. The engine whistles are shrill, and instead of two men, three are carried in each cab. This we shall presently discover, is characteristic of Japan. They employ more people than we do on a given piece of work--a discovery rather surprising after all that we have heard of Japanese efficiency. But Japan's reputation for efficiency is after all based largely on her military exploits. Perhaps her army is efficient. Perhaps her navy is. Certainly the discipline and service on the _Kashima Maru_ would bear comparison with those on a first-rate English ship. Yet why three men on a locomotive? Why several conductors on a street car? Why three servants in an ordinary middle-class home which in America or Europe would be run by one or two? Why fifteen servants in a house which we would run with six or eight? Why so many motor cars with an assistant sitting on the seat beside the chauffeur? Why so few motors? Why men and women drawing heavy carts that might so much better be drawn by horses or propelled by gasolene? Why these ill-paved narrow roads? Why this watering of streets with dippers or with little hand-carts pulled by men? Why a dozen or more coolies operating a hand-driven pile-driver, lifting the weight with ropes, when two men and a little steam would do the work so much faster and better? Why, for the matter of that, these delightful rickshas which some jester of an earlier age dubbed "pull-man" cars? Why this waste of labour everywhere? Can it be that in this densely populated little country there are more willing hands than there is work for willing hands to do? Must work be spread thin in order to provide a task and a living for everyone? But again, if that was it, would people work as hard as these people seem to? Would women be at work beside their husbands, digging knee deep in the mud and water of the rice fields, dragging heavy-laden carts, handling bulky boats? And would the working hours be so long? Here is something to be looked into. But not now. It is a hand-embroidered country, Japan, though the embroidery is done in fine stitches of an unfamiliar kind. The rural landscape is so formed and trimmed and cultivated that sometimes it achieves the look of a lovely little garden, just as the English landscape sometimes has the look of a great park. Here, much more than in England, every available inch of land is put to use. Where hillsides are so steep that they would wash away if not protected, tidy walls of diamond-shaped stone are laid dry against them; but whenever possible the hillsides are terraced up in a way to remind one of vineyards along the Rhine and the Moselle, making a series of shelf-like little fields, each doing its utmost to help solve the food problem. It is hard to say whether the towns along this line of railroad are separated by groups of farms, or whether the groups of farms are separated by towns, so even is the division. The farms are very small so that the open country is dotted over with little houses--the same low dainty houses of wood and paper that delighted us when we first saw them, and which will always delight us when, from the other side of the world, we think of them. For there is something in the sight of a neat little Japanese house with its few feet of garden which appeals curiously to one's imagination and one's sentiment. It is all so light and lovely, yet all so carefully contrived, so highly finished. To the Western eye--at least to mine--it has a quality of fantasy. I feel that it cannot be quite real, and that the people who live in it cannot be quite real: that they are part--say a quarter--fairy. And I ask you: who but people having in their veins at least a little fairy blood would take the trouble to plant a row of iris along the ridges of their roofs? The houses, too, are often set in elfin situations. One will stand at the crest of a little precipice with a minute table-land of garden back of it; another will nestle, half concealed, in a small sheltered basin where it seems to have grown from the ground, along with the trees and shrubbery surrounding it--the flowering hedges and the pines with branches like extended arms in drooping green kimono sleeves; still another rises at the border of a pond so small that in a land less toylike it would hardly be a pond; yet here it is adorned with grotesquely lovely rocks and overhanging leaves and blooms, and in the middle of it, like as not, will be an island hardly larger than a cartwheel, and on that island a stone lantern with a mushroom top, and reaching to it from the shore a delicate arched bridge of wood beneath which drowsy carp and goldfish cruise, with trading fins and rolling ruminative eyes. Just as one better understands Hokusai and Hiroshige for having seen the coastal hills, one understands them better for having seen these magic little houses with their settings resembling so charmingly those miniature landscapes made with moss, gravel, small rocks, and dwarf trees, arranged in china basins by a Japanese gardener, who is sometimes so kind as to let us see his productions in a window on Fifth Avenue. Often one feels that Japan herself is hardly more than such a garden on a larger scale. Over and over again one encounters in the larger, the finish and fantastic beauty of the smaller garden. And when one does encounter it, one is happy to forget the politics and problems of Japan, and to think of the whole country as a curiously perfect table decoration for the parlour of the world. And the children! Children everywhere! Children of the children Kipling wrote of thirty years ago, when he called Japan "... the land of Little Children, where the Babies are the Kings." [Illustration: With his drum and his monkey he is Japan's nearest equivalent for our old-style organ-grinder] Of course we had heard about the children. Everyone who writes about Japan, or comes home and talks about Japan, tells you about them. Yet somehow you must witness the phenomenon before you grasp the fact of their astonishing profusion. Even the statistics, showing that the population of Japan increases at the rate of from 400,000 to 700,000 every year, don't begin to make the picture, though they do make apparent the fact that there are several million children of ten years or younger--about two thirds of whom go clattering about in wooden clogs, while the remainder ride on the backs of their parents and grandparents and brothers and sisters. All in a country smaller than the State of California. Children alone, children in groups of three or four, children in dozen lots. Children in all sizes, colourings, attitudes, and conditions. Children blocking the roads, playing under the trees or in them, romping along paths, swarming over little piles of earth like bees on bell-shaped hives. Children watching the passing cars, children in tiny skiffs, children wading in ponds. Children glimpsed through the open wood and paper _shoji_ of their matchbox houses, scampering on clean matted floors or placidly supping--the larger of them squatting before trays and operating nimble chopsticks, the smaller nursing at the mother's breast. (Sometimes those children nursed at the breast are not so very small--which is the reason why so many Japanese have over-prominent teeth.) Children brown and naked, ragged children, children in indigo or in bright flowered kimonos and white aprons. Demure children, wild rampageous children, children with shaved heads, children with jet-black manes bobbing about their ears and faces as they run. Chubby children with merry eyes and cheeks like rosy russet apples. Children achieving the impossible: delighting the eye despite their dirty little noses. Can it be that they pile the children on each others' backs, making two layers of them, because there isn't room upon the ground for all of them at once? Babies riding on their mothers' backs travel in comparative dignity and safety. Under their soft little mushroom hats they sleep through many things--street-car trips, shopping expeditions and gabbling parties in the tea-rooms of department stores. But those who ride the shoulders of their elder brothers lead lives of wild adventure. Their presence is not allowed to interfere with the progress of young masculine life. The brother will climb trees, walk on stilts and even play baseball, seemingly unconscious of the weight and the fragility of the little charge attached to him by ties of blood and cotton. If the drowsy baby head drops over, getting in the way, the brother alters its position with a bump from the back of his own head. When the small rider slips down too far, whether on the back of child or adult, its bearer stoops and bucks like a broncho, tossing baby into place again. Through all of which the infant generally sleeps. Are its dreams disturbed, one wonders, when big brother slides for second-base? I doubt it. Knowing no cradle, no easy-riding baby carriage, the Japanese baby is from the first accustomed to a life of action. It seems to be a fatalist. And indeed it would appear that some special god protects the baby, for it always seems to go unscathed. Sometimes in the streets the children outnumber their elders by two or three to one. Contemplating them one can easily fall into the way of looking upon adults as mere adjuncts, existing only to wash the children, see that they wear aprons, and give them their meals. CHAPTER III _Growing Tokyo--Architecture and Statuary--The Westernization of Japan--The Story of Costumes--Women's Dress Advantages of Standardized Styles--Selection and Rejection_ As you reach the outskirts of Tokyo you think you are coming to another little town, but the town goes on and on, and finally as the train draws near the city's heart large buildings, bulking here and there above the general two-story tile roofline, inform you in some measure of the importance of the place. In 1917 Tokyo ranked fifth among the cities of the world, with a population almost equal to Berlin's, and it seems likely that when reliable statistics for the world become available again we shall find that the population of Berlin has at most remained stationary, while that of Tokyo has grown even more rapidly than usual, owing to exceptional industrial activity and to the influx of Russian refugees, whose presence in large numbers in Japan has created a housing problem. Nor shall I be surprised to hear that Tokyo has passed Chicago in the population race, becoming third city of the world. The central railroad station exhibits the capital's modern architectural trend. It is conveniently arranged and impressive in its magnitude as seen across the open space on which it faces, but there its merit stops. Like most large foreign-style buildings in Japan, it is architecturally an ugly thing. Standing at the gate of Japan's chief city, it has about it nothing Japanese. Its façade is grandiose and meaningless, and as one turns one's back upon it and sees other large new public structures, one is saddened by the discovery that the Japanese, skilful at adaptation though they have often shown themselves, have signally failed to adapt the requirements, methods, and materials of modern building to their old national architectural lines. One thing is certain, however: there will be no new public buildings more unsightly than those already standing. This style of architecture in Japan has touched bottom. In twenty years or so I believe the ugliness of these modern piles will have become apparent to the Japanese. It will dawn upon them that they need not go to Europe and America for architectural themes, but to the castle of Nagoya, the watch-towers above the moat of the Imperial Palace, the palace gates, and the temples and pagodas everywhere. When this time comes the Japanese will also realize how very bad are most of the bronze statues of statesmen and military leaders throughout the world, and how particularly bad are their own adventures in this field of art. Until I saw Tokyo I was under the impression that the world's worst bronzes were to be found in the region of the Mall in Central Park, New York; but there is in Tokyo a statue of a statesman in a frock coat, with a silk hat in his hand, which surpasses any other awfulness in bronze that I have ever seen. Looking at such things one marvels that they can be created and tolerated in a land which has produced and still produces so much minute loveliness in pottery, ivory, and wood. How can these people, who still know flowing silken draperies, endure to see their heroes cast in Prince Albert coats and pantaloons? And how can they adopt the European style of statuary, when in so many places they have but to look at the roadside to see an ancient monument consisting of a single gigantic stone with unhewn edges and a flat face embellished only with an inscription--simple, dignified, impressive. All nations, however, have their periods of innovation-worship, and if Japan has sometimes erred in her selections, her excuse is a good one. She did not take up Western ways because she wanted to. She wished to remain a hermit nation. She asked of the world nothing more than that it leave her alone. She even fired on foreign ships to drive them from her shores--which, far from accomplishing her purpose, only cost her a bombardment. Then, in 1853, came our Commodore Perry and, as we now politely phrase it, "knocked at Japan's door." To the Japanese this "knocking" backed by a fleet of "big black ships," had a loud and ominous sound. The more astute of their statesmen saw that the summons was not to be ignored. Japan must become a part of the world, and if she would save herself from the world's rapacity she must quickly learn to play the world's game. Fourteen years after Perry's visit the Shogunate, which for seven centuries had suppressed the Imperial family, and itself ruled the land, fell, and the late Emperor, now known as Meiji Tenno--meaning "Emperor of Enlightenment"--came from his former capital in the lovely old city of Kyoto, the Boston of Japan, and took up the reins of government in Yedo--later renamed Tokyo, or "Eastern Capital"--occupying the former Shogun's palace which is the Imperial residence to-day. The Meiji Era will doubtless go down as the greatest of all eras in Japanese history, and as one of the greatest eras in the history of any nation. To Viscount Kaneko, who is in charge of the work of preparing the official record of the reign for publication, President Roosevelt wrote his opinion of what such a book should be. "No other emperor in history," he declared, "saw his people pass through as extraordinary a transformation, and the account of the Emperor's part in this transformation, of his own life, of the public lives of his great statesmen who were his servants and of the people over whom he ruled, would be a work that would be a model for all time." Under the Emperor Meiji, Japan made breathless haste to westernize herself, for she was determined to save herself from falling under foreign domination. Small wonder, then, if in her haste she snatched blindly at any innovation from abroad. Small wonder if she sometimes snatched the wrong thing. Small wonder if she sometimes does it to this day. For she is still a nation in a state of flux; you seem to feel her changing under your very feet. But because Japan has accepted a thing it does not mean that she has accepted it for ever. In great affairs and small, her history illustrates this fact. A case in point is the story of European dress. More than thirty years ago, when the craze for everything foreign was at its height, when the whole fabric of social life in the upper world was in process of radical change, European dress became fashionable not only for men but for women. When great ladies had worn it for a time their humbler sisters took it up, and one might have thought that the national costume, which is so charming, was destined entirely to disappear. Men attached to government offices, banks, and institutions tending to the European style in the construction and equipment of their buildings, had some excuse for the change, since the fine silks of Japan do not wear so well as tough woollen fabrics, and the loose sleeves tend to catch on door-knobs and other projections not to be found in the Japanese style of building. But in Japan more than in any other country, "woman's place is in the home," and just as the Japanese costume is not well suited to the European style of building, so the European costume is not well suited to the Japanese house and its customs. For in the Japanese house instead of sitting on a chair one squats upon a cushion, and corsets, stockings and tight skirts were not designed to squat in. Equally important, clogs and shoes are left outside the door of the Japanese house in winter and summer, and as in the winter the house is often very cold, having no cellar and only small braziers, called _hibachi_, to give warmth, the covering afforded the feet by the skirts of a Japanese costume is very comforting. Moreover, the Japanese themselves declare that European dress is not becoming to their women, being neither suited to their figures nor to the little pigeon-toed shuffle which is so fetching beneath the skirts of a kimono. What was the result of all this? The men who found foreign dress useful continued to wear it for business, although those who could afford to do so kept a Japanese wardrobe as well. But the women, to whom European dress was only an encumbrance, discarded it completely, so that to-day no sight is rarer in Japan than that of a Japanese woman dressed in other than the native costume. If a Japanese lady be cursed with atrocious taste, there is practically no way to find it out, no matter how much money she may spend on personal adornment. The worst that she may do is to carry her clothes less prettily than other women of her class. The lines she cannot change. The fabrics are prescribed. The colours are restricted in accordance with her age. Her dress, like almost every other detail of her daily life, is regulated by a rigid code. If she be middle-aged and fat she cannot make herself absurd by dressing as a débutante. If she be thin she cannot wear an evening gown cut down in back to show a spinal column like a string of wooden beads. Nor can she spend a fortune upon earrings, bracelets, necklaces. She may have some pretty ornamental combs for her black lacquer hair, a bar pin for her _obi_, a watch, and perhaps, if she be very much Americanized, a ring and a mesh bag. A hairdresser she must have, both to accomplish that amazing and effective coif she wears, and to tell her all the latest gossip (for in Japan, as elsewhere, the hairdresser is famed as a medium for the transmission of spicy items which ought not to be transmitted); but her pocketbook is free from the assaults of milliners; hats she has none; only a draped hood when the cold weather comes. The feminine costume is regulated by three things: first, by the age of the wearer; second, by the season; third, by the requirements of the occasion. The brightest colours are worn by children; the best kimonos of children of prosperous families are of silk in brilliant flowered patterns. Their pendant sleeves are very long. Young unmarried women also wear bright colours and sleeves a yard in length. But the young wife, though not denied the use of colour, uses it more sparingly and in shades relatively subdued; and the pocket-like pendants of her sleeves are but half the length of those of her younger unmarried sister. The older she grows the shorter the sleeve pendants become, and the darker and plainer grows her dress. In hot weather a kimono of light silk, often white with a coloured pattern, is worn by well-dressed women. Beneath this there will be another light kimono which is considered underwear--though other underwear is worn beneath it. Japanese underwear is not at all like ours, but one notices that many gentlemen in the national costume adopt the Occidental flannel undershirt, wearing it beneath their silks when the weather is cold--a fact revealed by a glimpse of the useful but unlovely garment rising up into the V-shaped opening formed by the collar of the kimono where it folds over at the throat. As with us, the temperature is not the thing that marks the time for changing from the attire of one season to that of another. Summer arrives on June first, whatever the weather may be. On that date the Tokyo policeman blossoms out in white trousers and a white cap, and on June fifteenth he confirms the arrival of summer by changing his blue coat for a white one. So with ladies of fashion. Their summer is from June first to September thirtieth; their autumn from October first to November thirtieth; their winter from December first to March thirty-first; their spring from April first to May thirty-first. In spring the brightest colours are worn. Those for autumn and winter are generally more subdued. Young ladies wear brilliant kimonos for ceremonial dress, but ceremonial dress for married women consists of three kimonos, the outer one of black, though those beneath, revealed only where they show a V-shaped margin at the neck, may be of lighter coloured silk. On the exterior kimono the family crest--some emblem generally circular in form, such as a conventionalized flower or leaf design, about an inch in diameter--appears five times in white: on the breast at either side, on the back of either sleeve at a point near the elbow, and at the centre of the back, between the shoulder-blades. Because of these crests the goods from which the kimono is made have to be dyed to order, the crests being blocked out in wax on the original white silk so that the dye fails to penetrate. Even the under-kimonos of fashionable ladies will have crests made in this way. With the kimono a Japanese lady always wears a neck-piece called an _eri_ (pronounced "airy"), a long straight band revealed in a narrow V-shaped margin inside the neck of the inner kimono. The eri varies in colour, material, and design according to the wearer's age, the occasion and the season, and it may be remarked that embroidered or stencilled eri in bright colourings make attractive souvenirs to be brought home as gifts to ladies, who can wear them as belts or as bands for summer hats. If the weather be cold the haori, an interlined silk coat hanging to the knees or a little below, is worn over the kimono. This is black, with crests, or of some solid colour, not too gay. A young lady's haori is sometimes made of flowered silk. Men also wear the haori, but the man's haori is always black; and while a man will wear a crested haori on the most formal occasions, a woman _en grande tenue_ will avoid wearing hers whenever possible for the reason that it conceals all but a tiny portion of the article of raiment which is her chief pride: namely the sash or obi. The best obi of a fashionable woman consists of a strip of heavy brocaded or hand-embroidered silk, folded lengthwise and sewn at the edges making a stiff double band about thirteen inches wide and three and one third yards long. This is wrapped twice around the waist and tied in a large flat knot in back, the mode of tying varying in accordance with the age of the wearer, and differing somewhat in divers localities. The average cost of a fine new obi is, I believe, about two hundred dollars, and I have heard of obi costing as much as a thousand dollars. Some of the less expensive ones are very pretty also, and many a poor woman will have as her chief treasure an obi worth forty or fifty dollars which she will wear only on great occasions, with her best silk kimono. A Tokyo lady notable for the invariable loveliness of her costumes gives me the following information in response to an inquiry as to the cost of dressing. "As our style never changes," she writes, "we don't have to buy new dresses every season, as our American sisters do. When a girl marries, her parents supply her, according to their means, with complete costumes for all seasons. Sometimes these sets will include several hundred kimonos, and they may cost anywhere from two thousand to twenty thousand yen. [A yen is about equal to half a dollar.] "So if a girl is well fitted out she need not spend a great deal on dress after her marriage. A couple of hundred yen may represent her whole year's outlay for dress, though of course if she is rich and cares a great deal for dress, she may spend several thousand. "Our fashions vary only in colour and such figures as may be displayed in the goods. Therefore they are not nearly so 'busy' as your fashions. And we can always rip a kimono to pieces, dye it, and make it over." Some other items I get from this lady: When a Japanese girl is married it is customary for the bride's family to present obi to the ladies of the groom's family. For a funeral the entire costume including the obi, is black, save for the white crests. Ladies of the family of the deceased wear white silk kimonos without crests, and white silk obi. The Japanese ladies' costume, put on to the best advantage, is not so comfortable as it looks. It is fitted as tight as possible over the chest, to give a flat appearance, and is also bound tight at the waist to hold it in position. The obi, moreover, is very stiff, and to look well must also be tight. The more select _geisha_ are said to attain the greatest perfection of style; which probably means merely that, being professional entertainers whose sole business it is to please men, they make more of a study of dress, and spend more time before their mirrors than other women do. * * * * * The speed with which women reverted to the lovely kimono after their brief experiment with foreign fashions, may have been due in part to a lurking fear in Japanese male minds that along with the costume their women might adopt pernicious foreign ways, becoming aggressive and intractable, like American women who, according to the Japanese idea, are spoiled by their men--precisely as, according to our idea, Japanese men are spoiled by their women. But whatever the reasons, the fact remains that the Japanese revealed good practical judgment. They kept what they needed and discarded the rest. It is their avowed purpose to follow this rule in all situations involving the acceptance or rejection of western innovations, their object being to preserve the national customs wherever these do not conflict with the requirements of the hideous urge we are pleased to term "modern progress." This is a good rule to follow, and if we but knew the story of the period when Chinese civilization was brought to Japan, nearly fourteen centuries ago, we might perhaps find interesting parallels between the two eras of change. CHAPTER IV _Quakes and the Building Problem--Big Quakes--Democracy in Architecture--Narrow Streets and Tiny Shops--The Majestic Little Policeman--The Dread of Burglars--What to Do in a Quake--The Man Who Went Home--"Fire!"--A Ricksha Ride to the Wrong Address--A Front-Porch Bath_ Have I given the impression that Tokyo is a disappointing city to one in search of things purely Japanese? If so it was because I tarried too long in the district of railroad stations and big business. Moreover, to the practical commercial eye, this portion of the city must look promising indeed, because of the wide streets and the new building going on. And it is building of a kind to be approved by the man of commerce, for in her new edifices Tokyo is adopting steel-frame construction. That she is only now beginning to build in this way is not due to inertia, but to the fact that earthquakes complicate her building problem. The tallest of her present office buildings is, I believe, but seven stories high, and I have heard that twice as much steel was employed in its construction as would have been employed in a similar building where earthquakes did not enter into the calculations of the architect. It would be difficult to overestimate the part that earthquakes play in establishing the character of Japanese cities. There will never be skyscrapers in Japan, or apartment buildings with families piled high in air. The family, not the individual, is the social unit of the land, and the private house is the symbol of the family. Even in the congested slums of Japanese cities, or in the quarters given over to the pitiful outcast class called _eta_, each family has its house, though the house may consist only of a single room no larger than a woodshed and may harbour an appalling number of people, as miserable and as crowded as those of the poorest slums in the United States. Though the seismograph records an average of about four earthquakes a day, most of the shocks are too slight to be felt. Tokyo is however, conscious of about fifty shocks a year. But she has not had a destructive earthquake since 1894, nor a great disaster since 1855, when most of the city was shaken down or burned, and 100,000 persons perished. Minor shocks receive but little attention. In fact by many they are regarded with favour, on the assumption that they tend to reduce pressure in the boiler-room, preventing savage visitations. However, these do occasionally occur and on the seacoast they are sometimes accompanied by tidal waves which ravage long stretches of shore, wiping out towns and villages. Earthquake shocks are sometimes accompanied by terrifying subterranean sounds. Scientists have their ways of accounting for all these things, but the man who really knows is the old peasant of the seacoast village. He can tell you what really causes the earth to tremble. It is the wrigglings of a pair of giant fish called _Namazu_, whiskered creatures somewhat resembling catfish, which inhabit the bowels of the earth and support upon their backs the Islands of Japan. Even though the quakes are slight, they serve to keep in people's minds certain unpleasant possibilities; and these possibilities are, as I have said, acknowledged in the structure of Japanese houses. Two stories is the maximum height for a residence, and even tea-houses and hotels are seldom more than three stories high. This, together with the fact that everyone who can afford it has a garden, causes Japanese cities to spread enormously. On the other hand, the Japanese requires fewer rooms than we do; his home life is simple and he is less a slave to his possessions than any other civilized human being. The average family can move its household goods in a hand-cart. Even the houses of the rich are not blatant except in a few cases in which florid European architecture has been attempted. The difference between the houses of the rich and of the poor is in degree, not in kind. As with the Japanese costume, the essential lines do not vary. [Illustration: The Japanese is not a slave to his possessions. The average family can move its household goods in a hand-cart] This democracy in architecture is restful to the eye and to the senses. It gives the streets of Tokyo--excepting the important thoroughfares--a sort of small-town look. Nor is a great metropolis suggested by the old narrow streets, with their bazaar-like open shop fronts, their banner-like awnings of blue and white, and their colourful displays of fish, fresh vegetables, fruits, wooden clogs, curios, and many other objects less definable, the possible uses of which entice the alien wayfarer to speculation or investigation. I never got enough of prowling in the narrow streets of Tokyo, staring into shops (and sometimes, I fear, into houses), watching various artisans carrying on home industries, wondering what were the legends displayed in Chinese characters on awnings, banners and lacquered signs; stumbling now upon an ancient wayside shrine, now upon a shop full of "two-and-a-half-puff pipes," tobacco pouches for the male and female users of such pipes, and _netsuke_ (large buttons for attaching pipe-cases and pouches to the sash) carved in delightfully fantastic forms; now upon a tea-shop full of tall coloured earthenware urns, shaped like the amphoræ of ancient Rome and marked with baffling black ideographs. Now I would discover a tea-house on the brink of a stream, its balconies abloom with little geisha, its portals protected from impurity by three small piles of salt; now it would be a geisha quarter I was in, and I would hear the drum and flute and _samisen_; or again I would discover a little shop with Japanese prints for sale, and would enter and drink green tea with the silk-robed proprietor, bagging the knees of my trousers and cramping my legs by squatting for an hour to look at his wares. Heavy wheeled traffic was not contemplated when the narrow streets of Tokyo were laid out. From the most attenuated of them, automobiles and carriages are automatically excluded by their size, while from others they are excluded by the policeman who inhabits the white kiosk on the corner. The policeman has discretionary power, and if you have good reason for wishing to drive down a narrow street he will sometimes let you do so, granting the permission coldly. He is a majestic little figure. He wears a sword and is treated as a personage. Naturally, the first consideration in the construction of a Japanese house is flexibility. In an earthquake a house should sway. Earthquakes are thus responsible for the general use of wood, which is in turn responsible for the frequency of fires. And next to earthquakes, fires are regarded by the Japanese as their greatest menace. Third on the list of things feared and abhorred comes the burglar. I doubt that there are more burglars in Japan than elsewhere, or that the Japanese burglar is more murderous than the average gentleman of his profession in other lands, but for some reason he is more thought about. This may be because of the vicious knife he carries, or it may be because Japanese houses are so easy to get into. In the daytime one would only have to push a hand through the paper shoji and undo the catch--which is about as strong as a hairpin. At night one might need a cigar-box opener. At all events, it is for fear of burglars that the Japanese householder barricades himself, after dark, behind a layer of unperforated wooden shutters, which are slid into place in grooves outside those in which the shoji slide. If the shutters keep out burglars they also keep out air; and even though you may be willing to risk the entrance of the former with the latter, the police will not permit you to leave your shutters open--not if they catch you at it. I made some inquiries as to the course to be pursued in the event of burglary, fire, or severe earthquakes. In earthquakes people act differently. I asked our maid, Yuki, what she did, and found that, when in a foreign-style house, she would crouch beside a wardrobe or other heavy piece of furniture which she thought would protect her if the ceiling should come down. "But what if the wardrobe should fall over on you?" I asked. Yuki, however, was not planning for that kind of an earthquake. In a Japanese house one need not worry about the ceiling, as it is of wood; and as a matter of fact most of the ceilings in foreign-style houses are of sheet metal. It seems to me that the most intelligent thing to do in an earthquake is to stand in the arch of a doorway; certainly it is a bad plan to try to run out of the house, as many people, attempting that, have been killed by falling fragments. One night I got a letter from a friend at home. "Try to be in a little earthquake," he wrote. "They build their houses for them, don't they?" In the middle of that same night a little earthquake came, as though on invitation. The bed-springs swung; the doors and windows rattled. At breakfast next morning I asked my hostess, an American lady who has lived most of her life in Japan, whether she had felt the tremor. "I always feel them," she said. "They bother me more and more. In the last few years I have got into the habit of waking up a minute or two before the shocks begin." "What do you do then?" I asked. "I lie still," she said, "until the shaking stops. Then I wake my husband and scold him." The husband of this lady told me of a man he knew, an American, who came out to Japan some years ago on business, intending to stay for a considerable time. On landing in Yokohama he went directly to the office of the company with which he was connected, and had hardly stepped in when the city was violently shaken. By the time the shocks were over he had changed all his plans. "Nothing could induce me to stay in a country where this sort of things goes on," he said. "I shall take the next boat back to San Francisco." He did--and arrived just in time for the great San Francisco quake. The course to take in case of fire is the same the world over. Shout "Fire!" in the language of the country and try to put the fire out. But if you find a burglar in your room don't shout the Japanese word for "burglars," even if you know it--which I do not. The thing to shout is "Fire!"--so I am advised by a Japanese friend, who, I am sure, has my best interests at heart. For if you shout "Fire!" in the middle of the night, the neighbours, fearing that the fire will spread to their own houses, rush to your assistance; whereas if you cry "Burglars!" it merely gives them gooseflesh as they lie abed. Many times it happened in Tokyo that when I was bound on a definite errand somewhere, the chauffeur or the ricksha coolie would land me miles from my intended destination. There are three reasons why this happened so often. First, Tokyo is a very difficult place in which to find one's way about. Second, addresses in Tokyo are not always given by street number, but by wards and districts, and there are tricks about some addresses, as, for instance, the fact that 22 Shiba Park isn't on Shiba Park at all, but is a block or two distant from the park's margin. And third, though the language in which I told the chauffeur or the _kurumaya_ where to go, was offered in good faith as Japanese, it was nine times out of ten not Japanese, but a dead language--a language that was dead because I myself had murdered it. In some other city I might have felt annoyance over being delivered at the wrong address. But in Tokyo I never really cared where I was going, I found it all so charming. Once a kurumaya trotted with me for three hours around the city to reach a place he should have reached in one. I knew I would be hours late for my appointment. I knew I ought to fret. But did I? No! Because of all the things that I was seeing. I saw the bean-curd man jogging along the street with a long rod over his shoulder, at each end of which was suspended a box of _tofu_, which he announced at intervals by a blast on a little brass horn: "Ta--ta: teeya; _tee-e-e_--ta!" I saw a thicket of bamboo. I saw a diminutive farmhouse, with mud walls and a deep straw thatch, and in the doorway was a bent old white-haired woman seated at a wooden loom, weaving plaid silk. And behind the bamboo fence and the flowering hedge, stood a cherry tree in blossom. It began to rain. In any other land I might have felt annoyance over so much rain as we were having. But not so in Japan. Japan could not look gloomy if it tried. Rain makes the landscape greener and the flowers fresher. It makes the coolies put on bristling capes of straw which shed the water as a bird's feathers do, and transform the wearer into a gigantic yellow porcupine. It makes the people leave off the little cotton shoes, called _tabi_, and go barefoot in their clogs. It makes them change their usual clogs for tall ones lifted up on four-inch stilts; and these as they scrape along the pavement give off a musical "clotch-clotch," which is sometimes curiously tuned in two keys, one for either foot. It brings out huge coloured Japanese umbrellas of bamboo and oiled paper, with black bull's-eyes at their centres, and a halo of little points around their outside edges. And as you go splashing by them with your kurumaya ringing his little bell, the women turn their great umbrellas sidewise, resting the margins of them in the road to keep their kimonos from being splattered. And even then they do not look at you severely. They understand that you can't help it. And are you not, moreover, that lordly creature, Man, whereas they are merely women? All these things I saw while I was lost, that afternoon. Then, just when I might have begun to wonder if I was ever going to reach my destination, what did I see? Under the eaves of a thatched house beside the way a bronze young mother and three children, all innocent of clothing and self-consciousness, preparing to get into a great wooden barrel of a bathtub. You never saw a sweeter family picture!... Yes, the Japanese are peculiarly a clean race. It is not merely hearsay. It is a front-porch fact. [Illustration: The bath of the proletariat consists of a large barrel with a charcoal stove attached. Frequently it stands out of doors] Could any man lose patience with a kurumaya who can get him lost and make him like it? CHAPTER V _Reversed Ideas--Some Advantages of Old Age--Morbidity and Suicide--High Necks and Long Skirts--Language--Chinese Characters and Kana--Calligraphy as a Fine Art--The Oriental Mind--False Hair--The Mystery of the Bamboo Screens--A Note on Cats at Cripple Creek--The Occidental Mind_ On the day of my arrival in Japan I started a list of things which according to our ideas the Japanese do backwards--or which according to their ideas we do backwards. I suppose that every traveller in Japan has kept some such record. My list, beginning with the observation that their books commence at what we call the back, that the lines of type run down the page instead of across, and that "foot-notes" are printed at the top of the page, soon grew to considerable proportions. Almost every day I had been able to add an item or two, and every time I did so I found myself playing with the fancy that such contrarieties ought in some way to be associated with the fact that we stand foot-to-foot with the Japanese upon the globe. The Japanese method of beckoning would, to us, signify "go away"; boats are beached stem foremost; horses are backed into their stalls; sawing and planing are accomplished with a pulling instead of a driving motion; keys turn in their locks in a reverse direction from that customary with us. In the Japanese game of _Go_, played on a sort of checkerboard, the pieces are placed not within the squares but over the points of linear intersection. During the day Japanese houses, with their sliding walls of wood and paper, are wide open, but at night they are enclosed with solid board shutters and people sleep practically without ventilation. At the door of a theatre or a restaurant the Japanese check their shoes instead of their hats; their sweets, if they come at all, are served early in the meal instead of toward the end; men do their _saké_ drinking before rather than after the meal, and instead of icing the national beverage they heat it in a kettle. Action in the theatre is modelled not on life but on the movements of dolls in marionette shows, and in the classic _No_ drama the possibility of showing emotion by facial expression is eliminated by the use of carved wooden masks. [Illustration: Sawing and planing are accomplished with a pulling instead of a driving motion] Instead of slipping her thread through the eye of her needle a Japanese woman slips the eye of her needle over the point of her thread; she reckons her child one year old on the day it is born and two years old on the following New Year's Day. Thus, when an American child born on December thirty-first is counted one _day_ old, a Japanese child born on the same day is counted two _years_ old. Once when I was dining at the house of a Japanese family who had resided for years in New York, their little daughter came into the room. Hearing her speaking English, I asked: "How old are you?" "Five and six," she answered. Then she added, by way of explanation, that five was her "American age" and six her "Japanese age." Old age is accepted gracefully in Japan, and is, moreover, highly honoured. Often you will find men and women actually looking forward to their declining years, knowing that they will be kindly and respectfully treated and that their material needs will be looked after by their families. Old gentlemen and ladies are pleased at being called grandfather and grandmother--_o-ji-san_ and _oba san_--by those who know them well, and elderly unmarried women like similarly to be called _oba san_--aunt. The same terms are also used in speaking to aged servants and peasants whom one does not know, but to whom one wishes to show amiability. The duty of the younger to the older members of a family does not stop with near relatives, but includes remote ones, wherefore poorhouses have until quite recently been considered unnecessary. It seems to me that one of the most striking differences between the two nations is revealed in the attitude of Japanese school and college boys. Instead of killing themselves at play--at football and in automobile accidents--as is the way of our student class, Japanese boys not infrequently undermine their health by overstudy, and now and then one hears that a student, having failed to pass his examinations, has thrown himself over the Falls of Kegon at Nikko. Undoubtedly there is a morbid strain in the Japanese nature. Translations of the works of unwholesome European authors have a large sale in Japan, and suicides are by no means confined to the student class. Poisoning, and plunging before an oncoming locomotive are favourite methods of self-destruction. Once when I was riding on an express train I felt the emergency brakes go on suddenly. A moment after we had stopped I saw a woman running rapidly away on a banked path between two flooded rice-fields with a couple of trainmen in pursuit. They caught her, but after a few minutes' agitated talk during which they shook her by the sleeves as though for emphasis, let her go. We were told that the engineman had seen her sitting on the track. Two or three days later I read in a newspaper that a woman had committed suicide beneath a train at about the place where I witnessed this episode. Her husband, the paper said, had deserted her. I suppose it was the same woman. Another curious inversion is to be found in the Japanese point of view concerning woman's dress--and undress. I have been told that our style of evening gown, revealing shoulders, arms and ankles (to state the matter mildly), does not strike the Japanese as modest. Certainly the mandate of the Japanese Imperial Court is not the same as that of the French _modiste_ (how curiously and inappropriately the word suggests our word "moddest"!) for whereas, at the time of writing, the latter decrees skirts of hardly more than knee length, the former decrees, for ladies being presented at court, skirts that touch the ground. Considering the foregoing facts it is, however, somewhat perplexing to the Occidental mind to find that men and women often dress and undress, in Japanese inns, with their bedroom shoji wide open, and that furthermore they meet in the bath without, apparently, the least embarrassment. Like the English, the Japanese are persistent bathers, but whereas the English take cold baths the Japanese bathe in water so hot that we could hardly stand it. And when they have bathed they dry themselves with a small, damp towel, which they use as a sort of mop. Also like the English they drive to the left of the road. There is much to be said for that, but some of their other customs of the road surprise one. Wherever they have not been "civilized" out of their native courtesy you will find that one chauffeur dislikes to overtake and pass another. Surely to an American this is an inversion! When a procession of automobiles is going along a road and one of them is for some reason required to stop, the cars which follow do not blow their horns and dash by in delight and a cloud of dust, but draw up behind the stationary car; and if it becomes necessary for them to go on, the chauffeurs who do so apologize for passing. This custom, which is dying out, comes, I fancy, from that of ricksha-men, who never overtake and pass each other on the road, but always fall in behind the slowest runner, getting their pace from him, protecting him against the complaints which his passenger would make if others were continually coming up behind and going by. * * * * * Of all differences, however, none is more pronounced than that of language. Instead of a simple alphabet like ours, the fairly educated Japanese must know two or three thousand Chinese ideographs, and a highly cultivated person will know several thousand more. To be sure, there is a simple way of writing by a phonetic system, not unlike shorthand, which is called _kana_. Every Japanese can read kana, which is sometimes also mastered by foreigners long resident in Japan. There are but forty-eight characters in kana, and as the characters have in themselves no meaning, but signify only a set of sounds, they can be used to write English names as well as Japanese words. My own name is written in kana characters having the following sounds: _Su-t[=o]-rii-t[=o]_--which being spoken in swift succession produce a sound not unlike "Street." [Illustration: su t[=o] ri a character denoting that the preceding syllable is long t[=o] Dono or Esquire--a Chinese character] The Chinese ideographs used by the Japanese have the same forms as the characters used in China, but are pronounced in an entirely different way, so that the Japanese and Chinese can read each other's writing, yet cannot talk together. Books and newspapers published in Japan are printed in a mixture of Chinese characters and kana, and there is, moreover, beside each Chinese character in newspapers a tiny line of kana giving the sound of the word represented. In this way a reader of newspapers gets continual instruction in the written language and finally comes to know the most frequently used words from the ideographs, without referring to the kana interpretation. Thus there are actually two ways of reading a Japanese paper. A thoroughly educated man reads the ideographs, while a poorly educated one reads the kana, which gives him the sound of a word that he knows by ear, though he does not know it by sight when it is written in the classic character. These conditions, of course, eliminate the use of our sort of typewriter, though there is an extremely complicated and slow Japanese typewriter which is used chiefly where carbon copies are required. Also, they render the use of the linotype impracticable, and make hand-typesetting an extremely complicated trade. The difficulty of learning the Chinese characters, moreover, makes it necessary for students to remain in school and college several years longer than is the case with us. There is a movement on foot to Romanize the Japanese language, just as in this country there is a movement to adopt the metric system; but practical though such improvements would be in both cases, the realization of them is, I fear, far distant, because of the difficulties involved in making the change. And, indeed, from the standpoint of picturesqueness, I should be sorry to see the Chinese characters discarded, for they are fascinating not only in form but by reason of the very fact that we never, by any chance, know what they mean. The Japanese write with a brush dipped in water and rubbed on a stick of India-ink; they seem to push the brush, writing with little jabs, instead of drawing it after the hand, even though they write down the column. Calligraphy is with them a fine art; and beautiful brushwork, such as we look for in a masterly painting, is a mark of cultivation. Because of their drilling with the brush almost all educated Japanese can draw pictures. Short poems and aphorisms written in large characters by famous men are mounted on gold mats and hung like paintings in the homes of those so fortunate as to possess them. A scription from the hand of General Count Nogi or Prince Ito would be treasured by a Japanese as we would treasure one from the hand of Lincoln or Roosevelt--possibly even more so, for where a letter from one of our great men has a sentimental and historical value, a piece of writing from one of their great men has these values plus the merit of being a work of art. Such bits of writing bring large prices when put up at auction, and forgeries are not uncommon. In its structure the Japanese language is the antithesis of ours. Lafcadio Hearn declares that no adult Occidental can perfectly master it. "Could you learn all the words in the Japanese dictionary," he writes, "your acquisition would not help you in the least to make yourself understood in speaking, unless you learned also to think like a Japanese--that is to say, to think backward, to think upside down and inside out, to think in directions totally foreign to Aryan habit." The simplest English sentence translated word for word into Japanese would be meaningless, and the simplest Japanese sentence, translated into English, equally so. To illustrate, I choose at random from my phrase book: "Please write the address in Japanese." The translation is given as: _Doka Nihon no moji de tokoro wo kaite kudasai_. But that sentence translated back into English, word for word, gives this result: "Of beseeching Japan of words with a place write please." And there is one word, _wo_, which is untranslatable, being a particle which, following the word _tokoro_, "a place," indicates it as the object of the verb. I shall mention but one more inversion. The Japanese use no profanity. If they wish to be insulting or abusive they omit the customary honorifics from their speech, or else go to the opposite extreme, inserting honorifics in a manner so elaborate as to convey derision. * * * * * Numerous and curious though these reversals be, they are but the merest surface ripples upon the deep, dark, pool of Japanese thought and custom. At first I did not quite grasp this fact. In my early days in Japan, when I was asking questions about everything, it sometimes looked to me as if the average Japanese was constitutionally unable to give a direct and simple answer to a direct and simple question, and my first impression was that this was due to some peculiarity of the far-famed Oriental Mind. But that impression soon changed--so much so that I am now disposed to doubt that such a thing as the Oriental Mind exists in Japan, if by that term is meant a mental fabric constitutionally different from that of Occidental peoples. That is to say, I believe the average Japanese child starts out in life with about the same intellectual potentialities as the average American, English, French or Italian child, and that differences which develop as the child grows older are not differences in mental texture, but only in the mental pattern produced by environment. My contention is not that Japanese brains are never imperfect or peculiar, but that their imperfections and peculiarities are precisely those found everywhere else in the world. And the same rule applies, of course, when one compares the great intellects of Japan with the great intellects of other nations. At bottom we are much more of a piece with the Japanese than either they or we generally suppose. The differences between us, aside from those of colour, size, and physiognomy, are almost entirely the result of our opposite training and customs and the effect of these upon our respective modes of thought. Neither nation has a corner on brains nor on the lack of them. In a hotel in Kobe a lady of my acquaintance ordered orange juice for breakfast. The Japanese "boy"--waiters and stewards are all "boys" in the Far East--presently returned to say that there was no orange juice to be had that morning. But he added that he could bring oranges if she so desired. The Oriental Mind? Not at all. The Orient has no monopoly of stupid waiters. The same thing might have happened in our own country or another. And that is the test we should apply to every incident which we are inclined to attribute to some basic mental difference between the Orientals and ourselves. _Granted the same background, could not this thing have happened in an Occidental country?_ Never, in Japan, was I able to answer that test question with a final, confident "No." Sometimes, however, I thought I was going to be able to. One day on the Ginza, the chief shopping street of Tokyo, I saw a well-dressed young lady strolling along the walk with her long, beautiful hair hanging down her back, and false hair dangling from her hand. She was evidently returning from the hairdresser's where she had been for a shampoo. The situation, from my point of view, was precisely as if I had seen a similar spectacle on Fifth Avenue. But when I spoke about it to Yuki, who besides being our maid was our guide, philosopher, and friend, she assured me that the young lady was quite within the bounds of custom. "We Japanese no think it shame to have false hair," she said. Once I thought I had the Oriental Mind fairly cornered, and had I not later chanced to discover my mistake I should probably be thinking so still. I was driving in an automobile with a Japanese gentleman, a director in a large pharmaceutical company. Parenthetically, I may say that he had been telling me how, when his company bought three hundred thousand _hectares_ of land in Peru, for the purpose of raising plants from which some of their products are manufactured, the anti-Japanese press of the United States took up the story, falsely declaring that here was a great emigration scheme backed by the Japanese Government. But that is by the way. Presently we came to a place where a large building was being erected. The framework was already standing and was surrounded by screens of split bamboo which were attached to the scaffolding. Having noticed other buildings similarly screened, I asked about the matter. "Ah," said the gentleman, "the screens are to prevent the people on the streets from seeing what is going on inside." "But what goes on inside that they ought not to see?" I asked, mystified. My informant gazed at me gravely for a moment through his large round spectacles. Then he said, as it seemed to me cryptically: "It is not thought best for the people to see too much." I pondered this answer for a moment, then noted it down in my little book, adding the memorandum: "The Oriental Mind!" Doubtless I should now be making weird deductions from that brown-eyed gentleman's explanation of the screens, had I not chanced to mention the matter to another Japanese with whom I was more intimately acquainted. "But that is not correct," he said, smiling. "The screens are not there to prevent people from seeing in, but to prevent things from falling on their heads as they pass by." The bamboo screens, in other words, served precisely the protective purpose of the wooden sheds we erect over sidewalks before buildings in process of construction. The pharmaceutical gentleman did not know what they were for, just as we do not know the uses of a great many things we see daily on the streets of cities in which we live; he was anxious to be helpful to me; he did not wish to fail to answer any question I might ask him; so he guessed, and guessed wrong. But as any reporter can tell you, the practice of passing out the results of guessing in the guise of accurate information is by no means exclusively a Japanese practice. Reporters sometimes guess at things themselves, but that is not what I mean. I mean that a conscientious reporter now and then finds himself deceived by misinformation coming from some source he had supposed reliable. In writing about American towns and cities I have more than once been so deceived. An old inhabitant of Colorado told me that the altitude of Cripple Creek was so great that cats could not live there. Later, however, I learned that cats can perfectly well live in Cripple Creek despite the altitude. Indeed some cats having but little regard for the character of their surroundings do live there. It is only the more critical cats who cannot stand the place. Every American knows that he could be asked questions about his own country and its ways which he could not answer accurately offhand, but in a foreign land he expects every resident of that land to be able to explain anything and everything. I wonder if the Japanese expect as much of us when they question us. "Why do you say 'Dear me!'?" I once heard a Japanese gentleman inquire of an American lady. And though the lady explained why she said "Dear me!" I doubt that the Japanese gentleman was able to understand. I know that I was not. Another Japanese who had been in New York wished to know why we called a building in which there were no flowers "Madison Square _Garden_," and why ladies called a certain garment, once generally worn by them, a "petti_coat_," although it is distinctly not a coat, but a skirt. My answers to these questions were, to put it mildly, vague, and I suppose my questioner said to himself as he listened to me: "Ah, the Occidental Mind! How curiously it works!" CHAPTER VI _Interlocking Ideas--Customs and Symbolism--Simplicity versus Complexity--Flower Arrangement--Teaism--The Egg-Shaped God--The Feudal Era--Ceremonial Tea--Household Decoration--Keys to Japan--The Seven Blind Men_ When I had been several weeks in Japan, striving continually to gain some comprehension of the people and their ways, I began to feel a little bit discouraged. Never had I been so fascinated by a foreign land. Never in so short a time had I seen and heard so much that was new and strange and charming. Yet never had my observations been so fragmentary, so puzzling. My notebooks made me think of travelling-bags packed with unrelated articles of clothing. With the stockings belonging to one theme I had, as it were, packed the shoes of another. Here was a full dress coat; here a pair of overalls. Nothing was complete and no two things seemed to match. I could help to dress an army of ideas, but I wondered if I could fully clothe one. I kept asking questions, but frequently the answers led me far afield, and were incomplete and unsatisfactory. After a time, however, I began to understand why a Japanese so often fails to give a simple and direct answer to a simple and direct question about things Japanese. It is because, in many instances, no such answer is possible. Nor is this impossibility due to any mental kink in the Japanese of whom the question is asked. It is due to the fact that the thing asked about is not a simple, self-contained unit, but is a minute part of some great mass of thought or custom which must be in a general way understood before any single detail of it can be understood. It is as though you were to ask a question about a coloured pebble only to find yourself thereby involved with cosmos. Japan is a land of customs. Her customs are based on principles which are rooted in traditions, which in turn frequently rest upon foundations of history, religion, superstition, or perhaps a mythology involving all three. Thus it often seems that every little word and act of a Japanese can be accounted for in some curious, complex yet essentially logical manner--that every thought in the Japanese mind has, so to speak, a genealogy, which, like the genealogy of the Japanese Imperial Family, reaches back into the mists of antiquity. Symbolism, moreover, plays an immense part in the daily life of Japan, and this fact enormously complicates matters for the foreigner who aspires to understand the country and the people. These are some of the reasons why in an article recently written for a magazine, I called Japan "The Isles of Complexities." Yet when I mentioned the title of that article to an American friend who has lived for many years in Japan, he wrote me that he considered it a misnomer. "I should call Japan 'The Isles of Simplicities,'" he declared, "just because life there is so different from life in our own artificial civilization. I am speaking particularly of our false modesty as compared with the more natural ideas of the Japanese concerning natural functions and unnatural emotions--or emotions unnaturally excited. If you will get down to fundamentals I think you will find that we are the complex people and they the simple people. Can you, for instance, project yourself into the mind of a Martian visiting this earth for the first time, taking a trip through the dance-halls, cabarets, and midnight frolics of New York and Chicago, then going to Japan and seeing the class of entertainment there provided for natives and foreigners alike? Let such an unprejudiced outsider watch the street scenes of Japan, note the frank customs of the people, including those revealed in the community baths, and I think he would say the Japanese are essentially simple as compared with us, that they are purer in thought and action, and (though I know I am inviting contradiction) that they have on the average a higher sense of real morality." My friend makes out a good case and I agree with much that he says, but he is thinking along one line while I am thinking along another. He is thinking of the outward simplicities of Japanese life, while I am thinking of its inward complexities, especially with regard to the relation of one fact to another--I might almost say of every fact to every other fact. Let me illustrate: That grouping of flowers in a bamboo vase, which you find so satisfying, is not the result of any fancy of the moment, but is the product of an elaborate art, dating back at least five centuries. Flower Arrangement is a part of the curriculum of girls' schools and is one of the accomplishments of every lady. Hundreds of books have been written on the art and there are thousands of professional teachers of it. It has, you are informed, a philosophy of its own. Confucianism is invoked. The Universe is represented by three sprays of different height--an effect often found also in plantings in Japanese gardens. The tallest spray, standing in the middle, symbolizes Heaven; the shortest, Earth; the intermediate, Man. There may be five, seven or nine sprays, but the principle of Heaven, Earth and Man must be preserved. There must never be an even number of sprays, and four is a number to be avoided above all others, since _shi_, the Japanese word for "four", also means "death." Significance likewise attaches to the species of blooms and branches used. The plum blossom, which is sent to brides, symbolizes purity, and also, because it flowers when snow is on the ground, stands for courage in adversity. But just when you begin to flatter yourself that you have acquired some understanding of Flower Arrangement you meet some one who does not follow the tenets of the particular school of Flower Arrangement you have heard about--which, let us say, is the popular Ikenobo school--but believes in the teachings of the Enshiu school, the Koriu school, or the Nagéire--"thrown in"--school. Or perhaps he favours the kindred art called Morimono--"things-piled-up"--which deals with compositions of fruit and vegetables; or the Morihana school, which applies the "things-piled-up" principle to flowers; or that other kindred art which teaches the making of "tray landscapes"--pictures drawn on the flat surface of a tray in pebbles and various kinds of sand. The essential point in all Flower Arrangement is that there shall be form and balance, yet that the composition shall not be perfectly symmetrical, as perfect symmetry is not found in nature. In order to attain the desired effects the flower-stalks and branches used are carefully bent and twisted, and this work is done with such delicacy and dexterity as to conceal the fact that their forms have been altered by artificial means. I have seen a Flower Master make waterlilies stand upright on their stalks by forcing water up through the stalks with a syringe. He then set them on one of those flat metal flower-holders we have lately been learning to use in this country, so arranging them in a shallow bowl that there was an open space between the stems, which he said was "for the fish to swim through"--though the fish was in this case purely a creature of his imagination. Many methods of making flowers draw water are also taught. Especially in the case of chrysanthemums, the ends of the stalks are burned; the end of a hardwood branch is often crushed so that it admits water more freely; certain flowers are put in hot water; others are dipped in a solution of strong tea and pepper. The origin of Flower Arrangement is traced by Okakura to a time when ancient Buddhist saints "gathered the flowers strewn by the storm and, in their infinite solicitude for all living things, placed them in vessels of water." We are told that Soami, a painter of the Ashikaga period, was an adept, and that Juko the Tea Master was his pupil. Flower Arrangement thus became a recognized art in the fifteenth century, albeit not an independent art, since it was at first a branch of Teaism. Teaism? They tell you you cannot understand Flower Arrangement unless you also understand Teaism. What is Teaism? Here is unfolded to you a further range for study. You knew, of course, that the first thing which happens when you pay a call in Japan, be it a business or social call, is the arrival of a cup of clear Japan tea, and that the second and third things which happen are the arrival of the second and third cups. You knew that the tea of Japan is green tea, and that it is taken without cream or sugar from cups having no handles. You knew, perhaps, that such tea is made with hot--_not_ boiling--water. But were you aware that tea is in its highest sense not a beverage, but a creed, a ritual, a philosophy? The discovery of the brew is said to have been made by the Chinese Emperor Chinnung, in the year 2737 B.C., but the mythology of Buddhism traces the creation of the tea-bush itself to the diverting god Daruma--that amusing egg-shaped fellow often represented in a child's toy which, when pushed over, persists in rolling back to an upright position, thereby symbolizing unflagging aspiration. "Down seven times--up eight times," the Japanese say of Daruma. Having meditated day and night for weeks, Daruma fell asleep. On awakening he was so vexed with his drowsy eyelids that he cut them off and flung them to the ground, where they sprouted into plants from the leaves of which a sleep-destroying beverage might be made. The seeds of the tea-plant were brought to Japan from China in the year 805 A.D., but the initiation of the habit of tea-drinking is generally dated from the time, about four centuries later, when the priest Eisai, of the Zen sect of Buddhists--a favourite sect among artists and tea-drinkers to this day--wrote a treatise on "The Salutary Influence of Tea-Drinking," which he presented, along with a cup of tea, to one of the early _shoguns_, who was ill. Thus tea was first taken as a medicine "to regulate the five viscera and expel evil spirits." Not long after this we find the drinking of tea becoming a pastime of the nobility, and by degrees we see the development of aesthetic practices in connection with it. Art objects were displayed when people met for tea; sumptuous tea-parties were given by _daimyos_, and one writer tells us that there came a period of decadence in the Feudal Era when warriors would lay down the sword in favour of the teapot, and die cup in hand when their castles were taken by their enemies. * * * * * Let me digress here to speak briefly of the Feudal Era, the most interesting era of Japanese history. It lasted from the twelfth to the middle of the nineteenth century--that is, throughout the period during which Japan was ruled not by its Emperors, but by several successive families of shoguns, or as for reasons given later they were sometimes called, _tycoons_. Though the shoguns usurped Imperial power it is a noteworthy fact that they did not usurp the throne itself nor attempt to destroy the Imperial family, but were content to keep the successive emperors in a state of impotence. Under the shoguns were the daimyos, powerful feudal lords acting in effect as provincial governors; and each daimyo had his _samurai_, or fighting men, holding rank in several grades. There was also a class of samurai known as _ronin_ who acknowledged no lord as their master, but were independent fighters and trouble-makers. I give this outline because these various terms confused me at first. There was but one shogun at a time; the daimyos numbered between two and three hundred, and it has been estimated that there were some two million samurai. With a very few exceptions--among them rich farmers and swordmakers--no one below the rank of samurai could wear a sword. The sword-wearing class was the ruling class, and ordinary workers were regarded as of little consequence. A samurai could strike down with his sword any plebeian who jostled him by accident, or who as much as looked at him in a manner which he found distasteful. The rank of samurai corresponded with that of knights in feudal Europe, and Japanese families who are descended from samurai are proud of the fact, precisely as some European families, and indeed some American families, are proud of having sprung from knightly forbears. * * * * * But to return to our tea. A Zen priest named Shuko is said to have originated the idea of associating with the habit of tea-drinking the cultivation of "the four virtues"--urbanity, purity, courtesy, and imperturbability--and this conception, originating about the middle of the fifteenth century, is to this day a tradition of the Tea Ceremony, or _cha-no-yu_. The great soldiers Nobunaga and Hideyoshi, chief figures of the latter half of the sixteenth century, were addicts of the Tea Ceremony. It was Hideyoshi who caused the Tea Master, Sen-no-Rikyu, to consider the various schools of Ceremonial Tea which had developed, and codify them. The keynote of the ceremony prescribed by Sen-no-Rikyu was "simplicity" of a most elaborate kind. There must be a special teahouse in the garden--though in recent times a special tearoom in the house is considered adequate. The teahouse was required to be small. Its exact dimensions were given, down even to the height of the doorway, which was so low as to compel guests to enter with bowed heads. The house must be simple in the extreme, yet built of the choicest woods. The character of the tea equipment was specified, as was the nature of the decorations. This was where Flower Arrangement originally came in. A _kakemono_--one of those Oriental paintings mounted on a vertical panel of silk arranged to roll up on a cylindrical piece of wood and ivory attached to its lower margin--must hang in the shallow alcove which is the place of honour in every Japanese room; and beneath the kakemono must be displayed an object of art or an arrangement of flowers having a certain relationship to the painting. For example, if the painting be that of a lion the suitable flower to be displayed beneath it is the peony, because the lion is the king of beasts and the peony the king of flowers. This is merely one simple instance of an artistic association of ideas, infinite in number and sometimes complicated in character. Yet these decorative affinities are understood not only by the highly educated Japanese, but by a large proportion of the people--for the feeling for art is, I believe, distributed more widely amongst the people of Japan than amongst those of any other nation. The Japanese do not jam their homes with furniture and decorations as we so often do, but exhibit their art treasures a few at a time, keeping most of them put away. It is said that Japanese rooms look bare to the average foreigner. To me, however, their rooms do not look bare, but have an air of exquisite refinement seldom found in an American or English room. Some Americans who have learned to appreciate the Japanese idea of decoration, and who imitate it superficially, nevertheless achieve assemblages of art objects which, because of the lack of relationship between them, offend the trained Japanese eye precisely as a discord offends a trained musical ear. As Chamberlain points out, the Japanese have few mere "patterns." They don't make "fancy figures" merely for the sake of covering up a surface. Their decoration means something--as indeed decoration has in its highest periods in all countries. There have been many Tea Masters since Sen-no-Rikyu, and the names of not a few of them are remembered to this day with veneration. The chief treasure of a friend of mine in Tokyo is a little teahouse, standing in his garden, which belonged some three hundred years ago to Kobori-Enshiu, Tea Master to the third Tokugawa shogun. If you would know how such associations are valued in Japan, go to an auction when some piece of Ceremonial Tea equipment, once the property of a famous Tea Master, is coming up for sale. Ceremonial Tea has practically nothing to do with ordinary tea-drinking. The very tea used for the purpose is not like other tea. It comes in the form of fine green powder which is placed in a special sort of bowl in a special sort of way, whereafter water of exactly the right temperature and quantity is added, and the mixture is whipped to a creamy froth with a tiny bamboo brush, manipulated in a special manner. Great stress is laid upon the frame of mind brought into the tearoom, as well as on the etiquette and technique governing every detail connected with the making and drinking of the tea. The bowl is passed and received according to exact rules, and there is profound bowing back and forth. First it circulates as a loving-cup amongst the guests; later a special bowl is served to each in turn. On accepting the bowl the guest revolves it gently in both hands; then with as much of the calm dignity of a Zen Buddhist as he is able to exhibit, he raises it and takes a large sip. Removing the bowl from his lips he pauses meditatively; then repeats the process. Etiquette demands that when three large sips have been taken there shall remain in the bowl enough tea to make a small sip. In disposing of this final draught great gusto must be shown. The head is thrown back in indication of eagerness to drain the last drop, and the tea is drawn into the mouth with a sucking sound which advertises the delight of the drinker. [Illustration: Nor is the potency of Ceremonial Tea diminished by the fact that it is served by a lovely little Japanese hand] The second night afterward he may be able to sleep. Ceremonial Tea is potent. Nor is its potency diminished by the fact that the hand which makes and serves it is a characteristically exquisite little Japanese hand, set off by the long soft sleeve of a flowered silk kimono. * * * * * Obviously you cannot understand Japan without understanding the Japanese woman--the nation's crowning glory. But as Lafcadio Hearn tells you, she is not to be understood without an understanding of the organization of Japanese society, which in turn, is not to be understood without a comprehension of Shintoism, the State religion. Everyone has a prescription for understanding Japan. One friend told me I could never understand it until I had grasped the attitude of the people toward the Imperial House. But that is only another way of saying that Shintoism must be understood. Many, naturally, speak of Buddhism. Others mention the feudal system, with its clan loyalty, as the touchstone, and still others assured me that a knowledge of the Tea Ceremony and the No drama were essential. "Fujiyama is the key-note of Japan," wrote Kipling. "When you understand the one you are in position to learn something about the other." Sir Charles Eliot, long before he became British Ambassador at Tokyo, wrote that it is hopeless to attempt to understand Japan without first recognizing "the peculiar spirituality of the Japanese"; but there are not wanting others to deny the existence of any such spirituality as Sir Charles describes, and who, instead, harp upon the alleged Prussianism of Japan as explaining everything. Doctor Nitobé, the gifted Japanese author, who, like Okakura, writes delightfully in English, gives us as the key to Japan the doctrine of _bushido_, or "military knight ways"; but again there are students of Japan who affirm that the system of practical ethics attributed by the doctor's patriotic pen to the samurai of old, would astound those doughty warriors could they hear of it. The book "Bushido," declare these critics, is less a key to Japan than to Doctor Nitobé. Is not the interdependence of facts, of which I spoke earlier, illustrated in the trend of this chapter, all of which, remember, grew out of a discussion of a bunch of flowers in a bamboo vase? Do you see why I called Japan "The Isles of Complexities"? And do you see that I might also call it "The Isles of Contradictions"? Perhaps you will not be surprised, then, at my confession that after having spent several weeks in Japan I found myself fascinated but also puzzled. Why, I asked myself, had I so gaily set forth under an agreement to write about Japan? Why hadn't I made it a mere pleasure trip? For it is one thing to see and be satisfied with seeing, and quite another to attempt interpretation. It has often been said that if a man stays in Japan six or eight weeks he can write a book about it; that if he stays a year or two he may write a single article for a magazine; but that if he stays several years he will be afraid to write at all. "To get the Japanese background," one friend told me, "you ought to have a month or two in Korea, and at least a year in China. Then you should come back and rent a house and live in Japanese fashion for a while." "Say about two hundred years?" I suggested. My friend smiled. "One hundred and fifty years might do," he said, "if you made every minute count." Then, perhaps because he read in my face the signs of my discouragement, he reminded me of an old fable: Seven blind men went to "see" an elephant. One of them, bumping into the great beast's side, said, "Here is a creature resembling a wall." Another, feeling the trunk, likened the elephant to a serpent; another, touching a tusk, announced that the animal resembled a spear; and still another, grasping an ear, compared the elephant to a large leaf. The one who got hold of the tail likened it to a rope, while he who embraced a leg thought of a tree, and he who crawled over the back declared that an elephant resembled a hill. There in a paragraph you have Japan and her interpreters. PART II CHAPTER VII _The Lyric Impulse--A Man-Made Product--The Remoteness of Woman Suffrage--Efforts Toward Progress--Divorce--Marriage and the Go-Between--The Rising Generation--Japanese-American Duality--Leprosy_ Lafcadio Hearn tells us that training in the Tea Ceremony "is held to be a training in politeness, in self-control, in delicacy--a discipline in deportment"; but Jakichi Inouye, a searching and sincere Japanese writer, goes even further, declaring that "the calm, sedate gracefulness of the Japanese lady of culture is the result of the study of the Tea Ceremony...." My one quarrel with Mr. Inouye is over that statement. To say that the study of the Tea Ceremony assists young ladies to attain poise is safe enough; but to say that the fine bearing of the Japanese lady is _the result_ of studying the Tea Ceremony seems to me to be going altogether too far. The bearing of the Japanese lady is a thing too exquisite to have been produced by the practice of any artificial social ritual. Such a bearing is not, in my opinion, to be classed as a mere accomplishment, though it may have been so a thousand years ago. Rather it is the reflection of an incomparably lovely spirit, the flower of countless generations of such spirits, reaching back through ages of tradition, centuries of self-abnegation. It is the crowning product and proof, not of any Tea Ceremony, but of the disciplined civilization of Old Japan. Whenever I find my thoughts reverting to the Japanese woman, I feel stirring within me a tendency to lyricism. Let Lafcadio Hearn, whose wife was a Japanese lady, speak for me. "Before this ethical creation," he writes, "criticism should hold its breath; for there is here no single fault save the fault of a moral charm unsuited to any world of selfishness and struggle.... Perhaps no such type of woman will appear again in this world for a hundred thousand years: the conditions of industrial civilization will not admit of her existence." The fact that the Japanese woman is in no small degree a man-made product does not fill me with admiration for Japanese men, as would some insentient product of their art. For whereas the artist has a right to carve what he will in wood or ivory or lacquer, to mould what he will in wax or clay or bronze, I doubt his moral right to use the human soul as a medium for his craftsmanship in making an ornament for his own home, however exquisite that ornament may be. I am well aware that in this case the end may be said to justify the means, but I am enough of an individualist to believe in our American system, even though I must admit that it has not produced so sweet and delicate an average of womanhood as has the Japanese system. Women as we produce them exhibit a much wider range of types than may be found in Japan, and though a vulgar American woman, be she rich or poor, attains a degree of vulgarity such as is not even faintly approximated in Japan, we also know that we produce types of women as fine as the world can show. And while I cannot speak with absolute certainty of the intellectual attainments of Japanese women, I am inclined to think that our more liberal attitude toward the sex, the greater freedom of companionship between American women and men, and the growth of the American woman's interest and share in public matters may tend to make her, at her best, a more completely satisfying comrade--not because her brains are necessarily better brains than those of the women of Japan, or of other countries, but because she has been encouraged to exercise them in a larger way. From my point of view, however, the basic question here is not the question of which system produces the highest specimens of womanhood, but that of the inherent right of the individual to develop, let the results be what they may. The Japanese woman is not allowed this freedom, since it is obviously to the interest of the Japanese man to keep her as she is. Lately there has been some agitation in Japan for what is called "universal suffrage," but it must not be supposed that by that term woman suffrage is meant. The proposal involves only the extension of the ballot to all males, as against the present system which requires that a man shall pay taxes above a certain amount in order to have a vote. Woman suffrage is not even in sight. When I was in Japan a few progressive women were asking, not for the vote, but for the abrogation of the rule which denied their sex the right to attend political meetings. They were successful. The rule was recently abrogated. A movement had also been started by some advanced women led by Mrs. Raicho Hiratsuka, for laws compelling men who wish to marry to obtain medical certificates declaring them mentally sound and free from diseases of a kind likely to be communicated to a wife. I heard that seventy out of three hundred girls employed by the railway administration in Kyoto had organized an association to aid in the advancement of the measures proposed, vowing never to marry unless their would-be husbands complied with the requirements for which Mrs. Raicho Hiratsuka and her associates were endeavouring to obtain legal recognition. Another matter that wants mending is the legal status of married women. So far as I know there has been made no serious effort to improve the present situation. Under Japanese law a woman, upon contracting marriage, is debarred from civil rights, having practically the standing of a minor. A wife cannot transfer her own real estate, bring an action at law, or even accept or reject a legacy or a gift, without the consent of her husband. Laws not dissimilar to these exist, I believe, in some of the more backward states of our own Union. According to the law of Japan a widow cannot succeed her husband as head of the family if she has a child who can take the succession. In matters of inheritance an elder sister gives place to a younger son, even to an illegitimate son recognized by the father. A husband may divorce a wife for adultery, but a wife cannot divorce a husband for this cause--or rather, she can do so only when he has offended with a married woman whose husband has therefore brought action for divorce. Thus it will be seen that a husband may even take a concubine to live in his home, along with his wife and children, without giving ground for divorce. Concubinage, I am told, is still to some extent practised in Japan, though popular opinion is against it. In one respect, however, the Japanese divorce laws are more enlightened than our own. A husband and a wife who agree in desiring a divorce may easily obtain it by stating the fact to the court. Somehow or other I came to the subject of divorce before that of marriage. The Orient and the Occident are nowhere farther apart than in their views and customs as to the mating of men and women. In Japan marriages for love rarely occur, though it is said that the tendency of young people to marry to suit themselves is growing. Young Japanese girls, I am told, often look with envy upon women of other nations, where marriage for love is the general rule. Probably they suppose that such matches are invariably happy; that the love is always real love, and that it endures for ever. No doubt our system, viewed from afar, looks as rosy to a Japanese girl as their system looks appalling to an American girl. Yet each has certain merits. The Japanese system does not suggest romance, it is true; but is romance, after all, the most essential stone in the foundation for a happy married life? Romantic notions figure too largely in some of our matches, and too little in some of theirs. And while the mature judgment of older people is with them the determining factor in the making of a match, it is too often with us no factor at all. Marriages in Japan are generally brought about by older married couples who act as go-betweens. There is a popular saying that everyone should act as a go-between at least three times. The go-between, knowing a young man and a young woman whom he regards as suitable to each other, proposes the match confidentially to the parents of both. If preliminary reports are mutually satisfactory to the two families, a meeting of the young couple and their parents and relatives is arranged on neutral ground. Any intimation of the real purpose of this meeting is tactfully avoided at the time, though the purpose of it is, of course, fully understood by all concerned. Under this arrangement either family may, without giving offence, drop the matter after the first meeting, but if the results of the preliminary inspection are satisfactory to both sides, the parents meet again and definitely arrange the match, which is made binding by an exchange of presents. [Illustration: You cannot understand Japan without understanding the Japanese woman, who is the nation's crowning glory] Chamberlain says that while, in theory, the betrothal may not be concluded if either young person objects, in practice the two are in the hands of their parents, and that "the girl, in particular, is nobody in the matter." This generalization was doubtless accurate a few years ago, and may be accurate to-day in remote parts of Japan where Western ideas have not crept in, but among the educated classes in large cities a distinct change has come over the rising generation. There is as great a gap between the older and the younger generations in Japan as in the United States, and as with us, the older people over there complain that youth is getting altogether out of hand, while youth complains that its aspirations are not understood by parents and grandparents. This does not mean that Japanese young men and young women run practically wild, as so many of our young people now are doing, but merely that the slight personal freedom they are demanding represents in Japan as great a novelty as is exhibited in the United States by the change from moderate parental control to no control at all. Yet the cults and traditions of Old Japan are vastly powerful, and though they may yield a little here and there, they will not soon be broken down. This fact is made apparent in the quick reversion to type of Japanese men and women who have lived for years in the United States, and who, when in the United States, seem to have become quite like Americans. Meet them in Japan and you see that their Occidentalism was only skin-deep. While among us they gracefully adapted themselves to our ways, and doubtless enjoyed them, but always in the back of their minds was the knowledge that they were Japanese and that they would ultimately return to Japan, there to become a part of the finely adjusted mechanism of Japanese homogeneity. I know many such men and women and find them very interesting. They have passed through an extraordinary mental and spiritual experience, generally without being confused by it. Instead of mixing their Japanese and American selves, they acquire a perfect duality. They can sit on either side of the fence, as it were, and look over calmly and interpretatively at the other side. I discussed this subject with one young matron who spent the first twenty years of her life in the United States, and who, when she moved to Japan, spoke her native tongue with an American accent. "My brothers and sisters and I went to American boarding schools," she said. "We dressed like Americans, had American boy and girl friends, went to house-parties, and grew up outwardly, just as they were growing up. But always we were taught by our parents to understand that this was not to go on for ever. "When I came to Japan and married I saw that the best thing to do was to show people that I was as Japanese as any of them. If I had kept up my foreign ways it would have been resented. So I became completely Japanese, and for a number of years did not even meet Americans who came here. Then when I had made clear my attitude and felt I was established, I began to see Americans again and entertain them." In another case a young Japanese in an American university used to tell his college friends that when he went back to Japan he would show his emancipation from old Japanese tradition by marrying as he pleased. Soon after reaching home, however, he was married by his parents to a bride he hardly knew. He speaks fluent English, I am told, and has an American side which he can show at will, but the inner man is essentially as Japanese as though he had never been away. And rightly so, of course. The Japanese who throws himself as an impediment against the movement of the great machine of national conventions is not likely to break so much as a single tooth in the smallest of its wheels, but will surely break himself. But to return to the subject of marriages: Having arranged the match, the go-between naturally takes pride in its success. He befriends the young couple; if they are unhappy he mediates between them, endeavouring to settle their difficulties; and if their unhappiness continues, and divorce is spoken of, it becomes his duty to exhaust every resource to prevent their acting rashly. Before arranging the match, however, the go-between takes precautions to provide against such dangers as may be foreseen. He must, for example, make discreet investigations as to the health of both families for several generations back, to insure against hereditary taints, among which the most dreaded is leprosy. The Japan Year Book, in most cases a useful reference work, is curiously silent on the subject of leprosy, though several pages are devoted to tuberculosis and other diseases. It was reported recently that a million Japanese have tuberculosis, but leprosy, though less contagious and consequently much less frequent, is more feared. An authority has told me that there are probably two million lepers in the world and that the only countries free from the disease are England and Scotland, from which it has been eradicated by segregation. It is estimated that New York City has one hundred lepers, and that there are cases of it in most, if not all states in the Union. Yet according to the government report only three states--California, Louisiana, and Massachusetts--make provision for the segregation and care of sufferers from this most terrible of diseases. Some people give the number of lepers in Japan as under twenty thousand. The Home Office sets the figure at sixty-four thousand. Specialists, however, say that even the latter figure is far too low, and that the actual number is nearer one hundred thousand. The first leprosarium in Japan was started twenty-eight years ago by Roman Catholic missionaries. A few years later a second leper hospital was founded by Miss H. Riddell, an Englishwoman who has been probably the greatest single influence in bettering conditions for the Japanese lepers. Miss Riddell's leprosarium at Kumamoto, south Japan, was, I believe, used by the Japanese Government as a model for the State leprosariums of which there are now five. Other such institutions are operated by missionaries and private individuals, but the work must be greatly extended if it is hoped to check the spread of the disease, to say nothing of stamping it out. A Japanese friend of mine who has frequently acted as go-between in arranging matches for employees of a large company of which he is an official, tells me that girls in families tainted with leprosy are often exceptionally beautiful, and that they frequently have very white skins. In certain parts of Japan where leprosy is common there are, he tells me, rich families having beautiful daughters for whom it is impossible to find husbands in the neighbourhood because of rumours that the dread disease is in their blood. Such families occasionally move to the great cities where they seek to find husbands for their daughters through matrimonial agents or by personal advertisements in newspapers. The custom of advertising for a husband or a wife has of late years grown considerably, and as has happened in this country, rascalities are sometimes discovered behind such advertisements, wherefore the police keep an eye on matrimonial agencies. One reason why accurate statistics on leprosy are hard to get, not only in Japan, but in all countries, is that families in which a case occurs will often go to great lengths to conceal it. In Japan this is particularly true because there a leper cannot marry, and leprosy is cause for divorce not only in the case of the individual actually afflicted, but in that of the victim's blood relations including those as far removed as second cousins. No wonder the go-between feels a sense of responsibility! CHAPTER VIII _Wedding Gifts--A Wife's Duties--Adopted Son-Husbands--Women in Business and Professional Life--Actresses--The "New Woman"--Kissing as a Business Custom--Film Censorship_--"Oi, Kora!"--_Women of Old Japan--The Change is Coming_ Though the Japanese system of arranged marriages is sometimes likened to the French system, the two are quite different. In France the great point is the bride's dowry, but the Japanese bride is not necessarily expected to bring a dowry of money. Her wedding present from her parents consists as a rule of furniture and clothing which they give according to their purse. The ceremonies connected with a Japanese wedding are extremely interesting, but are too elaborate to be gone into here. There is no wedding trip. The bride moves at once to the home of her husband's parents, unless she has married a younger son sufficiently prosperous and enterprising to set up a home of his own. The rule is that the eldest son continues to live under the parental roof after his marriage. Along with her name and residence the bride transfers her allegiance absolutely to the husband's family. Particular stress is laid upon her duty to her husband's mother. This fact is recognized in a textbook issued by the Imperial Department of Education for use in the higher girls' schools, which says: Absence of harmony is often witnessed between a husband's mother and her daughter-in-law, and this is often traceable to the latter's disobedience and undutifulness. The mother-in-law may be too conservative to get on smoothly with the young daughter-in-law trained in new ideas, but dutifulness, patience, and sincerity on the latter's part will bring on peace and harmony.... If, on the contrary, the daughter-in-law, while tolerant of her own weaknesses, is critical toward her husband's mother and complains of her heartlessness, she will only betray her own unworthiness. These points should always be kept in mind by young girls. Young Japanese heiresses are doubly fortunate since their affluence provides, among other comforts, a means of escaping the dreaded mother-in-law. Instead of moving to her husband's home, an heiress will often bring her husband to the shelter of her own paternal roof, where by adoption he becomes a son of her family, taking the family name. One hears that the bed of roses sought by some of these _muko-yoshi_, or adopted son-husbands, does not prove always to be free from thorns, and there is a Japanese proverb which advises: "If you have left so much as a pound of bad rice, don't become a muko-yoshi." The muko-yoshi is not, however, always married to an heiress. Poor families having daughters, but no sons, will often take in a muko-yoshi to perpetuate the family line under the ancestral roof. [Illustration: A laundry on the river's brim] When all is said, there is no question that the condition of Japanese women is slowly improving, although the woman movement there is still in the academic stage. Little by little the example of women in America and England is making itself felt, and the educational opportunities open to women are gradually increasing. The average college for women is not, to be sure, comparable with the ordinary college for men, but there is said to be one university of really high standing which is open to women, and a number of other co-educational institutions are listed as fairly good. Waseda College is now opening its doors for the first time to women as well as men, and though women cannot graduate from Tokyo Imperial University, I am informed that they are permitted to attend lectures there. Women are going more and more into business and professional life. Great numbers of them are now employed in the government postal and railway offices, in the offices of prefectures and municipalities, and, of course, in the telephone service, as well as by private companies of all kinds. Employers report steady improvement in the standard of intelligence and capability among their woman employees. Women, they say, do their work well and are usually content with small salaries. In seeking positions they generally declare that they wish to occupy themselves profitably between the time of leaving high school and that of marrying. Eliminating, for the time being, the geisha, who because of her curious occupation will be separately discussed, and who does not in any case fit into a discussion of woman's progress, since she is in some measure a barrier to it, we find that the medical profession is probably the most profitable field for woman workers. There are some seven or eight hundred woman doctors in Japan, of whom almost half are graduates of the Tokyo School for Women, founded by a woman physician, Dr. Y. Yoshioka. Trained nursing is also a popular occupation, and many girls have lately been leaving office and telephone work to take it up, chiefly for the reason that trained nurses receive from $1 to $1.25 per day, which is considered good pay. Until ten or a dozen years ago there were no actresses in Japan, female rôles invariably having been played by men, but the octogenarian Baron Shibusawa (lately created Viscount), who has done so much toward liberalizing the thought of Japan in many lines, founded a school for actresses, with the result that there is now a place for them, and that a few have come to be well known, although none is as yet so popular as are the best-known actors. Actors hold in Japan a social position similar to that held by Occidental players a century or more ago. They are distinctly a lower caste, and while they are admired for their art, and are adored by young girls as matinée idols are with us, they are considered as belonging to a social stratum in which geisha and wrestlers figure. There are now perhaps a dozen or more women working as reporters and special writers on the various Tokyo newspapers. Miss Osawa, who started work on the _Jiji Shimpo_ twenty-one years ago, is, I believe, the dean of Japanese woman journalists. There are more than twenty well-known monthly magazines for women, many of them edited by women and largely contributed to by woman writers. Authorship is a traditional occupation for women in Japan, women's names being among the greatest in the nation's ancient literature--in which connection it is interesting to note the fact that some of the old-time authoresses were courtesans. One hears a good deal of talk of the "new woman" in Japan, and perhaps the surest indication that she is coming into being is the fact that supposedly humorous postcards are sold on the Tokyo streets, in which the new woman is shown in various dictatorial attitudes before a cringing husband. Once, at a dinner I attended in Osaka, a woman who runs a business training school for girls, arose and made a short speech. I noticed that while she spoke not a few of the men smiled pityingly. From this item American women old enough to recall the early days of the woman movement in this country will have no difficulty in estimating the distance that the Japanese woman has yet to go. Japanese ladies who have the time and the inclination for charitable activity accomplish a great deal. The W. C. T. U. is active in Japan, Mrs. Yajima, its president, a lady who, in 1920, at the age of eighty-eight, went to England for the International W. C. T. U. Convention, being perhaps the leader among progressive women of the land. The Red Cross has a large membership, and the Y. W. C. A., like the Y. M. C. A., has a firmly fixed and useful place, carrying on a wide variety of activities. Among these are classes to teach young girls the ways of the business world which is so rapidly opening to them. As an indication of the need for such instruction, a lady who works in the Y. W. C. A. in Tokyo told me of a case in which a Japanese girl who came for instruction reported that she was in the habit of kissing her foreign employer good morning and good night, in the belief--a belief we must suppose to have been inculcated by him--that such was the general business custom. It is often said that the Japanese never kiss. Bowing is the national form of salutation, though those accustomed to meet foreigners shake hands with them. The fact as to kissing is that one never sees it, even between mother and child, and that this is interpreted as signifying that kissing is unknown. That is not the case. I own an old print by Utamaro which shows a man and a woman kissing with the greatest zeal. The Japanese simply do not kiss indiscriminately or in public places. The feeling against demonstrations of affection in public is so strong that when American motion pictures were first taken to Japan, audiences would hoot at those tender passages so much enjoyed by some persons in this country. For several years past, however, all such representations have been cut from American films intended for exhibition over there. This work is done by an American who lives in Japan, and who has made up what is probably one of the strangest films in the world by assembling all the cuts into one awful reel of lust and osculation, in which figure most of the widely known American movie stars. This film he sometimes runs off privately for his friends, and it is said to leave those who witness it in a frame of mind to vote kissing a capital offence. In a rather pitiful list of ten requests made by a Japanese wife to her husband, and exhibited as a poster at the Girls' Industrial School of Tokyo, was the appeal: "Please stop saying '_Oi, kora_,' when you call me." _Oi_, the expression used by most Japanese husbands when they call their wives, is about equivalent to our "Hallo!" or "Hey!" Sometimes a husband will call his wife by name, but one more often hears "_Oi_," or "_Oi, oi_," even among persons of position. _Oi_ is more familiar than rude. A man would say it to his close friend. But a woman would never say it to her husband. _Kora_ is really objectionable, being an exclamation addressed only to inferiors. Naturally, then, wives do not like it, whether they make bold to declare the fact or not. For a wife may not even call her husband by his first name, but must address him as _anata_, which is a respectful form for "you." It has been declared that the peasant woman who works beside her husband in the fields or fishing villages, or who helps him push a cart, or navigate a boat on the rivers and canals, is the happiest woman in Japan, being a real companion to him. However, that may be, there is much room for improvement in the attitude of the average middle-class Japanese toward his wife. He gets into automobiles and railroad trains ahead of her and has the air of ignoring her in public. It should be said, though, that the attitude of such husbands does not necessarily mean that they do not care for their wives. Rather it means that they are old-fashioned--that the ancient notion of woman's position, based on the teachings of Buddhism and Confucianism, has clung to them. But most of all, I think, it reveals their fear of being thought ridiculous. For if a man showed his wife what we should call ordinary civility, the old-school Japanese thought him henpecked. Strangely enough the position occupied by women in the days of Japan's early antiquity was much higher than it has since become. In olden times women took part in war, had a voice in politics, and in other ways held their own with men. In the eighth century successive Empresses occupied the Imperial throne, and the influence of certain able women was strongly felt at court; two centuries later we find a great era of literary women many of whose names are famous to this day. But soon after the introduction of Buddhism and Confucianism all this was changed. The Buddhist doctrine called women creatures of sin, treacherous and cruel; and says Confucius: "When a boy is born let him play with jewels; when a girl is born let her play with tiles." So it came about that woman's position declined until it was possible for a famous moralist to write a treatise on the Duty of Woman, containing such maxims as these: A woman should look upon her husband as if he were Heaven itself, and never weary of thinking how she may yield to him, and thus escape celestial castigation. Let her never dream of jealousy. If her husband be dissolute she must expostulate with him but never either nurse or vent her anger. Should her husband become angry she should obey him with fear and trembling and not set herself up against him in anger and frowardness. An endless quantity of such quotations may be taken from the writings of moral teachers, and in them is indicated the debt of the women of Japan to Chinese doctrines. In view of which it seems strange indeed to visit a Buddhist temple and there be shown coils of thick black rope which was used in the erection of the building, and which was made entirely from the hair of devout women who sacrificed their prized tresses for this purpose, being too poor to give aught else. Thus, while the Occident was teaching men to be chivalrous toward women, the Orient was teaching women to be, as one might put it, chivalrous toward men. But in both cases the modern tendency is toward change. The growth of woman's economic independence in this country, making her man's competitor, tends to make man less polite in his general casual contacts with her. Having elected to be his equal she must take her chances with him in the subway rush and in the scramble for street-car seats. Fifty years hence, Japan will perhaps have reached this pass, but the present rudeness of men to women is not that of equals to equals, but of superiors to inferiors; that is the thing that must be changed. And it will be changed. Slowly, very slowly, the attitude of the Japanese man toward the Japanese woman is improving. I found that evening classes were being held at the Y. W. C. A. in Tokyo for the purpose of teaching young husbands and wives how to enjoy social life together, and there is no doubt that in fashionable society the better type of modern young husband treats his wife with much more consideration and courtesy, and makes much more a companion of her, than was customary or even possible under the old régime. Twenty-five years ago it was well enough for a man to walk on the street with a geisha, but the man who walked in public with his wife was jeered at, and might even find himself a target for missiles. Though that is no longer the case, the tradition that man should assume a superior air still to some extent survives among the masses, so that for a husband to treat his wife with perfect courtesy before strangers requires, singular though it may seem, real moral courage. CHAPTER IX _Baseball in Japan--The National Sport--Wrestling and Shintoism--Fans--Wrestlers' Earnings--The National Game Building--Formalities Before the Matches--The Super-Champions--Peculiarities of Japanese Wrestling--Days Off_ Though the grip of the American national game upon Japan is sufficiently strong to have brought a Japanese university team to this country and to have taken one or two American university teams to Japan for return games, there is as yet no professional baseball in Nippon, and the kind of wrestling known as _sumo_ still maintains its ancient prestige as the national sport. Having been in Tokyo at the time of an election and again during the annual spring wrestling season, I could not but be struck by the fact that the street crowds watching the bulletin boards for the results of the physical contests were larger and more enthusiastic than the crowds which assembled to learn the results of the political struggle. The average Japanese knows, I believe, about as much and about as little of domestic politics as the average American. He has a loose idea of the structure of the government and of political machinery; he follows political leaders rather than causes, and like us he is prone to read rich meanings into the glib banalities of politicians. Wrestling he understands much better. He knows all its fine points. His enthusiasms on this subject are informed enthusiasms, and unlike the baseball fan, he inherits them from a long line of ancestors--for compared with wrestling, baseball is a brand-new sport. When the Greeks and Romans wrestled, the Japanese were wrestling, too. In the ninth century the Japanese throne was wrestled for. A Mikado died and left two sons, and these, instead of going to war against each other, left their claims to be settled by a wrestling match. The sport is, furthermore, associated, in a manner more or less diaphanous, with Shintoism. Certain Shinto traditions are connected with it, and the matches used to be held in the grounds of Shinto temples--as indeed amateur matches often are today in country districts. For many years past it has been customary to hold wrestling meets in Tokyo twice yearly, in January and May. Prior to the construction of the Kokugikwan, or National Game Building, the large steel and concrete structure in which the meets are now held, they occurred in the grounds of the Eko-in temple. January is a cold month in Tokyo and even May is often chilly, wherefore, the audience was none too comfortable at these open-air matches. Moreover, Japan is a rainy land; the old open-air matches had frequently to be declared off because of bad weather; sometimes it took twenty days to run off a ten-day meet. But the Kokugikwan has put an end to these difficulties. The modern Japanese wrestling fan keeps warm and dry, with the result that the sport now has more devotees than ever. During the wrestling season Tokyo is profoundly excited. Men of large affairs have a way of disappearing mysteriously from their offices. Officials of banks and large corporations are vaguely reported to be "out of town for a few days." Prince Tokugawa, President of the House of Peers, suddenly becomes a difficult gentleman to find--unless, perchance, you happen to know where to look for him. So, too, with many a man of smaller consequence. If he can afford it--often whether he can afford it or not--he drops his work and vanishes. But he does not always vanish; for if his enthusiasm for wrestling verges on dementia he may adorn himself in an eccentric manner and make himself conspicuous in the auditorium by his antics and his cries. Thus certain wrestling fans of Tokyo have come to be considered privileged characters--as, for instance, the one who always appears at the great matches in a coat of scarlet silk, which his father wore before him, and whose habit it is to prance down the aisle before the wrestlers as they march in solemn procession to the ring. When I inquired about tickets for one of the days of the great meet I was strongly reminded of our World Series baseball games. It seemed that tickets were not to be had. Eventually, however, I managed to secure them in the way such things are secured the world over--by means of "pull." I found a friend who had a sporting friend who knew a wrestler who could get seats. The attitude of the sporting Japanese gentleman toward wrestlers resembles that of the sporting American or Englishman toward pugilists and jockeys. It is _chic_ to know them, but not as equals. One is very genial with them and at the same time a little patronizing, whereas they are expected to assume a slightly deferential manner. Perhaps the attitude of the Japanese sporting gentleman toward his favourite wrestlers is rather more like that of the Spanish sporting gentleman toward bullfighters, for in both countries it is customary for the wealthy patron to give expensive presents to the hero. But whereas in Spain handsome jewelry is sometimes thrown to the bull-fighters in the ring, it is the custom in Japan for the fan to throw his hat, coat, pocketbook, cigarette case, or whatnot to the popular idol, who later sends the trophy back to the owner, receiving in exchange a valuable gift--frequently a gift of money. Hence, though the actual pay of wrestlers is small, perquisites make the profession profitable to those fairly successful in it, and poor parents, having a son of unusually large proportions, are likely to look with resignation upon the Japanese theory that great size is generally accompanied by stupidity, and to rejoice in the dimensions of their offspring because of a fond hope that he may become a champion wrestler and grow rich. My friend the Japanese sporting gentleman (who, by the way, was a graduate of the University of Michigan) did more than obtain tickets for me. He called with his automobile and took me to the amphitheatre. "Our mode of wrestling is not at all like yours," he said, "and I want to explain it to you." It was about eleven in the morning when, after traversing several streets strung with rows of Japanese lanterns, and filled with hurrying throngs, we reached the great circular concrete building into which an eager crowd was pouring through many portals--an audience which, though made up for the most part of men, contained not a few women and some children. Many, though by no means all of the women were geisha, for wrestlers have about the same rank as geisha in the social scale, and they are often the heroes as well as the intimates of the fair entertainers. As we approached the amphitheatre the thought came to me that there is a curious sameness in the atmosphere surrounding great sporting events the world over, however little the various sports themselves may resemble one another. To approach this great building in Tokyo during wrestling week is quite like approaching the Plaza de Toros in Madrid, or the building in which _jai alai_ is played in Havana, or the Polo Grounds in New York, or the Yale Bowl, or the Harvard Stadium. The Kokugikwan is a circular building roofed with glass and seating fourteen or fifteen thousand persons. At the centre is a mound of earth with a flat top on which the ring is marked with a border of woven straw. Over the ring is a kiosk supported by four heavy posts which are respectively red, green, black, and white in colour, and are considered to symbolize the four corners of the earth. The kiosk has a roof somewhat resembling that of a temple and is embellished with curtains of purple-and-white silk which hang down a few feet below the eaves. The main floor of the amphitheatre is banked up toward the back. The seats at the ringside are reserved for the participant wrestlers; behind these are some tiers of chairs which are presumably occupied by the most frantic fans, and behind the chairs comes a great area of boxes, each seating from four to six persons. These boxes, like those of a typical Japanese theatre, do not contain chairs, but are floored with thick straw mats on which are cushions for the occupants to squat on. The only division between the boxes is a railing about a foot high. Above the main floor are two galleries running all the way around the building. The Imperial box is in the first gallery. People in the galleries sit in chairs, in front of which are narrow shelf-like tables from which luncheon may be eaten--for wrestling matches, like the old-style theatrical performances, last practically all day. During the first part of the morning, bouts between numerous minor wrestlers are run off, but at about eleven the building fills up, for everyone wishes to see the two groups of champions march in. One group represents East Japan, the other West Japan; each group contains about twenty men, and their seats are at the eastern and western sides of the ring, respectively. This representation of East and West is not literal, but is the traditional division. A man from an Eastern province may be champion of the West, and vice versa. Gross-looking creatures, naked to the waist, they enter in single file, each wearing a long velvet apron, elaborately embroidered and tasselled. These aprons, which are given to them by their patrons, are removed before the contests, a loin-cloth and short skirt of fringe being worn beneath them. Marching into the ring the champions form a circle and go through a series of set exercises, clapping their hands in unison, raising their legs high and stamping their feet violently upon the ground to exhibit their muscular flexibility. After these exercises they march out again. Next enter the supreme champions of the Eastern group and of the Western group--the two great wrestlers of Japan--popular idols who, by reason of having remained undefeated throughout three or more successive wrestling meets, are entitled to wear not only the elaborate velvet apron, but a very thick white rope wound several times about their waists and knotted in a certain way. Each of these super-champions is attended on his march to the ring by two other wrestlers. The one who precedes him is known as the _tsuyu harai_, or dew-brusher. In theory, he clears the way, brushing dew from imaginary grass before the feet of the mighty one. The attendant who brings up the rear is the _tachi mochi_, or sword-bearer; for according to old Japanese custom no wrestler except a super-champion was allowed to wear a sword, and though the sword is now only a symbol, the custom still survives, and the sword of the super-champion must be carried in behind him. To one accustomed to the sort of wrestling practised in the Western world, many of these champions do not look like athletes, since they are, as a rule, so fat that their paunches bulge like balconies over the tops of their aprons and loin cloths, and their arms and thighs tremble like jelly when they walk. Under the Japanese method of wrestling, however, each match is quickly settled, wherefore endurance is not so important as great weight and power in the first moment of attack. It is for this reason that fat wrestlers are usually the most successful. Some of them have weighed as much as three hundred and fifty pounds. But now and then there comes along a super-champion like Tachiyama, who is not very fat, and who conquers by strength, speed, and reach rather than by mere weight. When the super-champions have exhibited themselves, the two groups of lesser champions return and occupy their seats around the ring. The four referees--retired wrestlers--take seats on cushions, one at each corner of the kiosk, and the umpire, wearing beautiful flowing silks and a strange little pointed hat like that of a Buddhist priest, enters the ring and, holding up the lacquered wooden fan, which is his badge of office, announces in impressive tones the names of the two men who are about to meet. The adversaries then enter the ring and go through the same old series of stampings and flexings. Each takes a handful of salt from a box at his side of the ring, puts a little in his mouth and throws the rest upon the ground before him. This is supposed to have a purifying effect, not in the antiseptic sense, but in some occult way. Salt is often used thus in Japan. Having completed these preliminaries the two men take their positions facing each other, braced upon all fours. But this apparent readiness by no means indicates that the contest is commencing. Instead of immediately attacking, they will often remain thus poised for minutes, sharply watching each other. Then one of them will get up and take a drink, or will go for some more salt and throw it in the ring. Also one or the other will often make a false start, attacking when his adversary is not ready to accept combat; whereafter the two resume their crouching attitudes, toes braced, hands on the ground. This sort of thing may continue for ten or twenty minutes, to the accompaniment of howls from the fans, who shout the names of their favourites and bellow Japanese equivalents for such Americanisms as "Go to it!" and "Atta Boy!" But whereas the period of preparation may often be measured in fractions of an hour, the actual struggle usually consumes but a few seconds. The men spring at each other like a pair of savage fighting dogs and the contest is settled before you know it. There is none of that straining to get a certain hold, or to break one, which is so characteristic of our style of wrestling, and you never see the contestants writhing in deadly embrace upon the floor. The vanquished need not necessarily be thrown at all, though often he is. If any portion of his body, other than the soles of his feet, touches the ground, or if (whether he be thrown or not) any portion of his body touches the ground outside the ring, that means defeat. In case both men fall, or are forced from the ring together, the one who first makes contact with the ground, or first leaves the ring, is vanquished. Often a man is beaten by being bent over until he is forced to support himself on one hand, and there have been cases in which decisions were rendered merely because one man's head was bent down until his top-knot touched the floor. A wrestler will sometimes win in one hard push, backing his opponent out of the ring; but in this there is always the danger that the one being pushed will at the last moment step aside, causing the adversary's own momentum to carry him beyond the boundary, thus applying an underlying principle of _jiu-jutsu_,--or _jiudo_, as it is called in its improved form--in which a man's own strength is used to defeat him. Frequently, however, there will be a spectacular throw; and sometimes, when this occurs, the ringside seats, so coveted at wrestling and boxing matches in this country, are not highly desirable. I have seen huge wrestlers hurled through the air to land sprawling on their comrades in their seats. When a close decision has to be made the umpire confers with the referees, and at such times the audience and the two opposing groups of wrestlers are vociferous in support of the contestant they favour. To the credit of the Japanese be it said, however, that they do not yell: "Kill the umpire!" when displeased by a decision rendered in connection with their national sport; that they do not throw bottles at the umpire, and that it never becomes necessary to give police protection to an umpire whose judgment has not accorded with that of the crowd. The Japanese, you see, have not adopted every detail of Western civilization. I must have seen twenty-five or thirty bouts that day. But though I was interested I cannot pretend to find in Japanese wrestling the qualities of a really great sport. Skill their wrestlers have, but there is no call for stamina. Their style of wrestling seems to me to let off where ours begins. Japanese life runs at lower pressure than our life. There is not the nervous rush about it. Matters move at a more comfortable pace, and people seem to have more patience. An American crowd would become restless over the interminable preliminaries of each Japanese wrestling bout, and would find the bout itself unsatisfactory because of its brevity and the lack of sustained effort. The Japanese, on the other hand, seem always to be willing to wait for something to happen. One notices this in innumerable ways. Motion pictures made in Japan are likely to be, from our point of view, intolerably slow in their action. So also with the all-day plays of the typical Japanese theatre. The Japanese business man's custom of taking a day off whenever it happens to suit him is doubtless due in part to the fact that until recently Sunday in Japan was just like any other day. There was no regular day of rest. One day a month was usually appointed as a holiday for commercial and industrial workers; later it became two days a month; and at last there developed a custom of making those days the first and third Sundays of the month. For though Sunday has, of course, no religious significance in the eyes of the large body of Japanese, it seemed the most practical day to select for a holiday if only because it was a day on which the offices of American and European residents were closed. CHAPTER X _The Courageous Congressmen--Geisha and Nesan--The Maple Club--The Gentleness of Servants--Removable Walls--Dancing Girls--A Lesson in the Use of Chopsticks--"Truthful Girl"--A Toast in Saké--Drunkenness--My Friend the Amiable Inebriate--The Great Rice-Ball Mystery_ It amused me to hear, a little while ago, that a party of our Congressmen, on a junket in Japan, had been implored by certain pious Americans over there, to avoid such sinful things as teahouses and geisha. No doubt the poor devils of Congressmen had fancied they would be able to lead their own lives five thousand miles from home and constituents. And evidently they proposed to do it, for they replied with uncongressmanlike boldness that teahouses and geisha were among the things they most desired to see. That pleased me not only because it showed that a Congressman can be spunky--even though he has to go to another hemisphere to do it--but because it showed a normal human interest in what is assuredly a very curious phase of life. I, too, was interested in tea houses and geisha, and I made it a point to find out as much about them as I could. The first geisha I saw were in attendance at a luncheon for some forty persons--about half of them Americans--given by a Tokyo gentleman for the purpose of showing us what a purely Japanese luncheon was like. It was held at the Maple Club, a large, rambling Japanese-style building standing in charming gardens in the midst of one of the Tokyo parks--a Far Eastern equivalent of such Parisian restaurants as the Café d'Armenonville or the Pré Catelan. As we alighted from our rickshas a flock of smiling serving maids appeared in the doorway to greet us, indicating to us that we were to sit on the high door-step and have our shoes removed by the blue-clad coolies who were in attendance--each with the insignia of the Maple Club in a large design upon the back of his coat. (If you wish the coolie who draws your ricksha or does other work for you to wear your crest you supply his costume and pay him a few cents extra per day.) When our shoes had been checked and our feet encased in soft woollen slippers like bed-bootees, we were bowed into the building and escorted through a series of rooms with soft straw-matted floors and walls of wood and paper. Emerging upon an outer gallery of highly polished wood, we followed it, looking out over the lovely garden as we moved along, and finally reached a flight of stairs, also of wood having a satiny polish, which led to the banquet hall. Our escorts on this journey were several little Japanese maids in pretty kimonos, who, though they spoke no English, talked to us in soft international smiles. No one without a sweet nature could smile the smile of one of these Japanese serving maids. They are called _nesan_, meaning literally "elder sister." This familiar appellation is generally used in speaking to a maidservant whose name one does not know, and in the term is revealed a hint of the beautiful relationship which exists in Japan between master and servant, whether in a private house or a Japanese inn. In the great cities this old relationship is to some extent breaking down as Japan becomes Westernized, but in Japanese hotels and country inns, and in prosperous homes one sees it still. Service is rendered with a grace and friendliness which make it very charming. Even about the menservants in the houses of the rich there is nothing of the flunkey spirit. The Japanese manservant generally wears silken robes which give him a fine dignity and make it difficult, sometimes, to differentiate him from members of the family. He is extremely polite, but not rigid. You feel that he is a self-respecting _man_. As for maidservants, they are like so many pet butterflies. One of Japan's strongest claims to democracy, it seems to me, is founded on the attitude existing between master and servant. [Illustration: No one without a sweet nature could smile the smile of one of these tea-house maids. They are called _nesan_--"elder sister"] Those who have visited Japan, yet who do not agree with me as to the exquisite courtesy of the Japanese servant, will be those whose stopping places have been European-style hotels in the large cities. In such hotels the service is often poor and one occasionally encounters a servant who is surly and ill-mannered. I encountered one such in Kobe--said to be the rudest city in Japan. But by the time I ran across him I had seen enough of the real Japan to know what such rudeness signified. It showed merely that in this individual case native courtesy had been worn away by contact with innumerable ill-bred foreigners. But to return to our luncheon. As a concession to American custom our host greeted us with a handshake, and his Japanese guests walked in and shook hands instead of dropping to their knees on entering and bowing to the floor according to the old national custom. The room, which was large, well illustrated the elasticity of the Japanese style of building. Five or six private dining rooms usually occupied this section of the house, but for the requirements of the present occasion the walls forming these rooms had been removed making the entire area into one spacious chamber. It is a simple matter to remove such walls, since they consist only of a series of screens of wood and paper which slide in grooves and can easily be lifted out and put away in closets. And let me add that, though the climate of Japan is very damp, the Japanese use such thoroughly seasoned wood, and work in wood so admirably, that I never once found a sliding screen that stuck in its grooves. [Illustration: Cocoons--Five thousand silk worms eat 125 lbs. of mulberry leaves and yield eight skeins of silk, which make one kimono] For the meal we knelt upon silk cushions laid two or three feet apart around three walls of the room. As the weather was chilly there stood beside each of us a brazier, or hibachi, consisting of a pot of live charcoal standing in a wooden box. The Japanese love of finish in all things is shown in the careful way they have of banking the ashes in a hibachi, and making neat patterns over the top of them. In front of each of us was placed a little table of red lacquer about a foot high, with an edge like that of a tray, and on this table were sundry covered bowls of lacquer and of china, and little dishes containing sour pickles and a pungent, watery brown sauce. In front of every one or two guests knelt a nesan, presiding over a covered lacquered tub, containing boiled rice, which is eaten with almost everything, and even mixed with green tea and drunk with it out of the rice-bowl. Also, in attendance upon each guest, there was a geisha. Some of the geisha were women perhaps twenty years old, wearing handsome dark kimonos which they generally carried with a great deal of style, but others were little _maiko_, dancing girls, in brilliant-coloured kimonos with the yard-long sleeves of youth. The youngest of these was perhaps twelve years of age, while the oldest may have been sixteen. As I afterward learned, there is a vast difference between various grades of geisha. Those present at this luncheon were among the most popular in Tokyo. They were truly charming creatures, sweet-faced, soft-eyed and gentle, with beautiful manners and much more poise than is shown by the average Japanese lady. For Japanese ladies are not, as a rule, accustomed to our sort of mixed social life, in which husbands and wives take part together, whereas geisha are in the business of entertaining men and presumably understand men as women seldom do. Since few geisha speak English, and very few Americans speak Japanese, we travellers from abroad are rather outsiders with the geisha, and our appreciation of them must be largely ocular. But a geisha can come as near to carrying on a wordless conversation as any woman can. Mine smiled at me, filled my shallow little cup with warm saké from time to time, and showed me how to use my chop-sticks. I found the lesson most agreeable, and was presently rewarded by being told, through the Japanese friend at my side, that for a beginner I was doing very well. If you want to know what it is like to eat with chop-sticks try sitting on the floor and eating from a bowl, placed in front of you, with a pair of pencils or thick knitting needles. It is a dangerous business, and the risk is rendered greater by the fact that the Japanese do not wear napkins in their laps, and that to soil the spotless matting is about the greatest sin the barbarian outlander can commit. The Japanese napkin is a small soft towel which is brought to one warm and damp, in a little basket. It is used on the face and hands as a wash-cloth and is then removed. [Illustration: Family luncheon à la Japonaise. The serving maid is kneeling in the corner at the back. If you would essay eating with chopsticks, try it with a pair of heavy knitting needles] Presently my geisha called one of her sisters in the craft to witness my progress with the chop-sticks. The new arrival was named Jitsuko--otherwise "truthful girl"--and she seemed to be quite the most fashionable of them all. Her kimono, with its dyed-out decorations and its five ceremonial crests, was very handsome and was worn with great _chic_, her obi was a gorgeous thing richly patterned in gold brocade, and I noticed that she wore upon it a pin containing a very fine large diamond--a most unusual sort of trinket in Japan. Also she wore a ring containing a large diamond. Nor was this foreign note purely superficial. For, to my delight, Jitsuko spoke to me in English. She was one of Tokyo's two English-speaking geisha, and as I later learned, had the honour of being nominated as the geisha to entertain the Duke of Connaught at dinners he attended at the time of his visit to the Japanese capital. Jitsuko and the other geisha talked together about me. Then Jitsuko paid me the compliment of saying that they agreed in thinking that I looked a little bit like a Japanese. I thanked her, and returned the compliment in kind, saying that I thought they also looked like Japanese, and very pretty ones, whereat they both giggled. By this time we had established an _entente_ so cordial that it seemed fitting that we should drink to each other. Aided by the gentleman at my side and by Jitsuko, I learned the proper formalities of this ceremony. First I rinsed my saké cup in a lacquer bowl provided for the purpose, then passed it to Jitsuko. The preliminary rinsing indicated that she was now to fill the cup and drink. Had I passed it to her without rinsing, it would have meant that she was to refill it for me--for a geisha never "plies" one with saké but waits for the cup to be passed. When she had sipped the saké she in turn rinsed the cup, refilled it, and handed it to me to drink. Thus the friendly rite was completed. I had heard that saké was extremely intoxicating, but that is not so. It is rice wine, almost white in colour, and is served sometimes at normal temperature and sometimes slightly warm. It is rather more like a pale light sherry than any other Occidental beverage, but it lacks the full flavour of sherry, having a mild and not unpleasant flavour all its own. On the whole I rather liked saké, and I found myself able to detect the difference between ordinary saké and saké that was particularly good. While on this subject I may add that liquor of all sorts flows freely in Japan. Saké is the one alcoholic beverage generally served with meals in the Japanese style, but at the European-style luncheons and dinners I attended two or three kinds of wine were usually served, and there were cocktails before and sometimes liqueurs afterward. The Japanese have also taken up whisky-drinking to some extent. They import Scotch whisky and also make a bad imitation Scotch whisky of their own. But saké still reigns supreme as the national alcoholic drink, and when you see a Japanese intoxicated you may be pretty sure that saké--a lot of saké--did it. In my evening strolls, particularly in the gay, crowded district of Asakusa Park in Tokyo--a Japanese Coney Island, full of theatres, motion-picture houses, animal shows, conjuring exhibitions, teahouses, bazaars and the like, surrounding a great Buddhist temple--I saw many intoxicated men, but I never came upon one who was ugly or troublesome. Whether because of some quality in the Japanese nature, or in the saké, this drink seems only to make gay, talkative and sometimes boisterous those who have taken too much of it. I should not be surprised if the Japanese need alcoholic stimulants rather more than other races need them. For one thing the climate of Japan, except in the mountains, is enervating; and for another, the Japanese nature is generally repressed, and saké tends to liberate it. I noticed this at another entertainment in Tokyo--a dinner of newspaper editors. Being the only foreigner there, and being enormously interested in the problems connected with relations between the United States and Japan, I launched forth, telling them my views in the hope of learning theirs. But although I sensed that they did not agree with all I said, their responses exhibited only the sort of polite tolerance that a courteous host will show a somewhat obstreperous guest. For some time I felt that I had acted like a bad boy at a party. But after the geisha had filled our cups with saké more than once, I got what I was looking for--an argument. It was a polite argument, but we had become friendly enough to speak frankly. _In saké veritas._ This was a case of just enough saké, but so far as I was able to observe, even too much saké produces no very objectionable results. I shall never forget the young man, brightly illuminated with this beverage, who came up to me one evening on the street, in a small town. He was full of a desire to practise English on me and to help me. He didn't care what he helped me to do. He would help me to buy whatever I wanted to buy, go wherever I wanted to go, or stay wherever I wanted to stay. I explained to him that I was only strolling about while waiting for a train and that it was now time for me to return to the station. "Wait!" he cried. "I like you. I am drawn to you. I have been in America. I can talk to you. We are friends. Wait!" He looked about him hurriedly, then darted into a near-by shop. In a moment he emerged and came running toward me bearing in his extended hand a curious-looking object, resembling, as nearly as I could see in the dim light, a somewhat soiled popcorn ball. This he pressed into my hand with a generous eagerness which could not fail to convey to me the fact his heart went with the gift. "It is a present. It is for you. You will remember me. Another kind might be better, but you are in a hurry." My fingers grasped something heavy but yielding and glutinous. As I thanked my new-found friend I examined it. It was a ball of rice somewhat larger than a baseball. Scattered through it were brown objects the precise nature of which I was unable to determine. I might very accurately have told the donor that I was "stuck on" his present, since the mass in my hand was held in form not merely by the cohesiveness of the rice, but also by some substance of the nature of molasses. We parted. I moved toward the railroad station where my family and friends were waiting with Yuki, our invaluable maid. As I walked along I studied the object. Obviously it was intended to be eaten. Yet there were other purposes to which it might be put. It was a thing that a Sinn Feiner would like to have in his hand as the British Premier passed by in a silk hat. Charley Chaplin would have known what to do with it. It was heavier than a custard pie and fully as dramatic. My first impulse was to drop it as soon as I could do so unobserved; but the thought occurred to me that it was probably a Japanese delicacy, and that Yuki might like it; wherefor I carried it to the station. When I offered it to Yuki she looked surprised. Her refusal was courteous but determined. "Where Mr. Street get that?" she demanded. "A man gave it to me. Here, you take it." Yuki giggled and stepped back. "But what the man give it to Mr. Street for?" "A present. What's the matter with it? Isn't it good to eat?" "Yes--good to eat." "Why don't you take it, then?" Giggling, she shook her head. "But Yuki--I don't understand. What's the joke?" Shaking with merriment she whispered to my wife. It developed that the saké-inspired Japanese had presented me with a tidbit specially prepared for prospective mothers. All things considered it seemed advisable to get rid of it at once. I threw it on the railroad track. CHAPTER XI _A Japanese Meal--Other Meals--Smoking and the Duty on Cigars--Japanese Music--Geisha Dancing--What Is a Geisha?--Their Refinement--Autumn Leaves--Filial Piety and Certain Horrors Thereof_ As the luncheon at the Maple Club was my first meal in the Japanese style I had not realized the volume of such a repast. I ate too much of the first few courses, and as a result found myself unable to partake of the last two thirds of the feast. The amount of food was simply stupendous. I might have realized this in advance, and governed myself accordingly, had I looked at the menu. But I failed to do so until driven to it by my surprise as course after course was served. This was the bill of fare: FIRST TABLE _Hors d'oeuvres--Vegetables_ _Soup--terrapin with quail eggs and onions_ _Baked fish with sea-hedgehog paste_ _Raw fish with horseradish and eutrema root_ _Fried prawns and deep-sea eels_ _Duck, fish-cake and vegetables in egg soup, steamed_ _Roast duck with relishes_ When this much had been served the nesans took up the little tables from in front of us and went trooping out of the room. As I had already eaten what amounted to about three normal dinners, I concluded that the meal was over, but not so. In they came again bearing other little lacquered tables of the same pattern as the first, but slightly smaller; whereupon, as it seemed to me, an entire second luncheon was served. The menu was as follows: SECOND TABLE _Hors d'oeuvres--Vegetables_ _Fish consommé_ _Grilled eels_ _Rice_ _Pickled vegetables_ _Fruits_ I am told that indigestion is a prevalent ailment of the Japanese, and as regards prosperous persons who do no hard physical work I can readily believe it. The toiling coolie is the only man in Japan who might reasonably be expected to digest an elaborate Japanese meal, and he, of course, never gets one, but subsists almost entirely upon a diet of rice and fish. Though some Japanese dishes are found palatable by Americans there are many things we miss in the Japanese cuisine. It lacks variety. Breakfast, luncheon, and dinner are composed of about the same dishes. The divers well-cooked vegetables which form such an important part of our diet are entirely absent from theirs, nor do they have stewed fruits, salads, sweets, or the numerous meats to which we are accustomed. Of their best-known table delicacies it may be said that grilled eels with rice are very good; that the pink fish, the flesh of which is eaten raw, is pleasing to the eye and by no means unpalatable when dipped in the accompanying _shoyu_, a brown sauce not unlike Worcestershire, made from soy beans; that though they have no cream soups, some of their soups are pleasant to the taste, albeit they have the peculiarity of being either thin and watery on the one hand, or of the consistency of custard on the other; that bamboo shoots are rather tough, lily roots sweet and succulent, and quail eggs delicious. The Japanese, by the way, domesticate the quail for its eggs, regard the cow not as a milch animal but as a beast of burden, and cultivate the cherry tree not for its fruit but for its flower. The diet of ancient Japan was even less varied than that of to-day, for more than a thousand years ago the Japanese became vegetarians, and for some centuries thereafter adhered scrupulously to the Buddhistic injunction against killing living creatures. For several hundred years they even abjured fish, but by degrees they have fallen away from the strict observance of the vegetarian doctrine, until to-day a Japanese who is at all sophisticated will thoroughly enjoy a dinner in the European style, beef and all. Indeed many of those who have travelled abroad and acquired a taste for foreign cookery make it a point to have at least one of their daily meals prepared in the foreign fashion. Government officials or wealthy cosmopolitans who entertain on a large scale usually do so in the European manner. A banquet at the Imperial Hotel in Tokyo is much like a banquet in New York, and one at the Bankers' Club is even more so, except that the meal itself is likely to be better than at our banquets. To dine with a large gathering at the Peers' Club is like dining at some great club or official residence in Paris; while as for the cocktail hour at the Tokyo Club, I cannot imagine anything in the world more completely and delightfully international. An important part of the equipment for a meal in the pure Japanese style is a smoker's outfit, consisting of a tray on which stands a small urn of live charcoal, and a bamboo vase with a little water in it--the former for lighting the tobacco, the latter a receptacle for ashes. The native smoke is a tiny pipe, called a two-and-a-half-puff pipe, with a bowl as small as a child's thimble. Finely shredded Japanese tobacco is smoked in this pipe, which is used by men and women alike, and the constant refilling and relighting of it seem to figure as a part of the pleasure of smoking. The Japanese smoke cigarettes also, and cigars, but the tobacco industry of Japan, like that of France, is a government monopoly, with the result that, as in France, good cigarettes and cigars are difficult to obtain. A visit to a government tobacco factory left me with the impression that, from the point of view of management, mechanical equipment, and perhaps also labour conditions, the plant would compare not unfavourably with some large tobacco manufactories in our own Southern States; but as to the product of this factory, the best of which I sampled, I can pretend to no enthusiasm. Japanese tobacco goes well enough in the little native pipes, but it does not make good cigarettes or cigars, and even the cigarettes made of blended tobaccos, or from pure Virginia or Egyptian leaves, would hardly satisfy a critical taste. Cigars made in Japan are uniformly poor, like the government-made cigars of France, but whereas in France it is possible to buy a good imported Havana, I found none for sale in Japan. One reason for this is that the duty on cigars is 355 per cent., so that only a millionaire can afford good Havanas. * * * * * Whether because the enormous luncheon at the Maple Club left me in a stupor, or because my mind could not adjust itself quickly to appreciation of an unfamiliar and extremely curious art, I did not find myself enchanted by the shrill falsetto singing of the geisha musicians, or the strange sounds they evoked from the samisen, fife and drums, as they accompanied the dancers. The native Japanese music, with its crude five-tone scale, is demonstrably inferior to that of Western peoples. To the foreign ear it is unmelodious, even barbarous, and yet I must say for it that the more I heard it the more I felt in it a kind of weird appeal--an appeal not to the ear but to the imagination. Even now, when I am far away from Japan, a note or two struck on a guitar, a mandolin, or a ukulele, in imitation of the samisen, conjures up vivid pictures in my mind. I see a narrow geisha street, with a musician seated in an upper window, or I get a vision of a geisha dancer arrayed in brilliant silks, posturing, fan in hand, against a background of gold screens, in the exquisitely chaste simplicity of a Japanese teahouse room. The sound that evokes the picture is not harmonious, but the picture itself is harmonious beyond expression. One thing that sometimes makes the stranger in Japan slow to appreciate the dancing of geisha, is the very fact that it is called dancing; for the term suggests to us a picture of Pavlowa poised like a swiftly flying bird, or Genée looking like a bisque doll and spinning on one toe. Dancing, to us, means, first of all, rhythm. We look for rhythm in a geisha dance, and failing to find it--at least in the sense in which we understand the meaning of the word--we are baffled. It is only one more case of preconception as a barrier to just appreciation. Many travellers, and at least one author who has written a book on Japan, have made the mistake of confusing geisha with prostitutes. This is a gigantic error. The error is kept alive by ricksha coolies who, understanding that it is a common mistake of foreigners, often use the term "geisha house" as meaning an establishment of altogether different character. A geisha house is in fact simply a house in which geisha live under the charge of the master or mistress to whom they are bound by contract or indenture. Geisha are booked through exchanges and meet their patrons at restaurants or teahouses. When not on duty they are private citizens, and it would be considered the height of vulgarity for a man to call upon a geisha at the geisha house, however innocent the purpose of his call. A further reason for the erroneous idea of what a geisha is, lies in the fact that Western civilization has no equivalent class. Geisha correspond more nearly to cabaret entertainers than to any other class we have, yet even here there is no real parallel. It is not customary in Japan--except in foreign-style hotels--to dine in public. If a man be alone in a hotel he dines by himself in his room, save that the little nesans who serve him will try to make themselves agreeable and that the proprietor may do the same. Or if a man gives a luncheon or a dinner party at a restaurant he will have a private room. Therefore, under the Japanese system, there is never a general assemblage of persons, strangers to one another, who may be entertained as a body while they are dining. Thus the geisha is a private entertainer, and in order that the most desirable geisha may be secured it is customary to make arrangements for a luncheon or dinner several days in advance. This is usually done through the proprietor of the restaurant, who is told the names of the geisha the host desires to summon, and who notifies them through the local geisha exchange. Men who frequently lunch and dine out naturally become acquainted with many geisha, and have their preferences; and if a host knows that one of his guests particularly likes a certain geisha he will generally try to arrange to have her at his party. There are three classes of geisha. Those of the best class frequently have good incomes. They are often given large presents by their wealthy patrons, and many of them are the mistresses of men of means, who sometimes take them off on week-end outings and spend a great deal of money on them. However this may be, a geisha of the first class is a creature of exquisite refinement of manner, and there is about her not the faintest suggestion of coarseness. She will be friendly, even pleasantly familiar, but never, in public, is she guilty of the slightest impropriety. I have been to many gay parties in Japan, but I have never seen a geisha or her patron behave in a way that would shock the most fastidious American lady. Naturally the situation is somewhat different among low-class Japanese and the geisha they patronize. There are vulgar geisha to entertain vulgar men. But even a low-class geisha, if sent for in an emergency to entertain a man of taste, will often be sufficiently clever to adjust herself to the situation. During the meal the geisha will sit before or beside the gentleman she is designated to entertain, chatting with him, amusing him and serving him with saké. Afterward she will join the other geisha in giving an entertainment, the part she takes in this depending upon her special talent, which may be for singing, playing, or dancing. Pretty young geisha are most often dancers, while those who are older are generally musicians. Also there are some geisha who are merely bright and pleasing and who succeed without other accomplishments. The host, making up a party, selects his geisha with these various requirements in mind, so that his whole company of geisha will be well balanced. Foreigners are generally most taken with the little dancing girls, or maiko, who are mere children, and who with their sweet, bright, happy little faces, and their bewitchingly brilliant flowered-silk costumes, are altogether fascinating. Once at a party in a great house in Tokyo I saw a score of these little creatures scampering down a broad flight of stairs, making a picture that was like nothing so much as a mass of autumn leaves blown by a high wind. These children are in effect apprentices who are being schooled in the geisha's arts. Often they are in this occupation because their parents have sold them into it as a means of raising money. With the older geisha it is frequently the same. The Japanese teaching of filial piety makes it incumbent upon a daughter to become a geisha, or even a prostitute, to relieve the financial distress of her parents. In either case she goes under contract for a term of years--usually three. A girl who is refined, pretty, and talented can raise a sum in the neighbourhood of a thousand dollars by becoming a geisha, but if she is not sufficiently talented or attractive to be a geisha, her next resource is the "nightless city." The opening to women of professional and commercial opportunities should tend to improve this situation. I am told that geisha and the little dancing girls are generally kindly treated by the geisha-masters, and the gaiety they exhibit leads me to conclude that this is true. The little dancers, in particular, want but slight encouragement to become as playful as kittens. CHAPTER XII _I Entertain at a Teahouse--Folk Dances--The Sense of Form--The Organization of Society--Jitsuko Helps me Give a Party--Pretty Kokinoyou--Geisha Games--Rivalries of Geisha--The Cherry Dance at Kyoto--Theatre Settings--Unmercenary Geisha--Teahouse Romances--Restaurants, Cheap and Costly--Reflections on Reform_ "'Tis pleasing to be schooled in a strange tongue By foreign lips and eyes...." --Byron The way to see geisha and maiko to the best advantage is at small parties where the guests are well acquainted and formality can be to some extent cast off. I was much pleased when I learned enough of the ways of teahouses and geisha to be able to give such a party. My first essay as host at a Japanese dinner was not, however, entirely independent, since I had the help of a Japanese friend. It occurred at the charming Maruya teahouse, in the ancient town of Nara. [Illustration: The theatre street in Kyoto is one of the most interesting highways in the world] It was at the Maruya that I first began to feel some real understanding and appreciation of geisha dancing, and I think the thing that assisted me most was the fact that the little maiko executed several Japanese folk dances, the action of which, unlike that of most geisha dances, was to a large extent self-explanatory. One of these dances represented clam-digging. In it the dancers held small trays which in pantomime they used as shovels, going through the motion of digging the clams out of the sand and throwing them into a basket. The dance was accompanied by a song, as was also another folk dance in which two of the maiko enacted the rôles of lovers who were obliged to part because the mother of the girl was forcing her to marry a rich man. I was interested to notice in this dance that the gesture to indicate weeping--the holding of one hand in front of the eyes at a distance of two or three inches from them--is not taken from life, but is copied from the gesture of dolls in the marionette theatre. That is the gesture for a man. When a woman weeps she holds her sleeve-tab before her eyes, for it is a tradition that women dry their tears with their sleeves. When in Japanese poetry moist sleeves are spoken of, the figure of speech signifies that a woman has been weeping. [Illustration: Digging clams at low-tide in Tokyo Bay] The girls who executed the last-mentioned folk dance were respectively thirteen and fifteen years old, and they were evidently much amused by the passionate utterances they were obliged to deliver. The one who played the part of the youth--a fetching little creature with a roguish face--was unable at times to restrain her mirth as she recited the tragic and romantic lines, and her rendition of them was punctuated by little explosions of giggling, which though they cannot be said to have heightened the dramatic effect of the sad story, her audience found most contagious. Then with a great effort she would pull herself together and try to live down the mirthful outburst, lowering her voice, to imitate that of a man, and assuming a tragic demeanor which, in a creature so sweet and childish, habited in silken robes that made her like a butterfly, was even more amusing. People who follow the arts, or have a feeling for them, seldom fail to appreciate geisha dancing after they have seen enough of it to get an understanding of what it is. This, I think, is because they generally have a sense of form, and as geisha dancing is a sort of animated _tableau vivant_, a sense of form is the one thing most essential to an appreciation of it. Indeed I will go further and proclaim my belief that, to a visitor who would really understand Japan, a sense of form is a vital necessity. Japan is all form. In Japanese art even colour takes second place. Nor does the Japanese feeling for form by any means stop where art ends. It permeates the entire fabric of Japanese life. The formal courtesy of old French society was as nothing to the formal courtesy of the Japanese. The whole life of the average Japanese is so regulated by form that his existence seems to progress according to a sort of geometrical pattern. The very nation itself is organized in such a way as to suggest a compact artistic composition. Not only every class, but every family and individual has an exact place in the structure. A friend of mine who knows Japan as but few foreigners do, goes so far as to say that the shades of difference between individuals are so finely drawn that no two persons in Japan are of exactly the same social rank, and that the precise position of every man in the country can be established according to the codes of Japanese formalism. Though this may be an exaggeration it expresses what I believe to be essentially a truth. I visualize the social and political structure of Japan as a great pyramid in which the blocks are families. At the bottom are the submerged classes--among them, down in the mud of the foundation, the _eta_ or pariah class. Then come layers of families representing the voteless masses, among which the merchant class was in feudal times considered the lowest. Next come the little taxpayers who vote, and these pile up and up to the place where the more exalted classes are superimposed upon them--for in Japan it may be said that there is practically no middle class. I am told that there are now about a million families who are descended from samurai. This is where the aristocracy begins. So the pyramid ascends. Layers of lower officials; layers of higher officials, layers of ex-officials, high and low; layers of those having decorations from the Government; layers of army and navy families, and so on to where, very near the summit, are placed the _Genro_, or elder statesmen. Above them is a massive block representing the Imperial Family, and at the very peak, is the Emperor, Head of all Heads of Families. My party in Nara having given me confidence, I gave a luncheon at the delightful Kanetanaka teahouse which overlooks a canal in the Kyobashi district of Tokyo. I cannot claim much credit for the fact that this party was a success, since Jitsuko, the English speaking geisha I met at my first Japanese luncheon, was there to help me. Jitsuko's English, I must own, was not perfect. Nor would I have had it so, for I enjoyed teaching her, and learning from her. "Naughty boy!" was one expression that I taught her, and I showed her how to accompany the phrase with an admonitory shake of the finger, with results which altogether charmed the American gentlemen at my luncheon. One of these gentlemen, a new arrival in Japan and consequently entirely unfamiliar with Japanese fare, asked Jitsuko about a certain dish that was set before him. "What is this?" he demanded, looking at it doubtfully. "That fried ears," said Jitsuko. "Fried ears!" he cried. "Not really?" "Yes." But it was not fried ears. Jitsuko had the usual trouble with her _l_'s and _r_'s. She had meant to say "fried eels." Besides Jitsuko I had at my luncheon six of the lovely little maiko. One of them, an intelligent child called Shinobu--"tiptoes"--was picking up a little English. She sent for ink and a brush and wrote out for me the names of her companions. Later I had the names translated, getting the meaning of them in English--for geisha generally take fanciful names. They were: Kokinoyou--"little alligator"[1]; Akika--"scent of autumn"; Komon--"little gate"; Shintama--"new ball"; and Kimi-chiyo, whose name was not translated for me, but who was the prettiest little dancing girl I saw in all Japan. [1] "What a queer name!" a Japanese friend writes me. And he adds: "Your translation cannot be right. A little alligator might be taken for a mascot in America, but it could never be the name of a dainty little geisha." Though the Japanese idea of female loveliness does not generally accord with ours, I think Kimi-chiyo was an exception and was as lovely in native eyes as in those of an American, for she seemed very popular, and was at almost every Japanese-style party I attended in Tokyo. Moreover, though she could not have been older than sixteen, she carried herself with the placid confidence of an established belle. I have met many a lady twice or three times her age who had not her aplomb. [Illustration: The little dancing girl at the right, Kimi-chiyo, was at almost every Japanese-style party I attended in Tokyo. She carried herself with the placid confidence of an established belle] After luncheon the maiko danced for us while Jitsuko and another geisha played. Then, as my guest of honour had not yet acquired a taste for geisha dancing, the programme was changed and Jitsuko set the little maiko to playing games. First they showed us how to play their great game of _ken_, but though we learned it we could not compete with them in playing it. They were too quick for us. We pitched quoits with them--and were beaten. We played bottle-and-cup--and were beaten. And finally they introduced us to a Japanese version of "Going to Jerusalem," which they play with cushions instead of chairs, with the samisen for music. Of course they beat us at that. Who can sink down upon a cushion with the agility of a little Japanese girl? All in all, the Americans were beaten at every point--and thoroughly enjoyed the beating. I could tell a story about the president of one of the greatest corporations in America. He was at my luncheon. He is a very dignified and formidable man, and is considered able. But he can't play ken worth a cent. Kimi-chiyo herself said so. She told Jitsuko and Jitsuko told me. "In America he is a great man," I said. "He is very slow at ken," Kimi-chiyo insisted, unimpressed. "In business he is not slow," I told her. "Perhaps. But any one who is really clever will be quick at ken." I decided to avoid the game of ken in future. It shows one up. * * * * * Between the geisha of the various great cities there exists a gentle rivalry. Kyoto, for example, concedes a certain vivacity to the geisha of the five or six leading districts of Tokyo, but it insists that the Kyoto geisha have unrivalled complexions, and that the famous Gion geisha of Kyoto are more perfect in their grace and charm than any others in Japan. This they account for by the fact that the Gion geisha have a long and distinguished history, and that there is a geisha school in Kyoto, whereas the Tokyo geisha have no school but are trained by older geisha under the supervision of the master of the individual geisha-house to which they are attached. Similarly the Tokyo geisha consider those of Kyoto rather "slow," and regard the Yokohama geisha as distinctly inferior. Once I asked a Tokyo geisha to give a dance of which I had heard, but she replied with something like a shrug that the dance in question was given by the Yokohama geisha, wherefore, she and her associates did not perform it. So far as I know there is not to be seen in Tokyo or Yokohama any large geisha show, resembling a theatrical entertainment, such as one may see in Kyoto in cherry-blossom season, or at the Embujo Theatre in Osaka every May. These exhibitions are delightful things to see, the Cherry Dance of Kyoto, in particular, being famous throughout Japan. The buildings in which they are held are impressive. The one in Kyoto was built especially for the Cherry Dance, and the interior of it, while in a general way like a large theatre, is modelled after the style of an old Japanese palace. The geisha dancers and musicians are splendidly trained and the costumes are magnificent. Rapid changes of scene are made in these theatres by means unfamiliar to American theatre-goers. As in our playhouses, flies and drops are sometimes hoisted upward when a scene is being changed, but quite as frequently they sink down through slots in the stage floor. Also, in the dimness of a "dark change" one sees whole settings going through extraordinary contortions, folding up in ways unknown in our theatres, or turning inside-out, or upside-down. One feels that their stage is generally equipped with less perfect mechanical and lighting devices than ours, but that a great deal of ingenuity is shown in the actual building of scenery. One of the most astonishing things I ever saw in any theatre was the sudden disappearance of a back-drop at the Embujo in Osaka. The bottom of this drop began all at once to contract; then the whole funnel-shaped mass shot down through a small aperture in the floor, like a silk handkerchief passing swiftly through a ring. The most perfect illusion of depth and distance I ever saw on a stage was in one scene of the Kyoto Cherry Dance. From the front of the house the scene appeared to go back and back incredibly. Nor could I make out where the back-drop met the stage, so skilfully was the painted picture blended with the built-up scenery. When the performance was over I inspected this setting and found that the scenic artist had achieved his result by a most elaborately complete contraction of the lines of perspective, not only in the painted scenery but in objects on the stage. A row of tables running from the footlights to the rear of the stage had been built in diminishing scale, and rows of Japanese lanterns, apparently exactly alike, became in reality smaller and smaller as they reached back from the proscenium, so that the whole perspective was exaggerated. The stage of this theatre was not in fact so deep as that of the New York Hippodrome or the Century Theatre. At the geisha dance in Osaka I asked what pay the hundred or more geisha musicians and dancers received, and was told that they are not paid at all. There are two reasons for this. First, it is regarded as the duty of all geisha to celebrate the spring with music and dancing; and second, they consider it an honour to be selected for these festivals, since only the most skilful members of their sisterhood are chosen. Geisha, you see, are not entirely mercenary. When two or three of them go off for a little outing together, or when they shop, they spend money freely; and there are stories of geisha who pay their own fees in order to meet their impecunious lovers at teahouses. In Japanese romances the geisha is a favourite figure. A popular theme for stories concerning her is that of her love affair with a student whose family disown him because of his infatuation. The geisha sweetheart then supports him while he completes his education. He graduates brilliantly, securing an important appointment under the government, and rewards the girl's devotion by making her his bride. Or if the story be tragic--and the Japanese have a strong taste for tragedy--the student's family is endeavouring to force him into a brilliant match, wherefore the self-sacrificing geisha, whom he really loves, takes her own life, so that she may not stand in the way of his success. There was a time a generation or two ago when Japanese aristocrats occasionally took geisha for their wives, much as young English noblemen used to marry chorus girls. But those things have changed in Japan and it is a long time since a man of position has made such a match. The plain truth is that, however justly or unjustly, the geisha class is not respected. They are victims of the curious law which operates the world over to make us always a little bit contemptuous of those whose occupation it is to amuse us. Moreover, geisha are not as a rule highly educated, and it is said that this fact makes it difficult for them to adjust themselves to an elevated place in the social scale. Thus it comes about that, when geisha marry, their husbands are as a rule business men or merchants on a modest scale. Yuki our treasured maid, had a friend who became a geisha, but who retired from the profession through the matrimonial portal. "She smart girl," said Yuki. "She too head to be geisha." "Why did she become one, then?" I asked. "Her family have great trouble. Her father need fifteen hundred yen right off. Must have. So she be geisha. But after while she meet rich man in teahouse, and he pay for her, so she don't have to be geisha any more, and they get married." Some excellent people I met in Japan--Americans imbued with the spirit of reform--objected strongly to the geisha system, contending that it is a barrier to happy domesticity. They felt that so long as there are geisha in Japan the average Japanese husband will have them at his parties, and will continue his present practice of leaving his wife at home when he goes out for a good time. I suppose this is true. Undoubtedly, to the Japanese wife, the geisha is the "other woman." And as is so often the case with the "other woman," in whatever land you find her, the geisha has certain strategic advantages over the wife. Like good wives everywhere, the Japanese wife is concerned with humdrum things--the children, housekeeping, the family finances--the things which often irritate and bore a husband if harped upon. But the circumstances in which a husband meets a geisha are genial and gay. Her business is to make him forget his cares and enjoy himself. The expense of the geisha system is also urged against it. To dine at a first-class teahouse, with geisha, costs as much as, or more than, to dine elaborately at the most expensive New York hotels. It is well for strangers in Japan to understand this, since they often jump to the conclusion that the Japanese teahouse, which looks so simple--so delightfully simple!--by comparison with the gold and marble grandeur of a great American hotel dining room, must necessarily be cheaper. I remember a case in which some Americans, newly arrived in Tokyo, were entertained in the native manner by a Japanese gentleman, and felt that they were returning the courtesy in royal style when they invited him to dine with them at their hotel. Yet in point of fact their hotel dinner-party cost less than half as much per plate as his Japanese dinner had cost. While one does not value courtesy by what it costs, it is important not to undervalue it on any basis whatsoever. There is, of course, a great variation in the cost of meals in teahouses and restaurants, and the fact that those which are inexpensive look exactly like those which are expensive helps to confuse the stranger. A great deal may be saved if one does without geisha. Also there are very agreeable restaurants in which the guest may cook his own food in a pan over a brazier which is brought into the dining room. This chafing-dish style of cooking is said to have been introduced by a missionary who became tired of Japanese food and formed the habit of preparing his own meals as he travelled about. Now, however, it has come to be considered typically Japanese. There are two names for cooking in this simple fashion. The word _torinabe_ is derived from _tori_, a bird, and _nabe_, a pot or kettle; and _gyunabe_ from a combination of the word for a pot with _gyu_, which means a cow, or beef. The Suyehiro restaurants, having three branches in Tokyo, are famous for _torinabe_, as well as for an affectation of elegant simplicity and crudity in chinaware. A good place for the _gyunabe_ is the Mikawaya restaurant in the Yotsuya section, not far from the palace of the Crown Prince. [Illustration: A bill from the Kanetanaka teahouse, with items of ¥ 26.30 for food, saké, etc., and ¥ 27.80 for "six saké-servers (geisha) tips to geisha and their attendants."] To be more specific about prices, I gave an excellent luncheon of this kind for four, at one of the Suyehiro restaurants, at a cost of about four dollars and a half, whereas a luncheon for the same number of persons, with geisha, at a fashionable teahouse, which looked just about like the other restaurant, cost thirty dollars, and a dinner for eight with geisha, came to fifty-three. All tips are however included on the teahouse bill. One does not pay at the time, but receives the bill later, regular patrons of a teahouse usually settling their accounts quarterly. Adversaries of the geisha system informed me with the air of imparting scandal, that one sixth of all the money spent in Japan goes to geisha and things connected with geisha, presumably meaning restaurants, teahouses, saké and the like. "A reformer," says Don Marquis, the Sage of Nassau Street, "is a dog in the manger who won't sin himself and won't let any one else sin comfortably." That is a terrible thing to say. I wouldn't say such a thing. It is always better in such cases to quote some one else. But I will say this much: If I were a reformer I should begin work at home--not in Japan. I should join the great movement, already so well started, for making the United States the purest and dullest country in the world. I should work with those who are attempting to accomplish this result entirely by legislation. But instead of trying, as they are now trying, to bring about the desired end by means of quantities of little pious laws covering quantities of little impious subjects, I should work for a blanket law covering everything--one great, sweeping law requiring all American citizens to be absolutely pure and good, not only in action but in thought. I assume that, if such a law were passed, everybody would abide by it, but in order to make it easier for them to do so I should abolish restaurants, theatres, motion pictures, dancing, baseball, talking-machines, art, literature, tobacco, candy, and soda-water. I should put dictographs in every home and have the police listen in on all conversations. Light-heartedness I should make a misdemeanor, and frivolity a crime. Then, when our whole country had reached a state of perfection that was absolutely morbid, I should consider my work here done, and should move to Japan. But I should not stop being a reformer. Assuredly no! I should start at once to improve things over there. Take for instance this report that one sixth of all the money spent goes to geisha and such things. I should try first of all to remedy that situation. One sixth of the national expenditure represents a vast amount of money. Think of its being spent on good times! Such a lot of money! Still it isn't quite enough. A quarter or a third would be better than a sixth. It would make things perfect. Not being a Japanese wife, I should advocate that. I see but one serious objection to this plan. Should Japan become any more attractive than it now is, the Japanese might feel forced to pass exclusion laws. If they were to do so I hope they would not discriminate against people of any one race. I hope they would bar out everybody--not Americans alone. Because if they were to bar us out and at the same time allow the riffraff of Europe to come in, that might hurt our feelings. It isn't so hard to hurt our feelings, either. We are a proud and sensitive race, you know. Yes, indeed! It is largely because we are so proud and sensitive that we treat the Japanese with such scant courtesy. That's the way pride and sensitiveness sometimes work. Of course the Japanese are proud and sensitive, too. But we can't be bothered about that. We haven't the time. We are too busy being proud and sensitive ourselves. CHAPTER XIII _Commercialized Vice--The Yoshiwara--An Establishment Therein--Famous Old Geisha--A "Male Geisha"--The Stately Shogi--They Show Us Courtesy--The Merits of the Shogi--Kyoto's Shimabara--The Shogi in Romance--The Tale of the Fair Yoshino_ Some Americans are horrified because commercialized vice is officially recognized in Japan. The thought is unpleasant. But I am by no means sure that, since this form of vice does exist everywhere in the world, the policy of recognizing and regulating it is not the best policy. The Japanese work, apparently, upon the theory that, as this evil cannot be stamped out of existence, the next best thing is to stamp it as far as possible out of the public consciousness. This is done by segregating the women called _shogi_ in certain specified districts, and keeping them off the city streets. Whatever may be urged for or against this system it enables me to say of Japan what I am not able to say of my own country or any other country I have visited: namely, that in Japan I never saw a street-walker. The Tokyo district called the Yoshiwara is entered by a wide road spanned by an arch. Within, the streets look much like other Japanese streets, save that they are brightly lighted and that some of the buildings are large and rather ornate. First we went to a teahouse of the Yoshiwara, and I was readily able to perceive that the geisha in this teahouse were of a lower grade than those I had hitherto seen. Their faces were less intelligent, and they lacked the perfect grace and charm of their more successful sisters. From the sounds about us it was apparent that a Yoshiwara teahouse is a place for drinking and more or less wild merrymaking. Proceeding down the street from this teahouse we passed through orderly crowds and presently came to the district's most elaborate establishment. It was a large three-story building of white glazed brick, with an inner courtyard containing a pretty garden. To enter this place was like entering a very fine Japanese hotel. In the corridor hung a row of lacquered sticks each bearing a number in the Chinese character. There were, I think, about thirty of these sticks, and each represented a shogi. The number-one shogi was the most sought-after; number two ranked next, and so on. We were shown by the proprietress and some maids to a large matted room on the second floor, where saké, cakes and fruit were served to us. Then there appeared three geisha of a most unusual kind. They were women fifty-five or sixty years of age, rather large, with faces genial, amusing, and respectable. These I was told were geisha with a great local reputation for boisterous wit. My Japanese friends were thereafter kept in a continual state of mirth, and though I could not understand what the old geisha were saying, their droll manner was so infectious that I, too, was amused. Presently they were joined by a man with the face of a comedian. He was described to me as a "male geisha." That is, he was an entertainer. He sang, told comic stories and showed real ability as a mimic. This entertainment lasted for the better part of an hour. Then the mistress of the house came in with the air of one having something important to reveal. At a word from her the entertainers drew back and seated themselves on cushions at one side of the room. There was an impressive silence. Slowly, a sliding screen door of black lacquer and gold paper slipped back, moved by an unseen hand. We watched the open doorway. Presently appeared the figure of a woman. She did not look in our direction, but moved out into the room as if it had been a stage and she an actress. Her step was slow and stately, and she was arrayed in a brilliant robe of red satin, heavily quilted, and embroidered with large elaborate designs. This was the number-one shogi. Her costume and bearing were magnificent, but her face was expressionless and not at all beautiful. When she was well within the room the number-two shogi, dressed in the same style, moved in behind her, and followed with the same stately tread. In procession they walked across the room, turned slowly, trailed the hems of their wadded kimonos back across the matting, and made an exit by the door at which they had entered. Then the door slipped shut. The chatter began once more, but after a few minutes we were again silenced. For the second time the door opened and the two women appeared. They were now arrayed in purple kimonos, quilted and embroidered like the first. Again they made a dignified progress across the room and back; again they disappeared. That was the end of the inspection. By now we should, in theory, have been entranced with one or the other of the shogi we had seen. It was time to go. But as the Japanese gentleman whom I had asked to bring me to this place was a man of consequence, an especial courtesy was shown us ere we departed. In ordinary circumstances we should not have seen the two women again, but now they unbent so far as to come in and kneel upon the floor beside us--for we had checked our shoes at the entrance, and were seated Japanese-fashion upon silk cushions. My Japanese friends attempted to chat with the shogi, but evidently the latter did not shine in the arts of conversation. The talk was grave and unmistakably perfunctory, and after a little while the two arose, bowed profoundly, with a sort of grandeur, and trailed their wondrous robes out of the room. It was like seeing in the life a pair of courtesans from a colour-print by Utamaro. As they went I wondered whether, in the beginning, they had striven to be geisha instead of shogi, but had been forced to the Yoshiwara by reason of their lack of talent for music and conversation. Before we left I was shown some of the other rooms of this huge house, including those of several of the women. The woodwork was like light brown satin and the matting glistened almost as though it were lacquered. There were some kakemono and fine painted screens with old-gold backgrounds, and in the women's rooms were cabinets and dressing-stands lacquered red and gold. The dressing-stands were of a height to suit one squatting on the floor. It was as though the top section of one of our dressing tables were set upon the floor--a mirror with small drawers at either side. The mistress and her maids accompanied us to the street door when we departed. They made profound obeisances, and the mistress declared her appreciation of the great honour we had paid her by visiting her establishment. My Japanese friends replied in kind. The whole affair was conducted with a fine sense of ceremony. As for the three elderly geisha, they took another way of complimenting us. Instead of making ceremonious speeches they continued to be gay and amusing, but they did something which, when geisha do it, is considered a mark of high respect. They left the place with us, accompanying us as far as the gate of the Yoshiwara. One of them, a jolly old creature, with a fine, strong humorous face, linked arms with me as we walked along, and conversed with me in English. Perhaps the word "conversed" implies too much. Her entire English vocabulary consisted of the words: "All right," but she repeated the expression frequently and with changing intonations which gave a sort of variety. It was a strange evening, and the strangest part of it was the absence of vulgarity. I had seen nothing that the most fastidious woman could not have seen. As to what treatment is accorded the shogi themselves I cannot say. Certainly they did not have the air of being happy. Almost all of them are there because of poverty, and it is said that all live in the hope that some man will become fond of them and buy them out of the life of the _joroya_. This I believe occasionally happens. It should be added that, under the Japanese law, contracts by which women sell themselves, or are sold by others into this life, are not valid. It may further be added that all authorities on Japan seem to be in accord with Chamberlain who says that "the fallen women of Japan are, as a class, much less vicious than their representatives in Western lands, being neither drunken nor foul-mouthed." They also have a high reputation for honesty. The name Yoshiwara is not a generic term, though strangers sometimes use it as if it were, speaking of "a Yoshiwara." Similar districts in other cities are known by other names--as, for example, the historic Shimabara, in Kyoto, which dates back about four centuries. Like the Yoshiwara, the Shimabara has been moved from time to time, with a view to keeping it away from the heart of the city. History records that Hideyoshi caused the district to be uprooted and transplanted, and Ieyasu, the first Tokugawa shogun, did the same, on the ground that it was too near the palace and the business centre. I find some odd items in a book giving the history of the Shimabara. It is said that in the old days only ronin--samurai acknowledging no overlord--were given charters to operate resorts in the Shimabara, and that court gentlemen visiting this quarter were required to wear white garments. There is also the story of a city official who used to meet now and then upon the streets of Kyoto a beautiful woman riding in a palanquin. It was his custom to salute her respectfully, for he thought her a court lady. But one day, upon inquiry, he learned that she was a courtesan, whereupon he became indignant, and caused the Shimabara quarter to be again removed, placing it still farther away from the city's heart. There is some evidence that in feudal Japan the most admired courtesans were persons of more consequence than those of to-day. In olden times, for example, the Shimabara women were considered to rank above geisha, whereas now the situation is decidedly the reverse. The stories of certain famous women of the ancient Shimabara are still remembered, and are favourites with writers of romances. One quaint tale tells of a beautiful girl named Tokuko, the daughter of a ronin. When her father and her mother died, leaving her penniless, she went into the Shimabara. Here, because of her grace, she became known as _Uki-fune_ "floating ship." But she wrote a poem about the cherry blossoms at Mt. Yoshino, in Yamato Province, a place which for more than ten centuries has been noted for these blooms, and her poem was so much admired that she herself came to be called Yoshino. A rich man's son fell in love with this girl and married her, but when his father learned what had been her occupation he disowned the youth. The young couple were however courageous. In a tiny cottage they lived a happy and romantic life. One day it happened that the father, caught in a heavy rainstorm, asked shelter in a little house at the roadside. Here he found a beautiful young woman playing exquisitely upon the harp-like musical instrument called the _koto_. She welcomed him charmingly, made him comfortable, served him tea. When the storm had passed the old man thanked her for her hospitality and departed. But he had been so struck with her beauty and grace that he made inquiries about her. "Ah," exclaimed the one of whom he asked, "she is none other than Yoshino, wife of your disinherited son!" Upon hearing this the father relented. He sent for the young couple, took them to live in his own mansion, and directed the daughter-in-law to resume her original name, Tokuko--which means "virtue." However, I have noticed that in Japan and all other lands, romantic stories making heroines of courtesans have to be dated pretty far back. The living courtesan is but rarely regarded as a romantic figure. She is like a piece of common glass. But a piece of common glass, buried long enough in certain kinds of soil, acquires iridescence. This iridescence is not actually in the glass, but exists in a patine which gradually adheres to it. Under a little handling it will flake off. I suspect that it is much the same with famous courtesans the world over. When, after having been buried for a hundred years or so, they are, so to speak, dug up by novelists and playwrights, there adheres to them a beautiful iridescent patine. It is best, perhaps, to refrain from scratching the patine lest we find out what is really underneath. [Illustration: It takes two hours to do a geisha's hair, but the coiffure, once accomplished, lasts several days] CHAPTER XIV _Japan and Italy--The Sense of Beauty--Poetry--Japanese Poems by an American Woman--A Poem on a Kimono--Garden Ornaments--Garden Parties and Gifts--The Four Periods of Landscape Gardening--The Volcanic Principle in Gardens_ It is interesting to observe that the two races in which highly specialized artistic feeling is almost universal have, despite their antipodal positions on the globe, many common problems and one common blessing. Both Japan and Italy are poor and overpopulated, both are handicapped by a shortage of arable land and natural resources, both lack an adequate supply of food and raw materials for manufacturing, both are mountainous, both are afflicted by earthquakes; but both are endowed with the peculiar, passionate beauty of landscape which is nature's compensation to volcanic countries--a beauty suggesting that of some vivid and ungoverned woman, brilliant, erratic, fascinating, dangerous. Where Nature shows herself a great temperamental artist, her children are likely to be artists, too. As almost all Italians have a highly developed sense of melody, so almost all Japanese possess in a remarkable degree the artist's sense of form. One day in Tokio I fell to discussing these matters with a venerable art collector, wearing silks and sandals. "What," he asked me, "are the most striking examples of artistic feeling that you have noticed in Japan?" I told him of two things that I had seen, each in itself unimportant. One was a well-wheel. The well was in a yard beside a lovely little farmhouse, one story high, with walls of clay and timber, and with a thick thatched roof, upon the ridge of which a row of purple iris grew. There was a dainty bamboo fence around the farmyard, with flowering shrubs behind it, and a cherry tree in blossom. The well-house was thatched, and the pulley-wheel beneath the thatch seemed to focus the entire composition. With us such a wheel would have been a thing of rough cast-iron, merely something for a rope to run over; but this wheel had been fondly imagined before it was created. Its spokes were not straight and ugly, but branched near the rim, curving gracefully into it in such a way as to form the outlines of a cherry-blossom. It was a work of art. My other item was a little copper kettle. I saw it in a penitentiary. It belonged to a prisoner, and every prisoner in that portion of the institution had one like it. The striking thing about it was that it was an extremely graceful little kettle, embellished in relief with a beautiful design. It, too, was a work of art, and there was to me something pathetic in the evidence it gave that even in this grim place the claims of beauty were not entirely ignored. These trifling observations seemed to please my friend, the art collector. "But," said he, "I think our national love of the beautiful is perhaps most strongly exhibited in our feeling for outdoor beauty--our pilgrimages to spots famous for their scenery, our delight in the cherry-blossom season, the wistaria season, the chrysanthemum season, and by no means least in our gardens." Undoubtedly he was right. The feeling for nature among his countrymen is general, mystical, poetic. Almost all Japanese write poetry. The poems of many emperors, empresses, and statesmen are widely known; and among the most celebrated Japanese poems those to Nature in her various aspects are by far the most numerous. * * * * * Let me here digress briefly to mention the interesting custom of _O Uta Hajime_, or Opening of Imperial Poems, a court function dating from the ninth century. Each December the Imperial Household announces subjects for poems which may be submitted anonymously to the Imperial Bureau of Poems, in connection with the celebration of the New Year. The poems are examined by the bureau's experts, who select the best, to be read to the Imperial Family. The choice for the year 1921 was made from seventeen thousand poems sent from all parts of the Empire, and when announcement was made of the names of those whose poems were read at the Court, it was discovered that, among them was an American lady, Frances Hawkes Burnett, wife of Col. Charles Burnett, military attaché of the American Embassy at Tokyo. Mrs. Burnett thus attains the unique distinction of being the only foreign woman ever to have won Imperial approval with a poem in the Japanese language. [Illustration: Mrs. Charles Burnett in a 15th-Century Japanese Court costume. Mrs. Burnett's poems written in Japanese have received Imperial recognition] It is interesting, in this connection, to remark that the lady is a grand-niece of the late Dr. Francis Lister Hawkes, of New York, who accompanied Commodore Perry to Japan, and was Perry's collaborator in the writing of the official record of the voyage, published under the title, "The Narrative of the Expedition of an American Squadron." * * * * * But to return to my friend the art collector. "Speaking of poetry and the love of Nature," said he, "have you noticed the kimono of our host's daughter?" (We were strolling in a lovely private garden as we talked.) I had noticed it. It was a beautiful costume of soft black silk, the hem, in front, adorned with a design of cherry-blossoms and an inscription in the always decorative Chinese character. "Do you know what the inscription is?" he asked. I did not. "It is a poem of her own," he explained; and presently, when in our stroll we caught up with the young lady, he made me a literal translation, which might be done over into English verse as follows: Farewell, O Capital! I grieve Thy lovely cherry-blooms to leave. But now to Kioto must I fare To view the cherry-blossoms there. We fell to talking of Japanese gardens. "You must see some of our fine gardens," he said, "before you leave Japan." I mentioned some I had already seen--the gardens of the Crown Prince, the Prime Minister, Marquis Okuma, Viscount Shibusawa, Baron Furukawa, and others. "But do you understand our theory of the garden?" I told him what little I then knew: that flowers are not essential to a garden in Japan; that, where used, they are generally set apart in beds, and removed when they have ceased to bloom; that because of the skill of the Japanese in transplanting large trees a garden of ancient appearance may be made in few years; that boundaries are artfully planted out, so that some houses, standing on a few acres of ground in great cities, appear to be surrounded by forests; that small garden lakes are sometimes so arranged as to suggest that they are only arms of large bodies of water concealed from view by wooded headlands; and that optical illusions are often employed to make gardens seem much larger than they are, this being accomplished by a cunning scaling down in the size of the more remote hillocks, trees, and shrubs, increasing the perspective. Also, I had seen examples of the _kare sensui_ school of landscape gardening--waterless lakes and streams, their beds delineated in sand, gravel, and selected pebbles, and their banks set off by great water-worn stones brought from elsewhere, and by trees and shrubs carefully trained to droop toward the imaginary water--water the more completely suggested by stepping-stones and arched bridges reaching out to little islands, with stone lanterns standing among dwarf pines. I knew, too, of the fondness of the Japanese for minor buildings in their gardens. Thus in the garden of Viscount Shibusawa, there is an ancient Korean teahouse of very striking architecture; in that of Dr. Takuma Dan, General Manager of the vast Mitsui interests, a farmhouse several centuries old; in that of Baron Okura, a famous museum of Chinese and Japanese antiquities and art works; and in the gardens of Baron Furukawa and Baron Sumitomo, smaller private museums. Tucked away in the corner of one garden near Kobe I had even seen a little factory in which the finest wireless cloisonné was being made, the owner of that garden having a deep interest in this art and using the productions of his artist-workmen to give as presents to his friends. And of course in many gardens I had seen houses built especially for the _cha-no-yu_, or Tea Ceremony. Moreover, I had been to garden parties at some of which luncheons were served under marquees of bamboo and striped canvas, while at others were offered entertainments consisting of geisha-dancing and juggling. At such parties souvenirs are always given--fans and kakemono painted by artists on the premises, or bits of pottery which, after being painted, are glazed and fired, and still warm from the kiln, presented to the guests. "Yes, yes," said my venerable friend, "you have seen a good deal; but as to the history and theory of our gardens, what do you know?" "Very little," I admitted, and asked him to enlighten me. * * * * * Japanese landscape gardening began twelve hundred years ago, when the Emperor Shomu, in residence at Nara, sent for a Chinese monk who was famed for his artistry and ordered him to beautify the ancient capital. This the monk accomplished chiefly by cutting out avenues among the lofty trees which to this day make Nara not only a place of supreme loveliness, but one rich in the aroma of antiquity. Thus came the first period of landscape gardening in Nippon, the Tempyo period. Five and a half centuries ago the second period began when, in the terrain surrounding the Kinkakuji Temple at Kyoto, gardens containing lakes, rocks, and gold-pavilioned islands were constructed in resemblance to the natural scenery near the mouth of the Yangtse River in China. The third period is best represented by the gardens of the arsenal in Tokyo. These were made three hundred years ago by a Chinese master named Shunsui, who was brought to Japan for the purpose by the Lord of Mito, brother of the shogun who at that time ruled Japan. In order to get water for this park a canal thirty miles long was constructed, and this same canal later supplied water to the city of Yedo, as Tokyo was then called. The current period is the fourth, and it is the aim of the present-day masters to combine in their work all the fine points of the preceding periods. This development is largely due to the ease of modern transportation, which has enabled the landscape gardeners of our time to travel widely and become familiar with the best work of their distinguished predecessors and the finest natural scenery. For instance, the Shiobara region, in northern Japan, a district famous for its lovely little corners, has been the inspiration for many modern gardens. * * * * * "And now," said my learned friend as we paused in a little shelter of bamboo and thatch, overlooking the corner of a lake bordered with curiously formed rocks and flowering shrubs, "I will tell you the great secret of this art; for of course you understand that with us landscape gardening is definitely placed as one of the fine arts." He paused for a moment, then continued: "The one sound principle for making a garden wherever water is used is what may be called the volcanic principle. That is to say, the artist in landscape gardening should go for his themes to places of volcanic origin; for in such places the greatest natural beauty is found. "And why? First of all, you have hills of interesting contours, made by eruptions. Then you have mountain lakes which form in the beds of extinct volcanoes. Our famous Lake Chuzenji, above Nikko, for example. From these lakes the water overflows, making splendid falls, like those of Kegon, which empty out of Lake Chuzenji. Below the falls you have a torrent rushing down a rocky valley, like the River Daiya, which flows from the Kegon Falls past Nikko, where it is spanned by the famous red-lacquered bridge. There is the basis for your entire garden composition. "But you must also remember that volcanic outpourings make rich soil. This soil, thrown into the air by volcanic explosions, settles in the crevices of rocks. Pines take root in it. But in some places the pocket of soil is small; wherefore the roots of the pine cannot spread, and the tree becomes a dwarf, gnarled and picturesque. Again, on the hillsides the rich soil makes great trees grow, with rich shrubbery and verdure beneath them. The torrent completes the landscape effect by sculpturing the rocks into fascinating forms. In that combination you have every element required. Reproduce it in miniature, and your garden is made." CHAPTER XV _I Acquire Vanity--I Meet a Wise Man--The Distaste for Boasting--Imperial Traditions--The First Ambassadors and Consequent Embarrassments--Trappings of Rank--I Display My Knowledge--And Come a Cropper--The Beauties of Calm_ The garden theory of my friend the art collector, so Japanese in its completeness, charmed and satisfied me. "Now," I thought to myself, "I _know_." Thenceforward I looked at gardens not with the unenlightened enthusiasm of the casual amateur, but with a critic's eye. Here and there I would make a mental reservation, saying to myself that the man who made this garden had missed something in one respect or another; that the one great principle, the volcanic principle, had not been fully carried out. So time went on until presently I found myself in Kyoto, the cultivated city of Japan, seated at a table (upon which were glasses and a bottle) beside one of the most interesting Japanese I had met, a man of ripe age and experience and of a philosophical turn of mind. He loved the history, the legends and the psychology of his native land, and enjoyed sifting them through the interpretative screen of his own intelligence. I listened to him with eager interest. "To boast," said he, "is, according to our point of view, one of the cardinal sins. We so detest boasting that we go to the other extreme, depreciating anything or anybody connected with ourselves. Thus, when some one says to me, 'Your brother has amassed a fortune; he must be a man of great ability,' I will reply: 'He is not so very able. Perhaps he is only lucky.' As a matter of fact, it happens that my brother is a man of exceptional ability. But I must not say so; it is not good form for me to praise his qualities. "In speaking of our wives and children we do the same. We say, 'my poor wife,' or, 'my insignificant wife,' although she may fulfil our ideal of everything a woman should be. "Also the reverse of this proposition is true. We sometimes signify our disapproval or dislike of some one by speaking of him in terms of too high praise. "Among ourselves we fully understand these things. It is merely a code we follow. But I fear that this practice sometimes causes foreigners to misunderstand us. Being themselves accustomed to speak literally, they are inclined to take us so. Also, they are not likely to realize that we are most critical of those for whom we have profound regard. Why should we waste our time or our critical consideration upon persons who mean nothing to us or whom we dislike? "Yet, after all," he continued, with a little twinkle in his eye, "human nature is much the same the world over. There was an American here in Kyoto once who used to forbid his wife and sister to smoke cigarettes, but I observed that he was quick to pass his cigarette-case to other ladies." He drifted on to a further discussion of differences between the point of view of Japan and that of the Occident. "For twenty-five centuries," said he, "our emperors never lived behind a fortification. There was no need of it. The present imperial palace at Tokyo is, to be sure, protected by a moat and great stone walls, but that was originally built for shoguns, and was taken over by the Imperial House only at the time of the Restoration. "Our old Japanese idea is that the Emperor is the father of his people. There is a certain reverence, yet a certain democracy, too, in our feeling on this subject. We who have the old ideas regret that the Emperor now appears in a military or naval uniform. It is too much like the European way, too much like abandoning the feeling that he is the head of the family. For a uniform seems to make him only a part of the army or the navy. "But we had to modify our customs to suit those of other nations. Ambassadors began to come from foreign lands. The Emperor did not wish to see them, but was obliged to do so because they represented great powers to whom we could not say no. "At first, when the Emperor received ambassadors, he wore his ancient imperial robes and was seated upon cushions, Japanese fashion. But the ambassadors were arrayed in brilliant uniforms covered with decorations, and in accordance with their home customs they _stood_ in the imperial presence. They would stand before a European king or an American president. Therefore it seemed to them respectful to stand before our Emperor. "But, according to our customs, that is the worst thing that can happen. We must always be lower than the Emperor; we must not even look from a second-story window when he drives by. The Emperor's audience-room was so constructed that he sat in an elevated place at the head of a flight of steps. But even so, one never entered his presence standing fully erect. The idea of deference was visibly indicated by a stooping position, and as one ascended the steps toward the Imperial Person, one bent over more and more, until, on reaching the plane on which the Emperor was seated, one knelt, with bowed head, so as still to be below him. "A foreigner, on the other hand, wishing to show proper respect to an exalted personage, would make a bow from the waist and then assume a stiffly erect attitude, almost like a soldier standing at attention. Can you imagine an Occidental admiral or general, with his tight uniform, heavy braid, and sword, approaching any one upon his hands and knees? It would be foreign to his nature and training, not to say ruinous to his costume.[2] [2] An extremely interesting account of the first audience given by the Emperor to a foreign ambassador is contained in "Memories," by the late Lord Redesdale, who was present. Lord Redesdale was then Mr. Mitford, and was engaged in preparing a volume which later became widely known under the title "Tales of Old Japan." "Moreover, the important foreigners who came to Japan at the beginning of the period of transition were gorgeous with gold lace and jewelled decorations. Up to that time we had no decorations and no modern uniforms and trappings of rank. Even our Emperor, in his magnificent robes, was not adorned with gold braid, and no jewels flashed from his breast. "Naturally, then, we had to change. We created new orders of nobility; decorations were devised, uniforms were designed, all according to the European plan. In the old days we had shogun, daimyo, and samurai. Now we have princes of the blood, princes not of the blood, marquises, counts, viscounts, and barons. We have decorations to shine with foreign decorations. We have field-marshals and admirals to meet the foreign field-marshals and admirals." He sighed, and looked through the open window to the garden shimmering in moonlight. "Sometimes," he said, reflectively, "it seems to me that the only place where the spirit of Old Japan can feel at home is when it wanders through our ancient gardens. They are unchanged." He paused, still gazing through the open window, then went on: "That is another thing I must talk to you about. We Japanese have a profound feeling about gardens. The structure of a garden is a matter of the first importance. You must see some of our gardens." "I have done so already," I replied. "I have taken pains to visit many of them, and I----" "But," he interrupted, "I am not speaking entirely of vision in the sense of sight. One must have understanding of these things. I am talking of the basic principles upon which every garden should be made." "That is just what I am talking about," I returned, enthusiastically. "It happens that I have made quite a study of your theory of gardens." [Illustration: A tea-house garden, Tokyo.--"The artist in landscape gardening should go for his themes to places of volcanic origin."] I must own that I did not speak without a certain complacency. I had the comfortable feeling that always comes to one who hears a subject broached and feels himself well equipped to discuss it. "That is very gratifying," said the philosopher, politely. It was indeed very gratifying. My memory was good. I casually mentioned the four periods of Japanese landscape gardening, making easy references to the Emperor Shomu, the scenery near the mouth of the Yangtse River, and the Chinese master Shunsui. Then I began to file my bill of particulars. "Of course," I said, "the one great secret of the art is to apply the volcanic principle. One should go for themes to places of volcanic origin--places like Lake Chuzenji and Nikko, places where lakes, formed in the beds of extinct volcanoes, overflow, making beautiful waterfalls and torrents which rush through rocky valleys. There, of course, is the basis for your entire garden composition." He sat staring at me. His eyes shone. Evidently I was making a deep impression on him. "Of course," I resumed, "volcanic explosions throw rich soil into----" "Stop!" he cried, half rising from his chair. "Who gave you those theories? Where did you learn all this?" "In Tokyo," I answered proudly, "I happened to meet----" "Never mind whom you met," he broke in, his voice trembling with intensity. "These things you have been saying are terrible--terrible! Such ideas are ruining art and beauty in Japan. A garden of that kind is an abomination." I sat stunned while he stood over me. "The thing above all others to keep away from," he continued, vehemently, "is anything volcanic. That should be apparent to any one--any one! The very cause of volcanic structure is violence. It is the embodiment of turmoil, unrest." He made a wild gesture with his arms. "A volcano blows up, it explodes--_bang!_ It throws everything about helter-skelter. It is horrible. That is a garden for a madhouse or the palace of a _narikin_--a new millionaire." "But don't you think----" "If one thing is more essential than another in a garden," he went on, ignoring my effort to interrupt, "it is peace, tranquillity, an atmosphere conducive to meditation. Fancy a cultivated gentleman, a philosopher, trying to meditate among volcanoes, waterfalls, and roaring torrents! A garden should have no waterfalls. Water, if it is there at all, should flow as placidly as philosophic thought. There should be no fish darting about, no noisy splashing fountains, no gaudy peonies, or other striking and distracting things. The purpose of a garden should not be display. Its proper purpose is not to excite the beholder, but to fill him with a rich contentment. A garden should be a bathing-place for the soul. And one no more wishes to plunge the soul than the body into a roaring torrent. No; there is in life already too much stress and turmoil. The soul cries out for repose. One must lave it in a crystal pool, healing and refreshing." He paused, short of breath. "But don't you think----" "Say no more! It is late. I must go home." I walked with him to the garden gate. A new moon hanging in a sky of blue and silver was reflected in a still pool, its margins soft with the dark, cloud-like forms of shrubbery. Near the gate some calla lilies stood like graceful, silent ghosts. The night air was fragrant with the scent of rich, damp soil and growing things. "But don't you think," I pleaded as I opened the gate to let him pass, "that there is, after all, something poetic in the volcanic conception of a garden?" "No, no," he cried. "Poetic? No. Good night. Good night. I do not understand this new Japan. There is no repose any more. It is all volcanoes, all exploding. It is the beauties of calm that we are losing. Calm! Yes, that is it, calm! calm! calm!" His agitated voice, shouting, "Calm! calm! calm!" came back to me as like a typhoon he whirled off into the darkness, leaving me in the sweet quiet of the garden--to meditate. PART III CHAPTER XVI _The "Connecticut Yankee" in Old Japan--Commodore Perry--The Elder Statesmen--Marquis Okuma--Self-made Men--Viscount Shibusawa--The Power of the Daimyo--Samurai Privileges, Including That of Suicide--Education in Old Japan--Jigoro Kano and Jiudo--The Farewell Letter of a Patriot--Kodokwan and Butokukai--The Old Military Virtues--General Nogi--His Death With Countess Nogi_ Despite the convulsions, overturnings, and transitions through which so many nations have lately been passing, Japan still holds the world's record for swift and stupendous change. The thing that happened to Japan staggers the imagination. History affords no parallel. The nearest parallel is to be found in the fiction of a great imaginative writer. An American or a European going to Japan at approximately the time of the Imperial Restoration of 1868, found himself, in effect, dropped back through the centuries after the manner of Mark Twain's "Connecticut Yankee"; and the Japanese who lived through the transition which then began, met an experience like that pictured in Mark Twain's fantasy as having befallen the people of King Arthur's Court when modern knowledge was suddenly visited upon them. The true story of Japan, however, surpasses in its wonder the invention of Mark Twain; for whereas the facts of history compelled the author of "A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court" to let ancient Britain backslide into her semi-barbarism after the disappearance of the Connecticut Yankee, Japan not only changed completely but held her gains and continued to progress. The beginning of the period of transition is customarily dated from the year 1853, when Commodore Perry first arrived, or from 1854, when he negotiated his treaty; but though that treaty did open the door through which the spirit of change was soon to enter, the actual modernizing of the nation did not start until 1868, when Yoshinobu Tokugawa, fifteenth of his line, and last shogun to govern Japan, relinquished his power to the Emperor. Men able to remember the events of the Restoration are about as rare in Japan as are those who, in this country, remember the impeachment of Andrew Johnson, which occurred in the same year; and men who played important parts in the Restoration are of course rarer still--as rare, say, as Americans who played important parts in the Civil War. As for Japanese who can recall Perry's visit, they would correspond in years to those who, with us, can recollect the beginning of the struggle for Free Soil in Kansas. In neither land, alas, is there more than a handful of such old folk left. It so happens, however, that in Japan several very remarkable men have survived to great age. The three most powerful figures in politics at the time of my visit were the octogenarian noblemen known as the Genro, or Elder Statesmen: Field Marshal Prince Yamagata, Marquis Matsukata, and Marquis Okuma. Prince Yamagata, as a soldier, took an active part in the civil warfare attending the Restoration. Both he and Marquis Okuma were born in 1838--that is to say seven years before Texas was admitted to the Union as the twenty-eighth state. Marquis Matsukata was born in 1840. Of these venerable statesmen, Prince Yamagata and Marquis Matsukata figured, I found, as great unseen influences; but Marquis Okuma, while perhaps not actually more active than his colleagues of the Genro, appeared frequently before the public, and was more of a popular idol, being often referred to as Japan's "Grand Old Man." In politics he had long been known as a great fighter and an artful tactician; also he was sympathetically regarded by reason of his having been, many years ago, the victim of a bomb outrage in which he lost a leg. I knew of his having been thus crippled, but through some trick of memory failed to recall the fact when, one day, I found myself a member of a small party of Americans received by the Marquis at his house. We were with him for something more than an hour; perhaps two hours. During that time he stood and made an address, moved about the room, and even stepped out to the garden, yet I was not once reminded of his physical handicap. I have never seen a person so seriously maimed who, in his movements, revealed it so little. And that at eighty-three years of age! I should have guessed him twenty years younger. Lean, tall, wiry, alert, with close-cropped white hair and snapping black eyes, he appeared to be at the very apex of his powers. That he was versatile I knew. All three of the Genro have at various times been Prime Minister, and have held other high offices under the Government, but Marquis Okuma's positions have been extremely varied, calling for the display of a wide range of knowledge and of talents. I was told that he had organized the Nationalist Party, published a magazine, edited a number of important literary and historical works, founded and presided over Waseda University, and had long been famed as a horticulturist. It was a curious thing to hear him speak in a language I could not understand, yet to feel so strongly his gift for swaying men with oratory. The experience reminded me of that of a newspaper man I know, who accompanied William Jennings Bryan on one of his political speech-making tours long ago. "I was a dyed-in-the-wool Republican," he told me, in recounting the experience, "and did not believe in Bryan or his measures, yet I continually found myself carried away by his oratory. While he was speaking he made me believe in things I _didn't_ believe in. I would want to applaud and cheer him like the rest of the audience. "Afterwards I would go back to the train and sober up. I wanted to kick myself for letting him twist me around his finger like that. But the next time I heard him the same thing would happen. It wasn't what he said; it was his voice and phrasing and his magnetism." I have no doubt that a Japanese unacquainted with English would sense Bryan's elocutionary power precisely as I did that of Marquis Okuma; indeed I am not sure that a foreigner, unfamiliar with the language of the orator, is not in a sense the auditor who can best measure his power. Marquis Okuma's features indicated extraordinary pugnacity, yet I should say that his pugnacity was under perfect control. He could exhibit both passion and icy coolness, and I believe he could turn on either at will, as one turns on hot or cold water. If he was William Jennings Bryan he was also Henry Cabot Lodge. * * * * * It is worth remarking that these Elder Statesmen are without exception self-made men. None of them was born with a title; all were members of modest samurai families; all rose through ability. In this respect, as in many others, comparisons between the governmental system of Imperial Japan and that of Imperial Germany that was, do not hold. Japan is not governed by a hereditary ruling class. The government service is open to all men, under a system of competitive examinations, and promotion does not go by family or favour, but is in almost all cases a recognition of ability exhibited in minor offices. Young men in the consular service are in line for ambassadorships and may reasonably hope, if they exhibit great talents, ultimately to reach the highest offices. It would seem, moreover, that in Japan as in some other lands, aristocratic and wealthy families do not, as a rule, produce the strongest men. Thus I was informed that, of the entire cabinet of Prime Minister Hara, but one member was a man of noble family, that one having been Count Oki, Minister of Justice. And even Count Oki was only of the second generation of nobility. In the business world the same rule applies. The titled business men of Japan have risen, practically without exception, from humble beginnings. I was told that one of them, whom I met, had begun life as a pedlar, and was proud of it. Looking up another business genius in the national "Who's Who," I find the following statement, which may be assumed to have been furnished by the gentleman to whom it refers: Arrived in Tokyo in '71, with empty purse; proceeded to Yokohama, supporting himself by hawking cheap viands. If the honorary title, "Grand Old Man of Japan," had not already been conferred, and I had been invited to make nominations, I should have gone outside the realm of politics and cast my vote for Viscount Eiichi Shibusawa. Had the Viscount been, at the time of the Restoration, a member of one of the great clans responsible for the return of the reins of government to Imperial hands, his career might have resembled more closely the careers of the three old nobles of the Genro. But whereas Prince Yamagata, Marquis Matsukata, and Marquis Okuma were respectively men of Choshu, Satsuma, and Saga--clans that cast their lot with the coalition that returned the Emperor to power--Viscount Shibusawa was on the other side, having been a retainer of the last shogun. The spoils went, naturally enough, to the victors. Strong men belonging to the clans which had supported the Imperial House became the strong men of the centralized government. Even to-day, when clans, as such, no longer exist, the old clan sentiment survives, with the result that men of Satsuma and Choshu origin are most influential in politics. The militaristic tendency sometimes noticed in the action of the Japanese Government is said to be largely due to this fact, for the clan of Satsuma was in the old days notorious for its warlike inclinations, and there is evidence to show that those inclinations have, to some extent survived. Naval officers are to-day drawn largely from old Satsuma families, while Choshu furnishes many officers to the army. At twenty-seven years of age, Viscount Shibusawa had by his ability become vice-minister of the Shogun's treasury. Naturally, then, after the fall of the shogunate, he went in for finance. He founded the First Bank of Japan--literally the first modern bank started there--and, prospering greatly became a man of large affairs. Repeatedly he was offered the portfolio of Finance under the Government, but always refused it. A few years ago he retired from active business, and as has already been mentioned, gave his time thereafter to all manner of good works. When I met him he was nearing his eighty-second birthday. He distinctly remembered Perry's arrival in Japan and the events that followed. I wished to get the story of a representative man who had seen these things, and therefore asked him to grant me an interview. This he was so kind as to do, allowing me the better part of two days--for interviewing through an interpreter, even though he be the best of interpreters, is slow work. We talked in a pretty brick bungalow in the Viscount's garden. Outside the door was an English rose-garden, with bushes trained to the shape of trees. Prior to that time I had always seen the Viscount wearing a frock coat or a dress suit, but here at home, on a day free from formalities, he was clad in the silken robes that Japanese gentlemen put on for comfort--though they might well put them on for elegance, too. Short, stocky, energetic, with a strong neck and large round head, the face seamed with deep wrinkles, he was one of the most extraordinary-looking men I had ever met. He radiated force, courage, honesty. I knew a Sioux chief, long ago, who had a face like that, even to the colour, and to the deep wrinkles of humour about the mouth and eyes. Nor, in either case, did the promise of those wrinkles fail. When, having likened Viscount Shibusawa to an Indian chief, I also liken him to a barrel-bodied, square-jawed, weather-beaten old British squire of the perfect John Bull type, I may overtax the reader's imagination; yet there was in him as much of the one as of the other. He was born in the country, coming of a good but not aristocratic family. The Japan of his youth and early manhood was divided into some two hundred and fifty or three hundred feudal districts, each ruled by a daimyo, or chieftain, having his castles, his court, his concubines, his retainers--among the latter soldiers in armour, equipped with swords, spears or bows and arrows, and wearing hideous masks calculated to terrify the foe. These chiefs had absolute power over the people and lands in their domains. They could make laws, issue paper money, levy taxes, impose labour and punishment on the people, or arbitrarily take from them property or life itself. It was a land without railroads, without steam power, without window-glass; a land in which nobles journeyed by the highroads in magnificent processions, surrounded by their soldiers, mounted and afoot, their lacquered palanquins, their coolie bearers; a land in which, when great lords passed, humble citizens fell to their knees and touched their foreheads to the ground; a land of duels, feuds, vendettas, clan wars; a land in which the samurai, or gentry, alone were allowed to wear swords, and in which one of the privileges most highly prized by the samurai was that of dying by his own hand, if condemned to death, instead of by the hand of the executioner. Involved with the privilege of _hara-kiri_, or _seppuku_, was a property right. The property of a man beheaded by the executioner was confiscated, whereas one committing hara-kiri could leave his estate to his family. The education of young men varied in those times according to rank. Youths of the aristocracy were instructed in the Chinese classics, which in Japan take the place of Latin and Greek with us. Medicine and astronomy were also taught. The sons of lesser samurai received a training calculated to fit them for practical affairs. All those entitled to wear swords studied swordsmanship, and the process by which they learned it was sometimes severe, for it was the custom of masters to attack the pupil suddenly from behind, or even when he was asleep at night, on the theory that he should be ready at all times to defend himself. A samurai found killed with his sword completely sheathed was disgraced. At least two inches of the blade must show in proof that the dead man had attempted a defence. Jiu-jutsu was also taught to many samurai youths, and in this, as in swordsmanship, it was the practice of instructors to make surprise attacks upon their pupils. Viscount Shibusawa's recollections of old days, as he recounted them to me, will make a separate chapter, but before that chapter is begun, let me mention several points of samurai tradition--among them jiu-jutsu, and the more advanced art or science of jiudo, developed by my friend Mr. Jigoro Kano. As after the Restoration the craze for all things American and European spread through Japan, the old arts of jiu-jutsu, which for more than three centuries had been practised by samurai, fell into disuse. Before that time there had been many different schools of jiu-jutsu, teaching a variety of systems, but as the old masters of the art became superannuated no followers were arising to take their places. In 1878, when Mr. Kano took up the study of jiu-jutsu, he saw that, through lack of interest, many of the fine points of the art were likely to be lost. In order to preserve as much of it as he could, he went to great pains to make himself proficient, not merely in one system of jiu-jutsu, but in several systems as taught by the several great masters then alive. His first interest in jiu-jutsu arose through the fact that he had been a weak child and wished to make himself a strong man. I was reminded of Theodore Roosevelt's sickly childhood when Mr. Kano told me that; and it is interesting to recall that it was President Roosevelt who first caused jiu-jutsu to be widely talked of in the United States, and that he studied it, while in the White House, under one of Mr. Kano's pupils. Also I was interested to hear from Mr. Kano that, as a young man, he gave an exhibition of jiu-jutsu before General Grant, at Viscount Shibusawa's house in Tokyo. Far from being a professional athlete, Mr. Kano is a gentleman of samurai family, a graduate of the Literary College of the Imperial University, a linguist, a traveller, an educator of high reputation, the holder of several decorations. Among other offices he has been head master of the Peers' School in Tokyo. As the reader is doubtless aware, the theory of jiu-jutsu was to defeat the adversary, not by pitting force against force, but by yielding before the opponent's onslaughts in such a way as to turn his strength against him. Jiudo, which means "the way or doctrine of yielding," is a combination, created by Mr. Kano, of all systems of jiu-jutsu interwoven with a plan of mental, moral, and physical training, calculated to elevate the art above any mere consideration of combat alone--although that side is by no means neglected. Innumerable stories, exciting or amusing, might be told of the heroic adventures of celebrated jiudoists, but I know of nothing which sheds more light upon Mr. Kano's teachings, in their moral aspect, than does a letter written to him by Commander Yuasa of the Japanese Navy, a former pupil of the Kodokwan, the school of jiudo established by Mr. Kano in Tokyo. The letter was written by Commander Yuasa when he was about to take the steamer _Sagami Maru_ and sink her at the harbour entrance in the third blockading expedition at Port Arthur. The following are extracts from it: We shall do all that human power can, and leave the rest to Heaven. Thus we can calmly ride to certain death. I am happy to say that among the members of this forlorn hope are three of your former pupils: Commander Hirose, Lieutenant Commander Honda, and myself. May this fact redound to the credit of the Kodokwan. Though I greatly regret that while living I could not do justice to the kindness you have shown me, still please accept as an expression of my gratitude the fact that I lay down my life for the sake of our country, as you have so kindly taught us, in time of peace, to be ready to do. The writer of this letter was lost, as was also Commander Hirose, one of the brother officers he mentions. The other, Lieutenant Commander Honda, was wounded by a shell, but was rescued and lived to tell the tale. Foreigners visiting Japan and wishing to see jiudo demonstrated, are welcome at the Kodokwan, where, if notice is given, an interpreter is provided. There are now some twenty thousand practitioners of jiudo who look to the Kodokwan as headquarters and to Mr. Kano as their master. Another place where jiudo may be witnessed is at the Butokukai--Association for the Inculcation of the Military Virtues--in Kyoto. The latter is a private organization, like an athletic club, with a fine temple-like building, and many branch establishments throughout the country. It has some two hundred thousand members, of which several thousands are active. The primary idea of this organization is to keep alive certain old Japanese military arts, such as jiudo, archery, fencing, the use of lances and spears, and the employment of the curious lance-like _naginata_, which, with its curved blade and long handle, was used only by women. Contests between men armed with dummy swords and women using wooden naginata are sometimes to be witnessed at the Butokukai, and are extremely interesting as recalling the days when the women of Old Japan fought beside their men, using the naginata as an offensive weapon, and a short dagger, worn in the fold of the obi, as a defensive weapon corresponding to the shorter of the two swords that men used to wear. Samurai women were taught to defend themselves with the dagger, and to use it for suicide if in fear of defeat and dishonour. Families in which the samurai tradition is sedulously maintained still make it a custom to present their daughters, at the time of marriage, with daggers of this type, though such weapons are now recognized merely as emblems of a spirit to be preserved. * * * * * The great modern samurai hero of Japan was General Count Nogi, the hero of Port Arthur, in memory of whom a shrine was recently dedicated in Tokyo. This shrine stands in the grounds behind the simple house in Tokyo where Count and Countess Nogi lived, and where they died together by their own hands. Nogi is canonized in Japan, and his house is held a sacred place, and is visited by thousands of persons each year. The theory upon which self-destruction is practised according to the old samurai tradition, and is widely approved in certain circumstances, is one of the things that baffles the Occidental mind. I therefore asked Viscount Kentaro Kaneko, who knew General Nogi, to tell me the story of his death, and to explain to me how he came to commit seppuku. [Illustration: Viscount Kentaro Kaneko (Harvard '78), Privy Councilor to the Emperor, President of the America-Japan Society of Tokyo, and friend of President Roosevelt] "When Nogi was given command at Port Arthur," said the Viscount, "his two sons were officers under him. He told his wife to prepare three coffins, and to hold no funeral services until all three were ready to be buried together. "In the assault on Port Arthur some thirty thousand Japanese soldiers gave up their lives. This sacrifice of life was at first much criticized in Japan, but public sentiment changed in face of the fact that the General lost both his sons. He returned to Japan a victor, it is true, but a most unhappy man. Always in his mind were thoughts of the families of the thirty thousand brave young men it had been necessary to sacrifice. He did not want to be acclaimed in the streets, but to be let alone. He went about in an old uniform and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. "One day at an audience with the Emperor Meiji, Nogi said to him as he was leaving, something to the effect that he should never see him again. "The Emperor, gathering that Nogi was contemplating seppuku, called him back. "'Nogi,' he said, 'I still have need of you. I want your life.' "So the General did not carry out his plan at that time, but lived on, as the Emperor had ordered him to do, becoming president of the school at which the sons of nobles are educated. "All through the years, however, he was haunted by the memory of the thirty thousand soldiers he had been compelled to send to their death. "When the Emperor Meiji died, Nogi was one of the guard of honour, made up of peers, who in rotation watched at the Imperial bier for forty days and forty nights. "Then came the state funeral. On the day of the funeral Nogi wrote a poem which declared in effect, 'I shall follow in the footsteps of Your Majesty.' This poem he showed to Prince Yamagata, who took it to mean merely that Nogi would be in the procession following the Imperial remains to the grave. "But when the guns announced the departure of the funeral cortège from the palace, Nogi was not there. Like the samurai of old, he desired to follow his dead master into the beyond. At the sound of the guns he took his short sword and committed seppuku, while in the next room Countess Nogi, his devoted wife, dressed all in white, cut the arteries of her neck. Thus the two died together, for the sake of the Emperor and the thirty thousand soldiers who had sacrificed their lives." * * * * * At no point is the outlook of the Oriental more completely at odds with that of the Occidental, than in the view it takes of suicide. Whereas with us suicide is condemned as cowardly, being resorted to as a means of escape from the hardships of life, there will oftentimes be something highly heroic in a Japanese suicide. Unhappiness, it is true, does drive some Japanese to self-destruction, but in many other cases the suicide represents something more in the nature of a self-inflicted punishment for failure of some kind. Thus it is with the schoolboys who sometimes kill themselves because they have failed in their examinations. Likewise, while in Japan I heard of two railroad gatemen who had, by failing to close their gate when a train was coming, been responsible for the death of a man travelling in a ricksha. A few days after this accident both these gatemen suicided by throwing themselves beneath a train. For their neglect they paid voluntarily with their lives. "And," said the Viscount, "we had in the old days another sort of suicide, examples of which sometimes occur even to this day. When a man believed profoundly in something, and was unable to attract attention to the thing in which he believed, he would sometimes commit seppuku as a means of drawing notice to it. He would leave a paper setting forth his beliefs, and people would give it attention, feeling that if a man was willing to die in order to emphasize a point, his message was worth considering." The Viscount paused. Then rather reflectively he added: "It is as though he were to underscore his protest--in red." CHAPTER XVII _The Old-time Anti-Foreign Sentiment--Prince Yoshinobu Tokugawa--Emperor and Shogun--Prince Yoshinobu becomes Shogun--His Highness, Akitaké, Goes to France--Humorous Episodes--The Defeat of Prince Yoshinobu's Army--Various Explanations--The Restoration of the Emperor--Prince Yoshinobu's Retirement--The Viscount's Theory--Prince Keikyu Tokugawa--A Roosevelt Anecdote--Swords and Watchchain_ "I was a boy of fourteen," said Viscount Shibusawa "when your Commodore Perry came to Japan. At that time, and for a considerable period afterwards, I was 'anti-foreigner'--that is, I was opposed to the abandonment of our old Japanese isolation, and to the opening of relations with foreign powers. "The majority of thoughtful men felt as I did. Our trouble with the Jesuits, in the latter part of the sixteenth and early part of the seventeenth century came about through a fear which grew up amongst us that the Jesuits were trying to get political control of Japan. This fear brought about their expulsion from the country, as well as some persecution of themselves and their converts, and it was then that our policy of isolation began. More lately we had seen the Opium War in China, and that had added to our conviction that foreign powers were merely seeking territory, and that they were utterly unscrupulous. "When I reached the age of twenty-five, I became a retainer of Yoshinobu Tokugawa, a powerful prince, kinsman of Iyemochi Tokugawa, who was then Shogun. Not being of noble family, I did not belong to Prince Yoshinobu's intimate circle, but was a member of what might be termed the middle group at his court. "He was then acting as intermediary between the Shogun and the Imperial Court at Kyoto--for though the Shogun ruled the land, as shoguns had for centuries, there was maintained a fiction that he did so by imperial consent. "When Iyemochi died, the powerful daimyos nominated my lord, Prince Yoshinobu, to succeed him. I was opposed to his accepting the office, for the country was then in a very unsettled condition, and I felt sure that the next shogun, whoever he might be, would have serious difficulties to encounter; especially with the important question of foreign relations to the fore, and with such powerful lords as those of Satsuma, Choshu, Tosa, and Hizan becoming increasingly hostile to the shogunate and increasingly favourable to the Imperial House. "The fact that Prince Yoshinobu had acted as intermediary between his kinsman, the fourteenth Shogun, and the Imperial Court at Kyoto, made it a delicate matter for him later to accept the shogunate. Moreover, though he belonged to the Tokugawa family, his branch of the family, the Mito branch, had continually insisted upon Imperial supremacy in Japan. However, circumstances compelled him to accept the office. I was greatly disappointed when he did so. "This occurred two years after I became his retainer. I was now vice-minister of his treasury, with the additional duties of keeping track of all modern innovations and supervising the new-style military drill, with rifles, which we were then taking up. "Shortly after becoming Shogun, Yoshinobu decided to send his brother, Akitaké, to France to be educated, and he appointed me a member of the entourage that was to accompany the young man. I was then twenty-seven years old. "We sailed in January 1867--a party of twenty-five, among whom were a doctor, an officer who went to study artillery, and various others besides Akitaké's seven personal attendants. "For international purposes the Shogun was now called Tycoon, for the word 'shogun,' meaning 'generalissimo,' carried with it no connotation of rulership; whereas 'tycoon' means 'great prince'--and of course it seemed proper enough for a great prince to treat with foreign powers. As brother of the Tycoon, Akitaké received, in Europe, the title 'Highness'. "Matters looked very ominous for the shogunate at the time we left Japan, but I felt that the best thing for me to do was to go abroad and learn all I could, with a view to being better able to serve my country when I should return. "The members of our party wore the Japanese costume, including topknots and two swords. I, however, devised a special elegance for myself. I heard that the governor of Saigon, where our ship was to stop, intended to welcome our party officially, so I had a dress coat made." The Viscount shook with laughter as he recalled the episode. "It wasn't a dress suit--just the coat. And when we got to Saigon I wore that coat over my Japanese silks, in the daytime. "Our lack of experience with European ways caused many amusing things to happen. For instance, when we were in the train crossing the Isthmus of Suez--there was no canal then--one member of the party, unaccustomed to window-glass, threw an orange-peel, expecting it to go out of the window. The peel hit the glass and bounced back falling into the lap of an official who had come to escort us across the isthmus. We were much embarrassed. "Later, in Paris, another absurd thing occurred. You must understand that in Japan it is customary for guests, leaving a house where they have been entertained, to wrap up cakes and such things and take them home. One member of our party, who had never seen ice-cream before, attempted this, wrapping the ice-cream in paper and tucking it in the front of his kimono. Needless to say, the ice-cream was no longer ice-cream when he got back to the hotel, and he himself was not very comfortable. "The Paris Exposition of 1867 was in progress when we arrived. When it was over we travelled through Switzerland, Holland, Belgium, Italy, and England. Originally it was planned that after our official tour we should settle down to study, and I was eager for this time to come. However, it was not long before we received news that the shogunate had fallen. "The news was puzzling. I could not gather what was happening in Japan. First I heard that Yoshinobu, as shogun, had publicly returned full authority of the Emperor, but later came word of the battle of Toba-Fushimi, in which troops of the Imperial Party defeated troops of the Shogun. This made it appear that Yoshinobu had played false, first publicly relinquishing the shogun's power and then fighting to maintain it. These seemingly conflicting acts puzzled me, for I knew that Yoshinobu was a man of the highest honour. "Presently came a messenger from Japan saying that Akitaké had become head of the Mito branch of the Tokugawa family, which made it necessary for us to abandon our plans and return. We sailed from England in December 1867, reaching Japan in November 1868, eleven months later. "I was dumbfounded by the changes I found. Though I knew that the Shogun Government had fallen I had not visualized what that would mean. My lord, Yoshinobu, was held prisoner in a house in Suruga. Learning that he was allowed to see his intimate friends and retainers, I journeyed to Suruga, where I had audience with him several times. I found him reticent, and was able to get from him little information as to the mysterious course he had pursued. "After having been held prisoner for a year he was released, but he continued for thirty years to reside in the neighbourhood of Suruga, leading a secluded life. Not until thirty-one years after his resignation of the shogunate did he come to Tokyo. Four years later the Emperor created him a prince of the new régime. This showed pretty clearly that the Emperor had not mistrusted him. "For twenty years after my return to Japan I was unable to get at the bottom of this matter. I tried to get some explanation from Yoshinobu himself, but he evaded my inquiries. Meanwhile the question was constantly discussed in Japan. Those hostile to Yoshinobu contended that he had not acted with sincerity, having been led by the burdens connected with the opening of foreign relations, to lay down the shogunate, and having later changed his mind and fought to retain it. On the face of it, this seemed true. Yoshinobu was called a coward and a traitor, and was severely criticized for having escaped after the battle of Toba-Fushimi. "On the other hand, those who supported Yoshinobu asserted that he had acted logically and wisely: that he had seen that his government was going to fall, and had been entirely honest in surrendering the shogunate prior to the battle. These adherents insisted that he had not wanted a battle, but had set out for Kyoto to see the Emperor with a view to arranging details, especially with regard to the future welfare of his retainers. "But when a great lord, travelled, in those times, he travelled with an army, and Yoshinobu's defenders maintained that this was what had brought on the battle--that when the men of Choshu and Satsuma learned that Yoshinobu was moving toward Kyoto with his soldiers, they came out and attacked him, believing, or pretending to believe, that he was on a hostile errand. "At this time the Emperor was but seventeen years of age, and the Government was in the hands of elder statesmen of the Imperial Party. The Emperor himself probably had no idea on what errand Yoshinobu was approaching Kyoto; and whether the elder statesmen knew or not, they belonged to clans hostile to the shogunate, and preferred to fight. "Many years passed before the truth began to become clear. At last, when the old wounds were pretty well healed, I undertook the compilation of a history of Yoshinobu's life and times. Finally I asked him point-blank about the events connected with his resignation and the subsequent battle. He told me that he had indeed started to Kyoto on a peaceful errand, but that when the forces sent out by the great clansmen appeared, he could not control his own men. He had neither sought nor desired battle. Feeling that his highest duty was to the Emperor, he withdrew from the battle, taking no part in it, and returned whence he had come, going into retirement. He knew, of course, that the battle would put him in a false light, and he decided that the wisest and most honourable course for him to pursue was to show, by his life in retirement, his absolute submission to the Emperor. "In order fully to appreciate why Yoshinobu was so ready to lay down his power, the old Japanese doctrine of loyalty to the throne must be fully grasped. This loyalty amounts to a religion, and permeates the whole life of Japan. That is why the shoguns who for so many centuries ruled Japan, never attempted to usurp imperial rank, but were satisfied, while usurping the power, to preserve the form of governing always as vice-regents. "It is my personal belief that when Yoshinobu Tokugawa accepted the shogunate despite the opposition of his trusted retainers, he did so with the full intention of restoring to the Imperial House its rightful power. I used to ask him about this, and while he never admitted it, he never denied it. That was characteristic of him. He was the most modest and self-effacing of men--the last man who would have claimed for himself the credit for performing a self-sacrificing and heroic act of patriotism. For him the performance of the act was sufficient." * * * * * Throughout my talk with Viscount Shibusawa I felt in him the passionate loyalty of the retainer to his lord. Where I had wished for reminiscences of a more personal nature, the Viscount, I could see, thought of himself first of all in his relation to the family of Prince Yoshinobu, the last shogun, whose retainer he was. He was not interested in telling me of his own career, but he was profoundly interested in seeing that I, being a writer, should understand the relationship of Prince Yoshinobu to the Imperial Restoration. His attitude reminded me of that of a noble old Southern gentleman, now dead and gone, who had been the adjutant of Robert E. Lee, and who loved Lee and loved to talk about him. When I talked with him it was the same. I had great difficulty in getting him to tell me about his own experiences. The loyalty of the retainer to the family of his lord is also to be seen in the relationship between the Viscount and young Prince Keikyu Tokugawa, son of Yoshinobu. After the death of the father the Viscount continued to act as advisor to the son. He became his chief counsellor, and when, a few years since, he resigned from the board of directors of the First Bank of Japan--the bank which he founded five years after the Restoration--it was young Prince Tokugawa who succeeded to his empty chair. The Prince, who is a member of the House of Peers, is known in the United States, having come here during the war as representative of the Japanese Red Cross. * * * * * Viscount Shibusawa is also a figure not unfamiliar to Americans, having visited this country several times. I am indebted to him for an anecdote illustrative of the prodigious memory of President Roosevelt. "Eighteen years ago," he said, "when Mr. Roosevelt was president, I called upon him at the White House. We had a pleasant talk. He complimented the behaviour of the Japanese troops in the Boxer trouble, saying that they were not only brave but orderly and well disciplined. Then he spoke with admiration of the art of Japan. "I said to him, 'Mr. President, I am only a banker, and I regret to say that in my country banking is not yet so highly developed as is art.' "'Perhaps it will be,' he replied, 'by the time we meet again.' "Thirteen years later, when I called upon him at his home at Oyster Bay, he took up the conversation where we had left off. "'The last time I saw you,' he said, 'I did not ask you about banking in Japan. Now I want you to tell me all about it.'" * * * * * As I was leaving the bungalow in the garden late in the afternoon of the second day spent in interviewing the Viscount, the thought came to me that probably I should never again talk with a man who had lived through such transitions. I wanted a souvenir, and I wished it to be something emblematic of the changes witnessed by those shrewd, humorous old eyes. Therefore, not without some hesitation, I asked the Viscount if he would be so kind as to put on his two samurai swords and let me take his photograph. He dispatched a servant who presently returned from the house bearing the weapons. The Viscount tucked them through his sash, and I snapped the shutter, hoping fervently that the late afternoon light would prove to have been adequate. [Illustration: Viscount Shibusawa, one of the Grand Old Men of Japan, consented to pose for me, wearing his samurai swords] As the reader may see for himself, the picture turned out well. Indeed it turned out better than I myself had anticipated, for besides the swords and silken robes of Old Japan, there may be seen in it a very modern note. It was the Viscount's grandson who, when I showed him the photograph, called attention to that. "Yes," he said, with a smile, "you have there the swords of Old Japan. But the watch-chain--that is an anachronism." CHAPTER XVIII _Viscount Kaneko's Home--Some Souvenirs--A Rooseveltian Memory--Doctor Bigelow's Prophecy--A First Meeting with Roosevelt--The Russo-Japanese War--Luncheons at the White House--Roosevelt's Interest in the Samurai Tradition--Sagamore Hill--Mrs. Roosevelt and Quentin--A Simple Home--The President Brings Blankets--A Bear Hunt--The Peace of Portsmouth and a Bearskin for the Emperor--A Letter of Roosevelt's on Relations with Japan--A Letter from Mid-Africa--"American Samurai"_ Never while in Japan did I feel quite so close to home as on the several occasions when I sat in the study of Viscount Kentaro Kaneko, in Tokyo, listening to his reminiscences and looking at his souvenirs of Theodore Roosevelt. No Japanese has been more widely known in the United States, or more familiar with our ways, than Viscount Kaneko (Harvard '78), Privy Councilor to the Emperor, chairman of the commission which is engaged in preparing the history of the reign of the late Emperor Meiji, and president of the America-Japan Society of Tokyo. I found him living in a good-sized but not ostentatious house, purely Japanese in architecture. But it was not purely Japanese in its equipment. Like the houses of other Tokyo gentlemen accustomed to see much of foreigners, it had carpet over the hall matting, rendering the removal of shoes unnecessary, and certain of its rooms were furnished in the Occidental style. Such rooms, in Japan, usually are stiff reception-rooms which look as if they were used only when visitors from abroad put in an appearance; but Viscount Kaneko's study held a homelike feeling which made me think the room was frequented by the master of the house when no guests were present. On the walls were framed photographs of notables, European and American, with the Roosevelt family very much to the fore, and I noticed beneath the photograph of President Roosevelt a cordial inscription in the familiar handwriting, so honest and boyish--writing as unlike that of any other great man as Roosevelt himself was unlike any other great man. When I had crossed and read the inscription, Viscount Kaneko called my attention to the frame. "That frame," he said, "is made from a piece of Oregon pine which was brought among other presents to the Shogun by Commodore Perry. The Emperor presented me with a piece of the wood, and I had made from it that frame and a writing box on which the scene of Perry's arrival is depicted in gold lacquer." There was also a photograph of Mrs. Roosevelt with two of her sons, and one of Quentin Roosevelt as a child, astride a pony, with an inscription to the Viscount's son Takemaro, dated August seventh, 1905. In the corner of the frame was inserted a photograph which the Viscount had caused to be taken of Quentin's grave in France. Viscount Kaneko was a student at Harvard when Roosevelt entered the university, but they were two years apart and did not know each other there. Their first meeting occurred in Washington in 1889, when Roosevelt was Civil Service Commissioner and Viscount Kaneko was returning to Japan after having visited the principal countries of Europe for the purpose of studying parliamentary forms. The first Japanese Parliament met in the year following, 1890, when Japan adopted a Constitution. In looking back upon my interviews with the Viscount I find myself marvelling to-day, as I did then, at the detailed accuracy of his memory. He recounted events of fifteen and more years before with a vividness and an attention to trifles that was extraordinary. It was as if he had refreshed his memory by reading from a diary. "I had two letters of introduction to Roosevelt," he told me, "when I went to Washington in 1889. One had been given to me by James Bryce, later Viscount Bryce, who was then in Gladstone's Cabinet. The other I received from my friend Dr. William Sturges Bigelow. "When Doctor Bigelow gave me the letter, he said: 'This will introduce you to a man who will some day be President of the United States.' I always remembered that and watched Roosevelt's career with the more interest for that reason. "On reaching Washington I called on Roosevelt at a private boarding house where he was living, and he returned my call next day. Naturally I perceived at once that he was a man of extraordinarily vigorous mind. I enjoyed him greatly, and was pleased and interested, after my return to Japan, to see him steadily ascending. He became Assistant Secretary of the Navy, Colonel of the Rough Riders, Governor of New York. 'Now,' I said to myself on reading that he had been elected Governor, 'he is on the way to fulfilling Doctor Bigelow's prophecy.' Then he became Vice-President, and I thought: 'That is too bad. They have shelved him. He won't be President after all.' But McKinley was assassinated and Roosevelt came to the White House. "Early in 1904, at the time of our war with Russia, I was sent to the United States on an unofficial embassy. I went first to New York, where I remained for a week; then to Washington. There I called on my old friend Mr. Justice Holmes of the Supreme Court--'Brother Kaneko' he used to call me--requesting him to take me to the White House to meet the President, who I thought would not remember me. But Justice Holmes had disagreed with Roosevelt over the Northern Securities case, and did not feel that he was persona grata at the White House just then. Therefore I arranged through our Minister, Mr. Takahira, for a meeting. "One morning in May, 1904, the Minister took me to call upon the President. Our appointment was for half past ten. We were not kept waiting long. I will never forget the picture of Roosevelt as he quickly thrust open the door and rushed into the room. The Minister had no chance to present me. 'I am delighted to see you again Baron!' the President exclaimed in that wonderfully hearty way of his. And as we shook hands he threw his arm over my shoulder, demanding: 'Why did you stay for a week in New York? Why didn't you come and see me right away?' "During our talk, which lasted an hour, he let me see that he was absolutely neutral in his official attitude toward our war with Russia, but nevertheless made me feel that he had much personal sympathy for Japan. He declared frankly that popular sentiment in the United States was favourable to Japan, and added that the Russian Government had complained that American army and navy officers were openly pro-Japanese. This had made it necessary for him to issue a proclamation of neutrality. But though, as President, he was particular to be scrupulously just to both sides, I was in no doubt as to the friendliness of his private sentiments. "He advised me not to stay in Washington, but to make my headquarters in New York, coming over to Washington to see him when it was necessary. This I did, and as time went on, and we became closer friends, he often did me the honour of inviting me to luncheon _en famille_ at the White House. "At one of these luncheons I told him of Doctor Bigelow's prophecy, and of how I had watched him mounting step by step to its fulfilment. That seemed to please him. "'Edith,' he called across the table to Mrs. Roosevelt, 'do you hear that? Here is a man who has kept a friendly eye on me from away off in Japan.' "Once at one of these intimate White House luncheons he remarked that as President it was necessary to preserve a certain style. 'Coming to see us here,' he said, 'you don't get an accurate idea of what our family life really is. You must come and pay us a visit at Oyster Bay this summer when we get home. Then you will know more about us.' "He did not forget the invitation, but early in July 1905, repeated it by telegraph. I went to Oyster Bay and stayed over night. It was in many ways a memorable experience. "He was always greatly interested in our samurai tradition and in the doctrine we call bushido. I remember his asking me how much money was required for the keeping up of a samurai's position. I explained that there were different classes of samurai--that the shoguns had themselves been samurai, with others of various grades below them. "'Middle-class samurai,' I said, 'do not need a great deal of money. They require only enough for dress to be worn on social occasions, for the education of their families, and the maintenance of their political position, whatever it may be. They need no money for pleasures or extravagances.' "'Just the same,' the President replied, 'a man doesn't want to fall behind his ancestors, materially or otherwise. Take my own case: I want to keep my place as my forbears kept theirs. I desire neither more nor less than what my father had. I want my children to be able to grow up in this old home at Oyster Bay just as the children of my generation did.' Then he began to ask me more about the details of samurai life. "'What about doctor's bills?' he asked. 'You didn't mention that item in estimating the expense of living.' "I told him of a curious custom we used to have. In each samurai class there were families of doctors who were endowed by the Government, the profession being passed down from father to son. These doctors took care of samurai families of the rank corresponding to their own, and charged nothing for so doing. Twice a year, in January and July, when it is customary to give presents, presents were given to the doctors. They also took care of the poor as a matter of charity. "That interested him, too. He was always intensely interested in the samurai, because our samurai virtues were virtues of a kind he particularly admired--courage, stoicism, love of duty and of country. "We sat on the wide verandah, overlooking the lawn sloping down toward Long Island Sound. Mrs. Roosevelt sat with us, knitting. It was July, but she was knitting mittens. Presently a maid came and spoke to her, and she left us. "When she came back she said to me, 'Baron, I want to ask a favour of you. Quentin has been crying. He took great pains to clean his pony to-day, to show it to you, and we promised that he should be allowed to do so. He has been riding around the lawn hoping you would notice him.' "Of course I sent for Quentin, and he appeared proudly upon his pony. I asked him to ride around the lawn, which he did. "'You ride splendidly!' I said, when he drew up again before the porch. "'Do you think so?' he asked, evidently much pleased. "'Indeed I do!' I said, and asked him to go around the lawn again. "When he came back I told him about my son, who was just his age. 'I shall have him learn to ride,' I said, 'and when he can ride as well as you can I shall have his picture taken on a pony and send it to you.' "That," continued the Viscount, "is how we happen to have this picture of Quentin on his pony. He sent it to my son, and my son sent him a picture. I always like to think of the good-will there was between those two boys--an American boy and a Japanese boy who had never seen each other. "That night we sat talking in the drawing room which is to the left of the hall as you go into the house. Mrs. Roosevelt was still knitting mittens for the children. It was all wonderfully simple and homelike. I could hardly believe that I was in the home of the head of a great nation. At that time the house was lighted with kerosene lamps, yet in Japan I had been using electric light for fifteen years. "At about ten o'clock Mrs. Roosevelt said good night to us and retired. Before she went upstairs she moved about, fastening windows and putting out lamps in parts of the house in which they would not be needed any more. Then she brought candles and matches so that we should have them when we were ready to go to bed. "After an hour's talk about the war, which was still raging, the President rose and lit the candles. Then he put out the remaining lamps, and conducted me upstairs to my room. It was a cool night. He felt of the coverings on my bed, and decided that I might need another blanket. 'I'll get you one,' he said, leaving the room. And in a minute or two he reappeared with a blanket over his shoulder. "'Come,' he said, as he put it on the bed, 'and I'll show you the bathroom.' I went with him. 'Here's soap,' said he, 'and here are clean towels.' Then he took me back to my room and wished me a good night. "As for me, I was fascinated, almost dazed. I kept saying to myself, 'This man who has lighted me upstairs with a candle, and carried me a blanket, and shown me where to find soap and towels, is the President of the United States! The President of the United States has done all these things for me. It is the greatest honour a man could have.' "Earlier in the same year, before the President moved from the White House to Oyster Bay, he went bear hunting. That was just before Admiral Togo's victory over the Russian fleet, in the Sea of Japan. "Before leaving, the President sent for me and told me, in the presence of Mr. Taft, who was Secretary of War, that if anything of importance should come up during his absence, I was to see Mr. Taft about it, and that in the event of its being anything absolutely vital, Mr. Taft would know how to reach him. "Mr. Taft showed me a photograph hanging on the wall of the President's office, showing the wild country to which the President was going on his hunting trip. "I remarked playfully to him that I thought it advisable, at that time, that the President refrain from killing bears, whatever other animals he might see fit to slay. "Roosevelt, sitting at his desk, overheard me. "'What's that you are saying?' he asked. "I repeated what I had said to Mr. Taft. "'Why do you think I should not kill bears?' demanded the President. "'Well, Mr. President,' I replied, 'you know that the various nations have their special symbols in the animal kingdom. America has the eagle, Britain the lion, France the cock, and Russia, well----' "He got up, laughing and came over to me. "'Nevertheless,' he said, 'I shall go right ahead and kill bears!' "Before he left on that hunting trip I went to see him and asked as a special favour that he give me the skin of one of the bears he should kill. "He refused, saying that if he were to start presenting trophies to his friends they would all be after him. "At that I said to him, 'If I were asking this for myself, Mr. President, I would not pursue the matter further, but I am not asking it for myself. I want that bear skin for our Emperor.' "'Very well, then,' he said. 'You shall have it.' "He went off on his hunting trip, and came back. Then followed the negotiations for a cessation of hostilities between Japan and Russia, and the Portsmouth Peace Conference, through which Roosevelt brought about the end of the war. "In August of the same year, 1905, I received this letter from him." The Viscount handed me the letter to read. It was as follows: Oyster Bay, N, Y,. August 30, 1905. _Personal_ MY DEAR BARON KANEKO: I cannot too highly state my appreciation of the wisdom and magnanimity of Japan, which make a fit crown to the prowess of her soldiers. Will you tell the Emperor that I shall take the liberty of sending him by you a bear skin? I want you soon to come out here and take lunch. Sincerely yours, THEODORE ROOSEVELT. "Later," the Viscount went on, "I was asked by the President to come to Oyster Bay and select one of the skins. I however did not wish to make the selection, so the President did that, picking out the largest skin of all and giving it to me for the Emperor Meiji. "His Majesty was greatly pleased with the skin, not only because it was a trophy from the President himself, but because of the emblematic nature of the gift. That bearskin was in his library at the Imperial Palace in Tokyo as long as he lived." * * * * * One of the most important Roosevelt letters shown me by Viscount Kaneko was on the subject of Japanese-American relations. As this letter is not included in the two-volume collection of Roosevelt correspondence compiled in such masterly fashion by Joseph Bucklin Bishop, Roosevelt's literary executor, I have asked the permission of Mrs. Roosevelt and of Mr. Bishop to quote it here. It was as follows: THE WHITE HOUSE WASHINGTON May 23, 1907. _Confidential_ MY DEAR BARON KANEKO: I much appreciate your thought of Archie. The little fellow was very sick but is now all right. His mother and I have just had him on a short trip in the country. I was delighted to meet General Kuroki and Admiral Ijuin with their staffs. General Kuroki is, of course, one of the most illustrious men living. Through his interpreter, a very able young staff officer, I spoke to him a little about our troubles on the Pacific Slope. Nothing during my Presidency has given me more concern than these troubles. History often teaches by example, and I think we can best understand just what the situation is, and how it ought to be met, by taking into account the change in general international relations during the last two or three centuries. During this period all the civilized nations have made great progress. During the first part of it Japan did not appear in the general progress, but for the last half century she has gone ahead so much faster than any other nation that I think we can fairly say that, taking the last three centuries together, her advance has been on the whole greater than that of any other nation. But all have advanced, and especially in the way in which the people of each treat people of other nationalities. Two centuries ago there was the greatest suspicion and malevolence exhibited by all the people, high and low, of each European country, for all the people, high and low, of every other European country, with but few exceptions. The cultivated people of the different countries, however, had already begun to treat with one another on good terms. But when, for instance, the Huguenots were exiled from France, and great numbers of Huguenot workmen went to England, their presence excited the most violent hostility, manifesting itself even in mob violence, among the English workmen. The men were closely allied by race and religion, they had practically the same type of ancestral culture, and yet they were unable to get on together. Two centuries have passed, the world has moved forward, and now there could be no repetition of such hostilities. In the same way a marvellous progress has been made in the relations of Japan with the Occidental nations. Fifty years ago you and I and those like us could not have travelled in one another's countries. We should have had very unpleasant and possibly very dangerous experiences. But the same progress that has been going on as between nations in Europe and their descendants in America and Australia, has also been going on as between Japan and the Occidental nations. In these times, then, gentlemen, all educated people, members of professions and the like, get on so well together that they not only travel each in the other's country, but associate on the most intimate terms. Among the friends whom I especially value I include a number of Japanese gentlemen. But the half century has been too short a time for the advance to include the labouring classes of the two countries, as between themselves. Exactly as the educated classes in Europe, among the several nations, grew to be able to associate together generations before it was possible for such association to take place among the men who had no such advantages of education, so it is evident we must not press too fast in bringing the labouring classes of Japan and America together. Already in these fifty years we have completely attained the goal as between the educated and the intellectual classes of the two countries. We must be content to wait another generation before we shall have made progress enough to permit the same close intimacy between the classes who have had less opportunity for cultivation, and whose lives are less easy, so that each has to feel, in earning its daily bread, the pressure of the competition of the other. I have become convinced that to try to move too far forward all at once is to incur jeopardy of trouble. This is just as true of one nation as of the other. If scores of thousands of American miners went to Saghalin, or of American mechanics to Japan or Formosa, trouble would almost certainly ensue. Just in the same way scores of thousands of Japanese labourers, whether agricultural or industrial, are certain, chiefly because of the pressure caused thereby, to be a sources of trouble if they should come here or to Australia. I mention Australia because it is a part of the British Empire, because the Australians have discriminated against continental immigration in favour of immigration from the British Isles, and have in effect discriminated to a certain degree in favour of immigration from England and Scotland as against immigration from Ireland. My dear Baron, the business of statesmen is to try constantly to keep international relations better, to do away with causes of friction, and secure as nearly ideal justice as actual conditions will permit. I think that with this object in view and facing conditions not as I would like them to be, but as they are, the best thing to do is to prevent the labouring classes of either country from going in any numbers to the other. In a generation I believe all need of such prevention will have passed away; and at any rate this leaves free the opportunity for all those fit to profit by intercourse, to go each to the other's country. I have just appointed a commission on general immigration which will very possibly urge restrictive measures as regards European immigration, and which I am in hopes will be able to bring about a method by which the result we have in view will be obtained with the minimum friction. With warm regards to the Baroness, believe me, Sincerely yours, THEODORE ROOSEVELT. Baron Kentaro Kaneko, Tokyo, Japan. The foregoing letter may well be studied at this time when, through lack of the kind of statesmanship shown by Roosevelt, the Californian situation has become worse instead of better. Another letter shown me by Viscount Kaneko was written in pencil on a large sheet of yellow paper torn from a pad. It came from the African jungle, and ran as follows: Mid-Africa Sept. 10th, 1909. MY DEAR BARON,[3] I have no facilities for writing here; but I must just send you a line of thanks for your welcome note. I have had a most interesting trip; my son Kermit has done particularly well. He has the spirit of a samurai! I greatly hope to visit Japan; but when it may be possible I can not say. With warm regards to the Viscountess,[3] believe me, Sincerely yours, THEODORE ROOSEVELT. [3] Despite the fact that Roosevelt knew that Kaneko had been made a Viscount he addressed him in this letter by his old title. The last letter of the series was written on the stationery of the Kansas City _Star_, of which Roosevelt was an associate editor with an office in New York. The letter read: New York, Aug. 21, 1918. MY DEAR VISCOUNT KANEKO: I thank you for your letter; and Mrs. Roosevelt was as much touched by it as I was. Remember to give your son a letter to us when he comes here to go to Harvard. One of our newspapers, the Chicago _Tribune_, when the news was brought that Quentin was dead and two of his brothers wounded, spoke of my four sons as "American samurai." I was proud of the reference! As you say, all of us who are born are doomed to die. No man is fit to live who is afraid to die for a great cause. My sorrow for Quentin is outweighed by my pride in him. Faithfully your friend, THEODORE ROOSEVELT. The foregoing, written less than five months before Colonel Roosevelt's death, was the last letter of the series shown me by Viscount Kaneko. Reading it I was reminded of what Colonel Roosevelt said to me as he lay on his bed in the hospital the last time I saw him. Speaking of his four sons in the war he said: "We have been an exceptionally united family. Come what may, we have many absolutely satisfying years together to look back upon." CHAPTER XIX _Placidity and_ Sodans--_Talk and Tea--American Business Methods_ versus _Japanese--The American Housekeeper in Nippon--Japan's Problem-- Population and Food--The Militarists--Land-Grabbing--Liberalism--Emigration-- Industrialism--Examples of Inefficiency--"Public Futilities"--Comedies of the Telephone--The Cables_ Elsewhere I have said that the Japanese are generally hard workers; wherefore it may seem paradoxical to add that they are also leisurely workers. But the paradox is not so great as it would seem. The hours of work are longer in Japan than in most other countries, but work is not so vigorously pressed. Without being in the least lazy, the Japanese take their time to everything. With masters and servants, employers and workmen, it is much the same. They appear placid. They hold _sodans_, conferring and arranging matters with terrible precision. If you attempt to use the telephone you are prepared for a long struggle and a long wait. The clerks in the cable office act as if the cable had just been laid--as if your cablegram were the first one they had ever been called upon to send, and they didn't quite know how to handle it, or how much to charge. Often they are unable to make change. Sometimes even the railway ticket agents have no change. Business conferences are conducted over successive cups of pale green tea, and I am told that it is customary to begin them with talk on any topic other than the main one. In the lexicon of Japanese trade and commerce there is no such word as "snappy." The hustling American business man who tries to rush things through often arouses the Japanese business man's suspicion. What is he after? Why is he in such a hurry? There must be something behind it all. It is necessary to be particularly careful in dealing with such a man. Negotiations drag and drag until the American, if he be of nervous disposition, is driven nearly wild. And sometimes this results in his making a bad bargain merely for the sake of getting through. "I'm sorry I ever came to the Far East!" he will declare bitterly. "I feel that I am getting nothing accomplished over here--nothing!" Then he will tell you what is the trouble with the Japanese: "They are used to playing only with white chips!" The American housekeeper in Japan, if she knows what nerves are, may have similar difficulties. Her Japanese servants will conduct her ménage well enough if she lets them do it in their Japanese way, but if she attempts to run her home as she would run it in the United States, she is lost. It can't be done. I know of an American woman who could not get a cook because her efforts to Americanize her household had given her a bad reputation with the Cook's Guild. Another could get no sewing done, for a like reason. For all the servants and working people have their guilds, and news travels. Thus many an American housekeeper in Japan has became a nervous wreck. Yet on the other hand, numbers of American business men and their wives enjoy Japanese life, and only come home when it is necessary to give their children an American education. The men are successful and their homes are comfortable and well run. But always you will find that they are people of calm disposition: people having sufficient balance to adjust themselves to the customs of the country. The essential point seems to be that the Japanese view life in longer perspective than we do. Where we see ourselves as individuals having certain things to accomplish in a rather short life, they see themselves as mere links in an endless family chain. We are conscious of our parents and our children but they are conscious of ancestors, reaching back to the mists of antiquity, and of a posterity destined to people the nebulous vaults of the far-distant future. But while, from a philosophical standpoint, this way of looking at life may be quite as good as ours, or even better, still I believe it tends to handicap the Japanese in meeting the urgent material problems by which they are confronted. And though these problems are not so terrible as those of war-racked Europe, they are, if measured by any other standard, terrible enough. Japan's fundamental problem--the one out of which grow all other Japanese problems in which the world is interested--is, as I have said before, that of great density of population coupled with an inadequate supply of food and raw materials. Fifty years ago the population of Japan proper was less than 33,000,000. To-day it is more than 57,000,000. There has been an increase in five decades of more than 75 per cent., but there has been no corresponding increase in the country's arable land. [Illustration: The film was not large enough to hold the family of this youngish fisherman at Nabuto. Nine children! Fifty years ago Japan had a population of 33,000,000. To-day it is nearing 60,000,000.] In Japan itself there have been various theories as to how this problem should be met. The militarists, who are still very powerful, have in the past undoubtedly favoured what we have come lately to call the Prussian system, the grabbing system: the system which has been followed in the Far East not by Japan alone but by England, Russia, France, and Germany--and by the United States (if in a form somewhat more moderate) in the Hawaiian Islands, and the Philippines. "If the others do it," the Japanese militarists have argued, "why shouldn't we? Why shouldn't we, who need additional territory so much more than they do, grab on the continent of Asia for land to which our surplus population may be sent, and from which we may get food and raw materials?" To which the other nations answer: "Unfortunately for you, you came along too late. The good old grabbing days are gone. The world is radiant with a new international morality, and woe be unto those who offend against it! Germany tried it--see what happened to her!" Japan did see what happened to Germany and the lesson was not wasted on her. Nor was the least striking part of the lesson contained in America's exhibition of military might. And truth to tell, Japan needed such a lesson; for her victories over China and Russia had put her militarists in the ascendant, and had made them, and perhaps the bulk of their countrymen also, over-confident, with the result that Japan occasionally rattled the sabre in the Far East somewhat as Germany was wont to do in Europe. But although it cannot be denied that the Japanese militarists exhibited undue aggressiveness in China and Siberia during the late war, and although their actions since have not been altogether satisfactory to the rest of the world, there is good reason to suppose that their old-time dream of vast territorial aggrandizement has diminished, even though it may not have entirely faded from the minds of some of them. This new tendency toward moderation is due to the war's lesson and to the marked growth of liberal and anti-militarist sentiment among the Japanese people. The militarists, though they still control the Government, are less aggressive than they used to be, both because the Japanese public protests when too much aggressiveness is shown, and because the more intelligent members of the militaristic group now realize that if Japan were to bring on a great war she would inevitably be ruined. So, while the power and aggressiveness of this dangerous element slowly wane, the liberal element, led by some of the sanest and ablest men in Japan, steadily gains strength. The outcome of this struggle between the advocates of force and those of fair dealing will, in my judgment, be determined largely by the course pursued by other nations. If, as we all hope, a new order of things is to grow out of the late war, then within a few years I believe we shall see the liberal group running Japan. But if, on the contrary, the world backslides, and the old selfish system is resumed, then the Japanese militarists will say to the people: "Well, you see that we were right after all!" But however these matters may turn out, I do not believe that Japan will ever fully settle her surplus population problem by means of emigration, whether to annexed territory, or to other countries. The Japanese do not like to leave home. There are only about 300,000 Japanese in China, for example, and they have not colonized to nearly the extent they might have in Siberia. If they do leave home they seek mild climates, but they are now barred from colonizing in the United States, Canada, and Australia and even when they settle in Mexico or South America one sees protests in our press. Yet if Japan's population is to remain static hundreds of thousands of her people must leave the islands every year. All considered, it seems more than improbable that they will ever emigrate in such a wholesale way. By what means, then, is the problem to be solved? Apparently the leaders of the small group that governs Japan came, some years ago, to the conclusion that the best means for solving their difficulties lay in turning Japan into an industrial country. They determined to manufacture goods, export them, and with the proceeds pay for imports of raw materials and food--in short, to adopt the plan which England began to follow nearly a century ago, and which Belgium has also followed. England's situation was in many respects like that of Japan, for there were certain essential raw materials which she did not have either at home or in her possessions; and like Japan she is unable to feed herself. With Belgium the situation was even worse than with England. Yet through industrializing themselves both countries have prospered greatly. Is it not then logical to suppose that by following a similar course Japan will likewise prosper? Recent statistics seem, moreover, to indicate that with industrialization the birth-rate tends to decline. In attempting a great industrial programme Japan has two advantages: she has abundant cheap labour and a short haul to the great markets of Asia. Geographically we are her nearest competitor for Asiatic trade, yet we have at the very least, four thousand miles farther to carry our goods. Obviously this is an immense disadvantage to us, and we are further handicapped by the high cost of our labour. Having us at so great a disadvantage in the matter of commerce with Asia, it would seem that Japan should have little difficulty in securing for herself the lion's share of the Asiatic trade. But it must not be supposed that Japan has as yet become sufficiently industrialized to solve her problem. She must become a much greater manufacturing and exporting nation than she now is. And in order to accomplish that she must greatly improve in one particular: she must master much more thoroughly than she has so far mastered them, the horrid arts of "efficiency." I do not mean to imply that the Japanese are never efficient, but only that they are not always so efficient as they ought to be, and as they must become. I am aware, now, that I expected too much of them in this particular. Reports of their astonishing military efficiency at the time of their war with Russia, caused me to think of them almost as supermen. And they are not that. Nor is any other race. It may be true that in military matters they are highly efficient. Probably they are. My own observation as a traveller on their ships convinces me that they are efficient on the sea, and this opinion is supported by what American naval officers have told me of their navy and their naval men. I visited a huge cotton mill near Tokyo which was clearly a first-class institution of the kind; also I was much struck, in going through a penitentiary, by the evidences of their understanding of modern and enlightened practice in the conduct of penal establishments; and I might go on with a list of other institutions which impressed me favourably. But that is not the side I wish here to bring out. On the contrary, I wish to call attention to the fact that the high degree of efficiency shown by the Japanese in certain instances serves but to emphasize their widespread inefficiency in others. In an earlier chapter I spoke of the fact that in Japan one sees three men instead of two in the cab of a locomotive, that hand-carts are used for watering city streets, and that more servants are required there than here in a house of given size. These are but minor items in the wholesale waste of labour. It is as if Japan said to herself: "I have all these people to look after and I must put as many of them as possible on every job." And that, in my judgment, is not the way Japan should look at it. Instead of putting on every job more people than are actually needed, she should endeavour to develop her industries to such a point that there will be a full, honest day's work for everyone. For, of course, her labour wastage keeps up her manufacturing and operating costs. An example of the way time is wasted may be seen wherever railroad gangs are at work. They swing their picks to the accompaniment of a song, and the rhythm is taken from the slowest man. Wastage is also exhibited in the way a house is built. They build the framework of the roof upon the ground. Then they take it apart. Then they go up and put it together all over again, in place. A whole house is constructed in this way. The parts are not fashioned on the premises as the building goes up, but are made elsewhere and brought to the actual scene of building to be fitted together. The tiles are fastened to the roof with mud, but instead of carrying this mud up in bulk they toss it up from hand to hand, six men forming a chain for the purpose. Or again, to cite a very simple example of domestic inefficiency, consider their method of washing a kimono. Instead of laundering the garment all at once, they rip it apart, wash the pieces separately, dry them on a board, and sew them together again. In factory management also one sometimes finds the most surprising inefficiency. I know of a great manufacturing plant in Japan which, if you were to go through it, you would call thoroughly modern. The buildings are modern, the machinery is modern. But there is one thing missing, and it is a vital thing. The plant stands a good half mile from the railway line; coal and raw materials are transported from car to factory in carts, or in baskets carried on the backs of coolies, and the finished product is removed in like manner. Though the cost of labour in Japan was trebled after the war, wages are still low as compared with other countries. But this fact, which should be taken advantage of in the struggle for world trade, is too often used only as an excuse for such waste of labour as I have pointed out. And it is because of this and similar inefficiencies that the Japanese now find themselves unable to compete in costs, in certain lines, with other nations, even though the labour of those other nations is much better paid. Among the things most criticized by visitors are the bad roads, both in the country and in the cities; the hotels, which except in a few places are poor (I am speaking only of the foreign-style hotels); and the miserable conditions of what the _Japan Advertiser_ humorously refers to as "public futilities." Tokyo, with a transportation problem which ought easily to be solved, has utterly inadequate street-car service. The rush hour there is only saved from being as terrible as the rush hour in New York by the lack of subterranean features. But it is in all matters having to do with communications that Japanese inefficiency is most strikingly brought to the notice of strangers. The postal service is poor, the cable service is expensive and absurdly slow (when I was in Japan it took about ten days to cable to America and get an answer back), and the telephone service is unbelievably awful. All these, like the railroads, are owned and operated by the Government. I began to suspect their telephones when I saw the old full-bosomed wall instruments they use, with bell-cranks to be rung; but little did I then guess the full measure of their telephonic backwardness. It is like opera bouffe. Though the demand for new telephones far exceeds the supply, the Government makes no appreciable effort to remedy the situation. Every year an absurdly small number of lines is added to the existing system. These are assigned by lot among those who have applied for them. Thus, if a man be lucky in the draw, he may get a telephone within two or three years. But I know one gentleman in Tokyo who was not lucky in the draw. At the ripe age of sixty-seven he applied to the Government for an additional office telephone. The instrument was installed shortly after he had celebrated his eightieth birthday. Long may he live to use it! If one be in a hurry to have a telephone put in, one does not apply to the authorities, but attacks the problem in a manner more direct--either through a telephone broker or through advertising. Thus one can get in contact with a person wishing to sell an installation and a number. The number must, however, be in the exchange serving the district in which the telephone is to be placed. Though this is a very expensive method, it is the one usually employed in Tokyo and other large cities. A telephone for the business district of the capital may cost as much as twelve hundred dollars, but in a residential district it will be considerably cheaper--five hundred dollars or less. A curious detail of this business is that low numbers bring the highest price in the open market. This, I was informed, is because green operators, in process of being broken-in, sit at that end of the central switchboard at which the high numbers invariably occur, thus guaranteeing the owners of high numbers a grade of service calculated to drive them to the madhouse. It must not be imagined that the Japanese are content with their telephone service. They are not. For some time prior to my arrival in Japan the press had been demanding a reform, and at last it was announced that action was about to be taken to improve matters. But all that happened was this: Instead of increasing the service, the government functionaries started a campaign to discourage the use of telephones. Up to that time, unlimited service had been given. Now, however, a flat charge of two sen (about one cent) per call was announced, the theory being that many persons would think twice before spending two sen on an idle telephonic conversation. After watching the new plan in operation for a few days the telephone authorities jubilantly announced that it was a great success--the number of calls had appreciably diminished. Apparently it never occurred to them that the result of such a policy, carried to its logical conclusion, would be to eliminate the telephone entirely. With the Japanese cables the trouble has been largely due to congestion. The use of two important lines was cut off by the war, and as service on these lines has not up to the time of writing been resumed, owing to the disorganization of Russia and Germany, a heavy strain has been placed upon the transpacific cables. I am assured, however, that conditions would not be so bad as they are if the Japanese were entirely efficient in their handling of cable business, and my own experiences with cable messages, while there, would seem to indicate that this is true. Moreover, at the time when cable congestion was at its worst, the Japanese refused to operate their transpacific wireless for more than seven hours a day; and even then they would take business only for San Francisco and vicinity, for the reason, it was explained, that they did not wish to be bothered with the details of figuring the rates to various parts of the United States. Lately they have increased their service to cover the states of California, Oregon and Washington; but that, at the time of writing, is as far as they have consented to extend it. CHAPTER XX _The Average American and International Affairs--The Vagueness of the Orient--A Definition by Former Ambassador Morris--"They say"--The "Yellow Peril"--International Insults--Physiognomy-- What the Japanese Should Learn About Us--Our Race Problems-- Racial Integrity--Assimilation--Californian Methods--The Two Sound Arguments Against Oriental Immigration_ If public opinion is fed with distorted facts, unworthy suspicions, or alarming rumours; if every careless utterance by thoughtless and insignificant men is to be given prominence in print; if every casual difference of view is to be magnified into a crisis, sober judgment and deliberate action become impossible.--JOHN W. DAVIS, _former Ambassador to the Court of St. James's_. Concerned with making a living, the Average American has as a rule neither the time nor the inclination to study international affairs. He expects his government to see to such things for him. He has no interest in what his government is doing with regard to other nations unless his personal feelings are in some way involved. Thus if he be a German-American he may take cognizance of our relations with Germany; or if he be a Russian-American he may desire that we recognize the so-called government of Lenine and Trotzky; or again, if he be an Irish-American he may wish the President of the United States to go personally to London and knock the British premier's hat off. But if he be simply an average unhyphenated American the chances are that he is disgusted with the clatter of the hyphenates and bored with the whole business of foreign relations and race problems. His main interest in governmental affairs at the present time has nothing to do with foreign relations but comes much closer to home. He is tired of paying heavy taxes, tired of paying exorbitantly for the necessities of life. He wants his government to remedy those two things. Then, because he is sick of hyphenated citizens and internal race problems, he wants immigration stopped. The Orient is all vague to him. If he does not live on the Pacific Coast or in some large city where Japanese have settled, he may never have laid eyes upon a Japanese. Or if he has seen Japanese over here he may have seen them in the farming districts of the Pacific slope. Whether he has seen them or not, he has gathered some impression of them through newspaper accounts of the trouble there has been about them in California. He understands that their customs, religion, and food are unlike his--which may be taken as implying a certain lack of merit in them. He understands that Japanese women and children work in the fields. His own women and children do not work in the fields, but wear silk stockings, chew gum, and go to the movies--all of which, of course, counts against the Japanese, since to work in the fields is in these times almost un-American. And of course it is still more un-American to do what the Japanese labourers did in California until the patriotic Californians stopped them; namely to save money and buy farms. Then there is this business about "picture-brides"--my Average American may have heard vaguely about that, though probably he does not know that the Japanese Government, in deference to our wishes, no longer allows picture-brides to come here. He would not think of such a thing as picking out a wife by photograph. None of his friends would do it, either. It may be well here to state the actual nature of the issue in California. This can be done briefly in no better way than by quoting an editorial published not long since in the New York _World_, a newspaper remarkable for the intelligence with which it has generally treated the Japanese question. The _World_'s editorial was published apropos an address made by Mr. Roland S. Morris, who served under the Wilson Administration as ambassador to Tokyo, and whose admirable work in Tokyo might have borne good fruit but for our unfortunate habit of relieving ambassadors, however able, when the political party to which they belong goes out of power. Said the _World_: In his address at the University Club on the Japanese issue in California, Roland S. Morris, American Ambassador to Tokyo, refrained from discussing the merits of the case and merely defined the question in accordance with the facts. It is only in the light of the facts that a sound decision can be reached where argument and judgment run along the line of fixed prejudices. As Mr. Morris explained, Japan does not question the right of the United States, subject to its treaty obligations, to legislate on the admission of foreigners. While under the treaty of 1911 Japanese were granted full rights of residence and admission, the Tokyo Government accepted the condition that it would continue limiting emigration from Japan to the United States in compliance with the "Gentleman's Agreement" of 1908.[4] [4] The "limiting" here referred to includes the stoppage of labour emigration, not by us, but by the Japanese Government, which took this amiable and dignified means of avoiding a direct issue of the subject of racial equality. The Japanese Government and people are not seeking the removal of restrictions on immigration. The Japanese are not eligible to American citizenship, but they have enjoyed in this country the same personal and property rights as other aliens. It is here that the friction has been created by the action of California. In 1913 California deprived those aliens who were ineligible to citizenship of certain property rights. In 1920, in Mr. Morris's words, "this legislation was amplified by an initiative and referendum act." What he does not state is that this measure was intended to discriminate against the Japanese in buying and leasing land. Hence the protests of the Government at Tokyo. The Japanese object to what they regard as the injustice of being set apart as a separate class, suffering political disabilities and deprived of rights other aliens enjoy. Mr. Morris leaves the issue open when he says: "The Japanese protest presents to all our people this very definite question: In the larger view of our relations with the Orient, is it wise thus to classify aliens on the basis of their eligibility to citizenship?" In pursuance of its local ends, California has adopted a provocative position and played into the hands of Japanese jingoes and militarists. Lamentably, these simple facts have been cast adrift upon a stormy sea of Californian prejudice. That sea, I fear, so fills the eye of the Average American that oftentimes he fails entirely to descry the shipwrecked waifs of Truth out there upon their little raft. Were he to attempt to state his views upon the California question he would in all probability quote as the source of his information that favourite authority, "They say." "They say Japanese immigrants are flooding into California and buying up the farming land; they say the Japanese have large families; they say they don't make desirable neighbours; they say that if things keep on this way they will ultimately control the state. Certainly we don't want any part of our country dominated by foreigners." The less familiar he is with certain Californian traits the more he is likely to conclude: "I guess it must be true or the Californians wouldn't be making such a row about it." His tendency to reason thus may be enhanced by the recollection of a phrase he has heard: the "Yellow Peril"--one of the most poisonous phrases ever coined. He does not know that the term was Made in Germany for the very purpose of exciting international suspicion and ill-will. He may not be alive to our real Yellow Peril--that of the yellow press--but may, upon the contrary, actually acquire his views on international affairs from such inflammatory sheets as those published by William Randolph Hearst, himself a son of California and a leader in the anti-Japanese chorus. My Average American knows little of Californian politics, and nothing of politics in Japan. He does not realize that Californian politicians are largely responsible for the stirring up of anti-Japanese sentiment, precisely as earlier politicians of the state were responsible for anti-Chinese sentiment, and that in both cases vote-getting was a chief motive. It is sometimes very convenient for a demagogue to have a voteless alien race at hand to bully. My Average American is probably unaware that more than two hundred thousand Californian voters cast their ballots against the discriminatory laws passed in November, 1920, even though the press of California was generally closed to spokesmen representing sentiment opposed to undue harshness toward the Japanese. Still less is he likely to be aware that politicians in Japan know all the tricks familiar to their Californian counterparts; that they, too, know how to gather votes by stirring up race feeling. So, when he sees in his newspaper-headlines that a Japanese whose name he has never before heard, but who, the paper says, is high in politics, has been talking of war with the United States, he begins to wonder whether those people over there are not, perhaps, looking for trouble. And when he reads of Japan's great naval building programme the notion becomes a little more concrete in his mind. Of course he does not understand that, meanwhile, in Japan there has been going on a process precisely similar: that hostile and insulting things said by American politicians are cabled to Japan and published there, where they carry undue weight; and that while we are reading of Japan's naval programme and wondering what it signifies, Japan is reading of ours, and likewise wondering. That any one could suspect the United States of aggressive purpose is inconceivable to my Average American. Though the United States has lately shown that she can fight, she has also shown she is loath to do it. The Average American has no feeling of hostility toward Japan, and the idea of war with Japan seems to him absurd to the point of being fantastic. There is, as he conceives it, but one way in which such a war could be started, and that is by Japanese aggression. Assure him that the exact reverse of this view represents Japanese sentiment and you will stupefy him. "You must be wrong about that," he will tell you. "The Japanese must know that we hate war and that we have no more desire to fight them than to select our wives out of a photograph album." And he may add something about Japanese "inscrutability." That is another point: When my Average American meets a stranger of his own race, or of almost any European nationality, he can form, from the stranger's physiognomy, some estimate of his character. It is a type of face he understands. But the Oriented physiognomy baffles him. He cannot read it. To him it is as a book in an unknown tongue--a very symbol for mystery. That it may be equally difficult for the Japanese to judge of us would not occur to him. Our faces are--well, they are regular _faces_; there is nothing queer about them. _We_ aren't queer in any way. It is other people who are queer. * * * * * If certain simple facts about Japan were understood in the United States, and certain simple facts about the United States were understood in Japan, it might not follow that the two nations would thereafter cordially approve of all each other's policies and acts, but it ought certainly to follow that they could view such policies and acts with eyes more tolerant. You and I, for instance, might not approve the aggressive methods of some canvasser we had encountered, but if we knew that his wife and family were crowded into a single room wondering where to-morrow's breakfast would come from, we could forgive the man a good deal. Similarly, if he were to see you or me bulldozing a helpless guest in our own house, his disapproval of our action might be mitigated if he understood that the entire neighbourhood had fallen into the habit of using our house as a common camping ground for undesirable members of their families, and that we had been goaded by these unwelcome visitors into a state of desperation. What are the essential things for the Japanese to learn about us? They must get a better understanding of our various race problems. They must realize that, important as the problem involving their settlers on the Pacific Coast appears to them, it is to us a minor problem--being one of the least of a number of race-problems with which we are confronted. They must know that our population is derived from all the countries of Europe. And they must be made aware that though we have in the past viewed this situation with fatuous complacency, we no longer do so. Our old beautiful theory that the United States was properly a refuge for the oppressed of all other lands has lost a wheel and gone into the ditch. Some of us have even begun to suspect that the oppressed of other lands were in certain instances oppressed for what may have been good and sufficient cause. We have found that some of these individuals, on arriving in the United States, become so exhilarated by our free air that from oppressed they turn into oppressors who would fain take our government out of our hands and run it in the interest of the Kaiser, the Soviets, or of Mr. De Valera's interesting Republic. With these and other hyphenated racial problems we are continually contending. We no sooner meet one than another arises. Now we must needs create an Alien Property Custodian to take a hand. Now we deport a band of the more violent Bolsheviks. Now we summon glaziers to put new windows in the Union Club in New York, where the British flag (flying in commemoration of the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers, three hundred years ago) was hailed with bricks by members of a congregation emerging from St. Patrick's Cathedral, across the way. We used to speak with loving confidence of something called the "Melting Pot," which was supposed to make newly arrived immigrants into good American citizens. Sometimes it did so, but we have lately learned that its by-product consisted too often of bricks and bombs. We do not boast about the Melting Pot any more. Having overloaded it and found it could not do the work we put upon it, we want time in which to catch up with back orders, as it were. Meanwhile no new ones must be taken. But while the problems growing out of European immigration have of recent years troubled us most, they do not constitute our greatest race problem. Always in the background of our consciousness, like a volcano quiescent but very much alive, looms our gigantic negro problem--the problem which for the sins of our slave-importing and slave-holding forefathers we inherit, and from which, according to our characteristic way of "meeting" great quiescent problems, we are always endeavouring to hide. For it is not our way to advance upon a bull and take him by the horns. If a bull seeks to be taken by the horns he must do the advancing. We Americans all know this about ourselves, but it is our way to excuse the failing by boasting of the tussle we will give the bull if he ever gets us in a corner. There is no need here even to outline the tragedies of the negro problem, but there is one aspect of the matter which should be spoken of. Experience has shown that whereas immigrants from Europe can ultimately be absorbed into what we may term the American race, the negro, wearing the badge of his race in the pigment of his skin, is not to be absorbed. Even the octoroon is clearly distinguishable from the white. The negro race must, so far as the future can be read, remain a race apart. The case of the Indian affords another example of the failure of two races, separated by colour and other physical markings, to fuse. In the early days of this country's settlement, when the Indians strongly predominated, they did not absorb the then few whites. When the time came that there was an equal number of Indians and whites, still they did not fuse. And now, when but a handful remains of the once mighty Indian nations, that remnant still retains its racial integrity. Here, however, is involved no question of racial inferiority. Whites and Indians have to some small extent intermarried, and when both parties represent the best of their respective races, not only is there no sense of degradation to either, but the white descendants of such alliances are often proud of their Indian blood. In this whole matter of the fusibility of races there is, then, no basic principle of inferiority or superiority. Such questions are here as extraneous as in the case of oil and water, which though they will not mix are not therefore designated as a superior and an inferior fluid. The fact is that some inner consciousness tells us that the characteristic physical markings of the chief races of the world were not given them for nothing; that Nature intended the broad lines of race to be maintained; and we are told that crosses which disregard these natural race divisions are usually penalized by deterioration. To find in this truth the faintest implication of insult would be absurd. It would be as ridiculous to resent the statement that "like seeks like," as to resent the statement that "honesty is the best policy." No people insists more firmly than the Japanese upon racial integrity. The most fanatical English horseman could hardly be more finicky about the maintenance of pure thoroughbred stock. Marriages between native Japanese and foreigners are not encouraged and seldom occur. Among the upper classes they almost never occur. A citizen of Japan cannot enter into a legal marriage with a Korean or a Formosan, although Korea and Formosa are Japanese colonies. (I am informed that steps were taken in 1918 to make such marriages legal, but up to the time of writing this has not been accomplished.) The law regulating the acts of the Japanese Imperial Family does not permit the marriage of members of that family with persons other than those of Japanese Imperial or noble stock. This law had to be amended in order to make possible the marriage, several years ago, of a Japanese Imperial princess, the daughter of Prince Nashimoto, with the heir to the Korean Royal Family--which family, by the way, now ranks as a sort of Japanese nobility. The marriage, it may be added, was unpopular with the Japanese masses, because of their strong feeling that Japanese blood, and especially Japanese Imperial blood, should not be diluted. Had the prince been a European it is not improbable that a louder protest would have been heard, for the Japanese does not, as a rule, look with favour upon Eurasians. There are exceptions, but in the main the man or woman of mixed Oriental and Occidental blood lives socially upon an international boundary line, on neither side of which is exuberant cordiality displayed. The intelligent and patriotic sentiment of the United States is at present overwhelmingly in favour of the stoppage of all immigration; and even if there comes a time when it is felt that the floodgates may again be opened, they will not, if wisdom prevails, be opened wide, but will admit only such aliens as are susceptible to assimilation. What does assimilation mean? It means that the immigrant shall lose his racial identity in ours. It means that he shall be susceptible to absorption into the body of our race through marriage, or at the very least that his children shall be susceptible to such absorption. And this in turn means, among other things, that he shall have no ineradicable physical characteristics which strongly differentiate him from our national physical type. This is one chief reason why, in my opinion, Orientals should never settle in the United States. Broadly speaking, they are no more suited to become citizens of the United States than are we to become citizens of Japan or China. Another chief reason why Japanese labour immigration is not acceptable to us is that the Japanese can live on less than we can. They are willing to work longer hours for less pay. Also they are thrifty. These are virtues; but the fact that they are virtues does not make Japanese competition the more welcome to white labour. This point also should readily be appreciated by the people of Japan, who find it generally necessary to exclude Chinese labour on precisely the same ground--that is, because a Chinaman can live on less than a Japanese, and can consequently work for lower wages. Had California, in her desire to prevent the further acquirement of land by Japanese settlers, rested her case on these two clean-cut issues: namely, unassimilability and economic necessity; had she refrained from vituperation, taking up the matter purely on its merits; had she recognized her duty as a state to the Nation and coöperated with the Washington Government, instead of ignoring the international bearing of the question and embarrassing the Government by radical and independent state action; and had she, above all, shown any disposition to deal as justly with the Japanese as the circumstances would permit; then, without a doubt, the entire Nation would have been behind California. And what is perhaps as important, the whole matter could then have been presented to Japan in a reasonable and temperate manner, without offence, yet with arguments the force of which Japan could hardly escape. But it is not apparently in the nature of the average Californian to go at things in a moderate way. Moderation is not one of his traits. His father, or grandfather, was a sturdy pioneer whose habit it was to express resentment with a bowie-knife and answer antagonism with a Colt .45. In the descendant these family traits are modified but not extinguished. If he does not approve of the manner in which an amiable alien wears his eyebrows he is likely to call him something--without a smile. Antagonism? Why should he mind antagonism? He likes it. He feels the need of it. He must have something to combat--something to neutralize the everlasting sunshine and the cloying sweetness of the orange-blossom and the rose. And alas, there is Senator Hiram Johnson, of whom the New York _Times_ recently remarked that, "he would lose his proprietary political issue if the differences with Japan were peacefully composed. And we know," the _Times_ continued, "that it is better to meet a bear robbed of her whelps than a politician deprived of his issue." And again, alas, there is ex-Senator Phelan--though the ex-, which has recently been added to his title, may tend, to some extent, to moderate his effectiveness as a baiter of the Japanese. And thrice alas, there is Mr. V. S. McClatchy, the Sacramento apiarist, whose "Bee" is trained to sting the Japanese wherever it will hurt most. * * * * * That the difficulties between the two countries must be harmonized, all thoughtful citizens of both will agree. For myself, I do not see how this can be fully accomplished without some modification of the present discriminatory alien land law of California--a law which, aimed at one alien group alone, is not in consonance with the American sense of justice. The Japanese labourers who are already legally here--many of them originally brought here, by the way, at the instance of Californian employers--should be treated with absolute fairness. They should not be deprived of the just rewards of their industry and thrift. Their racial virtues should be appreciated and might well be emulated. It should be clear, however, that for our good and the good of the Japanese, no further immigrants of their labouring class should ever enter the United States. And it should be equally clear that in such a statement there is no cause for offence. The United States does not invariably act wisely. Neither does Japan. But the American heart is in the right place, and so is the Japanese heart. Let us try, then, on both sides, to look at these problems with honest and disinterested eyes. Let us try to get each other's point of view. Let us even go so far as to make due allowance for the frailty of human nature, as exhibited on both sides of the Pacific. But let us have no thought of straining good will by attempting to become on any larger scale inmates of the same house, dwellers under the same national roof. CHAPTER XXI _Some Reflections on New York Hospitality--And on the Hospitality of Japan--Letters of Introduction--Bowing--How Japanese Politeness is Sometimes Misunderstood--Entertaining Foreigners--Showing the Country at its Best--What is the Mysterious "Truth" About Japan?--Japanese _versus_ Chinese--Leadership in the Far East--Will Japan Become a Moral Leader?--A "First-Class Power"--The New "Long Pants"--How to Treat Japan--The Wisdom of Roosevelt and Root._ A vigorous and sustained display of hospitality must always be astonishing to one who calls New York his home; for New York is without doubt the most inhospitable city in the world. In the jaded hotel-clerk, the bored box-office man, and the fish-eyed head waiter, the spirit of its welcome is personified. There is no dissimulation. The stranger is as welcome in New York as he feels. If there be a hotel room, a theatre seat, or a restaurant table disengaged, he may have it, at a price. If all are occupied he may, so far as New York cares, step outside and, with due regard to the season and the traffic regulations, die of sunstroke or perish in a snowdrift--whereupon his case comes automatically under the supervision of the Street-Cleaning Department--and whatever else that Department may leave lying around the New York streets, it does not leave them littered with defunct strangers. Space in our city is too valuable. The visitor arriving in New York with a letter of introduction to some gentleman who is important, or who believes he is, may expect a few minutes' talk with the gentleman in his office, and may regard it as a delicate attention if his host refrains from fidgeting. Should the stranger have some information which the New Yorker desires to possess, he may find himself invited out to lunch. They will lunch at a club in the top of a down-town skyscraper. Or if the letter of introduction has a social flavour, the outlander will presently receive by mail, at his hotel, a guest's card to a club up-town. Let him make bold to visit this club and he will find there no one to speak to save a rigid doorman and some waiters. The doorman will tell him coldly where to check his hat and coat. He will see a few members in the club, but will not know them, nor will they desire to know him. All New Yorkers know more people than they want to, anyway. The stranger with a guest's card to a New York club is as comfortable there as a cat in a cathedral. In the West it is different. And again it is different in Japan. Those who go well introduced to Japan meet there an experience such as is hardly to be encountered in any other land. Japanese courtesy and hospitality are fairly stupefying to the average Anglo-Saxon. The Occidental mind is staggered by the mere externals. You see two Japanese meet--two gentlemen, two ladies, or a lady and a gentleman. They face each other at fairly close range. Then, as though at some signal unperceived by the foreigner, they bow deeply from the waist, their heads passing with so small a space between that one half expects them to bump. Three times in succession they bow in this way, simultaneously, their hands slipping up and down their thighs, in front, like pistons attached to the walking-beam of a side-wheeler. In conjunction with this profound and protracted bowing, especially when the bowers are Japanese of the old school, or are unaccustomed to associate with foreigners, the bystander will oftentimes hear a sibilant sound made by the drawing in of air through the lips. According to the Japanese idea, such sounds denote appreciation as of some delicious spiritual flavour. This ancient form of politeness is, however, being discarded by sophisticated young Japan for the reason that foreigners find it peculiar; and the practice of audibly sucking in food as an expression of gustatory ecstasy is also going out of fashion for the same reason. The old ways are, nevertheless, held to by many an aristocrat of middle age, or older. The American, accustomed to regard hissing as a sign of disapproval, and noisy eating as ill-bred, is naturally startled on first encountering these manifestations. Japanese bowing, when directed at him, he finds disconcerting. He may wish to be as polite as the politest, but he has in his repertory nothing adequate to offer in return for such an obeisance. In this country we have never taken to bowing as practised in some other lands. Our men look askance at Latin males when they lift their hats to one another in salutation, and it may be observed that some of us tend to slight the lifting of the hat a little bit even when saluting ladies, clutching furtively at the brim and perhaps loosening the hat upon the head, then hastily jamming it back in place. The fact is that very few American men have polished manners. We rebel at anything resembling courtliness. It makes us feel "silly." The dancing school bow we were compelled to practise in the days of our otherwise happy youth was a nightmare to us, and now in our maturity we have a sense of doing something utterly inane when, at a formal dinner party, it devolves upon us to present an arm to a lady, as if to assure her of protection through the perils of the voyage from drawing room to table. We much prefer to amble helter-skelter to the dining room. In these matters, then, as in so many others, we find ourselves at the opposite pole from the Japanese; and though Americans of the class willing to appreciate merits of kinds they themselves do not possess feel nothing but admiration for Japanese courtesy in its perfection, it sometimes happens, lamentably enough, that others, less intelligent, going to the Orient, utterly misread the meaning of Japanese politeness, mistaking it for servility, which it most emphatically is not. Far from being servile it is a proud politeness--a politeness grounded upon custom, sensitiveness of nature, delicacy of feeling, which cause the possessor to expect in others a like sensitiveness and delicacy and to make him wish to outdo them in tact and consideration. Nor does the failure of certain Americans to appreciate Japanese courtesy and hospitality for what it is, stop here. Our yellow press and organized Japanese-haters, aware that the higher hospitality of Japan has oftentimes an official or semi-official character, are not satisfied to seek a simple explanation for the fact, but prefer to discern in it something artful and sinister. It is perfectly true that the stranger going to Japan with good letters of introduction meets a group composed almost entirely of government officials, big business men, and their families. It is also true that he is likely to meet a selected group of such men. The reason for this is simple. While English is the second language taught in Japanese schools, and while many Japanese can speak some broken English, there are still relatively few men, and still fewer women, who have been educated abroad and are sufficiently familiar with foreign languages, customs, and ideas to feel easy when entertaining foreigners. This class is, moreover, still further limited by the financial burden of extensive entertaining. Thus it happens that there exists in Japan a social group which may be likened to a loosely organized entertainment committee, with the result that most Americans who are entertained in that country meet, broadly speaking, the same set of people. The Japanese are entirely frank in their desire to interest the world in Japan. The Government maintains a bureau for the purpose of encouraging tourists to visit the country and making travel easy for them. The great Japanese steamship companies, the Toyo Kisen Kaisha and Nippon Yusen Kaisha, are energetic in seeking passenger business. Journalists, authors, men of affairs and others likely to have influence at home, are especially encouraged to visit Japan. The feeling of the Japanese is that there exists in the United States a prejudice against them, and that the best way to overcome this is to show Japan to Americans and let them form their own conclusions. They are proud of their country and they believe that those who become acquainted with it will think well of it. Some Americans charge them with endeavouring to show things at their best, as if to do that were a sly sin. The attitude of the Japanese in this matter may be likened to that of a man who owns a home in some not very accessible region, the advantages of which are doubted by his friends. Being proud of his place the owner is hospitable. He urges those he knows to come and see it. When his guests arrive he does not begin by taking them to look at the sick cow, or the corner behind the barn where refuse is dumped, but marches them to the west verandah--the verandah with the wonderful view. To the average person such a procedure would seem entirely normal. Yet there are critics of Japan who do not see it in that light. Their attitude might be likened to that of someone who, when taken to the verandah to see the view, declares that the view is being shown not on its own merits, but because the host has cut the butler's throat and does not wish his guests to notice the body lying under the parlour table. Let an American of any influence go to Japan, be cordially received there, form his impressions, and return with a good word to say for the islands and the people, and the professional Japanese-haters have their answer ready. The man has been victimized by "propaganda." He has been flattered by social attentions, fuddled with food and drink, reduced to a state of idiocy, and in that state "personally conducted" through Japan in a manner so crafty as to prevent his stumbling upon the "Truth." The precise nature of this "Truth" is never revealed. It is merely indicated as some vague awfulness behind a curtain carefully kept drawn. Having so often heard these rumours I went to Japan in a suspicious frame of mind. Arriving there, I made it my business to dive behind whatever looked like a veil of mystery. As the reader who has followed me thus far will be aware, I found a number of mysteries--the fascinating mysteries of an old and peculiar civilization, out of which an interesting modernism had rapidly grown. I was considerably entertained in Japan; my sightseeing was oftentimes facilitated by Japanese friends; but the significant fact is that no one ever tried to prevent my seeing anything I wished to. And I wished to see everything, good and bad. I visited the lowest slums, a penitentiary, a poorhouse, a hospital, and some factories. I asked questions. Sometimes they were embarrassing questions--about militarism in Japan, about Shantung, about Korea and Formosa, about Manchuria and Siberia. And though I do not expect any Japanese-hater to believe me, I wish to declare here, in justice to the Japanese, that they gave me the information I asked, even though to do so sometimes pained them. I saw and learned things creditable to Japan and things discreditable, just as in other lands one sees and learns things in both categories. I found the Japanese neither angels nor devils. They are human beings like the rest of us, having their virtues and their defects. I came away liking and respecting them as a people. This fact I proclaim with the full knowledge that those who do not like them will accept it, not as a sign of any merit in the Japanese, but as proof of my incompetence, or worse. "But you have not been to China," some of my friends say. "You would like the Chinese better than the Japanese." That may be true or it may not. I am inclined to believe that there is, on the surface, more natural sympathy and understanding between Americans and Chinamen than between Americans and Japanese. The Chinaman is more easily comprehensible to us. Also he is meek. We can talk down to him. He will do as we tell him to. He is not a contender--as the Japanese very definitely is--and is therefore easier to get along with. As an individual he has many qualities to recommend him, though neither patriotism nor cleanliness seems to be among them. If I ever go to China I shall hope and expect not to fall into the mental grooves which lead travellers in the Orient generally to feel that if they like a Chinaman they cannot like a Japanese, and vice versa. I hereby reserve the right to like both. China appears to be an amiable, flaccid, sleepy giant who has long allowed himself to be bullied, victimized, and robbed. Japan, on the other hand, is a small, well-knit, pugnacious individual, well able to look after himself, and profoundly engaged in doing so. Naturally the two do not get on well together, and equally naturally the impotent giant comes off the worse. One is, to that extent, sorry for him, but one can hardly respect him as one would were he to rise up and assert himself. One may, on the other hand, wish the little Japanese less obstreperous, but one is bound to respect him for his prowess. Physically and materially he has earned for himself the undisputed leadership of the Far East. There remains, however, the question whether he is spiritually great enough to become, as well, a moral leader. In that question is bound up the future of the Orient. Some signs are hopeful, some are not. The answer is locked in the vaults of time to come. It is not surprising that the Japanese are proud of the leadership they have already attained. Being relatively new members of the hair-pulling, hobnailed family we call the Family of Nations, and having rapidly become important members, they are inclined to harp more than necessary upon this importance, so novel and so gratifying to them. They like to talk about it. They delight in proclaiming themselves a "first-class power." They rejoice exceedingly in their alliance with Great Britain, not because the alliance itself has any very real importance (in view of the attitude of Australia and Canada toward Japan, and of Britain's regard for American sentiment, it cannot have), but because of the flattering association. Japan likes to be seen walking with the big fellows. In this she reminds one somewhat of a youth in all the pride and self-consciousness of his first pair of "long pants." Now there is this to be remembered about a youth in his first "long pants": he requires careful handling. If you treat him like a child, either patronizing or ignoring him, you will offend him mortally, and not impossibly drive him to some furious action in assertion of his manhood. But if, on the other hand, you are misled by his appearance of maturity, and expect of him all that you would expect of a thoroughly ripened man, then you are very likely to find yourself disappointed. There is but one course to be pursued with a youth in this intermediate stage. He must be managed with tact, firmness, and patience. In dealing with the young, many adults fail to understand this, and in dealing with a nation in a corresponding state of evolution, other nations are as a rule even stupider than adult individuals. Britain, wisest of all the world in international affairs, has not made this mistake in her relations with Japan. The alliance is one proof of it. The visit of the Crown Prince of Japan to England in the spring of 1921, is another. Nor was the tact of Britain in this situation ever better displayed than in King George's speech, when, toasting the Imperial guest, he said: "Because he is our friend we are not afraid for him to see our troubles. We know his sympathy is with us and that he will understand." Would that the United States might draw the simple lesson from these two short sentences spoken by England's king. Would that we might learn to take that amiable tone. Would that Americans might understand how instantly the Japanese--yes, and all other nations--respond to such approaches. The problem of maintaining friendly relations with this neighbour on the other side of the Pacific is not, in truth, nearly so difficult as many of our other problems. It has been rendered difficult chiefly by our own incredible bungling. Among men a bungler is oftentimes feared and disliked exactly as if he were malevolent, and among nations the situation is the same. No nation, however strong, can afford to give offence unnecessarily to other great powers; and the United States can least of all afford to irritate needlessly those powers with which her front yard and her back yard are shared: namely, Britain and Japan. Yet we are constantly annoying these two nations without accomplishing any counterbalancing good purpose. Britain, feeling, as we do, the tie of consanguinity, and having, moreover, a shrewd eye to her own interest, forgives us, or at least appears to. But in the case of Japan we are dealing with a very different situation. There is no blood relationship to ease the strain; nor is there always in Tokyo the calm, phlegmatic, self-interested statesmanship of London. Tokyo is sometimes temperamental. If we continue to bungle we shall ultimately gain the lasting ill-will of Japan, and if we do that we shall almost certainly find ourselves looking out of our back window not merely at a frowning Nippon, but at a coalition between Japan, Russia, and Germany--a coalition into which we ourselves, by our attitude, shall have driven Japan. It is for us to decide whether we wish to encourage such an alliance. With Mr. Hughes in the State Department we have, it appears, good reason to be hopeful, but Mr. Hughes has not as yet had time to accomplish much of an improvement in American-Japanese relations. If he does so he will be the first American statesman to have made headway in the matter since Roosevelt was in the White House and Elihu Root in the State Department; for not since their time has there been evident in our dealings with Japan a definite and understanding policy. The failure of our diplomacy is all too plainly reflected in the steady diminution of the good feeling which then existed. Though he never visited Japan, Roosevelt, with his amazing understanding of people, managed to sense the Japanese perfectly. He knew their virtues and their failings. He realized precisely the state they had attained in their evolution from mediævalism to modernity. He knew their samurai loyalty and pride, their sensitiveness, their love of courtesy. "Speak softly and carry a big stick," he used to say. In those words is summed up a large part of his foreign policy. He knew when to send a bearskin to the Emperor, and when to send a fleet. Even when he sent that fleet of sixteen battleships, the visit paid was one of courtesy. And courtesy, as I have tried to show, is never, never lost upon Japan. PART IV CHAPTER XXII _The Missing Lunch--The Japanese Chauffeur--The Little Train--Japanese Railroads--The Railway Lunch--The Railway Teapot--Reflections on Some American Ways--Are the Japanese Honest?--A Story of Viscount Shibusawa--Travelling Customs--An Eavesdropping Episode_ Neither the box of lunch nor the automobile to take us to the station was ready, though both had been ordered the previous night. We waited until twenty minutes before train time; then made a dash for the station in a taxi which happened along providentially--something taxis seldom do in Tokyo. The drive took us several miles across the city. Through a picturesque and incoherent jumble of street traffic, over canals, past the huge concrete amphitheatre in which wrestling bouts are held, across a steel bridge spanning the Sumida River, through a maze of muddy streets lined with open-fronted shops partially protected from the hot sun by curtains of indigo cotton bearing advertisements in large white Chinese characters, we flew precariously, facing collisions half a dozen times yet magically escaping them as one always does behind a Japanese chauffeur. It is said that the Japanese chauffeur is not, as a rule, a good mechanic. As to that I cannot say, but I assure you he can drive. At an incredible speed he will whirl you through the dense slow-moving crowds of a street festival or around the hairpin curves of a muddy mountain pass with one wheel following the slippery margin of a precipice, but he will never hurt so much as a hair of your head, unless, perchance, it hurts your hair to stand on end. The Ryogoku Station, where we found our friends awaiting us, is a modest frame structure, terminus of an unimportant railway line serving the farming and fishing villages of the Boso Peninsula--which depends from the mainland in such a way as to form the barrier between Tokyo Bay and the Pacific. The train seemed to have been awaiting us. It started as soon as we had boarded it, and was presently rocking along through open country at twenty-five or thirty miles an hour. There was something of solemn playfulness about that little train. The cars were no heavier than street cars and the locomotive would have made hard work of drawing a pair of Pullmans, yet in its present rôle it gave a pompous performance, hissing, whistling, and snorting as importantly as if it had been the engine of a great express. The little guards, too, joined gravely in the game, calling out the names of country stations as majestically as if each were a metropolis. And the very landscape took its place in the whimsy, for our toy train ran over it as over a flat rug patterned with little green rice fields. The Japanese Government, which so woefully mishandles its telephones and cables, does better with its railroads. They are fairly well run. Trains are almost invariably on time, and the cars are not uncomfortable, although the narrower gauge of the Japanese roads makes them necessarily smaller than our cars. The ordinary Japanese sleeping-car is divided into halves. One half is like an American Pullman sleeper, very much scaled down in size, while the other half resembles a European _wagon-lit_ in miniature, with a narrow aisle at one side and compartments in which the berths are arranged transversely to the train. As in Europe, there are three classes of day coaches. Except where trains are overcrowded, as they often are, one may travel quite as comfortably second-class as first. Coaches of all three classes are like street cars with long seats running from end to end at either side. Usually the car is divided in the middle by a partition, the theory being that one end is for smokers; but in practice the Japanese, who are inveterate users of tobacco, seem to smoke when and where they please while travelling. Express trains carry dining cars which are like small reproductions of ours. Some of these diners serve Japanese-style meals, some European, and some both. Much thought has evidently been given to making travel easy for English-speaking people. Each car of every train carries a sign giving, in English, the train's destination; time-tables printed in English are easily obtained, railroad tickets are printed in both languages, and the name of each town is trebly set forth on railroad station signs, being displayed in English, in Chinese characters, and in kana. As in the United States, station porters wear red caps but they have the European trick of passing baggage in and out of the car windows, so that the doorways are not blocked with it when passengers wish to get on and off. Also at stations of any consequence there are boys wearing green caps, who peddle newspapers, tea, and lunches. The Japanese railway lunch is an institution as highly organized as the English railway lunch. On the platforms of all large stations you can purchase almost any sort of lunch you desire, neatly wrapped in paper napkins and packed in an immaculate wooden box. On each box the date is stamped, so that the traveller may be sure that everything is fresh. You may get a box containing liberal portions of roast chicken and Kamakura ham, with salad and hard-boiled eggs and a dainty bamboo knife and fork; or if you wish a light repast, a box of assorted sandwiches, thin and moist as sandwiches should always be but so seldom are. Or, again, you may get a variety of Japanese dishes, similarly packed. On this trip I selected a box of that delicacy known as _tai-meshi_, and was not sorry that my order for lunch had been overlooked at the hotel. Tai-meshi consists of a palatable combination of rice and shredded sea-bream cooked in a sauce containing saké which obliterates the fishy taste of the sea-bream. The box cost me the equivalent of seventeen cents, chop-sticks included. From the green-cap boy who sold it to me I also purchased, for five cents, an earthenware pot containing tea, and a small cup, and when I had drunk the tea I learned that I could have the pot refilled with hot water at practically any station, for a couple of cents more. Just as your English traveller leaves the railway lunch basket in the train when he is done with it, your Japanese traveller leaves the teapot and cup. Drinking the philosopher's beverage I found myself wondering whether such a system would be successful in the United States. I concluded that it would not. Some of the lunch-baskets and teapots would get back to their rightful owners, but many would disappear. There is a certain type of American, and he is numerous, who has a constitutional aversion to conforming to a nice, orderly custom of this kind. He has too much--let us call it initiative--for that. If he thought the lunch-basket and teapot worth taking home he would take them home; nor would he be deterred by the mere fact that they were not his, having only been rented to him. His subconscious sense of the importance of his own "personality" would lift him over any little obstacle of that kind. Without thinking matters out he would feel that because he had used them they were his. What he had used no one else should use--even though its usefulness to him was past. Wherefore, if he thought the basket and the teapot not worth taking, he would stamp his "personality" upon them. He might take the basket apart to see how it was made, or he might draw out his penknife and cut holes in it. Then he would consider what to do with the teapot. Finding that it fitted nicely in the palm of his hand, and sensing by touch its brittleness, he would want to use it as a missile. If he prided himself on the accuracy of his pitching he would throw it at a telegraph pole, but if he felt quite certain that he could not hit a pole he would wait for a large rock pile or a factory wall, and would hurl it against that with all his might, to make the largest possible explosion. * * * * * People often ask me whether the Japanese are honest. Doubt on this subject is, I believe, largely due to the old story that Chinese tellers are employed in Japanese banks--all Chinamen being trustworthy and all Japanese the reverse. I know of no better example of the vitality of a lie than is afforded by the survival of this one. It is a triple lie. Japanese banks do not have Chinese tellers. The Japanese as a race are no more dishonest than other people. The leading bankers of Japan, many of whom I have met, are men of the highest character and the greatest enlightenment, and would be so recognized in any land. Nor is this merely my opinion. It is the opinion I have heard expressed by several of the greatest bankers and manufacturers in the United States--men who have done business with Japanese bankers and who know them thoroughly. It is true that trademarks and patented articles manufactured in other countries have been stolen by some Japanese manufacturers and merchants, and that this abominable practice is to some extent kept up even to-day. But conditions in this respect are improving as business morality grows. Nor should it be forgotten that the present standard of international commercial ethics, which so strongly reprehends such thefts, is comparatively a new thing throughout the entire world. It must, however, be admitted that Japan is not, in this particular, fully abreast of the other great nations. As for the average of probity among the people at large I can say this--that if I were obliged to risk leaving a valuable possession in a public place, on the chance of its being found by an honest person and returned to me, I should prefer to take the risk in Japan, than in most other countries. Certainly, I should prefer to take it there than in the United States--unless I could specify certain rural sections of the United States, where I should feel that my chances were better than in the neighbourhood of New York. The Japanese are respecters of property, private and public. One may visit the historic buildings of Japan without seeing a single evidence of vandalism. I was immensely struck by this. It was so unlike home! More than once, over there, I thought of a visit I paid, some years ago, to Monticello, the beautiful old mansion built near Charlottesville, Virginia, by Thomas Jefferson, and of what the caretaker told me. All visitors, he said, had to be watched. Otherwise vines would be torn from the walls of the house, bricks chipped, and marble statuary broken. They had even found it necessary to build an iron fence around Jefferson's grave to protect the monument from American patriots who would like to take home little pieces of it. The custom of visiting historic places and the graves of historic figures is much more common in Japan than in America. Many of Japan's most famous monuments are entirely unprotected, but instead of knocking them to pieces to get souvenirs the pilgrim will burn a little incense before them, and perhaps leave his visiting card on the spirit of the departed. Or he may write a poem. Dr. John H. Finley has told me a story which well illustrates the delicate and reverential attitude of the Japanese in such matters. When Baron--now Viscount--Shibusawa came to the United States several years ago, a banquet was given in his honour in New York by the Japan Society, of which Doctor Finley was then president. At the banquet Doctor Finley remarked to the guest of honour that he heard he had sent an emissary with a wreath to be laid upon the grave of Townsend Harris, first American Minister to Japan, who is buried in Brooklyn. "No," said Baron Shibusawa, "that is not exactly what occurred. I did not send the wreath. I took it myself and laid it on the grave. And I wrote two poems in memory of Townsend Harris and hung them in the branches of a Japanese maple tree overhanging his resting-place." * * * * * But let us get back to our little railroad train. The men among our Japanese fellow travellers were sitting on the seats with their feet on the floor, as we do, but the women and children had slipped off their clogs and were squatting in the seats with their backs to the aisle, looking out of the windows or dozing with their heads resting upon their hands, or against the window-frame. One elderly lady was lying at full length on the seat, asleep, with her bare feet resting on the cushions. The Japanese are much less fearful than we of the interest of fellow passengers, and indeed, so far as concerns strangers of their own race, they are justified in this, for Japanese travellers pay little or no attention to one another. In foreigners they are more interested. A Japanese who can speak English will frequently start a conversation with the traveller from abroad, and will almost invariably endeavour to be helpful. Rustics stare at the stranger with a sort of dumb interest, just as American rustics might stare at a Japanese; and young Japanese louts sometimes snicker when they see a foreigner, and comment upon him, just as young American louts might do on seeing a Japanese passing by--especially if he was wearing his national costume. "Pipe the Jap," a New York street-corner loafer might exclaim; while similarly an ill-bred youth of Tokyo, Kobe or Yokohama might remark: "_Keto_," which means "hairy foreigner." The term _keto_ is not intended to be complimentary, yet no more real harm is meant by its user them would be meant by an American smart-aleck who should speak of "chinks," "kykes" or "micks." Such terms merely exemplify the instinctive hostility of small-minded men the world over, for all who are not exactly like themselves. Some Japanese country folk who sat opposite us on our journey to the Boso Peninsula were clearly much interested in us--particularly in the ladies of our party, and as so few foreigners understand the Japanese language, they felt safe in talking us over amongst themselves. "What a strange little thing to wear on one's head!" said the husband, to the wife referring to a neat little turban worn by one of our ladies. "Yes," said the wife, "and I don't see how she can walk in those shoes with their tall, thin little heels. Aren't they funny!" These remarks and others revealing their interested speculations as to which women of our party were married to which men, were translated to us by the friend who had organized the excursion. Being a good deal of a wag, he let them talk about us until the subject seemed to be exhausted. Then he addressed a casual question, in Japanese, to the husband across the way. I have seldom seen a man look more disconcerted than that one did just then. He answered the question, but that was the last word we heard him speak. Though an hour passed before he and his wife got off the train, and though they had until then talked volubly together, the complete silence which came over them was not broken by so much as a monosyllable until they reached the station platform. There, however, we saw that they had begun to talk again, and with gestures showing not a little agitation. I had a feeling that each was blaming the other for the whole affair. Relations between husband and wife are, in some respects at least, a good deal more alike in all countries than is commonly supposed. CHAPTER XXIII _Katsuura and the Basha--A Noble Coast--Scenes on a Country Road--The Fishers--A Temple and Tame Fish--We Arrive at an Inn--I See a Bath--I Take One--Bathing Customs--The Attentive Nesan--In the Tub_ A journey of about three and a half hours brought us to the seacoast town of Katsuura, the terminus of the little railway line. The industry of Katsuura is fishing, and there is a kind of dried fish put up there which has quite a reputation. Almost every town in Japan has some specialty of its own, whether an edible or something else--something for the traveller to purchase and take home as a souvenir. Many of the best Japanese colour-prints were originally made for this purpose--souvenirs of cities and towns, celebrated inns, famous actors, and notorious courtesans. Leaving the train we got into a _basha_--a primitive one-horse bus with tiny wheels--and took a highway leading south along the shore. The day was brilliant and our road, skirting the edge of the lofty coastal hills half way between their green serried peaks and the yellow beach on which the surf played below, was white and dusty in the hot sun. On level stretches and down-grades we rode in the basha, but we always got out and walked up hills to spare the venerable horse. Nor will travellers who have ever followed such a system be surprised that, of the twenty miles we covered on our way to Kamogawa, fully fifteen seemed to be up-hill miles. This shore continually reminded me of other shores--Brittany, in the region of Dinard and Cancale, and the cliffs between Sorrento and Amalfi. But here the contours were more tender. Many a beach I saw, with tiny houses strewn along the margin of the sand, fishing boats drawn up in rows, and swarthy men and women bustling about among the nets and baskets, which made me think of the Marina at Capri. Even the air was that of Capri in the springtime. But here there was no song. [Illustration: Tai-no-ura--Tiny houses strewn about the margin of the sand, fishing boats drawn up in rows, and swarthy men and women bustling about among the nets and baskets] A succession of lofty promontories jutting aggressively toward the sea gave interest to the road. Sometimes they turned its course, forcing it to swing out around them; in other cases tunnels penetrated the barrier hills, and we would find ourselves trudging along beside the basha, through damp echoing darkness, with our eyes fixed on a distant point of light, marking the exit, ahead. It was a much-travelled road. We were continually meeting other bashas creaking slowly through the white dust, or drawn up before inns and teahouses where passengers were pausing for refreshment. During the entire afternoon we met not a single automobile, and when, after an hour or two, a Japanese lady, beautifully dressed and sheltered from the sun by a large parasol, flashed past in a shining ricksha propelled by two coolies, she made a picture strangely sophisticated, elegantly exotic, against the background of that dusty country highway so full of humble folk. All the women of this region were hard at work. Some were labouring beside their husbands in the mud and water of the paddy fields, others were occupied upon the beach, piling up kelp and carrying it back to huge wooden tubs in which it was being boiled to get the juice from which iodine is extracted, still others were transporting baskets of fresh shiny fish from the newly landed boats to the village markets, or were drawing heavy carts laden with fish-baskets from one village to another. For this coast is the greatest fishing district of all Japan. On the streets of every village we saw fish being handled--large, brilliant fish laid out in rows on straw mats, preparatory to shipment, huge tubs of smaller fish, and great baskets of silver sardines. Nor was our awareness of piscatorial activities due only to the organs of sight. Now and then a gust of information reached the olfactory organs disclosing with a frankness that was unmistakable, the proximity of a pile of rotted herring, which is used to fertilize the fields. Winding down a hill through a grove of ancient trees, with the sea glistening between the trunks on one side of the way, we came upon a weathered temple, and, rounding it from the rear, found a tiny village clustered at its base, in as sweet a little cove as one could wish to see--low, brown houses nestling among rocks and gnarled pines, a crescent of yellow beach with fishing boats drawn up beyond the reach of the tide, and children playing among them looking like nude bronzes come to life. This place, known as Tai-no-ura--Sea-bream Coast--small and remote as it is, has a fame which extends throughout Japan. For it was the abiding place of the thirteenth-century fisherman-priest Nichiren, who, though he antedated Martin Luther by about two and a half centuries, is sometimes called the Martin Luther of Japanese Buddhism. The Nichiren sect is to this day powerful, having more than five thousand temples and a million and a half adherents. Its scriptures are known as the _Hokkekyo_, and I find a certain quaint interest in the fact that, because this word suggests the call of the Japanese nightingale, the feathered songster is known by a name which means "scripture-reading bird." The old weathered temple, which we visited, is known as the _Tanjo-ji_, or Nativity Temple, and is said to have been established in 1286, but to me the most appealing thing about this district is the respect which to this day is accorded Nichiren's prohibition against the catching of fish along this sacred shore. The fishermen of Tai-no-ura go far out before casting their nets, and this has been the case for so long that the fish have come to understand that they are safe inshore, and will rise to the surface if one knocks upon the gunwale of a boat. [Illustration: The gates of the Tanjo-ji temple, dedicated to Nichiren, "the Martin Luther of Japan"] I should have liked to linger at this place, but the afternoon was waning and we had still half a dozen miles or more to go. Sunset was suspended like a rosy fluid in the air when our basha drove down the main street of Kamogawa and stopped before the door of the inn. To an American, accustomed to the casual reception accorded hotel guests in his native land, the experience of arriving at a well-conducted Japanese inn is almost sensational. The wheels of our vehicle had hardly ceased to turn when a flock of servitors came running out to welcome and to aid us. A pair of coolies whisked our bags into the portico, and as we followed we were escorted by the gray-haired proprietress and a bevy of nesans, all of them beaming at us and bowing profoundly from the waist. While I sat on the doorstep removing my shoes, two coolies came from the rear of the building bearing between them a pole from which two huge buckets of hot water were suspended. Pushing back a sliding paper door they entered an adjoining room. A moment later I heard a great splashing, as of water being poured, and looking after them saw that they were emptying their buckets into a large stationary tub built of wood. Nor was I the only witness to the preparation of the bath. Two Japanese women and three children stood by, waiting to use it. And they were all ready to get in. There was something superbly matter-of-fact about this whole performance which gave me a sudden flash of understanding. All the explaining in the world could not have told me so much about the Japanese point of view on matters of this kind as came through witnessing this picture. Adam and Eve were not progenitors of these people nor was the apple a fruit indigenous to Japan. The other members of our party were preparing to bathe in the sea before dinner, but I desired a hot bath and had asked for it as soon as I arrived. While in my room preparing I found myself wondering whether I was about to have an experience in mixed bathing, and if so how well my philosophy would stand the strain. But the peculiar notions of foreigners concerning privacy in the bath were, it appeared, not unknown to the proprietress of the inn. When I descended the stairs arrayed in the short cotton kimono provided by the establishment, I was not shown to the large bathroom near the entrance, but was taken in tow by a little nesan, who indicated to me that I was to put on wooden clogs--a row of which stood by the door--and follow her across the street to the annex. The bath was ready. Entering the room with me the nesan slipped the door shut and in a businesslike manner which could be interpreted in but one way, began looping back her sleeve-ends with cord. "She intends to scrub you!" shrieked all that was conventional within me. "Put her out!" "But don't you like to be scrubbed?" demanded the inner philosopher. "Her being a woman makes me self-conscious," I replied to my other self. "It shouldn't. Your being a man doesn't make her self-conscious. What was it we were saying a little while ago about false modesty?" "As nearly as I can remember," replied Convention, evasively, "we agreed that Americans are full of false modesty." Whereupon I turned to the little nesan and with a gesture in the direction of the door exclaimed, "Scat!" Understanding the meaning of the motion if not the word, she obediently scatted, closing the door behind her. She did not go far, however. Through the paper I could hear her whispering with another nesan in the corridor. I went to the door with the purpose of fastening it, but there was no catch with which to do so. This left me with a certain feeling of insecurity as I bathed. A well-ordered Japanese bathroom, such as this one was, has a false floor of wood with drains beneath it, so that one may splatter about with the utmost abandon. One does one's actual washing outside the tub, rinsing off with warm water dipped in a pail from a covered tank at one end of the tub. Not until the cleansing process has been completed does one enter the water to soak and get warm. Bathtubs in hotels and prosperous homes are large, and the size of them makes the preparation of a bath a laborious business; for running hot water is a luxury as yet practically unknown in Japan, the water for a bath being heated either in the kitchen, or by means of a little charcoal stove attached to the outside of the tub. To heat the bath by the latter system, which is the one generally used, takes an hour or two; wherefore it is obviously impracticable to prepare a separate bath for each member of the household. In a private house one tub of water generally does for all. Foreigners newly arrived in Japan are unpleasantly impressed by this system of bathing, and in a Japanese inn they generally make a great point of having first chance at the bath. Though I do not expect to convince the reader that what I say is so, I must bear testimony to the truth that it is the idea rather than the fact of the Japanese bath which is at first unpleasant. You must understand that the Japanese are physically the cleanest race of people in the world; that, as I have already said, they bathe fully before entering the tub; that the tubbing is less a part of the cleansing process than a means for getting warm; and finally that the water in a tub which has been used by several persons looks as fresh as when first drawn. I once asked a cosmopolitan Japanese whether he did not prefer our system of bathing. He replied that he did not. "I don't think your way is quite so clean as ours," he explained. "Not unless you take two baths, one after the other, as I always do when I am in Europe or America. I wash in the first bath. Then I draw a fresh tub to rinse off in." Just as this gentleman prefers his native style of bathing I prefer mine; yet I should not object to succeeding him in the bath. Nor am I alone in liking the deep spaciousness of the large-size Japanese bathtub. An American gentleman who was in Japan when I was is having a Japanese bathroom built into his house near New York. With the bath of the proletariat the system is the same, but the tub is smaller and less convenient. It consists of what is practically nothing more nor less than a large barrel with a small charcoal stove attached to one side. Often it stands out-of-doors. * * * * * On emerging from the hot water I found myself without a towel. I went to the door, opened it sufficiently to put my head out through the aperture and summoned the nesan who stood near by. "Towel," I said. She smiled and shook her head, uncomprehending. I opened the door a little wider, thrust out one arm and made rubbing motions on it. "_Hai!_" she exclaimed, brightly, and went scampering off. As it was chilly in the room I returned to the hot tub to wait. There I remained for some minutes. Then it occurred to me that, understanding my desire for privacy in the bath, the nesan might be waiting outside with my towel, so I got out again with the intention of looking into the hall. Just as I emerged, however, the door opened and in she came. "Scat!" I cried. Whereupon she handed me two towels and fled. It was well that she did bring two, for the native towel consists of a strip of thin cotton cloth hardly larger than a table napkin. The Japanese do not pretend to dry themselves thoroughly with these towels, but, as I have elsewhere mentioned, wring them out in hot water and use them as a mop, after which they go out and let the air finish the work. I dried myself as best I could, slipped into the cotton kimono, and returned to the main building of the inn. In the corridor I encountered my friend the linguist. "I want to take a photograph of that bathtub," I told him. "It won't explain itself in a photograph," he returned, "unless there's somebody in it." I knew what he meant. An American or European, accustomed to the style of bathtub that stands upon the floor, would naturally assume from a picture of this one that it was similarly set. But that was not so. It extended perhaps two feet below the level of the floor; there was a step half-way down the inside to aid one in getting in or out; it was so deep that a short person standing in it would be immersed almost to the shoulders. "You get in it, then, will you?" "You ought to have a Japanese." "But that's out of the question." "No, it isn't." Nor was it. By the time I got my kodak and put in a roll of film he had a subject for me. It was the little nesan to whom I had said "scat!" Nor could a _grande dame_ in an opera box have exhibited more aplomb than she did when I photographed her. [Illustration: Nor could a _grande dame_ in an opera box have exhibited more aplomb than she did when I photographed her] CHAPTER XXIV _A Walk in a Kimono--Dinner at the Inn--Sweet Servitors--An Evening's Enchantment--The Disadvantages of Ramma--My Neighbours Retire--A Japanese Bed--Breakfast--"Bear's Milk"--The Village of Nabuto--An Island and a Cave--The Abelone Divers--A Sail with Fishermen_ "Let's take a walk before dinner," said the linguist when our photographic enterprise had been accomplished. "All right. I'll go and dress." "Come as you are." "After a hot bath I might take cold in this thin kimono." "No. That's a curious thing about hot baths in Japan. The reaction from them is much like that we get at home from cold ones." "But, dressed this way, won't we look queer?" I surveyed the lower hem of my kimono which hung only a little below my knees. "It's the costume of the country." "But it's awfully short on us. It seems to me we ought to put on underwear at least." "Nonsense. A man doesn't know what comfort is until he has strolled out in a kimono after a bath." Our costumes were identical. We looked equally absurd. I consented. My one difficulty on that stroll was with my clogs. I could not walk as fast as my companion, nor did I dare to lift my feet from the ground lest the clogs should fall off. And yet I can see that if one is brought up on clogs there is much to be said in their favour. They are durable and cheap. They neither suffocate nor cramp the foot. Once I spoke to a Japanese friend of the merits of the clog, but though he admitted that his clog-wearing countrymen had no trouble with their feet, he thought clogs, on the whole, a bad thing. "The movement for good roads in Japan," he said, "started when people began to wear shoes. Those who wear clogs do not object to bad pavements, and we shall never get good ones until clogs are discarded by the majority." We had not walked a block before I perceived that my companion had not overstated the case for the kimono as a costume for a stroll on a balmy evening. It does not bind one anywhere, but leaves one's arms and legs delightfully free. Moreover the air penetrates to the body, and the feeling of it after a very hot bath is as refreshing as an alcohol rub. The streets were full of people many of them fishermen dressed much as we were. But though reason told me that in our kimonos we were less conspicuous than we should have been in our customary attire, I could not rid myself of the feeling that we were masqueraders, and that if people were to recognize us through the darkness for foreigners, we should have a crowd following us. Wherefore, though our promenade proved absolutely uneventful, I was upon the whole relieved when, after having gone the length of the main street and back, we re-entered the hotel. Our dinner that night was purely Japanese; the nesans brought the usual little foot-high lacquer tables laden with covered bowls of porcelain and lacquer; we sat upon silken cushions on the matting in the linguist's room and struggled bravely with our chop-sticks. The room was on the second floor. Through the open shoji we could look across a tiny garden into other rooms, open like ours to the soft evening air, and we could see the nesans gliding back and forth between these rooms and the kitchen, moving along the polished wooden floor of the gallery with their characteristic pigeon-toed shuffle. In an American hotel our little party would have been served by one waiter; here we were attended by three nesans, one of whom squatted on the matting beside the rice bucket, ready to help us when we held out our bowls for more (for we had rice with our soup, our fish, and our tea), while the other two brought things from the kitchen, below stairs. And no matter how many times they had been in the room before, they always dropped to their knees, on entering, and bent their foreheads nearly to the floor in respectful salutation, ere they served the new course. This courtesy, so natural to them, made me feel very, very far from home, for in it seemed to be crystallized the romantic charm of the antipodes. The whole environment, moreover, enhanced my feeling. The exquisite simplicity of our room, and of the other rooms across the garden; the soft lights shining through the rice paper of shoji here and there; the silhouettes, so Japanese, which passed across them; the shimmering of the dark green leaves of small trees whose upper branches reached a little bit above the floor level; the tinkling note of a samisen played in some remote part of the building; the almond eyes and massed ebony hair of our gentle little servitors, their butterfly costumes, the strange, soft rattle of their language, the curious unfamiliar flavours of the viands; all these combined to make me feel as one transported into an enchantment, vivid and fantastic as a painting by Rackham or Dulac. And yet, fascinated as I was with all this magic loveliness, I felt a gentle melancholy. For the shoji at the rear of the room were pushed back like the others, and from the beach on which they opened there came to me through the darkness an insistent note of definite and almost terrible reality: the murmur of that ocean, black, restless, turbulent, ominous, unimaginably vast, by which I was cut off from home. * * * * * My own room was next to that of the linguist, but the room beyond mine was occupied by a Japanese couple. The rooms were divided by walls consisting of opaque paper screens, sliding in grooves, and even these frail partitions were incomplete, for, as in all Japanese houses, there were _ramma_, or grills, over the tops of the screens. The purpose of these ramma is to give ventilation at night, when the building is solidly encased in wooden shutters; but though it is true that they do permit some air to circulate, it is equally true that they permit the circulation of sound and light. Herein lies the foreigner's chief objection to the Japanese style of house--it is utterly without privacy. I endeavoured to be quiet as I made ready for bed, and I am sure my Japanese neighbours likewise tried, but their whisperings and the little rustling sounds they made as they moved about, enhanced rather than diminished my consciousness of their proximity. After I had put out my light my room continued for some time to be illuminated by the glow which came through the ramma on both sides. Presently the linguist's light went out, but that from the room of my other neighbours persisted, keeping me awake. This was the first time that I acutely missed chairs as an adjunct to Japanese life; if I had a chair I could hang a kimono over it to make a screen for my eyes. At last, however, I heard a little click, which was immediately followed by darkness. Then a sound of soft steps. Then a comfortable sigh. Then silence. It was my first night in a Japanese bed. The bed consisted of two thin floss-silk mattresses, laid one above the other on the matting, and partly covered with what seemed to be a towel. It was all very clean. The pillow was a cylinder of cotton about six inches in diameter, stuffed with some substance as heavy and as crackling as pine needles, but odourless. I think the stuffing was of rice-husks. My nightgown was a cotton kimono like the one in which I had gone walking, and my coverlet was the usual bed-covering of Japan--a quilted satin robe, very long, with armholes and spacious sleeves: a cross between a comforter and a kimono. I did not use the sleeves, but pulled it over as one would if sleeping under an overcoat. In all but one respect it was a comfortable bed. The thing that troubled me was the hard round pillow. I moved it about; I tried to flatten it; I tried my hand under it, and over it, between it and my face. "I shall never be able to sleep on such a pillow!" I thought, irritably. And the next thing I knew it was morning and time to get up. This inn, being exceptionally well appointed, provided separate wash-rooms for men and women. We trooped down and bathed. Then we breakfasted. The breakfast was much like the dinner of the night before--rice, soup, fish, and tea. "If any one feels the need of coffee," said the linguist, "we may be able to get it, but the chances are it won't be very good. I've got a can of condensed milk here, too." He held up the can. I noticed that it was called "Bear Brand" Milk, and that the label bore the picture of a bear. "Don't they have fresh milk at these inns?" someone asked. "A few of them have it now," he replied, "but it is only in the last few years that the people of this locality have learned to use milk at all." This reminded him of a story which he told us. On one of his walking trips he had stopped at an inn which boasted of having been patronized by an Imperial Prince. The friend who accompanied the linguist on that trip wanted coffee for breakfast, and the innkeeper managed to supply it. The linguist had a can of "Bear Brand" Milk in his haversack, but he did not wish to open it if milk could be produced at the inn. "Can you get me some milk?" he asked the nesan. "What kind of milk?" she inquired. Perceiving that she knew nothing of our custom of using milk in tea and coffee, he amused himself by replying: "Whale's milk." The nesan went downstairs and presently returned to say that there was no whale's milk to be had. "This inn has been patronized by an Imperial Prince," exclaimed the linguist, affecting astonishment, "yet you have no whale's milk?" The nesan admitted that such was the case. "Then," said he, "bring me elephant's milk. I'll try to make it do." Again she departed. "The proprietor is very sorry," she reported when she came back, "but he has just run out of elephant's milk." "Let me see the proprietor." When the latter appeared he was most apologetic. There had been an unprecedented demand for elephant's milk in the last few days, he explained, and his supply had been exhausted. He expected to have some more shortly, but the express was slow. "Very well," said the linguist, "I suppose I'll have to get along as best I can on bear's milk." Whereupon he opened the "Bear Brand" can and poured some of its contents into his coffee, while the hotel proprietor and the nesan looked on with bulging eyes. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself," I told him when he had finished the story. "The joke rebounded on me," he said. "After that I became a personage in the inn, and I had to tip correspondingly when I left--for according to the old custom of the country the size of the tip in a hotel is not in proportion to the service received, but in proportion to the rank of the tipper. And besides, the proprietor was very curious to know how they milked the bears. I had a devil of a time explaining that." * * * * * After breakfast we set out on foot for the village of Nabuto, several miles farther along the shore. The road, winding around the rampart hills, was as beautiful as that we had travelled the day before, and as full of interesting figures and intimate glimpses of the life of these amiable industrious fisher-folk. Nabuto proved to be a tiny settlement at the tip of a rocky promontory, sheltered from direct assaults of the sea by a small, pinnacled island known as Niemon Island because it belongs, and has for eight centuries belonged, to a family of that name, residing there. An old sea-wife, looking like a figure from one of Winslow Homer's paintings, summoned the ferryman with a blast upon a conch shell, and a few minutes later we stepped from his skiff to a natural platform of granite at the island's edge. As we landed we were assimilated by a guide who began by indicating certain circular holes in the granite which, he declared, had been made by the hoofs of Yoritomo's horse. For legend has it that, when pursued, this mediæval military hero used Niemon Island as a hiding place. Nor are the horse's hoof-prints the only evidence supporting this tale. One may see the cave in which the great Yoritomo concealed himself. Thither, by a rough, ascending path, the guide led us. It was a small, damp cave. If Yoritomo lived there long he must have feared his enemies more than he feared rheumatism. Within was a small shrine dedicated to the ancient warrior, and hanging near it was a cord by which a bell could be rung to notify the spirit of the departed that callers had arrived. The guide signified to us that Yoritomo's spirit would be profoundly gratified if we put a few coppers into the box in front of his shrine. Having contributed we were allowed to ring the bell. The ledge outside commanded a view of leagues and leagues of amethyst sea into which jutted a succession of green bastioned promontories. Below us, at the base of the cliff, where the long swells were crashing in rhythmic succession, several small skiffs were tossing dangerously near the margin of the foam. These, said the guide, were the boats of abalone fishers--for the Niemon family, besides receiving tourists, and selling them trinkets, picture postcards, and flasks of Osaka whiskey, is in the business of canning abalone meat. I have attempted to eat abalone. Considering that it is a mollusc leading an absolutely sedentary life, it has astounding muscular development. A man who can masticate it ought to be able also to masticate the can in which it comes. Each skiff contained two men; an oarsman and a diver. The former would nurse his light craft close to where the seas were breaking on the island's rocky wall, while the latter, standing and swaying with the rise and fall of the boat, peered eagerly into the blue depths. Then, suddenly, with the swiftness of a thrown knife, the brown body would cut the water and disappear. One waited. One waited long enough to become a little anxious. But when it seemed that human lungs could not have held a breath for such a length of time, a head of wet black hair would pop out of the water and the glistening body of the diver would slip over the gunwale with the sinuous ease of a swimming seal. A moment later he would be standing again in the bow of the boat, a figure beautifully poised, gazing with the rapt eyes of a seer into the swaying, streaky mysteries of the under-water world. Out here the fresh sea breeze wove like a cool woof across the warp of rays from a hot noonday sun. Ashore there was no breeze. I was beginning to dread the baking dusty miles of highway leading back to Kamogawa. Then someone suggested that we sail there, and the linguist sent the guide to see about a boat. The vessel he secured was a two-masted fishing boat with a brave viking prow and long sleek lines. It was a piratical-looking craft and the appearance of the crew was even more so. They were like the Malay pirates in boys' books of adventure: almost naked, and tanned and weathered to a dark copper colour. Two of them wore short white shirts, open in front and terminating at the waist, but the others were innocent of such sophisticated haberdashery, the entire costume of each consisting of a pair of towels--one at the loins, the other wound around the head. All too soon they landed us upon the beach at the back of the hotel. "Now," said the linguist, as we waded up through the deep sand, "we'll pack our bags, get lunch, and be off." And precisely that we did. The whole staff of the inn assembled to see us depart. The proprietress gave us little presents. There was much bowing. Then the basha creaked away. CHAPTER XXV _I Take Gen's Photograph--The Pay of Fisher-Folk--Where All the World Works--We Help Gen Pull Her Cart--And Surprise Some Wayfarers--The Road Grows Long--Fairy Débutantes_ In an exceptionally picturesque fishing village a few miles on, I paused to take some photographs. On a platform outside an old house overhanging the gray sea-wall at the margin of the beach, three women were unloading baskets of fish from a heavy handcart. One of them was fully sixty years of age, another I judged to be thirty, but the third was a girl not over twenty, a sturdy brown lass with eyes like those of a wild deer, and a ready smile which showed a set of glorious white teeth. She was as pretty a peasant girl as I had seen in Japan, wherefore through my bi-lingual friend, I asked permission to take her picture. From the amount of talking my friend did, and the laughter with which, on both sides, it was accompanied, I judged that the request, as it reached her, was festooned with gallantries. At all events she readily consented to be photographed--as a pretty girl generally will--and when the shutter had snapped she asked that I send her a print. This I agreed to do if she would write her name and address in my notebook. She did so in kana, which, being translated by my invaluable companion, revealed her name as Gen Tajima. [Illustration: Pretty Gen was between the shafts, the other girl was pulling at a rope, and the grandmother was at the rear, pushing] Asked if all three of them were of the same family, the women replied that they were merely neighbours. They resided in the village of Amatsu-machi, several miles farther along the road that we were travelling, and it was their daily business to draw the cart from Amatsu-machi to this place, laden with baskets of fish to be salted and shipped. Their pay for this labour amounted to the equivalent of twenty-five cents a day in our money. "I suppose you are all of you married?" asked my friend. The old woman replied that she was; the other two laughed and declared that they were not. But they soon betrayed each other. "Don't you believe what _she_ says!" they warned us gaily. "She _is_ married. _I'm_ the one who is looking for a match." Then, having had their little joke, each owned to a husband and children. Their husbands were fishermen, and earned, they said, two yen a day--about a dollar. "You work hard?" asked my friend. "Of course." "Why 'of course'?" "Everybody down here works hard." "Even those who don't have to?" "Yes. Even people with a lot of money work hard. Here any one who did not work would be laughed at." They were typical Japanese women of the fisher class, happy, innocent, industrious. They interested me profoundly. But there was a long trip ahead of us and it was necessary to push on. We bade them farewell, got into the basha, and drove away. But we had not seen the last of them. When we had driven a quarter of a mile or so, they came running up behind us with their cart. Pretty Gen was between the shafts, the other girl was pulling at a rope tied to one side, and the grandmother was at the rear, pushing. They ran pigeon-toed, like Indians, and what with the commotion caused by their rope sandals and the wheels, left a cloud of dust behind them. Full of merriment they closed in upon us. One of them called to us in Japanese. "What did she say?" I asked. My friend translated: "She says that because we are strangers they will escort us." "Come on," I said, jumping out of the basha. "Let's help them pull the cart." He joined me at once. We took up our places, naturally, at either side of Gen. She was full of questions. Where were we from? How long did it take to come all the way from America? What was America like? Didn't the American people like the Japanese people? Her brother was a sailor. He had made a voyage to America and said it was a very fine place, and that everyone was rich. It wasn't like that in Japan. Here almost everyone was poor. It was hard to earn enough to live on, now that food cost so much. Finding that there were now too many willing hands at the cart, we discharged the grandmother and the other woman, placing them in our seats in the basha. "It is a pity you can't ride, too," my friend said to Gen, "but it is better for you to stay here and see that we don't steal the cart." To which the old woman leaning out of the back seat of the basha remarked that she thought us much more likely to steal the cart if Gen went with it. This caused much hilarity. Gen, I think, was a little embarrassed, but she enjoyed it all the same. "As things are," she said, smiling and looking at the road, "I am well satisfied to walk." The chatter was so lively that I had a good deal of difficulty in finding out all that was being said; it was no small task for my companion to keep up his end of the conversation against all three of them, and at the same time translate for me. I began to find myself left out. Moreover, I had not anticipated that we should attract so much attention. The mere fact that we were aliens made us conspicuous in this part of the country, and the sight of two foreign men helping a peasant girl pull a cart, while the girl's usual companions rode ahead in the comparative magnificence of a basha, caused people in the villages through which we passed not only to stare in amazement, but to call their friends to come and witness the unheard-of spectacle. I remember an old woman bent under a great load of straw which she was carrying on her back, who, when she glanced up and saw us, looked as if she were going to fall over, and I shall never forget the quizzical, puzzled, fixed gaze of a middle-aged coolie, with a load of wood on his back and a little pipe in his mouth, who, on sight of us, hurriedly seated himself on the bank at the roadside to pass us in review. He was a fine type. I dropped my hold upon the shaft, unslung my kodak, and embalmed his features on a film. [Illustration: The middle-aged coolie hurriedly seated himself on the bank to pass us in review] "Come on back here!" called my companion. "Gen and I need you with our cart." Gen and I!... _Our_ cart, indeed! Who first thought of helping Gen with her cart, I should like to know! Without enthusiasm I returned and took hold of the shaft again. The cart was getting heavier. He and Gen weren't pulling as they should. They were too busy talking--that was the trouble with them! "Say, how far is it to this town where these people live?" I demanded of him. "I guess it's not very much farther," my friend interrupted his conversation with Gen to reply. "I should hope not! We've pulled this infernal cart about five miles already." "If you don't like it," he answered, "why don't you get back in the basha?" "How am I going to do that, when that old woman is in my place?" "Tell her you want to ride. Tell her to come back here and get on the job again." I looked up at her. It was quite out of the question to do such a thing. Much as I should have enjoyed my seat in the basha, she was enjoying it more. She and the younger woman were having a magnificent time, chattering, giggling, hailing every acquaintance they passed. And when other peasants who knew them gazed, astonished, they would burst into roars of mirth. All of which gave our progress more than ever the aspect of a circus parade in which, it began to seem to me, I figured as the clown. Left to my own thoughts I endeavoured to meet the situation philosophically. If I had been foolish to get myself into this cart-pulling adventure my folly was of a kind common to my sex. Other men without number had made even greater fools of themselves. And, whereas in a little while this incident would be ended, some men got into scrapes that lasted all their lives. It was pleasant to reflect on that. I began to see an allegory in the episode. In miniature it was like the story of a hasty marriage.... A man travelling the road of life in the comfortable basha of bachelorhood sees a pretty girl. Bright eyes, white teeth shown in a smile, and out he jumps. "Let me help you pull the cart!" he cries, without giving a thought to the future. So he takes hold, and as likely as not she eases off and lets him do most of the pulling. He wants companionship, but when he begins to look for it, what does he discover? He discovers that she doesn't know a word of his language, nor he a word of hers. He has sold his birthright for a mess of pulchritude. The road is long, the hills steep, the cart heavy. Presently appears another man and offers to help--some smart-aleck who _can_ talk her kind of talk. And, of course, this linguistic ass begins prattling a lot of nonsense to her and turns her head. The more she listens to him the more inflated he becomes. That's what happens to some men if a pretty girl shows them a little attention! Does he stop for a minute to consider that his advantage is purely one of language? Not at all! The idiot thinks himself fascinating. So much for that. But now imagine another picture. Take those two men out of a situation in which one has manifestly an unfair advantage, and place them on an equal footing in a totally different environment. Take them, let us say, to an American city, place them in a ballroom, bring in a lot of beautiful débutantes--hundreds of them, all in pretty little evening gowns and satin slippers--start up the band. _Then_ see what happens! One of these men is a bookworm. He knows a lot about languages. He can speak Japanese. (You see I am being perfectly fair to him.) But the other, though he cannot speak Japanese, is--you understand this is purely an imaginary case--a handsome, dashing, debonair fellow. While one has been learning Japanese the other has learned a few effective steps. In the intricate mazes of the dance he seems to float godlike through the air. All right! Now I ask you, which one of these two men is going to be a success with all those débutantes? Is Japanese going to advance a man very far with an American débutante? In all fairness I say No! A débutante is too clever--too clever with her feet--to be misled by mere linguistic talent. True worth is the thing that counts with her. She looks for solid merit in a man. In other words: _What kind of a dancer is he?_ Is not the conclusion obvious? In the environment I have pictured one of those two men will be left practically alone, while the other will find himself constantly surrounded by a bevy of dainty, beautiful---- "This is Amatsu-machi," I heard my companion say. With a start I came back to Japan. "They're leaving us at the crossroads," said he. The basha drew up. The two women got out. They thanked us prettily. Then amid many "_Sayonaras_" we drove off, while they stood and watched us, smiling and waving until we passed from their sight around a bend in the road. "They have lovely natures, these Japanese women," the linguist presently remarked. "If you'll look over a lot of American débutantes," I replied, "you'll find that they are just about as----" "You don't understand," he interrupted. "I'm not talking about mere prettiness--though you'd hardly say that girl Gen wasn't pretty. I'm talking about spiritual quality. Couldn't you tell, just by looking at her, that she was sweet right straight through?" "I guess she's all right," I answered in an off-hand tone. That did not half satisfy him. But though he kept at me for a long time, trying to make me say something more enthusiastic, I would not be coerced. He was too much puffed up as it was. I had another reason, too, for withholding from that pretty peasant girl the fullest praise. I must be faithful to the débutantes who, from far away, had come floating like a swarm of fairies to console me as I tugged Gen Tajima's lumbering cart along a dusty road upon the seacoast of Japan. CHAPTER XXVI _The Handkerchief as a Travelling Bag--Bags and Bottles--Computing Time--The Mystic Animals of the Zodiac--Superstitions Regarding Them--Temple Fortune-Telling--An Ekisha--The Ema--Yuki Tells of a Wonderful Cure_ The national travelling bag of the Japanese is a large, strong handkerchief of silk or cotton, in which the articles carried on a journey are tied up. The elasticity of this container, which is called a _furoshiki_, is its great advantage. It is as large or as small as its contents require, and when it is empty you do not have to lug it about by hand, like an empty suitcase, but merely put it in your pocket. The trouble with our style of suitcases and bags is that they are heavy, bulky, and not adaptable. On one occasion they are overcrowded, on another we carry them half empty. My own bags remind me of the way I used to feel about wine bottles in the cheery days when one could afford to regard such things with a somewhat critical eye. I always felt that wine bottles were either too large or too small. Pints held a little too much for one, yet not enough for two; and quarts held rather more than was required by three, yet left four dissatisfied. Let us, however, drop this subject. _De mortuis_.... I was often struck with the fact that though the Japanese woman seems to be more heavily dressed than the foreign woman, and though her coiffure is generally more elaborate, she carries so much less baggage when she travels. In our Yuki's furoshiki there was always room for my cigars, cigarettes, books, and kodak films. Her own things seemed to take no space at all. There are several reasons for this. A Japanese woman carries no hair-brush and wears her comb in her hair. Nor do the Japanese generally take nightclothes with them on a journey, for a clean cotton kimono, in which to sleep, is supplied by all Japanese hotels. More than once, when I saw Yuki starting off with us for a two- or three-days' trip with baggage consisting of a furoshiki tied to about the size of two ordinary novels, I thought of Johnnie Poe's famous "fifty-three pieces of baggage--a deck of cards and a tooth-brush." A favourite theme for the decoration of the furoshiki embodies the signs of the Chinese zodiac, consisting of twelve animals. The Chinese calendar was adopted centuries ago by the Japanese, and they still take account of it, though they now generally use our Gregorian calendar for computing time. But even so, their era is not the Christian Era, but dates from the beginning of the reign of Jimmu Tenno the Divine, whom the Japanese count as the first of their Imperial line, and who is said to have ascended the throne, 660 B.C. Thus our current year, 1921, is the year 2581 in Japan. Time is also measured arbitrarily by the reigns of emperors, the present year being Taisho 10, or the tenth year of the reign of the present Emperor. The Chinese zodiac, however, figures largely in Japanese superstition. As there are twelve animals, the years are counted off in cycles of twelve; and the same animals are also associated with days and hours, in cycles of twelve. The attributes of the astrological animal governing the year of one's birth are supposed to attach to one. "My mother is a cow," a Japanese lady explained to me. "My husband is a snake and I am a rabbit." The lore of these animals is complicated. I have only a smattering of it, but what I know will suffice to show the general tendency of such superstition. It is considered good fortune to be born in the year of the horse because the horse is strong and energetic. 1920 was the year of the monkey. It is unlucky to marry in monkey year because the word _saru_, which means "monkey," also means "to go back," the suggestion being that the bride will go back to her former home, or in other words be divorced. A woman born in the year of the rabbit will be prolific. (The lady who said, "I'm a rabbit," though very young, was the mother of four.) Similarly the animals, in their cycle, bring good luck or ill luck in connection with events occurring on certain days. It is unlucky to take to one's bed with a sickness on the day of the cow, because the cow is slow to get up. It is lucky to begin a journey on the day of the tiger, because the tiger, though he travels a thousand miles, always returns to the point from which he started; but for the same reason it is unlucky for a girl to marry on this day, because she, like the tiger, may return to the place from which she started: her father's house. And the day of the tiger is a bad one for funerals, because the tiger drags its prey with it, suggesting that another funeral will soon follow. The significance attaching to each animal according to the Japanese idea is not always apparent, without explanation, to the stranger. For instance, though I know it is considered lucky for a bride to cut her kimonos on the day of the rooster, I do not know why. Nor do I know why it is considered particularly lucky to have, in one family, three persons born under the same sign. Superstition of all kinds plays a large part in the daily life of the Japanese masses, and persons of intelligence often patronize fortune tellers, among whom are the Buddhist priests in certain temples. [Illustration: At Asakusa, the great popular temple of Tokyo, the fortune-telling business is so brisk that two or three priests are busy at it all the time] At Asakusa, the great popular temple of Tokyo, the fortune-telling business is so brisk that two or three priests are busy at it all the time. The system is simple. The diviner shakes a lot of numbered sticks in a box, draws one out, and takes a paper from a little drawer which bears a number corresponding with that on the stick. Your fortune is written on the paper, in multigraph. I paid two cents for mine, and when it was translated to me I felt that I had paid too much. Yuki, when she saw that I was disposed to take the matter lightly, seemed a little disappointed, and when later several of us decided to give the necromancers one more fling, she herself escorted us to the establishment called Hokokudo, at number 3 Chome, the Ginza, where father, son, and grandson successively have told fortunes for the past hundred and twenty years. Here we paid one yen each for our fortunes, but though the _ekisha_ took more time to the job, examining our hands and faces, rattling his divining rods and making patterns with his Chinese wooden blocks, he didn't do much better than the priest had done for two cents. Yuki was impressed when he predicted a sea voyage for me, but the prophecy did not seem to me to constitute a remarkable example of divination. The visit to the ekisha was however, an experience. The little house was picturesque, and it was interesting to see the stream of Japanese coming in, one after another, intent on learning what the future held in store for them. Also, while Yuki's fortune was being told I got a good photograph of the ekisha examining her hand through his magnifying glass. [Illustration: While Yuki's fortune was being told I photographed her] Another superstition is exampled in the _ema_, votive offerings in the form of little paintings on wood, which are put up at Shinto shrines by those in need of help of one kind or another. For almost any sort of affliction an ema of suitable design may be found, though the meaning of the grotesque design is seldom apparent to the foreigner. While in Japan I collected a number of these curious little objects and investigated their significance. Among them was one which Yuki recognized as an appeal for relief from eye trouble. "That very good ema," she told me. "I use one like that once when I have sore eyes." "Did it cure you, Yuki?" "Yes--in two weeks. I put it up at shrine and I promise the god I no drink tea for two weeks. In two weeks my eyes all right again." "And you are sure the ema did it?" "Yes, sir, I sure." "You didn't do anything else for your eyes?" "No, it just like I say. I put up ema for god and not drink tea. Then I wait two weeks." "Did your eyes hurt you during the two weeks?" "Oh, yes. They hurt so much I have to wash them two three times a day with boric acid, while I wait for ema to make cure. But when end of two weeks comes they not sore any more. That ema work very good." CHAPTER XXVII _Our Difficulties with the Language--The Questionable Humour of Broken Speech--"Do You Striking This Man for That?"--"Companies, Scholars, and Other Households"--Curious Correspondence--Japanese Puns--Strange Laughter--The Grotesque in Art--Japanese Colour-Prints--Famous Print Collections--Monet's Discovery of Prints at Zaandam--Japanese Prints and French Impressionism_ The complete dissimilarity between the Japanese language and our own, referred to in an earlier chapter, of course adds greatly to the difficulty of communication in all its various forms. In Tokyo and other cities I attended many luncheons and dinners organized for the purpose of discussing relations between the United States and Japan, and promoting a friendly understanding between the two nations, but though Japanese statesmen and men of affairs spoke at these gatherings in fluent and even polished English, I never met with one American who was equipped to return the compliment in kind. The Americans, even those who had lived for years in Japan, always spoke in English, whereafter a Japanese interpreter who had taken notes on the speech would arise and render a translation. The linguistic chasm dividing the two peoples is not, however, entirely a black abyss. If one wall is dark, the other catches the sun. Practically all Japanese students now study English in their schools, our language being considered next in importance to their own. And though, as I have said, many of them have perfectly mastered English despite the enormous difficulties it presents to them, there are many others whose English is imperfect, and whose "Japanned English," as some one has called it, achieves effects the unconscious grotesqueness of which startles and fascinates Americans and Englishmen. To be honest, I have been in some doubt as to whether I should touch upon this theme or not; for it has always seemed to me that humour based upon the efforts of an individual to express himself in a language not his own was meretricious humour, inasmuch as it makes fun of an attempt to do a creditable thing. It is a kind of humour which is enjoyed in some measure by the French and the British but which is relished infinitely more by us than by any other people in the world, as witness entertainments in our theatres, and stories in our magazines, depending for comedy upon dialect: German, French, Italian, Irish, Jewish, Cockney, Negro, or even the several purely American dialects characteristic of various parts of the country. This dubious taste of ours doubtless springs, to some extent at least, from the polyglot nature of our population; but whatever its origin it is a bad thing for us in one important respect. We find the English dialect of foreigners so funny that we ourselves fear to attempt foreign tongues, lest we make ourselves ridiculous. Wherefore we are the poorest linguists in the world. Even after the foregoing apology--for that, frankly, is what it is--I should still hesitate to present examples of "Japanned English" had I not discovered that Professor Basil Hall Chamberlain, perhaps the greatest of modern authorities on Japan, a man whose writings reveal an impeccable nicety of taste, had already done so in his most valuable book, "Things Japanese." One of the examples given by Professor Chamberlain is quoted from a work entitled: "The Practical Use of Conversation for Police Authorities," which assumes to teach the Japanese policeman how to converse in English. The following is an imaginary conversation intended to guide the officer in parley with a British bluejacket: What countryman are you? I am a sailor belonged to the Golden Eagle, the English man-of-war. Why do you strike this jinricksha-man? He told me impolitely. What does he told you impolitely? He insulted me saying loudly, "the Sailor the Sailor" when I am passing here. Do you striking this man for that? Yes. But do not strike him for it is forbidden. I strike him no more. One curious aspect of the matter is that so much of this weird English creeps into print, appearing in guidebooks, advertisements, and on the labels of goods of various kinds manufactured in Japan. Thus in the barber shop of the ship, going over, I found a bottle containing a toilet preparation called "Fulay," the label of which bore the following legend: "Fulay" is manufactures under chemical method and long years experience with pure and refined materials. It is, therefore, only the article in the circle as ladies and gents daily toilet. And on a jar of paste I found this label, which will be better understood if the tendency of the Japanese to confuse the letters _l_ and _r_ is kept in mind: This paste is of a pureness cleanliness and of a strong cohesion, so that it does not putrefy even when the paste grass is left open. Though written down on paper or the like immediately after pasting, the character is never spread. This paste has an especial fragrance therefore all of pasted things after using this are always kept from the frys and all sorts of bacteria, and prevents the infectious diseases. This paste is an indispensable one for the banks, companies, scholars and other households. Please notice for "Kuchi's Yamato-Nori" as there are similar things. The circular of one firm, advertising "a large assortment of ladies' blushes," might have been misinterpreted as having some scandalous suggestion, had it not gone on to discuss the ivory backs and high-grade bristles with which the "blushes" were equipped. Another circular was that of a butcher who catered to foreigners in Tokyo. After stating that his meats were sold at "a fixed plice" this worthy merchant mentioned the various kinds of beef he could supply. There were, "rosu beef, rampu beef, pig beef, soup beef, and beard beef"--which being interpreted signified roast beef, rump beef, pork, soup meat and poultry--the word "beard" being intended for "bird." In the admirable hotel at Nara I saw the following notice posted in a corridor: REMARQUE Parents are requested kindly to send their children to the Hotel Garden for when weather is fine. When it is bad weather I will offer the children the small dining-room, except meal hours, as playing room for them, therefore please don't let them run round upstairs and downstairs at all. Please kindly have the children after dinner in a manner quiet and repose. MANAGER, Nara Hotel. From a friend, an official of a large company, I got a number of letters revealing the peculiarities of "English as she is wrote"--at least as she is sometimes wrote--in Japan. All these letters are authentic, having come to him in connection with his business. The first one, written by a clerk to the office manager, refers to an admirable Japanese custom which in itself is worthy of brief mention. Throughout Japan there is housecleaning twice a year under police supervision. Certain districts have certain days on which the cleaning must be done. The shoji are removed, the furniture is carried out, and the mats are taken up and beaten. The streets are full of activity and dust when this is going on, and there is a pile of rubbish in front of every residence. Meanwhile police officers pass up and down, wearing gauze masks over their noses and mouths to protect them from the dust, and at the end they inspect each house to see that the work has been properly done, after which they affix an official stamp over the door. Wherefore wrote the clerk to the office manager: MR. S----: Excuse my absent of this morning. All of my neighbourhood have got instruction to clean out nest. SIDA. A more serious dilemma is revealed in the following: To General Manager. DEAR SIR, My wife gave birth this noon and as it happened nearly a month ahead than I expected, I much rather find myself in painful situation, having not yet prepared for this sudden ocurrence. Up to this day, unfortunate enough, I am destined most unfavourably for the monetary circumstance, and consequently have no saving against worldly concerns, I am forced to ask you for a loan of ¥ 25.00 to get rid of the burden befallen on me by the birth. I know it is the meanest of all to ask one's help for monetary affair but as I am being unable to find any better way than to solicit you, I have at last come to a conclusion to trouble you but against my will. I deem it much more shamefull to advertise my poor condition around my relatives or acquaintances no matter wheater it will be fruitfull or fruitless. Yours obediently, Y----. The subjoined was received from one of the company's agents in another city: DEAR SIR, We have the honour to thank you for your having bestowed us a Remington typewriter which has just arrived via railway express. We will treat her very kindly and she will give us her best service in return. Thus we can work to our mutual satisfaction and benefit. Thanking you for your kindness we beg to remain, Yours very truly, O---- I----. The porter in a Japanese office not infrequently sleeps on the premises. But he must have the necessary equipment, as the following letter from an agent to a principal reveals: DEAR SIR, In accordance to your esteemed conversation of other day for lodging the servant at this office, we consider we must provide to him the bed or sleeping tools. Please inform us that you could approve the expense to purchase this tool. Awaiting your esteemed reply we are, dear sir, Yours faithfully, T---- A----. The next letter is from a man who wished to establish business relations with my friend's company: DEAR SIR, I am a trader at Kokura city in Kyushu, always treating the various machines or steels and the architectural using goods. I have known of your great names at Tokyo. Therefore I want to open the connection with each other so affectionately. Accordingly I beg to see your company's inside scene so clearly, please send me the catalogue and plice-list of good samples of your company. I am a baby on our commercial society, because you will lead me to the machinery society I think. I trusted, Yours affectionately, I am, K---- M----. One thing which sometimes makes these letters startling is the fact that they are couched in English which is perfectly correct save in one or two particulars. Thus the errors or strange usages pop out at one unexpectedly, adding an element of surprise, as in the case of a man who wrote to my friend applying for work: DEAR SIR, I beg leave to inquire whether you can make use of my services as a salesman and correspondent in your firm. I have had considerable experiences as a apparatus, and can furnish references and insurance against risk. Awaiting your reply, I am Yours respectfully, K---- S----. I have often been asked whether the Japanese possess the gift of humour. They do--though humour does not occupy a place so important in their daily life as it does in ours. A light touch in conversation is uncommon with them, and those who have it do not generally exhibit it except to their intimates. Yet they are great punsters, and some of their puns are very clever. A case in point is the slang term _narikin_ which they have recently adopted to describe the flashy new-rich type which has come into being since the war. To understand the derivation of this word, and its witty connotation, you must know that in their game of chess, called _shogi_, a humble pawn advanced to the adversary's third row is, by a process resembling queening, converted into a powerful, free-moving piece called _kin_. The word _nari_ means "to become"; hence _nari-kin_ means literally "to become _kin_"--which gives us, when applied to a flamboyant profiteer, a droll picture of a poor little pawn suddenly exalted to power and magnificence. The pun, which adds greatly to the value of this term, comes with the word _kin_. _Kin_ is not only a chessman; it also means "gold." Which naturally contributes further piquancy in the application to a _nouveau riche_. Moreover, through a play on the word narikin there has been evolved a second slang term: _narihin_--_hin_ meaning "poor"--"to become poor." And alas, this term as well as the other is useful in Japan to-day. War speculation has made some fortunes, but it has wiped out others. My friend O----, a truly lovable fellow, once spent the better part of an afternoon explaining a lot of Japanese puns to me, and I was hardly more pleased by the jests themselves than by my friend's infectious little chuckles over them. At parting we made an engagement for the evening, but about dinner time O---- returned to say that he could not spend the evening with me. "I have just heard that my best friend died last night," he said, "It is very unexpected. I must go to his house." So speaking he emitted what appeared to me to be precisely the same little chuckle he had uttered over the puns. The suppression of one's feeling is a primary canon of Japanese etiquette. To show unhappiness is to make others unhappy; wherefore, when one suffers, it is good form to laugh or smile. The foreigner who comprehends this doctrine must, if he be a man of any delicacy of feeling, respect it. But if he does not grasp the underlying principle he is likely to misjudge the Japanese and consider their laughter, in some circumstances, hard-hearted, apologetic, or inane. * * * * * The supreme proof of Japanese humour is to be found in the grotesqueries and whimsicalities of Japanese Art. You see it revealed everywhere--in the shape of a gnarled, stunted pine, carefully trained to a pleasing deformity; in the images of cats left in various parts of Japan by Hidari Jingoro, the great left-handed wood-carver of the sixteenth century; in the famous trio of monkeys adorning the stable of the Ieyasu Shrine at Nikko--those which neither hear, see, nor speak evil; in a thousand earthenware figures of ragged, pot-bellied Hotei, one of the Seven Gods of Luck, sitting, gross and contented in a small boat, waiting for some one to bring his abdominal belt; in the countless representations of the Buddhist god Daruma, that delightful egg-shaped comedian who will run out his tongue and his eyes for you, or, if not that, will refuse to stay down when you roll him over; in figurines without number, of ivory or wood; in sword-guards embellished with fantastic conceits; in those carved ivory buttons called _netsuké_, treasured by collectors; and perhaps most often in Japanese colour-prints. The hundred years between 1730 and 1830 was the golden age of wood-engraving in Japan. During the lifetime of this art it was regarded as distinctly plebeian. Many of the fine prints were made to be used as advertisements or souvenirs. Some, it is true, were issued in limited editions, and these cost more than the commoner ones, but generally they were sold for a few cents. Unfortunately, before the art-lovers of Japan perceived that the finest of these prints were masterpieces representing wood-engraving at its highest perfection, the best prints had got out of Japan and gone to Paris, London, Boston, New York, Chicago, and other foreign cities, whence the Japanese have lately been buying them back at enormous prices. From a friend of mine in Tokyo, himself the owner of a very valuable collection, I learned that the collection of 7,500 prints assembled by M. Vever, of Paris, has long been considered by connoisseurs the finest in the world. This collection was recently purchased intact by Mr. Kojiro Matsukata, of Kobe, president of the Kawasaki shipbuilding firm. It is said that Mr. Matsukata paid half a million dollars for it. My Tokyo friend tells me that the collection belonging to Messrs. William S., and John T. Spalding, of Boston, is probably next in importance to the Matsukata collection, and that it is difficult to say whether the Boston Museum collection or the British Museum collection takes third place. For primitive prints, the Clarence Buckingham collection, housed in the Chicago Art Institute, is also very important. How does it happen that it was in Europe that Japanese prints first came to be highly appreciated as works of art? Octave Mirbeau, in his delightful book of automobiling adventures, "La 628-E8" (which, I believe, has never been brought out in English) tells the story. The great impressionist, Claude Monet, went to Holland to paint. Some groceries sent home to him from a little shop were wrapped in a Japanese print--the first one Monet had ever seen. "You can imagine," writes Mirbeau, "his emotion before that marvellous art.... His astonishment and joy were such that he could not speak, but could only give vent to cries of delight. "And it was in Zaandam that this miracle came to pass--Zaandam with its canals, its boats at the quay unloading cargoes of Norwegian wood, its huddled flotillas of barks, its little streets of water, its tiny red cabins, its green houses--Zaandam, the most Japanese spot in all the Dutch landscape.... "Monet ran to the shop whence came his package--a vague little grocery shop where the fat fingers of a fat man were tying up (without being paralyzed by the deed!) two cents' worth of pepper and ten cents' worth of coffee, in paper bearing these glorious images brought from the Far East along with groceries in the bottom of a ship's hold. "Although he was not rich at that time, Monet was resolved to buy all of these masterpieces that the grocery contained. He saw a pile of them on the counter. His heart bounded. The grocer was waiting upon an old lady. He was about to wrap something up. Monet saw him reach for one of the prints. 'No, no!' he cried. 'I want to buy that! I want to buy all those--all those!' "The grocer was a good man. He believed that he was dealing with some one who was a little touched. Anyway the coloured papers had cost him nothing. They were thrown in with the goods. Like some one who gives a toy to a crying child to appease it, he gave the pile of prints to Monet, smilingly and a bit mockingly. "'Take them, take them,' he said. 'You can have them. They aren't worth anything. They aren't solid enough. I prefer regular wrapping-paper.'" So the grocer enveloped the old lady's cheese in a piece of yellow paper, and Monet went home and spent the rest of the day in adoration of his new-found treasures. The names of the great Japanese wood-engravers were of course unknown in Europe then, but Monet learned later that some of these prints were by Hokusai, Utamaro, and Korin. "This," continues Mirbeau, "was the beginning of a celebrated collection, but much more important, it was the beginning of such an evolution in French painting that the anecdote has, besides its own savour, a veritable historic value. For it is a story which cannot be overlooked by those who seriously study the important movement in art which is called Impressionism." CHAPTER XXVIII _Living in a Japanese House--The Priceless Yuki--The Servants in the House--The Red Carpet--Our Trunks Depart--Tokyo's Night-time Sounds--Tipping and Noshi--The Etiquette of Farewells--Sayonara_ My last days in Japan were my best days, for I spent them in a Japanese home, standing amid its own lovely gardens in Mita, a residential district some twenty minutes by motor from the central part of Tokyo. Through the open shoji of my bedroom I could look out in the mornings to where, beyond the velvet lawns, the flowers and the treetops, the inverted fan of Fuji's cone was often to be seen floating white and spectral in the sky, seventy miles away. After my bath in a majestic family tub I would breakfast in my room, wearing a kimono, recently acquired, and feeling very Japanese. While I was dressing, Yuki sometimes entered, but I had by this time become accustomed to her matutinal invasions and no longer found them embarrassing. She was so entirely practical, so useful. She knew where everything was. She would go to a curious little cupboard, which was built into the wall and had sliding doors of lacquer and silk, and get me a shirt, or would retrieve from their place of concealment a missing pair of trousers, and bring them to me neatly folded in one of those flat, shallow baskets which, with the Japanese, seem to take the place of bureau drawers. Thus, besides being my daughter's duenna and my wife's maid, she was in effect, my valet. Nor did her usefulness by any means end there. She was our interpreter, dragoman, purchasing-agent; she was our steward, major domo, seneschal; nay, she was our Prime Minister. The house had a large staff, and all the servants made us feel that they were _our_ servants, and that they were glad to have us there. With the exception of a butler, an English-speaking Japanese temporarily added to the establishment on our account, all wore the native dress; and there were among them two men so fine of feature, so dignified of bearing, so elegant in their silks, that we took them, at first, for members of the family. One of them was a white-bearded old gentleman who would have made a desirable grandfather for anybody. If he had duties other than to decorate the hall with his presence I never discovered what they were. The other, a young man, was clerk of the household, and enjoyed the distinction of being Saki's husband. [Illustration: Saki, the housekeeper of some Japanese friends we visited, obligingly posed for me. The mattress is stuffed with floss silk, the pillow is hard and round, and the covering is a sort of quilted kimono] Saki was the housekeeper, young and pretty. She and her husband lived in a cottage near by, and their home was extensively equipped with musical instruments, Saki being proficient on the samisen and koto, and also on an American melodeon which was one of her chief treasures. She was all smiles and sweetness--a most obliging person. Indeed it was she who pretended to be asleep in a Japanese bed, in order that I might make the photograph which is one of the illustrations in this book. Four or five coolies, excellent fellows, wearing blue cotton coats with the insignia of our host's family upon the backs of them, worked about the house and grounds; and several little maids were continually trotting through the corridors; with that pigeon-toed shuffle in which one comes, when one is used to it, actually to see a curious prettiness. Sometimes we felt that the servants were showing us too much consideration. We dined out a great deal and were often late in getting home ("Home" was the term we found ourselves using there), yet however advanced the hour, the chauffeur would sound his horn on entering the gate, whereupon lights would flash on beneath the porte-cochère, the shoji at the entrance of the house would slide open, and three or four domestics would come out, dragging a wide strip of red velvet carpet, over which we would walk magnificently up the two steps leading to the hall. But though I urged them to omit this regal detail, because two or three men had to sit up to handle the heavy carpet, and also because the production of it made me feel like a bogus prince, I could never induce them to do so. Always, regardless of the hour, a little group of servants appeared at the door when we came home. * * * * * Even on the night when, under the ministrations of the all-wise and all-powerful head porter of the Imperial Hotel, our trunks were spirited away, to be taken to Yokohama and placed aboard the _Tenyo Maru_, even then we found it difficult to realize that our last night in Japan had come. The realization did not strike me with full force until I went to bed. I was not sleepy. I lay there, thinking. And the background of my thoughts was woven out of sounds wafted through the open shoji on the summer wind: the nocturnal sounds of the Tokyo streets. I recalled how, on my first night in Tokyo, I had listened to these sounds and wondered what they signified. Now they explained themselves to me, as to a Japanese. A distant jingling, like that of sleigh-bells, informed me that a newsboy was running with late papers. A plaintive musical phrase suggestive of Debussy, bursting out suddenly and stopping with startling abruptness, told me that the Chinese macaroni man was abroad with his lantern-trimmed cart and his little brass horn. At last I heard a xylophone-like note, resembling somewhat the sound of a New York policeman's club tapping the sidewalk. It was repeated several times; then there would come a silence; then the sound again, a little nearer. It was the night watchman on his rounds, guarding the neighbourhood not against thieves, but against fire, "the Flower of Tokyo." In my mind's eye I could see him hurrying along, knocking his two sticks together now and then, to spread the news that all was well. Then it was that I reflected: "To-morrow night I shall not hear these sounds. In their place I shall hear the creaking of the ship, the roar of the wind, the hiss of the sea. Possibly I shall never again hear the music of the Tokyo streets." My heart was sad as I went to sleep. * * * * * Fortunately for our peace of mind, we had learned through the experience of American friends, visitors in another Japanese home, how _not_ to tip these well-bred domestics--or rather, how not to try to tip them. On leaving the house in which they had been guests, these friends had offered money to the servants, only to have it politely but positively refused. Yuki cleared the matter up for us. "They should put _noshi_ with money," she explained in response to our questions. "That make it all right to take. It mean a present." Without having previously known noshi by name, we knew immediately what she meant, for we had received during our stay in Japan enough presents to fill a large trunk, and each had been accompanied by a little piece of coloured paper folded in a certain way, signifying a gift. In the old days these coloured papers always contained small pieces of dried _awabi_--abelone--but with the years the dried awabi began to be omitted, and the little folded papers by themselves came to be considered adequate. Fortified with this knowledge I went, on the day before our departure, to the Ginza, where I bought envelopes on which the noshi design was printed. Money placed in these envelopes was graciously accepted by all the servants. Tips they would not have received. But these were not tips. They were gifts from friend to friend, at parting. * * * * * The code of Japanese courtesy is very exact and very exacting in the matter of farewells to the departing guest. Callers are invariably escorted to the door by the host, such members of his family as have been present, and a servant or two, all of whom stand in the portal bowing as the visitor drives away. A house-guest is dispatched with even greater ceremony. The entire personnel of the establishment will gather at with profound bows and cries of "Sayonara!" the door to speed him on his way Members of the family, often the entire family, accompany him to the station, where appear other friends who have carefully inquired in advance as to the time of departure. The traveller is escorted to his car, and his friends remain upon the platform until the train leaves, when the bowing and "Sayonaras" are repeated. Tokyo people often go to Yokohama with friends who are sailing from Japan, accompanying them to the ship, and remaining on the dock until the vessel moves into the bay. How Tokyo men-of-affairs can manage to go upon these time-consuming seeing-off parties is one of the great mysteries of Mysterious Japan, for such an excursion takes up the greater part of a day. To the American, accustomed in his friendships to take so much for granted, a Japanese farewell affords a new sensation, and one which can hardly fail to touch the heart. Departing passengers are given coils of paper ribbon confetti, to throw to their friends ashore, so that each may hold an end until the wall of steel parts from the wall of stone, and the paper strand strains and breaks. There is something poignant and poetic in that breaking, symbolizing the vastness of the world, the littleness of men and ships, the fragility of human contacts. The last face I recognized, back there across the water, in Japan, was Yuki's. She was standing on the dock with the end of a broken paper ribbon in her hand. The other end trailed down into the water. She was weeping bitterly. Wishing to be sure that my wife and daughter had not failed to discover her in the crowd, I turned to them. But I did not have to point her out. Their faces told me that they saw her. They too were weeping. So it is with women. They weep. As for a man, he merely waves his hat. I waved mine. "Sayonara!" I turned away. There were things I had to see to in my cabin. Besides, the wind on deck was freshening. It hurt my eyes. THE END INDEX INDEX Abalone, diving for, 304 Actresses, increase of, 96 Architecture, democracy in, 40 Architecture and sculpture, horrors in, 27 Art, grotesqueries and whimsicalities, 330 Athletic sports, popularity of, 103 Back-end-formost methods and customs, 48 Bathing customs, 52, 65, 289 Beauty, artistic conceptions, 163 Beds, how arranged, 299 Bill of fare, luncheon, 127 Boasting, a cardinal sin, 173 Brides, outfitted for life, 36 Burglars, feared next to fire and earthquake, 42; what to do when visited by, 45 Bushido, doctrine of, 76 Business methods, placidity in, 228 Butokukai--Association for Inculcation of Military Virtues, 195 Calendar, Chinese, adopted by Japanese, 316 California, Japanese issue in, 244 Calligraphy, a fine art, 55 Chafing-dish, cooking in, 149 Cherry Dance of Kyoto, 144 Children, in profusion, 23 China, American engineer among brigands in, 10; compared with Japan, 266 Chinnung, Emperor, discoverer of tea, 69 Chop-sticks, lesson in use of, 120 Class, the distinctions of, 140 Colonization, efforts in, 233 Concubinage, still practised, 85 Cooking, chafing-dish, 149 Costume, regulated by calendar, 33 Courtesans, segregated, 154 Courtesy, the code of, in making farewells, 340 Crest, family, as used on kimono, 34 Customs changed to fit Western ideas, 174 Dancing girls, or maiko, 119, 135, 137, 141 Daruma, mythological creator of tea, 69 Divorce customs, 85 Dress of women, uniformity of, 31; cost of, 35 Earthquakes, influence of, in building construction, 38, 42; frequency and extent, 39; best course to pursue during, 43 Efficiency and non-efficiency of the people, 235 Elder Statesmen, the, 185 Eliot, Sir Charles, on understanding Japan, 75 Ema, efficacy of an, 320 English as she is wrote, 323 Eri, neck piece worn with kimono, 34 European dress not popular with women, 31, 37 Fashions, little variation in, 36 Feudal Era, the, 70 Films, kissing scenes cut, 98 Finley, Dr. John H., on reverential attitude of the Japanese, 280 Flower Arrangement, the study of, 66; origin of, 68; in connection with display of paintings, 72 Folk dances by maiko, 137 Foods and delicacies, 129 Foreign customs adopted, 174 Fortune tellers, well patronized, 318 Fujiyama, as seen from the sea, 13; the "Honourable Mountain," 14 Gardens, history and theory, 167, 177 Gardens, diminutive, 21 Geisha, the best dressers, 37; at a luncheon, 116; various grades in, 119; no rhythm in their dancing, 132; what they really are, 132; in Japanese romances, 146; cost of entertainment, 151 Geisha, male, or comedian, 156 Great Britain's attitude toward Japan, 268. Haori, how worn, 35 Hara-Kiri, privileges associated with, 192 Hearn, Lafcadio, on the Japanese language, 56; on Japanese women, 75, 82; on the Tea Ceremony, 81; Hiratsuka, Mrs. Raicho, efforts to improve marriage laws, 84 Honesty, Japanese and Chinese, 278 Hospitality, New York and Japan compared, 258 House cleaning, under police supervision, 325 Humour, extent of native, 328 Imperial Bureau of Poems, duties of, 165 Inouye, Jakichi, attributes bearing of Japanese ladies to study of Tea Ceremony, 81 International Affairs ignored by Americans, 242 Intoxication, prevalence of, 123 Italy, compared to Japan, 163 Japanese-American relations, letter from President Roosevelt to Baron Kaneko, 223 Jesuits, expulsion of, 201 Jiu-jutsu, in wrestling, 112; taught to samurai, 192; renascence of, 193 Jiudo, development of, 193 Johnson, Senator Hiram, agitator on Japanese question, 256 Kakemono, method of hanging the, 72 Kamogawa, visit to, 288 Kaneko, Viscount Kentaro, preparing history of Meiji Era 29; interviews with, 212; visits at Roosevelt's home, 213; Roosevelt's letters to, 222, 223, 226, 227 Kano, Jigoro, revives art of jiu-jutsu, 193 _Kashima Maru_, voyage on, 1 Katsuura, visit to, 284 Kimono, use of, 34 Kipling, Rudyard, on understanding Japan, 75 Kissing, attitude toward, 98 Kodokwan, school of jiu-jutsu, 194 Kokugikwan, the national game building, 104, 107 Korea, conditions under Japanese control, 9 Korean Emperor, anecdotes on, 8 Kyoto, Cherry Dance at, 144 Labor, abundance of, 19; waste of, 236 Landscape gardening, history of, 169 Language, peculiarities of the, 53; difficulties with, 321 Leprosy, extent of, 90 Lunch, the railway, 276 Maple Club, luncheon at, 116 Marquis, Don, on reformers, 151 Marriage customs, 85, 93 Meiji Tenno, "Emperor of Enlightenment," 29 "Melting Pot," overloading of the, 251 Militarism, slowly waning, 232 Mirbeau, Octave, on discovery of Japanese prints by Claude Monet, 332 Morris, Roland S., address on Japanese issue in California, 244 Mothers-in-law, dutifulness toward, 93 Mourning, costume for, 36 Muko-yoshi, adopted son-husbands, 94 Music, unmelodious to foreign ear, 131 Nabuto, visit to, 302 Naginata, the woman's weapon 196 Namazu, "cause" of earthquakes, 40 Nara, luncheon party in, 137, 141 Nesan, serving maids, 117 Nitobe, Doctor, on bushido, 76 _No_ drama, masks used in 49; knowledge of, necessary in study of the people, 75 Nogi, Count, story of his death, 197 Nurses' occupation popular, 96 Obi, chief treasure of woman's costume, 35; how worn, 36 Okuma, Marquis, Japan's "Grand Old Man," 185 Old age, deference to, 50 Oriental Mind, the, 57 Partitions, removable, 118 Period of transition, beginning of, 184 Perry, Commodore, "knocking at Japan's door," 28; opens door to progress, 184 Physicians, women as, 96 Picture brides, no longer allowed to come to America, 244 Pipes, diminutive, 130 Placidity in business and home life, 228 Poems, annually submitted to the Imperial Bureau, 165 Politeness, Japanese ideas of 260 Politics, lack of interest in, 103 Population, excess in 231, 233; must be balanced by industrial expansion, 234 Prints, Japanese, important collections of, 331; discovery of in Europe by Claude Monet, 332 Privacy, lack of in Japanese homes, 298 Public utilities, inefficiency in, 238 Race, unassimilability of, 253 Race problems of America, 249 Railroads, under government management, 274 Restaurant, cost of food and entertainment, 151 Riddell, Miss H., work with lepers, 90 Roosevelt, Quentin, Baron Kaneko's regard for, 213, 219, 227 Roosevelt, Theodore, on reign of Emperor Meiji, 29; interest in jiu-jutsu, 193; visit of Viscount Shibusawa to, 210; Viscount Kaneko's regard for, 213; letter to Baron Kaneko on our Japanese question, 223; wise attitude toward Japan, 270 Sake, how served, 121 Samurai, strength of the, 70; customs and privileges, 192 Sculpture and architecture. Self-made men, 187. Segregation of vice, 154 Servants, courtesy of and to, 117, 336 Shibusawa, Viscount Eiichi founder of school for actresses, 96; interview with, 188, 201; anecdote of President Roosevelt, 210; visit to grave of Townsend Harris, 280 Shimabara, courtesan district, Kyoto, 160 Suicide, prevalence of 51; the Oriental view of, 199 Sunday, as a holiday, 114 Superstition, prevalence of, 318 Tails, wild men with, 7 Tai-no-ura, and the Nativity Temple, 287 Tea, significance of, 68; origin, 69 Tea Ceremony, or cha-no-yu, 71, 74, 81. Tea Masters, veneration of the, 73 Teahouse, entertainment expensive, 143, 151 Teaism, as a study, 68 Telephone service, inefficiency of, 238 Tipping, proper procedure in, 339 Tobacco industry, a monopoly, 130 Tokugawa, Prince, interest in wrestling, 105 Tokyo, growth, 26; architecture and sculpture, 27; adopting steel for building construction, 38 Tourists welcomed to Japan, 263 Tray landscapes, art of making, 67 Tuberculosis, extent of, 90 Vandalism at historic places, 280 Vice, commercialized, 154 Waseda University, now open to women, 95; founded by Marquis Okuma, 186 W. C. T. U., activities, 97 Women, costume of, 32; sedate gracefulness of, 81; suffrage, 83 legal status, 84; condition slowly improving, 95; in business and professions, 95; the "new woman," 97; husbands' attitude toward wives, 100; position higher in early times, 100 Wood engraving, era of, 331 _World_, New York, editorial on Japanese issue in California, 244 Wrestling, the national sport, 103 Yajima, Mrs., leader in W. C. T. U., 97 "Yellow Peril," the true, 246 Yokohama, the landing, 16 Yoritomo, legend of, 303 Yoshinobu, becomes shogun, 202; held prisoner after conflict with Emperor, 205; battle neither sought nor desired, 207 Yoshioka, Dr. G. founder of Tokyo School for Women, 96 Yoshiwara, courtesan district, Tokyo, 154 Yuasa, Commander, heroism at Port Arthur, 195 Zodiac, belief in the signs of the, 317 [Illustration] THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS GARDEN CITY, N. Y. * * * * * * Transcriber's note: Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. Those words were retained as-is. The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate. Some of the original illustrations were pairs of illustrations related to different topics. Those pairs were separated and moved to text they illustrate. The list of illustrations refer to the original locations of those illustrations. In the paired illustrations, references to "(above)" and "(below)" have been removed. Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted. On page 29, "to day" was replaced with "today". On page 86, "mutally" was replaced with "mutually". On page 87, "bethrothal" was replaced with "betrothal". On page 113 a comma at an end of a sentence was replaced by a period. On page 138, "pantomine" was replaced with "pantomime". On page 149, "chafing-fish" was replaced with "chafing-dish". On page 160, "Tokugowa" was replaced with "Tokugawa". On page 163 a comma was added after the word "fascinating". On page 168, "sensui" was replaced with "sansui". On page 172, "Distate" was replaced with "Distaste". On page 176, "daimio" was replaced with "daimyo]". On page 185, "Marquise" was replaced with "Marquis". On page 202, "Hizan" was replaced with "Hizen". On page 203 a period was added after "Highness". On page 219 a comma at an end of a sentence was replaced by a period. On page 230 a period was added after "60,000,000". On page 254, "overwhemingly" was replaced with "overwhelmingly". On page 264, "supicious" was replaced with "suspicious". On page 273, "the Little Train" was replaced with "The Little Train". On page 275, "pratice" was replaced with "practice". On page 284, "orginally" was replaced with "originally". On page 285, "af" was replaced with "of". On page 292, "summond" was replaced with "summoned". On page 306, "event" was replaced with "events". On page 318, "Superstitition" was replaced with "Superstition". On page 323 a comma was added after "Basil Hall Chamberlain". On page 327 a space was added between "O----" and "I". On page 328 a space was added between "K----" and "S". On page 340, "despatched" was replaced with "dispatched". In the index, "peculiarties" was replaced with "peculiarities". Notice: There are no cites for the item Sculpture and architecture, and in the index some items are closed with periods, but most are not. 
58699	----	generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) SUNNY-SAN * * * * * ONOTO WATANNA SUNNY-SAN BY ONOTO WATANNA AUTHOR OF "A JAPANESE NIGHTINGALE," "WOOING OF WISTARIA," "HEART OF HYACINTH," "TAMA," ETC. McCLELLAND AND STEWART PUBLISHERS : : TORONTO COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY [Illustration] PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA TO MY FRIENDS CONSUL AND MRS. SAMUEL C. REAT IN REMEMBRANCE OF SUNNY ALBERTA DAYS SUNNY-SAN SUNNY-SAN CHAPTER I Madame Many Smiles was dead. The famous dancer of the House of a Thousand Joys had fluttered out into the Land of Shadows. No longer would poet or reveller vie with each other in doing homage to her whose popularity had known no wane with the years, who had, indeed, become one of the classic objects of art of the city. In a land where one's ancestry is esteemed the all important thing, Madame Many Smiles had stood alone, with neither living relatives nor ancestors to claim her. Who she was, or whence she had come, none knew, but the legend of the House was that on a night of festival she had appeared at the illuminated gates, as a moth, who, beaten by the winds and storms without, seeks shelter in the light and warmth of the joyhouse within. Hirata had bonded her for a life term. Her remuneration was no more than the geishas' meagre wage, but she was allowed the prerogative of privacy. Her professional duties over, no admiring patron of the gardens might claim her further service. She was free to return to her child, whose cherry blossom skin and fair hair proclaimed clearly the taint of her white blood. Hirata was lenient in his training of the child, for the dancer had brought with her into the House of a Thousand Joys, Daikoku, the God of Fortune, and Hirata could afford to abide the time when the child of the dancer should step into her shoes. But the day had come far ahead of his preparations, and while the dancer was at the zenith of her fame. They were whispering about the gardens that the moth that had fluttered against the House of Joy had fluttered back into the darkness from which she had come. With her she had taken Daikoku. A profound depression had settled upon the House of a Thousand Joys. Geishas, apprentices and attendants moved aimlessly about their tasks, their smiles mechanical and their motions automatic. The pulse and inspiration of the house had vanished. In the gardens the effect of the news was even more noticeable. Guests were hurriedly departing, turning their cups upside down and calling for their clogs. Tea girls slid in and out on hurried service to the departing guests, and despite the furious orders of the master to affect a gaiety they did not feel, their best efforts were unavailing to dispel the strange veil of gloom that comes ever with death. The star of the House of a Thousand Joys had twinkled out forever. It was the night of the festival of the Full Moon. The cream of the city were gathered to do honour to the shining Tsuki no Kami in the clear sky above. But the death of the dancer had cast its shadow upon all, and there was a superstitious feeling abroad that it was the omen of a bad year for the city. In the emptying gardens, Hirata saw impending ruin. Running hither and thither, from house to garden, snapping his fingers, with irritation and fury, he cursed the luck that had befallen him on this night of all nights. The maids shrank before his glance, or silently scurried out of his path. The geishas with automatic smile and quip vainly sought to force a semblance of exhilaration, and the twang of the samisen failed to drown that very low beat of a Buddhist drum in the temple beyond the gardens, where especial honour was to be paid to the famous dancer, who had given her services gratuitously to the temple. In fury and despair, Hirata turned from the ingratiating women. Again he sought the apartments where the dead dancer lay in state among her robes. Here, with her face at her mother's feet, the child of the dancer prayed unceasingly to the gods that they would permit her to attend her mother upon the long journey to the Meido. Crushed and hurt by a grief that nothing could assuage, only dimly the girl sensed the words of the master, ordering her half peremptorily, half imploringly to prepare for service to the House. Possibly it was his insinuation that for the sake of her mother's honour it behooved her to step into her place, and uphold the fame of the departed one, that aroused her to a mechanical assent. Soon she was in the hands of the dressers, her mourning robes stripped, and the skin tights of the trapese performer substituted. Hirata, in the gardens, clapping his hands loudly to attract the attention of the departing guests, took his stand upon the little platform. Saluting his patrons with lavish compliments, he begged their indulgence and patience. The light of his House, it was true, so he said, had been temporarily extinguished, but the passing of a dancer meant no more than the falling of a star; and just as there were other stars in the firmament brighter than those that had fallen, so the House of a Thousand Joys possessed in reserve greater beauty and talent than that the guests had generously bestowed their favour upon. The successor to the honourable dancer was bound to please, since she excelled her mother in beauty even as the sun does the moon. He therefore entreated his guests to transfer their gracious patronage to the humble descendant of Madame Many Smiles. The announcement caused as much of a sensation as the news of the dancer's death had done. There was an element of disapproval and consternation in the glances exchanged in the garden. Nevertheless there was a disposition, governed by curiosity, to at least see the daughter of the famous dancer, who appeared on the night of her mother's death. A party of American students, with a tutor, were among those still remaining in the gardens. Madame Many Smiles had been an especial favourite with them, their interest possibly due to the fact that she was said to be a half caste. Her beauty and fragility had appealed to them as something especially rare, like a choice piece of cloisonnè, and the romance and mystery that seemed ever about her, captivated their interest, and set them speculating as to what was the true story of this woman, whom the residents pointed to with pride as the masterpiece of their city. An interpreter having translated the words of the manager, there was a general growl of disapproval from the young Americans. However, they, too, remained to see the daughter of Madame Many Smiles, and pushed up near to the rope, along which now came the descendant. She was a child of possibly fourteen years, her cheeks as vividly red as the poppies in her hair, her long large eyes, with their shining black lashes, strangely bright and feverish. She came tripping across the rope, with a laugh upon her lips, her hair glistening, under the spotlight, almost pure gold in colour. Bobbed and banged in the fashion of the Japanese child, it yet curled about her exquisite young face, and added the last touch of witchery to her beauty. Though her bright red lips were parted in the smile that had made her mother famous, there was something appealing in her wide, blank stare at her audience. She was dressed in tights, without the customary cape above her, and her graceful, slender limbs were those of extreme youth, supple as elastic from training and ancestry, the lithe, pliable young body of the born trapese performer and dancer. She tossed her parasol to her shoulder, threw up her delicate little pointed chin and laughed across at that sea of faces, throwing right and left her kisses; but the Americans, close to the rope, were observing a phenomenon, for even as her charming little teeth gleamed out in that so captivating smile, a dewdrop appeared to glisten on the child's shining face. Even as she laughed and postured to the music that burst out, there a-tiptoe on the tightrope, the dewdrop fell down her face and disappeared into the sawdust. Like a flower on the end of a long slender stalk, tossing in the wind, her lovely little head swayed from side to side. Her small, speaking hands, the wrists of which were lovelier than those celebrated by the Japanese poet who for fifteen years had penned his one-line poems to her mother, followed the rhythm of the music, and every part of that delicate young body seemed to sensitively stir and move to the pantomime dance of the tightrope. In triumph, Hirata heard the loud "Hee-i-i-!" and the sharp indrawing and expulsions of breaths. Scrambling across the room, puffing and expressing his satisfaction, came the Lord of Negato, drunk with sake and amorous for the child upon the rope. He pushed his way past the besieging tea house maidens, who proffered him sweets and tea and sake. His hands went deep into his sleeves, and drew forth a shining bauble. With ingratiating cries to attract her attention, he flung the jewel to the girl upon the rope. Returning his smile, she whirled her fan wide open, caught the gift upon it, and, laughing, tossed it into the air. Juggling and playing with the pretty toy, she kept it twirling in a circle above her, caught it again on her fan, and dropped it down onto the sawdust beneath. Then, like a naughty child, pleased over some trick, she danced back and forth along the rope, as it swung wide with her. A grunt of anger came from Hirata, who approached near enough for her to see and be intimidated by him, but she kept her gaze well above his head, feigning neither to see him, nor the still pressing Negato. He was calling up to her now, clucking as one might at a dog, and when at last her glance swept his, he threw at her a handful of coin. This also she caught neatly on her opened fan, and then, acting upon a sudden impetuous and impish impulse, she threw right in the face of her besieging admirer. Jumping from the rope to the ground, she smiled and bowed right and left, kissed her hands to her audience, and vanished into the teahouse. With an imprecation, Hirata followed her into the house. The little maiden, holding the tray, and pausing to solicit the patronage of the Americans, had watched the girl's exit with troubled eyes, and now she said in English: "_Now_ Hirata will beat her." "What do you mean?" demanded the young man, who had rejected the proffered cup, and was staring at her with such angry eyes that Spring Morning dropped her own, and bobbed her knees in apology for possible offence. "What do you mean?" repeated Jerry Hammond, determined upon securing an answer, while his friends crowded about interested also in the reply. Half shielding her face with her fan, the girl replied in a low voice: "Always the master beats the apprentice who do wrong. When her mother live, he do not touch her child, but now Madame Many Smiles is dead, and Hirata is very angry. He will surely put the lash to-night upon her." "Do you mean to tell me that that little girl is being beaten because she threw back that dirty gorilla's coin to him?" Spring Morning nodded, and the tears that came suddenly to her eyes revealed that the girl within had all of her sympathy. "The devil she is!" Jerry Hammond turned to his friends, "Are we going to stand for this?" demanded Jerry. "Not by a dashed sight!" shrilly responded the youngest of the party, a youth of seventeen, whose heavy bone-ribbed glasses gave him a preternaturally wise look. The older man of the party here interposed with an admonitory warning: "Now, boys, I advise you to keep out of these oriental scraps. We don't want to get mixed up in any teahouse brawls. These Japanese girls are used----" "She's not a Japanese girl," furiously denied Jerry. "She's as white as we are. Did you see her hair?" "Nevertheless----" began Professor Barrowes, but was instantly silenced by his clamouring young charges. "I," said Jerry, "propose to go on a privately conducted tour of investigation into the infernal regions of that house of alleged joys. If any of you fellows have cold feet, stay right here snug with papa. I'll go it alone." That was quite enough for the impetuous youngsters. With a whoop of derision at the idea of their having "cold feet," they were soon following Jerry in a rush upon the house that was reminiscent of football days. In the main hall of the teahouse a bevy of girls were running about agitatedly, some of them with their sleeves before their faces, crying. Two little apprentices crouched up against a screen, loudly moaning. There was every evidence of upset and distress in the House of a Thousand Joys. To Jerry's demand for Hirata, he was met by a frightened silence from the girls, and a stony faced, sinister-eyed woman attempted to block the passage of the young men, thus unconsciously revealing the direction Hirata had gone. Instantly Jerry was upon the screen and with rough hand had shoved it aside. They penetrated to an interior room that opened upon an outbuilding, which was strung out like a pavilion across the garden. At the end of this long, empty structure, lit only by a single lantern, the Americans found what they sought. Kneeling on the floor, in her skin tights, her hands tied behind her with red cords that cut into the delicate flesh, was the girl who had danced on the rope. Through the thin silk of her tights showed a red welt where one stroke of the lash had fallen. Before her, squatting on his heels, Hirata, one hand holding the whip, and the other his suspended pipe, was waiting for his slave to come to terms. She had felt the first stroke of the lash. It should be her first or last, according to her promise. As the Americans broke into the apartment, Hirata arose partly to his knees and then to his feet, and as he realized their intention, he began to leap up and down shouting lustily: "Oi!--Oi! Oi-i-i-!" Jerry's fist found him under the chin, and silenced him. With murmurs of sympathy and anger, the young men cut the bonds of the little girl. She fell limply upon the floor, breathlessly sighing: "Arigato! Arigato! Arigato!" (Thank you.) "Hustle. Did you hear that gong! They're summoning the police. Let's beat it." "And leave her here at his mercy? Nothing doing." Jerry had lifted the child bodily in his arms, and tossed her across his shoulder. They came out of the house and the gardens through a hue and cry of alarmed attendants and inmates. Hirata had crawled on hands and knees into the main dance hall, and every drum was beating upon the place. Above the beat of the drums came the shrill outcry of Hirata, yelling at the top of his voice: "Hotogoroshi!" (Murder.) Through a protecting lane made by his friends, fled Jerry Hammond, the girl upon his shoulder, a chattering, clattering, screeching mob at his heels, out of the gardens and into the dusky streets, under the benignant eye of the Lady Moon, in whose honour a thousand revellers and banquetters were celebrating. Fleet of foot and strong as a young Atlas, Jerry, buoyed up with excitement and rage, fled like the wind before his pursuers, till presently he came to the big brick house, the building of which had been such a source of wonder and amusement to the Japanese, but which had ever afterwards housed white residents sojourning in the city. With one foot Jerry kicked peremptorily upon the door, and a moment later a startled young Japanese butler flung the heavy doors apart, and Jerry rushed in. CHAPTER II She awoke on a great soft bed that seemed to her wondering eyes as large as a room. She was sunk in a veritable nest of down, and, sitting up, she put out a little cautious hand and felt and punched the great pillow to reassure herself as to its reality. There was a vague question trembling in the girl's mind as to whether she might not, in fact, have escaped from Hirata through the same medium as her adored mother, and was now being wafted on a snowy cloud along the eternal road to Nirvanna. Then the small statue like figure at the foot of the great mahogany bed moved. Memory flooded the girl. She thought of her mother, and a sob of anguish escaped her. Crowding upon the mother came the memory of that delirious moment upon the rope, when feeling that her mother's spirit was animating her body, she had faced the revellers. Followed the shivering thought of Hirata--the lash upon her shoulder, its sting paining so that the mere recollection caused her face to blanch with terror, dissipated by the memory of what had followed. Again she felt the exciting thrill of that long flight through the night on the shoulder of the strange young barbarian. He had burst into the room like a veritable god from the heavens, and it was impossible to think of him otherwise than some mighty spirit which the gods had sent to rescue and save the unworthy child of the dancer. In an instant, she was out of bed, her quick glance searching the big room, as if somewhere within it her benefactor was. She was still in her sadly ragged tights, the red welt showing where the silk had been split by the whip of Hirata. The maid approached and wrapped the girl in one of her own kimonas. She was a silent tongued, still faced woman, who spoke not at all as she swiftly robed her charge. A servant in the household of the Americans, she had been summoned in the night to attend the strange new visitor. Goto, the house boy, had explained to Hatsu that the girl was a dancer from a neighbouring teahouse, whom his young masters had kidnapped. She was a great prize, jealously to be guarded, whispered the awed and gossiping Goto. Hatsu at first had her doubts on this score, for no dancer or teahouse maiden within her knowledge had ever worn hair of such a colour nor had skin which was bleached as that of the dead. Hatsu had discovered her charge in a sleep of complete exhaustion, her soft fair hair tossed about her on the pillow like that of a child. Now as the maid removed the tawdry tights, and arrayed the strange girl in a respectable kimona, she recognised that those shapely and supple limbs could only be the peculiar heritage of a dancer and performer. A warmth radiated lovingly through her hands as she dressed the young creature confided to her charge. It had never been the lot of Hatsu to serve one as beautiful as this girl, and there was something of maternal pride in her as she fell to her task. There was necessity for haste, for the "Mr. American sirs" were assembled in the main room awaiting her. Hatsu's task completed, she took the girl by the sleeve, and led her into the big living room, where were her friends. Even in the long loose robes of the elderly maid, she appeared but a child, with her short hair curling about her face, and her frankly questioning eyes turning from one to the other. There was an expression of mingled appeal and childish delight in that expressive look that she turned upon them ere she knelt on the floor. She made her obeisances with art and grace, as a true apprentice of her mother. Indeed, her head ceased not to bob till a laughing young voice broke the spell of silence that her advent had caused with: "Cut it out, kid! We want to have a look at you. Want to see what sort of prize we pulled in the dark." Promptly, obediently she rested back upon her heels, her two small hands resting flatly on her knees. She turned her face archly, as if inviting inspection, much to the entertainment of the now charmed circle. The apprentice of the House of a Thousand Joys upheld the prestige of her mother's charm. Even the thin, elderly man, with the bright glasses over which he seemed to peer with an evidently critical and appraising air, softened visibly before that mingled look of naïve appeal and glowing youth. The glasses were blinked from the nose, and dangled by their gold string. He approached nearer to the girl, again put on his glasses, and subjected her through them to a searching scrutiny, his trained eye resting longer upon the shining hair of the girl. The glasses blinked off again at the unabashed wide smile of confidence in those extraordinary eyes; he cleared his throat, prepared to deliver an opinion and diagnosis upon the particular species before his glass. Before he could speak, Jerry broke in belligerently. "First of all, let's get this thing clear. She's not going to be handed back to that blanketty blank baboon. I'm responsible for her, and I'm going to see that she gets a square deal from this time on." The girl's eyes widened as she looked steadily at the kindling face of the young man, whom she was more than ever assured was a special instrument of the gods. Professor Barrowes cleared his throat noisily again, and holding his glasses in his hand, punctuated and emphasised his remarks: "Young gentlemen, I suggest that we put the matter in the hands of Mr. Blumenthal, our consul here at Nagasaki. I do not know--I will not express--my opinion of what our rights are in the matter--er as to whether we have in fact broken some law of Japan in--er--thus forcibly bringing the--ah--young lady to our home. I am inclined to think that we are about to experience trouble--considerable trouble I should say--with this man Hirata. If my memory serves me right, I recall hearing or reading somewhere that a master of such a house has certain property right in these--er--young--ah--ladies." "That may be true," admitted the especial agent of the gods. "Suppose she is owned by this man. I'll bet that Japan is not so dashed mediæval in its laws, that it permits a chimpanzee like that to beat and ill-use even a slave, and anyway, we'll give him all that's coming to him if he tries to take her from us." "He'll have his hands danged full trying!" The girl's champion this time was the youthful one of the bone ribbed glasses. Looking at him very gravely, she perceived his amazing youth, despite the wise spectacles that had at first deceived her. There was that about him that made her feel he was very near to her own age, which numbered less than fifteen years. Across the intervening space between them, hazily the girl thought, what a charming playmate the boy of the bone ribbed glasses would make. She would have liked to run through the temple gardens with him, and hide in the cavities of the fantastic rocks, where Japanese children loved to play, and where the wistful eyes of the solitary little apprentice of the House of a Thousand Joys had often longingly and enviously watched them. Her new friend she was to know as "Monty." He had a fine long name with a junior on the end of it also, but it took many years before she knew her friends by other than the appellations assigned to them by each other. Now the elderly man--perhaps he was the father, thought the girl on the mat--was again speaking in that emphatic tone of authority. "Now my young friends, we have come to Japan with a view to studying the country and people, and to avail ourselves of such pleasures as the country affords to its tourists, etc., and, I may point out, that it was no part of our programme or itinerary to take upon ourselves the responsibility and burden, I may say, of----" "Have--a heart!" The big slow voice came from the very fat young man, whose melancholy expression belied the popular conception of the comical element associated with those blessed with excessive flesh. "Jinx," as his chums called him, was the scion of a house of vast wealth and fame, and it was no fault of his that his heritage had been rich also in fat, flesh and bone. But now the girl's first friend, with that manner of the natural leader among men, had again taken matters into his own evidently competent hands. "I say, Jinx, suppose you beat it over to the consul's and get what advice and dope you can from him. Tell him we purpose carrying the case to Washington and so forth. And you, Monty and Bobs, skin over to the teahouse and scare the guts out of that chimpanzee. Hire a bunch of Japs and cops to help along with the noise. Give him the scare of his life. Tell him she--she is--dying--at her last gasp and----" (Surely the object of their concern understood the English language, for just then several unexpected dimples sprang abroad, and the little row of white teeth showed that smile that was her heritage from her mother.) "Tell him," went on Jerry, a bit unevenly, deviated from his single track of thought by that most engaging and surprising smile--"that we'll have him boiled in oil or lava or some other Japanese concoction. Toddle along, old dears, or that fellow with the face supporting the Darwinian theory will get ahead of us with the police." "What's your hurry?" growled Jinx, his sentimental gaze resting fascinatedly upon the girl on the floor. The young man Jerry had referred to as Bobs now suggested that there was a possibility that the girl was deaf and dumb, in view of the fact that she had not spoken once. This alarming suggestion created ludicrous consternation. "Where's that dictionary, confound it!" Jerry sought the elusive book in sundry portions of his clothing, and then appealed to the oracle of the party. "I suggest," said Professor Barrowes didactically, "that you try the--ah--young lady--with the common Japanese greeting. I believe you all have learned it by now." Promptly there issued from four American mouths the musical morning greeting of the Japanese, reminiscent to them of a well known State productive of presidents. "O--hi--o!" The effect on the girl was instantaneous. She arose with grace to her feet, put her two small hands on her two small knees, bobbed up and down half a dozen times, and then with that white row of pearls revealed in an irresistible smile, she returned: "Goog--a--morning!" There was a swelling of chests at this. Pride in their protégé aroused them to enthusiastic expressions. "Can you beat it?" "Did you hear her?" "She's a cute kid." And from Monty: "I could have told you from the first that a girl with hair and eyes like that wouldn't be chattering any monkey speech." Thereupon the girl, uttered another jewel in English, which called forth not merely approbation, but loud and continuous applause, laughter, and fists clapped into hands. Said the girl: "I speag those mos' bes' Angleesh ad Japan!" "I'll say you do," agreed Monty with enthusiasm. "Gosh!" said Jinx sadly. "She's the cutest kid _I've_ ever seen." "How old are you?" Jerry put the question gently, touched, despite the merriment her words had occasioned, by something forlorn in the little figure on the mat before them, so evidently anxious to please them. "How ole?" Her expressive face showed evidence of deep regret at having to admit the humiliating fact that her years numbered but fourteen and ten months. She was careful to add the ten months to the sum of her years. "And what's your name?" "I are got two names." "We all have that--Christian and surname we call 'em. What's yours?" "I are got Angleesh name--Fleese. You know those name?" she inquired anxiously. "Thas Angleesh name." "Fleese! Fleese!" Not one of them but wanted to assure her that "Fleese" was a well known name in the English tongue, but even Professor Barrowes, an authority on the roots of all names, found "Fleese" a new one. She was evidently disappointed, and said in a slightly depressed voice: "I are sawry you do not know thad Angleesh name. My father are give me those name." "I have it! I have it!" Bobs, who had been scribbling something on paper, and repeating it with several accents, shouted that the name the girl meant was undoubtedly "Phyllis," and at that she nodded her head so vigorously, overjoyed that he threw back his head and burst into laughter, which was loudly and most joyously and ingenuously entered into by "Phyllis" also. "So that's your name--Phyllis," said Jerry. "You _are_ English then?" She shook her head, sighing with regret. "No, I sawry for those. I _lig'_ be Angleesh. Thas nize be Angleesh; but me, I are not those. Also I are got Japanese name. It are Sunlight. My mother----" Her face became instantly serious as she mentioned her mother, and bowed her head to the floor reverently. "My honourable mother have give me that Japanese name--Sunlight, but my father are change those name. He are call me--Sunny. This whad he call me when he go away----" Her voice trailed off forlornly, hurt by a memory that went back to her fifth year. They wanted to see her smile again, and Jerry cried enthusiastically: "Sunny! Sunny! What a corking little name! It sounds just like you look. We'll call you that too--Sunny." Now Professor Barrowes, too long in the background, came to the fore with precision. He had been scratching upon a pad of paper a number of questions he purposed to put to Sunny, as she was henceforth to be known to her friends. "I have a few questions I desire to ask the young--ah--lady, if you have no objection. I consider it advisable for us to ascertain what we properly can about the history of Miss--er--Sunny--and so, if you will allow me." He cleared his throat, referred to the paper in his hand and propounded the first question as follows: "Question number one: Are you a white or a Japanese girl?" Answer from Sunny: "I are white on my face and my honourable body, but I are Japanese on my honourable insides." Muffled mirth followed this reply, and Professor Barrowes having both blown his nose and cleared his throat applied his glasses to his nose but was obliged to wait a while before resuming, and then: "Question number two: Who were or are your parents? Japanese or white people?" Sunny, her cheeks very red and her eyes very bright: "Aexcuse me. I are god no parents or ancestors on those worl'. I sawry. I miserable girl wizout no ancestor." "Question number three: You had parents. You remember them. What nationality was your mother? I believe Madame Many Smiles was merely her professional pseudonym. I have heard her variously described as white, partly white, half caste. What was she--a white woman or a Japanese?" Sunny was thinking of that radiant little mother as last she had seen her in the brilliant dancing robes of the dead geisha. The questions were touching the throbbing cords of a memory that pierced. Over the sweet young face a shadow crept. "My m-mother," said Sunny softly, "are god two bloods ad her insides. Her father are Lussian gentleman and her mother are Japanese." "And your father?" A far-away look came into the girl's eyes as she searched painfully back into that past that held such sharply bright and poignantly sad memories of the father she had known such a little time. She no longer saw the eager young faces about her, or the kindly one of the man who questioned her. Sunny was looking out before her across the years into that beautiful past, wherein among the cherry blossoms she had wandered with her father. It was he who had changed her Japanese name of Sunlight to "Sunny." A psychologist might have found in this somewhat to redeem him from his sins against his child and her mother, for surely the name revealed a softness of the heart which his subsequent conduct might have led a sceptical world to doubt. Moreover, the first language of her baby lips was that of her father, and for five years she knew no other tongue. She thought of him always as of some gay figure in a bright dream that fled away suddenly into the cruel years that followed. There had been days of real terror and fear, when Sunny and her mother had taken the long trail of the mendicant, and knew what it was to feel hunger and cold and the chilly hand of charity. The mere memory of those days set the girl shivering, for it seemed such a short time since when she and that dearest mother crouched outside houses that, lighted within, shone warmly, like gaudy paper lanterns in the night; of still darker days of discomfort and misery, when they had hidden in bush, bramble and in dark woods beyond the paths of men. There had been a period of sweet rest and refuge in a mountain temple. There everything had appealed to the imaginative child. Tinkling bells and whirring wings of a thousand doves, whose home was in gilded loft and spire; bald heads of murmuring bonzes; waving sleeves of the visiting priestesses, dancing before the shrine to please the gods; the weary pilgrims who climbed to the mountain's heart to throw their prayers in the lap of the peaceful Buddha. A hermitage in a still wood, where an old, old nun, with gentle feeble voice, crooned over her rosary. All this was as a song that lingers in one's ears long after the melody has passed--a memory that stung with its very sweetness. Even here the fugitives were not permitted to linger for long. Pursuing shadows haunted her mother's footsteps and sent her speeding ever on. She told her child that the shadows menaced their safety. They had come from across the west ocean, said the mother. They were barbarian thieves of the night, whose mission was to separate mother from child, and because separation from her mother spelled for little Sunny a doom more awful than death itself, she was wont to smother back her child's cries in her sleeve, and bravely and silently push onward. So for a period of time of which neither mother nor child took reckoning the days of their vagabondage passed. Then came a night when they skirted the edges of a city of many lights; lights that hung like stars in the sky; lights that swung over the intricate canals that ran into streets in and out of the city; harbour lights from great ships that steamed into the port; the countless little lights of junks and fisher boats, and the merry lights that shone warmly inside the pretty paper houses that bespoke home and rest to the outcasts. And they came to a brilliantly lighted garden, where on long poles and lines the lanterns were strung, and within the gates they heard the chattering of the drum, and the sweet tinkle of the samisen. Here at the gates of the House of a Thousand Joys the mother touched the gongs. A man with a lantern in his hand came down to the gates, and as the woman spoke, he raised the light till it revealed that delicate face, whose loveliness neither pain nor privation nor time nor even death had ravaged. After that, the story of the geisha was well known. Her career had been an exceptional one in that port of many teahouses. From the night of her début to the night of her death the renown of Madame Many Smiles had been undimmed. Sunny, looking out before her, in a sad study, that caught her up into the web of the vanished years, could only shake her head dumbly at her questioner, as he pressed her: "Your father--you have not answered me?" "I kinnod speag about my--father. I sawry, honourable sir," and suddenly the child's face drooped forward as if she humbly bowed, but the young men watching her saw the tears that dropped on her clasped hands. Exclamations of pity and wrath burst from them impetuously. "We've no right to question her like this," declared Jerry Hammond hotly. "It's not of any consequence who her people are. She's got us now. We'll take care of her from this time forth." At that Sunny again raised her head, and right through her tears she smiled up at Jerry. It made him think of an April shower, the soft rain falling through the sunlight. CHAPTER III Only one who has been in bondage all of his days can appreciate that thrill that comes with sudden freedom. The Americans had set Sunny free. She had been bound by law to the man Hirata through an iniquitous bond that covered all the days of her young life--a bond into which the average geisha is sold in her youth. Sunny's mother had signed the contract when starvation faced them, and reassured by the promises of Hirata. What price and terms the avaricious Hirata extracted from the Americans is immaterial, but they took precautions that the proceeding should be in strict accord with the legal requirements of Japan. The American consul and Japanese lawyers governed the transaction. Hirata, gloated with the unexpected fortune that had come to him through the sale of the apprentice-geisha, overwhelmed the disgusted young men, whom he termed now his benefactors, with servile compliments, and hastened to comply with all their demands, which included the delivery to Sunny of the effects of her mother. Goto bore the box containing her mother's precious robes and personal belongings into the great living room. Life had danced by so swiftly and strangely for Sunny in these latter days, that she had been diverted from her sorrow. Now, as she slowly opened the bamboo chest, with its intangible odour of dear things, she experienced a strangling sense of utter loss and pain. Never again would she hear that gentle voice, admonishing and teaching her; never again would she rest her tired head on her mother's knee and find rest and comfort from the sore trials of the day; for the training of the apprentice-geisha is harsh and spartan like. As Sunny lifted out her mother's sparkling robe, almost she seemed to see the delicate head above it. A sob broke from the heart of the girl, and throwing herself on the floor by the chest, she wept with her face in the silken folds. A moth fluttered out of one of the sleeves, and hung tremulously above the girl's head. Sunny, looking up, addressed it reverently: "I will not hurt you, little moth. It may be you are the spirit of my honourable mother. Pray you go upon your way," and she softly blew up at the moth. It was that element of helplessness, a feminine quality of appeal about Sunny, that touched something in the hearts of her American friends that was chivalrous and quixotic. Always, when Sunny was in trouble, they took the jocular way of expressing their feelings for their charge. To tease, joke, chaff and play with Sunny, that was their way. So, on this day, when they returned to the house, to find the girl with her tear-wet face pressed against her mother's things, they sought an instant means, and as Jerry insisted, a practical one, of banishing her sadness. After the box had been taken from the room, Goto and Jinx told some funny stories, which brought a faint smile to Sunny's face. Monty proffered a handful of sweets picked up in some adjacent shop, while Bobs sought scientifically to arouse her to a semblance of her buoyant spirits by discussing all the small live things that were an unfailing source of interest always to the girl, and pretended an enthusiasm over white rabbits which he declared were in the garden. Jerry broached his marvellous plan, pronounced by Professor Barrowes to be preposterous, unheard of and impossible. In Jerry's own words, the scheme was as follows: "I propose that we organise and found a company or Syndicate, all present to have the privilege of owning stock in said company; its purpose being to take care of Sunny for the rest of her days. Sooner or later we fellows must return to the U. S. We are going to provide for Sunny's future after we are gone." Thus the Sunny Syndicate Limited came into being. It was capitalised at $10,000, paid in capital, a considerable sum in Japan, and quite sufficient to keep the girl in comfort for the rest of her days. Professor Timothy Barrowes was unanimously elected President, J. Lyon Crawford (Jinx) treasurer; Robert M. Mapson (Bobs), secretary of the concern, and Joseph Lamont Potter, Jr. (Monty), though under age, after an indignant argument was permitted to hold a minimum measure of stock and also voted a director. J. Addison Hammond, Jr. (Jerry), held down the positions of first vice-president, managing director and general manager and was grudgingly admitted to be the founder and promoter of the great idea, and the discoverer of Sunny, assets of aforesaid Syndicate. At the initial Board meeting of the Syndicate, which was riotously attended, the purpose of the Syndicate was duly set forth in the minutes read, approved and signed by all, which was, to wit, to feed, clothe, educate and furnish with sundry necessities and luxuries the aforesaid Sunny for the rest of her natural days. The education of Sunny strongly appealed to the governing president, who, despite his original protest, was the most active member of the Syndicate. He promptly outlined a course which would tend to cultivate those hitherto unexplored portions of Sunny's pliable young mind. A girl of almost fifteen, unable to read or write, was in the opinion of Professor Barrowes a truly benighted heathen. What matter that she knew the Greater Learning for Women by heart, knew the names of all the gods and goddesses cherished by the Island Empire; had an intimate acquaintance with the Japanese language, and was able to translate and indite epistles in the peculiar figures intelligible only to the Japanese. The fact remained that she was in a state of abysmal ignorance so far as American education was concerned. Her friends assured her of the difficulty of their task, and impressed upon her the necessity of hard study and co-operation on her part. She was not merely to learn the American language, she was, with mock seriousness, informed, but she was to acquire the American point of view, and in fact unlearn much of the useless knowledge she had acquired of things Japanese. To each member of the Syndicate Professor Barrowes assigned a subject in which he was to instruct Sunny. Himself he appointed principal of the "seminary" as the young men merrily named it; Jerry was instructor in reading and writing, Bobs in spelling, Jinx in arithmetic, and to young Monty, aged seventeen, was intrusted the task of instructing Sunny in geography, a subject Professor Barrowes well knew the boy was himself deficient in. He considered this an ideal opportunity, in a sort of inverted way, to instruct Monty himself. To the aid and help of the Americans came the Reverend Simon Sutherland, a missionary, whose many years of service among the heathen had given to his face that sadly solemn expression of martyr zealot. His the task to transform Sunny into a respectable Christian girl. Sunny's progress in her studies was eccentric. There were times when she was able to read so glibly and well that the pride of her teacher was only dashed when he discovered that she had somehow learned the words by heart, and in picking them out had an exasperating habit of pointing to the wrong words. She could count to ten in English. Her progress in Geography was attested to by her admiring and enthusiastic teacher, and she herself, dimpling, referred to the U. S. A. as being "over cross those west water, wiz grade flag of striped stars." However, her advance in religion exceeded all her other attainments, and filled the breast of the good missionary with inordinate pride. An expert and professional in the art of converting the heathen, he considered Sunny's conversion at the end of the second week as little short of miraculous, and, as he explained to the generous young Americans, who had done so much for the mission school in which the Reverend Simon Sutherland was interested, he was of the opinion that the girl's quick comprehension of the religion was due to a sort of reversion to type, she being mainly of white blood. So infatuated indeed was the good man by his pupil's progress that he could not forbear to bring her before her friends, and show them what prayer and sincere labour among the heathen were capable of doing. Accordingly, the willing and joyous convert was haled before an admiring if somewhat sceptical circle in the cheerful living room of the Americans. Here, her hands clasped piously together, she chanted the prepared formula: "Gentlemens"--Familiar daily intercourse with her friends brought easily to the girl's tongue their various nicknames, but "Gentlemens" she now addressed them. "I stan here to make statements to you that I am turn Kirishitan." "English, my dear child. Use the English language, please." "--that I am turn those Christian girl. I can sing those--a-gospel song; and I are speak those--ah--gospel prayer, and I know those cat--cattykussem like--like----" Sunny wavered as she caught the uplifted eyebrow of the missionary signalling to her behind the back of Professor Barrowes. Now the words began to fade away from Sunny. Alone with the missionary it was remarkable how quickly she was able to commit things to memory. Before an audience like this, she was as a child who stands upon a platform with his first recitation, and finds his tongue tied and memory failing. What was it now the Reverend Simon Sutherland desired her to say? Confused, but by no means daunted, Sunny cast about in her mind for some method of propitiating the minister. At least, she could pray. Folding her hands before her, and dropping her Buddhist rosary through her fingers, she murmured the words of that quaint old hymn: "What though those icy breeze, He blow sof' on ze isle Though evrything he pleases And jos those man he's wild, In vain with large kind The gift of those gods are sown, Those heathen in blindness Bow down to wood and stone." They let her finish the chant, the words of which were almost unintelligible to her convulsed audience, who vainly sought to strangle their mirth before the crestfallen and sadly hurt Mr. Sutherland. He took the rosary from Sunny's fingers, saying reprovingly: "My dear child, that is not a prayer, and how many times must I tell you that we do not use a rosary in our church. All we desire from you at this time is a humble profession as to your conversion to Christianity. Therefore, my child, your friends and I wish to be reassured on that score." "I'd like to hear her do the catechism. She says she knows it," came in a muffled voice from Bobs. "Certainly, certainly," responded the missionary. "Attention, my dear. First, I will ask you: What is your name?" Sunny, watching him with the most painful earnestness indicative of her earnest desire to please, was able to answer at once joyously. "My name are Sunny--Syndicutt." The mirth was barely suppressed by the now indignant minister, who glared in displeasure upon the small person so painfully trying to realise his ambitions for her. To conciliate the evidently angry Mr. Sutherland, she rattled along hurriedly: "I am true convert. I swear him. By those eight million gods of the heavens and the sea, and by God-dam I swear it that I am nixe Kirishitan girl." * * * * * A few minutes later Sunny was alone, even Professor Barrowes having hastily followed his charges from the room to avoid giving offence to the missionary, whose angry tongue was now loosened, and flayed the unhappy girl ere he too departed in dudgeon via the front door. * * * * * That evening, after the dinner, Sunny, who had been very quiet during the meal, went directly from the table to her room upstairs, and to the calls after her of her friends, she replied that she had "five thousan words to learn him to spell." Professor Barrowes, furtively wiping his eyes and then his glasses, shook them at his protesting young charges and asserted that the missionary was quite within his rights in punishing Sunny by giving her 500 lines to write. "She's been at it all day," was the disgusted comment of Monty. "It's a rotten shame, to put that poor kid to copying that little hell of a line." "Sir," said the Professor, stiffening and glaring through his glasses at Monty, "I wish you to know that line happens to be taken from a--er--book esteemed sacred, and I have yet to learn that it had its origin in the infernal regions as suggested by you. What is more, I may say that Miss Sunny's progress in reading and spelling, arithmetic, and geography has not been what I had hoped. Accordingly I have instructed her that she must study for an hour in the evening after dinner, and I have further advised the young lady that I do not wish her to leave the house on any pleasure expedition this evening." A howl of indignant protest greeted this pronouncement and the air was electric with bristling young heads. "Say, Proff. Sunny promised to go out with me this evening. She knows a shop where they sell that sticky gum drop stuff that I like, and we're going down Snowdrop Ave. to Canal Lane. Let her off, just this time, will you?" "I will not. She must learn to spell Cat, Cow, Horse and Dog and such words as a baby of five knows properly before she can go out on pleasure trips." Jinx ponderously sat up on his favourite sofa, the same creaking under him as the big fellow moved. In an injured tone he set forth his rights for the evening to Sunny. "Sunny has a date with me to play me a nice little sing-song on that Jap guitar of hers. I'm not letting her off this or any other night." "She made a date with me too," laughed Bobs. "We were to star gaze, if you please. She says she knows the history of all the most famous stars in the heavens, and she agreed to show me the exact geographical spot in the firmament where that Amaterumtumtum, or whatever she calls it, goddess, lost her robes in the Milky Way just while she was descending to earth to be an ancestor to the Emperor of Japan." Mockingly Bobs bowed his head in solemn and comical imitation of Sunny at the mention of the Emperor. Jerry was thinking irritably that Sunny and he were to have stolen away after supper for a little trip in a private junk, owned by a friend of Sunny's, and she said that the rowers would play the guitar and sing as the gondoliers of Italy do. Jerry had a fancy for that trip in the moonlight, with Sunny's little hand cuddled up in his, and the child chattering some of her pretty nonsense. Confound it, the little baggage had promised her time to every last one of her friends, and so it was nearly every night in the week. Sunny had much ado making and breaking engagements with her friends. "It strikes me," said Professor Barrowes, stroking his chin humorously, "that Miss Sunny has in her all the elements that go to the making of a most complete and finished coquette. For your possible edification, gentlemen, I will mention that the young lady also offered to accompany me to a certain small temple where she informs me a bonze of the Buddhist religion has a library of er--one million years, so claims Miss Sunny, and this same bonze she assured me has a unique collection of ancient butterflies which have come down from prehistoric days. Ahem!--er--I shall play fair with you young gentlemen. I desire very much to see the articles I have mentioned. I doubt very much the authenticity of the same, but have an open mind. I shall, however, reserve the pleasure of seeing these collections till a more convenient period. In the meanwhile I advise you all to go about your respective concerns, and I bid you good-night, gentlemen, I bid you good-night." * * * * * The house was silent. The living room, with its single reading lamp, seemed empty and cold, and Professor Barrowes with a book whose contents would have aforetime utterly absorbed him, as it dealt with the fascinating subject of the Dinornis, of post-Pliocene days, found himself unable to concentrate. His well-governed mind had in some inexplicable way become intractable. It persisted in wandering up to the floor above, where Professor Barrowes knew was a poor young girl, who was studying hard into the night. Twice he went outdoors to assure himself that Sunny was still studying, and each time the glowing light, and the chanting voice aroused his further compunction and remorse. Unable longer to endure the distracting influence that took his mind from his favourite study, the Professor stole on tiptoe up the stairs to Sunny's door. The voice inside went raucously on. "C-a-t--dog. C-a-t--dog. C-a-t--dog!" Something about that voice, devoid of all the charm peculiar to Sunny, grated against the sensitive ear at the keyhole, and accordingly he withdrew the ear and applied the eye. What he saw inside caused him to sit back solidly on the floor, speechless with mirthful indignation. Hatsu, the maid, sat stonily before the little desk of her mistress, and true to the instructions of Sunny, she was loudly chanting that C-a-t spelled Dog. Outside the window--well, there was a lattice work that ascended conveniently to Sunny's room. Her mode of exit was visible to the simplest minded, but the question that agitated the mind of Professor Barrowes, and sent him off into a spree of mirthful speculation was which one of the members of the Sunny Syndicate Limited had Miss Sunny Sindicutt eloped with? CHAPTER IV To be adopted by four young men and one older one; to be surrounded by every care and luxury; to be alternately scolded, pampered, admonished and petted, this was the joyous fate of Sunny. Life ran along for the happy child like a song, a poem which even Takumushi could not have composed. Sunny greeted the rising sun with the kisses that she had been taught to throw to garden audiences, and hailed the blazing orb each morning, having bowed three times, hands on knees, with words like these: "Ohayo! honourable Sun. I glad you come again. Thas a beautiful day you are bring, an I thang you thad I are permit to live on those day. Hoh! Amaterasuoho-mikami, shining lady of the Sun, I are mos' happiest girl ad those Japan!" The professional geisha is taught from childhood--for her apprenticeship begins from earliest youth--that her mission in life is to bring joy and happiness into the world, to divert, to banish all care by her own infectious buoyancy, to heal, to dissipate the cares of mere mortals; to cultivate herself so that she shall become the very essence of joy. If trouble comes to her own life, to so exercise self-control that no trace of her inner distress must be reflected in her looks or conduct. She must, in fact, make a science of her profession. To laugh with those who laugh and weep with those who find a balm in tears--that is the work of the geisha. Sunny, a product of the geisha house, and herself apprentice to the joy women of Japan, was of another race by blood, yet always there was to cling to her that intangible charm, that like a strange perfume bespeaks the geisha of Japan. In her odd way Sunny laid out her campaign to charm and please the ones who had befriended her, and toward whom she felt a gratitude that both touched and embarrassed them. Her new plan of life, however, violated all the old rules which had governed in the teahouse. Sunny was sore put to it to adjust herself to the novelty of a life that knew not the sharp and imperative voice, which cut like a whip in staccato order, from the master of the geishas; nor the perilous trapeze, the swinging rope, to fall from which was to bring down upon her head harsh rebuke, and sometimes the threatening flash of the whip, whirling in the air, and barely scraping the girl on the rope. She had been whipped but upon that one occasion, for her mother was too valuable an asset in the House of a Thousand Joys for Hirata to risk offending; but always he loved to swing the lash above the girl's head, or hurl it near to the feet that had faltered from the rope, so that she might know that it hung suspended above her to fall at a time when she failed. There were pleasant things too in the House of a Thousand Smiles that Sunny missed--the tap tap of the drum, the pat pat of the stockinged feet on the polished dance matting; the rising and falling of the music of the samisen as it tinkled in time to the swaying fans and posturing bodies of the geishas. All this was the joyous part of that gaudy past, which her honourable new owners had bidden her forget. Sunny desired most earnestly to repay her benefactors, but her offers to dance for them were laughingly joshed aside, and she was told that they did not wish to be repaid in dancing coin. All they desired in return was that she should be happy, forget the bitter past, and they always added "grow up to be the most beautiful girl in Japan." This was a joking formula among them. To order Sunny to be merely happy and beautiful. Happy she was, but beauty! Ah! that was more difficult. Beauty, thought Sunny, must surely be the aim and goal of all Americans. Many were the moments when she studied her small face in the mirror, and regretted that it would be impossible for her to realise the ambition of her friends. Her face, she was assured, violated all the traditions and canons of the Japanese ideal of beauty. That required jet black hair, lustrous as lacquer, a long oval face, with tiny, carmine touched lips, narrow, inscrutable eyes, a straight, sensitive nose, a calmness of expression and poise that should serve as a mask to all internal emotions; above all an elegance and distinction in manners and dress that would mark one as being of an elevated station in life. Now Sunny's hair was fair, and despite brush and oil generously applied, till forbidden by her friends, it curled in disobedient ringlets about her young face. The hair alone marked her in the estimation of the Japanese as akin to the lower races, since curly hair was one of the marks peculiar to the savages. Neither were her eyes according to the Japanese ideal of beauty. They were, it is true, long and shadowed by the blackest of lashes, and in fact were her one feature showing the trace of her oriental taint or alloy, for they tipped up somewhat at the corners, and she had a trick of glancing sideways through the dark lashes that her friends found eerily fascinating; unfortunately those eyes were large, and instead of being the prescribed black, were pure amber in colour, with golden lights of the colour of her hair. Her skin, finally, was, as the mentor of the geisha house had primly told her, bleached like the skin of the dead. Save where the colour flooded her cheeks like peach bloom, Sunny's skin was as white as snow, and all the temporary stains and dark powder applied could not change the colour of her skin. To one accustomed to the Japanese point of view, Sunny therefore could see nothing in her own lovely face that would realise the desire of her friends that she should be beautiful; but respectfully and humbly she promised them that she would try to obey them, and she carried many gifts and offerings to the feet of Amaterasu-ohomikami, whose beauty had made her the supreme goddess of the heavens. "Beauty," said Jerry Hammond, walking up and down the big living room, his hair rumpled, and his hands loosely in his pockets, "is the aim and end of all that is worth while in life, Sunny. If we have it, we have everything. Beauty is something we are unable to define. It is elusive as a feather that floats above our heads. A breath will blow it beyond our reach, and a miracle will bring it to our hand. Now, the gods willing, I am going to spend all of the days of my life pursuing and reaching after Beauty. Despite my parents' fond expectations of a commercial career for their wayward son, I propose to be an artist." From which it will be observed that Jerry's idea of beauty was hardly that comprehended by Sunny, though in a vague way she sensed also his ideal. "An artist!" exclaimed she, clasping her hands with enthusiasm. "Ho! _how_ thad will be grade. I thing you be more grade artist than Hokusai!" "Oh, Sunny, impossible! Hokusai was one of the greatest artists that ever lived. I'm not built of the same timber, Sunny." There was a touch of sadness to Jerry's voice. "My scheme is not to paint pictures. I propose to beautify cities. To the world I shall be known merely as an architect, but you and I, Sunny, we will know, won't we, that I am an artist; because, you see, even if one fails to create the beautiful, the hunger and the desire for it is just as important. It's like being a poet at heart, without being able to write poetry. Now some fellows _write_ poetry of a sort--but they are not poets--not in their thought and lives, Sunny. I'd rather be a poet than write poetry. Do you understand that?" "Yes--I understand," said Sunny softly. "The liddle butterfly when he float on the flower, he cannot write those poetry--but he are a poem; and the honourable cloud in those sky, so sof', so white, so loavely he make one's heart leap up high at chest--thas poem too!" "Oh, Sunny, what a perfect treasure you are! I'm blessed if you don't understand a fellow better than one of his own countrywomen would." To cover a feeling of emotion and sentiment that invariably swept over Jerry when he talked with Sunny on the subject of beauty, and because moreover there was that about her own upturned face that disturbed him strangely, he always assumed a mock serious air, and affected to tease her. "But to get back to you, Sunny. Now, all you've got to do to please the Syndicate is to be a good girl _and_ beautiful. It ought not to be hard, because you see you've got such a bully start. Keep on, and who knows you'll end not only by being the most beautiful girl in Japan, but the Emperor himself--the Emperor of Japan, mark you, will step down from his golden throne, wave his wand toward you and marry you! So there you'll be--the royal Empress of Japan." "The Emperor!" Sunny's head went reverently to the mats. Her eyes, very wide, met Jerry's in shocked question. "You want me marry wiz--the Son of Heaven? _How_ I can do those?" Again her head touched the floor, her curls bobbing against flushed cheeks. "Easy as fishing," solemnly Jerry assured her. "They say the old dub is quite approachable, and you've only to let him see you once, and that will be enough for him. Just think, Sunny, what that will mean to you, and to us all--to be Empress of Japan. Why, you will only need to wave your hand or sleeve, and all sorts of favours will descend upon our heads. You will be able to repay us threefold for any insignificant service we may have done for you. Once Empress of Japan, you can summon us back to these fair isles and turn over to us all the political plums of the Empire. As soon as you give us the high sign, old scout, we'll be right on the job." "Jerry, you like very much those plum?" "You better believe I do." Sunny, chin in hand, was off in a mood of abstraction. She was thinking very earnestly of the red plum tree that grew above the tomb of the great Lord of Kakodate. He, that sleeping lord, would not miss a single plum, and she would go to the cemetery in the early morning, and when she had accomplished the theft, she would pray at the temple for absolution for her sin, which would not be so bad because Sunny would have sinned for love. "A penny for your thoughts, Sunny!" "I are think, Jerry, that some things you ask me I can do; others, no--thas not possible. Wiz this liddle hand I cannod dip up the ocean. Thas proverb of our Japan. I cannod marry those Emperor, and me? I cannod also make beauty on my face." "Give it a try, Sunny," jeered Jerry, laughing at her serious face. "You have no idea what time and art will do for one." "Time--and--art," repeated Sunny, like a child learning a lesson. She comprehended time, but she had inherited none of the Japanese traits of patience. She would have wished to leap over that first obstacle to beauty. Art, she comprehended, as a physical aid to a face and form unendowed with the desired beauty. She carried her problem to her maid. "Hatsu, have you ever seen the Emperor?" Both of their heads bobbed quickly to the mat. Hatsu had not. She had, it is true, walked miles through country roads, on a hot, dry day, to reach the nearest town through which the Son of Heaven's cortege had once passed. But, of course, as the royal party approached, Hatsu, like all the peasants who had come to the town on this gala day, had fallen face downward on the earth. It was impossible for her therefore to see the face of the Son of Heaven. However, Hatsu had seen the back of his horse--the modern Emperor rode thus abroad, clear to the view of subjects less humble than Hatsu, who dared to raise their eyes to his supreme magnificence. Sunny sighed. She felt sure that had she been in Hatsu's place, she would at least have peeped through her fingers at the mikado. Rummaging among her treasures in the bamboo chest, Sunny finally discovered what she sought--a picture of the Emperor. This she laid before her on the floor, and for a long, long time she studied the features thoughtfully and anxiously. After a while, she said with a sigh, unconscious of the blasphemy, which caused her maid to turn pale with horror, "I do not like his eye, and I do not like his nose, and I do not like his mouth. Yet, Hatsusan, it is the wish of Jerry-sama that I should marry this Emperor, and now I must make myself so beautiful that it will not hurt his eye if he deigns to look at me." Hatsu, at this moment was too overcome with the utter audacity of the scheme to move, and when she did find her voice, she said in a breathless whisper: "Mistress, the Son of Heaven already has a wife." "Ah, yes," returned Sunny, with somewhat of the careless manner toward sacred things acquired from her friends, "but perhaps he may desire another one. Come, Hatsusan. Work very hard on my face. Make me look like ancient picture of an Empress of Japan. See, here is a model!" She offered one of her mother's old prints, that revealed a court lady in trailing gown and loosened hair, an uplifted fan half revealing, half disclosing a weirdly lovely face, as she turned to look at a tiny dog frolicking on her train. It was a long, a painful and arduous process, this work of beautifying Sunny. There was fractious hair to be darkened and smoothed, and false hair to help out the illusion. There was a small face that had to be almost completely made over, silken robes from the mother's chest to slip over the girlish shoulders, shining nails to be polished and hidden behind gold nail protectors, paint and paste to be thickly applied, and a cape of a thousand colours to be thrown over the voluminous many coloured robes beneath. The sky was a dazzling blaze of red and gold. Even the deepening shadows were touched with gilt, and the glory of that Japanese sunset cast its reflection upon the book-lined walls of the big living room, where the Americans, lingering over pipe and hook, dreamily and appreciatively watched the marvellous spectacle through the widely opened windows. But their siesta was strangely interrupted, for, like a peacock, a strange vision trailed suddenly into the room and stood with suspended breath, fan half raised, in the manner of a court lady of ancient days, awaiting judgment. They did not know her at first. This strange figure seemed to have stepped out of some old Japanese print, and was as far from being the little Sunny who had come into their lives and added the last touch of magic to their trip in Japan. After the first shock, they recognised Sunny. Her face was heavily plastered with a white paste. A vivid splotch of red paint adorned and accentuated either slightly high cheek bone. Her eyebrows had disappeared under a thick layer of paste, and in their place appeared a brand new pair of intensely black ones, incongruously laid about an inch above the normal line and midway of her forehead. Her lips were painted to a vivid point, star shaped, so that the paint omitted the corners of Sunny's mouth, where were the dimples that were part of the charm of the Sunny they knew. Upon the girl's head rested an amazing ebony wig, one long lock of which trailed fantastically down from her neck to the hem of her robe. Shining daggers and pins, and artificial flowers completed a head dress. She was arrayed in an antique kimona, an article of stiff and unlimited dimensions, under which were seven other robes of the finest silk, each signifying some special virtue. A train trailed behind Sunny that covered half the length of the room. Her heavily embroidered outer robe was a gift to her mother from a prince, and its magnificence proclaimed its antiquity. It may be truly said for Sunny that she indeed achieved her own peculiar idea of what constituted beauty, and as she swept the fan from before her face with real art and grace there was pardonable pride in her voice as she said: "Honourable Mr. sirs, mebbe _now_ you goin' say I are beautifullest enough girl to make those Emperor marry wiz me." A moment of tense silence, and then the room resounded and echoed to the startled mirth of the young barbarians. But no mirth came from Sunny, and no mirth came from Jerry. The girl stood in the middle of the room, and through all her pride and dazzling attire she showed how deeply they had wounded her. A moment only she stayed, and then tripping over her long train and dropping her fan in her hurry, Sunny fled from the room. Jerry said with an ominous glare at the convulsed Bobs, Monty and even the aforesaid melancholy Jinx: "It was my fault. I told her art and time would make her beautiful." "The devil they would," snorted Bobs. "I'd like to know how you figured that art and time could contribute to Sunny's natural beauty. By George, she got herself up with the aid of your damned art, to look like a valentine, if you ask me." "I don't agree with you," declared Jerry hotly. "It's all how one looks at such things. It's a symptom of provincialism to narrow our admiration to one type only. Such masters as Whistler of our own land, and many of the most famous artists of Europe have not hesitated to take Japanese art as their model. What Sunny accomplished was the reproduction of a living work of art of the past, and it is the crassest kind of ignorance to reward her efforts with laughter." Jerry was almost savage in his denunciation of his friends. "I agree with you," said Professor Barrowes snapping his glasses back on his nose, "absolutely, absolutely. You are entirely right, Mr. Hammond," and in turn he glared upon his "class" as if daring anyone of them to question his own opinion. Jinx indeed did feebly say: "Well, for my part, give me Sunny as we know her. Gosh! I don't see anything pretty in all that dolled-up stuff and paint on her." "Now, young gentleman," continued Professor Barrowes, seizing the moment to deliver a gratuitous lecture, "there are certain cardinal laws governing art and beauty. It is not a matter of eyes, ears and noses, or even the colour of the skin. It is how we are accustomed to look at a thing. As an example, we might take a picture. Seen from one angle, it reveals a mass of chaotic colour that has no excuse for being. Seen from another point, the purpose of the artist is clearly delineated, and we are trapped in the charm of his creation. Every clime has its own peculiar estimate, but it comes down each time to ourselves. Poetically it has been beautifully expressed as follows: 'Unless we carry the beautiful with us, we will find it not.' Ahem!" Professor Barrowes cleared his throat angrily, and scowled, with Jerry, at their unappreciative friends. Goto, salaaming deeply in the doorway, was sonorously announcing honourable dinner for the honourable sirs, and coming softly across the hall, in her simple plum coloured kimona with its golden obi, the paint washed from her face, and showing it fresh and clean as a baby's, Sunny's April smile was warming and cheering them all again. Jinx voiced the sentiment of them all, including the angry professor and beauty loving Jerry: "Gosh! give me Sunny just as she is, without one plea." CHAPTER V There comes a time in the lives of all young men sojourning in foreign lands when the powers that be across the water summon them to return to the land of their birth. Years before, letters and cablegrams not unsimilar to those that now poured in upon her friends came persistently across the water to the father of Sunny. Then there was no Professor Barrowes to govern and lay down the law to the infatuated man. He was able to put off the departure for several years, but with the passage of time the letters that admonished and threatened not only ceased to come, but the necessary remittances stopped also. Sunny's father found himself in the novel position of being what he termed "broke" in a strange land. As in the case of Jerry Hammond, whose people were all in trade, there was a strange vein of sentiment in the father of Sunny. To his people indeed, he appeared to be one of those freaks of nature that sometimes appear in the best regulated families, and deviate from the proper paths followed by his forbears. He had acquired a sentiment not merely for the land, but for the woman he had taken as his wife; above all, he was devoted to his little girl. It is hard to judge of the man from his subsequent conduct upon his return to America. His marriage to the mother of Sunny had been more or less of a mercenary transaction. She had been sold to the American by a stepfather anxious to rid himself of a child who showed the clear evidence of her white father, and greedy to avail himself of the terms offered by the American. It was, in fact, a gay union into which the rich, fast young man thoughtlessly entered, with a cynical disregard of anything but his own desires. The result was to breed in him at the outset a feeling that he would not have analysed as contempt, but was at all events scepticism for the seeming love of his wife for him. It was different with his child. His affection for her was a beautiful thing. No shadow of doubt or criticism came to mar the love that existed between father and child. True, Sunny was the product of a temporary union, a ceremony of the teacup, which nevertheless is a legal marriage in Japan, and so regarded by the Japanese. Lightly as the American may have regarded his union with her mother, he looked upon the child as legally and fully his own, and was prepared to defend her rights. In America, making a clean breast to parents and family lawyers, he assented to the terms made by them, on condition that his child at least should be obtained for him. The determination to obtain possession of his child became almost a monomania with the man, and he took measures that were undeniably ruthless to gratify his will. It may be also that he was at this time the victim of agents and interested parties. However, he had lived in Japan long enough to know of the proverbial frailty of the sex. The mercenary motives he believed animated the woman in marrying him, her inability to reveal her emotions in the manner of the women of his own race; her seeming indifference and coldness at parting, which indeed was part of her spartan heritage to face dire trouble unblenching--the sort of thing which causes Japanese women to send their warrior husbands into battle with smiles upon their lips--all these things contributed to beat the man into a mood of acquiescence to the demands of his parents. He deluded himself into believing that his Japanese wife, like her dolls, was incapable of any intense feeling. In due time, the machinery of law, which works for those who pay, with miraculous swiftness in Japan, was set into motion, and the frail bonds that so lightly bound the American to his Japanese wife, were severed. At this time the mother of Sunny had been plastic and apparently complacent, though rejecting the compensation proffered her by her husband's agents. The woman, who was later to be known as Madame Many Smiles, turned cold as death, however, when the disposition of her child was broached. Nevertheless her smiling mask betrayed no trace to the American agents of the anguished turmoil within. Indeed her amiability aroused indignant and disgusted comment, and she was pronounced a soulless butterfly. This diagnosis of the woman was to be rudely shattered, when, beguiled by her seeming indifference, they relaxed somewhat of their vigilant espionage of her, and awoke one morning to find that the butterfly had flown beyond their reach. The road of the mendicant, hunger, cold, and even shame were nearer to the gates of Nirvanna than life in splendour without her child. That was all part of the story of Madame Many Smiles. History, in a measure, was to repeat itself in the life of Sunny. She had come to depend for her happiness upon her friends, and the shock of their impending departure was almost more than she could bear. She spent many hours kneeling before Kuonnon, the Goddess of Mercy, throwing her petitions upon the lap of the goddess, and bruising her brow at the stone feet. It is sad to relate of Sunny, who so avidly had embraced the Christian faith, and was to the proud Mr. Sutherland an example of his labours in Japan, that in the hour of her great trouble she should turn to a heathen goddess. Yet here was Sunny, bumping her head at the stone feet. What could the Three-in-one God of the Reverend Mr. Sutherland do for her now? Sunny had never seen his face; but she knew well the benevolent comprehending smile of the Goddess of Mercy, and in Her, Sunny placed her trust. And so: "Oh, divine Kuonnon, lovely Lady of Mercy, hear my petition. Do not permit my friends to leave Japan. Paralyse their feet. Blind their eyes that they may not see the way. Pray you close up the west ocean, so no ships may take my friends across. Hold them magnetised to the honourable earth of Japan." Sitting back on her heels, having voiced her petition anxiously she scanned the face of the lady above her. The candles flickered and wavered in the soft wind, and the incense curled in a spiral cloud and wound in rings about the head of the celestial one. Sunny held her two hands out pleadingly toward the unmoving face. "Lovely Kuonnon, it is true that I have tried magic to keep my friends with me, but even the oni (goblins) do not hear me, and my friends' boxes stand now in the ozashiki and the cruel carts carry them through the streets." Her voice rose breathlessly, and she leaned up and stared with wide eyes at the still face above her, with its everlasting smile, and its lips that never moved. "It is true! It is true!" cried Sunny excitedly. "The mission sir is right. There is no living heart in your breast. You are only stone. You cannot even hear my prayer. How then will you answer it?" Half appalled by her own blasphemy, she shivered away from the goddess, casting terrified glances about her, and still sobbing in this gasping way, Sunny covered her face with her sleeve, and wended her way from the shrine to her home. Here the dishevelled upset of the house brought home to her the unalterable fact of their certain going. Restraint and gloom had been in the once so jolly house, ever since Professor Barrowes had announced the time of departure. To the excited imagination of Sunny it seemed that her friends sought to avoid her. She could not understand that this was because they found it difficult to face the genuine suffering that their going caused their little friend. Sunny at the door of the living room sought fiercely to dissemble her grief. Never would she reveal uncouth and uncivilised tears; yet the smile she forced to her face now was more tragic than tears. Jinx was alone in the room. The fat young man was in an especially gloomy and melancholy mood. He was wracking his brain for some solution to the problem of Sunny. To him, Sunny went directly, seating herself on the floor in front of him, so that he was obliged to look at the imploring young face, and had much ado to control the lump that would rise in Jinx's remorseful throat. "Jinx," said Sunny persuasively, "I do not like to stay ad this Japan all alone also. I lig' you stay wiz me. Pray you do so, Mr. dear Jinx!" "Gosh! I only wish I could, Sunny," groaned Jinx, sick with sympathy, "but, I can't do it. It's impossible. I'm not--not my own master yet. I did the best I could for you--wrote home and asked my folks if--if I could bring you along. Doggone them, anyway, they've kept the wires hot ever since squalling for me to get back." "They do nod lig' Japanese girl?" asked Sunny sadly. "Gosh, what do they know about it? I do, anyway. I think you're a peachy kid, Sunny. You suit me down to the ground, I'll tell the world, and you look-a-here, I'm coming back to see you, d'ye understand? I give you my solemn word I will." "Jinx," said Sunny, without a touch of hope in her voice, "my father are say same thing; but--he never come bag no more." Monty and Bobs, their arms loaded with sundry boxes of sweets and pretty things that aforetime would have charmed Sunny, came in from the street just then, and with affected cheer laid their gifts enticingly before the unbeguiled Sunny. "See here, kiddy. Isn't this pretty!" Bobs was swinging a long chain of bright red and green beads. Not so long before Sunny had led Bobs to that same string of beads, which adorned the counter of a dealer in Japanese jewelry, and had expressed to him her ambition to possess so marvellous a treasure. Bobs would have bought the ornament then and there; but it so happened that his finances were at their lowest ebb, his investment in the Syndicate having made a heavy inroad into the funds of the by no means affluent Bobs. The wherewithal to purchase the beads on the eve of departure had in fact come from some obscure corner of his resources, and he now dangled them enticingly before the girl's cold eyes. She turned a shoulder expressive of aversion toward the chain. "I do nod lig' those kind beads," declared Sunny bitterly. Then upon an impulse, she removed herself from her place before Jinx, and kneeled in turn before Bobs, concentrating her full look of appeal upon that palpably moved individual. "Mr. sir--Bobs, I do nod lig' to stay ad Japan, wizout you stay also. Please you take me ad America wiz you. I are not afraid those west oceans. I lig' those water. It is very sad for me ad Japan. I do nod lig' Japan. She is not Clistian country. Very bad people live on Japan. I lig' go ad America. Please you take me wiz you to-day." Monty, hovering behind Bobs, was scowling through his bone-ribbed glasses. Through his seventeen-year-old brain raced wild schemes of smuggling Sunny aboard the vessel; of choking the watchful professor; of penning defiant epistles to the home folks; of finding employment in Japan and remaining firmly on these shores to take care of poor little Sunny. The propitiating words of Bobs appeared to Monty the sheerest drivel, untrue slush that it was an outrage to hand to a girl who trusted and believed. Bobs was explaining that he was the beggar of the party. When he returned to America, he would have to get out and scuffle for a living, for his parents were not rich, and it was only through considerable sacrifice, and Bobs' own efforts at work (he had worked his way through college, he told Sunny) that he was able to be one of the party of students who following their senior year at college were travelling for a year prior to settling down at their respective careers. Bobs was too chivalrous to mention to Sunny the fact that his contribution to the Sunny Syndicate had caused such a shrinkage in his funds that it would take many months of hard work to make up the deficit; nor that he had even become indebted to the affluent Jinx in Sunny's behalf. What he did explain was the fact that he expected soon after he reached America, to land a job of a kind--he was to do newspaper work--and just as soon as ever he could afford it, he promised to send for Sunny, who was more than welcome to share whatever two-by-four home Bobs may have acquired by that time. Sunny heard and understood little enough of his explanation. All she comprehended was that her request had been denied. Her own father's defective promises had made her forever sceptical of those of any other man in the world. Jinx in morose silence pulled fiercely on his pipe, brooding over the ill luck that dogged a fellow who was fat as a movie comedian and was related to an army of fat-heads who had the power to order him to come and go at their will. Jinx thought vengefully and ominously of his impending freedom. He would be of age in three months. Into his own hands then, triumphantly gloated Jinx, would fall the fortune of the house of Crawford, and _then_ his folks would see! He'd show 'em! And as for Sunny--well, Jinx was going to demonstrate to that little girl what a man of his word was capable of doing. Sunny, having left Bobs, was giving her full attention to Monty, who showed signs of panic. "Monty, I wan' go wiz you ad America. _Please_ take me there wiz you. I nod make no trobble for you. I be bes' nize girl you ever goin' see those worl. Please take me, Monty." "Aw--all right, I will. You bet your life I will. That's settled, and you can count on me. _I'm_ not afraid of _my_ folks, if the other fellows are of theirs. I can do as I choose. I'll rustle up the money somehow. There's always a way, and they can say what they like at home, I intend to do things in my own way. My governor's threatening to cut me off; all the fellows' parents are--they're in league together, I believe, but I'm going to teach them all a lesson. I'll not stir a foot from Japan without you, Sunny. You can put that in your pipe and swallow it. _I_ mean every last word _I_ say." "Now, now, now--not so hasty, young man, not so hasty! Not so free with promises you are unable to fulfil. Less words! Less words! More deeds!" Professor Barrowes, pausing on the threshold, had allowed the junior member of the party he was piloting through Japan to finish his fiery tirade. He hung up his helmet, removed his rubbers, and rubbing his chilled hands to bring back the departed warmth, came into the room and laid the mail upon the table. "Here you are, gentlemen. American mail. Help yourselves. All right, all right. Now, if agreeable, I desire to have a talk alone with Miss Sunny. If you young gentlemen will proceed with the rest of your preparations I daresay we will be on time. That will do, Goto. That baggage goes with us. Loose stuff for the steamer. Clear out." Sunny, alone with the professor, made her last appeal. "Kind Mr. Professor, please do not leave me ad those Japan. I wan go ad America wiz you. Please you permit me go also." Professor Barrowes leaned over, held out both his hands, and as the girl came with a sob to him, he took her gently into his arms. She buried her face on the shabby coat of the old professor who had been such a good friend to her, and who with all his eccentricities had been so curiously loveable and approachable. After she had cried a bit against the old coat, Sunny sat back on her heels again, her two hands resting on the professor's knees and covered with one of his. "Sunny, poor child, I know how hard it is for you; but we are doing the best we can. I want you to try and resign yourself to what is after all inevitable. I have arranged for you to go to the Sutherlands' home. You know them both--good people, Sunny, good people, in spite of their pious noise. Mr. Blumenthal has charge of your financial matters. You are amply provided for, thanks to the generosity of your friends, and I may say we have done everything in our power to properly protect you. You are going to show your appreciation by--er--being a good girl. Keep at your studies. Heed the instructions of Mr. Sutherland. He has your good at heart. I will not question his methods. We all have our peculiarities and beliefs. The training will do you no harm--possibly do you much good. I wish you always to remember that my interest in your welfare will continue, and it will be a pleasure to learn of your progress. When you can do so, I want you to write a letter to me, and tell me all about yourself." "Mr. Professor, if I study mos' hard, mebbe I grow up to be American girl--jos same as her?" Sunny put the question with touching earnestness. "We-el, I am not prepared to offer the American girl as an ideal model for you to copy, my dear, but I take it you mean--er--that education will graft upon you our western civilisation, such as it is. It may do so. It may. I will not promise on that score. My mind is open. It has been done, no doubt. Many girls of your race have--ah--assimilated our own peculiar civilisation--or a veneer of the same. You are yourself mainly of white blood. Yes, yes, it is possible--quite probable in fact, that if you set out to acquire western ways, you will succeed in making yourself--er--like the people you desire to copy." "And suppose I grow up lig' civilised girl, _then_ I may live ad America?" "Nothing to prevent you, my dear. Nothing to prevent you. It's a free country. Open to all. You will find us your friends, happy--I may say--overjoyed to see you again." For the first time since she had learned the news of their impending departure a faint smile lighted up the girl's sad face. "I stay ad Japan till I get--civil--ise." She stood up, and for a moment looked down in mournful farewell on the seamed face of her friend. Her soft voice dropped to a caress. "Sayonara, _mos_ kindes' man ad Japan. I goin' to ask all those million gods be good to you." And Professor Barrowes did not even chide her for her reference to the gods. He sat glaring alone in the empty room, fiercely rubbing his glasses, and rehearsing some extremely cutting and sarcastic phrases which he proposed to pen or speak to certain parents across the water, whose low minds suspected mud even upon a lily. His muttering reverie was broken by the quiet voice of Jerry. He had come out of the big window seat, where he had been all of the afternoon, unnoticed by the others. "Professor Barrowes," said Jerry Hammond, "if you have no objection, I would like to take Sunny back with me to America." Professor Barrowes scowled up at his favourite pupil. "I do object, I do object. Emphatically. Most emphatically. I do not propose to allow you, or any of the young gentlemen entrusted to my charge, to commit an act that may be of the gravest consequences to your future careers." "In my case, you need feel under no obligations to my parents. I am of age as you know, and as you also know, I purpose to go my own way upon returning home. My father asked me to wait till after this vacation before definitely deciding upon my future. Well, I've waited, and I'm more than ever determined not to go into the shops. I've a bit of money of my own--enough to give me a start, and I purpose to follow out my own ideas. Now as to Sunny. I found that kid. She's my own, when it comes down to that. I practically adopted her, and I'll be hanged if I'm going to desert her, just because my father and mother have some false ideas as to the situation." "Leaving out your parents from consideration, I am informed that an engagement exists between you and a Miss--ah--Falconer, I believe the name is, daughter of your father's partner, I understand." "What difference does that make?" demanded Jerry, setting his chin stubbornly. "Can it be possible that you know human nature so little then, that you do not appreciate the feelings your fiancée is apt to feel toward any young woman you choose to adopt?" "Why, Sunny's nothing but a child. It's absurd to refer to her as a woman, and if Miss Falconer broke with me for a little thing like that, I'd take my medicine I suppose." "You are prepared, then, to break an engagement that has the most hearty approval of your parents, because of a quixotic impulse toward one you say is a child, but, young man, I would have you reflect upon the consequences to the child. Your kindness would act as a boomerang upon Sunny." "What in the world do you mean?" "I mean that Sunny is emphatically not a child. She was fifteen years old the other day. That is an exceedingly delicate period in a girl's life. We must leave the bloom upon the rose. It is a sensitive period in the life of a girl." A long silence, and then Jerry: "Right-oh! It's good-bye to Sunny!" He turned on his heel and strode out to the hall. Professor Barrowes heard him calling to the girl upstairs in the cheeriest tone. "Hi! up there, Sunny! Come on down, you little rascal. Aren't you going to say bye-bye to your best friend?" Sunny came slowly down the stairs. At the foot, in the shadows of the hall she looked up at Jerry. "Now remember," he rattled along with assumed merriment, "that when next we meet I expect you to be the Empress of Japan." "Jerry," said Sunny, in a very little voice, her small eerie face seeming to shine with some light, as she looked steadily at him, "I lig' ask you one liddle bit favour before you go way from these Japan." "Go to it. What is it, Sunny. Ask, and thou shalt receive." Sunny put one hand on either of Jerry's arms, and her touch had a curiously electrical effect upon him. In the pause that ensued he found himself unable to remove his fascinated gaze from her face. "Jerry, I wan' ask you, will you please give me those American--kiss--good-a-bye." A great wave of tingling emotions swept over Jerry, blinding him to everything in the world but that shining face so close to his own. Sunny a child! Her age terrified him. He drew back, laughing huskily. He hardly knew himself what it was he was saying: "I don't want to, Sunny--I don't----" He broke away abruptly and, turning, rushed into the living room, seized his coat and hat, and was out of the house in a flash. Professor Barrowes stared at the door through which Jerry had made his hurried exit. To his surprise, he heard Sunny in the hall, laughing softly, strangely. To his puzzled query as to why she laughed, she said softly: "Jerry are afraid of me!" And Professor Barrowes, student of human nature as he prided himself upon being, did not know that Sunny had stepped suddenly across the gap that separates a girl from a woman, and had come into her full stature. CHAPTER VI Time and environment work miracles. It is interesting to study the phases of emotion that one passes through as he emerges from youth into manhood. The exaggerated expressions, the unalterable conclusions, the tragic imaginings, the resolves, which he feels nothing can shake, how sadly and ludicrously and with what swiftness are they dissipated. It came to pass that Sunny's friends across the sea reached a period where they thought of her vaguely only as a charming and amusing episode of an idyllic summer in the Land of the Rising Sun. Into the oblivion of the years, farther and farther retreated the face of the Sunny whose April smile and ingenuous ways and lovely face had once so warmed and charmed their young hearts. New faces, new scenes, new loves, work and the claims and habits that fasten upon one with the years--these were the forces that engrossed them. I will not say that she was altogether forgotten in the new life, but at least she occupied but a tiny niche in their sentimental recollections. There were times, when a reference to Japan would call forth a murmur of pleasureable reminiscences, and humorous references to some remembered fantastic trick or trait peculiar to the girl, as: "Do you remember when Sunny tried to catch that nightingale by putting salt near a place where she thought his tail might rest? I had told her she could catch him by putting salt on his tail, and the poor kid took me literally." Jinx chuckled tenderly over the memory. In the first year after his return to America Jinx had borne his little friend quite often in mind, and had sent her several gifts, all of which were gratefully acknowledged by the Reverend Simon Sutherland. "Will you ever forget" (from Bobs) "her intense admiration for Monty's white skin? She sat on the bank of the pool for nearly an hour, with the unfortunate kid under water, waiting for her to go away, while she waited for him to come out, because she said she wanted to see what a white body looked like 'wiz nothing but skin on for clothes.' I had to drag her off by main force. Ha, ha! I'll never forget her indignation, or her question whether Monty was 'ashamed his body.' The public baths of Nagasaki, you know, were social meeting places, and introductions under or above water quite the rule." "I suppose," said Jerry, pulling at his pipe thoughtfully, "we never will get the Japanese point of view anent the question of morals." "It's the shape of their eyes. They see things slant-wise," suggested Jinx brilliantly. "But Sunny's eyes, as I recall them," protested Bobs, "were not slanting, and she had their point of view. You'll recall how the Proff had much ado to prevent her taking her own quaint bath in our 'lake' in beauty unadorned." A burst of laughter broke forth here. "Did he now? He never told me anything about that." "Didn't tell me either, but I _heard_ him. He explained to Sunny in the most fatherly way the whole question of morals from the day of Adam down, and she got him so tangled up and ashamed of himself that he didn't know where he was at. However, as I recall it, he must have won out in the contention, for you'll recall how she voiced such scathing and contemptuous criticism later on the public bathers of Japan, whom she said were 'igrant and nod god nize Americazan manner and wear dress cover hees body ad those bath.'" "Ah, Sunny was a darling kid, take it from me. Just as innocent and sweet as a new-born babe." This was Jinx's sentimental contribution, and no voice arose to question his verdict. So it will be perceived that her friends, upon the rare occasions when she was recalled to memory, still held her in loving, if humorous regard, and it was the custom of Jerry to end the reminiscences of Sunny with a big sigh and a dumping of the ash from his pipe, as he dismissed the subject with: "Well, well, I suppose she's the Empress of Japan by now." All of them were occupied with the concerns and careers that were of paramount importance to them. Monty, though but in his twenty-first year, an Intern at Bellevue; Bobs, star reporter on the _Comet_; Jinx, overwhelmingly rich, the melancholy and unwilling magnet of all aspiring mothers-in-law; Jerry, an outlaw from the house of Hammond, though his engagement to Miss Falconer bade fair to reinstate him in his parents' affections. He was doggedly following that star of which he had once told Sunny. Eight hours per day in an architect's office, and four or six hours in his own studio, was the sum of the work of Jerry. He "lived in the clouds," according to his people; but all the great deeds of the world, and all of the masterpieces penned or painted by the hand of man, Jerry knew were the creations of dreamers--the "cloud livers." So he took no umbrage at the taunt, and kept on reaching after what he had once told Sunny was that Jade of fortune--Beauty. Somewhere up the State, Professor Barrowes pursued the uneven tenor of his way as Professor of Archeology and Zoology in a small college. Impetuous and erratic, becoming more restless with the years, he escaped the irritations and demands of the class room at beautiful intervals, when he indulged in a passion of research that took him into the far corners of the world, to burrow into the earth in search of things belonging to the remote dead and which he held of more interest than mere living beings. His fortunes were always uncertain, because of this eccentric weakness, and often upon returning from some such quest his friends had much ado to secure him a berth that would serve as an immediate livelihood. Such position secured, after considerable wire pulling on the part of Jerry and other friends, Professor Barrowes would be no sooner seated in the desired chair, when he would begin to lay plans for another escape. An intimate friendship existed between Jerry and his old master, and it was to Jerry that he invariably went upon his return from his archeological quests. Despite the difference in their years, there was a true kinship between these two. Each comprehended the other's aspirations, and in a way the passion for exploration and the passion for beauty is analogous. Jerry's parents looked askance at this friendship, and were accustomed to blame the Professor for their son's vagaries, believing that he aided and abetted and encouraged Jerry, which was true enough. Of all Sunny's friends, Professor Barrowes, alone, kept up an irregular communication with the Sutherlands. Gratifying reports of the progress of their protégé came from the missionary at such times. Long since, it had been settled that Sunny should be trained to become a shining example to her race--if, in fact, the Japanese might be termed her race. It was the ambition of the good missionary to so instruct the girl that she would be competent to step into the missionary work, and with her knowledge of the Japanese tongue and ways, her instructor felt assured they could expect marvels from her in the matter of converting the heathen. It is true the thought of that vivid little personality in the grey rôle of a preacher, brought somewhat wry faces to her friends, and exclamations even of distaste. "Gosh!" groaned Jinx sadly, "I'd as lieves see her back on the tightrope." "Imagine Sunny preaching! It would be a raving joke. I can just hear her twisting up her eight million gods and goddesses with our own deity," laughed Bobs. "Like quenching a firefly's light, or the bruising of a butterfly's wings," murmured Jerry, dreamily, his head encircled with rings of smoke. But then one becomes accustomed to even a fantastic thought. We accredit certain qualities and actions to individuals, and, in time, in our imaginations at least, they assume the traits with which we have invested them. After all, it was very comforting to think of that forlorn orphan child in the safe haven of a mission school. So the years ran on and on, as they do in life, and as they do in stories such as this, and it came to pass, as written above, that Sunny disappeared into the fragrant corners of a pretty memory. There is where Sunny should perhaps have stayed, and thus my story come to a timely end. Consider the situation. A girl, mainly of white blood, with just a drop of oriental blood in her--enough to make her a bit different from the average female of the species, enough, say, to give a snack of that savage element attributed to the benighted heathen. Rescued by men of her father's race from slavery and abuse; provided for for the rest of her days; under the instruction of a zealous and conscientious missionary and his wife, who earnestly taught her how to save the souls of the people of Japan. Sunny's fate was surely a desirable one, and as she progressed on the one side of the water, her friends on the other side were growing in sundry directions, ever outward and upward, acquiring new responsibilities, new loves, new claims, new passions with the passing of the years. What freak of fate therefore should interpose at this juncture, and thrust Sunny electrically into the lives of her friends again? CHAPTER VII On a certain bleak day in the month of March, J. Addison Hammond, Jr., tenaciously at work upon certain plans and drawings that were destined at a not far distant date to bring him a measure of fame and fortune, started impatiently from his seat and cursed that "gosh-ding-danged telephone." Jerry at this stage of his picturesque career occupied what is known in New York City, and possibly other equally enlightened cities, as a duplex studio. Called "duplex" for no very clear reason. It consists of one very large room (called "atelier" by artistic tenants and those who have lived or wanted to live in France). This room is notable not merely for its size, but its height, the ceiling not unsimilar to the vaulted one of a church, or a glorified attic. Adjustable skylights lend the desired light. About this main room, and midway of the wall, is a gallery which runs on all four sides, and on this gallery are doors opening into sundry rooms designated as bedrooms. The arrangement is an excellent one, since it gives one practically two floors. That, no doubt, is why we call it "duplex." We have a weakness for one floor bungalows when we build houses these days, but for apartments and studios the epicure demands the duplex. In this especial duplex studio there also abode one t, or as he was familiarly known to the friends of Jerry Hammond, "Hatty." Hatty, then, was the valet and man of all work in the employ of Jerry. He was a marvellous cook, an extraordinary house cleaner, an incomparable valet, and to complete the perfections of this jewel, possessed solely by the apparently fortunate Jerry, his manners, his face and his form were of that ideal sort seen only in fiction and never in life. Nevertheless the incomparable Hatton, or Hatty, was a visible fact in the life and studio of Jerry Hammond. Having detailed the talents of Hatty, it is painful here to admit a flaw in the character of the otherwise perfect valet. This flaw he had very honestly divulged to Jerry at the time of entering his employ, and the understanding was that upon such occasions when said flaw was due to have its day, the master was to forbear from undue criticism or from discharging said Hatton from his employ. Hatton, at this time, earnestly assured the man in whose employ he desired to enter, that he could always depend upon his returning to service in a perfectly normal state, and life would resume its happy way under his competent direction. It so happened upon this especial night, when that "pestiferous" telephone kept up its everlasting ringing--a night when Jerry hugged his head in his hands, calling profanely and imploringly upon Christian and heathen saints and gods to leave him undisturbed--that Hatton lay on his bed above, in a state of oblivion from which it would seem a charge of dynamite could not have awakened him. For the fiftieth or possibly hundredth time Jerry bitterly swore that he would fire that "damned Englishman" (Hatton was English) on the following day. He had had enough of him. Whenever he especially needed quiet and service, that was the time the "damned Englishman" chose to break loose and go on one of his infernal sprees. For the fourth time within half an hour Jerry seized that telephone and shouted into the receiver: "What in hades do you want?" The response was a long and continuous buzzing, through which a jabbering female tongue screeched that it was Y. Dubaday talking. It sounded like "Y. Dubaday," but Jerry knew no one of that name, and so emphatically stated, adding to the fact that he didn't know anyone of that name and didn't want to, and if this was their idea of a joke----" He hung up at this juncture, seized his head, groaned, walked up and down swearing softly and almost weeping with nervousness and distraction. Finally with a sigh of hopelessness as he realised the impossibility of concentrating on that night, Jerry gathered up his tools and pads, packed them into a portfolio, which he craftily hid under a mass of papers--Jerry knew where he could put his hands on any desired one--got his pipe, pulled up before the waning fire, gave it a shove, put on a fresh log, lit his pipe, stretched out his long legs, put his brown head back against the chair, and sought what comfort there might be left to an exasperated young aspirant for fame who had been interrupted a dozen times inside of an hour or so. Hardly had he settled down into this comparative comfort when that telephone rang again. Jerry was angry now--"hopping mad." He lifted that receiver with ominous gentleness, and his voice was silken. "What can I do for you, fair one?" Curiously enough the buzzing had completely stopped and the fair one's reply came vibrating clearly into his listening ear. "Mr. Hammond?" "Well, what of it?" "Mr. Hammond, manager of some corporation or company in Japan?" "What are you talking about?" "If you'll hold the wire long enough to take a message from a friend I'll deliver it." "Friend, eh? Who is he? I'd like to get a look at him this moment. Take your time." "Well, I've no time to talk nonsense. This is the Y. W. C. A. speaking, and there's a young lady here, who says she--er--belongs to you. She----" "What? Say that again, please." "A young lady that appears to be related to you--says you are her guardian or manager or something of the sort. She was delivered to the Y. by the Reverend Miss Miriam Richardson, in whose care she was placed by the Mission Society of--er--Naggysack, Japan. One minute, I'll get her name again." A photograph of Jerry at this stage would have revealed a young man sitting at a telephone desk, registering a conflict of feelings and emotions indicative of consternation, guilt, tenderness, fear, terror, compunction, meanness and idiocy. When that official voice came over the wire a second time, Jerry all but collapsed against the table, holding the receiver uncertainly in the direction of that ear that still heard the incredible news and confirmed his fears: "Name--Miss Sindicutt." Silence, during which the other end apparently heard not that exclamation of desperation: "Ye gods and little fishes!" for it resumed complacently: "Shall we send her up to you?" "No, no, for heaven's sake don't. That is, wait a bit, will you? Give me a chance to get over the----" Jerry was about to say "shock," but stopped himself in time and with as much composure as he could muster he told the Y. W. C. A. that he was busy just now, but would call later, and advise them what to do in the--under his breath he said "appalling"--circumstances. Slowly Jerry put the receiver back on the hook. He remained in the chair like one who has received a galvanic shock. That Japanese girl, of a preposterous dream, had actually followed him to America! She was here--right in New York City. It was fantastic, impossible! Ha, ha! it would be funny, if it were not so danged impossible. In the United States, of all places! She, who ought to be right among her heathens, making good converts. What in the name of common sense had she come to the States for? Why couldn't she let Jerry alone, when he was up to his neck in plans that he fairly knew were going to create an upheaval in the architectural world? Just because he had befriended her in his infernal youth, he could not be expected to be responsible for her for the rest of her days. Besides, he, Jerry, was not the only one in that comic opera Syndicate. The thought of his partners in crime, as they now seemed to him, brought him up again before that telephone, seizing upon it this time as a last straw. He was fortunate to get in touch with all three of the members of the former Sunny Syndicate Limited. While Monty and Bobs rushed over immediately, Jinx escaped from the Appawamis Golf Club where for weeks he had been vainly trying to get rid of some of his superfluous flesh by chasing little red balls over the still snow bound course, flung himself into his powerful Rolls Royce, and went speeding along the Boston Post Road at a rate that caused an alarm to be sent out for him from point to point. Not swift enough, however, to keep up with the fat man in the massive car that "made the grade" to New York inside of an hour, and rushed like a juggernaut over the slick roads and the asphalt pavements of Manhattan. Jerry's summons to his college friends had been in the nature of an S. O. S. call for help. On the telephone he vouchsafed merely the information that it was "a deadly matter of life and death." The astounding news he flung like a bomb at each hastily arriving member of the late Syndicate. When the first excitement had subsided, the paramount feeling was one of consternation and alarm. "Gosh!" groaned Jinx, "what in the name of thunderation are you going to do with a Japanese girl in New York City? I pity you, Jerry, for of course you are mainly responsible----" "Responsible nothing----" from the indignant Jerry, wheeling about with a threatening look at that big "fathead." "I presume I was the _only_ member of that--er--syndicate." "At least it was your idea," said Monty, extremely anxious to get back to the hospital, where he had been personally supervising a case of Circocele. "You might have known," suggested Bobs, "that she was bound to turn out a Frankenstein. Of course, we'll all stand by you, old scout, but you know how I am personally situated." Jerry's wrathful glare embraced the circle of his renegade friends. "You're a fine bunch of snobs. I'm not stuck myself on having a Jap girl foisted on to my hands, and there'll be a mess of explanations to my friends and people, and the Lord only knows how I'll ever be able to put my mind back on my work and---- At the same time, I'm not so white livered that I'm going to flunk the responsibility. We encouraged--invited her to join us out here. I did. You did, so did you, and you! I heard you all--every last one of you, and you can't deny it." "Well, it was one thing to sentimentalise over a pretty little Jap in Japan," growled Bobs, who was not a snob, but in spite of his profession at heart something of a stickler for the conventions, "but it's another proposition here. Of course, as I said, we fellows all intend to stand by you." (Grunts of unwilling assent from Monty and Jinx.) "We aren't going to welch on our part of the job, and right here we may as well plan out some scheme to work this thing properly. Suppose we make the most of the matter for the present. We'll keep her down there at that 'Y.' Do you see? Then, we can each do something to--er--make it--well uncomfortable for her here. We'll freeze her out if it comes down to that. Make her feel that this U. S. A. isn't all it's cracked up to be, and she'll get home-sick for her gods and goddesses and at the psychological moment when she's feeling her worst, why we'll just slip her aboard ship, and there you are." "Great mind! Marvellous intellect you got, Bobs. In the first place, the 'Y' informed me on the 'phone that they are sending her here. They are waiting now for me to give the word when to despatch her, in fact. Now the question is"--Jerry looked sternly at his friends--"which one of your families would be decent enough to give a temporary home to Sunny? My folks as you know are out of the reckoning, as I'm an outlaw from there myself." Followed a heated argument and explanations. Monty's people lived in Philadelphia. He himself abode at the Bellevue Hospital. That, so he said, let him out. Not at all, from Jerry's point of view. Philadelphia, said Jerry, was only a stone's throw from New York. Monty, exasperated, retorted that he didn't propose to throw stones at his folks. Monty, who had made such warm promises to Sunny! Bobs shared a five-room bachelor flat with two other newspaper men. Their hours were uncertain, and their actions erratic. Often they played poker till the small hours of the morning. Sunny would not fit into the atmosphere of smoke and disorder, though she was welcome to come, if she could stand the "gaff." Bobs' people lived in Virginia. His several sisters, Bobs was amusedly assured, would hardly put the girl from Japan at her ease. Jinx, on whom Jerry now pinned a hopeful eye, blustered shamelessly, as he tried to explain his uncomfortable position in the world. When not at his club in New York, he lived with a sister, Mrs. Vanderlump, and her growing family in the Crawford mansion at Newport. Said sister dominated this palatial abode and brother Jinx escaped to New York upon occasions in a true Jiggsian manner, using craft and ingenuity always to escape the vigilant eye and flaying tongue of a sister who looked for the worst and found it. It was hard for Jinx to admit to his friends that he was horribly henpecked, but he appealed to them as follows: "Have a heart about this thing. I ask you, what is a fellow to do when he's got a sister on his back like that? If she suspects every little innocent chorus girl of the town, what is she going to say to Sunny when that kid goes up before her in tights?" It is extraordinary how we think of people we have not seen in years as they were when first we saw them. In the heat of argument, no one troubled to point out to Jinx that the Sunny who had come upon the tight rope that first night must have long since graduated from that reprehensible type of dress or rather undress. Finally, and as a last resort, a night letter was despatched to Professor Timothy Barrowes. All were now agreed that he was the one most competent to settle the matter of the disposition of Sunny, and all agreed to abide by his decision. At this juncture, and when a sense of satisfaction in having "passed the buck" to the competent man of archæology had temporarily cheered them, a tapping was heard upon the studio door. Not the thumping of the goblin's head of the Italian iron knocker; not the shriek of the electric buzzer from the desk below, warning of the approach of a visitor. Just a soft taptapping upon the door, repeated several times, as no one answered, and increasing in noise and persistence. A long, a silent, a deadly pause ensued. At that moment each found himself attributing to that girl they had known in Japan, and whom they realised was on the other side of that door, certain characteristic traits and peculiarities charming enough in Japan but impossible to think of as in America. To each young man there came a mental picture of a bizarre and curious little figure, adorned with blazingly bright kimona and obi--a brilliant patch of colour, her bobbed hair and straight bangs seeming somehow incongruous and adding to her fantastic appearance. After all, in spite of her hair, she was typical of that land of crooked streets, and paper houses, and people who walked on the wrong side and mounted their horses from the front. The thought of that girl in New York City grated against their sensibilities. She didn't belong and she never could belong was their internal verdict. It may have been only a coincidence, but it seemed weird, that Hatton, lately so dead to the world, should appear at that psychological moment on the steps of the gallery, immaculate in dress and with that cool air of superiority and efficiency that was part of his assets, descend in his stately and perfect way, approach the door as a butler should, and softly, imperturbably fling that door open. His back retained its stiff straight line, that went so well with the uniform Hatton insisted upon donning, but his head went sideways forward in that inimitable bow that Hatton always reserved for anything especially attractive in the female line. Upon the threshold there looked back at Hatton, and then beyond him, a girl whom the startled young men took at first to be a perfect stranger. She wore a plain blue serge suit, belted at the waist, with a white collar and jabot. A sailor hat, slightly rolled, crushed down the hair that still shone above the face whose remarkable beauty owed much to a certain quaintness of expression. She stood silently, without moving, for what seemed a long moment to them all, and then suddenly she spoke, breathlessly and with that little catch in her voice, and her tone, her look, her words, her quick motions so characteristic of the little girl they had known, broke the spell of silence and let loose a flood of such warm memories that all the mean and harsh and contemptible thoughts of but a moment since were dissipated forever. They crowded about her, hanging upon and hungry for her unabashed and delighted words, and dazzled by the girl's uncanny loveliness. "Jinx! Thad are you! I know you by your so nize fat!" She had not lost her adorable accent. Indeed, if they could but have realised it, Sunny had changed not at all. She had simply grown up. Jinx's soft hands were holding the two little fragrant ones thrust so joyously into his own. The fat fellow fought a sudden maddening desire to hug like a bear the girl whose bright eyes were searching his own so lovingly. "Monty! Oh, you have grow into whole mans. _How_ it is nize. And you still smile on me troo those glass ad you eye." Smile! Monty was grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat. That case of Circocele at Bellevue hospital had vanished into the dim regions of young Monty's mind. Anyway there were a score of other Internes there, and Monty had his permit in his pocket. "Bobs! Is thad youself, wiz those fonny liddle hair grow om your mout'. _How_ it is grow nize on you face. I lig' him there." Any doubt that Bobs had experienced as to the desirability of that incipient moustache vanished then and there. And Jerry! Jerry, for the last, to be looked at with shining eyes, till something tightened in his throat, and his mind leaped over the years and felt again that dizzy, tingling, electrical sensation when Sunny had asked him to kiss her. CHAPTER VIII That "even tenor of their ways," to which reference has already been made, ceased indeed to bear a remote resemblance to evenness. It may be recorded here, that for one of them at least, Sunny's coming meant the hasty despatch of his peace of mind. Their well laid schemes to be rid of her seemed now in the face of their actions like absurd aberrations that they were heartily ashamed of. It is astonishing how we are affected by mere clothes. Perhaps if Sunny had appeared at the door of Jerry Hammond's studio arrayed in the shining garments of a Japanese, some measure of their alarm might have remained. But she came to their door as an American girl. That Sunny should have stood the test of American clothes, that she shone in them with a distinction and grace that was all her own, was a matter of extreme pride and delight to her infatuated friends. Appearances play a great part in the imagination and thought of the young American. It was the fantastic conception they had formed of her, and the imagined effect of her strange appearance in America that had filled them with misgiving and alarm--the sneeky sort of apprehension one feels at being made conspicuous and ridiculous. There was an immense relief at the discovery that their fears were entirely unfounded. Sunny appeared a finished product in the art of dressing. Not that she was fashionably dressed. She simply had achieved the look of one who belonged. She was as natural in her clothes as any of their sisters or the girls they knew. There was this difference, however: Sunny was one of those rare beings of earth upon whom the Goddess of Beauty has ineffaceably laid her hands. Her loveliness, in fact, startled one with its rareness, its crystal delicacy. One looked at the girl's face, and caught his breath and turned to look again, with that pang of longing that is almost pain when we gaze upon a masterpiece. Yet "under the skin" she was the same confiding, appealing, mischievous little Sunny who had pushed her way into the hearts of her friends. Her mission in America, much as it aroused the mirth of her friends, was a very serious one, and it may be here stated, later, an eminently successful one. Sunny came as an emissary from the mission school to collect funds for the impoverished mission. Mr. Sutherland, a Scotchman by birth, was not without a canny and shrewd streak to his character, and he had not forgotten the generous contributions in the past of the rich young Americans whose protégé Sunny had been. All this, however, does not concern the devastating effect of her presence in the studio of Jerry Hammond. There, in fact, Sunny had taken up an apparently permanent residence, settling down as a matter of course and right, and indeed assisted by the confused and alternately dazed and beguiled Jerry. Her effects consisted of a bag so small, and containing but a few articles of Japanese silk clothing and a tiny gift for each of her dear friends. Indeed, the smallness of Sunny's luggage appealed instantly to her friends, who determined to purchase for her all the pretty clothes her heart should desire. This ambition to deck Sunny in the fine raiment of New York City was satisfactorily realised by each and everyone of the former Syndicate, Sunny accompanying them with alacrity, overjoyed by those delicious shopping tours, the results of which returned in Jinx's Rolls Royce, Monty's taxi, Bobs' messenger boys, and borne by hand by Jerry. These articles, however, became such a bone of contention among her friends, each desiring her to wear his especial choice, that Sunny had her hands full pleasing them all. She compromised by wearing a dress donated by Monty, hat from Jinx, a coat from Jerry, and stockings and gloves from Bobs. It was finally agreed by her friends that there should be a cessation to the buying of further clothes for Sunny. Instead an allowance of money was voted and quickly subscribed to by all, and after that, Sunny, with the fatherly aid of a surprisingly new Hatton, did her own purchasing. Of her four friends, Jerry was possibly the happiest and the unhappiest at this time. He was a prey to both exhilaration and panic. He moved heaven and earth to make Sunny so comfortable and contented in his studio, that all thought of returning to Japan would be banished forever from her mind. On the other hand, he rushed off, panic stricken and sent telegrams to Professor Barrowes, entreating him to come at once and relieve Jerry of his dangerous charge. His telegrams, however, were unfruitful, for after an aggravating delay, during which Sunny became, like Hatton, one of the habits and necessities of Jerry's life, the Telegraph Company notified him that Professor Barrowes was no longer at that particular school of learning, and that his address there was unknown. Jerry, driven to extremities by the situation in his studio, made himself such a nuisance to the Telegraph Company, that they bestirred themselves finally and ascertained that the last address of Professor Timothy Barrowes was Red Deer, Alberta, Canada. Now Red Deer represented nothing to Jerry Hammond save a town in Canada where a wire would reach his friend. Accordingly he despatched the following: Professor Timothy Barrowes, Red Deer, Alberta, Canada. Come at once. Sunny in New York. Need you take her charge. Delay dangerous. Waiting for you. Come at once. Answer at once. Important. J. ADDISON HAMMOND. Professor Barrowes received this frantic wire while sitting on a rock very close to the edge of a deep excavation that had recently been dug on the side of a cliff towering above a certain portion of the old Red Deer River. Below, on a plateau, a gang of men were digging and scraping and hammering at the cliff. Not in the manner of the husky workers of northwestern Canada, but carefully, tenderly. Not so carefully, however, but the tongue of the Professor on the rock above castigated and nagged and warned. Ever and anon Sunny's old friend would leap down into the excavation, and himself assist the work physically. As stated, Jerry's telegram came to his hand while seated upon aforesaid rock, was opened, and absent-mindedly scanned by Jerry's dear friend, and then thrust hastily into the professor's vest pocket, there to remain for several days, when it accidentally was resurrected, and he most thoughtfully despatched a reply, as follows: Jeremy Addison Hammond, 12 West 67th St., New York City, U. S. A. Collect. Glad to hear from you. Especially so this time. Discovered dinosaur antedating post pleocene days. Of opinion Red Deer district contains greatest number of fossils of antique period in world. Expect discoveries prove historical event archeological world. Will bring precious find New York about one month or six weeks. Need extra funds transportation dinosaur and guard for same. Expect trouble Canadian government in re-taking valuable find across border. Much envy and propaganda take credit from U. S. for most important discovery of century. Get in communication right parties New York, Washington if necessary. Have consul here wired give full protection and help. Information sent confidential. Do not want press to get word of remarkable find until fossil set up in museum. See curator about arrangements. May be quoted as estimating age as quaternary period. Wire two thousand dollars extra. Extraordinary find. Greatest moment my life. Note news arrival New York Sunny. Sorry unable be there take charge. Dinornis more important Sunny. TIMOTHY BARROWES. What Jerry said when he tore open and read that long expected telegram would not bear printing. Suffice it to say that his good old friend was consigned by the wrathful and disgusted Jerry to a warmer region than Mother Earth. Then, squaring his shoulders like a man, and setting his chin grimly, Jerry took up the burden of life, which in these latter days had assumed for him such bewildering proportions. That she was an amazing, actual part of his daily life seemed to him incredible, and beguiling and fascinating as life now seemed to him with her, and wretched and uncertain as it was away from her, his alarm increased with every day and hour of her abode in his house. He assured himself repeatedly that there was no more harm in Sunny living in his apartment than there was in her living in his house in Japan. What enraged the befuddled Jerry at this time was the officious attitude of his friends. Monty took it upon himself to go room hunting for a place for Sunny, and talked a good deal about the results he expected from a letter written to Philadelphia. He did not refer to Sunny now as a stone. Monty was sure that the place for Sunny was right in that Philadelphia home, presided over by his doting parents and little brothers and sisters, and where it was quite accessible for week-end visits. Jinx, after a stormy scene with his elder sister in which he endeavoured to force Sunny upon the indignant and suspicious Mrs. Vanderlump, left in high dudgeon the Newport home in which he had been born, and which was his own personal inheritance, and with threats never to speak to his sister again, he took up his residence at his club, just two blocks from the 67th Street studio. Bobs cleared out two of his friends from the flat, bought some cretonne curtains with outrageous roses and patches of yellow, purple, red and green, hung these in dining room and bedroom and parlour, bought a brand new victrola and some quite gorgeous Chinese rugs, and had a woman in cleaning for nearly a week. To his friends' gibes and suggestions that he apparently contemplated matrimony, Bobs sentimentally rejoined that sooner or later a fellow got tired of the dingy life of a smoke-and-card-filled flat and wanted a bit of real sweetness to take away the curse of life. He acquired two lots somewhere on Long Island and spent considerable time consulting an architect, shamefully ignoring Jerry's gifts in that line. That his friends, who had so savagely protested again sharing the burden of Sunny, should now try to go behind his back and take her away from him was in the opinion of Jerry a clue to the kind of characters they possessed, and of which hitherto he had no slightest suspicion. Jerry, at this time, resembled the proverbial dog in the manger. He did not want Sunny himself--that is, he dared not want Sunny--but the thought of her going to any other place filled him with anguish and resentment. Nevertheless he realised the impossibility of maintaining her much longer in his studio. Already her presence there had excited gossip and speculation in the studio building, but in that careless and bohemian atmosphere with which denizens of the art world choose to surround themselves the lovely young stranger in the studio of Jerry Hammond aroused merely smiling and indulgent curiosity. Occasionally a crude joke or inquiry from a neighbouring artist aroused murder in the soul of the otherwise civilised Jerry. That anyone could imagine anything wrong with Sunny seemed to him beyond belief. Not that he felt always kindly toward Sunny. She aroused his ire more often than she did his approval. She was altogether too free and unconventional, in the opinion of Jerry, and in a clumsy way he tried to teach her certain rules of deportment for a young woman living in the U. S. A. Sunny, however, was so innocent and so evidently earnest in her efforts to please him, that he invariably felt ashamed and accused himself of being a pig and a brute. Jerry was, indeed, like the unfortunate boatman, drifting toward the rocks, and seeing only the golden hair of the Lorelei. Sunny had settled down so neatly and completely in his studio that it would have been hard to know how she was ever to be dislodged. Her satisfaction and delight and surprise at every object upon the place was a source of immense satisfaction and entertainment to Jerry. It should be mentioned here, that an unbelievable change could have been observed also in Hatton. The man was discovered to be human. His face cracked up in smiles that were real, and clucks that bore a remote resemblance to human laughter issued at intervals from the direction of the kitchen, whither he very often hastily departed, his hand over mouth, after some remark or action of Sunny that appeared to smite his funny bone. The buttons on the wall were a never failing source of enchantment to Sunny. To go into her own room in the dark, brush her hand along the wall, touch an ivory button, and see the room spring into light charmed her beyond words. So, too, the black buttons that, pressed, caused bells to ring in the lower part of the house. But the speaking tube amazed and at first almost terrified her. Jerry sprang the works on her first. While in her room, a sudden screech coming from the wall, she looked panically about her, and then started back as a voice issued forth from that tube, hailing her by name. Spirits! Here in this so solid and material America! It was only after Jerry, getting no response to his calls of "Sunny! Hi! Sunny! Come on down! Come on down! Sunny! I want you!" ran up the stairs, knocked at her door and stood laughing at her in the doorway, that the colour came back to her cheeks. He was so delighted with the experiments, that he led her to the telephone and initiated her into that mystery. To watch Sunny's face, as with parted lips, and eyes darkened by excitement, she listened to the voice of Jinx, Monty or Bobs, and then suddenly broke loose and chattered sweet things back, was in the opinion of Jerry worth the price of a dozen telephones. However, he cut short her interviews with the delighted fellows at the other end, as he did not wish to have them impose on her good nature and take up too much of the girl's time. The victrola and the player-piano worked day and night in Sunny's behalf, and it was not long before she could trill back some of the songs. Upon one occasion they pulled up the rugs, and Sunny had her first lesson in dancing. Jerry told her she took to dancing "like a duck does to water." He honestly believed he was doing a benevolent and worthy act in surrounding the young girl with his arms and moving across the floor with her to the music of the victrola. He would not for worlds have admitted to himself that as his arms encircled Sunny, Jerry felt just about as near to heaven as he ever hoped to get, though premonitions that all was not normal with him came hazily to his mind as he dimly realised that that tingling sensation that contact with Sunny created was symptomatic of the chaos within. However, dancing with Sunny, once she had acquired the step, which she, a professional dancer in Japan, sensed immediately, was sheer joy, and all would have been well, had not his friends arrived just when they were not wanted, and, of course, Sunny, the little fool, had instantly wanted to try her new accomplishment upon her admiring and too willing friends. The consequence was Jerry's evening was completely spoiled, and what he meant just as an innocent diversion was turned into a "riotous occasion" by a "bunch of roughnecks," who took advantage of a little innocent girl's eagerness to learn to dance, and handled her "a damn sight too familiarly" to suit the paternal--he considered it paternal--taste of Jerry. Jerry, as Sunny passed in the arms of the light-footed Jinx, whose dancing was really an accomplishment, registered several vows. One was he proposed to give Sunny herself a good calling down. The other he purposed curtailing some of the visits of the gang, and putting a stop once and for all to the flow of gifts that were in his opinion rotten taste on the part of Jinx, a joke coming from Monty, plainly suffering a bad case of puppy love, and as for Bobs, no one knew better than Jerry did that he could ill afford to enter into a flower competition with Jinx. That Rolls Royce, when not bearing the enchanted Sunny through the parks and even on little expeditions into the byways and highways of the Great White Road, which runs through Westchester county, was parked not before Jinx's club, or the garage, but, with amazing impudence before the door of that duplex studio. Jerry intended to have a heart-to-heart talk with old Jinx on that score. Even at home, Sunny had wrought havoc. Before she had been three days upon the place, Hatton, the stony faced and spare of tongue, had confided to her the whole history of his life, and explained how his missus had driven him to drink. "It's 'ard on a man, miss. 'E tries to do 'is best in life, but it's 'ard, miss, when there's a woman 'as believes the worst, and brings out the worst in a man, miss, and man is only yuman, only yuman, miss, and all yuman beings 'as their failings, as no doubt you know, miss." Sunny did know. She told Hatton that she was full of failings. She didn't think him a bad man at all because once in a long time he drank a little bit. Lots of men did that. There was the Count of Matsuyama. He had made many gifts to the Shiba temple, but he loved sake very much, and often in the tea-gardens the girls were kept up very late, because the Count of Matsuyama never returned home till he had drunk all the sake on the place, and that took many hours. Gratuitously, and filled with a sudden noble purpose, Hatton gave Sunny his solemn promise never again to touch the inebriating cup. She clapped her hands with delight at this, and cried. "Ho! How you are nicer man now. Mebbe you wife she come bag agin unto you. How thad will be happy for you." "No, no, miss," sadly and hastily Hatton rejoined, "you see, miss, there was another woman in the case also, what the French call, miss: Shershy la Fam. I'm sorry, miss, but I'm only yuman, beggin' your pardon, miss." Sunny had assumed many of the duties that were previously Hatton's. The kitchenette was her especial delight. Here swathed in a long pongee smock, her sleeves rolled up, Sunny concocted some of those delectable dishes which her friends named variously: Sunny Syndicate Cocktail; Puree al la Sunny; Potatoes au Sunny; Sweet pickles par la Sunny, and so forth. Her thrift also cut down Jerry's bills considerably, and he was really so proud of her abilities in this line that he gave a special dinner to which he generously invited all three of their mutual friends, and announced at the table that the meal was entirely concocted by Sunny at a price inconceivably low. The piéce de resistance of this especial feast was a potato dish. Served in a casserole, it might at first sight have been taken for a glorified potatoes au gratin; but, no, when tasted it revealed its superior qualities. The flushed and pleased Sunny, sitting at the head of the table, and dishing out the third or fourth serving to her admiring friends, was induced to reveal to her friends of what the dish was composed. The revelation, it is regrettable to state, convulsed and disconcerted her friends so that they ceased to eat the previously much appreciated dish. Sunny proudly informed them that her dish was made up mainly of potato peelings, washed, minced and scrambled in a mess of odds and ends in the way of pieces of cheese, mushrooms, meat, and various vegetables garnered from plates of a recently wasteful meal. Her explanation caused such a profound silence for a moment, which was followed by uneasy and then unrepressed mirth, that she was disconcerted and distressed. Her friends consoled her by telling her that it didn't matter what she made dishes of; everything she did was exactly right, which made it a bit harder to explain that the shining pan under the kitchen sink was the proper receptacle for all leftovers on the plates. She was reconciled completely moreover, when Jerry assured her that the janitor was kicking over the empty dinner pails that she had been sending down the dumbwaiter. CHAPTER IX Sunny had certain traits that contributed largely to what seemed almost an unconscious conspiracy to rob Jerry Hammond of his peace of mind. There was a resemblance in her nature to a kitten. To maintain a proper decorum in his relations with his guest, Jerry was wont, when alone, to form the firm resolution to hold her at arm's length. This was far from being an easy matter. It was impossible for him to be in the room with Sunny and not sooner or later find her in touch with him. She had a habit of putting her hand into his. She slipped under his most rigid guard, and acquired a bad trick of pressing close to his side, and putting her arm through his. This was all very well when they took their long walks through the park or up and down Riverside Drive. She could not see the reason why if she could walk arm in arm with Jerry when they climbed on the top of one of the busses that rolled up the wonderful drive she should not continue linked with her friend. In fact, Sunny found it far more attractive and comfortable to drive arm in arm with Jerry than walk thus with him. For, when walking, she loved to rove off from the paths, to make acquaintance with the squirrels and the friendly dogs. Her near proximity, however, had its most dangerous effect in the charmed evenings these two spent together, too often, however, marred by the persistent calls of their mutual friends. At these times, Sunny had an uncanny trick of coming up at the back of Jerry, when that unconscious young man by the fireplace was off in a day dream (in which, by the way, in a vague way, herself was always a part), and resting her cheek upon the brown comfortable head, there to stay till her warm presence startled him into wakefulness, and he would explode one of his usual expressions of these days: "Don't do that, I say!" "Keep your hands off me, will you?" "Don't come so close." "Keep off--keep off, I say." "I don't like it." "For heaven's sake, Sunny, will nothing teach you civilised ways?" At these times Sunny always retired very meekly to a distant part of the room, where she would remain very still and crushed looking, and, shortly, Jerry, overcome with compunction, would coax her to a nearer proximity mentally and physically. Another disturbing trick which Jerry never had had the heart to ban was that of kneeling directly in front of him, her two hands upon his own knees. From this vantage point, with her friendly expressive and so lovely face raised to his, she would naïvely pour out to him her innocent confidences. After all, he savagely argued within himself, what harm in the world was there in a little girl kneeling by your side, and even laying her head, if it came down to that, at times upon a fellow's knee? It took a rotten mind to discover anything wrong with that, in the opinion of Jerry Hammond. However, there is a limit to all things, and that limit was reached on a certain evening in early spring, a dangerous season, as we all know. "If you give some people an inch they'll take a mile," Jerry at that time angrily muttered, the humour of the situation not at all appealing to him. He was going over a publication on Spanish Architecture, Catalonian work of the 14th and 15th centuries. Sunny was enjoying herself very innocently at the piano player, and Jerry should, as he afterwards admitted to himself, have "left well enough alone." However it be, nothing would do but he must summon Sunny to his side to share the pleasure of looking at these splendid examples of the magnificent work of the great Spanish architect Fabre. Now Sunny possessed, to an uncanny degree, that gift of understanding which is extremely rare with her sex. She possessed it, in fact, to such a fine degree, that nearly everyone who met her found himself pouring out the history of his life into her sympathetic and understanding little ear. There was something about her way of looking at one, a sort of hanging absorbedly upon one's narrative of their history, that assured the narrator that he not only had the understanding but the sympathy of his pretty listener. Jerry, therefore, summoned her from her diversions at the piano-player, which she hastened to leave, though the record was her favourite, "Gluhwormchen." Her murmuring exclamations above his shoulder revealed her instant enthusiasm and appreciation of just those details that Jerry knew would escape the less artistic eye of an ordinary person. She held pages open, to prolong the pleasure of looking at certain window traceries; she picked out easily the Geometrical Gothic type, and wanted Jerry's full explanation as to its difference to those of another period. Her little pink forefinger ever found points of interest in the sketches which made him chuckle with delight and pride. The value of Sunny's criticism and opinion, moreover, was enhanced by the fact that she conveyed to the young man her conviction, that while of course these were incredibly marvellous examples of the skill of ancient Spanish architects, they were not a patch on the work which J. Addison Hammond was going to do in the not far distant future. Though he protested against this with proper modesty, he was nevertheless beguiled and bewitched by the shining dream she called up. He had failed to note that she was perched on the arm of his chair, and that her head rested perilously near to his own. Possibly he would never have discovered this at all had not an accident occurred that sent Hatton, busy on some task or other about the studio, scurrying in undignified flight from the room, with his stony face covered with his hands. From the kitchen regions thereafter came the sound of suppressed clucks, which by this time could have been recognised as Hatton's laughter. What happened was this: At a moment when a turned leaf revealed a sketch of ravishing splendour, Sunny's breathless admiration, and Jerry's own motion of appreciation (one fist clapped into the palm of the other hand), caused Sunny to slip from the arm of the chair onto Jerry's knee. Jerry arose. To do him justice, he arose instantly, depositing both book and Sunny upon the floor. He then proceeded to read her such a savage lecture upon her pagan ways, that the evident effect was so instantly apparent on her, that he stopped midway, glared, stared at the crushed little figure, so tenderly closing the upset book, and then turned on his heel and made an ignominious and undignified exit from the room. "What's the use? What's the use?" demanded Jerry of the unresponsive walls. "Hang it all, this sort of thing has got to stop. What in Sam Hill is keeping that blamed Proff?" He always liked to imagine at these times that his faith was pinned upon the early coming of Professor Barrowes, when he was assured the hectic state of affairs in his studio would be clarified and Sunny disposed of once and forever. Sunny, however, had been nearly a month now in his studio, and in spite of a hundred telegrams to Professor Barrowes, demanding to know the exact time of his arrival, threatening moreover to hold back that $2,000 required to bring the dashed Dinornis from Red Deer, Alberta, Canada, to New York City, U. S. A., he got no satisfactory response from his old-time teacher. That monomaniac merely replied with letter-long telegrams--very expensive coming from the extreme northwestern part of Canada to New York City, giving more detailed information about the above mentioned Dinornis, or Dynosaurus, or whatever he called it, and explaining why more and more funds were required. It seems the Professor was tangled up in quite a serious dispute with the Canadian authorities. Some indignant English residents of Canada had aroused the alarm of Canadians, by pointing out that Dynosaureses were worth as much as radium, and that a mere Yankee should not be permitted to carry off those fossilized bones of the original inhabitants of Canada, which ought, instead, to be donated to the noble English nation across the sea. As Jerry paced his floor he paused to reread the words of the motto recently pinned upon his wall, and, of course, it was as follows: "Honi soit qui mal y pense." That was enough for Jerry. There was no question of the fact that he had been "a pig and a brute," terms often in these days applied by himself to himself. Sunny was certainly not to be blamed for the accident of slipping from the arm of his chair. True, he had already told her that she was not to sit on that arm, but that was a minor matter, and there was no occasion for his making a "mountain out of a molehill." Having arrived at the conclusion that, as usual, he, not Sunny, was the one to blame, it was in the nature of Jerry that he should hurriedly descend to admit his fault. Downstairs, therefore again, and into the now empty studio. Sounds came from the direction of the kitchen that were entirely too sweet to belong to the "pie-faced" Hatton, whose disgusting recent mirth might mean the loss of his job, ominously thought Jerry. In the kitchen Sunny was discovered on her knees with her lips close to a small hole in the floor in the corner of the room. She was half whistling, half whispering, and she was scattering something into and about that hole, which had been apparently cut out with a vegetable knife, that looked very much like cheese and breadcrumbs. Presently the amazed Jerry saw first one and then another tiny face appear at that hole, and there then issued forth a full-fledged family of the mouse species, young and old, large and small, male and female. The explanation of the previously inexplicable appearance in the studio of countless mice was now perfectly clear, and the guiltlessness of that accused janitor made visible. Jerry's ward had been feeding and cultivating mice! At his exclamation, she arose reproachfully, the mice scampering back into their hole. "Oh!" said Sunny, regret, not guilt, visible on her face, "you are fright away my honourable mice, and thas hees time eat on hees dinner." She put the rest of her crumbs into the hole, and called down coaxingly to her pets that breakfast would be ready next day. "You mustn't feed mice, you little fool!" burst from Jerry. "They'll be all over the house. They are now. Everybody in the building's kicking about it." "Honourable mice very good animals," said Sunny with conviction. "Mebbe some you and my ancestor are mice now. You kinnod tell 'bout those. Mice got very honourable history ad Japan. I am lig' them very much." "That'll do. Don't say another word. I'll fix 'em. Hi! you, Hatton! Doggone you, you must have known about this." "Very sorry, sir, but orders from you, sir, was to allow Miss Sunny to have her way in the kitchen, sir. 'Hi tries to obey you, sir, and 'hi 'adn't the 'eart to deprive Miss Sunny of her honly pets, sir. She's honly yuman, sir, and being alone 'hall day, so young, sir, 'as 'ankerings for hinnocent things to play with." "That'll do, Hatton. Nail up that hole. Get busy." Nevertheless, Hatton's words sunk into the soul of Jerry. To think that even the poor working man was kinder to little Sunny than was he! He ignored the fact that as Hatton nailed tin over the guilty hole his shoulders were observed to be shaking, and those spasmodic clucks emanated at intervals also from him. In fact, Hatton, in these days, had lost all his previously polished composure. That is to say, at inconvenient moments, he would burst into this uncontrollable clucking, as for instance, when waiting on table, observing a guest devouring some special edible concocted by Sunny, he retired precipitately from service at the table to the kitchen, to be discovered there by the irate Jerry, who had followed him, sitting on a chair with tears running down his cheeks. To the threatened kicking if he didn't get up and behave himself, Hatton returned: "Oh, sir, hi ham honly yuman, and the gentleman was ravim' so about them 'spinnuges,' sir, has 'ees hafter calling them." "Well, what are they then?" demanded Jerry. "Them's weeds, sir," whispered Hatton wiping his eyes. "Miss Sunny, I seen her diggin' them up in the lot across the way, and she come up the fire escape with them in 'er petticoat, sir, and she 'ad four cats in the petticoat also, sir. She's feedin' arf the population of cats in this neighbourhood, sir." Jerry had been only irritated at that time. He knew that Sunny's "weeds" were perfectly edible and far more toothsome in fact than mere spinach. Trust her Japanese knowledge to know what was what in the vegetable kingdom. However, mice were a more serious matter. There was an iron clad rule in the building that no live stock of any kind, neither dogs, cats, parrots, or birds or reptiles of any description, (babies included in the ban) were to be lodged on these de luxe premises. Still, as Jerry watched Sunny's brimming eyes, the eyes of one who sees her dear friends imprisoned and doomed to execution, while Hatton nailed the tin over the holes, he felt extremely mean and cruel. "I'm awfully sorry, Sunny, old scout," he said, "but you know we can't possibly have _mice_ on the place. Now if it were something like--like, well a dog, for instance----" "I _are_ got a nize dog," said Sunny, beginning to smile through her tears. Apprehension instantly replaced the compunction on Jerry's face--apprehension that turned to genuine horror, however, when Sunny opened the window onto the fire escape, and showed him a large grocer's box, upholstered and padded with a red article that looked suspiciously like a Japanese petticoat. Digging under this padded silk, Sunny brought forth the yellowest, orneriest, scurviest and meanest-looking specimen of the dog family that it had ever been Jerry's misfortune to see. She caught this disreputable object to her breast, and nestled her darling little chin against the wriggling head, that persisted in ducking up to release a long red tongue that licked her face with whines of delight and appreciation. "Sunny! For the love of Mike! Where in the name of all the pagan gods and goddesses of Japan did you get that god-forsaken mutt from? If you wanted a dog, why in Sam Hill didn't you tell me, and I'd have gotten you a regular dog--if they'd let me in the house." "Jerry, he are a regular dog also. I buyed him from the butcher gentleman, who was mos' kind, and he charge me no moaney for those dog, bi-cause he are say he are poor mans, and those dog came off those street and eat him up those sausage. So that butcher gentleman he are sell him to me, and he are my own dog, and I are love my Itchy mos' bes' of all dogs." And she hugged her little cur protectingly to her breast, her bright eyes with the defiant look of a little mother at bay. "Itchy!" "Thad are my dog's name. The butcher gentleman, he say he are scratch on his itch all those time, so I are name him Itchy. Also I are cure on those itch spot, for I are wash him every day, and now he are so clean he got only two flea left on his body." "By what process of mathematics, will you tell me, did you arrive at the figure of two?" demanded the stunned young man, thrusting his two fists deep into his pocket and surveying Sunny and the aforesaid dog as one might curious specimens in the Bronx zoo. "Two? Two flea?" Sunny passed her hand lovingly and sympathetically over her dog's yellow body, and replied so simply that even an extremely dense person would have been able to answer that arithmetic problem. "He are scratch him in two place only." Jerry threw back his head and burst into immoderate laughter. He laughed so hard that he was obliged to sit down on a chair, while Hatton on the floor sat down solidly also, and desisted with his hammering. Jerry's mirth having had full sway, hands in pocket he surveyed Sunny, as, lovingly, she returned her protesting cur to its silken retreat. "Sunny! Sunny!" said Jerry, shaking his head. "You'll be the death of me yet." Sunny regarded him earnestly at that. "No, Jerry, do not say those. I are not want to make you death. Thas very sad--for die." "What are we going to do about it? They'll never let you keep a dog here. Against the rules." "No, no, it are no longer 'gainst those rule. I are speag wiz the janitor gentleman, and he are say: 'Thas all ride, seein' it's you!'" "He did, did he? Got around him too, did you? You'll have the whole place demoralised if you keep on." "I are also speag ad those landlord," confessed Sunny innocently, "bi-cause he are swear on those janitor gentleman, account someone ad these house are spik to him thad I are got dog. And thad landlord gentleman he come up here ad these studio, and I show him those dog, and he say he are nize dog, and thad those fire escape he is not _inside_. So I nod break those rule, and he go downstairs spik ad those lady mek those complain, and he say he doan keer if she dam clear out this house. He doan lig' her which even." Jerry threw up his hands. "You win, Sunny! Do as you like. Fill the place full if you want to. There's horses and cows to be had if they strike your fancy, and the zoo is full of other kind of live stock. Take your choice." Sunny, indeed, did proceed to take her choice. It is true she did not bring horses and cows and wild animals into Jerry's apartment; but she passed the word to her doting friends, and in due time the inmates of that duplex apartment made quite a considerable family, with promise of early increase. There was besides Itchy, Count and Countess Taguchi, overfed canaries, who taught Sunny a new kind of whistle; Mr. and Mrs. Satsuma, goldfish who occupied an ornate glass and silver dish, fern and rock lined donated by Jinx, and Miss Spring Morning, a large Persian cat, whom Sunny named after her old friend of the teahouse of a Thousand Joys, but whose name should have been Mr. Spring Morning. It was a very happy family indeed, and in time the master of the house became quite accustomed to the pets (pests he called them at first), and had that proud feeling moreover of the contented man of family. He often fed the Satsumas and Taguchis himself, and actually was observed to scratch the head of Itchy, who in these days penetrated into the various rooms of the apartment (Sunny having had especial permission from the janitor gentleman) so long as his presence was noiseless. He wore on his scrawny neck a fine leather and gilt collar that Monty sent all the way to Philadelphia to get for Sunny, thereby earning the bitter resentment of his kid brother, who considered that collar his by rightful inheritance from Monty's own recent kid days. Monty's remorse upon "swiping" said collar was shortlived, however, for Sunny's smile and excitement and the fun they had putting it on Itchy more than compensated for any bitter threats of an unreasonable kid brother. Besides Monty brought peace in that disturbed direction by sending the younger Potter a brand new collar, not, it is true, of the history of the one taken, but much more shiny and semi-adjustable. CHAPTER X On the 20th of April, Sunny's friend, "Mr. dear Monty" as she called him (J. Lamont Potter, Jr., was his real name), obtained an indefinite leave of absence from the hospital, and called upon Sunny in the absence of Jerry Hammond. He came directly to the object of his call almost as soon as Sunny admitted him. While indeed she was assisting him to remove that nice, loosely hanging taupe coloured spring coat, that looked so well on Monty, he swung around, as his arms came out of his coat sleeves, and made Sunny an offer of his heart and soul. These the girl very regretfully refused. Follows the gist of Sunny's remarks in rejection of the offer: "Monty, I do not wan' gettin' marry wiz you jos yet, bi-cause you are got two more year to worg on those hospital; then you are got go unto those John Hoppakins for post--something kind worg also. Then you are go ad those college and hospital in Hy----" She tried to say Heidelberg, but the word was too much for her, and he broke in impetuously: "Listen, Sunny, those _were_ my plans, but everything's changed now, since I met you. I've decided to cut it all out and settle down and marry. I've got my degree, and can hang out my shingle. We'll have to economize a bit at first, because the governor, no doubt, will cut me out for doing this; but I'm not in swaddling clothes, and I'll do as I like. So what do you say, Sunny?" "I say, thas nod ride do those. Your honourable father, he are spend plenty moany for you, and thas unfilial do lig' thad. I thang you, Monty, but I are sawry I kinnod do lig' you ask." "But look here, Sunny, there are whole heaps of fellows--dubs who never go beyond taking their degree, who go to practising right away, and I can do as they do, as far as that goes, and with you I should worry whether I go up in medicine or not." "But, Monty, I _wan_ see you go up--Ho! up, way high to those top. Thas mos' bes' thing do for gentleman. I do nod lig' man who stay down low on ground. Thas nod nize. I do nod wan' make marry wiz gentleman lig' those." "We-el, I suppose I could go on with the work and study. If I did, would you wait for me? Would you, Sunny?" "I do not know, Monty. How I kin see all those year come?" "Well, but you can promise me, can't you?" "No, Monty, bi-cause mebbe I goin' die, and then thas break promise. Thas not perlite do lig' those." "Pshaw! There's no likelihood at all of your dying. You're awfully healthy. Anyone can see it by your colouring. By jove, Sunny, you have the prettiest complexion of any girl I've ever seen. Your cheeks are just like flowers. Die! You're bugs to think of it even. So you are perfectly safe in promising." "We-el, then I promise that mebbe after those five, six year when you are all troo, _if_ I are not marry wiz someone else, then I go _consider_ marry wiz you, Monty." This gracious speech was sweetened by an engaging smile, and Monty, believing that "half a loaf is better than no loaf" showed his pleasure, though his curiosity prompted him to make anxious inquiry as to possible rivals. "Bobs asked you yet?" "No--not yet." "You wouldn't take him if he did, would you, Sunny?" "No. Not yet." "Or any time. Say that." Sunny laughed. "Any time, Monty." "And Jinx? What about Jinx?" "He are always my good friend." "You wouldn't marry him, would you?" "No. I are lig' him as frien'." Monty pursued no further. He knew of the existence of Jerry's Miss Falconer. Dashed, but not hopeless Monty withdrew. That was on the 20th of April. Bob's proposal followed on the 22nd. He inveigled Sunny into accompanying him to his polished and glorified flat, which was presided over by an ample bosomed and smiling "mammy" whom Bobs had especially imported from the sunny South. His guest, having exclaimed and enthused over the really cosy and bright little flat, Bobs, with his fine, clever face aglow, asked her to share it with him. The request frightened Sunny. She had exhausted considerable of her stock of excuses against matrimony to Monty, and she did not want to see that look of hope fade from Mr. dear Bobs' face. "Oh, Bobs, I are _thad_ sorry, but me? I do not wan make marry jos yet. Please you waid for some udder day when mebbe perhaps I go change those mind." "It's all right, Sunny." Bobs took his medicine like a man, his clean cut face slightly paling, as he followed with a question the lightness of which did not deceive the distressed Sunny: "You're not engaged to anyone else, are you, Sunny?" "Emgaged? What are those, Bobs?" "You haven't promised any other lucky dog that you'll marry him, have you?" "No-o." Sunny shook her bright head. "No one are ask me yet, 'cept Monty, and I are say same ting to him." "Good!" Bobs beamed through his disappointment on her. "While there's life there's hope, you know." He felt that Jinx's chances were slim, and he, too, knew of Miss Falconer and Jerry. Sunny, by no means elated by her two proposals, confided in Hatton, and received sage advice: "Miss Sunny, Hi'm not hin a position exactly to advise you, and hits 'ardly my place, miss, but so long as you hasks my hadvice, I gives it you grattus. Now Mr. Potter, 'ees a trifle young for matrimunny, miss--a trifle young, and Mr. Mapson, I 'ear that 'ees not got hany too much money, and hits a beggarly profession 'ees followin', miss. I 'ave 'eard this from Mr. Jerry's hown folks, 'oo more than once 'as cast haspirations against Mr. Jerry's friends, but hi takes it that wot they're sayin' comes near to the truth habout the newspaper as a perfession, miss. Now there's Mr. Crawford, Miss----" Hatton's voice took on both a respectful and a confidential tone as he came to Jinx. "Now, Hi flatters myself that Hi'm some judge of yuman nature, miss, and I make bold to say, hif I may, miss, that Mr. Crawford his about halso to pop the 'appy question to you, miss. Now, hif hi was hin your place, miss, 'ees the gentleman hi'd be after 'ooking. His people hare of the harristocrissy of Hamerica--so far, miss, as Hamerica can 'ave harristocrissy--and Mr. Crawford his the hair to a varst fortune, miss. There's no telling to wot 'eights you might climb if you buckles up with Mr. Crawford, Miss." "Ho! Hatton, I lig' all those my frien' jos same. Me? I would lig' marry all those, but I kinnod do." "'Ardly, miss, 'ardly. Hamerica is 'ardly a pollagamous country, though 'hit his the 'ome of the Mormon people." "Mormon?" "A church, miss; a sex of people wots given to pollagummy, which is, I takes it, too 'ard and big a word for you, miss, bein' a forriner, to hunderstand, so hi'll explain a bit clearer, miss. The Mormon people hacquire several wives, some helders 'avin' the reputation of bein' in the class with hour hown King 'Enry the Heighth, and worse, miss,--with Solomon 'imself, I 'ave 'eard it said." "Ho-h-a-!" said Sunny thoughtfully. "Thad is very nize--those Mormon. Thas lig' Japanese emperor. Some time he got lots wife." Hatton wiped the sweat from his brow. He had gotten upon a subject somewhat beyond his depths, and the young person before him rather scandalised his ideas of what a young lady's views on such matters should be. He had hoped to shock Sunny somewhat. Instead she sighed with an undeniably envious accent as he told her of the reprehensible Mormons. After a moment she asked very softly: "Hatton, mebbe Jerry ask me those same question." Hatton turned his back, and fussed with the dishes in the sink. He too knew about Miss Falconer. "'Ardly, miss, 'ardly." "Why not, Hatton?" "If you'll pardon me, I 'ave a great deal of work before me. Hi'm in a 'urry. 'Ave you fed the Count and Countess Taguchi, may I ask, miss." "Hatton, _if_ a man _not_ ask girl to make marry wiz him, what she can do?" "Well now, miss, you got me there. Has far as Hi'm hable to see personally, miss, there haren't nothing left for 'er to do except wait for the leap year." "Leap year? What are those, Hatton?" "A hodd year, miss--comes just in so often, miss, due to come next year, halso. When the leap year comes, miss, then the ladies do the popping--they harsks the 'appy question, miss." "O-h-h-! Thas very nize. I wish it are leap year now," said Sunny wistfully. "Hit'll come, miss. Hit's on hit's way. A few months and then the ladies' day will dawn," and Hatton, moving about with cheer, clucked at the thought. CHAPTER XI A week after Bobs proposed to Sunny, Jinx, shining like the rising sun by an especially careful grooming administered by his valet, a flower adorning his lapel, and a silk hat topping his head, with a box of chocolates large enough to hold an Easter bonnet in his hand, and a smaller box of another kind in his vest pocket, presented himself at Jerry Hammond's studio. Flowers preceded and followed this last of Sunny's ardent suitors. He was received by a young person arrayed in a pink pongee smock, sleeves rolled up, revealing a pair of dimpled arms, hair in distracting disorder, and a little nose on which seductively perched a blotch of flour, which the infatuated Jinx was requested to waft away with his silken handkerchief. Sunny's cheeks were flushed from close proximity to that gas stove, and her eyes were bright with the warfare which she waged incessantly upon the aforesaid honourable stove. In the early days of her appearance at the studio--by the way, she had been domiciled there a whole month--Sunny's operations at the gas stove had had disastrous results. Her attempt to boil water by the simple device of turning on the gas, as she did the electric light was alarming in its odorous effects, but her efforts to blow out the oven was almost calamitous, and caused no end of excitement, for it singed her hair and eyebrows and scorched an arm that required the persistent and solicitous attention of her four friends, a doctor and the thoroughly agitated Hatton, on whose head poured the full vials of Jerry's wrath and blame. In fact, this accident almost drove Hatton to desert what he explained to Sunny was the "water wagon." After that Sunny was strictly ordered by Jerry to keep out of the kitchen. Realising, however, that she could not be trusted on that score, he took half a day off from the office, and gave her a full course of instruction in the mysteries and works of said gas stove. It should be assumed therefore that by this time Sunny should have acquired at least a primary knowledge of the stove. Not so, however. She never lit the oven but she threw salt about to propitiate the oni (goblin) which she was sure had its home somewhere in that strange fire, and she hesitated to touch any of the levers once the fire was lit. Most of the dishes created by Sunny were more or less under the eye of Hatton, but on this day Hatton had stepped out to the butcher's. Therefore Jinx's arrival was hailed by Sunny with appreciation and relief, and she promptly lead the happy fellow to the kitchen and solicited his advice. Now Jinx, the son of the plutocratic rich, had never been inside a kitchen since his small boyhood, and then his recollection of said portion of the house was of a vast white place, where tiles and marble and white capped cooks prevailed, and small boys were chuckled over or stared at and whispered about. The dimensions of Sunny's kitchen were about seven by nine feet, and it is well to mention at this moment that the room registered 95 degrees Fahrenheit. Jinx weighed two hundred and forty-five pounds, stripped. His emotions, his preparations, his hurry to enter the presence of his charmer, to say nothing of a volcanic heart, all contributed to add to the heat and discomfort of the fat young man down whose ruddy cheeks the perspiration rolled. Jinx had come upon a mission that in all times in the history of the world, subsequent to cave days, has called for coolness, tact, and as attractive a physical seeming as it is possible to attain. Sunny drew her friend along to that gas stove, kneeled on the floor, making room for him to kneel beside her--no easy "stunt" for a fat man--opened the lower door and revealed to him the jets on full blaze. Jinx shook his head. The problem was beyond him, but even as his head shook he sniffed a certain fragrant odour that stole directly to a certain point in Jinx's anatomy that Sunny would quaintly have designated as his "honourable insides." The little kitchen, despite its heat, contained in that oven, Jinx knew, that which was more attractive than anything the cool studio could offer. Seating himself heavily on a frail kitchen chair, which creaked ominously under his weight, Jinx awaited hopefully what he felt sure was soon to follow. In due time Sunny opened the upper door of the oven, withdrew two luscious looking pans of the crispest brown rice cakes, plentifully besprinkled with dates and nuts and over which she dusted powdered sugar, and passing by the really suffering Jinx she transferred the pans to the window ledge, saying with a smile: "When he are cool, I giving you one, Jinx." Wiping her hands on the roller towel, she had Jinx pull the smock over her head, and revealed her small person in blue taffeta frock, which Jinx himself had had the honour of choosing for her. Unwillingly, and with one longing backward look at those cakes, Jinx followed Sunny into the studio. Here, removed from the intoxicating effects of that kitchen, Sunny having his full attention again, he came to the object of his call. Jinx sat forward on the edge of his chair, and his round, fat face looked so comically like the man in the moon's that Sunny could not forbear smiling at him affectionately. "Ho! Jinx, how you are going to lig' those cake when he is getting cold." Jinx liked them hot just as well. However, he was not such a gourmand that mere rice and date cakes could divert him from the purpose of his call. He sighed so deeply and his expression revealed such a condition of melancholy appeal that Sunny, alarmed, moved over and took his face up in her hand, examining it like a little doctor, head cocked on one side. "Jinx, you are sick? What you are eat? Show me those tongue!" "Aw, it's nothing, Sunny--nothing to do with my tongue. It's--it's--just a little heart trouble, Sunny." "Heart! That are bad place be sick! You are ache on him, Mr. dear Jinx?" "Ye-eh--some." "I sawry! How I are sawry! You have see doctor." "You're the only doctor I need." Which was true enough. It was surprising the healing effects upon Jinx's aching heart of the solicitous and sympathetic hovering about him of Sunny. "Oh, Jinx, I go at those telephone ride away, get him Mr. Doctor here come. I 'fraid mebbe you more sick than mebbe you know." "No, no--never mind a doctor." Jinx held her back by force. "Look-a-here, Sunny, I'll tell you just what's the matter with my heart. I'm--I'm--in love!" "Oh--love. I have hear those word bi-fore, but I have never feel him," said Sunny wistfully. "You'll feel it some day all right," groaned Jinx. "And you'll know it too when you've got it." "Ad Japan nobody--love. Thas not nize word speag ad Japan." "Gosh! it's the nicest word in the language in America. You can't help speaking it. You can't help feeling it. When you're in love, Sunny, you think day and night and every hour and minute and second of the day of the same person. That's love, Sunny." "Ah!" whispered Sunny, her eyes very bright and dewey, "I are _know_ him then!" And she stood with that rapt look, scarcely hearing Jinx, and brought back to earth only when he took her hand, and clung to it with both his own somewhat flabby ones. "Sunny, I'm head over heels in love with you. Put me out of my misery. Say you'll be Mrs. Crawford, and you'll see how quickly this old bunged up heart of mine will heal." "Oh, Jinx, you are ask _me_ to make marry wiz you?" "You bet your life I am. Gosh! I've got an awful case on you, Sunny." "Ho! I sawry I kinnod do thad to-day. I am not good ad my healt'. Axscuse me. Mebbe some odder day I do so." "Any day will do. Any day that suits you, if you'll just give me your promise--if you'll just be engaged to me." "Engaged?" Bobs had already explained to her what that meant, but she repeated it to gain time. "Why, yes--don't they have engagements in Japan?" "No. Marriage broker go ad girl's father and boy's father and make those marriage." "Well, this is a civilised land. We do things right here. You're a lucky girl to have escaped from Japan. Here, in this land, we first get engaged, say for a week or month or even a year--only a short time will do for you and me, Sunny--and then, well, we marry. How about it?" Sunny considered the question from several serious angles, very thoughtful, very much impressed. "Jinx, I do nod like to make marriage, bi-cause thas tie me up wiz jos one frien' for hosban'." "But you don't want more than one husband?" Jinx remembered hearing somewhere that the Japanese were a polygamous nation, but he thought that only applied to the favoured males of the race. "No--O thas very nize for Mormon man I am hear of, bud----" "Not fit for a woman," warmly declared Jinx. "All I ask of you, Sunny, is that you'll promise to marry me. If you'll do that, you'll make me the happiest bug in these United States. I'll be all but looney, and that's a fact." "I sawry, Jinx, but me? I kinnod do so." Jinx relapsed into a state of the darkest gloom. Looking out from the depths of the big, soft overstuffed chair, he could see not a gleam of light, and presently groaned: "I suppose if I weren't such a mass of flesh and fat, I might stand a show with you. It's hell to be fat, I'll tell the world." "Jinx, I lig' those fat. It grow nize on you. And _pleass_ do not loog so sad on you face. Wait, I go get you something thas goin' make you look smile again." She disappeared into the kitchen, returning with the whole platter of cookies, still quite warm, and irresistibly odorous and toothsome looking. Jinx, endeavouring to refuse, had to close his eyes to steady him in his resolve, but he could not close his nose, nor his mouth either, when Sunny thrust one of the delicious pieces into his mouth. She wooed him back to a semi-normal condition by feeding him crisp morsels of his favourite confection, nor was it possible to resist something that pushed against one's mouth, and once having entered that orifice revealed qualities that appealed to the very best in one's nature. Jinx was not made of the Spartan stuff of heroes, and who shall blame him if nature chose to endow him with a form of rich proportions that included "honourable insides" whose capacity was unlimited. So, till the very last cooky, and a sense of well being and fulness, the sad side of life pushed aside _pro tem_, Jinx was actually able to smile indulgently at the solicitous Sunny. She clapped her hands delightedly over her success. Jinx's fingers found their way to his vest pocket. He withdrew a small velvet box, and snapped back the lid. Silently he held it toward Sunny. Her eyes wide, she stared at it with excited rapture. "Oh-h! Thas mos' beautifullest thing I are ever see." Never, in fact, had her eyes beheld anything half so lovely as that shining platinum work of art with its immense diamond. "Just think," said Jinx huskily, "if you say the word, you can have stones like that covering you all over." "All over!" She made an expressive motion of her hands which took in all of her small person. Melancholy again clouded Jinx's face. After all, he did not want Sunny to marry him for jewelry. "I tell you what you do, Sunny. Wear this for me, will you? Wear it for a while, anyway, and then when you decide finally whether you'll have me or not, keep it or send it back, as you like." He had slipped the ring onto the third finger of Sunny's left hand, and holding that had made him a bit bolder. Sunny, unsuspecting and sympathetic, let her hand rest in his, the ring up, where she could admire it to her heart's content. "Look a here, Sunny, will you give me a kiss, then--just one. The ring's worth that, isn't it?" Sunny retreated hurriedly, almost panically? "Oh, Jinx, please you excuse me to-day, bi-cause I _lig'_ do so, but Mr. Hatton he are stand ad those door and loog on you." "Damn Hatty!" groaned Jinx bitterly, and with a sigh that heaved his big breast aloft, he picked up his hat and cane, and ponderously moved toward the door. In the lower hall of the studio apartment, who should the crestfallen Jinx encounter but his old-time friend, Jerry Hammond, returning from his eight hours' work at the office. His friend's greeting was both curt and cold, and there was no mistaking that look of dislike and disapproval that the frowning face made no effort to disguise. "Here again, Jinx. Better move in," was Jerry's greeting. Jinx muttered something inarticulate and furious, and for a fat man he made quick time across the hall and out into the street, where he climbed with a heavy heart into the great roadster, which he had fondly hoped might also carry Sunny with him upon a prolonged honeymoon. CHAPTER XII Sunny poured Jerry's tea with a hand turned ostentatiously in a direction that revealed to his amazed and indignant eye that enormous stone of fire that blazed on the finger of Sunny's left hand. His appetite, always excellent, failed him entirely, and after conquering the first surge of impulses that were almost murderous, he lapsed into an ominous silence, which no guile nor question from the girl at the head of his table could break. A steady, a cold, a biting glare, a murmured monosyllabic reply was all the response she received to her amiable overtures. His ill temper, moreover, reached out to the inoffensive Hatton, whom he ordered to clear out, and stay out, and if it came down to that get out altogether, rather than hang around snickering in that way. Thus Jerry revealed a side to his character hitherto unsuspected by Sunny, though several rumblings and barks from the "dog in the manger" would have apprized one less innocent than she. They finished that meal--or rather Sunny did--in silence electric with coming strife. Then Jerry suddenly left the table, strode into the little hall, took down his hat and coat, and was about to go, heaven knows where, when Sunny, at his elbow, sought to restrain him by force. She took his sleeve and tenaciously held to it, saying: "Jerry, do not go out these night. I are got some news I lig' tell to you." "Let go my arm. I'm not interested in your news. I've a date of my own." "But Jerry----" "I say, let go my arm, will you?" The last was said in a rising voice, as he reached the crest of irritation, and jerking his sleeve so roughly from her clasp, he accomplished the desired freedom, but the look on Sunny's face stayed with him all the way down those apartment stairs--he ignored the elevator--and to the door of the house. There he stopped short, and without more ado, retraced his steps, sprang up the stairs in a great hurry, and jerking open his door again, Jerry returned to his home. He discovered Sunny curled on the floor, with her head buried in the seat of his favourite chair--the one occupied that afternoon by the mischief-making Jinx. "Sunny! I'm awfully sorry I was such a beast. Say, little girl, look here, I'm not myself. I don't know what I'm doing." Sunny slowly lifted her face, revealing to the relieved but indignant Jerry a face on which it is true there were traces of a tear or two, but which nevertheless smiled at him quite shamelessly and even triumphantly. Jerry felt foolish, and he was divided between a notion to remain at home with the culprit--she had done nothing especially wrong, but he felt that she was to blame for something or other--or follow his first intention of going out for the night--just where, he didn't know--but anywhere would do to escape the thought that had come to him--the thought of Sunny's probable engagement to Jinx. However, Sunny gave him no time to debate the matter of his movements for the evening. She very calmly assisted him to remove his coat, hung up his hat, and when she had him comfortably ensconced in his favourite chair, had herself lit his pipe and handed it to him, she drew up a stool and sat down in front of his knees, just as if, in fact, she was entirely guiltless of an engagement of which Jerry positively did not intend to approve. Her audacity, moreover, was such that she did not hesitate to lay her left hand on Jerry's knee, where he might get the full benefit of the radiant light from that ring. He looked at it, set down his pipe on the stand at his elbow, and stirred in that restless way which portends hasty arising, when Sunny: "Jerry, Jinx are come to-day to ask me make marriage with him." "The big stiff. I pity any girl that has to go through life with that fathead." "Ho! I are always lig' thad fat grow on Jinx. It look very good on him. I are told him so." "Matter of taste of course," snarled Jerry, fascinated by the twinkling of that ring in spite of himself, and feeling at that moment an emotion that was dangerously like hatred for the girl he had done so much for. "Monty and Bobs are also ask me marry wiz them." Sunny dimpled quite wickedly at this, but Jerry failed to see any humour in the matter. He said with assumed loftiness: "Well, well, proposals raining down on you in every direction. Your janitor gentleman and landlord asked you too?" "No-o, not yit, but those landlord are say he lig' take me for ride some nize days on his car ad those park." "The hell he did!" Jerry sat up with such a savage jerk at this that he succeeded in upsetting the innocent hand resting so confidingly upon his knee. "Who asked him around here anyway?" demanded Jerry furiously. "Just because he owns this building doesn't mean he has a right to impose himself on the tenants, and I'll tell him so damn quick." "But, Jerry, _I_ are ask him come up here. Itchy fall down on those fire escape, and he are making so much noise on this house when he cry, that everybody who live on this house open those windows on court, and I are run down quick on those fire escape and everybody also run out see what's all those trouble. Then I am cry so hard, bi-cause I are afraid Itchy are hurt himself too bad, bi-cause he also are cry very loud." Sunny lifted her nose sky-ward, illustrating how the dog's cries had emanated from him. "So then, everybody _very_ kind at me and Itchy, and the janitor gentleman carry him bag ad these room, and the landlord gentleman say thas all ride henceforth I have thad little dog live wiz me ad these room also. He say it is very hard for liddle girl come from country way off be 'lone all those day, and mebbe some day he take me and Itchy for ride ad those park. So I are say, 'Thang you, I will like go vaery much, thang you.'" "Well, make up your mind to it, you're not going, do you understand? I'll have no landlords taking you riding in any parks." Having delivered this ultimatum as viciously as the circumstances called for, Jerry leaned back in pretended ease and awaited further revelations from Sunny. "--but," went on Sunny, as if finishing a sentence, "that landlord gentleman are not also ask me marry wiz him, Jerry. He already got big wife. I are see her. She are so big as Jinx, and she smile on me very kind, and say she have hear of me from her hosban', that I am very lonely girl from Japan, and thas very sad for me, and she goin' to take those ride wiz me also." "Hm!" Jerry felt ashamed of himself, but he did not propose to reveal it, especially when that little hand had crept back to its old place on his knee, and the diamond flaunted brazenly before his gaze. Nobody but a "fat-head" would buy a diamond of that size anyway, was Jerry's opinion. There was something extremely vulgar about diamonds. They were not nearly as pretty as rubies or emeralds or even turquoise, and Jerry had never liked them. Of course, Miss Falconer, like every other girl, had to have her diamond, and Jerry recalled with irritation how, as a sophomore, he had purchased that first diamond. He neither enjoyed the expedition nor the memory of it. Jinx's brazen ring made him think of Miss Falconer's. However, the thought of Miss Falconer was, for some reason or other, distasteful to Jerry in these days, and, moreover, the girl before him called for his full attention as usual. "So you decided on Jinx, did you? Bobs and Monty in the discard and the affluent fat and fair Jinx the winner." "Jerry, I are _prefer_ marry all my friends, but I say 'no' to each one of those." "What are you wearing Jinx's ring for then?" "Bi-cause it are loog nize on my hands, and he _ask_ me wear it there." New emotions were flooding over the contrite Jerry. Something was racing like champagne through his veins, and he suddenly realised how "damnably jolly" life was after all. Still, even though Sunny had admitted that no engagement existed between her and Jinx, there was that ring. Poor little girl! A fellow had to teach her all of the western conventions, she was that innocent and simple. "Sunny, you don't want to wear a fellow's ring unless you intend to marry him, don't you understand that? The ring means that you are promised to him, do you get me?" "No! But I _are_ promise to Jinx. I are promise that I will consider marry him some day if I do not marry some other man I _wan'_ ask me also." "Another man. Who----?" Sunny's glance directed full upon him left nothing to the imagination. Jerry's heart began to thump in a manner that alarmed him. "Jerry," said Sunny, "I going to wear Jinx's ring _until_ that man also asking me. I _wan_ him do so, bi-cause I are lig' him mos' bes' of all my frien'. I think----" She had both of her hands on his knees now, and was leaning up looking so wistfully into his face that he tried to avert his own gaze. In spite of the lump that rose in his throat, in spite of the frantic beating of his heart, Jerry did not ask the question that the girl was waiting to hear. After a moment, she said gently: "Jerry, Hatty are tell me that nex' year he are come a Leap. Then, he say, thas perlite for girl ask man make marriage wiz her. Jerry, _I_ are goin' to wait till those year of Leap are come, and then, me? I are goin' ask _you_ those question." For one thrilling moment there was a great glow in the heart of Jerry Hammond, and then his face seemed suddenly to turn grey and old. His voice was husky and there was a mist before his eyes. "Sunny, I must tell you--Sunny, I--I--am already engaged to be married to an American girl--a girl my people want me to marry. I've been engaged to her since my eighteenth year. I--_don't_ look at me like that, Sunny, or----" The girl's head dropped to the level of the floor, her hands slipping helplessly from his knees. She seemed all in a moment to become purely Japanese. There was that in her bowed head that was strangely reminiscent of some old and vanished custom of her race. She did not raise her head, even as she spoke: "I wishin' you ten thousand year of joy. Sayonara for this night." * * * * * Sunny had left him alone. Jerry felt the inability to stir. He stared into the dying embers of his fire with the look of one who has seen a vision that has disappeared ere he could sense its full significance. It seemed at that moment to Jerry as if everything desirable and precious in life were within reach, but he was unable to seize it. It was like his dream of beauty, ever above, but beyond man's power to completely touch. Sunny was like that, as fragile, as elusive as beauty itself. The thought of his having hurt Sunny tore his heart. She had aroused in him every impulse that was chivalrous. The longing to guard and cherish her was paramount to all other feelings. What was it Professor Barrowes had warned him of? That he should refrain from taking the bloom from the rose. Had he, then, all unwittingly, injured little Sunny? Mechanically, Jerry went into the hall, slowly put his hat on his head and passed out into the street. He walked up and down 67th Street and along Central Park West to 59th Street, retracing his steps three times to the studio building, and turning back again. His mind was in a chaos, and he knew not what to do. Only one clear purpose seemed to push through the fog, the passionate determination to care for Sunny. She came first of all. Indeed she occupied the whole of his thought. The claim of the girl who had waited for him seven years seemed of minor importance when compared with the claim of the girl he loved. The disinclination to hurt another had kept him from breaking an engagement that had never been of his own desire, but now Jerry knew there could be no more evasions. The time had come when he must face the issue squarely. His sense of honour demanded that he make a clean breast of the entire matter to Miss Falconer. He reached this resolve while still walking on 59th Street. It gave him no more than time to catch the night train to Greenwich. As he stepped aboard the train that was bearing him from Sunny to Miss Falconer all of the fogs had cleared from Jerry's mind. He was conscious of an immense sense of relief. It seemed strange to him that he had never taken this step before. Judging the girl by himself, he felt that he knew exactly what she would say when with complete candour he should "lay his cards upon the table." He felt sure that she was a good sport. He did not delude himself with the idea that an engagement that had been irksome to himself had been of any joy to her. It was simply, so he told himself, a mistake of their parents. They had planned and worked this scheme, and into it they had dumped these two young people at a psychological moment. CHAPTER XIII For two days Sunny waited for Jerry to return. She was lonely and most unhappy, but hers was a buoyant personality, and withal her hurt she kept up a bright face before her little world of that duplex studio. In spite of the two nights when no sleep at all came, and she lay through the long hours trying vainly not to think of the wife of Jerry Hammond, in the daytime she moved about the small concerns of the apartment with a smile of cheer and found a measure of comfort in her pets. It was all very well, however, to hug Itchy passionately to her breast, and assure herself that she had in her arms one true and loving friend. Always she set the dog sadly down again, saying: "Ah, liddle honourable dog, you are jos liddle dog, thas all. How you can know whas ache on my heart. I do nod lig' you more for to-day." She fed Mr. and Mrs. Satsuma, and whistled and sang to them. After all, a canary is only a canary. Its bright, hard eye is blank and cold. Even the goldfish, swimming to the top of the honourable bowl, and picking the crumb so cunningly from her finger, lost their charm for her. Miss Spring Morning had long since been vanished with severe Japanese reproaches for his inhuman treatment of Sunny's first friends, the honourable mice, several of whose little bodies Sunny had confided to a grave she herself had dug, with tears that aroused the janitor gentleman's sympathy, so that he permitted the interment in the back yard. The victrola, working incessantly the first day, supplied merely noise. On the second morning she banged the top impulsively down, and cried at Caruso: "Oh, I do not wan' hear your honourable voice to-day. Shut you up!" Midway in an aria from "Rigoletto" the golden voice was quenched. She hovered about the telephone, and several times lifted the receiver, with the idea of calling one of her friends, but always she rejected the impulse. Intuitively Sunny knew that until the first pang of her refusal had passed her friends were better away from her. Little comfort was to be extracted from Hatton, who was acting in a manner that had Sunny not been so absorbed by her own personal trouble would have caused her concern. Hatton talked incessantly and feverishly and with tears about his Missus, and what she had driven him to, and of how a poor man tries to do his duty in life, but women were ever trouble makers, and it was only "yuman nature" for a man to want a little pleasure, and he, Hatton, had made this perfectly clear to Mr. Hammond when he had taken service with him. "A yuman being, miss," said Hatton, "is yuman, and that's all there is to it. Yuman nature 'as certain 'ankerings and its against yuman nature to gainsay them 'ankerings, if you'll pardon me saying so, miss." However, he assured Sunny most earnestly that he was fighting the Devil and all his works, which was just what "them 'ankerings" was, and he audibly muttered for her especial hearing in proof of his assertion several times through the day: "Get thee be'ind me, Satan." Satan being "them 'ankerings, miss." In normal times Sunny's fun and cheer would have been of invaluable assistance and diversion to Hatton. Indeed, his long abstention was quite remarkable since she had been there; but Sunny, affect cheer as she might, could not hide from the sympathetic Hatton's gaze the fact that she was most unhappy. In fact, Sunny's sadness affected the impressionable Hatton so that the second morning he could stand it no longer, and disappeared for several hours, to return, hiccoughing cravenly, and explaining: "I couldn't 'elp it, miss. My 'eart haches for you, and it ain't yuman nature to gainsay the yuman 'eart." "Hatton," said Sunny severely, "I are smell you on my nose. You are not smell good." "Pardon me, miss," said Hatton, beginning to weep. "Hi'm sadly ashamed of myself, miss. If you'll pardon me, miss, I'll betake myself to less 'appy regions than Mr. 'Ammond's studio, miss, 'as it's my desire not to 'urt your sense of smell, miss. So if you'll pardon me, I'll say good-bye, miss, 'oping you'll be in a 'appier mood when next we meet." For the rest of that day there was no further sign from Hatton. Left thus alone in the apartment, Sunny was sore put to find something to distract her, for all the old diversions, without Jerry, began to pall. She wished wistfully that Jerry had not forbidden her to make friends with other tenants in the house. She felt the strange need of a friend at this hour. There was one woman especially whom Sunny would have liked to know better. She always waved to Sunny in such a friendly way across the court, and once she called across to her: "Do come over and see me. I want you to see some of the sketches I have made of you at the window." Sunny pointed the lady out to Jerry, and that young man's face became surprisingly inflamed and he ordered Sunny so angrily not to continue an acquaintance with her unknown friend, that the poor child avoided going near the window for fear of giving offence. Also, there was a gentleman who came and went periodically in the studio building, and whose admiring looks had all but embraced Sunny even before she scraped an acquaintance with him. He did not live in this building, but came very frequently to call upon certain of the artists, including the lady across the court. Like Jinx, he always wore a flower in his buttonhole, but, unlike Jinx, his clothes had a certain distinction that to the unsophisticated Sunny seemed to spell the last word in style. She was especially fascinated by his tan-coloured spats, and once, examining them with earnest curiosity while waiting for the elevator, her glance arose to his face, and she met his all embracing smile with one of her own engaging ones. This man was in fact a well known dilettante and man about town, a dabbler a bit himself in the arts, but a monument of egotism. He had diligently built up a reputation as a patron and connoisseur of art. One Sunday morning Sunny came in from a little walk as far as the park, with Itchy. In spite of an unexpectedly hard shower that had fallen soon after she had left, she returned smiling and perfectly dry; excited and delighted moreover over the fortune that had befallen her. "Jerry!" she cried as soon as she entered, "I are git jost to those corner, when down him come those rain. So much blow! Futen (the wind god) get very angery and blow me quick up street, but the rain fall down jos' lig' cloud are burst. Streets flow lig' grade river. Me? I are run quick and come up on steps of house, and there are five, ten other people also stand on those step and keep him dry. One gentleman he got beeg umberella. I feel sure that umberella it keep me dry. So I smile on those mans----" "You _what_?" "I make a smile on him. Like these----" Sunny illustrated innocently. "Don't you know better than to smile at any man on the street?" Sunny was taken aback. The Japanese are a smiling nation, and the interchange of smiles among the sexes is not considered reprehensible; certainly not in the class from which Sunny had come. "Smile are not bad. He are kind thing, Jerry. It make people feel happy, and it do lots good on those worl'. When I smile on thad gentlemen, he are smile ride bag on me ad once, and he take me by those arm, and say he bring me home all nize and dry. And, Jerry, he say, he thing I am too nize piece--er--brick-brack--" bric-a-brac was a new word for Sunny, but Jerry recognised what she was trying to say--"to git wet. So he give me all those umberella. He bring me ride up ad these door, and he say he come see me very soon now as he lig' make sure I got good healt'. He are a very kind gentleman, Jerry. Here are his card." Jerry took the card, glared at it, and began panically walking up and down the apartment, raging and roaring like an "angery tiger," as Sunny eloquently described him to herself, and then flung around on her and read her such a scorching lecture that the girl turned pale with fright, and, as usual, the man was obliged to swallow his steam before it was all exploded. In parenthesis, it may be here added, that the orders given by Jerry to that black boy at the telephone desk, embraced such a diabolical description of the injury that was destined to befall him should the personage in question ever step his foot across Jerry's threshold, that Sambo, his eyes rolling, never failed to assure the caller, who came very persistently thereafter, that "Dat young lady she am move away, sah. Yes, sah, she am left this department." It will be seen, therefore, that Sunny, a stranger in a strange land, shut in alone in a studio, religiously following the instructions of Jerry to refrain from making acquaintances with anyone about her, was in a truly sad state. She started to houseclean, but stopped midway in panic, recalling the Japanese superstition that to clean or sweep a house when one of the family is absent is to precipitate bad fortune upon the house. So she got down all of Jerry's clothes and piously pressed and sponged them, as she had seen Hatton do, being very careful this time to avoid her first mistake in ironing. So earnestly had she applied herself to ironing the crease in the front of one of Jerry's trousers that first time that a most disastrous accident was the result. Jerry, wearing the pressed trousers especially to please her, found himself on the street the cynosure of all eyes as he manfully strode along with a complete split down the front of one of the legs, which the too ardent iron of Sunny had scorched. Having brushed and cleaned all of Jerry's clothes on this day, she prepared her solitary lunch; but this she could not eat. Thoughts of Jerry sharing with her the accustomed meals was too much for the imaginative Sunny, and pushing the rice away from her, she said: "Oh, I do nod lig' put food any more ad my insides. I givin you to my friends." The contents of her bowl were emptied into the pail under the sink, which she kept always so clean, for she still was under the delusion that said pail helped to feed the janitor gentleman and his family. All of that afternoon hung heavily on her hands, and she vainly sought something to interest her and divert her mind from the thought of Jerry. She found herself unconsciously listening for the bell, but, curiously enough, all of that day neither the buzzer, the telephone nor even the dumbwaiter rang. She made a tour of exploration to Jerry's sacred room, lovingly arranging his pieces on his chiffonier, and washing her hands in some toilet water that especially appealed to her. Then she found the bottle of hair tonic. Sniffing it, she decided it was very good, and, painfully, Sunny deciphered the legend printed on the outside, assuring a confiding hair world that the miraculous contents had the power to remove dandruff, invigorate, strengthen, force growth on bald heads, cause to curl and in every way improve and cause to shine the hair of the fortunate user of the same. "Thas very good stuff," said Sunny. "He do grade miracle on top those head." She decided to put the shampoo-tonic to the test, and accordingly washed her hair in Jerry's basin, making an excellent job of it. Descending to the studio, she lit the fireplace, and curled up on a big Navaho by the fire. Wrapped in a gorgeous bathrobe belonging to Jerry, Sunny proceeded to dry her hair. While she was in the midst of this process, the telephone rang. Sambo at the desk announced that visitors were ascending. Sunny had no time to dress or even to put up her hair, and when in response to the sharp bang upon the knocker she opened the door she revealed to the callers a vision that justified their worst fears. Her hair unbound, shining and springing out in lovely curling disorder about her, wrapped about in the bright embroidered bathrobe which the younger woman recognised at once as her Christmas gift to her fiancé, the work, in fact, of her own hands, Sunny was a spectacle to rob a rival of complete hope and peace of mind. The cool fury of unrequited love and jealousy in the breast of the younger woman and the indignant anger in that of the older was whipped at the sight of Sunny into active and violent eruption. "What are you doing in my son's apartment?" demanded the mother of Jerry, raising to her eyes what looked to Sunny like a gold stick on which grew a pair of glasses, and surveying with pronounced disapproval the politely bowing though somewhat flurried Sunny. "I are live ad those house," said Sunny, simply. "This are my home." "You live here, do you? Well, I would have you know that I am the mother of the young man whose life you are ruining, and this young girl is his fiancée." "Ho! I am very glad make you 'quaintance," said Sunny, seeking to hide behind a politeness her shock at the discovery of the palpable rudeness of these most barbarian ladies. It was hard for her to admit that the ladies of Jerry's household were not models of fine manners, as she had fondly supposed, but on the contrary bore faces that showed no trace of the kind hearts which the girl from Japan had been taught by her mother to associate always with true gentility. The two women's eyes met with that exclamatory expression which says plainer than words: "Of all the unbounded impudence, this is the worst!" "I have been told," went on Mrs. Hammond haughtily, "that you are a foreigner--a Japanese." She pronounced the word as if speaking of something extremely repellent. Sunny bowed, with an attempted smile, that faded away as Jerry's mother continued ruthlessly: "You do not look like a Japanese to me, unless you have been peroxiding your hair. In my opinion you are just an ordinary everyday bad girl." Sunny said very faintly: "Aexcuse me!" She turned like a hurt thing unjustly punished to the other woman, as if seeking help there. It had been arranged between the two women that Mrs. Hammond was to do the talking. Miss Falconer was having her full of that curious satisfaction some women take in seeing in person one's rival. Her expression far more moved Sunny than that of the angry older woman. "No one but a bad woman," went on Mrs. Hammond, "would live like this in a young man's apartment, or allow him to support her, or take money from him. Decent girls don't do that sort of thing in America. You are old enough to get out and earn for yourself an honest living. Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Or are you devoid of shame, you bad creature?" "Yes," said Sunny, with such a look that Jerry's mother's frown relaxed somewhat: "I are ashame. I are sawry thad I are bad--woman. Aexcuse me this time. I try do better. I sawry I are--bad!" This was plainly a full and complete confession of wrong and its effect on the older woman was to arouse a measure of the Hammond compunction which always followed a hasty judgment. For a moment Mrs. Hammond considered the advisability of reading to this girl a lecture that she had recently prepared to deliver before an institution for the welfare of such girls as she deemed Sunny to be. However, her benevolent intention was frustrated by Miss Falconer. There is a Japanese proverb which says that the tongue three inches long can kill a man six feet tall, but the tongue of one's enemy is not the worst thing to fear. The cold smile of the young woman staring so steadily at her had power to wound Sunny far more than the lacerating tongue of the woman whom she realised believed she was fighting in her son's behalf. Very silken and soft was the manner of Miss Falconer as insinuatingly she brought Mrs. Hammond back to the object of their call. She had used considerable tact and strategy in arranging this call upon Sunny, having in fact induced Jerry to remain for at least a day or two in Greenwich, "to think matters over," and see "whether absence would not prove to him that what he imagined to be love was nothing but one of those common aberrations to which men who lived in the east were said to be addicted." Jerry, feeling that he should at least do this for her, waited at Greenwich. Miss Falconer had called in the able and belligerent aid of his mother. "Mother, dear----" She already called Mrs. Hammond "mother." "Suppose--er--we make a quick end to the matter. You know what we are here for. Do let us finish and get away. You know, dear, that I am not used to this sort of thing, and really I'm beginning to get a nervous headache." Stiffened and upheld by the young woman whom she had chosen as wife for her son, Mrs. Hammond delivered the ultimatum. "Young woman, I want you to pack your things and clear out from my son's apartment at once. No argument! No excuses! If you do not realise the shamelessness of the life you are leading, I have nothing further to say; but I insist, insist most emphatically, on your leaving my boy's apartment this instant." A key turned in the lock. Hatton, dusty and bedraggled, his hat on one side of his head and a cigarette twisting dejectedly in the corner of his mouth, stumbled in at the door. He stood swaying and smiling at the ladies, stuttering incoherent words of greeting and apology. "La-adiesh, beggin' y'r pardon, it's a pleasure shee thish bright shpring day." Mrs. Hammond, overwhelmed with shame and grief over the revelation of the disreputable inmates of her son's apartment, turned her broad back upon Hatton. She recognised that man. He was the man she and Jerry's father had on more than one occasion begged their son to be rid of. Oh! if only Jeremy Hammond senior were here now! Sunny, having heard the verdict of banishment, stood helplessly, like one who has received a death sentence, knowing not which way to turn. Hatton staggered up the stairs, felt an uncertain course along the gallery toward his room, and fell in a muddled heap midway of the gallery. Sunny, half blindly, scarcely conscious of what she was doing, had moved with mechanical obedience toward the door, when Mrs. Hammond haughtily recalled her. "You cannot go out on the street in that outrageous fashion. Get your things, and do your hair up decently. We will wait here till you are ready." "And suppose you take that bathrobe off. It doesn't belong to you," said Miss Falconer cuttingly. "Take only what belongs to you," said Mrs. Hammond. Sunny slowly climbed up to her room. Everything appeared now strange and like a queer dream to her. She could scarcely believe that she was the same girl who but a few days before had joyously flitted about the pretty room, which showed evidence of her intensely artistic and feminine hands. She changed from the bathrobe to the blue suit she had worn on the night she had arrived at Jerry's studio. From a drawer she drew forth the small package containing the last treasures that her mother had placed in her hand. Though she knew that Mrs. Hammond and Miss Falconer were impatiently awaiting her departure, she sat down at her desk and painfully wrote her first letter to Jerry. "Jerry sama: How I thank you three and four time for your kindness to me. I am sorry I are not got money to pay you back for all that same, but I will take nothing with me but those clothes on my body. Only bad girls take money from gentleman at this America. I have hear that to-day, but I never know that before, or I would not do so. I have pray to Amaterasu-oho-mikami, making happy sunshine of your life. May you live ten thousand year. Sayonara. Sunny." She came out along the gallery, bearing her mother's little package. Kneeling by the half-awake but helpless Hatton she thrust the letter into his hand. "Good-bye, kind Hatton," said Sunny. "I sawry I not see your face no more. I sawry I are make all those trobble for you wiz those gas stove an' those honourable mice. I never do those ting again. I hope mebbe you missus come home agin some day ad you. Sayonara." "Wh-wheer y're goin', Shunny. Whatsh matter?" Hatton tried vainly to raise himself. He managed to pull himself a few paces along, by holding to the gallery rails, but sprawled heavily down on the floor. The indignant voice of his master's mother ascended from the stairs: "If you do not control yourself, my good man, I will be forced to call in outside aid and have you incarcerated." Downstairs, Sunny, unmindful of the waiting women, ran by them into the kitchen. From goldfish to canaries she turned, whispering softly: "Sayonara my friends. I sawry leaving you." She was opening the window onto the fire-escape, and Itchy with a howl of joy had leaped into her arms, when Mrs. Hammond and Miss Falconer, suspicious of something underhand, appeared at the door. "What are you doing, miss? What is that you are taking?" demanded Mrs. Hammond. Sunny turned, with her dog hugged up close to her breast. "I are say good-bye to my liddle dog," she said. "Sayonara Itchy. The gods be good unto you." She set the dog hastily back in the box, against his most violent protests, and Itchy immediately set up such a woeful howling and baying as only a small mongrel dog who possesses psychic qualities and senses the departure of an adored one could be capable of. Windows were thrown up and ejaculations and protests emanated from tenants in the court, but Sunny had clapped both hands over her ears, and without a look back at her little friend, and ignoring the two women, she ran through the studio, and out of the front door. After her departure a silence fell between Miss Falconer and Mrs. Hammond. The latter's face suddenly worked spasmodically, and the strain of the day overtook Jerry's mother. She sobbed unrestrainedly, mopping up the tears that coursed down her face. Miss Falconer fanned herself slowly, and with an absence of her usual solicitude for her prospective mother-in-law, she refrained from offering sympathy to the older woman, who presently said in a muffled voice: "Oh, Stella, I am afraid that we may have done a wrong act. It's possible that we have made a mistake about this girl. She seemed so very young, and her face--it was not a bad face, Stella--quite the contrary, now I think of it." "Well, I suppose that's the way you look at it. Personally you can't expect me to feel any sort of sympathy for a bad woman like that." "Stella, I've been thinking that a girl who would say good-bye to her dog like that cannot be wholly bad." "I have heard of murderers who trained fleas," said Miss Falconer. Then, with a pretended yawn, she added, "But really we must be going now? It's getting very dark out, and I'm dining with the Westmores at seven. I told Matthews we'd be through shortly. He's at the curb now." She had picked up her gloves and was drawing them smoothly on, when Mrs. Hammond noticed the left hand was ringless. "Why, my dear, where is your ring?" "Why, you didn't suppose, did you, that I was going to continue my engagement to Jerry Hammond after what he told me?" "But our purpose in coming here----" "_My_ purpose was to make sure that if _I_ were not to have Jerry neither should she--that Japanese doll!" All the bottled-up venom of the girl's nature came forth in that single utterance. "Do let us get away. Really I'm bored to extinction." "You may go any time you choose, Miss Falconer," said Jerry Hammond's mother. "I shall stay here till my son returns." * * * * * It was less than half an hour later that Jerry burst into the studio. He came in with a rush, hurrying across the big room toward the kitchen and calling aloud: "Sunny! Hi! Sunny! I'm back!" So intent was he in discovering Sunny that he did not see his mother, sitting in the darkened room by the window. Through dim eyes Mrs. Hammond had been staring into the street, and listening to the nearby rumble of the Sixth Avenue elevated trains. Somehow the roar of the elevated spelled to the woman the cruelty and the power of the mighty city, out into which she had driven the young girl, whose eyes had entreated her like a little wounded creature. The club woman thought of her admonitions and speeches to the girls she had professionally befriended, yet here, put to a personal test, she had failed signally. Her son was coming through the studio again, calling up toward the gallery above: "Hi! Sunny, old scout, where are you?" He turned, with a start, as his mother called his name. His first impulse of welcome halted as he saw her face, and electrically there flashed through Jerry a realisation of the truth. His mother's presence there was connected with Sunny's absence. "Mother, where is Sunny? What are you doing here? Where is Sunny, I say?" He shot the questions at her frantically. Mrs. Hammond began to whimper, dabbing at her face with her handkerchief. "For heaven's sake, answer me. What have you done with Sunny?" "Jerry, how can I tell you? Jerry--Miss Falcon-er and I--we--we thought it was for your good. I didn't realise that you c-cared so much about her, and I--and we----Oh-h-h," she broke down, crying uncontrolledly, "we have driven that poor little girl out--into the street." "You what? What is that you say?" He stared at his mother with a look of loathing. "Jerry, I thought--we thought her bad and we----" "Bad! _Sunny!_ Bad! She didn't know what the word meant. My _God_!" He leaped up the stairs, calling the girl's name aloud, as if to satisfy himself that his mother's story was false, but her empty room told its own tale, and half way across the gallery he came upon Hatton. He kicked the valet awake, and the latter raised up, stuttering and blubbering, and extending with shaking hand the letter Sunny had left. The words leaped up at him and smote him to the soul. He did not see his mother. He did not hear her cries, imploring him not to go out like that. Blindly, his heart on fire, Jerry Hammond dashed out from his studio, and plunged into the darkening street, to begin his search for the lost Sunny, who had disappeared into that maelstrom that is New York. CHAPTER XIV Despite all that money and influence could do to aid in the search of the missing girl, no trace of Sunny had been found since the day she passed through the door of the studio apartment and disappeared into the seething throngs under the Sixth Avenue elevated. Every policeman in Manhattan, Brooklyn and the Bronx; every private detective in the country, and the police and authorities throughout the country, aided in that search, keen to earn the enormous rewards offered by her friends. Jerry's entire fortune was at the disposal of the department. Jinx had instructed them to "go the limit" as far as he was concerned. Bobs, his newspaper instinct keyed up to the highest tension, saw in every clue a promise of a solution, and "covered" the disappearance day and night. Young Monty, changed from the cheeriest interne at Bellevue to the most pessimistic and gloomy, developed a weird passion for the morgue, and spent hours hovering about that ghastly part of the hospital. The four young men met each night at Jerry's studio and cast up their barren results. Jinx unashamedly and even noisily wept, the big tears splashing down his no longer ruddy cheeks. Jinx had honestly loved Sunny, and her loss was the first serious grief of his life. Monty hugged his head and ruminated over the darkest possibilities. He had suggested to the police that they drag certain parts of the Hudson River, and was indignant when they pointed out the impracticability of such a thing. In the spring the great river was swollen to its highest, and flowing along at a great speed, it would have been impossible to find what Monty suggested. Jerry, of all her friends, had himself the least under command. He was still nearly crazed by the catastrophe, and unable to sleep or rest, taking little or no nourishment, frantically going from place to place, he returned to his studio to pace up and down, as if half demented. Despite the fact that her son seemed scarcely conscious of her existence, and practically ignored her, Mrs. Hammond continued to remain in the apartment. Overwhelmed by remorse and anxiety for her son's health and sanity she could not bring herself to leave, even though she knew at this time her act had driven her son far away from her. A great change was visible in the mother of Jerry. For the first time, possibly, she acquired a vague idea of what her son's work and life meant to him, and her conscience smote her when she realised how he had gone ahead with no encouragement or sympathy from home. On the contrary, she and his father had thrown every obstacle in his way. Like many self-made men, Jerry's father cherished the ambition to perpetuate the business he had successfully built up from what he always called "a shoestring." "I started with just a shoestring," Jerry's father was wont to say, "and what's more, _I_ didn't have any education to speak of, yet I beat in the race most of the college bred bunch." However, his parents had had great faith in the change that would come to Jerry after matrimony, and Miss Falconer, being a daughter of Hammond, Sr.'s, partner, the prospects up to this time had not been without hope. Now, Jerry's mother, away from the somewhat overpowering influence of his father, was seeing a new light. Many a tear she dropped upon Jerry's sketch books, and she suffered the pang of one who has had the opportunity to help one she loved, and who has withheld that sorely needed sympathy. For the first time, too, Jerry's mother appreciated his right to choose his own love. In their anxiety to select for their son a suitable wife, they had overlooked his own wishes in the matter. Now Mrs. Hammond became poignantly aware of his deep love for this strange girl from Japan. She began to feel an unconscious tenderness toward the absent Sunny, and gradually became acquainted with the girl's nature through the medium of the left behind treasures and friends. Sunny's little mongrel dog, the canaries, the gold fish, the nailed up hole where she had fed the mice, her friend the "janitor gentleman," the black elevator boy, the butcher gentleman, the policeman on the beat who had never failed to return Sunny's smiling greeting with a cheery "Top o' the morning to yourself, miss," Hatton--all these revealed more plainly than words could have told that hers was a sensitive and rare nature. In Hatton's case, Mrs. Hammond found a problem upon her hands. The unfortunate valet blamed himself bitterly for Sunny's going. He claimed that he had given his solemn word of honour to Sunny, and had broken that word, when he should have been there: "Like a man, ma'am, hin the place of Mr. 'Ammond, ma'am, to take care of Miss Sunny." Far from reproving the man, the conscience-stricken Mrs. Hammond wept with him, and asked timid questions about the absent one. "Miss Sunny was not an hordinary young lady, begging your pardon, ma'am. She was what the French would call distankey. She was sweet and hinnercent as a baby lamb, hutterly hunconscious of her hown beauty hand charm. You wouldn't 'ave believed such hinnocence possible in the present day, ma'am, but Miss Sunny come from a race that's a bit hignorant, ma'am, hand it wasn't her fault that she didn't hunderstan' many of the proper conventions of life. But she was perfectly hinnocent and pure as a lily. Hanyone who looked or spoke to 'er once would've seen that, ma'am. It shone right hout of Miss Sunny's heyes." "I saw it myself," said Mrs. Hammond, in a low voice. After a long, sniffling pause, Hatton said: "Begging your pardon, ma'am, I'm thinking that I don't deserve to work for Mr. 'Ammond any longer, but I 'avent the 'eart to speak to 'im at this time, and if you'll be so kind to hexplain things to 'im, I'll betake myself to some hother abode." "My good man, I am sure that even Mr. Jerry would not blame you. I am the sole one at fault. I take the full blame. I acknowledge it. I would not have you or anyone else share my guilt, and, Hatton, I _want_ to be punished. Your conscience, I am sure, is clear, but it would make us all very happy, and I am sure it would make--Sunny." She spoke the word hesitatingly--"happy, too, if--if--well, if, my good Hatton, you were to turn over a new leaf, and sign the pledge. Drink, I feel sure, is your worst enemy. You must overcome it, Hatton, or it will overcome you." "Hi will, ma'am. Hi'll do that. If you'll pardon me now, Hi'll step right out and sign the pledge. I know just where to go, if you'll pardon me." Hatton did know just where to go. He crossed the park to the east side and came to the brightly lighted Salvation Army barracks. A meeting was in progress, and a fiery tongued young woman was exhorting all the sinners of the world to come to glory. Hatton was fascinated by the groans and loud Amens that came from that chorus of human wreckage. Pushing nearer to the front, he came under the penetrating eye of the Salvation captain. She hailed him as a "brother," and there was something so unswervingly pure in her direct gaze that it had the effect of magnetising Hatton. "Brother," said the Salvation captain, "are you saved?" "No, ma'am," said the unhappy Hatton, "but begging your pardon, if it haren't hout of horder, Hi'd like to be taking the pledge, ma'am." "Nothing is out of order where a human soul is at stake," said the woman, smiling in an exalted way. "Lift up your hand, my brother." Hatton lifted his shaking hand, and, word for word, he repeated the pledge after the Salvation captain. Nor was there one in that room who found aught to laugh at in the words of Hatton. "Hi promise, with God's 'elp," said Hatton, "to habstain from the use of halcoholic liquors as a beverage, from chewing tobaccer or speaking profane and himpure languidge." Having thus spoken, Hatton felt a glow of relief and a sense of transfiguration. He experienced, in fact, that hysterical exhilaration that "converts" feel, as if suddenly he were reborn, and had come out of the mud into the clean air. At such moments martyrs, heroes and saints are made. Hatton, the automaton-like valet of the duplex studio, with his "yuman 'ankerings" was afire with a true spiritual fervour. We leave him then marching forth from the barracks with the Salvation Army, his head thrown up, and singing loudly of glory. * * * * * On the third day after the disappearance of Sunny, Professor Timothy Barrowes arrived in New York City with the dinornis skeleton of the quaternary period, dug up from the clay of the Red Deer cliffs of Canada. This precious find was duly transported to the Museum of Natural History, where it was set up by the skilled hands of college workmen, who were zealots even as the little man who nagged and adjured them as he had the excavators on the Red Deer River. So absorbed, in fact, was Professor Barrowes by his fascinating employment, that he left his beloved fossil only when the pressing necessity of further funds from his friend and financial agent (Jerry had raised the money to finance the dinornis) necessitated his calling upon Jerry Hammond, who had made no response to his latter telegrams and letters. Accordingly Professor Barrowes wended his way from the museum to Jerry's studio. Here, enthused and happy over the success of his trip, he failed to notice the abnormal condition of Jerry, whose listless hot hand dropped from his, and whose eye went roving absently above the head of his volubly chattering friend. It was only after the restless and continued pacing of the miserable Jerry and the failure to respond to questions put to him continued for some time, that Professor Barrowes was suddenly apprized that all was not well with his friend. He stopped midway in a long speech in which words like Mesozoic, Triassic and Jurassic prevailed and snapped his glasses suddenly upon his nose. Through these he scrutinised the perturbed and oblivious Jerry scientifically. The glasses were blinked off. Professor Barrowes seized the young man by the arm and stopped him as he started to cross the room for possibly the fiftieth time. "Come! Come! What is it? What is the trouble, lad?" Jerry turned his bloodshot eyes upon his old teacher. His unshaven, haggard face, twitching from the effects of his acute nearness to nervous prostration, startled Professor Barrowes. Lack of sleep, refusal of nourishment, the ceaseless search, the agonising fear and anguished longing took their full toll from the unhappy Jerry, but as his glance met the firm one of his friend, a tortured cry broke from his lips. "Oh, for God's sake, Professor Barrowes, why did you not come when I asked you to? Sunny--_Oh, my God!_" Professor Barrowes had Jerry's hand gripped closely in his own, and the disjointed story came out at last. Sunny had come! Sunny had gone! He loved Sunny! He could not live without Sunny--but Sunny had gone! They had turned her out into the streets--his own mother and Miss Falconer. For the first time, it may be said, since his discovery of the famous fossil of the Red Deer River, Professor Barrowes's mind left his beloved dinornis. He came back solidly to earth, shot back by the calling need of Jerry. Now the man of science was wide awake, and an upheaval was taking place within him. The words of his first telegram to Jerry rattled through his head just then: "The dinornis more important than Sunny." Now as he looked down on the bowed head of the boy for whom he cherished almost a father's love, Professor Barrowes knew that all the dried-up fossils of all the ages were as a handful of worthless dust as compared with this single living girl. By main force Professor Barrowes made Jerry lie down on that couch, and himself served him the food humbly prepared by his heartbroken mother, who told Jerry's friend with a quivering lip that she felt sure he would not wish to take it from his mother's hands. There was no going out for Jerry on that night. His protestations fell on deaf ears, and as a further precaution, Professor Barrowes secured possession of the key of the apartment. Only when the professor pointed out to him the fact that a breakdown on his part would mean the cessation of his search would Jerry finally submit to the older man taking his place temporarily. And so, at the telephone, which rang constantly all of that evening, Professor Barrowes took command. A thousand clues were everlastingly turning up. These were turned over to Jinx and Bobs, the former flying from one part of the city and country to another in his big car, and the latter, with an army of newspaper men helping him, and given full license by his paper, influenced by the elder Hammond and Potter. Finally, Professor Barrowes, having given certain instructions to turn telephone calls over to Monty in Bobs' apartment, sat down to Jerry's disordered work table, and, glasses perched on the end of his nose, he sorted out the mail. The afternoon letters still lay unopened, tossed down in despair by Jerry, when he failed to find that characteristic writing that he knew was Sunny's. But now Professor Barrowes' head had suddenly jerked forward. His chin came out curiously, and his eyes blinked in amazement behind his glasses. He set them on firmer, fiercely, and slowly reread that two-line epistle. The hand holding the paper shook, but the eyes behind the glasses were bright. "Jerry--come hither, young man!" he growled, his dry old face quivering up with something that looked comically like a smile glaring through threatened tears. "Read that." Across the table Jerry reached over and took the letter from the famous steel magnate of New York. He read it slowly, dully, and then with a sense as of something breaking in his head and heart. Every word of those two lines sank like balm into his comprehension and consciousness. Then it seemed that a surge of blood rushed through his being, blinding him. The world rocked for Jerry Hammond. He saw a single star gleaming in a firmament that was all black. Down into immeasurable depths of space sank Jerry Hammond. CHAPTER XV Sunny, after she left Jerry's apartment, might be likened to a little wounded wild thing, who has trailed off with broken wing. She had never consciously committed a wrong act. Motherless, worse than fatherless, young, innocent, lovely, how should she fare in a land whose ways were as foreign to that from which she had come as if she had been transplanted to a new planet. As she turned into Sixth Avenue, under the roaring elevated structure, with its overloaded trains, crammed with the home-going workers of New York, she had no sense of direction and no clear purpose in mind. All she felt was that numb sense of pain at her heart and the impulse to get as far away as possible from the man she loved. Swept along by a moving, seething throng that pressed and pushed and shoved and elbowed by her, Sunny had a sick sense of home longing, an inexpressible yearning to escape from all this turmoil and noise, this mad rushing and pushing and panting through life that seemed to spell America. She sensed the fact that she was in the Land of Barbarians, where everyone was racing and leaping and screaming in an hysteria of speed. Noise, noise, incessant noise and movement--that was America! No one stopped to think; no polite words were uttered to the stranger. It was all a chaos, a madhouse, wherein dark figures rushed by like shadows in the night and little children played in the mud of the streets. The charming, laughing, pretty days in the shelter of the studio of her friend had passed into this nightmare of the Sixth Avenue noise, where all seemed ugly, cruel and sinister. Life in America was not the charming kindly thing Sunny had supposed. Beauty indeed she had brought in her heart with her, and that, though she knew it not, was why she had seen only the beautiful; but now, even for her, it had all changed. She had looked into faces full of hatred and malice; she had listened to words that whipped worse than the lash of Hirata. As she went along that noisy, crowded avenue, there came, like a breath of spring, a poignant lovely memory of the home she had left. Like a vision, the girl saw wide spaces, little blue houses with pink roofs and the lower floor open to the refreshing breezes of the spring. For it was springtime in Japan just as it was in New York, and Sunny knew that the trees would be freighted with a glorified frost of pink and white blossoms. The wistaria vines would hang in purple glory to peer at their faces in the crystal pools. The fluttering sleeves of the happy picnickers threading through lanes of long slender bamboos. The lotus in the ponds would soon open their white fingers to the sun. Rosy cheeked children would laugh at Sunny and pelt her with flower petals, and she would call back to them, and toss her fragrant petals back. It was strange as she went along that dirty way that her mind escaped from what was before and on all sides of her, and went out across the sea. She saw no longer the passing throngs. In imagination the girl from Japan looked up a hill slope on which a temple shone. Its peaks were twisted and the tower of the pagoda seemed ablaze with gold. Countless steps led upward to the pagoda, but midway of the steps there was a classic Torrii, in which was a small shrine. Here on a pedestal, smiling down upon the kneeling penitents, Kuonnon, the Goddess of Mercy, stood. To Her now, in the streets of the American City, the girl of Japan sent out her petition. "Oh, Kuonnon, sweet Lady of Mercy, permit the spirit of my honourable mother to walk with me through these dark and noisy streets." The shining Goddess of Mercy, trailing her robes among the million stars in the heavens above, surely heard that tiny petition, for certain it is that something warm and comforting swept over the breast of the tired Sunny. We know that faith will "remove mountains." Sunny's faith in her mother's spirit caused her to feel assured that it walked by her side. The Japanese believe that we can think our dead alive, and if we are pure and worthy, we may indeed recall them. It came to pass, that after many hours, during which she walked from 67th Street to 125th, and from the west to the east side of that avenue, that she stopped before a brightly lighted window, within which cakes and confections were enticingly displayed, and from the cellar of which warm odours of cooking were wafted to the famished girl. Sunny's youth and buoyant health responded to that claim. Her feet, in the unaccustomed American shoes--in Japan she had worn only sandals and clogs--were sore and extremely weary from the long walk, and a sense of intense exhaustion added to that pang of emptiness within. By the baker's window, therefore, on the dingy Third Avenue of the upper east side, leaned Sunny, staring in hungrily at the food so near and yet so far away. She asked herself in her quaint way: "What I are now to do? My honourable insides are ask for food." She answered her own question at once. "I will ask the advice of first person I meet. He will tell me." The streets were in a semi-deserted condition, such as follows after the home-going throngs have been tucked away into their respective abodes. There was a cessation of traffic, only the passing of the trains overhead breaking the hush of early night that comes even in the City of New York. It was now fifteen minutes to nine, and Sunny had had nothing to eat since her scant breakfast. Kuonnon, her mother's spirit, providence--call it what we may--suffered it that the first person whom Sunny was destined to meet should be Katy Clarry, a product of the teeming east side, a shop girl by trade. She was crossing the street, with her few small packages, revealing her pitiful night marketing at adjacent small shops, when Sunny accosted her. "Aexcuse me. I lig' ask you question, please," said Sunny with timid politeness. "Uh-h-h?" Miss Clarry, her grey, clear eye sweeping the face of Sunny in one comprehensive glance that took her "number," stopped short at the curb, and waited for the question. "I are hungry," said Sunny simply, "and I have no money and no house in which to sleep these night. What I can do?" "Gee!" Katy's grey eyes flew wider. The girl before her seemed as far from being a beggar as anyone the east side girl had ever seen. Something in the wistful, lovely face looking at her in the dark street tightened that cord that was all mother in the breast of Katy Clarry. After a moment: "Are you stone broke then? Out of work? You don't look's if you could buck up against tough luck. What you doin' on the streets? You ain't----? No, you ain't. I needn't insult you by askin' that. Where's your home, girl?" "I got no home," said Sunny, in a very faint voice. A subtle feeling was stealing over the tired Sunny, and the whiteness of her cheeks, the drooping of her eyes, apprized Katy of her condition. "Say, don't be fallin' whatever you do. You don't want no cop to get 'is hands on you. You come along with me. I ain't got much, but you're welcome to share what I got. I'll stake you till you get a job. Heh! Get a grip on yourself. There! That's better. Hold on to me. I'll put them packages under this arm. We ain't got far to walk. Steady now. We don't want no cop to say we're full, because we ain't." Katy led the trembling Sunny along the dirty, dingy avenue to one of those melancholy side streets of the upper east side. They came to a house whose sad exterior proclaimed what was within. Here Katy applied her latch key, and in the dark and odorous halls they found their way up four flights of stairs. Katy's room was at the far end of a long bare hall, and its dimensions were little more than the shining kitchenette of the studio apartment. Katy struck a match, lit a kerosene lamp, and attached to the one half-plugged gas jet a tube at the end of which was a one-burner gas stove. Sunny, sitting helplessly on the bed, was too dazed and weary to hold her position for long, and at Katy's sharp: "Heh, there! lie down," she subsided back upon the bed, sighing with relief as her exhausted body felt the comfort of Katy's hard little bed. From sundry places Katy drew forth a frying pan, a pitcher of water, a tiny kettle and a teapot. She put two knives and forks and spoons on the table, two cracked plates and two cups. She peeled a single potato, and added it to the two frankfurters frying on the pan. She chattered along as she worked, partly to hide her own feelings, and partly to set the girl at her ease. But indeed Sunny was far from feeling an embarrassment such as Katy in her place might have felt. The world is full of two kinds of people; those who serve, and those who are served, and to the latter family Sunny belonged. Not the lazy, wilful parasites of life, but the helpless children, whom we love to care for. Katy, glancing with a maternal eye, ever and anon at the so sad and lovely face upon her pillow was curiously touched and animated with a desire to help her. "You're dog-tired, ain't you? How long you been out of work? I always feel more tired when I'm out o' work and looking for a job, than when I got one, though it ain't my idea of a rest exactly to stand on your feet all day long shoving out things you can't afford to have yourself to folks who mostly just want to look 'em over. Some of them shoppers love to come in just about closin' hour. They should worry whether the girl behind the counter gets extra pay for overtime or if she's suffering from female weaknesses or not. Of course, if I get into one of them big stores downtown, I can give a customer the laugh when the dingdong sounds for closin', but you can't do no such thing in Harlem. We're still in the pioneer stage up here. I expect you're more used to the Fifth Avenue joints. You look it, but, say, I never got a look in at one of them jobs. They favour educated girls, and I ain't packed with learning, I'm telling the world." Sunny said: "You loog good to me,"--a favourite expression of Jerry's, and something in her accent and the earnestness with which she said it warmed Katy, who laughed and said: "Oh, go on. I ain't much on looks neither. There, now. Draw up. All--l-ler _ready_! Dinner is served. Stay where you are on the bed. Drop your feet over. I ain't got but the one chair, and I'll have it meself, thank you, don't mention it." Katy pushed the table beside the bed, drew her own chair to the other side, set the kettle on the jet which the frying pan had released and proudly surveyed her labour. "Not much, but looks pretty good to me. If there's one thing I love it is a hot dog." She put on Sunny's plate the largest of the two frankfurters and three-quarters of the potato, cut her a generous slice of bread and poured most of the gravy on her plate, saying: "I always say sausage gravy beats anything in the butter line. Tea'll be done in a minute, dearie. Ain't got but one burner. Gee! I wisht I had one of them two deckers that you can cook a whole meal at once with. Ever seen 'em? How's your dog?" "Dog?" "Frankfurter--weeny, or in polite speech, sausage, dearie." "How it is good," said Sunny with simple eloquence. "I thang you how much." "Don't mention it. You're welcome. You'd do the same for me if I was busted. I always say one working girl should stake the other when the other is out of work and broke. There's unity in strength," quoted Katy with conviction. "Have some more--do! Dip your bread in the gravy. Pretty good, ain't it, if I do say it who shouldn't." "It mos' nices' food I are ever taste," declared Sunny earnestly. While the tea was going into the cups: "My name's Katy Clarry. What's yours?" asked Katy, a sense of well-being and good humour toward the world flooding her warm being. "Sunny." "Sunny! That's a queer name. Gee! ain't it pretty? What's your other name?" "Sindicutt." "Sounds kind o' foreign. What are you, anyway? You ain't American--at least you don't look it or talk it, though heaven knows anything and everything calls itself American to-day," said the native-born American girl with scorn. "Meaning no offence, you understand, but--well--you just don't look like the rest of us. You ain't a Dago or a Sheeny. I can see that, and you ain't a Hun neither. Are you a Frenchy? You got queer kind of eyes--meaning no offence, for personally I think them lovely, I really do. I seen actresses with no better eyes than you got." Katy shot her questions at Sunny, without waiting for an answer. Sunny smiled sadly. "Katy, I are sawry thad I am not be American girl. I are born ad Japan----" "_You_ ain't no Chink. You can't tell me no such thing as that. I wasn't born yesterday. What are you, anyway? Where do you come from? Are you a royal princess in disguise?" The latter question was put jocularly, but Katy in her imaginative way was beginning to question whether her guest might not in fact be some such personage. An ardent reader of the yellow press, by inheritance a romantic dreamer, in happier circumstances Katy might have made a place for herself in the artistic world. Her sordid life had been ever glorified by her extravagant dreams in which she moved as a princess in a realm where princes and lord and kings and dukes abounded. "No, I are not princess," said Sunny sadly. "I not all Japanese, Katy, jos liddle bit. Me? I got three kind of blood on my insides. I sawry thad my ancestors put them there. I are Japanese and Russian and American." "Gee! You're what we call a mongrel. Meaning no offence. You can't help yourself. Personally I stand up first for the home-made American article but I ain't got no prejudice against no one. And anyway, you can _grow_ into an American if you want to. Now we women have got the francheese, we got the right to vote and be nachelised too if we want to. So even if you have a yellow streak in you--and looking at you, I'd say it was gold moren't yellow--you needn't tell no one about it. No one'll be the wiser. You can trust me not to open my mouth to a living soul about it. What you've confided in me about being partly Chink is just as if you had put the inflammation in a tomb. And it ain't going to make the least bit of difference between us. Try one of them Uneeda crackers. Sop it in your tea now you're done with your gravy. Pretty good, ain't it? I'll say it is." "Katy, to-night I are going to tell you some things about me, bi-cause I know you are my good frien' now forever. I lig' your kind eye, Katy." "Go on! You're kiddin' me, Sunny. If I had eyes like yours, it'd be a different matter. But I'm stuck on the idea of having you for a friend just the same. I ain't had a chum since I don't know when. If you knew what them girls was like in Bamberger's--well, I'm not talkin' about no one behind their backs, but, say--Sunny, I could tell you a thing or two'd make your hair stand on end. And as for tellin' me about your own past, say if you'll tell me yours, I'll tell you mine. I always say that every girl has some tradgedy or other in her life. Mine began on the lower east side. I graduated up here, Sunny. It ain't nothing to brag about, but it's heaven compared with what's downtown. I used to live in that gutter part of the town where God's good air is even begrudged you, and where all the dirty forriners and chinks--meanin' no offence, dearie, and I'll say for the Chinks, that compared with some of them Russian Jews--Gee! you're Russian too, ain't you, but I don't mean no offence! Take it from me, Sunny, some of them east side forriners--I'll call them just that to avoid givin' offence--are just exactly like lice, and the smells down there--Gee! the stock yards is a flower garden compared with it. Well, we come over--my folks did--I was born there--I'm a real American, Sunny. Look me over. It won't hurt your eyes none. My folks come over from Ireland. My mother often told me that they thought the streets of New York were just running with gold, before they come out. That simple they were, Sunny. But the gold was nothing but plain, rotten dust. It got into the lungs and the spine of them all. Father went first. Then mother. Lord only knows how they got it--doctor said it was from the streets, germs that someone maybe dumped out and come flyin' up into our place that was the only clean spot in the tenement house, I'll say that for my mother. There was two kids left besides me. I was the oldes' and not much on age at that, but I got me a job chasin' around for a millinery shop, and I did my best by the kids when I got home nights; but the cards was all stacked against me, Sunny, and when that infantile parallysus come on the city, the first to be took was my k-kid brother, and me li-little s-sister she come down with it too and--Ah-h-h-h!" Katy's head went down on the table, and she sobbed tempestuously. Sunny, unable to speak the words of comfort that welled up in her heart, could only put her arms around Katy, and mingle her tears with hers. Katy removed a handkerchief from the top of her waist, dabbed her eyes fiercely, shared the little ball with Sunny, and then thrust it down the neck of her waist again. Bravely she smiled at Sunny again. "There yoh got the story of the Clarry's of the east side of New York, late of Limerick, Ireland. You can't beat it for--for tradgedy, now can you? So spiel away at your own story, Sunny. I'm thinkin' you'll have a hard time handin' me out a worse one than me own. Don't spare me, kid. I'm braced for anything in this r-rotten world." CHAPTER XVI It was well for Sunny that her new friend was endowed with a generous and belligerent nature. Having secured for Sunny a position at the Bamberger Emporium, Katy's loyalty to her friend was not dampened when on the third day Sunny was summarily discharged. Hands on hips, Katy flew furiously to her brother's defence, and for the benefit of her brother and sister workers she relieved herself loudly of all her pent-up rage of the months. In true Union style, Katy marched out with Sunny. The excuse for discharging Sunny was that she did not write well enough to fill out the sales slips properly. Nasty as the true reason was, there is no occasion to set forth the details here. Suffice it to say that the two girls, both rosy from excitement and wrath, arm and arm marched independently forth from the Emporium, Katy loudly asserting that she would sue for her half week's pay, and Sunny anxiously drawing her along, her breath coming and going with the fright she had had. "Gee!" snorted Katy, as they turned into the street on which was the dingy house in which they lived, "it did my soul good to dump its garbage on that pie-faced, soapy-eyed monk. You don't know what I been through since I worked for them people. You done me a good turn this mornin' when you let out that scream. I'd been expecting something like that ever since he dirtied you with his eyes. That's why I was hangin' around the office, in spite of the ribbon sales, when you went in. Well, here we are!" Here they were indeed, back in the small ugly room of that fourth floor, sitting, the one on the ricketty chair, and the other on the side of the hard bed. But the eyes of youth are veiled in sun and rose. They see nor feel not the filth of the world. Sunny and Katy, out of a job, with scarcely enough money between them to keep body and soul together, were yet able to laugh at each other and exchange jokes over the position in which they found themselves. After they had "chewed the rag," as Katy expressively termed it, for awhile, that brisk young person removed her hat, rolled up her sleeves, and declared she would do the "family wash." "It's too late now," said Katy, "to job hunt this morning. So I'll do the wash, and you waltz over across the street and do the marketin'. Here's ten cents, and get a wiggle on you, because it's 10.30 now, and I got a plan for us two. I'll tell you what it is. There ain't no hurry. Just wait a bit, dearie. First we'll have a bite to eat, though I'm not hungry myself. I always say, though, you can land a job better on a full than a empty stomach. Well, lunch packed away in us, little you and me trots downtown--not to no 125th Street, mind you, but downtown, to Fifth Avenoo, where the swell shops are, do you get me? I'd a done this long ago, for they say it's as easy to land on Fifth Avenoo as it is on Third. It's like goods, Sunny. The real silk is cheaper than the fake stuff, because it lasts longer and is wider, but if one ain't got the capital to invest in it in the first place, why you just have to make the best of the imitation cheese. If I could of dolled myself up like them girls that hold down the jobs on Fifth Avenoo, say, you can take it from me, I'd a made some of them henna-haired ladies look like thirty cents. Now _you_ got the looks, and you got the clothes too. That suit you're wearin' don't look like no million dollars, but it's got a kick to it just the same. The goods is real. I been lookin' at it. Where'd you get it?" "I get that suit ad Japan, Katy." "Japan! What are you givin' us? You can't tell me no Chink ever made a suit like that." Sunny nodded vigorously. "Yes, Katy, Japanese tailor gentleman make thad suit. He copy it from American suit just same on lady at hotel, and he tell me that he are just like twin suits." "I take off my hat to that Chink, though I always have heard they was great on copying. However, it's unmaterial who made it, and it don't detract from its looks, and no one will be the wiser that a Chink tailor made it. You can trust me not to open my mouth. The main thing is that that suit and your face--and everything about you is going to make a hit on Fifth Avenoo. You see how Bamberger fell for you at the drop, and you could be there still and have the best goin' if you was like some ladies I know, though I'm not mentionin' no names. I'm not that kind, Sunny. Now, here's my scheme, and see if you can beat it. Your face and suit'll land the jobs for us. My brains'll hold 'em for us. Do you get me? You'll accept a position--you don't say job down there--only on condition that they take your friend--that's me--too. Then together we prove the truth of 'Unity being strength.' We'll hang together. Said Lincoln" (Katy raised her head with true solemnity): '"Together we rise, divided we fall!' Shake on that, Sunny." Shake they did. "Now you skedaddle off for that meat. Ask for dog. It goes farther and is fillin'. Give the butcher the soft look, and he'll give you your money's worth--maybe throw in an extra dog for luck." At the butcher shop, Sunny, when her turn came, favoured the plump gentleman behind the counter to such an engaging smile that he hurriedly glanced about him to see if the female part of his establishment were around. The coast clear, he returned the smile with interest. Leaning gracefully upon the long bloody butcher knife in one hand, the other toying with a juicy sirloin, he solicited the patronage of the smiling Sunny. She put her ten cents down, and continuing the smile, said: "Please you give me plenty dog meat for those money." "Surest thing," said the flattered butcher. "I got a pile just waitin' for a customer like you." He disappeared into a hole in the floor, and returned up the ladder shortly, bearing an extremely large package, which he handed across to the surprised and overjoyed Sunny, who cried: "Ho! I are thang you. How you are kind. I thang you very moach. Good-aday!" It so happened that when Sunny had come out of the house upon that momentous marketing trip a pimply-faced youth was lolling against the railing of the house next door. His dress and general appearance made him conspicuous in that street of mean and poverty-stricken houses, for he wore the latest thing in short pinch-back coats, tight trousers raised well above silk-clad ankles, pointed and polished tan shoes, a green tweed hat and a cane and cigarette loosely hung in a loose mouth. A harmless enough looking specimen of the male family at first sight, yet one at which the sophisticated members of the same sex would give a keen glance and then turn away with a scowl of aversion and rage. Society has classified this type of parasite inadequately as "Cadet," but the neighbourhood in which he thrives designates him with one ugly and expressive term. As Sunny came out of the house and ran lightly across the street, the youth wagged his cigarette from the corner of one side of his mouth to the other, squinted appraisingly at the hurrying girl, and then followed her across the street. Through the opened door of the kosher butcher shop, he heard the transaction, and noted the joy of Sunny as the great package was transferred to her arms. As she came out of the shop, hurrying to bear the good news to Katy, she was stopped at the curb by the man, his hat gracefully raised, and a most ingratiating smile twisting his evil face into a semblance of what might have appeared attractive to an ignorant and weak minded girl. "I beg your pardon, Miss--er--Levine. I believe I met you at a friend's house." "You are mistake," said Sunny. "My name are not those. Good-a-day!" He continued to walk by her side, murmuring an apology for the mistake, and presently as if just discovering the package she carried, he affected concern. "Allow me to carry that for you. It's entirely too heavy for such pretty little arms as yours." "Thang you. I lig' better carry him myself," said Sunny, holding tightly to her precious package. Still the pimpled faced young man persisted at her side, and as they reached the curb, his hand at her elbow, he assisted her to the sidewalk. Standing at the foot of the front steps, he practically barred her way. "You live here?" "Yes, I do so." "I believe I know Mrs. Munson, the lady that keeps this house. Relative of yours?" "No, I are got no relative." "All alone here?" "No, I got frien' live wiz me. Aexcuse me. I are in hoarry eat my dinner." "I wonder if I know your friend. What is his name?" "His name are Katy." "Ah, don't hurry. I believe, now I think of it, I know Katy. What's the matter with your comin' along and havin' dinner with me." "Thang you. My frien' are expect me eat those dinner with her." "That's all right. I have a friend too. Bring Katy along, and we'll all go off for a blowout. What do you say? A sweet little girl like you don't need to be eatin' dog meat. I know a swell place where we can get the best kind of eats, a bit of booze to wash it down and music and dancing enough to make you dizzy. What do you say?" He smiled at Sunny in what he thought was an irresistible and killing way. It revealed three decayed teeth in front, and brought his shifty eyes into full focus upon the shrinking girl. "I go ask my frien'," she said hurriedly. "Aexcuse me now. You are stand ad my way." He moved unwillingly to let her pass. "Surest thing. More the merrier. Let's go up and get Katy. What floor you on?" "I bring Katy down," said Sunny breathlessly, and running by the pasty faced youth, she opened the door, and closed it quickly behind her, shooting the lock closed. She ran up the stairs, as if pursued, and burst breathlessly into the little room where Katy was singing a ditty composed to another of her name, and pasting her lately washed handkerchiefs upon the window pane and mirror. Beautiful K-Katy--luvully Katy! You're the only one that ever I adore, Wh-en the moon shines, on the cow shed, I'll be w-waiting at the k-k-k-kitchen door!" sang the light-hearted and valiant Katy Clarry. "Oh, Katy," cried Sunny breathlessly. "Here are those dog." She laid the huge package before the amazed and incredulous Katy. "For the love of Mike! Did Schmidt sell you a whole cow?" Katy tore the wrappings aside, and revealed the contents of the package. An assortment of bones of all sizes, large and small, a few pieces of malodorous meat, livers, lights and guts, and the insides of sundry chickens. Katy sat down hard, exclaiming: "Good night! What did you ask for?" "I ask him for dog meat," excitedly and indignantly declared Sunny. "You got it! You poor simp. Heaven help you. Never mind, there's no need now of crying over spilled beans. It's too late now to change, so here's where we kiss our lunch a long and last farewell, and do some hustling downtown." "Oh, Katy, I am thad sorry!" cried Sunny tragically. "It's all right, dearie. Don't you worry. You can't help being ignorant. I ain't hungry myself anyway, and you're welcome to the cracker there. That'll do till we get back, and then, why, I believe we can boil some of them bones and get a good soup. I always say soup is just as fillin' as anything else, especially if you put a onion in it, and have a bit of bread to sop it up with, and I got the onion all right. So cheer up, we'll soon be dead and the worst is yet to come." "Katy, there are a gentleman down on those street, who are want give us nize dinner to eat, with music and some danze. Me? I am not care for those music, but I lig' eat those dinner, and I lig' also thad you eat him." "Gentleman, huh?" Katy's head cocked alertly. "Yes, he speak at me on the street, and he say he take me and my frien' out to nize dinner. He are wait in those street now." Katy went to the window, leaned far out, saw the man on the street, and drew swiftly in, her face turning first white, then red. "Sunny, ain't you got any better sense than speak to a man on the street?" "Ho, Katy, I din nod speag ad those man," declared Sunny indignantly. "He speag ad me, and I do nod lig' hees eye. I do nod lig' hees mout', nor none of hees face, but I speag perlite bi-cause he are ask me eat those dinner." "Well, you poor little simp, let me tell you who _that_ is. He's the dirtiest swine in Harlem. You're muddied if he looks at you. He's--he's--I can't tell you what he is, because you're so ignorunt you wouldn't understand. You and me go out with the likes of him! Sa-ay, I'd rather duck into a sewer. I'd come out cleaner, believe me. Now watch how little K-k-k-katy treats that kind of dirt." She transferred the more decayed of the meat and bones from the package to the pail of water which had recently served for her "family wash." This she elevated to the window, put her head out, and as if sweetly to signal the waiting one below, she called: "Hi-yi-yi-yi--i-i!" and as the man below looked up expectantly, she gave him the full benefit of the pail's contents in his upturned face. The sight of the drenched, spluttering and foully swearing rat on the street below struck the funny side of the two young girls. Clinging together, they burst into laughter, holding their sides, and with their young heads tossed back; but their laughter had an element of hysteria to it, and when at last they stopped, and the stream of profanity from below continued to pour into the room, Katy soberly closed the window. For a while they stared at each other in a scared silence. Then Katy, squaring her shoulders, belligerently said: "Well, we should worry over that one." Sunny was standing now by the bureau. A very thoughtful expression had come to Sunny's face, and she opened the top drawer and drew out her little package. "Katy," she said softly, "here are some little thing ad these package, which mebbe it goin' to help us." "Say, I been wonderin' what you got in that parcel ever since you been here. I'd a asked you, but as you didn't volunteer no inflamation, I was too much of a lady to press it, and I'm telling the world, I'd not open no package the first time myself, without knowin' what was in it, especially as that one looks kind of mysteriees and foreign looking. I heard about a lady named Pandora something and when she come to open a box she hadn't no right to open, it turned into smoke and she couldn't get it back to where she wanted it to go. What you got there, dearie, if it ain't being too personal to ask? I'll bet you got gold and diamonds hidden away somewhere." Sunny was picking at the red silk cord. Lovingly she unwrapped the Japanese paper. The touch of her fingers on her mother's things was a caress and had all the reverence that the Japanese child pays in tribute to a departed parent. "These honourable things belong my mother," said Sunny gently. "She have give them to me when she know she got die. See, Katy, this are kakemona. It very old, mebbe one tousan' year ole. It belong at grade Prince of Satsuma. Thas my mother ancestor. This kakemona, it are so ole as those ancestor," said Sunny reverently. "Old! Gee, I should say it is. Looks as if it belonged in a tomb. You couldn't hock nothing like that, dearie, meanin' no offence. What else you got?" "The poor simp!" said Katy to herself, as Sunny drew forth her mother's veil. In the gardens of the House of a Thousand Joys the face of the dancer behind the shimmering veil had aroused the enthusiasm of her admirers. Now Katy bit off the words that were about to explain to Sunny that in her opinion a better veil could be had at Dacy's for ninety-eight cents. All she said, however, was: "You better keep the veil, Sunny. I know how one feels about a mother's old duds. I got a pair of shoes of my mother's that nothing could buy from me, though they ain't much to look at; but I know how you feel about them things, dearie." "This," said Sunny, with shining eyes, "are my mother's fan. See, Katy, Takamushi, a grade poet ad Japan, are ride two poem on thad fan and present him to my mother. Thad is grade treasure. I do nod lig' to sell those fan." "I wouldn't. You just keep it, dearie. We ain't so stone broke that you have to sell your mother's fan." "These are flower that my mother wear ad her hair when she danze, Katy." The big artificial poppies that once had flashed up on either side of the dancer's lovely face, Sunny now pressed against her cheek. "Ain't they pretty?" said Katy, pretending an enthusiasm she did not feel. "You could trim a hat with them if flowers was in fashion this year, but they ain't, dearie. The latest thing is naked hats, sailors, like you got, or treecornes, with nothing on them except the lines. What's that you got there, Sunny?" "That are a letter, Katy. My mother gave me those letter. She say that some day mebbe I are need some frien'. Then I must put those letter at post office box, or I must take those letter in my hand to thad man it are write to. He are frien' to me, my mother have said." Katy grabbed the letter, disbelieving her eyes when she read the name inscribed in the thin Japanese hand. It was addressed both in English and Japanese, and the name was, Stephen Holt Wainwright, 27 Broadway, New York City. "Someone hold me up," cried Katy. "I'm about to faint dead away." "Oh, Katy, do not be dead away! Oh, Katy, do not do those faint. Here are those cracker. I am not so hungry as you." "My Lord! You poor ignorunt little simp, don't you reckernise when a fellow is fainting with pure unadulterated joy? How long have you had that letter?" "Four year now," said Sunny sadly, thinking of the day when her mother had placed it in her hand, and of the look on the face of that mother. "Why did you never mail it?" "I was await, Katy. I are not need help. I have four and five good frien' to me then, and I do not need nuther one; but now I are beggar again. I nod got those frien's no more. I need those other one." "Were you ever a _beggar_, Sunny?" "Oh, yes, Katy, some time my mother and I we beg for something eat at Japan. Thad is no disgrace. The gods love those beggar jos' same rich man, and when he go on long journey to those Meido, mebbe rich man go behind those beggar. I are hear thad at Japan." "Do you know who this letter is addressed to, dearie?" "No, Katy, I cannot read so big a name. My mother say he will be frien' to me always." "Sunny, I pity you for your ignorunce, but I don't hold it against you. You was born that way. Why, a child could read that name. Goodness knows I never got beyond the Third Grade, yet I _hope_ I'm able to read that. It says as plain as the nose on your face, Sunny: Stephen Holt Wainwright. Now that's the name of one of the biggest guns in the country. He's a U. S. senator, or was and is, and he's so rich that he has to hire twenty or fifty cashiers to count his income that rolls in upon him from his vast estates. If you weren't so ignorunt, Sunny, you'd a read about him in the _Journal_. Gee! his picture's in nearly every day, and pictures of his luxurious home and yacht and horses and wife, who's one of the big nobs in this suffrage scare. They call him 'The Man of Steel,' because he owns most of the steel in the world, and because he's got a mug--a face--on him like a steel trap. That's what I've heard and read, though I've never met the gentleman. I expect to, however, very soon, seeing he's a friend of yours. And now, lovey, don't waste no more tears over that other bunch of ginks, because this Senator Wainwright has got them all beat in the Marathon." "Katy, this letter are written by my mother ad the Japanese language. Mebbe those Sen--a--tor kinnod read them. What I shall do?" "What you shall do, baby mine? Did you think I was goin' to let precious freight like that go into any post box. Perish the idea, lovey. You and me are going to waltz downtown to 27 Broadway, and we ain't going to do no walking what's more. The Subway for little us. I'm gambling on Mr. Senator passing along a job to friends of his friends. Get your hat on now, and don't answer back neither." On the way downstairs she gave a final stern order to Sunny. "Hold your hat pin in your hand as we come out. If his nibs so much as opens his face to you, jab him in the eye. I'll take care of the rest of him." Thus bravely armed, the two small warriors issued forth, the general marshalling her army of one, with an elevated chin and nose and an eye that scorched from head to foot the craven looking object waiting for them on the street. "Come along, dearie. Be careful you don't get soiled as we pass." Laughing merrily, the two girls, with music in their souls, danced up the street, their empty stomachs and their lost jobs forgotten. When they reached the Subway, Katy seized Sunny's hand, and they raced down the steps just as the South Ferry train pulled in. CHAPTER XVII That was a long and exciting ride for Sunny. Above the roar of the rushing train Katy shouted in her ear. Perfectly at home in the Subway, Katy did not let a little thing like mere noise deter the steady flow of her tongue. The gist of her remarks came always back to what Sunny was to do when they arrived at 27 Broadway; how she was to look; how speak. She was to bear in mind that she was going into the presence of American royalty, and she was to be neither too fresh nor yet too humble. Americans, high and low, so Katy averred, liked folks that had a kick to them, but not too much of a kick. Sunny was to find out whether at some time or other in the past, Senator Wainwright had not put himself under deep obligations to some member of Sunny's family. Perhaps some of her relatives might have saved the life of this senator. Even Chinks were occasionally heroes, Katy had heard. It might be, on the other hand, said Katy, that Sunny's mother had something "on" the senator. So much the better. Katy had no objection, so she said, to the use of a bit of refined ladylike blackmail, for "the end justifies the means," said Katy, quoting, so she said, from Lincoln, the source of all her aphorisms. Anyway, the long and short of it was, said Katy, that Sunny was on no account to get cold feet. She was to enter the presence of the mighty man with dignity and coolness. "Keep your nerve whatever you do," urged Katy. Then once eye to eye with the man of power, she was to ask--it was possible, she might even be able to demand--certain favours. "Ask and it shall be given to you. Shut your mouth and it'll be taken away. That's how things go in this old world," said Katy. Sunny was to make application in both their names. If there were no vacancies in the senator's office, then she would delicately suggest that the senator could make such a vacancy. Such things were done within Katy's own experience. Katy had no difficulty in locating the monstrous office building, and she led Sunny along to the elevator with the experienced air of one used to ascending skyward in the crowded cars. Sunny held tight to her arm as they made the breathless ascent. There was no need to ask direction on the 35th floor, since the Wainwright Structural Steel Company occupied the entire floor. It was noon hour, and Katy and Sunny followed several girls returning from lunch through the main entrance of the offices. A girl at a desk in the reception hall stopped them from penetrating farther into the offices by calling out: "No admission there. Who do you want to see? Name, please." Katy swung around on her heel, and recognising a kindred spirit in the girl at the desk, she favoured her with an equally haughty and glassy stare. Then in a very superior voice, Katy replied: "We are friends of the Senator. Kindly announce us, if you please." A grin slipped over the face of the maiden at the desk, and she shoved a pad of paper toward Katy. Opposite the word "Name" on the pad, Katy wrote, "Miss Sindicutt." Opposite the word: "Business" she wrote "Private and personal and intimate." The girl at the desk glanced amusedly at the pad, tore the first sheet off, pushed a button which summoned an office boy, to whom she handed the slip of paper. With one eye turned appraisingly upon the girls, he went off backwards, whistling, and disappeared through the little swinging gate that opened apparently into the great offices beyond. "I beg your pardon?" said Katy to the girl at the desk. "I didn't say nothing," returned the surprised maiden. "I thought you said 'Be seated.' I will, thank you. Don't mention it," and Katy grinned with malicious politeness on the discomfited young person, who patted her coiffure with assumed disdain. Katy meanwhile disposed herself on the long bench, drew Sunny down beside her, and proceeded to scrutinise and comment on all passers through the main reception hall into the offices within. Once in a while she resumed her injunctions to Sunny, as: "Now don't be gettin' cold feet whatever you do. There ain't nothing to be afraid of. A cat may look at a king, him being the king and you the cat. No offence, dearie. Ha, ha, ha! That's just my way of speaking. Say, Sunny, would you look at her nibs at the desk there. Gee! ain't that a job? Some snap, I'll say. Nothin' to do, but give everyone the once over, push a button and send a boy to carry in your names. Say, if you're a true friend of mine, you'll land me that job. It'd suit me down to a double Tee." "Katy, I goin' try get you bes' job ad these place. I am not so smart like you, Katy----" "Oh, well, you can't help that, dearie, and you got the face all right." "Face is no matter. My mother are tell me many time, it is those heart that matter." "_Sounds_ all right, and I ain't questionin' your mother's opinion, Sunny, but you take it from me, you can go a darn sight further in this old world with a face than a heart." A man had come into the reception room from the main entrance. He started to cross the room directly to the little swinging door, then stopped to speak to a clerk at a wicket window. Something about the sternness of his look, an air savouring almost of austerity aroused the imp in Katy. "Well, look who's here," she whispered behind her hand to Sunny. "Now watch little K-k-katy." As the man turned from the window, and proceeded toward the door, Katy shot out her foot, and the man abstractedly stumbled against it. He looked down at the girl, impudently staring him out of countenance, and frowned at her exaggerated: "I _beg_ your pardon!" Then his glance turning irritably from Katy, rested upon Sunny's slightly shocked face? He stopped abruptly, standing perfectly still for a moment, staring down at the girl. Then with a muttered apology, Senator Wainwright turned and went swiftly through the swinging door. "Well, of _all_ the nerve!" said Katy. Then to the girl at the desk: "Who was his nibs?" "Why, your friend, of course. I'm surprised you didn't recognise him," returned the girl sweetly. "Him--Senator Wainwright." "The papers sometimes call him 'The Man of Steel,' but of course, intimate friends like you and your friend there probably call him by a nickname." "Sure we do," returned Katy brazenly. "I call him 'Sen-Sen' for short. I'd a known him in an instant with his hat off." "I want to know!" gibed the girl at the desk. The boy had returned, and thrusting his head over the short gate sang out: "This way, please, la-adies!" Katy and Sunny followed the boy across an office where many girls and men were working at desks. The click of a hundred typewriters, and the voices dictating into dictagraphs and to books impressed Katy, but with her head up she swung along behind the boy. At a door marked "Miss Hollowell, Private," the boy knocked. A voice within bade him "Come," and the two girls were admitted. Miss Hollowell, a clear-eyed young woman of the clean-cut modern type of the efficient woman executive, looked up from her work and favoured them with a pleasant smile. "What can I do for you?" The question was directed at Katy, but her trained eye went from Katy to Sunny, and there remained in speculative inquiry. "We have come to call upon the Senator," said Katy, "on important and private business." Katy was gripping to that something she called her "nerve," but her manner to Miss Hollowell had lost the gibing patronising quality she had affected to the girl at the door. Acute street gamin, as was Katy, she had that unerring gift of sizing up human nature at a glance, a gift not unsimilar in fact to that possessed by the secretary of Senator Wainwright. Miss Hollowell smiled indulgently at Katy's words. "_I_ see. Well now, I'll speak for Mr. Wainwright. What can we do for you?" "Nothing. _You_ can't do nothing," said Katy. She was not to be beguiled by the smile of this superior young person. "My friend here--meet Miss Sindicutt--has a personal letter for Senator Wainwright, and she's takin' my advice not to let it out of her hands into any but his." "I'm awfully sorry, because Mr. Wainwright is very busy, and can't possibly see you. I believe I will answer the purpose as well. I'm Mr. Wainwright's secretary." "We don't want to speak to no secretary," said Katy. "I always say: 'Go to the top. Slide down if you must. You can't slide up.'" Miss Hollowell laughed. "Oh, very well then. Perhaps some other time, but we're especially busy to-day, so I'm going to ask you to excuse us. _Good_-day." She turned back to the papers on her desk, her pencil poised above a sheet of estimates. Katy pushed Sunny forward, and in dumb show signified that she should speak. Miss Hollowell glanced up and regarded the girl with singular attention. Something in the expression, something in the back of the secretary's mind that concerned Japan, which this strange girl had now mentioned caused her to wait quietly for her to finish the sentence. Sunny held out the letter, and Miss Hollowell saw that fine script upon the envelope, with the Japanese letters down the side. "This are a letter from Japan," said Sunny. "If you please I will lig' to give those to Sen--Thad is so big a name for me to say." The last was spoken apologetically and brought a sympathetic smile from Miss Hollowell. "Can't I read it? I'm sure I can give you what information you want as well as Mr. Wainwright can." "It are wrote in Japanese," said Sunny. "You cannot read that same. _Please_ you let me take it to thad gentleman." Miss Hollowell, with a smile, arose at that plea. She crossed the room and tapped on the door bearing the Senator's name. Even in a city where offices of the New York magnates are sometimes as sumptuously furnished as drawing rooms, the great room of Senator Wainwright was distinctive. The floor was strewn with priceless Persian and Chinese rugs, which harmonised with the remarkable walls, panelled half way up with mahogany, the upper part of which was hung with masterpieces of the American painters, whose work the steel magnate especially favoured. Stephen Wainwright was seated at a big mahogany desk table, that was at the far end of the room, between the great windows, which gave upon a magnificent view of the Hudson River and part of the Harbor. He was not working. His elbows on the desk, he seemed to be staring out before him in a mood of strange abstraction. His face, somewhat stony in expression, with straight grey eyes that had a curious trick when turned on one of seeming to pin themselves in an appraising stare, his iron grey hair and the grey suit which he invariably wore had given him the name of "The Man of Steel." Miss Hollowell, with her slightly professional smile, laid the slip of paper on the desk before him. "A Miss Sindicutt. She has a letter for you--a letter from Japan she says. She wishes to deliver it in person." At the word "Japan" he came slightly out of his abstraction, stared at the slip of paper, and shook his head. "Don't know the name." "Yes, I knew you didn't; but, still, I believe I'd see her if I were you." "Very well. Send her in." Miss Hollowell at the door nodded brightly to Sunny, but stayed Katy, who triumphantly was pushing forward. "Sorry, but Mr. Wainwright will see just Miss Sindicutt." Sunny went in alone. She crossed the room hesitantly and stood by the desk of the steel magnate, waiting for him to speak to her. He remained unmoving, half turned about in his seat, staring steadily at the girl before him. If a ghost had arisen suddenly in his path, Senator Wainwright could not have felt a greater agitation. After a long pause, he found his voice, murmuring: "I beg your pardon. Be seated, please." Sunny took the chair opposite him. Their glances met and remained for a long moment locked. Then the man tried to speak lightly: "You wished to see me. What can I do for you?" Sunny extended the letter. When he took it from her hand, his face came somewhat nearer to hers, and the closer he saw that young girl's face, the greater grew his agitation. "What is your name?" he demanded abruptly. "Sunny," said the girl simply, little dreaming that she was speaking the name that the man before her had himself invented for her seventeen and a half years before. The word touched some electrical cord within him. He started violently forward in his seat, half arising, and the letter in his hand dropped on the table before him face up. A moment of gigantic self-control, and then with fingers that shook, Stephen Wainwright slipped the envelope open. The words swam before him, but not till they were indelibly printed upon the man's conscience-stricken heart. Through blurred vision he read the message from the dead to the living. "On this sixth day of the Season of Little Plenty. A thousand years of joy. It is your honourable daughter, who knows not your name, who brings or sends to you this my letter. I go upon the long journey to the Meido. I send my child to him through whom she has her life. Sayonara. Haru-no." For a long, long time the man sat with his two hands gripped before him on the desk, steadily looking at the girl before him, devouring every feature of the well-remembered face of the child he had always loved. It seemed to him that she had changed not at all. His little Sunny of those charming days of his youth had that same crystal look of supreme innocence, a quality of refinement, a fragrance of race that seemed to reach back to some old ancestry, and put its magic print upon the exquisite young face. He felt he must have been blind not to have recognised his own child the instant his eye had fallen upon her. He knew now what that warm rush of emotion had meant when he had looked at her in that outer office. It was the intuitive instinct that his own child was near--the only child he had ever had. By exercising all the self-control that he could command, he was at last able to speak her name, huskily. "Sunny, don't you remember me?" Like her father, Sunny was addicted to moments of abstraction. She had allowed her gaze to wander through the window to the harbour below, where she could see the great ships at their moorings. It made her think of the one she had come to America on, and the one on which Jerry had sailed away from Japan. Painfully, wistfully, she brought her gaze back to her father's face. At his question she essayed a little propitiating smile. "Mebbe I are see you face on American ad-ver-tise-ment. I are hear you are very grade man ad these America," said the child of Stephen Wainwright. He winced, and yet grew warm with pride and longing at the girl's delicious accent. He, too, tried to smile back at her, but something sharp bit at the man's eyelids. "No, Sunny. Try and think. Throw your mind far back--back to your sixth year, if that may be." Sunny's eyes, resting now in troubled question upon the face before her, grew slowly fixed and enlarged. Through the fogs of memory slowly, like a vision of the past, she seemed to see again a little child in a fragrant garden. She was standing by the rim of a pool, and the man opposite her now was at her side. He was dressed in Japanese kimona and hakama, and Sunny remembered that then he was always laughing at her, shaking the flower weighted trees above her, till the petals fell in a white and pink shower upon her little head and shoulders. She was stretching out her hands, catching the falling blossoms, and, delightedly exclaiming that the flying petals were tiny birds fluttering through the air. She was leaning over the edge of the pool, blowing the petals along the water, playing with her father that they were white prayer ships, carrying the petitions to the gods who waited on the other side. She remembered drowsing against the arm of the man; of being tossed aloft, her face cuddled against his neck; of passing under the great wistaria arbour. Ah, yes! how clearly she recalled it now! As her father transferred her to her mother's arms, he bent and drew that mother into his embrace also. Two great tears welled up in the eyes of Sunny, but ere they could fall, the distance between her and her father had vanished. Stephen Wainwright, kneeling on the floor by his long-lost child, had drawn her hungrily into his arms. "My own little girl!" said "The Man of Steel." CHAPTER XVIII Stephen Wainwright, holding his daughter jealously in his arms, felt those long-locked founts of emotion that had been pent up behind his steely exterior bursting all bounds. He had the immense feeling that he wanted for evermore to cherish and guard this precious thing that was all his own. "Our actions are followed by their consequences as surely as a body by its shadow," says the Japanese proverb, and that cruel act of his mad youth had haunted the days of this man, who had achieved all that some men sell their souls for in life. And yet the greatest of all prizes had escaped him--peace of mind. Even now, as he held Sunny in his arms, he was consumed by remorse and anguish. In his crowded life of fortune and fame, and a social career at the side of the brilliant woman who bore his name, Stephen Wainwright's best efforts had been unavailing to obliterate from his memory that tragic face that like a flower petal on a stream he had so lightly blown away. O-Haru-no was her name then, and she was the child of a Japanese woman of caste, whose marriage to an attaché of a Russian embassy had, in its time, created a furore in the capital. Her father had perished in a shipwreck at sea, and her mother had returned to her people, there, in her turn, to perish from grief and the cold neglect of the Japanese relatives who considered her marriage a blot upon the family escutcheon. Always a lover and collector of beautiful things, Wainwright had harkened to the enthusiastic flights of a friend, who had "discovered" an incomparable piece of Satsuma, and had accompanied him to an old mansion, once part of a Satsuma yashiki, there to find that his friend's "piece of Satsuma" was a living work of art, a little piece of bric-a-brac that the collector craved to add to his collections. He had purchased O-Haru-no for a mere song, for her white skin had been a constant reproach and shame in the house of her ancestors. Moreover, this branch of the ancient family had fallen upon meagre days, and despite their pride, they were not above bartering this humble descendant for the gold of the American. O-Haru-no escaped with joy from the harsh atmosphere of the house of her ancestors to the gay home of her purchaser. The fact that he had practically bought his wife, and that she had been willing to become a thing of barter and sale, had from the first caused the man to regard her lightly. We value things often, not by their intrinsic value, but by the price we have paid for them, and O-Haru-no had been thrown upon the bargain counter of life. However, it was not in Stephen Wainwright's nature to resist anything as pretty as the wife he had bought. A favourite and sardonic jest of his at that time was that she was the choicest piece in his collections, and that some day he purposed to put her in a glass case, and present her to the Museum of Art of his native city. Had indeed Stephen Wainwright seen the dancer, as she lay among her brilliant robes, her wide sleeves outspread like the wings of a butterfly, and that perfectly chiselled face on which the smile that had made her famous still seemed faintly to linger, he might have recalled that utterance of the past, and realised that no object of art in the great museum of which his people were so proud, could compare with this masterpiece of Death's grim hand. He tried to delude himself with the thought that the temporary wife of his young days was but an incident, part of an idyll that had no place in the life of the man of steel, who had seized upon life with strong, hot hands. But Sunny! His own flesh and blood, the child whose hair had suggested her name. Despite the galloping years she persisted ever in his memory. He thought of her constantly, of her strange little ways, her pretty coaxing ways, her smile, her charming love of the little live things, her perception of beauty, her closeness to nature. There was a quality of psychic sweetness about her, something rare and delicate that appealed to the epicure as exquisite and above all price. It was not his gold that had purchased Sunny. She was a gift of the gods and his memory of his child contained no flaw. It was part of his punishment that the woman he married after his return to America from Japan should have drifted farther and farther apart from him with the years. Intuitively, his wife had recognised that hungry heart behind the man's cold exterior. She knew that the greatest urge in the character of this man was his desire for children. From year to year she suffered the agony of seeing the frustration of their hopes. Highstrung and imaginative, Mrs. Wainwright feared that her husband would acquire a dislike for her. The idea persisted like a monomania. She sought distraction from this ghost that arose between them in social activities and passionate work in the cause of woman's suffrage. It was her husband's misfortune that his nature was of that unapproachable sort that seldom lets down the mask, a man who retired within himself, and sought resources of comfort where indeed they were not to be found. Grimly, cynically, he watched the devastating effects of their separated interests, and in time she, too, in a measure was cast aside, in thought at least, just as the first wife had been. Stephen Wainwright grew grimmer and colder with the years, and the name applied to him was curiously suitable. This was the man whose tears were falling on the soft hair of the strange girl from Japan. He had lifted her hat, that he might again see that hair, so bright and pretty that had first suggested her name. With awkward gentleness, he smoothed it back from the girl's thin little face. "Sunny, you know your father now, fully, don't you? Tell me that you do--that you have not forgotten me. You were within a few weeks of six when I went away, and we were the greatest of pals. Surely you have not forgotten altogether. It seems just the other day you were looking at me, just as you are now. It does not seem to me as if you have changed at all. You are still my little girl. Tell me--you have not forgotten your father altogether, have you?" "No. Those year they are push away. You are my Chichi (papa). I so happy see you face again." She held him back, her two hands on his shoulders, and now, true to her sex, she prepared to demand a favour from her father. "Now I think you are going to give Katy and me mos' bes' job ad you business." "Job? Who is Katy?" "I are not told you yet of Katy. Katy are my frien'." "You've told me nothing. I must know everything that has happened to you since I left Japan." "Thas too long ago," said Sunny sadly, "and I am hongry. I lig' eat liddle bit something." "What! You've had no lunch?" She told him the incident of the dog meat, not stopping to explain just then who Katy was, and how she had come to be with her. He leaned over to the desk and pushed the button. Miss Holliwell, coming to the door, saw a sight that for the first time in her years of service with Senator Wainwright took away her composure. Her employer was kneeling by a chair on which was seated the strange girl. Her hat was off, and she was holding one of his hands with both of hers. Even then he did not break the custom of years and explain or confide in his secretary, and she saw to her amazement that the eyes of the man she secretly termed "the sphinx" were red. All he said was: "Order a luncheon, Miss Holliwell. Have it brought up here. Have Mouquin rush it through. That is all." Miss Holliwell slowly closed the door, but her amazement at what she had seen within was turned to indignation at what she encountered without. As the door opened, Katy pressed up against the keyhole, fell back upon the floor. During the period when Sunny had been in the private office of Miss Holliwell's employer, she had had her hands full with the curious young person left behind. Katy had found relief from her pent-up curiosity in an endless stream of questions and gratuitous remarks which she poured out upon the exasperated secretary. Katy's tongue and spirit were entirely undaunted by the chilling monosyllabic replies of Miss Holliwell, and the latter was finally driven to the extremity of requesting her to wait in the outer office: "I'm awfully busy," said the secretary, "and really when you chatter like that I cannot concentrate upon my work." To which, with a wide friendly smile, rejoined Katy: "Cheer up, Miss Frozen-Face. Mums the word from this time on." "Mum" she actually kept, but her alert pose, her cocked-up ears and eyes, glued upon the door had such a quality of upset about them that Miss Holliwell found it almost as difficult to concentrate as when her tongue had rattled along. Now here she was engaged in the degrading employment of listening and seeing what was never intended for her ears and eyes. Miss Holliwell pushed her indignantly away. "What do you _mean_ by doing a thing like that?" Between what she had seen inside her employer's private office, and the actions of this young gamin, Miss Holliwell was very much disturbed. She betook herself to the seat with a complete absence of her cultivated composure. When Katy said, however: "Gee! I wisht I knew whether Sunny is safe in there with that gink," Miss Holliwell was forced to raise her hand to hide a smile that would come despite her best efforts. For once in her life she gave the wrong number, and was cross with the girl at the telephone desk because it was some time before Mouquin's was reached. The carefully ordered meal dictated by Miss Holliwell aroused in the listening Katy such mixed emotions, that, as the secretary hung up the receiver, the hungry youngster leaned over and said in a hoarse pleading whisper: "Say, if you're orderin' for Sunny, make it a double." Inside, Sunny was telling her father her story. "Begin from the first," he had said. "Omit nothing. I must know everything about you." Graphically, as they waited for the lunch, she sketched in all the sordid details of her early life, the days of their mendicancy making the man feel immeasurably mean. Sitting at the desk now, his eyes shaded with his hand, he gritted his teeth, and struck the table with repeated soundless blows when his daughter told him of Hirata. But something, a feeling more penetrating than pain, stung Stephen Wainwright when she told him of those warmhearted men who had come into her life like a miracle and taken the place that he should have been there to fill. For the first time he interrupted her to take down the names of her friends, one by one, on a pad of paper. Professor Barrowes, Zoologist and Professor of Archeology. Wainwright had heard of him somewhere recently. Yes, he recalled him now. Some dispute about a recent "find" of the Professor's. A question raised as to the authenticity of the fossil. Opposition to its being placed in the Museum--Newspaper discussion. An effort on the Professor's part to raise funds for further exploration in Canada northwest. Robert Mapson, Jr. Senator Wainwright knew the reporter slightly. He had covered stories in which Senator Wainwright was interested. On the _Comet_. Sunny's father knew the _Comet_ people well. Lamont Potter, Jr. Philadelphia people. His firm did business with them. Young Potter at Bellevue. J. Lyon Crawford, son of a man once at college with Wainwright. Sunny's father recalled some chaffing joke at the club anent "Jinx's" political ambitions. As a prospect in politics he had seemed a joke to his friends. And, last, J. Addison Hammond, Jr., "Jerry." How Sunny had pronounced that name! There was that about that soft inflection that caused her father to hold his pencil suspended, while a stab of jealousy struck him. "What does he do, Sunny?" "Ho! He are goin' be grade artist-arki-tuck. He make so beautiful pictures, and he have mos' beautiful thought on inside his head. He goin' to make all these city loog beautiful. He show how make 'partment houses, where all god light and there's garden grow on top, and there's house where they not put out liddle bebby on street. He's go sleep and play on those garden on top house." Her father, his elbow on desk, his chin cupped on his hand, watched the girl's kindling face, and suffered pangs that he could not analyse. Quietly he urged her to continue her story. Unwilling she turned from Jerry, but came back always to him. Of her life in Jerry's apartment, of Hatton and his "yuman 'ankerings"; of Itchy, with his two fleas; of Mr. and Mrs. Satsuma in the gold cage, of Count and Countess Taguchi who swam in the glass bowl; of the honourable mice; of the butcher and janitor gentlemen; of Monty, of Bobs, of Jinx, who had asked her to marry them, and up to the day when Mrs. Hammond and Miss Falconer had come to the apartment and turned her out. Then a pause to catch her breath in a wrathful sob, to continue the wistful tale of her prayer to Kuonnon in the raging, noisy street; of the mother's gentle spirit that had gone with her on the dark long road that lead to--Katy. It was then that Miss Holliwell tapped, and the waiters came in with the great loaded trays held aloft, bearing the carefully ordered meal and the paraphernalia that accompanies a luncheon de luxe. Someone besides the waiters had slipped by Miss Holliwell. Katy, clucking with her tongue against the roof of her mouth, tried to attract the attention of Sunny, whose back was turned. Sniffing those delicious odours, Katy came farther into the room, and following the clucking she let out an unmistakably false cough and loud Ahem! This time, Sunny turned, saw her friend, and jumped up from her seat and ran to her. Said Katy in a whisper: "Gee! You're smarter than I gave you credit for being. Got him going, ain't you? Well, pull his leg while the going's good, and say, Sunny, if them things on the tray are for you, remember, I gave you half my hot dogs and I always say----" "This are my frien', Katy," said Sunny proudly, as the very grave faced man whom Katy had tried to trip came forward and took Katy's hand in a tight clasp. "Katy, this are my--Chichi--Mr. Papa," said Sunny. Katy gasped, staring with wide open mouth from Senator Wainwright to Sunny. Her head reeled with the most extravagantly romantic tale that instantly flooded it. Then with a whoop curiously like that of some small boy, Katy grasped hold of Sunny about the waist. "Whuroo!" cried Katy. "I _knew_ you was a princess. Gee. It's just like a dime novel--better than any story in Hoist's even." There in the dignified office of the steel magnate the girl from the east side drew his daughter into one of the most delicious shimmies, full of sheer fun and impudent youth. For the first time in years, Senator Wainwright threw back his head and burst into laughter. Now these two young radiant creatures, who could dance while they hungered, were seated before that gorgeous luncheon. Sunny's father lifted the top from the great planked steak, entirely surrounded on the board with laced browned potatoes, ornamental bits of peas, beans, lima and string, asparagus, cauliflower and mushrooms. Sunny let forth one long ecstatic sigh as she clasped her hands together, while Katy laid both hands piously upon her stomach and raising her eyes as if about to deliver a solemn Grace, she said: "Home, sweet home, was never like this!" CHAPTER XIX Society enjoys a shock. It craves sensation. When that brilliant and autocratic leader returned from several months' absence abroad, with a young daughter, of whose existence no one had ever heard, her friends were mystified. When, with the most evident pride and fondness she referred to the fact that her daughter had spent most of her life in foreign lands, and was the daughter of Senator Wainwright's first wife, speculation was rife. That the Senator had been previously married, that he had a daughter of eighteen years, set all society agog, and expectant to see the girl, whose debut was to be made at a large coming out party given by her mother in her honour. The final touch of mystery and romance was added by the daughter herself. An enterprising society reporter, had through the magic medium of a card from her chief, Mr. Mapson, of the New York _Comet_, obtained a special interview with Miss Wainwright on the eve of her ball, and the latter had confided to the incredulous and delighted newspaper woman the fact that she expected to be married at an early date. The announcement, however, lost some of its thrill when Miss Wainwright omitted the name of the happy man. Application to her mother brought forth the fact that that personage knew no more about this coming event than the "throb sister," as she called herself. Mrs. Wainwright promptly denied the story, pronouncing it a probable prank of Miss Sunny and her friend, Miss Clarry. Here Mrs. Wainwright sighed. She always sighed at the mention of Katy's name, sighed indulgently, yet hopelessly. The latter had long since been turned over to the efficient hands of a Miss Woodhouse, a lady from Bryn Mawr, who had accompanied the Wainwright party abroad. Her especial duty in life was to refine Katy, a task not devoid of entertainment to said competent young person from Bryn Mawr, since it stirred to literary activity certain slumbering talents, and in due time Katy, through the pen of Miss Woodhouse, was firmly pinned on paper. However, this is not Katy's story, though it may not be inapropos to mention here that the Mrs. J. Lyon Crawford, Jr., who for so long queened it over, bossed, bullied and shepherded the society of New York, was under the skin ever the same little General who had marched forth with her army of one down the steps of that east side tenement house, with hat pin ostentatiously and dangerously apparent to the craven rat of the east side. Coming back to Sunny. The newspaper woman persisting that the story had been told her with utmost candour and seriousness, Mrs. Wainwright sent for her daughter. Sunny, questioned by her mother, smilingly confirmed the story. "But, my dear," said Mrs. Wainwright, "You know no young men yet. Surely you are just playing. It's a game between you and Katy, isn't it, dear? Katy is putting you up to it, I'm sure." "No, mama, Katy are--is--not do so. _I_ am! It is true! I am going to make marriage wiz American gentleman mebbe very soon." "Darling, I believe I'd run along. That will do for just now, dear. _I'll_ speak to Miss Ah--what is the name?" "Holman, of the _Comet_." "Ah, yes, Miss Holman. Run along, dear," in a tone an indulgent mother uses to a baby. Then with her club smile turned affably on Miss Holman: "Our little Sunny is so mischievous. Now I'm quite sure she and Miss Clarry are playing some naughty little game. I don't believe I'd publish that if I were you, Miss Holman." Miss Holman laughed in Mrs. Wainwright's face, which brought the colour to a face that for the last few months had radiated such good humour upon the world. Mrs. Wainwright smiled, now discomfited, for she knew that the newspaper woman not only intended to print Sunny's statement, but her mother's denial. "Now, Miss Holman, your story will have no value, in view of the fact that the name of the man is not mentioned." "I thought that a defect at first," said Miss Holman, shamelessly, "but I'm inclined to think it will add to the interest. Our readers dote on mysteries, and I'll cover the story on those lines. Later I'll do a bit of sleuthing on the man end. We'll get him," and the man-like young woman nodded her head briskly and betook herself from the Wainwright residence well satisfied with her day's work. An appeal to the editor of the _Comet_ on the telephone brought back the surprising answer that they would not print the story if Sunny--that editor referred to the child of Senator Wainwright as "Sunny"--herself denied it. He requested that "Sunny" be put on the wire. Mrs. Wainwright was especially indignant over this, because she knew that that editor had arisen to his present position entirely through a certain private "pull" of Senator Wainwright. Of course, the editor himself did not know this, but Senator Wainwright's wife did, and she thought him exceedingly unappreciative and exasperating. Mrs. Wainwright sought Sunny in her room. Here she found that bewildering young person with her extraordinary friend enthusing over a fashion book devoted to trousseaux and bridal gowns. They looked up with flushed faces, and Mrs. Wainwright could not resist a feeling of resentment at the thought that her daughter (she never thought of Sunny as "stepdaughter") should give her confidence to Miss Clarry in preference to her. However, she masked her feelings, as only Mrs. Wainwright could, and with a smile to Katy advised her that Miss Woodhouse was waiting for her. Katy's reply, "Yes, ma'am--I mean, Aunt Emma," was submissive and meek enough, but it was hard for Mrs. Wainwright to overlook that very pronounced wink with which Katy favoured Sunny ere she departed. "And now, dear," said Mrs. Wainwright, putting her arm around Sunny, "tell me all about it." Sunny, who loved her dearly, cuddled against her like a child, but nevertheless shook her bright head. "Ho! That is secret I not tell. I are a tomb." "Tomb?" "Yes, thas word lig' Katy use when she have secret. She say it are--is--lock up in tomb." "To think," said Mrs. Wainwright jealously, "that you prefer to confide in a stranger like Katy rather than your mother." "No, I not told Katy yet," said Sunny quickly. "She have ask me one tousan' time, and I are not tol' her." "But, darling, surely you want _me_ to know. Is he any young man we are acquainted with?" Sunny, finger thoughtfully on her lip, considered. "No-o, I think you are not know him yet." "Is he one of the young men who--er----" It was painful for Mrs. Wainwright to contemplate that chapter in Sunny's past when she had been the ward of four strange young men. In fact, she had taken Sunny abroad immediately after that remarkable time when her husband had brought the strange young girl to the house and for the first time she had learned of Sunny's existence. Life had taken on a new meaning to Mrs. Wainwright after that. Suddenly she comprehended the meaning of having someone to live for. Her life and work had a definite purpose and impetus. Her husband's child had closed the gulf that had yawned so long between man and wife, and was threatening to separate them forever. Her love for Sunny, and her pride in the girl's beauty and charm was almost pathetic. Had she been the girl's own mother, she could not have been more indulgent or anxious for her welfare. Sunny, not answering the last question, Mrs. Wainwright went over in her mind each one of the young men whose ward Sunny had been. The first three, Jinx, Monty and Bobs, she soon rejected as possibilities. There remained Jerry Hammond. Private inquiries concerning Jerry had long since established the fact that he had been for a number of years engaged to a Miss Falconer. Mrs. Wainwright had been much distressed because Sunny insisted on writing numerous letters to Jerry while abroad. It seemed very improper, so she told the girl, to write letters to another woman's fiancé. Sunny agreed with this most earnestly, and after a score of letters had gone unanswered she promised to desist. Mrs. Wainwright appreciated all that Mr. Hammond had done for her daughter. Sunny's father had indeed expressed that appreciation in that letter (a similar one had been sent to all members of the Sunny Syndicate) penned immediately after he had found Sunny. He had, moreover, done everything in his power privately to advance the careers and interests of the various men who had befriended his daughter. But for his engagement to Miss Falconer, Mrs. Wainwright would not have had the slightest objection to Sunny continuing her friendship with this Mr. Hammond, but really it was hardly the proper thing under the circumstances. However, she was both peeved and relieved when Sunny's many epistles remained unanswered for months, and then a single short letter that was hardly calculated to revive Sunny's childish passion for this Jerry arrived. Jerry wrote: "Dear Sunny. Glad get your many notes. Have been away. Glad you are happy. Hope see you when you return. JERRY." A telegram would have contained more words, the ruffled Mrs. Wainwright was assured, and she acquired a prejudice against Jerry, despite all the good she had heard of him. From that time on her rôle was to, as far as lay in her power, distract the dear child from thought of the man who very evidently cared nothing about her. Of course, Mrs. Wainwright did not know of that illness of Jerry Hammond when he had hovered between life and death. She did not know that all of Sunny's letters had come to his hand at one time, unwillingly given up by Professor Barrowes, who feared a relapse from the resulting excitement. She did not know that that shaky scrawl was due to the fact that Jerry was sitting up in bed, and had penned twenty or more letters to Sunny, in which he had exhausted all of the sweet words of a lover's vocabulary, and then had stopped short to contemplate the fact that he had done absolutely nothing in the world to prove himself worthy of Sunny, had torn up the aforementioned letters, and penned the blank scrawl that told the daughter of Senator Wainwright nothing. But it was shortly after that that Jerry began to "come back." He started upon the highroad to health, and his recuperation was so swift that he was able to laugh at the protesting and anxious Barrowes, who moved heaven and earth to prevent the young man from returning to his work. Jerry had been however, "away" long enough, so he said, and he fell upon his work with such zeal that no mere friend or mother could stop him. Never had that star of Beauty, of which he had always dreamed, seemed so close to Jerry as now. Never had the incentive to succeed been so vital and gloriously necessary. At the end of all his efforts, he saw no longer the elusive face of the imaginary "Beauty," of which he loved to tell Sunny, and which he despaired ever to reach. What was a figment of the imagination now took a definite lovely form. At the end of his rainbow was the living face of Sunny. And so with a song within his heart, a light in his eyes, and a spring to his step, with kind words for everyone he met, Jerry Hammond worked and waited. Mrs. Wainwright, by this time, knew the futility of trying to force Sunny to reveal her secret. Not only was she very Japanese in her ability to keep a secret when she chose, but she was Stephen Wainwright's child. Her mother knew that for months she had neither seen nor written to Jerry Hammond, for Sunny herself had told her so, when questioned. Who then was the mysterious fiancé? Could it possibly be someone she had known in Japan? This thought caused Mrs. Wainwright considerable trepidation. She feared the possibility of a young Russian, a Japanese, a missionary. To make sure that Jerry was not the one Sunny had in mind, she asked the girl whether he had ever proposed to her, and Sunny replied at once, very sadly: "No-o. I ask him do so, but he do not do so. He are got 'nother girl he marry then. Jinx and Monty and Bobs are all ask me marry wiz them, but Jerry never ask so." "Oh, my dear, did you really _ask_ him to ask you to marry him?" "Ho! I hint for him do so," said Sunny, "but he do not do so. Thas very sad for me," she admitted dejectedly. "Very fortunate, I call it," said Mrs. Wainwright. Thus Jerry's elimination was completed, and for the nonce the matter of Sunny's marriage was dropped pro tem, to be revived, however, on the night of her ball, when the story appeared under leaded type in the _Comet_. CHAPTER XX There have been many marvellous balls given in the City of New York, but none exceeding the famous Cherry Blossom ball. The guests stepped into a vast ball room that had been transformed into a Japanese garden in spring. On all sides, against the walls, and made into arbours and groves, cherry trees in full blossom were banked, while above and over the galleries dripped the long purple and white heads of the wistaria. The entire arch of the ceiling was covered with cherry branches, and the floor was of heavy glass, in imitation of a lake in which the blossoms were reflected. Through a lane of slender bamboo the guests passed to meet, under a cherry blossom bower, the loveliest bud of the season, Sunny, in a fairy-like maline and chiffon frock, springing out about her diaphanously, and of the pale pink and white colors of the cherry blossoms. Sunny, with her bright, shining hair coifed by the hand of an artist; Sunny, with her first string of perfect pearls and a monstrous feather fan, that when dropped seemed to cover half her short fluffy skirts. Sunny, with the brightest eyes, darting in and out and looking over the heads of her besieging guests, laughing, nodding, breathlessly parrying the questions that poured in on all sides. Everybody wanted to know who _the_ man was. "Oh, do tell us who he is," they would urge, and Sunny would shake her bright head, slowly unfurl her monstrous fan, and with it thoughtfully at her lips she would say: "Ho yes, it are true, and mebbe I will tell you some nother day." Now among those present at Sunny's party were five men whose acquaintance the readers of this story have already made. It so happened that they were very late in arriving at the Wainwright dance, this being due to the fact that one of their number had to be brought there by physical force. Jerry, at dinner, had read that story in the _Comet_, and was reduced to such a condition of distraction that it was only by the united efforts of his four friends that he was forcibly shoved into that car. The party arrived late, as stated, and it may be recorded that as Sunny's eyes searched that sea of faces before her, moving to the music of the orchestra and the tinkle of the Japanese bells, they lost somewhat of their shining look, and became so wistful that her father, sensitive to every change in the girl, never left her side; but he could not induce the girl to dance. She remained with her parents in the receiving arbor. Suddenly two spots of bright rose came to the cheeks of Sunny, and she arose on tip-toes, just as she had done as a child on the tight rope. She saw that arriving party approaching, and heard Katy's voice as she husbanded them to what she called "the royal throne." At this juncture, and when he was within but a few feet of the "throne" Jerry saw Sunny. One long look passed between them, and then, shameless to relate, Jerry ducked into that throng of dancers. To further escape the wrathful hands of his friends, he seized some fat lady hurriedly about the waist and dragged her upon the glass floor. His rudeness covered up with as much tact as his friends could muster, they proceeded, as far as lay in their power, to compensate for his defection. They felt no sympathy nor patience with the acts of Jerry. Were they not all in the same boat, and equally stung by the story of Sunny's engagement? Both hands held out, Sunny welcomed her friends. First Professor Barrowes: "Ho! How it is good ad my eyes see your kind face again." Alas! for Sunny's several months with especial tutors and governesses, and the beautiful example of Mrs. Wainwright. Always in moments of excitement she lapsed into her strangely-twisted English speech and topsy-turvy grammar. Professor Barrowes, with the dust in his eyes and brain of that recent triumphant trip into the northwest of Canada, brushed aside by the illness of his friend, was on solid enough earth as Sunny all but hugged him. Bowing, beaming, chuckling, he took the fragrant little hand in his own, and with the pride and glow of a true discoverer, his eye scanned the fairylike creature before him. "Ah! Miss--ah--Sunny. The pleasure is mine--entirely mine, I assure you. May I add that you still, to me, strongly resemble the child who came upon the tight rope, with a smile upon her face, and a dewdrop on her cheek. "May I add," continued Professor Barrowes, "that it is my devout hope, my dear, that you will always remain unchanged? I hope so devoutly. I wish it." "Ho! Mr. dear Professor, I am jos' nothing but little moth. Nothing moach good on these earth. But you--you are do so moach I am hear. You tich all those worl' _how_ those worl' are be ad the firs' day of all! Tell me 'bout what happen to you. Daikoku (God of Fortune) he have been kind to you--yes?" "Astounding kind--amazingly so. There is much to tell. If you will allow me, at an early date, I will do myself the pleasure of calling upon you, and--ah--going into detail. I believe you will be much interested in recent discoveries in a hitherto unexplored region of the Canadian northwest, where I am convinced the largest number of fossils of the post pliocene and quaternary period are to be found. I had the pleasure of assisting in bringing back to the United States the full-sized skeleton of a dinornis. You no doubt have heard of the aspersions regarding its authenticity, but I believe we have made our--er--opponents appear pretty small, thanks to the aid of your father and other friends. In point of fact, I may say, I am indebted to your father for an undeserved recommendation, and a liberal donation, which will make possible the fullest research, and establish beyond question the--ah----" Miss Holliwell, smiling and most efficiently and inconspicuously managing the occasion, noting the congestion about Sunny, and the undisguised expressions of deepening disgust and impatience on the faces of Sunny's other friends, here interposed. She slipped her hand through the Professor's arm, and with a murmured: "Oh, Professor Barrowes, do try this waltz with me. It's one of the old ones, and this is Leap Year, so I am going to ask you." Now Miss Holliwell had had charge of all the matters pertaining to the dinornis; her association with Professor Barrowes had been both pleasant and gratifying to the man of science. If anyone imagines that sixty-year-old legs cannot move with the expedition and grace of youth, he should have witnessed the gyrations and motions of the legs of Professor Barrowes as he guided the Senator's secretary through the mazes of the waltz. Came then Monty, upright and rosy, and as shamelessly young as when over four years before, at seventeen, he imagined himself wise and aged-looking with his bone-ribbed glasses. The down was still on Monty's cheek, and the adoration of the puppy still in his eyes. "Sunny! It does my soul good to see you. You look perfectly great--yum-yum. Jove, you gave us a fright, all right. Haven't got over it yet. Looked for you in the morgue, Sunny, and here you are shining like--like a star." "Monty! That face of you will make me always shine like star. What you are doing these day?" "Oh, just a few little things. Nothing to mention," returned Monty, with elaborate carelessness, his heart thumping with pride and yearning to pour out the full tale into the sympathetic pink ear of Sunny. "I got a year or two still to put in--going up to Johns Hopkins; then, Sunny, I've a great job for next summer--between the postgraduate work. I'll get great, practical training from a field that--well----I'm going to Panama, Sunny. Connection with fever and sanitary work. Greatest opportunity of lifetime. I'm to be first assistant--it's the literal truth, to----" He whispered a name in Sunny's ear which caused her to start back, gasping with admiration. "Monty; how I am proud of you!" "Oh, it's nothing much. Don't know why in the world they picked _me_. My work wasn't better than the other chaps. I was conscientious enough and interested of course, but so were the other fellows. You could have knocked me down with a feather when they picked me for the job. Why, I was fairly stunned by the news. Haven't got over it yet. Your father knows Dr. Roper, the chief, you know. Isn't the world small? Say, Sunny, whose the duck you're engaged to? G'wan, tell your old chum." "Ho, Monty, I will tell you--tonide mebbe some time." "Here, here, Monty, you've hogged enough of Sunny's attention. My turn now." Bobs pushed the unwilling Monty along, and the youngster, pretending a lofty indifference to the challenging smiles directed at him by certain members of the younger set, was nevertheless soon slipping over the floor, with the prettiest one of them all, whom Mrs. Wainwright especially led him to. Bobs meanwhile was grinning at Sunny, while she, with a maternal eye, examined "dear Bobs," and noted that he had gotten into his clothes hastily, but that nevertheless he was the same charming friend. "By gum, you look positively edible," was his greeting. "What you been doing with yourself, and what's this latest story I'm hearing about your marrying some Sonofagun?" "Bobs, I are goin' to tell you 'bout those Sonofagun some time this nide," smiled Sunny, "but I want to know firs' of all tings, what you are do, dear Bobs?" "I?" Bobs rose up and down on his polished toes. "City editor of the _Comet_, old top, that's my job. Youngest ever known on the desk, but not, I hope, the least competent." "Ho, Bobs. You _are_ one whole editor man! How I am proud of you. Now you are goin' right up to top notch. Mebbe by'n by you get to be ambassador ad udder country and----" "Whew-w! How can a mere man climb to the heights you expect of him. What I want to know is--how about that marriage story? I printed it, because it was good stuff, but who is the lucky dog? Come on, now, you know you can tell me anything." "Ho, Bobs, I _are_ goin' tell you anything. Loog, Bobs, here are a frien' I wan' you speag ad. She also have wrote a book. Her name are--is Miss Woodenhouse. She is ticher to my frien', Miss Clarry. She are----" "Are! Sunny?" "'Am'. She am--no, is, very good ticher. She am--is--make me and Katy spik and ride English jos same English lady." The young and edified instructor of Katy Clarry surveyed the young and edified editor of the New York _Comet_ with a quizzical eye. The young editor in question returned that quizzical glance, grinned, offered his arm, and they whirled off to the music of a rippling two-step. Sunny had swung around and seized the two plump soft hands of Jinx, at whose elbow Katy was pressing. Katy, much to her delight, had been assisting Miss Holliwell in caring for the arriving guests, and had indeed quite surprised and amused that person by her talent for organisation and real ability. Katy was in her element as she bustled about, in somewhat the proprietary manner of the floor walkers and the lady heads of departments in the stores where Katy had one time worked. "Jinx, Jinx, Jinx! My eyes are healty jos' loog ad you! I am _thad_ glad see you speag also wiz my bes' frien', Katy." She clapped her hands excitedly. "How I thing it nize that you and Katy be----" Katy coughed loudly. Sunny's ignorance at times was extremely distressing. Katy had a real sympathy for Mrs. Wainwright at certain times. Jinx had blushed as red as a peony. "Have a heart, Sunny!" Nevertheless he felt a sleepish pride in the thought that Sunny's best friend should have singled him out for special attention. Jinx, though the desired one of aspiring mothers, was not so popular with the maidens, who were pushed forward and adjured to regard him as a most desirable husband. Katy was partial to flesh. She had no patience with the artist who declared that bones were æsthetic and to suit his taste he liked to hear the bones rattle. Katy averred that there was something awfully cosy about fat people. "I hear some grade news of you, Jinx," said Sunny admiringly. "I hear you are got nomin--ation be on staff those governor." "That's only the beginning, Sunny. I'm going in for politics a bit. Life too purposeless heretofore, and the machine wants me. At least, I've been told so. Your father, Sunny, has been doggone nice about it--a real friend. You know there was a bunch of city hicks that thought it fun to laugh at the idea of a fat man holding down any public job, but I guess the fat fellow can put it over some of the other bunch." "Ho! I should say that so." "Look at President Taft," put in Katy warmly. "He weighs more'n you do, I'll bet." "Give a fellow a chance," said Jinx bashfully. "If I keep on, I'll soon catch up with him." "Sunny," said Katy in her ear, "I feel like Itchy. You remember you told me how after a bath he liked to roll himself in the dirt because he missed his fleas. That's me all over. I miss my fleas. I ain--aren't used to being refined. Gee! I hope Miss Woodhouse didn't hear me say that. If she catches me talking like that--good-night! D'she ever make _you_ feel like a two-spot?"--Scorch with a _look_! Good-night!" A broad grin lighted up Katy's wide Irish face. Shoving her arm recklessly through Jinx's, she said: "Come along, old skate, let's show 'em on the floor what reglar dancers like you and me can do." Sunny watched them with shining eyes, and once as they whirled by, Katy's voice floated above the murmurs of the dance and music: "Gee! How light you are on your feet! Plump men usually are. I always say----" And Katy and Jinx, Monty and Bobs and the Professor and all her friends were lost to view in that moving, glittering throng of dancers, upon whom, like fluttering moths the cherry blossom petals were dropping from above alighting upon their heads and shoulders and giving them that festival look that Sunny knew so well in Japan. She had a breathing space for a spell, and now that very wistful longing look stole like a shadow back to the girl's young face. All unconsciously a sigh escaped her. Instantly her father was at her side. "You want something, my darling?" "Yes, papa. You love me very much, papa?" "_Do_ I? If there's anything in the world you want that I can give you, you have only to ask, my little girl." "Then papa, you see over dere that young man stand. You see him?" "Young Hammond?" "Jerry." Her very pronouncement of his name was a caress. "Papa, I wan speag to him. All these night I have wan see him. See, wiz my fan I are do lig' this, and nod my head, and wiz my finger, too, I call him, but he do not come," dejectedly. "Loog! I will do so again. You see!" She made an unmistakable motion with her hand and fan at Jerry and that unhappy young fool turned his back and slunk behind some artificial camphor trees. "By George!" said Senator Wainwright. "Sunny, do you want me to bring that young puppy to you?" "Papa, Jerry are not a puppy, but jus' same, I wan' you bring him unto me. Please. And then, when he come, please you and mamma stand liddle bit off, and doan let nobody else speag ad me. I are got something I wan ask Jerry all by me." The music had stopped, but the clapping hands of the dancers were clamouring for a repetition of the crooning dance song that had just begun its raging career in the metropolis. Sunny saw her father clap Jerry upon the shoulder. She saw his effort to escape, and her father's smiling insistence. A short interval of breathless suspense, and then the reluctant, very white, very stern young Jerry was standing before Sunny. He tried to avoid Sunny's glance, but, fascinated, found himself looking straight into the girl's eyes. She was smiling, but there was something in her dewy glance that reached out and twisted the boy's heart strings sadly. "Jerry!" said Sunny softly, her great fan touching her lips, and looking up at him with such a glance that all his best resolves to continue calm seemed threatened with panic. He said, with what he flattered was an imitation of composure: "Lovely day--er--night. How are you?" "I are so happy I are lig' those soap bubble. I goin' burst away." "Yes, naturally you would be happy. Beautiful day--er--night, isn't it?" He resolved to avoid all personal topics. He would shoot small talk at her, and she should not suspect the havoc that was raging within him. "How are your mother?" "Well, thank you." "How are your frien', Miss Falconer?" "Don't know, I'm sure." "Hatton are tol' me all 'bout her," said Sunny. "Hatton? He's gone. I don't know where?" "He are officer at Salavation Army. He come to our house, and my father give him money for those poor people. Hatton are tell me all 'bout you. I are sawry you sick long time, Jerry. Thas very sad news for me." Jerry, tongue-tied for the moment, knew not what to say or where to look. Sunny's dear glance was almost more than he could bear. "Beautiful room this. Decoration----" "Jerry, that are your beautiful picture you are made. I am remember it all. One time you draw those picture like these for me, and you say thas mos' nize picture for party ever. I think so." Jerry was silent. "Jerry, how you are do ad those worl'? Please tell me. I lig' to hear. Are you make grade big success? Are you found those Beauty thad you are loog for always?" "Beauty!" he said furiously. "I told you often enough that it was an elusive jade, that no one could ever reach. And as for success. I suppose I've made good enough. I was offered a partnership--I can't take it. I'll----I'll have to get away. Sunny, for God's sake, answer me. Is it true you are going to be married?" Slowly the girl bowed with great seriousness, yet somehow her soft eyes rested in caress upon the young man's tortured face. "Jerry," said Sunny dreamily, "this are the Year of Leap, and I are lig' ask you liddle bit question." Jerry neither heard nor understood the significance of the girlish words. His young face had blanched. All the joy of life seemed to have been extinguished. Yet one last passionate question burst from him. "Who--is--he?" Slowly Sunny raised that preposterous fan. She brought it to her face, so that its great expanse acted as a screen and cut her and Jerry off from the rest of the world. Her bright lovely gaze sank right into Jerry's, and Sunny answered softly: "_You!_" Now what followed would furnish a true student of psychology with the most irrefutable proof of the devastating effect upon a young man of the superior and civilised west of association with a heathen people. Even the unsophisticated eye of Sunny saw that primitive purpose leap up in the eye of Jerry Hammond, as, held in leash only a moment, he proposed then and there to seize the girl bodily in his arms. It was at that moment that her oriental guile came to the top. Sunny stepped back, put out her hand, moved it along the wall, behind the cherry petalled foliage, and then while Jerry's wild, ecstatic intention brought him ever nearer to her, Sunny found and pushed the button on the wall. Instantly the room was plunged into darkness. A babble of murmuring sounds and exclamations; laughter, the sudden ceasing of the music, a soft pandemonium had broken loose, but in that blissful moment of complete darkness, oblivious to all the world, feeling and seeing only each other, Jerry and Sunny kissed. THE END Transcriber Notes: Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS. Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. Those words were retained as-is. Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted. On page 13, "firmanent" was replaced with "firmament". On page 16, "pantomine" was replaced with "pantomime". On page 40, "avaricous" was replaced with "avaricious". On page 48, "Sutherlond" was replaced with "Sutherland". On page 52, "firmanent" was replaced with "firmament". On page 61, "parent's" was replaced with "parents'". On page 109, a quotation mark was added after "I am personally situated." On page 121, a quotation mark was removed after "J. ADDISON HAMMOND" On page 123, "asumed" was replaced with "assumed". On page 123, "imcredible" was replaced with "incredible". On page 137, "asured" was replaced with "assured". On page 138, "archietects" was replaced with "architects". On page 156, the comma after "'ooking" was replaced with a period. On page 173, "ensconsed" was replaced with "ensconced". On page 184, "reeciver" was replaced with "receiver". On page 194, "repellant" was replaced with "repellent". On page 197, "belligerant" was replaced with "belligerent". 
58930	----	generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) IT HAPPENED IN JAPAN. [Illustration] TO MY BROTHER MAJOR ARTHUR HAGGARD. [Illustration] ... "_Pearl's was a perfect Japanese garden: it was a garden of the past, a poem, a creation of an art whose charm and loveliness only a Japanese can produce._" --_Page 28._ IT HAPPENED IN JAPAN. BY BARONESS ALBERT d'ANETHAN Author of "His Chief's Wife" "Love Songs and Other Songs" WITH COLOURED FRONTISPIECE BY WILLARD STRAIGHT LONDON BROWN, LANGHAM & CO., LTD. 78, NEW BOND STREET, W. 1906. CONTENTS. PAGE. CHAPTER I.--Renunciation --- --- --- 1 CHAPTER II.--In Lotus Land --- --- --- 25 CHAPTER III.--Pains and Penalties --- --- 56 CHAPTER IV.--Deep Waters --- --- --- 75 CHAPTER V.--Home News --- --- --- 91 CHAPTER VI.--A Woman's Womanliness --- --- 118 CHAPTER VII.--Tried as by Fire --- --- 146 CHAPTER VIII.--Amy to the Rescue --- --- 159 CHAPTER IX.--On the Verge of the Unknown --- 176 CHAPTER X.--In the Shadow of a Tomb --- 198 CHAPTER XI.--The Price of a Kiss --- --- 222 CHAPTER XII.--Danger Signals --- --- 244 CHAPTER XIII.--Hidden Fires --- --- --- 265 CHAPTER XIV.--A Bird of Ill Omen --- --- 280 CHAPTER XV.--'Twixt Scylla and Charybdis --- 298 CHAPTER XVI.--"It is best so, Amy, Dear" --- 315 CHAPTER I. RENUNCIATION. Two men, side by side, were slowly pacing the deck of the _Empress of India_ on her outward voyage to Japan. A week had almost passed since the boat had sailed from Vancouver, and the extremely bad weather encountered until this afternoon had prevented all but the most hardened good sailors from penetrating from below. Now, however, the wind and sea had somewhat abated, the first ray of sun had brought the storm-tossed and sea-sick from their berths, and the broad decks were soon swarming with passengers of both sexes, whose faces and general demeanour expressed entire satisfaction at their restored liberty. Monsieur de Güldenfeldt, the newly-appointed Swedish Minister to Japan, though an experienced and enterprising traveller, was watching this motley crew through his eye-glass with an amused and somewhat quizzical expression. He had seen many such scenes, and yet to his observant mind they were ever new and always entertaining. He was at the present moment occupied in gazing at a French priest, a German commercial traveller, and a cadaverous-looking Englishman discussing with varied gesticulations some point in the political situation, on which question each appeared as ignorant as he was positive, and he was vaguely wondering what means they would ultimately find to unravel the tangled skein, when he felt his companion, a tall dark man with a black moustache and a distinguished nose, grip him by the arm. "By Jove, de Güldenfeldt!" exclaimed the latter excitedly, while an unusual air of animation lit up his somewhat sleepy eyes, "Isn't that Mrs. Norrywood? That woman about whom there has been all that fuss, you know. Or am I dreaming?" Monsieur de Güldenfeldt glanced along the deck and fixed his eyes on a lady who, all unconscious of the notice she was attracting, slowly came towards them. "Not much doubt on that point, I fancy," he replied, as the tall, graceful figure passed near them. "I've known her for years. As one knows people about Town, you know. Dined with her, and that sort of thing. There's no mistaking her. Sapristi! what a beautiful woman she is! I wonder if Martinworth is on board: if they are together, you know." Sir Ralph Nicholson pensively stroked his moustache, but did not reply. "It would give me intense satisfaction to be acquainted with the rights of that story," continued de Güldenfeldt. "It was an uncommonly mixed up affair. Doubtless, Nicholson, you will put me down as a fool, but I believe that I am one of the few people who, after having followed the evidence from the beginning to the end, still believe in her and Martinworth's innocence. Why! you can't look into that woman's eyes, and not feel convinced that she is all right. I defy you to do so." "My dear fellow, it is just because she looks so uncommonly innocent and pure, and all that sort of thing, that she's probably as bad as they make 'em," replied Sir Ralph sententiously. "You are such a devilishly indulgent fellow, de Güldenfeldt. All the many years that I have known you, and all the time you were posted in London, I hardly ever heard you utter a word against a soul: especially if the individual discussed happened to be a woman. Yet heaven knows, in the course of a long and successful career you must have had plenty of knowledge of the fair sex and their peculiar little ways." "Believe me, my dear boy," replied de Güldenfeldt somewhat gravely, "women are far more sinned against than sinning. But it's no earthly use arguing with a juvenile cynic, such as no doubt you consider yourself, on this much disputed point. At present, you have all the censoriousness and hard-heartedness of youth on your side. Only wait ten or fifteen years--till you are my mature age--and then tell me what you think about the matter. But," he added, "to return to our friend Mrs. Norrywood. You have no notion what a brute was Norrywood. It was only after years of neglect and infidelity, even downright cruelty on his part, that his wife took up at last with that nice fellow Martinworth. One only wonders she didn't console herself ages before." "But surely it was _she_ who started the divorce proceedings?" "Yes. You see one day things came to a climax when she--oh! Well, don't let's go over the whole sordid history. Suffice it to say, that no woman with a particle of self-respect could, knowing what she knew, put up a day longer with such a blackguard. Then he--Norrywood--you know, brought the counter charge against her, poor soul, and Lord Martinworth; and at one time things were made to look uncommonly black against them. However, nothing was proved, for the excellent reason, in my opinion, that there was absolutely nothing to prove. And in the end she got her divorce right enough." "Yes, and everyone said she would marry Martinworth within the year." "Well, the year is almost past. We shall see whether everyone was right, and whether Martinworth is on board; and if so, in what capacity. Here she comes again. I shall stop and speak to her this time, I think," and Monsieur de Güldenfeldt, hat in hand, went towards the lady. "How do you do, Mrs. Norrywood," he said; "how extremely pleasant it is for me to think that we are fated to be travelling companions." The person addressed stopped a moment in her walk, raising her clear grey eyes, in which lurked a look of annoyance and of slight surprise, to Monsieur de Güldenfeldt's face. "I think," she said very slowly but very clearly and incisively, "you have made a mistake. I am no long--I am not Mrs. Norrywood. My name is Nugent," and with a slight bow she swept past him. With a look of stupefaction on his expressive face, Monsieur de Güldenfeldt's outstretched hand fell slowly to his side as he stared after the retreating form. He turned slowly round to Sir Ralph, who had been watching the whole incident with interest and considerable amusement. "Tell me, Ralph," he exclaimed, "am I dreaming? Is it not Mrs. Norrywood? Is it her double? But what a fool I am," he added; "of course there is not a doubt of it. The fact is, my dear boy, that I--I, Stanislas de Güldenfeldt, have been deliberately cut by one of the prettiest and smartest women in Town. A by no means pleasant experience, I can tell you!" and Monsieur de Güldenfeldt, with a twinkle in his blue eyes, gave a little shake to his shoulders that was distinctly foreign and decidedly expressive. "Yes," smiled Nicholson, "if she had snubbed a nobody like me, now, there would have been nothing to be surprised at. Precious glad, though, I didn't give her the chance," he added, with a cheery laugh. "I should never have survived it, whereas a diplomat like you can of course, get even with her any day. Forgive my laughing, de Güldenfeldt, but really it was rather a comic spectacle for an onlooker, you know." "Laugh away, laugh away, my dear boy. Perhaps, however, when your hilarity has spent itself, you will kindly help me to unravel this mystery. What the dickens does it mean, eh?" "Oh! I don't think we need go very far for an explanation. Probably she is going out to the Antipodes to try and start afresh. Of course, the first step towards that operation is to wipe out the past. So she begins by cutting her old friends, you see. 'Pon my word, I admire her pluck. But I shall take warning from your adventure, and before making a move shall wait with resignation until Mrs. Norrywood--I beg her pardon--Mrs. Nugent, condescends to recognise in me a former acquaintance. It's a beastly bore being snubbed by a pretty woman, isn't it old fellow? Come, don't eat me, but let's go below and see if Martinworth's name is among the list of passengers." Meanwhile the subject of the above conversation was standing in her cabin, and with flushed cheeks and a beating heart was thinking deeply. This meeting with two members of the set in which she had originally moved had come upon her as a most unpleasant shock, a shock for which she was totally unprepared. Indeed, she had been so taken by surprise that she had behaved, as she told herself now, in a most unwarrantably tactless manner. Both de Güldenfeldt and Nicholson she had known fairly well in the old days, and in calmly thinking over the circumstances of the meeting, it struck her what a false step she had made in this crude attempt of ignoring persons whom, indeed, it was impossible to ignore. She remembered now having read in a paper before leaving England, that de Güldenfeldt had been named Swedish Minister to the Court of Japan, in which case she knew that sooner or later she was bound to come across him again, and as for Nicholson, it did not take her long to recall that his relations with Lord Martinworth had been in former years of the most friendly nature. The meeting with these two men brought back vividly to Pearl all the wretchedness of her past life, and it was only now that she realised to the full the intense relief and sense of freedom that filled her soul, as she stepped aboard the Atlantic Liner at Southampton, and had watched the coast-line of England fade--as she then had sincerely hoped--for ever from her eyes. Sir Ralph Nicholson had judged the situation rightly. Pearl Norrywood, or Nugent, had left England with the firm intention of forgetting everything connected with her unhappy past. She was determined, as far as it was possible, to wipe out all the despair, the hatred, the humiliation of the last ten years of her life. But in doing this, she felt there could be no half measures. That in company with the misery must also be obliterated all the joy and happiness she had experienced in the one love of her existence. She told herself that with this blotting out of the past, Dick Martinworth must be sacrificed with the rest. There was a decision of character, a certain sternness in her nature which she knew would help her to carry out that determination, and from the day that she and Lord Martinworth left the Divorce Court a suspected, but in spite of all, an unconvicted couple, Pearl Nugent had never again seen the man who for a series of years had exercised so great an influence over her life. She had been but little past twenty when she put her future into the charge of a husband whom three months later she learned to utterly loathe and fear. From that time, every day, every hour, was a fiery ordeal from which, indeed, but few women could have hoped to escape unscathed. The inevitable arose ere long in the appearance on the scene of the Honourable Dick Pelham, as he was in those far-away days. Mr. Pelham had at once been struck by the refined beauty and grace of the girl with sad grey eyes. Then in getting to know her well he learnt to pity her, a feeling which ultimately culminated before many months passed into a deep and passionate love. It did not indeed take Pelham long to learn that he worshipped the very ground on which Pearl trod, and no great interval passed before he told her so. The world never knew, never would know, whether Pearl Norrywood had listened to these protestations. All that it saw was that she behaved as if she had done so, for from the day that Dick Pelham commenced to haunt her side she became another person. She developed into an extremely beautiful woman. The grey eyes lost their sadness, the lovely lips learned to smile, and there was a radiance over the whole charming face that is only seen around those who love. The world put down this wonderful transformation to the presence of Dicky Pelham, and for once the world was right. Society indeed at this period of their existence was more than indulgent to Pearl and Mr. Pelham. With the indifference and cynicism which characterises a certain class, not only did it condone, but it appeared on the contrary to encourage Pelham's devotion, to smile with approbation upon the marked and evident intimacy existing between this happy and good-looking couple. To invite one without the other would have indeed shown a total _manque de savoir faire_, and the same post that carried a letter begging Pearl's presence at a certain entertainment, or a certain house, as a matter of course conveyed another to Mr. Pelham containing the same request. And yet, if the truth were known, this inseparableness, this constant daily companionship, was apt at times to prove to both more of a trial than a joy, more of a curse than a blessing. On Pelham's side it was a never-ending, feverish dream of unsatisfied desire, which Pearl was eternally resisting, eternally fighting against with all the weapons of her decidedly religious training, and a genuine and innate purity of heart. And thus matters remained for the next five or six years. Dick Pelham succeeded in course of time to the title, and blossomed into Lord Martinworth, and his devotion to Pearl instead of cooling increased in intensity as time went on. One day, after years of waiting and imploring, he finally succeeded in persuading Mrs. Norrywood to take the decisive step of issuing divorce proceedings against her husband. This had long been his aim. But not only Pearl's hatred of open scandal and publicity, but her better judgment had prevented her hitherto from listening to his persuasions and from acceding to his unwearying entreaties. A severe, and what indeed might have proved a fatal injury from a blow bestowed in one of his ungovernable rages by the husband who had tortured her for so many years, finally however, decided Pearl to give ear to Martinworth's prayers, and at length to go to the extremity of sueing for a divorce. She succeeded, after days of suspense, in obtaining her divorce. But whereas she had entered the court with the smiles and approbation of the world, she left it with a ruined reputation, a social outcast, and with hardly a friend to hold out a helping hand. The decree _nisi_ had indeed been dearly bought, and as Pearl drove away from the Divorce Court she was the first to realise and to acknowledge to herself that in obtaining her freedom she had, from a worldly point of view, brought about her own doom. As the judgment was pronounced, Martinworth cast her one radiant glance, which expressed as plainly as words "At last you are mine. At last! at last! after all these years." But there was no answering look of triumph in Pearl's eyes, for at that moment she felt that never again could she raise them to the face of man. In after times she often wondered how she had lived through all those awful days, how she could have remained silent, drinking in that terrible evidence which her husband had raked up from the very gutters. Nevertheless she survived this truly distressing ordeal, and with a look of utter scorn on her face sat patiently listening to servants' lies, and to sordid details of innocent situations, which under the clever cross examination were transformed into all that seemed most guilty and most damaging to her cause. She walked away that day with Martinworth, and as she passed into her carriage people whispered together and nudged each other. Nothing had been proved,--and yet, in the eyes of her world, she knew that everything had been proved. "But, of course, she will marry Martinworth now," it said. "He is only too willing to make the position a regular one. That is why she put Norrywood into the Divorce Court, though evidently she never dreamt the old fox would succeed thus thoroughly in turning the tables on her. She has really been somewhat of a fool for her pains. Why didn't she let things go on as they were? Why did she want to put old Norry's back up? She had just as much liberty before as she will have now, and if she had left him alone we should never have heard all these abominable things about her. Of course, before this scandalous case it was easy enough to feign ignorance of all their goings on. Now she has put herself outside the pale altogether, and in spite of that ridiculous verdict one really cannot continue the acquaintance. No doubt, once she is Martinworth's wife,--though of course she won't go to Court--their country neighbours will call on her, and she is just the sort of woman to be adored by the poor people. Pity we can't see her any more. Such a sweet woman, you know," etc., etc., etc. Pearl knew her world. She heard words such as these ringing in her ears, and as on the doorstep of her house she said good-bye to Lord Martinworth, she vowed to herself never would she see him again. She was an innocent woman, whatever the world might call her. Her first desire had been to have a certain satisfaction in disappointing the cynics of their laughter, and by not marrying the man whose name had so long been coupled with hers, and whom everyone had without doubt expected her to marry, to prove indisputably her innocence. But that was only a momentary thought. Worthier reasons against this union soon took root in her mind. She loved Martinworth with all her soul. The knowledge flashed upon her, that only by not marrying him could she prove her devotion to the man who would willingly have sacrificed all--his position in society, his future, his life's ambitions--by bestowing on her the protection of his name. That night all Pearl Norrywood's possessions were packed. When her arrangements were completed she sent away her maid, and set herself to the task of writing a letter. It took her a long, long time that letter, and tears were streaming down her cheeks as she penned these words:-- "I am leaving you, my darling; for I can never be your wife. Dick! you must not blame me for this, for it is just because of my great love for you that I can never take your name. The woman who shares that name must never have had the vile things said of her that have been said of me in that horrible Court, this last week. You, in your great love and generosity, had but one thought when my freedom was pronounced--I read it in your eyes, dear. But all during those dreadful hours it was gradually becoming clear to me, I was slowly realising, that for your sake alone, I must never give the world the right of confirming what the world has said. Had I only myself to think of I would, as you know, scorn what people may say, and now that I am free I would marry you, and at last taste what true happiness is. But, Dick, you are a public man. You have a great name and high position to maintain, and the woman who bears that name must be above suspicion. Dick! you are no child. You are a man of the world and of experience, and therefore I beg of you to look around among your acquaintances and friends and to ask yourself if there is a single one who, in spite of the verdict to-day, will believe in our innocence? Such being the case, how can I ruin your life by marrying you? "I feel no bashfulness in writing this before you speak to me again, for by expressing my decision I thus make it impossible for you ever to speak. Yes, Dick, I am leaving you for ever--for ever. Do not attempt to find me. All your efforts will be fruitless, and oh! indeed, indeed! this separation will be far better for us both. Do not become hard against me, Dick, for you will know--you must believe, dearest, that it is only my love that induces me to leave you. One day you will marry some pure young girl, and you will then bless me for trying to rectify the evil that I have done you, and you will perhaps forgive me for the years that you have wasted with me. And yet, if having made a woman in her darkest hour happy, if having prevented a heart from becoming cold and callous and cruel, if having cast many glorious rays of sunshine around an existence which, without you, would have been one dark abyss, if having blessed me with your beautiful, strong, supporting love, if, having done and given all this, you think your years have been wasted, let me tell you, Dick, they have not--they have not! And now I bid you farewell. What it costs me to write that word, I alone can know. For with it I vanish from your life. If I were strong I should say 'Forget me,' but you know me as a poor weak woman, and knowing me thus you will understand that I can only say 'Forgive me.' "PEARL." For several months Pearl Nugent lived in an obscure Welsh village, buried like a hermit. She was awaiting an answer to a letter she had written to Japan, and in due course it arrived. It was a satisfactory letter, welcoming her to the Land of the Rising Sun. Immediately on obtaining her divorce she had written to her cousin, Mrs. Rawlinson, begging her to secure a house for her either in Yokohama or Tokyo, and to make other arrangements subject to her approaching arrival. Mrs. Rawlinson, who was some years senior to the girl she loved as a younger sister, was the wife of an Englishman engaged by the Japanese Government. She was a clever and large-minded woman. Many a time had her kind heart ached for Pearl, and when the divorce proceedings commenced she had prayed but for one conclusion. The complication connected with Lord Martinworth had certainly proved somewhat of a shock to her well-ordered mind, but in spite of the compromising evidence, not for one instant did she allow herself to believe the worst, and the personal love and pity she felt for the poor, storm-tossed girl, coupled with Pearl's frank and affectionate letter, made her long for the day when she could fold and comfort her within her motherly arms. Pearl had merely stated facts, and had asked for no advice. She knew her cousin well enough to be confident that none would be offered unasked. There was only one other person to acquaint with her decision. Mr. Hall was her lawyer and trustee, an old and valued friend of her father's. Many a time when a child had he dandled her on his knee, and to him Pearl now opened her whole heart, for certain business formalities had to be transacted connected with her change of residence and of name, and with regard to her fortune, which though not large, would be amply sufficient for her needs. During all those dreary months Mr. Hall was the only friend she saw. He ran down from Town constantly, armed as a rule with documents to sign, and the appearance of this bright, cheery little man, with a face like a russet apple, was Pearl's one pleasure during that period of grief and solitude. One day, when she had been in hiding a considerable time, he paid her one of his welcome visits. On this occasion, contrary to his habits, he appeared grave and preoccupied, and it was only after a certain time that, with a little preliminary cough, he seemed to make up his mind to speak. He took Pearl's hand between his own. "My dear," he said gravely, "I want to ask you something. May I?" "Yes, Mr. Hall, of course you are privileged to say anything to me. What is it?" "Pearl, has it never struck you that Lord Martinworth would hardly be likely to rest satisfied with the request contained in your letter?" "He has been looking for me?" exclaimed Pearl, flushing. "Yes, he has been moving heaven and earth to find you. Necessarily, his first step was to come to me." "And--you said--what?" "What could I say, but that I was in your confidence, and that I declined to betray it?" "And you told him nothing--nothing?" "No, in spite of prayers and threats, I of course divulged nothing." Was it a shade of disappointment that for a moment clouded Pearl's eyes Mr. Hall found himself wondering? At any rate, there was a pause before she continued in a low voice: "You were quite--quite right, Mr. Hall. Thank you. Then you think he has got no trace?" "Even with the aid of detectives whom, I hear, he has since been employing, I don't fancy he has so far discovered your whereabouts. But-- but----" "But--you think there is danger that he may do so?" "I should say there was every danger. For one thing, he could easily have me followed." He hesitated, then continued: "My dear child, you have honoured me with your entire confidence in this matter, and you must not think that I wish to take advantage of this fact if, before you finally decide to take this important step, I beg of you to reconsider. You love this man, and he loves you. His dearest wish--I know from his own lips--is to make you his wife. Think what you are giving up, Pearl, by flinging this all away, by flying from him. Love, happiness, honour. You--" "Forgive me, my dear old friend," interrupted Pearl, "love and happiness I know, but not honour, no, not honour." She rose from her seat and stood by Mr. Hall's side. Her eyes were wet with tears. "No," she repeated in a low voice, "not honour. I should never gain honour by marrying Lord Martinworth, for in marrying him I should despise myself. Think of the ruin to him! Knowing this--feeling this all the time, should I not, as the years went on, learn to hate myself for being the cause of his sacrifice? And though he is so good, so generous, I know he would never show me he had repented of the step, my own intuition would be sufficient. No words would be necessary to tell me that I had been the destroyer of his life, the stumbling block in the realisation of his hopes and of his ambitions. Oh! Mr. Hall, my only friend, do not turn against me, do not tempt me. I have told you this before, many and many a time, and you listened and understood. Do not, I pray you, at the last moment, try to convince me that I am unwise, that I am wrong, when I know--I know I am doing the only thing that can possibly be right." She paused, but Mr. Hall did not break the silence. "If," she continued with a deeper note of appeal, "if there were only myself to consider in this matter, do you think there could be a moment's hesitation on my part? Do you think I should care what my world might say--what it would be sure to say if I married Lord Martinworth? Not I! No fear of the opinion of a few people who once called themselves my friend, would make me hesitate in realising that happiness for which I have so long pined, and which at one time I thought was so nearly mine. "But now dear friend," she laid her hand upon his arm, "let us, I beg you, dismiss this subject, dismiss it for ever. You know my feelings on this matter, and once more I implore you not to try to persuade me against those feelings. Indeed," she continued, smiling through her tears, "it would be useless, for I received a letter two days ago from Mrs. Rawlinson, and have consequently taken my passage by the 'Paris,' sailing in a few weeks from Southampton for New York. So you see the die is cast." Pearl Nugent's affairs occupied Mr. Hall's thoughts considerably as he travelled back to Town that afternoon. "Hum!" he said to himself, as he unfolded his newspaper and adjusted his spectacles to the right angle on his nose. "She thinks herself sincere, poor child, when she says it is all for Martinworth's sake she doesn't marry him, but Pearl Norrywood--or Nugent, as she insists on calling herself now--hasn't been a woman of society for ten years for nothing; and she has more consideration for the opinion of that world over which she reigned so long than she has any notion of. She is an innocent woman, but as proud as Lucifer. I know her, bless her soul! She'll be hanged if she lets society have the satisfaction of having the laugh on its side. Of course, she firmly believes she is sacrificing herself for Martinworth's sake, but it's confounded nonsense, all the same. I know my Pearl. Her beastly pride is at the bottom of everything. Damn it! Why can't she marry the man and have done with it?" Which soliloquy of the worthy old lawyer's proves that even our best friends are apt to misjudge us sometimes. Meanwhile we have left Pearl Nugent standing in her cabin debating with herself what she ought to do. She stood plunged in thought, realising more and more into what a false position her impulsiveness had led her. It went without saying she had mortally offended Monsieur de Güldenfeldt. She, who could not afford to make a single enemy, however humble his position, had doubtless by this rash action incurred the lasting aversion of one who by the holding up of his little finger might do her such irretrievable harm in this new life upon which she was about to enter. She saw it all clearly enough now, and poor Pearl laughed a little hollow laugh of wretchedness as she began to make the few alterations in her dress necessary for the shipboard dinner. If she had been somewhat vainer she would have been consoled by the remembrance that she belonged to a world where the fascination and charm and beauty of woman are still dominant features. But Pearl's self-esteem of late had suffered too severe a blow for her to put great store on either her beauty or her qualities of fascination; though if she had known not only her own powers, but Monsieur de Güldenfeldt, somewhat better, she need never have passed through that disagreeable period of regret and apprehension. At dinner, considerably to her dismay, she found herself placed between her two quondam friends. She arrived rather late at table, and with flushed cheeks and a slight bow to each, sat down. Her soup went away untouched. Then finally taking her courage in both hands, she resolutely turned towards the Swedish Minister. "Monsieur de Güldenfeldt," she said with a slightly tremulous voice, "I must ask your pardon for my rude, and what must indeed seem to you, inexplicable behaviour of this afternoon. Will you--will you believe that I was labouring under a misapprehension, and be generous enough to accept this as my only explanation?" It was very simply said, and Monsieur de Güldenfeldt answered her request as simply. He looked at the beautiful and perplexed face with a mixture of admiration and amusement in his eyes. "Let us forget the past, Mrs.--Mrs.--Nugent," he said, "and begin afresh. Shall we?" And from that day commenced a friendship which was to prove an important factor in Pearl Nugent's life. CHAPTER II. IN LOTUS-LAND. Pearl Nugent had every reason to congratulate herself on her energy in having renounced her old life and surroundings, for the three years passed in Tokyo had proved the happiest, and certainly the most peaceful, of her hitherto somewhat stormy existence. On her first arrival in Japan she had remained for some weeks--until she had settled herself in her own house--with her cousin, Mrs. Rawlinson. It had been a profitable and happy time for both, and for Pearl especially the association at this uncertain period of her life with a woman like Rosina Rawlinson, was beneficial in every respect. Everybody in Tokyo knew, respected, and loved Rosina, as she was generally called behind her back. It was Rosina to whom one flew for advice when placed in a slight difficulty, or for comfort when overcome by a great trouble. It was Rosina who would get up in the middle of the night to nurse a sick child, and it was she who received the confidences of the various young men and women of the community, received them with bright sympathy, and however trifling, kept them secretly locked within her own breast. Again it was to Rosina, or to Rosina's husband, that everybody of importance seemed to bring letters of introduction, and many was the helpless and inexperienced globe-trotter whose appeal for aid had been listened to by Rosina. Above all, it was Rosina who gave the jolliest, cheeriest little Bridge dinners in Tokyo, dinners where the wine and food were both above reproach, and where the most amusing people, and those most congenial to each other, were sure to be gathered together. Those little dinners of Rosina's were alone enough to make her the most popular person in Japan. For the first fortnight after Pearl's arrival, to her infinite relief, Mrs. Rawlinson, with her usual tact, had closed her doors to every one. "You will soon see enough of the people, my dear," she said, "without the necessity of being bored just at present. You and I have plenty to talk about, heaven knows! So we'll just sit over the fire and yarn, as that dear sailor boy of mine calls it, until we are both hoarse. I sent my niece Amy away on purpose, for I knew you would have many things to say to me that it's as well she should know nothing about, and, as for Tom, he doesn't count, you know, for he's at his office all day, and he sleeps all the evening. He is a dear old thing, but I can't say he's a particularly lively husband. He says I do the talking for both, but even in that case one expects more than a grunt as a reply, and I assure you that is often all he vouchsafes me." "And Amy?" asked Pearl, "has she grown up as pretty as she promised to be? I haven't seen her for four years now, for you remember I was abroad all that last year she was at school at Brighton." "I am anxious to know what you think of Amy," responded Mrs. Rawlinson. "Out here she is considered a beauty. But of course, coming straight from Europe as you do, and accustomed to seeing all the loveliest women in Paris and in London, you may think nothing of her. People tell me she is the handsomest girl in Japan, and certainly I have seen no one with such glorious eyes or brilliant colouring. But I may be prejudiced in her favour, and therefore, my dear, I am quite anxious to have your opinion. One thing, however, I do know, and that is she is the most terrible flirt that ever was born. What I have gone through, my dear Pearl, with that girl no one knows. She has had heaps of offers--good ones, you know, from diplomats and people in excellent positions, but my lady turns up that pretty nose of hers at one and all. Pure conceit I call it, for she knows she is penniless. I always tell her that under the circumstances she is lucky to have had an offer at all." "Yes," replied Pearl, "girls at home are now beginning to find that offers of marriage are not to be had by merely looking pretty, or even by being clever and amusing. The practical, modern young man generally thinks of his pocket before all other considerations. Looks and intelligence are quite in the minority, I assure you." "Of course! But I might just as well speak to a stone wall as to discuss the advantages of matrimony with Amy. And then, you know, she behaves so badly. She never shows the least repentance when she refuses these men one after the other. She says she knows none of them will break their hearts about her, and that she has not the slightest intention of wasting her sympathy over people who doubtless one and all will be consoled in less than three months. Such nonsense, you know, and so hard-hearted! Yes, certainly Amy is a strange girl. She is really rather a trial to me sometimes. Yet, in spite of all her faults, she is wonderfully lovable. I think you will discover this fact on your own account." But three years had passed since this and many such conversations, and Pearl Nugent one lovely Spring morning was seated in her garden, in the neighbourhood of some magnificent flowering cherry trees, idly thinking of what those years had brought her. Pearl's was a perfect Japanese garden. It was a garden of the past, a poem--a creation of an art whose charm and loveliness only a Japanese can produce. She was seated on the curved branch of a very ancient pine. A few feet distant from her stood a little stone shrine, chipped and blemished, and covered with thick grown moss, while on her left were uneven rocks, and quaint-shaped basins of various forms and designs. Two stone lanterns, green with age, formed on her right a sort of entrance to the miniature lake dotted with tiny islands and surrounded by knolls of bright green grass, from the smooth surface of which rose the spreading cherry trees, now in full bloom. Some of these cherry trees had great gnarled trunks, and were very ancient. Their fallen petals, covering the turf, formed a carpet like delicate pink snow, while above was one glorious burst of blossom, hiding every branch in its mantle of perfect form and beauty. In and out of the little knolls and hills and elevations, which were reached by stone steps of various shapes, were sanded paths which looked as if they never were meant to be trod upon, and to prevent such a desecration flat, queer shaped stepping stones were placed in strange and irregular positions. Everything was irregular and unexpected in this fascinating garden. Flowers were rare, but fine old trees abounded, and shrubs and ancient pines,--some allowed to grow at their own sweet will, others dwarfed in stature, and trimmed by careful training into fantastic and uncanny shapes. Beyond was a distant view of Fujiyama still wrapped in its white mantle, though great bare places streaked the mountain, forming weird shadows where the snow had already melted. Pearl felt a certain companionship in this grand old mountain, solitary like herself. She would sit for hours watching it in all its different, but ever lovely aspects, at one time in its snowy covering almost dazzling the eyes in the brilliant morning sunshine, and later on at eventide but vaguely distinct through banks of heavy purple clouds, till gradually fading from view, Fuji would become merged into the fading sky, finally disappearing into the shadows of the darkening night. Her eyes were dreamily fixed on Fuji now, standing out white and clear. She was not alone, for de Güldenfeldt lay stretched on the grass at her feet. His eyes, however, were employed in studying and admiring what at that moment he considered far more beautiful, far more entrancing, than any mountain in the world--namely, his companion's face. Pearl was looking considerably younger and handsomer still than when she had left England. Ease of mind and a quiet life had accomplished their work, and the sweet placid face bore no traces of the storms that for a time had marred its beauty, and somewhat hardened its expression. Her past life was to her like an unhappy dream, from which she awoke, to discover with a feeling of infinite relief that it was indeed but a dream, a dream that had faded away for ever. She would find herself in her idle moments, trying to piece the past together, and failing most strangely in the attempt. The utterly miserable life she had spent with her husband, her long moral struggle with Martinworth, those terrible scenes in the Divorce Court, all the incidents of those bitter ten years,--now seemed one and all, like a vanishing and almost forgotten vision. At times she would deliberately set herself to the task of the retrospection of each miserable occurrence, each wretched episode, for there were periods when her present happiness had the effect of almost terrifying her--it seemed so impossible, so unreal. She would then tell herself that it were best and wisest that she should attempt to recall what once had been her life, what once had been her sorrow and despair. Could this happiness, could this peace of mind really be hers? Would it not fade as a dream even as her past was so quickly vanishing from her mind? How strange! how very strange! she often thought, that she should experience this difficulty in remembering. Even Dick Martinworth was becoming a faint shadow, whose features, voice, and manner she often found it hard to recall. And yet she told herself she loved him as much as ever. She would place his photograph before her and try to remember scenes where they had been together, words that had been spoken between them, and she would be angry with herself to find how difficult it was for her to picture those scenes, to recollect those words. All seemed so far--so very far away, and somewhat to her dismay, Pearl was beginning to realise that she had almost achieved the object in view when she left England--that of complete obliteration, entire forgetfulness of the past. "The world forgetting, by the world forgot," she quoted half aloud as she rose from her seat and stretched out her hand to pluck a branch of the heavily-laden cherry tree. "Such is now my life, but I do not complain, for it has certainly many advantages--especially one. No one here ever seems to care to ask awkward questions, and if they know my secret they treat me none the worse for it. _Is_ it known, Monsieur de Güldenfeldt?" she inquired suddenly of her companion. The question came very abruptly, so abruptly, that the Swedish Minister paused before replying. This was the first time since their meeting on the boat three years ago, that Pearl, in spite of her close friendship with Stanislas de Güldenfeldt, had in any way referred to her past history. He looked up quickly, wondering what was working in her mind. "Why do you ask me that, my dear lady?" he eventually inquired, flicking the ash from his cigarette. "Yes, why do I ask it?" she echoed. "Why do we ever wish to know anything that may possibly prove painful to us? Why not rest satisfied with this happy, dreamy, forgetting life? Why not, indeed? What a true lotus eater I have become since I came to live in this poetical, beautiful Japan. I hardly know myself. My life glides along, and I take no count of the hours, nor of the days, and to me it is indeed 'always afternoon.' 'With half closed eyes ever to seem Falling asleep in a half dream.' Such, indeed, has been my life since I fled to this 'far-off land.' It is delicious, it is almost perfect. But it must not continue, for I know it is enervating. Yes, and what is more, my dear friend, downright demoralising." "You use strong words, Mrs. Nugent," replied de Güldenfeldt, raising himself on his elbow, and gazing into her flushed face with a look of lurking amusement. "What has upset you to-day?" "Oh, I don't know," replied Pearl impatiently, "I have been feeling for some time that I ought not to go on in this aimless, indifferent way. It is only quite lately that I bothered about anything--what people might think of me, you know. But the idea has taken possession of me, and I cannot get free from it. So I decided that I would ask you to tell me, for I shall surely get the truth from you. Do they know?" she repeated, fixing her clear grey eyes on his face. "Do they know that I am deceiving them--that I am a fraud, that my name is not really Nugent? Do they know that my husband and I are divorced? Do they know--do they know--about?--Do they know--everything?" "And you expect me to answer all these questions?" said de Güldenfeldt slowly. "Yes, I do. I expect you to be perfectly honest and frank with me. It is the least you can do for me, for you call yourself my friend. And, indeed," she added, with her sweet smile, "ever since the day that I first put my feet on these shores you have proved yourself my best, my truest friend." "Now, I wonder why it should be the duty of a so-called friend to be given the disagreeable task of announcing disagreeable facts," responded de Güldenfeldt pensively. "And indeed, Mrs. Nugent, what good will it do if I repeat all the gossip that is bound to go on in a place like this? You can't stop it, you know, any more than you can hope to turn the tide." "Then they do gossip about me?" continued Pearl with persistency. "Of course they do." "And what do they say?" "Oh, heavens! give me a woman for tenacity of purpose!" exclaimed de Güldenfeldt, rising and stretching his long limbs. "By the by," he continued, suddenly changing the subject, "do you know that Nicholson arrived in Yokohama yesterday? I thought, in spite of his hasty departure over eighteen months ago now, the attractions of Japan would ultimately prove too strong for him." "Amy refused him, you know. But I believe she really liked him all the time. Are you thinking of her when you speak of attractions?" "I should say she is the sole and only one. I know at the time he was awfully hard hit. It was our conversation that made me think of him. Never shall I forget the way he stuck up for you one evening at the Club, when that little brute Reichter--who has left, thank God--came out with some garbled version of your story. _Mon Dieu!_ didn't Nicholson give it him, just! He is such a lazy, _nonchalant_ beggar that one never expected to see him fly into such a passion. We all stood aghast, while he lashed the mean little brute with his sarcastic tongue. Yes! you have got a loyal, good friend in Nicholson, Mrs. Nugent." "And another in you. Yet you change the conversation to avoid telling me what I want so much to know. It is not very kind of you, I think." "Well, I suppose you will get your way in the end," de Güldenfeldt replied, with a smile, "so I may as well surrender without further hesitation. Yes, people know your story, Mrs. Nugent. However strictly your cousin Mrs. Rawlinson, Nicholson and I have kept the secret, it has somehow oozed out. I firmly believe that it was those globe-trotters--the Clive-Carnishers, who, recognising you at the last Chrysanthemum Party, set it about. At any rate, it is known at the English Legation who you really are, for Thomson spoke to me about it one day. You see," he added deprecatingly, "if you had never entertained, if you had been ugly and stupid and uninteresting, people certainly would not have troubled their heads about you, nor have gone to the bother of raking up old stories. But being what you are, charming and beautiful, no matter if you hide yourself in the moon, no matter if you change your name a dozen times, no matter if you live the life of a hermit--your story, dear lady, will follow you to the end of your existence. There! Now I have given in and told you the truth, and what good will it do you, I should like to know?" "It has already eased my mind considerably, only that," replied Pearl, "I don't know what has possessed me of late, but I have felt as if I were a cheat--a fraud. You see, I have grown fond of the people here, both Japanese and Europeans, and I have begun to recognise that I was rewarding their kindness but indifferently. Because I was Rosina's cousin, everyone, when I first came, received me with open arms. Then I think they got to like me a little for my own sake. Now you tell me they know my story. Well, this shows, at any rate, that I was right in leaving England, and choosing instead this dear Japan as my home. It is only in a place like this that one would find so much kindness, so much indulgence. The foreign community is so small, so very restricted you see, that I suppose people can't afford to be too exclusive, too particular," she added, rather bitterly. De Güldenfeldt did not reply. He knew there was considerable truth in Pearl's remarks. If Mrs. Nugent had remained in England she would henceforth, necessarily, have only been received on sufferance. She would by degrees have sunk into the ranks of _les déclassées_, with no fixed abode, reduced to wandering from second-rate watering-places to out-of-the-way continental towns, seeking rest and finding none. Thus her youth, embittered and disappointed, would finally have passed, and she who formerly had ever been welcome within the portals of good society, would have found herself crawling on her knees, discrowned, outside those closed gates. Here, on the contrary, in the limited European society of the facile East, in spite of varied and garbled versions of her story being known, not only did she receive and was received, but she was considered an acquisition, indeed, much sought after for her beauty and sweetness, her charm and many social talents. As de Güldenfeldt walked away from Pearl's house that day he was very pensive. The knowledge that he loved Pearl Nugent came as nothing fresh to his mind. He had been fully aware of this fact since their encounter long ago on board the Canadian Pacific liner. At that time however, if anyone had ventured to tell him he would have ever contemplated marrying a woman who had gone through Pearl's unfortunate experiences, a woman who had been tarred by the dirty brush of the Divorce Court, he would have been the first to have scouted the idea as utterly impossible and absurd. Stanislas de Güldenfeldt was extremely ambitious. His profession was his god, and ever since the day he had entered on his career all his natural tastes and longings, all his passions and desires, had been subservient to this love of his profession and to the determination to excel. He was possessed of many talents and a considerable amount of good looks, which gifts, combined with great charm of manner and the attractions of his position, all helped to made him a favourite with men and women alike. But a natural cautiousness of disposition, together with this ruling love of his profession, caused him to feel general indifference as far as women were concerned, and though he certainly affected their society, and was never otherwise than courteous and charming towards them, he had, with but one or two exceptions been but little influenced by the feminine sex throughout his life. These exceptions had on each occasion proved themselves episodes rather of a pleasant than of a painful nature. He had experienced nevertheless, a certain relief when in the natural course of events these chapters of his life were closed, and with a mind free from all outward influences, once more he could devote his time and his thoughts entirely to his work. He would tell himself that in the abstract he admired women, that on the whole he thought them superior to his own sex. Then he would find himself wondering how it was that in spite of this undoubted admiration, and what indeed might almost be called veneration, he had really loved them so seldom, why the real depths of his nature had been so little stirred, so little troubled by their presence. He knew the answer to that question well enough, but he would seldom give it even to himself, for he frequently felt irritated with himself at this entire absorption in his work, and above all for what he was wont at times to fancy was an absolute want of sentiment in his nature. And yet as he emerged from Pearl Nugent's garden that spring morning, Monsieur de Güldenfeldt realised to the full what he had more or less known for three years past--that he was even as others were, and that he could love, love with the full power of his long pent-up feelings, and learning this fact, instead of blessing he lamented his fate. He thought of Pearl with her distinguished yet perfectly simple air. He thought of the straight, clear-cut profile, and the firm, rather square little chin, of those pure and clear grey eyes, and the habit she had of doubling her fingers tightly into the palms of her hands. He thought of those many outward examples of her firm and reliant character--and his heart sank. He felt he desired her above everything in the wide world, and he knew as surely as he knew he was himself that if he wished to gratify that desire he must marry her. Stanislas de Güldenfeldt had not studied Pearl's character for three years for nothing. He was confident in his own mind that she had never listened to Martinworth's entreaties, and he knew that in spite of the irregularity of her present position--perhaps for that very reason--there was a pride, a certain hardness in her nature, that would debar him from venturing to propose any union but one which, in the eyes of the world, was strictly conventional and correct. That day de Güldenfeldt, whistling for his dogs, started on a solitary walk of some miles, far away from the stir and haste of the city. It was a perfect spring day, with a soft breeze blowing, and a hot sun overhead. Stanislas skirted the fields, already bright with the young corn, his eyes lingering on the beauty of the rich and varied foliage, and on the little knolls of many a secluded and shaded grove fringed with clumps of feathery bamboos and an occasional palm waving aloft in the balmy air. Contrasting with the vivid and many shaded greens, and always on the loftiest hill, half hidden in the shadiest spot of the neighbourhood, would be visible the red portal or _torii_ of some little shrine raised to _Inari Sama_--the god of farming--or perhaps to some other deity of the province, while away in the distance rose a range of purple mountains, and on the east a streak of sea gleamed like silver in the bright afternoon sun. He crossed more than one stream of water, in the cool depths of which groups of stark naked urchins were frisking in the wild abandoned gambols of happy childhood. Peasant women of all ages, wrapped in their scanty upper garments and blue cotton trousers, far more resembling men than members of the gentler sex, would pass along the road, bent and almost hidden beneath overwhelming burdens of huge bundles of faggots, yet ever ready with a cheerful greeting as they toiled on towards the thatched farm houses nestling in the hamlets and villages beyond. Stanislas longed to be an artist to depict on paper these simple scenes of Japanese country life, to be capable of immortalising this lovely peaceful nature, chief of which in his eyes were for the present the snowy blooms of the cherry tree, contrasting with the sombre cryptomeria pines, and the brilliant green and red of the giant wild camellia. But Stanislas, equally ignorant of the kodak as of the paint brush, with a faint sigh of regret continued his tramp alongside the little square fields of the fresh young corn, emerald-green in colour, traversing in his walk many an enchanting silent grove, till at length he reached the goal of his pilgrimage. Hidden away in the little village of Meguro, and overgrown by vegetation, is a miniature and ancient graveyard. Two grey and battered stones, half fallen on the ground, and half hidden in the long rank grass, is all that is left in this old, old burying ground to mark the last resting place of the dead. Stanislas knew well the pathetic love tale connected with these gravestones, placed there over three hundred years ago, and he paused to examine once again the faint inscription borne by one of them. "The tomb of the Shiyoku," he read, the Shiyoku being, he knew, fabulous birds, emblems of love and fidelity. This moss-grown stone, lying battered and broken before him, told of a love-tale romantic in many of its details, and tragic in its ending. There it had stood for generations, the sole memorial of the burial place of the robber Gompachi, remarkable for his valour and great personal beauty, and of his companion in death, the lovely and loving courtesan, Komurasaki. The story relates how Gompachi after many murders, was at length caught red-handed and promptly executed, his body being rescued and buried by devoted friends in the grounds of the Temple of Meguro. Komurasaki, getting news of her lover's death, hied to the spot, wept and prayed long over the tomb, then drawing the dagger--a weapon which in those days every woman wore on her person--from the folds of her "obi,"[1] she plunged it into her heart, and, sinking on the ground, sighed her last breath over the grave of her beloved. [1] A sash worn over the dress. The legend continues how the priests, touched and greatly struck at the devotion of this beautiful maiden, laid her by the side of her lover, burying them in one grave. There they placed to their memory the stone which remains to this day, and before which incense is burnt, and flowers and offerings are laid, by all true and devoted lovers. Hard by the gravestone under which so long have mouldered the remains of Gompachi and Komurasaki, is another memorial which appears almost as ancient, on which is engraved the following words which many a time had been read and translated to Stanislas: "In the old days of Genroku, she pined for the beauty of her lover, who was as fair to look upon as the flowers, and now, beneath the moss of this old tombstone, all has perished of her love but her name. Amid the changes of a fitful world, this tomb is decaying under the dew and the rain, gradually crumbling beneath its own dust, its outline alone remaining. Stranger, bestow an alms to preserve this stone, and we, sparing neither pain nor labour, will second you with all our hearts. Greeting it again, let us preserve it from decay for future generations, and let us write the following verse upon it:--'These two birds, beautiful as the cherry blossom, perished before their time, like flowers broken down by the wind before they have borne seed.'" For some time de Güldenfeldt hovered round this romantic spot, musing long on this old-world tale of a love, faithful and lasting even in death. But the time wore on, the shadows lengthened, and half-regretfully he rose, wending his way to the Buddhist Temple of Fudo Sama, a spot that he knew well, buried within a grove of ancient maple trees. This was a very favourite resort of his. He passed through the _torii_ or stone gateway, bounding up the many steps that led to the Shrine, and before which was placed the deep stone-lined basin of water, kept replenished by the ancient bronze fountain carved in the form of a dragon, spouting out from the rock behind. Stanislas sat himself down by the basin, and lighting a cigarette ruminated on the strange superstition that to this day induces many a weary and penitent pilgrim, winter and summer alike, to stand often for hours at a time under the rushing waterfall. There they would patiently stand, praying fervently that the icy water, in cleansing and purifying the body would by the intercession of the merciful and all powerful Buddha, thus cleanse and purify the soul within. De Güldenfeldt lingered for a time beneath the maple and cherry trees, while bright-faced, bright-clothed _nesan_[2] from the picturesque tea-house hard by, brought him tiny cups of Japanese tea, chattering in their happy childish way, with laughter, smiles and bows. He sat there for over an hour thinking deeply, and when at length the sun, sinking behind the hill, warned him that it was time to go, his resolution was formed. [2] Waiting maids. He would ask Pearl Nugent to be his wife. After all, what was his profession to him compared with his great absorbing love? It was true that hitherto all had been sacrificed to his career, but that was before he had met Pearl, before the love that now filled his heart had taught him what it really was to live and to enjoy. A marriage such as he contemplated would he knew well, be a hindrance to his profession, and, consequently, a severe blow to his ambitions, but for the time being he banished all thought of personal aggrandisement from his mind, and as he rose and once more tramped across the fields, in Stanislas de Güldenfeldt's blue eyes there was a light, and round his firm lips a smile, that had been strangers there for many a long day. That same day Mrs. Nugent ordered her carriage and drove round to her cousin's house. She made a point of going to see Mrs. Rawlinson whenever she felt restless or discontented, for Rosina acted on her nerves like a stimulant. To-day when she got there Rosina was not at home, but she found her pretty young cousin Amy Mendovy seated by the open window, sketching Fujiyama with the evening glow upon it. "Forgive my not getting up, Pearl," the girl said, "but I must finish this before the sun sinks. Have you ever seen Fuji looking more divine? No wonder the Japanese worship the mountain. Just look at it with that hazy, purple light upon it. I have been breaking it gently to Aunt Rosy that I am going to become a Shintoist or a Buddhist, or something." "Oh, indeed. May I inquire why?" "So that I may worship Fuji, of course." "I don't see the connection." "Oh, don't you? Then you are very dense, my dear. Aren't the Japanese Shintoists or Buddhists? And don't they worship Fuji? Or, if they don't they hold it sacred, which is very much the same thing." "Don't talk nonsense, Amy. What is the matter with you to-day? You seem so nervous and excited. Why! I declare you have been crying." No answer, only energetic daubs of green and yellow and carmine, all mixed together on the paper. "Amy, dear, why have you been crying?" asked Pearl in her soft voice, laying her hand on her cousin's arm. "Now my dear Pearl, don't be silly; have you ever seen me cry?" "Yes, often. Tears are as near your eyes as smiles are to your lips, you April day. But tell me, what is wrong?" "Look here, Pearl," answered Amy, raising her sleek head while her eyes flashed, "I won't be bothered. And if I choose to cry I shall cry, so there." "Certainly, my dear, and as I came to see Rosina and not you, I have no wish to disturb you in such a profitable occupation. So I'll take my departure. _Addio_," and Pearl turned towards the door. She hadn't got far, however, before she felt two strong arms round her waist and various energetic kisses upon the back of her neck. "Come back, Pearl darling. Have some tea and don't be crusty. Why, I have just been longing for you. Aunt Rosy is no good, she doesn't understand me, and never will understand me; so it's no use trying to make her." "I should like to know who does," said Pearl. "Well, you do. So I am just going to tell you all about it. Come here and sit on the windowsill. Give me your hand, and let us look at Fuji till the light dies away." And during a quarter of an hour's silence they watched Fujiyama that rose up dim and indistinct against the setting sun. There it stood in all its solemn majesty, solitary in all its grand repose, superb in all its noble isolation. The dark lights grew fainter and more indistinct, the brilliant blood-red sky with its shifting gleams took paler shades, till little by little it seemed to mingle with the misty colouring of the lonely peak, and behold, even as they watched, night fell, enshrouding all in its vast impenetrable mantle. "Now, dear," said Pearl, "it's dark, I can hardly see your face, so tell me what is the matter." Amy rose abruptly and switched on the electric light. "As to that," she said with a nervous laugh, "pray don't think I am ashamed of being seen. I've done nothing wrong, you know." "Well, at any rate there's a certain comfort in that affirmation," replied Pearl drily. "Oh, now you are laughing at me. Never mind, I am accustomed to it." Then, after a pause, "Pearl, he's come back." "Who's come back?" "Don't tease. You know whom I mean--Sir Ralph Nicholson, of course." "Oh, then it was a matter of course that he should come back? Well, continue your confession. He has been here, I suppose?" "Yes. He told me he returned on purpose to see me, you know. Pearl, he asked me again to be his wife! He was so kind and nice, but he seemed to be so awfully sure that I was going to accept him that I really couldn't help it, but--but--I believe he thinks that I refused him." "And now you are sorry, I suppose, and have been crying about it. Oh! Amy, Amy! You foolish, foolish girl! Why, you love that man with all your heart. You have never ceased to think of him since he left. And now, when just like in a novel, he turns up again and gives you another chance, you go and throw it away like this. I have no patience with you, Amy, and I don't pity you a bit. You surely ought to understand that Ralph Nicholson is a man in a thousand. A delightful man, a clever man, and, from a worldly point of view, an excellent match. And pray, who are you, Miss, that you should treat him like this? If you didn't care for him it would be another question, but you told me yourself you have never been happy since you said 'no' before. And now--oh! really, I can't tell you what I think, I am so annoyed." Amy's bright colouring paled while Pearl was speaking. She rose from her seat, and stood with clasped hand and bent head. "Pearl," she replied, with a break in her voice, "go on--go on scolding me. I feel I deserve every word you say, and you cannot blame me more than I blame myself. I can't think what induced me to behave as I did. But you alone know how sometimes a spirit of contradiction takes possession of me, and when he said, 'I have come back all these thousands of miles to ask you again to be my wife. You will have me this time, won't you, Amy?' I just answered--'And pray, Sir Ralph, why should I answer yes now more than eighteen months ago? The circumstances, I imagine, are just the same as far as I am concerned.'" "You said that? Good heavens! what cruel creatures women are!" exclaimed Pearl. "And what was his answer?" "I think he turned very white, and he said--'This, then, is your only answer after--after all this time?'" "And what did you reply?" "What did I reply? Oh, nothing." "Nothing? Oh, Amy!" "I couldn't, Pearl. But I did the next best thing. I went to the piano and played some bars of a waltz, that waltz of Strauss' to which he and I have danced so much in the old days. Of course, I thought that he would understand by that--that--well--that I didn't mean 'no' exactly. A woman would have understood the _nuance_ in a second, but men are so dense. I put plenty of expression into my playing, too. But when I looked up he was gone!" Pearl couldn't help laughing at this very original form of replying to an offer of marriage. She took the girl in her arms and kissed her. "Really, Amy, you are a most extraordinary girl. What other person would think of doing such a thing? You really deserve that he should never come back again. A serious man like Sir Ralph is not to be coquetted with like a boy. He put you a question, a question on which depends the happiness of his life, and all you seem capable of doing is to reply in this flippant manner." "Don't you think I see all that clearly enough now?" replied Amy mournfully, "and what is worse, there is a mail going out to-morrow--the 'China,' and I'm convinced he'll sail by it. Oh, Pearl! do help me. What am I to do? I can't let him go away again. I really can't." "Now look here, Amy, if I come to the rescue in this matter--which is far more than you deserve, Miss--will you promise to be guided by me?" "Well, you know, Pearl," replied Amy, with a mischievous light in her eyes, "I hate making promises, for I no sooner make one than I find _c'est plus fort que moi_, and lo! it is broken. But in this case my own interests are so much at stake that perhaps--perhaps--" Pearl rose from her seat and began putting on her cloak. "Oh, Amy, Amy! why will you not be more like other people? You give most people, dear, such an entirely false impression of your real nature. But never mind, I am not going to preach any more to-day. Good-bye! and if Sir Ralph ever has the temerity to ask you again, try and behave for once in your life like a rational being." Pearl's thoughts were much occupied with Miss Mendovy as she drove home that afternoon. She was extremely attached to her young cousin, and perhaps she sympathised better than most people with the contradictions of that girlish nature. Amy Mendovy, the only child of a sister of Mrs. Rawlinson's, was left an orphan while still an infant. Rosina adopted her, in every way fulfilling the mother's part. She loved the girl with all her heart. But in spite of her great affection and indeed, genuine admiration, she did not profess in the smallest degree to understand her. Consequently their ideas, habits, and ways of looking at things generally, were hardly what could be called congenial or sympathetic. Mrs. Rawlinson was a simple-minded creature, and deluded herself with the belief that she was now extremely modern and up-to-date. If the truth were known, she had never entirely recovered from the narrow, Calvinistic training of her youth, a proof of which was particularly shown in the prim, little manner she affected when she thought it necessary to correct her niece. Amy delighted in rousing that manner, indeed, at times her chief joy in life appeared to be that of teasing her aunt. It was only when she had succeeded in finally driving the poor soul to the verge of desperation that she would throw her arms around her neck, coax her, blame herself, ask pardon--in fact, behave generally in such a bewitching _caline_ way, that it would indeed be a stony heart that could resist her, and certainly not the soft organ that Rosina Rawlinson was generally credited with possessing. Pearl as she drove home, was thinking of this strain of perversity in her cousin's disposition. She confessed to herself that it added greatly to her charm, but nevertheless she deeply regretted this peculiarity, preferring to dwell on those deeper traits in the girl's character which to others were so seldom visible. Under the apparently frivolous, somewhat futile manner, there was a strength, almost a grandeur of soul, the glimpses of which more than once had literally taken away Pearl's breath, so totally had she been unprepared for such an exhibition. It was strange to hear some deep thought expressed by those lips, that seemed formed only for mockery and laughter, and still stranger to see the flash of cold disdain, of righteous scorn, that would fill the dark eyes at the sight of some mean or unworthy action, or at the sound of some paltry, petty speech. But it was only to very few that the beautiful Miss Mendovy ever showed this finer side of her nature, and to the world at large she was looked upon as a girl of moods--original and impetuous--lovely as a dream, and as heartless as a stone. CHAPTER III. PAINS AND PENALTIES. Sir Ralph Nicholson appeared the next day at Pearl's house in answer to a note he had found awaiting him on his return from dining at the Swedish Legation the evening before. Stanislas de Güldenfeldt and he were old and intimate friends, yet in spite of the fact that he was feeling bitterly mortified at Miss Mendovy's cool reception, not once did Amy's name cross his lips in the conversation kept up between the two men until the early hours of the morning. De Güldenfeldt, on the contrary, spoke incessantly of Pearl, and Ralph wondered if his friend had the vaguest idea how much he betrayed himself in every word he let fall. He gazed at him with amazement. Here was a man who had been known throughout his career as the most cautious, the most guarded, and the most reticent of diplomatists, proving by every remark that passed his lips, in the very expression of his flushed and handsome face, the thoughts that were evidently entirely monopolising his mind. For the time being the two men seemed to have changed personalities, and the more de Güldenfeldt spoke of Pearl, the more silent and reserved did Nicholson become. He watched him with half-closed eyes through his cigar smoke, and with a cynicism he had somewhat adopted of late, found himself pitying what he chose to designate as his friend's "state of demoralisation." "Poor old fellow," he thought, "Japan is spoiling him. Three years ago one would never have heard him maudling about a woman in this ridiculous way. Good Heavens! what confounded fools these women make of us!" To Mrs. Nugent the following day he gave expression to almost the same sentiment, though on that occasion it was entirely in reference to himself. To her he was as frank and open as he had been reticent to de Güldenfeldt. Little by little the whole story came out. How it was not the charm of the scenery of Japan, not its people so clever, brave and fascinating, not its engrossing art, much as he appreciated beautiful things, in fact none of these attractions that had recalled him to the country after a few months absence, but simply the recollection of one little rebellious curl on Amy Mendovy's white forehead, the distinct and haunting impression of a seductively mocking expression in the bright eyes that had induced him to cast all home duties and pleasures to the winds, and had once more dragged him back to her side. "And you see, Mrs. Nugent, how I have been rewarded for my constancy. But then men are such confounded fools! She refused me eighteen months ago, you know. Nevertheless I always had a faint hope that _au fond_ she was not so entirely indifferent to me, which proves what a conceited, fatuous ass I am. Perhaps it is only fair that I should be punished for my folly." "And are you so very positive that she does not care for you?" asked Pearl, looking up into his face with a smile. "Judge for yourself. If a girl cared two straws for a man, would she in response to an offer of marriage, after a journey of eleven thousand miles taken by that unfortunate fellow for her sake, sit down and begin to strum on the piano? I ask you, would any girl with a scrap of feeling or of heart do such an outrageous thing?" "What did she play?" "How am I to know? And I'm sure I don't care. I have no ear for music. Something very noisy and jingly, that's all I heard." "You didn't recognise the waltz you used to dance together, then?" and Pearl, without looking at him, began putting straight the little ivory _netsuke_[3] on her mantelpiece. [3] Carved objects that attach the tobacco pouch. "By Jove!" exclaimed Ralph, jumping from his seat, "you don't mean to tell me she was playing _that_! Now you mention it, the tune did seem familiar to me. You mean, then, that--Good Heavens! I see it all now. Mrs. Nugent, what an infernal idiot I have been!" "Yes," said Pearl quietly, "perhaps you have been rather a goose." "But how the dickens was I to know? Who would ever have imagined she would act in such an extraordinary way?" "In all your dealings with that young woman you must bear in mind that she never does things quite like other people," replied Pearl. "That must always be taken into consideration, and your own conduct consequently must be dependent on this knowledge. So, instead of rushing off to her instantly again, as I see you are dying to do, I should refrain if I were you." "But what am I to do?" "I should simply for a time take absolutely no notice of her, and what would be better still, and would certainly lead to most excellent results, get up a mild flirtation with someone else." Sir Ralph looked serious. "Mrs. Nugent," he said, "I am not a bit that sort of fellow, you know. I'm really an awful duffer at saying pretty things to a woman, especially when I don't mean them." "Never mind, try your best for once in a way. For take my word for it, if you want Amy as a wife, you must first rouse her _pique_, her jealousy. She feels far too sure of you now, and she will be surer still if she finds you have no intention of going off again--as she now half fears you may do. If I were you, and if really you care to be guided by me, I should advise you to choose a married woman for your flirtation, a woman who would be sensible enough not to take too much _au grand serieux_ any nonsense you may talk." Sir Ralph Nicholson thrust his hands down into his pockets and walked to the window. He stood gazing for some moments out on to the cherry trees shining like pale pink snow in the brilliant sunshine. Then he turned suddenly round and faced Pearl. "Mrs. Nugent," he said, "I have something on my mind which I must tell you. May I?" "Certainly," replied Pearl quietly, "I am accustomed to receiving confidences. What is it?" "Oh, it is not a confidence. It is something about--about you--this time. At least I mean not about you, but about--Martinworth." Pearl rose from her seat, and going up to Ralph clutched nervously at his sleeve. "What is it?" she asked breathlessly, while she turned very pale. "Is--is he dead?" "Dead! Good Heavens! No. He was in the most flourishing state of health when I saw him last in Paris, but he has nevertheless dished himself pretty considerably. He is--he is--you must know sooner or later--he is--married, and--and--what's more, he is coming out here." "He is married and he is coming out here!" Pearl echoed the words in a dull voice as she stared into Sir Ralph's sympathetic face. "Dick married and coming out here with his wife! Good God! what shall I do?" and she remained motionless with her distressed eyes fixed on Nicholson. "My dear Mrs. Nugent--my dear lady," blundered Ralph, "please don't look like that. For God's sake, I implore you to sit down! Say--do--something. I wish I hadn't told you. But I thought it best, for of course, you are bound to meet them if they come here. So I thought--I thought you had better be prepared. But confound it all! I would have risked anything rather than that you should have taken it so badly." This last phrase roused Pearl from the dismay and stupefaction experienced on first hearing Nicholson's unexpected news. She managed to smile while she nervously put her hand to her forehead and pushed back the curls of her hair. After all, who was Sir Ralph that she should betray herself like this? A friend, it is true; a valued friend who knew her history; but that was no reason why he should also become acquainted with her heart. With an effort that cost her much she was successful in recovering a certain amount of control over her features. She sat down with her back to the light, and, taking a book from a table, began turning over the leaves. "Your news naturally interests me much," she said in a voice that she succeeded in rendering almost indifferent. "Of course, at first it took me by surprise. I--I'm sure I don't know why--but I--I--never thought Lord Martinworth would marry. Whom--whom has he? Sir Ralph, would you mind telling me if his wife is anyone I know? Whom has he married?" Alas! for Pearl's reputation for imperturbability, these last questions were asked in a very low, a very unsteady voice. "Oh yes, you know her. You must have seen her knocking about Town for a dozen seasons at least. He has married that extraordinary type: his cousin, Lady Harriet Joyce; the large, fair one, who generally goes by the name of 'Harry'"---- "Harry Joyce! Oh yes, I remember her," said Pearl quietly. "She has run him down at last. She and her people have been trying it on for years, you know." Pearl did not reply. When she next spoke it was excessively calmly, on a totally different subject. But oh, the bitterness of it all! She sat and thought it all over when Sir Ralph had left her. So Martinworth had forgotten her so soon--so soon! And yet, she thought, ought she to blame him? Ought she not, instead of feeling this sentiment of utter despondency, utter disgust, be rejoicing that Martinworth by this step could henceforth no longer be anything nearer to her than an ordinary friend, an ordinary acquaintance? She accused herself over and over again for her inconsistency. She told herself that she was absurd, illogical, unreasonable. Had she not fled from this man--hidden herself from him--for the express purpose that he should forget her? Had she not advised him to marry some woman who could show an honest front to the world, and be a credit to him? And now that apparently after some delay he had obeyed her injunctions, what right had she to complain, to regret, to feel angry and bitter, and to cavil against the inconstancy of man? Pearl's thoughts turned before long from herself and Martinworth to the girl he had married. At last she experienced the satisfaction of being able to give full vent to her anger and disappointment. To think that it was _she_--that it was Harry Joyce whom he had chosen as his wife out of all the women of his world! That elderly young lady whose whole soul was wrapped up in guns and horses, in motor cars and rational costumes. Harry Joyce, who never opened a book, and whose newspaper and magazine reading was confined to the racing calendar and to the sporting journals. Harry of the strident voice and weather-beaten countenance, whose ordinary way of greeting her intimates of the opposite sex was to call them by their nick-names, and to slap them on the back. A woman who disregarded all the ordinary usages of society, every outward form of conventionalism, and yet, because she was the only daughter of a Duke, was not only time after time forgiven, but what was more, was accepted as a matter of course, and in her frequent eccentricities was never at a loss to find in either sex both followers and admirers. "Perhaps she has improved now, but she used to be a horrible girl," exclaimed Pearl aloud, and rising from her chair she paced up and down the room. "Dick always told me he detested her, and was ashamed to acknowledge her as his cousin. And to think of his committing the enormity of marrying such a woman. He must be mad! They haven't got a single idea in common. In old days he cordially hated the emancipated female. Some men of course find that sort of thing amusing. I have heard her called more than once 'A capital fellow,' but imagine Dick, my Dick, with such a wife! Imagine Dick uniting his lot with 'A capital fellow!' Every word she will utter, every action, every gesture, will grate on his nerves--will horrify and disgust him. Oh, what could have possessed him to ruin his life by such an outrageous marriage?" For many days did Pearl ponder over this problem, till at last she arrived at what was perhaps more or less the right solution. Would she have been human if, having decided in her own mind the reason for this marriage, she did not at the bottom of her heart feel a sneaking satisfaction that the wife he had taken was after all the masculine and unattractive Lady Harriet Joyce, and not the sweet and innocent and beautiful maid whom she herself had prescribed? Nevertheless, in spite of any slight comfort she may have succeeded in deriving from this thought, poor Pearl felt very sore and very forlorn, and when a few days later Monsieur de Güldenfeldt offered her his hand and his heart, she was more than half inclined to yield to the temptation of accepting a man who in positive terms assured her of his love, and who could give her not only a much-to-be-desired, but what was more, a safe and tangible position. Stanislas had, on the occasion referred to, accompanied her in her ride, and they had stopped at a little tea-house to rest themselves and their horses. They wandered off on foot through a grove of bamboos, and the conversation turning on Ralph Nicholson's unexpected return to the country, Pearl found herself speaking with considerable feeling, of his constancy to her erratic young cousin. "Nevertheless I have given him a piece of very worldly and very wicked advice," she said with her pretty laugh--"I told him to get up a mild flirtation with a married woman." "Why married?" asked de Güldenfeldt. "Because if he has no serious intentions, what's the good of compromising a girl? Girls fall in love so easily; whereas married women," she added with a sigh, "know so well how to look after themselves." Monsieur de Güldenfeldt did not reply for a moment. Then he stopped in his walk, and gazing at his companion, asked somewhat gravely: "Mrs. Nugent, are you quite sure that all married women know so very well how to take care of themselves?" "I think," answered Pearl in a low voice, "if, as I judge from your question you are thinking of me, I really know pretty well how to look out for myself. But then, of course my position is different from the majority of married women. I am a sort of anomaly, and have had the sad necessity of learning the lesson how to protect my poor battered self. I confess, at times I have found it a somewhat difficult task. But I feel sure I have mastered it thoroughly now. It has been a case of _force majeure_, you see." And tears glistened in her eyes as she looked up at him. Stanislas de Güldenfeldt's heart swelled as, glancing at this beautiful woman with the troubled face, he thought of the unhappiness of her past life, and of her present dignity and courage. He stopped again, and seized hold of her hands. "Mrs. Nugent--Pearl," he said in a deep voice, "instead of for the future fighting your own battles, dear, will you let me fight them for you? Will you marry me? Will you let me have the gratification of being in the blesséd position of having the right to protect you? Of shielding you from evil tongues, and of trying to render you the happy woman you deserve to be?" The colour flew into Pearl's cheeks, but she did not withdraw her hands from his. She looked at him, extreme astonishment depicted on her face. "You are asking me to marry you?" she said, "you--you----?" "Yes--I love you deeply, and my greatest desire on earth is to make you my wife. Why should you be so surprised at that? Why, Pearl?" For a minute Pearl looked down into the blue eyes that, full of tenderness, were resting on her face. She gazed at them as if trying to penetrate their very depths. They were kind, true eyes, she thought; but she withdrew her hands gently from his, and turned away with a sigh. "No," she said, "I can never marry you. Oh! that I could--that I could! Do you know," she added hastily, without waiting for the reply that she saw trembling on his lips, "do you know, Monsieur de Güldenfeldt, that I think you one of the best, one of the most generous of men. You are offering me everything. I, who can give so little--nothing in return." "I ask you for much: for your love, Pearl. Will you not give it to me, dear?" Pearl did not reply. Her thoughts travelled as fast as the clouds above her. Why after all should she not accept him? It was a brilliant offer; an offer that a woman placed as she was placed could never in her wildest dreams have thought probable, or even possible. By marrying de Güldenfeldt she was perfectly aware that her position in society, which now hung on so delicate a thread, would become regular and secure. He knew her story. She had no inconvenient confessions to make. He was evidently willing to take the risk of all future possible contingencies, and of his love and tenderness and regard she felt no doubt. Lord Martinworth would come and would find her engaged, or married; and for one brief moment Pearl experienced a glow of satisfaction at the thought that her former lover on his arrival, would find her, not pining or regretting, not angry or dismayed, but in the proud position of a happy and a triumphant wife. But this thought was instantly crushed as unworthy. She blushed to think she had ever entertained it, and she told herself that the natural grief, or _pique_, or whatever it was she felt in connection with Lord Martinworth's marriage, must have no influence on her present decision--must, in no way whatsoever, affect that answer which she knew she must give within the next few minutes. De Güldenfeldt was, she was well aware, a clever and a good man; a man of a certain present and of a brilliant future; a man that any woman might be proud to call husband; and here he stood, offering her--a poor waif and stray in society--his love and his name. And yet she felt that it was beyond her to accept these gifts offered thus generously. Why? she hardly asked herself. Was it because she still loved Martinworth?--Perhaps--she could not tell. But of one thing she felt convinced, she did not love, could never love, Stanislas de Güldenfeldt. She admired and respected and liked him more than she admired or liked most men. She delighted in his society and in his conversation, which was full of piquant anecdote, intellect and charm. She felt absolutely contented, thoroughly at ease in his companionship, which acted as a stimulant in her otherwise somewhat monotonous life. She did not disguise from herself for a moment the many advantages she was renouncing in setting aside this offer, and yet Pearl felt that it was absolutely impossible for her to accept him, for if she did she would she knew, be true neither to de Güldenfeldt, whom she liked so well, nor, above all, true to herself. By this time the two were seated on a little bamboo bench, and de Güldenfeldt, waiting and watching with anxiety the expressive face, half guessed and wholly feared the struggle that was being fought within. He rose hurriedly. "Don't say anything, don't speak now," he exclaimed, "Wait, Pearl. Take your time to consider, but remember, my darling--I may call you so this once?--that my whole life's future, my whole life's happiness, depends on your answer." Pearl felt greatly tempted to abide by this advice and to delay. As he gave her this chance, why commit herself by answering at once? But her hesitation lasted only a minute. Her natural candour and frankness of disposition warned her it would be more than cowardly to postpone her refusal. She turned towards him and said in her low voice: "Monsieur de Güldenfeldt, it is best you should know at once that which always must be known, for I know my decision can never change. I fear it is--it must be--'No.' I can never marry you. For your own sake it must be so, for I do not love you as you should--as you deserve to be loved. My liking, my respect, my admiration is unbounded, but love--forgive me for paining you--such as I have known the word, is not, can never be mine to give you." De Güldenfeldt let his keen blue eyes rest for a minute on Pearl's flushed face, then without a single word in reply--with a quick, impatient shrug of the shoulders--without a moment's hesitation he turned and strode abruptly away. Left by herself on the bench, Mrs. Nugent watched this precipitate departure with considerable dismay. She had seen and known the Swedish Minister in many moods. Ironical, pensive, bubbling over with good spirits one day, melancholy and depressed the next, but, so far, she never remembered having been a witness to his anger. She gazed after him now with genuine consternation, as he paced the little path with his head thrown back, and his hands thrust well down into the pockets of his riding breeches. Her spirits sank as the minutes passed, and he finally disappeared from view. Eventually the sentiment of trepidation that had at first seized her changed to that of irritation and considerable annoyance. After all, she thought, she had answered him as gently as surely, in the circumstances, it was possible to reply, and the more she considered the question, the more did a feeling of extreme vexation and surprise overcome her at her refusal being received in this apparently intensely angry and rebellious spirit. Women at best are but unreasonable creatures, and Mrs. Nugent was no exception to the rule, forgetting to make allowances for the necessary blow that such a prompt refusal must certainly inflict on a man of Stanislas de Güldenfeldt's proud and rather unyielding disposition. On his side he was fully aware of the many and great advantages of his offer, and of the sacrifices on his part that such a marriage would entail. It had by no means been fear of failure alone that had prevented him from suggesting a connection of a possibly too unbinding or temporary nature. Since his final determination to make this marriage, he had learnt that the great love he bore Pearl would in itself, independent of any other reason, be sufficient to cause him to reject the former idea with promptitude and distaste. He did not however, disguise from himself that, situated as she was, nine men out of ten would have hesitated before offering her their name. He himself had deliberated and paused before taking this step, but having once, with complete disregard of his future, proposed to give up all for her, he found it impossible to recover from the mortification that her abrupt rejection of his offer, and the refusal for one moment even to consider his proposal, had caused him. Stanislas, greatly angered and deep in thought, strode on and on. It was only the fact of unexpectedly finding himself once more at the tea-house that roused him from his vexatious thoughts, recalling to him the fact of his hasty departure, and unceremonious desertion of Pearl. He then and there retraced his steps, and found her where he had left her on the bench, with a heightened colour, and a look of decided reproach in her eyes. He was very pale as he lifted his hat to her. "Pardon me for leaving you alone," he merely said. "Shall we return now. It is getting chilly." Pearl rose without a word. She followed humbly, feeling somewhat like a naughty child in disgrace. It was not long before her pride rebelled against this sentiment, so unpleasantly novel to her, and though her voice trembled, and her throat felt rough and dry, she nerved herself to break the prolonged and awkward silence. "I don't think you are treating me very well," she said rather defiantly. "You did me the honour to ask me a question, and I replied in the only way that seemed possible to me. I can only say I grieve if it was not the answer you appear evidently to have expected." Monsieur de Güldenfeldt did not speak. He merely slowly raised his head, and with his searching eyes gave Pearl one long and steadfast look. This look had the unpleasant effect of causing Mrs. Nugent to sincerely wish she had bitten her tongue out sooner than have ventured to break the silence. CHAPTER IV. DEEP WATERS. Stanislas fled from Tokyo. He felt as if he hated the place, as if he never wished to set foot in it again. The evening of the day that Pearl refused him he wrote to his Government requesting leave to return home, but he worked almost single-handed at his Legation, and he knew that it would be impossible to take his departure until someone had been sent out to relieve him, a circumstance which meant many months of weary waiting. What might happen during those months he found himself wondering, as he read over the letter he had written so impetuously? A day, a week might alter the whole chain of events, and by the time his Government had given him permission to take advantage of his leave, making all arrangements to facilitate his departure, he knew that it was more than possible that the idea of throwing up his work and of leaving Japan would be the last desire prominent in his mind. Even in moments of the greatest excitement or of distress, Stanislas--where the question of his work was in any way involved--rarely acted hastily or without looking at the question from all sides. Thus in the present case, though it would have been impossible for him to have explained the exact reason why, after weighty consideration, he ended by thrusting the hastily written letter into a drawer, where it reposed peacefully until destroyed many months later. Not that at this moment De Güldenfeldt for one second contemplated asking Mrs. Nugent a second time to become his wife. No thought, indeed, was further from his mind. After much quiet deliberation, indeed considerable hesitation, he had brought himself to the point of making this offer, and greatly to his surprise, disappointment, and distress, he had been refused. He was deeply in love with Pearl, but it must be confessed the sentiment for the moment that had the greatest hold on the spirit of Stanislas de Güldenfeldt, swamping all other feelings,--even for the time being that of his love--was that of wounded pride, Stanislas was by no means perfect, his faults were many and manifold, and like all those who from their earliest youth have acted as their own masters--seldom having been crossed in either whims or desires--he was extra-ordinarily intolerant, even in small matters, of the slightest contradiction or hindrance to his wishes. But when it came to the point of renouncing what he most desired in life, not only for the moment, but he knew well for all futurity, Stanislas was consumed with what was far more than a merely temporary sentiment of annoyance and distress. A great astonishment, a permanent anger and resentment filled his whole being, and his one thought at the present moment was to fly from Pearl and all associations of her, striving his utmost to entirely banish from his mind the woman who had so strangely upset his equanimity, disarranging so completely his rather settled habits and whole system of life. Thus it was, travelling by slow stages and passing his nights at clean and picturesque tea-houses sleeping on _futon_[4] and eating the food of the country, Stanislas, and the young interpreter of his Legation, Suzuki, his sole companion in his travels, one day found themselves at Sendai, from which place they took the train to Shiogama. There a _sampan_--the flat bottomed junk of the Japanese--was engaged, and for several hours Stanislas, stretched at the bottom of the boat, with hands clasped behind his head, and eyes gazing lazily up unto the unclouded sky above, glided in and out through the thousands of lovely islands of this archipelago, so full of mystery and of dreams. Weird and wonderful were those islands, bays, and promontories, in some cases beautiful and entrancing in their wealth of thick grown pines and rich and varied vegetation, and in others, almost uncanny in their bare, naked, volcanic rocks, worn into strange patterns and fantastic shapes by the inroads of the ever surging sea. Under the late afternoon sun, and across this lovely limpid sea of green, would fade far away in the distance vast and misty ranges of thickly wooded hills, while here and there, gleaming through the soft whiteness of the light, a great peak of purple would arise aloft like a beckoning finger, reaching far beyond into the fast flying clouds of the faintly shaded sky. [4] Japanese quilts. On reaching Matsushima (the "Island of the Pines") after this never-to-be-forgotten sail of some delicious hours, and on arriving at the tea-house perched on a rock high above the water, that was to be his shelter for the night, de Güldenfeldt, while the evening meal was being prepared under the supervision of Suzuki, leaned idly over the little barrier of the verandah. He leant and gazed wonderingly at the beautiful scene, till his whole soul was pervaded by the gentleness, the dreamy passionlessness, the immense repose of the solemn charm of the sight before him. The musically rippling water, the many thousand islands, the fading sun-set, with its great shafts of glowing colour shooting across the sky, and merging mysteriously into soft and subtle twilight--all had a peculiar beauty and character of their own. It seemed to him like nothing he had ever seen before. No old recollections, no old memories were stirred to life as his eyes wandered over the waters, and dwelt on the many thousand islands of every form and size, now growing shapeless and dim in the darkening shadows of the night. And as he gazed thus, drinking in the beauty of the scene and thinking of nothing--not even for the moment of Pearl--and as the short twilight gradually faded and night fell, Stanislas was the witness of a strange and picturesque sight. Thousands and thousands of dazzling lights were shimmering on the surface of the dark calm sea before him, each light growing gradually fainter and fainter, and gliding further and further away into the open. Then it was that de Güldenfeldt remembered that it was the sacred and yearly ceremony of the "Shoryobune," or the launching of the Ships of the Souls, when thousands of little skiffs and barks, each illuminated with a single lantern, are once a year set afloat upon the open sea by the simple fisher-folk. On this date the ocean is nought for the time being but one vast highway of the Dead, whose passing souls must cross the waters, be they rough or calm, to eventually reach the haven of their distant and Eternal Home. Now gleaming on the crest of the wave, now disappearing beneath the waters, those fires of the Dead take their onward uncertain journey. Sad indeed, is the fate of the lost lamenting soul, whose little craft with its twinkling light is submerged and extinguished by the scudding spray of the sea, disappearing for ever from all human sight and ken. For that poor struggling spirit is no rest, nor eternal repose, forever and forever will it be an outcast and a wanderer, hovering on the shores of that Land in which Nirvâna is found, but fated never to dwell within the regions of its blessed calm and peace. It is said that as these ghostly lights take their strange and onward journey across the sea, the distant murmur of many voices is heard like the mournful roar of the surf beating on the strand, the language uncomprehended and indistinguishable of those many thousand weary souls, struggling on towards their long prayed-for, long-expected haven of peace and holy contemplation. And as de Güldenfeldt gazed out thus far before him, his eye became fixed upon one little glimmer, dancing up and down on the water, and a cry above the murmur of the many voices seemed to him to come from the direction of that light. Stanislas could not tear his eyes away from this distant gleam, nor shut his ears to the sound of that cry, so faint and weak, and yet so strangely dominant over all other sounds around him. And as he looked, fascinated and engrossed, the fancy seized him that it was even at the spectacle of his own striving weary soul he was gazing, and that the wail that proceeded from that flickering light, rising and falling across the waters, was the echo of the cry of desolation and despair that had filled and rent his heart, ever since the day he had parted from Pearl Nugent in anger and bitter disillusion. He leant further over the balcony, trying to pierce the gloom and to follow the wind-fraught vagaries of that one faint glimmering light. Now it tore swiftly along, now it rose high above the waves, seeming to challenge with its swift and triumphant haste the more backward competitors in this strenuous race, of which the distant goal was the stormy and open sea. It disappeared for the space of an instant, and dreading that it was engulfed for ever by the waters, Stanislas' heart sank within him. Ah! no! there it was again, solitary and triumphant, shining like a colossal diamond, far, far away--as far as eye could see. Alone it was, reaching a great distance beyond the others, and de Güldenfeldt felt grieved for this flickering uncertain light, always solitary, always struggling, however much it was in advance, or appeared to have vanquished those who had first started with it in the race. It was, therefore, with a certain glow of joy, a sentiment of excitement, which he made no effort to suppress, that he finally perceived another distant light, yet as luminous and as steady as the first, flying with all speed over the suddenly roughening ocean, every instant approaching nearer to the brilliant spark that for so long had remained triumphantly mistress of the seas. Stanislas, without hesitation, joyously decided in his own mind that this second light could be none other than the soul-light of Pearl, for as it gained on the distant gleam the faint piteous cry that had hitherto proceeded from the latter ceased, and the light stood still on the face of the waters, and Stanislas knew that his own expectant spirit was waiting for Pearl's soul to join it. Swifter and swifter it flew, nearer and nearer it came, gaining every moment on that other trembling light that was pausing on the crest of the wave to bear it company on that rough and onward journey. Stanislas felt assured that just one faint effort more, one short critical moment, would join in happy and eternal union these two distant lights. But as he gazed breathlessly, the light which he called Pearl's soul, for one brief second gleamed up high into the horizon, gave a faint wavering flicker, and the surface that an instant before was all aglow with its vaporous brilliancy, grew as dark as the inky night that so suddenly seemed to envelope all things, and the little spark, engulfed by the waters, vanished for ever from all human sight! And there still remained his light, his soul, solitary and forlorn, drifting aimlessly on and on. Once again Stanislas caught the sound from far across the waters of that moaning cry, that piteous faint lament, the echo of the desolation in his own heart; and the wail rang in his ears till the light on the sea, growing smaller and smaller, and fainter and fainter, finally merged into the distant horizon, and was seen no more. "I wonder what is coming to me," sighed de Güldenfeldt, as reluctantly stirring from the balcony, he sat himself down on the pile of cushions prepared for him on the _tatami_,[5] "I am as sentimental, as great a fool as any boy indulging in his first attack of calf-love. Yet--and yet--I wish to God Pearl's light had not gone out, but had succeeded in eventually reaching mine. It would somehow have seemed more reassuring, a better omen for the future, whereas now----" [5] Japanese mats. Stanislas de Güldenfeldt passed a bad night. The tea-house, famous for its lovely and extensive view, but for little else, was by no means the haven of rest he had hoped for. The celebration of a _Geisha_ feast in the next room, with all its accompaniments of cheerful voices, rippling laughter, and the doubtful charms of the music of the _samisen_,[6] destroyed through the earlier hours of the night all thoughts of repose. When at length the last convivial guest, after many _O'yasumi nasai_,[7] had finally taken his departure, Stanislas found to his cost that his _futon_ were both hard and lumpy, and that the Japanese green mosquito net, perforated with holes, seemed expressly fabricated to admit scores of those wily and vicious insects, with which his tussles were many and necessarily totally unsuccessful. He tossed and turned, dozed for a few minutes, and in his uneasy dreams was haunted by the soul-lights. Now dancing on the waves, now taking weird shapes of grotesque birds of prey, or fish and animals of no known description, they seemed to imperiously beckon him to join them, or enveloping him in strange uncanny arms, they dragged his struggling form far beneath the waters. Finally he no longer could support in patience the discomfort of his room or these weird nightmares of an excited brain, and rising from his lowly couch and pushing open the _amado_,[8] he looked out into the night. [6] A musical instrument like a guitar in form. [7] Good-nights. [8] Wooden sliding shutters. The moon was full, illuminating with its bright glory the calm sea from which all the lights had long since vanished, and from the surface of which the islands rose from out the water like great gaps blackened by mysterious and ever-moving shadows. On the right, partly hidden by its sacred groves, approached by the red _torii_[9] resting almost on the water's edge, stood bathed in the mystic light, the ancient and picturesque shrine. This lovely little shrine was entirely framed by one immense cedar, whose great branches, motionless in the silent night air, stretched far beyond, like dark angels guarding the consecrated ground. Not a living creature was to be seen, and with the exception of the hum of the night insects, all was as silent as the aged moss-grown tombstones on which the moonbeams fell in ghostly streaks of light. [9] The gateway leading to a temple. "Oh, Heavenly Orb! whose pale but magic light, Sheds liquid glory through the realms of night. Oh, pathless wanderer! whose holy gleam Enshrines the Heavens around with silv'ry beam. Dear to my longing heart thy wondrous ray, Kindling pure thoughts that shun the glaring day. Here while I pensive kneel, gazing above, Thy silver sheen melts wild thoughts into love; And radiant dreams, and hopes and fancies roll In 'wild'ring rapture through my restless soul. Shine on, mild, mystic Moon! aid tears to cease, Through my sad heart shed thy calm light of Peace." This simple verse was the composition of the English mother he had adored, and the repetition of it, so appropriate to the sweet scene before Stanislas' eyes, tended greatly towards bestowing that repose which till now had eluded his weary yet restless mind. But the beauty and peace and silence were not to last. A shadow fell across the surface of the moon, and a fitful and mysterious wind wailed from behind the hills. Suddenly, with no previous warning, every cur in every little hamlet from far and near commenced a discordant and incessant barking. Before Stanislas could ask himself what meant this unwelcomed disturbance of the calm night, a premonitory trembling of the wooden verandah on which he stood warned him that all the terrors of an earthquake were before him. There was no time to realise this disagreeable fact before another shock followed the first, more violent and more prolonged, then a third, in which the wood creaking, rose like the waves of the ocean from beneath his feet. Stanislas found himself clinging to the bamboo rails of the verandah, watching with a strange fascination the branches of the sacred cedar waving violently backwards and forwards as if shaken by the force of a tempest, and the red _torii_ beyond, trembling in its balance. The shock continued, each second increasing the violence thereof, till, with a deafening roar, like the roar of the ocean, with one stupendous and prolonged crash, the frail building, sliding from its slight foundations, collapsed like a house of cards! Stanislas remembered no more until he found himself stretched on the ground outside all that now remained of the once picturesque tea-house. A few yards further and he would have been over the cliff. As it was, he was on his feet in a moment, feeling none the worse for his fall, which had been from no great height, and was broken by the heap of stones and rubbish on which he fell. The house was a mass of ruins. Such indeed, as soon as his somewhat dazed condition allowed him to look around him, seemed to be the melancholy condition of most of the miniature matchbox habitations that three minutes before had stood edging the sea in all their simple and romantic beauty. The _torii_ that he had admired so short a time ago bathed in the calm moonlight, now lay prone on the ground, while half the roof of the little shrine had vanished in a cloud of dust. Only remained the great and ancient cedar to compete against and triumphantly conquer many another revolution of angry nature. This noble tree had survived hundreds of years of earth oscillations and currents, tidal waves and earthquakes, volcanic agencies to which we are told Japan itself owes her very being. Doubtless to the same terrible and disastrous causes, perhaps to-day, perhaps to-morrow, perhaps only in the far distant ages to come, will this beautiful fairyland owe her ultimate destruction. Güldenfeldt's first thought in the chaos that followed was of his young interpreter Suzuki. He shouted his name aloud, but in the din and confusion and the chorus of wails and weepings over lost property--and, alas! in many cases, lost dear ones--his voice was unheard. He knew the boy had been sleeping in the room next to his own, but that little room was now with the rest of the building, heaped on the ground a mass of ruins. Calling on some of the fishermen who were standing by him stupefied by the scene of bitter desolation before them--he tore wildly at the _débris_ of planks and paper and matting piled on the ground, feeling sure that he had but to persevere long enough to find him for whom he searched. In far too short a space of time in lifting a heavy beam of wood, the body of this dear companion of his travels was discovered beneath, motionless and dead. From the first indeed, a presentiment of coming evil had warned Stanislas he would thus find him. The moon, once more unclouded and brilliant, lit up the boy's good-looking face and slim young form. Still resting on his _futon_ there was an expression of such complete peace and happiness on his countenance that for a moment it was indeed difficult not to consider as merely slumbering, this youth hurled thus suddenly into eternity. De Güldenfeldt raised the burden, so light and delicate in his arms, and pushing away the dark hair from the brow he perceived a deep jagged cut on the temple. That wound in itself was enough to cause instant death. The blood had ceased to flow with the ceasing of the heart-throbs, and as his eyes lingered sadly on the inanimate form within his arm, the tears welled up into de Güldenfeldt's eyes. He had loved this young man born at the Legation, and educated at the French school, the worthy son of a noble Samurai, who himself after the Revolution and on the loss of his fortune, had in years gone-by, been only too grateful to accept the situation of Interpreter at the Swedish Legation. From the first day that Stanislas had held the post of Minister in Japan, this youth, unusually quick and intelligent, had proved not only his companion, but his right hand. He had returned the affection of his master with the fidelity and devotion of his race, had accompanied him in his many travels throughout the country, was an excellent interpreter, and had directed his household with the thoroughness and conscientiousness of an upright and honest man, devoted to his master's interests. De Güldenfeldt felt that in losing this bright and intelligent companion of many lonely hours, he was losing half himself. "One shall be taken and the other left," he murmured, as unrestrained the tears fell. "Indeed the ways of Providence are strange. Why has this lad, so full of promise and with all before him, been the one taken, while I, a lonely man, with no hold on life, no ties, no inducements to keep me here--am the unfortunate one that is left?" And the next day during the sad process of cremation, when, after three brief hours, all that was left of this charming companion of years was a handful of ashes and a few splinters of bone, Stanislas, with a feeling of intense loss and desolation, again asked himself that question. Why was he the one whom Providence had chosen to continue the strife? "No one cares for me, no one wants me," he thought, as he sadly supervised the placing of the ashes in the urn. And to this day those ashes repose, and have incense and flowers offered before them in the grounds of the great Temple of the _Koya San_. CHAPTER V. HOME NEWS. While de Güldenfeldt was pursuing his travels, a prey to morbid thoughts increased by this tragic event which had touched him so nearly, and while he was trying to learn that hardest lesson in the world--the lesson to forget, or in his weaker moments, for man is but human after all, dreaming dreams and weaving fancies, dangerous and alluring, Pearl, the chief cause of his depression, yet the subject of those heavenly dreams and fancies, was pursuing the even tenour of her way in Tokyo. Pearl likewise had passed through her moments of weakness and regret. There were times, indeed, when she arrived at the somewhat humiliating conclusion that, considering all things, there was not much to choose between her manner of acting and that of the foolish girl whom she had taken it upon herself so severely to lecture. She and her young cousin were much in each other's society at this time, the mere fact of both being placed in fairly similar positions, helping, perhaps to strengthen the tie of kinship, and that of their mutual affection one for the other. It was during one of their early morning rides that Mrs. Nugent told Amy of de Güldenfeldt's offer, of her rejection thereof, and of the Swedish Minister's consequent irritation and final disappearance from the centre of operations. At this information confided to her, a mischievous gleam sparkled from Miss Mendovy's eyes. "Really, my dear Pearl," she said, very fairly imitating her cousin's voice and manner, "I must speak seriously to you. How could you have been so foolish as to have treated Monsieur de Güldenfeldt as if he were a mere boy? I have no patience with you, Pearl. You forget that the Swedish Minister is a man in a thousand,--a delightful man, a clever man, and from a worldly point of view an excellent match, etc., etc., etc. Don't you think, my dear," she added, turning round in her saddle, and glancing at Pearl with a face brimming over with laughter, "don't you think that these, your own words remember, addressed no doubt perfectly justly to your erring but I assure you long-ago-repentant cousin, might apply most admirably in your own case? It is rather a pity you were so 'previous,' I think, wasting your breath on me, instead of reserving it for your own delinquencies." "It seems to me," replied Pearl, as she gave a little flick to her mare, "that you in your eloquence, Miss Amy, are forgetting one vital difference in the two cases. Whereas you, by your own confession, are in love with Sir Ralph Nicholson, and what is more, have been in this blissful condition for ages, I have no feeling for Monsieur de Güldenfeldt but that of great liking and the very deepest admiration for his cleverness and wit. This rather alters the situation, don't you think, you extremely sarcastic and facetious young person?" "Oh, love!" ejaculated Amy with uptilted nose, "pray who thinks nowadays of such an out-of-date sentiment as love? What is love, compared to the advantages of a profitable marriage? Besides, Pearl, if you are not in love with him, you ought to be. He's a dear man, and you have recklessly and deliberately thrown away an excellent chance. And for what? An idea, a mere antiquated worn-out idea. And that's a fact, so it is no use trying to make out the contrary." "You are doubtless right, Amy, perfectly right," answered Pearl in an unusually humble voice, "I know I am never likely to get such a chance again. Considering my position, it was a stroke of luck I had no right to expect, and yet--and yet--My dear Amy, it comes to this, it's no use talking to a girl like you. You've never been married, so how can you in the least realize what marriage means? I know, to my cost, only too well what it entails. So is it to be wondered at that I hesitate before making a second venture, however advisable to your inexperienced eyes such a marriage may seem?" They trotted on in silence for some minutes, then Amy replied somewhat dubiously, "You are right, Pearl. Of course I can't in the least know the consequences, good or bad, of matrimony. What is more, as far as I can see, I am never likely to have the chance of finding out. For I am decided on one point--nobody but Ralph shall have the honour of calling me wife, an honour which, so far, that young man seems in no hurry whatsoever to burden himself with. It is ages and ages since he condescended to come near me. And when by chance, once in a blue moon, we do happen to meet, His Excellency as a rule is far too occupied with some other fascinating member of the fair sex to think it worth his while to hardly cast me a glance of recognition. Rather different from the old days, eh, Pearl?" "You brought it on yourself, my dear cousin." "I confess, Pearl, I have hitherto looked upon you as a fairly intelligent woman. Another lost illusion, I suppose. Pray, how does the fact of my having brought this state of things on myself in the least alter or improve matters? Bother the men! Don't let's talk any more about them. The world would certainly be far jollier if they didn't exist. I see," she added with a serio-comic twinkle in her eye, "there is only one thing left for me to do, and that is to pray that Sir Ralph's ultimate fate in the shape of a wife may be a shrew, the plague of his life, someone who will lead him a nice dance in fact. Then perhaps he may feel inclined to indulge in some moments of regret that he did not stick a little longer to dear, amiable, sweet-tempered Amy Mendovy. Come along, Pearl, let's have a canter, and for one brief moment forget that disagreeable appendage--man." But Amy was not fated to be in luck that morning, for shortly afterwards a sharp turn in the road brought the two ladies face to face with that particular "appendage" who was evidently engrossing Miss Mendovy's thoughts. Ralph was accompanied by two extremely pretty girls, all three on horseback, and apparently, from their peals of happy laughter, in the highest of spirits and the greatest good humour with themselves and the world in general. Amy Mendovy flushed crimson, and with a bow that included the whole party, she gave a cut to her pony, and trotted quickly on, while Pearl, calling out to one of the girls, "I hope you have had a nice ride this lovely morning, Eulalie," followed after her cousin. "Why did you not stop, Amy?" she asked as she caught her up. "The de Bourvilles reined in their horses with the intention of having a chat. They looked so astonished and annoyed when you went tearing past them in that strange, erratic manner." "If you find the society of those girls so fascinating, my dear, why did you pay any attention to my movements, and not stop yourself?" replied Amy sharply. "I had to follow you. If I had not done so it would have made your behaviour appear still more markedly rude," answered Pearl quietly. "As it is, they may possibly attribute our tearing past them in that extraordinary manner, to some real necessity for haste." "I really don't in the least care what they think. The opinions of the Mesdemoiselles de Bourville never have interested me, nor will they ever interest me in the very slightest degree. The only thing that distresses me somewhat is to see two unfortunate girls, neither of whom have the vaguest notion of sitting a horse, attempting to ride." "Well, you see, they are merely beginners. No doubt as they go out now so often with Sir Ralph he will soon teach them to sit straight," replied Pearl rather maliciously. "They've got nice figures, and are both adorably pretty. I'm sure their habits are English made." "Doubtless," said Amy, with a slight drawl, which she affected when she wished to appear bored, "but really their riding habits excite me as little as the owners themselves. Do let us talk of something more interesting, Pearl." Pearl smiled quietly to herself as she thought, with a certain satisfaction, how quickly the remedy which she herself had prescribed was working on the all-unconscious patient. "I have never seen Amy in such a temper, or heard her use such an unpleasant tone towards other girls before," she thought. "Poor child! She's green with jealousy. No wonder! when in the old days there was never a question of Ralph riding with anyone but herself. Dear, wise Ralph! if only you continue to play your cards as well as you have started, there's no reason whatsoever, knowing my fair cousin as I do, but that you will be married to her whenever you choose to fix the day." That same morning, on her return from her ride, Pearl found she was likely to have far more serious matters than Amy's affairs of the heart to occupy her mind. The mail had come in, an event that ordinarily did not greatly excite Mrs. Nugent. Having shut herself off from all old associations, all former connections, she seldom, with the exception of an occasional communication from her banker or lawyer, received much of interest by the post, the pile of newspapers and magazines, despatched to her weekly, being her sole and only means of keeping in touch with the outer world. But this morning, on entering her cosy little boudoir, one glance at the writing table showed, lying in a prominent place, a couple of letters, one from Mr. Hall and the other in a former well-known and altogether dreaded handwriting. No need to lift the letter from the table to recognize only too well the once familiar, but now almost forgotten writing of the husband whom she had divorced. On perceiving it she made an exclamation of dismay, for a moment hesitating whether she should not destroy unread this unexpected and most unwelcome missive. Nevertheless, though vexed and irritated, the sight of the letter aroused no keen feelings in her mind. Since she had freed herself from him, the writer himself had grown so completely indifferent--belonging so entirely to that black chapter of the past, which, until reopened by Nicholson, she had flattered herself was closed for ever--that she felt, whatever he might elect to write, whatever insults, whatever injuries might be addressed to her in this letter, no sentiment but that of a sort of dreary contempt, a partial and temporary irritation unworthy even of the name of anger, was now capable of being once more stirred to life. Indifference to vituperation did not however, carry her so far as to swamp all natural feelings of curiosity, and when, after a few moments of deliberation, she lifted the letter by the corner, she examined the envelope with a certain interest and wonder. The letter was fully directed to her present name and address, a fact which, on consideration, caused an incipient fear, and certainly unbounded astonishment. So he knew not only of her change of name, but of her whereabouts, by what occult means she did not wait to consider, but delaying no longer, Pearl hastily opened the epistle, and read the following contents: "Dear Pearl, "I do not for one moment flatter myself that it is likely you should take the smallest interest in the fate of the man who once called himself your husband. As, however, I am informed that surely--and I am personally convinced by no means slowly--my days are numbered, I am writing before the breath vanishes for ever from this poor suffering body, to make, entirely for my own satisfaction, a certain communication to you. "I am leaving you--for reasons which it is hardly necessary for me to enumerate--the complete mistress of my fortune. For fear, however, that you should be deluded into the belief that this proceeding is an act of, what you might be pleased to consider reparation on my part, I wish before the end comes, to entirely disabuse your mind of that fallacy. "I am a dying man, it is true, but a worn out carcass does not necessarily entail a clouded or impaired intelligence. My mind, believe me, is as clear as when you knew me, and I solemnly here announce on my death-bed a fact, which except in public you have heretofore never given me the chance of declaring, that in my marital relations, I was as deeply wronged, as you no doubt are perfectly justified in considering I wronged you. "You obtained your divorce by the breadth of a hair, you will doubtless remember. The fact that after having achieved your ends no marriage with Martinworth took place, did not for one instant throw dust in my eyes, whatever may have been the effect on that individual himself, or on the many, who at that time, called themselves your friends. I repeat, that for many years I possessed the positive conviction that Martinworth was your lover. In no wise did this fact interfere with me or my plans. Indeed, the knowledge that you were agreeably occupied entirely suited my book, and under the circumstances I found it a natural and convenient arrangement for all parties concerned. "If, my dear Pearl, you had only shown that cleverness which you had exhibited for so many years, and if instead of dragging me into the Divorce Court you had been satisfied to let well alone, we should have continued a comfortable _ménage à trois_ till the end of the chapter. That chapter, as far as I am concerned, would soon have closed, and in three or four years' time you would have found yourself, while still fairly young and extremely handsome, playing the satisfactory and the justifiable _rôle_ of the bereaved, but by no means inconsolable widow. That awkward impediment the husband, having been conveniently disposed of underground, no stumbling block would have stood in the way of legalizing your position, by a marriage at some fashionable church, to which interesting ceremony lustre would have been added by the presence, no doubt, of the smartest set in Town. "But you were too hasty in your desire to cast off your shackles. Seeing, however, the precious little use you have made of your freedom, is it to be wondered at that my breath should have been taken away by such an exhibition of complete _manque de savoir faire_. By one, too, whom, when I gave myself the trouble to think about her at all, I certainly considered possessed that quality to perfection. "What? I ask you, have you gained by this most ill-advised step, on the taking of which, if you had only consulted me, I should most certainly, for your own sake, have counselled you against? Have you achieved liberty of action? Certainly not. Before your divorce you were completely free. A firmer and less compromising stand in society? Hardly, you must allow, considering the many doubtful and unpleasant incidents of your life, that to shield my own reputation my counsel had to bring to light. Undisturbed union with your lover? Your own subsequent and most inexplicable behaviour forfeited for ever all chance of such a future. "Now, in the place of gain, compare your losses. Exile from your native land. The loss of the protection of your husband's name. The loss of the constant companionship of an adoring lover, and while you were my wife, however much you might have thought fit to scorn that position, the loss of a tangible and by no means insignificant place in that society, which for over ten years had been to you as the very breath of your nostrils. "Oh! poor, blind, benighted fool! I cannot but pity you, Pearl, my rage and spite having long ago exhausted themselves. It is to prove to you this truth, namely, that I have no bitterness, no rancour, that I am acting as I do, leaving you the complete controller of that fortune, which, from the fact of you having shared it for so many years, you well know is by no means inconsiderable. Do as you will with it. As you will see, it is yours without conditions. You in your turn can leave this wealth to whom you desire, my own few distant relatives having no claim whatsoever upon me. "One word more before I close these lines. "Once, being no longer master of my actions, I was so unfortunate as to strike you. It was principally on the fact of that blow that you obtained your divorce. I apologise to you for this deed. I can only add that, whatever the provocation, I should never have acted thus in my sober moments. "And now, adieu. By the time you receive this I shall, in all probability be beneath the sod. No doubt you will experience a certain natural satisfaction in feeling assured that for the future you no longer can be troubled by "GUY NORRYWOOD." arl stood for a long time with this letter clasped tightly in her hand, Pea prey to strangely mixed feelings. Though, during all the years they had spent together, Norrywood had evidently not considered it worth his while to express his opinion, she nevertheless had by no means been in ignorance of her husband's true sentiments towards her. Before the crash she in her turn, had scorned to confute or to argue this opinion, though if she had for a moment supposed that every questionable position, every compromising action on her part was to have been brought as evidence against her in her own suit, she certainly would have taken more pains in those early days, even to the man whom she despised so thoroughly, to have explained and proved her innocence. But neither she, nor Martinworth, nor her Counsel had for one moment contemplated such a step on Norrywood's part, and indeed at one time it was believed the case would proceed in its course undefended. Judge then of her astonishment when her husband appeared in Court armed with these many powerful, aye! deadly weapons against her. Too late then to explain or temporize, and Pearl in bitterness of spirit realised fully her egregious folly in having from the very commencement so completely scorned, so entirely despised her foe. Bitter memories were aroused in Mrs. Nugent's breast by the perusal of this letter--memories and regrets and rage that long had remained dormant, so much so, that she asked herself whether after all, her philosophy was beginning to play her false. But Norrywood's unvarnished opinion of her, the complete cynicism of his plain speaking, the crude bluntness, brutality indeed, of his well weighed and deliberate conclusions touched her not at all. She had all along been aware of his opinion, and to some extent she could comprehend his having arrived at such an unflattering conclusion, and almost forgave him for it. She felt, however, a slight regret that he should have died unchanged in this belief, especially as on the whole the letter aroused her sympathies, and a vague feeling of pity in her breast. She read between the lines, and in spite of his refutation of the same, she knew that this will in her favour was an act of reparation--tardy amends for all he had made her suffer during his lifetime. The act, if not the words, confessed remorse. Such being the case, and with this barrier of the tomb between them, she felt that she could forgive him much. She had never for one instant contemplated the possibility of inheriting his money. She did not wish for it, and as she restored the letter to the envelope she deluded herself with the belief that no power on earth could force her to accept this undesired, this unexpected gift. But there was still Mr. Hall's letter to be read. It was, she perceived, dated ten days later than that of her husband, and contained the contents of his will and the details of his miserable death, which had taken place suddenly a few days after the writing of this last long epistle. "Your former husband," wrote Mr. Hall, "has for the last year been suffering from an extremely painful, and from the first, incurable disease. I was surprised that I, and not his own lawyer, should be called in to draw up his last will and testament, but his reasons for this act were later on, explained. I was touched by the great change I perceived in the poor sufferer's whole character and demeanour, and though nothing I could say would induce him to change his opinion on one point,--namely, as to your relations with Lord Martinworth,--the approach of Death, that great Softener, had melted the hitherto stony heart, and he spoke gently and kindly of you, and with a genuine regret for the constant sorrow of which he had been the cause. Mr. Norrywood's standard of morals, as we know to our cost, was at no times a high one. Presumably it was owing to this fact that he appeared to think the intimacy, which to the last he insisted existed between you and his lordship, was not otherwise than natural, and by no means blamable under the circumstances of his own acknowledged infidelity to you. But what seemed to astonish him beyond words was the fact of your having gone to the length of putting him into Court at all. He told me he wished, before he died, to express what he had so far never had an opportunity of doing, his opinion of your folly in taking this step. 'Naturally I had to defend myself,' he said, 'and the consequences have been my wife's social ruin.' He said much more on this point, and concluded by asking for your address for the purpose--he told me--of expressing his sentiments, and of informing you of his monetary intentions towards you. "Considering it was the request of a dying man, I felt--in spite of your strict injunctions to the contrary, and consequently certain qualms of conscience on my part--that the only thing I could do in the circumstances was to accede to his request. I therefore wrote down for him your present name and address, and I can only trust, my dear young friend, that Mr. Norrywood, in this his last letter to you, confined himself to facts, inscribing nothing of a particularly unkind or painful nature. "You will see by the enclosed copy of the will that Mr. Norrywood has left you a very wealthy woman. However distasteful the source may be from which the money springs, remember, my child, that much good can be done with this large fortune, of which you are left complete mistress, now and for the future. Knowing you as I do, I am convinced that your first impulse will be to refuse this wealth. But I also believe that on impartial and thoughtful consideration you will understand the immense folly of such a step. Indeed, a great portion of it having been settled on you at your marriage, must be yours in any case. So do not act hastily, but remember that in years to come there may be others besides yourself who can be benefited by these large sums. "I should much like to know your intentions as to the future. Have you any thoughts of returning home? Your absence has been a long one. The persons that you dreaded are removed from your path--one by death and the other by marriage. It is therefore hardly necessary for me to point out that on inheriting this fortune your presence, for a short period at least in your native land, is highly desirable, I may even add, necessary." Mr. Hall concluded his letter with various business details as to investments, etc., also with much fatherly and kind advice, which he considered it his duty to offer, but which no one knew better than he himself was more likely to be ignored than followed. Pearl, with puckered brow, was still standing by her writing table, pondering over these momentous and upsetting communications, when a _'ricksha_ rattled up to the door, and a moment later Mrs. Rawlinson was in the room. "Dearest Rosina," exclaimed Pearl as she embraced her cousin, "what a wonderful woman you are! You have the blessèd knack of always appearing on the spot when most needed. I was wishing for you so much, and was just contemplating ordering the carriage and driving round to Azabu." "What's the matter now?" enquired Mrs. Rawlinson, as she glanced at the two letters in Pearl's hand with a certain alarm in her brown eyes. "I want you to read these letters brought by this morning's mail. No, this one first." Rosina took Mr. Norrywood's letter handed to her, and walking to the window stood with her back to Mrs. Nugent. She read it straight through, and until she had replaced it in the envelope made no remark. "Well, I suppose, judging from what he writes of his condition, the poor man must be dead by this time," and Rosina's cheerful voice as she turned round contrasted rather ludicrously with the _figure de circonstance_ conjured up for the occasion. "Yes," said Pearl quietly, "he is dead." "It's no use humbugging, and pretending one is sorry when one isn't," retorted Mrs. Rawlinson. "To put it mildly, Pearl, that man's death is--is--what shall we say? Well, let us call it a merciful release. That's an expression that can hurt no one." "He's done me no harm for some years, and time softens things," replied Pearl gently. "I think, too, he was perhaps sorry at the last." "Hum! death-bed repentance," said Mrs. Rawlinson drily. "I've not much faith in that sort of thing myself. So easy to say you are sorry when circumstances over which you have no control make it impossible for you to have the chance of doing further harm. At any rate, I am glad to see that his repentance--if repentance it was--took a tangible form, and that in dying he had the decency to make certain amends for his disgraceful conduct towards you during his lifetime. You'll be a rich woman, Pearl. Let us trust, dear, that you will make better use of the money than he did." "Yes," said Pearl, "I shall be rich, very rich, if I accept the money." "If--what?" and Rosina stared. "If I accept Mr. Norrywood's money," repeated Pearl. "I have by no means decided to do so, Rosina." "Are you mad?" "Not that I am aware of." "My dear Pearl," and Mrs. Rawlinson settled herself squarely in an arm chair, "I shall not even give myself the trouble of demanding your reasons for this totally absurd, ridiculously quixotic hesitation on your part." "Such being the case," retorted Pearl with a slight flush, "I shall likewise, greatly to my relief, be exempted from the trouble of informing you of them. Nevertheless I am, I confess, somewhat disappointed, for I flattered myself that you at least, Rosina, would have understood my motives--my--well--my scruples on this point." "Well, then, I don't, and that's a fact," replied her cousin tersely. "The man, as all the world knows, treated you shamefully, made your life a misery from the very commencement. After putting up for years not only with neglect and infidelity, but with downright cruelty, you had the strength of mind to appeal to the law, and to divorce him. He is dying, and he writes you a letter. And even on his death-bed he cannot resist insulting you--accusing you of various disgraceful and altogether impossible actions. He has however, enough decency left in his composition to apologise for one of the many hundreds of his villainous acts, and, above all, he makes a certain reparation by leaving you his fortune. After all, my dear Pearl, a large portion of that fortune is already yours. He made excellent settlements, I remember, and you have been profiting by the interest of that sum ever since you left him. I really can't see the difference if, instead of a portion--the quarter, the half, whatever has hitherto been yours--you should for the future take over the whole of the fortune." Pearl was silent. Rosina's calm unemotional manner of regarding matters always influenced her more impulsive and excitable nature. She felt there was much good sense and wisdom in what her cousin said. "You seem to be of the same opinion as Mr. Hall," she said, after a minute. "He thinks I ought to keep the money. You will see what he says in this letter." "He is a good friend to you, Pearl, that old lawyer," remarked Mrs. Rawlinson, as after carefully reading the letter, she returned it to Mrs. Nugent. "I can only impress on you to follow his and my advice. Above all, don't act in a hurry. What do you intend to do about going home?" "Oh! spare me, Rosina! Why, I have only just received these letters. I haven't thought of making plans. But who knows? If my presence in England is really necessary for business purposes, I may possibly take a trip home after the summer. But my absence will be only temporary. I shall return. While you are here, Rosina dear, Japan will always be my home." "Well! there might be worse places," and Mrs. Rawlinson pulled down her veil, preparatory to departure, "in spite of slight drawbacks in the way of distance, typhoons, earthquakes, etc. By the way, I wanted to telephone to you on Wednesday after that awful shock, but the wires were disarranged. Were you frightened? Did you suffer much loss?" "Several of my best pieces of Imari china were smashed," replied Pearl, "and I picked up my big Delft vase in fear and trembling. But it was uninjured, mercifully. Stranger still, this heavy bronze clock was thrown off the mantelpiece, and was still going when I picked it up. Frightened? I should think I was frightened. I and all the Japanese servants rushed into the garden, and watched the house rocking backwards and forwards, expecting every moment to see it collapse." "It was the worst earthquake we've had for years," added Rosina, "but it was nothing here compared to what it was in the north. I see by the newspapers whole villages were destroyed, and there has been immense loss of life. Amy will have told you how Tom retired as usual under the table. And did you hear how those two American globe-trotters, those dear old Miss Mordants, each clutching her own particular Chin dog, fled precipitately from the Grand Hotel, clad in little else than their stockings and chemises, and took refuge in a _'ricksha_ in the middle of the Bund? Thus airily clad, with the hood down and the apron up, they insisted on remaining for several hours. And then poor Nelly Richards, who was completely lost, and at last, after a long search, was found up a tree in the garden. I am told no power in heaven or earth would induce her to desert her tree until dragged down by main force by her infuriated parent." "Yes, even earthquakes have their comical side. I heard of a certain mutual friend of ours who was indulging in a bath at that moment, and who fled into the street adorned tastefully but extremely simply in a high hat and a walking-stick," and Pearl laughed, but a second later her face became once more overclouded, and she sighed deeply. "Now my dear," said Rosina, as she took her in her arms and kissed her affectionately, "be your own brave philosophical self, and don't worry about things. And as for your late husband, the last thing you could possibly manage to do is to mourn him, you know. Personally, I make no attempt to disguise how greatly relieved I am that a merciful Providence has thought fit to remove him from this troublesome world to another, and,--we'll hope,--a brighter sphere. While he was alive, in spite of your divorce, one could never feel quite sure that he might not take it into that evil head of his to annoy you in some way. Why! who knows? He might have turned up here in Tokyo!" "There may be, for all you think, a far worse danger threatening me than the unexpected arrival of a divorced husband," murmured Pearl oracularly. She was on the verge of confiding to Rosina the probable arrival in Japan of Lord Martinworth. She would have done so if it had not been that, since those few confidential conversations held on Pearl's first arrival three years ago, the name and even the existence of Martinworth had, by a sort of tacit consent and mutual understanding, been ignored by the two women in all later intercourse. Pearl was longing for Rosina's sympathy and advice in the difficulties she saw before her, but an incipient feeling of shyness, a kind of _mauvaise honte_, prevented her from venturing to reopen a subject which for so long had been closed between them. She therefore held her peace. "After all," she thought, as she seated herself at her writing table after Mrs. Rawlinson's departure, "it may simply be a mare's nest of Sir Ralph's. Dick may never come in the end. A thousand incidents may occur to cause him to change his mind. And even if he and his wife do come to Japan, it is just as likely we shall not meet. What scores of globe-trotters visit this country whom I never see. I can easily abstain for the next two or three months from accepting invitations to the English Legation, the one place where we are likely to run across each other. Yes, after all, I am glad I said nothing to Rosina." And yet in spite of all her sophistries, deep down in her heart of hearts, Pearl never doubted for a moment but that it was ordained by fate that Dick Martinworth should visit Japan, and that once again, whether for weal or for woe she knew not, their paths in life should cross. Mr. Hall's and Rosina's arguments combined carried weight, and the next mail conveyed a letter from Mrs. Nugent to the former, in which no mention was made of renouncing the wealth left her. Indeed, enclosed with the letter was the rough draft of a will, by which, with the exception of a very substantial legacy to Mrs. Rawlinson, and another to the old lawyer himself, the whole of Pearl's vast fortune was left unconditionally to her young cousin, Miss Amy Mendovy. CHAPTER VI. A WOMAN'S WOMANLINESS. The Imperial Cherry garden party was fixed that year for the 21st of April, the day proving one of the most perfect of a perfect Japanese spring. Pearl had been prevented from attending both the spring parties that had taken place since her arrival. Therefore, though suffering from a certain depression of spirits which, in spite of her efforts to the contrary, possessed her at times, she found herself looking forward with considerable pleasure to the coming event. As a member of the Rawlinson family she had a right to an invitation. She accompanied her cousins, and as they drove towards the Hama-Goten Palace, Mrs. Rawlinson's critical eyes rested admiringly on Pearl's beautiful face, and on the almost equal loveliness of her young niece seated opposite to her. Her heart swelled with natural pride as she complacently smoothed out the creases of the purple shot silk that in various forms and shapes had graced many an Imperial garden party. "There's not the slightest doubt," she ejaculated, "but that my niece and my cousin will be two of the prettiest and best dressed women at the party to-day. You are both of you, my dears, looking perfectly charming. Don't you agree with me, Tom? Come now, say something, you tiresome person. Pay your relatives a compliment for once in a way." Mr. Rawlinson opened his lazy eyes with somewhat of an effort. "Both Pearl and Amy are quite vain enough of their looks without any compliments from me," he grunted. "The only thing unusual that I observe about them to-day is that the things they are wearing on their heads look, if anything, a shade more absurd and grotesque than they do even on ordinary occasions. My dear Rosina, I do wish you would leave me alone, and make the proper use of your parasol, instead of employing it for the sole purpose of poking me in the ribs. It is bad enough to be dragged to this infernal garden-party, without being massacred before I get there." This last remark was accompanied with a twinkle in the very kindly eyes. Tom Rawlinson was somewhat of a rough diamond, and he affected a certain gruffness both in speech and manner. His bark, however, was well known for being considerably worse than his bite, and many there were who could vouch for his open-handedness in their moments of distress and need, his ever-ready helpful generosity, and above all, that priceless treasure in this unfeeling world--a warm heart. "Now don't call the garden-party names, my dear, just because you would prefer to be wasting this beautiful day in that stupid, stuffy office of yours. And, Amy, don't pay any attention to what your uncle says. Your hat is very pretty. I am sure it ought to be, as nothing was considered good enough for your ladyship but a fabrication from Paris. By the bye, Pearl, do you know anything about Sir Ralph Nicholson? Is he still here? He never comes our way now. What's the matter with him? I have seen him once since his return, and he appeared considerably changed from the genial, pleasant fellow that I remember him." Both Pearl and Amy reddened at Mrs. Rawlinson's questions. Neither conscience was entirely free from guilt. "Yes," answered the former hesitatingly, "he is still here. He came to see me yesterday, and said that he would be at the party to-day. But here we are," she added, as with a certain relief she saw the entrance to the Palace gardens. "Oh, Pearl, isn't it lovely?" exclaimed Amy. "I never saw the cherry trees so beautiful as they are this year." They walked through the picturesque grounds, planted with the world-famed cherry tree, heavy with its fragrant mass of blossom. Interspersed was the graceful _momiji_, or spring maple, clothed in its luxurious mantle of brilliant red, forming with the dark foliage of the lofty pines, and the varied greens of rare and ancient trees in all their rich and perfect beauty, an enchanting contrast to the cloudless azure sky above. Pearl for a moment, in her admiration of these beauties of nature, perfected by the cunning art of man, forgot to be anxious and unhappy. Her sweet face was no longer grave, and her eyes shone, as, giving herself up to the enjoyment of the hour, she experienced the charm of gazing at a landscape glorified at that moment by glowing, brilliant sunshine, and scented by the delicate odour of a myriad faintly-tinted, profusely clustering blooms. Her eyes revelled in the unrivalled beauty of these lovely grounds, and only when she arrived at the waiting place beneath the ancient and wide-spreading trees, and was quickly surrounded and greeted by her many friends, did she realise that she was there not merely to admire, but, in her turn, to be equally admired. She was in an animated conversation with the Minister of Foreign Affairs and the Belgian and Spanish _Chefs de Mission_, when Amy came up to her. "Fancy, Pearl," she exclaimed, "Baron de Pennett has just told me that Monsieur de Güldenfeldt is still away at Sendai and Hakodate, and all sorts of out-of-the-way places. You are guilty of keeping him away like this," she added in a whisper. "He loves these functions as a rule. But no doubt he has forgotten all about you by this time. Men are strange animals. Talk about the fickleness and changeableness of women indeed! Just look at the pronounced way Sir Ralph is flirting with that strong-minded looking female in magenta. Not that I care a bit, you know. Though I can't say I particularly admire his taste, do you?" And Amy's dark orbs flashed disdainfully. Pearl let her eyes travel in the direction indicated, and, as she looked, a puzzled expression came into them. "I seem to know that face," she said musingly. "Where can I have seen it before?" She was still pondering, when her thoughts were interrupted by a man's voice behind her enquiring, in a strong foreign accent, "Madame Nugent, may I be allowed to have the honour of presenting an old friend of mine to you?" and turning, Pearl with no previous warning of the ordeal before her, met Lord Martinworth face to face. The meeting was so unexpected,--for she had gathered from Sir Ralph that it would still be some weeks before the Martinworth's arrival,--that Pearl found herself murmuring commonplaces, and mechanically bowing, as she would have murmured and bowed to a complete stranger. Later on she realised how dazed, how completely lost she had been at the moment. It was only on perceiving the deathly pallor of the face before her that she remembered that she was in public, that a thousand eyes were upon her, and with a supreme effort she partially succeeded in recovering her presence of mind. Lord Martinworth had been standing conversing with Count Carlitti, a member of one of the Foreign Legations and a former acquaintance whom he had unearthed in Tokyo, when the latter caught sight of Pearl's tall figure and straight back, clad in a perfectly cut gown. He had already announced himself as one of her many admirers, though, having only lately arrived in Japan, he was unacquainted as yet with the gossip of his new post. Always talking himself, and never giving another a chance to put in a word, he was so far, in ignorance of Mrs. Nugent's history. He had heard vaguely that she was separated from her husband, a fact which he considered much in her favour, for in the opinion of this vivacious gentleman every pretty woman profited much, certainly as far as he personally was concerned, in being placed in a position more or less irregular or equivocal. At any rate, if unfortunately a husband did happen to exist, the more such an inconvenient appendage remained in the background, the greater approval was the lady of the hour likely to find in Count Carlitti's soft brown eyes. Those eyes were ever on the look out for a pretty face or a rounded bust. His taste in female beauty was considered, certainly by himself if by no one else, indisputable. So when at the Club he had once given out that there was no doubt whatsoever but that Mrs. Nugent was _la plus belle femme de Tokyo_, no one troubled, even if they disagreed, to contradict one who counted himself such an experienced judge of the correct and classic lines of feminine loveliness. "I must, _mon ami_," he said to Martinworth, "present you to _une beauté--mais une beauté incomparable!_ Madame Nugent is English. You see that beautiful, straight back, and leetle head poised so haughtily? Ah, I perceive you admire! But wait, _mon ami_, till you see her face. And when you will have seen her face, wait a leetle longer till you have seen her _en robe de bal! Quelles epaules mon cher, ah! quelles epaules!_ Then tell me if we do not possess a gem in _ce triste Tokyo_." The introduction promptly followed, and shortly afterwards Count Carlitti was heard relating that _la parfaite beauté de cette Madame Nugent_ had made such an impression on _ce brave Martinworth_ that he had actually trembled, and turned ashen from the violence of his emotions. "My triumph is complete," he was saying to Tom Spence, a junior member of the English Legation. "_C'etait le coup de foudre!_" "_Coup de foudre_, by Jove! I should just think it must have been," exclaimed Spence. "Why, my dear fellow, Martinworth is the very man with whom Mrs. Nugent (that's not her real name, you know) was mixed up with in that divorce-suit two or three years ago. She came out here, they say, to get rid of him. And now you go and introduce them to each other as if they had never met before! Ha, ha, ha! upon my word, that's the best joke, the rummest situation I have ever heard of!" "_Mon Dieu_," exclaimed Carlitti, with a shrug of his shoulders, "if women change their names, how is it possible to know the right--what do you call it--co-respondents--that belong to them? _Mais sapristi! quelle guigne!_" "What is the matter, Count?" asked Lady Thomson, who, with her husband the English Minister, at that moment joined the two young men. "You look quite upset. An unusual state of things for you." "Carlitti has just been distinguishing himself by introducing Lord Martinworth to Mrs. Nugent," explained the amused Spence. "He evidently wished for a sensation." The British Minister was a very dignified person, and no one realised better than His Excellency himself that he was assisting in a prominent position at an important Court function. At his Secretary's words however, he screwed up his mouth into the form of a button, and a sound very like a whistle issued from his lips. "My dear Carlitti, what a terrible situation! You mean to say you didn't know about the divorce, and all the rest of it?" "_Mais naturellement, Monsieur le Ministre, je n'en savais rien._ I desired to make a pleasure to _mon ami Martinworth_, for he knows himself well _en beauté de femme_. And I was assured that he would admire _la belle Madame Nugent. Aprés tout j'avais raison, je connais bien son gôut._" "Yes! you are quite right, Count," murmured the English wife of one of the German Secretaries, equally remarkable for her extreme prettiness, her sharp tongue, and her very many indiscretions, "Lord Martinworth certainly knows something about the good points of _le beau sexe_. As for Mrs. Nugent, he has had in her case, I am told, many years of leisure in London to study this particular example. Well, now he can re-commence, and can still further improve himself in what you dear, foolish men tell us is an absorbing and inexhaustible occupation,--the study of the female heart. Dear Mrs. Nugent's heart must be so very, very interesting. It is a pity that, so far, this boring, dull Tokyo has never provided her with an adorer, to help to solve its mysteries." "Don't, I pray you, waste your pity where it is not required, my dear little Countess," laughed Lady Thomson. "Mrs. Nugent could have had, I feel assured, as many adorers as she desired. But you know as well as I do, that in spite of her somewhat difficult position she does not lay herself out for admiration and that sort of thing. She is certainly not a bit of a flirt. By the bye," she added _sotto voce_ to her husband, "do you think I ought to say anything to her about that horrid man's death, and the fortune? Or shall I ignore the whole subject? What do you think about it?" "By all means hold your tongue," replied the cautious diplomatist. "To refer to the fellow's death would be in the worst possible taste. Why, I see she doesn't even wear mourning, and quite right, too. It would be the height of hypocrisy. Come along, my dear. Collect the wives of my secretaries and those other ladies whom it is your duty to introduce to the Empress, for it will soon be our turn to be received in audience. We must take our place." For the rest of that afternoon Count Carlitti retired into the background, and this usually volatile gentleman was extremely silent and considerably suppressed. Allowing for a certain amount of exaggeration, the description he gave Tom Spence of Lord Martinworth's demeanour at the moment of introduction was far from being incorrect. If, instead of bounding away after someone else, Carlitti had remained a little longer on the spot, his surprise would have been greatly increased by hearing the one word, "Pearl," issuing in deep, astounded tones from the man's lips, and by witnessing the intense look of joy that, after the first shock of amazement, illumined the handsome but somewhat stern features. To show emotion at an unexpected meeting, neither words nor violent outbursts of excitement are necessary. Lord Martinworth and Pearl Nugent met, and had at one glance, recognised each other. She had let her trembling hand lie in his for a moment, while that one look, that one word, had passed between them. She could not have spoken if her life had depended on the opening of her lips, and she felt it indeed a cause of thankfulness when the Court Chamberlains chose that moment to divide the crowd, forming it into two lines facing each other, and when in the necessary confusion, Martinworth was separated from her side. The _Corps Diplomatique_ took up their stand in line, by order of precedence, the rest of the crowd placing themselves beyond and behind, where they could obtain the best view. The military bands repeated one after the other, the very solemn and impressive National Anthem, while their Imperial Majesties, accompanied by the Princes and Princesses of the Blood and all the Court, walked slowly by between the two lines of their respectful subjects, and that of the _Corps Diplomatique_, acknowledging graciously the deferential salutations of this large gathering of people. Immediately on the passing of the Court, the _Corps Diplomatique_ took their place in the procession. The crowds of guests followed, and Pearl found herself leaning heavily on Nicholson's arm, walking, in a sort of trance across the picturesque bridges, and along the lovely verdure-shaded paths. Ralph had been an anxious and interested spectator of the meeting between his two friends. He was exchanging banalities with Lady Martinworth--the recollection of whose face had proved so great a puzzle to Pearl--when he had observed the greeting, and his kind heart had beaten sympathetically at what he knew must indeed be a terrible ordeal to both. He witnessed Pearl's sudden dismay, the dazed and frightened look, and the nervous clutch of the handle of her parasol. Unceremoniously deserting his companion, he made his way towards Mrs. Nugent, and when everyone started to follow in the procession he without a word, simply drew her arm through his, holding her up through all that long and silent promenade. When the Imperial party at length arrived at the marquee prepared for them, and the crowd was waiting expectantly on the turf outside, Ralph succeeded in obtaining a chair for his companion. Pearl by this time had regained a certain amount of control, and was so far composed that she could watch with interest their Imperial Majesties receiving the members of the _Corps Diplomatique_, and accepting the various presentations that are made to them on these occasions. While this ceremony was still proceeding, Amy Mendovy occupied with her own affairs, and all unconscious of the event that had just taken place, came up to her cousin. "You lucky woman," she said, "to have got a chair. I am simply dead with fatigue. But, Pearl," she added, struck with her cousin's pallor and gazing at her with anxiety, "how terribly pale you look. Are you not well, dear?" "Mrs. Nugent felt the sun a little. I have persuaded her to sit down," replied Nicholson, who with open parasol was still standing guard over Pearl. Amy raised her eyebrows, and instead of glancing at him gazed somewhat superciliously down her straight nose. She was feeling deeply offended with Ralph. He had not approached her the whole of that day, and--as she had confessed to Pearl--had indeed scarcely honoured her with his society, at home or abroad, since the memorable piano incident. Ralph Nicholson was following strictly to the letter Pearl's advice, and was feeling extremely pleased with himself in consequence. "After all, what clever creatures women are," he thought. "Now, unless it had been put into my dull head, I should never have dreamt of this very easy plan of getting round the little witch. I should simply either have cut it, or else like an idiot have rushed off and proposed again. Either of which proceedings would, according to Mrs. Nugent, have proved fatal to my chances. Now I see My Lady is just wild with me. She won't even look at me. She saw me at work though, as I intended she should do, on that queer fish, Lady Martinworth, who, by the bye, is not half a bad sort and capital company to boot. _Tant mieux_, Miss Mendovy. Your punishment will last considerably longer, I can tell you!" Thus thought Ralph, as he stood at the back of Pearl's chair, complacently twirling his moustache, and furtively watching the lady of his dreams. He found her looking more charming, more seductive than ever to-day, in her pretty gown and extremely becoming hat. Her dark eyes were flashing, the rich colour in her cheeks was coming and going with suppressed excitement, as completely ignoring Nicholson's presence, she bent down and wrapped a lace scarf around Pearl's shoulders. "I think," said Sir Ralph, this time addressing himself to Pearl, "if you will excuse me, Mrs Nugent, as you have Miss Mendovy with you now, and as I see many of your acquaintances making their way towards you, I will just go and give Lady Martinworth a look. I see her casting signals of distress. She knows no one here in all this crowd, you know. And she is awfully nice." So with a grin, and a parting glance at the back of Amy's dark head, off he went. Pearl watched him go. Then she looked at Amy, who had turned, with apparently great animation, to address one of her numerous admirers hard by. "I hope," she thought, "he won't over-act it. Men can never do things by halves. And of course, two can play at that game." The truth of which remark Miss Mendovy was determined to prove. For, during the rest of the afternoon she succeeded in attaching to her charming person a by no means unworthy suitor, a certain good-looking Secretary of Legation, who long had been known to sigh hopelessly for her hand. Pearl never quite recalled how she got through the rest of the ceremony. Afterwards she remembered vaguely catching a somewhat distant view of their Imperial Majesties seated at a table within the tent, discussing their repast in solitary grandeur. Near them were placed the Imperial Princes and Princesses, and beyond were little tables at which were seated the Ministers of State, and the members of the _Corps Diplomatique_ with their wives and families. She had a dim recollection of someone forcing her to swallow a fragment of _paté de foie gras_ and a glass of champagne, and she once remembered raising her eyes and finding those of Lady Martinworth fixed with a look of mocking enquiry and scrutiny upon her face. This expression on Lady Martinworth's countenance was an additional shock to the many that Pearl was fated to experience that afternoon. Fortunately shortly after this incident, the Imperial party broke up, thereby allowing the guests the liberty to take their departure, or the long strain on Pearl's nerves, and the dread that Martinworth would again approach her, would inevitably have culminated in a breakdown. As it was, her first action on reaching the shelter of her home was a characteristic one of her sex. She shut herself into her drawing room, and walking straight up to the glass over the mantelpiece, she gazed at herself for fully two minutes. In spite of the pallor of her cheeks this close examination apparently did not prove otherwise than satisfactory, for there was a slight smile about the lips as she drew the long pins from her hat, and laid her head back on the pillows of the sofa. She was anxious to collect her thoughts, and if possible, to devise some plan for the immediate future. Whether that plan would ever have been formed it is difficult to say. As it was, her cogitations were speedily interrupted by the simple fact of a violent ring at the door bell. Pearl was on her feet in an instant, and her hand was pressed against her heart to still its beating. Who could it be? Was it?---- Yes, it must be Martinworth, who had probably ascertained without difficulty her whereabouts, and had lost no time in following her. She experienced a strange sensation--a mixture of disappointment and relief when she realized it was not Martinworth's voice, but a woman's, that she heard in the hall. The next moment Lady Martinworth entered the room. She made a considerable noise as she strode with long steps toward Pearl, who was standing erect, with a slight look of defiance in her wide-open eyes. "How do you do, Mrs. Norrywood," she exclaimed, holding out a large hand. "I saw you at the garden party, easily found out where you lived, and thought it best to come on here without delay, to have a necessary yarn with you. No objection, I suppose, to my bearding you in your den like this?" she added, with a broad, decidedly good-natured smile. Pearl drew herself up, and threw her head back in a manner peculiar to herself. She felt completely mistress of her actions, quite ready for the fray, as she answered calmly: "Before proceeding further in our interview, Lady Martinworth," the name stuck in her throat, "I think it best that you should be aware that I am known here under the name of Nugent. Will you not sit down?" "Thanks. Oh! so you have changed your name," was the reply. "Well, perhaps it is just as well in the circumstances." "I am glad it meets with your approval. May I offer you a cup of tea, or perhaps a cigarette? You smoke, I believe?" "Thanks, yes, I smoke. Oh! Egyptians, I see. Fearfully doctored, you know. Couldn't think of drinking tea. I ate enough of that spread this afternoon to last me for a week. Pretty sight, but I was dying to get away to have a smoke, and now, like a good Samaritan, you have come to my rescue." Another broad smile. Then followed a silence which Pearl for one was determined not to break. Lady Martinworth threw herself back in her chair, stuck her feet out before her, and made rings with the cigarette smoke. "Pretty place, this Tokyo. Been here long?" at length she ejaculated. "I have lived here rather more than three years," replied Pearl quietly. "Have you come to see me for the purpose of obtaining some information about the place or the people?" "Nothing further from my thoughts, I assure you. You like it better than London, I suppose? Uncommonly dull place to live in, though, I should think. But no accounting for tastes. I didn't know you were here, you know, or of course I shouldn't have been such a brute as to have come to Japan and disturbed your peace of mind." Pearl slightly lifted her eyebrows, and looked her companion straight in the face. "And may I enquire," she asked suavely, "in what possible way you would be likely to do that?" Lady Martinworth tossed her cigarette into the grate, and rising from her armchair, went and perched herself on the music stool. "In bringing Martinworth here attached to my apron strings, of course. Hard luck on you both, I call it. Not very pleasant for me, either, you know. Why, he'll detest me more than ever now, which is saying a good deal." Pearl seated herself in a chair near the music-stool on which her visitor was twirling herself round and round, accompanied by that teeth-edging squeak with which music-stools seem chronically to be affected. She laid her hand on the stool to try to stop the movement. "Lady Martinworth," she said, "do you not think it would be wiser for us both to keep Lord Martinworth's name out of this conversation? He and I are old friends. We meet again after some years, and we----" "Oh, I say," interrupted her companion rudely, "stop that. I don't want a long jobation about your and Martinworth's friendship, you know. I know all about _that_. Read the whole case from the beginning to the end with the greatest interest. I made up my mind years ago to marry Dick, but of course everyone knew he was otherwise engaged, and when you got your divorce, it was given out that he would marry you. And so he would have done, if you had not bolted like the little idiot you were. Well, ''tis an ill wind that blows no one any good.' You no sooner made yourself scarce than I seized my opportunity. I needn't tell you _he_ never asked me to marry him. I saved him that trouble. And here I am Lady Martinworth, whereas you are.----By the way, by what outlandish name did you say you called yourself?" Pearl rose and calmly went towards the door, which she threw open. "Lady Martinworth," she said, very slowly and very icily, "no doubt my education has been sadly neglected, but I must confess, in private matters of this kind, I have only been accustomed to dealing with ladies. As therefore, it is absolutely impossible for me to cope with a person of your calibre, I must beg of you to do me the favour of leaving my house directly." But Lady Martinworth did not stir from her seat. On the contrary, the eternal smile grew broader on the somewhat homely features. She took a single eyeglass from the breast pocket of her coat, and rubbing it with a silk handkerchief, stuck it calmly into her left eye, gazing meanwhile complacently at Pearl. "Bravo, bravo!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands, "you really did that very well, you know. What an actress you would make, with your figure and _grand air_. No wonder Martinworth fell in love with you. I admire his excellent taste, 'pon my word, I do. Poor old fellow, it is hard lines on him, that after having been your slave for so long he should now have to fall back on _me_. Never mind, we won't talk about him if you don't like it. Do be a sensible woman. Come and sit down, and leave that door to take care of itself. I'm not going just yet, you know, for I have something I want to say to you." Much to her own astonishment, Pearl found herself obediently following her ladyship's request. She closed the door, and came once more and sat down by her side. If she had been asked to do so, she could not have defined her sentiments towards this strange woman, who all unbidden, had forced herself into her presence. Coarse, utterly wanting in tact and delicacy as she seemed to be, there was something about her very honesty and good nature that attracted Pearl. She found herself trying to analyse her companion's character, wondering what there was in it, and in the situation altogether, that was tending to change her sentiments towards her visitor. Was it sympathy she asked herself--a feeling of sorrow that was now taking possession of her? She answered gently, "Forgive me for my brusqueness. If there is anything you wish to say to me, I shall be willing to listen to you. Can I be of use to you in any way?" Without a moment's hesitation, Lady Martinworth rose from her seat and clasped Pearl's two hands. "Yes," she said, "you can be of great use to me, if you will. You can be my friend. Will you?" There was no reply, for Pearl was deeply considering this extraordinary request. What did it mean? Was the woman sincere, or was it merely a clever move on her part to secure the alliance of a person who otherwise might be an impediment, a dangerous rival? The ups and downs of a stormy existence had developed in Pearl a certain mistrustfulness, a suspiciousness of disposition, otherwise unnatural to her, and considering the circumstances of the case, she felt in no wise inclined to jump at this unexpected proposal. While she was debating in her mind what reply to make, Lady Martinworth spoke again. "Well, I see you don't like the notion," she said, moving towards the window. "Why should you? I suppose you and I haven't an idea or a taste in common. I have never had a woman friend in my life, and have never wanted to have one. Till now I have always looked on women as poor creatures. But somehow you seem different from the rest. I liked the way you went to that door and wanted to turn me out. Real plucky I call it, and one so seldom sees pluck in a woman. Then the way you left it when I asked you to do so showed me you had a heart, for I saw you were feeling sorry for me. I've got a heart too, whatever you may think of me. Yes, Mrs. Nugent, I've got a heart. One that is full of love for my husband, too, though he little knows it." As Lady Martinworth uttered these last words, she might have been called almost pretty. A wonderfully tender light lit up the small eyes, and the wide mouth smiled very sweetly as she continued: "And that is just it, that is just why I ask you to be my friend. I love my husband. He doesn't care a rap about me, you know. No! not one little bit. In fact, I know there are times when he downright detests me. I well know he is just as devoted to you as ever he was. Of course he has adored you for years. You are a good woman, I know you are, in spite of that nasty speech I made about the divorce case. With your pretty face and unhappy married life you must, of course, have had heaps of temptations, and yet, as I look at you, I feel convinced you have always kept as straight as a die. You have got such nice true eyes. Yes, 'pon my word, I like you, Mrs. Nugent. I feel you are a trump, and it would make me thoroughly happy if you would do me the kindness of calling me your friend. Cannot you make an effort in that direction? Do try. I know I am not a very attractive person, but one thing I swear to you, I am neither mean nor petty, and I am sure that, so far, I have never willingly done a shabby action. Of course, those qualities are not much to boast of, but they are all I possess, so I enumerate them, and I do so want a friend--oh! I do so want a friend." At these words Lady Martinworth suddenly hid her face in her hands and burst into a flood of tears. Pearl began to think there was to be no end to the surprises of that day. Now, behold! as a climax to every excitement, Lady Martinworth, succumbing, like any other member of her sex, to an hysterical attack of nerves. It was this womanly, weak action that conquered Pearl, and if Lady Martinworth had but known it, she could not have chosen better tactics to have achieved her ends. Pearl understood that in spite of those mannish ways and the abrupt speech, in spite of the general roughness and uncouthness, in spite of all these outward traits that on ordinary occasions would have gone so far towards repelling a gentle nature such as her own, that nevertheless she had there, seated in her house in the abandonment of grief, a friendless, miserable woman, with a woman's heart and a woman's weakness. Realizing this, Pearl kissed her and put her arms about her, as only a woman knows how to kiss and soothe, and comfort another of her sex. Half an hour later, a grateful and transformed Lady Martinworth departed from Mrs. Nugent's house, and Pearl was left once more to her thoughts. Poor Pearl! they could hardly be reckoned pleasant thoughts. She perfectly well understood that she was being entangled in a net, that net of circumstances which is oft-times so strangely and so strongly woven that to the unfortunate victim entrapped within there appears no possible loophole of escape. She thought of this interview just past, and asked herself where would it lead her? An hour ago she considered herself the natural enemy of the wife of the man she loved. Now, to her bewilderment, she found she had vowed eternal friendship and protection to this woman, who in the usual order of things, according to all natural laws, she ought to treat, if not with great dislike, certainly with fear, avoidance and distrust. And yet, strange to say, she did not in the least regret her action, for she pitied with all her heart the woman who in such a genuine outburst of grief, had prayed for her friendship. All the chivalry of Pearl's generous nature was aroused when she thought of this poor, friendless, heart-broken woman crying to her for help--to her who, from Lady Martinworth's own confession, was still the sole recipient of Dick Martinworth's love. Lady Martinworth had thrown herself, as it were, on her protection, and Pearl then and there vowed to herself, that as far as it lay in her power, as far as strength would be given her to carry out her intentions, she would not prove her false. She had she knew well, a difficult task before her, and she did not disguise from herself the fact that in this matter there would be not only herself, not only her own strength, her own endurance to be reckoned with, but Martinworth, from whom she had fled, and who was here once more on the spot. He knew his power, and he would surely use it. Of that she had no doubt. Her dread of that power, of that determination of will, was as great now as had been the case in former years. After all,--as she had written of herself in her farewell letter at that time,--she was but a woman--a helpless, loving woman, weak and frail. On that occasion, when she had thought, rightly or wrongly, her disappearance was for his benefit, her love had given her the almost superhuman strength to fly from him. Now she had only herself to think of, and one other forlorn woman--a stranger,--who had prayed to her for help. Could she hope to be given a second time the power to resist his undeniable influence over her? Could she resist his importunities,--his prayers? He was so strong, so very strong, and she was so loving, so lonely, and so weak. Again the bell rang. This time it was Lord Martinworth who entered the room, and with his arrival, Pearl knew that her resolutions, her force of will, would be put straightway to the test. CHAPTER VII. TRIED AS BY FIRE. There are moments in one's career when one knows as clearly as if written in letters of fire that one's whole future may depend on an action or a word. Both may appear insignificant enough in themselves, and yet that one little action, that one little word, may be all-sufficient to make or mar a life. Pearl was fully aware of this fact as she saw Lord Martinworth with outstretched hands, his face and eyes all aglow, coming towards her. The moment was portentous! Her first instinct was to greet him with all the pent-up feelings of years, and to throw herself into his arms; but realizing how greatly everything depended on her self-control, she took refuge in silence and inaction, and shrinking back behind her chair, she waited with down-cast eyes for him to speak. Lord Martinworth did not appear to resent her silence, or to notice the fear and unrest of her movement. The chair acted as no barrier to his impetuosity, and brushing it aside he seized her two hands and kept them within his own. "At last, Pearl," he said in a low voice, "at last I have found you." She did not reply, but slowly raising her eyes to his, gazed long and steadily into his face. What she saw was a man approaching middle age, with lined face and saddened eyes, and _not_ the Martinworth whom she had known. She had left behind her a man with dark hair, frank and laughing blue eyes, and a mobile and expressive mouth. He whom she saw before her now had hair thickly sprinkled with grey, his eyes, blue as in days of yore, laughed no longer, but gleamed mournfully and somewhat wildly from beneath the finely marked eyebrows, while the beauty of the well shaped mouth was marred by certain hard and scornful lines that surrounded the slightly parted lips. His very figure seemed altered. He was a tall man, and had formerly been remarkable for his erect carriage. Now there was a stoop in the shoulders, and in spite of the well-cut frock coat, his stature seemed to Pearl to have decreased. All these outward examples of change, these slight signs of degeneration, struck Pearl with a sudden chill. She let her eyes rest on the man before her, feeling as if she were in the presence of a stranger. "Why do you not speak to me?" he asked at last. "Have you no word of welcome for me, Pearl?" "I do not seem to know you," answered Pearl sadly, as she withdrew her hands from his. "You are changed, very changed. You are not the Dick Martinworth I remember." "You find me changed? Doubtless I am. Well! I will credit you with believing that it does not give you much pleasure to look at a wretched, a broken-hearted man. To gaze at your own handiwork," he answered bitterly. "My handiwork?" faltered Pearl. "Yes, your handiwork. Listen, Pearl! God knows I did not come here with the intention of reproaching you, but nevertheless I must tell you a little of the harm that you have done. The man who loved his occupations and enjoyed all that life had to give him, now has taste for none of these things, but on the contrary is possessed,--poor soul,--with the demon of perpetual unrest. The man who had a certain faith in purity and truth, and was not otherwise than happy in that faith, now doubts whether such things really exist. And yet, Pearl, I did believe in goodness and in truth, for I believed in _you_. You left me, after years of waiting and of longing, left me at the moment I thought my dearest hopes were to be realised. You threw me a letter and left me,--and in so doing you have ruined my life. Yes, you have ruined my future and my life." As Martinworth was speaking, his eyes grew larger and wilder, and Pearl shrank back further behind the chair. "I did it for the best," she murmured in a smothered voice, "Dick, I did it for your sake." He took a step towards her, and clasped her by the wrist. "Oh, Pearl! You dare to stand there and to tell me that lie. You tell me you did it for my sake, when you know it was only of yourself, it was only of your own reputation, your own good name, you were thinking. I'm not a fool, Pearl, whatever you may think me, and it was easy enough to read through the falseness, the hypocrisy of that letter you wrote me. Why, during all those years we knew and loved each other, were you not always considering, always fearful of what the world--your little mean world--would say? And it was just because you drew your own conclusions as to what would be the verdict of that world if you married me, that without one word of warning, you left me. And you tell me now you did it for the best, that you did it for my sake. May God forgive you!" and walking to the chimney-piece Martinworth buried his face in his hands. Pearl was very pale as she came and stood before him. "And you believe _that_," she said--"you believe that of _me_? You are actually capable of believing that I, whom you loved all those years, and who, despite your present accusations, in spite of that overwhelming fear of the world's opinion you speak of, you well know, braved that world many and many a time for your sake. You are capable of believing that I, who already had sacrificed so much for you, could lie to you--lie to you at such a supreme moment? If such is the case, Lord Martinworth, I feel, that whatever may have been the motive at the time, the mean, interested one that you lay to my charge, or the single-hearted one of self-sacrifice, which before God I swear it was, whatever I repeat, may have been the motive--I bless Heaven for the instinct that prompted me to leave you. The man who can harbour such a thought of the woman he professes to love, is only worthy to be despised and scorned, as I despise and scorn you now!" Martinworth had evidently not expected this furious onslaught. His face expressed the utmost astonishment, the utmost dismay. "Pearl--Pearl," he cried, "calm yourself, I pray you. What are you calling me? What are you saying? If I have wronged you----" "Wronged me," she interrupted, as she cast the hand away that he had stretched towards her, "you have not only wronged me, but you have insulted me with the injustice of such mean, such paltry thoughts. Oh, leave me. Why have you come here to disturb me? I have been happy enough these last three forgetting years. Leave me, I implore you. You are married. Go back to your wife, to the wife who loves you, and leave me in peace." Martinworth looked up with a strange light in his eyes. "My wife?" he said, "what has _she_ got to do in this matter? Have you seen her?" "Yes, she has been here. Go back to her. Go back and leave me. This interview is most distressing to me. It is painful to us both. It were surely best to end it? Perhaps later on we may be calmer, and able to meet without mutual reproaches, mutual regrets. Now we are both of us angry and bitter. Oh! how could you say those things of me? I beg you to go. I can never, never forget what you have just said. Go, Dick--go!" Tears stood in her eyes, as she held out her hand as a token of farewell. Martinworth took it and kept it within his own. His face had become softer as she was speaking, and Pearl at last realised, as he gazed fixedly at her, with the well-known devoted look of old, that standing before her was indeed the Dick Martinworth she had always loved. The colour flew into her cheeks, and her heart beat as once again she felt his touch, the contact of his hand, and her thoughts went back to scenes and days gone-by. He was looking at her with those beautiful eyes of his. They had lost their wildness now, and were gazing down into hers, with a world of regret, of tenderness, and of sorrow in their depths. "Sit down," he said, quietly, "I wish to speak to you, Pearl, before I go. You must listen to me dear." She let him press her gently back into a low chair, and he knelt down beside her, taking her two hands in his. He heard her heart throbbing, and before she knew what he was premeditating, he leant forward and kissed her lips. Pearl closed her eyes, as for one brief moment her head rested on his shoulder, and his lips clung to hers. Then she pushed him from her, and rose from her chair. "Ah, leave me, Dick!" she cried. "What are you premeditating? What are you doing? Do not take hold of me any more. Do not kiss me again. Do not touch me--but leave me--leave me." He had sprung to his feet. "I cannot leave you," he said. "I have loved you so long, Pearl. I lost you, I have found you, and do you think I can leave you now? I can live no longer without you." "Oh, no, no, no!" she cried, "you must not love me now. I cannot forfeit my salvation even for you, Dick. Leave me--and never come back. I implore you, never come back again!" "You tell me to go, Pearl, but you still care for me. I see it in your face, your eyes. I know you love me, as much as you have always loved me, and tell me what is salvation compared with our love? Our great absorbing love. Oh, come to me, my Pearl. I have waited for you so long, so very long, and have found you again after all these years. Though many and many a time I have railed against you, and even cursed you, Pearl, I have never ceased to love you, dear, to dream of you as mine. And now, once more we are together, and we must never be parted again, Pearl, my Pearl!" He ceased, but the words still rang in her ears--We must never be parted again, Pearl, my Pearl! The sound intoxicated her. With beating heart, and eyes shining like stars, she went towards him. "Dick," she cried breathlessly, "I shall lose my soul for all eternity--I shall lose it now in spite of all my many years of fighting and of striving. But, after all, I am but a woman, and I love you. Yes! I love you. I long for you as much--ah! more--ah! more--than you have ever longed for me. I am only a woman, a poor, weak, tempted woman. What can I do against you, who are so strong? Therefore I come to you, my love--I come!" She flew to his arms and he folded her within them. This time she gave him back kiss for kiss. "Wait," she said a minute later, unclasping his arms from her neck, "wait a moment, and let me think." "No, no, no," he cried, "you must not think; you must not wait to think. Come with me now. Come away from this place. Come with me, darling, where we can live forgotten and unknown." She did not seem to hear him. She had walked towards the window, and was gazing out into the garden, where, round the shrubs and flowers, the twilight was quickly gathering. She stood there motionless for many minutes, it seemed to him, then she turned and faced him. Round the lips there was a look of great and stern resolve, though the eyes were softened by unshed tears. "No," she said, "I have changed my mind. I will not--I will never go with you! My resolution must not--cannot--be altered. Dear Dick, I implore you to go, to leave me now, for I will not come between your wife and you. I have promised her." "My wife!--my wife!--why drag in my wife again?" he cried. "What is she to you? What is she to me? I tell you, Pearl, she is nothing to me, and I am less than nothing to her. She goes her way and I go mine. She has her friends, I have mine. She is my wife only in name. And you compare this--this arrangement to the perfect love that you and I have for each other,--to the devotion of years? You will let this wretched, this unnatural state of things stand between us? No, you shall not do so, Pearl! God knows I am accustomed enough to your--to women's moods. But a minute ago you said you would come with me, you were even willing to sacrifice your salvation for my sake. Why change now? You shall not change now. You are bound to me by your flight--by your word, by our love, by--by--everything, and, by God! you _shall_ come." And he caught her once more in his arms, kissing her hands and face. She wrenched herself free. "Dick," she said, with eyes large with fear, and warding him off with her hands, "listen to me, I pray you. You are wrong about your wife, totally, entirely wrong. You may not love her, but she loves you, deeply, truly. Indeed she does. She wept to-day when she mentioned your name. I promised her, recklessly perhaps, that I would be her friend. It was a foolish, a rash promise, I know, but while I have breath in my body I intend to keep it. So go back to her, Dick. She loves you. Oh, Dick, in the old days you always listened to me. You always did what I desired. Once more I beg, I implore you to do so now, and to leave me." "But to-day is not yesterday, and I will listen no longer. You have fooled me too often, Pearl. You are free now, and you shall be mine for ever and ever. Do you hear? For ever and ever," and once again he was going towards her with outstretched arms, when he stopped abruptly in his approach. The varied trials and excitements of the day had resulted in one termination, and that a natural one. Pearl's overstrained nerves at length gave way. With a cry like a wounded animal she threw herself on the sofa, her head buried in the cushions, sobbing in all the abandonment of grief and fear, while Lord Martinworth,--standing perfectly still,--watched her. In the many years he had known and loved Pearl he had never seen her weep before. No, not even that time years ago, when she had bared her arm and shown him the bruises caused by her husband's blow. As he watched her now in bitter silence, he perceived perhaps for the first time, the terrible struggle between right and wrong that he had aroused, and a hitherto unknown feeling of utter contempt, complete abhorrence of self welled up within him. He knew now that he had conquered in the fight, that he had but to take her within his arms and she would be his, body and soul--his for ever. But the certainty of this knowledge brought him no triumph, no joy. For once he saw himself as he was, and the inequality of the contest, the self-acknowledged cowardice of his present conduct, brought a flush of humiliation and of shame to his cheeks. He stood for a moment hesitating as he watched the quivering form and listened to the stifled sobs. He took one step towards her. He gently touched her hair. Then he paused, and with a parting glance revealing both grief and remorse, without a word he turned and fled. And Pearl, lying there with her head buried in the cushions, heard the door close, the retreating footsteps, and the noise of the carriage driving away, and then, but only then, she understood that she had banished him for all eternity. She rushed to the open window, and cried to him in a voice sharp with agony; but the occupant of the carriage was far beyond the sound of her call, and once more she threw herself on the sofa and hid her face in her hands. "What have I done?" she cried aloud. "I have sent him away--I have sent him away. Oh! what made me do it? How could I do this thing? What do I care for duty and honour? And his wife--what is she to me? What right had she to exact such a promise from me? Why should I be her friend? She is my enemy, not my friend. And her husband, my love, my only love, I have sent away, I have sent away." Thus Pearl raved while the night closed in upon her. And yet that evening as she knelt by her bedside this prayer was uttered in all sincerity from the depths of her heart:-- "Oh God," she prayed, "keep him away from me, for I am very weak and he is strong. Keep him from me--keep him from me." For two days, morning, noon, and night, that prayer was offered up to the throne of Heaven. The third day and the fourth it passed her lips haltingly but once. The fifth, sixth, and seventh days it was uttered no more. Hardly a week had gone by, when one morning, with a racking head and trembling fingers, Pearl sat herself down by her writing table. She did not hesitate as she took the pen and wrote these words:-- "My heart's darling: "I know now what I have done. I have sent you away. You whom I love and have ever loved. Come back to me. Come to me after dinner to-night, and I will teach you what a woman's sacrifice, a woman's love can be." "PEARL." CHAPTER VIII. AMY TO THE RESCUE. "Pearl, what is the matter with you?" This question was asked sharply by Mrs. Rawlinson, as she scrutinised her cousin's face with her quick eyes. "Matter? Oh, nothing," answered Pearl, flushing under the examination. "Nonsense, my dear! Haven't I known you from babyhood? And for you to sit there and tell me that you are in your usual equable state of mind is simply ridiculous. I haven't seen you for a week. Not since the Cherry party. You have not condescended to come to my house, and each time I have come to yours I have been told that you were out, and, what is more, have had the door calmly shut in my face by that extremely impertinent 'boy' of yours. Amy tells me she has met with the same fate. May I ask the reason of this strange behaviour?" "Certainly," replied Pearl, calmly. "You may ask what you like, but I don't fancy the reply will enlighten you much. I was busy saying my prayers." Mrs. Rawlinson stared, as well she might, at this unexpected answer to her question. Pearl laughed nervously at the expression on her cousin's face. "Oh, you need have no fear for the state of my brain," she replied. "I have finished now. I prayed for the last time yesterday evening." "Pearl," replied Mrs. Rawlinson gravely, as she rose and began fastening her cloak. "I don't understand you in this flippant mood. I have never known you to joke about sacred subjects before, and I can't imagine what possesses you now. Your looks, too, have changed. You seem to have grown quite thin in a week. Your eyes are shining, and your cheeks have two red spots on them. What is the meaning of all this?" Pearl looked impatiently at the clock, an action which as she intended, was not lost on her cousin. "You are going out?" she said; "well, good-bye. We shall meet at the Prime Minister's ball to-night, I suppose, and then dearest, you will have plenty of time as you do not dance, to tell me what is troubling you." Pearl gave a sigh of relief as the door closed behind Mrs. Rawlinson. "Oh, these relations!" she ejaculated. "Much as we may love and appreciate them on ordinary occasions, how utterly wearisome and _de trop_ they prove themselves at certain moments of one's existence." Once more she glanced at the clock, noticing that the hands pointed to half-past five. "Three hours and a half more," she sighed, as, for the twentieth time that day, she drew from her pocket Martinworth's passionate reply to her summons. "How shall I ever get through them?" * * * * * At a quarter to nine that evening, just as Amy Mendovy was rising from the table, with the intention of dressing for one of the events of the spring--the Prime Minister's ball--a note from Mrs. Nugent was put into her hands. "Dearest Amy," it ran, "As you love me come to me immediately on receipt of this line. I am in great trouble, and in dire need of you. Give up the ball for my sake, and come to me, I implore you. Yours, PEARL." "P.S.--I am not ill." Amy's face clouded. What! give up the ball! This ball on which she had so greatly reckoned for the sole reason that she knew Sir Ralph would be present? She had long ago decided in her own mind that this was to be the occasion on which might be expressed, without loss of self-respect, a reasonable amount of contrition and regret. There were moments when Amy flattered herself that she knew her power well enough to be fairly certain that she had only to offer the olive branch to see it promptly accepted. And yet again, at other times, she felt considerable doubt as to her advances being well received. Sir Ralph's conduct of late had certainly not held out much promise of success. She had not seen him since the garden party, and her vanity suffered more than one wound as the disagreeable conviction slowly dawned upon her--that he was persistently keeping out of her way. From all sides she heard of his devoted attendance upon Lady Martinworth. Though Amy had more than once seen this lady she did not know her. In moments of depression therefore, she found herself picturing her rival as the owner--if not of beauty--of much fascination and every charm, coupled with those powerful weapons, a clever woman's designing and seductive wiles. Lady Martinworth would have been the first to have felt intense amusement at such gifted and extremely unlikely traits of character being attributed to her. Poor Amy was therefore, somewhat perplexed and annoyed, and at times she felt extremely sorry for herself. She concluded that she had already been more than amply punished for those few bars played so thoughtlessly on the piano, and sometimes she declared to herself that it was an imperative necessity to end the present unsettled situation. These last few weeks of uncertainty had taught her, more than all the previous months put together, how true and sincere was her love for Ralph Nicholson. She could only pray now that her own foolish conduct had not for ever put it out of her power to prove this fact to him. The ball, she knew, would settle matters one way or the other, and it was with a feverish anxiety, very unlike the usual indifferent _insouciante_ Amy, that she awaited the evening's event. And now the receipt of this frantic little note upset all her calculations, destroying at one blow all her brilliant castles in the air. She hesitated. Pearl herself wrote she was not ill. What reason strong enough could therefore exist to cause Amy to relinquish this entertainment, an entertainment where so much that was momentous might occur. Her absence from the ball would cause Sir Ralph to doubtlessly put a wrong construction upon her action, and as he never came to see her now, when should she have another chance of explaining matters to him? No, she would not go to Pearl. It was really asking too much. She could not give up this opportunity, even for her cousin for whom her affection was so great. But the moment that Amy arrived at this determination, and as she read the note again, she realised that this was no childish whim on Pearl's part, that her presence for some reason unknown was necessary to her cousin, and such being the case, her own wishes, her own inclinations, must certainly be ignored. There was a suspicion of tears in her eyes as, putting the note into her pocket, she rose from the table and looked across at her aunt. "Auntie," she said, "I am sorry, but I can't go to the ball to-night. You and Uncle must go without me." "What's this nonsense?" growled Mr. Rawlinson. "What business have your aunt and I skipping about at balls? We are both too old to make fools of ourselves. Our object in going is simply to look after you, and if you choose to take a ridiculous whim into your head to stay at home, why, we stay at home too, that's all." And with a look on his face that expressed: "Nothing in heaven or earth will tear me hence," Mr. Rawlinson settled himself by the fire and deliberately lit a cigar. "I'm dreadfully sorry to have to give it up," replied Amy, as she went towards the door, "but Pearl wants me. She writes very pressingly, and though she says she is not ill, I feel I must go." "How tiresome of Pearl!" exclaimed Mrs. Rawlinson, "and yet--though I have no doubt your disappointment is very great, my dear--I think you are right to go to her. She seemed strangely unlike herself this afternoon when I was there, and I came away with the impression that she had something on her mind. If that's the case, I should have thought the best person to help her would be myself. But I certainly have no intention of being huffy with the poor child. Life is too short for such sillinesses. Go and cheer her up, Amy, and if you are not back by eleven, I shall know that you are spending the night there, and will give orders that the maid is to take over your things. Good night, my dear," she continued, embracing her niece, "take the carriage and send it back for me. Your uncle may stay at home smoking his horrid old cigar if he likes, but I, for one, certainly intend going to the ball. I should never look the dear Marquis and Marchioness in the face again if no member of the family were to put in an appearance to-night. There are occasions when it is absolutely necessary to sacrifice one's self on the altar of duty. This is one of them." Amy exchanged a sly glance with Mr. Rawlinson as she left the room. They both knew Rosina. As she entered Mrs. Nugent's drawing-room, Amy, glancing at the clock, noticed that it marked exactly half-past nine. Three-quarters of an hour had therefore elapsed since she had first received the note summoning her. "Am I in time?" she enquired breathlessly, as she went towards her cousin. She did not know why she asked such a question, unless it was that the expectant look on Pearl's face seemed to call for it. Pearl was standing near the grand piano. She looked as if she had just risen from it, and her hand was pressed against her heart. Her tall figure was draped in a tea-gown of white chiffon and of silver embroidery, and her face, framed in its masses of auburn hair, was almost as colourless as the gown. The grey eyes were the only features that moved in this countenance that seemed carved in stone. They were restless and sorrowful--almost despairing--and Amy stopped short in her approach as their glance fell upon her. Pearl, perceiving the look of frightened astonishment, turned away, and said in a low voice: "I thought--I thought when I heard the bell, that it was--that it was--some one else. But of course I at once remembered, Amy dear, that I had sent for you. It is good of you, very good of you to give up the ball--and to come to me." Amy went up to her cousin and put her arms round her. "Of course I came," she said. "You wrote that you were in need of me, and I see you are right. What is it, darling? Whom were you expecting when you heard the bell?" "Amy," Pearl said excitedly, clasping her tighter to her, "promise me that you will stay by me--close by me all the time--with your arms about me, as they are now. They are so strong, these arms of yours. I feel so safe with them around me, and with your honest eyes looking at me, Amy. You will stay and sleep with me to-night, will you not? You will not leave me a minute--until--until--until----" she hesitated. "No, Pearl, I will not leave you," answered Amy. "Of course I will stay the night, if you wish it. Come, let us sit on the sofa. I will keep my arms around you, and you shall tell me how I can help you. Come, darling, lay your head on my shoulder--so, and tell me what is distressing you. What do you fear?" "No--no--Amy, I cannot--I dare not tell you. But you will see--you will understand shortly, very shortly--in a minute--two minutes. You will know, and then you will want to leave me. But you will not--you must not, Amy. Promise me you will not leave me. Whatever you may see, whatever you may hear, promise me you will stay to-night." "Calm yourself, Pearl. I have already promised. Have I not come to be near you? Hark! there is the bell." The two women rose instinctively to their feet, with their arms around each other's waists, their eyes fixed upon the door. Amy had caught Pearl's excitement. She felt as if her nerves were strung on wires while waiting for the door to open. Her sense of hearing seemed intensified, as first she heard the front door open and close, then the slight sounds connected with an arrival, and lastly, the Japanese 'boy's' shuffling gait, followed by the quick, firm footsteps of a man. It seemed a century to both women before the door finally opened. At length, however, the handle turned, and Lord Martinworth stood upon the threshold! He took one step forward. In his eyes was a glad light, and round his lips a smile. But he ventured no farther into the room. His face changed as if by magic. He seemed rooted to the spot, his eyes resting on the two women with their terrified faces, clasped in each other's arms. Perfect silence reigned in the room as the three stood motionless, staring into each other's eyes. Amy, half supporting Pearl, felt her form quivering in her arms, and observing the pallor of her face feared she was about to lose consciousness. She led her cousin to the sofa, then went towards Martinworth. "Pardon me, Lord Martinworth," she said, bowing slightly, "I see my cousin is not in a fit state to go through the form of introduction. I am Miss Mendovy, and I know who you are, for you were pointed out to me at the garden party. My cousin is not well, and she--she sent for me. I had just arrived when you came. Will--will you not sit down?" It was in a state of desperation that Amy made this commonplace request. If she had followed her inclinations she would have shrieked aloud--"For God's sake, go! Don't you understand that every moment you are standing here is torture to this woman?" But Lord Martinworth did not seem to hear either the request or the words that preceded it. He remained motionless, like one paralysed, staring at Pearl, who, with ashen face and closed eyes, was lying back on the sofa in a state of semi-collapse. In that moment he realised to the full all that she had experienced before and since she had sent him that letter of summons. For the first time in his life he understood, through what a deadly conflict must pass a woman who by nature is virtuous and chaste, before she casts honour, and purity, and self-respect to the winds. Strange to say, he forgot himself--his own bitter humiliation and disappointment. He forgot the rapture he had felt on receiving her summons, and the despair and rage that had taken its place when his eyes first alighted on the shrinking form, sheltered in the girl's arms. He forgot all the varied, conflicting emotions that had taken possession of him since his entrance into Pearl's drawing room, and, as his eyes remained fixed on the shame-stricken woman before him, he found himself thinking only of her. Once before, in this same room, when he had watched her weeping on that same sofa, he had partially divined what suffering this woman, whom he loved, and for whom at that moment he would gladly have given his life, was undergoing. But it was only now, seeing her before him almost senseless with grief and shame, that the full magnitude of the torture she was enduring flashed upon him. He watched her there, breathing hard, without a trace of colour in her cheeks, and with her hands pressed against her heart, and his whole being went out in pity to her. And, mingled with the pity, was a feeling of admiration--almost of veneration. He realised to the full that the hesitation, the faltering weakness had reached a climax, that her better self had conquered, and though crushed for the moment, he saw her rising triumphant from the struggle, a nobler and a stronger woman. How long he stood there, watching that shrinking form--troubled, turbulent thoughts following each other in quick rapidity through his brain--Martinworth never knew. He did not feel the girl's antagonistic yet enquiring eyes upon him, indeed, he was indifferent to, almost unconscious of her presence. He knew that he was bidding adieu, an eternal adieu, to this the only love of his life. He felt none of the bitterness, or unreasonable anger that had assailed him when Pearl, with such determination, left him three years before, for, judging now by his own sentiments, he knew that what she had then written was indeed the truth--that in her renunciation of him she had sacrificed herself and her love for his sake. But he would show her that he also could be prompt in this spirit of self-sacrifice. He would prove his love by leaving her, and she would thus learn and appreciate that, erring man though he was, he also could renounce, he also could be strong. Yes! he would bid adieu to her now. The love, the passion of years would, he knew well, remain with him till the grave, but--he swore to himself--never again, by word or by action, would he raise that look of agony and of shame upon Pearl Nugent's face. He took a step towards her, and, kneeling beside her sofa, he lifted the hand hanging listlessly down, and pressed it between his own. "Good-bye," he said, "I am leaving you, dear. You have conquered once again, Pearl. You have always conquered. The struggle has been very great, harder than ever this time, but once more you have chosen the right. You would always do right in the end. So loving you as much as I venerate you, Pearl, I leave you, dear. From me you have nothing more to fear. I ask your forgiveness for the suffering I have caused you," and raising to his lips the hand which he still held, he kissed it once--twice, and waiting for no reply, looking neither to the right nor to the left, Lord Martinworth walked towards the door. Pearl Nugent half rose on her sofa. She watched with wide-open, miserable eyes. Then let him go without a word. The hall door closed. For a long time neither of the women spoke. Amy glanced once more at the clock, and noticed that it wanted ten minutes to ten. Lord Martinworth had been in the room seven or eight minutes, and during that time Pearl had not once opened her lips. It was, nevertheless, Mrs. Nugent who, arousing herself, broke the silence. "You know now, Amy, why I wanted you," she said in a low, weak voice. "I thank God that you came, for you have saved me. You must not hate me, dear. I have been a very foolish, a very wicked woman. Perhaps I ought not to have sent for you, a girl, and yet--and yet--you have saved me, Amy." "My dear Pearl," replied Amy, smiling through her tears, "don't get tragic, for goodness sake. We surely have had enough of that kind of thing. And it's nonsense about my having saved you, whatever you may mean by that. Of one thing I am certain, that my presence in your house this evening in no wise affected Lord Martinworth's conduct. He would have acted in precisely the same manner if I had not been here. The man is a gentleman. Anyone can see that. Don't make any confidences, dear," she added, as Pearl was about to speak. "You are just in the mood to tell me all your secrets, and, believe me, you will only regret it later. So I will be magnanimous, and will refrain from asking you questions. Besides, you know, I am not a fool. I can guess a good deal, so my magnanimity is not so very tremendous after all. Now, dear, don't let us talk any more, but I will sing you something while you lie back and shut your eyes." Amy strolled towards the piano, and, placing her hands on the keys, watched Pearl from under her long eyelashes. Neither her soothing presence, nor the sweetest lullaby she could think of, seemed however, at first to have much effect upon her cousin's excited nerves. Pearl walked restlessly up and down the room, trailing her white dress behind her, with sad eyes shining feverishly from out the still whiter face, looking like a troubled spirit from another world. For some time she continued pacing the room. Then, as if struck with a sudden idea, she unlocked a drawer of her writing-table, extracted from some hidden recess Martinworth's reply to her letter, read it deliberately through, tore it into a hundred pieces, and cast it into the flames. She watched it burn until nothing but the blackened ashes remained. At length, with a sigh of exhaustion, she stretched herself once more on the sofa, and ere long Amy had the satisfaction of perceiving the eyelids droop, and the weary and worn-out Pearl fall into a dreamless slumber. Amy continued playing low strains of music for some time longer. Then she rose noiselessly, and seated herself near Pearl. For over an hour Amy sat silent and motionless watching the sorrowful and beautiful face, on the cheeks of which traces of tears still remained. And as she watched, hardly daring to breathe for fear of rousing the sleeper, her thoughts dwelt on many matters connected with Pearl. The full details of the divorce had been studiously kept from her, but Amy would not have been a modern young lady if she had not been acquainted with a good deal more than her elders gave her the credit of knowing. She was perfectly aware that Pearl had run away from some man who had been mixed up in her case, and who had wanted to marry her, and though she had never heard his name, by the simple process of putting two and two together, it was not difficult to divine that the man concerned was Lord Martinworth. "How he adores her," thought Amy. "What a pity she did not marry him, instead of throwing him into the clutches of that awful woman." For, with the harshness of youth, it was thus that Miss Mendovy designated Lord Martinworth's wife. Her imagination pictured "that awful woman" whirling in the giddy waltz with Sir Ralph Nicholson, while big tears of disappointment clouded her pretty eyes. She wondered if her act of self-sacrifice had been wasted or the reverse. But even as she debated this question in her own mind, she recalled once more the look of triumphant anticipation on Martinworth's face as he entered the room that evening, contrasting so painfully with Pearl's expression of shame, her action of shrinking terror. The remembrance of these two faces at that portentous moment were imprinted vividly on her brain. And Amy knew that it was needless to doubt any longer. Her question was answered. CHAPTER IX. ON THE VERGE OF THE UNKNOWN. The exaltation, indecision, and agony of mind experienced by Pearl for the last fortnight culminated in a general breakdown. Towards dawn of the next day Amy, sleeping in the adjoining room, was roused from slumber by sounds of talking in Pearl's apartment. The walls of Tokyo houses are proverbially thin, even those constructed on European principles, and as Pearl was talking loud, every word she said could easily be overheard. A short time sufficed to rouse Amy from her bed, and in a minute she was in the next room. There to her horror she found Pearl in night attire, with wide-open staring eyes, her glorious hair streaming down her back, pacing frantically up and down the room, uttering muttered sounds and incoherent words and exclamations. Amy was genuinely terrified at the appearance of those wild eyes and flushed cheeks, at the smothered cries and the constant stream of senseless words. All her attempts to calm her cousin and to lead her back to bed proving fruitless, she lost no time in awakening the household, and ere long she was in telephonic communication with both Mrs. Rawlinson and the nearest doctor. Before the arrival of these persons, Amy had however, succeeded in persuading Pearl to return to bed, where, with the help of the terrified _amahs_,[10] and by holding her down by main force, she had so far managed to keep her. No prayers or entreaties however, seemed to have the slightest effect on the distracted mind, or soothing movements to influence the restless body. [10] Maids. It did not take long for the doctor to make his diagnosis. A sudden and acute attack of brain fever was the verdict. "Mrs. Nugent must have passed through some great and unexpected shock or struggle to have undergone such a sudden and complete collapse," he gravely remarked. "I must ask to be allowed to call in Dr. Takayama in consultation. I find it impossible to say how the malady may turn." And then followed days and nights, aye, weeks of anxious watching. For long, not only Pearl's reason but life itself was despaired of. Terrible was the consternation caused by this news among the many who loved and admired, and even those who at one time may have disliked and envied the beautiful Mrs. Nugent. Her magnificent hair was sacrificed. Amy wept hot tears as she watched the scissors performing their ruthless task. She gathered the thick masses up in her arms, and separating one glossy auburn lock from the rest, enclosed it in an envelope. The direction bore the name of Lord Martinworth, and on the note paper that surrounded the tress were scribbled these five words:--"She is very ill--dying." But that note was fated never to be forwarded to its destination. Amy's impulses, though generally erring on the side of generosity and good nature, were frequently, for this very reason, unwise. On the rare occasions, however, that she gave herself time to consider, she seldom did a foolish thing. A trifling incident prevented her sending the communication and its enclosure that day, and the next saw it safely committed to the recesses of a drawer, from which it was only extracted several months later, under circumstances that brought back many a vivid and painful memory. 'It is an ill wind that blows no one any good.' Pearl's dangerous illness had at least one beneficial and unexpected result--that of proving the means of an ultimate meeting and a complete reconciliation between Amy and Ralph Nicholson. Not a day passed without the latter calling to inquire after Pearl. Amy however, busy with her aunt in the sick room, had never chanced to see him, and it was only when Pearl's illness had lasted almost a month, and the doctors had lifted the awful weight from their minds by at last finding a slight improvement in her condition, that an encounter between the two at length took place. Mrs. Rawlinson had sent Amy out into the garden for a breath of fresh air, and the girl was seated under the shade of the great stone lantern by the side of the miniature lake, watching the gold fish darting in and out among the rocks, and pondering sadly over the distress and the gnawing anxiety of the past weeks. Great tears were flowing down her cheeks, which were pale and drawn. She fixed her eyes on Fujiyama, hazy and indistinct in the afternoon sun, and she wondered mournfully whether poor Pearl would ever gaze at her beloved mountain again. There was one little fleecy cloud hovering over the summit. It was snowy white, with a silver edge, and Amy found herself dreamily comparing this mystical, almost transparent cloud to Pearl's pure, unsullied soul. Her eyelids drooped. She wondered and wept no more, for Amy slept the sleep of utter exhaustion. It was fully an hour later when she opened her eyes to find Ralph Nicholson standing by her side. "Poor little thing," he said sorrowfully, as she started up from her chair, "how sad, how weary you look. Go to sleep again. I will leave you. But first tell me, how is she to-day?" Amy brushed away the tears that were still wet on her eyelids. "The doctors see a slight improvement," she replied. "The fever is, they say, a shade lower. But she seems no better to auntie and myself. Oh! Sir Ralph, I am sure she will die. She cannot resist. It has been going on so long now. She is still delirious at times, and I know the fever is gradually but surely wearing her away." Ralph looked at the sweet face, on which all the joy and sparkle had died out, and on which grief for the time being had made such havoc. And as he looked, he knew that he had never admired, that he had never loved Amy Mendovy as he admired and loved her to-day in this soft and saddened mood. He sat down on the grass beside her chair and took her hand between his own. Amy did not withdraw it. "Amy, dear," he said very quietly, "I cannot tell you how unhappy I am. It is awful to me to see your grief, for, as you know--you know it well Amy, though you never would listen to me--I love you, and have loved you for long, darling. May I share your trouble with you, Amy? May I help you to bear it a little? Will you be kind to me, and after my long waiting give me the right to do this?" Amy never quite knew how it occurred, but shortly after this request she found her head leaning on Ralph's shoulder, while that individual was busily employed in kissing away the tears--tears whether now of joy or of sorrow,--it was somewhat difficult to tell. But Amy would not have been a woman, and certainly not Amy Mendovy, if before her lover left her that day, she had not satisfied herself as to the future disposal of the lady whom she chose to consider as her rival. "And Lady Martinworth?" she inquired, "what are you going to do about her? You will, I suppose, be kind enough to stop going about with her and flirting, now that you have at last made up your mind to be engaged to me. Oh! Ralph, you don't care for her really, do you?" Ralph laughed and twirled his black moustache, as he looked down into the flushed face. "Nobody," he replied, "has ever yet accused me of ingratitude. I certainly have no intention of casting off Lady Martinworth, for she has done me an uncommonly good turn." "What do you mean?" inquired Amy, on the defensive at once. "Simply that my flirtation, not that it deserves such a name--for Lady Martinworth, let me tell you, darling, hasn't got the remotest notion as to what flirting means--our--late--intercourse, was nothing more nor less than a pre-arranged plan formed with Mrs. Nugent to produce the desired result of bringing you, Miss Mendovy, to your senses. I couldn't have got on much longer without you, you know. So we had to contrive some means by which you should learn to know your own mind. It was Mrs. Nugent's happy notion that I should try to make you jealous, Amy. She is ill now, so you must forgive her, you know. And as for me, I don't care if you forgive me or not, for now that you have once said 'yes,' you won't find it very easy to get rid of me again. I can tell you that." Of course, Amy wasted a good deal of breath in pointing out that she had never for a single instant experienced the sentiment of jealousy, a sentiment for which, she assured him, she had indeed the very greatest contempt. She took some little trouble to explain that she had merely felt considerable regret that Ralph should have--well--caused gossip, by allowing his name to be coupled with that of a married woman. In fact, she begged he would understand that her anxiety from the first had been solely for the condition of his morals, and she seized this opportunity to deliver quite an eloquent little homily on the iniquity of flirtations in general, and with married women in particular. To all of which words of wisdom Ralph listened attentively, the effect, however, being somewhat marred, in Amy's opinion, by a persistent and most apparent twinkle in the dark eyes. She inwardly wondered if he could by any possibility be laughing at her, and she felt that she really had some right to be aggrieved, when, after her lecture, which had lasted fully five minutes, he merely said in reply that Lady Martinworth was a real good soul, and though he perfectly understood Amy being somewhat prejudiced against her for the moment, he had not the slightest doubt that eventually the two would become the closest of friends. "She is the kindest-hearted, straightest woman I know," he added, "and she really has an awfully sad life. Martinworth doesn't care two straws for her. He is away now--went off weeks ago, and never offered to take her with him. She is terribly lonely, for she knows very few people here. I think you might take pity on her, darling, and chum up a bit with her." Which tactless and unfortunate suggestion was met with the severity it deserved. Miss Mendovy regretted, but she really did not think that she and Lady Martinworth were likely to prove congenial. From her childhood she had possessed a strong dislike for mannish women. And though, of course, she could not but feel sorry for the poor thing's solitude, she really feared that just at present, with her mind and hands so full of dear Pearl, she would have but little spare time to devote to outsiders. This fact reminded Amy that it was impossible to waste further precious moments in talking about a person who really interested her so very slightly, so that if Ralph would excuse her, she would go and relieve her aunt in the sick room. But Amy was not allowed to depart just yet. Sir Ralph was wise enough to see that he had--to use his own phraseology--"put his foot into it," and he mentally decided that, for the future, Lady Martinworth's name should figure as little as possible in his and Amy's conversations. He promptly made up for lost time. And when Amy parted from him a quarter of an hour later the radiance of her face proved that, certainly for the time being, the fact that such an annoying person as Lady Martinworth existed was entirely obliterated from her mind. Meanwhile, Sir Ralph Nicholson had spoken the truth when he announced that the lady discussed was an unhappy woman, though perhaps he would have been more accurate if he had contented himself by saying that she was an intensely bored woman. She hated Tokyo, and, for that reason alone, she had been somewhat disappointed when her husband had started on his travels without her. As for his indifference to her companionship, she was too much accustomed to that state of things to greatly worry herself on that score. It was only on very rare occasions, such as the day when she had unbosomed herself to Pearl, that she would allow the fact of her husband's want of affection to distress her. "Harry" Martinworth was essentially practical, and if only she had been able to indulge in some amusement more or less congenial to her tastes to occupy her spare time, she would certainly never have troubled herself about what, by bitter experience, she knew to be the inevitable. But here she was, planted down in a Tokyo hotel, with scarcely an acquaintance in the whole of Japan save Sir Ralph and the members of the English Legation. Art of any kind had no interest for her, the collecting of curios held out no inducement, and such scenery as had come under her notice she loudly declared was absurdly overrated. Later on, it was her ambition to climb Fuji-yama, Nantaisan, Asama-yama or any other mountain that might happen to come in her way, but as yet it was far too early in the year to think of such strenuous expeditions. Meanwhile, there were two or three sights which Lady Martinworth concluded were really worth her consideration--the game of polo, as it is played in Japan, the fencing, and the wrestling matches. Over the description of the latter she grew quite enthusiastic. The fact that these matches are not greatly patronised by the presence of ladies was alone sufficient to encourage Lady Martinworth in witnessing the performance as often as she could get a chance. She felt no disgust. On the contrary, she experienced intense admiration at the sight of these gigantic naked men, with their rolls of fat, and their huge muscles standing out like cords, and at each fresh feat of strength her enthusiasm increased. If all Japanese had been built on the same Herculean lines as the wrestlers, Lady Martinworth's admiration for the race would have been unbounded, but, as it was, for the natives generally her Ladyship expressed that contempt which to say the least is to be pitied as the outcome of ignorance, and of an insular and unenquiring mind. She told Sir Ralph she could not see what there was in Japan to make such a fuss about. She launched into politics, and prophesied complete annihilation if the country ever went to war with Russia. If the Japanese were as enlightened and advanced as was said, why on earth hadn't they made decent golf-links in Tokyo? What could one think of a people who actually didn't know the meaning of the word "sport" in its everyday sense. As for their women, it was positively laughable to think of them as never taking any form of exercise, merely contenting themselves by driving in 'rickshas with the hood up, or in carriages that were closed. On very rare occasions they did walk a few steps, she had been told, but then, was it not a dutiful and humble couple of yards behind the husband? Again, what possibly could be the charm of the Japanese woman for the European man was a mystery altogether beyond her comprehension. A soft, purring kitten of a creature who could only smile, acquiesce in everything, make gentle little phrases, and have pretty manners! Ralph ventured to remark that it was probably these very attributes, so unusual and so soothing, that proved their undoubted fascination and their charm. But at this assertion he was met with such a stony stare of amazement that he reddened. On the virtues and attractiveness of the Japanese woman, and the courage and perspicacity, the cleverness and far-seeing proclivities of the Japanese people generally, on which subjects Nicholson held the very strongest opinions, he, in all future discussions with Lady Martinworth, from henceforth held his peace. As an amusement, therefore, Lady Martinworth's bicycle proved almost her only resource. Even there she was doomed to a certain amount of disappointment, for she had not reckoned on the extreme variableness of the Japanese climate. It developed into a rainy spring. On certain days the roads in and around Tokyo were practically impassable, and this inconvenience increased her contempt for a nation whose Town Municipality was certainly at that time, permitted so completely to neglect its duties. A cloudless day, perfect in the brilliancy and clearness of its atmosphere, would however, put a temporary stop to her grumblings, and, seizing these rare opportunities, and commanding Sir Ralph to accompany her, Lady Martinworth would promptly don her bloomers, straightway sallying forth on a bicycle ride of many miles. These expeditions, on the whole, suited Ralph's particular frame of mind, for they all took place before his engagement to Amy Mendovy. They would ride long distances without exchanging a word, which gave him plenty of time for reflection and for forming various projects and plans for the future, which, even at this time, he ventured to think, might possibly prove not altogether so absolutely despairing and hopeless. While resting themselves at some _chaya_, or tea house, or while seated beneath the shade of a knoll of pines, or within the shadows of a bamboo grove, in the seclusion of which nestled many a picturesque Buddhist or Shinto shrine, Ralph would lay himself out to be agreeable to his companion. And, indeed, he found her capital company, and if the conversations did invariably turn on the subject of sport in some form or other, he was all the better pleased. For Ralph was a keen sportsman, and in "Harry" Martinworth, whose love for all kinds of out-door avocations was without affectation--and whose proficiency therein was indisputable--he found a genuine kindred spirit. It was during one of these expeditions that he happened to mention the fact of his friend Mrs. Nugent's illness. He had not forgotten the Cherry party, nor the antagonistic and disdainful glances in which the ladies had indulged at the time, and consequently he had so far purposely avoided bringing Pearl's name into their conversations. One day, however, when poor Pearl was at her very worst, he proved such a dull companion--so pre-occupied, that Lady Martinworth's curiosity was aroused, and after some difficulty, she succeeded in extracting the reason of his persistent and melancholy silence. To Ralph's surprise, his companion, on ascertaining the state of affairs, promptly turned her bicycle round, the only explanation she deigned to offer for this spasmodic movement being her intention of going forthwith to Mrs. Nugent's house to see what could be done for her. "But I was not aware that you were acquainted with her," was Ralph's remark, as they raced along homewards. "Of course I know her. She is a dear friend of mine. You don't suppose that I'm going to let her die, do you, when I'm here on the spot and able to nurse her?" Considering what he knew of the circumstances, it was perhaps not surprising that Nicholson should raise his eyebrows, smiling discreetly at what in this statement certainly somewhat savoured of exaggeration. Lady Martinworth did not, however, vouchsafe any further explanation, but remained silent for the rest of their journey home. True to her word, she bade adieu to Sir Ralph at the hotel, and cycled straight to Pearl's house, where she had considerable difficulty in making the "boy" understand, from her broken Japanese, her desire to see the patient, but finally succeeded in gaining admission to the drawing-room. She sent up her card, and after a certain length of time Mrs. Rawlinson made her appearance. At the first glance the two women proved antagonistic. Indeed, in Rosina's case it was quite sufficient for a person to bear the detested name of Martinworth for her to buckle on her armour, acting at once on the defensive. "I have come to see Mrs. Nugent," said Lady Martinworth abruptly. "Will you be so good as to take me to her? I could not succeed in making that stupid servant understand that I wished to see her." "The 'boy' was only obeying his orders," replied Mrs. Rawlinson brusquely, as her eyes travelled over the extraordinary figure before her. Lady Martinworth was still adorned in her cycling bloomers, and with her cropped head, man's shirt, and motor cap it was more difficult than ever to distinguish her from a member of the sterner sex. "He was told not to allow anyone into the house. My cousin, Mrs. Nugent, is permitted to see no one." "But she sees you?" "Surely, that is a totally different matter," replied Rosina coldly. "I am her cousin. My niece, Miss Mendovy, and I divide the nursing between us." "Let me help you to nurse her. You may not know, Mrs. Rawlinson, but I am a certificated nurse. Taking up nursing was a mere whim, but nevertheless I was for some time nurse in the London Hospital. Do let me undertake her case?" Rosina softened. "It is very good of you to propose such a thing, Lady Martinworth, and I appreciate the kindness of heart that prompts you to make the offer. But we have an excellent trained Japanese nurse to help us, and I could not think of taking up your time. Besides--besides----" Rosina paused, as, in spite of herself, her eyes once more became riveted on the bloomers. "Oh, well! of course, I shouldn't dream of nursing her in this rig-out, if that's what you mean by staring at my knickerbockers," exclaimed Lady Martinworth. "However, surely my garments are a mere matter of detail in such a question of vital importance. Let me be of some little use, Mrs. Rawlinson. Do let me assist in nursing your cousin. She has been very kind and good to me, and I have had so little kindness shown to me in my lifetime that I should like to do something to prove that I appreciate it, when it does happen to come in my way." Lady Martinworth's offer was however, kindly but firmly declined. Rosina told Amy later, that when she saw the look of disappointment that overshadowed the plain countenance she found herself on the point of relenting. Perhaps, being naturally soft-hearted, she might have acceded in the end to Lady Martinworth's desire and have enlisted her aid. The incongruity of such a proceeding struck her, however, with particular force when she recalled to mind the former state of affairs between Mrs. Nugent and the lady's husband, and she remained firm in her refusal. The proposal offered so frankly and naturally, though declined, nevertheless won Mrs. Rawlinson's heart, and during the rest of the visit there was a marked change in her manner. They parted quite good friends. And though Lady Martinworth was not allowed to undertake the duties of nurse, she showed her desire to be useful and kind in many other ways. Every morning a large basket of flowers would arrive from the hotel, "With Lady Martinworth's kind enquiries," and later on, during Pearl's convalescence, she would send every delicacy within the hotel cook's capability, and her visits to the patient became, as time went on, more and more frequent. But at the period of Lady Martinworth's invasion there was no question of convalescence, and for many days both Pearl's life and her reason hung in the balance. But at length she took a slight turn for the better, her malady yielded to treatment, and her naturally strong constitution, conquering in the end, one day, shortly after Amy's engagement to Sir Ralph, she was pronounced by the physicians to be out of danger. It was, nevertheless, many, many weeks before Mrs. Nugent was allowed to be moved from her room. When at length she was lifted downstairs, absolute quiet and freedom from excitement were still prescribed. Indeed, the tranquillity insisted on appeared to be the culmination of Pearl's desires. She would lie on her sofa on the verandah silent for hours, her eyes fixed on the beds of purple and snow-white irises bending their graceful heads in the gentle breeze, or on the distant view of Fujiyama, shadowy and dim in the hot June sun. It was only after many days that Rosina ventured to bring up Lady Martinworth's name, and the eagerness of that lady to see her. At the mention of that name, which recalled so much that she would fain forget, Pearl half rose on her sofa, and the cheeks, now so thin and pale, flushed. "Is she alone?" she asked in a low voice. "Yes. Lord Martinworth is still away. He has been away over two months now, since the day that you were taken ill." There was a pause as Pearl threw herself back wearily on to her cushions. "I cannot see her," she said at length, "I am too weak. She--she is so jerky--so abrupt. She--she would fatigue me." Mrs. Rawlinson did not press the point. But she was not greatly surprised when some days later Pearl after a long silence, quietly suggested that if Lady Martinworth called again, she would receive her. Henceforth commenced a series of visits which eventually proved of great pleasure and of a certain amount of profit to both women. Lord Martinworth's name was by tacit consent never mentioned, and when Pearl realised that no danger from that quarter was to be feared, she allowed herself to show genuine satisfaction at his wife's presence in her house. It must be confessed Lady Martinworth deserved considerable credit for the tact and cleverness she exhibited in amusing the invalid. Greatly as both Rosina and Amy might wonder at this strange and unexpected friendship, they could not but feel grateful for each smile which the visitor, with her quaint and caustic remarks, would succeed in conjuring up on the pale, sad face. But Lady Martinworth was not the only person admitted to Pearl's presence during this period of convalescence. De Güldenfeldt had returned from his travels at the very moment Mrs. Nugent's condition was considered the most critical, and he had hardly put foot in Tokyo before he was met with the news of her almost hopeless condition. This distressing information accomplished at one stroke what months of absence, of distraction, and of meditation had failed to do. Stanislas straightway forgot the fact that for long he had borne a bitter grudge against this woman, who had treated both him and his proposal with such calm and complete indifference. Not only all his love, but all his sympathies, all his fears for her safety, were aroused at this crushing news, and in spite of the accumulation of work awaiting him on his return, he found he could put his mind to nothing while Mrs. Nugent's fate hung in the balance. He haunted the house, sitting for hours in the drawing-room alone, or pacing the garden, till Amy or Rosina taking pity on him, would steal a minute from their duties to inform him how the patient was progressing, or to give him the doctor's latest report. It was during this miserable period that Rosina guessed his secret. Indeed, a child could have read it, for it was easy enough to divine, and de Güldenfeldt himself made next to no attempt to disguise his feelings. One day, in a specially despairing mood, he went so far as to hint to Mrs. Rawlinson what had passed between him and Pearl. He found a sympathetic listener, and consequently ended by confiding all those cherished hopes which had met with so unexpected and so disastrous a termination. Like all large-hearted women, Rosina was somewhat of a matchmaker. At a glance she saw the many advantages that Pearl had thrown away in this refusal of Stanislas de Güldenfeldt's love and protection. Promptly she decided in her own mind that if her cousin should be spared, it would certainly not be her--Rosina Rawlinson's--fault if matters were not one day brought to an entirely satisfactory conclusion. But now was not the time to think of such things. It was only later on, when Pearl was passing so many hours of enforced idleness on her sofa, that somehow it became a matter of course that Stanislas de Güldenfeldt should be found seated by her side, reading to her in his pleasant voice the latest books from Europe, or talking to her as only he could talk. That Pearl found pleasure in his society was evident. She seemed to forget that anything of a painful nature had ever passed between them. Her face would brighten as his form appeared on the verandah, and she would greet him gladly with her soft voice. De Güldenfeldt would often wonder whether in the very smallest degree she understood, not only how blessed for him were those many hours spent thus by the side of her sofa, but likewise how intensely he dreaded the fatal moment when she would once more take up her everyday life, and when he consequently would necessarily be shifted to the conventional rank of the occasional afternoon visitor. But those dreaded days still seemed a long way off. Meanwhile, Stanislas de Güldenfeldt sat during the whole of those sweet, summer afternoons in the presence of the woman he loved, drinking in the poison of her returning beauty, and dreaming dreams of untold happiness and content. CHAPTER X. IN THE SHADOW OF A TOMB. It was an early summer, and as Pearl's health was sufficiently restored to render her fit for travel, she was ordered by the doctors to leave Tokyo. By the end of June the heat became intense, and early in July she and the Rawlinson ladies departed for Nikko, _en route_ for Chuzenji. On the borders of the beautiful lake of Chuzenji, Pearl, following her cousin's example, had built herself, during the first year of her arrival, a small and picturesque Japanese house. She loved this charming spot, as all must learn to love it who have passed the summer months by the borders of its blue, rippling water, and beneath the shadows of its wooded mountains. Pearl was peculiarly susceptible to the influences of nature, and the summers already spent by her at Chuzenji had been principally employed in sailing her little boat on the lake, watching with keen delight the changing scenery, sometimes so dazzling in its sunlit verdure, at others, beneath its sudden storms, so sombre, terrible, and forbidding. Pearl knew the lake under all its aspects, and from constant watching could foretell almost as well as a Japanese _sendo_,[11] the rapid transformations that metamorphosed in a few minutes the whole face of Nature. For it is a lake not only to be loved, but with its sudden rages, sweeping mists, and boundless, unknown depths, equally to be feared. [11] Boatman. During a happy summer on the Thames many years before Martinworth had taught her how to manage and to sail a boat, and the knowledge of this art had proved one of Pearl's greatest pleasures during those calm, peaceful months, spent high in the Japanese hills. She would sail for hours in her little skiff, gazing with eyes full of mystery into the glittering blue expanse of sky and waters, while the perpendicular sides of the sacred mountain Nantai-san, black with the shadows of its impenetrable forests, stood like a giant sentinel among its lesser brethren, overshadowing, in its gloomy, threatening darkness, the glowing outer world. But this year, before attempting the ascent to Chuzenji, it was thought advisable, on account of Pearl's health, to pause half way for some days at Nikko. The nights of this lovely mountain village were refreshingly cool and invigorating after the suffocating airlessness of the city, whilst during the lovely summer days Pearl and her cousins would wander through the romantic grounds of the Nikko temples, or seat themselves for hours by the borders of the river, watching its hurried rush over rocks and colossal boulders, which year after year, to the destruction of roads and bridges, are borne by resistless floods from the mountains above. The trio of ladies had been but a few days at Nikko when they were joined by the Swedish Minister and Nicholson, Tokyo being found unbearably dull after the departure of their friends. Nikko, with its sparkling, verdure-bordered streams and cloudless sky, its fairylike and wooded glens, its avenues of great pine trees dusky in the gathering shadows of the night,--is an ideal spot for lovers. This fact Amy and Ralph were not long in discovering for themselves, and from the day that the latter joined them, Mrs. Rawlinson was permitted to see but next to nothing of her pretty niece, and with her usual good-temper, accepted the inevitable. As for Pearl Nugent, she was at this moment passing through a period of transition, difficult to imagine and still more difficult to endure. She who for so long had devoted first her existence, and later on her thoughts to one sole object, awoke one day to find that all was transformed--that the dream was over, and that she loved no longer. Needless to say, the awakening was a cruel one. To her dismay, not only did she discover that this passion of her life, which till now had never even flickered, but had burned with an ever-steady glow, not only was this passion extinguished for ever,--but slowly and positively the fact dawned upon Pearl that the mere mention of the name of Martinworth was alone sufficient to give rise to a sentiment of shrinking terror, of breathless dismay, of overwhelming consternation and regret. She could not think of that fatal letter of summons, of his passionate reply to that letter, already expressive of immediate possession, of that conquering look of triumph on his face when he entered her room that eventful night,--without turning white with consuming shame, with misery and reproach. She hated herself as she recalled those moments. And in hating herself she realised that slowly developing was an incipient feeling of dislike against the man who, however unwittingly, had given rise to these sentiments of humiliation and disgrace. She did not for one moment attempt to disguise from herself the cruel injustice of this feeling. She knew well enough that Martinworth had conducted himself with unselfish and most unusual abnegation in withdrawing all claim to one who had said, "I am yours--take me!" She knew that nine men out of ten would have unflinchingly held her to her word, allowing no temporary stumbling block of shrinking feminine vacillation to intercept the realization of their strivings, the unfaltering desire of years. She knew that it was his deep and absorbing love that was the cause--the unconscious cause--of that prompt decision of renouncing her for ever. And yet, knowing all this, it was in her eyes sufficient that he should have witnessed her in that period of humiliation, that he should have divined, if only partially, her agony of mind during those days of weakness and of degradation, for her to shrink, not only with fear and distaste, but what was more--with horror and dismay from the man she had once so passionately loved, so ardently admired and believed in. She had fallen so low--so bitterly low in her own eyes. True, at the supreme moment of the crisis she had fled from the consequences of her final undoing. But Pearl's natural candour of disposition, her innate honesty, did not permit her to cloak over with weak sophistries and self-excuses what she knew at one time had been not only her firm intention, but in those days of frenzy, her sole desire and earnest aspiration. During many hours of necessary idleness she would lie on her _chaise longue_, brooding over every incident since Martinworth had once more come into her life. This process of self-examination became almost morbid in its intensity and repetition. But all her thought, her constant restless brooding, did not satisfactorily explain to her the reason of that hasty, that impetuous appeal at the eleventh hour to Amy Mendovy. Why had joyful anticipation so suddenly given place to terror? and what was the impulse that had prompted her at the last moment to indite that desperate, that frantic note for aid? Pearl believed in a God, and at times she found herself asking if this sudden saving act, this possible loophole of escape, had not indeed been inspired by an unheard Voice, by Divine and Holy intermediation? This question, however, like so many that she asked herself during these weeks, remained unanswered, and the only feeling that stood out clear in Pearl's confused and weary mind was the prayerful hope that never again would it be her misfortune to come across the man who had given rise to such relentless feelings of shame and self-humiliation. Meanwhile Stanislas de Güldenfeldt was there, haunting her presence like a shadow, and Pearl did not disguise from herself that she found a great security and peace, a certain happiness, in the proximity of one who made it his pleasure and his duty to anticipate her slightest wish, to sympathise with her every thought and feeling. Stanislas from the first moment of Pearl's convalescence had shown himself as gentle and as tender as a woman. With peculiar tact, without the slightest shade of fussiness, he was always on the spot, shielding her from every physical pain, from every mental worry. For the first time in her life Pearl appreciated the delight of being thoroughly spoiled and petted. What wonder if she learned to consider Stanislas as her own special property, and most certainly necessary to her comfort and well-being? Amy would stand aloof, looking on with surprise and indignation at the sight of this big man with the strong face and commanding eyes being ordered about, the object of every capricious whim, every sudden fancy, and frequently scolded like a child for his pains. It seemed to her that there was something rather ridiculous and certainly slightly pathetic in the spectacle. "Ralph," she said one day, when for the third time Stanislas had hurried off in the burning sun to the hotel, to fetch an extra rug or cushion for his lady-love, and Pearl, as a matter of course, had allowed him to go, "Ralph, will you promise me one thing? If you ever perceive incipient signs of an inclination on my part to treat you like a slave, will you please jilt me without hesitation? I might lose you, but at any rate I should retain my respect for you." "Well, then, let us hurry up and break it off at once," laughed Nicholson. "Could anyone see a more patient beast of burden than I am at the present moment? A sketch book, a paint box, a camp stool, a cushion, a parasol, and soon, when the sun gets cooler, I foresee--a coat. Perhaps you would kindly inform me of the difference of my fate to that of the man you pity." "Don't talk nonsense, Ralph. You know perfectly well what I mean. Pray, do I keep you constantly on the trot? Why, the poor man is never allowed a second's leisure or repose. He's a slave, a perfectly abject slave. Pearl looks upon his devotion, upon the sacrifice of his time, not only as a matter of course, but as her right. And they're not even engaged yet." "Well, one thing is they are bound to be before long," replied Ralph. "Bless you, my dear girl, he likes it, he glories in it. That rather stern 'phiz' of his has borne of late quite a seraphic expression. Leave the poor fellow alone, Amy, and let him be happy in his own way." "All I can say is," replied Amy severely, "it is quite the last way I should have expected Stanislas de Güldenfeldt, of all people, to choose to be happy. It makes me quite ill to see a splendid big fellow like that reduced to the rank of the tamest of tame cats, and what is more, appearing to delight in that extremely humiliating position." "Don't distress yourself, my child," laughed Ralph, as they wandered off to their favourite seat beside the river. "It is a ridiculous phase through which we men pass, one and all, each as our turn comes. And though you pretend not to see it, Amy, I at this present time am in a precisely similar idiotic stage. Bless you, I know it, and do I complain? On the contrary, I survive the ordeal extremely well, while to the general outsider I appear, I am sure, as beaming and as blissfully foolish as de Güldenfeldt. We both have every intention of getting our _quid pro quo_ later on, you know." The person discussed was, as Nicholson announced, entirely satisfied with the existing state of affairs. Monsieur de Güldenfeldt would indeed have been willing to allow matters to proceed in the same easy fashion for ever, had he not one day received a warning that it was time for him to speak again. Mrs. Rawlinson had been watching the progress of events with characteristic shrewdness. Her observations caused her after a time to conclude that de Güldenfeldt and Pearl had both reached a stage which, however delightful in its dreamy uncertainty, certainly as far as the future of her cousin was concerned, was a long way from being either practical or desirable. She therefore made up her mind that matters should be brought to a climax. A prompt and decisive action appeared still more necessary on the receipt one morning of a letter from Lady Martinworth, announcing the fact of the couple's premeditated visit to Chuzenji, and begging Mrs. Rawlinson to telephone for rooms at the hotel. Rosina's heart sank at this news, for though Pearl had never taken her cousin into her confidence, her ravings during her delirium, independently of her subsequent melancholy, were facts sufficient to explain the unfortunate influence Lord Martinworth still exercised over the younger woman's impressible and sensitive nature. She saw how absolutely necessary it was before his appearance once more upon the scene that matters between Pearl and de Güldenfeldt should be brought to a satisfactory conclusion. Rosina was never long in making up her mind, and having once determined on a little judicious meddling, she captured the would-be lover one day as he was lounging off to join Pearl, and in a manner thoroughly typical, straightway went to the point. "Monsieur de Güldenfeldt," she said, as she took his arm and led him over the stony road through the straggling Japanese village, "I want to speak to you about Pearl. You remember your conversation with me some weeks ago, do you not?" "Certainly," replied the Swedish Minister, whose cheeks flushed like a boy's at this abrupt mention of Mrs. Nugent's name, "certainly, I remember it, and your kindness to me during her illness. What is it you want to say, Mrs. Rawlinson?" "Of course," resumed Rosina, "I should not venture to broach the subject if you had not yourself first mentioned your hopes to me. Monsieur de Güldenfeldt----" and Rosina stopped in her walk and gazed at him straight with her shrewd brown eyes, "I think, if you wish to make certain of Pearl, you ought to ask her again without further delay." De Güldenfeldt kicked a stone in the pathway. "Why," he said, "why this hurry?" He laughed uneasily. "To tell you the truth," he added, "I acknowledge to you--I am afraid! That's a nice confession to make, is it not? for a man of my age and experience, and one who is half an Englishman to boot? I'm afraid--downright afraid to again ask Mrs. Nugent to be my wife." He paused, and then continued nervously: "It would be more than I could bear if she refused me a second time, you know. Why not leave well alone? Matters are pleasant enough as they are." "Very well, of course you know your own business best," replied Rosina calmly. "I certainly don't venture to prophesy the result of your proposal. I mistrust my own sex too well to answer for their vagaries. Nevertheless, my dear friend, I think Pearl is beginning to learn your value, and--and--by the bye," she added, glancing quickly up into his face, "the Martinworths are going to Chuzenji. We are to engage rooms for them, as they wish to escape the heat of Tokyo as soon as possible." Monsieur de Güldenfeldt made no reply. But with considerable satisfaction Rosina observed, through the corners of her eyes, the change in his expression at her communication. "If that won't bring him to his senses, nothing will," she thought. And as usual, Rosina was right. All during this happy time of inaction de Güldenfeldt had not once thought of Martinworth's existence. Lord and Lady Martinworth had arrived in Japan during his absence from the capital. On his return he had more than once met the latter at Pearl's house. He had inquired after the husband, been told he was travelling, and since then had never given him another thought. Naturally, he knew nothing of what had occurred in Tokyo. Mrs. Rawlinson's tone and expression of countenance had however, been more than significant. Stanislas awoke suddenly to the fact that, with the re-arrival on the scene of operations of the man who had formerly played so important a part in Pearl's life, there arose an obstacle, a threatening danger, on which he had but little reckoned, and for which he found himself totally unprepared. In spite, therefore, of the timidity of which he had made so _naïve_ a confession, he resolved to take Mrs. Rawlinson's friendly hint, and to speak again without delay. The opportunity was not long in occurring. That afternoon Pearl announced her intention of attempting the ascent to Ieyasu's Tomb.[12] So far, she had not ventured to climb the numberless steps that lead to the Shogun's last resting place, but it was a spot she dearly loved, and she never left Nikko without paying this hallowed ground at least one visit. [12] Ieyasu was the first Shogun of the Tokugawa dynasty. His remains were removed to their present resting place at Nikko in 1617. It was somewhat late in the afternoon when she and de Güldenfeldt left the hotel. As they walked through the Temple grounds and arrived at the steps the sun was still hot, and glistened like a stream of fire through the forests and belts of brilliant maple trees beyond, lighting up their sheeny green with a glory of colour, golden, dazzling and intense. Both were silent as they slowly mounted the steps, bordered by the moss-grown balustrade of stone. Beyond was the glowing outer world, but here around them, centuries old, were the black and threatening cryptomeria pines, towering on either side like great angels of darkness spreading wide their gloomy wings, while away in the distance through the vast dreamy forest, the wind rose and fell with mystical and harmonious cadence. Up and up they climbed, and as she paused for breath Pearl felt a delightful feeling of exaltation at the sight of these lofty trees, these grand and ancient pines, guarding like giant sentinels the balustrade of stone, and the wide and numberless steps, green with moss and age. She knew so well that this solemn approach led,--not to some magnificent palace, not to some temple, gorgeous with colouring, and wonderful with intricate carvings, but--buried within the heart of the forest--to a little lonely tomb of bronze, shaped like an urn, and guarded on either side by the sacred stork, the symbolic and gigantic lotus leaves. What more noble--what more awe-inspiring than this towering, upward, and impressive approach to all that is most pathetically simple, most modestly unadorned of funeral monuments to the honoured and beloved dead? Only an artist mind of an artist country could have planned, created, and carried out this beautiful and poetical thought, and only artist minds, such as Pearl's and de Güldenfeldt's, could know how to appreciate,--how to adore,--the nobility and grandeur of the conception. Pearl was still silent as she sat down on the stone coping surrounding the bronze urn, listening to the wind as it musically and eternally sighed through the banks of trees beyond. Just before starting for her walk Rosina had told her of Lady Martinworth's letter, and she was still under the influence of dismay aroused by the unwelcome news. A feeling not only of complete helplessness, but of approaching evil, overshadowed her. She felt stupefied, paralysed by what she had heard. The news was totally unexpected, for only the day before Pearl left Tokyo Lady Martinworth had volunteered the information of her approaching departure from Japan. Pearl found herself wondering what unforeseen circumstances could have caused her to change this determination. Was it that Lady Martinworth had made her arrangements without consulting her husband? and was it possible that he himself had other plans in view? In spite of his assurances and promises in her house that night, was it--could it be--that he wished to see her again, that he still had hopes, was still unwearied in his pursuit? Pearl's growing dislike awakened her suspicions, and made her foresee and fear every probable, every improbable design on Martinworth's part, all sense of justice being swamped in this newborn dread of a man she had been willing not so long since to follow to the end of the world. She was aroused from these anxious forebodings, these problematical and gloomy prognostications, by the sound of her companion's voice. He had seated himself by her side on the coping, and on glancing up into his face, Pearl was struck by its gravity and unusual pallor. "Mrs. Nugent," he said slowly, looking at her very intently, "will you be so kind as to give me your attention for a few moments? I wish to ask you something." Pearl, who understood instinctively the meaning of these preliminary words, flushed--merely bowing her assent. "Some months ago," continued de Güldenfeldt gravely, "I ventured to ask you for your hand. You refused me. And I confess I took your refusal very much, very deeply to heart. I felt then that, however much I might desire you for my wife, I could never bring myself to repeat the request. But I love you dearly, Pearl,"--here his eyes grew large and soft as they rested on her face--"you are everything in the wide world to me. I feel I cannot live without you, and before this one absorbing passion of my life, all my surprise, my anger, my pride have fallen away from me, and now once more I beg you to listen to me, and to grant me the great gift of your most precious self." As he said the last words, Stanislas rose from his seat, and standing before Pearl, held out his two hands towards her. Pearl said nothing in reply, but with a smile of great sweetness simply placed her hands in his. He drew her up beside himself, and bending down, kissed her on the forehead. And thus they silently stood lit up by the slanting sun, while the wind sang in the trees its eternal song of peace. Stanislas held her in his arms, a great joy filling his heart as he gazed down into the beautiful pale face of this woman whom he had gained at last, and whom he vowed to himself should one day love him as he loved her. At length Pearl broke the long and expressive silence, until now only disturbed by the throbbing of their hearts. "Monsieur de Güldenfeldt," she said quietly, as she drew herself slightly away from him, "you have asked me to be your wife, and I accept, for I know now that though I cannot yet give you my love, I like you much, yes, very, very much. Perhaps, however, when you hear what I have to say, you will regret what you have done. Better however, a thousand times that you should know now, and part from me while your love is still young, than that in the years to come you should discover my weakness, learn in consequence to despise me, and leave me to die of grief. Will you listen a moment to me, Stanislas, while I tell you what happened after you left Tokyo?" De Güldenfeldt's face clouded, but he answered gently as he once more put his arms around her and drew her to him. "No, Pearl," he said, "I will not listen to you. It is better not, dear. I wish to know nothing. I believe in you and trust you, darling. Have I not known your life for years? Has it not been as an open book to me?" "Yes, and for that very reason," replied Pearl firmly, "there must be no closed chapters in it. If you do not let me speak now, I cannot be your wife. For I have sworn,--my friend,--there must be no secrets between you and me." "Speak, then," replied de Güldenfeldt, somewhat sadly, "if you will it so." But Pearl did not seem in a hurry to take advantage of the permission thus reluctantly given. With a sigh she sat down again on the stone coping, half shielding her face with her hand. At length she opened her lips to speak. Her voice was low, but there was a clearness, an incisiveness in the tones that impressed her listener. She gazed straight before her and spoke unhesitatingly, as if relating an oft-repeated tale. "Shortly after you left," she said, "the Martinworths arrived in Tokyo. I had been warned of their approaching arrival. Nevertheless, I eventually met them unexpectedly at the Imperial garden-party. It was a shock to me to see them--to see him--there, and on my return home I was still thinking over this meeting, when Lady Martinworth called on me. Before her departure from my house she confided to me her attachment to her husband, and she told me that she was a very unhappy woman. She made also a strange request. She asked me to be her friend. She appeared very much moved, very much upset. Finally I took her in my arms and comforted her, and, feeling very, very sorry for her, I promised her my friendship." Here Pearl paused, and looked up at Monsieur de Güldenfeldt with a slight flush on her cheeks. "She had hardly left me," she continued, "when Lord Martinworth was announced. I perceived at once the change--a change for the worse--in him. But I was hardly prepared for his accusations against me, as the cause of that change. He blamed me for many things, and seemed to think my leaving him after obtaining my divorce--when I might have been his wife--was prompted by interested motives. My anger rose at the injustice of his accusations, and I replied very strongly, very bitterly, begging him to leave me and to return to his wife. I held out my hand to him as a token of farewell, and as he took it between his own and kept it there, I felt the revival of all my love for him. He pleaded with me"--here Pearl grew pale once more--"and I--and I--listened, Stanislas--at last--to his pleading. I was on the point of yielding to his prayers, for I felt I had loved him so deeply, and for so very long--I was yielding, I say--when I remembered my recent promise to his wife. It was that remembrance, I think, that made me pause. I bade him go. And he left me." At this juncture Pearl remained silent a long time. So long, indeed, that de Güldenfeldt thought she had completed what she wished to say, and he was himself about to speak when--holding up her hand to silence him--she continued:-- "And now, Stanislas, comes the worst part of what I have to say. It is death to me to tell you what followed, but even at the risk of losing you for ever I feel you must, before calling me your wife, know the truth about me. Martinworth was hardly out of the house before I repented of what I had done. I longed for him so. And I was so very, very lonely. That night, however, and for many days and nights, I prayed God to keep him from me. I prayed with all my heart, with all my strength, and yet were my prayers truly sincere? I know not. I thought they were. But one day, when I saw that he kept away, that he did not come, I wrote to him and told him--and told him--that--" Here Pearl paused again, hiding her face in her hands. "Yes," said de Güldenfeldt gravely, as he laid his hand gently on her arm, "I understand, dear. Don't enter into particulars. Don't pain yourself by unnecessary explanations." "I expected him that evening," continued Mrs. Nugent in a muffled voice, "and Stanislas--I was happy, quite happy in the thought that he would come to me. But even now, I cannot tell how or why it was, but as the hour drew near I began to feel--to realise the enormity of my sin. It came upon me with a sudden flash that I--I who had fought and resisted and striven so long, that I, Pearl Nugent--so proud of my virtue, so scornful of the want of it in others--was falling from the height of my pride and self-content, falling, falling--to utter destruction, to utter perdition of body and of soul. "The horror of that moment--of that awakening--I can never express. The iron has entered into my soul, and will leave its mark for ever. At first, I believed it was too late to retract. I did not know what to do--where to fly from the misery and dishonour that I knew were overtaking me. Then I thought of Amy. And though she had told me she was going to a ball that night, a ball that would settle her future one way or the other, I wrote begging her to give it up, imploring her to come to me at once. She came. And her presence in my house that evening saved me." "And Martinworth?" inquired de Güldenfeldt, fixing his piercing eyes on Pearl's face. "Lord Martinworth came at the hour appointed. He stayed a short time, a very short time. I can hardly tell you what passed--for I know that I--I--was partially unconscious most of the time that he remained. I remember however, his leave-taking. It was, Stanislas, an eternal farewell. He acted generously--nobly, as only he could act. But I hardly knew what he said. I longed so for him to leave me--for him to go. And it was only when the door closed behind him that I breathed and lived once more. "And now, my friend, you have heard all I have to tell you. It is, I know, a shameful story. A story of weakness and of humiliation. Since that awful night, my one hope, my one prayer, has been never more to set eyes on this man, who until that evening had for so many years engrossed my affections and my thoughts. My prayer, it appears, is not to be answered. He is going to Chuzenji. The knowledge of this move of his I thought at first would kill me. But now I know that you love me, that you are near me and--and----" "Yes! you know all, and, Stanislas, perhaps now you will retract your words, and cast me off--and say you do not care for me. For indeed, I am not worthy--unstable, foolish, weak woman that I am--to be the wife of such a man as you." Pearl ceased. And for a moment there was silence. Mrs. Nugent felt herself trembling, as with averted eyes she gazed out at the waving pine trees far before her. De Güldenfeldt's face, which had been grave and rather stern while Pearl was speaking, remained pensive for some seconds longer. He looked at her and his expression changed, while a gleam like a ray of sun lit up his blue eyes. He smiled very sweetly as he took Pearl in his arms, and pushing back the little auburn curls, kissed her again on the forehead. "My poor child--my poor child," he murmured, "to think that once you should have told me that bitter experience had taught you a lesson--the lesson how to protect yourself. Ah, Pearl, you may be beautiful--you may be sweet--you may be the angel of goodness that I think you, in spite of the many hard names you call yourself,--you may be all these things and much, much more, but of one fact I am certain--you are sadly in need of someone to help you, to take charge of you, to guide you, darling. That task, with your permission, I, Stanislas de Güldenfeldt, mean for the future to undertake." Thus, in perfect peace and contentment, they sat together until the evening fell and the stars came out. It was only as they slowly wended homewards that Pearl, on looking back into the gloaming, realised with dread and a sad foreboding, that their mutual vows had been interchanged beneath the shadow of a tomb. CHAPTER XI. THE PRICE OF A KISS. Pearl's engagement to Stanislas de Güldenfeldt was not generally announced. They both had their reasons for keeping the fact to themselves, and it was only Mrs. Nugent's immediate family, and Sir Ralph Nicholson, as so soon to form one of that family, who were initiated into the secret. Rosina was radiant, as indeed she well might be, for, after months of feminine vacillation, were not both her beautiful charges at last satisfactorily disposed of? Naturally, perhaps, she took the credit of Pearl's engagement entirely to herself. She told her husband it would never have come off if it had not been for that necessary progging, given so judiciously to the devoted and constant, yet hesitating lover. At this information Mr. Rawlinson growled forth the remark that she would far better have left matters alone. That people who mixed themselves up in such affairs generally ended by burning their own fingers, and that if de Güldenfeldt, at his age, didn't know his own mind, well, all that he could say was he was a far greater fool than he had given him credit for being. He further remarked--for when once wound up Tom Rawlinson was not devoid of conversation,--that it was perfect bosh, in his opinion, this ridiculous effusion and fuss over a simple and every-day engagement of marriage. No doubt all the world gushed in the same absurd manner over Pearl's first marriage. And pray, how had that turned out? Certainly he, for one, didn't see that de Güldenfeldt was doing such a very good thing for himself. True, Pearl was a pretty woman, pleasant too, and had an uncommonly good fortune of her own. But then, look at that business with her first husband, to say nothing of that uncomfortable scandal with that fellow Martinworth, who, in his opinion, would far better have kept in England, instead of coming to Japan and getting into further mischief. For his own part, he liked de Güldenfeldt. He was a capital chap, and he thought it was a pity he was wasting himself on a woman who, in spite of certain attractions, never succeeded in being of the same mind two days running. In fact, in his humble opinion, he was far too good for Pearl. Thus, having reduced his wife almost to the verge of tears, Tom Rawlinson took his hat and went for a tramp across the hills. Nevertheless, shortly after he had relieved his mind in this downright fashion, Mr. Rawlinson informed Pearl that it was his express wish that she should be married from his house. He likewise announced his intention of bearing all the expenses of the _trousseau_ and the wedding. In fact he begged that she would understand that she was to look upon herself, for that occasion at least, as a daughter of the house. Further, he requested her acceptance of a trifling cheque with which to buy herself a jewel, which, he need not add, he would feel greatly flattered by her wearing on her wedding day. The cheque was a substantial one, representing the sum of a hundred guineas. By this time all the party had moved up to Chuzenji. Pearl was supremely happy in her Japanese wooden house on the borders of the lake. She loved her picturesque, bright little abode, with its fresh, clean _tatami_,[13] its beautifully engrained wood, its white walls and ceilings, and its sliding paper doors and cupboards. But above all, she loved the broad, cool verandah, on which was passed the hot period of the day, and from which was visible the most extensive, the most lovely view of lake and mountains in all Chuzenji. She would rest her arms on the balustrade of this verandah, which hung completely over the water, and there she would remain, idle and happy for hours, watching the limpid, laughing lake with its frame of wooded mountains and its ever changing banks of clouds. [13] Japanese matting. But it was in the early morning that Pearl found Chuzenji the most seductive, that she loved it best. After the opening of the _amado_[14]--without which protection against storm and rain and thieves no Japanese house would be complete--she would lie in bed, and with her face turned towards the lake would watch with a dreamy fascination the scene before her. [14] Outside wooden shutters. And indeed, the picture upon which she gazed with enchanted eyes was an ideal one. The sapphire blueness of the water, on which at that hour seldom a ripple was to be seen--the chain of wooded mountains rising up large and indistinct, and garlanded by vast pearly belts of caressing, fleecy clouds,--the little village on the opposite side, with its sparkling beach and tiny wooden houses, glistening like snow in the brilliant sun--the Japanese fishing boat, with one great, white wing faintly fluttering in the soft and wavering breeze--Pearl would gaze entranced at all this bewitching beauty of the mysterious silent morn, enveloped in a hazy mantle of perfect peace and calm--and, gazing, she would thank God that she lived. Monsieur de Güldenfeldt was as enthusiastic as his _fiancée_ over the varied charms of Chuzenji. They would pass together the greater part of those sweet, sunny days, either sailing or rowing on the lake, or when they wished to vary their form of exercise, taking long tramps across the mountains to the plains where the myriads of wild flowers and the great white tiger lilies grow. As Pearl became stronger, they would sometimes walk to the neighbouring village of Yumoto, most beautiful and secluded, with its forest of giant pines and maples that overhang the miniature lake. Curious and unique, too, is this lovely mountain spot, its chief characteristic being its open-air sulphur baths, among the suffocating fumes of which the lower-class Japanese of both sexes are seen disporting themselves, sometimes for hours at a time, their sole array being Nature's garb of innocent simplicity. Meanwhile, Pearl was far from feeling that happiness and contentment of mind she certainly counted upon when she bound herself by promise to marry Monsieur de Güldenfeldt. As the days passed she knew, without analysing her feelings very deeply, that it was impossible for her to give that love that he in time would without doubt claim as his due. In spite of his many delightful qualities which called forth her sincere admiration, in spite of his more than ordinary share of intelligence and good looks, of the seductive tones and subtle charm of manner, and above all,--in spite of his great and absorbing devotion to herself, Pearl Nugent's heart did not beat one iota the faster at the sound of his voice, at the touch of his hand, or at his presence by her side. And the day when she discovered to her dismay the fact that not only did she not care for him, but that, above all, de Güldenfeldt's great affection for herself was acting as an irritant upon her nerves, Mrs. Nugent was indeed a woman to be pitied. Before her engagement she had thoroughly appreciated the hundred little attentions with which he had surrounded her, and what is more, had almost looked upon them as her right. Now however, that she was bound to him by promise, she found her feelings undergoing an unexpected and most lamentable transformation. She made every effort to disguise this change of front from her lover, and she flattered herself that she succeeded fairly well. Her surprise, therefore, would have been profound, and would have equalled her dismay, if she had divined that Stanislas de Güldenfeldt was, to a very great extent, aware of the constant and bitter struggle that was being fought within her heart. De Güldenfeldt was, however, a patient man. His chief object had been gained, namely, Pearl's promise of herself. He was, therefore, content to bide his time for what he flattered himself must necessarily follow ere long--the promise of her love. But though generally right in his calculations, on this occasion the Swedish Minister was entirely at fault. Indeed, it was not surprising that in this instance he should make a mistake. De Güldenfeldt's knowledge of the intricate workings of the female mind was unusually vague and superficial for one who so prominently and for so many years had mixed in the world. His immersion hitherto in the political and the more serious side of his profession, and the life led--as a recreation to those duties--of scientific thought and study, was the worst school for attaining a knowledge of womankind. Stanislas at this period of his existence, though he was the last to acknowledge this deficiency, was more ignorant than many a modern youth of twenty of those inexplicable feminine contradictions that contribute not only towards the frenzy and the despair, but likewise to the frequent destruction of too confiding man. If his experience of women had been a trifle greater, de Güldenfeldt's eyes would have opened to the fact that this very indifference to his presence, this very shrinking from his words and acts of affection, which Pearl tried so vainly to disguise, was the sure and certain proof that no amount of persuasion, of patience, or of tact would succeed in securing him that love on which he relied for his future happiness. If he could but have known it, Pearl was simply incapable of again feeling a throb of passion. Her devotion for Martinworth had lasted too long--had burnt too deeply into her soul--to be capable of being rekindled, or of blazing afresh, lighted by another hand. Pearl knew it now. And as the days went on, and she was more and more in de Güldenfeldt's society, and as more and more he treated her as his own especial property, she gradually realized that of the many mistakes she had made of late, this last was the most disastrous, the most fatal of her life. It was about this time that Mrs. Nugent received an answer to her letter to Mr. Hall. Enclosed with the letter was a copy of her will drawn up from the rough draft she had sent her lawyer, and which only required to be signed and witnessed to make it legal. Pearl put the private letter aside to be perused at leisure, and witnessed by Count Carlitti and Tom Rawlinson, she signed the document, with the intention of despatching it by the mail that was leaving the same day. Mr. Rawlinson was nothing if not business-like. And whereas Carlitti had signed the will in a blissful state of ignorance as to its purport or contents, and at the sight of a favourite lady-friend sweeping past Pearl's door had immediately hurried in pursuit,--the former, before venturing to put his name to paper, had ponderously read and weighed every clause of the document. "You will excuse me, Pearl," he said, as after a very firm and upright 'Thomas Rawlinson,' he deposited the parchment on the table, and leaning against the frail wood-work of the Japanese _shoji_[15] he lit a cigar, "you will excuse me if I venture, as a member of the family, to make a remark. In my opinion this is an uncommonly rum sort of will of yours. Deuced pleasant for Amy Mendovy, I allow, and it is nice of you to have remembered Rosina so extremely handsomely. But may I be allowed to inquire where your future husband, de Güldenfeldt, has a look in? It seems to me that you have ignored his existence altogether." [15] Sliding window. Pearl flushed. "I am not yet married to Monsieur de Güldenfeldt," she murmured, "and as his _fiancée_ I have certainly never for a moment thought of leaving him my money. He does not need it. He has plenty of his own." "Doubtless," and Pearl blushed a deeper crimson under the scrutiny of the keen eyes, "but you will, I suppose, in the natural course of events, be married to him before many months have passed. It is, I should have thought, hardly seemly to cut him out entirely. Don't you agree with me?" "The date of our marriage is not yet fixed. I am not married to him yet," she repeated, rather helplessly. "When--when we are married--nothing will be easier, I suppose, than to make a new will. In fact the old will does not hold good in those circumstances. Besides, there will be the settlements. I am perfectly aware that you mean well, Tom. But don't distress yourself. I know what I am about." "Well, then, I'm blest if I do, and that's flat!" exclaimed Rawlinson. "No shilly shallying, I hope, my fair cousin. Let me tell you, once for all, de Güldenfeldt is not the sort of fellow to stand any confounded feminine nonsense. Pay attention to what I say, my dear, and don't for heaven's sake, behave like a fool." Pearl drew herself up, and her eyes flashed ominously. "Really, Tom," she said, "I think you--you--go a little too far. You presume somewhat on our relationship. I do not wish to believe that you have any real intention of being rude or disagreeable, but--well--to begin with, I never asked you to read my will. And I don't believe for a moment that it is usual for a witness to read through a will before signing it." "Don't you, indeed! Well! I tell you it is usual for Tom Rawlinson to do so. You needn't have done me the honour of asking me to witness it if you didn't like the habit. But," he added, seeing she still looked angry, "don't let us wrangle about such a trifle. You mustn't be vexed at my plain speaking, Pearl. Remember, I stand _in loco parentis_ to you, and if that position doesn't give me the right to offer advice and to speak my mind, I don't know what should. But when, I should like to know, did a woman ever take advice? Nevertheless, I repeat I am puzzled with regard to your treatment of de Güldenfeldt. He is a first-rate chap, Pearl." "Oh! you dear old Tom, as if I didn't know that. Am I likely to forget it, when the fact is being everlastingly dinned into my poor ears? How often have I not been told by you, and Rosina, and Amy, that I am the luckiest woman on the face of the earth to have succeeded in securing such a treasure? It is not necessary to impress this information so often, so very often, upon me, I assure you, Tom. I am perfectly aware of my good luck, and you may rest satisfied that I have no intention whatsoever of forfeiting such a prize. Nevertheless, in spite of your objections, and of anything that you may consider it your duty to say, my money, certainly for the present, goes to Amy, and not to Stanislas. Why! it was chiefly for that purpose and for the pleasure of being able to leave it to her, that I decided to accept that horrid fortune." "Indeed! Well, I suppose you know your own wishes best. She's a lucky girl. Not that she is ever likely to get it. Your life is as good as hers, any day," with which farewell shaft Tom Rawlinson took his departure. "A queer woman, that Pearl," he remarked to his wife that evening over his second glass of port. "Hysterical, and nervous and uncertain. I wouldn't be in that poor fellow de Güldenfeldt's shoes for all I'm worth. Not that she'll ever marry him, that's one blessing." "What?" shrieked Rosina and Amy in chorus. "Oh, Tom, what do you mean?" added his wife tremulously. "I mean what I say. At the last moment--she'll wait till then, of course--but at the last moment, Pearl Nugent will throw de Güldenfeldt over. I warn you she has not the slightest intention of marrying him. She finds it very convenient to have a devoted idiot eternally dangling after her. But she'll never come up to the scratch. She's as shifty and as vacillating as you make 'em. A most untrustworthy woman, I call her, in spite of her prettiness, her money, and all the rest of it." "You've disliked Pearl from the commencement, Tom," replied Rosina as she rose from the table, "and of course nothing I may say will be likely to change your opinion. But I really think, before making these rash assertions, you should have some grounds to go upon." "I by no means dislike your Pearl. In fact I rather like her. But with regard to her heart affairs, she--as a weak, vacillating member of your sex,--in my opinion, takes the cake. Mark my words, Rosina, my fair and fascinating cousin Pearl will never be the wife of Stanislas de Güldenfeldt." "As he gets older your poor uncle's habit of constantly repeating himself increases," remarked Rosina, as she and Amy settled themselves in the little rowing boat. "He really is a most tiresome man. This engagement of Pearl's is so very satisfactory in every way. I was so enchanted about it. And now he makes me wretched with those horrid prognostications of his. I wonder what can have induced him to take such an annoying idea into his head. So shortly after everything has all been comfortably settled, too. You don't think that there is any ground for his fears, do you, Amy?" Amy was silent, while her eyes grew thoughtful. "Yes," she said after a minute, "I think that perhaps uncle is right. I am sure Pearl is not happy, auntie. She tries her utmost to like Stanislas, but nothing she can do will ever succeed in making her really care for him. He has got on her nerves. I can see that." "And he's such a dear, charming fellow, and so absolutely devoted to her." "Whereas, if he were a worthless but fascinating scoundrel, who merely desired to marry her for her money, she would probably adore him, and be grovelling at his feet for a kind word. We women are made like that," replied Amy, with a worldly wisdom beyond her years. "Well, at any rate, your affairs and Ralph's are all right. That's one comfort." "I'm not so sure of that. I've discovered lately that Ralph is by no means perfection, and as life is far too short to devote time to the correction of settled bad habits, I'm not at all certain, auntie, but that in the end I may be reduced to the unpleasant necessity of throwing him over," and Amy's eyes gleamed with mischief as she glanced up at her aunt and gave an extra strong pull at the sculls. Mrs. Rawlinson's face for the space of a moment was indicative of the deepest despair. But bitter experience had taught her wisdom, and she made no reply. She had long ago given up attempting to fathom the intricate traits of her young niece's character, or of trying to decide in her own mind those moments when Amy meant seriously or the reverse. Thus on the present occasion she held her peace, and with a sigh of resignation placidly folded her plump hands upon her lap. Trusting that a merciful Providence would take the matter up, she offered a secret prayer that in spite of the perversity of a troublesome niece, all might ultimately come right in the end. The Martinworths had taken possession of their rooms in the hotel. Circumstances, however, had so far arranged themselves that the inevitable meeting between Pearl and Lord Martinworth had not so far taken place. Pearl had on the contrary been constantly thrown in contact with his wife, the latter having contracted the habit of running in and out of Mrs. Nugent's house whenever an opportunity occurred. Pearl found her looking both unhappy and ill, but though she more than half divined the cause, Lady Martinworth volunteered no information, rarely indeed mentioning her husband's name. It was purely incidentally that, in the course of conversation one day, Pearl learnt that Lord Martinworth's health was, in his wife's opinion by no means satisfactory, and consequently, the cause of considerable anxiety. With that vague fear and dismay felt by Pearl whenever she now thought or spoke of Martinworth, she nevertheless nerved herself, on receiving this intimation, to make one or two necessary and polite inquiries. "I hope," she said rather formally, "that you are not seriously uneasy as to Lord Martinworth's health? If so, this is the last place to bring him to. We have no doctor up here, you know." "Life is too short to fuss over people who decline to be fussed over," replied Lady Martinworth philosophically. "Dick bites off my head if I suggest he is out of sorts. So now I hold my tongue. But the fact remains, his nerves are completely unstrung, and he's jumpy to a degree. His temper, too, has been unbearable ever since he returned from that trip. I think it must be the Japanese food that disagreed with him. He lived on it for two months. And we all know the digestion acts to a great extent on the temper and the nerves." Pearl smiled. "I should say it is much more likely to be the climate than the food. Nervous people always come to grief in Japan. I should get him away if I were you." Lady Martinworth glanced sharply at Mrs. Nugent. "That is most excellent advice, my dear," she said dryly, "and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to follow it. But unfortunately Martinworth possesses a will before which--from my experience--everything and everybody give way in the end." Pearl changed colour, and turned the conversation. It was some days after the above remarks that Mrs. Nugent and de Güldenfeldt decided to row half way down the lake to Shogonohama. They beached their boat, wandering under the shade of the maples, till they found themselves in the little hut overlooking the waterfall. The rain had poured in torrents for the whole of the day and night before. The cascade, always beautiful, was that day simply magnificent, and the sheets of water crowned with their wreaths of snowy foam, were tearing over the smooth surface of the rocks, and across the fallen trunks of trees, in unbridled and uncontrollable fury. The sight was a glorious one, if somewhat appalling, and the noise was deafening. Pearl and de Güldenfeldt sat close to each other, silent and impressed, he half supporting her with his arm, for the barrier against which they leant--a frail and rotten bamboo--was their only protection from sure and summary destruction. The sight of rushing, roaring waters invariably worked upon Pearl's emotions. The present moment, with its many lovely accessories, a brilliant blue sky, massive, fern-grown rocks, and surrounding woods of every shade of green--stirred her greatly, and combined in awakening feelings that had long lain dormant in her heart. With unusual demonstrativeness she turned towards Stanislas, her lips parted, and her eyes shining like stars, and taking his hand between her own, she laid it gently against her cheek. Since their engagement, Pearl had volunteered but few proofs of tenderness, and the present action on her part was so spontaneous, so unexpected, that Stanislas felt the blood surging up into his head, and his heart throbbing, as in reply he leant forward, and pressing her to him, he kissed her passionately on the lips. A moment later they both instinctively knew--for they could hear nothing owing to the deafening roar of the waters,--that someone was watching them from behind. They turned simultaneously, their eyes meeting those of Lord Martinworth fixed upon them--while Amy Mendovy--apparently extremely wretched and uncomfortable--was standing by his side. Arriving from an opposite direction and at that unfortunate moment sharply turning a corner, Martinworth and Amy had fallen thus upon the unconscious pair, necessarily witnessing the whole tender and silently acted scene. At such a sacred moment, the last thing one would ask is to be disturbed, and however true and deep and absorbing may be a man's feelings at the time, it is hardly a pleasant sentiment to know that to the ordinary outside and amused observer one must necessarily be looking somewhat like a fool. And yet, to his intense annoyance, it was in this undignified and unusual position that de Güldenfeldt now found himself. Perhaps it was only human nature that, being the sole person at fault, his rage should straightway centre itself upon one who so far had proved himself, except by his uncalled-for and unfortunate arrival, entirely inoffensive. He took two steps forward in Lord Martinworth's direction, and was about to pour forth a flow of angry words and enquiries, when his eloquence was abruptly nipped in the bud by the expression on his would-be victim's face. And, indeed, the transformation visible on that countenance, which de Güldenfeldt had known so well in former days, was enough not only to astonish, but to paralyze the bravest man. For the face was no longer human. It was almost that of a fiend. Lord Martinworth was looking straight at Pearl. His blue eyes, which she had always known so soft and tender, so gentle and so kind, gleamed wildly, seeming to be charged with lightning under the contracting eyebrows. His mouth was slightly open, and through the sneering lips shone the white teeth, while the nostrils of the delicate nose were quivering with excitement and with rage. Features so transformed were sufficient in themselves to terrify the most courageous. But an expression of bitter, overwhelming hate and fury, resting like a veil upon the livid face, completed the appalling picture. He did not say a word. He hardly seemed to breathe. But he stood--for what seemed to the spectators an endless period--staring at Pearl Nugent with those frenzied eyes. With one hand half-lifted before her, as if to shut off the sight, and with the other clutching de Güldenfeldt's arm, she looked back, white and trembling with fear, yet as if half-hypnotised, into Martinworth's face. At last the tension proving more than she could bear, Pearl gave one little piteous moan, and sank unconscious upon the earthern floor of the shed. This alarming occurrence roused all from the spell that had hitherto held them silent and inactive. Martinworth, casting one last look of infinite hatred and contempt at the inanimate form, turned and left the hut, while de Güldenfeldt and Amy, bending over Pearl, and engrossed in their attempts to restore her back to consciousness, hardly noticed that he was gone. For long their efforts seemed unavailing. But at last Pearl slowly opened her grey eyes, smiling sweetly at de Güldenfeldt as he leant over her. Then consciousness and memory returning, the terrified expression shadowed once more the pale face. "Where is he?" she whispered, starting up. "Has he gone?" "Yes, my darling, he has gone away," replied Amy, taking the still trembling form in her arms. "You have nothing to fear, Pearl." "He is gone! And you did not kill him!" exclaimed Pearl, tearing herself from Amy's arms, and facing de Güldenfeldt. "Oh God! you let him go? You did not kill him? And you call yourself a man?" Stanislas de Güldenfeldt's first expression of surprise changed to one of sorrow. At the moment it seemed to him that this most uncalled-for and unexpected attack was a return of Pearl's illness and delirium. "Hush! dear, hush!" he said soothingly, "Why should I kill Martinworth? He did nothing." "You say he did nothing?" she cried excitedly. "You saw the horrible way in which he looked at me, and you say he did nothing? Oh, coward!--coward!" The blood flew into de Güldenfeldt's cheeks, and he bit his lips. "Don't excite yourself, Pearl," he replied quietly. "Of course, if you think Martinworth has insulted you, he shall answer to me for it. Now come home, for you are ill, dear, and it is getting late." Pearl said no more, suffering herself to be led between Amy and Stanislas, though she was still trembling like a leaf when they placed her in the boat. From the moment that she was seated in the stern, Mrs. Nugent lapsed into gloomy silence. Her former excitement, greatly to the relief of both, appeared to have passed as quickly as it had risen. She sat with her hands clasped on her knees, staring out before her, but taking no notice of passing objects. The silent row home against a high wind seemed endless. But at length they arrived at Mrs. Nugent's house, and Amy, as a matter of course, followed her cousin within its shelter. Stanislas knew that with Miss Mendovy Pearl was in safe and tender hands. But he looked very white and drawn, and he heaved a deep sigh as turning back into the boat he sculled himself home. From the moment that he and Amy had half lifted her into the boat Pearl had completely ignored his presence, nor had she answered, or taken any notice whatsoever, of her lover's farewell salutation. Stanislas de Güldenfeldt had indeed paid dearly for that one moment's happiness of the touch of Pearl's soft hand upon his cheek! CHAPTER XII. DANGER-SIGNALS. Pearl was very silent and very pale during dinner. As for Amy, she simply waited, for she knew that in time her cousin must speak. She was nevertheless hardly prepared for the manner in which the conversation at length opened. The peaches were being handed round, when Pearl, glancing suddenly at the girl opposite to her, asked abruptly:-- "Amy, how was it that you went with Lord--with that man to-day--so far from home?" "I was taking a walk with him," replied Amy quietly. "It seems to me that you accompany him very frequently in his walks, Amy. Ralph said the other day that he saw much less of you now-a-days than formerly, your time being so greatly engrossed by Lord Martinworth. This sounds very strange to me, considering the circumstances, and I think, dear, if you will forgive my saying so, you are playing rather a dangerous game." Amy Mendovy did not reply for a minute, while she made little heaps on the table with her bread crumbs. "I think," she said at length, and the colour rose in her cheeks, "if another time Ralph finds that he has a grievance, it would be best if he complained to me, instead of confiding in other people." "He didn't complain. He is far too loyal to do that, whatever he may feel," retorted Pearl. "But I saw he was looking worried and out of sorts, so I asked him what was wrong. If anyone is to blame, it is I." For a time Amy seemed preoccupied. Then she said in a low voice: "Pearl, surely Ralph--surely you--do not think that I--I am amusing myself with Lord Martinworth--that I am flirting with him?" Pearl put her hand on her young cousin's arm, for by this time they had risen from the dinner table. "I don't know what to think, Amy," she replied, with her grave, sweet smile. "This friendship seems so unusual, so--so strange." "Nevertheless, it is easily explained," retorted Amy quickly. "I rather like Lord Martinworth, but only _rather_, for he is often very peculiar, very odd. I frequently find it difficult to make him out. But of one thing I am sure--I never felt quite so sorry for anyone in my life as I feel for him. Pearl, that poor man is so desperately unhappy. He worships you. Of course, it is all very wrong, at least--I suppose it is. But I am sure it is natural enough. What is more, I believe, poor fellow, the worry is actually turning his brain. He does and says such strange things, Pearl, and is so morose. He has taken a fancy to me simply and purely because I am one of your belongings. And I, out of sheer sympathy--sheer pity--go for walks with him, and have tried as much as I can to cheer him up with my chatter and my nonsense. So now you understand. As for flirting, the idea is absurd. Why I never knew such a silent, abstracted man. But he seems grateful to me when I rattle along. And he brightens up a little at times. I thought I was doing some good for once in a way," she added plaintively, "but seem merely to have succeeded in placing myself in a false position." Pearl merely sighed impatiently in reply. She wandered aimlessly about the room, then fidgetted with a piece of work, then opened a book, but, almost as quickly closed it. At last she took a lily from a flower vase and began abstractedly pulling it to pieces. Finally, she went towards her cousin, and placing her hand upon Amy's arm, glanced up into her face. "Amy," she said almost inaudibly, "did you--did you see that awful, that terrible look that he--that Lord Martinworth gave me to-day, when he came upon Stanislas and myself in the hut?" "Yes," replied Amy, without hesitation, "I saw it, dear." "Amy, I must tell you what I think. There--was--murder--in that look!" Pearl's eyes grew round with fear. She hurt Amy's arm as she whispered these words. "I felt it--I knew it," she added, "and it was the suddenness, Amy, of this overwhelming, positive knowledge that made me faint away." "Hush, dear, hush!" replied Amy, putting both arms round her. "You are excited and nervous. Your nerves are unstrung. You know they never have been quite normal since your illness. You are apt, darling, to fancy and exaggerate things. You are thoroughly upset, Pearl. He simply looked angry and surprised, dear, as well he might, for, of course, he is ignorant of your engagement to Stanislas. Seeing you together in the hut--and--and--so affectionate--must have been his first inkling of anything out of the common." "Amy," exclaimed Pearl, unlocking the girl's arms from about her waist, "you are not speaking the truth, and you know it. Don't you understand that I, who have known Lord Martinworth for so many years, have learnt by heart every look of his eyes, every expression of his features. And do you for a moment suppose that I have ever seen that look, or anything like it, on his face before? Never! And I pray God I may never see it again. If I do, I know there can be no possible escape for me. For as surely as I am standing in this room, Dick Martinworth will kill me!" At these tragic words Amy gave a little cry and her lips grew pale. Both women lapsed into gloomy silence, while Amy--once more placing her arms tenderly round her cousin, drew her out on to the verandah. They watched the moon in all her glory, lighting up with mystic glow mountains and woods and silent lake. The soft, mild light seemed to have a soothing effect upon Pearl's storm-tossed mind, for after a time she spoke more calmly. "Of course," she said, with a long-drawn sigh, "it was very, very wrong of me, just because I was upset--half mad with fear--to behave as I did to poor innocent Stanislas. I cannot now understand how I could have called him--Stanislas--of all men--a coward. How I could have said those wicked things about his--killing--killing the other one. I did not know, Amy, I had it in me to be so hard, so unjust, so--so cruel. But lately I have discovered more than one detestable trait in my character unguessed before. Oh, dear, if you only knew how I hate and scorn myself, how cordially sometimes I wish I were dead!" "If," replied Amy, alarmed at this fresh outburst, and speaking in her most calm and composed manner, "if you do not intend that Monsieur de Güldenfeldt should carry out your wish of killing Lord Martinworth, you had better perhaps, let him know without further delay that you have changed your mind. I believe people even in these enlightened days, still sometimes fight duels." Pearl looked startled, then she sighed wearily, but made no reply. As the evening wore on she grew calmer and more collected. But she did not again refer to the subject, and by the time Amy left her, all traces of excitement and tears had vanished. Stanislas de Güldenfeldt had returned home feeling thoroughly upset and distressed. Making every allowance that he reasonably could for the temporary excitement of an hysterical woman, he still found it difficult not to feel wounded at Pearl's behaviour, so uncalled-for and inconsiderate. Of late, he had more than once noticed an irritability and fractiousness of disposition, which before her illness had certainly been unknown to him. But this was the first time he had been treated to such an outburst as that which followed the unfortunate meeting with Lord Martinworth. Even that, considering the circumstances, he would have freely forgiven, for he knew that women suffered from a malady called nerves, and at such times they were apt to do and say strange things. What however, he found it difficult to pardon and indeed to comprehend, was not only her air of chilly reserve, but the persistent ill-temper that Pearl had exhibited in the boat and even up to the actual moment of their parting on the shore. Stanislas de Güldenfeldt had yet to learn that women's moods are incomprehensible in their uncertainty, inexplicable in their variety. From Pearl's misdemeanours, de Güldenfeldt's thoughts flew to the ominous look witnessed on Lord Martinworth's face. In recalling it to mind, he was forced to acknowledge that the passion it expressed was simply diabolical. He remembered how this expression had staggered him as it crossed his vision, how his blood had boiled to think that such a glance should, even for one second, fall upon the woman whom he loved. In pondering over that look, and the circumstance that gave rise to it, de Güldenfeldt was seized with fury, and at that moment it was perhaps fortunate that Martinworth was considerably beyond the reach of the Swedish Minister's muscular arm. And yet, as Stanislas grew calmer, he realised the difficulty of going to the extremity of killing a man in a duel, simply because the expression of his face had been of an unpleasant nature, and had consequently displeased him. He was still debating this question in his mind, wondering, as he puffed thoughtfully at his cigar, what steps could possibly be taken, and gazing in perplexity at the moon, which in its brilliancy seemed to mock at his lugubrious thoughts, when Sir Ralph Nicholson appeared on the verandah. There was a suppressed discomposure and hurry in the latter's manner, and he was paler than usual. "I say, de Güldenfeldt," he exclaimed, sinking into a cane chair, "we've had a devilish unpleasant thing occur at the hotel. Martinworth has all but cut his throat with his own razor." "_Sapristi!_" exclaimed Stanislas under his breath, half-rising from his chair. "The fellow for the time being was evidently as mad as a hatter," continued Ralph. "Fortunately for him, this charming little tragedy was enacted in his wife's presence. I've no notion what called it forth. There was a row between them, I suppose. But I have gathered from her that he suddenly rushed to the dressing table, and the next thing she saw was the gleam of the razor across his throat! She was up in a second, caught hold of the beastly thing as he was in the very act, had a tremendous struggle with him--she's a strong woman, you know--eventually secured it, and promptly pitched it out of the window." "Good God! What a terrible business! Is the wound serious?" "He was bleeding horribly when I rushed in. Their rooms are next to mine, you know, and through those thin partitions I heard the whole affair--the struggle, her screams, etc. I was just dressing for dinner. It appears, however, that the wound is not very deep. His plucky wife prevented that. Her hands are awfully cut about, too. But she's kept her wits, and hasn't broken down for a single instant." "But what have you done with Martinworth?" "Oh! he's calm enough now. And sane enough too, for the matter of that. Fortunately, there is an army doctor on leave from Hong-Kong staying at the hotel. He has bound up the wound, and says that both Martinworth and his wife will be all right in a few days. We've tried to hush the affair up as much as possible, but of course the story is bound to get about. The question is, de Güldenfeldt, what on earth are we to do with Martinworth?" "You think he ought to be put into confinement?" enquired de Güldenfeldt with a quick look. "Well, you see, a man who attempts his own life is supposed as a rule to be hardly responsible for his actions. Besides, I personally look upon the fellow as a dangerous animal. Who knows but that the fancy may take him to attack someone else instead of himself? He has been awfully queer ever since he came up here, and I have not at all liked Amy being so much with him. She thought he seemed ill and unhappy, and kind-hearted little soul that she is, felt sorry for him. I blame myself now for not having sooner prevented this intimacy. But naturally I felt a certain delicacy at interfering in her friendships. But that's neither here nor there. What on earth are we to do with the poor fellow, de Güldenfeldt?" The two men discussed the question until far into the night. Eventually what appeared like the right,--indeed the only solution,--was arrived at. They decided between themselves that as soon as the wound was sufficiently healed to allow of his removal, Lord Martinworth should be conveyed without delay to the General Hospital in Yokohama, in which place he could be detained in the necessary confinement until it was found possible to transfer him to England. The plan was in every way a practical one. But in forming it, neither de Güldenfeldt nor Nicholson reckoned on the great opposition likely to be raised by one of the chief persons concerned, namely--the wife of the injured man. The subject was approached by Ralph the next morning, who with that purpose in view, begged Lady Martinworth for a private interview. But after a short time, looking pale and flustered, he rejoined de Güldenfeldt, who was smoking his cigar while waiting for him outside the hotel. In emphatic terms he announced that never again would he undertake such a mission, for he had passed through one of the most painful, the most unpleasant half-hours ever spent in his life. It appeared that after considerable hesitation and beating about the bush, Ralph came at length to the point. At first--he told de Güldenfeldt--Lady Martinworth did not appear to understand, but that when she finally grasped his meaning her anger was uncontrollable. She turned on Ralph, and positively white with rage, asked him how he dared to insult her and her husband--to say nothing of the family of Martinworth generally--with such an iniquitous proposition? She affirmed over and over again, in the most angry and positive terms, that Lord Martinworth was as sane as Ralph himself, that in fact, the action of the night before had merely been the result of a temporary mental disturbance caused by an unexpected shock, followed by great distress of mind. "Of course," continued Ralph, "I have no notion to what she referred. And my belief is she does not know herself what was the cause or the nature of this shock. I ventured mildly to insinuate that such an unfortunate state of affairs might recur, in which case the danger might not a second time be so easily averted. I was bound to point this out to her, but it was an unfortunate remark on my part, for on the strength of it, what the dickens do you think she did?" "Go on," replied his listener. "What happened?" "She caught me by the hand, dragged me across the passage, and would you believe it, before I caught on as to where she was going, ushered me straight into Martinworth's room! He--poor fellow--was lying on the sofa with his throat bound up, though he really did not look half as bad as one might have expected in the circumstances. I went up to him at once. But Lady Martinworth did not give me time to open my lips. 'Dick,' she cried, 'I have brought Sir Ralph Nicholson into your room for the express purpose of proving to him what he declines to believe from my lips--the fact that you are a sane man. He affirms that you were mad last night when this unfortunate accident took place, that you are still mad, and what's more, that you are likely to become worse as time goes on, and that consequently precautions must be taken. He comes here with a proposition which if not so insulting, would really be downright absurd. I expect you will have something to say in reply to both the accusations and the remedy proposed. Of course, you must not talk, but write what you have to say on this,' and pushing some note-paper towards him, she cast a last furious glance at me, and then and there left the room. "Well, you can fancy, de Güldenfeldt, I felt a bit of a fool standing there. Certainly my sentiments for Lady Martinworth for having deliberately forced me into such an unpleasant position were not of the most amiable description. My reasoning and accusations may have been perfectly correct, still naturally, no fellow likes being called a lunatic to his face, and I was quite prepared for any amount of anger or violence on Martinworth's part. "However to my astonishment, he did not seem at all put out. In fact he looked quite agreeable, nodded and smiled, pointed to a chair, and began writing at once. Here's his letter. I confess, it doesn't look much like the production of a madman." And Ralph extracted from his pocket-book a folded epistle, which he straightway handed to de Güldenfeldt. "You are both right and wrong, my dear Nicholson," it ran. "Last night I was as mad as people who are thoroughly sick of life and are determined to end it--generally are. The mood, the desire for self-extinction, has however, passed. To-day I consider myself perfectly sane, as sane as you are yourself. Indeed, I now realise that I have a purpose before me, and until that purpose is accomplished I can assure you I shall make no further attempt on my life. And, even when my object is fulfilled, I really see no particular reason why I should wish to disappear. Shall I not then have reached the height of my desires? Therefore, why should I wish to die? But that is not the question now. What I wish to explain to you is that there is absolutely no reason whatever why I should be shut up. For I presume it was with that idea in your mind that you called on my wife this morning? I perfectly understand your view of the case. But _I am not mad_. So you can go away, my dear fellow, with the assurance that though doubtless your intentions are excellent, they are somewhat uncalled-for, and slightly premature. Your decidedly amused, MARTINWORTH. Come and give me a look sometimes. I hope to be able to speak in a few days. It will enliven me much to see your cheery face." De Güldenfeldt looked serious as he returned the letter. "I cannot agree with you, Nicholson," he remarked after a minute or two, "in considering this communication the letter of a sane man. Taking his previous acts into consideration, I judge by this letter that he is more dangerously cracked than I even at first imagined him." "In what way?" enquired Ralph. "My dear fellow, we all know the deepness and cunning of a madman. And in my eyes that letter is the acme of cunning. What, I should like to know, does he mean by a 'purpose before him?' What, I ask you, is that 'purpose?' Mark my words, my dear Ralph, it means some fiendish design, which, if the poor fellow were sane, would probably be as far from his thoughts or his intentions, as from yours or mine. Of course, nothing can be done without the sanction of his wife. But in my opinion, that man has no right to be at large. Let him work out his 'purpose' in an asylum if he likes. Not among the peaceful community of Chuzenji." "Well, I don't see what is to be done," replied Ralph with a sigh. "I only hope your suspicions are unfounded, and that there may be no further bother with him. At any rate, perhaps it will be just as well to keep Amy away from him for the present." "Yes, and above all--Pearl," remarked de Güldenfeldt darkly. Stanislas was particularly thoughtful as after this conversation, he strolled towards Mrs. Nugent's house. He did not attempt to disguise from himself that he felt extremely anxious on her account. He could not get Martinworth's murderous look out of his mind. It haunted him each time with greater vividness and meaning, and the more clearly it imprinted itself on his vision, the firmer was his impression that it was the wild, vindictive, unreasoning look of a madman. He still seemed worried and preoccupied when he appeared on Mrs. Nugent's verandah. That lady, glancing quickly into his face as he went towards her, naturally misconstrued the cause. There were still moments when Pearl felt a certain shyness and dread of her future husband. The present was one of them. She was paler than usual as she gave her cheek to be kissed. "Stanislas," she said, still holding his hand, "I have been so ashamed, so unhappy at what occurred yesterday. I am consumed with remorse. Will you forgive me, dear?" Recent events had obliterated Pearl's misconduct. Her words, however, recalled not only the annoyance, but the considerable distress of which she had been the cause. De Güldenfeldt's glance, as it fell on her, was for once both cold and stern. "If, Pearl," he said gravely, "you hope in the future to fill well your position as a Diplomatist's wife, the first lesson you must learn is to control not only your speech, but your temper. But let us say no more about it," and his face softened as his eyes rested on her repentant face and he took in all her dainty loveliness. "The man frightened you. You were nervous and unstrung, dear. Perhaps I was wrong to attach so much importance to your irritability, or to be hurt at your treatment of me. Certainly subsequent events have proved that you were to a certain extent justified in your alarm." "What do you mean?" asked Pearl quickly. "Put on your hat and I will tell you in the boat. There is a delicious breeze for sailing. It will take us straight to Senji." It was only after much thought that de Güldenfeldt decided to tell Pearl what had occurred at the hotel. He was anxious not to increase her fears. On the other hand, he knew that she must hear the story sooner or later, and he concluded that it were better she should get the true facts from him than to have imparted to her from some outsider a garbled and exaggerated version. Also, he was anxious, without frightening her too much, to impress upon her the great necessity for being on her guard, a task which, he knew, required both tact and delicacy. Altogether, Stanislas felt that he had a difficult business before him. He was very desirous that Mrs. Nugent should leave Chuzenji without delay. He intended to use all his powers of persuasion to convince her of the necessity for such a step, and although he was prepared for many objections, he little reckoned on the total failure of his mission. Pearl's steering was erratic, and her startled eyes looked brighter and bigger than ever, while she listened in silence to all de Güldenfeldt had to tell her. Hearing these distressing details was a truly dreadful ordeal to her. At each word Stanislas let drop, Pearl felt as if a knife was being thrust into her breast. For, if it were indeed true that Dick Martinworth were mad, Pearl instinctively knew that she alone was the cause of that madness. And as Stanislas' grave, calm words fell upon her ears, and the ghastly truth flashed upon her, that she--Pearl Nugent--had driven a man insane for love of her, she wept silently from very bitterness of soul. So this was the sole result of her strivings, her flight of three years ago, her struggle for respectability and for virtue. So this--the mental collapse of a man, once famous for his brilliant intellect, once noted for his calm impartial judgments--was the climax, to what she in her self-satisfied pride, had been wont to consider a fairly successful victory over manifold temptations, a triumph of entire self-control. It was but now, in obtaining cognizance of his supposed insanity, that Pearl fully appreciated the passionate, yet self-sacrificing nature of Martinworth's devotion. She realised at that moment, that it was this actual act of self-renunciation that had caused the present state of things, the unhinging of that once powerful mind. Her frame shook as this thought was brought home to her. That look of yesterday--everything--seemed to be explained in those three words, "He is mad." He was mad. And she told herself that it was she--Pearl Nugent--by her self-righteous, cold, calm virtue and superiority, who had driven him insane. She looked out her eyes wide open with dumb misery, at the blue expanse of water before her. Her hand was leaning on the tiller, but she did not move it. De Güldenfeldt watching her tears, partly read and understood the remorse and agony of mind through which she was passing. He touched her with his hand. "Don't take it so hardly, dear," he said. "I daresay he will get all right again. Indeed, Nicholson thinks him so now, and you must remember, he is the only one of us who has seen him since this awful thing happened. Don't you think you had better go away for a little, Pearl, until all this has blown over? You will get ill again if you worry so, if you take things so much to heart." "Go away? What should I go away for? Where would you have me go?" "Oh, up North,--anywhere. The Rawlinsons and I would of course, accompany you. You must get out of this place. You will get ill again. You badly want a change, Pearl." "I want a change, when I have not been here a month? No! I have no intention of moving for the present. I am not ill, Stanislas. I am quite well. All I implore is not to be bothered--to be left in peace." In spite of her petulance, de Güldenfeldt persisted for some time in his entreaties. Till finally Pearl, glancing up at him with an expression of bored surprise, informed him quietly but incisively that his arguments were a mere waste of breath, as she certainly had not the slightest intention of leaving Chuzenji, where she was so satisfactorily installed, until the hot season was over. "Would you mind," she continued, "once more giving me your reasons why you are so particularly anxious for me to exchange my pleasant little abode here, where I am cool and perfectly contented, for the discomforts of hot, stuffy tea-houses?" The reasons were not repeated. At that moment the wind changed, and they had to put about. Later, when they were comfortably settled down again, Stanislas took a long look at Pearl's firm, little chin. Not for the first time was it borne upon the Swedish Minister's diplomatic mind, the utter uselessness, the complete futility, of trying to persuade Mrs. Nugent against her will. CHAPTER XIII. HIDDEN FIRES. Prophets of misfortune are apt to experience a decided sentiment of humiliation, perhaps a sneaking disappointment and regret, when their evil prognostications remain unfulfilled. Monsieur de Güldenfeldt was, however, a pleasant exception to the rule. In spite of the catastrophe he had foretold, it was with genuine relief that as time went on, he proved to his own considerable satisfaction that the calm enjoyments of Chuzenji were as far as he could see, in no danger of being disturbed by the unmanageable presence of a lunatic at large. After each meeting with Lord Martinworth--and they were necessarily many, for the invalid was soon about again, and in this charming but restricted mountain resort it is difficult to take a stroll without running across all the world--Stanislas confessed he could perceive no signs of the malady that he feared. Indeed, as time passed, and they met for at least a few minutes every day, he concluded that not only was Martinworth perfectly sane, but that he was certainly in manner and in appearance more intelligent, more brisk and wide-awake than nine men out of ten. He had known Dick Martinworth for many years. But during the period of his former friendship he failed to recall those signs of vivid intellect and buoyant spirits, undeniable proofs of which were constantly now being brought before his notice. It would seem as if the physical shock and pain of his attempted suicide, instead of injuring had on the contrary, acted as a tonic upon the moral stamina of the man. From the moment that he left his sofa he was to all outward appearances a changed individual. Whereas of late months, he had been morose and abstracted, gloomy, surly, and unsociable, he suddenly developed traits of quiet wit, constant good humour, charming affability, and such a desire for the companionship of his fellow creatures that it was not long before he attained the, perhaps scarcely enviable position of the most popular guest in the hotel. He and his wife from this date, were constantly seen in each other's society, a fact in itself enough to strike those who knew him and the circumstances of his marriage with considerable wonder. She, poor soul, was consequently beaming with happiness. There were more than a few who were heard at this period of her existence, to call Lady Martinworth actually good-looking, which shows what a contented mind can sometimes do for the improvement of homely features. Pearl and de Güldenfeldt would, in their walks and expeditions, frequently run across the Martinworth couple apparently on the most excellent conjugal terms. They would stop and talk for a few minutes, and the meetings would pass off naturally and without unpleasantness. De Güldenfeldt would, nevertheless, give a sigh of relief each time these encounters were safely accomplished, for with the appearance in the distance of Martinworth and his wife, Mrs. Nugent would turn white and dismayed, and while clutching nervously at her _fiancé's_ arm, her breath would come and go in short, quick gasps. No sooner, however, was she actually in Lord Martinworth's presence than these signs of distress would disappear, and Pearl would behave with as much _sang froid_ as any other woman of the world placed in similar circumstances. Indeed, it was an intense satisfaction to judge with her own eyes that, in spite of de Güldenfeldt's dreary prognostications, and indeed, in spite of her own personal fears, there now seemed no ground for their former gloomy apprehensions. Lord Martinworth's condition was certainly, as far as she could judge, absolutely normal. Realising this, it was perhaps hardly a matter for wonder that Mrs. Nugent felt slightly humiliated that so much wasted sympathy, such heart-rending remorse, had been conferred on one who, from all outward appearances, neither needed nor seemingly expected further consideration than is usually bestowed on a fellow creature temporarily incapacitated or indisposed. She could not but appreciate--though once again she experienced a faint surprise--Martinworth's tact and delicacy in making no attempt to thrust himself into her presence. He had not called either before or since what was now generally spoken of as his "accident," and in recalling the dread she experienced when she first heard of his expected arrival at Chuzenji, of her fear of constant importunities, frequent visits, vain protestations, Pearl could not but smile--rather drearily and cynically, it is true--at these apprehensions, apparently so entirely uncalled-for, and premature. Thus were the fears of all repressed and allayed. Lord Martinworth, as was only right and proper, devoted himself to his wife. Monsieur de Güldenfeldt was seldom absent from Mrs. Nugent's side, and Sir Ralph Nicholson, after a laughing remonstrance on Amy's part, at what she declared was a far too premature exhibition of masculine appropriation, was happy once more in the undisputed society of the girl he was to marry. The quiet every-day life, the innocent, healthy out-door pleasures of Chuzenji, pursued their natural and their agreeable course. Everyone seemed contented and at ease. There were no disputes, no excitements, no disturbances, and probably matters would have continued thus satisfactorily till the end of the season had it not been that one member of the little community was obliged to acknowledge that delicious dallying through those long, lovely summer days, and the enjoyment of charming society and the peaceful pleasures of the country were, alas! not the only ingredients that constituted life. Stanislas de Güldenfeldt's official duties called him to the Capital. He parted from Pearl with a lingering regret, tempered with an anxiety he did not attempt to conceal. At the moment of his departure, all his former fears of Martinworth which had been lying dormant for so many weeks were renewed, and the knowledge that he was leaving his future wife alone and unprotected induced him once more to urge upon her a temporary absence from Chuzenji. She, however, definitely refused to contemplate his proposal, and nothing he could say would move her from her decision. De Güldenfeldt was offered instead, one sole consolation. On the eve of his departure, he at last succeeded in extracting from Pearl a reluctant promise that their marriage should take place shortly after the general return to Tokyo. This concession had, to a certain extent, relieved de Güldenfeldt's mind, for it was the first time since their engagement that Pearl--in spite of his many attempts--had allowed him to touch on the all-important subject of the date of their marriage. Mrs. Nugent was wise enough to understand that it was necessary to concede something. She could not for ever be refusing her lover's every suggestion, every wish, and she reassured herself with the thought that it was now but the end of August. The middle of October still seemed to her a very long way off. Much might happen before then. And so Stanislas rode off down the pass, partially consoled. It was only Pearl watching his vanishing figure from the tea-house to which she had accompanied him, who once more found herself recalling with a sickening dread that threatening look which for so long had haunted her nights and embittered her days. For even as Pearl watched her lover from afar guiding his horse down the zigzag path, she felt again that strange feeling of coming evil that assailed her when de Güldenfeldt had proposed to her under the shadow of the Shogun's tomb. It attacked her now with renewed force. And some Power, which she could not explain, induced her to cry his name aloud. He heard her, and turned in his saddle. Her tall figure, clad in a white gown, stood out clearly against a background of dark pines. Her arms were stretched towards him, and even at that distance he could distinguish the general fear and unrest enveloping her person. "Stanislas," she cried, "come back to me. I want you." He put his horse to a canter, and was soon by her side. "What is it, my darling?" he said dismounting, and going up to her he took her two hands in his, and gazed steadily into her face. "Stanislas," she whispered,--and she put her arms round his neck, hiding her head on his breast,--"forgive me, dear, for calling you back. But I felt so sad, so lonely, so frightened, and I wanted to tell you before you left how much--how very, very grateful I am, for all your goodness to me. I have never told you this before, Stanislas. But I felt I could not let you go without assuring you that I will try to prove my gratitude by being a good wife to you. I will indeed. No one has ever been so kind to me as you have been. No one has been so gentle, so tender, so forbearing. And yet _I_ know I have often been trying, capricious, unreasonable. I have rewarded you but badly, darling, for all your kindness--your great goodness to me. Do you think me very horrid, Stanislas?" and she looked up at him, her lovely eyes clouded with tears. It is unnecessary to give Monsieur de Güldenfeldt's reply to this question. Once more he rode down the path, his face aglow and his heart lighter than he had felt it for many weeks past. Whilst Pearl, sad and sorry, wended her way slowly home, and throwing herself on her knees by the side of her bed, burst into an uncontrollable fit of weeping. It was in this melancholy condition that Rosina found her half-an-hour later. Mrs. Rawlinson asked no questions. But she took her cousin in her arms, and kissed and soothed her, and stroked the tight little auburn curls that since Pearl's illness had taken the place of the magnificent tresses for which she had once been famous. She knew well enough what was troubling Pearl, for ever since her husband had opened her eyes, she for weeks had silently watched the struggle which she saw was being fought out within her cousin's breast. She deeply pitied her, but she understood that she could not force her confidence--that she must wait for her to speak. And now at length the moment had come. Ere long Pearl had unburdened her whole soul to the friend who had never proved her false. She told her cousin everything. Nothing was left unconfessed, from the moment that Lord Martinworth had once more crossed her path, to her parting that day with Stanislas de Güldenfeldt. And when she had finished a long silence ensued between the two women, for Rosina knew not what comfort to hold forth. Pearl had shed all her tears, and with hands crossed upon her knees was gazing out with mournful eyes at the distant mountains and the blue, sunlit lake. At last she spoke again in short sharp sentences. "Tell me, Rosina," she said, "what am I to do? How am I to marry Stanislas? I do not love him. I can never love him. I have tried so hard, and at one time when he asked me again I thought it would be so easy. Why do I not care for him? He is lovable enough, heaven knows! I dare not tell him that I cannot marry him. I dare not. I dare not. It would, I know, break his heart--that heart which is of pure gold. I had my chance to-day, when he insisted on my fixing the date of our marriage. But coward that I was, I left all that I ought to have said unsaid. Now I am in a worse position than ever. We are to be married in the middle of October, Oh! Rosina, what am I to do? Tell me, dearest, what am I to do?" "There is," replied Mrs. Rawlinson, rising from her seat, and speaking very quietly, "only one thing, Pearl, to be done. If you feel like this you must discontinue the engagement." "I cannot, I cannot! I tell you it will break his heart. It will kill him. He is not a boy, and I don't think he has ever cared very much for anyone before. He is sacrificing much, I know, to marry me. Oh, Rosina! if you only knew how I like him, how I respect--admire him, take pleasure in his society--everything, but--love him. If he would only be satisfied with these things. But once we are married he will, of course, look upon my love as his lawful right, and oh! how shall I be able to endure it? How shall I, in these circumstances--yielding nothing--giving nothing--be able to live with him?" "My dear Pearl," replied Mrs. Rawlinson, taking her cousin's hand between her own, and looking at her steadily with her clear brown eyes, "it is no good going over the same ground time after time. You must realise one thing. You must either make up your mind to marry Stanislas de Güldenfeldt, or else you must break if off _at once_. Now, if you feel that this marriage is impossible for the reasons that you give, you must have the strength of mind to write immediately, and put an end to the matter. He will suffer, but people nowadays do not die of broken hearts. Whereas if you marry, not loving him--obliged to live in daily intercourse fulfilling your duty as a wife, your life will be a torture. He, of course, will soon understand what you are going through, and there will be unhappiness and misery on both sides. I repeat, if you feel certain, dear, that you can never give him that love that he will expect as his right, there is only one course to follow. It will, believe me, be kinder to him in the end. Stanislas de Güldenfeldt is not a man to be trifled with. He is not a man to rest satisfied with half measures. If I remained in your house a week, Pearl, I should only repeat the same thing. So good-bye, my darling. Be brave. Follow my advice, and write to him without further delay." Mrs. Rawlinson pondered greatly as she wended her way homewards. She wondered much whether Pearl would be guided by her advice, and, knowing human nature fairly well, the conclusion at which she ultimately arrived was--that she would not. "She will marry him," she thought, "and they will, I suppose, both be thoroughly wretched for the rest of their days. And I, who was so pleased at this match! Really, Pearl is very tiresome. Why on earth can't she be reasonably and comfortably in love like anybody else? But one can't alter one's disposition, I suppose. As things are, such a marriage for both parties concerned is simply suicidal. Dear me! how Tom will chuckle when I tell him of this interview." And he certainly did. "This comes," he said, "of your mixing yourself up in such affairs. Didn't I tell you you would burn your fingers? Didn't I tell you, that though obstinate enough on certain points, on matters connected with her heart Pearl never knew her own mind two days running? And didn't I tell you that marriage number two would probably prove as great a _fiasco_ as marriage number one? Never mind, my dear, you will meet with your reward, for in less than a couple of years you will probably have the delightful excitement of all the scandal of another divorce, or at least a separation. De Güldenfeldt is not a man to stand any damned nonsense, I can tell you." Certainly, Mr. Rawlinson was an extremely annoying, disagreeable sort of husband. Such was Rosina's decided, and perhaps justifiable opinion at that moment. Meanwhile, with regard to the writing of the proposed letter of dismissal, Mrs. Rawlinson was perfectly correct in her surmises. It was--though often enough commenced--never accomplished. Day after day Mrs. Nugent would make up her mind to put an end to the existing state of things, and day after day matters remained exactly as they were. At last the time approached for the return of her future husband, and still the letter was unwritten. Pearl adopted the habit of indulging in long, solitary walks, and dejected rows on the lake, every day finding her more care-worn, paler and thinner, and Count Carlitti, who paid her many visits at this time, became more and more concerned about her state of health and loss of animation and good looks. "I must tell you, _mon ami_," he said to Ralph in a moment of confidence, "I intended a week or two ago to declare myself. Because you know she is _une ravissante et charmante femme_. My heart did beat each time I did see her. Yes, I would have made her _la Comtesse Carlitti_. She was worthy of my name and title, and leetle fortune. But now, _que voulez vous?_ her beauty fades. Every day it does vanish a leetle more, and perhaps--_qui sait?_ one day she will become only a savage flower--no longer _une rose, la reine des fleurs_. So I have decided now, _mon cher_ Nicholson, not to tell her of my honourable intentions. Do you not give me right?" "Quite right," replied Ralph, "but I am sorry for her, poor thing. It will, you know, be a cruel disappointment." Monsieur Carlitti, who was by no means the fool that some people gave him the credit for being, looked up sharply. "Ah! _farceur!_ now you do mock," he said. "I will no longer hesitate, but will ask her to-day. And to-morrow I will announce to you my wedding. _Elle est adorable!_" "I do lofe you," he said to Pearl that afternoon, having to his great satisfaction found her alone in her little white drawing room. "I do lofe you _excessivement_. I have lofed you from the first day that I met you at _la fête de la Légation de France_. It will give me a happiness _immense_ to make you _la Comtesse Carlitti_. I know that you are _une divorcée_. _Mais n'importe, vous êtes si belle et si séduisante._ And I do lofe you. That is enough. We shall make _trés bon ménage_. You will share with me my leetle fortune, and I likewise your fortune will participate with you. _Un arrangement bien commode._" Pearl never for an instant doubted but that the arrangement would indeed be extremely convenient, especially for the male participator thereof, her fortune being at least ten times larger than that of her admirer. "I will suicide myself," he said mournfully, after she in all gentleness, but with a smile in her eyes which she vainly tried to suppress, had refused the honour of this noble alliance; "I will burn myself the brain. _Je suis trop malheureux._ For I had said to myself, '_cette belle Madame Nugent_ is worthy of the ancient name of Carlitti, and of my leetle fortune.' And now you do me decline. You do say 'No.' So I will suicide myself. Yes, I will go on the lake, _ce beau lac de_ Chuzenji, and you--cruel one--will never, never see me more." Not much anxiety was experienced by Mrs. Nugent at these threats of her volatile and flighty adorer. To no one did she mention the details of this interview, or the melancholy result of Count Carlitti's matrimonial attempt. As for Ralph, he was by far too kind-hearted to think of putting his sanguine friend to the torture of answering painful questions. Indeed, the unusual droop of the finely waxed and pointed moustache, the plaintive look in the soft, brown eyes--and the general limpness and depression that for two whole days enveloped the person of the ordinarily vivacious little man, told their own sad tale. CHAPTER XIV. A BIRD OF ILL OMEN. Stanislas de Güldenfeldt, the subject of so much heart burning, was meanwhile, in the scorching heat of Tokyo, striving as speedily as possible to accomplish the business that had called him to the Capital. It was a tiresome affair that compelled appointments with Ministers and endless interviews with men of business, the latter frequently necessitating the presence of an interpreter--at the best of times a wearisome and tedious performance, and especially so when the thermometer marks, as it frequently did during that torrid summer--97° in the shade. In spite of his somewhat dreary occupations, there were many weary hours of enforced idleness, and the time had to be killed as best it could, a difficult operation with scarcely a creature--much less an acquaintance or a colleague--left in town. Stanislas' love of reading and research seemed to be a thing of the past. His own life's drama struck him at this time as being so far more thrilling and absorbing than the perusal of any treatise or romance, or even the study of his favourite scientific authors who--until now--had proved the great resource and stand-by of his lonely hours. He no longer had taste for these former delights, and though a once beloved volume might be taken from the bookshelves adorned by the work of many an ancient and distinguished author, instead of being dipped into, studied, or perused, it would remain for hours unopened on his knees. Thoughts of Pearl, plans for the future, hopes for the future and--on frequent occasions--fears for the future, engrossed instead his mind. Mrs. Nugent's recent and fairly constant fits of irritability had by no means escaped the observation of de Güldenfeldt. Though, so far, he had hardly succeeded in fathoming the true cause of this strange and uncomfortable deviation in a disposition which--he was wont to flatter himself--he had after three years' study thoroughly solved--he, nevertheless, genuinely lamented the existence of these--until now--concealed and undreamt-of traits of character. More than once had he been brought into intimate contact with these uncertain and capricious moods. More than once had he suffered from these fits of nervous excitement, indulged in by one whom he hitherto had considered not only the sweetest and the best, but, above all, an unusually just and reasonable specimen of her sex. He at times consoled himself with the thought that once married, once leading the daily routine of a calm and settled existence--Pearl would regain that former buoyancy of spirits, that previous equanimity of temperament which in his eyes, had constituted the greater part of her fascination and her charm. He felt he had indeed achieved much in getting fixed the approximate date of the wedding. He recalled the sweet face which he had kissed so ardently when Pearl had summoned him back on the mountain pass, and the delicious words of love and repentance that in the fulness of her heart, with her arms encircling his neck, she then had uttered,--and his pulses beat, and once more his heart throbbed with joyful anticipation at the thought of that happiness which--he flattered himself--must surely one day be his lot. He longed with an indescribable longing to be back to her. And it was with genuine relief that he saw the termination of his business approaching, and knew that those dreary days of enforced absence from her side must soon be reckoned as among the dark chronicles of the past. It was the beginning of September and a most unusual season for the visit of the ubiquitous globe-trotter. Stanislas was therefore considerably, but none the less most agreeably, surprised, when one morning, just at the time he was feeling his dullest and forlornest, a note was brought him from the Imperial Hotel, announcing the arrival--accompanied by a young son and daughter--of a former London friend, and a connection of his English mother's, a certain Mrs. Millward-Fraser. "We arrived in Japan by the last 'Empress' a fortnight ago" she wrote, "and have since been hard at work doing the sights of this most fascinating city. We called at the Legation, but were told that you were ruralising in the hills. Now we hear that you have returned to Town, so we allow ourselves to hope that you will look in upon us one day soon. It will be so pleasant to meet again, and to talk over family news," etc., etc., etc. Stanislas went promptly, that same day, to see his old friend. And an invitation to lunch at the Swedish Legation for the following morning was the outcome of the visit. Mrs. Millward-Fraser had been reckoned a beauty in her day, and was still a very good looking woman. She was a widow, having lost her husband, an energetic and well-known M.P., a few years previously. Stanislas had known the family intimately during the years he was posted in London, and in those days was not only a valued friend of the elders, but an equal favourite with both boy and girl. Since those jolly days of romps and fun, Alfred, the son, had emerged from Eton a cheerful, fairly well mannered, and fairly well educated, though somewhat raw stripling--while the daughter Muriel had developed into a bright and extremely pretty young woman, of which beauty she had indeed given full promise in her juvenile days. "You bring it forcibly before my mind into what a regular old buffer I am degenerating," de Güldenfeldt remarked to the latter as they strolled into lunch, "and yet it only seems the other day since I nursed you on my knee." "Nevertheless, it is ten years ago at the very least," laughed the girl. "I am seventeen now, and I am firmly convinced that I never permitted such a liberty after the age of seven or eight." "And a nice fat lump you must have been even at that age. I pity poor cousin Stanny if he often indulged in the amusement of dancing you up and down on his knee," chaffed young Millward-Fraser, with brotherly politeness and candour. "Alfred, it was impressed upon our minds by Mamma when we were children that personal remarks were considered particularly odious," retorted his sister. "Do you think me so very fat, cousin Stanislas? Ally is always teasing me, and laughing at me for being what he calls 'rotund.'" Stanislas, thus appealed to, looked admiringly at the pretty plump girl beside him and laughed. "You are perfectly enormous," he said; "a female Tichborne in fact. Fortunately there are, however, many men who, like myself, admire 'a little plump partridge.' Wait till you see Carlitti. He'll not hesitate long in falling a slave to your charms." "Who is Carlitti?" enquired Mrs. Millward-Frazer. "Count Carlitti is a colleague of mine. A dear fellow, and an immense admirer of your sex, and extremely susceptible in consequence. He is bound to lose his heart to Muriel, when he meets you all, as he will no doubt do later, at Chuzenji." "Talking of hearts reminds me, Muriel, that we have forgotten the fortune-teller. You know we arranged to go there to-day," exclaimed Alfred. "My dear children! such nonsense. He will only cram your head with fables," remonstrated Mrs. Millward-Fraser. "Dearest mother, we have come here to study the habits and customs of the country. No one would dream of leaving Japan without visiting one of its famous soothsayers. Would they, cousin Stan?" "I blush to confess, Muriel, that during all the years I have lived in the East I have never, so far, penetrated into the sacred precincts of a fortune-teller's house," replied de Güldenfeldt as they seated themselves on the verandah, where coffee was served. "But then, you know, it is always the G.T.'s who see and do everything. We poor ignorant residents are very much behind the times, and are unacquainted with half the sights of Tokyo." "Better late than never," said Muriel. "Come with us to-day. They are really marvellous people, you know. I have the address of a particularly clever one, much consulted by the Japanese." "Isn't it rather hot for such exciting interviews?" feebly remonstrated Stanislas, knowing all the time that when once Miss Muriel took it into her pretty head to command, the sole thing was to surrender with a good grace. So, without further discussion, the carriage was promptly ordered. In spite of the heat the young people were in the highest spirits during their drive, seeming greatly to enjoy the brightness and animation of the crowded streets, as the _betto_,[16] with his peculiar warning cry, cleared the way which led to the picturesque suburbs of the city. It was with regret when, after over an hour's transit, the carriage stopped before a black wooden ancient gateway, and they knew that they had arrived at the entrance to the _Ninso mi's_[17] domain. [16] Running footman. [17] The name given to a class of fortune-teller. "I feel as if I were leaving the Occidental, the modern existence behind me. It is all so old-world and weird," whispered Muriel to her mother, as they proceeded from under the gateway and entered the quaint, well-kept garden. It was a lovely, poetical little garden, restful and secluded. Its many narrow paths were paved with grey pebbles, and in the centre of a plot of bright green turf was a miniature lake or pond edged with divers shrubs of various sizes and shapes. Uprising from the lake was a tiny island, on which flourished equally tiny and twisted maple, plum and cherry trees, shrined by one gnarled and quaint shaped pine, many centuries old. Floating on the surface of the little pond, and swaying gracefully in the summer breeze, were regal lotus plants, some bearing, amidst their glossy cup-shaped leaves, giant flowers of soft rose-pink, while other plants were crowned with marvellous white blossoms, standing erect on their long stems. August is the month in which the lotus plants are in full and glorious flower, and the travellers were in raptures at the richness of growth, their delicate loveliness, as their eyes rested on this entrancing and, to them, unknown sight. The party lingered long on the large flat stones that forming a natural bridge, traversed the pond, gazing with unbounded admiration at these unrivalled bell-shaped flowers. The colossal leaves of green almost as striking as the lovely blossoms themselves, were full to overflowing of glistening dewdrops, that sparkled like diamonds in the afternoon sun, as the plants swayed gracefully above the water with every breath of the quiet air. The Millward-Frazer family at length tore themselves away from admiring these lovely blossoms and left the garden. The party passed through the grotesquely carved porch of the old-fashioned building, with its many gabled, peaked Chinese roof, and were received by a servant, who, after greeting them kneeling and with her forehead touching the threshold of the doorway, rose, assisted in taking off their shoes, and finally ushered them into a fairly sized Japanese room. The _shoji_ were wide open, acting as a simple frame to the picturesque garden without, its gnarled and twisted trees, its ancient stones and lanterns, and its pond of slumbering lotus blooms. In the middle of the matted room, which--with the exception of the little shrine before which the evening and morning prayers are offered up--was almost devoid of furniture, was a square lacquer table that rose about a couple of feet from the floor, and on which was piled a heap of ancient volumes. Before the table, with huge horn spectacles perched on his nose, and with a glistening and entirely shaven pate, was squatting on his heels, a wrinkled and solemn looking Bonze of benign countenance, holding upright in his hand a partly opened fan. He was adorned in the richest vestments of purple silk, which stuck out in stiff, straight lines around his bending body. As each of the visitors filed in, filling the little room, the old priest from behind his great round spectacles examined them from head to foot with the piercing eye of an eagle. His glance finally fell and rested on the interpreter of the Legation, a young man whom Stanislas had recently appointed to fill the post left empty by poor Suzuki's tragic death. From studying the impassive face of Ito, the old man's eyes travelled to de Güldenfeldt, on whom they remained, though the latter made vain attempts to keep himself as far as possible in the background. The Bonze, never once taking his eyes from Stanislas, murmured something to Ito in a low and impressive manner. "The _Ninsomi-san_ says he wishes to interview you first," Ito said, turning to his master. "He has something of the utmost importance to say to you." "Nonsense," replied de Güldenfeldt impatiently. "He can have absolutely nothing to say. Why, it is impossible for him to know even who I am. Besides, I pay no attention to such things, and have no intention whatsoever of having my fortune told. Miss Millward-Fraser wishes to hear her fate. He will speak to her." The message was transmitted, and the old man, mournfully nodding his head, said the _Danna sama_[18] should be obeyed; but that later he would himself be the first to regret the unnecessary delay. He begged humbly to be allowed to say what he had to say to the _Danna sama_ immediately after he had spoken to the _O' Fo-sama_.[19] [18] The honourable master. [19] The honourable young lady. Muriel thereupon knelt on the floor in front of the table, and the old Seer, wrinkling up his face and closing his narrow eyes, devoid of eyelashes, mumbled and muttered incantations between his toothless lips. She held out the palm of her hand. He did not even glance at it, but lifting the divining rods reverentially and solemnly to his forehead, he for a moment leant his forehead in deep thought on-to the table, always muttering and groaning to himself. After this performance he slowly raised his bald old head looking at Muriel with a quick and comprehensive glance. He next enquired her age, and reckoning by the Japanese signs of the Zodiac, he parted the divining rods into two bundles, then taking up the magnifying glass, he examined intently the lines of the face. So intently and so long indeed did he gaze as to considerably embarrass poor Muriel, who blushed furiously under this prolonged examination of her features. He seemed apparently satisfied with this inspection, for a grim smile gleamed from his cunning old eyes, and he proceeded to count the number of twigs in each of the already separated packets of divining rods. Then once more he took the magnifying glass, and carefully re-examining her face he spoke, pausing every now and then to allow the interpreter to translate his prophecies. "You have," he mumbled in a low monotone, interspersed with various "oh's" and "ah's," and a curious hissing sound between the wrinkled lips, "you have crossed many miles of water"--("I could have told you that," whispered Alfred Millward-Fraser, "without having the honour of being a Japanese soothsayer")--"but you will not cross it again for many months, and perhaps years."--("Why, we are returning home in three months," continued the irrepressible youth.)--"In a few days you will travel to a country high in the hills, a beautiful fertile country, where there is much water and beautiful vegetation, but a dangerous and difficult journey over rocks and fallen trees and broken bridges. You will meet a male, a stranger, on the road, and before two months have passed and gone, you will have told that man that you will become his wife. The ninth month and the tenth month of this year of Meiji will be your most fortunate months. They will bring you much happiness. You will have a long and happy and healthy life, for your pretty face is likewise a lucky face, and much money and many children and good fortune will be your lot. I have spoken." The young girl's eyes were sparkling with excitement and merriment as she rose from her lowly seat. "How wonderful it is," she exclaimed. "I am actually to meet my fate in a few days. Do you hear, Ally? you, who are always scoffing and telling me I shall never succeed in securing a husband." "Bosh! I bet you ten dollars, Muriel, it is all humbug," said Alfred, boy-like, ashamed to show how much impressed he was. "No doubt. But what delightful humbug, nevertheless. Now, Cousin Stanny, it is your turn. He is looking at you all the time. He evidently finds you by far the most interesting member of the party. I am sure I have suffered by this absorbing interest, and that he has cut my fortune short in consequence." "Very well, to please you, Muriel," replied de Güldenfeldt with a smile. "But pray don't run away with the notion that I for one instant believe in this nonsense. Alfred is right. It is all humbug from beginning to end. I sacrifice myself on the sole condition that your mother promises to be the next victim." Mrs. Millward-Fraser smiled rather sadly and shook her head. "I live in the past, not in the future," she said, as de Güldenfeldt, folding up his long legs as best he could, squatted down in front of the little table, and prepared himself to be scrutinized. This time, however, the Seer employed neither magnifying glass nor divining rods. He looked steadily at Stanislas for a few minutes with his penetrating black eyes. Then turning to the interpreter he spoke rapidly, in a low sing-song voice, charging his monologue with many ominous shakings of the head, and with dreary groans and sighs. "Well, Ito, what does he say?" asked de Güldenfeldt, when the old man, ceasing to speak, leant his head on the table in a state of breathless exhaustion. The interpreter hesitated. "Pardon me, your Excellency, but he says many bad, many false things. Do you wish me to repeat them?" "Certainly," and de Güldenfeldt laughed rather uneasily, "let us hear everything. Keep nothing from me, false or true, good or bad." "In what he says there is no good, no truth, Excellency. It is all bad, all false words. He says that you must hasten away up into the hills. He says the wind is rising, that it is already beginning to sing in the trees, and that there will be a great and terrible storm. The storm in the mountains will be a raging tempest, very, very dreadful and destructive. He says that one whom you love will be in the midst of it, at the mercy of the wind and of the waves, and what is worse, at the mercy of a man who is mad, of a man who hates you with a great and bitter hatred. You must go to her, Excellency, he says, if you ever wish to again see the honourable and gracious lady whom you love. Every moment is precious. There is not a minute to be lost, you must hasten--hasten. Soon it may be too late. For the wind is already beginning to sing drearily in the eaves of the house, and the raindrops are already overflowing from the cups of the lotus leaves." And truly, as Ito spoke, a violent gust of wind shook the woodwork of the little house, and huge rain drops splashed into the lake outside. Stanislas had turned pallid at Ito's interpretation of the old soothsayer's mumbled words. For, in spite of all his former professions of incredulity, it was impossible not to be strangely and alarmingly impressed at the unhappy forebodings contained in this ominous prophecy. The mountains--the woman he loved--the madman, what and who else could they mean but Chuzenji--Pearl--Martinworth? He did not pause to ask himself how the old Bonze, living buried in his little wooden house, miles away from any European, could have obtained knowledge of who he was, or of his intimate concerns. There was a mystery, a weirdness in the whole strange proceedings, that baffled investigation, or defied analysis. Perhaps at some future time he would try and solve the problem. But for the present he was consumed with an unquestionable and confident belief that the Seer's warning permitted of no discussion--that what he foretold was indeed occurring or about to occur, and that Pearl, the being whom he loved most on earth, was in some great danger, was helpless and alone, and what was more, was needing him. A merciful Providence in the form of a giddy girl had guided his footsteps to this distant neighbourhood and house. By these unforeseen and unexpected means he had been warned of this danger threatening the woman who was to be his wife. And not for one instant did Stanislas, the contemptuous sceptic of half an hour ago--the practical product of a practical age--hesitate, or think of ignoring this warning delivered in so unusual a manner, from so unthought-of and so strange a quarter. "Ask him," he said to Ito, "if the danger is imminent, and if it can by any possible means be averted?" Ito put the question. "He says, Excellency, that you must hasten, hasten with all possible speed if you wish to see the lady again. But he will not, he says--he cannot, say more." Stanislas glanced at his watch. It was past five o'clock. "Ito," he said, "is there another train to Nikko to-night?" "No Excellency, the last one left at three o'clock." "But there is one I know shortly for Utsunomiya. I will take that, sleep the night there, and get up to Chuzenji early to-morrow. Thank God! I am near the station here. Ito, you will take these ladies and this gentleman back to the hotel, go to the Legation, get me some clothes, and follow me by the first train to-morrow. Now call me a _'ricksha_ at once. I have just time to catch the train." The Millward-Frasers had been silent and inactive, but deeply interested and distressed spectators of this scene. They saw that their friend, restrained and composed though he was in manner, was possessed not only with the very greatest anxiety, but likewise with an overwhelming dread. They longed to be of help to him, but knew not how. He turned to the elder lady, "You will forgive me," he said, "leaving you thus unceremoniously. But I look upon that old man's words as a warning sent from heaven. I feel that not only are they not to be ignored, but that they must be obeyed. And what is more, obeyed without delay. One whom I love, who is to be my wife in a few months time, is--according to this old man--in imminent danger, and I must reach her, and go to her assistance as speedily as lies in my power. Listen to the wind and rain! Good God! the first part of his prophecy is already coming true." "Can we help you, dear friend? Do anything for you at the Legation? Give any message?" asked Mrs. Millward-Fraser with tears of sympathy in her eyes. "You can do nothing, dear Mrs. Millward-Fraser, but pray for me in this the moment of the greatest distress, the greatest agony of my life. Stay, I will on second thoughts, take the carriage. It is quicker, and the rain is coming down in torrents. I will send it back to you, and also Ito, who will return and see you safely home. Adieu!" And he was gone! CHAPTER XV. 'TWIXT SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS. It was two or three days before Monsieur de Güldenfeldt's proposed return. And Pearl knew that if her letter of rupture was to be sent at all it was necessary to write it without further delay. For over an hour she had been sitting at her writing table with the blank paper before her. The atmosphere was heavy and close, signs of a coming storm. Her head was aching, and her sight dimmed with the pain. Finally, after merely inscribing a few words, she impatiently threw down her pen, and, pushing the writing materials aside, she rose from her seat. "There will be ample time to catch the post when I come in," she thought. "My head is splitting. I shall die if I don't have some air." The sun was covered, but this by no means prevented the heat from being stifling as Pearl plodded along the path that overhung the lake. Her feet lagged somewhat, but her thoughts on the contrary, followed each other in rapid succession, and as she trudged through the undergrowth she found herself recalling many incidents of her past life. That unaccountable feeling of misery and depression, that so often weighs down the spirits before the coming of a typhoon, possessed Mrs. Nugent this afternoon. This sentiment of melancholy did not strike her as anything out of the way, for it was indeed many a long day since Pearl had known what it was to feel really happy or light-hearted. She found her eyes filling with tears of self-pity as she walked to the border of the lake, and leaning against a tree, gazed down sadly into its depths. After all, she drearily thought, what a long incessant struggle had been her life. What a small, what a very small iota of happiness had fallen to her lot. Pearl buried her face in her hands, and wondered if, in any way, she had brought these misfortunes on herself--if, indeed, it had been through any fault of her own that everyone whom she had trusted and loved had proved false in the end, that everything she had believed in had eventually turned to ashes in her hands. She thought of herself at the time of her marriage--bright, and sunny, and single-hearted, believing in everybody who was kind to her and in everything that pleased her. She remembered how this credulity, this innocent faith in all that was best in human nature, had blindly centred itself in the husband whose utter worthlessness, before many months were passed, was the cause of a cruel awakening from this beautiful dream of pure belief, resulting in disillusion, and in a bitter lesson thoroughly learnt. She recalled the wretched years that followed this discovery of Mr. Norrywood's real disposition. Then she thought of Martinworth, and how he had come into her life, to transform its misery into an unsatisfied, restless excitement, which, at the time, she blindly deceived herself was happiness. From Martinworth her thoughts turned to the sweet widowed mother, who had died before she left school, but whose example and teaching had remained implanted in her mind, and was the means of keeping her honest and pure through many a bitter moment of trial and temptation. Pearl loved to think of her mother. For long she let her thoughts linger round this guardian angel of her youth. It was a relief to turn them away from herself, and to recall that tall, stately figure, with the large grey eyes, so like her own, the soft voice, and the grave, sweet smile. She sat down on a moss-grown boulder, and dwelt tenderly on all the past incidents of her merry childhood, and trusting, early girlhood. And when at length she rose, and once more continued her walk, Pearl Nugent's thoughts had taken a new and a happier turn. She wandered on, lingering here and there, and occasionally plucking some of the many ferns and wild flowers that grew by the path. Her eyes travelled upwards and alighted, at some distance above her, upon a plant she had long desired, a magnificent specimen of the _Osmunda regina_. Pearl paused in her walk, and found herself speculating as to how greatly this giant fern would adorn her rockery, one of the many beauties of her lovely garden. Finally, with some difficulty, she succeeded in clambering up the steep upright bank, and regardless of the rising wind and the rain that now began to fall, she attempted to loosen the plant, and, for want of a better instrument, commenced digging with her fingers at the roots. Mrs. Nugent little knew that she had a solitary but interested spectator of her proceedings. Martinworth, in his boat on the lake, had caught the flutter of a white dress through the trees, and, with his keen sight, it did not take him long to distinguish that the owner of the dress was Pearl. He shipped his oars, and bending forward watched with absorption the efforts to uproot the fern. He had not long been thus silently employed when, to his astonishment and dismay, he saw her jerk suddenly backwards, and, sliding rapidly down the bank, disappear from view in a cloud of earth and stones. The plant that at one time seemed so firmly and obstinately embedded in the ground had, without warning, become loosened, and Pearl, in giving one final pull, found herself thrown with violence and unexpected impetus upon the path. Her fall was not from any great height. Though dazed for a minute by the suddenness of her collapse, she was preparing to rise from her lowly position when, in attempting to stand, a sharp pain in her right ankle was an unmistakeable and alarming proof that her foot was sprained. With dismay and a smothered cry she fell back again on the ground. To make matters worse, the wind was rising every minute, and the rain, increasing in force, was penetrating the foliage overhead. Pearl made a supreme effort to drag herself up by catching at the branches and the brushwood, but the pain of her foot was so intense that, greatly to her annoyance, she found herself forced to desist from her efforts. The path was an unfrequented one. And it was hardly a consoling thought that a night spent in a dripping wood, with a possible typhoon thrown in for company, was likely to prove the result of her adventure. Indeed, this anticipation was so little congenial to Pearl that she once more made a final effort to rise, the consequence being that, certainly for a minute or two, she lost consciousness from the pain. She was aroused from this partial lethargy by a rustling of the leaves, and the next minute the form of Lord Martinworth emerged from behind the trees. On any other occasion Martinworth's sudden appearance would have filled Mrs. Nugent with the greatest dread and consternation. Her present position was, however, proving so extremely unpleasant that, forgetting all fears and past disagreeableness, she found herself, on the contrary, hailing his unexpected arrival on the scene with intense relief. "Thank goodness! you have come," she exclaimed, as her face brightened. "I have been very unfortunate, and in falling have sprained my ankle. I am quite helpless, and unable to move." Lord Martinworth gazed down at the recumbent form for a few seconds in silence. Then he said: "You seem indeed to be in a sorry plight. The only thing I can suggest is that I should carry you to my boat. I have got it moored close by," and, without waiting for a reply, he stooped down and gently lifted her in his arms. "I will row you home," he added. "Put your arms round my neck," and Pearl found herself obediently following his directions. It was with considerable difficulty, hampered as he was by a burden by no means slight, that Martinworth succeeded in threading his way through the undergrowth. The climb down the steep uneven bank was long and most laborious. He was breathless when he at length deposited Pearl by the edge of the lake. "I must wait a moment," he panted, "before I attempt to lift you into the boat. The lake is fearfully rough, and my little cockleshell is not made for bad weather. We shall have to keep by the shore. You are not afraid?" and he looked down at her with a strange light in his eyes. Pearl hesitated a moment. "No," she said at last, "I don't think I am afraid, at least, not very much. But I want to get home as soon as possible. I have to write a letter that must absolutely go by this evening's post." Lord Martinworth looked at her fixedly, but said nothing. And once more he stooped down and lifted her in his arms. It was no easy matter to place Pearl into the little outrigger which was dancing like a cork on the water, that from a calm and sunny lake had in so short a time become transformed into a raging sea. Twice he missed his footing and nearly fell, and twice he recovered himself, while Pearl clung tightly to him, and felt his heart beating against her own. The rain had ceased for the moment, but the wind raged in greater fury than ever, and it was already getting dusk. Lord Martinworth's third effort, however, proved successful. Depositing Pearl in the stern of the boat, he took off his coat and made a cushion for the injured foot. "It will be an endless, a terrible business getting back," he said, "Don't stir. For as it is, it will be all I can do to keep the boat from upsetting. Steer as near the shore as you can." Pearl silently obeyed his directions, while Lord Martinworth worked manfully at the sculls. The boat, as he truly said, was not intended for rough weather. Pearl soon realised this fact as it danced up and down, backwards and forwards, and the water came dashing over bow and stern. At first the pair were silent, for all Martinworth's breath was required for the effort of sculling against the wind. But at last, during a lull in the storm, his eyes wandered to his companion's face and remained fixed there with a steadiness of gaze which Pearl found anything but reassuring. "The wind is abating," he finally said. "It is fortunate, as I wish to ask you something, Pearl." Mrs. Nugent did not reply, but her heart sank within her. For some moments Lord Martinworth still rowed on, while it seemed as if his words were likely to be verified. Though the roughness of the water still tossed the helpless little boat, the wind had temporarily almost dropped. "We can drift in safety, now," he said, and shipping his oars, he leant toward Pearl. "Pearl," he said very gently, "I want you to be true. I want you to frankly answer one or two questions which, considering our former friendship, I consider I have more than a right to ask. First of all," and he paused a moment, "I wish to know, do you still love me, Pearl?" The question came abruptly. Mrs. Nugent was suffering considerable pain, and was feeling very angry and rather frightened. She for a moment forgot the past,--the devoted intercourse of former years--everything but the present trying situation,--and her answer without hesitation was sharp and hard. "You have no right whatsoever to ask me such a question. And you know it. It is an action unworthy of you, to take advantage of my helplessness, to place me in such an extremely unpleasant position. But as you have thought fit to question me, I will not be such a coward as to shirk the answer. No, Dick, I certainly do not care for you any longer. All that is passed. My sentiments have--have--changed. I can only thank God that all that folly is over." The words had hardly left Pearl's mouth before she bitterly regretted them. She knew they were harsh and cruel, and she was grieved indeed when she saw the change that came over Lord Martinworth's face that she had let her sharp tongue and irritable temper get the better of her. He winced as if she had struck him, and his cheeks turned white beneath the sunburn. "Thank you," he replied with bitterness. "You are certainly carrying out my request to the letter, and are frank enough. So this is the reward for the devotion of years. Well! your answer explains many things," he added musingly. "First of all I learn, that not only do you not love me now, but what is more, that you never really cared for me, never loved me as I loved you. I was a blind fool not to have understood that fact many years ago. You gave me proofs enough, God knows." "I beg," retorted Pearl, but in a gentler tone, "that you will not discuss this question, Dick. Did you not promise to bury what has gone? Why move these gravestones of the past? Will you not continue rowing? The wind is rising again. I have nothing on but this thin, white gown, and I am cold and very anxious to get home." "No," answered Martinworth sternly, "I will not go on rowing for the present. When I made that promise the situation was entirely different. You were not then--then----I have another question still to ask. May I request that you will give me as frank a reply to my second question as you did to my first?" Mrs. Nugent remained silent. She shivered and looked anxiously towards the fast darkening shore. "I am really sorry to inconvenience you," continued her companion, "but it is absolutely necessary for the purpose that I have in view that these questions should be answered clearly, frankly, and without delay. In fact it entirely depends on the nature of the replies I receive whether I carry out that purpose or not." "I don't know what you are talking about," replied Pearl petulantly. "I am miserably cold and wet. My foot is paining me very much. Only get me home, and I will answer as many questions as you please." "Pardon me. One more question at least must be answered now. But I will not delay you long. Pearl Norrywood"--he unconsciously used her former name--"as you one day expect to stand before the Throne, tell me the truth. I must--I will know the truth. Are you or are you not engaged to be married to de Güldenfeldt?" As Martinworth uttered these words he leant further forward, gazing intently at Pearl. Mrs. Nugent did not respond. She flushed, her eyes falling beneath her companion's penetrating glance. Fortunate indeed that she averted them for a time. Thus for a short period, was she saved the sight of the wildness of expression that slowly crept over the face of her companion, as the question brought forth no immediate reply. Mrs. Nugent continued silent. It was not from any desire to prevaricate or to avoid telling the necessary truth that she hesitated. But at the moment that the question was asked, so sternly and so impressively, it struck her like a blow how very different might have been the answer if her letter to de Güldenfeldt had been written and despatched, instead of being still to write. She began to realise, to dread, that this one act of procrastination--vacillation--weakness of mind--whatever it might be called--was likely to be productive of calamitous results, feared and foreseen for weeks. As this thought passed through her mind she instinctively raised her eyes to Martinworth's face. That one glance was sufficient to impress on her the certainty that she was in the presence, not only of a madman, but of one who, with the premeditation, vindictiveness and ferocity of his type, was she was firmly convinced, contemplating her speedy destruction. Strange to say, the conviction of this fact caused her no immediate terror. Though of a naturally timid and nervous temperament, Pearl, at this moment of terrible and full assurance, felt none of those depressing fears that had assailed her of late with such crushing and ceaseless persistency. She knew now, that from the moment she had seen that look in Martinworth's eyes weeks ago, she had been preparing herself for that fate which she had then told herself must surely one day overtake her. She was alone on a stormy lake with a man no longer master of himself or of his actions. The wind, which had risen again, was tearing round in circles, the rain was dashing in their faces, and the little boat was helplessly tossing first one side and then the other. She looked up and saw the angry heavens, she looked down and saw the angry waters, she looked before her and saw what was far more terrible than either--the angry eyes, wild and threatening, fixed upon her face. And yet Pearl felt no fear. Not for one moment did she contemplate the thought of hiding the truth by vain subterfuges, of cloaking it by prevarications. She knew that in time, all in good time, an answer must be given. And she likewise knew that that answer would seal her fate. She only wanted a short moment, a little space to think. Not to weep over herself or bemoan her own destiny, for an overwhelming pity for the man before her, a deep compassion, took the place in Pearl's breast, for the time being, of all natural feelings of terror and dismay. It was her firm conviction that this man, who had once been her tender and adoring lover, was in a short space of time about to become her assassin, and she asked herself, as she gazed into his terrible face, what must not have been his sufferings of late, that a transformation such as this should have taken place in the once gentle, well-balanced and affectionate nature. As Pearl sat there, looking silently and unflinchingly into those eyes, her individuality for the moment seemed merged into Martinworth's. Now for the first time did she truly realise the misery and the despair that had gripped his soul when, without a murmur, that evening in Tokyo he had left her, resigning all claim upon her for ever. The strain caused by this voluntary renunciation of the desire of years had, she knew well, proved too great for the highly-strung, nervous disposition, and the will, once under such calm self-control, the brain, once so superior, had ultimately collapsed under this last final effort of supreme self-denial. This tragic and undoubtable fact was brought vividly before her as she continued to gaze back into those eyes. She had retained her own self-respect, she had acted up to the principles of her youth, she had kept intact the promise she had made--but--but--on the other side, she had broken a heart, she had ruined a happy and a useful life, and above all--she had unwittingly driven a man mad for love of her! And in agony of mind, Pearl asked herself the question, had she done right? Oh! had she done right? And all this time, while Lord Martinworth's inquiry remained unanswered, his face was growing more terrible, the steely blue eyes more bloodshot. "Answer me," he said, and he leant forward and caught her by the wrist. "Are you engaged to de Güldenfeldt? Do you hear me, Pearl? Answer me!" At the contact of his hand on her wrist, Pearl drew back and shuddered. She at last felt her nerves giving way under the tension. And she was aware that all feelings of self-reproach, regret, and compassion were becoming submerged in a more natural sentiment--that of genuine terror for her own safety. She looked despairingly around her, and saw with horror and dismay that they were drifting towards the river that led to the waterfall. The current was swift and strong at that place, and she well knew that if Martinworth did not at once take the oars it would merely be a matter of minutes before they were dashed over the brink into eternity! The knowledge flashed upon her as they sped nearer and nearer to the fatal spot that this was the end that from the moment he had lifted her into his boat he had decided upon. Again Pearl shuddered, as her eyes fled once more to his face, and she knew that further delay was impossible, and that she must speak. "Dick," she replied, "you will kill me. I know it. I read your intention in your face. You loved me once, Dick, but now your love has turned to hate. It is clear enough. Your hate is so bitter that you will kill me. But I have never told you a lie and I will not die with one on my lips. Yes, I--I am engaged to Monsieur de Güldenfeldt, but I am not----" The sentence remained unfinished. Martinworth waited for no more. He started from his seat, and shouting wildly, so that his ringing voice was heard far above the roaring of the wind and the waters: "Never, Pearl! Never! Mine at least in death," he stretched his arms towards her, tore her from where she was crouching on her seat, and clasped her to him. For a moment they stood thus, locked in each other's arms, tottering with unsteady feet in the fragile boat, while he gazed with all the frenzy of insanity into her white face. Then as his eyes lingered on hers, large with terror and despair, his sinister intentions appeared to soften, for a change, sudden and complete, passed over his face, transforming the wild glare of madness into a look of grief, despairing sorrow and reproof--sad and mournful in the extreme. He stooped down, let his eyes dwell on hers with the adoring look of old, kissed her once tenderly, almost reverentially, on the forehead, and replacing her as gently upon her seat as he had torn her roughly from it, Lord Martinworth balanced himself for one second on the edge of the boat, then plunged headlong into the seething lake! One stifled cry mingled with the fury of the wind as, with the violence of Martinworth's movement, the little craft upset, and Pearl Nugent, precipitated into the water, was hurled through the rushing current, and carried helplessly towards the waterfall! CHAPTER XVI. "IT IS BEST SO, AMY, DEAR." And all through that dreadful night raged one of the most terrible and disastrous typhoons that had visited Japan for many years. Mrs. Nugent and Lord Martinworth, not returning to their respective domiciles, an immediate search was instituted, but as the darkness deepened the wind and rain increased in fury. It was a sheer impossibility to stand up against the raging gale, and eventually the hopeless search had to be temporarily abandoned. In that one night the lake rose six feet, huge landslips descended from Nantai-san, and bridges and roads and dwellings were washed away and demolished, as if mere sheets of paper. As dawn approached the torrents ceased, and the wind abated. At length the sun rose in full glory, casting in brilliant irony its penetrating rays over this grievous scene of waste and desolation. And mingling with the foliage of a great tree blown across the still raging stream the auburn tint of Pearl Nugent's hair shone like red gold among the green. On the upsetting of the boat she had been borne down the torrent. A few seconds more and she would have been dashed over the rocks, hundreds of feet high, which form the cascade. But some hours before, during the fury of the storm, a giant pine tree had fallen with a deafening crash half across the stream. It was that tree that saved Pearl from a watery grave, for wedged, as in a vice, between a fork of its branches, her bruised, unconscious form was ultimately discovered. Her head and shoulders were out of the water, and the rushing stream, instead of loosening, had apparently been the means of entangling only more securely the rent and dripping garments to the branches of the tree. From the bank could be seen her head, with its ashen face and closed eyes, thrown back and pillowed, as it were, upon a wealth of green foliage, while the torrent tore around her with raging fury, in its onward relentless course battering and bruising the delicate limbs. It was at considerable risk to their own lives that Ralph and Count Carlitti, and other brave men with them, crept cautiously and with the greatest difficulty along the trunk of the tree, over the greater part of which the water was still rushing. By dint of clinging with all their strength to the upstanding branches they at last succeeded after many vain attempts and countless perils, in reaching the tossed, unconscious form. Count Carlitti clung on to Ralph with all his force, while the latter laid himself down flat on the trunk, and set about cutting away, as best he could, the remnants of Pearl's clothing from the branches. After a wearisome, and what appeared an endless time, this difficult task was at length successfully accomplished, enabling them to drag the inanimate body gently and tenderly along the trunk of the tree, finally rescuing it from the watery bed in which it had been helplessly tossed by the stormy elements for so many hours. As Ralph bent his head, resting it on her breast, his face brightened somewhat. "Her heart beats," he murmured. "Thank God she still lives." Between them they bore her home, and laid her with loving care on the little bed from which Pearl Nugent was fated never to rise again, for human skill was unavailing. The army doctor from Hong-Kong, who some weeks before had attended Martinworth, was still at Chuzenji. He did his utmost to relieve all pain, and indeed on recovering consciousness Pearl suffered but little. Her spine, independent of other severe internal injuries, was discovered fatally damaged, and Pearl and those around her knew that she was dying. She lingered all that day and all the next, sweet and patient to the end. Rosina and Amy and Lady Martinworth were there. They never left the bedside, and the latter's medical knowledge and gentle, experienced nursing helped greatly to lighten and relieve those last sad and distressing days. Shortly after Mrs. Nugent had awakened from the deathlike swoon that had lasted so many hours, and when in spite of her diminishing forces she was quite capable of understanding what was wanted of her, she slowly and painfully turned her head on the pillow, and letting her veiled orbs linger on the face bending over her, she read the mute question expressed by Lady Martinworth's miserable eyes. She put out her hand and gently drew her face to hers. "He is--drowned," she whispered. "We were--together. The boat upset--in the storm." That was all. And surely when her spirit stands in judgment before the Throne, Pearl Nugent will be pardoned for having said no more. She would lie silent and motionless, with her beautiful soft grey eyes, dark with the shadow of death, wide open, while from time to time she would smile with an angelic sweetness at the three women who were watching her. She spoke but little. Indeed with these few rare exceptions she hardly noticed her watchers, for her thoughts seemed far away from all earthly things. The next day, however, towards the end, as Amy, weeping, was leaning over the bed, she smiled back into her eyes, and whispered very low: "It is--best so, Amy, dear. Do not weep--for me. I am quite content--more content, more at peace than I have been--for many, many long years. If I had lived--I should not have been happy--nor--should I--have made others--Stanislas--dear, good kind Stanislas--happy. Yes,--it is--best so. I am--quite ready,--quite--willing to--die. No more--difficulties, or--dread, or--terrible indecision,--or--uncertainty now. No more unhappiness--now. All--soon will be made--clear, Amy, dear. When--I am gone--be kind--to Stanislas,--poor--Stanislas, for--he--will grieve, and thank--God--he--will never--know--now, never--know--now. Do not--weep for me, darling. I--have--always--loved--you--Amy. Please--please--do not--weep--so." And then after a minute or two she sighed and asked: "Where--is he?" "Ralph went to Tokyo at once to tell him," answered Amy, her voice choked with sobs. "Telegraphic communication has been interrupted by the storm, and the road is washed away. No one can go down or come up from Nikko. Ralph, however, will have got there, Pearl, my darling, even if he had to climb twenty mountains. They will soon be here, darling." "Yes," whispered Pearl softly, "he will be here--before I die. He is--coming. He knows--I want him. But he--will grieve, poor--Stanislas,--poor--true--heart, he--will grieve,--but--thank God!--he will--never--know--now." Then she turned her head, and for the last time, and in unbroken silence, she gazed out far before her at the mountains and the lake. It was the following morning shortly after dawn that the doctor told them she could not last much longer. And even as he was making this sad announcement Stanislas de Güldenfeldt, accompanied by Ralph, who had met him half way to Tokyo, weary and worn and travel stained, appeared outside the house. Pearl, who had been lying partially unconscious for many hours, suddenly awoke from her torpor, and raising her head from the pillow, gazed fixedly with shining eyes through the open _shoji_. "Stanislas has come! He is near me!" she called in a clear and ringing voice, "Bring him to me." Rosina exchanged a glance of surprise with Amy as she left the room, for from where Pearl was lying in bed it was impossible for her to see her lover, and silence reigned,--no word had been spoken. Stanislas de Güldenfeldt, exhausted by sorrow and fatigue, went alone into the room of his dying love. And when, over an hour later, the others, anxious at the ominous silence, ventured within the death-chamber, they found him kneeling by the bedside--unconscious,--his dark hair mingling on the pillow with Pearl's auburn curls, while her dead cheek was pressed against his lips, and her dead arms were clasped around his neck. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Stanislas never completely recovered from the shock and grief of Pearl's tragic death. Shortly following her loss he left the Diplomatic Service. He was strongly advised against this step by his many friends, amongst whom, as his truest and his best, he counted not only the Rawlinsons and Sir Ralph and Lady Nicholson, but his former colleague, Count Carlitti, who in fair Japan, falling a victim to the freshness of Muriel Millward-Fraser, had promptly, within two months of Mrs. Nugent's death, placed his ancient name and title, to say nothing of his "leetle fortune," in all their completeness at the extremely pretty feet of "_cette belle jeune fille Anglaise_." But the counsels of de Güldenfeldt's friends fell on deaf ears. He took a hatred for the Service, and never for a moment in the future did he regret his former busy and interesting life. He made England the country of his adoption, buying himself a small but beautiful estate in one of the western counties. There, surrounded by his lovely garden and orchid houses, his books, and portraits and souvenirs of Pearl, he passed--if not a happy--at any rate a peaceful existence, and when not at home he spent much of his time with the Nicholsons, whose lovely place was in the adjoining county. His devotion to his god-daughter, Pearl Nicholson, was profound. And to her alone was he ever known to mention the name of his dead love. Many were the talks that this strange pair, the elderly, saddened man and the innocent child, held on this subject. But to the last, to no other person, not even to Rosina or to Amy, did Stanislas de Güldenfeldt ever refer directly to that unforgotten page that influenced every thought and action of his life. This sweet confidence between the man and child had arisen in this way. Seven or eight years after Pearl's death, while the Nicholsons were paying their annual visit to Lynlath, Stanislas entered one day, somewhat unexpectedly, into his library. There, in front of a full length and most successful portrait of Mrs. Nugent, painted after her death from photographs and description, was standing, with uplifted head and sorrowful visage--his little god-daughter. The child's hands were clasped behind her back, and the same gleam of sun that lit up the sweet, lovely face of the portrait fell across the golden locks of the little girl, as she turned towards Stanislas with tears streaming down her cheeks. "You have, godpapa," she said, "so many pictures of this beautiful lady with the large grey eyes. What lovely hair she has! But what a sad, sad face! I feel I love her so, and often and often I come in here and look at her, and she seems to talk to me. Tell me about her, godpapa. Did you love her too?" And Stanislas de Güldenfeldt took Pearl's namesake on his knee, and with sad eyes gazing back far into the past he told her of his eternal love. _Printed by Holland Rowbottom, "Graphic" Office, Bournemouth._ Transcriber Notes: Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS. Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. Those words were retained as-is. Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted. On page 2, "excidedly" was replaced with "excitedly". On page 17, "obtaintaining" was replaced with "obtaining". On page 17, "to to" was replaced with "to". On page 59, a quotation mark was added before "By Jove!". On page 64, the comma after "ashamed to acknowledge her as his cousin" was replaced with a period. On page 87, "shirne" was replaced with "shrine". On page 118, "cousins,and" was replaced with "cousins, and". One page 132, "Mrs" was replaced with "Mrs." On page 192, "rivetted" was replaced with "riveted". On page 201, a period was added after "as she recalled those moment". On page 220, a quotation mark was added after "and--and----" On page 225, "with-without" was replaced with "without". On page 264, "pursuade" was replaced with "persuade". 
62121	----	Internet Archive. JOHN L. STODDARD'S LECTURES JAPAN I JAPAN II CHINA _Norwood Press_ _F. S. Gushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith Co._ _Norwood, Mass., U.S.A._ _Boston Bookbinding, Co., Cambridge, Mass._ [Illustration: FRIENDS IN COUNCIL.] John L. Stoddard's LECTURES [Illustration] _COMPLETE IN TEN VOLUMES_ _VOLUME THREE_ BOSTON BALCH BROTHERS CO. MCMVIII CHICAGO: GEO. L. SHUMAN & CO. Copyright, 1897 By John L. Stoddard Entered at Stationers' Hall, London ALL RIGHTS RESERVED * * * * * JAPAN I [Illustration: FOREST SOLITUDE] JAPAN LECTURE I [Illustration: EMPEROR.] It is now nearly four hundred years since the brave discoverer, Magellan, first sailed around the world. Yet, till comparatively recent times, three years were necessary to complete the circuit. To-day, some Phineas Fogg can put a girdle round the earth in less than eighty days, and messages are flashed to us from China and Ceylon in less than eighty seconds. The old-time spirit of adventure amid unknown scenes, which thrilled the traveler of former years, has, therefore, well-nigh disappeared. Of all the surface of our globe, the Polar Seas alone still bid defiance to the approach of man; though every year the ultimate capitulation of those ice-bound areas, lit by the aurora, becomes less remote. [Illustration: MOUNT STEPHEN.] The broad Atlantic has now dwindled to an ocean ferry. Europe is measured, not by weeks, but by hours. Constantinople, once so remotely Oriental, is but five days from London,--Cairo only six. Even the vast Pacific glides beneath our keel in thirteen days. Two centuries ago, the man who had achieved a journey around the globe would have been called a hero. One century since, he would have been remarkable. To-day the name he earns is merely--"Globe-trotter." In consequence of this, to certain minds our vanquished earth seems like a squeezed and juiceless orange. Material forces have deprived it of romance, as age has robbed the moon of atmosphere and life. And yet, the fact that we move rapidly from point to point need not lessen our interest in the places that we visit. The wondrous beauty of the Taj Mahal and the incomparable majesty of the Himalayas are not less enjoyed because we can make a pilgrimage to them with comparative comfort. Japan's awakened empire, China's four hundred millions, the toiling myriads of India, with history, customs and religions antedating those of Christendom, present the same stupendous problems, whether we visit them in an antique sailing-craft or in a modern steamer. Despite the speed with which we flit from continent to continent, the actual distance is still there. Let but the steamer's shaft become disabled in mid-ocean, and the fact will not be doubted. But of whatever size our earth may now appear to us, the time has never been when travel upon its surface offered such attractions. Its countries now are like a series of intensely interesting books--each the sequel of its predecessor--which science, commerce, and navigation have laid open for our scrutiny. A tour around the world, therefore, is vastly more instructive than a journey through the principal European cities. Mere Occidental travel, though delightful, is but fragmentary and one-sided. The unbroken circle is alone the symbol of completeness; and only when the traveler has sailed away from our Pacific coast, and journeyed on and on toward the setting sun, until he sees the shores of our Republic (never before so beloved) rise from the waves of the Atlantic, can he in truth exclaim, with Monte Cristo, "The world is mine!" [Illustration: A JAPANESE PAGODA.] The route which we selected for our journey to Japan was the superbly built and admirably equipped highway to the Orient, the "Canadian Pacific." This magnificent transcontinental system comprises, first, the gleaming path of steel which crosses Canada from sea to sea; and, second, a fleet of steamers at the western terminus of the road--the largest, swiftest, and most modern boats that ply between the North American continent and the land of the Mikado. The various railway lines from the Atlantic to the centre of the continent are too well-known to require description; but since some starting-point is necessary, we may well choose, as the most appropriate one, the vast plains of Manitoba, midway between the Atlantic and Pacific, and only eighteen hours by rail from Minneapolis. Mile after mile, and hour after hour, we sped through these prairies as level as a tranquil sea. Sometimes, like wreckage floating on the waves, we saw great sun-bleached heaps of skulls and bones--pathetic relics of the herds of buffaloes which only thirty years ago existed here in millions, but which man's cruelty and recklessness have almost totally destroyed. At other times, the railroad cut its silvery furrow through a boundless area of golden rod and daisies,--apparently a shoreless ocean of red, green, and gold, upon the verge of which the sky seemed to rest like an azure dome. But presently we realized that the plains were being left behind us. In fact, between these prairies and the vast Pacific rise three great mountain-ranges almost parallel to one another. They are the Rocky, the Selkirk, and the Cascade mountains. [Illustration: BANFF.] [Illustration: ON THE PORCH AT BANFF] [Illustration: A VIEW FROM THE HOTEL.] It was already evening when we approached the "Rockies." We tried to catch their outline, but in vain. Behind a veil of impenetrable gloom, the morrow's splendid spectacle awaited us. Accordingly, at five o'clock in the morning, the subtle nervousness which usually heralds any long anticipated pleasure woke me with a start. I raised the curtain of my berth, and from my lips there came an exclamation of delight. There were the "Rockies," as I had so often pictured them; no longer vague creations of some other man's enthusiasm, but glorious realities awakening mine. A rugged wall of granite met my gaze, seamed here and there with silver, as the pure snow sparkled in its crevices; while all along its crest, five thousand feet above our heads, the dawn had traced a parapet of gold. I felt at once that thrill of satisfaction which every traveler prizes more and more as years roll on and fewer famous sights are left him to explore. It was the consciousness of one more conquest made, not merely for the excitement of a first possession, but for the calmer and more abiding pleasure of retrospection. [Illustration: THE THREE SISTERS.] An hour later, we had left the train to spend two days at Banff,--a place unknown before the advent of the railroad, but forming now the centre of a charming region, four thousand five hundred feet above the sea, reserved by the Canadian Government as a national park. Above us, in the morning light, like some old Rhenish castle on a wooded cliff, appeared a picturesque hotel, within whose ample hall we found a huge log blazing in the fireplace; while modern luxuries, such as bath-rooms and electric-lights, assured us a delightful resting-place. Yet this is but one of several hotels built by the railroad company at points of special interest, so that the traveler by this route may halt and view its scenery amid comfortable surroundings. [Illustration: VANCOUVER.] Soon after our arrival, we started on a tour of exploration, and found the situation worthy of its fame. Over the best of roads Canadian ponies whirled us along the windings of the Bow river, green as emerald. The air was as pure as that of Norway. A breath of it was like a draught of wine. So transparent was the atmosphere, that mountains miles away seemed close at hand. Strange mountains these! Their color is an ashen gray, now darkened by a passing cloud, now almost white with vivid sunlight. They have no vegetation on their rugged slopes, save a few pine-trees, which suggest the "forlorn hope" of an army struggling toward a citadel. [Illustration: HOTEL VANCOUVER.] Had time permitted, we should have gladly lingered in this glorious region,--but with so much before us, we were compelled to take our leave of Banff and enter on the last great section of our journey toward the sea. In making this, we were for hours surfeited with grandeur. Our chief desire was to retard the train, and check the rapid shifting of imposing scenery. Our brains at last refused to receive additional impressions. One could spend weeks upon this portion of the route alone. Sometimes our train wound like a serpent around the mountain sides,--now on a narrow ledge three hundred feet above a foaming torrent, now gliding through a tunnel in the solid rock. Three million dollars' worth of snow-sheds guard this railway from the avalanche, and rivers even have been forced to turn aside and yield their immemorial pathways to the iron conqueror. But now farewell to railroads and to mountains! We have reached the sea. Who that has ever crossed our mighty continent can quite forget the moment when, after all the plains and mountains he has traversed, he gains his first glimpse of the blue Pacific? It is at once a startling revelation of the distance he has come, and a reminder of those Orient lands whose misty shores still seem so fabulously tar away. [Illustration: THE EMPRESS OF JAPAN.] Our ocean gateway, and place of embarkation for Japan, was Vancouver,--one of those marvels of the West, which, notwithstanding all our previous reading, astonish us when actually seen. Ten years ago Vancouver was a wilderness; a forest covered every portion of the present city. To-day it has good streets and sidewalks, electric-lights and trolley-cars, banks, churches, some extremely pretty houses, and a good hotel. What an excitement marks the embarkation-day at this Hotel Vancouver! What searching glances pass from one strange group of travelers to another, as if to read the characters and dispositions of the men and women who are to be their fellow-passengers for fourteen days,--aye, more than that;--to be, perchance, their fellow-travelers for many months, meeting on other steamers, or in Chinese streets, or possibly in the palm-groves of Ceylon. No gaiety is yet discernible. It is the hour for farewells. The reading-room is filled with busy scribes, whose scratching pens and long-drawn sighs alone disturb the silence of the place. [Illustration: THE "EMPRESS" IN A STORM.] We saw, on the last day, at least a score of ladies, bent almost double on divans or arm-chairs, using alternately their writing-tablets and their handkerchiefs,--their tears apparently flowing much more freely than the ink from their fountain pens. Telegraph boys were meanwhile running to the various rooms with good-bye messages from eastern friends. "No use in sending them out," the blase operator told me; "they are all alike. Might just as well hoist a flag with the letters 'B. V.' on it; for every message ends with the same words: 'Bon Voyage!'" [Illustration: A JAPANESE VILLAGE.] But now the actual sailing-time has come; the last fond messages have been received; the gang-plank is thrown off; the huge propeller moves; and we have left our native land to make the circuit of the world. Of course some tears are shed; some cheeks grow paler at the thought of all that lies before us in the twenty-five thousand miles of land and water we must traverse; but these are soon forgotten in contemplation of the ship itself,--the Empress of Japan. This is one of the finest steamers in the world, and like her sister ships, the Empress of China and the Empress of India, is a vessel of six thousand tons and of ten thousand horse-power. Graceful and beautiful she looked,--her great hull snow-white to the water's edge, to shield it better from the tropic sun. [Illustration: MISSISSIPPI BAY.] Aside, however, from the speed, strength, and comfort of the steamers, the voyage across the North Pacific does not call forth enthusiastic praise. It is a lonely, unfrequented route. We saw no sign of land or life for thirteen days. The cold, too, was excessive. Unless wrapped up with extra care, we could not sit on deck with any comfort, although protected from the wind by canvas screens. Moreover, in its sudden changes, this North Pacific rivals the Mediterranean in winter, and when aroused, its billows are colossal. During our voyage there were some hours, and even days, when all was reasonably calm; but there were others when tremendous winds tore into shreds the crests of white-capped waves and filled the air with blinding spray. Hours there were, when trunks not merely slid, but bounded, clear across the room, and landed with their casters in the air, like the hoofs of a rolling horse; hours when even the pantry stove revolted at such treatment and hurled its glowing coals about the floor. I recall an unusually stormy period when the diet of at least two wretched passengers for an entire day consisted of one grape,--and my companion ate the grape! The day which passed most quickly on this voyage was that which we deliberately dropped from the calendar, on crossing the one hundred and eightieth meridian of longitude, just half-way around the world from London, and equidistant, east and west, from the observatory at Greenwich. Some wicked passengers ascribed our stormy weather to the missionaries on board, claiming that gales at sea are their invariable attendants. However that may be, there certainly were times when all the passengers (missionaries included) would have agreed with the old Japanese proverb--"A stormy sea-voyage is an inch of hell." [Illustration: COMING TO MEET US.] Nothing stands out more clearly in my recollection of the Orient than the bright, long anticipated hour when, after thirteen days of dreary ocean travel, we suddenly beheld, emerging from the waves, that strange, unique, and fascinating land, which promised so much novelty and pleasure,--old Japan. Old, and yet new; for the fair sheet of water which first greeted us was Mississippi Bay, named from the flagship of Commodore Perry, which, with the remainder of his American fleet, dropped anchor here in 1854. The coming of this envoy to the East was not for the purpose of war or invasion, but to request that this important empire, our nearest neighbor westward, lying directly in the path of commerce between Asia and America, should, for the sake of mutual benefit, open its doors (till then resolutely closed to foreigners) and become, to some degree, accessible to the outer world. Impatient to explore this land, we swept the shore with field-glasses, and saw, with much amusement, some natives hastening to launch their boats and row out to us. But were they really coming in just that economical style of dress? They were, and did; but in five minutes we forgot their costumes (or rather their want of them) in admiration of the men themselves. It was, however, not their faces, but their forms, which so attracted us. Never in marble or in bronze have I seen finer specimens of limbs and muscles than those displayed by the compactly built and copper-colored boatmen of Japan. Some of them looked like masterpieces of antiquity, suddenly endowed with life and motion. Taking the hotel steam-launch, in preference to the native boats, we quickly reached the landing-pier of Yokohama. A slight examination of our trunks was made by officers polite enough to beg our pardon for the trifling delay. There is a duty in Japan on photographic cameras. One of our party was, therefore, called upon to pay the stipulated sum. "I have no Japanese money," he faltered; "I must leave my camera here, and call again." [Illustration: THE CUSTOM-HOUSE, YOKOHAMA.] "Not at all," replied the official courteously; "I will lend you the money; here it is." I thought my friend, accustomed only to the refinements of the New York Custom-house, would faint away. At last he gathered strength enough to ask: "But what security have you that I will repay you?" "Ah!" replied the officer, smiling, "you are an American." [Illustration: AS THE NATIVES TRAVEL.] "Truly," he exclaimed, as we walked away, "the Japanese are the French of Asia." [Illustration: A JINRIKISHA.] On leaving the Custom-house I laughed aloud to see awaiting us the almost universal means of locomotion in Japan--the jinrikisha. Shades of our childhood!--what are these? Big-wheeled baby-carriages surely, and yet used altogether by adults. They looked as though a heavy man could crush them to earth, or a strong wind might blow them against the wall. When we stepped into ours, we did so cautiously, lest we should suddenly go over backward; and at the sight of some of our more stalwart passengers thus installed, the air was filled with peals of laughter. One portly traveler, weighing at least two hundred pounds, wagged his head feebly at an equally heavy comrade, and shook a "da-da" at him, as if they had both gone back to the state of babyhood. Yet, incredible as it would at first appear, the traveler soon comes to like these little vehicles. Their running-gear, though light, is strong. A breakdown in them is practically unknown. The steeds which draw them harness and unharness themselves, never shy nor kick, and are obedient to the slightest command. Jinrikishas are so cheap that one can hire them all day long and never feel the expense. Ten cents an hour is the usual price, or seventy-five cents for an entire day. One's packages and valises follow in another jinrikisha. The speed at which one travels in them is astonishing. Even with only one man in the shafts, the usual rate is at least five miles an hour. With one man pushing, and two pulling tandem, you actually seem to fly. On good roads with two men we sometimes made ten miles an hour. And what is most delightful to the traveler, the runners themselves seem to enjoy it thoroughly. Time and again in the country, when they had drawn us twenty or thirty miles with but occasional halts, they actually raced each other on the last half-mile, laughing and capering like boys at play. [Illustration: A JAPANESE MACKINTOSH.] In stormy weather these human horses wore blankets that excited both our laughter and amazement. They are a kind of Japanese mackintosh, composed of grass and straw, which, though they are quite effectual in shedding rain and snow, give to the wearer the appearance of a fretful porcupine. A certain patriotic feeling draws Americans to the jinrikisha; for this convenient little chaise was the invention of a Yankee missionary. He ought to have made a fortune by it, for in Yokohama alone there are five thousand of these vehicles, and in Japan more than two hundred and fifty thousand; while they are also numerous now in China, India, and Singapore. But the missionary has had the usual fate of inventors, and is said to be, at present, an inmate of an Old Men's Home near Philadelphia. [Illustration: PECULIAR TRAVELING.] [Illustration: "A BIG-WHEELED BABY-CARRIAGE."] The Japanese word, jinrikisha, is worth explaining, "jin" means man, "riki" denotes power, and "sha" signifies wheel. A "man-power-carriage" is therefore the correct translation; but the wittiest and most appropriate title is the one given to it by an American tourist,--the "Pull-man-car." Delighted with our first experiences in these little vehicles, we left the Custom-house in Yokohama, and were quickly trundled to the Grand Hotel. This is one of the best hotels in the entire East. It fronts directly on the sea, and one can sit for hours on its long verandas and watch the animated scenes of street-life in the foreground; or else look off upon the lovely bay, where ships and steamers of all nations lie at anchor, among which glide the native boats, propelled by the bronzed athletes of Japan. My mind goes back with positive delight to some cool morning hours at my window here, but oftener still to moonlit evenings passed upon my balcony. At such a time, the scene recalled a painting in some cyclorama,--so difficult was it to discern where fancy ended and reality began; so smooth appeared the harbor's silvered breast; so motionless the mighty steamers stationed there like sentinels; so still their tapering masts, rising like minarets against the sky; while here and there a red or green light on a steamer's side flashed like a ruby or an emerald. Moreover, as the hours moved on, breaking the solemn stillness of the scene, the ship's bells followed one another through the watches of the night, and stole across the water like a silvery chime. [Illustration: WAITING FOR A "FARE."] [Illustration: A DISTANT VIEW OF FUJI-YAMA.] [Illustration: IN YOKOHAMA BAY.] Yokohama is divided into three sections. The first is the original business settlement, where the hotels are located; the second is the strictly Japanese quarter; the third lies on an eminence called "The Bluff." The summit of this hill is reached, not merely by a winding road, but also by a stairway commonly known as the "Hundred Steps." Upon this height most of the foreigners reside; here also are the hospitals of different nations, the foreign cemetery, and several consulates. Wishing one day to make a call upon a resident on this hill, and being unable to make our human pony understand his name, we asked the aid of the hotel proprietor. To our astonishment, he said to us: "No name is necessary. I shall merely tell him to take you to gentleman No. 35." A moment's thought explained to us the reason for this custom; for "No. 35 gentleman" or "No. 76 lady" are terms which "'rikisha men" can much more easily understand than foreign names. Yet even this system has its difficulties; for all the houses on the Bluff are numbered, not in the sequence of location, but in the order of their erection. Thus, the first residence constructed there is No. 1, but the dwelling next to it, if recently erected, may be called No. 500. [Illustration: AN OLD-FASHIONED CRAFT.] [Illustration: A RESIDENCE ON THE BLUFF.] Some of the houses on the Bluff are quite attractive; and life in them must be in many respects delightful. We met here two American ladies, who, having taken a furnished house for several months, were actually housekeeping in Japan. They told us that they had never had so pleasant an experience, and that the markets of Yokohama abounded in meat, fish, fruit, and vegetables, all at reasonable prices, while their Japanese servants had been so devoted and respectful that they were spoiled for housekeeping with any others. The summer, they confessed, had been hot, and varied by an occasional earthquake; but on the Bluff the air was pure and cool, and they had at least been exempt from thunder-storms. Yet Yokohama's climate is not always tropical, or even mild. Winter also can assert itself here, and boats and buildings sometimes wear a robe of snow. Such a wintry temperature makes, of course, little difference in the comfort of foreigners; but, to the Japanese themselves, one might suppose the winter months would be a season of protracted misery, since the vast majority of the natives have no fire in their houses save that in a charcoal brazier; the partitions in their dwellings are mere paper screens; and they themselves rarely wear woolen garments, much less flannel ones. Yet the people are hardy. Jinrikisha men, we were told, will run about the snow-covered streets with only cotton sandals on their feet. "How can your people live thus thinly clad, and with so little fire?" we asked our guide. "Oh, they become used to it," he answered. "You never cover up your face in winter. It is accustomed to the cold. So we subject our bodies to the same endurance." [Illustration: YOKOHAMA IN WINTER.] One day, in strolling through a street in Yokohama, we came upon two little Japanese women doing laundry work and spreading garments out to dry upon a smooth, flat board. Following the pleasant custom of the country, they laughingly called out to us, "Ohaio--Ohaio,"--the Japanese expression for "Good Morning!" One of our party, a judge from Covington, Kentucky, did not understand the meaning of that word. Accordingly, when one of these Japanese maidens smiled sweetly in his face, and said, with a slightly rising inflection, "Ohaio!" he faltered, and replied, "Well, not exactly; I come from Covington, just across the river!" [Illustration: ON THE WAY TO KAMAKURA.] The foreign cemetery of Yokohama is beautifully situated on the Bluff, above the tumult of the town. It is well-kept, and many of its monuments are elaborate. Numerous epitaphs in English, French, German, and Italian attest the cosmopolitan character of the place. As we were walking there one Sunday afternoon, we met a lady deeply veiled, leaning upon her husband's arm, and giving way to uncontrollable grief. When they were gone we ventured to approach the grave which they had left. The tombstone bore a recent date, and on it were four lines that deeply moved us by their sad simplicity; for, stooping down to a low headstone wreathed in flowers, we read these words: "A little grave, but oh, have care, For world-wide hopes are lying there; How much of light, how much of joy Are buried with a darling boy!" [Illustration: A JAPANESE CEMETERY.] [Illustration: PATH TO THE SHOGUN'S HOUSE.] [Illustration: THE FOREIGN CEMETERY, YOKOHAMA.] The day after our arrival in Yokohama, we drove out into the surrounding country. It was historically very interesting. Upon the plain where we saw laborers harvesting their crops, once stood the ancient capital of the empire,--Kamakura. It was then the residence of a million people, and was, no doubt, a scene of splendor, war, and intrigue; yet of the men and deeds which moved it centuries ago we know comparatively nothing. We sometimes think ourselves familiar with the history of our race; and so we are, along the lines of Egypt, Rome, and mediæval Europe. But when the traveler visits China, India, and Japan, he realizes the fact that he has come to the other side of the globe,--to lands whose histories are more remote than those of even Greece and Rome, and yet utterly distinct from all the streams of civilization which have flowed toward him. He begins to feel as men might who, having always thought the Rhine to be the only river of any magnitude on earth, should suddenly find themselves beside the Nile, whose mighty volume has been rolling onward for unnumbered ages, and over whose distant origin there hangs the halo of mystery. [Illustration: DOING LAUNDRY WORK.] [Illustration: A BUDDHIST PAGODA.] One thing, however, still remains at Kamakura to tell us of its unrecorded past. It is the world-renowned statue of Buddha,--one of the largest works in bronze that man has ever made. Upon a huge stone pedestal, in the form of a lotus-flower, one hundred feet in circumference, this monstrous figure has been seated here in solemn contemplation for seven hundred years. It is a noble representation of the man before whose shrines more knees are bent in prayer to-day than before those of any other founder of religion whom this earth has known. Close by, beneath the trees, are pedestals of enormous columns, the relics of a splendid temple which once formed the canopy of the statue, but which was swept away by a huge tidal wave, four hundred years ago. The statue itself, however, was too immense and weighty to be thus destroyed; hence, as it sits here now in solitary grandeur on a plain, beneath which sleeps a vanished world, the only columns that surround it are majestic trees, the only roof that shelters it is the arch of the immeasurable sky, and the only tapers on its ruined altar are the unchanging stars. [Illustration: THE BRONZE BUDDHA AT KAMAKURA.] It is easy to enumerate statistics here; to call to mind the fact that this statue is fifty feet in height; that underneath its drooping lids are eyes of purest gold; that the face alone is eighteen feet in length; that the circumference of the thumb is three feet; and, finally, that within this statue is a chapel for a hundred worshipers. But these are not the things which most impress one here. We can find other statues for statistics. This has something better. It is the indescribable, passionless expression of the face, that grows upon the traveler as he studies it, and haunts his memory forever more--a look which in some way suggests the Sphinx, in its superiority to present evils, its dreamful contemplation of the infinite, its calm appeal from time to all eternity. [Illustration: ENOSHIMA.] [Illustration: JACOB'S LADDER, ENOSHIMA.] Leaving the great Buddha to his meditations, we continued our homeward journey by the sea,--that ocean which, although tranquil now, has more than once sent tidal waves upon this shore to wreck the temples and the homes of Kamakura, and in their swift retreat to leave a hideous trail of death and devastation. A little distance from the land, we saw the pretty island of Enoshima. It is a sacred island, said to have sprung, like Venus, from the ocean in a single night. It is regarded, therefore, as a gift from God. It may be that the legend has some truth in it, for almost every portion of Japan is of volcanic origin; and mountains have arisen, lakes have been produced, and landscapes wholly changed by earthquake shocks, even within historical times. [Illustration: A FOREST MONARCH.] [Illustration: INTERIOR OF THE CAVERN TEMPLE.] [Illustration: THE SACRED CAVE.] Desiring to see some features of this island, we crossed the narrow channel, and climbed to one of its numerous points of observation. It is a fascinating place. Delightful paths wind up the wooded hills, marked here and there by little stations, where one halts for tea. Beyond these are long flights of steps, on which, that afternoon, Japanese girls, in gaily-colored robes, were passing up and down, like angels upon Jacob's ladder. Some were at work, while others were at play; others, again, were returning from a place of prayer. They looked as curiously at us as we at them. We seemed to them, no doubt, like beings from another world; probably not a better one, for, when we had walked on, we heard them merrily discussing us with peals of child-like laughter. One part of Enoshima is deemed especially sacred. It is a natural cavern, somewhat resembling the Blue Grotto on the Island of Capri. In stormy weather it is inaccessible, for furious waves then thunder for admission here, and fill the entrance with a mass of foam. But on a pleasant day, like that which we enjoyed, it is not very difficult, on coming down the hill, to cross a wooden bridge and a few slippery rocks, and finally pass beneath a frowning arch to the interior. [Illustration: A RUSTIC BUDDHA.] It is a singular opening,--a crack in the volcanic cliff, three hundred feet in length and thirty in height. From its obscure recesses, we gained a charming telescopic vista of the broad Pacific. To our astonishment, we found within this cave an altar to the goddess of Good Fortune, a deity that from remotest ages has been worshiped here. It is a wonderful situation for an altar, this rock-hewn temple built by Nature's architect. A kind of mystery surrounds it, for mortals cannot always worship here. When the divinity allows them to approach, this inlet of the ocean lies in absolute tranquillity, extending inward to the shrine, like a long path of malachite. But there are times when she excludes all worshipers, bars the majestic portal with a watery wall, and hears, instead of humanity's feeble voice, the awe-inspiring anthem of the sea. [Illustration: A JAPANESE RAILWAY.] One beautiful October morning, leaving the Grand Hotel, we drove to the railway station to take a train for the Japanese capital, Tokio, eighteen miles distant. It seemed a wonderful transition to whirl through Yokohama streets in baby-carriages drawn by half-naked natives, and in a moment more to find ourselves in railroad cars, better arranged in some respects than most trains that run in Europe. Such sudden contrasts between the past and present are now found only in Japan. Twenty-five years ago there were no railways here, and hardly a jinrikisha. To-day, throughout this sea-girt empire is spread a network of two thousand miles of well-built paths of steel, which have stone ballast, massive bridges, fine rolling-stock, and well-appointed stations. And yet one travels first-class in Japan almost as cheaply as third-class in Europe. Nor is traveling in the Mikado's realm confined to foreigners. Never in any portion of the world have I seen trains so uniformly thronged as here, and ninety out of every hundred of the passengers were Japanese. [Illustration: THE IMPERIAL HOTEL, TOKIO.] Tokio is the same old Yeddo that figured in our school-books--no matter how many years ago. The first thing to impress me in the place was its enormous size. It is, in truth, a city of magnificent distances, for its area surpasses that of London. Together with its suburbs, it has a population of one million eight hundred thousand. Save for its vast extent, however, the Japanese capital is not imposing. Seen from an elevation Tokio displays an almost limitless expanse of wooden roofs, whose trifling inequalities recall the undulating surface of a cold, gray sea. From this there rises, here and there, a solitary tower or pagoda, like a lighthouse from the waves. [Illustration: A TORII.] Four hundred years ago Tokio was a fishing hamlet. Not until 1603 did it become the military capital; and since that time it has been so frequently burned down and rebuilt, that it may be compared to the human body, the particles of which are said at certain intervals to be entirely renewed. In fact, statistics prove that, on an average, the city every thirty years has risen anew from its ashes. In 1895, at a single fire, four thousand houses were destroyed. [Illustration: LOOKING DOWN UPON TOKIO.] It is no easy task to explore thoroughly the Japanese labyrinth called Tokio, but one great central object forms, at least, a starting-point,--the imperial palace. Around it, like a warrior's belt, is drawn a moat so broad and deep that it might easily be deemed a river. The vast extent of this enclosure, its highly finished wall of stone, the silent, waveless stretch of water which surrounds it,--all these add mystery to one whose residence is so secluded from the eyes of men. Yet it is only recently that the Mikado has lived here. Thirty years ago the residence of Japanese sovereigns was a retired palace in the ancient city of Kioto. It may well be called "retired," for previous to the revolution of 1869 (which may be called the new birth of Japan) the Japanese for centuries had never seen the face of the Mikado. In giving audiences, even to his priests and nobles, he sat invisible behind a screen. When he walked out within his garden, carpets were spread before him to keep his sacred feet from contact with the earth. If he drove out, it was in a covered carriage, closed by screens, and as he passed along his subjects knelt in the attitude of prayer. Thus, century after century, these sovereigns lived,--each one in turn a monarch yet a captive, a god and yet a slave. [Illustration: BRIDGE TO THE EMPEROR'S PALACE, TOKIO.] Meanwhile, in one of the stately castles of Japan there lived the Mikado's representative, or viceroy; for, of course, the Japanese emperors did not govern. How could they? They were imprisoned by their own divinity. A mediator between the monarch and his subjects had to be appointed, to act as overseer of the realm. Previous to 1869 therefore--for nearly seven hundred years--two rulers had existed in Japan. One was the theoretical sovereign, to whom all gave allegiance, but who accomplished nothing,--the Mikado; the other was the practical executive,--the military regent, called the Shogun. [Illustration: SHOGUN'S PALACE, OSAKA.] [Illustration: THE MOAT AROUND THE PALACE, TOKIO.] In the small town of Shizuoka we saw the modest house where was still residing, like a country gentleman, the last of the once powerful Shoguns of Japan; for a change has taken place in the Mikado's empire. The Shoguns, who for centuries had been the actual sovereigns of the realm, and one of whom was in full power when the American fleet arrived in Yokohama, have now completely disappeared. Less than thirty years ago, from the secret precincts of his palace in Kioto, the lawful ruler, the present Mikado, was brought to light, like one who had been immured within a dungeon. In 1872, for the first time in a thousand years, a Japanese emperor freely appeared before his subjects. He was at that time a young man, twenty-two years of age, and was actually traveling by rail from Yokohama to Tokio, thenceforth to make that city his abode and capital. On that occasion, we are told, the loyalty and enthusiasm of his subjects knew no bounds. As the train moved off with the young emperor, restored to his ancestral power, there rang out on the air a melody which thrilled all hearts. It was the national anthem of Japan, the strains of which were first heard when savage tribes were hunting by the Thames and Rome was mistress of the world. [Illustration: HOME OF THE RETIRED SHOGUN, SHIZUOKA.] [Illustration: WHERE SOME OF THE SHOGUNS ARE BURIED.] [Illustration: NEAR A HERO'S GRAVE.] [Illustration: SHOGUN'S RESIDENCE, NAGOYA.] [Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE SHOGUNS TEMPLE, TOKIO.] One might suppose that such a sudden rise in power, combined with the amazing changes in his empire, would have been ruinous to this young sovereign, for at the time of the restoration he was but sixteen years old. But he was evidently the man for the occasion, and has since proved himself an assiduous student and enlightened ruler. This man, who, as a youth, knew almost nothing of the existence of such foreign lands, now reads the literatures of England, France, and Germany. [Illustration: OLD FEUDAL RESIDENCE, TOKIO.] Moreover, this hundred and twenty-first Mikado of his line--the representative of the oldest dynasty on earth, whose founder reigned here five hundred years before the death of Julius Cæsar,--has not only adopted European dress and customs, but has favored the introduction of all the great inventions of the present age. Nevertheless, he had the wisdom to restrain his subjects in their first eagerness to adopt everything European, when they were even ready to destroy, as worthless, some of their ancient castles, shrines, and statues. And now that a reaction has set in, and the Japanese are once more proud to cherish the memorials of their ancestors, they are sincerely grateful to their emperor, because at the great national crisis he showed sufficient tact and independence to steer between the rocks of servile imitation on the one side and dull conservatism on the other, and, while the ship of state was trembling in the rapids of that flood of progress, he maintained a firm hand on the helm. [Illustration: A MODERN CASTLE.] [Illustration: A LADY OF TOKIO.] The houses of the old Japanese nobles in Tokio recall many other striking contrasts between the past and the present. Until recently, for nearly a thousand years, Japan had many feudal lords, called Daimios. Most of them lived in Tokio for at least six months of every year, under the Shogun's watchful eye. But the great revolution of 1869 completely swept away the feudalism of centuries, and one by one, at the command of the Mikado, the Daimios gave up their swords, dismissed their armed retainers, renounced, to some extent, their vast estates and revenues, and, as a rule, retired to private life. Yet one must not suppose that the Japan of the present day has no nobility. Some years ago there was a grand revision of all ranks and titles. The old, distinguished families still form the nucleus of the aristocracy; but to their ranks have been added many men conspicuous for their talents, or for their loyalty to the new _régime_. We had the pleasure of meeting one who lives in close relations with the emperor. We found him a refined and courteous gentleman, dressed in a faultless suit of broadcloth, and speaking French and English fluently. As we conversed with him, however, our thoughts would stray from his appearance to that which his own father, doubtless, had presented, when Commodore Perry moored his fleet in Mississippi Bay. For his father had been one of those warriors of old Japan, called Samurai. [Illustration: AN OLD-TIME SWORDSMAN.] [Illustration: AN OLD-FASHIONED DUEL, AND UMPIRE.] [Illustration: CENTENARIAN TREES.] A certain number of these men adhered to every Daimio, lived at his castle, fought his battles, and, not content with one sword, always carried two, as distinctive symbols of their rank. Yet now the old-time swordsman, if alive, has no doubt ceased to shave his head, has laid aside his singular costume, and has even put his swords away as relics of his youthful days, since no civilian is at present allowed to wear them. It is said that this class of Japanese suffered most from the revolution, for they suddenly found their occupation completely gone. Untrained for work and ill-adapted to the sudden change, their situation was at first deplorable. Hence it is little short of marvelous that such a radical transformation could have been effected in Japan without frequent insurrections. The sight of this great nation turning from feudalism to a constitutional monarchy, at the cost of rank, fame, wealth, and even livelihood, for tens of thousands of its foremost citizens, gives proof of a wide-spread, unselfish patriotism, perhaps unequaled in the world's history. [Illustration: THE PRINCIPAL THEATRE IN TOKIO.] Not less remarkable is the recent progress of education in this "Land of the Rising Sun." The educational systems of all other nations have ripened slowly, and rest on centuries of experience. But twenty-five years ago, Japan had practically nothing of the kind. Accordingly, her brightest and most promising youths went forth to gather knowledge in the western world. She was eclectic in her method. Some were sent to England, some to Germany, others to France, and many to America. Accomplished foreign teachers also were induced to come and give instruction in Japanese schools; and how astonishing has been the result! In Tokio the buildings of the Imperial University cover fifteen acres of ground, and include admirable class-rooms, dormitories, laboratories, a hospital, and residences for the faculty. Here, in one department, are taught mathematics, astronomy, chemistry and geology; in another, civil and electrical engineering, naval architecture and metallurgy; in another, philosophy and the modern European languages; in still another, Japanese and Chinese history and literature. The University has also a Law School and a College of Medicine and Pharmacy, in each of which a four years' course is required. There are in all one hundred and twenty-three professors in the institution, fifteen of whom are foreigners, while more than fifty lecturers are also in the employ of the directors. Nor is this all, for in addition to this splendid University, there are in Tokio private colleges, commercial schools, military and naval academies, and a school of fine arts, besides an educational institution for the dumb and the blind; and not the least noteworthy is a common school system whereby the poorest child in Japan may obtain at least a rudimentary education. [Illustration: A JAPANESE ACTOR.] [Illustration: A SACRED GATE.] Let no one think, however, that all these changes, surprising though they are, have wholly done away with "old" Japan. The contrary is proved by countless characteristic sights, even in modernized Tokio. In their houses, theatres, shops, and festivals, and in their modes of bathing, eating, drinking, sleeping, and working, the vast majority of Japanese are to-day what they were centuries ago. [Illustration: IN WINTER COSTUME.] [Illustration: A DAIMIO'S HOME, TOKIO.] On our first day in Tokio, as we descended from the hill where we had gained a comprehensive view of the great city, we paused to note, at the foot of a long stone staircase, a singular gateway built of granite. The tourist may well observe such structures closely, for one of the most common architectural features of Japan is this peculiar style of portal, called a _torii_. In granite, wood, or bronze, such gateways usually mark the approach to a temple, shrine, or sacred statue. Nothing could be more simple. Two upright shafts are met and crossed by horizontal bars, the higher ones curving slightly upward at the ends. This is in one sense all, and the beholder at first sees little in them to admire; but, after a time, the foreigner in Japan expects them as essential features of every landscape, and welcomes them, like some sweet refrain, which, first heard in the overture, repeats itself in various disguises through the music of an opera. [Illustration: A TORII OR SACRED GATE.] There are two theories in regard to the origin of these sacred portals. The first maintains that they were intended originally for perches, upon which birds (which are occasionally liberated even now at Japanese temples) might pause before they took their heavenward flight to bear aloft the prayers of those who gave them freedom. The second theory affirms that these straight columns, with their curving cross-pieces, are derivative forms of the Chinese letter, or ideograph, which signifies Heaven. [Illustration: A RUSTIC TORII.] The latter explanation appears to be the more probable one; at all events, whatever may have been their origin, the architectural design of these peculiar structures is of immense antiquity. Such gateways, tradition hints, were extant twenty centuries ago; and it is worthy of remark that, despite the marvelous changes that have recently transformed Japan, no hand has ever been raised to mutilate these memorials of the past, or even to change a line of that mysterious hieroglyph which they so sharply outline against the sky. [Illustration: GROUP OF TORII.] In the immediate vicinity of these sacred arches, one usually sees a multitude of monuments, from five to seven feet in height. Sometimes these line, for a considerable distance, the avenues of approach to tombs and temples, and are compactly ranged in serried ranks, like soldiers at a dress parade, or people waiting for some grand procession. They are called lanterns, from the fact that, on special festivals, a lamp is placed in each of them, in honor of the hallowed dead. But the chief part they play is ornamental. Most of them are of stone; but some consist of beautifully decorated bronze,--real masterpieces of that art in which the Japanese excel. To many are attached bronze bells and circular medallions, bearing the crests of the imperial family or those of the military chieftains of Japan. With few exceptions, the finest ones have been presented by Japanese nobles, as proofs of their devotion to the shrine itself, or their esteem for those who are buried there. [Illustration: JAPANESE LANTERNS.] [Illustration: APPROACH TO THE TEMPLES, NIKKO.] [Illustration: IN SERRIED RANKS.] [Illustration: A BRONZE LANTERN.] [Illustration: BLOSSOM-LADEN BANKS.] One of the principal pleasure-resorts of Tokio is Ueno Park. It is especially attractive in the month of April, when all its cherry-trees are radiant with blossoms. These lovely flowers are usually pink in color, and grow in clusters several inches wide. Poets have sung their praises here for centuries. They are to Japan what roses are to western nations. Their blooming-time is one of the national festivals. Some avenues in the Mikado's capital are lined with these resplendent trees, and are famous throughout the country for their wealth of coloring. [Illustration: A JAPANESE TEMPLE.] There is a little stream in Tokio which, every year, about the middle of April, flows for two miles between blossom-laden banks. Crowds gather then from miles around, to gaze upon its beauty. The newspapers announce each day the progress of the coloring, and maps of the city are sold, on which are indicated in pink the groves of cherry-trees. Old Mother Earth grows young again, and every heart, however sad, becomes rejuvenated too, at the sight of thousands of these huge bouquets, lifting their clouds of pale pink blossoms toward the light blue sky. Hundreds of pleasure-boats also then float along the stream, which mirrors the gorgeous spectacle above. A Japanese poet says: "I wish to cross the river, but fear to cut the brocade upon its surface." Meanwhile, along the banks are thousands of other admirers, on foot or in jinrikishas; and not infrequently a mischievous breeze plucks handfuls of the dainty petals and scatters them upon the upturned faces, like flakes of tinted snow. [Illustration: A TEA-HOUSE ORNAMENTED WITH WISTARIA.] As we might expect from such a refined and artistic race, the Japanese are enthusiastic in their love of flowers. One of their favorite deities is called "The Goddess who causes the blossoms to open." With them, to make up parties for a floral exhibition is just as fashionable as for us to arrange box-parties for the theatre. Even in winter they will not allow themselves to be deprived of some enjoyment of this sort. Hence they call snow-crystals a kind of flower, and expeditions to see snow-displays form one of the regular amusements of the season. [Illustration: A DWARF MAPLE.] [Illustration: THE GREAT TREE NEAR LAKE BIWA.] The land of the Mikado is with reason often called the Land of Flowers, for each month of the year has its special blossoms which the Japanese admire, and which together form an unbroken garland for the brow of Time. Particularly beautiful is the Japanese wistaria, which blooms in May, soon after the departure of the cherry-blossoms. This lovely vine is trained on trellises, and covers bridges, canopies, and arbors with magnificent purple clusters, two, and even three feet long. Japanese tea-houses find it extremely profitable to decorate their gardens thus, as thousands are attracted thither, who, as a matter of course, drink tea upon the premises. It is precisely of such exhibitions that this peculiar nation is most fond. With one or two exceptions, they do not seem to care for cultivated flowers, preferring flowering trees and vines, like the wistaria, plum, and cherry. In all the gardens that we visited in Japan, we never saw a flower-bed. In fact, Japanese gardens differ from our own as completely as a jinrikisha differs from a tally-ho coach. They are all essentially alike, whether they cover several acres or only a tiny court behind the house. If possible, an artificial lake is formed; large, if the space permits; if not, a little tank of water containing half-a-dozen goldfish must suffice. Rocks are heaped up to take the place of cliffs. [Illustration: FOREST SOLITUDE.] [Illustration: JAPANESE LANDSCAPE GARDENING.] A path of pebbles represents a river-bed. A tiny beach of smooth, white sand is made along the shore. Islands are also manufactured, with fantastic bridges; and here and there among the trees we see a quaint display of garden lanterns, miniature pagodas, fountains, grottoes, and occasional statues. But of smooth lawns and ornamental flowers, like our own, we find in Japanese gardens not a trace. What seems to take their place in the affections of the Japanese is the cultivation of dwarf trees. These are among the marvels of Japan. At first, we could hardly believe our eyes, when we saw maples, pines, and oaks, from sixty to one hundred years old, possessing crooked limbs and gnarled and twisted trunks, though they were scarcely more than two feet high, and had their roots confined within the limits of a flower-pot! Just what the secret is of limiting the growth of these old monarchs of the forest, while yet preserving their vitality, we did not learn. It is, however, an art of which the Japanese are passionately fond, and which an experience of centuries has brought to perfection. These hardy dwarfs are often looked upon as precious heirlooms, and are carefully watched and tended by the family from generation to generation. What a strange notion this,--of dwarfing landscapes to the limit of a courtyard, and stunting noble trees till they appear like a forest looked at through the large end of a telescope! Sometimes, however, the taste of the Japanese in arboriculture goes to the other extreme, and large trees are chosen as objects of regard. These are often trained and trimmed, till they resemble mammoth fans, pagodas, or stately boats with curving prows and lofty masts adorned with tiny sails. Although ingenious, this seemed to us like trifling with nature,--a parody of the sublime,--a burlesque of the beautiful. [Illustration: A TREE TRIMMED TO REPRESENT A SHIP.] [Illustration: A LOTUS BED.] The glory of the month of August in Japan is the sacred lotus-flower, with whose broad leaves the moats in Tokio are filled. Growing from muddy, stagnant water, yet holding up to heaven its flowers always fresh and pure, the lotus is regarded as the symbol of the religious life,--aspiring from unfavorable conditions to a state of purity. The Buddhist writings say: "Though thou be born in a hovel, if thou hast virtue, thou art like the lotus growing from the slime." Accordingly the lotus is, _par excellence_, the flower of the Buddhist faith, associated with the mysteries of death and immortality. Bronze vases, filled with lotus-flowers made of metal, stand on all Buddhist altars, and statues of Buddha have usually, as an appropriate pedestal, a smooth lotus-leaf in stone or bronze. [Illustration: STATUES OF BUDDHA WITH LOTUS PEDESTALS.] [Illustration: THE NATIONAL FLOWER.] Early November brings still another source of pleasure to the Japanese in the chrysanthemum. Opinions differ as to whether this, or the cherry-blossom, should be regarded as the Japanese national flower. To us it seemed that the chrysanthemum should have that proud distinction; for it is used as the crest of the imperial family; and the Mikado's birthday, the third of November, is usually made the opening day for all chrysanthemum exhibitions. [Illustration: AUTUMNAL FOLIAGE.] In cultivating this flower, the Japanese have shown extraordinary skill. Some of their bushes are said to bear as many as four hundred perfect flowers at one time. Five or six varieties sometimes grow upon a single plant, and there are claimed to be, in all, two hundred and sixty-nine in the Mikado's empire. Moreover, since it blossoms longer than most other flowers, it is associated with the idea of longevity. One Japanese river, into whose limpid waters great showers of chrysanthemum petals fall, is thought to insure to a good old age the lives of those who drink from its invigorating flood. [Illustration: THE MODERNIZING RAILWAY.] But perhaps the most gorgeous of the natural displays, which in Japan adorn with a continuous brilliancy the path of the revolving year, is its autumnal foliage. Then, as the Japanese poets say, the maple-trees put on their damask robes. This also is thought to be a floral exhibition, for bright-colored leaves are looked upon by the Japanese as flowers. The subjects of the Mikado have, like ourselves, that most delicious season of the year when the warm breath of summer still retards the frost. We call it Indian Summer: their name for it is Little Spring. It is a pretty--almost a pathetic--thought, to connect thus the deep, strong, passionate hues that mark the year's maturity with the faint blushes of the cherry-blossoms, which betoken youth. The year has lived through much since that pink blush adorned its cheeks. The autumnal colors may be richer and more effective, but that first bloom of hope and innocence will never come again. [Illustration: A WRESTLING MATCH.] During our stay in Tokio, we one day visited a wrestling match. The scene of its occurrence, though in the heart of the city, resembled the enclosure of a country circus. On pushing through the crowd, we saw, in the centre, an elevated platform covered with sand. Above this was a highly decorated canopy, supported by tall bamboo poles, and gathered round it was the expectant populace. The second story of the structure consisted of a gallery made of bamboo rods, which, tied together, formed a floor resembling an enormous grid-iron. This gallery was divided into little areas, which served as private boxes for the entertainment. [Illustration: A WRESTLER.] We climbed up into one of these by means of a ladder, and tea and cakes were subsequently brought to us; but we could not have eaten a mouthful, unless fed by our attendant, for we were fully occupied in clinging to the bamboo poles, like canary birds to their perches. There presently appeared upon the stage a human monster, who seemed to have a gorgeous lambrequin tied about his waist. This giant was a great surprise to us. The Japanese are usually small their women seem like girls; their children look like dolls their dwellings have the appearance of magnified bird-cages their vehicle of transportation is a baby-carriage. Their wrestlers, however, are enormous. Such mountainous displays of fat and muscle we had never seen. One after another, fifty such giants stood fronting us for a moment with uplifted arms, while an official read their names to the admiring spectators. Twenty-five wrestlers were then chosen to contend on one side and as many on the other. The prize was to be given to whichever side should win the greatest number of single combats. [Illustration: LIKE MAMMOTH BULL-FROGS.] A moment later, the "lambrequins" were laid aside. A couple of huge wrestlers squatted on the sand, like mammoth bull-frogs ready for a jump. They had already rubbed their hands in the sand to make them gritty and tenacious. Beside them stood the umpire, holding in his hand a fan. With this he gave his signal to the wrestlers, much as a musical director leads his orchestra. His word is law, and he decides whether the start is properly made and whether the rules have been observed. A few false springs were made at first, and the great crowd became impatient. At last, however, the wrestlers fairly caught each other, and began the struggle. For several minutes they tugged and strained, until it seemed that neither could possibly gain the advantage. Meantime the Japanese grew more and more excited, for all these wrestlers are well-known, and have their patrons and admirers. One whom we saw is famous for having thrown three rivals in succession. This is, of course, a proof of great endurance; for by the time the third encounter comes, the victor must necessarily be much exhausted. [Illustration: "THEY TUGGED AND STRAINED."] In the first match, however, the wrestlers whom we watched had no easy task; but, presently, one of them saw his opportunity, and caught his enemy under the left leg. The other instantly reached over his shoulder and clutched his opponent's belt. For a few seconds neither moved. Then, with a fearful lurch, the giant who had gained the advantage lifted his rival off the ground, and swung him headlong over his shoulder clear off the platform to the sand below. We felt our bamboo perch in the gallery shake when the body struck. The conqueror was, of course, hailed with shouts of triumph, and in five minutes all was ready for another contest. [Illustration: AN ACROBAT.] At the conclusion of the spectacle, as we were making our exit through the crowd, we stopped to watch some Japanese acrobats, one of whom danced upon a swinging rope with more agility and skill than we had ever seen. "By the way," said a friend at my side, "do you know that once in the history of this country the Japanese throne itself was wrestled for? It happened just a thousand years ago. The Mikado died and left two sons, each of whom claimed to be the rightful heir. Instead of plunging the nation into civil war, they submitted their rival claims to a couple of famous wrestlers, each agreeing to abide by the result! Who shall say that there are not worse methods than this old Japanese mode of arbitration?" [Illustration: VILLAGE OF NIKKO.] One of the most renowned and sacred places of resort, alike for pilgrims and for tourists in Japan, is Nikko. "Nikko!" How little that brief name suggests to those whose feet have never trod its hallowed paths; but, oh, how much to those whose recollections of it are a joy forever! The mere approach to it is astonishing. It is a sacred road, over twenty miles in length, and lined for the most part on both sides with the grand cedars of Japan. These trees, called cryptomerias, frequently attain a height of two hundred feet, and are probably unsurpassed in size save by the giants of our own Yosemite. [Illustration: THE SACRED BRIDGE, NIKKO.] [Illustration: TIER UPON TIER AND TERRACE UPON TERRACE.] [Illustration: CHARACTERISTIC ARCHITECTURE.] It was late in the afternoon when we reached the terminus of this avenue. Before us rose a densely wooded mountain, around which swept a wild, impetuous stream. Spanning this foaming torrent is the sacred bridge of Nikko, whose floor and sides are covered with beautiful red lacquer, as smooth to the touch as polished mahogany, and which is ornamented here and there with tips of brass. In ancient times, none but the Shoguns ever stepped upon this bridge; none but the emperor may do so now. When General Grant, however, was traveling in Japan, the Mikado paid him the unusual compliment of ordering this bridge to be thrown open for his passage. But, from a delicate appreciation of the people's feelings, the General modestly declined the honor and took the regular, frequented path. [Illustration: THE ROAD TO NIKKO.] Leaving behind us this ornate but untrodden bridge, we began to ascend the hill itself. From time to time we halted, astonished and bewildered. Imagine a mountain, covered with thousands of the most magnificent cedar-trees that the Creator ever caused to grow; then realize that upon this mountain and among these trees there is what may be called a sacred citadel, rising tier above tier, and terrace upon terrace, each covering several acres. Toward each plateau ascends a flight of broad stone steps. In front of each is placed the characteristic gateway of Japan,--the sharp-cut, mysterious _torii_, hewn out of massive stone or made of polished bronze. In one place there is a beautifully decorated fountain, at which all pilgrims wash their hands and mouths before approaching more closely to the temples of their gods. [Illustration: THE PILGRIMS' FOUNTAIN, NIKKO.] [Illustration: ON ONE OF THE TERRACES.] Ascending one of the staircases of stone, we stood in an extensive area, where structures met our gaze so unlike all that we had elsewhere seen that we were fain to believe our senses were deceiving us, and that it was all an illusion,--a cunning trick for stage effect, which, when the play was over, would completely vanish. Along the terraces, like jewels darkened by the forest gloom, were belfries which appeared encased with precious stones; fountains adorned with ornaments of gilded bronze; picturesque temples bright with every color of the rainbow; lacquered pagodas, rivaling the trees in height; and huge bronze bells, whose solemn tones, in rhythmic waves of sound, roll on in grand reverberations through these sacred avenues. But how powerless is language to portray a place like this! Words impotently creep before the grand impressiveness of Nikko, as insects crawl beneath its cryptomerias. [Illustration: A GATEWAY AT NIKKO.] [Illustration: A QUIET CORNER.] [Illustration: PRIESTLY VESTMENTS.] [Illustration: A PROCESSION AT NIKKO.] [Illustration: AMONG THE SHRINES.] As we advanced still farther through these wonderful enclosures, it seemed like walking through a village whose buildings still remained in symmetry and beauty, yet whose inhabitants had disappeared. The silence of these courts was most impressive. Apparently, they have no guardians. Only the moss-grown lanterns stand about each shrine, like sentinels transformed to stone. Astonished and perplexed, we asked the meaning of these structures, and learned that some are treasure-houses, where are preserved the personal relics of the Shoguns and many of the gorgeous robes, embroidered banners, and superb insignia which still, on festal days, are borne in solemn state along these paths beneath a boundless canopy of shade, just as they have been borne for centuries. For the old trees of Nikko have looked down for nearly a thousand years on lines of richly decorated priests and pilgrims moving in solemn pageantry along these shadowy pathways consecrated to the gods. The individuals may come and go, but the processions never fail--much as the bright-tinted leaves fall here in autumn, to return no more, while the old trees live on. [Illustration: ENTRANCE TO TEMPLE, NIKKO.] [Illustration: A TARGET FOR MASTICATED PRAYERS.] At last we stood before one of the many sacred gates which lead to Nikko's shrines or sepulchres. Each displays against the foliage beyond a mass of variegated color. In every case the roof curves slightly upward at the base, and has a covering of copper, marked with ornaments in brass. To the right and left of all such passageways are massive wooden columns, lacquered red, and in the alcoves thus constructed at this gate we saw, to our amazement, two grotesque statues of colossal size. They seemed a startling union of Hercules and Mephistopheles. Yet these repulsive figures represent gods, whose special duty is to scare demons from the temple gates. We have no certain information about the nervous temperament of demons, but one could well believe that these unearthly shapes, with blood-red bodies, gaping mouths, and bulging eyes, would throw most children into convulsions. Upon their forms and faces are visible small marks resembling scars. These are in reality dried paper-balls, which worshipers have first chewed into a pulp, and then hurled at the statues, though not by any means in contempt. The pilgrim, in the first place, writes his petition on a slip of paper; this he rolls into a wad, which he deposits in his mouth; and, finally, when it is softened by saliva, he throws it at the god. If it adheres to the idol's face, the omen is propitious. If it sticks to any part of the body, there is still some hope; but if it falls off on the ground, a favorable answer is impossible. This custom is peculiar to Japan. One sees, of course, numberless strange rites connected with religion in traveling about the world, but Japan is the only land I have ever visited where deities serve as targets for masticated prayers! [Illustration: A GUARDIAN OF THE GATE.] When, turning from these sculptured monsters, one looks with admiration on the exquisitely carved and beautifully furnished temples of this sacred citadel, one naturally exclaims: "How is it possible that the same race, which has produced such beautiful, artistic works as these, should also have created, and should still retain, such hideous, uncouth statues as we have just beheld?" But one asks many such questions in traveling through Japan. No race on earth is so astonishingly contradictory and so full of puzzling surprises as the Japanese. "The longer I live here," a resident of Tokio once said to me, "the less I understand these people. A superficial knowledge of them is easily acquired; but there is always at the last a mental gulf between the Orient and the Occident, across which I perceive that their past is not our past, and that their ideas on art, religion, government, the finite and the infinite, are radically different from our own." [Illustration: THE BRONZE PORTAL.] [Illustration: THE PATH TO THE SHOGUN'S GRAVE.] Leaving at length the shrines of Nikko, we climbed still farther up the sacred mountain, by one of its great staircases of stone. It led us to a place of which the temples are but antechambers and accessories. For this magnificent forest is a vast sepulchral grove, in which are buried some of the greatest statesmen of Japan. [Illustration: NATURE'S CATHEDRAL.] [Illustration: THE SHOGUN'S TOMB.] [Illustration: NEAR ENOSHIMA.] [Illustration: NEGLECTED SHRINES.] It has been stated that previous to 1869, Japan, for seven hundred years, had always had two sovereigns at the same time: one the ideal and secluded monarch,--the Mikado; the other, the actual regent, known as the Shogun. Bearing this fact in mind we reached the summit of the staircase. Before us was a portal of black bronze, inscribed with Sanskrit characters in gold. Behind it was a small enclosure, surrounded by a massive wall. Only two dragon-headed dogs were stationed here as guardians; but no one dares set foot within the sacred area,--none save a priest may pass beneath the low-browed arch. But, standing on the steps, we obtained at least a glimpse of what is here enshrined. It is the tomb of Ieyasu, the most powerful military ruler of Japan. It is a simple cylinder of bronze, six feet in height, the roof of which curves upward like a miniature pagoda. In front, upon a pedestal of stone, are the Japanese emblems of immortality. Here, then, the mightiest of the Shoguns rests, in death exalted, as in life, above his subjects. It is an awe-inspiring burial-place. Above him wave, like funeral plumes, majestic cryptomerias; beneath him are the temples where his spirit is adored; while, close beside him, in a deep ravine, the mountain torrent moans an endless requiem. [Illustration: A MOUNTAIN TORRENT.] Yet it was when we left the Shogun's grave, and came down through the forest by that foaming stream, that we best appreciated the grandeur and sublimity of Nikko. Nowhere in the world, not even on the Alhambra hill, have I been so profoundly moved and thoroughly enchanted by a walk as by the one which winds about the sacred mountain of Japan. For miles above and around us stretched a cryptomerian cathedral, whose columns were the colossal trees, whose stained glass was the autumnal foliage, whose altar-covering was the green velvet of the forest, whose surpliced choristers were the white-robed and sweet-voiced rivers and cascades. One may well liken it to a cathedral, for its shadowy expanse is tenanted by countless rustic monuments and altars. Most of them looked abandoned both by gods and men; yet, here and there, we saw that worshipers had not forgotten them entirely, since fragrant flowers lay upon the thresholds of the few. [Illustration: A CRYPTOMERIAN CATHEDRAL.] [Illustration: THE SACRED GROVE.] [Illustration: THE LAST STRONGHOLD OF ROMANTIC PAGANISM.] Lingering among these moss-grown emblems of an ancient faith, and treading pathways deepened by the feet of millions long since turned to dust, I shall never forget the impression made upon me. I felt that I was assisting at the last hours of a great religion. "Young Japan" has no more use for these ancestral shrines. It guards them merely as historic souvenirs: its faith in them is gone. In one sense, I was glad of this; but in another, I experienced here a feeling of regret. It seemed to me that this was earth's last strong-hold of romantic paganism, and that its life was ebbing fast. Its sylvan gods, its nymphs and dryads of the hills, had left these immemorial shrines; and I could easily fancy that the drops of rain which fell that day from these old trees were in reality Nature's tears of grief that Pan was dying. Another generation, and he will be dead. [Illustration] * * * * * JAPAN II [Illustration: WRITING A LETTER.] Japan LECTURE II [Illustration: PRINCE ITO.] The most important dramas of the coming century will probably be enacted on the shores of the Pacific. Neither the European coast, nor yet our own, can now materially change; but over the mightiest ocean on our globe new constellations have arisen. Another Oriental horoscope must now be cast. Dormant so long, the East is re-awakening from her sleep of ages. Russia, the grim Colossus of the North,--facing, Janus-like, both east and west,--is making there a depot for her navy. Meantime she pushes on by day and by night her trans-Siberian railway, whose bars of steel will soon unite the Baltic and Pacific and revolutionize the commerce of the world. In the Northern Pacific, England and France have interests which are steadily increasing. Southward, Australia, and New Zealand too, must be considered carefully in any forecast of the future. Last, but not least, our own Pacific coast, with its magnificent shore-front of California and Alaska, and the boundless possibilities of Puget Sound, will fifty years hence have enormous interests at stake. Meanwhile, Japan, central to all these various lands, keen, bold, and active, both in war and peace, has suddenly surpassed all records in her wonderful development, and even now can almost keep step with the great Western Powers. [Illustration: A DISTANT MARKET FOR CONNECTICUT CLOCKS.] In 1892, the writer visited the Mikado's empire, and on his return spoke enthusiastically of its people. But what he said of China was precisely the reverse. On this account, some thought that he exaggerated the virtues of the one and the vices of the other. But the events of 1895 verified his words. China has sunk still lower in the estimation of mankind, while Japan has risen far above the expectations of her warmest friends. In fact, Japan, in many ways, is now the most interesting country in the world. She is the pioneer of progress in the Orient. Consider her amazing growth in manufactures. By these she may ere long control the commerce of the entire East. Look at her admirable schools and universities. They can be favorably compared with not a few in Europe. Think of her government, which in less than twenty-five years has achieved what it took Europe centuries to accomplish,--to rid herself of feudalism and become a constitutional monarchy. Regard her army, which accomplished marvels in the recent war; and her navy, which elicited the admiration of the world. [Illustration: THE EDWIN BOOTH OF JAPAN.] In all these respects we find a national transformation, which in rapidity at least has had no parallel in history. It is, then, this extraordinary land, which has a long and brilliant past, and is apparently to have a still more brilliant future, that we are now to explore still farther. However novel and attractive the cities of the Mikado's empire may be, it is from traveling through the country of Japan that one derives the greatest pleasure and instruction. For it is not what Japan has borrowed from the western world that most delights the foreign tourist. On the contrary, the more he sees of their artistic, happy, natural life, away from foreign contact, the better he likes it. It was on a beautiful October morning, that, leaving cities and railways for a time behind us, we began our journey through a few of the Mikado's provinces. Seating ourselves in jinrikishas, we dashed across a little bridge and up a mountain gorge which led to Miyanóshita. There are few things more thoroughly delightful than traveling through a mountainous country in a carriage or on horseback. On a former trip I had thought that nothing could approach in pleasure this mode of traveling in Norway. But here it proved fully as enjoyable. It is true, the grandeur of Norwegian scenery is not met with in Japan; but, on the other hand, the charming novelty of everything one sees makes such excursions peerless in the traveler's memory. [Illustration: APPROACHING MIYAN�SHITA.] At first, our road was an embowered lane winding along a mountain-side, green to the summit with luxuriant foliage. There was no parapet along the edge, as on the mountain roads of Switzerland; but, as a reassuring compensation, we had no horses here to back or shy or roll us down the precipices. The steeds that drew us up the narrow path were copper-colored athletes, driven tandem, and without need of rein or whip. On, on they went with ceaseless energy, their splendid muscles working like machinery. Insensible to fatigue, they laughed and talked incessantly, asking only one favor of their drivers,--that of being allowed to reduce their clothing to the scantiest limits. Below us, as we rode along, was an impetuous stream, which lured from time to time adventurous water-falls to join its course. We halted to admire one of these at our leisure. Its special charm was not its height, though it descends several hundred feet: it was the wealth of colored foliage that made for it a frame of green and gold. A little to the left, an opening in the trees revealed a tiny shrine, and in the foreground stood an aged priest, who had stopped to gaze in wonder at such strange intruders. [Illustration: A JAPANESE VILLAGE NEAR MIYAN�SHITA.] [Illustration: A BIT OF JAPAN.] What pictures thus disclose themselves at every turn throughout this marvelous country! Anywhere else you would pronounce them stage effects--the cataracts which resemble tangled skeins of silken floss; the miniature pagodas interspersed among the trees; and, brightening all with life and color, the Japanese women with their brilliant sashes, as if the vanished nymphs and dryads of the place had now assumed material shapes, intending to be worshiped somehow, even by the skeptics. [Illustration: RURAL SCENERY IN JAPAN.] [Illustration: A MOUNTAIN STREAM.] [Illustration: A JAPANESE FAIR.] [Illustration: A JAPANESE BRIDGE.] Yet this is what one sees continually in Japan. What would in other lands seem artificial, is here only natural. Accordingly, the charm of Japanese scenery is enhanced by the surroundings given it by man. Picturesque figures, clad in robes as multicolored as the trees themselves; bridges, temples, and pagodas, often as brilliant as the autumnal leaves around them--these make the landscapes irresistibly attractive, as if both man and Nature had agreed to wear at the same time their holiday attire. One feels that he is traveling through a land where Nature is adored, where animals are kindly treated, and where such pleasing and poetic myths as we associate only with ancient Greece and Rome are still believed by many faithful souls, and make each forest the abode of rural deities and every mountain rivulet a place of prayer. [Illustration: A FARMER IN HIS WORKING SUIT.] As we moved farther up the valley, we found at every turn some new source of enjoyment; first, in the vivid foliage, which made the mountains seem like huge bouquets of ferns; then, in the silvery stream whose voice would shout a welcome to us as it hurried on; and lastly, in the little Japanese inns, along whose carved-wood balconies were hung red paper lanterns, that glowed at night like monster rubies, and gave to the whole scene that charmingly unreal, or theatrical effect, so characteristic of Japan. [Illustration: A RUSTIC BRIDGE.] Seeing some buildings on the opposite bank, we asked: "How do you cross here from shore to shore? Boats surely are not possible; nor are there any bridges, unless--but certainly those tiny structures yonder, stretched like a spider's web across the flood, cannot be bridges!" Yet closer scrutiny revealed the fact that they are really used as a means of transportation. Long poles of bamboo, bound about with reeds, and supported in the centre by a rough-hewn tripod,--such are the structures often spanning mountain-torrents in Japan! If swept away, they can easily be replaced; and, while they last, the peasants cross them fearlessly. [Illustration: A CHARACTERISTIC VIEW.] "But how about wagons, carriages, and horses?" we inquired, only to be again reminded, with a laugh, that no provision need be made for them, for carriage-roads do not yet exist in these mountain regions, and horses are almost as rare as centaurs. In fact, one of the first things to impress us in these rural districts was the absence of animals. We saw no oxen, sheep, or donkeys, and only in rare instances a pony. Japanese farmers hardly know what meat, milk, and butter are, and when one recollects that they have never eaten bread, and have no word for it in their language, one naturally asks, "On what do they live?" Through our interpreter, we questioned a young laborer who was returning homeward from the fields in his everyday working-suit of clothes. He was well-formed and looked well-nourished, like most of his fellows, yet he assured us that only fish, rice, and vegetables formed his diet. When, therefore, one considers how much hard work the Japanese perform, and thinks of all the thousands here, who, in lieu of horses, haul heavy loads of wood and stone, it cannot be denied that they derive from their food quite as much strength as we do from ours. It is true, doctors declare that Japanese food, while good for peasants working in the open air, is bad for those who lead a sedentary life. But is anything good for those who lead a sedentary life? [Illustration: A JAPANESE MEAL.] [Illustration: A POSTMAN.] [Illustration: GATHERING SEA FOOD.] "What," we inquired somewhat impatiently, "is the meaning of this dearth of animal life,--here, where a million acres on these verdant hills would give the best of pasturage for cattle?" The explanation given us was a religious one; for the Buddhist faith declares that to destroy any living creature is a sin. This doctrine, through successive centuries, has had a great effect upon the people. It practically forbids them to eat meat. If the United States, therefore, should ever become Buddhistic, a colossal industry of the West would disappear. No doubt, in time, stock-farms will be established in Japan, as foreigners create a large demand for beef, butter, milk, and cream; but agricultural customs are always slow to change. One might have supposed that catching fish would also have been prohibited by Buddhism, since that involves the sacrifice of life. But, as the waters around the Japanese islands fairly swarm with them, to have forbidden the people fish would have removed their staple article of diet, and caused a positive hatred for the new religion. It is probable, therefore, that the Buddhist priests knew (just as well as the Japanese fishermen) where to draw the line. [Illustration: HOTEL AT MIYAN�SHITA.] One day, as we were rolling through the country in jinrikishas, we saw approaching us an extraordinary apparition. "What is it," we exclaimed, "a winged Mercury, or a Coney Island bather rushing to the beach?" "That is the letter-carrier," was the reply; "and the small waterproof paper bag at the end of his bamboo pole contains the mail." [Illustration: TATTOOED MAN.] [Illustration: A POST-OFFICE.] In fact, where villages are not reached by a railroad, the old system of swift couriers still prevails. Let us not laugh, however, at Japan's postal service. It was only started in 1871; but it is already extended over the entire country, with more than five thousand post-offices and postal savings-banks. In 1881, after only ten years' growth, it carried ninety-five million letters and postal-cards, and its rate of postage is the cheapest in the world. A country postman, it is true, is rather oddly dressed. One thinks, at first, perhaps, that he is wearing a gaily-colored jersey. Not at all--his only garment is a cloth about the waist, with a kerchief around his head to keep the perspiration out of his eyes, and he has straw sandals on his feet. He is tattooed. It seems impossible, at a first glance, that such elaborate decoration is produced by sepia and vermilion alone, carefully pricked in with needles; nevertheless it is a fact. These brilliant hues are proof against the greatest amount of washing, tattooed man could no more change his colors than could an Ethiopian his skin or a leopard his spots. In feudal times this style of ornamentation was resorted to by the Japanese for the same reason that their hideous masks were worn in battle,--in order to inspire fear. Even now, although the custom is prohibited, some wonderful specimens of tattooing can be seen; and from actual observation we were forced to believe the statement that artists in that line are able to prick into the skin a fairly faithful likeness of the man himself, or perchance of a friend. Such workmen now complain that they have little opportunity to practice their profession. Some patronage, however, still comes to them from youthful foreigners. Two sons of the Prince of Wales, for example, as well as Prince George of Greece, have on their bodies specimens of this ornamentation; and if some travelers whom we met here could be induced to raise their sleeves they would display to their astonished friends one or two very pretty Japanese views,--"colored,"--though not "dissolving." [Illustration: AT MIYAN�SHITA.] [Illustration: RURAL SCENERY.] One of the first and most delightful halting-places in our trip across Japan was the hotel at Miyanóshita. It is as dainty as a lacquered box, with floors, chairs, and balustrades as neat as wax and beautifully polished. The rooms are furnished simply, but in European style; the food is specially prepared for foreigners; and in cold weather the corridors can be enclosed in glass. What wonder, then, that tourists resort to Miyanóshita? For, in addition to its good hotel, it has the best of mountain air and delightful hot baths from a natural spring, and is a starting-point for many notable excursions. On most of these, however, jinrikishas cannot be used. From this point on, the beaten roads are left, and only narrow paths ascend the hills. Hence, on the morning after our arrival, we found ourselves confronted by the most novel style of conveyance we had thus far seen. "What under heaven is this?" I cried, as I caught sight of it. "Must I get into this thing, and haven't you any blankets for these horses?" [Illustration: A KAGO.] My friend sat down upon a rock and vowed he would not go. "Give me a jinrikisha," he moaned; "I'd rather be once more a baby-jumper in my little carriage than a mere stone in a sling, as you will be in that!" He finally compromised on an armchair, hung on bamboo poles and carried by four men; but I resolved to give this vehicle a thorough trial. So crawling in, like a dog into its basket, I crossed my legs after the fashion of a Turk who had fallen over backward, and told my well-groomed steeds to go ahead. The unique and novel instrument of torture to which I thus subjected myself is called a "kago." It is a shallow basket, suspended from a bamboo pole, on which it swings irregularly like an erratic pendulum. Two men take this upon their shoulders, while a third follows as a substitute; for they change places usually every fifteen minutes. [Illustration: 1. A RAIN-COAT. 2. AMONG THE FLOWERS. 3. A KAGO.] Mine changed every five. The man who invented the iron cage, within which the unhappy prisoner could neither stand up nor lie down, must have heard of a Japanese kago. The basket is too near the pole to let the occupant sit erect, and much too short for him to extend his feet without giving the bearer in front a violent prod in the small of the back. After many frantic experiments, I found that the easiest fashion of kago-riding was to lie upon my side, my head lolling about in one direction, and my feet in the other. Even then, the lower half of my body kept falling asleep, and I was frequently obliged to get out and walk, to avoid curvature of the spine. Yet, incredible though it seems, Japanese women often travel by these kagos. They certainly looked a thousand times more comfortable than I felt; but then, the Japanese are short, and, moreover, are used to bending up their limbs like knife-blades when they seat themselves. [Illustration: SWINGING LIKE A PENDULUM.] On a broad road, one experiences no sense of danger in these swinging cars; but, once in a while, when I was being carried thus along a path two feet in width,--a mountain grazing my right elbow, and a ravine one thousand feet in depth just under my left shoulder-blade, I used to wonder just what would happen if one of these men should stumble; or if, becoming weary of their load, they should suddenly shoot me outward into space like a stone from a catapult. I prudently kept on good terms with my kago-men, and never refused them when they asked the privilege of halting to take a smoke. [Illustration: HUMAN PONIES.] Almost everything in Japan is small; nor is a Japanese pipe an exception to the rule. It is about as large as a lead-pencil with a child's thimble at the end. Three whiffs are all that any man can take from them, and the wad of tobacco thus consumed is just about the size of a two-grain quinine pill. Hence, the long inhalations of our smokers, the drooping backward of the head, the languid lifting of the eyes to watch the rings of perfumed smoke float lazily away,--all these are unknown to the Japanese. With them,--three little puffs, and all is over. This seems, however, to satisfy them completely, and with the air of one who has dined well, they knock the ashes from the tiny thimbles, and resume their march. After about four hours of this kago-riding we reached the summit of a mountain pass, called Otemetoge. From this point a glorious vista met our gaze. [Illustration: STOPPING FOR A SMOKE.] [Illustration: A JAPANESE LADY EN ROUTE.] Behind us, in the distance, lay Miyanóshita and its neighboring villages, resembling a group of islands in an ocean of green foliage. Far off upon the heights a line of sunlit buildings gleamed like whitecaps on a bright-green sea. Nearer, and almost at our feet, some objects glittering in the noonday light attracted our attention, and these, examined through a field-glass, proved to be a foaming mountain stream and silvery cascade. At first we hardly dared to look on the other side of the pass, lest we should experience disappointment. But fortune favored us. The sky was clear; and gazing eagerly toward the west, we saw, directly opposite our point of observation, the grand old sacred mountain of Japan,--the world-renowned Fuji-yama. [Illustration: FUJI-YAMA.] It made me fairly catch my breath to look for the first time upon this noble peak, whose form had been portrayed on almost every specimen of Japanese art that I had seen from childhood. I felt as if I had been ushered into the presence of some mighty sovereign, whose name and deeds and splendid court had from my earliest years called forth my admiration. A score of interesting traits render a study of this mountain valuable. It is, in the first place, a volcano,--the tallest of those fiery furnaces whose devastations cast a lurid light along the path of Japanese history. Its last eruption was in 1707, when all the plain around its base was buried deep with cinders, and ashes fell fifty miles away. Yet even now, although no wreathe of smoke surrounds its brow, it sends forth steam through several apertures, much as a captive serpent hisses though its fangs are drawn. The little spur upon its southern slope is due to the last eruption. Before that, both of its curving sides were perfectly symmetrical. The ascent of Fuji involves a long, hard climb for weary miles through lava-ashes, sometimes ankle-deep. The violence of the wind on certain portions of the mountain is proverbial, and by some travelers has been described as so appalling that they were fearful lest some furious blast might blow them into space and scatter their remains over a dozen provinces. [Illustration: THE SACRED PEAK.] [Illustration: APPROACH TO A SHRINE.] [Illustration: THE GOD OF WIND.] One cannot wonder that the Japanese have always deemed this mountain sacred. A perfect, silver-crested pyramid, over twelve thousand feet in height, rising in one majestic sweep from sea to sky; changing its color constantly from dawn to dusk, like some officiating priest, a mediator between God and man, assuming consecrated robes of purple, orange, violet, green, and gold,--how could man help regarding it as a glorious shrine inhabited by Deity itself? To its mighty base, as to some incense-burning altar, more than ten thousand reverent pilgrims annually come to make the arduous ascent; and to relieve their hardships, "rest-houses" have been built at intervals along the path, while, even on the summit, the three entrances to the volcano's crater, which is four hundred feet deep, are marked by sacred gateways. [Illustration: MENDICANT PILGRIMS.] Most of these pilgrims wear upon their shoulders the garments almost universally worn in stormy weather by the Japanese peasants,--a kind of water-proof, made of straw or grass, to shed the rain and snow. These vary from a finely-plaited matting to the cheaper, rougher grades, which make the wearer's back look like the roof of a thatched cottage. Upon their heads are hats of split bamboo or straw, that bear a comical resemblance to enormous mushrooms, and serve as sunshades or umbrellas, according to the condition of the weather. We met such pilgrims everywhere throughout Japan. At least a hundred thousand people thus become, in summer-time, religious tramps, and make their way to sacred islands, holy mountain-tops, and shrines whose names would fill a lengthy catalogue. [Illustration: THE PILGRIM GARB.] [Illustration: STATUE OF JIZO] [Illustration: CROSSING THE TEN-PROVINCE PASS.] [Illustration: VILLAGE STREET.] [Illustration: A LOVELY WALK NEAR HAKONE.] Many of these itinerant worshipers solicit alms to help them on their way; but there are also associations of these pilgrims, whose members pay one cent a month into a common treasury. From such a tax as that, however, the treasury never becomes congested, and hence the number of those who travel is necessarily limited. When, therefore, the pilgrim season opens, a certain number of the wanderers, chosen by lot, visit the shrines and represent those whose circumstances compel them to remain at home. These pilgrimages, it is said, are on the wane, but they are still popular. Only five years ago, at the festival of one famous shrine, twenty-one thousand people alighted in two days at a country railway station where the daily average is three hundred and fifty; and to another sacred shrine about two hundred and fifty thousand pilgrims annually come. [Illustration: APPROACH TO THE TEMPLE AT NARA.] Another charming excursion in Japan led us across the "Ten-province pass" to Atami on the southern coast. Of course it had to be made in chairs or kagos; but such slight hardships sink to insignificance when one recalls delightful days spent in enjoying lovely scenery, inhaling pure, invigorating air, and riding over mountain-paths on which the sunlight, filtering through the trees, traced tremulous mosaics of alternate light and shade. [Illustration: ON THE SHORE OF HAKONE LAKE.] Occasionally on this journey we came upon the sculptured effigy of some protecting deity. We were especially impressed by one that was colossal in dimensions, and had been carved laboriously from the natural cliff eleven hundred years before. It represents the Buddhist god, Jizo, who is the especial guardian of travelers and little children. Around the base of this extraordinary figure were heaps of pebbles which had been placed there, one by one, by wayfarers for centuries. This custom originated in one of the most singular myths which religion has ever produced, and is a striking proof of the fondness of the Japanese for children. Upon the banks of the river, in the lower world, is said to live a demon who catches little children as they try to cross, and makes them work for him at his eternal task of piling stones upon the shore. Every pebble laid at the statue's feet is thought to lighten the burden of some little one below! Smilingly yielding to the influence of this pathetic superstition, we ourselves left some pebbles, and then moved onward down the mountain-side, in the same path pursued by all the thousands who had here preceded us, like little boats upon the stream of Time. [Illustration: THE MIKADO'S PALACE, HAKONE.] [Illustration: ATAMI.] [Illustration: THE GEYSER AT ATAMI.] Presently a sudden turn revealed to us Hakone Lake,--a lovely sheet of water surrounded by densely wooded hills. This is a summer resort that rivals even Miyanóshita in popularity. The air is delightfully invigorating here, twenty-four hundred feet above the sea, and in the hot season, not only are all the Japanese tea-houses filled with guests, but families from Tokio and Yokohama rent all the available cottages around the lake. To some extent, indeed, this region has imperial patronage, for, on a pretty hill which overlooks the water, is a palace built for the Mikado. It must be said, however, that he has never occupied it, since he rarely leaves his residence in Tokio, but we were told that the Crown Prince, a lad of fourteen, had been here several times. In almost every other country in the world the public is now permitted to enter the abodes of royalty when their distinguished occupants are absent; but not so here. These palace doors are closed inexorably to all travelers. We were not allowed even to step within the grounds. [Illustration: BY LAKE HAKONE.] At length, descending to the level of the sea, our faithful bearers brought us to Atami--a pretty town, famous for the manufacture of that Japanese paper which seemed to me one of the most astonishing products of the country. It is so fine and soft that it is used for handkerchiefs and napkins, and takes the place of lint in surgery; yet is so firm that it is manufactured into lantern-screens, brooms, air-cushions, and umbrellas. Torn into strips, it also takes the place of string, while all the inner walls of Japanese houses consist of screens of paper, divided into squares, like panes of glass. [Illustration: A MIXTURE OF STYLES.] As we were one day walking through Atami, a sudden outburst of steam, on the other side of a fence, came very near stampeding our entire party. When we recovered sufficient breath to ask the cause of the explosion, we learned that it was occasioned by a small geyser, which has a species of convulsion every four hours, and each time pours out sulphurous vapor for a space of fifteen minutes. It would appear that the people of Atami are living on the lid of a volcanic tea-kettle, but evidently they have no fear. They have enclosed the geyser with a fence like a wild animal in a cage, and close beside it is a sanitarium, where patients with diseases of the throat and lungs inhale the steam. It may be an excellent place for sufferers from pulmonary troubles, but we concluded that nervous occupants of this retreat must feel like the traditional darky on the safety-valve of a Mississippi steamboat. The old-style doctors of Japan are still in vogue in certain rural districts, though they are being rapidly superseded by the young practitioners who have received a medical education, in Europe or America. With the old Japanese physicians a favorite mode of cure was sticking a long needle into the part of the body supposed to be diseased. Another universal panacea was branding the body with a burning weed called _moxa_. This was prescribed for troubles as unlike as rheumatism and toothache. Women, at certain critical moments in their lives, were thought to be relieved by having the little toe of their right foot burned three times. We often noticed scars upon the naked backs and limbs of our jinrikisha men, and learned that they had been produced by this strange medical treatment. [Illustration: A JAPANESE DOCTOR OF THE OLD STYLE.] [Illustration: A JAPANESE LADY.] [Illustration: DRESS AND UNDRESS.] In traveling through the rural districts of Japan, the tourist soon becomes accustomed to the peasant's lack of clothing. It is not the exception here to be undressed--it is the rule. Even in the streets of Tokio one will behold, on rainy days, thousands of men wearing neither trousers nor stockings, walking about with tucked-up clothes and long white limbs, which gives them the appearance of storks upon a river-bank. Even those who have adopted the European dress will frequently, on a muddy day, practice economy by discarding their trousers, and, unconscious of any incongruity, will take their "constitutional" on wooden clogs, with bare legs and feet, though having the upper part of their bodies covered with a frock-coat and a Derby hat! Among these scantily-clad people one often sees a somewhat better dressed but melancholy man, who, with his downcast eyes and shaven head, appears to have lost his friends together with his hair. He represents a useful class of people in Japan--the masseurs, or professional manipulators of the body. One should not hastily conclude that he is smoking. It is true, the article between his lips is usually a pipe, but it is not the kind that holds tobacco. It is a reed-like instrument, on which he blows two plaintive notes to advertise his presence. In every Japanese town we always heard at night the mournful call of the masseur. The laughter which their appearance at first provokes, gives place to pity when one learns that nearly all of these men are blind. It is a calling which, notwithstanding their infirmity, they can follow, and they are said to be adepts at it. [Illustration: A MASSEUR.] [Illustration: MASSAGE.] To appreciate a Japanese masseur, it is necessary to see one of them at work. This, it is true, is more than he himself can do, since he is blind; but our pity is soon diverted from him to the person he is treating, not so much because of the pinching to which he subjects his victim as on account of the pillow on which the patient's head reclines. It makes one think of Anne Boleyn or Mary Stuart, with their necks upon the fatal block; for a Japanese pillow is a wedge-shaped piece of wood, about a foot in length, on top of which is tied a wad of cloth, about the size of a Bologna sausage. To try to sleep with neck supported in this fashion would seem to most Americans as hopeless as to woo slumber with a fence-rail for a pillow. One shudders to consider the discomfort, under these conditions, of turning over in bed, and trying to locate the neck on such a diminutive support. [Illustration: JAPANESE COIFFURE.] [Illustration: A JAPANESE PILLOW.] [Illustration: IN THE BOUDOIR.] Yet, after all, we are creatures of habit, and forty million people in Japan use just such pillows every night, without suffering from insomnia. It is even claimed that Japanese women delight in them, since they do not disarrange the hair. Nor does this appear strange, when one scrutinizes their methods of coiffure. They are something marvelous. The hair of Japanese women is, with few exceptions, as black as ebony, and very abundant. Moreover, it is usually profusely oiled, and glistens like a raven's wing. Through these polished tresses are invariably drawn hairpins of gold, strings of coral, or ornaments of tortoise-shell. But as to how the ladies of Japan produce in their coiffures their black crescendos and diminuendos, their sharp staccato puffs and portamento water-falls, the writer dares not hazard a conjecture. Yet of one thing we may be sure: if we were to venture into a Japanese lady's boudoir, we should find that help is needed to produce them. The toilette-stand and looking-glass might seem to us a trifle low; but we must bear in mind that Japanese domestic life is regulated by a level three feet lower than our own: in other words, where we use chairs, they seat themselves on the floor. This furnished us a key to much that hitherto had seemed puzzling in their habits. Whether a thing be sensible or not depends upon the point of view,--in this case, the height at which we seat ourselves. Once regard an exquisitely clean floor of cushioned matting as an immense divan, and taking off our muddy boots becomes a matter of course; and tables and lamps and mirrors will be placed at a height adapted to our needs. [Illustration: THE LAST TOUCHES.] [Illustration: THE OBI.] When a foreigner beholds for the first time a Japanese lady seated on her heels, as is the custom, he fancies that she has the small of her back supported by an enormous cushion. But when he subsequently sees this lady walking down the street, attended by her maid, he perceives that what appeared to him a sofa-pillow is really a regular part of her costume. It is a heavy silken sash, extremely long and often very elegant, which keeps the robe itself in place. This _obi_, as it is called, is the most precious article of a Japanese lady's wardrobe. Its usual length is fourteen feet, and when its material is silk or gold brocade it will be seen that it has some value. These sashes exhibit, of course, a great variety of color, and one can scarcely find a prettier sight than that of several well-dressed Japanese ladies, grouped together in the vivid sunlight. They look as radiant and attractive as a bouquet of flowers. [Illustration: A JAPANESE BEAUTY.] American ladies who have tried the Japanese dress say that the tying of the _obi_ is extremely difficult. But here, as in the art of hair-dressing, a lady's maid is almost indispensable. The bow, although arranged in different styles, is always worn behind, thus spoiling, in some measure, the outline of the form. When a Japanese lady becomes a widow, she makes no change in the position of the _obi_, unless she wishes publicly to announce that she will never marry again. In that case, it is said, she ties the bow in front. Whether this wards off all proposals may be doubted; but gossip relates that, once in a while, the widow comes to look at life a little differently, and then the bow works gradually round again to its original position. [Illustration: TYING THE OBI.] [Illustration: FRIENDS IN COUNCIL.] [Illustration: A JAPANESE SHOP.] Japanese ladies make a serious mistake when they exchange their national style of dress for that of foreigners, for, as a rule, their charm and beauty leave them when they appear in European garments. On two occasions we saw some thus arrayed, and the effect was painful. If most of them had put on each other's dresses by mistake, they would have looked about as well; and in the absence of corsets their little figures seemed as much out of place as children in their mother's wrappers. [Illustration: A BOAT-RIDE IN JAPAN.] [Illustration: GEISHA GIRLS.] Some years ago a letter signed by Mrs. Cleveland and many other prominent women of America was addressed to their sisters in Japan, urging them not to risk their health and comfort by adopting European dress. It was of little avail. The die was cast. In 1885 the Japanese Empress and her suite appeared for the last time in public in the tasteful costumes of the past. Since then, the order has gone forth that all ladies who present themselves at court must do so in European dress; and it is to be feared that, ere a score of years have passed, the lovely and appropriate robes of old Japan will have disappeared forever. Until quite recently, the universal rule for Japanese women, when they married, was to shave their eyebrows, pull out their eye-lashes, and stain their teeth jet-black. Even the present empress did these things at her marriage. The idea seems to have been to make themselves look hideous, so as to have no more admirers, despite the fact that the average husband, as we all know, appreciates his wife better if he perceives that other men are aware of her attractions. But under the new _régime_ this sad disfigurement is rapidly disappearing, and at present the younger ladies of Japan, at least, show rows of pearly teeth when laughter parts their lips. [Illustration: A DANCING-GIRL.] [Illustration: A TEA-HOUSE.] The richest toilettes that we saw in the land of the Mikado were worn by _geisha_ girls, without whom Japanese festivals are incomplete. Some of these dainty creatures form an orchestra while others dance. Their instruments of sound (one can hardly call them instruments of music) consist usually of two kinds of drums and a long, three-stringed banjo, called the _samisen_. Sometimes a flute also is used. We frequently disputed as to which of these was the least excruciating, but on the whole we preferred the drums. When to this combination a human voice was added, our teeth were set on edge. Young as they look, these _geishas_ are professionals, and training-schools exist in Tokio and Kioto, where they are sometimes taught when only seven years of age. A Japanese dancing-girl forms a charming picture. Her long _kimono_ of the richest silk is beautifully embroidered with such a wealth of lovely flowers, that she herself resembles a bouquet in motion. Her broad _obi_ is of the heaviest crape, and falls upon a petticoat of gorgeous color. [Illustration: A JAPANESE FAMILY MOVING.] [Illustration: ON THE JAPANESE COAST.] Black lacquered sandals half conceal her tiny, white-socked feet, and in each hand she holds a decorated fan. Do not expect from her the slightest approach to Lottie Collins. The dance of "Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay," performed by a _geisha_ girl, would make a subject of the Mikado, if he were unprepared for it, faint away. Nor will the spectator see the least exposure of her personal charms. For, strangely enough, the Japanese, who will at other times dispense with all the clothing possible, conceal a dancer's form with rigid severity. There is not much expression in these dancers' faces. One feels that they are not women, but girls to whom intense emotions are as yet unknown. They merely represent in graceful pantomime some song or story, flitting about like pretty butterflies, or swaying back and forth like flowers in a summer breeze. Leaving Atami, we had a charming ride of seven miles beside the ocean. The road (which may be called the Japanese Cornice) is passable for jinrikishas; and while on one side we looked off upon the Pacific, on the other we found that every valley had a background of well-rounded mountains, covered with verdure soft as velvet, from which at intervals a stream of crystal water rushed to meet the sea. The scenery of Japan may not be grand, but for a charming combination of the elements which make a country beautiful, enlivened constantly by natives in their novel occupations, the seven-mile drive from old Atami can hardly be surpassed. [Illustration: LOVERS OF NATURE AND ART.] Moreover, the people, as we met them on these journeys, pleased us greatly. They were invariably courteous and gentle in their manners, and no boorishness was visible, even among the lower classes. They always seemed to be good-natured. However stormy the weather, however heavy the load, however bad the roads, we never heard a Japanese complain, nor saw one in a bad humor. If the foreigner becomes angry with them, they laugh as if he were making himself ridiculous; and presently he feels that they are right, and that violent anger is in truth absurd. [Illustration: A JAPANESE AT PRAYER.] Yet, just as beneath the smiling landscapes of Japan still lurk the terrible volcanic forces of destruction, so underneath the sunny dispositions of the Japanese are all the characteristics of the warrior. Their history has thoroughly established that they are a manly, patriotic, martial race. Their gentleness, therefore, comes not from servility, but is the product of inborn courtesy and refinement. [Illustration: THE GUARDIANS OF TRAVELERS AND LITTLE CHILDREN.] The Japanese are naturally of a happy disposition. A smile illumines every face. Apparently their past has no regrets, their present no annoyances, their future no alarms. They love the beautiful in nature and in art. They live simply; and how much that means! Their wants are few. The houses of the wealthy do not differ much from those of the poor. Hence life for them is free from almost all those harrowing cares and worriments which sometimes make existence in the Occident a long, incessant struggle to keep up appearances. If they are sad, they seldom show their sadness in public. They evidently believe with the poet: "Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone." In some provinces of Japan, when a new bridge is opened, not the richest, but the happiest, persons in the community are chosen to pass over it first, as a favorable omen. [Illustration: A JAPANESE HEARSE.] Strange as it may appear, however, these qualities of the Japanese have been regarded by some travelers as faults. A tourist once solemnly remarked to me: "The great trouble with the Japanese is that they are too happy." "What!" I exclaimed, "can any one be too happy in this world?" "Certainly," was the reply; "the Japanese are too light-hearted to learn with advantage the lessons of adversity. If a calamity befalls them, they often smile and say, 'Well, it can't be helped,' and then try to think no more about it. Worst of all," he continued, "they do not worry about the future, but actually meet death fearlessly and calmly." [Illustration: A BARBER SHOP.] "My friend," I answered, "if to enjoy as much as possible this world that God has given us, if to smile bravely in adversity, and if to die without fear, are faults, it would be well if many other people possessed them, too. You remind me of the old lady in New Hampshire, who exclaimed sadly, 'The Universalists tell us that all men are to be saved, but--we hope for better things!'" In fact, a remarkable characteristic of the Japanese is the cheerful, almost jovial, way they have of announcing a calamity. An English resident of Japan called our attention to this fact soon after our arrival, and our experience confirmed his testimony. Whether the cause be nervousness or a dislike to give one pain, the fact remains that the Japanese will often preface a bit of dreadful news with laughter, or at least with a chuckle. Thus, whenever our guide called our attention to a funeral, his face would wreathe itself in smiles. Still more extraordinary was the manner of a barber in the hotel at Yokohama. As he was shaving me one morning, after a moderate earthquake-shock the night before, he suddenly remarked, with what appeared to be a burst of unpremeditated merriment: "Oh, last night's shock was nothing. Why, a few years ago, in Tokio, my father and mother were killed outright by an earthquake (Ha! Ha!); the house fell right on top of them (He! He!), and crushed them both to death (Ha! Ha! Ha!)." [Illustration: A RUINED VILLAGE.] It is difficult to explain this peculiarity otherwise than by supposing it to be a nervous mannerism; for, as a race, the Japanese are very affectionate, and filial reverence is a religious duty. In this instance I was so astonished at the man's hilarity, that I very nearly fell out of his chair. We thought of this incident again, when, some weeks later, we found ourselves in the Japanese province which had suffered most from the calamitous earthquake of October, 1891. Thousands of houses, we found, had been wrecked by that catastrophe, and in one place the railway tracks had been violently bent and twisted, like a chain irregularly thrown upon the ground. The motion lasted less than a minute; but what cannot an earthquake do in forty seconds? There came one mighty shock,--and over an extent of many miles the buildings fell like packs of cards. Great blocks of solid masonry were tossed about like dice. Trees lay around like jackstraws. [Illustration: SCATTERED BY AN EARTHQUAKE.] [Illustration: TWISTED BY AN EARTHQUAKE.] Large manufacturing towns were ruined. Thousands of husbands, wives, and children who, but an instant previous, had been happy at their work or play, were suddenly crushed by falling roofs, mangled by heavy timbers, buried alive in the debris, or burned to ashes by fires caused by overturned braziers. By chance we traveled through this region on the first anniversary of that great calamity, and many people, we were told, felt anxious till the day was over. But earthquakes in Japan, alas! are limited to no special dates. Their visits are extremely numerous and quite impartial as to months and days. Our earth is said to be quieting down in its subterranean disturbances; but poor Japan still has no less than fifty-one volcanoes labeled "active," and experiences every year, on an average, five hundred seismic shocks, besides numerous destructive typhoons or hurricanes. Most of them are, of course, mere tremors; but once in a while there comes a stroke that causes fearful devastation, as when in Tokio, in 1703, thirty-seven thousand lives were lost. Such terrible manifestations of volcanic power remind one of the more appalling scenes that must have been enacted here, when Nature brought these islands from the sea, pouring them from her fiery crucible. [Illustration: EFFECT OF A TYPHOON AT KOBE.] In planning a journey through the interior of Japan, the tourist naturally inquires where and with what accommodation he is to spend the nights upon the trip. He need not have the least anxiety. In the four prominent cities,--Tokio, Yokohama, Kobe, and Kioto,--there are first-class hotels, with rooms and food adapted to the tastes of foreigners. In many smaller places, too, like Miyanóshita and Atami, the hotels, although simpler, are both comfortable and well-managed. One suffers no discomfort in any of these localities. But in the country villages (which need not be included in the traveler's route unless he so desires), he must adopt the Japanese mode of sleeping in a tea-house--that is to say, in a regular Japanese hotel. [Illustration: HOTEL AT KOBE.] [Illustration: THREE OF A KIND.] As our jinrikishas drew up before one of these, we saw a pretty, modern building of two stories, adorned as usual with paper lanterns. At intervals, on the edge of every balcony, were tall, rectangular boxes reaching from floor to ceiling. These upright cases contain wooden shutters, about as large as the leaves of a dining-table, which are at night taken out, and pushed along in grooves, to make an outside wall for the entire house. When that is done, each balcony of course becomes an inside corridor. Thus every Japanese dwelling consists, as it were, of two houses, one within the other, enclosed in separate cases,--the inside one of paper, the outer one of wood. As we alighted here, the landlord and his servants hurried out to greet us, dropped on their knees, and, with their hands spread out, palms downward, and their foreheads almost touching the floor, they bowed repeatedly, like the "three little maids from school." What a contrast was here between the Orient and the Occident. Imagine a hotel clerk in America down upon his knees! In our hotels the traveler's first duty is to register his name. Here there is something even more important to attend to, namely, removing his shoes. Off they must come before he steps upon the delicate mattings and the glistening floor, just as with us a muddy overshoe would not be tolerated on a parlor carpet. In fact, on entering the hall, one sees what in America would be called a hat-rack, but which is here designed for holding shoes. [Illustration: A TEA-HOUSE.] The tourist, therefore, should invariably carry with him in Japan a pair of soft, felt slippers, for otherwise he will be frequently obliged to walk about in hotels, shops, and temples, with merely stockings on his feet. [Illustration: A TEA-HOUSE VESTIBULE.] In nearly all Japanese dwellings one usually finds, hung in conspicuous places, some handsomely framed mottoes and proverbs, much as in many of our own country houses we read upon the walls such a comforting assurance as "The Lord will provide," or the melancholy conundrum "What is home without a mother?" To Occidental eyes, Japanese ideographs do not appear beautiful. They look like the meanderings of intoxicated flies that have been immersed in ink. As for their meaning, one motto was translated to us as signifying: "May Buddha bless this house!" Others were words of praise which princely visitors had left; while not a few were epigrams or proverbs, for which the Japanese are famous. Some of them ran as follows: "The absent get farther away every day;" "Clever preacher, short sermon;" "A woman's tongue three inches long can kill a man six feet high;" "Live under your own hat;" "Don't make a long call when the husband is not at home." And yet we send missionaries to Japan! [Illustration: WRITING A LETTER.] [Illustration: AT THE TEA-HOUSE DOOR.] [Illustration: JAPANESE MOTTOES.] With many bows and smiles the landlord of the tea-house led the way up a flight of exquisitely polished stairs, and showed us our apartments. We looked around us with astonishment, for no furniture was visible. The floor, it is true, was covered with fine matting, but, with that one exception, the rooms, which opened into each other, were as bare as an unfurnished flat. Their number and extent depended largely on ourselves. Did we desire an entire story? We had but to push back the paper screens, and it was ours. Did we insist on having separate rooms? Close up the little screens again, and each could sleep in his own paper box, exactly twelve feet square. Unfortunately there are no locks upon these paper screens; hence, just as one is getting out of bed in the morning, the whole side of his room will sometimes disappear with the rapidity of a liberated Holland shade! Moreover, Japanese servants, urged by curiosity, will often poke a moistened finger through a square of paper, to study foreign toilettes at their leisure. During the daytime, in the summer, even the screens are removed, to give free access to the breeze, and the house then becomes the empty skeleton of its former self. [Illustration: INTERIOR OF A TEA-HOUSE.] But what most puzzled us at first was where to hang our clothes. There were no hooks upon the walls, there was not even a table for our toilet articles. It seemed too bad to put our coats and hair-brushes on the floor. But one must recollect that Japanese floors are not like ours, since no boots ever touch them. For native guests a beautiful, square, lacquered box is usually provided, in which they lay the carefully folded robes which they remove before retiring. To us, however, no limited receptacle like that was given. We had the unrestricted floor. [Illustration: A JAPANESE BED.] The beds in which we slept afforded us the most amusement. When bedtime comes in Japanese homes, quilts are brought out from a closet and spread upon the floor. Within five minutes all is ready for the night, and with the morning light they disappear again. Occasionally, in the larger tea-houses, we, as foreigners, had special luxuries,--such as cotton sheets, a couch of seven comforters, instead of the usual two, and, for a bolster, an extra quilt rolled up as with a shawl-strap. Thus altogether, including what we used for coverings, our most luxurious couches in Japan consisted of from ten to a dozen comforters. [Illustration: THE COMMON WASHSTAND IN A TEA-HOUSE.] We found some difficulty in getting sufficient sleep in Japanese tea-houses; not from the composition and arrangement of our beds, but from the noise about us, which seldom ceased before the hour of midnight, and always woke us with the dawn. Even our "summer hotels," with their distressingly thin partitions, are delightfully tranquil compared with the country inns of Japan. For sliding screens of paper are practically no barrier at all to sound, and, as if that were not sufficiently aggravating, these paper walls rarely reach the top of the room, but leave a ventilating space of a foot or two, through which the mingled snoring, prayers, and conversation of the guests, and the matutinal clatter of the servants, roll and reverberate like distant thunder. [Illustration: JAPANESE TEA-HOUSE.] [Illustration: CARRYING TEA FROM THE FIELD.] The morning after my arrival, I pushed aside a screen with my forefinger, and lo! half of my room stood open to the rising sun. Descending to the courtyard, I beheld a Japanese servant hurrying toward me on her wooden clogs, to give me tea. [Illustration: BRINGING TEA.] What shall be said of these attractive little waitresses, who make the dullest tea-house gay with laughter, brighten the darkest day with brilliant colors, and sweeten every tea-cup with a smile? They are not usually beautiful, or even womanly, in the sense of being dignified. They rather seem like well-developed school-girls, just sobered down enough to wear long dresses, but perfectly unable to refrain at times from screams of merriment. Yet search the world through, and where will you find servants such as these? From the first moment when they fall upon their knees and bow their foreheads to the floor, till the last instant, when they troop around the door to call to you their musical word for farewell,--"_Sayonara_,"--they seem to be the daintiest, happiest, and most obliging specimens of humanity that walk the earth. [Illustration: PLAYING GAMES.] We were particularly pleased with one agreeable trait of all these Japanese girls--their exquisitely clean and well-shaped hands. One would, of course, expect them to be small, for delicate frames are a characteristic of the race, but almost without exception the hands of all the waitresses who served us in Japan looked as if they had just emerged from a hot bath, and had been manicured besides. "A trifle," some would say, but, after all, such trifles help to make perfection. When one has traveled through a country for two months, and from one end of it to the other has seen pretty, well-kept hands extended to him fifty times a day, he feels respect and admiration for a race so neat and delicate to their finger-tips. The Japanese, according to our Occidental standard, may not have much godliness, but they possess what comes next to it--personal cleanliness. And I am sure that, at any time, I would rather associate with a nice, wholesome sinner than with an uncleanly saint! [Illustration: TWO MODES OF TRAVEL IN JAPAN.] [Illustration: DOMESTIC ETIQUETTE.] It was while we were taking our breakfast here, that we beheld, in a neighboring room, a lady being served with tea by her domestic, who was approaching her mistress on her knees. Nothing amazed us more than this, for in the United States these positions are usually reversed. In free America it is the lady who, figuratively speaking, has to "go down on her knees" before her cook. When we consider the serious drawbacks to domestic happiness and comfort, occasioned by the insolence and inefficiency of servants in America, who, as a rule, are better lodged, clothed, and fed than any other class of laborers in the world, one questions if in this, and many other respects, Japan will be improved by contact with the Occident. [Illustration: A STREET IN KIOTO.] What Moscow is to the Russians, Kioto is to the Japanese, their present capital, Tokio, corresponding rather to St. Petersburg. Kioto is the ancient capital,--the sacred city of the empire,--hallowed by countless shrines and endeared by centuries of classic memories. It was for a thousand years the home of the Mikado, and is still the centre of old Japanese art. Here also, till the revolution of 1869, lived many nobles of the highest rank, together with distinguished poets, priests, and artists. Its name, Kioto, denotes the City of Peace, and its best citizens were thought to be the most refined and polished of a race whose gentle manners are still unsurpassed. [Illustration: IN KIOTO.] Our hotel in Kioto was unlike the inns of other Japanese cities, being neither a European structure, like the hotels at Tokio and Yokohama, nor yet a tea-house, such as we had lately seen. It was a compromise between the two, with comfortable rooms and foreign furnishings. Its situation is far above the city, upon a wooded hill that has been sacred to Buddha for a thousand years. Around it are old temples, monasteries, and pagodas, among which one can walk in shaded paths the livelong day. Often, while seated on the spacious hotel balcony which overlooks the town, we heard a strangely fascinating sound rolling toward us through the sacred groves in solemn, silvery vibrations. We discovered after a short walk the cause of this. It was a huge bronze bell,--no less than seventy-four tons in weight,--whose sweet-voiced call to prayer has echoed over this hill for nearly three hundred years. There are few sounds more pleasing to the ear than the vibrations of a distant, deep-toned bell. Except in Russia I had never heard such notes as those that issue from the bells of old Japan. Their solemn strokes swell through the forest like the crescendo of an orchestra. These bells, however, are not rung, like ours, by wrenching them from side to side, until a pendant tongue falls sharply on their inner rim. Ah, no! the Japanese treat them far more cleverly. Suspended from the belfry roof is a large, rounded shaft of wood, attendant swings this to one side, and lets it fall, to strike the inverted bowl of bronze one mighty blow. The difference in sound produced by using wood instead of metal, is astonishing. There is no grating jar, no sharpness in the tone, but one stupendous boom of sound, as though a musical cannon were discharged. This instantly resolves itself into slow-moving, ever widening circles of reverberation, which fall upon the ear more and more faintly, till they die away like the last murmur of the surf upon the sand. [Illustration: YAAMI'S HOTEL, KIOTO.] [Illustration: BRONZE HORSE.] [Illustration: A MONSTER BELL, KIOTO.] [Illustration: A TEMPLE IN KIOTO.] Accepting the invitation which that bell conveyed to us, we strolled toward one of Kioto's many temples. In the one we entered, five bells, with long white cords attached, were hanging in the lacquered porch. The worshiper pulls one of these, to call the attention of the god; then, having said a prayer, he drops a coin into a grated box and goes his way. On one occasion, we saw a pretty baby, three months old, brought hither in its mother's arms, and made to pull the bell-rope with its tiny hand. Then the great-grand-mother of the child, herself almost eighty-six years old, advanced with trembling limbs and rang it for the second time. It was a suggestive picture,--this vision of old age and infancy, like opposite poles of an electric battery, completing here a circuit of four generations; pathetic emblems of the past and future,--the smiling infant looking forward to anticipated blessings, the feeble matron thankful for the gifts received. [Illustration: A JAPANESE BELFRY.] The Japanese have really two religions, in some respects rivals of each other. The elder, or original faith, is Shintoism; the younger, which has struggled to supplant it for twelve hundred years, is Buddhism. It is difficult to comprehend exactly what Shintoism is. The name means, literally, "The way of the gods," but it is the vaguest known religion. It has no bible, no dogmas, and not even a moral code. It dimly hints at immortality, but has no definite heaven or hell. Its gods, are either deified national heroes or else personifications of nature, such as the glorious sun, the all-surrounding ocean, and the innumerable deities of mountains, rivers, rocks, and trees. Its shrines for worship, with their gray stone lanterns and majestic _torii_, are severely plain, its services extremely simple, and all its priests appear like laymen in the streets, donning their clerical robes only when they officiate in the temples. [Illustration: A SHINTO PRIEST.] [Illustration: ENTRANCE TO A JAPANESE TEMPLE.] [Illustration: BUDDHIST PRIESTS.] [Illustration: BUDDHIST PRIESTS IN A CEMETERY.] Not so the Buddhist priests. Their costume, like their ritual, is imposing. While Shinto priests may marry, the Buddhists take the vow of celibacy. In fact, though wholly different in its creed from the great Roman Catholic communion, some of the ceremonials of Buddhism remind us of it; such as their richly-mantled priests, their altars bright with candles and adorned with flowers, their clouds of incense, grand processionals, and statues of the gods and saints. What wonder, then, since it has such attractions, that this religion, when it came hither from India, about six centuries after Christ, achieved at once a remarkable success? The colder Shinto faith lost ground, and even the Mikados gave to Buddha's doctrines favor and support for centuries; but Shintoism has now once more become the state religion. [Illustration: INTERIOR OF A JAPANESE TEMPLE.] The furnishings of the Buddhist temples in Japan are often marvels of artistic beauty, comprising tables, columns, doors, and even floors, composed of ruby red or jet-black lacquer, which is so thick and smooth as to produce the effect of rosewood or solid ebony. Here, too, are altars loaded down with ornaments of gold and bronze, silken screens inscribed with sacred characters, exquisite bronze lanterns, incense-burners, gilded gongs, tall lotus-flowers with leaves of gold, and beautiful lacquered boxes placed on stands about the floor, within which are the precious manuscripts of Buddhist scriptures. In a word, recall the richest specimens of Japanese art that you have ever seen, and know that with such adornment the finest temples in Japan are filled. [Illustration: A BUDDHIST TEMPLE.] In some of the less important Buddhist shrines, however, "all that glitters is not gold." Some temples are repulsive from their shabby ornaments, hideous idols, and gaudy paper lanterns. Some of their deities are enthroned behind a wooden grating, and worshipers tie to the latter a bit of cloth on which has been inscribed a petition. One such deity, we were assured, has for his special function the assisting of women to obtain good husbands. He is immensely popular. We saw, in half an hour, at least a dozen women knock on the grating to rouse him and entreat his services. One old woman, who evidently knew from experience how rare good husbands are, led two of her daughters to the gate, and pounded on it savagely three times. Yet even in that temple we found a proof of how the western world has invaded the customs of Japan; for here, amid the grotesque deities, was hung an eight-day clock, which proved on examination to have come from Ansonia, Connecticut! A singular feature of many of these Buddhist temples is a line of votive tablets, erected by pious souls, who wished either to show by means of pictures the dangers from which God had rescued them, or else to certify, in written words, to miraculous answers to their prayers. The Buddhist religion, however, despite its age and its indubitable hold upon the people, is not to-day, as we have said, the official religion of Japan. Since 1869 the Government has favored Shintoism, and many Buddhist temples have been stripped of their magnificent decorations and dedicated to the Shinto faith. [Illustration: VOTIVE PICTURES.] Accordingly, the contributions that once came freely from the people are now falling off, and it is difficult to keep in good repair the costly lacquer-work and gilding of the temples. Some shrines already look shabby and neglected. However, an occasional exception to this rule shows how dangerous it is to make unqualified statements about Japan. In Kioto, for example, we found a most astonishing proof of the vitality of Japanese Buddhism in the new and splendid temple of Higashi Hongwanji, which at the time of our visit was in process of construction. We saw it on the occasion of a special festival, when popular recognition and acclaim were manifested in profuse and elaborate decorations. But, the truth is, the temple is continually receiving the support of untold thousands of the Japanese. All the surrounding provinces have given it, not only money, but timber, metals, and stone, besides the transportation of materials free of cost. It seems as if conservative and faithful Buddhists, indignant at the prevalent idea that their religion is declining, were making this stupendous effort to show the world their strength and their devotion. [Illustration: A PYRAMID WITH SILVER CREST.] [Illustration: NEW BUDDHIST TEMPLE IN KIOTO.] One object in this shrine especially impressed us. This was a pile of rope,--each strand as long and large as a ship's cable,--made of women's hair, twisted and spliced with hemp! These ropes are the offerings of poor but devout women, thousands of whom, in nine Japanese provinces, having nothing else to give, contributed their hair, to be woven into cables for hoisting beams and tiles in the construction of the temple. One rope, two hundred and fifty feet in length, was the gift of three thousand five hundred women in one province alone. This seems at first, perhaps, a trifling thing; but when one recollects the pride which Japanese women take in their abundant hair, the care they show in its arrangement, and the entire absence in Japan of hats or bonnets to conceal the sacrifice, their action is remarkable. And when we perceived among the usual black strands occasional streaks of white and gray, proving that this enthusiasm extended from youth to age, it seemed to us the most touching proof of popular devotion to a sacred cause that we had ever seen. [Illustration: ROPES OF WOMEN'S HAIR.] We witnessed a number of _matsuris_, or religious festivals in Japan, when all the principal streets were thronged with people, and even the house-tops held their private box-parties. On every such occasion there would appear, in the centre of the thoroughfare, an object that never failed to fill us with amazement. Think of a hundred men pulling madly on two ropes, and drawing thus a kind of car, mounted on two enormous wooden wheels. Resting on this, and rising far above the neighboring roofs, imagine a portable shrine, resembling a pagoda, with roof of gold, and gorgeously decorated with silken tapestries, which are so richly embroidered and heavily gilded as to be valued at many thousands of dollars. This structure had two stories, on each of which were many life-size figures,--some being actual men and women, while others were mere painted statues, hideous and grotesque. Behind this came another car, shaped like a huge bird with crested head. Upon this second vehicle also stood an edifice, three stories high, resplendent 'with magnificent tapestries and gilded ornaments, and bearing statues of old Japanese deities, so laughably grotesque, that had not their surroundings been so rich the whole procession would have seemed a farce. Some of these statues, which were made to open their mouths and wag their heads like puppets, were especially applauded. Men, women, and children rode upon these cars, blowing horns and beating drums. If we had closed our eyes, we might have thought that we were listening to a Fourth of July parade of the "Antiques and Horribles." What most impressed us was the absence of what we should consider religious feeling. It was a show, a brilliant pageant--nothing more; though, as such, it was heartily enjoyed by thousands. [Illustration: A RELIGIOUS FESTIVAL.] [Illustration: A MATSURI.] The streets in Kioto, like those of most Japanese cities, are usually much alike. No heavy teams disturb their rounded surfaces. Few vehicles, save light jinrikishas, pass over them. Almost no animals are ever seen in them. They are as clean as sidewalks are with us. In most of them we can perceive some groups or individuals, arrayed in varied colors, moving about like brilliant fragments in a long kaleidoscope. On either side extends a line of little houses, which, in point of architectural effect, appear monotonous, but since their lower stories are all open to the street, and from the fact that most of them are shops with all their goods on exhibition two feet from the thoroughfare, they really offer infinite variety. [Illustration: A CHARACTERISTIC STREET.] Approaching one of these shops, one first encounters a wooden platform, two feet from the ground. On this the Japanese purchaser usually seats himself, as he prepares to bargain. Most foreigners, however, being unable to fold comfortably their limbs beneath them for a cushion, assume a different attitude, and allow their feet to hang over the side. If they ascend the platform and really enter the shop, they are supposed to leave their shoes below, and walk in stocking feet; for the shops of the Japanese are, like their houses, paved with polished wood or covered with spotless matting. The goods displayed by no means constitute the merchant's entire stock. The choicest articles are often in a fire-proof store-house, close at hand, and can be sent for at a moment's notice. As for the contents of these street bazaars, they comprise every article of clothing, ornament, and furniture conceivable by the Japanese mind. [Illustration: STYLES OF JAPANESE SANDALS.] The shoe shops in particular were, at first, a source of great surprise to us. "These surely are not shoes," we said, as we beheld their great variety of foot-coverings. And yet the Japanese are shod, though sandals is a better name than shoe for what they wear. A Japanese gentleman, who has not yet adopted European dress, wears in the house a cotton sock, which has a separate compartment for the great toe, like the thumb of a mitten. When he walks out, he plants his foot on a straw sandal, or, if the streets be muddy, on a wooden clog that rises three inches from the ground. In doing so, he thrusts the apex of a V-shaped cord between his great toe and the smaller ones, and, holding on his sandals thus, he marches off. [Illustration: SHOPPING MADE EASY.] [Illustration: A FLOWER MERCHANT.] [Illustration: JAPANESE HANDIWORK.] But not all the merchants of Kioto are content to stay in shops; and, in this respect, human nature is much the same the world over. The gorgeous vehicles of American country peddlers, which we admired in our childhood days, are reproduced here on a smaller scale, though without wheels; and as the Japanese are sure to be artistic in everything, we were not surprised to find their brooms and dusters grouped in clusters like a huge bouquet. The peddlers themselves are pictures of human placidity. It is true, their eyes will open somewhat at the sight of foreigners, but most of the beardless faces that one sees beneath their mushroom hats of straw might easily serve an artist as models for a Japanese grandmother. [Illustration: MAKING CLOGS.] In strolling through the streets, we often paused to watch the natives at their work. If, for example, it chanced to be a cobbler making wooden clogs, we saw, to our astonishment, that his great toe could hold a block of wood as firmly as a thumb, and we began to ask ourselves if western workmen had gained much by covering up the feet and losing a third hand. The methods of Japanese laborers seem to us, at first, a little clumsy, because they are unlike our own. But one soon comes to marvel at their skill. No nation is superior to them in dexterity, fineness of touch, and delicacy of finish. In great things, as in small, one finds the same perfection. Japanese carpenters, for example, will use few nails in building a house, but they will make mortises so exact that water cannot penetrate between the joints; and they will decorate a fan or paint a photographic slide with touches so delicate that they will bear inspection with a magnifying-glass. To watch them is like watching our own motions in a mirror, for everything appears reversed. Our carpenters push the plane from them; the Japanese pull it toward them. The threads of our screws turn to the right; theirs turn to the left. Our keys turn outward; theirs turn inward. Nor is this difference true of handicraft alone. Their way of doing hundreds of familiar things is so directly opposite to ours, that one is almost tempted to believe the cause to be their relative position on the other side of the globe, and that they are really living upside down. The only question is: "Which side is up, and which is down?" [Illustration: CHILD AND NURSE.] [Illustration: JAPANESE CARPENTERS.] The Japanese think our ways just as strange as we do theirs. We, for example, carry our babies in our arms; in Japan, however, they are strapped on the backs of children not much larger than themselves, their little heads being left to flop about like flowers half-broken from the stem. Nor is this custom the exception. It is the universal rule, alike in city streets and country lanes. Whole pages could be filled in mentioning points of difference between Japanese and European customs. Thus, we stand erect before distinguished men, in token of respect; the Japanese, on the contrary, sit down. We take off our hats when we enter a house, while they remove their shoes. Our books begin at the left; theirs at the right; and if they have any "foot-notes," they are placed at the top of the page. We write across a sheet of paper horizontally; they write vertically down the page, like we make a column of figures. Our color for mourning is black; theirs is white. The best rooms in our houses are in front; theirs are in the rear. We mount our horses from the left; they from the right. We put a horse head foremost into a stall; they back him in and fasten him in the front. On seeing this, we laughingly recalled the showman's trick of getting people to "come and see a horse's head where his tail should be." [Illustration: MAT-MAKERS.] But if the Japanese are proficient in the ordinary industries of life, what shall be said of those finer proofs of their artistic skill which charm the world? At first, the foreigner hardly comprehends the value of their work or the amount of time and labor it has cost. Their articles of _cloisonné_ are unsurpassed. In everything relating to handicraft in bronze the Japanese are unexcelled. Their flowered lacquer-work, also, with figures raised in gold, has been perfected for a thousand years; while in the realm of silk embroidery and gold brocade the Japanese have been said to paint with the needle as other artists do with the brush. In brief, they have produced among themselves and for themselves, for centuries, unnumbered masterpieces of artistic excellence, and this without a particle of outside help save that which came to them originally from China. Not, therefore, as uncultured mendicants have they appeared upon the threshold of the western world; but rather as people who, while accepting much that we have gained, have also not a little of value to impart. Hence they are a nation that elicits, not merely interest and astonishment, but also admiration and respect. [Illustration: CLOISONN� VASES.] [Illustration: ONE OF JAPAN'S HUGE BELLS.] [Illustration: "IN THE GLOAMING."] There is a fascination in watching a Japanese artist engaged in _cloisonné_ work. Taking a copper vase, he traces on its surface certain figures, such as flowers, birds, and trees. Then, from a roll of brass, one-sixteenth of an inch in breadth, he cuts off tiny pieces which, with consummate skill, and by eye-measurement alone, he twists into a mass of lines which correspond exactly to the figures he has drawn. Holding these bits of brass between the points of tweezers, he touches them with glue, and deftly locates them upon the rounded surface of the vase. At length, when all the figures are outlined, as it were, in skeleton, the flesh has to be applied. In other words, the thousands of interstices between the lines of brass are filled up with enamel of all shades and colors. When this is done the jar is put into a furnace, then touched with more enamel, then fired again, and so on, till it has been brought to the required degree of artistic finish. Then it is polished with great care, until the shining edges of the brass show through the enamel like the veins of a leaf. The colors also, by this time, are perfectly distinct and permanent, and the entire work stands forth,--a marvelous combination of delicacy, strength, and beauty. [Illustration: A SERENADE.] [Illustration: A WAYSIDE MONUMENT.] The scene, at evening, on the river-bank at Kioto is charming. Along the water' sedge are numerous little tea-houses, in front of which are many wooden piers. These are divided off into little squares, like private boxes in a theatre, and in them groups of Japanese are seated,--smoking, or taking supper in the open air. Meantime, a thousand colored lanterns gleam like fireflies on either shore and fleck the river with a dust of gold. One cannot, however, praise the music which is here produced. It would be highly amusing, if one were deaf; but when one's hearing is acute, a little of such music goes a long way. None of the most enthusiastic admirers of the Japanese has dared, as yet, to praise their music. To Occidental ears the twanging of their banjo strings, and, above all, their caterwaulings, are positive torture. And yet, it must be said that to the Japanese our music seemed at first no less absurd than theirs to us. At the first opera given in Tokio by a European company, the Japanese audience was convulsed with laughter, and when the prima donna sang her highest notes, some men and women could no longer control themselves, and were seen stuffing their handkerchiefs into their mouths to avoid uttering shrieks of merriment. [Illustration: PRIESTLY MUSICIANS.] In the immediate vicinity of Kioto is a bamboo grove possessing an extent and beauty unusual even in Japan, where the plant grows luxuriantly. The various ways in which the Japanese use the bamboo stalk afforded us continual amusement and surprise, while it challenged admiration for their ingenuity. Bridges and scaffolding supports, water-pipes and fences, furniture, umbrellas, baskets, fans, hats, pipe-stems, sandals, screens, and walking-sticks,--are all constructed from that jointed, hollow stem, which looks so light and delicate, yet in reality is strong and durable. A thing of beauty and utility, the bamboo is certainly one of the greatest blessings that Nature has bestowed upon her children in the Land of the Rising Sun. [Illustration: GROVE NEAR KIOTO.] A pretty sight in traveling through the province of Uji, near Kioto, are its tea-plantations, consisting of acres of evergreen bushes, two or three feet high. Among these move and sparkle in the sun odd bits of color, which prove to be the scanty robes of women and children crouching among the plants and picking their leaves. Most of these tea-plants are left unsheltered from the sun and storm, but the more valuable shrubs, producing tea worth six or seven dollars a pound, are covered by a trellis of bamboo, on which straw mats are placed. Sometimes the floor of an entire valley will be concealed beneath these mattings, which resemble a gigantic tent. [Illustration: A TEA-PLANTATION.] It is a curious fact that, unlike teas from India and China, Japanese tea must not be made with boiling water, as that gives it a bitter flavor. Indeed, the finer the quality of the tea the cooler must be the water. Tea is the national beverage of Japan, and has been largely used there for nearly a thousand years. The Japanese hotels are known as "tea-houses," which correspond also to the _cafés_ of Europe. The _cha-no-yu_, or fashionable ceremony of serving and drinking tea, has been for seven hundred years a national institution, governed by the minutest etiquette, each action and each gesture being regulated by a code of rules. It is said to have originated in a formal style of tea-drinking among the Buddhist priests, who found the beverage an easy means of keeping themselves awake during their nocturnal vigils. Japan may be said, therefore, not only to owe the introduction of the tea-plant to a celebrated Buddhist saint, who imported it from China, but for her elaborate ceremony of tea-drinking to be still further indebted to the priests of Buddhism. While walking one day in Kioto, we met a fellow-passenger from Vancouver. [Illustration: TEA-PICKERS.] "What places have you visited?" he asked. We told him. "Have you not been to Haruna, beyond Ikao?" he inquired. "No," we replied. "We thought of going there, but finally decided to omit it." "You made a great mistake!" he cried. "Why not retrace your steps and go there now? It is not too late." "That means," we said, "in all, six hundred miles of extra travel." [Illustration: SACRED ROCKS AND TREES.] "No matter," he insisted. "You had better do it." "Are you quite serious?" "Not only serious, but enthusiastic. You will never regret it. Go!" [Illustration: IKAO] We followed his advice, and a few days later, one afternoon in late October, we found ourselves almost the only guests in a well-kept tea-house in Ikao. Swift 'rikisha men had brought us hither from the railway station, sixteen miles away. The air was most exhilarating, for we were three thousand feet above the sea, which we had left eight hours before at Yokohama. Around us on all sides were lofty mountains, whose hidden treasures could not be explored in jinrikishas, for this was another point where all roads terminate, and only paths lead inward to the fabled homes of mountain deities. [Illustration: THE PATH THROUGH THE FOREST.] It was four o'clock the next morning when we started. It was still dark. The stars were glorious. We knew the coming day would be superb. It was as yet too cold for riding, so, followed by our kago-bearers, we set forth on foot. For some time we walked on in silence, enraptured with the splendor of the sky. Above us gleamed the Dipper's seven diamond points; Orion's belt hung radiant amid a galaxy of other suns; while, just above a lofty mountain range, flashed with unwonted brilliancy the herald of approaching day. At length the stellar light began to pale. The east became first white, then golden, as the sun advanced, and then there came an hour's scenery that can never be effaced from my memory. [Illustration: LAKE BIWA.] The colors on the mountains were magnificent. Autumnal foliage mantled them with glory. Thousands of oaks and maples lined the slopes with every shade of orange, red, vermilion, green, and purple. In any light these varied tints would have been beautiful; but to behold them changing into glory, tree by tree, as the first touch of dawn awakened them from sleep, was such a vision as we had never hoped to look upon. Some of this radiant foliage bedecked the ground, and sometimes we walked ankle-deep through multicolored leaves. [Illustration: THE STAIRCASE AT HARUNA.] Moreover, the pathway was all white with frost, and stretched away in glittering perspective through the trees, like an avenue of silver between mountains of jewels. Intoxicated with such sights and with the crisp, aromatic air of that October dawn, we walked for miles without fatigue, unable to repress at times our exclamations of enthusiasm. After a time, we found ourselves at the entrance to a deep ravine, shaded by giant trees, which at that early hour were still unburnished by the sun. In view of the reverence felt by the Japanese for massive rocks and time-gnarled trees, it is not strange that this wild gorge of Haruna has been for ages looked upon as sacred. A feeling of solemnity stole over us. Instinctively we spoke in softer tones. I felt as once before, when sailing into a Norwegian fjord. It was a place for Dante to describe and for Dore to illustrate. At length we saw, wedged in between two mighty rocks, a flight of stone steps leading to a lacquered gate. Our Japanese attendant immediately bowed his head, removed his sandals, and knelt down to pray. Nor was this strange. Who could resist, in such a place, the impulse to revere that Power of which these forms of nature were imperfect symbols? At all events, whatever may have been the difference in our creeds, both traveler and native worshiped here that day,--one standing in the forest shade, the other kneeling on the moss-grown steps. [Illustration: "HUGE CRYPTOMERIAS LIKE THOSE OF NIKKO."] [Illustration: THE HEART OF OLD JAPAN.] After some moments' silence, our attendant arose and began the ascent. We followed him. On passing the first gateway, we perceived another smaller portal, which seemed to lead directly into the cliff. Above it was a rock, a hundred and fifty feet in height, and shaped like a gigantic obelisk. Around it rose huge cryptomerias, like those of Nikko, wrinkled with age, and solemn in their sanctity and shade. The mountain-side so overhung the place that it seemed kept from falling only by a caprice of nature. We almost feared to speak, lest, like some Alpine avalanche, the monstrous mass might fall and overwhelm us. Finally, however, we passed beneath the second arch; and, lo! before us, on a shelf of rock, completely isolated from the outer world, and guarded by these sentinels of stone, we saw a sacred shrine. Even at that early hour one pilgrim was already here, and, as the radiance of the rising sun stole through the twilight of the holy grove and turned the temple steps to gold, unconscious of the picture he produced, he knelt in prayer. [Illustration: SACRED PORTAL.] That scene can never be forgotten. An interval of centuries seemed to separate us from the Japan of Yokohama. No whisper of approaching change had yet penetrated these peaceful solitudes. No earthquake-shock of doubt had sent a tremor through this mountain altar. The faith which chose this immemorial forest for its temple still reigned here supreme. And as we stood by this illumined portico, in which a ray of sunlight glittered like a sacred fire, we felt that we had reached the Heart of Old Japan. [Illustration] * * * * * CHINA [Illustration: HONG-KONG.] CHINA [Illustration: EMPEROR OF CHINA.] China defies the world to equal her in three important respects: age, population, and industries. As for the first, she undoubtedly has the oldest Government on earth. Even the Papacy is young compared with it; and as for our republic, it is a thing of yesterday. A Chinaman once said to an American: "Wait till your Government has been tried before you boast of it. What is a hundred years? Ours has stood the test of forty centuries. When you did not exist, we were. When you shall have passed away, we still shall be." In point of numbers, too, the Chinese empire leads the world. Its area is nearly twice as large as that of the United States, and it has six times as many people. The governor of one Chinese province rules over sixty million souls. Have we a definite conception of what four hundred million human beings are? Arrange the inhabitants of our globe in one long line, and every fourth man will be a Chinaman. As for her industries, Musa, the Saracen conqueror of Spain, once aptly said that Wisdom, when she came from heaven to earth, was lodged in the head of the Greeks, the tongue of the Arabs, and the hands of the Chinese. China was once what the United States is now--the birthplace of inventions. Paper was manufactured there in the third century of our era. Tea was produced a century later. If Europe had enjoyed communication with China, it would have learned the art of printing many centuries before it did; and who can say what might have been the result? A thousand years ago the Chinese made designs on wood. Printing from stone was a still earlier industry among them. In China, also, gunpowder was first invented--a thought by which, alas! so many thoughts have been destroyed. This same astonishing race produced the mariner's compass in the fourth century, porcelain in the third, chess and playing-cards in the twelfth, and silk embroideries in almost prehistoric times. An empire, therefore, of such vast antiquity, overwhelming population, and great achievements must be, despite its faults, a country of absorbing interest. [Illustration: A CHINESE TEMPLE.] The most delightful portion of the voyage from Japan to China lies in the Japanese Mediterranean, known as the Inland Sea. It is a miniature ocean, practically land-locked for three hundred miles, with both shores constantly in sight, yet strewn with islands of all shapes and sizes, from small and uninhabited rocks to wave-encircled hills, terraced and cultivated to their very summits. It seems as if volcanic action here had caused the land to sink, until the ocean rushed in and submerged it, leaving only the highest peaks above the waves. [Illustration: THE JAPANESE MEDITERRANEAN.] We lingered here all day upon the steamer's deck, like passengers on the Rhine, fearing to lose a single feature of the varied panorama gliding by on either side. By night it was more glorious even than by day; for then, from every dangerous cliff flashed forth a beacon light; the villages along the shore displayed a line of glittering points, like constellations rising from the sea; and, best of all, at a later hour, moonlight lent enchantment to the scene, drawing a crystal edge along each mountain crest, and making every island seem a jewel on a silver thread. [Illustration: WAVE-ENCIRCLED HILLS.] [Illustration: HUGE SAILS LIKE THE WINGS OF BATS.] When we emerged from these inland waters, we saw between us and the setting sun the stretch of ocean called the China Sea. At certain seasons of the year this is the favorite pathway of typhoons; and the Formosa Channel, in particular, has been a graveyard for countless vessels. Indeed, only three weeks before, a sister ship of ours--the "Bokhara,"--had gone down here in a terrific cyclone. Yet when we sailed its waters nothing could have been more beautiful. Day after day this sea of evil omen rested motionless, like a sleek tigress gorged with food and basking in the sun. [Illustration: THE HARBOR OF HONG-KONG.] After a three-days' voyage from the Japanese coast, we began to meet, in constantly increasing numbers, large, pointed boats, propelled by huge sails ribbed with cross-bars, like the wings of bats. Upon the bow of each was painted an enormous eye; for of their sailing-craft the mariners of China, in elementary English, say: "If boat no have eye, how can boat see go?" We were assured that these were Chinese sailing-craft, and that our destination was not far away; but it was difficult to realize this, and I remember looking off beyond those ships and trying to convince myself that we were actually on the opposite side of the globe from home and friends, and in a few brief hours were to land in that vast Eastern empire so full of mystery in its exclusiveness, antiquity, and changeless calm. [Illustration: THE CITY OF VICTORIA.] That night the agitation that precedes one's first arrival in a foreign land made sleep almost impossible. It seemed to me that I had not closed my eyes when suddenly the steamer stopped. To my astonishment, the morning light had already found its way into my state-room. We had arrived! Hurrying to the deck, therefore, I looked upon the glorious harbor of Hong-Kong. A hundred ships and steamers lay at anchor here, displaying flags of every country on the globe. Although the day had hardly dawned, these waters showed great animation. Steam-launches, covered with white awnings, were darting to and fro like flying-fish. Innumerable smaller boats, called sampans, propelled by Chinese men and women, surrounded each incoming steamer, like porpoises around a whale. On one side rose some barren-looking mountains, which were a part of the mainland of China; but for the moment they presented little to attract us. It was the other shore of this magnificent harbor that awoke our interest; for there we saw an island twenty-seven miles in circumference, covered with mountains rising boldly from the sea. Along the base of one of these elevations, and built in terraces far up on its precipitous slopes, was a handsome city. [Illustration: THE PUBLIC GARDENS.] "What is this?" we inquired eagerly. "The town itself," was the reply, "is called Victoria, but this imposing island to whose flank it clings, is, as you may suppose, Hong-Kong." [Illustration: A STREET IN HONG-KONG.] The first impression made upon me here was that of mild astonishment at the architecture. Almost without exception, the prominent buildings of Victoria have on every story deep porticoes divided by columns into large, square spaces, which from a distance look like letter-boxes in a post-office. We soon discovered that such deep, shadowy verandas are essential here, for as late as November it was imprudent not to carry a white umbrella, and even before our boat had brought us from the steamer to the pier, we perceived that the solar rays were not to be trifled with. As soon as possible after landing, we started to explore this British settlement. I was delighted with its streets and buildings. The former are broad, smooth and clean; the latter, three or four stories high, are built of granite, and even on a curve have sidewalks shielded from the sun or rain by the projection of the roof above. Truly, the touch of England has wrought astounding changes in the fifty-five years that she has held this island as her own. Before she came it was the resort of poverty-stricken fishermen and pirates. But now the city of Victoria alone contains two hundred thousand souls, while the grand aqueducts and roads which cross the mountains of Hong-Kong are worthy to be compared with some of the monumental works of ancient Rome. [Illustration: DEEP PORTICOES AND COLONNADES.] Along the principal thoroughfare in Victoria, the banks, shops, hotels, and club-houses, which succeed each other rapidly, are built of the fine gray granite of the adjacent mountains, and show handsome architectural designs. Everything looks as trim and spotless as the appointments of a man-of-war. Even the district of the town inhabited by Chinamen is kept by constant watchfulness immeasurably cleaner than a Chinese city; although if one desires to see the world-wide difference that exists between the British and Mongolian races, he merely needs to take a short walk through the Chinese quarter of Victoria. But such comparisons may well be deferred until one reaches Canton. There one beholds the genuine native article. [Illustration: THE BANK, HONG-KONG.] The police who guard the lives and property of the residents of Hong-Kong, are for the most part picked men of English birth, and are considered as trustworthy as regular troops. But several hundred of these guardians of the peace are Sikhs--a race imported hither from India--renowned for bravery, loyal to the British government, and having no sympathy with the Chinese. These Sikhs have handsome faces, brilliant eyes, and dark complexions, the effect of which is wonderfully enhanced by their immense red turbans, conspicuous two or three blocks away, not only by their startling color, but because their wearers exceed in stature all other races in Hong-Kong. [Illustration: POLICEMEN.] Strolling one morning through the outskirts of the city, I came upon some troops engaged in military manoeuvres, and attired in white from head to foot, to shield them from the sun. What traveler in the East can forget the ever-present soldiers of Great Britain, of whom there are nearly three thousand in the garrison of Hong-Kong? I know it is frequently the fashion to sneer at them and to question their efficiency in case of war. I know, too, that in certain ways the vast extent of England's empire constitutes her weakness. [Illustration: SOLDIERS DRILLING.] But I must say that in a tour around our planet I was impressed as never before with what the British had accomplished in the way of conquest, and with the number of strategic points they hold in every quarter of the globe. We had but recently left the western terminus of England's North American possessions, yet in a few days we discerned the flag of England flying at Hong-Kong. Next we beheld the Union Jack at Singapore, then at Penang, then at Ceylon, and after that throughout the length and breadth of the vast empire of India, as well as the enormous area of Burma. Leaving Rangoon, if we sail southward, we are reminded that the southernmost portion of Africa is entirely in English hands, as well as the huge continent of Australia. [Illustration: CHINESE COBBLER.] [Illustration: A BIT OF CHINATOWN IN HONG-KONG.] Returning northward, we find the same great colonizing power stationed at the mouth of the Red Sea, in the British citadel of Aden. Again a trifling journey, and we reach Egypt, via the Suez Canal, both virtually controlled to-day by England. Then, like the three stars in Orion's belt, across the Mediterranean lie Cyprus, Malta, and Gibraltar; in fact, we find one mighty girdle of imposing strongholds all the way, bristling with cannon, guarded by leviathans in armor, and garrisoned by thousands of such soldiers as were drilling at Hong-Kong. [Illustration: CHAIR-COOLIES AT HONG-KONG.] One of the first desires of the visitor to Hong-Kong is to explore the mountain which towers above the city of Victoria to a height of nearly two thousand feet. To do this with the least exertion, each of our party took a canvas-covered bamboo chair, supported by long poles, which Chinese coolies carry on their shoulders. On level ground, two of these bearers were enough, but on the mountain roads three or four men were usually needed. To my surprise, I found the motion of these chairs agreeable. The poles possess such elasticity that, leaning back, I was rocked lightly up and down without the least unpleasant jar. In fact, at times the rhythm of that oscillation gave me a sense of drowsiness difficult to resist. But, alas! we had not here for carriers the cleanly natives of Japan. It may be, as some residents of Hong-Kong assert, that Chinamen are more trustworthy and honest than the Japanese, but certainly in point of personal attractiveness the contrast between these races is remarkable. The bodies of the lower classes of Chinese reveal no evidence of that care so characteristic of the natives of Japan. Their teeth are often yellow tusks; their nails resemble eagle's claws; and their unbecoming clothes seem glazed by perspiration. Nor is there usually anything in their manner to redeem all this. Where the light-hearted Japs enjoy their work, and laugh and talk, the Chinese coolies labor painfully, and rarely smile, regarding you meantime with a supercilious air, as if despising you for being what they call "a foreign devil." [Illustration: THE MOUNTAIN ABOVE VICTORIA.] Nevertheless, despite the repulsive appearance of our bearers, we thoroughly enjoyed our excursion up the mountain. At every step our admiration was increased for the magnificent roads which wind about the cliffs in massive terraces, arched over by majestic trees, bordered by parapets of stone, lighted with gas, and lined with broad, deep aqueducts, through which at times the copious rainfall rushes like a mountain stream. It will be seen that such a comparison is not an exaggeration, when I add that not many years ago, thirty-two inches of rain fell here in thirty hours. This mountain is the favorite abode of wealthy foreigners, and hence these curving avenues present on either side, almost to the summit, a series of attractive villas commanding lovely views. On account of their situation, the gardens of these hillside homes are necessarily small; but in the midst of them, about five hundred feet above the town, a charming botanical park has been laid out. [Illustration: THE CABLE-ROAD TO VICTORIA PEAK.] Forgetful of our coolies at the gate, we lingered in this garden for an hour or two, delighted with its fine display of semitropical foliage. It is marvelous what skillful gardeners have accomplished here, in transforming what was fifty years ago a barren rock into an open-air conservatory. Palms, banyans, india-rubber trees, mimosas with their tufts of gold, camellias with their snowy blossoms--all these are here, with roses, mignonette, and jessamine, surrounded with innumerable ferns. Occasionally we encountered in this fragrant area a Chinese gentleman, indulging leisurely his love of flowers; for this delightful park is open to all without regard to race or creed, although the population of the island is extremely cosmopolitan. Englishmen, Americans, Germans, Frenchmen, Spaniards, Portuguese, Italians, Parsees, Mohammedans, Jews, Hindus, and fully one hundred and fifty thousand Chinamen, are residents of the city of Victoria alone. [Illustration: THE BOTANICAL PARK, HONG-KONG.] In this retired park one does not realize that Hong-Kong is such a rendezvous for different nationalities; but frequently, while we were walking here, the sharp report of a cannon forced a discordant echo from the neighboring hills and told us that some foreign man-of-war had just appeared within the bay; for here some ship or steamer is continually arriving or departing, and many times a day there comes a deafening interchange of salutes that sends a thrill through every window-pane upon the mountain. [Illustration: AN OPEN-AIR CONSERVATORY.] One can well understand, therefore, that with so mixed a population and in such close proximity to China, the officers sent out here by the British government must be men of courage, the garrison of the island strong, and its administration prompt and resolute. A single incident revealed to me the crimes which would undoubtedly creep forth, like vipers from a loathsome cave, were they not kept in check by vigorous justice and incessant vigilance. In one of the residences on the height above Victoria, I met one day at dinner the captain of a steamer anchored in the bay. He asked me to come out some evening and pay a visit to his ship. The following night, soon after dark, I walked down to the pier, intending to embark on one of the many boats along the shore. I was about to enter one, when a policeman rapidly approached. "Give me your name and number," he said roughly to the Chinese boatman. Then turning to me, he politely asked my name, address, and destination, and when I intended to return, "I am obliged to do this," he explained, "for your protection. There is a population of twenty thousand Chinese living in this harbor upon boats alone, besides the usual criminals who drift to such a place. Before we adopted this precaution, a foreigner would sometimes embark on one of these craft and never be seen again. In such a case search was useless. He had disappeared as quietly and thoroughly as a piece of silver dropped into the bay." [Illustration: A HONG-KONG STREET--IN THE CHINESE QUARTER.] [Illustration: IN THE BUSINESS SECTION.] [Illustration: VIEW FROM VICTORIA PEAK] When I stood on the apex of Victoria Peak, I thought that I had never seen a finer prospect. Nearly two thousand feet below us lay the renowned metropolis of the East which bears the name of England's queen. From this great elevation, its miles of granite blocks resembled a stupendous landslide, which, sweeping downward from this rocky height, had forced its cracked and creviced mass far out into the bay. Between this and the mainland opposite, curved a portion of that ocean-girdle which surrounds the island, and on its surface countless boats and steamers seemed, in the long perspective, like ornaments of bead-work on a lady's belt. [Illustration: THE RACE-TRACK, HONG-KONG.] Around the summit of the mountain are several handsome villas and hotels, whither the residents of Victoria come in summer to escape the heat; but, as a rule, in riding over the island I saw outside of the city very few houses, and little agriculture. The soil of Hong-Kong is not fertile; but politically and commercially the island is immensely valuable, for England has now made of it the great emporium of the Far East, and, garrisoned by British troops, it guards completely the approaches to that river, upon which, ninety-two miles inland from the ocean, lies the city of Canton. One of the pleasantest excursions in Hong-Kong may be made in sedan-chairs, some six miles over the hills, to the great reservoir which supplies the city with water. The aqueduct which comes from it is solidly constructed, and on its summit is a granite path protected by iron railings. This winds along the cliffs for miles, and is in many places cut through solid rock. It is an illustration of the handsome, yet substantial character of everything accomplished here. One feels that such works are not only artistic, but enduring. Here are no wooden trestles, no hastily constructed bridges and no half-made roads to be destroyed by mountain-torrents, but everywhere the best of masonry, cyclopean in massiveness and perfect in detail. [Illustration: THE AQUEDUCT, HONG-KONG.] On reaching the terminus of this granite pathway we saw before us the principal reservoir of Hong-Kong. Though largely artificial, it looks precisely like a natural lake hidden away among the mountains. Before it was constructed the island's water-supply was lamentably insufficient, and the notorious "Hong-Kong fever" gave the place an evil name. But now, in spite of its large native population, Victoria has as low a death-rate as most European cities. The foreign residents are very proud of these magnificent water-works; yet, after ten days' sojourn here, when I took leave of several gentlemen by whom I had been entertained in private houses and at clubs, candor compelled me to confess that, so far as I had been able to observe, the foreign population makes very little use of this water for drinking purposes. [Illustration: A MOUNTAIN ROAD, HONG-KONG.] [Illustration: AN EASY DESCENT.] On starting to descend the mountain, we found a shorter route than the circuitous path by which we had come--an admirably managed cable-road. In viewing this, the question naturally arises how the Chinese can look on such conveniences as England has here introduced, and still remain content to have in their enormous empire scarcely a decent road, and only a few miles of railway, built to transport coal. Canals and rivers are still the usual arteries of travel through the most of China. In the northern provinces, where carts are used, the roads are often worn below the surface of the adjacent land, and hence become, in the rainy season, mere water-courses. Travelers are occasionally obliged to swim across them; and cases have been known of people drowning in a Chinese roadway. Moreover, the characteristic carts of China are of the most primitive description, having no seats except the floor, and no springs save the involuntary ones contributed by their luckless passengers. Yet, in many districts, even such vehicles can find no path, and people travel about in wheel-barrows propelled by coolies who are sometimes aided by a sail. The Bishop of North China, for example, makes many of his parochial visits in a wheelbarrow. [Illustration: A CHINESE ROAD.] [Illustration: A CHINESE VEHICLE.] [Illustration: CHINESE GRAVES.] There is now in China a small progressive party which favors building railroads, as the Japanese have done, but the immense majority are against it. Some years ago a foreign company built a railroad near Shanghai, but the Chinese speedily bought it up at a great cost, transported the rails and locomotives to the sea, and left them to rust upon the beach. This opposition to railways is principally due to the belief that the use of them would deprive millions of people of their means of gaining a livelihood, and that they would, moreover, disturb the graveyards of the country. This latter objection seems at first incredible; but it must be remembered that Chinese cemeteries are strewn broadcast over the land, "Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks In Vallombrosa." [Illustration: HONG-KONG.] [Illustration: AN ELABORATE TOMB.] [Illustration: THE FOREIGN CEMETERY, HONG-KONG.] One sees them everywhere, usurping valuable tracts of territory needed for the living. Outside the city of Canton, for example, there is a graveyard thirty miles in length, in which are buried fully one hundred generations. Yet the Chinese insist that not one grave shall be disturbed, lest multitudes of avenging ghosts should be let loose upon them for such sacrilege. In fact, the permanence and inviolability of graves lie at the very foundation of Chinese life and customs, which is ancestor-worship. From childhood to old age the principal duty of all Chinamen is to propitiate the spirits of their ancestors, and to make offerings to them regularly at their tombs. This custom cripples the colossal empire of China as paralysis would a giant, and fear of doing violence to their dead holds China's millions in an iron grasp. [Illustration: A FELLOW PASSENGER.] [Illustration: ON THE CANTON RIVER.] The discussion of this theme, as we were descending the mountain, suggested to us the idea of visiting the foreign cemetery in Hong-Kong. In this, as in the public garden, charming results have been obtained by care and irrigation. We were accompanied by a gentleman who had resided on the island nearly thirty years. "In spite of the beauty of this place," he said, "I dread to think that I shall probably be buried here--unable to escape from China even after death. For notwithstanding many pleasant friends, my life, like that of many here, has been at best a dreary banishment from all that makes your Occidental life so stimulating to the intellect and so rich in pleasures. The world at home," he added, "sometimes blames us for faults, the cause of which is often only an intense desire to counteract the loneliness of our existence; and foreigners in the East deserve some sympathy, if only from the fact that in these cemeteries, kept with so much care, the graves of those we love increase so rapidly." After a few days at Hong-Kong we embarked on one of the American steamers which ply between Victoria and Canton. These boats are modest imitations of the Fall River steamers on Long Island Sound. We found the one that we took clean and comfortable and its American captain cordial and communicative. During the trip he related to us many incidents of his life in China. This he could easily do, for there were only two other foreign passengers on board, and hence, so long as we remained upon the promenade deck, the spacious vessel seemed to be our private yacht. [Illustration: RIVER BOATS.] On passing, however, to the deck below, we found a number of Chinamen, likewise going to Canton. Most of them were smoking, lying on their backs, their heads supported by a bale of cloth. At first we thought these constituted all the passengers; but presently we learned, to our astonishment, that farther down, packed in the hold like sardines in a box, and barricaded from us by an iron grating, were more than a thousand Chinese coolies. A sentry, heavily armed, stood by the padlocked grating constantly; while in the wheel-house and saloon were stands of loaded muskets ready for emergencies. The danger is that Chinese pirates will come on board in the disguise of coolies, and at a favorable moment take possession of the ship. One naturally thinks this an impossible occurrence; but only a few years ago this actually took place on one of these boats. A well-armed band of desperadoes swarmed up from the hold, shot down the captain in cold blood, and also some of the passengers who tried to interfere. Then, taking command of the ship, they forced the engineer and crew to do their bidding, steered to a lonely point where their confederates awaited them, unloaded the valuable cargo into their boats, disabled the engine so that the survivors could not give the alarm, and finally made their escape. Such are the indisputable facts. Yet, sailing up this peaceful river, reclining in our easy chairs, and soothed by the soft, balmy air, the tragedy seemed so incredible that we were obliged to put our hands upon the guns, in order to realize that precautions were still needed. [Illustration: EXECUTION OF THE PIRATES.] As an additional proof, the captain showed us a photograph of the sequel to that act of piracy. For, as a matter of course, the British Government demanded satisfaction for this outrage, and in compliance nineteen criminals were beheaded. Whether they were the actual pirates, however, has been doubted. China always has scores of men awaiting execution--a dozen here, a dozen there. What matters it if those who merit death are said to have committed one crime or another? England had no way of identifying them. Accordingly she shut her eyes, accepted what the Chinese said of them, and took it for granted that the decapitated men were the real culprits. At all events, as an eye-witness told us, the deed itself was quickly done. In each case there was only one swing of the executioner's arm, and one flash of the two-edged sword; then, like a row of flowers clipped from their stems, the heads of all the kneeling criminals were lying in the sand, with staring eyes turned upward toward the sky. [Illustration: WITH STARING EYES TURNED UPWARD.] [Illustration: AN OLD CHINESE FORT, CANTON RIVER.] [Illustration: OPIUM-SMOKING.] [Illustration: SINGING GIRLS.] On leaving this repulsive picture in the captain's cabin, we found that we were approaching the once important settlement of Whampoa. Its glory is gone now, but formerly it played a prominent part in Eastern politics and commerce; for previous to the Opium War of 1841 and the establishment of the Treaty Ports, this was as far as foreign ships were permitted to come, and Whampoa was then a kind of counter across which Cantonese and Europeans traded. We now began to observe along the shore strange-looking boats protected by a roof and filled with fruits and vegetables for the Canton market. Moreover, on both sides of the river for many miles we looked on countless little patches of rice, bananas, oranges, and sugar-cane. At one point our attention was called to an island on which are some old fortifications used by China fifty years ago in her attempt to exclude opium from her territory. I suppose that no intelligent student of the subject doubts that the real cause of the war of 1841 was the attempt of England to force upon the Chinese a drug which no one dares to sell in London, even now, unless it bears the label "poison." In 1840, the Commissioner of Canton thus addressed the Queen of England: "How can your country seek to acquire wealth by selling us an article so injurious to mankind? I have heard that you have a generous heart; you must be willing, therefore, to obey the motto of Confucius, and refuse to do to others what you would not have others do to you." In an address to foreign traders, issued in 1840, the Chinese also said: "Reflect that if you did not bring opium here, where could our people obtain it? Shall, then, our people die, and your lives not be required? You are destroying human life for the sake of gain. You should surrender your opium out of regard for the natural feelings of mankind. If not, it is right for us to drive every ship of your nation from our shores." [Illustration: A CHINESE BRIDGE.] Finding that these appeals were of no avail, the Chinese finally compelled the British merchants in Canton to give up all the opium in their possession. It amounted to twenty-one thousand chests, or about three million pounds. This mass of poison the Chinese threw into the river, chest after chest, much as Americans treated English tea in Boston harbor. As it dissolved, it is said that a large number of fish died. England retaliated by broadsides from her men-of-war, and in 1842, after an unequal struggle, China was forced to pay her victorious enemy twenty-one million dollars--six millions for the opium destroyed, and fifteen millions as a war indemnity, besides giving to England as her property forever, the island of Hong-Kong, and opening five new ports to foreign trade. [Illustration: THE CURSE OF CHINA.] About a century ago opium was rarely used in China except as medicine. To-day it enters through the openings made by English cannon, at the rate of six thousand tons a year, and at an annual profit to the Indian treasury of from thirty to forty million dollars. But this is not the worst: the vice of opium-smoking has spread with such rapidity that in one Chinese city alone, where thirty years ago only five opium dens existed, there are now five thousand. In the minds of many Chinamen, therefore, Christianity is principally associated with the gift of opium and its attendant evils. China has now begun to cultivate the poppy for herself, and in some provinces six-tenths of the land is given over to producing opium, to the great detriment of agriculture. For the Chinese argue that if they must have it anyway, they may as well profit by it themselves, and let their own crop vie with that which England sends from India. It should be said that earnest protests have often been made by conscientious Englishmen against this conduct of their Government, but all remonstrances have failed to change its policy. Hence, when our British cousins sometimes humorously say that we Americans worship only the almighty dollar, it may be well to ask if any deity under the sun is more devoutly reverenced than the omnipotent pounds, shillings, and pence. [Illustration: A VILLAGE SCENE.] When we had steamed about five hours from Hong-Kong, we came in sight of our first Chinese pagoda. It is a hollow tower of brick about three hundred feet in height, and resembles, on an enormous scale, one of those tapering sticks which jewelers use for sizing rings. At first, I thought that the nine circular terraces which mark its different stories were adorned with flags or tapestry, but closer scrutiny revealed the melancholy fact that weeds and bushes are now growing here. Indeed, like most of the sacred buildings that I saw in China, it looked both dirty and dilapidated. [Illustration: PAGODA, NEAR CANTON RIVER.] Soon after leaving this neglected edifice, we found ourselves amid a constantly increasing throng of Chinese boats, and I began to realize that these were specimens of that "floating population" of Canton of which we have all read, but of which nothing but a visit to it can give an adequate idea. Hardly was our steamer anchored in the stream before the city, when hundreds of these boats closed in upon us on all sides, like cakes of floating ice around a vessel in the Arctic sea. Wedging and pushing frantically, the boatmen almost swamped themselves. They fought for places near the ship like men and women in a panic. The din of voices sounded like the barking of five hundred canines at a dog-show; and Chinese gutturals flew through the air like bullets from a _mitrailleuse_. It seemed impossible to disembark in such a mob. But suddenly I felt a pressure on my arm. I turned and saw apparently three laundrymen from the United States. A glance assured me they were father and sons. "Good morning, sir," said one of them in excellent English, "do you know Carter Harrison, of Chicago?" [Illustration: NEARING CANTON.] This question, coming in such a place and at such a time, rendered me speechless with astonishment. "He mentioned us in his book, 'A Race With the Sun,'" continued the young Chinaman. "This is my father, the famous guide, Ah Cum. This is my brother, and I am Ah Cum, Jr. The others are engaged for to-morrow, but I can serve you. Will you take me?" "So you are Ah Cum?" I rejoined; "I have heard much of you. Your reference book must be a valuable autograph album of distinguished travelers. Yes, we will take you; and, first of all, can you get us safely into one of those boats? And if so, who will guarantee that we shall not be murdered?" "Ah Cum." Accordingly we "came," and presently found ourselves in a boat. I cannot relate how we got there. I do not know, myself. I think of it now as one recalls the pulling of a tooth when under the influence of laughing-gas. I have a dim remembrance of jumping from one reeling skiff to another, of stumbling over slippery seats, of holding on to Ah Cum, Sr., and being pushed by Ah Cum, Jr., and now and then grabbing frantically at a Chinese queue, as a drowning man catches at a rope. The only reason that I did not fall into the water is that there was not space enough between the boats. At last, however, bruised and breathless, we reached a place of refuge, and watched our boatmen fight their way out through the crowd, until we landed on the neighboring island of Shameen. After the pandemonium around the steamer, this seemed a perfect paradise of beauty and repose. It is about a mile and a quarter in circumference, and is reserved exclusively for foreigners. [Illustration: CHINESE BOATS, CANTON.] Shaded by drooping banyan trees, stand many handsome houses inhabited by Englishmen, Germans, and Americans whom the necessities of business keep in banishment here. Their social life is said to be very pleasant, and I should think, indeed, that in so small a settlement the members of this little colony (if they did not hate) would love each other cordially. This pretty place, before the capture of Canton, in 1857, was nothing but a hideous mud-bank. But foreigners have transformed it almost as completely as they have Hong-Kong, and have built around it broad embankments made of solid granite, which form an agreeable promenade. [Illustration: THE FLOATING HOMES OF THOUSANDS, CANTON.] [Illustration: INTERIOR OF A EUROPEAN'S HOUSE.] Unfortunately, however, Shameen boasts of only one hotel, and of this such dismal stories had been told us that we had half made up our minds to eat and sleep on the American steamers, changing from one to another every morning as they came and went. This seemed, however, so difficult, that we resolved to try the accommodations here. We did so, and discovered that in this case "the devil is not so black as he is painted." At all events, clean, comfortable rooms made some amends for a meager bill of fare. I cherish no delightful recollections of our meals on the island of Shameen. In fact, when a "globe-trotter" has reached India or China, the time has come for him to eat what he can get, and be devoutly thankful that he can get anything. Misguided souls who live to eat should never make a journey around the world. Of course, the foreign residents here live better than travelers at hotels; but a gentleman who entertained us apologized for his poor table, and said that it was especially difficult to get good beef, since Chinamen consider it extravagant to kill such useful animals as cows and oxen. "Accordingly," he added, "we classify the so-called beef that we consume as 'donkey beef,' 'camel beef,' and 'precipice beef.' "Precipice beef!" I exclaimed, "what in the world do you mean by 'precipice beef?'" "That," he replied, "is nearest to the genuine article, for it is the product of a cow that has killed herself by falling over a precipice." [Illustration: THE JINRIKISHA IN CHINA.] On one side of this island flows the Canton river, and on the other is a small canal which separates it from the city. Two bridges span this narrow stream, each having iron gates which are invariably closed at night and guarded by sentinels. No Chinese, save employees of the foreigners, may come within this reservation. In 1883, however, a Chinese mob attacked it fiercely, and swarmed across the bridges, as the legendary mice invaded Bishop Hatto's tower on the Rhine. The English, French, and German families escaped to steamers in the river, leaving their houses to be plundered or burned. During my stay here, every evening when this bridge was closed, and every morning when it was reopened, I heard a hideous din of drums and horns, concluding with the firing of a blunderbuss. Our consul told me that the object of all this was to inspire fear. "Tremble and obey!" are the words which close all Government proclamations in the Chinese empire. [Illustration: STARTING FOR CANTON.] [Illustration: BRIDGE AT CANTON.] The morning after our arrival, we found awaiting us outside the hotel door some coolies with the sedan-chairs in which we were to make our first excursion through Canton. Another party also was about to start, including several ladies, each of whom held in her hand either a flask of smelling-salts or a piece of camphor wrapped in a handkerchief. In fact, the druggists of Hong-Kong do quite a business in furnishing visitors to Canton with disinfectants and restoratives. Some of these ladies feared being insulted by the Canton populace, and told exciting stories of an English lady who had been recently spat upon, and of American ladies who had been followed by a hooting crowd. Ah Cum, however, smiled complacently. "There is no danger," he assured us; "my father will take care of you ladies, as I will of these gentlemen. Every one here knows us. Our people are always safe." [Illustration: A CANTON STREET.] [Illustration: ALONG THE SHORE, CANTON.] Accordingly we started, crossed the bridge, and two minutes later found ourselves engulfed, like atoms in a sewer, in the fetid labyrinth of Canton. One should not be surprised that illustrations of its streets are not clearer. The marvel is that they are visible at all! "Streets," as we understand the word, they cannot be truthfully called. They are dark, tortuous alleys, destitute of sidewalks, and from four to eight feet wide, winding snake-like between long lines of gloomy shops. Comparatively little daylight filters through them to the pavement, not only by reason of their narrow limits, but from the fact that all these passageways are largely filled up, just above the people's heads, with strips of wood, which serve as advertising placards. Many of them are colored blue, red, white, or green, and bear strange characters, gilded or painted on their surfaces. These in the dark perspective of a crowded alley look like the banners of some long procession. [Illustration: TEMPLE OF CONFUCIUS, CANTON.] These letters do not give the merchants' names, but serve as trade-marks, like the dedicatory words above the doors of shops in France. How any one can read them is a mystery; not merely on account of the twilight gloom, but from the fact that here at every step one comes in contact with a multitude of repulsive Chinamen, many of them naked to the waist, who seem compressed within this narrow space like a wild torrent in a gorge. To stop in such a place and read a sign appeared to me as difficult as studying the leaves of the trees while riding through a forest on a Texas broncho. [Illustration: A CANTON COOLIE.] As our bearers pushed their way through these dark, narrow lanes, the people squeezed themselves against the walls to let us pass; then closed about us instantly again, like sharks around the stern of a boat. At any moment I could have touched a dozen naked shoulders with my hand, and twice as many with my cane. Meanwhile, to the noise of the loquacious multitude were added the vociferations of our bearers, who shouted constantly for people to make way, ascribing to us, we were told, distinguished titles that evidently excited curiosity even among the stolid Chinamen. Occasionally we met a sedan-chair coming in the opposite direction. Both sets of bearers then began to yell like maniacs, and we would finally pass each other with the utmost difficulty, our coolies having frequently to back the chair-poles into one shop, and then run them forward into a doorway on the opposite corner, thereby blocking the noisy, surly crowd until the passage could be cleared. [Illustration: A WHEELBARROW FOR FREIGHT.] The faces packed about us, while not positively hostile, were as a rule unfriendly. An insolent stare was characteristic of most of them. Some disagreeable criticisms were pronounced, but Ah Cum's expression never changed, and we, of course, could not understand them. Once a banana-skin, thrown probably by a mischievous boy, flew by my head; and I was told that China's favorite exclamation, "foreign devils," was often heard. But I dare say that if a Chinese mandarin, in full regalia, were to walk through some of our streets, he would not fare as well as we did in Canton; and that if he ever went to the Bowery, "he'd never go there any more." [Illustration: ONE OF THE BROADEST STREETS.] [Illustration: CHINESE TEA-PICKERS.] As we kept passing on through other alleys teeming with half-clad specimens of the great unwashed, I called to mind the fact that this low class in China has been deliberately taught to hate, despise, and thoroughly distrust all foreigners. The unjust opium war with England, the recent territorial war with France, the stories told them of the treatment of their countrymen in the United States,--all these would, of themselves, be enough to make them hostile; but they are as nothing to the effect produced upon an ignorant, superstitious populace by the placards posted on the walls of many Chinese cities. I read translations of a few of these, and I believe they cannot be surpassed in literature for the vulgarity and infamy of their accusations. They are in one sense perfectly absurd; but when we recollect the riotous acts to which they have frequently incited their deluded victims, they challenge serious consideration. [Illustration: CHINESE MERCHANTS DRINKING TEA.] On entering some of the shops that line these passageways, I was astonished at the contrast they presented to the streets themselves. The latter are at times no more than four feet wide. Not so the shops. Many of them have a depth of eighty feet, and in the centre are entirely open to the roof. In the corner of each is placed a little shrine. A gallery extends around the second story, and on that floor, or in the rear of the building, the owners live. Some of these shops are handsomely adorned with fine wood-carving and bronze lamps, and on the shelves is stored a great variety of goods, frequently including articles as dissimilar as silk and cotton fabrics, fans, jewelry, umbrellas, Waterbury clocks, and Chinese shoes. [Illustration: HALL IN A CHINESE HOUSE.] [Illustration: A CHINESE BED AND FURNITURE.] Among these shops we saw a building used partly as a temple and partly as the Guild Hall for the Canton silk merchants. Guilds, or trade-unions, have existed here for centuries. They permeate every branch of Chinese industry, legal and illegal. Even the thieves form themselves into a guild, and I suppose there is "honor" among them. The origin of these unions is partly due to unjust taxation. Canton contains a vast amount of wealth, but those possessing it are careful to conceal all trace of any superabundance. On this account disputes between the various guilds are settled by arbitration. To allow their affairs to go into court would show too plainly to the tax-collectors their financial status. Accordingly litigation is almost unknown. Moreover, when a case is settled by arbitration, the losing party not only pays the disputed sum, but is obliged to give a supper to the victor. [Illustration: EXORCISING SPIRITS.] In another building that we passed I saw a curious ceremony, which Ah Cum explained as that of three Buddhist priests who were clearing a house of evil spirits. It appears that, two weeks before, a man had committed suicide on the premises, in order to avenge himself on the proprietor. For in China a man, instead of killing his enemy, sometimes kills himself, the motive being a desire that the hated one shall be regarded as responsible for his death, and be pursued by evil spirits here and in the world to come. To be annoyed by ghosts must be exceedingly unpleasant, but, on the whole, I hope that all my enemies will try the Chinese method. Occasionally we discovered in these streets an itinerant barber. These Chinese Figaros carry their outfits with them. First in importance comes a bamboo pole, which is the immemorial badge of their profession. To this is usually attached one solitary towel,--free to every customer. From one extremity of this pole hangs a small brass basin, together with a charcoal stove for heating water; the other end is balanced by a wooden cabinet, which serves the patient as a seat during the operation, and contains razors, lancets, tweezers, files, and other surgical instruments. [Illustration: LADY AND MAID.] [Illustration: CHINESE BARBER.] It matters not where one of these tonsorial artists practises his surgery. A temple court, a flight of steps, a street, or a back-yard, are quite the same to him. He takes his queue where he can find it. One of his commonest duties is to braid that customary appendage to a Chinaman's head, without which he would be despised. It is comical to estimate the thousands of miles of Chinese queues which even one barber twists in the course of his career--enough, if tied together, end to end, to form a cable between Europe and America. Yet this singular style of hair-dressing (now so universal) was introduced into China only two hundred and fifty years ago. Before that time the Chinese wore full heads of hair, and the present fashion of shaved crowns and twisted queues is of Tartar origin, and was imposed by a conquering dynasty as a badge of servitude. The wearing of a mustache in China is an indication that he whose face it adorns is a grandfather. In fact, until he is forty-five years old, a Chinaman usually shaves his face completely; but this fact does not prove that after that time he can dispense with the services of a barber. For the tonsorial art in China is exceedingly varied; and Chinese barbers not only braid the queue; they also shave the eyebrows, clean the ears, pull teeth, and massage. Moreover, they scrape the inside of their victim's eye-lids--a custom which is believed by foreigners to be the cause of much of the ophthalmia in China. [Illustration: A CHINESE MERCHANT.] Chinese fortune-tellers had for me a singular fascination. I found them everywhere--in temple courts, at gateways and beside the roads--invariably wearing spectacles, and usually seated at a table decorated with huge Chinese characters. Their services seemed to be in great demand. In every case the ceremony was the same. Each applicant in turn approached, and stated what he wished to know; for example, whether a certain day would be a lucky time for him to buy some real estate, or which of several girls his son would better marry. Upon the table stood a tin box full of bamboo sticks. One of these slips the customer drew at random, and from the sentence written on it the fortune-teller gave his answer in oracular words--which could, as usual, be interpreted in various ways. [Illustration: A CHINESE FORTUNE-TELLER.] [Illustration: A WALL OF CANTON.] At length, however, leaving for a time the shops and dimly-lighted alleys, we found ourselves approaching a huge gate. For Canton, like most other Chinese cities, is divided into certain districts, each of which is separated from the adjoining one by a wall. The gateways in these walls are always closed at night, and are of special use in case of fires or insurrections, since they are strong enough to hold in check a surging crowd till the police or soldiers can arrive. [Illustration: THE FIVE-STORIED PAGODA.] Passing through this portal, we made our way along the wall until we arrived at a prominent point of observation, known as the Five-storied Pagoda. Whatever this may once have been, it is to-day a shabby, barn-like structure, marked here and there with traces of red paint, like daubs of rouge on a clown's face. All visitors to Canton, however, will recollect the building, with a certain amount of pleasure, as being the resting-place in which one eats the lunch brought from the steamer or hotel. Not that there is not food of certain kinds obtainable in Canton itself, but somehow what one sees of Chinese delicacies here does not inspire him with a desire to partake of them. In one of Canton's streets, for example, I entered a cat-restaurant. Before the door was a notice which Ah Cum translated thus: "Two fine black cats to-day, ready soon." On stepping inside, I heard some pussies mewing piteously in bamboo cages. Hardly had I entered when a poor old woman brought the proprietor some kittens for sale. He felt of them to test their plumpness, as we might weigh spring chickens. Only a small price was offered, as they were very thin, but the bargain was soon concluded, the woman took her money, and the cadaverous kittens went to swell the chorus in the cages. Black cats, by the way, cost more in China than cats of any other color, for the Chinese believe that the flesh of dark-coated felines makes good blood. [Illustration: A WAYSIDE RESTAURANT.] To some Chinamen, dogs fried in oil are also irresistible. In one untidy street, swarming with yellow-skinned humanity, we saw a kind of gipsy kettle hung over a wood fire. Within it was a stew of dog-meat. Upon a pole close by was hung a rump of uncooked dog, with the tail left on, to show the patrons of this open-air restaurant to what particular breed the animal had belonged. For it is said there is a great difference in the flesh of dogs. Bull-terriers, for example, would probably be considered tough. Around this kettle stood a group of coolies, each with a plate and spoon, devouring the canine stew as eagerly as travelers eat sandwiches at a railway restaurant after the warning bell has rung. Some hungry ones were looking on as wistfully as boys outside a bun-shop. One man had such a famished look that, through the medium of Ah Cum, I treated him at once. Moreover, hundreds of rats, dried and hung up by the tails, are exposed for sale in Canton streets, and shark's fins, antique duck eggs, and sea-slugs are considered delicacies. [Illustration: CHINAMEN OUT ON A PICNIC.] We tried to bring back photographic proofs of all these horrors, but it was impossible. Whenever we halted in the narrow lanes, in fifteen seconds we would be encircled by a moving wall of hideous faces, whose foremost rank kept closing in on us until the atmosphere grew so oppressive that we gasped for breath and told our bearers to move on. Nor is this all. These crowds were sometimes positively hostile. A superstitious fear of being photographed by "foreign devils" made them dangerous. This fact was several times made disagreeably evident. Thus, in a garden adjoining a Chinese temple, I wished to photograph some sacred hogs which were attached to the sanctuary in some unknown capacity. But scarcely had the exposure been made, when a priest gave the alarm, and in three minutes a mob of men and boys were rushing toward us, uttering yells and throwing stones. Ah Cum himself turned pale. He sprang in front of us, and swore (may heaven forgive him!) that not a picture had been taken. Of course we offered money as indemnity, but the priests rejected it with scorn, claiming that by the pointing of the camera we had stopped the growth of the hogs. I do not think I exaggerate the situation when I say that if the politic Ah Cum had not been there to defend us, we should have suffered personal injury. [Illustration: THE SACRED HOGS.] [Illustration: SORTING TEA.] [Illustration: CHINESE MERCHANTS.] [Illustration: A CHINESE FARM-HOUSE.] Standing up on the summit of the Five-storied Pagoda, we looked out over the city of Canton. For wide-spread, unrelieved monotony, I never saw the equal of that view in any place inhabited by human beings. True, the confusion of the foreground was to be excused, since a tornado had recently blown down many of the native houses. But far beyond this mass of ruins, stretching on and on for miles, was the same monotonous, commonplace vista of low, uninteresting buildings, seamed with mere crevices in lieu of streets. Meantime, from this vast area came to us a dull, persistent hum, like the escape of steam from a locomotive, reminding us that here were swarming nearly two million human beings, almost as difficult for a foreigner to distinguish or identify as ants in a gigantic ant-hill. [Illustration: THE FLOWERY PAGODA, CANTON.] The exact population of Canton is hard to determine. The number arrived at depends upon where one leaves off counting the three hundred suburban villages, each of which seems a part of the city. Bishop Harper, who lived here for forty years, says, that if one should plant a stake in the centre of Canton, and count all around it within a radius of ten miles, one would find an aggregate of three-and-a-half million people. One village, for example, eleven miles away, noted for silk and other manufactures, is thought to contain eight hundred thousand inhabitants. [Illustration: CANTONESE PAWN-SHOPS.] Out of this wilderness of mediocrity there rose in one place a pagoda, which by contrast seemed to possess prodigious height; but such objects are exceptional. To understand what Canton is like, one must picture to himself a city which, with its suburbs, is larger and more populous than Paris, yet has not one handsome avenue, one spacious square, or even one street that possesses the slightest claim to cleanliness or beauty. Worse than this, it is a city without a single Chinese building in its whole extent that can be even distantly compared in architectural elegance with thousands of imposing structures in any other city of the civilized world. "But are there no European edifices in Canton?" the reader may perhaps inquire. Yes, one, which makes the contrast only more apparent. It is the Roman Catholic cathedral, whose lofty towers are, strangely enough, the first objects in the city which the traveler sees in sailing up the river from Hong-Kong. This handsome Gothic structure, built entirely of granite, rising from such a sea of architectural ugliness, at once called forth our admiration. To the Chinese, however, these graceful towers are objects of the utmost hatred. It angers them to see this area, which French and English conquerors obtained by treaty, still occupied by a Christian church. So far, it has escaped destruction; but there are those who prophesy its doom and say that the time will come when not one stone of it will be left upon another. [Illustration: CATHOLIC CATHEDRAL, CANTON.] There are, however, five or six other buildings in Canton, which rival the pagoda and the Catholic church in height. These hideous objects, which look like monstrous granite boxes set on end, are pawn-shops. One might conclude from their enormous size that half the personal property of the Cantonese was in pawn. They certainly are well patronized, for pawning clothes is such a common thing in China that hundreds of the Cantonese send here for safe-keeping their furs and overcoats in summer, and their thin summer clothes in winter, receiving money for them as from any pawn-broker. The Chinese mode of guarding these tall structures against thieves is certainly unique. Upon the roofs are piled stones to be dropped upon the heads of robbers, and also reservoirs of vitriol, with syringes to squirt the horrible acid on invaders. [Illustration: TEMPLE OF FIVE HUNDRED GODS.] Astonished at this lack of imposing architecture, we asked if there were no temples in Canton, Assuredly there were--eight hundred of them, all more or less defaced and incrusted with dirt. One of the oldest and most sacred is called the "Temple of Five Hundred Gods," because within its walls are seated five hundred life-size images of gilded wood, representing deified sages of the Buddhist faith. But they are all coarse specimens of sculpture, and many are amusing caricatures. In front of each is a small jar of ashes, in which the worshiper burns a stick of incense in honor of his favorite god. Offerings of money, too, are sometimes made--but not of genuine money. The Chinese are usually too practical to use anything but imitation money made of gilded paper. I do not know what the gods think of this Oriental style of dropping buttons in the contribution-box, but the priests do not like this sort of currency. They are all "hard money" men. [Illustration: AN OLD TEMPLE, CANTON.] But, if we accept the ancient Proverb that "To labor is to pray," then are the Chinese devout indeed. Whatever other faults they may possess, idleness is not one of them. The struggle for existence keeps them active. Yet they live on almost nothing. A German merchant told me that one of his coolies, after twenty-five years of service, had recently had his salary raised to ten dollars a month. The laborer was, of course, delighted. "Now," he exclaimed, "I intend to marry another wife. For years I have longed to have two wives, but have never been able to afford it; but now, with ten dollars a month, I can indulge in luxuries!" [Illustration: APPROACH TO A SHRINE.] In strolling about among these Chinese coolies, I found that life in China is indeed reduced to its lowest terms. In some of the Canton shops, for example, I saw potatoes sold in halves and even in quarters, and poultry is offered, not only singly, but by the piece--so much for a leg, so much for a wing. Second-hand nails are sold in lots of half-a-dozen. A man can buy one-tenth of a cent's worth of fish or rice. I understood, at last, how Chinese laundrymen can go home from the United States after a few years' work, and live upon their incomes. When one perceives under what conditions these swarming myriads live, one naturally asks how pestilence can be averted. One source of safety is, no doubt, the universal custom of drinking only boiled water in the form of tea. If it were not for this, there would be inevitably a terrible mortality, for the coolies take no precautions against infection. A gentleman in the English consular service told us that he had seen two Canton women in adjoining boats, one washing in the river the bedclothes of her husband who had died of cholera, the other dipping up water in which to cook the family dinner! [Illustration: ONE OF THE MANY.] If, perchance, these people should fall ill, I fear they would not be greatly benefited by any Chinese doctor whom they might employ. Chinese physicians are thought to be ignoramuses, unless they can diagnose a case by merely feeling the pulse. Hence, if they are called to attend a lady, they see of her usually nothing but her wrist, thrust out between the curtains of the bed. Those who prescribe for internal diseases are called "inside doctors," while others are "outside" men, just as some of our medicines are labeled "for external use only." A story is told of a man who had been shot through the arm with an arrow. He first applied to an "outside" doctor, who cut off the two ends of the weapon and put a plaster on each wound. "But," said the patient, "the remainder of the arrow is still in my arm." "Ah!" replied the "outside" doctor, "that is not my affair. To have that removed, you must go to an 'inside' man." [Illustration: A CHINESE DOCTOR.] One day, in passing through a temple gate, a half-clad Chinaman offered me for sale a box of grasshoppers, which, when ground into a powder, make a popular remedy for some ailments. In fact, aside from ginseng and a few other well-known herbs, the medicines used in China seem almost incredible. A favorite cure for fever, for example, is a soup of scorpions. Dysentery is treated by running a needle through the tongue. The flesh of rats is supposed to make the hair grow. Dried lizards are recommended as a tonic for "that tired feeling," and iron filings are said to be a good astringent. Chinese physicians say that certain diseases are curable only by a decoction whose chief ingredient is a piece of flesh cut from the arm or thigh of the patient's son or daughter. To supply this flesh is thought to be one of the noblest proofs of filial devotion. This is not an exaggeration. In the Pekin _Official Gazette_ of July 5, 1870, is an editorial, calling the emperor's attention to a young girl who had cut off two joints of her finger and dropped them into her mother's medicine. The mother recovered, and the governor of the province proposed to erect a monument in honor of the child. [Illustration: A MEMORIAL GATE.] [Illustration: BEGGARS ON THE TEMPLE STEPS.] [Illustration: A CHINESE FUNERAL PROCESSION.] In view of such a pharmacopoeia, it is a comfort to learn that in the Chinese theology a special place in hell is assigned to ignorant physicians. All quacks are doomed to centuries of torture, the worst fate being reserved for doctors who abuse their professional skill for purposes of immorality. Their punishment is the cheerful one of being boiled in oil. Another curious, and not altogether absurd, custom of the Chinese is to pay a physician so long as they continue in health, but if they fall ill, the doctor's salary ceases until they recover, whereupon it commences again. [Illustration: A GROUP OF CHINESE WOMEN.] Chinese women seemed to me, as a rule, exceedingly plain, but, even were they Venuses, one of their characteristics would make my flesh creep. I refer to their claw-like finger-nails, which are so long that apparently they could be used with equal ease as paper-cutters or stilettoes. Gloves cannot possibly be worn upon these finger-spikes, so metal sheaths have been invented to protect them. To show what can be done in nail-growing, the following lengths were measured on the left hand of a Chinese belle: thumb nail, two inches; little finger nail, four inches; third finger, five and one-quarter inches. Under these circumstances we cannot wonder that in China it is not the custom to shake hands: otherwise, painful accidents might occur. Accordingly, the Chinese clasp their own hands and shake them gently at each other. [Illustration: LILY FEET.] [Illustration: MOTHER AND CHILD.] A still more repulsive peculiarity of Chinese women is their stunted feet, which for the purposes of locomotion are little better than hoofs. All Chinese ladies of the better class must have these "lily feet," as they are called. Sometimes a Chinaman will have two wives; the first an ornamental one with "lily feet," the second, a large-footed woman for business. The origin of this barbarous custom of preventing the growth of the foot is unknown. Perhaps it sprang from a sentiment which Ah Cum graphically expressed by saying: "A small foot is much safer to live with. A big foot runs about too easily and gets into mischief. Moreover," he added, with a smile, "a big-footed woman sometimes kicks." One Chinaman assured me with great pride that his wife's foot was only two and a half inches long. There is a class of women here whose regular business it is to bind the feet of little girls when about six years of age. The process of repressing the natural growth of the foot lasts for seven years--the four smaller toes being bent under until they lose their articulations and become identified with the sole of the foot. When this has been accomplished, the second and severer operation commences--of bringing the great toe and the heel as nearly together as possible. The bandage is drawn tighter, month by month, until the base of the great toe is brought into contact with the heel, and the foot has become a shapeless lump. By this unnatural treatment the leg itself becomes deformed, and its bones are made not only smaller in diameter, but shorter. The circulation also is obstructed, and the large muscles are soon completely atrophied from disuse. The agony caused by such interference with nature can be only faintly imagined. It made the tears come to my eyes to hear a Chinese gentleman describe the methods taken to console his suffering children and help them forget their misery. The poor little creatures scream and moan from the incessant pain, and often lie across the bed with their legs pressed against the edge, in the hope that this will lessen their distress; but nothing can relieve them but freedom from the torturing bandage, which is never relaxed. It makes one sick at heart to think that such a custom has prevailed in China for more than a thousand years. [Illustration: A DISTORTED FOOT.] Should we approach a group of Chinese merchants in Canton, and ask any one of them "How many children have you?" we could be almost certain that he would not think of counting his daughters, or that he would at least make this distinction--"I have two children, and one girl." For to a Chinaman nothing in life is so important as to have a son to offer sacrifices for him after death and worship at his grave, since, in their opinion, a daughter is not capable of doing this. When a boy is born, therefore, the father is overwhelmed with congratulations, but if the newcomer be a girl, as little reference as possible is made to the misfortune. Friends are informed of the birth of a child by strips of paper carried through the street. If it be a boy, yellow paper is used, but in case of a girl any color will do. This feeling, intensified by poverty, is the cause of the infanticide which has been, and still is, in certain provinces, so dark a blot on the domestic history of China. It is said, for example, that in the vicinity of Amoy thirty per cent, of all new-born girls are strangled or drowned, as unwelcome kittens sometimes are with us. [Illustration: A CHINESE LADY.] [Illustration: THE HOMES OF THOUSANDS.] On our second day in Canton we investigated another phase of Chinese life, in some respects stranger than anything we had thus far seen. Along the shores of the Canton river, and in its various canals, is a population of a quarter of a million souls, living on thousands of peculiar boats crowded together side by side, and forming streets, and even colonies, of floating dwellings. Moreover, these conditions prevail in every river-town throughout the empire. [Illustration: A CHINESE PATERFAMILIAS.] Each of these "sampans," as they are called, though only about twenty feet in length, constitutes the home of an entire family. Eight people frequently live on one boat--grandpa and grandma, father and mother, uncle and aunt, two or three children, and a baby. The latter is tied to the back of its mother, even when she is rowing. As for the other children, their parents fasten around them pieces of bamboo, like life-preservers, and tie them to the rail by a cord. If they tumble over, they float until some one gets a chance to pull them in. Upon these little boats thousands are born, eat, drink, cook, and sleep, and finally die, having known no other home. Under the flooring are stored their cooking utensils, bedding, clothing, provisions, oil, charcoal, and other requisites of their aquatic life. Above them, usually, are movable roofs of bamboo wicker-work, to give protection from the sun and rain. [Illustration: A MARKET-PLACE.] Some of these families even take boarders! I verified this by going at night among this floating population, and found that sleeping space on the boats is rented to those who have no fixed abode. Planks are laid over the seats to form a floor, and on these lie the numerous members of the household and the lodgers. Conspicuous figures in this boat-life are the itinerant barbers and physicians, who go about in tiny sampans, ringing a bell and offering their services. [Illustration: A FLOWER-BOAT.] Occasionally, however, we beheld a boat much larger and finer than the craft around it. It proved to be one of the Chinese flower-boats, which are the pleasure resorts of China's _jeunesse dorée_. By day they are conspicuous by their size and gilded wood-work, and in the evening by their many lights. Never, while memory lasts, shall I forget an excursion made at night with our hotel-proprietor among these flower-boats and their surroundings. Many of them were anchored side by side, and planks were stretched from one to the other, like a continuous sidewalk. As we walked along, we passed by countless open doors, each of which revealed a room handsomely furnished with mirrors, marble panels, and blackwood furniture. Here were usually grouped a dozen or more hilarious Chinamen, who were eating, drinking, and smoking, together with professional singing-girls, who are hired by the owners of these flower-boats to entertain their guests with songs and dances. We could not pause to observe them carefully, for foreigners are not wanted here, either as visitors or patrons. Meanwhile, at the very doorways of these handsome rooms, beggars in greasy garments crowded around us and almost threateningly demanded alms. "Look out for your pockets," was the proprietor's constant warning. [Illustration: CHINESE MUSICIANS.] I have an indistinct remembrance of thus passing row after row of lighted boats, room after room of painted girls, group after group of sleek, fat Chinamen at tables, and then, on leaving these, of seeing miles of loathsome boats containing half-clad men stretched out on bunks and stupefied by opium, hag-like females cooking over charcoal braziers, and ragged children huddled in dark corners. I have a vivid recollection, too, of walking over slimy planks, of breathing pestilential odors, and of looking down on patches of repulsive water, so thick with refuse that they resembled in the lamp-light tanks of cabbage-soup. We also shudderingly passed some leper-boats, whose inmates are afflicted with that terrible disease, and who are forced to live as outcasts, begging for alms by holding out a little bag suspended from a bamboo pole. But finally shaking off the beggars who had followed us, and fleeing from this multitudinous life, as one might turn with horror from a pool of wriggling eels, I staggered into the boat belonging to the hotel. As it moved out into clearer water, I drew a long breath and looked up at the stars. There they were--calm and glorious as ever--scattered in countless numbers through measureless space. At any time, when one looks off into the vault of night, our little globe seems insignificant, but never did it seem to me so tiny and comparatively valueless, as when I left these myriads of Chinamen, swarming like insects in their narrow boats, apparently the reduction of humanity to the grade of microbes. [Illustration: A TYPICAL CHINESE CRAFT.] The gentleman who had accompanied me on this occasion was a Wall street broker. "Well," he exclaimed at last, "I have spent fifteen years among the Bulls and Bears, and I think my nerves are pretty strong, but for experiences which unnerve a man, and things which (glad as I am to have seen them once) I never wish to see again, nothing can compare with the sights and smells discovered in a trip to Chinatown!" What impressed me most, however, in this experience was the idea that the millions in and around Canton are but an insignificant fraction of the Chinese race. It filled me with horror to reflect that all I had witnessed here was but a tiny sample of the entire empire. For Canton is said to be superior to many Chinese cities. One writer has declared that, after walking through the Chinese quarter of Shanghai, he wanted to be hung on a clothes-line for a week in a gale of wind. Tientsin is said to be still worse for dirt and noxious odors. Even Pekin, from all accounts, has horribly paved and filthy thoroughfares, and its sanitary conditions are almost beyond belief. If such then be the state of things in the capital, what must it be in the interior towns, so rarely reached by foreigners? [Illustration: A WHEELBARROW BUILT FOR TWO.] It may, however, be objected that in the open ports, where they encounter foreign influence, the people are at their worst. But Chinamen are not impressionable, like the North American Indians or the aborigines on the islands in the Pacific, who eagerly adopt the vices of their conquerors, and speedily succumb to them. China is one of the oldest countries in the world. Most of her ideas, customs, as well as the personal habits of her people are of immemorial antiquity, and her inhabitants are too conservative to change them. What one beholds in Canton, therefore, may be fairly supposed to exist from one extremity of the empire to the other. But now, among so much that is disagreeable, one naturally inquires, "Are there not some redeeming features in this Chinese life?" I must confess there are not many discernible to the passing traveler, but I will gladly mention one about which I made careful inquiry. It is their honesty in business. It is the almost invariable custom for Chinese merchants every New-Year's day to settle their accounts, so that no errors may be carried over into the coming year; and I was told that if a tradesman fails to meet his liabilities at that time, he is considered a defaulter and his credit is forever lost. English and German merchants spoke to us of Chinese commercial honor in the highest terms, and drew comparisons in this respect between them and the Japanese which were not flattering to the latter. [Illustration: A MARRIAGE PROCESSION.] Even in Japan, I found at all the foreign banks, in some of the shops, and in the Grand Hotel, that the cashiers were not Japanese, but Chinamen. Of course, one who has never traded with them cannot judge of their comparative abilities in a business way, but merchants in Yokohama, Shanghai, and Hong-Kong, as well as on the island of Shameen, told us that Chinamen were more trustworthy than the Japanese, and could be usually depended on to live up to their contracts, whether they proved favorable or unfavorable. An English gentleman who had resided both in China and Japan for years, once said to me: "The more you see of the Japanese the less you will like them. The more you see of the Chinese the less you will dislike them. You will always like the Japanese; you will always dislike Chinamen; but the degree in which you cherish and express these sentiments will constantly diminish." [Illustration: A CHINESE JUNK.] Besides the numerous differences between Oriental and Occidental customs noticed in Japan, we found in China many other proofs of what has been well called a state of topsy-turvydom. Thus, our tailors draw the needle inward; Chinese tailors stitch outward. With us military men wear their swords on the left side; in China they are worn on the right. In boxing the compass a Chinaman says "East, West, South, North." To mark a place in a book we turn the corner of a page inside; a Chinaman bends it the other way. We print the title of a volume on the back; the Chinese on the front. We play battledore and shuttlecock with our hands; the Chinese use their feet for a battledore and catch the shuttlecock on their foreheads. We use our own names when engaged in business; in China fancy names are taken. We carry one watch hidden in our pocket; a Chinese gentleman sometimes wears two outside his clothes, with their faces exposed. We black our boots; the Chinese whiten theirs. With us it is considered impolite to ask a person's age; in China it is a high compliment, and there a man is congratulated if he is old. Men, at least in the Occident, have plenty of pockets; the Chinaman has none, and uses his stockings as receptacles for papers, and at the back of his neck inserts his folded fan. At our weddings youthful bridesmaids are desired; at Chinese nuptials old women serve in that capacity. We launch our vessels lengthwise; the Chinese launch theirs sidewise. We mount a horse from the left; they mount their horses from the right. We begin dinner with soup and fish, and end with dessert; they do exactly the reverse. Finally, the spoken language of China is never written, and the written language is never spoken. [Illustration: SACRED ROCKS, INTERIOR OF CHINA.] [Illustration: LI HUNG CHANG'S VISITING-CARD.] [Illustration: A JOSS-HOUSE.] After all, however, we should remember that Chinamen who travel in our own country think that our customs are as strange as theirs appear to us. A prominent official of the Flowery Kingdom, who made the tour of Europe several years ago, took notes of what he saw, and published them on his return. Among them are the following: "Women, when going to the drawing-room of Queen Victoria regard a bare skin as a mark of respect." "When people meet and wish to show affection, they put their lips and chins together and make a smacking sound." This is not so difficult to understand, when we recollect that, like most Orientals, the Chinese do not kiss, and that even a mother does not kiss her own baby, although she will press it to her cheek. Again, he thus describes our dancing parties: "A European skipping match is a strange sight. To this a number of men and women come in couples, and enter a spacious hall; there, at the sound of music, they grasp each other by both arms, and leap and prance backward and forward, and round and round, till they are forced to stop for want of breath. All this," he adds, "is most extraordinary;" and when we Occidentals think of it, perhaps it is. A Chinese youth, after eating for the first time a European dinner, wrote of his experience: "Dishes of half-raw meat were served, from which pieces were cut with sword-like instruments and placed before the guests. Finally came a green and white substance, the smell of which was overpowering. This, I was informed, was a compound of sour milk, baked in the sun, under whose influence it remains until it becomes filled with insects; yet the greener and livelier it is, the greater the relish with which it is eaten! This is called _Che-sze_." [Illustration: WATERING-PLACE FOR ANIMALS.] [Illustration: PLACE OF EXECUTION, CANTON.] [Illustration: A PAGODA.] [Illustration: DRAWING WATER.] The object of most gruesome interest to me in Canton was its place of execution. On entering this, I looked about me with astonishment; for almost all the space between the rough brick walls was filled with coarse, cheap articles of pottery. Ah Cum explained, however, that when a batch of heads are to be cut off, the jars are all removed, much as a hotel dining-room is cleared for dancing. The condemned prisoners are always brought in baskets to this place, and are compelled to kneel down with their hands tied behind their backs. Their queues are then thrown forward, and they are beheaded at a single stroke. Traces of blood were visible on the ground, and from a mass of rubbish close at hand a grinning Chinaman pulled out several skulls which he had hidden there, and claimed a fee for exhibiting them. I was presented to the executioner, and asked him how many men he had himself decapitated, but he could not tell. He kept no count, he said--some days six, some days ten, in all probably more than a thousand. As he was resolutely opposed to having his picture taken, we placed his two-edged sword against the wall, and photographed that. When I was told that, once a week, twenty or thirty men are brought into this filthy court to die like cattle in a slaughter-house, I stood aghast, but when I subsequently learned that this is the only execution-place in a great province with a population of twenty millions, the number did not seem so appallingly excessive. This is, however, merely the average in ordinary times. After certain insurrections, such as the Taiping rebellion, this hideous square has seemed almost a reservoir of human blood. The venerable missionary, Dr. Williams, states that he saw here one morning at least two hundred headless trunks, and stacks of human heads piled six feet high. Careful estimates place the number executed here during fourteen months, at eighty-one thousand,--or more than thirteen hundred every week! [Illustration: FEMALE CULPRITS.] [Illustration: A PRISONER.] I doubt if many criminals beheaded here feel much regret at leaving life, so horrible has been their previous condition in the Canton prison. We visited this institution, but to obtain a picture of it was impossible. Within an ill-kept, loathsome area, we saw a crowd of prisoners wearing chains, while around their necks were heavy wooden collars, which, being from three to five feet square, were so wide that the poor wretches wearing them could never possibly feed themselves, but must depend on others for their nourishment. How they lie down to sleep with them on I do not know. Yet they must wear such collars for weeks, and even months, at a time. I have no sentimental sympathy for criminals, and thoroughly believe in the enforcement of just laws, but I was shocked at the sight of these poor creatures. Whatever may have been their guilt, such treatment is a degradation of humanity. [Illustration: JUDGE AND PRISONERS.] Leaving the place of execution, we made our way to one of the criminal courts of Canton. It was in session when we entered it, and I never can forget the sight that met my gaze. Before the judge was a prisoner on his knees, pleading for mercy and protesting innocence. Chains were around his neck, waist, wrists, and ankles. Beside him knelt an aged woman, whose gray hair swept the floor as she rocked back and forth, imploring vengeance on her son's assassin. At last the culprit confessed his crime of murder, and was led back to prison. How sincere his confession was, it would be hard to say; for if, in the face of powerful adverse testimony, an accused man still asserts his innocence, he is often punished in the court-room till he does confess. Around the hall were various instruments of torture--bamboo rods to flog the naked back; hard leather straps with which to strike the prisoner on the mouth, thus sometimes breaking the teeth and even the jaw; thumb-screws and cords by which he is suspended by his thumbs and toes; and heavy sticks with which to beat his ankles. I did not happen to see these used, because in the three trials I witnessed all of the prisoners confessed. But they are used; and just as I was entering the court, I met a criminal being led back to prison, so weak and crippled by his punishment, that he could hardly step without assistance. Curiously enough, after the torture has been administered, the culprit is required to fall upon his knees and thank the judge. This I should think would be "the most unkindest cut of all." [Illustration: A CHINESE COURT.] It seems impossible to say anything in defense of such a system as this; for in China a man is not only looked upon as guilty till he is proved innocent, but is kept in loathsome confinement, and may be even put upon the rack, in spite of the established fact that torture is never a test of truth. And yet a foreign resident made, as an apology, the following statement: "You must remember that testimony here amounts to nothing, and that, by paying sixpence apiece, you can pack the court-room with men who will swear that black is white. Hence, where a man can easily bribe false witnesses to ruin his enemy, the Chinese law provides that no one shall under any circumstances be put to death unless he has confessed his crime. But since a prisoner on trial for his life will usually protest his innocence to the last, the court attempts by torture to force him to confess." We visited finally an object in Canton far pleasanter than its scenes of punishment, yet equally characteristic of the national life. It is the place where natives of this province take the first step in the only path which in China leads to political and social rank. It is the scene of the competitive examinations, the fame of which has filled the world. [Illustration: THE EXAMINATION GROUND, CANTON.] [Illustration: THE GREAT WALL AT A PRECIPICE.] [Illustration: A STUDENT.] The courtyard where the contest takes place is by no means inviting. It is an area of sixteen acres, covered with nearly nine thousand rough brick sheds. At the time of an examination each of these is occupied by a candidate. Before he enters it, his person is carefully searched, and soldiers and policemen guard all passageways to prevent communication. "Each in his narrow cell," these applicants for office then remain for three consecutive days and nights, about as pleasantly lodged, I should imagine, as Jonah was for the same length of time; for these dirty dens of brick are only four feet long, three feet wide, and possibly six feet high. One of the horse-sheds in the rear of a New England meeting-house would be a far more comfortable place in which to eat and sleep. Perhaps they are meant, however, to emphasize the triumph of mind over matter. Their only furniture consists of two small planks, one for a seat, the other for a table. Rest is, of course, impossible in such a cage, and candidates have sometimes died here from physical and mental strain. All this seems inexcusably cruel; yet the Chinese government may have good reasons for maintaining this severity. For instance, such a system, if introduced at Washington, would rid the District of Columbia of nine-tenths of its office-seekers within twenty-four hours. While some of these students persevere in their attempts till they are seventy or eighty years of age, others are quite young; but the fact of youth is not considered discreditable, for Confucius said: "A youth should always be regarded with respect. How do we know that his future may not be superior to our present?" At all events, the highest place is open to them, if their brains will take them there; for every village in China has its school, and every free-born citizen may qualify for this struggle, the governing principle of which is "Let the best man win!" It is the law of the "survival of the fittest" exemplified in politics. [Illustration: FISHING ON THE RIVER.] [Illustration: A CHINESE GENERAL AND HIS ATTENDANTS.] In all the provinces of China, on the appointed day, thousands of candidates assemble, eager for the contest. Subjects are given them on which they must produce a poem and original essays. Their work is then examined by officials appointed by the Government, and so extremely rigid is the test, that out of every thousand applicants only about ten gain the first, or "District," degree. There are, however, three degrees to be attained by Chinese aspirants for fame. Those who come out as victors in the first receive no office, but are at least exempt from corporal punishment, and may attempt the examination for the next degree. Even the few who pass the second, or "Provincial," test (about one in a hundred) receive no government appointment. Yet they are distinguished among their countrymen by wearing a gold button in their hats, and by a sign over their houses signifying "Promoted man." [Illustration: LI HUNG CHANG.] Those who succeed in standing the third, or "Imperial," test at Pekin,--severer even than the other two,--have reached the apex of the pyramid. They are now mandarins, and have acquired all they can desire,--social distinction, office, wealth, and (what is sometimes still more highly prized) great national fame. For in the results of this examination the entire country takes the greatest interest. The names of the successful men are everywhere proclaimed by means of couriers, river-boats, and carrier-pigeons, since thousands of people in the empire have laid their wagers on the candidates, as we might do on horses at the Derby. Strange, is it not, to think that this elaborate Chinese system was practised in the land of the Mongols substantially as it is to-day, at a time when England was inhabited by painted savages? Moreover, the honors of successful candidates in China cannot be inherited. Young men, if they would be ennobled, must surpass their competitors and win their places as their fathers did. Even the youthful son of Li Hung Chang, whom General Grant considered, next to Bismarck, the most remarkable man he met with in his tour around the world, is not entitled, because of his father's office, to any special rank. Hence, China, though an absolute monarchy, has no privileged class whose claims rest merely on the accident of birth. Her aristocracy consists of those who have repeatedly proved themselves intellectually superior to their rivals. Among no people in the world, therefore, have literary men received such honors as in China; and it is a remarkable fact that this vast nation has worshiped for two thousand years, not a great warrior, nor even a prophet claiming inspiration from God, but a philosopher,--Confucius. [Illustration: LI HUNG CHANG AND SUITE ON THEIR TOUR AROUND THE WORLD.] I have often thought that were I asked to compare the Chinese empire of to-day with some material object, I would select for such comparison the Great Wall on its northern frontier. This mighty work has hardly been surpassed in the whole history of architecture, not even by the builders of the Pyramids. It is no less than twenty-five feet high and forty feet broad, with watch-towers higher still, at intervals of three hundred feet. And yet it has a length of nearly fifteen hundred miles, a distance exceeding that from Boston to St. Paul, and in its uninterrupted march spans deep ravines and climbs to lofty mountain crests, in one place nearly five thousand feet in height. Although it was built three hundred years before the birth of Christ, it still exists, and during fourteen centuries sufficed to hold in check the savage tribes of Tartars from the north. It has been calculated that if the Great Wall were constructed at the present time, and with Caucasian labor, its cost would pay for all the railroads in the United States. One hundred years ago an English engineer reckoned that its masonry represented more than all the dwellings of England and Scotland put together, and, finally, that its material would construct a stone wall six feet high and two feet thick around the entire globe. [Illustration: THE GREAT WALL OF CHINA.] [Illustration: A GATEWAY IN THE GREAT WALL.] In many respects this great rampart is typical of China. Both have a vast antiquity, both have an enormous extent, and both have had their periods of glory,--China her age of progress and invention, and this old wall a time when it was kept in perfect order, when warriors stood at every tower, and when it stretched for fifteen hundred miles--an insurmountable barrier to invasion. But just as this leviathan of masonry has outlived its usefulness, and is at present crumbling to decay, so the huge Chinese empire itself now seems decrepit and wholly alien to the nineteenth century. Her roads, once finely kept, are now disgraceful; her streets are an abomination to the senses; her rivers and canals are left to choke themselves through want of dredging; and even her temples show few signs of care. Stagnation and neglect are steadily at work on her colossal frame, as weeds and plants disintegrate this mouldering wall. Will this old empire ever be aroused to new activity, and can fresh life-blood be infused into her shrunken veins to animate her inert frame? There is, I think, a possibility that, in the coming century, the new, progressive party here will overcome the dull conservatism of the nation, connect her vast interior with the sea, utilize her mineral wealth, develop her immense resources, and make her one of the great powers of the world. Napoleon once warned England that if the Chinese should learn too well from her the art of war, and then acquire the thirst for conquest which has characterized other nations, the result might be appalling to the whole of Europe. For think what inexhaustible armies they could raise, and what great fleets they could build and launch upon their mighty rivers! But this is a problem of the future, about which no man can predict with certainty. [Illustration: A LEVIATHAN OF MASONRY.] Many have asked me if I am glad that I went to China, and I have always answered that, as a unique and useful study of humanity, I think it one of the most valuable experiences of my life. Still I am bound to say, that when I stood upon the deck of an outgoing steamer, and felt it move beneath my feet responsive to the engine's stroke, I drew a breath of pleasure and relief. For I was assured that the swarming millions of the Chinese empire were being left behind me, and that my face was turned toward that historic land where, lighted by the Southern Cross, I was to visit Hindu shrines and Mogul palaces, and gaze on the Himalayas and the Taj Mahal. [Illustration] * * * * * Transcriber Note Illustrations were repositioned so as to not split paragraphs. Some extremely long paragraphs were split so that illustrations might remain close to the original position in the text. 
48012	----	WORKS ISSUED BY The Hakluyt Society. ------ DIARY OF RICHARD COCKS. FIRST SERIES. NO. LXVII-MDCCCXXXIII DIARY OF RICHARD COCKS CAPE-MERCHANT IN THE ENGLISH FACTORY IN JAPAN 1615-1622 _WITH CORRESPONDENCE_ EDITED BY EDWARD MAUNDE THOMPSON VOL. II BURT FRANKLIN, PUBLISHER NEW YORK, NEW YORK Published by BURT FRANKLIN 514 West 113th Street New York 25, N. Y. ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE HAKLUYT SOCIETY REPRINTED BY PERMISSION PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. DIARY OF RICHARD COCKS. 1 1618. _January 1._--I delivered these bills to Mr. Osterwick this day, viz.:-- 1 bill Kyng Firandos, Figen a Came, for 3000 _tais_. 1 bill Unagenses, for 1/2 barill gunpolder 0010: 0: 0 1 bill Unagenses, for 8 pec. dutts 8 R. _corg._ sould for 1 _tay_ pec., is 0008: 0: 0 1 bill Kitskin Donos, for money lent hym 0020: 0: 0 1 bill of Guarian Ushenusque Dono, mony lent 0020: 0: 0 1 bill of Guenchque or Tonomon Same, kinges brother 0050: 0: 0 1 bill ditto Tonomon Same, for 8 pec. red zelas 0008: 0: 0 And I gave hym my writing for my boy Tushma, called Bicho, bought of Jno. Japon. We had much adoe with the mareners of our junk about carrying passingers along with them, and som of the officers of junk came ashore, but I sent them back per kinges order. And about midnight I went abord the junck to Cochy my selfe, and carid 20 loves bread, a veneson pastie, a peece rosting beefe, and a bottell Spanish wyne; and in the way met an offecer of the junk, called Tiquan, and caryed hym back againe. Mr. Eaton had much ado abord, before I came, and turned 9 passingers ashore whom he fownd hid in mareners cabbins. Capt. Adames rec. 900 _tais_ plate bars in parte of payment for his 2 junk. And I had these newyears giftes following geven me:-- A barill _morofack_ from Capt. Adames. A _maky_ contor from Mr. Ric. Wickham. A compas for variation from Mr. Wedmore. A band and a nightcap from Jno. Cook. A peece black taffety from Capt. China. And I gave these newyears giftes following, viz.:-- To Capt. Adames a nest of 5 _maky_ beakers. To Mr. Wickham a _wakadash_ and knife geven me per Safian Dono or Chubio Dono. To Mr. Wedmor 2 _maky_ beakers. To Jno. Cook a pere silk stockinges, ash culler. _January 2._--Oure junk _Sea Adventure_ put to sea this mornyng betyme from Cochy. I rec. the writing of my boy Lawrance from Mr. Eaton. He cost me 20 _tais_ Japon plate. I delivered one hundred _tais_ plate bars to Mr. Nealson, proceed of thinges of his sould per Ric. King at Miaco. And ther was a bar plate, containing 4_ta._ 3_m._ 3_co._, geven to the botswains wife of our junk which is gon to Syam, per a generall consent, she coming to se her husband. _January 3._--The ould man of Langasaque being desirous to retorne, although he were sick, Mr. Osterwick paid hym 1-1/2 _tais_ plate for his payns coming from Langasaque, buying and setteing the 8 trees. And we rec. of the _Tono_ of Firando one thousand _taies_ plate bars in parte payment of his bill of 3000 _tais_, and 1000 _tais_ more was paid before in rise and money and tymber. So now restes 1000 _tais_ to be paid upon that bill. This 1000 _tais_ Mr. Osterwick receved, and paid it instantly to Andrea Dittis, China Capt., yt being lent to hym and his brother Whaw gratis for a yeare, without intrest, to be emploid about procuring trade into China. Groby Dono ment to play the villen, and thought to have brought me in 3 danger for sale of 30 _pico_ silk unto hym, having made a falce writing, as Capt. Adames, Mr. Wickham, our _jurebasso_, and others can witnesse; and procured Takamon Dono (our enymie) to bring the matter in question, he being cheefe justice in the kingdom of Firando. And so he sent 3 men unto me in the name of Groby Dono to demand performance of sale of 30 _picull_ of silk. But I took such a course that my bad writing proved good, and served hym as he served me, yet nothing but the truth. The King of Firando sent unto me to make an end of the processe I have with Cazanseque, scrivano of Giquans junk, which Mr. Sayer cam in from Syam. _January 4._--I began a plito (or processe) this day against Cazanseque, the scrivano of Giquans junk, and Goresano, our quandom _jurebasso_, the coppie wherof, in Japons, I keepe in my hand, and sent the princepall to King of Firando per Mr. Sayer and Jno. _jurebasso_. We cleared yisterday with King Firando for his bill of 3000 _tais_, wherof he paid 1000 _tais_ in money, 1000 in tymber and rise, and this day gave me a bill for the other 1000 _tais_ to be paid within 3 monthes. _January 5._--I wrot a letter to Capt. Whaw to Langasaque how I had paid the 1000 _taies_ to his brother, Andrea Dittis, tuching our busynes (or entrance) into China, and that my selfe and what else was in my power, was at his comand. Also that I hoped our shipp would be ready to departe towardes Bantam within few dayes, and was ready to serve hym in what I could, and ment to com to vizet hym at Langasaque within few daies, being very sory for the death of his yong sonne, etc. _January 6._--Semi Dono made a new junk, and the mareners danced about towne with 3 whores in their company at Semi Donos apointment, I not having seene the lyke till now. _January 7._--Capt. Adames being at supper at our howse, and going 4 hom, met Toncha Samas wife going hom, and on of her slaves strock the lanterne out of Capt. Adames mans hand. _January 8._--I went and advised Oyen Dono how Capt. Adams was abuced yisternight, I being an eye wittnes. He tould me I was best to enforme Torasemon Dono of the matter, and Semi Dono, yf I thought best, whoe would take order the fello should be punished. Niquan came from Langasaque to accord with Capt. Adames to goe pilot for Cochinchina. _January 9._--I wrot a letter to Capt. Adames expreesse, at request of China Capt., to will hym to goe with the Chinas rather then the Japons, in respect the Honorable Comp. adventure with Ed. Sayer goeth in her, and they offer to geve hym more then any other. The Hollandes shipp, called the _Galleas_, put to sea from Cochy 4 daies past, hearing that the Amacau shipp was falne downe and thought to seale away before they were aware. _January 10._--We had news this day that the Amacou shipp put to sea 4 daies past and of purpose to fight with the Holland _Gallias_, but I am of opinion, yf they meete, that the Amacau ship will goe for Bantam or Molucos. _January 11._--News came from Langasaque that the Amacau ship put back to Langasaque per meanes of contrary wyndes, but sowne after put out to sea againe. _January 12._--I rec. a letter from Capt. Adames, dated in Langasaque 2 daies past, in answer of myne sent hym per expres the 9th currant, and that he meaneth to retorne to Firando within 2 or 3 daies, and end with the Chinas. The fownders, or mynt men, came againe to melt plate this day. This day newes came that the Amacau ship is retorned to Facunda, 3 leagues from Langasaque, and have sent a pinisse (or barke) to Goto, 5 to look out for Hollandes shipp, being afeard to put to sea, yf she be out. _January 13._--We had much adowe in fending and provinge betwixt the chirurgion of th' _Adviz_ and Ric. Wedmor, the master his mate, the chirurgion saying that Wedmor had broken open his chist and taken out 2 bottell of oyle or medsonable stuffe; but the other denid it. Yet there was witnes he took them out, but put them in againe. The truth is, the chirurgion is a fowle mouthed fello and on that is two much geven to drinking; and, on the other syid, Wedmor is a pivish overwyneing fello. Going about to melt plate in _somo_, we found it would stand us in about 23 per cento losse in Japon plate bars. So we gave it over, and melted but 500 _tais_ in _fibuk_ or first melting, to send to Bantam for a triall. In which plate we lost 14-1/2 in som, 15-1/2 in other, and in som more. _January 14._--The Hollanders broght the junk ashore which they took from the Chinas and will trym her on a sudden (as they say) to send for Cochinchina. Capt. Adames retorned from Langasaque, haveing byn 4 daies on the way per meanes fowle wether and contrary windes. He sayeth the pilot of the Amacou shipp tould hym they had sight of the Hollandes shipp, which made them to retorne back into Langasaque roade for feare she would have set upon her. The China Capt. desyrd to have our _fro_ heated for hym and other Chinas; which was donne. _January 15._--Taffy Dono sent us 2 pine trees to set at our dore on the new years day of Japon, being _Shonguach_, which begyneth on Sattarday next, being the 17th currant. _January 16._--Mr. Nealson in his fustion fumes did beate Co Jno., our _jurebasso_, about the head with his shewes in the streete, because he came not to hym at his first calle, and yet had a _jurebasso_ of his owne as good a linguist as he. This man still seeketh quarrells against all men, which is no small trowble and greefe unto me, I 6 having much adoe to please all and yet cannot. I gave a bar plate containing 2_ta._ 9_m._ 0_co._ to the _maky_ man in respect he gave me a banketing box. We gave Taffi Dono a present of 1-1/2 _tatt._ black bayes and 2 _tatta_ fustion, and the oyleman 1-1/2 _tatt._ blak bayes: they being our money changers. _January 17_ (_Shonguach 1_).--I sent the China Capt. a present of a _keremon_, a bottell Spanish wyne, and a banketing box Portingall fartes[1], diet bread, and other sweet meates; and to Niquan the China, his kynsman, a _keremon_; and to Matingas father a _kerremon_; and to the women 3 boxes of Portingall fartes, etc.; and to China Capt. doughter a _keremon_, she coming to vizet me and brought a peece damaske. And many Chinas came to vizet me in a troope together, wishing me a good new yeare. And Tonomon Sama, the kinges brother, passing by, sent his man in his behalfe to wish me a good new yeare, exskewsing his not entring, he being going to his mother. [1] _Farte_, a tart. _January 18._--Ther was presentes sent as followeth, viz.:--To the king or _tono_ 2 _barsos_ wyne and 2 fyshes; to Tonomon Sama, his brother, the lyke; to Bongo Sama, his uncle, the lyke; to Sangero Sama 2 barilles wyne and 1 fysh; to Semy Dono, the lyke; to Oyen Dono, the lyke; to Taccamon Dono, the lyke; to Sugeon Dono, the lyke; to his father, the lyke; to Torazemon Dono, the lyke. And I went and viseted Capt. Adames and his host and carid hym and thother a bottell Spanish wine and a banketing box sweet meates, with 2 little bottells _morofack_. _January 19._--We gave the mint man a _tattamy_ and a halfe of bayes for a present, and paid him for melting plate, viz.: for _fibuk_, or once melted, 5 _mas_ per c. _tais_; for bars twise melted, one per cento; they to find coles and we lead; as the Hollanders did the like; 7 and yf we melt plate _somo_, to pay 1-1/2 per cento. The oyle man, our money changer, brought a present of 10 bundelles money paper and a baskit of mustard seed. And the founders brought a bundell Japon writing paper containing 5 quire. We sent a present of 2 _barsos_ wyne and fyshes to Unagense Dono, and Sugien Donos father came to English howse and brought a present of _muchos_, wyne, and fysh to me, and the like to Mr. Wickham. _January 20._--Oyen Dono came to vizet me and brought me 5 fans for a present, wishing us a good new yeare. And after dyner Torazemon Dono sent me word that Capt. Speck ment to vizet the kyng to wish hym a good new yeare, and gave me councell to doe the lyke, this day being held a happie day, and taken in kynd parte by them which were vizeted. So I went and carid a jar of conservs, not to goe emptie handed. And sowne after came Capt. Speck with a cheane of gould about his neck, being accompanid with Capt. Barkhout, Mr. Albartus, and Leonard. And I had Mr. Nealson and Mr. Osterwick with me. And I think there were above 1000 Japons at same tyme to vizet the king. I thought at first they would have called in Capt. Speck before me, which yf they had, I would have retorned home without seeing the king. But in the end I was called in and my present of 2 _barsos_ wyne, 2 fyshes, and jar conservs present, for which the king gave me thankes with many complementall wordes that he held my visetation that day in much esteem, and so drank to me and to the rest. And, at our going out, Capt. Speck entred, his present being a barrill wyne and fysh, with a long table or present bord, filled with trenchars, _gocos_, and tobacco boxes, China _maky_ ware. The China Capt. sent to borrow a jar conserves of me, which I sent unto hym; and his littell doughter came and brought me a present of 2 _maky_ standing cups and covers, her father being present. The kinges 8 brother, Bongo Same, Semi Dono, and Torazemon Dono thanked me for the presentes sent them; but Unagense saw me, not speaking to me. Also Yasimon Dono and the smith came to vizet me, and brought each on a bundell paper and a fan; as divers neighbors brought fans, _nifon cantange_. _January 21._--We sent presentes this day:--To Gonoske Dono, 2 _barsos_ wyne and fysh; and to Nobeske Dono the like. The scholmaster brought a basket oranges for present. News came from Langasaque how the Amacau shipp riding at an ancor at Faconde, a league from thence, som caffros or slaves of the Spaniardes or Portugezes went ashore in the night and stole a cow, having kilde her; but before they could get her into their boate, the owner pursued them with other cuntrey people and laid hould on them. But the Spaniardes or Portingalles came to sucker them, and soe they fell from wordes to blowes, the Portingall etc. killing 2 or 3 Japons. Whereupon the King of Umbra sent downe soldiers to take the offenders and would have forced the shipp, except they had deliverd the princepall offenders into his handes, which he caused to be cut in peeces, so many of them as they had kild of Japons. _January 22._--I wrot a letter to Capt. Whaw per Niquan, and sent him 2000 _tais_ plate bars to melt into plate _somo_ per Emperours rendadors. Unagense Dono sent me a present of 2 littell _barsos_ wyne, 2 fyshes, a phasant cock, 2 Japon cakes or _muchos_, and certen rootes. And 2 Chinas brought a present of sweetmeates, called by the Japons _ye by god_, made of barley flower, suger, and other matters. _January 23._--The herb woman brought a small _barso_ wyne and 1 string cuttelfish for a present. _January 24._--I rec. a letter from Jor. Durois, dated in Langasaque, 9 1th February, new stile, wherin he advised me that a Laskero, or More, which was a slave in the Amacan shipp, had stolne a beefe ashore at Faconda, the which coming to the capt. eares, and that there was a man slaine about it, he caused the Lascaro to be carid ashore, and hanged. This he sayeth was the brute which hapened at Facondo, of which I took notis before. I made up the _maky_ ware for my Lady Smith this day, for her contor rec. in the _Adviz_, rated at 40 mark str., is 106: 6: 7: and packed it up in 5 parcelles in chistes, viz.: _ta._ _m._ _co._ No. 1, containing 3 nestes trunkes, cost 24 0 0 No. 2, containing 1 case bottelles, cost 10 0 0 No. 3, containing 3 scritorios, cost 24 0 0 No. 4, 1 greate scritorio, cost 12 5 0 No. 5, divers matters, viz.:-- 36 1 7 _ta._ _m._ _co._ 01 scritorio, cost 05 0 0 03 basons and spout pots, greate 10 5 0 03 ditto lesser sort, cost 07 5 0 02 standing cups, cost 02 6 0 02 tankardes, cost 01 6 0 20 beakers, cost 06 0 0 For 5 chistes silk watta, cotton woll, ropes and mattes to pack them in 02 9 7 --------------- Som totall cost 106 6 7 Which I sent in the _Adviz_ for Bantam, consigned to Capt. George Bale, to send it for England per first conveance. Mr. David Watkins, Sir Tho. Smiths man, wrot 2 letters in my Lady Smiths name, to have the contor, or scritorio, sould, and retorne made in such matters as the Company did not deale in; and Mr. Bale advised it to be in _maky_ ware. _January 25._--The Chinas at night came to our English howse, and made fyreworkes. _January 26._--I gave Andrea Dittis, China Capt., 4 letters testimoniall or of favor, directed to all English ships at sea or 10 others, frendes to his Matie of England, on for a junk bound to Tonkyn at Cochinchina, and the other 3 for 3 junkes bound Island Formosa, called Taccasanga or Piscadores. Skiamon Dono brought a present of a bundell paper and a fan. _January 27._--Skidayen Dono set the mastes of his junk this day, and made a feast, _nifon catange_; and I sent hym a banketing box, sweetmeates, and 2 bottelles _singe_. Groby Dono came, accompanid with Yasimon Dono, Capt. Adames host, and an other merchant of Sackay, to make frenship with me before he went back; and offred to deliver me back my bill of sale of silk to Croby Dono, and to rec. in his delivered to me with the 1000 _tais_ I had in hand, and with all desird a letter to Croby Dono of what past for his owne discharge. I demanded (or desird) of hym to let me have the 1000 _taies_ which I had in my handes, and to receave the like som of Tozemon Dono of Sakay; of the which they said they would bethink them selves, and soe departed. _January 28._--Certen Chinas came to vizet me after daylight, and brought fireworkes, which shewed well per night. _January 29._--The China Capt. had letters from Langasaque that they were content to parte the _tiquan_[2] office of tow, to let Capt. Adames men have the one halfe to send one or 2 in it, as he would, and for marreners to send 3 or 4, yf he would. The governor of Langasaque, in the abcense of Gonrok Dono, passed by this place, and sent me a letter his brother had wrot unto me, complementall, for using him kyndly as he passed this way the last yeare. This man is bound to the Emperours court, haveing a processe against Tuan Dono, the rich (as they terme hym), of Langasaque, whome this man hath gotten a sentance against, and utterly undon Tuan. This 11 man brought me a _chaw_ cup covered with silver for a present, being worth som 3 _tais_. And in his company came a servant of Safian Dono, and an other of Chubio Dono; and the first brought me a _barso_ of wine. Skidayen Dono and his consortes had the feast of Baccus for their junk this day, dansing thorow the streetes with _caboques_, or women players, and entred into our English howse in that order, most of their heades being hevier than their heeles, that they could not find way hom without leading. [2] Chinese: _ti-kwan_, local office. _January 30._--This day ended the Japon feast of 15, and they took downe the trees sett up first day, and fet their faggotes with rise and wyne, as yearly they doe on this day. Ushenusque Dono sent me a phaisant cock, exskewsing his not coming per meanes of his emploimentes abroad. And I sent the governor Langasaque and Safian Donos man, eache of them, a quart bottell strong waters, with eache of them a China cup to drink it in. Also Figen a Came, Kyng of Firando, sent me 2 _barsos_ wyne and a wild boare for a present, wishing me a prosperous new yeare. And Ike Dono, the cavelero of Xaxma, came and vizeted me, with a present of 3 bundelles or reames Japon paper, he being lately retorned from Xaxma, where he sayeth the king is much affectioned to our English nation. _January 31._--Groby Dono wrot a letter to Capt. Adames to Cochy in bad termes, that I went about to deceave hym, and would force hym to take 150 _tais_ in bad Nishew counterfet plate. Unto which I retornd answer that all he said was falce, and that I offerd hym no money but the same I receved from hym. This fello is he which would have cozend me with a falce writing, to have brought me in domages for 2000 _tais_ for sale of 30 _pico_ silk upon delivery, contrary to my trew meanyng, as Capt. Adames, Mr. Wickham, our _jurebasso_, and 3 other Japons are witnesse. _February 1._--Capt. Adames fell into extreme termes this day about 12 Groby Dono, he which falcefied the writing, taking his part against me and all the English. I never saw hym in the lyke humour. We paid this Groby Dono the 1000 _tais_ spoken of before, and receved in my bill of Croby Dono for sale silke in question before, and deliverd hym in his bill of Croby Donos geven to me. _February 2._--Mr. Nealson said he had certen monies taken out of his scritorio, the theefe drawing the neales out of 2 boxes, he laying it to the charge of Mr. Wickhams servant, whome he newly entertayned, Mr. Nealson haveing put hym away. But Mr. Wickham held it done of mallice rather then a truth. _February 3._--The China Capt. went to Langasaque, and Capt. Adames tould hym before he went that he would be as good as his word and goe on the voyage to Cochinchina. _February 4._--I rec. a letter from botswain of our junk _Sea Adventure_, dated at Tomare[3] in Xaxma 23 dais past: how they put in theare the 5th day after they went from hence, per meanes W.erly wyndes and hie sea, and ment to put to sea som 16 daies past. The Japon slave I saved from the gallous, and gave to Mr. Wickham, ran away, and, sending after hym, was fownd in a horehouse with 2 or 3 _tais_ plate in his purse, parte wherof he had spent amongst those leawd people, and the reste delivered to a Japon to keepe. He confeseth that he had sould certen buttons (as he cald them) to a Japon for 1-1/2 _mas_, they being som 50 in nomber, which he sayeth he stole from Mr. Wickham; which (as he sayeth) were littell corall beades and som pearle, which he now misseth, looking for them. [3] Tomari, on the coast. _February 5._--The China which went to Edo to get out _goshons_, or pasports, retorned to Firando this day, telling me he staid 42 daies 13 at Edo before he could have a dispach, and was 13 dais going from Miaco to Edo, and as many in retorning, and 18 dais coming from Osakay to Firando. He sayeth the sonne of Safian Dono is to succeade his father as governor of Langasaque, and that Gonrok Dono, his cozen, is to com to remeane at Langasaque as his deputy. This China brought me a present of 2 _barsos_ wyne and a greate charger of chistnuttes, and departed for Langasaque on such a sudden that he was gon before I sent to thank hym, thinking to have sent hym a present. _February 6._--The theevishe slave I gave to Mr. Wickham did accuse his father, mother, and many others, to whome he said he delivered all such matters as he had stolne; but they denid all. And he still accused others; but no proofe. _February 8._--Extreme cold wether. Miguell, our ould _jurebasso_, envited Capt. Adames and me to breckfast, being recovered of a great sicknesse, wherof our chirurgion had healed hym when he was speechlesse and thought past cure; which he did at my request. _February 9._--Frost and snow. Soyemon Dono sent to borow money of me, for that, as he sayeth, he is shortly to goe to the Emperours cort with the _tono_ (or king) of Firando his master, whoe (as he sayeth) is to marry themperours kynswoman; but my answer was, I had noe money. Also Semy Dono would borow the mast of a small junck we have, to make a foremast for his new junck. I answerd hym, yf he would take junck and mast together at price I paid for her, I was content, but to lend the mast I could not, having occation to employ the junck. _February 10._--A hard frost, the lyke I not having seene since I came into Japon, it being above an inch thick, the ise frozen this last night. Snow all day and parte of night following. There was a howse broken open the night past and 15 or 20 Japon 14 _keremons_, or coates, stolne out. But the theefe was fownd, being a carpenter, and put into prison. _February 11._--Still cold frosty wether. Sangero Samma and others still send to borow money, which maketh me awery to live amongst them; for lend money I will not to such as I know will never repay it. _February 12._--Pasquall Benita came from Langasaque to Firando and brought me a present of _coiebos_, _micanas_,[4] and peares. He tells me the Amacan carick will not goe out this yeare for feare of the Hollanders, and that the merchantes and capt. major goe to law about it. The capt. would goe out, but the merchantes will not. I think this fello came for an espie to se whether the Hollanders and we were ready to goe out. He is an Italian borne. [4] _Mikan_, an orange. _February 13._--I went to the king, accompanid with Capt. Adames, Mr. Wickham, and Ed. Sayer, to tell hym our ship was ready to goe out towardes Bantam, and Ed. Sayer for Cochinchina. Soe, yf he pleased to comand my service to Bantam, England, or Cochinchina, we were ready to doe it; for the which he thanked us. Also I demanded justice against Cazanzeque and Goresano, the which he tould me he would doe me reason in. Jno. Yossen the Hollander came from Edo this day. I went to Hollandes howse to vizet Capt. Speck. So I met Capt. Barkhoot theare, whoe envited me and rest of English abord the _Son_ to dyner on Sonday next. Jor. Durois wrot me there were speeches at Langasaque that Shongo Samme themperour was dead; but I esteeme it a lye, Jno. Yooson coming from Edo and saw hym; delivered thordinance to hym which the Hollanders sent for a present. _February 14._--A cavalero of Osakay sent me a present of a banketing box, meate, _nifon catange_ (or Japon fation), with a _barso_ of _singe_, because I made hym colation thother day; but I rather think it 15 a preparative to borow money; yet herein he may be deceaved, for I fynd many borowers but non that make repayment. _February 15._--We dyned abord the _Son_, where Capt. Barkhout used us kyndly, and drunk healths to the Kinges Matie of England, and at every cup a gun, rownd about table, being 11 or 12 persons, and was answered the like out of the _Adviz_. And at our coming abord gave us 3 peeces ordinance and 7 at our departure; and we had 5 out of the _Adviz_. Capt. Speck came not at feast, as I thinke only of pride, dowbting whether I should syt above him or no. We had news that the junk _Sea Adventure_ was in Xaxma 13 daies past, yet I have no letter from Mr. Eaton. I gave the coxswayne and company Hollandes shipp, for fetching us abord and seting ashore, ii R. of 8. _February 17._--We sent 5 chistes money abord _Adviz_, all refyned plate, containing 9063 _tais_, which with exchange is 10920: 7: 8-1/2. _February 18._--The shipp _Adviz_ went out to Cochi roade this day and shot affe 7 peeces for a fare well; and the Hollanders answerd with 3 from the _Son_ and 3 from the howse, and a Japon junk 3; and we replid with 3 more; and at our departure from Cochi back the _Adviz_ gave us 7 peeces more. There were som speeches passed betwixt Mr. Wickham and Mr. Totton, as also betwixt Mr. Nealson and Mr. Totton, which were taken in ill parte on thon parte and other. But in my opinion Mr. Totton was in the falt. I did what I could to make frenship, and made it betwixt Mr. Wickham and hym; but Mr. Nealson would not be frends upon no termes, although Mr. Totton desird it and before all the company drunk a health to hym, wishing it might never goe thorow hym yf he bare hym any mallice. The Hollanders sent out their _foy fone_ to helpe to toe out our 16 shipp, rowed with 16 ores, and we set out 2 _foyfones_, dowbting whether the Firandesas would send barkes to helpe us or no, because they fealed in the junck. But they sent out 10 or 12 barkes, which had byn enough, allthough we had no others. _February 19._--The Hollandes shipp _Son_ went out to Cochy roade. Went out our _foyfone_ with 18 owres to help to toe them out. The kyng sent 2 of his _foyfones_ to helpe them out, besydes the towne boates. I note downe he sent non to us yisterday. I deliverd up my letter and acco. to Mr. Wickham to be sent for Bantam and London. _February 20._--Som two howers before day we went abord the _Adviz_ at Cochy, and presently after Capt. Speck came abord, desyring us the ship might stay an hower or two for hym to write a letter; which I promised hym, in respect we could not be ready no sowner, having forgotten provition behind us at Firando. Soe about 9 a clock she set seale. God send her a prosperous voyage. And I sent in her these letters following, viz.:-- 1 to Sir Tho. Smith, knight, with copy last yeare. 1 to Mr. Tho. Wilson, with copie of last yeare. 1 to Capt. Saris, with coppie last yeare. 1 to my brother, Walter Cocks. 1 ould to Mr. Fosters wife, enclosed to Capt. Saris. 1 to Wor. Company, with coppies of last yeare; with coppie from Syam, Camboia, and Champa. 1 to Capt. Georg Ball, of l5th curant. 1 to Capt. Raphe Coppindall, of l5th curant. 1 to Mr. Westby. 1 to Worll. Company, of 17th ditto. 2 to my nephew, Jno. Cocks. _February 21._--Taccamon Dono sent me a wild boare for a present. _February 22._--By meanes of contrary wyndes the ship _Adviz_ retorned 17 back to Cochy; and Mr. Wickham sent a letter to have a boate sent hym to com ashore, which I sent to hym. So he and Mr. Totton came ashore after nowne. I wrot a letter to Sir Tho. Smith, how I was enformed Mr. Ed. Willmot, defunct purser of the _Adviz_, dying at Bantam, left me a legasie of 3 _l._ str., to pay in England. I left a remembrance with Mr. Nealson and Mr. Osterwick at my going to Langasaque, to look to howse in my abcense. _February 23._--We set forwardes towardes Langasaque this mornyng, and passing by the ship _Adviz_, they shot affe 5 peces ordinance. And we went to bed to Setto,[5] 17 leagues from Firando. We paid 1 _tay_ for our lodging and 3 _mas_ for fish. [5] Seto. _February 24._--We arived at Langasaque at 1 clock after nowne. Many Chinas, Japons, and Portingals, and Spaniards came to vizet me, knowing of my arivall. Yt is said the carick will not goe out this yeare for feare of Hollanders. _February 25._--We sent presentes this day, viz. To Saco Dono, Riyoyets Dono, Soyen Dono, Saquemon Dono, and Saquise Dono, magistrates in Langasaque, each one 2 _barsos_ wyne, 2 fyshes. And to Capt. Whow and his wife, 1-1/2 _tatta_ sad blew cloth, 1 glasse bottell of annise water. And divers Chinas brought me presents, viz., Shinquan, 10 boxes marmelad, 4 _cattis_ comfets, 150 egges; Ickquam came from Cort, 1 _barso_ wyne, 170 egges; Yongsham, 20 loves of bread; Niquan, 2 barilles wyne, 2 pec. red cheremis, 60 oringes, 140 egges. We had news that the Hollandes junck, which went out two months past towardes Syam, is put back into the Liqueas; and the _Gallias_ 18 Holland shipp into Xaxma, having lost her mast. Shiquan, the rich China, owner of the junk Ed. Sayer goeth in for Cochinchina, envited us to dyner to morrow; and Capt. Whaw the day after. _February 26._--We went to Shiquan the China to dyner, where we had extraordinary entertaynment and good cheare. And at my retorne, I fownd Soca Samma sent me a present of 2 _barsos_ wyne, 2 bundelles sea weed; Saquamon Dono, 2 _barsos_ wyne and cuttell fish, with many complementall words and offer of frendship. Also Jorge Durois sent me 3 mi[n]ced pies and a dishe of oranges. And from Niquan, a China, 18 peares and 60 _micanos_. And I sent a present to Jor. Durois of 2 pec. of callicos, bought of Hollanders, at 1 _tay_ pece, and a glasse bottell of annis water, and another of _morofack_; and withall delivered hym dyvers cullers silke to get 12 peare silke stockinges knyt for Mr. Wm. Nealson. We had newes this day that our junk _Sea Adventur_ is retorned the second tyme into Xaxma, and that there grew some broyle theare betwixt som Portingals bound out in a junck for Camboja and Mr. Eaton. The reason grew because the Portingales picked occation because Mr. Eaton passed by them without puting affe his hat (he being bound to doe no more to them then they to hym); so that from wordes they fell to blowes, but the Portingalles were well beaten and driven abord. Soe after, they complayned to the justice that our junck had no _goshon_ nor passe from themperor of Japon, but went out on pilfering. Whereupon the justice of Xaxma demanded of Mr. Eaton yf he had any passe (or _goshon_) from themperour or noe. To which he answered he had, and shewed it unto them, desyring them to tell hym wherefore they asked such a question, the which they tould them was by reason of the Portingalles information. "Whie, then," said he, "I pray yow demand 19 whether they have any passe or noe, for it may be they are theeves and would put it upon others." Which being brought in question, they were fownd to have no passe. Soe they cauced their junck to be brought on shore, and 15 or 16 Japons to be laid handes on which went in her. And the Kyng of Xaxma wrot forthwith to court of Japon to know the Emperours pleasure, whether they should procead on voyag or noe. _February 27._--We were envited to Capt. Whaw, the China, to dyner, where we were extraordenarely entertayned, with musick at our entry, with the lyke at first, second, and therd course, where there wanted not wyne of all sortes, and each one a dansing beare to serve us, _nifon cantage_. I gave the China Capt. 2 letters of favour more to the English shiping they met at sea, with 3 flagges, two new and one ould. _February 28._--I delivered 5 bandes and 5 peare cuffes to Spanish woman to make. Sanquan, a China, sent me 65 egges, 2 _barsos_ wyne, 2 greate fyshes, and 2 _cattis_ diet bread. Also Sanquishe, the governors brother, brought me 95 egges. I shewed our conyskins, lambskins, and fitchet skyns to China Capt. and his brother; but it seemeth they had no stomock to buy them, yet heretofore they said they would buy them all. _Marche 1._--I gave a flag and a letter favor to a China which goeth to Taccasanga. The boteswane of the junk of Giquan, wherin Ed. Sayer came from Syam 2 years past, came to me, being ernest to have me geve hym a letter of discharg tuching the sute I have against Cazanzeque the purcer. But I denied hym, for I heare the purcer and he are consorts in thefte. _Marche 2._--I rec. 4 letters this day from Mr. Eaton out of Xaxma, 1 20 dated in Congushma,[6] the 12th January, and the other 3 in Tomare, the 2th, 12th, and 20th February, in which he wrot me of the kynd usage the Kyng of Xaxma cauced to be geven to hym and to helpe our junck. Also he advised how the Portingalles complayned that we were theeves, and came to take their junck, not having the Emperours pas; but it proved we had one and they non, by which meanes they fell into danger. I also rec. 12 Japan letters from Miaco, Sakay, Osaky, Firando, and out of Xaxma. A China pilot brought me a present of 5 pound citrons and 80 egges; and Capt. Adams host, 60 _micanas_ (or oringes), and the boteswains wife of our junk _Sea Adventure_, 4 rowles of bread. Also a China, whoe was hurt in his lip, brought a present of 2 _barsos_ wyne, 2 greate fyshes, and 12 lobstars, with a bar plate to Robert Hawley, for dressing of his lip. The plate I cauced to be retorned, but the rest Robt. Hawley took. I went and vizeted ould Gorge Durons (_sic_) with Capt. Adames and rest, he using us kyndly. I gave his littell son Jonico a Riall of 8. [6] Kagoshima. _Marche 3._--I retorned answer to Mr. Eaton per same expres he sent letter by. We dyned at Goquan, a Chinas, this day, where we were well entertayned. _Marche 4._--We were envited to dyner to the plate fownder (or mynt man) called Gota Shozamon Dono, where we had good cheare after Christion fation, syting at a hie table with cheares. But the good man of howse did not eate with us, which [made] me jelous of poison. But in the end he came and drank with us. I think his abcense was for that he is a papist Christion, and now tyme of Lent. The China Capt. was at dyner with us. I gave this mans two children, each of them, a R. of 8. _Marche 5._--I sent presentes as followeth, viz.:-- 21 To Fingo Shiquan, the rich China, 2 _tatta._ yelo bayes, 1 fowling peec. To Goquan, other rich China, 2 _tatta._ yelo bayes, 1 fowling peec. To Capt. Whow, China Capt. brother, 1 fowling peec. These men are emploid about geting trade into China. To Goto Zhozabra Dono, mynt man, 2 _tatta._ yello bayes. To Chimpow, capt. junk which Ed. Sayer goeth in, two _tatta._ yello bayes, 2 _barsos_ wyne, 2 fyshes. And an ould China called Shiquan sent me two _barsos_ wyne, egges 50, oranges 30, diet bread a platterfull. And from a China which went to Kagalion, 2 _barsos_ wyne, 5 bundelles sea weed. And I gave this China an English flag and a letter of favor, at request of China Capt. Also I sent a present to a China called Chimtay. _Marche 6._--I went to Capt. Whowes with Andrea Dittis, the China Capt., and Capt. Adames, where we translated one of the Kinges Matis. letters into China, dated in Westminster Pallace, the 10th January 1614, and 12th yeare of His Matis. rayne of Great Brittany, France, and Ireland; wherof I took 3 coppies in Chinas. One was sent to China with the said letter, an other to send for England, and the therd to keepe my selfe. I gave Fingo Shiquan, the China, a letter of favour and an English flag in his junck. Co Jnos. kynsman brought me a present of a marchpane made lyke a miter. _Marche 7._--News came to Langasaque that they should make very dilligent search for padres (or pristes) and in whose howse they were fownd, not only to kill all that famely, but allso all the street in which they are fownd. I sent a bar plate, containing 3 _tas_ 9 _mas_, to the China musitions which plaid at Capt. Whows when we weare at dyner. Also I sent the rest of a pece of straw culler baies for a present to a China called 22 Lanquin Niquan, he coming the other day to vizet me with a present, and is of the place neare unto that we hope to enter for trade. And I paid the China notory for translating the kinges letter x _tais_ iij _mas_. The China Capt. went late at night towardes Firando, per whome I wrot a letter to Mr. Nealson and Mr. Osterwick that I ment to follow within 2 daies. His going was to put money into the 2 junkes afforsaid. _Marche 8._--Ric. Hoodson paid Georg Durons for sope and candelles, viz:-- _ta. m. co._ For 18 cakes sope 1 0 0 For 128 tallo candelles 1 6 0 _Marche 9._--I gave the dansing bears 4 _ta._ 5 _m._, and ther servant 4 _mas_. And I paid the shew maker, for 2 peare clampes and 2 peare pumps, 1 _ta._ 2 _m._ Ric. Hudson paid 1 _tay_ 3 _mas_ for a vyne tree to be carid to Firando. _Marche 10._--Niquans junk departed towardes Tonkyn this day. I gave Jorges doughter 2 _mas_, her father (Capt. Adams host) sending me a hare. _Marche 11._--Sanquishe Dono, the governors brother, sent me a banketing box, meates, fish, and other matters, _nifon cantange_, with 2 bottels wyne, with many complementall wordes. The dansing beares came againe, and I gave them a bar plate of 3-1/2 _tais_. _Marche 12._--Tozayemon Dono deliverd Ed. Sayer 41 _picull_ 39 _cattis_ 6 _ta._ goco copper, which he laden abord Fingo Shiquans junck for voyag to Cochinchina, at 65 _mas picull_. A China, which was capt. of junck which goeth to Cagellon, died on the sudden this day, as they think being blasted. _Marche 14._--A Portugez called Garçia Machado, a Portugez of Amacau, 23 came to me at such tyme as a Japon was about to sell me a rapier and dagger, which he laid cleame to, as being stolne from hym per a silvere smith with 15 _tais_ of plate he had deliverd hym to plate the sword and dagger. The dagger hilt was plated, but not the rapier. Soe he rec. it out of the Japons owne handes, and gave me a recept to save me harmlesse, yf in case it were brought in question. There was an extreme storme or tuffon this day, which drove one of the China junckes on shore; and, had it not byn for good helpe, she had byn cast away. Wynd vering to N.W. _Marche 16._--I delivered iij C. _tais_ plate bars to the China Capt. to goe in adventure for Tacca Sanga or Isla Fermosa, and Mr. Osterwick paid hym iij C. _tais_ more at Firando, in all vj C. _tais_, and goeth for accompt of Right Honble. and Worll. Company, our emploiers, to be disbursed for silke. God send a prosperous voiage. I envited Capt. Adames, Yasimon Dono, Mr. Sayer, and Robt. Hawley, and had the dansing beares, which cost ij _tais_ plate bars, and two _mas_ small plate geven their boy, all paid my selfe. Shoyemon Dono, the master of dansing beares, came and brought me a present of 2 _barsos_ wyne and 16 loves bread. Ghiquans junck went downe to Facondo; soe Capt. Adames, Ed. Sayer, and Robt. [Hawley] took ther leave and went abord. _Marche 17._--I gave dansing bears one bar plate containing 3 _tais_, and 4 _mas_ to _neremonnears_[7] brought them. This night about son seting the junck of Fingo Shiquan put to sea, wherein Capt. Adames went pilot, and Ed. Sayer and Robt. Hawley 24 for Worll. Company, Chimpow a China being capten. Tachemon our cooke had 3-1/2 small plate, which he paid to Jor. Durons to reedeme his son, and the money goeth on his wagis. [7] The bearers of the sedan chairs or _neremons_. _Marche 18._--I delivered 30 _tais_ plate bars to Andrea Dittis, China Capt., for our diet since we came to Langasaque; but he would have taken nothing, it being in a howse of his slave where we la. Also I ment to have geven the good wife a bar plate of 4 _ta._ 4 _m._, and an other bar to servantes of 3 _ta._ 1 _m._ 8 _co._, and a therd to the children, containing 2 _ta._ 4 _m._ 3 _co._; but he would not suffer me to geve nothing to wife nor servantes, but the 2 _ta._ 4 _m._ 3 _co._ to the children. Albartus the Hollander came to Langasaque this day and came to vizet me, and tould me he ment to have sent 1000 or 2000 _tais_ plate in the junck where Capt. Adames went, yf she had not departed from hence before he came. So now he menes to send it in the junck of Barnardo. _Marche 19._--I rec. 2 letters from Mr. Osterwick and Mr. Nealson, dated in Firando, le 17th currant, sent per a Japon, advising of the needfull, namely, how the King of Firando had geven a streete of above 50 howses joyning to their howse, to pull it downe and build their howse larger with 2 new warehowses (or gadongs). I wish we had our howse at Langasaque, and then let the Hollanders domener at Firando, for out of dowbt they pay for it. Phesemon Dono, a kinsman of Sugian Dono of Umbra, came to vizet me, being an inhabitant of Langasaque, and had built a howse (second to our lodging), reared but 2 dais past, offering me greate frendship, enviting me to his howse, he having maried a frend of Gonrok Donos, governor of this place, she being a Christian, whoe urged me much to know our principles of religion, and whether we had churches in our cuntrey. Unto all which I answered in particular that we had both 25 archbushopps, bushops, and other sortes of church men, but not mas pristes which said service in Lattin, but in our owne language, etc. Palle the _bozes_ father, called Yoshiemon, came and brought me a present, 2 fyshes; and I gave his littell doughter he brought with hyme a peece of two single Rialls. _Marche 21._--I bought a _catabra_ for Tango Dono, cost in plate bars 6 _tais_. _Marche 22._--We departed from Langasaque towardes Firando in the after nowne, and the dansing beares with Mr. Saris host were in the way in 2 boates with severall bankits; unto whom I gave a bar plate 4 _ta._ 4 _m._ to make mery at retourne. The China Capt., Albartus, and Tozeyamon Dono went with us and went to Setto this night, lying abord bark. _Marche 23._--We arived at Firando after dyner this day, and Tozayemon Dono and other merchants of Sackay envited them selves to our _fro_. _Marche 24._--Three of the kynges soldiers being in drink (as it is said) fell out, and two of them drue their _cattans_ and kild the therd, and after thought to flie in to the mountans, but were instantly followed by Oyen Dono and cut in peeces with his owne handes, telling them they were villens and cowards, not worthie the name of soldiers, that, having kild a man, did run away and not kill them selves according to order of Japon. _Marche 25._--I envited the King of Firando to dyner for Sonday next, with such noble men and others as it pleased hym to bring with hym; which he tooke in good parte, and named these 12 persons, besides hym selfe, to accompany hym, viz. Tonomon Samma, Bongo Samma, Sangero Samma, Taccamon Dono, Shesque Dono, Gonosque Dono, Sofo Samma, Sichsaymon Dono, Jubio Dono, Oyen Dono, Torozemon Dono. Ther was but one of the 3 soldiers kild outright, but two wownded, the 26 one his arme and shoulder halfe cut offe, and the other all the side of his cheeke and one eye, but both soe sore wounded that nether lyke to escape it. He which did it (and is dead) was brother to Shosque Dono, whoe lately cut his bellie, as I noted heretofore. The quarrell was about a woman whoe this Shosque was in love withall, and, as it should seeme, jolose, did use the other two as afforsaid, leveing them for dead, and then went into the chamber where the woman was, calling her aparte, and cut her throate and put her into a chist, and after came and knockt at dore where the kyng was, having two _cattans_ drawne, as it is thought, to have kild the king in reveng of his brothers death. The king hym selfe openyng the dore, thinking it had byn his brother, Tonomon Samma, which knockt, but seeing the other armed in that sort, and having his _cattan_ drawne before, hearing the nois was made, did strike Shosque a deadly bloe over the bellie, and was seconded with Oyen Dono with a _langenack_ and one of his pagis with a lance, whoe made an end of hym and cut affe his head. Ould Synemon Dono sent his yong doughter of 3 months ould, with her nurce, and brought me a _barso_ of wyne and egges for a present. And I gave the child a silk coate, and the nurce 5 _mas_ in small plate. _Marche 27._--The King of Firando sent me a doe or veneson for a present, with many complementall words. _Marche 28._--Capt. Speck sent me an other bottell Spanish wyne, with offer of any other matter in the Duch howse, knowing we had envited the kyng. _Marche 29._--The kinge and rest of noble men _ut supra_ came to dyner and, as they said, were entertayned to theire owne content, and had the dansing beares to fill them wyne, _nifon catange_ (or Japon fation), with a blind fidler to singe, ditto. And in respect the king is going up to Edo, yt was agreed to geve hym 27 a present of 5 peeces of stuffe, viz. damask, velvet, and grogren, severall cullers, bought of China Capt. at 5 _tais_ per peece. _Marche 30._--Sent a bar plate of 4 _ta._ 3 _mas_ to dansing bears; and to Skyamon Dono and the kinges cook, each of them, 2 _tatta._ fustion, to make them breeches; and to Yasimon Dono, a _bose_, and to the gilder, each of them, a _barsoe_ of wyne and fyshes; and to an ould cook 5 _mas_; and to other 2 carvers, 6-1/2 _mas_ per peec., and to the blind fidler. _Marche 31._--I wrot another letter to Jor. Durons, to Langasaque, and sent hym 3-1/2 _gantas_ of _jurialin_, cost me 1 _mas_ 4 _condrin_, and wrot hym to send me som gardin seed, espetially carret seed, called in Japon _ningin_. I lent the China Capt., Andrea Dittis, fyve silk _keremons_ with silk watta, of them geven me at Japon Cort. The occation he borrowed them is for that he sendes his doughter to Langasaque to be betrothed to Goquans son, and geves her 50 _keremons_, with other matters amounting to above 300 _tais_, as China manor is. _Aprill 1._--Skiemon Dono took the bar plate that should have gone to _cabokes_ (or dansing beares), being 4 _ta._ 3 _m._, and sent them but 3 _tais_ small plate. Soe he kept 2 _tais_ wanting 4 _condrins_ to hym selfe. Which coming to my knowledg, I caused restetution. There was 2 _tais_ small plate with 6 _cattis_ gunpolder geven to two Chinas for making fireworkes. We bought 1484 fagottes of wood, every faggot being 1/2 a _tatta_ in the band, and 20 fagg. for a _mas_. _Aprill 2._--Our host of the China howse at Langasaque came to vizet me, and brought me a present of a live phaisant cock and 10 loves of bread. The China Capt. Whow wrot me he understood our junckes were arived at Goto, wherin Capt. Adames and others went; but that is a tale, etc. 28 Also here is speeches that Shongo Samme, themperour of Japon, is dead; but this is Japon newes, etc. _Aprill 3._--I rec. a letter from Ed. Sayer, dated at Narra in Goto, the 25th ultimo, how they put in there with the junk the 18th ditto, and, the grownd being bad, were driven upon the rockes, lost their ruther, and split the sterne post it was hanged at, and were in danger to have lost all; yet, per the pleasure of God, got her affe, recoverd the rother, and mended that which was amis, and put to sea againe the 26th ultimo. He writes me that another junk of Shiquan, a China, bownd for Manillas, put into an other roade of Gota, and was driven agrownd, yet saved in the end, and hope to goe on their voyage. He also wrot how all the junkes which put out of Langasaque of late, with the 2 went out of Firando, are all driven ether into Goto or Xaxma. God send them a good voyage. _Aprill 4._--Jno. Japon paid the carpenters and labourers, and for tymber and other matters, for building an old China howse, whose kay we use contynewally to trym and calke our boates, the sum of 10 _ta._ _Aprill 5._--The China Capt. sent me a peece blew tuft taffety, with 2 barrills wyne, for a present at this feast of Easter. And I gave the China Capt. 2 doughters for a present, whom he sent to vizet me, 1 pec. black wroght satten and 1 pec. blew damask, and lent hym 4 pec. stuffs more. He also sent me a present of a _caw_ box of China, gilt and varnished, being in 4 peces. We envited 10 of our neighbours and the China Capt. to dyner. _Aprill 6._--The king sent Oyen Dono to entreate me to let hym have one of my golden fyshes of China, I having geven hym and his brother 4 of same sort before, and now much against my will gave hym one other, and sent it per Michell, our _jurebasso_, which it seemed he took 29 in good parte. Sangero Samma sent to borrow our _foyfone_ to accompany the kyng on the way, whoe is thought will departe towardes Edo to morrow. So I lent yt hym with 15 ores. News came to towne that the King of Umbras brother is dead (whoe is uncle to King of Firando). So it is thought it will stay his voyag som dayes. I went and vizeted Capt. Speck, whoe was sick, and fownd hym looking on the ruens of a hill or mountayne fallne downe against their howse; the reason being the pulling downe of a ston wall made before to keep it up, which being taken downe to buld it better, all the hill slipt downe and fell upon a banketing howse and other buldinges, spoiling them, etc. _Aprill 7._--Cushcron Dono, our neighbour, bult and reared his new howse this day; and I sent hym 2 _barsos singe_ and 2 fyshes for a present, as he did to us at our buildinge, and each neighbour doth the lyke according to Japon fation (or _nifon catange_). _Aprill 8._--Cushcron Dono envited me with Mr. Nealson and Osterwick to a colation, with all rest of neighbours that sent presentes, where there wanted no drinking, Japons being well seene in that facultie. _Aprill 9._--I wrot a letter to King of Firando, to have justice against Cazanseque and Goresano. The cause I did it was for that I sent formerly to hym about same matter, and spoake my selfe lykwais to hym to same effect, and wrot a former letter last yeare to lyke effect, but can get no remedy, only he answerd he would geve order to Taccamon Dono to doe me right. Soe this day I sent Mr. Osterwick to Taccamon Dono, to know his pleasure herein. His answer was, the king had not spoaken to hym thereof, and without order from hym he would not meddell therein. Which is the occation I have now wrot this letter, and sent it per Mr. Osterwick, because the king is now ready 30 to take bark to goe for Edo, etc. The coppie of this letter I keepe by me, in Japon languadg, written on the back side what it is, etc. The king retorned me word he would geve such order as I should have justice; but nothing but wordes have I fownd hitherto. _Aprill 10._--Sugean Dono of Umbra envited the kyng to dyner this day, and sent to borrow _bubes_, swetmeates, and other matters: a singular uuse they have in Japon (_nifon cantange_). Also his yonger brother sent to borrow 20 _tais_, for that he was to goe up with the king, and, yf we had no money (as I had non to lend hym), then to trust hym with the vallue in merchandiz. But I lyked not such mens payment, having fownd it per experience, etc. _Aprill 13._--I sent to Capt. Speck to have had 4 peeces lynen to make me sherts of, and sent money to pay for it. But he retornd me answer, it was all sould, when I knew to the contrary they had thousands of peeces of that sort taken from Chinas lying by them. I had bought before of same sort for 1 _tay_ 3 _mas_ peece, which made me 2 sherts. The kinges brother, Tonoman Samma, sent to beg or buy an English hat. Soe I sent him one which I had of Mr. Nealson. _Aprill 14._--A yong man of Sakay, walking out at towns end of Firando, met with a villen whoe cut his throte and took 3 _tais_ or 15 shillings str. of money which he had in his purce, and soe escaped. Yet the man was fownd alive and soe brought into towne, I seeing hym carid by all bloody. He said he had seene the man before which did it, but knew not his name. Yt is thought he cannot live. _Aprill 15._--The partie which had his throte cut yisterday is said to have donne it hym selfe, because he had spent his masters money upon whores, and soe wounded hym selfe (but not deadly) to make the world beleeve theeves had taken it from hym. _Aprill 16._--There were rymes cast abrode and song up and downe towne 31 against Matinga and other English mens women. Wherupon matters being brong in question to put them all away, noe proofes could be fownd against them, but a mater donne of spyte by their evell willers, all the neighbours coming to speake in their behalves, affermyng all was lies and that they would take such order that handes should be laid upon such as were heard to sing it hereafter and punishment inflicted upon the offenders. I imagen they were set on by the Hollanders, songs haveing byn made against them to lyke effect before, but not against us. _Aprill 18._--This day most of the inhabitantes of Firando, marid men and their wives, went a gossiping to Tabola, over to an other iland, many boates being filled with them. Geffrey the boy wanting 3 or 4 daies, we thought he had byn lost, yet was fownd at a kinsmans house. Soe I sent hym hom, except his parents would geve a writing he should serve the Company for terme of yeares. _Aprill 19._--Kytskin Dono made me a bill in Japons languadge, wherin he gave me Jeffrey the boy for to dispose of hym hereafter as I would my selfe, to cary hym into England or otherwais. And Taffy Dono was wittnes unto it, in presence of Jno. _jurebasso_, Mr. Nealson, and Mr. Osterwick, and our Japon vintner whome we buy our wyne of. _Aprill 21._--Jeffrey, the boy geven me the othe day, broke up a chist of Co Jnos. and took out some thinges, and upon his examenation hath confest he had stolne dyvers thinges before. Soe I determen to retorne hym to them which gave hym to me. _Aprill 23._--I sent both Jeffrey and the writing back to Kitskin Dono, whoe gave hym me. Mr. Nealson tould me this day that Mr. Osterwick reported to hym that he thought I kept 1000 _tais_ in my handes of the Companies, to make 32 my private benefite thereof. Which being brought in question, he said he thought the China Capt. owed me 1000 _taies_ more then I had put to acco. To which I replied, it had byn better he had told me therof then to speake such matters to others; but that, to burthen me with keeping money of the Companies I took in ill part, and for the China Capt. I esteemed hym such a man as would deale well with me and hym both. _Aprill 24._--I brought the matter in question this day with the China Capt. tuching the 1000 _taies_ that Jno. Osterwick spoke of, noted by me yisterday, and som wordes were about a parcell of money delivered, namely of 2000 _taies_, at one tyme, which in the end the China Capt. said he thought Niquan his kinsman had receved. I stand in dowbt of 1000 _taies_ more, noted downe in my booke the 11th December, 1616, but blotted out by my selfe this day to bring the rest to rightes. God grant Jno. Osterwick deceave me not. Capt. Speck sent a man with 3 peece China lynen, with complementall wordes that they had non to sell, but sent them of his owne provition he kept to make hym shertes. I retorned hym thankes per hym which brought them, and bad hym tell Capt. Speck I would send hym money for them, which I did sowne after. But he retorned the money and sent me word he gave them as a present, wishing they were better. The China Capt. tould me, betwixt hym and me, that Jno. Osterwick reported (or tould to hym) this day that he was out of purce 500 _taies_, he knew not how, which he had paid out, he knew not how, not having written it downe. _Aprill 25._--I rec. a letter from Capt. Adames per way of Langasaque, dated in Goto, le 28th of Marche last, in the rode (or haven) of Narra, in which he wrot me of the extremety they passed in loosing of their rudder. _Aprill 26._--The China Capt. went to Langasaque with his doughter to 33 vizet his brother Whow, she never having byn there before, as also to contract a marriadge betwixt her and the sonne of an other rich China called Goquan. Yt is now reported that the _Tono_ (or Kinge) of Firando will not goe to Edo this yeare. Soe he hath geven leave to his hostes son of Osakay to goe his way, whoe a long tyme hath staid to goe along with hym. _Aprill 28._--There was a silver spoone lost at supper, and non in the howse but our owne folkes. So som of them went to a wisszard to know whoe had taken it. He wished them to look presently out for it, and they should come to knowledg whoe had it, but, yf they let midnight passe, it would never be knowne. Wherupon they made a privie serche, and went about to heate a ston red hott, and take it in their hands, it being dailie proved that those which are giltlesse goe free and the giltie burne. Whereupon Bycho (the boy I gave Mr. Osterwick) willed them to desist, and he would tell them where the spoone was, but carid them to divers places, they not finding it; and in the end tould them he had cast it into the sea, willing them to let it alone and say nothing, and he would bring it back or pay for it, etc. _Aprill 29._--I brought Bicho to disepline (or whiping cheare). Soe at first he stoutly denied what he of hym selfe had formerly confessed; but in the end he yilded, and said he had stolne it at supper tyme, and delivered it to the servant of a Japon. Soe I sent to that mans howse, but his servant was working at Hollandes howse, he sending for hym and Bicho acknowledging he had receved it from his handes, we being at supper, he being without, looking on a munkie or ape. But that fello denid it, and his master used many thretning words, that he would kill Bicho for sclandring of his servant. Yet the boy still stood to his word that the said fello had it. Whereupon I sent Mr. Osterwick, with our _jurebasso_, to Taccamon Dono, to seek justis 34 against that fello; but he was gon to the kinges howse before they came. _Aprill 30._--I sent Mr. Osterwick to Taccamon Dono, cheefe justice, to demand restetution of the silver spoone of the recever, although he denid the recept thereof, otherwais to proceed against hym by order of justice. He retorned answer, he would do me justice. _May 1._--Gonosco Dono envited us to dyner to morrow. Mr. Nealson and Mr. Osterwick went to Tabola with their women to make merry; but Nealson entred into humours at his retorne, being in potum. _May 2._--I canot forget to note how Mr. Nealson roze this night, three howers before day, and called me up to drink, etc., and fell into termes with me because the neighbours went not out to meet hym with a banket, laying the falt in me; and, not contented with that, caused the porter to open the dore to let hym out, as though he went to walk (as ordenarely he seemeth to doe). But I, wondering he went out soe tymely, roze up to have geven hym councell to take heed how he went out at such an hower, but fownd he was gon over the way to Mr. Osterwickes lodging, to tell hym (in my hearing) that I used them as slaves and not as merchantes, with stamping and swearing upon it, and that it was not to be sufferd. I have much adoe with this man in his drunken humours, he seeking (when he is most soberest) to set me at odds with all men. God defend my just cause. We were well entertayned at Gonosco Donos at dyner, and had much talk about the Hollanders and English, being by hym urged thereunto, and, as I think, set on by the King or _Tono_ of Firando. But, as it should seeme, they esteemed much more of our nation then of the Hollanders, esteeming them as theeves and we true men. _May 3._--There is some murmering speeches geven out that these 35 sotherne _tonos_ (or kinges) draw back whoe should set forward first to goe up to themperour, and he of Umbra sent this of Firando word that he might exskews the matter in respect of his infermity (or sicknesse), and the rather because no other is about to goe as yet, except it were Frushma Tay, whose cuntrey is neare Cyaw (or Miaco). This Frushma Tay is as greate a man as he of Xaxma, and of more revenews, and loved and esteemed at Miaco more then any other prince in Japon; and he only is gon to Miaco, and no ferther; and what will ensue is uncerten. Yet out of dowbt, yf Miaco, that is to say Cyaw, Osakay, and Sackay waver from themperour, and that Xaxma, Frushma Tay, and the rest of sotherne lordes take part against hym, he will hardly preveale. For out of dowbt all the northerne lordes are not sure, no not his owne nephewes, etc. _May 4._--A brute was geven out the _Tono_ (or King) of this place Firando would set forward towardes themperours court, and all the boates ready to accompany hym. But it proved but a falce allarom, as divers other tymes hath byn the lyke; only to make a shew he is a going, for out of dowbt themperour is not without spies in this and all other places. _May 5._--I sent our _jurebasso_ to Taccamon Dono, and Bicho the boy with hym to certefye that he delivered the spoone to that other felloe; but still Taccamon Dono puts me affe with the kinges going out, yet that in the end he will doe me justice. Before nowne the King of Firando went out on his voyage towardes Miaco, or to themperours Court. The Hollanders shot affe 5 peeces ordinance at their howse, as the boates passed by; but one recoyled and strouck up earth and stoanes, and hurt a Hollander very sore which gave fire. There were many barkes went out to accompany hym out of the harbor, and amongst the rest both us and the Hollanders. I carid hym 36 2 pottell glasse bottelles of very good strong annis water, stilled by my selfe heare, and the Hollanders carid a stick or peece of _ginco callamback_ (or lignum allois) which I think could not be a _li_. He seemed to be merry, and drunk to us both, with many others. _May 9._--Taccamon Dono and rest of nobles retorned from accompanying the king onward on his journey to Miaco; and soe I sent our _jurebasso_ againe to hym, to procead in justice about the stolne silver spoone. He retorned answer that he was content I should proceade to my owne content (or as I would), only their triall was by fire, so that, yf he I burthened proved to have it, it was to my honor, otherwais, yf I accused hym wrongfully, the contrary. Soe he wished me to be well advised before I proceaded therein. _May 10._--The China Capt. retorned from Langasaque and brought word how the junck wherin Capt. Adams went is retorned back to Langasaque (as all the rest which went out are the lyke), and that our junck _Sea Adventure_ is at Liqueas and lost her voyag for Syam. Also that the juncke of Billang Ruis (which should have gon for Phillipinas and went out a month before Capt. Adames) hath also lost her voyag and retorned back, haveing in 3 stormes (or tuffons) cast most part of her lading overboard, to lighten her. I rec. 2 letters from Langasaque, viz. 1 from Gota Shoyamon Dono, the mint man, and 1 from Shoyemon Dono, master _caboques_. _May 11._--This mornyng calme raynie wether, but after, a stiff gale, northerly, all fore nowne, but after vered southerly. Much rayne all day and like per night following, with lightnyng and thunder; and in the evenyng, towardes night, was a mighty cracking or rustlyng in the aire or fermament, as though it had byn the flying of a thunderboult, 37 and yet no lightning nor thonder at that tyme. I took notis of it as a fearfull thing, and many spoake of it afterwardes. _May 13._--The China Capt. sent me 3 China golden fyshes, and his doughter a peec. silk borall, or taffety mad borall fation. _May 14._--Capt. Adames, with Ed. Sayer and Robt. Hawley, arived this day from Langasaque, the junck having lost her voyag for Cochinchina. So Ed. Sayer brought back the goodes and monies sent in that voyag. _May 15._--I rec. the letter Ed. Sayer wrot me from Langasaque, dated the 7th present, with 3 coppis letters in it, one written from Liqueas to me, and other 2 to Mr. Eaton, whoe is in an other iland of same Liqueas, and hath lost his voyag or monson, yet, as it seemed, ment to stay theare till begining next monson and then procead on her voyag. But he advized Mr. Eaton his opinion to lade her with wheate and retorne to Japon, which course I formerly advised hym to take yf he lost his monson. God grant he take it. _May 17._--This day the King Firandos bark retorned from Miaco, which carid up his horse, and they report that the Emperour hath sent downe order to Miaco that all the _tonos_ of Japon shall stay theare, and not goe forward to Edo. Soe it is thought the Emperour is dead, or else he standeth in fear that the northerne _tonos_, or kinges, meane to joyne with them of the south and rize against hym. Once it is thought somthing will happen. _May 18._--Mr. Nealson went to the bath at Ishew to recover his health, being much out of temper. Comissioners, or rather survears, came to Firando this day, sent with order from themperour to survay all the cuntrey at their pleasure. What is their entent is not well knowne, yt not having byn donne in these partes heretofore. _May 21._--This day was the feast of the resorection of the greate 38 profet of Japon, or rather a god, as they take hym, for som hould no other god but he. They deck all the forefront or eves of their howses betymes in the mornyng with greene bowes, in remembrance of his resurrection.[8] We sent 1 _tay_ small plate, with a barell of wyne and a bondell sea weed, to the _boz_, our landlord, for a years rent of a garden hired at present of hym. [8] Marginal note: "Feast of Shacka". _May 24._--The gunfownders did borow all our copper, to deliver as much same sort within 3 months, and left on fardell for a sample. _May 25._--We set men to bale out water and make cleane our small junck, to bring her agrownd and calfret or mend her, to serve to carin our shiping, as the Hollanders doe the lyke with an ould junck of theires. The China Capt. being sick of the headache extremly, I gave hym a glas bottell roze vinegar I brought with me out of England. _May 26._--Cushcron Dono, our neighbour, haveing made his new howse, envited his kindred and other neighbours Japons to heate his howse (as they terme it), where they drunk themselves drunk for company, with howling and singing after a strang manner, yet ordenary in Japon. I paid vii-1/2 _mas_ small plate to Matinga for covering or shingling the howse. I receved a letter from Mr. Nealson from bath at Ishew, dated 4 daies past, wherin he writes to have Robt. Hawley, the chirurgion, to com to hym to let hym blood and purg hym. _May 27._--News is now com to towne that themperour will retire hym selfe into the ould howse his father kept at Edo, and that his sonn (a littell boy of 10 or 12 yeares ould) shall remeane in the cheefe fortresse with the councell to adminester justice. Which reportes doe conferme men in opinion that themperour is dead. _June 1._--We had this day 6 ship carpenters and 13 laborers about 39 tyying our littell juncke to serve to caryn shiping. Mr. Osterwick is falne sick on a sudden with much paine in head and boanes. _June 2._--This day was 9 carpenters, 7 cawkers, and 18 laborers about junck; and laborers wrought all night to have stuffe in the mornyng for carpenters. _June 3._--This day 10 carpenters, 7 cowkers, and 20 laborers for junck. Capt. Speck came to English howse to vizet me, and is much affeard of the junck which went owt this yeare, in respect the others are retornd and lost their voyage. He tould me he howrly expected shiping from the Molucos. _June 4._--I rec. a letter from Jor. Durons, dated in Langasaque, le 12th of this month, new stile, wherin he wrot me how Feze Dono had accused Twan Dono for murthering 17 or 18 Japons without law or justice, and amongst rest a famely, because the parents would not consent to let hym have their doughter, and the maid her selfe passed the same way. But the councell tould Feze Dono they would have hym to take in hand matters of leeveing and not dead people. Soe then he apeached Twan and his children as Christians and maintayners of Jesuistes and fryres whoe were enemies to the state, and hath cauced 18 or 20 to be taken. So that it is thought greate persecution will ensue at Langasaque. _June 5._--Robt. Hawley went to Ishew to Mr. Nealson to geve hym phisick and let hym blood, as he required. And I wrot Mr. Nealson a letter, and sent hym a barell of skarbeare and 10 loves bread and a barell Japon wyne for their provition. We had news towardes night that there was 2 shipps without, and in the end said to be Hollanders. Soe Capt. Speck sent out a boate to see. _June 6._--Early in the mornyng the domene (or prist) of the Holland 40 shipp _Son_ came to vizet me, and tould me how our ship _Adviz_ departed from them the second day after they went from hence, or rather they sayled from her, and since they know not what is becom of her. The domene tould me they sent the small ship _Gallias_ to Cochinchina, where they had not staid 3 daies but there entred 6 China junckes, all which they took and brought them away; and that it is not a month past that this shipp took 4 China junckes more. Soe I sent Ed. Sayer to Capt. Speck to use complement of their ships safe retorne; and he exskewsed hym selfe he had not sent me word thereof before. He tould Ed. Sayer how they had not medled with any junck which was bound for Cochinchina, only they had taken 16 junckes which were bound for the Manillas; and were on the cost of Phillippinas, where they burned a Spanish ship, all the people being gon ashore. Also they say the _Gallias_ was in the rode of Amacau, where they rode at an ancor serten daies, and the Chinas came abord of them with provition and silk stocking and other matters, using them kyndly. I went out to meete the Holland shipp _Sonn_ at Cochy, and carid Capt. Barkhowt 1 _barso_ wyne, 1 of skarbeare, a hogg, and 5 hense; but he was on the way, and entred the same tide into the harbor of Firando without casting ancor. He used much speeches to me of his proceadinges, and that he had taken Chinas twise, I meane them which the _Gallias_ had taken before, and after tould me they were of them they had taken at Manillas the yeare past. Once it is certen they have taken 6 junckes which were bound from China to Cochinchina, and yet deny it, saying now it is vj wickes since they saw the _Gallias_, and that they had put 40,000 _tais_ plate into her to goe to Cochinchina to trade, and what they have donne since they know not. So yt is easie to be seene by the wordes the domene tould me all is falce. Mr. Nealson and Robt. Hawley retornd from Ishew. 41 _June 7._--Yt is serten that the Hollanders have taken more riches this yeare from the Chinas then they did the last, and each marrener hath his cabben full of silk stuffes and musk. _June 8._--Towardes night the Duch shipp _Gallias_ arived at the rode of Cochy in Firando. But, as they say, it is allmost a month past that they left company of 3 junckes they brought in company with them, per meanes of stormy wether, they haveng put 7 or 8 Hollanders into each of them, which they now think the Chinas have cut throtes of and carid the junckes away. They report the wether was soe extreme when they took those junckes (and others) that they could not discharg the goodes out of them, because the sea went soe hie, only brought them along with them, expecting calme wether, but lost them, as afforsaid. They say that, having taken most parte of goodes out of 1 junck, and seeing her reddy to sink, they put 900 Chinas in to her, and bad them shift for them selves, etc. Capt. Adames did also retorne this day per land because the sea went hie. All these people begin to murmor against the Hollanders for taking all junckes they meete, whether they trade into Japon or no, and doe all under the name of English. Soe God knoweth what will com of it. A quarter master of Duch ship _Son_ gave me 6 muskcods. _June 9._--The Hollanders were in councell to have sent back the ship _Gallias_ to have looked out for the 3 juncks which they put their men into. Yet in the end they were of an other mynd, in respect it is above xx daies they lost sight of them, etc. _June 10._--The _Gallyasse_ came into the harbor at Firando, and I sent out our _foyfone_ to helpe to tow her in. Cornelius Scott, pilot of the _Son_, gave me a littell gold ring with a garnett ston set in it. _June 12._--Many Chinas and Japons came from Langasaque to Firando 42 with R. of 8, to buy stuffes of Duch marreners, and wanted not store of falce R. of 8. Jno. Yossen bought good store of stuffes of them for reddy money at deare rates, as their damasks, grograns, and sattens ordenaris, at 5 _tas_ peec. _June 14._--I gave Mr. Nelsons woman the out side of a _keremon_, silk, for that shee made me halfe a dozen shertes and would take no payment. The capt. of the _Gallyasse_ sent me a _barrico_ of Spanish wyne for a present, and, after, Capt. Barkhout, accompanied with hym, came to thenglish howse, where I entertayned them in the best sort I could. _June 15._--This day Capt. Speck sett at liberty 5 or 6 Chinas of the princepall in the junck, and gave each of them a bar of plate. They went and lodged at howse of Andrea Dittis, China Capt. Yt was held base to geve them no more, being such men as they were, and is thought that the Emperour will bring matters in question, because these ij shipps went out of purpose to rob and for nothing else, making by this meanes his cuntrey a receptacle of theeves, to his great dishonor and their owne inriching. Yt is thought both Spaniardes, Portingales, and Chinas will goe to Cort, and cry out with open mouth against them tuching that matter, and the rather because themperour will not suffer his owne vassalles of Japon to doe the lyke. _June 16._--They decked all the eves of their howses this mornyng with flagges and mugwort, in honer of the great feast which is held to morrow, being the 5th day of the 5th month. All the Chinas which are sett at liberty out of the junck came this day to thenglish howse to vizet me, and said they fownd per experience the English nation were honorable people, and soe would report when they retorned into their cuntrey, and made no dowbt but we should 43 have entrance for trade. They complained much of the hard usage of the Hollanders. _June 17._--I went and vizeted the Hollanders at their howse, whoe used me very frendly, and shewed me all their new workes, which truly is greate, in enlarging the mantion howse with a new hall, divers fayre chambers for merchants, two new gedonges (or warehouses), with a gatehowse and duffcote, a strong howse made of lyme and ston to put gunpowder in, many lodgings for sick folkes and for other uses, beside ston work for walles and wharfe, etc. _June 18._--I receaved a letter from Tozayemon Dono, our host of Sackay, wherin he wrot that silck is risen to 320 _taies pico_, per meanes that the junckes have lost their voyages this yeare. _June 19._--We sent a present to an ambassador of Xaxma that is now com to towne, viz. 2 _tatta_ fustion to make hym a vest, and 2 tablebooks. _June 20._--Jorge Durons writes me the Amacan shipp is safely arived at home, as they are advized per a junck of Camboja which went thither. The ambassador of Xaxma came to thenglish howse and brought me a present of a barell wyne and vj fyshes, offring to send me a letter for Liqueas, or any other matter I would demand. A mad gentellman (as it is said), having byn pocessed with the devill more then a yeare past, was this day at a banket with his father, brother, wife, and kyndred, they perswading hym to be better advized and leave affe such cources. But on a sudden, before it could be prevented, he start up and drue out a _cattan_ and cut affe his brothers head, wounded his father, allmost cutting affe his arme, and cut his wife behind her sholder on her back, that her entrills appeared, wounded divers others, and slue out right his steward (or cheefe man). And yet it is thought nothing will be said to hym, 44 they which he hath kild being his kindred and servantes, he being a gentelman. Also news came to towne that theevs are on the way betwixt this and Langasaque, 3 or 4 vessells, to robb such as com to buy merchandiz of the Hollanders; and took on boate, killing 3 men and 3 women; which others escaping made knowne to the justice of Firando, whoe sett out 4 or 5 vessells, armed with munition and solders, to seek them out; and the Hollanders armed out a bark with small ordinance, to accompany them in the action. The China Capt. had letters this day per way of Xaxma out of a junk arived theare (which should have com for Langasaque, and forced per them of Xaxma to stay theare), that the letters I sent are receved by the noble men in China in good parte, and a mandarin, or _loytea_,[9] apointed to com for Japon, to speake with the Chinas and me about the matter, and withall to goe to themperour of Japon about the receving the Hollanders into his domynions which robb the Chinas. Yt is above 4 months past that he was apointed, and now howrly expected. [9] Chinese: _lao-ye_, a title of respect. _June 21._--I wrot 3 letters to Mr. Eaton, willing hym, at sight of any 1 of them, to retorne for Firando with the junck laden with wheate, and not to procead forward from thence for Syam in begining of wynter, it being dangerouse. These letters I sent per ambassador of Xaxma, whoe departed from hence this mornyng. This gentellman had iij _tattamis_ yello broad cloth, xi _taies tattam._, and Icadono, the gentelman remayning heare, gave his bill for payment thereof at demand. I am enformed that Chinas and Japons have byn at Miaco before Ingo Dono, Lord Cheefe Justice of Japon, to complaine of the theevery of the Hollanders; and he asked them whether the English did not the lyke, which they said no. "Well," said he, "the Emperour will take order for these matters shortly." _June 22._--There came news that shiping was entred into the rode of 45 Cochy and shott affe ordinance; and Albaro Munos sent his man to me to tell me he heard 3 or 4 greate peeces shott affe. I know not wherefore these people doe this but to mock at us, because we have no shipping com in as Hollanders have, and urge us to send out boates and men to look for nifells,[10] that they might laugh at us the better afterwardes. Truly, I think it is not without instigation of Hollanders, who, although they speake us faire, love us not. Yet I dowbt not before it be long to see them fall into the trap they provide for others. [10] Trifles. _June 23._--The barkes that went out to look for the theevs retorned without fynding any thing. Out of dowbt, they were advized from hence of what was pretended against them, and soe prevented the danger. For here is such a company of pedlers which goe up and downe the streete crying wares, that the lyke I have not seene till now, and after such a redickalus manner that it is to be noted. And amongst the rest, one counterfetted the blind-man, and was fownd out, and then fell a laughing, and was let goe without saying any thing to hym. I saw this my selfe. _June 24._--There is flying news that they of Goto have taken ij boates of the theevs; but I think it will prove a lie. _June 25._--I wrot ij letters, j to Capt. Whow in answer of his 2 rec., with 3 _barsos quash_,[11] or sweetmeates, as also of differance in acco. betwixt Andrea Dittis and me (as he saith), by reason Niquan his kinsman rec. money in his name and made him not accoynted therwithall. [11] Kuwashi. _June 26._--The Hollanders sett all the rest of the Chinas att libertie, and gave them their aparell and other luggadge. It is thought som frend put them in mynd to doe it, understanding complaint was made to themperour of their proceadinges, and that they did more 46 then the Japons them selves durst doe, not only to take the Chinas goodes, but to keepe their bodies captives, making Japon the store howse or receptacle for their theeverie, much to the dishonor of themperour to suffer it. It is to be thought it are papistecall Christians which doe it, for they put themperour and councell in mynd that it was to be considered that these Hollanders, fyew years past, were naturall vassals to the King of Spaine, and by open rebellion cast hym affe. Soe that, yf themperour gave entrance to them, it would geve discontent to the King of Spaine, whoe was helde to be the powerfullest prince in Christendom; and besides, it might breed som alteration in the hartes of his owne vassales to doe as the Hollanders had donne with the Spaniardes, and it may be by provocation of the Hollanders to make others as they them selves are, to the overthrow of the state of Japon. This was I secretly enformed of per a China, thinking I was an enemy to the Hollanders. But my opinion is, yf the Hollanders be driven out of Japon, thenglish must not stay behind; for the Spaniardes and Portingales geve it out that thenglish were they which gave them meanes to stand out against their naturall prince, and held their cheefest fortresses in their power, and was to be thought (as som have tould me) that they and we were all on in effect, allthough different in our proceadinges. _June 27._--Towardes night news came that the junck of Yasimon Dono of Langasaque (which went for Syam) is safely retorned to Langasaque, and hath brought word that the Hollandes junck and an other of Langasaque came out with hym, and were at sea altogether, and cannot want to be on this cost. And within night Capt. Adams sent me word that the small junck of Jno. Yoosen which went from Cochinchina for Camboja the last yeare is now arived in a harbor neare Languay in Crates. _June 28._--Late towardes night the Hollandes junck from Syam arived 47 in the roade of Cochy, a league from the towne of Firando; and Jno. Yossens at Tasquey, a league or ij on thother side Firando. _June 29._--About nowne the junck of Jno. Yoosen entred, which came from Camboia. They report that one of thenglishmen of the ij is theare, namely, Mr. Savidge (as they think), fell into a madd humour and ment to have kild hym selfe with a pistoll charged with ij bullettes, and shot hym selfe, but after was cured.[12] The other Englishman is called Facie. These men say that we have somthing com in the other junck of Yosen, but they know not what it is, nether have those Englishmen wrot i word by this junck. They say also that thenglish have built a junck, and sent her for Pattania with such merchandiz as they had bought in Camboja, and that the king of the cuntrey is a greate frend to thenglish, but a mortall enemy to the Portingalles and Spaniardes. And I sent Mr. Sayer abord the junck of Jno. Yosen with a barill wyne and 3 hense, to bid the master welcome and know whether we had any letters com in them. And Jubio Dono, servant to King of Crates, came to vizet me and brought a barrill _morofack_; and an other gentelman of that place came in company with hym, and he envited me and the rest of thenglish to dynner ij daies hence. And within night Capt. Speck sent me a packet of letters which came in their junck from Syam. Wherin one Richard Pittes writes of the death of Jno. Johnson that was in place before hym, and sent an other letter which he receved from Mr. Adam Denton, dated in Meslapotama, the 20th August, 1617, wherin he writes Mr. Gurney died betwixt Bantam and that 48 place, coming to have byn agent for the Cost; and that Generall Josephe met with a Portingale carick bound from Portingall to Goa, and fought with them ij daies about the Iland of Comora, beating her mastes overboard; soe in the end they fired her them selves, and, as it seemed, escaped ashore at Camora, Bengamyn Josephe hym selfe having byn slayne at first with a peece of ordinance, and Capt. Pepwell suckceaded in his place. Also he adviseth that the King of Callecut detayneth all in his handes that Capt. Keeling left theare, so that the _Unicorne_ going thether carid away all our men. And that from Suratt we have setled a new factory in the kingdom of Pertia, not far from Ormus, to the greate hartbreach of the Portingales of that place. Mr. Pitt hath sent in the Hollandes junck from Syam, viz.:-- _cat. tale. m._ Silck 71-1/2 _cattis_, cost 3 11 08 _Callemback_, 39-1/2 _cattis_, severall sortes; iij fardelles _lifas_, or fish skins, cost 0 05 14 With charges of all, cost 0 01 04 [12] A marginal addition runs as follows: "The pilot of Yosens shipp told me it was an untruth that Mr. Savidg would have kild hym selfe, but rather, going a burding his peece would not goe afe at first, but, turnyng the mouth towardes hym, it went afe, etc." _June 30._--I receved a letter from Miaco from Gonrok Dono, to keepe all the lead and gunpoulder we have for themperour when our shiping cometh, and the lyk he wrot to the Hollanders. The Hollandes junck entred into port of Firando, and I sent out our _foyfone_ to helpe to toe them in. The junck wantes parte of her lading; soe, yf ours had gon, yt is thought she had had but a bad voyag. I wish Mr. Eaton had followed my comition and laden her with wheate, having lost their monson, and so might he have made (it may be) a saveing, if not a better voyag, for the Worll. Company. _July 1._--We went to dyner to Jubio Dono of Crates, viz. Capt. Adams, Ed. Sayer, Mr. Nelson, Mr. Osterwick, and my selfe, where we were 49 kindly used; and I sent hym before a quart of anise water of my owne with 2 boxes of suger cakes, of them Capt. Whow sent me. A Hollander, a quarter master, gave me a peece black taffetie and vij musk cods for a present. He tould me that Mr. Nealson had geven hym a crosse staffe gratis, whether he would or no, he offering to have geven hym either money or stuffes for it, but he would not take any thing, but bad hym take it away with hym. But the Duch man desired hym to let it ly in his chamber untill he had made a new chist to keepe both it and other matters in. But in the mean tyme Mr. Nealson sould it unto an other Hollander, wherat this man took exceptions, having geven it hym before. Of the which I tould Mr. Nealson aparte, in frendly sort; but he took pepper in the nose, calling the Holland ill names, and misusing hym in vild termes, although Ric. King, our butler, were _jurebasso_ betwixt them when he gave hym the staffe, he geving hym as bad wordes as the rest only because he said it was marvell the Hollander would speake of such a matter, yf he had not geven it hym. In fine he called the Hollander, dogg, and thenglish as bad, in my hearing, telling me to my face I sett them all one to misuse hym, espetially Ed. Sayer, my viz-regent, when God is my judg I have byn taxed with all thenglish in the cuntrey for suffering Mr. Nealson to abuze all men as he daylie doth. Thus much I thought good to note downe, whether I live or dye, that truth may be knowne. I gave hym back his dager this day, he telling me that Cornelius the Duchman offred hym 80 _pezos_, or R. 8, for it and his rapier; but he had not had it an hower by his syde but he fell into this frenzy, madd, or at best drunken, humour, and in my hearing rapt out an othe, by the blood of God, that let thenglish stand cleare of hym, for, yf they used hym in such sort, he would speed som of them. _July 3._--I receved a letter from Alvaro Munos, dated in Langasaque, 50 10th July, new stile, wherin he writes that news is com from New Spaine that Don Juan de Fashardo, sonne to Don Lues de Fachardo, is ordayned governor of the Manillias, with 1000 soldiers and 300 mareners, in 3 gallions and 6 galles coming from New Spaine. Also, that the fleet in Manillas, which fought with the Spaniardes the last yeare, is all cast away per stormy wether, many Mores, Chinas, and 50 Spaniard being drowned in it; and that their is 8 new gallions built theare in place thereof. For the 8 gallions, I esteem it a lie, that on such a sudden they canot be made. Also, that the Frenche have sett out 8 gallions, or men of warr, to aide the Spaniardes in their affares. And that the King of Spaine had ordayned a fleete of gallions to have com by Cape Bona Speranza, to have joyned with them at Manillas, to have gon for the Molucas; but had staid them to make warrs against the Duke of Savoy. Miguell, the _jurebasso_, reared his howse this day, and I sent hym ij _taies_ in small plate, and a barill wyne, the plate on my owne acco. Also Mr. Nealson, Sayer, and Osterwick sent each of them a _tay_, all for Capt. Adams sake, whose servant he was in tyme past. So, Matias, the Hollander capt. of junk which came from Syam, came to vizet me this day. He tells me that Mr. Pittes the Englishman envited one James Peterson, thenglish umper, to a banket at Syam, and after, upon what occation he knew not, fell out with hym, and went with iij Japons to bynd hym and take hym prisoner. But Peterson laid soe about hym that he kild ij of the Japons, and made Pittes and the other to run away. This Peterson is in greate favour with the King of Syam, and therefor I marvell Mr. Pittes would take this cours; but Mr. Mattias saieth it was doone in drink. _July 4._--We had news that Jno. Yoosens other junck which came from 51 Camboja is entred into Langasaque, in which I esteem we have letters and somthing else; but no letter came in the other. Our nation is over slo in writing; the labour is not greate. _July 5._--News came from Langasaque that a frigatt or ij are entred theare which came from Amacau, and that 4 or 5 more are a coming after, and that they bring store of silk and peeces of silk, for that the carik will com no more. They report that these frigattes (or galliasses) met with a Hollander or English shipp at sea, and sunck her; but out of douwbt that is a lyie, only they may have wronged our junck _Sea Adventure_; but if it com to knowledg they may pay deare for it, she going under themperours _goshon_, and with Japon marreners. _July 6._--I wrot to Antony Biscaino, pilot of Jno. Joosens junk which is com from Camboia, to will hym to send me my letters the English have wrot, as I understand they have. We opened the ij chistes which came from Syam with _callamback_ and silk, and waid it out. News came from a Japon of Langasaque to Capt. Speck that of a certen 5 or 6 frigattes of Portugezes of Amacau did meete with a small Hollandes shipp at sea, and after fight a long tyme the Holland shipp was sunk with ij or 3 of the friggotes, and the rest soe ill handled that non proceaded forward but 1, which is this lately arived at Langasaque, the capt. or cheefe wherof was lykwais slaine and many others hurt. Capt. Speck sent me word hereof, esteeming it rather our shipp _Adviz_ then a Hollander; but I hope it will prove contrary. _July 7._--I sent a letter to Alvaro Munos desiring hym to writ me the truth of the newes of the sinking of a Duch or English shipp per the friggattes. There came news this day that the shipp which the Portingales took was a Hollander, and that they sunk her, and have brought 50 prisoners 52 to Langasaque. And after came a Japon whoe said he was in the Portingall frigattes when they laid her aboard, being iiij in all, ij on thone syd, and ij on thother, but that in the end the Hollanders, seeing they could keepe their shipp no longer, set their powder on fire, and blew the ship in peeces, fyring on of the sayles of one penisse, wherin above xx men were lost in going about to quench the fire. This fello sayeth he was abord when the ship was fired, and called to them in the Japon tong that, yf any Japons were in her, they should come out and save them selves, and that one Japon was saved only out of her, and no Hollander. But I doe not beleeve that this fello could escape so free, yf he had byn abord when she was fired, nether that a Japon could be saved out of her but som Hollanders would have donne the lyke. In fine, there is so many talles that a man knoweth not which to beleeve. The umpras father came to vizet me, and brought me a _barso_ of wyne and a cuttell fish. _July 8._--The China Capt. with other Chinas went this day to Langasaque to look out for retorne of ther junckes from Taccasanga and other partes; for as yet non are com; which puteth them in feare the Hollanders have mett with them. God keepe them out of their walke. Here news came this day that the Hollandes shipp which fought with the Portingale frigottes is at Tushma, with many hurt men in her. Others say it is the Portingall frigot which is wanting, being one of the iiij which boarded her and was fired. Once here is soe many tales that a man knoweth not which to beleeve. _July 9._--Bongo Samma came to thenglish howse to vizet me, and said he was glad it was a Hollander and not an English shipp which was spoild by the Portingales. He said they were ij Holland shipps, and that the bigger ran away and left the lesser to be spoiled; but that I esteem a fable. _July 10._--I rec. iij Japon letters this day, i from Capt. Adams 53 wife, from Edo, an other from Croby Dono, Capt. Adams host at Osakay, and the therd from Tozayemon Dono, our host at Sackay, all complemental, Tozayemon Dono advising that silk was risen to 300 _tais pico_ at Miaco. And this day came a bark from Tushma, and passed by to goe to Langasaque to adviz the governor of the arivall of a Portingall frigat was there arived with many wounded and hurt men in her, for that they desired barkes to toe them from thence to Langasaque. This is on of them which fought with the Hollanders. The other 3 are allready arived at Langasaque. _July 11._--Ther came a company of players (or _caboques_) with apes and babons sent from the _tono_ (or king) to play at our house, unto whome was geven iij _taies_ in small plate. They were also at the Hollandes howse in same sort, and had ij barrs plate, is 8 _tais_ vj _mas_. _July 12._--I receved a letter from Andrea Dittis, China Capt., from Langasaque, of a junck arived from Tacca Sanga with som hides and sappon wood, but no silk at all, non coming thether this year from China. And I rec. an other letter from Alvaro Munos from Langasaque, wherin he writes ther was but iiij Portingals slayne in synking the Holland shipp, wherin were xxx Hollanders and 8 Japons, all being dead but one Japon which escaped, who telleth the news, and that she came from Bantam laden with cloth and som rialles of 8, with cheese and other matters; and that the junckes which the Hollanders put their men into at sea are retorned to Canton with all the goodes, having kild all the Hollanders. _July 13._--Harnando Ximenes came this mornyng to Firando in a small bark or friggot which came from Macasar and thought to have gon for the Phillipinas, but was cast on the cost of Corea, and all the men dead but 5 before they could get [to] Tushma; and is shee nomenated before, which we thought had byn on of them which fought with the 54 Hollander which is sunck. He bringeth word that Capt. Copendall is dead, and that the Hollanders misuse our English men in vild sort and take them presoners in all places where they can lay handes on them. He is not now servant of the Company, as he saith, and complayneth much of Mr. Lucas Antonison, of his going away, and that by his meanes he was trayned abord, and shipped away for Macosar, and his chist, aparell, and other matters detayned from hym. So from thence he got hither. He also sayeth that Marten Prin cometh generall of a fleet of 5 good shipps this yeare for Surat and soe for Bantam. Also he saith (to my greefe) that my nephew Jno. Cocks is dead at Bantam, and that he did not hear of the _Advices_ arivall at Bantam, although it were late before he departed from thence. This Spanish vessell arived at Tushma is a shipp of som 80 or 100 tonns, and, as I understand, was sent from Manillas the last yeare laden with victuelles, to have gon for the Molucas, but never went thether at all, but rather for Macasar, geving it out that they were at Molucos and had in chase by ij Holland shipps, and forced to save them selves at Macasar. But being theare, they took councell together, and agreed to provid them selves of the needfull and to retorne for the cost of Manilla, there to attend the coming out of the China junck with their money, and soe to stripp them of it, thinking they might easely doe it, and all passe under the name of Hollanders. But now, all their people being dead, they are driven to this extremetye and send this Scots man, called John Portis, to the Spaniardes at Nangasaque, to excuse the matter that they were driven into these partes by meanes of fowle wether, not having any merchandiz in the shipp, and therefore needlesse to com to Nangasaque, and to this effect carry a _bongew_ of the King of Tushma with them to certefie as much, thinking (as is should seeme) to provide them selves of men at Tushma and to goe out againe upon their former pretence of 55 boothaling. This much Harnando Ximenes, being drunk, did discloze. _July 14._--This night past a howse was set on fire, but by good helpe sowne quenched; yet many barkes of other places being in the harbour, the men went ashore, knocking at other mens dores, calling for buckettes, and the dores being opened they rushed in and carid away all they could lay handes on, and undid divers pore men. But whether serch will be made after them, it is not knowne, this justice, Taccamon Dono, being a simple felloe. _July 15._--Jor. Durons writes me that yt is a Holland shipp that the Portingall frigottes burned. Also that the Conde Redondo is com for viz Roy of Goa (or India), and that all in generall have complained against Don Jeronimo de Silva for his covetousnesse, desyring to have hym sent away and an other sent to Phillippinas in his place. He writes also how the King of Spaine maketh sharp warrs against the Duke of Savoy, and that the Venetians and the Turk take the Savoyans part. Allso that Prince Charles of England hath maried or is made sure to the King of Spaines doughter. _July 16._--Yasemon Dono, Capt. Adames host, came out of Xaxma, and hath bought store of planke and tymber secretly underhand for the Hollanders; otherwaies the King of Xaxma would not let them have any, being noe frend to the Hollanders. Yt is said the Hollanders meane to make a galley of parte of this tymber to set out against the Portingale frigotes. _July 17._--I rec. a letter from Jor. Durons, wherin he writes me that it is of a certen that the shipp the Portingalles sunck is a Hollander and no Englishman, and that they have saved many letters of the Hollanders, which it should goe hard but he would get som of them and send to me to put me out of dowbt of the matter. Also he writes that 56 ther was above 20000 _pezos_ or R. of 8 sunck in her, which were sent to buy tymber in Xaxma, to make 5 or vj gallis or friggates to set out against the Portingalles and Spaniardes, espetially them which com from Amacou. The other ij letters were from Capt. Andrea Dittis and Capt. Whow, his brother, that the 3 junckes which went to Taccasanga, wherin the Worll. Company had 600 _tais_ adventure, are all retorned to Langasaque without silk, non being permitted to com out of China, and that they had sent much money into China to buy silk (from Taccasanga), but had noe newes what was becom of men nor money. I forgot to note downe how Georg Durons advized me that the cheefe Hollander in the Indies is sunk in the shipp that was coming from Bantam by the Portingales, and that the Holland shipp had taken ij China junckes, which the Portingales reskewed, and retorned them to China. _July 18._--A China brought me a present of a cup of _abado_[13] (or black unecorns horne), with suger cakes. [13] Span.: _abada_, the female rhinoceros. _July 19._--Jno. Portis the Scotsman gave me a peare white silke stockinges with ij greene stoones lyke esmeralles, but I know not whether they be right or counterfett, etc. Four noblemen of Crates came to see thenglish howse, viz. the cheefe justis, the secretary, and ij other princepall men, whome I enterteyned in the best sort I could. _July 20._--Capt. Adames tould me this day that Capt. Speck and the Hollanders sent to desire hym to goe up with Capt. Barkhout for Edo, to carry their present to themperour, for that Jno. Yoosen, their countreyman, was out of favour with themperour and other princes by meanes of his fowle tong. So this day the kinges brother hath lent them a bark to carry them up. Jorge Durons writes me of a miraculosse matter happened in England which, allthough I know to be a stark lye, yet I thought good to sett downe verbatum, viz.:-- Yt is here reported (or spoken) for certen that in England apeared in 57 the fermament a very greate cros, with the crowne of thorne and nailes, such as our Saviour Christ suffered his passion withall; and that the Kinges Matie. of England and all his nobilletye saw it and fell downe and worshipped it; only one prist (a bad Christian) tould the king and the rest it was no miracle, but a fantesie. Wherupon at an instant both the pristes eyes flew out of his head, and he died imediatly in the sight of all men. Whereupon the King of England sent presently to the Pope of Rome to have a learned bushope to com into England to treate of these miraculos causes.[14] [14] Cocks, as a thorough-going Protestant, marks this last sentence with a marginal note: "O monstroze lye". _July 22._--I wrot these letters following to send per Capt. Adames, he being now bound up with the Hollanders, viz. 1 to Figien a Came, King of Firando; 1 to Gonrok Dono; 1 to Tozayemon Dono of Sakay; 1 to Amanuo Crobio Dono of Osakay; 1 to Neamon Dono of Edo; 1 to Magazemon Dono of Miaco; 1 to Cuemon Dono, our host Osakay; 1 to Cocozayemon Dono, secretary to Oyen Dono, at Edo; 1 to Capt. Adames wife and children, at Edo; 1 to Skengero Dono, hostes sonne of Miaco; 1 to Sebeoye Dono, hostes sonne of Osakay. _July 25._--The Hollanders had a bark lent them per the king to goe for Osakay, and soe forward per land to Edo to vizet themperour. _July 26._--I rec. a letter from Jor. Durons, dated in Langasaque, the 1th of August, new stile, wherin he writes me much news how Gon Rock Dono is brought in question with one Lues Tanares, for taking up much goodes of the Chinas at a loe rate in themperours name, and forthwith sould them to other merchantes at greate prices, whereby Gonrok Dono gayned 40000 _tais_, and Tanares 10000. For which they are now brought in question by the merchantes which bought the goodes of them, whoe 58 put up a pitition thereof all together to themperour. He also writes that a greate _bongew_ is coming downe to lay handes on 7 or 8 padres, and to cut affe the heades of x or xij guardians, or officers of Langasaque, etc. The _barso_ of wyne from Magozemon Dono, our host of Miaco, with iij jars of _caw_, the wyne for my selfe, and _caw_ for Mr. Wickham, I rec. this day. Capt. Adams was envited to dyner abord Holland shipp, and much ordinance shot affe. _July 27._--Sugean Dono of Umbra sent me a present of millons, and came hym selfe to vizet me, using many complementall wordes, and tould me the King of Figen was dead, and he ordayned to goe to his funerall in place of the king of this place, as sent from hym. He saith he was a pagon, and that it is ordayned a new grove shall be erected where his body is to be burned, and a pagod built in it, where devine servis or worship must be donne in memory of hym as a _came_,[15] or saint, or rather more then a saint, for the _camis_ are helde in greate esteeme. [15] _Kami_, the Sintoo deities. _July 28._--I rec. a packet of letters from Mr. Eaton, containing 3 letters, dated at Naffa in the grand Liquea, le 28th, 29th, and 30th of Aprill last past, wherin he wrot me of the danger the junk _Sea Adventure_ passed after their departure from Xaxma, being driven agrownd at Liqueas ij or 3 tymes, and out of hope at last to get her affe, being 2/3 partes full of water, he having carid the money and other cheefe matters ashore at an islend called .[16] Yet in the end she floted of her owne accord, and soe they got her (not without greate danger) to the cheefe iland of the grand Liqueas, to the port of Naffa. But he writes, when the kinges _bongews_ (or governors of the ilandes) understood it was an English junck, they sent them boates with men and all other helpe possible, to save her, by which meanes under God they escaped; and after sent them word to 59 look out thorow all his woodes and forist for tymber, plank, or what else we stood in need of, for all was at service of thenglish nation. But this must needes be by meanes of the King of Xaxma, whose vassale the King of the Liqueas is, whoe had formerly geven them charge soe to doe, as Mr. Eaton thinketh. In fine, he meanes to repare the junck theare, and to proceed on his voyag for Syam, yf I sent hym not word to the contrary. But I hope my letters are with hym before now, to com away forthwith, at sight thereof, for Firando. I also rec. ij Japon letters from Liqueas, i from the botswaine of the junck, and the other from Co Domingo, and a therd from Antony, the negro. [16] Blank in MS. _July 29._--I set 500 small potata rootes in a garden. Mr. Eaton sent me them from Liques. _July 31._--The Hollanders departed towardes Miaco this day before nowne, and Capt. Adams with them, and had 13 peeces ordinance shot affe out of the ij shippes, and 3 from the howse. Capt. Yarmans, capt. of the _Gallyasse_, and Sr. Matias are they which went. I wrot a letter to _bongew_ of Xaxma which sent the man with the letters unto me which came from Mr. Eaton from Liqueas, to geve hym thankes, and an other letter to boteswaines wyfe at Langasaque, and gave her sonne which carid it 5 _mas_. And the man which brought the letters had geven hym for his paynes, viz. 7 _tais_ plate bars, to defray his charges hither and back againe, with 1 bar plate containing 4 _ta._ 3 _ma._, and ij _tatta._ fustian to make hym a peare breeches. _August 1._--Our hostis of Bingana Tomo and her sonne came to vizet me, and brought me ij _barsos_ wyne, and 5 bundels of Japon paper. There came ij gentlemen in company with her sonne, one of them the cheefe _bongew_ under Frushma Tay, king of the cuntrey, whoe is a man of greater revenues then the King of Xaxma. _August 2._--I rec. ij letters from Langasaque, 1 from Andrea Dittis 60 with 9 water millons, and the other from Alvaro Munos with a sword and dagger for Ed. Sayer. We bought 168 _gantos_ fysh oyle of our hostice of Bingana Tomo for a _mas ganto_. _August 3._--Jno. Portus, the Scotsman, envited us to dynner this day: I mean all thenglish. _August 4._--This night past came news that the China Capt. junck which went for Tonkin is cast away at that place by neglegence of the pilot; but all the people saved. Som say the Japons did muten, and carid away the money, but how trew it is I know not. Also it is reported that both the junckes of Kitskin Dono and Semi Dono are arived at Cochinchina, and they of the junk of Semi Dono are cozened of 7000 _taies_ of their money, being waid out to pay for silke was stolne from them, as that was from Edmond Sayer the yeare past. _August 5._--I receved a letter from Andrea Dittis, from Langasaque, wherin he conferms the newes of casting away Capt. Whaws junck, not knowing whether the people were saved or no. Also he writes me how Gonsalvas junck is arived from Manillas, in whome his sonne is com from Manillas, I meane Andrea Dittis sonne, and that Jno. Yossens junck is lykwais arived at Langasaque. He writes also that iij shipps are arived from New Spaine at Manillas which bring a new governor. We had ij _pico_ suger from Holland factory, i browne and thother candie, to pay as rest is sould. _August 7._--There came news that a shipp is without, yf not ij, but what they are is not knowne. _August 8._--About midnight I had news brought me that the ship without is a Hollander, and com from Molucos, and that her mast is cut over board, and the ship much broaken. So I sent Ed. Sayer in the morning to the Duch howse to know the certen news, and sent out our 61 _foy fone_ to helpe to toe her in, shee being but a littell distance without and the wether calme. And presently after a French man, chirurgion of the _Son_, came to me in secret, and tould me that this shipp without was an English shipp, and one of iiij which the Hollanders have lately taken at Molucos, not without slaughter of many men, and the rest taken prisoners, and sent this small shipp to bring news hither of it, I think of spite to scorne thenglish nation. And, as they say, an other great Holland shipp, called the _Black Lyon_, is without, and com from Bantam. Yt is to be esteemed they have taken our shipp which should come from Bantam, and dowbtfull they did the like the last yeare by the _Adviz_ which Mr. Wickham went in. After nowne our _foy fone_ retorned from the Dutch Capt. Speck, telling our _jurebasso_ Co Jno. that yt was an English shipp they had taken by order of war, and therefore had noe need of our helpe to bring her in. And this tyme Co Jno. tould me that out of dowbt it was the ship _Adviz_ that Mr. Wickham went from hence in the last yeare, and that he saw som negros in her which were heare the last yeare. Soe herupon I went to Oyen Dono, the kinges governor, and tould hym what past, desiring hym to speake to Tonomon Samma, the kinges brother, to let me have a _bongew_ to goe abord this shipp betyme to morrow, to take notis what she is, and whether the Hollanders take them selves enemies of thenglish or no, and in what manner they have taken this shipp, to thentent I might goe to themperour to have justice. _August 9._--I sent an expresse to Langasaque with letters to Andrea Dittis and Jor. Durons, that I am to goe to Edo to aske justice aganst the Hollanders, and that yf the Chinas will goe up about that matter I will assist them in all I may. The Hollanders brought in our shipp in a bravado, and shot affe many 62 guns out of her, and out of their other two. But I had forgotten to note downe how I went to Tonomon Samma, the kinges brother, to desyre hym to let me have a _bongew_ to goe abord thenglish shipp which the Hollanders had taken, to be a witnesse before themperour what answer they made. But he would let me have no man, saying as yet no shipp was com in, nether had he heard any thing of the matter till now. Soe I retorned and sent out Mr. Osterwick, with Mr. Nealson and others, to look upon her, to see yf they could know her or no. But they mett her coming into the roade, and soe returned; only they spoake unto them and bad them welcom, and much good might she doe them. But sowne after (two severall tymes) Capt. Speck sent his _jurebasso_ unto me to certefie me he was sorry for what had happened, and that the shipp and goodes were at my devotion. I both tymes retorned hym thankes: they had pocession, and therefore might make their benefite. Soe in the end he came to thenglish howse, accompanied with Capt. Barkhout and Sr. Albartus, using many complementall wordes, offring the shipp and what was in her at my comand. But yow must understand they had well emptied her befor, having byn ij nightes and a day abord of her before. I made them answer, I was sory for that which was happened, and wished it had not byn soe, and that yt had byn enoffe for them to have taken our shipp and goodes without bringing in of the shipps in such a scornfull sort. He made me answer, they were not in the falt, but them which sent the shipp, nether they in falte, for that they did nothing but what their masters comanded them. "Why then", said I, "yt seemes your mastars comand yow to be comune theevs, to robbe English, Spanish, Portingalles, Chinas, Javas, and all others whatsover, without respect, and to synk a French shipp going thorow the straites of Sonday, becauce they should not carry news into France of the abuce yow had offered them." These speeche did somthing move 63 them; soe they answered me that hitherto they had held frendshipp with us, and still would do, till their comanders gave them order to the contrary, and then they would doe as they thought good. Unto which I answered they might showe them selves frendes to thenglish, yf they pleased, ether now or hereafter, but for my parte I did not care a halfe peny whether they did or noe. And soe they departed. _August 10._--We had a councell this day, wherat assisted me Ed. Sayer, Wm. Nealson, and Jno. Osterwick, where it was debated whether it were fiting to send up to themperour, to complaine against the insolentie of the Hollanders in presuming not only to take our shipps, but openly to bring them in to our disgrace. Wherupon it was concluded that I my selfe should take that long and troblesom voyag in hand, and that Mr. Wm. Nealson should accompany me, as well to look out and cleare debtes above, and bring reste downe, as also to carry up with us such matters as the factory afforded, and to buy stuffes to geve presentes to themperour and his nobles (at least, yf they would take them), or els to make sals therof, yf they were refuced. Also it was ordayned to send away a post, both by water and land, after Capt. Adams, to enforme hym of the theevery of the Hollanders, to the entent he should retyre hym selfe from them and stay my coming, and not goe with them before the Emperour. Soe we dispached a swift bark of 5 ores away, not dowbting but they will sowne overtake them, for that our host Tozayemon Dono of Sackay arived heare this day, and left hym at Shimonaseak two daies past, and I make acco. our bark will be at Shiminaseak. Oyen Dono came to vizet me in the name of Tonomon Samma, offering me all assistance against the Hollanders, and wishing me to make hast, not dowbting but the Hollanders would be driven out of Japon, yf I 64 made my complaint in due forme against them. Also yt is tould me how the Hollanders have made a greate _pancado_,[17] or sale of silk to divers Japons, and the silk waid out and sealed up, but coming to payment there is 10 _taies_ in a _pico_ difference in the price, which amounteth to above 4000 _tais_. So that much adow is lyke to be about it. Oyen Dono being gon, Sugian Dono of Umbra came unto me (as from Tonomon Samma) and wished me to make good enformations against the Hollanders, wherin he would assist me, and made no dowbt but they would be banishid out of the cuntrey. I desired hym that he would assist me in the matter, and that I might be quickly dispached, to goe up to the Emperour. Soe he went from me to the _tono_, telling me he would use such dilligence I should be dispached to morrow. [17] Span.: _pancada_, contract for sale in gross. _August 11._--I went to Tonomon Samma, or rather he sent for me, to know whether I ment to goe to themperour or no, to complaine against the Hollanders. And I answered hym, yea. "But", said he, "do yow pretend to comence any processe against them?" To which I answered, noe, for that I would seek justice against them in England; only my pretence was to geve themperor to understand they were comune theeves and sea rovers and took all men they met withall, without exception, were they frendes or foes; and that his Matie. might doe well to embarg their shipps and goodes till he better understood the truth thereof, and not suffer them to carry out victuelles and munition and money as they did, and to keepe two or 3 shipp to goe a roveing as they did this last yeare, to take Chinas and all others they mett withall under culler of them; which they could not doe, had they not this receptacle. Yt seemed he lyked my answer well, and wished me 65 to proceed therin formally, and that he for his parte would [geve] assistance in what he could, and write to the king his brother at large thereof, whome he knew would take my parte against them, as not haveing yet forgotten the complaint they made against hym to themperour the last yeare; and that I needed not to carry any _bongew_ up with me, in respect the kynge hym selfe was theare, whoe he knew would assist me in person to goe to themperour and his councell. We agreed with a bark this day to cary us to Osakay for lx _tais_ plate bars. There was som which came and tould me this day that Tonomon Samma, the kinges brother, and others asked the Hollanders wherefore they tooke Englishmen and their shipping in this sort; unto which Capt. Speck answered, it was because we brought shott, powder, lead, and other munition, and sould it to their enemies. "Why", said the other, "are the Englishmen your vasselles that they are bound to observe what yow would have them, and may not they doe as they please with that which is their owne to any one they esteem their frendes? As", said he, "they bring lead and such other matters as themperour hath need of yearly, which now it seemeth yow have taken, that non is lyke to com this yeare. Soe that", said he, "this will make much against yow." Whereunto Capt. Speck has littell to replie. I gave Matinga a silke _keremon_, a _catabra_ of same, and an upper garment of fine white casho. _August 13._--I wrot a letter to Capt. Adames to same effect as the former, and sent it per our hostice of Bingana Tomo to send it from thence expres. _August 14._--Tonomon Samma, the kinges brother, sent for me to come and speake with hym; which I did, and fownd that the Portingalles had againe made complaint against Harnando Ximines and Jno. Portus, saying they were murtherers of their capt., with many other falce reportes 66 of them, desyring to have them deliverd into their handes. Unto which I answerd, that, yf the Portingales had anything to doe with them, they should goe before themperour, wheare I would answer for them, and to their shame prove their reportes falce. _August 15._--I put into one chist to carry up, viz.:-- 1 pece yello shag. 1 peec. ruch wrought velvett. 1 pott musk, containing 37 coddes. 1 box currall. 2 peec. red cherenis. 1 peec. black and green grogran. 1 pec. red damask. 1 pec. ruch figerd satten. 2 peec. corse damask. 2 pec. black ruch taffety. 1 pec. fyne white China taffety. 1 peec. Japon taffetie. 1 pec. yello satten. 1 peec. ordinary taffeties. 3 pec. white satten Lymis. 3 peces damask. 5 peec. satten, Capt. China. 1 peec. orreng culler shagg. 1 pec. oreng culler velvett. 4 pec. ordenary taffeties. 6 pec. ruch taffeties. 15 pictures. 1 pec. ordenary taffety. Also Capt. Whow sent me a letter with many frendly speeches, that he and what he had was at service of me and thenglish nation during life, for that, till now, they stood dowbtfull that thenglish and the Hollanders were all one, but now were fully resolved to the contrary; and that in all hast they would send word to China of what was past, to the entent to put them out of dowbt. Gonosko Dono, an ould gentelman, our frend, dyed this evenyng. He was father in law to Ushanusque Dono, our _bongew_, and the only souldier 67 esteemed of by Foyne Samme, thould king. _August 16._--We went to Tonomon Samme, the kinges brother, and carid hym a present, I being reddy to goe to themperour, viz.:-- 1-1/2 _tattamy_ straw culler cloth. 2 _tatta._ straw culler bayes. 1 Russia hide. 3 _cattis ginco_ that came from Cochinchina. ij greate gallipottes. ij small gally pottes. ij Duch jugges. ij green tuns. And I desird his letter of faver to the king, his brother. Also Taccamon Dono, cheefe justis, sent me a _baroso_ of wyne and a drid salmon. And sowne after I sent Mr. Nealson and our _jurebasso_ with a present of j peece of damask and ij cattis _ginco_, which he took in good part, and offerd us all frenship he could doe our nation. There passed a bark by, which came from Cocora[18] with banished Christians, to goe for Langasaque. There came som of them to see thenglish howse, amongst whome were 5 or 6 women. They say the King of Cocora hath crusefied xxxvij men and women, wherof 6 men were crusefied with their heades downeward. [18] Kokura, at the extreme north of the island of Kiushiu. _August 17._--I wrott ij letters, i to Bantam, directed to Capt. Balle, and thother to Camboja, directed to Mr. Georg Savidg, with the former in it rec. back from Nicholas Marin. And these letters I deliverd to Andrea Dittis, who gave conveance to them per way of China. Capt. Speck sent for Mr. Osterwick to com and speake with hym, of which he tould me, and I bad hym goe and knowe what was the matter. Soe at his retorne he said the cheefe occation was for that I spoke ill of their comanders or generalls of the Indies, wishing me to 68 refrayne my tong, or else to take heed of my selfe. Also he said he sat still in his howse and said nothing tuching thenglish, as also that there could nothing be done in thenglish howse but that he knew it within xxiiij howers after; and that he held me for a furious and hastie man which misused all thenglishmen in the howse, and did all thinges on my owne head and spleene without taking councell. The first point of these speeches Jno. Osterwick made knowne unto me, and the rest tould unto other Englishmen which gave me to understand therof. I dowbt this Jno. Osterwick, because his father was a Duchman, and it may be he dealeth dubly. Soe, being tuched soe neare by this prating Duchman, I took occation to write hym a letter in Spanish, the coppie wherof I have extant, in which I advized that I marveld much he medled in my howsehould affares, braging that nothing could be donne but he knew it within xxiiij howrs after, esteeming me a hasty, furious, and he might as well have said, a madd man, doing all thinges on spleene without councell. Unto which I answerd that I desyred to know my accusers, which yf he did not manifest, and that yf any man went upon spleene or ill will to geve out or speake such ill and falce reportes of me, that he or they lied in their throtes. And whereas he said he sat still in his howse and said nothing tuching thenglish nation, my answer was, they hadd not geven hym nor them any occation hitherto, nether in taking of shipping, killing of men, and robing them of their goodes. And, yf I spoke ill of their generall, I did it upon a good grownd, holding hym as an enemy to my soverigne lord the Kinges Matie. of England and his estate in taking of shiping, killing his Matis. subjectes, and bereving them of their goodes. And as tuching his thretnyng speeches, I did not well understand his meanyng, but gave hym to understand I did nether feare his wordes nor weapons. He also sent me word that I might make what hast I would to themperour 69 to make complaint, and that he would follow after at his leasure, and that I could doe nothing till he came. Unto which I answerd in my letter that I went not up to themperour to demand restetution of shipp nor goodes, for I was assured to have satisfaction in England, and therefore he was deceaved in that matter, and might ether goe up or tarry at home yf he list. _August 19._--I receved a letter from Capt. Adams dated the 13th present, at a place 10 leagues beyond Camyna Seke, wherin he writes me of the wrack of many barkes, and that the governors bark of provition is all cast over bord but one peece of ordinance. And that Touan Dono hath lost his processe, all his goodes confiscat, and his lyfe at Emperours pleasure. Also that a China bark or junk arived in Xaxma with much silk, which he had taken from other Chinas and sould it at Miaco for 220 _tais_ the _pico_; but themperour, coming to know they are theeves, hath geven them into the handes of other Chinas, to have the goods retorned to whome they belong, and execution to be donne upon the offenders. And this day news is com from Capt. Whow that it is not Niquans junk which is cast away, but an other, smaller, of not halfe themportance, but belonging to same owners. Alexander, a Scotsman in the Duch shipps, gave me 6 China picturs of saynts and our Lady, paynted upon bras leaves. _August 21._--Icana Came came to vizet me and take leave as he said, I being ready to goe up, and wished me to take good councell in my proceadinges against the Hollanders, and that he knew the King of Firando would assist me therin in all he could. _August 22._--Tonomon Samma, the kinges brother, sent me his letter for the king his brother. And divers others came to vizet me and wish me a good voyage. _August 23._--We set forward on our voyag towardes Edo this mornyng 70 about 6 a clock in the mornynge, and at night came to an anker at Languay, the farther towne, 13 leagues from Firando. _August 24._--We departed from Languay about midnight, and at nowne this day came to an ancor at the iland of Anushma[19] in Faccatay, and there remayned all the rest of day and night following, wind being a stiff gale at N.E., the sea going hie. We la on shore all night, and gave to the howse xij _mas_, having made hitherto 22 leagues. [19] Aishima. _August 25._--We departed in the mornying from Anushma to a port on the maine of Faccata, called Chuiasaquy,[20] 3 leagues from Anushma, and 19 to short of Shimnaseaque. Here we understood of a small China junck which was entred into a port of Faccatay, 4 leagues hence, called Ginushma, being driven thither per contrary windes, but bound for Firando, laden with suger, purselon, and other matters. But the _Tono_ of Faccata will not let her goe for Firando, but discharg and sell her goodes there. [20] Tsuyasaki. In the margin is also added the name, Wattary. _August 27._--I was enformed this day that the China junk which was at Ginushma, 3 leagues hence, was one of the 3 which the Hollanders took and put their men into. These Chinas, having lost the sight of the Holland shippe, made the 7 Hollanders drunk that were put into the junk, and then cut their throtes; but, the wind being contrary, they could not retorne for China, but passed by Firando and soe put into Faccatay, where they staid not longe but put to sea againe, thinking them selves to neare Firando, where the Hollanders are; and are gone, as the report is, to a harbor on the north part of Japan, called Quitamare. Some are of opinion that the junk which put into the back side of Xaxma or Bongo, whome went to Miaco to sell their silke, was lykwais one of them, although it were geven out they were theeves and 71 had stolne that silk and goodes from their owne cuntremen. _August 28._--This day being a festivall day, our host of Wattary (we lying ashore) envited us to dynner at his owne charge. _August 29._--The _bongew_ of Faccata envited us to dyner, and sent me word he was sorry he was out of the place when we arived, otherwais that we should have lodged in his howse. Soe with thadviz of Mr. Nelson we sent hym a present of a peece of damask and a bottell of annise water. And within night, the wind coming sotherly, we waid ancor and put to sea from Watary, and paid out in howse where we la these 5 dais, viz.:-- 1 bar plate to good man howse 2 3 0 And 1 peece green taffety And to his wife, in small plate 0 3 0 And to his littell child 0 1 0 And to his servantes 0 2 0 _August 30._--We arived at Shimenasek this day, about 3 a clock in thafter nowne, having made 20 leagues. Here our host tould me that Leon overtook Capt. Adames before he arived at Osakay, and that the bark Leon went in retorned back per this place 5 daies past, and is gon for Firando, and that the marrenars tould hym Capt. Adames ment to stay for me at Miaco, which God grant. Our host tould me that, before the Hollanders went from this place, there were Japons which brought hym newes how the Hollanders had taken 5 English shipps, 1 of which they had brought into Firando without any Englishmen in her, unto which Capt. Adames said littell, nether tould the Hollanders what the others said unto hym; but that was all one, for one of the Hollanders spoke the Japon tonge. _September 1._--I receved a letter from Capt. Adames, in answer of myne sent hym per Leon thexpres, whome he retorned back unto me with such an unsezonable and unresonable letter as I littell suspected he 72 would have done, saying he was non of the Companies servant, and is, as it seemeth, altogether Holandized, perswading me not to goe up about this matter. _September 3._--We departed from Shimina Seak this day in the mornyng, and paid out to our host, viz.:-- For charg of diet, our selves and servantes 07 2 0 For wyne for bark 01 0 0 For rice for bark, our provition 01 0 0 For herbes and onyons and redesh 00 2 0 Geven the servantes 00 5 0 More, I gave to our hostis 2 musk cods, and to her doughter 1 musk cod, and to 3 _caboques_ 3 musk cods. And at son rising in the mornyng we arived at a place called Yew,[21] under a hill, without howses, having made this day and night past 45 leagues. [21] Yu, in Suwo. _September 4._--We made this day, till night we came to an ancor neare Miwarry,[22] 25 leagues, being 7 leagues short of Bingana Tomo. [22] Mihara, in Bingo. _September 5._--With much adoe we got this day to Bingana Tomo, having made 7 leagues, rowing in raynie wether against the wind. Certen Chinas came to vizet me heare and sent letters by me for Edo, telling me that now they knew well Hollanders theevs and Englishmen trew men and ther frendes. _September 7._--The wind being contrary, I sent away an expres, Leon, with letters to Capt. Adames, as Mr. Nealson did the lyke, to perswade hym from the accompanying the Hollanders, yf it be possible. I also sent other 2 letters in Japons to the King of Firando and Cacayemon Dono, secretary to Oyen Samma. We departed from Bingana Tomo against the wind, and rowed it up to an iland 3 leagues offe, where we came to an ancor, the wind encreasing. Iland called Sherais. We paid at Bingana Tomo, viz.:-- 73 To the howse for charges 06 5 0 To the servantes 00 5 0 For wyne 03 2 0 For wyne for Leon 00 1 5 And I gave Ochora 00 3 0 our hostis a picture and 2 musk coddes; her doughter in law a pictur and 1 musk cod; her doughter a musk codd; to her doughter in laws father a picktur and ij musk coddes. And I paid 2 _tais_ 4 _mas_ to _caboques_. _September 8._--We departed from Sheraish and made this day till son rising next day 15 leagues. _September 9._--We came to an ancor towardes night at a towne called Moro, 30 leages short of Miaco, and stayed the tide; and soe put to sea againe and made 22 leagues till mornyng at son rising. There was 500 barkes at Moro alltogether put to sea towardes Miaco, som of them having staid there 20 daies for a wynd. _September 10._--We arived at Osakay late at night, having made this day 20 leagues. At my coming to this place I fownd Leon, the expres I sent from Bingana Tomo, not yet departed, nether had Grubstreet our host sent away my other letter which came from Firando per conveance of our hostis at Bingana Tono; which gave me small content. Yet in the end I perceved per Grubstreet that Capt. Adames had tould hym I had no reason to complaine against the Hollanders as I did, which was the occation he sent not that letter after hym. Soe here I wrot an other letter to Capt. Adames, and sent both it and the rest per post after Capt. Adames. _September 11._--Tozoyemon Donos wife of Sakay sent me a _sesto_[23] (or basket) of Japon figges and peares, and an other _sesto_ of lyke to Mr. Nealson. [23] Span.: _cesta_. _September 12._--I forgot to note downe that yisterday Mr. Nelson went 74 to Croby Dono, Capt. Adames host, and took a note of all the goodes Capt. Adams wife or Neamon Dono had sent from Edo, to thentent we might better recon with them at our coming to Edo. _September 13._--We went to the governor of Osakay, Shemash Dono, with a present, as also with another to his secretary, viz.:-- 1 fowling peece, damasked. 2 _tatta._ strawculler brodcloth. 3 peeces silk damask, at 6 _tais_ peece. 1 Muskovie hide. And to the secretary:-- ij peces damask, at 6 _tais_ peece. And j pec. rich taffety, as good as the rest. But going to the castell to deliver it, we had answer that the governor slept and the secretary was biden out to a banket. So we retorned without doing anything. I am of opinion our host Grubstreet doth play the gemeny, and per instigation of Capt. Adames, both taking the Hollanders partes for lucar. Yf it be proved soe, God reward them according to their deservinges, and God deliver us from frendly secret fowes. _September 14._--We set forwardes towardes Miaco this morning. I gave our hostis ij pickturs and ij musk coddes; and to Woman Dono 1 pickture, 1 musk cod; to the nurce 1 musk cod; to the Anymall 2 musk cods; and to them in plate bars 9-1/2 _tais_, 2 of which was to the humerus of Mr. Nealson; 1 _tay_ to their _casero_;[24] 1 _tay_ to Shisque Dono, and 1 musk cod; 5 _mas_ to their maid; 5 _mas_ for sowing my bedd. So this night we arived at Fushamy[25] at supper tyme; but our hostes sonne of Miaco met me per the way with a banket. [24] Span.: _casero_, landlord. [25] Fushimi. _September 15._--We departed this mornyng towardes Miaco. 75 _September 16._--We set Mr. Jehan the scribe awork to write out an information against the Hollanders, to deliver up to the Emperour, the coppie whereof I have both in English and Japons. We went to vizet the antient monumentes of Japon, and amongst the rest the pagod, or monument, erected in remembrance of Ogosho Samma, the last Emperour, which, in my opinion, is the most magnificent peece of work which I have seene in Japon, both for the greatenesse and workmanship. And their is 300 _boze_ (or pagon pristes) have alowance and mentaynance for eaver to pray for his sole, in the same sort as munkes and fryres use to doe amongst the Roman papistes, and have their lodginges and buildinges about it in most sumtuouse sort, with a 4 square cloister and other _futtakies_ (or chappels) within the said compas. All which is seated on the side of a mountayne among a greate wood of pine trees, most pleasant to behould. The great _dibattes_, or pagod, standeth in length due north and south, with 100 pillars on a rowe in length and 6 in breadth, the greate idoll or imag standing in the midst of the pagod, looking with his face W.ward. There is 15 pillars in a rank on eache side with lantarns in them go downe to the gate howse W.ward, with on pillar or grete lantarne before the pagod dore. And the other pagod with the 3333 images standeth due S.ward from the said pagod. Our hostes sonne accompanid us and provided bankettes for us in 2 or 3 places in the way. _September 17._--We went and vizeted Inga Dono, the Lord Cheefe Justis of Japon, and carid him a present, viz.:-- 1 fowling peece. 76 2 _tattamis_ black cloth. 1 Russia hide. 2 cakes wax. 3 peeces damaske, cost 6 _tais_ peece. 10 peare specktacles. And to his secretary:-- 2 peeces damask, cost 6 _tas_ peece. 1 pece ruch taffety. And withall I shewed hym the coppie of the information I ment to put up against the Hollanders, wherat he marveled. I said they were theeves, for that allwais till now the Hollanders reported our nation to be the comune theevs of all the world. "But", said he, "yow doe well to make the truth knowne, and your writing is well framed. Soe yow need not dowbt but themperours councell will geve eare unto yow." He gave me a writing to all places where I came, to lett me have horses at ordenary rate, and to all hostes to use me and the rest in my company respectively. The _mackey_ man envited us to supper, where we were well entertayned with dansing beares, and I gave them a bar plate, ill bestowed. _September 18._--I gave our hostis at Miaco 2 pictures and 2 musk cods; and sent 3 musk coddes to Inga Samas secretary; and gave our hostis little doughter 1 musk cod. And I cut a peece white satten lyn to make Mattinga a _keremon_, and gave the rest to our hostis littell doughter, and left the _keremon_ with our hostis to be wrought with silk and gould. Cuemon Dono envited us to supper, where we had kynd entertaynment with dansing beares, to whom I gave a bar plate. _September 19._--This mornyng lowring, calme, droping wether, but, after littell, wind northerly. Raynie wether all day, but much more 77 by night, with an earthquake, etc. We set forward from Miaco towardes Edo, and dyned at Fushamy, whither divers frendes accompanid us with dansing beares (or _caboques_). So we paid out 2 _ichebos_ of 1 _ta._ 6 _m._ 4-1/2 _co._ peec. for dyner; 2 _ichebos_ to _caboques_; 1 _ichebo_ to other women; 200 _gins_ to servantes in howse; 500 _gins_ geven in a howse per way, where our host of Miaco provided a banket. Nota, that our _rockshackes_, 6 of them to carry me to Edo and back againe, were agreed withall for 4 _tais_ 3 _mas_ per peece, we to fynd them victuelles. And horses to cary our provition and presentes, at 5 _tais_ 7 _mas_ per horse; and 7 _tais_ for a horse for Mr. Nealson, to cary things to Edo and then to be free, and pay their owne and horse charges themselves. Also Mr. Nealson paid the horsemasters 50 _tais_ on acco., and 25 _tais_ to the _rockshackes_. About midnight or sowne after was an exceeding greate earthquake, which endured halfe a quarter of an hower. It happened at a towne called Cussattes,[26] 3 leagues from Otes,[27] whither we went this day to supper, having made this day 7 leagues. Soe betyme in the mornyng we departed from Cusattes; and paid out to the howse, for expenses, 4 _ta._, and to the servantes 400 _cash_. [26] Kusatsu. [27] Otsu. _September 20._--A kinsman of our host at Miaco mett us in the way with a banket, having com xx milles; unto whome was geven an _ichebo_. We went to dyner to a towne called Ishebe,[28] where we were constraned to stay all night because the waters were up, that we could not passe by reason of much rayne which happened. We paid for our diet at Ishebe 3 _ta._, and to the servantes 200 _cash_. [28] Ishibe. _September 21._--We dyned this day at a towne called Suchiama,[29] 78 and paid for our diet 1: 6: 4-1/2, and to the servantes 300 _cashe_. And went to supper to a towne called Sheque no Jeso;[30] and paid for our diet with brekfast 2: 6: 0, and to the servantes 300 _cash_. [29] Tsuchiyama. [30] Seki. _September 22._--We went to dyner to a towne called Ishaquish;[31] and paid for our diet 1: 3: 0, and to servantes 100 _cash_. And we went to supper to Quanno,[32] where we were at our arivall (servantes and all) envited to supper by the governor or _tono_, where I have not had better entertaynment since I came into Japon. I had laid out a present of a peece damask, a bottell Spanish wyne, and an other of annis water, to have geven hym, with 3 musk coddes; but he refuced it, saying he would not take any thing till I retorned from themperour, his master, offering me barkes for nothing to carry me and all the rest over the water to Mia, 7 leagues; which I thanked hym for, having hired others before. And soe per night we departed from Quano per water; and gave our host, for use of his howse and _rackshackes_ diet, 1 _ichebo_. [31] Ishiyukushi. [32] Kuwana. _September 23._--Som 2 howers before day we arived at Mia,[33] at Fox my hosts, where we brok fast and laded our horses, being 14. And paid for our diet and travell 1: 6: 4-1/2, and gave the servantes 1 C. of _cash_ or _gins_. And we went to dyner to Cheru;[34] and paid diet 1: 3: 0, and to servantes 1 C. _gins_. Here we met themperours eldest sister with a greate trayne after her. And sowne after we met the Portingalls retorned from the Court at Edo, it being 8 daies past since they departed from thence. They say the Hollanders delivered their present and had audience the same day. Soe we went to Occa Sackey[35] to bed, having made this day but 7 79 leagues; and paid for diet night and mornyng 2 _ichebos_, 3: 2: 9, and to servantes ij C. _gins_. This towne Ogosho Sama was borne in. [33] Miya. [34] Chiriu. [35] Okazaki. _September 24._--We dyned at Acca Sackey[36] and paid diet 1: 3: 0, and to servantes j C. _gins_. We mett this day in the way Soyemon Dono and Semi Dono, of Firando, going downe from Edo to Firando, but about what busynes I could not learne. Soyemon Dono tould me that themperour knew of the Hollanders theft and that I was coming up to the Cort. And after, when I mett Semi Dono, he wonderd at the matter, and said nether themperour nor King of Firando knew nothing thereof; but I think he dealeth dubly, etc. We went this night to bed to Yoshenda,[37] having made this day but 7 leagues; and paid for diet night and morning 2: 6: 0, and to servantes 2 C. _cash_, and to his sonne for a barill wyne 5 C. _cash_. [36] Akasawa. [37] Yoshida. _September 25._--We went to dyner to Famma Mattes;[38] paid diet i _icheboes_, and to servantes 2 C. _cash_ or _gins_. And soe we went to Mitsque[39] to supper, having made this day 12 leagues; and gave for diet night and morning 2: 6: 0, and to servantes 2 C. _gins_. I forgot to note downe that, passing a river, the boatmen misused our servantes and would not let our horses passe, but gave them blowes. Soe I showed them a passport or comand from the great justis of Japon, Inga Dono, wherin he comanded them to geve us free passag without molestation; which seeing they cried pecavie and followed after me 2 leagues to aske pardon, many other neighbours accompanyng them to speak in their behalfe, for they knew full well, yf I had made complaint, it had cost them their lives. [38] Hamamatsu. [39] Mitske. _September 26._--We went to dyner to Cagingaua,[40] a towne wherin 80 themperours unckle dwelleth; and paid diet 1: 4: 0, and to servantes 2 C. _cash_. And met a servant of Semi Donos by the way, lame, unto whome, he asking for God sake, we gave 300 _gins_, etc. Also I met Gonrok Dono, the _bungew_ of Langasaque, going downe from Edo, whoe took knowledg of me before I knew hym, and offerd me much kyndnes in wordes, etc. Soe we went to bed to Cainagh,[41] having made this day 8 leagues. At this place I met a China coming from Edo, per whome I wrot to Andrea Dittis, China Capt., and to Ed. Sayer and Jno. Osterwick, of my arivall in this place. We paid for diet here 3: 2: 9, and to servantes 3 C. _gins_. [40] Kakegawa. [41] Kanaya. _September 27._--Raynie wether; per night a very storme or tuffon. We passed the great river[42] and went to dyner to a towne called Fugieda;[43] and paid diet 1: 3: 0, and to servantes 2 C. _gins_. And paid 40 men, to helpe us over the deepe river without bridg, 1000 _gins_. And went to bed at Shrongo,[44] having made this day 8 leagues, to get over the rivers before they did rize per meanes of this rayne. [42] Oi-gawa. [43] Fujieta. [44] Suruga. _September 28._--We staid all this day at Shrongo by meanes of the raynie wether, and departed from thence the morowe mornyng; and paid for diet all the tyme 4 _ichebos_, is 6: 5: 8, and to servantes 3 C. _gins_. And I gave our hostis a picture and a musk codd. _September 29._--We made this day 7 leagues, going to bed at a place called Cambara,[45] and could goe no farther, the way being fowle and no place of lodging neare. And paid for 3 meales 3: 9: 0, and to servantes 2 C. _gins_. [45] Kambara. _September 30._--We went to dyner to Yoishwarra.[46] Paid to the howse 81 for diet and to servantes 1000 _gins_, is 1: 6: 5. And went to supper to Mishma,[47] at foot of the great mountayne, wherin above 500 howses were burned few daies past. Soe we had but pore lodging, yet paid for diet night and mornyng 2: 9: 5, and to servantes 2 howses 3 C. _gins_. [46] Yoshiwara. [47] Mishima. _October 1._--We went to dyner to a place called Facony,[48] on the top of the mountayne with the greate lake, and paid diet and howse 9 C. _cash_. And we went to bed to Wodowrey,[49] at the other foote of the mountayne, a greate towne all burned the last yeare but one howse. So we made this day 8 leagues. The towne standes by the sea side called Wodowra; from whence I wrot Capt. Adames an other letter per expres that to morrow I ment (God permiting) to be at Edo. And I wrot 2 letters to King Firando and Torazemon Dono to same effect. And we paid for diet at Wodowra 2 _ichebos_, is 3: 2: 9, and to servantes 3 C. _cash_, and to a screvener to writ letters 3 C. _cash_. [48] Hakone. [49] Odawara. _October 2._--We went to dyner to Woiso,[50] where our hostes howse was taken up per the King of Figen. So we dyned at an other place, where I was taken on a sudden with such an extrem wind collick and stoping of my water that I verely thought I should have died. So I sent an other letter to Capt. Adames of my stay per meanes of sicknes. Our new host, seing me sick, would not let me stay in his howse; soe our ould sent for me, when the King of Figen was gon. We paid for our dyner an _ichebo_, is 1: 6: 4-1/2, and to servantes 1 C. _cash_. [50] Oiso. _October 3._--We departed from Woiso and paid howse ij _ichebos_, 3: 2: 9, and to servantes 500 _gins_, is 0: 8: 2-1/2; and I gave children, in silver, 0: 8: 5, and to a maid servant that attended me and warmed clothes all night 1 _ichebo_, and to goodwife of howse a pece rich taffety. This day we met the Hollanders retorned from Edo, 14 leagues short 82 of Edo, 7 Hollanders besides Japon servantes. There was small greeting betwixt us; and so they passed. We went to bed at a place called Todska. _October 4._--Betyme this mornyng, at break of day, we met Capt. Adams, whoe came to meete me 10 leagues from Edo. And sowne after we met 2 horses sent from King of Firando to meete me, attended on by 4 men. And soe we went to dyner to a place called Caningawa;[51] and paid 1 _ichebo_ and 2 C. _gins_ for howse, and to servantes 2 C. _gins_, and for charges kinges horses 438 _gins_, and for colation at Shiningawa[52] 500 _gins_. And sowne after we met on of the King of Firandos gentelmen sent to meete me, with pikes carid before hym, to accompany me into the towne; and sowne after Yada Dono and Capt. Adames his children with a banket, before our entrance into the cittie. Soe I gave the King of Firandos men which came with the horses 1000 _gins_, and sent them away. And sent Mr. Nealson with our _jurebasso_ to King of Firando, to thank hym for the honor he had done me, and that I was so weary now after my sicknes I could not com my selfe, but ment to vizet hym to morrow. [51] Kanagawa. [52] Shinagawa. _October 5._--I went to vizet the King of Firando, and delivered hym the letters I brought from his brother, and carid hym a present, viz. 2 _tatta._ of murrey cloth, 1 muskovie hide, 3 peeces damask; and to his brother 2 peeces of damask. And I shewed the information to the _Tono_ of Firando that I ment to put up to the Emperour against the Hollanders, which he read over with silence, and then called Torazemon Dono to see it; whoe having read it over, looked somthing sowerly on the matter, for he was allwais a great frend to Hollanders. _October 6._--Capt. Adames with Torazemon Dono and our _jurebasso_ 83 went to the Court to know when we might have audience of themperour and deliver our present, but they fownd so many noble men geving presentes to themperour, it being the 28th day of the moone (and a festivall day), that they could have noe answer, and soe were put affe till to morow. The King of Firando sent me a present of a barill wine, and a table of cuttell fish drid. _October 7._--I wrot a letter to Firando to Ed. Sayer and Jno. Osterwick, with 2 others to China Capt. and Matinga. In that to China Capt. I wrot for my _goshon_. These letters sent per horsmen. Codgskin Dono sent me a present of greate peares, of 2 spans about one peare. Also I rec. a letter from Semi Dono, dated in Miaco, as he also wrot an other to Capt. Adames to same effect, to gett hym out a _goshon_ for Cochinchina. Soe this night Torazemon Dono came and brought me the letter with the ould _goshon_, and Caqemon Dono came in company with hym and an other gentellman of King of Firando. They used many speeches to perswade me from putting up this writing which I have made against the Hollanders, which I esteme is Torazemon Donos doing, for that he hath allwais byn a frend to Hollanders. _October 8._--Capt. Adames was sent for to the Court, soe that I thought we should have delivered our present to themperour this day. But he remayned there from nowne till night, and had not one word spoaken to hym. _October 9_ (_Conguach_ 1th).--Capt. Adames sent his man to Firando and soe for Languasakey with a _goshon_ for Fingo Shiquan, per whome I sent the letters for Firando. And gave hym an _ichebo_ to spend per way. This day we went and delivered our present to themperour, viz.:-- 2 fowling peeces. 84 1 de. cloth, black. 1 de. sadd blew. 10 peeces damask and satten. 104 _cattis_ wax. 10 _cattis callamback_. 25 _cattis_ silke. _October 10._--Capt. Adames went to Cort with our _jurebasso_, and it was ordayned to morow we should vizet the prince with a present, I meane themperours eldest sonne. _October 11._--We carid a present to the Prince Wacange Samme:-- 1 fowling peece. 3 _tatta._ black clo. 3 _tatta._ primeroz. 5 peece damaskes or stuffes. 1 cake wax. 1 peec. _calemback_. 4 bundelles silk. We attended a greate while to have entrance to the prince after our present was carrid in, and in the end were put affe till to morrow, I doe think by instigation of som from the _Tono_ of Firando, who enformed them we came to make processe against the Hollanders. Once we retorned back, and left the present behind. _October 12._--This day we carid the present to the Prince Wacange Samme, or rather delivered it to hym, yt being well accepted of; and the Emperours factor went with us. _October 13._--We carid our presentes to Oyen Dono, and to his secretary; and to Codgskin Dono, and to his secretary. More presentes geven to Emperours Councell, viz. to Oto Dono, Tushma Dono, Itame Genuske Dono, and their secretaries. _October 14._--We carid presentes to Chana Shogero Dono; to the two admeralles; and to sonne Fongo Samma. The admerall sent a bark for us, to carry us to a howse of pleasure 85 where he was, and entertayned us very kyndly. So at our retorne we gave an _ichebo_ to the barkemen. The singing man and Sugien Donos brother came to vizet me, and brought a barken [baken ?] box of meate for a present. _October 15._--A littell before son rising there happened an earthquake at Edo, but of small contynewance. The King of Firando sent a man to me with a letter which he rec. from Oto Dono, advising hym of the present we gave hym, willing hym to geve us thankes for it. Also Gensero Samma, the kinges brother, sent to envite me to dynner 2 daies hence; but I retorned answer that as yet we had not donne any thing for dispach of our busynes at Cort, but howrly attended the Councells answer; but, having ended, I would com and kisse his Lordshipps handes, etc. _October 16._--We went to see the sepulcre of Ogosho Samma, now new made. A wonderfull peece of work it is, and farr before that of Ticus Samma at Miaco; and neare unto it is an other monument of Sada Dono, father to Codgskin Dono, and a pogo[d] of heathen pristes, with a monument of 2 noble men which kild them selves to accompany Ogosho Samma in an other world, as they think. A servant of Oyen Dono, who kept the monument, made us a colation, and showed us all the singularreties of the place; unto whome we gave an _ichebo_. _October 17._--This day was the great feast of Shecco, all the Japon kinges (or _tonos_) viseting themperour with presentes. Soe we could doe nothing at Cort. _October 18._--Capt. Adams went to Cort remayning there all thafter nowne; but themperour went a fowling, soe nothing was donne for our dispach. I sould this day 5 _tay_ wight of corall for 43 _tais_. _October 19._--I forgot to set downe how Cakeyamon Dono came to vizet 86 me, telling me he came new out of cuntrey from the funerall of Oyen Donos wife. He also advized me that I should not think ill of hym, yf he ware forward in wordes to speake in the Hollanders behalfe in presence of the King of Firandos people, for that he did it of purpose. This is a craftie fello. I sent hym a present this day, viz. 1 pece fugered satten, cost 8 _tais_; 1 branch corall, containing 2 _mas_ 9 _condrins_. The King of Firando sent one of his gentellmen to vizet me, with many complementall wordes and offers of greate frenshipp, and that he wanted not to labour to get our dispach. I retorned his Highnes many thankes; but rather imagin he standeth in dowbt we goe about to get lycense to send our shiping to Langasaque, in respect we desire to be apart from the Hollanders, and in that he is not deceaved. But whether it will take effect or no, I know not, only the Emperours factor sent me word per Capt. Adames it would. _October 20._--We went and vizeted Oyen Dono, the secretary, but had but one word with hym, he only biding us wellcom and so went to Cort. I thought to have delivered hym the writing I had made against the Hollanders; but he went away without it, although he saw me have it in my hand. So I gave it to his secretary, Cacakayemon Dono, whoe of hym self promised me to deliver it to hym at his retorne. I also went and vizeted the King Firando, and carid hym 3 branches corall, containing 5 _mas_, and a bottell of strong water; and to his brother a branch of corall containing 2 _mas_ 2 _condrin_. The king I fownd in company with certen caveleros whoe went lyk wais to vizet hym, he being very weake and full of the French disease, soe I think he will not live longe. _October 21._--I went and vizeted the Emperours merchant or factor, and carid hym a present of 2 branches corall, containing 5 _mas_, with a bottell hoot distild water. I receved 18 _tais_ for 18 _mas_ wight corall of my owne, and 2 _tais_ 87 for a landshast of Companis, sould per Capt. Adams. We were envited to dyner to Yada Dono, where we were kyndly entertayned. _October 22._--I sould 18 _mas_ 1 _condrin_ wight of corall at 10 per one silver, is 18 _tais_ 1 _mas_, trusted. Capt. Adames was all day at Cort, expecting answer for our dispach, but did nothing, most of the Councell being gon to honer a pagod where Ogosho Samas was bured, 3 daies journey hence, the seremony being to be observed the 17th day of this moone after Japon stile, which was the day of this buriall. _October 23._--Capt. Adames was all day at Cort to get our dispach, but retorned without doing of any thing. _October 24._--Not having busynes to doe by meanes the Councell were abcent about seremones of the ould Emperours mortuary, we went and vizeted the pagod of Otongo, which these people hould to be the god of darknes (or hell), as the antientes called Pluto. It standes on the topp of a hill which overlooketh all Edo, and the idoll (or picture) of Otongo is made in forme lyke a devill, with a hooked nose and feete lyke a griffon, and riding upon a wild boare. He was painted after severall formes, but allwais monted upon a wild boare, which the people say was his blason or armes. And for that entent there is a greate wild boare alive kept in a cage (or frank) at the foote of the hill, which I saw at my entrance. And there goeth an upright peare of [s]ton staie[r]s of 69 stepps, of a lardg breadth, leading directly up to the pagod; but an easier way is to goe compas about the hill. There was many people went to vizet that place, and their use is to goe 3 tymes rownd about the pagod mumbling out serten prayers. This I marked of dyvers. From thence we went to an other pagod, where the eldest sonne of 88 Ogosho Samma (a valient man) lyeth bured in a stately monument. This pagod is the seate of the greate or high bushopp of Japon, next after the _deyre_. His people used us very kyndly, and opened the dores of the monument, and let us enter in, and opened the secret place where the idoll of the dececed was placed, whereat all the Japons fell prostrate and adored it. And from thence they led us into the bushops chappell or oratory, all sett out with idolls and lamps, nether more nor lesse then in the papist churches, before which idolls the Japons did likewais fall downe and worship. This pagod (or monestery) was erected to the honor of Amida, a greate saint of China, equaled with Shacca. And I gave an _ichebo_ to them which shewed us these matters, and so retorned hom. _October 25._--Fongo Dono, the ould admerall, sent me a present of frute with a letter from his manor howse, 17 leagues hence. Capt. Adames was all day at Cort to get our dispach; but had nothing from the Councell but a nod and smiling countenance. _October 26._--Mr. Nealson did but ask Capt. Adames for 10 shire maps without frames, which per his acco. he hath resting in his handes; but he fell into such a chafe about that matter, telling them which were about hym, in the Japon tong, that this was not the first tyme we had charged hym with falce accomptes and after reconynges. Truly I was ashamed to heare hym in such a humor; yet, after, yt seemed he recanted, for he came to me and asked me yf I know of any such matter. And I answerd hym, it apered by Mr. Eatons accompt that he had them, wherof I know yow (_sic_) have a coppie under his owne hand. So he went away, and said nothing to the contrary. Matabio Oye Dono, our host of Oisa,[53] sent me a letter with a present of 2 greate fyshes, to know whether I were in health or no, 89 for that I was sick in his howse, and not heard any news whether I were recoverd or noe. He sent this man 16 leagues with this present only to see how I did. So I gave his man an _ichebo_ of gould to pay for his horshier and wrot a letter to his master. We went this day to vizet a greate temple of Yemia Fachman, the god of war, with an other god, as they take it, joyned with hym, which every 18th day of eache moone the people goe on pilgremage to offer to the shrines; and this was the 18th day, which made me the more willing to goe to see it being accomplished, with Capt. Adames, Mr. Nealson, and others. And I doe verely thinke there were above 100,000 people, men, women, and children, which went this day upon devotion to that place, and in many places in the way were comodies (or plaies) to be seene, and other showes; and before the temple the sorserars or witches stood dansing, with knottes or bunches of hawcks belles made fast to sticks, which they held in their hands, mumbling over sertayne prayers. But that which I tooke most note of was of the liberaletie and devotion of these heathen people, whoe thronged into the pagod in multetudes, one after an other, to cast money into a littell chapell before the idalles, most parte, or rather all which I could see, being _gins_ or bras money, whereof 100 of them may vallie som 10_d._ str., and are about the bignes of a 3_d._ English money; which coyne (or brasse money) they cast in by handfulles, and then came out of the temple, delivered a writing to one that sat within the dore, who piled them one on the top of the other. And so the pilgrams turned on the left hand of the entry of the pagod, and in a gallery went 3 tymes about it, and soe departed away. There was many 100 of gentellmen which went on horsback to doe these devotions in the forme as afforsaid. And soe, as we retorned, we went into a _vento_[54] or tavarne, where 90 we dyned of presentes and bankets which were brought us; and gave to the howse 500 _gins_, and the servantes 100 ditto. Cacayemon Dono came to vizet me, and tould me many matters, how his master and all the rest of the Councell were offended against the Hollanders, etc. [53] Oiso. [54] Span. _venta_, a roadside inn. _October 27._--Capt. Adams went to Cort about our busynes, and there saw Jno. Yoosen, the Hollander, delivering up a present to themperour and getting out a _goshon_. Mr. Nealson envited Cacayemon Dono and Torazemon Dono to supper this night, and had the dansing beares. This day at 4 clock after nowne an earthquak. _October 28._--Chauno Shrogero Dono, Emperours factor, sent me a letter of his retorne to Edo; and I retorned hym answer, desiring his frendship to procure us Emperours _goshon_ to carry our shiping to Langasaque. Capt. Adams went againe to Cort, to gett our dispach, but retorned only with a nodd from the counsellors, with a smile. Also he understood that for 3 daies space Jno. Yoosens present is not yet deliverd, although he tendered it each day. And I had forgotten to note downe that Caquemon Dono, secretary of Oyen Dono, tould me that the said Yoosen brought a present to his master, which he asked hym whether it were stolne goodes or noe, for that, said he, the Hollanders are now well knowne to be comune theevs, etc. Also, Capt. Adams being at Cort, Oyen Dono asked hym wherefore he came; whereunto he answered that he came for the dispach of thenglish Capt. "Whie," said he, "is he not gon? It is almost a month past since I thought he had byn gon." This he spoake in hearing of Jno. Yoosen, and soe went away laughing, for what event I know not, only Capt. Adames thought it was in mocking ye Hollanders. _October 29._--Capt. Adames went to castell to have gotten our 91 dispach, but retorned without doing any thing, the Emperour being gon to looke on them which shott at blank with hand guns or kalivers. Also he saw Jno. Yoosen, the Hollander, still with his present unreceaved, attending their pleasures. Capt. Adames went to Cort to get our dispache, and the Councell gave hym order to com to them to morow morning, for that they would talke with hym. The Emperour went this day a fowling, and with his owne handes kild 5 elkes (or wild swans), which coming out to send them abroad to his brothers and frendes (after his retorne to his pallace or castell), he saw Jno. Yoosen stand in a corner with his present, and asked what he was; and, being knowne, he went away asking whether he were a Hollander, and yt was answersd hym yea. "Whie," said he, "it is reported this fellow is much indebted and will not pay his creditors." Unto which a frend of his answered, it was to the Hollanders, his cuntremen, and to noe others; wherin his frend lied, for he oweth to divers others. Yet upon this report his present was receaved. _October 31._--I went and vizeted Chawno Shrogero Dono, and desird hym to be a meanes to get our dispach; and he tould me he would, and for our going to Langasaque with our shiping, we might doe it yf we would, as well as to Firando, for that it was all one to this Emperour, soe we might doe it. Capt. Adames went to Cort, as the Councell did bid hym, but attended most parte of the day, and then retorned without geting out our dispache. _November 1._--This day we reconed with Yadeo Dono, partner with Neamon Dono; but much trowble we had with hym, for he would have put lodghier, incomiendo, and servantes wages to acco. for goodes sould, and yet have kept all the profit to them selves, over and above the bare prise left with them, they having, upon my knowledg, sould it for 92 much more. Also he would have put som thinges sould at a lower price then it was left at, with other unreasonable matters. Soe I referd all to Capt. Adames to make an end of it, without going to law, where I am ashewered we should have fownd small right, as I have known per experience. _November 2._--Jno. Yoosen came to vizet me, and brought me a present of sweet meates, enviting me hom to his howse, etc. Yt seemed by his speeches he was not well pleaced with the Hollanders liberallety towardes hym, considering the paynes he had taken for them, for which he hath the ill will of the _Tono_ of Firando and divers others. Capt. Adames went to Cort to get our dispache, but themperour was gon out a hawking and the Councell a feasting; soe nothing was donne. _November 3._--I receved three letters per expres, viz.:--1 from Ed. Sayer and Jno. Osterwick, dated in Firando, 2th October; 1 from Capt. Whaw, China Capt., at Langasaque; 1 from Jno. _jurebasso_ at Firando--all to sett out 2 _goshons_ for Chinas, yf I can, one for Tonkin, and other for Taccasanga. Capt. Adames went to Cort to get our dispach, but retorned without doing anything. Only Oyen Dono asked hym whether I were gon or no. Unto whome he answerd, how I could goe without lycence of themperour. So he tould hym I did well, and that we should forthwith be dispached. There was 3 Japons of Langasaque with presentes to get out _goshons_ for Cochinchina; but they and their presentes were sent away without any answer, but that they might com an other tyme, viz. Capt. Barnardo, Cutarro or Gotarro, Manuel Gonzalves man. _November 4._--I went to Oyen Dono, accompanid with Capt. Adams and Mr. Nealson, and by good fortune met hym in the street at his owne 93 dore, desyring his Lordshipp to get us our dispach from themperour, which he promised to procure forthwith, being ashamed (as he said) we staid soe longe, and with all tellinge me he was beholden to me. _November 5._--Yisternight at 10 a clock was an earthquake, which for a good while shooke very much. Capt. Adames went to Cort to get our dispache, and was answerd we should be dispached to morow. The Japons presentes, which came for _goshons_, were receved. _November 6._--The Emperour sent me 20 silk _keremons_ (or coates) for a present, wherof I gave 2 to Capt. Adames, 2 to Mr. Nealson, and 1 to our host of Miaco, Magazemon Dono. _November 7._--I forgot to note downe that there was a comett (or blasing star) which hath appeared this 5 or 6 daies som hower before day, easterly, a littell to the southwards; but it is so neare the sunne that we could see nothing but the teale, yt being of a hudg leangth, and doth, by littell and littell, draw to the westward, sotherly. Also this day I went and took my leave of all the lordes of the Councell, but spoake with none but Oyen Dono. And, as we retorned, about 10 a clock, hapned a greate earthquake, which caused many people to run out of their howses. And about the lyke hower the night following hapned an other, this cuntrey being much subject to them. And that which is comunely marked, they allwais hapen at a hie water (or full sea); so it is thought it chanseth per reazon is much wind blowen into hollow caves under grownd at a loe water, and the sea flowing in after, and stoping the passage out, causeth these earthquakes, to fynd passage or vent for the wind shut up. _November 8._--We dyned at King of Firandos brothers, where we were kindly entertayned, and I carid him a _barso_ of wyne and a fresh salmon for a present. The people in this place did talke much about this comett seene, that 94 it did prognosticate som greate matter of warr, and many did ask me whether such matters did happen in our cuntrey, and whether I knew what it did meane or would ensue therof; unto which I answerd that such many tymes have byn seene in our partes of the world, but the meanyng therof God did know and not I. _November 9._--Capt. Adams was sent for to Cort about our _goshon_ of last yeare, to know what junk it went in to Cochinchina, and, as it is thought, Andrea Dittis, the China Capt., hath deceaved me, and delivered my _goshon_ to Seme Dono at Firando and served his turne in his junck, which now is com out. These matters are com to light per meanes of seeking out the truth of sturrs which happened in Cochinchina with Japons against Chinas, whereof the King of Cochinchina advized themperour of their unrulynesse; soe that it is thought noe _goshons_ will be geven out for that place this yeare. The comet apered this mornynge greater then any tyme before. _November 10._--I went to Chawna Shogero Dono this morning to desire hym to get out our _goshon_, which he promised me he would, and desird to buy som corall of me, yf I had any. Soe I sent hym that which I had, out of which he took 9 _mas_ 4 _condrin_ wight, and would have sent me money for it; but I gave it hym. Towardes night Torazemon Dono and an other gentellman came to vizet me from King of Firando, unto whome I made knowne how Semy Dono had used me about my _goshon_, which was thoccation I was staied heare soe long tyme without my dispach from themperour. _November 11._--I went and tooke leave of King of Firando, I being ready to retorne to morrow for Miaco, and fownd him very weake and sick; yet he gave me very kind entertaynment, and wrott letters (as he tould me) to his brother and Semy Dono, to pay me the rest of money 95 he oweth to the Company and to doe me justice against Gorezano and all others. And before night Torazemon Dono and wrot me a joynt letter to deliver them my _goshon_ for use of Semi Dono; which I denyed, and wrot them answer therof. _November 12._--I went to Cawno Shogero Dono about the report geven out of selling my _goshon_, and he tould me that the capt. of Semi Donos junck is com up and witnesseth that Semi Dono sould hym my _goshon_ for 300 _taies_; so that, yf the matter should com in question before the Emperour, it would cost som men their lives. Yet, for his parte, he would doe the best he could to amend all, and said it was better I stayd here 2 or 3 daies to se all ended, for, yf I went away, nothing would be donne. _November 13._--The comet doth contynew still till this day, drawing towardes W. southerly. About 10 a clock at night a fyer began in the north parte of the citty of Edo; but it was calme wether; otherwais much hurt had byn donne. Yet ther were a few howses of pristes (or _boses_) servantes with 5 pagon temples burned in 3 divers places a greate distance one from an other, many merchantes howses and tradesmens howses betwixt, and yet it passed over all them without doing harme, and only burned downe the other, as aforsaid; which many esteeme a handy work of God. _November 14._--I forgot to note downe how the night past, when the fire was neare to the King of Firandos howse and Cakayemon Donos, I sent 8 or 10 men to have holpen them, yf need required; but the streetes were so stopped that non could passe but one as a messenger, to tell them of my good meanyng, which they took in good part. _November 15._--There was presentes geven to Andrea and Maddalyna, his wife, Mrs. Adams sister, in repect they had sent us presentes of 2 96 _barsos_ wyne, frute, and a fresh salmon, and came from Orengaua, 2 daies journey, to vizet us, viz. 1 peece velvett, 1 pece damask, and 5 _mas_ wight corall. Mr. Nealson fell sick on a sudden of a fever with a bloody flux, in greate extremety; so we sent for one of kinges chirurgions, to take his councell, Mr. Nealson being very ernest to be lett blood; but he councelled the contrary, saying it was nothing but an extreme cold he had taken which drove hym into this excesse or fever, which, out of dowbt, was his syting in his shert and a gowne 2 or 3 howrs together on the topp of the howse, to look at the fyre when the pagods were burned 2 nightes past. _November 16._--Yisternight about 10 a clock was an other fyre. _November 17._--We went to see the Emperours eldest brothers howse, called Shrongo Samma, being envited to doe it per the ould Emperours cook, who sent me a present at Shrongo and came hither and vizeted me 2 or 3 tymes since with presentes, besides this frenship. So I sent hym a peece of damask for a present. This howse we saw cost the workmanshipp, besides the tymber and all other stuffe, 34000 bars of Oban gould at 13_l._ 10_s._ str. per bar. And his 2 yonger brothers have made 2 other howses adjoynying unto yt, not much inferior to the others. And it is to be considered that all these buildinges are of tymber, covering and all, but soe guilded over with gould, both within and without, that it sheweth most gloriouse to the eye, but endureth but 20 or 30 yeares, and then build an other new; which they accompt a greate glory and take it a base thing to dwell in a howse builded by his predecessors. Capt. Adames went to Court againe to get our dispach, but did nothing. Soe he talked with Chawno Shogero Dono about my departure from hence to morrow, I having busynes at Miaco and else where, and that Capt. 97 Adames, havyng busynes to stay heare 4 or 5 daies after me, might bring it with hym. _November 18._--We departed from Edo this day, after nowne, and gave presentes as followeth:--To Capt. Adames 2 _tatta_ black cloth, and one peece damask; and to Mrs. Adames 1 peece cushen velvett, 1 peece damaske, and 5 _mas_ wight corall; and to Mrs. Adames sonne Josephe 1 pec. velvet; and to his doughter Susanna 1 pec. damask; and to his wives mother 1 pec. damask; and to Tome Dono, _jurebasso_, 1 pec. taffety; and to Jacobe Dono, his clark, 1 pec. taffety. And geven to servantes in house 2800 _gins_; and paid for our diet 160 _tais_. And so we went to bed to Sheningaua, 2 leagues from Edo; and paid charges, supper and breckfast, 4: 1: 6, and to servantes 400 _gins_. _November 19._--An hower before day we saw an other comet (or blasing starr) rising just east, in the constellation of Scorpio. It is a mighty comet, and, in my opinion, bigger then that which was seene when Sebastian, King of Portingall, was slayne in Barberry.[55] And paid for a colation at Caningaua[56] 400 _gins_. And for dyner at Todska[57] 1000 _gins_. And for ferrying over water 300 _gins_. And so we went to bed to Oyse;[58] and paid for supper and breakfast 2 _ichebos_, and to servantes 300 _gins_. [55] Slain in battle in Marocco, 4th August, 1578. [56] Kanagawa. [57] Totska. [58] Oiso. _November 20._--We broke fast at Wodowra,[59] and paid 1000 _gins_. And dyned at Facony,[60] and paid 1000 _gins_. And la all night at Mishma;[61] and paid for supper and breakfast 3: 8: 0, and to servantes 400 _gins_. [59] Odawara. [60] Hakone. [61] Mishima. _November 21._--We went to dyner to Yoishwarra,[62] 1000 _gins_; and to supper to Yegery,[63] and paid 3: 0: 7, and to servantes 200 _gins_. 98 And paid at passag at Fagicaw[64] 300 _gins_. The first comet was not seene after this night. [62] Yoshiwara. [63] Ejiri. [64] Fujikawa. _November 22._--We dyned at Shrongo;[65] and paid 2: 6: 0, and to the servantes 200 _cash_. And soe we went to supper to Fugida;[66] and paid to the howse night and morning 3: 2: 5, being in 2 _ichebos_, and to servantes 300 _gins_. [65] Suruga. [66] Fujieta. _November 23._--We dyned at Nisakay;[67] and paid 1 _ichebo_, and to servantes 200 _gins_. And went to supper to Meetsque,[68] and paid for night and mornyng diet 2 _ichebos_ and 500 _gins_, and to servantes 300 _gins_. [67] Missaka. [68] Mitske. _November 24._--We went to dyner this day Famma Mattes,[69] where, Mr. Nealson being sick, we staid the rest of the day, and paid for dyner, breckfast, and supper 4 _ichebos_ 200 _gins_; and for passage at a river 600 _gins_; and to _rockshakes_ to cary Mr. Nealson 300 _gins_. [69] Hamamatsu. _November 25._--We dyned at Arra,[70] and paid 1 _ichebo_ and 1 [hundred ?] _gins_; and for passage at a river 500 _gins_; and to _rockshakes_ to cary Mr. Nealson 1000 _gins_ or _ichebo_. And so we went to supper to Ushinda,[71] and paid evenyng and mornyng 2 _ichebos_; and to servantes 300 _cash_ or _gins_; and 1 _ichebo_ for 5 cutt _tattams_ spoiled per our people. The 5 _tattams_ afforsaid were cut by Co John and 2 other knaves, as we went up, unknowne to me till Capt. Adames had receved a letter therof. [70] Arai. [71] Yoshida. _November 26._--We dyned this day at Acca Sackey;[72] and paid 1 _ichebo_, with 100 _gins_ to the servantes. And went to supper to Occa Sackey;[73] and paid 2 _ichebos_ and 500 _gins_, and to servantes 300 _gins_. This day we mett the _Dyres_ women going towardes Edo to fetch one of 99 themperours doughters to be married to the _Daire_. [72] Akasawa. [73] Okazaki. _November 27._--We went to dyner to Mia,[74] and paid 1 _ichebo_ and 400 _gins_ to howse and servantes; and passed from Mia to Quano[75] per water; paid barkhier 1 _ichebo_ 920 _gins_. And paid for diet at Quano, night and morning, 2 _ichebos_ 400 _gins_ to howse and servants. And to our ould host for his pains 1 _ichebo_, and to an other man which brought a present 6 _mas_ 8 _condrin_; they taking paynes to goe to the King of Quanno, to whome I ment to have geven a present for his kyndnes as we passed towardes Edo, but he was not within; so his secretary exskewsed the receving thereof, with many kynd wordes that he would mak it known to his master. But there was 5 musk cods geven the Admerall, borowed of Richard King. And in the mornyng, as we were going out of the towne, the street being full of hackneymen and horses, they would not make me way to passe, but fell a quareling with my _neremoners_, and offred me greate abuse, som of the townsmen taking their partes. But, when they saw me about to goe to the _tono_ to complaine, they made frendes to speak unto me, and asked me forgivnes on their knees: they being in danger of lyfe, yf I complained. [74] Miya. [75] Kuwana. _November 28._--We dyned at Ishaquese,[76] and paid 1 _ichebo_ 200 _gins_; and went to supper to Sheque,[77] and spent night and morning diet 2 _ichebos_ and 500 _gins_, and to servantes 300 _gins_. [76] Ishiyakushi. [77] Seki. _November 29._--We went to dyner to Chuchamy,[78] and paid 1 _ichebo_ and 400 _gins_ for diet and servantes. And to supper to Ishebe;[79] and paid for dyet 2 _ichebos_ and 200 _gins_, and to servantes 300 _gins_. [78] Tsuchiyama. [79] Ishibe. _November 30._--In passing by Cousattes,[80] our host sent his sonne 100 to desyre us to enter into his howse, and made us a banket. Soe I gave hym an _ichebo_, and 100 _gins_ to servantes. And at Setto,[81] 2 leagues short of Oates, our host Magamon Dono had provided a banket for us. And so we dyned at Oates,[82] and paid 1 _ichebo_ and 200 _gins_ to the howse, and 300 _gins_ to the servantes; and betwixt Oattes and Miaco Skengoro Dono and Makey Dono mett us in 2 severall places with bankettes. Soe this night we arived at Miaco, haveing made 10 leagues this day. [80] Kusatsu. [81] Zeze. [82] Otsu. _December 2._--We were envited to Cuemon Donos sonne to dyner, where we had very niggardly fare for our selves and worse for our servantes. This fello is Grubstretes sonne, and worse then the father, and that needes not. _December 3._--Our hosts kinsman, dwelling at Oates, brought me 5 salted cod fish and Mr. Nealson 3 for a present. He mett us at a towne beyond Oates, 2 leagues, with a banket at our retorne from Edo, and with an other as we went. _December 4._--I bought and paid for my selfe, viz.:-- 3 duble womens gerdelles, cost 03 1 0 3 duble wo. gerdelles, cost 04 2 0 1 duble gerdell ditto, cost 02 4 0 Watty of silke for a _keremon_ 00 8 0 1 halfe peece ben silk to lyne a _keremon_ 04 1 0 --------- 14 6 0 And we bought 10 bundelles writing paper, cost 8 _tais_. _December 5._--We were envited to dyner to Mackey Dono and had kynd entertaynment. And he gave me a pike for a present. And there were presentes geven to Shebe Dono, Grubstreetes sonne; and to Magamon Donos kinsman at Otes. And I paid our hostis for embradoring and making Matingas _keremon_ a 101 bar Coban, 6: 4: 2. _December 6._--Our host of Miacos brother in law envited us to dyner to a place of pleasure without the cittie, where the dansing beares were, with a greate feste. And there came an antick dance of saters or wild men of other Japons, unto whome I gave 1000 _gins_, and a bar of plate to goodman of howse, containing 4: 3: 0. Soe the dansing beares were sent home after us. _December 7._--Giffio Dono delivered us upon his master Tozayemon Donos accompt, as not being sould, viz.:-- 36 Muscovie or Russia hides. 2 peeces stamet bayes, containing 48-1/2 _tattamis_. 1 remnent black bays, " 22 " 1 remnent strawculler bais " 20-3/4 " all brod cloth: No. 013 brodcloth strawculler, containing 07-6/8 _tattamis_. No. 005 ditto strawculler, containing 07-3/4 _tattamis_. No. 330 murey, containing 07-1/12 _tattamis_. No. 204 murey " 07-11/12 " No. 059 popinge " 07-15/16 " No. 511 popinge " 06-3/4 " No. 463 sadd blew " 06-1/2 " And 2 _tatta._ strawculler, no. unknowne. Our hostis sent me a present, viz. 1 _keremon_ for a woman, 2 peare _segdas_ or womans shews, 7 codd fish called in Japon _tarra_. And she sent Mr. Nealson the lyke, with 5 codd fish. And the host of the howse where we hadd the banket brought me a present of eating stuff in 3 boxes. And Cude Dono of Firando brought me a _barso_ of wine and a banket, _nifon catange_. I sould Skengero Dono rest of my corall, containing 5 _ta._ 4 _mas_, for 20 _taies_. _December 8._--We went this night to supper to Fushamy, and gave presentes to Magamon Dono, our host of Miaco; to Skengero Dono, his son; and to our hostis. And I gave her littell doughter an _ichebo_ of gold. And there was paid out for diett 40 _tais_, and to the servantes in 102 howse 3000 _gins_. _December 9._--We went from Fushamy to Osakay this morning, and gave presentes: to our host 2 _tatta_ black bayes; and to his wife one peece ordenary taffety; to his doughter a gerdell, cost 7 _mas_; to Ric. Cocks, his sonne, a coate, a gerdell, and shews, cost 2: 3: 0; to Wickham, his sonne, a gerdell and shews, cost 0: 5: 0. And to servantes in howse 1000 _gins_, and for dyett 10 _tais_. And I gave a bar plate to Maky Donos sonne, containing 4 _tais_, he bringing hym to me to geve hym the name of Richard Cocks. I gave also 1 _tay_ to Mr. Nealsons boyes syster; and 2 _ichebos_ to 2 dansing beares which followd us to Fraccata. _December 10._--I forgott to note downe, the 7th day of this month, after goodes receved of Giffio Dono, that there wanted or rested yet to rec. for his master Toz. Do. acco. goodes left with him. No. 4275, 2 halfe brod cloth strawculler, containing 14-13/32 _tatta._ No. 009, 1 halfe " " " 08-7/65 " No. 021, 1 halfe " " " 08-1/8 " More bayes black wantes 03 " And bayes straw 06 " And in money due per salles 150 6 6 And lent hym at Firando 010 0 0 ----------------- 160 6 6 _December 11._--Capt. Adams arived at Osakay, but brought not the _goshon_ with hym, but left his man to bring it after, non yet being geven out per meanes of the brute betwixt the Japons and Chinas at Cochinchina. _December 14._--Tome Dono the _jurebasso_ retornd to Miaco with his kinsman, and had geven them for horshier 4 _tais_ plate bars. _December 15._--We sould Maky Dono, in truck of _maky_ ware, viz.:-- 1 brod cloth, No. 121, hayrculler, containing 7-17/25 _tat._ 096 0 0 103 1 brd. cloth, No. 286, cynemond, " 6 " 072 0 0 1 brd. cloth, No. 129, strawculler, " 8 " 084 0 0 Stamet bayes 12 _tatta._ at vj _tay tat._ 072 0 0 ------- 324 0 0 ------- For which he is to deliver me, upon my owne accompt, within 5 months after date hereof, in _maky_ ware, viz.:-- 020 scritorios, according to measure, at 11 _tas._ 220 0 0 100 combcases, at 5-1/2 _mas._ peece is 055 0 0 002 beetell boxes for King Syam, at 15 _tais_ pec. 030 0 0 The rest being 19 _tais_ in other ware or money 019 0 0 ------- 324 0 0 ------- Mr. Eatons littell doughter Helena came from Sackay to vizet me, and brought me a banket for a present, Japon fation, brought per her nurce, the mother being sick. And I sent her mother, by her, a bar plate, and gave the nurce 4 _mas_ small plate. And Cuemon Dono, Grubstreet, our host, gave me a present: 1 sleeping silk _kerremon_, 5 codfishes, 5 bundells sea weed drid, 2 _barsos_ of wyne, 1 _barso_ of vinegar; and to Mr. Nealson 1 silk _catabra_. _December 16._--This day we went to Sakay to dyner, to meet Tozayemon Dono, our host, whoe I am enformed is newly arived from Firando, and I would cleare acco. with hym. And, being at Sackay, I bought for Helena, Mr. Eatons child, these thinges following, viz.:-- 2 silk _kerremons_, at 2 _tais_ peece is 4 0 0 2 peare _tabis_, at 9 _condrins_ peece 0 1 8 2 gerdelles in 1 peece, cost 0 3 5 2 pere shew stringes, cost 0 1 0 ------- 4 6 3 ------- _December 17._--I bought this day 104 2 _keremons_, outside silk and inside lynen, cost 2 5 0 1 _kerymon_, all silk, cost 2 0 0 for my boy Larrance. 2 black _kerremons_ for women, of silk 5 2 0 Also I paid for a scritorio with brass garneture 1: 4: 0. _December 18._--We retorned to Osakay; and paid for our diet and other bankettes 15: 0: 0, and to servantes 2: 1: 0. Ther was 3 theevs taken at Osakay and put to deth, being of the consort of 100 roages sworne to robb and spoile all they could, and had a head or master over them. So ther is much looking out after the rest; and were discoverd per a woman. _December 19._--I rec. a _cubo_ (or womans box) from Maky Dono, cost 15 _mas_, which I sent hym by his man; and wrott hym a letter to make me 10 chirurgions boxes and 10 salvatoris to them, _maky_ ware. _December 20._--Yechere Dono, _alius_ Cynemon Dono, brought me a present of 2 barrilles of wyne. And I bought for Woman Dono:-- 1 _kerremon_, cost 5 0 0 More, for silk watto to put into it 0 8 0 More, 1 gerdell, cost 0 7 0 More, 2 peare _tabis_, cost 0 3 7 More, 2 peare stringes for them, cost 0 1 3 And geven her in money to buy oyle 1 bar plate 2 5 0 --------- 9 5 0 --------- Susannas uncle sent me a letter from Sakay with 2 pewter bottelles for a present. _December 21._--This day at nowne we sett forwardes towardes Firando, and gave out presentes to Cuemon Dono, host at Osakay, to his wife, Luisa Dono, and to their sonne. And for our diet in plate bars 65: 0: 0. And 1 bar plate to Gifio Dono of Sakay for riding up and downe about 105 busynes. And there was 2 _ta._ 4 _ma._ paid per Mr. Nealson for a barke to carry us aboard. And our hostes sonne and other frendes, with Capt. Adams, accompanid us to Dembo, 2 leagues from Osakay, where we road at an ancor all night, the wind being contrary. _December 22._--Cuemon Dono, _alius_ Grubstreet, our host, came aboard our bark within night with a banket. And I wrot a letter to Capt. Adams of our stay this day per meanes of contrary wynd and tide. Unto which he retorned answer, and sent me 50 _muchos_ (or loves of bread). _December 23._--We set forward from Dembo, or rather Incobe, at Osakay this mornyng, passing the bar of Osakay, and arived at Fiugo[83] at nowne. The wind being contrary, we staid at an ancor all night, having mad 10 leagues this day. After this night, the comett, or blasing starr, was seene noe more, and ended under the 3d starr in Chorls wayne or Ursa maior. [83] Hôgo. _December 24._--We tarryed all day and night at Fiungo. _December 25._--We gave rice and fish to all our barkmen to dyner this day, with a _barso_ of wine, in respect of Christmas Day. And meeting with a man of Yechero Donos, I wrot a letter to Capt. Adames of our puting into this place per meanes of contrary wind, and that yf he understood Tozsayemon Dono were arived at Sackay, to send me a letter expres per a _tento_, to thend that yf the wind remeaned contrary, I might put back to Sackay, or else send Mr. Nealson, to look out for the 1000 _taies_. _December 27._--We departed from Fiungo, and paid to the host 4: 0: 0, and to his littell sonne 0: 3: 1, and to servantes 7: 1: 0. Soe we made 40 leagues this day and night, and came to an ancor at 106 Shemuts,[84] 10 leages short of Bingana Tomo. [84] Shimotsai. _December 28._--The wind being contrary, we staid here all day and night following; and, the wether being cold, we had a fyre made with a few charcoll in my chamber, in a place of purpose for such occation, dawbed about with clea. But it seemeth it was decayed, for, after I was in bedd, it took fyre beloe (not being seene before). And had not som of our servantes byn up late, I had byn burned in my chamber, in such a place that I could not have gotten out. For the fyre began within 2 foote of the place I did lie in upon the mattes; and, when they came in and fownd it, yt flamed up brest hie, but, God be thanked, was sowne quenched without hurt. _December 29._--The _tono_ or king of this place is a yong man called Mats Dayre Cunay Dono, of som 24 years ould; the cuntrey called Bigen[85] Sshmutsa; his revenews esteemed at (as our host his vassall tould me), [86] _mangocos_ per anno. He is now at Edo per themperours comandment; and som 20 yeares past his father builded a greate castell or fortresse in this place, which was pulled downe 4 yeares past, when all (or the most parte of) the fortresses in Japon were dismantelled and utterly ruenated. The ruens of this are to be seene very large at my being heare. We departed from Shemuttes, and arived at Bingana Tomo within night, having made 10 leagues. Sent a bark to Miwarry[87] to buy 30 _barsos morofack_ to carry to Firando. [85] Bizen. [86] Blank in MS. [87] Mihara, in Bingo. _December 30._--I bought and paid for 6 peare _shegdas_, or womans shews, 2 _mas_. _December 31._--The wind being contrary, we could not departe; but receved 14 barilles _morofack_ from Miwarra, cost 16: 5: 2. _January 1, 1618/9._--We departed from Bingana Tomo, although the wind 107 were contrary, and paid out for diet 5: 4: 0, for barkhier and a man to fetch wine from Miwarra 1: 4: 0, to servantes 1: 0: 0. And we gave to our hostis of Bingana Tomo for a present one salmon and 2 codd fysh, and to her doughter a pikture of Christ and two musk codds. Soe we made this day and night following 20 leagues. _January 2._--Raine and heale per night, a very storme or tuffon. So we went but 3 leagues this day, and ancored under an iland or rock. _January 3._--We wayed ancor, and with much adoe gott to an other iland to a roade, the village called Sua, having made this day 5 leagues, but, wind serving after, we gott to Camyna Seak[88] by break of day, having made per night 12 leagues. [88] Kaminoseki. _January 4._--We gott this day and night following from Camina Seake to Chimina Seake[89] by break of day, having mad 37 leagues. But som 8 or 10 leagues short of Shimina Seak our boate ran against a rock in the water, that it was a woonder she was not split in peeces, but being a strong new boate shee had noe hurt. God be praised for it. [89] Shimonoseki. _January 5._--Our host at Chimina Seak came abord of us, and brought me a _barsoe_ of wine and a bundell of drid cuttell fish for a present, but, the wind being good, we did not stay, but put to sea. The wind being contrary, we were forced to put back 3 leagues which we had gotten, and to enter into a port in Faccata called Ashia[90] (or Asha), where we staid all night, and went ashore; and paid to howse 1: 2: 2, and to servantes 0: 2: 2, and for fresh fish bought to carry abord. And so we made this day 10 leagues. [90] Ashiya. _January 6._--We departed this mornyng at sunne rising from Ayshia, and the morow morning, at lyke hower, arived at Langway[91] in 108 Crates, having made per day and night 33 leagues. I forgott to note downe that the towne of Ashia was sett on fire some 10 daies past by drinking of tobaco, where their were above 400 howses burned, and 8 of the ruchest men in the towne burned in adventuring over far to save their monies and goods. Amongest the rest a mynt man was one of them, whome was noted above all others for a badd covetous man and one that had gotten his goodes uncontionably. [91] Nagoya. _January 7._--We departed from Languay at sunne rising, and about 1 a clock were forced by a tempest (or tuffon) of wynd and rayne to put into a harbor of Firando, called Awoe, 7 leagues short of Firando, the sea being so overgrowne that we could not keepe it out to gett to Firando. Soe we made 6 leagues this day. _January 8._--We arived at Firando this day about nowne, having made 7 leagues this day. The _tono_ and all the caveleros sent messengers to bid me wellcom home, and all the neighbours and other frendes came in person to doe the lyke. And at our passing by the English shipp which the Hollanders had taken, they shott affe 3 peeces of ordinance to wellcom me, which I tooke rather in scorne then otherwaies. _January 9._--I sent presentes as followeth, viz.:-- To Tonomon Samma 2 _barsos morofack_ and 2 salmons. To Bongo Sama 1 _barso morofack_ and 1 salmon. To Taccamon Dono the lyke. To Oyen Dono the lyke. To Andrea Dittis, China Capt., 2 _barsos morofack_, and 2 salmons, with one silk _kerremon_ geven me per Emperour; and an other silk _keremon_ same to his sonne Augustine; and a silke gerdell, a pere _morofak tabis_ and string, with a perfumed fan to Capt. Chinas wife; and a box or littell trunk _maky_ ware, and a silverd fanne to his 109 eldest doughter, with a pere _tabis_ and stringes; with an other silverd fan to his yongest doughter. To Ed. Sayer a silk _kerremon_ geven me per Emperour. To Jno. Osterwick the lyke. To Mr. Wickhams woman a silke gerdell, a perfumed fan, a pere _morofak tabis_ and stringes; with the lyke to Mr. Eatons and Mr. Sayers women; and allso to Mr. Nealsons and Mr. Osterwicks women. And to Jno. Portus, Robert Hawley, and Jno. Cooke, eache of them a peare of lether buskins; and to each of their women a peare _tabis_ and stringes, with a silverd fanne. And to Matinga 2 ruch _kerremons_, with 2 gerdelles to them, a womans box, a box to put gerdelles in, a peare _tabis morofak_ with 2 peare stringes, and 2 peare small _beaubes_. And to Susanna a box with a gerdell, a peare of _tabis_ and stringes. And to Otto, Matingas mad, a gerdell, _tabis_ and stringes. And to Gynne, littell Otto, and Besse, each one a pere _tabis_ and stringes. And to littell Wm. Eaton a gerdell, _tabis_, stringes, and silverd fan. And to my boy Larrance, to geve his mother, a gerdell. Also Yoskes father sent me a pigg for a present. _January 10._--I understand that in my abcense at Emperours cort that the Hollanders misused me in speeches, which som frendes hearing reproved them for it, and they made answer, a t---- for me and them to. And after, Mr. Sayer and Jno. Portus going along the streete, the Hollanders cast a cup of wyne in the faces of them. Where upon they grew into wordes, and fell together per the eares; in which broyle Jno. Portus broke a Hollanders pate with his dagger. I doe know that Speck, the Holland Capt., sett them on, otherwais they durst not 110 have donne it. Soe herupon Jno. Osterwick and Jno. Portus went to the Hollandes howse to know what their meanyng was to use us in such sort, and withall to tell hym that yf it were by his instigation, to challeng hym and his second into the feeld to answer Ed. Sayer and Jno. Portus, or any other the prowdest Hollanders he would apoint, yf he durst not doe it hym selfe; that they were base people in respect of thenglish, and I a better man then hym selfe or any Hollander in these partes. Capt. Speck exskewsed hym selfe, and said it was unknowne to hym (yet a lie), and soe put them affe. Yet, after, they did not attempt such matters noe more. Tozayemon Dono, being now ready to retorne for Sackay, wanteth 400 and odd _tais_ of the Somo plate lent hym before my going up. And soe I dowbt he will play the gemeny with us, and that it will not come in tyme to send it for Cochinchina, as it is ordayned. Yet he sayeth he will pay duble yf it com not in tyme. We have now no remedy but patience. We were envited this day to dynner to Andrea Dittis, the China Capt., (all thenglish), where we hadd good cheare. And in the ende he brought me his littell doughter of an yeare ould, called Ingasha, willing me to geve her a Christian name, and esteeme her as my doughter. Soe I gave her the name of Elizabeth. And he gave me a present with her, as followeth, viz:-- _ta. ma. co._ 2 silver candell stickes, poz. 30 0 0 2 silver branches, gouldsmiths work 02 9 8 5 peeces grogran, which I esteem at 4 _ta._ peece 20 0 0 5 peeces cheremis, or silk sipers, estemed at as much 20 0 0 ------------ 72 9 8 ------------ With 2 _barsos_ wyne and 2 fyshes. Capt. Whow sent me 20 pound sitrons for a present. _January 11._--Heale and snowe all day, and lyke per night following. 111 Divers caveleros sent me frute and other eatable presents, and came to bidd me wellcom home. I cut a peece of green damask, and made 2 _keremons_ of it for Helena, Mr. Nealsons gerle, and Mr. Wickhams gerle, and lyned them with a peece Japon taffete. Also I gave Susanna a _keremon_ of them I had of Tozayemon Dono, and lyned it with a peece redd taffetie. _January 12._--Cold, frosty, snowie wether, wind northerly, and soe remayned all day and night following. Soe this is the deepest snowe I sawe since I came into Japon. Mr. Sayer and Mr. Osterwick wrot letters to Syam to send in the Holland junck in my abcense, Capt. Speck assuring them conveance. But this day he sent them back againe, saying that they fownd them under Albartus bed, whoe had forgotten them and left them behind hym. But this is one of Specks tricks, whoe, out of dowbt, had opened them before. But the worst is, Ed. Sayer and Jno. Osterwick were soe unadvized that they noted in their letter how I sent 2 others per same conveance, which I did per a Japon unknowne to the Hollanders, which I dowbt now will be intercepted: which angereth me not a littell. _January 14._--This mornyng still cold, snowey wether, with much wind northerly, and soe remayned all day and the lyke per night following, with a hard frost. [_Here there is a gap in the MS._] 112 _December 5_ (_Shimutsque 21_), 1620.--I receved a letter from Cuemon Dono, of Nangasaque, that he hath 60 beeves lying by hym, and our men will not take them, for that they are leane; and therefore he would have us to take 40 of the best and leave the rest, and would send them by boate for Firando at his owne charges. But I retorned answer that, yf his beefes hadd byn fatt and com in tyme, we had took all, and now hadd taken pork of hym in place thereof, for that I could not meddell in this matter to keepe leane beevs all winter, having neither hayestack nor pasture. _December 6_ (_Shimutsque 22_).--Mr. Wilkyn, a purcers mate of the _James Royall_, having byn sick of a consumption a long tyme, departed out of this world this night past, and was buried this day in our ordenary buriall place. Capt. Pring, Capt. Adames, and many other accompanied the corps to grave; and Mr. Copland, the preacher, made a speech out of the chapter read in the buriall. The King of Firando sent word he was lame of a legg, and therefore could not goe abord the _James Royall_ to see her, as he desired, and therfore thanked Capt. Pring for his love, wishing hym a prosperouse voyage. Also Capt. Pring, Capt. Adames, Capt. Lennis, with the ij preachers, [Mr.] Browne, and my selfe, dyned abord the _Bull_, and had 5 peces ordinance at our departure. And I deliverd Mr. Robinson five R. of 8 to pay, when in England, to 113 my brother Walter Cocks. _December 7_ (_Shimutsque 23_).--The _James Royall_ went out to Cochie roade this day, but, waying ancor too sowne, was put to the northward of Foynes Iland, and lost an ancor of 27 C. wight; and, yf she had not quickly let fall an other, had byn in greate danger, the currant driving her to windward, against the seyles and above 20 boates which toed her to leeward. Yet, God be praised, the second ancor held and staid her till tide turned. The Duch sent 4 barks to toe her out, and I the lyke; and Capt. Spek and others came abord to bidd Capt. Pring fare well. _December 8_ (_Shimutsque 24_).--The Duch shippe _Trowe_ went out to Cochie road this day; and I sent out 4 barkes to helpe to toe her, as they did the like to the _James Royall_ yistarday. We bought the howse Oque Dono our overthwart neighbor, for 1 C. x _tais_, viz. 90 _tais_ to hym selfe, for princepall, and 20 _tais_ to his wife in respeck our bakers made an oven and baked bread in the yard, and our maltman made malt and lodged all in the howse this monson. Mr. Eaton put to acco. lj _tais_ vj-1/2 _mas_ rec. of Mr. Henry Smith, purser of _James_, for 2566 lovs bread of flower which should have gon in the junck _Godspeed_. _December 9_ (_Shimutsque 25_).--I rec. 3 letters from Nangasaque, viz. 2 from Mr. Chapman, of the 1th and 7th present, and 1 from Mr. Badworth, of the 1th present, of thinges sent for Firando in 3 barkes, one of which is cast away, wherin Mr. White of the _Bull_ was. _December 10_ (_Shimutsque 26_).--I rec. a letter from Gonrok Dono at Langasaque, per his man Yasimon Dono, to sent price of our lead, and that he was ready to rec. it. And Capt. Speck rec. another to same effect. This Yasimon Dono offerd us 3-1/2 _condrins_ for a _cattie_, which is 3-1/2 _tais_ per _pico_, not the money it cost in England. And som speeches are geven out that our men above, at Edo, are kept 114 presoners. But I think it is a lie. Yet there weare the like reportes the other day; which was occation I gave Capt. Pring councell to get out into Cochie road, and will make as much hast as we can to gett out the _Moone_ and _Bull_. God send us good luck. And we sent presentes to the King of Firando and his brother, Tonomon Samma, and to Semi Dono, as followeth. Capt. Speck, the Duch comander, Jno. Johnson, and Mr. Leonard for Hollanders, and Capt. Pring, Capt. Adames, and my selfe for English. For Figien a Camma, King of Firando:-- 150 _cattis_ white silke, viz. 158 skeanes white, and twisted 17 bunds., containing 100 _tatt._ 007 _tatta._ stamet brod cloth. 007 pec. stuff, viz. 2 branch sattin, with rozes, 2 blak sattin, with gold, 3 blak, with gold flowers. 020 pec. redd sais, viz. 10 greate, 10 small. 020 pec. white saies. 010 pec. damaskes, greate. 200 _pico._ of lead. 003 _pico._ peper, with 3 bagges of damask. For Tonomon Samma:-- 050 _cattis_ white silke. 002 _tatta._ stamet broad cloth. 007 pec. redd sayes. 007 pec. white sayes. 007 pec. Canton damasks. 020 _pico._ lead. 050 _cattis_ pepper, with a damask bagg. For Semi Dono:-- 25 _cattis_ white silke. 02 _tatta._ stamet brod cloth. 07 pec. redd sayes. 07 pec. white sayes. 07 pec. Canton damasks. 25 _pico._ pepper and 3 china basons. 10 _pico._ of lead. _December 11_ (_Shimutsque 27_).--Andrea Dittis, China Capt., retorned 115 this morning from Nangasaque, and tells me he mett Mr. Sayer going ashore yistarday, as he was coming from thence. He sent Capt. Pring and me, each of us, a jar of _markasotes_, or sweet bred, and one to Capt. Adames. Also I rec. a letter from Mr. Sayer, dated in Nangasaque yistarday, wherin he writ that one Faccata Soka Dono will lend us 5 or 6000 _tais_ at intrest, yf we will. This day, at English howse, both we and the Hollanders sett our fermes to 2 books (one English, thother Duch) containing the presentes geven the King of Firando, Tonomon Samma his brother, Bongo Samma their greate uncle, and Semi Dono. Yazemon Dono of Faccata hath lent us this day two thousand _tais_ plate of barrs at intrest, to pay ij per cento per month, is forty _tais_ per month. I wrot a letter to the 2 _bongews_ of Umbra to thank them for releeving our men cast away in the bark. And towardes night Bonomon Dono came from Tonomon Samma his master, and brought a pike and _langenatt_ for presentes to Capt. Pring and Capt. Adames. And presently after came Semi Dono with 2 Japon guns and 2 _barsos morowfack_ for Capt. Pring and Capt. Adames, and brought a bankett after Japon fation, to drink with them and take his leave, because he had no tyme to envite them to dynner. Also the king sent 3 men to put us in mynd that he hadd ordayned them serchers, to look out we carid no Japons in our shiping. And I made answer we ment to carry out non but such we would formerly geve his Highnesse notis of, but were loth to consent to a new custom to serch our shipps, never used hertofore, it being against our preveleges granted us per themperour. _December 12_ (_Shimutsque 28_).--We supped all at Duch howse, both Capt. Pring, Capt. Adames, and all the masters of the shipps and 116 merchantes ashore, where we had greate cheare and no skarsety of wyne, with many guns shott affe for healthes all the night long. _December 13_ (_Shimutsque 29_).--I went downe to Cochie abord the _Royall James_ to seale up my letters, Capt. Pring soe desiringe me. And the Dutch mett us there at supper. And before I departed from Firando I sent our _jurebasso_ to tell the 3 new serchers apointed that I made acco. the _Royall James_ would goe out to morow morning before day, soe that, yf they would vizet her, it were good they went downe this night. I did it because they should take noe advantage against me, being lardg tonged felloes as they are. _December 14_ (_Shiwas 1_).--I delivered all my letters to Capt. Pring for Bantam and England, viz.:-- 1 joynt letter to Mr. Tho. Brockedon and Capt. Augustin Spalding, to Bantam. 1 privat letter to Capt. Spalding, with 15 _maky_ skritorios to sell for me. 1 to Mr. Adam Denton in answer of his, and sale of a cloak for hym. 1 to Jno. Beamond, with a _cattan_ from Jno. _jurebasso_. 1 to Right Worll. Company, of shipping arived this yeare. 1 to Sr. Tho. Smith, in answer of recept of 2 of his, with peare tables. 1 to Mr. Wm. Harrison, treasurer, with a peare _macky_ tables. 1 to Mr. Mouris Abbot, deputie, with a peare pleing tables. 1 to my brother Walter Cocks, with xxiij _ll._ xv _sh._ 1 to Mr. Totton. 1 to Christofor Lanman. 1 to Capt. Jno. Saris. 1 to Mr. Jno. Barker. 1 to Andrew Charlton. 117 1 to Tho. Antony. 1 to Sr. Tho. Wilson. 1 to Mrs. Mary Adams. 1 leger expedition from Mr. Robt. Price. _December 15_ (_Shiwas 2_).--I went downe to Cochie againe, and wrot these letters for Bantam and England:-- 1 to Mr. Brokedon and Mr. Spalding at Bantam. 1 to Mr. Jno. Ferrers at Bantam. 1 to Mr. Tho. Ferrers at London, to pay 9_l._ to my brother Walter Cocks. 1 to my brother Walter Cocks to receve it for acco. Jno. Ferrers. _December 16_ (_Shiwas 3_).--Capt. Cleavenger, Mr. Cockram, and the Hollanders did arive this day from themperours court, with busynes to their owne content, the lead being put at five _tais_ the _pico_, and the prize referred to the King of Firando of the padres and friggat. I rec. these letters from Edo and Miaco, viz.:-- 1 from Oyen Dono, themperours secretary, to Capt. Speck and my self with many good words in it, and how our men were gratiously rec. per themperour. 1 from Gentero Dono, King of Firandos brother, complementall, that he is glad of tharivall of soe many English ships this yeare, etc. [And others.] And I wrote these letters for England and Bantam, viz.:-- 1 to Honble. Company, of arivall of our men from Edo. 1 to Mr. Tho. Brokedon and Mr. Augustin Spalding, to same effect. 1 to Capt. Spalding, with a nest of 5 tronks for Mr. Denton. 1 to Mr. Adam Denton, to same effect. And I carid Oyen Donos letter to the Duch howse, because it was 118 directed to Capt. Speck as well as unto me, and it emported as much as I noted before, as also of the recept of the cheane of gould and presentes sent hym from Honble. Company. And Capt. Speck shewed me an other letter which came from Codgsque Dono, directed both to hym and me, and one to same effect as that from Oyen Dono. _December 17_ (_Shiwas 4_).--The _James Royall_ put to sea out of Cochie roade this day before nowne with a good wind. God send her a prosperous voyadge. _December 18_ (_Shiwas 5_).--I paid unto one of the smiths of the _Moone_, a Staffordshire man, for a fowling peece, fyve Rialles of eight in Spanish plate, is xx_s._ str. And there was brought ashore out of the shipp _Elizabeth_ xvj canestars of silk, and xv bales black China stuffes, cotton woll, and 3 hhds. of China rootes, all of prize goodes taken in the friggatt. The China blak stuffes somthing rotten. And I lent xij R. of 8 to ij Staffordshire men, to pay me 5_s._ per R. of 8 yf they retorne to Japon 6 months hence; yf not, to pay x_s._ for R. of 8 in England. The name of thone is Smith, cook of the _Moone_; the others name is Asberry, a marrenar in the _Bull_. _December 19_ (_Shiwas 6_).--I forgot to note downe how yistarday a Japon did beate an English man, and hald hym into his howse for 5 R. 8; but Abraham Smart met that Japons man in our howse and put hym into the stocks, unknown to me. But I let out the Japon, and put Smart into his roome, although the Japon hadd sett the other into bilbous--I meane the English man--wherof I complained to Semi Dono, and he caused thenglishman to be retorned, and bad me chuse whether I would pay the money to the Japon or no. Mr. Sayer arived from Nangasaque this day, and brought a letter from Pheze Dono of 6000 _tais_ plate barrs taken up of a merchant for 4 months at ij per cento per month; also iij M. v C. _tais_ ditto 119 more, taken up of Soka Dono of Faccata at same term and intrest. _December 20_ (_Shiwas 7_).--Capt. Speck and my selfe sent a letter to Gonrok Dono to Nangasaque per Mr. Osterwick, Co Jno. our _jurebasso_ accompanyng hym, to deliver the Councells letter to hym from Edo to take all our lead at 5 _condrins_ the _catty_, and make us ready payment. _December 21_ (_Shiwas 8_).--The shipp _Moone_ went out of Firando to Cochi Roade this day at nowne; and the Hollanders shott affe 5 pec. ordinance at Duch howse and 5 out of the greate junck; and the _Bull_ shott affe 5 more; and the _Moone_ answered with 9 peces to them, and gave us 5 at retorninge ashore. The Hollanders sent out 4 barks to helpe to toe her out, and I 6. _December 22_ (_Shiwas 9_).--The shipp _Bull_ went out this day, and I sent 6 boates, and the Hollanders 3, but the sea _bongews_ sent non. _December 23_ (_Shiwas 10_).--We had a duble councell this day at English howse, first viz. amongst ourselves, thenglish, Capt. Adames, Capt. Clevenger, Capt. Lennis, and Mr. Munden, Mr. Cockram, Mr. Eaton, and my selfe assisting, viz.:-- 1. Yt was agreed Mr. Ed. Sayer shall goe merchant in the shipp _Bull_, and Robt. Hawley and Ric. King and Harry Dodsworth to goe in other shipping, Duch or English, as shall be thought fitt. 2. Allso that the coates or _kerremons_ geven per themperor should be prised, it being referred to Mr. Eaton and Mr. Cockram to doe it, and then to be destributed per the amerall and his councell to whome they pleased; they being coates of two sortes, one rated at vj _tais_ per peece, and thother at 4 _tais_ peec.; and they which receve them to be bound to pay the money in England, yf the Company like not of the geveing. The other was a generall councell both of us and Hollanders:-- 1. Wherin was sould a cheane of gould, poz. vj _tais_ nyne _mas_, 120 which I Richard Cocks bought for 1 C. x R. of 8, ready paid downe, the one halfe being deliverd to the English admerall, Capt. Adames, and the other to Jno. Johnson, the Duch comander. But first there was xxiij R. of 8 taken out and geven to Capt. Morgan, which he had formerly disbursed. So rest neate delivered to each one 43-1/2 R. of 8. 2. And in this councell was agreed that the shipp _Swan_ shall goe for Manillas with the fleete at halfe charges betwixt the Hollanders and us, I meane betwixt the ij Compans. of England and Holland, they first to geve in a trew acco. what it coms to. 3. Also it was ordayned that ij English men shall goe in each Duch shipp, and ij Duch in each English shipp. 4. There was presentes sett downe to be geven to men in Firando. _December 24_ (_Shiwas 11_).--I gave out my bill for iij M. v C. _tais_ unto Faccata Soka Dono, taken up at intrest for 4 months at 2 per cento per month, the bill being dated from the 2th of the Japon _Shiwas_, is 9 daies past. Also certen Miaco men brought 6000 _tais_ more, telling me Feze Dono took it up att same rate for 4 months, but they desiring a bill of my hand and our lead bownd for payment therof, with a letter to same effect to Gonrok Dono, I denid it, ofering them ether to take my bill or my letter, whether they would, or my bill without mentioning the lead and the letter to mention it. But they would not, but carid away their money. _December 25_ (_Shiwas 12_).--We shott affe 8 chambers and 5 peces of ordinance this morning, it being Christmas Day. I gave 1 _tay_ to Mall Nubery, the _caboques_ coming to vizet us. The _Elizabeths_ company mutened, and ment to have stured up the 121 _Palsgraves_ company to the like, but Capt. Cleavenger clapt the messengers into the bilbos till the admerall determened of it. But a multetude of the _Elizabeths_ men came to reskew them, and Mr. Browne, master of the _Palsgrave_, sent them packing with broaken pates and kept the presoners; for which the muteners sware by flesh and fell they will kill them. One James Littell, a Scotsman, is verey forward in the muteny as a turbulent felloe. And Capt. Edmond Lennis, capt. of the _Elizabeth_, went ashore, not reproving those felloes for it. These felloes abovsaid in generall demanded in mutenose sort the fift parte of the merchandiz taken in the friggot, as also for other matters taken before, aledging Capt. Keeling did the like for priz goodes taken before. Also it is said Capt. Lennis hath secretly detayned a cheane of gould taken in the friggot. _December 26_ (_Shiwas 13_).--We envited the Hollanders to supper this night in the name of Capt. Adams, admeralls name, as they before envited us in their comander Capt. Johnsons name; and we made them cheare to content. _December 27_ (_Shiwas 14_).--Mr. Osterwick retorned from Nangasaque and brought answer from Gonrok Dono that it was referd to his discretion whether he would take our lead at 5 _condrins_ or no; soe he thought it too deare at that rate and ment to com to an other price. And one Jacob Littell, a Scotsman, was taken prisoner for writing idell lynes to make the _Elizabeths_ company to muteny, he being of that shipps company, and wrot those lynes to the _Palsgraves_ company to have made them doe the like, but could not effect it per reason of Capt. Cleavengar and Mr. Browne prevented them. And this Littell, being taken and sent to Firando to be heard, broake out of the bilboes and sled (_sic_) we know not whither. _December 28_ (_Shiwas 15_).--We went (with the Duch) to vizet the king; and the admerall and vizadmerall gave hym to understand shipps were 122 ready to departe, and therefore came to take leave of hym, which he accepted of in good parte, and thanked the admerall for the 2 _baricas_ Spanish wine he sent to hym the other day. We took up vj M. _tais_ plate barrs of Souchio Dono and Cofio Dono of Miaco at intrest for 4 months, at ij per cento per month. And I paid the shewmakers for xj peare slippers and shewes 5-1/2 R. of 8 in Spanish money, viz.:-- R. 8. 3 peare blak slippers for my selfe 2-1/2 2 pear red slippers for my selfe 1 peare shewes for Mr. Hely, the soulder 0-1/2 2 peare shews for Barnardo 1 1 peare shews for malt man 0-1/2 1 peare shews for the brewer 0-1/2 1 peare for Jno. Forster the trumpeter 0-1/2 _December 29_ (_Shiwas 16_).--Capt. Speck came to the English howse to talke about going to Nangasaque to Gonrok Dono, to settell the price of the lead. Soe it was agreed Capt. Speck should goe for both partes to doe his endevour. And Mr. Eaton rec. xxv _tais_ of Mr. Cockram for 5 peces stuffes, at 5 _tais_ pece, to make aparell for servantes which went to Cort. _December 30_ (_Shiwas 17_).--Yt was thought fytt and brought in question by the Hollanders to trym up a China _sampan_[92] to goe with the fleete, but she was fownd unservesable, and rather thought to proceade from the Hollanders to protract tyme till Capt. Speck retorne from Nangasaque, to see yf he can procure license from Gonrok Dono for men to goe out in their junck for Bantam; yf not, then must they keepe Hollanders, although they want them in the fleete. Capt. Speck went this day to Nangasaque about the busynes spetified 123 yisterday, and carid 3 bottells Spanish wine from Hollanders and as many from us to present to Gonrok Dono. [92] _San-pan_: literally, three planks. _December 31_ (_Shiwas 18_).--I paid threeskore and 3 Rialles of eight, Spanish money, to Mr. Joseph Cockram upon a peare of gould masse beades waying 3 _ta._ 7 _ma._ 5 _co._, to sell for hym in his abcense and make hym what other profitt I can. And I gave or paid for Susan xvij-1/2 _mas_, viz.:-- _ta. ma. co._ For a gerdell 1 1 0 For a lyning for coate 0 4 5 For flowers to dye 0 2 0 _January 1_ (_Shiwas 19_), 1620/1._--I went to Cochie to take my leave of the admerall and rest of our frendes, and remeaned theare all night. _January 2_ (_Shiwas 20_).--There was a sea councell held this day abord the shipp _Moone_, admerall, both of the English and Duch, where it was debated what course they ment to take when they went out, being now ready to sett seale. And I gave all the cheefe comanders in our 4 shipps each one a remembrance of my opinion tuching this pretended voyage for Manillias, and that I understood there is xxiiij China junckes bound this yeare for Manillias, and the course they ment to take as apereth per coopie of that remembrance dated in Firando yistarday, being the 1th of January 1620, curant. And I carid a butt of rack of pie abord thadmerall to parte it with thother shipps in respect of a butt of Spanish wine geaven into the factory. And I sent xx. jarrs bisket abord the _Moone_. _January 3_ (_Shiwas 21_).--This morning betymes all our fleete, both English and Hollands, being 9 seale, put to sea towardes the Manillias. God send them good speed. And Capt. Speck retorned from Nangasaque, but did nothing with Gonrok 124 Dono, for he will not take our lead at 5 _tais pico_, although the Emperors councell tould our men at Edo they hadd wrott hym to doe it. _January 4_ (_Shiwas 22_).--I went to the Duch howse to see the laying out of the presentes to geve to noblemen, as per councell ordayned. And at that instant the King of Firando departed towards Miaco and soe for Edo, the Hollanders shooting affe store of chambers and ordinance. And I went after in a bark with Capt. Speck, and we carid hym 3 jarrs concerves, i C. vj. _cattis_ grose tare, wherof 34 _cattis_ grosse weare of myne, rest of Hollanders. And Unagense Dono accompanying hym, we gave hym a present of 4 pec. red says and 4 pec. cheremis and 4-1/2 _cattis_ silk. And I sent Richard Hudson to Cochie to take notis of thinges left in our howses, and delivered them to Shinso Dono, greate Domingos father, and weare as followeth, viz.:-- 817 long shething plankes. 136 shorte ditto. 005 square tymbers. 002 ladders. 006 dores for gedonges, and 1 dore lost out of littell howse. 006 windoes to shutt. 002 shipp boates or skiffes, without ores. And for the mattes, our marreners brutishly tore and cutt them in peeces, and carid such part they thought good away with them, in spite of them I lefte to keepe them, and would have wrong out staples and all iron work out of windoes and dores. And Cuemon Dono, our fleshman at Nangasaque, retorned this day thither, and would not end accomptes with me, except I would alow hym i C. _taies_ plate of barrs put to acco. and paid hym per Mr. Ed. Sayer, as apereth per Cuemons owne hand writing; yet he will not alow thereof, but went away in a fustian fume. _January 5_ (_Shiwas 23_).--I paid the Japon glover for a peare pomps ij _mas_ small plate. And we went with the Hollanders and carid presents this day to Bongo 125 Dono, Sangero Dono, Stremon Dono, Nagen or Unagense Dono, Cacamon Dono, Oyen Dono, Jeamon Dono, Jensamon Dono, Taccomon Dono, Weamon Dono.[93] [93] The presents comprised sayes, Canton damask, silk, cheremis, Lankin silk, and lead. _January 6_ (_Shiwas 24_).--Capt. Speck, Capt. Leonard, Albartus, and Mattias envited themselves to our _fro_ and supped at English howse. _January 7_ (_Shiwas 25_).--We envited our neighbours to supper on Tewsday next, which provided thinges for our shipping, with the gunfounders, master carpenters, and smiths. _January 9_ (_Shiwas 27_).--The China Capt. delivered me ij small cheanes of gould, sent me in present out of China, viz. 1 from Chisian Ducuco and 1 from Ticham Shofno, ij of the Emperor of Chinas councell; but the last from Ticham Shofnos sonne, his father being slaine in the Tartarian warr; they sending me word that we may have free trade into China, and the rather for that the ould king hath delivered up the goverment of China to his sonne. All our neighbours that weare envited on Sunday last came to dyner this day, and had the _fro_ heate[d], and a play of _caboques_, unto whome I sent two bars of plate containing viij _taies_ vj _mas_. Capt. Speck came to me late to desire me to look out for Capt. Adames _goshon_ to get Japons goe in his junck for Bantam, he standing in dowbt that Andreas, Capt. Adams woamans brother in law, is gone to Nangasaque to make it away to others. _January 10_ (_Shiwas 28_).--I wrott 2 letters into China per conveance of Andrea Dittis, 1 to Chisian Dicuco and 1 to Ticham Shofno, of recept 2 chenes gould, with other complementall matters. I lent my _goshon_ to Andrea Dittis, China Capt., and Itamia Migell 126 Dono, to make a voyadge for Tonkin or Cochinchina, and to retorne it to me, voyadg enden, under a recept geven me in Japons, fermed per both. _January 11_ (_Shiwas 29_).--I was suretie for China Capt. for 1500 _tais_ plate barrs, taken up at intrest at 2 per cento per month from first of later moone of _Shiwas_, being the 13th of this month of January, antedated 2 daies, for 7 month space; which is to be sent into China with 1500 _taies_ more from China Capt. to procure free trade into China; which not taking effect, the China Capt. is to repay the 1500 _tais_ back, with the intrest, for Honble. Companis use. _January 12_ (_Shiwas 30_).--We sent our _jurebasso_, Tome Dono, with the Hollands _jurebasso_, to Nangasaque, with a letter to Gonrok Dono, with good wordes once more to desire his Lordshipp to take the lead as the Councell sett price. _January 13_ (_Second Shiwas 1_).--Andrea Dono, Capt. Addames brother in law at Edo, arived heare this day, and brought the _goshon_ of Capt. Adams from themperour, which Capt. Speck soe much desireth to make use of to sett out their junck for Bantam, otherwais she will loose her voyag this year (as she did the last). Soe I made it knowne to Andrea, who tould me he dowbted to doe it, in respeck of the badd tong of Jno. Yoosen that kept such a bawling at Emperours court against it. Soe he thought nether Capt. Speck nor I would be an occation to disgrace the children of the deceased Capt. Adams, whome we weare bound rather to favour then otherwais. And that which was more, he had, in the childrens behalfe, bought the halfe of a junck at Nangasaque, wherin he ment to goe hym selfe and make use of the _goshon_ lawfully. Unto whome I answered that he might make acco. that nether Capt. Speck nor my selfe ment not to doe any thing prejuditiall to our deceased frendes children in any sort whatsoever, but yf he had bought halfe 127 that junck, that Capt. Speck should take and quit hym of that losse and all other dangers that might ensue; and that upon necessitie it was as fitt our frendes should make use of it as a China or any other stranger. Soe we agreed to morow morning to goe to Capt. Speck and take councell about it. _January 14_ (_Shiwas 2_).--I went to the Holland howse about the _goshon_, and cald Andreas thither, to perswade hym to deliver it to me and lett the Hollanders make use thereof to the most benefite of Capt. Adams children. But he answerd me he hadd sent it overland from Shimena Seak to Nangasaque by one of Mrs. Adams men. Yet, before, he tould me it was heare at Firando, but that he could not let me nor noe other have it, in respect he had promised it to one Goquan, a China, and had bought the one halfe of his junck. And then I asked hym whoe gave hym authoretie to dispose of this _goshon_, I sending it up to be renewed, without taking my councell herein. Unto which he could make noe answer. Soe I required a writing at his hand of sending the _goshon_ from Ximina Seak, and therin he promised me to use meanes to retorne it to me, and would goe to morow with me to Nangasaque to performe it. _January 15_ (_Shiwas 3_).--I was enformed Andreas sent away a boate at midnight past to Nangasaque, to adviz his consortes of my demand for the _goshon_. Soe this day at nowne I went towards Nangasaque about that matter and our leade, and desird Andrea to goe with me as he promised, and went to his lodging with my bark to call for hym; and he sent me word he would com after in a bark of his owne. Soe we went this night 12 leagues on our way, and came to an ancor. _January 16_ (_Shiwas 4_).--We arived at Nangasaque this day at 3 a clock in the after nowne, but Andrea was not com. And I fownd Tome Dono, our _jurebasso_, whoe hadd spoaken with Gonrok Dono about my 128 plito with Cuemon Dono of Nangasaque for the bords and tymber; and he tould hym he would refer it till he came to Firando 10 or 12 dais hence, and then end it before Tonomon Samma, the king's brother, whome had spoaken about the matter before. Also I sent to Jenquese Dono, Mrs. Adams frend, to adviz hym of my being heare and wherabout I came; yet he came not to me. And at night Itamia Migell Dono came to vizet me with Hollands ost and divers others, and brought me a banket with ij _barsos_ wyne and ij wilduckes; and Palus (? Pauls) father a basket orenges and 18 small lobstars. _January 17_ (_Shiwas 5_).--I sent to Gonrok Dono and Feze Dono of my arivall and that I would vizet them to morow or next day. But Gonrok made a feast to princepall in this place. Andrea arived heare and sent me word he was aweary, yet ment sowne after to com and speak with me. Many presentes were sent unto me. _January 18_ (_Shiwas 6_).--Andrea of Edo came to me after nowne and tould me he could not nor would not deliver the _goshons_ unto me, telling me he did that which he did by order from Capt. Adams woman. Unto which I answered that that woaman had nothing to doe with it, but her children, whom I had charg over and not shee. And then he answerd me, she (or he for her) had taken all the paines and disburced the money to buy presentes to get out the 2 _goshons_. But, at same instant, Tozayemon Dono standing by answerd that he had delivered iij C. and odd _taies_ to Jenquese, Capt. Adames man, he demanding it for that purpose, this plate belonging to the deceased Capt. Adames. Soe I then demanded of Andrea whoe disburced this plate, he or I? Unto which he could answer nothing; but Tozayemon Dono desired me to refer the matter to hym till to morow, and he would end it to both our contentes. And this day we went to dyner to Itamia Migell Dono, where we had kind 129 entertaynment and great cheare with _caboques_. And I sent my packes of letters to Firando, to goe in the Hollandes junckes for Bantam and Syam. _January 19_ (_Shiwas 7_).--We were envited to dyner to Kitskin Donos howse, and hadd good entertaynment. _January 20_ (_Shiwas 8_).--A Portugez called Augustino de Fiquira came to me and desyred a letter to Capt. Speck to retorne hym a slave of his which was in cure of the ---- in the Duch howse, as he understood, his name being Francisco Mallabar. Of the which I gave hym a letter with the slaves name, with my opinion the keeping of such a slave would doe us nether creddit nor profitt. And we were envited to dynner to Groby Dono, the Hollandes host at this place, where we had greate cheare, with the dansing beares. And at last cast Tozayemon Dono sent me word, now I have staid 2 dais at his request, that Andrea and the rest will doe nothing. _January 21_ (_Shiwas 9_).--I went to Gonrok Dono to demand justice against Andrea, Jenquese, and Wyamon, for the _goshons_ of Capt. Adams and the money they have receaved without lycense from me. And he gave me faire wordes, and willed me to retorne to hym to morrow after nowne, for that he was envited out to a frendes howse to a banket and at instant ready to departe. And we were envited to supper to Paulo Dono, our gunpouder man, where we had good cheare, and many chambers and guns shott affe. _January 22_ (_Shiwas 10_).--I went againe to Gonrok Dono about my plito with Andrea of Edo for the _goshons_ of Capt. Adames children. But he sent for the said Andrea, and, in my hearing, tould us both he would not meddell in the matter, he being of Edo and I of Firando. Soe I think Gonrok was grezed in the fist before hand. Also Cuemon of Nangasaque came before hym about our processe with Ed. 130 Sayer for the 100 _tais_ he saieth he had not receved, although we have his hand to shew for it. Soe Gonrock Dono entreated me to geve hym 50 _tais_, because he was a pore man, and the matter in question both before the King of Firando and hym selfe. I answerd I would be ruled herin per his Lordshipp, but first desired the acco. might be perused betwix the China Capt., for me, and let hym apoint an other for hym selfe. _January 23_ (_Shiwas 11_).--I went and vizeted Feze Dono, the justis, and carid hym 2 bottelles of strong waters, bottelles and all, which he took in good parte and gave me greate thankes for it. Alsoe I sent other two of same to Gonrok Dono, which he kindly accepted of. And I gave the water of other 2 to Alvaro Gonsalves and Alferes Twerto. Also I took up iij M. _tais_ in plate of barrs this day of Tozayemon Dono, our host of Sackay, at ij per cento per month, or else at his coming to Firando to geve hym silke or other comodety in payment to his content, or keepe the money for 5 months at intrest. This day Hollands junck departed from Firando towardes Syam. _January 24_ (_Shiwas 12_).--The China Capt. sent away 16 China marrens to Capt. Speck. I left a letter with Alvaro Gonsalves for to deliver to Emanuel Rodrigos when he returneth from Xaxma, of my coming hither only to make plito against Capt. Adames men for delivering the two _goshons_ without making me privie to it; and that Jenque hath receved above 1000 _tais_ of Capt. Adams money without making me privie to it nor how it is disburced; and Wyamon Dono, an other of the deceased Capt. Adams men, hath taken up 400 _tais_ worth merchandiz of me, and meneth to goe capt. of the _goshon_ in his junck without making me payment; and Torosacka, an other of Capt. Adams men, oweth Mr. Eaton 50 _ta_, 131 and meneth to goe offecer in his junck without making payment, which I desire non of them may. As also that Mr. Eaton hath certen fyne corse lynen, which he meanes to send to Manillias. The China Capt. junck arived from Firando. I receved a writing of Itamia Migel Dono to retorne me my _goshon_ at retorne of juncke _Willing Mind_. And I reconed with Paule for these thinges bought, viz.:-- _ta. m. co._ For a chist 00 6 0 For 5 baskittes to put oringes in 00 1 6 For halfe a beefe 01 3 5 For an emptie jarr to put bread in 00 0 6 For 16 roles biskett bread 00 7 5 For neales to neale 2 money chistes 00 0 1 For reddish rootes to spend at sea, with other hearbs and rootes 0 1 3 For 3 hense for sea 0 1 5 For fish at sea to eate 0 3 0 For xx loves bread for sea 0 2 0 For 440 candelles for howse provition 4 0 0 And geven for a present to China Capt. junck, viz.:-- For 2 emptie barilles 0 2 4 For 80 _gocos singe_ 1 1 5 For ij _tay_ fishes 0 1 2 More 5 roles of bread aforsaid. And I sent Mr. Osterwick to Gonrok Dono with a coppie of my processe I ment to begyn with Capt. Adames servantes about the _goshons_, for the childrens right. _January 25_ (_Shiwas 13_).--I reconed with Paule for these thinges following, viz.:-- _ta. m. co._ For 118 _gocos_ of _singe_ for sea 1 6 9 For 1 bunch of carrotes 0 0 5 For 9 _gocos_ of vinager for sea 0 1 8 For 1 sack salt for sea 0 1 0 For a jarr to putt egges in 0 0 6 For ij mattes to make up money chist 0 0 2 132 For 5 sacks of coles 0 2 2 Mor for 2 sacks rise for marrenars 1 5 0 And 1 sack geven the pore 0 7 5 And 1 for provition for sea 1 1 5 I retorned towardes Firando after nowne; and we paid out for diett in the howse 20 _ta._, and to the servantes 1 bar plate, is 4: 3: 0. And I gave 2 peeces black satten, the one to Capt. Chinas wife, and the other to his sonne Augustins wife. And Paulo Dono, our gunpouder man, went out to meete us with a banket 3 leagues on our way, and placed chambars on a rock and shott affe 12 or 14 tymes. So we arived at Setto at night. _January 26_ (_Shiwas 14_).--We departed from Setto, and paid in howse, viz. for howse rowme 1: 0: 0, for fish geven us 0: 3: 0. Soe, the wind rising, we put into Woamon Docka. _January 27_ (_Shiwas 15_).--About midnight we departed from Woamon Docka, and arived at Firando about 10 a clock this day in the affore nowne. We paid at Woamon Doka, for howserowme 1: 1: 0, and for fish at one draught 0: 7: 0, and for 3 other tay fish 0: 1: 0, and for live fresh fish 0: 3: 0. And at my coming to Firando I found that Man the Companis slave, bought the last yeare at Nangasaque to goe in our junck for a cawker, was run away, and hath stolne plate and other matters. This fello hath byn a secret theefe ever since he came into the howse, and hath stolne dyvers silver cupps, spoones, and forkes, with other matters, both of the Companis and others. I sent all the orenges, rownd biskit cakes, and sweete bread to our neighbors wives whoe lent us money and furnished us with our tymber, mastes, biskit, etc. _January 28_ (_Shiwas 16_).--I paid out myselfe in plate barrs vij 133 _tais_ for the outsides of 3 _kerremons_ for Mr. Eatons sonne Wm., his hostes daughter, and China Capt. doughter. Capt. Leonard Campes came to thenglish howse, and tould me he knew not where the 2 negros weare which came from Nangasaque, which Alvaro Gonsalves and others wrot for; nether thought he it was fitt to retorne them, although he did know where they weare. Unto which I answerd that yf it were my case, as it was his, I would retorne them both, but espetially the one which was our frends slave. But it semeth he will not, nether take hym at 50 R. of 8, as he cost Alvaro Gonsalves. _January 29_ (_Shiwas 17_).--I wrot 3 letters to Nangasaque about Man, the Companies slave which is run away, viz. 1 to Skidayen Dono, secretary to Gonrok Dono, 1 to Paule the gunpoulder man, 1 to Yoshemon Dono, Pauls father, to look out for hym; laying to his charge the stealing of silver cupps, spoons, and forks, with other matters; and they to seek hym out and send hym back in bonds. Also I wrot to Alvaro Gonsalves I canot procure his servant out of the Hollanders handes. The Hollandes junck for Bantam went out to Cochie Roade this day, and shott affe 7 peces ordnance and had the chambers and other ordnance shott out of Hollandes howse. And I sent the capt. of her a barill of _skar_ beare and an other to Hollandes howse. _January 30_ (_Shiwas 18_).--I paid to the hatmaker China teliar, for making aparell, in small plate ij _ta._ vij _mas_. More for a _kerremon_ geven a child, small plate xv _mas_. _January 31_ (_Shiwas 19_).--I delivered iij chistes of plate of barrs to Mr. Eaton, the same I receved of Tozayemon Dono at Nangasaque, to accompt with Cushcron Dono, our neighbors and others about provition of our fleete; and paid per him 2000 _tais_. And I carid my packet of letters to the Hollands howse, to send for Bantam in the junck, per Capt. Albartus, being coppies of them sent 134 per the _Royal James_ both to the Honble. Company in England and precedent at Bantam, with others of 20th present and this day, as appereth per coppies. And in these letters I sent the coppie of taxation of _Swan_ per Hollanders and other charges about her in comune, she going with fleete for the Manillias; as also a note of charges laid out for James Littell, sent presoner in the junck for Bantam, in said junck: amont unto, in all, 12 _ta._ 1 _m._ 9-1/2 _co._ And Mr. Eaton paid iij _tais_ in small plate unto Tome of Nangasaque, who staid heare 18 daies to prune, cutt, and sett our trees in orchards and garden. And the cutlar came to make cleane my weoapons this day. Also this day a carpenter was cutt in peeces for a muteny he and other xj made, to enter a pedlars house and cutt certen wooden shewes in peeces, they esteeming to have preveledg to make such matters. All xij had died for it, yf the queene mother had not begged their lives. _February 1_ (_Shiwas 20_).--I sent ij _taies_ to the dansing beares, in small plate, they coming to our garden with a banket when we planted our trees. And we began our work to wall in our howse, newly bought to make a gadong in. _February 2_ (_Shiwas 21_).--I paid out xiij _tais_ plate of barrs my selfe unto the founders for a peace of a cheane of gould, and sent the money per Luarance my boy. Also I paid out, in small plate, for divers thinges for Susan, viz.:-- For ij gerdelles for servantes in howse 0 3 0 For i bundell of paper, for selfe 0 1 5 For 1/2 _catty_ tobaco, ditto 0 0 5 For woamans oyle, ditto 0 2 5 For _chaw_, ditto 0 2 0 For i peare wooden clamps, ditto 0 1 0 More paid out to Larrance, my servant, to buy hym a coate or _kerremon_ of silke, in small plate, 4 _ta._ And I went to Oyen Dono, kinges secretary, to vizet hym, and carid hym 135 a bottell Spanish wine and a greate fish, and took his councell about buying our three neighbours houses, and to aske leave to make our wharfe or kay 3 _tattamis_ further out into the sea. He tould me he would make it knowne to Tonomon Samme and Taccamon Dono, and then would advize me when it was tyme to goe my selfe. And I rec. an other letter frem Alvaro Gonsalves about his caffro, and he sent the like to Hollandes Capt., but they will deliver no caffro. _Febrary 3_ (_Shiwas 22_).--I receved ij letters from Nangasaque in answer of myne, 1 from Palue (_sic_) Dono, the gunpoulder man, 1 from Yoshemon Dono, Palus father, tuching Man the slave. They write me how Skidayen Dono, Gonrok Donos secretary, having receved my letter, went to Feze Dono and shewed it to hym. Soe they made a comune serche throwe the towne for the theefe Man, and, not finding him, comitted his father, mother, and brother to preson, with an other, his master which sould hym, whoe the ten of the streete are bound to answer for his forth coming, and, in fallt of fynding out the theefe, must answer with their lives or geve us content for what is stolne. And I retorned answer of my ij letters rec. this day from Nangasaque, thanking them for their paines taken to find out the fugetive theefe Man, and that we could not find hym out heare, desiring them to look out theare to his sureties to retorne hym to me, and I would use hym noe worse then he deserved. These ij letters I retorned per Paule the gunpowder man his man, whome he sent expres to me to adviz what hadd past. And I gave hym 5 _mas_, to pay for his boate hier, and a silke coate or _doboque_,[94] an upper garment or Japon cloake. And I paid the Spanish telier five R. of 8, as followeth viz.:-- For buttons and loopes for a black bay coate, being 31 2 R. 8 136 For making the said bay coate 2 R. For buttons for the sleeves 0-1/8 R. For buttons and loopes for a Portingall cap, or _galtera_[95] 0-3/8 R. For making the said _galtera_ or capp, 4 _mas_ is 0-1/2 R. Which money I paid in Spanish R. my selfe, being 3 tymes more then was reason; and so an end, etc. We lent Andrea Dittis, China Capt., viz. 3 murthering peeces, or fowlers, with vj chambers, wherof 2 bras; 3 hargabushes of crockes[96]; and 4 Japon calivers or guns. And the gouldsmith came to work this day. [94] _D[=o]-buku._ [95] Port.: _gualteira_. [96] Probably the "crook", or rest, for the harquebus. _Febrary 4_ (_Shiwas 23_).--This morninge cold wether, with a hard frost, with snowe. Hard frost all day, and the like per night following. _Febrary 5_ (_Shiwas 24_).--Capt. Leonard and Capt. Albartus and Wm. Cuiper went to the kinges brother to take leave of hym, to departe with the junck towardes Bantam; Albartus going capt. and Wm. Cuiper master. And, after, came to English howse for like occation. And this day one Catsso Dono, the kinges kinsman, caused a master carpenter, his servant, to cut his bellie, which was master to the carpenter kild the other day. Soe it is thought he meaneth to pick a quarrell with Taccamon Dono for killing his other slave the last day; and verely thought sett on per others of the greatest sort; for Tonoman Samme and the queene mother labourd to have had the matter left till the king hadd retorned, but Taccamon Dono would not. _Febrary 6_ (_Shiwas 25_).--Tyamon Dono our master carpenter came and borrowed xx _taies_ to redeeme the other xj carpenters freed the other day, they being taxed at iij _taies_ per head, forfeted to the king. And I paid out money as followeth, viz.:-- For a _kerremon_ outside, lyning and dying, for 137 Williams nurse 1 0 2 For a silk gerdell for Tassak 1 0 0 And in plate bars, for ij pec. lyning for Williams coate, with the 2 gerls coates, is ij _tais_ 4 _mas_ bars 2 7 6 And I paid in small plate to the glover sumaker, viz. for iij peare of pumps, at ij _mas_ peare 0 6 0 For making iij peare of sue rozes at 5 _con._ 0 1 5 _Febrary 7_ (_Shiwas 26_).--I went to Hollandes howse, and took leave of Sr. Albartus, whoe I understand was ready to goe downe abord their junck to Cochi roade. And Gonrok Dono, governor of Nangasaque, arived at Firando, and sent me ij silk _kerremons_ for a present, with many frendly words of salutation. And we agreed with Fezemon Dono of Firando, in presence of Tayamon Dono, the carpenter, for tymber and boardes to make a new gedonge. All which amontes unto iiij C. xxxj _tais_ vij _mas_ plate barrs, 431 _ta._ 7 _m._ 0 _c._; wherof he is to have thon halfe in hand and the other at full delivery of all tymber, as by particulers. _Febrary 8_ (_Shiwas 27_).--The Hollanders and we went to vizet Gonrok Dono, and carid hym ij _tatta._ of stamet cloth for a present. And, after, Tonoman Samme sent for us and the Hollanders to bring the fryres before hym and Gonrok Dono, which we did, he examenynge them what they weare, they denying to be pristes, although we shewed their letters to verefie it. Soe Gonrok would have made a new processe of it; but we answerd the processe was made before the King of Firando, which we could not alter, yet would geve his Lordshipp a coppie therof, yf he pleased, and was the same we had also delivered to themperours councell. Soe he was contented with it. _ta._ _m._ _co._ And I paid the cutler for skowring weapons 0 9 8 And for making skabard for _cattan_, redd 1 0 0 And to the gouldsmith for 3 daies work 0 4 5 _Febrary 10_ (_Shiwas 29_).--Gonrok Dono came to vizet our English howse 138 and desired to see our lead, which I shewed unto hym; which he took in good part, as also the entertaynment he hadd; and did promise to doe his best to bring the price of the leade to 5 _tais pico_, yet, because he had written to the contrary, could not now on the sudden doe it. And he being ready to departe towardes themperours court, I sent hym ij glasse bottelles of a pottell a peece filled with Spanish wine, to drink in the way; which he took in very kind parte. And the Hollandes junck being ready to departe, I went to Cochie, and toke leave of Capt. Albertus, and carid hym a barill skarbeare and a bankett, _nifon catange_, or Japon fation. And wrot ij other letters, viz.:-- 1 to Honble. Company, enclozed to precedent. 2 to precedent of Bantam, Tho. Bockedon, and Capt. Augustyn Spalding. And, after, I wrot an other letter to the Worll. Tho. Brokedon and Capt. Augustin Spalding, sent per James Littell, the Scotsman, of the duble dealing of Capt. Jacobo Especk to sett our leade at 4-1/2 _tais pico_, without asking councell of me. Soe now he will geve but 4-1/2 _tais_ per _pico_, and not pay for it till 3 mo. hence, or it may be more, when he pleaseth to send money from Edo or Miaco. I wrot ij letters to the woamon of deceased Capt. Adames and to Shongo Samma, the admerall, about the knavery of Andrea and Jenquese. _Febrary 11_ (_Shiwas 30_).--I paid the barber for Laurance, my servant, for tryming hym the yeare past, iij _mas_. And Capt. Leonard Campes came to me to aske me whether I hadd consented to lett the lead goe at 4-1/2 _tais pico_, as Gonrok Dono had certefied hym. Unto whome I answerd that Gonrok had sent to me to demand whether I would lett our leade passe at 4-1/2 as he had ended with the Hollanders; unto whome I retorned answer that, yf the Hollanders had soe agreed with hym, I would know of them, and would 139 not obstenately replie noe. So it seemed this Gonrok plaid on both partes, thinking his faire wordes would make fooles faine; for he tould me he esteemed our parcell of lead much better then the Hollanders, and to the Hollanders said he esteemed theirs much better then ours. Divers neighbors sent wyne and fish for presentes. _Febrary 12_ (_Shonguach 1_).--I sent the China Capt., Andrea Dittis, a present, this being their new years day, for a new years gift, viz.:-- 1 silk _kerremon_ of them Gonrok Dono gave me. 1 pece redd silk cheremis to his eldest doughter. 1 damask _kerremon_ to his youngest doughter. 1 bottell Spanish wine to hym selfe. More, I sent to Niquan, his kinsman, 1 silke _kerremon_, which Gonrok sent me. These presents I sent to hould frendshipp, hoping to get traffick into China, this Niquan being emploied therein. And I gave to our servantes in the howse, viz. to Jno. _jurebasso_, Tome _jurebasso_, Coa Jno. _jurebasso_, Fachemon and Sangero, cookes, and porter, to each one a silk cloake or _doboque_. I sent Ric. Hudson to fetch back my letter which I wrot to the precedent at Bantam, dated the 10th present, and sent per James Littell, the Scotchman, which letter I instantly, at recept thereof, shewed unto Mr. Eaton and Jno. Osterwick, for that by their countenances I perceved they thought I hadd written somthing against them, which I had not donne, but only tuching Capt. Speck, how he did thinges of his owne head, not making us of councell in doing thereof. Which letter I had noe sowner shewed to Jno. Osterwick but he forthwith went to the Hollandes howse, and there I fownd hym talking with the Hollanders, and, as I surmised, tould them what I hadd wrott tuching Capt. Speck, for he blusht at my entrance, Mr. Eaton 140 accompanyinge me, to speake with Capt. Leonard to determen what to send the _tono_ to morow, and he to accompanie me in doing of it in halves, as he thought it fitt to doe the like to Taccamon Dono, Lord Cheefe Justis. _Febrary 13_ (_Shonguach 2_).--We went with the Hollanders to vizet Tonomon Samma and wish hym a good new yeare, and carid presentes, viz.:-- all presented in name of both. from our selves 2 _barsos_ Japon wine 2 great fyshes from the Hollanders 1 bottell strong water 1 of Spanish wine 1 platter of fritters 1 platter mange royall And to Taccamon Dono:-- presented in both names. from English 2 _barsos_ Japon wine 2 fishes, great from Hollanders 1 bottell strong water 1 bottell Spanish wine And we sent presentes to others, viz. 2 _barsos_ wyne and 2 fishes to Bongo Samma, Oyen Dono, Sugen Umbra Dono, his father, Sesque Dono, Semi Donos sonne, and Sangero Samma--all from English. And we receved presentes from our neighbours. _Febrary 14_ (_Shonguach 3_).--We sent these presentes following, viz. 2 _barsos_ wyne and 2 great fishes to Ucana Came of Xaxma, Minema Soyemon Dono, Geemon Dono kinges man, Cakemon Dono kinges man, Lezeamon Dono sea _bongew_, Sheroyemon Dono his brother, and Yasimon Dono. And we receved presentes. _Febrary 15_ (_Shonguach 4_).--We gave these presentes following, viz. [wine and fish] to Chozamon Dono, Oyen Donos sonne, to Tobioye Dono, garden _bongew_, [and others]. _Febrary 16_ (_Shonguach 5_).--The Hollands junck departed from 141 Cochie roade this day in the morning towardes Jaccatra or Bantam. God send her a prosperous voyage. And within night Gonrok Dono sent his man to know whether we would lett our lead goe at 4-1/2 _taies_ the _pico_ or noe, he being determened to departe towardes Miaco at midnight. And I sent answer, as the Hollanders did the like, that under 5 _taies_ the _pico_ we could not sell it, it being the price sett downe per the Emperour. Soe, after, Tonomon Samma sent me word, likwais within night, that both we and the Hollanders should com to hym in the morning to confer about price of the leade, and that Gonrok Dono would be theare about it. _Febrary 17_ (_Shonguach 6_).--Tonomon Samma sent againe for me to com to hym about price of the leade; and I sent to the Hollanders to know when they ment to goe about it. But Capt. Speck came to the English howse and tould me Gonrok had sent for hym and asked him whether we ment to lett the price of the leade goe at 4-1/2 _tais pico_ or noe; which he tould hym, yf he had ready money heare to pay for it, he would take councell with us. Unto which he answerd, yf we sett the price, he would use his best endeavours to get money from Nangasaque or Miaco within 2 or 3 months. Soe hereupon they broke affe, Capt. Speck denying it; and Gonrok Dono departed away towardes Miaco; and Tonomon Samma sent word we needed not to com unto hym. _Febrary 18_ (_Shonguach 7_).--We made agreement this day with Seezamon Dono, our wood or tymbar man, for matters following, viz.:-- For 4 great mastes or trees containing 14 Japon _tatta._ in length, and 1-1/2 _tatta_. rownd at greate end, and at the lesser end 18 inches diametar, at 150 _tais_ plate bars _ta._ per mast 600 For 6 smaller mastes, viz.:-- all of one bignes, viz. at great end 1 _tatta._ rownd, 142 and at small end xi inches diametar: 2 of xj _tattamis_ long 2 of x _tatta._ long 2 of ix _tatta._ long At 50 _taies_ the tree (or mast), bar plate, is 300 More, for 1000 shething boardes or plankes, containing 3 _tatt._ long and xij Japon inches broad, but the thicknesse 3/4 of an inch, at iij _mas_ iij _condrins_ per bord, barr plate, is 330 More, 50 square tymbers (or _cakis_) hard wood (or oake) containing 3-1/2 _tatta._ in length and vj Japon inches square every way, at vij _mas._, barr plate, per peece is 035 More, 50 ditto lesser, same hard wood, containing 3 _tatt._ long per peec., 5 inches square, at 5 _mas_, bar plate, pec. 025 To be delivered all within the space of v or vj monethes after the date hereof, all amonting to 1290 _Febrary 19_ (_Shonguach 8_).--The Hollanders, viz. Capt. Speck, Capt. Leonard Camps, Matias vander Brook, and William, came to English house, where we had councell about sending up after Gonrok Dono for price of the lead, and about the friggat to get it for prize. Soe it was concluded to send an expres only with letters directed to the King of Firando, with others to themperours councell, written in good sorte; and to send presentes, viz.:-- 5 _tattamis_ fine damask tabling to Oyen Dono. 5 _ditto_ to Codskin Dono. 5 pec. fine parcullas to King of Firando. _Febrary 20_ (_Shonguach 9_).--Taccamon Dono sent to desire me to lett hym have the favour to serve us with gunpolder and match, and would be bound to deliver it at as loe a price and as good as any other should doe, unto whome he sent, they being our neighbours and his secretary. I made answer that his Lordshipps request was reasonable, and therefore I was content, but must stay till our fleete came, to know the quantety of each sort; and for the gunpolder I desired that Paule Dono, our gunpolder man of Nangasaque, might have the oversight of the work, which it seemeth Taccamon Dono had pretended before, as his man tould me. Capt. Adames childe in Firando was brought to me per the mother, unto 143 whome I gave ij _tais_ in small plate, and offerd her to pay for the bringing of it up to schoole, yf she would deliver it to thenglish nations protection. _Febrary 21_ (_Shonguach 10_).--I agreed with Uquese Dono the tylor to make tilles for our new godong and other building at 23 _mas_ the 1000 tiles of all sortes, one with an other. _Febrary 22_ (_Shonguach 11_).--We went and measured the buriall place, and had 13 _tattamis_ square alowed us. And Semi Dono retorned from Miaco, unto which place he accompanied the king when he went up. _Febrary 23_ (_Shonguach 12_).--We and the Hollanders went to vizet Semi Dono, and we carid hym a bottell of strong water and an other of Spanish wine, with a great box (or _bandeja_[97]) of sweet bread; and the Hollanders ij bottelles of Spanishe wine and one of strong water--which he tooke in kind parte, and sowne after sent us ij _barsos_ of wine and a salmon. [97] Span.: _bandeja_, a sideboard or waiter. _Febrary 24_ (_Shonguach 13_).--Yochemon Dono and the gunpolder mans servant broght the theefe Mon back from Nangasaque, with iiij letters from Feze Dono and Skidayen Dono and Ichemon Dono and Paule Dono, the gunpoulder man. _Febrary 25_ (_Shonguach 14_).--I wrot iiij letters to Nangasaque in answer of the others I receved yisterday, geving them thankes for their pains taken about finding out the theefe. And I bought xij stringes of silke of som fathom long a peece, to make pointes of; cost xij _mas_, barr plate. _Febrary 26_ (_Shonguach 15_).--We consorted this day with Yazemon Dono, the master sea carpenter, for tymbers, to be deliverd before the end of the Japon _Singuach_. Also we agreed with Trebioye Dono, the _bongew_ of the filde where the 144 buriall place is, to make a ston wall about it of 13 _tatt._ square, for the som of 80 _tais_ plate of barrs, or, yf it be larger, to pay for overplus per rato. And there was ij _tattamis_ black bayes cut out this day and geven, the one to Yoshemon Dono, Pauls father, and the other to Paulo Dono, the gunpoulder man, for their labour in finding out Mon, the theefe, and bringing hym from Nangasaque, with other former paynes taken. And I was enformed that Gonrok Dono hath promised the capt. moro at Nangasaque to procure the Emperours passe or _goshon_ that the carick of Amacou shall trade freely into Japon to Nangasaque yearly, in despite both of us and the Hollanders. _Febrary 27_ (_Shonguach 16_).--Semi Dono sent me a sholder of venison, and withall sent me word that he had conferred with Tonomon Samma about our demand of the ij howses next unto us, and to enlardge our wharfe or bridg 3 _tatta._ lardger into sea; which he thought would be granted unto us. And sowne after Tonomon Samma sent me word of the like conferrence with Semi Dono. And I paid Trebioye Dono, the _bongew_ of buriall place, fiftie _taies_ in plate of barrs, upon acco., to build the ston walle, agreed upon price yisterday. Coa Jno. our _jurebasso_ had a yong sonne borne this day. _Febrary 28_ (_Shonguach 17_).--This day we began to build our gadong on the W. side, and took labourers to break downe ould building and cleare the place and make roome for ston wall. _Marche 1_ (_Shonguach 18_).--Capt. Speck and Capt. Leonard came to English howse to have our letters sent to Court read over. _Marche 2_ (_Shonguach 19_).--I sent Coa Jno. _jurebasso_, to his child feast, 1 barr of plate with ij _barsos_ of _singe_. I sett Otto, Matingas slave, at liberty, she discovering her mrs. 145 villany, and that she had abused her selfe with vj or 7 persons, as apereth under 3 witnesses. _Marche 3_ (_Shonguach 20_).--I paid out to Zazabra Dono, our neighbor on the north side, for his howse, foure skore _taies_ in plate of barrs, wherof liiij _taies_ was paid unto Cushcron Dono for a Chinas howse deliverd unto the said Zazabra Dono, is 54: 0: 0, and xxvj _taies_ to Zazabra hym selfe. _Marche 4_ (_Shonguach 21_).--We had 8 barkes laden of stones brought this day. And I receved 4 letters from Nangasaque, viz. 2 from Andrea Dittis, China Capt., that he will not goe to the iland of Taccasanga this yeare as lyers report; 1 from Harnando Ximenes, to like effect; 1 from Pasquall Bonita. Also Harnando Ximenes writes me that the Portingale ambassador is retorned back to Edo per councell of Gonrok Dono, as it seemeth, to get out a _goshon_, as also to plite against us for the friggat taken. _Marche 5_ (_Shonguach 22_).--I gave 2 bore pigges and ij sow piges of thenglish race, ij to Tonomon Samme and the other ij to the Hollanders. _Marche 6_ (_Shonguach 23_).--Oyen Dono came to thenglish howse and tould me how Semi Dono staid only for Taccamon Dono to make an end about our demand both for howses and kaye seaward. So I sent Tome Dono, our _jurebasso_, to Taccamon Dono, 4 leagues hence, to desire his Lordshipp to hasten the matter, tyme passing on, and the shipps would be heare shortly, and then could we doe nothing. _Marche 7_ (_Shonguach 24_).--We had xxviij barkes lading of stones. And Tome Dono, our _jurebasso_, retorned from Taccamon Dono with answer that, yf we had the one howse at 80 _taies_, he knew no reason but we might have the other at same price; and for the kay or wharfe, 146 he thought we might have it, and would write thereof to Semi Dono per his man, hym selfe being busie about building his owne howse in the cuntrey, as our _jurebasso_ saw, he having above ijC. men at work, and, as it is thought, determeneth to retire hym selfe to dwel in the cuntrey and leave all to Seme Dono, whoe will be domenus factotum. Taccamon Dono wrot me a letter he was content we should have both howses and kay. _Marche 8_ (_Shonguach 25_).--Upon Taccamon Donos answer I wrot a letter to Semi Dono that all but he were content we should have both howses and key. And there was 146 labourers and xj carpenters this day, with xviij boates lading of stones. And Semi Dono sent for our _jurebasso_ and tould hym he was content to let us have the howses and wharfe as well as other men; but as yet we have nothing but wordes. Yet, as I perceve, the Hollanders stood out in it that it was unfitt we should build soe far out into sea; yet they have donne much more. Yet they will not be knowne to deale in this matter; only Capt. Leonard tould me, yf men did fyll up the end of the bay with building, then ther would be no place to grownd junckes or small shiping to trym them upon. Yet ther is place enough besides, as I tould hym. Mr. Eaton departed this day for Nangasaque, and I sent per hym 3 letters of adviz, to goe for Manillias to our fleete, being all one verbatum: one to goe in Emanuell Rodrigos junck, the other two in the China Capt. junck for Caggalion and Pangasinan. Also I sent per hym 5 letters of favour or pasportes for China Capt., dated the 18th ultimo, 3 for Taccasanga or Isla Fermosa, and ij for Manillias, as abovesaid, and I wrote other letters to Nangasaque, viz.:-- in Spanish. 1 to Emmanuel Rodrigos 147 1 to Alvaro Gonsalves 1 to Harnando Ximenes in Japons. 1 to Itamia Migel Dono 1 to Pasquall Bonita 1 to China Capten And we had xviij barkes of flatt stones this day. _Marche 9_ (_Shonguach 26_).--We had carpenters xv-1/2, with 1 C. xxv laborers all this day. _Marche 10_ (_Shonguach 27_).--We had 19 carpenters and 118 laborers this day. The Hollanders hadd the _caboques_ this day, and sent for me and Mr. Osterwick, and soe had a play. We had iij barkes lading flat stones. _Marche 11_ (_Shonguach 28_).--I wrot an other letter to Nangasaque to Itamia Migell Dono in favour of Cujero Dono which goeth in his junck, as also to desire hym to have a care he goeth to the place apointed per my _goshon_ and to no other. And I wrot an other to Mr. Eaton to same entent, to writt per Cujero Dono and send my letter ther inclozed to deliver to first English or Holland ship he meetes withall, to thentent, yf Itamia Migel Dono goe for Amacan and lade Portingals goodes, to seaz upon it and bring yt for Japon, and then after geve rezon for it. _Marche 12_ (_Shonguach 29_).--Semi Dono and Taccamon Dono sent each of them a man to tell me they came to deliver the kay towards the sea unto me, but it should be but ij _tattamis_; unto whome I made answer that, yf it weare not iij, I would not take it but rather rest as we weare and not breake our howse and spend ij or iij C. _taies_ for nothing. And withall I sent our _jurebasso_ to tell them that, yf they gave us vj _tattamis_ it weare far better for the harbor, as I would prove, yf they pleased to understand me. But I know it is the hollow harted Hollanders geve councell for dispite to disgrace us, as tyme will try it. I rec. a letter from Andrea Dittis, China Capt., to same effect as 148 that from his son Augustyn, that he ment to send hym and Niquan on the voyage. And we had 1 C. xxx laborers and xviij carpenters and a cane man wrought all this day. _Marche 13_ (_Ninguach 1_).--Taccamon Dono sent for our _jurebasso_ and tould hym he hadd donne as a frend in our demand for the iij _tatta._ to be alowed for our key into the sea, but others stood out, although he and the whole streete took our part. So that, yf I would geve a writing under my hand to stand for the kings award at his retorne, he would deliver it; which I performed. _Marche 14_ (_Ninguach 2_).--We had this day xviij carpenters and j C. lx laborers all day, with iij tilors halfe a day, and 1 caneman all day; and we rec. viij barkes flatt stoones this day. And I receved the box of specktacles at the handes of Mr. Osterwick: 17 dozon and 3 peare specktacles in all. And I bargened this day with Yasimon Dono for these tymbers and boardes following, to be delivered at ij moneths, viz.:-- _ta. m. co._ 1500 small boardes, viz. 30 0 0 1000 _tarakis_ or spars 35 7 0 1000 _nukes_ or rayles 25 0 0 0020 _ficamons_ or beames 26 0 0 0500 _marakis_ or rownd tymber 16 0 0 ------------ 132 7 0 ------------ _Marche 15_ (_Ninguach 3_).--We had 15 carpenters and 93 laborers and 1 caneman, 3 tilors; but 53 laborers all day, and 40 laborers at iiij _condrins_ pece per day. And we hadd 10 barkes lading flatt stoones this day. Also Itamia Migell Dono sent me 2 _barsos_ wine and stringes drid cuttell, desiring me to send hym a pasport or letter of favor, yf he 149 chansed to meet with any English or Hollandes shipps at sea. _Marche 16_ (_Ninguach 4_).--I rec. xxix _tais_ viij _mas_ iiij _condrins_ plate barrs for merchandize sould unto Shushro Dono of Firando. And we had this day 18 carpenters, 167 laborers, one plasterer, iij tilors, and one caneman. Also we had this day xix barkes stones. _Marche 17_ (_Ninguach 5_).--We had 14 carpenters, 190 laborers, 1 plasterer, and 1 caneman. Capt. Leonard Camps, with Sr. Matias and Jacob Swager went to Nangasaque; Matias and Swager to goe on a voyage for Cochinchina in a Japon junck. And I wrot 3 letters to Nangasaque: 1 to Mr. Eaton, with a pasport enclozed for Itamia Migell Dono, yf he would geve sureties that the junck shall goe for Cochinchina and not for Amacon. _Marche 18_ (_Ninguach 6_).--We had this day 9-1/2 carpenters, 155 laborers, and 1 cane man. Also we had 5 barks lading of flatt stones. And being driven affe from day to day per Semi Dono and Taccamon Dono about geving us licence for 3 _tatta._ out to sea to enlardg our kay or wharfe, they, having hetherto promised it, did now send me word they must shorten it. Wherupon I wrot a letter to them both, how I knew they had geven 5 tymes more to the Hollanders and howrly augmented it with all the howses they demanded to be puld downe, and shortned thenglish in all they demanded, contrary to the kinges promis at his departure to let us have all we demanded, soe that now I did but expect answer whether they would let me have that promised per themselves or no, and soe would rest satisfied. We sould silk of divers sortes to Tozamon Dono of Sackay for 3575: 2: 5. _Marche 19_ (_Ninguach 7_).--We had 16 carpenters, 161 laborers, 150 1 plasterer, and 1 caneman, all this day. We had x barkes lading rownd stones. _Marche 20_ (_Ninguach 8_).--We had 28 carpenters, 147 laborers, 2 plasterers, and 1 caneman. _Marche 21_ (_Ninguach 9_).--We had xiiij laborers this day to sift white lyme and make it, with other matters. And we envited Tozemon Dono and other merchants to dyner, and heat the _fro_ for them, they enviting themselves thereunto; and had the dansing beares sent for, _nifon catange_ or Japon fation. _Marche 22_ (_Ninguach 10_).--I wrot 3 letters in Japons to Nangasaque, viz. 1 to Itamia Migell Dono; 1 to Andrea Dittis, China Capt.; 1 to Skidayen Dono, Gonroks secretary, desiring hym not to let Ita. junk goe out till he gave surtis to goe for Cochinchina, and warning Itamia Migel Dono hym selfe to se it performed, as he would answer it before the Emperour; and the China Capt. to se it performed, he being suretie to me. We had xxx carpenters, 1 C. l. laborers, ij plasterars, and iij tilars, all this day. And we receved five hundred tilles this day, viz., iij rownd ends, and ij C. pointed endes; as also 5 boates lading rownd stones. _Marche 23_ (_Ninguach 11_).--We had 31 carpenters, 147 laborers, iij tilors, ij plasters, all this day. Semi Dono sent to comand me I should make noe bargen nore buy nothing of any other Japonnars for provition of building of howse or shiping or victuling, but only of them of Firando. Unto whome I retorned answer that he should pardon me in that matter, for I would buy wheare I could find best cheape, either at Firando, Nangasaque, Miaco, or else wheare; but as yet I had bought all of them of Firando, and soe would doe the like hereafter, yf they would lett me have it as good and as good cheape as others. Unto which he answerd he would take care for that, but would have me promisse to take it all of Firando men 151 and no other, or else he would geve comand that noe carpenters nor laborers should work any more on our work. And I answerd, he might doe herein as he pleased, for to doe as he would have me was against the preveleges themperour and his councell had granted our nation. So forthwith he gave comand to carpenters and all other laborars that none should labor; and soe our work standes at a stay. And we had 62 gutter tiles this day. _Marche 24_ (_Ninguach 12_).--I sent our _jurebasso_ to Taccamon Dono to know whether he hadd geven comandment our work should stay and not goe forward. But he sent me word he medled not in the matter, it belonging unto Semi Dono and not to hym. Soe, after, I sent for Capt. Speck to goe with me to speake to Semi Dono, to know wherefore he staid our worken. But Semi Dono sent us word he was busy about matters of justis, soe that we might com towardes night; but in the meane tyme Capt. Speck sent hym a letter which pasefied his proud humor. _Marche 25_ (_Ninguach 13_).--We hadd our wharfe into the sea deliverd us this day to content. But Semi Dono sayd, as he passed by our dore, it was by his apointment, lighting affe his horse, telling me he was sory I was angry with hym. Unto whome I replied, I was sory his Lordship was angry against me, whoe was ready to doe his Lordshipp the best service I could; and soe he departed. But Taccamon Dono sent me word that it was he and others stood out for us, Semi Dono desiring it should have staid till the kinges retorne, and not have byn deliverd. We receved this tymber following for the buriall place, viz. of Tymon Dono:-- 122 _marrokis_ or rownd tymbers, at ij per _mas_. 062 _cakis_ or square tymbers, at j _mas_ per pec. 110 boardes of 1 _tatt._ long, at 5 per _mas_. 170 _tarrakis_, at 12-1/2 per _mas_. 004 greate _marokis_ for the dore, at 8 _mas_ pec. 152 001 great _caky_ for dore, at 3-1/2 _mas_. 001 duble _caky_ for dore, at 4 _mas_. _Marche 26_ (_Ninguach 14_).--We had 15 carpenters, 134 laborers, 5 tylors, and ij plasterers, all this day. We rec. yisterday of Tayemon Dono tymber, viz. 102 _nuquis_, or rayeles, at 4 per _mas_, for gedong, and 600 _shemottes_, or rownd small poles, for gedong, at 30 per _mas_. And I sent a barr of plate to the _caboques_, due for playing the night when Tozemon Dono and others weare envited for sale of our silke. Also we had 24 carpenters and 58 laborers this day for our work at buriall place. _Marche 27_ (_Ninguach 15_).--We had 15 carpenters, 121 laborers, 5 tilors, and 2 plasterers, all this day. And we receved iij C. tiles this day from tilar of Tabilo. And Capt. Speck and my selfe wrot 3 letters to Nangasaque about the busynes of the _goshon_ lent to Itamia Migell Dono, viz. 1 to Skidayen Dono, the chefe justis, under my owne ferme, to desire hym to comand Migell Dono not to goe for Amacon; 1 to Itamia Migell Dono, with the fermes of Capt. Speck, Capt. Leonard Champes, and my selfe, to same effect; 1 to Skidayen Dono, with our 3 fermes, to same effect. _Marche 28_ (_Ninguach 16_).--We had 9 carpenters, 97 laborers, 2 plasterers, and 1 caneman, for the howse; and, for buriall place, 30 carpenters, 34 laborers, all day. Semi Dono, Taccamon Dono, and others, went this day to Ishew to vizet Tonomon Samma, whoe is gon thither to hawk and hunt 8 or 10 daies past. _Marche 29_ (_Ninguach 17_).--We had 8 carpenters, 102 laborers, ij plasterers, and 1 cane man, for the howse, all this day; and for the buriall place, 30 carpenters, 52 laborers. And we receved tymbers, ij barkes lading this day, viz. 124 great _caquis_, or square tymber, and 44 great _nuqins_, for gedong; also 38 _marakis_ for the buriall 153 place. Capt. Leonard Camps retorned from Nangasaque, and sent me word that Mr. Eaton would be heare this night or to morrow, and that all the junckes weare gon out and Sr. Matias in that of Jno. Yoosen. _Marche 30_ (_Ninguach 18_).--We had 39 carpenters, 132 laborers, 2 plasterers for 1/2 day, for howse, and 82 laborers, halfe day, and 50 laborers, whole day, for howse; and 10 carpenters and 4 laborers all day for buriall place. _Marche 31_ (_Ninguach 19_).--We had 50 carpenters, and 32 laborers, for howse, and, for buriall place, 7 carpenters and 4 laborers, all day. _Aprill 1_ (_Ninguach 20_).--We had 50 carpenters, 20 laborers, for howse, and, for buriall place, 4 carpenters, 4 laborers, all day. Mr. Eaton retorned this night from Nangasaque. _Aprill 2_ (_Ninguach 21_).--We had 53 carpenters, 172 laborers, 1 plasterar 1/2 day, and one cane man 1/2 day, the rest all day, for the howse, with 12 carpenters and 12 laborers for the buriall place. And Mr. Eaton delivered these papers in Japons unto me, viz.:-- 1 recept of Ichemon Dono. 1 bill of Cuemon Dono. 1 coppie of a writing sent to Cochinchina per Mr. Eaton per Capt. Chimpan, to recover in what he can, the one halfe of which he is to have for hymselfe, and thother for the Company, of all he can gett ether of that lost per Mr. Peacock or Mr. Sayer; for beter somthing then nothing. 1 writing in Japons, fermed per Itamia Migell Dono named Ziemon, Soude Giemon, his boteswaine, and Shobioye Dono, his purser or scrivano, wherin they are bound upon payne of livse and goodes not to tuch at Amacon nether going out nor retorning home, but to goe directly for Cochinchina, and noe place else. Yt is reported that the King of Goto hath cutt his belly at Miaco by 154 comand of themperour, by reason he put away his wife, which was of the blood royall (he being made king by marying of her), and took an other woaman of basse degree in her place. This is the generall report, yet som say he is not yet dead, but in greate danger to die, the matter having been in plito the space of 4 or 5 yeares. _Aprill 3_ (_Ninguach 22_).--We had 70 carpenters, 33 laborers, and 1 caneman, for howse, and ij carpenters and iiij laborers for buriall place. I gave Coa Jno. _jurebassos_ wife a bar plate with a _barso_ of wyne and box sweet bread, she going to a new howse, and brought her child to me to geve it a name, which I did call Coa Jno., as his father. Tonomon Samma, Taccamon Dono, and Semi Dono did retorne from Ishew, where they were to take pleasure. Soe I sent our _jurebasso_ to bid them well home in my name, and to offer them my service. But Taccamon Dono (before the _jurebasso_ spoake with hym) sent a man to tell me of his retorne, offring me all frenship wherin we had occation to employ hym, either toward Tonomon Samma or else where. _Aprill 4_ (_Ninguach 23_).--We had 72 carpenters, 56 laborers, and 1 caneman, for the howse and gadonge. _Aprill 6_ (_Ninguach 25_).--We had 44 carpenters, 23 laborers, and 1 cane man, for howse, with iiij laborers for buriall place. We bought tymber this day, viz. 37 _cakis_ and 53 duble _cakis_, pyne tree. _Aprill 7_ (_Ninguach 26_).--We had 46 carpenters, 23 laborers, and 1 caneman, for howse, and 4 laborers for buriall place. We whipped Man, our empresoned theefe, and he hath confessed he stole the silver cup, lost when the _caboques_ weare heare a yeare past; also that he stole the greate silver tankar at our going to 155 Nangasaque, and, as he saith, sould them at Nangasaque to Portingalles which went in the friggattes. _Aprill 8_ (_Ninguach 27_).--We had 58 carpenters, 45 laborers, for the howse, and 4 laborers for the buriall place. Ther was speeches geven out per a lying profitt or pagon prist that this day all the iland and towne of Firando should be overwhelmed with water, and many stood in dowbt thereof; yet it proved a lye. _Aprill 9_ (_Ninguach 28_).--We had 53 carpenters, 74 laborers, and 1 plaster, for the howse, and 11 carpenters, 43 laborers for buriall place. _Aprill 11_ (_Ninguach 30_).--We had 65 carpenters, 122 laborers, and 2 plastrars, for the howse. I deliverd 1 C. _tais_ plate barrs to Jno. _jurebasso_ upon acco. of building. The China Capt. retorned to Firando, and saith all the junckes are departed on their voyages, but only two small ons which goe directly for China. Ther is greate seeking after place to make howses at Cochie, the king having geven order, as they say, to erect above 200 new howses to putt inhabitantes into. Soe Capt. Leonard Camps and Mr. Eaton went thether to look to the measuring out of our grownd, geven us per the king, others begining to encroche upon us, especially to get xj _tatta._, which lieth betwixt us and the Hollanders. Also we determen to make out our kay there into sea vj _tattamis_ in bredth, we having 45 _tatta._ in length, and the Hollanders 40 _tattamis_, besides the xj _tatta._ betwixt us which we pretend to demand of the king yf he will geve it us. And Japons went to esteemate what the making out our kayes (or wharfes) might amont unto, and esteemed it at 800 _taies_ for us and the Hollanders. We receved 1591 tilles this day from Tabula, viz. 1215 ordinary broat or flatt, and 376 rownd or hollo tilles--all at 23 _mas_ per j M. _Aprill 13_ (_Sanguach 2_).--We had 67 carpenters and 103 laborers 156 for the howse, and rec. 1660 tilles from Tabilo this day. Harnando Ximenes retorned to Firando this day from Goto, having geven over his voyage in the Capt. Chinas junck, falling out with a China about a whore and beating of hym. _Aprill 14_ (_Sanguach 3_).--This day being a great pagon feast called _Sanguach sanch_, or the therd day of the therd moone, non would work upon it, the pagons upon their ordinary superstition, and the Christians for feare to be noted to be Christians. Soe noe work was donne this day. Yet on the Sonday all will work, both Christians and pagons of Japon, and the papistes in Japon will more strictly observe and keepe any other blind hollyday of fayned saintes (made knowne unto them per Jesuistes and frires) then the Sabath day. This is daylie seene per experience. Harnando Ximenes saith he was enformed per a China which spoake Spanish how the other Chinas, which went in the junck of China Capt., laid a plot to kill hym, saying, yf they did it, whoe would bring them in question for it at their retorne. But the China Capt. saieth it was about a whore, and noe such matter ment. But Harnando saith he esteemeth that ould Harry Shanks, the Scotsman, whoe is gon with them, will never retorne, but be murthered by them; which the end will prove. _Aprill 15_ (_Sanguach 4_).--We had 64 carpenters and 130 laborers, for howse; and we receved 5660 tiles. _Aprill 16_ (_Sanguach 5_).--We had 67 carpenters and 143 laborers, with 2 plasterers and 4 tylers; and we receved 950 tyles, with ij mark and ij head tiles, from Enquese Dono, the tilor at Tabilo. And I paid ij _tais_ j _mas_ for 2 peces Japon taffety to lyne Capt. Adams and Coa Jnos. childrens coates. _Aprill 17_ (_Sanguach 6_).--We had 48 carpenters, 148 laborers, 157 2 plasterers, and 5 tillors, for howse; and 4 carpenters and 31 laborers for the buriall place. And we receved ij M. iij C. xliiij tils ordenary from Imory; and vj C. ditto from Tabilo, with 4 lyons, 8 mark tilles, 4 head tilles. And we receved tymber this day from Shezemon Dono, from Umbra: 162 _nuqus_, 44 _caquis_, 1 rownd tree or _maraky_, 2 _naccabassas_ or great rownd trees, etc. _Aprill 18_ (_Sanguach 7_).--We had 70 carpenters, 160 laborers, 2 plasterars, and 5 tylors, for howse; and 34 laborers for the buriall place. And I reconed with Tobio Dono for ston wall made about buriall place, it being ended this day, I having paid hym formerly 50 _tais_ 50: 0: 0 And now, in plate bars, as the lyke before 42: 8: 0 And geven hym in 1 plate of bar gratis 04: 3: 0 -------- 97: 1: 0 -------- _Aprill 19_ (_Sanguach 8_).--We had 71 carpenters, 140 laborers, and 2 plasters, for the howse; and for the buriall place, 4 carpenters, 44 laborers, and iij tilors. And we receved tymbers; and iij M. tiles from Tabola, for buriall place. _Aprill 20_ (_Sanguach 9_).--We had 75 carpenters, 58 laborers, all day, and 52 laborers halfe day, with ij plasterars all day, for howse; and iij tilars 1/2 the day, and 36 laborers for buriall place 1/2 a day. And we receved 1523 tiles, with viij barkes lading of flatt stons and one of rownd. _Aprill 21_ (_Sanguach 10_).--We had 72 carpenters and 45 laborers for the howse; and 4 laborers at buriall place. Also we had 1 barkes lading rownd stones and 2 barkes lading gravill or sand. And we rec. j M. vij C. xx tiles ordenary from Imorey. _Aprill 22_ (_Sanguach 11_).--We had 77 carpenters, 76 laborers, and 158 2 plasterers, for howse; and xxxiiij laborers for buriall place. _Aprill 23_ (_Sanguach 12_).--We had 73 carpenters, 71 laborers, and ij plasterers, for howse; and 3 tillars and xxv laborers for buriall place. And there was ij M. 1 C. liij ordenary tiles rec. from Imory; and one barkes lading of rownd stones. And I went to Cochie this day with Mr. Eaton to measure our grownd geven us per the _tono_ to build upon, and find it to be l. _tatta._ long and 1-1/2 _tatta._ deepe to seaward, to make a wharfe of ston 6 _tatta._ broad and the whole length. Soe I esteemd it at 300 _tatt._ in all and did offer them i C. l. _taies_ to doe it, they demanding iij C. _tais_. And soe we broake affe; for they had agreed with the Hollanders before to make their key xxxiij _tatta._ long and viij broad at one end and vj at thother, and ij _tatta._ deepe to seaward for most parte, which I did esteem as much work as ours. _Aprill 26_ (_Sanguach 15_).--We had 52 carpenters and 35 laborers for the howse. Capt. Leonard came this day and tould me that Tonomon Samma and Semi Dono had advized hym that themperour had sent 2 greate men for _bongews_ into Gonto, to enquire about that plito betwixt the king and queene; and that from thence they ment to com to Firando; and in the meane tyme Semi Dono ment to goe to meete them at Goto, and advized us it weare expedient we sent som one to doe the like on our behalves with a letter from us. Soe we agreed to send our _jurebasso_ with the Hollanders to that entent, with som present of sweetmeates and wine. Faccata Soco Dono, which lent us 3500 _tais_ at intrest, came to see our English howse, offring us, yf we needed xx or 30000 _tais_ at intrest at any time, he hadd it ready for us, wishing us to take non of any others. Soe we envited hym to our _fro_ tomorrow, with v or vj others to beare hym company, viz. Faccata Yayemon Dono, Andrea Dittis, 159 China Capt., Cushcron Dono, Synemon Dono, and Yasimon Dono; with Paulo Dono, gunpouder man, Shoyemon Dono, Palus father, and Chubio Dono, our host of Bingana Tomo. _Aprill 27_ (_Sanguach 16_).--We had 67 carpenters and 40 laborers for the howse. I paid Lues, the Spanish telior, i _tay_ small plate for a _carapesa_[98] of wrought velvett, black laid on with silver lace. Semi Dono departed towardes Goto to meete themperours _bongews_; and the Hollanders and we made ready our presentes to send to morrow morning per our _jurebasso_, viz.:-- for thenglish. 1 jar conserved ginger, poiz nett, 20 _cattis_ 1 great bottell of ij gallons, strong water for the Hollanders. 1 jar conservd nutmegges of like bignesse 2 bottell of allegant or tynt wyne [98] Span., _carapuza_ or _caperuza_, a hood. _Aprill 28_ (_Sanguach 17_).--We had 67 carpenters, 48 laborers, and i plasterer, for howse, with 4 tylors and 23 laborers for buriall place. Alsoe we receved ij M. j C. xl ordenary tilles from Imory. And I sent a bar plate to _caboques_ for bringing a banket and coming per water to Cochie, when wee went to measure grownd. I rec. 5 R. of 8 of Capt. Speck, delivered hym on a wager before. _Aprill 29_ (_Sanguach 18_).--We had 28 carpenters, 46 laborers, 1 plasterer, 1 caneman, for howse, and 4 tillors and 25 laborers for buriall place. And there was 600 tyles ordenary rec. from Tabola. The China Capt. envited both us and the Hollanders to dyner this day, where we had greate cheare with dansing beares. _Aprill 30_ (_Sanguach 19_).--We had 26 carpenters, 42 laborers, 160 1 plasterar, and i caneman, for howse all day; and for buriall place, 4 tylors and 34 laborers for halfe a day. And I paid unto Chubio Dono, our host of Bingana Tomo, for 8 _pico_ 35 _cattis_ shething neales at 5 _tais pico_, 44: 2: 5; and for xx _barsos morofack_, at 1 _tay barso_, 20: 0: 0. And advanced upon a bargen of 50 _pico_ neals more, 35: 7: 5. And gave a peece black satten to Chubio Dono upon bargen. _May 2_ (_Sanguach 21_).--We had 32 carpenters, 86 laborers, and 1 caneman, for howse: and 1 plasterer and 23 laborers for buriall place. I bargened this day of Tobio Dono to make a ston walle at Cochie before our howsing, of 1 _tatta_ long, vj _tatta_ broad, and 1-1/2 _tatta_ deepe towardes sea, to be greate stonnes 1/2 a _tatta._ to seaward and at end, and the rest small, to have ij C. _tais_ in money, and one peece black satten. This night, within night, the King of Xaxma passed by this place, retorning from themperours Court. Soe we and the Hollanders went out to meete hym, and carid a present as from both Companies, viz.:-- 1 guilt lether skin, containing 32 skins. 1 faggott of steele. 7 peeces white percallas. 3 _tatta._ fyne damask tabling. And to his secretary, 2 peeces redd cheremis. 3 peeces white percallas. But he was sick, that he could not be spoaken withall, nether by Tonomon Samma the kinges brother, whoe went out to meete hym with a present, nether by us. Soe we left the present with the secretary, whoe at first made diffecultie to receve it, yet in the king his masters name promised all assistance to our shiping, yf in case any putt into his dominions. _May 5_ (_Sanguach 24_).--We had 41 carpenters, 139 laborers, and 161 j plasterar, for howse; and 1 plasterer and 15 laborers for the buriall place. And our _jurebasso_ retorned from Goto with answers from thembassadors, who tooke in good parte the present sent to them from us and Hollanders. _May 6_ (_Sanguach 25_).--We had 46 carpenters and 131 laborers, for the howse. And there was delivered to Bonga Sammas man, for acco. of his master, 3 _cattis_ 6 _tay_ wight wax. And presently after he sent a ram gote to thenglish house for a present, which I make acco. is in payment of the wax. _May 7_ (_Sanguach 26_).--We had 45 carpenters, 164 laborers, 2 plasters, and 1 caneman, for howse. Also we receved ij barkes lading of small stones, cost xvi _condrins_; and 9 square hewed stones for steares from Languay. _May 12_ (_Singuach 2_).--We began to set up or reare our new howse to sea ward. _May 13_ (_Singuach 3_).--We had 67 carpenters and 73 laborers, for the howse. And there was tymber rec. from Goto, of Shezemon Dono. _May 15_ (_Singuach 5_).--We had 57 carpenters, 116 laborers, and 4 tilors, for the howse. And there was tilles receved, viz. 5633 tilles in 2 barkes from Imory, and 1 bark containing 800 tilles from Tabola. Also there was iij barkes lading gravill or small stons of 8 _con. pico_. _May 16_ (_Singuach 6_).--We had 64 carpenters, 158 laborers, and 4 tilors, and ij masons, for the howse. And we rec. x great free stons from Languay for to make the steares, wheron the masons now work. Also we rec. 1900 tilles ordenary from Tabola. We went this day to Cochie to look on our work; and the Hollandes Capt. and China Capt. met us theare; and all the dansing beares weare theare before us. _May 17_ (_Singuach 7_).--We had 66 carpenters, 135 laborers, 4 162 tilors, and 2 masons, for the howse. Also we rec. 4258 tilles ordinary from Tabola. Capt. Speck and Capt. Camps came to English howse, and we went together to vizet China Capt., he sending for dansing beares. _May 18_ (_Singuach 8_).--We had 64 carpenters, 115 laborers, and 2 masons, for the howse. This day, being the 8th of Singuach, or 4th Japon moone, is the feast of the resorection of their great profitt Shacka, as they fondly beleeve, and soe deck all the eaves of their howses with green bowes, and goe on pilgremadg to ther pagodes. I sent ij bars plate, containing 6: 8: 2, to the ij companis dansing beares, for going to Cochie and, after, to China Capt., for duble _fannas_.[99] Tonomon Samma and Semi Dono sent for Spanish wine and conservs, in respect of the coming of the Emperors ambassadors, which are looked for this night. Soe I sent eather of them a pottell bottell of wyne and conservs to Tonomon, and a bottell strong water to Semi Dono. And there was iij C. xx bundelles of shingelles rec. from Nangasaque. [99] _Hana_, a present to an actor or dancing-girl. _May 19_ (_Singuach 9_).--We had 64 carpenters, 94 laborers, and 2 masons, for howse. And I rec. ij letters, viz. 1 from Shongo Samma, admerall of Japon, at Edo, in answer of myne, and that he had geven warning to Capt. Adames woaman to let me have the disposing of the _goshons_ for her childrens use; and thother from Uquese Dono of Miaco. _May 20_ (_Singuach 10_).--We had 65 carpenters, 89 laborers, and 2 masons, for howse. This evenyng the King of Arima, named Bongo Samma, arived at Firando, and lodged in Semi Donos howse, much preparation being made to receve hym, and all the streetes made cleane. He is in greate favor with themperor, whoe gave hym that kingdom few yeares past, and per som 163 suspected that themperor meaneth to shift the king of this place to Arima, and set the other heare. The last yeare he sent one of his noblemen to vizet the King of Firando, and gave hym charge to com to thenglish howse, and in his name to offer us any servize or favor his kingdom afforded, or, yf we stood in need of money, he had 40 or 50000 _taies_ allwais ready at our service. Soe I now sent our _jurebasso_ to bid his Hignesse welcom to Firando; which he took in very kind parte. Also I sent to the Holland Capt. to know yf they ment to vizet hym to morow with som small present. And they sent me word, they had noe accoyntance with hym and therfore ment not to goe to hym. _May 21_ (_Singuach 11_).--We had 64 carpenters, 245 laborers, and 1 mason, for howse. And we began to reare or set up our new gedonge this day. And we had 5 barkes lading stones for to make the steares. And we supped at Hollandes howse, where the China Capt., Andrea Dittis, was also envited; and we had greate cheare. _May 22_ (_Singuach 12_).--We hadd 68 carpenters and 159 laborers, for the howse. The Emperors ambassadors arived at Firando, retorned from Goto with the King of Arima, whoe went from hence to fetch them. _May 23_ (_Singuach 13_).--We had 73 carpenters, 165 laborers, 1 caneman, and 2 masons, for the howse, the masons tide work. The Hollanders and we went to vizet the 2 _bongewes_ or ambassadors from themperor, and carid them for presentes as followeth, viz.:-- Hollanders. 2 peces cushen velvet of Hollanders 8 peces or duble velvet cushin, ditto English. 5 peces cheremis, ours 14 peces Canton damask, ours 2 faggottes bar steele, ours And we rec. ij M. v C. tilles ordinary from Imory; and i M. iij C. 164 ditto from Tabola. _May 24_ (_Singuach 14_).--We had 75 carpenters, 171 laborers, 1 caneman, and 2 masons. We went with the Hollanders to vizet the King of Arima, and carid hym a present betwixt us, viz.:-- 3 peces damaskes Lankin, of Hollanders. of English acco. 5 peces Canton damask 5 peces parcallas, white 1 fagot stille And we had j M. iij C. v tilles ordinary from Tabola. The Emperours ambassadours, with Tonomon Samma and others, came to se our English howse, whome we entertayned in the best sort we could. _May 25_ (_Singuach 15_).--We had 72 carpenters, 122 laborers, 2 masons, and 1 caneman, for the howse. Also we receved i M. ij C. ordinary tilles from Tabola. And our rearing of the gedong being ended, we made a feast to the carpenters, and gave these presentes, viz. to Tayemon Dono, 1 pec. blak satten and ij _barsos_ wine and 4 fishes; to Synemon Dono 1 pec. blak satten, he being kinges carpenter; to two other master carpenters 2 pec. white lyns; to 7 other master carpenters 7 pec. Canton damask; to 50 yong carpenters, each one one _mas_ in paper. And Cushcron Dono, Yosemon Dono, Shezemon Dono, sent each one a _barso_ of wine and 2 fishes. Tonomon Samma envited the Emperors ambassadors to a hunting, and provided a banket for them and 500 persons more in the woodes (or forest), where they went to hunt; but the ambassadors retorned back in the mid way and tasted not of the banket; the reason I know not. _May 26_ (_Singuach 16_).--We had 67 carpenters, 207 laborers, 2 masons, and 1 caneman, for the howse. And we receved ij M. v C. lx ordinary tilles from Imory, and vj C. ditto from Tabola. This day themperours embassadors departed from Firando, and Semi Dono 165 accompanid them to Languai. The x Japon coates or _kerremons_, sent from the Emperours councell to Capt. Camps and my selfe for a present, came this day, and we tooke each of us 5. And I gave 3 of myne to Mr. Eaton, Mr. Osterwick, and Ric. Hundson. These came per the expres we sent up about procuring price of our lead; but noe answer of any price or any end to be made consernyng our prize goodes taken in the friggott. _May 29_ (_Singuach 19_).--We had 81 carpenters, 184 laborers, 3 plasters, and 8 tilors, for the howse. And the Hollanders and we agreed to send an other expres to Edo with letter, to procure the dispach of price of our lead and ending prize goodes, viz. 1 to Oyen Dono, 1 to Codgskin Dono, 1 to Itamia Quenusque Dono, 1 to Matsin Dayre Yemon, of themperours Councell; 1 to Figen a Came, King of Firando; 1 to Torazemon Dono, his secretary. These letters we sent expres per a foote post, because we have no finall answer of our former; and pay the post 10 _tais_ for his voyadge. And we rec. iij M. x tilles ordinary from Imory, and j M. j C. from Tabola. Also a barke with xj free stoones from Nangoya. _May 30_ (_Singuach 20_).--We had 80 carpenters, 241 laborers, 3 plasterers, 7 tilors, for the howse. And we rec. ij M. v C. iiij xx ordinary tilles from Imory, and iij C. xx from Tabola. _May 31_ (_Singuach 21_).--We had 83 carpenters, 168 laborers, 3 plasters, 7 tilors, 2 masons, for the howse. _June 1_ (_Singuach 22_).--We had 79 carpenters, 105 laborers, 5 plasters, and 1 mason. _June 2_ (_Singuach 23_).--We had 80 carpenters, 138 laborers, 5 plastarars, and 2 masons. _June 3_ (_Singuach 24_).--We had 76 carpenters, 124 laborers, 5 plasterers, and 2 masons. The China Capt. reportes that the newes at Nangasaque is that a 166 gallion and a junck which went from Nangasaque the last yeare or monson for the Manillias are cast away on the Islandes of Liqueas, and very few or non of the people saved. The junck, they say, belongeth to Bongo Dono, the King of Arrima; and the friggat is ether that which went out first, wherin our 2 runawaies were fownd, or else that wherin Alvaro Munos went afterwardes. As we sat at supper at night, there entred a Japon gentellman into our howse, with 30 or 40 men attending on hym, and came into our halle before we saw hym. Soe I desird hym to sitt downe and take parte of such fare as we had; which he did, and seemed to take it in very kind parte. And sowne after he sent me a jarr of _nipa_, or rack of _pi_, for a present, per one of his gentelmen, per whome I understood his masters name was Ismo Dono, a greate man of Xaxma, whome the king of that place sendes up to Edo to kisse themperours handes and geve hym thankes for the greate presentes and good entertaynment themperour gave hym at his being at Edo. Soe, after his man was departed, I sent Ric. Hudson with Tome, our _jurebasso_, abord his bark (for he passeth secretly, and lodgeth not ashore) to crave pardon of his Lordshipp, yf I had not geven hym such entertaynment as his worth deserved, being ignorant of his greatnesse and abashed at the honour he did me in sending me a present. And withall I sent hym a bottell of strong water which, as it seemed, he took in very kynde part. Ric. Hudson and the _jurebasso_ said he had a very great bark with a faire cabben in it, hanged all about with ruch damask, and attended on with many men, both ould and yong, with greate reverence and silence, their heads bowed downe to the grownd, soe that they judged hym a man of greate qualletie; yet he seemed not to be above xxx yeares of adge. _June 4_ (_Singuach 25_).--We had 74 carpenters, 108 laborers, and 5 plasterers, for the howse. And we went to Cochie this day, to look on our wharfe or ston wall 167 newly made, it being well don. _June 5_ (_Singuach 26_).--We had 77 carpenters, 81 laborers and 5 plasterars. And we dined at Semi Donos, where we had great cheare and kind entertaynment; and the Hollanders are to dyne theare to morrow. _June 6_ (_Singuach 27_).--We had 77 carpenters, 83 laborers, and 5 plasterars. Andrea, the boateswaine, retorned from Nangasaque, and brought us a new boate or _foyfone_, cost xxx _taies_. And he bringeth certen news that the King of Arimas junck is cast away at Liqueas, and the people saved and retornd to Arima per Nangasaque, who bring the news; and also that the galliot wherin Alvaro Munos went is cast away, and not a man saved; and an other junck, the mast apering above the water, but not a man saved; soe they know not what junk it is, but dowbt it is Jno. Yoosens junk. _June 7_ (_Singuach 28_).--We had 74 carpenters, 88 laborers, and 5 plasterars, for the howse. And I paid j C. _taies_ plate barrs to Tobio Dono, in full payment of making the ston wall at Cochie, he having rec. j C. _tais_ more before. And we gave him a peece black satten gratis, as we promised at bargen making; the wall being 50 _tattamis_ long and vj _tatt._ broade and 1-1/2 deepe at water side, as per agreement, but it is 3 spans broader then bargen. The Hollanders refused to goe to dynner to Semi Dono, because he envited us before them; which Semi Dono took in very ill parte. _June 8_ (_Singuach 29_).--We had 68 carpenters, 87 laborers, 5 plasterars. _June 9_ (_Singuach 30_).--We had 53 carpenters, 128 laborers, 5 plasterars, and 5 tilors. And I paid i C. xix _tais_ more unto Cosio Dono, in full payment 168 for making our kay or wharfe to sea wardes at Firando, viz:-- _ta. m. co._ In R. of 8. at 8 _mas._ per R. i C. R. is, 080 0 0 In plate of bars 039 0 0 In i C. l _tais_ paid hym before is 150 0 0 ----------- 269 0 0 _June 10_ (_Gonguach 1_).--We had 41 carpenters, 102 laborers, and 4 plasterars. The Hollands Capt. sent us 50 sackes of barly for a present, in respect we have furnished them with skarbeare from tyme to tyme. Alsoe they sent us 2 greate _barsos_ of _morofack_, in place of 2 littell ons lent them. _June 11_ (_Gonguach 2_).--We had 43 carpenters, 82 laborers, and 5 plasterars, and 1 mason. And there was 12 square stones for steares rec. this day from Nanguay. _June 12_ (_Gonguach 3_).--We had 40 carpenters, 77 laborers, 5 plasterars, and 2 masons. _June 13_ (_Gonguach 4_).--We had 34 Carpenters, 109 laborers, 5 plasterars, and 2 masons. And we receved tymber. _June 14_ (_Gonguach 5_).--This day is a great feast, called _Gonguach guench_, or the 5th day of the 5th moone called _Gonguach_. Having ended our new building, and Tonomon Samma being to goe to Edo, we thought good to envite hym to dyner with other noble men 3 daies hence. _June 16_ (_Gonguach 7_).--We had 9 carpenters, 88 laborers, 5 plastrars, and 1 mason, for the howse. Here was speeches geven out that both English and Holland shipping ware without, wherupon above j C. barkes went out to meet them, with wyne, frutes, bread, hennse, and other matter. The reason was for that 3 or 4 Englishmen and Hollanders went to passe the tyme at Cochie, and retorning back on horsback in hast, the people thought there was 169 shiping entred, they English and Hollanders telling them it was true. _June 17_ (_Gonguach 8_).--We had 65 laborers and 5 plasterars, for the howse. There came to dyner this day, viz. Tonomon Samma, now called Canzemon Samma, kinges brother; Sangero Samma, now called Matzera Crodze Samma; Semi Dono, more then the king; Taccamon Dono, Lord Cheefe Justice of Firando; Ito Stizemon Dono, the poet or singer, a good drinker; Morano Cofioze, a gentelman, singer; Sofo Dono, a doctor of phisik, Japon fation or _nifon cantange_; Showan Dono, doctor of phisik, eidem; Ishon Dono, doctor, eidem; Shofan Dono, doctor, eidem. All our neighbors came unsent for, to assist us in the making ready the dynner for the nobles, which, as it seemed was much to their content. And I had presentes geven me, as followeth:-- from Tonemon Samma. 1 _langenatt_ 2 lynen _catabras_ from Sangero Samma. 1 silke _catabra_ 1 lynen _catabra_ from Semi Dono. 1 silk _catabra_ 1 lynen ditto from Taccamon Dono. 1 silk _catabra_ 1 lynen ditto _June 18_ (_Gonguach 9_).--We had 10 carpenters, 115 laborers, 5 plasterars, and 2 masons, for the house. Palo Dono, the gunpoulder man, bringeth news that a Portingale galliot arived ij dais past at Nangasaque, com from Amacau; and some say j more is coming after, others say 6 or 7. Also the Portingales report that 4 junckes and friggattes which went from Japon to Manillas this yeare are cast away upon that coast, and that they saw non of our shiping nor Hollanders upon the coast of Manillas this yeare; but that may very well be, they keeping upon that parte called Cagalion, and this news came from Luson to Amacow. _June 19_ (_Gonguach 10_).--We had 5 carpenters, 96 laborers, 5 170 plasters, and two masons, for the howse. We envited our neighbors and frendes to dyner this day, after the Japon fation, with _caboques_, viz. Coyemon Dono, Cofio Dono, Tobio Dono, Lisomon Dono, Genemon Dono, Sannemon Dono, Jenquero Dono, Yoyemon Dono, Faccata, Yayemon Dono, carpenter, Shezemon Dono, Taffio Dono, Fioyemon Dono, Yoyemon, oylman, Cuze Dono, Cuzemon Dono, Seyemon Dono, Yoiemon Dono, Nicolas Martin, Gembio, founder, Ficobioy, founder, China Capten, Sinemon, carpenter, Tayemon, carpenter, Yoyemon, smith, Cuemon, plasterer, Zazabra Dono, Cushcron Dono, Mr. Eaton, Mr. Ostarwk., my selfe. And we hadd the dansing beares, unto whom the gesse gave aboue xx _taies_ for a larges. _June 20_ (_Gonguach 11_).--We had 35 laborers for the howse. I receved a letter from Goresak Dono, dated in Nangasaque 4 dais past, wherein he writes me of the arivall of the Portingall friggat or galliota from Amacou, and that, as they report, vj more are gon from thence to Luson in the Manillias. And that they report an English shipp was cast away on the coast of China the last monson, and that 30 of the men are in the Portingalles hands at Amacou. Soe I dowbt it is the _Unicorne_, or else it may be the English ship called the _Hope_, or a small penisse which was sett out from Pattania in company of the _Royale James_ the last yeare. Also others have letters that our fleete at Manillas have taken 5 China junckes; others report more, and that they have taken a Portingall galliota. _June 21_ (_Gonguach 12_).--I sent ij barrs plate to the ij companis of dansing beares or _caboques_. _June 22_ (_Gonguach 13_).--We had 6 carpenters, 82 laborers, 5 plasterars, and 2 masons, and 3 tilors, for the howse. We dyned at Tayemon Donos, the master carpenter, where we had good entertaynment, with dansing beares. _June 23_ (_Gonguach 14_).--We had 2 carpenters, 70 laborers, 5 171 plasterars, and 2 masons, for the howse. I receved a letter from Pasquall Benito, dated in Nangasaque yisterday, accompanid with a Duch letter directed to Capt. Leonard Campes, which came from Camboja, wherin he is advized that the news theare is that 40 seale of shipps came the last yeare out of England and Holland for the Indies, to passe by Cape Bona Speranza, and that 30 seale were prepared to com out of Spaine same way. Also a small galliota is arived at Nangasaque which came from Manillias, and is com emptie. Soe it is thought she is a theefe run away from Spaniard to seek purchases. And we receved tymber at Cochie. _June 24_ (_Gonguach 15_).--We had 64 laborers, 5 plasterars, and i mason, for howse. We fownd the greate ancor, lost when the _James Royall_ went out; and paid for finding it 5 bars plate. And Bonga Samma sent me a leane pork for a present. _June 25_ (_Gonguach 16_).--We had 5 carpenters, 85 laborers, 5 plasters, and i mason, for the howse. And we have news that Itamia Migell Donos junck is retorned to Nangasaque, and hath lost her voyage. _June 26_ (_Gonguach 17_).--We had news that the China Capt. junck is arived from Tonkyn, which staid theare the last monson, now arivd at Nangasaque. _June 27_ (_Gonguach 18_).--We had 5 carpenters and 63 laborers. I rec. a letter from Itamia Migell Deno, dated in Nangasaque the 13th of _Gonguach_, wherein he writes me of the losse of his voyadg, and that he will come hym selfe and bring me my _goshon_ before it be longe. And Oyen Dono, with an other cavelero, cam to thenglish howse, sent from Tonomon Samma, Semi Dono, and Taccamon Dono, to warne us, when our shiping came in, that our marenars walked not ashore with weapons or _catanes_. _June 28_ (_Gonguach 19_).--I receved a letter from China Capt., dated 172 in Nangasaque 18th _Gonguach_, of his arivall theare and of the junck com from Tonkyn, but that his factor he sent is left behind, and a new small junck retornd in place of ould. Also that he understandes our 9 shipps are arived in the bay of Manillias, and have taken ij China junkes, and that few adventure now to that parte for feare of us and the Hollanders; and that the ould Emperor of China and his sonne are dead, and thempire com to a yong man, his sonns sonne. _June 29_ (_Gonguach 20_).--I rec. a letter from Pasquali, dated in Nangasaque 2 daies past, wherin he writes me that the admerall of thenglish hath cut affe the head of an English capt. in the Manillias, and hanged 5 other English men; and that the _Unecorne_ was cast away upon the coast of China, and that Furbeshar, the carpenter, his wife, and maid, are prisoners at Amacow. These news the friggat or galliota, which cometh from the Manillias, hath brought. And that the galliota of the capt. more, which went for Manillias, is cast away, but Alvaro Munos arived in safetie; and that they are making ready a good fleete of shipps and gallis at Manillias. But I esteem it all fables of puting to death of a capt. and 5 others at Manillias. About nowne there came one runing from the Hollands howse, and brought news that 4 shipps, English and Hollanders, weare arived on this coast, neare to Cochie Roade. Soe Mr. Eaton and Mr. Osterwick went out on horsback by land to see what it was; and sowne after Capt. Specks and Capt. Camps followed. God send us good and profitable news. And sowne after came news that ij English and i Duch shipp weare arived and at an ancor in Cochie; whereof I sent word to Tonomon Samma, Bonga Samma, Semi Dono, and Taccamon Dono, per our _jurebasso_. And soone after arived ashore Mr. Cockram and Mr. Tubervill, and brought news all the fleete of 9 shipps, both English and Duch, 173 were arived at Chochie, and that they had taken 5 China junckes in all. _June 30_ (_Gonguach 21_).--I went abord the shipps, where, after my arivall, there fell debate ashore betwixt English and Duch marrenars. Soe one Hollander was slane and divers others hurt, both English and Duch, espetially 2 Englishmen. So the admerell called a councell, where it was determined to seek out the murtherers or strife makers on both partes, and to punish them with death or otherwais, according to desert. Alsoe it was ordayned to begyn to unlade our shipps on Munday, Mr. Cockram to be at Hollandes house to take acco. of all landed, and Mr. Balke at English howse, to like effect; and duble lock to be put on dores till the goodes be vallued and parted. _July 1_ (_Gonguach 22_).--Notwithstanding the orders taken by councell that nether English nor Hollander should goe ashore with weopens, to prevent quarreling, yet the Hollanders flocked on shore with swordes and _cattans_ and sett upon our unarmed men and slew one and hurt divers others; and, as it is said, are alowed and sett one per Comander Jonson, vizadmerall. _July 2_ (_Gonguach 23_).--We receved ashore this day ij boates lading of prize goodes, being 131 fardelles and chistes, great and small, but I know not what is in them; and put duble lockes on the dore of the gedonge, both of ours and the Hollanders. Allsoe we receved iij boates ladinges priz goodes, landed at Hollandes howse out of their shiping, and put into their gedong under double lock likewais, being 225 fardels and chistes, whereof ij boates lading came out of the ship _Bantam_. And towardes night Capt. Adams, Capt. Clevengar, and Capt. Lennis came ashore to English howse, and Comander Johnson to Hollandes howse, to seek out all the marrenars, English and Duch, and to send them abord, 174 to keepe them from brawling. _July 3_ (_Gonguach 24_).--We receved prize goodes ashore out of the Duch shipp _Bantam_. _July 4_ (_Gonguach 25_).--We rec. prize goodes out of _Moone_ and _Bantam_. _July 5_ (_Gonguach 26_).--An Englishman of the _Elizabeths_ company, being drunk, much abused hym selfe and drue his _cattan_ against the Japons, but they took it from hym and drubd hym sore, and I think had kild hym, yf I had not taken hym out of their handes and sent hym abord. _July 6_ (_Gonguach 27_).--I sent ij drunken Englishmen abord the _Moone_, the one called Gray, a calker, for misusing the admerell in ill termes, as many witnesses heard. Mr. Henry Smith, purcer of the _Royal James_, had a child by a Japon woamon, and was christned this day per Mr. Arthur Hatch, prechar, per the name of Henry; Mr. Joseph Cockram and Mr. Wm. Eaton, godfathers, and Maria, Mr. Sayers woaman, godmother. _July 7_ (_Gonguach 28_).--The admerall, Capt. Robt. Adames, with the rest of the English comanders, came ashore to thenglish howse at Firando and satt in councell about the murthering of a Hollander by an English man, called John Peterson: viz. Robert Adames, Charles Clevenger, Edmond Lennis, Jno. Munden, Arnold Browne, seamen; Joseph Cockram, Wm. Eaton, Edmond Sayer, Jno. Osterwick, Ric. Cocks, English merchantes; with Mr. Vaux, a Hollander, whoe spoke English, to be enterpreter or heare what 4 Duchmen aledged against John Roane, the murtherer of Jno. Peterson, whoe all 4 with viva voce accused the said Roan to doe the acte in their sight, and stabed hym into the leaft brest and soe to the hart (with a knife), that he never spoke word but fell downe dead, the wound after being seene and serched by Mr. Owen and Mr. Eaton, chirurgions, whoe saw the corps taken out of growne 3 daies after it was buried. The jurie empaneled weare named as followeth, viz.:-- 175 _Eliza._ Robert Turbervill, foreman, Wm. Morgon, John Goulding, _Bull._ Ric. Wattes, Wm. Legg, _Palsgrave._ Jno. Humphrey, Ed. Bates, Tho. Harod, Bartholomew Ale, _Moone._ Galliard, guner, Phillip Okebank, Roger Burdok, And the names of men witnessing against Rone, viz. Jno. Ive, an Englishman; Derick Harmonson, Duchman; Evert Lubbertson, Duchman; Jno. Johnson, Duchman; Jno. Henrikson, Duchman; Joyemon Dono, a Japon, in whose howse it was donne, at Cochie. _July 8_ (_Gonguach 29_).--The shipp _Elizabeth_ entred the harbor of Firando this day, without any helpe of boates, and without order ether from the admerell or capt., and came agrowne, not without greate danger, yet got afe againe. _July 9_ (_Roquenguach 1_).--This day Jno. Roan of Bristoll, marrenar, was condemned by the xij men before nomenated, for killing of Jno. Peterson, a Duchman, and hanged at the yard arme abord the shipp _Elizabeth_. He confessed before his death that he kild the said man, being in drink and not knowing what he did, wishing all the shipps company to take example by hym, and to beware of woamen and wine, which had brought hym to that untymely death. He died very resolutely, and receved the sacrament by Mr. Arthur Hatch befor he went to execution. Capt. Robt. Adames was forced to put the roape about his neck with his owne handes, for non of the shipps company would doe it, yf he should hang them, and soe tould hym to his face. And we rec. prize goodes out of _Bantam_ and _Hope_. _July 10_ (_Roquenguach 2_).--We rec. prize goodes ashore out of the Dutch shipp _Hope_. _July 11_ (_Roquenguach 3_).--We rec. prize goodes ashore out of Duch 176 _Hope_, and out of ship _Palsgrove_. _July 15_ (_Roquengach 7_).--Tonomon Samma and Semi Dono sent to us and the Hollanders, in the Kinges name, to desire us to lend hym xx M. _taies_ in plate, for a tyme, for that he had marid the Emperors kinswoaman the 5 of last moone, and will bring her to Firando shortly. _July 16_ (_Roquenguach 8_).--The Admerall, Capt. Adames, came to Firando to confer about vizeting the prince and Semi Dono to morrow. Soe we and the Hollanders did conclude to vizet them to morrow, viz:-- for Tonomon Samma. 1 barell Spanish wine 1 China bason full ginger conserv, poz. 20 _cattis_ 1 China bason full nutmeg conserv 1 China bason with peper, poz. 11 _cattis_ for Semi Dono. 1 barell wine ditto 1 China bason conserv ginger, poz. 19 _cattis_ 1 ditto with peper, poz. 11 _cattis_ _July 17_ (_Roquenguach 9_).--We went and deliverd our presentes as before named, and had very frendly entertaynment and taken in good parte. And the prince caused a helth to be drunk rownd for the good news of the kinges his brothers marriadg with themperours kinswoaman, and an other for the safe arivall of our shipps. _July 21_ (_Roquenguach 13_).--The _tono_ sent word unto us and the Hollanders that we must carry back our 4 shipps to Cochie, themperour and his councell soe comanding. Unto whome we answerd, that we brought them into Firando at their request, not without greate danger, and, the wind being contrary, could not carry them back againe; and that within a few daies we ment to goe to themperours court to kisse his handes, and in the meane tyme, or at least till the king retorned to Firando, to let them rest as they weare; which they seemed not to be unwilling to permitt. Also Semi Dono sent againe both to us and the Hollanders to know 177 whether we would lend the king 20,000 _taies_, as he formerly requested. Unto which we retorned answer that first we must pay the debtes we owed, and then furnish our shiping with the needfull, and afterwardes, yf we had an overplus, we weare ready to serve his Highnesse in what with reason we might doe. _July 22_ (_Roquenguach 14_).--The _tono_ sent againe both to us and the Hollanders, to know whether we would lend the king 20,000 _taies_. Unto whome we made answer, as formerly, that, our debtes being paid and shipps furnished of the needfull, we then would doe his Highnesse any lawfull servis we could. _July 23_ (_Roquenguach 15_).--I went to Cochie to vizet thadmerall, as also to look upon the new building and to take acco. of tymber. And I fownd there had byn a broyle there betwixt the Japons and Hollanders, as the like was at Firando 2 daies past, where a Hollander stabed or hurt 2 Japons, for which they drubed hym well and took hym presoner, and keepe hym in durance till this hower, the _tono_ sending the Hollanders word that he would not suffer hym to be delivered into their handes, except they would promis before hand to put hym to death; which the Hollanders answered they could not doe, because he had kild no Japon, but they would wound hym or cut hym as bad or worse then he had hurt the Japons. And soe the matter restes till this day. _July 24_ (_Roquenguach 16_).--I wrot a letter to Capt. Adams, admerall, to Cochie, per Tobio Dono, to take measure and make the steares at key. The unruly marrenars of the Hollandes shipps, being drunk, did ride over children in the streetes, and slasht and cutt Japons. Whereupon the justis took two of them presoners, and without any more adoe cut affe their heades. And I heard of a Scotsman which ment to run away to Nangasaque, called 178 James Lester. Soe I sent a boate and brought hym back. _July 25_ (_Roquenguach 17_).--I wrot a letter to Capt. Robt. Adames, and sent hym Lester, the runaway, to Cochie. And Matias, the Hollander, and Swagger did arive this day at Firando from Cochinchina, in a junk which brought them to Nangasaque; and bring word they met with an English shipp neare Amacou, called the _Pepercorne_, wherin came merchant Mr. Bugims, that was purcer in the _Unecorne_ the last yeare, when she was cast away neare Amacou, and now is bound for this place in the _Pepercorne_, and, as Matias saeth, is to stay upon the coast of Amacou till the middell of August, before she com for Japon, to look for bootie. God send her well in. Only I note it neglegence that they wrot us not word how we should prepare our selves for busynes to succeade. _July 26_ (_Roquenguach 18_).--Capt. Camps and my selfe receved letters this day from themperours court in answer of ours sent per expres, viz. 1 from Codgsque Dono, that priz frigot was not ended; 1 from King Firando to same effect, and that price of lead was not made; 1 from Torazemon Dono, lardg, how that Emperour had comanded we nor Hollanders should carry no munition out of the cuntrey, nether any Japons in our shipp, and that much ill was reported to the Emperour and his councell against us and the Hollanders, as he could not write it per letter, but would relate it per word of mouth shortly at his arivall at Firando. And towardes night we had newes the shipp _Pepercorne_ was arived at Cochie roade in Firando. So I sent Mr. Ed. Sayer, Mr. Jno. Osterwick, and Hary Dodsworth abord with a barill _morofack_, 50 loves fresh bread, a hogg, 17 hense, 4 fisantes, with redish, cowcomber, and millons. But presently after Mr. Morton, the master, with Mr. Bogins, 179 the merchant, and Georg Christmas, purcer, came ashore and brought me these letters following, viz.:-- dated 19th Aprill in Jaccatra, 1 from the precedent Mr. Ric. Fursland 1 from Mr. Tho. Brockedon with a note of instructions for orderly keping acco., and 2 broad cloths, no. 445 and 232, and a bill lading thereof fermed per Georg Cristmas. 2 letters from Pattania, of 9th and 11th June, verbatum, from Mr. Jno. Jourdaine. 1 from Sr. Tho. Wilson, dated in London, 17th November, 1619. _July 27_ (_Roquenguach 19_).--I receved 5 chistes R. 8 ashore out of the shipp _Pepercorne_, from Jaccatra, from precedent Fursland, per the handes of Georg Christmas, purcer, should contain 20,000 R. 8, for which I gave a recept of my hand, with ij broad cloathes. And heare arived a Hollandes ship, called the _Muyen_ or _Mugon_, from Jaccatra, wherin Sr. Albartus the Hollander retorned and brought me these letters following, viz. 1 copie of former rec. per _Pepercorne_, 1 from precedent Mr. Ric. Fursland, dated 20th June, with a relation, dated the 30th ditto, from the Councell of Defence, that our fleete shall retorne back this yeare for Manillias, and Wm. Johnson goe for admerall, and Capt. Robt. Adames vizadmerall. _July 28_ (_Roquenguach 20_).--Jno. Avery, pursers mate of the ship _Elizabeth_, died this morning of a wound he receved from a Fleming called Jno. Johnson van Hamborg. _July 29_ (_Roquenguach 21_).--We opened chist no. 21, which came in the _Pepercorne_, in presence of Mr. Bogens, Mr. Eaton, Mr. Sayer, Mr. Osterwick, Ric. King, and my selfe, and did both tell and way it over, and ther wanted 2-3/4 R. of 8 in it short of 4,000 R. 8. The Duch envited admerall Adames and rest of thenglish to dyner this 180 day to Hollandes howse. _July 30_ (_Roquenguach 22_).--We changed this day R. for plate barrs, viz.:-- _ta. m. co._ 1500 R. 8 to Cushcron Dono, is 1200 0 0 1062-1/2 R. 8 to Pasquall, is 0850 0 0 0625 R. 8 to Jno. Portis and Harnando 0500 0 0 0125 R. 8 to Mr. Hatch, is bars 0100 0 0 _August 1_ (_Roquenguach 24_).--We had a councell or speches about geving the xvj parte of priz goodes to the marrenars, and that the admerall and comanders of fleet should geve in securety under their ferme that the shipps companis would not goe to Manillias this second tyme without it. _August 3_ (_Roquenguach 26_).--I delivered j C. _tais_ small plate to Capt. Robt. Adams, admerall, to pay unto x Japons which went in our fleet for Manillias, each one x _taies_ per man; their names as followeth, viz.:-- in the _Moone_. Jenza Sanshero Cuishti in _Bull_. Cusa Matias Goresak in _Elizabeth_. Tuestro Shengro Cugero Gibatch _August 4_ (_Roquenguach 27_).--We sould all our silke which came in the Manillia fleet unto Tozayemon Dono of Sackay, as followeth, viz.:-- Fine white pole silke, at 310 _tais pico._ Second sort pole silke, at 285 " " Kense or oylie silke, at 190 " " Sleze silke, at 225 " " White twisted silke, at 220 " " Blak pole silke, at 220 " " Cullered pole silke, at 290 " " But sowne after came news that 3 or 4 galliotas weare arived at 181 Nangasaque from Amacon and had brought much silk and stuffes, and soe he said he would goe from his bargen, notwithstanding he had geven us a bill under his hand writing for performance. The bill of Tozemon Donos to take our silk was made in such sort that he might take but i _pico_ of a sort, yf he would, for no quantety was set downe, nether that he should take all. This was donne per neglegence of Mr. Eaton, that trusted his boy and would not call for a _jurebasso_. _August 5_ (_Roquenguach 28_).--Jno. Yossen came to thenglish howse to begg the life of the Hollander condemned for killing Mr. Avery, but could not preveale. _August 6_ (_Roquenguach 29_).--This day, before nowne, the Hollanders did behead Jno. Johnson van Hamborg, for killing Mr. Avery, 5 or 6 English men standing by at doing theirof; they having first made the man soe drunk that he could scarse stand on his legges, and soe cutt affe his head within their owne howse. We had news for certen this day that 2 galliotas were arived at Nangasaque from Amacou, with silk and stuffes, and 2 others yet without to enter. Also Mr. Christofer Bogans had a letter from a Portugez at Nangasaque, wherin he wrot hym a long cercomstance how well the men (espetially the woamen) weare used that escaped out of the shipp _Unicorne_ in China, when she was cast away; and with what pompe the woamen weare receaved; with many other Portingall lies. Others also wrot that 14 China juncks, 6 Portingall friggottes, arived at Manillias after our fleete was departed from thence, soe that now both silk wares and all other provition of munition and victuell[100] [100] The sentence unfinished. _August 7_ (_Roquenguach 30_).--The _Bulls_ company wholy mutyned, and 36 of them came to Firando and deliverd a writing unto me, wherin they demanded their 16th parte of priz goods. And, after, Capt. Adames, 182 admerall, wrote me to take one James Martin, a Scotsman, yf he came to Firando, and lay hym in irons. This Scott is he which stured up the _Bulls_ men to muteny, promising to perswade the _Moons_ men to doe the like and to follow them, "because" (said he) "they sell away the goods, and, yf yow suffer them to carry them away, yow shall never have any thing". _August 10_ (_Sitinguach 3_).--We had a jenerall counsell this day at the English howse, both of English and Hollanders, where it was ordayned that the Duch should carry the flag in the meane topp, as admerall, this second voyage for Manillias, and the English as vizadmerall. But Capt. Robt. Adams, admerall the former voyadg, aledged he was free per meanes of a letter he brought out of England, and soe ment to resigne his place to Capt. Chorles Cleavenger and retorne for Jaccatra. Unto whome it was objected that, yf he shronke, it was a bad precedent to make all the rest doe the like. Unto which he replied that, rather then that should happen, he would goe meanest man in the fleete; yet that he would not put out the flagg in the fore topp for 3 or 4 daies space, and in the meane tyme would take adviz what was best to doe. And soe Jno. Jonson was ordayned admerall, to put out his flagg in the meane top to morrow; and that the Councell of Defences ordenances should be read abord all the fleete to morow; and a muster taken how many men their were, and soe to know each mans opinion, what he would replie against these proceadinges. Also it was brought in question at the same councell, tuching the abuse of one , master of the shipp _Swan_ and on of the Councell of War, how he per force did enter per night into the 5th junck taken, with som 40 or 50 men with weopens and close lantarns, and, after the beating and misusing of the Englishmen which had pocession, did pilledg and sett the junk on fire, leaveing the English 183 men in her to be burned, yf they hadd nott byn releeved. Unto which Jno. Johnson, the admerall, replied that our men had used other abuses to his men. Which, in the end, was remitted till they came to the Councell of Defence at Jaccatra. _August 11_ (_Sitinguach 4_).--This day Jno. Johnson was made admerall both of Duch and English, and proclemation made abord each shipp, both Duch and English, and all presoners sett at libertie for any muteny hertofore, the Duch at request of Capt. Adams and the English at request of Jno. Johnson, admerall. China Capt. went to Nangasaque, and Andreas with hym, to bring about the China Capt. junck, to carine our shipps by. _August 12_ (_Sitinguach 5_).--Gonrok Dono passed by this place to Nangasaque, and Capt. Leonard Camps and my selfe went to hym about priz of our leade, and he, being ready to departe, willed us to follow hym to Nangasaque. _August 13_ (_Sitinguach 6_).--Capt. Robt. Adames, our late admerall of the English and Duch fleete to the Manillias, now made vizadmerall, called a councell of these following, viz.: Capt. Chorles Cleavengar, Capt. Edmond Lennis, Mr. Jno. Munden, Mr. Arnold Browne, seamen; Joseph Cockram, Wm. Eaton, Ric. Cocks, merchantes--wherein he desired to be dismissed from going vizadmerall this second tyme to Manillas, shewing a discharg from our Right Honble. Company in England, being permitted to retorne for England per first shipp which came; yet, in respect the Councell of Defence had now made a second chose of hym (he striving to put it to Capt. Chorles Clevengar), yet we all in generall put it upon hym, which he in the end condecended unto, to put out his flagg in the fore tope to morrow morning. Yt was agreed per us and the Hollanders that to morow morning Capt. Speck and another Hollander, with Mr. Cockram and my selfe, should 184 goe for Nangasaque to morow, to make an end about price of our lead, as also to provide any thing wanting to geve to the Emperour and Councell for presentes. _August 14_ (_Sitinguach 7_).--We agreed with Cushcron Dono and the oyleman for these parcelles following, viz:-- 300 _pico_ biskit, at 4 _ta._ 4 _ma._ 5 _co._ per _pico_. 600 sackes fyne rize of 40 _gantas_, as Duch pay. 100 _pico_ hempe, at 7 _ta._ 7 _m._ 5 _co._ _pico_. for ships provition, to be deliverd within 3 mo. after date. Also agreed with Nicolas Martin for these parcels, viz.:-- 200 _pico_ biskit, at price abovesaid. 030 buttes rack, containing 10,000 _gantes_, at 2 _gantes mas_ bar. And I paid j C. _tais_ to Yoshozemon Dono, our beefe man, upon acco. of beeves, whereof he paid unto Gennemon Dono, the other beefe man, 47 _tais_ for 19 beeves, at 3 _tais_ beefe. _August 15_ (_Sitinguach 8_).--I paid out in barr plate to purcers, viz.:-- _ta. m. c._ j C. _tais_ to Mr. Neve, purcer of _Moone_ 100 0 0 j C. _tais_ to Mr. Watts, purcer of _Bull_ 100 0 0 l. _taies_ to Danill White, purcer of _Palsgrove_ 050 0 0 l. _taies_ to Christmas, purcer of _Pepercorne_ 050 0 0 And I paid the glover shewmaker, for 4 peare of pompes at ij _mas_ per peare, 8 _m._; more to hym for a _cattan_ handell red lether, 2 _m._ _August 16_ (_Sitinguach 9_).--I embarked this morning, in company of Mr. Cockram and Ric. King, to goe towardes Nangasaque, as Capt. Camps and Mr. Vaux did the like, to speake with Gonrok Dono about receving money for our lead. But, at our first seting out, fell much rayn; soe we, being in an open bark, retorned back againe. We agreed or bargened for these provitions following for Manillia fleete, viz. with the gunfounders, for 5,000 _gantas_ ordnary _rak_, at ij _gantas_ per _mas_, to be delivered within 3 monthes; with 185 Oyen Dono and his sonne, for 10,000 _gantas_ redd _garvanse_, at 4-1/4 _gantas_ per _mas_. _August 17_ (_Sitinguach 10_).--We set forwardes towardes Nangasaque this morning after sun rising, and arived theare the same day 2 howres before sunne seting, and fownd Capt. Camps and the Duch arived theare at midnight before. _August 18_ (_Sitinguach 11_).--We and the Hollanders sent our _jurebassos_ to Gonrok Dono and Feze Dono, to tell them of our arivall heare, and that we desired to com and kisse their handes when they weare at leasure. And we laid out presentes, viz.:-- for Gourok Dono, governor. 02 _tattamis_ stamet cloth 20 _cattis_ white raw pole silk 03 peces diaper tabling 25 _cattis_ of pepper 03 peces sleze land for Feze Dono, major. 01 _tattamy_ stamet cloth 10 _cattis_ white pole silk 03 pec. diaper napkening for Skidayen Dono, secretary. 01 _tatta._ stamet cloth 03 peces diaper napkening 03 pec. wroght sattins, cullers for Yasimon Dono. 03 peces cullard taffeties 02 peces ordenary damasks And I wrot a letter to Mr. Eaton, to Firando, per Andrea Dono in China Capt. junck, with vj peeces iron ordinance and carages for them, and how I paid xxv _tais_ plate barrs to hym. Within night Lansman the Duchman came to vizet me, for by day he durst not, for feare of the excomunecation, telling me it was defended that noe Roman Catholick might open their mouth to speak to us. _August 19_ (_Sitinguach 12_).--We went to vizet Gonrok Dono with the present nomenated yistarday, and he of hymselfe began to speake about the price of the leade, telling us that the Councell thought iiij _taies_ per _pico_ enough, and therefore he durst not presume to geve more. Unto which we answered that themperour might take it for 186 nothing, yf he pleased, yet we knew it was in his Lordshipps handes to sett what price he pleased; and, seeing Ogosha Samma of famos memory sett the price at vj _taies_ per _pico_, to take all which came at that price, and Shongo Samma his sonne, the Emperour that now is, did conferme it, we hoped his Lordshipp would have consideration thereof, and the rather, for that we hadd now byn driven affe a yeare and a halfe, and could not make benefite of our good nor monies, but weare forced to take up money at interest. And, to conclud, we tould him he hym selfe did offer 4-1/2 _taies_ per _pico_ the yeare past; yet it seemed he did not remember the same. And soe, being late, we departed and left it to his Lordshipps consideration till to morrow to think better thereof. And soe we went to Skidayen Dono, his secretary, and carid hym the present nomenated before, desyring hym to put his master in mind to end the acco. of lead. Within night Nicolas Marin, an Italian and pilot to the Portugezes, came to vizet me, because he durst nott doe it per day, and tould me how all weare excomunecated that did ether buy or sell with thenglish or Hollanders, or had any conversation with them, or did soe much as put affe their hattes or salute them in the streetes. _August 20_ (_Sitinguach 13_).--I wrot a letter to Mr. Eaton, and sent it per Mangusque, Zazabra Donos servant, advizing how Gonrok offerd us now but 4 _tais pico._ for our lead, as also of the difference betwixt Gonrok with the Japon merchantes against the Portugezes, about the quantety of silk com in the friggates, and how he makes _pancado_ of stuffes now as well as of silke. And I wished Mr. Eaton to sell away our silk, yf possibly he could, for it is said there is neare j M. _pico._ com in these friggots. And we carid our presentes to Feze Dono and Yasimon Dono, as is noted downe the 18th present, and desired them to be a meanes to Gonrok 187 Dono to make an end of the price of the leade, or to tell as what we should trust unto. The Hollanders supped with us at China Capt. and have envited us to dynner to their lodging to morow. _August 21_ (_Sitinguach 14_).--We sent to Gonrok Dono to know his answer at what price he would set our leade. Soe he replied he would geve us 4-1/2 _taies_, upon condition we would geve hym a bill of our handes that, yf the Emperour and Councell weare not content to geve so much, we should let it goe for lesse. Unto which both the Hollanders and we answerd that we would com to a sett price, were it at 4-1/2 or otherwais; the which he took in such snuffe as he sent our present back againe to Hollandes lodging. And I delivered an other letter to Yasobro, Tayemon Donos wives brothers servant, advising how Gonrok Dono had retorned a flatt answer he would geve but 4 _taies_ per _pico_ for lead, as also of arivall of the junck from Manillia wherein Wyamon Dono went capt., and that all was lies of 14 junckes and 6 friggats which arived after our fleete came away. This after nowne the junck, wherein Wyamon Dono went for Manillia with Capt. Adams _goshon_, is now retorned to Faconda roade, and Migell com ashore with news they have made a very badd voyage, and that they were badly used per the Spaniardes, miscalling them because they were frendes to the English and Duch. They also report that, after our fleete came from Manillias, noe junckes entred theare [with exception] of only 3 emptie ons which our fleet set at libertie, haveing rifeled them; as also ij friggates arived theare and went in on the back side of Manillias for feare of our fleete. _August 22_ (_Sitinguach 15_).--This day entred an other galliota from Amacou, which was 17 daies in way, and bringeth silke, silk stuffes, and black clo., or matta of cotton. _August 23_ (_Sitinguach 16_).--I wrot a letter to Mr. Eaton and rest, 188 how we could not agree with Gonrok Dono about our lead, with other occurrantes; but, after, we came to agreement at 4-1/2 _cattis pico_ lead. Manillia junck of Wyamon Dono arived at Nangasaque; and they report that all Japons must be banished out of Manillias and non traffick theare hearafter. _August 24_ (_Sitinguach 17_).--The Hollanders and we went to take our leaves of Gonrok Dono and would have left the present with Skidayen Dono, his secretary, but he would not receve it, telling us Gonrok would be at Firando before it weare long, and then might we better present it theare. Also Gonrok tould us he would send men to Firando to way out the lead and pay our money theare forthwith. And soe, towardes night, the Hollanders departed towardes Firando on a sudden, we having formerly agreed to goe togeather to morow morning. And I receved a letter from Mr. Eaton at Firando, howe he had sould 1188 _cattis_ white twisted silke more to Tozemon Dono, at 22 _mas catty_ is 2601 5 0 Also 1200 deare skins to Tobio Dono, best sort, at 34 _tais_ per cento, is 0408 0 0 And delivered 15 Russia hides to Feze Dono, at 3 _tais_ hide, is 0045 0 0 _August 25_ (_Sitinguach 18_).--I receved 2 letters from Firando, viz., 1 from Mr. Osterwick, 1 from Mr. Eaton, with a coppie of ij letters from Molucos from thenglish agent. _August 26_ (_Sitinguach 19_).--We departed this morning towardes Firando, and paid out for diett whilst we were theare 27 0 0 To the goodwife for howsroome 04 3 0 To the servantes 03 2 5 And stuffes given for presentes, viz. 1 pec. black chaul taffety to 189 Capt. Whows sonne, 1 pec. ditto to China Capt. doughter, 1 pec. ditto to Augustyns sonne. And we went to Setto to bed, wind being contrary, and staid all night; and paid charges 1 _ta._, and to his ij childron that brought present of fish and pompians 2 _mas_. _August 27_ (_Sitinguach 20_).--About midnight we arived at Firando, where we found a Duch shipp _Amsterdam_ entred, she coming in on the north side of the iland, and was driven to Nanguay in Crates; and there the Hollanders falling at debate with the Japons of Crates, they fell together by the eares on shore, and 1 Hollander was kild and divers others hurt, and the Japons went not skot free. _August 28_ (_Sitinguach 21_).--The King of Firando arived heare this day at nowne from the cort of Edo; and we went out in a boate and met hym, as the Duch did the like, and they shott affe store of ordinance both from howse and abord shipps; but all our ordinance weare ashore, the shipps being on carine, soe I sent Mr. Cockram with a _jurebasso_ to bidd his Highnesse welcom, and to exckews the not shouting ordinance, which he took in good parte as well as yf we had shott. _August 29_ (_Sitinguach 22_).--I receved a bill from Tozemon Dono for i C. xxviij pec. Canton damask of deceased Capt. Adams acco., at ij _tais_ per peec., to be paid in bar plate at demand, is ij C. lvj _tais_. And I rec. a letter from the domine of the Duch ship _Amsterdam_, dated at Mallayo in Molucas the 26th July last past, sent from Mr. Wm. Nicolas, agent; wherin he doth write of the indirect dealing of the Hollanders against our honble. emploiers. And there was iiij C. peeces manta, or cotton clo., delivered to Mr. Jno. Neve, purcer of the shipp _Moone_, for shipps use, viz. 330 peces browne cangas, 70 peces light blews. _August 30_ (_Sitinguach 23_).--We went to vizet the King of Firando, 190 both we and the Hollanders, and carid hym a present of ij _barricos_ of Spanish wine, 1/2 a _pico_ of cloves, and 1/2 a _pico_ of peper. The wine he took, but the rest he refused. He urged very much to have Capt. Speck to goe to Edo this yeare, in respect he was well knowne to themperour and his Councell, as also thenglish had need to send one that knew the orders of Japan, for that we had many enemis at Court per means of the Portingales and Spaniardes and their well willars which weare many. Unto which we answerd that we would take councell about the matter and have in remembrance what his Highnesse had made knowne unto us. We envited the Hollanders admerall, merchantes, and all the rest of princepalles to dyner after to morow, being Sattarday; but the admerall, Wm. Johnson, denied. _August 31_ (_Sitinguach 24_).--Tonoman Samma, the kinges brother, sent for Capt. Camps and me in all hast, to speake with hym; which we did; and was to put us in mynd both from the king his brother as also of hymselfe that, at any hand, we should keep Capt. Speck heare this yeare to goe up to Edo to themperour, as also to be a meanes to end other [things]. _September 1_ (_Sitinguach 25_).--Wm. Johnson, thadmerall, with all the cheefe of the Hollanders, came to dynner this day, and supped with us likewies. And we hadd the _caboques_ after dynner. And Unagense Dono sent me ij _catabras_ for a present, i of silke, and the other lynen cloth. Also the justis, Taccamon Dono, sent us word to geve over making _gallegalle_[101] in our howse we hired of China Capt., because the white lyme did trowble the player or singing man, next neighbour. Soe we were forced to doe it, notwithstanding it cost us xx _taies_ to build that howse, and soe to make and hier a new one in an other place. The report is that Bonga Dono is dead, and that he died the day before 191 the kinges arivall; and yett it is not published till the feasting be past for joy of the kinges marriadg and his safe retorne. [101] Hindustani: _galgal_, mortar made of lime and linseed oil. _September 2_ (_Sitinguach 26_).--The king sent to Semi Dono to signefie unto hym my answer tuching Capt. Speck, that I agreed with hym that it was fitting he should stay this yeare, and goe for Edo about these busynes. Soe Semi Dono sent me word to contynew in that opinion, for that it was good and profitable to both companis. _September 3_ (_Sitinguach 27_).--A Portugez, called Ranelles, came from Nangasaque, offering his service to goe in our fleete, telling me that Lopas Sermiente Caravalle, the new capt. more, had misused hym without occation; yet I suspect him to be a spie sent to see what we doe. _September 4_ (_Sitinguach 28_).--We went to the king, being sent for, both the Hollanders and us, where he made known to us a writing sent from themperor and his Councell, that no stranger should buy any slaves, ether men or woamen, to send them out of the cuntrey, nether carry out any armor, _cattans_, lances, _langanantes_, poulder or shott, or guns; nether any Japon marrenars to goe in our shipping. And we were envited to dyner abord the Duch shipp _Amsterdam_, where we wanted no drink. _September 5_ (_Sitinguach 29_).--I sent our _jurebasso_ to Cochie to know wherefore the kinges _bongew_ would not permitt our tymber and boardes to be landed at our howse, as also what he ment to take ij of our men presoners upon no occation. And he retorned me answer, he did not forbid the landing of our tymber, but only gave his men charge (per order from the king) to serch all the barks which came into Cochie, for to see whether they brought any armor, weapons, or munition (thinges defended per the Emperour), which might be brought in boates under tymber or boardes as well as otherwais. And tuching 192 our two men, the one being charged with stealing of a knife, as he confesseth, but the Japans burthen hym with stealing of money, and the other for the bad handling of a woaman great with child, whereby she cast her child; "yet", said he, "I make acco., yf yow speake but one word to Semi Dono, he will sett them free". Also oure marenars of the shipp _Pepercorne_ through their neglegence sett a hodd of stuffe or pitch on fire, which had like to have burned all our howsing and the towne of Cochie, and burned us som 50 trees or rownd tymbers of 2, 3, and 4 _tais_ per peece. And I sent the _caboques_ ij barrs plate, containing vij _taies_, for playing when the Hollanders weare heare. _September 6_ (_Fatinguach 1_).--I paid to the _maky_ man, Canzemon Dono of Miaco, i C. xxxvj-1/2 _tais_ plate bars for these parcells _maky_, viz.:-- _ta. m. co._ 5 _maky_ basons and ewers Japon fation, at 8 _tais_ pees 40 0 0 1 ditto with ewer, with duble handell, at 09 0 0 6 _macky_ posset pottes (or boles) with covers, at 4 _tais_ 24 0 0 6 peare playing tables with men, at 7 _tais_ peare 42 0 0 5 black basons and ewers Japon fation, at 2-1/2 _tais_ pes 12 5 0 1 ditto with ewer and duble handell, at 03 0 0 6 black posset bolles with covers, at 1 _tay_ pe. 06 0 0 _September 7_ (_Fatchinguach 2_).--I went to Semi Dono, Mr. Cockram and Mr. Bogens accompanying me, to desire hym our ij Englishmen might be sett at libertie, which they comanded us to keepe in preson, we having greate occation to use them in our shiping this faire wether, and that they were accused of mier mallice, becase a Japon was taking of suspition for killing an Englishman; but, for that Japon, we left it to his Lo. pleasure to make ferther proofe, as he pleaced, for that we could say noe more then we hadd donne. Also I desired that we 193 might be discharged of the Japon theefe we tooke stealing the hoopes of iron affe our cask; unto which he answered we weare best to make the matter knowne unto Tonomon Dono, unto whome he was ready then to goe, and to sett all downe in writing; which we did. The one side of the _Palsgrove_ was wholie sheathed this day from the keele to the bend. _September 8_ (_Fatchinguach 3_).--I rec. a letter from Gonrok Dono to way out the lead to his men per whome he sent the letter. I delivered into the factory, for presentes for themperour, 72 _cattis_ white twisted silk at 220 _tais pico_, 158: 4: 0; 59 _cattis_ white pole or Lankin silk at 285 _ta. pico_, 168: 1: 5. Gonrok Donos men, with the King of Firandos _bongews_, came to look on our lead; and on Munday morning will begin to way. _September 9_ (_Fatchinguach 4_).--At nowne the king sent for me in all hast to com to hym; which I did, accompanied with Mr. Edward Sayer; where we fownd he had prepared a _jurebasso_ which spoake Spanish. The reason he tould me was, for that he dowbted our other _jurebassos_ did not well understand what he had formerly said, in respeckt we had not resolved hym in all this tyme whether we determened to keepe Capt. Speck this yeare to goe for Edo with others of our nation which knew the order of Japon and were knowne to themperour and his Councell, but to the contrary lett the Spaniardes and Portingales goe before us, whoe were our enemies, as all the merchants of Nangasaque and Miaco were the like, soe that we had no frend soe sure in Japon to trust unto as he was; and, yf we would not beleeve his councell, we might doe as we list, for the falt was not in hym. Unto which I made answer his Highnes had reason, but that I was not in falt; and that he might know, yf it pleaced hym to let his 194 _jurebasso_ goe with me to the Hollandes howse to heare their answer. Which he was contented, and withall bad me tell the Duch admerall, with Capt. Camps and Capt. Speck, that, yf Capt. Speck staid not heare, he held them all 3 for enemies to the English and Hollands affares. The which I made knowne to the admerall Johnson, Capt. Camps, Capt. Speck, and the rest; but it seemed they 2 former made light of it, yet answerd they would call a generall councell to morow and speak of that and other matters. The which I certefid the king of per the said _jurebasso_, Nicolas Martin. Also our ij men which were in preson were now sett at libertie. Yet thadmerall, Capt. Adames, sent them abord the ship _Moone_, to geve them exemplary punishment, because they might remember it another tyme; for out of dowbt som abuse their was, otherwais the Japons would not have laid handes on them. _September 10_ (_Fatchinguach 5_).--We had a generall councell this day at Duch howse, where it was concluded that 10 shipps this yeare shall procead againe to the Manillias, to be ready to departe by the xxth of November next, ould stile. But that ij of them shall goe out before, within this 15 or 20 daies, viz. the _Bull_ and the _Moyen_, to stay upon the coast of China to look out for junckes, till the other 8 com after to the place apointed them to stay; but yf, in the meane tyme, stormie wether drive them away, then to meete them at Manillias, at a place apointed and tyme. Also it was debated to have Capt. Speck stay this yeare and goe for Edo as the king desired. But the Duch admerall, Capt. Camps, Capt. Lefevre, and the rest would not consent thereunto, saying it la not in their power to doe it, he being sent for by their presedent and generall at Jaccatra; but Capt. Speck spoke openly that the Hollanders gave it out that this was a formed matter made betwixt the King of 195 Firando, Capt. Speck, and my selfe, to have hym stay heare an other yeare, without any occation or need at all. Which for my parte I protest before God they doe bely me; for I did speake to have hym to stay heare only to content the King of Firando, and for nothing else, because he was soe important with me and others about it. Soe there was nothing donne about going up to themperour. Of the which I advized the King of Firando what the Hollanders answer was, which gave hym small content, for he answerd that we should find his wordes true, that he gave us good councell, and that it would be to late hereafter to amend it, and therefore we should not empute the falt his. _September 11_ (_Fatchinguach 6_).--We began to way out our lead this day per single _piculls_, and geve in each _pico._ a _catty_. And it should seeme the king being discontent because Capt. Speck stayeth not in Japon this yeare, for he sent to the Hollandes howse to seeke for pikes that were made ready to send for Jaccatra and weare carid abord a shipp. But the king comanded they should be brought ashore againe, although Capt. Camps aledged they were bought the yeare past, before themperours edict came out; yet that would not serve, but they must be unladed againe. Also it seemed he was angry with us, for he gave order that our laborers, which wrought about carining our shipps, should geve over work, and banished a Japon of Nangasaque which we had entertayned to be overseer of the work. But at my request our laborars were permitted to work as before. And we waied out 92 _pico._ lead this day to themperours _bongews_. _September 12_ (_Fatchinguach 7_).--One of the _Eliza._ men, called Gabrell , a plot maker, being drunk, fell overbord and was drowned. The King sent Torazemon Dono and other ij of his noble men to tell me 196 he was enformed that, at my being at Nangasaque, I had bought a greate quantety of gunpouder, to be secretly conved abord our shipps at Cochie, under culler of other matters. Unto which I answered, I had bought non, nether did ever speake word to any man about it, as before God I did not. Soe it seemed they were content with my answer, and promised me to relate the truth to the king and to get Jacobe Dono, our boteswaine, released, he being banished, per order from the king, by the spitfull dealinges of the _bongews_ at Cochie. I went to the Duch howse with Mr. Cochram to know wherefore they were noe forwarder in sending up to themperour; and Capt. Camps tould me the comander Johnson held matters back. _September 13_ (_Fatchinguach 8_).--We had much a doe with the _bongews_ which waid out our lead, we having waid out above 800 _pico._ these 3 daies past, they leving it still in our howse, not carying any away, soe that now all our void howsroome was full; and they would have me emptie our shipp provition out of our store roome to geve them place, which I tould them I would not doe. _September 14_ (_Fatchinguach 9_).--We had a generall councell this day, wherin we protested against Wm. Johnson, admerall, yf he sent away Capt. Speck, the King of Firando being soe ernest to stay hym heare to goe to Edo, in default whereof wee all protested against hym and his partakers, yf in case any hinderance or domage did happen to either Company, and sent it to the Duch howse per Mr. Eaton, Joseph Cockram, Mr. Ed. Sayer, and Mr. Nicolas Bogens, who heard it read in presence of the said Wm. Johnson, admerall, Capt. Lefevre, and Capt. Camps, with others; but Jonsons answer was that it was ordayned per a generall councell that Capt. Speck must goe for Jaccatra in the _Sunne_, and goe he should. _September 15_ (_Fatchinguach 10_).--I went to the king, accompanied 197 with Mr. Eaton and Mr. Cockram, to signefie the protest we had made against the Duch admerall, Wm. Johnson, for not staying Capt. Speck this yeare in Firando; the which the king said was well donne and desired a coppie thereof and tould us, seeing the Hollanders made soe light a reconyng therof, he would perforce stay Capt. Speck heare till he had order from the Emperours court (or councell) whether he should stay or goe, and would forthwith send an expres to know their honors pleasure therein; and in the meane tyme wished us to send up som others with the present to themperour and councell, and that I should stay heare with Capt. Speck to take councell about the disposing of the friggat when Gonrok Dono came. And soone after the king sent for Capt. Camps, asking hym, as he did me, what was concluded about Capt. Speck staying. Unto which he made answer that he and the rest of the merchant[s] had donne what they could, but that the comander, Wm. Johnson, would not permit it; and that now Capt. Speck answerd he would not stay upon any termes, but procead for Jaccatra, and soe he sent word to the king. Soe he, perceving how matters went, tould Capt. Camps he could not goe up to themperour till he had made an end about the friggat and we proved the Jesuistes to be padres or mas pristes, as they terme them, and that could not be donne till Gonrok Dono came from Nangasaque; yet in the meane tyme we might embale up our presentes and send ij yong men before with them to shew our obedience to themperour, and I and Capt. Camps follow after when the other busynes was donne. And Albartus came after to the English howse and tould me that in 3 generall councells amongst them selves the most voyces had confermed Capt. Jacob Specks to stay in Japon this yeare, but Johnson, the comander, bakt all. _September 16_ (_Fatchinguach 11_).--We had a comunion this day at 198 English howse adminestered per Mr. Arthur Hatch, prechar of the ship _Palsgrove_. Also an Englishman, one of the _Pepercorns_ companie, named Wm. Barker, having layne on shore 3 wicks, never going abord to look to ships busines, and being drunk yistarday in a carpentars howse would have layne with a woaman per force, and against her will took 4 rings of silvar of her fingars, and drunk 2 _mas_ or xij _d._ in wine, and in the end would have gon away and pay nothing and carry the rings along with hym; and, because the good wife of the howse laid handes on hym, he did beate her. Whereupon the neighbors coming upon hym did bynd hym, and sent me word therof; and I, going to the howse, fownd the rings in his pocket, which I restored back againe and made hym pay the ij _mas_, and brought hym to thenglish howse, where, at the whiping post, he had first 60 lashes with a whipp, and then washed in brine, and, after, 40 more lashes. And after nowne one Beedam, a master mate of the shipp _Elizabeth_, being drunk, did fall out of the shipps sterne over the reales, 5 fathom hie, and fell into a junck at her side, where he broke his skull, and is meamed in one legg and an arme and in danger to die. _September 17_ (_Fatchinguach 12_).--I sould Mr. Munden a rapiar and daggar for 48 R. 8, with gerdell and hangers all plated over with silver. The Hollandes shipp, called the _New Sealand_, arived at Firando in Cochie roade toward night. And we waid out 460 _pico._ of lead this day. And Mr. Eaton, Mr. Osterwick, and my selfe went to the Duch howse, and, with Capt. Camps, sett downe the presentes to be geven to themperour and his nobillety, littell more or lesse then it was the last yeare; as also we had speeches whether it weare fitting to geve themperours sonne a present, he being at mans estate, and we by frendes at court put in mynd thereof. Soe we concluded to put in 199 Japon writing the presentes we ment to geve this yeare, and to ask the King of Firandos councell whether he thought good to have us to add or deminish any thing therein, as also whether we should geve a present to the yong prince, themperours sonne, or any other his Highnesse thought fitting. We rec. 5000 _taies_ in bar plate, per Gonrok Donos apointment, for lead. _September 18_ (_Fatchinguach 13_).--I gave a letter of favor to Vincent Roman, allius Lansman, for Camboja, dated this day. He is a Duch man, our frend. The king sent to tell me that Gonrok Dono had sent a letter in favor of the capt. more of the Portingales for 3 laskaros which were run away and abord the Hollanders or us, to have them retorne againe. Unto which I answerd I knew nothing of any such matter, for I had non in thenglish howse, yet I would enquere yf ther weare any abord shipp, and send his Highnesse word. Also there was a councell to know whether Peter Wadden should goe for Jaccatra or remeane in the fleet. _September 19_ (_Fatchinguach 14_).--I paid j M. j C. _tais_ plate bars unto Cushcron Dono, wherof 1099 _ta._ 7 _m._ 4 _co._ is in full payment of the fleetes provition the last yeare. Ould Nobisane, called Bongo Dono, died ij daies past, which was said to dy before the king arived. _September 20_ (_Fatchinguach 15_).--The king sent order that we and the Hollanders should meete this day at Torazemon Donos to confer about going up to Edo, and that the admerall Johnson should com with us; but he denid to goe and drove it affe till night, yet then sent word he would goe in the mornyng. _September 21_ (_Fatchinguach 16_).--Wm. Johnson, the Duch admerall, with Capt. Camps, Mr. Ballok, Duchmen, and Capt. Robt. Adams, our admerall, Mr. Osterwick, and my selfe went to the howse of Torazemon 200 Dono, where we fownd 3 or 4 more of the kinges councell, whoe tould us we had need to look well to our witnesses to prove the frires in preson at Holands howse to be padres; otherwaies our processe of the friggat would be lost, for that Gonrok Dono took their partes against us, soe that we must have other witnesses then our selves; for allthough all our fleet said it was soe, yet our owne witnesse would not be taken. Also they tould us we ought to enlardg our presentes to the Emperor and councell, having such intricate matters in hand, and that, for a present to the yong prince (themperours sonne), we might take councell when we weare above whether it weare fytt to doe it or noe, according as we saw our busynes goe forward. Also they said the king desired that the next yeare, when our shiping came, that we would lett all stay at Cochie and non enter into Firando. Unto which we made answer that, seeing our howsing was made at Firando, we desired that 5 or 6 shipps might each yeare enter into Firando. Unto which they replied that then we ought to cleare the harbor of the wreck cast away the other yeare, otherwais, yf any other should miscarry, it would quite spoile his harbor that noe bark nor shiping could ever enter into it. So they left us to consider of the matter, the Hollanders saying that their shipp was cast away by falling fowle of the _James Royalls_ cable, and therefore that it was reason we paid halfe. Also they shewed a letter from Gonrok Dono, wherin he wrot the _Tono_ of Firando to stay Capt. Speck till the processe of the friggot was ended; but the admerall Johnson nor Capt. Speck would not consent to it. And I receved a letter from the Molucas from Mr. Wm. Nicoles, dated in Mallayo the 9th of August, and sent per the shipp _Sealand_. _September 23_ (_Fatchinguach 18_).--This night our gunpouder howse, where we dryd our pouder, was beset with men to have donne som 201 mischeefe, as we thought; but, being espied, they fled and had a boate ready to convay them away. There was 5 of them seene neare unto the howse, and one of our men which were at watch thrust at one of them with a short pike, which the other caught by the iron head, and it being badly nealed he puld it affe and carid it away with hym, and soe fled with the rest, as afore said. Soe we esteeme they were sett on by the Spaniardes and Portingales to have blowne up all our gunpouder, to have overthrowne our voyadge, knowing themperour will suffer us to by nor carry out non. _September 24_ (_Fatchinguach 19_).--There was 465 _pico._ lead waid out this day. I went to Torazemon Dono, the kinges secretary, and tould hym of the pretence of blowing up our gunpouder howse, which I and the rest suspected was per instigation of Spaniard and Portingales; the which he wondered at, and tould me he would make it knowne to the king. And, after, we were enformed that Lues Martin and other 2 Portingales departed from Firando late yisternight, after daylight donne, and went with their boate into the cod of the bay neare to our gunpouder howse, to have seene the sport of blowing up the howse; but, the matter being discovered, they made hast away, and the villens set on to doe it did escape in an other boate for Firando, som of which we hope to find out. This night, after midnight, the dead corps of Bongo Samma was carid to be burned, or rather a peece of wood in place, for he was thought to be a Christian. All the nobilletye with a multetude of other people did follow the hearce. The cheefe mornar was a woaman, all in white, with her haire hanging downe her back and her face covered, and a strange attire upon her head like a rownd stoole. All the _Boses_ (or pagon pristes) went before the herse with great lightes, and the nobillety followed after, all in generall with such silence that noe 202 words weare spoaken; and they kneeled downe in divers places, as though they had praid, but not one word heard what they said. And in many places they threw abrod _cashes_ (or brasse money) in great quantety, and in the end most of all at the place where he was burned, that the people might take it, as they did allso much white lynen cloth which compased in a fowre square place where the herse was burned. And there was one _bose_, or prist, hanged hym selfe in a tree hard by the place of funerall, to accompany hym in an other world, for _boses_ may not cutt their bellies, but hang them selves they may. And 3 other of the dead mans servantes would have cut their bellies, to have accompanid hym to serve hym in an other world, as they stidfastly beleeve they might have donne; but the king would not suffer them to doe it. Many others, his frendes, cut affe the 2 foremost joyntes of their littell fingers and threw them into the fire to be burned with the corps, thinking it a greate honor to them selves and the least service they could doe to hym, soe deare a frend and greate a personage, for he was brother to Foyne Samma, grandfather to the King Figen a Came, that now is. And he hath adopted Gentero Samma, the kinges brother, for his lawfull sonne, becase he had no children of his owne, and hath left all he hath to hym, he being the kinges pledg at Edo. _September 25_ (_Fatchinguach 20_).--I went to Torazemon Dono, the kinges secretary, and tould hym we had found out the theefe which pulled affe the pike head and 2 other of his consortes, desiring hym to speake to the king that we might have justice against them, and that they might be constrayned to tell whoe sett them on to have blowne up our gunpouder; the which he promised me to do. But first he would examen our witnesses that had brought to light those 3 men, which were the _bongew_ and neighbors of the villadge neare the 203 gunpouder howse, whoe fownd them out and made it knowne unto me and others. Also Semi Dono sent for our _jurebasso_ and the Holland _jurebasso_ and bid them tell us (as from the kinge) that both we and the Hollanders should geve in our answer to morrow at nowne tuching the geting the wrackt shipp out of the harbour, for that the king would not suffer any of our shiping to enter till that weare taken out of the roade. Also, the _Bull_ riding by the _Pepercorns_ side, to helpe to carine her, as she had donne the like to the _Bull_ before, and a planke going from one shipp to the other, as Mr. Munden was going over, a leawd fello of the _Pepercorns_ company hive up the plank with his shoulder and threw hym affe betwixt the 2 shipps, which lying soe close together, he could not falle into the sea, which yf he had, he had byn drowned without remedy; yet he was sore brused with the falle. _September 26_ (_Fatchinguach 21_).--We had a generall councell of English and Duch at Hollandes howse about taxing or prising the 2 shipps _Pepercorns_ and _Muyon_, but could not agree upon prise of the shipps hulls, mastes, and tackling, we seting the _Pepercorne_ at 300 tons, and the tonne at 5 _l._, is 1500 _l._ str.; and the Duch would have rated the _Muyon_ at 2000 _l._ str., being a lesser shipp then ours, they alledging she was newer. Soe that is referd to the Councell of Defence at Jaccatra. Also it was spoaken of to have us to joyne with the Hollanders in purce, to help to gett the shipp that was wracked the last yeare out of the harbour of Firando, the king comanding us so to doe. Unto which we answered that she belonged to the Duch and was non of the shipps of defence, and therefore we had noe reason to be at charg of money to get her out. Yet we offerd them before, when we had leasure, since the arivall of the fleete, to lett 2 or 300 of our men helpe them to get her out; but then they made light of it. Yet, notwithstanding, to geve the King of Firando content, I said that, yf the Duch would agree 204 with the Japons to rydd the havon of her, I was content to sett my hand to a writing to be contributary to som part of the charge, with condition it should be left to the precedentes at Jaccatra to determen whether it was fitt we should pay any thing or noe; and, in the meane tyme, the Duch to disburse all the charges. We are geven to understand that Ric. Short and other Englishmen are run away to the enemy at Nangasaque. _September 29_ (_Fatchinguach 24_).--I wrote 2 letters to Nangasaque, one to Yasimon Dono, Gonrok Donos clark, and the other to Andrea Dittis, China Capt., to use their best endevour to seek out for Ric. Short and the rest of the English runawaies, espetially Short that is a witnesse against the frires in the Duch howse and hath seene one of them say mas at Nangasaque, and was enticed 4 or 5 daies past per Francisco Lopas and 2 Portingall frires to run away. The King of Firando sent a man of his with letters to Gonrok Dono to same effect. _September 30_ (_Fatchinguach 25_).--We went to Holland howse to supper, all us, to Capt. Speckes foy[102] or farewell, where we were kindly entertayned. And I sealed up my letters for Jaccatra and England:-- to Jaccatra per ship _Swan_ and per Capt. Speck. 1 to Mr. Ric. Furland, precedent. 1 to Mr. Tho. Brakedon. 1 to Mr. James Wrine, prechar. 2 journalles and ballances, C. and D. a book presentes. a book purcers acco. last yeare. 2 inventories prx. goodes, fleet and _Pepercorne_. a protest against admerall Wm. Johnson. 2 recept of shipper of _Swan_, for thing sent in the _Swan_. 1 letter of myne from Mr. Wm. Nicolles, agent. to London, per ship _Swan_ and per Capt. Speck. 205 1 to Sr. Tho. Smith, governor. 1 to governor and committis. 1 to Sr. Tho. Willson, knight. 1 to Mrs. Mary Adames. 1 to Capt. Jno. Saris. 1 to my brother, Walter Cocks. 1 to Capt. Pring. 1 to Mr. Harry Smith. [102] Foy: a merry-making generally given at parting, or on entering into some situation.--Halliwell, _Arch. Dict._ _October 1_ (_Fatchinguach 26_).--Alvaro Munos came to Firando and tells me Ric. Short was staied at Nangasaque, at his first arivall, for a padre, but after released, when they knew whoe he was. Capt. Lafevre was beaten and drubed per the rascall Japon laborers of Firando, because he landed at kinges steares; but, as it is said, the king hath taken the doers thereof and will put som of them to death; but I doe not beleeve it. _October 2_ (_Fatchinguach 27_).--I paid xxiiij _tais_ plate barrs to Jno. Portus for a gould hat band sett with redd Peru stones. I wrot iij letters to Nangasaque about our run awayes, these Englishmen following: Ric. Short, master mate in the _Moone_, Harris, botswane of the _Pepercorne_, with ij others of said ships company, and Alexander Hix, Luke Anderwicke, and Wm. Harris, of the _Bulls_ company. And the shipp _Bull_ was set on fire per a lampe in the steward roome, but quenched in good tyme. _October 3_ (_Fatchinguach 28_).--A bark of Japons, being sent after the runawais with speed, overtook them and kept them from proceading forward, till Mr. Sayer came after. Soe they brought back vj men runawais, viz:-- of _Pepercornes_ men. Edward Harris Thomas Gilbert Christopher Butbee of the _Bulles_ men. Alexander Hix Luke Underwick Wm. Harris And the master of the bark which carid them away is taken presoner, 206 with an other Japon of Nangasaque that entised them to run away; and the King of Firando will put them both to death, as it is reported. And I deliverd my letters to Capt. Speck this day to carry for Jaccatra and England. _October 4_ (_Fatchinguach 29_).--I wrot 2 letters by the shipp _Swan_, viz.:-- sent per Philipe Garland. 1 to the precedent Mr. Fursland at Jaccatra. 1 to the Governor and Company in England. I went and took my leave of Capt. Speck and the rest of Duch merchantes which goe in the _Swan_; and carid Capt. Speck a gallon bottell annis water, and to Sr. Matias and Albartus each one a bottell of a pottell, geving the glasse bottelles and all. _October 5_ (_Conguach 1_).--The _tono_ sent to have us and the Hollanders geve hym a writing of our handes, each aparte, how many _pico_ lead was waid out for the Emperour, and that Gonrok ordayned we should pay for the iron wedges and smiths labour for cutting the lead. Unto which we answerd, his _bongews_ had the just acco. of the _pico._ waid out; and for the iron wedges (as we formerly promised) we were content to pay, they being left to us when the work was finished; but for the laborers which wroght, Gonrok was to pay them. _October 6_ (_Conguach 2_).--The shipp _Swan_ put to sea this day in the after nowne, and I went abord with the rest of the merchantes to bidd hym farewell; and, as it seemed, the admerall Johnson did geve hym a churlish farewell, according to his borishe condition. _October 7_ (_Conguach 3_).--I delivered or gave a recept to King of Firando for 2780 _pico._ lead waid out for themperour of Japon, and receved, per order from Gonrok Dono, in full payment of 2780 _pico._ 207 lead, 7510 _tais_, and 5000 _tas._ was receved the 17th ultimo, is all 12510 _tais_, at 4-1/2 _tais pico._, sould to Shongo Samma, Emperour of Japon. _October 8_ (_Conguach 4_).--This day weare arayned vj English runawais, most of them being duble runawais and som fellons, and therefore, by generall consent, according to marshall law, condemned all to be hanged, 3 of them being of the _Bulles_ men and the other 3 of the _Pepercorns_ men, as doth apere the 3th day of this mo. of October, when they weare retorned. And one James Martyn, accused by som to be the author of this mischeefe, he being a Scotsman, and fownd to be a cheefe bellows blower or sterrer up of all mutanies heretofore. Soe the admerall, Robt. Adames, sent a comition out to aprehend hym and bring hym ashore and soe put hym in preson to answer for hym selfe. _October 9_ (_Conguach 5_).--Yistarnight I was enformed that Francisco Lopas and a semenary prist were com to towne, and lodged in the howse of the capt. of the friggot taken the last yeare; of which I advised Torezemon Dono to tell the king thereof by Coa Jno., our _jurebasso_, it being late, and to geve order noe strangers should passe out. And this morning I sent the same _jurebasso_ to Torezemon Dono secretary, to know the kinges answere; which was, I might speake of these matters when Gonrok Dono came. Unto which I sent answer, it might be that then these pristes would be gon, and then it was to late to speake. Yet, for all this, there was noe eare nor respect geven to my speeches. The admerall Capt. Adames, with all the comanders and merchants, saving my selfe and Mr. Osterwick, went to Cochie to see the execution of the condemd men. And 4 of them were executed, viz. Edward Harris, boteswaine.[103] [103] The names of the others are not given. _October 10_ (_Conguach 6_).--Alvaro Munois went away this day 208 without satisfying me for my serne of mase. This villen did lye heare to entice our men to run away; but now per the _tono_ is comanded out of towne. _October 12_ (_Conguach 8_).--Taccamon Dono sent for me, he being accompanid with Torazemon Dono, and Mr. Osterwick with me. They enquered of me about the padres I said were in the capt. of the friggates lodging, and sent for his host to know whether any such people were in the howse; which he denied. Yet asked me whether I did know them for padres, yf I did see them. Unto whome I answered that, yf he brought them out, I had wittnesses which knew them well. _October 13_ (_Conguach 9_).--Yasimon Dono, Gonrok Donos clark, being ready to goe up to Miaco and soe for Edo with the lead for themperour, I went and vizeted hym, and carid hym a pottell of strong annis water distilled with musk, which he took in good parte, and lefte the company where he was and came into an other roome with me; which som others took in dogen and used som wordes about it. But this was a fello, a spie sent per the fathers to pick quarrells against us. Yet I said littell to it, but gave place, the others saying they staid for Yasimon. And this day, in the after nowne, the admerall Johnson, with Capt. Speck and Capt. Lafevere, came to our howse to know whether our shipp _Pepercorne_ were ready to goe out or noe, as theirs was; for that tyme passed and our enemies were ready to gett tyme upon us, and that their shipp, the _Muyon_, was ready according to composition. Unto which our comander, Robt. Addams, with the rest of us, answerd that our shipp was as ready as theirs, and that on Twesday next should be ready to set seale. _October 14_ (_Conguach 10_).--I advized Mr. Sayer, at Nangasaque, to look out for Short, costa que costa, and to speake to [contractors] to send all away per first, for that our fleet would all be ready to departe within 20 daies after date hereof, and that the _Pepercorne_ 209 and _Muyon_ were now ready to departe; as also to send noe more barly at above 8 _gantas_ per _mas_. _October 16_ (_Conguach 12_).--Mr. Sayer wrot me that, a friggat going out, they serched her to the verry keele and opened all chistes, to have fownd Ric. Short, but could not be fownd. [They fownd] above 1000 pikes, _langenott_, and _cattans_, and brought them back, and would have staid the pilot; but the capt. more standes bound to answer for all which is taken. _October 17_ (_Conguach 13_).--I wrot out 2 remembrances for Mr. Christopher Bogens and Mr. Mathew Moreton, Cape merchant and master of the shipp _Pepercorne_, she being ready to proceed on a voyage to Manillias, she and the shipp _Moyon_ in her company, they going before the rest of the fleete; the coppie of which remembrances I keepe by me. Gonrok Dono wrot to the King of Firando in the behalf of the Portingall capt. moore, to have the ould Portingall which I kept in howse sent to hym; of which the king sent me word with the letter of Gonrok. Unto which I answered, I did keepe that Portugez per his Highnesse leave and lycense formerly geven me, and soe desired to doe till Ric. Short with our other English runawaies were retorned. Unto which it seemed the king was content, for I heard nothing afterward. _October 18_ (_Conguach 14_).--The 2 shipps, _Pepercorne_ and _Moyen_, put to sea this day in the after nowne; and went abord both of them at Cochie, and [carid] Mr. Moreton, Mr. Bogens, and the capt. and Cape merchant of the _Moyen_, Mr Houlden and ,[104] each of them a bottell of annis water, and 2 bottelles to Hary Dodsworth and Abraham Smart. Mr. Thomas Harod departed out of this worlde this day, towardes night, 210 after he had made his will. [104] Blank in MS. _October 19_ (_Conguach 15_).--Mr. Harod was buryed this day, and left per his will his wages in England due per Company, with his howses at Blackwall, to his doughter, and to his wife 2 groates or 8 pence starling, for that she should cleame noe parte of his goods in respect she marryed in his abcense. Also he gave to me a gerdell and hangers of velvet with silver buckelles and hooks, and also x _taies_ bar plate to make me a ring; and j C. rialles of 8 betwixt Mr. Edmond Sayer and his yong doughter Joan, to part eaven, with his great chist and bible to Mr. Ed. Sayer ditto. _October 20_ (_Conguach 16_).--The King of Firando went on hunting yistarday, accompanied with above 3000 men, into the mountayns, and this day retorned with 7 or 8 fallo deare and as many wild boares or pigges. And the king sent me a fallo deare, skyn, guttes and all, and Semidone a wild swine or pigg. _October 21_ (_Conguach 17_).--Capt. Leonard Camps and my selfe went to the king to geve him to understand that tyme passed away and Gonrok Dono came not, soe that it was expedient we departed forthwith to the Emperours court to doe our dutie and carry our presentes, for that now winter came on and, yf we went not presently, it was to late to goe this yeare; soe that we were better to loose the friggatt and all the goodes in her than encur the Emperours displeasure; yet, if his Highnesse would, we cout at this instant produce witnesses suffitient to prove the 2 men, in the Hollanders howse presoners, to be frires or padres. But the king answered he could do nothing without Gonrok; soe that this night he would send to hym per expres, to see whether he would com or noe, and soe, upon his answere, we might departe. Also Capt. Camps desired to have justis executed against them which 211 did beate Capt. Lafevre. Unto which the king replied, what justis he would have, for the doars thereof weare yet in preson. Capt. Camps replied that he did not desire their lives, nether, yf it had byn offered against hym selfe, would he speake any more about it, only in respect of the abusse offerd against such a man as Comander Lafevre was, he desired the same parties which offerd the abuse might be brought to the place where they did it and be beaten with cudgells. At which the king smiled and said it could not be, but, yf he would have them cutt in peeces, he would doe it. But Capt. Camps said he desired not their lives, yet that he would certifie Admerall Johnson and Capt. Lafevre what he said. _October 22_ (_Conguach 18_).--I rec. of Mr. Arthur Hatch, precher, geven for the making of the buriall place 12 _ta._ 6 _m._; more, 1 bar plate of Mr. Chapman, 2 _ta._ Cuschcron Dono and Jenqueze Dono came to me and tould me the Hollanders had lent iij M. _tais_ to the _tono_ (or king) of this place, and that he expected the like from us. Unto whome I answerd that they know the booty which the Hollanders had brought into this place, which we had noe parte of, and therefore might doe that which we could not doe, having hitherto spent and geven away treble more then we have gott; yet I would take councell with the rest of the merchantes and se what might be donne and then geve them answer, for it was against reason for us to take up money at intrest and lend to others for nothing, and, besides, many other noble men sent to borow money, we having non to lend, as they themselves did know as well as we. Unto which they answerd, it was true, yet, notwithstanding, it was fyt to lend to the king, he now standing in need, although we lent non to the rest; for soe it behoved us, being strangers, yf we esteemed our owne good. And we sould all our small deare skins at 13 _tais_ per cento, of them which came in the _Pepercorne_. _October 23_ (_Conguach 19_).--I receved a quittance from Capt. Robt. 212 Adams, admerall, for 1814 R. of 8, at 5_s._ str. per R. of 8, for the xvjth parte of priz goodes, to be geven in the fleete, for which Capt. Adames is bound to make it good, yf the Honble. Company think it not fyt to pay it. And soe the capt. of other shipps gave quittances to Capt. Adams in like sort, to be answerable for that they rec. for their shipps proporsion; and each comander took the like securety from their shipps companies, that their wages should be answerable for it, yf it were not alowed per the Honble. Company in England. Yet som refuced to receve any money upon that termes, but the most parte did accept of it. God grant those scabbed sheepe doe not in the end spoile the whole flock. _October 24_ (_Conguach 20_).--This day is the feast of hors-runing with archars on horseback to shoute at a mark with bowes and arowes, the horse runing his full carer. Mr. Sayer retorned from Nangasaque within night, and brought news that the _Pepercorne_ and _Moyen_ have taken a Portingall junck which went out of Nangasaque and bound for Amacou. _October 25_ (_Conguach 21_).--We and the Hollanders paid 900 _tais_ plate barrs to the King of Firando for the 200 _pico._ lead geven hym in his present the last yeare. _October 26_ (_Conguach 22_).--The _bongews_ at Cochie did lay handes upon our English men and (as the admerall, Capt. Adames, doth tell me) have taken above 20, and sent hym word it was per order from the king. _October 27_ (_Conguach 23_).--Mr. Cockram envited all the princepall, both of English and Duch, abord the _Elizabeth_, to dyner this day, where we had good entertaynment and good cheare with healthes of guns shott affe in good sort. This night was very stormy wether, like to a tuffon, in which the _Palsgrove_ broke a cable, and the _Elizabeth_ a cable and a hawser. We complayned to the justis how our men were taken presoners per the 213 Japons without reason, they fordging debtes upon them which they owd not, striping our men naked and taking from them all they had, when they owed them nothing. Unto which, answer was made the king knew nothing thereof. _October 28_ (_Conguach 24_).--Capt. Camps and myselfe went to Torazemon Dono to desire hym to speake to the king that we might go to themperour with our presentes; and that we might deliver our presentes to the king before we went up, because the shipps weare now ready to departe. Also we made knowne unto hym the takeing and keeping our men presoners, both English and Duch. Unto all which he answered, that the king desired us to stay till the last of this moone _Conguach_, for that the 29th day (which is 5 daies hence) he expected Gonrok Dono to come to Firando, for soe had he promised hym without fayle to doe. And for the present to be deliverd unto hym before we deliverd our present to themperour, it was not fitt, and therefore best to lett it rest till we retorned from the Court. And for our men taken presoners, the kinge knew nothing thereof, but now he would make it knowne unto hym and retorne us his answer. _October 30_ (_Conguach 26_).--I was enformed this day per Capt. Lennis, Mr. Barrns being the man which tould it, that Mr. Arnold Brown, master of the shipp _Palsgrove_, hath stolne 5 fardelles of silke of priz goodes and stowed them under his cabben, whereof Mr. Trumpeter of _Palsgrove_ is witnesse; of the which I enformed Mr. Eaton, Mr. Cockram, Mr. Sayer, and Mr. Ostarwick, and all together made it knowne to the admerall, Capt. Robt. Adames, and Mr. Jno. Munden. Soe it was agreed to serch his cabben to morow; but Mr. Arthur Hatch, preacher in the same shipp (whose cabben is next to Mr. Brownes) tould us that out of dowbt we should now find nothing theare, it being formerly removed before shipp was upon a carin, yet that 214 he did see 4 or 5 bales brought in by others at sea and stowed theare. Soe hereupon we staid the serch. _October 31_ (_Conguach 27_).--We went abord the shipp _Palsgrove_ to dyner, where all the Duch were envited likwaies. And Capt. Camps came to thenglish house, where we agreed to sett forward towardes themperours Court on Munday mornyng, yf the king of this place did not stay us perforce, which a long time he hath perswaded us unto. _November 1_ (_Conguach 28_).--We dyned this day at China Capt., where we had good entertaynment, both sea men and merchantes, with the dansing beares. And towardes night we had news that 3 of our howses at Cochie were burned, being sett on fire by a retchlesse fello that did seeth the kettell to neare the howse walle. All the howsing was quite burned to the grownd, with som 9 barilles of tunny fish and 9 or 10 muskittes and 20 swordes; but our seales and other matters of worth were saved by the industry of our men with the helpe of the Hollanders and som Japons. Yt is said most parte of the fish which was thought to be burned was stole away per Japons, as also som 6 muskettes and som swordes. _November 2_ (_Conguach 29_).--I went to Cochie to see what hurt the fire had donne, and fownd it as I before discribed, only many of our truck plankes, with bordes and other tymbers, were much burned or scubered, but quenched in good tyme. And the king sent to me to know my answer whether I would pay the debtes our marrenars owed, that were per the Japons taken presoners. Unto which I answerd, no, for that they had trusted them contrary to his Highnesse proclemation to trust non but such as broght money; and besides they taxed our men to owe them 10 tymes more then was due unto them, beating them and striking them naked, and per force taking all 215 the money from other men which owed them nothing; of the which I ment to demand justis from his Highnesse, and that our men might be sett free, for that the Emperour would suffer us to carry noe Japons in our shiping, and therefore no reason to keepe our men per force, which they might do yf they pleased, but I would never consent to pay a peny of that the Japons demanded. Unto which they answerd that the king would not keepe our men. _November 3_ (_Conguach 30_).--I sent the _caboques_ 4 _tais_ small plate for _fannos_ at China Capt. howse. I wrot a peticion this day to the king, making knowne the taking our men presoners with other abuses offerd to our nation, requiring our men to be sett at libertie. _November 5_ (_Junguach 2_).--Gonrok Dono and Feze Dono arived at Firando this day; and Gonrok Dono sent me a present of 2 silk _kerremons_, and Feze Dono sent me 500 egges, 30 hense, and 25 drid netes tonges. _November 6_ (_Junguach 3_).--I paid in small plate as followeth, viz.:-- To the glover or shewmaker, Jenchero Dono, for-- _ta. m. co._ 5 peare pumps at 2 _mas_ pear 1 0 0 2 peare gloves, at 3 _mas_ peare 0 6 0 3 peare garters and 4 roses, making 0 5 0 More, paid the gouldsmith-- For making a silver cover for mack jack[105] 0 2 0 For making furneture of a gerdell, silver 0 7 0 For making a head of silver or cap for staffe 0 1 0 More, paid to cooper for Susanna, viz.-- For 2 tubbs to wash bodies in 0 3 0 For 4 bucketts to cary water 0 3 0 For a tub to put rise in 0 1 0 For 4 small buckettes or tubbs 0 1 0 And we and the Hollanders were called before the king, where we found 216 Gonrok Dono, Feze Dono, and others, which caused the 2 padres, presoners in the Hollands howse, to be brought before them, with the capt. of the friggatt and others, where all our papers were perused, and amongst the rest a letter or ordinance from the Bushopp of Manillia, authoresing frire Pedro de Sunega to be prior and vicker generall over all Christians in all provinces of Japon, with other letters to conferme it. Yet this frire did utterly deny it, and that he was a merchant and noe frire. Soe then we produced 2 witnesses, the one a Portugez, called Ravelles, and the other an inhabitant of the Manillias; both which confessed they knew frire Pedro de Sunega to be a padre of the order of St. Augustin, and Ravelles said he had seene hym say mas in the howse of Alvaro Munios at Nangasaque, and that Harnando Ximenes did see the like. Soe for this tyme the king and Gonrok Dono did dismis us, and gave noe sentence, but willed us to produce more witnesses. Unto which we answerd we could produce noe more, and willed them to make an end of it, as God should put it into their mind, to thentent we might procead on our voyage to vizet the Emperour. But they replied they would call us to morow or next day and make an end yf they could. [105] Perhaps a jack, or large flagon, of _makiye_ or lacquer. _November 7_ (_Junguach 4_).--We and the Hollanders went to the pallace, being called per the king to dispute our matter about the frigatt; where we found Gonrok Dono, Feze Dono, and the rest, of Nangasaque, and shewed other writeinges to prove this Pedro de Suniga to be a father and prior and vicar generall of all the Cbristians in Japon. And the king sent for Harnando Ximenes and Lues the telor to reade over the letters in Spanish, but nether the one nor other would doe it. And soe late we retorned; it being ordayned to make an end to morow. But the king, with Semi Dono and others, sent us word secretly to stand to that which we had spoaken, and then we needed not to 217 feare to get our processe, for that 7 of ten had allready geven their voices on our sides. _November 8_ (_Junguach 5_).--We and the Duch made our selves ready to have gon to the pallace, to have made an end of our processe of the frigat; but after nowne word was sent us to stay till to morow, for that Feze Dono was sick. But the matter was, for that they were envited to the China Capt., Andrea Dittis, to dyner. And the China Capt. tould me that the King of Firando sent for hym in secret, and asked hym whether he knew this Pedro de Sunega to be a padre or no. Unto which he answered he knew hym to be a padre, as his sonne Augustin did the like, being at Manillas; yet, in respect he lived at Nangasaque, and that Gonrok Dono was his frend, he did not desire to be seene in the matter. And towardes night Torazemon Dono went to Hollands howse and sent for me thether, and tould us that of 10 which were of the councell proving them fathars, 7 weare on our side, and the rest could stand upon nothing but to ask us what was the occation that these two denied themselves to be fathers, all the rest confessing them to be such at first demand; to the which we should take councell how to answer, when we were to com before the king and Gonrok Dono. Also, at same tyme, the 3 Japon _jurebassos_, which came with Gonrok Dono from Nangasaque, came to Hollands howse to demand lycense to have private conferrence with the 2 fryres, presoners; but the king sent us secret adviz not to consent unto it. Soe answer was made unto them that they should not com to speech of them except it were in presence of the king and Gonrok Dono and the rest of the justices. _November 9_ (_Junguach 6_).--The king with Gonrok Dono went a fishing this day; soe we had noe audience about our plito. Yet the king sent us word to stand to that we formerly proposed, and to answer to certen demandes as he gave us the forme how to doe, and not to think any 218 ill, yf he were sharpe in speeches against us, which he would doe of purpose to blind our enemis. _November 10_ (_Junguach 7_).--I paid in plate of barrs to Jno. Japon: for Susannas slave Ita, 12: 0: 0; for a sett of _gocas_ for her, 6: 5: 0. The China Capt. gave me a silver tastar and a silver dish to sett it upon, poiz both 4 _ta._ 4 _ma._[106] The shipp _Palsgrove_ went out this day to Cochie roade. I staid all this day attending to goe to Court about our plito; but, as I am enformed, Gonrok desireth the king we should stay till som men com from Nangasaque, which he hath sent for. And, as it is said, this Gonrok Dono did report in themperours Court that we and the Hollanders did of mallice accuse these Spaniardes to be fathers, which he knewe were non such, and that upon payne of his life he would prove it to be soe. But now, finding our testemony to be such as it is and canot be denied, he knoweth not what to doe, but useth all _trampas_[107] and fetches he can to delay tyme and bring it to nothing per all meanes he may. [106] In the margin called a "silver cupp and sawser". [107] Span., traps, tricks. _November 11_ (_Junguach 8_).--Gonrok Dono and others sent both us and the Hollanders word that they would send to call 10 padres or frires which were presoners at Umbra, and that we should make choise of any 3 or 4 of them to be wittnesses whether the 2 prisoners at Hollandes howse were fathers or no. But we retorned answer that we knew not whether those 10 men they spake of were fathers or noe; nether would we have to doe with them nor put the matter to their discretion, which we had soe manifestly proved allready. _November 12_ (_Junguach 9_).--I went to Torazemon Dono to tell hym againe of the abuses daylie offered to our English marrenars, at 219 Cochie espetially, desiring to have redresse; and that I would send one of our _jurebassos_ to the admerall, Capt. Adames, at Cochie, to look out in all howses where our men were thus abused and to take true notis hereof, as his Highnesse (the king) had ordayned. The which he answered me was well donne, and that this day he would put the king againe in mind therof and tell hym what I said. But sowne after he sent his man unto me to tell me the king would take order that our men should all be set at libertie, whether they owed money or noe. _November 13_ (_Junguach 10_).--The Duch shipp _Trowe_ went to Cochie road, and I sent 4 barkes to helpe to toe her out. And I parted the _coshon_ money of Tozemon Dono, being 96 _tais_ 5 _mas_, amongst our servantes as followeth, viz.:-- _ta. m. co._ To ould Jno. _jurebasso_ 20 0 0 To greate Tome _jurebasso_ 20 0 0 To Coa Jno. _jurebasso_ 20 0 0 To Migell, Corean _jurebasso_ 05 0 0 To Coa Domingo 10 0 0 To Lawrance 06 0 0 To Paule 05 5 0 To littell Tome _jurebasso_ 05 0 0 To ould Domingo 05 0 0 _November 14_ (_Junguach 11_).--Capt. Camps and my selfe having made a writing in the Japon languadg, per councell of the king of this place, directed to Gonrok Dono and the king, wherin we advized that, our proves against the padres being made, we would say noe more in that matter, but left it to their discresions to doe therein what they pleased, we attesting we took them as our enemies, and did not know they weare padres till they confessed it themselves; nether would we have to doe with any padres they brought from Umbra or Nangasaque 220 to be judges in our affares tuching that matter, nor would not beleeve nether them nor any other Spaniardes nor Portingales they should produce in that matter, houlding them parsiall and our enemies in that matter. Soe we desired leave to departe towardes themperours Court to doe our duties; and sent this writing per our 2 _jurebassos_ to Gonrok Dono. And he caused them to cary it to the King of Firando, accompanied with one of his owne men. And the ambassadors of the King of Syam, which are now retorned from themperours Court, where they were royally receved, did com to vizet our English howse, accompanied with Capt. Yasimon Dono of Nangasaque and a man which themperour sent with them from Edo to accompany them to Nangasaque. The ambassador gave me a barrill of wyne for a present, and the Japon which accompanid hym from Edo an other. And the ambassador requested me to geve hym a letter of favour with an English flagg, yf in case they met with any English or Hollandes shipps at sea; and Capt. Yasimon Dono did desire the like: which I promised to them both to performe. And I sent a pottell glasse bottell of annise water for a present to the ambassador, which he took in very good part. _November 15_ (_Junguach 12_).--We were sent for to the Court to make an end of our processe with the padres, where we found 4 padres of the presoners of Umbra, one being a Japon, as also Lues Martin, Balthazar Martin, Alvaro Munios, Pinta a woaman, with divers others, brought in by Gonrok Dono to doe what in them la to witnesse against us; where many speeches passed, but non would confesse they knew them to be padres, but our two witnesses stood still to their word, although foule mouthed Munios did revile them. And so we were remitted till to morow. Yet I was secretly advized it would goe on our side, and that the capt. of the friggat was to suffer death with others; but Yochian 221 Dies, the capt., desired that I or Capt. Camps might suffer death with hym, according to the use of Japon, that he which causeth an other man to die must goe the same way hym selfe. _November 16_ (_Junguach 13_).--I sent Domingo _jurebasso_, with the boteswaine and pursers mate of the shipp _Moone_, to look out in every Japons howse at Cochie where they kept our Englishmen presoners, where they fownd som with boultes and shakelles, others with cheanes, others bownd and pineoned with ropes, som owing nothing to the Japons, and others tormented because they would not confesse they owed 4 or 5 times more to Japons then was due to them. All which I put up in a writing and delivered it to the King of Firandos councell to have redresse. And Oyen Dono came and tould me that we were sure to get our processe of the friggat; and Cushcron Dono tould me the like, and that he thought divers others weare like to suffer death about it. _November 17_ (_Junguach 14_).--Within night the Hollanders and we were sent for to the Court about our plito with the padres (or frires) which also were sent for. And we remeaned theare till 11 or 12 a clock, and came not to sight of the king, and then had leave to departe; only in that tyme they sent for 2 letters directed to frier padre Tomas, a Japon padre, presoner at Umbra, and now brought to Firando, as I noted heretofore. And, as we are secretly enformed, this frire hath confessed that the 2 presoners at Hollands howse are padres, for he was all day in company with the king and Gonrok Dono in secret conference, and, as it is said, will turne gentell againe, or at least renege his pristhood, to save his life. And, as som say, Gonrok Dono is suspected to be a Christian. _November 18_ (_Junguach 15_).--The shipp _Elizabeth_ went out of Firando to Cochie. And the King of Firando sent for the Hollanders and us to make an end 222 of the plito of the padres; where we fownd above xx Japon Christians renegados, whome Gonrok Dono had brought from Nangasaque to see yf they knew whether these two fathers were padres or no. Among whome was a blind man, bad to see another, yet by his voice he tould the King of Firando that he knew hym to be fraire Pedoro de Sunega; yet, as I understood, the King of Firando will not admit hym for a witnesse, because he is of Firando; but I know not whether he doe it as a frend, knowing we have other witnesses enow, or else to bring us to other trialles. Once the end will try all. And in the end the king hym selfe came out and asked Capt. Camps and me whether we had other matter to say or no against the fathers. Unto whome we answerd noe, desiring to have lycense to departe towardes themperours Court, for that tyme passed. Unto which the king made answer that he would permitt us to departe when he pleased. _November 19_ (_Junguach 16_).--We are enformed that Gonrok Dono would have had the King of Firando joyne with hym to refer the plito about the friggatt before themperours councell at Edo, but the king tould hym he would now end it heare, we having soe manifest testemony as we have on our side to prove the 2 presoners padres. _November 20_ (_Junguach 17_).--I receved ij C. _tais_ plate barrs of Tozamon Dono, our host of Osackay, in parte of payment of 256 _tais_ due for 128 peces Canton damasks of the deceased Capt. Wm. Adames. And the king sent 4 ruch sleeping _kerremons_ of silke in present to thadmerall, Capt. Adams, to be disposed of as I should adviz hym. They were worth j C. _tais_ barr plate. And the king and Gonrok Dono sent for me and the Hollandes capt. to bring Gonsalo Ravello, our witnesse against Alvaro Munois; which we did, and he stood still to his first speeches how he saw frire Pedro de Sunega say mas in his howse; yet the frire denied it. And I think Munois was hanged by the purse and soe cleared. And the capt. of the 223 friggot, Yochin Dies, with 29 others, are bound and put into preson, we geting our plito of frigot. _November 21_ (_Junguach 18_).--The Duch admerall, Wm. Johnson, and Capt. Adames, our admerall, retorned to Firando; and we, with Capt. Camps, Capt. Lafevre, and others, went to vizet the king and carid hym a present of 2 _barricas_ Spanish sack, j _barrica_ of tent, and 2 jarrs of sweet meate, and gave hym thankes for the presentes of _kerremons_; and soe took leave for the fleet to goe out to morow. And Capt. Adames left the 4 sleeping silk coates with me till his retorne from Manillias. _November 22_ (_Junguach 19_).--Our fleet of 8 shipps, English and Duch, went to sea this morning on their second voyage for Manillias. God send them good speed. Viz.:-- English shipps. The _Moone_ The _Palsgrove_ The _Elizabeth_ The _Bull_ Duch shipps. The _Bantam_ The _Trow_ The _Harlam_ The _Hope_ _November 23_ (_Junguach 20_).--This morning the fleet put to sea, but, as I am enformed from Capt. Adams, thadmerall, want 12 of our men, and Mr. Cockram writes me want 17, all kept presoners per Japons ashore, contrary to the kinges comand; and yet Capt. Adames sent a boate of porpose ashore with 150 R. of 8 to have redeemed them, but they asked above 200 R. of 8 more. Soe Capt. Adams wrot me that yf they were retorned after his departure, to put them all out of wagis, as villans and traitors to their prince and cuntrey, and soe to send them in cheanes for Jaccatra, in the Duch shipp _New Zeland_, when she goeth. Ther is 4 Hollanders alsoe kept presoners ashore. And the _bongews_ took 5 _cattans_ from Mr. Sayer, 1 from Capt. Adams, and 1 from Capt. Cleavengar, and 1 from Mr. Mourton. Mr. Sayer hath had his above 224 5 yeares, and Capt. Adames brought his out of England, and Mr. Morton bought his in Sumatra at Janbee. _November 24_ (_Junguach 21_).--Mr. Eaton retorned from our fleete, shipps departed, and brought me divers letters from Capt. Adames, Mr. Cockram, Capt. Lennis, and others, wherin they wrot me of the detayning of our men on shore, as I noted before. Of the which I went and conferred with Capt. Camps; and he is of opinion with us not to pay any thinge, seeing they have detayned our men till shipps be gon. Alsoe he was very ernest with me to stay 7 or 8 dayes to dispach busynes for his two shipps which are heare, and, as I am enformed, hath envited the king to dynner 6 daies hence, yet tould me nothing thereof, for that he would get the start of us to envite the king, leveing us noe tyme to doe the like, or else stay us longer to doe his busynes. _November 25_ (_Junguach 22_).--I went to Torazemon Dono and Semi Dono to thank them for their paines taken about our busynes, telling them that it was now tyme to goe to themperours Court, our shipps being gone. And they tould me I had reason, as alsoe the Hollanders, soe to doe, for that Cacazemon Dono, secretary to Oyen Dono, themperours cheefe councellar, had wrot the King of Firando a letter that the Spaniardes and Portingales had ended their busynes and we and the Hollanders had noe care to com to prevent them in their proceadinges, which he marveled at. _November 26_ (_Junguach 23_).--I went to Hollandes howse to confer about our going up to Court; and Capt. Camps tould me that to morow the king came to dyner, sending hym word he would have my company theare or else he would not come, and soe after to morow we might departe towardes Edo. And in the meane tyme the kyng sent Stroyemon Dono before us to the Court, to be theare before Gonrok Dono, whoe departed from hence 2 daies past secretly to goe to Edo. Also our presoners at Cochie wrot a letter how they are almost 225 famished; yet too good a diet for such villens. And Francis Irland wrot me aparte that he is in for an other mans debt. And Capt. Camps came to our howse to talke about our busynes; and we, having made ready som xj peces ordinance to have shott off at Gonroks departure, gave them hym for a farewell; and the Duch answered with 6. _November 27_ (_Junguach 24_).--The king dyned at Duch howse with all his nobilletie, I being sent for and sett second at table on his right hand, whether I would or noe; where we had great cheare with musick, after our cuntrey fation, singing and dansing, with ordinance shott affe at every tyme the king drunk, 7 per the Duch, and answered with 5 per thenglish; and, when the king went away, xj peces from the Duch and as many from thenglish for a farewell, and 5 peces for Semi Dono as he passed per water per English howse. _November 28_ (_Junguach 25_). We went to the king, the Hollanders and us, to take our leave to goe to themperours Court; and he told us the sowner the better; also that he had sent Stroyemon Dono, his _bongew_, before, to be theare before Gonrok Dono, to prevent falce reportes till we came. And the _bongew_ of Cochie came to our howse, and said yf we would not pay the money for the men presoners, that they would cary them to Crates, Chicongo,[108] Nangasaque, and sell them, or make their best endevours to recover the money they owed Japons. Unto whome I answerd, to take heed what he did, as he would answer it with his life before the Emperour of Japon, whoe had geven order we should cary noe Japons out of his cuntrey in our shiping, and, therefore, noe reason they should detayne our Englishmen and father falce debtes upon them when they owed nothing. [108] Shikoku. _November 29_ (_Junguach 26_).--I delivered plate for the table, of my 226 owne, to Pale, as followeth, viz.:-- 2 silver salts, one silver and guilt, with covers. 2 silver cups, one guilt all over, other white. 1 taster and sawser of silver and guilt. 1 taster of silver, white. white: 6 silver spones 6 forks And out of factory, viz.:-- 1 silver spout pott. 1 sillver standing cup and cover, all guilt. my owne. And 1 china ewer of coconutt 1 case of 6 knives all my owne. More, 4 tobaco pipes 2 all silver 2 head and foote selver 1 littell silver cupp to drink strong water to goe on our voyage for Edo. Towardes night the king sent to me to know what I would have donne with the Englishmen presoners at Cochie, and whether I would pay the money they weare kept for, for that they weare subjectes to the kings of Xasma, Crates, Chicongo, and other places, and would, yf I paid not the money, carry them away. Unto which I answerd that it weare men of Firando which detayned them, and, namely, one Cuze Dono, our next neighbour, and others, contrary to the kinges comand that non should trust them except they brought money; and, yf they weare of other kingdoms which detayned them, I knew noe reason they should have more preveleges then them of Firando, in regard the Emperour had comanded that we should carry noe Japons out in our shipps, it was noe reason that Japons should detayne Englishmen per force and fayne debtes upon them which they owed not, as these Japons did, and took men and kept them presoners which owed them nothing. And for me to pay money for their releasment, I could not, they being sea men, and the English admerall having geven me order to the contrary, he first having sent 227 150 R. of 8 to have redemed them, and 10 R. more was offered, but all refused, and our men detained per force against all reason. Soe I could say nothing till the fleete retorned; but in the meane tyme willed them take heed how they sent them to be disposed of per our enemies, as they would answer it to themperor. _November 30_ (_Junguach 27_).--We and the Hollanders sett forwardes towardes Edo, but, the wind being N.erly with rayne, we went into an Iland of Firando called Onshma, 3 leagues from Firando. But, before we went out, the Japons of Cochie came to our English howse, bawling and crying out for payment of the money thenglishmen owed them, or else they would cary them away and make their best of them. I answerd I would not consent they should cary them away, nether would pay them any thing, for that they weare villens and had imagened falce debtes, saying English men owed them money when they owed them non; and that, yf I weare not now ready to set my foote into the bark to departe towardes themperours Court, I would have laid them all by the heeles till our men were set at liberty. Also the king sent 2 men, our enemis, after me, to tell me the Hollanders had lent hym 6,000 _taies_, and I denied to lend any, and bad them tell me he had noe need of any money, and therefore sent them to tell me soe much. But I sent his Highnesse word that I had left order with Mr. Eaton to lett hym have silk with mantas or lynen cloth and other matters to the vallue of 3000 _tais_, at same price the Hollanders lett his Highnesse have theirs; but, for money, I had non, as many in Firando knew it well, and, to take up money at intrest and lend it out for nothing, I knew not how to geve our honble. employers acco. of it; yet, yf his Highnesse would needes have it soe, it must be soe. But the _jurebasso_, Nicolas Martyn, sent from the king, tould me that the 3000 _tais_ I offerd was well, and would be taken in as 228 good part as 6000 of the Hollanders, and that the other two which came (would not com abord) were our enemies, and had enformed the king of untruthes. The dansing beares came out after us, and I gave them a bar of plate containing 4 _ta._ 7 _ma._, and Capt. Camps as much. _December 1_ (_Junguach 28_).--After midnight we departed from Onushma, and went to Ginushma before the wind turned, haveing made 38 leagues. _December 2_ (_Junguach 29_).--This morning, after sunne rising, we departed from Ginushma, and wind at W.N.W., and soe contynewd all day and night following. Soe at 2 a clock after nowne we arived at Ximina Seak,[109] and fownd the Hollanders departed from thence 2 howers before, Capt. Camps having left me a letter, and Stroyemon Dono another that Gonrok Dono departed from thence yistarday; soe they took councell to follow hym, that Stroyemon Dono might be at Edo before him. Soe I left a letter with our host at Ximina Seak to send to Mr. Eaton, dated this day of our arivall at this place, and that he should lett the king of Firando have all the kense (?) silk and bleu lynen at as loe a rate as the Hollanders sould theirs, as also the money which the 2 peces broad cloth weare sould for, and, yf any thing wanted to make up 3000 _taies_, to let hym have it in money or comodities. Soe this day and night we got 42 leagues, 8 leagues short of Camina Seak,[110] at sun rising. [109] Shimonoseki. [110] Kaminoseki. _December 3_ (_Shimutsque 1_).--This day till night we made 18 leagues to a villadge called Ewe,[111] 10 leagues past Camina Seak, where we overtook the Hollanders, and rod at an ancor all night. [111] Yu. _December 4_ (_Shimutsque 2_).--We staid heare all day per meanes of 229 contrary wind and an overgrowen sea, and the Hollanders and _bongews_ came to dyner abord our bark. _December 5_ (_Shimutsque 3_).--We departed from Ewe and rowed 2 leagues to a place called Zewa; and in the way saw a bark cast away, and sent out our and the Hollanders small boates, whoe saved the men. _December 6_ (_Shimutsque 4_).--At night we departed from Zewa, it being calme, and rowed it xiij leagues before we came to an ancor. We paid xv. _mas_ to howse and for oringes at Zewa, and gave a sack of rise to the men which we saved out of the wreck, they being of Bongo. _December 7_ (_Shimutsque 5_).--We arived within night at Bingana Tomo, wheare I went ashore and made consort for [neales, spikes, and iron hoopes]. Soe we made this day 15 leagues till night. _December 8_ (_Shimutsque 6_).--We departed from Bingana Tomo at midnight past, and got this day to Moro before sunne seting, having made 30 leagues, with such extreame wynde that we weare not able to beare but very littell seale. The Hollanders bark went out 2 howers before us, yet we overtook her and out went her 2 leagues before we weare aware, yet went into Moro together. And here we understood Gonrok Dono went from hence 2 daies past. _December 9_ (_Shimutsque 7_).--We departed from Moro at xj a clock before nowne, and arived at Fiongo[112] within night, having made xvij leagues this day, not without danger, seeing a greate bark, laden with rise, cast away in passing the straits at Fiongo. [112] Hôgo. _December 11_ (_Shimutsque 9_).--We departed this morning from Fiongo, having laden 2 barkes first with our merchandiz, to lighten our bark, she drawing much water, and now nepe tides. And the Hollanders did the like. Yet, as we passed the flattes of Osackay, we were on grownd divers tymes; yet, God be praised, we gott 230 well affe againe, and arived at Osackay at 3 a clock in thafter nowne; but at same place saw one bark cast away, laden with stones for the making of the castell, but all the people saved. _December 13_ (_Shimutsque 11_).--Our host, Cuemon Dono, the night past sent for whole company of _caboques_, and made a play with good cheare; and we gave them 2 barrs plate, is 8: 6: 0. Soe we departed towardes Miaco, and arived theare this evening at night, and, passing by Fushamy, mett with Gonrok Donos clark, whoe tould us his master was theare and ment not to departe from Miaco of 5 or 6 daies. _December 14_ (_Shimutsque 12_).--This night at sun seting Capt. Camps arived at Miaco. _December 15_ (_Shimutsque 13_).--I wrot 2 letters to Osackay, viz. 1 to Tozamon Dono that I left order at Bingana Tomo to pay 300 _tais_ plate bars to our hostis, also to provide 30 great pottes and 200 small of white salt against my retorne from Edo; 1 to the mother of Helena, that I had order from Mr. Eaton to have spoaken with her about their doughter, but could not stay till my retorne from Edo. And we made ready these presentes and delivered them, viz.:-- To Suga Dono, Cheefe Justis, 10 _cattis_ raw silk. 01 _tatta._ stamet cloth. 05 peces ordnary damasks. 03 peces redd sayes. 05 peces ord. taffeties. in velvet bags. 25 _cattis_ cloves 25 _cattis_ pepper To Inga Dono, his father, 25 _cattis_ cloves, in velvet bag. 03 peces blak chauul taffeties. 05 peces ordnary taffeties. To Channo Shozero Dono, 231 15 _cattis_ raw silk. 01 _tatta._ stamet cloth. 05 peces black cawul taffety. 03 peces redd sayes. 25 _cattis_ cloves, in a velvet bagg. _December 16_ (_Shimutsque 14_).--Our host at Cousattes[113] sent his man with a present of chistnuttes 7 leagues to bid me wellcom, and I gave the fello 5 _mas_ which brought them. This day we got out our letters of favor from the justis of Miaco and Chawno Shozero Dono. [113] Kusatsu. _December 17_ (_Shimutsque 15_).--We departed from Miaco this day, and went to Cousates to bed, having made this day 7 leagues. And in the way followed us 4 companies with bankettes Japon fation, viz. 1 from ostes servantes, 1 from Tome Donos brother, 1 from kinsman of our host, 1 from Maky Shozemon Dono; unto which 4 Mr. Osterwick gave 4 _ichebos_ of gould. Soe we got to Cousattes this night, our hostes name Yoichero Dono; and paid for supper and breckfast 3 _ichebos_, and 3 C. _gins_ to the servantes of howse. _December 18_ (_Shimutsque 16_).--We went to dyner to Minna Cochie,[114] our hostes name Ishia Dono; and paid i _ichebo_ to howse and ij C. _gins_ to servantes. Soe went to bedd to Shequenogize, the hostes name Ichezayemon Dono, having made xiij leagues this day. [114] Minakuchi. _December 19_ (_Shimutsque 17_).--We dyned this day at Youkaich, 7 leagues, our hostes name called Ishiais Taffio Dono; and went to bed to Quanno,[115] 4 leagues more. [115] Kuwana. _December 20_ (_Shimutsque 18_).--We went to Mia[116] from Quanno, 7 leagues per sea, and dyned at Fox, my hostes. And from thence went to bed to Cherew,[117] host called Sangusque Dono, and made 12 leagues. [116] Miya. [117] Chiriu. _December 21_ (_Shimutsque 19_).--We went to dyner to Fugecaw,[118] 232 4-1/2 leagues, the hostes name Crozemon Dono, and from thence went to Yoshenda,[119] 5-1/2 leagues, the hostes name Yamanda Sinimon Dono, to bedd. Here was a howse set on fire neare our lodging, yet sowne quenched, otherwais we had our horses redy to depart. [118] Fujikawa. [119] Yoshida. _December 22_ (_Shimutsque 20_).--We went to dyner to Array,[120] 5 leagues; and went to Hammamach[121] to supper, 4 leagues mor; the hostes name Sozero Dono, at Arrais, and heare at Hamamach, Ummea Ichazemon Dono. [120] Arai. [121] Hamamatsu. _December 23_ (_Shimutsque 21_).--We went to dyner to Cagingaua,[122] 7 leagues, and to supper to Canayea;[123] the host at Cagengaua called Yasozemon Dono, and at Canayea, Soyemon Dono. [122] Kakegawa. [123] Kanaya. _December 24_ (_Shimutsque 22_).--We went to dyner at Ocaby,[124] 5 leagues, and to soper to Egery,[125] 6 leagues; the hostes name at [Ocaby] Groboye Dono, and at thother, Ficobuye Dono. [124] Okabe. [125] Ejiri. _December 25_ (_Shimutsque 23_).--We went to dyner to Ishwary,[126] 7 leagues, and to supper to Mishma,[127] 5 leagues; the name of the host at Ishwary Skozemon Dono, and other Seden. Here we kept Christmas. [126] Yoshiwara. [127] Mishima. _December 26_ (_Shimutsque 24_).--We went to dyner to Odoro,[128] 8 leagues, the hostes name Nacafaroya Genimon Dono; and to soper to Oyesso,[129] 4 leagues, host named Matobio Dono. [128] Odawara. [129] Oiso. _December 27_ (_Shimutsque 25_).--We went to dyner to Todsque,[130] 6 leagues, the hostes name Cutero Dono; and to supper to Caninggaw,[131] 3 leagues, the hostes name Ginemon Dono. At Caningaw I receved 4 letters from Edo, viz. 1 from Cacazezemon 233 Dono, 1 from Stroyemon Dono, 1 from Capt. Adames sonne Isack, and 1 from Sobioye Dono, secretary to Gentero Dono. [130] Totska. [131] Kanagawa. _December 28_ (_Shimutsque 26_).--We stoped at a pleace 2 leagues short of Edo, called Suningaua,[132] the hostes name Gembio Dono, where Capt. Adames 2 children mett us with a present of _muchas_ and 2 rosted hens and a _baroso_ wyne; as also Gentero Dono sent us 2 horses and other two for the Hollanders, with a _bongew_ to bidd us wellcom, as the admerall Shungo Donos sonne sent his man to bid us wellcom. Soe we arived this day after nowne at Edo. And the King of Firando's brother sent me a present of _muchas_, and withall to tell me I was wellcom. And Cacazemon Dono envited the Hollanders and us to super, where we had great cheare, with many good wordes, and amongst the rest tould us that the Portingalles came not to sight of the Emperour, nether would he let them have _goshons_ for their shiping from Amacon to traffick to Japan. [132] Shinagawa. _December 29_ (_Shimutsque 27_).--I rec. a letter from Shongo Dono, with 10 hens for a present. And I deliverd the 2 _cattans_ and _wacadash_ of Capt. Adames, left per will to his sonne Joseph; where were teares shedd at delivery. _December 30_ (_Shimutsque 28_).--We went to vizet Gentero Dono, the King of Firandos brother, and carid hym a present as followeth:-- 01 _tatta._ stamet cloth. 10 _cattis_ white silke. 25 _cattis_ cloves, in a velvet sack. 03 peces redd sayes. 03 peces ord. taffetis. 05 pec. ordnary damaskes. from us and the Hollanders; which he took in good parte, and gave us kynd entertaynment. _December 31_ (_Shimutsque 29_).--We carid and delivered presentes 234 this day, viz.:-- 25 _cattis_ raw whit silk. 02 _tatta_ stamet cloth. 03 peces rich crimson damaskes. 05 peces ordenary damaskes. 05 peces redd silk sayes. to Otto Dono. And the like to Itania Quenusque Dono. And to the secretary of Otto Dono:-- 1 pec. ordenery damask. 4 peces ordnary taffetis. To Quenosque Donos secretary:-- 1 pec. ordnary damask. 1 pec. ordnary taffite. _January 1, 162-1/2_ (_Shimutsque 30_).--We made ready our present bordes this day; and had order to vizet a nobellman to morow. _January 3_ (_Shiwas 2_).--The King of Firandos brother, Jentero Dono, came to my lodging to vizet me, as Capt. Camps did the like; unto whome I gave the best entertaynment I could, and soe they departed. But Capt. Camps came first, and soe we sett downe the quantety of 3 presentes to be geven, viz. 1 to the prince, themperours sonne; 2 to the 2 cheefe justices of Edo, per adviz from King Firando. Also we understand themperour will be heare within 3 dayes. _January 4_ (_Shiwas 3_).--Cacazemon Dono sent me word that themperour will be at Edo this night, but that Oyen Dono, his master, will not be heare till two daies after, yet wisheth us to make all thinges ready, which we will geve in presentes, as also to put in writing our petision what we demand, because we may be dispached before the Japon new yeare, which is the first day of next moone. Towardes night Chawno Shozero Donos brother sent me word themperour 235 was arived; and Capt. Camps sent me word it was best to vizet the 2 justices at Edo to morow with presentes. _January 6_ (_Shiwas 5_).--There were presentes geven this day, as followeth:-- To Matzera Dayre Jemon Dono. To Caffia Dono, _goshon_ seale keeper. To Enoquena Cambo Dono, a _mackey bongew_. To Gentero Donos secretary. To his man brought us horses on the way. To Maczera Dayres secretary. To Caffia Donos secretary. To _mache bongews_ secretary. And Itamia Quenusque Dono, on of themperours councell, sent me 2 wild geese for a present, and withall advized me that we weare to goe vizet themperour with our present the xvth day of this moone, which is x dayes hence. This morning, 2 howrs before day, was an earthquake. _January 7_ (_Shiwas 6_).--Cacayemon Dono came to vizet me, and tould me his master, Oyen Dono, would be heare to night, and gave me councell what we should say to his master when our plito about the friggat was broght in question, and that I should mak as much knowne to the Hollanders; he now thinking it could not goe against us, we having fownd and proved the presoners to be padres or frires. _January 8_ (_Shiwas 7_).--Cacayemon Dono sent me word his master, Oyen Dono, retorned yisternight. Soe I send our _jurebasso_ with the Hollandars theirs to kiss his Lo. handes on our behalfe, and to tell hym of our arivall heare, and to know his pleasure when we should com to speech with hym. _January 9_ (_Shiwas 8_).--About 10 a clock this day was an earthquake, which shooke a good while 2 severall tymes. We envited the Hollanders to dyner with Cacazemon Dono, Stroyemon 236 Dono, and Jentero Donos secretary; and had the dansing beares. _January 10_ (_Shiwas 9_).--We carid our present to Oyen Dono as followeth, viz.:-- 50 _cattis_ white twisted silke. 50 _cattis_ white raw silke. 03 _tatta._ stamet broad cloth. 07 peces ordnary damaskes. 07 peces red cheremis. 07 peces white cheremis. 05 peces ruch crimson damaskes. in velvet bagges. 50 _cattis_ cloves 50 _cattis_ peper He took it in very good parte, and gave us frendly speeches and made us colation. _January 12_ (_Shiwas 11_).--We dyned at Holland howse, where we had good cheare, with the _caboques_. _January 13_ (_Shiwas 12_).--Jentero Donos secretary sent me halfe a beefe, and the other halfe to Capt. Camps; but it was kild in the night, for non may be kild heare per themperors comand. _January 14_ (_Shiwas 13_).--We went this day, and deliverd our present to Cacazemon Dono, both Capt. Camps and my selfe, to Oyen Donos secretary, our espetiall frend. _January 15_ (_Shiwas 14_).--We and the Hollanders carid our present to Codgskin Dono, who came hither but yistarnight, although it was said he arived heare 7 daies past. And I rec. a letter from Firando from Mr. Eaton, dated the 18th and kept till the 22th ultimo, wherin he writes that the King of Firando or his offecars have let the Japons cary 3 of our men to Nangasaque to sell them to the Spaniardes; and that the Japons are kept presoners in our howse still; and that Torazamon Dono sent hym word he should geve them meate and drink, which he retorned answer I had left order to the contrary. _January 16_ (_Shiwas 15_).--We and the Hollanders carid our present to themperour, viz.:-- 200 _cattis_ white raw silk. 237 100 _cattis_ white pole silk. 050 _cattis_ white twisted silke. 002 peces stamet clo., containing 16 _tatta._ 005 peces rich crimson damask. 005 peces ruch blak sattins. 015 peces redd cheremis. 015 peces white cheremis. 005 peces damask tabling. 005 peces Sleze lawnds. 003 faggottes of steele. 300 _cattis_ of cloves. _January 18_ (_Shiwas 17_).--I wrot to Mr. Eaton not to lett our men goe with Jno. Jossens junck, nor geve meate to the Japon presoners in our howse. _January 19_ (_Shiwas 18_).--We carid our presentes to themperours sonne and his governor:-- 50 _cattis_ white raw silk. 25 _cattis_ cloves, in velvet bagg. 05 _tattamis_ stamet brod clo. 05 peces ruch crimson damaskes. 05 peces ruch wroght black sattin. 05 peces damask tabling. 05 peces damask napkening. to Dayeynanga Samma, the Emperours sonne. 25 _cattis_ pepper, in velvett bagg. 10 _cattis_ white raw silke. 05 peces ordnary taffeties. 01 _tattamy_ stamet broad clo. to Sacky Bingo Dono, his governor or secretary. _January 20_ (_Shiwas 19_).--Capt. Camps came to me to tell me the _bongews_ put hym in mynd to geve a present to the father of the King of Firandos queene, as well as to her; but he was of opinion (as I the like) that we ment not to geve any to the doughter but for the husbandes sake, nether to her yf the king had byn heare; only this is in respeckt she is queene of Firando and now greate with childe, and we the first which came to Edo after the mariadge, the king being absent, and never to be looked for hereafter. But, yf we should 238 now geve a present to her father, it must allwais contynew hereafter, for the Japons still encroche, and aske but geve nothing, nether to say the truth we have geaven away all allready, that nothing of worth restes to geve. _January 21_ (_Shiwas 20_).--I went to Capt. Camps to take councell what we were best to doe about delivering our petition to the Emperours councell to have our oulde preveleges confermed to cary out men and munition our shipps in payment for it, as we have donne in tymes past. But Cacazemon Dono, Oyen Donos secretary, sent us word we were best to stay till the councell advized us to make knowne unto them yf we were greved in any thinge and we should be remedied, and then we might mak our case knowne; otherwais, yf we went about to doe it before that tyme, it would be throwne by, and noe respect had unto it. Soe we aledged we dowbted then we should be detayned here over long; but they promised the contrary. _January 22_ (_Shiwas 21_).--I sent our _jurebasso_ to the Court to procure out our _goshon_ (or dispach); but he retorned without doing any thing. _January 23_ (_Shiwas 22_).--We and the Hollanders went to dyner to the King of Firandos howse, being envited per Jentero Dono, his brother, and were very well entertayned; and carid a present to the Queene of Firando as followeth:-- 25 _cattis_ white raw silke. 01 _tatta_ stamet cloth. 03 peces ruch crimson damaskes. 05 peces of redd sayes. We did this in respect she is Queene of Firando and now greate with childe, and within short tyme to goe from hence for Firando, she not having byn theare as yett. _January 24_ (_Shiwas 23_).--I sent our _jurebasso_ to thank the prince of Firando for our kynd entertaynment yistarday; and, after, 239 I sent hym to the Court to procure our dispach, but could effect nothing. _January 25_ (_Shiwas 24_).--I sent our _jurebasso_ againe to the Court to procure our dispach; but he retorned without doing any thing. Only the councell gave hym fare wordes, and bad hym com againe to morrow. And towardes night Stroyemon Dono and Cacazemon Dono sent me word we should have our dispach before the new moone; which God grant. _January 26_ (_Shiwas 25_).--The King of Firandos brother accompanid with other 2 noble men of themperours followers, one of 8 _mangocas_, and the other of 3 per anno, came to vizet me and to heare som musick, unto whome I gave the best entertaynment I could; and from hence they went to the Hollands howse to vizet Capt. Camps. Also I sent our _jurebasso_ to the Court to procure our dispach; but retorned without doing any thing. And our _bongew_, Stroyemon Dono, and Cacazemon Dono tell us now we must of force stay heare till after the feast, before we can have our dispach. Also they say Gonrok Dono will be heare this night. _January 27_ (_Shiwas 26_).--The Queene of Firando sent me a present per her secretary, with the like to Capt. Camps, viz.:-- 2 silk coates or _kerremons_ with watta. 2 barills of wyne of Japon. 2 wild geese. _January 28_ (_Shiwas 27_).--Cacazemon Dono and Stroyemon Dono came to vizet me, and tould me that Oyen Dono said that themperour did esteeme of our nations more then ever, by meanes we had soe well defended our selves in our plito against the padres, and that we should be dispached shortly to our content. Also they tould me that the sonne of Masseamon Dono would com to vizet both us and the Hollanders to morow, which we agreed should be at Hollanders lodging, it being more comodious than ours. Also our _jurebasso_ was at Court all day, and procured nothing. 240 _January 29_ (_Shiwas 28_).--The Hollanders and we kept within dores all this day, attending the coming of Massamone his sonne, hoe sent word he would com and see us and take accoyntance with us; but came not. Nether could we doe any thing for our dispach, being now answerd we must attend 8 days more till the cheefe of the feast be past. _January 30_ (_Shiwas 29_).--We went and deliverd our presentes to the admerall Shongo Dono, and his ould father Fiongo Dono. We were very kyndly entertayned at both howses, espetially at Shongo Donos, with a bankett of _chaw_, Spanish wyne, and other matters extraordenary. And soe we went to Hollanders to dyner, and they came to us to supper, we having in thafter nowne vizeted the pagod of Ottongo Fachemon, the god of war, which out of dowbt is the devill, for his pickture sheweth it, made in forme as they paint the devill, and mounted upon a wild bore without bridell or saddell, and hath wings on his shoulders, as Mercury is paynted to have. _February 1_ (_Shonguach 1_).--We gave presentes this Japon new years day, viz.:-- 1 pec. ordnary damask to Mrs. Adams. 1 pec. ordnary taffety to her sonne Joseph. 1 pec. ditto to her doughter Susanna. 1 pec. ditto to Jenquese Dono, her good man. And I gave iij M. _gins_ to the dansing bears. And I sent Capt. Camps, viz.:-- 1 gamon bacon. 1 pec. Martelmas beefe. 3 drid netestonges. 5 duble peper botrago.[133] 10 Bolonia sausages. [133] Span., _botarga_, a kind of sausage. _February 2_ (_Shonguach 2_).--The _bongews_ sent us word we could not goe to vizet the Emperour nor his councell till the 6th of this moone 241 at least; but tould us it were good we sent our _jurebassos_ to vizet Jentero Samma, the King of Firandos brother, and Cacazemon Dono, with each a present of 10 bundelles paper of fyve, 6, or 7 _mas_ per bundell, and 5 bundelles dito to Jentero Donos secretary. _February 4_ (_Shonguach 4_).--Capt. Camps and we went to see the cytty and a great pagod called Assackxa, dedicated to a Japon saint (or rather deavill) called Quannow. We gave 1000 _gins_ to the _bose_ to shew it us, and 2 _ichebos_ to an other _bos_ where we banqueted. _February 5_ (_Shonguach 5_).--I went with Capt. Camps to the howse of Oyen Dono, themperours secretary, to have delivered hym a present of a peece of currall containing 2-1/2 _taies_, and a _catty_ wight rich campher, and to wish hym a good new yeare; but he was gon out to vizet the prince, themperours sonne. And Cacazemon Dono and Stroyemon Dono came to vizet me, the first bringing me a present of wallnuttes and a salt salmon. _February 7_ (_Shonguach 7_).--We dyned all at Hollandes lodging this day, where we fownd Stroyemon Dono and Gentero Donos secretary. And, as we weare at dyner, came word Torazemon Dono was arived. Soe Capt. Camps and I sent our _jurebasso_ to bid hym wellcom. _February 8_ (_Shonguach 8_).--Torazemon Dono sent me a present of 2 _barsos_ wine, 2 wilduckes, and a great fresh barbell. And I rec. by hym a letter from Mr. Eaton, dated in Firando the 26th December, with 2 others from Tome _jurebasso_ and Jno. _jurebasso_, how they have delivered 3000 _taies_ in merchandiz and money to King of Firando, lent to hym, and that the Japons have sent our English men to Nangasaque to sell them to Spaniardes. _February 9_ (_Shonguach 9_).--Mr. Eaton wrot me in his letter how the Japons at Cochie had beate the Hollanders pilot and an other marrenar at Cochie, that they left them for dead; and the reason was because 242 they would not deliver them back our 6 English men which weare fled abord for releefe; and that they used both us and the Hollanders soe villanosly that it was insufferable. _February 10_ (_Shonguach 10_).--We sent Mr. Osterwick with our 2 _jurebassos_ for thenglish and Duch, to deliver our petition to Otto Dono, the kinges councellor; but he would not receve it, but bad them com againe to morrow and deliver it before the whole Councell, for that he hym selfe would not receve it. _February 11_ (_Shonguach 11_).--Capt. Camps and I went vizet Torazemon Dono, and carid a present because of the new year, telling hym we did not present it for a present, but for a custom of the new yeare, not to goe emptie handed to a man of his qualletye and our espetiall frend. And at same tyme came Jentero Donos secretary with Shroyemon Dono, the _bongew_, and Cacazemon Dono, with an other of themperours men, which I esteemed to be an espie sent of purpose to heare what we said. For Torazemon Dono was somthing forward in his speeches, saying Mr. Eaton had refused to geve meate to the Japon presoners left in our English howse by comandment of the King of Firando and Gonrok Dono. But I answerd that I left order with Mr. Eaton soe to do, and that we had no processe against those Japons, which yf Gonrok Dono had let hym fynd a preson out of thenglish howse and meate for them.... _February 12_ (_Shonguach 12_).--There was an earthquake about sunne setting. _February 13_ (_Shonguach 13_).--There was an other earthquake this morning about an hower after sunne rising, but of small contynewance. _February 14_ (_Shonguach 14_).--The Emperours councell sent us and the Duch word that they would geve us noe absolute answer about our petition till the King of Firando com hym selfe to Edo; but, for the rest, the Emperour would geve us leave to departe within 3 or 4 daies. _February 15_ (_Shonguach 15_).--I took councell with Capt. Camps to 243 make a demand to Torazemon Dono about the sending our men to Nangasaque to sell them, contrary to his promise and the king his master, at our departure from Firando. And Torazemon denied that our men were not sent to Nangasaque, nor that the king knew nothing thereof. Soe then I produced the 2 letters sent from our _jurebassos_, to conferme it. _February 16_ (_Shonguach 16_).--I sent our _jurebasso_ to Court to procure our dispach, but could effect nothing; only they said the feast of the berth of the yong prince (themperours eldest sonne) was celebrated this day, and to morow the anniversary or dying day of Ogosho Samma is to be celebrated. _February 17_ (_Shonguach 17_).--I wrot a letter to Firando to Mr. Eaton and Mr. Hatch, of arival heare of Gonrok Dono and Torazemon Dono; and that now we must stay for an answer of our petision till the King of Firando com hym selfe; and that Torazemon Dono denieth that our Englishmen are not sent to Nangasaque to be sould, neither knoweth the King of Firando any such matter; and that, for the rest, we hope to be dispached within 4 or 5 daies, and leve our _jurebassos_ heare for the rest till the King of Firando com, which, as we are enformed, is now in the way; and that this day Capt. Camps and my selfe put in writing our grevanses, to deliver them to Torazemon Dono and King Firandos brother. And Capt. Camps came and brought the articles which we ment to present to the King of Firandos brother and to Torazemon Dono, wrot in Japons, the coppies whereof we keepe; in which we laid open all our grevanses, having remeaned soe many yeares in Japon and setled our selves at Firando, when we might as well have made choise of any other province in Japon, and now to be soe misused to have som of our people kild and others extremly misused; and, lastly, others carid away captives to 244 be sould to our enemies; which yf it were not remedied, there was noe staying for us in Japon. Unto which Torazemon Dono answered that all should be amended and our people retorned, and that the King of Firando, his master, knew nothing therof. But I dowbt all will prove words, as hitherto we doe finde it. Yet Torazemon Dono sent word he would now procure our dispach to content. _February 18_ (_Shonguach 18_).--This morning, at break of day, there was an earthquake, which shaked a greate while. Capt. Camps and the Duch dyned with us this day, and envited thenglish to dyner to morow, and, after, to see a play or _caboque_. _February 19_ (_Shonguach 19_).--Capt. Camps envited us to dyner this day, and, after, to a Japon play or commody, all plaied by men and boyes, and noe woamen; at which was Torazemon Dono, with Jentero Donos secretary and Stroyemon Dono, our _bongew_; and divers others brought bankettes, as Capt. Camps host, Jno. Jossens sonne in lawe, and others. And at our retorne we found our hostis sistar, Madalina Samma, and her husband Andrea, come from Oringaua; and she brought me a present of 2 wild duckes, with great shelfishes and 2 Japon _muches_ as bigg as cheeses. And late at night Yasimon Dono, Gonrok Donos clark, came to vizet me, as he said, unknowne to his master, and tould me his master thought much in that we and the Hollanders did vizet Chawno Shozero Dono at Miaco and came not to hym, his howse being in the same streete, right over against the other, and he, as he thought, in frenshipp with both our nations. Unto which I answered that I did not know his Lordshipps howse was in that street, nether that he was in Miaco; but, to the contrary, was enformed he was at Fushamy; and therefore desired pardon yf I had offended therin; and that I ment to vizet his Lordshippe 245 before I went from hence, as I made accompt Capt. Camps would doe the like; only I was ashamed we had noe good thing to present his Lordshipp withall, and to goe emptie handed to a personage of his quallety was not good. But he answered me that was all one, whether we carid a present or noe; only he knew we should be welcom and our visetation taken in good parte; but I should not say he came to me. _February 20_ (_Shonguach 20_).--We could doe nothing at Court this day for our dispach, because it is a great feast, all the shops being shut up and an end made of the feast of Shonguach. Also Torazemon Dono, with the other gentelmen at play yistarday, envited per Capt. Camps, did envite them selves for to morow to an other Japon play to me, which I could not deny. Soe I envited Capt. Camps and the Duch to it, with the Hollandes host, and Jno. Yossens sonne, and the children and others of Capt. Adams, our host. _February 21_ (_Shonguach 21_).--We went to the play and, as I passed by the Hollanders lodging, I entred in and there found the King of Fingo or Figen,[134] a brave yong man, and hath 50 _mangocas_ of rent per anno. He went to see the Hollanders because on of the Hollanders servantes had served hym before, and, as he tould me, ment to have com to vizet me, had I not com thether. He used me with greate curtesie and offered greate frenshipp to all our nation, yf we came into his cuntrey. [134] ? Hizen, in Kiushiu. _February 22_ (_Shonguach 22_).--The night past a greate noblemans howse was burned near the Emperours pallas. His name is Catto Samma Dono, King of Io, or Eyo.[135] [135] Iyo, in Shikoku. _February 23_ (_Shonguach 23_).--Our hostis envited both us and the Hollanders to dyner this day; and we envited the dansing beares at night. _February 26_ (_Shonguach 26_).--I sent our _jurebasso_ to the Court 246 to procure our dispach, but effected nothing. Soe Capt. Camps and my selfe thought to have gon to the Councell to have shewed our selves, hoping it would have procured our spidiar dispach, and, to that entent, sent word to Torazemon Dono and Stroyemon Dono to desire them to accompanie us. But they retorned answer it were better we staid this day, and they them selves would goe and see what they could doe, which, yf it would not take effect, then we might goe to morrow or the next day. _February 27_ (_Shonguach 27_).--I sent our _jurebasso_ to the Court, to procure our despach, but effected nothing; only Otto Dono said to our _jurebasso_ that he should write downe the names of the Duch and English, and they should have answer to morow, for that he would shew it to the rest of the Councell. _February 28_ (_Shonguach 28_).--I sent our _jurebasso_ againe to the Court to gett our dispach; but retorned without doing any thinge, they saying it was a greate hollyday, but I could not understand for what sainte. _March 2_ (_Ninguach 1_).--Capt. Camps and I went to the Court betyme this morning, and, per meanes of Cacazemon Dono, spoake with his master Oyen Dono, desiring to have lycense to departe. And he gave us good wordes and said it was trew we had staid heare a long tyme, but now he would speake to themperour to get our dispach, and to that entent we should send our _jurebassos_ to the Court to morow that the rest of the Councell might see them, and then he would put them in mynd to dispach us. _March 3_ (_Ninguach 2_).--The Hollanders and we sent our _jurebassos_ to the Court to get our dispach. And they were answerd by the Councell we should be dispached to morow; but I think it will be after a skervie fation, for nether our _bongew_, Shroyemon Dono, nor Torazemon Dono have com at us these 5 or 6 daies, nor soe much as sent to us. Soe I think our matters at Firando will groe worse and worse, till we 247 be driven out of Japon. There was an earthquake this evening about 9 a clock at night, which shook much for a small tyme. _March 4_ (_Ninguach 3_).--I sent our _jurebasso_ to Court, as the Duch did the like, to procure our dispach; but had nothing but wordes, saying they were busy in Councell about other matters, but would remember us shortly. Soe I think (as Capt. Camps is of same opinion) that they would keepe us heare till the King of Firando com, which it may be will not be this 2 monthes. _March 5_ (_Ninguach 4_).--I wrot 2 letters, viz. one to Skengro Dono to Miaco, to give covart to the other to Mr. Eaton and Mr. Hatch at Firando. In this letter I advized, yf any of our shiping came into Japon before our retorne, to let them stay at Cochie and not com into Firando, nor put their ordinance nor munision ashore. _March 6_ (_Ninguach 5_).--Capt. Camps and I went to the Court, and there staid till the Councell entred into themperours pallas, and then spoake to them for our dispach, which now they have promised us without feale shall be within 2 or 3 daies. Also Torazemon Dono sent me two wilduckes for a present, and withall advized me our dispach would now be shortly. And, as I am enformed, there will be warrs shortly in Japon betwixt themperour and his uncle; for themperour sent to hym to com and doe his obesance, as other subjectes doe, or else he would take his revenews from hym. But he retorned answer he owed hym noe such service, and that yf he went about to take his inheritance from hym, he would defend it by armes. Soe that 10 princes are sent to hym to turne his mynd; yf not, then warrs will ensue. _March 7_ (_Ninguach 6_).--Great aboundance of rayne per night, with an earthquake at 9 a clock at night. _March 8_ (_Ninguach 7_).--A stiffe gale most parte of day and night 248 following, which might be accompted a tuffon or harrecano, with aboundance of rayne all day. We could doe nothing about procuring our dispach this day, per means of the tempestious wether. _March 9_ (_Ninguach 8_).--The Hollanders and we sent our _jurebassos_ to the Court to get our dispach, but had nothing but feare wordes, as allwais the like heretofore. Soe I went to Capt. Camps, to take councell with hym what we were best to doe. And in the meane tyme, while I was theare, Torazemon Dono, and Stroyemon Dono, our _bongew_, came to our lodging. Soe I went and bade them welcom, and they staid supper with me; and, amongst other speches, Torazemon Dono said it had byn better for us to have followd the King of Firandos councell, and kept Capt. Speck heare, which, by meanes of the Comander Johnson and others, was refuced, and now we saw how matters went forward. Unto whome I answered that thenglish were not in falt that he went away; "but," said I, "what could Capt. Speck doe heare now (yf he were here) then Capt. Camps hath donne?" Unto which he knew noe other answer but it was true; yet this Emperour of Japon was not soe easy to be spoaken with as his father was. Unto which I answered I knew not that, but for the King Firando he ought to heare us, we refusing all other kinges of Japon to settel our selves only in his cuntrey, when we might as well have donne it in another. He used som wordes that by meanes of our residence in his cuntrey, he was put to much more charges then heretofore about building fortresses. In fine, I think all will be nought, the king being a yong man and harkning to yong councell, which may deceave hym as it did Roboam, King Sollomans sonne. Once I dowbt this Torazemon Dono is our secret enemie, and I have the like opinion of Coa Jno., our _jurebasso_, although he be a very asse, yet he secretly doth what he can against us. _March 11_ (_Ninguach 10_).--Torazemon Dono sent for Capt. Camps and 249 me to com to hym, for that he had something to tell us from Oyen Dono, themperours secretary. Soe we went to his howse, where we mett Cacazemon Dono, Stroyemon Dono, and Jentero Donos secretary. And they tould us that, tuching the priz goodes in the friggot, the Japons said it was theirs, and not the Spaniardes or Portingales, but themperour would not beleeve them, for that we had proved them tretors in bringing padres into Japon, contrary to his comandement. Yet, notwithstanding, Oyen Dono desired to have our and the Hollanders _jurebassos_ with Stroyemon Dono, our _bongew_, to com in private to hym to morrow, to shew unto hym the truth, what belonged to the Spaniardes and Portingals and what to the Japons. Soe we agreed upon it, and withall tould them we never ment to withould anything from the Japons, and, for the fardells of silk and other matters which the Japons fathered, there was ticketes in them which shewed to whome they belonged, and their names written in Spanish and Portugez, all which we made knowne unto them for their better remembrance to morow. Soe we had kynd entertaynment and full promis to be dispached within a day or two without faile, with many complementall wordes both from Cacazemon Dono and the rest. _March 13_ (_Ninguach 12_).--Our pilot of Sackay, which brought us from Firando to Osacky, came to viset me, he coming from Sacky by sea in a greate bark laden with salte, and was 2 months in the way; and he sayeth that with the storme few daies past many barkes were cast away coming in company with hym, and all the people lost, his bark not escaping without greate danger; this being the 34th voyadg he hath made from Sacky to this place. The Hollanders and we sent our _jurebassos_ to Court to get our dispach; but had nothing but fayre wordes as heretofore, only they said that themperours Councell receved the King of Fingo this day and feasted hym, which hindered our dispach, but to morow they would doe it. _March 14_ (_Ninguach 13_).--We sent our _jurebassos_ to Court to 250 procure our dispach. Soe they had answer that our dispach was granted, and to morow themperour would send us his present, and then we might departe when we would. _March 15_ (_Ninguach 14_).--Capt. Camps and I apointed to morow to goe to the nobles to take our leave and thank them for our dispach, and soe to dispach our selves out of Edo. Also this night, about 10 a clock, was an earthquake, but not of much contynewance. And about midnight was a fire in the towne, and much hurleburly. _March 16_ (_Ninguach 15_).--Capt. Camps and I, with Mr. Osterwick, went to Torazemon Dono to thank hym for the paines he had taken about our busynes heare, and withall did deliver unto hym a writing conserning the abuses offered unto us and our nation at Firando, in keeping of our men presoners and sending them to Nangasaque to sell them to our enemis, and make our howse a preson for the Japons, against whome we had no plito. Unto which he answerd we had reason in what we said, and that the King of Firando knew nothing thereof, and therfore all should be amended to our content; and that the presoners Japons were kept per ordenance of Gonrok Dono, and not per the King of Firando. And as Capt. Camps and I were about to goe to thank the nobles for our dispach, word was brought us we might departe when we would, and leave som one behind us to receve the present themperour ment to geve us, for that as yet it was not ready; which truly is the greatest wrong or indignety that eaver hitherto was offered to any Christians, and I think is donne of purpose per meanes of the King of Firando, whose mother is a papisticall Jesuist, and he and the rest of his bretheren and sisters papisticall Christians. Soe that I think it is impossible 251 that we shall eaver have good entertaynment in his cuntrey. God send me and the rest of our nation well out of it. _March 17_ (_Ninguach 16_).--Capt. Camps and my selfe went to the Emperours Councell to take our leave, viz: to Oyen Dono, Codgque Dono, Otto Dono, Ita Canusque Dono, the 4 princepall councellors. And we spoake to Oyen Dono and Ita Canusque Dono, whoe gave us very good wordes, and said they were ashamed we staid here soe long and that we had not themperours present delivered to us before we went from hence, but, yf we tarid 2 or 3 daies longer, it would be ready, or delivered in our abcense to whome we pleased to receave it, yf we went away before. But Codgsque Dono and Otto Dono were not at home, but hadd left order with their secretaries to answer as the former. Soe we went from thence to the lodging of Gonrok Dono, and carid hym a present from us and the Hollanders. And Itamia Canusque Dono sent me 2 silke coates or _kerremons_, and the like to the Duch. I tould Capt. Camps I ment to vizet Shongo Dono, the admirall, and cary hym a present of 1/2 a _catty_ of campher and a _tay_ wight of currall, all at my owne coste, in respect of the frenship which was betwixt Capt. Adames and hym, and to wish hym to contynew his favour to his child, now the father was dead. But Capt. Camps fell into collerik terms, and tould me I could not goe to hym nor non else without his consent. Unto which I replied I might doe with my owne what I list, and that I did not put this to the companis acco. Unto which he answerd that I now went about to procure his disgrace, and to get all the thanke to my selfe, in respeckt of a present was geven hym both this yeare as also the last, which had it not byn for thenglish, they would have given him nothing. Unto which I replied I knew nothing of that which passed the last yeare, and, for that which was donne this yeare, he might have chosen whether he would have geven it or no. 252 Yet there is suffitient witnesse he said he was sory he had not geven more in respect of our good entertaynment. But it seemed Capt. Camps was angry, for he tould me he had put up more indigneties at my hands then this, which, God is my witnesse, I know not whereby he speaketh it, for he hath contynewally ensulted over me, and thrust hym selfe still before me into presence of themperour and his Councell, saying his place was before myne in respect the Duch was admerall at sea in the Manillias voyage this yeare. Yet I suffered all this with pasyence, and let hym take his course; but to be master of my owne and geve it to whome I list, I think I offerd hym no injury. Also Oyen Dono, themperours cheefe secretary, brought me 5 silk coates or _kerremons_ of silk (as I make acco. the Hollanders had the like) with many complementall wordes; and out of these 5 coates I gave 2 to Mr. Osterwick, 1 to Robt. Jones and 1 to Jno. Collins at recept therof. Also we gave these presentes following in our house:-- 5 _cattis_ white raw silk to Capt. Adams wyfe. to Madelina Samma, her sister. 1 _catt._ white raw silk 1 pece redd silk say 1 _catty_ ditto silk to their ould mother. 1 pece red cheremis to Susana, Capt. Adams doughter. 1 halfe pece ruch crimson damask to Joseph his sonne. 1 pece ornary damask to Andreas their uncle. 1 pece ornary taffete to Maria their kinswoman. 1 pece ornary taffety to Josephs schole master. 1 pec. ditto to Yode Dono, their frend. 1 pec. red cheremy to Robt. and Jnos. hostis. We left order with Torazemon Dono to rec. our present from themperour both for us and Hollanders, as also our petition for themperour; and I left my _goshon_ with Andreas to get a new one out and send it to me. _March 18_ (_Ninguach 17_).--We departed this day from Edo towards 253 Miaco, and went to bed to Canengaua,[136] 7 leagues. But we overtook Captain Camps 2 leagues from Edo, and he out went us 3 leagues without biding us farewell. We gave 300 _taies_ to our hostis, for diet in our lodging at Edo for the tyme we staid there, besids other extraordnary which came to above 80 _taies_ more. Soe we wanted 50 _taies_ to cleare all matters, which I promised to send them from Miaco, God permiting. And Andrea, with Capt. Adams 2 children, and Jenquese Dono, accompanied us out of Edo, and brought us a duble banket, with our presents bord man. Soe we gave the bringers ij _ichebos_ to make a feast, and to the servantes in our hostes howse i _coban_ and i _ichebo_; as also one _ichebo_ to our host at Suningaua,[137] 2 leagues from Edo, being there called in by Capt. Camps, otherwais we had pased alonge; yet he went from us afterward, as above said. [136] Kanagawa. [137] Shinagawa. _March 19_ (_Ninguach 18_).--We went to Oyesso (or Oiso) to dyner, 9 leagues, and to supper to Odora,[138] 4 leagues. And per the way we overtook Stroyemon Dono, our _bongew_, whoe deliverd me xxviij _coban_ barrs of gould, as he did the like nomber to Capt. Camps, to employ for Cacazemon Donos sonns best advantage when shiping cometh or otherwais, the _coban_ vallued at 6 _ta._ 2 _m._ 5 _c._ per barr, is 175 _taies_; wherof I send back, per the servant of Cacazemon Dono, to deliver to our hostis at Edo, Capt. Adames woaman, at rate abovesaid, is 50 _taies_. Capt. Camps had a letter in Japons how Cornelius died within 3 daies after he arived from Osacky to Firando, and that the shipp departed to Molucas. [138] Odawara. _March 20_ (_Ninguach 19_).--We went from Odoro to Facana Yama[139] to dyner, hostes name Jembio Dono; and to soper to Nomads,[140] hostes 254 name Tozemon Dono, having made 4 leagues before dyner and 5-1/2 after. [139] Hakone. [140] Numadsu. _March 21_ (_Ninguach 20_).--We went to dyner to Cambar,[141] 6 leagues, the hostes name Sayemon Dono; and to supper to Egery,[142] 4-1/2 leagues, to our ould hostes howse as we went up. [141] Kambara. [142] Ejiri. _March 22_ (_Ninguach 21_).--We went to dyner to Ocaby,[143] 6 leagues; and to supper to Canayea,[144] past the greate river, 5 leagues. [143] Okabe. [144] Kanaya. _March 23_ (_Ninguach 22_).--We went to dyner to Fucore,[145] 7 leagues, hostes name Facherozamon Dono; and to supper to Hammamach,[146] 6 leagues. And by the way we met with Quiemon Dono, our barkman, or _sinde_,[147] of Sackay, whoe brought me 3 letters from Mr. Eaton, 2 of one date, 3th of January, and both coppis verbatum, and an other of the 10th of February; wherein he writes me all the Japon presoners which were in our howse are sett at liberty; and that the Hollanders sent our 6 English men ashore againe which weare abord their shipp, being compeld by Japons. Soe they carid them all to Nangasaque, and Jno. Yoosen hath them in his handes and will not deliver them unto us, allthough Mr. Eaton sent Ric. Hudson and a _jurebasso_ with hym to demand them, offering to pay all the charges he hath disbursed. But he answered that he would not deliver them, although the King of Firando and Governor of Nangasaque comanded hym, for that he had mad ready his junck and ment to send them to the Holland factory at Jaccatra, except we would buy his junck and pay hym 20,000 _taies_ he had disbursed in provitions to send thither. But the world knoweth that Yoosen is not worth 20,000 pence. Also this day, as we passed over a river, a _bongew_ of the King of 255 Faccatais men did misuse our horsmen, after our horses weare entred into the bark, and would have put them out per force, because we weare strangers. Whereupon they went together by the eares, and much a doe there was about it. Soe that the _bongew_ of Faccata sent word it was donne without his consent, and therefore, yf we brought out the parties which did it, were they 1, 2, 3, or 4, he would put them to death in our sight. But our horsmen weare soe bent because the Faccata men had misused them, they being themperours men, that nothing would serve them but the death of the others; which I would not consent unto, but wished them to defer the matter till we came to Miaco, and then we would bring it to passe before the justis theare. And Stroyemon Dono, the King of Firandos _bongew_, was of the same opinion; yet our horsmen weare not content. But in the end they agreed among themselves. [145] Fakuroi. [146] Hamamatsu. [147] _Send[=o]_, a boatman. _Marche 24_ (_Ninguach 23_).--This day we went to Aray[148] to dyner, 5 leagues; and to supper to Yoshenda,[149] 4 leagues. Heare our _bongew_ and the Hollanders sliped from us and went to bed 5 leagues ferther. [148] Arai. [149] Yoshida. 256 APPENDIX. 257 CORRESPONDENCE. RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[150] Right worshipfull,-- * * * * * * The 12th of June we came to an ancor in the haven of Firando, in Japan, where the kinge of the place receaved us very kyndlie; Mr. Adams not being theare, but had heard of our coming per meanes of a letter sent from Sr. Thomas Smith, which caused hym to leave order with his host to send a post to hym at our coming, which he did, and our Generall wrot hym 3 severall letters, yet he arived not at Firando till the 29th of July. And the 7th of August our Generall departed for the Japan court, Mr. Adams accompanyinge hym. And it was the 6th November before he did retorne for Firando, it provinge a tediouse jorney. Yet he obtayned all priveleges that he did demand. God grant the trade may prove as benefitiall as hetherto our succeadinges have byn suckcesfull. The only crose hath byn the runinge away of 7 of our marreners in the abcense of our Generall, viz. John Bowles, Christopher Evans, Jno. Sars, Clement Lock, and Jno. Totty, Englishe men, and Jasper Malconty, and one Jaques, Flemyngs; but Bowles and Evans were the instigators of the rest. They stole away the skiffe and went for Langasaque, and there took sanctuary in the papist churches, and weare secretly convayed away for the Phillipinas per the 258 Jesuistes; but the skiffe we recovered againe. The Flemynges had setled them selves heare 3 or 4 yeares before our arivall, and have built them a howse in this place, which hath cost them allready above 2500_l._ str.; and doe disperce them selves abroade, som on way and som an other, to look out for trade, as we must doe the lyke, for they are close and will let us understande nothinge. They have som small entrance allready into Corea, per way of an iland called Tushma, which standeth within sight of Corea and is frend to the Emperor of Japan. But the chifest place which as yet they have fownd out is from hence to Syam and Pattania, from whence they bring silke, brasill wood, and deare skynns, which is all ready money heare. Mr. Adams is now entertayned into your Worships servis for a cupell of yeares, untill news com of the _Cloves_ safe arivall in England, he being now at libertie to com for his contrey when he will. He wold not be entertayned under 100_l._ str. a yeare. The Flemynges did what they could to have gotten hym from us, which made hym to stand the more on his pointes. He aledged he was a pore man and that he had spent 14 yeares allready to noe purpose, and now wold be loth to retorne for his contrey a begger, gevinge the Worpll. Compa. humbly thankes for his libertie, which he doth acknowledge came cheefely by meanes of the coming of this ship with his Maties. letters of England. Mr. Adams is of the opynion that, yf eaver the northeast or northwest passages be fownd out, it must be from these partes, and offreth his best services therein, the Emperour promisinge his best fortherance with men or letters of recomendacions to all prinses, and hath entrance allready into an iland called Yedzo, which is thought to be rather som parte of the continent of Tartaria. Mr. Adams hath drawne out the plot of Japan, with parte of that iland and Corea and other bordering places, and sendeth it to your Worships per this conveance. Yt is certen that the Hollanders had taken this discovery in hand 259 before now, but that they have soe many irons in the fyre allready with their wars in the Molucas against the Spaniardes. I am sory that I canot instantly write your Worships of much benefitt to be made in these partes; yet I see both the Spaniard, Portingale, and Duche look out very sharplie about matters of trade. And, yf they doe good, I hope in tyme we shall doe the lyke, in havinge care and usinge dilligence, for out of dowbte heare is greate store of silver in these partes, and, could we gett any greate quantety of broad cloth to vent, it wold prove a greate matter, allthough at low rates; but as yet they are soe adicted to silks, that they doe not enter into consideration of the benefitt of wearinge cloth. But tyme may altar their myndes, and in the meane tyme we must seeke out other matters benefitiall, as I have formerly said other men doe; and, for my owne part, soe long as I stay in these partes (or else where) in your Worps. service, I will use my best endevour. * * * * * * At Firando in Japan, the 30th November, 1613. Your Worps. duringe lyfe at comand, RIC. COCKS. [150] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. i, no. 121. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO RICHARD WICKHAM.[151] January the , 1613[4], Firando in Japan. Mr. Wickham,--It being generally agreed upon (with your owne consent) that yow make a voyage for Edow, Sherongo, and those partes of Japan, with such a cargezon of goods and merchandiz as I should think fyttinge, beinge assisted with Capt. Adams, for the better dispaching your busynes with the Emperour, with whome yow know he hath good 260 entrance and no other employments for hym at present; yet, those matters of the Emperour being past, I pray yow detayne hym not theare, but will hym to make as much speede as he can back for Firando, where there will be necessary use of hym. And being arived in those partes, my opynion is that yow take up your lodginge in the best merchantes howse in the towne, where yow may have a gadonge fyrefree, to prevent the danger therof, which is not unknowne unto yow this cuntrey is much subject unto. And to live under the roofe of a naturall Japan is better then to be in the howse of any stranger, be he Duch, Spaniard, Portingall, or of any other nation whatsoever. And the better mans howse yow lye at, the more creditt it will be for yow, and the more securetie yow will live in what occation soeaver happen. I my selfe speake this per experience, as havinge made proofe thereof. And have an espetiall care not to trust any man with the Companies goods without makinge ready payment, for I am informed these cuntrey people are not to be trusted, nether will any marchant of accompt seeke to bye upon creddit. And for others, they are to be refused. And in my opynion it will be your best course to make choise of som one man in those partes, to assiste yow in makinge choise and receavinge of your moneyes, a thinge much to be regarded in these partes per meanes of the greate deceate is used therein. And no dowbt yow may procure such a one for a small matter. And make much of frends, when yow have them, and use these cuntrey people kyndly both in word and deede, for fayre wordes will doe much and as soone are spoaken as fowle, and allwais good will com thereof; for these cuntrey people are not to be used nether with bad wordes nor blowes, no not soe much as servantes entertayned for necessary uses; but rather put them away, yf they be not to your lykinge, and make choise of others. And to use any speeches to perswade yow from gamnynge I thinke it is 261 needlese; for I hold yow no gamster. Yet, notwithstandinge, the admonition of a frend is not to be rejected. And, to say the truth, many inconvenyences happen and fall out per meanes of gamnynge, although it be but to passe away the tyme for trifles; and therefore it is not amisse to forsweare gamnynge. Yt is good to use both Duche, Spaniardes, and Portingalls kyndly, as also all other strangers; and learne from them what yow can, but make them not partakers of your secretes or pretenses. And for sales or dispach of your comodeties, I know yow will use your best endevour for our employers benefits; and therefore I will sett yow no stynted rate or price, but wishe yow to sell away as tyme shall serve at all prises, to turne all into ready money, before any other shipinge com out of England, that it may not be said we lye still and doe nothinge but eate and drink without takinge care for any thinge. I hope yow will not let the Duch goe beyonde yow in this poynt. Yow know that as yet we have not sould our English cloth under eight _taies_ the English yard, and cloth of Cambaia under fowre for one profitt; but stand yow not upon that matter, but sell away both the one and other as yow can, as also gunpolder, allthough it be under twentie _taies_ the barell, which is loe price. Yet yow must consider it is a dangerouse comodetie to be kept, and therfore make dispach. Once use your best endevour both for that and the rest, as afforsaid, etc. And for the two parcelles of comodeties left in the custody of Andreas, alias Gendoque Dono, of Uringo, and Quedoquea Stibio Dono, att Edow and Shrongo, yow are to take acco. of it beinge parte of your cargezon. And yf Tome Same, the yonge Kynge of Firando, com unto yow with a note or remembrance of my hand, to lend hym one thousand _tais_ or more, as Capt. Adams will advize yow, I pray yow take in my note and let hym 262 have the money, in gevinge yow a bill of his hand to repay it me heare againe in Firando at demand; which Capt. Adams tells me I need not to stand in dowbt of, for that the Duch have doone the lyke heretofore and have receaved good payment. But this must be doone when yow have receaved money of the Emperour. And, havinge any overplus of that money lyinge by yow or that is receaved for any other comodetie, use your best endevour to send it to me per first sure conveance (which I think will be per Capt. Adams), that it may not be dead, but be emploied to the Companies use as occation shall be offred. And for your dyet or such as shall be with yow, I will not prescribe yow any rate, because I am unaccoynted with the place; but leave that to your owne discretion, not dowbtinge but yow will use frugallitie, etc. And because yow are to goe overland from Osekey to Shrongo in company of Capt. Adams about the Emperours busynes, and that it is fytt som one of trust goe in the bark with the rest of the goods per sea for that place, I have thought good to send Jno. Phebie with it, a man well knowne to Capt. Adams, whome yow may entertayne theare as the Companies servant under yow, yf yow fynde hym capeable or that it be fytinge. And forget not to write me per all conveances what yow doe, and learne out what yow can tuchinge trade into any place we yet know not of. And, God willing, yow shall not want to heare from me soe often as I fynd fit conveance. And it is good yow write contynewally to Mr. Eaton for Osekey, as I have willed hym to doe the lyke to yow; for soe may we from tyme to tyme understand of each others proceadings, and I be ready to supplie your wantes with such comodeties as lye by me, yf in case yow can sell them yow have theare. And for a _jurebasso_, yf he which promised yow com from Langasaque, 263 yow shall have hym with yow, otherwais yow must get one at Edow or Shrongo; and in the meane tyme Capt. Adams hath promised me that Andreas shall helpe yow, and tells me that yow canot want to fynd one there to your content. I know not what else to advize yow of for present, but, yf any thinge com to my remembrance heareafter, yow shall understand thereof per first. And soe the Lord send yow a prosperouse voyage and safely to retorne. Amen. Your lovinge frend, RIC. COCKS. Mr. Wickham,--I pray yow have a due care to geve Capt. Adams content: which yow may easelie doe, yf yow use hym with kynde speeches and fall not into termes with hym upon any argument. I am perswaded I could live with hym 7 yeares before any exstraordenary speeches should happen betwixt us. And the necessary use we have of hym is as well knowne to yow as me. I hope a word will suffice for that matter. RIC. COCKS. [151] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. i, no. 127. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO RICHARD WICKHAM.[152] Firando in Japan, the 1th Aprill, 1614. Mr. Wickham,--By George the Portingall (whoe departed from hence the 9th ultimo) I wrot yow severall letters, advisinge for the present; since which time I have recd. 2 letters from Mr. Eaton of the 1th and 13th ultimo, wherin he hath adviseth me he hath sould all his white baftas at sixteene _mas_ the peece, and certen mattes broad cloth at fyfteene _taies_ the matt. I wish all the rest were gon at same or lyke rate, both that I have here and others else where. He sayeth that som of his comodeties they will not look at, namely, 264 selas, blew byrams, and candequis maweey. Once doe what yow can to sell away, allthough somthinge under cento per cento, for it is better to have money by us then comodeties, whatsoever shall happen; for here are many reportes geven out of trubles lyke to ensue in Japan. But kepe that to your selfe, and learne out what yow can and advize me thereof per first sure conveance. I make acco. Capt. Adams will be com away before this com to your handes, otherwaies geve hym counsell to take heed of one Pedro Guzano, a papist Christian, whoe is his hoste at Miaco; for a lyinge fryre (or Jesuist) tould Mr. Peacock at Langasaque that Capt. Adams was dead in the howse of the said Guzano, which now I know is a lye per letters I receved from Mr. Eaton, for the said fryre rep[orted] he was dead before the date thereof. Once I wold wish Capt. Adams to looke to hym selfe, for these villanose papisticall rable at Langasaque doe geve it out behinde his back that he is a Lutrano and one that they make accompt hath incensed the Emperoure against them. I wish Capt. Adams at his being here to looke to hym selfe and take heed of them. And soe would I wish yow to do the lyke. Mr. Peacock departed from Langasaque towardes Cochinchina the 18th ultimo, as he advized me in a letter of that date, written from abord the jonke he goeth in called the _Roquan_. We have had much northerly windes since their departure, soe I dowbt not but they will have a spedie passage, which God grant them with a prosperouse voyage. Upon som occation I have noted that yow may esteeme I love yow not, or that I beare som secret grudge against yow, which here I doe protest (before God) I doe not, but rather doe esteeme much better of yow since your cominge hether then I did before. And soe shall yow find by proofe, yf it lye in my power to do yow good; for I regard not, but rather have quite put out of my memory, any wordes which have passed betwixt us hereto[fore]. I wish yow could make dispache of your busynese to be here ag[ainst] 265 the Syam voyage, and then shall yow see what I will doe. And tru[lye] I wold not wish yow to stay there upon small occations, but rather to leave them with your host or some other good frend that is assured. And in the meane tyme sell away what yow can; stand not upon price, but turne what yow can into money and bringe it alonge with yow. I can say no more nor geve yow no larger comition then I have doone. And soe, with my hartie comendacons to your selfe, Sr. Andrea, and the rest of our accoyntance, I comyt yow to God, restinge allwais your lovinge frend, RIC. COCKS. To his lovinge frend, Mr. Richard Wickham, deliver in Edow, Shrongo, or else where. Per way of Osekey, inclozed to Mr. Eaton. [152] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. ii, no. 138. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO RICHARD WICKHAM.[153] Firando in Japan, the 12th of May, 1614. Mr. Wickham,-- * * * * * * Ed. Sayer arived heare yisternight from Faccatay, and brought me such money he had receaved at Tushma, which God knoweth is but littell, he not havinge sould one yard of English cloth nether all his pepper. He left John Japan with his host at Faccatay, to see to the busynes in his abcense. And this mornynge I have sent hym back againe, with order that yf he see no hope of dispache of his comodeties within 8 or 10 daies, that then he shall retorne for Firando with the rest of his cargezon. I hope the Emperour have taken the ordinance, poulder, and such other comodeties as were sent for hym. Only Capt. Adames hath writ me he refused most parte of the broad cloth was sent, in respeck it was moutheaten. Mr. Nealson hath hym comended unto yow. He and I are soe busye about 266 our building that we have small pleasure, havinge above 100 men daylie at worke; but I hope it will not last longe. On Sunday night last our kitchin was set on fire, and soe burned our new gates and gate howse; but was sowne quenched, God be praised for it. The lose will not be above 8 or 10 _taies_. I daylie expect Capt. Adames to look out about a jonck. Newes we have non but that many souldiers are sent out of Firando, and, as it is said, goe for Arima, but for what intent I know not. George the Portingale retorned for Firando the 4th currant. His wife was brought to bead of a boye the night before he came. Well fall (or fare), an ould knocker. And soe, with harty comendacons to your selfe with the rest of our frendes, I remeane Your lovinge frend, RIC. COCKS. To his lovinge frend, Mr. Ric. Wickham, English merchantt, deliver in Edo or else where. Per Sr. Duzak Skidoyemon Dono. [153] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. ii, no. 143. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO WILLIAM ADAMS.[154] Firando in Japan, the 5th of June, 1614. Capt. Adames,--My last unto yow was of the 12th ultimo, sent per Duzak Skidoyemon Dono, Yasimon Donos brother in law; since which tyme your letter, dated in Edo the 27th of Aprill, came to my handes in Firando the 27th of May followinge. I was right glad to heare of your good health, but sory to understand of the longe taryinge of our goods. I pray God that the necklegence of that dreamynge fello Jno. Phebe be not the occation. Once it is a greate hinderance to the Company our broad cloth was not vented this 267 winter, soe many caveleros beinge at Court could not have wanted to have carid all away. And I am afeard that Capt. Browers cloth he sent hence the last of Aprill will com to serve the market at Edo before ours; which yf it soe fall out, yow may easely gese what a skandall it will be unto us, ours departinge hence soe many monethes before it. I wold to God ours had gon overland all with yow and Mr. Wickham; but, for me, I had no insight into tymes and seasons. I am enformed that Toba, the place wheare our goods have layne windbownd soe longe, is within 2 or 3 dayes jorney of Edo or Shrongo per land. I marvell Mr. Wickham had not put yow in mynd to have convayed our goods overland at first _costa que costa_; but now it is to late, I dowbt to our everlastinge skandall; for yf we stay 7 yeares more in Japan, we shall neaver have the lyke tyme to have vented our cloth as at this generall assembly of the nobilletie. Ould Foyne Same is very sick. It is thought he will not escape it, for the phisitions have geven hym over. He tould me it was the Emperours mynd that our cullers (or flagg) should be taken downe, because it had a crose in it; and to this day it was not set up againe. I perceave per Mr. Wickhams letter that Tome Same and Oyen Dono are very ernest to have money before we can receave it, and that in place of one thowsand _taies_ I promised to lend them they demand two thowsand. In deed I said I was content to let them have more, yf we could spare it; but I thinke we canot, and therfore they must pardon us. God grant they will be as forward to repay it when it shall be demanded. I have byn much tormented with an agew, which, after, turned into extreame ache in my boanes in all partes of my body, soe that I had thought I should have lost the use of my lymbs and was become a very crippell. But I praise God it is now somthinge aswaged, and I meane (God willinge) 4 or 5 daies hence to goe to the hot bathes at Yshew, 268 an iland of Nobisanas, whither Sr. Yasimon Dono will accompany me. Our howse is now in a good forwardnes, but hath cost caro. And soe, in hast, I rest Your ever lovinge frend, RIC. COCKS. To the worll. his frend, Capt. Willm. Adames, deliver in Edo or else wheare. [154] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. ii, no. 147. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO RICHARD WICKHAM.[155] Firando in Japan, 1614, July the 25th. Mr. Wickham,-- * * * * * * With greefe of mynd I write unto yow of the ill hap and death of our frend Mr. Tempest Peacock in Cochinchina, where he arived in saffetie, as the Duch did the lyke, and sould their goods to the kinge, whoe gave order they should com to his cittie of Miaco to receave payment, but forestald them and sett upon them in their retorne and kild all that was in company, both Duch, English, and Japans their followers. But, as it is reported, Walter Carwarden was left abord the jonck and soe escaped; yet serche was made there for hym, and whether he be alive or dead, God He knoweth, or what parte of our comodetie was left abord the jonk, for out of dowbt Walter was not left there for nothing. And amongst the rest they had a thousand _pezos_ in rialls of 8, which I am assured was not ashore. Their cargezon did amount to above seaven hundred twentie and eight pownd str., as it cost first peny. It is thought that the Kynge of Cochinchina did this in revenge of som injuries offered hym per the Duch certen yeares past. God grant Walter may escape, and then I dowbt not but a good parte of our goodes will be retorned. Also there is reportes that Capt. Chongros jonck is cast away in 269 retornyng. And our host at Langasaque is retorned from the Phillipinas and bringeth newes that aboove 20 seale of Hollanders are com thether from the Moloucas, amongst whome are 2 or 3 saile of English ships; but I canot beleeve that, except it be the _Pearle_ or such lyke. Yf this be true, out of dowbt it goeth ill with the Spaniardes in the Molucas. In my next I will advize yow more hereof. At present we are about preparing a ship or jonck to make a voyage for Syam. And seeinge it hath pleased God to take away Mr. Peacock, of necessitie yow or my cuntreman Mr. Eaton must be emploied about that voyage. And the shipp will be ready to departe som 4 monethes hence. * * * * * * Cornelius, Capt. Browers kinsman, is slaine with their _jurebasso_; but Adrian, beinge sent to an other place, is thought to be escaped. I shall not be quiet till I heare of Walter. God grant he be escaped. And soe I rest allwayes Your lovinge frend, RIC. COCKS. To his lovinge frend, Mr. Richard Wickham, merchantt, deliver in Edo. Per John Phebe. [155] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. ii, no. 155. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[156] Firando in Japan, the 25th November, 1614. Right worshipfull,-- * * * * * * Mr. Wm. Adames hath paid me twentie pownd str. your Wor. lent his wife in England. He [paid] it presently after the _Clove_ was gon. I find the man tractable and willing to doe your Wor. the best service he may, and hath taken greate paines about the reparing our jonck 270 called the _Sea Adventure_, otherwaies she wold not have byn ready to have made the Syam voyage this yeare. He ha[th a] great desire to find out the norther passage for England from hence, and thinketh it an easie matter to be donne in respect the Emperour of this place offreth his assistance. Your Wor. shall find me as willing as any man it shall please yow to employ in these partes to second hym. The Emperour of Japan hath banished all Jesuistes, pristes, friers, and nuns out of all his domynions, som being gon for the Phillippinas and the rest for Amacou in China. Yt is thought wars will ensue in Japan betwixt the Emperour and Fidaia Same, sonne to Ticus Same, the deceased Emperour. * * * * * * We cannot per any meanes get trade as yet from Tushma into Corea, nether have them of Tushma any other privelege but to enter into one littell towne (or fortresse), and in paine of death not to goe without the walles thereof to the landward; and yet the King of Tushma is no subject to the Emperour of Japan. I am geven to understand that up in the cuntrey of Corea they have greate citties and betwixt that and the sea mightie boggs, soe that no man can travell on horseback nor very hardlie on foote. But, for remedie against that, they have invented greate waggons or carts which goe upon broad flat whiles under seale, as shipps doe; soe that, observing monsons, they transport their goodes to and fro in thease sealing waggons. They have damasks, sattens, taffetes, and other silke stuffs made theare as well as in China. It is said that Ticus Same, otherwaies called Quabicondono (the deceased Emperour), did pretend to have convayed a greate armie in thease sealing waggons, to have assealed the Emperour of China on a sudden in his greate cittie of Paquin, where he is ordenarely rezident; but he was prevented by a Corean noble man whoe poisoned 271 hym selfe to poison the Emperour and other greate men of Japan; which is the occation that the Japans have lost all that which som 22 yeares past they had gotten pocession of in Corea, etc. RIC. COCKS. [156] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. ii, no. 189. ------------------- RALPH COPPINDALL TO ROBERT LARKIN AND ADAM DENTON.[157] Firando in Japan, le 5th of December, 1615. Loveing frendes,--Wishing your welfare, etc. After a tedious passage and almost out of hope to obtaine my appointed porte (by reason of the latenes of the monsoone), it pleased God (praysed be His name) to bringe me, with men, shipp, and goodes, in safety unto Firando upon the 4th September past, where I found Captaine Adames returned and his juncke in trimminge a new. He putt not into China, as was reported, but into the iland called Leque Grande, where he was indifferentlie entreated, but could not be suffered to repayre his junck as he desired, beinge forced onelie to stay for the monsone to bringe him backe againe hither. Upon the 11th September I departed from hence towardes the Emperours court with a present (which every shipp or juncke that cometh hither must of force performe), which with charges much surmounteth an indifferent custome, espetially when a shipp cometh with a small capitall, and sales soe base and slacke that nothinge is here to be expected but losse, except a trade be procured into China, the raw silkes of which cuntrey are alwaies here reddy mony and reasonable profitt. Ether, I say, we must procure a peaceable trade in China, or elles, as the Hollanders doe, to trade with them perforce. And, yf wee sett foote in the Moluccoes, this place will be a fitt storehouse from whence we may alwaies have men, munition, and victualles good store and at reasonable rates; for which purpose principally the Hollanders 272 doe mentaine this factory. The Portingalles are quite out of favour with the Emperor. They attended 40 daies at the Emperors court to deliver theire present, which at last was recd., but none of them admitted to his presence. It is thought that they will com noe more hither with any greate shippes from Amacon. Certaine Jesuites came out of Nova Espania in embassage unto the Emperor, with a letter and a present from the King of Spaine, which, after a moneth or 6 weekes attendance, the Emperor recd., but none of the embassadors admitted to his presence. All the answer to their embassage was, to gett them foorth of this cuntry with speede, upon paine of his displeasure. His cuntry is now in peace, for that the old Emperor hath made an absolute conquest, haveinge driven the young king quite out of this cuntry and made away most of his principall partakers. * * * * * * Capt. Cock is of opinion that the ginghams, both white and browne, which yow sent will prove a good commodity in the Kinge of Shashma his cuntry, who is a kinge of certaine of the most westermost ilandes of Japon, a man of greate power and hath conquered the ilandes called the Leques, which not long since weare under the governement of China. Leque Grande yeeldeth greate store of amber greece of the best sorte, and will vent 1,000 or 15,000 (_sic_) ps. of course cloth, as dutties and such like, per annum. At my being at the Emperor, I procured his letters unto the King of Shashma, to graunt us as free liberties of trade in the Leques and all other his dominions as we had in any other parte of Japon; and in February Mr. Richard Wickham is to goe thither, and (priviledges obtained accordinge to the Emperors order) to remaine there. * * * * * * Thus for present I committ yow and your affaires unto the protection 273 of the Almighty. Your loveinge frend to commaund, RAPHE COPPINDALL. Yow are to note that the people of this cuntry doe not buy our sortes of India cloth soe much for necessity as for the new and strange fashions and painteinges thereof, being a people desireinge change; for they have greate store of silkes and linnen stuffes made here better and cheaper then we can afford our India cloth. Soe that we must strive to procure strange sortes of cloth with strange painteinges every yeare; but such cloth as hath any redd painteinge will not sell here. The Hollanders sell English broade cloth for 7 and 8 _tayes_ the _tattamy_, which is 2-1/3 yardes at the leaste. The devell hawle some of them for theire paines. To his very loveinge frendes, Mr. Robert Larkin and Mr. Adam Denton, English merchantes, deliver in Patania. Per Capt. Adams, per way of Syam, whom God preserve. [157] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. iii, no. 317. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO [JOHN GOURNEY].[158] Firando in Japon, le 6th of December, 1615. Worshipfull,-- * * * * * * As I advised in my last the Emperor did very gratiously accept of the present Capt. Coppendall carid up unto hym, as Capt. Adames can better enforme yow whoe was an eye witnesse, the Emperour offring to geve us anything that might be for the benefit or good of our nation, esteeming us above all other Christian nations whatsoever. And, as I advised yow, the Hollanders took a Portingale junck on 274 this cost and brought her into Firando. And the Emperour hath alowed it for good prize, both men and goods, and that either we or they may take them or Spaniardes at sea and make good purchesse thereof, except they have the Emperours passe. Also yow may understand how a shipp arived at Quanto in Japon this yeare, which came out of New Spaine and brought good quantety of broad cloth, kersies, perpetuanos, and raz de Millan, which they offer at a loe rate; but I thinke it is the last that ever will be brought from thence, for it is said the Spaniardes made proclemation with 8 drums at Aguapulca and other partes that, upon payne of death, their should neaver any more Japons com nor trade into New Spayne, and that both they and all other strangers of what nation soever should forthwith avoid out of all partes of New Spaine. But in requitall hereof the Emperour of Japon hath made proclemation, in payne of death, that neaver hereafter any Japon shall trade or goe into New Spaine, and comanded the fryres or padres which came in this shipp should avoid out of his dominions; for the truth is, he is noe frend nether to Spaniardes nor Portingalles. * * * * * * Your loving frend at comand, RIC. COCKS. [158] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. iii, no. 319. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[159] Firando in Japon, the 25th February, 1615[6]. Right worshipfull,-- * * * * * * I know not whether it be come to your W[orp. to understand the] conclusion of these greate wars in Japon [wherin Fidaia] Samme, the son of Ticus Samme, lost [his life, with the] slaughter of above 275 100,000 men which took his [parte. Some] report he was burned in his castell, it being fired; others think he escaped and is in Shashma or the Liqueas. His mother cut her owne belly, and his littell childe was executed by comand from the Emperour, as also all others were the lyke which were knowne to take parte with hym. And Osakay and Sackay, two greate citties, burned to the grownd, not soe much as one howse being saved; your Worps. loosing goodes which were burned to the vallu of 155 _ta._ 5 _ma._ 8 _condr._, as apeareth per acco. sent to Capt. Jno. Jourden, your Wor. agent at Bantam. * * * * * * [And may it plea]se your Worps. to understand that the last yeare [it was agreed for a certe]n Italion marrener to goe in our junck for Syam [whose name is] Damian Marina, and an other Castalliano called Jno. [de Lievana] went with hym. Which coming to the knowledg of the Portingales and Spaniardes at Langasaque, that they had served the English, they laid handes on them and carid them presoners abord the great shipp of Amacan. The which being made knowen unto me, I wrot a letter to the capitan major of the ship, willing hym to set them at liberty, for that they were not under his comand nor jurisdiction, but under the English; and to the lyke effect I wrot an other letter to Gonrocq Dono, cheefe governor at Langasaque for the Emperour; but had a scornfull answer from the Portingale, and nothing but words from the Japon. Whereupon I got a letter testimoniall from the King of Firando to the Emperour, how these 2 men were entertayned into service of the English; and Mr. Wm. Adams being above with Capt. Ralph Coppendalle to carry a [present to] the Emperour, gave hym to understand of this matter, [and he gave] his command forthwith that the 2 men should be [set at liberty] and all their goodes restored to them. Which was [accordingly accomp]lished to the greate harts greefe both of [the 276 Spaniardes and Port]ingale, they haveing condemned them both [to death] and sent pristes to confesse them and exhibited [articles] against them to Gonrock Dono, as against traitors [to their owne] cuntry and frendes to the English and Hollanders their enemies. Which processe the capt. major deliverd both in Japons and Portugese with his ferme at it; but that in Portugese Gonrocq Dono sent to the King of Firando, and he gave it unto me, which here inclozed I send unto your Wor., together with his letter written to me, in which is manifested that they hould both English and Duch for their enemies. But that which vexeth them the most is that the Hollanders tooke a Portingale junck on the cost of Japon laden with ebony wood, the greatest parte, with tynne and serten bars of gould and much conservs. Which junck with all that was in it, men and all, the Emperour aloweth for good prize; and is [to] be thought that Mr. Wm. Adames was a cheefe occation to move the Emperour thereunto, he first asking Mr. Adames wherefore [there was] such hatred betwixt the Spaniardes and Hollanders, for [that it w]as tould hym their princese and governors were [frendes in all] other partes of the world, and that it seemed strange [to hym that they] should be enemies heare. Unto which Mr. Adames answerd that it was true they [had been] frendes of late yeares per meanes of the Kinge [of England] and other potentates; but yet, notwithstanding, [the Kinge of] Spaine did think hym selfe to have more right [in these] partes of the world then any other Christian prince, by [reason] of the footing he had gotten in the Phillippinas and in other partes of the Indies, and therefor per force ment to keepe all other nations from trading into these partes. Unto which the Emperour replied and said, the Spaniard had no reason, and therefore, seeing it was a differance or dispute amongst us which were all strangers, he would not make nor meddell in the matter, but leave 277 it to their princes to decide at home. "But," said he, "what is the occation they take men as well as goods?" "Because (said Mr. Adames) the Spaniardes take the Hollanders and have 150 or 200 of them presoners in the Phillipi[nas, for] which occation the Hollanders doe use the lyke [towards] their people, man for man and goodes for goodes." [Unto which] the Emperour answerd that they had [reason]. * * * * * * [Mr. Adames tould me that the] Emperour gave hym councell not [to seale in Japon] joncks on noe voyage, but rather stay in [Japon, and that] yf the stipend he had geven hym were not [enough] he would geve hym more. But he answerd his [word was] passed, and therefore, yf he performed not his w[ord, it would] be a dishonor unto hym. Yet truly, at his retorne to Firando, I offred to have quit hym of his promis and to have sent hym to Edo to be neare the Emperour upon all occations. Yet would he not be perswaded thereunto. But the Emperour esteemeth hym much, and he may goe and speake with hym at all tymes, when kyngs and princes are kept out. Mr. Adames tould me his tyme of serveing your Wor. 2 yeares at one hundred powndes or 400 _tais_ per anno. was out before he went towardes Syam; yet would he receave no pay till his retorne, willing me to certifie your Wor. that he thought 100_l._ very littell, and would be loth to engage hym selfe any more at that rate, [and] willed me to desyre your Wor. to let his wife have [30 or 40 powndes] str. to supplie her wantes of her selfe and childe, y[f there were any] need, and he would see it repaid heare againe. * * * * * * [And may it pleas]e your Wor. to understand that the Emperour [hath commanded] all the _tonos_ (or kinges) of Japon to com to his [court and] bring their wives (or queenes) with them, for [to remaine the]are the space of 7 yeares. He will no [char]ges of sonns, 278 doughters, or kynred, but they them selves and their queenes with them, and each one to keepe howse by hym selfe and have a servant of the Emperour allwaies neare them to understand what passeth. He aledgeth it is for their goods he doth it, to keepe Japon in quiet, which otherwais would still be in broyles. Soe now all the kinges and queenes of Japon are bound prentis to the Emperour for 7 yeares, and this _Tono_ of Firando departed from hence towardes the court 12 daies past, he being a bachelar, the Emperour haveing promised hym to geve hym his brothers doughter to wife. * * * * * * Your Worshipps most humble at command, RIC. COCKS. [159] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. iii, no. 342. ------------------- RICHARD WICKHAM TO RICHARD COCKS.[160] (_Extract._) Meaco, le 22th May, 1616. Many report that the Emperor is dead, but the report from most of credit saye he is recovered and in resonabel good health. He hath bestowed great presents upon the chefe nobylity whome he hath despatched very honorably for theyr contery. Shimash Dono came yesterday to Fuxame, and will be imbarked within this 4 daies at furdest from Osacay. Frushma Tayo Dono came to Meaco 4 dayes since, having leave to goe for his contery after 5 yeares attendance at the court. He is much honored heare in these parts. Shongo Sama is departed from Serongaue 23 dayes since for Eado, and it is said that he will come and visit his douory in Meaco in June or July next. During the Emperors sicknes he caused his chefe phesition to be cut in peces for telling him, being asked by the Emperor why he could not 279 soner cure him, that in regard he was an ould man his medesen could not worke so efectualy upon his body as apon a yong man. Wheareupon without saying any more to him commanded Cogioodon to cause him to be bound and cut in peces. Upon the which Ximas Dono sent him his phesition, the China, who did him much good, as it is reported; which maketh me thinck that the Emperor is living by reason Ximas Dono his peopell doe report. You may be sure the China would not kepe any such secret from his master Ximas Dono, yet nether Ximas Dono nor Tozo Dono nor any nobel man since the going up hath sene the Emperor, nether of his Counsell hath any this many dayes bene admited to his presents, there being none but Cogi Dono, 2 weomen, and 2 phesitions sufered to com in his sight, which maketh many to suspect that he is dead, as they saye it is the maner to conceale the death of the Emperor a whole yeare or more before it be knowne publik. [160] India Office. _Miscellaneous Records_, T. c., no. 43. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[161] Firando in Japon, le 1th January, 1616[7]. Right worshipfull,-- * * * * * * May it please your Wors. to understand that, these 2 shipps [the _Thomas_ and the _Advice_] being arived at Firando in Japon and Mr. Jno. Baylie being very sick, wherof he shortly after died, it was generally thought fit that I made a journey to the court of the new Emperour Shungo Samme, to renew our privelegese (as the Hollanders ment to do the lyke), in which voyage I was 4 monethes and 5 daies before I retorned to Firando, and the Hollanders are not yet retorned. Yet the 5th day after I arived at court our present was deliverd, and had audience with many favorable wordes, but could not get my dispach in above a month after; so that once I thought we should have lost 280 all our privelegese, for the Councell sent unto us I think above twenty tymes to know whether the English nation were Christians or no. I answerd we were, and that they knew that before by our Kinges Maties. letter sent to the Emperour his father (and hym selfe), wherein it apeared he was defender of the Christian faith. "But", said they, "are not the Jesuists and fryres Christians two?" Unto which I answerd they were, but not such as we were, for that all Jesuists and fryres were banished out of England before I was borne, the English nation not houlding with the pope nor his doctryne, whose followers these padres (as they cald them) weare. Yt is strang to see how often they sent to me about this matter, and in the end gave us waynyng that we did not comunecate, confesse, nor baptiz with them, for then they should hold us to be all of one sect. Unto which I replied that their Honours needed not to stand in dowbt of any such matter, for that was not the custom of our nation. Soe, in the end, they gave me our new privelegese with the Emperours ferme, telling me they were conformable to the former. So herewith I departed, and, being 2 daies journey on my way, met an expres from Mr. Wickham, wherin he wrot me from Miaco that the justice (per the Emperours comand) had geven order that all strangers should be sent downe to Firando or Langasaque, and forthwith departe and carry all their merchandiz with them and not stay to sell any, so that he was forced to keepe within howse, and our hostes durst sell nothing. Which news from Mr. Wickham seemed very strang unto me. Whereupon I sought one to read over our privelegise, which with much a do at last I fownd a _boz_ (or pagon prist) which did it, and was that we were restrayned to have our shiping to goe to no other place in Japon but Firando, and there to make sales. Whereupon I retorned back againe to the court, where I staid 18 or 20 daies more, still suing and puting 281 up suplecations to have our privelegese enlarged as before, aledging that yf it were not soe, that my soveraigne lord King James would think it to be our misbehaviours that cauced our privelegese to be taken from us, they having so lately before byn geven us by his Matis. father of famous memory, and that it stood me upon as much as my life was worth to get it amended, otherwais I knew not how to shew my face in England. Yet, for all this, I could get nothing but wordes. Whereupon I desyred to have the ould privelegese retorned and to render back the new, with condition they would geve us 3 yeares respite to write into England and have answer whether our Kinges Matie. would be content our privelegese should be so shortned or no. Yet they would not grant me that. And then I desird we might have leave to sell such merchandiz as we had now at Miaco, Osakay, Sackay, and Edo; otherwais I knew not what to do, in respect Firando was but a fysher towne, haveing no marchantes dwelling in it, and that it was tyme now to send back our shipps and junckes, and nothing yet sould. Yet this I could not have granted nether. So that with much a doe in the end they gave me leave, as I past, to sell my goodes to any one would presently buy it, or else leave it to be sould with any Japon I thought good to trust with it. Which restrant hath much hindered our sales and put me to my shiftes, the rather for that the order of Japon is that no stranger may sell any thing at arivall of their shipps till it be knowne what the Emperour will take; so that it is allwais above a month or 6 wickes before a post can run to and fro to have lycence. And at my coming away Oyen Dono and Codsquin Dono, the Emperours secretarys, tould me that they were sory they could not remedy this matter of our privelegese at present, the reason being for that an Emperours edict per act of parliament being soe lately set out could not so sowne be recalled without scandalle, but the next yeare, yf 282 I renewed my sute, my demandes being so substantiated, they did verely think it might be amended, in respect Firando was well knowne to be but a fisher towne. So that I aledged the Emperour might as well take away all our privelegese and banish us out of Japon as to shut us up in such a corner as Firando, where no marchantes dwell. But I hope the next yeare, when Generall Keeling cometh, it may be amended; otherwais I feare me our Japon trade will not be worth the looking after. And it is to be noted that at my retorne to Miaco, haveing donne such busynes as I had theare, I would have left Richard Hudson, a boy, your Wor. servant, to have learnd to write the Japans; but might not be suffered to doe it, the Emperour haveing geven order to the contrary. Soe we withdrew all our factors from Edo, Miaco, Osakay, and Sackay to Firando. The fathers which came in the shipp from Aguapulca brought a present from the King of Spaine to the Emperour; but, after he had kept it halfe a yeare, he retorned it back, not reserving any thing, but bad them be gon. And I had allmost forgotten to adviz your Wors. of a Spaniard, which was at the Emperours court at Edo when I was theare. He went out of a ship of theirs from Xaxma, where 2 greate shipps of theirs arived out of New Spaine, bound, as they said, for the Phillippinas, but driven into that place per contrary wynd, both shipps being full of souldiers, with greate store of treasure, as it is said, above 5 millions of _pezos_. Soe they sent this man to kis the Emperours hand; but he never might be suffered to com in his sight, allthough he staid theare above a month; which vexed hym to see we had axcesse to the Emperour and he could not. So that he gave it out that our shipps and the Hollanders which were at Firando had taken and robbed all the China juncks, which was the occation that very few or non came into 283 Japon this yeare. And som greate men in the court did not want to aske me the question whether it were true or no, Mr. Wm. Adames being present. Which we gave them to understand that, concernynge the Englishe, it was most falce. And withall I enformed the two secretaries, Oyen Dono and Codsquin Dono, that, yf they lookt out well about these 2 Spanish shipps arived in Xaxma full of men and treasure, they would fynd that they were sent of purpose by the King of Spaine, haveing knowledg of the death of the ould Emperour, thinking som papisticall tono might rise and rebell and so draw all the papistes to flock to them and take part, by which meanes they might on a sudden seaz upon som strong place and keepe it till more succors came, they not wanting money nor men for thackomplishing such a strattagim. Which speeches of myne wrought so far that the Emperour sent to stay them, and, had not the greate shipp cut her cable in the howse so to escape, she had byn arested, yet with her hast she left som of her men behind; and the other shipp being of som 300 tons was cast away in a storme and driven on shore, but all the people saved. So in this sort I crid quittance with the Spaniardes for geveing out falce reportes of us, yet since verely thought to be true which I reported of them. Also may it please your Wors. that, at our being at themperours court, the amerall of the sea was very ernest with Mr. Wm. Adames to have byn pilot of a voyage they pretended to the northward to make conquest of certen ilands, as he said, rich in gould; but Mr. Adames exskewced hym selfe in that he was in your Wors. service and soe put hym afe. And as I am enformed, they verely think that our pretence to discover to the northward is to fynd out som such rich ilandes and not for any passage. Yet I tould the admerall to the contrary, and tould hym that my opinion was he might doe better to put it into the Emperours mynd to make a conquest of the Manillias and drive those small crew of 284 Spaniardes from thence, it being so neare unto Japon; they haveing conquered the Liqueas allready. He was not unwilling to listen heareunto, and said he would comunecate the matter to the Emperour. And out of dowbt yt would be an easy matter for the Emperour to doe it, yf he take it in hand, and a good occation to set the Japons heades awork, to put the remembrance of Ticus Samme and his sonne Fidaia Samme, so lately slaine and disinhereted, out of their minds. And tuching my former opinion of procuring trade into China, I am still of the same mynd. And, had it not byn for the greate wars betwixt the Tartars and them the last yeare, which cauced the Emperour of China to goe into the northermost partes of his kyngdom to withstand them, otherwais we had had news of entrance before now. Yet, notwithstanding, the Chinas which have the matter in hand have sent an expres about it againe, and caused two letters to be written in China (as from me) with my ferme at them, with two others in English from me to same effect, only for fation sake, because they might see my ferme was all one, the one letter being directed: To the mighty and powrefull Lord Fiokew, Secretary of Estate to the high and mightie Prince, the Emperour of China, manifesting that I had geven two hundred _tais_ to the bearer thereof, his Lo. servant, to buy hym necessaries in the way, hoping to receve som good news shortly from his Lo. of our entrance into China, with other complementall wordes, as the Chinas wisht me put downe. And the other letter was directed: To the greate and powrefull Lord Ticham Shafno, Councellor of Estate to the high and mighty Prince, the Emperour of China, also making relasion of ten greate bars Oban gould, amonting to 550 _tais_ Japon plate, deliverd to the said bearer to carry to hym as a toaken or small remembrance of my good will, hoping to heare som good news from hym, as in the other. But both the 10 bars gould and 200 _tais_ silver are sent from the China Capt. to them, yet put downe 285 in my name, as yf it came from me. In fine, these Chinas tell me that undowbtedly it will take effect, and the sowner yf the Portingales be sent from Macau this yeare, as they have adviz they shall. But, howsoever, these men follow the matter hardly, and tell me that the Emperour of China hath sent espies into all partes where the Spaniardes, Portingales, Hollanders, and we do trade, in these partes of the world, only to see our behaveours on towardes an other, as also how we behave our selves towardes strangers, especially towardes Chinas. And som have byn in this place and brought by our frendes to the English howse, where I used them in the best sort I could, as I have advized to Bantam, Pattania, and Syam to doe the lyke to all Chinas. * * * * * * Also may it please your Worships to understand that, since my retorne from the Japon cort, there came a mestisa Indian to me, which went to Cochinchina from Japon in the same junck which Mr. Peacock and Walter Carwarden went in, and sayeth the reportes are falce which are geven out against Mr. Peacockes host, that he set upon hym in the way to slay hym and the Duch, but rather that the matter hapned by meare chance, his said host being in the boate with hym when it was overthrowne, and escaped hardly ashore with swyming, being taken up halfe dead and hardly recovered health in a moneth after; and that Mr. Peacock carid 50 or 60 R. of 8 along with hym in his pocket, which was the occation of his drownyng, as apeard som dayes after when his body was fownd per Walter Carwarden (this mestisa accompanying hym) whoe fownd the said R. 8 in his pocket, and after gave his body buriall. And that Walter Carwarden staid in Cochinchina above a month after, before he imbarked hym selfe to retorne for Japon, the monson being past. So that, Mr. Peacock being dead and Walter Carwarden gon without going up to the court to receave the monies which the kyng owed for 286 merchandiz bought, that the kyng took occation to write Safian Dono, governor at Langasaque under the Emperour of Japon, to signefie unto hym of the death of the one Englishman and departure of the other, so that, yf an Englishman would com and receve the money he owed, he was ready to pay it. But the junck which brought that letter for Safian Dono was cast away, as well as that wherin Water Carwarden came, so that we never heard news of them. The boate wherein Mr. Peacock and the Hollanders were in was overset, or rather steamed, by another bigger boate runing against them on a sudden in turnyng at a corner, the other coming on a sudden upon them from behind a point of land, being under seale and haveing the currant with her; so that they had no meanes to avoid them, but were presently sunck downe and, the currant being swift, very few were saved, his host, a Japon, being one. I did what I could at my being at Edo to have procured the Emperours letter to the Kyng of Cochinchina in our behalfe, to have had restetution of such marchandiz he had bought, in respect we lived in Japon under his protection and that our goodes went in a Japon junck under his chape or pase; yet, doe what I could, he denid his letter, saying he would not medell in other mens matters, nether be behoulden to the King of Cochinchina for it. But now, coming to knowledg of these matters and seeing Capt. Adames to have bought a junck, going hym selfe for pilot in her, I have written to Safian Dono to let us have his letter of favour to the King of Cochinchina, to send som small adventure with hym. And Edmond Sayer is very desirous to goe along with Mr. Wm. Adames; but as yet the adventure is not determined upon. God send it good suckcesse. * * * * * * I receved a box by the _Adviz_ with a certen roote in it, which came 287 from Cape Bona Speranza; but it proveth here worth nothing, it being dried that no substance remeaneth in it. Herewithall I send your Wors. som of it, with an other peece of that which is good and cometh out of Corea. It is heare worth the wight in silver, but very littell to be had in comune mens handes, for that all is taken up for the Emperour by the Kyng of Tushma, whome only hath lycense to trade with the Coreans, and all the tribute he payeth to the Emperour is of this rowte. Yt is helde heare for the most pretious thing for phisick that is in the world, and (as they thinke) is suffitient to put lyfe into any man, yf he can but draw breath; yet must be used in measure, or else it is hurtfull. * * * * * * The China captens which labour to get us entrance into China doe tell me that your Wors. canot send a more pretiouser thing to present the Emperour of China withall then a tree of currall, ether white or red. They say the Portingales of Macau gave a white corrall tree to the Emperour of China many yeares past, which he doth esteem one of the ruchest jewells he hath. Also they say that earelings or jewelles to hang in hattes, that are greate pearls and of an orient culler, are esteemed much in China. And som very greate looking glasses and fyne Semian chowters and white baftas are good for presentes, with som guns well damasked, but not soe hevie as these are which ordenarely are sent; and som dagges or pistalls, som short and others more longer. The three peeces currall your Wors. sent for a triall were disposed of as followeth, viz. 1 branch containing 1 _ta._ 1 _ma._ 5 _co._, and 1 branch containing 9 _ma._ 2 _co._, both geven the Emperour in his present; 1 branch containing 1 _ta._ 2 _co._, sould for ten _tais_ two _mas_ plate. But yf much com it will not sell at that rate. The biger the peces or branches are, and of a red culler well polished, are most in esteem; for they make buttens or knots of them to hange their 288 purces at. * * * * * * I know not what else to write, but that my greatest sorrow is I lye in a place which hitherto hath byn chargable and not benefitiall to your Wors., by reasons of the presentes contynewally geven, it being the fation of the contrey, or else there is noe staying for us yf we doe not as other strangers doe. And were it not for the hope of trade into China, or for procuring som benefit from Syam, Pattania, and (it may be) from Cochinchina trade, it were noe staying in Japon. Yet it is certen here is silver enough, and may be carried out at pleasure; but then must we bring them comodeties to ther lyking, as the Chinas, Portingales, and Spaniardes doe, which is raw silke and silke stuffs, with Syam sapon and skins; and that is allwais ready money, as price goeth, littell more or lesse. * * * * * * And soe I take my leave, commiting your Wors. with your affares to the holy protection of the Allmighty, resting allwais Your Worps. most humble at command, RIC. COCKS. [161] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. iii, no. 342. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[162] Firando in Japon, le 16th of January, 1616[7]. Right worll. Ser and Sers,-- * * * * * * As tuching the discovery to be made from hence to the northward, to seeke for passage into England, there was noe mention thereof made in our former previleges, that the Emperour offered (or promised) to assist us therein, nether would they now put in any such matter. So that, to say the truth, yf we goe about to take such a matter in 289 hand, I know not well whether the Japons will assist us or no. Yet know I nothing to the contrary but they will. The coppie of our previlegese (as we have them now) I send yow here inclozed, I geting them translated my selfe by a learned _boz_, haveing two _juribassos_ with Capt. Adames to assist me at doeing thereof. * * * * * * Your Wors. most humble at command, RIC. COCKS. [162] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. iv, no. 433. ------------------- _Coppie of the articles (or previleges) granted to the English nation by_ SHONGO SAMME, _Emperour of Japon_.[163] Be yt knowne unto all men that the English nation throughout all Japon, in what part thereof soever they arive with their shipping, shall, with all convenyent speed they can, retyre to the towne (and port) of Firando, there to make sale of their marchandiz, defending all other places and partes whatsoever in Japon not to receave any of their goodes nor merchandiz ashore, but at Firando only. 2. But yf it fortune through contrary wyndes (or bad wether) their shiping arive in any other port in Japon, that they shalbe frendly used in paying for what they take (or buy), without exacting any ancoradge, custom, or other extraordenary matters whatsoever. 3. That yf the Emperour needeth any thing their shiping bringeth, that it shall be reserved for hym in paying the worth therof. 4. That noe man force (or constraine) thenglish to buy nor sell with them, nether thenglish the like with the Japons, but that both parties deale the one with the other in frendly sort. 5. That yf any of the English nation chance to die in any part of 290 Japon, that the good, monies, and marchandiz, or whatsoever else is found to be in his custody at the hower of his death shall be helde to be or belong to hym (or them) unto whome the capt. or cape merchant of thenglish nation sayeth it belongeth unto. 6. That yf there be any difference or controvercy (be it of life and death or otherwais) amongst the English abord their shipps or aland, yt shall be at the disposing of the capt. or cape merchant to make an end thereof, without that any other justice in Japon shall tuch them or meddell in the matter. 7. The conclusion is, to comand all _tonos_ (or kinges), governors, and other offecers in Japon whatsoever to se the premesies afforsaid accomplished. [163] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. iv, no. 379A. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO WILLIAM NEALSON AND JOHN OSTERWICK.[164] Fushamy in Japon, le 12th of September, 1617. Loving frendes,-- My last unto yow was of the 10th present from Miaco, advising yow of my arivall theare. And yistarday we came from thence to this place of Fushamy, to which place Capt. Adames came to us. The Coreans have byn royally receaved in all places wheare they came, by comandment from themperour. And, as we entred into Miaco, they took us to be Coreans, and therefore in greate hast, as we passed, strawed the streetes with sand and gravill, multetudes of people thrunging in to see us. I stand in greate hope we shall get our priveleges enlarged as before, and all thinges to content. But I canot write yow the truth thereof till I know how it will passe. Only this encuradgement I have from 291 Oyen Donos secretary, whoe heareth how matters are lyke to passe. Yf themperour enlarge our privelegese, I will forthwith send for our comodetis, as silk, wood, skins, cloth, quicksilver, etc. The Hollandars setting their Syam lead at 6-1/2, the Emperour hath refuced it and will not meddell with it, but take all ours. The Hollandars have made a greate complaint against the _Tono_ of Firando of their bad usage donne by the mouth of Jno. Yoossen, seting hym at nought, not soe much as going to vizet hym. And, as it seemeth, he stood in dowbt we would have don the like; yet, upon good considerations, I have thought fit to proceead in an other fation, not dowbting but I shall have better justis at Firando then heretofore. Keepe all these matters to your selfe, and, when I heare more, I will adviz yow from tyme to tyme and retorne with as much speed as possibly I may; and soe in hast comyt yow to God, resting Your loving frend, RIC. COCKS. This day we delivered our present to themperour, which was well accepted of with a cherefull countenance. Yt is said that to morrow the _dyrie_ ys to geve the title to themperour which he soe much desyreth. [164] British Museum. _Cotton Charter_, iii, 13, f. 14. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO WILLIAM NEALSON AND JOHN OSTERWICK.[165] Fushamy in Japon, le 27th of September, 1617. Loving frendes,-- Many letters have I written since my departure from Firando, but never receved any from yow, but them two which yow wrot me 2 daies after I departed from thence of arivall of _Sea Adventure_ at Tushma. Soe that, the wynd having byn good ever since, I marvell I have not 292 heard from yow. We have donne what we can both by word of mouth as also with supplecation (or writing) to have had our previlegese enlarged, and the rather by meanes of the Kinges Maties. letter sent themperour. But in the end are forced to content us with them as they were, that is, only for Firando and Langasaque. And because I was ernest to have had it otherwais, the councell took the matter in snuffe, esteeming it a presumption in me to aske lardger previlegese then all other strangers had. So then I desird they would write a letter to the Kinges Matie. of England, for my discharge, to show thoccation wherefore they did it. But that they denid to doe, telling me that we might content our selves with such composition as other men had, or, yf we did not lyke it, might retorne to our cuntrey yf we pleased. So now I stay only to get out our two _goshons_ for Syam and Cochinchina, and to get a dispach from themperour, which will be 3 or 4 daies before I think it will be ended. And then will I goe for Miaco to se yf we can doe any good for sales. And then will I for Osakay and Sackay and look out for the like, to se if I can procure plate to bring downe with me; otherwais it will be late to send it per the shipp. I think it will be 15 or 20 daies hence before I shall be ready to set from Osakay towardes Firando. So that, in the meane tyme, use your best endevour to make sales of such merchandiz as are belo; and stand not upon small matters to make ready money. Yt were good, yf yow can, to receve the lead money in melted or _somo_ plate, donne by a rendador, with themperours stampe upon it, for then will it passe in saffetie. Or yt were better yf yow could get it molten into bars lyke tyn bars, but of halfe the length, and of the just goodnes with rialles of eight; for soe am I advised from Bantam. I went thother day to Miaco to have vizeted the Corean embassadors 293 with a present; but the _Tono_ of Tushma would not let me have accesse unto them. So I turned back to Fushamy. The _Tono_ of Xaxma, with them of Goto and Umbra, had leave to retorne to their cuntres 2 or 3 daies past; but the _Tono_ of Firando cannot be permitted as yet, although he be very ill at ease. The ould _dire_ died som 8 or 10 daies past. But nether he nor his sonne, which now is _daire_, will geve themperour the name or title he soe much desireth; which geveth hym much discontent, as also the death of one of his sisters whoe was marid to a greate man not far from hence and died the other day. The castell of Osakay must be new builded, with a pagod neare unto Sackay, which weare destroied in these last wars; and all at themperours owne cost. Only the westarne _tonos_ must furnish men; but themperour will pay them, and not put any enhabetant to trowble about the doing thereof. Themperour hath geven greate presentes to the Coreans, as all the greate _tonos_ of Japon have donne the like; but for what occation I am not certen. This is all I know for the present; and so comit yow to God, resting allwais Your loving frend, RIC. COCKS. For God sake take heed of fire; and forget not my pigions and fishes. Comend me to all our frendes, both hees and howes. To his lovinge frendes, Mr. Wm. Nealson and Mr. John Osterwick, English merchantes, deliver in Firando. From Fushamy. Pay port. one _mas_ for letter and for other matters, as per adviz. [165] British Museum. _Cotton Charter_, iii, 13, f. 15. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO WILLIAM NEALSON AND JOHN OSTERWICK.[166] 294 Fushamy in Japon, le 1th of October, 1617. Loving frendes,-- Yow will not beleeve what a trowble we have had about our previlegese, and with much ado yistarday got Langasaque set in as well as Firando, and soe sealed per themperour. But, before it could be delivered, som took acceptions thereat, and so Langasaque is razed out againe, and matters remeane as before. Yet this morning I have sent Capt. Adames againe to get Goto and Shashma put in for shiping that, yf in case the _Tono_ of Firando abuse us, we may have a retiring place, as also to abcent our selves from the Hollanders, it not being to our content to live together. But whether they will grant this or no, I know not. Once we are put to Hodgsons choise[167] to take such previlegese as they will geve us, or else goe without. My dowbt is, they will drive us affe till the Emperour be gon (whoe they say will departe to morrow), so thinking to make us follow them to Edo; but truly I will rather leave all and retorne for Firando. I doe protest unto yow I am sick to see their proceadinges, and canot eate a bit of meate that 295 doth me good, but cast it up as sowne as I have eaten it. God send me well once out of this cuntrey, yf it be His blessed will. Mr. Wickham and Capt. Adames are not halfe currant neather, as also our folkes which came with us have byn sick, except Fatchman, Richard King haveing had his part. Kept till the 2th ditto. Yisternight came your letters dated in Firando the 8th and 9th ultimo, accompanid with the _goshon_, which came in good tyme (I instantly sending it to the Cort where there was much enquiring for it). Soe we gott out our _goshons_, but the privelegese as they were the last yeare. Warry, warry, warry! Your loving frend, RIC. COCKS. God grant Tozayemon Dono do not play the jemeny with us in buying much of our merchandiz and stay there till he think I am com from hence, and so I shall nether meete hym heare nor theare, to make acco. with hym. I have the lyke dowbt of Neyemon Dono. To his lovinge frendes, Mr. Wm. Nealson and Mr. Jno. Osterwick, English merchantes, deliver in Firando. From Fushamy. [166] British Museum. _Cotton Charter_, iii, 13, f. 17. [167] This early use of the proverbial "Hobson's choice" is almost conclusive against the usual explanation of the phrase, that it was derived from the method adopted by Hobson, the Cambridge carrier, in serving his customers with horses. Hobson was born in 1544 and died in 1630. Granting that the expression arose during his life-time, it could hardly have begun to pass into common usage before the close of the sixteenth century; and in those days such popular phrases were not communicated so fast as in ours. But here we find Cocks using it as early as 1617, after an absence of some years from England; and he would hardly have picked it up abroad. Again, Cocks was not a young man; and, as a rule, proverbs are learned and become part of our vocabulary in youth. "Hobson's choice" (or Hodgson's, as Cocks writes it) may very well have been an older popular saying which was applied to the Cambridge carrier's stable arrangements from the mere accident of his bearing the name he did. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[168] Firando in Japon, the 15th of February, 1617[8]. Right worll. Ser and Sers,-- * * * * * * Consernyng attempting trade into Cochinchina, yt was generally agreed upon the last yeare, as I advized your Wor. in my letter; Ed. Sayer being sent upon that busynes, and went in a junck of Mr. Wm. Adames, 296 he being both master and owner, and was to pay for fraight and passage as other men did and according to the custom of the cuntrey, and carid a cargezon goodes with hym. * * * * * * Edmond Sayer retorned ... having donne his best endevour, with the assistance of Mr. Wm. Adames, to learne out the truth of Mr. Peacockes death. And fynd that he was murthered by a Japon, his host, with the consent of one or two of the cheefest men about the kyng, and, as it is said, the yong prince was of their councell, but the ould kyng knoweth nothing thereof but that he was cast away by mere chance or misfortune. These greate men and his host shared all the goodes and money amongst them, as well of the Hollanders as thenglish whome were slaine all together in one small boate, it being steamed or oversett with a greater full of armed men. They are enformed that Mr. Peacockes ill behaveor was partly occation; for at first the king used hym kyndly and gave us larg previlegese to trade in his domynions. And one day a greate man envited hym to dyner, and sent his cheefe page to conduct hym, he being sonne to a greate man. But he coming into the place wheare Mr. Peacock sate, he gave hym [hard] wordes and bad hym goe out and sit with the boyes. And, as som say, being in drink, he tore the previlegese the king had geven hym for free trade and cast the peeces under his feete. These and other matters (which is reported he did) did much estrang the peoples hartes from hym, and, as it was thought by som whome saw how matters went, was the cheefe occation which caused his death. Mr. Adames and Ed. Sayer were very ernest to have had speech with the kyng, which at first that greate nobelman was contented, as it seemed. But, when he knew they would bring in question the murthering of Mr. Peacock (he being giltie of it), he put them affe from tyme to tyme 297 with delaies, and in the end did flatly gainsay them. And, had they gone, out of dowbt they had byn murthered in the way. * * * * * * I am of your Wor. opinion that, except we procure trade into China, it will not quite cost to mentayne a factory in Japon.... I have this yeare byn againe at themperours court, in company of Mr. Wickham and Mr. Wm. Adames, hoping to have got our previlegese enlarged, as Codsquin Dono and Oyen Dono did put me in hope the last yeare.... We gave the present to themperour as from his Matie., and amongst the rest went a scritorio sent in adventure from my Lady Smith, esteemed at 40 markes, with the gloves, mittens, looking glasse and other silver implementes in it, with an other present aparte for the shipp, as the Japon custom is. Which presentes were taken in good sort, with many complementall wordes; but in the end were answered we had as larg prevelegese as any other strangers, wherewith we might rest contented, or, yf we fownd not trade to our content, we might departe when we pleased and seeke better in an other place. So then I desird I might have an answer to the letter he had receved from the Kinges Matie. of England, wherby he might perceve I had delivered both letter and present. But answer was made me, the letter was sent to his father, Ogosho Samma, the deceased Emperor, and therefore held ominios amongst the Japons to answer to dead mens letters. I aledged they needed not to feare that we had any accoyntance with the pristes or padres; but they tould me that was all one, the Emperour would have his owne vassales to get the benefite to bring up merchandize rather then strangers. So that now it has com to passe, which before I feared, that a company of rich usurers have gotten this sentence against us, and com downe together every yeare to Langasaque and this place, and have allwais byn accustomed to buy by the _pancado_ (as they call 298 it), or whole sale, all the goodes which came in the carick from Amacau, the Portingales having no prevelegese as we have, but only a monson trade, and therefore must of necessety sell. * * * * * * The Chinas of late tyme, within these 2 or 3 yeares, have begun a trade into certen ilandes called by them Tacca Sanga, and is named in our sea cardes Isla Fermosa, neare to the cost of China. The place the shiping enters into is called Las Islas Piscadores, but non but small shiping can enter, nether will they suffer any shiping or trade with any people but Chinas. It is within 30 leagues (as they say) of the meane of China, soe that they make 2 or 3 voyages in small shipping each monson. Andrea Dittis and Capt. Whow, his brother, are the greatest adventurers for that place. They sent 2 small junckes the last yeare, and bought silke for the one halfe they pay ether at Cochinchina or Bantam. The reason was the greate aboundance which came together this yeare and the littell money that was sent to buy, so that above one halfe was retorned into China for want of money, for they say the people are barbarous and have not the use of silver. * * * * * * I have rec. 2 letters from the Kynges Matie. to the King of China, sent from Bantam by Mr. Ball, the one in frendly sort and the other som stricter termes. Mr. Ball writes me that no Chinas at Bantam dare nether translate them nor carry them when they are translated, upon payne of their lives and even of all their generation. But these our China frendes, Dittis and Whaw, will not only translate them, but send them by such as will see them delivered. But their opinion is, yt is not good to send the thretnyng letter, for they are assured there will nothing be donne with the king by force. But as we have a good name 299 geven of us of late, that we are peacable people, soe to goe forward still in that sort. * * * * * * I had almost [forgotten to tell your Wor. of the coming of the] ambassadors from the Kyng of Corea to the Emperour of Japon, having above 500 men attending upon them. They went up at same tyme I went to themperours court, and were, by the Emperours comand, royally entertaind by all the _tonos_ (or kinges of Japon) thorow whose terretories they passed, and all at the Japons charge, they first begyning with the _Tono_ of Tushma, and next with hym of Firando, etc.; and coming to the court the Emperour made them to dyne at his owne table, they being served by all the _tonos_ (or kinges) of Japon, every one having a head attire of a redish culler with a littell mark of silver lyke a fether in it. Mr. Adames was in presence and saw it. * * * * * * Your Wor. most humble at command, RIC. COCKS. To the Right Worll. the Governor, deputy Committies, and Generallety of the East India Company, deliver in London. [168] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. v, no. 615. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO WILLIAM NEALSON AND JOHN OSTERWICK.[169] Langasaque in Japon, this 21th of February, 1618[9]. Loving frendes,-- We arrived heare yisternight an hower before sunne seting, Capt. Adames being arived the day before and came out and met us with the China Capt., all the China junckes haveing out their flagges and stremars, with St. George amongst the rest, and shott affe above 40 chambers and peeces of ordinance at my arivall. I wish I had had noe _goshon_, for the trowble and vexation it puteth 300 me unto, and know not how to remedy it. Yet now it is concluded that our _goshon_ shall goe in that new junck at Firando, and Capt. Adames goeth capt. and pilot in her, for Tonkyne. I have much speeches heare betwixt Alvaro Munos and Jorge Durons about the caffro; but Alvaro Munos standeth stiffly to it that it is the same caffro, and Jorge Durons saieth it is an other. I have delivered Mr. Nealsons letter to Jorge, and in the end the truth will com out. I know not what else to write, but leave yow to the protection of thallmightie, resting Your loving frend, RIC. COCKS. To his loving frendes, Mr. Wm. Nealson and Mr. Jno. Osterwick, English merchantes, deliver in Firando. From Langasaque. [169] British Museum. _Cotton Charter_, iii, 13, f. 35. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO JOHN OSTERWICK.[170] Nangasaque in Japon, the 18th of February, 1619[20]. Loving frend, Mr. Osterwick,-- The next day after our departure from Firando, being the xvjth currant, we arived at Nangasaque, having, the day before, mett with a bark of Firando, which brought me a letter from Mr. Eaton and therinclozed an other from yow. My letter I opened and read over, and afterwardes sent it, with a few allmondes for Mr. Nealson, and your letter with it, per the same partie and bark which brought it, to the intent yow both might read it over and see the contentes. Yet I think it will not prove soe dangerous a matter as at the reading of the letter I suppozed it would have byn, for humors now and then are over much predomenant in som men; but, as the saying is, _nemo sine crimene vivet_. You must pardon me, yf I speak falce Latten. 301 Yistarday we sett our junckes mastes, and I hope will not now be long before she will be ready. We fynd her to be biggar of stoadg then we formerly expected. I have byn with Capt. Adames at Gonrok Dono, and in thend concluded the price of our lead at 5-1/2 _tais_ the _pico_. But Gonrok will first speake with themperours _bongews_ or councellors thereof, and, in the meane tyme, will deliver us eight hundred _taies_ in parte of payment, and will send a man to way out all the lead, and leave it in our howse till order com downe to take it and pay the rest of the money. And, as Gonrok tells me, the Hollanders have made prise at 5 _taies pico_, and waid it all and delivered it into the handes of the King of Firando. But I esteem this but a tale. And so I comit yow to thallmightie, resting Your loving frend, RIC. COCKS. To his loving frend, Mr. Wm. Nealson, English merchant, deliver in Firando. From Nangasaque. This letter should be derected Mr. Jno. Osterwick, etc. [170] British Museum. _Cotton Charter_, iii, 13, f. 37. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[171] Nangasaque in Japon, the 10th of Marche, 1619[20]. Right worll. Ser and Sers,-- After my humble dutie remembred, may it please yow to understand that, by the indirect dealinges and unlooked for proceadinges of the Hollanders, this is the therd yeare since we hadd any shipping came from England or Bantam to Japan. Neather in all this tyme have we had any conveance to enforme your Worshipps of the manifold abuses offered unto us within these kingdoms of Japon, notwithstanding the 302 lardge prevelegese we have from the Emperour that the Japons them selves may not meddell with us. Yet these Hollanders have, by sound of trumpet abord all their shipps in the harbour of Firando, procleamed open warrs against our English nation, both by sea and land, with fire and sworde, to take our shipps and goods and destroy our persons to the uttermost of their power, as to their mortall enemies. And their cheefe comander which came hither last, called Adam Westerwood, sett my life at sale, offering 50 R. of 8 to any man that could kill me, and 30 R. for each other Englishman they could kill; which their proceadinges could not be soe secretly donne, but I hadd dailie notis thereof by som of their owne people, although they were comanded upon payne of death to the contrary. And because your Wors. shall understand all how it hath passed, it is as hereafter followeth, viz.:-- After that the comander (as they call hym), Jno. Derickson Lamb, came hither from the Molucos and passed by the Manillias, where he took divers China junckes and staid soe long on that cost that the Spanish gallions came out against hym and sunck the admerall shipp, called the _New Sunne_, wherein Derickson Lamb hym selfe was, whoe escaped very hardly abord an other shipp, wherein he came to Japon. The Spaniardes also burned two other of the Hollandes fleete, and made all the rest to run away, without losse of any Spanish shipp, etc. And Jno. Derickson Lamb, going away, left the _Ould Sunne_, a great ship with 38 or 40 peeces ordinance in her, with an other shipp, called the _Gallias_, of 300 tonns, as they say, with 30 peeces of ordinance in her, and sent them abootehawling one the cost of China, and from thence to the Manillias, where they h[ad] the rifling of xvi seale of China junckes, and filled them with such as they liked and 303 sett the rest on fire, and brought the China junckes along with them, being the best and ruchliest laden, puting som 8 or 9 Hollanders into each junck; but, by fowle wether at sea, they lost company of the shipps, soe that the Chinas, being too strong for the Hollanders, cut all their throtes, and carid all the junckes into China, as we hadd certen newes thereof. These 2 shipps, the _Sunne_ and _Gallias_, arived at Firando the 6th and 8th day of June, 1618. And the 8th day of August after heare arived an English shipp, called the _Attendance_, which the Hollanders sent hither from the Molucas, to our greater disgrace, but not an Englishman in her. So that, by generall consent, it was thought fitt I went to themperours court to complaine, thinking we might have hadd restetution, considering the lardge preveleges we have in Japon. But answer was made that for factes comitted in other places themperor would not meddell with it, but for anything donne in his owne dominions he would see us have right. Soe the three forenamed shipps, _Sunne_, _Gallias_, and _Attendance_, were sett out againe, the _Sunne_ to carry their most best stuffes and silke, her full lading, to goe for Bantam; and the other two to goe for the Manillas, to meete an other Hollandes fleete, because they had certen news that 6 of the King of Spaines gallions were cast away per misfortune at Manillas, which was true, soe that the Spaniardes hadd no strength to com out against them. Soe they took 3 China junckes more, but noe greate wealth in them, only they found such good refreshing that it saved the lives of their hongerstarved men; otherwaies they hadd never lived to see Japon. Soe now may it please your Wors. to understand this last yeare, I meane reckning before Christmas, here cam 7 seale of Hollanders for this cuntrey of Japon and to this towne of Firando, viz.:-- 1. The _Bantam_, a shipp of 1000 tonns, wherin Adam Westerwood came. 304 2. The _New Moone_, a shipp of 7 or 800 tonns, vizadmerall. 3. The _Gallias_ before named, of above 300 tonns. 4. The _Attendance_, thenglish shipp before named. 5. The _Swan_, an other English shipp taken by them at Molucas. And out of these shipps 3 Englishmen escaped ashore and came to thenglish howse to seeke releefe, telling us they were used more like dogges then men amongst the Hollanders. Their names are as followeth: John Moore, John Joones, Edward Curwin; these 3 men brought presoners in Hollandes shipps. The Hollanders demanded these 3 men to be retorned back unto them; unto whome I made answer, I would first see their comition how they durst presume to take our English shiping, men, and goodes, as they did. So then they went to the _Tono_ (or King) of Firando, and demanded that their English _kengos_ (which in Japons is sclaves) should be sent back unto them. Unto whome the _tono_ made answer that he took not the English to be sclaves to the Hollanders, we having such lardge preveleges in Japon as we hadd, and therefore willed them to goe to themperour and demand them of hym, and what he ordayned should be performed, etc. Also their came a penisse from the Molucas, called the _Fox_, to bring newes of the fight betwixt thenglish fleete and the Hollanders att Jaccatra, and that these shipps should make hast to the Molucas with powder, shott, victuelles, and other provition, etc. And last of all came an other greate shipp from Pattania, called the _Angell_, being the admerall of 3 shipps which came together and sent of purpose to take the _Samson_ and _Hownd_, two other English shipps, wherin Capt. Jno. Jourden, the presedent, came cheefe comander; they Hollanders coming upon them on a sudden as they road at an ancor in 305 the roade of Pattania, nott dowbting any such matter, where they took both the said shipps, after the death of Capt. Jourden and others. Out of which shipp _Angell_ Mr. Wm. Gourden and Michell Payne escaped ashore, by the assistance of Mr. Wm. Adames; otherwais they hadd byn sent captives (as the Duch terme it) to the Molucas. Mr. Gourden was master of the _Hownd_, and Michell Payne carpenter of the _Samson_. As also a Welchman, named Hugh Williams, escaped from them and came to the English howse the morrow after. By which 3 men, as also by an open letter which I receved from Mr. Adam Denton from Pattania in the Duch shipp _Angell_, we understand of the proceadinges of the Hollanders against our nation; the copie of which letter I send your Wors. here inclozed. But to conclud the unruly dealinges of the Hollanders: when they saw they could not by any meanes gett back the Englishmen which escaped from them, allthough they laid secrett ambushes ashore to have taken them, which being reveled to me by som of their owne people, then they came to outbrave us in the streetes before our owne dores, urging us with vild speeches; soe that from words som of our people and they fell to blowes, where one of the Hollanders got a scram, which made the rest soe madd that they came on shore by multetudes, thinking by force to have entred into our howse and cutt all our throates, geveing 3 assaltes in one day. Yet the Japons took our partes, that they could doe us no harme, although there were v. or vj. C. of them against v. or vj. persons of us. And the next day morning after, when we thought nothing, a company of them entred our howse, armed with piks, swordes, and _cattans_, where they wounded John Coaker and an other, thinking they hadd kild one of them at least, as they made their bragges after. Soe that we weare constrayned to keepe in our howse a gard of Japons, night and day, armed, at meate, drink, and wages, to your Wors. greate 306 charge. Soe that the king of Firando comanded watch and ward to be kept in the streetes, that noe Hollanders might be suffered to passe by our dores. But then they went in swarmes by water, shaking their naked swords at us, calling us by a thousand filthie names; which coming to the knowledg of the _tono_, he sent for Capt. Jacob Speck, princepall (or cape merchant) of the Hollanders in Japon, and caused hym to geve a writing in Japons before witnesses, with his ferme at it, that from that tyme forward no Hollander should misuse an Englishman, nether in word nor deed, and then caused me, Richard Cocks, to geve an other to the same effect, with my ferme at it, before the same witnesses, that noe Englishman should doe the like to any Hollanders. Yet, before 3 or 4 daies were passed, the Hollanders began againe to misuse us; for that Edmond Sayer, being retorned of a voyage he hadd made for your Wors. affares to Cochinchina and arived at Nangasaque, sentt Richard King to Firando to advertis me thereof and to bring our _foyfone_ (or bark) with hym to carry the comodetis he hadd brought to Firando. But as the said Ric. King was going out in the said bark, accompanied with our _jurebasso_, the Hollanders armed out five or six barkes or shipp boates after them, full of men, with guns, pikes, swordes, and other weapons, and took hym presoner with the bark and carid hym to the Hollands howse, using hym very churlishly. The _tono_ being an eye witnesse and looker on when they did it, mooved hym soe much that he sent out certen boates full of souldiers after them, to have reskewed Ric. King; but they came to late, for the Hollanders hadd carried hym into their howse before they came. Soe the souldiers laid hand on Capt. Speck hym selfe and carid hym presoner to the _tonos_ howse, where he remeaned most parte of the day, till Richard King was sett free. But this matter was noe sowner overpast but our junck arived from 307 Syam, wherin Mr. Eaton came and advized me of their arivall on this coast, and to send them a boate or two to helpe to toe them in, which I did; and Ed. Sayer, Richard Kinge, and John Coaker went in them with our _jurebasso_. But, passing by the Hollandes shipps in this harbor, they bent a peece of ordinance against them, which took falce fire. Which they seeing, discharged 4 or 5 muskettes at them with langarell (or cheane) shott; but, by greate fortune, missed the Englishmen and kild a Japon. Which open injuries being offered against us in Japon (contrary to the preveleges geven us by the Emperour), yt was thought fitt (and agreed upon by a generall councell) that I should goe to the court of the Emperour of Japon, to make their doinges knowne unto his Matie. and to demand justice; which I did, with much labour and greate cost to your Wors. And order was geven by the Emperours comand and his previe councell to the _Tono_ or King of Firando to heare both parties and see justis performed. Yet, from that tyme till now, there is nothing donne, although I have divers tymes very instantly desired it of the kinge, whose best answer I eaver could gett was, that the Hollanders had kild no Englishman, but a Japonar, his owne vassale, which yf he were content to pardon, what hadd I to doe therwith? And that which is worse, we being makinge cables for our junck in the streetes of Firando, the servantes of a gentelman called Semi Dono picked a quarrell against Ed. Sayer as he, Wm. Eaton, and Jno. Osterwick were looking on the workmen; and, without any reazon came out against them with clubbs and staves, and knockt downe Ed. Sayer, wounding hym very sore; and the rest escaped not free, but were shrodly beaten, and, hadd they not by good fortune gotten into a howse, they hadd kild them all. For the which abuse I went first to Semi Dono to complaine, but he would not vouchsaffe to speake to 308 me. Soe I complained to the kinge, thinking to have hadd justice; but, to the contrary, he sent me word that by councell he hadd banished two men of Semi Donos out of his dominions, which were the authors thereof, as he did the like by Edmond Sayer, telling me that, yf I did not forthwith send hym to Nangasaque, he would geve orders to kill hym the first tyme he went out of the dores into the street. Unto which I made answer, it was against the preveleges geven us by the Emperour, desiring hym to lett me pleade for my selfe, to show my greefes, or else lett the matter be brought before the Emperour. But the kinge would not heare me speak any ferther in this matter, but badd me stand to the danger, yf I sent hym not away. Yet still I pleaded that the Hollanders hadd donne much more, even to the killinge of Japons, and yet were not banished nor any thing said to them for it, nether for any other abuses offered against us; and Ed. Sayer nor no other Englishman hadd nether wounded nor hurt any Japon for this matter he was banished for, yet he hym selfe being wounded almost to death. But all would not serve, soe that I was constrayned to send Ed. Sayer to Nangasaque, and soe from thence to goe for Bantam or any other place where the English fleete is, to geve the precedent and cheefe comanders to understand thereof, etc. For may it please your Wors. to understand that, having soe many Englishmen lying idly in the factory, with those which were heare before, and noe shipping to carry them away, as well to avoid charg of howse keepinge as also to geve your Wors. to understand how matters passe, it was ordayned per a general councell to buy a small _soma_ or vessell of som 50 tonns, to carry these men whose names follow (at their owne ernest request) to seek out the fleete in Java, Sumatra, or else wheare, to helpe to fight against the commune enemie, as they have procleamed them selves, I meane the Hollander, as also to 309 carry gunpowder, shott, beefe, pork, biskitt, tunnie fish, and other provition, soe much as conveniently the vessell can carry. The names of the Englishmen which goe are as followeth, viz:--Edmond Sayer, James Burges, Thomas Harod, Wm. Gorden, Robt. Hawley, Jno. Portes, Migell Payne, John Coaker, John Moore, John Joones, Ed. Curwine, Jno. Yonge, Hugh Williams, Peeter Griffine. Also there goe 9 Japon marrenars with them for their more strengthning, as also because their seals are of mattes, after the Japon fation, wherin they are more expert then our English men. And, for their better defence they carry 4 falcons, 2 of brasse and 2 of iron, with 2 long brasse bases, 2 fowlars or murtherers, 3 hargabush of crock, 5 English muskettes, and 8 Japon calivers, with good powder and shott suffitient, etc. The junck name is called the _Godspeed_, of the burthen of 50 tonns or upwardes, and cost us iiij C. xxx _tais_ first peny, being open behind as all _somas_ are, but we have made her now to steare shipp fation. God prosper her and send them a good voyage. * * * * * * Truly to my hartes greefe I am eavery day more then other out of hope of any good to be donne in Japon, except trade may be procured into China, which I am not yet out of hope of. Although Capt. Whaw of Nangasaque be dead, whoe was a cheefe dealer hearin, yet his brother, Capt. Andrea Dittis of Firando, tells me it is concluded upon, and that he expects a kinsman of his to com out of China with the Emperours passe, promesing to goe hym selfe with me in person, when we have any shipping com to goe in; for in Japon shipping we cannot goe for China. This Andrea Dittis is now chosen capten and cheefe comander of all the Chinas in Japon, both at Nangasaque, Firando, and else wheare, and I trust in God will prove the author in soe happie a matter as to gett trade into China. But of all the merchandiz we have this last yeare, before Christmas 310 came, from Syam, Cochinchina, and Tonkyn, as reed wood, lead, deare skins, and silke of severall prices, we cannot make sale of any thing; which maketh me to wonder, for the other yeare before was much greater quantety of all comodetis and yet sould dearer. * * * * * * Our lead, which never heretofore lesse then 6 _tais_, now worth 5 _tais_; but none dare buy it for feare of themperour. Soe I have set it at 5-1/2 _tais pico_. But themperours _bongew_ will not take it absolutely at that price, before he have made it knowne to themperours councell, he being now bond up to the court and called thither per themperour, as it is thought to put an other in his place, which God forbid; he being now ruch is better to be dealt withall, but, yf a new hongry fello com, he will gnawe to the very boanes, as others heretofore have fownd by experience, two or three haveing byn changed in my time. But that which cheefly spoileth the Japon trade is a company of ruch usurers whoe have gotten all the trade of Japon into their owne handes; soe that heretofore by theare meanes we lost our preveleges geven us per Ogosho Samma themperour, wherin he permitted us to trade into all partes of Japon not excepted, and now per this Emperour Shongo Samma we are pend up in Firando and Nangasaque only, all other places forbidden us. For they have soe charmed themperour and his councell, that it is in vayne to seeke for remedy. And these fellowes are nott content to have all at their owne disposing above, but they com downe to Firando and Nangasaque, where they joyne together in seting out of junckes for Syam, Cochinchina, Tonkin, Camboja, or any other place where they understand that good is to be donne, and soe furnish Japon with all sortes of comodeties which any other stranger can bring, and then stand upon their puntos, offering others what they list them selves, knowing no man will buy it but 311 them selves or such as they please to joyne in company with them, nether that any stranger can be suffered to transport it into any other parte of Japon. Which maketh me alltogether aweary of Japon. * * * * * * And for our English broad cloth, I canot find that any greate quantety will be vented in Japon. For they use it not in garmentes, except som fewe in an outward cloak or garment now of late. But the greatest use they put it to is for cases or coveringes for armours, pikes, _langenattes_, _cattans_, or sables, with muskettes or guns. And the best cullars are stametes or blackes, with reddes, for venting any quantetie. And the best tyme is against warrs, for then every noble man will have his armours and munition sett out in gallant sort. But clothes of above xxli. str. a whole clo. are too deare for Japon, for they doe not respect soe much the fynenesse of the cloth as they do the quantetie of the measure. And the cullers which are best after black and redd are sadd blewes, culler du roy, or mingled cullers neare unto that of culler due roy. * * * * * * So that, to conclude this tediouse and unprofitable discourse, I esteem our Japon trade alltogether unprofetable, yf wee procure not trade into China. But, yf it please God that your Wors. lay hould or determen to sett foote in the Molucas, then Japon must be your store howse, as it is the Hollanders. For from hence they make their provition in aboundance, viz. great ordinance both of brasse and iron, with powder and shott good cheape; beefe and pork, in greate quantetie; meale and bisquite, as much as they will; garvances, or small peaze or beanes, in abondance; and dried fish lyke a breame, called heare _tay_, in aboundance; tunnie fish salted, in greate quantetie; rack or aquavite, of any sort, in aboundance; rice, in what quantetie they will; with other sortes of Japon wine made of rise, 312 what they will; and pilchardes, in greate quantetie, either pickled or otherwais. And for provition of shiping, either tymber or plankes, with mastes, yardes, or what else to make a shipp, with good carpenters to work it, as also rozen or pitch enough, but no tarr. Also ther is hempe indifferent to make cables, and them which can resonably well work it. And for iron work, neales, and such lyke, there is noe want, and smiths that can make ancors of hamer work of 20 or 30 C. wight, yf need be; for such have byn made for carickes which came from Amacon to Nangasaque, etc. * * * * * * Also heretofore at severall tymes I have sent my acco. to Bantam, according to your Wor. order, with coppies thereof, to the precedent or cheefe in that place, the other to be sent for England. Yet, as I understand, they have detayned all at Bantam and sent non for England; and Mr. Balle per name hath wrott to some Englishmen in this place, whoe loved me not soe littell but they shewed me his letters, wherin he taxed my acco. to be erronios and alltogether falce and fetched about with a trick beyond rule, soe that he wondered they should jumpe soe neare in ballance, being soe notably falce. But yf Mr. Balle hadd byn soe good a frend unto me as he would make me to beleeve in som lynes of his letters (yet he never gave me roast meate but he did beate me with the spitt)--I beeseeke your Wors. to pardon me yf I be too forward of tonge herein--I say, yf Mr. Balle had ought me soe much good will, yt hadd byn a frendly parte to have amended that which hadd byn amiss, yf such were to be donne, and then to have sent the acco. forward, and not to keepe all back, saying it was falce or erronios.... My greefe is, I lie in a place of much losse and expence to your Wors. and no benefitt to my selfe, but losse of tyme in my ould adge, allthough God knoweth my care and paines is as much as yf 313 benefite did come thereby. Yet truly, yf the tyme or place, or other occation amend it not, I shall, as I came a pore man out of England, retorne a beggar home, yf your Wor. have noe consideration thereof, although your Wor. shall never find that I have byn a gamstar or riatouse person which have spent eather your Wor. or my owne goodes riatosly or out of order. I beseek your Wors. to pardon my overbould speeches hearin. But, yf it hadd pleased God that Generall Keeling or any other your Wors. apointed hadd com to Japon to have overseene the affares in this factory, it would have byn a greate comfort unto me and ridd me of a greate deale of care; for most an end for the space of two yeares Mr. Nealson hath byn very sick, and Mr. Jno. Osterwick littell lesse, and both of them at this instant soe extreame sick that I dowbt much of their recovery, which hath [byn] and is a hinderance to me in the proceadinges of acco. and writing out of coppies, they two being all the helpe I have hadd, others going abroad on voyages for your Wor. affares. God of his mercy send them their healthes, for they are soe weake that I esteeme they cannot write by this conveance nether to your Wors. nor noe other frendes. And, whereas heretofore I wrott your Wors. that Shongo Samma, the Emperour that now is, had shortned our preveleges, that we should trade into noe other partes of Japon but only Nangasaque and Firando, and our shipping to goe only to Firando, now he hath permitted us to goe with our shipps for Nangasaque as well as Firando at our chose. And the harbor at Nangasaque is the best in all Japon, wheare there may 1,000 seale of shipps ride land lockt, and the greatest shipps or carickes in the world may goe in and out at pleasure and ride before the towne within a cables length of the shore in 7 or 8 fathom water at least, yt being a greate cittie and many ruch marchantes dwelling 314 in it, where, to the contrary, Firando is a fisher towne and a very small and badd harbor, wherin not above 8 or 10 shipps can ride at a tyme without greate danger to spoile one other in stormy weather; and that which is worst, noe shipping can enter in or out of that harbour, but they must have both tide and winde as also 8 or 10 penisses or barkes to toe them in and out, the currant runeth soe swift that otherwaies they canot escape runing ashore; where, to the contrary, there is no such mattar at Nangasaque, yt being one of the fairest and lardgest harbours that eaver I saw, wherinto a man may enter in and goe out with shiping at all tymes, the wind serving, without helpe of boate or penisse. And in Nangasaque there is noe king nor noble man, but only the Emperours _bongew_ (or governar) of the place; soe that we need not to geve presentes to more then one at any shipps entring. But at Firando there is the king hym selfe, with two of his brothers, and 3 or 4 of his uncles, besides many other noble men of his kindred; all which look for presentes, or else it is no living amongst them; and that which is more, they are allwaies borowing and buying, but sildom or neaver make payment, except it be the king hym selfe. So that it maketh me altogether aweary to live amongst them, we not being abell to geve and lend them as the Hollanders doe, whoe geve them other mens goods which they neaver paid for. Soe that they are accompted better then true men and better used then we, as apeareth by banishing Ed. Sayer without any occation, which it may be the _Tono_ of Firando may repent before it be long, and, as som say, wisheth allready it were undon; for I have written to Syam, Pattania, and Bantam, that yf they send any shipping for Japon hearafter, that my opinion is, and the rest of the Englishmen heare are the lyke, to send them for Nangasaque, where the governor offereth to lett us have a plott of ground or to take a house in any place of the cittie where we lyke best. So that now many tyme and often we have wished that your 315 Wor. howsing att Firando stood at Nangasaque, which heretofore was not thought fitt, because then a papist Portingale bushopp lived in the towne and ther was 10 or 12 parish churches, besids monestaries, all which are now pulld downe to the grownd this yeare, an end being made thereof; and the places where all such churches and monestaries weare, with the churchyords, are all turned into streetes, and all the dead mens boanes taken out of the grownd and cast forth for their frendes and parentes to bury them where they please. I doe not rejoyce herin, but wish all Japon were Christians; yet in the tyme of that bushopp heare were soe many prists and Jesuists with their partakers, that one could not passe the streetes without being by them called Lutranos and herejos, which now we are very quiet and non of them dare open his mouth to speake such a word. And soe, beseeching the God of heaven to blesse and prosper your Wors. in all your proceadinges, I humbly take my leave, restinge Your Wors. most humble servant at command, RIC. COCKS. To the Right Wor. the Governor, Depute Committis, and Generalletie of the East India Company of England deliver in London. Per the way of Bantam in the juncke _Godspeed_, whom God preserve. [171] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. vii, no. 841. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE CLOTHWORKERS' COMPANY.[172] Nangasaque in Japon, the 10th of Marche, 1619[20]. Right worll. Ser and Serrs,-- May it please yow to understand that, since my arivall in Japon in these eastarne partes of the world, I wrot yow an other letter by a Dutch chirurgion, called Mr. Abraham Blancard, advising your Wors. 316 of my long voyadge into these partes, passing by Cape Bona Speranza, the Redd Sea, Bantam in Java major, the Molucas, and soe to the eastwardes of the Phillipinas into these kingdoms of Japon, wheare now I have remeaned allmost the space of vij yeares. Of the which I thought good to adviz your Wors. of the just occation of my abcense, to the entent I fall into noe broake for the neclecting thereof, as I know others have donne. I also wrot your Wors. from Bayon in France to same effect, many yeares past, by a Duchman of Middebrogh, called James Vrolick. Which former letters I make no dowbt came unto your Wors. handes, etc. Allso, may it please yow to understand that we are much molested in these partes of the world with the unruly Hollanders, whoe have procleamed open warrs against our English nation both by sea and land, and to take our shipps and goods and kill our persons as their mortall enemies, wheresoever they find us. And, for better proof thereof, they broght two English shipps this yeare into Japon, out of which 3 Englishmen escaped and came to our English howse for releefe. The shipps names taken weare, viz. the _Swan_ and the _Attendance_. They took also two other English shipps this yeare, riding at an ancor in the roade of Pattania, not dowbting any such matter, three Hollandes shipps coming upon them on the sudden. In which hurly burly Capt. John Jourden, our precedent of the Indies, lost his life, with many others. One of which 3 shipps (which took them) came this yeare to Firando in Japon, out of whome escaped other 3 Englishmen and came to the English howse for releefe, as the former did; by whome we understood the shipps taken weare the _Samson_ and the _Hownde_; the Hollanders at Firando takeing their escape in such dudgin that they demanded their captives (as it pleased them to call them) to be deliverd back againe unto them. Unto whome I answered that I would first see their comition, how they durst presume to take our shipping, 317 goods, and persons, as they did. Unto which they replied nothing, but went to the _Tono_ (or King) of Firando, demanding of hym that their English slaves (as they termed them) might be retorned back unto them. Unto whome he answerd he took not Englishmen to be slaves to them, but, yf they pretended any such matter, they might goe to the Emperour, and what he ordayned should be performed. Soe they, seeing their expectations frustrated, ment to have entred our English howse and cut all our throates; which they wanted but littell to have effected, geving 3 assalts against us in one day, they being 100 of them to 1 Englishman; yet God preserved us from them, the Japoneses, our neighbours, taking our partes. Soe that then their generall or cheefe comander, called Adam Westarwood, sett my life at sale, promesing 50 rialles of 8 to any one would kill me, and 30 of the like for the life of each other English merchant, with many other stratagems they used against us too long to be repeated. Yet God hitherto hath defended us from them all. Of the which I thought good to advertis your Wors., knowing well that many of yow are of this Right Honble. and Right Worll. Sosietie or Companie which trade into the East Indies, of which I my selfe am a pore and unworthie member, as I am the like of the Merchantes Adventurars and made free of the ould Hance. And soe, with my humble dutie remembred, with desire and my prayer unto Allmightie God to blesse and prosper your Wors. in all your proceadinges, I leave yow to the holy tuition of thallmightie. By an unworthie membar of your Right. Worll. Sosietie, RIC. COCKS, Clothworker. [172] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. vii, no. 839. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[173] 318 Firando in Japon, the 13th of December, 1620. Right Worll. Ser and Sers,-- After my humble dutie remembred. May it please yow to understand that my last letter was dated in Nangasaque the 10th of Marche, 1619, sent per a small junck or vessell called the _Godspeed_ to seek out our English fleete at Bantam or else wheare; but, meeting with stormy wether and contrary windes at sea, lost their voyadge, having their seales blowen from the yardes, and lost all their cables and ancors but one, and with much ado in the end retorned to this port of Firando. The said letters I send againe by this conveance; unto the which I refer me. Also may it please your Wor. to understand that this yeare are arived in Japon these shipps following, viz.:-- The _James Royall_ came the first, and brought news of the peace made betwixt the two Companies. God be praised for it; and God grant the Duch may as fermly follow the orders prescribed as I make no dowbt the English will doe, and then their will noe occation of discontent be offered hereafter. The cheefe comander in the _James_ is Capt. Martyn Pring. The _Moone_ came next; Capt. Robt. Addames, comander and admerall. The _Palsgreve_; Charles Clevenger, capt. The _Elizabeth_; Edmond Lennis, capt. The _Bull_; Mr. John Munden, master or capt. The _Unicorne_ and English _Hope_ have lost their monson, soe we know not what is becom of them, except they retorned back to Pattania or Jaccatra; which God grant. And there are arived heare for the Hollanders this yeare:-- all Holland shipps. 319 The _New Bantam_; Jno. Johnson, comander, and vizadmerall to Capt. Adams. The _Trowe_; Capt. Lefevre, comander. The _Harlam_; Wm. Jonson, master. The Duch _Hope_; Henrock Valche, capt. The _Indraught_, a merchant shipp. both English shipps. The _Swan_; Mr. Howdane, comander The _Expedition_, cast away in Firando. And the Hollanders want a shipp called the _St. Michell_, a French shipp, which should have come hether this yeare but hath lost her monson. The _James Royall_ and the _Moone_ weare both sheathed heare this yeare, and the _Bull_ all masted, and the rest repared to content; and all the shiping disposed of as followeth, viz.:-- The _James Royall_ fall laden with provition for us and Duch for Jaccatra, and soe from thence pretended to goe for England. The _Indraught_ for the Molucos, laden with provition for the Hollanders. The _Swan_, said to doe the like for Jaccatra or Bantam. The _Expedition_, cast away in this port at an ancor in a greate storme and not to be recovered. All bound for the Manillas. English shipps. The _Moone_ The _Palsgreve_ The _Elizabeth_ The _Bull_ Holland shipps. The _New Bantam_ The _Trowe_ The _Harlam_ The Duch _Hope_ * * * * * * I doe verely think the furnishing and setting out these 5 shipps afore named will stand your Wors. in above ten thousand poundes starling; but I canot justly tell it. Nether dare any man buy the lead but 320 themperour only; and his councell sett the price from tyme to tyme as they please. Soe this yeare, per generall consent, there weare 4 men sent up to themperours cort with presentes. They departed from hence the last of August, and as yet are not retorned: for thenglish, Capt. Charles Cleavenger Mr. Joseph Cockram for the Hollanders, Capt. Lafebre Matias van der Brook whome, as we understand per their letters, are frendly entertayned both of themperour and his councell, but stay longer for a dispach then they thought of, by reason of the taking of a friggat which came from Manillias, wherin weare both Portingals, Spaniardes, and Japons, and amongst the rest ij semenary pristes (or Jesuists), people defended not to com into Japon, which maketh the better for us. Yet we know not whether themperour will let us have it for good prize or noe, till our men retorne from Edo, of the which I will certefie your Wor. per my next. I did make full accompt to have retorned for England this yeare, but that Mr. Thomas Brockedon and Mr. Augusten Spalding, presedentes at Bantam, wrot me the want of merchantes in the factory as also to send along in these shipps, willing me to furnish their want out of this factory, which, God willing, I will, and wish I might have byn one of them my selfe. But I hope the next yeare som new supplies may be sent for this factory, to thentent I may now retorne for my cuntrey, I having now served your Wors. a prentishipp of ten yeares since I departed out of England; and I know there hath not wanted som to geve bad reportes of me to your Wors., but I hope to cleare my selfe before your Wors., yf God spare my life. * * * * * * Also may it please your Wors. to understand that Mr. Wm. Nealson 321 departed out of this life in Marche last, being wasted away with a consumption, and before divers witnesses gave me all he had both in these partes and else wheare, as I have it under their handes to shew; and yf God had called me to His mercy before Mr. Nealson, then had he had as much of myne. And our good frend Capt. Wm. Adames, whoe was soe longe before us in Japon, departed out of this world the xvjth of May last, and made Mr. Wm. Eaton and my selfe his overseers, geveing the one halfe of his estate to his wife and childe in England and the other halfe to a sonne and a doughter he hath in Japon. The coppie of his will with an other of his inventory (or acco. of his estate) I send to his wife and doughter per Capt. Marten Pring, their good frend well knowne to them long tyme past. And I have delivered one hundred poundes starling to divers of the _James Royalls_ company, enterd into the purcers book, to pay two for one in England, is two hundred poundes strling, to Mrs. Adames and her doughter. For yt was not his mind his wife should have all, in regard she might marry an other husband and carry all from his childe, but rather that it should be equally parted betwixt them. Of the which I thought good to adviz your Wors. And the rest of his debtes and estate being gotten in, I will ether bring or send it per first occation offerd and that may be most for their profett, according as the deceased put his trust in me and his other frend, Mr. Eaton. I know not what else to write your Wors., only, as yet, there is noe order com out of China to let us have trade, for that the Hollanders men of warr have shut up their trade that few dare look out. And, besids, the Cheenas them selves robb on an other at sea, thinking to lay all the falt on the Dutch and English; but som have byn intersepted in som provinces of Japon and paid dearly for it. And other China shipping, being sett out of Nangasaque by their owne 322 cuntremen to goe for Isla Formosa (called by them Tacca Sanga) to trade for silke, are run away for China with all the money and left their cuntremen in Japon in the lurch. And for all other matters I refer my selfe to the relation of my worll. frend Capt. Martine Pring, the bringer hereof; and soe leave your Wors. with your affares to the holy protection of thallmightie, resting allwais Your Wors. most humble servant at command, RIC. COCKS. [173] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. vii, no. 911. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[174] Firando in Japon, the 14th of December, 1620. Right worll. Ser and Serrs,-- * * * * * * I canot but be sorofull for the losse of such a man as Capt. Wm. Adames was, he having byn in such favour with two Emperours of Japon as never was any Christian in these partes of the worlde, and might freely have entred and had speech with themperours, when many Japon kinges stood without and could not be permitted. And this Emperour hath conformed the lordshipp to his sonne which thother Emperour gave to the father. * * * * * * Yt is strang to see the changes of merchandizing soe altered since our first arivall in Japon; for heretofore yearly white raw silk was sould at 500, 400, and 300 _taies_ the _pico._ at least, and now it is fallne to 130, yea som have sould for 105 _taies_ the _pico._ this yeare, which 3 yeares past was worth 300 _tais pico._ The reason is, a company of ruch men have got all the trade of Japon into their handes. Soe they agree all together and will not buy but at what price they 323 think good them selves; and is not to be remedied. And it is geven out that themperour will defend that noe more lead shall com into Japon till this greate quantety brought by us and the Hollanders be spent. For the Hollanders brought in their shipping this yeare 4000 _pico_. Eng. lead and 1000 _pico_. from Syam in their junck. Soe that the Hollanders have 5000 _pico_. lead com this yeare; but a great part of it is small barrs, such as is com in our shiping this yeare, and I think taken out of our English shipping which they took heretofore. Broad cloth, kersies, and perpetuanos I think will prove the best comodetie for Japon, and redds and stamettes and blacks best cullers, and, yf they sell not at an instant, yet tyme will vent all. Som other mingled cullers, as cullor du roy or such lyke, will not doe amis; but noe more yello nor straw culler, for that proveth the worst culler of all. * * * * * * And tuching that which I wrot your Wors. in my last letters sent from Nangasaque in the junck _Godspeed_, how that a nobellmans men of this place (called Semi Dono) fell a quarreling with Mr. Edmond Sayer and others, whereupon the King of Firando banished both them and Mr. Sayer, yet now all is revoked per the kinges order and Mr. Sayer cleared and the others recalled. And soe I leave your Wors. with your affares to the holy protection of thallmightie, resting alwais Your Wors. most humble servant at comande, RIC. COCKS. To the Right Worll. the Governour, Deputie Comitties, and generallty of the East India Company deliver in London. By Capt. Martyn Pring in the _Royall James_, whome God preserve. [174] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. vii, no. 911. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[175] 324 Firando in Japon, the 20th of January, 1620[1]. Right worll. Ser and Serrs,-- * * * * * * I am now enformed by a messenger we sent into China that the ould Emperour hath resigned the government unto one of his sonns; and that the new Emperour hath granted our nation trade into China for two shipps a yeare, and the place apointed near to Fuckchew, and that ther wanted but the fermes of ij vizroys of ij provinces to conferme it; and that the _goshon_ or passport will be sent us the next moonson, and had byn heare before now, had it not byn letted per the wars of Tartaria. Thus much our China frendes tell me, and I hope it will prove true. * * * * * * Your Wors. humble servant at command, RIC. COCKS. [175] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. vii, no. 924. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[176] Firando in Japon, the 30th of September, 1621. Right worll. Ser and Sers,-- * * * * * * The 29th of June last our whole fleete of 9 shipps, English and Duch, arived in saffetie from the Manillias, very few of the men being dead, and have taken and pillaged 5 junckes, the Duch using much crueltie in killing many Chinas after they hadd rendered them selves, and many more had [byn] kild yf the English had not prevented them. * * * * * * The Duch did abuse our men in the Manillias, and, had it not byn prevented by som, they had gon together by the eares, to the 325 endangering or losse of the whole fleete, as I make acco. others will write at lardg to your Wors. therof. And now this yeare, per order of the Councell of Defence from Jaccatra, the same fleet proceadeth againe on the like voyage, the Hollanders being admerall this yeare, as the English were the last; only the Hollanders send away the shipp _Swan_ and put an other shipp called the _Muyon_ in her place, and the English joyne the shipp _Pepercorne_ to the fleet, to make them up x seale in all, and have determened that within these xv daies the _Pepercorne_ and _Muyon_ shall departe from hence, to lie upon the coast of China in a certen hight, to keepe back the China junckes which we are enformed will departe for the Manillias with the first of the monson, which yf they doe, of necessitie our 2 shipps will meete with them. And the rest of the fleete, being 8 seale, will follow after, and are to departe from hence the 1th of December, new stile. * * * * * * Also may it please your Wors. to understand that, by meanes of the governor of Nangasaque, Gonrok Dono, whoe taketh the Spaniardes and Portingals partes against us, with all the merchantes of that place, Miaco, and Edo, geving the Emperour to understand that both we and the Hollanders are pirates and theevs and live upon nothing but the spoile of the Chinas and others, which is the utter overthrow of the trade in Japon, noe one daring to com hither for feare of us. By which reportes themperour and his councell are much moved against us, as the King of Firando doth tell us, whoe is newly retorned from the Emperours court, where he hath married the Emperours kinswoaman, which hath brought hym into greate creddit, and he is the only stay now which we have in Japon. And by his order the Hollandes capt., Leonard Camps, and my selfe are apointed to goe to Edo with the presentes to themperour and his councell, to procure redresse, yf we may, and prevent our enemies 326 proceadinges. For the Emperour hath sent downe order that we shall carry out noe Japons to man our shiping, nether make nor carry out any ordinance, gunpowder, shott, guns, pikes, _langanattes_, _cattans_, nor any other warlike munition. And it was reported we should carry out nether rise, bred, nor wine, nor flesh; but that is not yet donne. But the other is procleamed, and waiters apointed to look out night and day that noe forbidden matters be convaid abord our shipps. Soe that, yf we get noe redresse for these matters, it is noe abiding for us in Japon, and better to know it at first then last what we may trust unto. * * * * * * And, as I understand by Capt. Robt. Adames, admerall the last yeare of the fleete of defence, that in the last voyage the yeare past to the Manillas the Hollanders did much abuse our English men, and Wm. Johnson vizadmerall was cheefe occation therof. Soe that they had like to have gon together by the eares in the Manillias, to the totall distraction of both fleetes, the enemie being so neare, yet by the discretion of som it was pacefied; as I make acco. Capt. Adames hath advized your Wors. at large, he being now apointed vizadmerall, much against his will, by the Councell of Defence at Jaccatra, he dowbting that yf the last yeare, when he was admerall, they feared not to doe soe, that, now themselves are admerall, they will doe worse. And herinclozed I send your Wors. a copie of a letter which I receved from Molucas in a shipp of the Hollanders, sent from Mr. Wm. Nicolles, agent, wherin your Wors. may see the proceadinges of the Hollanders in those partes, as I make acco. he hath advized therof hym selfe. Truly their proceadinges every wheare are allmost intolerable, and they are generally hated thorowout all the Indies, and we much the worse thought of now we are joyned with them. Yt is very certen that with little danger our fleet of defence may 327 take and sack Amacon in China, which is inhabeted by Portingales. For the towne is not fortefied with walls; nether will the King of China suffer them to doe it, nor to make any fortifecations, nor mount noe ordinance upon any plotforme; and 3/4 partes of the inhabetantes are Chinas. And we are credably enformed that, these 2 last yeares, when they did see but 2 or 3 of our shipp within sight of the place, they weare all ready to run out of the towne, as I have advized the Precedent and Councell of Defence at Jaccatra; and, had but 2 small shipps, as the _Bull_ and _Pepercorne_, entred this yeare, they might easely have burnt and taken 17 seale of galliotas which weare at an ancor, amongst which weare the 6 galliotas which came into Japon, being then full laden; and, had they taken this fleet, the Portingales hadd byn utterly undon, as they them selves confesse, and, that towne being taken, all the Portingalles trade in these partes of the world is quite spoiled, both for Manillias, Malacca, Goa, and else wheare. And the King of China would gladly be ridd of their neighbourhood, as our frendes which procure our entry for trade into China tell me, and doe say that he wished that we could drive them from thence. But this yeare there is 3 kings of China dead, the father and his two sonns, the wives of the two bretheren procuring the poisoning of them both. Soe that now a yong man of 14 or 15 yeares ould is com to be king, being the sonne of one of the deceased brothers; which is a stay unto our proceadinges to get trade into China, for that new petision must be made, and our joyning with the Hollanders to take China juncks is ill thought of. But the barbarousnesse of the Hollanders at Manillias the last yeare is much; for, after they had taken the China junkes and that the pore men had rendred them selves, the Hollandars did cut many of them in peeces and cast many others into the sea; wherof our men saved and took many of them up into our shipps; and much more 328 distrucktion had byn made of them, had not Capt. Adames, the admerall, prevented it. * * * * * * Notwithstanding the previleges which we and the Hollanders have from themperours of Japon, that the Japons shall not execute any justice upon our people, yet this yeare the justis of this place (but it was in the abcense of the king) did cut offe the heades of ij Hollanders which, being drunke, did brable with the Japons and drue out their knives, as their custam is, and gave a skram or 2 to som Japons, one being a souldier, yet kild noe man; and yet the Hollanders were haled out into the filds and their heads cut offe and sent home to the Hollands howse, which they refuced to receve, desiring them to leave them with the bodies, which they did, and soe left them in the filds to be eaten by crowes and dogges; which they had byn, had not som Englishmen buried them. And as som of our men goe along the streetes, the Japons kindly call them in and geve them wine and whores till they be drunk, and then stripp them of all they have (som of them stark naked) and soe turne them out of dores. And som they keepe presoners, forging debtes upon them, which som of our men sweare they owe not; yet it is noe beleeving of all, for som of our men are bad enough; yet out of dowbt the abuse is greate and never seene till the last yeare and this. For the king hath (by our procurement) from the first made an edect that the Japons should not trust our men without paying money for what they tooke; for it is an ordenary course for som of our men to leave the shipps and lie ashore in secret a wick, a fortnight, yea a month som of them, and in the end cause their hostes to keepe them presoners, telling us it is by force, yet confesse the debt som of 5, others of 10, 20, and 30 _taies_ per man which they owe, desiring it may be paid and put upon their wages. Which course of theirs I withstand in all I may, and make many set free without payment, which they murmur at as a 329 disgrance and discredett to them, swearing, woundes and blood, your Wors. are indebted to them in farr greater somms and yet they cannot be masters of their owne; soe that the trowble I have with them heare is much. Nether can ther comanders curb them, they rise in such greate multetudes, as for example I advised your Wors. the last yeare, and laid violent handes on the admerall, Capt. Adames; and this yeare the _Bulls_ company and most parte of the _Moones_ mutened, and all the rest promised them to doe the like, but were prevented, for that som of these weare taken and punished, which caused the others to feare. * * * * * * And for the shipp called the English _Hope_ (for the Hollanders have one of the same name) is ether cast away or else the company have revolted and run away with the shipp and kild the master or else carid hym away with them perforce, for every on thinketh that the master, Mr. Carnaby, would never consent thereunto; but they suspect one Thorneton and the chirurgion, with other mutenose persons in her, for that this Thornton hath a brother which they say is a piratt and entertayned per the Duke of Florence. Soe they imagin, after they have made what purchase they may, that they will direct their course thither with the shipp. This is the opinion of the cheefe in our fleete. * * * * * * Your Wors. most humble servant at comand, RIC. COCKS. To the Honorble. Sr. Thomas Smith, Knight, Governor of the East India Company, and to the Right Worll. the Comittys deliver in London. Per way of Jaccatra, in shipp _Swan_. [176] _Ibid._, vol. viii, no. 995. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[177] 330 Firando in Japon, the 4th of October, 1621. Right worll. Ser and Sers,-- * * * * * * As yet Gonrok Dono is not come to Firando, and God knoweth when he will; for, as it is said, he stayeth at Nangasaque to put to death many Japon Christians for haboring of papist pristes secretly, and till he com the King of this place will not suffer us to goe to the Emperour with our presentes, which maketh us stand in dowbt whether he secretly take part with Gonrok Dono and the papistes our enemies against us and stayeth us of purpose till the Spaniardes and Portingales have preveled against us at Emperours court. For the kinges mother is a papist Christian, and the king hym selfe and all his bretheren are christened. This maketh us to stand in dowbt of the worst. Yet, yf it be trew, we canot remedy it; for we canot departe from hence without the kinges leave and one of his men to goe with us, nether dare any bark carry us away without his comition. Soe that God He knoweth what our affares in these partes will com to in the end. And that which maketh me more afeard then all the rest is the unreasonablenesse and unrulynesse of our owne people, which I know not how it will be amended, as I have spoaken more at lardge in my other letter, and yet it is every day lyke to be worse then other for ought I can see. God of His goodnesse send me into a place where I may have to doe in merchantes affares and not to meddell with men of warr, yf all be as unruly as these are. And soe, ceasing from trowbling 331 your Wors. any ferther, I rest, as allwaies, Your Wors. most humble servant at comand, RIC. COCKS. To the Right Honored Knight, Sr. Thomas Smith, Governor of the East India Company, and to the Right Worll. the Comittis deliver in London. Per the shipp _Swan_, per way of Jaccatra. [177] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. viii, no. 997. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[178] Firando in Japon, the 7th of September, 1622. Right worll. Ser and Sers,-- * * * * * * Our whole Manillia fleete of x seale, viz. 5 English and 5 Duch, are saffely retorned to this port of Firando, having made a farr rucher voyage this yeare then they did the last, as apereth per the coppie of the cargezon sent hereinclozed, the like being sent to Jaccatra to the precedent. Since which tyme I have receved 2 letters from Mr. Fursland, the precedent, dated in Jaccatra the 26th of March and 25th of August last past, wherein he and his councell advized me and the rest of the merchantes in the factory to leave affe our consortshipp of the fleet of defence with the Hollanders, and to send our 5 shipps for Jaccatra with as much speed as conveniently we could; and that the _Palsgrove_ and _Moone_ should tuch at Jamby to take in their lading of peper; the _Pepercorne_ to stay upon the coast of China som tyme to look out according to their former comition geven; and the _Elizabeth_ and _Bull_ to com directly from hence for Jaccatra and bring away all the remeander left in Japon in money or merchandiz, except a cargezon of five thousand _taies_ to be left in the handes of Mr. Jno. Osterwick, 332 with one man for a second, and a therd for an assistant, as should be thought fitting; and that my selfe, Mr. Wm. Eaton, and Edmond Sayer should com alonge in the said shipps for Jaccatra, for lessenyng charges in the factory. Which directions, God willing, shall be followed soe neare as we can. The Hollanders this yeare sent a new fleet of shipps of 14 or 15 seale, greate and small, to have taken Amacan; but they had the repulse with the losse, as som say, of 300, and others say 500 men, and 4 of their shipps burned; the king of China now permitting the Portingales to fortefie Amacon, which he would never condecend unto till now, and hath geven order to the vizroy of Canton to assist them with 100,000 men against the Hollanders, yf need require. There was 4 of our 10 shipps of the fleete of defence, 2 English and 2 Hollanders, plying up and downe before Amacon before the Hollandes fleete of 15 seale arived there. The English shipps were the _Palsgrove_ and the _Bull_, whoe, in passing by, hailed them with a noes of trumpetes, but the Dutch made them noe answer nether by word of mouth nor otherwaies, but passed in by them with silence; which at first made them stand in dowbt whether they were frendes or noe. But the Hollanders made accompt to have taken the towne at first onset without the helpe of our shiping or men, and therefore vouchsafed not to speake to them; yet fayled of their purpose, but since have fortefied them selves in an iland neare to Isla Fermosa called Isla de Piscadores, where they report is a very good harbour and water enough for the greatest shipps in the worlde. The Hollanders have geven it out to the Chinas that they are Englishmen, only to bring our nation in disgrace; of the which our China frendes in Japon have adviz and have retorned answer per 2 or 3 severall conveances to the contrary, and that we had two English shipps before Amacon, when the Hollanders gave the attempt against the place, but went for Japon without assisting them at all. And the 333 Hollanders in Japon doe geve it out heare that we are halves with them in the new fortification of Piscadores, of the which our precedent writeth me to the contrary. I am afeard that their attempt against Amacon will cause both them and us to be driven out of Japon, for it hath overthrowne the China trade in these partes. Yet our China frendes still tell us we may have trade into China, yf we will, it being granted allready; but by meanes of the warrs of the Tartar against them and the death of 3 kinges of China in one or 2 yeares is the cause we have not entred before now; but, for the Hollanders, he will never suffer them to enter upon any conditions whatsoever. Mr. Osterwick and my selfe, with 2 of the cheefe of the Hollandes factory, were at Edo after the departure of our shipps the last yeare, with presentes for themperour and his councell, hoping to have gott lycense to have carid out men and munition as in tyme past, but could get nothing but feare wordes for the space of 3 months we were forced to stay at Edo before we could gett our dispach, they telling us in the end they could conclude nothing untill the arivall of the King of Firando, whome they had sent for, but at his coming they would take such order about that which we demanded, as also about the delivering the friggates goods, as should be to both our contentes. And, as we retorned, we mett the King of Firando in the way, whoe made us many faire promisses. Yet now order is com from Edo that themperour will have all the priz goodes of the friggat for hym selfe, leving the rotten hull for us and the Hollanders, and, although we have made what resistance we could, yet are we constrayned to deliver it to them, will we or nill we; and, that which is more, they constrayne us to way over all the goodes to them, we being enformed they will make plito against us for much more matters then ever we receved and beleeve the lying reportes of our enemies whoe duble all. And for carying out 334 men and munition as in tyme past, that such a mighty prince as themperour of Japon is, having once passed his word to the contrary, would not alter it now at the demand of such people as we are. And this is the best we can find now in Japon, and I dowbt wilbe every day worse then other. The 2 fryres or semenary pristes which came in the friggat from Manillia are both rosted to death at Nangasaque, with Yoshen Dies, capt. of the friggat, whoe was a Japon, put to death with the frires Spaniardes; and 12 other Japons which were marrenars in the friggat were beheaded in their sight, before the other 3 were executed. As alsoe, since that tyme, above xij other Spanish and Portingall fryres and Jesuistes have byn rosted to death at Nangasaque, and above a hundred Japons put to death by fire and sword, both men, woamen, and children, for entertayning and harboring of them. Also, now of late, a China junck arived at Shaxma in Japon, which came from Caggalion, in the Manillias, and brought 4 Spaniardes or Portingales in her for passingers, they telling the Chinas they were merchantes, but are fownd to be pristes and sent presoners to Nangasaque, where it is thought they shalbe rosted to death as the former have byn, and the China marenars in danger all to lose their lives, and the goodes seazed upon, which did all belong to Andrea Dittis, the China Capt. (our frend), whoe is forced to send his sonne to the court with great presentes to save his goodes, yf it be possible. The capt. more or major of the Portingall gallion or adventures which com from Amacon to Nangasaque, called Jeronimo de Figeredo Caravallo, with Lues Martin, Jorge Bastian, and Jarvasias Garçis, Portugezes, and Harnando Ximenes, a Spaniard, whoe was _jurebasso_ in tyms past at Bantam, are brought in question for going about to steale a fryer or padre from the Hollands howse the last yeare, and, allthough the padre 335 was brought back (which was one of them which was rosted), yet are they all empresoned and condemned and all their goodes confiscat, and looke howrly when they shall be executed. And one of the Hollandes _jurebassos_ and a scrivano, being Japons, with the master of the bark which carid hym away, his wife and children, all executed; this Emperour, Shongo Samma, being such a mortall enemie to the name of a Christian, espetially of papisticall Christians. And heretofore, when I was at the court at Edo, the Emperours councell did aske me severall tymes whether I were a Christian or our English nation soe; which I tould hym yea; and, in the end, askinge me soe often, I tould them they might perceve per the letters the Kinges Matie. of England sent to themperour of Japon whether we were Christians or noe, the Kinges Matie. writing hymselfe defender of the Christian faith. And then they asked me whether there were any difference betwixt our religion and the Spanish; unto which I answered yea, for that we held nothing of the pope of Roome, but next and emediately under God from our kinge: which it seemed in some sort to geve them content. We and the Hollanders have had much a doe in standing out for not delivring the priz goodes of the friggat, it belonging to our prince and cuntrey, as taken from their enemies. But that would not serve, the _tono_ or cheefe justis of Firando telling us that, yf we would not leave it by feare meanes, they would take it whether we would or noe, and that yf we had not absolutely proved the Portingalls to be padres, that themperour ment to have put Capt. Leonard Camps and me to death and to have sezed on all we had in the cuntrey, and, yf any resistance had byn made, to have burned all our shiping and put us all to the sword. God send us well out of Japon, for I dowbt it wilbe every day worse then other. Yt is also said the Emperour will banish all Spaniardes and Portingall 336 howseholders out of Japon, and suffer non to stay but such as com and goe in their shiping, to prevent entertayning of padres. And soe let this suffice for the present state of Japon. * * * * * * And soe I leave your Wors. with your affares to the holy protection of thallmightie, resting Your Wors. most humble servant at comand, RIC. COCKS. This letter was first sent per the _Trow_, a Hollandes shipp, but, shee and others being retorned back per stormy wether, I send it now per the _Bull_. Firando in Japon, the 14th of November, 1622. May it please your Wors. that the 9th of September last past there departed 5 Hollandes shipps from hence, greate and small, 4 of them for Isla de Piscadores with provition, and one directly for Jaccatra, which was the _Trow_. But, by means of extremety of wether, 4 of them retorned back to Firando the 19th of September, viz. the _Bantam_, the _Trow_, the _Muoien_, the _Tortola_: all in greate extremety, mastes cutt overbord, and much provition throwne into the sea. And the other penisse called the _Santa Croix_, wherein were above 30 men, retorned not back; soe they think she is cast away. As alsoe, in the same storme, the Hollanders had other 2 shipps cast away in the roade of Cochie at Firando, the one called the _Moone_, a shipp of 7 or 800 tonns, and the other, the _Hownd_, an English shipp in tymes past. The xvijth of October the _Palsgrove_ and _Pepercorne_ put to sea on their pretended voyages, as I formerly nomenated, and 2 Duch shipps, the _Trow_ and the _Harlam_, went out with them; and 3 other Holland shipps went from hence after them the xxvjth ditto, viz. the _Bantam_, _Muoyen_, and _Tortolla_, to tuch all at Piscadores, to discharge 337 tymber and plankes which they carry to fortefie themselves. The _Moone_ is now ready to put to sea to follow the _Palsgrove_ to Jamby; and we dispach away the _Bull_ to goe in company with her; but send nether money nor goodes in the _Moone_, nether sent we any in the _Palsgrove_, the precedent Mr. Fursland comanding the contrary in his letters from Jaccatra; but we sent a cargezon of money and merchandiz in the _Bull_, amonting to 70,342 _ta._ 8 _m._ 9 _co._, as yow may see per coppie of the invoiz. The _Elizabeth_ we will dispach away as sowne as we can recover in money, for we have sould all our silk and mantas, but noe money receved but that which goeth in the _Bull_; soe I dowbt I shall be constrayned to stay here till the next monson, to sett matters right. And Edmond Sayer and Ric. Hudson are at this instant ready to departe towardes Edo with our presentes for themperour and his Councell, as the Hollanders are the like, and our frendes geve us councell not to stay behind them. And Mr. Joseph Cockram goeth in the _Bull_ for Jaccatra. Soe Mr. Jno. Osterwick and my selfe of necessety must stay heare to gett in monies to dispach away the _Elizabeth_, as I think Mr. Eaton must doe the like; for it is noe staying a shipp of such greate charges as she is any long tyme upon dowbtfull occations. I know I need not to adviz of the unrulynesse of many of our marrenars and sealers, and som of them not of the meanest sort, whoe daylie lie ashore att tipling howses, wasting their goodes and geving bad insample to others to doe the like; soe that of force many carpentars and others have byn hired to doe the shipps busynes, whiles they did lie loyteringe. I need not to name them, but refer it to the cheefe comanders them selves. I have delivered more monies of the deceased Capt. Wm. Adams unto the purcers of the _Moone_, _Bull_, and _Elizabeth_, to the some of one hundred powndes str., to pay two hundred in England to his widdow 338 Mrs. Mary Adams and her doughter in halves; as the other 100_l._ I sent in the _Royall James_ was the like. And soe I leave your Wor. with your affares to the holy protection of thallmighty, resting allwais Your Wors. humble servant at command, RIC. COCKS. To the Right Honored Knight, Sr. Thomas Smith, Governor, and the Right Worll. the Committies of the East India Company, deliver in London. Per the shipp _Bull_, whome God preserve. [178] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. ix, no. 1078. ------------------- RICHARD COCKS TO THE E. I. COMPANY.[179] Firando in Japon, the 31th of December, 1622. Right worll. Ser and Sers,-- * * * * * * The Hollanders have this yeare sould greate store of broad cloth, stamettes, blacks, and other cullars, non being left to sell, and at 20 _tais_ and some above per _tattamy_, and have written for more to Jaccatra to be sent in the next shipp which cometh; as I have donne the like to the precedent, yf any be there to send it. The reason of venting broadcloth is the rumor of warrs very likely to have ensued in Japon, and God knoweth what will com of it; for, since the writing of my last, there is a greate conspirasie discoverd against the person of the Emperour Shonga Samma by 8 or 9 of the greatest and powrfullest princes in Japon, and is thought many others have a hand in it, and his owne bretheren and nearest kinsmen amongst the rest, and the king of this place not free. Soe that it is thought the adverse partie is 339 soe stronge that themperour dare not meddell with them, but will wink at the matter and make peace with them. The Hollanders have sent greate store of monies and provition to their fortefication at Piscadores, thinking to get trade with the Chinas by one meanes or other; which I am perswaded will not fall out to their exspectation, except they take the China junckes which trade to Isla Fermosa, called by them Taccasanga, which is within sight of the Piscadores. And the Emperour of Japon hath geven out his passe or _goshon_ to the Chinas to trade to Taccasanga, and soe from thence into Japon; soe, yf they be medled withall, their is noe staying in Japon for them which take them. For the 10th ultimo Edmond Sayer, with Ric. Hudson and 2 Hollanders, went from hence towardes Edo with presentes to themperour and his Councell; and we have adviz from them of their arivall at Miaco, and that all men speake ill of them and cry out against them. Soe God knoweth whether our presentes will be receved or noe; but we deliver ours apart and doe mentayne we have nothing to doe with them in their plantation at Piscadores. Of which I thought good to adviz your Wors. Silk at present is not worth soe much as it was at the arivall of our fleete, yet we have made away most of ours which rested, the presentes being geven out, and trusted it out till the next monson; as the Hollanders have donne the like. And our frend Andrea Dittis, the China Capt., still mentayneth that our nation may have trade into China, yf they will, but not the Hollanders; which God grant may once take effect. I have not what else to adviz your Wors. of, matters standing as they doe; but hope the next monson to com towardes England, God sparinge me liffe and health, and soe leave your Wors. with your affares to the 340 holy protection of thallmighty, resting Your Wors. most humble servant at comand, RIC. COCKS. To the Right Honored Knight, Sr. Thomas Smith, Governour of the East India Company, and to the Right Worll. the Committies, deliver in London. Per the shipp _Elizabeth_, whome God preserve. Sent per way of Jaccatra. [179] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. ix, no. 1093. ------------------- THE COUNCIL AT BATAVIA TO RICHARD COCKS.[180] (_Copy._) Mr. Cox and the rest,-- By the _Palsgrave_ and the rest of our shipps of defence, contrary to our expectacon and expresse comission, instead of your personall appeerance in this place, wee have received severall letters from your selfe and the rest, which gives us no satisfaccion for the breach of our comission, neither is therein conteyned any reason of validitie to excuse your so greate disobediance. What mooved you hereunto wee knowe not, but so many yeres should have had so much experience as to knowe what it is to infringe his superiors comition, and certaine wee are that you cannot answere this your transgretion, if wee should call you and the rest soe stricktly to accompt as your neglect deserveth. But wee will suppose that those your proceedinges were more through ignorance then out of any setled purpose of contempt towardes us, and will forbeare to censure you at present, in hoape of your conformetie now at last to our second comission, which wee send heerewith by our loving frend Mr. Joseph Cockram, whome wee have and doe appointe cheefe marchant of the _Bull_ for the whole voyage. Which shipp wee 341 have nowe made reddy, with no small charge to our employers, purposely to send her unto you, to bring awaye boath your selfe and the rest of the factors, with all the Compa. estate remayning there in the countrie, as more particulerly wee have declared in our comission to Mr. Cockram and instructions delivered to him; heereby straightly charging and comanding, in behalfe of the Honble. Companie our masters, that, uppon sight heereof, you, Mr. Richard Cock, shall deliver over into the handes and custody of Mr. Joseph Cockram all such monnies, goods, debts, etc., as pertaine to the Honnorable Compa., our imployers; and boath you, Mr. Richard Cock, Wm. Eaton, Edmond Sayre, and John Osterwick, shall all and every of you come awaye from thence uppon the shipp _Bull_ for Batavia; hereby charging you and every of you to fulfill our saide order, as you will answere the contrary at your perelles. The debts which were standing out by your last letters we hope you will have cleired and received them in before this shall come to your hands, knowing the last yere that you are to come from thence. But, if any such debts shalbe yett standing out, it concernes you that made them [to receive them] in before the shipp come awaye from thence. The China Nocheda hath two long deluded you through your owne simplicitie to give creditt unto him. You have lived long enough in those parts to be better experienced of the fraudulent practizes of those people, and, although the prejudice which the Honnorable Compa. have suffered by missing of such greate somes of monney so long, which you have delivered unto him, cannot be recompenced by him, yet it will now be respected and required that you procure all satisfaccon from him for all he owes unto the Compa. The King of Firando his debt wee hoape you have received, boath all somes of such moment as it behooves you to be carefull and dilligent in the recovering in of them; and, in hoape 342 you will herein sattisfie our expectacon, wee desist further to incite you in this matter. Having cleered all busines and gotten the Companies estate aboard their shipp, which wee desire may be with all speede convenient, you are to take frendly leave of the king and such other officers as you knowe to be meete, and to deliver over the Compa. howse and godownes into the kings hands, to appoint some whome hee shall thincke fitting to keepe the same for the Honnorable Compas. use, untill such tyme as wee shall send theither againe to repossesse the same. And for all such provitions as wee have given order unto Mr. Cockram to provide for this place, you are to see them furnished in due tyme, that soe the shipp may take the best season of the monsonn to come awaye from thence. Alsoe you are to furnish the shipp with all materialls needefull for her tryming, and eache thinge according to our order given for the perforemance of the busines, and lett the flesh that is to be provided be salted in such a tyme as it may keepe to doe us service. If the full quantetie cannot be provided in dew tyme, then furnish what you cann, for wee will that no busines shall hinder the shipps and your coming awaye from thence in dew tyme to performe her voyage unto this port of Batavia. And in case there shall be any debts of vallue standing out which cannot be recovered before your lymitted tyme of coming from thence, and that there be certaine hopes to recover in the saide debts afterward, then you shall followe such order as wee have given Mr. Cockram for the leaving of a mann there to recover such debts as shalbe remayning and cannot be gotten in as aforesaid. The China menn which you sent to refine the silver returne in this shipp. They have refined only one chist of barr plate for triall, and that wee finde so badly donn that we would not lett them proceede 343 any further. They are not suffitient to performe what they have undertaken, for they spoile all they take in hand; so that what you have agreed with them for is meerely cast awaye and lost to the Honnorable Compa. Wee have payde them no wages heere, which you are to take notice of and reccon with them there according as you can agree with them. Wee desire no more barr plate; wherefore the rest remayning, lett it be in _soma_, _seda_, and _fabuck_ plate. But, if there be any such dannger in bringing out the latter, wee desire not to stand to such an adventure. The Dutch have greate quantities sent, yet make no such dannger as you write of; wherefore, if you cannot gett it as securely as they, wee must take such as may be procured without such hassarde. Camphire which the Hollanders buy in such quanteties wee knowe no vend for; yett you may provide twenty cases or tenn _peculs_, which may serve for a triall both for England and Mu[su]l[i]pa[tam]; but any greater quantitie then prementioned send not. In this shipp we have laden a small parcell of camphire of Barouse, being in all 60 _catts_. If the quantetie be over greate, you may keepe it secrett and receive it ashore by small parcells, as you can sell it. Wee would have sent more if wee had byn ascertined of its vend there; but, acording to your former advices, this nowe sent may be too much. What part of it you cannot sell bring back with you, or leave it there with him that stays in the factory, if there be occasion to leave a man there; the ordering whereof, with all other busines, wee have referred to Mr. Cockram, as aforesaide. We expect to have a reformacion in the lavish expences for the shipps companie. It is the Honnorable Compa. expresse order that in any port, where refreshing may be had good cheape, they shall not have allowance of above foure flesh meales a weeke and three meales with salt fish 344 or such like to eate with their rice. This order you are to take notice of and to perfoarme the same; neither may you feede the saylors both aboard and ashore, which (as wee are informed) hath byn a common costom with you, to the excescive charg of the Honnorable Companie, our masters. You write the pursers aught not to be allowed the foure per cento which they bring to accompt for losse in monneys, and referr it to us to abate it. This abatement you ought to have made there, knowing it to be unreasonable, and should not send such matters unto us to decide where the pursers want no excuses for themselfes, and wee cannot contradict them but only with your barr (wee cannot see you [how ?] they can loose so much), which is no suffitient reason. Wherefore with this purser of the _Bull_ now better examine that busines, and, finding it an abuse by the pursers, abate it uppon Mr. Watts accompt; and, at your arivall heere, wee will take the like course with the rest or so many of them as are heere remayning. And because the last yere, to serve your owne turne, you made what construction you pleased of our comission for your coming from thence, wee doe nowe iterate our comission in the conclusion of our letter, least, having redd itt in the former part thereof, you should forgett it before you come to thend. Wee will and comaund in the name and behalfe of the Honnorable Compa. of Marchants of London trading [to] East India, our masters, that you, Mr. Richard Cock, William Eaton, Edmond Sayre, and John Osterwick, shall deliver over into the hands of Mr. Joseph Cockram all monneys, goods, and debts perteyning to the Honnorable Compa. aforesayde, and shall all and every of you aforenamed come away from Japon in the shipp _Bull_ for this port of Battavia. Which our order wee require you to performe, as you will answere the contrary at your perill. And soe, hoping of your conformitie unto the premises, wee conclude with our comendations 345 unto you, and committ you with your affayres to Gods direction. Your loving frends, RICHARD FURSLAND. THOMAS BROCKENDON. AUG. SPALDING. Batavia, le 22th of May, Ao. 1623. [180] British Museum. _Cotton Charter_, iii. 13, f. 43. ------------------- _Coppie of a letter to_ FEGENO CAMME, _the Kinge or Govr. of Ferando in Japon, sent by our jurobasso_, COE JUAN, _to the Emperours courte now at Meacoe_.[181] Maye yt please your Highnes, etc. The 19th instante heare aryved one of our Honnourable Companies shipps from Batavia uppon the coaste, by whome wee have rec. letters from the Honnourable our Gennerall and Councell of India their resident, whearby wee are strictlie charged and commaunded to recover in all such debtes as wee have abroad, and for a tyme to disolve and leave this factorie and to come awaye, everie of us, uppon this shipp with the first of the moonesone, without any excuse or hinderance theirunto. The which commaund from our said Gennerall wee maye not, neither to our powers will, any waye infringe, but doe resolve by the prime of November next to departe hence; whearof wee have thought fittinge in tyme to acquainte your Highnes. The reasonns endusinge our Gennerall heareunto are many; yet not proceedinge out of any unkinde usage heare in his Maties. dominions, but rather in respect of theise followeinge, viz.:-- The dannger of the seas betweene this and Batavia, haveinge loste within this three yeares two greate and rich shipps bound for this place. Alsoe the smale hopes wee have of procuring trade into China, 346 which hetherto our Honnourable Companie have with greate charges endeavoured to procure, and partelie uppon those hopes have contynewed theire factorie heare thus longe tyme at no smale expence, hopeinge of better profight then thefect hath prodused. And now, lastlie, the losse of one of our Honnourable Companies shipps in her voyadge from England, whoe was richlie laden with comodities of our cuntrie, such as, for the moste parte, have beine vendible heare in Japon; by which meanes wee reste alltogeather unprovided of goods to supplie this factorie, and theirfore not held requisite or entended longer to be contynewed, unless wee could see better hopes to profight. Yet, notwithstandinge, if the next yeare shall produce any better encouradgement, maye then returne againe. Uppon which hopes and good expectation wee entend not to sell or put off our howses and godonns; but, accordinge to our Genneralls order, to leave them to your Highnes, intreateinge they may be kepte for us and repocessed by us, if wee shall returne hither againe. Of which your Highnes shall have due advice everie yeare. Wee have likewise written heareof unto the Lords of his Maties. Councell, a coppie whearof wee send your Highnes heare inclosed togeither with the princepall, which, if you finde requesite, maye please to cause to be delivered. And thus, intreatinge to excuse the sendinge this messenger and not comeinge our selves in respect of our short tyme of staye and not being furnished with matterialls needfull to present his Maties. Councell of Japon, we humbly take our leaves, ever restinge Your Highnes servants to comand, JOSEPH COCKRAM. RICHARD COCKS. English Factory, Ferando in Japon, the 26th Julie, anno 1623. [181] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. x, no. 1115. ------------------- _Coppie of a consultation or letters to the Lords of his Maties. 347 Councell of Japon, sent by our jurobasso_, COE JUAN, _to the Emperours courte at Meacoe for the tyme beinge_.[182] Whearas, with the free consente and licence of his Matie. the Emperour of Japon and many favours of you, the Lords of his Majesties Councell, wee have thus longe contynewed our factorie heare in his Maties. domynions in Ferando without any molestation or injury offred by any of his Maties. subjects, wee are theirfore in all humble mannor bound to acknowledg and render all due obedient thanks for the same. And beinge now by our Gennerall and Councell of India called from hence, with order for a tyme to disolve this factorie and come all awaye for Batavia uppon the shipp now aryved and expreslie sent to that purpose, wee have thought fittinge hearof to acquainte your Honnours, that, as wee had firste admittance to settle a factorie heare and to remaine in his Majesties cuntry, soe likewise wee maye [have] the like favour now for our departure. The reasonns moveinge heareunto are larglie expressed in our letter to the Governour of this place, Fegeno Camme, from whome wee doe acknowledge to have receaved many curtesies. Wee would our selves have beine the messengers hearof, but that our occasions are more urgent heare, the tyme of our staye beinge but shorte for cleeringe our selves out of this cuntry; and theirfore doe humbly crave your Honnours pardon, and shall ever remaine obliged to your Lordshipps, and reste Your Lordpps. servants to comd., JOSEPH COCKRAM. RICHARD COCKS. English Factory, Ferando in Japon, the 26th Julij, anno 1623. [182] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. x, no. 1115. ------------------- _Coppie of a letter to_ FEGENO CAMME, _the Kinge or Governour of 348 Ferando, in Japon, sent by_ RICHARD HUDSON _to the Emperours courte at Meacoe_.[183] Maye it please your Highnes,-- Our laste was of the 26th Julie paste, by our _jurobasso_, Coe Juan, whome wee sent expreslie with letters unto your Highnes and the Lords of his Majesties Councell of Japon, makeing knowne unto your Lordshipps our order, reced. from the Honnourable our Genneral and Councell in India, for disolveinge this factorie and comeinge all awaye with the firste of the moonsone for Batavia; which, God willinge, wee entend to performe with all convenientsie. And to this end wee wrote our former letters unto your Highnes and the Lords of his Majesties Councell, theirby craveinge our friendlie departure and excusinge the not cominge our selves nor sendinge any English to take our leaves, in respect of our urgent occasions. All which wee hoped would have prevailed. But, contrarie to expectation, wee understand by Tonomonsama, your Highnes brother, and others your nobillitie heare, that it is found expedient, and by your Highnes required, that wee send an Englishman in performeance of this busines, which wee well hoped our _jurobasso_ mighte have effected. And nowe, seeinge yt cannot be otherwise, wee doe now send the bearer hearof, Richard Hudson, whoe carreth with him certaine small presents for his Majesties Councell, beinge such as the tyme will aford and our abillitie of meanes strech unto; humbly intreateinge your Highnes to further the dispach of this messenger, that he maye returne in tyme to further the dispach of this shipp in our departure. Wee have alsoe delivered unto this bearer his Majesties _goshenn_, which was grannted us for our free traficke heare in Japon, beinge 349 theirunto required by Tonomonsama and Naygensama, as doubtinge by them yt would be demaunded to be delivered upp unto his Maties. Councell; but, if convenience yt might be granted, wee would intreat the contynewance of yt in our hands, or otherwise in your Highnes custody, that, returninge againe, wee maye have the more freer entrance. And thus, intreatinge your Highnes favourable assistance in theis our occasions, wee conclude, hopeinge to see you heare before our departure and take a friendlie farwell. In meane tyme we reste Your Highnes servants to commaund, JOSEPH COCKRAM. RICHARD COCKS. English Factorie at Ferando in Japon, the 2th August, 1623. [183] India Office. _Original Correspondence_, vol. x, no. 1115. THE END. INDEX. 350 351 Abbot, Maurice, deputy E.I.C. ii. 116. Achinese. Join the Dutch against the Portuguese, i. 148, 150. Adams, Mrs. (in Japan). i. 172, 183, 184, 185, 193, 247, 284, 319; ii. 11, 53, 57, 74, 97, 138, 240, 252. Adams, Isaac, [? error for Joseph] son of Will. Adams. ii. 233. Adams, Joseph, son of Will. Adams. i. 183, 284; ii. 97, 233, 240, 252. Adams, Mary (in England), wife of Will. Adams. ii. 117, 205, 338. Adams, Capt. Robert. ii. 112, 114, 115, 119, 120, 121, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180, 182, 183, 199, 207, 212, 213, 219, 222, 223, 224, 318, 326. Adams, Susanna, daughter of Will. Adams. ii. 97, 240, 252. Adams, William. _Passim_; engaged to the E. I. Company, ii. 258; voyage to Siam, i. 88; his estate in Japan, i. 181; accident to, i. 195; voyages to Cochinchina, i. 225, 243; ii. 23, 296; his wages, i. 234, 235; ii. 277; attacked at sea, i. 244; Cocks's opinion of him, ii. 263, 269; his influence with the Shoguns, ii. 277, 322; death and will, ii. 321; goshons belonging to his children, ii. 126-129, 131; child at Firando, ii. 143, 156; his children, ii. 233, 245, 253; goods, ii. 189, 222, 233, 337. Adrian, Dutchman. i. 182; ii, 269. _Advice_, ship. i. 151, 222, 223, 226, 231, 233, 289, 291, 292, 293, 294, 295, 330, 336, 342, 343, 348; ii. 15, 16, 40, 54, 61, 279. Aishima, or Anushma, Island. i. 142; ii. 70. Akasawa. ii. 79, 98. Albartus, Capt., Dutchman. i. 25, 158, 189, 205, 234, 239, 240, 264, 275, 298, 306, 330, 339, 344; ii. 7, 24, 25, 62, 125, 133, 136, 137, 138, 179, 197, 206. Ale, Bartholomew, of the _Palsgrave_. ii. 175. Alexander, Scotchman in the Dutch service. ii. 69. Alferis, The two. i. 147, 148. Alferis, _tuerto_. i. 43, 146; ii. 130. Amida, saint of China. Monastery at Yedo. ii. 88. _Amsterdam_, Dutch ship. ii. 189, 191. Amy, bongew of Cochinchina. i. 140. Ando Tushma Dono, nobleman. i. 171, 172. Andrea, host at Nagasaki. i. 28, 41, 42, 43. Andrea, Will. Adams's Japanese brother-in-law. i. 39, 166, 167, 183, 192, 284; ii. 95, 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 138, 244, 252, 253. Andrea, boatswain. ii. 167. _Angel_, Dutch ship. ii. 304. _Ankewsen_, Dutch ship. i. 36, 82, 98, 113. Anthony, servant. i. 71. Anthony, King of Firando's caffro. i. 125, 129, 334; ii. 59. Anthony, Biscayan. i. 238; ii. 51. Antonison, Lucas. i. 8, 16, 23, 64; ii. 54. Antony, Thomas. ii. 117. Apollonario, Franciscan. i. 6, 238, 335. Arai. i. 163, 196; ii. 98, 232, 255. Arima. i. 15; Christianity in, i. 173; rescue of a friar, i. 335; troops for, ii. 266. Arima, King of. ii. 162, 163, 164, 166, 167. Asakusa, near Yedo. Temple at, ii. 241. Asberry, ----, of the _Bull_. ii. 118. Ashiya. ii. 107; fire at, ii. 108. Atkinson, Richard. i. 229. _Attendance_, English ship taken by the Dutch. ii. 303, 304, 316. Ava, King of. Conquests by, i. 17. Avery, John, purser's mate of the _Elizabeth_. ii. 179. Awoe harbour. ii. 108. Badworth, ----. ii. 113. Ball, George, in Bantam. i. 16, 229, 290, 331; ii. 9, 16, 67, 312. Balle, the King of Firando's dog. i. 247. Ballok, Dutchman. ii. 199. Bantam. Ships trading with, i. 228, 233, 265; ii. 133. _Bantam_, Dutch ship. ii. 173, 174, 175, 223, 304, 336. _Bantam, New_, Dutch ship. ii. 319. Barker, John. ii. 116. Barker, William, of the _Peppercorn_. ii. 198. Barkhout, Capt. i. 298, 335, 336, 339; ii. 7, 14, 15, 40, 42, 56, 62. Barnardo, Capt. ii. 24, 92. Barns, ----. ii. 213. Barreda, Gil de la. i. 147. Bastian, Jorge. ii. 334. Bates, Ed., of the _Palsgrave_. ii. 175. Baylie, John, merchant. Dies in Japan, i. 145, 150, 154, 189, 193; ii. 279. Beamont, John, in Bantam. i. 48, 114; ii. 116. Beedam, ----, of the _Elizabeth_. ii. 198. Benita, or Bonita, Pascual, of Nagasaki. i. 126, 146, 150; ii. 14, 145, 147, 171, 172, 180. Bicho, or Tushma, servant-boy. i. 102, 230; ii. 1, 33, 35. Bingana Tomo. i. 203, 212, 329; ii. 72, 106, 107, 229, 302. Bizen. ii. 106. Blackcolles, Henry, of the _Thomas_. i. 218. Blancard, Abraham, Dutch surgeon. ii. 315. Bogens, or Bugins, Nicholas, merchant. ii. 178, 179, 181, 192, 196, 209. Bongo, or Bungo, Province of. Earthquake in, i. 167; Christianity in, i. 173. Bongo, King of. i. 213. Bongo Sama, or Nobesane, King of Firando's great-uncle. i. 2, 5, 7, 11, 14, 15, 17, 20, 41, 61, 65, 67, 78, 79, 116, 118, 121, 143, 231, 240, 256, 281; ii. 6, 8, 25, 52, 108, 115, 125, 140, 161, 171, 172, 190, 199, 201. Bongo Sama, King of Arima. ii. 162, 163. Bonomon Dono, secretary to Tonomon Sama. ii. 115. Books, Japanese. i. 205. Bordeaux. Image near, i. 238. Bowles, John. ii. 257. Brockedon, Thomas, president of the Council of Defence. ii. 116, 117, 138, 179, 204, 320; letter to recall the English from Firando. ii. 340. Brook, Matthias van der, Dutch merchant at Firando. i. 15, 16, 17, 28, 34, 41, 298, 306, 332; ii. 50, 59, 125, 142, 149, 153, 178, 180, 206, 320. Brower, Capt. i. 152; ii. 267. Browne, ----. ii. 112. Browne, Arnold, capt. of the _Palsgrave_. ii. 121, 174, 183, 213. Browne, John, at Patani. i. 154, 220, 268. Buddha. _See_ Daiboods. _Bull_, ship. ii. 112, 114, 119, 194, 205, 223, 318, 319, 331, 332, 336, 337, 341, 344; mutiny, ii. 181, 329. Burdock, Roger, of the _Moon_. ii. 175. Burges, James and Robert. i. 219, 272, 317, 332, 333, 337; ii. 309. Butbee, Christopher. ii. 205. Caboques. _Passim._ Cacazemon, Cacayemon, Cacayezemon, or Cacamon Dono, secretary to Oyen Dono. i. 179, 186, 188, 190, 191, 192, 193, 225, 251, 305, 306, 310, 311, 312; ii. 57, 72, 83, 85, 86, 90, 95, 125, 140, 224, 233, 234, 235, 238, 239, 241, 242, 246, 249, 253. Caffia Dono, goshon seal-keeper. ii. 235. Calicut. Nawab detains English goods. ii. 48. Calsa Sama, the Shogun's youngest son. i. 78, 79, 80, 211; reported death of, i. 10; rumour of war with his father, i. 116; report of suicide of, i. 163; his disgrace, i. 164; orders respecting, i. 158. Camangare or Caminogari. i. 158. Camboja, or Cambodia. Portuguese banished from, i. 279, 288. Camps, Capt. Leonard, Dutch merchant at Firando. i. 233, 264, 286; ii. _passim_. Canzemon Dono, of Miaco, lacquer maker. ii. 192. Canzemon Sama: new name of Tonomon Sama. ii. 169. Caravalle, Lopes Sermiento, Capt. ii. 191. Carnaby, ----, master of the _Hope_. ii. 329. Carnero, Francisco, porter. i. 113, 130. Carpenter, ----. i. 114. Carwarden, Walter. His uncertain fate, i. 216, 224; ii. 268, 285, 286. Casanseque or Cazanseque, purser or scrivano. Suit against, i. 241, 242, 245, 248, 252, 263, 279, 281, 282, 283, 287, 289, 294, 296, 313; ii. 3, 14, 19, 29. Caseror. i. 16. Castleton, Capt. Samuel. i. 229, 269, 290. Cata ura. i. 99. Catsso Dono, kinsman of the King of Firando. ii. 136. Cattadomary. i. 329. Catto Sama Dono, King of Iyo. ii. 245. Chambo, Chombo, or Chamba Dono, bongew of Arima. i. 15, 20, 33. Champon, in Siam. i. 267, 269, 272, 273. Chanchew. i. 35. Chapman. ii. 113, 211. Charles, Prince of Wales. Report of his marriage, ii. 55. Charlton, Andrew. ii. 117. Chase, Thomas. i. 229. Chauno Shozero Dono, the Shogun's factor. ii. 84, 90, 91, 94, 95, 96, 231, 234, 244. Chaw, or Tea. Cups, etc., i. 145, 202; ii. 11, 28, 58. Chimpan, Capt. ii. 153. Chimpow, Chinaman. ii. 21, 24. Chimtay, Chinaman. ii. 21. China. Negotiations for trade with, i. 20, 23, 25, 29, 32, 58, 60, 66, 74, 83, 101, 116, 223, 296, 298, 340, 341, 342; ii. 2, 3, 21, 44, 125, 126, 139, 271, 284, 309, 321, 324, 327, 333, 339; Tartar wars, i. 219, 284; death of the Emperor and his son, ii. 172; succession of Emperors, ii. 324, 327; travelling spies sent to watch Europeans, ii. 285; letters of James I. to the Emperor, ii. 298; Dutch acts of piracy against Chinese, i. 259, 260; ii. 40, 41, 42, 56, 70, 302, 303; piracy against Chinese punished by Taiko Sama, i. 277; English reported taking junks, ii. 172; piracy among Chinese, ii. 321; junks taken by English and Dutch, ii. 324; cruelties of the Dutch to Chinese, ii. 324, 327. Chinese in Japan. Tiger play and tumbling, i. 235; feast of Piro, i. 256-258; complaint against the Dutch, i. 262, 306; ii. 44; visits on birth of a child, i. 332; losses by fire at Nagasaki, i. 346; visit at the new year, ii. 6; fireworks, ii. 9, 10. Chiriu. ii. 78, 231. Chisian Ducuco, Chinese councillor of state. ii. 125. Chongro, Capt. ii. 269. Chozamon Dono, son of Oyen Dono of Firando. ii. 140. Christians. Persecutions in Kokura, ii. 67; massacre and persecutions at Nagasaki, ii. 334, 335. Christmas, George, purser of the _Peppercorn_. ii. 179, 184. Christopher, German. i. 150. Chubio Dono, official at Miako, brother of Safian Dono and uncle of Gonrok Dono. i. 49, 73, 159, 179, 180, 200, 258, 289, 318, 319, 331. Chubio Dono, host at Bingana Tomo. ii. 159, 160. Cleavenger, Charles, capt. of the _Palsgrave_. ii. 117, 119, 121, 173, 174, 182, 183, 223, 318, 320. Clothworkers' Company. Letter of Cocks to, ii. 315. Clough, John, gunner. i. 84, 100. _Clove_, ship. ii. 269. Co Domingo. ii. 59, 219. Co John, or Coa John, jurebasso. i. 54, 140, 230, 284, 303, 311; ii. 5, 31, 61, 98, 119, 139, 144, 154, 156, 207, 219, 248, 345, 347, 348. Co John, servant of W. Eaton. i. 136, 141. Co John, of Goto. i. 10. Co John, of Nagasaki. i. 13. Coaker, John. i. 109; ii. 305, 307, 309. Cochi, harbour of Firando. _Passim_; buildings at, ii. 155; fires at, ii. 192, 214. Cochinchina. Loss of T. Peacock in, i. 28, 29, 140, 216; ii. 153, 268; trade and communication with, i. 224, 243, 272, 295, 298, 299, 316; ii. 60, 295, 310. Cockram, Capt. Joseph. ii. 117, 119, 122, 123, 172, 173, 174, 183, 184, 189, 192, 196, 197, 212, 213, 223, 224, 320, 337, 340, 341, 342, 343, 344, 349. Cocks, John, in Staffordshire, brother of R. Cocks. i. 228. Cocks, John, in Bantam, nephew of R. Cocks. ii. 16, 54. Cocks, Richard, head of the English factory at Firando. _Passim_; journeys to and from Yedo, i. 157-166, 193-214; ii. 70-108, 227-255; interview with the Shogun, i. 169; ii. 279; journey to and from Miako, i. 300-330; visits to Nagasaki, ii, 17-25; ii. 127-188; escape from fire, ii. 106; correspondence, ii. 257-349; proposes to return to England, ii. 339. Cocks, Richard, son of the host at Osaka. i. 321. Cocks, Richard, son of Maky Dono. ii. 102. Cocks, Walter, brother of R. Cocks. i. 48, 114, 152, 155, 229, 290; ii. 16, 113, 116, 117, 205. Cocora, John, cook. i. 93, 100, 110, 145. Codskin Dono, secretary to the Shogun. i. 16, 53, 141, 167, 168, 169, 170, 172, 174, 177, 184, 185, 186, 187, 189, 190, 192, 205, 303, 307, 308, 310, 313, 317; ii. 83, 84, 118, 142, 178, 236, 251, 279, 281, 283, 297. Cofio Dono. ii. 122, 167, 170. Collins, John. ii. 252. Colston, or Coleson, William, purser of the _Thomas_. i. 218, 225, 330. Comets. ii. 93, 94, 95, 97, 98, 105. Comoro Isles. Action between English and Dutch ships at, ii. 48. Cook, John. i. 160, 165, 183, 242, 248, 266; ii. 2, 109. Copland, Patrick, preacher. ii. 112. Coppindall, Ralph, capt. of the _Osiander_. i. 48, 49, 50, 52, 53, 54, 55, 61, 63, 68, 69, 71, 76, 79, 80, 81, 85, 86, 87, 90, 96, 100, 102, 108, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 126, 151, 229, 290; ii. 16, 54, 273, 275; letter, ii. 271. Coral. Highly esteemed in China, ii. 287. Corea. Embassy from, i. 255, 301, 304, 311, 312, 313; ii. 290, 293, 299; Dutch trade with, ii. 258; difficulty of trade with, ii. 270; sail-carts in, ii. 270; medicinal root from, ii. 287. Cornelius: Dutchmen so named. ii. 49, 253, 269. Couper, Barnard. i. 229. Coye, near Miako. i. 164. Coyemon Dono. ii. 170. Cozucke, Sophone. i. 229. Croby Dono, of Ozaka. i. 323, 325, 326, 327, 328, 330, 336, 339, 341; ii. 10, 12, 53, 57, 74. Crozemon Dono, of Fujikawa. ii. 232. Cude Dono. ii. 101. Cuemon, plasterer. ii. 170. Cuemon Dono, or Grubstreet, host at Ozaka. i. 210, 225, 230, 260, 262, 264, 302, 303, 304, 314, 322, 323, 324, 325, 330, 333, 342, 346; ii. 57, 73, 74, 76, 100, 103, 104, 105. Cuemon Dono, butcher, of Nagasaki. ii. 112, 124, 128, 130, 153. Cugero, Japanese sailor. ii. 180. Cuiamon Dono, bongew. i. 198. Cuiper, William. ii. 136. Cuishti, Japanese sailor. ii. 180. Cujero Dono. ii. 147. Cuning, Gilbert. i. 39. Curwin, Edward. ii. 304, 309. Cusa, Japanese sailor. ii. 180. Cushcron Dono. i. 36, 108, 131, 132, 135, 141, 216, 217; ii. 29, 38, 133, 145, 159, 164, 170, 180, 184, 211, 221. Cutero Dono, of Totska. ii. 232. Cuze Dono. ii. 170, 226. Cuzemon Dono. ii. 170. Cynemon Dono, of Ozaka. i. 346. Daiboods, or Buddha. Image at Kamakura, i. 194; image at Miako, i. 200, 201; ii. 75. Dairi or Mikado, The. Death of Goyosei, i. 311; ii. 293; preparations for his funeral, i. 320. Daravis, Salvador. i. 345, 347. Davies, Thomas, carpenter. i. 65, 71. Dayeynanga Sama, the Shogun's son. ii. 237. Dead, Festival of the. i. 46. Dembo, near Ozaka. i. 336; ii. 105. Dench, John. i. 64. Denton, Adam, chief at Patani. i. 36, 48, 87, 90, 114; ii. 47, 116, 117, 271, 305. Deo Dono. His claim to Fidaia Sama's widow, and death, i. 188. Dickenson, Gilbert. i. 217. Dittis, Capt. Andrea, head of the Chinese in Japan. _Passim._ Dittis, Augustin, son of A. Dittis. ii. 132, 189. Dittis, Ingasha, daughter of A. Dittis. ii. 110. Doca, or Dono, Sama, King of Firando. i. 140, 287. Dodisworth, Ed., at Surat. i. 156. Dodsworth, Harry. ii. 119, 178, 209. Domingo: servants and others so named. i. 11, 97, 102, 130, 148, 153, 210, 276, 310, 323; ii. 219, 221. Dorington, George. i. 72, 96, 100, 101, 114, 229. Doughtie, ----, quartermaster of the _Osiander_. i. 57. Dowriche, George, of Devonshire, serving with the Dutch. i. 276, 285, 339. Driver, John. i. 100. Durois, Jonico. ii. 20. Durois, Jorge, merchant, of Nagasaki. _Passim._ Dutch, in the East. Hostilities with the Spaniards, i. 21, 24, 25, 26, 30, 37, 43, 148, 214, 259, 265, 268, 272, 273, 283, 285, 289, ii. 40, 269, 302; hostilities with the Portuguese, i. 148, 150; ii. 51, 52, 53, 55, 273, 274, 276; attack Macao, ii. 332; piracy against Chinese, i. 259; ii. 40, 41, 42, 56, 70, 302, 303; cruelties to Chinese, ii. 324, 327; piracy under the English name, i. 260; hostilities with the English, i. 269, 292; maltreat English, ii. 54; capture an English ship, ii. 61; fight with the English at sea, ii. 303-305, 316; quarrel with the English in the Philippine Is., ii. 324, 326; trading ships and fleets, i. 193, 218, 259, 266, 267, 332; ii. 17, 18, 47, 173, 223, 319, 324, 325, 331; occupy the Pescadore Is., ii. 332. Dutch, at Firando. _Passim_; execute a slave, i. 19; coin false money, i. 22; cast cannon, i. 92; build a godown, i. 138; extension of warehouses, ii. 24, 43; damage to their shipping, i. 262; sailors desert, i. 264; unruly behaviour, i. 274; Chinese complain against, i. 306; ii. 46; quarrel with the English, ii. 109, 110, 173; brawl with Japanese, ii. 177, 189; execution of a Dutchman, ii. 181; attack the English, ii. 305-307, 317; execution of Dutchmen by the Japanese, ii. 328. Duzak Skidoyemon Dono. ii. 266. Earthquakes. In Bongo, i. 167; at Yedo, i. 167, 168, 172, 176, 193; ii. 85, 93, 235, 242, 244, 247, 250; at Miako, i. 205; ii. 77; at Kusatsu, ii. 77; cause of, ii. 93. East India Company. Letters to, ii. 269, 274, 279, 288, 295, 301, 318, 322, 324, 330, 331, 338; treaty with the Dutch, ii. 318. Eaton, ----, surgeon. ii. 174. Eaton, Helena, daughter of W. Eaton. i. 159, 209; ii. 103, 230. Eaton, William, of the English factory at Firando. _Passim._ Eaton, William, son of W. Eaton. ii. 133. Eche Dono. i. 210. Echero, or Yechero, Dono, of Ozaka. i. 211, 324, 326, 327. Eclipses of the moon. i. 113, 293. Ejiri. i. 195; ii. 97, 232, 254. Elizabeth, Princess Palatine. News of the birth of her son, i. 36. _Elizabeth_, ship. ii. 118, 175, 212, 221, 223, 318, 319, 331, 337; mutiny, ii. 120, 121. Elks, or wild swans. ii. 91. English, in the East. Maltreated by the Dutch, ii. 54; fight the Dutch at Jacatra, ii. 304; quarrel with the Dutch in the Philippine Is., ii. 324, 326; trade, ii. 173, 223, 318, 319, 324, 325, 331. English, at Firando. _Passim_; arrival, ii. 257; building, ii. 266; prospects and trade, ii. 259, 288, 297, 309-311, 322, 323; colours struck on account of the cross, ii. 267; privileges curtailed, ii. 280, 282; withdraw factors from Yedo, etc., ii. 282; attempt to enlarge privileges, ii. 291, 292, 294, 297; privileges extended to Nagasaki, ii. 313; libellous verses against their friends, ii. 31; mutinies on ships, ii. 120, 181, 121, 182; fight of Dutch and English sailors, ii. 173; attacked by the Dutch, ii. 305-307, 317; build new godown, etc., ii. 134, 137, 141, 143, 144-171 _passim_; attempt on their magazine, ii. 201; case of arrests for debt, ii. 212, 213, 214, 215, 219, 221, 225, 226, 227, 236, 241, 243, 250, 254, 328; fire at Cochi, ii. 214; recall, ii. 331; letters and proceedings on their recall, ii. 340-349. Enoquena Cambo Dono, maky. (lacquer) bongew. ii. 235. Enquese Dono, tiler. ii. 156. Essex, Countess of. i. 268. Evans, Christopher, sailor. ii. 257. _Expedition_, ship. ii. 319. Faccata. English trade with, ii. 265. Faccata, King of. i. 128, 192. Facheman, servant. i. 13, 30; ii. 139, 295. Facherozamon Dono, of Fakuroi. ii. 254. Facie, an Englishman at Camboja. ii. 47. Facunda, or Facondo, near Nagasaki. ii. 4; fight of Portuguese and natives at, ii. 8. Fajardo, Don Juan de, governor of the Philippine Is. ii. 50. Fajardo, Luis. Fight with the Dutch, i. 43. Fakuroi. ii. 254. Farnandes, ----. i. 264. Fary, or Farie, Benjamin, cape-merchant at Siam. i. 155, 215, 220, 221, 268, 272. Febe or Phebe (Hémi). Will. Adams's property, i. 166, 174, 181, 184. Femega, Japanese woman. i. 140. Fernandes, Diego. i. 151, 228. Ferrers, John, in Siam and Bantam. i. 152, 199, 220, 272, 317, 346; ii. 117. Ferrers, Thomas. i. 152; ii. 117. Feske Dono, host at Ozaka. i. 208. Fesque Dono, bongew. i. 210, 215, 232. Festivals. Of the dead, i. 46, 163, 292; horse-racing and shooting, i. 80; ii. 212; Gonguach guench, i. 140, 258; ii. 42, 168; of Sheco, i. 187; new-year, i. 231; ii. 5; of Shaka, i. 253; ii. 38, 162; of Piro, i. 256-258; for Dono Sama of Firando, i. 287; Sanguach sanch, ii. 156; Shonguach, ii. 245. Feze Dono, justice at Nagasaki. ii. 39, 120, 128, 130, 135, 143, 185, 186, 188, 215, 216. Fezemon Dono. ii. 137. Ficobioy, founder. ii. 170. Ficobuye Dono, of Ejiri. ii. 232. Fidaia Sama (Hidéyori), son of Taiko Sama. Defeat and rumours of his fate, i. 2, 5, 10, 13, 17, 18, 19, 26, 39, 49, 78, 80, 131, 141, 142, 149, 192; ii. 270, 272, 274, 275; search for his followers, i. 12, 214, 246; his son put to death, i. 14; slaughter of his followers, i. 14; one of his followers racked, i. 177; his widow re-married, i. 188; his daughter a nun at Kamakura, i. 194. Figen or Hizen, King of. i. 126, 128, 198; ii. 58; ambassador from, i. 341. Figen a Sama, or Figeno Sama, King of Firando. _Passim_; his debts, i. 92, 107, 111, 117, 132, 198; ii. 2, 3; attendance on the Shogun, i. 98, 110, 205, 222, 254; ii. 35, 124, 278, 293; sickness, i. 156, 157, 207, 313; ii. 86, 94; meddles with English trade, i. 227; goes to Ishew, i. 235; angry with W. Adams, i. 238; offended with Cocks, i. 240; levies taxes, i. 241, 242; threatens to expel the English and Dutch, i. 246; Cocks remonstrates with him, i. 254; attack on him, ii. 26; the queen-mother, ii. 134, 136; his marriage, ii. 176, 325; his queen, ii. 237, 238, 239; Christianity in his family, ii. 250, 330. Figeredo Caravallo, Jeronimo de, Portuguese sea captain. ii. 334. Fingo, or Higo, King of. i. 146, 213; ii. 245, 249. Fingo Shiquan, rich Chinaman. ii. 21, 22, 23, 83. Fiokew, secretary of state in China. Letter to him, i. 223, 284. Fioyemon Dono. ii. 170. Fiquira, Augustino de. ii. 129. Firando. _Passim_; fires at, i. 106, 238; ii. 55; false prophecy of inundation, ii. 155; harbour blocked, ii. 200, 203; bad anchorage, ii. 314. Firando, Kings of. _See_ Doca Sama; Figen a Sama; Foyne Sama. Fishing with cormorants. i. 285. Flood, Thomas. i. 181. _Flushing_, Dutch ship. i. 264, 266, 337, 339, 341, 345. Fongo Dono, admiral. i. 182; ii. 84, 85, 88, 99, 240, 283, 284. Formosa, or Tacca Sanga, Island. Designs on, i. 80; expedition against, i. 131; loss of Twan's men at, i. 149; failure of attack on, i. 277; trade with, ii. 23, 53, 56, 298, 322, 339. Foster, James, master of the _Clove_. i. 229. Foster, Mrs. ii. 16. Fox, host of Miya. ii. 78, 231. Fox, Dutch pinnace. ii. 304. Foyne Sama, King of Firando. His debts, i. 92; his conquests in Omura, i. 140; sickness, ii. 267. Foyne's Island. ii. 113. Frederick, surgeon. i. 89. Freman, Ralph. i. 229. French. Their armament to aid the Spaniards, ii. 50; ships at Bantam, i. 268. Frost. ii. 13. Frushma, or Tushma, Tay, prince. i. 140; ii. 35, 59, 278; report of his burning Yedo, i. 18; reported slain, i. 125; said to be rebuilding Ozaka, i. 128. Fuco, or Fuca, child or servant. i. 93, 230. Fujieta. i. 164, 196; ii. 80, 98. Fujikawa. i. 197; ii. 98, 232. Fujisawa. i. 166, 194. Fukae. i. 133. Furbeshar, ----, carpenter. ii. 173. Fursland, Richard, president at Jacatra. ii. 179, 204, 206, 331, 337; letter of recall to the English at Firando, ii. 340. Fushimi. i. 79, 101, 160, 161, 205, 305, 319; ii. 74, 77, 230, 290, 291, 294. Gabriel, ----, seaman. ii. 195. Galliard, ----, gunner of the _Moon_. ii. 175. _Gallias_, Dutch ship. i. 269, 271, 336, 345; ii. 4, 18, 40, 41, 302, 303, 304. Galsworthy, Christopher, of the _Thomas_. i. 218. Ganquan, Chinaman at Nagasaki. i. 238. Garcis, Jarvasias. ii. 334. Garland, Philip. ii. 206. Garrocho de la Vega, Pablo, Capt. i. 7, 9, 17, 20, 23, 40, 41, 46, 54, 64, 65, 66, 70, 122. Geemon, Dono, King of Firando's man. ii. 140. Gembio, founder. ii. 170. Gembio Dono, of Shinagawa. ii. 233. Gendoque Dono, of Uringo. ii. 261. Genemon Dono, admiral at Firando. i. 61. Genemon Dono. ii. 170, 184. Genta, Genshe, Gensero, or Gentero, Sama, the King of Firando's youngest brother, adopted son of Bongo Sama. i. 58, 120, 121, 166, 167, 171, 189; ii. 85, 117, 202, 133, 234, 236, 238, 239, 241, 242. Gerosaque, Will. Adams's man. i. 337. Gibatch, Japanese sailor. ii. 180. Gifio Dono, servant of Tozayemon Dono. i. 322, 324; ii. 101, 105. Gilbert, Thomas. ii. 205. Ginemon Dono, of Kanagawa. ii. 232. Gingro, Will. Adams's clerk. i. 56. Ginushma. ii. 70, 228. Giquan, Capt. i. 155, 230, 245, 252, 263, 280, 281, 282, 283, 287, 288, 291, 294, 296, 313; ii. 3, 19, 23. Giquan, Chinaman. i. 332. Gizamon Dono. i. 98. Goa. New viceroy, i. 37. Goblen, John. i. 24. _Godspeed_, junk. ii. 113, 318. Gold fish. i. 125, 144, 285; ii. 28, 37. Gonguach guench, festival. i. 258. Gonosco, or Gonosque, Dono, bongew of Firando. i. 28, 34, 40, 44, 47, 66, 68, 118, 129, 174, 178, 231; ii. 8, 25, 34. Gonosko Dono, father-in-law of Ushanusque Dono. ii. 66. Gonrock Dono, governor of Nagasaki. _Passim_. Gonsalves, Alvaro. ii. 60, 130, 133, 135, 147. Gonsolva, Portuguese. i. 118. Goquan, Chinaman. ii. 20, 21, 27, 33, 127. Goresak Dono. ii. 170. Goresak, Japanese sailor. ii. 180. Goresano, or Gorezano, John, jurebasso. i. _passim_; ii. 3, 14, 29. Gota Shoyamon Dono, minter. i. 20, 36. Gota Zazabra Dono. i. 16, 73, 85. Gotad, Chinaman. i. 120. Gotarro. ii. 92. Goto Island. i. 24, 35, 126; ii. 5, 45, 158, 161, 163; Chinese goods at, i. 24; King of, i. 221, 222, 249, 250, 313; ii. 154, 293. Goto, town of. Burned, i. 73. Goulding, John, of the _Elizabeth_. ii. 175. Gourden, William, master of the _Hound_. ii. 305, 309. Gourney, or Gurney, John, of Siam. i. 16, 64, 80, 82, 87, 90, 114, 152, 229; ii. 48, 273. Grant, Nicholas. i. 92. Gray, ----, caulker. ii. 174. Green, Lawrance. i. 229. Greenwell, William. i. 229. Griffin, Peter. ii. 309. Groboye Dono, of Okabe. ii. 232. Groby Dono. ii. 3, 10, 11, 12, 129. Grubstreet. _See_ Cuemon Dono. Guarian Ushenusque Dono. ii. 1. Guenche or Guenchque. _See_ Tonomon Sama. Guinia, Martin de, Portuguese captain. i. 61, 70. Guzano, Pedro. ii. 264. _Haarlem_, Dutch ship. ii. 223, 319, 336. Hachiman, god of war. _See_ Otongo. Hakone. i. 165, 195; ii. 81, 97, 253. Hall, Peter. i. 272. Hamamatsu. i. 163; ii. 79, 98, 232, 254. Hang-chow. i. 219. Hara. i. 165. Harmonson, Derick. ii. 175. Harod, Joan. ii. 210. Harod, Thomas, of the _Palsgrave_. ii. 175, 210, 309. Harris, Edward, boatswain of the _Peppercorn_. Hanged, ii. 205, 207. Harris, William. ii. 205. Harrison, William, treasurer E.I.C. ii. 116. Hatch, Arthur, preacher. ii. 174, 175, 180, 198, 211, 213, 243, 247. Hawley, Robert, surgeon. i. 217, 299; ii. 20, 23, 24, 37, 38, 39, 41, 109, 119, 309. Hawtery, John. i. 160, 161, 165, 178, 183, 218. Heath, Thomas, carpenter's mate. i. 70, 71. Heath, Thomas, gunner of the _Advice_. i. 153, 218. _Hector_, ship. i. 268. Henrikson, John. ii. 175. Henry, Prince of Wales. i. 269. Hermosa Island. i. 177. Hewet, Sir Thomas. i. 229. Hewet, Sir William. i. 229. Hidétada. _See_ Shongo Sama. Hidéyori. _See_ Fidaia Sama. Hidéyoshi. _See_ Taiko Sama. Hirado. _See_ Firando. Hirakata. i. 161, 206. Hix, Alexander. ii. 205. Hobson's choice. ii. 294. Hôgo. ii. 105, 229. Hongo, Chinaman. i. 140. _Hope_, ship. ii. 170, 318, 329. _Hope_, Dutch ship. ii. 175, 176, 223, 319. Houlden, ----. ii. 209. _Hound_, ship. Taken by the Dutch. ii. 304, 305, 316, 336. Howdane, ----, capt. of the _Swan_. ii. 319. _Hozeander_. See _Osiander_. Hudson, Richard, of the English factory at Firando. i. 129; ii. 22, 124, 139, 165, 166, 254, 282, 337, 339, 348. Hughes, Hugh, of the _Thomas_. i. 218. Humphrey, John, of the _Palsgrave_. ii. 175. Hunt, John, master of the _Osiander_. i. 36-229 _passim_. Icana Sama. ii. 69. Ichemon Dono. ii. 143, 153. Ichezayemon Dono. i. 324; ii, 231. Ickquam, Chinaman. ii. 17. Ikanoura. i. 13, 132, 133. Ike Dono, of Satsuma. i. 250; ii. 11. Ikshiu Island. Hot baths. i. 80, 118; ii. 37, 39, 152, 268. Imatds. i. 300, 301. Imory. ii. 158, 159, 161, 164, 165. Incobe. ii. 105. _Indraught_, Dutch ship. ii. 319. Inga Dono, chief justice of Japan. i. 159, 184, 185, 252, 309; ii. 44, 75, 230. Ingoti. i. 25. Ireland, Francis. ii. 225. Ishew. _See_ Ikshiu. Ishia Dono, of Minakuchi. ii. 231. Ishiais Taffio Dono. ii. 231. Ishibe. i. 197; ii. 77, 99. Ishiyakushi. ii. 78, 99. Ishon Dono, King of Firando's physician. i. 159, 169. Ismo Dono, noble of Satsuma. ii. 166. Ita, slave. ii. 218. Itamia Migell Dono. ii. 126, 128, 129, 131, 147, 148, 149, 150, 152, 153, 171. Itamia Quenusque Dono, councillor of the Shogun. ii. 84, 165, 234, 235, 251. Ito Stizemon Dono, poet or singer. ii. 169. Ito Yoguiche Dono. i. 97. Ive, John. ii. 175. Iyéyasu. _See_ Ogosho Sama. Iyo, King of. ii. 245. Jacatra, in Java. ii. 304, 331, 332, 338. _Jacatra_, Dutch ship. i. 35, 52, 78, 152, 153. Jacob, Dutch caulker, who came into Japan with Will. Adams. i. 171, 173. Jacobe Dono, clerk. ii. 97. Jacobe Dono, boatswain. ii. 196. Jambi, in Sumatra. ii. 331, 337. James I. of England. Letter and present to the Shogun, i. 307; his letter translated, i. 312; the same unanswered, i. 316, 317; letters to China, ii. 21, 298. James, Edward, i. 114, 229. _James Royal_, ship. ii. 112, 118, 171, 200, 318, 319, 321. Japan. _Passim_; policy of the shoguns to the tonos, i. 18, 99, 128, 311; ii. 35, 37, 163, 277, 278, 293; natives fond of change, ii. 273; dispute with Japanese sailors from England, i. 297; trading company of native merchants, ii. 310, 322; provisions and products, ii. 311, 312. Jaques, Dutchman. ii. 257. Jaquese, servant. i. 161, 190. Jeamon Dono. ii. 125. Jeffrey, or Jeffery, a boy servant. i. 102, 130, 230, 232; ii. 31. Jehan, a scribe. i. 319; ii. 75. Jembio Dono, founder. i. 99. Jembio Dono, of Hakone. ii. 253. Jenchero, or Jenquero, Dono, glover and shoemaker. ii. 170, 215. Jenkese, or Jenquese, Will. Adams's man. i. 198, 333; ii. 128, 129, 130, 138, 211, 240, 253. Jenkyn. i. 232. Jensamon Dono. ii. 125. Jenza, Japanese sailor. ii. 180. Jesuits and Friars. Feeling and proclamations against them, i. 171, 173, 174, 175; banished, ii. 270; search for, ii. 21, 58; embassy of Spaniards ordered away, i. 81; ii. 272, 282; priests in Omura, i. 23, 253; ii. 218, 220; execution in Omura, ii. 256, 258; case of prisoners at Firando, ii. 137, 208, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 222, 235, 320; executions at Nagasaki, ii. 334. Joco Conde Dono. i. 120. John Dono. i. 81, 89. John Japon, jurebasso. i. 7, 9, 25, 46, 108, 252, 283, 326, 341; ii. 1, 3, 28, 92, 139, 218, 219, 241, 265. Johnson, John, in Siam. i. 272, 317, 332, 346, 347; ii. 47. Johnson, John, Dutchman. ii. 175. Johnson, John, van Hamburg. Beheaded, ii. 179, 181. Johnson, Piter, master of a junk. i. 89, 91. Johnson, William, merchant. i. 89. Johnson, William, master of the _Jacatra_. i. 154. Johnson [Janson], William (sometimes called John), admiral of the Dutch trading fleet. ii. 114, 120, 121, 173, 179, 182, 183, 190, 194, 196, 197, 199, 200, 204, 206, 208, 211, 223, 319, 326. Johnson, William, master of the _Haarlem_. ii. 319. Jones, John. Made prisoner by the Dutch, ii. 304, 309. Jones, Morris, surgeon. i. 57, 107, 110, 112. Jones, Robert. ii. 252. Jorge, a caffro. i. 62. Joseph, General Benjamin. Slain, ii. 48. Jourdain, or Jourden, John, president of the Indies, at Bantam. i. 48, 87, 90, 101, 107, 113, 114, 126, 151, 215, 223, 226, 229, 230, 233, 268; ii. 275, 305, 316. Jourdain, John, at Patani. ii. 179. Joyemon Dono. ii. 175. Jubio Dono, servant of the King of Karatsu. i. 133, 137; ii. 25, 47, 48. Kakegawa. i. 164, 196; ii. 80, 232. Kamakura, ancient city. i. 193, 194. Kambara. i. 165, 195; ii. 80, 254. Kameyama. i. 162. Kaminoseki. i. 158, 213, 328; ii. 107, 228. Kanagawa. i. 193; ii. 82, 97, 232, 253. Kanaya. ii. 80, 232, 254. Karatsu, King of. i. 76, 89, 289; visits Firando, i. 65, 66, 75. Karatsu, Nobles of. ii. 56. Kawasaki. i. 184. Keeling, Capt. William. i. 171, 229, 233, 268, 270; ii. 48, 121, 282, 313. Keemon Dono. i. 108. Kenuske Dono, councillor of the Shogun. i. 308. King, Richard. i. 153, 269; ii. 2, 49, 99, 119, 179, 184, 295, 306, 307. Kitskin Dono. i. 21, 216; ii. 1, 31, 60, 129. Kokura, King of. i. 214. Kokura, persecution of Christians in. ii. 67. Kuanon. Temple of, at Asakusa, ii. 241. Kuanto. ii. 274. Kusatsu. i. 161; ii. 100, 230; earthquake at, ii. 77. Kuwana. i. 197; ii. 78, 99, 231. Ladrone Isles. i. 177, 178. Lake, Evan (Yewen), of the _Advice_. i. 297. Lamb, John Derickson, Dutch general. i. 265, 267, 269, 272, 273, 274, 276, 277, 285, 333, 334, 335, 336, 337, 338, 339, 343, 345; ii. 302. Languay. _See_ Nagoya. Lanman, Christopher. i. 229; ii. 116. Lansman, or Roman, Vincent, Dutchman. ii. 185, 199. Larkin, Robert. ii. 271. Laurenso. _See_ Sanzero. Lawrance, W. Nealson's boy. i. 249. Lawrance, R. Cocks's boy. ii. 2, 109, 134, 138, 219. Leangu, Lengow, or Liangowne, a Chinaman. i. 74, 223, 230. Lefevre, Capt., Dutchman. ii. 194, 196, 205, 208, 211, 223, 319, 320. Legg, William, of the _Bull_. ii. 175. Lennis, Edmund, capt. of the _Elizabeth_. ii. 112, 119, 121, 173, 174, 183, 213, 224, 318. Leon. ii. 71, 72, 73. Lester, James. ii. 178. Lezeamon, Dono, sea bongew. ii. 140. Lievana, Juan de. Made prisoner by the Spaniards, i. 1-90 _passim_, 103, 113, 152; ii. 275, 276. _Lion, Black_, Dutch ship. i. 153, 226, 267, 286. _Lion, Red_, Dutch ship. i. 266, 293. Lisomon Dono. ii. 170. Littell, James. ii. 121, 134, 138, 139. Lock, Clement, sailor. ii. 257. Loochoo, or Liu Kiu, Islands. i. 7, 9, 49; ii. 166, 167, 272. Lopas, Francisco. ii. 204, 207. Lubbertson, Euert. ii. 175. Lues, Spanish tailor. ii. 159, 216. Luis, Vilango. i. 148, 287, 289; ii. 36. Luisa Dono, wife of Cuemon Dono. ii. 104. Macao. Portuguese ships from, _passim_; possibility of its capture, ii. 327; attack on, by Dutch, ii. 332. Macassar. ii. 53, 54. Machado, Garcia, of Macao. ii. 23. Magazemon Dono, host at Miako. i. 206, 209, 225, 260, 279, 303, 304, 324, 346, 347; ii. 57, 58, 93, 100, 101. Magdalena Maria, Japanese sister-in-law of Will. Adams. i. 61, 284, 319; ii. 95, 244, 252. Magnafen Dono, host at Miako. i. 234. Maky (lacquer) Dono. i. 304, 318, 320, 322, 323, 324, 347; ii. 6, 100, 102, 104. Maky Shozemon Dono. ii. 231. Malacca. Fighting between Portuguese and Dutch at, i. 148, 150. Malconty, Jasper. ii. 257. Mallabar, Francisco. ii. 129. Mangosa Dono. i. 140. Mangusque, servant. ii. 186. Manillas. _See_ Philippine Islands. Manners and Customs. Caboques, _passim_; naming a child, i. 79; ii. 110, 154; changing names, i. 237; ii. 169; Chinese house-warming, i. 92; Japanese house-warming, ii. 29, 38; change of houses, ii. 96; fishing, i. 57, 58, 285; hunting, ii. 210; picnicing, ii. 31; plays by men and boys, ii. 244; selling a debtor, i. 226; one causing another's death to die himself, ii. 221; law against killing oxen, ii. 236; letter to a man who is dead, ominous, ii. 297; cutting the hair as a disgrace, i. 156; ordeal by fire, ii. 33, 36; burial, i. 320; ii. 201, 202. _See also_ Punishments. Mansho, jurebasso. i. 299. Marcus, German. i. 43. Maria, Japanese woman. ii. 174. Marin, Damian. Made prisoner by the Portuguese, i. 1-103 _passim_; ii. 186, 275, 276. Martin, Japanese, i. 82. Martin, Balthazar. ii. 220. Martin, James. ii. 182, 207. Martin, Luis. i. 41, 43, 86, 264, 286, 289; ii. 201, 220, 334. Martin, Nicholas, jurebasso. i. 1, 33, 118; ii. 170, 184, 194, 227. Massamone, or Massamoneda, Dono, father-in-law of Calsa Sama. i. 116, 163, 164, 192; ii. 239, 240. Matabio Oye Dono, host at Oiso. ii. 88. Matasabra Dono. i. 66. Matinga, Japanese woman. i. _passim_; ii. 6, 31, 38, 65, 76, 83, 100, 109, 144. Matobio Dono, of Oiso. ii. 232. Mats, boy. i. 112, 116. Mats Dayre Cunay Dono, King of Bizen. ii. 106. Matsin, or Matzera, Dayre Yemon Dono, councillor of the Shogun. ii. 165, 235. Mattem Dono. i. 193. Matzera Crodze Sama. _See_ Sangero Sama. Medina, Capt. i. 43. Mia Nots. i. 213. Miako. i 198, 205, 305, 318; ii. 100, 230; temples and monuments at, i. 200-202; ii. 75; earthquakes at, i. 205; ii. 77. Miako, in Cochinchina. ii. 268. Micarna Camme Sama, the Shogun's grandson. i. 131. Middleton, Capt. David. i. 36, 223. Migmoy, or Macchiavelli, a Japanese trader. i. 39, 168, 170, 176, 178, 179, 180. Miguel, Corean jurebasso. i. 14, 40, 46, 54, 55, 131, 132, 135; ii. 13, 29, 50, 219. Miguel, the Tico. i. 226, 251, 254. Mihara. ii. 72, 106, 107. Minakuchi. i. 161; ii. 231. Minema Soyemon Dono. ii. 140. Miracle. i. 335. Misaki. i. 182. Mishima. i. 165, 195; ii. 81, 97, 232. Missaka. i. 164; ii. 98. Mitske. i. 163, 196; ii. 79, 98. Miya. i. 162, 197; ii. 78, 99, 231. Moluccas, The. Reported hostilities between the Dutch and Spaniards, i. 24, 26, 30, 37, 214, 269. Mon, boy. i. 116, 232. Mon, or Man, slave. ii. 132, 133, 135, 143, 144, 154. _Moon_, ship. ii. 114, 119, 123, 174, 221, 223, 318, 319, 329, 331, 336, 337. _Moon, New_, Dutch ship. i. 283; ii. 304. _Moon, Old_, Dutch ship. i. 283. Moore, John. ii. 304, 309. Morano Cofioze, singer. ii. 169. Moreton, Matthew, master of the _Peppercorn_. ii. 179, 209, 224. Morgan, William, of the _Elizabeth_. ii. 175. Moro, Mouro, or Muru. i. 302, 328; ii. 73, 229. Mortaza Ali i. 253. Moure, John, boy. i. 51. Muki. i. 329. Munden, John, capt. of the _Bull_. ii. 119, 174, 183, 198, 203, 213, 318. Muños, Alvaro. _Passim._ Musioyen Dono, bongew of Goto. i. 293. _Muyen_, or _Mogen_, Dutch ship. ii. 179, 194, 203, 208, 209, 212, 325, 336. Nacafaroya Genimon Dono, of Odawara. ii. 232. Nafa, in Liu Kiu Islands. ii. 58. Nagasaki. Ravages of small-pox at, i. 11; Christianity in, i. 173; blockaded, i. 214, 218; fire at, i. 345, 346; Japanese traders at, ii. 297; capacity for commerce, ii. 313, 314; destruction of churches and monasteries in, ii. 315; massacre of Christians, ii. 334. Nagoya, or Languay. i. 157, 300, 329, 330; ii. 70, 108, 161, 165, 168. Narami. i. 197. Naygen Sama. ii. 349. Nealson, William, of the English factory at Firando. _Passim._ Neve, John, purser of the _Moon_. ii. 184, 189. _New Year's Gift_, ship. i. 156. New Spain. Japanese expelled from, ii. 274. _New Zealand_, Dutch ship. ii. 198, 223. Neyemon, or Neamon, Dono, merchant at Yedo. i. 173, 196, 225, 247, 310, 319, 326, 327, 329, 346; ii. 57, 74, 295. Nicoles, or Nicolles, William, agent at Malaya. ii. 189, 200, 204, 326. Niquan, Chinaman. i. 88, 101, 102, 110, 122, 215, 219, 294, 296; ii. 6, 8, 17, 18, 22, 32, 45, 69, 139, 148. Niquan, of Nanking. ii. 22. Nobesane. _See_ Bongo Sama. Nobeske Dono. ii. 8. Noise of trumpets. i. 343; ii. 332. Nomozaky Island. i. 265. North-west passage from Japan. Will. Adams's views, ii. 258, 270, 283, 288. Nubery, Mall. ii. 120. Numadsu. ii. 254. Odawara. i. 165, 195; ii. 81, 97, 232, 253. Offley, Robert. i. 229. Ogosho Sama (Iyéyasu), Shogun. Born at Okazaki, i. 163; ii. 79; defeats Fidaia Sama (Hidéyori), i. 2, 5; ii. 272, 274, 275; sues for the title of Kwambakku, i. 44; rumour of war with his son, i. 116; conversation with Will. Adams on the hatred of Spaniards and Dutch, ii. 276, 277; report of sickness, i. 128, 141; his treatment of his physician, ii. 278, 279; report of his death, i. 103, 125, 126; ii. 278; his death, i. 142, 144; his shrine at Miako, ii. 75; his tomb at Yedo, ii. 85; his anniversary, ii. 87, 243; tomb of his son, ii. 88. Oigawa. ii. 80. Oiso. i. 166, 195; ii. 81, 97, 232, 253. Okabe. ii. 232, 254. Okazaki. i. 163; ii. 79, 98. Okebank, Philip, of the _Moon_. ii. 175. Ompera. i. 342. Omura, or Umbra, Province of. ii. 8, 29, 35, 115, 293, 313; conquests in, by Foyne Sama, i. 140; Christianity in, i. 134, 173; priests seized and executed, i. 253, 256, 258. Onshma Island. ii. 227. Oque Dono. ii. 113. Ordnance. Japanese method of casting, i. 34; castings, lists, etc., i. 95, 99, 107, 108, 255, 256; ii. 136, 309. Orengawa. i. 167, 173, 174, 181, 184. _Osiander_, or _Hozeander_, ship. i. 36, 48, 50, 51, 52, 56, 61, 62, 71, 72, 80, 88, 101, 103, 109, 111, 115, 135. Osterwick, John, of the English factory at Firando. _Passim._ Otonagen Dono. i. 66. Otongo Fachemon (Ojin Tenno, or Hachimon), god of war. Temples at Yedo, ii. 87, 89, 240. Otsu. i. 161, 197, 317; ii. 100. Otto, Matinga's maid. i. 83, 93, 230; ii. 109, 144. Otto Dono, councillor of the Shogun. i. 180, 308; ii. 84, 234, 242, 246, 251. Owen, ----, surgeon. ii. 174. Oyen Dono, secretary to the King of Firando. i. 5, 22, 36, 52, 59, 66, 86, 100, 107, 115, 117, 118, 126, 130, 132, 142, 220, 226, 227, 231, 232, 236, 239, 248, 252, 297, 341, 348; ii. 4, 6, 7, 25, 26, 28, 61, 63, 64, 108, 125, 135, 140, 142, 145, 185, 221, 267. Oyen Dono, secretary to the Shogun. i. 170, 175, 179, 180, 184, 185, 186, 189, 191, 205, 303, 307, 308, 310, 311, 312, 313, 315, 317; ii. 84, 86, 90, 92, 93, 117, 165, 234, 235, 236, 239, 241, 246, 249, 251, 252, 281, 283, 297. Ozaka. i. 158, 206, 209, 212, 302, 321; ii. 73, 102, 104, 229, 230; captured by Iyéyasu, i. 2, 5; ii. 275; great slaughter at, i. 12; rebuilding of, i. 14, 128; ii. 293; fortification of, i. 79; trade with, i. 88; fire at, i. 117; executions at, i. 130; explosion at, i. 324. _Palsgrave_, or _Palsgrove_, ship. ii. 121, 176, 193, 212, 214, 218, 223, 318, 319, 331, 332, 337, 340. Palle, father of Yoshiemon the bonze. ii. 25. Parsons, Benjamin, surgeon of the _Advice_. i. 295. Patani, in Malaya. Dutch trade with, ii. 258. Paul, servant. ii. 128, 131, 219, 226. Paul Dono, gunpowder man at Nagasaki. ii. 129, 132, 133, 135, 142, 143, 144, 159, 169. Payne, Michael, carpenter of the _Samson_. ii. 305, 309. Peacock, Tempest. Killed in Cochinchina, i. 140, 216, 224, 293, 295; ii. 264, 268, 285, 286, 296. Pedro, porter. i. 124, 131. _Peppercorn_, ship. ii. 178, 193, 203, 208, 209, 212, 325, 331, 336. Pepwell, Capt. Henry. ii. 48. Persia. English factory in, ii. 48. Pescadore Islands, near Formosa. ii. 298; occupied by the Dutch, ii. 332, 336, 339. Petersen, John, Dutchman. ii. 174. Peterson, James. ii. 50. Pheby, John. i. 16, 69, 244; ii. 262, 266. Phesemon Dono. ii. 24. Pheze Dono. ii. 118. Philippine Islands. English and Dutch trade and shipping to, i. 15, 265; ii. 123, 169, 172, 319, 324, 325, 331; capture of Shibou, i. 21; hostilities between the Dutch and Spanish, i. 24, 25, 30, 37, 259, 265, 273, 285, 286, 289; ii. 40, 269, 302; Japanese to be banished from, ii. 188; quarrels of the English and Dutch, ii. 324, 326. Pinta, woman. ii. 220. Piro, or Pilo, festival of. i. 256-258. Pitts, Richard, in Siam. i. 272, 317, 332, 346, 347; ii. 47, 48, 50. Portent in England. ii. 57. Portis, or Porteous, John. ii. 54, 56, 60, 65, 109, 110, 180, 205, 309. Portuguese, in the East. Shipping from Macao, i. 83, 106, 122, 135, 137, 175, 263, 266, 267, 333; ii. 4, 5, 8, 14, 17, 43, 169, 170, 181, 187; hostilities against the English and Dutch, i. 35, 171, 273, 278, 279; Port. junk taken by the Dutch, i. 35; ii. 273, 274, 276; fight with Dutch at Malacca, i. 148, 150; banished from Camboja, i. 279, 280; quarrel with W. Eaton in Satsuma, ii. 18, 19; fight with Dutch ships, ii. 51, 52, 53, 55; action of an English with a Port. ship, ii. 48; Port. ship taken by the English and Dutch, ii. 212; Dutch attack on Macao, ii. 332; restricted trade with Japan, ii. 144, 298. Potatoes. First planting of, in Japan, i. 11; sent from the Liu Kiu Isles, ii. 59. Priapus, Japanese. Altar of, i. 238. Price, Robert. ii. 117. Pring, Martin, captain of the _James Royal_. ii. 54, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 205, 318, 321, 322. Privileges of the English in Japan. Curtailed, ii. 280, 281; copy of, ii. 289; attempts to enlarge them, i. 312, 315, 316; ii. 238, 291, 292, 294, 297. Puchin, St. Image of, i. 238. Puloway Island. Expulsion of English by the Dutch, i. 269, 274, 275, 292. Punishments. Executions by cutting, i. 91, 120, 146, 156; ii. 134; crucifixion, i. 161; roasting a thief to death, i. 291; execution of thieves, ii. 104; imprisonment by proxy, ii. 135; burning of Jesuits, etc., ii. 334; a slave executed by the Dutch, i. 19; Dutchmen beheaded by the Japanese, ii. 177, 328; a Dutchman beheaded for killing an Englishman, ii. 181; an Englishman hanged for killing a Dutchman, ii. 175; runaway English sailors hanged, ii, 207; flogging and salting a slave of the English, i. 344; flogging and salting English sailors, ii. 198. Quannow. _See_ Kuanon. Quanto. _See_ Kuanto. Quiamo Dono. i. 88. Quiemon Dono, barkman. ii. 254. Quitamare. ii. 70. Rappado, barber. i. 93. Ravelles, or Ravello, Gonsalo, Portuguese. ii. 191, 216, 222. Refwen Dono, King of Firando's steward. i. 100. Rigote, Diego Farnando. i. 77. Riyoyets Dono. ii. 17. Roane, John. Hanged for murder, ii. 174, 175. Robin, Scotchman. i. 84. Robinson, ----. ii. 113. Rocha, Bartholomew de la. i. 63. Rodrigos, Emanuel. ii. 130, 146, 147. Roquan, Chinaman. i. 120. _Roquan_, junk. ii. 264. Rowe, Richard, master of the _Thomas_. i. 145, 147, 150, 153, 183, 215, 218, 223, 225, 228, 233. Sackay. i. 208, 323; ii. 103; destroyed, ii. 275; rebuilding of, i. 14. Sacky Bingo Dono, governor of the Shogun's son. ii. 237. Saco Dono, magistrate of Nagasaki. ii. 17. Sada Dono, father of Codgkin Dono. i. 106, 117; tomb at Yedo, ii. 85. Sadaye Dono, secretary to the governor of Ozaka. i. 211. Sadler, Francis. i. 152, 229. Safian Dono, governor of Nagasaki. i. 6, 15, 53, 73, 84, 85, 146, 159, 180, 185, 187, 196, 206, 207, 208, 215, 224, 239, 256, 258, 289, 294, 305, 309, 322, 323, 331, 333, 345; ii. 11, 13, 286. _St. Michel_, French ship. ii. 319. Salinas, Miguel de. i. 43, 148, 334. Sammabash. i. 195. _Samson_, English ship taken by the Dutch. ii. 304, 305, 316. Sanfort, Melchor van. i. 19, 70, 80, 82. Sangero, cook. ii. 139. Sangero Sama, son of Foyne Sama, King of Firando. i. 50, 54, 64, 65, 97, 125, 155, 222, 232, 249, 251; ii. 6, 14, 25, 29, 125, 140; his name changed to Matzrea Crodze Sama, ii. 169. Sangusque Dono, of Chiriu. ii. 231. Sannemon Dono. ii. 170. Sanquan, Chinaman. ii. 19. Sanquishe Dono. ii. 17, 19, 22. Sanshero, Japanese sailor. ii. 180. _Santa Cruz_, Dutch pinnace. ii. 336. Sanzero, or Laurenzo, slave of the English. i. 219. Sanzo Dono. i. 140. Saquemon Dono, magistrate at Nagasaki. ii. 17, 18. Saris, George. i. 152. Saris, Capt. John. i. 16, 48, 152, 223, 229, 297; ii. 16, 116, 205, 257. Sars, John, sailor. ii. 257. Satsuma, Province of. Prospect of trade with, i. 81, 124, 149; ii. 272; nobles of, i. 147, 148; disturbances by disbanded soldiers, i. 255; ambassador from, ii. 43, 44; priests seized in, ii. 334. Satsuma, King of. i. 52, 113, 125, 140, 214, 215, 237, 262, 313; ii. 160, 293; visits Firando, i. 4, 6, 122, 123, 250; detained at Court, i. 18; war preparations, i. 82; rebuilding Ozaka, i. 128; report of intending war against the Shogun, i. 149; friendship to the English, i. 215, 216, 220; ii. 58, 59; favours the Chinese, i. 263. Savidge, George, in Camboja. i. 288, 346; ii. 47, 67. Sayemon Dono, of Kambara. ii. 254. Sayemond, scullion. i. 30. Sayers, Edmund, of the English factory at Firando. _Passim._ Scongero Dono. i. 99. Scott, Cornelius, pilot. ii. 41. _Sea Adventure_, junk. i. 7, 70, 79, 87, 88, 154, 155, 219, 221, 269, 282, 299, 300, 317, 340, 342, 344, 345, 346, 347, 348; ii. 1, 2, 12, 15, 18, 36, 58, 270, 291. Sebastian, King of Portugal. Comet seen at the time of his death, ii. 97. Sebeoye Dono, of Ozaka. ii. 57. Seden, of Mishima. ii. 232. Seezamon Dono, timber man. ii. 141. Seki. i. 197; ii. 78, 79. Semi Dono, minister of the King of Firando. _Passim._ Sesque Dono. ii. 140. Seto. i. 235; ii. 17, 132, 189. Seyemon Dono. ii. 170. Sewall, Francis. i. 114. Sewall, William, of Coventry. i. 229. Shaka, festival of. i. 253; ii. 38. Shanks, Henry, gunner. i. 234, 247, 261, 284; ii. 156. Sharpe, ----. i. 87. Shashma. _See_ Satsuma. Shebe Dono, son of Cuemon Dono. ii. 100. Sheco, festival of. i. 187; ii. 85. Shemash, or Shimash, Dono, governor of Ozaka and grandson of Iyéyasu. i. 207, 321, 322, 325; ii. 74, 278, 279. Shengro, Japanese sailor. ii. 180. Sheningaua. ii. 97. Shepperd, John. i. 97. Shequenogize. ii. 231. Sheraish Island. ii. 72, 73. Sheroyemon Dono. ii. 140. Shesque Dono. ii. 25. Shezemon Dono. ii. 157, 161, 164, 170. Shezero, caboque. i. 181, 188. Shezque Dono, father of Sugien Dono. i. 109. Shibou, in the Philippine Islands. Capture of, i. 21. Shikoku. Envoy from, i. 226. Shimonoseki. i. 157, 214, 301, 302, 329; ii. 71, 72, 107, 228. Shimotsai. ii. 106. Shinagawa. ii. 82, 233, 253. Shinso Dono. ii. 124. Shippard, John. i. 64, 93, 94. Shiquan, Chinaman. ii. 17, 18, 21, 28. Shisque, or Shiske, Dono. i. 328; ii. 74. Shobick, Capt. i. 155. Shobioye Dono. ii. 153. Shoby Dono. i. 267, 272, 286, 315. Shofan Dono, physician. ii. 169. Shongo Dono, admiral. i. 168, 170, 177, 178, 180, 191, 307, 309; ii. 138, 162, 240, 251. Shongo Sama (Hidétada), Shogun. Reported death, i. 10; succeeds his father, i. 142, 144; receives the English deputation, i. 168, 169; report of his intentions against Christians, i. 174; goes out hawking, i. 175; ii. 91; sends presents to the Emperor of China, i. 249; fails to control the tonos, i. 276; offended with the Dutch for piracy, i. 295; decision on the complaint of the Chinese against the Dutch, i. 306; letter and present to, from James I., i. 307; death of his daughter, i. 312; visit of his brothers, i. 315; presents to Cocks and Adams, i. 317; report of his death, ii. 14, 28; rumour of his retirement, ii. 38; his daughter betrothed to the Dairi, ii. 98, 99; rumour of wars with his uncles, ii. 247; curtails the privileges of the English, ii. 279, 282; copy of privileges granted by him, ii. 289; expected title from the Dairi, ii. 291, 293; his enmity to Christians, ii. 335, 336; conspiracy against him, ii. 338. Shonguach, festival of. ii. 245. Shono. i. 197. Short, Richard, master's mate of the _Moon_. ii. 204, 205, 208, 209. Shosque Dono, King of Firando's chamberlain. i. 66, 69, 107, 253, 256, 281, 337; ii. 26. Showan Dono, physician. ii. 169. Shoyemon Dono. ii. 159. Shoyemon Dono, master of the caboques. ii. 23, 36. Shrongo Sama, the Shogun's eldest brother. His house, ii. 96. Shroyemon Dono, of Ozaka. i. 211, 274, 278, 325, 327, 346. Shushro Dono. ii. 149. Siam. Shipping and trading with, i. 2, 87, 88, 90, 219, 243, 276, 292, 316, 332, 340, 342, 344, 345, 346, 347, 348; ii. 1, 2, 36, 47, 130, 220, 258, 269, 310. Sichsaymon Dono. ii. 25. Sifian Dono, bongew. i. 52, 60, 62, 66, 68, 130, 232, 244. Silva, Don Jeronimo de, governor of the Philippine Is. ii. 55. Silva, Don Juan de, governor of the Philippine Is. i. 21, 24, 148, 150, 259, 285. Simon, jurebasso. i. 13, 20, 26, 76. Sinda Dono, of Sackay. i. 314, 317, 323, 327. Sinemon, carpenter. ii. 170. Sinemon Dono: new name of Sinze, barkman. i. 237. Sinzabra, boatman. i. 24. Sinze. _See_ Sinemon Dono. Skengero Dono, of Miako. i. 322, 326; ii. 57, 100, 101, 247. Skeyo, scullion. i. 132, 134, 135. Skiamon Dono. i. 24, 69, 129, 146, 337; ii. 10, 27. Skidayen Dono, chief justice at Nagasaki. ii. 152. Skidayen Dono, secretary to Gonrock Dono. ii. 133, 135, 143, 150, 152, 185, 186, 188. Skidayen Dono, trader. i. 33, 55, 61, 77, 90, 116, 119, 129, 130, 216, 219, 220, 232, 269, 334; ii. 10, 11. Skirako. i. 161. Skite, or Skeete. i. 84, 136, 232. Skozemon Dono, of Yoshiwara. ii. 232. Skrayamon Dono. i. 103. Slany, Humphrey. i. 228. Slaves or apprentices. i. 112, 115, 116, 219; ii. 1, 2, 24, 31, 132. Smart, Abraham. ii. 118, 209. Smith, a Staffordshire man, cook of the _Moon_. ii. 118. Smith, Harry. ii. 205. Smith, Henry, purser of the _Royal James_. ii. 113, 174. Smith, Sir Thomas. i. 48, 114, 152, 155, 219, 229, 231, 233, 290; ii. 16, 17, 116, 205, 257. Smith, Lady. Lacquer ware for, ii. 9; trade venture, ii. 297. Snow. Heavy fall, ii. 111. Sobioque Dono, secretary to Gentero Dono. ii. 233. Soca Sama. ii. 18. Sofa, Sofo, or Sofy, Dono, a bonze. i. 198, 204, 318, 336. Sofo Dono, physician. ii. 169. Sofo Sama. ii. 25. Soka Dono, of Faccata. ii. 115, 119, 120, 158. Somner, Thomas, of the _Thomas_. i. 218. Sonchio Dono. ii. 122. Soude Giemon. ii. 153. Soyemon Dono, King of Firando's steward. i. 60, 62, 66, 92, 99, 103, 104, 107, 109, 115, 118, 125, 128, 134, 136, 142, 149, 217, 220, 232, 246, 254, 260, 276, 278, 281, 282, 285, 291; ii 13, 79. Soyemon Dono, of Kanaya. ii. 232. Soyen Dono, of Nagasaki. ii. 17. Sozero Dono, of Arai. ii. 232. Spalding, Capt. Augustine, one of the Council of Defence. ii. 116, 117, 138, 320; letter of recall to the English at Firando, ii. 340. Spaniards, in the East. Reported embassy to Japan, i. 38; hostilities with the Dutch, i. 21, 24, 25, 26, 30, 37, 43, 148, 214, 259, 265, 268, 272, 273, 283, 285, 289; ii. 40, 269, 302; loss of a ship off Satsuma, i. 193, 196; ships in Satsuma, ii. 282, 283; privateer at Tsushima, ii. 54; trade with Japan, ii. 274. Speck, Jacob, head of the Dutch in Japan. _Passim_. Starkasse, Harry. i. 332. Stibio, or Quedoquea Stibio, Dono, of Suruga. i. 165, 195; ii. 261. Sticamon Dono, King of Firando's jester. i. 77. Stroyemon, or Shroyemon, Dono, bongew. ii. 125, 224, 225, 228, 233, 236, 239, 241, 242, 244, 246, 248, 249, 253, 255. Sua. ii. 107. Suffolk, Earl of, Lord Treasurer. i. 114. Suga Dono, chief justice at Yedo. ii. 230. Sugian, or Sugien, Dono, of Omura. i. 16, 17, 20, 23, 39, 45, 60, 65, 97, 118, 122, 125, 146, 154, 232; ii. 6, 7, 30, 58, 64, 85, 140. _Sun_, Dutch ship. i. 266, 267, 269, 271, 336, 339, 342, 343; ii. 15, 16, 40, 196, 302, 303. _Sun, New_, Dutch ship. i. 268; ii. 302. Sunega, Pedro de. _See_ Zuñiga. Surat. Report of massacre of English at, i. 21. Suruga, or Shrongo. i. 165, 195; ii. 80, 98. Susanna, servant. i. 210, 331; ii. 109, 111, 134, 215, 218. Swager, Jacob. i. 17, 19, 111, 113, 121, 247, 264; ii. 149, 178. _Swan_, English ship taken by the Dutch. i. 289; ii. 120, 134, 182, 204, 304, 316, 319, 325. Sweetland, William. i. 161, 183, 208, 230. Syen Dono, governor [of Firando ?]. i. 242. Synemon Dono. i. 119, 135; ii. 26, 159, 164. Tabilo, or Tabola, Island. i. 231; ii. 31, 34, 152, 155, 156, 157, 159, 161, 162, 164, 165. Tacca Sackey, or Taccasanga. i. 158, 212. Taccamon Dono, chief justice at Firando. _Passim_. Tachemon, cook. ii. 24. Taffian Dono, Codgkin Dono's secretary. i. 310. Taffy, or Taffio, Dono. ii. 5, 6, 31, 170. Taiko Sama (Hidéyoshi). His siege of Odawara, i. 165; punishes piracy, i. 277; his tomb at Miako, i. 201, 202; designs on China, ii. 271. Tanares, Luis. ii. 57. Tangano. i. 346. Tango Dono. ii. 25. Tansho Sama. i 75. Tasquey. ii. 47. Tayamon Dono, master carpenter. i. 113, 142; ii. 136, 137, 151, 164, 170. Tea. _See_ Chaw. _Thomas_, ship. i. 145, 151, 218, 222, 223, 226, 228, 230; ii. 279. Thomas, cook. i. 247. Thomas, Rowland, purser of the _Osiander_. i. 53, 54, 55, 100, 110, 111. Thornton, ----. ii. 329. Ticham, or Tykam, Shafno, councillor of state in China. Communication with him, i. 58, 223; ii. 125, 284. Tiquan, sailor. ii. 1. Toba. ii. 267. Tobacco. Order for its destruction, i. 35. Tobio Dono. ii. 157, 160, 167, 170, 177, 188. Tobioye Dono, garden bongew. ii. 140. Tomari. ii. 12. Tomas, Jesuit. i. 3. Tomas, Japanese padre. ii. 221. Tome, servant or slave. i. 10, 13, 45, 51. Tome, of Nagasaki. ii. 134. Tome, or Tome Dono: jurebassos so named. i. 54, 76, 225, 226, 310, 319; ii. 97, 102, 126, 127, 139, 145, 166, 219, 241. Tome Dono, of Firando, papist. i. 60, 70, 75, 100, 104, 113, 130, 132, 135, 216, 217, 276. Tome Dono, jurebasso to Massamone Dono. i. 247, 284. Tome Dono, barkman. i. 304. Tome Sama. Another name of Figen a Sama, King of Firando, ii. 261, 267. Tomu in Bingo. _See_ Bingana Tomo. Toncha Sama. ii. 4. Tonomon Sama, or Guenche Sama, eldest brother of the King of Firando. _Passim_; his name changed to Canzemon Sama, ii. 169. Tonquin. i. 298; ii. 60, 300, 310. Toraga, or Torage. i. 24, 232. Torazemon Dono. i. 66, 106, 109, 139, 148, 149, 254, 305, 306, 310, 313, 317; ii. 6-252 _passim_. Torosacka, Will. Adams's man. ii. 130. Torres, Jeronimo de, viceroy of Goa. i. 37. _Tortola_, Dutch ship. ii. 336, 337. Totska, or Todska. i. 166; ii. 82, 97, 232. Totton, John, master of the _Advice_. i. _passim_; ii. 15, 17. Totty, John, sailor. ii. 257. Toyamon Dono, of Yedo. i. 100. Tozayemon Dono, host at Sackay. i. 199-347 _passim_; ii. 10-118 _passim_. Tozemon Dono, of Numadsu. ii. 254. Tozo Dono. ii. 279. Trebioye Dono, bongew. ii. 143, 144. Trees. i. 117, 118, 121, 122, 124, 125, 128, 247; ii. 5. _Trowe_, Dutch ship. ii. 113, 219, 223, 319, 336. Trumpeter, ----. ii. 213. Tsuchiyama. i. 162; ii. 78, 99. Tsushima Island. i. 24, 66, 88, 101, 301; ii. 54, 258, 270. Tsushima, King of. i. 312; ii. 293, 299; tribute of, a root, ii. 287. Tsuyasaki. ii. 70. Tuestro, Japanese sailor. ii. 180. Turbervill, Robert, of the _Elizabeth_. ii. 172, 175. Turner, Peter, i. 114, 228. Tushma. _See_ Tsushima. Tushma, boy. i. 51. Tushma Dono, councillor of the Shogun. i. 183, 308, 316; ii. 84. Tushma Tay. _See_ Frushma Tay. Twan, Tuan, or Towan, Dono, of Nagasaki. i. 71, 124, 126, 251; ii. 10; expedition by his son against Formosa, i. 131; privateering on the China coast, i. 149; return of his ships from Formosa, i. 277; accusations against him, ii. 39; disgraced, ii. 69. Ucana Came, of Satsuma. ii. 140. Umbra. _See_ Omura. Ummea Ichazemon Dono, of Hamamatsu. ii. 232. Unagense Dono, captain-general of Firando. i. 19, 66, 69, 111, 118, 132, 232, 234, 244, 291; ii. 1, 7, 8, 124, 125, 190. Uncam, bongew of a junk. i. 140. Underwick, Luke. ii. 205. _Unicorn_, ship. ii. 40, 170, 172, 181, 318. Unquan, Chinaman, i. 97, 237. Uquese Dono, tiler, ii. 143, 162. Ushenusque Dono, bongew. i. 14, 16, 39, 51, 66, 120, 122, 261, 266, 276; ii. 11. Utsymado. _See_ Woshmado. Valche, Henrock, capt. of the Dutch _Hope_. ii. 319. Vasconcellos, Diego de, viceroy of Goa. i. 37. Vaux, ----, Dutchman. ii. 174, 184. Vries, or Vryz, Derick de. i. 85, 89, 97, 111. Vrolick, James. ii. 316. Wacange Sama, the Shogun's son. ii. 84. Waddon, or Wadden, Peter. i. 57, 65, 91; ii. 199. Watkins, David. ii. 9. Wattary. ii. 71. Wattes, Richard, purser of the _Bull_. ii. 175, 184, 344. Weamon Dono. ii. 125. Wedmore, Richard, master's mate of the _Advice_. i. 291, 330; ii. 1, 5. Westby, Richard, in Bantam. i. 48, 290; ii. 16, 114. Westerwood, Adam, Dutch commander. ii. 302, 317. Whaw, or Whow, Chinese trader at Nagasaki. _Passim._ White, ----, of the _Bull_. ii. 113. White, Daniel, purser of the _Palsgrave_. ii. 184. Wickham, son of the host of Ozaka. i. 321; ii. 102. Wickham, Richard, of the English factory at Firando. _Passim_; letter, ii. 278. Widger, ----, of the _Thomas_. i. 218. Wigen a Dono, son-in-law of Iyéyasu. His death, i. 165, 166. Wilkyn, purser's mate of the _James Royal_. ii. 112. William, Dutchman. ii. 142. Williams, Hugh. ii. 305, 309. _Willing Mind_, junk. ii. 131. Wilmot, Edmund, purser of the _Advice_. i. 151, 153, 155, 183, 199, 215, 218, 224, 225; ii. 17. Wilson, ----, master's mate of the _Thomas_. i. 223. Wilson, Nicholas, of the _Advice_. i. 218. Wilson, Ralph. i. 166, 169, 179, 180, 183, 186, 230. Wilson, Sir Thomas. ii. 117, 179, 205. Wilson, Thomas, E.I.C. i. 114, 155, 229, 230; ii. 16. Woamon Docka. ii. 132. Woman Dono. i. 328, 329; ii. 74, 104. Woshmado, or Utsymado. i. 158, 302. Wotto Dono, councillor of the Shogun. i. 170, 172. Wrine, James, preacher. ii. 204. Wyamon Dono, Will. Adams's man. ii. 129, 130, 187, 188. Xaxma. _See_ Satsuma. Ximenes, Hernando. i. 48, 114, 155, 157, 221, 233, 290; ii. 53, 55, 65, 145, 147, 156, 216, 334. Yada, or Yode, Dono, of Yedo. ii. 82, 87, 252. Yadeo, or Yadayo, Dono, partner of Neamon Dono. i. 310; ii. 91. Yamanda Sinimon Dono, of Yoshida. ii. 232. Yarmans, capt. of the _Gallias_. ii. 59. Yasamon Dono, master of a junk. i. 148. Yasimon Dono, or Zanzabar. i. 6-244, _passim_, 333; ii. 8, 10, 23, 27, 46, 55, 140, 148, 159, 185, 186, 204, 208, 220. Yasimon Dono, clerk to Gonrock Dono. ii. 113, 244. Yasobro. ii. 187. Yasozama Amanoia Dono, host at Ozaka. i. 39. Yasozemon Dono, of Kakegawa. ii. 232. Yayemon Dono, king's carpenter at Firando. i. 19, 42, 56, 113, 146; ii. 143, 170. Yayemon Dono, of Faccata, carpenter. ii. 159, 170. Yazemon Dono, of Faccata. ii. 115. Yechere, or Yechero, or Cynemon Dono. ii. 104, 105. Yedo. Earthquakes at, i. 167, 168, 172, 176, 193; ii. 85, 93, 235, 242, 244, 247, 250; monuments and buildings, i. 169, 172; ii. 85, 87-89, 240; fires at, ii. 95, 96, 250; nobleman's house burnt, ii. 245. Yemia Fachman, god of war. _See_ Otongo. Yewkyn Dono. i. 235. Yezo Island. ii. 258. Yoichero Dono, of Kusatsu. ii. 231. Yoiemon Dono. ii. 170. Yonge, John. ii. 309. Yongsham, Chinaman. ii. 17. Yoritomo. i. 194. Yosemon Dono. ii. 164. Yoshemon Dono, of Nagasaki. ii. 133, 135, 143, 144. Yoshida. i. 163, 196; ii. 79, 98, 232, 255. Yoshiwara. ii. 80, 97, 232. Yoshozemon Dono. ii. 184. Yosio Dono, Dutch host at Miako. i. 204. Yoske, cook. i. 13. Yoskey, servant. i. 131, 152; ii. 109. Yosky, or Yosque, king's butler at Firando. i. 61, 135. Yossen, or Yoosen, John. i. 16, 17, 18, 22, 26, 28, 33, 40, 41, 87, 154, 162, 168, 172, 180, 185, 187, 189, 190, 275, 302, 305; ii. 14, 42, 46, 47, 50, 56, 60, 90, 91, 92, 126, 153, 167, 237, 254, 291. Youkaich. ii 231. Yoyemon, oilman. ii. 170. Yoyemon Dono. ii. 170. Yoyemon Dono, smith. ii. 170. Yu. i. 302; ii. 72, 228, 229. Yui. i. 195. Zamon, Pedrogo, Will. Adams's host at Miako. i. 204. Zazabra Dono. i. 34, 216; ii. 145, 170. Zewa. ii. 229. Zezabro Dono, of Ozaka. i. 327. Zeze. ii. 100. Zuñiga, Pedro de, friar. ii. 216, 217, 222. Transcriber's Note: The author's spelling and hyphenation of words and names is inconsistent, e.g. Adams/Adames. Lower case Roman numerals often end with a 'j' instead of an 'i.' Page numbers are displayed in the right margin. Items in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like this_. Macrons over letters are indicated within brackets, e.g. [=o]. Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and were moved to the end of the entry for the date (in the diary) or the piece of correspondence (in the Appendix) in which the anchor occurs. To accommodate display on narrow screens, where braces were used in the book to group data horizontally across the page, the text was formatted as indented lists instead. The entry on Febrary 13, Pg 140, is a typical example. Missing periods were added to ends of sentences, abbreviations, and index entries; missing commas were added to a list entry and between page numbers in the index. Use of italics was made consistent. Unclear and left as printed: Pg 30, 'uuse' Pg 357, 'the 26th Julij' Changes to text: Pg 23, 'is' to 'in' ...in all vj C. _tais_,... Pg 34, removed duplicate 'to' ... now ready to take bark ... Pg 34, 'tal ' to 'talk' ... had much talk about ... Pg 46, 'they' to 'the' ... to take the China goodes,... Pg 74, 'Grabstreet' to 'Grubstreet' ...our host Grubstreet ... Pg 113, 'removed duplicate 'an' ... 'rec. another to same effect.'... Pg 140, 'Hollander s' to 'Hollanders' in list Pg 153, 'b' added to ' ound' ... they are bound upon ... Pg 158, 'aud' to 'and' ... and that from hence ... Pg 226, removed from list duplicate 'my owne.' Pg 267, 'Oyen Done' to 'Oyen Dono' ... Same and Oyen Dono are ... 
63181	----	[Illustration: [See p. 8] THE STORM DANCE] A JAPANESE NIGHTINGALE _by_ ONOTO WATANNA ILLUSTRATED BY GENJIRO YETO [Illustration] NEW YORK AND LONDON HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS M-C-M I-I Copyright, 1901, by HARPER & BROTHERS. _All rights reserved._ October, 1901. CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. THE STORM DANCE 1 II. IN WHICH WOMAN PROPOSES AND MAN DISPOSES 16 III. AN APPOINTMENT 34 IV. IN WHICH MAN PROPOSES 46 V. IN WHICH THE EAST AND THE WEST ARE UNITED 57 VI. THE ADVENTURESS 66 VII. MY WIFE! 81 VIII. YUKI'S HOME 94 IX. THE MIKADO'S BIRTHDAY 107 X. A BAD OMEN 121 XI. THE NIGHTINGALE 131 XII. TARO BURTON 137 XIII. IN WHICH TWO MEN LEARN OF A SISTER'S SACRIFICE 148 XIV. A STRUGGLE IN THE NIGHT 165 XV. THE VOW 177 XVI. A PILGRIM OF LOVE 188 XVII. YUKI'S WANDERINGS 203 XVIII. THE SEASON OF THE CHERRY BLOSSOM 215 ILLUSTRATIONS THE STORM DANCE _Frontispiece_ THE NIGHTINGALE SONG _Facing p_. 134 "THE THOUSAND PETALS OF CHERRY BLOSSOMS WERE FALLING ABOUT THEM" " 224 A JAPANESE NIGHTINGALE I THE STORM DANCE The last rays of sunset were tingeing the land, lingering in splendor above the bay. The waters had caught the golden glow, and, miser-like, seemingly made effort to keep it with them; but, inexorably, the lowering sun drew away its gilding light, leaving the waters a dark green. The shadows began to darken, faint stars peeped out of the heavens, and slowly, unwillingly, the day's last ray followed the sunken sun to rest; and with its vanishment a pale moon stole overhead and threw a seraphic light over all things. Out in the bay that the sun had left was a tiny island, and on this a Japanese business man, who must also have been an artist, had built a tea-house and laid out a garden. Such an island! In the sorcerous moonlight, one might easily believe it the witch-work of an Oriental Merlin. Running in every direction were narrow jinrikisha roads, which crossed bewildering little creeks, spanned by entrancing bridges. These were round and high, and curved in the centre, and clinging vines and creeping, nameless flowers crawled up the sides and twined about the tiny steps which ascended to the bridges. After crossing a bridge shaped thus, a straight bridge is forever an outrage to the eye and sense. And all along the beach of this island was pure white sand, which looked weirdly whiter where the moonbeams loitered and played hide-and-seek under the tree-shadows. The seekers of pleasure who made their way out to the little island on this night moored their boats here in the shadows beneath the trees, and drove in fairy vehicles, pulled by picturesque runners, clear around the island, under the pine-trees, over miniature brooks, into the mysterious dark of a forest. Suddenly they were in a blaze of swinging, dazzling lights, laughter and music, chatter, the clattering of dishes, the twang of the samisen, the ron-ton-ton of the biwa. They had reached the garden and the tea-house. Some pleasure-loving Japanese were giving a banquet in honor of the full moon, and the moon, just over their heads, clothed in glorious raiment, and sitting on a sky-throne of luminous silver, was attending the banquet in person, surrounded by myriad twinkling stars, who played at being her courtiers. Each of the guests had his own little mat, table, and waitress. They sat in a semicircle, and drank the sake hot, in tiny cups that went thirty or more to the pint; or the Kyoto beer that had been ordered for the foreigners who were the chief guests this evening. This is the toast the Japanese made to the moon: "May she with us drink a cup of immortality!" and then each wished the one nearest him ten thousand years of joy. Now the moon-path widened on the bay, and the moon itself expanded and grew more luminous as though in proud sympathy and understanding of the thousand banquets held in her honor this night. All the music and noise and clatter and revel had gradually ceased, and for a time an eloquent silence was everywhere. Huge glowing fire-flies, flitting back and forth like tiny twinkling stars, seemed to be the only things stirring. Some one snuffed the candles in the lanterns, and threw a large mat in the centre of the garden, and dusted it extravagantly with rice flour. Then a shaft of light, that might have been the combination of a thousand moonbeams, was flashed on the mat from an opening in the upper part of the house, and out of the shadows sprang on to the mat a wild, vivid little figure, clad in scintillating robes that reflected every ray of light thrown on them; and, with her coming, the air was filled with the weird, wholly fascinating music of the koto and samisen. She pirouetted around on the tips of the toes of one little foot, clapped her hands, and courtesied to the four corners of the earth. Her dance was one of the body rather than of the feet, as back and forth she swerved. There was a patter, patter, patter. Her garments seemed endowed with life, and took on a sorrowing appearance; the lights changed to accompany her; the music sobbed and quivered. It had begun to rain! _She_ was raining! It seemed almost as if the pitter-patter of her feet were the falling of tiny raindrops; the sadness of her garments had increased, and now they seemed to be weeping, at first gradually, then faster and still faster, until finally she was a storm--a dark, blowing, lightning storm. From above the light shot down in quick, sharp flashes, the drums clashed madly, the koto wept on, and the samisen shrieked vindictively. Suddenly the storm quieted down and ceased. A blue light flung itself against the now lightly swaying figure; then the seven colors of the spectrum flashed on her at once. She spread her garments wide; they fluttered about her in a large half-circle, and, underneath the rainbow of the gown, a girl's face, of exquisite beauty, smiled and drooped. Then the extinction of light--and she was gone. A common cry of admiration and wonder broke out from Japanese and foreigners alike. They called for her, clapped, stamped, whistled, cheered. One man's voice rose above the clatter of noises that had broken loose all over the gardens. He was demanding excitedly of the proprietor to tell him who she was. The proprietor, smirking and bowing and cringing, nevertheless would not tell. The American theatrical manager lost his head a moment. He could make that girl's fortune in America! He understood it was possible to purchase a geisha for a certain term of years. He stood ready on the spot to do this. He was ready to offer a good price for her. Who was she, and where did she live? Meanwhile the nerve-scraping dzin, dzin, dzin of a samisen was disturbing the air with teasing persistence. There is something provoking and still alluring in the music of the samisen. It startles the chills in the blood like the maddening scraping of a piece of metal against stone, and still there is an indescribable fascination and beauty about it. Now as it scratched and squealed intermittently and gradually twittered down to a zoom, zoom, zoom, a voice rose softly, and gently, insinuatingly, it entered into the music of the samisen. Only one long note had broken loose, which neither trembled nor wavered. When it had ended none could say, only that it had passed into other notes as strangely beautiful, and a girl was singing. Again the light flashed down and showed her standing on the same mat on which she had danced, her hands clasped, her face raised. She was ethereal, divinely so. Her kimono was all white, save where the shaft of moonbeams touched the silk to silvery brilliance. And her voice! All the notes were minors, piercing, sweet, melancholy--terribly beautiful. She was singing music unheard in any land save the Orient, and now for the first time, perhaps, appreciated by the foreigners, because of that voice--a voice meant for just such a medley of melody. And when she had ceased, the last note had not died out, did not fall, but remained raised, unfinished, giving to the Occidental ears a sense of incompleteness. Her audience leaned forward, peering into the darkness, waiting for the end. The American theatrical manager stalked towards the light, which lingered a moment, and died out, as if by magic, as he reached it. But the girl was gone. "By Jove! She's great!" he cried out, enthusiastically. Then he turned on the proprietor. "Where is she? Where can I find her?" The man shook his head. "Oh, come, now," the American demanded, impatiently, "I'll pay you." "I don' know. She is gone." "But you know where she lives?" The proprietor again answered in the negative. "Now, wouldn't that make one of this country's squatty little gods groan?" the exasperated manager demanded of a younger man who had followed him forward. "She'd be a great card in vaudeville," the young man contented himself with saying. "There's a fortune in her! I'm going to find her if she's on this island. Come on with me, will you?" Nothing loath, Jack Bigelow fared forth behind the theatrical man, whom he had never seen before that afternoon, and whom he never expected to see again. They hurried down one of the narrow, shadowy roads that almost made a labyrinth of the island. But fortune was with them. A turn in the road, which showed the waters of the bay not fifty yards ahead, revealed just in front of them two figures--two women--both small, but one a trifle taller than her companion. "Hi there! You!" shouted the manager, who, though among a people whose civilization was older than his own, considered them but heathen, and gave them the scant courtesy deserved by all so benighted in matters theatrical. The two figures suddenly stopped. "Are you the girl who sang?" "Yes," came the answer in a clear voice from the taller figure. The manager was not slow in coming to the point. "Would you like to be rich?" Again the positive monosyllable, uttered with much eagerness. "Good!" The manager's face could not be seen, but his satisfaction was revealed in his voice. "Just come with me to America, and your fortune's made!" She stood silent, her head down, so that the manager prompted her impatiently: "Well?" "I stay ad Japan," she said. "Stay at Japan!" The manager barely controlled himself. "Why, you can never get rich in this land. Now look-a-here--I'll call and see you to-morrow. Where do you live?" "I don' want you call. I stay ad Japan." This time the manager, seeing a possible fortune escaping him, and having in mind the courtesy due the heathen, delivered himself of a large Christian oath. "If you stay here, you're a fool. You'll never--" The young man named Bigelow, who had watched the attempted bargaining in silence, broke in with some indignation. "Oh, let her go! She's got a right to do as she pleases, you know. Don't try to bully her into going to America if she'd rather stay here." "Well, I suppose I can't use force to make her take a good thing," said the manager, ungraciously. He drew out his card-case and handed the girl his card. "Perhaps you'll change your mind after you think about this a bit. If you do, my name and Tokyo address are on that card; just come round and see me. I'm going down to Bombay to look out for some Indian jugglers. I'll be gone about five months, and will be back in Tokyo before I start out on another trip to China, Corea, and the Philippines, and then off for home." The girl took the card and listened in silence; when he finished, she courtesied, slipped a hand into that of her companion, and hurried down the narrow road. After the two Americans had made their way back to the tea-garden, the older one at once sought out the proprietor. "You know something about that girl. Come, tell us," he said, imperiously. The proprietor was profusely courteous, but hesitated to speak of the one who had danced and sung. Finally he unbent grudgingly. He told the theatrical man and his companion that he knew next to nothing about her. She had come to him a stranger, and had offered her services. She refused to enter into the usual contract demanded of most geishas, and in view of her talents he could not afford to lose her. She was attracting large crowds to his gardens by her strange dances. Still he disliked and mistrusted her. She came only when it suited her whim, and on _fêtes_ and occasions of this kind he had no means of knowing where she was. It was only by accident she had happened in this evening. Once he had attempted to follow her, but she had discovered him, and made him promise never to do such a thing again, threatening to stay away altogether if he did so. He spoke disparagingly of her: "Beautiful, excellencies! Phow! You cannot see properly in the deceitful light of this honorable moon. A cheap girl of Tokyo, with the blue-glass eyes of the barbarian, the yellow skin of the lower Japanese, the hair of mixed color, black and red, the form of a Japanese courtesan, and the heart and nature of those honorably unreliable creatures, alien at this country, alien at your honorable country, augustly despicable--a half-caste!" II IN WHICH WOMAN PROPOSES AND MAN DISPOSES Jack Bigelow was beset by the nakodas (professional match-makers). He was known to be one of the richest foreigners in the city, and the Nekoosa gave him no rest. Though he found them interesting, with the little comedies and tragedies to relate of the matches they had made and unmade, he had remained impregnable to their arts. He naturally shrank from such a union, and in this position he was strengthened by a promise he had made before leaving America to a college chum, his most intimate friend, a young English-Japanese student, named Taro Burton, that during his stay in Japan he would not append his name to the long list of foreigners who for a short, happy, and convenient season cheerfully take unto themselves Japanese wives, and with the same cheerfulness desert them. Taro Burton was almost a monomaniac on this subject, and denounced both the foreigners who took to themselves and deserted Japanese wives, and the native Japanese, who made such a practice possible. He himself was a half-caste, being the product of a marriage between an Englishman and a Japanese woman. In this case, however, the husband had proved faithful to his wife and children up to death; but then he had married a daughter of the nobility, a descendant of the proud Jakichi family, and the ceremony had been performed by an English missionary. Despite the happiness of this marriage, Taro held that the Eurasian was born to a sorrowful lot, and was bitterly opposed to the union of the women of his country with men of other lands, particularly as he was Westernized enough to appreciate how lightly such marriages were held by the foreigners. It was true, of course, that after the desertion the wife was divorced, according to the law, but that, in Taro's mind, only made the matter more detestable. For five years, up to their graduation four months before this, the young American and the young half-Japanese had been associated as closely together as it is possible for two young men to be, and a strong and deep affection existed between them. It had been originally decided that the friends would make this trip together, which in Taro Burton's case was to be his return to the home he had left, and, with Jack Bigelow, was to be the beginning of a year's travel preliminary to entering the business of his father, who was a rich shipbuilder. But for some reason, which he never clearly set forth to his friend, Taro had backed out at almost the last minute; yet he had urged Jack to undertake the trip alone, and, under promise to follow shortly, finally had prevailed. So Jack Bigelow had made the long voyage to Japan, and had taken a pretty house of his own a short distance from Tokyo. It was unfortunate that Taro could not have accompanied his friend, for, while the latter was not a weak character, he was easy-going, good-natured, and easily manipulated through his feelings. The young Japanese, had he done nothing else, at least would have kept the Nekoosa and their offerings of matrimonial happiness on the other side of the American's doors. As it was, one of them in particular was so picturesque in appearance, quaint in speech, and persistent in his calls, that the young man had encouraged his visits, until a certain jocular intimacy put their relations with each other on a pleasant and familiar footing. It was this nakoda (Ido was his name, so he told Jack) who brought an applicant for a husband to his house, one day, and besought him at least to hold a look-at meeting with her. "She is beautiful like unto the sun-goddess," he declared, with the extravagance of his class. "The last was like the moon," said the young man, laughing. "Have you any stars to trot out?" "Stars!" echoed the other, for a moment puzzled, and then, beaming with delighted enlightenment, "Ah, yes--her eyes, her feet, hair, hands, twinkling like unto them same stars! She prays for just a look-at meeting with your excellency." "Well, for the fun of the thing, then," said the other, laughing. "I'm sure I don't mind having a look-at meeting with a pretty girl. Show her into the zashishi (guest-room) and I'll be along in a moment. But, look here," he continued, "you'd better understand that I'm only going through this ceremony for the fun of the thing, mind you. I don't intend to marry any one--at all events, not a girl of that class." "Nod for a leetle while whicheven?" persuaded the nakoda. "Nod for a leetle while whicheven," echoed the young man, but the agent had disappeared. When Jack, curious to know what she was like, she who was seeking him for a husband, entered the zashishi, he found the blinds high up and the sunshine pouring into the room. His eyes fell upon her at once, for the shoji at the back of the room was parted, and she stood in the opening, her head drooping bewitchingly. He could not see her face. She was quite small, though not so small as the average Japanese woman, and the two little hands, clasped before her, were the whitest, most irresistible and perfect hands he had ever seen. He had heard of the beauty of the hands of the Japanese women, and was not surprised to find even a girl of this class--she was a geisha, of course, he told himself--with such exquisite, delicate hands. He knew she was holding them so that they could be seen to advantage, and her little affected pose amused and pleased him. After he had looked at her a moment, she subsided to the mats and made her prostration. She was dressed very gayly in a red crêpe kimono, tied about with a purple obi. Her hair was dressed after the fashion of the geisha, with a flower ornament at top and long, pointed daggers at either side; but as she bowed her head to the mats, some pin in her hair escaped and slipped, and then a tawny, rebellious mass of hair, which was never meant to be worn smoothly, had fallen all about her, tumbled into her eyes and over her ears, and literally covered her little crouching form. She shivered in shame at the mishap, and then knelt very still at his feet. Bigelow was speechless. Never before in his life had he seen such hair. It was black, though not densely so, for all over it, even where it had been darkened with oil, there was a rich red tinge, and it was luxuriously thick and long and wavy. "Good heavens!" he said, after the little figure had remained absolutely motionless for a full minute; "she'll hurt or cramp herself in that position." The girl did not rise at the sound of his voice, but crept nearer to him, her hair still enshrouding her. It made him feel creepy, and annoyed and pleased and amused him altogether. "Don't do that," he said. "Please stand up. Do!" The nakoda told him to lift her to her feet, and the young man did so, entangling his hands in her hair. When she stood up, he saw her face, which was oval and rosy, the lips very red. She still drooped her eyes, so that her face was incomplete. "What's your name?" he asked her, gently. "And what do you want with me?" Now she raised her head and he saw her eyes. They startled him. They were large, though narrow, and intensely, vividly blue. Before, with her hair neatly smoothed and dressed, he had noticed nothing extraordinary about her; now, with that rich red-black hair enshrouding her, and the long, blue eyes looking at him mistily, she was an eerie little creature that made him marvel. A Japanese girl with such hair and eyes! And yet the more he looked at her the more he saw that her clothes became her; that she was Japanese despite the hair and eyes. He did not try to explain the anomaly to himself, but he could not doubt her nationality. There was no other country she could belong to. "You are Japanese?" he finally asked, to make sure. She nodded. "I thought so, and yet--" She smiled, and her eyes closed a trifle as she did so. She was all Japanese in a moment, and prettier than ever. "You see--your eyes and hair--" he began again. She nodded and dimpled, and he knew she understood. "What is it you want with me?" he asked, desiring rather to hear her speak than to learn her object, for this he knew. She was solemn now. She flushed, and her eyes went down. To explain to him why she had come to him in this wise was a painful task. He could guess that, but she forced the words past her lips. "To be your wife, my lord," she said in English, and the queer quality of her voice thrilled him strangely. This was the answer he knew was coming; nevertheless it stirred him in a way he had not expected. To have this wonderfully pretty girl before him, beseeching him to marry her--he who had as yet never dreamed of marriage for himself--was disturbing to his balance of mind. Nay, more--it was revolting. He shrank back involuntarily, wondering why she had come to him, and this wonder he put into words. "But why do you want to marry me?" he asked. The expression of her face was enigmatical now. She had ceased to blush and smile, and had become quite white. Suddenly she commenced to laugh--thrilling, elfish laughter, that rang out through the room, startling the echoes of the house. "Why?" he repeated, fascinated. She shrugged her shoulders. "I mus' make money," she said. Of course this was her reason; he knew that before she spoke; but hearing her say so gave him pain. She was such a dainty little body. "Oh, you need not sell yourself for that," he said, earnestly. "Why, I'll give you some--all you want. You're awfully young, aren't you? Just a little girl. _I_ can't marry you. It wouldn't be fair to you." Again she shrugged her shoulders, and spoke in Japanese to the nakoda. "She says some one else will, then," he interpreted. "All right," said the young man, almost bitterly. She pretended to go towards the door, and then came back towards Bigelow. "I seen you before," she announced, ingenuously. "Where?" He was curiously interested. He fancied that her face was familiar. "Ad tea-house." "What tea-house?" "On liddle bit island. You 'member? I dance like this-a-way." She performed a few steps. "What! you that girl?" He knew her in an instant now. "How could you remember me?" "You following me after dance with 'nudder American gent, and before thad some one point ad you--ole wooman thad always accompanying me." "How did _she_ know me?" "She din know you to speag ad, bud--she saying you mos' reech barbarian ad all Japan." "Oh, I see," he said, coldly. "She tell me I bedder git marry with you." "Indeed! Why?" She hung her head a moment. "Because she know I luffing with you," she said. "You loving with _me_!" He laughed outright. Her ingenuousness was entrancing. "Yes," she said, and he, with masculine conceit, half believed her. "But wouldn't you rather stay at the tea-house than get married?" he asked. "Not nuff money that businesses," she returned. "Do you do everything for money?" "How I goin' to live?" This question, answering a question, brought her back to the purpose of her visit. She held her little hands out to him. "Ah, excellency, _pray_ marry with me," she begged. He took her hands quickly in his own. They were soft and so small. He could enclose them with one of his. They were delightful. He knew they were daintily perfumed, like everything else about her. He did not let them go. "You ought not to marry, you know," he said to her, almost boyishly. "How old are you, anyhow?" She ignored his question. "I will be true, good wife to you forever," she said, and then swiftly corrected herself, as though frightened by her own words. "No, no, I make ridigulous mistage--not forever--jus' for liddle bit while--as you desire, augustness!" "But I don't desire," he laughed nervously. "I don't want to get married. I won't be over a few months at most in Japan." "Oh, jus' for liddle bit while marry with me," she breathed, entreatingly--"Pl-ease!" It hurt him strangely to have her plead so. She looked delicate and refined and gentle. He put her hands quickly from him. She held them out and put them back again into his. Her eyes clouded, and he thought she was going to cry. He was seized with a desire to keep her from weeping, if he could, this little creature, who seemed made for anything but tears. He spoke from this impulse, without giving so much as a second's thought to the seriousness of his words. "Don't cry. I'll marry you, of course, if you want me to." He felt the hands in his own tremble. "Thangs, excellency," she said, in a voice that was barely above a whisper, but it was a voice which had in it no note of joy. There was pleasure, however, in the eyes of the nakoda. He had done a good piece of business, a most excellent piece of business, for the American gentleman was reputed to be able to buy hundreds and hundreds of rice-fields if he so cared to do. The nakoda came forward with a benignant smile to arrange the terms. "She will cost only three hundred yen per down and fifteen yen each end per week. Soach a cheap price for a wife!" It was the grinning face of this matrimonial middleman that brought Bigelow back to his senses. He had said he would marry this little creature, whose limp hands he was holding. He dropped them as though they were the hands of one dead, and drew back. "I won't do it!" he almost shouted. "Never!" Then he thought what must be the feelings of the little girl whose yoke of marriage he was refusing, and softened. "I wasn't thinking when I said I would. I don't want to marry a Japanese girl. I don't want to marry any girl. I wouldn't be doing right, and it wouldn't be fair to you." He paused, and then added, lamely, "I think I'd like you awfully, though, if I only knew you." "But--" spoke up the nakoda, anxiously, who found his dream of a large fee fading into thin air. Jack turned upon him quickly and gave him a sharp look, whereat he retired hurriedly. A look of relief had come over the girl's face when Jack had cried out that he would not marry her, and at this he wondered much. This relief in her face, however, was succeeded almost instantly by disappointment. But she spoke no further word. She gave him a single hurried glance from beneath fluttering eyelashes, courtesied until her head was almost on a level with his knees, and left him. III AN APPOINTMENT Jack Bigelow regarded the attempt of the nakoda and little Miss ---- (he had not even thought to ask her name) as an incident closed by the retirement of the one aspiring to wifehood from his sight. But in passing from his house she had not passed from his mind. This she occupied in spite of him, though it must be said that Jack made no effort to eject her. He had been approached by many nakodas, who had the disposal of some most excellent wives, so they had told him, but never before had he consented to see one of their offerings; so the sensation of being asked in marriage by a girl whom he had only seen once before, and that under circumstances which prevented his seeing her clearly, was altogether new. That he, John Hampden Bigelow, A.B.--he was very proud of that A.B., it had not cost him any particular labor--should be so sought out was not at all displeasing to his vanity, a quality that he prided himself on not possessing; this, notwithstanding the fact that he knew he had been approached because he had money. He chuckled at the event several times during the day. He would keep this incident in mind, with all its detail, and make use of it now and then after he had returned home, when he was called upon to talk of his experiences in other lands. Of course, he would exaggerate a bit here and tone down a bit there, and would make the girl much prettier. No, the girl was pretty enough. This part of the incident could not be improved upon. Jack mused about the morning's episode during the entire day, and twice exploded into such laughter at the idea of his being asked for a husband that his little man hurried in to see if the gay-eyed barbarian was taking leave of his senses. In the evening he grew restless, and, having nothing else to do--so he told himself--he went out to the tea-garden on the little island which he had visited a few nights before. For an hour he waited for something--for something that did not appear. Finally, when the proprietor chanced to pass him, he asked in the manner of one casually interested: "The girl who danced and sang the other night--is she here?" She was not, for which the proprietor humbly asked pardon. She had not visited his poor place since the night the American had seen her. For some reason Jack suddenly lost interest in the house and gardens, and returned to his home. But the next night--again because he had nothing else to do--found him once more a guest at the tea-garden. This time he did not leave at the end of an hour; possibly because a weird dance was performed and a weird song sung by a girl with vivid blue eyes. He could not see their color from where he sat, but he knew they were blue. After that he fell into the habit of visiting the gardens every night--these were dull times in Tokyo--never anything else to do. Most of the evenings so spent were intensely wearisome, but some few of them were not. It may only have been a series of coincidences, but it so happened that on the enjoyable evenings there was a weird dance and a weird song, and on the others there were not the graceful swayings of a little body, nor the wonderful music of a wonderful voice. One evening, immediately after the song had been ended, he found himself striding down the same road he had taken with the excited theatrical manager, and this without consciously having decided upon such a course. But he came down to the beach without seeing man or woman, and, though he would not acknowledge to himself that he was seeking any one, he carried away with him a keen sense of disappointment. For two weeks the dulness of Tokyo remained unabated, so that the evenings offered nothing else to do save to go to the tea-gardens. At the end of that time, Jack, becoming honest with himself, admitted that there was nothing else, because there was nothing else he wanted to do, and while in this frank mood he let it become known to himself that there was nothing else in all the land of the rising sun that held so much of interest to him as did the girl who had offered herself to him for wife--nothing, indeed, in all the other lands of the earth. Why this was, he did not know, not being one given to searching his own soul or the souls of others. While he reclined at his ease one afternoon in the little room in which he lounged and smoked, he began to place her, in his imagination, here and there in the house, to try the effect. He set her in one of his largest chairs, notwithstanding she would have been much more comfortable on the floor, in this same room, and she added wonderfully to the appearance of things. He stood her pensively by the tokonona; he nodded his head--very good! He placed her out beneath a cherry-tree in his garden; again he nodded approvingly. And a breakfast with her sitting opposite him! That would be like unto the breakfasts eaten by the angels in heaven--if angels partake of other than spiritual nourishment. Yes, she would be wonderfully effective in his little house, would harmonize with it greatly. But what an odd figure she would make in an American dress! He thought of her in a golfing costume, and smiled at his fancy. Nevertheless, even in the gowns worn by the women of his own country, she would be quaint and charming, he felt sure. She would be awkward, of course, but would be graceful even in her awkwardness. And she would transgress every polite convention, and would make herself all the more delightful in so doing. He compared her to the wives of some of the men he knew, to many of the girls he had met since girls had begun to have interest for him, and his admiration for her grew apace. He would be proud of her, he knew, for she was pretty and would attract attention; men like their wives to draw eyes towards them. She was unlike the wife of any of his countrymen he was likely to meet, and this also was much. What would his parents think? They'd be angry at first, of course, but they'd give in; they loved him, and couldn't resist her; no one could resist her. Anyhow, this prospective trouble was so far ahead that there was no use in wasting thought upon it now. Why the deuce hadn't he learned her name? It was very monotonous this being compelled to think of her only as "she" and "her." But why had she come to him asking him to marry her? He shook his head at that; he didn't quite like it. But--oh, well, you know, these Japs have no end of queer customs. This incident just illustrated one of them. She was clearly a superior kind of a girl. Not an ordinary geisha as he had thought when his eyes first fell on her. He had seen enough of the geishas at the tea-houses to know that she was of a different kind; to his Occidental eyes these last were most pleasing creatures, but-- Just then his man straggled through the room and brought an end to his musing. Marry her? He sat up straight. What had he been thinking about? The idea was absurd. It was absurd for him to think about marrying any one. He got to his feet, called back his man, and ordered a jinrikisha to be brought to him. He rode off to Tokyo to forget all about it. But it would not be forgotten. After he had left the jinrikisha he caught sight of her on the opposite side of the street, turning a corner. He hurried after her, but when he reached the corner she was nowhere to be seen. He looked into all the shops on either side of the street for a distance of a hundred yards, but saw no one who bore the least resemblance to her. Then he tramped about the immediate vicinity, his sense of loss deepening with each minute, until he noticed that the shop-keepers were eying him with suspicion. He gave up the search and started back to his jinrikisha. As he was swinging along disconsolately, his eyes lighted upon another person whom he knew--Ido, the nakoda--and him Jack did not let escape. He pounced down upon him, and clapped a hand upon his shoulder. "Hallo there!" he called out. Ido started back as if he had been set upon by an enemy. He was unused to such emphatic greetings. But when he saw who his assailant was he slipped a smile upon his face, smirked and bowed, and hoped that the august American's days were filled with joy. "They'll do," Jack answered. "And how are things with you? Business good? Making many matches?" Ido had introduced four persons to incomparable happiness--which was to say, he had brought about two marriages. Had his lordship come into like happiness? No, his lordship had not. "You making gradest mistage you' whole lifetime," Ido assured him. "You nod yit seen Japanese woman that please you for wife? No? I know nodder girl you' excellency nod seen yit. Mos' beautiful in Japan. You like see her?" "No, I've seen enough. By-the-way, Ido, what's become of the girl you brought around to my place? Married yet?" Jack put on a look of indifferent interest. "No, excellency." For one disinterested, Jack found much relief in this answer. "But I thing she going to be," Ido went on, calmly. "Two, three--no, two odder gents--What you say?--consider--yes, consider her." These words drove relief from the disinterested Jack's heart, and instantly set up in its place a raging jealousy. But he compelled himself to remark, quite easily, "You don't say!" Ido confirmed his statement with a nod that was almost a bow. "A very pretty girl," Jack commented, loftily. Ido's reply was confined to a mere "Yes." There was no use going into ecstasies when no bargain was in sight. "I think I'll go around to see her, and congratulate her," Jack went on. "Where does she live?" "I regretfully cannot tell." "Ah, well, let it go then. But, say, I really would like to see her again before she's married. Rather took a fancy to her, you know. Couldn't you bring her to call on me to-morrow morning?" "I going to be very busy to-morrow." Seeing no chance of earning a marriage-fee, he saw no reason for taking the trip. "I'll pay you for your trouble--needn't worry about that." Perhaps Ido could arrange to come; yes, now that he thought again, he knew he could come. So it was settled that he and the girl should visit Jack at ten o'clock the next day. IV IN WHICH MAN PROPOSES The announcement of his man that Ido and his charge had arrived contained no news for Jack, for he had been watching the road from Tokyo since nine o'clock, and had seen them while they were yet afar off. Nevertheless, he did not enter the zashishi until his man came to him with word that guests from the city were awaiting him, and then he had no definite idea of what he intended to do. She was dressed exactly as she had been on her previous visit, and she made obeisance almost to the floor, in greeting him, as she then had done. He hastened her recovery from the deep courtesy by taking her hands and raising her to an upright posture. "You have come to see me again? I am very glad to see you," he said, with eager politeness. "Nakoda say you wish see me. Tha's why I come." There was not a trace of her former coquetry in her manner. "Yes, I had to send Ido after you. I don't suppose you would ever have let me see you again if I had not." She shrugged her shoulders imperceptibly. "Me you don' wish marrying with. You send me 'way. What I do?" "We could be capital friends, even if we didn't care to marry, couldn't we?" "Frien'? I don' wan' frien'," she returned, coldly. "But I'd like to have you for my friend, all the same, though I'm afraid it's not possible. Ido"--he hesitated--"Ido says you're going to be married, you know." She inclined her head. "You're not married yet, are you?" he asked in alarm, forgetting that he had put this same question to the nakoda the day before. "Nod yit." "Do you--um--like him?" "Which one, my lord?" She looked up at him innocently. "Oh, both of them!" He was beginning to get angry. He would find pleasure in laying violent hands upon the two, one at a time. "Jus' liddle bit, augustness." "Better than you do me?" he demanded, jealously. She shook her head decisively. "You nod so ole, an nod so--hairy-like." She rubbed her little hands over her face, by which he understood that the two wore beards. They were doubtless of his own country. He hardly knew what to say next, and the silence grew embarrassing to him. She broke it by remarking, very quietly: "Nakoda inform me you wan' make liddle bit talk ad me." He turned to the match-maker, who was pretending deep interest in a framed drawing on the wall. "Say, Ido, just step into the next room a minute, will you?" He turned back to the girl, as soon as Ido had obeyed him, with extravagant alacrity. "You have never even told me your name," he said. "Yuki." "That means 'Snowflake,' doesn't it? I like it. Well now, Yuki, mayn't I visit you at your home, before you are married?" He was anxious to see what her people were like, and how she lived. "Mos' poor house in all Tokyo--so liddle bit house augustness nod lige come." "But I don't care if it is. I want to come anyhow. I want to see you, not the house. Won't you tell me where you live?" She shook her head. "No," She said with simple directness, and then added as an after-thought, "House too small. You altogedder too big to enter thad liddle bit insignificant hovel." Her answer gave him offence. He wondered why she should dissemble, wondered whether she was laughing at him. A glance at her, however, and his distrust vanished. She seemed such a simple little body, yet he knew he did not understand her. Her eyes, which she had kept turned downward, slowly uplifted and looked questioningly into his own. Such wonderful eyes! Such a simple, exquisite face! He was suddenly suffused with a great wave of tenderness, and he bent low, and gently made prisoners of her hands. However indefinite his purpose had been up to this time, it was definite enough now. "So you remember, Yuki, what you asked me when you were here before?" "Yes." She still gazed at him questioningly. "Would you like to--would you rather marry me than one of those other fellows?" he said, softly. "Yes," again, in the smallest voice this time. He hesitated, and she asked, quickly, "You _wan_' me do so?" "That's just what I want, Yuki, dear," he whispered, drawing her hands to his lips. "All ride." She trembled--perhaps shivered is the better word--as she said this, but gave no other sign of emotion. Before Jack could so much as touch his lips to her forehead, Ido entered smiling his professional blessing. It was evident that in the other room he had found no drawing to distract his attention, and a large new peephole in the immaculate shoji indicated where he had given all his eyes and ears to what was going on, and he could wait no longer to press his claim. Jack, seeing an unpleasant duty before him, and desiring to have done with it at once, told Yuki that he would be back in a minute, and led the nakoda into the room out of which he had just come. Ido immediately began to make terms. This part was loathsome to the young man. "Why," he said, hotly, "if we're to be married, she can have all she wants and needs." That wouldn't do at all, the nakoda told him, warily. There would have to be a marriage settlement and a stated allowance agreed upon. He would have to pay more, also, as she was a maid and not a widow. When the ugly terms of the agreement were completed, the nakoda bowed himself out, and Jack went back to Yuki. He found her changed; her simplicity had left her, and her coquetry had returned. She stood off from him, and he felt constrained and awkward. After a time she demanded of him, with a shrewd inflection in her voice: "You goin' to lige me, excellency?" "No question of that," he answered promptly, smiling. "No," she repeated, "tha's sure thing," and then she laughed at her own assurance, and she was so pretty he wanted to kiss her, but she backed from him in mock alarm. "Tha's nod ride," she declared, "till we marry." "God speed the day!" he said, with devout joyousness. Still approaching her, as she backed from him, he questioned her boyishly: "And you? Will you like me?" She surveyed him critically. Then she nodded emphatically. They laughed together this time, but when he approached her she grew fearful. He did not want to frighten her. "You god nod anudder wife?" she asked. "No! Good heavens!" "I god nod anudder hosban'," she informed him, complacently. "I should hope not." "Perhaps," she said, "you marrying with girl in Japan thad god marry before. Me? I _never_." "No, of course not." He didn't quite understand what she was driving at. Then she said: "You pay more money ad liddle girl lige me whad nod been marry before?" He recoiled and frowned heavily at her. "I settled that matter with the nakoda," he said, coldly. Seeing he was displeased, she tried to conciliate him. She smiled at him, engagingly, coaxingly. "You don' lige me any more whicheven." But his face did not clear up. She had hurt him deeply by her reference to money. "Perhaps you don' want me even," she suggested, tentatively. "I bedder go 'way. Leave you all 'lone." She turned and was making her way slowly out of the room, when he sprang impetuously after her. "Don't, Yuki!" he cried, and caught her eagerly in his arms. She yielded herself to his embrace, though she was trembling like a little frightened child. For the first time he kissed her. * * * * * After she had left him, he stared with some wonder at the reflection of himself in a mirror. So he was to be married, was he? Yes, there was no getting out of it now. As for that, he didn't want to get out of it--of this he was quite sure. He was very well content--nay, he was enthusiastically happy with what the future promised. But his happiness might have been felt in less measure if his eyes, instead of staring at his mirrored likeness, could have been fixed on Yuki. She had borne herself with a joyous air to the jinrikisha, but once within it, and practically secure from observation, the life had seemingly gone out of her. The brown of her skin had paled to gray, and all the way to Tokyo her eyes shifted neither to right nor left, but stared straight ahead into nothingness, and once, when Ido looked down, he found that they were filled with tears. V IN WHICH THE EAST AND THE WEST ARE UNITED A few days later they were married. It was a very quiet little tea-drinking ceremony, and, unlike the usual Japanese wedding, there was not the painful crowd of relatives and friends attendant. In fact, no one was present, besides themselves, save Jack's man and maid and the nakoda, while Yuki herself sang the marriage song. They started housekeeping in an ideal spot. Their house, a bit of art in itself, was built on the crest of a small hill. On all sides sloped and leaned green highlands, rich in foliage and warm in color. Beyond these smaller hillocks towered the jagged background of mountain-peaks, with the halo of the skies bathing them in an eternal glow. A lazy, babbling little stream dipped and threaded its way between the hillocks, mirroring on its shining surface the beauty of the neighboring hills and the inimitable landscapes pictured on the canvas of God--the skies--and seeming like a twisted rainbow of ever-changing and brilliant colors. But no surges disturbed its waters, even far beyond where it emptied into the mellow Bay of Tokyo. From their elevation on the hill they could see below them the beautiful city of Tokyo, with its many-colored lights and intricate maze of streets. And all about them the hills, the meadows, the valleys and forests bore eloquent testimony to the labor of the Color Queen. Pink, white, and blushy-red twigs of cherry and plum blossoms, idly swaying, flung out their suave fragrance on the flattered breeze, the volatile handmaid of young May, who had freed all the imprisoned perfumes, unhindered by the cynic snarl of the jealous winter, and with silent, pursuasive wooing had taught the dewy-tinctured air to please all living nostrils. So from the glowing and thrilling thoughts that tremble on the young tree of life is love distilled and, unmindful of the assembling of the baffled powers of cold caution and warning fear, the heart is filled with fountain tumults it cannot dissemble. Jack Bigelow was fascinated and bewildered at the turn events had taken. He was very good and gentle to her, and for several days after the ceremony she seemed quite happy and contented. Then she disappeared, and for a week he saw nothing of her. He greatly missed her--his little bride of three or four days. He longed ardently for her return, and her absence alarmed him. Her little arts and witcheries had grown on him even in this short period of their acquaintance. Towards the end of the week she slipped into the house quietly, and went about her household duties as though nothing unusual had occurred. She did not offer to tell him where she had been, and he felt strangely unwilling to force her confidence. Instead of becoming better acquainted with her, each day found him more puzzled and less capable of knowing or understanding her. Now she was clinging, artless, confiding, and again shrewd and elfish. Now she was laughing and singing and dancing as giddily as a little child, and again he could have sworn she had been weeping, though she would deny it stoutly, and pooh-pooh and laugh away such an idea. He asked her one day how she would like to be dressed in American clothes. She mimicked him. She mimicked everything and every one, from the warbling of the birds to the little man and maid who waited on them. "I loog lige this," she said, and humped a bustle under her ridiculously tight omeshi, and slipped his large sun hat over her face. Then she laughed out at him, and flung her arms tightly about his neck. "You wan' me be American girl?" "You are a witch, Yuki-san," he said. "I wan' new dress," she returned, promptly, and held a pink little palm out. He frowned. He almost disliked her when she spoke of money. He filled her hands, however, with change from his pockets, and when she broke away from him, which she did as soon as she had obtained the money, he wanted to take it back. Her pretty laughter sifted out to him through the shoji at the other side, and he knew she was mocking him again. "It is her natural love of dress and finery," he told himself. "It is the eternal feminine in her, and it is bewitching." The next day, as she sat opposite to him, eating her infinitesimal bit of a breakfast--a plum, a small fish, and a tiny cup of tea--all on a little black lacquer tray, he announced mysteriously that he was going "on business" to the city. She desired to accompany him, as became a dutiful wife. No, he told her, that was impossible. His mission was of a secret nature, which could not be divulged until his return. Then she insisted that she would follow behind him after the manner of a slave; and when he laughed at her, she begged quite humbly and gently that he would condescend to honorably permit her to go with him, and then he was for telling her his whole pretty story, and the surprise he had concocted to please her, when she grew capricious and insisted that she would not stir one little bit of an inch from the house, and that he must go all alone to the city and attend to his great, magnificent business! He went down to Tokyo, and in his boyish, blundering fashion he purchased silk and crépe and linen sufficient for fifty gowns for her. She thanked him extravagantly. She could not imagine what she would do with so much finery. Her honorable person was augustly insignificant, and could not accommodate so much merchandise. "Now," he thought with inward satisfaction, "that ghost of a money question will be laid. She has everything she wants and shall have. I want to do for her, and give her things without being wheedled into it. It is that which irritates me." But a few days later she came to him breathless and flustered. Lo! some one had stolen all the beautiful goods he had bought her. It was neither their man nor maid. No, no! that was altogether impossible. They were honest, simple folk, who feared the gods. But they were all quite gone--where she could not say. Who had taken them, she could not guess. Perhaps she, her unworthy self, and he, his honorable augustness, had been extremely wicked in their former state, and the gods were now punishing them in their present life. It would be wicked and unavailing to attempt to search for the missing goods. It was the will of the gods. Maybe the gods had been offended at such ruthless extravagance. Ah, yes, that was a better solution of the theft. Of course the gods were angry. What gods would not be? It was sinful to buy so many things at once. She affected great distress over the loss, and her husband, somewhat bewildered at her elaborate apologies for the thief who had stolen them, tried to comfort her by saying he would buy her double the quantity again, whereat she became very solemn. "No, no," she said. "Bedder give me money to buy. I will purchase jus' liddle bit each time--to please the gods." VI THE ADVENTURESS The man in the hammock was not asleep, for in spite of the lazy, lounging attitude, and the hat which hid the gray eyes beneath, he was very much awake, and keenly interested in a certain small individual who was sitting on a mat a short distance removed from him. He had invited her several times to reduce that distance, but up to the present she had paid no heed to his suggestions. She was amusing herself by blowing and squeezing between her lower lip and teeth the berry of the winter cherry, from which she had deftly extracted the pulp at the stem. She continued this strange occupation in obstinate indifference to the persuasive voice from the hammock. "I say, Yuki, there's room for two in this hammock. Had it made on purpose." She continued her cherry-blowing without so much as making a reply, though one of her blue eyes looked at him sideways, and then solemnly blinked. "What's the matter, Yuki? Got the dumps again, eh?" No reply. "Look here, Mrs. Bigelow, I'll come over and elope forcibly with you if you don't obey me." She dimpled scornfully. "Ah, that's right! Smile, Yuki. You're so pretty, so bewitching, so irresistible when you smile." Yuki nodded her head coolly. "How you lige me smiling forever?" she suggested. "That wouldn't do," he said, grinning at her from beneath his tipped hat. "That would be tiresome." "Tha's why I don' smiling to-day." "Why?" "All yistidy I giggling." He shouted with laughter at her. "Move your mat here, Yuki," indicating a spot close to his hammock. "I want to talk to you." "My ears are--" "Too small to hear from that distance," finished her husband. "Come." "Thangs," with great dignity, "I am quide comfor'ble. I don' wan' sit so near you, excellency." "Why, pray?" "Why? Hm! I un'erstan'. Tha's because I jus' your liddle bit slave." "You're my wife, you little bit fraud." "Wife? Oh, I dunno." She pretended to deliberate. "Then you've tricked me into a false marriage, madam," declared her husband, with great wrath. "Tha's fault nakoda." "What is?" "Thad you god me for wife, and," slowly, "servant." "Fault! Come here, servant, then. Servants must obey." "Nod so bad master, making such grade big noises," she laughed back daringly. "Besides, servant must sit long way off from thad same noisy master." "And wife?" "Oh, jus' liddle bit nearer." She edged perhaps half an inch closer to him. "Wife jus' liddle bit different from servant." "Look here, Mrs. Bigelow, you're not living up to your end of the contract. You swore to honor and obey--" She laughed mockingly. "Yes, you did, madam!" "I din nod. Tha's jus' ole Kirishitan marriage." He sat up amazed. "What do you know of the Christian marriage service?" "Liddle bit." "Come over here, Yuki." "You like me sing ad you?" "Come over here." "How you like me danze?--liddle bit summer danze?" "Come over here. What's a summer dance, anyhow?" She ran lightly indoors, and was back so soon that she seemed scarcely to have left him. She had slipped on a red-and-yellow flimsy kimono, and had decked her hair and bosom with flaming poppies. "Tha's summer sunshine," she said, spreading her garment out on each side with a joyous little twirl. "I am the Sun-goddess, and you?--you jus' the col', dark earth. I will descend and warm you with my sunshine." For a moment she stood still, her head thrown back, her face shining, her lips parted and smiling, showing the straight little white teeth within. Then she danced softly, ripplingly, back and forth. The summer winds were sighing and laughing with her. Her face shone out above her lightly swerving figure, her little hands and bare arms moved with inimitable grace. "You are a genius," he said to her, when she had subsided, light as a feather blown to his feet. "Tha's sure thing," she agreed, roguishly. Her assurance in herself always tickled him immensely. He threw his hat at her with such good aim that it settled upon her head. She approved his clever shot, laughed at him, and then, pulling it over her eyes, lay down on the mats and imitated his favorite attitude to a nicety. He laughed uproariously. He was in fine humor. They had been married over a month now, and she had not left him save that first time. He was growing pretty sure of her now. She perceived his good-humor, and immediately bethought herself to take advantage. She put the rim of his hat between her teeth, imitated a monkey, and crawled towards him, pretending to beg for her performance. He stretched his long arms out and tried to reach her, but she was far enough off to elude him. "You godder pay," she said, "for thad nize entertainments I giving you." He threw her a sen. She made a face. "That all?" she said, in a dreadfully disappointed voice, but, despite her acting, he saw the greedy eagerness of her eyes. All the good-humor vanished. "Look here, Yuki," he said, with a disagreeable glint in his eyes, "you've had a trifle over fifty dollars this week. I don't begrudge you money, but I'll be hanged if I'm going to have you dragging it out of me on every occasion and upon every excuse you can make. You have no expenses. I can't see what you want with so much money, anyhow." "I godder save," said Yuki, mysteriously, struck with this brilliant excuse for her extravagance. "What for?" "Why, same's everybody else. Some day I nod have lods money. Whad I goin' do then? Tha's bedder save, eh?" "I've married you. I'll never let you want for anything." "Oh, you jus' marry me for liddle bit while." "You've a fine opinion of me, Yuki." "Yes, fine opinion of you," she repeated after him. "There's enough money deposited in a bank in Tokyo to last you as long as you live. If it's ever necessary for me to leave you for a time, you will not want for anything, Yuki." "But," she said, argumentatively, "when you leaving me I henceforward a widder. I nod marry with you any longer. Therefore I kin nod take your money." This last with heroic pride. "Boo! Your qualms of conscience about using my money are, to say the least, rather extraordinary." "When you leaving me--" she commenced again. "Why do you persist in that? I have no idea of leaving you." "What!" She was quite frightened. "You goin' stay with me forever!" There was far more fear than joy in her voice. "Why not?" he demanded, sharply, watching her with keen, savage eyes. "My lord," she said, humbly, "I could nod hear of thad. It would be wrong. Too grade sacrifice for you honorable self." He was not sure whether she was laughing at him or not. "You needn't be alarmed," he said, gruffly. "I'm not likely to stay here forever." He turned his back on her. Suddenly he felt her light little hand on his face. She was standing close by the hammock. He was still very angry and sulky with her. He closed his eyes and frowned. He knew just how she was looking; knew if he glanced at her he would relent ignominiously. She pried his eyes gently open with her fingers, and then kissed them, as softly as a tiny bird might have done. Gradually she crawled into the hammock with him, regardless of non-assistance. "Augustness," she said, her arms about his neck now, though she was sitting up and leaning over him. "Listen ad me." "I'm listening." "Look ad me." He looked, frowned, smiled, and then kissed her. She laughed under her breath, such a queer, triumphant, mocking small laugh. It made him frown again, but she kissed the frown into a smile once more. Then she sat up. "Pray excuse me. I wan' sit ad your feet and talk ad you." "Can't you talk here?" he demanded, jealously. "Nod so well. I gittin' dazzled. Permit me," she coaxed. He released her grudgingly. She sat close to him on the floor. She sighed heavily, hypocritically. "What is it now?" "Well, you know I telling you about those moneys." "Yes," he said, wearily. "Let's shut up on this money question. I'm sick of it." "I lige make confession ad you." "Well?" "I god seventeen brudders and sisters!" she said, with slow and solemn emphasis. "What!" He almost rolled out of the hammock in his amazement. "Seventeen!" She nodded with ominous tragedy in her face and voice. "Where do they live?" "Alas! in so poor part of Tokyo." "And your father and mother?" "Alas! Also thad fadder an' mudder so ole lige this." She illustrated, bowing herself double and walking feebly across the floor, coughing weakly. "Well?" he prompted sharply. "I god take all thad money thad ole fadder an mudder an' those seventeen liddle brudders an sisters. Tha's all they god in all the whole worl'." "But don't any of them work? Aren't any of them married? What's the matter with them all?" "Alas! No. All of them too young to worg or marry, excellency." "_All_ of them too young?" "Yes. Me--how ole _I_ am? Oldes' of all! I am twenty-eight--no, thirty years ole," she declared, solemnly. He nearly collapsed. He knew she was a mere child; knew, moreover, that she was lying to him. She had done so before. "Even if you are thirty, I fail to see how you can have seventeen brothers and sisters younger than yourself." She lost herself a moment. Then she said, triumphantly, "My fadder have two wives!" He surveyed her in studious silence a moment. Her attitude of trouble and despair did not deceive him in the slightest. Nevertheless, he wanted to laugh outright at her, she was such a ridiculous fraud. "Do you know what they'd call you in my country?" he said, gravely. She shook her head. "An adventuress!" "Ah, how _nize_!" She sighed with envious blissfulness. "I wish I live ad your country--be adventuressesses." "How much do you want now, Yuki?" She pretended to calculate on his fingers. "Twenty-five dollar," she announced. He gave it to her, and she slipped it into the bosom of her kimono. He watched her curiously, wondering what she did with all the money she secured from him. All of a sudden she put this question to him. "Sa-ay, how much it taking go ad America?" "How much? Oh, not much. Depends how you go. Four hundred, or five hundred dollars, possibly." She groaned. "How much come ad Japan?" "The same." She sighed. "Sa-ay, kind augustness, I wan' go ad America. Pray give me money go there." "I'll take you some day, Yuki." She retreated before this offer. "Ah, thangs--yes, some day, of course." Then, after a meditative moment: "Sa--ay, it taking more money than thad three-four hundled dollar whicheven?" "Yes; about that much again for incidentals--possibly more." She sighed hugely this time, and he knew she was not affecting. A few days later, poking among her pretty belongings, as he so much liked to do--she was out in the garden gathering flowers for their dinner-table--he found her little jewel-box. Like everything else she possessed, it was daintily perfumed. At the top lay the few pieces of jewelry he had bought for her on different occasions when he had taken her on trips to the city. He lifted the top tray, and then he saw something that startled him. It was a roll of bank-bills. He took it out and counted it. There was not quite one hundred and fifty dollars. He calculated all he had given her. It amounted to a little over twice this sum. She had been saving, after all! What was her object? And, his suspicions awakened by this discovery, he searched uneasily further through her apartments, and discovered, rolled like a huge piece of carpet and covered over by a large basket, the crépe and silks she had protested were stolen. VII MY WIFE! The second time his wife left him, Jack Bigelow was very wretched. He missed her exceedingly, though he would not have admitted it, for he was also very angry with her. When she had gone away that first time, so soon after their marriage, he had not felt her absence as he did now, for then she had not become a necessity to him. But she had lived with him now two whole months, and had become a part of his life. She was not a mere passing fancy, and he knew it was folly to endeavor so to convince himself, as in his resentment at her treatment he was trying to do. The house was desolate without her. Everywhere there were evidences of his little girl. Here a pair of her tiny sandals, some piece of tawdry kanzashi for her hair, her koto, samisen, and little drum; in the zashishi, in her own little room, and all over the house lingered the faint odor of her favorite perfume, so subtle it made the young man weak. He grew to hate the silence of the rooms. Their household had always been small, with just a man and maid to wait on them; and now only one presence gone from it, and yet how painfully quiet the place had grown! He realized what all her little movements had become to him. He stayed out-doors as much as he could, only to return restlessly to the house, with a faint hope that perhaps she was hiding somewhere in it, and playing some prank on him, as she was fond of doing, bursting out from some unexpected place of hiding. But there was no trace of her anywhere; and when the second day actually passed, the realization that she was indeed gone forced itself home to him, leaving him stupid with rage and despair. He was bitterly angry with her. She had no right to leave him like this, without a word of explanation. How was he to know where she had gone or what might happen to her? And the thought of anything dire really overtaking her nearly drove him distracted. He hung around the balconies of the house, wandered down into the garden, and strayed restlessly about. And all the time he knew he was waiting for her, and in the waiting doubling his misery. She came back in four days, slipped into the house noiselessly and ran up to her room. He heard her, knew she had returned, but checked his first impulse to go to her, and threw himself back on a couch, where he assumed a careless attitude, which he relentlessly changed to a stern, unapproachable, forbidding one. Suddenly he heard her voice. It came floating down the stairs, every weird minor note thrilling, mocking, fascinating him. "Toko-ton-yare ron-ton-ton!" she sang. Then the voice ceased a moment. She was waiting for him to call her. He did not move. He was certainly very angry with her. He would not forgive her readily. She began beating on her drum. He heard her making a great noise in the little room up-stairs, and understood her object. She was trying to attract him. Suddenly she whirled down the stairs and burst in on him with a merry peal of laughter. He ignored her sternly. She ceased her noise and laughter, and, approaching him, studied him with her head tilted bewitchingly on one side. "You angery ad me, excellency?" she inquired with solicitude. No reply. "You very _mad_ ad me, augustness?" Still no reply. "You very _cross_ ad me, my lord?" Jack regarded her in contemptuous silence. She shouted now, a high, mocking, joyous note in her laughter. "Hah! You very, very, very, very _affended_, Mister Bigelow?" "It seems to please you, apparently," said Jack, scathingly, wasting his sarcasm, and turning his eyes from her. She laughed wickedly. "Ah, tha's so nize." "What is?" he demanded, sharply. "Thad you loog so angery. My! You loog like grade big--whad you call thad?--toranadodo." She knew how to pronounce "tornado," but she wanted to make him laugh. She failed in her purpose, however. She tried another way. "_How_ you change!" She sighed with beatific delight. Jack growled. "Dear me! I thing you grown more nize-loogin," she said. Jack got up and walked across to the window, turning his back deliberately on her, and whistling with forced gayety, his hands in his pockets. She approached him with feigned timidity and stood at his elbow. "You glad see me bag, excellency?" "No!" shortly. This emphatic answer frightened her. She was not so sure of herself, after all. "You wan' me go 'way?" she asked, in the smallest voice. "Yes." She loitered only a moment, and then "Ah-bah" (good-bye) she said softly. He felt, for he would not turn around to see, that she was crossing the room slowly, reluctantly. He heard the shoji pushed aside, and then shut to. He was alone! He sprang forward and called her name aloud. She came running back to him and plunged into his arms. He held her close, almost fiercely. The anger was all gone. His face was white and drawn. The dread of losing her again had overpowered him. When she tried to extricate herself from his arms, he would not let her go. He sat down on one of the chairs, and held her on his knee. She was laughing now, laughing and pouting at his white face. "My crashes!" she cried. "You loog lige ole Chinese priest ad the temple." She pulled a long face, and drew her pretty eyes up high with her finger tips; then she chanted some solemn words, mocking mirthfully her ancestors' religion. But her husband was grave. He had not the heart to find mirth even in her naughtiness. "Yuki," he said, "you must be serious for a moment and listen to me." "I listenin', Mr. Solemn-Angery-Patch!" She meant "Cross-patch." "You loog lige--" "Where did you go?" "Oh, jus' liddle bit visit." "Where did you go?" he repeated, insistently. "Sa-ay, I forgitting." "Answer me." She pretended to think, and then suddenly to remember, sighing hypocritically the while. "I lige forgitting," she said. "Forgetting what?" "Where I been." "Why?" "Tha's so sad. Alas! I visiting thad ole fadder an' mudder ninety-nine and one hundled years ole, and those seventeen liddle brudders an' sisters. You missing me very much?" she changed from the subject of her whereabouts. "No!" he said, shortly, stung by her falsity. "I don' sing so!" "Where were you, Yuki?" "Now, whad you wan' know for, sinze you don' like me whicheven?" "Did I say so?" "You say you don' miss." "I lied," he said, bitterly. "Where were you?" "Jus' over cross street, see my ole friend ad tea-garden." "I thought you said you were visiting your people?" She was not at all abashed. "Sa-ay, firs' you saying you miss me; then thad you lie. Sa-ay, you big lie, I jus' liddle bit lie." "Yuki, listen to me. If you leave me like this again, you need never come back. Do you understand?" "Never?" "I mean that." "Whad you goin' do? Git you nudder wife?" He pushed her from him in savage disgust. She laughed with infinite relish. He sat down a little distance from her, and put his face wearily between his hands. Yuki regarded him a moment, and then she silently went to him, pulled his hands down, and kissed his lips. "I have missed you terribly," he said, hoarsely. She was all compunction. "I very sawry. I din know you caring very much for poor liddle me, an p'raps I bedder nod come bag ad you." "Why did you come, then?" he asked, gently. "I coon' help myself," she said, forlornly. "My feet aching run bag ad you, my eyes ill to see you, my hands gone mad to touch you." She had grown in a moment serious, but also melancholy. After a pause she said, more brightly, "I bringin' you something--something so nize, dear my lord." "What is it, Yuki, dear?" He was reluctant to let her go even for a moment. "Flowers," she said--"summer flowers." He released her, and she brought them to him, a huge bunch of azaleas. She buried her delightful little nose in them. "Ah," she said, "flowers mos' sweetes' thing in all the worl', an' all them same flowers for you, for you." "Where did you get them, dear?" he asked, taking her hands instead of the flowers, and drawing her, flowers and all, into his arms. She faltered a little, and then said, with the old daring smile flashing back in her face: "Nize Japanese gents making me present those flowers." He caught her wrists in a grip of iron. "What do you mean?" he demanded, fiercely, wild jealousy assailing him. She pulled herself from him, and regarded the little wrists ruefully. "Ain' you shamed?" she accused. "Yes!" He kissed the little wrists with an inward sob. "Tell me all, my little one. Please do not hide anything from me. I can't bear it." "Thad Japanese gent wanter marry with me," she informed him, calmly smiling, and dimpling as if it amused her, and then making a face to show him her feelings in the matter. "My! How he _adore_ me!" she added, vividly. "Marry with you! What do you mean? You are my wife." "Yes, bud _he_ din know thad," she said, consolingly; "an' see, I bring his same flowers unto you." He took them from her arms. They were all crushed now, and it distressed her. No Japanese can bear to see a flower abused. She fingered some of the petals sadly; then she sighed, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. "Tha's mos' beautiful thing' in all the whole worl'," she said, indicating the flowers--"so pure, so kind, so sweet." "I know something more beautiful and sweet, and--and pure." "Ah, whad?" she said, her face shining, the pupils of the blue eyes so large as to make them look almost black. "My wife!" he breathed. VIII YUKI'S HOME Every day, all unknown to Yuki, her husband looked in her little jewel-box. The pile of bills grew larger. He no longer refused her requests for money. The fund was quite large now. The last time he had counted it there were four hundred dollars. He took a whim to make it five hundred, and that same day gave her a clear hundred dollars. She had given him a solemn promise never to leave him again without his knowledge and consent, and for a whole month she had kept steadfastly at home. It was the happiest month in his life, a month that spelled naught else but joy and sunshine. But the day after he had given her the hundred dollars she came to him and begged very humbly to be permitted to visit her old father and mother and seventeen little brothers and sisters. She still kept up this deception. He refused her almost gruffly. He had grown selfish and spoiled under her care. All the day, however, he watched her suspiciously, fearful lest she should slip away. And he was right. In the evening, when she had left him for a moment, he saw her leaving the house. He took his hat, and, keeping at a good distance from her, but never losing sight of her for a moment, he followed her. Twilight was falling. Softly, tenderly, the darkness swept away the exquisite rays of red and yellow that the departing sun had left behind, for it was crossing the waters, until, far in the distance, it dipped deep down as though swallowed up by the bay. Yuki was walking rapidly towards Tokyo. It was only a short distance, but nevertheless the thought of her little tender feet treading it alone, and at such an hour, unnerved her husband. Whatever her mission, wherever she was going, he would follow her. She belonged to him completely. She should never escape him now, he told himself. She seemed to know her way, and showed no hesitation or fear when once in Tokyo, but bent her steps quickly and with assurance, until finally they were before the great terminal station at Shimbashi. They had now come a long distance. The girl looked tired: weary shadows were under her eyes, as she passed into the railway enclosure and bought a ticket for a town suburb a short distance from Tokyo. Her husband went to the window, inquired where the girl was going, and bought a ticket for the same place. Then began the long journey in the uncomfortable train, where there were no sleeping accommodations whatever. Yuki found a seat, and sat very quietly staring out at the flying darkness. After a time she put her head back against the seat and, despite the jolting of the train, fell asleep. Her husband was close to her now--in the next seat, in fact. He could have touched her, as he so longed to do, but would not for fear of disturbing or frightening her. When they reached the little town, the banging of the doors, the blowing of whistles, and shouts of the conductors awakened her. She came to life with a start, gathered her little belongings together, and left the train, her husband still following her. It was a refined and beautiful little town they had arrived at, apparently the home of the exclusive and cultivated Japanese. Its atmosphere was grateful and pleasing after the crowded city of Tokyo, with its endless labyrinth of narrow streets and grotesque signboards, and ceaseless noises. Yuki had not far to walk. Only a few steps from the little station, and then she was before one of those old-fashioned, pretentious palaces once affected by the nobles. There were signs of neglect about the house and gardens, which had fallen out of repair. No coolies or servants were in sight. At the garden gate Yuki paused a moment, leaning wearily against it, ere she opened and passed through, up the garden walk, and disappeared into the shadows of the palace. Her husband stood for a long time as though rooted to the spot. Then very slowly he retraced his steps to the railway station, bought his ticket, and returned to Tokyo. He felt sure she would come back to him. And she did, hardly two days later. He was very gentle to her this time. There were no more questions asked, and she vouchsafed no explanation. But she came back to him strangely docile and submissive. All the old mockery and folly had vanished. She was angelic in her sweet tenderness and solicitude. But once he found her in tears. She protested they had come there because she had laughed so hard. Another time, when he offered her money, she refused passionately to accept it. It was the first time since she had lived with him. Thereafter she refused to take even the regular weekly allowance agreed upon. He looked in her little jewel-box, and found the money all gone. Her docility and gentleness strengthened his confidence in her. He was sure she would never leave him again. He even told her of this belief, and she did not deny it. But her eyes were tearful. With boyish insistence he teased her. "Tell me so--that you will never leave me again." "Never?" she said, but the word slipped her lips as a question. "Repeat it after me," he demanded. "Say: 'I--shall--never--never--leave you again.'" "Ah, you makin' fun ad me," she protested, begging the question. But he still persisted, and made her repeat slowly after him, word by word, that she would remain with him till death should part them. One day he found her laboriously occupied at her small writing-desk. Her little hand flew down the page, rapidly drawing the strange characters of her country's letters. "What are you doing? You look as wise and solemn as a female Buddha." Yuki carefully blotted and covered her letter. She did not answer him. Instead she held up her little stained fingers, to show him the ink on them. He sat down beside her, kissing the tips of her fingers. "To whom were you writing, fairy-sage?" he said. "To whom? My brudder." "Your brother! Ah, you have a brother, have you? And where is he?" She still hesitated, and he watched her keenly. "He live ad Japan," she said, after a long moment. "Japan is quite a big place," remarked her husband, suggestively. "He has rather large quarters for one fellow, don't you think?" "Japan liddle bit country," she argued, trying to change the subject. "America, perhaps, grade big place, big as half the whole worl'--" "Not quite," interposed her husband, smiling. "Well, big's one-quarter of the worl', anyhow," she declared. "Bud Japan! Mos' liddle bit insignificant spot on all the beautiful maps." "What part of Japan does your family live in?" "Liddle bit town two hundled miles north of Tokyo." "Indeed." She had spoken the truth, he knew. "Why doesn't your brother come to see you?" Now that he had commenced it, he stuck to his catechism doggedly. "He don't know where I live," she said. "Don't know! That's strange. Why doesn't he?" "I 'fraid tellin'." "Afraid of what?" "Afraid he disowning me forever." "Why should he do that?" He was getting interested. He disliked wringing her secrets from her in this wise. He wanted her confidence unsolicited; but his curiosity had the better of him. "Why should he disown you?" he repeated. "Because I marrying--" she paused, somewhat piteously, holding one of his hands closely between her own small ones, and entreatingly pressing it as though begging him not to pursue his questions. "Well?" he said--"because you married--" "You," she finished. "Oh!" His ejaculation was rueful. Then he laughed, and squared his shoulders, and shook his finger at her. "What's the matter with me? Am I not good enough?" "Too honorably good," she declared, humbly. "Then why does your family object to receiving me into its bosom, eh?" "Because you jus' barbarian," she said, apologetically, and then swiftly tried to make amends. "Barbarian mos' nize of all. Also _I_ am liddle bit barbarian. I god them same barbarous eyes an' oogly hair--" "Loveliest hair in the world," he said, stroking it fondly. "But never mind, dearie. Don't look so distressed. It's not your fault, of course, that your people disapprove of me." "They don' dis'prove," she interrupted him, her distress deepening. "They don' never seen you even." "But I thought you said--" "I jus' guess. Tha's why I don' tell thad brudder. Mebbe he dis'prove you when he see you grade big barbarian. Tha's bedder nod tell unto him." "But where does he think you are all the time?" "He?" She lost her head a moment. "Likewise," she continued, "he also travel from home. Perhaps he also marrying with beautiful barbarian leddy. Tha's whad I dunno." "I don't quite understand," said her husband. "But never mind. If you don't like the subject, and it's plain you don't, you sha'n't be bothered with it." "Thangs," she said, gratefully. On another day, as she sat opening his American mail with her small paper-knife, a picture of a young American girl fell from the envelope. Yuki picked it up, and regarded it with dilated eyes and lips that quivered. It was the first shock of jealousy she had experienced. One of his own country-women then must love him. No Japanese girl would send her picture to any man save her lover. Her first impulse was to tear the picture across. She did not want him to see it. Perhaps even the pictured face might win him back, she thought jealously. But she did not destroy it. She hid it in the sleeve of her kimono, and for a whole week she tortured herself with drawing it forth from its hiding-place and studying the face whenever she was alone a moment, comparing it with her own exquisite one in her small mirror. Then conscience, or perhaps natural feminine curiosity to know who her rival was, prompted her to make humble confession to her husband of her theft. He took the matter gayly, and seemed exuberantly happy at the idea of her being jealous, for she could not well hide this fact from him. He gloated over this apparent evidence of her love for him. "Isn't she lovely?" he asked, enthusiastically, pointing to the picture, and then pretending to hug it to him. "No," said Yuki, proudly. "Mos' oogly girl in all the whole worl'. Soach silliest things on her haed. I don' keer tha's hat or nod. Flowers, birds, beas', perhaps, an' rollin' her eyes this-a-way--" "This is my sister," said Jack, gravely. "I am sorry you don't like her, Yuki. She'd be just the sort of girl to love you." Her little spurt of temper flickered out pitifully. "Ah, _pray_ forgive me," she implored. "I mos' silliest _mousmè_ in all Japan. She jus' _lovely_, mos' sweet beautiful girl in all the whole worl'. Jus' like you, my lord." IX THE MIKADO'S BIRTHDAY The mellow summer was gone. With the dawn of the autumn the languor of the country seemed to increase. Now that the weather was cooler, however, they made frequent trips to the city, visiting the chrysanthemum shows, loitering through Uyeno park, the Shiba temples, and bazaars. And one day Jack shook gayly before her eyes a really awe-inspiring document. It was, in fact, an invitation, written in fine French, from a Japanese person of high rank, inviting him to attend a very important function, which was to be given at the Hôtel Imperial on the Mikado's birthday, which function was to be honored by the presence of "les princes et les princesses." "We are going, of course," he told her. "It will be a change, and, besides, I want to show you off to my friends. There'll be hosts of them there, you know." But she protested. First she set forth as excuse the fact that she was only an honorably rude and insignificant humble geisha girl, who would be out of place in so great and extraordinary an assemblage. Then her husband quite seriously reproved her, and reminded her forcibly that she was anything but an insignificant geisha girl. She was, in fact, a very important person--his wife. Ah, yes, she admitted that she had indeed grown in caste since her marriage with him; nevertheless, they had lived so honorably secluded together that she had forgotten all the polite mannerisms of society, which she had never been acquainted with at all, being only a crude girl of humble parentage. She would surely disgrace not only both of them by her behavior, but doubtless the whole assemblage. She would not know how to act, how to look, and when to speak. Then Jack insisted, with affected selfishness, that she should look at and speak to no one but himself. He would commit hari-kari, or joshi, or any old kind of Japanese suicide, otherwise. And as for her manners, they were lovely, perfect, just right. "Ah, bud you--" she deprecated. "You don' understan', you big barbarian. Those same honorable monsters, Japanese princes, whad, before all the gods, they goin' to thing of me?" "That you are absolutely adorable. How could they help thinking so, unless they are stone blind. Besides, this isn't a Japanese affair at all. It's at a European hotel, and there'll be all sorts and conditions of people there. I was lucky to get the invitations. They aren't for every one, you know. This is a big thing." "_You_ so big," she said, proudly. "Well, no. It had really nothing to do with my size. You see, I have a half-Jap friend in America, and of course it's through him I'm favored." "Ah, thad half-Jap, he was very high-up man ad Japan, perhaps?" "Well, he was connected with some of the big families, though he was quite poor." "Thad," said Yuki, with sudden vehemence, "is no madder ad Japan. Money! Who has thad money? Nod the ole families, the flower of the country; jus' the shop-keepers and the politicians." Her husband was startled at her outbreak. He was astonished at her knowledge of existing conditions in her country. But she did not pursue the subject, saying she disliked it. And the ball? What about that? Well, she would not go with him. He must go to that all alone, for the million big reasons she had given him. Moreover, all the ladies would wear Parisian toilettes. It would be a disgrace for his wife to go in a kimono. Again he was astonished at her. How did she know that on such occasions the ladies, Japanese included, dressed in European gowns? Apparently she knew more concerning such matters than he had imagined. It was becoming plainer to him every day that his wife was of no ordinary family. And then the memory of the old rambling palace, doubtless her home, in the exquisite, aristocratic little town where he had followed her, supported this idea. Who was his wife, after all? Who were her people, and why had none of them come near her during all these months? What was the meaning of the mystery in which she had surrounded herself ever since he had known her. And now, when there was scarcely a doubt left in his mind of her love for him, why had he failed to win her confidence? "I want to know just who you are, my little wife," he suddenly said. "I do not believe that tale about your people. I know you are not a geisha girl. You are not, are you?" "No," she said, very softly. "Then tell me. Who are your people? It is only right I should know this." She looked up at him with intense seriousness. Then her eyes fluttered, and she went rambling into one of her fairy tales of nonsense. "My people? Who they are? My august ancestors came from the moon. My one hundled grade-grandfathers fight and fight and fight like the lion, and conquer one-half of all Japan--fight the shogun, fight the kazoku, fight each other. They were great Samourai, cutting off the haeds of aevery humble mans they don' like. So much bloodshed displeased the gods. They punishing all my ancestors, bringin' them down to thad same poverty of those honorable peebles killed by them. Then much distress an' sadness come forever ad our house. All pride, all haughty boasting daed forever. Aeverybody goin' 'bout weepin' like ad a funeral. Nobody habby. What they goin' do git bag thad power an' reeches ag'in? Also one ancestor have grade big family to keep from starving, an' one daughter beautiful as the moon of her ancestors. He weep more than all the rest of those ancestors, weep an' weep till he go blind like an owl ad day-time. Then the gods begin feel sawry. One of them mos' sawry of all. He also is descendant of the Sun. Well, thad sun-god he comin' down ad Japan, make big raddle an' noise, an' marrying with thad same beautifullest daughter of thad ole blind ancestor. Thad sun-god my fadder. Me? I am the half-moon-half-sun offspring." She had promised to accompany him, at all events, to see the review from the American-legation tent, but at the last moment she backed out. She had seen it many times before, she declared. She was tired of it. At first he swore he would not go without her. Why, the "show," he declared, would be nothing to him without her to see it with him. Half the pleasure--nay, all of it--would be gone. He was really keenly disappointed, but she coaxed and wheedled and petted around him, till, before he knew that he was aggrieved at her backsliding, he was well on his way. The streets were thronged with a motley crowd of people. Jinrikishas were scurrying hither and thither, and little bits of humanity, in the shape of small men, small women, small children, and small dogs and cats, were colliding and jostling against the many ramshackle vehicles in the road. Gay flags and bunting were displayed everywhere, and the town presented a gala appearance. Jack got out of his jinrikisha and pushed his way through the crowd until he came up to the parade-grounds. He found his way to the proper tent, and, with a half-score of former acquaintances about him, he was soon drawn into the babble and gush of small talk and jokes that tourists meeting each other in foreign lands usually indulge in. Once on the parade-grounds, where infantry, cavalry, and artillery were forming themselves, it seemed as if he had suddenly left Japan altogether, and was once more in the modern Western world, of which he had always been a part. There was nothing Oriental in this brave display of the imperial army. There was nothing Oriental in this bustling, noisy crowd of foreigners, each trying to outdo the other in importance and precedence. Only the skies and the little winds, and, in the distance, the sinuous outlines of the mountains and forests beyond, and the disks on the national flag displayed everywhere, were Japanese. And after his long seclusion in the country the glitter dazzled him. There were seven thousand men in the field, and the Mikado, surrounded by his generals, body-guard, outriders, and standard-bearers, reviewed the troops; and then, amid a great flourish, and hoarse cheering drowning the national hymn, which was being played by all the bands at once, he left the grounds. Jack did not return after the parade to his home, much as he would have liked to do so. Some acquaintances who had crossed on the same steamer with him on his way to Japan carried him off triumphantly to their hotel, and that night he went with them to the imperial ball. It was very late when he went home to Yuki. There was a faint light burning in the zashishi, and he wondered with some concern whether she were sitting up waiting for him. He did not see her at first when he entered the room, for the light of the andon had fluttered down dimly, and it was more the grayness of the approaching dawn which saved the room from complete darkness. Crossing the room, he came upon her. She had fallen asleep on the floor. She was lying on her back, her arms encircling her head. He was suddenly struck with her extreme youth. She seemed little more than a tired child, who had grown weary and had fallen asleep among her toys, for beside her on a tiny foot-high table was the little supper she had prepared for him, and which was now quite cold. On the other side of her were her tiny drum and samisen, with which she had been attempting doubtless to pass the evening by pulling from the strings some of that weird music he knew so well now. For a long time her husband looked at her, and a feeling of intense isolation about her came over and suddenly possessed him. Why had he never been able to bridge that strange distance which lay like a pall between them, the feeling always that she was not wholly his own, that she had been but a guest within his house, a tiny wild bird that he had caught in some strange way and caged--caught, though she had come to him, as it were, for protection? Just as, when a boy, he remembered how a robin had beaten at his shutters, and he had saved it from an enemy, and afterwards how he had caged it, and how it had pined for its freedom. The thought that he might yet lose Yuki caused him such anguish of mind it almost stunned him. He knelt down beside her, and drew her up in his arms, and then, as gently as a mother would have done, he carried her up the queer spiral stairway which led to their little up-stairs room. The next day she questioned him anxiously. Were there many ladies more beautiful than she at the ball? Had he enjoyed himself largely with them, and how could he live away hereafter from such mirth and gayety? Why had he come back to little, insignificant her? And he told her that never in all his life before had he longed so ardently for any one as he had for her that previous night. That the day had been endless; the noise and show, the brassy merriment and cheer, were abhorrent to him, for she had not been there to rob it of its vulgarity with the charm of her sweet presence. That he had been rude in his efforts to escape it, had bullied the jinrikimen because they had seemed to creep, and that happiness and peace had only come back to him again when he had crossed his own threshold and had taken her in his arms. Still the wistful distress in her misty eyes was only in part dispelled. "Last night," she said, "I broke my liddle jade bracelet. It is a bad omen." "I will buy you a dozen new ones," he said. "One million dozens cannot mend jus' thad liddle one," she returned, sadly, shaking her head. "It is a bad omen. Mebbe a warning from the gods." Of what did they warn her? That she could not say, but she had heard that such an accident usually preceded the sorrows of love. Perhaps he would soon pass away from her, and, like the ghost of the fisher-boy Urashima, who had left his fairy bride to return to his people, he too would pass out of her life, back into that from which he had come. X A BAD OMEN It was late in November. The parks were dropping their autumn glories and taking on the browner hues and hints of hoar-frost, black-and-white vestments, the sackcloth and ashes of winter. The recessional of the birds was dying away into silence. Soon the final, long-drawn amen of the north-wind would be breathed out over the deserted woods, where the anthem of praise had rung out to the worshipping air all through the golden days and silver nights of summer. The still beauty of the autumn evening was piercingly melancholy, and, even with a loving sunset still lingering in the skies, a silken, gentle rain was falling, as though the gods were weeping over the death of the autumn, were weeping hopeless tears--the most tragic of all. The little house that stood alone on the hill faced to the west, its wet roofs and shingles sparkling and glistening in the rays of the dying sunset that enveloped it. Yuki opened a shoji (sliding paper door) of her chamber, and looked out wistfully at the city of Tokyo, that in the autumn silence was shining out like a gem, with its many strange lights and colors. She stole softly out on to a small balcony, and stepped down into the tiny garden as the night began to spread its mantle of darkness. A few minutes later her husband called to her: "Yuki! Yuki!" He drew her into the room, and closed the shoji behind her. "You have been crying again!" he said, sharply, and turned her face up to the light. "It is the rain on my face, my lord," she answered in the smallest voice. "But you mustn't go out in the rain. You are quite wet, dear." "Soach a little, gentle rain," she said. "It will not hurt jus' me. I loogin' aeverywhere 'bout for our liddle bit poor nightingale. Gone! Perhaps daed! Aeverything dies--bird, flowers, mebbe--me!" He put his hand over her mouth with a hurt exclamation. "Don't!" he only said. The maid brought in their supper on a tray, but before she could set it down Yuki had impetuously crossed the room and taken it from her hands. "Go, go, honorable maid," she said. "I will with my own hands attend my lord's honorable appetite." She knelt at his feet, geisha fashion, holding the tray and waiting for him to eat, but he took it from her gravely, and put it on the small table beside them, and then silently, tenderly, he took her small hands in his own. "What is troubling you, Yuki? You must tell me. You are hiding something from me. What has become of my little mocking-bird? I cannot live without it." "You also los' liddle bird?" she queried, softly--"jus' lige unto my same liddle nightingale?" "I have lost--I am losing you," he said, suddenly, with a burst of anguish. "I cannot make you out these last few weeks. What has come over you? I miss your laughing and your singing. You are always sad now; your eyes--ah, I cannot bear it." His voice went suddenly anxious. "Tell me, is it--do you--want--need some more money, Yuki? You know you can have all you want." She sprang to her feet fiercely. "No, no, no, no!" she cried; "naever any more for all my life long, _dear_ my lord." "Then why--" "Ah, _pray_ don' ask why." "But why--" "Then listen unto me. I nod any longer thad liddle bit geisha girl you marrying with. I change grade big moach. Now you see me, I am one wooman, mebbe like wooman one hundled years ole--wise--sad--I change!" "Yes," he said. "You are changed. You are my Undine, and I have found your soul at last!" * * * * * One oppressive afternoon, when a nagging, bleating wind out-doors had prevented their going on their customary ramble through the woods or on a little trip to the city, Jack had fallen asleep. Long before he had awakened he had felt her warm, soothing presence near him, but with the pleasure it afforded him was mingled a premonition of disaster and a dread of something unhappy about her? He awoke to find her standing by him, her face white and drawn with a despair he could not comprehend. "What is it?" He started up fearfully. "Your eyes are tragic! You look as if you were contemplating something frightful." She sank down to his feet, and, despite his protests, knelt and clung to him there, sobbing with passionate abandon. "Don't! Don't! I can't bear you to do that. What is it, Yuki?" "Oh, for liddle while, jus' liddle bit while, bear with me," she said. "Little while! What do you mean?" he demanded. She tried to regain her composure. Her laughter was piteous. "I only liddle bit skeered," she said. "I--" she stammered--"I skeered 'bout thad liddle foolish jade bracelet, all smashed and broken." "Is that all?" "It is soach a bad omen! The gods trying to separate us, mebbe." "Separate us?" His suspicions were growing. "How can they do that? It lies between you and me, such a--such a fate. The gods--ah, you are talking nonsense." "The gods see inside," she said. "Inside what?" "Our hearts." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "And what can they find there to distress you?" he asked, almost fiercely. She was hurting him with her failure to confide in him. "The bracelet--" she began. "It is broken, an' love, too, mus' die--an' break!" From that day her melancholy grew rather than diminished. But she had roused her husband's suspicions, and her morbidness irritated rather than appealed to him. He felt that in some way he was being deceived. The day that he found her wardrobe neatly and carefully folded away in her queer little packing-case, as though in preparation for a journey, the full sense of her deceit dawned upon him. Hitherto when she had left him she had taken none of her belongings with her. He perceived it was now her intention to desert him utterly. He had served her purpose, apparently, and she was through with him. His wrath burst its bounds. He had not known the capabilities of his angry passion. He tore the silken garments from the box with the fierce madness of one demented, then he pushed her into the room, and showed her where they lay scattered. "The meaning of this?" he demanded, white to the lips with the intensity of his passion. She remained mute. She did not even trouble to mock or laugh at him, nor would she weep. She seemed dazed and bewildered, and he, infuriated against her, said things which rankled in his conscience for years afterwards. "Does a promise mean nothing to you--a promise--an oath itself? Were you, parrot-like, merely echoing my words when you swore to stay by me until--" his voice broke--"death?" Still she made him no denial, and her silence maddened him, and drove him on with his bitter arraignment. "What your object has been I fail to see, but you cannot deny that you have laid yourself out, have used every effort, every art and wile, of which you are mistress, to make me believe in you. And I--I--like a blind, deluded fool--ah, Yuki--there is something wrong, some hideous mistake somewhere. You have some secret, some trouble. Be frank with me. Can't you see--understand how I--I am suffering?" She roused herself with an effort, but her words were pitifully conventional. She apologized for the trouble and noise she had brought into his house. "You have not answered me!" he cried. "What was your intention? Did you intend to leave me? You shall answer me that!" "It was bedder so," she said, and her voice fainted. She could speak no further. "Then such was your intention!" He could hardly believe her words. XI THE NIGHTINGALE When Love lives after Trust is dead, then peace is an unknown quantity. A constraint that was baffling in its intense hopelessness now hedged up between these two. Yuki grew thin and wistful. Her whole attitude became one of pitiful attempted conciliation and humility, which with bitter suspicion her husband took to be confusion and guilt. Had she even affected somewhat of her old light-heartedness and attempted to win his forgiveness by her old audacious wiles, her husband would have forgotten and forgiven everything, glad of an excuse to renew the old close comradeship with her. But she made no such attempt. She had acquired a peculiar fear of her husband, and unconsciously shrank from him, as though dreading to bring down on herself his further displeasure. She kept away from him as much as she could, though at times she made spasmodic, frantic efforts to assume her old light-heartedness, but these efforts were usually followed by passionate outbursts of tears, when she had drawn the shoji between them, and was once more alone with her own inward thoughts, whatever they were. Meanwhile her husband kept the watch of a jailer over her. He was convinced that she was waiting for a chance to leave him, and this he was determined to frustrate. She had raised in him a feeling of the intensest bitterness, which amounted almost to antagonism towards her. And still beneath all this resentment and bitterness a tenderness and yearning for her threatened to strangle and overpower all other feeling. Her apparent fear of him hurt him terribly, and caused him distractedly at times to question whether he had been as kind to her as he might have been. Then his mind would inevitably revert to the fact that she was planning to leave him, and his resentment would burn fiercer than ever. By a common dread of the subject, both of them avoided alluding to it, and for this reason it weighed the heavier on their minds. He feared that any explanation she might attempt to make to him would only be some excuse put forward to reconcile him, and win his consent to the impossible situation which he instinctively knew she intended to consummate. She, on the other hand, watched wildly to turn the subject, dreading his wrath, which she was conscious was righteous. To add to the gloom of their strained relations, a season of drizzly wet weather set in, which confined them to the house, and moreover Yuki was grieving and pining over the loss of a favorite nightingale that had made its home in the tall bamboo out in the midnight garden of their little home. Jack was misanthropic and cynical, restless as it is possible for a man to be under such galling circumstances, yearning nevertheless for things to be as they had been between him and his wife. One night, at dusk, after an exceptionally sad and chilly meal in-doors, Jack had come out alone, and was trying to soothe his senses with a fragrant cigar. Instinctively he was waiting for his wife. He missed her if she was absent from his side but a moment. Suddenly out of the gloaming soared out one long, thrilling note of sheer ecstasy and bliss, that quivered and quavered a moment, and then floated away into the maddest peals of melody, ending in a sob that was excruciating in its intense humanness. The nightingale had returned! He sprang to his feet, and, trembling by the veranda rail, stared outward into the darkness. And then? Yuki came out from the shadows of their garden, and under the light of the moon, beneath their small balcony, she looked up into his eyes, and murmured in a voice thrilled by an inward sob, so timid and meek, so beseeching and prayerful: "I lige please you, my lord!" "The nightingale!" he whispered, with hoarse emotion. "Did you hear it? It has returned!" "Nay, my lord--tha's jus' me! I jus' a liddle echo!" She had learned the voice of the nightingale. [Illustration: THE NIGHTINGALE SONG] * * * * * With an exclamation of indescribable tenderness he drew her into his arms, and for a few moments at least all the misery and pain and constraint of the last few weeks between them passed away and gave place to all their pent-up love and loneliness. As he held her close to him, he was conscious at first only of the fact that she loved him, that she was clinging to him with somewhat of her old abandon, and then he felt her hands upon his arms. He could almost see them shaking and trembling. She was attempting to release herself! Struggling to be free! All of a sudden he released her, and stood breathing hard, his arms folded across his breast, waiting for her to do or say something to him. She did not move. She stood before him, with her head down; and then her blue eyes lifted, and timidly, appealingly, they beseeched his own. She started to speak, stammered only a few incoherent words, and then, with a half-sob, she unsteadily crossed the room and left him alone. Two days later, upon their household gloom came word from Taro Burton, announcing that he had arrived in Tokyo. Jack rushed off to meet him, telling Yuki he expected an old friend, and would bring him home that evening. XII TARO BURTON It may be that Jack Bigelow first awoke to the fact that for months he had been literally living in a dream-world when he saw his old college-chum, Taro Burton--the same dear, old, grave Taro! He rushed up to him in the old boyish fashion, wringing his hands with unaffected delight. The past dream-months rolled for the moment from his memory, and Jack was once again the happy up-to-date American boy. Taro had been delayed in America, he now told the other frankly, on account of the failure of his people to send him passage money until about a month ago. He had a few hardships to recount and some messages to deliver from mutual friends, and then he wanted to know all about Jack. Why had he failed to visit his people as promised? How much of the country had he seen? Why were his letters so few and far between? Jack Bigelow laughed shortly. "Burton, old man," he said, "I've been dead to everything in Japan--in the world, in fact--save one entrancing subject." "Yes?" The other was curious. "And that is--?" "My wife." "Your wife!" Taro stopped short. They were crossing the main street of Tokyo on foot. "Yes," said the other, laughing boyishly, all his resentment against the girl lost and forgiven for the time being. "And so you did it, after all?" said the other, with slow, bitter emphasis. His friend, then, was little different from other foreigners who marry only to desert. "Did what?" "Got a wife." "Got a wife! Why, man, she came to me. She's a witch, the sun-goddess herself. She's had me under her spell all these months. She has hypnotized me." "And still has you under her spell?" "I am wider awake to-day," said Jack, soberly. "And soon," said Taro, "you will be still wider awake, and then--then it will be time for her to awaken." "No!" said Jack, sharply, with bitter memory. "She has no heart whatever. She likes to pretend--that is all." "How do you mean?" "Simply that we've both been pretending and acting--I to myself, she to me; she trying to make me believe it was all real to her, at any rate these last two months; I trying to delude myself into believing in her, which was more than my conceit was good for, after all. Just when I was sure of her, I accidentally discovered that she was preparing to desert me altogether." "She apparently has more sense than some of them," said Taro. "Her head rules her heart." "Oh, entirely," Jack agreed, quickly, thinking of the money she had coaxed from him in the past. "And you," Taro turned on him, "have you come out all right?" "Perfectly!" the other laughed with forced assurance and airiness that deceived Taro, who was somewhat credulous by nature. "It wasn't for a lifetime, you know," he added. His reply was distasteful to the high moral sense of Taro Burton--more, it pained him, for it brought to him a sudden and deep disappointment in his friend. He changed the subject, and tried to talk about his own people. He was in a great hurry to go home, and would linger but a day in Tokyo. He had arrived sooner than they expected him. He was hungry for a sight of his little sister and mother--they were all he had in the world. Jack's spirits were dampened for the moment, as he had expected his friend to remain with him for a few days. However, he got Taro's consent to accompany him to his home for dinner that evening, in order to meet the "Sun-goddess." * * * * * Taro was ushered with great ceremony into the quaint zashishi, which was supposed to be entirely Japanese, and was in reality wholly American, despite the screens and mats and vases. Jack ran up-stairs to prepare his wife to meet his friend. The girl was panically dressing in her best clothes. The maid had brushed her hair till it glistened. Long ago her husband had peremptorily forbidden her the use of oil for the purpose of darkening or smoothing it, so it now shone a rich bronze black and curled entrancingly around her little ears and neck. She needed no color for her lips or cheeks; this also her husband had forbidden her to use. She looked like the picture of the sun-goddess in some old fairy print, her eyes dancing and shining with excitement, her cheeks very red and rosy. She was irresistible, thought her husband, as he held her at arm's length. Then, to her great mortification and chagrin, he lifted her bodily in his arms and carried her downstairs. And thus they entered the room, the girl blushing and struggling in his arms. Taro Burton was standing tall and erect, his back to the light. He was very grave, in spite of his friend's mirth, and, as Jack set the girl on the floor, he took a step forward to meet her, bowing ceremoniously in Japanese fashion. Yuki stood up, straightened her crumpled gown, and hung her head a moment. "Yuki, this is my friend, Mr. Burton." She raised her head with a quick, terrified start, and then instantaneously hers and Taro's eyes met, and each recoiled and shrank backward, their eyes matching each other in the intense startled look of horror. The man's face had taken on the color of death, and he was standing, immovable and silent, almost as if he were an image of stone. The girl sank to the floor in a confused heap, shivering and sobbing. Jack turned from her to Taro, and then back again to the crouching girl. She was creeping on her knees towards Taro, but the man, having found the power of movement, went backward away from her, aged all in a moment. He tried to turn his sick eyes from her, but they clung, fascinated as is the needle by the pole. And then Jack's voice, hoarse with a fear he could not understand, broke in: "Burton, what is the matter?" Suddenly the girl sprang to her feet and rushed to Taro, sobbing and entreating in Japanese, but the terrible figure of the man remained immovable. Jack pulled her forcibly from him. "Burton, dear old friend, what is it?" The other pushed his hands from him with almost a blow. "She is my sister! Oh, my God!" Jack Bigelow felt for an instant as if the life within him had been stopped. Then he grasped at a chair and sank down dazed. As though to break up the terrible silence, the girl commenced to laugh, but her laughter was terrible, almost unearthly. The man in the chair covered his face with his hands; the other made a movement towards her as if he would strike her. But she did not retreat: nay, she leaned towards him. And her laughter, loud and discordant, sank low, and then faded in a tremulous sob. She put out her little speaking, beseeching hands, and "Sayonara!" she whispered softly. Then there was stillness in the room, though the echoes seemed to repeat "Sayonara," "Sayonara," and again "Sayonara," and that means not merely "Farewell," but the heart's resignation: "If it must be." Jack and Taro were alone together, neither breaking by a word the tragic sadness of that terrible silence. It was the coming into the room of the maid that recalled them to life. Twilight was settling. She brought the lighted andon and set it in the darkening room. Jack got up slowly. The stupor and horror of it all were not gone from him, but he crossed to the other man, and looked into his dull, ashen face. "My God! Burton, forgive me," he said, brokenly; "I am a gentleman. I will fix it all right. She is my wife, and all the world to me. We can remarry if you wish, and I swear to protect her with all the love and homage I would give to any woman who became my wife." "Yes, you must do that," said the other, with weak half-comprehension. "But where is she?" "Where is she?" Jack repeated, dazedly. They had forgotten her departure. A dread of her possible loss possessed and stupefied Jack, and Taro was half delirious. "We must look for her at once," said Jack. They called to her, and all over the house and through the grounds they searched for her, their lanterns scanning the dark shadows under the trees in the little garden; but only the autumn winds, sighing in the pine-trees, echoed her singing minor notes, and mocked and numbed their senses. "She must have gone home," said the husband. "We must go there at once," said the brother. "It will be all right, Burton, dear old friend. Trust me; you know me well enough for that." Taro paused, and turned on him burning eyes, in which friendliness had been replaced by a look that spoke of stern and awful judgment. "Otherwise," he began, but paused; he went on in a cold hard voice, "I was going to say, I will kill you." XIII IN WHICH TWO MEN LEARN OF A SISTER'S SACRIFICE Jack Bigelow's usually sunny face was bleached to the ashiness of fear and despair. He was so nervous that he could not keep still a moment at a time, but would get up and pace the length of the car, only to return and look with eyes that attested the heartache within at the other man, silent and grim. Taro seemed the calmer, but well the younger man knew that beneath that subdued exterior slumbered a fire that needed but a breath to be turned into avenging fury. At last they reached their destination. The little town once again! But this night Jack was not alone. There was no star or moon overhead to lighten their pathway; a dull, drizzly, sleety rain was falling. In silence they left the car; in silence plodded through the mud of the road and the damp grass of the field beyond. The little garden gate creaked on its hinges as they went through. They saw the dim outlines of the old palace before them, with its wide balconies and sloping roofs. Half-way up the garden was the family pond, freshened by a hidden spring, and the little winding brook which wound hither and thither showed how it emptied into the bay beyond. There was even a tiny boat moored on a toy-like island in the centre of the pond. For the first time Taro Burton paused, and looked with dreadful eyes at its dull surface, which even the darkness of the night and the miserable rain could not obliterate entirely. What were the memories that crowded back on him, suffocating him? Here it was that he and Yuki had grown up together. The little boat was the same, the island as small and neat, the house seemed as ever; nothing had changed. Yes, there was Yuki! A deep groan slipped from his lips. There was a difference of seven years in their ages, but a stronger bond of sympathy and comradeship had existed between these two than is usual between brother and sister. Their nationality had to a large extent isolated them from other children, for the Japanese children had laughed at their hair and eyes, and called them "Kirishitans" (Christians). Until he was seven years of age, Taro had manfully, though bitterly, fought his battles alone. He had been a queer, brooding little lad, of passionate and violent temper, and, apparently, scorning any overtures of friendship from any one outside his own household. When the little sister had come, the boy had gone suddenly wild with joy, and had proceeded to bestow upon her the same worshipful love his mother gave exclusively to him, for Snowflake had been born when their English father lay at the gates of death, her tiny soul fluttering into life just as that of her father drifted outward into eternity, so that to Omatsu, the mother, who was passionately absorbed in her grief, her arrival had been a source of irritation. But Taro had carried her to the family temple, and had, himself, named her "Snowflake" (Yuki), for she had come at a time when all the land was covered with whiteness. There had been a frost and even a snowfall, which is rare in that part of the country. Moreover, she resembled a snowflake, so soft and white and pure. How was it possible for him, after all these years, to come, as he now had come, once more to this place of which she had always been a part, and with which she had always been lovingly associated in his mind, and not be filled with emotions that rent his heart. She had been his inspiration and all the world to him. He remembered how they would drift around in their tiny boat, and she, little autocrat, would perch before him, her eyes dancing and shining, while he told her the story of the fisher-boy Urashima and his bride, the daughter of the dragon king. And when he would finish, for the hundredth time, perhaps, she would say, "See, Taro-sama, I am the princess, and you the fisher-boy. We are sailing, sailing, sailing on the sea 'where Summer never dies,'" and he, to please her fancy, drifted on and on with her, around and around the little pond, until the sun began to sink in the west and the little mother would call them in-doors. Now the monotonous drip, drip, drip of the rain-drops as they plashed from the weeping willow-trees that surrounded the tiny lake, fell upon its dull surface with mournful sound. Taro groaned again. When he had knocked loudly a man came shuffling round from the rear of the house, and, in reply to his inquiry for Madam Omatsu, informed him gruffly that she had retired. It did not matter; he must awaken her, Taro, who had found voice, told him with such insistence that the servant fled ignominiously to obey him. They waited for some time, out in the melancholy night. There was no sound from within the house. Taro hammered on the door once more. Then a faint light appeared from a window close by the door, and the man's head showed again. He begged their honorable patience. He would open in a fraction of a second. He was very humble and servile now, and, as he admitted them, backed before them, bowing and bobbing at every step, for his mistress's entire household had been taught to treat foreigners with the greatest deference and respect. "Go to your mistress," said Taro, briefly, "and tell her that her son desires to see her at once." There was immediately a fluttering at the other side of the shoji. Taro saw an eye withdraw from a hole. There were a few minutes of silence, and then the shoji parted and a woman entered the room. Her mother-love must have prompted her to rush into the arms of her son, for she had not seen him in five years, but, whatever her emotions, she skilfully concealed them, for the paltry reason that her son was accompanied by a stranger, an honorable foreign friend; and it behooved her to affect the finest manners. Consequently she prostrated herself gracefully, bowing and bowing, until Taro strode rapidly over to her and lifted her to her feet. She was quite pretty and very gentle and graceful. Her face, oval in contour, was smooth and unwrinkled as a girl's, for Japanese women age slowly. It was hard to believe she was the mother of the tall man now holding her at arm's length and looking down at her with such deep, questioning eyes. "Where is my sister, Yuki?" he demanded, hoarsely. "Yuki?" Madam Omatsu smiled with saintly confidence. She had retired. Would they pray wait till morning? Ah, how was her honorable son, her august offspring? She began fondling her boy now, stroking his face, standing on tiptoe to kiss it, ecstatically smoothing and caressing his hands, feeling his strange clothes, and laughing joyously at their likeness to those of her dead husband's. But the dark shadow on Taro's face was deepening, nor would he return or submit to his mother's caresses till his fears regarding his sister were stilled. "Send for her," he said, briefly, and she knew he would not be gainsaid. Send for her! Ah, Madam Omatsu begged her noble son's pardon ten million times, but she had made a great mistake. His sister had, of course, retired, but it was not within their augustly miserable and honorably unworthy domicile. She had gone out on a visit to some friends. Taro undid the clinging hands and pushed her from him, his brooding eyes glaring. "Where?" Where? Why, it was only a short distance--perhaps two rice-fields' lengths from their house. "The house?--the people's name?" Madam Omatsu whitened a trifle. Her eyes narrowed, her lips quivered. She tried once more frantically to prevaricate. The people's name? She could not quite recall, but the next day--the next day surely-- "Ah-h," said her son, with delirious brutality, "you are deceiving me, lying to me. I demand to know where she is. I am her rightful guardian. I must see her at once." Madam Omatsu protested with faint vehemence, but she did not weep. She even essayed a little laugh, that reminded Jack eerily of Yuki. In the dimly lighted room she looked strangely like her daughter, save that she was much smaller and quite thin and frail, whereas Yuki was rosy and healthy. Taro was speaking to her in Japanese, in a sharp, cruel voice, and she was answering gently, meekly, humbly, consolingly. Jack felt sorry for her. Suddenly Taro threw her hands from him, with a gesture of sheer despair and exhausted patience. "I can learn nothing from her, nothing," he said in English. Then he turned on her again. "Listen," he said: "You are my mother, and as such I honor you, but you must not deceive me. I know all; know that my sister was married to an American; know how she was married, if you call such marriage. They do not consider it so, as you must know. What do you know of this, my mother? It could not have happened without your knowledge?" The mother broke down at last. All was indeed lost if he knew that much. She sank in a heap at his feet, and again the other man was reminded of her daughter. Taro raised her, not ungently, curbing his emotions. "Pray speak to me the truth," he implored. "It was for you," she said, faintly, in Japanese. "I desired it, I, your mother; and, afterwards, she also, she, your sister. It was a small sacrifice, my son." "Sacrifice! What do you mean?" he cried. "Alas, we had not the money to keep you at the American school, and later, when you desired to return, it was still harder." "Oh, my God!" She went on, speaking brokenly in Japanese. After he had gone to America their little fortune had been swept away, but of this they had kept him in ignorance, fearing that he would not remain in the university did he know how poor they had become. The house belonged to him; they could not sell it. There had been but poor crops in their few remaining acres of rice-fields; their income became smaller and smaller. One by one their servants and coolies had to be sacrificed, till there were only a very few left, and these refused to be paid for their services. They had secured money in what manner they could, and sent it to him. It was hard, but they loved him. Then Yuki, unknown to her mother, had gone up to Tokyo each day and learned the arts of the geisha; later she invented dances and songs of her own, and soon she was able to command a good price at one of the chief tea-gardens in Tokyo. This for a season had brought them in a fair income, and for a time they were enabled to send him even more than the usual allowance. Then came his request for his passage money. Alas! they were but weak and silly women. They had forgotten to save against this event in their desire to keep him in comfort. Nakodas had approached Yuki, and tempting offers were made to her. She had resisted all of them, for she was then below the age when girls usually marry, but sixteen years of age. Only when it became imperative to raise the passage money would she even listen to the pursuasion of her mother and of the nakoda. They had pointed out to her the great advantage, and finally, as the brother's letters grew more insistent, she had broken down and given in. After that time she had assisted them in their efforts to secure her a suitable husband. They had been exceptionally successful, for she had married a foreigner who would likely leave her soon, which was fortunate in Omatsu's mind, one whose excellent virtues and whose wealth were above question. This was all there was to tell. She prayed and besought her honorable son's pardon. During her recital Taro had leaned towards her, listening with bated breath to every word that escaped her lips. His thin, nervous face was horribly drawn, his hands were clinched tightly at his side, his whole form was quivering. He tried to regain his scattered senses, and his hand vaguely wandered to his brow, pushing back the thick black hair that had fallen over it. "You cannot understand," he said to the other man, his voice scarcely recognizable for its labor. "It was for me, me, my little sister sold herself. To keep me in comfort and ease! Snowflake for me! And they kept me in ignorance. I did not even dream they were in straitened circumstances. Oh, had I not willing hands and an eager heart to work, to slave for them? Why should the whole burden have fallen on her, my little, frail sister? But it has always been so. There is no such thing as justice in this land for the woman." Jack heard him raving, understood, and bowed his head in impotent sorrow. "Has your mother given you any information of her whereabouts?" he suddenly broke in. Taro had forgotten that they were seeking her. His mother's story had held all his attention. The horror aroused by that recital of devotion, the thought of the months of her sweet life which she had sacrificed for him, and then how he had repulsed her, pressed on his poor numbed senses. But Jack's inquiry recalled him. A thousand dark surmises regarding her overwhelmed him. "Yes, yes--where is she?" he asked, huskily. She had been with her husband some days now. Madam Omatsu expected her home soon, and this time she would never again return to him. Taro's eyes were inflamed. "And she has not returned? She should be here now! Ah, it is plain to be seen what has happened. She may be taking her life at this moment. It is what a Japanese girl would do. She had the blood of heroes in her veins; she would not falter." All of a sudden he turned upon his friend. Then the full agony caused by his sister's disappearance and her great sacrifice descended upon him, and he tottered. Before Jack could stay him, he swayed forward and, as he fell, struck his forehead upon the corner of a heavy chair that had been his father's. When Jack raised the head of the unconscious man he found blood flowing from a wide cut over the left eye. There were hurrying feet throughout the house, terrified whispers, and sobs, and, above all, a mother's voice raised in terrible anguish. XIV A STRUGGLE IN THE NIGHT By day and night they kept their unrelaxing watch by the bedside of the sick man. Ever he tossed and turned and muttered and cried aloud, one word alone on his lips--his sister's name. Tenderly the mother smoothed the fevered brow, softly she stroked the restless hands, and tried to still their fever between her own cool, soothing ones. Thin lines had traced their shadows on her worn face; gray threads had come to mingle with the glossy black of her hair. But she never permitted herself, after that first night of anguish, to betray her emotions, for, if she did, well she knew she would be refused the precious labor of nursing her boy. And she kept her sleepless, tireless watch night and day. Her maid begged her to lie down herself and rest, but she shook her head with bright, dry eyes. Rest for her? While he lay tossing thus? Nay! perhaps when he should find the rest, the gods would permit her also a respite; till then she must keep her watch. She smiled pathetically when the white-faced American boy tried to insist that she should sleep, with the little air of authority he had assumed in the household. But with the gentle smile she also shook her head in negation. "Let me take your place," he pleaded. "He is dear to me also." Still she smiled, such a shadowy, heart-aching smile, and turned back to the sick-bed. Jack Bigelow went back to Tokyo, and began his vigilant search for the missing girl. The services of the entire metropolitan police board were called forth, and money was not spared. The nakoda who had brought about their marriage was put through a vigorous catechism, but he could tell them nothing. The proprietor of the tea-garden swore she had not returned to him, and when he bewailed the misfortune which was filling his house and gardens with officers, Jack consoled him by paying liberally for the loss he claimed he was suffering. On the fifth day the mystery of the girl's disappearance still remained unsolved. Large rewards were offered for a clew to her whereabouts. The police were sure that she was somewhere in Tokyo, and Jack urged them to continue unremitting search in the city, but each night dawned upon their fruitless efforts. Now some one had seen a girl of her description entering a tea-house on the eve of her disappearance; another had seen her selling flowers in the market-place; and yet another swore she had gone on board a German vessel with a dried-up foreigner. This last person could not be mistaken--a Japanese girl with blue eyes and red hair. But each clew was found wanting and proved false. Then back to Yuki's home, sick-hearted, disappointed, weary, went Jack Bigelow. A servant met him with the blessed news that the man down with brain fever was improving; that a merciful calm had at last come to him, and that now he slept. Wearied from his fruitless endeavors to find some clew to Yuki's whereabouts, the first good news in days unnerved the young man. He sat down, covering his eyes with his hands. He was badly in need of rest himself, but his mind was full of the mother in the sick-room overhead. Madam Omatsu, was she resting? No, she still kept her watch, but she was very weak, and they feared she would break down if they could not prevail on her to rest. Jack went slowly up the stairs, tapped softly on the shoji, and then entered the sick-room. Taro lay on the heavy English bed, with its white coverlets and curtains, his face upturned. "You must rest," Jack whispered to the woman with the wan face and wasted form, kneeling by the bedside. She shook her head, resisting. "I beg you to," pleaded Jack, and, though she could not understand him, she knew what he was saying, and still resisted. "Come," he said, gently, and put his hands upon her shoulders. "See, he sleeps now. It is well, and you will be too weak and faint to minister to him when he awakes, otherwise." But she protested that her health was excellent; that she would not leave her son. He stooped down, and attempted to raise her gently to her feet, but she would not permit him. He saw the tired droop of the eyes. "She will fall asleep soon," he said to himself, and so sat down beside her, putting his arm about her and pillowing her head on his shoulder. She did not restrain him. She looked gratefully into the frank, inviting eyes. She sighed, her head wavered and dropped. The room was very still and silent. Gradually the woman fell asleep, and as she slept she sighed from ineffable weariness. Jack looked towards the silent figure on the bed. The grayness of the approaching night gave the face an expression that was sinister in the extreme. He shuddered and averted his face. The little form in his arms grew heavier. "She will rest better lying down," he thought, and carried her into the adjoining room and laid her softly down. Then he took the lighted andon, and, carrying it into the sick-room, set it in a corner near the bed, and drew down the shutters. After this, he went back to the bed, and stood for a minute looking down on the sleeping man, an expression of infinite sadness on his face. Taro stirred, the hand lying outside the coverlet contracted, then closed spasmodically; the expression of the face became terrifying. He moaned. It seemed to Jack as if the sleeping man was haunted by a terrible nightmare which robbed him of the rest that should have found him. And it was with Taro as Jack had thought. He was in the midst of a fever dream--a nightmare. He thought his little sister, Snowflake, knelt by his bedside and soothed and ministered to his wants. He felt rested and at peace at last; but, alas! just as he was slipping into happy oblivion a dark form loomed up beside his sister, bent over, and clutched at her. She struggled wildly at first, then weakly; finally her struggles ceased, and she lay very still and white. The man lifted her up and carried her away. After a time he came back, and now Taro felt his breath on his own face. He was bending over him. In a dim haze he saw the face, and recognized it as that of his friend, Jack Bigelow! He tried to reach out and grasp him, to strike and kill him, but he was at the mercy of some invisible power which benumbed him and held him down. His limbs refused to move, he was unable to lift so much as a finger, stir an eyelash, and all the time the man's breath was on his face, stealing into his nostrils and suffocating him. Jack noted the gasping of his friend with alarm, and stooped over for the purpose of removing the pillow to give him relief. But at the touch of his hand, as he attempted to raise the head on the pillow, the life blood started vividly, madly, through the man on the bed, and suddenly he had sprung into wild life. Jack saw the terrible gleam of two delirious eyes, and stood magnetized. With lightning fury the raving man had thrown aside the bedclothes, sprung from the bed, and thrown himself on the other with such force that the two came to the ground together, the madman on top. "I have you now!--traitor! betrayer!" he said, as his hands felt Jack's warm throat. Jack had been taken so by surprise that he was dazed in the first moment, and in the next realized that he was powerless to defend himself. He was in the grasp of one temporarily insane, one whose lithe, physical strength he already knew well. It would be useless to fight against that strength. His salvation lay in being passive and feigning unconsciousness; but could he do this with those terrible fingers closing around his throat, throttling the life out of him? Now they pressed hard, now relaxed, now caressed his neck and throat, rubbed it, pinched only to press again. He was playing with him! Jack did not stir. He had closed his eyes, and was praying for strength to meet unflinchingly whatever fate held for him. "Where have you put her?" came the fierce whisper, close to his ear. "Where did you carry her to? Hah! you are silent. Have I silenced you like this and this? You are cold; you cannot breathe now, nor smile nor laugh at her. No, not while I have my hand here to press so and so. Once you were my friend, and I loved you. But now--so you killed her! Now I will kill you like this and this and this!" Jack was becoming weaker and weaker. The white-shrouded figure sitting on him leaned forward, staring dreadfully, but his victim saw nothing, heard nothing. Suddenly it seemed as if another had sprung upon him and was beating his life out. He dimly heard a woman's cries, and, intermingled, a terrible laughter. Then life and consciousness seemed to depart, and he knew no more. When he regained consciousness he found himself on a bed. A woman was leaning over him, bathing his head, smoothing and caressing it--a woman with an angelic face, so like Yuki's when she had nursed him during a brief illness that in his weakness he fainted at the mere dream of her sweet presence. But it was not Yuki; it was the mother. She had been awakened by the talking and cries in the sickroom, and, rushing to the door, had looked in on the terrible scene. Japanese women have little or no fear of physical disaster for themselves. She raised a fearful cry to arouse the household, then flung herself on the two men, and with her puny strength sought to divide them. At first her son laughed and resisted her, but when her white face flashed before him his grip grew weak, and he staggered back, dazed by the rush of returning reason. He, too, had taken her for the ghost of his lost sister! The alarmed household had flocked into the room. Gently they prevailed on him to return once more to the bed, as weak as a child now. Jack was not seriously hurt. In his shattered, nervous condition, however, the shock had temporarily unhinged him, and for several days he lay in bed, waited on and attended by the gentle Omatsu, who went like a sweet, soothing spirit back and forth between the two rooms, who called him "son," and was to him as if she were indeed his mother, till she could not approach him but he kissed her hands and blessed her from his heart. XV THE VOW The happy sadness of the brown autumn had faded in a yellow gleam of light. December had entered the land with a little drift of frost and snow which had surprised the country, for December is not usually a cold month in Japan. Its advent shook the little housewives into action and life. New mats of rice straw were being laid, and every nook and corner dusted with fresh bamboo brooms and dusters, for the Japanese begin to prepare a month in advance for the New Year season, and all the country seems to wake into active life and present a holiday appearance. But the old palace, where dwelt the Burton family, kept its garment of perpetual gloom, and stood out in mocking contrast to the neighboring houses. No window was thrown open, no door turned in to air the place and give it the sunshine of the coming New Year. Thick as the dust that had gathered about its unkept rooms, the shadow of death pervaded the place. Vast shadows, mysterious and oppressive, crept in, enshrouding it with their ghostly presence. From afar off the drone of a curfew bell was heard, its slow, mournful cadence seeming to drift into a dirge. Outside the early winds of winter were wailing a requiem, and all the spirits of the air floated about and beat against the sombre palace. At dusk consciousness returned to the dying man, and weakly, though intelligently, he looked about him, and even smiled faintly at the wailing and moaning that crept upward from the rooms below, where the few old retainers of the household, who had been in the service of the family long before Taro had been born, and had stayed by them after their fortunes had fallen, were huddled together and loudly lamenting the approaching death of the son of the house. Before a tiny shrine in a corner of the room was the prostrate form of the mother. Her lips were dumb, but her speaking eyes wailed out her prayer to all the gods for mercy. And at the bedside, his face in his hands, knelt Jack Bigelow. Perhaps he, too, was praying to the one and only God of his people. "Burton," he said, as the sick man stirred, "you have something to say to me?" He bent over and wiped the dews that lay thick as a frost on lips and brow. "My sister--" Taro began with painful slowness. "My wife--" whispered the other, his voice breaking, and then, as Taro seemed unable to proceed, he put his mouth close down to his ear. "Burton, our grief is a common one. I swear by everything I hold sacred and holy that I will never cease in my efforts to find my wife! Nothing that strength or money can do shall be spared. I will take no rest till she is found. Before God, I will right this wrong I have unconsciously done you and yours--and mine!" Taro's eyes, wide and bright, fixed Jack's steadfastly. His long, thin hand stirred and quivered, and attempted to raise itself. Without a word Jack took it in his own. He had understood that mute effort to mean belief and confidence in him. And, kneeling there in the melancholy dusk, he held Taro's hand between his own until it was stiff and cold. Whither had the soul of the Eurasian drifted? Out and along the interminable and winding journey to the Meido of his maternal ancestors, or to give an account of itself to the great Man-God-three-in-one-Creator of his father? * * * * * The mother crept from the shrine with stealing step, her white face like a mask of death, her small, frail hands outstretched, like those of one gone blind. A consciousness of her eerie approach thrilled Jack Bigelow. He dropped Taro's hand and turned towards her, standing before and hiding the sight of the dead from her. In the dim shadows of the deepening twilight she looked as frail and ethereal as a wraith, for she had clothed herself in all the vestal garments of the dead. With somewhat of the heroism of her feudal ancestors Omatsu had prepared herself to face and undertake that perilous journey into the unknown with her son. In the pitiful tangled reasoning that had wrestled in the bosom of this Japanese woman, always there had disturbed the beauty of such a sacrifice the doubt as to whether the gods would indeed receive her with this son of hers who had dedicated his soul to an alien and strange God. But she had prepared herself to risk the consequences. And now she stood there swaying and tottering in all her ghastly attire, while opposite to her stood the tall, fair-haired foreigner with the pitying gray eyes of her own dead lord. She essayed to speak, but her voice was barely above a parched whisper. "Anata?" (Thou). It was a gentle word, spoken as a question, as though she would ask him, "Condescend to speak your honorable desire with me?" "Mother!" he only said--"dear mother!" * * * * * At Taro's funeral Jack Bigelow made the acquaintance of his wife's family. He had not imagined it possible for any one to have so many relatives. They came from all parts of the country, distant and close cousins and uncles and aunts, and even an old grandfather and grandmother, the former very decrepit and quite blind. And they all lined up in order, and wept real or artificial tears and muttered prayers for the soul of the dead boy. A few of them were rich and important men of high rank in Japan; some of them were suave and courteous, coming merely for form's sake and for the honor of the family; most of them were of the type of the decayed gentility of Japan--poor but proud, dignified but humble in their dignity. They all regarded Jack with the same grave, stoical gaze peculiar to the better-class Japanese, betraying in no way by their expression surprise or resentment at his presence among them. As a matter of fact, none of the family were aware of the relation in which he stood to them, and so had occasion for no real animus against him, regarding him merely as a friend of Taro's. But in his supersensitive condition Jack imagined that they looked upon him as an intruder, perhaps as one who had brought distress and havoc upon their household. When, however, after the funeral the little mob of friends and relatives had gradually dispersed till there was none left besides himself and Omatsu, the intense loneliness and silence of the big house grated upon his nerves, so that he would have welcomed the wailing of the servants, which had now been buried in the grave. Omatsu, too, who had borne herself with heroic fortitude and bravery all through the day, now that the reaction had come was shivering and trembling, and, when he approached her with a pitying exclamation, she went to him straightway and cried in his arms like a little, tired child. He comforted her with broken words, though his own tears were falling on her little, bowed head. And he tried to tell her, in terribly bad pidgin Japanese--something Yuki had taught him--how it would be his care to protect and guard her in the future just as if she were indeed his mother; that he was not worthy, but he would try to fill the place of the beautiful boy who was sleeping his last sleep. And he told of the promise he had given to Taro, how his life would be devoted to but one end and purpose, to find his wife. Would she accompany him? She entreated him to take her with him. But in the end, after all, she could not accompany him. Her health, which had never been robust, gave way to her grief, and Jack took her back to her parents, for it was necessary that he should spare no time from his search, and, moreover, she was too delicate to travel. Before leaving her he saw to it that she and her parents should have every comfort possible. * * * * * The old palace, grim, gray, and haggard in the winter landscape, was now completely deserted. The townspeople looked askance at it, as at a haunted house, knowing somewhat of the tragedy that hid within its closed portals. Jack was the last to leave the place. Omatsu had begged him to see to the closing up, and the paying-off of all the old servants. When he had finally come out he was shocked at the curious crowd of neighbors who had gathered about the gates and were whispering and gossiping about him and waiting for him. But they were quite respectful and silent as he passed them. He was an object of curiosity, this tall foreigner who had married among them, and they watched him with round, wondering eyes, following him all the way to the station, a little, pygmy procession, very much as children follow a circus. Once or twice he half turned as though to tell them to leave him, but stopped himself in time, remembering how strange he must really seem to them. At the station he bowed to them gravely, and his bow was solemnly and politely returned by those in front. And it was in this strangely pathetic though grotesque manner that the tall, fair-haired barbarian left the town. Less than a year before he had been a light-hearted, joyous boy. He was now a man, with a burden on his soul and a sacred task to perform. Moreover, there was an awful abyss in his life that must be bridged. Never again would life have for him the same rosy bow of promise, not until he had found that other part of his soul--his Sun-goddess. XVI A PILGRIM OF LOVE Jack Bigelow went up to Yokohama, where the Tokyo detectives thought they had a clew to the girl's whereabouts. A new and very beautiful geisha had appeared among the dancing-girls, and as no one seemed to know anything about her history it was thought that she might be the missing Yuki. But she had disappeared only the day before his arrival there. Jack spent a month in the big metropolis, shadowing the tea-gardens, and watching, with the assistance of men he had hired, every geisha house and garden; but though many girls apparently answering to the description of Yuki were brought before him, none of them proved to be the missing girl, and the disgust the young man experienced at their total unlikeness to his wife was only equalled by his bitter disappointment. A telegram from police headquarters brought him back to Tokyo. Here he was told that the detectives had traced the missing girl to Nagasaki, a seaport on the western coast of Kiushu. This was the city where Yuki's father had first lived in Japan. He had been the son of a rich silk merchant, and had come to Japan in order to extend his knowledge of the silk trade and expand his father's business. But Stephen Burton had become infatuated with the country, had married a Japanese wife, assimilated the ways of her people, and in time had even become a naturalized citizen. He never returned alive to his native England, though strange, cold, red-bearded men had taken his body from the wife, and had crossed the seas with it. Old Sir Stephen Burton had never forgiven what he considered the _mésalliance_ of his son, and hence Taro and Yuki had never seen or known any of their father's people, and he himself had died while they were yet children. Some feeling of sentiment might have brought Yuki to this place. Moreover, there were many public tea-houses there, where she could quickly find employment. The police were positive in their statements that they were not mistaken in the identity of the girl they claimed to be Yuki. Travelling by slow and tedious trains, with no sleeping accommodations and but few of the modern luxuries that are necessities on American trains; travelling by kurumma, with the flying heels of his runners scattering the dust of the highway in his eyes, when the landscape before, behind, and around him seemed a maze of dazzling blue; travelling on foot, when he was too restless to do otherwise than tramp, he was weary and ill when he finally, reached Nagasaki. Here an amazing horde of nakodas pestered him with their offerings of matrimonial happiness. He had no heart for them. They stifled him with memories that were better sleeping. The tea-house to which he had been directed was owned and run by an elderly geisha, who, in her day, had been noted for her own beauty and cleverness. She was all affectation and grace now. She met Jack with exaggerated expressions of welcome, and in a sweet, sibilant voice pressed upon him the comforts and entertainments of her "poor place." He did not pause to exchange compliments with her. Was there not in her house a girl, very beautiful and very young, who sang and danced? Madam Pine-leaf (that was her name) allowed her face to betray surprised amusement at the question. Why, her place was famous for the beauty of her maidens, and every one of them danced and sang more bewitchingly than the fairies themselves. But she only said, very humbly: "My maidens are all unworthily fair, and all of them indulge in the honorable dance and song. It is part of the accomplishment of every geisha." "Yes, but you could not mistake this girl. She is distinct from all others. She--her eyes are blue. She is only half Japanese!" "Ah-h!--a half-caste." Madam Pine-leaf's lips formed in a _moue_. She was very polite, however. She pretended to consult her mind. Then she begged that he would remain, at all events, and see for himself all her girls. Impatiently he waited, a terrible nervousness taking possession of him at the mere possibility that Yuki might be near him. But though he scanned with almost seeming rudeness the faces of the inmates of the place, none of them was like unto her whom he sought. When he paid his hostess, who, recognizing in him a generous patron, had been careful to stay close by him the entire evening, his face betrayed his exceeding disappointment. The woman glanced at the big fee in her hand, and a feeling of pity and gratitude called up all her native prevarication. Now that she had spent the whole evening turning the matter over in her mind, she recalled the fact that only a few days before a girl answering exactly to his description of his wife had worked for her for a short period, but unfortunately she had left her and gone to Osaka. Madam Pine-leaf's face was guileless, her words convincing. There was gentle compassion in her eyes, which added to the comfort of her words. Jack wrung her slim hands gratefully till they ached. Osaka? How far away was that? Did Madam Pine-leaf believe he had time to get there before she would leave? What was the exact address? Yes, she believed he would be in time, and she drew out a dainty tablet and wrote an address upon it, and with deep and graceful obeisances she prayed that the gods would accompany and guide him. * * * * * He reached Osaka at night, when its many strange canals and narrow rivers were reflecting the lights of the city, like glittering spear-heads, on their dark, shining surface. The hotel was miles from the station, but the streets were deserted, and there was no traffic to hinder the flying feet of his runner. At night the city seemed strangely romantic and peaceful, a spot that would have attracted one of Yuki's temperament. But daylight revealed it as it was--a bustling commercial centre, where everybody seemed hurrying as though bent on accomplishing some important mission. Jack stayed but a few days in Osaka. She was not there. The proprietor of the Osaka gardens, hearing his story, humbly apologized for the fact that while such a girl had honored for a short season his unworthy gardens, she had left him now some days ago. Whither had she gone? To Kyoto. And in Kyoto, the most fascinating and beautiful city in all Japan, he was sent from one tea-house to another, each proprietor acknowledging that one answering to the description had been in his employ, but declaring that she had left only a short time previous. She was only a visiting geisha, who moved from place to place. Finally he traced her back to Tokyo, the place whence he had started on his weary pilgrimage. She was the chief geisha, so he was told, of the Sanzaeyemon gardens. With his brain swimming, his lips almost refusing him speech, he went straightway to this place. The proprietor received him with magnificent humility, and, listening to his disjointed questions, answered that all was well. She was even then within his honorably miserable tea-house. For the privilege of seeing her he would be obliged to make an honorably insignificant charge, and, if he (the august barbarian) desired to take her away with him, a further fee must be forthcoming. Waiving these questions aside, by putting down so much coin that the little proprietor's eyes matched its glisten, he followed him up the stairway to the private quarters of the more important geishas. Into one of the rooms he was unceremoniously ushered. A girl who sat on a mat put forward her two hands, and her bowed head on top of them. Jack watched her with bated breath. He could not see her face, and the room was badly lighted. But when he could bear no longer her perpetual bowing and had lifted her, with hands that shook, to her feet, he saw her face. It was that of a stranger! A slight illness now hindered the progress of his search, but he would not allow himself the rest he needed; and still ill, haggard, and a shadow of his former self, the young man once more drifted to the metropolitan police station. They had exhausted all their clews, but they were kind-hearted little men, these Japanese policemen. The chief of police invented a story that would have done credit to one of Japan's poets. Yuki was somewhere in the vicinity of Matsushima Bay, on the northeastern coast of Japan, near the city of Sendai, where the waters flow into the Pacific. This was a spot favored by unhappy lovers, and the chief of police had positive evidence that a girl answering to her description had been seen wandering daily in that part of the country. He even produced a telegraph blank, with an indecipherable message in Japanese characters written on it, purporting to give this information. His advice to the young man was to go to this honorable place and stay there for some time. The country was large thereabouts. He might not find her at once, but soon or late surely she would turn up there. Jack was impressed with his glib recital, and then, moreover, he remembered that Yuki had told him much about this place, which they had planned to visit together some day. He started straightway for it, buoyed up with a hope he had not known in months. And the chief of police snapped his fingers and bobbed his head and clinked the big fee he had received. "These foreign devils are naïve," he said to an assistant. The cringing assistant agreed. "They believe any august lie," he replied. His superior frowned. "It was for his good, after all," he returned, tartly. In the city of Sendai Jack put up at a small Japanese hostelry, and from there each day he would start out and wander down to the beach of the wonderful bay. It was all as Yuki had pictured it, with her vivid, passionate imagery. There were the countless rocks of all sizes and forms scattered in it, with strange, shapely pine-trees growing up from them, and the one bare rock called "Hadakajima," or "Naked Island," and all the beautiful romances, impossible and dreamy as the fairy tales of a classic Oriental poet, that she had woven about and around this place, came back to his mind now, haunting him like a beautiful dream, until the memory of her, and the influence of the beauty of the place, seemed to cast a mystic spell about him. For, oh! the scenes that enwrapped the bay! The slopes and hillocks and the great mountains beyond were garbed in vestal white, pure and glistening. The snowflakes had tipped the branches of the pine, and there they hung, like glistening pearl-drops, sometimes dropping with little bounds on the rocks, there to freeze or melt into the bay. And some vague fancy, baffling in its hopelessness, nevertheless, clung to him that possibly she might have come hither to this peaceful spot, far from the scenes where they had loved and suffered so deeply, for, with unerring insight, Jack knew that she had loved him. Bit by bit he traced backward in his mind every proof she had given him of this, and now, when the sorrow of her loss seemed more than he could bear, the knowledge of this upheld and cheered him always. But the beauty of Matsushima could give him no peace of mind or soul, for he was alone! The stillness and silence of the very atmosphere, the tall pine-trees, bending gracefully in the swaying, swinging breezes, seemed to mock him with their calm content. The bay was enchanted--yes, but haunted too--haunted by the imagination of the little feet that had perhaps wandered along its shore. In a little village only a short distance from the beach, inhabited by a few simple, honest fisher-folk, Jack tried to ascertain whether they had seen aught of her he sought. But they babbled fairy stories back at him. There had been many, many witch-maids who had haunted the shores of Matsushima; many young girls, who had lost their minds through unfortunate love affairs, had wandered thither. They were the ghosts of these unfortunate lovers, who had sought in death the bliss of love denied them in life, which now haunted the shore of the bay. That the strange, fair man who had lost his bride would meet the same untimely though poetic fate the simple people never doubted. And so, like one who has lost his soul, he wandered hither and thither throughout the islands of Japan in search of it. Sunshine had been the dominant element in Jack Bigelow's character, and in a less degree impulsiveness and generosity. No one had ever given him credit for intensity of feeling or greatness of purpose. But sometimes tribulation will bring out such qualities, which have lain hidden beneath an apparently superficial exterior. A deep, abiding love for his summer bride had sprung into eternal life in his heart. She was never absent from his mind. There were moments when for a time he would forget his immeasurable loss, and would drift into memory, and in fancy re-live with her that dream summer. She had become the soul of him. She would remain in his heart until it ceased to beat. XVII YUKI'S WANDERINGS Had Jack followed Yuki on the night she went out of his house and life, he would have known that she was not to be found in all Japan. She had hurried from his and Taro's presence with but one object--to take herself forever from the sight of the brother whom she had loved but who had repulsed her, whom she had dishonored in trying to assist. She took the road for Tokyo, and, head downward, sobbing like a little child who has lost its way in the dark, stumbled blindly along until she had come within its limits. She had no idea whither she was going now, what she would do; her mind could only contain her grief. But as she wandered aimlessly about, weeping silently, an address slipped itself into her consciousness--the address written on the card handed her by the American theatrical man months before, when he had followed her from the tea-house. She had studied the card curiously at the time, and now, though the name had escaped her--she had really never been able to make it out--her mind still held the address. She turned in the direction in which she knew the American's house lay, and at length found it, wearied both by the anguish of her mind and by her long walk. Yes, the American gentleman was in, said the garrulous Japanese servant who answered her timid summons. He had returned from lands far south less than a week ago, and now in two more days he would be off again. Did she want to meet him? Perhaps he slept. Yuki said she would speak with him but a minute, and the servant vanished. Almost immediately the manager appeared before her, frowning heavily. But at sight of her his face brightened wonderfully. "Why, if it ain't the girl I heard sing at the tea-garden!" he cried. "Come right inside." And he eagerly drew her, unresisting, within. * * * * * Two days later, on board the _Yokohama Maru_, Yuki left her native Japan. As the ship weighed anchor, she closed her eyes and faintly clung to the guard-rail. All about her she could hear the passengers talking and laughing, a few were cheering and waving flags and handkerchiefs to friends on shore. And long after the wharf was only a dim, shadowy outline she still clung there to the rail, her hands cold and tense. Some one put an arm about her, and she started as though she had been struck. "You are not ill already, you poor little thing?" said a woman's clear, pleasing voice. Yuki regarded her piteously. She dimly recognized in her the wife of her employer, and she struggled to regain her scattered wits, but vainly. She was only able to look up into the sympathetic face of the other with eyes which could not conceal the turbulent tragedy of her soul. "Why, you are shivering all over, and are as cold as--Jimmy, come over here," she turned and called peremptorily to her husband, who hastened forward, throwing his cigar overboard. "Look here; she's sick already. Better send one of those ayah women, or whatever you call 'em, over, and have her put to bed right away." They undressed her, submissive as a little child, and put her into the berth of a little stateroom, which seemed to Yuki, who had never in her life before been on board a vessel of any sort, save the tiny craft about the rivers at her home, like a tiny cage or vault, wherein she, exhausted and weary, had been put to die. She lay there with the surging bustle of the ship's noises overhead and the tremulous growl of the waters beneath the ship droning in her ears like the melancholy ringing of a dying curfew-bell at twilight. The ayah reported to the manager's wife, an ex-comic-opera prima donna, that she was resting and sleeping; but when that impetuous, big-hearted woman peeped in on her, she found Yuki's eyes wide open. She whirled into the small stateroom, almost filling it with her large person, and sat down beside the poor little weary girl and looked at her with friendly and approving eyes. "You are like a pretty picture on a fan," she said; "the prettiest Japanese girl I've seen. I think we'll be fine friends, don't you?" Yuki could only assent with a weary little nod of her head. She closed her eyes. "You are not so dreadfully sick, are you?" said the American. "I thought maybe we could have a nice little gossip together. You see, my husband's the boss of this whole outfit that we've got along with us, and I don't know that there's one of the whole lot I've ever cared to associate with before. You're different. Now, ain't I good to speak out just what's on my mind, eh?" "I _ought_ to thang you," said Yuki, feebly, "but I am too weary to be perlite." "Then you shall be left alone, you child, you," said the other; then she kissed Yuki lightly, and went out of the door. But after she had gone Yuki's passivity left her. She sat up quivering, and then with nervous quickness she began to dress herself. She could not open the door of the stateroom. She was unused to strange doors that required the pushing of springs and bolts. She had lived in a land where bolts and locks were almost unknown, where a shoji fell apart at a touch of a hand. Now she pushed hard against the door, but, as she had not turned the handle, it refused to move. A terror possessed her that they had locked her in this tiny, awful cell, to which penetrated no light save that which filtered through a small porthole against which the waters beat and beat. She flung herself desperately against the door, battering it with her tiny hands; she felt herself growing dizzy and blind as the ship rocked and swayed beneath her feet. She tried to pace the tiny length of the stateroom, her sense of terrible loneliness and homesickness deepening with every moment. The moving of the ship horrified her, and the knowledge that it was taking her farther and farther from her home across the immense bottomless sea filled her with a terror akin to nothing She had ever known in her life before. In the sickening, wearying dazzle of the few days previous to their sailing, the girl's mind had held but one thought--to go far away from the scenes of her pain; now perhaps the reaction had come, and her terror at the step she had taken appalled her. Memory, which had been thrust out of sight by the ever-present nagging pain that had blinded her to all else, now asserted its power, merciless and invincible. She pressed her hands to her head, as though to blot out forever from her mind the pitiless ghosts that haunted her. Like the wraiths that come and vanish in a nightmare, the events of her life came to her one by one--the happy childhood with her brother, their passionate devotion to each other, her grief at his departure for America, the months of struggle that had followed, sacrifices made for him, her attempts to make a living sufficient for his maintenance in America, and then--her marriage! After that, memory held no other thought but the immeasurable craving and longing that was almost madness for the voice, the touch, the sight of the man she had loved and left. It was three days before her illness ended. Then, having begged the consent of the woman who attended her, she crept up the companion-way and out on deck, where the passengers were disporting and enjoying themselves. She had looked forward to the time when she would regain sufficient strength to leave her prison-cell, for such she regarded her stateroom. In the strange medley of ideas which had curiously woven themselves into a maze in her mind, she had imagined that once in the open on deck she would see once more the shores of her home, Fujiyama's lofty peak smiling against its celestial background, and hanging like a mirage in mid-air. But there was no sight visible to her, as, with her hand shading her eyes, she looked out before her, save a vast, cold, pitiless waste of surging waters, jumping up to meet the sky, which smiled or glowered with its moods. * * * * * In the months that followed, Yuki met with nothing but kindness from the American theatrical manager and his wife. With them she went to China, India, the Philippines, and finally to Australia. From all these different points the American theatrical scout drew together a motley troupe of jugglers, fancy dancers, wizards, fencers, and performers of one sort and another, with which he hoped to make a larger fortune in America. He had combined business with this long pleasure trip, for he was on his bridal tour at the time. By some remarkable intuition peculiar sometimes to the gayest and most frivolous hearted of women of the world, the wife of the theatrical manager had gained some insight into the cause of the pitiful sensitiveness and shrinking shyness of the queer little Japanese girl with the blue eyes, to whom she had taken an extravagant fancy. She had taken Yuki under her personal charge, and sheltered and shielded the girl from the overbold scrutiny of those with whom they daily came in contact. It was many months, however, before she learned her history. In fact, it was only a few days before their expected departure for America, the great country in the west, which seemed to Yuki as far distant as the stars above her. As the time for their departure, which had been delayed already much longer than the manager had anticipated, drew nearer, Yuki grew more depressed and restless, so that to the exaggerated fancy of the American woman she seemed to be fading away and entering into what she emphatically called "the last stages of consumption." She cornered the girl relentlessly, and finally wrung from her the whole pitiful, tragic story of her life. How homesick and weary she had been ever since she had left Japan, how her heart seemed to faint whenever she thought of that final interview with her brother, and of the immeasurable longing for the man she loved, and whom she had married "for jus' liddle bid while." All the big, romantic heart of the American woman went out to her as she took her into her arms and mingled her own honest tears with Yuki's. "You sha'n't go to America," she said, drying her eyes with a tiny piece of lace which served as a handkerchief. "You are going right back to Japan, bag and baggage of you. I'm going with you, to see you get there O.K." "Bud--" began Yuki, weakly. "Never mind, now. I know he expects to sail in a week. I don't. I'm boss! See!" XVIII THE SEASON OF THE CHERRY BLOSSOM In summer the fields of Japan are alive with color--burning flat lowlands shimmering with the dazzling gleam of the natane and azalea blossoms. In autumn the leaves, as well as the blossoms, have caught all the tints of heaven and earth, and in winter the gods are said to be resting after their riotous ramblings during the warm months. But in the spring-time they awake, and in their lavish renewed youth bless hill and dale and meadow and forest with an abandon unlike any other time of year. It is the season of the cherry blossom, of the mating of the birds, the babbling of the brooks, and the chattering and unfolding anew of all the beauties of nature. It was two years from the day when Jack and Yuki had married each other in the spring-time. And Jack was back in Tokyo. Recalled thither by a telegram from the police headquarters, he was preparing to depart for America, where the police claimed they had positive evidence that Yuki had gone. He was staying at an American hotel in the city proper, and his heart on this day sickened and yearned for the little house only a few miles away that he longed and yet dreaded to see again. Now that he contemplated leaving Japan, the dread possibility that Yuki might still be in the country and that he would be placing the distance of thousands and thousands of miles of land and water between them, depressed and weighed on his mind, despite the really plausible proof the police board had that she had gone to America with a theatrical company--that of the very man he himself had witnessed coaxing her to go with him. The afternoon previous to the day set for sailing, his melancholy and morbidness grew in intensity. With no fixed purpose in view he started out from his hotel, tramped half-way across Tokyo, then hailed a jinrikisha and gave the runner orders to take him to the little house that had formerly been his home, and which he had struggled against visiting ever since his return to Tokyo. As in a dream the interminable stretch of rice-fields, blue mountains, and valleys and hamlets, stretching away into misty outlines, flashed by him, and he noted only half absently how the heels of his runner were all worn hard just as if they had dried in the sun. Yuki once had called his attention to this. "The honorable soles are the same," she had said. "It is the perpetual running. The gods have mercifully protected the feet from pain." The landscape about him, familiar as the face of a mother, gave him no pain now. He was conscious only of a sense of ineffable rest and peace, as a traveller who has wandered long feels when nearing home. And soon the runner had stopped with a jerk, and was doubling over and waiting for his pay. Should he humbly wait for his excellency to condescend to return to the city? "Just for a little while," Jack told him absently. And he went through the little garden gate and up the pebbled adobe path, now arched on either side by two rows of cherry-blossom trees, that met at the top and made a bower under which to walk. When he had pushed the door backward and stepped inside he paused irresolute, his heart paining him with its rapid beating. Coming from out the blaze of the out-door light into the shadowed room, his vision dazzled him. But gradually the objects inside grew upon his consciousness, and a rosy pain, an ecstasy that stung him with its sweetness, shot upward like a dawn through all his being. He scarcely dared breathe, so potent was the influence of the place upon him. He feared to stir, lest the spell, ghostly and entrancing as the influence of a magic hand, might vanish into mistland, for with all the immeasurable pain that rushed to his heart in a flame was mingled a tentative, exquisite pleasure--a survival of the old joy he had once known. And there came back to his mind whisperings of the old mysterious romances she had been wont to ramble into. What was that tale of the spirit which haunted and was felt but never seen? Was there not behind it all some mysterious possibility of such a spirit? For the very furnishings of the room, the mats, the vases, the old broken-down hammock, and his big tobacco-bon, each and all of them suddenly assumed a personality--the personality of one he loved. Stepping on tip-toe, he crossed the room and stooped to touch the little drum, the sticks of which were snapped in twain. And then he suddenly remembered how she had broken them because he had complained one day that her drum disturbed him. He had liked the koto and the samisen; the drum she had beaten on when she mocked him. Now the sight of it beat against his brain and heart. He could not bear the sight of those little broken sticks. He tried to cover them with his handkerchief, as if they were the evidence of a crime. "The place is haunted!" he said, and scarce knew his own hollow voice, which the echoes of the silent room mocked back at him. "I shall go mad," he said, and again the echoes repeated, "Mad! mad! mad!" Then he covered his eyes, and sat in the silence, motionless and still. * * * * * From afar off there came to him the melancholy sweetness of the bells of a neighboring temple. They caused his hearing exquisite pain. What memories were recalled by them! But now every toll of the bells, slow and muffled, seemed to speak of baffled hope and despair. There was no balm in their sweet monotone. Would they never cease? Why were they so loud? They had not been so formerly. Now they filled all the land with their ringing. What were they tolling for, and, ah, why had the ghostly visitants of his house caught up the tone, and softly, sweetly, with piercing cadence, chanted back and echoed the sighing of the bells? The house was full of music, inexpressibly dear and familiar. He started to his feet, trembling like one afflicted with ague. And gradually words, in a fairy language that he had learned to love, began to form themselves into the melody of a voice. Slowly, painfully, like one led by unseen, subtle, persuasive hands, he went forward, and up and up the spiral stairs till he had reached her chamber, and there he stood, like one who has come far and can go no farther. One other presence besides himself was within. This he knew, and still could not comprehend. He could see her plainly, just as she had been in life--her little, shining head, her dear, small hands, the long, blue, misty eyes, and the small mouth with the little pathetic droop that had come to it in the last few days they had been together. She stood with her hands raised, dreamily loitering before a mirror, putting cherry blossoms in her hair on either side of her head. But at the prolonged silence that ensued she turned slowly about, and then she saw the man standing silently in the doorway. She was not a girl to scream or faint, but she went gray with fear, and stood perfectly still there in the middle of the room. Then gradually her eyes travelled upward to the man's face, and there they remained transfixed. For a long while they faced each other thus, both with hearts that seemed not to beat. Then the man made a movement towards her, a passionate, wild movement, and she had dropped the flowers from her hands, and had gone to meet him. The next moment he was crushing her to him. When he released her but a moment, it was to hold her again and yet again, as though he feared to find her gone, and his arms empty once more, as they had been for so long. He could only breathe her name--"Yuki! Yuki! My wife! My wife!" Neither tried to explain. There was time enough for that. They were absorbed alone in the fact that they were together at last. Some one noisily entered the house and whirled up the stairs. It was the American girl. She gazed in upon them with eyes and mouth agape in amazement. "Well, I never!" she ejaculated, and went out and down the steps, sobbing aloud. "Such a romance! Such a nice, big fellow, too! And, oh, dear me, I've lost her sure enough now forever! Bother men, anyhow!" and she jumped into Jack's jinrikisha and bade the man take her on the instant to Tokyo. * * * * * Meanwhile the lovers had wandered out into the open air. He was holding both her hands in his, and his eyes were straying hungrily over her face; her eyes bewitched him; her lips thrilled him. [Illustration: "THE THOUSAND PETALS OF CHERRY BLOSSOMS WERE FALLING ABOUT THEM"] The thousand petals of cherry blossoms were falling about them, and the birds had all flown to their garden and were twittering and bursting their little throats with melody. A fugitive wind came up from the bay and tossed the little scattering curls about her ears and temples. A strand of her hair swept across his hand. He stooped and kissed it reverently, and she laughed and thrilled under the touch of his lips. "I love you with all my soul," he said. "Do not laugh at me now." She said, "Dear my lord, I will never laugh more ad you. I laugh only for the joy ad being with you." "I will take you to my home," he said. "I will follow you to the end of the world and beyond," said she. "And we will come back here again, love. We will take up the broken threads of our lives and piece them together." "They shall never again be broken," she said. But he must needs spoil her divine faith. "Till death do us part," he added. "No, no. We will have the faith of our simple peasant folk. We are weded for ever an' ever." "Yes, forever," he repeated. THE END Transcriber Notes: Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS. Throughout the dialogues, there were very many words used to mimic accents of the speakers. Those words were retained as-is. The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate. Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted. In the frontispiece, a closing bracket was added after "See p. 8". On page 22, "craêpe" was replaced with "crêpe". On page 122, "balony" was replaced with "balcony". On page 159, the period before "and later," was replaced with a comma. On page 160, "pursuasion" was replaced with "persuasion". On page 226, "weded" was replaced with "wedded". 
63530	----	A TALE OF OLD JAPAN With an Introduction in Memory of Samuel Coleridge Taylor By ALFRED NOYES Illustrated by Kate Riches Transcribed by Joan Ewen William Blackwood & Sons EDINBURGH & LONDON 1914 'A TALE OF OLD JAPAN' is reprinted from the 'Collected Poems' by Alfred Noyes (Vol. II., p. 308), where it is entitled "The Two Painters: A Tale of Old Japan." _DEDICATION._ _THE appearance of this poem in its present form is due chiefly to the demand created for it by a vanished hand. It was set to music as a cantata by Coleridge Taylor, some years ago. He thought it his best work. Hardly a week has passed since then without some performance of it, in some part of the world; and it may be said that the music he wrote for it has won the lasting affection of the thousands that have heard it. He was, in two works, the most vital and spontaneous musician of his time. The first was his youthful setting of Longfellow's 'Hiawatha.' Then came many years of experiment with European subjects, disappointment, and apparent failure. In the Eastern theme of 'A Tale of Old Japan' he found something which (as those who know his history will understand) enabled him to draw the bow across his own heart-strings, and, from the first note to the last, he gave in it the most pathetic, the most haunting expression, to his own spirit. To me it was a most moving fact that his great genius should have shown so scrupulous and infinitely painstaking a regard for the words of the poem. He submitted to their "narrow room," but in a way that suggests quite new possibilities in the wedding of music and verse. He preserved every cadence of every line, and yet he gave the freedom of music to the whole, in a way that poets had ceased to think possible. It is therefore to his memory that I would dedicate the poem, all too poor a chrysalis as it must seem for those exquisite wings._ A TALE OF OLD JAPAN Yoichi Tenko, the painter, [Sidenote: I] Dwelt by the purple sea, Painting the peacock islands Under his willow-tree: Also in temples he painted Dragons of old Japan, With a child to look at the pictures-- Little O Kimi San. Kimi, the child of his brother, Bright as the moon in May. White as a lotus lily, Pink as a plum-tree spray, Linking her soft arm round him Sang to his heart for an hour, Kissed him with ripples of laughter And lips of the cherry flower. Child of the old pearl-fisher Lost in his junk at sea, Kimi was loved of Tenko As his own child might be, Yoichi Tenko the painter, Wrinkled and grey and old, Teacher of many disciples That paid for his dreams with gold. Peonies, peonies crowned the May! [Sidenote: II] Clad in blue and white array Came Sawara to the school Under the silvery willow-tree, All to learn of Tenko! Riding on a milk-white mule, Young and poor and proud was he, Lissom as a cherry spray [Peonies, peonies crowned the day!] And he rode the golden way To the school of Tenko. [Illustration] Swift to learn, beneath his hand Soon he watched his wonderland Growing cloud by magic cloud, Under the silvery willow-tree In the school of Tenko: Kimi watched him, young and proud, Painting by the purple sea. Lying on the golden sand Watched his golden wings expand! [None but Love will understand All she hid from Tenko.] He could paint her tree and flower Sea and spray and wizard's tower, With one stroke, now hard, now soft, Under the silvery willow-tree In the school of Tenko: He could fling a bird aloft, Splash a dragon in the sea, Crown a princess in her bower, With one stroke of magic power; And she watched him hour by hour, In the school of Tenko. Yoichi Tenko, wondering, scanned All the work of that young hand, Gazed his kakemonos o'er Under the silvery willow-tree In the school of Tenko: "I can teach you nothing more, Thought, or craft, or mystery; Let your golden wings expand, They will shadow half the land, All the world's at your command, Come no more to Tenko." Lying on the golden sand, Kimi watched his wings expand: Wept.--He could not understand Why she wept, said Tenko. So, in her blue kimono, [Sidenote: III] Pale as the sickle moon Glimmered thro' soft plum-branches Blue in the dusk of June, Stole she, willing and waning, Frightened and unafraid,-- "Take me with you, Sawara, Over the sea", she said. Small and sadly beseeching, Under the willow-tree, Glimmered her face like a foam-flake Drifting over the sea: Pale as a drifting blossom, Lifted her face to his eyes: Slowly he gathered and held her Under the drifting skies. [Illustration] Poor little face cast backward Better to see his own, Earth and heaven went past them Drifting: they too, alone Stood, immortal. He whispered-- "Nothing can part us two!" Backward her sad little face went Drifting, and dreamed it true. "Others are happy," she murmured, "Maidens and men I have seen; You are my king, Sawara, O, let me be your queen! If I am all too lowly," Sadly she strove to smile, "Let me follow your footsteps, Your slave for a little while." Surely, he thought, I have painted Nothing so fair as this Moonlit almond blossom Sweet to fold and kiss, Brow that is filled with music, Shell of a faery sea, Eyes like the holy violets Brimmed with dew for me. "Wait for Sawara" he whispered, Does not his whole heart yearn Now to his moon-bright maiden? Wait, for he will return Rich as the wave on the moon's path Rushing to claim his bride!" So they plighted their promise, And the ebbing sea-wave sighed. Moon and flower and butterfly, [Sidenote: IV] Earth and heaven went drifting by, Three long years while Kimi dreamed Under the silvery willow-tree In the school of Tenko, Steadfast while the whole world streamed Past her tow'rds Eternity; Steadfast till with one great cry, Ringing to the gods on high, Golden wings should bind the sky And bring him back to Tenko. Three long years and nought to say "Sweet, I come the golden way, Riding royally to the school Under the silvery willow-tree Claim my bride of Tenko; Silver bells on a milk-white mule, Rose-red sails on an emerald sea!" Kimi sometimes went to pray In the temple nigh the bay, Dreamed all night and gazed all day Over the sea from Tenko. Far away his growing fame Lit the clouds. No message came From the sky, whereon she gazed Under the silvery willow-tree Far away from Tenko! Small white hands in the temple raised Pleaded with the Mystery-- "Stick of incense in the flame, Though my love forget my name, Help him, bless him, all the same, And ... bring him back to Tenko!" _Rose-white temple nigh the bay, Hush! for Kimi comes to pray, Dream all night and gaze all day Over the sea from Tenko._ [Illustration] [Illustration] So, when the rich young merchant [Sidenote: V] Showed him his bags of gold, Yoichi Tenko, the painter, Gave him her hand to hold, Said, "You shall wed him, O Kimi": Softly he lied and smiled-- "_Yea, for Sawara is wedded! Let him not mock you, child._" Dumbly she turned and left them, Never a word or cry Broke from her lips' grey petals Under the drifting sky: Down to the spray and the rainbows, Where she had watched him of old Painting the rose-red islands, Painting the sand's wet gold. [Illustration] Down to their dreams of sunset, Frail as a flower's white ghost, Lonely and lost she wandered Down to the darkening coast; Lost in the drifting midnight, Weeping, desolate, blind Many went out to seek her: Never a heart could find. Yoichi Tenko, the painter Plucked from his willow-tree Two big paper lanterns And ran to the brink of the sea; Over his head he held them, Crying, and only heard Somewhere out in the darkness, The cry of a wandering bird. Peonies, peonies thronged the May [Sidenote: VI] When in royal-rich array Came Sawara to the school Under the silvery willow-tree-- To the school of Tenko! Silver bells on a milk-white mule, Rose-red sails on an emerald sea! Over the bloom of the cherry spray, Peonies, peonies dimmed the day; And he rode the royal way Back to Yoichi Tenko. Yoichi Tenko, half afraid Whispered, "Wed some other maid; Kimi left me all alone Under the silvery willow-tree, Left me," whispered Tenko, "Kimi had a heart of stone!"-- "Kimi, Kimi? Who is she? Kimi? Ah, the child that played Round the willow-tree. She prayed Often; and, whate'er I said, She believed it, Tenko." He had come to paint anew Those dim isles of rose and blue, For a palace far away, Under the silvery willow-tree-- So he said to Tenko; And he painted, day by day, Golden visions of the sea. No, he had not come to woo; Yet, had Kimi proven true, Doubtless he had loved her too, Hardly less than Tenko. Since the thought was in his head, He would make his choice and wed; And a lovely maid he chose Under the silvery willow-tree. "Fairer far," said Tenko. "Kimi had a twisted nose, And a foot too small, for me, And her face was dull as lead!" "Nay, a flower, be it white or red, Is a flower," Sawara said! "So it is," said Tenko. Great Sawara, the painter, [Sidenote: VII] Sought, on a day of days, One of the peacock islands Out in the sunset haze: Rose-red sails on the water Carried him quickly nigh: There would he paint him a wonder, Worthy of Hokusai. Lo, as he leapt o'er the creaming Roses of faery foam, Out of the green-lipped caverns Under the isle's blue dome, White as a drifting snow-flake, White as the moon's white flame, White as a ghost from the darkness, Little O Kimi came. "Long I have waited, Sawara, Here in our sunset isle, Sawara, Sawara, Sawara, Look at me once, and smile: Face I have watched so long for, Hands I have longed to hold, Sawara, Sawara, Sawara, Why is your heart so cold?" Surely, he thought, I have painted Nothing so fair as this Moonlit almond blossom Sweet to fold and kiss.... "Kimi," he said, "I am wedded! Hush, for it could not be!" "Kiss me one kiss," she whispered, "Me also, even me." Small and terribly drifting Backward, her sad white face Lifted up to Sawara Once, in that lonely place, White as a drifting blossom Under his wondering eyes, Slowly he gathered and held her Under the drifting skies. [Illustration] "Others are happy," she whispered, "Maidens and men I have seen: Be happy, be happy, Sawara! The other--shall be--your queen! Kiss me one kiss for parting": Trembling she lifted her head, Then like a broken blossom It fell on his arm. She was dead. Much impressed, Sawara straight [Sidenote: VIII] (Though the hour was growing late) Made a sketch of Kimi lying By the lonely, sighing sea, Brought it back to Tenko. Tenko looked it over crying (Under the silvery willow-tree). "You have burst the golden gate! You have conquered Time and Fate! Hokusai is not so great! This is art," said Tenko! Printed by William Blackwood & Sons Transcriber Notes: Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS. The original book had no page numbers, and no page numbers have been added. In the fourth stanza, the period after "Peonies" was replaced with a comma. The quotation mark was deleted after "In the school of Tenko." The quotation mark was deleted before "Does not his whole heart yearn" A period was added after "Never a heart could find". A period was added after "Painting the sand's wet gold". "A foot to small" was changed to "A foot too small". 
685	----	For an HTML version of this document and additional public domain documents on nuclear history, visit Trinity Atomic Web Site: http://www.envirolink.org/issues/nuketesting/ THE ATOMIC BOMBINGS OF HIROSHIMA AND NAGASAKI by The Manhattan Engineer District, June 29, 1946. Index FOREWORD INTRODUCTION THE MANHATTAN PROJECT INVESTIGATING GROUP PROPAGANDA SUMMARY OF DAMAGES AND INJURIES MAIN CONCLUSIONS THE SELECTION OF THE TARGET DESCRIPTION OF THE CITIES BEFORE THE BOMBINGS Hiroshima Nagasaki THE ATTACKS Hiroshima Nagasaki GENERAL COMPARISON OF HIROSHIMA AND NAGASAKI GENERAL DESCRIPTION OF DAMAGE CAUSED BY THE ATOMIC EXPLOSIONS TOTAL CASUALTIES THE NATURE OF AN ATOMIC EXPLOSION CHARACTERISTICS OF THE DAMAGE CAUSED BY THE ATOMIC BOMBS CALCULATIONS OF THE PEAK PRESSURE OF THE BLAST WAVE LONG RANGE BLAST DAMAGE GROUND SHOCK SHIELDING, OR SCREENING, FROM THE BLAST FLASH BURN CHARACTERISTICS OF INJURIES TO PERSONS BURNS MECHANICAL INJURIES BLAST INJURIES RADIATION INJURIES SHIELDING FROM RADIATION EFFECTS OF THE ATOMIC BOMBINGS ON THE INHABITANTS OF THE CITIES APPENDIX: Father Siemes' eyewitness account FOREWORD This report describes the effects of the atomic bombs which were dropped on the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki on August 6 and 9, 1945, respectively. It summarizes all the authentic information that is available on damage to structures, injuries to personnel, morale effect, etc., which can be released at this time without prejudicing the security of the United States. This report has been compiled by the Manhattan Engineer District of the United States Army under the direction of Major General Leslie R. Groves. Special acknowledgement to those whose work contributed largely to this report is made to: The Special Manhattan Engineer District Investigating Group, The United States Strategic Bombing Survey, The British Mission to Japan, and The Joint Atomic Bomb Investigating Group (Medical). and particularly to the following individuals: Col. Stafford L. Warren, Medical Corps, United States Army, for his evaluation of medical data, Capt. Henry L. Barnett, Medical Corps, United States Army, for his evaluation of medical data, Dr. R. Serber, for his comments on flash burn, Dr. Hans Bethe, Cornell University, for his information of the nature of atomic explosions, Majors Noland Varley and Walter C. Youngs, Corps of Engineers, United States Army, for their evaluation of physical damage to structures, J. 0. Hirschfelder, J. L. Magee, M. Hull, and S. T. Cohen, of the Los Alamos Laboratory, for their data on nuclear explosions, Lieut. Col. David B. Parker, Corps of Engineers, United States Army, for editing this report. INTRODUCTION Statement by the President of the United States: "Sixteen hours ago an American airplane dropped one bomb on Hiroshima, Japan, and destroyed its usefulness to the enemy. That bomb had more power than 20,000 tons of T.N.T. It had more than two thousand times the blast power of the British Grand Slam, which is the largest bomb ever yet used in the history of warfare". These fateful words of the President on August 6th, 1945, marked the first public announcement of the greatest scientific achievement in history. The atomic bomb, first tested in New Mexico on July 16, 1945, had just been used against a military target. On August 6th, 1945, at 8:15 A.M., Japanese time, a B-29 heavy bomber flying at high altitude dropped the first atomic bomb on Hiroshima. More than 4 square miles of the city were instantly and completely devastated. 66,000 people were killed, and 69,000 injured. On August 9th, three days later, at 11:02 A.M., another B-29 dropped the second bomb on the industrial section of the city of Nagasaki, totally destroying 1 1/2 square miles of the city, killing 39,000 persons, and injuring 25,000 more. On August 10, the day after the atomic bombing of Nagasaki, the Japanese government requested that it be permitted to surrender under the terms of the Potsdam declaration of July 26th which it had previously ignored. THE MANHATTAN PROJECT ATOMIC BOMB INVESTIGATING GROUP On August 11th, 1945, two days after the bombing of Nagasaki, a message was dispatched from Major General Leslie R. Groves to Brigadier General Thomas F. Farrell, who was his deputy in atomic bomb work and was representing him in operations in the Pacific, directing him to organize a special Manhattan Project Atomic Bomb Investigating Group. This Group was to secure scientific, technical and medical intelligence in the atomic bomb field from within Japan as soon as possible after the cessation of hostilities. The mission was to consist of three groups: 1. Group for Hiroshima. 2. Group for Nagasaki. 3. Group to secure information concerning general Japanese activities in the field of atomic bombs. The first two groups were organized to accompany the first American troops into Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The primary purposes of the mission were as follows, in order of importance: 1. To make certain that no unusual hazards were present in the bombed cities. 2. To secure all possible information concerning the effects of the bombs, both usual and unusual, and particularly with regard to radioactive effects, if any, on the targets or elsewhere. General Groves further stated that all available specialist personnel and instruments would be sent from the United States, and that the Supreme Allied Commander in the Pacific would be informed about the organization of the mission. On the same day, 11 August, the special personnel who formed the part of the investigating group to be sent from the United States were selected and ordered to California with instructions to proceed overseas at once to accomplish the purposes set forth in the message to General Farrell. The main party departed from Hamilton Field, California on the morning of 13 August and arrived in the Marianas on 15 August. On 12 August the Chief of Staff sent the Theater Commander the following message: "FOR MACARTHUR, SIGNED MARSHALL: "GROVES HAS ORDERED FARRELL AT TINIAN TO ORGANIZE A SCIENTIFIC GROUP OF THREE SECTIONS FOR POTENTIAL USE IN JAPAN IF SUCH USE SHOULD BE DESIRED. THE FIRST GROUP IS FOR HIROSHIMA, THE SECOND FOR NAGASAKI, AND THE THIRD FOR THE PURPOSE OF SECURING INFORMATION CONCERNING GENERAL JAPANESE ACTIVITIES IN THE FIELD OF ATOMIC WEAPONS. THE GROUPS FOR HIROSHIMA AND NAGASAKI SHOULD ENTER THOSE CITIES WITH THE FIRST AMERICAN TROOPS IN ORDER THAT THESE TROOPS SHALL NOT BE SUBJECTED TO ANY POSSIBLE TOXIC EFFECTS ALTHOUGH WE HAVE NO REASON TO BELIEVE THAT ANY SUCH EFFECTS ACTUALLY EXIST. FARRELL AND HIS ORGANIZATION HAVE ALL AVAILABLE INFORMATION ON THIS SUBJECT." General Farrell arrived in Yokohama on 30 August, with the Commanding General of the 8th Army; Colonel Warren, who was Chief of the Radiological Division of the District, arrived on 7 September. The main body of the investigating group followed later. Preliminary inspections of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were made on 8-9 and 13-14 September, respectively. Members of the press had been enabled to precede General Farrell to Hiroshima. The special groups spent 16 days in Nagasaki and 4 days in Hiroshima, during which time they collected as much information as was possible under their directives which called for a prompt report. After General Farrell returned to the U.S. to make his preliminary report, the groups were headed by Brigadier General J. B. Newman, Jr. More extensive surveys have been made since that time by other agencies who had more time and personnel available for the purpose, and much of their additional data has thrown further light on the effects of the bombings. This data has been duly considered in the making of this report. PROPAGANDA On the day after the Hiroshima strike, General Farrell received instructions from the War Department to engage in a propaganda campaign against the Japanese Empire in connection with the new weapon and its use against Hiroshima. The campaign was to include leaflets and any other propaganda considered appropriate. With the fullest cooperation from CINCPAC of the Navy and the United States Strategic Air Forces, he initiated promptly a campaign which included the preparation and distribution of leaflets, broadcasting via short wave every 15 minutes over radio Saipan and the printing at Saipan and distribution over the Empire of a Japanese language newspaper which included the description and photographs of the Hiroshima strike. The campaign proposed: 1. Dropping 16,000,000 leaflets in a period of 9 days on 47 Japanese cities with population of over 100,000. These cities represented more than 40% of the total population. 2. Broadcast of propaganda at regular intervals over radio Saipan. 3. Distribution of 500,000 Japanese language newspapers containing stories and pictures of the atomic bomb attacks. The campaign continued until the Japanese began their surrender negotiations. At that time some 6,000,000 leaflets and a large number of newspapers had been dropped. The radio broadcasts in Japanese had been carried out at regular 15 minute intervals. SUMMARY OF DAMAGES AND INJURIES Both the Hiroshima and the Nagasaki atomic bombs exhibited similar effects. The damages to man-made structures and other inanimate objects was the result in both cities of the following effects of the explosions: A. Blast, or pressure wave, similar to that of normal explosions. B. Primary fires, i.e., those fires started instantaneously by the heat radiated from the atomic explosion. C. Secondary fires, i.e., those fires resulting from the collapse of buildings, damage to electrical systems, overturning of stoves, and other primary effects of the blast. D. Spread of the original fires (B and C) to other structures. The casualties sustained by the inhabitants of both cities were due to: A. "Flash" burns, caused directly by the almost instantaneous radiation of heat and light at the moment of the explosion. B. Burns resulting from the fires caused by the explosion. C. Mechanical injuries caused by collapse of buildings, flying debris, and forceable hurling--about of persons struck by the blast pressure waves. D. Radiation injuries caused by the instantaneous penetrating radiation (in many respects similar to excessive X-ray exposure) from the nuclear explosion; all of these effective radiations occurred during the first minute after initiation of the explosion, and nearly all occurred during the first second of the explosion. No casualties were suffered as a result of any persistent radioactivity of fission products of the bomb, or any induced radioactivity of objects near the explosion. The gamma radiations emitted by the nuclear explosion did not, of course, inflict any damage on structures. The number of casualties which resulted from the pure blast effect alone (i.e., because of simple pressure) was probably negligible in comparison to that caused by other effects. The central portions of the cities underneath the explosions suffered almost complete destruction. The only surviving objects were the frames of a small number of strong reinforced concrete buildings which were not collapsed by the blast; most of these buildings suffered extensive damage from interior fires, had their windows, doors, and partitions knocked out, and all other fixtures which were not integral parts of the reinforced concrete frames burned or blown away; the casualties in such buildings near the center of explosion were almost 100%. In Hiroshima fires sprang up simultaneously all over the wide flat central area of the city; these fires soon combined in an immense "fire storm" (high winds blowing inwards toward the center of a large conflagration) similar to those caused by ordinary mass incendiary raids; the resulting terrific conflagration burned out almost everything which had not already been destroyed by the blast in a roughly circular area of 4.4 square miles around the point directly under the explosion (this point will hereafter in this report be referred to as X). Similar fires broke out in Nagasaki, but no devastating fire storm resulted as in Hiroshima because of the irregular shape of the city. In both cities the blast totally destroyed everything within a radius of 1 mile from the center of explosion, except for certain reinforced concrete frames as noted above. The atomic explosion almost completely destroyed Hiroshima's identity as a city. Over a fourth of the population was killed in one stroke and an additional fourth seriously injured, so that even if there had been no damage to structures and installations the normal city life would still have been completely shattered. Nearly everything was heavily damaged up to a radius of 3 miles from the blast, and beyond this distance damage, although comparatively light, extended for several more miles. Glass was broken up to 12 miles. In Nagasaki, a smaller area of the city was actually destroyed than in Hiroshima, because the hills which enclosed the target area restricted the spread of the great blast; but careful examination of the effects of the explosion gave evidence of even greater blast effects than in Hiroshima. Total destruction spread over an area of about 3 square miles. Over a third of the 50,000 buildings in the target area of Nagasaki were destroyed or seriously damaged. The complete destruction of the huge steel works and the torpedo plant was especially impressive. The steel frames of all buildings within a mile of the explosion were pushed away, as by a giant hand, from the point of detonation. The badly burned area extended for 3 miles in length. The hillsides up to a radius of 8,000 feet were scorched, giving them an autumnal appearance. MAIN CONCLUSIONS The following are the main conclusions which were reached after thorough examination of the effects of the bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki: 1. No harmful amounts of persistent radioactivity were present after the explosions as determined by: A. Measurements of the intensity of radioactivity at the time of the investigation; and B. Failure to find any clinical evidence of persons harmed by persistent radioactivity. The effects of the atomic bombs on human beings were of three main types: A. Burns, remarkable for (1) the great ground area over which they were inflicted and (2) the prevalence of "flash" burns caused by the instantaneous heat radiation. B. Mechanical injuries, also remarkable for the wide area in which suffered. C. Effects resulting from penetrating gamma radiation. The effects from radiation were due to instantaneous discharge of radiation at the moment of explosion and not to persistent radioactivity (of either fission products or other substances whose radioactivity might have been induced by proximity to the explosions). The effects of the atomic bombs on structures and installations were of two types: A. Destruction caused by the great pressure from the blast; and B. Destruction caused by the fires, either started directly by the great heat radiation, or indirectly through the collapse of buildings, wiring, etc. 4. The actual tonnage of T.N.T. which would have caused the same blast damage was approximately of the order of 20,000 tons. 5. In respect to their height of burst, the bombs performed exactly according to design. 6. The bombs were placed in such positions that they could not have done more damage from any alternative bursting point in either city. 7. The heights of burst were correctly chosen having regard to the type of destruction it was desired to cause. 8. The information collected would enable a reasonably accurate prediction to be made of the blast damage likely to be caused in any city where an atomic explosion could be effected. THE SELECTION OF THE TARGET Some of the most frequent queries concerning the atomic bombs are those dealing with the selection of the targets and the decision as to when the bombs would be used. The approximate date for the first use of the bomb was set in the fall of 1942 after the Army had taken over the direction of and responsibility for the atomic bomb project. At that time, under the scientific assumptions which turned out to be correct, the summer of 1945 was named as the most likely date when sufficient production would have been achieved to make it possible actually to construct and utilize an atomic bomb. It was essential before this time to develop the technique of constructing and detonating the bomb and to make an almost infinite number of scientific and engineering developments and tests. Between the fall of 1942 and June 1945, the estimated probabilities of success had risen from about 60% to above 90%; however, not until July 16, 1945, when the first full-scale test took place in New Mexico, was it conclusively proven that the theories, calculations, and engineering were correct and that the bomb would be successful. The test in New Mexico was held 6 days after sufficient material had become available for the first bomb. The Hiroshima bomb was ready awaiting suitable weather on July 31st, and the Nagasaki bomb was used as soon after the Hiroshima bomb as it was practicable to operate the second mission. The work on the actual selection of targets for the atomic bomb was begun in the spring of 1945. This was done in close cooperation with the Commanding General, Army Air Forces, and his Headquarters. A number of experts in various fields assisted in the study. These included mathematicians, theoretical physicists, experts on the blast effects of bombs, weather consultants, and various other specialists. Some of the important considerations were: A. The range of the aircraft which would carry the bomb. B. The desirability of visual bombing in order to insure the most effective use of the bomb. C. Probable weather conditions in the target areas. D. Importance of having one primary and two secondary targets for each mission, so that if weather conditions prohibited bombing the target there would be at least two alternates. E. Selection of targets to produce the greatest military effect on the Japanese people and thereby most effectively shorten the war. F. The morale effect upon the enemy. These led in turn to the following: A. Since the atomic bomb was expected to produce its greatest amount of damage by primary blast effect, and next greatest by fires, the targets should contain a large percentage of closely-built frame buildings and other construction that would be most susceptible to damage by blast and fire. B. The maximum blast effect of the bomb was calculated to extend over an area of approximately 1 mile in radius; therefore the selected targets should contain a densely built-up area of at least this size. C. The selected targets should have a high military strategic value. D. The first target should be relatively untouched by previous bombing, in order that the effect of a single atomic bomb could be determined. The weather records showed that for five years there had never been two successive good visual bombing days over Tokyo, indicating what might be expected over other targets in the home islands. The worst month of the year for visual bombing was believed to be June, after which the weather should improve slightly during July and August and then become worse again during September. Since good bombing conditions would occur rarely, the most intense plans and preparations were necessary in order to secure accurate weather forecasts and to arrange for full utilization of whatever good weather might occur. It was also very desirable to start the raids before September. DESCRIPTION OF THE CITIES BEFORE THE BOMBINGS Hiroshima The city of Hiroshima is located on the broad, flat delta of the Ota River, which has 7 channel outlets dividing the city into six islands which project into Hiroshima Bay. The city is almost entirely flat and only slightly above sea level; to the northwest and northeast of the city some hills rise to 700 feet. A single hill in the eastern part of the city proper about 1/2 mile long and 221 feet in height interrupted to some extent the spreading of the blast damage; otherwise the city was fully exposed to the bomb. Of a city area of over 26 square miles, only 7 square miles were completely built-up. There was no marked separation of commercial, industrial, and residential zones. 75% of the population was concentrated in the densely built-up area in the center of the city. Hiroshima was a city of considerable military importance. It contained the 2nd Army Headquarters, which commanded the defense of all of southern Japan. The city was a communications center, a storage point, and an assembly area for troops. To quote a Japanese report, "Probably more than a thousand times since the beginning of the war did the Hiroshima citizens see off with cries of 'Banzai' the troops leaving from the harbor." The center of the city contained a number of reinforced concrete buildings as well as lighter structures. Outside the center, the area was congested by a dense collection of small wooden workshops set among Japanese houses; a few larger industrial plants lay near the outskirts of the city. The houses were of wooden construction with tile roofs. Many of the industrial buildings also were of wood frame construction. The city as a whole was highly susceptible to fire damage. Some of the reinforced concrete buildings were of a far stronger construction than is required by normal standards in America, because of the earthquake danger in Japan. This exceptionally strong construction undoubtedly accounted for the fact that the framework of some of the buildings which were fairly close to the center of damage in the city did not collapse. The population of Hiroshima had reached a peak of over 380,000 earlier in the war but prior to the atomic bombing the population had steadily decreased because of a systematic evacuation ordered by the Japanese government. At the time of the attack the population was approximately 255,000. This figure is based on the registered population, used by the Japanese in computing ration quantities, and the estimates of additional workers and troops who were brought into the city may not be highly accurate. Hiroshima thus had approximately the same number of people as the city of Providence, R.I., or Dallas, Tex. Nagasaki Nagasaki lies at the head of a long bay which forms the best natural harbor on the southern Japanese home island of Kyushu. The main commercial and residential area of the city lies on a small plain near the end of the bay. Two rivers divided by a mountain spur form the two main valleys in which the city lies. This mountain spur and the irregular lay-out of the city tremendously reduced the area of destruction, so that at first glance Nagasaki appeared to have been less devastated than Hiroshima. The heavily build-up area of the city is confined by the terrain to less than 4 square miles out of a total of about 35 square miles in the city as a whole. The city of Nagasaki had been one of the largest sea ports in southern Japan and was of great war-time importance because of its many and varied industries, including the production of ordnance, ships, military equipment, and other war materials. The narrow long strip attacked was of particular importance because of its industries. In contrast to many modern aspects of Nagasaki, the residences almost without exception were of flimsy, typical Japanese construction, consisting of wood or wood-frame buildings, with wood walls with or without plaster, and tile roofs. Many of the smaller industries and business establishments were also housed in wooden buildings or flimsily built masonry buildings. Nagasaki had been permitted to grow for many years without conforming to any definite city zoning plan and therefore residences were constructed adjacent to factory buildings and to each other almost as close as it was possible to build them throughout the entire industrial valley. THE ATTACKS Hiroshima Hiroshima was the primary target of the first atomic bomb mission. The mission went smoothly in every respect. The weather was good, and the crew and equipment functioned perfectly. In every detail, the attack was carried out exactly as planned, and the bomb performed exactly as expected. The bomb exploded over Hiroshima at 8:15 on the morning of August 6, 1945. About an hour previously, the Japanese early warning radar net had detected the approach of some American aircraft headed for the southern part of Japan. The alert had been given and radio broadcasting stopped in many cities, among them Hiroshima. The planes approached the coast at a very high altitude. At nearly 8:00 A.M., the radar operator in Hiroshima determined that the number of planes coming in was very small--probably not more than three--and the air raid alert was lifted. The normal radio broadcast warning was given to the people that it might be advisable to go to shelter if B-29's were actually sighted, but no raid was expected beyond some sort of reconnaissance. At 8:15 A.M., the bomb exploded with a blinding flash in the sky, and a great rush of air and a loud rumble of noise extended for many miles around the city; the first blast was soon followed by the sounds of falling buildings and of growing fires, and a great cloud of dust and smoke began to cast a pall of darkness over the city. At 8:16 A.M., the Tokyo control operator of the Japanese Broadcasting Corporation noticed that the Hiroshima station had gone off the air. He tried to use another telephone line to reestablish his program, but it too had failed. About twenty minutes later the Tokyo railroad telegraph center realized that the main line telegraph had stopped working just north of Hiroshima. From some small railway stops within ten miles of the city there came unofficial and confused reports of a terrible explosion in Hiroshima. All these reports were transmitted to the Headquarters of the Japanese General Staff. Military headquarters repeatedly tried to call the Army Control Station in Hiroshima. The complete silence from that city puzzled the men at Headquarters; they knew that no large enemy raid could have occurred, and they knew that no sizeable store of explosives was in Hiroshima at that time. A young officer of the Japanese General Staff was instructed to fly immediately to Hiroshima, to land, survey the damage, and return to Tokyo with reliable information for the staff. It was generally felt at Headquarters that nothing serious had taken place, that it was all a terrible rumor starting from a few sparks of truth. The staff officer went to the airport and took off for the southwest. After flying for about three hours, while still nearly 100 miles from Hiroshima, he and his pilot saw a great cloud of smoke from the bomb. In the bright afternoon, the remains of Hiroshima were burning. Their plane soon reached the city, around which they circled in disbelief. A great scar on the land, still burning, and covered by a heavy cloud of smoke, was all that was left of a great city. They landed south of the city, and the staff officer immediately began to organize relief measures, after reporting to Tokyo. Tokyo's first knowledge of what had really caused the disaster came from the White House public announcement in Washington sixteen hours after Hiroshima had been hit by the atomic bomb. Nagasaki Nagasaki had never been subjected to large scale bombing prior to the explosion of the atomic bomb there. On August 1st, 1945, however, a number of high explosive bombs were dropped on the city. A few of these bombs hit in the shipyards and dock areas in the southwest portion of the city. Several of the bombs hit the Mitsubishi Steel and Arms Works and six bombs landed at the Nagasaki Medical School and Hospital, with three direct hits on buildings there. While the damage from these few bombs were relatively small, it created considerable concern in Nagasaki and a number of people, principally school children, were evacuated to rural areas for safety, thus reducing the population in the city at the time of the atomic attack. On the morning of August 9th, 1945, at about 7:50 A.M., Japanese time, an air raid alert was sounded in Nagasaki, but the "All clear" signal was given at 8:30. When only two B-29 superfortresses were sighted at 10:53 the Japanese apparently assumed that the planes were only on reconnaissance and no further alarm was given. A few moments later, at 11:00 o'clock, the observation B-29 dropped instruments attached to three parachutes and at 11:02 the other plane released the atomic bomb. The bomb exploded high over the industrial valley of Nagasaki, almost midway between the Mitsubishi Steel and Arms Works, in the south, and the Mitsubishi-Urakami Ordnance Works (Torpedo Works), in the north, the two principal targets of the city. Despite its extreme importance, the first bombing mission on Hiroshima had been almost routine. The second mission was not so uneventful. Again the crew was specially trained and selected; but bad weather introduced some momentous complications. These complications are best described in the brief account of the mission's weaponeer, Comdr., now Capt., F. L. Ashworth, U.S.N., who was in technical command of the bomb and was charged with the responsibility of insuring that the bomb was successfully dropped at the proper time and on the designated target. His narrative runs as follows: "The night of our take-off was one of tropical rain squalls, and flashes of lightning stabbed into the darkness with disconcerting regularity. The weather forecast told us of storms all the way from the Marianas to the Empire. Our rendezvous was to be off the southeast coast of Kyushu, some 1500 miles away. There we were to join with our two companion observation B-29's that took off a few minutes behind us. Skillful piloting and expert navigation brought us to the rendezvous without incident. "About five minutes after our arrival, we were joined by the first of our B-29's. The second, however, failed to arrive, having apparently been thrown off its course by storms during the night. We waited 30 minutes and then proceeded without the second plane toward the target area. "During the approach to the target the special instruments installed in the plane told us that the bomb was ready to function. We were prepared to drop the second atomic bomb on Japan. But fate was against us, for the target was completely obscured by smoke and haze. Three times we attempted bombing runs, but without success. Then with anti-aircraft fire bursting around us and with a number of enemy fighters coming up after us, we headed for our secondary target, Nagasaki. "The bomb burst with a blinding flash and a huge column of black smoke swirled up toward us. Out of this column of smoke there boiled a great swirling mushroom of gray smoke, luminous with red, flashing flame, that reached to 40,000 feet in less than 8 minutes. Below through the clouds we could see the pall of black smoke ringed with fire that covered what had been the industrial area of Nagasaki. "By this time our fuel supply was dangerously low, so after one quick circle of Nagasaki, we headed direct for Okinawa for an emergency landing and refueling". GENERAL COMPARISON OF HIROSHIMA AND NAGASAKI It was not at first apparent to even trained observers visiting the two Japanese cities which of the two bombs had been the most effective. In some respects, Hiroshima looked worse than Nagasaki. The fire damage in Hiroshima was much more complete; the center of the city was hit and everything but the reinforced concrete buildings had virtually disappeared. A desert of clear-swept, charred remains, with only a few strong building frames left standing was a terrifying sight. At Nagasaki there were no buildings just underneath the center of explosion. The damage to the Mitsubishi Arms Works and the Torpedo Works was spectacular, but not overwhelming. There was something left to see, and the main contours of some of the buildings were still normal. An observer could stand in the center of Hiroshima and get a view of the most of the city; the hills prevented a similar overall view in Nagasaki. Hiroshima impressed itself on one's mind as a vast expanse of desolation; but nothing as vivid was left in one's memory of Nagasaki. When the observers began to note details, however, striking differences appeared. Trees were down in both cities, but the large trees which fell in Hiroshima were uprooted, while those in Nagasaki were actually snapped off. A few reinforced concrete buildings were smashed at the center in Hiroshima, but in Nagasaki equally heavy damage could be found 2,300 feet from X. In the study of objects which gave definite clues to the blast pressure, such as squashed tin cans, dished metal plates, bent or snapped poles and like, it was soon evident that the Nagasaki bomb had been much more effective than the Hiroshima bomb. In the description of damage which follows, it will be noted that the radius for the amount of damage was greater in Nagasaki than Hiroshima. GENERAL DESCRIPTION OF DAMAGE CAUSED BY THE ATOMIC EXPLOSIONS In considering the devastation in the two cities, it should be remembered that the cities' differences in shape and topography resulted in great differences in the damages. Hiroshima was all on low, flat ground, and was roughly circular in shape; Nagasaki was much cut up by hills and mountain spurs, with no regularity to its shape. In Hiroshima almost everything up to about one mile from X was completely destroyed, except for a small number (about 50) of heavily reinforced concrete buildings, most of which were specially designed to withstand earthquake shock, which were not collapsed by the blast; most of these buildings had their interiors completely gutted, and all windows, doors, sashes, and frames ripped out. In Nagasaki, nearly everything within 1/2 mile of the explosion was destroyed, including heavy structures. All Japanese homes were destroyed within 1 1/2 miles from X. Underground air raid shelters with earth cover roofs immediately below the explosion had their roofs caved in; but beyond 1/2 mile from X they suffered no damage. In Nagasaki, 1500 feet from X high quality steel frame buildings were not completely collapsed, but the entire buildings suffered mass distortion and all panels and roofs were blown in. In Nagasaki, 2,000 feet from X, reinforced concrete buildings with 10" walls and 6" floors were collapsed; reinforced concrete buildings with 4" walls and roofs were standing but were badly damaged. At 2,000 feet some 9" concrete walls were completely destroyed. In Nagasaki, 3,500 feet from X, church buildings with 18" brick walls were completely destroyed. 12" brick walls were severely cracked as far as 5,000 feet. In Hiroshima, 4,400 feet from X, multi-story brick buildings were completely demolished. In Nagasaki, similar buildings were destroyed to 5,300 feet. In Hiroshima, roof tiles were bubbled (melted) by the flash heat out to 4,000 feet from X; in Nagasaki, the same effect was observed to 6,500 feet. In Hiroshima, steel frame buildings were destroyed 4,200 feet from X, and to 4,800 feet in Nagasaki. In both cities, the mass distortion of large steel buildings was observed out to 4,500 feet from X. In Nagasaki, reinforced concrete smoke stacks with 8" walls, specially designed to withstand earthquake shocks, were overturned up to 4,000 feet from X. In Hiroshima, steel frame buildings suffered severe structural damage up to 5,700 feet from X, and in Nagasaki the same damage was sustained as far as 6,000 feet. In Nagasaki, 9" brick walls were heavily cracked to 5,000 feet, were moderately cracked to 6,000 feet, and slightly cracked to 8,000 feet. In both cities, light concrete buildings collapsed out to 4,700 feet. In Hiroshima, multi-story brick buildings suffered structural damage up to 6,600 feet, and in Nagasaki up to 6,500 feet from X. In both cities overhead electric installations were destroyed up to 5,500 feet; and trolley cars were destroyed up to 5,500 feet, and damaged to 10,500 feet. Flash ignition of dry, combustible material was observed as far as 6,400 feet from X in Hiroshima, and in Nagasaki as far as 10,000 feet from X. Severe damage to gas holders occured out to 6,500 feet in both cities. All Japanese homes were seriously damaged up to 6,500 feet in Hiroshima, and to 8,000 feet in Nagasaki. Most Japanese homes were damaged up to 8,000 feet in Hiroshima and 10,500 feet in Nagasaki. The hillsides in Nagasaki were scorched by the flash radiation of heat as far as 8,000 feet from X; this scorching gave the hillsides the appearance of premature autumn. In Nagasaki, very heavy plaster damage was observed in many buildings up to 9,000 feet; moderate damage was sustained as far as 12,000 feet, and light damage up to 15,000 feet. The flash charring of wooden telegraph poles was observed up to 9,500 feet from X in Hiroshima, and to 11,000 feet in Nagasaki; some reports indicate flash burns as far as 13,000 feet from X in both places. Severe displacement of roof tiles was observed up to 8,000 feet in Hiroshima, and to 10,000 feet in Nagasaki. In Nagasaki, very heavy damage to window frames and doors was observed up to 8,000 feet, and light damage up to 12,000 feet. Roofs and wall coverings on steel frame buildings were destroyed out to 11,000 feet. Although the sources of many fires were difficult to trace accurately, it is believed that fires were started by primary heat radiation as far as 15,000 feet from X. Roof damage extended as far as 16,000 feet from X in Hiroshima and in Nagasaki. The actual collapse of buildings was observed at the extreme range of 23,000 feet from X in Nagasaki. Although complete window damage was observed only up to 12,000 feet from X, some window damage occurred in Nagasaki up to 40,000 feet, and actual breakage of glass occured up to 60,000 feet. Heavy fire damage was sustained in a circular area in Hiroshima with a mean radius of about 6,000 feet and a maximum radius of about 11,000 feet; similar heavy damage occured in Nagasaki south of X up to 10,000 feet, where it was stopped on a river course. In Hiroshima over 60,000 of 90,000 buildings were destroyed or severely damaged by the atomic bomb; this figure represents over 67% of the city's structures. In Nagasaki 14,000 or 27% of 52,000 residences were completely destroyed and 5,400, or 10% were half destroyed. Only 12% remained undamaged. This destruction was limited by the layout of the city. The following is a summary of the damage to buildings in Nagasaki as determined from a ground survey made by the Japanese: Destruction of Buildings and Houses Number Percentage (Compiled by Nagasaki Municipality) Total in Nagasaki (before atomic explosion) 50,000 100.0 Blasted (not burned) 2,652 5.3 Blasted and burned 11,494 23.0 Blasted and/or burned 14,146 28.3 Partially burned or blasted 5,441 10.9 Total buildings and houses destroyed 19,587 39.2 Undamaged 30,413 60.8 In Hiroshima, all utilities and transportation services were disrupted for varying lengths of time. In general however services were restored about as rapidly as they could be used by the depleted population. Through railroad service was in order in Hiroshima on 8 August, and electric power was available in most of the surviving parts on 7 August, the day after the bombing. The reservoir of the city was not damaged, being nearly 2 miles from X. However, 70,000 breaks in water pipes in buildings and dwellings were caused by the blast and fire effects. Rolling transportation suffered extensive damage. The damage to railroad tracks, and roads was comparatively small, however. The electric power transmission and distribution systems were badly wrecked. The telephone system was approximately 80% damaged, and no service was restored until 15 August. Despite the customary Japanese lack of attention to sanitation measures, no major epidemic broke out in the bombed cities. Although the conditions following the bombings makes this fact seem surprising, the experience of other bombed cities in both Germany and Japan show Hiroshima and Nagasaki not to be isolated cases. The atomic explosion over Nagasaki affected an over-all area of approximately 42.9 square miles of which about 8.5 square miles were water and only about 9.8 square miles were built up, the remainder being partially settled. Approximately 36% of the built up areas were seriously damaged. The area most severely damaged had an average radius of about 1 mile, and covered about 2.9 square miles of which 2.4 were built up. In Nagasaki, buildings with structural steel frames, principally the Mitsubishi Plant as far as 6,000 feet from X were severely damaged; these buildings were typical of wartime mill construction in America and Great Britain, except that some of the frames were somewhat less substantial. The damage consisted of windows broken out (100%), steel sashes ripped out or bent, corrugated metal or corrugated asbestos roofs and sidings ripped off, roofs bent or destroyed, roof trusses collapsed, columns bent and cracked and concrete foundations for columns rotated. Damage to buildings with structural steel frames was more severe where the buildings received the effect of the blast on their sides than where the blast hit the ends of buildings, because the buildings had more stiffness (resistance to negative moment at the top of columns) in a longitudinal direction. Many of the lightly constructed steel frame buildings collapsed completely while some of the heavily constructed (to carry the weight of heavy cranes and loads) were stripped of roof and siding, but the frames were only partially injured. The next most seriously damaged area in Nagasaki lies outside the 2.9 square miles just described, and embraces approximately 4.2 square miles of which 29% was built up. The damage from blast and fire was moderate here, but in some sections (portions of main business districts) many secondary fires started and spread rapidly, resulting in about as much over-all destruction as in areas much closer to X. An area of partial damage by blast and fire lies just outside the one just described and comprises approximately 35.8 square miles. Of this area, roughly 1/6th was built up and 1/4th was water. The extent of damage varied from serious (severe damage to roofs and windows in the main business section of Nagasaki, 2.5 miles from X), to minor (broken or occasionally broken windows at a distance of 7 miles southeast of X). As intended, the bomb was exploded at an almost ideal location over Nagasaki to do the maximum damage to industry, including the Mitsubishi Steel and Arms Works, the Mitsubishi-Urakami Ordnance Works (Torpedo Works), and numerous factories, factory training schools, and other industrial establishments, with a minimum destruction of dwellings and consequently, a minimum amount of casualties. Had the bomb been dropped farther south, the Mitsubishi-Urakami Ordnance Works would not have been so severely damaged, but the main business and residential districts of Nagasaki would have sustained much greater damage casualties. Calculations show that the structural steel and reinforced concrete frames which survived the blast fairly close to X could not have withstood the estimated peak pressures developed against the total areas presented by the sides and roof of the buildings. The survival of these frames is explained by the fact that they were not actually required to withstand the peak pressure because the windows were quickly knocked out and roof and siding stripped off thereby reducing total area and relieving the pressure. While this saved the building frame, it permitted severe damage to building interior and contents, and injuries to the building occupants. Buildings without large panel openings through which the pressure could dissipate were completely crushed, even when their frames were as strong as those which survived. The damage sustained by reinforced concrete buildings depended both on the proximity to X and the type and strength of the reinforced concrete construction. Some of the buildings with reinforced concrete frames also had reinforced concrete walls, ceilings, and partitions, while others had brick or concrete tile walls covered either with plaster or ornamental stone, with partitions of metal, glass, and plaster. With the exception of the Nagasaki Medical School and Hospital group, which was designed to withstand earthquakes and was therefore of heavier construction than most American structures, most of the reinforced concrete structures could be classified only as fair, with concrete of low strength and density, with many of the columns, beams, and slabs underdesigned and improperly reinforced. These facts account for some of the structural failures which occured. In general, the atomic bomb explosion damaged all windows and ripped out, bent, or twisted most of the steel window or door sashes, ripped doors from hinges, damaged all suspended wood, metal, and plaster ceilings. The blast concussion also caused great damage to equipment by tumbling and battering. Fires generally of secondary origin consumed practically all combustible material, caused plaster to crack off, burned all wooden trim, stair covering, wooden frames of wooden suspended ceilings, beds, mattresses, and mats, and fused glass, ruined all equipment not already destroyed by the blast, ruined all electrical wiring, plumbing, and caused spalling of concrete columns and beams in many of the rooms. Almost without exception masonry buildings of either brick or stone within the effective limits of the blast were severely damaged so that most of them were flattened or reduced to rubble. The wreckage of a church, approximately 1,800 feet east of X in Nagasaki, was one of the few masonry buildings still recognizable and only portions of the walls of this structure were left standing. These walls were extremely thick (about 2 feet). The two domes of the church had reinforced concrete frames and although they were toppled, they held together as units. Practically every wooden building or building with timber frame within 2.0 miles of X was either completely destroyed or very seriously damaged, and significant damage in Nagasaki resulted as far as 3 miles from X. Nearly all such buildings collapsed and a very large number were consumed by fire. A reference to the various photographs depicting damage shows that although most of the buildings within the effective limits of the blast were totally destroyed or severely damaged, a large number of chimneys even close to X were left standing, apparently uninjured by the concussion. One explanation is that concrete chimneys are approximately cylindrical in shape and consequently offer much less wind resistance than flat surfaces such as buildings. Another explanation is that since the cities were subject to typhoons the more modern chimneys were probably designed to withstand winds of high velocity. It is also probable that most of the recently constructed chimneys as well as the more modern buildings were constructed to withstand the acceleration of rather severe earthquakes. Since the bombs were exploded high in the air, chimneys relatively close to X were subjected to more of a downward than a lateral pressure, and consequently the overturning moment was much less than might have been anticipated. Although the blast damaged many bridges to some extent, bridge damage was on the whole slight in comparison to that suffered by buildings. The damage varied from only damaged railings to complete destruction of the superstructure. Some of the bridges were wrecked and the spans were shoved off their piers and into the river bed below by the force of the blast. Others, particularly steel plate girder bridges, were badly buckled by the blast pressure. None of the failures observed could be attributed to inadequate design or structural weaknesses. The roads, and railroad and street railway trackage sustained practically no primary damage as a result of the explosion. Most of the damage to railroads occurred from secondary causes, such as fires and damage to bridges or other structures. Rolling stock, as well as automobiles, trolleys, and buses were destroyed and burned up to a considerable distance from X. Streets were impassable for awhile because of the debris, but they were not damaged. The height of the bomb explosion probably explains the absence of direct damage to railroads and roads. A large part of the electric supply was interrupted by the bomb blast chiefly through damage to electric substations and overhead transmission systems. Both gas works in Nagasaki were severely damaged by the bomb. These works would have required 6-7 months to get into operation. In addition to the damage sustained by the electrical and gas systems, severe damage to the water supply system was reported by the Japanese government; the chief damage was a number of breaks in the large water mains and in almost all of the distributing pipes in the areas which were affected by the blast. Nagasaki was still suffering from a water shortage inside the city six weeks after the atomic attack. The Nagasaki Prefectural report describes vividly the effects of the bomb on the city and its inhabitants: "Within a radius of 1 kilometer from X, men and animals died almost instantaneously and outside a radius of 1 kilometer and within a radius of 2 kilometers from X, some men and animals died instantly from the great blast and heat but the great majority were seriously or superficially injured. Houses and other structures were completely destroyed while fires broke out everywhere. Trees were uprooted and withered by the heat. "Outside a radius of 2 kilometers and within a radius of 4 kilometers from X, men and animals suffered various degrees of injury from window glass and other fragments scattered about by the blast and many were burned by the intense heat. Dwellings and other structures were half damaged by blast. "Outside a radius of 4 kilometers and within a radius of 8 kilometers living creatures were injured by materials blown about by the blast; the majority were only superficially wounded. Houses were only half or partially damaged." The British Mission to Japan interpreted their observations of the destruction of buildings to apply to similar construction of their own as follows: A similar bomb exploding in a similar fashion would produce the following effects on normal British houses: Up to 1,000 yards from X it would cause complete collapse. Up to 1 mile from X it would damage the houses beyond repair. Up to 1.5 miles from X it would render them uninhabitable without extensive repair, particularly to roof timbers. Up to 2.5 miles from X it would render them uninhabitable until first-aid repairs had been carried out. The fire damage in both cities was tremendous, but was more complete in Hiroshima than in Nagasaki. The effect of the fires was to change profoundly the appearance of the city and to leave the central part bare, except for some reinforced concrete and steel frames and objects such as safes, chimney stacks, and pieces of twisted sheet metal. The fire damage resulted more from the properties of the cities themselves than from those of the bombs. The conflagration in Hiroshima caused high winds to spring up as air was drawn in toward the center of the burning area, creating a "fire storm". The wind velocity in the city had been less than 5 miles per hour before the bombing, but the fire-wind attained a velocity of 30-40 miles per hour. These great winds restricted the perimeter of the fire but greatly added to the damage of the conflagration within the perimeter and caused the deaths of many persons who might otherwise have escaped. In Nagasaki, very severe damage was caused by fires, but no extensive "fire storm" engulfed the city. In both cities, some of the fires close to X were no doubt started by the ignition of highly combustible material such as paper, straw, and dry cloth, upon the instantaneous radiation of heat from the nuclear explosion. The presence of large amounts of unburnt combustible materials near X, however, indicated that even though the heat of the blast was very intense, its duration was insufficient to raise the temperature of many materials to the kindling point except in cases where conditions were ideal. The majority of the fires were of secondary origin starting from the usual electrical short-circuits, broken gas lines, overturned stoves, open fires, charcoal braziers, lamps, etc., following collapse or serious damage from the direct blast. Fire fighting and rescue units were stripped of men and equipment. Almost 30 hours elapsed before any rescue parties were observable. In Hiroshima only a handful of fire engines were available for fighting the ensuing fires, and none of these were of first class type. In any case, however, it is not likely that any fire fighting equipment or personnel or organization could have effected any significant reduction in the amount of damage caused by the tremendous conflagration. A study of numerous aerial photographs made prior to the atomic bombings indicates that between 10 June and 9 August 1945 the Japanese constructed fire breaks in certain areas of the cities in order to control large scale fires. In general these fire breaks were not effective because fires were started at so many locations simultaneously. They appear, however, to have helped prevent fires from spreading farther east into the main business and residential section of Nagasaki. TOTAL CASUALTIES There has been great difficulty in estimating the total casualties in the Japanese cities as a result of the atomic bombing. The extensive destruction of civil installations (hospitals, fire and police department, and government agencies) the state of utter confusion immediately following the explosion, as well as the uncertainty regarding the actual population before the bombing, contribute to the difficulty of making estimates of casualties. The Japanese periodic censuses are not complete. Finally, the great fires that raged in each city totally consumed many bodies. The number of total casualties has been estimated at various times since the bombings with wide discrepancies. The Manhattan Engineer District's best available figures are: TABLE A Estimates of Casualties Hiroshima Nagasaki Pre-raid population 255,000 195,000 Dead 66,000 39,000 Injured 69,000 25,000 Total Casualties 135,000 64,000 The relation of total casualties to distance from X, the center of damage and point directly under the air-burst explosion of the bomb, is of great importance in evaluating the casualty-producing effect of the bombs. This relationship for the total population of Nagasaki is shown in the table below, based on the first-obtained casualty figures of the District: TABLE B Relation of Total Casualties to Distance from X Distance Total Killed per from X, feet Killed Injured Missing Casualties square mile 0 - 1,640 7,505 960 1,127 9,592 24,700 1,640 - 3,300 3,688 1,478 1,799 6,965 4,040 3,300 - 4,900 8,678 17,137 3,597 29,412 5,710 4,900 - 6,550 221 11,958 28 12,207 125 6,550 - 9,850 112 9,460 17 9,589 20 No figure for total pre-raid population at these different distances were available. Such figures would be necessary in order to compute per cent mortality. A calculation made by the British Mission to Japan and based on a preliminary analysis of the study of the Joint Medical-Atomic Bomb Investigating Commission gives the following calculated values for per cent mortality at increasing distances from X: TABLE C Per-Cent Mortality at Various Distances Distance from X, Per-cent Mortality in feet 0 - 1000 93.0% 1000 - 2000 92.0 2000 - 3000 86.0 3000 - 4000 69.0 4000 - 5000 49.0 5000 - 6000 31.5 6000 - 7000 12.5 7000 - 8000 1.3 8000 - 9000 0.5 9000 - 10,000 0.0 It seems almost certain from the various reports that the greatest total number of deaths were those occurring immediately after the bombing. The causes of many of the deaths can only be surmised, and of course many persons near the center of explosion suffered fatal injuries from more than one of the bomb effects. The proper order of importance for possible causes of death is: burns, mechanical injury, and gamma radiation. Early estimates by the Japanese are shown in D below: TABLE D Cause of Immediate Deaths City Cause of Death Per-cent of Total Hiroshima Burns 60% Falling debris 30 Other 10 Nagasaki Burns 95% Falling debris 9 Flying glass 7 Other 7 THE NATURE OF AN ATOMIC EXPLOSION The most striking difference between the explosion of an atomic bomb and that of an ordinary T.N.T. bomb is of course in magnitude; as the President announced after the Hiroshima attack, the explosive energy of each of the atomic bombs was equivalent to about 20,000 tons of T.N.T. But in addition to its vastly greater power, an atomic explosion has several other very special characteristics. Ordinary explosion is a chemical reaction in which energy is released by the rearrangement of the atoms of the explosive material. In an atomic explosion the identity of the atoms, not simply their arrangement, is changed. A considerable fraction of the mass of the explosive charge, which may be uranium 235 or plutonium, is transformed into energy. Einstein's equation, E = mc^2, shows that matter that is transformed into energy may yield a total energy equivalent to the mass multiplied by the square of the velocity of light. The significance of the equation is easily seen when one recalls that the velocity of light is 186,000 miles per second. The energy released when a pound of T.N.T. explodes would, if converted entirely into heat, raise the temperature of 36 lbs. of water from freezing temperature (32 deg F) to boiling temperature (212 deg F). The nuclear fission of a pound of uranium would produce an equal temperature rise in over 200 million pounds of water. The explosive effect of an ordinary material such as T.N.T. is derived from the rapid conversion of solid T.N.T. to gas, which occupies initially the same volume as the solid; it exerts intense pressures on the surrounding air and expands rapidly to a volume many times larger than the initial volume. A wave of high pressure thus rapidly moves outward from the center of the explosion and is the major cause of damage from ordinary high explosives. An atomic bomb also generates a wave of high pressure which is in fact of, much higher pressure than that from ordinary explosions; and this wave is again the major cause of damage to buildings and other structures. It differs from the pressure wave of a block buster in the size of the area over which high pressures are generated. It also differs in the duration of the pressure pulse at any given point: the pressure from a blockbuster lasts for a few milliseconds (a millisecond is one thousandth of a second) only, that from the atomic bomb for nearly a second, and was felt by observers both in Japan and in New Mexico as a very strong wind going by. The next greatest difference between the atomic bomb and the T.N.T. explosion is the fact that the atomic bomb gives off greater amounts of radiation. Most of this radiation is "light" of some wave-length ranging from the so-called heat radiations of very long wave length to the so-called gamma rays which have wave-lengths even shorter than the X-rays used in medicine. All of these radiations travel at the same speed; this, the speed of light, is 186,000 miles per second. The radiations are intense enough to kill people within an appreciable distance from the explosion, and are in fact the major cause of deaths and injuries apart from mechanical injuries. The greatest number of radiation injuries was probably due to the ultra-violet rays which have a wave length slightly shorter than visible light and which caused flash burn comparable to severe sunburn. After these, the gamma rays of ultra short wave length are most important; these cause injuries similar to those from over-doses of X-rays. The origin of the gamma rays is different from that of the bulk of the radiation: the latter is caused by the extremely high temperatures in the bomb, in the same way as light is emitted from the hot surface of the sun or from the wires in an incandescent lamp. The gamma rays on the other hand are emitted by the atomic nuclei themselves when they are transformed in the fission process. The gamma rays are therefore specific to the atomic bomb and are completely absent in T.N.T. explosions. The light of longer wave length (visible and ultra-violet) is also emitted by a T.N.T. explosion, but with much smaller intensity than by an atomic bomb, which makes it insignificant as far as damage is concerned. A large fraction of the gamma rays is emitted in the first few microseconds (millionths of a second) of the atomic explosion, together with neutrons which are also produced in the nuclear fission. The neutrons have much less damage effect than the gamma rays because they have a smaller intensity and also because they are strongly absorbed in air and therefore can penetrate only to relatively small distances from the explosion: at a thousand yards the neutron intensity is negligible. After the nuclear emission, strong gamma radiation continues to come from the exploded bomb. This generates from the fission products and continues for about one minute until all of the explosion products have risen to such a height that the intensity received on the ground is negligible. A large number of beta rays are also emitted during this time, but they are unimportant because their range is not very great, only a few feet. The range of alpha particles from the unused active material and fissionable material of the bomb is even smaller. Apart from the gamma radiation ordinary light is emitted, some of which is visible and some of which is the ultra violet rays mainly responsible for flash burns. The emission of light starts a few milliseconds after the nuclear explosion when the energy from the explosion reaches the air surrounding the bomb. The observer sees then a ball of fire which rapidly grows in size. During most of the early time, the ball of fire extends as far as the wave of high pressure. As the ball of fire grows its temperature and brightness decrease. Several milliseconds after the initiation of the explosion, the brightness of the ball of fire goes through a minimum, then it gets somewhat brighter and remains at the order of a few times the brightness of the sun for a period of 10 to 15 seconds for an observer at six miles distance. Most of the radiation is given off after this point of maximum brightness. Also after this maximum, the pressure waves run ahead of the ball of fire. The ball of fire rapidly expands from the size of the bomb to a radius of several hundred feet at one second after the explosion. After this the most striking feature is the rise of the ball of fire at the rate of about 30 yards per second. Meanwhile it also continues to expand by mixing with the cooler air surrounding it. At the end of the first minute the ball has expanded to a radius of several hundred yards and risen to a height of about one mile. The shock wave has by now reached a radius of 15 miles and its pressure dropped to less than 1/10 of a pound per square inch. The ball now loses its brilliance and appears as a great cloud of smoke: the pulverized material of the bomb. This cloud continues to rise vertically and finally mushrooms out at an altitude of about 25,000 feet depending upon meteorological conditions. The cloud reaches a maximum height of between 50,000 and 70,000 feet in a time of over 30 minutes. It is of interest to note that Dr. Hans Bethe, then a member of the Manhattan Engineer District on loan from Cornell University, predicted the existence and characteristics of this ball of fire months before the first test was carried out. To summarize, radiation comes in two bursts--an extremely intense one lasting only about 3 milliseconds and a less intense one of much longer duration lasting several seconds. The second burst contains by far the larger fraction of the total light energy, more than 90%. But the first flash is especially large in ultra-violet radiation which is biologically more effective. Moreover, because the heat in this flash comes in such a short time, there is no time for any cooling to take place, and the temperature of a person's skin can be raised 50 degrees centigrade by the flash of visible and ultra-violet rays in the first millisecond at a distance of 4,000 yards. People may be injured by flash burns at even larger distances. Gamma radiation danger does not extend nearly so far and neutron radiation danger is still more limited. The high skin temperatures result from the first flash of high intensity radiation and are probably as significant for injuries as the total dosages which come mainly from the second more sustained burst of radiation. The combination of skin temperature increase plus large ultra-violet flux inside 4,000 yards is injurious in all cases to exposed personnel. Beyond this point there may be cases of injury, depending upon the individual sensitivity. The infra-red dosage is probably less important because of its smaller intensity. CHARACTERISTICS OF THE DAMAGE CAUSED BY THE ATOMIC BOMBS The damage to man-made structures caused by the bombs was due to two distinct causes: first the blast, or pressure wave, emanating from the center of the explosion, and, second, the fires which were caused either by the heat of the explosion itself or by the collapse of buildings containing stoves, electrical fixtures, or any other equipment which might produce what is known as a secondary fire, and subsequent spread of these fires. The blast produced by the atomic bomb has already been stated to be approximately equivalent to that of 20,000 tons of T.N.T. Given this figure, one may calculate the expected peak pressures in the air, at various distances from the center of the explosion, which occurred following detonation of the bomb. The peak pressures which were calculated before the bombs were dropped agreed very closely with those which were actually experienced in the cities during the attack as computed by Allied experts in a number of ingenious ways after the occupation of Japan. The blast of pressure from the atomic bombs differed from that of ordinary high explosive bombs in three main ways: A. Downward thrust. Because the explosions were well up in the air, much of the damage resulted from a downward pressure. This pressure of course most largely effected flat roofs. Some telegraph and other poles immediately below the explosion remained upright while those at greater distances from the center of damage, being more largely exposed to a horizontal thrust from the blast pressure waves, were overturned or tilted. Trees underneath the explosion remained upright but had their branches broken downward. B. Mass distortion of buildings. An ordinary bomb can damage only a part of a large building, which may then collapse further under the action of gravity. But the blast wave from an atomic bomb is so large that it can engulf whole buildings, no matter how great their size, pushing them over as though a giant hand had given them a shove. C. Long duration of the positive pressure pulse and consequent small effect of the negative pressure, or suction, phase. In any explosion, the positive pressure exerted by the blast lasts for a definite period of time (usually a small fraction of a second) and is then followed by a somewhat longer period of negative pressure, or suction. The negative pressure is always much weaker than the positive, but in ordinary explosions the short duration of the positive pulse results in many structures not having time to fail in that phase, while they are able to fail under the more extended, though weaker, negative pressure. But the duration of the positive pulse is approximately proportional to the 1/3 power of the size of the explosive charge. Thus, if the relation held true throughout the range in question, a 10-ton T.N.T. explosion would have a positive pulse only about 1/14th as long as that of a 20,000-ton explosion. Consequently, the atomic explosions had positive pulses so much longer then those of ordinary explosives that nearly all failures probably occurred during this phase, and very little damage could be attributed to the suction which followed. One other interesting feature was the combination of flash ignition and comparative slow pressure wave. Some objects, such as thin, dry wooden slats, were ignited by the radiated flash heat, and then their fires were blown out some time later (depending on their distance from X) by the pressure blast which followed the flash radiation. CALCULATIONS OF THE PEAK PRESSURE OF THE BLAST WAVE Several ingenious methods were used by the various investigators to determine, upon visiting the wrecked cities, what had actually been the peak pressures exerted by the atomic blasts. These pressures were computed for various distances from X, and curves were then plotted which were checked against the theoretical predictions of what the pressures would be. A further check was afforded from the readings obtained by the measuring instruments which were dropped by parachute at each atomic attack. The peak pressure figures gave a direct clue to the equivalent T.N.T. tonnage of the atomic bombs, since the pressures developed by any given amount of T.N.T. can be calculated easily. One of the simplest methods of estimating the peak pressure is from crushing of oil drums, gasoline cans, or any other empty thin metal vessel with a small opening. The assumption made is that the blast wave pressure comes on instantaneously, the resulting pressure on the can is more than the case can withstand, and the walls collapse inward. The air inside is compressed adiabatically to such a point that the pressure inside is less by a certain amount than the pressure outside, this amount being the pressure difference outside and in that the walls can stand in their crumpled condition. The uncertainties involved are, first, that some air rushes in through any opening that the can may have, and thus helps to build up the pressure inside; and, second, that as the pressure outside falls, the air inside cannot escape sufficiently fast to avoid the walls of the can being blown out again to some extent. These uncertainties are such that estimates of pressure based on this method are on the low side, i.e., they are underestimated. Another method of calculating the peak-pressure is through the bending of steel flagpoles, or lightning conductors, away from the explosion. It is possible to calculate the drag on a pole or rod in an airstream of a certain density and velocity; by connecting this drag with the strength of the pole in question, a determination of the pressure wave may be obtained. Still another method of estimating the peak pressure is through the overturning of memorial stones, of which there are a great quantity in Japan. The dimensions of the stones can be used along with known data on the pressure exerted by wind against flat surfaces, to calculate the desired figure. LONG RANGE BLAST DAMAGE There was no consistency in the long range blast damage. Observers often thought that they had found the limit, and then 2,000 feet farther away would find further evidence of damage. The most impressive long range damage was the collapse of some of the barracks sheds at Kamigo, 23,000 feet south of X in Nagasaki. It was remarkable to see some of the buildings intact to the last details, including the roof and even the windows, and yet next to them a similar building collapsed to ground level. The limiting radius for severe displacement of roof tiles in Nagasaki was about 10,000 feet although isolated cases were found up to 16,000 feet. In Hiroshima the general limiting radius was about 8,000 feet; however, even at a distance of 26,000 feet from X in Hiroshima, some tiles were displaced. At Mogi, 7 miles from X in Nagasaki, over steep hills over 600 feet high, about 10% of the glass came out. In nearer, sequestered localities only 4 miles from X, no damage of any kind was caused. An interesting effect was noted at Mogi; eyewitnesses said that they thought a raid was being made on the place; one big flash was seen, then a loud roar, followed at several second intervals by half a dozen other loud reports, from all directions. These successive reports were obviously reflections from the hills surrounding Mogi. GROUND SHOCK The ground shock in most cities was very light. Water pipes still carried water and where leaks were visible they were mainly above ground. Virtually all of the damage to underground utilities was caused by the collapse of buildings rather than by any direct exertion of the blast pressure. This fact of course resulted from the bombs' having been exploded high in the air. SHIELDING, OR SCREENING FROM BLAST In any explosion, a certain amount of protection from blast may be gained by having any large and substantial object between the protected object and the center of the explosion. This shielding effect was noticeable in the atomic explosions, just as in ordinary cases, although the magnitude of the explosions and the fact that they occurred at a considerable height in the air caused marked differences from the shielding which would have characterized ordinary bomb explosions. The outstanding example of shielding was that afforded by the hills in the city of Nagasaki; it was the shielding of these hills which resulted in the smaller area of devastation in Nagasaki despite the fact that the bomb used there was not less powerful. The hills gave effective shielding only at such distances from the center of explosion that the blast pressure was becoming critical--that is, was only barely sufficient to cause collapse--for the structure. Houses built in ravines in Nagasaki pointing well away from the center of the explosion survived without damage, but others at similar distances in ravines pointing toward the center of explosion were greatly damaged. In the north of Nagasaki there was a small hamlet about 8,000 feet from the center of explosion; one could see a distinctive variation in the intensity of damage across the hamlet, corresponding with the shadows thrown by a sharp hill. The best example of shielding by a hill was southeast of the center of explosion in Nagasaki. The damage at 8,000 feet from X consisted of light plaster damage and destruction of about half the windows. These buildings were of European type and were on the reverse side of a steep hill. At the same distance to the south-southeast the damage was considerably greater, i.e., all windows and frames, doors, were damaged and heavy plaster damage and cracks in the brick work also appeared. The contrast may be illustrated also by the fact that at the Nagasaki Prefectural office at 10,800 feet the damage was bad enough for the building to be evacuated, while at the Nagasaki Normal School to which the Prefectural office had been moved, at the same distance, the damage was comparatively light. Because of the height of the bursts no evidence was expected of the shielding of one building by another, at least up to a considerable radius. It was in fact difficult to find any evidence at any distance of such shielding. There appeared to have been a little shielding of the building behind the Administration Building of the Torpedo Works in Nagasaki, but the benefits were very slight. There was also some evidence that the group of buildings comprising the Medical School in Nagasaki did afford each other mutual protection. On the whole, however, shielding of one building by another was not noticeable. There was one other peculiar type of shielding, best exhibited by the workers' houses to the north of the torpedo plant in Nagasaki. These were 6,000 to 7,000 feet north of X. The damage to these houses was not nearly as bad as those over a thousand feet farther away from the center of explosion. It seemed as though the great destruction caused in the torpedo plant had weakened the blast a little, and the full power was not restored for another 1,000 feet or more. FLASH BURN As already stated, a characteristic feature of the atomic bomb, which is quite foreign to ordinary explosives, is that a very appreciable fraction of the energy liberated goes into radiant heat and light. For a sufficiently large explosion, the flash burn produced by this radiated energy will become the dominant cause of damage, since the area of burn damage will increase in proportion to the energy released, whereas the area of blast damage increases only with the two-thirds power of the energy. Although such a reversal of the mechanism of damage was not achieved in the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombs, the effects of the flash were, however, very evident, and many casualties resulted from flash burns. A discussion of the casualties caused by flash burns will be given later; in this section will be described the other flash effects which were observed in the two cities. The duration of the heat radiation from the bomb is so short, just a few thousandths of a second, that there is no time for the energy falling on a surface to be dissipated by thermal defusion; the flash burn is typically a surface effect. In other words the surface of either a person or an object exposed to the flash is raised to a very high temperature while immediately beneath the surface very little rise in temperature occurs. The flash burning of the surface of objects, particularly wooden objects, occurred in Hiroshima up to a radius of 9,500 feet from X; at Nagasaki burns were visible up to 11,000 feet from X. The charring and blackening of all telephone poles, trees and wooden posts in the areas not destroyed by the general fire occurred only on the side facing the center of explosion and did not go around the corners of buildings or hills. The exact position of the explosion was in fact accurately determined by taking a number of sights from various objects which had been flash burned on one side only. To illustrate the effects of the flash burn, the following describes a number of examples found by an observer moving northward from the center of explosion in Nagasaki. First occurred a row of fence posts at the north edge of the prison hill, at 0.3 miles from X. The top and upper part of these posts were heavily charred. The charring on the front of the posts was sharply limited by the shadow of a wall. This wall had however been completely demolished by the blast, which of course arrived some time after the flash. At the north edge of the Torpedo works, 1.05 miles from X, telephone poles were charred to a depth of about 0.5 millimeters. A light piece of wood similar to the flat side of an orange crate, was found leaning against one of the telephone poles. Its front surface was charred the same way as the pole, but it was evident that it had actually been ignited. The wood was blackened through a couple of cracks and nail holes, and around the edges onto the back surface. It seemed likely that this piece of wood had flamed up under the flash for a few seconds before the flame was blown out by the wind of the blast. Farther out, between 1.05 and 1.5 miles from the explosion, were many trees and poles showing a blackening. Some of the poles had platforms near the top. The shadows cast by the platforms were clearly visible and showed that the bomb had detonated at a considerable height. The row of poles turned north and crossed the mountain ridge; the flash burn was plainly visible all the way to the top of the ridge, the farthest burn observed being at 2.0 miles from X. Another striking effect of the flash burn was the autumnal appearance of the bowl formed by the hills on three sides of the explosion point. The ridges are about 1.5 miles from X. Throughout this bowl the foliage turned yellow, although on the far side of the ridges the countryside was quite green. This autumnal appearance of the trees extended to about 8,000 feet from X. However, shrubs and small plants quite near the center of explosion in Hiroshima, although stripped of leaves, had obviously not been killed. Many were throwing out new buds when observers visited the city. There are two other remarkable effects of the heat radiated from the bomb explosion. The first of these is the manner in which heat roughened the surface of polished granite, which retained its polish only where it was shielded from the radiated heat travelling in straight lines from the explosion. This roughening by radiated heat caused by the unequal expansion of the constituent crystals of the stone; for granite crystals the melting temperature is about 600 deg centigrade. Therefore the depth of roughening and ultimate flaking of the granite surface indicated the depth to which this temperature occurred and helped to determine the average ground temperatures in the instant following the explosion. This effect was noted for distances about 1 1/2 times as great in Nagasaki as in Hiroshima. The second remarkable effect was the bubbling of roof tile. The size of the bubbles and their extent was proportional to their nearness to the center of explosion and also depended on how squarely the tile itself was faced toward the explosion. The distance ratio of this effect between Nagasaki and Hiroshima was about the same as for the flaking of polished granite. Various other effects of the radiated heat were noted, including the lightening of asphalt road surfaces in spots which had not been protected from the radiated heat by any object such as that of a person walking along the road. Various other surfaces were discolored in different ways by the radiated heat. As has already been mentioned the fact that radiant heat traveled only in straight lines from the center of explosion enabled observers to determine the direction toward the center of explosion from a number of different points, by observing the "shadows" which were cast by intervening objects where they shielded the otherwise exposed surface of some object. Thus the center of explosion was located with considerable accuracy. In a number of cases these "shadows" also gave an indication of the height of burst of the bomb and occasionally a distinct penumbra was found which enabled observers to calculate the diameter of the ball of fire at the instant it was exerting the maximum charring or burning effect. One more interesting feature connected with heat radiation was the charring of fabric to different degrees depending upon the color of the fabric. A number of instances were recorded in which persons wearing clothing of various colors received burns greatly varying in degree, the degree of burn depending upon the color of the fabric over the skin in question. For example a shirt of alternate light and dark gray stripes, each about 1/8 of an inch wide, had the dark stripes completely burned out but the light stripes were undamaged; and a piece of Japanese paper exposed nearly 1 1/2 miles from X had the characters which were written in black ink neatly burned out. CHARACTERISTICS OF THE INJURIES TO PERSONS Injuries to persons resulting from the atomic explosions were of the following types: A. Burns, from 1. Flash radiation of heat 2. Fires started by the explosions. B. Mechanical injuries from collapse of buildings, flying debris, etc. C. Direct effects of the high blast pressure, i.e., straight compression. D. Radiation injuries, from the instantaneous emission of gamma rays and neutrons. It is impossible to assign exact percentages of casualties to each of the types of injury, because so many victims were injured by more than one effect of the explosions. However, it is certain that the greater part of the casualties resulted from burns and mechanical injures. Col. Warren, one of America's foremost radioligists, stated it is probable that 7 per cent or less of the deaths resulted primarily from radiation disease. The greatest single factor influencing the occurrence of casualties was the distance of the person concerned from the center of explosion. Estimates based on the study of a selected group of 900 patients indicated that total casualties occurred as far out as 14,000 feet at Nagasaki and 12,000 feet at Hiroshima. Burns were suffered at a considerable greater distance from X than any other type of injury, and mechanical injuries farther out than radiation effects. Medical findings show that no person was injured by radioactivity who was not exposed to the actual explosion of the bombs. No injuries resulted from persistent radioactivity of any sort. BURNS Two types of burns were observed. These are generally differentiated as flame or fire burn and so-called flash burn. The early appearance of the flame burn as reported by the Japanese, and the later appearance as observed, was not unusual. The flash burn presented several distinctive features. Marked redness of the affected skin areas appeared almost immediately, according to the Japanese, with progressive changes in the skin taking place over a period of a few hours. When seen after 50 days, the most distinctive feature of these burns was their sharp limitation to exposed skin areas facing the center of the explosion. For instance, a patient who had been walking in a direction at right angles to a line drawn between him and the explosion, and whose arms were swinging, might have burns only on the outside of the arm nearest the center and on the inside of the other arm. Generally, any type of shielding protected the skin against flash burns, although burns through one, and very occasionally more, layers of clothing did occur in patients near the center. In such cases, it was not unusual to find burns through black but not through white clothing, on the same patient. Flash burns also tended to involve areas where the clothes were tightly drawn over the skin, such as at the elbows and shoulders. The Japanese report the incidence of burns in patients surviving more than a few hours after the explosion, and seeking medical attention, as high as 95%. The total mortalities due to burns alone cannot be estimated with any degree of accuracy. As mentioned already, it is believed that the majority of all the deaths occurred immediately. Of these, the Japanese estimate that 75%, and most of the reports estimate that over 50%, of the deaths were due to burns. In general, the incidence of burns was in direct proportion to the distance from X. However, certain irregularities in this relationship result in the medical studies because of variations in the amount of shielding from flash burn, and because of the lack of complete data on persons killed outright close to X. The maximum distance from X at which flash burns were observed is of paramount interest. It has been estimated that patients with burns at Hiroshima were all less than 7,500 feet from the center of the explosion at the time of the bombing. At Nagasaki, patients with burns were observed out to the remarkable distance of 13,800 feet. MECHANICAL INJURIES The mechanical injuries included fractures, lacerations, contusions, abrasions, and other effects to be expected from falling roofs, crumbling walls, flying debris and glass, and other indirect blast effects. The appearance of these various types of mechanical injuries was not remarkable to the medical authorities who studied them. It was estimated that patients with lacerations at Hiroshima were less than 10,600 feet from X, whereas at Nagasaki they extended as far as 12,200 feet. The tremendous drag of wind, even as far as 1 mile from X, must have resulted in many injuries and deaths. Some large pieces of a prison wall, for example, were flung 80 feet, and many have gone 30 feet high before falling. The same fate must have befallen many persons, and the chances of a human being surviving such treatment are probably small. BLAST INJURIES No estimate of the number of deaths or early symptoms due to blast pressure can be made. The pressures developed on the ground under the explosions were not sufficient to kill more than those people very near the center of damage (within a few hundred feet at most). Very few cases of ruptured ear drums were noted, and it is the general feeling of the medical authorities that the direct blast effects were not great. Many of the Japanese reports, which are believed to be false, describe immediate effects such as ruptured abdomens with protruding intestines and protruding eyes, but no such results were actually traced to the effect of air pressure alone. RADIATION INJURIES As pointed out in another section of this report the radiations from the nuclear explosions which caused injuries to persons were primarily those experienced within the first second after the explosion; a few may have occurred later, but all occurred in the first minute. The other two general types of radiation, viz., radiation from scattered fission products and induced radioactivity from objects near the center of explosion, were definitely proved not to have caused any casualties. The proper designation of radiation injuries is somewhat difficult. Probably the two most direct designations are radiation injury and gamma ray injury. The former term is not entirely suitable in that it does not define the type of radiation as ionizing and allows possible confusion with other types of radiation (e.g., infra-red). The objection to the latter term is that it limits the ionizing radiation to gamma rays, which were undoubtedly the most important; but the possible contribution of neutron and even beta rays to the biological effects cannot be entirely ignored. Radiation injury has the advantage of custom, since it is generally understood in medicine to refer to X-ray effect as distinguished from the effects of actinic radiation. Accordingly, radiation injury is used in this report to mean injury due only to ionizing radiation. According to Japanese observations, the early symptons in patients suffering from radiation injury closely resembled the symptons observed in patients receiving intensive roentgen therapy, as well as those observed in experimental animals receiving large doses of X-rays. The important symptoms reported by the Japanese and observed by American authorities were epilation (lose of hair), petechiae (bleeding into the skin), and other hemorrhagic manifestations, oropharyngeal lesions (inflammation of the mouth and throat), vomiting, diarrhea, and fever. Epilation was one of the most spectacular and obvious findings. The appearance of the epilated patient was typical. The crown was involved more than the sides, and in many instances the resemblance to a monk's tonsure was striking. In extreme cases the hair was totally lost. In some cases, re-growth of hair had begun by the time patients were seen 50 days after the bombing. Curiously, epilation of hair other than that of the scalp was extremely unusual. Petechiae and other hemorrhagic manifestations were striking findings. Bleeding began usually from the gums and in the more seriously affected was soon evident from every possible source. Petechiae appeared on the limbs and on pressure points. Large ecchymoses (hemorrhages under the skin) developed about needle punctures, and wounds partially healed broke down and bled freely. Retinal hemorrhages occurred in many of the patients. The bleeding time and the coagulation time were prolonged. The platelets (coagulation of the blood) were characteristically reduced in numbers. Nausea and vomiting appearing within a few hours after the explosion was reported frequently by the Japanese. This usually had subsided by the following morning, although occasionally it continued for two or three days. Vomiting was not infrequently reported and observed during the course of the later symptoms, although at these times it generally appeared to be related to other manifestation of systemic reactions associated with infection. Diarrhea of varying degrees of severity was reported and observed. In the more severe cases, it was frequently bloody. For reasons which are not yet clear, the diarrhea in some cases was very persistent. Lesions of the gums, and the oral mucous membrane, and the throat were observed. The affected areas became deep red, then violacious in color; and in many instances ulcerations and necrosis (breakdown of tissue) followed. Blood counts done and recorded by the Japanese, as well as counts done by the Manhattan Engineer District Group, on such patients regularly showed leucopenia (low-white blood cell count). In extreme cases the white blood cell count was below 1,000 (normal count is around 7,000). In association with the leucopenia and the oropharyngeal lesions, a variety of other infective processes were seen. Wounds and burns which were healing adequately suppurated and serious necrosis occurred. At the same time, similar ulcerations were observed in the larynx, bowels, and in females, the gentalia. Fever usually accompanied these lesions. Eye injuries produced by the atomic bombings in both cities were the subject of special investigations. The usual types of mechanical injuries were seen. In addition, lesions consisting of retinal hemorrhage and exudation were observed and 75% of the patients showing them had other signs of radiation injury. The progress of radiation disease of various degrees of severity is shown in the following table: Summary of Radiation Injury Clinical Symptoms and Findings Day after Explo- sion Most Severe Moderately Severe Mild 1. 1. Nausea and vomiting 1. Nausea and vomiting 2. after 1-2 hours. after 1-2 hours. 3. NO DEFINITE SYMPTOMS 4. 5. 2. Diarrhea 6. 3. Vomiting NO DEFINITE SYMPTOMS 7. 4. Inflammation of the mouth and throat 8. 5. Fever 9. 6. Rapid emaciation 10. Death NO DEFINITE SYMPTOMS 11. (Mortality probably 2. Beginning epilation. 12. 100%) 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 3. Loss of appetite 19. and general malaise. 1. Epilation 20. 4. Fever. 2. Loss of appetite 21. 5. Severe inflammation and malaise. 22. of the mouth and throat 3. Sore throat. 23. 4. Pallor. 24. 5. Petechiae 25. 6. Diarrhea 26. 7. Moderate emacia- 27. 6. Pallor. tion. 28. 7. Petechiae, diarrhea 29. and nose bleeds (Recovery unless com- 30. plicated by previous 31. 8. Rapid emaciation poor health or Death super-imposed in- (Mortality probably 50%) juries or infec- tion). It was concluded that persons exposed to the bombs at the time of detonation did show effects from ionizing radiation and that some of these patients, otherwise uninjured, died. Deaths from radiation began about a week after exposure and reached a peak in 3 to 4 weeks. They practically ceased to occur after 7 to 8 weeks. Treatment of the burns and other physical injuries was carried out by the Japanese by orthodox methods. Treatment of radiation effects by them included general supportative measures such as rest and high vitamin and caloric diets. Liver and calcium preparations were administered by injection and blood transfusions were used to combat hemorrhage. Special vitamin preparations and other special drugs used in the treatment of similar medical conditions were used by American Army Medical Corps officers after their arrival. Although the general measures instituted were of some benefit no definite effect of any of the specific measures on the course of the disease could be demonstrated. The use of sulfonamide drugs by the Japanese and particularly of penicillin by the American physicians after their arrival undoubtedly helped control the infections and they appear to be the single important type of treatment which may have effectively altered the earlier course of these patients. One of the most important tasks assigned to the mission which investigated the effects of the bombing was that of determining if the radiation effects were all due to the instantaneous discharges at the time of the explosion, or if people were being harmed in addition from persistent radioactivity. This question was investigated from two points of view. Direct measurements of persistent radioactivity were made at the time of the investigation. From these measurements, calculations were made of the graded radiation dosages, i.e., the total amount of radiation which could have been absorbed by any person. These calculations showed that the highest dosage which would have been received from persistent radioactivity at Hiroshima was between 6 and 25 roentgens of gamma radiation; the highest in the Nagasaki Area was between 30 and 110 roentgens of gamma radiation. The latter figure does not refer to the city itself, but to a localized area in the Nishiyama District. In interpreting these findings it must be understood that to get these dosages, one would have had to remain at the point of highest radioactivity for 6 weeks continuously, from the first hour after the bombing. It is apparent therefore that insofar as could be determined at Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the residual radiation alone could not have been detrimental to the health of persons entering and living in the bombed areas after the explosion. The second approach to this question was to determine if any persons not in the city at the time of the explosion, but coming in immediately afterwards exhibited any symptoms or findings which might have been due to persistence induced radioactivity. By the time of the arrival of the Manhattan Engineer District group, several Japanese studies had been done on such persons. None of the persons examined in any of these studies showed any symptoms which could be attributed to radiation, and their actual blood cell counts were consistently within the normal range. Throughout the period of the Manhattan Engineer District investigation, Japanese doctors and patients were repeatedly requested to bring to them any patients who they thought might be examples of persons harmed from persistent radioactivity. No such subjects were found. It was concluded therefore as a result of these findings and lack of findings, that although a measurable quantity of induced radioactivity was found, it had not been sufficient to cause any harm to persons living in the two cities after the bombings. SHIELDING FROM RADIATION Exact figures on the thicknesses of various substances to provide complete or partial protection from the effects of radiation in relation to the distance from the center of explosion, cannot be released at this time. Studies of collected data are still under way. It can be stated, however, that at a reasonable distance, say about 1/2 mile from the center of explosion, protection to persons from radiation injury can be afforded by a layer of concrete or other material whose thickness does not preclude reasonable construction. Radiation ultimately caused the death of the few persons not killed by other effects and who were fully exposed to the bombs up to a distance of about 1/2 mile from X. The British Mission has estimated that people in the open had a 50% chance of surviving the effects of radiation at 3/4 of a mile from X. EFFECTS OF THE ATOMIC BOMBINGS ON THE INHABITANTS OF THE BOMBED CITIES In both Hiroshima and Nagasaki the tremendous scale of the disaster largely destroyed the cities as entities. Even the worst of all other previous bombing attacks on Germany and Japan, such as the incendiary raids on Hamburg in 1943 and on Tokyo in 1945, were not comparable to the paralyzing effect of the atomic bombs. In addition to the huge number of persons who were killed or injuried so that their services in rehabilitation were not available, a panic flight of the population took place from both cities immediately following the atomic explosions. No significant reconstruction or repair work was accomplished because of the slow return of the population; at the end of November 1945 each of the cities had only about 140,000 people. Although the ending of the war almost immediately after the atomic bombings removed much of the incentive of the Japanese people toward immediate reconstruction of their losses, their paralysis was still remarkable. Even the clearance of wreckage and the burning of the many bodies trapped in it were not well organized some weeks after the bombings. As the British Mission has stated, "the impression which both cities make is of having sunk, in an instant and without a struggle, to the most primitive level." Aside from physical injury and damage, the most significant effect of the atomic bombs was the sheer terror which it struck into the peoples of the bombed cities. This terror, resulting in immediate hysterical activity and flight from the cities, had one especially pronounced effect: persons who had become accustomed to mass air raids had grown to pay little heed to single planes or small groups of planes, but after the atomic bombings the appearance of a single plane caused more terror and disruption of normal life than the appearance of many hundreds of planes had ever been able to cause before. The effect of this terrible fear of the potential danger from even a single enemy plane on the lives of the peoples of the world in the event of any future war can easily be conjectured. The atomic bomb did not alone win the war against Japan, but it most certainly ended it, saving the thousands of Allied lives that would have been lost in any combat invasion of Japan. EYEWITNESS ACCOUNT Hiroshima--August 6th, 1945 by Father John A. Siemes, professor of modern philosphy at Tokyo's Catholic University Up to August 6th, occasional bombs, which did no great damage, had fallen on Hiroshima. Many cities roundabout, one after the other, were destroyed, but Hiroshima itself remained protected. There were almost daily observation planes over the city but none of them dropped a bomb. The citizens wondered why they alone had remained undisturbed for so long a time. There were fantastic rumors that the enemy had something special in mind for this city, but no one dreamed that the end would come in such a fashion as on the morning of August 6th. August 6th began in a bright, clear, summer morning. About seven o'clock, there was an air raid alarm which we had heard almost every day and a few planes appeared over the city. No one paid any attention and at about eight o'clock, the all-clear was sounded. I am sitting in my room at the Novitiate of the Society of Jesus in Nagatsuke; during the past half year, the philosophical and theological section of our Mission had been evacuated to this place from Tokyo. The Novitiate is situated approximately two kilometers from Hiroshima, half-way up the sides of a broad valley which stretches from the town at sea level into this mountainous hinterland, and through which courses a river. From my window, I have a wonderful view down the valley to the edge of the city. Suddenly--the time is approximately 8:14--the whole valley is filled by a garish light which resembles the magnesium light used in photography, and I am conscious of a wave of heat. I jump to the window to find out the cause of this remarkable phenomenon, but I see nothing more than that brilliant yellow light. As I make for the door, it doesn't occur to me that the light might have something to do with enemy planes. On the way from the window, I hear a moderately loud explosion which seems to come from a distance and, at the same time, the windows are broken in with a loud crash. There has been an interval of perhaps ten seconds since the flash of light. I am sprayed by fragments of glass. The entire window frame has been forced into the room. I realize now that a bomb has burst and I am under the impression that it exploded directly over our house or in the immediate vicinity. I am bleeding from cuts about the hands and head. I attempt to get out of the door. It has been forced outwards by the air pressure and has become jammed. I force an opening in the door by means of repeated blows with my hands and feet and come to a broad hallway from which open the various rooms. Everything is in a state of confusion. All windows are broken and all the doors are forced inwards. The bookshelves in the hallway have tumbled down. I do not note a second explosion and the fliers seem to have gone on. Most of my colleagues have been injured by fragments of glass. A few are bleeding but none has been seriously injured. All of us have been fortunate since it is now apparent that the wall of my room opposite the window has been lacerated by long fragments of glass. We proceed to the front of the house to see where the bomb has landed. There is no evidence, however, of a bomb crater; but the southeast section of the house is very severely damaged. Not a door nor a window remains. The blast of air had penetrated the entire house from the southeast, but the house still stands. It is constructed in a Japanese style with a wooden framework, but has been greatly strengthened by the labor of our Brother Gropper as is frequently done in Japanese homes. Only along the front of the chapel which adjoins the house, three supports have given way (it has been made in the manner of Japanese temple, entirely out of wood.) Down in the valley, perhaps one kilometer toward the city from us, several peasant homes are on fire and the woods on the opposite side of the valley are aflame. A few of us go over to help control the flames. While we are attempting to put things in order, a storm comes up and it begins to rain. Over the city, clouds of smoke are rising and I hear a few slight explosions. I come to the conclusion that an incendiary bomb with an especially strong explosive action has gone off down in the valley. A few of us saw three planes at great altitude over the city at the time of the explosion. I, myself, saw no aircraft whatsoever. Perhaps a half-hour after the explosion, a procession of people begins to stream up the valley from the city. The crowd thickens continuously. A few come up the road to our house. We give them first aid and bring them into the chapel, which we have in the meantime cleaned and cleared of wreckage, and put them to rest on the straw mats which constitute the floor of Japanese houses. A few display horrible wounds of the extremities and back. The small quantity of fat which we possessed during this time of war was soon used up in the care of the burns. Father Rektor who, before taking holy orders, had studied medicine, ministers to the injured, but our bandages and drugs are soon gone. We must be content with cleansing the wounds. More and more of the injured come to us. The least injured drag the more seriously wounded. There are wounded soldiers, and mothers carrying burned children in their arms. From the houses of the farmers in the valley comes word: "Our houses are full of wounded and dying. Can you help, at least by taking the worst cases?" The wounded come from the sections at the edge of the city. They saw the bright light, their houses collapsed and buried the inmates in their rooms. Those that were in the open suffered instantaneous burns, particularly on the lightly clothed or unclothed parts of the body. Numerous fires sprang up which soon consumed the entire district. We now conclude that the epicenter of the explosion was at the edge of the city near the Jokogawa Station, three kilometers away from us. We are concerned about Father Kopp who that same morning, went to hold Mass at the Sisters of the Poor, who have a home for children at the edge of the city. He had not returned as yet. Toward noon, our large chapel and library are filled with the seriously injured. The procession of refugees from the city continues. Finally, about one o'clock, Father Kopp returns, together with the Sisters. Their house and the entire district where they live has burned to the ground. Father Kopp is bleeding about the head and neck, and he has a large burn on the right palm. He was standing in front of the nunnery ready to go home. All of a sudden, he became aware of the light, felt the wave of heat and a large blister formed on his hand. The windows were torn out by the blast. He thought that the bomb had fallen in his immediate vicinity. The nunnery, also a wooden structure made by our Brother Gropper, still remained but soon it is noted that the house is as good as lost because the fire, which had begun at many points in the neighborhood, sweeps closer and closer, and water is not available. There is still time to rescue certain things from the house and to bury them in an open spot. Then the house is swept by flame, and they fight their way back to us along the shore of the river and through the burning streets. Soon comes news that the entire city has been destroyed by the explosion and that it is on fire. What became of Father Superior and the three other Fathers who were at the center of the city at the Central Mission and Parish House? We had up to this time not given them a thought because we did not believe that the effects of the bomb encompassed the entire city. Also, we did not want to go into town except under pressure of dire necessity, because we thought that the population was greatly perturbed and that it might take revenge on any foreigners which they might consider spiteful onlookers of their misfortune, or even spies. Father Stolte and Father Erlinghagen go down to the road which is still full of refugees and bring in the seriously injured who have sunken by the wayside, to the temporary aid station at the village school. There iodine is applied to the wounds but they are left uncleansed. Neither ointments nor other therapeutic agents are available. Those that have been brought in are laid on the floor and no one can give them any further care. What could one do when all means are lacking? Under those circumstances, it is almost useless to bring them in. Among the passersby, there are many who are uninjured. In a purposeless, insensate manner, distraught by the magnitude of the disaster most of them rush by and none conceives the thought of organizing help on his own initiative. They are concerned only with the welfare of their own families. It became clear to us during these days that the Japanese displayed little initiative, preparedness, and organizational skill in preparation for catastrophes. They failed to carry out any rescue work when something could have been saved by a cooperative effort, and fatalistically let the catastrophe take its course. When we urged them to take part in the rescue work, they did everything willingly, but on their own initiative they did very little. At about four o'clock in the afternoon, a theology student and two kindergarten children, who lived at the Parish House and adjoining buildings which had burned down, came in and said that Father Superior LaSalle and Father Schiffer had been seriously injured and that they had taken refuge in Asano Park on the river bank. It is obvious that we must bring them in since they are too weak to come here on foot. Hurriedly, we get together two stretchers and seven of us rush toward the city. Father Rektor comes along with food and medicine. The closer we get to the city, the greater is the evidence of destruction and the more difficult it is to make our way. The houses at the edge of the city are all severely damaged. Many have collapsed or burned down. Further in, almost all of the dwellings have been damaged by fire. Where the city stood, there is a gigantic burned-out scar. We make our way along the street on the river bank among the burning and smoking ruins. Twice we are forced into the river itself by the heat and smoke at the level of the street. Frightfully burned people beckon to us. Along the way, there are many dead and dying. On the Misasi Bridge, which leads into the inner city we are met by a long procession of soldiers who have suffered burns. They drag themselves along with the help of staves or are carried by their less severely injured comrades...an endless procession of the unfortunate. Abandoned on the bridge, there stand with sunken heads a number of horses with large burns on their flanks. On the far side, the cement structure of the local hospital is the only building that remains standing. Its interior, however, has been burned out. It acts as a landmark to guide us on our way. Finally we reach the entrance of the park. A large proportion of the populace has taken refuge there, but even the trees of the park are on fire in several places. Paths and bridges are blocked by the trunks of fallen trees and are almost impassable. We are told that a high wind, which may well have resulted from the heat of the burning city, has uprooted the large trees. It is now quite dark. Only the fires, which are still raging in some places at a distance, give out a little light. At the far corner of the park, on the river bank itself, we at last come upon our colleagues. Father Schiffer is on the ground pale as a ghost. He has a deep incised wound behind the ear and has lost so much blood that we are concerned about his chances for survival. The Father Superior has suffered a deep wound of the lower leg. Father Cieslik and Father Kleinsorge have minor injuries but are completely exhausted. While they are eating the food that we have brought along, they tell us of their experiences. They were in their rooms at the Parish House--it was a quarter after eight, exactly the time when we had heard the explosion in Nagatsuke--when came the intense light and immediately thereafter the sound of breaking windows, walls and furniture. They were showered with glass splinters and fragments of wreckage. Father Schiffer was buried beneath a portion of a wall and suffered a severe head injury. The Father Superior received most of the splinters in his back and lower extremity from which he bled copiously. Everything was thrown about in the rooms themselves, but the wooden framework of the house remained intact. The solidity of the structure which was the work of Brother Gropper again shone forth. They had the same impression that we had in Nagatsuke: that the bomb had burst in their immediate vicinity. The Church, school, and all buildings in the immediate vicinity collapsed at once. Beneath the ruins of the school, the children cried for help. They were freed with great effort. Several others were also rescued from the ruins of nearby dwellings. Even the Father Superior and Father Schiffer despite their wounds, rendered aid to others and lost a great deal of blood in the process. In the meantime, fires which had begun some distance away are raging even closer, so that it becomes obvious that everything would soon burn down. Several objects are rescued from the Parish House and were buried in a clearing in front of the Church, but certain valuables and necessities which had been kept ready in case of fire could not be found on account of the confusion which had been wrought. It is high time to flee, since the oncoming flames leave almost no way open. Fukai, the secretary of the Mission, is completely out of his mind. He does not want to leave the house and explains that he does not want to survive the destruction of his fatherland. He is completely uninjured. Father Kleinsorge drags him out of the house on his back and he is forcefully carried away. Beneath the wreckage of the houses along the way, many have been trapped and they scream to be rescued from the oncoming flames. They must be left to their fate. The way to the place in the city to which one desires to flee is no longer open and one must make for Asano Park. Fukai does not want to go further and remains behind. He has not been heard from since. In the park, we take refuge on the bank of the river. A very violent whirlwind now begins to uproot large trees, and lifts them high into the air. As it reaches the water, a waterspout forms which is approximately 100 meters high. The violence of the storm luckily passes us by. Some distance away, however, where numerous refugees have taken shelter, many are blown into the river. Almost all who are in the vicinity have been injured and have lost relatives who have been pinned under the wreckage or who have been lost sight of during the flight. There is no help for the wounded and some die. No one pays any attention to a dead man lying nearby. The transportation of our own wounded is difficult. It is not possible to dress their wounds properly in the darkness, and they bleed again upon slight motion. As we carry them on the shaky litters in the dark over fallen trees of the park, they suffer unbearable pain as the result of the movement, and lose dangerously large quantities of blood. Our rescuing angel in this difficult situation is a Japanese Protestant pastor. He has brought up a boat and offers to take our wounded up stream to a place where progress is easier. First, we lower the litter containing Father Schiffer into the boat and two of us accompany him. We plan to bring the boat back for the Father Superior. The boat returns about one-half hour later and the pastor requests that several of us help in the rescue of two children whom he had seen in the river. We rescue them. They have severe burns. Soon they suffer chills and die in the park. The Father Superior is conveyed in the boat in the same manner as Father Schiffer. The theology student and myself accompany him. Father Cieslik considers himself strong enough to make his way on foot to Nagatsuke with the rest of us, but Father Kleinsorge cannot walk so far and we leave him behind and promise to come for him and the housekeeper tomorrow. From the other side of the stream comes the whinny of horses who are threatened by the fire. We land on a sand spit which juts out from the shore. It is full of wounded who have taken refuge there. They scream for aid for they are afraid of drowning as the river may rise with the sea, and cover the sand spit. They themselves are too weak to move. However, we must press on and finally we reach the spot where the group containing Father Schiffer is waiting. Here a rescue party had brought a large case of fresh rice cakes but there is no one to distribute them to the numerous wounded that lie all about. We distribute them to those that are nearby and also help ourselves. The wounded call for water and we come to the aid of a few. Cries for help are heard from a distance, but we cannot approach the ruins from which they come. A group of soldiers comes along the road and their officer notices that we speak a strange language. He at once draws his sword, screamingly demands who we are and threatens to cut us down. Father Laures, Jr., seizes his arm and explains that we are German. We finally quiet him down. He thought that we might well be Americans who had parachuted down. Rumors of parachutists were being bandied about the city. The Father Superior who was clothed only in a shirt and trousers, complains of feeling freezing cold, despite the warm summer night and the heat of the burning city. The one man among us who possesses a coat gives it to him and, in addition, I give him my own shirt. To me, it seems more comfortable to be without a shirt in the heat. In the meantime, it has become midnight. Since there are not enough of us to man both litters with four strong bearers, we determine to remove Father Schiffer first to the outskirts of the city. From there, another group of bearers is to take over to Nagatsuke; the others are to turn back in order to rescue the Father Superior. I am one of the bearers. The theology student goes in front to warn us of the numerous wires, beams and fragments of ruins which block the way and which are impossible to see in the dark. Despite all precautions, our progress is stumbling and our feet get tangled in the wire. Father Kruer falls and carries the litter with him. Father Schiffer becomes half unconscious from the fall and vomits. We pass an injured man who sits all alone among the hot ruins and whom I had seen previously on the way down. On the Misasa Bridge, we meet Father Tappe and Father Luhmer, who have come to meet us from Nagatsuke. They had dug a family out of the ruins of their collapsed house some fifty meters off the road. The father of the family was already dead. They had dragged out two girls and placed them by the side of the road. Their mother was still trapped under some beams. They had planned to complete the rescue and then to press on to meet us. At the outskirts of the city, we put down the litter and leave two men to wait until those who are to come from Nagatsuke appear. The rest of us turn back to fetch the Father Superior. Most of the ruins have now burned down. The darkness kindly hides the many forms that lie on the ground. Only occasionally in our quick progress do we hear calls for help. One of us remarks that the remarkable burned smell reminds him of incinerated corpses. The upright, squatting form which we had passed by previously is still there. Transportation on the litter, which has been constructed out of boards, must be very painful to the Father Superior, whose entire back is full of fragments of glass. In a narrow passage at the edge of town, a car forces us to the edge of the road. The litter bearers on the left side fall into a two meter deep ditch which they could not see in the darkness. Father Superior hides his pain with a dry joke, but the litter which is now no longer in one piece cannot be carried further. We decide to wait until Kinjo can bring a hand cart from Nagatsuke. He soon comes back with one that he has requisitioned from a collapsed house. We place Father Superior on the cart and wheel him the rest of the way, avoiding as much as possible the deeper pits in the road. About half past four in the morning, we finally arrive at the Novitiate. Our rescue expedition had taken almost twelve hours. Normally, one could go back and forth to the city in two hours. Our two wounded were now, for the first time, properly dressed. I get two hours sleep on the floor; some one else has taken my own bed. Then I read a Mass in gratiarum actionem, it is the 7th of August, the anniversary of the foundation of our society. Then we bestir ourselves to bring Father Kleinsorge and other acquaintances out of the city. We take off again with the hand cart. The bright day now reveals the frightful picture which last night's darkness had partly concealed. Where the city stood everything, as far as the eye could reach, is a waste of ashes and ruin. Only several skeletons of buildings completely burned out in the interior remain. The banks of the river are covered with dead and wounded, and the rising waters have here and there covered some of the corpses. On the broad street in the Hakushima district, naked burned cadavers are particularly numerous. Among them are the wounded who are still alive. A few have crawled under the burnt-out autos and trams. Frightfully injured forms beckon to us and then collapse. An old woman and a girl whom she is pulling along with her fall down at our feet. We place them on our cart and wheel them to the hospital at whose entrance a dressing station has been set up. Here the wounded lie on the hard floor, row on row. Only the largest wounds are dressed. We convey another soldier and an old woman to the place but we cannot move everybody who lies exposed in the sun. It would be endless and it is questionable whether those whom we can drag to the dressing station can come out alive, because even here nothing really effective can be done. Later, we ascertain that the wounded lay for days in the burnt-out hallways of the hospital and there they died. We must proceed to our goal in the park and are forced to leave the wounded to their fate. We make our way to the place where our church stood to dig up those few belongings that we had buried yesterday. We find them intact. Everything else has been completely burned. In the ruins, we find a few molten remnants of holy vessels. At the park, we load the housekeeper and a mother with her two children on the cart. Father Kleinsorge feels strong enough, with the aid of Brother Nobuhara, to make his way home on foot. The way back takes us once again past the dead and wounded in Hakushima. Again no rescue parties are in evidence. At the Misasa Bridge, there still lies the family which the Fathers Tappe and Luhmer had yesterday rescued from the ruins. A piece of tin had been placed over them to shield them from the sun. We cannot take them along for our cart is full. We give them and those nearby water to drink and decide to rescue them later. At three o'clock in the afternoon, we are back in Nagatsuka. After we have had a few swallows and a little food, Fathers Stolte, Luhmer, Erlinghagen and myself, take off once again to bring in the family. Father Kleinsorge requests that we also rescue two children who had lost their mother and who had lain near him in the park. On the way, we were greeted by strangers who had noted that we were on a mission of mercy and who praised our efforts. We now met groups of individuals who were carrying the wounded about on litters. As we arrived at the Misasa Bridge, the family that had been there was gone. They might well have been borne away in the meantime. There was a group of soldiers at work taking away those that had been sacrificed yesterday. More than thirty hours had gone by until the first official rescue party had appeared on the scene. We find both children and take them out of the park: a six-year old boy who was uninjured, and a twelve-year old girl who had been burned about the head, hands and legs, and who had lain for thirty hours without care in the park. The left side of her face and the left eye were completely covered with blood and pus, so that we thought that she had lost the eye. When the wound was later washed, we noted that the eye was intact and that the lids had just become stuck together. On the way home, we took another group of three refugees with us. They first wanted to know, however, of what nationality we were. They, too, feared that we might be Americans who had parachuted in. When we arrived in Nagatsuka, it had just become dark. We took under our care fifty refugees who had lost everything. The majority of them were wounded and not a few had dangerous burns. Father Rektor treated the wounds as well as he could with the few medicaments that we could, with effort, gather up. He had to confine himself in general to cleansing the wounds of purulent material. Even those with the smaller burns are very weak and all suffered from diarrhea. In the farm houses in the vicinity, almost everywhere, there are also wounded. Father Rektor made daily rounds and acted in the capacity of a painstaking physician and was a great Samaritan. Our work was, in the eyes of the people, a greater boost for Christianity than all our work during the preceding long years. Three of the severely burned in our house died within the next few days. Suddenly the pulse and respirations ceased. It is certainly a sign of our good care that so few died. In the official aid stations and hospitals, a good third or half of those that had been brought in died. They lay about there almost without care, and a very high percentage succumbed. Everything was lacking: doctors, assistants, dressings, drugs, etc. In an aid station at a school at a nearby village, a group of soldiers for several days did nothing except to bring in and cremate the dead behind the school. During the next few days, funeral processions passed our house from morning to night, bringing the deceased to a small valley nearby. There, in six places, the dead were burned. People brought their own wood and themselves did the cremation. Father Luhmer and Father Laures found a dead man in a nearby house who had already become bloated and who emitted a frightful odor. They brought him to this valley and incinerated him themselves. Even late at night, the little valley was lit up by the funeral pyres. We made systematic efforts to trace our acquaintances and the families of the refugees whom we had sheltered. Frequently, after the passage of several weeks, some one was found in a distant village or hospital but of many there was no news, and these were apparently dead. We were lucky to discover the mother of the two children whom we had found in the park and who had been given up for dead. After three weeks, she saw her children once again. In the great joy of the reunion were mingled the tears for those whom we shall not see again. The magnitude of the disaster that befell Hiroshima on August 6th was only slowly pieced together in my mind. I lived through the catastrophe and saw it only in flashes, which only gradually were merged to give me a total picture. What actually happened simultaneously in the city as a whole is as follows: As a result of the explosion of the bomb at 8:15, almost the entire city was destroyed at a single blow. Only small outlying districts in the southern and eastern parts of the town escaped complete destruction. The bomb exploded over the center of the city. As a result of the blast, the small Japanese houses in a diameter of five kilometers, which compressed 99% of the city, collapsed or were blown up. Those who were in the houses were buried in the ruins. Those who were in the open sustained burns resulting from contact with the substance or rays emitted by the bomb. Where the substance struck in quantity, fires sprang up. These spread rapidly. The heat which rose from the center created a whirlwind which was effective in spreading fire throughout the whole city. Those who had been caught beneath the ruins and who could not be freed rapidly, and those who had been caught by the flames, became casualties. As much as six kilometers from the center of the explosion, all houses were damaged and many collapsed and caught fire. Even fifteen kilometers away, windows were broken. It was rumored that the enemy fliers had spread an explosive and incendiary material over the city and then had created the explosion and ignition. A few maintained that they saw the planes drop a parachute which had carried something that exploded at a height of 1,000 meters. The newspapers called the bomb an "atomic bomb" and noted that the force of the blast had resulted from the explosion of uranium atoms, and that gamma rays had been sent out as a result of this, but no one knew anything for certain concerning the nature of the bomb. How many people were a sacrifice to this bomb? Those who had lived through the catastrophe placed the number of dead at at least 100,000. Hiroshima had a population of 400,000. Official statistics place the number who had died at 70,000 up to September 1st, not counting the missing ... and 130,000 wounded, among them 43,500 severely wounded. Estimates made by ourselves on the basis of groups known to us show that the number of 100,000 dead is not too high. Near us there are two barracks, in each of which forty Korean workers lived. On the day of the explosion, they were laboring on the streets of Hiroshima. Four returned alive to one barracks and sixteen to the other. 600 students of the Protestant girls' school worked in a factory, from which only thirty to forty returned. Most of the peasant families in the neighborhood lost one or more of their members who had worked at factories in the city. Our next door neighbor, Tamura, lost two children and himself suffered a large wound since, as it happened, he had been in the city on that day. The family of our reader suffered two dead, father and son; thus a family of five members suffered at least two losses, counting only the dead and severely wounded. There died the Mayor, the President of the central Japan district, the Commander of the city, a Korean prince who had been stationed in Hiroshima in the capacity of an officer, and many other high ranking officers. Of the professors of the University, thirty-two were killed or severely injured. Especially hard hit were the soldiers. The Pioneer Regiment was almost entirely wiped out. The barracks were near the center of the explosion. Thousands of wounded who died later could doubtless have been rescued had they received proper treatment and care, but rescue work in a catastrophe of this magnitude had not been envisioned; since the whole city had been knocked out at a blow, everything which had been prepared for emergency work was lost, and no preparation had been made for rescue work in the outlying districts. Many of the wounded also died because they had been weakened by under-nourishment and consequently lacked in strength to recover. Those who had their normal strength and who received good care slowly healed the burns which had been occasioned by the bomb. There were also cases, however, whose prognosis seemed good who died suddenly. There were also some who had only small external wounds who died within a week or later, after an inflammation of the pharynx and oral cavity had taken place. We thought at first that this was the result of inhalation of the substance of the bomb. Later, a commission established the thesis that gamma rays had been given out at the time of the explosion, following which the internal organs had been injured in a manner resembling that consequent upon Roentgen irradiation. This produces a diminution in the numbers of the white corpuscles. Only several cases are known to me personally where individuals who did not have external burns later died. Father Kleinsorge and Father Cieslik, who were near the center of the explosion, but who did not suffer burns became quite weak some fourteen days after the explosion. Up to this time small incised wounds had healed normally, but thereafter the wounds which were still unhealed became worse and are to date (in September) still incompletely healed. The attending physician diagnosed it as leucopania. There thus seems to be some truth in the statement that the radiation had some effect on the blood. I am of the opinion, however, that their generally undernourished and weakened condition was partly responsible for these findings. It was noised about that the ruins of the city emitted deadly rays and that workers who went there to aid in the clearing died, and that the central district would be uninhabitable for some time to come. I have my doubts as to whether such talk is true and myself and others who worked in the ruined area for some hours shortly after the explosion suffered no such ill effects. None of us in those days heard a single outburst against the Americans on the part of the Japanese, nor was there any evidence of a vengeful spirit. The Japanese suffered this terrible blow as part of the fortunes of war ... something to be borne without complaint. During this, war, I have noted relatively little hatred toward the allies on the part of the people themselves, although the press has taken occasion to stir up such feelings. After the victories at the beginning of the war, the enemy was rather looked down upon, but when allied offensive gathered momentum and especially after the advent of the majestic B-29's, the technical skill of America became an object of wonder and admiration. The following anecdote indicates the spirit of the Japanese: A few days after the atomic bombing, the secretary of the University came to us asserting that the Japanese were ready to destroy San Francisco by means of an equally effective bomb. It is dubious that he himself believed what he told us. He merely wanted to impress upon us foreigners that the Japanese were capable of similar discoveries. In his nationalistic pride, he talked himself into believing this. The Japanese also intimated that the principle of the new bomb was a Japanese discovery. It was only lack of raw materials, they said, which prevented its construction. In the meantime, the Germans were said to have carried the discovery to a further stage and were about to initiate such bombing. The Americans were reputed to have learned the secret from the Germans, and they had then brought the bomb to a stage of industrial completion. We have discussed among ourselves the ethics of the use of the bomb. Some consider it in the same category as poison gas and were against its use on a civil population. Others were of the view that in total war, as carried on in Japan, there was no difference between civilians and soldiers, and that the bomb itself was an effective force tending to end the bloodshed, warning Japan to surrender and thus to avoid total destruction. It seems logical to me that he who supports total war in principle cannot complain of war against civilians. The crux of the matter is whether total war in its present form is justifiable, even when it serves a just purpose. Does it not have material and spiritual evil as its consequences which far exceed whatever good that might result? When will our moralists give us a clear answer to this question? 
769	----	THE BOOK OF TEA By Kakuzo Okakura I. The Cup of Humanity Tea began as a medicine and grew into a beverage. In China, in the eighth century, it entered the realm of poetry as one of the polite amusements. The fifteenth century saw Japan ennoble it into a religion of aestheticism--Teaism. Teaism is a cult founded on the adoration of the beautiful among the sordid facts of everyday existence. It inculcates purity and harmony, the mystery of mutual charity, the romanticism of the social order. It is essentially a worship of the Imperfect, as it is a tender attempt to accomplish something possible in this impossible thing we know as life. The Philosophy of Tea is not mere aestheticism in the ordinary acceptance of the term, for it expresses conjointly with ethics and religion our whole point of view about man and nature. It is hygiene, for it enforces cleanliness; it is economics, for it shows comfort in simplicity rather than in the complex and costly; it is moral geometry, inasmuch as it defines our sense of proportion to the universe. It represents the true spirit of Eastern democracy by making all its votaries aristocrats in taste. The long isolation of Japan from the rest of the world, so conducive to introspection, has been highly favourable to the development of Teaism. Our home and habits, costume and cuisine, porcelain, lacquer, painting--our very literature--all have been subject to its influence. No student of Japanese culture could ever ignore its presence. It has permeated the elegance of noble boudoirs, and entered the abode of the humble. Our peasants have learned to arrange flowers, our meanest labourer to offer his salutation to the rocks and waters. In our common parlance we speak of the man "with no tea" in him, when he is insusceptible to the serio-comic interests of the personal drama. Again we stigmatise the untamed aesthete who, regardless of the mundane tragedy, runs riot in the springtide of emancipated emotions, as one "with too much tea" in him. The outsider may indeed wonder at this seeming much ado about nothing. What a tempest in a tea-cup! he will say. But when we consider how small after all the cup of human enjoyment is, how soon overflowed with tears, how easily drained to the dregs in our quenchless thirst for infinity, we shall not blame ourselves for making so much of the tea-cup. Mankind has done worse. In the worship of Bacchus, we have sacrificed too freely; and we have even transfigured the gory image of Mars. Why not consecrate ourselves to the queen of the Camelias, and revel in the warm stream of sympathy that flows from her altar? In the liquid amber within the ivory-porcelain, the initiated may touch the sweet reticence of Confucius, the piquancy of Laotse, and the ethereal aroma of Sakyamuni himself. Those who cannot feel the littleness of great things in themselves are apt to overlook the greatness of little things in others. The average Westerner, in his sleek complacency, will see in the tea ceremony but another instance of the thousand and one oddities which constitute the quaintness and childishness of the East to him. He was wont to regard Japan as barbarous while she indulged in the gentle arts of peace: he calls her civilised since she began to commit wholesale slaughter on Manchurian battlefields. Much comment has been given lately to the Code of the Samurai,--the Art of Death which makes our soldiers exult in self-sacrifice; but scarcely any attention has been drawn to Teaism, which represents so much of our Art of Life. Fain would we remain barbarians, if our claim to civilisation were to be based on the gruesome glory of war. Fain would we await the time when due respect shall be paid to our art and ideals. When will the West understand, or try to understand, the East? We Asiatics are often appalled by the curious web of facts and fancies which has been woven concerning us. We are pictured as living on the perfume of the lotus, if not on mice and cockroaches. It is either impotent fanaticism or else abject voluptuousness. Indian spirituality has been derided as ignorance, Chinese sobriety as stupidity, Japanese patriotism as the result of fatalism. It has been said that we are less sensible to pain and wounds on account of the callousness of our nervous organisation! Why not amuse yourselves at our expense? Asia returns the compliment. There would be further food for merriment if you were to know all that we have imagined and written about you. All the glamour of the perspective is there, all the unconscious homage of wonder, all the silent resentment of the new and undefined. You have been loaded with virtues too refined to be envied, and accused of crimes too picturesque to be condemned. Our writers in the past--the wise men who knew--informed us that you had bushy tails somewhere hidden in your garments, and often dined off a fricassee of newborn babes! Nay, we had something worse against you: we used to think you the most impracticable people on the earth, for you were said to preach what you never practiced. Such misconceptions are fast vanishing amongst us. Commerce has forced the European tongues on many an Eastern port. Asiatic youths are flocking to Western colleges for the equipment of modern education. Our insight does not penetrate your culture deeply, but at least we are willing to learn. Some of my compatriots have adopted too much of your customs and too much of your etiquette, in the delusion that the acquisition of stiff collars and tall silk hats comprised the attainment of your civilisation. Pathetic and deplorable as such affectations are, they evince our willingness to approach the West on our knees. Unfortunately the Western attitude is unfavourable to the understanding of the East. The Christian missionary goes to impart, but not to receive. Your information is based on the meagre translations of our immense literature, if not on the unreliable anecdotes of passing travellers. It is rarely that the chivalrous pen of a Lafcadio Hearn or that of the author of "The Web of Indian Life" enlivens the Oriental darkness with the torch of our own sentiments. Perhaps I betray my own ignorance of the Tea Cult by being so outspoken. Its very spirit of politeness exacts that you say what you are expected to say, and no more. But I am not to be a polite Teaist. So much harm has been done already by the mutual misunderstanding of the New World and the Old, that one need not apologise for contributing his tithe to the furtherance of a better understanding. The beginning of the twentieth century would have been spared the spectacle of sanguinary warfare if Russia had condescended to know Japan better. What dire consequences to humanity lie in the contemptuous ignoring of Eastern problems! European imperialism, which does not disdain to raise the absurd cry of the Yellow Peril, fails to realise that Asia may also awaken to the cruel sense of the White Disaster. You may laugh at us for having "too much tea," but may we not suspect that you of the West have "no tea" in your constitution? Let us stop the continents from hurling epigrams at each other, and be sadder if not wiser by the mutual gain of half a hemisphere. We have developed along different lines, but there is no reason why one should not supplement the other. You have gained expansion at the cost of restlessness; we have created a harmony which is weak against aggression. Will you believe it?--the East is better off in some respects than the West! Strangely enough humanity has so far met in the tea-cup. It is the only Asiatic ceremonial which commands universal esteem. The white man has scoffed at our religion and our morals, but has accepted the brown beverage without hesitation. The afternoon tea is now an important function in Western society. In the delicate clatter of trays and saucers, in the soft rustle of feminine hospitality, in the common catechism about cream and sugar, we know that the Worship of Tea is established beyond question. The philosophic resignation of the guest to the fate awaiting him in the dubious decoction proclaims that in this single instance the Oriental spirit reigns supreme. The earliest record of tea in European writing is said to be found in the statement of an Arabian traveller, that after the year 879 the main sources of revenue in Canton were the duties on salt and tea. Marco Polo records the deposition of a Chinese minister of finance in 1285 for his arbitrary augmentation of the tea-taxes. It was at the period of the great discoveries that the European people began to know more about the extreme Orient. At the end of the sixteenth century the Hollanders brought the news that a pleasant drink was made in the East from the leaves of a bush. The travellers Giovanni Batista Ramusio (1559), L. Almeida (1576), Maffeno (1588), Tareira (1610), also mentioned tea. In the last-named year ships of the Dutch East India Company brought the first tea into Europe. It was known in France in 1636, and reached Russia in 1638. England welcomed it in 1650 and spoke of it as "That excellent and by all physicians approved China drink, called by the Chineans Tcha, and by other nations Tay, alias Tee." Like all good things of the world, the propaganda of Tea met with opposition. Heretics like Henry Saville (1678) denounced drinking it as a filthy custom. Jonas Hanway (Essay on Tea, 1756) said that men seemed to lose their stature and comeliness, women their beauty through the use of tea. Its cost at the start (about fifteen or sixteen shillings a pound) forbade popular consumption, and made it "regalia for high treatments and entertainments, presents being made thereof to princes and grandees." Yet in spite of such drawbacks tea-drinking spread with marvelous rapidity. The coffee-houses of London in the early half of the eighteenth century became, in fact, tea-houses, the resort of wits like Addison and Steele, who beguiled themselves over their "dish of tea." The beverage soon became a necessity of life--a taxable matter. We are reminded in this connection what an important part it plays in modern history. Colonial America resigned herself to oppression until human endurance gave way before the heavy duties laid on Tea. American independence dates from the throwing of tea-chests into Boston harbour. There is a subtle charm in the taste of tea which makes it irresistible and capable of idealisation. Western humourists were not slow to mingle the fragrance of their thought with its aroma. It has not the arrogance of wine, the self-consciousness of coffee, nor the simpering innocence of cocoa. Already in 1711, says the Spectator: "I would therefore in a particular manner recommend these my speculations to all well-regulated families that set apart an hour every morning for tea, bread and butter; and would earnestly advise them for their good to order this paper to be punctually served up and to be looked upon as a part of the tea-equipage." Samuel Johnson draws his own portrait as "a hardened and shameless tea drinker, who for twenty years diluted his meals with only the infusion of the fascinating plant; who with tea amused the evening, with tea solaced the midnight, and with tea welcomed the morning." Charles Lamb, a professed devotee, sounded the true note of Teaism when he wrote that the greatest pleasure he knew was to do a good action by stealth, and to have it found out by accident. For Teaism is the art of concealing beauty that you may discover it, of suggesting what you dare not reveal. It is the noble secret of laughing at yourself, calmly yet thoroughly, and is thus humour itself,--the smile of philosophy. All genuine humourists may in this sense be called tea-philosophers, Thackeray, for instance, and of course, Shakespeare. The poets of the Decadence (when was not the world in decadence?), in their protests against materialism, have, to a certain extent, also opened the way to Teaism. Perhaps nowadays it is our demure contemplation of the Imperfect that the West and the East can meet in mutual consolation. The Taoists relate that at the great beginning of the No-Beginning, Spirit and Matter met in mortal combat. At last the Yellow Emperor, the Sun of Heaven, triumphed over Shuhyung, the demon of darkness and earth. The Titan, in his death agony, struck his head against the solar vault and shivered the blue dome of jade into fragments. The stars lost their nests, the moon wandered aimlessly among the wild chasms of the night. In despair the Yellow Emperor sought far and wide for the repairer of the Heavens. He had not to search in vain. Out of the Eastern sea rose a queen, the divine Niuka, horn-crowned and dragon-tailed, resplendent in her armor of fire. She welded the five-coloured rainbow in her magic cauldron and rebuilt the Chinese sky. But it is told that Niuka forgot to fill two tiny crevices in the blue firmament. Thus began the dualism of love--two souls rolling through space and never at rest until they join together to complete the universe. Everyone has to build anew his sky of hope and peace. The heaven of modern humanity is indeed shattered in the Cyclopean struggle for wealth and power. The world is groping in the shadow of egotism and vulgarity. Knowledge is bought through a bad conscience, benevolence practiced for the sake of utility. The East and the West, like two dragons tossed in a sea of ferment, in vain strive to regain the jewel of life. We need a Niuka again to repair the grand devastation; we await the great Avatar. Meanwhile, let us have a sip of tea. The afternoon glow is brightening the bamboos, the fountains are bubbling with delight, the soughing of the pines is heard in our kettle. Let us dream of evanescence, and linger in the beautiful foolishness of things. II. The Schools of Tea. Tea is a work of art and needs a master hand to bring out its noblest qualities. We have good and bad tea, as we have good and bad paintings--generally the latter. There is no single recipe for making the perfect tea, as there are no rules for producing a Titian or a Sesson. Each preparation of the leaves has its individuality, its special affinity with water and heat, its own method of telling a story. The truly beautiful must always be in it. How much do we not suffer through the constant failure of society to recognise this simple and fundamental law of art and life; Lichilai, a Sung poet, has sadly remarked that there were three most deplorable things in the world: the spoiling of fine youths through false education, the degradation of fine art through vulgar admiration, and the utter waste of fine tea through incompetent manipulation. Like Art, Tea has its periods and its schools. Its evolution may be roughly divided into three main stages: the Boiled Tea, the Whipped Tea, and the Steeped Tea. We moderns belong to the last school. These several methods of appreciating the beverage are indicative of the spirit of the age in which they prevailed. For life is an expression, our unconscious actions the constant betrayal of our innermost thought. Confucius said that "man hideth not." Perhaps we reveal ourselves too much in small things because we have so little of the great to conceal. The tiny incidents of daily routine are as much a commentary of racial ideals as the highest flight of philosophy or poetry. Even as the difference in favorite vintage marks the separate idiosyncrasies of different periods and nationalities of Europe, so the Tea-ideals characterise the various moods of Oriental culture. The Cake-tea which was boiled, the Powdered-tea which was whipped, the Leaf-tea which was steeped, mark the distinct emotional impulses of the Tang, the Sung, and the Ming dynasties of China. If we were inclined to borrow the much-abused terminology of art-classification, we might designate them respectively, the Classic, the Romantic, and the Naturalistic schools of Tea. The tea-plant, a native of southern China, was known from very early times to Chinese botany and medicine. It is alluded to in the classics under the various names of Tou, Tseh, Chung, Kha, and Ming, and was highly prized for possessing the virtues of relieving fatigue, delighting the soul, strengthening the will, and repairing the eyesight. It was not only administered as an internal dose, but often applied externally in form of paste to alleviate rheumatic pains. The Taoists claimed it as an important ingredient of the elixir of immortality. The Buddhists used it extensively to prevent drowsiness during their long hours of meditation. By the fourth and fifth centuries Tea became a favourite beverage among the inhabitants of the Yangtse-Kiang valley. It was about this time that modern ideograph Cha was coined, evidently a corruption of the classic Tou. The poets of the southern dynasties have left some fragments of their fervent adoration of the "froth of the liquid jade." Then emperors used to bestow some rare preparation of the leaves on their high ministers as a reward for eminent services. Yet the method of drinking tea at this stage was primitive in the extreme. The leaves were steamed, crushed in a mortar, made into a cake, and boiled together with rice, ginger, salt, orange peel, spices, milk, and sometimes with onions! The custom obtains at the present day among the Thibetans and various Mongolian tribes, who make a curious syrup of these ingredients. The use of lemon slices by the Russians, who learned to take tea from the Chinese caravansaries, points to the survival of the ancient method. It needed the genius of the Tang dynasty to emancipate Tea from its crude state and lead to its final idealization. With Luwuh in the middle of the eighth century we have our first apostle of tea. He was born in an age when Buddhism, Taoism, and Confucianism were seeking mutual synthesis. The pantheistic symbolism of the time was urging one to mirror the Universal in the Particular. Luwuh, a poet, saw in the Tea-service the same harmony and order which reigned through all things. In his celebrated work, the "Chaking" (The Holy Scripture of Tea) he formulated the Code of Tea. He has since been worshipped as the tutelary god of the Chinese tea merchants. The "Chaking" consists of three volumes and ten chapters. In the first chapter Luwuh treats of the nature of the tea-plant, in the second of the implements for gathering the leaves, in the third of the selection of the leaves. According to him the best quality of the leaves must have "creases like the leathern boot of Tartar horsemen, curl like the dewlap of a mighty bullock, unfold like a mist rising out of a ravine, gleam like a lake touched by a zephyr, and be wet and soft like fine earth newly swept by rain." The fourth chapter is devoted to the enumeration and description of the twenty-four members of the tea-equipage, beginning with the tripod brazier and ending with the bamboo cabinet for containing all these utensils. Here we notice Luwuh's predilection for Taoist symbolism. Also it is interesting to observe in this connection the influence of tea on Chinese ceramics. The Celestial porcelain, as is well known, had its origin in an attempt to reproduce the exquisite shade of jade, resulting, in the Tang dynasty, in the blue glaze of the south, and the white glaze of the north. Luwuh considered the blue as the ideal colour for the tea-cup, as it lent additional greenness to the beverage, whereas the white made it look pinkish and distasteful. It was because he used cake-tea. Later on, when the tea masters of Sung took to the powdered tea, they preferred heavy bowls of blue-black and dark brown. The Mings, with their steeped tea, rejoiced in light ware of white porcelain. In the fifth chapter Luwuh describes the method of making tea. He eliminates all ingredients except salt. He dwells also on the much-discussed question of the choice of water and the degree of boiling it. According to him, the mountain spring is the best, the river water and the spring water come next in the order of excellence. There are three stages of boiling: the first boil is when the little bubbles like the eye of fishes swim on the surface; the second boil is when the bubbles are like crystal beads rolling in a fountain; the third boil is when the billows surge wildly in the kettle. The Cake-tea is roasted before the fire until it becomes soft like a baby's arm and is shredded into powder between pieces of fine paper. Salt is put in the first boil, the tea in the second. At the third boil, a dipperful of cold water is poured into the kettle to settle the tea and revive the "youth of the water." Then the beverage was poured into cups and drunk. O nectar! The filmy leaflet hung like scaly clouds in a serene sky or floated like waterlilies on emerald streams. It was of such a beverage that Lotung, a Tang poet, wrote: "The first cup moistens my lips and throat, the second cup breaks my loneliness, the third cup searches my barren entrail but to find therein some five thousand volumes of odd ideographs. The fourth cup raises a slight perspiration,--all the wrong of life passes away through my pores. At the fifth cup I am purified; the sixth cup calls me to the realms of the immortals. The seventh cup--ah, but I could take no more! I only feel the breath of cool wind that rises in my sleeves. Where is Horaisan? Let me ride on this sweet breeze and waft away thither." The remaining chapters of the "Chaking" treat of the vulgarity of the ordinary methods of tea-drinking, a historical summary of illustrious tea-drinkers, the famous tea plantations of China, the possible variations of the tea-service and illustrations of the tea-utensils. The last is unfortunately lost. The appearance of the "Chaking" must have created considerable sensation at the time. Luwuh was befriended by the Emperor Taisung (763-779), and his fame attracted many followers. Some exquisites were said to have been able to detect the tea made by Luwuh from that of his disciples. One mandarin has his name immortalised by his failure to appreciate the tea of this great master. In the Sung dynasty the whipped tea came into fashion and created the second school of Tea. The leaves were ground to fine powder in a small stone mill, and the preparation was whipped in hot water by a delicate whisk made of split bamboo. The new process led to some change in the tea-equipage of Luwuh, as well as in the choice of leaves. Salt was discarded forever. The enthusiasm of the Sung people for tea knew no bounds. Epicures vied with each other in discovering new varieties, and regular tournaments were held to decide their superiority. The Emperor Kiasung (1101-1124), who was too great an artist to be a well-behaved monarch, lavished his treasures on the attainment of rare species. He himself wrote a dissertation on the twenty kinds of tea, among which he prizes the "white tea" as of the rarest and finest quality. The tea-ideal of the Sungs differed from the Tangs even as their notion of life differed. They sought to actualize what their predecessors tried to symbolise. To the Neo-Confucian mind the cosmic law was not reflected in the phenomenal world, but the phenomenal world was the cosmic law itself. Aeons were but moments--Nirvana always within grasp. The Taoist conception that immortality lay in the eternal change permeated all their modes of thought. It was the process, not the deed, which was interesting. It was the completing, not the completion, which was really vital. Man came thus at once face to face with nature. A new meaning grew into the art of life. The tea began to be not a poetical pastime, but one of the methods of self-realisation. Wangyucheng eulogised tea as "flooding his soul like a direct appeal, that its delicate bitterness reminded him of the aftertaste of a good counsel." Sotumpa wrote of the strength of the immaculate purity in tea which defied corruption as a truly virtuous man. Among the Buddhists, the southern Zen sect, which incorporated so much of Taoist doctrines, formulated an elaborate ritual of tea. The monks gathered before the image of Bodhi Dharma and drank tea out of a single bowl with the profound formality of a holy sacrament. It was this Zen ritual which finally developed into the Tea-ceremony of Japan in the fifteenth century. Unfortunately the sudden outburst of the Mongol tribes in the thirteenth century which resulted in the devastation and conquest of China under the barbaric rule of the Yuen Emperors, destroyed all the fruits of Sung culture. The native dynasty of the Mings which attempted re-nationalisation in the middle of the fifteenth century was harassed by internal troubles, and China again fell under the alien rule of the Manchus in the seventeenth century. Manners and customs changed to leave no vestige of the former times. The powdered tea is entirely forgotten. We find a Ming commentator at loss to recall the shape of the tea whisk mentioned in one of the Sung classics. Tea is now taken by steeping the leaves in hot water in a bowl or cup. The reason why the Western world is innocent of the older method of drinking tea is explained by the fact that Europe knew it only at the close of the Ming dynasty. To the latter-day Chinese tea is a delicious beverage, but not an ideal. The long woes of his country have robbed him of the zest for the meaning of life. He has become modern, that is to say, old and disenchanted. He has lost that sublime faith in illusions which constitutes the eternal youth and vigour of the poets and ancients. He is an eclectic and politely accepts the traditions of the universe. He toys with Nature, but does not condescend to conquer or worship her. His Leaf-tea is often wonderful with its flower-like aroma, but the romance of the Tang and Sung ceremonials are not to be found in his cup. Japan, which followed closely on the footsteps of Chinese civilisation, has known the tea in all its three stages. As early as the year 729 we read of the Emperor Shomu giving tea to one hundred monks at his palace in Nara. The leaves were probably imported by our ambassadors to the Tang Court and prepared in the way then in fashion. In 801 the monk Saicho brought back some seeds and planted them in Yeisan. Many tea-gardens are heard of in succeeding centuries, as well as the delight of the aristocracy and priesthood in the beverage. The Sung tea reached us in 1191 with the return of Yeisai-zenji, who went there to study the southern Zen school. The new seeds which he carried home were successfully planted in three places, one of which, the Uji district near Kioto, bears still the name of producing the best tea in the world. The southern Zen spread with marvelous rapidity, and with it the tea-ritual and the tea-ideal of the Sung. By the fifteenth century, under the patronage of the Shogun, Ashikaga-Voshinasa, the tea ceremony is fully constituted and made into an independent and secular performance. Since then Teaism is fully established in Japan. The use of the steeped tea of the later China is comparatively recent among us, being only known since the middle of the seventeenth century. It has replaced the powdered tea in ordinary consumption, though the latter still continues to hold its place as the tea of teas. It is in the Japanese tea ceremony that we see the culmination of tea-ideals. Our successful resistance of the Mongol invasion in 1281 had enabled us to carry on the Sung movement so disastrously cut off in China itself through the nomadic inroad. Tea with us became more than an idealisation of the form of drinking; it is a religion of the art of life. The beverage grew to be an excuse for the worship of purity and refinement, a sacred function at which the host and guest joined to produce for that occasion the utmost beatitude of the mundane. The tea-room was an oasis in the dreary waste of existence where weary travellers could meet to drink from the common spring of art-appreciation. The ceremony was an improvised drama whose plot was woven about the tea, the flowers, and the paintings. Not a colour to disturb the tone of the room, not a sound to mar the rhythm of things, not a gesture to obtrude on the harmony, not a word to break the unity of the surroundings, all movements to be performed simply and naturally--such were the aims of the tea-ceremony. And strangely enough it was often successful. A subtle philosophy lay behind it all. Teaism was Taoism in disguise. III. Taoism and Zennism The connection of Zennism with tea is proverbial. We have already remarked that the tea-ceremony was a development of the Zen ritual. The name of Laotse, the founder of Taoism, is also intimately associated with the history of tea. It is written in the Chinese school manual concerning the origin of habits and customs that the ceremony of offering tea to a guest began with Kwanyin, a well-known disciple of Laotse, who first at the gate of the Han Pass presented to the "Old Philosopher" a cup of the golden elixir. We shall not stop to discuss the authenticity of such tales, which are valuable, however, as confirming the early use of the beverage by the Taoists. Our interest in Taoism and Zennism here lies mainly in those ideas regarding life and art which are so embodied in what we call Teaism. It is to be regretted that as yet there appears to be no adequate presentation of the Taoists and Zen doctrines in any foreign language, though we have had several laudable attempts. Translation is always a treason, and as a Ming author observes, can at its best be only the reverse side of a brocade,--all the threads are there, but not the subtlety of colour or design. But, after all, what great doctrine is there which is easy to expound? The ancient sages never put their teachings in systematic form. They spoke in paradoxes, for they were afraid of uttering half-truths. They began by talking like fools and ended by making their hearers wise. Laotse himself, with his quaint humour, says, "If people of inferior intelligence hear of the Tao, they laugh immensely. It would not be the Tao unless they laughed at it." The Tao literally means a Path. It has been severally translated as the Way, the Absolute, the Law, Nature, Supreme Reason, the Mode. These renderings are not incorrect, for the use of the term by the Taoists differs according to the subject-matter of the inquiry. Laotse himself spoke of it thus: "There is a thing which is all-containing, which was born before the existence of Heaven and Earth. How silent! How solitary! It stands alone and changes not. It revolves without danger to itself and is the mother of the universe. I do not know its name and so call it the Path. With reluctance I call it the Infinite. Infinity is the Fleeting, the Fleeting is the Vanishing, the Vanishing is the Reverting." The Tao is in the Passage rather than the Path. It is the spirit of Cosmic Change,--the eternal growth which returns upon itself to produce new forms. It recoils upon itself like the dragon, the beloved symbol of the Taoists. It folds and unfolds as do the clouds. The Tao might be spoken of as the Great Transition. Subjectively it is the Mood of the Universe. Its Absolute is the Relative. It should be remembered in the first place that Taoism, like its legitimate successor Zennism, represents the individualistic trend of the Southern Chinese mind in contra-distinction to the communism of Northern China which expressed itself in Confucianism. The Middle Kingdom is as vast as Europe and has a differentiation of idiosyncrasies marked by the two great river systems which traverse it. The Yangtse-Kiang and Hoang-Ho are respectively the Mediterranean and the Baltic. Even to-day, in spite of centuries of unification, the Southern Celestial differs in his thoughts and beliefs from his Northern brother as a member of the Latin race differs from the Teuton. In ancient days, when communication was even more difficult than at present, and especially during the feudal period, this difference in thought was most pronounced. The art and poetry of the one breathes an atmosphere entirely distinct from that of the other. In Laotse and his followers and in Kutsugen, the forerunner of the Yangtse-Kiang nature-poets, we find an idealism quite inconsistent with the prosaic ethical notions of their contemporary northern writers. Laotse lived five centuries before the Christian Era. The germ of Taoist speculation may be found long before the advent of Laotse, surnamed the Long-Eared. The archaic records of China, especially the Book of Changes, foreshadow his thought. But the great respect paid to the laws and customs of that classic period of Chinese civilisation which culminated with the establishment of the Chow dynasty in the sixteenth century B.C., kept the development of individualism in check for a long while, so that it was not until after the disintegration of the Chow dynasty and the establishment of innumerable independent kingdoms that it was able to blossom forth in the luxuriance of free-thought. Laotse and Soshi (Chuangtse) were both Southerners and the greatest exponents of the New School. On the other hand, Confucius with his numerous disciples aimed at retaining ancestral conventions. Taoism cannot be understood without some knowledge of Confucianism and vice versa. We have said that the Taoist Absolute was the Relative. In ethics the Taoist railed at the laws and the moral codes of society, for to them right and wrong were but relative terms. Definition is always limitation--the "fixed" and "unchangeless" are but terms expressive of a stoppage of growth. Said Kuzugen,--"The Sages move the world." Our standards of morality are begotten of the past needs of society, but is society to remain always the same? The observance of communal traditions involves a constant sacrifice of the individual to the state. Education, in order to keep up the mighty delusion, encourages a species of ignorance. People are not taught to be really virtuous, but to behave properly. We are wicked because we are frightfully self-conscious. We nurse a conscience because we are afraid to tell the truth to others; we take refuge in pride because we are afraid to tell the truth to ourselves. How can one be serious with the world when the world itself is so ridiculous! The spirit of barter is everywhere. Honour and Chastity! Behold the complacent salesman retailing the Good and True. One can even buy a so-called Religion, which is really but common morality sanctified with flowers and music. Rob the Church of her accessories and what remains behind? Yet the trusts thrive marvelously, for the prices are absurdly cheap,--a prayer for a ticket to heaven, a diploma for an honourable citizenship. Hide yourself under a bushel quickly, for if your real usefulness were known to the world you would soon be knocked down to the highest bidder by the public auctioneer. Why do men and women like to advertise themselves so much? Is it not but an instinct derived from the days of slavery? The virility of the idea lies not less in its power of breaking through contemporary thought than in its capacity for dominating subsequent movements. Taoism was an active power during the Shin dynasty, that epoch of Chinese unification from which we derive the name China. It would be interesting had we time to note its influence on contemporary thinkers, the mathematicians, writers on law and war, the mystics and alchemists and the later nature-poets of the Yangtse-Kiang. We should not even ignore those speculators on Reality who doubted whether a white horse was real because he was white, or because he was solid, nor the Conversationalists of the Six dynasties who, like the Zen philosophers, revelled in discussions concerning the Pure and the Abstract. Above all we should pay homage to Taoism for what it has done toward the formation of the Celestial character, giving to it a certain capacity for reserve and refinement as "warm as jade." Chinese history is full of instances in which the votaries of Taoism, princes and hermits alike, followed with varied and interesting results the teachings of their creed. The tale will not be without its quota of instruction and amusement. It will be rich in anecdotes, allegories, and aphorisms. We would fain be on speaking terms with the delightful emperor who never died because he had never lived. We may ride the wind with Liehtse and find it absolutely quiet because we ourselves are the wind, or dwell in mid-air with the Aged one of the Hoang-Ho, who lived betwixt Heaven and Earth because he was subject to neither the one nor the other. Even in that grotesque apology for Taoism which we find in China at the present day, we can revel in a wealth of imagery impossible to find in any other cult. But the chief contribution of Taoism to Asiatic life has been in the realm of aesthetics. Chinese historians have always spoken of Taoism as the "art of being in the world," for it deals with the present--ourselves. It is in us that God meets with Nature, and yesterday parts from to-morrow. The Present is the moving Infinity, the legitimate sphere of the Relative. Relativity seeks Adjustment; Adjustment is Art. The art of life lies in a constant readjustment to our surroundings. Taoism accepts the mundane as it is and, unlike the Confucians or the Buddhists, tries to find beauty in our world of woe and worry. The Sung allegory of the Three Vinegar Tasters explains admirably the trend of the three doctrines. Sakyamuni, Confucius, and Laotse once stood before a jar of vinegar--the emblem of life--and each dipped in his finger to taste the brew. The matter-of-fact Confucius found it sour, the Buddha called it bitter, and Laotse pronounced it sweet. The Taoists claimed that the comedy of life could be made more interesting if everyone would preserve the unities. To keep the proportion of things and give place to others without losing one's own position was the secret of success in the mundane drama. We must know the whole play in order to properly act our parts; the conception of totality must never be lost in that of the individual. This Laotse illustrates by his favourite metaphor of the Vacuum. He claimed that only in vacuum lay the truly essential. The reality of a room, for instance, was to be found in the vacant space enclosed by the roof and the walls, not in the roof and walls themselves. The usefulness of a water pitcher dwelt in the emptiness where water might be put, not in the form of the pitcher or the material of which it was made. Vacuum is all potent because all containing. In vacuum alone motion becomes possible. One who could make of himself a vacuum into which others might freely enter would become master of all situations. The whole can always dominate the part. These Taoists' ideas have greatly influenced all our theories of action, even to those of fencing and wrestling. Jiu-jitsu, the Japanese art of self-defence, owes its name to a passage in the Tao-teking. In jiu-jitsu one seeks to draw out and exhaust the enemy's strength by non-resistance, vacuum, while conserving one's own strength for victory in the final struggle. In art the importance of the same principle is illustrated by the value of suggestion. In leaving something unsaid the beholder is given a chance to complete the idea and thus a great masterpiece irresistibly rivets your attention until you seem to become actually a part of it. A vacuum is there for you to enter and fill up the full measure of your aesthetic emotion. He who had made himself master of the art of living was the Real man of the Taoist. At birth he enters the realm of dreams only to awaken to reality at death. He tempers his own brightness in order to merge himself into the obscurity of others. He is "reluctant, as one who crosses a stream in winter; hesitating as one who fears the neighbourhood; respectful, like a guest; trembling, like ice that is about to melt; unassuming, like a piece of wood not yet carved; vacant, like a valley; formless, like troubled waters." To him the three jewels of life were Pity, Economy, and Modesty. If now we turn our attention to Zennism we shall find that it emphasises the teachings of Taoism. Zen is a name derived from the Sanscrit word Dhyana, which signifies meditation. It claims that through consecrated meditation may be attained supreme self-realisation. Meditation is one of the six ways through which Buddhahood may be reached, and the Zen sectarians affirm that Sakyamuni laid special stress on this method in his later teachings, handing down the rules to his chief disciple Kashiapa. According to their tradition Kashiapa, the first Zen patriarch, imparted the secret to Ananda, who in turn passed it on to successive patriarchs until it reached Bodhi-Dharma, the twenty-eighth. Bodhi-Dharma came to Northern China in the early half of the sixth century and was the first patriarch of Chinese Zen. There is much uncertainty about the history of these patriarchs and their doctrines. In its philosophical aspect early Zennism seems to have affinity on one hand to the Indian Negativism of Nagarjuna and on the other to the Gnan philosophy formulated by Sancharacharya. The first teaching of Zen as we know it at the present day must be attributed to the sixth Chinese patriarch Yeno(637-713), founder of Southern Zen, so-called from the fact of its predominance in Southern China. He is closely followed by the great Baso(died 788) who made of Zen a living influence in Celestial life. Hiakujo(719-814) the pupil of Baso, first instituted the Zen monastery and established a ritual and regulations for its government. In the discussions of the Zen school after the time of Baso we find the play of the Yangtse-Kiang mind causing an accession of native modes of thought in contrast to the former Indian idealism. Whatever sectarian pride may assert to the contrary one cannot help being impressed by the similarity of Southern Zen to the teachings of Laotse and the Taoist Conversationalists. In the Tao-teking we already find allusions to the importance of self-concentration and the need of properly regulating the breath--essential points in the practice of Zen meditation. Some of the best commentaries on the Book of Laotse have been written by Zen scholars. Zennism, like Taoism, is the worship of Relativity. One master defines Zen as the art of feeling the polar star in the southern sky. Truth can be reached only through the comprehension of opposites. Again, Zennism, like Taoism, is a strong advocate of individualism. Nothing is real except that which concerns the working of our own minds. Yeno, the sixth patriarch, once saw two monks watching the flag of a pagoda fluttering in the wind. One said "It is the wind that moves," the other said "It is the flag that moves"; but Yeno explained to them that the real movement was neither of the wind nor the flag, but of something within their own minds. Hiakujo was walking in the forest with a disciple when a hare scurried off at their approach. "Why does the hare fly from you?" asked Hiakujo. "Because he is afraid of me," was the answer. "No," said the master, "it is because you have murderous instinct." The dialogue recalls that of Soshi (Chaungtse), the Taoist. One day Soshi was walking on the bank of a river with a friend. "How delightfully the fishes are enjoying themselves in the water!" exclaimed Soshi. His friend spake to him thus: "You are not a fish; how do you know that the fishes are enjoying themselves?" "You are not myself," returned Soshi; "how do you know that I do not know that the fishes are enjoying themselves?" Zen was often opposed to the precepts of orthodox Buddhism even as Taoism was opposed to Confucianism. To the transcendental insight of the Zen, words were but an incumbrance to thought; the whole sway of Buddhist scriptures only commentaries on personal speculation. The followers of Zen aimed at direct communion with the inner nature of things, regarding their outward accessories only as impediments to a clear perception of Truth. It was this love of the Abstract that led the Zen to prefer black and white sketches to the elaborately coloured paintings of the classic Buddhist School. Some of the Zen even became iconoclastic as a result of their endeavor to recognise the Buddha in themselves rather than through images and symbolism. We find Tankawosho breaking up a wooden statue of Buddha on a wintry day to make a fire. "What sacrilege!" said the horror-stricken bystander. "I wish to get the Shali out of the ashes," calmly rejoined the Zen. "But you certainly will not get Shali from this image!" was the angry retort, to which Tanka replied, "If I do not, this is certainly not a Buddha and I am committing no sacrilege." Then he turned to warm himself over the kindling fire. A special contribution of Zen to Eastern thought was its recognition of the mundane as of equal importance with the spiritual. It held that in the great relation of things there was no distinction of small and great, an atom possessing equal possibilities with the universe. The seeker for perfection must discover in his own life the reflection of the inner light. The organisation of the Zen monastery was very significant of this point of view. To every member, except the abbot, was assigned some special work in the caretaking of the monastery, and curiously enough, to the novices was committed the lighter duties, while to the most respected and advanced monks were given the more irksome and menial tasks. Such services formed a part of the Zen discipline and every least action must be done absolutely perfectly. Thus many a weighty discussion ensued while weeding the garden, paring a turnip, or serving tea. The whole ideal of Teaism is a result of this Zen conception of greatness in the smallest incidents of life. Taoism furnished the basis for aesthetic ideals, Zennism made them practical. IV. The Tea-Room To European architects brought up on the traditions of stone and brick construction, our Japanese method of building with wood and bamboo seems scarcely worthy to be ranked as architecture. It is but quite recently that a competent student of Western architecture has recognised and paid tribute to the remarkable perfection of our great temples. Such being the case as regards our classic architecture, we could hardly expect the outsider to appreciate the subtle beauty of the tea-room, its principles of construction and decoration being entirely different from those of the West. The tea-room (the Sukiya) does not pretend to be other than a mere cottage--a straw hut, as we call it. The original ideographs for Sukiya mean the Abode of Fancy. Latterly the various tea-masters substituted various Chinese characters according to their conception of the tea-room, and the term Sukiya may signify the Abode of Vacancy or the Abode of the Unsymmetrical. It is an Abode of Fancy inasmuch as it is an ephemeral structure built to house a poetic impulse. It is an Abode of Vacancy inasmuch as it is devoid of ornamentation except for what may be placed in it to satisfy some aesthetic need of the moment. It is an Abode of the Unsymmetrical inasmuch as it is consecrated to the worship of the Imperfect, purposely leaving some thing unfinished for the play of the imagination to complete. The ideals of Teaism have since the sixteenth century influenced our architecture to such degree that the ordinary Japanese interior of the present day, on account of the extreme simplicity and chasteness of its scheme of decoration, appears to foreigners almost barren. The first independent tea-room was the creation of Senno-Soyeki, commonly known by his later name of Rikiu, the greatest of all tea-masters, who, in the sixteenth century, under the patronage of Taiko-Hideyoshi, instituted and brought to a high state of perfection the formalities of the Tea-ceremony. The proportions of the tea-room had been previously determined by Jowo--a famous tea-master of the fifteenth century. The early tea-room consisted merely of a portion of the ordinary drawing-room partitioned off by screens for the purpose of the tea-gathering. The portion partitioned off was called the Kakoi (enclosure), a name still applied to those tea-rooms which are built into a house and are not independent constructions. The Sukiya consists of the tea-room proper, designed to accommodate not more than five persons, a number suggestive of the saying "more than the Graces and less than the Muses," an anteroom (midsuya) where the tea utensils are washed and arranged before being brought in, a portico (machiai) in which the guests wait until they receive the summons to enter the tea-room, and a garden path (the roji) which connects the machiai with the tea-room. The tea-room is unimpressive in appearance. It is smaller than the smallest of Japanese houses, while the materials used in its construction are intended to give the suggestion of refined poverty. Yet we must remember that all this is the result of profound artistic forethought, and that the details have been worked out with care perhaps even greater than that expended on the building of the richest palaces and temples. A good tea-room is more costly than an ordinary mansion, for the selection of its materials, as well as its workmanship, requires immense care and precision. Indeed, the carpenters employed by the tea-masters form a distinct and highly honoured class among artisans, their work being no less delicate than that of the makers of lacquer cabinets. The tea-room is not only different from any production of Western architecture, but also contrasts strongly with the classical architecture of Japan itself. Our ancient noble edifices, whether secular or ecclesiastical, were not to be despised even as regards their mere size. The few that have been spared in the disastrous conflagrations of centuries are still capable of aweing us by the grandeur and richness of their decoration. Huge pillars of wood from two to three feet in diameter and from thirty to forty feet high, supported, by a complicated network of brackets, the enormous beams which groaned under the weight of the tile-covered roofs. The material and mode of construction, though weak against fire, proved itself strong against earthquakes, and was well suited to the climatic conditions of the country. In the Golden Hall of Horiuji and the Pagoda of Yakushiji, we have noteworthy examples of the durability of our wooden architecture. These buildings have practically stood intact for nearly twelve centuries. The interior of the old temples and palaces was profusely decorated. In the Hoodo temple at Uji, dating from the tenth century, we can still see the elaborate canopy and gilded baldachinos, many-coloured and inlaid with mirrors and mother-of-pearl, as well as remains of the paintings and sculpture which formerly covered the walls. Later, at Nikko and in the Nijo castle in Kyoto, we see structural beauty sacrificed to a wealth of ornamentation which in colour and exquisite detail equals the utmost gorgeousness of Arabian or Moorish effort. The simplicity and purism of the tea-room resulted from emulation of the Zen monastery. A Zen monastery differs from those of other Buddhist sects inasmuch as it is meant only to be a dwelling place for the monks. Its chapel is not a place of worship or pilgrimage, but a college room where the students congregate for discussion and the practice of meditation. The room is bare except for a central alcove in which, behind the altar, is a statue of Bodhi Dharma, the founder of the sect, or of Sakyamuni attended by Kashiapa and Ananda, the two earliest Zen patriarchs. On the altar, flowers and incense are offered up in the memory of the great contributions which these sages made to Zen. We have already said that it was the ritual instituted by the Zen monks of successively drinking tea out of a bowl before the image of Bodhi Dharma, which laid the foundations of the tea-ceremony. We might add here that the altar of the Zen chapel was the prototype of the Tokonoma,--the place of honour in a Japanese room where paintings and flowers are placed for the edification of the guests. All our great tea-masters were students of Zen and attempted to introduce the spirit of Zennism into the actualities of life. Thus the room, like the other equipments of the tea-ceremony, reflects many of the Zen doctrines. The size of the orthodox tea-room, which is four mats and a half, or ten feet square, is determined by a passage in the Sutra of Vikramadytia. In that interesting work, Vikramadytia welcomes the Saint Manjushiri and eighty-four thousand disciples of Buddha in a room of this size,--an allegory based on the theory of the non-existence of space to the truly enlightened. Again the roji, the garden path which leads from the machiai to the tea-room, signified the first stage of meditation,--the passage into self-illumination. The roji was intended to break connection with the outside world, and produce a fresh sensation conducive to the full enjoyment of aestheticism in the tea-room itself. One who has trodden this garden path cannot fail to remember how his spirit, as he walked in the twilight of evergreens over the regular irregularities of the stepping stones, beneath which lay dried pine needles, and passed beside the moss-covered granite lanterns, became uplifted above ordinary thoughts. One may be in the midst of a city, and yet feel as if he were in the forest far away from the dust and din of civilisation. Great was the ingenuity displayed by the tea-masters in producing these effects of serenity and purity. The nature of the sensations to be aroused in passing through the roji differed with different tea-masters. Some, like Rikiu, aimed at utter loneliness, and claimed the secret of making a roji was contained in the ancient ditty: "I look beyond; Flowers are not, Nor tinted leaves. On the sea beach A solitary cottage stands In the waning light Of an autumn eve." Others, like Kobori-Enshiu, sought for a different effect. Enshiu said the idea of the garden path was to be found in the following verses: "A cluster of summer trees, A bit of the sea, A pale evening moon." It is not difficult to gather his meaning. He wished to create the attitude of a newly awakened soul still lingering amid shadowy dreams of the past, yet bathing in the sweet unconsciousness of a mellow spiritual light, and yearning for the freedom that lay in the expanse beyond. Thus prepared the guest will silently approach the sanctuary, and, if a samurai, will leave his sword on the rack beneath the eaves, the tea-room being preeminently the house of peace. Then he will bend low and creep into the room through a small door not more than three feet in height. This proceeding was incumbent on all guests,--high and low alike,--and was intended to inculcate humility. The order of precedence having been mutually agreed upon while resting in the machiai, the guests one by one will enter noiselessly and take their seats, first making obeisance to the picture or flower arrangement on the tokonoma. The host will not enter the room until all the guests have seated themselves and quiet reigns with nothing to break the silence save the note of the boiling water in the iron kettle. The kettle sings well, for pieces of iron are so arranged in the bottom as to produce a peculiar melody in which one may hear the echoes of a cataract muffled by clouds, of a distant sea breaking among the rocks, a rainstorm sweeping through a bamboo forest, or of the soughing of pines on some faraway hill. Even in the daytime the light in the room is subdued, for the low eaves of the slanting roof admit but few of the sun's rays. Everything is sober in tint from the ceiling to the floor; the guests themselves have carefully chosen garments of unobtrusive colors. The mellowness of age is over all, everything suggestive of recent acquirement being tabooed save only the one note of contrast furnished by the bamboo dipper and the linen napkin, both immaculately white and new. However faded the tea-room and the tea-equipage may seem, everything is absolutely clean. Not a particle of dust will be found in the darkest corner, for if any exists the host is not a tea-master. One of the first requisites of a tea-master is the knowledge of how to sweep, clean, and wash, for there is an art in cleaning and dusting. A piece of antique metal work must not be attacked with the unscrupulous zeal of the Dutch housewife. Dripping water from a flower vase need not be wiped away, for it may be suggestive of dew and coolness. In this connection there is a story of Rikiu which well illustrates the ideas of cleanliness entertained by the tea-masters. Rikiu was watching his son Shoan as he swept and watered the garden path. "Not clean enough," said Rikiu, when Shoan had finished his task, and bade him try again. After a weary hour the son turned to Rikiu: "Father, there is nothing more to be done. The steps have been washed for the third time, the stone lanterns and the trees are well sprinkled with water, moss and lichens are shining with a fresh verdure; not a twig, not a leaf have I left on the ground." "Young fool," chided the tea-master, "that is not the way a garden path should be swept." Saying this, Rikiu stepped into the garden, shook a tree and scattered over the garden gold and crimson leaves, scraps of the brocade of autumn! What Rikiu demanded was not cleanliness alone, but the beautiful and the natural also. The name, Abode of Fancy, implies a structure created to meet some individual artistic requirement. The tea-room is made for the tea master, not the tea-master for the tea-room. It is not intended for posterity and is therefore ephemeral. The idea that everyone should have a house of his own is based on an ancient custom of the Japanese race, Shinto superstition ordaining that every dwelling should be evacuated on the death of its chief occupant. Perhaps there may have been some unrealized sanitary reason for this practice. Another early custom was that a newly built house should be provided for each couple that married. It is on account of such customs that we find the Imperial capitals so frequently removed from one site to another in ancient days. The rebuilding, every twenty years, of Ise Temple, the supreme shrine of the Sun-Goddess, is an example of one of these ancient rites which still obtain at the present day. The observance of these customs was only possible with some form of construction as that furnished by our system of wooden architecture, easily pulled down, easily built up. A more lasting style, employing brick and stone, would have rendered migrations impracticable, as indeed they became when the more stable and massive wooden construction of China was adopted by us after the Nara period. With the predominance of Zen individualism in the fifteenth century, however, the old idea became imbued with a deeper significance as conceived in connection with the tea-room. Zennism, with the Buddhist theory of evanescence and its demands for the mastery of spirit over matter, recognized the house only as a temporary refuge for the body. The body itself was but as a hut in the wilderness, a flimsy shelter made by tying together the grasses that grew around,--when these ceased to be bound together they again became resolved into the original waste. In the tea-room fugitiveness is suggested in the thatched roof, frailty in the slender pillars, lightness in the bamboo support, apparent carelessness in the use of commonplace materials. The eternal is to be found only in the spirit which, embodied in these simple surroundings, beautifies them with the subtle light of its refinement. That the tea-room should be built to suit some individual taste is an enforcement of the principle of vitality in art. Art, to be fully appreciated, must be true to contemporaneous life. It is not that we should ignore the claims of posterity, but that we should seek to enjoy the present more. It is not that we should disregard the creations of the past, but that we should try to assimilate them into our consciousness. Slavish conformity to traditions and formulas fetters the expression of individuality in architecture. We can but weep over the senseless imitations of European buildings which one beholds in modern Japan. We marvel why, among the most progressive Western nations, architecture should be so devoid of originality, so replete with repetitions of obsolete styles. Perhaps we are passing through an age of democratisation in art, while awaiting the rise of some princely master who shall establish a new dynasty. Would that we loved the ancients more and copied them less! It has been said that the Greeks were great because they never drew from the antique. The term, Abode of Vacancy, besides conveying the Taoist theory of the all-containing, involves the conception of a continued need of change in decorative motives. The tea-room is absolutely empty, except for what may be placed there temporarily to satisfy some aesthetic mood. Some special art object is brought in for the occasion, and everything else is selected and arranged to enhance the beauty of the principal theme. One cannot listen to different pieces of music at the same time, a real comprehension of the beautiful being possible only through concentration upon some central motive. Thus it will be seen that the system of decoration in our tea-rooms is opposed to that which obtains in the West, where the interior of a house is often converted into a museum. To a Japanese, accustomed to simplicity of ornamentation and frequent change of decorative method, a Western interior permanently filled with a vast array of pictures, statuary, and bric-a-brac gives the impression of mere vulgar display of riches. It calls for a mighty wealth of appreciation to enjoy the constant sight of even a masterpiece, and limitless indeed must be the capacity for artistic feeling in those who can exist day after day in the midst of such confusion of color and form as is to be often seen in the homes of Europe and America. The "Abode of the Unsymmetrical" suggests another phase of our decorative scheme. The absence of symmetry in Japanese art objects has been often commented on by Western critics. This, also, is a result of a working out through Zennism of Taoist ideals. Confucianism, with its deep-seated idea of dualism, and Northern Buddhism with its worship of a trinity, were in no way opposed to the expression of symmetry. As a matter of fact, if we study the ancient bronzes of China or the religious arts of the Tang dynasty and the Nara period, we shall recognize a constant striving after symmetry. The decoration of our classical interiors was decidedly regular in its arrangement. The Taoist and Zen conception of perfection, however, was different. The dynamic nature of their philosophy laid more stress upon the process through which perfection was sought than upon perfection itself. True beauty could be discovered only by one who mentally completed the incomplete. The virility of life and art lay in its possibilities for growth. In the tea-room it is left for each guest in imagination to complete the total effect in relation to himself. Since Zennism has become the prevailing mode of thought, the art of the extreme Orient has purposefully avoided the symmetrical as expressing not only completion, but repetition. Uniformity of design was considered fatal to the freshness of imagination. Thus, landscapes, birds, and flowers became the favorite subjects for depiction rather than the human figure, the latter being present in the person of the beholder himself. We are often too much in evidence as it is, and in spite of our vanity even self-regard is apt to become monotonous. In the tea-room the fear of repetition is a constant presence. The various objects for the decoration of a room should be so selected that no colour or design shall be repeated. If you have a living flower, a painting of flowers is not allowable. If you are using a round kettle, the water pitcher should be angular. A cup with a black glaze should not be associated with a tea-caddy of black lacquer. In placing a vase of an incense burner on the tokonoma, care should be taken not to put it in the exact centre, lest it divide the space into equal halves. The pillar of the tokonoma should be of a different kind of wood from the other pillars, in order to break any suggestion of monotony in the room. Here again the Japanese method of interior decoration differs from that of the Occident, where we see objects arrayed symmetrically on mantelpieces and elsewhere. In Western houses we are often confronted with what appears to us useless reiteration. We find it trying to talk to a man while his full-length portrait stares at us from behind his back. We wonder which is real, he of the picture or he who talks, and feel a curious conviction that one of them must be fraud. Many a time have we sat at a festive board contemplating, with a secret shock to our digestion, the representation of abundance on the dining-room walls. Why these pictured victims of chase and sport, the elaborate carvings of fishes and fruit? Why the display of family plates, reminding us of those who have dined and are dead? The simplicity of the tea-room and its freedom from vulgarity make it truly a sanctuary from the vexations of the outer world. There and there alone one can consecrate himself to undisturbed adoration of the beautiful. In the sixteenth century the tea-room afforded a welcome respite from labour to the fierce warriors and statesmen engaged in the unification and reconstruction of Japan. In the seventeenth century, after the strict formalism of the Tokugawa rule had been developed, it offered the only opportunity possible for the free communion of artistic spirits. Before a great work of art there was no distinction between daimyo, samurai, and commoner. Nowadays industrialism is making true refinement more and more difficult all the world over. Do we not need the tea-room more than ever? V. Art Appreciation Have you heard the Taoist tale of the Taming of the Harp? Once in the hoary ages in the Ravine of Lungmen stood a Kiri tree, a veritable king of the forest. It reared its head to talk to the stars; its roots struck deep into the earth, mingling their bronzed coils with those of the silver dragon that slept beneath. And it came to pass that a mighty wizard made of this tree a wondrous harp, whose stubborn spirit should be tamed but by the greatest of musicians. For long the instrument was treasured by the Emperor of China, but all in vain were the efforts of those who in turn tried to draw melody from its strings. In response to their utmost strivings there came from the harp but harsh notes of disdain, ill-according with the songs they fain would sing. The harp refused to recognise a master. At last came Peiwoh, the prince of harpists. With tender hand he caressed the harp as one might seek to soothe an unruly horse, and softly touched the chords. He sang of nature and the seasons, of high mountains and flowing waters, and all the memories of the tree awoke! Once more the sweet breath of spring played amidst its branches. The young cataracts, as they danced down the ravine, laughed to the budding flowers. Anon were heard the dreamy voices of summer with its myriad insects, the gentle pattering of rain, the wail of the cuckoo. Hark! a tiger roars,--the valley answers again. It is autumn; in the desert night, sharp like a sword gleams the moon upon the frosted grass. Now winter reigns, and through the snow-filled air swirl flocks of swans and rattling hailstones beat upon the boughs with fierce delight. Then Peiwoh changed the key and sang of love. The forest swayed like an ardent swain deep lost in thought. On high, like a haughty maiden, swept a cloud bright and fair; but passing, trailed long shadows on the ground, black like despair. Again the mode was changed; Peiwoh sang of war, of clashing steel and trampling steeds. And in the harp arose the tempest of Lungmen, the dragon rode the lightning, the thundering avalanche crashed through the hills. In ecstasy the Celestial monarch asked Peiwoh wherein lay the secret of his victory. "Sire," he replied, "others have failed because they sang but of themselves. I left the harp to choose its theme, and knew not truly whether the harp had been Peiwoh or Peiwoh were the harp." This story well illustrates the mystery of art appreciation. The masterpiece is a symphony played upon our finest feelings. True art is Peiwoh, and we the harp of Lungmen. At the magic touch of the beautiful the secret chords of our being are awakened, we vibrate and thrill in response to its call. Mind speaks to mind. We listen to the unspoken, we gaze upon the unseen. The master calls forth notes we know not of. Memories long forgotten all come back to us with a new significance. Hopes stifled by fear, yearnings that we dare not recognise, stand forth in new glory. Our mind is the canvas on which the artists lay their colour; their pigments are our emotions; their chiaroscuro the light of joy, the shadow of sadness. The masterpiece is of ourselves, as we are of the masterpiece. The sympathetic communion of minds necessary for art appreciation must be based on mutual concession. The spectator must cultivate the proper attitude for receiving the message, as the artist must know how to impart it. The tea-master, Kobori-Enshiu, himself a daimyo, has left to us these memorable words: "Approach a great painting as thou wouldst approach a great prince." In order to understand a masterpiece, you must lay yourself low before it and await with bated breath its least utterance. An eminent Sung critic once made a charming confession. Said he: "In my young days I praised the master whose pictures I liked, but as my judgement matured I praised myself for liking what the masters had chosen to have me like." It is to be deplored that so few of us really take pains to study the moods of the masters. In our stubborn ignorance we refuse to render them this simple courtesy, and thus often miss the rich repast of beauty spread before our very eyes. A master has always something to offer, while we go hungry solely because of our own lack of appreciation. To the sympathetic a masterpiece becomes a living reality towards which we feel drawn in bonds of comradeship. The masters are immortal, for their loves and fears live in us over and over again. It is rather the soul than the hand, the man than the technique, which appeals to us,--the more human the call the deeper is our response. It is because of this secret understanding between the master and ourselves that in poetry or romance we suffer and rejoice with the hero and heroine. Chikamatsu, our Japanese Shakespeare, has laid down as one of the first principles of dramatic composition the importance of taking the audience into the confidence of the author. Several of his pupils submitted plays for his approval, but only one of the pieces appealed to him. It was a play somewhat resembling the Comedy of Errors, in which twin brethren suffer through mistaken identity. "This," said Chikamatsu, "has the proper spirit of the drama, for it takes the audience into consideration. The public is permitted to know more than the actors. It knows where the mistake lies, and pities the poor figures on the board who innocently rush to their fate." The great masters both of the East and the West never forgot the value of suggestion as a means for taking the spectator into their confidence. Who can contemplate a masterpiece without being awed by the immense vista of thought presented to our consideration? How familiar and sympathetic are they all; how cold in contrast the modern commonplaces! In the former we feel the warm outpouring of a man's heart; in the latter only a formal salute. Engrossed in his technique, the modern rarely rises above himself. Like the musicians who vainly invoked the Lungmen harp, he sings only of himself. His works may be nearer science, but are further from humanity. We have an old saying in Japan that a woman cannot love a man who is truly vain, for their is no crevice in his heart for love to enter and fill up. In art vanity is equally fatal to sympathetic feeling, whether on the part of the artist or the public. Nothing is more hallowing than the union of kindred spirits in art. At the moment of meeting, the art lover transcends himself. At once he is and is not. He catches a glimpse of Infinity, but words cannot voice his delight, for the eye has no tongue. Freed from the fetters of matter, his spirit moves in the rhythm of things. It is thus that art becomes akin to religion and ennobles mankind. It is this which makes a masterpiece something sacred. In the old days the veneration in which the Japanese held the work of the great artist was intense. The tea-masters guarded their treasures with religious secrecy, and it was often necessary to open a whole series of boxes, one within another, before reaching the shrine itself--the silken wrapping within whose soft folds lay the holy of holies. Rarely was the object exposed to view, and then only to the initiated. At the time when Teaism was in the ascendency the Taiko's generals would be better satisfied with the present of a rare work of art than a large grant of territory as a reward of victory. Many of our favourite dramas are based on the loss and recovery of a noted masterpiece. For instance, in one play the palace of Lord Hosokawa, in which was preserved the celebrated painting of Dharuma by Sesson, suddenly takes fire through the negligence of the samurai in charge. Resolved at all hazards to rescue the precious painting, he rushes into the burning building and seizes the kakemono, only to find all means of exit cut off by the flames. Thinking only of the picture, he slashes open his body with his sword, wraps his torn sleeve about the Sesson and plunges it into the gaping wound. The fire is at last extinguished. Among the smoking embers is found a half-consumed corpse, within which reposes the treasure uninjured by the fire. Horrible as such tales are, they illustrate the great value that we set upon a masterpiece, as well as the devotion of a trusted samurai. We must remember, however, that art is of value only to the extent that it speaks to us. It might be a universal language if we ourselves were universal in our sympathies. Our finite nature, the power of tradition and conventionality, as well as our hereditary instincts, restrict the scope of our capacity for artistic enjoyment. Our very individuality establishes in one sense a limit to our understanding; and our aesthetic personality seeks its own affinities in the creations of the past. It is true that with cultivation our sense of art appreciation broadens, and we become able to enjoy many hitherto unrecognised expressions of beauty. But, after all, we see only our own image in the universe,--our particular idiosyncracies dictate the mode of our perceptions. The tea-masters collected only objects which fell strictly within the measure of their individual appreciation. One is reminded in this connection of a story concerning Kobori-Enshiu. Enshiu was complimented by his disciples on the admirable taste he had displayed in the choice of his collection. Said they, "Each piece is such that no one could help admiring. It shows that you had better taste than had Rikiu, for his collection could only be appreciated by one beholder in a thousand." Sorrowfully Enshiu replied: "This only proves how commonplace I am. The great Rikiu dared to love only those objects which personally appealed to him, whereas I unconsciously cater to the taste of the majority. Verily, Rikiu was one in a thousand among tea-masters." It is much to be regretted that so much of the apparent enthusiasm for art at the present day has no foundation in real feeling. In this democratic age of ours men clamour for what is popularly considered the best, regardless of their feelings. They want the costly, not the refined; the fashionable, not the beautiful. To the masses, contemplation of illustrated periodicals, the worthy product of their own industrialism, would give more digestible food for artistic enjoyment than the early Italians or the Ashikaga masters, whom they pretend to admire. The name of the artist is more important to them than the quality of the work. As a Chinese critic complained many centuries ago, "People criticise a picture by their ear." It is this lack of genuine appreciation that is responsible for the pseudo-classic horrors that to-day greet us wherever we turn. Another common mistake is that of confusing art with archaeology. The veneration born of antiquity is one of the best traits in the human character, and fain would we have it cultivated to a greater extent. The old masters are rightly to be honoured for opening the path to future enlightenment. The mere fact that they have passed unscathed through centuries of criticism and come down to us still covered with glory commands our respect. But we should be foolish indeed if we valued their achievement simply on the score of age. Yet we allow our historical sympathy to override our aesthetic discrimination. We offer flowers of approbation when the artist is safely laid in his grave. The nineteenth century, pregnant with the theory of evolution, has moreover created in us the habit of losing sight of the individual in the species. A collector is anxious to acquire specimens to illustrate a period or a school, and forgets that a single masterpiece can teach us more than any number of the mediocre products of a given period or school. We classify too much and enjoy too little. The sacrifice of the aesthetic to the so-called scientific method of exhibition has been the bane of many museums. The claims of contemporary art cannot be ignored in any vital scheme of life. The art of to-day is that which really belongs to us: it is our own reflection. In condemning it we but condemn ourselves. We say that the present age possesses no art:--who is responsible for this? It is indeed a shame that despite all our rhapsodies about the ancients we pay so little attention to our own possibilities. Struggling artists, weary souls lingering in the shadow of cold disdain! In our self-centered century, what inspiration do we offer them? The past may well look with pity at the poverty of our civilisation; the future will laugh at the barrenness of our art. We are destroying the beautiful in life. Would that some great wizard might from the stem of society shape a mighty harp whose strings would resound to the touch of genius. VI. Flowers In the trembling grey of a spring dawn, when the birds were whispering in mysterious cadence among the trees, have you not felt that they were talking to their mates about the flowers? Surely with mankind the appreciation of flowers must have been coeval with the poetry of love. Where better than in a flower, sweet in its unconsciousness, fragrant because of its silence, can we image the unfolding of a virgin soul? The primeval man in offering the first garland to his maiden thereby transcended the brute. He became human in thus rising above the crude necessities of nature. He entered the realm of art when he perceived the subtle use of the useless. In joy or sadness, flowers are our constant friends. We eat, drink, sing, dance, and flirt with them. We wed and christen with flowers. We dare not die without them. We have worshipped with the lily, we have meditated with the lotus, we have charged in battle array with the rose and the chrysanthemum. We have even attempted to speak in the language of flowers. How could we live without them? It frightens one to conceive of a world bereft of their presence. What solace do they not bring to the bedside of the sick, what a light of bliss to the darkness of weary spirits? Their serene tenderness restores to us our waning confidence in the universe even as the intent gaze of a beautiful child recalls our lost hopes. When we are laid low in the dust it is they who linger in sorrow over our graves. Sad as it is, we cannot conceal the fact that in spite of our companionship with flowers we have not risen very far above the brute. Scratch the sheepskin and the wolf within us will soon show his teeth. It has been said that a man at ten is an animal, at twenty a lunatic, at thirty a failure, at forty a fraud, and at fifty a criminal. Perhaps he becomes a criminal because he has never ceased to be an animal. Nothing is real to us but hunger, nothing sacred except our own desires. Shrine after shrine has crumbled before our eyes; but one altar is forever preserved, that whereon we burn incense to the supreme idol,--ourselves. Our god is great, and money is his Prophet! We devastate nature in order to make sacrifice to him. We boast that we have conquered Matter and forget that it is Matter that has enslaved us. What atrocities do we not perpetrate in the name of culture and refinement! Tell me, gentle flowers, teardrops of the stars, standing in the garden, nodding your heads to the bees as they sing of the dews and the sunbeams, are you aware of the fearful doom that awaits you? Dream on, sway and frolic while you may in the gentle breezes of summer. To-morrow a ruthless hand will close around your throats. You will be wrenched, torn asunder limb by limb, and borne away from your quiet homes. The wretch, she may be passing fair. She may say how lovely you are while her fingers are still moist with your blood. Tell me, will this be kindness? It may be your fate to be imprisoned in the hair of one whom you know to be heartless or to be thrust into the buttonhole of one who would not dare to look you in the face were you a man. It may even be your lot to be confined in some narrow vessel with only stagnant water to quench the maddening thirst that warns of ebbing life. Flowers, if you were in the land of the Mikado, you might some time meet a dread personage armed with scissors and a tiny saw. He would call himself a Master of Flowers. He would claim the rights of a doctor and you would instinctively hate him, for you know a doctor always seeks to prolong the troubles of his victims. He would cut, bend, and twist you into those impossible positions which he thinks it proper that you should assume. He would contort your muscles and dislocate your bones like any osteopath. He would burn you with red-hot coals to stop your bleeding, and thrust wires into you to assist your circulation. He would diet you with salt, vinegar, alum, and sometimes, vitriol. Boiling water would be poured on your feet when you seemed ready to faint. It would be his boast that he could keep life within you for two or more weeks longer than would have been possible without his treatment. Would you not have preferred to have been killed at once when you were first captured? What were the crimes you must have committed during your past incarnation to warrant such punishment in this? The wanton waste of flowers among Western communities is even more appalling than the way they are treated by Eastern Flower Masters. The number of flowers cut daily to adorn the ballrooms and banquet-tables of Europe and America, to be thrown away on the morrow, must be something enormous; if strung together they might garland a continent. Beside this utter carelessness of life, the guilt of the Flower-Master becomes insignificant. He, at least, respects the economy of nature, selects his victims with careful foresight, and after death does honour to their remains. In the West the display of flowers seems to be a part of the pageantry of wealth,--the fancy of a moment. Whither do they all go, these flowers, when the revelry is over? Nothing is more pitiful than to see a faded flower remorselessly flung upon a dung heap. Why were the flowers born so beautiful and yet so hapless? Insects can sting, and even the meekest of beasts will fight when brought to bay. The birds whose plumage is sought to deck some bonnet can fly from its pursuer, the furred animal whose coat you covet for your own may hide at your approach. Alas! The only flower known to have wings is the butterfly; all others stand helpless before the destroyer. If they shriek in their death agony their cry never reaches our hardened ears. We are ever brutal to those who love and serve us in silence, but the time may come when, for our cruelty, we shall be deserted by these best friends of ours. Have you not noticed that the wild flowers are becoming scarcer every year? It may be that their wise men have told them to depart till man becomes more human. Perhaps they have migrated to heaven. Much may be said in favor of him who cultivates plants. The man of the pot is far more humane than he of the scissors. We watch with delight his concern about water and sunshine, his feuds with parasites, his horror of frosts, his anxiety when the buds come slowly, his rapture when the leaves attain their lustre. In the East the art of floriculture is a very ancient one, and the loves of a poet and his favorite plant have often been recorded in story and song. With the development of ceramics during the Tang and Sung dynasties we hear of wonderful receptacles made to hold plants, not pots, but jewelled palaces. A special attendant was detailed to wait upon each flower and to wash its leaves with soft brushes made of rabbit hair. It has been written ["Pingtse", by Yuenchunlang] that the peony should be bathed by a handsome maiden in full costume, that a winter-plum should be watered by a pale, slender monk. In Japan, one of the most popular of the No-dances, the Hachinoki, composed during the Ashikaga period, is based upon the story of an impoverished knight, who, on a freezing night, in lack of fuel for a fire, cuts his cherished plants in order to entertain a wandering friar. The friar is in reality no other than Hojo-Tokiyori, the Haroun-Al-Raschid of our tales, and the sacrifice is not without its reward. This opera never fails to draw tears from a Tokio audience even to-day. Great precautions were taken for the preservation of delicate blossoms. Emperor Huensung, of the Tang Dynasty, hung tiny golden bells on the branches in his garden to keep off the birds. He it was who went off in the springtime with his court musicians to gladden the flowers with soft music. A quaint tablet, which tradition ascribes to Yoshitsune, the hero of our Arthurian legends, is still extant in one of the Japanese monasteries [Sumadera, near Kobe]. It is a notice put up for the protection of a certain wonderful plum-tree, and appeals to us with the grim humour of a warlike age. After referring to the beauty of the blossoms, the inscription says: "Whoever cuts a single branch of this tree shall forfeit a finger therefor." Would that such laws could be enforced nowadays against those who wantonly destroy flowers and mutilate objects of art! Yet even in the case of pot flowers we are inclined to suspect the selfishness of man. Why take the plants from their homes and ask them to bloom mid strange surroundings? Is it not like asking the birds to sing and mate cooped up in cages? Who knows but that the orchids feel stifled by the artificial heat in your conservatories and hopelessly long for a glimpse of their own Southern skies? The ideal lover of flowers is he who visits them in their native haunts, like Taoyuenming [all celebrated Chinese poets and philosophers], who sat before a broken bamboo fence in converse with the wild chrysanthemum, or Linwosing, losing himself amid mysterious fragrance as he wandered in the twilight among the plum-blossoms of the Western Lake. 'Tis said that Chowmushih slept in a boat so that his dreams might mingle with those of the lotus. It was the same spirit which moved the Empress Komio, one of our most renowned Nara sovereigns, as she sang: "If I pluck thee, my hand will defile thee, O flower! Standing in the meadows as thou art, I offer thee to the Buddhas of the past, of the present, of the future." However, let us not be too sentimental. Let us be less luxurious but more magnificent. Said Laotse: "Heaven and earth are pitiless." Said Kobodaishi: "Flow, flow, flow, flow, the current of life is ever onward. Die, die, die, die, death comes to all." Destruction faces us wherever we turn. Destruction below and above, destruction behind and before. Change is the only Eternal,--why not as welcome Death as Life? They are but counterparts one of the other,--The Night and Day of Brahma. Through the disintegration of the old, re-creation becomes possible. We have worshipped Death, the relentless goddess of mercy, under many different names. It was the shadow of the All-devouring that the Gheburs greeted in the fire. It is the icy purism of the sword-soul before which Shinto-Japan prostrates herself even to-day. The mystic fire consumes our weakness, the sacred sword cleaves the bondage of desire. From our ashes springs the phoenix of celestial hope, out of the freedom comes a higher realisation of manhood. Why not destroy flowers if thereby we can evolve new forms ennobling the world idea? We only ask them to join in our sacrifice to the beautiful. We shall atone for the deed by consecrating ourselves to Purity and Simplicity. Thus reasoned the tea-masters when they established the Cult of Flowers. Anyone acquainted with the ways of our tea- and flower-masters must have noticed the religious veneration with which they regard flowers. They do not cull at random, but carefully select each branch or spray with an eye to the artistic composition they have in mind. They would be ashamed should they chance to cut more than were absolutely necessary. It may be remarked in this connection that they always associate the leaves, if there be any, with the flower, for the object is to present the whole beauty of plant life. In this respect, as in many others, their method differs from that pursued in Western countries. Here we are apt to see only the flower stems, heads as it were, without body, stuck promiscuously into a vase. When a tea-master has arranged a flower to his satisfaction he will place it on the tokonoma, the place of honour in a Japanese room. Nothing else will be placed near it which might interfere with its effect, not even a painting, unless there be some special aesthetic reason for the combination. It rests there like an enthroned prince, and the guests or disciples on entering the room will salute it with a profound bow before making their addresses to the host. Drawings from masterpieces are made and published for the edification of amateurs. The amount of literature on the subject is quite voluminous. When the flower fades, the master tenderly consigns it to the river or carefully buries it in the ground. Monuments are sometimes erected to their memory. The birth of the Art of Flower Arrangement seems to be simultaneous with that of Teaism in the fifteenth century. Our legends ascribe the first flower arrangement to those early Buddhist saints who gathered the flowers strewn by the storm and, in their infinite solicitude for all living things, placed them in vessels of water. It is said that Soami, the great painter and connoisseur of the court of Ashikaga-Yoshimasa, was one of the earliest adepts at it. Juko, the tea-master, was one of his pupils, as was also Senno, the founder of the house of Ikenobo, a family as illustrious in the annals of flowers as was that of the Kanos in painting. With the perfecting of the tea-ritual under Rikiu, in the latter part of the sixteenth century, flower arrangement also attains its full growth. Rikiu and his successors, the celebrated Oda-wuraka, Furuka-Oribe, Koyetsu, Kobori-Enshiu, Katagiri-Sekishiu, vied with each other in forming new combinations. We must remember, however, that the flower-worship of the tea-masters formed only a part of their aesthetic ritual, and was not a distinct religion by itself. A flower arrangement, like the other works of art in the tea-room, was subordinated to the total scheme of decoration. Thus Sekishiu ordained that white plum blossoms should not be made use of when snow lay in the garden. "Noisy" flowers were relentlessly banished from the tea-room. A flower arrangement by a tea-master loses its significance if removed from the place for which it was originally intended, for its lines and proportions have been specially worked out with a view to its surroundings. The adoration of the flower for its own sake begins with the rise of "Flower-Masters," toward the middle of the seventeenth century. It now becomes independent of the tea-room and knows no law save that the vase imposes on it. New conceptions and methods of execution now become possible, and many were the principles and schools resulting therefrom. A writer in the middle of the last century said he could count over one hundred different schools of flower arrangement. Broadly speaking, these divide themselves into two main branches, the Formalistic and the Naturalesque. The Formalistic schools, led by the Ikenobos, aimed at a classic idealism corresponding to that of the Kano-academicians. We possess records of arrangements by the early masters of the school which almost reproduce the flower paintings of Sansetsu and Tsunenobu. The Naturalesque school, on the other hand, accepted nature as its model, only imposing such modifications of form as conduced to the expression of artistic unity. Thus we recognise in its works the same impulses which formed the Ukiyoe and Shijo schools of painting. It would be interesting, had we time, to enter more fully than it is now possible into the laws of composition and detail formulated by the various flower-masters of this period, showing, as they would, the fundamental theories which governed Tokugawa decoration. We find them referring to the Leading Principle (Heaven), the Subordinate Principle (Earth), the Reconciling Principle (Man), and any flower arrangement which did not embody these principles was considered barren and dead. They also dwelt much on the importance of treating a flower in its three different aspects, the Formal, the Semi-Formal, and the Informal. The first might be said to represent flowers in the stately costume of the ballroom, the second in the easy elegance of afternoon dress, the third in the charming deshabille of the boudoir. Our personal sympathies are with the flower-arrangements of the tea-master rather than with those of the flower-master. The former is art in its proper setting and appeals to us on account of its true intimacy with life. We should like to call this school the Natural in contradistinction to the Naturalesque and Formalistic schools. The tea-master deems his duty ended with the selection of the flowers, and leaves them to tell their own story. Entering a tea-room in late winter, you may see a slender spray of wild cherries in combination with a budding camellia; it is an echo of departing winter coupled with the prophecy of spring. Again, if you go into a noon-tea on some irritatingly hot summer day, you may discover in the darkened coolness of the tokonoma a single lily in a hanging vase; dripping with dew, it seems to smile at the foolishness of life. A solo of flowers is interesting, but in a concerto with painting and sculpture the combination becomes entrancing. Sekishiu once placed some water-plants in a flat receptacle to suggest the vegetation of lakes and marshes, and on the wall above he hung a painting by Soami of wild ducks flying in the air. Shoha, another tea-master, combined a poem on the Beauty of Solitude by the Sea with a bronze incense burner in the form of a fisherman's hut and some wild flowers of the beach. One of the guests has recorded that he felt in the whole composition the breath of waning autumn. Flower stories are endless. We shall recount but one more. In the sixteenth century the morning-glory was as yet a rare plant with us. Rikiu had an entire garden planted with it, which he cultivated with assiduous care. The fame of his convulvuli reached the ear of the Taiko, and he expressed a desire to see them, in consequence of which Rikiu invited him to a morning tea at his house. On the appointed day Taiko walked through the garden, but nowhere could he see any vestige of the convulvulus. The ground had been leveled and strewn with fine pebbles and sand. With sullen anger the despot entered the tea-room, but a sight waited him there which completely restored his humour. On the tokonoma, in a rare bronze of Sung workmanship, lay a single morning-glory--the queen of the whole garden! In such instances we see the full significance of the Flower Sacrifice. Perhaps the flowers appreciate the full significance of it. They are not cowards, like men. Some flowers glory in death--certainly the Japanese cherry blossoms do, as they freely surrender themselves to the winds. Anyone who has stood before the fragrant avalanche at Yoshino or Arashiyama must have realized this. For a moment they hover like bejewelled clouds and dance above the crystal streams; then, as they sail away on the laughing waters, they seem to say: "Farewell, O Spring! We are on to eternity." VII. Tea-Masters In religion the Future is behind us. In art the present is the eternal. The tea-masters held that real appreciation of art is only possible to those who make of it a living influence. Thus they sought to regulate their daily life by the high standard of refinement which obtained in the tea-room. In all circumstances serenity of mind should be maintained, and conversation should be conducted as never to mar the harmony of the surroundings. The cut and color of the dress, the poise of the body, and the manner of walking could all be made expressions of artistic personality. These were matters not to be lightly ignored, for until one has made himself beautiful he has no right to approach beauty. Thus the tea-master strove to be something more than the artist,--art itself. It was the Zen of aestheticism. Perfection is everywhere if we only choose to recognise it. Rikiu loved to quote an old poem which says: "To those who long only for flowers, fain would I show the full-blown spring which abides in the toiling buds of snow-covered hills." Manifold indeed have been the contributions of the tea-masters to art. They completely revolutionised the classical architecture and interior decorations, and established the new style which we have described in the chapter of the tea-room, a style to whose influence even the palaces and monasteries built after the sixteenth century have all been subject. The many-sided Kobori-Enshiu has left notable examples of his genius in the Imperial villa of Katsura, the castles of Nagoya and Nijo, and the monastery of Kohoan. All the celebrated gardens of Japan were laid out by the tea-masters. Our pottery would probably never have attained its high quality of excellence if the tea-masters had not lent it to their inspiration, the manufacture of the utensils used in the tea-ceremony calling forth the utmost expenditure of ingenuity on the parts of our ceramists. The Seven Kilns of Enshiu are well known to all students of Japanese pottery. Many of our textile fabrics bear the names of tea-masters who conceived their color or design. It is impossible, indeed, to find any department of art in which the tea-masters have not left marks of their genius. In painting and lacquer it seems almost superfluous to mention the immense services they have rendered. One of the greatest schools of painting owes its origin to the tea-master Honnami-Koyetsu, famed also as a lacquer artist and potter. Beside his works, the splendid creation of his grandson, Koho, and of his grand-nephews, Korin and Kenzan, almost fall into the shade. The whole Korin school, as it is generally designated, is an expression of Teaism. In the broad lines of this school we seem to find the vitality of nature herself. Great as has been the influence of the tea-masters in the field of art, it is as nothing compared to that which they have exerted on the conduct of life. Not only in the usages of polite society, but also in the arrangement of all our domestic details, do we feel the presence of the tea-masters. Many of our delicate dishes, as well as our way of serving food, are their inventions. They have taught us to dress only in garments of sober colors. They have instructed us in the proper spirit in which to approach flowers. They have given emphasis to our natural love of simplicity, and shown us the beauty of humility. In fact, through their teachings tea has entered the life of the people. Those of us who know not the secret of properly regulating our own existence on this tumultuous sea of foolish troubles which we call life are constantly in a state of misery while vainly trying to appear happy and contented. We stagger in the attempt to keep our moral equilibrium, and see forerunners of the tempest in every cloud that floats on the horizon. Yet there is joy and beauty in the roll of billows as they sweep outward toward eternity. Why not enter into their spirit, or, like Liehtse, ride upon the hurricane itself? He only who has lived with the beautiful can die beautifully. The last moments of the great tea-masters were as full of exquisite refinement as had been their lives. Seeking always to be in harmony with the great rhythm of the universe, they were ever prepared to enter the unknown. The "Last Tea of Rikiu" will stand forth forever as the acme of tragic grandeur. Long had been the friendship between Rikiu and the Taiko-Hideyoshi, and high the estimation in which the great warrior held the tea-master. But the friendship of a despot is ever a dangerous honour. It was an age rife with treachery, and men trusted not even their nearest kin. Rikiu was no servile courtier, and had often dared to differ in argument with his fierce patron. Taking advantage of the coldness which had for some time existed between the Taiko and Rikiu, the enemies of the latter accused him of being implicated in a conspiracy to poison the despot. It was whispered to Hideyoshi that the fatal potion was to be administered to him with a cup of the green beverage prepared by the tea-master. With Hideyoshi suspicion was sufficient ground for instant execution, and there was no appeal from the will of the angry ruler. One privilege alone was granted to the condemned--the honor of dying by his own hand. On the day destined for his self-immolation, Rikiu invited his chief disciples to a last tea-ceremony. Mournfully at the appointed time the guests met at the portico. As they look into the garden path the trees seem to shudder, and in the rustling of their leaves are heard the whispers of homeless ghosts. Like solemn sentinels before the gates of Hades stand the grey stone lanterns. A wave of rare incense is wafted from the tea-room; it is the summons which bids the guests to enter. One by one they advance and take their places. In the tokonoma hangs a kakemon,--a wonderful writing by an ancient monk dealing with the evanescence of all earthly things. The singing kettle, as it boils over the brazier, sounds like some cicada pouring forth his woes to departing summer. Soon the host enters the room. Each in turn is served with tea, and each in turn silently drains his cup, the host last of all. According to established etiquette, the chief guest now asks permission to examine the tea-equipage. Rikiu places the various articles before them, with the kakemono. After all have expressed admiration of their beauty, Rikiu presents one of them to each of the assembled company as a souvenir. The bowl alone he keeps. "Never again shall this cup, polluted by the lips of misfortune, be used by man." He speaks, and breaks the vessel into fragments. The ceremony is over; the guests with difficulty restraining their tears, take their last farewell and leave the room. One only, the nearest and dearest, is requested to remain and witness the end. Rikiu then removes his tea-gown and carefully folds it upon the mat, thereby disclosing the immaculate white death robe which it had hitherto concealed. Tenderly he gazes on the shining blade of the fatal dagger, and in exquisite verse thus addresses it: "Welcome to thee, O sword of eternity! Through Buddha And through Dharuma alike Thou hast cleft thy way." With a smile upon his face Rikiu passed forth into the unknown. 
7936	----	[Illustration: Cover art: THE TORII OF THE TEMPLE] [Frontispiece: OUTSIDE A TEA-HOUSE] PEEPS AT MANY LANDS JAPAN BY JOHN FINNEMORE WITH TWELVE FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR BY ELLA DU CANE CONTENTS CHAPTER I. THE LAND OF THE RISING SUN II. BOYS AND GIRLS IN JAPAN III. BOYS AND GIRLS IN JAPAN (_continued_) IV. THE JAPANESE BOY V. THE JAPANESE GIRL VI. IN THE HOUSE VII. IN THE HOUSE (_continued_) VIII. A JAPANESE DAY IX. A JAPANESE DAY (_continued_) X. JAPANESE GAMES XI. THE FEAST OF DOLLS AND THE FEAST OF FLAGS XII. A FARTHING'S WORTH OF FUN XIII. KITE-FLYING XIV. FAIRY STORIES XV. TEA-HOUSES AND TEMPLES XVI. TEA-HOUSES AND TEMPLES (_continued_) XVII. THE RICKSHAW-MAN XVIII. IN THE COUNTRY XIX. IN THE COUNTRY (_continued_) XX. THE POLICEMAN AND THE SOLDIER XXI. TWO GREAT FESTIVALS LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS BY ELLA DU CANE OUTSIDE A TEA-HOUSE _Sketch-Map of Japan_ THE LITTLE NURSE THE WRITING LESSON GOING TO THE TEMPLE A JAPANESE HOUSE OFFERING TEA TO A GUEST FIGHTING TOPS THE TOY SHOP A BUDDHIST SHRINE PEACH TREES IN BLOSSOM THE FEAST OF FLAGS THE TORII OF THE TEMPLE [Illustration: SKETCH-MAP OF JAPAN] [Illustration: THE LITTLE NURSE] CHAPTER I THE LAND OF THE RISING SUN Far away from our land, on the other side of the world, lies a group of islands which form the kingdom of Japan. The word "Japan" means the "Land of the Rising Sun," and it is certainly a good name for a country of the Far East, the land of sunrise. The flag of Japan, too, is painted with a rising sun which sheds its beams on every hand, and this flag is now for ever famous, so great and wonderful have been the victories in which it has been borne triumphant over Russian arms. In some ways the Japanese are fond of comparing themselves with their English friends and allies. They point out that Japan is a cluster of islands off the coast of Asia, as Britain is a cluster of islands off the coast of Europe. They have proved themselves, like the English, brave and clever on the sea, while their troops have fought as nobly as British soldiers on the land. They are fond of calling themselves the "English of the East," and say that their land is the "Britain of the Pacific." The rise of Japan in becoming one of the Great Powers of the world has been very sudden and wonderful. Fifty years ago Japan lay hidden from the world; she forbade strangers to visit the country, and very little was known of her people and her customs. Her navy then consisted of a few wooden junks; to-day she has a fleet of splendid ironclads, handled by men who know their duties as well as English seamen. Her army consisted of troops armed with two swords and carrying bows and arrows; to-day her troops are the admiration of the world, armed with the most modern weapons, and, as foes, to be dreaded by the most powerful nations. Fifty years ago Japan was in the purely feudal stage. Her great native Princes were called Daimios. Each had a strong castle and a private army of his own. There were ceaseless feuds between these Princes and constant fighting between their armies of samurai, as their followers were called. Japan was like England at the time of our War of the Roses: family quarrels were fought out in pitched battle. All that has now gone. The Daimios have become private gentlemen; the armies of samurai have been disbanded, and Japan is ruled and managed just like a European country, with judges, and policemen, and law-courts, after the model of Western lands. When the Japanese decided to come out and take their place among the great nations of the world, they did not adopt any half-measures; they simply came out once and for all. They threw themselves into the stream of modern inventions and movements with a will. They have built railways and set up telegraph and telephone lines. They have erected banks and warehouses, mills and factories. They have built bridges and improved roads. They have law-courts and a Parliament, to which the members are elected by the people, and newspapers flourish everywhere. Japan is a very beautiful country. It is full of fine mountains, with rivers leaping down the steep slopes and dashing over the rocks in snowy waterfalls. At the foot of the hills are rich plains and valleys, well watered by the streams which rush down from the hills. But the mountains are so many and the plains are so few that only a small part of the land can be used for growing crops, and this makes Japan poor. Its climate is not unlike ours in Great Britain, but the summer is hotter, and the winter is in some parts very cold. Many of the mountains are volcanoes. Some of these are still active, and earthquakes often take place. Sometimes these earthquakes do terrible harm. The great earthquake of 1871 killed 10,000 people, injured 20,000, and destroyed 130,000 houses. The highest mountain of Japan also is the most beautiful, and it is greatly beloved by the Japanese, who regard it as a sacred height. Its name is Fujisan, or Fusi-Yama, and it stands near the sea and the capital city of Tokyo. It is of most beautiful shape, an almost perfect cone, and it springs nearly 13,000 feet into the air. From the sea it forms a most superb and majestic sight. Long before a glimpse can be caught of the shore and the city, the traveller sees the lofty peak, crowned with a glittering crest of snow, rising in lonely majesty, with no hint of the land on which it rests. The Japanese have a great love of natural beauty, and they adore Fujisan. Their artists are never tired of painting it, and pictures of it are to be found in the most distant parts of the land. CHAPTER II BOYS AND GIRLS IN JAPAN In no country in the world do children have a happier childhood than in Japan. Their parents are devoted to them, and the children are always good. This seems a great deal to say, but it is quite true. Japanese boys and girls behave as quietly and with as much composure as grown-up men and women. From the first moment that it can understand anything, a Japanese baby is taught to control its feelings. If it is in pain or sad, it is not to cry or to pull an ugly face; that would not be nice for other people to hear or see. If it is very merry or happy, it is not to laugh too loudly or to make too much noise; that would be vulgar. So the Japanese boy or girl grows up very quiet, very gentle, and very polite, with a smile for everything and everybody. While they are little they have plenty of play and fun when they are not in school. In both towns and villages the streets are the playground, and here they play ball, or battledore and shuttlecock, or fly kites. Almost every little girl has a baby brother or sister strapped on her back, for babies are never carried in the arms in Japan except by the nurses of very wealthy people. The baby is fastened on its mother's or its sister's shoulders by a shawl, and that serves it for both cot and cradle. The little girl does not lose a single scrap of her play because of the baby. She runs here and there, striking with her battledore, or racing after her friends, and the baby swings to and fro on her shoulders, its little head wobbling from side to side as if it were going to tumble off. But it is perfectly content, and either watches the game with its sharp little black eyes, or goes calmly off to sleep. In the form of their dress both boys and girls appear alike, and, more than that, they are dressed exactly like their parents. There is no child's dress in Japan. The garments are smaller, to fit the small wearers--that is all. The main article of dress is a loose gown, called a kimono. Under the outer kimono is an inner kimono, and the garments are girt about the body with a large sash, called an obi. The obi is the pride of a Japanese girl's heart. If her parents are rich, it will be of shining costly silk or rich brocade or cloth of gold; if her parents are poor, they will make an effort to get her one as handsome as their means will allow. Next to her obi, she prides herself on the ornaments which decorate her black hair--fine hairpins, with heads of tortoiseshell or coral or lacquer, and hair-combs, all most beautifully carved. A boy's obi is more for practical use, and is not of such splendour as his sister's. When he is very small, his clothes are of yellow, while his sister's are of red. At the age of five he puts on the hakama, and then he is a very proud boy. The hakama is a kind of trousers made of silk, and is worn by men instead of an under-kimono. At five years old a boy is taken to the temple to thank the gods who have protected him thus far; and as he struts along, and hears with joy his hakama rustling its stiff new silk beneath his kimono, he feels himself a man indeed, and that his babyhood of yesterday is left far behind. Upon the feet are worn the tabi--thick white socks, which may be called foot-gloves, for there are separate divisions for the toes. These serve both as stockings outside the house and slippers inside, for no boots are worn in a Japanese house. When a Japanese walks out, he slips his feet into high wooden clogs, and when he comes home he kicks off the clogs at the door, and enters his home in tabi alone. The reason for this we shall hear later on. In Japanese clothes there are no pockets. Whatever they need to carry with them is tucked into the sash or into the sleeves of the kimono. The latter are often very long, and afford ample room for the odds and ends one usually carries in the pocket. But fine kimonos and rich obis are for the wealthy Japanese; the poor cannot afford them, and dress very simply. The coolie--the Japanese working man--goes almost naked in the warm weather, wearing only a pair of short cotton trousers, until he catches sight of a policeman, when he slips on his blue cotton coat, for the police have orders to see that he dresses himself properly. His wife wears a cotton kimono, and the pair of them can dress themselves handsomely--for coolies--from head to foot for a sum of 45 sen, which, taking the sen at a halfpenny, amounts to 1 S. 10-1/2d. in our money. CHAPTER III BOYS AND GIRLS IN JAPAN (_continued_) When Japanese boys and girls go to school, they make very low bows to their teacher and draw in the breath with a buzzing sound. This is a sign of deep respect, and the teacher returns their politeness by making low bows to them. Then the children sit down and begin to learn their lessons. Their books are very odd-looking affairs to us. Not only are they printed in very large characters, but they seem quite upside down. To find the first page you turn to the end of the book, and you read it backwards to the front page. Again, you do not read from left to right, as in our fashion, but from right to left. Nor is this all: for the lines do not run across the page, but up and down. Altogether, a Japanese book is at first a very puzzling affair. When the writing lesson comes, the children have no pens; they use brushes instead. They dip their brushes in the ink, and paint the words one under the other, beginning at the top right-hand corner and finishing at the bottom left-hand corner. If they have an address to write on an envelope, they turn that upside down and begin with the name of the country and finish with the name of the person--England, London, Kensington Gardens, Brown John Mr. [Illustration: THE WRITING LESSON] But Japanese children have quite as many things to learn at home as at school. At school they learn arithmetic, geography, history, and so on, just as children do in England, but their manners and their conduct towards other people are carefully drilled into them by their parents. The art of behaving yourself towards others is by no means an easy thing to learn in Japan. It is not merely a matter of good-feeling, gentleness, and politeness, as we understand it, but there is a whole complicated system of behaviour: how many bows to make, and how they should be made. There are different forms of salutation to superiors, equals, and inferiors. Different ranks of life have their own ways of performing certain actions, and it is said that a girl's rank may easily be known merely by the way in which she hands a cup of tea to a guest. From the earliest years the children are trained in these observances, and they never make a mistake. The Japanese baby is taught how to walk, how to bow, how to kneel and touch the floor with its forehead in the presence of a superior, and how to get up again; and all is done in the most graceful manner and without disturbing a single fold in its kimono. A child is taught very carefully how to wait on people, how to enter the room, how to carry a tray or bowl at the right height, and, above all, how to offer a cup or plate in the most dainty and correct style. One writer speaks of going into a Japanese shop to buy some articles he wanted. The master, the mistress, the children, all bent down before him. There was a two-year-old baby boy asleep on his sister's back, and he, too, was awakened and called upon to pay his respects to the foreign gentleman. He woke without a start or a cry, understood at once what was required of him, was set on his feet, and then proceeded to make his bows and to touch the ground with his little forehead, just as exactly as his elder relatives. This done, he was restored once more to the shawl, and was asleep again in a moment. The art of arranging flowers and ornaments is another important branch of a girl's home education. Everything in a Japanese room is carefully arranged so that it shall be in harmony with its surroundings. The arrangement of a bunch of flowers in a fine porcelain jar is a matter of much thought and care. Children are trained how to arrange blossoms and boughs so that the most beautiful effect may be gained, and in many Japanese houses may be found books which contain rules and diagrams intended to help them in gaining this power of skilful arrangement. This feeling for taste and beauty is common to all Japanese, even the poorest. A well-known artist says: "Perhaps, however, one of the most curious experiences I had of the native artistic instinct of Japan occurred in this way: I had got a number of fan-holders, and was busying myself one afternoon arranging them upon the walls. My little Japanese servant-boy was in the room, and as I went on with my work I caught an expression on his face from time to time which showed me that he was not overpleased with my performance. After a while, as this dissatisfied expression seemed to deepen, I asked him what the matter was. Then he frankly confessed that he did not like the way in which I was arranging my fan-holders. 'Why did you not tell me so at once?' I asked. 'You are an artist from England,' he replied, 'and it was not for me to speak.' However, I persuaded him to arrange the fan-holders himself after his own taste, and I must say that I received a remarkable lesson. The task took him about two hours--placing, arranging, adjusting; and when he had finished, the result was simply beautiful. That wall was a perfect picture: every fan-holder seemed to be exactly in its right place, and it looked as if the alteration of a single one would affect and disintegrate the whole scheme. I accepted the lesson with due humility, and remained more than ever convinced that the Japanese are what they have justly claimed to be--an essentially artistic people, instinct with living art." CHAPTER IV THE JAPANESE BOY A Japanese boy is the monarch of the household. Japan is thoroughly Eastern in the position which it gives to women. The boy, and afterwards the man, holds absolute rule over sister or wife. It is true that the upper classes in Japan are beginning to take a wider view of such matters. Women of wealthy families are well educated, wear Western dress, and copy Western manners. They sit at table with their husbands, enter a room or a carriage before them, and are treated as English women are treated by English men. But in the middle and lower classes the old state of affairs still remains: the woman is a servant pure and simple. It is said that even among the greatest families the old customs are still observed in private. The great lady who is treated in her Western dress just as her Western sister is treated takes pride in waiting on her husband when they return to kimono and obi, just as her grandmother did. The importance of the male in Japan arises from the religious customs of the country. The chief of the latter is ancestor-worship. The ancestors of a family form its household gods; but only the male ancestors are worshipped: no offerings are ever laid on the shelf of the household gods before an ancestress. Property, too, passes chiefly in the male line, and every Japanese father is eager to have a son who shall continue the worship of his ancestors, and to whom his property may descend. Thus, the birth of a son is received with great joy in a Japanese household; though, on the other hand, we must not think that a girl is ill-treated, or even destroyed, as sometimes happens in China. Not at all; she is loved and petted just as much as her brother, but she is not regarded as so important to the family line. At the age of three the Japanese boy is taken to the temple to give thanks to the gods. Again, at the age of five, he goes to the temple, once more to return thanks. Now he is wearing the hakama, the manly garment, and begins to feel himself quite a man. From this age onwards the Japanese boy among the wealthier classes is kept busily at work in school until he is ready to go to the University, but among the poorer classes he often begins to work for his living. The clever work executed by most tiny children is a matter of wonder and surprise to all European travellers. Little boys are found binding books, making paper lanterns and painting them, making porcelain cups, winding grass ropes which are hung along the house-fronts for the first week of the year to prevent evil spirits from entering, weaving mats to spread over the floors, and at a hundred other occupations. It is very amusing to watch the practice of the little boys who are going to be dentists. In Japan the dentist of the people fetches out an aching tooth with thumb and finger, and will pluck it out as surely as any tool can do the work, so his pupils learn their trade by trying to pull nails out of a board. They begin with tin-tacks, and go on until they can, with thumb and finger, pluck out a nail firmly driven into the wood. Luckily for them, they often get a holiday. The Japanese have many festivals, when parents and children drop their work to go to some famous garden or temple for a day's pleasure. Then there is the great boys' festival, the Feast of Flags, held on the fifth day of the fifth month. Of this festival we shall speak again. Every Japanese boy is taught that he owes the strictest duty to his parents and to his Emperor. These duties come before all others in Japanese eyes. Whatever else he may neglect, he never forgets these obligations. From infancy he is familiar with stories in which children are represented as doing the most extraordinary things and undergoing the greatest hardships in order to serve their parents. There is one famous old book called "Twenty-four Paragons of Filial Virtue." It gives instances of the doings of good sons, and is very popular in every Japanese household. Professor Chamberlain, the great authority on Japan, quotes some of these instances, and they seem to us rather absurd. He says: "One of the paragons had a cruel stepmother who was very fond of fish. Never grumbling at her harsh treatment of him, he lay down naked on the frozen surface of the lake. The warmth of his body melted a hole in the ice, at which two carp came up to breathe. These he caught and set before his stepmother. Another paragon, though of tender years and having a delicate skin, insisted on sleeping uncovered at night, in order that the mosquitoes should fasten on him alone, and allow his parents to slumber undisturbed. "A third, who was very poor, determined to bury his own child alive in order to have more food wherewith to support his aged mother, but was rewarded by Heaven with the discovery of a vessel filled with gold, off which the whole family lived happily ever after. But the drollest of all is the story of Roraishi. This paragon, though seventy years old, used to dress in baby's clothes and sprawl about upon the floor. His object was to delude his parents, who were really over ninety years of age, into the idea that they could not be so very old, after all, seeing that they still had such a childlike son." His duty to his Emperor the Japanese takes very seriously, for it includes his duty to his country. He considers that his life belongs to his country, and he is not only willing, but proud, to give it in her defence. This was seen to the full in the late war with Russia. Time and again a Japanese regiment was ordered to go to certain death. Not a man questioned the order, not a man dreamed for an instant of disobedience. Forward went the line, until every man had been smitten down, and the last brave throat had shouted its last shrill "Banzai!" This was the result of teaching every boy in Japan that the most glorious thing that can happen to him is to die for his Emperor and his native land. CHAPTER V THE JAPANESE GIRL The word "obedience" has a large part in the life of a Japanese boy; it is the whole life of a Japanese girl. From her babyhood she is taught the duty of obeying some one or other among her relations. There is an old book studied in every Japanese household and learned by heart by every Japanese girl, called "Onra-Dai-Gaku"--that is, the "Greater Learning for Women." It is a code of morals for girls and women, and it starts by saying that every woman owes three obediences: first, while unmarried, to her father; second, when married, to her husband and the elders of his family; third, when a widow, to her son. Up to the age of three the Japanese girl baby has her head shaved in various fancy patterns, but after three years old the hair is allowed to grow to its natural length. Up to the age of seven she wears a narrow obi of soft silk, the sash of infancy; but at seven years old she puts on the stiff wide obi, tied with a huge bow, and her dress from that moment is womanly in every detail. She is now a musume, or moosme, the Japanese girl, one of the merriest, brightest little creatures in the world. She is never big, for when at her full height she will be about four feet eight inches tall, and a Japanese woman of five feet high is a giantess. [Illustration: GOING TO THE TEMPLE] This is her time to wear gay, bright colours, for as a married woman she must dress very soberly. A party of moosmes tripping along to a feast or a fair looks like a bed of brilliant flowers set in motion. They wear kimonos of rich silks and bright shades, kimonos of vermilion and gold, of pink, of blue, of white, decorated with lovely designs of apple-blossom, of silk crape in luminous greens and golden browns, every shade of the rainbow being employed, but all in harmony and perfect taste. If a shower comes on and they tuck up their gaily-coloured and embroidered kimonos, they look like a bed of poppies, for each shows a glowing scarlet under-kimono, or petticoat. Not only is this the time for the Japanese girl to be gaily dressed, but it is her time to visit fairs and temples, and to enjoy the gaieties which may fall in her way: for when she marries, the gates which lead to the ways of pleasure are closed against her for a long time. The duties of a Japanese wife keep her strictly at home, until the golden day dawns when her son marries and she has a daughter-in-law upon whom she may thrust all the cares of the household. Then once more she can go to temples and theatres, fairs and festivals, while another drudges in her stead. Marriage is early in Japan. A girl marries at sixteen or seventeen, and to be unmarried at twenty is accounted a great misfortune. At marriage she completely severs herself from her own relations, and joins her husband's household. This is shown in a very striking fashion by the bride wearing a white kimono, the colour of mourning; and more, when she has left her father's house, fires of purification are lighted, just as if a dead body had been borne to the grave. This is to signify that henceforward the bride is dead to her old home, and her whole life must now be spent in the service of her husband and his relations. The wedding rites are very simple. There is no public function, as in England, and no religious ceremony; the chief feature is that the bride and bridegroom drink three times in turn from three cups, each cup having two spouts. These cups are filled with saké, the national strong drink of Japan, a kind of beer made from rice. This drinking is supposed to typify that henceforth they will share each other's joys and sorrows, and this sipping of saké constitutes the marriage ceremony. The young wife now must bid farewell to her fine clothes and her merry-making. She wears garments of a soft dove colour, or greys or fawns, quiet shades, but often of great charm. She has now to rise first in the morning, to open the shutters which have closed the house for the night, for this is a duty she may not leave to the servants. If her husband's father and mother dwell in the same house, she must consider it an honour to supply all their wants, and she is expected to become a perfect slave to her mother-in-law. It is not uncommon for a meek little wife, who has obeyed every one, to become a perfect tyrant as a mother-in-law, ordering her son's wife right and left, and making the younger woman's life a sheer misery. The mother-in-law has escaped from the land of bondage. It is no longer her duty to rise at dawn and open the house; she can lie in bed, and be waited upon by the young wife; she is free to go here and there, and she does not let her chances slip; she begins once more to thoroughly enjoy life. It may be doubted, however, whether these conditions will hold their own against the flood of Western customs and Western views which has begun to flow into Japan. At present the deeply-seated ideas which rule home-life are but little shaken in the main, but it is very likely that the modern Japanese girl will revolt against this spending of the best years of her life as an upper and unpaid servant to her husband's friends and relations. But at the present moment, for great sections of Japanese society, the old ways still stand, and stand firmly. It was formerly the custom for a woman to make herself as ugly as possible when she was married. This was to show that she wished to draw no attention from anyone outside her own home. As a rule she blackened her teeth, which gave her a hideous appearance when she smiled. This custom is now dying out, though plenty of women with blackened teeth are still to be seen. Should a Japanese wife become a widow, she is expected to show her grief by her desolate appearance. She shaves her head, and wears garments of the most mournful look. It has been said that a Japanese girl has the look of a bird of Paradise, the Japanese wife of a dove, and the Japanese widow of a crow. CHAPTER VI IN THE HOUSE A Japanese house is one of the simplest buildings in the world. Its main features are the roof of tiles or thatch, and the posts which support the latter. By day the walls are of oiled paper; by night they are formed of wooden shutters, neither very thick nor very strong. As a rule, the house is of but one story, and its flimsiness comes from two reasons, both very good ones. The first is that Japan is a home of earthquakes, and when an earthquake starts to rock the land and topple the houses about the peoples' ears, then a tall, strong house of stone or brick would be both dangerous in its fall and very expensive to put up again. The second is that Japan is a land of fires. The people are very careless. They use cheap lamps and still cheaper petroleum. A lamp explodes or gets knocked over; the oiled paper walls burst into a blaze; the blaze spreads right and left, and sweeps away a few streets, or a suburb of a city, or a whole village. The Jap takes this very calmly. He gets a few posts, puts the same tiles up again for a roof, or makes a new thatch, and, with a few paper screens and shutters, there stands his house again. A house among the poorer sort of Japanese consists of one large room in the daytime. At night it is formed into as many bedrooms as its owner requires. Along the floor, which is raised about a foot from the ground, and along the roof run a number of grooves, lengthways and crossways. Frames covered with paper, called shoji, slide along these grooves and form the wall between chamber and chamber. The front of the house is, as a rule, open to the street, but if the owners wish for privacy they slide a paper screen into position. At night wooden shutters, called amado, cover the screens. Each shutter is held in place by the next, and the last shutter is fastened by a wooden bolt. The Japanese are very fond of fresh air and sunshine. Unless the day is too wet or stormy, the front of the house always stands open. If the sun is too strong a curtain is hung across for shade, and very often this curtain bears a huge white symbol representing his name, just as an Englishman puts his name on a brass plate on his front-door. The furniture in these houses is very simple. The floor is covered with thick mats, which serve for chairs and bed, as people both sit and sleep on them. For table a low stool suffices, and for a young couple to set up housekeeping in Japan is a very simple matter. As Mrs. Bishop, the well-known writer, remarks: "Among the strong reasons for deprecating the adoption of foreign houses, furniture, and modes of living by the Japanese, is that the expense of living would be so largely, increased as to render early marriages impossible. At present the requirements of a young couple in the poorer classes are: a bare matted room (capable or not of division), two wooden pillows, a few cotton futons (quilts), and a sliding panel, behind which to conceal them in the daytime, a wooden rice bucket and ladle, a wooden wash-bowl, an iron kettle, a hibachi (warming and cooking stove), a tray or two, a teapot or two, two lacquer rice-bowls, a dinner box, a few china cups, a few towels, a bamboo switch for sweeping, a tabako-bon (apparatus for tobacco-smoking), an iron pot, and a few shelves let into a recess, all of which can be purchased for something under £2." These young people would, however, have everything quite comfortable about them, and housekeeping can be set up at a still lower figure, if necessary. Excellent authorities say, and give particulars to prove, that a coolie household may be established in full running order for 5-1/2 yen--that is, somewhere about a sovereign. In better-class houses the same simplicity prevails, though the building may be of costly materials, with posts and ceilings of ebony inlaid with gold, and floors of rare polished woods. The screens (shoji) still separate the rooms; the shutters (amado) enclose it at night. There are neither doors nor passages. When you wish to pass from one room to the next you slide back one of the shoji, and shut it after you. So you go from room to room until you reach the one of which you are in search. The shoji are often beautifully painted, and in each room is hung a kakemono (a wall picture, a painting finely executed on a strip of silk). A favourite subject is a branch of blossoming cherry, and this, painted upon white silk, gives an effect of wonderful freshness and beauty. There is no chimney, for a Japanese house knows nothing of a fireplace. The simple cooking is done over a stove burning charcoal, the fumes of which wander through the house and disperse through the hundred openings afforded by the loosely-fitting paper walls. To keep warm in cold weather the Japanese hug to themselves and hang over smaller stoves, called hibachi, metal vessels containing a handful of smouldering charcoal. In the rooms there are neither tables nor chairs. The floor is covered with most beautiful mats, as white as snow and as soft as a cushion, for they are often a couple of inches thick. They are woven of fine straw, and on these the Japanese sit, with their feet tucked away under them. At dinner-time small, low tables are brought in, and when the meal is finished, the tables are taken away again. Chairs are never used, and the Japanese who wishes to follow Western ways has to practise carefully how to sit on a chair, just as we should have to practise how to sit on our feet as he does at home. When bedtime comes, there is no change of room. The sitting-room by day becomes the bedroom by night. A couple of wooden pillows and some quilts are fetched from a cupboard; the quilts are spread on the floor, the pillows are placed in position, and the bed is ready. The pillows would strike us as most uncomfortable affairs. They are mere wooden neckrests, and European travellers who have tried them declare that it is like trying to go to sleep with your head hanging over a wooden door-scraper. As they both sit and sleep on their matting-covered floors, we now see why the Japanese never wear any boots or clogs in the house. To do so would make their beautiful and spotless mats dirty; so all shoes are left at the door, and they walk about the house in the tabi, the thick glove-like socks. CHAPTER VII IN THE HOUSE (_continued_) Even supposing that a well-to-do Japanese has a good deal of native furniture--such as beautifully painted screens, handsome vases, tables of ebony inlaid with gold or with fancy woods, and so forth--yet he does not keep them in the house. He stores them away in a special building, and a servant runs and fetches whatever may be wanted. When the article has served its purpose, it is taken back again. This building is called a godown. It is built of cement, is painted black, and bears the owner's monogram in a huge white design. It is considered to be fireproof, though it is not always so, and is meant to preserve the family treasures in case of one of the frequent fires. It may be stored with a great variety of furniture and ornaments, but very few see the light at one time. [Illustration: A JAPANESE HOUSE] The Japanese does not fill his house with all the decorations he may own, and live with them constantly. If he has a number of beautiful porcelain jars and vases, he has one out at one time, another at another. A certain vase goes with a certain screen, and every time a change is made, the daughters of the house receive new lessons in the art of placing the articles and decking them with flowers and boughs of blossom in order to gain the most beautiful effect. If a visitor be present in the house, the guest-chamber will be decorated afresh every day, each design showing some new and unexpected beauty in screen, or flower-decked vase, or painted kakemono. There is one vase which is always carefully supplied with freshly-cut boughs or flowers. This is the vase which stands before the tokonoma. The tokonoma is a very quaint feature of a Japanese house. It means a place in which to lay a bed, and, in theory, is a guest-chamber in which to lodge the Mikado, the Japanese Emperor. So loyal are the Japanese that every house is supposed to contain a room ready for the Emperor in case he should stay at the door and need a night's lodging. The Emperor, of course, never comes, and so the tokonoma is no more than a name. Usually it is a recess a few feet long and a few inches wide, and over it hangs the finest kakemono that the house can afford, and in front of it is a vase whose flowers are arranged in a traditional form which has a certain allegorical meaning. At night a Japanese room is lighted by a candle fixed in a large square paper lantern, the latter placed on a lacquer stand. The light is very dim, and many are now replacing it with ordinary European lamps. Unluckily they buy the very commonest and cheapest of these, and so in consequence accidents and fires are numerous. Among the coolies of Japan, the people who fill the back streets of the large towns with long rows of tiny houses, the process of "moving house" is absolutely literal. They do not merely carry off their furniture--that would be simple enough--but they swing up the house too, carry it off, set their furniture in it again, and resume their contented family life. It is not at all an uncommon thing to meet a pair thus engaged in shifting their abode. The man is marching along with a building of lath and paper, not much bigger than a bathing-machine, swung on his shoulders, while his wife trudges behind him with two or three big bundles tied up in blue cloth. He carries the house, and she the furniture. Within a few hours they will be comfortably settled in the new street to which their needs or their fancies call them. CHAPTER VIII A JAPANESE DAY The first person astir in a Japanese household is the mistress of the house. She rises from the quilts on the floor which form her bed and puts out the lamp, which has been burning all night. No Japanese sleeps without an andon, a tall paper lamp, in which a dim light burns. Next she unlocks the amado, the wooden shutters, and calls the servants. Now the breakfast-table must be set out. In one way this is very simple, for there is no cloth to spread, for tablecloths are unknown, and when enough rice has been boiled and enough tea has been made, the breakfast is ready. But there is one point upon which she must be very careful. The lacquer rice-bowls and the chopsticks must be set in their proper order, according to the importance of each person in the family. The slightest mistake in arranging the position at a meal of any member of the family or of a guest under the roof would be a matter of the deepest disgrace. Etiquette is the tyrant of Japan. A slip in the manner of serving the food is a thousand times more important in Japanese eyes than the quality of the food itself. A hostess might serve burned rice and the most shocking tea, but if it were handed round in correct form, there would be nothing more to be said; but to serve a twice-honourable guest before a thrice-honourable guest--ah! that would be truly dreadful, a blot never to be wiped off the family escutcheon. After breakfast the master of the house will go about his business. If the day is fine the wife has his straw sandals ready for him; if it is wet she gets his high wooden clogs and his umbrella of oiled paper. Then she and the servants escort him to the door and speed his departure with many low bows, rubbing their knees together--the latter is a sign of deep respect--and calling good wishes after him. It may seem odd to us that the servants should accompany their mistress on such an errand, but the servants in Japan are not like other servants: they are as much a part of the family as the children of the house. Domestic service in Japan is a most honourable calling, and ranks far higher than trade. A domestic servant who married a tradesman would be considered as going down a step in the social scale. In Japan trade has been left until lately to the lower classes of the population, and tradespeople have ranked with coolies and labourers. This importance of domestic servants arises from two reasons: First, the old custom which compels the mistress of the house, even if she be of the highest rank, to serve her husband and children herself, and also to wait on her parents-in-law, has the effect of raising domestic service to a high and honourable level. Second, many Japanese servants are of good birth and excellent family. Only a generation ago their fathers were samurai, followers of some great Prince, a Daimio, and members of his clan. In the feudal days of Japan, so recently past, the position of the samurai was exactly the same as the clansmen of a Highland chief, say at the time of the "Forty-Five." The Daimio, the Japanese chief, had a great estate and vast revenues, counted in measures of rice; one Daimio had as much as 1,000,000 koku of rice, the koku being a weight of about 132 pounds. But out of these revenues he had to maintain his clan, his samurai, the members of his private army. The samurai clansmen were the exact counterparts of Highlanders. The poorest considered himself a gentleman and a member of his chief's family; he held trade and handicrafts in the utmost disdain: he lived only for war and the defence of his lord. But he regarded service in his lord's household as a high honour, and thus all service was made honourable. When the feudal system came to an end, when the Daimios retired into private life, and the samurai were disbanded, then the latter and their families found that they must work for their own support, and great numbers entered domestic service. Boys and girls who are meant for servants have to go through a course of training in etiquette, quite apart from the training they receive in their duties. This training is intended to maintain the proper distance between employer and servant, while, in a sense, allowing them to be perfectly familiar. The Japanese servant bows low and kneels to her mistress, and addresses her always in the tone of voice used by an inferior to a superior, yet she will join in a conversation between her mistress and a caller, and laugh with the rest at any joke which is made. It sounds difficult to believe that servants do not become too forward under such conditions, but they never do. Their perfect taste and good breeding forbid that they should pass over a certain line where familiarity would go too far. The position of a servant in Japan is shown by the fact that, though her master or mistress will speak to her as a servant, yet a caller or guest must always use the tone of equality and address her as san (miss). In the absence of the mistress, servants are expected to entertain any callers, and they do this with the perfection of gentle manners and exquisite politeness. A lady writer says: "I remember once being very much at sea when I was taken to pay a call on a Japanese lady of the well-to-do class. Not being able to speak a word of the language, I was unable to follow the conversation which took place between the charming little lady who greeted us at the inner shutters and my friend. She was dressed in the soft grey kimono and obi of a middle-aged woman, and her exquisite manner and gentleness made me feel as heavy as my boots, which I had not been allowed to take off, sounded on the delicate floor-matting compared to her soft white foot-gloves. "My friend addressed her as san, and seemed to speak to her just as a guest would to her hostess. We had tea on the floor, and my friend chatted pleasantly for some time with the little grey figure, when suddenly the sound of wheels on the gravel outside caught my ears, and the next instant there was the scuffling of many feet along the polished wooden passage which led to the front door, and the eager cry of 'O kaeri! O kaeri!' (honourable return). Our hostess for the time rose from her knees, smiled, and begged us to excuse her honourable rudeness. When she had hurried off to join in the cry of welcome, my friend said, 'Oh, I am glad she has come!' "'Who has come ?' I asked. "'The lady we came to see,' she said. "'Then, who was the charming little lady who poured out tea for us?' I asked. My friend smiled. "'Oh, that was only the housemaid.'" A man dealing with the same point remarks: "It is very important that a Japanese upper servant should have good manners, for he is expected to have sufficient knowledge of etiquette to entertain his master's guests if his master is out. After rubbing his knees together and hissing and kowtowing (bowing low), he will invite you to take a seat on the floor, or, more correctly speaking, on your heels, with a flat cushion between your knees and the floor to make the ordeal a little less painful. He will then offer you five cups of tea (it is the number of cups that signifies, not the number of callers), and dropping on his own heels with ease and grace, enter into an affable conversation, humble to a degree, but perfectly familiar, until his master arrives to relieve him. Even after his master has arrived he may stay in the room, and is quite likely to cut into the conversation, and dead certain to laugh at the smallest apology for a joke!" CHAPTER IX A JAPANESE DAY (_continued_) But we must return to our Japanese housewife, who has at present only shown her husband out politely to his business. Now she sees that all the paper screens are removed, so that the whole house becomes, as it were, one great room, and thus is thoroughly aired. The beds are rolled up and put away in cupboards, and the woodwork is carefully rubbed down and polished. Perhaps the flowers in the vases are faded, and it is a long and elaborate performance to rearrange the beautiful sprays and the blossoms brought in from the garden. Cooking is not by any means so important a matter in her household life as it is in that of her Western sister. If her rice-box is well filled, her tea-caddy well stored, her pickle-jar and store of vegetables in good order, she has little more to think about. "Rice is the staple food of Japan, and is eaten at every meal by rich or poor, taking the place of our bread. It is of particularly fine quality, and at meals is brought in small bright-looking tubs kept for this exclusive purpose and scrupulously clean; it is then helped to each individual in small quantities, and steaming hot. The humblest meal is served with nicety, and with the rice various tasty condiments, such as pickles, salted fish, and numerous other dainty little appetizers, are eaten. To moisten the meal, tea without sugar is taken. A hibachi, or charcoal basin, generally occupies the central position, round which the meal is enjoyed, and on the fire of which the teapot is always kept easily boiling." [Illustration: OFFERING TEA TO A GUEST] When the Japanese housekeeper goes to market, she turns her attention, after the rice merchant's, to the fish and vegetable stalls. At the fish-stall nothing that comes out of the sea is overlooked. She buys not only fish, but seaweed, which is a common article of diet. It is eaten raw; it is also boiled, pickled, or fried; it is often made into soup. Sea-slugs, cuttle-fish, and other creatures which we consider the mere offal of the sea, are eagerly devoured by the Japanese. At the vegetable-stall there will be a great variety of things for sale--beans, peas, potatoes, maize, buckwheat, carrots, lettuce, turnips, squash, musk- and water-melons, cucumbers, spinach, garlic, onions, leeks, chillies, capucams (the produce of the egg-plant), and a score of other things, including yellow chrysanthemum blossoms and the roots and seeds of the lotus. The Japanese eat almost everything that grows, for they delight in dock and ferns, in wild ginger and bamboo shoots, and consider the last a great tit-bit. But to Europeans the Japanese vegetables seem very tasteless, and the chief of them all is very much disliked by Westerners. This is the famous daikon, the mighty Japanese radish, beloved among the poorer classes in its native land and abhorred by foreigners. It grows to an immense size, being often seen a yard long and as thick as a man's arm. When fresh it is harmless enough, but the Japanese love to pickle it, and Mrs. Bishop remarks: "It is slightly dried and then pickled in brine, with rice bran. It is very porous, and absorbs a good deal of the pickle in the three months in which it lies in it, and then has a smell so awful that it is difficult to remain in a house in which it is being eaten. It is the worst smell I know of except that of a skunk!" The pickle-seller's stall must not be forgotten, for the Japanese flavour their rather tasteless food with a wonderful variety of pickles and sauces. The great sauce is soy, made from fermented wheat and beans with salt and vinegar, and at times saké is added to it to heighten its flavour. This sauce is served with many articles of food, and fish are often cooked in it. When the Japanese housekeeper reaches home again she finds that her servants have finished their simple duties. Englishwomen always wonder what there is in a Japanese house for servants to do. There are no fires to lay, no furniture to polish and clean, no carpets to sweep, and no linen to wash and mend; so Japanese servants spend much time chatting to each other, or sewing new kimonos together, or playing chess. As a rule, there are many more servants than are necessary to do the work. This is because servants are very cheap. There are always plenty of girls who are ready to fill the lower places if they can obtain food and clothes for their services, and the upper servants only receive small sums, sometimes as low as six or eight shillings a month. If a servant wishes to leave her employment, she never gives direct notice to her mistress. That would be the height of rudeness. Instead she begs permission to visit her home, or a sick relation, or some one who needs her assistance. Upon the day that she should return a long and elaborate apology for her non-arrival is sent, saying that, most unhappily, she cannot be spared from her home or her post of duty. It is then understood that she has left. In a similar fashion, no mistress tells a servant that she will not suit. A polite explanation that it will be inconvenient to accept her services at the moment is sent through a third party. In the evening the whole family, servants included, gather in the main room of the house. The master and mistress sit near the hibachi (the stove) and the andon (the big paper lantern); the maids glide in and sit at a respectful distance with their sewing, if they have any. There may be conversation, or the master may read aloud from a book of historical romances or fairy stories; but the servants may laugh and chat as freely over joke or story as anyone. When bed-time arrives the quilts come out of the cupboards, and are spread with due care that no one sleeps with the head to the north, for that is the position in which the dead are laid out, and so is a very unlucky one for the living. Then the little wooden neck-rests, which they use as pillows, are set in their places, and every one goes to bed. The Japanese day is over. CHAPTER X JAPANESE GAMES The children of Japan have many games, and some of these games are shared with them by their fathers and mothers--yes, and by their grandfathers and grandmothers too, for an old man will fly a kite as eagerly as his tiny grandson. The girls play battledore and shuttlecock and bounce balls, and the boys spin tops and make them fight. A top-fight is arranged thus: One boy takes his top, made of hard wood with an iron ring round it, winds it up with string, and throws it on the ground; while it is spinning merrily, another boy throws his top in such a way that it spins against the first top and knocks it over. So cleverly are the attacking tops thrown that the first top is often knocked to a distance of several feet. Other games are playing at war with toy weapons, hunting grasshoppers, which are kept in tiny cages of bamboo, and hunting fireflies. The last pastime is followed by Japanese of all ages, and the glittering flies are pursued by night, and struck down by a light fan. Wherever there is a stream of water, the boys set up toy water-wheels, and these water-wheels drive little mills and machines, which the boys have made for themselves in the cleverest fashion. Here is a group whose heads are very close together. Let us peep over their shoulders, and see what it is they watch so quietly and earnestly. Ah! this is a favourite trick. A small boy is setting a team of half a dozen beetles to draw a load of rice up a smooth, sloping board. He has made a tiny cart of paper, and filled it with rice. The traces of the cart are made of fine threads of silk, and he fastens the threads of silk to the backs of the beetles with gum. Now he has his strange team in motion, and the beetles are marching up the board, dragging their load. The tiny faces in the ring of watchers are filled with deep but motionless interest. Not one dreams of stretching out a finger. There is no need to say, "Don't touch!" No one would dream of touching--that would be very rude. Japanese children manage their own games, without any appeal to their elders. It is not often that a dispute arises, but, should that happen, the question is settled at once by the word of an elder child. The decision is obeyed without a murmur, and the game goes on. Another game of which children are fond is that of painting sand-pictures on the roadside. A group of children will compete in drawing a sand-picture in the shortest time. Each has four bags of coloured sand--black, red, yellow, and blue--and a bag of white. The white sand is first thrown down in the form of a square; then a handful of black sand is taken, and allowed to run through the fingers to form a quaint outline of a man, or bird, or animal, upon the white ground. Next, the design is finished with the other colours, and very often a most striking effect is obtained by these child artists. "But the most extraordinary and most fascinating thing of all is to watch the performance of a master in sand-pictures. So dexterous and masterly is he that he will dip his hand first into a bag of blue sand and then into one of yellow, allowing the separate streams to trickle out unmixed, and then, with a slight tremble of the hand, these streams will be quickly converted into one thin stream of bright green, relapsing again into the streams of blue and yellow at a moment's notice." There are many indoor games, and a very great favourite is the game of alphabet cards. This is played with a number of cards, some of which contain a proverb and some a picture illustrating each proverb. The children sit in a ring, and the cards are dealt to them. One of the children is the reader, and when he calls out a proverb the one who has the picture corresponding to the proverb answers at once and gives up the card. The first one to be rid of his cards is the winner, and the one who holds the last card is the loser. If a boy is the loser, he has a dab of ink or of paint smudged on his face; if it is a girl, she has a wisp of straw put in her hair. The game is so called because each proverb begins with a letter of the Japanese alphabet. Japanese children have many holidays and festivals, and they enjoy themselves very much on these joyous occasions. With their beautiful dresses of silk shining in the sun, a crowd of them looks like a great bed of flowers. Mr. Menpes speaks of a merry-making which he saw: "It was a festival for girls under ten, and there were hundreds of children, all with their kimonos tucked up, showing their scarlet petticoats, and looking for all the world like a mass of poppies.... Two rows or armies of these girls were placed several yards distant from each other in this long emerald-green field, and in the space between them stood two servants, each holding a long bamboo pole, and suspending from its top a flat, shallow drum, covered with tissue-paper. "Presently two young men teachers appeared on the scene, carrying two baskets of small many-coloured balls, which they threw down on the grass between the children and the drums. Then a signal was given, and all the girls started running down the field at full tilt towards one another, pouncing on the balls as they ran, and throwing them with all their force up at the paper drums. "After a time, when a perfect shower of balls had passed through the tissue drums, quite demolishing them, a shower of coloured papers, miniature lanterns, paper umbrellas, and flags came slowly fluttering down among the children on to their jet-black bobbing heads and into their eager outstretched hands. Never have I seen anything more beautiful than these gay, brightly-clad little people, packed closely together like a cluster of flowers in the brilliant sparkling sunshine, with their pretty upturned faces watching the softly falling rain of coloured toys." CHAPTER XI THE FEAST OF DOLLS AND THE FEAST OF FLAGS On the third day of the third month there is great excitement in every Japanese household which numbers a girl among its domestic treasures: for the Feast of Dolls has come, the great festival for dolls. On this day the most beautiful dolls and dolls' houses are fetched from the godown, where the family furniture is kept, and are on exhibition for a short time, set out on shelves covered with scarlet cloth. [Illustration: FIGHTING TOPS] These dolls are the O-Hina, the honourable dolls. They are kept with the greatest care, and in some families there are dolls which are centuries old. As each doll is dressed exactly in the costume of its age, and is furnished with belongings which represent in miniature the furniture of that age, such a collection has great historic value, and is used to teach the children how their ancestors looked and lived. There are common dolls for the little girls to play with every day, but these elaborate ones, the honourable dolls, are stored with the greatest care. Many of them are very costly. The doll is not only beautifully made and dressed, but its house is furnished with the most exact imitations of every article of furniture and of every utensil. In wealthy families this toy furniture is made of the rarest gold lacquer, or of solid silver, or of beautiful porcelain. Not a single article, either of state or of usefulness, is missing, and it is the delight of a Japanese girl at the Feast of Dolls to use the tiny utensils of her toy kitchen to prepare an elaborate feast of real food which is set before her honourable dolls. The beginning of a collection of such dolls is made as soon as a girl is born. Every girl-child is presented with a pair of these dolls, and as time goes on she gathers all the articles which go with them. These dolls are always her own. When she marries she takes them to her new home. When the O-Hina Matsuri, the Feast of Dolls, draws near, the Japanese shops begin to be full of the little images used at that time. The poorer are of painted earthenware; the finer are of wood, with clothes of the richest materials. These images, together with tiny bowls, and pots, and stoves, and trays, are used to set off and decorate the surroundings of the Feast of Dolls. They vary very greatly in price. The coolie household may have a set-out which cost a few pence. The O-Hina of a great noble's house will often be worth a fortune, having hundreds of beautifully carved and dressed images to represent the Emperor and Empress and every official of the Japanese Court, with every article used for State functions, and every piece of furniture needed to deck a royal palace. Other sets of O-Hina represent great personages in Japanese history, perhaps a great Daimio and his followers, each figure dressed with strict historical accuracy, and provided with every feature proper to its rank and period. The great festival for boys comes at the Feast of Flags. This is held on the fifth day of the fifth month. Every one knows when the Feast of Flags is near, for before every house where there are boys a tall post of bamboo is set up. Swinging from the top of each post is the figure of a huge carp, made of brightly coloured paper. If a boy has been born in the house during the year the carp is made bigger still. The body of the fish is hollow, and when the wind blows into it, it wriggles its fins and tail just like a fish swimming strongly. The Japanese choose the carp because they say it has the power of ascending streams swiftly against the current and of leaping over waterfalls. It is thus supposed to typify a young man breasting the stream of life, and thrusting his way through difficulties to success. As the boys' day draws near, the shops become full of toys for them. There are images bought for boys as well as for their sisters; but boys' images are those of soldiers, heroes, generals, famous old warriors, wrestlers, and so forth. The old Japanese were a war-like nation, and the toys provided for their sons at the Feast of Flags were helmets, flags, swords, bows and arrows, coats of mail, spears, and the like. The Feast of Flags itself is held on the day sacred to Hachima, the Japanese God of War, and the favourite game on that day is a mimic battle. The boys divide themselves into two parties, called Heike and Genji. These names represent two great old rival clans of the feudal days. Every Heike carries a red flag on his back, every Genji a white one. Each combatant also wears a helmet, consisting of a kind of earthenware pot. The combat is joined, and the small warriors hack at each other with bamboo swords. A well-directed blow will dash to pieces the earthenware pot, and the wearer is then compelled to own defeat. That side wins which breaks most pots on its opponents' heads, or captures most flags. This display of weapons, with blowing of horns and trumpets, serves another purpose also; for on the fifth day of the fifth month the Japanese believe that Oni, an evil-disposed god, comes down from the heavens to devour boys, or to bring great harm to them. But he fears sharp swords, so the long swordshaped blades of the sweet flag are gathered from the edges of rivers and the sides of swampy rice-fields, and used as decorations. As a Japanese writer says: "Oni fears the sword-blade of the sweet flag, so that its leaves are everywhere. They are upon the festal table; they hang in festoons about the house, and all along the eaves. Boys wear them tied around their heads, with the white scraped fragrant roots projecting like two horns from their foreheads. So, and with the noise of bamboo horns, they frighten away the ogre god. For he fears horned men, and he dares not enter a house where so many swords hang from the eaves." CHAPTER XII A FARTHING'S WORTH OF FUN How would you like to go to a fair with a farthing, a whole farthing, to spend as you pleased? I think I can see some of you turning your noses up, and looking very scornful. "A farthing, indeed!" you say. "Pray, of what use is a farthing? I wouldn't mind going to a fair with a shilling, or even sixpence, but what could anyone do with a farthing?" Well, in Japan you could do a great deal. We must remember that Japan is a country of tiny wages; many of its workers do not receive more than sixpence a day, and a man who gets a shilling is well off. Tiny earnings mean tiny spendings, and things are arranged on a scale to meet very slender purses. We will now see what sort of time O Hara San, Miss Blossom, and her brother, Taro San, Master Eldest Son, had at the fair one fine day in Nagasaki. In the morning they sprang up from their quilts full of excited pleasure, for they had been looking forward to this fair for some time. But they did not romp and chatter and show their excitement as English children would do. Their black eyes shone a little more brightly than usual, and that was all. When they had whipped their rice into their mouths with their little chopsticks, they started for the fair, which was to be held in the grounds of a great temple. Of course, they were dressed in their best clothes. Both had new kimonos, and O Hara San had a very fine obi, which her parents had bought for her by denying themselves many little luxuries. Their father and grandmother went with them, but their mother stayed at home with the baby. Their father wore a newly-washed kimono, but his chief glory was an old bowler hat which a European gentleman had given to him. It had been much too large for him, but he had neatly taken it in, and now wore it with great pride. When they reached the fair they gave themselves up to its delights with all their hearts. There was so much to do and so much to see. Almost at once O Hara San and Taro were beguiled by a sweetmeat stall. Each had five rin, and five rin make one farthing, or rather less, but we will call it a farthing for the sake of round figures. One rin apiece was spent here. The stall was in two divisions: one stocked with delicious little bottles of sugar-water, the other with pieces of candy, tinted bright blue and red and green. Miss Blossom went in for a bottle of sugar-water, and her brother for candies. But first he demanded of the candy-seller that he should be allowed to try his luck at the disc. This was a disc having an arrow which could be whirled round, and if the arrow paused opposite a lucky spot an extra piece of candy was added to the purchase. To Taro's great joy, he made a lucky hit, and won the extra piece of candy; he felt that the fair had begun very well for him. While they drank sugar-water and munched candy, they wandered along looking at the booths, where all sorts of wonders were to be seen--booths full of conjurers, acrobats, dancers, of women who could stretch their necks to the length of their arms, or thrust their lips up to cover their eyebrows, and a hundred other curious tricks. The price of admission was one rin each to children, and finally they chose the conjurer's booth, and saw him spout fire from his mouth, swallow a long sword, and finally exhibit a sea-serpent, which appeared to be made of seal-skins tacked together. When they left the show they came all at once on one of the great delights of a Japanese fair. It was the man with the cooking-stove, round whom children always throng as flies gather about honey. For the fifth part of a farthing you may have the use of his cooking-stove, you may have a piece of dough, or you may have batter with a cup, a spoon, and a dash of soy sauce. You may then abandon yourself to the delights of making a cake for yourself, baking it for yourself, and then eating it yourself, and if you spend a couple of hours over the operation the man will not grumble. As this arrangement combines both the pleasure of making a cake and playing with fire, it is very popular, and we cannot wonder that Taro took a turn, though Miss Blossom did not. She felt herself rather too big to join the swarm of happy urchins round the stove. While Taro was baking his cake she spent her third rin on a peep-show, where a juggler made little figures of paper and pasteboard dance and perform all kinds of antics. Then they went on again. Each bought one rin's worth of sugared beans, a very favourite sweet-meat; and these they ate while they waited for their father and grandmother to join them at the door of a certain theatre where they had agreed to meet. Into this theatre was pouring a stream of people, old and young, men, women, children, and babies, for a great historical play was to be performed, and it would shortly begin. Soon their elders turned up, and their father took their last rin to make up the payment which would admit them. In they went, and took possession of their place. The floor of the theatre was divided by little partitions, about a foot or so high, into a vast number of tiny squares, like open egg-boxes. In one of these little boxes our friends squatted down on the floor, and the grandmother began to unpack the bundle which she had been carrying. This bundle contained a number of cooking-vessels and an ample supply of rice, for here they meant to stay for some hours to see the play, to eat and drink, and enjoy themselves generally. The father filled his pipe, lighted it at the hibachi, and began to smoke, as hundreds more were doing all round them. Each box contained a family, and each family had brought its cooking-pots, its food, and its drink; and hawkers of food, of pipes, of tobacco, of saké, and of a score of other things, rambled up and down selling their wares. [Illustration: THE TOY SHOP] When the play began every one paid close attention, for it was a great historical play, and the Japanese go to the theatre and take their children there in order to learn history. There are represented the old wars, the old feuds, the struggle of Daimio against Daimio--in short, the history of old Japan. When an actor gave pleasure, the audience flung their hats on the stage. These were collected by an attendant, and kept until the owners redeemed them by giving a present. For six hours O Hara San and Taro sat in their little box, laughing, shouting, eating, and drinking, while the play went on. Then it was over, for it was only a short play, at a cheap theatre. "Ah!" said their father, "when I was a boy we had real plays. We used to rise early and be in the theatre by six o'clock in the morning. There we would stay enjoying ourselves until eleven at night. But now the decree of the Government is that no play shall last more than nine hours. It is too little!" The children quite agreed with him as they helped their grandmother to gather the pots and pans and dishes which were scattered about their box. Then each took the wooden ticket which would secure the shoes which they had left outside with the attendants, and went slowly from the theatre. When they had obtained their shoes and put them on, Miss Blossom and Master Eldest Son strolled slowly homewards through the fair. They had not another rin to spend--their farthing's worth of fun was over. CHAPTER XIII KITE-FLYING About a fortnight after the fair, on a fine windy afternoon, there was a holiday, and Taro, with his father and his younger brother Ito, turned out to fly kites. Some of their neighbours were already at work flying kites from the roofs of the houses or from windows, but our friends wanted more room than that, and went up to a piece of higher ground behind their street. Here they joined a crowd of kite-flyers. Every one was out to-day with his kite, old and young, men of sixty, with yellow, wrinkled faces, down to toddlers of three, who clutched their strings and flew their little kites with as much gravity and staidness as their grandfathers. Before long O Hara San came up with the baby on her back, and he had a bit of string in his tiny fist and a scrap of a kite not much bigger than a man's hand floating a few yards above his head. But Taro was a proud boy this afternoon. He was about to fly his first big fighting kite. It was made of tough, strong paper, stretched on a bamboo frame five feet square, a kite taller than his own father. The day before Taro had pounded a piece of glass up fine and mixed it with glue. The mixture had been rubbed on the string of his kite for about thirty feet near the kite-end and left to dry. Now, if he could only get this string to cut sharply across the string of another kite, the latter cord would be severed, and he could proudly claim the vanquished kite as his own. Kites of every colour and shape hovered in the air above the wide open space. There were square kites of red, yellow, green, blue, every colour of the rainbow; many were decorated with gaily-painted figures of gods, heroes, warriors, and dragons. There were kites in the shape of fish, hawks, eagles, and butterflies. Some had hummers, made of whalebone, which hummed musically in the wind as they rose; and as for fighting kites, they were abroad in squads and battalions. In one place the fight was between single kites; in another a score of men with blue kites met a score with red kites and the kites fluttered, darted, swooped, dived this way, that way, and every way, as they were skilfully moved by the strings pulled from below. Now and again one of them was seen to fall helplessly away and drift down the wind; its string had been cut by some victorious rival, and it had been put out of the battle. Taro had his kite high up in the air very soon; it flew splendidly, and for some time he was very busy in trying it and learning its ways, for every kite has its own tricks of moving in the air. Then suddenly he saw a great brown eagle sailing towards it. He looked up and saw that a boy named Kanaya was directing the eagle kite towards his own, and that it was a challenge to a fight. Taro accepted at once, and the combat was joined. Kanaya brought his eagle swiftly over Taro's big square kite, brightly painted in bars of many colours, but Taro let out string and escaped. Then he swung his kite up into the wind and made it swoop on the eagle. But Kanaya was already winding his string swiftly in and had raised his kite out of reach of the swoop. And so they went on for more than an hour, pursuing, escaping, feinting, dodging, until at last the eagle caught a favourable slant of wind and darted down so swiftly that Taro could not escape. The strings crossed, and the upper began to chafe the lower savagely. Taro tried to work his kite away, but in vain. The eagle string was strong and sharp. At the next moment Taro felt a horrid slackness of his string; no more could he feel the strong, splendid pull of his big kite. There it was, going, falling headlong to the ground. Kanaya had won. Nothing now remained to Taro but to take his beating like a Japanese and a gentleman. With a cheerful smile he made three low bows to his conqueror. Kanaya, with the utmost gravity, returned the bows before he ran away to secure the kite he had won. Now, there had been a very interested and attentive observer of this battle in Ito, Taro's younger brother. Ito never said a word or moved a muscle of his little brown face when he saw his brother defeated and the big kite seized in triumph by Kanaya. But his black eyes gleamed a little more brightly in their narrow slits as he let out more string and waited for Kanaya to begin to fly again. Ito had succeeded to the possession of Taro's old kite. It was less than two feet square, but it flew well, and Ito had also anointed his string with the mixture of pounded glass and glue, and was ready for combat Within ten minutes Kanaya was flying once more, and now he had Taro's kite high in the air. He had put away his own big brown eagle, and was flying the kite he had just won. He had scarcely got it well up when a smaller square kite came darting down upon it from a great height. Ito had entered the lists, and a fresh battle began. It was even longer and stubborner than the first, for Ito's kite, being much smaller, had much less power in the air; but Ito made up for this by showing the greatest skill in the handling of his kite, and quite a crowd gathered to see the struggle, watching every movement in perfect silence and with the deepest gravity. Suddenly Ito pounced. He caught a favourable gust of wind, and swung his line across Kanaya's with the greatest dexterity. Saw-saw went the line, and at the next moment the great kite went tumbling down the wind, and Kanaya and Ito exchanged the regulation bows. Then the latter looked at his brother without a word, and Taro ran to seize his beloved kite again. "It is yours now, Ito," said the elder brother, when he came back. "Oh no," said Ito; "we will each keep our own. I am glad I got it back from Kanaya." CHAPTER XIV FAIRY STORIES When Taro and Ito went home that night with their kites, they were glad to sit down and rest, for they had been running about until they were quite tired. When they had eaten their suppers of rice from their little brown bowls of lacquer, they begged their grandmother to tell them a story, and she told them the famous old story of Momotaro, beloved of every child in Japan. And this is what she told them: Once upon a time an old man and an old woman lived near a river at the foot of a mountain. Every day the old man went to the mountain to cut wood and carry it home, while the old woman went to the river to wash clothes. Now, the old woman was very unhappy because she had no children; it seemed to her that if she only had a son or a daughter she would be the most fortunate old woman in the world. Well, one day she was washing the clothes in the river, when she saw something floating down the stream towards her. It proved to be a great pear, and she seized it and carried it home. As she carried it she heard a sound like the cry of a child. She looked right and left, up and down, but no child was to be seen. She heard the cry again, and now she fancied that it came from the big pear. So she cut the pear open at once, and, to her great surprise and delight, she found that there was a fine baby sitting in the middle of it. She took the child and brought it up, and because he was born in a pear she called him Momotaro. Momotaro grew up a strong, fine boy, and when he was seventeen years old he started out to seek his fortune. He had made up his mind to attack an island where lived a very dreadful ogre. The old woman gave him plenty of food to eat on the way--corn and rice wrapped in a bamboo-leaf, and many other things--and away he went. He had not gone far when he met a wasp. "Give me a share of your food, Momotaro," said the wasp, "and I will go with you and help you to overcome the ogre." "With all my heart," said Momotaro, and he shared his food at once with the wasp. Soon he met a crab, and the same agreement was made with the crab, and then with a chestnut, and last of all with a millstone. So now the five companions journeyed on together towards the island of the ogre. When the island was reached they crept up to the house of the ogre, and found that he was not in his room. So they soon made a plan to take advantage of his absence. The chestnut laid itself down in the ash of a charcoal fire which had been burning on the hearth, the crab hid himself in a washing-pan nearly full of water, the wasp settled in a dusky corner, the millstone climbed on to the roof, and Momotaro hid himself outside. Before long the ogre came back, and he went to the fire to warm his hands. The chestnut at once cracked in the hot ashes, and threw burning cinders over the ogre's hands. The ogre at once ran to the washing-pan, and thrust his hands into it to cool them. The crab caught his fingers and pinched them till the ogre roared with pain. Snatching his hands out of the pan, the ogre leapt into the dusky corner as a safe place; but the wasp met him and stung him dreadfully. In great fright and misery the ogre tried to run out of the room, but down came the millstone with a crash on his head and killed him at once. So, without any trouble to himself, and by the help of the faithful friends which his kindness had made for him, Momotaro gained possession of the ogre's wealth, and his fortune was made. Then the grandmother told them of Jizo, the patron saint of travellers and children, the helper of all who are in trouble. Everywhere by the roadside in Japan is found the figure of Jizo. Sometimes a figure of noble height, carved in stone or in the living rock, sometimes no more than a rough carving in wood, he is represented as a priest with kindly face, holding a traveller's staff in his right hand and a globe in his left. He stands upon a lotus-flower, and about his feet there lies a pile of pebbles, to which pile each wayfarer adds a fresh pebble. And the old grandmother bade the children never pass a figure of Jizo without paying it the tribute of a pebble, for this reason: Every little child who dies, she said, has to pass over So-dzu-kawa, the river of the underworld. Now, on the banks of this river there lives a wicked old hag who catches little children as they try to cross, steals their clothes from them, and sets them to work to help her in her endless task of piling up the stones on the shore of the stream. Jizo helps these poor children, and every one who throws a pebble at the foot of this shrine also takes a share in lightening the labour of some little one down below. Another favourite story is that of Urashima, the fisher-boy. Urashima was a handsome fisher-boy, who lived near the Sea of Japan, and every day he went out in his boat to catch fish in order to help his parents. But one day Urashima did not return. His mother watched long, but there was no sign of her son's boat coming back to the shore. Day after day passed, and Urashima was mourned as dead. But he was not dead. Out on the sea he had met the Sea-God's daughter, and she had carried him off to a green, sunny land where it was always summer. There they lived for some time in great love and happiness. When it appeared to Urashima that several weeks had passed in this pleasant land, he begged permission of the Princess to return home and see his parents. "They will be sorrowing for me," he said. "They will fear that I am lost, and drowned at sea." At last she allowed him to go, and she gave him a casket, but told him to keep it closed. "As long as you keep it closed," she said, "I shall always be with you, but if you open it you will lose both me and this sunny summer land for ever." Urashima took the casket, promised to keep it closed, and returned home. But his native village had vanished. There was no sign of any dwelling upon the shore, and not far away there was a town which he had never seen before. In truth, every week that he had spent with the Princess had been a hundred years on earth, and his home and native village had passed away centuries ago, and the place where they had stood had been forgotten. In his despair, he forgot the words of the Princess, and opened the forbidden box. A faint blue mist floated out and spread over the sea, and a wonderful change took place at once in Urashima. From a handsome youth he turned to a feeble and decrepit old man, and then he fell upon the shore and lay there dead. In the box the Princess had shut up all the hours of their happy life, and when they had once escaped he became as other mortals, and old age and death came upon him at a bound. CHAPTER XV TEA-HOUSES AND TEMPLES Tea-houses and temples run together very easily in the Japanese mind, for wherever you find a temple there you also find a tea-house. But tea-houses are not confined to the neighbourhood of temples: they are everywhere. The tea-house is the house of public entertainment in Japan, and varies from the tiny cabin with straw roof, a building which is filled by half a dozen coolies drinking their tea, to large and beautiful structures, with floors and ceilings of polished woods, splendid mats, and tables of ebony and gold. The tea-house does not sell tea alone. It will lodge you and find you dinners and suppers, and is in country places the Japanese hotel. If tea-houses sold tea and nothing else it is certain that European travellers would be in a very bad way, for there is one point they are all agreed upon, and that is that the tea, as a rule, is quite unpalatable to a Western taste. However, it does not matter in the least whether you drink it or not as long as you pay your money, and the last is no great tax--about three halfpence. [Illustration: A BUDDHIST SHRINE] When a traveller steps into a tea-house the girl attendants, the moosmes, gay in their scarlet petticoats, kneel before him, and, if it is an out-of-the-way place, where the old fashions are kept up, place their foreheads on the matting. Then away they run to fetch the tea. Japanese servants always run when they wish to show respect; to walk would look careless and disrespectful in their eyes. The tea arrives in a small pot on a lacquer tray, with five tiny teacups without handles round the pot. There is no milk or sugar, and the tea is usually a straw-coloured, bitter liquid, very unpleasant to a European taste. But if a cup be raised to the lips and set down, and three sen--a sen is about a halfpenny--laid on the tray, all goes well, and every one is satisfied. This bringing of tea to a visitor is universal in Japan. It is not only done in a tea-house, where one would expect it, but on every occasion. A friendly call at a private house produces the teacups like magic, and when a customer enters a good shop, business matters are undreamed of until many little cups of tea have been produced; and if the customer has many things to buy and stays a long time, tea is steadily brought forward in relays. If you don't care for your tea plain, you may have it flavoured with salted cherry blossoms, but that is not considered an improvement by the Westerner, who longs for sugar and milk. If you wish to stay for the night at a tea-house, a room is made for you by sliding some paper screens into the wall and ceiling grooves, and a couple of quilts are laid on the floor to form a bed. That is the whole provision made in the way of furniture if you are off the beaten track of tourists: the rest you must provide for yourself. In the cities the tea-houses of the grander sort are the scenes of splendid entertainments. When a Japanese wishes to give a dinner to his friends he does not ask them to his house; he invites them to a banquet at some famous tea-house. There he provides not only the delicacies which make up a Japanese dinner, but hires dancing girls, called geisha, to amuse the company by their dancing and singing. A foreigner who is asked to one of these Japanese dinners finds everything very strange and not a little difficult. At the doors of the tea-house his boots are taken off, and he marches across the matting, to do his best to sit on his heels for a few hours. This gives him the cramp, and soon he is reduced to sitting with his back against the wall and his legs stretched out before him. He can manage in this way pretty fairly. There may be a table before him, or there may not. If there is a table, it will be a tiny affair about a foot high. There will be no tablecloth, no glasses, no knives and forks, no spoons, and no napkin. He will be expected to deal with his food with a pair of chopsticks. When these are set before him, he will see that the two round slips of wood are still joined together. This is to show that they have never been used before. He breaks them apart, and wonders how he is going to get his food into his mouth with two pencils of wood. The feast begins with tea served by moosmes, who kneel before each guest. Each wears her most beautiful dress, and is girded with a huge and brilliant sash. After the tea they bring in pretty little white cakes made of bean flour and sugar, and flavoured with honey. The next course is contained in a batch of little dishes, two or three of which are placed before each guest. These contain minced dried fish, sea slugs floating in an evil-smelling sauce, and boiled lotus-seeds. To wash down these dainties a porcelain bottle of saké, rice-beer, is provided. The unhappy foreigner tastes one dish after the other, finds each one worse than the last, and concludes to wait till the next course. This is composed of a very great dainty, raw, live fish, which one dips in sauce before devouring. Then comes rice, and the chopsticks of the Japanese feasters go to work in marvellous fashion. With their strips of wood or ivory they whip the rice grain into their mouths with wonderful speed and dexterity, but our unlucky foreigner gets one grain into his mouth in five minutes, and is reduced to beg for a spoon. The next course is of fish soup and boiled fish, and potatoes appear with the fish; but, alas! the fish is most oddly flavoured and the potatoes are sweet; they have been beaten up with sugar into a sort of stiff syrup. Next comes seaweed soup and the coarse evil-smelling daikon radish, served with various pickles and sauces. Among the other oddments is a dish of nice-looking plums. Our foreigner seizes one and pops it in his mouth. He would be only too glad to pop it out again if he could, for the plum has been soaked in brine, and tastes like a very salty form of pickle. As he experiments here and there among the wilderness of little lacquer bowls which come forth relay upon relay, he feels inclined to paraphrase the cry of the Ancient Mariner, and murmur: "Victuals, victuals everywhere, and not a scrap to eat!" When at length the dinner has run its course the geisha, in their beautiful robes of silk and brocade and their splendid sashes, come in to sing and dance. Europeans are soon tired of both performances. The geisha, with her face whitened with powder, and her lips painted a bright red, and her elaborately-dressed hair full of ornaments, sits down to a sort of guitar called a samisen and sings, but her song has no music in it. It is a kind of long-drawn wail, very monotonous and tuneless to European ears. The dancing is a kind of acting in dumb show, and consists of a number of postures, while the movements of the fan take a large share in conveying the dancer's meaning. When our foreigner starts home from this long and rather fatiguing entertainment, he finds that he has by no means finished with his dinner. On his way to his carriage he will be waylaid by the little moosmes who have waited upon him, and their arms will be filled with flat white wooden boxes. These contain the food that was offered to him and left uneaten, and Japanese etiquette demands that he shall take home with him his share of the scraps of the banquet. CHAPTER XVI TEA-HOUSES AND TEMPLES (_continued_) The Japanese are very fond of their temples, and visit them constantly. They do this not only to pray to their gods, but to enjoy themselves as well, for the temple grounds are the scene of great fairs and festivals. If you visit a temple on the day of some great function, you will find its steps outside packed with rows upon rows of clogs and umbrellas, placed there by the worshippers inside. You enter, and find the latter seated on the floor, and if the service is not going on at the moment they are smoking and chatting together, and the children are crawling about in the crowd. When the service is over the worshippers disperse to find a cool spot in the temple grounds to eat their simple meal. In front of the temple stands a wooden arch, called a torii. Sometimes the temple is approached through a whole avenue of them of various sizes. The building is of wood, sometimes small, sometimes very large, and is usually surrounded by booths and tea-houses. At many of the booths may be purchased the figures of the more popular gods. Everywhere may be seen the fat figures of the Seven Gods of Wealth, the deities most beloved in every Japanese household. Then there are the God and Goddess of Rice, who protect the crops, and who are attended by the figures of foxes quaintly carved in wood or moulded in white plaster. The Goddess of Mercy, with her many hands to help and save, is also a favourite idol. At another spot you find peep-shows, stalls at which hairpins, paints, and powder-boxes, and a thousand other trifles, are sold; archery galleries, where you may fire twenty arrows at a target for a halfpenny; booths, where acrobats, conjurers, and jugglers are performing, and tea-houses without number, where the faithful are sipping their tea or saké and puffing at their tiny pipes. The young girls are fond of purchasing sacred beans and peas and rice at a stall set up under the eaves of the temple. With these they feed the temple pigeons, who come swooping down from the great wooden roof, or the sacred white pony with the blue eyes which belongs to the holy place. On the steps sit rows of licensed beggars, who will pray for those who will present them with the tenth part of a farthing. But prayers may also be bought from the priests, prayers written upon a scrap of paper, which scrap is afterwards fastened to the bars of the grating in front of the figure of a god. A favourite god will have many thousand scraps of paper fluttering before it at one time. Many of the temple gardens are of very great beauty and interest. There can be seen many of the marvels of Japanese gardening--tiny dwarf trees, hundreds of years old, and yet only a few inches high, or tall shrubberies cut and trained to represent a great junk in full sail, or the figure of a god or hero. At certain times of the year when the temple orchards are in blossom, great throngs visit them simply to enjoy the delicate beauty of the scene. The plum-blossom appears in February, and the cherry-blossom in April or May. Later in the year the purple iris is followed by the golden chrysanthemum. High and low, all crowd to see the beauty of a vast sweep of lovely blossom. A poor Japanese thinks nothing of walking a hundred miles or more to see some famous orchard or garden in its full flowering splendour. From his earliest years this love of natural beauty has been a part of his education. As a child he has taken many a trip with his father and mother to admire the acres of plum or cherry blossom in a park or temple-garden; as a man he lays his work aside and goes to see the same spectacle with redoubled delight. CHAPTER XVII THE RICKSHAW-MAN "For his heart is in Japan, with its junks and Fujisan, And its tea-houses and temples, and the smiling rickshaw-man." We have heard of Fujisan, the famous mountain; we have talked of tea-houses and temples; and now we must say something about the rickshaw-man or boy, a very important person indeed in Japan. He is not important because of riches or rank, for, as a rule, he is very poor and of the coolie order; he is important because he is so useful. He is at one and the same time the cabman and the cab-horse of Japan. He waits in the street with his little carriage, and when you jump in he takes hold of the shafts himself and trots away with you at a good speed. The jin-ri-ki-sha, to give it its full name, means man-power carriage, and is like a big mail-cart or perambulator. There is a hood of oiled paper to pull up for wet weather, a cushion to sit on, a box for parcels under the seat, two tall slight wheels, and a pair of shafts. If the rickshaw-boy is well-to-do in his business, his carriage is gaily lacquered and painted with bright designs, and however poor he may be, there will be some attempt at decoration. At night every rickshaw is furnished with a pretty paper lantern, circular in form, about eighteen inches long, and painted in gay designs. These look quite charming as they bob here and there through the dusk, their owners racing along with a fare. The rickshaw is as modern as the bicycle. The first one was made less than forty years ago, but they sprang into favour at once, and their popularity grew by leaps and bounds. The fact is that the rickshaw fits Japan as a round peg fits a round hole. In the first place, it opened a new and money-making industry to many thousands of men who had little to do. There were vast numbers of strong, active young fellows who leapt forward at once to use their strength and endurance in this novel and profitable fashion. Then, the vehicle was suited to Japanese conditions, both in town and country. In town the streets are so narrow and busy that horse traffic would be dangerous. In fact, in many places a horse is so rare a sight that when one trots along a street a man runs ahead, blowing a horn to warn people to clear out of the way. But the rickshaw-boy dodges through the traffic with his little light carriage, and runs over no one. Then, in the country the roads are often very narrow, and sometimes very bad--mere tracks between fields of rice. Here the rickshaw is of great service, owing to its light weight and the little room it requires. As a rule, the rickshaw is drawn by one man and holds one passenger; but it has often to contain two Japanese, for the pair of them will fit snugly into the space required for one Englishman. If the traveller wishes to go fast, he has two human horses harnessed to his light chariot. Both run in front till a hill is reached, when one drops back to push behind. Wherever you arrive in Japan, whether by steamer or by train, you will find long rows of rickshaw-boys waiting to be hired. They are all called boys, whatever their age may be. Until a possible passenger comes in sight, the queer little men, many of them under five feet in height, stand beside their rickshaws, smoking their tiny little brass pipes with bowls about half as big as a thimble. Their clothes are very simple. They wear a very tight pair of short blue drawers and a blue tunic, upon the back of which a huge white crest is painted, the distinguishing mark of each boy. An enormous white hat the size and shape of a huge basin is worn on the head; but if the day becomes very hot the hat is taken off, and a wisp of cloth bound round the forehead to prevent sweat from running into the eyes. As for sunstroke, the rickshaw-boy has no fear of that. When you step into sight, a score dart forward, dragging their rickshaws after them with one hand and holding the other up to draw your attention, and shouting, "Riksha! Riksha! Riksha!" You choose one, and step in. The human steed springs between the shafts, raises them and tilts you backwards, and then darts off, as if eager to show you his strength and speed, and prove to you what a good choice you have made. Away bounds the little man, and soon you are bowling along a narrow street where a passage seems impossible, so full is it of boys and girls, men and women, shops and stalls. There may be a side-walk, but then, the shopkeepers have taken that to spread out their wares, or the stallkeepers have set up their little booths there. So the people who want to go along the street, and the boys and girls who want to play in it, are all driven to the middle of the way. Here and there your rickshaw dodges, working its way through the crowd. Now the man pauses a second lest he should run full-tilt over a group of gaily-dressed little girls, each with a baby on her back, playing at ball in the road. Half a dozen others are busy with battledores and shuttlecocks, and the gaily-painted toys drop into your carriage, and you are expected to toss them out again to the mites, who will bow very deeply and with the profoundest gravity in return for your politeness; then something flutters over your head, and you see that two boys and an old man are sitting on the roof of a house about as high as a tool-shed, trying to get their kites up. And you say to yourself that it is lucky that there are no horses, for the quietest beast that ever lifted a hoof would bolt here and charge through the whirl and uproar and the rain of dropping shuttlecocks and bouncing balls. Another fine thing about rickshaw-riding is that no one can call it expensive. While the boy goes, you pay him about sevenpence an hour; while he waits you pay him rather less than twopence-halfpenny an hour, and you can have his services for a whole day for about half a crown. But some of them will try to cheat you in places where foreigners are often met with, and will put a whole twopence an hour on the regular price. This is very sad, and causes the rickshaw-boy to be looked upon as a tradesman; he is not allowed the honour of being regarded as a servant and the member of an honourable profession--one who puts his master's interests before his own. But, as a rule, the foreigner who employs the same rickshaw-boy comes to look upon him as a guide, philosopher, and friend. He will tell you where to go and what to do; he knows all the sights, and can tell you all about them. If you go shopping, he will come in and see that you don't get cheated any more than you are bound to be. If you go on an expedition, he will find out the best tea-house to stay at, he will cook for you, wait on you, brush your clothes, put up the paper screens to form your bedroom, take them down again, see that the bill is reasonable, pay it, and fee the servants--in short, he will manage everything, and you have only to admire what you have gone to see. Wherever you stop on a jaunt, whether it is some famous temple or some lovely park, there is sure to be a coolie's tea-house handy, and he takes the opportunity of refreshing himself. He dives into the well under the seat and fetches out his lacquer box full of rice. He whips the rice into his mouth with chopsticks, and washes it down with the yellow, bitter Japanese tea. Then he sits and smokes his tiny pipe until you are ready to go on. CHAPTER XVIII IN THE COUNTRY The Japanese farmer is one of the steadiest workers in the world; he tills his patch of land, day in, day out, with untiring industry. He works seven days a week, for he knows nothing of the Sabbath, and only takes a day off for a fair or a festival when his land is in perfect order and he is waiting for the crop. Almost the whole of the land is turned over with the spade, and weeds are kept down until the whole country looks like a neatly-kept garden. Many crops are grown, but the chief of them all is rice, and when the rice crop fails, then vast numbers of people in Japan feel the pinch of famine. In order to grow rice much water is needed, so the fields are flooded from a river or canal near at hand, and the plants are set in the soft mud. This work is carried out by men or women who wade in slush above their knees, and it is a very dirty and toilsome task. The women tuck their kimonos up, and the men cast theirs aside altogether. After planting, this work in deep slush and clinging mud must be repeated three times in order to clear away the water-weeds which grow thickly around the young rice-plants. [Illustration: PEACH TREES IN BLOSSOM] When the rice is nearly ripe the water is drawn off and the fields are dried. The fields are of all sizes and shapes, from a patch of a few square yards up to an acre, and the latter would be considered large. There are no hedges or fences to divide off field from field, for the land is too valuable to permit of such being grown; but the boundaries are well understood, and each farmer knows his own patch. Another important crop is the plants which are grown for making paper. Paper has a great place in the industries of Japan. It is used everywhere and for almost everything. A Japanese lives in a house largely built of paper, drinks from a paper cup, reads by a paper lantern, writes, of course, on paper, and wraps up his parcels in it, ties up the parcels with paper string, uses a paper pocket-handkerchief, wears a paper cloak and paper shoes and paper hat, holds up a paper umbrella against the sun and the rain, and employs it for a great number of other purposes. He makes more than sixty kinds of paper, and each kind has its own specified use. He can make it so tough that it is almost impossible to tear it, and he can make it waterproof, so that the fiercest rain cannot pass through it. If your path leads you along the bank of a river you will often see a fisherman at work. He has many ways of catching his prey. He uses a line and hook and the net. In a large stream or pool he may be seen at work with the throwing-net, a clever device. This net is made in the form of a circle twelve or fourteen feet across, and round the edge of the net heavy sinkers of lead are fastened. The fisherman folds this net over his arm, and then tosses into the water a ball of boiled rice and barley. The fish gather to eat this bait, and then he throws the net in such a way that it falls quite flat upon the water. The leads sink at once to the bottom, and the net covers the feeding fish in the shape of a dome. A strong cord is fastened to the top of the net, and he begins to haul it up. The leads are drawn together by their own weight, and close the bottom of the net, and the fish are imprisoned. Sometimes he uses bow and arrows. This he does after putting into the water certain fruit and herbs which are very bitter. The juice of these herbs affects the water and drives the fish to the surface, where they leap about in pain. The fisherman shoots them with an arrow to which a cord is attached, and draws them ashore. As night falls after a hot day, the people and children of the village near at hand will come down to the water-side on a fire-fly hunt. The tiny gleaming creatures now flash along the surface of river and lake, like a myriad of fairy lanterns flitting through the dusk. They are caught and imprisoned in little silken cages. At the bottom of the cage there is a very small mound of earth in which a millet seed has been planted and has sprung up to the height of an inch or more, and beside the little plant there is a tiny bowl of water. Here the firefly will live for several days, to the delight of the children. Not far from the river is the village, with a brook running down the middle of its street. This brook serves many purposes. The women kneel beside it with sleeves and kimonos tucked up, washing clothes and vegetables, or dipping buckets in it to get water for baths. There is a loud rattle of wooden hammers at various points, for the stream turns a number of small water-wheels, and these work big wooden hammers which pound up the rice placed in a big stump of a tree hollowed out for a mortar. As you stroll along the village street you see what every one is doing, for the fronts of the houses are all open, and you can see into every corner of each dwelling. Behind the houses tall bamboos shoot up, and the bamboo is welcome, for it is a tree of many uses. Its wood serves for the framework of houses, and its leaves are often used as thatch. It will make a dish, a box, a plate, a bowl, an oar, a channel for conveying water and a vessel for carrying it, a fishing-rod, a flower-vase, a pipe-stem, a barrel-hoop, a fan, an umbrella, and fifty other things, while young bamboo shoots are eaten and considered a great delicacy. On fine summer evenings, when the work of the day is over, the villagers gather in the court of the village temple for the odori, the open-air dance. The court is decked with big beautiful paper lanterns, but there is a special one called toro (a light in a basket). The toro is often two feet square by five feet high. On one side of it is the name of the god in whose temple court the dance is being held, while the other is reserved for some short poem, written by one of the youths of the village. There is keen competition among them for the honour of writing the poem chosen to be inscribed on the toro, and two of these tiny poems run thus: "I looked upon the cherry that blooms by the fence, down by the woodman's cottage, And wondered if an untimely snow had fallen upon it." "Into the evening dew that rolls upon the green blade of the tall-grown grass in Mushashi Meadow The summer moon comes stealthily and takes up her dwelling." The young men and maidens dance in a ring, circling round one who stands in the midst, from whom they take both the time and music of the many dances performed at the odori. The dancers are always young and unmarried. The older people sit on the steps of the temple and watch the merry frolic with a smile. CHAPTER XIX IN THE COUNTRY (_continued_) On a wet day in the country the people thatch themselves to keep off the rain. The favourite waterproof of the coolie is a huge cloak made of rice straw, the long ends sticking out. With this and his great umbrella hat he keeps comfortably dry. Those who do not wear a big hat carry a large oiled paper umbrella, which shelters them well. There is plenty of wet weather in Japan, particularly in the summer, and then travelling is not very pleasant. The good roads become muddy and soft, and the bad roads become sheer quagmires, in which the coolie pulling the rickshaw is continually losing his straw sandals. These sandals, called waraji, mark out the tracks in every direction, for they soon wear out, and are cast off to litter the wayside in their hundreds. They are quickly and cheaply replaced, however, for almost every roadside house sells them, and a pair may be bought for a sen--something less than a halfpenny. Not only do the men wear straw shoes, but horses are shod in them also, and a very poor and clumsy arrangement it is. The shoes are thick, and are tied on the horse's feet with straw cords. They wear out so fast that a bunch has to be kept hanging to the saddle for use on the way, and in every village a fresh stock has to be secured, at the cost of a penny per set of four. The foreign visitor who travels through country places in Japan has to submit to being stared at, but nothing more. The people are so interested in a person who looks so different from themselves that they are never tired of watching him and his ways. But otherwise their unfailing politeness remains. They do not crowd upon him, or, if they should come a little too near, they are soon warned off. An English artist, Mr. Alfred Parsons, was once sketching in Japan, and the crowd, anxious to see his work, came a little too near his elbow. He says: "The keeper of a little tea-shop hard by, where I took my lunch, noticed that I was worried by the people standing so close to me, and when I arrived next morning I found that he had put up a fence round the place where I worked. It was only a few slender bamboo sticks, with a thin string twisted from one to another, but not a soul attempted to come inside it. They are such an obedient and docile race that a little string stretched across a road is quite enough to close the thoroughfare." A familiar figure along the Japanese highways and byways is that of the pilgrim going to see some famous shrine, or, most often of all, marching towards Fujisan, the sacred mountain. The Fuji pilgrim may be known by his garb. He is dressed in white, with white kimono, white socks and gaiters, and straw sandals. He wears a great basin-shaped white hat, and has a rush mat over his shoulders to temper the heat of the sun or shed the rain. Round his neck hangs a string of beads and a bell, which tinkles without ceasing as he goes. He carries a little bundle of spare sandals and a staff with an ornament of paper about its end. His pilgrimage costs him very little. His food is of the simplest, and he gets a bed at a tea-house for a halfpenny, or he lodges with a villager who offers him hospitality. To entertain his guest the villager will fetch his best furniture from the village godown, for in the country one of these storehouses suffices for a whole hamlet. They are made very large and strong, with many thick coats of mud and plaster on a wooden frame, and with a door of iron or of bronze; then, when the fire, which is sure to come at some time or other, sweeps over the hamlet and leaves it a layer of smoking ashes around the big godown, there are the village treasures still unharmed, and ready to adorn the houses which will spring up again as if by magic. When bedtime comes, the amado, the wooden shutters, are drawn around the house and securely fastened; for a Japanese dwelling, so open by day, is shut up as tightly as a sealed box by night. Now all is quiet save for the village watchman, whose duty it is to guard against fire and thieves. He marches up and down, beating two pieces of wood together--clop-clop, clop-clop--as he walks. This is to give assurance that he is not asleep himself, but watching over the slumbers of his neighbours, and to let the thieves know that he is looking out for them. CHAPTER XX THE POLICEMAN AND THE SOLDIER The Japanese policeman is, first and foremost, a gentleman. He is a samurai, a man of good family, and therefore deeply respected by the mass of the people. He is often a small man for a Japanese, but though his height may run from four feet ten to five feet nothing, he is a man of much authority. When the samurai were disbanded, there were very few occupations to which they could turn. They disdained agriculture and trade, but numbers of them became servants, printers, and policemen. This seems an odd mixture of tasks, but there are sound reasons for it. Many samurai became servants because service is an honourable profession in Japan; many became printers because the samurai were an educated class, and the only people fitted to deal with the very complicated Japanese alphabet; and many became policemen because it was a post for which their fighting instinct and their habit of authority well fitted them. Their authority over the people is absolute and unquestioning; and, again, there are sound reasons for this. [Illustration: THE FEAST OF FLAGS] Forty years ago the Japanese people could have been divided very sharply into two classes, the ruling and the ruled. The ruling class was formed of the great Princes and the samurai, their followers, about 2,000,000 people in all. The remaining 38,000,000 of the population were the common people, the ruled. Now, in the old days when a Daimio left his castle for a journey, he was borne in a kago, a closed carriage, and was attended by a guard of his samurai. If a common person met the procession, he was expected either to retire quickly from the path or fling himself humbly on his face until the carriage had gone by; if he did not, the samurai whipped out their long swords and slew him in short order, and not a single word was said about it. This way of dealing with those who did not belong to the two-sworded class made the people very respectful to the samurai, and that respect is now transferred to the police. The Japanese policeman is also to be respected for his skill in wrestling, and, small as he is, the tallest and most powerful foreigner is quite helpless in his hands. He is thoroughly trained in the art of Japanese wrestling--the jiu-jitsu of which we hear so much nowadays. In this system a trained wrestler can seize his opponent in such a manner that the other man is quite at his mercy, or with a slight impetus he can fling the other about as he pleases. One writer speaks of seeing a very small Japanese policeman arrest a huge, riotous Russian sailor, a man much more than six feet high. It seemed a contest between a giant and a child. The sailor made rush after rush at his tiny opponent, but the policeman stepped nimbly aside, waiting for the right moment to grip his man. At last it came. The sailor made a furious lunge, and the policeman seized him by the wrist. To the astonishment of the onlooker, the sailor flew right over the policeman's head, and fell all in a heap more than a dozen feet away. When he picked himself up, confused and half stunned, the policeman tied a bit of string to his belt and led him away in triumph to the station. The policeman never has any trouble with his own people; they obey at once and without question. If a crowd gathers and becomes a nuisance to anyone, it melts as soon as one of the little men in uniform comes along and gives the order to disperse. He may sometimes be seen lecturing a coolie or rickshaw-boy for some misdeed or other. The culprit, his big hat held between his hands, ducks respectfully at every second word, and looks all humility and obedience. Being an educated man, he has much sympathy with art and artists, and is delighted to help a foreigner who is painting scenes in Japan. Mr. Mortimer Menpes says: "Altogether I found the policeman the most delightful person in the world. When I was painting a shop, if a passer-by chanced to look in at a window, he would see at a glance exactly what I wanted; and I would find that that figure would remain there, looking in at the shop, as still as a statue, until I had finished my painting; the policeman meanwhile strutting up and down the street, delighted to be of help to an artist, looking everywhere but at my work, and directing the entire traffic down another street." Of the Japanese soldier there is no need for us to say much here, since the world has so lately been ringing with his praises. The endurance, the obedience, the courage of the Japanese soldier and sailor have been shown in marvellous fashion during the great war with Russia, and Japan has fully proved herself to be one of the greatest of the naval and military Powers of the world. The Japanese soldier is the result of the family life in Japan. From his infancy he is taught that he has two supreme duties: one of obedience to his parents, the other of service to his country. This unhesitating, unquestioning habit of obedience, a habit which becomes second nature to him, is of immense value to him as a soldier. He is a disciplined man before he enters the ranks, and he transfers at once to his officers the obedience which he has hitherto shown towards the elders of his family. His second great duty of service to his country also leads him onward towards becoming the perfect soldier. He not only looks upon his life as a thing to be readily risked or given for his Emperor and for Japan, but he strives to make himself a thoroughly capable servant of his land. No detail of his duty is too small for him to overlook, for he fears lest the lack of that detail should prevent him from putting forth his full strength on the day of trial. He cleans a button as carefully as he lays a big gun, and this readiness for any duty, great or small, was a large factor in the wonderful victory of Japan over Russia. In battle he questions no order. During the late war many Japanese regiments knew that they were being sent to certain death, in order that they might open a way for their comrades. They never flinched. Shouting their "Banzai!"--their Japanese hurrah--the dogged little men rushed forward upon batteries spouting flame and shell, or upon ramparts lined with rifles, and gave their lives freely for Dai Nippon, Great Japan, the country of their birth. CHAPTER XXI TWO GREAT FESTIVALS There are two great Japanese festivals of which we have not yet spoken, but which are of the first importance. One is the New Year Festival, the other is the Bon Matsuri, the Feast of the Dead, in the summer. The New Year Festival is the great Japanese holiday of the year. No one does any work for several days, and all devote themselves to making merry. Although this festival comes in the middle of winter, every street looks like an arbour, decorated as it is with arches of greenery before each house. On either side of each door is a pine-tree and bamboo stems. These signify a hardy old age, and they are joined by a grass rope which runs from house to house along the street. This rope is supposed to prevent evil spirits from entering the houses, and so it ensures the occupants a lucky year. Japanese flags are entwined amid the decorations, and green feathery branches and ferns are set about, until the street looks like a forest. Japanese people are so polite to each other that even the beggars in the streets bow to each other in the most ceremonious fashion, but at this festival the bowing is redoubled. There is a special form of greeting for this occasion, and not a bow is to be missed when two acquaintances meet. There is much feasting and a great exchange of presents. The Japanese are always making presents to each other, and there is a prescribed way for every rank of life to make presents to every other rank, and for the manner in which the presents are to be received. A present may always be known by the little gold or red or white paper kite fastened to the paper string which ties up the parcel. Every one enters into the fun of the time, from the highest to the lowest. They call upon each other; they march in great processions; they visit the gayest and liveliest of fairs; they feast; they drink tea and saké almost without ceasing. The fairs look most striking and picturesque after darkness has fallen. Then the streets and the long rows of white booths made of newly-sawn wood and gaily decorated, are lighted up by innumerable lanterns of every colour that paper can be painted, and of every size, from six inches high to six feet. The crowd wear their gayest kimonos, and the moosmes are brilliant in flowered or striped silks and splendid sashes, and the air is full of the rattle of the shuffling clogs and the tinkling samisen played in almost every booth. At times the crowd opens to let some procession pass through. Now it is the dragon-dancers, the dragon's head being a huge and terrifying affair made of coloured pasteboard, and carried on a pole draped with a long garment which hides the dancer. In front march two men with drum and fife to herald the dragon's approach. Next comes a batch of coolies dragging a car upon which a swarm of masqueraders present some traditional pageant, and next a number of boys perform an old dance with much spirit and shouting. On New Year's Eve a very curious market is held. It is a custom in Japan for every one to pay all that he owes to his Japanese creditors before the New Year dawns. If he does not do so, he loses his credit. So on the last day of the Old Year the Japanese who is behind in his payments looks among his belongings for something to sell, and carries it to the market in order that he may gain a few sen to settle with his creditor. In the great city of Tokyo this fair is visited by every traveller. For a space of two miles the stalls stretch along in double rows, lighted by lanterns of oil flares, and here may be seen every imaginable thing which is to be found in poorer Japanese households. As each Japanese arrives with his worldly possessions in a couple of square boxes swinging one at each end of a bamboo pole slung across his shoulder, he takes possession of a little stall or a patch of pavement and sets out his poor wares. He has brought mats, or cushions, or shabby kimonos, or clogs, or socks, or little ornaments and vessels in porcelain or silver or bronze. Sometimes he brings really beautiful things, the last precious possessions of a family which has come down in the world--a fine piece of embroidery, a priceless bit of lacquer, bronze and silver charms, little boxes of ivory, temples and pagodas and bell-towers in miniature, tiny but perfect in every detail and of the most exquisite workmanship. Everything comes to market on this night of the year. The Feast of the Dead takes place in the hot summer weather, and is celebrated in different ways in various parts of Japan. Everywhere the children, in their finest clothes, march through the streets in processions, carrying fans and banners and lanterns, and chanting as they march; but most great cities have their own form of celebration. At Nagasaki the tombs of all those who have died during the past year are illuminated with large bright lanterns on the first night of the celebrations. On the second and third nights all tombs are illuminated, and the burial-grounds are one glorious blaze of many-coloured lights. The avenues leading to the burial-grounds are turned into fair-grounds, with decorations and booths, stalls and tea-houses, each illuminated by many brilliant lanterns. Fires are lighted on the hills, rockets shoot up on every hand, and vast crowds of people gather in the cemeteries to feast and make merry and drink saké in honour of their ancestors, whose spirits they suppose to surround them and be present at the festival. At the end of the feast a very striking scene takes place: the preparations for the departure of the dead. "But on the third vigil, suddenly, at about two o'clock in the morning, long processions of bright lanterns are seen to descend from the heights and group themselves on the shores of the bay, while the mountains gradually return to obscurity and silence. It is fated that the dead should embark and disappear before twilight. The living have plaited them thousands of little ships of straw, each provisioned with some fruit and a few pieces of money. The frail vessels are charged with all the coloured lanterns which were used for the illumination of the cemeteries; the small sails of matting are spread to the wind, and the morning breeze scatters them round the bay, where they are not long in taking fire. It is thus that the entire flotilla is consumed, tracing in all directions large trails of fire. The dead depart rapidly. Soon the last ship has foundered, the last light is extinguished, and the last soul has taken its departure again from earth." 
7523	----	THE LADY OF THE DECORATION By Frances Little To All Good Sisters, And To Mine In Particular THE LADY OF THE DECORATION SAN FRANCISCO, July 30, 1901. My dearest Mate: Behold a soldier on the eve of battle! I am writing this in a stuffy little hotel room and I don't dare stop whistling for a minute. You could cover my courage with a postage stamp. In the morning I sail for the Flowery Kingdom, and if the roses are waiting to strew my path it is more than they have done here for the past few years. When the train pulled out from home and I saw that crowd of loving, tearful faces fading away, I believe that for a few moments I realized the actual bitterness of death! I was leaving everything that was dear to me on earth, and going out into the dark unknown, alone. Of course it's for the best, the disagreeable always is. You are responsible, my beloved cousin, and the consequences be on your head. You thought my salvation lay in leaving Kentucky and seeking my fortune in strange lands. Your tender sensibilities shrank from having me exposed to the world as a young widow who is not sorry. So you "shipped me some-wheres East of Suez" and tied me up with a four years' contract. But, honor bright, Mate, I don't believe in your heart you can blame me for not being sorry! I stuck it out to the last,--faced neglect, humiliations, and days and nights of anguish, almost losing my self-respect in my effort to fulfil my duty. But when death suddenly put an end to it all, God alone knows what a relief it was! And how curiously it has all turned out! First my taking the Kindergarten course just to please you, and to keep my mind off things that ought not to have been. Then my sudden release from bondage, and the dreadful manner of it, my awkward position, my dependence,--and in the midst of it all this sudden offer to go to Japan and teach in a Mission school! Isn't it ridiculous, Mate? Was there ever anything so absurd as my lot being cast with a band of missionaries? I, who have never missed a Kentucky Derby since I was old enough to know a bay from a sorrel! I guess old Sister Fate doesn't want me to be a one part star. For eighteen years I played pure comedy, then tragedy for seven, and now I am cast for a character part. Nobody will ever know what it cost me to come! All of them were so terribly opposed to it, but it seems to me that I have spent my entire life going against the wishes of my family. Yet I would lay down my life for any one of them. How they have stood by me and loved me through all my blind blunders. I'd back my mistakes against anybody else's in the world! Then Mate there was Jack. You know how it has always been with Jack. When I was a little girl, on up to the time I was married, after that he never even looked it, but just stood by me and helped me like a brick. If it hadn't been for you and for him I should have put an end to myself long ago. But now that I am free, Jack has begun right where he left off seven years ago. It is all worse than useless; I am everlastingly through with love and sentiment. Of course we all know that Jack is the salt of the earth, and it nearly kills me to give him pain, but he will get over it, they always do, and I would rather for him to convalesce without me than with me. I made him promise not to write me a line, and he just looked at me in that quiet, quizzical way and said: "All right, but you just remember that I'm waiting, until you are ready to begin life over again with me." Why it would be a death blow to all his hopes if he married me! My widow's mite consists of a wrecked life, a few debts, and a worldly notion that a brilliant young doctor like himself has no right to throw away all his chances in order to establish a small hospital for incurable children. Whenever I think of his giving up that long-cherished dream of studying in Germany, and buying ground for the hospital instead, I just gnash my teeth. Oh! I know that you think it is grand and noble and that I am horrid to feel as I do. Maybe I am. At any rate you will acknowledge that I have done the right thing for once in coming away. I seem to have been a general blot on the landscape, and with your help I have erased myself. In the meanwhile, I wish to Heaven my heart would ossify! The sole power that keeps me going now is your belief in me. You have always claimed that I was worth something, in spite of the fact that I have persistently proven that I was not. Don't you shudder at the risk you are taking? Think of the responsibility of standing for me in a Board of Missions! I'll stay bottled up as tight as I know how, but suppose the cork _should_ fly? Poor Mate, the Lord was unkind when he gave me to you for a cousin. Well it's done, and by the time you get this I will probably be well on my sea-sick way. I can't trust myself to send any messages to the family. I don't even dare send my love to you. I am a soldier lady, and I salute my officer. ON SHIP-BOARD. August 8th, 1901. It's so windy that I can scarcely hold the paper down but I'll make the effort. The first night I came aboard, I had everything to myself. There were eighty cabin passengers and I was the only lady on deck. It was very rough but I stayed up as long as I could. The blue devils were swarming so thick around me that I didn't want to fight them in the close quarters of my state-room. But at last I had to go below, and the night that followed was a terror. Such a storm raged as I had never dreamed of, the ship rocked and groaned, and the water dashed against the port-holes; my bag played tag with my shoes, and my trunk ran around the room like a rat hunting for its hole. Overhead the shouts of the captain could be heard above the answering shouts of the sailors, and men and women hurried panic-stricken through the passage. Through it all I lay in the upper berth and recalled all the unhappy nights of the past seven years; disappointment, heartache, disillusionment, disgust; they followed each other in silent review. Every tender memory and early sentiment that might have lingered in my heart was ruthlessly murdered by some stronger memory of pain. The storm without was nothing to the storm within, I felt indifferent as to the fate of the vessel. If she floated or if she sank, it was one and the same to me. When morning came something had happened to me. I don't know what it was, but my past somehow seemed to belong to someone else. I had taken a last farewell of all the old burdens, and I was a new person in a new world. I put on my prettiest cap and my long coat and went up on deck. Oh, my dear, if you could only have seen the sight that greeted me! It was the limpest, sickest crowd I ever encountered! They were pea-green with a dash of yellow, and a streak of black under their eyes, pale around the lips and weak in their knees. There was only one other woman besides myself who was not sick, and she was a missionary with short hair, and a big nose. She was going around with some tracts asking everybody if they were Christians. Just as I came up she tackled a big, dejected looking foreigner who was huddled in a corner. "Brother, are you a Christian?" "No, no," he muttered impatiently. "I'm a Norwegian." Now what that man needed was a cocktail, but it was not for me to suggest it. At table I am in a corner with three nice old gentlemen and one young German. They are great on story-telling, and I've told all of mine, most of yours and some I invented. One of the old gentlemen is a missionary; when he found that I was distantly connected with the fold he immediately called me "Dear Sister". If I were at home I should call him "Dear Pa", but I am on my good behavior. The eating is fairly good, only sometimes it is so hot with curry and spice that it nearly takes my breath. My little Chinese waiter is entirely too solicitous for my comfort. No amount of argument will induce him to leave my plate until I have finished, after a few mouthfuls he whisks it away and brings me another relay. After pressing upon me dishes of every kind, he insists on my filling up all crevices with nuts and raisins, and after I have eaten, and eaten, he looks hurt, and says regretfully: "Missy sickee, no eatee." There is one other person, who is just as solicitous. The little German watches my every mouthful with round solemn eyes, and insists upon serving everything to me. He looks bewildered when anyone tells a funny story, and sometimes asks for an explanation. He has been around the world twice, and is now going to China for three years for the Society of Scientific Research. He seems to think I am the greatest curio he has yet encountered in his travels. The chief excitement of our trip so far has been the day in Honolulu. I wanted to sing for joy when we sighted land. The trees and grass never looked so beautiful as they did that morning in the brilliant sunshine. It took us hours to land on account of the red tape that had to be unwound, and then there was an extra delay of which I was the innocent cause. The quarantine doctor was inspecting the ship, and after I had watched him examine the emigrants, and had gotten my feelings wrought up over the poor miserable little children swarming below, I found a nice quiet nook on the shelter deck where I snuggled down and amused myself watching the native boys swim. The water on their bronze bodies made them shine in the sunlight, and they played about like a shoal of young porpoises. I must have stayed there an hour, for when I came down there was considerable stir on board. A passenger was missing and we were being held while a search of the ship was made. I was getting most excited when the purser, who is the sternest and best looking man you ever saw, came up and pounced upon me. "Have you been inspected?" he demanded, eyeing me from head to foot. "Not any more than at present," I answered meekly. "Come with me," he said. I asked him if he was going to throw me overboard, but he was too full of importance to smile. He handed me over to the doctor saying: "Here is the young woman that caused the delay." Young woman, indeed! but I was to be crushed yet further for the doctor looked over his glasses and said: "Now how did we miss that?" But on to Honolulu! I don't wonder people go wild over it. It is as if all the artists in all the world had spilled their colors over one spot, and Nature had sorted them out at her own sweet will. I kept wondering if I had died and gone to Heaven! Marvelous palms, and tropical plants, and all hanging in a softly dreaming silence that went to my head like wine. I started out to see the city, with two old ladies and a girl from South Dakota, but Dear Pa and Little Germany joined the party. Oh! Mate how I longed for you! I wanted to tie all those frousy old freaks up in a hard knot and pitch them into the sea! The girl from South Dakota is a little better than the rest, but she wears a jersey! There _are_ real tailor-made people on board, but I don't dare associate with them. They play bridge most of the time and if I hesitated near them I'd be lost. I'll play my part, never fear, but I hereby swear that I will not dress it! STILL ON BOARD. August 18th. Dear Mate: I am writing this in my berth with the curtains drawn. No I am not a bit sea-sick, just popular. One of the old ladies is teaching me to knit, the short-haired missionary reads aloud to me, the girl from South Dakota keeps my feet covered up, and Dear Pa and Little Germany assist me to eat. The captain has had a big bathing tank rigged up for the ladies, and I take a cold plunge every morning. It makes me think of our old days at the cottage up at the Cape. Didn't we have a royal time that summer and weren't we young and foolish? It was the last good time I had for many a long day--but there, none of that! Last night I had an adventure, at least it was next door to one. I was sitting up on deck when Dear Pa came by and asked me to walk with him. After several rounds we sat down on the pilot house steps. The moon was as big as a wagon wheel and the whole sea flooded with silver, while the flying fishes played hide and seek in the shadows. I forgot all about Dear Pa and was doing a lot of thinking on my own account when he leaned over and said: "I hope you don't mind talking to me. I am very, very lonely." Now I thought I recognized a grave symptom, and when he began to tell me about his dear departed, I knew it was time to be going. "You have passed through it," he said. "You can sympathize." I crossed my fingers in the dark. "We are both seeking a life work in a foreign field--" he began again, but just here the purser passed. He almost stumbled over us in the dark and when he saw me and my elderly friend, he actually smiled! Don't you dare tell Jack about this, I should never hear the last of it. Can you realize that I am three whole weeks from home? I do, every second of it. Sometimes when I stop to think what I am doing my heart almost bursts! But then I am so used to the heartache that I might be lonesome without it; who knows? If I can only do what is expected of me, if I can only pick up the pieces of this smashed-up life of mine and patch them into a decent whole that you will not be ashamed of, then I will be content. The first foreign word I have learned is "Alohaoe", I think it means "my dearest love to you." Any how I send it laden with the tenderest meaning. God bless and keep you all, and bring me back to you a wiser and a gladder woman. KOBE. August 18th, 1901. Actually in Japan! I can scarcely believe it, even with all this strange life going on about me. This morning a launch came out to the steamer bringing Miss Lessing and Miss Dixon, the two missionaries in whose school I am to work. When I saw them, I must confess that my heart went down in my boots! Theirs must have done the same thing, for we stood looking at each other as awkwardly as if we belonged to different planets. The difference began with our heels and extended right on up to the crown of our hats. Even the language we spoke seemed different, and when I faced the prospect of living with such utter strangers, I wanted to jump overboard! My fellow passengers suddenly became very dear, I clung to everything about that old steamer as the last link that bound me to America. As we came down the gang plank, I was introduced to "Brother Mason" and "Brother White", and we all came ashore together. I felt for all the world like a convict sentenced to four years in the penitentiary. When we reached the Hotel, I fled to my room and flung myself on the bed. I knew I might as well have it out. I cried for two hours and thirty-five minutes, then I got up and washed my face and looked out of the window. It was all so strange and picturesque that I got interested before I knew it. By and by Miss Lessing came in. Now that her hat was off I saw that she had a very sweet face with pretty dark hair and a funny little twinkle behind her eyes that made me think of you. She told me how she had come out to Japan when she was a young girl, and how she had built up the school, and all she longed to do for it. Then she said, "Your coming seems like the direct answer to prayer. It has been one of my dearest dreams to have a Kindergarten for the little ones, it just seems too good to be true!" And she looked at me out of her nice shining eyes with such gratitude and enthusiasm that I was ashamed of what I had felt. After that Miss Dixon came up and they sat and watched me unpack my trunk. It took me about two minutes to find out that they were just like other women, fond of finery and pretty things and eager for news of the outside world. They examined all the dainty under clothes that sister had made for me, they marvelled over the high heeled slippers, and laughed at the big sleeves. "Where are you going to wear all these lovely things?" asked Miss Dixon. And again my heart sank, for even my simple wardrobe, planned for the exigencies of school life, seemed strangely extravagant and out of place. But I want to say right now, Mate, that if I stay here a thousand years I'll never come to jerseys and eight-year-old hats! I am going to subscribe to a good fashion paper, and at least keep within hailing distance of the styles. It is too warm to go down to the school yet so we are to spend a week in the mountains before we start in for the fall term. Dear Pa and Little Germany have been here twice in three hours but I saw them first. Home letters will not arrive until next week, and I can scarcely wait for the time to come. I keep thinking that I am away on a visit and that I will be going back soon. I find myself saving things to show you, and even starting to buy things to bring home. I have a good deal to learn, haven't I? HIEISAN. August 28th, 1901 Fairy-land, real true fairy-land that we used to talk about up in the old cherry-tree at grandmother's! It's all so, Mate, only more bewitching than we ever dreamed. I have been in little villages that dropped right out of a picture book. The streets are full of queer, small people who run about smiling, and bowing and saying pretty things to each other. It is a land where everybody seems to be happy, and where politeness is the first commandment. Yesterday we came up the mountains in jinrikishas. The road was narrow, but smooth, and for over three hours the men trotted along, never halting or changing their gait until we stopped for lunch. There is not much to a Japanese house but a roof and a lot of bamboo poles, but everything is beautifully clean. Before we had gotten down, several men and women came running out and bowing and calling "Ohayo, Ohayo" which means "good-morning." They ran for cushions and we were glad enough to sit on the low benches and stretch ourselves. Then they brought us delicious tea, and gathered around to see us drink it. It seems that light hair is a great curiosity over here, and mine proved so interesting that they motioned for me to take off my hat, and then they stood around chattering and laughing at a great rate. Miss Lessing said they wanted me to take my hair down, but would not ask it because of the beautiful arrangement. Shades of Blondes! I wish you could have seen it! But you _have_ seen it after a hard set of tennis. When we had rested an hour, and drunk tea, and bowed and smiled, we started out again, this time in a kind of Sedan chair, made of bamboo and carried on a long pole on the shoulders of two men. Now I have been up steep places but that trip beat anything I ever saw! I felt like a fly on a bald man's head! We climbed up, up, up, sometimes through woods that were so dense you could scarcely know it was day-time, and again through stretches of dazzling sunshine. Just as I was beginning to wonder what had become of our luggage, we passed four women laughing and singing. Two of them had steamer trunks on their heads, and two carried huge kori. They did not seem to mind it in the least, and bowed and smiled us out of sight. Another two hours' climb brought us to this village of camps called Hieisan. There are about forty Americans here, who are camping out for the summer, and I am the guest of a Dr. Waring and his wife from Alabama. My tent is high above everything, on a great overhanging rock, and before me is a view that would be a fit setting for Paradise. This mountain is sacred to Buddha, and the whole of it is thick with temples and shrines, some of them nobody knows how old. I have been trying to muster courage to get up at three o'clock in the morning to see the monkeys come out for breakfast. The mountains are full of them, but they are only to be seen at that hour. There are some very pleasant people here, and I have made a number of friends. I am something of a conundrum, and curiosity is rife as to _why_ I came. Mrs. Waring dresses me up and shows me off like a new doll, and the women consult me about making over their clothes. I don't know why I am not perfectly miserable. The truth is, Mate, I am having a good time! It's nice to be petted and treated like a child. It is good to be among plain, honest people, that live out doors, and have healthy bodies and minds. I want to forget all that I learned about the world in the past seven years. I want to begin life again as a girl with a few illusions, even if they are borrowed ones. I know too much for my years and I'm determined to forget. The home letters were heavenly. I've read them limber. I'll answer the rest to-morrow. HIROSHIMA. Sept. 2nd, 1901. At last after my wanderings I am settled for the winter. The school is a big structure, open and airy, and I have a nice room facing the east where you dear ones are. On two sides tower the mountains, and between them lies the magical Inland Sea. This is a great naval and military station, and while I write I can hear the bugle calls from the parade grounds. I have a pretty little maid to wait on me and I wish you could see us talking to each other. She comes in, bows until her head touches the floor and hopes that my honorable ears and eyes and teeth are well. I tell her in plain English that I am feeling bully, then we both laugh. She is delighted with all my things, and touches them softly saying over and over: "It's mine to care for!" There are between four and five hundred girls in the school and, until I get more familiar with the language, I am to work with the older girls who understand some English. You would smile to see their curiosity concerning me. They think my waist is very funny and they measure it with their hands and laugh aloud. One girl asked me in all seriousness why I had had pieces cut out of my sides, and another wanted to know if my hair used to be black. You see in all this big city I am the only person with golden tresses, and a green carnation would not excite more comment. Yesterday we went shopping to get some curtains for my room. Such a crowd followed us that we could scarcely see what we were doing. When we went into the stores we sat on the floor and a little boy fanned us all the time we were making our selection. Monday, Miss Lessing asked me to begin a physical culture class with the larger girls who are being trained for teachers, so I decided that the first lesson would be on _skipping_. It is an unknown art in Japan and the lack of it makes the Kindergarten work very awkward. I took fourteen girls out on the porch and told them by signs and gestures to follow me. Then I picked up my skirts, and whistling a coon-song, started off. You never saw anything to equal their look of absolute astonishment! They even got down on their hands and knees to watch my feet. But they were game, and in spite of their tight kimonos and sandalled feet they made a brave effort to follow. The first attempt was disastrous, some fell on their faces, some went down on their knees, and all stumbled. I didn't dare laugh for the Japanese can stand anything better than ridicule. I helped and encouraged and cheered them on to victory. The next day there was a slight improvement, and by the third day they were experts. I found that they had spent the whole afternoon in practice! Now what do you suppose the result is? An epidemic of skipping has swept over Hiroshima like the measles! Men women and children are trying to learn, and when we go out to walk I almost have convulsions at the elderly couples we pass earnestly trying to catch the step! I was so encouraged by this success that I taught the girls all sorts of steps and figures, even going so far as to teach them the _quadrille_! But my ambition led me a little too far. One day I came to class with a brand new step, which I had invented myself. It _was_ rather giddy, but a splendid exercise. Well I headed the line and after the girls had followed me around the room twice I saw that they were convulsed with laughter! When I asked what was the matter, they explained between gasps that the step was the principal movement in the heathen dance given during festivals to the God of Beauty! My saints! Wouldn't some of my dear brethren do a turn if they knew! Every afternoon I take about forty of the girls out for a walk. Our favorite stroll is along the moat that surrounds the old castle. It is almost always spilling over with lotus blossoms. The maidens, trotting demurely along in their rain-bow kimonos and little clicking sandals make a pretty picture. We have to pass the parade grounds of the barracks where 20,000 soldiers are stationed, and I do wish you could see them trying to be modest, and yet peeping out of the corners of their little almond eyes in a way which is not peculiar to any particular country. And the way they imitate me makes me afraid to breathe naturally. This thing of being a shining example is more than I bargained for. It is one of the few things in my checkered career that I have hitherto escaped. Never mind Mate, I couldn't be frivolous if I wanted to down here. Kobe would have proven fatal, for there are many foreigners there, and the temptation to have a good time would have been too much for me. I am rapidly developing into a hymn-singing sister, and the world and the flesh and the devil are shut up in the closet. Let us pray. October 2nd, 1901. At last, dear Mate, I am started at my own work with the babies and there aren't any words to tell you how cunning they are. There are eighty-five high class children in the pay kindergarten, and forty in the free. The latter are mostly of the very poor families, most of the mothers working in the fields or on the railroads. There are so many pitiful cases that one longs for a mint of money and a dozen hands to relieve them. One little girl of six comes every day with her blind baby brother strapped on her back. She is a tiny thing herself and yet that baby is never unstrapped from her back until night comes. When I first saw her old weazened face and her eagerness to play, I just took them both in my lap and cried! One funny thing I must tell you about. From the first week that I got here, the children have had a nickname for me. I noticed them laughing and nudging each other on the street and in the school, and whenever I passed they raised their right hands in salute, and gave a funny little clucking sound. They seemed to pass the word from one to another until every youngster in the neighborhood followed the trick. My curiosity was aroused to such a pitch that I got an interpreter to investigate the matter. When he came to report, he smilingly touched my little enamelled watch, the one Jack gave me on my 16th birthday, and apologetically informed me that the children thought it was a decoration from the Emperor and they were saluting me in consequence! And they have named me "The Lady of the Decoration". Think of it, I have a title, and I am actually looked up to by these funny yellow babies as a superior being. They forget it some time though when we all get to playing together in the yard. We can't talk to each other, but we can laugh and romp together, and sometimes the fun runs high. I am busy from morning until night. The two kindergartens, a big training class in physical culture, two Japanese lessons a day and prayers about every three minutes, don't leave many spare hours for homesickness. But the longing is there all the same, and when I see the big steamers out in the harbor and realize that they are coaling for _home_, I just want to steal aboard and stay there. The language is something awful. I get my tongue in such knots that I have to use a corkscrew to pull it straight again. Just between you and me, I have decided to give it up and devote my time to teaching the girls to speak English instead. They are such responsive, eager little things, it will not be hard. As for the country, I wouldn't dare to attempt a description. Sometimes I just _ache_ with the beauty of it all! From my window I can see in one group banana, pomegranate, persimmon and fig trees all loaded with fruit. The roses are still in full bloom, and color, color everywhere. Across the river, the banks are lined with picturesque houses that look out from a mass of green, and above them are tea-houses, and temples and shrines so old that even the moss is gray, and time has worn away the dates engraved upon the stones. We spent yesterday at the sacred Island of Miyajima, which is about one hour's ride from here. The dream of it is still upon me and I wish I could share it with you. We went over in a sampan, a rude open boat rowed by two men in undress uniform. For half an hour we literally danced across the sea; everything was fresh and sparkling, and I was so glad to be alive and free, that I just sang for joy. Miss Leasing joined in and the boatmen kept time, smiling and nodding their approval. The mountains were sky high, and at their base in a small crescent-shaped plain was the village with streets so clean and white you hated to walk on them. We stopped at the "House of the White Cloud" and three little maids took off our shoes and replaced them with pretty sandals. The whole house was of cedar and ebony and bamboo and it had been rubbed with oil until it shone like satin. On the floor was a stuffed matting with a heavy border of crimson silk, and in the corner of the room was a jar that came to my shoulder, full of wonderfully blended chrysanthemums. All the rooms opened upon a porch which hung directly above a roaring waterfall, and below us a dozen steps away stretched the sparkling sea, full of hundreds of sailing vessels and junks. In the afternoon, we wandered over the island, visiting the old, old temples, listening to the mysterious wailing of the wind bells, feeding the deer and crane, and drinking in the beauty of it all. I felt like a disembodied spirit, traveling back, back over the centuries, into dim forgotten ages. The dead seemed close about me, yet they brought no gloom, for I too was dead. All afternoon I had the impression of trying to keep my consciousness from drifting into oblivion through the gate of this magical dream! How you would enjoy it all, and read its deeper meaning, which is hidden from me. But even if I can't philosophize like a certain blessed old Mate of mine, I can _feel_ until every nerve is a tingle with the thrill. Good bye for a little while; I've stolen the time to write you this, and now it behooves me to hustle. November 12th, 1901. It's been a long while between "drinks", but I have been waiting until I could write a letter minus the groans. The truth is I have hit bottom good and hard and it is only to-day that I have come to the surface. When the exhilaration of seeing all the new and strange sights wore off, I began to sink in a sea of homesickness that threatened to put an end to the kindergarten business for good and all. I worked like mad, and all the time I felt like one of these whizzing rockets that go rushing through the air and die out in a miserable little fizzle at the end. I can stand it in the daytime, but at night I almost go crazy. And you have no idea how many women do lose their minds out here. Nearly every year some poor insane creature has to be shipped home. You needn't worry about that though, if I had mind enough to lose I'd have lost it long ago. But to think of all my old ambitions and aspirations ending in the humble task of wiping Little Japan's nose! I suppose you think I am pulling for the shore but I am not. I am steering my little craft right out in the billows It may be dashed to smithereens, and it may come safely home again, but in any case, I'll have the consolation of the Texas cowboy that "I've done my durndest!" By the way, what has become of Jack? He needn't have taken me so literally as never to send me a message even! You mentioned his having been at the Cape while you were there. Was he just as unsociable as ever? I can see him now lying flat on his back in the bottom of a boat reading poetry. I hate poetry, and when he used to quote his favorite passages I made parodies on them. Now _you_ were always different. You'd rhapsodize with him to his heart's content. Just here I had a lovely surprise. I looked out of the window and saw a coolie pull a little wagon into the yard and begin to unload. I couldn't imagine what was taking place but pretty soon Miss Dixon came in with both arms full of papers, pictures, magazines and letters. It was all my mail! I just danced up and down for joy. I guess you will never know the meaning of letters until you are nine thousand miles from home. And such dear loving encouraging letters as mine were! I am going to sit right down and read them all over again. November 24th, 1901. Clear sailing once more, Mate! In my last, I remember, I was blowing the fog horn pretty persistently. The letters from home set me straight again. If ever a human being was blessed with a good family and good friends it is my unworthy self! The past week has been unusually exciting. First we had a wedding on hand. The bride is a girl who has been educated in the school, so of course we were all interested. Some time ago, the middle-man, who does all the arranging, came to her father and said a young teacher in the Government school desired his daughter in marriage. The father without consulting the girl investigated the suitor's standing, and finding it satisfactory, said yea. So little Otoya was told that she was going to be married, and the groom elect was invited to call. I was on tiptoe with curiosity to see what would happen, but the meeting took place behind closed doors. Otoya told me afterwards that she had never seen the young man until he entered the room, but they both bowed three times, then she served tea while her mother and father talked to him. "Didn't you talk to him at all?" I asked. She looked horrified. "No, that would have been most immodest!" she said. "But you peeped at him," I insisted. She shook her head, "That would have been disgrace." Now that was three months ago and she hadn't seen him until Monday when they were married. At our suggestion they decided to have an American wedding and I was appointed mistress of ceremonies. It was great fun, for we had a best man, besides brides-maids and flower girls, and Miss Lessing played the Wedding March for them to enter. The arrangements were somewhat difficult owing to the fact that the Japanese consider it the height of vulgarity to discuss anything pertaining to the bride or the wedding. They excused me on the ground that I was a foreigner. The affair was really beautiful! The little bride's outer garment was the finest black crepe, but under it, layer after layer, were slips of rainbow tinted cob-web silk that rippled into sight with every movement she made. And every inch of her trousseau was made from the cocoons of worms raised in her own house, and was spun into silk by her waiting maids. After the excitement of the wedding had subsided, we had a visitation from forty Chinese peers. They came in a cavalcade of kuramas, gorgeously arrayed, and presenting an imposing appearance. I ran for the poker for I thought maybe they had come to finish "Us Missionaries." But, bless you, they had heard of our school and our kindergarten and had come for the Chinese Government to investigate ways and means. They made a tour of the school, ending up in, the kindergarten. The children were completely overpowered by these black-browed, fierce-looking gentlemen, but I put them through their paces. The visitors were so pleased that they stayed all morning and signified their unqualified approval. When they started to leave, I asked the interpreter if their gracious highnesses would permit my unworthy self to take their honorable pictures. Would you believe it? Those old fellows puffed up like pouter pigeons, and giggled and primped like a lot of school girls! They stood in a row and beamed upon me while I snapped the kodak. If the picture is good, I'll send you one. This morning I had to teach Sunday School. I'll be praying in public next. I see it coming. The lesson was "The Prodigal Son", a subject on which I ought to be qualified to speak. The Japanese youths understood about one word out of three, but they were giving me close attention. I was expounding with all the earnestness in me when suddenly I remembered a picture Jack used to have. It was of a lean little calf tearing down the road, while in the distance was coming a lazy looking tramp. Underneath was the legend: "Run, bossy, run, Here comes the Prodigal Son." That settled my sermon, so I told the boys a bear story instead. How I should love to drop in on you to-night and sit on the floor before the fire and pow-wow! I'll be an awful back number when I come home, but just think how entertaining I'll be! I have enough good dinner stories to last through the rest of my life! For heaven's sake send me some hat pins, nice long ones with pretty heads. And if you are in New York this winter please get me two bottles of that violet extract that I always use. My dearest love to all, and a hundred kisses to the blessed children at home Don't you _dare_ let them forget me. November 27th, 1901. I told you it would come! My prophetic soul foresaw it. I had to lead the prayer in chapel this morning. And I play the organ in Sunday School and listen to two Japanese sermons on Sunday. I tell you, Mate, this part of the work goes sadly against the grain. They say you get used to hanging if you just hang long enough, so I suppose I'll become reconciled in time. You ask me _why_ I do these things. Well you see it's all just like a big work shop, where everybody is working hard and cheerfully and yet there is so much work waiting to be done, that you don't stop to ask whether you like it or not. I can't begin to tell you of the hopelessness of some of the lives out here. Just think of it! Women working in the stone quarries, and in the sand pits and on the railroads, and always with babies tied on their backs, and the poor little tots crippled and deformed from the cramped position and often blind from the glare of the sun. What I am crazy to do now is to open another free kindergarten in one of the poorest parts of the city. It would cost only fifty dollars to run it a whole year, and I mean to do it if I have to sell one of my rings. It is just glorious to feel that you are actually helping somebody, even if that somebody is a small and dirty tribe of Japanese children. I get so discouraged and blue sometimes that I don't know what to do, but when a little tot comes up and slips a very soiled hand into mine and pats it and lays it against his cheek and hugs it up to his breast and says, "Sensei, Sensei," I just long to take the whole lot of them to my heart and love them into an education! They don't know the word love but they know its meaning, and if I happen to stop to pat a little head, a dozen arms are around me in a minute, and I am almost suffocated with affection. One little fellow always calls me "Nice boy" because that is what I called him. We are having glorious weather, cold in doors but warm outside. The chrysanthemums and roses are still blooming, and the trees are heavily laden with fruit. The persimmons grow bigger than a coffee cup and the oranges are tiny things, but both are delicious. Chestnuts are twice as big as ours, and they cook them as a vegetable. You'll be having Thanksgiving soon, and you will all go up to Grandmother's, and have a jolly time together. Have them fix a plate for me, Mate, and turn down an empty glass. Nobody will miss me as much as I will miss my poor little self. What jolly Thanksgivings we have had together! The gathering of the clans, the big dinner, and the play at night. Not exactly a play, was it, Mate f More of a vaudeville performance with you as the stage manager, and I as the soubrette. Do you remember the last reunion before I was married? I mean the time I was Lady Macbeth and gave a skirt dance, and you did lovely stunts from Grand Opera. Have you forgotten Jack's famous parody on "My Country 'Tis of Thee?" "My turkey, 'tis of thee, Sweet bird of cranberry, Of thee I sing! I love thy neck and wings, Legs, back and other things," etc, etc. There goes the bell, and here go I. I can appreciate the feelings of a fire engine! Christmas Day, 1901. Had somebody told you last Christmas, as we trimmed the big tree and made ready for the family gathering, that this Christmas would find me in a foreign country teaching a band of little heathens, wouldn't you have thought somebody had wheels in his head? And yet it is true, and I have only to lift my eyes to realize fully that I am really in the flowery kingdom. The plum blossoms are in full bloom and the roses too, while a thick frost makes everything sparkling white in the sunshine. The mountains have put on a thin blue veil trimmed in silver, and over all is a turquoise sky. And best of all, everybody--I speak figuratively--is happy. It may be that some poor little waif is hungry, having had only rice water for breakfast, it may be some sad hearts are beating under the gay kimonos, and it _may_ be, Mate dear, that somebody, a stranger in a strange land, can't keep the tears back, and is longing with all her mind and soul and body for home and her loved ones. But never you mind, nobody knows it but you and me and a bamboo tree! This afternoon we are going to have tea for the Mammas and Papas, and I am going to put on my prettiest clothes and do my yellow locks in their most fetching style. I shall lock up tight, way down deep, all heartaches and longings and put on my best smile for these dear little people who have given to me, a stranger, such full measure of their sympathy and friendship, who, in the big service last month, when giving thanks for all the great blessings of the past year, named the new Kindergarten teacher first. Do you wonder that I am happy and miserable and homesick and contented all at the same time? The box I sent home for Christmas was a paltry offering compared to what I wanted to send, but the things were bought with the first money I ever earned. They are packed in so tight with love that I doubt if you ever get them out. Our Christmas dinner was not exactly a success. We invited all the foreigners in Hiroshima, twelve in number, and everybody talked a great deal and laughed at everybody's stale jokes, and pretended to be terribly hilarious. But there was a pathetic droop to every mouth, and not a soul referred to _home_. Each one seemed to realize that the mere mention of the word would break up the party. I tell you I am beginning to look with positive reverence on the heroism of some of these people! Tears and regrets have no place here; desire, ambition, love itself is laid aside, and only taken out for inspection perhaps in the dead hours of the night. If heart breaks come, as come they must, there is no crying out, no rebellion, just a stiffer lip and a firmer grip and the work goes on. I wish I was like that, but I'm not. If Nature had put more time on my head and less on my heart, she would have turned out a better job. I put a pipe in the box for Jack. If you think I ought not to have done it, don't give it to him. As old Charity used to say, "I don't want to discomboberate nobody." Only I hope he won't think I am ungrateful and indifferent. NAGASAKI. January 14th, 1902. Now aren't you surprised at hearing from me in Nagasaki? I am certainly surprised at being here! One of the teachers at the school, Miss Dixon, Was taken sick and had to come here to see a doctor. I was lucky enough to be asked to come with her. I am so excited over being in touch with civilization again that I can't sleep at night! The transports and all the steamers stop here, and every type of humanity seems to be represented. This morning when I went out to mail a letter, there were two Sikhs in uniform in front of me, at my side was a Russian, behind me two Chinamen and a Japanese, while a Frenchman stepped aside for me to pass, and an Irishman tried to sell me some vegetables! Miss Dixon had to go to the Hospital for a few days, though her trouble is nothing serious, and I accepted an invitation from Mrs. Ferris, the wife of the American Consul, to spend a few days with her. And oh! Mate, if you only _knew_ the time I have had! If I weren't a sort of missionary-in-law I would quote Jack and say it has been "perfectly damn gorgeously." If you want to really enjoy the flesh-pots just live away from them for six months and then try them! The night I came, the Ferrises gave me a beautiful dinner, and I wore evening dress for the first time in two years, and was as thrilled as a debutante at her first ball! It was so good to see cut glass and silver, and to hear dear silly worldly chatter that I grew terribly frivolous. Plates were laid for twenty, and who do you suppose was on my right? The severe young purser who was on the steamer I came over in! His ship is coaling in the harbour and he is staying with the Ferrises, who are old friends of his. He is so solemn that he almost kills me. If he weren't so good looking I could let him alone, but as it is I can't help worrying the life out of him. The dinner was most elaborate. After the oysters, came a fish nearly three feet long all done up in sea-weed, then a big silver bowl was brought in covered with pie-crust. When the carver broke the crust there was a flutter of wings, and "four and twenty black birds" flew out. This it seems was done by the Japanese cook as a sample of his skill. All sorts of queer courses followed, served in the most unique manner possible. After dinner they begged me to sing, and though I protested violently, they got me down at the piano. I didn't get up any more until the party was over for they made me sing every song I knew and some I didn't. I sang some things so hoary with age that they were decrepit! The purser so far forgot himself as to ask me to sing "My Bonnie lies over the Ocean"! I did so with great expression while he looked pensively into the fire. Since then I have called him, "My Bonnie," and he _hates_ me. The next day we went out to services on board the battleship "Victor." The ship had been on a long cruise and we were the first American women the officers had seen for many a long day. They gave us a rousing welcome you may be sure. Through some mistake they thought I was a "Miss" instead of a "Mrs." and I shamelessly let it pass. During service I heard little that was said for the band was playing outside and flags were flying and I was feeling frivolous to the tip of my toe! I guess I am still pretty young, for brass buttons are just as alluring as of old. When the Admiral heard I was from Kentucky, he invited us to take tiffin with him, and we exchanged darkey stories and the old gentleman nearly burst his buttons laughing. After tea, he showed us over the ship, making the sailors line up on deck for our benefit. "Tell the band to play 'Old Kentucky Home'," he ordered. "You'll lose a passenger if you do!" I cried, "for one note of that would send me overboard!" He was so attentive that I had little chance to talk to the young officers I met. But several of them have called since, and I have been out to a lot of teas and dinners and things with them. The one I like best is a young fellow from Vermont. He is very clever and jolly and we have great fun together. In fact, we are such chums that he showed me a picture of his fiancée. He is very much in love with her, but if I were in her place I would try to keep him within eye-shot. We will probably go home to-morrow as Miss Dixon is so much better. I am glad she is better, but I could have been reconciled to her being mildly indisposed for a few days longer. I forgot to thank you for the kodak book you sent Christmas; between the joy of seeing all the familiar faces, and the bitterness of the separation, and the absurdity of your jingles, I nearly had hysterics! I almost felt as if I had had a visit home! The old house, the cabin, the cherry tree, and all the family even down to old black Charity, the very sight of whom made me hungry for buckwheat cakes, all, all gave me such joy and pain that it was hard to tell which was uppermost. It's worth everything to be loved as you all love me, and I am willing to go through anything to be worthy of it. I have had more than my share of hard bumps in life, but, thank Heaven, there was always somebody waiting to kiss the place to make it well. There isn't a day that I haven't some evidence of this love; a letter, a paper, a book that reminds me that I'm not forgotten. A note has just come from his Solemn Highness, the purser, asking me to go walking with him! I am going to try to be nice to him but I know I won't! He is so young and so serious that I can't resist shocking him. He doesn't approve of giddy young widows that don't look sorry! Neither do I. In two days I return to the fold. Until then "My Bonnie" beware! HIROSHIMA, February 19th, 1902. After a sleepless night I got up this morning with a splitting headache. I have been back in the traces for a month, and I am beginning to feel like a poor old horse in a tread mill, not that I don't love the work, but oh! Mate, I am so lonesome, lonesome, lonesome. I think I used up so much sand when I first came that the supply is running low. "All day there is the watchful world to face The sound of tears and laughter fill the air. For memory there is but scanty space Nor time for any transport of despair. But, Love, the pulse beats slow, the lips turn white Sometimes at night!" Perhaps when I am old and gray and wrinkled I'll be at peace. But think of the years in between! I have been cheated of the best that life holds for a woman, the love of a good husband, the love of her children, and the joys of a home. The old world shakes its finger and says "you did it yourself". But, Mate, I was only eighteen, and I didn't know the real from the false. I staked my all for the prize of love, and I lost. Heaven knows I've paid the penalty, but I'd do it over again if I thought I was right. The difference is that then I was a child and knew too little, and now I am a woman and know too much. Sometimes the hymn-singing and praying, and "Sistering" and "Brothering" get on my nerves, until I almost scream, but when I remember how heavenly good to me they are I'm all contrition. I have even been invited to write for the Mission papers, now isn't that sufficient glory for any sinner? Your letters are such comforts to me! I read them over and over and actually know parts of them by heart! Since I was a little girl I have had a burning desire to win your approval. I remember once when you said I was stronger than the little boy next door I sprained my back trying to prove, it. And now when you write those lovely things about me and tell me how good and brave I am, why I'd sprain something worse than my back to be worthy of your approval! But my courage doesn't always ring true, Mate, sometimes it's a brass ring. If you want to hear of true heroism, just listen to this story. There was a little American Missionary, who was going home to stay after twenty years of hard service. At the request of the board she stopped off at the Leper Colony in order to make a report. Soon after she reached home, she discovered a small white spot on her hand, and on consulting a physician, found it was leprosy. Without breathing a word of it to anyone, she bade her family and friends a cheerful good-bye, and came straight back to that Leper Colony, where she took up her work among the outcasts. Never an outcry, never a groan, not even a plea for sympathy! Now how is that for a soldier lady? It is quite cold to-day and I am indulging in the luxury of a roaring fire. You know the natives use little stoves that they carry around with them, and call "hibachi." But cold as it is, the yard is full of roses and the tea-plants are gorgeous. I don't wonder that the climate gets mixed, out here. Everything else is hind part before. What do you suppose I've been longing for all day? A good saddle horse? I feel that a brisk canter would set me straight in a short time. But the only horse in Hiroshima is a mule. A knock-kneed, cross-eyed old mule that bitterly resents the insult of being hitched to something that is a cross between a wheelbarrow and a baby buggy. The driver stands up for the excellent reason that he has no place to sit down! We tried this coupé once for the fun and experience. We got the experience all right but I am not so sure about the fun. We jolted along through the narrow streets scraping first against one house, then against another, while our footman, oh yes we had a footman, ran beside the thoroughbred to help him up when he stumbled. To-morrow we are to have company. A Salvation Army lassie comes down from Tokio with a brass band. It is the second time in the history of the town that the people have had a chance to hear a brass band, and they are greatly thrilled. I must say I am a bit excited myself; Miss Lessing says she is going to keep me in sight, for fear I will follow the drum away. She needn't worry. I am through following anything in this world but my own nose. HIROSHIMA, March 25, 1902. I am absolutely walking on air today! Just when I thought my cherished dream of a free kindergarten would have to be given up, the checks from home came! You were a trump to get them all interested, and it was beautiful the way they responded. Only _why_ did you tell Jack? He oughtn't to have sent so much. I'd send it back if I weren't afraid of hurting him. My head is simply spinning with plans! We are going to open the school right away and there are hundreds of things to be done. In spite of my home-sickness, and loneliness and longing for you loved ones, I wouldn't come home now if I could! It is the feeling that I am needed here, that a big work will go undone, if I don't do it, that simply puts my little wants and desires right out of the question! Yesterday we had a mothers' meeting, and I have not stopped laughing over it yet! It seems that the mothers considered it proper to show their appreciation by absolute solemnity. After tea and cake were served they sat in funeral silence. Not a word nor a smile could we get out of them. When I couldn't stand it another minute, I told Miss Lessing I was going to break the ice if I went under in the effort. By means of an interpreter, I told the mothers that we were going to try an American amusement and would they lend their honorable assistance? Then I called in thirty of the school girls and told each one to ask a mother to skip. They were too polite to decline, so to the tune of "Mr. Johnson, Turn Me Loose," the procession started. Miss Dixon couldn't stay in the room for laughing. The old and the young, and the fat and the thin caught the spirit of it and went hopping and jumping around the circle in great glee. After that, old ladies and all played "Pussy Wants a Corner," and "Drop the Handkerchief," and they laughed and chattered like a lot of children. They stayed four hours, and we are still picking up hair ornaments! Up over my table I have the little picture you sent of the "Lane that turned at last". You always said my lane, would turn, and it _has_ turned into a broad road bordered by cherry-blossoms and wistaria. But, Mate, you needn't think there are no more mudholes, for there are. When I see them ahead, I climb the fence and walk around! I am getting quite thrilled these days over the prospect of war. The soldiers are drilling by the hundreds, and the bugles are blowing all day. It makes little thrills run up and down my back, but Miss Lessing says nothing will come of it, that Japan is always getting ready for a scrap. But the Trans-Siberian Railway has refused all freight because it is too busy bringing soldiers and supplies to Vladivostock. Now speaking of Vladivostock reminds me of a plan that has been suggested for next summer. Miss Dixon, the teacher who was sick, is going to Russia and is crazy for me to go with her. It wouldn't be much more expensive than staying in Japan, and would be tremendously interesting. Don't mention it to anybody at home, but write me if you approve. I wish you could have peeped into my room last night. Four or five of the girls slipped in after the silence bell had rung, and we sat around the fire on the floor and drank tea while I showed them my photographs. They made such a pretty picture, with their gay gowns and red cheeks, and they were so thrilled over all my things. The pictures from home interested them most of all, especially the one of you and Jack which I have framed together. At first they thought you must be married, and when I said no, they decided that you were lovers, so I let it go. After they went to bed, I sat and looked at the two pictures in the double frame and wondered how it was after all that you and Jack _hadn't_ fallen in love with each other! You both live with your heads in the clouds; I should think you would have bumped into each other long before this. He told me once that you had fewer faults than any woman he had ever known. Telling me of other people's virtues was one of Jack's long suits. My last minute of grace is gone, so I must say good-night. I am getting up at five o'clock these mornings in order to get in all that I want to do. HIROSHIMA, May 31, 1902. Under promise that I will not write a long letter, I am allowed to begin one to you this morning. Miss Lessing wrote you last week that I had been sick. The truth is I tried to do too much, and paid up for it by staying in bed two whole weeks. Perhaps I will acquire a little sense in the next world; I certainly haven't in this! Japan wasn't made for restless, energetic people. If you can't learn to be lazy, you can't last long. I can never tell you how good Miss Lessing has been, sleeping right by me, taking care of me and loving me like I was her own child. The girls too, have been so good sending me gifts almost every hour in the day. One little girl got up at prayers the other night, and, folding her hands, said: "Oh Lord, please make the Skipping Sensei well, and help me to keep my mouth shut so it will be quiet, for she has been good to us and we all do love her much." Heaven knows the "Skipping Sensei" needs all the prayers of the congregation! Just as soon as school is over, Miss Dixon and I start for Russia. It's a good thing that vacation is near for I am tired of being a Missionary lady, and a school-marm, in fact I am tired of being good. Don't worry about me, for I am all right. I've just run down and need a little fun to wind me up for another year. KOBE, July 16, 1902. Does July 16th mean anything to you? It does to me. Just one year ago today the gates of that old Union Depot shut between me and all that was dear to me, and I went out into the big world to fight my big fight alone. Well, I am still fighting, Mate, and probably will be to the end of the campaign. As you see I am in Kobe waiting for my pass-port to go to Russia. If there is anything you want to know about pass-ports just apply to me. With all confidence, I sailed down to the Consulate and was met by a pair of legs attached to a huge mustache and the funniest little button of a head you ever saw. I think the Lord must have laughed when he got through making that man! He was horribly bored with life in general, and me in particular. He motioned me wearily to a chair beside a table, and, handing me a paper, managed to sigh: "Fill in." The questions were about like this: Who was your father? What are you doing out of your own country? Was anybody in your family ever hung? How many teeth have you? I wrote rapidly until I got to "When were you born?" Button-Head was standing by me, so I looked up at him helplessly and told him that was one thing I _never_ could remember. He said I would have to, and I said I couldn't. He pranced around for fifteen minutes, and I pretended to be racking my brain. Then he handed me a Bible, and said in a stern voice: "Swear." I told him that I couldn't, that I never had sworn, that ladies didn't do it in America, wouldn't he please do it for me? About this time Miss Dixon spoiled the fun by laughing, so I had to behave. After we had spent two hours and three dollars in that dingy old office, we departed, but our troubles were not over. No sooner had we reached the hotel than Button-Head appeared with more papers. "You failed to describe yourself," he mournfully announced, handing me another slip. I had not had my dinner and I was cross, but I seized a pen determined to make short work of it. How tall? Easily told. Black or white? Very easy. Kind of chin? Round and rosy. Shape of face? Depends on time and place. Hair? Pure gold. Eyes? Now I knew they were green but that did not sound poetic enough so I appealed to Dixie. She thought for a while, then said, "Not gray nor brown, I have it, they are syrup colored!" So I put it down along with a lot of other nonsense. Now the papers have to be sent to Tokyo for approval, then back here again where I will have to do some more signing and swearing. Isn't this enough to discourage people from ever going anywhere? The news about the sailboat is great. How many of you will be up at the Cape this summer? Is Jack going? When I think of the starlight nights out in the boat, and the long lazy mornings on the beach, I get absolutely faint with longing. Heretofore I haven't _dared_ to enjoy things, and now, when I might, I am an exile heading for Siberia! Oh, well! perhaps there will be starlight nights in Siberia, who knows? VLADIVOSTOCK, SIBERIA, August 16, 1902. If I should write all I wanted to say this morning, my letter would reach across the Pacific! I didn't believe it was possible for me ever to have such a good time again. When we came, we brought a letter of introduction to a Mrs. Heath. She has a beautiful big house, and a beautiful big heart, and she took us right into both. The day after we arrived, I was standing on her piazza looking down the bay, when I saw a battle-ship come sailing in under a salute of seventeen guns from the fort. It turned out to be the "Victor," and you never knew such rejoicing. Mrs. Heath knows all the navy people and her house is a favorite rendezvous. Before night, we had met many old acquaintances, among them my Nagasaki friend, "Vermont." It has been tremendously jolly and I can't deny that I have been outrageously frivolous for a missionary! But to save my life I can't conjure up the ghost of a regret! And what is more, I have been contaminating Dixie! I have kept her in such a giddy whirl that she says I have paralysed her conscience! I have dressed her up and trotted her along to lunches, teas and dinners, to concerts on sea and land, and once, Oh! awful confession, I bulldozed her into going to the theatre! The consequence is that she has gotten entirely well and looks ten years younger. Her chief trouble was that she had surrounded herself with a regular picket fence of creed and dogma, and was afraid to lift her eyes for fear she would catch a glimpse through the cracks, of the beautiful world which God meant for us to enjoy. It gave me particular joy to pull a few palings off that picket fence! Most of my time is spent on the water with Vermont. I don't find it half bad out on the bewitching Uzzuri Bay when the moon is shining and the music floats over the water, to discuss love with a fascinating youth! What does it matter if he is talking about "the other one"? Don't you suppose that I am glad to know that somewhere in this wide world there's a man that can be loyal to his sweetheart even though she is ten thousand miles away? I ask occasional questions and don't listen to the answers, and he pours out his confessions and thinks I am lovely. He really is one of the dearest fellows I ever met, and I am glad for that other girl with all my heart. I like several of the other men very much but they bother me with questions. They refuse to believe that I am connected with a mission, and consider it all as a huge joke. I wish you could see this place. It is built in terraces up the greenest of mountains and forms a crescent around the bay. Everybody seems to be in uniform of some kind, and soldiers and sailors are at every turn. The streets are a glittering panorama of strange color and form. At night everything is ablaze, bands playing, uniforms glittering, and flags flying. It is all just one intense thrill of life and rhythm, and the cloven foot of my worldliness never fails to keep time. But when daylight comes and all the sordid ugliness is revealed, disgust takes the place of fascination. The streets are crowded with thousands of degraded Chinese and Koreans, who, even in their brutality, are not as bad as the ordinary Russians. Through this mass of poverty and degradation dash handsome carriages filled with richly clad people. The drivers wear long blue plush blouses with red sleeves and belt, and trousers tucked in high boots. On their heads they wear funny little hats that look as if they had been sat on. They generally stand up while driving and lash the poor horses into a dead run from start to finish. Many of them are ex-convicts and can never leave Siberia. If their cruelty to horses is any criterion of their cruelty to their fellow men, I can't help thinking they deserve their punishment. I won't dare to mail this letter until I get out of Russia for they are so cranky about their blessed old country. They would not even let me have a little flag to send to the boys at home! I found out to-day that a policeman comes every day to see what we have been doing, what hours we keep, etc. In fact every movement is watched, and one day when we returned to the hotel, we found that all our possessions had been searched, and the police had even left their old cigar stumps among our things! The more you see of Russia, the more deeply you fall in love with Uncle Sam! Several days ago Mrs. Heath gave us a tennis-tea and we had a jolly time. The tea was served under the trees from a steaming samovar, around which gathered representatives of many nations. There were many unpronounceable gentlemen, and one real English Lord, who considered Americans, "frightfully amusing." I thought I had forgotten how to play tennis but I hadn't. That undercut that Jack taught us won me a reputation. It is only when I stop to think, that I realize how far I am from home! When I wonder where you all are this minute, and what you are doing, I feel as if I were on a visit to the planet Mars, and had no communication whatever with the world. Think of me, Mate, in Siberia, eating fish with a spoon, and drinking coffee from a glass! Verily, when old Sister Fate found she could not down me, she must have decided to play pranks with me! My box of new clothes arrived just before I started, and I have had use for everything. When I get on the white coat suit and the white hat, I feel like a dream. The weather is simply glorious, like our best October days at home. Nothing could be more unlike than Russia and Japan! one is a great oil painting, tragic, majestic, grand, while the other is an exquisitely dainty water color full of sunshine and flowers. Callers have come so I must close. Life is a very pretty game after all, especially when you get wise enough to look on. VLADIVOSTOCK, SIBERIA, September 1, 1902. Just a short letter to tell you that we leave Vladivostock to-night. I am all broken up; it has been the happiest summer that I have had for years and I can't bear to think of it being over. It has been so long since Peace and I have been acquainted that I hardly yet dare look her full in the face for fear she will take flight and leave me in utter darkness again. Even if she has not come to live with me, she is at least my next door neighbor, and I offer her incense that she may abide. Now I might as well confess that if it were not for Memory there is no telling what Peace might do! Poor old Memory! I'd like to throttle her sometime and bury her in a deep hole. Yet she has served me many a good turn, and often laid a restraining hand on impulse and thought. But she is like a poor relation, always turning up at the wrong time! For instance, on a gorgeous moonlight night on the Uzzuri Bay when you are out in a sampan with a pigtail who neither sees nor hears, and your companion is clever enough to be fascinating and daring enough to say things he "hadn't oughter," and the music and the moonlight gets into your head, and you feel young and reckless and sentimental, then all of a sudden Memory recalls another moonlight night when the youth and the romance weren't merely make believe, and your mind travels wearily over the intervening years, and you sit up straight and look severe and put your hands behind you! Oh! I am clinging to my ideal, Mate, never fear. I've held on to her garments until they are tattered and torn. You introduced me to her and I have never lost sight of her entirely. This afternoon the Victor sailed for the Philippines. As she passed Mrs. Heath's cottage where we had all promised to be, she dipped her colors. I felt pretty blue for I knew my good times were on board, and were sailing out of sight. I am now at the hotel, trunk and boxes packed, waiting to start. Cinderella is not going to wait for the stroke of twelve; she has donned her sober garments and is ready to be whisked back to the cinders on the hearth. I am glad hard work is ahead; a solid grind seems necessary for my soul's salvation. Farewell, vain earth! I love you not wisely but too well. Why can't people be nice to one without being too nice? And why can't you be horrid to people without being too horrid? Selah. HIROSHIMA, October 10, 1902. Dear Old Mate: I am so dead tired to-night that I could not tell what part of me ached the most! But the spirit moves me to unburden my soul and I feel that I must write you. For this is one of my _dream_ nights, and I have so many in Japan, when my old shell is too exhausted to move, and so permits my soul to wander where it will, a dream night, when the moon is its silveriest and biggest and I want to hug it for I know that twelve hours before it looked down on my loved ones, and now it comes to make more beautiful this fairy land, hiding the scars and ugly places, touching the pine trees with silver points, and glorifying the old Temples, till one wonders if they _could_ have been made by hands. A night when the white robed priests are doing honor to some "heathen idol" and must needs call his wandering attention by the stroke of the deep toned bell, which sends its music far across sleeping Japan, out into the wonderful sea. I don't know what comes over me such nights as these. I don't seem to be me at all! I can lie most of the night, wide awake, yet unconscious of my surroundings, and dream dreams. I live through all the joyful days of childhood, then through the sorrowful days of womanhood when I was learning how to live, through the years of heartache and heart-break,--and through it all, though I actually suffer, there, is such an unspeakable lightness and buoyancy, such a lifting up, that even pain is a pleasure. I can't explain it all, unless it is the influence of this mysterious country, lulling and soothing, but powerful and subtle as poison. My dear girl you say you feel too far away to help me! Now don't you worry about that! If you never wrote me another line, you would help me. Just to know that you are around there, on the other side of the earth, believing in me, loving me, and _approving_ of me, means everything. You were right to make me come, and while it cost me my very heart's blood, yet I am learning my lesson as you said I would. My little ship may never again sail into the harbor of happiness, yet there are sunny seas where soft winds blow, and even if my ship is all by its lonesome, yet it's such a frisky craft, warranted never to sink, no matter what the weather, that it can sail over many seas, touch many lands, and grow rich in experience. And hid away in the locker where no eye save mine may see, are my treasures; your love is one, and nothing can rob me of it. What you write me of Jack makes me very unhappy. I am not worth his worrying over. Tell him so, Mate. If I could ever care for anybody again in this world, it would be for him, but if an occasional sentiment dares to spring up into my heart, I pull it up by the roots! I would give anything to write to him, but I know it would only bring pain to us both. Be good to him, Mate, I can't bear to think of him being miserable. I am so tired that I can scarcely keep the tears back. I must write no more. HIROSHIMA, November 14, 1902. I have about fifteen minutes between classes, and I am going to spend them on you. Now who do you suppose has come to the surface again? Little Germany, who was on the steamer coming over. He wasted a great many stamps on me for the first few months after we landed but he got tired of playing solos. He was on his way to Thibet to enter a monastery to study some ancient language. Heaven knows why he wants to know anything more antique than the language he speaks! I don't believe there is any old dusty, forgotten corner of the world that he hasn't poked into. Well you know the fatal magnetism I exert over fossils! They always turn to me as naturally as needles turn to a loadstone. This particular mummy was no exception. I wrote him a formal stately answer, reminding him in gentle reproof that I was a widow (God save the Mark) and that my life was dedicated to my work. It was no use, he bombarded me with letters, with bigger and bigger words and longer and fiercer quotations. In the last one he threatens to come to Hiroshima! If he does, I am going to shave my eye-brows and black my teeth! He speaks seven languages, and yet he doesn't know the meaning of the one word "no." Jack used to say that if a man was persistent enough he could win a woman in spite of the Devil. I would like to see him! I mean Jack, not Dutchy nor the Devil. HIROSHIMA, Christmas Eve, 1902. I am in the very thickest of Christmas, and yet such a funny, unreal Christmas, that it does not seem natural at all. Hiroshima is busy decorating for the New Year, and everything is gay with brilliant lanterns, plum blossoms and crimson berries. The little insignificant streets are changed into bowers of sweet smelling ferns and spicy pines, and the bamboo leaves sway to every breeze, while the waxen plum blossoms send out a perfume sweet as violets. The shop-keepers and their families put on their gayest kimonos and their most enticing smiles and greet you with effusion. On entering a shop you are asked if your honorable eyes will deign to look upon most unworthy goods. Please will you give this or that a little adoring look? The price? Ah! it's price is greatly enhanced since the august foreigner cast honorable eyes upon it. (Which is no joke!) Whether the article is bought or not, the smile, the bow, the compliment are the same. All this time the crowd around the door of the shop has been steadily increasing until daylight is shut out, for everyone is interested in your purchase from the man who hauls the dray up to the highest lady in the land. The shop-keeper is very patient with the crowd until it shuts out the light, then he invites them to carry their useless bodies to the river and throw them in. Once outside you see another crowd and as curiosity is in the air, you crane your neck and try to get closer. The center of attraction is a man in spotless white cooking bean cake on a little hibachi. The air is cold and crisp, and the smell of the savory bean paste, piping hot, makes you hungry. Next comes the fish man with a big flat basket on each end of a pole, and offers you a choice lot; long slippery eels, beautiful shrimp, as pink as the sunset, and juicy oysters whose shells have been scrubbed until they are gleaming white. Around the baskets are garlands of paper roses to hide from view the ugly rough edges of the straw. The candy shops tempt you to the last sen, and the toy shops are a perfect joy. Funny fat Japanese dolls and stuffed rabbits and cross-eyed, tailless cats demand attention. Perhaps you will see a cheap American doll with blue eyes and yellow hair carefully exhibited under a glass case, and when you are wondering why they treasure this cheap toy, you happen to glance down and catch the worshipping gaze of a wistful, half starved child, and your point of view changes at once and you begin to understand the value of it, and to wish with all your heart that you could put an American dolly in the hands of every little Japanese girl on the Island! It is getting almost time to open my box and I am right childish over it. It has been here for two days, and I have slipped in a dozen times to look at it and touch it. Oh! Mate, the time has been so long, so cruelly long! I wake myself up in the night some time sobbing. One year and a half behind me, and two and a half ahead! I remember mother telling about the day I started to school, how I came home and said triumphantly, "Just think I've only got ten more years to go to school!" Poor little duffer! She's still going to school! Last night I had another mother's meeting for the mothers of the Free Kindergarten. This time I gave a magic lantern show, and I was the showman. The poor, ignorant women sat there bewildered. They had never seen a piano, and many of them had never been close to a foreigner before. I showed them about a hundred slides, explained through an interpreter until I was hoarse, gesticulated and orated to no purpose. They remained silent and stolid. By and by there was a stir, heads were raised, and necks craned. A sudden interest swept over the room. I followed their gaze and saw on the sheet the picture of Christ toiling up the mountain under the burden of the cross. The story was new and strange to them, but the fact was as old as life itself. At last they had found something that touched their own lives and brought the quick tears of sympathy to their eyes. I am going to have a meeting every month for them, no matter what else has to go undone. It is almost time to hang up our stockings. Miss Lessing and Dixie objected at first, but I told them I was either going to be very foolish or very blue, they could take their choice. I have to do something to scare away the ghosts of dead Christmases, so I put on my fool's cap and jingle my bells. When I begin to weaken, I go to the piano and play "Come Ye Disconsolate" to rag time, and it cheers me up wonderfully. I guess it's just about daylight with you now. Pete is tiptoeing in to make the fires. I can hear him now saying: "Christmas Gif' Mister Sam, Chris'mus Gif' Miss Bettie!" and the children are flying around in their night clothes wild with excitement. Down in the sitting room the stockings make a circle around the room and underneath each is a pile of gifts. I can see the big log fire, and the sparkle of it in the old book-case, and in the long glass between the windows. And in a few minutes here you all come, you uncles and you cousins and you aunts, trooping in with the smallest first. And such laughing, and shouting, and rejoicing! and maybe in the midst of the fun somebody speaks of me, and there's a little hush, and a little longing, then the fun goes on more furiously than ever. Well even if I am on the wrong side of the earth in body, I am not in spirit, and I reach my arms clear around the world and cry "God bless you, every one." HIROSHIMA, March, 1903. I have a strong conviction that I am going to swear before I get through this letter, for this pen is what I would call, to use unmissionary language, devilish. My! how familiar and wicked that word looks! I've heard so many hymns and so much brotherly and sisterly talk that it seems like meeting an old friend to see it written! Here it is nearly cherry-blossom time again, and the days and the weeks are slipping away into months before I know it. I am working at full speed and wonder sometimes how I keep up. But I don't dare leave any leisure for heartaches, even when the body is quivering from weariness, and every nerve cries out for rest. I must keep on and on and on, for all too easily the dread memories come creeping back and enfold me until there is no light on any side. From morning until night it is a fight against the tide. Work is the only thing that keeps me from thinking, and I am determined not to think. I suppose I am as contented here as I could be anywhere. My whole heart is in the kindergarten and the success of it, and maybe the day will come when my work will be all sufficient to satisfy my soul's craving. But it hasn't come yet! I almost envy some of these good people who can stand in the middle of one of their prayers and touch all four sides. They know what they want and are satisfied when they get it, but I want the moon and the stars and the sun thrown in. When things seem closing in upon me and everything looks dark, I flee to the woods. I never knew what the trees and the wind and the sky really meant until I came out here and had to make friends of them. I think you have to be by yourself and a bit lonesome before Nature ever begins to whisper her secrets. Can you imagine Philistine Me going out on the hill top to see the sun-rise and going without my supper to see it set? I am even studying the little botany that Jack gave me, though my time and my intellect are equally limited. And speaking of Jack leads me to remark that there is no necessity for all of you to maintain such an oppressive silence concerning him! Three months ago you wrote me that he was not well, and that he was going south with you and sister. He must be pretty sick to stop work even for a week. I have pictured you sitting with a loaf of bread and a jug of wine beneath the bough quoting poetry at each other to your heart's content. You say when I come home I can rest on my laurels; no thank you, I want a Morris chair, a pitcher of lemonade, all the new books and a little darkey to fan me. Mrs. Heath has asked me to visit her in Vladivostock this summer and I am going if the cholera doesn't get worse. We are so afraid of it that we almost boil the cow before we drink the milk! Among the delicacies of our menu out here are raw fish, pickled parsnips, sea-weed and bean-paste. As old Charity used to say I've gotten so "acclamitized" I think I could eat a gum shoe. When they send out my spring box from home, please tell them to put in some fluffy white dresses with elbow sleeves. Then I want lots of pretty ribbons, and a white belt. I saw in the paper that crushed leather was the proper thing. It sounds like something good to eat, but if it's to wear send it along. My disposition will be everlastingly ruined if I write another line with this pen. Good-bye. HIROSHIMA, May, 1903. Well the catastrophe arrived and we were prisoners for nearly a week. It was not quite cholera but close enough to it to scare us all to death. Both Eve and the apple were young and green, and the combination worked disaster. When the doctor arrived, he shipped Eve off to the inspection hospital, while we were locked up, guarded by five small policemen, and hardly allowed to open our mouths for fear we would swallow a germ. We were fumigated and par-boiled until we felt like steam puddings. Nobody was allowed to go in or out, our vegetables were handed to us in a basket on a bamboo pole over the wall. We tied notes to bricks and flung them to our neighbors on the outside. Thank Heaven, the servants were locked in too. Every day a little man with lots of brass buttons and a big voice came and asked anxiously after our honorable insides. I used every inducement to get them to let me go out for exercise. I fixed a tray with my prettiest cups and sent a pot of steaming coffee and a plate of cake out to the lodge house. Word came back, "We are not permitted to drink or taste food in an infected house." Then I tried them on button-hole bouquets, and when that failed, I got desperate, and announced that I was subject to fits, unless I got regular outside exercise every day. That fetched them and they gave the foreign teachers permission to walk in the country for half an hour provided we did not speak to any one. Eve was up and having a good time before the school gates were opened. While a prisoner, I did all sorts of odd jobs, patched, mended, darned, wrote letters, and chopped down two trees. The latter was a little out of my line, but the trees were eaten up with caterpillars, and as I could not get anybody to cut them down, I sallied forth and did it myself. My chef stood by and admired the job, but he would not assist for fear he would unwittingly murder one of his ancestors! You would certainly laugh to see me keeping house with a cook book, a grocery book and a dictionary. The other day I gave directions for poached eggs, and the maid served them in a huge pan full of water. There are one hundred and twenty-five yellow kids waiting for me so I must hurry away. VLADIVOSTOCK, SIBERIA, July, 1903. I didn't mean that it should be so long a time before I wrote you, but the closing of school, the Commencement, and the getting ready to come up here about finished me. You remember the old darkey song, "Wisht I was in Heaben, settin' down"? Well that was my one ambition and I about realized it when I got up here to Mrs. Heath's and she put me in a hammock in a quiet corner of the porch and made me keep blissfully still for two whole days. The air is just as bracing, the hills are just as green, and the lights and shadows dance over the harbor just as of old. We have tennis, golf, picnics, sails, and constant jollification, but I don't seem to enjoy it all as I did last summer. It isn't altogether homesickness, though that is chronic, it is a constant longing for I don't know what. Viewed impersonally, the world is a rattling good show, but instead of smiling at it from the front row in the dress circle, I get to be one of the performers every time. We have been greatly interested in watching the Russians build a fort on one of their islands near here. They insist there will be no war and at the same time they are mining the harbor and building forts day and night. The minute it is dark the searchlights are kept busy sweeping the harbor in search of something not strictly Russian. I hope I will get back as safely as I got here. Did I tell you that I stopped over two days in Korea? I had often heard of the Jumping Off Place, but I never expected to actually see it! The people live in the most awful little mud houses, and their poverty is appalling. No streets, no roads, no anything save a fog of melancholy that seems to envelop everything. The terrible helplessness of the people, their ignorance, and isolation are terrible. The box from home was more than satisfactory. I have thoroughly enjoyed wearing all the pretty things. The hat sister sent was about the size of a turn-table; a strong hat pin and a slight breeze will be all I need to travel to No Man's Land. Sister says it's _moderate_, save the mark! but it really is becoming and when I get it on, my face looks like a pink moon emerging from a fleecy black cloud. I had to practice wearing it in private until I learned to balance it properly. I shall stay up here through July and then I am thinking of going to Shanghai with Mrs. Heath's sister, who lives there. I am very fond of her, and I know I would have a good time. I feel a little like a subscription list, being passed around this way, but I simply _have_ to keep going every minute when I am not at work. They are calling up to me from the tennis court so I must stop for the present. SHANGHAI, CHINA, August, 1903. The mail goes out this morning and I am determined to get this letter written if I break up a dozen parties. As you see, I am in Shanghai, this wonderful big understudy for Chicago, which seems about as incongruous in its surroundings as a silk hat on a haystack! There are beautiful boulevards, immense houses, splendid public gardens, all hedged in by a yellow mass of orientals. Every nationality is represented here, and people meet, mingle, and separate in an ever changing throng. At every corner stands a tall majestic Sikh, with head bound in yards of crimson cloth, directing the movements of the crowd. Down the street comes a regiment of English soldiers, so big and determined that one well understands their victories. The ubiquitous Russian makes himself known at every turn, silent and grave, but in his simplest dealings as merciless and greedy as the country he represents. Frenchmen and Germans, and best of all, the unquenchable American, join in the panorama, and the result is something that one does not see anywhere else on the globe. I guess if my dear brethren knew of the theatre parties, dinners and dances I was going to, they would think I was on a toboggan slide for the lower regions! I am mot though. I am simply getting a good swing to the pendulum so that I can go back to "the field," and the baby organs and the hymn-singing with better grace. It is very funny, but do you know that for a _steady diet_ I can stand the saints much better than I can the sinners! My friends the Carters live right on the Bund facing the water. They keep lots of horses and many servants, and live in a luxury that only the East can offer. Every morning before I am up a slippery Chinese, all done up in livery, comes to my room and solemnly announces: "Missy bath allee ready, nice morning, good-bye." From that time on I am scarcely allowed to carry my pocket handkerchief! The roads about here are perfect, and we drive for hours past big country houses, all built in English fashion. There is one grewsome feature in the landscape, however, and that is the Chinese graves. In the fields, in the back and front yards, on the highways, any bare space that is large enough to set a box and cover it with a little earth, serves as a burying ground. I am interested in it all, and enjoying it in a way, but, Mate, there is no use fibbing to you, there is a restlessness in my heart that sometimes almost drives me crazy. There is nothing under God's sun that can repay a woman for the loss of love and home. It's all right to love humanity, but I was born a specialist. The past is torn out by the roots but the awful emptiness remains. I am not grieving over what has been, but what isn't. That last sentence sounds malarial, I am going right upstairs to take a quinine pill. SOOCHOW, August, 1903. Well, Mate, this is the first letter I have really written you from China. Shanghai doesn't count. Soochow is the real article. The unspeakable quantity and quality of dirt surpasses anything I have ever imagined. Dirt and babies, there are millions of babies, under your feet, around your heels, every nook and corner full of babies. From Shanghai to Soochow is only a one night trip, and as I had an invitation to come up for over Sunday, I decided to take advantage of it. You would have to see the boat I came in to appreciate it. They call it a house-boat, but it is built on a pattern that is new to me. In the lower part are rooms, each of which is supplied with a board on which you are supposed to sleep. Each passenger carries his own bedding and food. In the upper part of the boat is a sort of loft just high enough for a man to sit up, and in it are crowded hundreds of the common people. A launch tows seven or eight of these house-boats at a time. I will not ask you to even imagine the condition of them; I had to stand it because I was there, but you are not. It was just at sunset when we left Shanghai, and I got as far away from the crowd as I could and tried to forget my unsavory surroundings. The sails of thousands of Chinese vessels loomed black and big against the red sky as they floated silently by without a ripple. In the dim light, I read on the prow of a bulky schooner, "'The Mary', Boston, U.S.A." Do you know how my heart leapt out to "The Mary, Boston, U.S.A."? It was the one thing in all that vast, unfamiliar world that spoke my tongue. When I went to my room, I found that a nice little Chinese girl in a long sack coat and shiny black trousers was to share it with me. I must confess that I was relieved for I was lonesome and a bit nervous, and when I discovered that she knew a little English I could have hugged her. We spread our cold supper on the top of my dress suit case, put our one candle in the center, and proceeded to feast. Little Miss Izy was not as shy as she looked, and what she lacked in vocabulary she made up in enthusiasm. We got into a gale of laughter over our efforts to understand each other, and she was as curious about my costume as I was about hers. She watched me undress with unfeigned amusement, following the lengthy process carefully, then she rose, untied a string, stepped out of her coat and trousers, stood for a moment in a white suit made exactly like her outer garments, then gaily kicked off her tiny slippers and rolled over in bed. I don't know if this is a universal custom in China, but at any rate, little Miss Izy will never be like the old lady, who committed suicide because she was so tired of buttoning and unbuttoning. The next morning we were in Soochow, at least outside of the city wall. They say the wall is over two thousand years old and it certainly looks it, and the spaces on top left for the guns to point through make it look as if it had lost most of its teeth. Things are so old in this place, Mate, that I feel as if I had just been born! I have nearly ran my legs off sightseeing; big pagodas and little pagodas, Mamma Buddhas and Papa Buddhas, and baby Buddhas, all of whom look exactly like their first cousins in Japan. Soochow is just a collection of narrow alley-ways over which the house tops meet, and through which the people swarm by the millions, sellers crying their wares, merchants urging patronage, children screaming, beggars displaying their infirmities, and through it all coolies carrying sedan chairs scattering the crowd before them. In many of the temples, the priests hang wind bells to frighten the evil spirits away. I think it is a needless precaution, for it would only be a feeble-minded spirit that would ever want to return to China once it had gotten away! HIROSHIMA, October, 1903. In harness again and glad of it. I've opened the third kindergarten with the money from home; it's only a little one, eighteen children in all, and there were seventy-five applicants, but it is a beginning. You ought to see the mothers crowding around, begging and pleading for their children to be taken in, and the little tots weep and wail when they have to go home. I feel to-day as if I would almost resort to highway robbery to get money enough to carry on this work! My training class is just as interesting as it can be. When the girls came to me two years ago they were in the Third Reader. With two exceptions, I have given them everything that was included in my own course at home, and taught them English besides. They are very ambitious, and what do you suppose is their chief aim in life? To study until they know as much as I do! Oh! Mate, it makes me want to hide my head in shame, when I think of all the opportunities I wasted. You know only too well what a miserable little rubbish pile of learning I possess, but what you _don't_ know is how I have studied and toiled and burned the midnight tallow in trying to work over those old odds and ends into something useful for my girls. If they have made such progress under a superficial, shallow-pated thing like me, what _would_ they have done under a woman with brains? I wish you could look in on me to-night sitting here surrounded by all my household goods. The room is bright and cozy, and just at present I have a room-mate. It is a little sick girl from the training class, whom I have taken care of since I came back. She belongs to a very poor family down in the country, her mother is dead, and her home life is very unhappy. She nearly breaks her heart crying when we speak of sending her home, and begs me to help her get well so she can go on with her studies. Of course she is a great care, but I get up a little earlier and go to bed a little later, and so manage to get it all in. We are getting quite stirred up over the war clouds that are hanging over this little water-color country. Savage old Russia is doing a lot of bullying, and the Japanese are not going to stand much more. They are drilling and marching and soldiering now for all they are worth. From Kuri, the naval station, we can hear the thunder of the guns which are in constant practice. Out on the parade grounds, in the barracks, on every country road preparation is going on. Officers high in rank and from the Emperor's guard are here reviewing the troops. Those who know say a crash is bound to come. So if you hear of me in a red cross uniform at the front, you needn't be surprised. HIROSHIMA, November, 1903. My dear old Mate: I am just tired enough to-night to fold my hands, and turn up my toes and say "Enough." If overcoming difficulties makes character, then I will have as many characters as the Chinese alphabet by the time I get through. The bothers meet me when the girl makes the fire in the morning and puts the ashes in the grate instead of the coal, and they keep right along with me all day until I go to bed at night and find the sheet under the mattress and the pillows at the foot. It wouldn't be near so hard if I could charge around, and let off a little of my wrath, but no, I must be nice and sweet and polite and _never_ forget that I am an Example. Have you ever seen these dolls that have a weight in them, so that you can push them over and they stand right up again? Well I have a large one and her name is Susie Damn. When things reach the limit of endurance, I take it out on Susie Damn. I box her jaws and knock her over, and up she comes every time with such a pleasant smile that I get in a good humor again. What is the matter with you at home? Why don't you write to me? I used to get ten and twelve letters every mail, and now if I get one I am ready to cry for joy. Because I am busy does not mean that I haven't time to be lonely. Why, Mate, you can never know what loneliness means until you are entirely away from everything you love. I have tried to be brave but I haven't always made a grand success of it. What I have suffered--well don't let me talk about it. As Little Germany says, to live is to love, and to love is to suffer. And yet it is for that love we are ready to suffer and die, and without it life is a blank, a sail without a wind, a frame without the picture! Now to-morrow I may get one of your big letters, and you will tell me how grand I am, and how my soul is developing, etc., and I'll get such a stiff upper lip that my front teeth will be in danger. It takes a stiff upper lip, and a stiff conscience, and a stiff everything else to keep going out here! From the foregoing outburst you probably think I am pale and dejected. "No, on the contrary," as the seasick Frenchman said when asked if he had dined. I am hale and hearty, and I never had as much color in my life. The work is booming, and I have all sorts of things to be thankful for. Our little household has been very much upset this week by the death of our cook. The funeral took place last night at seven o'clock from the lodge house at the gate. The shadows made on the paper screens as they prepared him for burial, told an uncanny story. The lack of delicacy, the coarseness, the total disregard for the dignity of death were all pictured on the doors. I stood in the chapel and watched with a sick heart. After they had crowded the poor old body into a sitting position in a sort of square tub, they brought it out to the coolies who were to carry it to the temple, and afterward to the crematory. The lanterns flickered with an unsteady light, making grotesque figures that seemed to dance in fiendish glee on the grass. The men laughed and chattered, and at last shouldered their burden and trotted off as merrily as if they were going to a matsuri. I never before felt the cruelty of heathenism so keenly. No punishment in the next world can equal the things they miss in this life by a lack of belief in a personal God. It must be very beautiful at home about this time. The beech trees are all green and gold, and the maples are blazing. I am thinking too about the shadows on the old ice-house. I know every one of them by heart, and they often come to haunt me as do many other shadows of the sad, sad past. HIROSHIMA, December, 1903. God bless you honey, I've got a holiday and I've sworn vengeance on anyone who comes to my door until I have written my Christmas letters. I wish I was a doctor and a trained nurse, and a scholar, a magician, a philosopher and a saint all combined. I need them in my business. I have spent this merry Christmas season, chasing from pillow to post with bandages, hot water bags, poultices and bottles. We have had a regular hospital. All the Christmas money I had saved to buy presents for home went in Cod Liver Oil, and Miss Lessing, bless her soul, is doing without a coat for the same purpose. When you see a girl struggling for what little education she can get, and know what sacrifices are being made for it, you just hate your frumpery old finery, and you want to convert everything you possess into cash to help her. All the teachers are doing without fires in their rooms this winter, and it is rather chillsome to go to bed cold and wake up next morning in the same condition. When I get home to a furnace-heated house and have cream in my coffee, I shall feel too dissipated to be respectable! We have not been able to get a new cook since our old one died, and the fact must have gotten abroad, for all the floating brethren and sisters in Japan have been to see us! Y.M.C.A.'s, W.C.T.U.'s, A.W.B.M.'s and X.Y.Z.'s have sifted in, and we have to sit up and be Marthas and Marys all at the same time! Sometimes I want to get my hat and run and run until I get to another planet. But I am not made of the stuff that runs, and I have the satisfaction of knowing that I have stuck to my post. If sacrificing self, and knocking longings in the head, and smashing heart-aches right and left, do not pass me through the Golden Gate, then I'll sue Peter for damages. It's snowing to-day, but the old Earth is making about as poor a bluff at being Christmasy as I am. The leaves are all on the trees, many flowers are in bloom, and the scarlet geraniums are warm enough to melt the snow flakes. My big box has arrived and I am keeping it until to-morrow. I go out and sit on it every little while to keep cheered up. This is my third Christmas from home, one more and then--! There has been too much sickness to make much of the holiday, but I have rigged up a fish pond for the kindergarten children, and each kiddie will have a present that cost one-fourth of a cent! I wish I had a hundred dollars to spend on them! To-night when the lights are out, my little sick girl's stocking will hang on one bed post, and mine on the other. I don't believe Santa Glaus will have the heart to pass us by, do you? HIROSHIMA, January, 1904. Here it is January and I am just thanking you dear ones for my beautiful Christmas box. As you probably guessed, Mate, our Christmas was not exactly hilarious. The winter has been a hard one, the prospect of war has sent the price of provisions out of sight, the sick girls in the school have needed medicine and fires, so altogether Miss Lessing, Miss Dixon and I have had to do considerable tugging at the ends to get them to meet. None of us have bought a stitch of new clothing this winter, so when our boxes came, we were positively dazed by all the grandeur. They arrived late at night and we got out of bed to open them. The first thing I struck was a very crumpled little paper doll, with baby Bess' name printed in topsy-turvy letters on the back. For the next five minutes I was kept busy swallowing the lumps that came in my throat, but Dixie had some peppermint candy out of her box, the first I had seen since I had left home, so I put on my lovely new beaver hat, which with my low-necked gown and red slippers was particularly chic, and I sat on the floor and ate candy. It--the hat and the candy too, went a long way towards restoring my equanimity, but I didn't dare look at that paper doll again that night! You ask if I mind wearing that beautiful crêpe de chine which is not becoming to you? Well, Mate, I suppose there was a day when I would have scorned anybody's cast-off clothes, but I pledge you my word a queen in her coronation robes never felt half so grand as I feel in that dress! Somehow I seem to assume some of your personality, I look tall and graceful and dignified, and I try to imagine how it feels to be good and intellectual, and fascinating, and besides I have the satisfaction of knowing that I am rather becoming to the dress myself! It fits without a wrinkle and next summer with my big black hat,--! Well, if Little Germany sees me, there will be something doing! I must tell you an experience I had the other day. Miss Lessing and I were coming back on the train from Miyajima and sitting opposite to us was an old couple who very soon told us that they had never seen foreigners before. They were as guileless as children, and presently the old man came over and asked if he might look at my jacket. I had no objections, so he put his hands lightly on my shoulders and turned me around for inspection. "But," he said to Miss Lessing in Japanese, "how does she get into it?" I took it off to show him and in so doing revealed fresh wonders. He returned to his wife, and after a long consultation, and many inquiring looks, he came back. He said he knew he was a great trouble, but I was most honorably kind, and would I tell him why I wore a piece of leather about my waist, and would I please remove my dress and show them how I put it on? He was distinctly disappointed when I declined, but he managed to get in one more question and that was if we slept in our hats. When he got off, he assured us that he had never seen anything so interesting in his life, and he would have great things to tell the people of his village. There isn't a place you go, or a thing you do out here that doesn't afford some kind of amusement. The first glamour of the country has gotten dimmed a bit, not that the interest has waned for a moment, but I have come to see that the beauty and picturesqueness are largely on the surface. If ever I have to distribute tracts in another world, I am going to wrap a piece of soap in every one, for I am more and more convinced that the surest way to heaven for the heathen is the Soapy Way. During the holidays I tried to study up a little and add a drop or two to that gray matter that is supposed to be floating around in my brain. But as a girl said of a child in Kindergarten, "my intelligence was not working." Putting Psychology into easy terms, stopping to explain things I do not understand very well myself, struggling through the medium of a strange language, and trying to occidentalize the oriental mind has been a stiff proposition for one whose learning was never her long suit! When I come home I may be nothing but a giggly, childishly happy old lady, who doesn't care a rap whether her skin fits or not. The prospect of war is getting more and more serious. Out in the Inland Sea, the war ships are hastening here and there on all sorts of secret missions. I hope with all my heart there will not be war, but if there is, I hope Japan will wipe Russia right off the map! HIROSHIMA, February, 1904. Dear old Mate: I am breathless! For three weeks I have had a chase up hill and down dale, to the top of pine clad mountains, into the misty shadows of the deep valleys, up and down the silvery river, to and fro on the frosty road. For why! All because I had lost my "poise," that treasured possession which you said I was to hang on to as I do to my front teeth and my hair. So when I found it was gone, I started in full pursuit. Never a sight of its coat tails did I catch until Sunday, when I gave up the race and sat me down to fight out the old fight of rebellion, and kicking against the pricks. It was a perfect day, the plum trees were white with blossom, the spice bushes heavy with fragrance, the river dancing for joy, and the whole earth springing into new, tender life. A saucy little bird sat on an old stone lantern, and sang straight at me. He told me I was a whiney young person, that it was lots more fun to catch worms and fly around in the sunshine than it was to sit in the house and mope. He actually laughed at me, and I seized my hat and lit out after him, and when I came home I found I had caught my "poise." To-day in class I asked my girls what "happiness" meant. One new girl looked up timidly and said, "Sensei, I sink him just mean _you_." I felt like a hypocrite, but it pleased me to know that on the outside at least I kept shiny. I tell you if I don't find my real self out here, if I don't see my own soul in all its bareness and weakness then I will never see it. At home hedged in by conventionality, custom, and the hundred little interests of our daily life, we have small chance to see ourselves as we really are, but in a foreign land stripped bare of everything in the world save _self_, in a loneliness as great sometimes as the grave, face to face with new conditions, new demands, we have ample chance to take our own measurement. I cannot say that the result obtained is calculated to make one conceited! I fit into this life out here, like a square peg in a round hole. I am not consecrated, I was never "_called_ to the foreign field," I love the world and the flesh even if I don't care especially for the devil, I don't believe the Lord makes the cook steal so I may be more patient, and I don't pray for wisdom in selecting a new pair of shoes. When my position becomes unbearable, I invariably face the matter frankly and remind myself that if it is hard on the peg, it is just as hard on the hole, and that if they can stand it I guess I can! You ask about my reading. Yes, I read every spare minute I can get, before breakfast, on my way to classes, and after I go to bed. Somebody at home sends me the magazines regularly and I keep them going for months. By the way I wish you would write and tell me just exactly how Jack is. You said he was working too hard and that he looked all fagged out. Wasn't it exactly like him to back out of going South on account of his conscience? He would laugh at us for saying it was that, but it was. He may be unreligious, and scoff at churches and all that, but he has the most rigid, cast-iron, inelastic conscience that I ever came across. I wish he would take a rest. You see out here, so far away from you all, I can't help worrying when any of you are the least bit sick. Jack has been on my mind for days. Don't tell him that I asked you to, but won't you get him to go away? He would curl his hair if you asked him to. Preparations for war are still in progress and it makes a fellow pretty shivery to see it coming closer and closer. Hiroshima will be the center of military movements and of course under military law. It will affect us only as to the restrictions put on our walks and places we can go. With the city so full of strange soldiers, I don't suppose we will want to go much. Two big war ships, which Japan has just bought from Chili are on their way from Shanghai. Regiment after regiment has poured into Hiroshima and embarked again for Corea. I am terribly thrilled over it all, and the Japanese watch my enthusiasm with their non-committal eyes and never say a word! My poor little sick girl grows weaker all the time. She is a constant care and anxiety, but she has no money and I cannot send her back to her wretched home. The teachers think I am very foolish to let the thing run on, and I suppose I am. She can never be any better, and she may live this way for months. But when she clings to me with her frail hands and declares she is better and will soon get well if I will only let her stay with me, my heart fails me. I have patched up an old steamer chair for her, and made a window garden, and tried to make the room as bright as possible. She has to stay by herself nearly all day, but she is so patient and gentle that I never hear a complaint. This morning she pressed my hand to her breast and said wistfully, "Sensei, it makes sorry to play all the time with the health." Miss Lessing tried to get her in the hospital but they will not take incurables. Somehow Jack's hospital scheme doesn't seem as foolish as it did. If there are other children in the world as friendless and dependent as this one, then making a permanent home for them would be worth all the great careers in the world. HIROSHIMA, March, 1904. My Best Girl: Don't I wish you were here to share all these thrills with me! War is actually in progress, and if you could see me hanging out of the window at midnight yelling for a special, then chasing madly around to get someone to translate it for me, see me dancing in fiendish glee at every victory won by this brave little country, you would conclude that I am just as young as I used to be. I tell you I couldn't be prouder of my own country! Just think of plucky little old Japan winning three battles from those big, brutal, conceited Russians. Why I just want to run and hug the Emperor! And the school girls! Why their placid faces are positively glorified by the fire of patriotism. Once a week a trained nurse comes to give talks on nursing, and if I go into any corner afterward, I find a group of girls practising all kinds of bandaging. Even the demurest little maiden cherishes the hope that some fate may send her to the battle-field, or that in some way she may be permitted to serve her country. I am afraid I am not very strict about talking in class these days, but, somehow, courage, nobility, and self-sacrifice seem just as worthy of attention as "motor ideas," and "apperceptions." A British guest who hates everything Japanese says my enthusiasm "is quite annoying, you know," but, dear me, I don't mind him. What could you expect of a person who eats pie with a spoon? Why my enthusiasm is just cutting its eye-teeth! The whole country is a-thrill, and even a wooden Indian would get excited. Every afternoon we walk down on the sea wall and watch the preparations going on for a long siege. Hundreds of big ships fill the harbor to say nothing of the small ones, and there are thousands of coolies working like mad. I could tell you many interesting things, but I am afraid of the censor. If he deciphers all my letters home, he will probably have nervous prostration by the time the war is over. Many of the war ships are coaled by women who carry heavy baskets on each end of a pole swung across the shoulder, and invariably a baby on their backs. It is something terrible the way the women work, often pulling loads that would require a horse at home. They go plodding past us on the road, dressed as men, mouth open, eyes straining, all intelligence and interest gone from their faces. One day as Miss Lessing and I were resting by the roadside, one of these women stopped for breath just in front of us. She was pushing a heavy cart and her poor old body was trembling from the strain. Her legs were bare, and her feet were cut by the stones. There was absolute stolidity in her weather-beaten face, and the hands that lighted her pipe were gnarled and black. Miss Lessing has a perfect genius for getting at people, I think it is her good kind face through which her soul shines. She asked the old woman if she was very tired. The woman looked up, as if seeing us for the first time and nodded her head. Then a queer look came into her face and she asked Miss Lessing if we were the kind of people who had a new God. Miss Lessing told her we were Christians. With a wistfulness that I have never seen except in the eyes of a dog, she said, "If I paid your God with offering and prayers, do you think he would make my work easier? I am so tired!" Miss Lessing made her sit down by her on the grass, and talked to her in Japanese about the new God who did not take any pay for his help, and who could put something in her heart that would give her strength to bear any burden. I could not understand much of what they said but I had a little prayer-meeting all by myself. HIROSHIMA, April, 1904. Yesterday the American mail came after a three weeks' delay. None of us were good for anything the rest of the day. Twenty letters and fifty-two papers for me! Do you wonder that I almost danced a hole in the parlor rug? The home news was all so bright and cheery, and your letter was such a bunch of comfort that I felt like a two year old. It was exactly like you to think out that little farm party and get Jack into it as a matter of accommodation to you. I followed everything you did, with the keenest interest, from the all-day tramps in the woods, to the cozy evenings around the log fire. I can see old Jack now, at first bored to death but resolved to die if need be on the altar of friendship, gradually warming up as he always does out of doors, and ending up by being the life of the party. He once told me that social success is the infinite capacity for being bored. I know the little outing did him a world of good, and you are all the trumps in the deck as usual. Who is the Dr. Leet that was in the party? I remember dancing a cotillon with a very good looking youth of that name in the prehistoric ages. He was a senior at Yale, very rich and very good looking. I wore his fraternity pin over my heart for a whole week afterward. We have been having great fun over the American accounts of the war. Through the newspapers we learn the most marvelous things about Japan and her people. Large cities are unblushingly moved from the coast to an island in the Inland Sea, troops are passported from places which have no harbor, and the people are credited with unheard of customs. We are still in the midst of stirring times. The city is overflowing with troops, and we are hemmed in on every side by soldiers. Of course foreign women are very curious to them, and they often follow us and make funny comments, but we have never yet had a single rudeness shown us. In all the thousands of soldiers stationed here, I have only seen two who were tipsy, and they were mildly hilarious from saki. There is perfect order and discipline, and after nine o'clock at night the streets are as quiet as a mountain village. The other night, five of the soldiers, mere boys, donned citizens' dress and went out for a lark. At roll-call they were missing and a guard was sent to search for them. When found, they resisted arrest and three minutes after they all answered the roll-call in another world. And yet although the discipline is so severe, the men seem a contented and happy lot. They stroll along the roads when off duty hand in hand like school girls, and laugh and chatter as if life were a big holiday. But when the time comes to go to the front, they don their gay little uniforms, and march just as joyfully away to give the last drop of their blood for their Emperor. I tell you, Mate, I want to get out in the street and cheer every regiment that passes! No drum, no fife, no inspiring music to stir their blood and strengthen their courage, nothing but the unvarying monotony of the four note trumpets. They don't need music to make them go. They are perfect little machines whose motive power is a patriotism so absolute, so complete, that it makes death on the battle-field an honor worthy of deification. I look out into the play-ground, and every boy down to the smallest baby in the kindergarten is armed with a bamboo gun. Such drilling and marching, and attacking of forts you have never seen. That the enemy is nothing more than sticks stuck at all angles matters little. An enemy there must be, and the worst boy in Japan would die before he would even _play_ at being a Russian! If Kuropatkin could see just one of these awful onslaughts, he would run up the white flag and hie himself to safety. So you see we are well guarded and with quiet little soldiers on the outside, and very noisy and fierce little soldiers on the inside, we fear no invasion of our peaceful compound. On my walks around the barracks, I often pass the cook house, and watch the food being carried to the mess room. The rice buckets, about the size of our water buckets, are put on a pole in groups of six or eight and carried on the shoulders of two men. There is a line about a square long of these buckets, and then another long line follows with trays of soup bowls. Tea is not as a rule drunk with the meals, but after the last grain of rice has been chased from the slippery sides of the bowl, hot water is poured in and sipped with loud appreciation. Last Sunday afternoon we had to entertain ten officers of high rank, and it proved a regular lark. Their English and our Japanese got fatally twisted. One man took great pride in showing me how much too big his clothes were, giving him ample opportunity to put on several suits of underwear in cold weather; he said "Many cloth dese trusers hab, no fit like 'Merican." They were delighted with all our foreign possessions, and inspected everything minutely. On leaving, one officer bowed low, and assured me that he would never see me on earth again, but he hoped he would see me in heaven _first_! The breezes from China waft an occasional despairing epistle from Little Germany, but they find me as cold as a snow bank on the north side of a mountain. The sun that melts my heart will have to rise in the west, and get up early at that. HIROSHIMA, May, 1904. Well commencement is over and my first class is graduated. Now if you have ever heard of anything more ridiculous than that please cable me! If you could have seen me standing on the platform dealing out diplomas, you would have been highly edified. Last night I gave the class a dinner. There were fourteen girls, only two of whom had ever been at a foreign table before. At first they were terribly embarrassed, but before long they warmed up to the occasion and got terribly tickled over their awkwardness. I was afraid they would knock their teeth out with the knives and forks, and the feat of getting soup from the spoon to the mouth proved so difficult that I let them drink it from the bowl. Sitting in chairs was as hard for them as sitting on the floor for me, so between the courses we had a kind of cake walk. Next week school begins again, and I start three new kindergartens, making seven over which I have supervision. I am so pleased over the progress of my work that I don't know what to do. Not that I don't realize my limitations, heaven knows I do. Imagine my efforts at teaching the training class psychology! The other day we were struggling with the subject of reflex action, and one of the girls handed in this definition as she had understood it from me! "Reflex action is of a activity nervous. It is sometimes the don't understand of what it is doing and stops many messages to the brain and sends the motion to the legs." What little knowledge I start with gets cross-eyed before I get through. The Japanese can twist the English language into some of the strangest knots that you ever saw. There is a sign quite near here that reads "Cows milk and Retailed." Since writing you last, I have sent my little sick girl home. It almost broke us all up, but she couldn't stay here alone during the summer and there was nobody to take care of her. I write to her every week and try to keep her cheered up, but for such as she there is only one release and that is death. If Jack's hospital ever materializes, I am going to offer my services as a nurse. This poor child's plight has taken such a hold upon me that I long to do something for all the sick waifs in creation. HIROSHIMA, June, 1904. It is Sunday afternoon, and your Foreign Missionary Kindergarten Teacher, instead of trudging off to Sunday School with the other teachers, is recklessly sitting in dressing gown and slippers with her golden hair hanging down her hack, writing letters home. After teaching all week, and listening for two hours to a Japanese sermon Sunday morning, I cross my fingers on teaching Sunday School in the afternoon. This past week I have been trying to practice the simple life. It was a good time for we had spring cleaning, five guests, daily prayer-meetings, two new cooks, and an earthquake. I think by the time I get through, I'll be qualified to run a government on some small Pacific Isle. The whole city is in confusion, ninety thousand soldiers are here now, and eighty thousand more are expected this week. Every house-holder must take as many as he can accommodate, and the strain on the people is heavy. We heard yesterday of the terrible disaster to the troops that left here on the 13th, three transports were sunk by the Russians. Five hundred of the wounded from South Hill battle have been brought here, and whenever I go out, I see long lines of stretchers and covered ambulances bringing in more men. It is intolerable to be near so much suffering and not to be able to relieve it. We are all so worked up with pity and indignation, and sympathy that we hardly dare talk about the war. Summer vacation will soon be here and I am planning a wild career of self indulgence. I am going to Karuizawa, where I can get cooled off and rested and invite my soul to my heart's content. For two mortal weeks the rain has poured in torrents. The rainy season out here isn't any of your nice polite little shower-a-day affairs, it is just one interminable downpour, until the old earth is spanked into submission. I can't even remember how sunshine looks, and my spirits are mildewed and my courage is mouldy. To add to the discomfort, we are besieged by mosquitoes. They are the big ferocious kind that carry off a finger at a time. I heard of one missionary down in the country, who was so bothered one night that he hung his trousers to the ceiling, and put his head in one leg, and made his wife put her head in the other, while the rest of the garment served as a breathing tube! It has been nearly a year since I was out of Hiroshima, a year of such ups and downs that I feel as if I had been digging out my salvation with a pick-ax. Not that I do not enjoy the struggle; real life with all its knocks and bumps, its joys and sorrows, is vastly preferable to a passive existence of indolence. Only occasionally I look forward to the time when I shall be an angel frivoling in the eternal blue! Just think of being reduced to a nice little curly head and a pair of wings! That's the kind of angel I am going to be. With no legs to ache, and no heart to break--but dear me it is more than likely that I will get rheumatism in my wings! If ever I do get to heaven, it will be on your ladder, Mate. You have coaxed me up with confidence and praise, you have steadied me with ethical culture books, and essays, and sermons. You have gotten me so far up (for me), that I am afraid to look down. I shrink with a mighty shrivel when I think of disappointing you in any way, and I expand almost to bursting when I think of justifying your belief in me. KARUIZAWA, July, 1904. Here I am comfortably established in the most curious sort of double-barreled house you ever saw. The front part is all Japanese and faces on one street, and the back part is foreign and faces on another street a square away. The two are connected by a covered walk which passes over a mill race. In the floor of the walk just over the water is a trap door, and look out when I will I can see the Japanese stopping to take a bath in this little opening. I have a nice big room and so much service thrown in that it embarrasses me. When I come in, in the evening, three little maids escort me to my room, one fixes the mosquito bar, one gets my gown, and one helps to undress me. When they have done all they can think of, they get in a row, all bow together, then pitter patter away. The clerk has to make out the menus and as his English is limited, he calls upon me very often to help him. Yesterday he came with only one entry and that was "Corns on the ear." In return for my assistance he always announces my bath, and escorts me to the bath room carrying my sponge and towels. As to Karuizawa, it has a summer population of about four hundred, three hundred and ninety-nine of whom are missionaries. Let us all unite in singing "Blest be the tie that binds." Everybody at our table is in the mission field. A long-nosed young preacher who sits opposite me looks as if he had spent all his life in some kind of a field. He has a terrible attack of religion; I never saw anybody take it any harder. He told me that he was engaged to be married and for three days he had been consulting the Lord about what kind of a ring he should buy! Sunday I went to church and heard my first English sermon in two years. We met in a rough little shanty, built in a cluster of pines, and almost every nation was represented. A young English clergyman read the service, and afterward said a few words about sacrifice. He was simple and sincere, and his deep voice trembled with earnestness as he declared that sacrifice was the only true road to happiness, sacrifice of ourselves, our wishes and desires, for the good and the progress of others. And suddenly all the feeling in me got on a rampage and I wanted to get up and say that it was true, that I knew it was true, that the most miserable, pitiful, smashed-up life, could blossom again if it would only blossom for others. I walked home in a sort of ecstasy and at dinner the long-nosed young preacher said: "'T was a pity we couldn't have regular preaching, there was such a peart lot at meeting." This is certainly a good place to study people's eccentricities, their foibles and follies, to hear them preach and see them not practice! One more year and I will be home. Something almost stops in my heart as I write it! Of course I am glad you are going abroad in the spring, you have been living on the prospect of seeing Italy all your life. Only, Mate, I am selfish enough to want you back by the time I get home. It would take just one perfect hour of seeing you all together once more to banish the loneliness of all these years! I am glad Jack and Dr. Leet have struck up such a friendship. Jack uses about the same care in selecting a friend that most men do in selecting a wife. Tell Dr. Leet that I am glad he found me in a pigeon hole of his memory, but that I am a long way from being "the blue-eyed bunch of mischief" he describes. I wish you would tell him that I am slender, pale, and pensive with a glamour of romance and mystery hovering about me; that is the way I would like to be. I knew you could get Jack out of his rut if you tried. The Browning evenings must be highly diverting, I can imagine you reading a few lines for him to expound, then him reading a few for you to explain, then both gazing into space with "the infinite cry of finite hearts that yearn!" Dear loyal old Jack! How memories stab me as I think of him. It seems impossible to think of him as other than well and strong and self reliant. What happy, happy days I have spent with him! They seem to stand out to-night in one great white spot of cheerfulness. When the days were the darkest and I couldn't see one inch ahead, Jack would happen along with a funny story or a joke, would pretend not to see what was going on, but do some little kindness that would brighten the way a bit. What a mixture he is of tenderness, and brusqueness, of common sense and poetry, of fun and seriousness! I think you and I are the only ones in the world who quite understand his heights and depths. He says even I don't. KARUIZAWA, July, 1904. Since writing you I have had the pleasure of looking six hundred feet down the throat of Asamayama, the great volcano. If the old lady had been impolite enough to stick out her tongue, I would at present be a cinder. We started at seven in the evening on horseback. Now as you know I have ridden pretty much everything from a broom stick to a camel, but for absolute novelty of motion commend me to a Japanese horse. There is a lurch to larboard, then a lurch to starboard, with a sort of "shiver-my-timbers" interlude. A coolie walks at the head of each horse, and reasons softly with him when he misbehaves. We rode for thirteen miles to the foot of the volcano, then at one o'clock we left the horses with one of the men and began to climb. Each climber was tied to a coolie whose duty it was to pull, and to carry the lantern. We made a weird procession, and the strange call of the coolies as they bent their bodies to the task, mingled with the laughter and exclamations of the party. For some miles the pine trees and undergrowth covered the mountain, then came a stretch of utter barren-ness and isolation. Miles above yet seemingly close enough to touch rose tongues of flame and crimson smoke. Above was the majestic serenity of the summer night, below the peaceful valley, with the twinkling lights of far away villages. It was a queer sensation to be hanging thus between earth and sky, and to feel that the only thing between me and death was a small Japanese coolie, who was half dragging me up a mountain side that was so straight it was sway-back! When at last we reached the top, daylight was showing faintly in the east. Slowly and with a glory unspeakable the sun rose. The great flames and crimson smoke, which at night had appeared so dazzling, sank into insignificance. If anyone has the temerity to doubt the existence of a gracious, mighty God, let him stand at sunrise on the top of Asamayama and behold the wonder of His works! I hardly dared to breathe for fear I would dispel the illusion, but a hearty lunch eaten with the edge of the crater for a table made things seem pretty real. The coming down was fearful for the ashes were very deep, and we often went in up to our knees. The next morning at eleven, I rolled into my bed more dead than alive. My face and hands were blistered from the heat and the ashes, and I was sore from head to foot, but I had a vision in, my soul that can never be effaced. HIROSHIMA, September, 1904. Well here I am back in H. (I used to think it stood for that too but it doesn't!) Curiously enough I rather enjoy getting back into harness this year. Three kindergartens to attend in the morning, class work in the afternoon, four separate accounts to be kept, besides housekeeping, mothers' meetings, and prayer meetings, would have appalled me once. The only thing that phases me is the company. If only some nice accommodating cyclone would come along and gather up all the floating population, and deposit it in a neat pile in some distant fence corner, I would be everlastingly grateful. One loving brother wrote last week that he was coming with a wife and three children to board with us until his house was completed, and that he knew I would be glad to have them. Delighted I am sure! All I need to complete my checkered career is to keep a boarding-house! I smacked Susie Damn clear down the steps and sang "A consecrated cross-eyed bear," then I wrote him to come, It is against the principles of the school to refuse anyone its hospitality, consequently everybody who is out of a job comes to see us. The waves of my wrath break upon Miss Lessing for allowing herself to be imposed upon, but she is as calm and serene as the Great Buddha of Kamakura. My special grievance this morning is cooked tomatoes and baby organs. Our cook has just discovered cooked tomatoes, and they seem to fill some longfelt want in his soul. In spite of protest, he serves them to us for breakfast, tiffin and dinner, and the household sits with injured countenance, and silently holds me responsible. As for the nine and one wind bags that begin their wheezing and squeaking before breakfast, my thoughts are unfit for publication! This morning I was awakened by the strains "Shall we meet beyond the River?" Well if we do, the keys will fly that's all there is about it! Once in a while they side-track it to "Oh! to be nothing, nothing!" That is where I fully agree and if they would only give me a chance I would grant their desire in less time than it takes to write it. I am sure my Hades will be a hard seat in a lonesome corner where I must listen to baby organs all day and live on a perpetual diet of cooked tomatoes. To-day they are bringing in the wounded soldiers from Liaoyang, and I try to keep away from the windows so I will not see them. Those bright strong boys that left here such a little while ago, are coming back on stretchers, crippled and disfigured for life. Yesterday while taking a walk, I saw about two hundred men, right off the transport, waiting for the doctors and nurses to come. Men whose clothes had not been changed for weeks, ragged, bloody and soiled beyond conception. Wounded, tired, sick, with almost every trace of the human gone out of their faces, they sat or lay on the ground waiting to be cared for. Most of the wounds had not been touched since they were hastily tied up on the battlefield. I thought I had some idea of what war meant, but I hadn't the faintest conception of the real horror of it. Miss Lessing is trying to get permission for us to do regular visiting at the hospitals, but the officials are very cautious about allowing any foreigner behind the scenes. Just here I hung my head out of the window to ask the cook what time it was. He called back, "Me no know! clock him gone to sleep. He no talk some more." I think I shall follow the example of the clock. HIROSHIMA, October, 1904. Dearest Mate: I have been to the hospital at last and I can think of nothing, see nothing, and talk of nothing but those poor battered up men. Yesterday the authorities sent word that if the foreign teachers would come and make a little music for the sick men it would be appreciated. We had no musical instrument except the organ, so Miss Lessing and I bundled one up on a jinrikisha and trudged along beside it through the street. I got almost hysterical over our absurd appearance, and pretended that Miss Lessing was the organ grinder, and I the monkey. But oh! Mate when we got to the hospital all the silliness was knocked out of me. Thousands of mutilated and dying men, literally shot to pieces by the Russian bullets. I can't talk about it! It was too horrible to describe. We wheeled the organ into one of the wards and two of the teachers sang while I played. It was pitiful to see how eager the men were to hear. The room was so big that those in the back begged to be moved closer, so the little nurses carried the convalescent ones forward on their backs. For one hour I pumped away on that wheezy little old instrument, with the tears running down my cheeks most of the time. So long as I live I'll never make fun of a baby organ again. The joy that one gave that afternoon justified its being. And then--prepare for the worst,--we distributed tracts. Oh! yes I did it too, in spite of all the fun I have made, and would you believe it? those men who were able to walk, crowded around and _begged_ for them, and the others in the beds held out their hands or followed us wistfully with their eyes. They were so crazy for something to read that they were even willing to read about the foreign God. It was late when we got back and I went straight to bed and indulged in a chill. All the horror of war had come home to me for the first time, and my very soul rebelled against it. They say you get hardened to the sights after a few visits to the hospital, but I hope I shall never get to the point of believing that it's right for strong useful men to be killed or crippled for life in order to settle a controversy. Before we went into the wards the physician in charge took us all over the buildings, showed us where the old bandages were being washed and cleaned, where the instruments were sharpened and repaired, where the stretchers and crutches, and "first aid to the injured" satchels were kept. We were taken through the postoffice, where all the mail comes and goes from the front. It was touching to see the number of letters that had been sent home unopened. Twenty thousand sick soldiers are cared for in Hiroshima, and such system, such cleanliness and order you have never seen. I have wished for Jack a thousand times; it would delight his soul to see the skill and ability of these wonderful little doctors and nurses. HIROSHIMA, November, 1904. To-morrow it will be four weeks since I have had any kind of mail from America. It seems to me that everything has stopped running across the ocean, even the waves. I know little these days outside of the kindergarten and the hospital. The former grows cuter and dearer all the time. It is a constant inspiration to see the daily development of these cunning babies. As for the visits to the hospital, they are a self-appointed task that grows no easier through repetition. You know how I shrink from seeing pain, and how all my life I have tried to get away from the disagreeable? Well it is like torture to go day after day into the midst of the most terrible suffering. But in view of the bigger things of life, the tremendous struggle going on so near, the agony of the sick and wounded, the suffering of the women and children, my own little qualms get lost in the shuffle, and my one consuming desire is to help in any way I can. Last week we took in addition to the "wind bag" two big baskets of flowers to give to the sickest ones. Oh! If I could only make you know what flowers mean to them! Men too sick to raise their heads and often dying, will stretch out their hands for a flower, and be perfectly content to hold it in their fingers. One soldier with both arms gone asked me for a flower just as I had emptied my basket. I would have given my month's salary for one rose, but all I had was a withered little pansy. He motioned for me to give him that and asked me to put it in a broken bottle hanging on the wall, so he could see it. If I didn't get away from it all once in a while, I don't believe I could stand it. Yesterday was the Emperor's birthday and we had a holiday. I took several of the girls and went for a long ramble in the country. The fields were a brilliant yellow, rich and heavy with the unharvested grain. The mountains were deeply purple, and the sky so tenderly blue, that the whole world just seemed a place to be glad and happy in. Fall in Japan does not suggest death and decay, but rather the drifting into a beautiful rest, where dreams can be dreamed and the world forgot. Such a spirit of peace enveloped the whole scene, that it was hard to realize that the long line of black objects on the distant road were stretchers bearing the sick and wounded from the transports to the hospitals. HIROSHIMA, December, 1904. Last Saturday I had to go across the bay to visit one of our branch kindergartens. Many Russian prisoners are stationed on the island and I was tremendously interested in the good time they were having. The Japanese officials are entertaining them violently with concerts, picnics, etc. Imagine a lot of these big muscular men being sent on an all-day excursion with two little Japanese guards. Of course, it is practically impossible for the men to escape from the island but I don't believe they want to. A cook has actually been brought from Vladivostock so that they may have Russian food, and the best things in the markets are sent to them. The prisoners I saw seemed in high spirits, and were having as much fun as a lot of school boys out on a lark. I don't wonder! It is lots more comfortable being a prisoner in Japan than a soldier in Manchuria. I only had a few minutes to visit the hospital, but I was glad I went. As the doctor took me through one of the wards where the sickest men lay, I saw one big rough looking Russian with such a scowl on his face that I hardly dared offer him my small posy. But I hated to pass him by so I ventured to lay it on the foot of the cot. What was my consternation when, after one glance, he clasped both hands over his face and sobbed like a sick child. "Are you in pain?" asked the doctor. "No," he said shortly, "I'm homesick." Oh! Mate, that finished me! Didn't I know better than anybody in the world how he felt? I just sat down on the side of the cot and patted him, and tried to tell him how sorry I was though he could hardly understand a word. This morning I could have done a song and dance when I heard that he had been operated on and was to be sent home. Almost every day we are having grand military funerals, and they are most impressive I can tell you. Yesterday twenty-two officers were buried at the same time, and the school stood on the street for over an hour to do them honor. The procession was very interesting, with the Buddhist priests, in their gorgeous robes, and the mourners in white or light blue. First came the square box with the cremated remains, then the officer's horse, then coolies carrying small trees which were to be planted on the grave. Next came a large picture of the deceased, and perhaps his coat or sword, next the shaven priests in magnificent raiment and last the mourners carrying small trays with rice cakes, to be placed upon the grave. The wives and mothers and daughters rode in jinrikishas, hand folded meekly in hand, and eyes downcast. Such calm resigned faces I have never seen, many white and wasted with sorrow, but under absolute control. Of the entire number only one gave vent to her grief; a bent old woman with thin grey hair cut close to her head, rode with both hands over her face. She had lost two sons in one battle, and the cry of her human heart was stronger than any precept of her religion. HIROSHIMA, December, 1904. You remember the Irishman's saying that we could be pretty comfortable in life if it wasn't for our pleasures? Well I could get along rather well in Japan were it not for the Merry Christmases. Such a terrible longing seizes me for my loved ones and for God's country that I feel like a needle near a magnet. But next Christmas! I just go right up in the air when I think about it. This school of life is a difficult one at best, but when a weak sister like myself is put about three grades higher than she belongs, it is more than hard. I don't care a rap for the struggle and the heart aches, if I have only made good. When I came out there were two kindergartens, now there are nine besides a big training class. Anybody else could have done as much for the work but one thing is certain, the work couldn't have done for anyone else what it has done for me. Outwardly I am the same feather-weight as of old, but there is a big change inside, Mate, you'll have to take my word for it. I am coming to take the slaps of Fate very much as I used to take the curling of my hair with a hot iron, it pulled and sometimes burned, but I didn't care so long as it was going to improve my looks. So now I use my crosses as sort of curling irons for my character. Your sudden decision to give up your trip to Europe this spring set me guessing! I can't imagine, after all your planning and your dreams, what could have changed your mind so completely. You don't seem to care a rap about going. Now look here, Mate, I want a full report. You have turned all the pockets of my confidence inside out. What about yours? Have you been getting an "aim" in life, are you going to be an operatic singer, or a temperance lecturer, or anything like that? You are so horribly high minded that I am prepared for the worst. I wish it would stop raining. The mountains are hid by a heavy gray mist, and the drip, drip of the rain from roof and trees is not a cheering sound. I am doing my best to keep things bright within, I have built a big fire in my grate, and in my heart I have lighted all the lamps at my little shrines, and I am burning incense to the loves that were and are. Just after tiffin the rain stopped for a little while and I rushed out for a walk. I had been reading the "Christmas Carol" all morning, and it brought so many memories of home that I was feeling rather wobbly. My walk set me up immensely. A baldheaded, toothless old man stopped me and asked me where I was "coming." When I told him he said that was wonderful and he hoped I would have a good time. A woman with a child on her back ran out and stopped me to ask if I would please let the baby see my hair. Half a dozen children and two dogs followed me all the way, and an old man and woman leaned against a wall and laughed aloud because a foreigner was so funny to look at. If anyone thinks that he can indulge in a nice private case of the blues while taking a walk in Japan, he deceives himself. I started out feeling like Napoleon at St. Helena, and I came home cheerful and ravenously hungry. I have been trying to read poetry this winter, but I don't make much progress. The truth is I have gained five pounds, and I am afraid I am getting too fat. I never knew but one fat person to appreciate poetry and he crocheted tidies. By the way I have learned to knit!! You see there are so many times when I have to play the gracious hostess when I feel like a volcano within, that I decided to get something on which I could vent my restlessness. It is astonishing how much bad temper one can knit into a garment. I don't know yet what mine is going to be, probably an opera bonnet for Susie Damn. KYOTO, December, 1904. You are not any more surprised to hear from me in Kyoto than I am to be here. One of the teachers here, a great big-hearted splendid woman, knowing that I was interested in the sick soldiers, asked me to come up for a week and help the Red Cross nurses. For six days we have met all the trains, and given hot tea, and books to both the men who were going to the front and to those who were being brought home. We work side by side with Buddhist priests, ladies of rank, and coolies, serving from one to four hundred men in fifteen minutes! You never saw such a scrimmage, everybody works like mad while the train stops, and the wild "Banzais" that greet us as the men catch sight of the hot tea, show us how welcome it is. But the sights, Mate dear, are enough to break one's heart. I have seen good-byes, and partings until I haven't an emotion left! One man I talked with was going back for the fourth time having been wounded and sent home again and again; his wife never took her eyes from his face until the train pulled out, and the smile with which she sent him away was more heart rending than any tears I ever saw. Then I have been touched by an old man and his wife who for four days have met every train to tell their only son good-bye. They are so feeble that they have to be helped up and down the steps and as each train comes and goes and their boy is not on board, they totter hand in hand back to the street corner to wait more long hours. Going one way the trains carry the soldiers to the front, boys for the most part wild with enthusiasm, high spirits, and courage, and coming the other way in vastly greater numbers are the silent trains bearing the sick and wounded and dead. We meet five trains during the day and one at two in the night. I have gotten so that I can sleep sitting upright on a hard bench between trains. Think of the plucky little Japanese women who have done this ever since the beginning of the war! Out of my experience at the station came another very charming one yesterday. It seems that the president of the Red Cross Society is a royal princess, first cousin indeed to the Emperor. She had heard of me through her secretary and of the small services I had rendered here and at Hiroshima, so she requested an interview that she might thank me in person. It seemed very ridiculous that I should receive formal recognition for pouring tea and handing out posies, but I was crazy to see the Princess, so early yesterday morning, I donned my best raiment and sallied forth with an interpreter. The house was a regular Chinese puzzle and I was passed on from one person to another until I got positively dizzy. At last we came to a long beautiful room, at the end of which, in a robe of purple and gold, all covered with white chrysanthemums, sat the royal lady. I was preparing to make my lowest bow, when, to my astonishment, she came forward with extended hand and spoke to me in English! Then she bowled me right over in the first round by asking me about Kindergarten. I forgot that she was a lady of royalty and numerous decorations, and that etiquette forbade me speaking except when spoken to. She was so responsive and so interested, that I found myself talking in a blue streak. Then she told me a bit of her story, and I longed to hear more. It seems that certain women of the royal line are not permitted to marry, and she, being restless and ambitious, became a Buddhist Priestess, having her own temple, priestesses, etc. The priestesses are all young girls, and I wish you could have seen them examining my clothes, my hair and my rings. The Princess herself is a woman of brilliant attainments, and fine executive ability. Of course we had tea, and sat on the floor and chattered and laughed like a lot of school girls. When I left I was told that the Princess desired my photograph at once, and that I should sit for it the next day. I suppose I am in for it. HIROSHIMA, December, 1904. My dearest Mate: The American mail is in and the secret is out, or at least half-way out and I am wild with curiosity and interest. You say you can't give me any of the particulars and you would rather I wouldn't even guess. All that you want me to know is that you have "a new interest in life that is the deepest and most beautiful experience you have ever known." I will do as you request, not ask any questions, or make any surmises but you will let me say this, that no fame, no glory, no wealth can ever give one thousandth part of the real heart's content that one hour of love can give. Without it work of any kind is against the full tide, and accomplishment is emptier than vanity. The heart still cries out for its own, for what is its birthright and heritage. I am glad with all my soul for your happiness, Mate, the tenderest blessing that lips could frame would not express half that is in my heart. There is nothing so sure in life as that love is best of all. You think you know it after a few weeks of loving, I know I know after years of grief and suffering and despair. From the time when you used to stand between me and childish punishments, through all the happy days of girlhood, the sorrowful days of womanhood, on up to the bitter-sweet present, you have never failed me. I want to give you a whole heart full of gladness and rejoicing, I want to crowd out my own little wail of bereavement, but Oh! Mate, I never felt so alone in my life before! I am not asking you to tell me who the man is. I am trying not to _guess_. Tell me what you like and when you like, and rest assured that whatever comes, my heart is with you--and with him. HIROSHIMA, January, 1905. It has been longer than usual since I wrote but somehow things have been going wrong with me of late and I didn't want to bother you. But oh! Mate, I haven't anybody else in the world to come to, and you'll have to forgive me for bringing a cloud across your happiness. The whole truth is I'm worsted! The fight has been too much. Days, weeks, months of homesickness have piled up on top of me until all my courage and my control, all my _will_ seem paralysed. Night after night I lie awake and stare out into the dark, and staring back at me is the one word "_alone_". In the daytime, I try to keep somebody with me all the time, I have gotten afraid of myself. My face in the mirror does not seem to belong to me, it is a curious unfamiliar face that I do not know. Every once in a while I want to beat the air and scream, but I don't do it. I clench my fists and set my teeth and teach, teach, teach. But I can't go on like this forever! Flesh and spirit rebel against a lifetime of it! Haven't I paid my penalty? Aren't the lightness and brightness and beauty ever coming back? On my desk is a contract waiting to be signed for another four years at the school. Beside it is a letter from Brother, begging me to drop everything and come home at once. Can you guess what the temptation is? On the one hand ceaseless work, uncongenial surroundings and exile, on the other luxury, loved ones,--and dependence. I must give my answer to-morrow and Heaven only knows what it will be. One thing is certain I am tired of doing hard things, I am tired of being brave. It is storming fearfully but I am going out to mail this letter. If I cable that I am coming you must be the first one to know why. I have tried to grow into something higher and better, God knows I have, but I am afraid I am a house built on the sands after all. Don't be hard on me, Mate, whatever comes remember I have tried. HIROSHIMA, 3 hours later. If you open this letter first, don't read the one that comes in the same mail. I wrote it this afternoon, and I would give everything I possess to get it back again. When I went out to mail it, I was feeling so utterly desperate that I didn't care a rap for the storm or anything else. I went on and on until I came to the sea-wall that makes a big curve out into the sea. When I had gone as far as I dared, I climbed up on an old stone lantern, and let the spray and the rain beat on my face. The wind was whipping the waves into a perfect fury, and pounding them against the wall at my feet. The thunder rolled and roared, and great flashes of lightning ripped gashes in the green and purple water. It was the most glorious sight I ever saw! I felt that the wind, the waves, and the storm were all my friends and that they were doing all my beating and screaming for me. I clung to the lantern, with my clothes dripping and my hair streaming about my face until the storm was over. And I don't think I was ever so near to God in my life as when the sun came out suddenly from the clouds and lit up that tempest-tossed sea into a perfect glory of light and color I And the peace had come into my heart, Mate, and I knew that I was going to take up my cross again and bear it bravely. I was so glad, so thankful that I could scarcely keep my feet on the ground. I struck out at full speed along the sea wall and ran every step of the way home. And now after a hot bath and dry clothes, with my little kettle singing by my side, I want to tell you that I have decided to stay, perhaps for five months, perhaps for five years. Out of the wreckage of my old life I've managed to build a fairly respectable craft. It has taken me just four years to realize that it is not a pleasure boat. To-night I realize once for all that it is a very modest little tug, and wherever it can tow anything or anybody into harbor there it belongs, and there it stays. Tell them all that I am quite well again, Mate, and as for you, please don't even bother your blessed head about me again. I have meekly taken my place in the middle of the sea-saw and I shall probably never go very high or very low again. I am sleepy for the first time in two weeks, so good-bye comrade mine and God bless you. HIROSHIMA, February, 1905. My dearest Mate: I can't feel quite right until I tell you that I have guessed your secret, that I have known from the first it was Jack. I always knew you were made for each other, both so splendid and noble and true. It isn't any particular credit to you two that you are good, there was no alternative--you couldn't be bad. How perfectly you will fit into all his plans and ambitions! A beautiful new life is opening up for you, a life so full of promise, of tremendous possibilities for good not only for you but for others that it seems like a bit of heaven. Tell him how I feel, Mate. It is hard for me to write letters these days, but I want him to know that I am glad because he is happy. I have been living in the past to-day going over the old days in the Mountains up at the lake, and the reunions on the farm. How many have gone down into the great silence since then! Somehow I seem nearer to them than I do to you who are alive. While I am still on the crowded highway of life, yet I am surrounded by strange, unloving faces that have no connection with the joys or the sorrows of the past. How the view changes as we pass along the great road. At first only the hilltops are visible, rosy and radiant under the enthusiasm of youth, then the level plains come into sight flooded with the bright light of mid-day, then slowly we slip into the valleys where the long shadows fall like memories across our hearts. Oh! well, with all the struggles, all the heartaches, I am glad, Mate, very glad that I have lived--and laughed. For I am laughing again, in spite of the fact that my courage got fuddled and took the wrong road. I heard of a man the other day who had received a sentence of fifteen years for some criminal act. He was in love with the freedom of life, he was young and strong, so he made a dash down a long iron staircase, dropped into a river, swam a mile and gained his freedom. All search failed to find him, but two days later he walked into the police station and gave himself up to serve his time. I made my dash for liberty, but I have come back to serve my time. I don't have to tell you, Mate, that I am ashamed of having shown the white feather. You will write me a beautiful letter and explain it all away, but I know in my soul you are disappointed in me, and to even think about it is like going down in a swift elevator. Being able to go under gracefully is my highest ambition at present, but try as I will, I kick a few kicks before I disappear. Please, please, Mate, don't worry about me. I promise that if I reach the real limit I will cable for a special steamer to be sent for me. But I don't intend to reach it, or at least I am going to get on the other side of it, so there will be no further danger. Two long months will pass before I get an answer to this. It will come in April with the cherry blossoms and the spring. HIROSHIMA, March, 1905. You must forgive me if the letters have been few and far between lately. After my little "wobble" I plunged into work with might and main, and I am still at it for all I am worth. First I house-cleaned, and the old place must certainly be surprised at its transformation. Fresh curtains, new paper, cozy window seats, and bright cushions have made a vast difference. Then I tackled the kindergarten, and the result is about the prettiest thing in Japan. The room is painted white with buff walls and soft muslin curtains, the only decoration being a hundred blessed babies, in gay little kimonas, who look like big bunches of flowers placed in a wreath upon the floor. As for my training class, I have no words to express my gratification. I can scarcely believe that the fine, capable, earnest young women that are going out to all parts of Japan to start new Kindergartens, are the timid, giggling, dependent little creatures that came to me four years ago. Goodness knows I was as immature in my way as they were in theirs, but in my desperate need, I builded better than I knew. I recklessly followed your advice and hitched my little go-cart to a star, and the star turned into a meteor and is now whizzing through space getting bigger and stronger all the time, and I am tied on to the end of it unable to stop it or myself. If I only had more sense and more ability, think what I might have done! The work at the hospital is still very heavy. The wards are bare and repellant and the days are long and dreary for the sick men. We do all we can to cheer them up, have phonograph concerts, magic lantern shows, with the magic missing, and baby organ recitals. The results are often ludicrous, but the appreciation of the men for our slightest effort is so hearty that it more than repays us. I saw one man yesterday who had gone crazy on the battlefield. He looked like a terror stricken animal afraid of everybody, and hiding under the sheet at the slightest approach. When I came in he cowered back against the wall shaking from head to foot. I put a big bunch of flowers on the bed, and in a flash his hands were stretched out for them, and a smile came to his lips. After that whenever I passed the door, he would shout out, "Arigato! Arigato!" which the nurse said was the first sign of sanity he had shown. In the next room was a man who had fallen from a mast on one of the flag ships. He had landed full on his face and the result was too fearful to describe. The nurse said he could not live through the night so I laid my flowers on his bed and was slipping out when he called to me. His whole head was covered with bandages except his mouth and one eye, and I had to lean down very close to understand what he said. What do you suppose he wanted? To look at my hat!! He had never seen one before and he was just like a child in his curiosity. Of course, as foreigners, we always excite comment, and are gazed at, examined and talked about continually. I sometimes feel like a wild animal in a cage straight from the heart of Africa! Our unfailing point of contact is the flowers. You cannot imagine how they love them. I have seen men holding them tenderly in their fingers and talking to them as they would to children. Imagine retreating soldiers after a hard day's fight, stopping to put a flower in a dead comrade's hand! Oh! Mate, the most comical things and the most tragic, the most horrible and the most beautiful are all mixed up together. Every time I go to the hospital I am faced with my wasted years of opportunities. It takes so little to bring sunshine and cheer, and yet millions of us go chasing our own little desires through life, and never stop to think of the ones who are down. No, I am not going to turn Missionary nor Salvation Army lassie, but with God's help I shall serve somewhere and "good cheer for the lonely" shall be my watch-word. I am lots better than I was, though I am still tussling with insomnia. My crazy nerves play me all sorts of tricks, but praise be I have stopped worrying. I have come at last to see that God has found even a small broken instrument like myself worth working through, and I just lift up my heart to Him every day, battered and bruised as it is, in deep unspeakable thankfulness. HIROSHIMA, April, 1905. My dearest Mate: Your letter is here and I haven't a grain of sense, nor dignity, nor anything else except a wild desire to hug everything in sight! I am having as many thrills as a surcharged electric battery, and I am so hysterically happy that I don't care what I do or say. Why didn't you tell me at first it was Dr. Leet? My mind was so full of Jack that I forgot that other men inhabited the earth. It is no use bluffing any longer, Mate, there has never been a minute since the train pulled out of the home station that every instinct in me hasn't cried out for Jack. Pride kept me silent at first, and then the miserable thought got hold of me that he was beginning to care for you. Oh! the agony I have suffered, trying to be loyal to you, to be generous to him, and to put myself out of the question! And now your blessed letter comes, and laughs at my fears and says "Jack chooses his wife as he does his friends, for eternity." I have no words to fit the occasion, all I can say is now that happiness has shown me the back of her head I am scared to death to look her in the face. But I "shore do" like the arrangement of her back hair. Don't breathe a word of what I have written, but as you love me find out absolutely and beyond all possibility of doubt if Jack feels exactly as he did four years ago. If you give me your word of honor that he does, then--I will write. I have signed a contract for another year, and I must stay it out, but I would spend a year in Hades if Heaven was at the end of it. All you say about Dr. Leet fills me with joy. He does not need any higher commendation in this world nor the next than that you are willing to marry him! Isn't it dandy that he is going to back the hospital scheme? When I think of the way Jack has worked for ten years without a vacation, putting all his magnificent ability, his strength, his youth, his health even into that project, I don't wonder that men like Dr. Leet are eager to put their money and services at his disposal. You say Dr. Leet does it upon the condition that Jack takes a rest. Make him stick to it, Mate, he will kill himself if he isn't stopped. I have read your letters over and over and traced your love affair every inch of the way. Why are you such an old clam! To think that I am the only one that knows your secret, and that up to to-day I have been barking up the wrong tree! Never mind, I forgive you, I forgive everybody, I am drunk with happiness and generous in consequence. My little old lane is glorified, even the barbed wire fence on either side scintillates. The house is too small, I am going out on the River Road, and see the cherry blossoms on the hill sides and the sunlight on the water, and feel the road under my feet. I feel like a prospector who has struck gold. Whatever comes of it all, for this one day I am going to give full rein to my fancy and be gloriously happy once more. HIROSHIMA, May, 1905. There is a big yellow bee, doing the buzzing act in the sunshine on my window, and I am just wondering who is doing the most buzzing, he or I? His nose is yellow with pollen from some flower he has robbed, his body is fat and lazy, all in all he is about the happiest bee I ever beheld. But I can go him one better, while it is only his wings that are beating with happiness, it is my heart that is going to the tune of rag-time jigs and triumphal alleluias all at the same time. My chef, four feet two, remarked this morning "Sensei happy all same like chicken!" He meant bird, but any old fowl will do. Oh! Mate, it is good to be alive these days. For weeks we have had nothing but glorious sunrises, gorgeous sunsets, and perfect noondays. The wistaria has come before the cherry blossoms have quite gone, and the earth is a glow of purple and pink with the blue sky above as tender as love. Each morning I open my windows to the east to see the marvel of a new day coming fresh from the hands of its Maker, and each evening I stand at the opposite window and watch the same day drop over the mountains to eternity. In the flaming sky where so often hangs the silver crescent is always the promise of another day, another chance to begin anew. Just one more year and I will be turning the gladdest face homeward that ever a lonely pilgrim faced the West with. There will be many a pang at leaving Japan, I have learned life's deepest lesson here, and the loneliness and isolation that have been so hard to bear have revealed inner depths of which I never dreamed before. What strange things human beings are! Our very crosses get dear after we have carried them awhile! I have had three offers to sign fresh contracts, Nagasaki, Tokyo, and here, but I am leaving things to shape themselves for the future. Whatever happens I am coming home first. If happiness is waiting for me, I'll meet it with out-stretched arms, if not I am coming back to my post. Thank God I am sure of myself at last! The work at the hospital this month is much lighter, and the patients are leaving for home daily. The talk of peace is in the air, and we are praying with all our hearts that it may come. Nobody but those who have seen with their own eyes can know the unspeakable horrors of this war. It is not only those who are fighting at the front who have known the full tragedy, it is those also who are fighting at home the relentless foe of poverty, sickness, and desolation. If victory comes to Japan, half the glory must be for those silent heroic little women, who gave their all, then took up the man's burden and cheerfully bore it to the end. I was very much interested in your account of the young missionary who is coming through Japan on her way to China. I know just how she will feel when she steps off the steamer and finds no friendly face to welcome her. I talked over your little scheme with Miss Lessing and she says I can go up to Yokohama in July to meet her and bring her right down here. Tell her to tie her handkerchief around her arm so I will know her, and not to worry the least bit, that I will take care of her and treat her like one of my own family. Can you guess how eagerly I am waiting for your answer to my April letter? It cannot come before the last of June, and happy as I am, the time seems very long. Yet I would rather live to the last of my days like this, travelling ever toward the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, than ever to arrive and find the gold not there! You say that at last you know I am the "captain of my soul." Well, Mate, I believe I am, but I just want to say that it's a hard worked captain that I am, and if anybody wants the job--very much--I think he can get it. YOKOHAMA, July 5, 1905. Do you suppose, if people could, they would write letters as soon as they got to Heaven! I don't know where to begin nor what to say. The only thing about me that is on earth is this pen point, the rest is floating around in a diamond-studded, rose-colored mist! I will try to be sensible and give you some idea of what has been happening, but how I am to get it on paper I don't know. I got here yesterday, the 4th of July, on the early train, and rushed down to the hatoba to meet the launch when it came in from the steamer. I had had no breakfast and was as nervous as a witch. Your letter had not come, and my fears were increasing every moment. Well I took my place on the steps as the launch landed and waited, with very little interest I must confess, for your young missionary to appear. By and by I saw a handkerchief tied to a sleeve, but it was a man's sleeve. I gave one more look, and my heart seemed to stop. "Jack!" I cried, and then everything went black before me, and I didn't know anything more. It was the first time I ever fainted; sorrow and grief never knocked me out, but joy like that was enough to kill me! When I came to, I was at the hotel and I didn't dare open my eyes--I knew it was all a dream, and I did not want to come back to reality. I lay there holding on to the vision, until I heard a man's voice close by say, "She will be all right now, I will take care of her." Then I opened my eyes, and with three Japanese maids and four Japanese men and two ladies off the steamer looking on, I flung my arms about Jack's neck and cried down his collar! He made me stay quiet all morning, and just before tiffin he calmly informed me that he had made all the arrangements for us to be married at three o'clock. I declared I couldn't, that I had signed a contract for another year at Hiroshima, that Miss Lessing would think I was crazy, that I must make some plans. But you know Jack! He met every objection that I could offer, said he would see Miss Lessing and make it all right about the contract, that I was too nervous to teach any more, and last that I owed him a little consideration after four years of waiting. Then I realized how the lines had deepened in his face, and how the grey was streaking his hair, and I surrendered promptly. We were married in a little English church on the Bluff, with half a dozen witnesses. Several Americans whom Jack had met on the steamer, a missionary friend of mine, and the Japanese clerk constituted the audience. It is all like a beautiful dream to me still, and I am afraid to let Jack get out of my sight for fear I will wake up. It was Fourth of July, and Christmas, and birthday, and wedding day all rolled into one. The whole city was celebrating, the hotel a flutter of flags and ribbons, the bay full of every kind of pleasure craft. At night there was a grand lantern fete and fireworks, and a huge figure of Uncle Sam with stars in his coat tails. Thousands of Japanese in their gayest kimonas thronged the Bund, listening to the music, watching the foreigners and the fire-works. Jack and I were like two children, he forgot that he was a staid doctor, and I forgot that I had ever been a Foreign Missionary Kindergarten teacher. We were boy and girl again and up to our eyes in love. It was the first Fourth of July for fifteen years that I did not have some unhappiness to conceal. As one of my girls said about herself: "My little lonely heart had flewed away!" All the loneliness, the heartaches, the pains are justified now. I do not regret the past for through it the present is. Do you remember the lines: "He shall restore the years that the locust hath eaten?" Well I believe that while I have been struggling out here, He has restored them, and that I will be permitted to return to a new life, a life given back by God. Of course you know we are going on around. It seems rather inconsistent to say I am glad of it after all my wailing for home. The truth is, home has come to _me_! Jack says we are to meet you and Dr. Leet in Paris. You needn't try to persuade me that Heaven will be any better than the present! There is no use in my trying to thank you for your part in all this, dear Mate. I have been in a chronic state of gratitude to you ever since I was born! I can only say with all my heart and soul "God bless you and Good-bye." P.S. In my wedding ring is engraved M.L.O.T.D. Can you guess what it means? 
7237	----	ROVING EAST AND ROVING WEST BY E. V. LUCAS TO E. L. L. MY HOST AT RAISINA [Illustration: TWO MEN ADMIRING FUJI FROM A WINDOW From Hokusai's "A Hundred Views of Fuji"] "Yes, Sir, there are two objects of curiosity, e.g., the Christian world and the Mahometan world."--DR. JOHNSON. "Motion recollected in tranquillity."--WORDSWORTH (_very nearly_). CONTENTS INDIA NOISELESS FEET THE SAHIB THE PASSING SHOW INDIA'S BIRDS THE TOWERS OF SILENCE THE GARLANDS DELHI A DAY'S HAWKING NEW, OR IMPERIAL, DELHI THE DIVERS THE ROPE TRICK AGRA AND FATEHPUR-SIKRI LUCKNOW A TIGER THE SACRED CITY CALCUTTA ROSE AYLMER JOB AND JOE EXIT JAPAN INTRODUCTORY THE LITTLE LAND THE RICE FIELDS SURFACE MATERIALISM FIRST GLIMPSE OF FUJI TWO FUNERALS THE LITTLE GEISHA MANNERS THE PLAY MYANOSHITA FUJI AMERICA DEMOCRACY AT HOME SAN FRANCISCO ROADS GOOD AND BAD UNIVERSITIES, LOVE AND PRONUNCIATION FIRST SIGNS OF PROHIBITION R. L. S. STORIES AND HUMORISTS THE CARS CHICAGO THE MOVIES THE AMERICAN FACE PROHIBITION AGAIN THE BALL GAME SKY SCRAPERS A PLEA FOR THE AQUARIUM ENGLISH AND FRENCH INFLUENCES SKY-SIGNS AND CONEY ISLAND THE PRESS TREASURES OF ART MOUNT VERNON VERS LIBRE DOMESTIC ARCHITECTURE BOSTON PHILADELPHIA GENERAL REFLECTIONS INDEX INDIA NOISELESS FEET Although India is a land of walkers, there is no sound of footfalls. Most of the feet are bare and all are silent: dark strangers overtake one like ghosts. Both in the cities and the country some one is always walking. There are carts and motorcars, and on the roads about Delhi a curious service of camel omnibuses, but most of the people walk, and they walk ever. In the bazaars they walk in their thousands; on the long, dusty roads, miles from anywhere, there are always a few, approaching or receding. It is odd that the only occasion on which Indians break from their walk into a run or a trot is when they are bearers at a funeral, or have an unusually heavy head-load, or carry a piano. Why there is so much piano-carrying in Calcutta I cannot say, but the streets (as I feel now) have no commoner spectacle than six or eight merry, half-naked fellows, trotting along, laughing and jesting under their burden, all with an odd, swinging movement of the arms. One of one's earliest impressions of the Indians is that their hands are inadequate. They suggest no power. Not only is there always some one walking, but there is always some one resting. They repose at full length wherever the need for sleep takes them; or they sit with pointed knees. Coming from England one is struck by so much inertness; for though the English labourer can be lazy enough he usually rests on his feet, leaning against walls: if he is a land labourer, leaning with his back to the support; if he follows the sea, leaning on his stomach. It was interesting to pass on from India and its prostrate philosophers with their infinite capacity for taking naps, to Japan, where there seems to be neither time nor space for idlers. Whereas in India one has continually to turn aside in order not to step upon a sleeping figure--the footpath being a favourite dormitory--in Japan no one is ever doing nothing, and no one appears to be weary or poor. India, save for a few native politicians and agitators, strikes one as a land destitute of ambition. In the cities there are infrequent signs of progress; in the country none. The peasants support life on as little as they can, they rest as much as possible and their carts and implements are prehistoric. They may believe in their gods, but fatalism is their true religion. How little they can be affected by civilisation I learned from a tiny settlement of bush-dwellers not twenty miles from Bombay, close to that beautiful lake which has been transformed into a reservoir, where bows and arrows are still the only weapons and rats are a staple food. And in an hour's time, in a car, one could be telephoning one's friends or watching a cinema! THE SAHIB I did not have to wait to reach India for that great and exciting moment when one is first called "Sahib." I was addressed as "Sahib," to my mingled pride and confusion, at Marseilles, by an attendant on the steamer which I joined there. Later I grew accustomed to it, although never, I hope, blasé; but to the end my bearer fascinated me by alluding to me as Master--not directly, but obliquely: impersonally, as though it were some other person that I knew, who was always with me, an _alter ego_ who could not answer for himself: "Would Master like this or that?" "At what time did Master wish to be called?" And then the beautiful "Salaam"! I was sorry for the English doomed to become so used to Eastern deference that they cease to be thrilled. THE PASSING SHOW It is difficult for a stranger to India, especially when paying only a brief visit, to lose the impression that he is at an exhibition--in a section of a World's Fair. How long it takes for this delusion to wear off I cannot say. All I can say is that seven weeks are not enough. And never does one feel it more than in the bazaar, where movement is incessant and humanity is so packed and costumes are so diverse, and where the suggestion of the exhibition is of course heightened by the merchants and the stalls. What one misses is any vantage point--anything resembling a chair at the Café de la Paix in Paris, for instance--where one may sit at ease and watch the wonderful changing spectacle going past. There are in Indian cities no such places. To observe the life of the bazaar closely and be unobserved is almost impossible. It would be extraordinarily interesting to sit there, beside some well-informed Anglo-Indian or Indo-Anglian, and learn all the minutiæ of caste and be told who and what everybody was: what the different ochre marks signified on the Hindu foreheads; what this man did for a living, and that; and so forth. Even without such an informant I was never tired of drifting about the native quarters in whatever city I found myself and watching the curiously leisurely and detached commercial methods of the dealers--the money lenders reclining on their couches; the pearl merchants with their palms full of the little desirable jewels; the silversmiths hammering; the tailors cross-legged; the whole Arabian Nights pageant. All the shops seem to be overstaffed, unless an element of detached inquisitiveness is essential to business in the East. No transaction is complete without a few watchful spectators, usually youths, who apparently are employed by the establishment for the sole purpose of exhibiting curiosity. I picked up a few odds and ends of information, by degrees, but only the more obvious: such as that the slight shaving of the Mohammedan's upper lip is to remove any impediment to the utterance of the name of Allah; that the red-dyed beards are a record that their wearers have made the pilgrimage to Mecca; that the respirator often worn by the Jains is to prevent the death of even a fly in inhalation. I was shown a Jain woman carefully emptying a piece of wood with holes in it into the road, each hole containing a louse which had crawled there during the night but must not be killed. The Jains adore every living creature; the Hindus chiefly the cow. As for this divinity, she drifts about the cities as though they were built for her, and one sees the passers-by touching her, hoping for sanctity or a blessing. A certain sex inequality is, however, only too noticeable, and particularly in and about Bombay, where the bullock cart is so common--the bullock receiving little but blows and execration from his drivers. The sacred pigeon is also happy in Bombay, being fed copiously all day long; and I visited there a Hindu sanctuary, called the Pingheripole, for every kind of animal--a Home of Rest or Asylum--where even pariah dogs are fed and protected. I was told early of certain things one must not do: such as saluting with the left hand, which is the dishonourable one of the pair, and refraining carefully, when in a temple or mosque, from touching anything at all, because for an unbeliever to touch is to desecrate. I was told also that a Mohammedan grave always gives one the points of the compass, because the body is buried north and south with the head at the north, turned towards Mecca. The Hindus have no graves. In India the Occidental, especially if coming from France as I did, is struck by the absence of any out-of-door communion between men and women. In the street men are with men, women with women. Most women lower their eyes as a man approaches, although when the woman is a Mohammedan and young one is often conscious of a bright black glance through the veil. There is no public fondling, nothing like the familiar demonstrations of affection that we are accustomed to in Paris and London (more so during the War and since) and in New York. Nothing so offends and surprises the Indian as this want of restraint and shame on our part, and in Japan I learned that the Japanese share the Indian view. It seemed to me that the chewing of the betel-nut is more prevalent in Bombay than elsewhere. One sees it all over India; everywhere are moving jaws with red juice trickling; but in Bombay there are more vendors of the rolled-up leaves and more crimson splashes on pavement and wall. It is an unpleasant habit, but there is no doubt that teeth are ultimately the whiter for it. Even though I was instructed in the art of betel-nut chewing by an Indian gentleman of world-wide fame in the cricket field, from whom I would willingly learn anything, I could not endure the experience. Most nations, I suppose, look upon the dances of other nations with a certain perplexity. Such glimpses, for example, as I had in America of the movement known as the Shimmie Shake filled me with alarm, while Orientals have been known to display boredom at the Russian Ballet. Personally I adore the Russian Ballet, but I found the Nautch very fatiguing. It is at once too long and too monotonous, but I dare say that if one could follow the words of the accompanying songs, or cantillations, the result might be more entertaining. That would not, however, improve the actual dancing, in which I was disappointed. In Japan, on the other hand, I succumbed completely to the odd, hypnotic mechanism of the Geisha, the accompaniments to which are more varied, or more acceptable to my ear, than the Indian music. But I shall always remember the sounds of the distant, approaching or receding, snake-charmers' piping, heard through the heat, as it so often is on Sundays in Calcutta. To my inward ear that is India's typical melody; and it has relationship to the Punch and Judy allurement of our childhood. It was in Bombay that I saw my first fakir, and in Harrison Road, Calcutta, my last. There had been so long a series in between that I was able to confirm my first impression. I can now, therefore, generalise safely when saying that all these strange creatures resemble a blend of Tolstoi and Mr. Bernard Shaw. Imagine such a hybrid, naked save for a loin cloth, and smeared all over with dust, and you have a holy man in the East. The Harrison Road fakir, who passed on his way along the crowded pavement unconcerned and practically unobserved, was white with ashes and was beating a piece of iron as a wayward child might be doing. He was followed by a boy, but no effort was made to collect alms. It is true philosophy to be prepared to live in such a state of simplicity. Most of the problems of life would dissolve and vanish if one could reduce one's needs to the frugality of a fakir. I have thought often of him since I returned, in London, to all the arrears of work and duty and the liabilities that accumulate during a long holiday; but never more so than when confronted by a Peace-time tailor's bill. INDIA'S BIRDS One of the first peculiarities of Bombay that I noticed and never lost sight of was the kites. The city by day is never without these spies, these sentries. From dawn to dusk the great unresting birds are sailing over it, silent and vigilant. Whenever you look up, there they are, criss-crossing in the sky, swooping and swerving and watching. After a while one begins to be nervous: it is disquieting to be so continually under inspection. Now and then they quarrel and even fight: now and then one will descend with a rush and rise carrying a rat or other delicacy in its claws; but these interruptions of the pattern are only momentary. For the rest of the time they swirl and circle and never cease to watch. Bombay also has its predatory crows, who are so bold that it is unsafe to leave any bright article on the veranda table. Spectacles, for example, set up a longing in their hearts which they make no effort to control. But these birds are everywhere. At a wayside station just outside Calcutta, in the early morning, the passengers all had tea, and when it was finished and the trays were laid on the platform, I watched the crows, who were perfectly aware of this custom and had been approaching nearer and nearer as we drank, dart swiftly to the sugar basins and carry off the lumps that remained. The crow, however, is, comparatively speaking, a human being; the kite is something alien and a cause of fear, and the traveller in India never loses him. His eye is as coldly attentive to Calcutta as to Bombay. It is, of course, the indigenous birds of a country that emphasise its foreignness far more than its people. People can travel. Turbaned heads are, for example, not unknown in England; but to have green parrots with long tails flitting among the trees, as they used to flit in my host's garden in Bombay, is to be in India beyond question. At Raisina we had mynahs and the babblers, or "Seven Sisters," in great profusion, and also the King Crow with his imposing tail; while the little striped squirrels were everywhere. These merry restless little rodents do more than run and scamper and leap: they seem to be positively lifted into space by their tails. Their stripes (as every one knows) came directly from the hand of God, recording for ever how, on the day of creation, He stroked them by way of approval. No Indian bird gave me so much pleasure to watch as the speckled kingfishers, which I saw at their best on the Jumna at Okhla. They poise in the air above the water with their long bills pointed downwards at a right-angle to their fluttering bodies, searching the depths for their prey; and then they drop with the quickness of thought into the stream. The other kingfisher--coloured like ours but bigger--who waits on an overhanging branch, I saw too, but the evolutions of the hovering variety were more absorbing. When one is travelling by road, the birds that most attract the notice are the peacocks and the giant cranes; while wherever there are cattle in any numbers there are the white paddy birds, feeding on their backs--the birds from which the osprey plumes are obtained. One sees, too, many kinds of eagle and hawk. In fact, the ornithologist can never be dull in this country. Wild animals I had few opportunities to observe, although a mongoose at Raisina gave me a very amusing ten minutes. At Raisina, also, the jackals came close to the house at night; and on an early morning ride in a motorcar to Agra we passed a wolf, and a little later were most impudently raced and outdistanced by a blackbuck, who, instead of bolting into security at the sight or sound of man, ran, or rather, advanced--for his progress is mysterious and magical--beside us for some forty yards and then,--with a laugh, put on extra speed (we were doing perhaps thirty miles an hour) and disappeared ahead. All about Muttra we dispersed monkeys up the trees and into the bushes as we approached. Next to the parrots it is the monkeys that most convince the traveller that he is in a strange tropical land. And the flying foxes. Nothing is more strange than a tree full of these creatures sleeping pendant by day, or their silent swift black movements by night. I saw no snakes wild, but in the Bacteriological Laboratory at Parel in Bombay, which Lt.-Col. Glen Liston controls with so much zeal and resourcefulness, I was shown the process by which the antidotes to snake poisoning are prepared, for dispersion through the country. A cobra or black snake is released from his cage and fixed by the attendant with a stick pressed on his neck a little below the head. The snake is then firmly and safely held just above this point between the finger and thumb, and a tumbler, with a piece of flannel round its edge, is proffered to it to bite. As the snake bites, a clear yellow fluid, like strained honey in colour and thickness, flows into the glass from the poison fangs. This poison is later injected in small doses into the veins of horses kept carefully for the purpose, and then, in due course, the blood of the horses is tapped in order to make the anti-toxin. Wonderful are the ways of science! The Laboratory is also the headquarters of the Government's constant campaign against malaria and guinea worm, typhoid and cholera, and, in a smaller degree, hydrophobia. But nothing, I should guess, would ever get sanitary sense into India, except in almost negligible patches. THE TOWERS OF SILENCE The Parsees have made Bombay their own, more surely even than the Scotch possess Calcutta. Numerically very weak, they are long-headed and far-sighted beyond any Indian and are better qualified to traffick and to control. All the cotton mills are theirs, and theirs the finest houses in the most beautiful sites. When that conflict begins between the Hindus and the Mohammedans which will render India a waste and a shambles, it is the Parsees who will occupy the high places--until a more powerful conqueror arrives. Bombay has no more curious sight than the Towers of Silence, the Parsee cemetery; and one of the first questions that one is asked is if one has visited them. But when the time came for me to ascend those sinister steps on Malabar Hill I need hardly say that my companion was a many years' resident of Bombay who, although he had long intended to go there, had hitherto neglected his opportunities. Throughout my travels I was, it is pleasant to think, in this way the cause of more sightseeing in others than they might ever have suffered. To give but one other instance typical of many--I saw Faneuil Hall in Boston in the company of a Bostonian some thirty years of age, whose office was within a few yards of this historic and very interesting building, and whose business is more intimately associated with culture than any other, but who had never before crossed the threshold. The Towers of Silence, which are situated in a very beautiful park, with little temples among the trees and flowers, consist of five circular buildings, a model of one of which is displayed to visitors. Inside the tower is an iron grating on which the naked corpses are laid, and no sooner are they there than the awaiting vultures descend and consume the flesh. I saw these grisly birds sitting expectantly in rows on the coping of the towers, and the sight was almost too gruesome. Such is their voracity that the body is a skeleton in an hour or so. The Parsees choose this method of dissolution because since they worship fire they must not ask it to demean itself with the dead; and both earth and water they hold also too sacred to use for burial. Hence this strange and--at the first blush--repellant compromise. The sight of the cemetery that awaits us in England is rarely cheering, but if to that cemetery were attached a regiment of cruel and hideous birds of prey we should shudder indeed. Whether the Parsees shudder I cannot say, but they give no sign of it. They build their palaces in full view of these terrible Towers, pass, on their way to dinner parties, luxuriously in Rolls-Royces beside the trees where the vultures roost, and generally behave themselves as if this were the best possible of worlds and the only one. And I think they are wise. Oriental apathy, or, at any rate, unruffled receptiveness, may carry its owner very far, and yet if these vultures cause no misgivings, no chills at the heart, I shall be surprised. As for those olive-skinned Parsee girls, with the long oval faces and the lustrous eyes--how must it strike them? It was not till I went to the caves of Elephanta that I saw vultures in their marvellous flight. It is here that they breed, and the sky was full of them at an incredible distance up, resting on their great wings against the wind, circling and deploying. At this height they are magnificent. But seen at close quarters they are horrible, revolting. On a day's hunting which I shall describe later I was in at the death of a gond, or swamp-deer, at about noon, and we returned for the carcase about three hours later, only to find it surrounded by some hundreds of these birds tearing at it in a kind of frenzy of gluttony. They were not in the least disconcerted by our approach, and not until the bearers had taken sticks to them would they leave. The heavy half-gorged flapping of a vulture's wings as it settles itself to a new aspect of its repast is the most disgusting sight I have seen. To revert to the Towers of Silence, one is brought very near to death everywhere in the East. We have our funeral corteges at home, with sufficient frequency, but they do not emphasize the thought of the necessary end of all things as do the swathed corpses that one meets so often being carried through the streets, on their way to this or that burning place. In Bombay I met several every day, with their bearers and followers all in white, and all moving with the curious trot that seems to be reserved for such obsequies. There were always, also, during my stay, new supplies of fire-wood outside the great Hindu burning ground in Queen's Road; and yet no epidemic was raging; the city was normal save for a strike of mill-hands. It is true that I met wedding parties almost equally often; but in India a wedding party is not, as with us, a suggestion of new life to replace the dead, for the brides so often are infants. One of the differences between the poor of London and the poor of India may be noticed here. In the East-End a funeral is considered to be a failure unless its cost is out of all proportion to the survivors' means, while a wedding is a matter of a few shillings; whereas in India a funeral is a simple ceremony, to be hurried over, while the wedding festivities last for weeks and often plunge the family into debts from which they never recover. THE GARLANDS The selective processes of the memory are very curious. It has been decreed that one of my most vivid recollections of Bombay should be that of the embarrassment and half-amused self-consciousness of an American business man on the platform of the railway station for Delhi. Having completed his negotiatory visit he was being speeded on his way by the native staff of the firm, who had hung him with garlands like a sacrificial bull. In the Crawford Market I had watched the florists at work tearing the blossoms from a kind of frangipani known as the Temple Flower, in order to string them tightly into chains; and now and again in the streets one came upon people wearing them; but to find a shrewd and portly commercial American thus bedecked was a shock. As it happened, he was to share my compartment, and on entering, just before the train started, he apologised very heartily for importing so much heavy perfume into the atmosphere, but begged to be excused because it was the custom of the country and he didn't like to hurt anyone's feelings. He then stood at the door, waving farewells, and directly the line took a bend flung the wreaths out of the window. I was glad of his company, for in addition to these floral offerings his Bombay associates had provided him with a barrel of the best oranges that ever were grown--sufficient for a battalion--and these we consumed at brief intervals all the way to Delhi. DELHI "If you can be in India only so short a time as seven weeks," said an artist friend of mine--and among his pictures is a sombre representation of the big sacred bull that grazes under the walls of Delhi Fort--"why not stay in Delhi all the while? You will then learn far more of India than by rushing about." I think he was right, although it was not feasible to accept the advice. For Delhi has so much; it has, first and foremost, the Fort; it has the Jama Masjid, that immense mosque where on Fridays at one o'clock may be seen Mohammedans of every age wearing every hue, thousands worshipping as one; it has the ancient capitals scattered about the country around it; it has signs and memories of the Mutiny; it has delectable English residences; and it has the Chadni Chauk, the long main street with all its curious buildings and crowds and countless tributary alleys, every one of which is the East crystallised, every one of which has its white walls, its decorative doorways, its loiterers, its beggars, its artificers, and its defiance of the bogey, Progress. Another thing: in January, Delhi, before the sun is high and after he has sunk, is cool and bracing. But, most of all, Delhi is interesting because it was the very centre of the Mogul dominance, and when one has become immersed in the story of the great rulers, from Babar to Aurungzebe, one thinks of most other history as insipid. Of Babar, who reigned from 1526 to 1530, I saw no trace in India; but his son Humayun (1530-1556) built Indrapat, which is just outside the walls of Delhi, and he lies close by in the beautiful mausoleum that bears his name. Humayun's son, Akbar (1556-1605), preferred Agra to Delhi; nor was Jahangir (1605-1627), who succeeded Akbar, a great builder hereabout; but with Shah Jahan (1627-1658), Jahangir's son, came the present Delhi's golden age. He it was who built the Jama Masjid, the great mosque set commandingly on a mound and gained by magnificent flights of steps. To the traveller approaching the city from any direction the two graceful minarets of the mosque stand for Delhi. It was Shah Jahan, price of Mogul builders, who decreed also the palace in the Fort, to say nothing (at the moment) of the Taj Mahal at Agra; while two of his daughters, Jahanara, and Roshanara, that naughty Begam, enriched Delhi too, the little pavilion in the Gardens that bear Roshanara's name being a gem. Wandering among these architectural delights, now empty and under alien protection, it is difficult to believe that their period was as recent as Cromwell and Milton. But in India the sense of chronology vanishes. After Shah Jahan came his crafty son, Aurungzebe, who succeeded in keeping his empire together until 1707, and with him the grandeur of the Grand Moguls waned and after him ceased to be, although not until the Mutiny was their rule extinguished. As I have just said, in India the sense of chronology vanishes, or goes astray, and it is with a start that one is confronted, in the Museum in Delhi Fort, by a photograph of the last Mogul! In Bombay, during my wakeful moments in the hottest part of the day, I had passed the time and imbibed instruction by reading the three delightful books of the late E. H. Aitken, who called himself "Eha"--"Behind the Bungalow," "The Tribes on My Frontier" and "A Naturalist on the Prowl." No more amusing and kindly studies of the fauna, flora and human inhabitants of a country can have ever been written than these; and I can suggest, to the domestically curious mind, no better preparation for a visit to India. But at Raisina, when the cool evenings set in and it was pleasant to get near the wood fire, I took to history and revelled in the story of the Moguls as told by many authorities, but most entertainingly perhaps by Tavernier, the French adventurer who took service under Aurungzebe. If any one wants to know what Delhi was like in the seventeenth century during Aurungzebe's long reign, and how the daily life in the Palace went, and would learn more of the power and autocracy and splendour and cruelty of the Grand Moguls, let him get Tavernier's record. If once I began to quote from it I should never stop; and therefore I pass on, merely remarking that when you have finished the travels of M. Tavernier, the travels of M. Bernier, another contemporary French observer, await you. And I hold you to be envied. The Palace in the Fort is now but a fraction of what it was in the time of Aurungzebe and his father, but enough remains to enable the imaginative mind to reconstruct the past, especially if one has read my two annalists. One of Bernier's most vivid passages describes the Diwan-i-Am, or Hall of Public Audience, the building to which, after leaving the modern military part of the Fort, one first comes, where the Moguls sat in state during a durbar, and painted and gilded elephants, richly draped, took part in the obeisances. Next comes the Hall of Private Audiences, where the Peacock Throne once stood. It has now vanished, but in its day it was one of the wonders of the world, the tails of the two guardian peacocks being composed of precious stones and the throne itself being of jewelled gold. It was for this that one of Shah Jahan's poets wrote an inscription in which we find such lines as-- By the order of the Emperor the azure of Heaven was exhausted on its decoration.... The world had become so short of gold on account of its use in the throne that the purse of the Earth was empty of treasure.... On a dark night, by the lustre of its rubies and pearls it can lend stars to a hundred skies.... That was right enough, no doubt, but when our poet went on to say, As long as a trace remains of existence and space Shah Jahan shall continue to sit on this throne, we feel that he was unwise. Such pronouncements can be tested. As it happened, Shah Jahan was destined, very shortly after the poem was written, to be removed into captivity by his son, and the rest of his unhappy life was spent in a prison at Agra. On each end wall of the Hall of Private Audience is the famous couplet,-- If there is a Paradise on the face of the earth, It is this, Oh! it is this, Oh! it is this. I think of the garden and palace of Delhi Fort as the loveliest spot in India. Not the most beautiful, not the most impressive; but the loveliest. The Taj Mahal has a greater beauty; the ruined city of Fatehpur-Sikri has a greater dignity; but for the perfection of domestic regality in design and material and workmanship, this marble home and mosque and accompanying garden and terrace could not be excelled. After the Halls of Audience we come to the seraglio and accompanying buildings, where everything is perfect and nothing is on the grand scale. The Pearl Mosque could hardly be smaller; and it is as pure and fresh as a lotus. There is a series of apartments all in white marble (with inlayings of gold and the most delicately pierced marble gratings) through which a stream of water used to run (and it ran again at the Coronation Durbar in 1911, when the Royal Baths were again made to "function") that must be one of the most magical of the works of man. Every inch is charming and distinguished. All these rooms are built along the high wall which in the time of Shah Jahan and his many lady loves was washed by the Jumna. But to-day the river has receded and a broad strip of grass intervenes. A DAY'S HAWKING One of my best Indian days was that on which Colonel Sir Umar Hayat Khan took us out a-hawking. Sir Umar is himself something of a hawk--an impressive figure in his great turban with long streamers, his keen aquiline features and blackest of hair. All sport comes naturally to him, whether hunting or shooting, pig-sticking, coursing or falconry; and the Great War found him with a sportsman's eagerness to rush into the fray, where he distinguished himself notably. We found this gallant chieftain in the midst of his retainers on the further bank of the Jumna, at the end of the long bridge. Here the plains begin--miles of fields of stubble, with here and there a tree and here and there a pool or marsh, as far as eye can reach, an ancient walled city in the near distance being almost the only excrescence. Between the river and this city was our hunting ground. With the exception of Sir Umar, two of his friends and ourselves, the company was on foot; and nothing more like the middle ages did I ever see. The retainers were in every kind of costume, one having an old pink coat and one a green; one leading a couple of greyhounds in case we put up a hare; others carrying guns (for we were prepared for all); while the chief falconer and his assistants had their hawks on their wrists, and one odd old fellow was provided with a net, in which a captive live hawk was to flutter and struggle to attract his hereditary foes, the little birds, who, deeming him unable to hit back, were to swarm down to deride and defy and be caught in the meshes. I may say at once that hawking, particularly in this form, does not give me much pleasure. There is something magnificent in the flight of the falcon when it is released and flung towards its prey, but the odds are too heavy in its favour and the whimperings of the doomed quarry strike a chill in the heart. We flew our hawks at duck and plovers, and missed none. Often the first swoop failed, but the deadly implacable pursuer was instantly ready to swoop again, and rarely was a third manoeuvre necessary. Man, under the influence of the excitement of the chase, is the same all the world over, and there was no difference between these Indians moving swiftly to intervene between the hawk and its stricken prey and an English boy running to retrieve his rabbit. Their animation and triumph--even their shouts and cries--were alike. And so we crossed field after field on our gentle steeds--and no one admires gentleness in a horse more than I--stopping only to watch another tragedy of the air, or to look across the river to Delhi and see the Fort under new conditions. All this country I had so often looked down upon from those high massive walls, standing in one of the lovely windows of Shah Jahan's earthly paradise; and now the scene was reversed, and I began to take more delight in it than in the sport. But at a pond to which we next came there was enacted a drama so absorbing that everything else was forgotten, even the heat of the sun. Upon this pond were three wild-duck at which a falcon was instantly flown. For a while, however, they kept their presence of mind and refused to leave the water--diving beneath the surface at the moment that the enemy was within a foot of them. On went the hawk, in its terrible, cruel onset, and up came the ducks, all ready to repeat these tactics when it turned and attacked again. But on one of the party (I swear it was not I), in order to assist the hawk, firing his gun, two of the ducks became panic-stricken and left the water, only of course to be quickly destroyed. It was on the hawk's return journey to the pond to make sure of the third duck that I saw for the first time in my life--and I hope the last--the expression on the countenance of these terrible birds in the execution of their duty: more than the mere execution of duty, the determination to have no more nonsense, to put an end to anything so monstrous as self-protection in others; for my horse being directly in the way, he flew under its neck and for a moment I thought that he was confusing me with the desired mallard. Nothing more merciless or purposeful did I ever see. Then began a really heroic struggle on the part of the victim. He timed his dives to perfection, and escaped so often that the spirit of chivalry would have decreed a truce. But blood had been tasted, and, the desire being for more, the guns were again discharged. Not even they, however, could divert the duck from his intention of saving his life, and he dived away from the shot, too. It was at this moment that assistance to the gallant little bird arrived--not from man, who was past all decency, but from brother feathers. Out of a clear sky suddenly appeared two tern, dazzling in their whiteness, and these did all in their power to infuriate the hawk and lure him from the water. They flew round him and over him; they called him names; they said he was a bully and that all of us (which was true) ought to be ashamed of ourselves; they daunted and challenged and attacked. But the enemy was too strong for them. A fusillade drove them off, and once again we were free to consider the case of the duck, who was still swimming anxiously about, hoping against hope. More shots were fired, one of the boys waded in with a stick, and the dogs were added to the assault; and in the face of so determined a bombardment the poor little creature at last flew up, to be struck down within a few seconds by the insatiable avenger. That was the crowning event of the afternoon. Thereafter we had only small successes, and some very pronounced failures when, as happened several times, a bird flew for safety through a tree, and the hawk, following, was held up amid the branches. One of the birds thus to escape was a blue jay of brilliant beauty. We also got some hares. And then we loitered back under the yellowing sky, and Sir Umar Hayat Khan ceased suddenly to be a foe of fur and feathers and became a poet, talking of sunsets in India and in England as though the appreciation of tender beauty were his only delight. NEW, OR IMPERIAL, DELHI There have been seven Delhis; and it required no little courage to establish a new one--the Imperial capital--actually within sight of most of them; but the courage was forthcoming. Originally the position was to be to the north of the present city, where the Coronation Durbar spread its canvas, but Raisina was found to be healthier, and it is there, some five miles to the south-west, that the new palaces are rising from the rock. Fatehpur-Sikri is the only city with which the New Delhi can be compared; but not Akbar himself could devise it on a nobler scale. Akbar's centralising gift and Napoleon's spacious views may be said to combine here, the long avenues having kinship with the Champs Elysées, and Government House and the Secretariat on the great rocky plateau at Raisina corresponding to the palace on Fatehpur-Sikri's highest point. The splendour and the imagination which designed the lay-out of Imperial Delhi cannot be over-praised, and under the hands of Sir Edwin Lutyens and Mr. Herbert Baker some wonderful buildings are coming to life. The city, since it is several square miles in extent, cannot be finished for some years, but it may be ready to be the seat of Government as soon as 1924. As I have said, the old Delhis are all about the new one. On the Grand Trunk road out of Delhi proper, which goes to Muttra and Agra, you pass, very quickly, on the left, the remains of Firozabad, the capital of Firoz Shah in the later thirteenth century. Two or three miles further on is Indrapat on its hill overlooking the Jumna, surrounded by lofty walls. It is as modern as the sixteenth century, but is now in ruins. At Indrapat reigned Humayun, the son of the mighty Babar (who on his conquering way to Delhi had swum every river in advance of his army) and the father of the mighty Akbar. I loitered long within Indrapat's massive walls, which are now given up to a few attendants and an occasional visitor, and like all the monuments around Delhi are most carefully conserved under the Act for that purpose, which was not the least of Lord Curzon's Viceregal achievements. Among the buildings which still stand, rising from the turf, is Humayun's library. It was here that he met his end--one tradition relating that he fell in the dark on his way to fetch a book, and another that his purpose had been less intellectually amatory. Another mile and we come, still just beside the Grand Trunk road, to Humayun's Tomb, which stands in a vast garden where green parrots continually chatter and pursue each other. There is something very charming--a touch of the truest civilisation, if civilisation means the art of living graciously--in the practice of the old Emperors and rulers, of building their mausoleums during their lifetime and using them, until their ultimate destiny was fulfilled, as pleasure resorts. To this enchanting spot came Humayun and his ladies full of life, to be insouciant and gay. Then, his hour striking, Humayun's happy retreat became Humayun's Tomb. He died in 1556, when Queen Mary, in England, was persecuting Protestants. The Tomb is in good repair and to the stranger to the East who has not yet visited Agra and seen the Taj Mahal (which has a similar ground plan), it is as beautiful as need be. Humayun's cenotaph, in plain white marble, is in the very centre. Below, in the vault immediately beneath it, are his remains. Other illustrious dust is here, too; and some less illustrious, such as that of Humayun's barber, which reposes beneath a dome of burning-blue tiles in a corner of the garden. From the upper galleries of the Emperor's mausoleum the eye enjoys various rich prospects--the valley of the Jumna pulsating in the heat, the walls of the New Delhi at Raisina almost visibly growing, and, to the north, Delhi itself, with the twin towers of the great mosque over all. Down the Grand Trunk road, immediately below, are bullock wagons and wayfarers, and here and there is a loaded camel. Across the road is a curious little group of sacred buildings whither some of the wayfarers no doubt are bent on a pilgrimage; for here is the shrine of the Saint Nizam-ud-din Aulia, who worked miracles during his life and died during the reign of our Edward II--in 1324. On visiting his shrine (which involved the usual assumption of overshoes to prevent our infidel leather from contaminating the floor), we fell, after evading countless beggars and would-be guides, into the hands of a kindly old man who pressed handfuls of little white nuts upon us and who remains in my memory as the only independent Mussulman priest in India, for he refused a tip. In this respect nothing could be more widely separated than his conduct and that of the three priests of the Jama Masjid in Delhi, who, discovering us on the wall, just before the Friday service began, held up the service for several minutes while they explained their schedule of gratuities--beginning with ten rupees for the High Priest--and this after we had already provided for the attendant who had supplied the overshoes and had led us to the point of vantage! I thought how amusing it would be if a visitor to an English cathedral--where money usually has to pass, as it is--were surrounded by the Dean, Archdeacon, Canons and Minor Canons, with outstretched hands, and had to buy his way to a sight of the altar, according to the status of each. The spectacle would be as odd to us, as it must be to the French or Italians--and even perhaps Americans--to see a demand for an entrance fee on the Canterbury portals. Were we to continue on the Grand Trunk road for a few miles, first crossing a noble Mogul bridge, we should come to a little walled city, Badapur, where a turning due west leads to another Delhi of the past, Tughlakabad, and on to yet another, the remains of Lal Kot, where the famous Minar soars to the sky. One of the most pleasing effects of the New Delhi is the series of vistas which the lay-out provides. It has been so arranged that many of the avenues radiating from the central rock on which Government House and the Secretariat are being set are closed at their distant ends by historic buildings. Standing on the temporary tower which marks this centre one is able to see in a few moments all the ruined cities that I have mentioned. The Kutb Minar is the most important landmark in the far south, although the eye rests most lovingly on the red and white comeliness of the tomb of Safdar Jang in the middle distance--which, with Humayun's Tomb, makes a triangle with the new Government House. Within that triangle are the Lodi tombs, marking yet another period in the history of Delhi, the Lodis being the rulers who early in the fifteenth century were defeated by Babar. The Kutb Minar enclosure, which is a large garden, where beautiful masonry, flowers, trees and birds equally flourish, commemorates the capture of Delhi by Muhammad bin Sam in 1193, the battle being directed by his lieutenant, Kutb-ud-din. From that time until the Mutiny in 1857 Delhi was under Mohammedan rule. One of the first acts of the conqueror was to destroy the Hindu temple that stood here and erect the mosque that now takes its place, and he then built the great tower known as the Kutb Minar, or Tower of Victory, which ascends in diminishing red and white storeys to a height of 235 feet, involving the inquisitive view-finder in a climb of 379 steps. On the other side of the mosque are the beginnings of a second tower, which, judging by the size of the base, was to have risen to a still greater height, but it was abandoned after 150 feet. Its purpose was to celebrate for ever the glory of the Emperor Ala-ud-din (1296-1316). In front of the mosque is the Iron Pillar which has been the cause of so much perplexity both to antiquaries and chemists, and meat and drink to Sanscrit scholars. The pillar has an inscription commemorating an early monarch named Chandra who conquered Bengal in the fifth century, and it must have been brought to this spot for re-erection. But its refusal to rust, and the purity of its constituents, are its special merits. To me the mysteries of iron pillars are without interest, and what I chiefly remember of this remarkable pleasaunce is the exquisite stone carvings of the ruined cloisters and the green parrots that play among the trees. THE DIVERS As we were leaving the Kutb after a late afternoon visit, my host and I were hailed excitedly by an elderly man whose speech was incomprehensible, but whose gestures indicated plainly enough that there was something important up the hill. The line of least resistance being the natural one in India, we allowed him to guide us, and came after a few minutes, among the ruins of the citadel of Lal Kot, to one of those deep wells gained by long flights of steps whither the ladies of the palaces used to resort in the hottest weather. Evening was drawing on and the profundities of this cavern were forbiddingly gloomy; nor was the scene rendered more alluring by the presence of three white-bearded old men, almost stark naked and leaner than greyhounds, who shivered and grimaced, and suggested nothing so much as fugitives from the grave. They were, however, not only alive, but athletically so, being professional divers who earned an exceedingly uncomfortable living by dropping, feet first, from the highest point of the building into the water eighty feet below. One of them indicating his willingness--more than willingness, eagerness--to perform this manoeuvre for two rupees, we agreed, and placing us on a step from which the best view could be had, he fled along the gallery to the top of the shaft, and after certain preliminary movements, to indicate how perilous was the adventure, and how chilly the evening, and how more than worth two rupees it was, he committed his body to the operations of the law of gravity. We saw it through the apertures in the shaft on its downward way and then heard the splash as it reached the distant water, while a crowd of pigeons who had retired to roost among the masonry dashed out and away. The diver emerged from the well and came running up the steps towards us, while his companion scarecrows fled also to the top of the shaft and one after the other dropped down, too; so that in a minute or so we were surrounded by three old, dripping men, each demanding two rupees. Useless to protest that we had desired but one of them to perform: they pursued us into the open, and even clung to our knees, and of course we paid--afterwards to learn that one rupee for the lot was a lavish guerdon. One meets with these divers continually, wherever there is a pool sacred or otherwise; but some actually leap into the water and do not merely drop. At the shrine of the Saint Nizam-ud-din, near Humayun's Tomb, I found them--but there they were healthy-looking youths--and again at Fatehpur-Sikri. But for this sporadic diving, the wrestling bouts which are common everywhere, the Nautch and the jugglers, India seems to have no pastimes. THE ROPE TRICK The returning traveller from India is besieged by questioners who want to know all about the most famous of the jugglers' performances. In this trick the magician flings a rope into the air, retaining one end in his hand, and his boy climbs up it and disappears. I did not see it. AGRA AND FATEHPUR-SIKRI All the Indian cities that I saw seemed to cover an immense acreage, partly because every modern house has its garden and compound. In a country where land is cheap and servants are legion there need be no congestion, and, so far, the Anglo-Indian knows little or nothing of the embarrassments of dwellers in New York or London. To every one in India falls naturally a little faithful company of assistants to oil the wheels of life--groom, gardener, butler and so forth--and a spacious dwelling-place to think of England in, and calculate the variable value of the rupee, and wonder why the dickens So-and-so got his knighthood. Agra seemed to me to be the most widespreading city of all; but very likely it is not. In itself it is far from being the most interesting, but it has one building of great beauty--the Pearl Mosque in the Fort--and one building of such consummate beauty as to make it a place of pilgrimage that no traveller would dare to avoid--the Taj Mahal. Whether or not the Taj Mahal is the most enchanting work of architecture in the world I leave it to more extensive travellers to say. To my eyes it has an unearthly loveliness which I make no effort to pass on to others. The Taj Mahal was built by that inspired friend of architecture, Shah Jahan, as the tomb of the best beloved of his wives, Arjmand Banu, called Mumtaz-i-Mahal or Pride of the Palace. There she lies, and there lies her husband. I wonder how many of the travellers who stand entranced before this mausoleum, in sunshine and at dusk or under the moon, and who have not troubled about its history, realise that Giotto's Tower in Florence is three centuries older, and St. Peter's in Rome antedates it by a little, and St. Paul's Cathedral in London is only twenty or thirty years younger. Yet so it is. In India one falls naturally into the way of thinking of everything that is not of our own time as being of immense age, if not prehistoric. Opinions differ as to the respective beauties of Agra Fort and Delhi Fort, but in so far as the enclosures themselves are considered I give my vote unhesitatingly to Delhi. Yet when one thinks also of what can be seen from the ramparts, then the palm goes instantly to Agra, for its view of the Taj Mahal. It is tragic, walking here, to think of the last days of Shah Jahan, who brought into being both the marble palace and the wonderful Moti-Masjid or marble mosque. For in 1658 his son, Aurungzebe, deposed him and for the rest of his life he was imprisoned in these walls. His grandfather, Akbar, the other great Agra builder, was made of sterner stuff. All Shah Jahan's creations--the Taj, the marble mosque, the palaces both here and at Delhi, even the great Jama Masjid at Delhi,--have a certain sensuous quality. They are not exactly decadent, but they suggest sweetness rather than strength. The Empire had been won, and Shah Jahan could indulge in luxury and ease. But Akbar had had to fight, and he remained to the end a man of action, and we see his character reflected in his stronghold Fatehpur-Sikri, which one visits from Agra and never forgets. If I were asked to say which place in India most fascinated me and touched the imagination I think I should name this dead city. Akbar, the son of Babar, is my hero among the Moguls, and this was Akbar's chosen home, until scarcity of water forced him to abandon it for Agra. Akbar, the noblest of the great line of Moguls whose splendour ended in 1707 with the death of Aurungzebe, came to the throne in 1556, only eight years before Shakespeare was born, and died in 1605, and it is interesting to realise how recent were his times, the whole suggestion of Fatehpur-Sikri being one of very remote antiquity. Yet when it was being built so modern a masterpiece as _Hamlet_ was being written and played. Those interested in the Great Moguls ought really to visit Fatehpur-Sikri before Delhi or Agra, because Akbar was the grandfather of Shah Jahan. But there can be no such chronological wanderings in India. Have we not already seen Humayun's Tomb, outside Delhi?--and Humayun was Akbar's father. They say the leopard and the jackal keep The courts where Akbar gloried.... --this adaptation of FitzGerald's lines ran through my mind as we passed from room to room and tower to tower of Fatehpur-Sikri. There is nothing to compare with it, except perhaps Pompeii. And in that comparison one realises how impossible it is at a hazard to date an Indian ruin, for, as I have said, Fatehpur-Sikri is from the days of Elizabeth, while Pompeii was destroyed in the first century, and yet Pompeii in many ways seems less ancient. The walls of Fatehpur-Sikri are seven miles round and the city rises to the summits of two steep hills. It was on the higher one that Akbar set his palace. Civilisation has run a railway through the lower levels; the old high road still climbs the hill under the incredibly lofty walls of the palace. The royal enclosure is divided into all the usual courtyards and apartments, but they are on a grander scale. Also the architecture is more mixed. Here is the swimming bath; here are the cool, dark rooms for the ladies of the harem in the hottest days, with odd corners where Akbar is said to have played hide-and-seek with them; here is the hall where Akbar, who kept an open mind on religion, listened to, and disputed with, dialecticians of varying creeds--himself seated in the middle, and the doctrinaires in four pulpits around him; here is the Mint; here is the house of the Turkish queen, with its elaborate carvings and decorations; here is the girls' school, with a courtyard laid out for human chess, the pieces being slave-girls; here is a noble mosque; here is the vast court where the great father of his people administered justice, or what approximated to it, and received homage. Here are the spreading stables and riding school; here is even the tomb of a favourite elephant. And here is the marble tomb of the Saint, the Shaikh Salim, whose holiness brought it about that the Emperor became at last the father of a son--none other than Jahangir. The shrine is visited even to this day by childless wives, who tie shreds of their clothing to the lattice-work of a marble window as an earnest of their maternal worthiness. It is visited also by the devout for various purposes, among others by those whose horses are sick and who nail votive horseshoes to the great gate. According to tradition the mother of Jahangir was a Christian named Miriam, and her house and garden may be seen, the house having the traces of a fresco which by those who greatly wish it can be believed to represent the Annunciation. Tradition, however, is probably wrong, and the princess was from Jaipur and a true Mussulwoman. From every height--and particularly from the Panch Mahal's roof--one sees immense prospects and realises what a landmark the stronghold of Fatehpur-Sikri must have been to the dwellers in the plains; but no view is the equal of that which bursts on the astonished eyes at the great north gateway, where all Rajputana is at one's feet. I do not pretend to any exhaustive knowledge of the gates of the world, but I cannot believe that there can be others set as this Gate of Victory is in the walls of a palace, at the head of myriad steps, on the very top of a commanding rock and opening on to thousands of square miles of country. Having seen the amazing landscape one descends the steps to the road, and looking up is astonished and exalted by seeing the gate from below. Nothing so grand has ever come into my ken. The Taj Mahal is unforgettingly beautiful; but this glorious gate in the sky has more at once to exercise and stimulate the imagination and reward the vision. On the gate are the words: "Isa (Jesus), on whom be peace, said: 'The world is a bridge; pass over it, but build no house on it. The world endures but an hour; spend it in devotion.'" Having seen Fatehpur-Sikri, where Akbar lived and did more than build a house, it is a natural course to return to Agra by way of Sikandra, where he was buried. Sikandra is like the Taj Mahal and Humayun's Tomb in general disposition--the mausoleum itself being in the centre of a garden. But it is informed by a more sombre spirit. The burial-place of the mighty Emperor is in the very heart of the building, gained by a sloping passage lit by an attendant with a torch. Here was Akbar laid, while high above, on the topmost stage of the mausoleum, in the full light, is his cenotoph of marble, with the ninety-nine names of Allah inscribed upon it. Near the cenotaph is a marble pillar on which once was set the Koh-i-noor diamond, chief of Akbar's treasures. To-day it is part of the English regalia. LUCKNOW The Ridge at Delhi is a sufficiently moving reminder of the Indian Mutiny; but it is at Lucknow that the most poignant phases are re-enacted. At Delhi may be seen, preserved for ever, the famous buildings which the British succeeded in keeping--Hindu Rao's house, and the Observatory, and Flagstaff Tower, the holding of which gave them victory; while in the walls of the Kashmir Gate our cannon balls are still visibly imbedded. There is also the statue of John Nicholson in the Kudsia Garden, and in the little Museum of the Fort are countless souvenirs. But Lucknow was the centre of the tragedy, and the Residency is preserved as a sacred spot. Not even the recent Great War left in its track any more poignant souvenirs of fortitude and disaster than the little burial ground here, around the ruins of the church, where those who fell in the Mutiny and those who fought or suffered in the Mutiny are lying. Long ago as it was--1857--there are still a few vacant lots destined to be filled. Chief of the tombstones that bear the honoured names is that of the heroic defender who kept upon the topmost roof the banner of England flying. It has the simple and touching inscription: "Here lies Henry Lawrence, who tried to do his duty. May the Lord have mercy on his soul!" In the Residency every step of the siege and relief can be followed. I was there first on a serene evening after rain; and but for some tropical trees it might have been an English scene. All that was lacking was a thrush or blackbird's note; but the grass was as soft and green as at home and the air as sweet. I shall long retain the memory of the contrast between the incidents which give this enclosure its unique place in history and the perfect calm brooding over all. And whenever any one calls my attention to a Bougainvillaea I shall say, "Ah! But you should see the Bougainvillaea in the Residency garden at Lucknow." Everywhere that I went in India I found this noble lavish shrub in full flower, but never wearing such a purple as at Lucknow. The next best was in the Fort at Delhi. It was not till I reached Calcutta that I caught any glimpse of the famous scarlet goldmore tree in leaf; but I saw enough to realise how splendid must be the effect of an avenue of them. Bombay, however, was rich in hedges of poinsettia, and they serve as an introduction to the goldmore's glory. Before leaving the Residency I should like to quote a passage from the little brochure on the defence of Lucknow which Sir Harcourt Butler, the Governor of the United Provinces, with characteristic thoughtfulness has prepared for the use of his guests. "The visitor to the Residency," he wrote, thinking evidently of a similar evening to that on which we visited it, "who muses on the past and the future, may note that upon the spot where the enemy's assault was hottest twin hospitals for Europeans and Indians have been erected by Oudh's premier Taluqdar, the Maharaja of Balrampur; and as the sun sets over the great city, lingering awhile on the trim lawns and battered walls which link the present with the past, a strong hope may come to him, like a distant call to prayer, that old wounds may soon be healed, and old causes of disunion may disappear, and that Englishmen and Indians, knit together by loyalty to their beloved Sovereign, may be as brothers before the altar of the Empire, bearing the Empire's burden, and sharing its inestimable privileges, and, it may be, adding something not yet seen or dreamt of to its world-wide and weather-beaten fame." I left Lucknow with regret, and would advise any European with time to spare, and the desire to be at once civilised and warm, to think seriously of spending a winter there instead of in the illusory sunshine of the Riviera, or the comparative barbarity of Algiers. The journey is longer, but the charm of the place would repay. A TIGER To have the opportunity of hunting a tiger--on an elephant too--which by a stroke of luck fell to me, is to experience the un-English character of India at its fullest. Almost everything else could be reproduced elsewhere--the palaces, the bazaars, the caravans, the mosques and temples with their worshippers--but not the jungle, the Himalayas, the vast swamps through which our elephants waded up to the Plimsoll, the almost too painful ecstasies of the pursuit of an eater of man. The master of the chase, who has many tigers to his name, was Sir Harcourt Butler, whose hospitality is famous, so large and warm is it, and so minute, and it was because he was not satisfied that the ordinary diversions of the "Lucknow Week" were sufficient for his guests, that he impulsively arranged a day's swamp-deer shooting on the borders of Nepaul. The time was short, or of elephants there would have been seventy or more; as it was, we were apologised to (there were only about six of us) for the poverty of the supply, a mere five and twenty being obtainable. But to these eyes, which had never seen more than six elephants at once, and those in the captivity either of a zoo or a circus, a row of five and twenty was astounding. They were waiting for us on the plain, at a spot distant some score of miles by car, through improvised roads, from the station, whither an all-night railway journey had borne us. The name of the station, if I ever knew it, I have forgotten: there was no room in my heated brain for such trifles; but I have forgotten nothing else. It was after an hour and a half's drive in the cool and spicy early morning air--between the fluttering rags on canes which told the drivers how to steer--that we came suddenly in sight of some distant tents and beside them an immense long dark inexplicable mass which through the haze seemed now and then to move. As we drew nearer, this mass was discerned to be a row of elephants assembled in line ready to salute the Governor. The effect was more impressive and more Eastern than anything I had seen. Grotesque too--for some had painted faces and gilded toes, and not a few surveyed me with an expression in which the comic spirit was too noticeable. Six or seven had howdahs, the rest blankets: those with howdahs being for the party and its leader, Bam Bahadur, a noted shikaree; and the others to carry provisions and bring back the spoil. On the neck of each sat an impassive mahout. To one to whom the pen is mightier than the gun and whose half a century's bag contains only a few rabbits, a hedgehog and a moorhen, it is no inconsiderable ordeal to be handed a repeating rifle and some dozens of cartridges and be told that that is your elephant--the big one there, with the red ochre on its forehead. To be on an elephant in the jungle without the responsibilities of a lethal weapon would be sufficient thrill for one day: but to be expected also to deal out death was too much. In the company of others, however, one can do anything; and I gradually ascended to the top, not, as the accomplished hunters did, by placing a foot on the trunk and being swung heavenwards, but painfully, on a ladder; by my side being a very keen Indian youth, the son of a minor chieftain, who spoke English perfectly and was to instruct me in Nimrod's lore. And so the procession started, and for a while discomfort set acutely in, for the movement of a howdah is short and jerky, and it takes some time both to adjust oneself to it and to lose the feeling that the elephant sooner or later--and probably sooner--must trip and fall. But the glory of the morning, the urgency of our progress, the novelty and sublimity of the means of transport, the strangeness of the scene, and my companion's speculations on the day's promise, overcame any personal want of ease and I forgot myself in the universal. Our destination was a series of marshes some six miles away, where the gonds--or swamp-deer--were usually found, and we were divided up, some elephants, of which mine was one, taking the left wing, with instructions on reaching a certain spot to wait there for the deer who would move off in that direction; others taking the right wing; and others beating up the middle. We began with a trial of nervous stamina--for a river far down in its bed below us almost immediately occurred, and this had to be crossed. I abandoned all hope as the elephant descended the bank almost, as it seemed, perpendicularly, and plunged into the water with an enormous splash. But after he had squeeged through, extricating himself with a gigantic wrench, the ground was level for a long while, and there was time to look around and recollect one's fatalism. Far ahead in a blue mist were the Himalayas. All about were unending fields, with here and there white cattle grazing. Cranes stretched their necks above the grass; now and then a herd of blackbuck (which were below our hunting ambitions) scampered away; the sky was full of wild-duck and other water-fowl. Of the hunting of the gond I should have something to say had not a diversion occurred which relegated that lively and elusive creature to an obscure place in the background. We had finished the beat, and most of us had emerged from the swamp to higher ground where an open space, or maidan, corresponding to a drive in an English preserve, but on the grand scale, divided it from the jungle--all our thoughts being set upon lunch--when suddenly across this open space passed a blur of yellow and black only a few yards from the nearest elephant. It was so unexpected and so quick that even the trained eyes of my companion were uncertain. "Did you see?" he asked me in a voice of hushed and wondering awe. "Could that have been a tiger?" I could not say, but I understood his excitement. For the tiger is the king of Indian carnivorae, the most desired of all game. Hunters date their lives by them: such and such a thing happened not on the anniversary of their wedding day; not when their boy went to Balliol; not when they received the K.C.I.E.; but in the year that they shot this or that man-eater. That a tiger had really chanced upon us we soon ascertained. Also that it had been hit by the rifle on the first elephant and had disappeared into the jungle, which consisted hereabouts of a grass some twenty feet high, bleached by the sun. A Council of War followed, and we were led by Bam Bahadur on a rounding-up manoeuvre. According to his judgment the tiger would remain just inside the cover, and our duty was therefore to make a wide detour and then advance in as solid a semicircle as possible upon him and force him again into the open, where the hunter who had inflicted the first wound was to remain stationed. Accordingly all the rest of us entered the jungle in single file, our elephants treading down the grass with their great irresistible feet or wrenching it away with their invincible trunks. It was now that the shikaree was feeling the elephant shortage. Had there been seventy-five instead of only twenty-five, he said, all would be well: he could then form a cordon such as no tiger might break through. For lack of these others, when the time came to turn and advance upon our prey he caused fires to be lighted here and there where the gaps were widest, so that we forged onwards not only to the accompaniment of the shrill cries of the mahouts and the noise of plunging and overwhelming elephants, but to the fierce roar and crackle of burning stalks. And thus, after an hour in this bewildering tangle, with the universe filled with sound and strangeness, and the scent of wood smoke mingling with the heat of the air, and the lust of the chase in our veins, we drew to the spot where the animal was guessed to be hiding, and knew that the guess was true by the demeanour of the elephants. Real danger had suddenly entered into the adventure; and they showed it. A wounded tiger at bay can do desperate things, and some of the elephants now refused to budge forward any more, or complied only with terrified screams. Some of the unarmed mahouts were also reluctant, and shouted their fears. But the shikaree was inexorable. There the tiger was, and we must drive it out. Closer and closer we drew, until every elephant's flank was pressing against its neighbour, the outside ones being each at the edge of the open space; in the middle of which was the twenty-fifth with its vigilant rider standing tense with his rifle to his shoulder. The noise was now deafening. Every one was uttering something, either to scare the tiger or to encourage the elephants or his neighbour or possibly himself; while now and then from the depths of the grass ahead of us came an outraged growl, with more than a suggestion of contempt in it for such unsportsmanship as could array twenty-five elephants, half a hundred men and a dozen rifles against one inoffensive wild beast. And then suddenly the grass waved, there was a rustle and rush and a snarl of furious rage, and once again a blur of yellow and black crossed the open space. Six or more reports rang out, and to my dying day I shall remember, with mixed feelings, that one of these reports was the result of pressure on a trigger applied by a finger belonging to me. That the tiger was hit again--by other bullets than mine--was certain, but instead of falling it disappeared into the jungle on the other side of the maidan, and again we were destined to employ enclosing tactics. It was now intensely hot, but nobody minded; and we were an hour and a half late for lunch, but nobody minded: the chase was all! The phrase "out for blood" had taken on its literal primitive meaning. The second rounding-up was less simple than the first, because the tiger had more choice of hiding places; but again our shikaree displayed his wonderful intuition, and in about an hour we had ringed the creature in. That this was to be the end was evident from the electrical purposefulness which animated the old hands. The experienced shots were carefully disposed, and my own peace of mind was not increased by the warning "If the tiger leaps on your elephant, don't shoot"--the point being that novices can be very wild with their rifles under such conditions. As the question "What shall I do instead?" was lost in the tumult, the latter stages of this momentous drama were seen by these eyes less steadily and less whole than I could have wished. But I saw the tiger spring, growling, at an elephant removed some four yards from mine, and I saw it driven back by a shot from one of the native hunters. And then when, after another period of anxious expectancy, it emerged again from the undergrowth, and sprang towards our host, I saw him put two bullets into it almost instantaneously; and the beautiful obstinate creature fell, never to rise again. THE SACRED CITY The devout Hindu knows in Benares the height of ecstasy: but, if I am typical, the European experiences there both discomfort and inquietude. Nowhere else in India did I feel so foreign, so alien. To be of cool Christian traditions and an Occidental, an inquisitive sightseer among these fervent pilgrims intent upon their pious duties and rapt in exaltation and unthinking inflexible belief, was in itself disconcerting, almost to the point of shame; while the pilgrims were so remarkably of a different world, a different era, that one felt lost. This, however, is not all. India is never too sanitary, except where the English are in their own strongholds, but Benares--at any rate the parts which the tourist must visit--is least scrupulous in such matters. The canonization of the cow must needs carry a penalty with it, and Benares might be described as a sanctified byre without any labouring Hercules in prospect. Godliness it may have, but cleanliness is very distant. The streets, too, seem to be narrower and more congested than those in any other city; so that it is often embarrassingly difficult to treat the approaching ruminants with the respect due to them. Fortunately they are seldom anything but mild and unaggressive. Part perplexed, part inquisitive, and part contemptuous, they are met everywhere, while in one of the temples in which the unbeliever may (to his great contentment) do no more than stand at the entrance, they are frankly worshipped. In another temple monkeys are revered too, careering about the walls and courtyards and being fed by the curious and the devout. Holiness is not only the peculiar characteristic of Benares: it is also its staple industry. In the streets there is a shrine at every few feet, while the shops where little lingams are for sale must be numbered by hundreds. The chief glory of Benares is, however, the Ganges, on one side of which is the teeming sweltering city with its palaces and temples heaped high for two or three miles, and bathers swarming at the river's edge; while the other bank is flat and bare. A watering-place front on the ocean's shore does not end more suddenly and completely. There is nothing that I have seen with which to compare the north bank of the Ganges, with the morning sun on its many-coloured façades and towers, but Venice. As one is rowed slowly down the river it is of Venice that one instinctively thinks. As in Venice, the palaces are of various colours, pink and red and yellow and blue, and the sun has crumbled their façades in the same way. But there is this difference--that over the Benares roofs the monkeys scamper. Gradually Venice is forgotten as the novel interest of the scene captures one's whole attention. At each of the ghauts (a landing place or steps) variegated masses of pilgrims--no matter how early the hour, and to see them rightly one ought to start quite by six--are making their ablutions and deriving holiness from the yellow tide. You saw them yesterday trudging wearily through the streets, the sacred city at last reached; and here they are in their thousands, brown and glistening. They are of every age: quite old white-bearded men and withered women, meticulously serious in their ritual, and then boys and girls deriving also a little fun from their immersion. Here and there the bathing ghaut is diversified by a burning ghaut, and one may catch a glimpse of the extremities of the corpse twisting among the faggots. Here and there is a boat or raft in which a priest is seated under his umbrella, fishing for souls as men in punts on the Thames fish for roach. And over all is the pitiless sun, hot even now, before breakfast, but soon to be unbearable. I was not sorry when the voyage ended and we returned to the Maharajah's Guest House for a little repose and refreshment, before visiting the early Buddhist stronghold at Sarnath, the "Deer Park," where the Master first preached his doctrine and whither his five attendants sought a haven after they had forsaken him. Drifting about its ruins and contemplating the glorious capital of the famous Asoka column--all that has been preserved--I found myself murmuring the couplet,-- With a friendly Buddhist priest I seek respite from the strife And manifold anomalies which go to make up life-- but the odds are that even the early Buddhists were not immune. CALCUTTA Calcutta and Bombay are strangely different--so different that they can only be contrasted. Bombay, first and foremost, has the sea, and I can think of nothing more lovely than the sunsets that one watches from the lawn of the Yacht Club or from the promenade on Warder Road. Calcutta has no sea--nothing but a very difficult tidal river. Calcutta, again, has no Malabar Hill. But then Bombay has no open space to compare with the Maidan; and for all its crowded bazaars it has no street so diversified and interesting as Harrison Road. It has no Chinatown. Its climate is enervating where that of Calcutta, if not bracing--and no one could call it that--at any rate does not extract every particle of vigour from the European system. But the special glory of Calcutta is the Maidan, that vast green space which, unlike so many parks, spreads itself at the city's feet. One does not have to seek it: there it is, with room for every one and a race-course and a cricket-ground to boot. And if there is no magic in the evening prospect such as the sea and its ships under the flaming or mysterious enveiling sky can offer to the eye at Bombay, there is a quality of golden richness in the twilight over Calcutta, as seen across the Maidan, through its trees, that is unique. I rejoiced in it daily. This twilight is very brief, but it is exquisite. It is easier in Calcutta to be suddenly transported to England than in any other Indian city that I visited. There are, it is true, more statues of Lord Curzon than we are accustomed to; but many of the homes are quite English, save for the multitude of servants; Government House, serene and spacious and patrician, is a replica of Kedlestone Hall in Derbyshire: the business buildings within and without are structurally English, and the familiar Scotch accent sounds everywhere; but the illusion is most complete in St. John's Church, that very charming, cool, white and comfortable sanctuary, in the manner of Wren, and in St. Andrew's too. Secluded here, the world shut off, one might as well be in some urban conventicle at home on a sunny August day, as in the glamorous East. St. John's particularly I shall remember: its light, its distinction, its surrounding verdancy. ROSE AYLMER Ah, what avails the sceptred race, Ah, what the form divine! What every virtue, every grace! Rose Aylmer, all were thine! Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and sighs I consecrate to thee. One curious task which I set myself in Calcutta was to find Rose Aylmer's grave, for it was there that, in 1800, the mortal part of the lady whom Landor immortalised was buried. But I tried in vain. I walked for hours amid the sombre pyramidal tombs beneath which the Calcutta English used to be laid, among them, in 1815, Thackeray's father, but I found no trace of her whom I sought. I have seen many famous cemeteries, all depressing, from Kensal Green to Genoa, from Rock Creek to Montmartre, but none can approach in its forlorn melancholy the tract of stained and crumbling sarcophagi packed so close as almost to touch each other, in the burial ground off Rawdon Street and Park Street. Let no one establish a monument of cement over me. Any material rather than that! JOB AND JOE If I did not find Rose Aylmer's tomb, I found, in St. John's pleasant God's Acre, the comely mausoleum of Job Charnock, and this delighted me, because for how long has been ringing in my ears that line-- "The tall pale widow is mine, Joe, the little brown girl's for you." which I met with so many years ago in "The Light That Failed," where the Nilghai sings it to his own music! He got it, he said, from a tombstone, in a distant land; and the tombstone is now incorporated with Job Charnock's, the distant land being India; but the verses I have had to collect elsewhere. I found them in Calcutta, in my host's library. Joe was Joseph, or Josiah, Townsend, a pilot of the Ganges, and tradition has it that he and Job Charnock, who, as an officer of the East India Company, founded Calcutta in 1690, saved a pretty young Hindu widow from ascending her husband's funeral pyre and committing suttee. Tradition states further that Job Charnock and his bride "lived lovingly for many years and had several children," until in due time she was buried in the mausoleum at St. John's, where her husband sacrificed a cock on each anniversary of her death ever after. The story has been examined and found to be improbable, but Charnock was a bold fellow who might easily have started many legends; and the poem remains, and if there is a livelier, I should like to know of it. I have been at the agreeable pains of reconstructing the verses as they were probably written, so that there are two more than the Nilghai sang. The whole is a very curious haunting ballad, leaving us with the desire to know much more of the lives of both men--Job Charnock the frontiersman, and Joseph Townsend, "skilful and industrious, a kind father and a useful friend," who could navigate not only the Ganges but the shifting Hooghli. Rarely can so much mixed autobiography and romance have been packed into six stanzas--and here too the adventurous East and West meet:-- I've shipped my cable, messmates, I'm dropping down with the tide; I have my sailing orders while ye at anchor ride, And never, on fair June morning, have I put out to sea With clearer conscience, or better hope, or heart more light and free. An Ashburnham! A Fairfax! Hark how the corslets ring! Why are the blacksmiths out to-day, beating those men at the spring? Ho, Willie, Hob and Cuddie!--bring out your boats amain, There's a great red pool to swim them o'er, yonder in Deadman's Lane. Nay, do not cry, sweet Katie--only a month afloat And then the ring and the parson, at Fairlight Church, my doat. The flower-strewn path--the Press Gang! No, I shall never see Her little grave where the daisies wave in the breeze on Fairlight Lee. "Shoulder to shoulder, Joe, my boy, into the crowd like a wedge! Out with the hangers, messmates, but do not strike with the edge!" Cries Charnock, "Scatter the faggots! Double that Brahmin in two! The tall pale widow is mine, Joe, the little brown girl for you." Young Joe (you're nearing sixty), why is your hide so dark? Katie had fair soft blue eyes--who blackened yours? Why, hark! The morning gun! Ho, steady! The arquebuses to me; I've sounded the Dutch High Admiral's heart as my lead doth sound the sea. Sounding, sounding the Ganges--floating down with the tide, Moor me close by Charnock, next to my nut-brown bride. My blessing to Katie at Fairlight--Howell, my thanks to you-- Steady!--We steer for Heaven through scud drifts cold and blue. EXIT I arrived in Bombay on the last day of 1919 and embarked at Calcutta for Japan on the evening of February 17th, seven weeks later. But to embark at Calcutta is not to leave it, for we merely dropped down the river a short distance that night, and for the next day and a half we were in the Hooghli, sounding all the way. It is a difficult river to emerge from; nor do I recommend any one else to travel, as I did, on a boat with a forward deck cargo of two or three hundred goats on the starboard side and half as many monkeys on the port, with a small elephant tethered between and a cage of leopards adjacent. These, the property of an American dealer in wild animals, were intended for sale in the States; all but one of the leopards, which, being lame, he had decided to kill, to provide a "robe" for his wife. Nothing could be more different than the careless aimless activities of the monkeys I had seen among the trees between Agra and Delhi and scampering over the parapets of Benares, all thieves and libertines with a charter, and the restriction of these poor cowering mannikins, overcrowded in their cages, with an abysmal sorrow in their eyes. Many died on the voyage, and I think the Indian Government should look into the question of their export very narrowly. JAPAN INTRODUCTORY I ought not to write about Japan at all, for I was there but three short weeks, and rain or snow fell almost all the time, and I sailed for America on the very day that the cherry blossom festivities began. But--well, there is only one Fujiyama, and it is surpassingly beautiful and satisfying--the perfect mountain--and I should feel contemptible if I did not add my eulogy of it--my gratitude--to all the others. Since, then, I am to say something of Fuji, let the way be paved. THE LITTLE LAND One is immediately struck, on landing at Kobe--and continually after--by the littleness of Japan. The little flimsy houses, the little flimsy shops, the small men, the toylike women, the tiny children, as numerous and like unto each other as the pebbles on the shore--these are everywhere. But although small of stature the Japanese men are often very powerfully built and many of them suggest great strength. They are taking to games, too. While I was in the country baseball was a craze, and boys were practising pitching and catching everywhere, even in the streets of the cities. Littleness--with which is associated the most delicate detail and elaborate finish--is the mark also of modern Japanese art. In the curiosity shops whatever was massive or largely simple was Chinese. Even the royal palaces at Kyoto are small, the rooms, exquisite as they are, with perfect joinery and ancient paintings, being seldom more than a few feet square, with very low ceilings. I went over two of these palaces, falling into the hands, at each, of English-speaking officials whose ciceronage was touched with a kind of rapture. At the Nijo, especially, was my guide an enthusiast, becoming lyrical over the famous cartoons of the "Wet Heron" and the "Sleeping Sparrows." In India I had grown accustomed to removing my shoes at the threshold of mosques. There it was out of deference to Allah, but in Japan the concession is demanded solely in the interests of floor polish, and you take your shoes off not only in palaces and houses but in some of the shops. It gave one an odd burglarious feeling to be creeping noiselessly from room to room of the Nijo; but there was nothing to steal. The place was empty, save for decoration. There is a certain amplitude in some of the larger Kyoto temples, with their long galleries and massive gateways, but these only serve to accentuate the littleness elsewhere. In the principal Kyoto temple I had for guide a minute Japanese with the ecstatic passion for trifles that seems to mark his race. A picture representing the miracle of the "Fly-away Sparrows," as he called them, was the treasure on which he concentrated, and next to that he drew my attention to the boards of the gangway uniting two buildings, which, as one stepped on them, emitted a sound that the Japanese believe to resemble the song of Philomela. To me it brought no such memory, and the fact that this effect, common in Japan, is technically known as "a nightingale squeak," perhaps supports my insensitiveness. If old Japan is to be found anywhere it is in Kyoto--in spite of its huge factory chimneys. In Tokio, complete European dress is common in the streets, but in Kyoto it is the exception. Tokio also wears boots, but Kyoto is noisy with pattens night and day. Not only are there countless shops in Kyoto given up to porcelain, carvings, screens, bronzes, old armour, and so forth, but no matter how trumpery the normal stock in trade of the other shops, a number of them have a little glass case--a shop within a shop, as it were--in which a few rare and ancient articles of beauty are kept. A great deal of Japan is expressed in this pretty custom. THE RICE FIELDS My first experience of Japanese scenery of any wildness was gained while shooting the rapids of the Katsuragava, an exciting voyage among boulders in a shallow and often very turbulent stream in a steep and craggy valley a few miles from Kyoto. Previous to this expedition I had seen, from the train, only the trim rice fields,--each a tiny parallelogram with its irrigation channels as a boundary, so carefully tended that there is not a weed in the whole country. Japan is cut up into these absurd little squares, of which twenty and more would go into an ordinary English field. Often the terminal posts are painted a bright red; often a little row of family tombs is there too. The watermill is a common object of the country. But birds are few and animals one sees never. Indeed in all my three weeks I saw no four-footed animals, except a dead rat, two pigs and one cat. I am excluding of course beasts of draught--horses and bullocks--which are everywhere. Not a cow, not a sheep, not a dog! but that there are cattle is proved by the proverbial excellence of Kobe steaks, which I tested and can swear to. In all my three weeks, both in cities and the country, I saw only one crying child. Of children there were millions, mostly boys, but only one was unhappy. SURFACE MATERIALISM In spite of Kyoto's eight hundred temples I could not get any but a materialistic concept of its inhabitants; and elsewhere this impression was emphasised. A stranger cannot, of course, know; he can but record his feelings, without claiming any authority for them. But I am sure I was never in a country where I perceived fewer indications of any spiritual life. Every one is busy; every one seems to be happy or at any rate not discontented; every one chatters and laughs and is, one feels, a fatalist. Sufficient unto the day! After all, it is the women of a nation that chiefly keep burning the sacred flame and pass it on; but in Japan, I understand, the women are far too busy in pleasing the men to have time for such duties; Japan is run by men for men. It is an unwritten law that a woman must never be anything but gay in her lord's presence, must never for a moment claim the privilege of peevishness. As an instance of the Japanese woman's indifference to fate and readiness to oblige, I may say that we had on our ship two or three hundred girls in charge of a duenna or so, who were bound for Honolulu to be married to Japanese settlers there, to whom their photographs had been forwarded. These girls are known as "Picture Brides." At Honolulu their new proprietors awaited them, and I suppose identified and appropriated them, although to the European eye one face differed no whit from another. The Japanese have the practical qualities that consort with materialism. They are quick to supply creature comforts; their hotels are well-managed; their cooks are excellent; their sign-posts are numerous and, I believe, very circumstantial; at the railway stations are lists of the show places in the neighbourhood; the telephone is general. But there are strange failings. The roads, for example, are often very bad, although so many motor-cars exist. Even in Tokio the puddles and mud are abominable. There is no fixed rule to force rickshaw men to carry bells. There is no rule of the road at all, so that the driver of a vehicle must be doubly alert, having to make up his mind not only as to what he is going to do himself, but also what the approaching driver is probably going to do. From time to time, I believe, a rule of the road has been tried, but it has always broken down. The rickshaw bells are the more important, because the Japanese are not observant. They may see Fuji and stand for hours worshipping a spray of cherry blossom, but they do not see what is coming. Normally they look down. The rickshaw is comfortable and speedy; but to be drawn about by a fellow-creature is a humiliating experience and I never ceased to feel too conspicuous and ashamed. I discovered also how easy it is to lose one's temper with these men. I used to sit and wonder if there had ever been a runaway, and I never hired a rickshaw without thinking of Mr. Anstey's story of the talking horse. FIRST GLIMPSE OF FUJI I left Kyoto for Yokohama on Wednesday night, March 17, 1920, at eleven, and Thursday, March 18, 1920, thus remains with me as a red-letter day, for it was then, at about half-past seven in the morning, that, lifting the blind of my sleeping compartment, I saw--almost within reach, as it seemed, dazzlingly white under its snow against a clear blue sky, with the sun flooding it with glory--Fujiyama. I was to see it again several times--for I went to Myanoshita for that purpose--but never again so startlingly and wonderfully as this. When I am asked to name in a word the most beautiful thing I saw on my travels I mention Fujiyama instantly. There is nothing else to challenge it. Perhaps had I seen Everest from Darjeeling I might have a different story to tell; but I missed it. The Taj? Yes, the Taj is a divine work of man; but it has not the serene lofty isolation of this sublime mountain, rising from the plain alone and immense with almost perfect symmetry. I was not to see Fujiyama again for a week or so, but in the meanwhile I saw the Daibutsu, the giant figure of Buddha, at Kamakura, in all its bland placidity. These were the only big things I found in Japan. TWO FUNERALS Yokohama is industrial and dirty everywhere but on the drive beside the harbour, and on the Bluff, where the rich foreigners live. I visited one house on this pleasant eminence and there was nothing in it to suggest that it was in Japan any more than in, say, Cheltenham. The form was English, the furniture was English, the pictures and books were English; photographs of school and college cricket elevens gave it the final home touch. Only in the garden were there exotic indications. The English certainly have the knack of carrying their atmosphere with them. I had noticed that often in India; but this Yokohama villa was the completest exemplification. Wandering about the city I came one morning on a funeral procession that ought to have pleased Henry Ward Beecher, who, on the only occasion on which I heard him, when he was very old and I was very young, urged upon his hearers the importance of bright colours and flowers instead of the ordinary habiliments and accoutrements of woe. For when a soul is on its way to paradise, he said, we should be glad. The Yokohama cortege was headed by men bearing banners; then came girls all in white, riding in rickshaws; then the gaudy hearse; then priests in rickshaws; and finally the relations and friends. The effect conveyed was not one of melancholy; but even if every one had been in black, impressiveness would have been wanting, for no one can look dignified in a rickshaw. Compared, however, with a funeral which I saw in Hong-Kong, the Yokohama ceremony was solemnity in essence. The Hong-Kong obsequies were those of a tobacco-magnate's wife and the widower had determined to spare no expense on their thoroughness. He had even offered, but without success, to compensate the tramway company for a suspension of the service, the result of his failure being that every few minutes the procession was held up to permit the cars to go by; which meant that instead of taking only two hours to pass any given point, it took three. The estimated cost of the funeral was one hundred thousand dollars and all Hong-Kong was there to see. To Chinese eyes it doubtless had a sombre religious character, but to us it was merely a diverting spectacle of incredible prolongation. We were not wholly to blame in missing its sanctity, for the participants, who were more like mummers than mourners, had all been hired and were enjoying the day off. For the most part they merely wore their fancy dress and walked and talked or played instruments, but now and then there was a dragon and a champion boxing it and these certainly earned their money. At intervals came bearers with trays on which were comforts for the next world or symbolical devices, while, to infinity both in front and behind, banners and streamers and lanterns danced and jogged above all. A miracle-show of the middle ages can have been not unlike it. THE LITTLE GEISHA I left Japan, as I have said, just before the cherry-blossom festivities began, but I was able to see a number of the dances--which never change but are passed with exactitude, step for step, gesture for gesture and expression for expression, from one geisha to another--as performed by a child who was being educated for the profession. Although so young she knew accurately upwards of sixty dances, and the pick of these she executed for a few spectators, in a little fragile paper-walled house outside Yokohama, while her adoring aunt played the wistful repetitive accompaniments. The little creature--a mere watch-chain ornament--had a typical Japanese face, half mask, half mischief, and a tiny high voice which now and then broke into the dance. But dances, strictly speaking, they are not. They are really posturing and the manoeuvres of a fan. To me they are strangely fascinating, and, with the music, almost more so than our Western ballets. But there is a difference between the ballet and the geisha dances, and it is so wide that there is no true comparison; for whereas the ballet stimulates and excites, these Japanese movements hypnotise and lull. MANNERS The public manners of the Japanese are not good. In all my solitary walks about Myanoshita I met with no single peasant who passed the time of day, and in the streets of Tokio English people were being jostled and stared at and treated without respect. It was a moment when Americans were unpopular, and the theory was broached that for fear of missing the chance to be rude to an American the Japanese became rude to all outlanders indiscriminately. One indeed gathered the impression that, except in Kyoto, which is a backwater, foreigners are no longer wanted. "Japan for the Japanese" would seem to be the motto: one day, not far distant, to be amended to "The World for Japan." I shall never forget the humiliation I suffered in a stockbroker's office in Tokio, into which, seeing the words "English spoken" over the door, I had ventured in the hope of being directed to an address I was seeking. Not a word of English did any one know, but the whole staff left its typewriters and desks to come and laugh. I was always willing to remove the gravity of Japanese children by my grotesque Occidentalism, but I have a very real objection to being a butt for the ridicule of grown-ups. Such an incident could not have occurred, I believe, anywhere else. But it is not only the foreigners to whom the Japanese are rude: they do nothing for their fellows either. The want of chivalry in trains and trams was conspicuous. The ceremonial manners of the Japanese can, however, be more precise and formal than any I ever witnessed. A wedding reception chanced to be in progress in my Tokio hotel one afternoon, and through the open door I had glimpses of Japanese gentlemen in frock coats bowing to Japanese ladies and making perfect right angles as they did so. So elaborate indeed were the courtesies that to Western eyes they bordered dangerously on burlesque. The destination that I was seeking when I entered the stockbroker's office was a certain book-store, and when I eventually found it I was asked a question by a Japanese youth that still perplexes me. It was in the English section, the principal volumes in which, as imported to supply Japanese demands, were American, and all bore either upon success in engineering and other professions and crafts, or on the rapid acquirement of wealth. "How to double your income in a week"; "How to get rich quickly"; "How to succeed in business"; and so forth; all preaching, in fact, the new gospel which is doing Japan no good. There were also, however, a certain number of novels, and one of the customers, a boy who looked as though he were still at school, noting my English appearance, brought a translation of Maupassant to me and asked me what "soul" meant--"A Woman's Soul" being the new title. Now I defy any one with no Japanese to make it clear to a Japanese boy with very little English what a woman's soul is. THE PLAY At Tokio I was present for an hour or so at a performance in a national theatre. It had been in progress for a long time when I entered and would continue long after I left, for that is the Japanese custom. In London people with too little to do are on occasion prepared to spend the whole day outside theatres waiting for the doors to open. They will then witness a two and a half hours' performance. But in Japan the plays go on from eleven a.m. to eleven p.m. and the audience bring their sustenance and tobacco with them. The seats are mats on the ground, and the actors reach the stage by a passage through the auditorium as well as from the wings. The scenery is very elementary, and there is always a gate which has to be opened when the characters pass through and closed after them, although it is isolated and has no contiguous wall or fence. None of our Western morbid desire for novelty, I am told, troubles the Japanese play-goer, who is prepared to witness the same drama, usually based on an historical event or national legend thoroughly familiar to him, for ever and ever. It is as though the theatres in England were given up exclusively to, say, Shakespeare's Henry IV, V and VI sequence. On the occasion of my visit there was little of what we call acting, but endless elocution. During the performance the attendants walk about, with the persistence of constables during a London police-court hearing, carrying refreshments and little charcoal stoves. The signal for the next act is a deafening clicking noise made by one of the stage hands on two sticks, which gradually rises to a shattering crescendo as the curtain is drawn aside. It must be understood that the theatre that I am describing was set apart for national drama. In others there are topical farces and laughter is continuous; but I did not visit any. On board ship, however, we had a series of performances of such pieces by the Japanese cabin attendants and waiters, many of whom were professional actors. The Japanese passengers enjoyed them immensely. MYANOSHITA A whole week of my too short stay was given to Myanoshita, whither I was driven by the impossibility of retaining a room in either Yokohama or Tokio, and where I stayed willingly on, out of delight in the place itself. After being cooped up for so long on ships, and kept inactive under the heat of India, it was like a new existence to take immense walks among these mountains in the keen rarified air, even though there was both rain and snow. Myanoshita stands some four thousand feet high and is situated in a valley in which are many summer cottages and health resorts. The heart of this Alpine settlement is the Fujiya Hotel, where I was living, which is kept by an enterprising Americanised and Europeanised Japanese proprietor and his very charming wife, Madame Yamaguchi, whose father was the founder of the house, and, I believe, the discoverer of the district, and who herself is famous as a gracious hostess throughout Japan. No hotel so well or so thoughtfully administered have I ever stayed in; nor was I ever in another where the water for the bath gushes in from a natural hot spring. But hot springs are numerous in this region, while there is a gorge which I visited, some four miles distant, where boiling sulphur hisses and bubbles for ever and aye. Many of the Myanoshita dishes were new to me and welcome. There is an excellent salad called "Slow," and the bamboo, which is Japan's best friend--serving the nation in scores of ways: as fences, as walls, as water-pipes, as supports, as carrying-poles, as thatch, as fishing-rods--here found its way into the salad bowl and was not distasteful. The custom of drinking a glass of orange juice before breakfast might well be adopted with us; but not the least of the oddities of England which I realised as I moved about the earth is our unwillingness to eat fruit. Japan also has a perfect mineral water, "Tansan." When not making long expeditions to catch new glimpses of Fuji I roamed about the hill-sides among the little villages, or leaned over crazy bridges to watch the waterfalls beneath; for there is water everywhere, tumbling down to the distant ocean, a wedge of which can be seen from the hotel windows. This Japanese valley might be in Switzerland, save for the absence of any but human life. Not a cow, not a goat. The labourers wear blue linen smocks, usually with some device upon them, and they merge into the landscape as naturally as French or Belgian peasants. These men, whether working on the soil or the roads, or engaged in cutting bamboos or building houses, wear the large straw hats that one sees in the old Japanese prints. Nothing has changed in their dress. But the modernized Japanese, the dweller in the cities or casual visitor to the country, pins his faith to the bowler. The bowler is so much his favourite headgear that he wears it often with native costume on his body. Perhaps it is to Japan that all the bowlers have gone, now that London has taken to the soft Homburg. It was odd to meet groups of these bizarre little men among the precipices: even stranger perhaps were their little ladies, especially on Sunday, in the gayest Japanese clothes, their faces plastered with rice powder and cigarettes in their mouths. Too many of them are disfigured by gold teeth, which are so common in Japan as to be almost the rule. An English resident assured me that I must not assume that the Japanese teeth are therefore unusually defective: often the gold is merely ostentation, a visible sign that the owner of the auriferous mouth is both alive to American progress and can afford it. Even in Myanoshita Fujiyama has to be sought for and climbed for, the walls of rock that form the valley being so high and enclosing. But the result is worth every effort. Immediately above the hotel is a hill from whose summit the upper part of the enchanted mountain can be seen, and I ascended tortuously to this point within an hour of my arrival. The next day I walked to Lake Hakone (where the Emperor has a summer palace), some eight miles away, in the hope of getting Fuji's white crest reflected on its surface; but a veil of mist enshrouded all. And then twice I went to the edge of the watershed at the head of the valley: once struggling through the snow to the Otome Pass, on an immemorial and nearly perpendicular bridle path, and once by the modern road to the tunnel which, with characteristic address, the Japanese have bored through the rock, thus reducing a very steep gradient. In the tunnel the icicles were hanging several feet long and as big as masts, and the air was biting. But one emerged suddenly upon a prospect the wonder of which probably cannot be excelled--a vast plain far below, made up of verdure and villages and lakes, with distant surrounding heights, and immediately in front, filling half the sky, Fuji himself. It is from this point, and from the ancient Otome Pass, a mile or so away on the same ridge, that the symmetry of the mountain is most perfect; and here one can best appreciate the simplicity of it, the quiet natural ease with which it rises above its neighbours. There was more snow on the slopes than when I had seen it from the train a few days before; and the sky again was without a cloud. I have never been so conscious of majestic serenity, without any concomitant feeling of awe. Fuji is both sublime and human. No other country has a symbol like this. When the Japanese think of Japan they visualise Fuji: returning exiles crowd the decks for the first glimpse of it; departing exiles with tears in their eyes watch it disappear. There is not a shop window but has Fuji in some representation; it is found in every house; its contours are engraved on teaspoons, embossed on ash-trays. You cannot escape from its counterfeits; but if you have seen it you do not mind. When on my way home I found myself in an American picture gallery, either in San Francisco, Chicago, Boston or New York, I lingered longest in the rooms where the coloured prints of the Japanese masters hang--and America has very fine collections, particularly in Boston--and I stood longest before those landscapes by Hokusai and Hiroshige in which Fuji occurs. Hokusai in particular venerated the mountain, and in many of his most beautiful pictures people are calling to each other to admire some new and marvellous aspect of it. It was he who drew Fuji as seen through the arch of a breaking wave! I was looking at the British Museum's example of this daring print only a few days ago, and, doing so, living my Myanoshita days again. There is much in Japan that is petty, much that is too material and not a little that is disturbing; but Fuji is there too, dominating all, calm and wise and lovely beyond description, and it would be Fuji that lured me back. AMERICA DEMOCRACY AT HOME My first experience of democracy-in-being followed swiftly upon boarding the steamboat for San Francisco, when "Show this man Number 231" was the American steward's command to a cabin boy. I had no objection to being called a man: far from it; but after years of being called a gentleman it was startling. This happened at Yokohama; and when, in the Customs House at San Francisco, a porter wheeling a truck broke through a queue of us waiting to obtain our quittances, with the careless warning, "Out of the way, fellers!" I knew that here was democracy indeed. I confess to liking it, although I was to be brought up with another jolt when a notice-board on a grass-plot suddenly confronted me, bearing the words:-- [Illustration: KEEP OFF. THIS MEANS YOU.] But I like it. I like the tradition which, once your name is written in the hotel reception book, makes you instantly "Mr. Lucas" to every one in the place. There is a friendliness about it: the hotel is more of a home, or at any rate, less of a barrack, because of it. And yet this universal camaraderie has some odd lapses into formality. The members of clubs in America are far more ceremonious with each other than we are in England. In English clubs the prefix "Mr." is a solecism, but in American clubs I have watched quite old friends and associates whose greetings have been marked almost by pomposity and certainly by ritual. Yet Americans, I should say, are heartier than we; more happy to be with each other; less critical and exacting. They certainly spend less time in discussing each other's foibles. That may be because the dollar is so much more an absorbing theme, but more likely it is because America is a democracy, and the theory of democracy, as I understand it, is to assume that every man is a good fellow until the reverse is proved. I should not like to say that the theory of those of us who live under a monarchy is the opposite, but it seemed to me that Americans are more ready than we to be sociable and tolerant. Try as I might I could never be quick enough to get in first with that delightful American greeting, "Pleased to meet you," or "Glad to know you, Mr. Lucas." I pondered long on the best retort and at last formulated this, but never dared to use it for fear that its genuineness might be suspected: "I shall be sorry when we have to part." SAN FRANCISCO It was in San Francisco that I learned--and very quickly--that it is as necessary to visit America in order to know what Americans are like as it is to leave one's own country in order to know more about that. Americans when abroad are less hearty, less revealing. They are either suffering from a constraint or an over-assertiveness; and both moods may be due to not being at home. In neither case are they so natural as at home. I suppose that on soil not our own we all tend to be a little over-anxious to proclaim our nationality, to maintain the distinction. In our hats can perhaps be too firmly planted the invisible flag of our country. Be this as it may, I very quickly discerned a difference between Americans in America and in England. I found them simple where I had thought of them as the reverse, and now, after meeting others in various parts of the country, even in complex and composite New York, I should say that simplicity is the keynote of the American character. It is in his simplicity that the American differs most from the European. Such simplicity is perfectly consistent with the impatience, the desire for novelty, for brevity, of the American people. We think of them as always wishing to reduce life to formulae, as unwilling to express any surprise, and these tendencies may easily be considered as signs of a tiring civilisation. But in reality they are signs of youth too. ROADS GOOD AND BAD San Francisco I shall chiefly recollect (apart from personal reasons) for the sparkling freshness and vigour of the air; for the extent and variety of Golden Gate Park, where I found a bust of Beethoven, but no sign of Bret Harte; for the vast reading-room in the library at Berkeley, a university which is so enchantingly situated, beneath such a sun, and in sight of such a bay, that I marvel that any work can be done there at all; and for the miles and miles of perfect tarmac roads fringed with burning eschscholtzias and gentle purple irises. That was in April. I found elsewhere in America no roads comparable with these. Even around Washington their condition was such that to ride in a motor-car was to experience all the alleged benefits of horseback, while in the Adirondacks, anywhere off the noble Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Highway, with its "T.R." blazonings along the route, one's liver was bent and broken. While I was in America the movement to purchase Roosevelt's house as a national possession was in full swing, but this Memorial Highway strikes the imagination with more force. That was an inspiration, and I hope that the road will never be allowed to fall into disrepair. UNIVERSITIES, LOVE AND PRONUNCIATION Watching the young men and maidens crowding to a lecture in the Hearst Amphitheatre at Berkeley, under that glorious Californian sky, I was struck by the sensible, frank intimacy of them all, and envied them the advantages that must be theirs over the English methods of segregation at the same age, which, by creating shyness and destroying familiarity, tends to retard if not destroy the natural understanding which ought to subsist between them and if it did would often make life afterwards so much simpler. I asked one of the professors to what extent marriages were made in Berkeley, but he had no statistics. All he could say was that Cupid was very little trouble to the authorities and that Mr. Hoover and Mrs. Hoover first met each other as students at Stanford. And then I asked an ex-member of one of the Sororities and she said that at college one was a good deal in love and a good deal out of it. The romance rarely persisted into later life. She pronounced romance with the accent on the first syllable, whereas somewhere half-way across the Atlantic the accent passes to the second; and why such illogical things should be is a mystery. The differences can be very disconcerting, especially if one refuses to give way. I had an experience to the point when talking with some one in Chicago and wishing to answer carefully his question as to the conditions under which the poor of our great cities live. These are, in my observation, infinitely worse in England than in America. Indeed I hardly saw any poor in America at all--not poverty as we understand it. But I could not frame my reply because "squalor" (which we pronounce as though it rhymed with "mollor") was the only fitting epithet and he had just used it himself, pronouncing it in the American way--or at any rate in his American way--with a long "a." So I turned the subject. Neither nation has any monopoly of reasonableness in pronunciation. The American way of saying "advertisement" is more sensible than ours of saying "adver´tisment," since we say "advertise" too. But then, although the Americans say "inquire," just as we do, they illogically put the stress on the first syllable when they talk about an "in´quiry." The Tower of Babel is thus carried up one storey higher. The original idea was merely to confuse languages; it cannot ever have been wished that two friendly peoples should speak the same language differently. But I have wandered far from Berkeley and Stanford. I am not sure as to my course of conduct if I had a daughter of seventeen, but I am quite convinced that if I had a son of that age I should send him to an American university for two or three years after his English school. He should then become a citizen of the Anglo-Saxon world indeed. FIRST SIGNS OF PROHIBITION We had met Prohibition first at Honolulu, not a few of the passengers receiving the shock of their lives on learning at the hotel that only "soft drinks" were permitted. Our second reminder of the new regime came as we entered American waters off the Golden Gate and the ship's bar was formally closed. And then, in San Francisco, we found "dry" land indeed. In this connection let me say that in the hotel I made acquaintance with an official of great power who was new to me: the buttoned boy who rejoices in the proud title of Bell Captain. He gave me a private insight into his precocity (but that is not the word, for all boys in America are men too), and into his influence, by offering to supply me with forbidden fruit, in the shape of whisky, at the modest figure of $25 a bottle. He did not, however, say dollars: like most of his compatriots (and it is a favourite word with them) he said something between "dollars" and "dallars." I had, a few days later, in Chicago, a similarly friendly offer from a policeman of whom I had inquired the way. Recognizing an English accent, he had instantly divined what my dearest wish must be. I then asked him how prohibition was affecting the people on his beat. He said that a few drunkards were less comfortable and a few wives more serene; but for the most part he had seen no increase of happiness, and the extra money that it provided was spent either on the movies, dress, or "other foolishness." I did not allow him to refresh me. After a course of American "tough" fiction, of which "Susan Lenox" remains most luridly in the memory, I had a terror of all professional upholders of the law. R.L.S. Coming by chance upon the Robert Louis Stevenson memorial at San Francisco, on the edge of Chinatown, I copied its inscription, and in case any reader of these notes may have forgotten its trend I copy it again here; for I do not suppose that its application was intended to cease with the Californian city. It is counsel addressed to the individual, but since nations are but individuals in quantity such ideals cannot be repeated amiss: To be honest; to be kind; to earn a little; to spend a little less; to make upon the whole a family happier for his presence; to renounce when that shall be necessary and not to be embittered; to keep a few friends, but these without capitulation; above all, on the same grim condition, to keep friends with himself--here is a task for all that man has of fortitude and delicacy. It is a far cry from San Francisco to Saranac, yet Stevenson is their connecting chain, with the late Harry Widener's amazing collection of Stevensoniana, in his memorial library at Harvard, as a link. The Saranac cottage, which on the day of my visit was surrounded by the sweetest lilac blooms that ever perfumed the air, is still a place of pilgrimage, and one by one new articles of interest are being added to the collection. It was pleasant indeed to find an English author thus honoured. Later, in Central Park, New York, I was to find statues of Shakespeare, Burns and Sir Walter Scott. It was, oddly enough, in the Adirondacks that I came upon my only experience of simplified spelling in the land of its birth. It was in that pleasant home from home, the Lake Placid Club, where one is adjured to close the door "tyt" as one leaves a room; where one drinks "cofi"; and where that most necessary and mysterious of the functionaries of life, the physician, is able to watch his divinity dwindle and his dignity disappear under the style "fizisn." STORIES AND HUMOURISTS I heard many stories in America, where every one is a raconteur, but none was better than this, which my San Francisco host narrated, from his own experience, as the most perfect example of an honest answer ever given. When a boy, he said, he was much in the company of an old trapper in the Californian mountains. During one of their expeditions together he noticed that a camp meeting was to be held, and out of curiosity he persuaded Reuben to attend it with him. Perched on a back seat, they were watching the scene when an elderly Evangelical sister placed herself beside the old hunter, laid her hand on his arm, and asked him if he loved Jesus. He pondered for some moments and then replied thus: "Waal, ma'am, I can't go so far as to say that I love Him. I can't go so far as that. But, by gosh, I'll say this--I ain't got nothin' agin Him." The funniest spontaneous thing I heard said was the remark of a farmer in the Adirondacks in reply to my question, Had they recovered up there, from the recent war? "Yes," he said, they had; adding brightly, "Quite a war, wasn't it?" In a manner of speaking all Americans are humourists. Just as all French people are wits by reason of the epigrammatic structure of their language, so are all Americans humourists by reason of the national stores of picturesque slang and analogy to which they have access. I think that this tendency to resort to a common stock instead of striving after individual exactitude and colour is to be deplored. It discourages thought where thought should be encouraged. Adults are, of course, beyond redemption, but parents might at least do something about it with their children. One of the cleverest American writers whom I met made no effort whatever to get beyond these accepted phrases as he narrated one racy incident after another. With the pen in his hand (or, more probably, the typewriter under his fingers) his sense of epithet is precise; but in his conversational stories men were as mad "as Sam Hill," injuries hurt "like hell," and a knapsack was as heavy "as the devil." We all laughed; but he should have had more of the artist's pride. Three American professional humourists whom I had the good fortune to meet and be with for some time were Irvin Cobb, Don Marquis, and Oliver Herford, each authentic and each so different. Beneath Mr. Cobb's fun is a mass of ripe experience and sagacity. However playful he may be on the surface one is aware of an almost Johnsonian universality beneath. It would not be extravagant to call his humour the bloom on the fruit of the tree of knowledge (I am talking now only of the three as I found them in conversation). Don Marquis, while equally serious (and all the best humourists are serious at heart), has a more grotesque fancy and is more of a reformer, or, at any rate, a rebel. His dissatisfaction with hypocrisy provoked a scorn that Mr. Cobb is too elemental to entertain. Some day perhaps Don Marquis will induce an editor to print the exercises in unorthodoxy which he has been writing and which, in extract, he repeated to us with such unction; but I doubt it. They are too searching. But that so busy a man should turn aside from his work to dabble in religious satire seemed to me a very interesting thing; for nothing is so unprofitable--except to the honest soul of him who conceives it. One of Don Marquis's more racy stories which I recollect is of a loafer in a country town who had the habit of dropping into the store every day at the time the free cheese was set on the counter, and buying very little in return. When the time came for the privilege to be withdrawn the loafer was outraged and aghast. Addressing the storekeeper (his friend for years) he summed up his ungenerosity in these terms: "Your soul, Henry," he said, "is so mean, that if there were a million souls like it in the belly of a flea, they'd be so far apart they couldn't hear each other holler." As for Oliver Herford, he is an elf, a sprite, a creature of fantasy, who may be--and, I rejoice to say, is--in this world, but certainly is not of it. This Oliver is in the line of Puck and Mercutio and Lamb and Hood and other lovers and makers of nonsense, and it is we who ask for "more." He had just brought out his irresponsible but very searching exercise in cosmogony, "This Giddy Globe," dedicated to President Wilson ("with all his faults he quotes me still") and this was the first indigenous work I read on American soil. Oliver Herford is perhaps best known by his "Rubaiyat of a Persian Kitten," and there is a kitten also in "This Giddy Globe": "Hurray!" cried the Kitten, "Hurray!" As he merrily set the sails, "I sail o'er the ocean to-day To look at the Prince of Wales." --this was when the Prince was making his triumphant visit to New York in 1919-- "But, Kitten," I said dismayed, "If you live through the angry gales You know you will be afraid To look at the Prince of Wales." Said the Kitten, "No such thing! Why should he make me wince? If a Cat may look at a King A Kitten may look at a Prince!" This reminds me that the story goes that when the Prince expressed his admiration for Fifth Avenue he was congratulated upon having "said a mouthful." Beyond a mouthful, as an encomium of sagacity or sensationalism in speech, there is but one advance and that is when one says "an earful." THE CARS The journey from San Francisco to Chicago, once the fruit country is passed, is drearily tedious, and I was never so tired of a train. The spacious compartments that one travelled in on the Indian journeys, where there are four arm-chairs and a bath-room, are a bad preparation for the long narrow American cars packed with humanity, and for the very inadequate washing-room, which is also the negro attendant's bed-chamber: "Although," he explained to me, "when the car isn't full I always sleep in Berth Number 1." If the night could be indefinitely prolonged, these journeys would be more tolerable; but for the general comfort the sleeping berths must be converted into seats at an early hour. In addition to books, I had, as a means of beguilement, the society of a returned exile from the Philippines, who told me the story of his life, showed me the necklace he was taking home to his daughter's wedding, and asked my advice as to the wisdom or unwisdom of marrying again, the lady of his wavering choice having been at school with him in New England and being now a widow in Nebraska with property of her own. Besides being thus garrulous and open, he was the most helpful man I ever met, acting as a nurse to the three or four restless children in the car, and even producing from his bag a pair of scissors and a bottle of gum with which to make dolls' paper clothes. Never in my life have I called a stranger "Ed" on such short acquaintance; never have I been called "Poppa" so often by the peevish progeny of others. It was on this train that I began to realise how much thirstier the Americans are than we. The passengers were continually filling and emptying the little cups that are stacked beside the fountains in the corridors, and long before we reached Chicago the cups had all been used. In England only children drink water at odd times and they not to excess. But in America every one drinks water, and the water is there for drinking, pure and cold and plentiful. It is beside the bed, in the corners of offices, awaiting you at meals, jingling down the passages of hotels, bubbling in the streets. In English restaurants, water bottles are rarely supplied until asked for; in our hotel bedrooms they seldom bear lifting to the light. As to whether the general health of the Americans is superior or inferior to ours by reason of this water-drinking custom, I have no information; but figures would be interesting. CHICAGO In Chicago the weather was wet and cold, and it was not until after I had left that I learned of the presence there of certain literary collections which I may now perhaps never see. But I spent much time in the Museum, where there is one of the finest Hobbemas in the world, and where two such different creative artists as Claude Monet and Josiah Wedgwood are especially honoured. But the chief discovery for me was the sincere and masterly work in landscape of George Inness, my first impression of whom was to be fortified when I passed on to Boston, and reinforced in the Hearn collection in the Metropolitan Museum in New York. It was in Chicago, in the Marshall Field Book Department--which is to ordinary English bookshops like a liner to a houseboat--that I first realised how intense is the interest which America takes in foreign contemporary literature. In England the translation has a certain vogue--Mrs. Garnett's supple and faithful renderings of Turgenev, Tolstoi, Dostoievski, and Tchekov have, for example, a great following--but we do not adventure much beyond the French and the Russians; whereas I learn that English versions of hundreds of other foreign books are eagerly bought in America. Such curiosity seems to me to be very sensible. I was surprised also to find tables packed high with the modern drama. In England the printed play is not to the general taste. It was in Chicago that I found "window-shopping" at its most enterprising. In San Francisco the costumiers' windows were thronged all Sunday, but in Chicago they are brilliantly lighted till midnight, long after closing hours, so that late passers-by may mark down desirable things to buy on the morrow. The spirited equestrian statue of General John A. Logan, in a waste space by Michigan Avenue, which I could see from my bedroom window, was my first and by no means the least satisfying experience of American sculpture on its native soil--to be face to face with St. Gaudens' figure of "Grief" in Rock Creek Cemetery, at Washington, having long been a desire. In time I came to see that beautiful conception, and I saw also the fine Shaw monument in Boston, fine both in idea and in execution; and the Sheridan, by the Plaza Hotel in New York; and the Farragut in Madison Square; and the Pilgrim in Philadelphia--all the work of the same firm, sensitive hand, a replica of whose Lincoln is now to be seen at Westminster. The statue seems almost as natural a part of civic ornament in America as it is in France, and is not in England; and the standard as a rule is high. In particular I like the many horsemen--Anthony Wayne dominating the landscape at Valley Forge; and George Washington again and again, and not least in Fairmount Park in Philadelphia (where there is also a bronze roughrider realistically set on a cliff--as though from Ambrose Bierce's famous story--by Frederic Remington). American painters can too often suggest predecessors, usually French, but the sculptors have a strength and directness of their own, and it would not surprise me if some of the best statues of the future came from their country. No one would say that all American civic sculpture is good. There is a gigantic bust of Washington Irving behind New York's Public Library which would be better away; nor are the lions that guard that splendid institution superabundantly leonine; but the traveller is more charmed than depressed by the marble and bronze effigies that meet his eye--and few witnesses have been able to say that of England. Among the more remarkable public works I might name the symbolical figures on the steps of the Boston Free Library, and the frieze in deep relief on the Romanesque church on Park Avenue in New York, and I found something big and impressive in the Barnard groups at Harrisburg. Many of the little bronzes in the Metropolitan Museum--at the other extreme--are exquisite. THE MOVIES We have our cinema theatres in England in some abundance, but the cinema is not yet in the blood here as in America. In America picture-palaces are palaces indeed--with gold and marble, and mural decorations, built to seat thousands--and every newspaper has its cinema page, where the activities of the movie stars in their courses are chronicled every morning. Moreover, America is the home of the industry; and rightly so, for it has, I should say, been abundantly proved that Americans are the only people who really understand both cinema acting and cinema production. Italy, France and England make a few pictures, but their efforts are half-hearted: not only because acting for the film is a new and separate art, but because atmospheric conditions are better in America than in Europe. It was in Chicago that I had my only opportunity of seeing cinema stars in the flesh. The rain falling, as it seems to do there with no more effort or fatigue to itself than in Manchester, I had, one afternoon, to change my outdoor plans and take refuge at the matinee of a musical comedy called "Sometime," with Frank Tinney in the leading part. Tinney, I may say, during his engagement in London some years ago, became so great a favourite that one performer has been flourishing on an imitation of him ever since. The play had been in progress only for a few minutes when Frank, in his capacity as a theatre doorkeeper, was presented by his manager with a tip. A dialogue, which to the trained ear was obviously more or less an improvisation, then followed: _Manager_: "What will you do with that dollar, Frank?" _Frank_: "I shall go to the movies. I always go to the movies when there's a Norma Talmadge picture. Ask me why I always go to the movies when there's a Norma Talmadge picture." _Manager_: "Why do you always go to the movies when there's a Norma Talmadge picture, Frank?" _Frank_: "I go because, I go because she's my favourite actress. (_Applause_.) Ask me why Norma Talmadge is my favourite actress." _Manager_: "Why is Norma Talmadge your favourite actress, Frank?" _Frank_: "Norma Talmadge is my favourite actress because she is always saving her honour. I've seen her saving it seventeen times. (_To the audience_) You like Norma Talmadge, don't you?" (_Applause from the audience_.) _Frank_: "Then wouldn't you like to see her as she really is? (_To a lady sitting with friends in a box_.) Stand up, Norma, and let the audience see you." _Here a slim lady with a tense, eager, pale face and a mass of hair stood up and bowed. Immense enthusiasm_. _Frank_: "That's Norma Talmadge. You do like saving your honour, don't you, Norma? And now (_to the audience_) wouldn't you like to see Norma's little sister, Constance? (_More applause_.) Stand up, Constance, and let the audience see you." Here another slim lady bowed her acknowledgments and the play was permitted to proceed. What America is going to do with the cinema remains to be seen, but I, for one, deplore the modern tendency of novelists to be lured by American money to write for it. If the cinema wants stories from novelists let it take them from the printed books. One has but to reflect upon what might have happened had the cinema been invented a hundred years ago, to realise my disturbance of mind. With Mr. Lasky's millions to tempt them Dickens would have written "David Copperfield" and Thackeray "Vanity Fair," not for their publishers and as an endowment to millions of grateful readers in perpetuity, but as plots for the immediate necessity of the film, with a transitory life of a few months in dark rooms. Of what new "David Copperfields" and "Vanity Fairs" the cinema is to rob us we shall not know; but I hold that the novelist who can write a living book is a traitor to his art and conscience if he prefers the easy money of the film. Readers are to be considered before the frequenters of Picture Palaces. His privilege is to beguile and amuse and refresh through the ages: not to snatch momentary triumphs and disappear. The evidence of the moment is more on the side of the pessimist than the optimist. I found in America no trace of interest in such valuable records as the Kearton pictures of African jungle life or the Ponting records of the Arctic Zone. For the moment the whole energy of the gigantic cinema industry seemed to be directed towards the filming of human stories and the completest beguilement, without the faintest infusion of instruction or idealism, of the many-headed mob. In short, to provide "dope." Whether so much "dope" is desirable, is the question to be answered. That poor human nature needs a certain amount, is beyond doubt. But so much? And do we all need it, or at any rate deserve it? is another question. Sometimes indeed I wonder whether those of us who have our full share of senses ought to go to the cinema at all. It may be that its true purpose is to be the dramatist of the deaf. THE AMERICAN FACE Perhaps it is one of the travellers' illusions (and we are very susceptible to them), but I have the impression that American men are more alike than the English are. It may be because there are fewer idiosyncrasies in male attire, for in America every one wears the same kind of hat; but I think not. In spite of the mixed origin of most Americans, a national type of face has been evolved to which they seem satisfied almost universally to pay allegiance. Again and again in the streets I have been about to accost strangers to whom I felt sure I had recently been introduced, discovering just in time that they were merely doubles. In England I fancy there is more individuality in appearance. If it is denied that American faces are more true to one type than ours, I shall reopen the attack by affirming that American voices are beyond question alike. My position in these two charges may be illustrated by notices that I saw fixed to gates at the docks in San Francisco. On one were the words "No Smoking"; on the other "Positively No Smoking." And what about the science of physiognomy? I have been wondering if Lavater is to be trusted outside Europe. In China and Japan I was continually perplexed, for I saw so many men who obviously were successful--leaders and controllers--but who were without more than the rudiments of a nose on which to support their glasses; and yet I have been brought up to believe that without a nose of some dimensions it was idle to hope for worldly eminence. Again, in America, is it possible that all these massive chins and firm aquiline beaks are ruling the roost and reaching whatever goal they set out for? I doubt it. The average American face is, I think, keener than ours and healthier. One sees fewer ruined faces than in English cities, fewer men and women who have lost self-respect and self-control. The American people as a whole strike the observer as being more prosperous, more alert and ambitious, than the English. Where I found mean streets they were always in the occupation of aliens. To revert to the matter of clothes, the American does as little as possible to make things easy for the conjectural observer. In England one can base guesses of some accuracy on attire. In a railway carriage one can hazard without any great risk of error the theory that this man is in trade and that in a profession, that another is a stockbroker, and a fourth a country squire. But America is full of surprises, due to the uniformity of clothing and a certain carelessness which elevates comfort to a ritual. The man you think of as a millionaire may be a drummer, the drummer a millionaire. Again, in England people are known to a certain extent by the hotels they stay at, the restaurants they eat at, and the class in which they travel. Such superficial guides fail one in America. PROHIBITION AGAIN I can best indicate, without the mechanical assistance of dates, the time of my sojourn in New York by saying that, during those few weeks, Woodrow Wilson's successor was being sought, the possibility of the repeal of the Prohibition Act was a matter of excited interest, and "Babe" Ruth was the national hero. During this period I saw the President sitting on the veranda of the White House; I had opportunities of honouring Prohibition in the breach as well as in the observance; and these eyes were everlastingly cheered and enriched by the spectacle of the "Babe" (who is a baseball divinity) lifting a ball over the Polo Ground pavilion into Manhattan Field. I hold, then, that I cannot be said to have been unlucky or to have wasted my time. I found (this was in the spring of 1920) Prohibition the universal topic: could it last, and should it last? In England we are accused of talking always of the weather. In America, where there is no weather, nothing but climate, that theme probably was never popular. Even if it once were, however, it had given way to Prohibition. At every lunch or dinner table at which I was present Prohibition was a topic. And how could it be otherwise?--for if my host was a "dry" man, he had to begin by apologising for having nothing cheering to offer, and if he possessed a cellar it was impossible not to open the ball by congratulating him on his luck and his generosity. Meanwhile the guests were comparing notes as to the best substitutes for alcoholic beverages, exchanging recipes, or describing their adventures with private stills. I visited a young couple in a charming little cottage in one of the garden cities near New York, and found them equally divided in their solicitude over a baby on the top floor and a huge jar in the basement which needed constant skimming if the beer was to be worth drinking. One effect of Prohibition which I was hoping for, if not actually expecting, failed to materialise. I had thought that the standard of what are called T.B.M. (Tired Business Men) theatrical shows might be higher if the tendency of alcohol to make audiences more tolerant (as it undoubtedly can do in London) were no longer operative. But these entertainments seemed, under teetotallers, no better. THE BALL GAME After seeing my first ball game or so I was inclined to suggest improvements; but now that I have attended more I am disposed to think that those in authority know more about it than I do, and that such blemishes as it appears to have are probably inevitable. For one thing, I thought that the outfield had too great an advantage. For another, not unassociated with that objection, I thought that the home-run hit was not sufficiently rewarded above the quite ordinary hit--"bunch-hit," is it?--that brings in a man or men. In the English game of "Rounders," the parent of baseball, a home-run hit either restores life to a man already out or provides the batting side with a life in reserve. To put a premium of this kind on so noble an achievement is surely not fantastic. So I thought. And yet I see now that the game must not be lengthened, or much of its character would go. It is its concentrated American fury that is its greatest charm. If a three-day cricket match were so packed with emotion we should all die of heart failure. I thought, too, that it is illogical that a ground stroke behind the diamond should be a no-ball, and yet, should that ball be in the air and caught, the striker should be out. I thought it an odd example of lenience to allow the batsman as many strokes behind the catcher as he chanced to make. But the more baseball I see the more it enchants me as a spectacle, and these early questionings are forgotten. Baseball and cricket cannot be compared, because they are as different as America and England; they can only be contrasted. Indeed, many of the differences between the peoples are reflected in the games; for cricket is leisurely and patient, whereas baseball is urgent and restless. Cricket can prosper without excitement, while excitement is baseball's life-blood, and so on: the catalogue could be indefinitely extended. But, though a comparison is futile, it may be interesting to note some of the divergences between the games. One of the chief is that baseball requires no specially prepared ground, whereas cricket demands turf in perfect order. Bad weather, again, is a more serious foe to the English than to the American game, for if the turf is soaked we cannot go on, and hence the number of drawn or unfinished matches in the course of a season. A two hours' game, such as baseball is, can, however, always be played off. In baseball the pitcher's ball must reach the batter before it touches the ground; in cricket, if the ball did not touch the ground first and reach the batsman on the bound, no one would ever be out at all, for the other ball, the full-pitch as we call it, is, with a flat bat, too easy to hit, for our bowlers swerve very rarely: it is the contact with the ground which enables them to give the ball its extra spin or break. Full-pitches are therefore very uncommon. In cricket a bowler who delivered the ball with the action of a pitcher would be disqualified for "throwing": it is one of the laws of cricket that the bowler's elbow must not be bent. In cricket (I mean in the first-class variety of the game) the decisions of the umpire are never questioned, either by players or public. In baseball there are but two strokes for the batter: either the "swipe," or "slog," as we call it, where he uses all his might, or the "bunt," usually a sacrificial effort; in cricket there are scores of strokes, before the wicket, behind it, and at every angle to it. These the cricketer is able to make because the bat is flat and wide, and he holds it both vertically and at a slant, as occasion demands, and is allowed, at his own risk, to run out to meet the ball. In the early days of cricket, a hundred and fifty years ago, the bat was like a baseball club, but curved, and the only strokes then were much what the only baseball strokes are now--the full-strength hit and the stopping hit. So long as the pitcher delivers the ball in the air it is probable that the baseball club will remain as it is; but should the evolution of the game allow the pitcher to make use of the ground, then the introduction of a flattened club is probable. But let us not look ahead. All that we can be sure of is that, since baseball is American, it will change. To resume the catalogue of contrast. In baseball the batsman must run for every fair hit; in cricket he may choose which hits to run for. In baseball a man's desire is to hit the ball in the air beyond the fielders; in cricket, though a man would like to do this, his side is better served if he hits every ball along the ground. In baseball no man can have more than a very small number of hits in a match; in cricket he can be batting for a whole day, and then again before the match is over. There are instances of batsmen making over 400 runs before being out. Another difference between the games is that in cricket we use a new ball only at the beginning of a fresh inning (of which there cannot be more than four in a match) and when each 200 runs have been scored; and (this will astonish the American reader) when the ball is hit among the people it is returned. I have seen such rapid voluntary surrenders at baseball very seldom, and so much of a "fan" have I become that the spectacle has always been accompanied in my breast by pain and contempt. I had the gratification of receiving from the burly John McGraw an autograph ball as a souvenir of a visit to the Polo Ground. I put it in my pocket hurriedly, conscious of the risk I ran among a nation of ball-stealers in possessing such a trophy; and I got away with it. But I am sure that had it been a ball hit out of the ground by the mighty "Babe" Ruth, which--recovering it by some supernatural means--he had handed to me in public, I should not have emerged alive, or, if alive, not in the ball's company. In cricket the wicket-keeper, who, like the baseball catcher, is protected, although he has no mask, is the most difficult man to obtain, because he has the hardest time and the least public approbation; in baseball the catcher is a hero and every boy aspires to his mitt. In cricket no player makes more than three hundred pounds a season, unless it is his turn for his one and only benefit, when he may make a thousand pounds more. But most players do not reach such a level of success that a benefit is their lot. But baseballers earn enormous sums. If a match could be arranged between eleven cricketers and eleven baseballers, the cricketers to be allowed to bowl and the baseballers to pitch, the cricketers to use their own bats and the baseballers their own clubs, I fancy that the cricketers would win; for the difficulty of hitting our bowling with a club would be greater than of hitting their pitching with a bat. But their wonderful fielding and far more accurate and swifter throwing than ours might just save them. Such throwing we see only very rarely, for good throwing is no longer insisted upon in cricket, much to the game's detriment. That old players should lose their shoulders is natural--and, of course, our players remain in first-class cricket for many years longer than ball champions--but there is no excuse for the young men who have taken advantage of a growing laxity in this matter. Chief of the few cricketers who throw with any of the terrible precision of a baseball field is Hobbs. It must be borne in mind, however, that cricket does not demand such constant throwing at full speed as baseball does; for in cricket, as I have said, the batsman may choose what hits he will run for, and if he chooses only the perfectly safe ones the fieldsmen are never at high pressure. There is also nothing in cricket quite to compare with base-stealing. When it comes to catching, the percentage of missed catches is far higher at cricket than at baseball; but there are good reasons for this. One is that in baseball a glove is worn; another that in baseball all catches come to the fieldsmen with long or sufficient notice. The fieldsmen are all, except the catcher, in front of the batsmen; there is nothing to compare with the unexpected nimbleness that our point and slips have to display. In the hypothetical contest that I have suggested, between baseballers and cricketers, if the conditions were nominally equal and the cricketers had to pitch like baseballers and the baseballers to use the English bat, why then the baseballers would win handsomely. Baseball, I fancy, will not be acclimatised in England. We had our chance when London was full of American soldiers and we did not take it. But we were very grateful to them for playing the game in our midst, for the authorities were so considerate as to let them play on Sundays (which we are never allowed to do) and I was one of those who hoped that this might be the thin end of the wedge and Sunday cricket also be permitted. But no; when the war was over and the Americans left us, the old Sabbatarianism reasserted itself. If, however, we ever exchanged national games, and cricket were played in America and baseball in England, it is the English spectator who would have the better of the exchange. I am convinced that although we should quickly find baseball diverting, nothing would ever persuade an American crowd to be otherwise than bored by cricket. SKYSCRAPERS Perhaps if I had reached New York from the sea the skyscrapers would have struck me more violently. But I had already seen a few in San Francisco (and wondered at and admired the courage which could build so high after the earthquake of 1906), and more in Chicago, all ugly; so that when I came to New York and found that the latest architects were not only building high, but imposing beauty on these mammoth structures, surprise was mingled with delight. No matter how many more millions of dollars are expended on that strange medley of ancient forms which go to make up New York's new Cathedral, where Romanesque and Gothic seem already to be ready for their divorce, the Woolworth Building will be New York's true fane. Mr. Cass Gilbert, the designer of that graceful immensity, not only gave commerce its most notable monument (to date), but removed for ever the slur upon skyscrapers. The Woolworth Building does not scrape the sky; it greets it, salutes it with a _beau geste_. And I would say something similar of the Bush Building, with its alabaster chapel in the air which becomes translucent at night; and the Madison Square Tower (whose clock face, I noticed, has the amazing diameter of three storeys); and the Burroughs Welcome Building on 41st Street, with its lovely perpendicular lines; and that immense cube of masonry on Park Avenue which bursts into flower, so to speak, at the top in the shape of a very beautiful loggia. But even if these adornments become, as I hope, the rule, one could not resent the ordinary structural elephantiasis a moment after realising New York's physical conditions. A growing city built on a narrow peninsula is unable to expand laterally and must, therefore, soar. The problem was how to make it soar with dignity, and the problem has been solved. In the old days when brown stone was the only builders' medium New York must have been a drab city indeed; or so I gather from the few ancient typical residences that remain. There are a few that are new, too, but for the most part the modern house is of white stone. Gayest of all is, I suppose, that vermilion-roofed florist's on Fifth Avenue. One has to ascend the Woolworth Building to appreciate at a blow with what discretion the original settlers of New York made their choice. It is interesting, too, to watch Broadway--which, for all I know, is the longest street in the world--starting at one's feet on its lawless journey to Albany: lawless because it is almost the only sinuous thing in this city of parallelograms and has the effrontery to cross diagonally both Fifth Avenue and Sixth. Before leaving the Woolworth Building, I would say that there seemed to me something rather comically paradoxical in being charged 50 cents for access to the top of a structure which was erected to celebrate the triumph of a commercial genius whose boast it was to have made his fortune out of articles sold at a rate never higher than 10 cents. Having dallied sufficiently on the summit--there are a trifle of fifty-eight floors, but an express lift makes nothing of them--I continued the implacable career of the tripper by watching for a while the deafening kerb market, which presented on that morning an odd appearance, more like Yarmouth beach than a financial centre, for there had been rain, and all the street operators were in sou'westers and sea-boots. There can be spasms of similar excitement in London, in the neighbourhood of Capel Court, but we have nothing that compares so closely with this crowd as Tattersall's Ring at Epsom just before the Derby. A PLEA FOR THE AQUARIUM It was a relief to resume my programme by entering that abode of the dumb and detached--the aquarium in Battery Park. For the kerb uproar "the uncommunicating muteness of fishes" was the only panacea. The Bronx Zoo is not, I think, except in the matter of buffalo and deer paddocks, so good as ours in London, but it has this shining advantage--it is free. So also is the Aquarium in Battery Park, and it was pleasing to see how crowded the place can be. In England all interest in living fish, except as creatures to be coaxed towards hooks and occasionally retained there, has vanished; on the site of old Westminster Aquarium the Wesleyans now manage their finances and determine their circuits, while the Brighton Aquarium, once famous all the world over, is a variety hall with barely a fin to its name. After seeing the aquarium in Honolulu, which is like a pelagic rainbow factory, and the aquarium in New York with all its strange and beautiful denizens, I am a little ashamed of our English apathy. To maintain picture galleries, where, however beautiful and chromatic, all is dead, and be insensitive to the loveliness of fish, in hue, in shape and in movement, is not quite pardonable. ENGLISH AND FRENCH INFLUENCES In essentials America is American, but when it comes to inessentials, to trimmings, her dependence on old England was noticeable again and again as I walked about New York. The fashion which, at the moment, the print shops were fostering was for our racing, hunting and coaching coloured prints of a century ago, while in the gallery of the distinguished little Grolier Club I found an exhibition of the work of Randolph Caldecott and Kate Greenaway. In such old bookshops as I visited all the emphasis was--just then--laid upon Keats and Lamb and Shelley, whose first editions and presentation copies seem to be continually making the westward journey. I had not been in New York twenty-four hours before Keats' "Lamia," 1820--with an inscription from the author to Charles Lamb--the very copy from which, I imagine, Lamb wrote his review, was in my hands; but it would have been far beyond my means even if the pound were not standing at 3.83. These "association" books, in which American collectors take especial pleasure, can be very costly. At a sale soon after I left New York, seven presentation copies of Dickens' books, containing merely the author's signed inscription, realised 4870 dollars. To continue, in Wanamaker's old curiosity department I found little but English furniture and odds and ends, at prices which in their own country would have been fantastically high. In the "Vanity Fair" department, however (as I think it is called), the source was French. I suppose that French influence must be at the back of all the costumiers and jewellers of New York, but the shops themselves are far more spacious than those in Paris and not less well-appointed. Tiffany's is a palace; all it lacks is a name, but its splendid anonymity is, I take it, a point of honour. It used to be said that good Americans when they died went to Paris. The Parisian lure no doubt is still powerful; but every day I should guess that more of Paris comes to America. The upper parts of New York have boulevards and apartment houses very like the real thing, and I noticed that the architecture of France exerts a special attraction for the rich man decreeing himself a pleasure dome. There are millionaires' residences in New York that might have been transplanted not only from the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne, but from Touraine itself; while when I made my pilgrimage to Mr. Widener's, just outside Philadelphia, I found Rembrandt's "Mill," and Manet's dead bull-fighter, and a Vermeer, and a little meadow painted divinely by Corot, and El Greco's family group, and Donatello's St. George, and one of the most lovely scenes that ever was created by Turner's enchanted brush, all enshrined in a palace which Louis Seize might have built. But America is even more French than this. Her women can be not less _soignées_ than those of France, although they suggest a cooler blood and less dependence on male society; her bread and coffee are better than France's best. Moreover, when it comes to night and the Broadway constellations challenge the darkness, New York leaves Paris far behind. For every cabaret and supper resort that Paris can provide, New York has three; and for every dancing floor in Paris, New York has thirty. Good Americans, however, will still remain faithful to their old posthumous love, if only for her wine. Apropos of American women, their position struck me as very different from the position of women with us. English women are deferential to their husbands; they are content to be relegated to the background on all occasions when they are not wanted. They are dependent. They seldom wear an air of triumph and rarely take the lead. But American women are complacent and assured, they do most of the talking, make most of the plans: if they are not seen, it is because they are in the background; they are either active prominently elsewhere or are high on pedestals. With each other they are mostly or often humorously direct, whereas with men they seem to adopt an ironical or patronising attitude. American women seem also to have a curious power of attracting to themselves other women who admire them and foster their self-esteem. And, for all that I know, these satellites have satellites too. Their federacy almost amounts to a solid secret society; not so much against men, for men must provide the sinews of war and other comforts, but for their own satisfaction. Both sexes appear not to languish when alone. SKY-SIGNS AND CONEY ISLAND All visitors to New York speak of the exhilaration of its air, and I can but repeat their testimony. After the first few days the idea of going to bed became an absurdity. Among the peculiarly beautiful effects that America produces, sky signs must be counted high. I had seen some when in San Francisco against the deep Californian night, and they captivated the startled vision; but the reckless profusion and movement of the Great White Way, as I turned out of 42nd Street on my first evening in New York, came as something more than a surprise: a revelation of wilful gaiety. We have normally nothing in England to compare with it. Nor can we have even our Earl's Court exhibition imitations of it so long as coal is so rare and costly. But though we had the driving power for the electricity we could never get such brilliance, for the clear American atmosphere is an essential ally. In our humid airs all the diamond glints would be blurred. For the purest beauty of traceries of light against a blue background one must go, however, not to Broadway, which is too bizarre, but to Luna Park on Coney Island. Odd that it should be there, in that bewildering medley of sound and restlessness, that an extreme of loveliness should be found; but I maintain that it is so, that nothing more strangely and voluptuously beautiful could be seen than all those minarets and domes, with their lines and curves formed by myriad lamps, turning by contrast the heavens into an ocean of velvet blue, mysterious and soft and profound. Only periodically--when we have exhibitions at Earl's Court or at Olympia--is there in England anything like Coney Island. At Blackpool in August, and on Hampstead Heath on Bank Holidays, a corresponding spirit of revelry is attempted, but it is not so natural, and is vitiated by a self-conscious determination to be gay and by not a little vulgarity. The revellers of Steeplechase Park seemed to me to be more genuine even than the crowds that throng the Fête de Neuilly; and a vast deal happier. One very striking difference between Coney Island and the French fair is the absence of children from New York's "safety-valve," as some one described it to me. I saw hardly any. It is as though once again the child's birthday gifts had been appropriated by its elders; but as a matter of fact the Parks of Steeplechase and Luna were, I imagine, designed deliberately for adults. Judging by the popularity of the chutes and the whips, the switchbacks and the witching waves, eccentric movement has a peculiar attraction for the American holiday-maker. As some one put it, there is no better way, or at any rate no more thorough way, of throwing young people together. Middle-aged people, too. But the observer receives no impression of moral disorder. High spirits are the rule, and impropriety is the exception. Even in the auditorium at Steeplechase Park, where the _cognoscenti_ assemble to witness the discomfiture of the uninitiated, there is nothing but harmless laughter as the skirts fly up before the unsuspected blast. Such a performance in England, were it permitted, would degenerate into ugliness; in France, too, it would make the alien spectator uncomfortable. But the essential public chastity of the Americans--I am not sure that I ought not here to write civilisation of the Americans--emerges triumphant. It was at Coney Island that I came suddenly upon the Pig Slide and had a new conception of what quadrupeds can do for man. The Pig Slide, which was in one of the less noisy quarters of Luna Park, consisted of an enclosure in which stood a wooden building of two storeys, some five yards wide and three high. On the upper storey was a row of six or eight cages, in each of which dwelt a little live pig, an infant of a few weeks. In the middle of the row, descending to the ground, was an inclined board, with raised edges, such as is often installed in swimming-baths to make diving automatic, and beneath each cage was a hole a foot in diameter. The spectators and participants crowded outside the enclosure, and the thing was to throw balls, which were hired for the purpose, into the holes. Nothing could exceed the alert and eager interest taken by the little pigs in the efforts of the ball-throwers. They quivered on their little legs; they pressed their little noses against the bars of the cages; their little eyes sparkled; their tails (the only public corkscrews left in America) curled and uncurled and curled again: and with reason, for whereas if you missed--as was only too easy--nothing happened: if you threw accurately the fun began, and the fun was also theirs. This is what occurred. First a bell rang and then a spring released the door of the cage immediately over the hole which your ball had entered, so that it swung open. The little pig within, after watching the previous infirmity of your aim with dejection, if not contempt, had pricked up his ears on the sound of the bell, and now smiled a gratified smile, irresistible in infectiousness, and trotted out, and, with the smile dissolving into an expression of absolute beatitude, slid voluptuously down the plank: to be gathered in at the foot by an attendant and returned to its cage all ready for another such adventure. It was for these moments and their concomitant changes of countenance that you paid your money. To taste the triumph of good marksmanship was only a fraction of your joy; the greater part of it consisted in liberating a little prisoner and setting in motion so much ecstasy. THE PRESS America is a land of newspapers, and the newspapers are very largely the same. To a certain extent many of them are exactly the same, for the vastness of the country makes it possible to syndicalise various features, so that you find Walt Mason's sagacious and merry and punctual verse, printed to look like prose but never disappointing the ear, in one of the journals that you buy wherever you are, in San Francisco, Salt Lake City, Chicago or New York; and Mr. Montagu's topical rhymes in another; and the daily adventures of Mutt and Jeff, who are national heroes, in a third. Every day, for ever, do those and other regular features occur in certain of the papers: which is partly why no American ever seems to confine himself, as is our custom, to only one. Another and admirable feature of certain American papers is a column edited by a man of letters, whose business it is to fill it every day, either with the blossoms of his own intelligence or of outside contributors, or a little of each: such a column as Don Marquis edits for _The Sun_, called "The Sundial," and Franklin R. Adams for _The Tribune_, called "The Conning Tower," and Christopher Morley for the New York _Evening Post_, called "The Bowling Green." Perhaps the unsigned "Way of the World" in our _Morning Post_ is the nearest London correlative. These columns are managed with skill and catholicity, and they impart an element of graciousness and fancy into what might otherwise be too materialistic a budget. A journalist, like myself, is naturally delighted to find editors and a vast public so true to their writing friends. Very few English editors allow their subscribers the opportunity of establishing such steady personal relations; and in England, in consequence, the signed daily contribution from one literary hand is very rare--to an American observer probably mysteriously so. The daily cartoon is common with us; but in London, for example, I cannot think of any similar literary feature that is signed in full. We have C.E.B.'s regular verse in the _Evening News_ and "The Londoner's" daily essay in the same paper, and various initials elsewhere; but, with us, only the artists are allowed their names. Now, in America every name, everywhere, is blazoned forth. Whatever bushel measures may be used for in the United States the concealing of light is no part of their programme. Another feature of American daily journals comparatively unknown in England is the so-called comic pictorial sequence. All the big papers have from one to half a dozen of these sequences, each by a different artist. Bud Fisher with "Mutt and Jeff" comes first in popularity, I believe, and then there are his rivals and his imitators. Nothing more inane than some of these series could be invented; and yet they persist and could not, I am told, be dropped by any editor who thought first of circulation. After the individual contributions have been subtracted, all the newspapers are curiously alike. The same reporters might be on every one; the same sub-editors; the same composers of head-lines. If we think of Americans as too capable of cynical levity it is largely because of these head-lines, which are always as epigrammatic as possible, always light-hearted, often facetious, and often cruel. An unfortunate woman's failure at suicide after killing her husband was thus touched off in one of the journals while I was in New York: POOR SHOT AT HERSELF BUT SUCCEEDS IN LODGING BULLET IN SPOUSE. When it comes to the choice of news, one cannot believe that American editors are the best friends of their country. I am holding no brief for many English editors; I think that our papers can be common too, and can be too ready to take things by the wrong handle; but I think that more vulgarising of life is, at present, effected by American journalists than by English. There are, however, many signs that we may catch up. Profusion is a characteristic of the American newspaper. There is too much of everything. And when Sunday comes with its masses of reading matter proper to the Day of Rest one is appalled. One thing is certain--no American can find time to do justice both to his Sunday paper and his Maker. It is principally on Sunday that one realises that if Matthew Arnold's saying that every nation has the newspapers it deserves is true, America must have been very naughty. How the Sunday editions could be brought out while the paper-shortage was being discussed everywhere, as it was during my visit, was a problem that staggered me. But that the shortage was real I was assured, and jokes upon it even got into the music halls: a sure indication of its existence. "If the scarcity of paper gets more acute," I heard a comedian say, "they'll soon have to make shoes of leather again." But it is not only the Sunday papers that are so immense. I used to hold the _Saturday Evening Post_ in my hands, weighed down beneath its bulk, and marvel that the nation that had time to read it could have time for anything else. The matter is of the best, but what would the prudent, wise and hard-working philosopher who founded it so many years ago--Benjamin Franklin--say if he saw its lure deflecting millions of readers from the real business of life? When we come to consider the American magazines--to which class the _Saturday Evening Post_ almost belongs--and the English, there is no comparison. The best American magazines are wonderful in their quality and range, and we have nothing to set beside them. It is astonishing to think how different, in the same country, daily and monthly journalism can be. Omitting the monthly reviews, _Blackwood_ is, I take it, our finest monthly miscellany; and all of _Blackwood_ could easily and naturally be absorbed in one of the American magazines and be illustrated into the bargain, and still leave room for much more. And the whole would cost less! Why England is so poorly and pettily served in the matter of monthly magazines is something of a mystery; but part of the cause is the rivalry of the papers, and part the smallness of our population. But I shall always hold that we deserve more good magazines than we have now. TREASURES OF ART I was fortunate in being in New York when the Metropolitan Museum celebrated the fiftieth anniversary of its birth, for I was therefore able to enjoy not only its normal treasures but such others as had been borrowed for birthday presents, which means that I saw Mrs. H. E. Huntington's Vermeer, as well as the supreme Marquand example of that master; more than the regular wealth of Rembrandts, Manet's "Still Life," Gauguin's "Women by the River," El Greco's "View of Toledo," Franz Hals' big jovial Dutchman from Mr. Harry Goldman's walls, and Bellini's "Bacchanale"--to say nothing of the lace in galleries 18 and 19, Mr. Morgan's bronze Eros from Pompeii, and the various cases of porcelain from a score of collections. But without extra allurements I should have been drawn again and again to this magnificent museum. Two of the principal metropolitan donors--Altman and Hearn--were the owners of big dry goods stores, while Marquand, whose little Vermeer is probably the loveliest thing in America, was also a merchant. In future I shall look upon all the great emporium proprietors as worthy of patronage, on the chance of their being also beneficent collectors of works of art. This thought, this hope, is more likely to get me into a certain Oxford Street establishment than all the rhetoric and special pleading of Callisthenes. The Frick Gallery was not accessible; but I was privileged to roam at will both in Mr. Morgan's library and in Mr. H. E. Huntington's, in each of which I saw such a profusion of unique and unappraisable autographs as I had not supposed existed in private hands. Rare books any one with money can have, for they are mostly in duplicate; but autographs and "association" books are unique, and America is the place for them. I had known that it was necessary to cross the Atlantic in order to see the originals of many of the pictures of which we in London have only the photographs. I knew that the bulk of the Lamb correspondence was in America, and at Mr. Morgan's I saw the author's draft of the essay on "Roast Pig," and at Mr. Newton's, in Philadelphia, the original of "Dream Children," an even more desirable possession; I knew that America had provided an eager home for everything connected with Keats and Shelley and Stevenson; but it was a surprise to find at Mr. Morgan's so wide a range of MSS., extending from Milton to Du Maurier, and from Bacon to "Dorian Gray"; while at Mr. Huntington's I had in my hands the actual foolscap sheets on which Heine composed his "Florentine Nights." I ought, you say, to have known this before. Maybe. But that ignorance in such matters is no monopoly of mine I can prove by remarking that many an American collector with whom I have talked was unaware that the library of Harvard University is the possessor of all the works of reference--mostly annotated--which were used by Thomas Carlyle in writing his "Cromwell" and his "Frederick the Great," and they were bequeathed by him in his will to Harvard University because of his esteem and regard for the American people, "particularly the more silent part of them." My hours in these libraries, together with a glimpse of the Widener room at Harvard and certain booksellers' shelves, gave me some idea of what American collectors have done towards making the New World a treasury of the Old, and I realised how more and more necessary it will be, in the future, for all critics of art in whatever branch, and of literature in whatever branch, and all students even of antiquity, if they intend to be thorough, to visit America. This I had guessed at, but never before had known. The English traveller lighting upon so many of the essentially English riches as are conserved in American libraries, and particularly when he has not a meagre share of national pride, cannot but pause to wonder how it came about--and comes about--that so much that ought to be in its own country has been permitted to stray. In England collectors and connoisseurs are by no means rare. What, then, were they doing to let all these letters of Keats and Shelley, Burns and Byron, Lamb and Johnson--to name for the moment nothing else--find their resting-place in America? The dollar is very powerful, I know, but should it have been as pre-eminently powerful as this? Need it have defeated so much patriotism? Pictures come into a different category, for every artist painted more than one picture. I have experienced no shade of resentment towards their new owners in looking at the superb collections of old and new foreign masters in the American public and private galleries; for so long as there are enough examples of the masters to go round, every nation should have a share. With MSS., however, it is different. Facsimiles, such as the Boston Bibliographical Society's edition of Lamb's letters, would serve for the rest of the world, and the originals should be in their author's native land. But that is a counsel of perfection. The only thing to do is to grin and bear it, and feel happy that these unique possessions are preserved with such loving pride and care. Any idea of retaliation on America on the part of England by buying up the MSS. of the great American writers, such as Franklin and Poe, Hawthorne and Emerson, Thoreau and Lowell, Holmes and Whitman, was rendered futile by the discovery that Mr. Morgan possesses these too. I had in his library all the Breakfast Table series in my hands, together with a play by Poe not yet published. MOUNT VERNON Mention of the beautiful solicitude with which these treasures are surrounded, suggests the reflection that the old country has something to learn from the new in the matter of distinguished custodianship. We have no place of national pilgrimage in England that is so perfect a model as Washington's home at Mount Vernon. It is perhaps through lack of a figure of the Washington type that we have nothing to compare with it; for any parallel one must rather go to Fontainebleau; but certain shrines are ours and none of them discloses quite such pious thoroughness as this. When I think of the completeness of the preservation and reconstruction of Mount Vernon, where, largely through the piety of individuals, a thousand personal relics have been reassembled, so that, save for the sightseers, this serene and simple Virginian mansion is almost exactly as it was, I am filled with admiration. For a young people largely in a hurry to find time to be so proud and so reverent is a significant thing. Nor is this spirit of pious reverence confined to national memorials. Longfellow's Wayside Inn in Massachusetts, although still only a hostelry, compares not unfavourably with Dove Cottage at Grasmere and Carlyle's house in Chelsea. The preservation is more minute. But to return to Mount Vernon, the orderliness of the place is not its least noticeable feature. There is no mingling of trade with sentiment, as at Stratford-on-Avon, for example. Within the borders of the estate everything is quiet. I have never seen Americans in church (not, I hasten to add, because they abstain, but because I did), but I am sure that they could not, even there, behave more as if the environment were sacred. To watch the crowds at Mount Vernon, and to contemplate the massive isolated grandeur of the Lincoln Memorial now being finished at Washington, is to realise that America, for all its superficial frivolity and cynicism, is capable of a very deep seriousness. VERS LIBRE It would have been pedantic, while in America, to have abstained from an effort at _vers libre_. REVOLT I had been to the Metropolitan Museum looking at beautiful things and rejoicing in them. And then I had to catch a train and go far into the country, to Paul Smith's. And as the light lessened and the brooding hour set in I looked out of the window and reconstructed some of the lovely things I had seen--the sculptures and the paintings, the jewels and the porcelain: all the fine flower of the arts through the ages. It seemed marvellous beyond understanding that such perfection could exist, and I thought how wonderful it must be to be God and see His creatures rising now and again to such heights. And then I came to a station where there was to be a very long wait, and I went to an inn for a meal. It was a dirty neglected place, with a sullen unwashed man at the door, who called raspingly to his wife within. And when she came she was a slattern, with dishevelled hair and a soiled dress and apron, and she looked miserable and worn out. She prepared a meal which I could not eat, and when I went to pay for it I found her sitting dejectedly in a chair looking with a kind of dumb despair at the day's washing-up still to do. And as I walked up and down the road waiting for the car I thought of this woman's earlier life when she was happy. I thought of her in her courtship, when her husband loved her and they looked forward to marriage and he was tender and she was blithe. They probably went to Coney Island together and laughed with the rest. And it seemed iniquitous that such changes should come about and that merry girls should grow into sluts and slovens, and ardent young husbands should degenerate into unkempt bullies, and houses meant for happiness should decay, and marriage promises all be forgotten. And I felt that if the world could not be better managed than that I never wanted to see any of God's artistic darlings at the top of their form again and the Metropolitan Museum could go hang. DOMESTIC ARCHITECTURE I believe that few statements about America would so surprise English people as that it has beautiful architecture. I was prepared to find Boston and Cambridge old-fashioned and homelike--Oliver Wendell Holmes had initiated me; I had a distinct notion of the cool spaciousness of the White House and the imposing proportions of the Capitol and, of course, I knew that one had but to see the skyscrapers of New York to experience the traditional repulsion! But of the church of St. Thomas on Fifth Avenue I had heard nothing, nor of Mr. Morgan's exquisite library, nor of the Grand Central terminus, nor of the Lincoln Memorial at Washington, nor of the bland charm of Mount Vernon. Nor had I expected to find Fifth Avenue so dignified and cordial a thoroughfare. Even less was I prepared for such metal work and stone work as is to be seen in some of the business houses--such as, for example, the new Guaranty Trust offices, both on Broadway and in Fifth Avenue. Even the elevators (for which we in England, in spite of our ancient lethargy, have a one-syllable word) are often finished with charming taste. Least of all did I anticipate the maturity of America's buildings. Those serene façades on Beacon Street overlooking Boston Common, where the Autocrat used to walk (and I made an endeavour to follow his identical footsteps, for he was my first real author)--they are as satisfying as anything in Georgian London. And I shall long treasure the memory of the warm red brick and easy proportions of the Boston City Hall and Faneuil Hall, and Independence Hall at Philadelphia seen through a screen of leaves. But in England (and these buildings were English once) we still have many old red brick buildings; what we have not is anything to correspond with the spacious friendly houses of wood which I saw in the country all about Boston and at Cambridge--such houses as that which was Lowell's home--each amid its own greenery. Nowhere, however, did I see a more comely manor house of the old Colonial style than Anthony Wayne's, near Daylesford, in Pennsylvania. In England only cottages are built of wood, and I rather think that there are now by-laws against that. Not all the good country houses, big and little, are, however, old. American architects in the past few years seem to have developed a very attractive type of home, often only a cottage, and I saw a great number of these on the slopes of the Hudson, all the new ones combining taste with the suggestion of comfort. The conservation of trees wherever possible is an admirable feature of modern suburban planning in America. In England the new suburb too often has nothing but saplings. In America, again, the houses, even the very small ones, are more often detached than with us. BOSTON Once the lay-out of New York has been mastered--its avenues and numbered cross streets--it is the most difficult city in the world in which to lose one's way. But Boston is different. I found Boston hard to learn, although it was a pleasant task to acquire knowledge, for I was led into some of the quietest little Georgian streets I have ever been in, steep though some of them were, and along one of the fairest of green walks--that between the back of Beacon Street and the placid Charles. Against Boston I have a certain grudge, for I could find no one to direct me to the place where the tea was thrown overboard. But that it was subjected to this indignity we may be certain--partly from the testimony of subsequent events not too soothing to English feelings, and partly from the unpopularity which that honest herb still suffers on American soil. Coffee, yes; coffee at all times; but no one will take any but the most perfunctory interest in the preparation of tea. I found the harbour; I traversed wharf after wharf; but found no visible record of the most momentous act of jettison since Jonah. In the top room, however, of Faneuil Hall, in the Honourable Artillery Company's headquarters, the more salient incidents of the struggle which followed are all depicted by enthusiastic, if not too talented, painters; and I saw in the distance the monument on Bunker's Hill. My cicerone must be excused, for he was a Boston man, born and bred, and I ought never to have put him to the humiliation of confessing his natural ignorance. But the record is there, and legible enough. The tablet (many kind correspondents have informed me since certain of these notes appeared in the _Outlook_) is at 495 Atlantic Avenue, in the water-front district, just a short walk from the South Station, and it has the following inscription: * * * * * HERE FORMERLY STOOD GRIFFIN'S WHARF at which lay moored on Dec. 16, 1773, three British ships with cargoes of tea. To defeat King George's trivial but tyrannical tax of three pence a pound, about ninety citizens of Boston, partly disguised as Indians, boarded the ships, threw the cargoes, three hundred and forty-two chests in all, into the sea and made the world ring with the patriotic exploit of the BOSTON TEA PARTY "No! ne'er was mingled such a draught In palace, hall, or arbor, As freemen brewed and tyrants quaffed That night in Boston Harbor." * * * * * Boston has a remarkable art gallery and museum, notable for its ancient Chinese paintings, its collection of Japanese prints--one of the best in the world, I believe--and a dazzling wall of water-colours by Mr. Sargent. It was here that I saw my first Winslow Homers--two or three rapid sketches of fishermen in full excitement--and was conquered by his verve and actuality. In the Metropolitan Museum in New York I found him again in oils and my admiration increased. Surely no one ever can have painted the sea with more vividness, power and truth! We have no example of his work in any public gallery in London; nor have we anything by W. M. Chase, Arthur B. Davies, Swain Gifford, J. W. Alexander, George Inness, or De Forest Brush. It is more than time for another American Exhibition. As it is, the only modern American artists of whom there is any general knowledge in England are Mr. Sargent, Mr. Epstein and Mr. Pennell, and the late E. A. Abbey, G. H. Boughton, and Whistler. Other Americans painting in our midst are Mr. Mark Fisher, R.A., Mr. J. J. Shannon, R.A., Mr. J. McLure Hamilton, and Mr. G. Wetherbee. The Boston Gallery is the proud possessor of the rough and unfinished but "speaking" likeness of George Washington by his predestined limner Gilbert Stuart, and also a companion presentment of Washington's wife. Looking upon this lady's countenance and watching a party of school girls who were making the tour of the rooms, not uncomforted on their arduous adventure by chocolate and other confections, it occurred to me that if America increases her present love of eating sweets, due, I am told, not a little to Prohibition, George Washington will gradually disappear into the background and Martha Washington, who has already given her name to a very popular brand of candy, will be venerated instead, as the Sweet Mother of her Country. An American correspondent sends me the following poem in order to explain to me the deviousness of Boston's principal thoroughfare. The poet is Mr. Sam Walter Foss:-- One day through the primeval wood A calf walked home, as good calves should; But made a trail all bent askew, A crooked trail, as all calves do. Since then two hundred years have fled, And, I infer, the calf is dead. But still he left behind his trail, And thereby hangs my moral tale. The trail was taken up next day By a lone dog that passed that way; And then a wise bell-wether sheep Pursued the trail o'er vale and steep, And drew the flock behind him too, As good bell-wethers always do. And from that day o'er hill and glade Through those old woods a path was made, And many men wound in and out, And dodged and turned and bent about, And uttered words of righteous wrath Because 'twas such a crooked path; But still they followed--do not laugh-- The first migrations of that calf, And through this winding wood-way stalked Because he wabbled when he walked. The forest path became a lane That bent and turned and turned again; This crooked lane became a road, Where many a poor horse with his load Toiled on beneath the burning sun, And travelled some three miles in one. And thus a century and a half They trod the footsteps of that calf. The years passed on in swiftness fleet, The road became a village street, And then before men were aware, A city's crowded thoroughfare, And soon the central street was this Of a renowned metropolis. And men two centuries and a half Trod in the footsteps of that calf. Each day a hundred thousand rout Followed the zigzag calf about; And o'er his crooked journey went The traffic of a continent. A hundred thousand men were led By one calf near three centuries dead. They followed still his crooked way And lost one hundred years a day; For thus such reverence is lent To well-established precedent. A moral lesson this might teach, Were I ordained and called to preach. For men are prone to go it blind Along the calf-paths of the mind, And work away from sun to sun To do what other men have done. They follow in the beaten track, And out and in and forth and back And still their devious course pursue, To keep the paths that others do. But how the wise old wood-gods laugh Who saw the first primeval calf! Ah, many things this tale might teach--But I am not ordained to preach. PHILADELPHIA I was fortunate in the city over which William Penn, in giant effigy, keeps watch and ward, in having as guide, philosopher and friend Mr. A. Edward Newton, the Johnsonian, and the author of one of the best examples of "amateur" literature that I know--"The Amenities of Book-Collecting." Mr. Newton took me everywhere, even to the little seventeenth-century Swedish church, which architecturally may be described as the antipodes of Philadelphia's newer glory, the Curtis Building, where editors are lodged like kings and can be attained to (if at all) only through marble halls. We went to St. Peter's, where, suddenly awaking during the sermon, one would think oneself to be in a London city church, and to the Historical Museum, where I found among the Quaker records many of my own ancestors and was bewildered amid such a profusion of relics of Penn, Washington and Franklin. In the old library were more traces of Franklin, including his famous electrical appliance, again testifying to the white flame with which American hero-worship can burn; and we found the sagacious Benjamin once more at the Franklin Inn Club, where the simplicity of the eighteenth century mingles with the humour and culture of the twentieth. We then drove through several miles of Fairmount Park, stopping for a few minutes in the hope of finding the late J. G. Johnson's Vermeer in the gallery there; but for the moment it was in hiding, the walls being devoted to his Italian pictures. Finally we drew up at the gates of that strange and imposing Corinthian temple which might have been dislodged from its original site and hurled to Philadelphia by the first Quaker, Poseidon--the Girard College. This solemn fane we were permitted to enter only on convincing the porter that we were not ministers of religion--an easy enough task for Mr. Newton, who wears with grace the natural abandon of a Voltairean, but a difficult one for me. Why Stephen Girard, the worthy "merchant and mariner" who endowed this institution, was so suspicious of the cloth, no matter what its cut, I do not know; no doubt he had his reasons; but his prejudices are faithfully respected by his janitor, whose eye is a very gimlet of suspicion. However, we got in and saw the philanthropist's tomb and his household effects behind those massive columns. That evening I spent in Mr. Newton's library among Blake and Lamb and Johnson autographs and MSS., breaking the Tenth Commandment with a recklessness that would have satisfied and delighted Stephen Girard's gatekeeper; and the next day we were off to Valley Forge to see with what imaginative thoughtfulness the Government has been transforming Washington's camp into a national park and restoring the old landmarks. It was a fine spring day and the woods were flecked with the white and pink blossoms of the dogwood--a tree which in England is only an inconspicuous hedgerow bush but here has both charm and importance and some of the unexpectedness of a tropical growth. I wish we could acclimatise it. The memorial chapel now in course of completion on one of the Valley Forge eminences seemed to me a very admirable example not only of modern Gothic but of votive piety. And such a wealth of American symbolism cannot exist elsewhere. But in the severe little cottage where Washington made his headquarters, down by the stream, with all his frugal campaigning furniture and accessories in their old places, I felt more emotion than in the odour of sanctity. The simple reality of it conquered the stained glass. GENERAL REFLECTIONS Looking back on it all I realise that America never struck me as a new country, although its inhabitants often seemed to be a new people. The cities are more mature than the citizens. New York, Chicago, Boston, Philadelphia, Washington--all have an air of permanence and age. The buildings, even the most fantastic, suggest indigenousness, or at least stability; nor would the presence of more ancient structures increase this effect. To the eye of the ordinary Englishman accustomed to work in what we call the City, in Fleet Street, in the Strand, in Piccadilly, or in Oxford Street, New York would not appear to be a younger place than London, and Boston might easily strike him as older. Nor is London more than a little older, except in spots, such as the Tower and the Temple and the Abbey, and that little Tudor row in Holborn, all separated by vast tracts of modernity. Indeed, I would almost go farther and say that London sets up an illusion of being newer even than New York by reason of its more disturbing street traffic both in the roads and on the footways, and the prevalence of the gaily coloured omnibuses which thunder along so many thoroughfares in notable contrast with the sedate and sober vehicles that serve Fifth Avenue and are hardly seen elsewhere. Meanwhile an illusion of antiquity is set up by New York's habit of commingling business houses and private residences, which surely belongs to an older order of society. In London we have done away with such a blend. Our nearest approach to Fifth Avenue is, I suppose, Regent Street; but there are no mansions among the shops of Regent Street. Our shops are there and our mansions are elsewhere, far away, in what we call residential quarters--such as Park Lane, Queen's Gate, Mayfair, the Bayswater Road, and Grosvenor Square. To turn out of Fifth Avenue into the quiet streets where people live is to receive a distinct impression of sedateness such as New York is never supposed to convey. One has the same feeling in the other great American cities. But when it comes to their inhabitants there are to the English eye fewer signs of maturity. I have never been able to get rid of the idea that every one I have met in America, no matter how grave a senior, instead of being really and self-consciously in the thick of life, is only getting ready to begin. Perhaps this is due in part to the pleasure--the excitement almost--which American business men--and all Americans are business men--take in their work. They not merely do it, but they enjoy doing it and they watch themselves doing it. They seem to have a knack of withdrawing aside and observing themselves as from the stalls, not without applause. In other words, they dramatise continually. Now, one does not do this when one is old--it is a childish game--and it is another proof that they are younger than we, who do not enjoy our work, and indeed, most of us, are ashamed of it and want the world to believe that we live like the lilies on private means. Similarly, many Americans seem, when they talk, to be two persons: one the talker, and the other the listener charmed by the quality of his discourse. There is nothing detrimental in such duplicity. Indeed, I think I have a very real envy of it. But one of the defects of the listening habit is perhaps to make them too rhetorical, too verbose. It is odd that the nation that has given us so much epigrammatic slang and the telegraph and the telephone and the typewriter should have so little of what might be called intellectual short-hand. But so it is. Too many Americans are remorseless when they are making themselves clear. Yet the passion for printed idiomatic sententiousness and arresting trade-notices is visible all the time. You see it in the newspapers and in the shops. I found a children's millinery shop in New York with this laconic indication of its scope, in permanent letters, on the plate-glass window: "Lids for Kids." A New York undertaker, I am told, has affixed to all his hearses the too legible legend: "You may linger, but I'll get you yet." When it comes to descriptive new words, coined rapidly to meet occasions, we English are nowhere compared with the Americans. Could there be anything better than the term "Nearbeer" to reveal at a blow the character of a substitute for ale? I take off my hat, too, to "crape-hanger," which leaves "kill-joy" far in the rear. But "optience" for a cinema audience, which sees but does not hear, though ingenious, is less admirable. Although I found the walls of business offices in New York and elsewhere decorated with pithy counsel to callers, and discouragements to irrelevance, such as "Come to the point but don't camp on it," "To hell with yesterday," and so forth, I am very doubtful if with all these suggestions of practical address and Napoleonic efficiency the American business man is as quick and decisive as ours can be. There is more autobiography talked in American offices than in English; more getting ready to begin. I have, however, no envy of the American man's inability to loaf and invite his soul, as his great democratic poet was able to do. I think that this unfamiliarity with armchair life is a misfortune. That article of furniture, we must suppose, is for older civilisations, where men have either, after earning the right to recline, taken their ease gracefully, or have inherited their fortune and are partial to idleness. It consorts ill with those who are still either continually and restlessly in pursuit of the dollar or are engaged in the occupation of watching dollars automatically arrive. One of the things, I take it, for Americans to learn is how to transform money into a friend. So many men who ought to be quietly rejoicing in their riches seem still to be anxious and acquisitive; so many men who have become suddenly wealthy seem to be allowing their gains to ruin their happiness. For the nation's good nearly every one, I fancy, has too much money. My experience is that England has almost everything to learn from America in the matter of hotels. I consider American second and third-class hotels to be better in many ways than our best. Every American restaurant, of each grade, is better than the English equivalent; the appointments are better, the food is served with more distinction and often is better too. When it comes to coffee, there is no comparison whatever: American coffee is the best in the world. Only quite recently has the importance of the complete suite entered the intelligence of the promoters of English hotels, and in myriads of these establishments, called first class, there is still but one bathroom to twenty rooms. Heating coils and hot and cold water in the rooms are even more rare: so rare as to be mentioned in the advertisements. Telephones in the rooms are rarer. In too many hotels in England there is still no light at the head of the bed. But we have certain advantages. For example, in English restaurants there is always something on the table to eat at once--_hors d'oeuvres_ or bread and butter. In America there is too often nothing ready but iced water--an ungenial overture to any feast--and you must wait until your order has been taken. Other travellers, even Americans, have agreed with me that it would be more comfortable if the convention which decrees that the waiter shall bring everything together could be overruled. Something "to go on with" is a great ameliorative, especially when one is hungry and tired. In thus commending American hotels over English it is, however, only right to admit that the American hotels are very much more expensive. While on the subject of eating, I would say that for all their notorious freedoms Americans have a better sense of order than we. Their policemen may carry their batons drawn, and even swing them with a certain insolent defiance or even provocation, but New York goes on its way with more precision and less disturbance than London, and every one is smarter, more alert. The suggestion of a living wage for all is constant. It is indeed on this sense of orderliness that the success of certain of the American time-saving appliances is built. The Automat restaurants, for example, where the customer gets all his requirements himself, would never do in London. The idea is perfect; but it requires the co-operation of the customer, and that is what we should fail to provide. The spotless cleanliness and mechanical exactitude of these places in New York would cease in London, and gradually they would decline and then disappear. At heart, we in England dislike well-managed places. Nor can I see New York's public distribution of hot water adopted in London. Such little geysers as expel steam at intervals through the roadway of Fifth Avenue will never, I fear, be found in Regent Street or Piccadilly. Our communism is very patchy. There are some unexpected differences between America and England. It is odd, for instance, to find a nation from whom we get most of our tobacco and who have the reputation of even chewing cigars, with such strict rules against smoking. In the Music Halls, which are, as a rule, better than ours, smoking is permitted only in certain parts. Public decorum again is, I should say, more noticeable in an American than an English city, and yet both in San Francisco and New York I dined in restaurants--not late--between 7 and 8--and not furtive hole-in-corner places,--where girls belonging to the establishment, wearing almost nothing at all, performed the latest dances, with extravagant and daring variations of them, among the tables. In London this kind of thing is unknown. In Paris it occurs only in the night cafés. It struck me as astonishing--and probably not at all to the good--that it should be an ordinary dinner accompaniment. I was asked while I was in America to set down some of the chief things that I missed. I might easily have begun with walking-sticks, for until I reached New York I seemed to be the only man in America who carried one, although a San Francisco friend confessed to sometimes "wearing a cane" on Sundays. I missed a Visitors' Book either at the British Embassy in Washington or at the White House. After passing through India, where one's first duty is to enter one's name in these volumes, it seemed odd that the same machinery of civility should be lacking. I missed any system of cleaning boots during the night, in the hotels; but I soon became accustomed to this, and rather enjoyed visiting the "shine parlours," in one of which was this crisp notice: "If you like our work, tell your friends; if you don't like it, tell us." I missed gum-chewing. But it was on returning to England that I began really to take notice. Then I found myself missing America's cleanliness, America's despatch, its hotel efficiency, its lashings of cream, its ice on every hand. All this at Liverpool! I missed later the petrol fountains all about the roads, a few of which I had seen in India, at which the motorist can replenish; but these surely will not be long in coming. I don't want England to be Americanised; I don't want America to cease to be a foreign country; but there are lessons each of us can learn. If I were an American, although I travelled abroad now and then (and I hold that it is the duty of a man to see other lands but live in his own) I should concentrate on America. It is the country of the future. I am glad I have seen it and now know something--however slight--about it at first hand. I made many friends there and amassed innumerable delightful memories. But what is the use of eight weeks? I am ashamed not to have gone there sooner, and humiliated by the brevity of my stay. I have had the opportunity only to lift a thousand curtains, get a glimpse of the entertainment on the other side and drop them again. I should like to go there every other year and have time: time to make the acquaintance of a naturalist and learn from him the names of birds and trees and flowers; time to loiter in the byways; time to penetrate into deeper strata where intimacies strike root and the real discoveries are made; time to discern beneath the surface, so hard and assured, something fey, something wistful, the sense of tears. INDEX Adirondacks, etc. Agra and its Fort Aitken, E. H., his three books Akbar America, its democracy its humour its slang its trains its women its newspapers its MSS. its hotels its maturity American painters in England Americans, at home and abroad Americans, their clothes their physiognomy their disturbing wealth Aquariums Architecture in America "Association" books Baker, Mr. Herbert Bam Bahadur, that great hunter Baseball and cricket Beecher, Henry Ward Benares Berkeley University Bernier on the Moguls Betel-nut chewing Birds in India Blackbuck, the agile Bombay--Towers of Silence Boston Butler, H.E., Sir Harcourt Calcutta--the piano-carriers its snake charmers and the Maidan and its English buildings its old cemetery Charnock, Job Chicago, its hospitable policeman its pictures Cinema, the Cobb, Mr. Irvin Comparisons between America and England Coney Island Cow-worship in India Cricket and baseball Curzon, Lord, his preservation of ancient buildings Dances in India and Japan Delhi--the camel omnibuses its architecture and the Mutiny Fort Dickens, Charles, presentation copies "Eha," his three books Elephanta, caves of Fakirs in India Fatehpur-Sikri Faneuil Hall, Boston Fifth Avenue Foss, Mr. Samuel W., his Boston poem Franklin, Benjamin Fujiyama Funerals in India and England Ganges, the Geisha dances Gilbert, Mr. Cass Girard, Stephen Goschen, Lord, wounds the tiger Hakone, Lake Hawking Herford, Mr. Oliver Hindus, the, and animals Hokusai Holmes, Oliver Wendell Hong-Kong, funeral at Honolulu Hooghli, the Hotels in America Humayun's Tomb Huntington, Mr. H. E. Jahan, Shah, his buildings Jains, the, their preservation of life Japan--its lack of idlers and animal life its women its American reading Japanese, their small stature materialism public manners their gold teeth Journalism in America Katsuragava rapids Keats' _Lamia_, 1820 Kesteven, Sir Charles, his library Khan, Sir Umar Hayat Kohinoor, the Kutb Minar, the Kyoto, its temples Lake Placid Club Lamb, Mr. A. M., his distress at Honolulu Charles, first editions manuscripts Landor, Walter Savage Lavater abroad Lincoln Memorial Liston, Lt.-Col. Glen Lucknow and the Mutiny its delectability Lutyens, Sir Edwin Landseer, R.A., goes hawking and Imperial Delhi and the priests and the divers hunts the tiger Marquis, Mr. Don Moguls, the Mohammedan customs priests Monkeys Morgan, Mr. J. Pierpont Mount Vernon Mutiny, the Myanoshita Nautch, the Nawanagar, the Jam of New or Imperial Delhi New York, its skyscrapers its buildings its aquarium its shops its dances its sky signs its pictures its MSS. its maturity Newspapers in America Newton, Mr. A. Edward Otome Pass Painters, American, in England Parsees, the Peacock Throne, the Philadelphia Pictures in America Prince of Wales in New York Prohibition Pronunciation in America Ranjitsinhji, Prince Rickshaws Roosevelt, Theodore, his Memorial Road "Rose Aylmer" Ruth, "Babe" San Francisco Saranac _Saturday Evening Post_, the Scott, Mr. A. P., his house Sculpture in America Shaw, Mr. Bernard Simplified spelling Skyscrapers Skysigns Slang in America Snake-poison antidotes St. Gaudens, Augustus Stevenson, Robert Louis Swamp-deer hunting Swan, Mr. Thomas, his despair at Honolulu Taj Mahal, the Talmadge, Constance Norma Tavernier on the Moguls Theatre, the, in Japan Tiger hunt, a Tinney, Frank Tokio, its dress its theatre Tolstoi, Count Leo Towers of Silence Townsend, Joe, his ballad Valley Forge Venice and Benares Vers Libre Vultures Washington George Martha Wayne, Anthony Wayside Inn, the Wheeler, Mr. Charles Stetson, his story Women in America in Japan Woolworth Building, the Yamaguchi, Madame Yokohama 
60367	----	[Illustration: 'I trust you, honourable sir, to speak further if you so desire.'] Shibusawa or The Passing of Old Japan By I. William Adams [Illustration] Illustrated by E. Dalton Stevens G. P. Putnam's Sons New York and London The Knickerbocker Press 1906 COPYRIGHT, 1906 BY I. WILLIAM ADAMS =The Knickerbocker Press= PREFACE To hope to understand in a few short years or even in a lifetime the development of the humane, refined, and notably progressive people of Japan would be presumptuous; yet, if I can in these pages contribute in some degree toward that end, I shall feel amply rewarded. I am indebted to those who have preceded me in this field for much of my detail. I shall, moreover, always hold that to my Japanese friends and others, who so cheerfully rendered me assistance in obtaining original matter, should be attributed any merit which this tale of old Japan may possess. Without them it could not have been, and for its shortcomings I alone am responsible. NOTE.--The superior figures throughout the text refer to the notes in the appendix. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE INTRODUCTORY vii I. THE CHRISTENING 1 II. EARLY LIFE 12 III. MEETING WITH KINSAN 21 IV. COURSE DETERMINED 29 V. THE HIDDEN CAVE 35 VI. THE PLEDGE 47 VII. AN UNEXPECTED COMMAND 51 VIII. THE MARRIAGE CEREMONY 59 IX. THE WEDDING FEAST 65 X. THE STOWAWAYS 78 XI. CAST ADRIFT 81 XII. A WOMAN'S PRIVILEGE 89 XIII. DANGER IN SHIBUSAWA'S ABSENCE 97 XIV. THE "NO" DANCE 104 XV. HOME ABANDONED 111 XVI. A GREAT SORROW 118 XVII. THE CHILD 122 XVIII. THE VOW OF VENGEANCE 129 XIX. THE POET'S BANISHMENT 132 XX. THE FORTY-SEVEN RONIN 136 XXI. THE HOME-COMING 142 XXII. A MEETING IN THE GARDEN 147 XXIII. AN UNEXPECTED CALL 153 XXIV. THE GEISHA PARTY 160 XXV. THE UNHAPPY MEETING 167 XXVI. DAIMYO'S PROCESSION 175 XXVII. SHIBUSAWA RECLAIMED 182 XXVIII. THE DAIMYO'S ARREST 188 XXIX. MAIDO'S PENALTY 199 XXX. THE EARTHQUAKE 208 XXXI. THE CHILD'S FATE 212 XXXII. RONIN RAIDS 218 XXXIII. THE RISE OF SHIBUSAWA 223 XXXIV. NEHACHIBANA'S REVENGE 232 XXXV. MOBILIZING THE SAMURAI 241 XXXVI. BATTLE OF FUSHIMA 248 XXXVII. THE TRIUMPHAL ARCH 255 XXXVIII. SAVING THE ARMADA 258 XXXIX. THE BIVOUAC 265 XL. SIEGE OF TOKYO 267 XLI. THE RESTORATION 278 APPENDIX 281 [Illustration] ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE "I TRUST YOU, HONOURABLE SIR, TO SPEAK FURTHER IF YOU SO DESIRE" _Frontispiece_ THE TWO-LIPPED CUP WAS OFFERED ... TAKARA MOISTENED HER LIPS THEREFROM, THEN PASSED IT TO THE BRIDEGROOM 62 KINSAN SAT IN DEEP THOUGHT ... WITH THE CHILD FONDLED IN HER LAP 172 THEIR STEELS RANG WITH THE PERFECTION OF THEIR MAKING 276 INTRODUCTORY That to the new the old must yield had ever been exemplified in Japan, as elsewhere, though until the time of this narrative she had not chosen earnestly to measure the test outside the confines of her own borders. The flowery kingdom of Nippon[1] did not know the world as others knew it, nor had she as yet cared to know it, for she was occupied and contented within her own sphere, hence satisfied and progressive without coming into contact with another civilisation. In love as in law this kindly civil and quaintly constituted people had been moved and swayed, governed and ruled, by the one master spirit, ancestor worship, as marriage was contracted and government prosecuted in accordance with its divine precepts. Regardless of mutual love or natural affinity, the family in its official capacity chose for the husband a wife; and without its decree there was no release, though love was the basic element of their social existence. For better or for worse this condition prevailed and would have controlled the destinies of Shibusawa, as it had those before him, had not a new spirit risen within and possessed him as well as others with whom he was to become related. At the birth of this young prince, which occurred in the month of April, A.D. 1834, Maido, his father, was the lord daimyo[2] of Kanazawa prefecture, comprising the then wealthy and prosperous provinces of Kaga, Echigen, Sado, Echigo, Wakasa, Etchu, and Noto, in the northwestern part of Japan. It was the largest and most powerful of the shogun's[3] many prefectures, and Maido was the last in succession of one of the longest unbroken lines of royal daimyos: under the shogun, he was an undisputed ruler, and his people were among the most progressive and peaceful in the land. Here, as elsewhere, the lord daimyo knew no law except of his own making; always subject, however, to the dictates of an inborn religion and the payment of just dues to his recognised superior, the shogun. Within the prefecture was the daimyo's estate and the source of his material support, and though Tokyo, the shogun's capital city, was decreed his legal residence, his prefectural land was the place of his birth and succession, his principal home, and the real seat of his power. Yet with all his wealth and influence and character, that he, too, as we shall see, must inevitably bow is the unalterable law of progress. SHIBUSAWA [Illustration] SHIBUSAWA CHAPTER I THE CHRISTENING [Illustration]Maido, the lord daimyo, came strolling, late one May day, along a pebbled pathway in his castle grounds at Kanazawa, and while doing so he caught a last glimpse of the great red sun as it slowly sank toward the western horizon. "What a glorious sunset!" said he to himself, as he halted and breathed deeply the sweetened air that floated by, lazily flagging the cherry and cypress trees standing here and there in the garden about him. He paused only a moment, and then slowly approached the family mansion, where he cast his sandals upon the flagstone and bounded upon the polished veranda with a vigour that bespoke a well-preserved age at fifty or more. Once in the house he quietly proceeded to the great chamber and softly clapped his hands, whereupon a servant noiselessly approached, bowed low, and held for his convenience a silken kimono,[4] which he donned and folded in front. Having thus clad himself he turned his back upon Kimon (the Gate of Demons, or northwest comer of the room), crossed his toes under him, and squatted upon the soft, matted floor. A second call brought another servant who placed on the floor in front of him a lacquered brazier filled with live coals, a tobacco tray with tobacco, and a little metal pipe with a long bamboo stem. Maido then sat there, quiet and alone, smoking and wondering, and looking out over the glistening waters at the beautiful sunset, until his eyes closed and his head nodded, and perchance he dreamed of the glories yet to befall the great and good house of Kanazawa. Presently a sliding partition softly opened and there stole to his side a little butterfly whose fairy-like steps did not awaken him and whose presence was unheeded until she cautiously whispered: "Heigh! my lord, my daimyo, am I welcome, that I come?" "Heigh! my wife, my Kakezara, I trust it may not be other than welcome now that you have chanced to come without Maido's permission." "Even so, my honourable master, I present you with a child, born erstwhile the seventh day." "Then have you no better words than these? You know well my wishes. Seven wives have I married and do now give shelter within this splendid castle. To you, the last, is well known my wish, my hope, my command. It is well that you bow low, for if the word be spoken falsely, and speak you shall, then will I unsheathe the sword of Amanosakohoko and bury the tempered steel deep in your heaving breast. No, I will not so degrade you, but will sentence you to harakiri[5]--a death and punishment more befitting your stupid self, for it is a great sin to disobey your lord and master. But speak the word, and truly, and I will raise up your blushing face and mete you the proudest and grandest within my gift. Speak as I command, Kakezara, and you shall be the choice of my heart, the queen of my household. All other wives shall be as servants and shall respond to your bidding. Of kimonos you shall have without number. Your chair shall be inlaid with mother-of-pearl and lacquered with pure gold from the mines of Sado. Sweets suited to your taste shall be made of the best and purest. Speak, O Kakezara, and you shall henceforth reign queen of Maido's household." "My lord, my daimyo, then I would that it were not true, for I cannot undo that which is done even though I am to suffer the ills of an unhappy lot: position is a husband's due, then a wife's happiness. By the spirit of my ancestors and the grace of the gods your command has been obeyed--it is a son." "Ebisu! Ebisu! O Ebisu! god of good luck, how Maido is this day honoured and the gods pleased! for it is my command that he be named Shibusawa, and it is the will of Jimmu that he rise up to good and mighty deeds. Rise, Kakezara, my queen, and place the child in the arms of Okisan; and you, slave, take care that your charge receive due attention that he may grow up strong of body and mind, for so sure as he live he shall be tried by all the gods of hatred and woe. I charge you that no morsel be given him except by your hand, for should ill befall this my child then beware of the ancestral demons who dwell at the shrine of Jigoko. "Kakezara, my lady, proceed to the inner chamber and there remain in strict seclusion until coolies have fetched water from the river Yamato in which to bathe; for as you live you have a secret, and until strengthened by the spiritual waters the temptation to divulge might overcome your desire to obey. I have imparted to you something of that which the gods have willed Shibusawa, that a mother's love and solicitude may the better shield his tender years. Keep it sacred under pain of displeasing your husband and provoking the wrath of Oni, for as it has pleased me that you obeyed so let it please you to obey. Hence, my lady, my Kakezara. "Yendo, ass that you are, pretending ancestral birth befitting to serve a lord daimyo so good and great as I, come hither and bow low before the father of Shibusawa. Go carry Maido's command to the temple of Yeiheiji that seven times seven solemn strokes be sounded, calling upon the spirit of Amaterasu to awaken, that she may welcome the new born. Send swift running messengers to notify all the people that Maido, their lord and master, is the father of a son, christened Shibusawa, whom it has pleased the gods shall rule his ancestral heritage in obedience to the dictates of his own conscience and with honour to his majesty's shogun. Cause to be hung above the entrance to every house red and yellow lanterns that all may take notice, for to those who remain ignorant shall appear spirits mounted upon dragons with eyes of fire and nostrils belching clouds of flame and smoke, as they charge down through the heavens toward Ema-O. "Convey to the people my command that from the new to the old moon, following next, none shall eat more than half his allowance of rice or drink more than half his sake, bringing the remainder to their daimyo's storehouse that a great feast may be indulged. They shall also bring of their silk one-half and of their potted flowers many, that Kakezara, the noble mother, may have kimonos without number and her gardens may be filled with beauty and fragrance. Those engaged in the making of sweets shall make such as will please her taste, and beware that none displease, for better that ten thousand times ten thousand slaves perish at their labour than Kakezara, queen of Maido's household, be not served without the slightest displeasure. Let the most famed of workers in wood and lacquer be called together that they may counsel with one another about the making for Kakezara a chair; and, as I myself have taught them well in this art, let all beware that when the work is done there be none other so good; for I shall not be so base as to spare even one who shall in the least manner slight his labour or fail in his part. "I command that the governor of each province select the fairest daughters from among his kinsmen, that there may assemble at the shibai (place of amusement), during the first moon of the iris and the lotus, not less than seven times seventy-seven virgins with rosy complexions and pleasing manners, for the goddess Benten has willed Maido the pleasures of at least three moons. Tell the household keeper to make ready chambers fronting on gardens filled with the perfume of flowers and the song of birds, and, when the hour has come, to assemble these fairies in the silken hall of love, that their lord daimyo, like Jimmu of old, may descend the fêted stair into a world of beauty and pleasure. "And when all else has been done you will instruct him that henceforth Kakezara shall occupy the choicest pillow at the head of Maido's lawful wives, and that of them her voice shall be first in authority: that her rank at bath shall be next to Shibusawa's and first among her sex." The news of Shibusawa's birth and christening soon spread, and the excitement wore heavily from the meanest coolie to Maido himself, though probably none was more worried than Yukesan, the oldest and meanest servant in the household. This faithful old slave had climbed daily, for seven successive days before the christening, to the top of Onnasaka, and each time as often bumped her head upon the cold hard stone at the base of Kishemogin's tomb, praying for the goddess mother of fiends to come and claim the new born. For seven months prior thereto even, she had importuned this fiendish goddess to render Maido's lawful wives incapable of bearing a male child, hoping that her own fatherless imp, Okyo,--now seven years of age, with slight form and stooped shoulders, his eyes small and his head peaked, whose hair stood out like bristles on a porcupine, while his nose looked owlish and his ears as a squirrel's,--might naturally be adopted and thus become the inheritor of his master's rank and place. The rest of the household busied themselves with the day's rounds or discussing the probable change at the castle, for little were they interested in outside affairs. They were not concerned with the possible new daimyo's bearing upon the welfare at large, for they were destitute of power to aid, hence without any inclination to heed; where the only hope in life was to do the bidding of a master. Each courted his own content and permitted others likewise to suffer or adapt their own circumstances. They were an independent lot, hence their abject dependence. When, therefore, the hour for feasting had arrived, and each little tray, hustled in and set upon the floor in front of the person served, was seen to contain a small satsuma bowl, filled with a rare delicacy--consisting of real live worms (a kind of salt water shrimp), wriggling and crawling, and served only upon extraordinary occasions--everybody accounted his master a noble of the royal blood. Eating, smoking, and drinking were interspersed with a lagging conversation until the last was stretched at length upon the spotless matting, his only place of sleeping. Maido, too, had gone to sleep at an early hour, and when he awakened the next morning he felt refreshed, and was well pleased with a recollection of preceding events. Without rising, he reclined on his elbow and looked out at the landscape around, for early in the morning servants had noiselessly removed the outer partitions so that their master could lounge on the floor and enjoy the open air at his pleasure. This morning the sun's rays seemed to give a little more warmth than usual, and as they fell amongst the green foliage the large drops of dew reflected sparkling gems that lolled on the hollow leaflets, or trickled down the long and bended blades of grass. "What a glorious world, and how sweet to live in!" thought he, as he lay there revelling in the beauties of art and nature. Strong and vigorous of body, mind, and heart, as only those are who are at peace with the world, he arose and briskly crossed the room to the inner veranda. Then, casting off his night kimono, he lightly tripped down upon a marble slab, and running along the smooth footpath to an arbour, overhung with vine and flower, plunged into the bracing waters already prepared for his coming. After the bath, massage, and shave, attended by waiting servants, he donned walking apparel and sprang down along the winding walk among dwarfed trees, under artificial cliffs, and around miniature mountains; here he crossed a red-lacquered bridge and there passed a gorge or waterfall; coming, presently, to a crystal lake, he made an unsuccessful throw or two, then cast his rod aside and continued his tramp in the open or through the brush and bamboo to a distant corner of the garden. Here he slackened his gait and with reverence approached the solemn shrine wherein stood the tomb of Hajama, the illustrious founder of his august family; and there, in the quiet, and alone, at the base of this strangely carved monument, he knelt and clapped his hands and reverently bowed to the spirit of his immortal ancestor. When his morning prayer was finished Maido quietly left the misty place and walked out again into the freshness of life and past the playground where groups of children romped on the green or chattered with childish glee. As he passed them by he paused only to look at them for a moment and then walked on toward the great gate in front. Now and then he stooped to pluck a leaflet, or stood listening to the tuneful zephyrs as they played among the branches; sometimes he stopped to watch the light and shadows chase each other across the grassy sward, or started at the sonorous, "Haugh! Haugh! Haugh!" wafted from high overhead. "Truly he is the master bird," sighed he, as he watched the black thing perching upon a lofty branch or soaring above, issuing his harrowing notes and stirring the nerves of superstitious Japan. Presently, as usual upon such occasions, Okyo emerged from a cluster of bushes and came bowing and bumping and crawling--half confident, half fearful--after his master; who now stood admiring the huge wisteria which overhung the black-lacquered gate and bronze trimmings. Observing the boy's presence, Maido said, kindly, and without turning around: "Heigh! is that you, Okyo, my funny little slave? Pray tell me what brings you here so early in the day?" "Heigh! I thought you might be lonely and I'd come and drive away the fox." "But, my lad, what have you been doing that your kimono is wet and covered with mud?" "I've been down at the beach fishing for crabs. I wonder why Kami doesn't make crabs grow on land?" "My child, he has placed them in the waters of the deep sea so that none but the industrious and the brave may enjoy so choice a food." "Are daimyos industrious and brave?" Maido made no answer to the boy's inquiry but turned toward the fragrant vine, and stood admiring the bright foliage, possibly dreaming of the future of his son and heir, until Okyo once more began chattering. "Heigh! great master, please why is the vine so large and beautiful?" "Heigh! Okyo, it is because our ancestral gods have so created it." "But why do not the gods create vines so large and so beautiful for all men?" "Because, my child, all men are not given to such beauty." "Are all daimyos inclined toward only that which is beautiful?" "Yes. They are descended from the gods of goodness and love, and as the spirits of these gods dwell in the realms of heavenly beauty so do the minds of daimyos dwell upon things of earthly beauty." "If daimyos think and do only things which are beautiful, why do they cut men's heads off?" "That is done in obedience to the commands of our superiors; and, I assure you, there is nothing more beautiful than an act of obedience to our masters." "Will Shibusawa be a daimyo when he grows up?" "Yes; if his head be spared so long and his father's not." "Will I, too, be a daimyo when I am a man?" "No, child. How came you to think of such a thing?" "Because mother says I look like Shibusawa, and I don't see why I shouldn't be just like him." "You shall be Shibusawa's friend and confidant." "Why shall I be his friend and confidant?" "Because you will comfort and console him during moments of contemplation and despair, just as you have myself since you were first able to tread about my gardens on wooden stilts." "Why will I comfort and console him?" "Because you are the son of--only a mother, who is of Kishemogin and possessed of less wit and more cunning than a fox. Now then, hie you away to your mother's mat and feast well upon rice and fish so that you may grow strong in endurance, for you shall have many and severe trials in following this youth ere he has much passed your age." "Oh," said Maido, to himself, "see him run away in obedience to my command! There is not yet a twig so crooked or a thing so small but it can be made of use. As the mould is shaped so will be the cast. He is of the right material. I shall see that he grows up after my liking, bend him to the task properly, and thus provide the instrument through which Shibusawa may acquit himself of the thankless duties imposed by Bishamon, god of provocation." CHAPTER II EARLY LIFE From the recording of Shibusawa's birth in the Keidzu, the daimyo's great book, until he had passed sixteen (the average age of discretion in Japan), there was but little in his life that is of interest so far as this story is concerned. Maido was always solicitous about the child's care, and took every precaution to have him taught only such ideas as were in accord with his ancestors' and the preconceived notions of the shogun's government. The son inherited from his father much of his stalwartness and determination, and from his mother something of those finer qualities, tenderness and forbearance, which combined at an early age to quicken in him a deeper sense and insure a broader scope of life. He evinced at an early age an untiring devotion to his studies and to a research for truth; and all the many castle buildings were soon even more familiar to him than to Maido, and he knew well the history, the uses, and the purposes of each. The castle ramparts were his playgrounds, and each swordsman and every archer was a slave indeed. Either in company or alone he had traversed all the macadam roads, leading from village to village and province to province; and in palace or house, from city to country, he knew the people and they knew him, and as he grew older they learned to love and respect him as they did Maido himself. Nor was he content with what he saw and heard at home, but as he grew he began to thirst for a knowledge of the outer world; though in this he had been discreet as regards his father, for however ambitious his desires he had not once expressed a wish. Maido knew too well that there were more peace and contentment and less crime and misery at home than elsewhere, and very wisely wished his son to be kept from too close a discernment until he had arrived at maturer years. Shibusawa's desire to go, however, finally grew into a determination. Whereupon, as was usual in such matters, he took Okyo into his confidence, at least to the extent of consulting him how best to frustrate his father without disobeying him. Now Okyo reasoned that as Shibusawa had not asked the privilege of going he had never been admonished to stay; so, after consulting Fudo, god of enlightenment, thus easing his conscience, he advised that it was best to make ready and go, without endangering their chances by asking permission of anybody. Shibusawa, though doubtful of its propriety, readily conceded the wisdom of Okyo's reasoning, for above all other things he would not disobey: strategy, while not characteristic of him, he deemed the proper thing, as it was no more an inborn trait than a national virtue. Early that autumn, accordingly, he began to curtail his expenses as much as he could without arousing suspicion, and to save from his allowance a fund with which to defray the cost of their contemplated trip. The time of starting was a difficult thing to determine, as under ordinary circumstances Shibusawa was almost certain to be recognised while passing the gates, and unless a very good reason was apparent to the guards such a circumstance would have been immediately reported to the castle. Here Okyo again displayed his judgment by advising the day after Nobori-iche, boys' festival (May 5th), it being the day upon which Maido would start upon his regular visit into the country. This trip generally lasted from two to four weeks, and ever since Shibusawa's birth the starting had been put off until this particular date,--as often, when the boy had grown older, he was taken along; yet his going was never compulsory or even urged against his pleasure. When the allotted time came Shibusawa again started off with his father and suite, but before they had gone far he suddenly changed his mind and pleaded to be allowed to return. Maido, though disappointed in the loss of his son's company and not the least suspicious of a serious motive, readily granted permission, and Shibusawa lost no time in joining Okyo at a certain agreed place, where the former quickly changed his silken kimono and lacquered shoes for the regular dress of a pilgrim, while the latter with less trouble donned the same kind of garb. Thus disguised they passed through the city and escaped into the country, in a direction opposite to that taken by his father, and travelled along unmolested until they had gone entirely out of Maido's domain and into the territory of a hostile neighbour. Having thus placed himself beyond pursuit, Shibusawa despatched a message to his father explaining fully his intentions and assuring him of his safety. Maido was, thereupon, overwhelmed with anxiety, yet he made no attempt to follow. He realised that his only hope of seeing him again lay in the boy's own discretion and voluntary return; pursuit would have been the means of disclosing his identity to a bitter and jealous rival, and thenceforth he must be in danger of death and possible torture. The getting off without discovery had so occupied and stimulated Shibusawa that he had as yet given but little thought to the dangers and hardships which confronted him. True, he was acquainted with laws and customs at home, and was not altogether unfamiliar with those in force elsewhere, yet he quickly discovered that the spirit and regulations in a country continually at war are necessarily very different from those of one where quiet and industry prevail. However, he had set out for a definite purpose and he did not mean to lose courage, nor let any obstacle stand in the way of accomplishing what he had undertaken. He had chosen the one disguise that would make excuse and enable him to pass through the country, provided he travelled from temple to temple and shrine to shrine, the proper business of a pilgrim. And as Okyo had had at home some experience of this kind he at first relied upon him to lead the way and avoid any serious conflict with the numerous police, guards, and spies who infested the region which they were about to explore. He trusted to his father's good judgment to make no attempt to follow; yet to be entirely safe he chose, for the moment, to avoid Kyoto, and the more noted shrines of that locality, and to keep to the westward and overland toward Shimonoseki and Nagasaki, in the extreme west and south. Wandering about almost at will and without undue interference they visited all of the principal shrines and places, including, on the return trip, Kyoto, Nara, and Kamakura in the far east. It was now almost Kawabisaki, the Day of the Opening of the River (July twenty-fifth)--at Tokyo, the residence seat of the shogun--and as Shibusawa had never witnessed a celebration of the local autumn holiday he very much desired to join in the coming festivities. Hence by special effort and by hastily passing some of the minor places of interest they reached the capital city late on the second day preceding the gala ceremonies. They were surprised upon their arrival, however, to find that they were none too soon, and that the rush of pilgrims and traders already made it difficult of obtaining quarters close to the main entrance at the palace grounds, the much coveted place of rendezvous. As their expenses had hitherto been even lighter than expected, Shibusawa was still provided with ready funds, and he now proposed to get as near the main approach as he could without seeming impertinent, and as a matter of convenience, as well as respect, to secure the best accommodations consistent with their apparent stations. Thus they finally established themselves at the Look-See tea house, a favourite hostelry for the better class of pilgrims, and were assigned quarters on the top floor plainly in view of the gates and directly on the line of march. This noted caravansary did not differ much from the rest of the two-storied open-sided thatch-roofed houses resembling hay-stacks on stilts that lined both sides of the narrow streets which emerged closely from the outer entrance at the palace enclosure. Within the house, in the broad and airy tea rooms below, or on the soft matted floors above, these jolly transient and sometimes happy wits would sit or lounge discussing, over a cup of tea or a bowl of sake, the topics of the day or the gossip of their particular neighbourhood. Without, the brilliant lights, the gaily dressed, the sound of the koto,[6] the song of the geishas,[7] the clatter of shoes, the parley of tradesmen, the chatter of voices, the endless round of life from early morning till late at night, might well have turned the heads and emptied the pockets of the thirsty throngs who ever crowded the happy-go-lucky place. Much of all this could be distinctly seen and heard from Shibusawa's apartments in the second story, fronting the plaza, nor did he lose an opportunity, for he was there to see and learn as well as to rest and enjoy himself. Thus he remained quiet and observant, without venturing upon the street, until the evening of the second day after their arrival. In the meantime Okyo had been sent out to reconnoitre the principal places and the liveliest dancing girls, in which he was materially assisted by an Osaka merchant who occupied an adjoining room. Thereupon, after a sup at the restaurant and a quiet smoke on the floor, they all sauntered off in quest of such pleasures and excitement as the night might afford. As this was the last night before the grand parade the streets were unusually crowded and the buying was brisk. Now more than at any other time the servants and retainers and their families were permitted to come outside the walled enclosure and into the streets in quest of trinkets and gewgaws with which to ornament and bedeck themselves on the following day; the chance to elbow these favoured ones, probably more than a desire to buy, brought there many of the city's curiously inclined; the opportunity afforded the guests, emptied the numerous inns; and all together, when mingled under myriads of bright lanterns, amid the tinsel and the noise, it was a sight most glaring and intensely interesting. Shibusawa and Okyo had edged their way along for some time and until they had passed through the main shopping districts and into the nokodos' (marriage brokers') quarters, with its barren little stalls, narrow doors, and large gaudy sign-poles projecting like charred remnants of a burned brush patch. Here there were girls in silks and girls in rags, all being dragged alike, one after another, in long rows, by mothers in need of ready cash, before the several nokodos, who were each and all haggling and quarrelling over the price of this or the qualities of that one; always closing the bargain if closed at all with some ejaculation expressing great sorrow at having paid too much or received too little for the "honourable unhandsome one." Shibusawa looked on for a while not so much at the formality, for that was a common thing, but at the attitude of the parties, which impressed him deeply. He could understand the brokers' motive, as there are always those who are designed to thrive on the weakness or misfortune of others--especially when the law makes such a business legitimate or possible. The mothers he divined to be mostly the victims of too generous self-indulgence; who were now hardened by necessity and excused by custom. But the daughters--why their complacency? Was it a decree of law or of love that caused these young maidens, some of them beautiful, attractive, or intelligent, to exercise the most stoical indifference while the mother was bargaining them off at the best price obtainable? As Shibusawa passed them by, or stood and looked, his heart throbbed and he almost said aloud: "Can this be God's will?" Moving on with some difficulty they soon came to a place a trifle more pretentious than others, where they unconsciously entered and pushed their way close to the nokodo who sat on the floor at the opposite side of the room. After several offerings had been scanned and pinched and jostled, then bought or passed, a middle-aged woman of more than ordinary presence first hesitated, then advanced and bowed to the bejewelled broker, whose keen, sharp eyes squinted under a narrow, wrinkled brow. A rosy-cheeked, innocent young daughter of fourteen stood nestled at her mother's side, blushing, though erect. Shibusawa stood contemplating not the persons but the act, and when the mother had made her best plea and was about to accept the price offered his strong frame shook, his face whitened, and he resolutely said in a clear voice: "No; I will give you three hundred yens (dollars) besides an additional one hundred to bear the charge." The nokodo was more than pleased to get the lawful commission without assuming any risk, and in consequence drew up the proper bill of sale from Torimas, mother of Shiyoganai, to Shibusawa, a pilgrim. It had been specified and provided that Shibusawa should be the lawful owner of Shiyoganai for a period of three years from that date, and that in consideration of the extra one hundred yens the child should remain the charge of her mother. When properly signed, sealed, and delivered Shibusawa paid over the money and carefully folded the document inside his girdle, while he and Okyo then went their way and the mother and daughter returned to their home. CHAPTER III MEETING WITH KINSAN Shibusawa returned to his lodgings shortly after midnight, and soon lay down to sleep. He had seen more of the gay side of life than ever before, and though in a measure not averse to it he was deeply impressed with some of the incidents, which he thought unnecessary if not vicious. And now that the revelry was dying out and the night regaining its quietude he slept soundly until a late hour. When he arose he pushed back the sliding partition, and a warm burst of sunlight streamed into the room; the air was balmy, and the once deserted streets were again taking on renewed life; the brocaded hillside across the moat in front, with its samurai huts and maple trees, waved and sparkled with a thousand tints. It was a joyous morning, and Shibusawa ate and drank to his content as he sat and watched the oncoming of the day's festivities. He had not long to wait, though, for Iyeyoshi, twelfth Shogun, was more noted for his ceremonious punctuality than for his official dignity; there had been so little of importance to mark the shogunate for more than a century that each incumbent had become rather indifferent to everything except pomp and show. Therefore the procession began to move promptly at twelve o'clock, and in less than an hour the chair of state came up to the inner gate and halted--as did also each detachment, before crossing over into the profane world--so that his royal highness might bow and pray the gods for a happy going and safe return. Details of soldiery and squads of officials, interspersed with symbolic banners and huge floats, were aligned according to birth and rank, and as they moved along, strange incantations or lamentations arose above the din of discordant instruments and the loud shouts of excited men, who leaped in the air or threw themselves upon the earth in wild exultation. Shibusawa sat and watched the long procession slacken and start with each recurring interruption, until a temporary pause brought to a standstill directly opposite to him a high float which was arranged like a pyramid and covered with flowers, shrubs, and vines. Amid the lotus blossoms in the centre there sat a young maiden not more than fifteen, who wore a crown of maple leaves and did her hair in a manner to indicate that she was yet unmarried. Her hair was black and abundant, and set beautifully a rosy face in which a pair of large dark eyes betokened tenderness, if a little serious. Her kimono was of soft but plain material and folded gracefully about her, and she quietly sat there the queen of the shogun's garden, though only the daughter of its keeper. She did not turn this way or that as others did to attract attention, but modestly looked at the beautiful things around her, thinking only of the honours due to her kind and beneficent shogun, for whom she was then being privileged to do homage. It was while her attention was thus directed that Shibusawa first saw Kinsan. She sat so high up among the flowers as to be almost on a level with his place of sitting, and she was so close that he could have spoken to her had he dared or deigned to do so. She did not observe his keen recognition nor was she conscious of his presence until the carriers began slowly to straighten up and make ready to go forward. Then as if by intuition she turned and looked toward him and as she did so his eyes fairly met hers. Shibusawa did not look away, but became more intent as her soft dark eyelashes drooped and a faint flush crept into her cheek. A something which he had never before experienced came upon him, and for the moment he felt bewildered and unable to move or speak, and when the float had gone and Kinsan was lost in the distance he made an effort as if to follow; then recovering himself he lapsed into serious thought. He had little further interest in the parade and gave no heed to it until the high-raised chair and brilliant trappings of the shogun himself went past. He was conscious only that a new life had dawned: that something had taken hold of him which was new to his being; something which seemed to wield a more powerful influence over him than even the presence of the shogun--the one person other than his own kith and kin whom he had been taught to revere as supreme. The stately train marched along, though Shibusawa had dismissed all but the one event; the circumstance that raised the most serious problem which as yet had confronted him. "Is it possible after all that there is something higher and better than kings and ancestors?" thought he, as he grappled with the struggle which had already seized him. "And yet the instrument of that something but a woman? What thing is this that seems so contrary to all our philosophy, so different from our religion, yet keenly gnawing at my very inner self? I needs must find out and if possible confront the author; the one who has so impressed me, even though she be but a woman and I a transgressor." So saying he called Okyo and proposed that they, too, follow the line of march to the river's bank, or so far as they might be permitted to go. By this time great crowds of sight-seers had fallen in behind the procession, and Shibusawa was compelled to take his place with the rest and plod along as best he could. The route traversed was along an old roadway, which wound its course through a thickly inhabited part of the city, coming directly to the ancient bridge Ryozoku. As they wended their way past endless rows of deserted houses or closed shops, amidst streamers and bunting, Shibusawa became deeply impressed with the boundless patriotism and intense loyalty of the people. Everywhere they were doing homage and nowhere was heard the voice of discontent. He felt more than ever proud of his country, and realised as never before the importance of each individual's place. They reached the river, Sumida, long after the last of the courtiers had passed, and the long bridge was then so thronged as to be impossible of further access. Hence they abandoned that, the choicest vantage point, and remained on the bank of the river, from which they got only an indistinct view of the shogun and his suite as they sailed down the river in their gaily-decked house-boats, and passed under the bridge, the crowning feat of the day. Had they been closer Shibusawa might have recognised, in a boat close after the shogun's, familiar faces--the same that escaped him earlier in the day, while he sat dreaming of Kinsan and the accidental meeting. Now that the most exciting feature of the day had passed, Shibusawa's thoughts reverted to the incident which had so deeply impressed him. Try as best he might he could not dismiss it, and after a while he became anxious, and wondered if it were possible to see her again; and if he should, would she recognise him? Then he said to himself: "Why should she recognise me? And, what is more, why should I seek to see her?" However, he did try to see her, and when it became certain that there was no chance of doing so at the river he grew impatient, though more determined. The daylight fireworks floating high in the air; the music, the songs, and the laughter wafted from the river; the dancing, the feasting, and the merry-making on shore, ceased to be of interest, and by the time they had finished a light luncheon at a convenient tea house Shibusawa became anxious to return to their own lodgings. He had made up his mind that the most likely place to meet the young maiden a second time was at the very one where he first met her. There she should pass while returning from the fête, though under what circumstances he did not know. And would she look again, or had she not remembered him? These and many more were the questions which Shibusawa asked himself during the interval of returning and waiting; and as time passed he grew uneasy. Something burned within him, and he felt that he must see and know this beautiful woman. He sat quietly in his rooms thinking only of her coming. Presently a hurrying and gathering upon the street signified the returning of the royal party; whereupon Shibusawa sprang up and seated himself at the balcony's edge, so that none could pass without his seeing him. A number of detachments had passed in order, and then Kinsan came as before, except that she was accompanied by several girl friends whom she had been permitted to invite with her on the return trip. They were laughing and chatting about things which pleased them most, and Kinsan's added charms appealed more than ever to Shibusawa. He leaned over the balcony, as if drawn toward her by an unseen hand, and prayed that in some way her attention might be drawn to him and that he might once more look into her eyes, if only for an instant. Kinsan was so engaged with her companions that she seemed about to go by without even a chance look, and as she came closer his heart appeared almost to stand still; though he was soon to be transported, for when directly opposite, Kinsan gave him the long looked for opportunity. Nor was there any mistaking her intention for mere accident. Shibusawa read that she too had experienced some sort of feeling which this time prompted her to look, and to manifest an interest, if not desire. It was more than he could bear to let her go in silence; she would not stop again, and he had not a moment to lose; he felt that he must speak to her--his very life depended upon it--he knew not why, nor did he care. He must do what his heart told him to do. Now had he realised his present position Shibusawa might not have done what he was about to do, but with his whole heart set upon one thing he for the moment forgot himself, and ran down the straight-set stairs and out at the front, wholly under the force of blind impulse. Under ordinary circumstances there would have been no breach in doing what he sought to do, for custom gave a gentleman the right to approach an inferior without the least formality. When he reached the street he found it difficult to pass, and in consequence ran close to the moving column and toward Kinsan. Coming almost within reach of her he ran against an officer--who followed next after her--and before he could fully recover his balance the angered samurai whipped out his long sword and struck him a blow that felled him; and not being satisfied with this punishment he made a thrust at the prostrate man and ran him through to the ground. Fortunately Okyo had followed close after, and upon reaching his helpless master he threw himself in front and personally suffered the tramping and jeering of the curious crowds--he was too grieved and thoughtless to offer any other relief, and lay there face downward, pulling at the soiled clothing and crying, "Shibusawa! Shibusawa!" They had not remained in that situation long, however, till the lord daimyo of Kanazawa himself marched up--his carriers stumbling in an effort to pass the stricken Shibusawa and his faithful watch--when Okyo cried out as before the name of his master. Maido, only too accustomed to hearing this same distressing cry, would have gone by without heed had he not unmistakably distinguished the name of his son. He listened and heard it again, distinctly recognising Oyko's voice. Without waiting to call a halt he swung open the door, and to the amazement of all leaped to the ground. Divining the full situation the lord daimyo quickly threw himself at the side of his almost lifeless boy, and raising him in his arms called for water. After reviving him, and making a hasty examination of the wound, Maido ordered attendants to place Shibusawa in the chair and hasten with him to his own home. CHAPTER IV COURSE DETERMINED Kinsan had fortunately turned toward her companions and did not see any of the cruelty of the officer who so hastily invoked his authority. Her sudden exchange of glances with Shibusawa was unobserved by the rest of the party, and as they resumed their going Kinsan continued in her former happy mood, betraying only now and then a slight flush, or an indifferent far-away look. Though she was deeply impressed she had not attached any particular significance to the strange meeting, and had no thought of its being even the second time other than accidental. The returning procession broke line as each division passed the main palace door, the several detachments proceeding to their separate destinations as custom or convenience might require, and accordingly the flower float was carried directly to the home of its chosen goddess. The house occupied by Kinsan and her parents was a little red-lacquered cottage which, standing at the farther end of a small garden plot, under an overhanging cliff, and at the side of a small brook which trickled down through the moss-covered rocks, was almost hidden from view by flowers, tall bushes, and trailing vines. It was reached by means of a long, narrow path, which branched off from the main roadway just inside the last gate and below the citadel, winding its way around the hillside, through a bit of woodland, past rocky gorges, and over a high, lacquered bridge, terminating at the bamboo gate which stood in front. Here Fujimoto, her father, had been permitted to live with his family and work in the gardens all his life-time as had his father and grandfathers for many generations before him. Kinsan had never before been favoured with any special privileges, and except for her rare beauty and sweet disposition she might not have been selected to represent Asama, goddess of flowers. Though from birth her playground had been under the shadow of the great shogun's palace she had never before been permitted to approach him so closely, and if he had ever even by accident spoken to her she did not remember it. However, the proximity of her dwelling and the occupation of her father had given her entrance to all parts of the mysterious enclosure, and in consequence she not only was familiar with the buildings and grounds but knew something of the habits and customs of all the household. Her bright simplicity and pleasing manners had so impressed others that she was well known to all of the servants and to many of the attachés, and had become a favourite among them. Of these there was one who more than any other took a fancy to Kinsan, and had repeatedly expressed other than a passing interest in her. He had watched her closely for more than two years and already several times approached her father, offering to buy the little maiden, as he called her, at a liberal price, to serve his convenience for the lawful period of three years. All these proposals had been stoutly refused, though in a measure favoured by the mother--thrifty woman--who was not only captivated by the position of the applicant but inclined to consider three hundred yens of more service to the family than a doubtful daughter, especially that there were three others growing up. Although the daughter had no right to be and never was a party to any of these negotiations she had heard enough to convince her that however repulsive this fellow, Tetsutaisho, might be, there was a good prospect of her being compelled sometime to sacrifice her life to gratify his desires. She could see but one hope, and that was in her father's love. Her mother, poisoned as she was, had even gone so far as to entertain the base proposal in the presence of Kinsan herself, whose innate sense of propriety had each time prompted her to run away, with a blush of indignation. She knew that he had been instrumental in procuring for her the honour of that day, and yet she could not thank him, for she well realised that it was probably by his own arrangement that he and his detachment was placed in line next after her; not that she might thus be honoured, but that he might gaze upon her there in her helpless situation; for now that she had grown older and knew his intentions she had come to regard him with something of horror, and tried as much as she could to avoid his presence. Whether Tetsutaisho had observed the glance of recognition which passed between Shibusawa and Kinsan matters not, for his rank in the shogun's army permitted him to strike down any one of the common people who dared so much as to brush against his garment. He was a broad, sunken-chested man, nearly six feet tall, and though less than thirty years of age wore the uniform of a taisho (minor general) and was in fact a favourite of the shogun's. There were a few stiff, blue-black hairs on his face as an excuse for a beard, and a pair of small bullet eyes glanced furtively or hung sullenly from his coarse, brutal countenance. When Tetsutaisho struck Shibusawa he did so intending to cut him down as an example of authority--and as a warning to others of his supposed class--and thinking he had killed him outright with only a stroke and a thrust he squared about and swaggered on with his chest distended and his head thrown back. It was a fortunate circumstance that Okyo was near at hand when Shibusawa fell, for though the thrust was not a vital one, it was dangerously near the heart and occasioned considerable loss of blood and much weakness. The blow had so stunned him that he lay unconscious and not only in the way of those marching, but subject to the cuffs and kicks of his fellows, who were profuse in their cries of, "Shame be upon the etas![8] He insulted his honourable superior!" However, Okyo's faithfulness and the father's coming saved him, while proper treatment and a vigorous constitution soon effected his complete recovery. Nor was it any the less luck that Maido was there, for only his intense patriotism caused the lord daimyo, in the uncertain absence of his son, to quit his comfortable Kanazawa place and repair thus early to the Tokyo castle. It was an unusual thing for him to take up his residence at the capital city before late in the autumn, though in point of elegance and diversion of thought the latter home far surpassed the former. This, the largest and oldest of the several daimyos' castles at Tokyo, stood inside the second and just outside the inner moat which surrounded the palace. The grounds were spacious, and lay to the left of the main driveway, going toward the palace, close up against the inner moat. Indeed, it was the choice of a gentle slope which fringed the hill, rising on the opposite side of the moat, within the sacred enclosure above. A high stone battlement, battered and overgrown, stood sentinel at the water's edge, and all around giant cypress and strange foliage told of another day. Here, in this place, was builded the official seat of one man, a daimyo, now Maido, who was the most favoured and courted at a shogun's court, and who commanded the wealth, the intellect, and the aspiration of a thousand years of unbroken, unknown, and unsatisfied progress. Its environment spoke for the present; its tombs, of the past. To this place, with such circumstances, Shibusawa was carried, and for the first time in his life entered there; a coming hoped and looked for, an ambition cherished and nursed by his father until it had become his constant dream; and yet that coming was to be when the spark of life seemed all but dead. Maido hastened to the family shrine and there prayed the good god Dajiza to grant him power to ward off death's evil hand. Shibusawa's rooms were at the upper side of the main court building (a rambling red-lacquered structure, with curled tile roof) overlooking the greensward and battlement, toward where Kinsan's cottage nestled in the nearby woodland. Here he lay for a long time, battling against death, till science and care had overcome danger, then his vigorous constitution rapidly brought on a complete and permanent recovery. While convalescing he would often sit chatting with his father, or dreaming of things now fast crowding upon him: the poverty and the toil; the suffering and the patriotism; the dormant power and the helplessness of the people which he had everywhere seen; his own new-born love; the ruthless force of an officer--all these were weighing heavily upon his young conscience, which already flamed with ambition. Shibusawa did not dwell upon these things, though, while conversing with his father; and he asked no questions. But never before did he understand so well the whole philosophy of his parent's teachings, nor grasp so firmly the force of his logic and the meaning of all their institutions. And there, and alone, while the vigour of youth yet fired the contact of life, after the bloom of knowledge, the polish of intercourse, the inspiration of travel, he determined his course. CHAPTER V THE HIDDEN CAVE Time began, after a while, to drag heavily and Shibusawa thirsted for a change. The day Chayo, moon festival (in the latter part of September), had already come, and while sitting in the evening with his favourite sister, Nehachibana, he half spoke, half meditated: "Do you think I could go out to see the moon rise to-night? You know it is Chayo, and I want to wander off by myself and see the 'grand three.' It will enable me to start under a good omen. Pray come, don't say 'No,' for I fear I shall have to go anyway." Nehachibana had been his almost constant companion since the night of his misfortune, and she felt nervous about his taking any undue risk now that he was recovering so nicely. She was tall and seriously earnest, and her counsel was invariably welcomed by her energetic brother, though not always acted upon. Therefore she spoke with uncertain confidence when she answered: "It certainly is a shame to stay indoors at such a time and upon such a night as the day promises. You are now somewhat accustomed to the open air, and if you do not remain too long I can see no danger. I myself am going out upon the green there, below the house, and I should be glad to have you for company. Come join me, will you not?" "No, thank you; I want to be alone, for once. I shall go inside the gate to find a good lookout there, on the hillside. It is a splendid chance--and there will not be so many sight-seers there. Few of those on the inside engage in so light a diversion, and from the outside--well, only those who can enter can stroll." "Oh, Shibusawa, how can you think of venturing in there! You know it is absolutely forbidden, and the guards may beat you down, should you try," said she, her voice trembling with fright. "Have no fear, Nehachibana; I am already on more than friendly terms with those fellows, and I assure you when once inside there is no danger of discovery. I want to go there, where I can see and think without molestation, and you know nothing less can rid me of my good fellow Okyo. And then, the adventure. That will be stimulating, and I shall tell you all about it to-morrow. There, now, let us not discuss it further. Good-night." Later in the evening Shibusawa, as planned, passed through the gate and entered the august enclosure, where lived the only earthly being whom he had been taught to revere above his own ancestry. True, the mikado[9] had received no less a consideration, but his was of a divine character. The one, the mikado, spiritual; the other, the shogun, material: both, rulers supreme and eternal. Upon entering the sacred place a mist of uncertainty seemed to envelop him and, though there was no particular wrong in his doing so even in such a manner, he felt as if he were unprepared, and that his presence might profane the place. Contrary to any precedent, while entering he chatted freely with the guards on duty and did not hesitate to disclose his identity; nor did he in any manner attempt to deceive. His motives were pure and his means convincing; the guards had occasion to trust him, hence they passed him. No mention had been made of his noticeably injured condition, for the very good reason that no questions had been asked; and, beside his father, to whom Shibusawa had made a full explanation, the cause and manner of his wounding remained unknown to all, excepting himself, and possibly the man who did the striking. Before starting he had changed his customary dress for that of an ordinary attendant, so that had he been discovered in the grounds anywhere not forbidden he might have been taken for a regular attaché; especially inasmuch as he was again well tanned and somewhat rugged. Keeping to the left as was the custom, Shibusawa strolled along the main roadway until he came to a path which chanced to be the one leading toward the gardener's cottage. As he walked along in that silent mysterious dusk he had passed unnoticed several who were each on his way to the city outside either to keep an engagement or seek diversion from the monotony of court life. Now and then the rattling of a sword-hilt or the clanking of steel warned him of the rank and occupation of the passerby. A slight faintness came over him as the first sound of one had grated upon his ears, and then his understanding changed and he felt something of pity for the man whose only means of a livelihood seemed to be the striking of his fellow-men. Taking the cottage roadway he gladly, and with more leisure, plodded along the hillside until he came to a bypath which led off to his right and seemingly rose over a cliff farther on. The desire for adventure as well as a better chance of being let alone prompted him to follow this path, and as he trod upon the soft, beaten mould his sandals made no sound save now and then an accidental rasping or the occasional rattling of a fallen leaf. Nothing but quickened thoughts disturbed him here, until presently he came to a rustic bridge which crossed a dancing brooklet that faintly moaned and cried on its way. Half doubtful he stepped upon the beaten plank, and the sound aroused from her reverie a young maiden who stood midway on the bridge, and whom he had not until then observed. She turned as he proceeded, and then he recognised her and cried out: "My honourable maiden." Kinsan, too, had stolen away and gone there that she, also, might have the good luck to see the moon rise in her majestic form of three. She had been standing she knew not how long in the centre of the bridge, with her elbows resting on the side rail and her dimpled cheeks buried in her hands, watching and dreaming as only one of her age can, and already there was beginning to shadow from above that mysterious, awe inspiring grey blue which hovers between the last of twilight and the coming of moonrise. Perhaps she also was thinking of one who had risen in her life, yet of whom she could not hope to know. Thus startled she did not recognise Shibusawa, nor did she attempt to move, but stood there undecided, while he, blushing perceptibly, said in a reassuring tone: "I pray your forgiveness, madam, for so disturbing you. My name is Shibusawa, and I beg of you the pleasure of knowing who you are and what brings you here to this lovely spot at this delightful hour?" Seeing that she hesitated as if debating what to do he continued: "I pray you to believe me worthy, and to trust my motive, my honourable madam." Though Kinsan did not yet recognise her strange visitor she was not alarmed; there was something about him that invited her confidence, and before she realised it she had raised her eyes to his and there in the glimmer of the starlight had experienced the same feeling which had held her bounden since the time of their first meeting. The suddenness of the recognition and the fulness of her soul caused her to blush, and to stand meekly with drooping eyes and head bowed. Then she said modestly: "I am Kinsan, the gardener's daughter. I came here to see the beautiful moon rise, should it be so kind and I so fortunate. I do not know who you are, but I trust and I believe you will permit me to pass without harm. I have parents who love me, and I know you are of our faith. I trust you, honourable sir, to speak further if you so desire." "I thank you," said he, "for your frank expressions, and I swear by the sword, Amanosakohoko, that I shall endeavour to merit your confidence. May I not spread this robe so that we can sit, and further speak to each other while waiting the moon's pleasure?" "You may do so if you like, but I should tell you that it is unsafe unless you have permission from a better authority. There is one who sometimes passes here, and should he discover you I fear his cruelty might be no less severe than my interest is great. If you do not mind a short, steep climb I will lead the way to a secluded spot near by where we can get a still better view and also guard against being seen. I was just going there, and no one will miss me at home until the hour has gone. Shall I proceed?" "I certainly shall be glad to trust myself to your guidance, and if it is not too hard for you to go there it ought not to be for me." "You see," said Kinsan, as she led the way back across the bridge and began climbing the hill above, "there is no pathway to follow. That is because no one but myself ever goes there, and I take pains not to establish a road and thus provide the means to a discovery of my hidden place." After leaving the by-path they scrambled up with some difficulty over the embankment and through a brier patch into the woodland beyond. Hereafter their passage through the scattering trees was quite easy, except the long grass and sloping hill made it necessary for them to choose well their steps, and as they went they chatted with no concern or accident to mar their pleasures or stay the confidence that was so rapidly growing between them. The balmy air, the inviting scenery, the romantic occasion, all inspired those feelings of trust which come of more than understanding and which are never abused. Once Kinsan slipped a little and threw out her arms to recover her balance. As if by instinct Shibusawa was at her side and caught her hand in his just in time to save a fall; the soft skin told him of her good breeding, and the warm blood of her perfect health. He held it gently, a little longer, perhaps, than necessary to stay her fall, and then he did not drop it nor did she take it away, but as if moved by an unseen power and with feelings sweeter than life itself started on, and Kinsan did not fall or lose her balance again that night. "Oh, what a grand place it is!" said he, as she led him to a seat on one side looking out over a panorama of woodland and battlement and castle ground and city far away toward the rising moon. The place to which Kinsan led captive was an old abandoned nook, which had centuries before been used as a sight-seeing retreat by no less a personage than the shogun himself. It lay far up on the hillside in a small level space that rounded out at the head of a miniature gulch, through which ran the rivulet spanned by the bridge where the lovers met. The site, now dry and hard, was once the source of a natural spring, which had long ago disappeared through a tunnel made farther down the declivity. It was an ideal place for a hidden cave, such as it really appeared to be and as Kinsan called it; and the shogun under whose direction it was improved had spared no expense to make it a place of beauty as well as seclusion. A retaining wall at the back,--in which were constructed wide and comfortable stone seats,--rounded up at both corners and arched over in front, while trees and vines had been so planted here and there as to shade the sun or break the storm, without in any manner obstructing the view. Some of these giant trees still stood, marking the grandeur of a different age. Others had fallen and long ago disappeared, while vines and shrubs had grown and regrown into tangled gnarls of brush and brier. All trace of its once gravelled approach and smooth floor had vanished with age, and no other person now found his way there except by merest chance or a curious reverence. Kinsan was the cave's only regular visitor and, jealously, she took every precaution to avoid attracting any attention to it. Unlike her sisters and her girl friends she wanted some place to which she could go and be by herself, and there indulge in that freedom which made her so different from others as well as the envy of all who knew her. She had with her own hands cleared the place of briers and fallen debris, and had carried straw and mats there to cover and make more comfortable a seat. Why, she did not know, but she loved different things from those which pleased the people whom she knew, and at times she longed to breathe a different atmosphere and to think new thoughts and experience other feelings. And now that this queer little house of hers contained another--one in whom all her sentiments seemed to enliven and to crystallise--her heart filled and there rose within her a new being, whose love and innocence and purity and sweetness shone forth like a flood-light of truth. Shibusawa, too, felt the irresistible oncoming of that new life which had taken hold of him the first time he saw Kinsan; nor did he try to dissuade it, for in it he saw and felt the force of nature, the power of Infinity. They sat there and talked and thought of things that were sweet and dear to them. Only once were they disturbed, and that was shortly after they had gone there and while they were sitting and dreaming as only true lovers can. It was just when the light and dark seemed most uncertain and everything mysteriously told of a parting and welcomed an oncoming. A cloud lazily floated overhead, turning its golden fringe into a border of silver. Not a leaf rustled or a note sounded on the hollow air. Not even they seemed conscious of another living thing, when out of the stillness there came the unmistakable sound of a man walking rapidly in a silk kimono. "Swish, swish, swish," continued grating upon Shibusawa's ear, each time more distinct, and he half rose to his feet as if ready to bound upon an enemy. Kinsan caught hold of his kimono and whispered: "Do not be disturbed. I have heard it before, and I can tell from the sound just who it is and about where he is walking: he is now on the by-path not far from the bridge where we last met. If he turns this way I shall warn you in time so that we can hide in a secret place I have found out just above this. It is easy of access, and he never could find us there. It is grown over with an old wisteria and is out of reach of that one, I am sure." The man in the by-path continued to walk briskly along, keeping a close watch on either side. He seemed to be quite nervous and anxious, though he moved with determination and evinced a fixed purpose. His course led him around the gulch so far below, and they were so hidden behind the trees, that they were seldom exposed to his view, yet they themselves could see and distinguish even the features of any person well impressed upon the memory. The intruder did not pause until he had reached the footbridge, where only a short time before Shibusawa and Kinsan had met, and then he stopped and looked as if expecting to see someone. Once he stared momentarily straight toward the cave, and had he been aware of such a place he might have distinguished the two sitting there only partially shielded by the bushes. Shibusawa as it was had the advantage, and looked the stranger directly in the face. He trembled, then leaned forward and stared intently. "Pray do not be alarmed," said Kinsan, in a low voice, already divining his keen interest. "Even though he see us and should come this way we are yet safe. My hiding-place will not fail me." "If I mistake not," answered Shibusawa, "we shall have no need for hiding--I have at least a more satisfactory thought." "Oh, no, honourable sir, we must not be seen by him!" said Kinsan, nervously. "He is such a terrible man; and very powerful and brave, they say. If he should discover me here, and at this hour, and in the company of a man--oh, how late it is getting! I think I must be going." "Then you know him, do you?" asked Shibusawa, quickly and interestedly, though speaking in an undertone. "Oh, yes; I know him well," said she, without any hesitancy. "And he is seeking you here? and now? I shall meet him forthwith." "Yes, he often does, and I am so glad--" "Aha, and I am so nicely trapped!" said he, meditatively. She did not answer him, for the reason that she did not understand him, and without so doing there was no occasion for an answer. He said nothing, but sat for the moment alternating between rage and jealousy. He looked at the burly form on the bridge, then at Kinsan. He thought of his love, then of his wounding. He at first determined to accuse her and fly at his antagonist, but afterwards reasoned that there was nothing to be gained by haste, and also that possibly he might be misinformed, if not entirely wrong. Their visitor soon turned around, his back toward them, and as if disappointed at the prospect hung himself upon the bridge rail and stared vacantly at the distant horizon. Presently he straightened up and slowly walked away; and not until he had entirely gone did either Shibusawa or Kinsan speak; nor would they yet have resumed talking had Shibusawa been the first to begin. He still pondered a doubt about the real circumstance, though his faith in Kinsan strengthened as he himself recovered. "I am so glad he has gone away. Oh, if he would only not come back! Did he frighten you much?" said she, her voice betraying her anxiety. "I cannot say that I was so much as frightened, though I feel better now that he has gone," said he, evasively. "Why, Kinsan, you do look pleased, and I really believe you, too, are glad to be rid of him. It is unfortunate that he came just at this time--I wonder if my being here influenced his coming? Still, I hardly believe it could have done so, because I do not even know his name, much less does he know me." "Oh, no. That was Tetsutaisho, an officer in the shogun's army," said Kinsan, assuringly and without divining Shibusawa's purpose, "and I am certain it was not because you were here that he came. And I am so glad that you are here! I am lonely when I sit here by myself, and now--you will come again, will you not?" Shibusawa did not answer her at once, but turned and looked, and her soft true eyes looked into his, and he saw how cruel he had been to let suspicion enter his heart and how unworthy of her confidence he had been. Then all his manhood rose and his thoughts became pure and his feelings true, and his courage spoke as he said: "Yes." The moon had risen, and--how could they have seen it other than as it was, a good omen? for they two and it made three. CHAPTER VI THE PLEDGE Shibusawa and Kinsan sat in their place and gazed at the beautiful moon as it rose, now unfolding a deeper meaning, teaching a sweeter lesson. Chayo was no longer to them only a mystic rite, but a living, eternal symbol of life's greatest joy, and when they had seen all and felt its power they arose and parted, true to themselves and pleased with their good fortune. Shibusawa, though, returned to his house fully aware of the responsibilities which he had assumed and deeply impressed with their probable consequences; yet he realised that the circumstances which had brought about this irresistible situation were conceived directly within his own heart, and that he could not and should not escape their natural and just conclusion. He loved Kinsan, and, whether right or wrong in that love, he must know a higher virtue before he could in justice to himself surrender what seemed to him purely a liberty of conscience. Nor would his love be unrequited, for he saw in Kinsan the same unknown force which had moved him and held him its willing victim. She too was a slave to its inevitable decree, and now that they had witnessed in each other that repose of confidence necessary to a perfect understanding, he must not let love, a higher purpose, fail at the bidding of family or state, nor allow himself to halt in his proper pursuit at the voice of tradition or, said he: "Even by the law's decree; for after all, 'Is law higher than our understanding?'" Having decided not to swerve from his course Shibusawa began to plan the means whereby he could meet Kinsan and be with her as much as prudence would allow. He longed to be near her and to share with her his thoughts and gain her approval, but in doing so he must encounter many hardships and much danger. Both statute and custom bade him marry the woman selected only by his parents, and to woo any other and in such a manner was deemed a most serious breach, subject to a severe penalty. He needs must, therefore, employ strategy, for there was no other means of meeting Kinsan, and even that could never make her his wife. The laws of his country were rigid, and his parents, like others, inexorable on that subject; and Shibusawa was not unmindful of either, nor of his duty toward society; yet he was undaunted, and could see no wrong in his loving the woman of his choice, so long as that one brought neither disgrace to his family nor failure to himself; neither of which was probable from his way of thinking--and had he a right to think? That was one of the questions which had determined Shibusawa's course, and it now became a burning factor in his life. The hidden cave was their rendezvous, and Kinsan grew to live for the happiness its welcome shelter gave. There, the sweet voice of love whispered and rewhispered the new song that soothed and quickened and held her captive, for Shibusawa came faithfully and constantly, each recurring visit deepening his love, every serious obstacle strengthening his determination. Time passed quickly and each returning season lent anew its never dying symbol, for to them autumn's master flower, the chrysanthemum, meant in truth loyalty, sincerity, and earnestness. When these days had passed and winter come Shibusawa sang to her the song of the pine and its fidelity, the bamboo and its elasticity, the plum and its courage, vigour, and reputation. Then spring brought in its train the cherry, the peach, the pear, the primrose, the peony, the wisteria, each in turn adding its voice, for the cave stood in the midst of bloom, everywhere doing its part in the beautiful fulfilment of a divine promise. Yes, spring had come and with it the budding and the joy of creation. It was now April, the day of the cherry blossom, and the sun had gone down behind the hills and the stars were twinkling their story. Two lovers sat close together--the one ambitious, courageous; the other obedient, loyal--both joyous, but earnest. Her hand rested in his and he bent over and whispered: "Kinsan, I love you. I love you with a heart that is pure and true. I love you with all my life, my soul voices it. I think of you always--the one constant thought of my life--my hope, my happiness, my existence. Speak, Kinsan, speak and tell me that this is not a hopeless fancy. Tell me that you love me. Tell me that you will be my wife, my love, my sweetheart, my all." She leaned forward and laid her rosy cheek upon his bosom, and with her eyes softly upturned she whispered: "Yes." He stooped down and kissed her, and in the warmth of those lips she saw a world of joys; he, the beginning of earnest life. The kiss was unknown to them, but it came as the spontaneous outpouring of a true affection, the token of a master passion; and in that embrace there dawned a new light, the opening of another world. CHAPTER VII AN UNEXPECTED COMMAND While Shibusawa had been constant and true in his attentions he had never apprised Kinsan of his real position, nor of the difficulties which stood in the way of their marriage. That he was worthy there could be no doubt in her mind, and she only knew that she loved him--loved him as they were and with no thought of what might or would befall them. Instinct was enough to keep both from mentioning their affairs to any others, for such a thing as mutual regard was by right or practice unknown in the land; hence must have been deemed improper, especially by the parents, and there were no others to whom they could or should confide their secrets. Whether allowable or not, and without any real knowledge of the consequences, their love had grown and manifested itself in its own mysterious way, and they were destined as they were to meet an uncertain fate. Very wisely Shibusawa had not in the meantime neglected any of his proper relations at home, but on the contrary entered into life with an earnestness that was not only to his father, but to others of the family and to his friends, a great source of joy. Whether at the Koyo-odori (maple dance for girls), or at the New Year's feast, or at any of the many fêtes of the season, his interest was equally keen and his presence always sought. Nor did he neglect his personal improvement, for all of his time and energy not devoted to Kinsan and his social duties were expended in an orderly quest for knowledge; not of a theoretical nature, but of that practical, satisfying kind that, whether for good or for ill, moves the world. Maido had observed with keen interest all these healthy activities of his son and was proud of his achievements and offered him every encouragement within his power. No particular attention had been paid to Shibusawa's future other than properly to fit him for the place destined for him, and such a thing as the young prince's marriage had never seriously entered his father's mind. Since the birth of his rising successor Maido had always hoped to avoid the necessity of sometime being compelled to sacrifice his son's or his own happiness to gratify the pleasure or convenience of the court, though he might at any time have been prompted to do as much by an extreme test of loyalty. As far as the lord daimyo's own interests were concerned there had as yet appeared no need for matrimonial alliances of any kind, and not until political discontent began to arise in the south had he been called upon to concern himself particularly about outside affairs. He had personally held aloof from all entangling alliances, and aside from his duties at court devoted himself to the upbuilding and preservation of his own prefecture, which was now so strong and prosperous that it could reasonably be expected to stand of its own accord. There was the best of feeling and good content everywhere at home, and when there Maido himself might at any time be seen among his workmen encouraging thrift and economy, while all of the new ideas were regularly taught by learned instructors. As a result his people had become the most skilled and industrious in the land, excelling in the production of rice, silk, lacquer rugs, matting, bronzes, pottery, steel, and implements of husbandry and articles for ornamentation. Therefore Maido was one of the most powerful as he was resourceful of the shogun's daimyos and had wisely looked askance at the petty quarrels and fierce rebellions that were constantly devastating other parts of the country and robbing them of their treasure. Still he did not neglect to cultivate a true martial spirit, nor to maintain an army in keeping with the country's dignity; which, owing to the mountainous approaches at the east and south, and to the broad open sea and rocky shores of the west and north, was as against an invading foe easily defended. These natural barriers having been seized upon early after the beginning of the shogunate and from time to time fortified, Maido had but to keep them in repair and refrain from interfering with outside affairs in order to induce the powerful armies of the north and south, while marching against each other, to pass him by unmolested. In consequence his vassals--secure in their peace, in plenty, sure of kind and liberal treatment, their religion inviolate and their customs well established--were quite content to labour faithfully for the promotion of their daimyo's comfort and power. He was at the same time the most respected and envied personage at court, and even the shogun himself found it both agreeable and advantageous to cultivate his friendship. This pleasing situation, however, was not long to continue, for the outgrowth of Maido's wisdom, and his abundance at home, made him the more coveted at Tokyo; and now that hostilities were assuming proportion in the south, the necessity for new expedients was fast crowding upon the northern party. To Iyeyoshi, the over-fed, easy-going shogun, these matters were rather irksome and in consequence were being more and more turned over to the newly appointed prime minister, the young and restless Ikamon. The shogun was satisfied; Ikamon, ambitious. The latter had risen from the lower ranks by dint of his own exertions, and his career was as unbounded as it was unbridled. In presence he was pinched and bony, stoop shouldered, of peaked face, had eagle eyes, rather sparse, stiff black hair, and for strength of mind displayed a wonderful mixture of cunning and craft. He had already formed a personal alliance with Maido (which materially strengthened him at court and directly helped him into his present position) by taking in marriage Yasuko, the daimyo's second daughter; and now ostensibly as a state measure, but in reality to further Ikamon's personal schemes, Shibusawa was urgently brought forward as a likely match for Takara, a rising member of the royalty, and a daughter of the mikado himself. When the proposal was first made, Maido paid but little heed to it, passing it by as one of his son-in-law's many visionary schemes; in the majority of which he had not much confidence and as yet less concern. He had intended to govern himself in this matter, when the proper time came, as he had in all others, as best conserved his own interests and the happiness of his son. That any one dared to interfere with what he considered his and his family's private affair had not seriously dawned upon his mind, and was this time looked upon as a piece of ill-advised impertinence. In time, however, the over-confident daimyo discovered his mistake, for Ikamon persisted and before long had enlisted the support of a higher influence, one that presently assumed the shape of an urgent request, if not command. Such an alliance, once proposed, was not in times of stress to be overlooked even by the shogun, and Maido soon found himself entangled with a problem that was to bring his son face to face with the queenly and much coveted Takara. Though only the daughter by a favourite concubine, this beautiful princess was much loved by Komei, the mikado, and it was conceded that whoever gained her hand would not only gain his royal highness' favour, but strengthen his position at the Kyoto court. She was tall and slender, not yet twenty years of age, had bright, tender eyes, a soft, clear skin, and silken hair as dark as the raven. Her manner was that of grace and distinction, her speech calm and deliberate, while at court and among her friends she was regarded with almost reverence. Daikomitsu, a rising young prince and staunch supporter of the southern party, had already sought her hand in marriage, and withal, aside from any political considerations, she might have been thought eminently fitted to become the wife even of a Maido's successor. It was with different considerations, though, that Ikamon urged the suit. He knew of no demand except that of policy, and now that he was in a position effectively to reach both sides he hastened the business as much as he consistently could. The mikado was, notwithstanding the advice of his counsellors, still in favour of peace, and thus he lent a ready ear to any proposal that might be reasonably expected to calm the disturbance and ward off a final conflict. His daughter, having grown to womanhood within the palace and its traditional and superstitious atmosphere, knew nothing of the profane world and was possessed of a loyalty that carried her far over into the sweep of ancestral worship. She believed that her only province was to serve, and that of right she should be handed from father to husband, from the one family to the other. Her birth seemed but a necessity, her life a sacrifice, and her death only a natural consequence--why should she look or think or hope beyond? She offered no protest when told of her lot--that she must yield her all unto a stranger--but bowed in grateful submission at the command of an unquestioned fate. She promised her father, and he was pleased, and hastened to inform the shogun. Maido as yet had said nothing to Shibusawa about his prospective marriage, though he himself had been fully convinced that there was no possible way for him to avoid its final consummation without as a last resort breaking faith with the shogun: a thing entirely beyond the pale of his moral rectitude. He had from time to time avoided the subject, trusting that some failure at Kyoto might save him the necessity, but now that the mikado had favourably responded and the shogun positively commanded, all hope was dissipated. He therefore called his son to him and led him into the great chamber, where he bade him be seated at his side. It was in the evening, and Maido had just returned flushed and heated from an animated council, and he chose the open side of the room, where they sat facing each other and alone. A warm breeze floated in from the garden, and the air seemed to Shibusawa almost as sweet with cherry blossom as it had the day before while sitting with Kinsan at the hidden cave. He realised that some grave question disturbed his parent, but little thought that he himself was the victim of a prearranged plan that should augur so uncertain a future. He would have spoken, but his father beckoned him be silent; then himself spoke distinctly, telling him of what he was expected to do, and waited for an answer. There was no mistaking the meaning, yet Shibusawa sat in silence; he was for the moment dazed and unable to make any answer. After the first flush he resolved upon throwing himself at his father's feet and explaining all; to ask forgiveness for what he had done, and beg indulgence for what his life seemed pledged to do, but prudence bade him not. He knew only too well that such a thing was impossible. Maido's anxiety doubled with each succeeding moment, until finally surprise, then fear, moved him and his voice trembled as he said: "Shibusawa, my son, have you no ears?" "I hear you, father, and I assure you it is my weakness and not the answer that makes me slow. I would frame you a better speech than the one I have in mind." "Hold, my boy! I know your answer. And, besides, I would rather you save your words for a higher purpose. This old self of mine is satisfied that you do the thing. That is it. Oshaka! Oshaka! good god of self, forbid that I hear, let me only feel a father's blessing and a son's forgiveness. Come, my good son, your liberal indulgence of me and your ready acceptance of her has removed from me the greatest concern of my life. A long one, and a happy one--hah! h-a-h! h--a--h!" Maido's eyes flashed dry and hot as he sat there swinging his powerful frame back and forth to the rhythm of his parched words. Shibusawa knelt quickly at his father's side and steadied and soothed him. The long white locks parted and fell from his splendid brow, and in an instant the son's whole soul went out to the one who had given him being and had showered upon him a constant devotion. The lord daimyo went to sleep presently, and Shibusawa sat for a long time, debating the consequences of this new and unexpected situation. It was only yesterday that he had pledged himself to the one he loved, and now he was bound by every tradition and law to break that engagement and perform a duty. Had this sudden mandate come only a day sooner his honour, at least, might have been saved; but to sacrifice that was more than he could do. Filial affection--but was there not a higher purpose, and if so why not devote his life to its fulfilment? He pondered, then said to himself: "Although I uphold the traditions of our religion, maintain the honour of my family, and obey the command of the shogun, I can and will be true to Kinsan." CHAPTER VIII THE MARRIAGE CEREMONY When Shibusawa arose the next morning, he set about with a heavy heart to plan some course of action. He had not slept much during the night, and with a clouded atmosphere the morning was dull, so he remained in the garden but a short time, returning to his now cold and dreary chamber. At first he planned to hurry to Kinsan and tell her the truth and beg her forgiveness; then he realised the impossibility of doing so; the gates were closed to him, and his strategy would not avail him in the daytime. He rightly divined his father's helplessness, and knew that an appeal to the court would fall upon deaf ears. The law was inexorable, and those in authority would use it, as they were using him, to further their own schemes. To fly was worse than hopeless, and to disclose the identity of his love would surely bring death if not torture to her. Such were some of the conditions confronting Shibusawa, and with which he must struggle. Ikamon was fully advised of the rapidly rising influence of the literary, or southern party, at the mikado's, or royal court, and he hastened that no time be lost in using this last measure to check its growth. The banns were accordingly that day published at Tokyo, and the marriage proclaimed to take place at the earliest possible day in May, the month following; while messengers were despatched to Kyoto with the intelligence, so that Takara might make ready and repair to her intended father-in-law's seat at the shogun's capital city. During the interval of waiting the busy prime minister more than ever bestirred himself with making preparations for the ceremony. Maido was pushed to one side and his natural prerogatives usurped by his son-in-law, Ikamon, who, without much regard to rank, invited everybody whom he thought could in any way further his own political chances and incidentally those of his party. Thus Tetsutaisho was included among the selected guests, for in him more than any other Ikamon saw a future powerful weapon. This young officer was rapidly advancing in favour, and Ikamon reasoned that his chances of being placed at the head of the shogun's army, already good, would be effectually strengthened by an alliance with the powerful house of Maido. There was the good and handsome Nehachibana, Maido's daughter and Shibusawa's favourite--why not offer her to Tetsutaisho? With Tetsutaisho, his ready confidant, securely in command of the northern army, his alliance with the royal court established through Shibusawa's marriage, he had designed a still more sweeping stroke, that of tricking the mikadate into a tacit coalition of the two armies, the north and the south, with Tetsutaisho as the recognised head of both. Ikamon believed that in such a situation he could effectually put down any local disaffection, gradually dissipate the mikadate, and eventually establish the shogunate as the sole, supreme authority in the land. His plan was a vital one, and there seemed to be no real obstacle in the way of its final consummation. Tetsutaisho had already looked upon Nehachibana with a sordid eye; she was young and vivacious--that was enough for him. Shibusawa was now perceptibly occupied with his own troubles, and should readily fall a victim to the magic of a royal court. Maido was rapidly approaching a certain state of senility--possibly apparent to none but his covetous son-in-law--and could no longer offer any serious resistance. There was no further chance for a misalliance in the family, no moral gulf between the driver and the goal, so Ikamon devised and the wedding day found him easily prepared. When that day had arrived and the guests were assembled, a dust-bedraggled train of carriers and attendants came filing up the roadway to the front of Maido's castle, where they halted and demanded entrance in the name of Takara, daughter of Komei, the divine mikado. Upon the conclusion of this short ceremony the party was passed through the gate to the house door, where the bride was delivered into the care of Ikamon and Yasuko, his wife, who bade her welcome after the fashion of another polite ceremony. Takara wore a flowing kimono of soft white material, and now that she had entered the house of her future husband she forthwith retired and changed her dress for one provided by the bridegroom. Having thus completed her toilet she was escorted to the chamber of state by Yasuko, while Ikamon attended Shibusawa. Takara meekly entered, and as she did so the sound of many voices and much merry-making greeted her; the guests were assembled in a room adjoining, waiting for the conclusion of the ceremony and the beginning of the feast. Shibusawa then came forward, betraying only a slight colour, and Takara humbly bowed recognition; he bowed and motioned her to a mat at his side. They had met, and for the first time looked into the mirror of each other's life. The two-lipped cup was offered by Haraku, the bride's maid-servant, and Takara moistened her lips therefrom, then passed it to the bridegroom, who in turn drank a draught, and passed it back to her. Thrice three times they did this, and the ceremony was complete. [Illustration: The two-lipped cup was offered.... Takara moistened her lips therefrom, then passed it to the bridegroom.] Without any further ado the bride again retired and changed her light kimono for a coloured one of her own providing. In her absence the sliding partitions had been removed, and when she returned she found herself in the midst of the merry guests, who crowded about to offer their congratulations. Shibusawa appeared to be deeply impressed with the formal part of the ceremony, but after that was concluded he showed an indifferent feeling, and had it not been for the state character of the doing, there might have seemed to be even less cordiality. Ikamon, of course, outdid himself, particularly in an effort to impress the bride with his own importance, and his squeaking voice and glancing eyes were everywhere in evidence. Tetsutaisho was also pleased and, at first sight of the bride, became so infatuated that she did not thereafter lack attention: an unadvised observer might even have taken him to be the bridegroom. This gallant young officer naturally was charmed with Nehachibana upon his arrival and introduction early in the evening, and certainly would have continued his attentions had she been the last to come upon the scene. As it was, and as he was unable to divide his gallantry between two, Takara received his favours after their first meeting, which, strange to say, seemed mutually agreeable. On the other hand, Nehachibana had been not unfavourably impressed with Tetsutaisho, and were it not that Takara was now her sister-in-law she might have been a little jealous. Shibusawa, however, consoled her with more than his usual ardour, and he may not have neglected to express in some measure his opinion of the would-be seducer. At all events, he was under the circumstances perfectly willing that the latter should make haste with his wife rather than with his sister. Nor did he disclose the cause of his indifference about the one and his coldness toward the other, because he felt that he had best let events take their own course, especially that the position of both would save either from bringing disgrace into his family. "I do not mind saying," said he to his sister, as they sat quietly together, "that I am not at all pleased with Tetsutaisho's appearance. More I do not care to venture." "But he is so large and so heroic," answered Nehachibana. "Do not such men fight fiercely? And have they not warm hearts? And are they not chivalrous? But he does not seem to care for me. Only Takara has saved him from being bored." "Such men are neither bored nor saved. They are incapable of the one and beyond hope of the other," replied Shibusawa, mindful of his own experience. "I trust so," mused she, thoughtfully. "And I am--well, except for you, indifferent as to the whole affair," said he, as he arose and went toward Takara. Shibusawa soon returned to his sister, and bowing himself away from her retired from the company, going with the full consciousness of having acquitted himself as best he could under the circumstances. Perhaps, as he lingered on the veranda above, he did not think of Kinsan, more likely he did not notice particularly the group of sight-seers in the road at the front of the house, but if he had, he might have seen her there, and have observed that her eyes were filled with tears; that she trembled a little and that suspicion was trying hard to enter her heart. He did not distinguish her, however, but turned and went into his own chamber and was seen no more that night. Kinsan, though, had recognised him, and when he had gone she too turned and stole away toward her house as silently as she had come, but with a heavy heart and uncertain step. From the time Kinsan had first heard of the intended wedding, something told her that she must go there. True, she had no reason for believing that the Shibusawa to whom she had given her love was a prince, or that he could possibly be the suitor of Takara, the mikado's daughter; yet a power not explained moved her to go, and opportunity enabled her to see only too much. She had seen him there, and in that she surmised an insurmountable gulf between them, and felt that he in such a station, however true, must be lost to her. She went home and with an aching heart prayed for future light and strength. CHAPTER IX THE WEDDING FEAST On the third day after the wedding, all preparations having been made, the newly wedded couple started upon their bridal tour to the home of the bride's parents. This was no small undertaking, and to any other than a bride it would have seemed decidedly unpleasant. The only means of transit was by chair, and, as she had just been borne over the same route and had in prospect a speedy return, Takara might well have complained of the three long journeys, if not of custom. Upon coming to the wedding ceremony the bride had brought with her a large number of useful and costly presents, and, as might be expected, the family of the bridegroom had been exceedingly liberal in bestowing a return compliment. Maido had spared neither pains nor expense to laden Shibusawa's train with tokens of his appreciation, and as squad after squad of carriers passed out at the front gate the gathering onlookers cheered with something like frenzy. It was, therefore, late in the morning before the last of the baggage had passed and the way was made clear for Shibusawa's chair, and as he came forward there arose a mighty shout of "Long live the prince." Early in the day the kaika (household treasurer), acting under Ikamon's instructions, had begun distributing coins among the hangers-on, and now that the noble suite was passing a perfect shower of "cash" was thrown upon them. No other means could so readily call forth their hearty applause, and Ikamon was gratified and Maido perhaps pleased, if Shibusawa was entirely unconcerned. As Shibusawa's chair swung into the roadway he drew back the curtain and looked out at the excited throng. There was one who stood, amid all this noise, with a strained, eager expression. It was Kinsan; and Shibusawa, looking straight into her face, without offering to recognise her, closed the curtain and continued his way. Probably she knew as well as he that the least sign of recognition on his part might, if detected, bring horrible punishment, or even death to her. Possibly she believed him cruel. Whatever her thoughts may have been, she felt crushed and forlorn. She knew now that it was only too true; that her heart was broken and her life for ever shadowed. Kinsan had gone there again to determine if possible the truth or falsity of her former conviction. Without any consciousness she had done her hair in the prettiest fashion and dressed in her very best kimono, and so anxious was she that before the sun had barely risen she began planning to go. The fresh air and the excitement brought the colour to her cheeks, and when Tetsutaisho chanced to pass her, on his way to wish Takara a safe journey and a speedy return, he stopped and spoke to her and chided her for being so far from home. She made no answer, but his kindly attention lingered on her mind, and possibly she may have contrasted this with Shibusawa's greeting. However, Kinsan was not so ready to heed the one or condemn the other, and with a determination stronger than ever she proceeded on her way home. She had not gone far, though, before she was overtaken by Tetsutaisho, who hastened to her and said: "Which way are you going now, my pretty young lady?" Kinsan started at the sound of his voice, and when she turned about and saw who it was, she blushed deeply, then grew pale. She made no immediate answer, but stood debating in her own mind what she had best do; and as she made no offer to move he became emboldened, and, coming closer, began to talk in a confidential manner: "Come, my sweet little girl, come with me and sit in the shade over there, where it is quiet and out of reach of the curious." "I thank you, honourable sir, I am on the way to my house and I wish not to delay, for that would be improper. Please, sir, excuse me--my mother has said nothing about this proposal." "But," said he, "I will pay the mother. I will double and treble the price. Come with me now. My bungalow is large and you shall share the privileged mat. I am rich and my station is high. I will free your father and mother from all their debts and make them comfortable and happy. Come, now; what more can be done? Is not all this worth the while?" Kinsan listened to all he said. She measured well his proposals and thought of the ease and comfort it would bring to her parents. She also remembered that look of Shibusawa's and how her heart had failed her; and then her love for him began to reassert itself, and she turned upon her enticer and scorned him, and without saying another word walked rapidly away. After Shibusawa had so coldly turned from Kinsan, while passing through the gate and into the roadway, he sank back in his chair, stunned and fearful. The shock had overcome him, and he did not recover until he had gone far beyond her reach. It was only a glance, yet he now appreciated the force with which that must have stricken Kinsan. While, as he well knew, there could have been no escaping the consequences of an overt act, nevertheless, had he done no more he might in some way have sought Kinsan and explained to her the true circumstances of his situation. And now that he had not done so, and fully realised the sad mistake, it was only with much self-control that he held himself from attempting to return to her. Nothing further marked his progress, and the visit at Kyoto was a great success in spite of Shibusawa's preoccupied state of mind. His reserve gave him an air of dignity and charm of manner that surprised and pleased the too much coddled mikado, who could not help admiring the young man's strong, athletic build and evenly balanced temperament. Here at last was one who frowned upon frivolity and seemed to exemplify real manhood; who aimed at something above sordid pleasure. Takara, too, was proud of her husband, and had already begun to look up to him and to feel the force of his character. Yet something she had hoped and longed for was missing. All her maiden life she had dreamed of this one sweet satisfying thing, and it was still an unrealised thought. They did not remain at Kyoto longer than etiquette required, though in that time Shibusawa saw something of the life and manners at the royal abode. He came in contact with not only the immediate members of the family but some of the mikado's most intimate advisers and a multitude of his well-paid admirers, and therefrom formed some notion of the prodigality if not unwisdom of such a duplicity of government. Returning they went by way of Kanazawa, where Takara was very much impressed with the magnificence of her father-in-law's estates, the prospective seat of her husband's future empire. "Oh, what a beautiful place, and such a grand scene!" said she, with rapture, as they approached the family mansion at the summit of the hill. "And the lovely breeze, and the stately pines, and all the beautiful things which Kami has given us--here you will be my lover, and I, oh, how I shall love you! Yes, I will love you, love you, oh, so much!" Shibusawa did not answer, but for the first time recognised her full nature, and presaged the consequence of his failure. Nor did he venture to speak and in some measure unfold the true state of his feelings until the day before their final departure for Tokyo. She had waited for him and longed for him, and now somewhat of despair if not disgust had taken hold of her. They were sitting side by side on the matted floor, and from the open side could see afar over the wind-tossed deep or out at the timbered hills looming in the background. "Takara," said he, after a long silence, "you are a patient, noble woman. You deserve a better appreciation than I can give you. Our connection is the result of a false tradition, a perverted truth. Ambition is the sponsor and necessity the maker of this cruel situation, and in order that we may not suffer therefrom let us be wise." With the first sound of Shibusawa's voice Takara brightened with encouragement, but as he proceeded her ardour cooled; and when she came to measure him in the light of a starved sensibility there dawned upon her a full appreciation of their true relation, though she did not hasten to answer nor did she shrink in the least from him. She only sat toying with a loose obi (sash); finally it occurred to her to speak, and she said with a sigh: "Shibusawa, you just now made me happy, when for the first time you spoke my name. Though only a short happiness, it momentarily filled me with the pride that comes not of unchaste wedlock. It would have satisfied me to feel that you knew this if nothing more. It is a little thing, yet a priceless jewel in the crown of perfect womanhood. This privilege is denied me and a more convenient one granted. Sorrow is my reward; wisdom could have served me no worse." Nothing further was said to mar the pleasure of their visit at Kanazawa or the remainder of the journey, and when they had safely arrived at Tokyo they found themselves in a mood to enjoy a brief interval of rest before the giving of the grand final entertainment. This sumptuous affair was supposed to be given under the immediate auspices of the contracting parties themselves, but in this case it had been made the special business of the redoubtable Ikamon. And so well did he manage that Maido indulged a lavish generosity, and even the shogun expressed a sincere appreciation. Invitations had been issued to all of the shogun's court and the royal court, and to such of the nobility as were in sympathy or could in any manner be accounted influential or desirable. An effort was made to bring together all the dignitaries and supporters of state as well as the beauty and fashion of the land; to inaugurate a better understanding between the two parties and bring as far as possible the malcontented literati under the influence of the shogun; and, of course, incidentally, to advance Ikamon and his friends wherever and whenever convenient. The night of July 7th had been set for the festivities, and when that evening came the grounds were resplendent with lighted lanterns and the banquet halls were festooned with vine and blossom. The beautiful foliage, the brilliant lights, the fragrant flowers, the lacquered walls, the spotless floors, the embroidered screens, the simple ornaments, all combined to make a scene of beauty and inspire a hearty good will. The feast had employed the highest art and the ransacking of every market for rare foods and choice viands. The delicate cooking and exquisite flavouring proclaimed the finest culinary art, while the mild tea and rich liquor evinced an exactness of curing and perfection of brewing that might well rank Maido's workers and artisans in the highest class of perfection. The dinner in its almost endless round of courses represented the very acme of human endeavour, tastes, and desires covering an unbroken period of over a thousand years of polite and civil life, and might well be the joy of a people who in the nicety of its conception and the beauty of its creation stands for all time as a model to the world. A thousand dancing girls, with embroidered gowns, reeled hither and thither over the noiseless floor, tripping time to strangely harmonious and sweet-sounding instruments, while the guests mingled and the feast progressed. The hour was neither early nor late. The night was warm. Not a leaf stirred. No sound rose from without. Then suddenly there came the cannon's roar, a blinding flash. The startled throng sprang up and stared blankly. "It is Hoti, god of good will, brandishing his heavenly sword and beating the mighty drum, Sekegakara," they cried in one accord, as they recovered, and ran from one to another, talking and laughing the event away. "How silly to take fright! Let us be merry! Now and for ever!" rang out, sounding anew the dash of pomp, the march of joy. Then again and again the threatening voice broke upon the still air, telling them that a new agency, the force of a friendly foe, was at their door, bidding them hearken. With each discharge their fears grew, until bitterness and hate burst forth in determinate unison: "Foreign devil!" It was all they could say; it was enough. Yet in all that excitement there were two who more than others controlled their emotions, and set about calmly to dissuade hasty and ill-advised action. From the firing of Commodore Perry's first shot Ikamon divined its certain meaning; and before the old _Susquehanna_ had ceased sounding her notes of warning he had begun to evolve a plan for his own aggrandisement. Therefore, while others fell upon one another in loud appeals to the gods, he moved quietly among them, foretelling the true character of the strange visitation. It was quite different, however, with Tetsutaisho, for at the first sound of firing he fell upon his knees in the midst of a coterie of admirers, and between gesticulating with his arms and beating his head upon the floor prayed first to one god, then another, to drive away the unforeseen and save them from an untimely end. Whether it be earthquake or "foreign devil" mattered not to him so long as their women be spared and their honour maintained, though when understanding finally dawned he suddenly changed face and began strutting around in a boastful manner, vowing the enemy all sorts of speedy overthrowings and fatal exterminations. Between Ikamon's expounding and Tetsutaisho's boasting there was left little place for speculation, yet there was one, young as he was, who gave himself over to calm reason. Shibusawa not only judged, but observed as well. Before the conclusion of the first salute from the little squadron in the harbour he had realised that the spirit of the entertainment was broken; and before the last began, saw that the guests were departing, some politely though all in haste. The few who had the right were hastening to the citadel, while others sought elsewhere the most advantageous points of observation; therefore Shibusawa embraced the earliest opportunity to withdraw, and retired directly to his own rooms. From the lower side of his chamber he could see out across the harbour to where the strange vessels were being placed at anchor. The grey hulls of the little squadron lay broadside to the city, and their long rows of mysterious lights shone brightly against the dark background. Rumour had pictured these castles of the deep, though few in this sacred land had known or seen them in reality. The sight was an inspiring one, and when the final salute began Shibusawa's spirit rose, and as volley after volley rang out against the still, cool air of night his patriotism stirred him to grand, uplifting thoughts. Here at last was a force unknown to them; a power beyond their comprehension; a god to be reckoned with. He did not stand there long, but in that time fully resolved what he himself should do. It was a moment for serious thought, and in it there came to him a world of possibilities. There was no need for him in the council chamber; he had not yet assumed the responsibilities of state. His place in the family was that of a makeshift, and his true voice unheeded. Why not go out into the world and there gain that knowledge which would satisfy his thirst and possibly in some measure enable him to preserve the happiness of his own people? Yes; here was an opportunity; he must go, he would go, come what might. And then he thought of Kinsan. Would she understand him? He must see her, and explain. He would reassure her, and gain her consent. Then, and not until then, there would be no obstacle in the way of his highest ambition. But how could he reach her? and would she hear him? "Ah," said he, to himself, "I have it. She will be at the cave;--she is there now;--it is her only lookout, and she too may have seen this beautiful sight. The whole place is roused, and by this time on the move. If my ears serve me right, even the shogun is trying to make his way to the citadel! I shall have no trouble about entering at the gate, and will find her. I must go." His mind once made up he lost no time, but made ready and hurried away. Outside the castle grounds he found everything in confusion; a few lingered in front, others tramped up and down, some going, some coming, and all were in a state of feverish anxiety. At times almost an uncontrollable impulse to join in with the rest took hold of him, yet he did not yield but kept steadfastly to his purpose. Shibusawa soon arrived at the cave, but to his dismay found it unoccupied. He sat down, and pondered. Presently he looked out over the vast expanse of tiled and thatched roof, and as his eyes lingered he comprehended the full measure of its content. There was at their door a force which proclaimed a greater, a grander civilisation, and could he but reach the seat of its activities he might know and determine its character. But was such a thing possible? He knew of no means; not even whence they came or what were their necessities. Yet those monsters of the deep must hail from somewhere, and could he but put himself on board without detection he would be carried thither. Whether they possessed a like means of subsistence he did not know; tradition did not tell him that, but he did know that the sea and the air contained food such as he required, and so long as they did not go beyond these he felt reasonably sure of being able to provide for himself. His very finger tips tingled with expectation--but Kinsan arose in his mind and he half whispered: "No, I cannot, must not go without first seeing her. It is my duty, her right." Presently he started off and, not knowing just where to go, unconsciously turned toward Kinsan's house, opposite to whence he came. A flight of less than a half dozen steps led down a small declivity, and when he had nearly reached the bottom he almost stumbled upon Kinsan, who lay, with her hands folded, crouching upon the lower step. He stooped quietly over her and whispered, "Kinsan," but she did not answer him. "She is sleeping," thought he, "and I will sit here at her side until she has awakened. The pause will give me time to choose the words, and her presence the courage to speak." The warm breeze fanned and soothed, and the still, clear night inspired him. His mind ran on and out until transported into boundless fancy. The earth, the sun, the moon, and the stars were not of his world. All were in the great abyss beyond. He spoke, saying: "Where?" A voice answered: "At my side." He said: "At the side of whom?" The voice said: "Love." He looked. The darkness disappeared, and a flood of light streamed around them and away into limitless space. He said: "I have found the Light." And she whispered: "You are my god." Kinsan had arisen, and together they walked into the cave, and there sat and looked and talked and reasoned for a long time. Not so very long before Shibusawa's arrival at the cave a mysterious voice had called Kinsan, and she had gone there, kneeling at the stone steps as she had knelt and prayed since their last meeting. From that time she had not entered the enclosure, but held it as a place sacred even to her. It was the throne upon which sat her love, her life, her god. There she could not enter, but at his feet she was wont to kneel and pray that he be saved, that the light return, and that he proclaim her his own, his goddess love. It was long after midnight when Shibusawa and Kinsan fully understood each other and again pledged their faith and vowed their never-ending love: when the stars witnessed their seal, and they parted and went according to their destined way. CHAPTER X THE STOWAWAYS Shibusawa ran toward his house with a fleet foot and a light heart. He had fully made up his mind to go if possible on board one of the strange ships and sail away with the fleet. Whither he did not know; nor did he consider when or how he should be able to return. These were trifles with which he did not concern himself, for the one person above all others to whom his life was fully consecrated had pledged her faith in his undertaking, and he proposed boldly and resolutely to go forward into the dark unknown. His adventure might carry him into limitless space, possibly land him upon the shores of another world; or it might cross over the irresistible or emerge beyond the impenetrable. The home of this strange people might be the centre of a molten universe or the frozen arc of an indescribable radius; whatever it was, he had builded his hopes upon that faith which invites us beyond the grave and makes life worth the living. With nothing more than a pilgrim outfit and what seemed to him a goodly supply of ready money Shibusawa and Okyo stole their way to the side of the most convenient man-of-war. The day was just breaking and the harbour already swarming with sampans, filled and manned with the curiously inclined. After a while with much bickering and bartering they succeeded in getting aboard, where they were safely stowed away among the stokers and lay anxiously awaiting the ship's departure. In the meantime Commodore Perry had despatched an early message to the shogun, requesting an immediate audience with his duly accredited representative; and as this request seemed to be backed by proper credentials, and had been heralded by a strange, bold display of force, the now thoroughly terrorised autocrat of the flowery kingdom yielded a point and forthwith directed the anxious but nowhere to be found Ikamon to visit his grace, the Commodore, on board his ship. Ikamon had disappeared! Maido was substituted, and to the surprise of the hastily summoned council and the chagrin of Tetsutaisho this conference did not last more than an hour, while their rights seemed arbitrarily decreed. The ambitious commander had reduced his request to somewhat the form of an ultimatum, which he politely delivered, promising immediately to withdraw his ships, and in one year return for an answer. The purpose of the visit and the conditions of the withdrawal alike remained unknown to Shibusawa, who now lay wholly occupied with the strange, mysterious things around him. He had not as yet been missed on shore, for the excitement was great, and his absence attracted no particular attention. His father, like all the shogun's court, was busily engaged with what seemed to him a threatening danger. Takara gave herself very little concern about him, and Nehachibana was already too well employed with watching her recently affianced Tetsutaisho. Therefore, when the white squadron filed out, all those on shore breathed a token of relief, and were happy for the departure, except perchance one at the hidden cave, whose gladness sprang only from her faith. She stood there pondering and watching until the last ship had passed from sight, and then she turned with a sigh to the place which had brought her such joy only because of the pain. Kinsan returned that morning to her home a happier woman. She had met life's first severe trial and had stood the test and won the battle, for she now knew the power of faith. Before leaving home Shibusawa had penned a short message to his father, and one to his wife. He informed Takara that he should be absent for a long time, and advised her to seek such happiness as she herself might find. To his father he explained more fully his departure, his intentions, and his hopes. Again he urged Maido to accept the situation, feel assured of his safety, and fully confide in his purposes. As the ship rolled out upon the great ocean Shibusawa gained a parting glimpse of his native land, and there came over him, only for an instant, a feeling of awe mingled with something of regret. Then he dismissed the past and thenceforth looked only to the future. CHAPTER XI CAST ADRIFT Upon sailing out into the open water the little squadron encountered calm weather and a smooth sea, and as they had taken the outside course it was late at night before the Black Current was left behind. The phosphorescent light danced and played, while the air grew warm and balmy; though Shibusawa since leaving sight of land ventured not so high as a port-hole to enjoy the delights of a summer night on the Eastern seas. In fact, the first relaxation from the excitement of getting off, the swaying of the ship, the warmth of the boilers, and the closeness of the atmosphere combined to make him drowsy, and he crawled forward and hid himself away between great rolls of canvas, where he went fast asleep. Nor did he after he had awakened attempt to stir from his hiding-place until hunger and thirst had driven him out. Then he came, blindly searching for the one who had undertaken for an advance consideration to "stow" and feed him and his companion until the ship landed at Shanghai, its proposed destination. And when he finally did after much confusion find his provider he was surprised and mortified at the treatment meted him. "Take that, Indian, and mind y'u that 'mum is the word'," said the churlish stoker, as he tossed him an old tin half filled with cold stew, earlier in the day purloined from the mess. Shibusawa said nothing and took the food, though not without a look of resentment. He did not understand the words, but from the fellow's gruff manner suspected something of his meaning. Those last words, "mum is the word," impressed him, and intuitively he felt they in some way related to manner. This he afterwards so thoroughly impressed upon Okyo's mind that he, doubtful slave, learned no more "European," but made that much serve his every purpose. Had Shibusawa been more politic, and accepted the situation as a necessary consequence of his uncongenial surroundings, he might have escaped further insult, but that characteristic look of his gave the big, sooty stoker further occasion to "show off," whereat he pounced upon him with his big bony hand in such manner as to send his now bewildered charge sprawling over the loose coals, saying, gruffly: "Ahoy wid y'u! I'll teach y'u to scud y'r gang. I'll take a reef in y'r jib, y'u blubberene!" Shibusawa made no attempt to resist the attack, but consoled himself in the belief that there were others to be found in this strange civilisation that were less impolite. He tried to relish the food, though he could not bear its smell, much less its taste. It was different cooking from any he had ever eaten, and the seasoning--well, it was no worse than the ingredients, which he suspected to be mostly flesh of some kind or another. "Can these strange people be cannibals? Yes, they must be, else whence did they obtain this greasy stuff?" queried he, as he thought of his own fate. Shibusawa, however, had not started off entirely unprepared, but upon leaving home had thrust into the folds of his girdle a few handfuls of loose rice and a small skin of fresh water. Now that he was hungry for food that he could eat and water that he could drink he withdrew into a lonely corner and helped himself sparingly. In the matter of clothing he was more fortunate, for early upon his advent he had succeeded in bargaining for a pair of blue overalls and jumper, besides cowhide shoes and a sailor's cap. For Okyo, he had as yet procured only a shirt and the shoes--the remainder being promised upon their arrival at Shanghai. Thus the day passed, though it was not later than four o'clock when it began suddenly to grow dark. The air was becoming oppressive and the pressure rapidly dropping. Presently the ship's men began hurrying here and there under enforced orders, and everywhere about there seemed a hushed, anxious feeling. The barometer now registered 27,077 and the captain took his place on the bridge. The stokers' shovels rang from below with the rhythm of their merry "he-ho," and the black clouds of smoke rolled aft in her wake. The boatswain's hardy voice rose high above the rattling of cordage and the planking of hatchways. The half-hour bell solemnly tolled, and a pall-like stillness settled over all as the storm-centre lowered around them. A hush, a whirl, a roar--and the suspense was over. The storm had burst, and the typhoon was on. The head-on bell sounded and the grimy funnels belched clouds of sparks, and the ponderous ship hurled a foaming surf and furrowed the angry sea like a demon waging a last defence. The fire flashed and the heavens roared and rumbled, while every man braced himself at his post. Sea after sea lashed and drove upon her decks. Her cabins creaked and her beams trembled. The breathless lurches, the awful plunges, the terrific pounding, all told of her mighty battle for life and of the uncertainty of man's contention with the mad fury of the elements. In the midst of the awful storm Shibusawa became deathly sick, and made a desperate effort to gain the upper deck. Several times he had been discovered and as often beaten back, but the want of fresh air and the uncertainty of his position each time impelled him to further effort. At last he succeeded in reaching the open hatchway, and watching his chance slipped by and clambered upon the open deck. Here the wind caught him up and hurled him along the slippery plank and headlong aft, where he lodged in a tangled mass of débris. A lone boatswain caught him from going overboard, and in the hurry and excitement lashed him to a life raft which had been swept up by the last wave. The hardy fellow had barely covered his own safety when another high sea caught the ship abaft her starboard bow and swept over her deck like a monstrous tidal wave. "Man overboard!" cried the boatswain, as Shibusawa and his life raft disappeared behind the tumbling, heaving, jagged mountain, that rolled, and moaned, and foamed in the distance. His voice was lost in the din of wind and rain that swept down from the bridge above. "All under deck and make fast your hatchway!" shouted the captain, as the quartermaster tugged at the helm's tangled gear. "We must throw her into the trough of the sea, mate, else we are lost," continued he, as the disabled apparatus failed to steer, and a swelling, growling sea came speeding on. A crash, a splash, and a shiver--and the big ship lay as if stunned, and debating whether after all life is worth the trial. Then slowly she began to rise, and the terrible suspense was over. Caged and fearful men were now assured of her determination to survive, and they loved and praised and trusted her. There was no longer any doubt, but every soul would have pledged his life that she would win the battle. Rising again she rolled to starboard, as if bantering her oncoming assailant for the second trial. This one, larger, though calmer than the first, took her amidship and heaved her over on her port side; then as if unmindful rolled on and over the submerged ship. Not a man lost his courage as she sank and sank, and seemed to go farther and farther toward the ghoulish bottom, but with each faint feeling there came a responsive voice that rang with certainty: "She'll win, boys; just give her time." Presently she sank no more, but rested, as if satisfied to venture no farther. Then she raised a little, then more, and still more, until at last she leaped upon the surface and bounded about like a cork on the water. She had won, and the third wave pushed her down, and dropped her broadside into the trough of the sea. There she lay, and tossed at the water's will until the morning of the second day, when the typhoon had passed and the seas were again calm. Shibusawa's disappearance was lamented by none but two. When cast adrift he was so blinded by the spray and drenched with water that he could neither see nor hear. Fortunately his frail raft did not capsize but remained right side up, and he clung fast with a tenacity possessed only by one who is in the very jaws of horrible death. He was a good swimmer and accustomed to the water, else he might not have fared even so well as not to have been washed away. All night long he drifted in the darkness, not knowing where he was or just how he came to be there. He knew nothing of such conditions and had never heard of a similar circumstance, yet instinct told him how best to make use of the slender means at hand; necessity moved him to do so. The wind blew and the seas lashed. He did not cry out, nor did he lose courage, for he had resolved to meet his fate like a man. Day came and passed and he was still alone. Toward night the wind had gone down, and he could relax his hold and ease his tired arms and numb limbs. He quenched his thirst a bit from the skin of water, which he still carried, and then ate sparingly of the rice in his pocket. As the gloom began to turn into darkness he for the last time stretched himself and looked around, but could see nothing except perilous waters. For many long hours he nerved himself to the task, and not until the sun rose the next morning did he succumb to the terrible exhaustion. Then he sank down and saw no more, but dreamed of Kinsan and of the rescue that soon would save him from a watery grave. It was about three o'clock of that afternoon when the _Fair Puget_, a lumber schooner from Puget Sound, hove into sight on her return trip from Shanghai, where she had recently discharged a cargo of timber. The trim little ship was sailing under a fair wind and the veteran captain, Thomas N. Thompson, was at the wheel. "Come here, Jack," said he to his lone mate, as he knocked the ashes from a rusty box-elder pipe, which he jammed into his grey trousers hip pocket. "Try the glasses on yon bit of drift, Jack, and see if y'u c'n make out the like of it." Jack took the long, brass-trimmed, rust-stained glasses and adjusted them to his widely set eyes, threw his shoulders back and his middle forward, and squinted with first one eye, then the other. Presently he lowered the glasses and with much deliberation drew from his washed-out overalls pocket a long plug of navy, from which he calmly bit a huge quid. He then raised the glasses a second time, taking great pains as he did so to re-adjust and fit them to the importance of the occasion. After several times shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he lowered the glasses and placed his arms akimbo and said in an offhand manner: "I don't see nothin'. I guess it's a log'r two adrift. Glad we don't have to reef in--she's makin' a deuced good eight knots now, and I don't see no let up ahe'd." "S'p'osin' you give me a spell here't the wheel, Jack, and let me take a squint on't. Somehow I feel it in my bones--feel't there's something more'n drift in that bunch," said Tom N., as he was familiarly called over at the Blakely Mills, where he had been getting charters since the first cargo left its port. "All right, cap'n. You're the judge, and I'm not objectin',so long as we don't have to heave to. It 'u'd be a tarnation pity to spile this beautiful head on--you know we're already short on time. That whirler was a corker, wan't she, cap'n?" said the easygoing fellow, as he spattered the deck with fresh tobacco juice and toyed with the wheel, which stood loosely wound at his side. "Jack," said the captain, presently, with a feeling of great satisfaction, "there's something besides 'still life' in that heap, if I'm not mightily mistaken. See that school of shark round there?" "Are y'u sure them's not dog fish, cap'n?" queried the pretending mate, who was still anxious to make good use of a favourable wind, if not to avoid hauling in the sails. "Yep; they're shark, sure enough," continued the captain, now more certain than ever. "I guess we'll have to haul to, mate. It won't do to pass somethin' in distress--not so long as Tom N. is the poop sheik of a gig sloop. Not on your life, mate! And who knows but one of us'll be the very next to man a like un'?" "Well, I s'pose it's the order, then?" said Jack, gloomily. "I'll bet, though, it's nothin' more'n a 'Jap,' even if we do heave to." Jack lost no time in putting the men to work, and, as usual, when he went at it in earnest the thing was soon done. The little three-master was brought to, not far distant from the floating drift, which now plainly disclosed the form of a man. The excitement began to grow intense, and Jack's ponderous voice could have been heard for miles around as he and two trustys jumped into the lifeboat and yelled: "Swing to the davits and let go your blocks!" Thereafter no time was lost in getting the shipwrecked man on board, and in applying the necessary restoratives; though it was some time before Shibusawa fully recovered consciousness, and when he did so they were again under full sail for Port Blakely, Washington. CHAPTER XII A WOMAN'S PRIVILEGE Shibusawa's being washed overboard left Okyo a helpless and penniless victim. For nearly two days he managed to escape being burned alive in the firebox, by the angry stoker, who was now determined to rid himself of the fruitless charge. Through fright and exposure and hunger he had become so nearly dumb that when discovered and questioned he could say nothing but "mum is the word." Then he was taken on deck and offered food and water, and as a matter of safety placed in the guard house, where he remained until the ship landed at Shanghai. Here he was detained until an opportunity came to return him to his native land, and when he had finally arrived in Tokyo, some two months later, he was still unable to make any explanation of his condition or experiences. Maido tried by every means to elicit some word from him that might throw light upon the whereabouts or safety of his son. All his efforts were of no avail, and the only thing possible for Okyo to say was: "Mum is the word." Okyo's hapless predicament--which led Maido to think it possible that his son had met a like fate, or even a worse one--wore heavily upon the already overburdened daimyo. Since the landing of Commodore Perry's fleet, matters of state were becoming more and more strained. Every day brought new charges and counter charges of the one party against the other. Contrary to Ikamon's promises the literati had not been quelled, but were again fast gaining strength throughout the south, and even the mikado himself was becoming not averse to listening to their bitter complaints, if not to their proposed radical changes. Though Maido was becoming sick at heart and weak of purpose he could not, much as he desired to do so, extricate himself from the tangled net that dragged at the home or in the state. Old tactics and new sorrows were little calculated to bring him that peace of mind and ease of heart to which he had all his life looked forward, and Shibusawa's absence had come to be not only the source of deepest regret but the cause of nervous, restless anxiety. Ikamon's schemes, also, were weighing Maido down with uncertainty; forcing him into a retirement shorn of every consolation saving only Nehachibana. She soothed him and cheered him and he worshipped her, yet this last and only comfort was soon to be snatched away. Nehachibana, too, was suddenly to fall a victim to Ikamon's base desires, to Tetsutaisho's insatiate thirst. Maido's consent was wrung out of him and his daughter torn from him, and when on a dark, dreary day early in September she was carried away the old man broke down and wept bitterly. "You, too, Nehachibana," were the only words, as the bridal train left, and wended its way toward Tetsutaisho's father's house, where the eager bridegroom waited this, the coming of his latest prey. They were married, and Nehachibana was loved only till abandoned to the ill-usage of a tyrannical mother-in-law. The Tetsutaishos belonged to the samurai class and as such were permitted a small living within the outer moat. Tetsutaisho was next to the youngest of seven children--an elder brother and five sisters. The father had never risen in the ranks, but owing to dissipation and over-indulgence had reached a state of worthlessness which deprived him of all social standing and reduced his income to the barest necessities. The eldest son had grown up a useless appendage to an already declining family, and his time was frittered away at playing "go" or in hanging about at the wrestling matches. The girls had been at an early age regularly sold into their kind of slavery, and in such manner the family managed barely to subsist until Tetsutaisho's fortunes began to rise. In spite of this one's coarse breeding and fallen rank there was something about him which appealed to his superiors. He was every inch a soldier, and few there were who could snap a bow or flash a steel as he. From childhood he took a fancy to everything military, and early in life had shown a disposition to redeem a lost heritage and restore his family to its proper rank and former prowess. However, such a thing as executive ability was unknown to him. His wants did not go beyond the hour, and the matter of provision never entered his head. He was hale and hearty, and a "good fellow well met." There were but two things which concerned him--war and women; the one his occupation, the other his amusement. Therefore, when Nehachibana came to his father's home Tetsutaisho did not at all worry about the kind or quality of dowry which she brought. It was only her tender innocence that he coveted, and that only for his enjoyment. For her he had no sympathy, nothing to offer. She must take her place, as it was, and be contented. He had not even thought of an heir--that was a thing which as yet had not occurred to him, and thus it offered no encouragement to his wife. There was, notwithstanding, one in the family, his mother, who had looked forward with a great deal of interest to the coming of the bride's household effects, particularly the presents, and as they arrived and were unpacked she grumbled at each, no matter what the kind or cost. Nothing pleased her, and she said: "They are fine enough, but lack in quality, I know. And this Maido, who is he, that my son, my Tetsutaisho, should so honour him as to take his daughter in marriage? Is this what I am to get? And that without a voice? Verily the hand of misfortune falls heavily. Beauty and treasure--rags and fiddlesticks! A joros[10] would have brought me good returns. And what is this I hear all the time? Goddess Benten?--Nehachibana! Hist! Better try your prayers on Kwannon. The goddess of mercy is more likely your need: the goddess of love, your wish." "O my most honourable mother-in-law, O my gracious Fukurokuju," said Nehachibana, meekly. "Myself I most humbly give you, for the god Oshaka has willed it. May the god Daikaku smile fortune upon you! My Benzaiten, my wealth surrender. My Kaminaraba, my heart I gave. O Amida, I pray you bring me always hard suffering if I now or ever keep my mother-in-law in the least ignorance." "Well you may be proud to serve. Few wives have husbands who have mothers who are so exceedingly blessed by the sweet, beautiful god of good nature, Hoti," answered the vain mother-in-law. "I take my place with much appreciation, and I now consecrate my life to the happy service of my most lovely mother-in-law," said Nehachibana, bowing low. "Scissors," said the other, while they both scowled away. Nehachibana's husband was at first exceedingly attentive to her, and while he did not concern himself about her troubles at home he rather felt that he had gained a prize by taking Ikamon's advice and marrying the daimyo's daughter. He soon discovered that he had not only served a friend, but improved his own chances; for, in these days when disastrous clouds were forming so rapidly, any connection which brooked a stronger alliance with a house like that of Maido's meant certain favour to those concerned. Tetsutaisho, however, was not always over-sagacious, and as time went on he began to exploit his fortunes in other directions than at home. Kinsan had managed to keep well out of his way and therefore, though not forgotten, out of his mind. Probably, also, he was somewhat lax in pressing his fondness there because of the demands made upon his attention by Takara, his rather ardent sister-in-law. In fact, it was at Nehachibana's homegoing party that he had first begun to feel something more than a brotherly interest in the deep and unfathomable wife of Shibusawa. And as they sat together there, on the veranda, with now and then a falling leaf to remind them of the oncoming season, she looked unusually pretty, and her rather sad, far-away look did anything but lessen her attractiveness, as she looked up to him and said: "Do you think me not enough composed for one so newly married, Tetsutaisho?" "No, Takara," answered he, meditatively. "I was just remarking to myself how well you wore the care. I'll venture his reward vouchsafes the kindness." "I trust so." "He could only say as much." "Why?" "I will tell you sometime; I must go now--Nehachibana is waiting for me. See her--she is actually coming toward us." "Why, Nehachibana," continued he, speaking to his wife, "you really look a trifle jealous. How now, my beauty treasure?" "Oh, no; she's not jealous," said Takara, quickly divining the situation; "only men have the right to be jealous, women the privilege." "Oh, Takara! How you do talk!" said Nehachibana, flushed and gladdened. "I should lose my tongue were I to scold like that. I know I should. No man would have the patience with me, much less would my husband." "Nehachibana is right," said Tetsutaisho, consolingly. "A man regards, and a husband disregards. And why not? Come, my little wife, let us be off and away. There be times when even virtue has not its reward." Takara gracefully yielded to the unpleasant interruption, and for a week or more no further intercourse was had with Tetsutaisho. He became suddenly so enrapt with Nehachibana that for the time being he forgot all about Takara and the innocent flush which had come to her cheeks in speaking of marriage and its attendant influences. It was not so with Takara. She remembered well his words and how he brightened with interest at her every whim and fancy; then she thought of how happy Nehachibana must be. "I am not jealous," said she to herself, time and time again. "It is only Nehachibana. I do not know such a thing; only other women are jealous. I wonder why? Nor do I envy anybody. I only wish Shibusawa were like Tetsutaisho. How I would love him--love him, oh, love him!" Often her feelings ran on and on until she fancied her own husband the hero of her life. No taint had ever entered her heart. She believed him the master of her destiny and the fulfilment of her fortunes. Then Tetsutaisho came again, toward the latter part of September, and she was not displeased with his courtesies. He had come at the instance of Ikamon to talk over the matter of the shogun's successor--that Iyeyoshi was now ill and there seemed to be no hope of his recovery--but, presently he came, there arrived a message for Maido to appear forthwith at a council meeting (prefacing the expected), at which the grief-stricken daimyo hurried away, leaving the young and careless general there to entertain the ladies or idle away his time at will. It was a quiet afternoon and Tetsutaisho and Takara wandered off beneath the falling leaves to a sheltered place on the lawn. Takara was lonely. She had had no friendships since Tetsutaisho's last visit except only Maido's, her father-in-law. To him she was already beginning to be a comfort, and in a measure to take the place of his lost daughter. But it was an old man's friendship; and when the younger gallant left her that evening she may have bidden him welcome to return. CHAPTER XIII DANGER IN SHIBUSAWA'S ABSENCE So far as Tetsutaisho was concerned he had called at the daimyo's castle only by accident, though there was much anxiety and probably no one's fortune more at stake. Iyeyoshi had grown old and inert amidst strained conditions, and appreciated more fully than could Iyesada, his youthful successor, the necessity of advancing the bold, heedless young general. Nor was Tetsutaisho free from the danger of rival aspirants; yet there was no war at hand, and he knew of no better business than pleasing Ikamon and paying respect to the ladies at court. Here he need not concern himself with rivalry, for the one guided with a jealous eye his rising place and the other enjoyed without interruption his pleasing address. He came and went at will, and had he not sooner possessed an unknown love he might have quicker formed an attachment. Takara responded naturally to the voice of inevitable will, but a yearning heart unconsciously bade him seek Kinsan. Without neglecting the former, he pressed his suit for the latter, and now more than ever became a faithful caller at the modest cottage in the garden; and as he persisted Kinsan determined and withdrew patiently into the solitude of her unknown retreat, and there conjured feelings of love that ripened with each thought and strengthened in the face of every danger. Filial affection bound her and crowned her, yet she was possessed of a new force, moved by a deeper impulse. She battled with the inevitable and yielded her life to what seemed to be the impossible; no quarter was given, and fate tracked her even to her last place of hope. It was on a warm afternoon in early spring, when the clouds overhung with threatening storm, that Tetsutaisho, hurrying toward his home, wended his way along the selfsame pathway, which led past Kinsan's lonely spot on the hillside. As he came into sight a gust of wind swept down the gully and whipped his kimono close round his limbs. He paused and looked overhead, but none too soon, for large drops, falling straight and swift, warned him of the rapidly approaching downpour. "If I mistake not," said he, to himself, "I shall get a good drenching this time. I wonder what shelter is that in the distance? If I could get there without too much hobbling--it is my only chance. I shall venture." If he had but looked closer he might also have seen Kinsan, who had gone there earlier in the day to escape his presence at her house. However, she saw him, and when he left the path she had so often watched him tread her heart stood still and she trembled with fright. He was surely coming, and there was no possible means of escape. She appealed not to the gods, but grasped at intuition; her secret hiding-place offered an alternate, and quickly entering she covered her safety as best she could. Tetsutaisho found his way there; and in time, for it had not yet begun to rain, though great clouds were massing and the sky was growing dark and hollow. He entered the scant shelter with no concern about its past or thought of its significance. It was a covering, and though dreary he faced about and looked out at the grand panorama of mingled peace and storm its outlook brought into view. He stood with folded arms, likening the elements to a marshalling of the samurai, in which he should sometime startle the land and bring glory to himself. And then he thought of Kinsan and of how she, too, were she there would under such a spell acknowledge his unalterable right. He straightened back and marvelled at his greatness, while the lowering clouds rumbled afar. Then suddenly a submerged sneeze at his back frightened him, and he wheeled about and peered into the gloom at the dumb, bleak walls. He could see no one, and suddenly it grew dark, and clashing thunder broke overhead. Again he was startled by the same mysterious sound, and he fell down and cried: "It is the ghost of Taira!" Scarcely had he uttered the words when the rain began to pour, and the ghoulish sound once more started him to his feet, and he ran out into the driving storm and dashed down the hillside, toward his home, far beyond the second moat. Here, soaked and exhausted, he hid himself in his room and pondered deeply the voice at the cave. The rain pounded overhead, and in each corner there seemed lurking a spirit--he heard many sounds. It was a warning, and the next day Tetsutaisho was at the council chamber, early and faithful. He heard Ikamon argue against change, and in favour of continuance; comprehended his meaning, that natural growth is the law of the gods; and agreed with his charge, that nothing short of revolution could overthrow a system that followed regular, active, inherent growth. "What," said the prime minister, with squeaking voice and expressionless face, "would you have us do? Change our course now that the storm drives at our front and the breakers rise behind us? Would you at mid-stream change this good old ship, that has weathered the storm of ages, for one that is new and untried? No; a thousand times no! and may such men as Maido, Saigo, Katsu, Tetsutaisho, and--if I may be permitted--Ikamon, live to helm her safely into port. Iyesada, brave captain that he is, cannot afford to man his ship with other than the skilled and experienced, and where else can he find them but at the post of duty? This is the plan which I propose, and I call upon every loyal citizen, every adherent of the august shogun, and every lover of the divine mikado, to rally to my support." They came; the victory was his; and the shogun more than ever in his power. Katsu was soon thereafter placed at the head of the navy, and Tetsutaisho advanced to the command of the army. It was the reward his friends had given him for his loyalty, and he took the advancement as a matter of course, not even deigning to return thanks or offer a promise. So far as he was concerned his friends were his fortune, and even the law of the land had no place as between him and them. Under Ikamon's domination Tetsutaisho was relieved of the necessity for any particular state activities, while his promotion had placed him socially at the head of the samurai, as had his marriage to Nehachibana raised him in esteem among the nobility and given him standing at court. The state furnished him with luxuriant quarters, where he domiciled his family, under the immediate sway of his fault-finding mother, with Nehachibana as her patient, industrious slave. Time passed leisurely, and as he had long ago forgotten his desperate resolve he was wont more than ever to make regular calls at his father-in-law's house. As these visits grew in frequency, the length of his stay became less guarded; and Takara, at first looking upon his coming as a pleasing incident, recurring now and then in her monotonous life, welcomed him, then looked for him, and now, that his had come to be her only true companionship, longed for his coming. "You will come to-morrow, will you not, Tetsutaisho?" said she, with pleading, wistful eyes, as he was about to leave her on a warm, inviting night in June. "Yes, Takara," answered he, softly and earnestly. "I will come over, and together we will watch the second sailing of Perry's fleet, the departure of the first man who ever dared profane our soil. I understand the arrant braggart has finally wrung from the shogun certain privileges that are not less dangerous than disgraceful. As he came, he will go out: booming his noisy guns. It will be a showy thing, and possibly worth our seeing. I shall certainly come, my lady, especially that it pleases you to have me. And now, good-night, and pleasant dreams." Upon the following day Tetsutaisho once more wandered over to the council and for a time hopelessly endeavoured to share in the tumult occasioned by the second appearance of the American fleet. He was deeply impressed with the importance of the proceedings, but diplomacy was not his business, nor was it in keeping with his ideas of national honour, much less official dignity or personal heroism. To him Ikamon's subtle harangue had been quite as much a bore as was the commodore's demand a bold and hollow bluff. Had he had his way he would have invited the meddlesome foreigner to come ashore and inspect the samurai before undertaking to establish in their midst any sort of commercial theft. But Tetsutaisho's voice as yet had no weight in the chamber, and he knew it and was satisfied. Withdrawing presently, he returned homeward and prepared himself for a more pleasing diversion. Toward evening the weather grew warm and inviting, and Tetsutaisho strolled over to Takara's house early, where they loitered on the veranda and supped long at their tea. There was that stillness in the air that begets confidence, and the moon rose clear and bright. He sat smoking and dreaming, and she chatted away or toyed with the tiny cup in front. He had finished his pipe, then he said: "Shall we stroll over to the arbour vine, Takara? The woods are inviting, and there we can get a glimpse of the 'Yankee' as he hurls our foam at his back. Come, my lady, shall I assist you to rise?" Takara drooped her eyes and blushed, and he did not resist the temptation, but sat at her side and took her willing hand in his. She leaned forward, and looking into his upturned face revealed the answer. Nothing could stay or mar that pleasure. They sat there enrapt with the joy of all time: only the stars gave witness, and when they had awakened there was no need for a scene in the moonlight, for a crossing of the ways, for a going into the halo of life; they had sooner found their affinity, and all the glories of heaven and earth could not transport them more, and when they went out into the dawn it was to revel in thoughts sweeter than dreamland had ever revealed. A beautiful sunburst beamed from her heart, and her eyes shone with a love that welcomes the true; that fades and shuns at the false. The fleet had long passed out, the moon had risen high, and God had again proven the wisdom of all things when those two returned and parted for the night. As Tetsutaisho hastened along the gravelled pathway toward his home his step was less firm and his purpose more uncertain than when he came. His course had led him over the firmer hold and into the boundless sea of uncertainty. What was once a passion was now fast becoming a desire, and he knew no such thought as halt. Whither he did not know, perhaps he did not care, for to him the world was but a reality: its pleasures were its eternity. And not until he approached his own house did he think of Nehachibana, and of how she had made his home worth the while; of her waiting and watching and praying for his return; of the boundless joy that filled her heart at the first sound of his footsteps, and then he said to himself: "These wise old fathers of my country have fitted well the act and made certain their provision for such as she and I. The law makes marriage tolerable and it makes love enjoyable. A thousand dry draughts to you! May the laws live long, and love die never! O Jurokin; O Benten; hear me!" CHAPTER XIV THE "NO" DANCE After the departure of Perry and his fleet there was nothing of importance from the outside world to disturb the quaint little kingdom, so snugly hemmed in by the eastern waters. There was no immediate necessity for any material change at the newly made treaty ports, and in consequence the administration made known only so much of the terms of the compromise as it was thought would satisfy the opposition. The people were left in doubt as to its full purport, and thus they soon became reconciled to a belief that after all the danger might not be so great as at first supposed. After the storm had passed there came a lull which might have lasted indefinitely had Ikamon been more sagacious in the treatment of local affairs. His sway at home was now supreme, and his rule so effective that he mistook complaisance for submission, and as a result overlooked the slow but positive disaffection in the south. When the readjustment took place it was thought that Saigo's reward and position would tend to allay the discontent in that locality, and that an economic policy would again restore the shogun to the full confidence of all sections of the country. This was true in a measure, but the patriots who worshipped at the mikado's seat could not be effectively won over by personal favours bestowed upon their leaders. They were full of the soul of ancient times, and nothing short of a complete restoration of conditions could satisfy their rising spirits. However, the shock of recent events had so checked their growth as to give Ikamon a chance to centralise his force and place Tetsutaisho at the head of a consolidated army. In all these doings the young general took no active part other than to hold himself in readiness to strike when called upon, but in the meantime gave himself up wholly to the delights of a love that was inevitable, if without the pale. Shibusawa continued to remain absent, and to all but his father had become as if forgotten, while Takara was now the favourite of the lord daimyo, and the castle offered her every privilege as she liked. Tetsutaisho was her slave, and she toyed with him as with a child, coming regularly and remaining at her will. "Let us go down by the summer garden," said she, on a sultry afternoon in July, as they finished their tea on the veranda. "There by the pond where the snow-white cranes stalk silently about or lazily tuck their sacred heads; under the rose-covered retreat that juts out over the iris-flagged waters. How I do love to sit there and be your idle-thought!" "I am glad you proposed it. I will call the carriers and we will take the norimonos (chairs) down. It is too hot to walk this day," answered he, glad of the chance. Having in a little while arrived at the chosen retreat they lounged on the matted floor amidst the fragrance of the lotus and in view of the iris-studded waters in front. A cool breeze gently floated in, and now and then a golden crane crossed in the wake of his abode. "I wish I were a bird," said Takara, dreamily. "Then I should be your mate," answered Tetsutaisho, quickly. "And this our nest," whispered she. "Our paradise," said he. "And if it were," continued Takara, "we would live here for ever, and there would be no parting and no improprieties. I do hate a world where one must suffer to be happy! Kamie has given us all these beautiful things and has made us to love, and naughty man has tried to upset it all and make us creatures of his convenience. I, for one, propose to consult more my own pleasure." "Quite right you are, Takara; conventionality is a thing I do not like so very well myself. Yet we ought not to complain, for there is really nothing to prevent us from making this our heaven. Who could ask for a more lovely spot! And I assure you there is neither man nor law to stand between us." "Do you think so?" "It is true. I know it." "Then I am content, for I have but a single thought." "Just as the beautiful lotus which you see standing here and there and all about. It is emblematic of purity, which springs from single-mindedness; and of virtue, because of its usefulness. You are just like they, and I love them and I am going to love you." "And you always will?" "So long as Jurokin be a god." After a while they had said their say and, leaning back on the rustic moulding, contented themselves with looking out at the shadows falling across the mirrored lake from the tall cypress standing on the bank. Presently Takara broke the silence by saying: "Let us call the geishas; the water is so still and the day suggestive. What do you say, Tetsutaisho?" "A happy thought. And what shall it be?" "I have but one choice." "The ancient dance?" "Yes; 'No.'" Tetsutaisho called and despatched a servant to the shibai (house of entertainment) for Michizane, the "lover of the plum" and poet to Takara, who came forthwith and bowed, and then stood by, waiting to be directed. Tetsutaisho first spoke, saying: "Michizane, your lady would have you provide some entertainment before the sun is set. She herself will suggest the kind." "Yes, Michizane," said she. "Let it be 'no,' the dance of our fathers; then, if you like, a poem." Michizane bowed and departed, though not with a happy expression. Since her early childhood this old man had faithfully provided Takara with innocent amusement, which service, since his lady's marriage to Shibusawa, consisted chiefly in reading to her poems of his own creation. She had brought him along from Kyoto as a necessary part of her household effects, all of which belonged to an age or a school not of the shogun's. He was now a veteran of sixty years, and little calculated to compose in a vein suited to his fair lady's taste, except it be not when Tetsutaisho was so near by. Michizane was not long, however, in arranging in front of the "lovers' nest" the covered float, upon which there balanced a dozen and six--one for each half decade from birth to ninety--of the fairest and loveliest of the geishas. These were arranged at the rear of the platform in the form of a crescent, beginning at the left with the youngest and ending at the right with the oldest--symbolic of the rising and the setting of the sun. All were clad in rich garments, fashioned according to their ages, and their hair was arranged in representation of the several stages of womanhood. They stood with bowed head and extended foot, ready to reel and swing at the first sound of the music. At the centre of the crescent there sat facing the dancers three others of a different type and a more gaudy dress, with bright coloured ornaments in their hair and much tinsel about their waists. These were the koto players, who held their instruments in front waiting the signal for them to begin the dance. In front of these, facing the dancers, sat Michizane, cross-toed and erect, with his withered hands folded in front of him. He wore a plain grey kimono, which folded under a long girdle, looped up at the side, and his long white hair fluffed out and hung far down over his stooped shoulders. Everything was now silent, not even a leaf stirring. The sun blazed in the west, and the deep shadows told of its setting. The dancers grew animated, the players composed, and Michizane reverent, and there arose in the listeners mingled feelings of sorrow and delight. Their hearts beat, and the grey poet bowed low, and the dance began. The soft strains of music inspired them, and the lesson unfolded before them repeated the story of life for ever and evermore. One by one the maidens laid bare their part in the great drama that unfolds from the cradle to the grave, and no man there looked without a deeper sense of responsibility and a happier inspiration for the day. No vulgar thought disturbed them, for theirs was a purer and a nobler reality. Base desires arose from another source; the choosing, the sin. As the last dancer disrobed the strains lowered, and when the final shred was doffed the music ceased and the sun set: the drama was over and the world in darkness. There was no need for covering, no desire to live. Thus those two passed the time, when it was agreeable for them to meet. At Koyo-odori (maple dance for girls) Takara gave a party on the lawn, to which all of her younger girl friends in the neighbourhood were invited. Tetsutaisho was there in his uniform, with full regalia, and of course was the idol of the fair young maidens, who looked upon him as being little less than a god. In mid-winter the Mukojima (snow-seeing trip) afforded an opportunity to get into the country, where they lingered and enjoyed themselves at will. The mountain Tsukuba, just back of Tokyo, was their favourite place for this event, whither the white-enrobed earth stretched away to the ocean in front. Whether winter or summer they were always happy when together and lonely when not. Finally on a bright morning in March--it was March third, the day of Hinanosaku, festival for young girls--the sun rose and cast its red among the tall trees and the furrowed housetops of the castle ground. Maido struck his pipe against the brazier and then arose and slowly left his room. Presently he climbed the short lacquered stairs and entered a deserted room with panelled sash through which the sunlight streamed and warmed the cheerless place. The squared ceiling revealed a rich setting of wood and grain, and the floor was spread over with soft, clean matting. A large vase of beautiful blue, in which grew a dwarfed orange, fragrant with bloom, stood upon a raised recess in the wall. Over this hung a long kakemono,[11] done by an old master, and in a corner stood a screen of rare embroidery. There was nothing more, and the room seemed bare and desolate. Takara was gone. The daimyo's heart throbbed heavily, and he knelt behind the screen, and with his face turned away begged Kimon to give him freedom. As he sat there an aged man, bent and sorrowful, stole in and across the room to the sacred recess in the wall, where he bowed, and said: "Alas! It is well!" CHAPTER XV HOME ABANDONED Takara did not change, nor chafe, nor exalt under the new conditions; she only loved Tetsutaisho, and being installed in his house she felt secure in what before hardly seemed a reality. His heart was hers, she reasoned, and the law made his domicile her privilege. And had he not convinced her? And might not Nehachibana be proud of her husband's choice? Better such a concubine than an absent husband, she thought; and, after all, need she rob her sister-in-law of what seemed impossible? The lovers were happy, and Nehachibana, at first flushed and nervous, had now grown cold and calm. Her own chamber was comfortable, even luxurious, yet for hours she would lay her ear close to the frail partition, and a monster bade the fancies that leaped to her brain. In her bath no abomination had entered. No mugwort or sweet flag had desecrated there. Yet the stork was as silent as the tombs of Nodo, and her hopes had changed to fear, her position to that of a slave. Once she crouched low and listened; then she clutched at emptiness and her face whitened, and she crawled back to her own miserable mat and there planned and determined. Presently she slept, and dreamed of her master's expected son, which to her had been a blessing. Nor was she alone in her suspicions, for what she had heard and dreamed the silvered poet visioned and divined. The spirit had touched him, too, and he sorrowed when he waked. Then as if moved by an uncontrollable impulse he stole to Takara's abandoned home and there mused at the unhallowed life of his downfallen mistress, his idolised queen. Maido, too, had gone there to reflect, and he made no move to disturb the other, but left him to bide the impulse of his nature, commune with the god of his disturbed conscience. Michizane was the product of a nobler life, the devotee of a gentler age, and a worshipper at the tomb of an ancestry far removed from the wicked intrigues of a feudal aristocracy. His was of the mikado's way, the effect of a divine inspiration. To transgress from its sacred guidance was to fall from the pale of life and to forfeit every privilege of redemption. Takara, too, was born and bred of this master influence, and notwithstanding her impulsive nature possessed all the charm and dignity of a royal personage, together with that broader intellect which comes of high endeavour, and that better grace which is the product of refined associations. She was proud though not haughty, and in her soul there lived a purpose. Unlike her, Nehachibana was the product of a proud nobility. Shut up within the castle gates, she had always been idolised and petted. She had known of no want that was not supplied, and had expressed not a wish that was not gratified; every luxury had been showered upon her. Her sense of the good was the one bright hope in her life, for she knew not the force of intellect, nor had she been taught to reason. When she went forth into the world she was helpless in the race, and when she tasted of the bitter it was like the gall of quassia, and she fell at the shrine of Amida. Of a sweet disposition, Nehachibana had always looked upon the brighter side of life; therefore it was the more difficult for her to reconcile herself to the thought that hers was not a just treatment. She sometimes felt that it was her own shortcomings that had driven her husband away from her, and then she would set about with renewed effort to see that his house was made agreeable to his coming, and her love worthy of his taking. Once she said to herself: "I shall please him. He is mine and I must win. No other loves him as I do; none but me can have him. He is mine unto death. I shall--but oh! that other one! And the law, and I--O Kami, my heart, my heart, it is breaking! Is there no help? Is there no help for--me? But she, she has his love! It is not he, it is his weakness that she loves! And I, I am helpless!--Helpless? No! Did I not hear Kiyokime, the goddess of hate? And did she not say revenge? And I a woman? Then to the work, and let it be as swift as the necessities may allow. I will have revenge!" However, it was less easy for Nehachibana to execute than to resolve. She was now entirely cut off from any association whatever with her rival, and found it difficult even to satisfy her curiosity. This unpleasant situation had been brought about more by the foolishness of her mother-in-law than by her own dulness, yet it affected her none the less for that. Heretofore it had been irksome to do service for her rival, which both situation and custom compelled, but now that she had resolved it would have been a pleasure. Still, as difficulties arose her determination increased, and she not only concluded to bide her time but to make certain her victory. When Takara came into their home Tetsutaisho's mother was at first so overwhelmed with the honour and so proud of herself that she became not only tyrannical to her former household but somewhat insufferable to the newcomer. The new acquisition had insisted upon bringing all of her own servants, and had little need and less desire for the assistance of her gallant's mother or other relations: that was something she had not bargained for, and she was of a mind not to tolerate meddlesome interference. Consequently, Takara had not been there many months before she had appropriated to her own exclusive use that portion of the premises which suited her most. Tetsutaisho personally concerned himself in these sometimes threatening matters no further than to give his consent to anything that anybody might propose; and as his mother took the ground that it was her right, and as Nehachibana had nothing to ask, the proposals were always on the side of Takara and the victory in her favour. While Tetsutaisho did not mean to be irreverent he did love a plucky battle and was inclined to the belief that to the winner belongs the spoils. That, probably as much as a careless indifference, prompted him to give the ladies of the house a free hand in its management, and always to absent himself at the first sign of a disturbance. It was, possibly, at one of these bothersome times that Tetsutaisho stole out and unconsciously found his way to the council chamber. He had gone away in this manner before, but seldom got so far as the hall of state. Sometimes he loafed at headquarters or called upon Maido. More often he spent the hour with Ikamon, who was now deeply engrossed with adjusting local affairs so as to meet the requirements of foreign interference, but on this occasion a higher purpose seemed to control him, and for the first time he voiced his sentiment in unmistakable terms. Unconsciously, perhaps, but none the less certain, the hated stranger had peeped into the treasure box, and so infused a commercial and diplomatic awakening as to lay the foundation for nothing less than the rehabilitation of a long lost empire. It was the dawn of a new era, and no one more than Ikamon interpreted correctly the scope and consequence of so sudden a contact with Christian civilization. As yet the shogunate had not been openly accused of collusion with the foreigners; still whisperings to that effect had been heard, as coming from Kyoto; and the prime minister, no more to be outdone at home than to be defeated from abroad, began to encourage an increase in the army and to advise Tetsutaisho accordingly. Ikamon was, also, not slow to grasp at the importance of improved methods and had strongly urged Tetsutaisho to bestir himself in adopting and applying more effective instruments, but the latter was rather inclined to the belief that there was not so much to be gained by radical changes: that the disorganisation attendant upon the introduction of new measures more than offset the benefits derived. He reasoned that the samurai were already trained and fully equipped. He knew they were brave to a man, and loyal. "What more," said he, "would you have? Would you see cowardice supplant courage, and the black powder of a foe substituted for the ringing steel of our forefathers? These men are invincible, and Tetsutaisho is a general. Give me the opportunity, the occasion, and I will convince you." As he spoke his voice rang with the pride of ages, and the council halls echoed and re-echoed with applause. Even Ikamon was for the moment swept away with enthusiasm, as the vigorous man swung his great arms and shouted the glory of the nation's defenders. It was not so much a want of understanding that made Tetsutaisho slow to feel the necessity of change, but it was more the red blood coursing through his veins which gave him an unbounded faith in the loyal, faithful, worshipping army at his command. He believed in their superiority and felt them worthy of their country's confidence, and as he retired from the chamber and walked out into the park his step livened with pride and his whole being quickened with a rising confidence in himself and a growing contentment with the world. He thought of his home and of the love that Takara had lain at his feet; of the faithful, patient consideration of Nehachibana, his lawful wife and worthy helpmeet; of his mother, and how she fretted and worried and fussed as opportunities came and her station advanced; then suddenly he came upon Kinsan and all this vanished from his memory as if a thing of yesterday. She was with her father, who stood off some distance turning a tiny stream of water into the garden, which showed the ravages of a long dry spell. It was Choyo, the ninth day of the ninth month, and there had been no rain for more than a moon past. Kinsan sat in the shade of a spreading oak, at one corner of the garden near where the roadway passed, and grouped about her were a number of children whose wide eyes sparkled with interest as she repeated to them a poem well suited to the occasion. It was a favourite selection from Onokomachi, the blind poetess, who ever prayed for rain. The words were familiar to Tetsutaisho and he, too, stopped at the border and listened. Kinsan's voice rang tender and sweet, though there seemed a pathos which touched him and caused a deeper interest. Had he neglected her? Was she now pleading for that which he had so long sought? His memory went out to her, and he determined again to try. CHAPTER XVI A GREAT SORROW Soon Kinsan's father was attracted by the new melody of her voice, and he, too, came and stood near and listened. No word was said until after the song had been finished. Then Fujimoto came forward and bowed to Tetsutaisho. This was the first warning Kinsan had of the unusual audience her singing had attracted, and she quickly arose and bowed and made excuses for her inattention. "I would rather you sat there and sang than to have arisen and courtesied a thousand times," said Tetsutaisho, as he left the roadside and made his way among the lilacs to where she was standing. "One does not often have the opportunity, though the wish be constant, and the privilege of being one of such an audience!" he continued, as he leaned over and caressed first one and then another of the little children as they came huddling up. "Were it not that you deserve such happiness, Fujimoto, I might almost envy you your good fortune in being placed here amidst such loveliness. The trees, the birds, the flowers, the children--and, allow me, the daughter--among whom you dwell, must certainly inspire a rare happiness." The children had by this time scampered in all directions, and the three elders were left to speak or go as they liked. "Yes, honourable sir." said Fujimoto, touched not a little, "these are truly things not to be despised. The daughter is my comfort: all are my joy, and after all, my lot may not be a despicable one. Had I always the favour of Sumi, god of water, my task might be lighter. Still I am content, and happy so long as my Kinsan is spared to me." Nothing further was said about Kinsan; the one and only object of interest which the nobleman could have or cared to have in the humble gardener's affairs. They walked along at Tetsutaisho's suggestion toward the cottage, which stood some little distance farther on. When the big officer entered the palace enclosure he had no intention of making the gardener's family a call. In fact, he had of late almost dismissed them from his mind; but the moment he heard Kinsan's voice the spark within again came to life, and when he drew near and saw how modestly she sat and how neatly she was gowned and how her eyes sparkled with life and how the blood rose to her cheeks, his heart flamed more fiercely than before. Tetsutaisho pondered, then said to himself: "It is only the father who stands in my way. If I could but get his confidence, I might then win her love. But why ask anybody's consent? Force will get me the one thing, and--well, persistence the other. They are both at my disposal--why delay the matter?" Kinsan did not speak as they walked, but fell into a deep study. Whether it came to her intuitively or from a change in Tetsutaisho's mood she partially understood him, and as they approached the house and she thought of her mother a feeling of fear took hold of her and she trembled and hesitated. She knew of their straitened circumstances and of how her mother had repeatedly chided her father for not having taken advantage of Tetsutaisho's former liberal offer. The ends of her fingers tingled, then grew cold, and the perspiration stood in great beads on her forehead. When they had arrived at the house and her mother came running out, bowing to the visitor, Kinsan's heart sickened, and she no longer possessed that confidence in her father which had hitherto buoyed her under each successive trial. "It is the hand of fate, and I am its certain victim," was the thought which ran through her mind and would not go away. When the rest entered the house she politely withdrew, unnoticed, and went away, far into the woods, and on and on until she came to the hidden cave, where every rock and all the flowers and even the stars had sung again and again of her great love and Shibusawa's faith. She did not return, but lingered and stayed, and prayed fresh prayers; and then she thought she saw him there bending over her; she heard him speak and looked into his eyes, and felt again the power of his love. After a long time she went away, and when far from the cave and all about was darkness and she was uncertain of her way a chill came over her and she thought of the tempter's bait and her mother's weakness. "Would to God that I, too, had found a way!" was her last thought as she nestled upon her wooden pillow, and at last slept a broken, restless sleep. Late that evening Tetsutaisho left the cottage and lightly tripped along down the pathway toward his own house. As he went his steps quickened, and he almost ran with delight. He carried in his girdle a document which on the morrow he would safely file and thus insure the proper keeping of its lawful provisions. Upon his arrival he hurriedly entered the house, and that night Takara may have had, for the first time, misgivings of a weaker purpose on Tetsutaisho's part than she herself had divined. However that may have been, it mattered not to Tetsutaisho, for on the following day his own carriers set in front of the gardener's cottage a beautiful lacquered chair into which there stepped a weeping, sorrowing child; a daughter whose only price was the worth of her virtue, whose only hope lay in the power of her own frail hands. She went, and with her the rags that hung upon her back. There was not a mother's blessing, and the father had slunk back from witnessing the fruit of a heartless wife's bargaining. It was not the first. Others had likewise served. And the fathers and mothers had for ages eagerly and unknowingly partaken of the wages. CHAPTER XVII THE CHILD Upon Kinsan's arrival at Tetsutaisho's house she was treated with every consideration by her master, and in reality though not in fact given equal rank with the mistress. She was settled in that part of the house over which his mother was supposed to reign and his lawful wife, Nehachibana, had been the principal personage, and while not raised to the place of a concubine she was given all the privileges of one. Her position was supposed to be that of a servant, yet in turn she was given servants and no duties were, by Tetsutaisho, exacted of her. It was not because he did not intend her to be his full-fledged concubine, nor because he had any scruples about Nehachibana that he did not give Kinsan that position; but simply because he entertained grave doubts about Takara's pleasure in the matter--something with which even he as yet hesitated to trifle. He had gained Takara's love, and her honest love, upon the strength of an affinity--a thing which, so long as it lasted, brooked no rival. He had, though, in taking her into his house assumed responsibilities far beyond personal ones; and recognising the superiority of her position realised that, should he incur her displeasure, she had but to call upon a power that might overthrow and discard him in spite of his usefulness. He sought, therefore, to deceive Takara as to his real purpose in bringing Kinsan into the house, and to let her discover by slow degrees that, without a proper encouragement, even affinity may wane and finally cease to hold the object of its affection. Takara still loved him and was none the wiser; thus he continued without danger his complicated relations, though she felt a growing coldness and the oncoming of something, she knew not what. She was now deeply worried and much given to thinking, for there was approaching also a critical period; but when rumours came to her ears, and she chided him about Kinsan, he answered: "Takara, you do me a great injustice. I am not only true, as you see, but I have anticipated the necessity of keeping at hand one upon whose shoulders may be placed the responsibilities for the care of our child." "But why not intrust that service to one whom we know to be best fitted?" asked Takara, anxiously. "There is Nannoto, whose mother carried in her arms your mother's mother." "No, Takara; it is not the service I would trouble myself about. My lady should not so degrade herself." "Why degraded? You told me not." "It is not the fashion." "But if it is my choice?" "You have no choice." "Would you take from a mother her child?" "The law allows it." "Then the law is unjust, and there is a better way." "Fashion is inexorable, and the law must be upheld." "Whether the fashion or the law, it is wrong. A mother's breast is a woman's joy." "Obedience is a woman's highest virtue." Takara understood fully the force as well as the law of her chosen lord's argument, though she was none the less aware of her own recourse. While she felt the chagrin of defeat she realised the danger of appeal; therefore she concluded to bide her time and make the best use of her opportunities. Her love for him was not dead, but there was awakening within her a new light, a better purpose. Nehachibana, though better informed, had been the more easily deceived. Not that she in the least misunderstood her husband's motive in foisting upon her another and a still more unwelcome rival, but that she entirely mistook Kinsan's position. Nehachibana loved Tetsutaisho--just why she had never stopped to inquire. If it was because she was his wife, her love was none the less intense; and because she was in love with him, she thought every other woman must be--at least all those who evinced the slightest interest, whether courted or courting. And if she was to share another portion, she found much consolation if not happiness in the thought that Takara, too, must lose in like proportion. It was a reiteration of the old adage that there can be no great loss without some small gain; a jealous reward and a revengeful satisfaction. She now pitied Takara and hated Kinsan (in virtue of a community of feeling)--the one because of her position, the other in consequence of hers. The mother's indifference proved to be as great a blessing to Kinsan as it was a curse to Nehachibana. What the one gained by being let alone the other lost in virtue of being served likewise, thus results struck a happy balance. But it was from another source that fear and anxiety came to both alike, to Nehachibana because of neglect and to Kinsan because of danger. As the last sight of the latter's childhood home had vanished from her view she bent down under the weight of her grief, but when she had arrived at Tetsutaisho's place of sin and had been brought face to face with his mock glances she fell upon her knees, not in humble supplication, but in the full recognition of her weakness. It was then that she prayed as only one can pray who values life less than honour; and when the fiendish touch came she did not yield, but shrank from him and spoke her mind in a voice that is beyond the power of words. Sheer courage lost him his victim, determination saved her. Stunned by the force of her great purity, he did not lessen his persistence, but delayed from time to time a more cowardly intention; finally there dawned within him the impulse of a purer love, which gradually overcame his weakness and made it possible to find a better way. He decided now to hold her in reality as a servant, and on the seventh day after the birth of the child, himself took it, and carrying it to Kinsan, placed it in her arms and told her that it should be her charge. It was a fine, large boy, the eyes and mould revealing its mother's heritage, and as Tetsutaisho gave Kinsan the baby, he bade her call it Sodachinojoi, and say nothing more. Then he said to her: "You have refused me; now you must serve mine. So long as you do that, and do it well, and as I bid, you shall know no penalty, though it is a grave sin to oppose your master's will. And when you have done, I shall trust to gratitude for what you have so persistently withheld. Go now, and beware of the inquisitive." "My heart bids me do my part," said she, in answer. "This burden is even more, it is a blessing. I pray for strength that I may serve well and please much. The reward is already mine." "Then you would mock me, heigh? Bring me the child--no; I shall send you both to the dungeon," and he arose and stood meditating. "I pray you, sir, send me, but save the child. It is innocent, and it has a mother. I am unworthy, yet I will pay the penalty. Pray, sir?" He did not answer at once, but stood regarding her; he may have marvelled at her charity, possibly he was touched by her tenderness. At all events he moved closer, and whispered: "Kinsan, I truly love you." She did not hear him. Her eyes rested on the child in her arms. She was thinking of a mother's sorrow, possibly a child's fate. He came close up and would have touched her had she not shrunk from him and cried: "I do not comprehend. It is not his voice. It is not true." "Aha," said Tetsutaisho to himself, as he leaned back in silence. "It is not I that she disdains, but it is another whom she loves." Then after a while he addressed her saying: "Kinsan, I trust you will pardon my incivility. I did not mean to be rude, though I may deserve your censure. And now that it is done, I do not want you to feel that it is my heart that is wrong. Do me the honour to serve this child, and Tetsutaisho shall see to it that the reward be as you desire. I leave you free to say as much, if it is your pleasure." "The honour is mine to serve. The pleasure, yours to grant. And is there any higher?" asked she, confident and earnest. Tetsutaisho soon after withdrew and left Kinsan to begin her new duties with a lighter heart and a better confidence. She felt with renewed hope that there was still a chance for the right. And now that her hands were no longer idle, she must drive away despair and set about with fresh courage to make much happiness out of the little that life offered. She soon learned to love the child, and often took it from the nurse and held it in her own arms. At dusk of night she would sit for hours, singing lullabies or reciting favourite poems. Sometimes she peered dreamily, softly, into the far distance, and then her voice would rise to the sweet, lonely pitch of the nightingale or deepen into tenderest pathos. Once these sad, weird strains reached Tetsutaisho's ears, and they touched him more deeply, strangely, than when he first heard her at the garden. "It is her soul speaking its wonderful love," said he to himself, as he lounged and listened from his own mat on a dark, still night, "and I would give all that is in this world were that love for me." Then he asked Ikamon to come to his house and listen in the cool of the evening to her songs and her poems. No mention was made to her of her intended audience, for Tetsutaisho had learned her true spirit and was now beginning to respect her. He would not so intrude as to ask her to sing; her heart only alone and undisturbed could invoke such melody; yet he could not resist inviting his friend to share the pleasure of her voice, though only by chance might they be so privileged. Ikamon came and he, too, was charmed. "It is the grandest voice I ever heard," said he, with enthusiasm, as he arose and thanked his host for the entertainment, preparatory to taking his leave. CHAPTER XVIII THE VOW OF VENGEANCE When Ikamon had gone Tetsutaisho retired, and as he did so he went with the satisfaction of having discovered, as he thought, the secret of his failure. He had always regarded Kinsan as a prize not to be overlooked, but had not offered to divine her real charm. His repeated defeat had not been attributed to that; it was upon baser grounds he had excused himself and accused her. Her constancy, however, had awakened in him a better sense of her nature, and he now began to feel the force of her virtue; but having again mistaken her, and wrongfully attributed her refusal to the success of a rival, he became mad and vowed vengeance as well as victory. "I will hunt him down!" said he to himself, as he entered his den, and there stayed and fretted, in spite of Takara's repeated urgent calls. "It is not Kinsan, but her lover that is the real cause of my discomfiture. Law makes right, and Tetsutaisho shall vindicate the law." He retired late, but felt himself rewarded by the day's ending. At first he had really intended to give Kinsan only the care of the child, but now it occurred to him to make it her own. The power was in his hands; why not use it? She seemed glad of the care, and it would give her an occupation, an excuse for being in his house: her lover would divine another reason. Takara ought not to suffer much from the loss, and should profit by the subterfuge. Her birth, her position, her ambition, all demanded a better protection, a surer disposition. Why not benefit her? There was not a soul in the house who might be any the wiser, unless it were Michizane, the poet, and banishment must silence him. That were a simple matter and Ikamon would attend to it at once. His own devotion to Takara for a short time should quell any misgivings and allay all feelings on her part, while a little deception would start everything smoothly on its proper course. "I am the man!" thought he, and he slumbered long and in peace. The next morning he hurried to Takara, and when he had left her she was thankful for his having come, and less doubtful about his sincerity. Whether real or not, she realised that the wiser course is to turn a bad bargain to good use, and resigned herself to the hope, if not belief, that his plans were for the best and that he would keep his promises. Before leaving the house for the day Tetsutaisho ran in to see the child and incidentally make some assurances to Kinsan. She, glad of the opportunity, resigned herself to her task without questioning too closely the purpose or thinking much about the outcome. Here at least was a respite, and anything promising to stay the hand of fate was to her indeed welcome. Therefore, when Nehachibana came in later in the day and found Kinsan cooing over a little red baby, all flounced with silk, a-kicking and a-crying, her face coloured and she began to question its kindly mistress with something of curiosity, if not suspicion. "Oh, what a pretty baby!" said she, as she crossed the room and squatted on the floor in front. "And where did you get it? It is so cunning. Is it yours? I wish I had a baby like that--so big and bright. But then it wouldn't have eyes like those, I know. Would it? Let me see your eyes, Kinsan--I never could tell a baby's mother." "I shall not let you have this one, though you don't see its mother in its eyes. It's a good baby, and its name is Sodachinojoi, and no more." "Oh, what a name! and how? My husband said you are a gardener's daughter." "And even so, the breeding may be none the less. I hope you will like the baby, and I will do all I can to make him worthy of his name and a joy to us all." "Why do you not say, 'My baby'? I should, if I had one." "Then why don't you?" said Kinsan, with much surprise; she still believing that only Nehachibana could be the mother of her husband's child, as her own mother had been of all her father's children. "Take your charge, you impudent thing! I shall never set foot upon your mat again. No, never!" shrieked Nehachibana, as she pushed the child toward Kinsan and flew from the room. Kinsan was not greatly disturbed by Nehachibana's demeanour, though the thrust was painful and entirely uncalled for so far as she could see or know. However, she was by this time accustomed to jeers, if not insults, and did not take the words much to heart, and only thought of how agreeable it would be should the other make good her threat and stay away; at least until such time as her understanding prompted a kinder treatment. CHAPTER XIX THE POET'S BANISHMENT Nehachibana in a measure made good her threat, and as Tetsutaisho's mother was devoted more to her own interests than to doubtful infants, and had always regarded Kinsan with suspicion, she, too, took particular pains to keep well out of the way. Tetsutaisho soon came to spending much of his time at army headquarters, at Ikamon's, or at the council chamber. Takara's sorrow for the loss of her child, which she had not been permitted to see since it was taken away from her, though in some degree mitigated--satisfactorily to everybody except Nehachibana--by Tetsutaisho's devotion, during the little time he now spent at home, occupied her attention. Thus affairs at home adjusted themselves, while at state the lordly general busied himself principally with getting Ikamon to scheme the banishment and deportation of the pious, harmless old poet and faithful servant, Michizane. The prime minister was finally induced to urge so severe a measure, more through his efforts to hush up every possible chance for a clash between the two rival factions over Takara's strange and painful situation, than as a personal favour to his friend. The venerable sage had been her only confidant, as well as a possible adviser to the enemy; therefore Tetsutaisho not only desired to get rid of him, but Ikamon deemed it expedient to do so. Nor had they long to wait the opportunity, for there was at that time some question as to whether in case of death there was a lawful successor to the shogun. While the matter was as yet of no real importance either to the shogunate or the party, it was seized upon and agitated by Ikamon for a double purpose. Had there been any real prospects of Iyesada's losing hold on life there might have been occasion for the great ado which was being made about it; for the shogun to die without a lawful successor was considered the greatest misfortune that could befall the nation. The proper degree of interest having been aroused, and the shogun himself having taken on the desired state of susceptibility, it was urged upon his highness to call in the customary wise man without delay; and as Michizane had already become known for his premonitions, Ikamon had only to mention the poet's name to induce his selection. Michizane was sitting at his accustomed place musing the hours away when a messenger, escorted by two courtiers with large letters emblazoned upon their uniforms, approached and with much ceremony handed him a parchment roll. It was the shogun's command, so Michizane trembled as he broke the seal and read from the long document, which unrolled from his hand. It was a great honour conferred, even more than he had dared ever to dream, and charity should pardon the rise of feeling which he then experienced. A chair stood outside awaiting his pleasure, and also a regular cavalcade of guards, runners, carriers, and attendants was there, in silk and gold, ready to pay him attention. At first he said not a word; then glancing around and bowing low, signalled his "honourable informant" to await his "miserable preparation." After advising his mistress, and receiving her blessing--amid somewhat of misgivings--he marched down the line and took his place in the swaying palanquin. Without delay he was carried directly to the hall of state, where Ikamon met him and, escorting him to a private chamber held and coached him until the hour of his presentation had arrived. And while there, the very first thing impressed upon his mind was his indebtedness to Ikamon and to no other for the honour of his appointment. He needed no coaching as to the gravity of the situation; that was a thing to be understood. "You are to tell the shogun, the supreme administrator of the divine mikado, the confidant of Ikamon, and the lover of his loyal subjects, that there is extreme danger of a failure of succession should his august highness refuse longer to sojourn without the pale of his reverend predecessors, and that it now becomes your painful duty to predict the immediate adoption of one Iyemochi, a member of the legion, and supporter of the cause." This is what Ikamon told the innocent Michizane to say, yet he knew it would so enrage the shogun that he would cause the seer forthwith to be consigned to harakiri or banishment for life. Ikamon had also anticipated its other effect upon the doubtful Iyesada, causing him to brood over the succession and finally to carry out the predicted measure in the hope of warding off an evil hand. The banishment of the poet would be a welcome thing because it was pleasing to his friend and war god, Tetsutaisho. The adoption of Iyemochi, a willing tool, would insure Ikamon's complete domination of the shogunate upon Iyesada's death, which he thought might be hastened if not occasioned. Thus Ikamon planned and the proud, puffed-up scholar obeyed; and before the day had passed Michizane found his vanity gratified and himself condemned to banishment for the rest of his life. When night came he was lashed down with cords, and without a parting word carried far away, never to return. The oracle had spoken and the bigoted, suspicious Iyesada had believed it the voice of Ema-O, and knowing of no safer commitment chose the Isle of Banishment. Nor did this alone satisfy his overwrought conscience, but immediately the thing was done he called Ikamon and upon his advice adopted forthwith the child successor, and proclaimed a universal rejoicing. The new heir was hailed with acclamation, Ikamon praised for his cleverness, and Tetsutaisho applauded by his admiring friends; though new troubles dawned on every side. Takara's eyes opened to her true situation, and her faithful adherents rallied to plan her deliverance. Tetsutaisho observed her growing indifference, but crediting it with no deeper meaning than personal apathy sought in his old way to revive the spark which so soon seemed all but dead. It was of no use, for Takara saw farther than he knew. CHAPTER XX THE FORTY-SEVEN RONIN Takara deeply mourned the fate of Michizane, whom she not only loved but had revered as the only living representative left to her of a fast fading memory. She pondered, but wisely held her counsel. Tetsutaisho did not fathom her, but satisfied himself and reviled her upon shallower grounds. When left to his own recourse, shorn of impulse, his understanding seldom rose above the lesser order. He was big in war, but small in consequence. Nor was his sympathy any the greater, and when she remonstrated about her child, he laughed and told her that she, a daughter of royalty, should be the last to question the wisdom of the law. He only urged her to forget the circumstance and respect his will. She acquiesced for the time being, but there was rising within her a bitter spirit. There was coming a day when the mind, too, should assert its rank; when the soul should attain its fulness. "But why are you less ardent?" questioned he, one evening after having returned from Kinsan's apartments, where, as Takara knew, he was now in the habit of regularly spending much time. "Would you ask me why darkness follows light, the earth rotates on its axis, and flesh turns to stone? I thought you a man of consequence, not an object of pity," answered she, calmly though earnestly. Tetsutaisho stood aghast at her daring, yet thought not to search for its meaning. Had he but looked outside, the veil might have fallen from his blinded eyes, for the same spirit which moved Takara had roused a host of valiant defenders. The boldness of Ikamon's stroke had so stunned the enemy as to irrevocably establish the new order, but not without inevitably disastrous consequences. Even to the shogun's supporters, the destruction of the apparently harmless Michizane, and the advent of the scarcely known child, Iyeyoshi, seemed so veiled in mystery that many were inclined to believe that some deep-laid scheme lay behind a rather elusive but possible trick. In consequence, the shogun, in his weakness, anxious to hide his stupidity behind some apparent justification, took the burden upon his own shoulders and thus widened the breach between himself and his true friends, increasing to that extent his dependence upon Ikamon. The discontent due to the adoption of an heir to the shogunate became after a time, however, somewhat allayed; but the curiosity aroused by the banishment of Michizane increased, and the feeling of unrest at the mikado's seat grew to such degree that before a year had passed the south began to assume a resentful if not hostile attitude. Nearly five years had elapsed since their favourite daughter, Takara, had been carried away to become the wife of Shibusawa, the most promising of the young princes under the shogunate. No results had as yet obtained from this alliance, nor had the restoration of the kuge[12] taken place as promised. They were dissatisfied, and Takara's misalliance was the first pretext seized upon to rouse a determined move. Spies had been sent to Tokyo and the whole truth discovered to a few of the leaders, yet from policy's sake these reports had been suppressed in the hope of perfecting a more judicious organisation before the advent of a general uprising. This conservatism on the part of the southern leaders baffled Ikamon, who believed them, like himself, incapable of looking beyond self-interest for a motive. Others might sacrifice and strive for humanity, but the sweet-voiced god Oshaka ever whispered in Ikamon's ear the one word, "Self." It was self that lay at the bottom; self that raised the human above the brute; self that promised life eternal: the gods were but self, asserted and ordained, and ordinary man was only the blind, the halt, the sympathetic. Diplomacy was his weapon, heroism an humbler man's part. Tetsutaisho was now too much absorbed with personal affairs even to try to grasp the outer shreds of a complicated political situation. True, he had realised in some measure from time to time that an ugly gossip circulated on the outside as to affairs at his house; yet he was slow to appreciate its importance, and but for being urged from other sources would have given it barely passing notice. He busied himself more with shifting his attentions from a worn love to one that was new though elusive, and as yet unfound. Thus Tetsutaisho for once released Takara from his constant attention, and when she lay down in the freedom of her chamber she marvelled at his neglect, for she not only knew his real purpose in bringing Kinsan into the house, but understood his utter failure. She realised that the innocent girl's struggles had not been in vain, and she gloried in her virtue. She said to herself: "What a womanhood! Oh, if I had but known the way! How gladly would I surrender the wreath of state, the power of kings, for the crown of purity! But alas! it is not mine. It is only for those who know their true god. May I never again see mine!" Then she slept, and she dreamed that she heard Michizane's voice, that he spoke to her, and that the words were a poem in praise of her ancestors, that all about was a garden and in it were her friends; that her soul turned to beauty, and joy came down from Heaven, and all was peace. She did not wake, but saw Hyaku, the young magician, and felt the power of his magic, although she could neither move nor speak. The Band of Forty-Seven had entered Takara's chamber at dead of night, and placing her in a light chair slung upon the backs of swift carriers, well disguised, ran with the speed of the hare, the endurance of the ox; and before they could be overtaken, or it was really known what had happened, they were at Kyoto, in her own mother's house; when again Takara saw the hand of Hyaku, and felt its power; she awakened and there was real gladness in her heart. She made no inquiry as to how it all happened, or as to the motive which prompted their timely action. She knew that it was the ronin[13] who fetched her, and that she was welcome when she got there. Had she known all, she would have understood better how those trusted men had for days and months waited and watched their chance to seize and carry her away to her friends; back to the home she had surrendered to no purpose except that of sorrow and regret. The news of Takara's return to the home of her childhood, and of the manner of her escape, soon became known to the immediate friends of Tetsutaisho's family. Maido paid but little attention to the circumstance, and thus, probably, gave occasion for the rumour, which gained some credence, that he had actually winked at her going and was not particular about her returning. However that may be, his general failing and prolonged worry over Shibusawa's absence were not a sufficient shield for his indifference, at least in the opinion of some of his less intimate friends. Tetsutaisho, more dazed at the audacity of the ronin than puzzled with the reason for Takara's abduction, at first inclined toward instituting a vigorous pursuit, but upon second thought concluded he had best consult his friends before inaugurating any such serious undertaking. "It is not so much that I care for the concubine," said he to Ikamon, on the following day; "it is the vindication of the law that prompts me to send a detachment for her relief. These bands of marauders must be suppressed, even at the cost of war upon their stronghold. What safety is there for a gentleman so long as his castle may be entered and his property carried away while he sleeps? The next we hear, it will be the shogun himself of whom we are robbed. Give Tetsutaisho the word, I say, and he will soon make an end of it--Saigo, the ronin, his dreamers, Kido, and all." Ikamon did not fire so easily as to let his enthusiasm run away with his judgment, yet he was none the less quick to apprehend the danger confronting them. The paltry sop thrown to Saigo and a few followers had scarcely touched the lofty progress of the literati. There could be but one finale: materialism must sooner or later find itself pitted against patriotism. Iyesada, weak and uncertain, was little to the purpose in a serious conflict, and no one knew better than Ikamon the over-sensitive shogun's inclination to side with the last to persuade; of his want of policy; of his anxiety and bewilderment. He therefore urged upon Tetsutaisho the necessity of proceeding in the dark and cautiously. "Keep these fellows at bay," said he, confidentially, "until we can discover their real purpose and strength. In the meantime Iyesada may die--Ikamon can then safely devise. The shogunate in the hands of an infant is better to our purpose. The plans of the mikadate if in our hands can be made to serve rather than defeat us. I would advise, if advice be meet, that you send out your spies and keep at home your force." Tetsutaisho heeded the warning, and before long copious if not trustworthy news came from every conceivable source. Iyesada soon died, and the youthful Iyemochi succeeded as shogun; while Tetsutaisho marvelled at Ikamon's wisdom, and more than ever resigned himself to the conquest of more peaceful delights. Kinsan had suddenly become the sole object of his attention, and for her heart he pressed his suit, more than ever ardent, if not sincere. Maido, absolved from all these matters, had more and more devoted himself to the memory of his son, but now that good news had reached him he rejoiced, and anxiously awaited the return of Shibusawa. CHAPTER XXI THE HOME-COMING Maido had not long to wait, though the time seemed never to pass. It was the first word received from his son, for Shibusawa knew the danger of even attempting to communicate with either his parent or Kinsan. During all these years he knew not what effect his departure had wrought at home, nor of the fortunes of those whom he had left behind. Still he had always hoped for the best, and when he had definitely made up his mind to return he so managed to forward the letter of advice as to bring it safely to Maido's hand; arriving, as it happened, only a few days after Takara had been seized and carried away by the ronin, and none too early, for Shibusawa himself came soon thereafter. To avoid possible compromise Shibusawa had couched the letter in such terms that no one but a father could be the wiser for its contents; therefore no dates were fixed, and the anxious daimyo had only to wait, and for hours sat watching the gate in front. These were suspicious times at Tokyo, hence no preparations could be made for the home-coming, nor information given out, save Maido's instructions to the faithful Okyo. Thereafter no arrival escaped that one's vigilant eye, and when the expected ship had safely arrived at Yokohama he was there on hand with an extra pilgrim's outfit on his back. Late the next evening they two reached home, and Shibusawa, footsore and weary, hurried up the pathway and into the house, where he bowed low at his father's feet. Neither attempted to speak. When Shibusawa had changed his clothing they sat in the cool of the evening, for it was now late in June, enjoying the breeze that floated in from the bay in the distance. The family brazier was again brought out, and they sat and smoked and talked the hours away. "And now, father," said the son, after they had talked much about the family and things at home, "you must lie down and sleep, and to-morrow I shall tell you all about myself. I know you are anxious to hear, but you must rest now, and then the story will be the more pleasing. You need have no fear but you shall hear it all--I am returned, and I promise I shall not soon again leave you. Goodnight, and peace for you." They had no sooner parted and the father gone to sleep than Shibusawa hastened to change his dress and once again find his way to the hidden cave. The time seemed long to him since he had last been there, and now that he was about to go again he felt that he never would get started. Just why he wanted to hurry there he did not know; possibly he had not consulted reason; yet it was his only hope, and that was enough to impel him to go. As he approached the familiar gate where he had so often passed he observed that new locks hung from the latches; that the old guard had gone; that a haughty, "Who goes there?" greeted his ears, and suddenly it appeared to him that a great change had taken place. He realised for the first time that he was no longer in the land which he had left only a few years before; that here, too, the seed of progress had been sown, and that already new sprouts were bursting forth. He marvelled at the new order, and a fresh desire came upon him. Suddenly he turned upon the trusty, and in answer said convincingly: "A friend." He knew it was of no use to deny his purpose or make any extended explanation; neither was he willing nor the guard desirous that he should. Under the circumstances just one thing would gain his admittance; none in that land knew better than Shibusawa, the newly returned, just what results could be obtained by the judicious use of money. So, when the pompous keeper jerked his steel from the hip and held it abreast his chin, with firm footing and erect body, Shibusawa did not weaken in the least, but boldly approached and unconcernedly dropped a coin in the fellow's convenient hand. "All's well!" shouted the subdued guard, as he turned his back and lowered his arms, the while Shibusawa raised the latch and entered at one side the ponderous gate. He did not hesitate nor give the matter further thought, but hurried on toward the place which to him bore the most pleasant memory of his life. Each pebble seemed a guide post, and every step an inspiration. He tramped on without either stopping or lagging until the hill had been scaled, and then there came over him grave feelings of doubt and of dread. The pathway was no longer clear. The entrance was a tangled thicket of brier and weeds. He made further progress with difficulty, and when he had reached the mouldy place no friendly sight greeted his eyes. Years of abandonment had obliterated everything except her memory. He paused and looked around, then shuddered, and stumbled toward that side where once the stone steps had marked the entrance. They were still bare, though unused; no trash had gathered there. They were yet as undefiled as they were on the day he had found Kinsan lying upon them. He sat down and searched among the stars for an answer to his heart's yearnings. Long he studied as to what had been her fate. Each new thought stirred him to greater determination, every discouragement moved him to plan afresh. He must find her; yet he sat with his face buried in his hands; despair overshadowed him. Then he thought of the old hiding-place, where in days gone by they were wont to secrete such messages as were sacred to them alone. He arose and climbed up to the entrance as if it were but yesterday that he had been there. He raised the wisteria, which had grown heavy and more dense. Inside the walled den, the webs stretched thicker and stronger than before. Here and there a spider paused, then ran his way. There was no sound, yet a voice bade him enter. He searched, and in the centre found two stones, placed one on top of the other. He knew they were placed there not by accident. Fear overcame him, and he stood breathless, yet powerless. Then he stooped and raised the stone, which revealed a message that to him was sweeter, dearer than all the world. He hastened back to the cave, and seating himself on the stone steps, where he had pressed her close to him and listened to her golden words of confidence, broke the seal from which there unfolded a musty sheet that in the light of a smiling moon again spoke her heart's content: "DEAR LOVE: "It is for you that I write. None other is worth the while. I am going to-morrow where fate has called me. I have little to offer, except an undying love; all else is theirs; it is decreed right. But so long as the soul is and the heart beats, this love shall be yours and only yours. The spirit which gave it to you shall keep it for you. "Oh, decree of man, where is your relish! I bow to your will, but in him is my god. My Shibusawa, my love, my light! In you life still has hope. Death shall meet its reward. Think of me a little, do not judge me harshly, let me live as my heart tells me, and I shall die happy. The troubles of the earth will be as the joys of heaven, and you shall be the hand that guides me, saves me--oh, I love you so! I cannot live except for you, I shall not die without you. "Believe me, your true love, your sweetheart, "K." The puzzled man read the note again and again with care, then leaned back in silence. He had divined only too truly her fate, and when he thought that possibly she, too, had been put up to the highest bidder, a feeling of faintness took hold of him and he bent forward and sat for a long time unable to move or to decide. CHAPTER XXII A MEETING IN THE GARDEN The cock had already crowed before Shibusawa reached his chamber and lay down to rest. He could not sleep, but arose and went for a walk in the woodland bordering the castle grounds. Here he searched out a secluded spot, where he sat down in the light of early morning to think and plan. The air was still and the sun just beginning to pierce the cool shade of the forest, with here and there a ray of warmth. Presently the quiet was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching through the garden, and looking up he saw Maido coming toward him. "Are you here, too, and so early?" said the daimyo, with a ring of gladness that came from his heart. "I thought only the elders, like me, enjoyed a sunrise jaunt among the stately sentinels of time. Come, my lordship, join me and I'll show you how a son's return affects a father's legs. It's many a day since these old stokies of mind served me as they have this morning. It reminds me of the time when a mother brought you to my side. A happy day it was, and she lies up yonder, my boy, in the tomb, behind the temple. You may not dislike going there with your father--will you, this morning?" Shibusawa may have anticipated the idea, for they set off together toward the family shrine. The distance was not great nor the hill steep; just enough to quicken old age and banter youth. They did not tarry long at the tomb,--only long enough to revere the dead and inspire the living,--but soon arose and retraced their steps a short distance to where they seated themselves in the shade of the temple. As they sat they could see afar over the samurai dwellings and the noised-up city to the glassy bay in front, or over the castle grounds to the left, or to the timbered hills on the right. There they sat and talked at will. Now and then the conversation drifted back to Shibusawa's absence, and each experience related touched more deeply the father's slow but certain apprehension. "I dare say there are no temples in that far-away land," said the lord daimyo, more inquisitive than positive. "Oh, yes, there are," was the young prince's quick rejoinder, "only they are much larger and less beautiful. They worship in herds in that country; and they have a paid supplicant to do the honours, while the multitude sit and gape and snore. It's a great saving of time and trouble, this European method of salvation." "And have they gods?" "Oh, yes; they have a God. The principle is just the same. It's only the form that makes it different from ours." "Ah, the practice! And after all, that is man's only reality: the ideal is the grander existence. And do these strange worshippers have habitations, and go about clad as we do?" "They have houses--ours are not like theirs, thanks to good fortune--in which the idea, as in their churches, is to get as many under one roof as possible. They build floor over floor, and then wear their lives out climbing from one to the other. They are not only herders but climbers as well. Then the craze to encroach one upon another is so great that all try to live at a few isolated spots. There are millions of broad acres--the area is so great that for want of a comparison I cannot convey to you anything but a hazed idea--upon which the sun shines and over which the fresh air circulates, yet these people hang out of ten-story windows and pant for breath or hide away in some dark, damp rooms and stare their eyes out under the glare of firelight." "Horrors! my son. And they would teach us how to live?" "Not only that, but they cover the streets with rock and steel and then force iron-wheeled cars over the rough surface or harsh-sounding rails until the roar and the clatter make them deaf or drive them insane." "Shocking!" "And when they sleep at night they huddle together under the same quilt, and when they arise and go about their walled dens or out upon the filth-breeding, dust-driven streets they cover themselves with all sorts of coarse material far rougher than our matting on the floor or the material with which we sack our products of the field. Their feet are bound up in close-fitting skins on which are nailed or sewn stiff leather soles, and their heads are weighted down with all manner of hot, ill-shaped and wind-catching hats or other gear." "And is such their clothing?" "Yes. And it is fashioned, mostly, so as to expose as much as possible the person's form, or its lines, and it may be worn, or donned, in piecemeal. It is only to be commended for street sweeping or fly baiting. And what a mixture; and so untidy and so uncomfortable! It makes me creep all over when I think of it, and of how they swelter on a hot day and freeze on a cold one." "What barbarians!" "And their food! Well, I can best impress you with that by saying that the cooks and doctors constitute a large percentage of the population, and that the mortality resulting from the strife carried on between the two classes, the one tearing down and the other building up, is hardly less than frightful. The science of both is a constant assault upon the stomach, with the odds so overwhelmingly in favour of the cooks that life is reduced to an average period of only some thirty-three years. And the taste, and the smell! Well, either is farthest removed from nature's storehouse, and that is enough said, I warrant." "And that is where you have been seeking knowledge all this time?" "Yes; I spent only four of the five years at college, learning how to cheat. Yes, cheat; that is the thing. First man, then nature. The former, because it is easy; the latter, because it is progress. And if the fructifications of a scientist, or a doctor, or a lawyer, or a preacher, or a merchant, do not meet with your ideas of success, then try the fortunes of a statesman or a warrior; and what you cannot get by diplomacy, force with powder and shot." "And that is what you call Christian civilisation?" "It is so called." "Then shame!" "Even so, their progress is none the less." "What is the secret?" "The machine." The conversation broke off there and they both sat for a long time absorbed in study. The one looked backward, the other forward. Neither was satisfied; man never is. Presently Shibusawa began rambling over his experiences, relating first an incident and telling afterwards of a conquest. His father's spirits rose, and they laughed or marvelled together as an amusing episode or an awkward situation came to mind. He told of how fortune had compelled him to work his passage and earn his way from the time he left his native land until he had returned; of how he had pushed on from place to place until the American continent had been crossed, and how in the great city of New York he had struggled to complete a course in college. And withal he had been studious and so frugal that by the time he was graduated he had saved enough from his earnings to pay his passage to Europe, thence home again via the Suez Canal and Hong Kong. His experiences had been somewhat unpleasant at first, but as time passed and he had become accustomed to work he did not find the necessities of the situation so irksome. Upon the whole he felt contented with results, and believed that his search for knowledge had not been amiss. Although he had been subjected to keen humiliation and had met with much hardship, he harboured no ill-feeling toward the new civilisation which he had encountered. He freely acknowledged that he appreciated the impossibility of any assimilation between the Occident and the Orient, and felt that while the one sojourned with the other he needs must suffer a disadvantage. "While I regret that I have given you cause for so much anxiety," continued Shibusawa, "I feel that I have done nothing to disgrace you, and that the experience and knowledge gained will sometime serve us well. In all things pertaining to life there must be a beginning, and that I have been a pioneer I do not regret. I shall always endeavour to make the best use of my opportunities, and I am now ready to take my proper place." "You have spoken well, my son, and Maido is proud." Soon after, though late in the morning, they arose and wended their way toward the castle, and as they went their interest gradually drifted to matters at home, including the marriage of Nehachibana. Maido told his son all about Takara's recent disappearance from Tokyo, but mentioned only casually her sojourn with the Tetsutaishos. Though deeply interested Shibusawa showed little concern about his wife, and no criticisms were offered; he appreciated his father's situation in the matter and resolved to be considerate. A deeper thought began to reassert itself, growing anxiety took hold of him, and he soon became wrapped with care only for Kinsan. CHAPTER XXIII AN UNEXPECTED CALL Upon Shibusawa's arrival at the mansion he separated from his father and, going to his own apartments, lay down to rest. The relaxation, due to a change of solicitude, overcame his feverish anxiety and soon put him fast asleep. When he arose, late in the afternoon, he set about his duties as if no serious problem had ever entered his life, and when he met Ikamon, his first caller, he proved himself the master of his own situation. The news of Shibusawa's return had soon spread, though it created little interest beyond the circle of his immediate family. There was a time when such an occurrence would have been heralded as an important event, but now the lord daimyo no longer held the sway he once did. True, there was no falling off in his power, and indirectly no slackening of his influence; still that influence had come to be exercised largely through the medium of Ikamon, and Maido's wealth and position were more and more accounted as the latter's strength. Going away from home at so early an age and remaining away for so long a time, Shibusawa had never become well known at Tokyo, and almost ceased to be taken into account in reckoning the family's political or social status. Though Maido's neglect, occasioned largely by grief for his absent son, had enabled Ikamon to gradually appropriate to his own use the family's place and wealth, it was not so intended; and nobody knew better than the wily son-in-law himself that default rather than purpose permitted him to enjoy the almost unlimited use of another's fortune. When Shibusawa returned, Ikamon therefore hastened to cultivate with the son that same friendly intercourse which he had always enjoyed with the father. In consequence he extended to his relative a hearty greeting, which to his surprise met with a generous response. This readiness to take the hand of fellowship did not arise from any lack of understanding, nor could its motive be in the least questioned. Shibusawa desired to cultivate a better acquaintance with his father's associates and contemporaries as well as to meet and revive old friendships. Persistency rapidly bore its fruit, for not alone his rank, but his superior education and polish gave him place, while his quiet, unobtrusive manner brought him into respect with all the more progressive of the shogun's court. In matters of state Maido had gradually released his hold, and now that he had grown old and less inclined to assume the responsibility he began to long for the freedom of the country. The son, as best he could, assumed those duties which of necessity must sooner or later have devolved entirely upon him, and together they planned so well that by autumn they were enabled to determine upon returning for an indefinite period to their home province, Kanazawa. "Your long continued and able service," said Ikamon with enthusiasm, when advised of their plans, "demands some recognition at the hands of those who can ill afford to lose your presence at court. And to me, sir, it is the greatest pleasure of my life to offer some entertainment to my friends and to your friends and to be permitted the privilege. Come, my good Maido, you shall not say no, and Shibusawa, I venture, will not." "My son-in-law, my Ikamon, your good protestations overwhelm me. I certainly do not deserve such kindly notice. I cannot make you a ready answer--Shibusawa, will you be so good as to speak for me?" "Yes, father," said the son, politely bowing. "If his highness, the prime minister, so desires, I feel that it is a great privilege to acknowledge the honour." "And Ikamon shall make the occasion worthy the guests," said the designing official, enthusiastic over the prospects. Now Maido and his family could not make so important a move without first obtaining the consent of the shogun, and as this rested primarily with the prime minister, Shibusawa may have had good reason for so quickly acceding to the doing of what he knew to be tainted with something more than mere friendship. They earnestly desired the privilege of absenting themselves from the capital, not alone that Maido might enjoy the freedom of his former life and the intercourse with his people, but that Shibusawa might begin his active career at home, where he could better become acquainted, and familiarise himself with the needs and resources of the prefecture. Maido, now in his declining years, also craved the liberty of his child's companionship freed from the cares of court life, especially that there were no pressing duties at the capital. He therefore set forth his reasons and requests in a letter, forthwith despatched to the department. The answer soon came back at the hands of Ikamon himself, who, as a mark of extreme deference, took along for the first time his respected wife, Yasuko, a courtesy which so pleased Maido that he never forgot the incident. Indeed, they were received with so much cordiality that the set call was soon turned into an informal affair, and the little party did not break up until a late hour. After refreshments had been served they sat pleasantly chatting, the two elders about matters interesting to them, thus leaving Yasuko and Shibusawa to indulge themselves as they liked. It was Shibusawa's first real opportunity to hear the neighbourhood gossip, and while not at all a busybody he took advantage of the occasion to learn some of the doings affecting him most. But Yasuko was little given to gadding about, and in consequence not as conversant with the neighbourhood affairs as some others. Indeed, she had never heard of such a person as Kinsan,--nor did Shibusawa suspect that she had ever had an opportunity or reason to hear of one in her caste,--therefore, however much desired, though not expected, he gained no information in that direction. "I do wish you would try to see Nehachibana before you go away to Kanazawa. I fear it may be a long time, Shibusawa, before you shall again have a chance." said Yasuko, earnestly, while they were alone and out of hearing distance of the rest of those present. "I should very much like to," answered he, interestedly; "but I am so prejudiced against that husband of hers, Tetsutaisho, that I almost dread to go." "But she is so disconsolate! And, poor thing, she is jealous, and yet so wrapped up in him. I wonder she does not do some dreadful thing." "I presume I shall have to go there or not see her at all." "She seldom goes away from the house, and when she does her mother-in-law goes foremost, you can be sure of that." "Well, I shall manage in some way before I go, though probably it will not be until later. I shall have to encounter the husband first." "Oh, do, Shibusawa; I shall be so glad, and I know it will cheer her up. You remember that she was always so fond of you, and you may be able to encourage her. Please do not fail." "Very well; I promise you." Presently Ikamon came toward them, and the conversation was changed to something less personal. Then after a few pleasantries the callers began to make ready to take leave. "I dare say," said Ikamon, adroitly, as they were about to leave the house, "Yasuko has enjoyed this evening; her brother is seldom absent from her mind, and did I not share the same good trait I certainly should be a little jealous. Yes, sir; we think of you and your good father often, and we regret to see you going so far away from us. Yet we hope that the country will not hold you long, and that you will soon be returning to the capital, where you are so exceedingly welcome, and so illy spared." While it pleased Shibusawa to see such good cheer and hear praise bestowed upon his father, the encomium did not in any manner carry him away nor cause him to suspect the giver; he merely passed it by as a personal trait, without any regard to the real source of its apparent emanation. Secretly he had long ago determined that he and his family, or any other, would be courted just so long as they made themselves worth the while. He appreciated Ikamon's kindness in suggesting the entertainment, and, regardless of the motive or consequences, proposed to enjoy such benefits as were of right his portion, so long as no moral or material right was infringed upon. After consulting Maido's convenience as to the time of the entertainment, Ikamon and his wife withdrew amid hearty salutations and started toward their home. The sky was clear and the moon up as they sped along in the cool of night, listening to the patter of the carriers' feet, or looking out upon the world of beauty around them. Theirs was a happy contrast with those less fortunate, for--even in feudal Japan--this mighty statesman once delved into mother earth for meagre sustenance. There, too, the lowly rose to power and fame, and, as the great minister leaned back under the golden canopy and sniffed the balmy air floating in at the open sides, he marvelled at his own success and swelled with pride at his extraordinary rise. "It is the power of logic that sends men on their destined way. The sway of chance or the hand of justice has little to do with the mysteries of man's universe; it is the certainty of the thing that counts for much. The success makes right, and Ikamon knows no wrong," said he to himself as they came close to their gilded mansion and a hundred tired backs welcomed the small relief. Ikamon arose and stepped out of the tasselled chair, and stood waiting to assist Yasuko. Ready and willing maids had already spread the leopard skin, and as she thrust forward her dainty, white stockinged feet, two gold-lacquered shoes were placed for them. Her husband extended his hand, and she arose, gracefully walking toward the house where is known "the golden crow" and "the jewelled hare," the law's luxury and man's inheritance. The prime minister drew from his girdle a string of "cash" which he scattered, and a horde of thankful underlings scrambled for the bounty. He too entered the privileged house, and soon after, taking his proper leave, retired to his own chamber, where he planned and schemed the grandest geisha party that his age had known. CHAPTER XXIV THE GEISHA PARTY The giving of a geisha party such as Ikamon proposed involved no small amount of preparation and entailed much thought and care, yet when the "Harvest Moon" came--for that was the time selected--everything had been gotten in readiness, and Maido and his family occupied their booth, surrounded by all that luxury and refinement could offer to still the cares of man. Shibusawa entered into the spirit of the occasion with every possible determination to do his part, but down in his heart there lived a yearning, and with each repeated failure came a corresponding hope for Kinsan. He had sought her long and earnestly, and now grasped at each straw. "Would she, could she be there that night?" The young prince could not avoid facing Takara, who sat to his left, across the big auditorium, and each look from her burned into him a still deeper sense of his ingratitude. Tetsutaisho occupied an adjoining booth, and no color in Shibusawa's cheek escaped his eye. An inner consciousness smote him, and he looked out into the brilliant scene before him for relief. And as he became transported, that subtile, elusive something seemed all but there, for the geisha party, the universal and proper form, probably fits the case quite as well as any other opera or means devised for the diversion of mankind. Here, in ancient Japan, it is the very acme of united, contributive art, and whether the affair be a small or a grand one matters not; the ever festive and elastic geisha meets the emergency. If but the modest return of a chance relation, whereupon the trifling consequences of a happy trade in jack-knives is discussed, or if it be the social fête, where the destinies of a monarch are framed and harangued, the geisha party is the occasion, and it stands for all that opportunity may or can require. No demand can be too exacting, no hope too flattering. It paves the way to good-fellowship, and inspires the heart to nobler deeds. Ikamon chose it as a means for bringing together the best in the land, and he used it as an instrument to touch them, to sway and move them. The matter of finding a suitable place had worried him, and going in person to all of the noted tea houses, one after another, he discarded them as being inadequate or impracticable. Ryogoku, Tsukiji, Asakusa, and others in turn were visited, and none offered suitable accommodation. His wants were exacting, and as he went from place to place his imagination grew and requirements multiplied beyond all hope of fulfilment. Uyeno pleased him most; here he found at least an ideal spot, endowed by nature with all that is lofty and inspiring. The spacious park lay upon a gently sloping hillside, terminating in a high promontory, jutting out over the nestling roof tops far below. From the quiet of its level there stretched away to the right, to the left, and in front, a million earnest, faithful homes. The glistening, silvered waters in the distance had again and again marked the stately course of the splendid "Harvest Moon" in her onward march with time, while from the background came the breathless hush of the forest, the silent mysteries of the gloom, the awakening of the spirit world. He returned to it a second and a third time, studied the situation at its best, then decided. "The 'Harvest Moon' is the time," said he, with ecstasy, "and the shogun's command will amply build the playhouse. I shall begin without delay." The prime minister returned to his home much pleased with himself and fully satisfied with his opportunities. True, the allotted few weeks were a short time, but what mattered that when he had only to advise and the scene of his intended activities would swarm with a myriad of workers. And then the applause for its doing!--for Ikamon loved gain, and he knew of no surer means than the approval of his countrymen. He said to himself: "There have been geisha parties before, other fêtes of note, but it is now Ikamon's turn. Why not only outstrip the past, but anticipate the future?" In consequence the necessary work was begun and the party launched by the most sweeping and unheard of orders. As in the matter of construction, the invitations had been issued under order of the shogun, and no royal personage or noble blood of the sex was overlooked or neglected. Messengers despatched in every direction had set moving long before the harvest moon had risen many gorgeous trains; for no host or guest in that land was held in better esteem than Maido, the lord daimyo of Kanazawa. They came from north and south, from the loyal and the opposition, from kuge and bakufu.[14] All were his friends, and none would miss an opportunity to enjoy the hospitality that flowed from the shogun's seat like balm in Gilead or wine from a Circean cup. They came, and when they had arrived they beheld the grandest spectacle that they had ever known. Many thousands had laboured hard to set the scene and perfect the play. Early in its inception Ikamon had instructed Tetsutaisho as to his portion; whereupon the responsive commander constructed around the plot of a hundred acres a living wall, in which each stone was a trained soldier and every picket a sharpened steel. Such a massing of troops had never before been seen, and Tetsutaisho had not only girdled the festive place with a brilliant setting, but taught those lords and barons a lesson in fanciful show that convinced them of the shogun's effective strength. The human fence ended only at either side of the promontory, whereat gates were placed, over which a thousand blades stood guard. No force could pass that barrier. To them it seemed insurmountable from without and impenetrable from within. Within the cordon of militia, however, the real wonders of the place began to unfold. Passing through the gate the guests were taken in hand and ushered along down the lines of dazzling soldiery toward the lower end of the park, where stood a dark, dense forest. Here they suddenly left the bright lights behind and were made to grope their way through the woods to the yawning entrance of an underground cave. Thence through its gloomy caverns beset with all the horrors of an imagined hades they hurried until they had finally emerged into the brilliant lights of the grand auditorium. On the left side of the entrance was the mikado's booth, and on the right the shogun's: neither was better or grander than the other, but both were covered with gorgeous brocades of maple leaves and banked with solid walls of chrysanthemums. Coloured lanterns hung between the pillars in front, and open windows looked out at the back upon the city below. From the two gala booths in the centre, the royal booths stretched out on either side, skirting the brow of the hill, in the shape of a crescent, graduating in size to correspond to the several grades of nobility. To the stage in front alternate beds of flowers and open boxes, with here and there a mat-covered aisle, occupied the space. The boxes were laid with soft mats and lined with silk, while the booths were made of gold or black lacquer, with tiger or leopard skins on the floor, as suited the rank of the occupant. Shibusawa looked out under the high roof, with its thousand-tinted, leaf-covered cone, emblazoned with dazzling lights and brilliant foliage, at the red-lacquered stage, festooned with wisteria and lined with the beautiful bell-shaped asagao. The guests were already seated in their flowing robes of silk and purple amid garlands of flowers and booths of gold, and the players began to make their appearance. Three hundred geisha singers dressed in flaming uniforms, wearing costly jewels in their hair, came first, seating themselves in three rows across the front of the stage, with the samisens[15] first, the kokyus[16] next, and the kotos last. Next after these came nine hundred geisha dancers, who ranked in lines at both sides and at the rear of the stage. After them one hundred geisha singers, whose simple coiffures and freedom from ornamentation bespoke their purity, came in and grouped themselves in the centre of the stage. All held themselves in readiness to begin the play. Presently the music began in faint, weird strains, and as the time quickened the dancers began to sway, and as the pitch rose the singers began to chant; and when all seemed a living, moving, sounding picture, the ranks parted and down between them softly stepped a maiden whose charm and ease of manner made breathless the waiting listeners. As she approached the centre of the stage, the music lowered, the dancers slowed, and the singers gradually stopped; then her voice began its soft, enchanting notes. Every man leaned forward speechless; and as she sang her song of love they were thrilled with the wondrous message of her heart. In that vast audience there was one who understood the language of her pathos, who communed with her soul. It was Shibusawa; and not words, but actions revealed the secret of his feelings. He sat in his booth, leaning over, and silent. He did not grieve, nor exult, but sat there a dweller in another world. It was one from the spirit land with whom he spoke. She told him she loved him; her voice, not words carried the message, spoke the language of her soul. He listened, and when the farewell came would have gone to her, thrown himself at her feet, had not his strength failed him. He hesitated, and upon regaining his composure Kinsan had gone--he knew not where. Tetsutaisho sat near Shibusawa, and he too felt the force of her great melody, and knew that some inward action moved her. He had long before guessed her secret, and Shibusawa's strange emotion now impressed him. Instinctively connecting the two, though holding his own counsel, he knew from that day who his rival was, and he felt that her song had won for her its reward. He chided himself for having yielded to Ikamon's entreaty, and wished that he had denied even his best friend the favour of her loan. It was now too late. The mistake had been made beyond rectifying. Kinsan had not observed Shibusawa, or at least did not distinguish him in the audience, but sang purely and simply from her heart. No incentive moved her, nor did she heed the elegance, or feel the great honour she had gained. She was conscious of only one, and in another world poured out her soul's desire; and thus without being aware of it brought to her feet the noble, royal sons of a nation, made them her slaves, and went forth from that scene the most famed of her sex. Thenceforth it was "Kinsan, The Nightingale," and she bore well the sobriquet. CHAPTER XXV THE UNHAPPY MEETING The beautiful song of the unknown star had stimulated the most hearty good cheer, and the playing, feasting, and conversation did not wane until a late hour. And when the festivities had ended, Ikamon was accounted the prince of entertainers; while Shibusawa confronted a new danger. When the guests had gone home his father began making preparations to go to Kanazawa. Maido, pleased with the reception accorded him, felt highly complimented for his long and faithful services at the capital. He deemed it a fitting finale to what he considered the close of his active public career, and the honour seemed to him a splendid reward. And now that so much had been done by his friends in appreciation of his services and in recognition of his retirement, he believed himself in duty bound to show his proper regard by making his exit as elaborate as his circumstances would permit. Therefore he called his son to him and said: "Shibusawa, we have been honoured at the hands of our friends and especially are we under obligation to the court. Let us be equally generous in our withdrawal from life at the capital, and depart with a procession that will show due appreciation, and declare our loyalty to his august highness. We have always been modest in our pretensions, and I believe that some such demonstration would not be unfitting or beneath the dignity of our station. What do you say, my son?" "If it is your pleasure, I certainly can see no valid objection. We need not be ashamed of such showing as we can make, and real display is sometimes a good promoter and always a splendid encouragement. What can I do to be of service?" "Please consider yourself my guest; that will better suit me, since it may be my last opportunity. Once the young get a good hold, there is little chance for the fathers. Let me do the thing once more, then surrender to you. The last is the greater." "Very well, if you like, Shibusawa will obey; there is no greater pleasure, nor higher honour." Shibusawa not only wished to please his father but was glad for the opportunity to occupy himself in another way. Since his startling discovery of Kinsan he had resolved to find her and claim her, whatever might be the cost. He reasoned that his agitation upon seeing Kinsan on the stage would be passed as merely an incident, and that no explanation would be required; and that he take no steps that might involve his family, he deemed it advisable to keep his own counsel until, if necessary, developments necessitated some sort of disclosure. Tetsutaisho had said nothing, and in consequence Shibusawa did not know of any suspicion on his part; and being entirely unaware of Kinsan's residence he had, of course, no reason whatever to suppose that she was domiciled at his brother-in-law's house. His idolised queen had appeared to him as if in a vision, and the more he pondered the situation the more deeply he became perplexed. And as the days rapidly passed and his allotted time shortened, Shibusawa began to grow nervous and despair of his mission. All his friends with whom he could discuss the new prima donna were even more than he in the dark; they had never heard of her and like himself could get no information as to where she could even be found. He rightly refrained from saying anything to Ikamon, the only person besides Tetsutaisho who could have informed him; and even had he approached him he would have received no encouragement, for the prime minister had promised faithfully to keep her identity a secret. From day to day the disconsolate young prince went from friend to friend and place to place discussing the crowning feature of the big event, in hope of getting some bit of information that would serve as a clue. In geisha circles they were equally mystified, and from that source no encouragement could be offered. He became disheartened, though more than ever resolved. The time for his departure from the city had already arrived, and before going he set out to make his sister, Yasuko, a parting call. While there, she for a second time cautioned him about his going to see Nehachibana; whereupon he promised forthwith to go and bid his favourite sister farewell, even though he had not as yet made up his mind to forgive or become friendly with her husband. Shortening his visit with Yasuko, accordingly, he kept his promise and immediately went to call upon Nehachibana. It was a gloomy day, and the clouds hung low and drove cold the chill of autumn. The dusk of night already overshadowed the earth and he felt uneasy, much disliking to disturb even his sister at so late an hour; yet he knew that it would be his only chance, for on the morrow he must make ready to take his departure. As he approached the house no one greeted him; he hesitated; resolving to meet her if possible, he pressed forward, making known his desire to see Nehachibana, his sister. He had not long to wait, however, for she came in person and greeting him warmly bade him enter the house and sit in her own chamber. Here they sat and sat, he listening, and she pouring out her troubles--it had been her first opportunity in all those pent-up years. Again and again they had drained their teacups when, flushed and excited, she said: "Yes, there is a son, and you must know its mother. I will show it to you and then you can better appreciate my terrible sorrow. Oh, I cannot bear it longer! It will kill me, and yet it is no fault of mine. I have been a dutiful wife, and I have the only right to be the mother of his children. Tell me, Shibusawa, my brother, is there no help for woman?" "It is the law of the land, Nehachibana, and as long as it is such, it is our duty to abide by its decree." "But the law is so unjust!" "The injustice is in the making of it. But there, now, let us not discuss that any further. You have done your part, and I will venture it is better a husband whom you love, than a wife who loves your husband. Come, now, when shall I expect you to pay us a visit in the country?" "I wish you were not going so far. I am seldom allowed such a privilege, and were I--oh, that other one! I should never give her the satisfaction. I hate her! I love--oh, I dare not, I cannot go away! Come with me, now, won't you? I want you to see--to see with your own eyes--I shall have revenge!" "But you must not, my dear Nehachibana. It is not she that has wronged you; and it is a terrible thing to misjudge. Better suffer the wrong; the charity will repay you the sacrifice." "Then look, as I have done these many days, and you will know better a woman's way. It is an image of the devil, and its eyes rivet me. Come?" "To please you, Nehachibana." Nehachibana arose and stealthily disappeared; in a few moments she returned and, scarcely speaking above a whisper, bade Shibusawa follow. Guiding him through several rooms, into a long passageway, thence to a chamber out of which a soft light shone through the frail paper partition, she cautioned him, then pushed back the slide a little and beckoned him approach. Kinsan sat in deep thought near a small screen, with the child fondled in her lap, and for the moment did not observe their entrance. She had often been intruded upon in such a manner and therefore paid little heed. Perhaps she meditated the night of her début upon the stage; or she may have been thinking of another time when all the world seemed glorified to her. The visitors approached, however, and their stockinged feet made hardly any noise on the soft, matted floor. They came at Kinsan's back, partly sidewise, and when not too far away Nehachibana clutched at Shibusawa's kimono and pointing her bony finger at the child, leaned forward and said, almost breathlessly: [Illustration: Kinsan sat in deep thought ... with the child fondled in her lap.] "It is he!" She trembled violently, and her eyes stared wildly as they came in contact with the child. Until Nehachibana spoke, Kinsan had not recognised them, nor would she then have done so had not Shibusawa sprung forward to save Nehachibana from falling as she reeled and lost her balance. Shibusawa had recognised Kinsan the moment Nehachibana spoke, and it was a hard struggle for him to refrain from speaking to her. His whole being bade him respond to an overpowering impulse, but sober thought checked him, and he grasped at an opportunity to turn his back by leading Nehachibana away. This movement, however, did not serve to shield him, for before he had entirely turned about Kinsan saw his face and knew him, and sprang to her feet, while the child fell to the floor. Though her very being flamed she did not follow, but stood speechless and helpless; there was no force to move her. She waited, and presently he returned. Shibusawa led his sister back to her apartment and left her under promise that she would try to regain her composure and remain there until he came for her. He told her that he desired to meet the child's mother privately, but would return to her in a short time. Nehachibana said nothing to relieve her brother's mind. She knew in her own heart that Kinsan was not the mother of the child, yet she did not speak. He, of course, took it for granted that the child was hers. He got only a glance, but saw in its eyes a familiar image; also in that he was misinformed. Had it been a woman who saw, she would not have made so grave a mistake; reason is sometimes the victim of deception; intuition, never. As he returned, he judged. Every step deadened his feelings and each thought blinded his reason. He conjured her false, and made himself the victim. He re-entered the room, sternly and deliberately; she stood there, hopeful and expectant. As he stepped inside she came forward, but before reaching him stopped and bowed in silence; she had divined his heart and read correctly the message. The child cried playfully, and she blushed deeply and confusedly. She realised fully the possible consequences of its being there, and would have hastened to explain had he given her the opportunity; on the contrary he approached and said calmly, but coldly: "Kinsan, I would like a word with you, if you will so permit me." She raised her hands and looked at him with pleading, earnest eyes, but he made no offer to meet her. His arms hung limp, and his look fell to the floor. She waited for him to recover, to deign some word or act of encouragement. Perhaps he battled for power; perhaps he accused her. He made no sign, and she recovered herself and calmly asked him: "Will you please be seated? They sat down upon the clean white floor; the child lay coaxing in front of them. Neither offered a remark, but both sat in serious contemplation. It was he who first attempted to break the silence, and as he ventured to speak the partition in front slid back with a jerk, and Tetsutaisho walked forward and bowed. "I trust I am not intruding," said he, as he waited for Shibusawa to arise. "I beg your pardon, sir," said the younger of the two, rising and drawing his kimono about him. "It is I who seem to be unwelcome. Therefore please grant me the privilege of retiring." "As you like," said the other, with an air of disinterestedness and a low bow. "Tetsutaisho welcomes his friends, always." "And Shibusawa recognises his enemies, now and then," retorted he with a courteous bow, as he gracefully withdrew from their presence. Shibusawa hurried back to Nehachibana's room where he found her sitting and staring into space. Her features were expressionless, and her toilet showed a carelessness which until now had escaped his notice. He said a few kindly words to her, and retiring, hastened toward his own home. She paid little heed to what he said, and when he warmly gave her a parting farewell she blankly answered: "Sayonara."[17] The disconsolate young man went home with a sadder heart and firmer determination than ever. He was fully convinced that Kinsan had been untrue, yet in charity he charged her failure to the law's barrier. At first he had been stunned, and his love momentarily wavered; but as he gained freedom and more carefully reflected, his heart withstood the test and his mind regained its composure; and when he arose the next morning he set himself to his task with a will that knows no better victory than constancy. CHAPTER XXVI DAIMYO'S PROCESSION The final preparations for the gorgeous procession progressed without interruption all of the next day, notwithstanding a light rain fell almost incessantly, and Shibusawa, at least, regretted though encouraged a speedy going. He must on the very eve of Kinsan's discovery part with what seemed to be the last hope of ever realising his life's ambition. And she the property of his bitterest enemy! Sometimes it seemed more than he could bear; but a recurring sense of the inevitable always stayed the doing of some rash thing, and long before the evening had passed friends were calling to bid the family good-bye. As night came on, however, the rain ceased, and the weather began to clear under a stiff breeze blowing from the eastward. It was a chill October night, the leaves were falling, and the white clouds sped low in the sky. The sun had fringed the western horizon with a snowy-fleeced red, and Shibusawa stepped to the outer edge of his veranda to take a parting glimpse of the golden scene spread over the hills above. He could not see the site of the hidden cave, but his eyes moistened; he turned away and looked toward the lake below. There he saw emerging from a cluster of bushes Okyo, tugging along a coy maiden, whose dress and appearance signified that she did not belong to the castle; yet he observed her neat and modest appearance; also that Okyo endeavoured with difficulty to induce her to approach. Shibusawa drew back and waited their coming with amusement, if not interest. Presently they came near, and after much consultation and persuasion on Okyo's part they entered the house and groped their way hand in hand--he pulling and she shying--into Shibusawa's presence. Okyo saluted his master, she courtesied; between them they stammered an explanation, and the host begged forgiveness for the unseemly confusion of identities. "And this is Shiyoganai, the pretty young girl whom we rescued while guests at the Look-See tea house. Let us see, that is several years ago, and I am afraid our claim is now more than forfeited. However, I suppose the double is fancied and the bargain might be renewed," said the young prince, in a manner intended to place them at ease, and save the direct embarrassment of a possible recognition. The unexpected rather upset Okyo, and a feeling somewhat akin to fright suddenly came over him. He said nothing; his voice failed him, and hanging his head he partly turned and whispered: "You tell it, Shiyoganai; I can't." She blushed deeply, and told the story of how Okyo had again met her after his venture upon the sea and with his meagre assistance saved her from being sold a second time, possibly into something worse than slavery. She added with much hesitation that they had dearly loved each other for a long time, and asked him to be so kind as to let Okyo come back sometime to see her. "Tell him that I want to marry you," interposed her would-be suitor, boldly. "And are you both quite sure you wish to take so serious a step?" "Oh, yes, we are," said they in chorus, scarcely the words left his lips. "Then you shall marry and welcome, for I shall want you to remain here with the keeper until I return." Shibusawa tendered Okyo the funds necessary to make settlement with her parents and bade them expedite the marriage, as he must move early on the morrow and should certainly expect them to be punctually on hand. Nor did they waste time, but hurriedly saluted and were not seen again until late the next morning, when Shiyoganai came trudging in, was forgiven and seemed happy. The daimyo's procession had started to move betimes, and was well on the way before the streets had quieted down for the midday. The parade had been so well noised about that the roads were everywhere lined with the interested and the curious. Flags and bunting were displayed and many shops had been closed in honour of the event. By common consent the occasion had been turned into a general holiday in honour of the man whose sympathy had endeared him to both prince and pauper alike; and as the pageant moved along there was presented to view a strikingly imposing scene. Over forty thousand men were in line, and among them many dignitaries, who had been invited and who chanced to join as a mark of respect and an act of loyalty. The swordsmen, under the command of Beppu, a trusted officer of the daimyo's forces, marched in the lead; after these came the spearsmen; then the fieldsmen; and then the courtiers, retainers, members of the household, servants, criers, and hangers-on. Groups of knightly heralds, in costumes of white and gold, carried high, massive plumes of green and brown; there were couriers with flaming banners, gorgeous floats, flags, streamers, and bunting; huge grotesque figures and other monstrosities wabbled along on human backs, while gilded poles and clever symbols lined the imposing column. Gaudy uniforms and costly dress told of the wealth and pomp that followed in the splendid train, and the great chairs of state bespoke Maido's power and the splendour of his suite. On the door at either side of these rich palanquins shone the family crest, worked into the beautiful lacquer with finely threaded gold and silver, in the design of five circles around ten short rays representing sword punctures. The daimyo's chair came first in line, then Shibusawa's. After all the rest there followed long trains laden with baggage and paraphernalia belonging to the household and retainers of the family. The procession moved in double file along the old Tokaido, the deep-worn and hard-packed highway with its tall cedars and interlocking branches on either side. Here they travelled in solemn grandeur as their ancestors of a thousand years had done, and Maido marvelled at the beauty of the ceremony and thought with pride of the splendour of his retinue. His army was counted legion and his income over a million koku,[18] while the doors of nobility were open to him and royalty pleased with his friendship. He had in effect just closed a brilliant career, and his own son about to succeed him he believed capable of winning new laurels--why should he not swell with satisfaction as he rode along beneath the shade of these giants of the forest? Shibusawa, on the other hand, had begun to take a deeper hold on life. He had seen the world, and felt keenly the narrow pride which the lords and rulers of his land boasted. He knew their tiny empire to be a beauteous land, and he also knew that it had been discovered; that there were other people from whom the good things of the earth could not be kept. He also realised that they themselves had much to profit by the larger intercourse certainly to come, and that they, too, with all their excellence were far from being perfect in the scale of social organisation. He had seen sufficient of life and imbibed enough of truth to understand that so long as inequality exists between men just so long will the state remain flexible; and he realised that such a government must necessarily adapt itself to natural conditions. He had looked out into the world and there beheld the glory of man, not men; and he now believed in man's regeneration as born of progression. They tramped on day after day in their only fashion, and when they finally did arrive at their own gate Shibusawa sprang from his chair and amid the shouts of the men ran on at double the speed. For this he was held in high esteem and accounted one of their kind, though some of the dignitaries may have been a little surprised at the young prince's democracy. While Maido, out of deference to his station, said nothing, at least he really rejoiced, for he loved a good sprinter and had actually winked at more than one wrestling match in his day. "I would get out and go you a bout myself, were it not for shocking the household keeper's sensibilities," said he to his son, quietly, as the latter was about to leave his chair for the coveted run through the woods and over the hills. Shibusawa's fleetness brought him, before many hours had passed, to the selfsame gate behind which most of his boyhood days had been spent. He drew a deep breath as he entered, and while walking along the old winding road to the main front he said to himself: "What is sweeter and better than the environment of early home?" He immediately, upon entering, set himself to work directing a few added touches that would please and encourage his father's home-coming. Such trifling attentions he accounted a great pleasure, and as he grew older in appreciation of a parent's tenderness he lost no opportunity to show his affectionate esteem. Nor did he misplace even one, for Maido in his way repaid the trouble many fold. When they had arrived at Kanazawa, the season had so far advanced that they at once settled down for the winter. Though disappointed in not being able to visit other parts of the prefecture, they took much satisfaction in the quiet of their country house, and Magokoro (the real or red heart, or maple leaves) smiled sweetly and soon the snow fell beautifully. They did not lack for plenty to do and see, and when once settled there was much company, for Maido had been gone for a long time and his neighbours were not only glad at having seen him return, but some of the mikado's court, not far distant, were interested in knowing the reason. Nor was Takara disinterested, though she did not call. And a certain prince who had once upon a time been deeply in love with her and who was still quite attentive, manifested more than an interest; he was anxious, and upon Shibusawa's return he at first took it upon himself to visit Kanazawa rather often. Aside from these personal attractions, the south brewed a storm that was destined to spread until it had claimed the attention of some persons even much farther north than Kanazawa. Thus plenty both of interest and variety engaged Maido, nor would Shibusawa flinch from his part. CHAPTER XXVII SHIBUSAWA RECLAIMED It was now some considerable time since Takara had been spirited by the ronin from Tokyo to Kyoto, where she had gone into seclusion at her mother's house and so remained. The gaiety at court had little attraction for her, and she undertook to devote herself to a new life which should atone for all past failures. She had had her trial with men, and placing them all in the same category undertook to discard them as so much rubbish. One day while discussing the matter with Daikomitsu she said to him: "They are disappointing and, I believe, a burden to the real woman. No, Daikomitsu, you could not have me, were I free and you made of gold. I prefer another kind of happiness." "You do not mean what you say, Takara. You are chafing a bit under the weight of your misfortunes. You have my sympathy and my love too, if you will." "I have a husband." "And of what sort? I vow not of your own choice." "A woman has no choice." "Nor should she; nor would she, had I the say." "Thanks. I understand there are some would-be friends who are interested in all that goes with feudalism except the inheritance. You might have that, were you as clever as they." "I belong to the literati." "Oh, you do? It is strange; I had heard nothing of that since you were here last. I trust it will not get noised around too much--Ikamon might hear it." "Well?" "He is worth the while." "Tetsutaisho's the better man. I like him." "Then he has told you?" "You seem agitated. I hope you do not count him one of the new school. Though he is close to Ikamon, I will admit." "No; I had another thing in mind. Go on with your talk. The mood is a modest one." "I'll trust you, though it were better a man kept his own counsel." "Daikomitsu? Ha, ha; how egotistical!" "And you really love me?" "No." "Then you hate me." "No." "What chance is there between hate and love?" "It is there that I would trust a woman." Daikomitsu was pleased to have an opportunity to unfold his plans to somebody, and no one seemed to have more patience than Takara. Even her willingness seemed an encouragement to him. It did not count that she used him as a means of escape from others, for he had grown up in the same easy atmosphere and loved her from early boyhood. He always would love her. It mattered not that she had been married to another or that she might marry still others, he should love her just the same. Time might have wrought its changes, but not the even tenor of Daikomitsu's way. Portly and of average height, his face smooth-shaved and head somewhat bald, a goodly measure of royal blood coursed in his veins, and he was accounted a prince of high rank. Being a devotee of that classic school which grew up around Nara, and an ardent supporter of letters, he had gained a high standing as a scholar, though his learning was hardly profound nor his manner entirely polished. He had never been accredited with anything like ability or ambition, and therefore was not courted much at home nor taken too seriously elsewhere. However, in this they were all destined to a severe awakening; for until now Daikomitsu had only once been really stirred, and that was by the sudden marriage of Takara. He had kept his counsel well, but from that time forth he had an ambition. Just what it might be he did not himself quite know; still he had determined upon something, and with one so high in the councils of state it required only time and opportunity. The occasion must come, and he was perfectly willing to drift and wait. Not caring much for the effeminate pastimes of the plethoric supernumeraries at Kyoto, nor being required much at council, he was at liberty to go and come as best pleased him; therefore shortly after Takara's removal to Tokyo he, too, sought the shogun's capital. He probably did this as a natural consequence more than as a fixed plan to be near Takara; at all events he did not disturb her, and his visits were always within the bounds of strict decorum. She, on the other hand, had paid but little attention to his coming and going, treating him as she did all others who were friendly at the lord daimyo's castle. Later, after going to live at Tetsutaisho's house, Takara saw but little of Daikomitsu, meeting him only occasionally at Maido's, where they were both wont to go and visit at odd times. While Daikomitsu knew of Takara's abandonment of her own home for that of her brother-in-law he did not divine the true extent of her relations, though much of the gossip reaching Kyoto--finally resulting in her strange return--did so through the medium of none other than himself. And when she had gone he too returned, though no one ever accused him of having any direct connection with her removal. Daikomitsu had through all these years grown to be popular at the capital and considered a good friend at court--even accredited by some as being in sympathy with the shogun's cause. Especially the opposition to Ikamon courted his favour and even many of the latter's staunchest supporters admired him. In fact his influence had already come to be felt, and he had not a little to do with prolonging peace and maintaining order between the two rival factions, the north and the south. In consequence he interested himself to know whether the geisha party had been given to cover some breach between Maido and Ikamon, and whether the lord daimyo's removal to the country had a political meaning deeper than appeared. Tokyo he did not believe to be the place to gain such information, and hastening back to Kyoto he began making himself a friendly caller at the Kanazawa castle, though he did not associate himself much with the quiet meetings that were beginning to be held there to discuss public affairs. He may have been too sagacious for that, even though thought to be slow and of small consequence. Nor was he in harmony with the sentiment so rapidly centring around Maido. He had lost none of his sympathies for the mikado, still he did not believe that any improvement could be brought about by the admittance of foreigners into the land; and on that point thoroughly accorded with the mikado himself, as well as with Saigo and Kido and all the leaders of the dominant faction in the south. Realising the dangers of personal alliance, Daikomitsu held himself as much as possible aloof from all doings, and contented himself with investigating the real status of affairs. His correct understanding of the political situation, while not generally known, had been due in no small measure to his relations with Takara. The return of Shibusawa to Kanazawa had aroused her interest, and stimulated her to take a more active part in the affairs of life. In fact she had even gone so far as to delve into politics, and whatever Takara did she did with an energy. Thus she not only continued her indifferent relations with Daikomitsu, but actually sought to open, upon the same terms, some sort of intercourse with the house of Maido, including her own husband, Shibusawa. Until now she had taken no particular notice of his return from abroad. She had always held considerable regard for her husband, though in her own heart she felt there never could be anything of family interest between them. It might have been intrigue, but it could not have been love that now prompted her to seek him. While Daikomitsu did not know so much--Takara had not taken the pains to tell him anything--he was not jealous of Shibusawa. He had never been jealous of anybody, and only dreaded their coming together again as being the possible means of her total loss to him; he planned accordingly. "I shall be going to Tokyo in a few days, Takara, and I trust upon my return your heart will not have gone in Shibusawa's direction." "Foolish boy! You might sooner expect it yourself. However, I am going to invite them over, and I shall want you to carry the message." "And serve you at the door?" "Oh, no; I shall for that excuse you; it is the daimyos' call, not the princes'." "And when do you expect such a gathering?" "Not later than Tenno-Sai. It is a good time." "I would return even before that, should you wish it." "You are always kind, Daikomitsu." CHAPTER XXVIII THE DAIMYO'S ARREST Daikomitsu proceeded directly to Tokyo, and upon his arrival found the shogun's party considerably stirred up over what threatened to become a serious breach. It had been strongly hinted by some of Ikamon's enemies that the lord daimyo of Kanazawa had withdrawn in disgust, and for no other reason than a hearty dislike of his son-in-law's encouragement of everything foreign. There was also gaining ground a feeling that the crafty minister had used too much to his own advantage the powers of the shogun. Notwithstanding this latter charge, the real cause for dissension centred in the growing distrust of the foreigners. Here as in Kyoto it had already become the main issue, and strong overtures were being made to some of the leaders in the mikado's ranks for a coalition of all the anti-foreign forces. Upon Daikomitsu's return to the scene at Tokyo he was showered with every consideration. In fact some of the more ardent openly stated that he had come as the secret envoy of the mikado, for the express purpose of encouraging a friendly understanding between the two heads of government on that subject. Ikamon was not at all pleased with these friendly demonstrations, because things had so shaped themselves that he could not recede from the position taken had he so desired or thought best. He had used his influence with the shogunate to stamp approval only upon such foreign measures as he had been forced to concede, rather than involve the nation in open hostilities with the powers; which he knew full well would have been practical suicide. As a result of these several contentions there had sprung up, among a few of the more radical of the prime minister's foes, a demand for the regency of Hitotsubashi, and whisperings of Daikomitsu as a possible successor to Ikamon himself. It had already come to Ikamon's ears that even Tetsutaisho had listened to the rumors with indifference, whereupon the prime minister sought an interview with Daikomitsu and undertook to wrest from him a definite understanding. The easy-going scholar, of course, denied any such thought as disloyalty to a friend, and carelessly went so far as to suggest stringent measures. "This unrest must be checked in some way," said he to Ikamon, a day or so before he had fully made up his mind to return to Kyoto. "Why, it is rumoured that even Maido is in some way dissatisfied. Yet I should sooner think it his son, Shibusawa, were he in a position to speak." "I will admit a drag-net might surprise the most sanguine these days--still, Maido is beyond question. When he has proven false, then it is high time for such as you and I to indulge a quicker spirit. In the meantime let us not abstain too much from the liquor--this the golden wine that kissed the wood these forty years or more--and here is to 'longer friendship'," said Ikamon, as he raised the bowl to his own lips, then passed it to his guest. "And a 'better understanding'," answered Daikomitsu, as he emptied the contents and filled again the cup for his host. After this last interview Daikomitsu concluded he had best get away from the scene of his rising popularity, so he immediately returned to Kyoto, where he found Takara anxiously engaged about the daimyos' meeting, which had already been planned. She had talked with Kido and others, and according to her version none had seemed to object and all promised to take part in the proceedings. Just what the plans really were, no one claimed to know or greatly care; nor did she herself apparently have a very clear understanding. It was her maiden effort in politics, and she knew only that something must be done. Perhaps she had been advised by Kido, who was pre-eminently qualified and probably not reluctant. Possibly she took a woman's course, and put in motion all her forces at the first impulse. However that may have been, the call was duly made and all responded. Daikomitsu had in person carried the invitation to Maido, and to make certain his response remained there until proper to go. After the daimyos had assembled, including all the southern sympathisers and many from the north, it soon became apparent that an effort would be made to pledge a united support to a measure intended to expel the foreigners. Maido had gone there with no intention of joining any such movement, in fact had never surmised its proposal; nor did he afterwards discover that he had really been tricked. Saigo was extremely anxious to get the tacit if not active support of Kanazawa, and in consequence had at an early day cautioned Kido to lose no chance to cultivate a friendly relation with the lord daimyo. Kido, too, appreciated the benefits necessarily to result from such a policy, could they but secure his friendship, though they failed of an alliance. Being not only a very wise statesman, but an adroit politician, Kido recognised Takara's relation to Maido's family and counted the power of woman in matters of state, had she the aptitude and could she be induced to venture. Therefore he used the first opportunity to gratify the mikado's daughter in her ambition and thus further their cause; though the consequences proved to be far more startling than even he had dared to think. The reception accorded the lord daimyo upon his arrival at Kyoto pleased him very much, and he felt glad indeed for an opportunity to visit his daughter-in-law. While living at his house in Tokyo she had endeared herself to him, and though he realised Shibusawa's indifference he may have had some hope that this visit might result in at least a partial reconciliation. He knew that originally the marriage had been a sad mistake, but somehow began to feel that possibly in the end it might resolve itself into a useful if not a happy union. He had finally responded to the invitation with such a thought uppermost in his mind, and without paying any attention to the daimyos' meeting sought while there to devote himself to Takara. In fact, he had been present only at the passage of one measure; and then was so engaged by Daikomitsu, who accompanied him and had induced him to attend, that he gained little understanding of what actually took place. Nor did he take a copy of the document, when the final draft was submitted to him, but allowed his supposed friend the privilege, eagerly taken, of placing it hastily in his girdle; afterwards striding off pleasantly, together, toward Takara's house. "It is a capital idea," said the younger man, as they approached the marble doorstep. "I want to have you entertain a more friendly feeling toward our people, if not our cause." "I am at peace with all the world," answered Maido, heartily. "Then we are already on friendly terms." "I trust so." "And there is a reason." "Maido never betrayed a friend." "Nor formed a friendship in vain." They had seated themselves in the guests' hall, at Takara's invitation, and were enjoying their pipes and tobacco. Neither had spoken a word to break the silence for some time, when suddenly Maido said: "The document, Daikomitsu. Let us see what these lords and barons have been up to." "Oh, some letter of the mikado's, I believe," said Daikomitsu, unconcernedly, though he trembled perceptibly as he drew it from his girdle and tossed it toward his companion. "Some friendly encouragement, I presume." "Yes, in relation to the foreigners, I believe." "Of course," said the elder, as he drew a long whiff and sat blowing the smoke through his nostrils. The lord daimyo paid no heed to the--as he supposed innocent--document which lay at his side, but continued the conversation as if he preferred more to hear his friend's explanation. Presently Takara came in and seated herself at her father-in-law's side. Thereat the subject of conversation changed and Maido picked up the dainty roll of paper and tossing it at Takara told her to take care of it until he should want it. She caught it and after a while, when the men were occupied, carelessly unrolled it, and read from beginning to end. As she did this Daikomitsu watched her closely; he twitched nervously and coloured noticeably, though taking care not to attract Maido's attention. Takara read on without observing either of her audience, and when finished smiled with a sense of satisfaction. Then re-rolling the paper and replacing the dainty silk which held it, she tucked it away in the sleeve of her kimono. The measure in question was nothing more than the endorsement of a letter which purported to have been written by the mikado, addressed to the daimyos there assembled, individually and collectively. The endorsement was in the nature of a resolution passed in open assembly, only by the assent of the daimyos; a copy of the letter and resolution, bearing all their names, having been handed to each, his silence being deemed a sufficient approval. The letter recommended that they consult with certain leaders of the bakufu, at Tokyo and elsewhere, named therein at the instance of Daikomitsu, and that they organise a movement to drive out the foreigners and thereby satisfy the demands of the people and restore peace in the land. As a precaution against being found out by the powers at Tokyo, no extra copies were issued, and none not liable, excepting only Daikomitsu, had been allowed to be present. Takara and her company continued to sit until presently the conversation drifted to things of interest about her home life; whereupon she proposed they stroll through the gardens and enjoy the early cherry blossoms. To this the men agreed, and she courtesied and retired to her own apartments to make ready for the walk. Entering her own chamber Takara took the document from her sleeve and hastily placing it in a lacquered chest carelessly dropped the lid with a loud report. Turning quickly around, she observed that she had not closed after her the partitions and that Daikomitsu could have seen her, though he had turned his face and was not then looking. Closing her room she proceeded with her toilet, soon after joining again the party, all of whom strolled out into the garden. They had not been there long, however, before Daikomitsu excused himself and went away, failing to come back again; and when Takara returned to her room she did not remember to look for the paper which she had secreted in her toilet case. In fact, it had entirely escaped her, and she also failed to think of it when Maido later on prepared to take his departure; nor did she afterwards call it to mind, until too late. Daikomitsu had watched her, and from the closing of the lid knew just where to look for the copy of the letter and resolution; and upon excusing himself in the garden, stole to her room, and taking the instrument gave it to a waiting messenger, who bore it directly to Ikamon. It proved to be Daikomitsu's golden opportunity, and he grasped it eagerly and effectively. He had in one act proved his loyalty to Ikamon and laid open the way to success, for which he had become eager and in his own easy way sagacious. Such a sweeping disclosure as this purported to be, though Ikamon had had a thorough understanding with Daikomitsu before the latter's departure for Kyoto, could hardly have been so soon expected. The prime minister's self-constituted spy had promised something interesting; but that he should forthwith be able to return an official document implicating so large a number of powerful daimyos--including his own father-in-law and nearly thirty of the bakufu of his own city--in a plot that threatened his own safety and endangered the shogunate, was beyond his comprehension. At first he was dumfoundered, but having fought his way thus far he did not propose to be outwitted. So he pondered the situation over night and the next morning called Jigokumon, keeper of the torments, and questioned him about the capacity of the dungeons. Then he said to him: "Make ready the cellar of torture, and see to it that the slow fires are well kindled and the red light plentiful, and that the sulphur pots are all filled afresh. Be careful lest there be one among your lackeys who betrays you, for Jigokumon shall suffer the consequences." Then he began preparing a list of the condemned; taking particular pains to include all of the bakufu whose names appeared in the letter supplied through Daikomitsu, and as many of the daimyos as he thought it practicable to arrest without warlike resistance. In all there were thirty daimyos and twenty-seven bakufu. For these he issued a warrant in the name of the shogun, commanding the officer of the guard forthwith to bring their bodies before the law, that they might be judged as to their disloyalty, the crime charged. Having duly issued and delivered the writ, his reflections grew, until finally the enormity of the situation had so fixed itself upon his susceptive nature that no punishment seemed severe enough to fit the case. At first he inclined toward excusing Maido, but upon reflection changed his mind and left his name upon the list; and as time went on and he dwelt upon the matter he conjured up the most hearty distrust of his father-in-law, and finally in his own mind ranked him the most dangerous enemy of them all. He said to himself: "I can now understand why the daimyo wished to withdraw from the capital. How I was led into letting him go! A swifter vengeance could not have been less deserved." The quickness of Ikamon's discovery of the plot and the suddenness with which he acted so startled them and overcame opposition that not one escaped; but all were promptly arrested and thrown into Ikamon's dungeon, where they remained stunned and overwhelmed, awaiting their doom. Probably the most heart-broken and puzzled of the many was Maido, for he had no inkling of such a thing and certainly knew of no reason why he should be so treated; though high-handed proceedings were not at all uncommon even in that late day. At first he inclined toward treating the whole matter as a joke, and finally upon his departure told Shibusawa that he should not remain a martyr, but would return a Maido. "I trust so," said the doubtful son, as they saluted a last farewell and the father started off, all fettered and bound. Maido did not deign to think that anything more than some trivial misunderstanding had arisen, and that upon his arrival at Tokyo everything would be satisfactorily explained and he would be accounted the abused rather than condemned as accused. Shibusawa had less confidence in Ikamon and was more doubtful, still he did not believe anything serious would come of it, otherwise he would have resisted the arrest. In talking the matter over with his son, before being carried away, Maido recalled the fact of having left with Takara the only bit of evidence he had received of his participation in the daimyos' meeting. He remembered having given her the document after talking it over with Daikomitsu, and said: "I will ask for it, and Takara will send it forthwith to Tokyo. It sets forth all that to which I am a party, and will be a complete vindication. Daikomitsu knows its contents, and it could not be in safer hands than Takara's." "I do not too much like Daikomitsu," said Shibusawa anxiously. "He is profuse, and has a purpose." "Even so, Takara can be trusted. Do you know, I believe my presence was desired more by her than the mikado? And really she is a grand woman. I trust you will know more of her, and it is my hope that you may like her better. She desires it, I fancy." After Maido's departure, Shibusawa recalled the circumstance and felt much annoyed at the part Daikomitsu had played in connection with his father's presence at Kyoto. He had come to know his wife's former lover very well from his repeated visits to Kanazawa in the winter, and was not much impressed with his sincerity. He had also gathered the impression that the apparent dullard had far greater ambitions than generally accredited, and felt suspicious of the close relation that seemed still to exist between Daikomitsu and Takara. In his limited acquaintance with his wife Shibusawa had formed the impression that she was rather a clever woman, and now that she too appeared recently to have taken much interest in Maido, and gained possession of his only evidence of vindication, he could not resist connecting the two and believing them implicated in some plot to embarrass his aged father, if not to be rid of him entirely. He did not like the look of the situation, and the more he studied the darker it grew. CHAPTER XXIX MAIDO'S PENALTY As the time passed and no word came from his father Shibusawa began to realise the full force of his presentiments. He had not the power to go to his parent's relief, and his only hope lay in his ability to guard against still further and greater disaster to the family. He fully realised his responsibility, and undertook to acquit himself with due respect to the inevitable and a proper regard for truth. The aged daimyo had stood patiently the journey and borne up well under the charge until reaching the Tokyo dungeon, into which he was thrust without even a chance to meet his accusers, much less any opportunity to hear or explain. The foul place which held him prisoner lay in a damp, dark hole in the cellar, underneath the very building in which his son-in-law swayed the sceptre of his vast power; and though many of these gruesome cells, each holding its captive, they were so constructed, with huge walls and peephole grates, that no person could be seen or a voice heard from one to the other. Not a rat or uncanny thing could get in there, nor was there room to lie down on the cold, hard tramped floor. As Maido entered his last hope vanished; he knew too well his doom. He could not eat the miserable food each day silently pushed in at the bare opening high up in the narrow door, nor could he sleep, but sank down and prayed. He asked his god only that his son escape. With Maido thus caged below, Ikamon busied himself above; he believed in doing the thing once he had made up his mind. The consequences could and would better adjust themselves afterwards. He had made his way by bold and unflinching strokes, and he reasoned that a change of policy now would certainly bring, if it did not merit, disaster; therefore he hastened the trial, and concluded the testimony after the first ordeal. The morning came on gloomy, and a murky atmosphere hung over the city like a pall. Ikamon rose early and hurried to his great seat in the hall of state; then hastily donned the gown of justice and took up the cudgel of vengeance. There was no one to dispute his right, no one to stay the hand which had now turned to fiend, and he fiercely called out: "Jigokumon!" "Sayo, most honourable high minister," answered the doughty keeper as he came trudging forward, bowing and attesting. "Have the prisoners confessed?" asked the mighty, speaking purposely in the plural. "No; your most honourable perfectness, they have not had--they have not." "Then proceed with the ordeal; the court cannot be so trifled with." The tormentor withdrew. He knew where to begin his awful work, for Ikamon had long before told him that, and cautioned him about the victims. He groped his way below and fumbled at the keyhole. The great iron lock creaked as he threw back the rusty bolt. He hauled and shoved at the grimy door, and the filthy den belched its nasty air. Two vile lubbers fell upon the faint and helpless daimyo, roughly dragging him out. He made no resistance, nor did he cry aloud. They hurried him through the long, dark, narrow passage to a muffled exit. The door closed behind them, and Jigokumon thrust a lighted torch in Maido's face, and snarled: "What now, you hinin?"[19] Maido did not speak; he was beyond that. The light blinded him and terror overcame him. He glanced pitifully at Ikamon's ruffians, then sank back unable to comprehend. His torturer sneered as he snuffed the light and hissed: "To the torments!" Throwing open the outer, or last door, the two flunkeys thrust the lord daimyo forward upon the hot cinders covering the earthen floor. Jigokumon remained outside; it was too awful in there, even for him. They hustled Maido to the centre of the room and lashed his hands at his back with one end of a cord which hung loosely from a beam overhead. After securely tying his feet together the two heavy men slowly pulled at the loose end of the cord from above; whereat the victim's arms fairly twisted in the sockets and, with downcast face, his limbs hung limp. Maido groaned, then nerved himself to the ordeal. Having raised him a trifle from the ground, the monsters slid beneath his bare feet a pot of burning coals from which the lid was stripped. The sulphur pots were lit, and the red light flashed--the fiends disappeared, and the fumes rose, enveloping the suffering patriot. He uttered no sound, but looked upon the hellish scene with stoic indifference. Perhaps he thought of man's sphere as compared with God's. Possibly he contrasted the good with the evil of life, as lived on earth; and he may have glimpsed at a truer way, the one that heaven foretells. He had hung there only a few minutes--it seemed to him an age--before his feet shrivelled and blackened, while the fire crackled and sizzled around them. As his contorted body dangled in the air, his face upturned, he momentarily saw, peering through a glass-covered peephole, his trusted son-in-law, Ikamon; then a smile crossed his face and he lost all consciousness. While Maido was being pushed into the cellar of torture, Ikamon had seated himself in the judge's cubby-hole, which adjoined the chamber of testimony, permitting a close watch of the victim and a taking of the confession, if such were made, without suffering the annoyance of the fiery fumes within. He looked only once, and fate revealed the sickly smile, whereat he quickly drew the curtain, and turning, shouted: "Jigokumon; Jigokumon; relieve the victim; the confession is made!" Suddenly the fires were extinguished, and Maido, more dead than alive, was restored to the damp cell from which he had been taken. He did not recover consciousness for a long time, but when he had done so he suffered such intense pain that he begged the dumb walls for death. He had, however, long to wait, for he had been left there to suffer all but that. Ikamon, though, gauged well the time, and before too late pronounced the sentence: Maido, together with all the rest, was led forth into the wilderness of Musashijamoku, where they were scattered about and permitted, one after another, the right of harakiri. There overhung the marsh land a mist, and the murky wet clung to the smooth, round bamboos, echoing a grave-like sound as each pronounced the parting word. All excepting Maido had gone, and it now came his turn. He sat there in the cold wet with his snarled and decaying limbs crossed under him. His face was upturned and in his right hand he held the sharpened steel. He had thanked his accusers for respecting his right to die as became his rank, and now thought only of his own, his son. Out of the gloom of the swamp there arose the sound of the executioner's voice; it said only: "Maido." The blow was struck, and his head dropped forward. Then there came from the still forest a silent, anxious step, and trembling voice, saying: "It is too late! He is gone!" She bent over him and whispered: "It is I." He raised his face to hers and answered: "Takara!" Then she cried: "It was not I! Oh, honourable father, it was not I that did it!" Maido said: "I understand. It was he who stole it. You are my deliverer. You have brought me news." "And he knows not your fate, but is not deceived. He lives and I am still his wife. Shibusawa will vindicate his father's name. I swear it!" Takara straightened up and the fire flashed from her eyes, as her words pierced the dull air around her. "It is well." These were the words with which Maido bade the world a last farewell, with which he forgave his traducers, and with which he welcomed death. He knew Takara's power and believed in her sincerity. He was ready to die. Maido fell face downward, and Takara bathed her handkerchief in the blood that flowed from the wound at his waist; then wrapping up the stained symbol, hid it in the folds of her obi;[20] she had taken the oath that is--until avenged. Takara stood there as if held by some wild, untrained spirit; she stared this way and that, then a low cry escaped her lips. The haunted woods around mocked her, and trembling she listened. Not until now had she realised the awful situation or divined the peril of her strange adventure. She turned to go, but a rough officer seized and quickly led her away. Upon learning of the wholesale arrests, as they were being made, Takara had missed from its place of keeping the document which Maido had intrusted to her care. She recalled Daikomitsu's nervousness at the time of her reading it, his chance of seeing her hide it away, and his sudden departure from the garden, and thought of his strange actions afterwards; then she concluded--not reasoned--that these peculiar circumstances bore some connection with the unexpected seizure of so many of the daimyos who were present at the meeting. No one knew Daikomitsu better than Takara, and while she believed him a coward of little consequence she considered him capable of the meanest villainy--in the prospect of gain without detection. She did not stop to inquire about a motive, though she might have discovered one lurking between his repeated trips to Tokyo and the few unguarded disclosures made to her in the course of their long acquaintance. Divining the clue to Ikamon's source of information the mikado's daughter had set out post-haste to frustrate his designs. She first called upon Kido, but he proved to be powerless, in fact was only too glad to have escaped. Then she went to Kanazawa, and there was horrified to learn that her beloved father-in-law too had been snatched away. She did not stop to right herself with Shibusawa, who now charged her with being the accomplice of Daikomitsu--the one person more than any other interested in the downfall of the house of Maido--and when he finally dismissed her, saying: "There is now nothing to merit even our friendship," she stooped with sorrow and answered: "It is true. I am justly served." Though their meeting had been a pitiful one, Takara did not break down under the weight of his accusation nor did she weaken in her purpose. She had discovered still greater reason for her activities, and incidentally learned that Shibusawa was fully prepared to withstand any further assault upon his stronghold. She, therefore, left him and resumed her journeying toward Tokyo. At her arrival there the whole populace seemed in an uproar, the excited mobs everywhere crying: "To the swamp! to the wilderness! The yamabushi![21] the vile! the disloyal! Asano! Kurano! Maido! Let their bodies be ripped!" Takara shuddered when she heard the fierce rabble, and her heart poured out its measure. Divining Maido's last thought, she hastened forward in the hope of reaching him before too late to deliver the word that would give him peace before death. Leaving her carriers at the wood side, she clambered through the mire and under the big trees. Time and again the weird, painful sound grated upon her ears as one after another of the victims said his last: "Sayonari." She struggled on, not knowing which way to go, until she had come within hearing of the mysterious voice of the hidden executioner, who called in rotation the names of those that were performing the honoured rite. She stole after him, and upon calling the name of her lord and master's father she rushed ahead in time to greet him with the assurance that was to him a recompense for all his trials and sorrow. Fortunately Takara did not see the sickening evidence of his prolonged and terrible suffering; his abused limbs had sunken into the mire, and she saw only that he had died the death of honour. And she felt happy that she had reached him in time, though Shibusawa knew not that she carried the message. Maido's joy rewarded her. The luckless woman's captor rudely hurried her through the woods, and departing the scene she did not look back. She made no resistance, but obeyed the eager fellow's command; nor did she think much of the consequences. She tramped along, and as they went the air grew more stifling. The hot breath of the forest rose and choked them, and upon reaching the open they found it there, too, suffocating. Continuing toward the city, they presently reached the outskirts exhausted--the keeper more than his prisoner--and climbing to the top of a low hill halted for the night. Here there stood a temple, and near by a small tea house in which he undertook, because of his inability to go farther, to hold her captive; proposing to rest until morning, proceeding then to Ikamon's dungeon, the intended place of her imprisonment. Having securely lodged the hopeful woman in a small detached room, the ponderous captor refreshed himself and lay down in front to keep guard. The humbled daughter of a proud royalty had failed in her mission, yet in that failure fate had revealed to her the sweetest rite, the consoling of a dying friend. Maido's lips had been sealed, but in that there arose a fresh desire, and had Takara been privileged to meet the living as she had parted with the dead, she would gladly have resigned herself to her doom. The new responsibility made imperative to her the seemingly hopeless task of again reaching Shibusawa. CHAPTER XXX THE EARTHQUAKE Takara did not give much thought to her imprisonment or the disposition that might be made of her; she felt too tired for that, and had no sooner been left alone than she fell fast asleep. It was quite different though with Bansuro her keeper. He rested hardly any, and could think of nothing but the reward surely to be had for bringing to the high court a spy of so great consequence; for had he not, he reasoned, captured her while in the very act of conversing with the condemned? And would not Ikamon rejoice? Bansuro had not seen Hontone, Takara's head carrier and only protector, as he shadowed and watched them like a sleuth. Not satisfied with his mistress' having gone into the woods alone, he followed and watched from a distance her every movement, and when caged alone in the room at the tea house he felt her safe for the night. Hontone then ran away and brought his fellows, and in the dark and without discovery they planned her rescue. They lay in the bushes growing about the old, neglected temple, with its crumbling beams and weather-cracked siding, and were within easy reach of the cosey place where Takara slept a prisoner. Now and then Hontone would steal near and listen, then return with the assurance that she yet rested safely. Presently, as the night darkened, the air grew murky and difficult of breathing. It had been intensely sultry all day, but now there came from everywhere hollow soundings, and a hushed silence spread over the earth. The carriers crouched down and stared blankly; not one of them ventured to speak. The suspense was dreadful and Hontone whispered: "It is an earthquake!" Presently they were thrown straight up from the ground, and then down and up, while a mad rumbling sounded in their ears. Their senses seemed suddenly to depart, and they felt as if no certainty of anything remained. A short, breathless lull followed, and then there came another great pounding, as if from beneath, some monster drove at the earth's crust with a huge hammer. The beams split, the walls cracked, and the tiles rattled down from the roofs. Everywhere the people ran frantic, with dishevelled hair and glaring eyes. They groped at nothing, and cried pitifully. The earth rumbled on, and again they were shocked and thrown from their feet. The ground gaped, and frightened men tumbled headlong or balanced at the edge of dark, bottomless crevices. Thousands fell and their pitiful cries arose from the mysterious deep or died away with a faint echoing of its awful uncertainty. The fire flashed up and burned fiercely among the débris of falling walls and thatched roofs. The cries of the penned-in victims tore their hearts, and they ran hither and thither, bewildered and uncertain. And when the cruel, heartless earthquake had done its frightful work, and there seemed no chance for greater havoc, there came a roaring and crashing as if the sea were rolling onward, crushing and tossing and mangling in its terrible track the half-living who had escaped the lesser, if more frightful, danger. As the tidal wave came on, grinding and swallowing the earth with gluttonous fury, they huddled and waited. There was nothing to do, no hope to cherish, for they knew not a Home beyond. Their god dwelt where the reason finds its sway, and faith is but a factor in what we know. The mighty wave, rolling inland, tossed upon its crest the treasures of the deep and threw them high upon the mountain side. There were whales of the ocean and ships of the sea hurled a hundred feet above its level and carried miles from its shore. And when the waters receded, carrying likewise the things of the earth, much of the consequences of the terrible disaster went with them. Nor was it satisfied to wash away its own rubbish, but it had carried off, forever, secrets not its own. The dead bodies of Ikamon's vengeful thirst, too, had gone; they were no more, and the tale of their passing lived only in the memory of the few. The many had a multitude of their own to mourn. It was an awful catastrophe, and its victims were legion. Still Takara had escaped; at the first warning of the earthquake her keeper had flown--there was no prisoner penned in Ikamon's dungeon on the morrow, nor any report made of the attempt. After the first shock had passed, Hontone sprang from his hiding-place and seizing Takara, with his strong arms threw her upon his back and ran back into the bushes, where they all clung fast to the roots and lay prone for their lives. Takara knew her men, and happily resigned herself to their protection. Nor did she surrender amiss, for they not only saved her from the fury of the elements, but on the morrow carried her forth from the city unmolested and unnoticed. Several days had passed before they again reached Kyoto, where Takara rewarded her faithful men, and sought retirement and that rest which soon restored her peace of mind, though the great sorrow continued to weigh heavily upon her heart. While Takara had failed of her purpose she felt that she had done some good, since she had brought at death some peace to the one who--more than any other, not excepting her own husband--had in some measure come to understand her. She knew that she had done in the past what she believed to be her part, and now that a new purpose and a larger life had dawned she resolved to make herself worthy the trial. Holding her counsel, thenceforth she began the work with an earnestness and faithfulness that bespoke her true character. CHAPTER XXXI THE CHILD'S FATE Though the earthquake had spared no part of the capital, and devastated equally among the high and the lowly, the tidal wave did not rise to the top of the numerous hills spreading over the city. Thus many were saved, and by some unknown freak of fate Ikamon remained among them. Nor did he suffer much regret; for it had been the certain means of destroying the unsightly evidence of his dastardly act, as well as an occasion for the distraction of the public mind. He had been anxious enough to get rid of his accounted enemies, but did not much relish the talk about it; and now that the nation had been inflicted with a great calamity that would distract their minds, he appeared really glad at heart. The dead daimyos' succession engaged his attention first, and hastening to bury the official notification beneath the excitement of the moment he began on the very next day to forward letters of advice and condolence. The prime minister's expressions of sorrow, especially to Shibusawa, were more than profuse; they were prodigal, and ended by admonishing this young daimyo to repose in him that implicit confidence which "it had been the good fortune of his happy father before him to possess." He cautioned him to look well to the shogun's procedures, and speed the day of his coming to Tokyo to prostrate his person at the feet of his august highness. While Ikamon had been so fortunate in escaping disaster, the same did not prove entirely so with Tetsutaisho. At his house the first shock occasioned much excitement, and dire disaster followed in the wake of the phenomenon. Kinsan had not retired for the night, but sat trilling and musing in her chamber. The child in its kimono lay sleeping on the floor near by, while the warm, sultry air floated in at the house sides, where the slides had not yet been closed. The tall trees overhanging her veranda seemed more shadowless than ever before, and she peered, as she so often did, into the dark solitude outside. At the first tremor she ran and clasped Sodachinojoi in her arms; then crouched upon the floor, waiting with breathless expectation. In a moment--it seemed an age--Nehachibana flew into the room, with her hair dishevelled and eyes wild and furtive. Shrieking and wailing she implored Ninigi, now god of earth, to forego his quarrel with Sosanoo, and cease tormenting the good people of Jimmu. Kinsan parleyed with her to be calm, and come and sit by her side; but this she would not do, for she now bitterly hated her whom she thought to be her only rival. She would not be consoled, and when the second shock rent the earth beneath them and the house timbers parted and the heavy tiling fell upon their heads a ghastly smile crossed her face, and she played and snapped her fingers, and stole toward the deep, hollow crater opening beneath the rent in the floor. A falling tile had struck Kinsan a blow on the head and she lay helpless at the edge of the gap in the floor, held only by her clothing from sliding into the yawning crevice below. The child was unhurt; it played upon the tilted mat, and cooed without a sense of its own peril. Nehachibana leaned over it, anxious and breathless. Her eyes flashed and she spoke incoherently, saying; "Shall I end this wicked sorrow?" Suddenly the mat slipped and the child slid into the gaping earth, and not a sound arose to tell of its terrible fate. Nehachibana made no effort to stay death's angry claim, but recoiled from it and charged herself with remorse at having lost the chance to take revenge with her own hand. Then she braced herself and with set teeth said: "It is not too late!" Plunging forward and grappling the listless, helpless form that lay heavily upon the brink, she tugged and pushed it almost over, then stopped and weirdly looked around. There was no one there, but the thought startled her, and she said: "No. I can take a better revenge." Pulling her intended victim away from the dangerous place, Nehachibana brought water in a dish, and showered it in her face; then went away, and by the time she had revived she returned, offering assistance and nourishment. Many weeks passed before Kinsan fully recovered, and not until then had she been told of the fate of Tetsutaisho's son. No one had witnessed the sad scene except Nehachibana, and she took care to remain silent and undiscovered. Kinsan took the blame all upon herself and sorrowed deeply and pined much over the loss. Tetsutaisho was grief stricken, and for a long time unable to reconcile himself to his only son's destruction, hence became more kindly disposed toward Kinsan and solicitous for her love. She, however, remained steadfast and true to herself, seeking in every right way to serve her master and atone for the great sorrow that she charged herself with having brought upon him. The disappointed wife in the meantime resorted to every artifice within her weakened range to win Tetsutaisho for herself, and no material change took place among them until she had fully resolved that no hope remained. Takara had not heard of the disappearance of the child. In fact, having little means of gaining any knowledge of him without too great danger to all concerned, she had long ago ceased to worry about his fortunes. The past was now more than ever a blank to her. She devoted herself to the day at hand, untrammelled by that which had gone before. Kido, her friend and counsellor, had called a new meeting of the daimyos, confining his invitations to the south and only such others as he knew to be safe. They had been warned against Daikomitsu by Takara, and wisely heeded her advice: the mikado's cause was a sacred right, and its supporters knew no such thing as disloyalty; their claims were founded upon principle and their measures smacked not of the charlatan. Kido, the recognised "head and pen," Saigo, the accredited "heart and sword"--they planned nobly and stood ready to fight honourably. As they had been anxious to secure Maido's friendship before, they were hopeful of claiming Shibusawa's after the succession, and Takara, bending all her energies to that end, would gladly have sacrificed home, position, everything, to secure and advance him at the mikado's court. No one knew better than she that his sympathies were more in accord with their ideals than with the shogunate's; and could they but enlist him they would be in a position to withstand, if not overwhelm, the enemy. It became a duty with Takara, and Shibusawa rose to be her god. He on the other hand, knowing himself, and cognisant of his strength, dared not act so quickly. True, his faith in the shogunate was rapidly being shattered--not alone because of his father's wanton destruction--nor did bitterness poison him; he could see beyond vicious revenge. There were at stake the destinies of a nation, the survival of a civilisation, and the maintenance of a principle that gave or took the liberties of mankind. He must first see the right, then succeed even at the cost of life. He still doubted Takara, even, in a measure, after learning something of her heroic sacrifices. In serving Maido, she had also served him, told him that his father had died by an honourable rite, to Shibusawa not the chiefest, but a high aim. He thanked her from his heart and promised a blessing, though Daikomitsu he dismissed as unworthy a hearing. He had less desire to avenge an act than to right a wrong, and when the would-be-trickster sought his aid in setting the ronin to move on what he professed to be a common enemy, Shibusawa frowned him away, saying: "Please do not encourage the thought, much less the act." Daikomitsu, however, not so easily frustrated, had a purpose of his own, and sought in other ways to further his schemes, though a tangle ensued where he least desired. The ronin were his fit instruments, and knowing their readiness he sought and before the winter had passed set them well in motion. He not only had done this, but knew better than others just how the forces of state were scattered; and carrying his knowledge with him went to Tokyo and there posed as the wise man from the south, and incidentally, among the prime minister's enemies, as a most likely successor to Ikamon. The malcontents offered the means, Ikamon's removal the place, and the ronin the instrument, through which Daikomitsu was to rise and prepare the way to reach Takara's heart. Keeping well out of the way of Shibusawa, who, therefore, gave his movements no further concern, the apparent dullard proved equal to the occasion, and along these lines made the advance. CHAPTER XXXII RONIN RAIDS Owing to unsettled conditions the ensuing winter proved most opportune for Daikomitsu to further his schemes and advance his prospects. Much dissatisfaction had grown out of Ikamon's cold-blooded work, and even his friends were shocked at his audacity. While he still maintained control of the shogun's party, he held them together only with considerable difficulty, and long before the final blow came found himself in dire straits for sufficient support, even the protection of Tetsutaisho. Outside of Tokyo his doings were looked upon as the voice of the shogunate and his acts charged thereto, while at home a feeling gained ground that the power must be wrested from his hands and the party restored to its former status. Many realised that they could not long stand before the inroads of the foreigners on the one hand and the cry of the populace on the other. Ikamon's friendly concession had ceased to satisfy the one, and his daring blow failed to crush the other; his enemies were eager for his downfall, and Daikomitsu offered the most potent, if not reasonable solution. Therefore they welcomed him and winked at his questionable doings. After placing himself on friendly terms with the ronin, Daikomitsu began urging them to greater activity, and as they had already become eager for some chance again to make themselves felt they were only too easily inflamed. Although these strange bands of marauders held many grievances they advanced no definite policy, and allied themselves with no particular party or faction; they had come into existence through an infraction of the law and lived and thrived best on disorder. The friendship of one so high in the councils of state as Daikomitsu they considered a license as well as an honour; and, listening earnestly to his counsel, advanced, before spring had come, afresh upon their terrible raids. Daikomitsu kept himself well informed as to their movements, and long before they had concentrated upon Tokyo had gone there and begun the rebuilding of his popularity. Managing to elude his acquaintances at Kyoto and get away without arousing suspicion as to his intentions and aspirations even Takara did not divine his real purposes, and Kido knew nothing of them and cared less about him. Nor did his friends, professed or otherwise, in Tokyo know anything about his connection with the ronin, but (when they thought of him at all) considered him a statesman and a patriot, without any direct connection with any party or faction at either place. They knew he was of the literati and a kuge by birth, but counted him equally a friend to the true shogunate. All the major wrongs complained of by the ronin were directly chargeable, as they thought, to the shogunate, and in consequence their activities began in that direction. Assuming the disguise of various occupations many of them gathered at Tokyo, marking their victims and preparing to make good their own escape. Regular meetings were held and all movements directed orderly and with despatch, so that as a whole they made no mistakes, while each member bound himself by an inviolable oath. They had been worked up to the belief that Ikamon was responsible for everything, and lest he should escape, early marked him as their first victim and awaited only the word of Daikomitsu, who in due time said: "Take the principal first. You can better right the wrong after the instigator is gone." Ikamon, with all his spies, remained ignorant of the plot against him, probably because he considered Daikomitsu his friend and believed in the crude contrivances advanced to throw him off his guard; possibly because of his being beset with a multiplicity of dangers, for these were to him hard and trying times. He could trust no one now except Yasuko, his wife, who had remained loyal to him and proud of his achievements. She knew not the reason, nor did she question his motives; she trusted him, and that was to her enough. "I shall be home early to-day, Yasuko," said Ikamon as he parted, bowing politely to his wife, and started off on a blustering morning in March to attend to some official duties which called him outside. "Then Yasuko is happy, and will abide here and look until you come," said she in answer. She did look, for he had never deceived her, as she knew; and she saw the most frightful thing, and fell to the floor weeping bitterly. Her husband did not return; but in passing the Sakurado gate had been set upon by the ronin, and, without any chance of defence or escape, beheaded; and his head placed upon a long pole, carried high in the air, was planted at his door. This gruesome sight greeted Yasuko when she looked out along the roadway where she had so often watched her husband's coming and welcomed his entrance. So swift had been the work of his assailants that none could offer resistance or interfere until the deed had been accomplished and the warning carried into the midst of his own household. There they staked their trophy high in the air, and departing made so good their escape that no one knew until a later day who had done the hideous work. The removal of Ikamon proved an effective blow to his policy, and brought about a speedy reorganisation of the party. Hitotsubashi's regency was made certain, and Daikomitsu with little opposition chosen prime minister; in fact, the latter had been decided upon by the former incumbent's enemies before the butchery occurred. The main opposition, however, came from Tetsutaisho, though Ikamon's absence left him illy prepared to cope with the opposition in the council chamber or at the lobby. Still he developed sufficient strength to maintain his own position and wrest from them, finally, his promotion to commander-in-chief of all the shogun's forces. In this he was considered fortunate; and even he, himself, deemed his place more secure under the new régime than under the old. He reasoned that it could not have been long before Ikamon's downfall would have come from another source, and in that event he would himself, perhaps, have been less able to force recognition as a result of his own strength. He had grown wiser with experience, and no longer desired particularly to fly at the tail of another man's kite. Daikomitsu had early learned that Tetsutaisho was a friend of the army and they his main supporters, and of late made every endeavour to cultivate the popular general's friendship. He had always taken pains not to give Tetsutaisho the impression that he himself rivalled the latter's brother-in-law; but on the contrary had assumed such a plausible friendship to both that the liberal-minded commander never really knew the secret of the wise man's success. Yet, with all his tolerance, he did not care to trust the new prime minister too much. He lacked confidence in his ability and remained not at all sanguine as to his motives; still he would not let any man's preferment stand between him and his shogun's government. Loyalty was his watchword, and honour, as measured by feudal standards, his virtue; neither of which, from his way of thinking, could possibly be attained outside of the shogunate. Position he had; for wealth he cared not. His friends he worshipped; to his enemies he gave no quarter. He lived for the love of living, and believed the mode made right the result. So far as he knew his own advancement had come more as a matter of consequence than as a reward for effort. He considered himself amenable to established law, and such a thing as a shogun's wrong-doing had no place in the mind of Tetsutaisho. CHAPTER XXXIII THE RISE OF SHIBUSAWA The untimely death of Ikamon caused little regret, even at Tokyo; no attempt was made to apprehend his murderers, and Daikomitsu settled down, satisfied in the enjoyment of his emoluments. Shibusawa remained without his sphere and Takara soon ceased to supersede the ease and comfort flowing from official complaisance. The new policy encouraged quietude, but lacked stability, and only, perhaps, Shibusawa fathomed the true cause for unrest. Yet, being unprepared, he could take no part in its effective solution. Like his father before him he had held himself aloof as much as possible from the turmoils of state, devoting his energies to internal security and improvement; not because of seeking to shirk his duties, but that he might better prepare himself for the responsibilities. He knew in his own heart that from the day Perry's guns first sounded in the harbour the foreigner had secured a permanent foothold, and that with him he had brought a new life, the introduction of which meant more to them than all the family quarrels and local measures of all the centuries that had gone before. Not only this, but he saw that in adapting themselves to the new relations feudalism must go, and with it there would and should fall some of the evil tendencies of the day; none disapproved by him more than that of class limitation upon marriage. He had come to believe the home the foundation of all organised society, and held that as it harmonised the affinities of life so government should make possible the highest beauties consistent with universality; and as time went on repeated confirmations of his views so strengthened his belief that he began to search for a means of absorbing as much of the new civilisation as might be forced upon them, or as should seem beneficial, without losing in any measure their own autonomy. Finally he had abandoned all hope in the shogunate and, in consequence, begun to look toward the mikadate. It seemed his only natural alternative; possibly the most logical one. Daikomitsu on the other hand found himself more completely submerged in the shogunate than he at first anticipated. He had intended to rid himself of the ronin, but not until their attack upon the foreign legation at Tokyo did he succeed, emerging with a complete vindication of his true diplomatic qualities. He had not only effectually cleared the country of these desperadoes, but placed himself upon a high pedestal, and even Tetsutaisho began to admire him, though he could not fully respect him. During the transition stage, lasting from Daikomitsu's accession to the death of Komei, Shibusawa had ample time to prepare for the work himself planned or by others thrust upon him. These were trying times; this a patient, energetic, and ambitious people, and not alone fate, but fortune proved a moving force behind their destiny. From the first Takara's hand had been felt, though Shibusawa knew it not. She developed among the adherents of the south a strength that gave her voice in the councils shadowing the court at Kyoto, and she used it to advance a single purpose--the only one, as she thought, consistent with her duties as a wife and her position as a kuge--furthering the cause of her husband and building the fortunes of the mikado. Gradually though unconsciously this influence began to be felt by Shibusawa, and before he knew it he had gone so far into national affairs that he needs must play an important part. Nor did he give himself solely to political matters, for Kinsan remained ever before him; and though without possible communication he loved her constantly and truly. He saw in her more and more the ideal of existence, the soul of the universe, the crowning glory of all that is. He longed for her and had he the power would have sought her and claimed her and taken her, even though his former convictions had been true or remained uncontradicted. Without knowing her sacrifices, something told him that her heart was true, and he asked of himself: "After all, of what consequence is the flesh?" Taking advantage of a measure enacted early under Daikomitsu's incumbency, authorising the daimyos and princes of the blood to remove their families and lawful kin from the capital, Shibusawa asked his sister Yasuko to come to him, and though still mourning the loss of her husband she accepted the invitation and proved to be a great consolation to her brother, they becoming fast and true friends and she a liberal adviser. In her he found a companionship that helped him through the many events leading up to his call to the front, though in no measure did it deter him from shaping a course toward his high ideal. The mikado had taken it upon himself to send an embassy to Europe and America to examine and report conditions, while the shogun had in person conferred with his highness at Kyoto. The latter event resolved itself into a proposal by the mikado that the shogun accompany him on a pilgrimage to the temple Hachiman at Yamashiro, that he might deliver his own sword to the mighty war god Ojin, thus inducing his celestial mightiness to drive out the "barbarian foreigners"; at which the shogun somewhat reluctantly expressed his indisposition to join in such a hazardous undertaking, thereupon retiring to his own stronghold; never again proposing or sanctioning a conference with his "heavenly brother-in-power." Shortly after this, possibly for the purpose of encouraging a breach between the two courts, several of the southern daimyos, together with Saigo, Iwakura, and some other kuge attempted to carry off to the southward the person of the mikado, and were prevented in their daring scheme only by the timely interference of Shibusawa. He had been urged into taking the step by Takara through the auspices of Kido, and for the heroism displayed gained high esteem at Kyoto; the schemers themselves coming gradually to respect him and Saigo to believe in him. Henceforth Shibusawa attended their councils and his voice rose to be felt, while Takara began to worship him, and used all her energies and influence to further his friendship with the mikado and raise his standing in the south. Soon after, the Shimonoseki affair once more roused the country; and the report of the foreign embassy maddened them. They had returned and said in substance: "_We_ are the barbarians!" In consequence of this, as the mikado remarked, "foolish report," the embassy were forthwith reprimanded and deprived of office; the mikado declaring: "Diabolical spirits rule in this land of the gods, intending to do away with customs dear to us. They must forthwith be driven out." Nor was he alone in his belief, for before the close of the season his rabid adherents rallied and defeated a detachment of the shogun's army sent against them; encouraging the mikado to issue the famous edict against the Christians, whereby more than three thousand converts fell victims to its bane and were distributed among the daimyos as slaves at common labour. Nor were they protected by the shogun nor greatly mourned by their friends; the dislike of the foreigners had become so rooted that even the shogunate seemed a crumbling structure ready to fall at the first organised assault. The revolt spread; but, at the call of a new leader, who raised the banner of right shorn of weakness and purged of the last taint of bigotry and dark mysticism. Shibusawa proved the man of the hour, and he brought honesty and intelligence to the rally of courage and patriotism. He arose in his power, put a check upon blind impulse, and set in motion the forces that were to start the wheels of progress, to open the way to a place in the sisterhood of nations. Addressing a letter to the mikado he said: "The western foreigners of to-day are different from those of a former day. They are much more advanced and powerful; the conflict is an unequal one, and Japan will be shattered like roofing tile. The cry that reaches you comes from those who do not understand; it is a misfortune longer to attempt to close our doors. Instead let us devote ourselves to house-building, husbandry, forestry, jurisprudence, and science, and the benefits derived will more than offset the loss sustained at the hands of the foreigners. There is a better way to meet their aggression than by resort to force, and if your majesty will so permit we pledge ourselves to serve you, the divine and rightful ruler of this land." The letter had its effect, and thenceforth there were but two parties, both of which tolerated the foreigner, and with one of which every loyal citizen must sooner or later cast his fortunes. In the following autumn Iyemochi died, and Hitotsubashi proclaimed his successor, began to discharge the offices of shogun, as the vacillating tool of the strongest triumvirate that had yet undertaken to rehabilitate the waning powers of a rapidly fading court. Hitotsubashi proved an easy dupe and ready listener by turns to Daikomitsu, Okotsuba, and Tetsutaisho, the three ministers who were destined to guide the fortunes of the tottering shogunate till the last faint quiver told of its final collapse, while Mutsuhito, succeeding the deceased mikado, Komie, in the following spring, began that series of brilliant moves which welded together the hearts of his people and secured to him his rightful position as supreme and undivided ruler of his country. From this time forth the mikadate were united upon one thing--the downfall of the shogunate. They had had enough of dual government, with its intrigues and dangers--if glorious--and the liberal Mutsuhito pledged himself to the constitution, by which Shibusawa had proposed the people's rights, and for which he gave his undivided support. The time had come to strike, and when Shibusawa proposed in open council that Kido be instructed to address a letter to Hitotsubashi as shogun, Saigo rose and asked its purport. Shibusawa answered: "Advise the shogun to abdicate in favour of the mikado." A stillness settled over the chamber, then a roar of applause burst forth such as had never before been heard. The giant Saigo thundered his approval, white-haired men leaped in the air, and everybody shouted: "Long live the mikado!" The letter, demanding an immediate answer, forthwith reached the hands of Daikomitsu, who, startled with the warning, repaired to the temple of Shiba, and there prayed to Omikami for light, that he might not "stumble in the darkness." Acting upon the advice of this good goddess he laid the matter before his associates in the triumvirate, resulting in a division of opinion. Tetsutaisho was a samurai, and none such ever dreamed of defeat. A thousand years of feudalism had well taught them their profession. Continued success made them believe themselves invincible. The shogun was their idol and war their deliverance. Thus the commander-in-chief urged the shogun's defence, and would not agree to any other means than force. He was overruled and a more diplomatic course proposed, yet he sulked and withheld approval. Tetsutaisho had assented to Hitotsubashi's assumption of the functions of shogun because he believed it necessary; and he was perfectly willing that he should be held and used as a dupe, but this letter from the south appeared to be a direct attack upon the shogunate, and no matter who was shogun he believed it high time to strike rather than quibble. Daikomitsu answered: "A resignation from Hitotsubashi, an incumbent, can in no manner affect the shogunate, an established institution. If the people want to continue the one they will restore the other, besides such an act would forever put the question out of our way. It would also confuse and baffle the opposition, thus giving us time to prepare an effective defence." "But we are prepared," answered Tetsutaisho. "I doubt it." "Then you distrust the samurai?" "No." "What then?" "Hitotsubashi." "He has no following." "He has friends, and we can best insure their support and the enemies' confusion by advising this resignation. They dread us more than him." "The opposition has given us a splendid chance," interposed Okotsuba. "And we are wasting our opportunities," answered Tetsutaisho. "We have no cause to move; we do not recognise the combination," said Daikomitsu. "The resignation will test their purpose. I say let us send it forthwith," said Okotsuba, recognising the force of Daikomitsu's argument. "I recommend it," said Daikomitsu, earnestly. "I do not approve of it," answered Tetsutaisho resolutely. Upon the theory that his resignation would not in fact be accepted, Hitotsubashi finally signed the letter of resignation; whereupon, without any serious dissension, it was forwarded to Kyoto, and Daikomitsu felt relieved, though puzzled as to what the next move would be. CHAPTER XXXIV NEHACHIBANA'S REVENGE Tetsutaisho, not at all pleased with the result of the conference nor convinced of the wisdom of Daikomitsu's diplomacy, had been persuaded quietly to acquiesce, at least for the time being; and going home settled down, probably for the first time in his life, to a calm and deliberate consideration for the future. Presently he became uneasy and, with unsettled thoughts, said to himself: "Pshaw! Why this worry? Let others stew and fuss: I am a soldier, and have a better business at hand. I shall seek Kinsan and let her sing to me--it is soothing, and more to the purpose of a gentleman." He did so, and she impressed him more than ever with the melody of her song. Probably it was because of the clear, crisp air of a winter's night's inspiration; more likely it had been a consciousness of her master's growing gentleness, or the hope within that some day her heart would soften and her mind cease its vigil. Whatever it may have been, she poured out that lofty sentiment that ever eases a lonely, earnest soul. She sang sweetly, and the rising notes wafted out upon the still air, reaching and piercing another who had grown to hate with the vengeance and covet with the fury of a maddened fiend. Nehachibana listened. She could bear it no longer, and with bated breath and snapping fingers stole upon them. There in the bright light she saw them, and stopped as if drunk with envy. He sat with his face upturned; Kinsan stood at one side, looking far, far away, and her voice trembled with a pathos that stayed even her destroyer. Nehachibana crouched, then sprang at her, shrieking: "Geisha! Adulteress! Murderer!" The sudden fright overcame Kinsan; she ceased singing, then choked for breath and stood trembling, with her head drooping; she coloured, then turned ashen. Tetsutaisho arose and advancing toward his wife said in a calm voice: "What do you mean, Nehachibana?" "That joro is the murderer of your child, Sodachinojoi! I saw it with my own eyes." Turning upon Kinsan, but without advancing, Tetsutaisho said harshly: "Is this true?" Kinsan made no answer, nor did she raise her eyes, but stood nervously toying with the folds of her obie. Perhaps she did not hear him, heeded only his neglect. Why did he not turn to her as he had so often done, and soothe her with his kind words and shield her from her accuser? The question burned at her already aching heart, and no one answered. Tetsutaisho, turning around politely, said to Nehachibana: "Please retire to your own apartment and there wait my coming. I shall want further to converse with you this evening. Obey me and go now, will you?" Nehachibana made no protest, but departed as bidden, glancing sidewise at Kinsan; her eyes sparkled, her lip curled, and she smiled the secret of her heart. Kinsan neither spoke to her nor pleaded with her, but looked at Nehachibana with softened eyes, and a great pity welled up from the bottom of her heart. After Nehachibana had left the room Tetsutaisho approached Kinsan and said with low emphasis: "And this is how you have served your master?" Again she did not answer; it was because she could not. She only sobbed with a broken heart. Tetsutaisho clapped his hands and a servant came quickly toward him. "The guards!" said he; then calmly stood surveying his victim. He had but a short time to wait until they came, though it served Tetsutaisho to cover well in his heated memory the last few years. Likely Kinsan did the same, but hers was a different mood. He did not ask himself the reason, and consulted only impulse; he may have let hatred enter his heart, for he now began to suspect as well as doubt his once upon a time passing friend, Daikomitsu. From the time Daikomitsu first came into official position at Tokyo he had been a constant if not wholly welcome guest at Tetsutaisho's house. From the beginning he had divined Nehachibana's master passion, and always tried as best he could to relieve her hard distress. He had also observed Kinsan and cultivated her friendship, not that he loved her, but because he admired her wonderful gift. He, a patron of art and lover of the beautiful, quickly appreciated Kinsan's powers, and instinctively knew and respected her virtue. That Nehachibana was entirely wrong in her attitude toward Kinsan he had been fully convinced, and long hoped sometime to advise the one of her false impressions and relieve the other of her natural predicament. Thus he had become a familiar visitor, and his attentions were bestowed no less upon the one than the other. Tetsutaisho had never frowned upon any of these courtesies, in fact rather encouraged them, feeling honoured by the prime minister's warm attentions. He had, consequently, upon more than one occasion, freely given Daikomitsu the loan of Kinsan to sing at entertainments of high degree; and however vulgar the southern prince may have been in other ways, and whatever may have been Tetsutaisho's conclusions at this late day, the former's intercourse with the latter's family certainly had been of the purest and most honourable kind. By the time the guards had arrived Tetsutaisho had worked himself up to the proper degree of feeling, however, and without further ado pointed to Kinsan, saying in a commanding tone of voice: "To the dungeon!" As she was being hurried from the house Tetsutaisho turned his back upon the one he had so long coveted, and hastened to his wife, nervously listening to her clear and unequivocal denunciation. She told him without a blush how she had come upon Kinsan while in the act of flinging the sleeping child into the dark crevice, and how she had suffered through all these years with fear, and how she had hesitated to disclose to him her knowledge of the awful deed because she believed his love for Kinsan would bring a punishment upon herself. "You will forgive me, my most honourable husband, will you not?" said she, calmly and invitingly. He did not deign to answer her, though his strong frame trembled as an ungoverned rage leaped to the fore and grew within him. For Nehachibana he had no compassion; nothing but regret. He mourned his lost son, and waxed hot with anger. "She shall die, and that by the saw!" said he, in a half-crazed undertone. "No, no; give me the chance; I'll devise a torment!" said Nehachibana, quickly. "You? And why you?" Nehachibana stared blankly. She did not comprehend. She had no answer. He looked at her and for the first time realised the truth. He knew in a moment the awful consequences of his life. He would then have recalled Kinsan, but the loss of his only son was more than he could bear; without a thought of further inquiry he believed her guilty; if not of murder then of unfaithfulness, and according to his code either gave sufficient cause; her punishment must follow as the only lawful consequence. Thus he parted with Nehachibana without further denial or assurance, and she felt happy and satisfied with her revenge; and when Daikomitsu called the next evening, she made haste to express her delight, offering no pretence of shielding Kinsan's wicked fate. The prime minister was shocked at her lack of feeling, and listened to her with astonishment; she did not stop with revelling at Kinsan's sorrow, but lauded the infant of whom she knew her husband to be the father, and flattered herself at the thought of its highborn mother. Daikomitsu sat dumfoundered and full of pity until his informant volunteered to disclose the name of Sodachinojoi's mother, then he started and with frightened voice said: "Nehachibana! You must cease gabbling." "A-h-!" said she, with a drawled accent. "Promise me that you will never again mention Takara's name. Will you do this much for me?" said he nervously. She snapped her fingers fiercely, and without taking her eyes away said, slowly: "I shall not speak her name again." Daikomitsu knew that her promise would never be broken, and went his way somewhat relieved, yet overwhelmed; for he also knew that what she related as a fact must likewise be true--such an one never mistaking a truth or breaking a promise, when made or known. Nor was he alone shocked at the revelation of Takara's dreadful secret; he felt equally pained at Kinsan's misfortune. The former he would take time to consider, but the latter he should right at once; else suffer a great wrong to befall not only her, but Nehachibana and Tetsutaisho as well. On the following day the prime minister sent post-haste for Tetsutaisho, asking him to come at once to his house, then approaching him kindly, advised that he forego so severe a punishment, at least until time should make its justice certain. "And you would also interfere with our private affairs? What next may not a gentleman expect? Pray tell me," said Tetsutaisho rather sarcastically. "No. I thought possibly the motherhood of this child might sometime be questioned by a higher power, and in that case my friend Tetsutaisho might have serious need for this Kinsan whom he has so lightly condemned," said Daikomitsu, in answer. "Then you know as much?" "I would rather that you should be the judge." "Very well; I shall place her in the stocks. It will answer my purpose quite as well and, now that I come to think, it may be a more befitting punishment--and, also, a convenience to you. You can better visit her in my back yard, Daikomitsu." "I may do so--to see that Tetsutaisho is as faithful in granting her that liberty as he has been punctual in making me the promise." "Tetsutaisho is a man of honour." "I believe it, else I should have sought another means." Tetsutaisho was not so much mystified at Daikomitsu's request as overawed with the apparent threat, for he knew the prime minister to be a favourite with the shogun and did not wish just yet to put to a test their respective strength before that tribunal; and could easily infer from his words a determination to go even so far. Nor did he court the idea of exposure, particularly at Kyoto; by this time knowing Takara to be quite as anxious as he, and feeling that he must shield her at any cost. Thus he had hastily concluded to delay Kinsan's destruction, and gratify the law's permit by meting out a meaner penalty. On the next day, therefore, the frail Kinsan with downcast eyes and haggard appearance was turned loose in the back grounds of her master's dwelling, there to carry, day and night, through rain or sunshine, the heavy stocks, clasped about her neck and weighted upon her tender shoulders. And there, taunted and alone, she bore her punishment without a murmur, and sinking exhausted at night always offered prayers for the one she loved, and for those whom she believed she had wronged and who had in charity granted her the privilege of even such an existence. Having already suffered in her own heart far more than death, now that the day's penalty had been imposed, she felt better able to bear her part; and was glad for life, though bitter it be, that she might atone for the wickedness with which she unknowingly held herself charged. Nor did she suffer only from the weight of the stocks, but often felt that she must starve for want of food, and her mouth parched and tongue swelled, for by reason of the wide board she could neither feed herself nor raise water to her lips, though a crystal stream sparkled and flowed at her feet, where she would often stand and look until she fell faint, and almost envied the little birds that came and drank, then perched upon the plank at her neck and sang songs to her and hopped about with glee. The sun shone hot or the storm beat hard upon her; the flies and gnats pestered her, and often when she could no longer resist sleep the rats and vermin climbed upon the wide board, and she would take fright and arouse to prevent their gnawing at her face. And once, while exhausted with hunger and faint with thirst, Nehachibana came up to her and mocked her and gave her red peppers to eat and threw water at her feet, then ran away. All this Kinsan suffered until about to despair, when a little friend came to her,--it was the daughter of Mrs. Lindley the missionary,--after which she had regular food and drink, and felt thankful, though it was scant and strangely prepared. The jeers of the children did not provoke her and she bore all the cruelties without a protest; and at night the doleful sound of the massagist's whistle kept her company--stealing along the streets, plying his blind, nocturnal trade. And then she would sleep and dream of the cave up yonder on the hillside not far away and of the days when she gave her heart in truth and builded her faith upon hope alone. CHAPTER XXXV MOBILISING THE SAMURAI Daikomitsu took pains to see for himself that Tetsutaisho had kept his word with reference to Kinsan's punishment, then without further attention devoted himself to the arduous duties rapidly crowding around him. He felt that Takara's secret rested safe for the present, therefore did not worry much about her, although the knowledge of her failure had been a severe blow to him. There were other things needing his attention more than a private affair, and as he had never been an extremely ardent lover it did not entail any great sacrifice on his part to put thoughts of Takara aside and busy himself with matters more urgent. Rumours coming in daily from the south made it more and more apparent that sooner or later a determined resistance would be offered to the mandates of the shogun, no matter who the incumbent or what the purport of their recent letter might be. Yet the shogunate had in no wise prepared to meet it, and the delay hoped for as a result of the frank and unequivocal resignation of Hitotsubashi was much needed by Daikomitsu and Okotsuba in making a last heroic effort to gather and utilise the fragments of their strength. Tetsutaisho took no active part in these endeavours, neither did he offer any strong resistance or disencouragement; nor was his failure at that time so much felt. He was a fighter, not an organiser; still his actions had a bad influence upon the samurai (which constituted the shogun's army), as it also embarrassed the remaining members of the triumvirate in the use of a free hand and undisturbed purpose. The feeling of uncertainty arising from his indifference caused more hindrance than any other, and Daikomitsu grew puzzled to know just what Tetsutaisho would do when it came to the final test. Both Daikomitsu and Okotsuba knew very well that the commander-in-chief's influence with the army rose above that of any other man, and that without his leadership the samurai would be hard to hold intact. Yet they could not think of surrendering entirely to his careless if not boastful ideas, so they undertook to make their preparation for war harmonise with his notions, in so far as it became necessary in order to hold his support. The letter containing the resignation, upon its arrival at Kyoto, so surprised the leaders of the southern combination that they forthwith began the reorganisation of the government upon the lines laid down at a previous assembly of the daimyos. They felt that the first step toward a complete rehabilitation had been successfully effected, though not entirely secured without having gained the sole and unqualified possession of the person of the mikado. It had been a universal custom for the shogun to keep a body of samurai posted at the gate of the Kyoto palace as a safeguard to the security of the mikado, and now that the combination looked upon the latter as their sole supreme ruler they no longer deemed it safe or desirable to intrust in any measure his protection to a guard of the enemy, nor to allow them access to the palace. Hence on the third of January Saigo seized the gates and dismissed the detachment of samurai there stationed, while the council issued in the name of the mikado, an edict abolishing the office of shogun, forbidding the bakufu entrance to the palace enclosure, and warning all against interfering in any way with the royal court or council. It came as an unexpected blow to the shogun and his advisers, thoroughly convincing them that, contrary to their expectations, Hitotsubashi's resignation had been promptly accepted and positively acted upon. It also disabused the minds of the triumvirate of any hope of their being recognised by the combination at Kyoto, and Daikomitsu was forced to acknowlege that Hitotsubashi's resignation had been considered the act of the shogunate: that he as well as the adherents of the Tokyo court would be compelled to defend with arms their time-honoured institution. The last hope of conciliation had been swept away, and Daikomitsu, if not his associates, realised that it had come to a battle to the death, not for the expulsion of the foreigner, but for the very life of the shogunate itself. Immediately upon the mikadate's closing of the gates at Kyoto and declaring the shogunate at an end, the princes Owara and Kii had been despatched to the shogun with a request that he come to Kyoto, join the new government, and receive suitable recognition and position thereunder. The shogun was weak and unable to decide; he hesitated and wavered between two counsels, for there now developed a test of strength between Daikomitsu and Tetsutaisho. As usual, however, it again fell to the lot of the army to determine. Whatever may have been Daikomitsu's reasons--whether a recognition of the inevitable or a desire to obtain the best terms possible, or whether to rid themselves of the cumbersome Hitotsubashi--he continued to urge the shogun to comply with the mikado's request and go forthwith, peaceably and unattended by military display, and submit himself and his friends to the reasonable disposition of the Kyoto court. Okotsuba, in command of all the shogun's navy, gave his hearty support to Daikomitsu's proposals, and Hitotsubashi reluctantly consented, forthwith communicating his intention to the mikado's envoy, sending back to Kyoto his best respects and hearty assurances. Hitotsubashi had not gone though, nor was he to do so until Tetsutaisho's recommendations had wrought their influence. This proud samurai had not been so easily convinced of the wisdom of Daikomitsu's policy, and now that he had come to questioning the latter's motives he began quietly to break faith with the triumvirate and to approach the vacillating shogun directly, urging secretly a counter plan--one more to his own liking and carrying with it a greater enthusiasm. He argued: "Would you give this splendid army, the fleet, their arms and equipments, into the hands of a weaker force? Sacrifice all these, the building of centuries, at the first cry of danger? Surrender your birthright and defame the gods? They tell you they are your friends, but I believe them to be foes. They say they are strong, yet I know they are weak. They cry the samurai are for peace, though I grant they are for war. Then why not let this talk of peace be crowned with war? I say, marshall the hosts of Shishi-Fukinjin, and enter the gates of Kyoto with a force that will sound the warning of Raiden and spread the havoc of Hoorie." "Can you convince me of the samurai?" asked Hitotsubashi, with growing enthusiasm. "You have only to make the call," answered the roused-up commander. "To-morrow I will hear them at the palace gate, and if Tetsutaisho be vindicated then Hitotsubashi shall turn his face toward Bishamon and hearken to the voice of Ojin. Let it be as it may, and go hence now, that you fail not then, for the hour is to be nine; then the march shall begin." "I serve you, my most honourable shogun and august ruler." Tetsutaisho made short his audience, and went away with a light heart and glowing purpose. He had met with his first victory, and now almost regretted having ever listened to the counsels of Daikomitsu or having pledged himself to any other or further understanding than the valiant defence of his shogun. All this happened on a clear, bright morning while the air was crisp and frosty. The sun had barely risen, and Tetsutaisho's drill served him well in getting the attention of the shogun long before the brainy prime minister had thought of quitting his needed slumbers. Leaving the shogun Tetsutaisho hastened along with vigorous step and rising purpose to army headquarters, and there gave the command that was to send a thrill to the heart of every loyal Japanese--whatever banner, the shogun's or the mikado's, might be the emblem of his fortunes. To his subordinates he said: "You will mobilise and report at the inner palace gate to-morrow not later than nine o'clock in the morning." No intimation was given of what he expected--they knew their commander had spoken and that if any should be delinquent it would be they and not he. Tetsutaisho gave himself no further concern, but on the following day took his place at the gate promptly on time, as did also Hitotsubashi, Okotsuba, and strangely enough, Daikomitsu. Nor were the samurai late in coming, for discipline had been their life's teaching and they knew no such thing as failure. They lined up, the left and right divisions in double rank on either side of the roadway, their front resting on the inner gate and their rear stretching through the outer gate afar into the city beyond. The soft, light uniforms of the swordsmen wound round their waists and fell on one side well down toward the ground. At the other side hung their black sheaths and polished hilts, while their bared arms and quick eyes told of their great skill at the business of war. The spearsmen with their brown breasts and short skirts, resting lightly upon their spear handles, lined up at the rear on either side, their spear points glistening away and beyond the reach of human eyes. These were men of muscle, and their bared limbs bespoke a wonderful endurance. All together, Tetsutaisho might be proud and Hitotsubashi enthused with the splendid army of their valorous defenders. The sun peeped out from behind a passing cloud, and its rays dazzled and reflected from a hundred thousand bright sides as the long lines broke and faced about in double file and their commander stepped forward to greet them. Bowing low to his shogun he arose and leaned forward from the battlement. He spoke in a clear, ringing voice, his words being echoed and handed on from man to man, squad to squad, and host to host to the last one in line: "Comrades and samurai: Our shogun has been assailed, and your commander's honour is at stake. Do you follow me?" The answer came thundering back: "Until death!" There was not a dissenting voice, and even Daikomitsu marvelled at their unison of purpose and offered not a breath of protest. The shogun mounted his war chair, and Tetsutaisho marched out at the head of the heart and flower of feudalistic Japan. The war god had whispered sweetly the glories of victory, and Hitotsubashi had listened. He drank of the poisoned waters, and became drunk with desire. He had again changed his mind, and Daikomitsu's counsel was of no avail; he must go, and his friends suffer the consequences of his folly. They marched out of the city and on toward the enemy, nothing of importance interrupting their progress until they had reached Fushima, not far distant from Kyoto. Here the gates were closed against them, and Tetsutaisho met face to face his older rival, Shibusawa. CHAPTER XXXVI BATTLE OF FUSHIMA Shibusawa, the young daimyo, was there with a goodly share of the forces of Kanazawa intrenched behind formidable walls, and the voice of the cannon warned Tetsutaisho of the former's determination to stand, even at the cost of defeat. When the mikado's envoy returned with Hitotsubashi's promise all Kyoto had gone wild. Every preparation had been made for his gala entrance into the capital and for his welcome at the mikado's palace. A million yens had been set aside to defray the cost and Saigo sent into the south to marshall a force wherewithal to meet the shogun's coming in the height of gorgeous display. The day had been fixed upon for Hitotsubashi's friendly arrival, and no thought of war entered their minds. Thus they found themselves relaxed and unprepared upon receipt of advance news that the shogun hastily approached with a powerful army under the command of the invincible Tetsutaisho, and in consequence their very existence seemed threatened. There was no time now to reach Saigo; he had gone far away into the southland. The force left in front of the gates at Kyoto formed scarcely a bodyguard, and at last the combination had been brought face to face with the perils of active warfare. Yet there appeared an alternative, and it was Takara who advanced its proposal. The council had met in closed session, and had now become no less than a storm of indecision. Shibusawa chanced to be absent, and Kido, alone and unsupported, was unable to quell the tumult in a disorganised and frantic chamber. Amidst this frenzy the doors opened and the mikado's daughter entered. A hush came over them, for never before had a woman dared enter there. It had been the business of men, and since the days of Jingo their council remained barred to the presence of women. They ceased quarrelling and stared intently. She hastened forward, first addressing Kido, then the assembly: "Honourable chairman, and men of the council, hold your tongues! There is need of a better work." Not a voice was raised against her; she had gained their attention. Kido, only, ventured to speak, asking her to proceed. "Would you sit here inert, while the enemy beat down your doors? Falter in the hour of need? Ignore the help that is within reach?" "No, no, no!" came from everywhere around her. "Then I implore you to act," said she, resolutely. "But who is there? Where is our defence?" said a voice in front. "Shibusawa!" A stillness came over them. They had not thought of him--their minds did not go beyond their own little sphere. Possibly Kido had thought as deeply, but the time had not come for him to speak. Takara had now robbed him of the privilege, and every man there shouted himself hoarse with applause. It was thenceforth Shibusawa who could and would save them; drafting a formal request Takara in the absence of a dissenting voice was chosen the trusted messenger. She lost no time in reaching Shibusawa, nor he in accepting the responsibilities; and while it may have taken him longer than Tetsutaisho to mobilise his forces the distance was short and, once on the ground, his defences were more quickly intrenched. True, his force at hand numbered less than one to every ten of the antagonists', but they were trained to the use of a more deadly weapon. Shibusawa had learned while abroad of the utility of powder and shot, and from the day of his accession had drilled his men in the use of modern arms. He had thrown away the sword and spear, substituting the rifle and bayonet. Close-fitting breeches replaced the loose and cumbersome garments of the soldiery, and his men had been recruited from the masses. They were well fed and enthusiastic, while their steady nerves and acute sight enabled them to fire rapidly and accurately. Nor had he equipped solely with infantry, but laid in a supply of light artillery--the best of modern make--and this, as he soon discovered, stood him well in hand. Upon his arrival at Kyoto, Shibusawa learned from news conveyed by runners that owing to Tetsutaisho's rapid approach he did not have time to move his army as far as Osaka, the intended place of resistance; therefore he selected Fushima, a walled suburb of the capital proper, as being the most available place to make a stand and throw up temporary defences. Here he took possession of the outer gates, through which the enemy must pass on their march along the Tokaido[22] toward the palace in the city above. Seizing upon a long, sloping hillside that lay just inside the great gate, Shibusawa scattered his infantry throughout its length from the wall below to the hilltop at the bend above; placing them in hollow squares the better to pick and fell the advancing swordsmen as they clambered upon the walls, or to fire upon the straggling spearsmen who chanced to escape the artillery and gain the gates. The artillery had been intrenched also on the hillside, sweeping at a convenient range either the gate or the Tokaido; still a small reserve was held behind all, out of sight and within easy reach. All in all Shibusawa could have found no more advantageous place to pit a modern army against a large force of samurai. Both he and his men realised his superior position, and it gave them confidence in their ability to cope with Tetsutaisho's overwhelming numbers. They had no time to wait, though they were fully prepared when the charge began. The infantry stood hidden behind the great wall which crossed the samurai's line of march, and the artillery lay low behind their own breastworks. Only Shibusawa and his small staff stood in the open above--they were in no danger--and with field-glass and time-piece carefully watched and noted the last proud march of the heart and soul of feudal Japan. He could not help admiring them; and a feeling of sadness crept over him as he measured their helpless destruction. Yet he stood there, and on they came. Shibusawa gave the command, and the roar and boom of the cannon warned the mighty shogun to halt his march. Again and again the destructive thing belched its angry fire in the face of an unfaltering foe: they came on, and Tetsutaisho's voice rang out on the still cool air of morning: "Down with the gates; on with the march!" The blunt sound of the battering ram bespoke the hopeless force which lingered in their hands. The proud commander, with giant stride and thundering voice, ran down the lines, urging the last onward rush of a hitherto victorious host. The samurai broke file and quickly ranked in line after; Tetsutaisho had presaged the havoc awaiting a close formation, and scattering his men sought to scale the walls as well as batter down the gates. Within the huge walls all was silence; after the first notes of warning had been sounded Shibusawa ceased firing, and did not again give the order until the gates had been driven loose and begun to fall. Then a hundred guns poured shot and shell into the face of the onrushing spearsmen, and the carnage wrought at that gate was frightful. The dead piled high in the roadway, though again and again dragged from the path of the undaunted oncomers. Nor were the swordsmen less valiant, for everywhere they scaled the ramparts and rushed upon the infantry. Thus before long, Shibusawa had called out his last reserve, and more feebly repulsed the terrible onsets that came swifter and faster. Column after column of his advance had been wiped out, and one position after another yielded to the enraged enemy; yet his rear lines and the artillery kept up an incessant fire. Tetsutaisho's men fell thick and fast about the gate and around the walls; the defender's fire was deadly, and the cost of each advance appalling. Thus the battle raged and as yet neither had gained a victory. The ranks on the mikado's side were thinning, and Shibusawa could not determine the reserve strength of the enemy. The shogun's advance had become maddened at the sight of such havoc, while the rear grew eager with expectation. Everywhere they scaled the walls, and a constant stream, though thinned and scarred, now poured through the battered gates. Tetsutaisho shouted a last advance, and the valley below swarmed with his mighty reserve. They did not halt, nor did they rush; but came determined and invincible. Shibusawa groaned as the tremendous odds revealed themselves. He looked at his scattering few, then concentrated them, and cheered them for a last heroic stand. He had withstood a terrific advance, and now would resist a final onslaught, even to the last man. They were there to fight, and did not know the meaning of surrender; nor would they deign to retreat. The solid columns advanced upon them,--shot and shell could not check those swarming veterans,--and the walls no longer offered much resistance. Tetsutaisho rushed forward; Shibusawa grasped his sword hilt; his men redoubled the fire and hurried into line. The crack of the rifle, the roar of the cannon, mingled to make the scene a cruel, sickening slaughter. Shibusawa's little fragment seemed doomed, and he pressed forward to sacrifice himself on the altar of courage. Then a hand stretched forth from out the mists to save him; a shell burst and Tetsutaisho fell wounded in the distance. The fallen hero, however, was quickly snatched up and carried to the rear, while the fight waxed hotter, and no sign of disorder appeared. Yet there was one who sat outside the gate, well shielded behind the walls; he felt sick with the sights everywhere greeting him, and as the stricken commander was carried into his presence he weakened and again changed his mind: when the victory rested within his grasp Hitotsubashi gave the order to retreat, and the remnant of Tetsutaisho's splendid army ran pell-mell toward the place whence they came. Nor did the hesitating shogun stop his flight until he had again reached Tokyo and securely locked himself within the gates at the palace. Shibusawa had been too much surprised and his force too greatly weakened to cut off the enemy's retreat or follow up his own victory; a few straggling remnants were driven beyond the gory walls and begrimed gates, and there the successful commander halted, content. For the first time in the history of their country the power of the machine over the individual had been fairly tried and fully demonstrated. A vastly greater force of valiant men had been held in check for hours by the quick and accurate firing of a few painless, heartless, soulless guns; though at a frightful cost and the most heroic trial they had ever known. CHAPTER XXXVII THE TRIUMPHAL ARCH After the battle Shibusawa remained at Fushima until the dead were buried, the wounded cared for, and the enemy had gone well out of the country. Then, after directing some further defences, upon plans suggested during the engagement, he busied himself with making preparations for the return march; which, however, did not begin until Saigo had arrived with a relief force. Receiving the congratulations of the veteran commander, and bidding each other good-bye, Shibusawa withdrew and began the march back along the Tokaido toward the gates of Kyoto. His small army had been sadly reduced, but they came proudly, as the heroes of a victorious struggle; and when they had arrived they met with a scene which they had not expected. The decorations and festivities intended for the shogun had been put to quite another use; the crown of welcome had been turned into an arch of triumph, and the victorious general passed under, the hero of the hour. Nor was that all; for upon reaching the gates he there met face to face the mikado himself. Such a thing had never been known, and for the first time in the history of the nation their divine sovereign, on the 7th day of February, had appeared in public. Shibusawa, mindful of time-honoured custom, prostrated himself at the mikado's feet, and there received a blessing and his own promotion. Mutsuhito spoke in a clear and kindly voice, saying: "I declare myself, Mutsuhito, the sole ruler of this land; and I appoint you, Shibusawa, the commander-in-chief of all the forces in the nation's service; and I promise the constitution at the fall of Tokyo." Thereupon he handed to Shibusawa a roll bearing the inscription of a letter, embodying the foregoing and the written signature of the mikado, the first to appear in public. After this there were presented to the newly made commander-in-chief the emblems of his office, consisting of a brocaded banner and the sword of justice. These he accepted at the hands of Kido, whereupon the mikado retired and Shibusawa proceeded to the discharge of his duties. The public appearance of the mikado and the announcement of his patriotic intentions, though sudden and unexpected, had not been made without careful deliberation and a full consciousness of its ultimate effect. Mutsuhito, fully advised of the situation, had pledged his whole heart, hand, and life for the good of his country. From the time of his accession to the throne he had been a keen observer, and now that the greatest clash of arms since the destruction of the Chinese armada, six hundred years before, had resulted in a complete victory for their side, he understood the patriotic outburst of approval that centred around Shibusawa, the supporter of his cause; and he proposed to strike, like the man that he was, where he knew the blow would tell most for what he, too, believed to be right. Shibusawa had not anticipated such applause nor had he expected so great a recognition; he had gone forth at the first opportunity to do only what he believed to be an honour and a privilege. He had acted as his heart told him to act, and the results seemed but the incidents of fortune. He accepted the responsibility with dignity and no further ambition than to serve his country and honour the name his fathers gave. Nor was he unmindful of the part Takara had played in moulding his purpose and building his fortune, even to winning the crown of success. Yet he could not return her that love which completes life and makes it worth the living; he had given it to another and it was not his to recall. He set himself to work at a lighter task, and presently the force of his great ability made itself felt in the complete reorganisation and equipment of the grandest army that had ever marched or fought in the flowery kingdom of Japan. CHAPTER XXXVIII SAVING THE ARMADA The news of the victory had spread rapidly, and by the time Shibusawa reached Kyoto the whole south was in a state of unrestrained enthusiasm. From the first days of the shogunate, the south had never at any time yielded complete submission. They had always believed in the divine right of the mikado, and still cherished the hope of his complete restoration. They had fought many battles before, but somehow this one sounded a deeper note. A new leader had risen, and they rallied to his support with a better heart and bolder purpose. While the force of the great success had been thus encouraging in the south it worked a radically different effect in the north. The news had travelled faster than the terrified shogun, and long before he reached Tokyo they had heard of Tetsutaisho's misfortune and of the crushing defeat Hitotsubashi had suffered to befall the brave samurai. On the return march he was openly jeered, and nowhere did the retreat meet with even respectful consideration. Everywhere throughout the north the people bowed down with sorrow; but in their hearts there arose a feeling of contempt for the halting, fleeing shogun. "Had Tetsutaisho but escaped disablement!" became the suppressed cry on every hand. Hitotsubashi re-entered his palace a broken-hearted man, and there shut himself in, a prisoner and a failure. It wanted only the bidding of the first comer to startle and frighten him into a weak and puerile submission: he waited and the time quickly came. In the readjustment of the army, Shibusawa not only took advantage of the strong public sentiment greatly to augment and newly equip the force at hand, but introduced an entirely new system of arrangement and discipline. He made of the army three great divisions: the Central or Home division, over which he himself retained the immediate command; the Right or South division, the command of which he intrusted to Saigo; the Left or North division, which, strange to say, Tetsutaisho, his most bitter enemy, was named to command. Shibusawa alone was responsible for the arrangement, which, not at first entirely understood, soon became generally known and proved most effective in its workings. Without in any manner weakening his effective forces he had placed his strongest enemy in the light of a rebel--than which there is none more odious in the eyes of his countrymen--and rather than bear the stigma of being so called many withdrew their support from the shogunate or came over entirely to the side of the mikadate. While these sweeping changes were in progress, an expedition was also being planned that should carry the seat of warfare far to the northward, and even to the very door of the shogun's palace itself. Such a thing had never before been thought possible, and now, when the most unheard of changes were the regular order, it was looked upon with wonder. Still the people, though amazed, had confidence in Shibusawa, who carried on his work with a full understanding of its probable effect at home, as well as its possibilities in the north. Nor was he unappreciative of the advisability of following up his first victory while its consequences were yet fresh in the minds of all. Hastening his movements as much as seemed consistent with good judgment, he began mobilising a vast army near the seashore at Owara, and there rendezvoused all the ships at his disposal or that he could buy or build in the meantime. So rapidly did Shibusawa move that by the middle of April he held in readiness a fleet of two thousand craft of all sorts and an army fully one-half the size of that which Tetsutaisho had three months before marched against them. Thereupon he notified Tokyo that the mikado had proclaimed the shogun a rebel, demanding his immediate surrender; also advised Tetsutaisho that if he longer refused to submit to orders from Kyoto he did so at his peril. The young commander did not wait for an answer, but set the day upon which to sail. When the time came he bid all on land a hearty good-bye, and under the promise of warm skies and a calm sea spread canvas; and the southern armada sailed away, toward its heroic mission and enlarged purpose. Shibusawa's ship had been the last to leave its moorings, and as it slowly backed off a shout went up from the throngs who crowded the shore, bringing the young hero on deck where he bade them all farewell. Blushing maidens waved their handkerchiefs, while young men shouted themselves hoarse. Old men bowed, and white-haired women prophesied. Some moaned a murmuring fear, for they had heard the voice of Kammon and seen visions of the mighty dragon of the sea. Nor were those on board the ships afterwards less apprehensive, for the warm skies of the early morning had changed to sultry, murky heat. At midday the sun barely showed its great, fiery face, and when it had sunk toward the western horizon the winds ceased and the spangled fleet lay still on the glassy waters or lolled on the lazy, deep rolling seas. Thus they drifted and wandered far out on the blue expanse, like tiny specks on the line betwixt heaven and earth, while their thoughts roamed tauntingly through weird vagaries of legionary mysticism. Then suddenly the heavens darkened, the winds blew, and the seas angered. Even Shibusawa became not without a reverence for the ancestral gods. The cracking of the timbers, the cries of the drowning, the fear of destruction, these had certainly been enough to inspire feelings of respect if not reverence for that which had once been all and all to him. He came upon deck and there witnessed the power of religion over men. His oldest veterans, tried and found true on many a battle-field, were there lying prostrate before their chosen gods. He too may have reverenced Bishamon, for he knelt and remained silent in the momentary calm. And as he there bowed a woman arose from the hatchway before him. He started, and for the nonce lost his reason, appealing to Kwannon to save them. His whole soul had returned at the call of the source whence it came; the body gave what the mind failed. He felt her presence, and all the reason of all the enlightened ages could not have shown him that Takara had not invoked their calamity; for had not the sages of all time said that the presence of a woman on board a man-of-war would bring upon it the wrath of Oni? And was it not said there could be no escaping his fury? These early accounted truths overwhelmed Shibusawa, and for the moment he crouched in startled submission. The hobgoblins of his youth had at last become a stern reality, for there stood before him his own wife in the flesh and form. He would have risen and appealed to her, but she checked him; and coming near, beckoned him be silent, then said: "You would believe me a witch, some demon who has risen from the deep to do you harm. It is not true; I came to save you." Then she drew from her sleeve a blood-stained handkerchief, which she bade him take from her hand. Impulse moved him to do so, and as he touched the crumpled cloth his own consciousness discerned the awful message therein revealed. He held it and listened, half bewildered, half determined. She continued, saying: "Take it, and promise me that you will avenge the wrong, that you will sacrifice your own for your father's blood?" He started, then hesitated; and looking all around, asked: "The storm?" She answered: "Do you promise?" He said: "I do." Then the storm broke afresh upon them; her face brightened, and she leaped over the side of the ship and into the angry sea; and as she sank beneath the foam-tossed waves she smiled sweetly, and he felt and knew her message to be a token of peace. As she disappeared from sight Shibusawa rushed to the ship's rail, and calling loudly to those about him threw off his garment and would have leaped after her had they not seized hold and implored him not to let them die while he saved only a woman. He threw them from him and turned to make the leap; but instead started back and stared in front, for there arose before him out of the waters a vision of beauty, a goddess of truth. Her beautiful form seemed wound round with a mist, and her upturned face looked toward the heavens. The storm ceased and the waters calmed. The dark clouds parted and a sunburst shone through, enshrouding her; she soared upward, disappearing within the sun's circle; the clouds closed after her, and she was seen no more; Shibusawa alone knew the haven of her rest. Thence they sailed away toward Hakone, the intended port of landing. The typhoon which had passed them did no great damage to the fleet--only destroying some of the smaller craft and a few thousand men--and the repairs were soon made, while they progressed without further interruption. After the weather had settled and they were again under full sail Shibusawa retired to his cabin, and there pondered deeply the strange scene he had witnessed. He knew that he had always acted in accordance with the dictates of his own conscience, and felt that he could not hold himself accountable for the sad misfortunes of fate. Yet he remained conscious of Takara's new love, and, after having again brushed aside all trace of returning mysticism, felt a deep sorrow overspreading his life. She, too, had passed through this same consciousness, and had grown to love Shibusawa better than he knew; and when the time had come for him to set sail a great fear had taken hold of her, and she could not bear to see him go beyond her reach. She had reasoned well that his duty called him hence and that at his post there was no place for a woman. Yet she longed to be near him, to share his sorrows and comfort his distress. All this Takara felt in her heart, though she knew that he could not return her love; that another held in secret the trust which God had given, and that she herself at best must be but a slave. As such, she stole on board his ship and hid herself away. The storm came upon them, and she too may have fallen at the shrine of Mystery, listened to the sweet voice of Tradition. And she reasoned that if the one be true, the other must suffice; that if her presence had disturbed the gods, her sacrifice must appease their wrath. Hence she sought her god, and intrusted to him the keeping of her sworn duty. He accepted the obligation, and she answered to the will of her Maker. It is asked: "Is the beautiful goddess of truth a certain star? Is Takara in heaven?" CHAPTER XXXIX THE BIVOUAC The armada arrived at Hakone early in the morning, and the myriad sails stretched for miles along the low, sand-skirted beach, while the eager men plunged and waded to the shore. The waters lay calm--scarcely a ripple stirring their glassy surface--and long before midnight the soldiers had bivouacked upon the sloping banks far up toward the surrounding hills. They slumbered, and only the slow tramp of the sentinel told of the visitation there encamped. Shibusawa alone lingered; he could not sleep. A new responsibility had taken hold of him, and his mind wandered into the mystic land of infinitude. At his back lay the majestic Fujiyama, whose silent cone and sloping sides seemed encircled with a thousand magic tales, and whose lofty peak had inspired with awe the millions born of departed ages; while before him spread the plains of Sagami, studded with its historic legend, sacred temples, mammoth statues, palaces of the kings, and caves of the gods. The restless man thought of all these, and of how he had rambled amidst its historic fields; climbed up and into the very heart and head of the great Buddha, with its eyes of gold and tons of bronze, measuring fifty feet in height and seventeen across from ear to ear; stolen on the rock-hewn steps around the jagged cliffs at Enoshima, where juts the rock and beats the surf, to the cave, in which dwells the lovely goddess Benten; pilgrimaged to the lofty golden-lacquered statue of Kwannon, the beautiful image, over sixty feet in height, of the time-honoured goddess of mercy, recalling that he, too, had stood at her feet, in the darkened chamber, behind the shrine, bowing with reverence, while the priests in their sombre gowns repeated holy incantations: that he had admired the beautiful handiwork of man as they raised and lowered the sliding candles from foot to head on either side, and that he had gone away again feeling better in heart and stronger of purpose--more fitted to do his part in the mighty empire of life. These things crowded upon his memory, and a whole world of beauty opened up as of the past and he marvelled at its vastness and shuddered at the thought of its crumbling before the march of progress. He asked himself if he were in the right in hastening its downfall; if all those who had gone before, those millions of tireless, worshipping souls, had lived in vain. Then a broader conception dawned, and he answered: "Yes." He had looked beyond all this to the God who knows no image, who counts within His fold all the suns and moons and stars and lands within a world of worlds. He then slept, and upon arising despatched a message to Kyoto with the news of Takara's death, and began the march toward Tokyo, much refreshed and more confident of his mission. He had overcome the last temptation to cling to the old, and pressed forward with a better courage and lighter heart toward the new. He too had loved and lost, though his God bade him have faith: Takara's did not. CHAPTER XL SIEGE OF TOKYO A slow march of nearly three weeks brought Shibusawa and his great army to the outskirts of the shogun's capital city, Tokyo; little resistance having been offered on the way, and no considerable inconvenience suffered. The assaulting general had taken his time, partly because of the difficulty experienced in moving artillery without a sufficient supply of horses or cattle, but chiefly in view of expected hostilities and the uncertainty of the country through which they passed. However, he was agreeably disappointed in finding his passage practically uninterrupted, and the inhabitants not extremely unfriendly. The news had gone far in advance of his coming, and the very audacity of his movements had won for him admiration if not respect. Upon arriving at his destination, Shibusawa halted well outside the city, seized upon the most advantageous points and fortified them with artillery and troops, preparatory to the great siege which he had planned. In his investment of the place he took particular pains to make his stand at some considerable distance from the densely built sections. He had realised the danger of setting fire to the thatched roofs and wooden structures, should any heavy engagement take place near them, and however anxious he may have been to crush the shogunate he did not wish to do so at the cost of a conflagration or the needless destruction of life or property. He went at the business of conquering the foe with a just and full appreciation of the rights and conveniences of the people; and, upon extending his lines around the city, purposely left a weak place to the northward, giving the enemy a chance to break through, if he so desired, thus avoiding the necessity of fighting the final engagement at or near the great capital, with its large population, its splendid buildings, and vast stores of wealth. In this Shibusawa reasoned well and, under existing conditions, lost nothing in position or opportunity. While the loophole came to nothing so far as the shogun himself was concerned, it did afterwards accomplish good results by letting at least a portion of the samurai out, thus avoiding a last stand or any large engagement within the city. Nor would it have been any the less operative in the case of Hitotsubashi, had he not weakened at the first appearance of danger and run like the weakling he had shown himself to be. The scared shogun had long since withdrawn from anything like a hostile attitude, hiding himself within the secret confines of a bulwark builded by other hands than his. In fact, upon the receipt of Shibusawa's letter, despatched from Owara, advising him of the mikado's edict demanding his resignation, Hitotsubashi fainted away and was revived only by means of much sorcery and many assurances. Tetsutaisho had by this time fully recovered--having suffered more from the concussion than from the wound--and become anxious to retrieve his fallen prowess. Before his disablement at Fushima he had presaged the inevitable outcome of the battle, had he been spared to lead on to victory his overwhelming numbers, and now keenly felt the disgrace rightly attributed to his idolised shogun, who had so promptly and properly taken up the ill-fated command. Therefore, urging Hitotsubashi to stand firm, he advised that they all fall together like men, if fall they must. "True, your most august highness, I advised war from the beginning," said he. "I do no less now. And when the last has deserted, Tetsutaisho will stand face to face with the enemy. You have my judgment; I have the army. Do as you will, but I shall defend these walls, which enclose the last that is dear to a samurai. Loyalty is my due, and honour my right. May the gods deal lightly with you; with me there is a more serious issue: the shogunate must live!" Though the commander-in-chief of the shogun's forces held positive in his stand, and was now strongly supported by both Daikomitsu and Okotsuba, and several other of the daimyos, he could no longer bolster up and encourage the waning Hitotsubashi. On the contrary the latter grew more cowardly and anxious, and long before Shibusawa had arrived, he, together with some twenty daimyos and a large number of retainers and hangers-on, withdrew from the walled palace, retiring to the castle of Mito in everlasting disgrace. Their withdrawal necessarily weakened the triumvirate, but it did still more: it again divided them in their policy, and scattered them in their last defence. Daikomitsu had in the first place advised Hitotsubashi to go to Kyoto in compliance with the mikado's request, but he had never considered the surrendering of the shogunate or the abandonment of its cause; and when the shogun had so flagrantly disregarded his advice and marched against Kyoto, he realised more than ever the necessity of ignoring him, and of establishing a more harmonious relation among the triumvirate. This he undertook to do, and had the shogun remained quietly in the palace at Tokyo they might yet have succeeded in saving their idolised institution. Tetsutaisho not only was thus sorely tried with public duties and loss of prestige, but had been overwhelmed with sorrow at home. He had there met with new and bitter experiences and, in place of that consolation and comfort which a man in any position can ill afford to forego, was burdened with a deep and abiding grief. Not until the night before the shogun's departure had Nehachibana relented; then she came to her husband and in a confused manner confessed that Kinsan had not taken the life of Sodachinojoi. She told him of how the child of itself had slipped into the crevice; and without making any excuse for her own falsehood or expressing sympathy for the wronged one, she left him there, and the next day went out of the city, following the train of the shogun into seclusion. Nehachibana had become a convert to the new religion, and believing herself a martyr now sought to relieve her conscience by a confession of the facts; thus preparing herself to ask His forgiveness and receive salvation. Tetsutaisho's wife had been an easy convert and ready worker among her kind; it had been easy for her to become a Christian, offering a ready road to happiness; her own religion was not so easily adjusted or so well suited to like achievement. And while the missionary, Mrs. Lindley, escaped along with the shogun's retinue, and took her convert with her, she had done a great good in the years she had been at Tokyo; for not only had she saved Nehachibana's soul, but her little daughter had given much succour and some comfort to poor Kinsan while suffering the cruel revenge of her fiendish tormentor. Tetsutaisho's heart sickened upon hearing the confession; and hastening to rectify the awful mistake, he found Kinsan suffering all but the last pangs of starvation; for the attention even of the missionary's little daughter had in the excitement of the hour failed her. The strong man fell upon his knees at her side, and with his own hands broke the lock which held the vile instrument at her neck. Gathering the frail form in his arms he carried her to her former lodge, and there summoned the best aid and nourishment at his command. Nor was he satisfied with this alone, but would have condemned Nehachibana even to a severer punishment had not Kinsan pleaded for her deliverance, saying feebly: "She is but a woman; and no more accountable for her way than I am for my misfortune. It is not the deed, but the necessity that makes the wrong. In such an one there can be no crime--please do not inflict a punishment." Tetsutaisho yielded to Kinsan's persuasion, for he now understood her, and appreciated the force of her intent, though not her logic. He remained a child of feudalism, and outside its tenets was a suckling, not knowing that there opened another way. To him woman seemed but an instrument, the better used to gratify man's desire; and when he allowed Nehachibana to escape it had been only to encourage an eager, selfish hope. Kinsan recovered rapidly; thus Tetsutaisho became relieved, and devoted himself more than ever to the strengthening of his defences and the preparations for a final combat. In his mind there was only one course to pursue, and that the heroic. It mattered not that a city be destroyed, that countless lives be sacrificed. He was as bold and intrepid as he was loyal and courageous; knowing neither the power of deception, nor the force of heartless mechanism. He marshalled not their cowardly virtues, but called to hand an humbler host, the glorious heroics of a dying age. He proposed to make a last triumphant stand, and dazzle mankind with the splendour of his achievement; but in this, too, he was doomed to disappointment. Both Daikomitsu and Okotsuba reasoned patiently against the dangers of his policy. They knew too well the futility of matching valour against cunning, the human against the inhuman. They argued well that they had best make good their escape, holding the enemy in check and preserving their own forces until, in time, they could substitute a more effective warfare. But Tetsutaisho remained resolute and when the final day came, faced a hopeless attempt, realising only at the last moment the inevitable consequence of his folly. It was a dark, gloomy, and hopeless day. All the morning the rain had poured, and the thatched roofs and wooden structures were soaked with water. The time was July--the fourth day--and after the long rain a rising vapour enveloped the city with a low, hazy fog. The clouds overhead ran low, and Shibusawa ordered the advance. Twice before he had planned to move upon them, but each time refrained from doing so at the earnest appeal of Daikomitsu, who had sent messengers protesting against the destruction of the city. This time there must be no halting; the heavens had cleared the way. Column after column of the mikado's splendid army, with fixed bayonet and steady march, advanced from the south upon the walled enclosure at the palace grounds. Hardly had they sounded the approach, the moats were destroyed and the big cannon hurled their easy missiles against the yielding gates and weakening walls. The waters emptied, and the stones loosened and fell; they pressed on, some levelling, others scaling, until the last obstruction had fallen--thus thrice proving the certainty of the new and the futility of the old, as time and progress ever repeat. As the last wall fell Shibusawa brandished high his sword and commanded the charge. Quickly they ran, and the hillside swarmed with oncoming hordes of sturdy, determined men. Reaching the summit the broad expanse of the shogun's gardens spread out before them, and they ranked in double line, listening, with breathless expectation. And as they waited the clouds parted, revealing a scattering enemy in the background; only a small formation stood aligned in front of the palace buildings. Like a flash came the order: "Fire!" A blaze, and the crack of musketry dulled against the heavy atmosphere. The line fell to their knees and began reloading. The rear had risen, and stood ready to repeat. The smoke rose, and a woman was seen running toward them. She had gained the centre of the field, yet without heed of her presence or time to observe an order a second volley poured its deadly shot into the foreground. Shibusawa had seen her and cried: "Cease your firing!" But the warning had come too late, and turning to his troops he said: "Would you so little respect the helpless, and that a woman? I thought better of my command. Hold you here with compassion, and let me advance." Nor had he checked their progress unknowingly; for before the smoke again shut out the view he had levelled his glasses at the approaching form, and to his horror discovered that it was Kinsan who with the white cloth in hand had reeled and fallen before the wicked report had time to die away. Shibusawa at the head of his staff sprang forward, and before the smoke had again fairly cleared away came well-nigh upon the fallen woman who lay in a swoon, though breathing lightly and not mortally wounded. But not he alone had gone to her rescue, for Tetsutaisho also had observed her danger, and from the opposite side ran to save her. At the beginning of the engagement Kinsan and others had been carefully sheltered at the rear, from which situation she overheard a heated discussion between Tetsutaisho and Daikomitsu, resulting in the latter's withdrawal at the last moment of the major portion of the samurai, leaving scarcely more than Tetsutaisho's bodyguard with which to defend himself and the palace. Fearing his fate, Kinsan had without bidding or warning evaded them all, seeking to stay her master's destruction by throwing herself in front. She knew that Tetsutaisho, reduced to a handful of patriots, could not withstand the terrible onslaught of a mighty army, and offered to sacrifice herself in the hope of saving him in some way from ruthless destruction, if not ignominious defeat. Her heart had gone out to him and to the few others who had remained steadfast to principle, and her life seemed to her of slight importance as compared with theirs, or in prolonging, even momentarily, the institution which had given them place. Tetsutaisho, too, had run out in advance of his guard, and coming up felt relieved to know that Kinsan had not been fatally shot. Halting near by, as did Shibusawa, the two met face to face, measuring the inevitable. Shibusawa, the conqueror, spoke first; it became not him to humble the vanquished. Speaking kindly yet firmly, he said: "What would you, Tetsutaisho?" "I am a samurai, Shibusawa." "You have answered well, Tetsutaisho, and Shibusawa is none the less a man." They drew their swords--Tetsutaisho, the one that Munechika had died in the forging; Shibusawa, the Murakumo which had not once failed the illustrious Maidos. The guards stood umpire in the background. The clouds parted and the sun shone forth a pale red. Their steels rang with the perfection of their making. Kinsan rose upon one arm and humbly raised the other in silent deprecation. Then she turned her face and sank back upon the cool, damp ground. The two giants did not heed her; they were facing death, and the test already quickened. [Illustration: Their steels rang with the perfection of their making.] They fought without an error. Twice the swarthy Tetsutaisho forced the nimble Shibusawa to the ground, but each time a quicker eye and better mind saved him the fall. They fought fiercely, and the blood-stained grass told of their deliberate purpose. A calm settled around them; no other sound could be heard. The mighty frame of the one pressed hard; a frown crossed his face, and he parried heavily. Shibusawa's muscles set and his eyes flashed. Then there came a clash and a thrust, and Tetsutaisho fell prostrate, with a broken sword at his side. Kinsan feebly turned toward them. Tetsutaisho partly rose, and beckoned the victor approach. Shibusawa came near, and Kinsan faintly heard the dying man's last words: "She is innocent!" Shibusawa bent over Kinsan and asked her forgiveness. She only smiled; then he took her in his arms and carried her away. It was not far, but chanced to be to the hidden cave, which lay behind the lines just below the hill near by. There he called for relief and her wound was dressed. When she looked about and saw the place she felt her great love, and knew that his had been born anew. After Shibusawa had been fully informed as to the nature of Kinsan's wound he ordered the army held in check, and directed that she be carried to his own castle just below the grounds, where Maido, his father, had lived and served so long the power that he himself had now overcome and forever destroyed. There he found the busy Shiyoganai still in charge,--Okyo had disappeared,--and after providing Kinsan with every comfort and the best skill at his command Shibusawa despatched a message and escort for his sister Yasuko, who had remained behind at the castle in Kanazawa, urging her to come quickly, so that she might relieve him of the immediate care of Kinsan. He had learned that her breast was pierced through with a bullet, and that while the wound was not necessarily a dangerous one it would be many months before she could be expected fully to recover, even under the most favourable circumstances. He therefore confined his further war-like operations to Tokyo and the immediate vicinity, returning to her each day until his sister had arrived and replaced him with a more useful, if not kinder attention. Nor was Yasuko unhappy for the chance, but applied herself with a devotion that disclaimed any thought of stoicism or even indifference. She expressed a true type of the generations that had gone before her, and did not falter nor shrink from her part; she loved her brother, and believed his every wish worthy of her unquestioned attention. And she not only nursed the sick one, but so devoted herself to the house that when Shibusawa finally returned he found the old home bubbling over with such joys as he had never before known. CHAPTER XLI THE RESTORATION Shibusawa had no sooner provided for Kinsan's temporary comfort than he hastened to resume his command. The halt in his progress had given Daikomitsu time to withdraw the rebellious samurai in order and hastily prepare a cover for his retreat. After having induced the hesitating troops to abandon Tetsutaisho, Daikomitsu had found himself necessarily pressed into their command. In consequence he withdrew from the palace grounds, and taking a temporary stand at Uyeno park undertook, with a small detachment, to check Shibusawa's advance until, with the main body of the samurai, he had fought his way through the enemy's line to the northward. It had grown late in the day by the time Shibusawa had completed his investment of the palace and resumed the advance. The lateness of the hour proved greatly to Daikomitsu's advantage; so much so that when the mikado's troops reached Uyeno they were unable to dislodge the enemy, but met with such resistance as to check their advance until the following morning. Each assault had been sharp but decisive, and every attempt met with positive repulse. The loss of life was great and to the surprise of both sides proved to be nearly equal. Though the battle of Uyeno has ever been accounted a victory for the mikadate, Daikomitsu had cleared the way, and under cover of night marched through the enemy's lines toward Hakadata in the north. In the meantime Okotsuba had withdrawn the rebel fleet and proceeded on his way to the same place, where they again joined forces and later gained a signal victory over Shibusawa and his modernised army, who had followed hot in pursuit. They were, however, soon doomed to entire defeat, and upon their final surrender both Daikomitsu and Okotsuba were brought back to Tokyo, and in consideration of their faithfulness and humanitarianism given liberty. The doom of the shogunate had been sounded with the fall of Tetsutaisho, and no power afterwards could have saved their final and complete overthrow. The news of the great victory of July 4th soon reached Kyoto, and the mikado began making preparations to remove to Tokyo. Without needless delay he started thither, and upon his arrival proclaimed himself emperor of Japan, changed the capital city to Tokyo, and promulgated the constitution as promised: Shibusawa had gained the liberty to marry whom he chose, and he lost no time in so doing. Upon his return from the north he was offered the highest place in the gift of the emperor, but declining with the utmost respect, Shibusawa chose to become a private citizen; the emperor excusing him only upon his earnest personal request, trusting to his loyalty for the necessary and proper readjustment. Accordingly, Shibusawa forthwith called a meeting of all the daimyos, at which Kido was named mediator; a memorandum being drafted and signed, without a dissenting voice, wherein they declared their willingness to surrender to the new government their titles, their fiefs, and their arms. The emperor promptly accepted their resignations and promulgated what is known as the Patriotic Act, whereby those who chose were retitled and all reimbursed according to the value of their respective estates. Shibusawa remained a loyal subject and settled at the capital city, in the old castle under the hill which had for centuries been the home of his ancestors and a pride to the once glorious but now departed court. Here he gathered around him the loyal and the faithful. Others were pensioned or rewarded, and none was dissatisfied. Kinsan had recovered, and the quaint halls once more echoed to the sound of marriage bells. There were a host to do him honour, and a world to keep them faithful, while no sorrow of the past shadowed their future. The prattle of children, the song of a mother, and the solicitude of a father graced their home and cheered their lives, making the battle worth the victory. They lived as they had hoped, a blessing came as the reward of their faith, and whether in the social hall or before the footboards of the great Donjero: though at toil in the world or at rest in the home, they had found peace, the brightest jewel in the crown of life. APPENDIX Nearly all Japanese words should be spoken without accent, or, rather, with a slight and equal accent upon each syllable. The pronunciation should begin with a perceptible force, which gradually softens to the last, through a quick succession of all the syllables. =1=. =Nippon= (N[)i]p-p[vo]n). This was the Japanese name for Japan, though foreigners had always confined or limited its use to the name of the largest island, or mainland, of the Japanese archipelago. To those who are familiar with things Japanese the sound of this name carries a special significance, for in it are wrapped the origin and growth of Japanese life, its religion, customs, traditions, and beliefs. Their history covers an unbroken reign, the longest of any progressive people now on earth, so far as we know, and their version of the Creation contains a principle that is pre-eminently theirs; for Shintoism knows only Japan. Their religion, like the Christian with Christians, is co-extensive with their history; each beginning the record, as do all others, at its separation from myth. =2=. =Daimyo= (d[=i]-m[)i]-[=o]-). The highest official in a province under the shogunate. By way of comparison, his position might be said to have corresponded to that of governor of a state in America, though his powers and duties were very dissimilar. The title originated under the mikadate, but from necessity as well as policy the daimyos generally became allied with the shogunate, hence in fact a part of it. =3=. =Shogun= (sh[=o]-g[)u]n). The official head of the shogunate (one of the dual sides, or heads, of the Japanese government) which was established in the twelfth century, and lasted until abolished in 1868. From the beginning of recorded Japan until the twelfth century the mikado was the sole ruler, both spiritual and temporal, and during the latter part of his reign, as such, the shogun existed, but only as an inferior: the commander-in-chief of the mikado's armies. Thus intrenched behind the military forces the shogun became enabled to enlarge his powers, and finally forcibly made the office hereditary, and himself secure in the material rule of the empire. Satisfied with temporal supremacy the shogunate never attempted to encroach upon the mikado's spiritual distinction, as ever held by the people. Nor was it alone policy that so long prompted a continuance of this dual form of government, but it was the ruling spirit quite as much of the shogunate as of the people at large. This has been repeatedly denied--in fact, it has been denied that there ever was actually two heads of government--but the facts hardly justify any such conclusion. Brushing aside all technicalities, a brilliant and polite administration of upwards of a thousand years stands out in its dual capacity as distinctly as do the two sister planets, and if that is not sufficient to establish authenticity as such then man must be at a loss to comprehend what constitutes the right of recognition. There was, in fact, a dual form of government: the one head, the mikado, spiritual; the other, the shogun, material--each in its sphere, as related to a homogeneous whole. By a compromise these two were, in 1868, merged into one--the empire--with a discontinuance of the shogunate, and a continuance of the mikadate line of succession as the sole, reigning emperor. (See No. 9, Mikado.) =4=. =Kimono= (k[)i]-m[=o]-n[=o]). The outer, or principal garment worn by the Japanese, both male and female. =5=. =Harakiri= (há-rá-kâ-râ). An honourable method of committing suicide under the shogunate. It was generally done under an official decree of death, and performed by cutting or ripping open the belly with a sharp knife or dirk. =6=. =Koto= (k[=o]-t[=o]). A kind of harp, or stringed instrument used in Japan, more for the production of classic music. =7=. =Geisha= (g[=i]-sh[.a]). A professional singer or musician of the female sex, who sings or plays for hire, at both private and public functions. =8=. =Etas= ([=e]t-[)a]s). The "unclean"; such as grave-diggers, etc. =9=. =Mikado= (m[)u]-k[.a]-d[=o]). The official head of the Japanese, both spiritual and temporal, from the beginning until the twelfth century, when the shogun rose to power and seized the material functions of government. Thence a dual form ensued, the mikado remaining the spiritual and the shogun the temporal ruler until 1868, when both were merged into the empire, with the mikado's line reigning as emperor. The office of shogun was then abolished. (See No. 3, Shogun.) =10=. =Joro= (j[=o]-r[=o]). A woman who for hire submits herself to the practice of sexual intercourse, in accordance with custom and law. When done under stress of circumstances, such as the financial aid of a distressed parent, it was deemed a virtue, and the participant, except for the time being, did not lose caste, but when the contract time had elapsed (usually three years) was received by her friends and the community as a sort of martyr. =11=. =Kakemono= (k[)a]-k[=e]-m[=o]-n[=o]). The predominant Japanese picture used for decorating the walls of a house. It is usually painted, or scrolled upon a long, narrow piece of silk or sheet of paper, and mounted upon a roller. Its use is similar to that of the ordinary European framed picture, and it was the means of expressing their highest art in painting and writing. =12=. =Kuge= (koo-g[)a]). A class, consisting of nobles and members of the former mikado's court. =13=. =Ronin= (r[=o]-n[)i]n). At first an organized band of disaffected patriots, but afterwards a malcontented clan who held themselves in readiness, for hire or otherwise, to commit some depredation upon organised society, or its members. The Band of Forty-Seven have been much written about in prose and poetry. =14=. =Bakufu= (b[.a]-koo-foo). A class consisting of retainers and members of the shogun's court. =15=. =Samisen= (s[.a]-m[=i]-s[)e]n). A stringed musical instrument resembling something between a banjo and a guitar. It is commonly used by the geishas, and is popular with the lower classes. =16=. =Kokyu= (k[=o]-ky-[=u]). A kind of musical instrument. =17=. =Sayonara= (s[=i]-y[=o]-n[)a]-r[.a]). The Japanese for "good-bye." =18=. =Koku= (k[=o]-koo). A unit of measure, whose degree of value varied with time and locality. =19=. =Hinin= (h[)i]-n[)i]n). The vile; such as slaughterers, beggars, etc. At one time they were by law made social outcasts. =20=. =Obi= ([=o]-b[)i]). A kind of sash, or girdle, worn about the waist for convenience and ornament. =21=. =Yamabushi= (yá-má-boo-sh[)i]). Mendicant monks. =22=. =Tokaido= (T[=o]-k[=i]-d[=o]). The great military road, or highway, between Tokyo and Kyoto. Transcriber Notes: Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. Passages in bold were indicated by =equal signs=. Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS. Throughout the document: an "a" with a dot was replaced with "[.a]", an "a" with a breve was replaced with "[)a]", an "e" with a breve was replaced with "[)e]", an "i" with a breve was replaced with "[)i]", an "o" with a breve was replaced with "[)o]", an "u" with a caron was replaced with "[vu]", an "a" with a macron was replaced with "[=a]", an "e" with a macron was replaced with "[=e]", an "i" with a macron was replaced with "[=i]", an "o" with a macron was replaced with "[=o]", and an "u" with a macron was replaced with "[=u]". Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. Those words were retained as-is. The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate. Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted. On page 100, there was conflict between one instance of the name Katsu and one instance of the name Kotsu, both referring to the same person. Katsu Yoshikuni was a loyal retainer of the Tokugawa regime and served in the navy. Therefore, Kotsu was replaced with Katsu. On page 126, a period was added after "leaned back in silence.". On page 160, a period was added after "to still the cares of men". 
8128	----	In Ghostly Japan Fragment And it was at the hour of sunset that they came to the foot of the mountain. There was in that place no sign of life,--neither token of water, nor trace of plant, nor shadow of flying bird,-- nothing but desolation rising to desolation. And the summit was lost in heaven. Then the Bodhisattva said to his young companion:--"What you have asked to see will be shown to you. But the place of the Vision is far; and the way is rude. Follow after me, and do not fear: strength will be given you." Twilight gloomed about them as they climbed. There was no beaten path, nor any mark of former human visitation; and the way was over an endless heaping of tumbled fragments that rolled or turned beneath the foot. Sometimes a mass dislodged would clatter down with hollow echoings;--sometimes the substance trodden would burst like an empty shell....Stars pointed and thrilled; and the darkness deepened. "Do not fear, my son," said the Bodhisattva, guiding: "danger there is none, though the way be grim." Under the stars they climbed,--fast, fast,--mounting by help of power superhuman. High zones of mist they passed; and they saw below them, ever widening as they climbed, a soundless flood of cloud, like the tide of a milky sea. Hour after hour they climbed;--and forms invisible yielded to their tread with dull soft crashings;--and faint cold fires lighted and died at every breaking. And once the pilgrim-youth laid hand on a something smooth that was not stone,--and lifted it,--and dimly saw the cheekless gibe of death. "Linger not thus, my son!" urged the voice of the teacher;--"the summit that we must gain is very far away!" On through the dark they climbed,--and felt continually beneath them the soft strange breakings,--and saw the icy fires worm and die,--till the rim of the night turned grey, and the stars began to fail, and the east began to bloom. Yet still they climbed,--fast, fast,--mounting by help of power superhuman. About them now was frigidness of death,--and silence tremendous....A gold flame kindled in the east. Then first to the pilgrim's gaze the steeps revealed their nakedness;--and a trembling seized him,--and a ghastly fear. For there was not any ground,--neither beneath him nor about him nor above him,--but a heaping only, monstrous and measureless, of skulls and fragments of skulls and dust of bone,--with a shimmer of shed teeth strown through the drift of it, like the shimmer of scrags of shell in the wrack of a tide. "Do not fear, my son!" cried the voice of the Bodhisattva;--"only the strong of heart can win to the place of the Vision!" Behind them the world had vanished. Nothing remained but the clouds beneath, and the sky above, and the heaping of skulls between,--up-slanting out of sight. Then the sun climbed with the climbers; and there was no warmth in the light of him, but coldness sharp as a sword. And the horror of stupendous height, and the nightmare of stupendous depth, and the terror of silence, ever grew and grew, and weighed upon the pilgrim, and held his feet,--so that suddenly all power departed from him, and he moaned like a sleeper in dreams. "Hasten, hasten, my son!" cried the Bodhisattva: "the day is brief, and the summit is very far away." But the pilgrim shrieked,--"I fear! I fear unspeakably!--and the power has departed from me!" "The power will return, my son," made answer the Bodhisattva.... "Look now below you and above you and about you, and tell me what you see." "I cannot," cried the pilgrim, trembling and clinging; "I dare not look beneath! Before me and about me there is nothing but skulls of men." "And yet, my son," said the Bodhisattva, laughing softly,--"and yet you do not know of what this mountain is made." The other, shuddering, repeated:--"I fear!--unutterably I fear!...there is nothing but skulls of men!" "A mountain of skulls it is," responded the Bodhisattva. "But know, my son, that all of them ARE YOUR OWN! Each has at some time been the nest of your dreams and delusions and desires. Not even one of them is the skull of any other being. All,--all without exception,--have been yours, in the billions of your former lives." FURISODE Recently, while passing through a little street tenanted chiefly by dealers in old wares, I noticed a furisode, or long-sleeved robe, of the rich purple tint called murasaki, hanging before one of the shops. It was a robe such as might have been worn by a lady of rank in the time of the Tokugawa. I stopped to look at the five crests upon it; and in the same moment there came to my recollection this legend of a similar robe said to have once caused the destruction of Yedo. Nearly two hundred and fifty years ago, the daughter of a rich merchant of the city of the Shoguns, while attending some temple- festival, perceived in the crowd a young samurai of remarkable beauty, and immediately fell in love with him. Unhappily for her, he disappeared in the press before she could learn through her attendants who he was or whence he had come. But his image remained vivid in her memory,--even to the least detail of his costume. The holiday attire then worn by samurai youths was scarcely less brilliant than that of young girls; and the upper dress of this handsome stranger had seemed wonderfully beautiful to the enamoured maiden. She fancied that by wearing a robe of like quality and color, bearing the same crest, she might be able to attract his notice on some future occasion. Accordingly she had such a robe made, with very long sleeves, according to the fashion of the period; and she prized it greatly. She wore it whenever she went out; and when at home she would suspend it in her room, and try to imagine the form of her unknown beloved within it. Sometimes she would pass hours before it,--dreaming and weeping by turns. And she would pray to the gods and the Buddhas that she might win the young man's affection,--often repeating the invocation of the Nichiren sect: Namu myo ho rengé kyo! But she never saw the youth again; and she pined with longing for him, and sickened, and died, and was buried. After her burial, the long-sleeved robe that she had so much prized was given to the Buddhist temple of which her family were parishioners. It is an old custom to thus dispose of the garments of the dead. The priest was able to sell the robe at a good price; for it was a costly silk, and bore no trace of the tears that had fallen upon it. It was bought by a girl of about the same age as the dead lady. She wore it only one day. Then she fell sick, and began to act strangely,--crying out that she was haunted by the vision of a beautiful young man, and that for love of him she was going to die. And within a little while she died; and the long- sleeved robe was a second time presented to the temple. Again the priest sold it; and again it became the property of a young girl, who wore it only once. Then she also sickened, and talked of a beautiful shadow, and died, and was buried. And the robe was given a third time to the temple; and the priest wondered and doubted. Nevertheless he ventured to sell the luckless garment once more. Once more it was purchased by a girl and once more worn; and the wearer pined and died. And the robe was given a fourth time to the temple. Then the priest felt sure that there was some evil influence at work; and he told his acolytes to make a fire in the temple- court, and to burn the robe. So they made a fire, into which the robe was thrown. But as the silk began to burn, there suddenly appeared upon it dazzling characters of flame,--the characters of the invocation, Namu myo ho rengé kyo;--and these, one by one, leaped like great sparks to the temple roof; and the temple took fire. Embers from the burning temple presently dropped upon neighbouring roofs; and the whole street was soon ablaze. Then a sea-wind, rising, blew destruction into further streets; and the conflagration spread from street to street, and from district into district, till nearly the whole of the city was consumed. And this calamity, which occurred upon the eighteenth day of the first month of the first year of Meireki (1655), is still remembered in Tokyo as the Furisode-Kwaji,--the Great Fire of the Long-sleeved Robe. According to a story-book called Kibun-Daijin, the name of the girl who caused the robe to be made was O-Same; and she was the daughter of Hikoyemon, a wine-merchant of Hyakusho-machi, in the district of Azabu. Because of her beauty she was also called Azabu-Komachi, or the Komachi of Azabu.(1) The same book says that the temple of the tradition was a Nichiren temple called Hon-myoji, in the district of Hongo; and that the crest upon the robe was a kikyo-flower. But there are many different versions of the story; and I distrust the Kibun-Daijin because it asserts that the beautiful samurai was not really a man, but a transformed dragon, or water-serpent, that used to inhabit the lake at Uyeno,--Shinobazu-no-Ike. 1 After more than a thousand years, the name of Komachi, or Ono-no- Komachi, is still celebrated in Japan. She was the most beautiful woman of her time, and so great a poet that she could move heaven by her verses, and cause rain to fall in time of drought. Many men loved her in vain; and many are said to have died for love of her. But misfortunes visited her when her youth had passed; and, after having been reduced to the uttermost want, she became a beggar, and died at last upon the public highway, near Kyoto. As it was thought shameful to bury her in the foul rags found upon her, some poor person gave a wornout summer-robe (katabira) to wrap her body in; and she was interred near Arashiyama at a spot still pointed out to travellers as the "Place of the Katabira" (Katabira-no-Tsuchi). Incense I see, rising out of darkness, a lotos in a vase. Most of the vase is invisible, but I know that it is of bronze, and that its glimpsing handles are bodies of dragons. Only the lotos is fully illuminated: three pure white flowers, and five great leaves of gold and green,--gold above, green on the upcurling under-surface,--an artificial lotos. It is bathed by a slanting stream of sunshine,-- the darkness beneath and beyond is the dusk of a temple-chamber. I do not see the opening through which the radiance pours, but I am aware that it is a small window shaped in the outline-form of a temple-bell. The reason that I see the lotos--one memory of my first visit to a Buddhist sanctuary--is that there has come to me an odor of incense. Often when I smell incense, this vision defines; and usually thereafter other sensations of my first day in Japan revive in swift succession with almost painful acuteness. It is almost ubiquitous,--this perfume of incense. It makes one element of the faint but complex and never-to-be-forgotten odor of the Far East. It haunts the dwelling-house not less than the temple,--the home of the peasant not less than the yashiki of the prince. Shinto shrines, indeed, are free from it;--incense being an abomination to the elder gods. But wherever Buddhism lives there is incense. In every house containing a Buddhist shrine or Buddhist tablets, incense is burned at certain times; and in even the rudest country solitudes you will find incense smouldering before wayside images,--little stone figures of Fudo, Jizo, or Kwannon. Many experiences of travel,--strange impressions of sound as well as of sight,--remain associated in my own memory with that fragrance:--vast silent shadowed avenues leading to weird old shrines;--mossed flights of worn steps ascending to temples that moulder above the clouds;--joyous tumult of festival nights;--sheeted funeral-trains gliding by in glimmer of lanterns; murmur of household prayer in fishermen's huts on far wild coasts;--and visions of desolate little graves marked only by threads of blue smoke ascending,--graves of pet animals or birds remembered by simple hearts in the hour of prayer to Amida, the Lord of Immeasurable Light. But the odor of which I speak is that of cheap incense only,--the incense in general use. There are many other kinds of incense; and the range of quality is amazing. A bundle of common incense- rods--(they are about as thick as an ordinary pencil-lead, and somewhat longer)--can be bought for a few sen; while a bundle of better quality, presenting to inexperienced eyes only some difference in color, may cost several yen, and be cheap at the price. Still costlier sorts of incense,--veritable luxuries,-- take the form of lozenges, wafers, pastilles; and a small envelope of such material may be worth four or five pounds- sterling. But the commercial and industrial questions relating to Japanese incense represent the least interesting part of a remarkably curious subject. II Curious indeed, but enormous by reason of it infinity of tradition and detail. I am afraid even to think of the size of the volume that would be needed to cover it.... Such a work would properly begin with some brief account of the earliest knowledge and use of aromatics in Japan. I would next treat of the records and legends of the first introduction of Buddhist incense fron Korea,--when King Shomyo of Kudara, in 551 A. D., sent to the island-empire a collection of sutras, an image of the Buddha, and one complete set of furniture for a temple. Then something would have to be said about those classifications of incense which were made during the tenth century, in the periods of Engi and of Tenryaku,--and about the report of the ancient state-councillor, Kimitaka-Sangi, who visited China in the latter part of the thirteenth century, and transmitted to the Emperor Yomei the wisdom of the Chinese concerning incense. Then mention should be made of the ancient incenses still preserved in various Japanese temples, and of the famous fragments of ranjatai (publicly exhibited at Nara in the tenth year of Meiji) which furnished supplies to the three great captains, Nobunaga, Hideyoshi, and Iyeyasu. After this should fol-low an outline of the history of mixed incenses made in Japan,--with notes on the classifications devised by the luxurious Takauji, and on the nomenclature established later by Ashikaga Yoshimasa, who collected one hundred and thirty varieties of incense, and invented for the more precious of them names recognized even to this day,--such as "Blossom-Showering," "Smoke-of-Fuji," and "Flower-of-the-Pure- Law." Examples ought to be given likewise of traditions attaching to historical incenses preserved in several princely families, together with specimens of those hereditary recipes for incense- making which have been transmitted from generation to generation through hundreds of years, and are still called after their august inventors,--as "the Method of Hina-Dainagon," "the Method of Sento-In," etc. Recipes also should be given of those strange incenses made "to imitate the perfume of the lotos, the smell of the summer breeze, and the odor of the autumn wind." Some legends of the great period of incense-luxury should be cited,--such as the story of Sue Owari-no-Kami, who built for himself a palace of incense-woods, and set fire to it on the night of his revolt, when the smoke of its burning perfumed the land to a distance of twelve miles.... Of course the mere compilation of materials for a history of mixed-incenses would entail the study of a host of documents, treatises, and books,--particularly of such strange works as the Kun-Shu-Rui-Sho, or "Incense-Collector's Classifying-Manual";--containing the teachings of the Ten Schools of the Art of Mixing Incense; directions as to the best seasons for incense-making; and instructions about the "different kinds of fire" to be used for burning incense--(one kind is called "literary fire," and another "military fire"); together with rules for pressing the ashes of a censer into various artistic designs corresponding to season and occasion.... A special chapter should certainly be given to the incense-bags (kusadama) hung up in houses to drive away goblins,--and to the smaller incense-bags formerly carried about the person as a protection against evil spirits. Then a very large part of the work would have to be devoted to the religious uses and legends of incense, --a huge subject in itself. There would also have to be considered the curious history of the old "incense-assemblies," whose elaborate ceremonial could be explained only by help of numerous diagrams. One chapter at least would be required for the subject of the ancient importation of incense-materials from India, China, Annam, Siam, Cambodia, Ceylon, Sumatra, Java, Borneo, and various islands of the Malay archipelago,--places all named in rare books about incense. And a final chapter should treat of the romantic literature of incense,--the poems, stories, and dramas in which incense-rites are mentioned; and especially those love-songs comparing the body to incense, and passion to the eating flame:-- Even as burns the perfume lending thy robe its fragance, Smoulders my life away, consumed by the pain of longing! ....The merest outline of the subject is terrifying! I shall attempt nothing more than a few notes about the religious, the luxurious, and the ghostly uses of incense. III The common incense everywhere burned by poor people before Buddhist icons is called an-soku-ko. This is very cheap. Great quantities of it are burned by pilgrims in the bronze censers set before the entrances of famous temples; and in front of roadside images you may often see bundles of it. These are for the use of pious wayfarers, who pause before every Buddhist image on their path to repeat a brief prayer and, when possible, to set a few rods smouldering at the feet of the statue. But in rich temples, and during great religious ceremonies, much more expensive incense is used. Altogether three classes of perfumes are employed in Buddhist rites: ko, or incense-proper, in many varieties--(the word literally means only "fragrant substance"); --dzuko, an odorous ointment; and makko, a fragrant powder. Ko is burned; dzuko is rubbed upon the hands of the priest as an ointment of purification; and makko is sprinkled about the sanctuary. This makko is said to be identical with the sandalwood-powder so frequently mentioned in Buddhist texts. But it is only the true incense which can be said to bear an important relation to the religious service. "Incense," declares the Soshi-Ryaku,(1) "is the Messenger of Earnest Desire. When the rich Sudatta wished to invite the Buddha to a repast, he made use of incense. He was wont to ascend to the roof of his house on the eve of the day of the entertainment, and to remain standing there all night, holding a censer of precious incense. And as often as he did thus, the Buddha never failed to come on the following day at the exact time desired." This text plainly implies that incense, as a burnt-offering, symbolizes the pious desires of the faithful. But it symbolizes other things also; and it has furnished many remarkable similes to Buddhist literature. Some of these, and not the least interesting, occur in prayers, of which the following, from the book called Hoji-san (2) is a striking example:-- --"Let my body remain pure like a censer!--let my thought be ever as a fire of wisdom, purely consuming the incense of sila and of dhyana, (3) that so may I do homage to all the Buddhas in the Ten Directions of the Past, the Present, and the Future!" Sometimes in Buddhist sermons the destruction of Karma by virtuous effort is likened to the burning of incense by a pure flame,--sometimes, again, the life of man is compared to the smoke of incense. In his "Hundred Writings "(Hyaku-tsu-kiri- kami), the Shinshu priest Myoden says, quoting from the Buddhist work Kujikkajo, or "Ninety Articles ":-- "In the burning of incense we see that so long as any incense remains, so long does the burning continue, and the smoke mount skyward. Now the breath of this body of ours,--this impermanent combination of Earth, Water, Air, and Fire,--is like that smoke. And the changing of the incense into cold ashes when the flame expires is an emblem of the changing of our bodies into ashes when our funeral pyres have burnt themselves out." He also tells us about that Incense-Paradise of which every believer ought to be reminded by the perfume of earthly incense: --"In the Thirty- Second Vow for the Attainment of the Paradise of Wondrous Incense," he says, "it is written: 'That Paradise is formed of hundreds of thousands of different kinds of incense, and of substances incalculably precious;--the beauty of it incomparably exceeds anything in the heavens or in the sphere of man;--the fragrance of it perfumes all the worlds of the Ten Directions of Space; and all who perceive that odor practise Buddha-deeds.' In ancient times there were men of superior wisdom and virtue who, by reason of their vow, obtained perception of the odor; but we, who are born with inferior wisdom and virtue in these later days, cannot obtain such perception. Nevertheless it will be well for us, when we smell the incense kindled before the image of Amida, to imagine that its odor is the wonderful fragrance of Paradise, and to repeat the Nembutsu in gratitude for the mercy of the Buddha." 1 "Short [or Epitomized] History of Priests." 2 "The Praise of Pious Observances." 3 By sila is meant the observance of the rules of purity in act and thought. Dhyana (called by Japanese Buddhists Zenjo) is one of the higher forms of meditation. IV But the use of incense in Japan is not confined to religious rites and ceremonies: indeed the costlier kinds of incense are manufactured chiefly for social entertainments. Incense-burning has been an amusement of the aristocracy ever since the thirteenth century. Probably you have heard of the Japanese tea- ceremonies, and their curious Buddhist history; and I suppose that every foreign collector of Japanese bric-a'-brac knows something about the luxury to which these ceremonies at one period attained,--a luxury well attested by the quality of the beautiful utensils formerly employed in them. But there were, and still are, incense-ceremonies much more elaborate and costly than the tea-ceremonies,--and also much more interesting. Besides music, embroidery, poetical composition and other branches of the old-fashioned female education, the young lady of pre-Meiji days was expected to acquire three especially polite accomplishments, --the art of arranging flowers, (ikebana), the art of ceremonial tea-making (cha-no-yu or cha-no-e),(1) and the etiquette of incense-parties (ko-kwai or ko-e). Incense-parties were invented before the time of the Ashikaga shoguns, and were most in vogue during the peaceful period of the Tokugawa rule. With the fall of the shogunate they went out of fashion; but recently they have been to some extent revived. It is not likely, however, that they will again become really fashionable in the old sense,--partly because they represented rare forms of social refinement that never can be revived, and partly because of their costliness. In translating ko-kwai as "incense-party," I use the word "party" in the meaning that it takes in such compounds as "card-party," "whist-party," "chess-party";--for a ko-kwai is a meeting held only with the object of playing a game,--a very curious game. There are several kinds of incense-games; but in all of them the contest depends upon the ability to remember and to name different kinds of incense by the perfume alone. That variety of ko-kwai called Jitchu-ko ("ten-burning-incense") is generally conceded to be the most amusing; and I shall try to tell you how it is played. The numeral "ten," in the Japanese, or rather Chinese name of this diversion, does not refer to ten kinds, but only to ten packages of incense; for Jitchu-ko, besides being the most amusing, is the very simplest of incense-games, and is played with only four kinds of incense. One kind must be supplied by the guests invited to the party; and three are furnished by the person who gives the entertainment. Each of the latter three supplies of incense--usually prepared in packages containing one hundred wafers is divided into four parts; and each part is put into a separate paper numbered or marked so as to indicate the quality. Thus four packages are prepared of the incense classed as No. 1, four of incense No. 2, and four of incense No. 3,--or twelve in all. But the incense given by the guests,--always called "guest-incense"--is not divided: it is only put into a wrapper marked with an abbreviation of the Chinese character signifying "guest." Accordingly we have a total of thirteen packages to start with; but three are to be used in the preliminary sampling, or "experimenting"--as the Japanese term it,--after the following manner. We shall suppose the game to be arranged for a party of six,-- though there is no rule limiting the number of players. The six take their places in line, or in a half-circle--if the room be small; but they do not sit close together, for reasons which will presently appear. Then the host, or the person appointed to act as incense-burner, prepares a package of the incense classed as No 1, kindles it in a censer, and passes the censer to the guest occupying the first seat, (2) with the announcement--"This is incense No 1" The guest receives the censer according to the graceful etiquette required in the ko-kwai, inhales the perfume, and passes on the vessel to his neighbor, who receives it in like manner and passes it to the third guest, who presents it to the fourth,--and so on. When the censer has gone the round of the party, it is returned to the incense-burner. One package of incense No. 2, and one of No. 3, are similarly prepared, announced, and tested. But with the "guest-incense" no experiment is made. The player should be able to remember the different odors of the incenses tested; and he is expected to identify the guest-incense at the proper time merely by the unfamiliar quality of its fragrance. The original thirteen packages having thus by "experimenting" been reduced to ten, each player is given one set of ten small tablets--usually of gold-lacquer,--every set being differently ornamented. The backs only of these tablets are decorated; and the decoration is nearly always a floral design of some sort:-- thus one set might be decorated with chrysanthemums in gold, another with tufts of iris-plants, another with a spray of plum- blossoms, etc. But the faces of the tablets bear numbers or marks; and each set comprises three tablets numbered "1," three numbered "2," three numbered "3," and one marked with the character signifying "guest." After these tablet-sets have been distributed, a box called the "tablet-box" is placed before the first player; and all is ready for the real game. The incense-burner retires behind a little screen, shuffles the flat packages like so many cards, takes the uppermost, prepares its contents in the censer, and then, returning to the party, sends the censer upon its round. This time, of course, he does not announce what kind of incense he has used. As the censer passes from hand to hand, each player, after inhaling the fume, puts into the tablet-box one tablet bearing that mark or number which he supposes to be the mark or number of the incense he has smelled. If, for example, he thinks the incense to be "guest- incense," he drops into the box that one of his tablets marked with the ideograph meaning "guest;" or if he believes that he has inhaled the perfume of No. 2, he puts into the box a tablet numbered "2." When the round is over, tablet-box and censer are both returned to the incense-burner. He takes the six tablets out of the box, and wraps them up in the paper which contained the incense guessed about. The tablets themselves keep the personal as well as the general record,--since each player remembers the particular design upon his own set. The remaining nine packages of incense art consumed and judged in the same way, according to the chance order in which the shuffling has placed them. When all the incense has been used, the tablets are taken out of their wrappings, the record is officially put into writing, and the victor of the day is announced. I here offer the translation of such a record: it will serve to explain, almost at a glance, all the complications of the game. According to this record the player who used the tablets decorated with the design called "Young Pine," made but two mistakes; while the holder of the "White-Lily" set made only one correct guess. But it is quite a feat to make ten correct judgments in succession. The olfactory nerves are apt to become somewhat numbed long before the game is concluded; and, therefore it is customary during the Ko-kwai to rinse the mouth at intervals with pure vinegar, by which operation the sensitivity is partially restored. RECORD OF A KO-KWAI. Order in which the ten packages of incense were used:-- 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Names given to the six No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. tablets used, III I GUEST II I III II I III II according to decorative designs on the back: Guesses recorded by nos. on tablet; correct being marked * No. of correct guesses "Gold Chrysanthemum" 1 3 1 2* Guest 1 2* 2 3* 3 3 "Young Bamboo" 3* 1* 1 2* 1* Guest 3 2 1 3 4 "Red Peony" Guest 1* 2 2* 3 1 3 2 3* 1 3 "White Lily" 1 3 1 3 2 2 1 3 Guest 2* 1 "Young Pine" 3* 1* Guest* 3 1* 2 2* 1* 3* 2* 8 (Winner) "Cherry-Blossom -in-a-Mist" 1 3 Guest* 2* 1* 3* 1 2 3* 2* 6 NAMES OF INCENSE USED. I. "Tasogare" ("Who-Is-there?" I. e. "Evening-Dusk"). II. "Baikwa" ("Plum Flower"). III. "Wakakusa" ("Young Grass"). IV. ("Guest Incense") "Yamaji-no-Tsuyu" ("Dew-on-the-Mountain-Path"). To the Japanese original of the foregoing record were appended the names of the players, the date of the entertainment, and the name of the place where the party was held. It is the custom In some families to enter all such records in a book especially made for the purpose, and furnished with an index which enables the Ko-kwai player to refer immediately to any interesting fact belonging to the history of any past game. The reader will have noticed that the four kinds of incense used were designated by very pretty names. The incense first mentioned, for example, is called by the poets' name for the gloaming,--Tasogare (lit: "Who is there?" or " Who is it?")--a word which in this relation hints of the toilet-perfume that reveals some charming presence to the lover waiting in the dusk. Perhaps some curiosity will be felt regarding the composition of these incenses. I can give the Japanese recipes for two sorts; but I have not been able to identify all of the materials named:-- Recipe for Yamaji-no-Tsuyu. Ingredients Proportions. about Jinko (aloes-wood) 4 momme (1/2 oz.) Choji (cloves) 4 " " Kunroku (olibanum) 4 " " Hakko (artemisia Schmidtiana) 4 " " Jako (musk) 1 bu (1/8 oz.) Koko(?) 4 momme (1/2 oz.) To 21 pastilles Recipe for Baikwa. Ingredients Proportions. about Jinko (aloes) 20 momme (2 1/2 oz.) Choji (cloves) 12 " (1 1/2 oz.) Koko(?) 8 1/3 " (1 1/40 oz.) Byakudan (sandal-wood) 4 " (1/2 oz.) Kansho (spikenard) 2 bu (1/4 oz.) Kwakko (Bishop's-wort?) 1 bu 2 sbu (3/16 oz.) Kunroku (olibanum) 3 " 3 " (15/22 oz.) Shomokko (?) 2 " (1/4 oz.) Jako (musk) 3 " 2 sbu (7/16 oz.) Ryuno (refined Borneo Camphor) 3 sbu (3/8 oz.) To 50 pastilles The incense used at a Ko-kwai ranges in value, according to the style of the entertainment, from $2.50 to $30.00 per envelope of 100 wafers--wafers usually not more than one-fourth of an inch in diameter. Sometimes an incense is used worth even more than $30.00 per envelope: this contains ranjatai, an aromatic of which the perfume is compared to that of "musk mingled with orchid- flowers." But there is some incense,--never sold,--which is much more precious than ranjatai,--incense valued less for its com- position than for its history: I mean the incense brought centuries ago from China or from India by the Buddhist missionaries, and presented to princes or to other persons of high rank. Several ancient Japanese temples also include such foreign incense among their treasures. And very rarely a little of this priceless material is contributed to an incense-party,-- much as in Europe, on very extraordinary occasions, some banquet is glorified by the production of a wine several hundred years old. Like the tea-ceremonies, the Ko-kwai exact observance of a very complex and ancient etiquette. But this subject could interest few readers; and I shall only mention some of the rules regarding preparations and precautions. First of all, it is required that the person invited to an incense-party shall attend the same in as _odorless_ a condition as possible: a lady, for instance, must not use hair-oil, or put on any dress that has been kept in a perfumed chest-of-drawers. Furthermore, the guest should prepare for the contest by taking a prolonged hot bath, and should eat only the lightest and least odorous kind of food before going to the rendezvous. It is forbidden to leave the room during the game, or to open any door or window, or to indulge in needless conversation. Finally I may observe that, while judging the incense, a player is expected to take not less than three inhalations, or more than five. In this economical era, the Ko-kwai takes of necessity a much humbler form than it assumed in the time of the great daimyo, of the princely abbots, and of the military aristocracy. A full set of the utensils required for the game can now be had for about $50.00; but the materials are of the poorest kind. The old- fashioned sets were fantastically expensive. Some were worth thousands of dollars. The incense-burner's desk,--the writing- box, paper-box, tablet-box, etc.,--the various stands or dai,-- were of the costliest gold-lacquer;--the pincers and other instruments were of gold, curiously worked;--and the censer-- whether of precious metal, bronze, or porcelain,--was always a chef-d'oeuvre, designed by some artist of renown. 1 Girls are still trained in the art of arranging flowers, and in the etiquette of the dainty, though somewhat tedious, cha-no-yu. Buddhist priests have long enjoyed a reputation as teachers of the latter. When the pupil has reached a certain degree of proficiency, she is given a diploma or certificate. The tea used in these ceremonies is a powdered tea of remarkable fragrance,-- the best qualities of which fetch very high prices. 2 The places occupied by guests in a Japanese zashiki, or reception room are numbered from the alcove of the apartment. The place of the most honored is immediately before the alcove: this is the first seat, and the rest are numbered from it, usually to the left. V Although the original signification of incense in Buddhist ceremonies was chiefly symbolical, there is good reason to suppose that various beliefs older than Buddhism,--some, perhaps, peculiar to the race; others probably of Chinese or Korean derivation,--began at an early period to influence the popular use of incense in Japan. Incense is still burned in the presence of a corpse with the idea that its fragrance shields both corpse and newly-parted soul from malevolent demons; and by the peasants it is often burned also to drive away goblins and the evil powers presiding over diseases. But formerly it was used to summon spirits as well as to banish them. Allusions to its employment in various weird rites may be found in some of the old dramas and romances. One particular sort of incense, imported from China, was said to have the power of calling up human spirits. This was the wizard-incense referred to in such ancient love-songs as the following:-- "I have heard of the magical incense that summons the souls of the absent: Would I had some to burn, in the nights when I wait alone!" There is an interesting mention of this incense in the Chinese book, Shang-hai-king. It was called Fwan-hwan-hiang (by Japanese pronunciation, Hangon-ko), or "Spirit-Recalling-Incense;" and it was made in Tso-Chau, or the District of the Ancestors, situated by the Eastern Sea. To summon the ghost of any dead person--or even that of a living person, according to some authorities,--it was only necessary to kindle some of the incense, and to pronounce certain words, while keeping the mind fixed upon the memory of that person. Then, in the smoke of the incense, the remembered face and form would appear. In many old Japanese and Chinese books mention is made of a famous story about this incense,--a story of the Chinese Emperor Wu, of the Han dynasty. When the Emperor had lost his beautiful favorite, the Lady Li, he sorrowed so much that fears were entertained for his reason. But all efforts made to divert his mind from the thought of her proved unavailing. One day he ordered some Spirit-Recalling-Incense to be procured, that he might summon her from the dead. His counsellors prayed him to forego his purpose, declaring that the vision could only intensify his grief. But he gave no heed to their advice, and himself performed the rite,--kindling the incense, and keeping his mind fixed upon the memory of the Lady Li. Presently, within the thick blue smoke arising from the incense, the outline, of a feminine form became visible. It defined, took tints of life, slowly became luminous, and the Emperor recognized the form of his beloved At first the apparition was faint; but it soon became distinct as a living person, and seemed with each moment to grow more beautiful. The Emperor whispered to the vision, but received no answer. He called aloud, and the presence made no sign. Then unable to control himself, he approached the censer. But the instant that he touched the smoke, the phantom trembled and vanished. Japanese artists are still occasionally inspired by the legends of the Hangon-ho. Only last year, in Tokyo, at an exhibition of new kakemono, I saw a picture of a young wife kneeling before an alcove wherein the smoke of the magical incense was shaping the shadow of the absent husband.(1) Although the power of making visible the forms of the dead has been claimed for one sort of incense only, the burning of any kind of incense is supposed to summon viewless spirits in multitude. These come to devour the smoke. They are called Jiki- ko-ki, or "incense-eating goblins;" and they belong to the fourteenth of the thirty-six classes of Gaki (pretas) recognized by Japanese Buddhism. They are the ghosts of men who anciently, for the sake of gain, made or sold bad incense; and by the evil karma of that action they now find themselves in the state of hunger-suffering spirits, and compelled to seek their only food in the smoke of incense. 1 Among the curious Tokyo inventions of 1898 was a new variety of cigarettes called Hangon-so, or "Herb of Hangon,"--a name suggesting that their smoke operated like the spirit-summoning incense. As a matter of fact, the chemical action of the tobacco- smoke would define, upon a paper fitted into the mouth-piece of each cigarette, the photographic image of a dancing-girl. A Story of Divination I once knew a fortune-teller who really believed in the science that he professed. He had learned, as a student of the old Chinese philosophy, to believe in divination long before he thought of practising it. During his youth he had been in the service of a wealthy daimyo, but subsequently, like thousands of other samurai, found himself reduced to desperate straits by the social and political changes of Meiji. It was then that he became a fortune-teller,--an itinerant uranaiya,--travelling on foot from town to town, and returning to his home rarely more than once a year with the proceeds of his journey. As a fortune-teller he was tolerably successful,--chiefly, I think, because of his perfect sincerity, and because of a peculiar gentle manner that invited confidence. His system was the old scholarly one: he used the book known to English readers as the Yi-King,--also a set of ebony blocks which could be so arranged as to form any of the Chinese hexagrams;--and he always began his divination with an earnest prayer to the gods. The system itself he held to be infallible in the hands of a master. He confessed that he had made some erroneous predictions; but he said that these mistakes had been entirely due to his own miscomprehension of certain texts or diagrams. To do him justice I must mention that in my own case--(he told my fortune four times),--his predictions were fulfilled in such wise that I became afraid of them. You may disbelieve in fortune-telling,-- intellectually scorn it; but something of inherited superstitious tendency lurks within most of us; and a few strange experiences can so appeal to that inheritance as to induce the most unreasoning hope or fear of the good or bad luck promised you by some diviner. Really to see our future would be a misery. Imagine the result of knowing that there must happen to you, within the next two months, some terrible misfortune which you cannot possibly provide against! He was already an old man when I first saw him in Izumo,-- certainly more than sixty years of age, but looking very much younger. Afterwards I met him in Osaka, in Kyoto, and in Kobe. More than once I tried to persuade him to pass the colder months of the winter-season under my roof,--for he possessed an extraordinary knowledge of traditions, and could have been of inestimable service to me in a literary way. But partly because the habit of wandering had become with him a second nature, and partly because of a love of independence as savage as a gipsy's, I was never able to keep him with me for more than two days at a time. Every year he used to come to Tokyo,--usually in the latter part of autumn. Then, for several weeks, he would flit about the city, from district to district, and vanish again. But during these fugitive trips he never failed to visit me; bringing welcome news of Izumo people and places,--bringing also some queer little present, generally of a religious kind, from some famous place of pilgrimage. On these occasions I could get a few hours' chat with him. Sometimes the talk was of strange things seen or heard during his recent journey; sometimes it turned upon old legends or beliefs; sometimes it was about fortune-telling. The last time we met he told me of an exact Chinese science of divination which he regretted never having been able to learn. "Any one learned in that science," he said, "would be able, for example, not only to tell you the exact time at which any post or beam of this house will yield to decay, but even to tell you the direction of the breaking, and all its results. I can best explain what I mean by relating a story. "The story is about the famous Chinese fortune-teller whom we call in Japan Shoko Setsu, and it is written in the book Baikwa- Shin-Eki, which is a book of divination. While still a very young man, Shoko Setsu obtained a high position by reason of his learning and virtue; but he resigned it and went into solitude that he might give his whole time to study. For years thereafter he lived alone in a hut among the mountains; studying without a fire in winter, and without a fan in summer; writing his thoughts upon the wall of his room--for lack of paper;--and using only a tile for his pillow. "One day, in the period of greatest summer heat, he found himself overcome by drowsiness; and he lay down to rest, with his tile under his head. Scarcely had he fallen asleep when a rat ran across his face and woke him with a start. Feeling angry, he seized his tile and flung it at the rat; but the rat escaped unhurt, and the tile was broken. Shoko Setsu looked sorrowfully at the fragments of his pillow, and reproached himself for his hastiness. Then suddenly he perceived, upon the freshly exposed clay of the broken tile, some Chinese characters--between the upper and lower surfaces. Thinking this very strange, he picked up the pieces, and carefully examined them. He found that along the line of fracture seventeen characters had been written within the clay before the tile had been baked; and the characters read thus: 'In the Year of the Hare, in the fourth month, on the seventeenth day, at the Hour of the Serpent, this tile, after serving as a pillow, will be thrown at a rat and broken.' Now the prediction had really been fulfilled at the Hour of the Serpent on the seventeenth day of the fourth month of the Year of the Hare. Greatly astonished, Shoko Setsu once again looked at the fragments, and discovered the seal and the name of the maker. At once he left his hut, and, taking with him the pieces of the tile, hurried to the neighboring town in search of the tilemaker. He found the tilemaker in the course of the day, showed him the broken tile, and asked him about its history. "After having carefully examined the shards, the tilemaker said: --'This tile was made in my house; but the characters in the clay were written by an old man--a fortune-teller,--who asked permission to write upon the tile before it was baked.' 'Do you know where he lives?' asked Shoko Setsu. `He used to live,' the tilemaker answered, 'not very far from here; and I can show you the way to the house. But I do not know his name.' "Having been guided to the house, Shoko Setsu presented himself at the entrance, and asked for permission to speak to the old man. A serving-student courteously invited him to enter, and ushered him into an apartment where several young men were at study. As Shoko Setsu took his seat, all the youths saluted him. Then the one who had first addressed him bowed and said: 'We are grieved to inform you that our master died a few days ago. But we have been waiting for you, because he predicted that you would come to-day to this house, at this very hour. Your name is Shoko Setsu. And our master told us to give you a book which he believed would be of service to you. Here is the book;--please to accept it.' "Shoko Setsu was not less delighted than surprised; for the book was a manuscript of the rarest and most precious kind,-- containing all the secrets of the science of divination. After having thanked the young men, and properly expressed his regret for the death of their teacher, he went back to his hut, and there immediately proceeded to test the worth of the book by consulting its pages in regard to his own fortune. The book suggested to him that on the south side of his dwelling, at a particular spot near one corner of the hut, great luck awaited him. He dug at the place indicated, and found a jar containing gold enough to make him a very wealthy man." *** My old acquaintance left this world as lonesomely as he had lived in it. Last winter, while crossing a mountain-range, he was overtaken by a snowstorm, and lost his way. Many days later he was found standing erect at the foot of a pine, with his little pack strapped to his shoulders: a statue of ice--arms folded and eyes closed as in meditation. Probably, while waiting for the storm to pass, he had yielded to the drowsiness of cold, and the drift had risen over him as he slept. Hearing of this strange death I remembered the old Japanese saying,--Uranaiya minouye shiradzu: "The fortune-teller knows not his own fate." Silkworms I was puzzled by the phrase, "silkworm-moth eyebrow," in an old Japanese, or rather Chinese proverb:--The silkworm-moth eyebrow of a woman is the axe that cuts down the wisdom of man. So I went to my friend Niimi, who keeps silkworms, to ask for an explanation. "Is it possible," he exclaimed, "that you never saw a silkworm- moth? The silkworm-moth has very beautiful eyebrows." "Eyebrows?" I queried, in astonishment. "Well, call them what you like," returned Niimi;--"the poets call them eyebrows.... Wait a moment, and I will show you." He left the guest-room, and presently returned with a white paper-fan, on which a silkworm-moth was sleepily reposing. "We always reserve a few for breeding," he said;--"this one is just out of the cocoon. It cannot fly, of course: none of them can fly.... Now look at the eyebrows." I looked, and saw that the antennae, very short and feathery, were so arched back over the two jewel-specks of eyes in the velvety head, as to give the appearance of a really handsome pair of eye- brows. Then Niimi took me to see his worms. In Niimi's neighborhood, where there are plenty of mulberrytrees, many families keep silkworms;--the tending and feeding being mostly done by women and children. The worms are kept in large oblong trays, elevated upon light wooden stands about three feet high. It is curious to see hundreds of caterpillars feeding all together in one tray, and to hear the soft papery noise which they make while gnawing their mulberry-leaves. As they approach maturity, the creatures need almost constant attention. At brief intervals some expert visits each tray to inspect progress, picks up the plumpest feeders, and decides, by gently rolling them between forefinger and thumb, which are ready to spin. These are dropped into covered boxes, where they soon swathe themselves out of sight in white floss. A few only of the best are suffered to emerge from their silky sleep,--the selected breeders. They have beautiful wings, but cannot use them. They have mouths, but do not eat. They only pair, lay eggs, and die. For thousands of years their race has been so well-cared for, that it can no longer take any care of itself. It was the evolutional lesson of this latter fact that chiefly occupied me while Niimi and his younger brother (who feeds the worms) were kindly explaining the methods of the industry. They told me curious things about different breeds, and also about a wild variety of silkworm that cannot be domesticated:--it spins splendid silk before turning into a vigorous moth which can use its wings to some purpose. But I fear that I did not act like a person who felt interested in the subject; for, even while I tried to listen, I began to muse. II First of all, I found myself thinking about a delightful revery by M. Anatole France, in which he says that if he had been the Demiurge, he would have put youth at the end of life instead of at the beginning, and would have otherwise so ordered matters that every human being should have three stages of development, somewhat corresponding to those of the lepidoptera. Then it occurred to me that this fantasy was in substance scarcely more than the delicate modification of a most ancient doctrine, common to nearly all the higher forms of religion. Western faiths especially teach that our life on earth is a larval state of greedy helplessness, and that death is a pupa- sleep out of which we should soar into everlasting light. They tell us that during its sentient existence, the outer body should be thought of only as a kind of caterpillar, and thereafter as a chrysalis;--and they aver that we lose or gain, according to our behavior as larvae, the power to develop wings under the mortal wrapping. Also they tell us not to trouble ourselves about the fact that we see no Psyche-imago detach itself from the broken cocoon: this lack of visual evidence signifies nothing, because we have only the purblind vision of grubs. Our eyes are but half- evolved. Do not whole scales of colors invisibly exist above and below the limits of our retinal sensibility? Even so the butterfly-man exists,--although, as a matter of course, we cannot see him. But what would become of this human imago in a state of perfect bliss? From the evolutional point of view the question has interest; and its obvious answer was suggested to me by the history of those silkworms,--which have been domesticated for only a few thousand years. Consider the result of our celestial domestication for--let us say--several millions of years: I mean the final consequence, to the wishers, of being able to gratify every wish at will. Those silkworms have all that they wish for,--even considerably more. Their wants, though very simple, are fundamentally identical with the necessities of mankind,--food, shelter, warmth, safety, and comfort. Our endless social struggle is mainly for these things. Our dream of heaven is the dream of obtaining them free of cost in pain; and the condition of those silkworms is the realization, in a small way, of our imagined Paradise. (I am not considering the fact that a vast majority of the worms are predestined to torment and the second death; for my theme is of heaven, not of lost souls. I am speaking of the elect--those worms preordained to salvation and rebirth.) Probably they can feel only very weak sensations: they are certainly incapable of prayer. But if they were able to pray, they could not ask for anything more than they already receive from the youth who feeds and tends them. He is their providence, --a god of whose existence they can be aware in only the vaguest possible way, but just such a god as they require. And we should foolishly deem ourselves fortunate to be equally well cared-for in proportion to our more complex wants. Do not our common forms of prayer prove our desire for like attention? Is not the assertion of our "need of divine love" an involuntary confession that we wish to be treated like silkworms,--to live without pain by the help of gods? Yet if the gods were to treat us as we want, we should presently afford fresh evidence,--in the way of what is called "the evidence from degeneration,"--that the great evolutional law is far above the gods. An early stage of that degeneration would be represented by total incapacity to help ourselves;--then we should begin to lose the use of our higher sense-organs;--later on, the brain would shrink to a vanishing pin-point of matter;--still later we should dwindle into mere amorphous sacs, mere blind stomachs. Such would be the physical consequence of that kind of divine love which we so lazily wish for. The longing for perpetual bliss in perpetual peace might well seem a malevolent inspiration from the Lords of Death and Darkness. All life that feels and thinks has been, and can continue to be, only as the product of struggle and pain,-- only as the outcome of endless battle with the Powers of the Universe. And cosmic law is uncompromising. Whatever organ ceases to know pain,--whatever faculty ceases to be used under the stimulus of pain,--must also cease to exist. Let pain and its effort be suspended, and life must shrink back, first into protoplasmic shapelessness, thereafter into dust. Buddhism--which, in its own grand way, is a doctrine of evolution--rationally proclaims its heaven but a higher stage of development through pain, and teaches that even in paradise the cessation of effort produces degradation. With equal reasonableness it declares that the capacity for pain in the superhuman world increases always in proportion to the capacity for pleasure. (There is little fault to be found with this teaching from a scientific standpoint,--since we know that higher evolution must involve an increase of sensitivity to pain.) In the Heavens of Desire, says the Shobo-nen-jo-kyo, the pain of death is so great that all the agonies of all the hells united could equal but one-sixteenth part of such pain.(1) The foregoing comparison is unnecessarily strong; but the Buddhist teaching about heaven is in substance eminently logical. The suppression of pain--mental or physical,--in any conceivable state of sentient existence, would necessarily involve the suppression also of pleasure;--and certainly all progress, whether moral or material, depends upon the power to meet and to master pain. In a silkworm-paradise such as our mundane instincts lead us to desire, the seraph freed from the necessity of toil, and able to satisfy his every want at will, would lose his wings at last, and sink back to the condition of a grub.... (1) This statement refers only to the Heavens of Sensuous Pleasure,--not to the Paradise of Amida, nor to those heavens into which one enters by the Apparitional Birth. But even in the highest and most immaterial zones of being,--in the Heavens of Formlessness,--the cessation of effort and of the pain of effort, involves the penalty of rebirth in a lower state of existence. III I told the substance of my revery to Niimi. He used to be a great reader of Buddhist books. "Well," he said, "I was reminded of a queer Buddhist story by the proverb that you asked me to explain,--The silkworm-moth eyebrow of a woman is the axe that cuts down the wisdom of man. According to our doctrine, the saying would be as true of life in heaven as of life upon earth.... This is the story:--"When Shaka (1) dwelt in this world, one of his disciples, called Nanda, was bewitched by the beauty of a woman; and Shaka desired to save him from the results of this illusion. So he took Nanda to a wild place in the mountains where there were apes, and showed him a very ugly female ape, and asked him: 'Which is the more beautiful, Nanda, --the woman that you love, or this female ape?' 'Oh, Master!' exclaimed Nanda, 'how can a lovely woman be compared with an ugly ape?' 'Perhaps you will presently find reason to make the comparison yourself,' answered the Buddha;--and instantly by supernatural power he ascended with Nanda to the San-Jusan-Ten, which is the Second of the Six Heavens of Desire. There, within a palace of jewels, Nanda saw a multitude of heavenly maidens celebrating some festival with music and dance; and the beauty of the least among them incomparably exceeded that of the fairest woman of earth. 'O Master,' cried Nanda, `what wonderful festival is this?' 'Ask some of those people,' responded Shaka. So Nanda questioned one of the celestial maidens; and she said to him:-- 'This festival is to celebrate the good tidings that have been brought to us. There is now in the human world, among the disciples of Shaka, a most excellent youth called Nanda, who is soon to be reborn into this heaven, and to become our bridegroom, because of his holy life. We wait for him with rejoicing.' This reply filled the heart of Nanda with delight. Then the Buddha asked him: 'Is there any one among these maidens, Nanda, equal in beauty to the woman with whom you have been in love?' 'Nay, Master!' answered Nanda; 'even as that woman surpassed in beauty the female ape that we saw on the mountain, so is she herself surpassed by even the least among these.' "Then the Buddha immediately descended with Nanda to the depths of the hells, and took him into a torture-chamber where myriads of men and women were being boiled alive in great caldrons, and otherwise horribly tormented by devils. Then Nanda found himself standing before a huge vessel which was filled with molten metal;--and he feared and wondered because this vessel had as yet no occupant. An idle devil sat beside it, yawning. 'Master,' Nanda inquired of the Buddha, 'for whom has this vessel been prepared?' 'Ask the devil,' answered Shaka. Nanda did so; and the devil said to him: 'There is a man called Nanda,--now one of Shaka's disciples,--about to be reborn into one of the heavens, on account of his former good actions. But after having there indulged himself, he is to be reborn in this hell; and his place will be in that pot. I am waiting for him.'" (2) (1) Sakyamuni. (2) I give the story substantially as it was told to me; but I have not been able to compare it with any published text. My friend says that he has seen two Chinese versions,--one in the Hongyo-kyo (?), the other in the Zoichi-agon-kyo (Ekottaragamas). In Mr. Henry Clarke Warren's Buddhism in Translations (the most interesting and valuable single volume of its kind that I have ever seen), there is a Pali version of the legend, which differs considerably from the above.--This Nanda, according to Mr. Warren's work, was a prince, and the younger half-brother of Sakyamuni. A Passional Karma One of the never-failing attractions of the Tokyo stage is the performance, by the famous Kikugoro and his company, of the Botan-Doro, or "Peony-Lantern." This weird play, of which the scenes are laid in the middle of the last century, is the dramatization of a romance by the novelist Encho, written in colloquial Japanese, and purely Japanese in local color, though inspired by a Chinese tale. I went to see the play; and Kikugoro made me familiar with a new variety of the pleasure of fear. "Why not give English readers the ghostly part of the story?"-- asked a friend who guides me betimes through the mazes of Eastern philosophy. "It would serve to explain some popular ideas of the supernatural which Western people know very little about. And I could help you with the translation." I gladly accepted the suggestion; and we composed the following summary of the more extraordinary portion of Encho's romance. Here and there we found it necessary to condense the original narrative; and we tried to keep close to the text only in the conversational passages,--some of which happen to possess a particular quality of psychological interest. *** --This is the story of the Ghosts in the Romance of the Peony- Lantern:-- I There once lived in the district of Ushigome, in Yedo, a hatamoto (1) called Iijima Heizayemon, whose only daughter, Tsuyu, was beautiful as her name, which signifies "Morning Dew." Iijima took a second wife when his daughter was about sixteen; and, finding that O-Tsuyu could not be happy with her mother-in-law, he had a pretty villa built for the girl at Yanagijima, as a separate residence, and gave her an excellent maidservant, called O-Yone, to wait upon her. O-Tsuyu lived happily enough in her new home until one day when the family physician, Yamamoto Shijo, paid her a visit in company with a young samurai named Hagiwara Shinzaburo, who resided in the Nedzu quarter. Shinzaburo was an unusually handsome lad, and very gentle; and the two young people fell in love with each other at sight. Even before the brief visit was over, they contrived,--unheard by the old doctor,--to pledge themselves to each other for life. And, at parting, O-Tsuyu whispered to the youth,--"Remember! If you do not come to see me again, I shall certainly die!" Shinzaburo never forgot those words; and he was only too eager to see more of O-Tsuyu. But etiquette forbade him to make the visit alone: he was obliged to wait for some other chance to accompany the doctor, who had promised to take him to the villa a second time. Unfortunately the old man did not keep this promise. He had perceived the sudden affection of O-Tsuyu; and he feared that her father would hold him responsible for any serious results. Iijima Heizayemon had a reputation for cutting off heads. And the more Shijo thought about the possible consequences of his introduction of Shinzaburo at the Iijima villa, the more he became afraid. Therefore he purposely abstained from calling upon his young friend. Months passed; and O-Tsuyu, little imagining the true cause of Shinzaburo's neglect, believed that her love had been scorned. Then she pined away, and died. Soon afterwards, the faithful servant O-Yone also died, through grief at the loss of her mistress; and the two were buried side by side in the cemetery of Shin-Banzui-In,--a temple which still stands in the neighborhood of Dango-Zaka, where the famous chrysanthemum-shows are yearly held. (1) The hatamoto were samurai forming the special military force of the Shogun. The name literally signifies "Banner-Supporters." These were the highest class of samurai,--not only as the immediate vassals of the Shogun, but as a military aristocracy. II Shinzaburo knew nothing of what had happened; but his disappointment and his anxiety had resulted in a prolonged illness. He was slowly recovering, but still very weak, when he unexpectedly received another visit from Yamamoto Shijo. The old man made a number of plausible excuses for his apparent neglect. Shinzaburo said to him:--"I have been sick ever since the beginning of spring;--even now I cannot eat anything.... Was it not rather unkind of you never to call? I thought that we were to make another visit together to the house of the Lady Iijima; and I wanted to take to her some little present as a return for our kind reception. Of course I could not go by myself." Shijo gravely responded,--"I am very sorry to tell you that the young lady is dead!" "Dead!" repeated Shinzaburo, turning white,--"did you say that she is dead?" The doctor remained silent for a moment, as if collecting himself: then he resumed, in the quick light tone of a man resolved not to take trouble seriously:-- "My great mistake was in having introduced you to her; for it seems that she fell in love with you at once. I am afraid that you must have said something to encourage this affection--when you were in that little room together. At all events, I saw how she felt towards you; and then I became uneasy,--fearing that her father might come to hear of the matter, and lay the whole blame upon me. So--to be quite frank with you,--I decided that it would be better not to call upon you; and I purposely stayed away for a long time. But, only a few days ago, happening to visit Iijima's house, I heard, to my great surprise, that his daughter had died, and that her servant O-Yone had also died. Then, remembering all that had taken place, I knew that the young lady must have died of love for you.... [Laughing] Ah, you are really a sinful fellow! Yes, you are! [Laughing] Isn't it a sin to have been born so handsome that the girls die for love of you? (1) [Seriously] Well, we must leave the dead to the dead. It is no use to talk further about the matter;--all that you now can do for her is to repeat the Nembutsu (2).... Good-bye." And the old man retired hastily,--anxious to avoid further converse about the painful event for which he felt himself to have been unwittingly responsible. (1) Perhaps this conversation may seem strange to the Western reader; but it is true to life. The whole of the scene is characteristically Japanese. (2) The invocation Namu Amida Butsu! ("Hail to the Buddha Amitabha!"),--repeated, as a prayer, for the sake of the dead. III Shinzaburo long remained stupefied with grief by the news of O- Tsuyu's death. But as soon as he found himself again able to think clearly, he inscribed the dead girl's name upon a mortuary tablet, and placed the tablet in the Buddhist shrine of his house, and set offerings before it, and recited prayers. Every day thereafter he presented offerings, and repeated the Nembutsu; and the memory of O-Tsuyu was never absent from his thought. Nothing occurred to change the monotony of his solitude before the time of the Bon,--the great Festival of the Dead,--which begins upon the thirteenth day of the seventh month. Then he decorated his house, and prepared everything for the festival;-- hanging out the lanterns that guide the returning spirits, and setting the food of ghosts on the shoryodana, or Shelf of Souls. And on the first evening of the Ban, after sun-down, he kindled a small lamp before the tablet of O-Tsuyu, and lighted the lanterns. The night was clear, with a great moon,--and windless, and very warm. Shinzaburo sought the coolness of his veranda. Clad only in a light summer-robe, he sat there thinking, dreaming, sorrowing; --sometimes fanning himself; sometimes making a little smoke to drive the mosquitoes away. Everything was quiet. It was a lonesome neighborhood, and there were few passers-by. He could hear only the soft rushing of a neighboring stream, and the shrilling of night-insects. But all at once this stillness was broken by a sound of women's geta (1) approaching--kara-kon, kara-kon;--and the sound drew nearer and nearer, quickly, till it reached the live-hedge surrounding the garden. Then Shinzaburö, feeling curious, stood on tiptoe, so as to look Over the hedge; and he saw two women passing. One, who was carrying a beautiful lantern decorated with peony-flowers,(2) appeared to be a servant;--the other was a slender girl of about seventeen, wearing a long-sleeved robe embroidered with designs of autumn-blossoms. Almost at the same instant both women turned their faces toward Shinzaburo;--and to his utter astonishment, he recognized O-Tsuyu and her servant O- Yone. They stopped immediately; and the girl cried out,--"Oh, how strange!... Hagiwara Sama!" Shinzaburo simultaneously called to the maid:--"O-Yone! Ah, you are O-Yone!--I remember you very well." "Hagiwara Sama!" exclaimed O-Yone in a tone of supreme amazement. "Never could I have believed it possible!... Sir, we were told that you had died." "How extraordinary!" cried Shinzaburo. "Why, I was told that both of you were dead!" "Ah, what a hateful story!" returned O-Yone. "Why repeat such unlucky words?... Who told you?" "Please to come in," said Shinzaburo;--"here we can talk better. The garden-gate is open." So they entered, and exchanged greeting; and when Shinzaburo had made them comfortable, he said:-- "I trust that you will pardon my discourtesy in not having called upon you for so long a time. But Shijo, the doctor, about a month ago, told me that you had both died." "So it was he who told you?" exclaimed O-Yone. "It was very wicked of him to say such a thing. Well, it was also Shijo who told us that you were dead. I think that he wanted to deceive you,--which was not a difficult thing to do, because you are so confiding and trustful. Possibly my mistress betrayed her liking for you in some words which found their way to her father's ears; and, in that case, O-Kuni--the new wife--might have planned to make the doctor tell you that we were dead, so as to bring about a separation. Anyhow, when my mistress heard that you had died, she wanted to cut off her hair immediately, and to become a nun. But I was able to prevent her from cutting off her hair; and I persuaded her at last to become a nun only in her heart. Afterwards her father wished her to marry a certain young man; and she refused. Then there was a great deal of trouble,--chiefly caused by O-Kuni;--and we went away from the villa, and found a very small house in Yanaka-no-Sasaki. There we are now just barely able to live, by doing a little private work.... My mistress has been constantly repeating the Nembutsu for your sake. To-day, being the first day of the Bon, we went to visit the temples; and we were on our way home--thus late--when this strange meeting happened." "Oh, how extraordinary!" cried Shinzaburo. "Can it be true?-or is it only a dream? Here I, too, have been constantly reciting the Nembutsu before a tablet with her name upon it! Look!" And he showed them O-Tsuyu's tablet in its place upon the Shelf of Souls. "We are more than grateful for your kind remembrance," returned O-Yone, smiling.... "Now as for my mistress,"--she continued, turning towards O-Tsuyu, who had all the while remained demure and silent, half-hiding her face with her sleeve,--"as for my mistress, she actually says that she would not mind being disowned by her father for the time of seven existences,(3) or even being killed by him, for your sake! Come! will you not allow her to stay here to-night?" Shinzaburo turned pale for joy. He answered in a voice trembling with emotion:--"Please remain; but do not speak loud--because there is a troublesome fellow living close by,--a ninsomi (4) called Hakuodo Yusai, who tells peoples fortunes by looking at their faces. He is inclined to be curious; and it is better that he should not know." The two women remained that night in the house of the young samurai, and returned to their own home a little before daybreak. And after that night they came every nighht for seven nights,-- whether the weather were foul or fair,--always at the same hour. And Shinzaburo became more and more attached to the girl; and the twain were fettered, each to each, by that bond of illusion which is stronger than bands of iron. 1 Komageta in the original. The geta is a wooden sandal, or clog, of which there are many varieties,--some decidedly elegant. The komageta, or "pony-geta" is so-called because of the sonorous hoof-like echo which it makes on hard ground. 2 The sort of lantern here referred to is no longer made; and its shape can best be understood by a glance at the picture accompanying this story. It was totally unlike the modern domestic band-lantern, painted with the owner's crest; but it was not altogether unlike some forms of lanterns still manufactured for the Festival of the Dead, and called Bon-doro. The flowers ornamenting it were not painted: they were artificial flowers of crepe-silk, and were attached to the top of the lantern. 3 "For the time of seven existences,"--that is to say, for the time of seven successive lives. In Japanese drama and romance it is not uncommon to represent a father as disowning his child "for the time of seven lives." Such a disowning is called shichi-sho made no mando, a disinheritance for seven lives,--signifying that in six future lives after the present the erring son or daughter will continue to feel the parental displeasure. 4 The profession is not yet extinct. The ninsomi uses a kind of magnifying glass (or magnifying-mirror sometimes), called tengankyo or ninsomegane. IV Now there was a man called Tomozo, who lived in a small cottage adjoining Shinzaburo's residence, Tomozo and his wife O-Mine were both employed by Shinzaburo as servants. Both seemed to be devoted to their young master; and by his help they were able to live in comparative comfort. One night, at a very late hour, Tomozo heard the voice of a woman in his master's apartment; and this made him uneasy. He feared that Shinzaburo, being very gentle and affectionate, might be made the dupe of some cunning wanton,--in which event the domestics would be the first to suffer. He therefore resolved to watch; and on the following night he stole on tiptoe to Shinzaburo's dwelling, and looked through a chink in one of the sliding shutters. By the glow of a night-lantern within the sleeping-room, he was able to perceive that his master and a strange woman were talking together under the mosquito-net. At first he could not see the woman distinctly. Her back was turned to him;--he only observed that she was very slim, and that she appeared to be very young,--judging from the fashion of her dress and hair.(1) Putting his ear to the chink, he could hear the conversation plainly. The woman said:-- "And if I should be disowned by my father, would you then let me come and live with you?" Shinzaburo answered:-- "Most assuredly I would--nay, I should be glad of the chance. But there is no reason to fear that you will ever be disowned by your father; for you are his only daughter, and he loves you very much. What I do fear is that some day we shall be cruelly separated." She responded softly:-- "Never, never could I even think of accepting any other man for my husband. Even if our secret were to become known, and my father were to kill me for what I have done, still--after death itself--I could never cease to think of you. And I am now quite sure that you yourself would not be able to live very long without me."... Then clinging closely to him, with her lips at his neck, she caressed him; and he returned her caresses. Tomozo wondered as he listened,--because the language of the woman was not the language of a common woman, but the language of a lady of rank.(2) Then he determined at all hazards to get one glimpse of her face; and he crept round the house, backwards and forwards, peering through every crack and chink. And at last he was able to see;--but therewith an icy trembling seized him; and the hair of his head stood up. For the face was the face of a woman long dead,--and the fingers caressing were fingers of naked bone,--and of the body below the waist there was not anything: it melted off into thinnest trailing shadow. Where the eyes of the lover deluded saw youth and grace and beauty, there appeared to the eyes of the watcher horror only, and the emptiness of death. Simultaneously another woman's figure, and a weirder, rose up from within the chamber, and swiftly made toward the watcher, as if discerning his presence. Then, in uttermost terror, he fled to the dwelling of Hakuodo Yusai, and, knocking frantically at the doors, succeeded in arousing him. 1 The color and form of the dress, and the style of wearing the hair, are by Japanese custom regulated accord-big to the age of the woman. 2 The forms of speech used by the samurai, and other superior classes, differed considerably from those of the popular idiom; but these differences could not be effectively rendered into English. V Hakuodo Yusai, the ninsomi, was a very old man; but in his time he had travelled much, and he had heard and seen so many things that he could not be easily surprised. Yet the story of the terrified Tomozo both alarmed and amazed him. He had read in ancient Chinese books of love between the living and the dead; but he had never believed it possible. Now, however, he felt convinced that the statement of Tomozo was not a falsehood, and that something very strange was really going on in the house of Hagiwara. Should the truth prove to be what Tomozo imagined, then the young samurai was a doomed man. "If the woman be a ghost,"--said Yusai to the frightened servant, "--if the woman be a ghost, your master must die very soon,-- unless something extraordinary can be done to save him. And if the woman be a ghost, the signs of death will appear upon his face. For the spirit of the living is yoki, and pure;--the spirit of the dead is inki, and unclean: the one is Positive, the other Negative. He whose bride is a ghost cannot live. Even though in his blood there existed the force of a life of one hundred years, that force must quickly perish.... Still, I shall do all that I can to save Hagiwara Sama. And in the meantime, Tomozo, say nothing to any other person,--not even to your wife,--about this matter. At sunrise I shall call upon your master." When questioned next morning by Yusai, Shinzaburo at first attempted to deny that any women had been visiting the house; but finding this artless policy of no avail, and perceiving that the old man's purpose was altogether unselfish, he was finally persuaded to acknowledge what had really occurred, and to give his reasons for wishing to keep the matter a secret. As for the lady Iijima, he intended, he said, to make her his wife as soon as possible. "Oh, madness!" cried Yusai,--losing all patience in the intensity of his alarm. "Know, sir, that the people who have been coming here, night after night, are dead! Some frightful delusion is upon you!... Why, the simple fact that you long supposed O-Tsuyu to be dead, and repeated the Nembutsu for her, and made offerings before her tablet, is itself the proof!... The lips of the dead have touched you!--the hands of the dead have caressed you!... Even at this moment I see in your face the signs of death--and you will not believe!... Listen to me now, sir,--I beg of you,-- if you wish to save yourself: otherwise you have less than twenty days to live. They told you--those people--that they were residing in the district of Shitaya, in Yanaka-no-Sasaki. Did you ever visit them at that place? No!--of course you did not! Then go to-day,--as soon as you can,--to Yanaka-no-Sasaki, and try to find their home!..." And having uttered this counsel with the most vehement earnestness, Hakuodo Yusai abruptly took his departure. Shinzaburo, startled though not convinced, resolved after a moment's reflection to follow the advice of the ninsomi, and to go to Shitaya. It was yet early in the morning when he reached the quarter of Yanaka-no-Sasaki, and began his search for the dwelling of O-Tsuyu. He went through every street and side- street, read all the names inscribed at the various entrances, and made inquiries whenever an opportunity presented itself. But he could not find anything resembling the little house mentioned by O-Yone; and none of the people whom he questioned knew of any house in the quarter inhabited by two single women. Feeling at last certain that further research would be useless, he turned homeward by the shortest way, which happened to lead through the grounds of the temple Shin-Banzui-In. Suddenly his attention was attracted by two new tombs, placed side by side, at the rear of the temple. One was a common tomb, such as might have been erected for a person of humble rank: the other was a large and handsome monument; and hanging before it was a beautiful peony-lantern, which had probably been left there at the time of the Festival of the Dead. Shinzaburo remembered that the peony-lantern carried by O-Yone was exactly similar; and the coincidence impressed him as strange. He looked again at the tombs; but the tombs explained nothing. Neither bore any personal name,--only the Buddhist kaimyo, or posthumous appellation. Then he determined to seek information at the temple. An acolyte stated, in reply to his questions, that the large tomb had been recently erected for the daughter of Iijima Heizayemon, the hatamoto of Ushigome; and that the small tomb next to it was that of her servant O-Yone, who had died of grief soon after the young lady's funeral. Immediately to Shinzaburö's memory there recurred, with another and sinister meaning, the words of O-Yone:--"We went away, and found a very small house in Yanaka-no-Sasaki. There we are now just barely able to live--by doing a little private work...." Here was indeed the very small house,--and in Yanaka-no-Sasaki. But the little private work...? Terror-stricken, the samurai hastened with all speed to the house of Yusai, and begged for his counsel and assistance. But Yusai declared himself unable to be of any aid in such a case. All that he could do was to send Shinzaburo to the high-priest Ryoseki, of Shin-Banzui-In, with a letter praying for immediate religious help. VII The high-priest Ryoseki was a learned and a holy man. By spiritual vision he was able to know the secret of any sorrow, and the nature of the karma that had caused it. He heard unmoved the story of Shinzaburo, and said to him:-- "A very great danger now threatens you, because of an error committed in one of your former states of existence. The karma that binds you to the dead is very strong; but if I tried to explain its character, you would not be able to understand. I shall therefore tell you only this,--that the dead person has no desire to injure you out of hate, feels no enmity towards you: she is influenced, on the contrary, by the most passionate affection for you. Probably the girl has been in love with you from a time long preceding your present life,--from a time of not less than three or four past existences; and it would seem that, although necessarily changing her form and condition at each succeeding birth, she has not been able to cease from following after you. Therefore it will not be an easy thing to escape from her influence.... But now I am going to lend you this powerful mamoni.(1) It is a pure gold image of that Buddha called the Sea- Sounding Tathagata--Kai-On-Nyorai,--because his preaching of the Law sounds through the world like the sound of the sea. And this little image is especially a shiryo-yoke,(2)--which protects the living from the dead. This you must wear, in its covering, next to your body,--under the girdle.... Besides, I shall presently perform in the temple, a segaki-service(3) for the repose of the troubled spirit.... And here is a holy sutra, called Ubo-Darani- Kyo, or "Treasure-Raining Sutra"(4) you must be careful to recite it every night in your house--without fail.... Furthermore I shall give you this package of o-fuda(5);--you must paste one of them over every opening of your house,--no matter how small. If you do this, the power of the holy texts will prevent the dead from entering. But--whatever may happen--do not fail to recite the sutra." Shinzaburo humbly thanked the high-priest; and then, taking with him the image, the sutra, and the bundle of sacred texts, he made all haste to reach his home before the hour of sunset. 1 The Japanese word mamori has significations at least as numerous as those attaching to our own term "amulet." It would be impossible, in a mere footnote, even to suggest the variety of Japanese religious objects to which the name is given. In this instance, the mamori is a very small image, probably enclosed in a miniature shrine of lacquer-work or metal, over which a silk cover is drawn. Such little images were often worn by samurai on the person. I was recently shown a miniature figure of Kwannon, in an iron case, which had been carried by an officer through the Satsuma war. He observed, with good reason, that it had probably saved his life; for it had stopped a bullet of which the dent was plainly visible. 2 From shiryo, a ghost, and yokeru, to exclude. The Japanese have, two kinds of ghosts proper in their folk-lore: the spirits of the dead, shiryo; and the spirits of the living, ikiryo. A house or a person may be haunted by an ikiryo as well as by a shiryo. 3 A special service,--accompanying offerings of food, etc., to those dead having no living relatives or friends to care for them,--is thus termed. In this case, however, the service would be of a particular and exceptional kind. 4 The name would be more correctly written Ubo-Darani-Kyo. It is the Japanese pronunciation of the title of a very short sutra translated out of Sanscrit into Chinese by the Indian priest Amoghavajra, probably during the eighth century. The Chinese text contains transliterations of some mysterious Sanscrit words,-- apparently talismanic words,--like those to be seen in Kern's translation of the Saddharma-Pundarika, ch. xxvi. 5 O-fuda is the general name given to religious texts used as charms or talismans. They are sometimes stamped or burned upon wood, but more commonly written or printed upon narrow strips of paper. O-fuda are pasted above house-entrances, on the walls of rooms, upon tablets placed in household shrines, etc., etc. Some kinds are worn about the person;--others are made into pellets, and swallowed as spiritual medicine. The text of the larger o- fuda is often accompanied by curious pictures or symbolic illustrations. VIII With Yusai's advice and help, Shinzaburo was able before dark to fix the holy texts over all the apertures of his dwelling. Then the ninsomi returned to his own house,--leaving the youth alone. Night came, warm and clear. Shinzaburo made fast the doors, bound the precious amulet about his waist, entered his mosquito-net, and by the glow of a night-lantern began to recite the Ubo- Darani-Kyo. For a long time he chanted the words, comprehending little of their meaning;--then he tried to obtain some rest. But his mind was still too much disturbed by the strange events of the day. Midnight passed; and no sleep came to him. At last he heard the boom of the great temple-bell of Dentsu-In announcing the eighth hour.(1) It ceased; and Shinzaburo suddenly heard the sound of geta approaching from the old direction,--but this time more slowly: karan-koron, karan-koron! At once a cold sweat broke over his forehead. Opening the sutra hastily, with trembling hand, he began again to recite it aloud. The steps came nearer and nearer,--reached the live hedge,--stopped! Then, strange to say, Shinzaburo felt unable to remain under his mosquito-net: something stronger even than his fear impelled him to look; and, instead of continuing to recite the Ubo-Darani-Kyo, he foolishly approached the shutters, and through a chink peered out into the night. Before the house he saw O-Tsuyu standing, and O-Yone with the peony-lantern; and both of them were gazing at the Buddhist texts pasted above the entrance. Never before--not even in what time she lived--had O-Tsuyu appeared so beautiful; and Shinzaburo felt his heart drawn towards her with a power almost resistless. But the terror of death and the terror of the unknown restrained; and there went on within him such a struggle between his love and his fear that he became as one suffering in the body the pains of the Sho-netsu hell.(2) Presently he heard the voice of the maid-servant, saying:-- "My dear mistress, there is no way to enter. The heart of Hagiwara Sama must have changed. For the promise that he made last night has been broken; and the doors have been made fast to keep us out.... We cannot go in to-night.... It will be wiser for you to make up your mind not to think any more about him, because his feeling towards you has certainly changed. It is evident that he does not want to see you. So it will be better not to give yourself any more trouble for the sake of a man whose heart is so unkind." But the girl answered, weeping:-- "Oh, to think that this could happen after the pledges which we made to each other!... Often I was told that the heart of a man changes as quickly as the sky of autumn;--yet surely the heart of Hagiwara Sama cannot be so cruel that he should really intend to exclude me in this way!... Dear Yone, please find some means of taking me to him.... Unless you do, I will never, never go home again." Thus she continued to plead, veiling her face with her long sleeves,--and very beautiful she looked, and very touching; but the fear of death was strong upon her lover. O-Yone at last made answer,--"My dear young lady, why will you trouble your mind about a man who seems to be so cruel?... Well, let us see if there be no way to enter at the back of the house: come with me!" And taking O-Tsuyu by the hand, she led her away toward the rear of the dwelling; and there the two disappeared as suddenly as the light disappears when the flame of a lamp is blown out. 1 According to the old Japanese way of counting time, this yatsudoki or eighth hour was the same as our two o'clock in the morning. Each Japanese hour was equal to two European hours, so that there were only six hours instead of our twelve; and these six hours were counted backwards in the order,--9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4. Thus the ninth hour corresponded to our midday, or midnight; half-past nine to our one o'clock; eight to our two o'clock. Two o'clock in the morning, also called "the Hour of the Ox," was the Japanese hour of ghosts and goblins. 2 En-netsu or Sho-netsu (Sanscrit "Tapana") is the sixth of the Eight Hot Hells of Japanese Buddhism. One day of life in this hell is equal in duration to thousands (some say millions) of human years. IX Night after night the shadows came at the Hour of the Ox; and nightly Shinzaburo heard the weeping of O-Tsuyu. Yet he believed himself saved,--little imagining that his doom had already been decided by the character of his dependents. Tomozo had promised Yusai never to speak to any other person--not even to O-Mine--of the strange events that were taking place. But Tomozo was not long suffered by the haunters to rest in peace. Night after night O-Yone entered into his dwelling, and roused him from his sleep, and asked him to remove the o-fuda placed over one very small window at the back of his master's house. And Tomozo, out of fear, as often promised her to take away the o- fuda before the next sundown; but never by day could he make up his mind to remove it,--believing that evil was intended to Shinzaburo. At last, in a night of storm, O-Yone startled him from slumber with a cry of reproach, and stooped above his pillow, and said to him: "Have a care how you trifle with us! If, by to-morrow night, you do not take away that text, you shall learn how I can hate!" And she made her face so frightful as she spoke that Tomozo nearly died of terror. O-Mine, the wife of Tomozo, had never till then known of these visits: even to her husband they had seemed like bad dreams. But on this particular night it chanced that, waking suddenly, she heard the voice of a woman talking to Tomozo. Almost in the same moment the talk-ing ceased; and when O-Mine looked about her, she saw, by the light of the night-lamp, only her husband,-- shuddering and white with fear. The stranger was gone; the doors were fast: it seemed impossible that anybody could have entered. Nevertheless the jealousy of the wife had been aroused; and she began to chide and to question Tomozo in such a manner that he thought himself obliged to betray the secret, and to explain the terrible dilemma in which he had been placed. Then the passion of O-Mine yielded to wonder and alarm; but she was a subtle woman, and she devised immediately a plan to save her husband by the sacrifice of her master. And she gave Tomozo a cunning counsel,--telling him to make conditions with the dead. They came again on the following night at the Hour of the Ox; and O-Mine hid herself on hearing the sound of their coming,--karan- koron, karan-koron! But Tomozo went out to meet them in the dark, and even found courage to say to them what his wife had told him to say:-- "It is true that I deserve your blame;--but I had no wish to cause you anger. The reason that the o-fuda has not been taken away is that my wife and I are able to live only by the help of Hagiwara Sama, and that we cannot expose him to any danger without bringing misfortune upon ourselves. But if we could obtain the sum of a hundred ryo in gold, we should be able to please you, because we should then need no help from anybody. Therefore if you will give us a hundred ryo, I can take the o- fuda away without being afraid of losing our only means of support." When he had uttered these words, O-Yone and O-Tsuyu looked at each other in silence for a moment. Then O-Yoné said:-- "Mistress, I told you that it was not right to trouble this man, --as we have no just cause of ill will against him. But it is certainly useless to fret yourself about Hagiwara Sama, because his heart has changed towards you. Now once again, my dear young lady, let me beg you not to think any more about him!" But O-Tsuyu, weeping, made answer:-- "Dear Yone, whatever may happen, I cannot possibly keep myself from thinking about him! You know that you can get a hundred ryo to have the o-fuda taken off.... Only once more, I pray, dear Yone!--only once more bring me face to face with Hagiwara Sama, --I beseech you!" And hiding her face with her sleeve, she thus continued to plead. "Oh! why will you ask me to do these things?" responded O-Yone. "You know very well that I have no money. But since you will persist in this whim of yours, in spite of all that I can say, I suppose that I must try to find the money somehow, and to bring it here to-morrow night...." Then, turning to the faithless Tomozo, she said:--"Tomozo, I must tell you that Hagiwara Sama now wears upon his body a mamoni called by the name of Kai-On- Nyorai, and that so long as he wears it we cannot approach him. So you will have to get that mamori away from him, by some means or other, as well as to remove the o-fuda." Tomozo feebly made answer:-- "That also I can do, if you will promise to bring me the hundred ryo." "Well, mistress," said O-Yone, "you will wait,--will you not,-- until to-morrow night?" "Oh, dear Yone!" sobbed the other,--"have we to go back to-night again without seeing Hagiwara Sama? Ah! it is cruel!" And the shadow of the mistress, weeping, was led away by the shadow of the maid. x Another day went, and another night came, and the dead came with it. But this time no lamentation was heard without the house of Hagiwara; for the faithless servant found his reward at the Hour of the Ox, and removed the o-fuda. Moreover he had been able, while his master was at the bath, to steal from its case the golden mamori, and to substitute for it an image of copper; and he had buried the Kai-On-Nyorai in a desolate field. So the visitants found nothing to oppose their entering. Veiling their faces with their sleeves they rose and passed, like a streaming of vapor, into the little window from over which the holy text had been torn away. But what happened thereafter within the house Tomozo never knew. The sun was high before he ventured again to approach his master's dwelling, and to knock upon the sliding-doors. For the first time in years he obtained no response; and the silence made him afraid. Repeatedly he called, and received no answer. Then, aided by O-Mine, he succeeded in effecting an entrance and making his way alone to the sleeping-room, where he called again in vain. He rolled back the rumbling shutters to admit the light; but still within the house there was no stir. At last he dared to lift a corner of the mosquito-net. But no sooner had he looked beneath than he fled from the house, with a cry of horror. Shinzaburo was dead--hideously dead;--and his face was the face of a man who had died in the uttermost agony of fear;--and lying beside him in the bed were the bones of a woman! And the bones of the arms, and the bones of the hands, clung fast about his neck. Xl Hakuodo Yusai, the fortune-teller, went to view the corpse at the prayer of the faithless Tomozo. The old man was terrified and astonished at the spectacle, but looked about him with a keen eye. He soon perceived that the o-fuda had been taken from the little window at the back of the house; and on searching the body of Shinzaburo, he discovered that the golden mamori had been taken from its wrapping, and a copper image of Fudo put in place of it. He suspected Tomozo of the theft; but the whole occurrence was so very extraordinary that he thought it prudent to consult with the priest Ryoseki before taking further action. Therefore, after having made a careful examination of the premises, he betook himself to the temple Shin-Banzui-In, as quickly as his aged limbs could bear him. Ryoseki, without waiting to hear the purpose of the old man's visit, at once invited him into a private apartment. "You know that you are always welcome here," said Ryoseki. "Please seat yourself at ease.... Well, I am sorry to tell you that Hagiwara Sama is dead." Yusai wonderingly exclaimed:--"Yes, he is dead;--but how did you learn of it?" The priest responded:-- "Hagiwara Sama was suffering from the results of an evil karma; and his attendant was a bad man. What happened to Hagiwara Sama was unavoidable;--his destiny had been determined from a time long before his last birth. It will be better for you not to let your mind be troubled by this event." Yusai said:-- "I have heard that a priest of pure life may gain power to see into the future for a hundred years; but truly this is the first time in my existence that I have had proof of such power.... Still, there is another matter about which I am very anxious...." "You mean," interrupted Ryoseki, "the stealing of the holy mamori, the Kai-On-Nyorai. But you must not give yourself any concern about that. The image has been buried in a field; and it will be found there and returned to me during the eighth month of the coming year. So please do not be anxious about it." More and more amazed, the old ninsomi ventured to observe:-- "I have studied the In-Yo,(1) and the science of divination; and I make my living by telling peoples' fortunes;--but I cannot possibly understand how you know these things." Ryoseki answered gravely:-- "Never mind how I happen to know them.... I now want to speak to you about Hagiwara's funeral. The House of Hagiwara has its own family-cemetery, of course; but to bury him there would not be proper. He must be buried beside O-Tsuyu, the Lady Iijima; for his karma-relation to her was a very deep one. And it is but right that you should erect a tomb for him at your own cost, because you have been indebted to him for many favors." Thus it came to pass that Shinzaburo was buried beside O-Tsuyu, in the cemetery of Shin-Banzui-In, in Yanaka-no-Sasaki. --Here ends the story of the Ghosts in the Romance of the Peony- Lantern.-- 1 The Male and Female principles of the universe, the Active and Passive forces of Nature. Yusai refers here to the old Chinese nature-philosophy,--better known to Western readers by the name FENG-SHUI. *** My friend asked me whether the story had interested me; and I answered by telling him that I wanted to go to the cemetery of Shin-Banzui-In,--so as to realize more definitely the local color of the author's studies. "I shall go with you at once," he said. "But what did you think of the personages?" "To Western thinking," I made answer, "Shinzaburo is a despicable creature. I have been mentally comparing him with the true lovers of our old ballad-literature. They were only too glad to follow a dead sweetheart into the grave; and nevertheless, being Christians, they believed that they had only one human life to enjoy in this world. But Shinzaburo was a Buddhist,--with a million lives behind him and a million lives before him; and he was too selfish to give up even one miserable existence for the sake of the girl that came back to him from the dead. Then he was even more cowardly than selfish. Although a samurai by birth and training, he had to beg a priest to save him from ghosts. In every way he proved himself contemptible; and O-Tsuyu did quite right in choking him to death." "From the Japanese point of view, likewise," my friend responded, "Shinzaburo is rather contemptible. But the use of this weak character helped the author to develop incidents that could not otherwise, perhaps, have been so effectively managed. To my thinking, the only attractive character in the story is that of O-Yone: type of the old-time loyal and loving servant,-- intelligent, shrewd, full of resource,--faithful not only unto death, but beyond death.... Well, let us go to Shin-Banzui-In." We found the temple uninteresting, and the cemetery an abomination of desolation. Spaces once occupied by graves had been turned into potato-patches. Between were tombs leaning at all angles out of the perpendicular, tablets made illegible by scurf, empty pedestals, shattered water-tanks, and statues of Buddhas without heads or hands. Recent rains had soaked the black soil,--leaving here and there small pools of slime about which swarms of tiny frogs were hopping. Everything--excepting the potato-patches--seemed to have been neglected for years. In a shed just within the gate, we observed a woman cooking; and my companion presumed to ask her if she knew anything about the tombs described in the Romance of the Peony-Lantern. "Ah! the tombs of O-Tsuyu and O-Yone?" she responded, smiling;--" you will find them near the end of the first row at the back of the temple--next to the statue of Jizo." Surprises of this kind I had met with elsewhere in Japan. We picked our way between the rain-pools and between the green ridges of young potatoes,--whose roots were doubtless feeding on the sub-stance of many another O-Tsuyu and O-Yone;--and we reached at last two lichen-eaten tombs of which the inscriptions seemed almost obliterated. Beside the larger tomb was a statue of Jizo, with a broken nose. "The characters are not easy to make out," said my friend--"but wait!".... He drew from his sleeve a sheet of soft white paper, laid it over the inscription, and began to rub the paper with a lump of clay. As he did so, the characters appeared in white on the blackened surface. "Eleventh day, third month--Rat, Elder Brother, Fire--Sixth year of Horeki [A. D. 1756].'... This would seem to be the grave of some innkeeper of Nedzu, named Kichibei. Let us see what is on the other monument." With a fresh sheet of paper he presently brought out the text of a kaimyo, and read,-- "En-myo-In, Ho-yo-I-tei-ken-shi, Ho-ni':--'Nun-of-the-Law, Illustrious, Pure-of-heart-and-will, Famed-in-the-Law,-- inhabiting the Mansion-of-the-Preaching-of-Wonder.'.... The grave of some Buddhist nun." "What utter humbug!" I exclaimed. "That woman was only making fun of us." "Now," my friend protested, "you are unjust to the, woman! You came here because you wanted a sensation; and she tried her very best to please you. You did not suppose that ghost-story was true, did you?" Footprints of the Buddha I I was recently surprised to find, in Anderson's catalogue of Japanese and Chinese paintings in the British Museum, this remarkable statement:--"It is to be noted that in Japan the figure of the Buddha is never represented by the feet, or pedestal alone, as in the Amravati remains, and many other Indian art-relics." As a matter of fact the representation is not even rare in Japan. It is to be found not only upon stone monuments, but also in religious paintings,--especially certain kakemono suspended in temples. These kakemono usually display the footprints upon a very large scale, with a multitude of mystical symbols and characters. The sculptures may be less common; but in Tokyo alone there are a number of Butsu-soku-seki, or "Buddha- foot stones," which I have seen,--and probably several which I have not seen. There is one at the temple of Eko-In, near Ryogoku-bashi; one at the temple of Denbo-In, in Koishikawa; one at the temple of Denbo-In, in Asakusa; and a beautiful example at Zojoji in Shiba. These are not cut out of a single block, but are composed of fragments cemented into the irregular traditional shape, and capped with a heavy slab of Nebukawa granite, on the polished surface of which the design is engraved in lines about one-tenth of an inch in depth. I should judge the average height of these pedestals to be about two feet four inches, and their greatest diameter about three feet. Around the footprints there are carved (in most of the examples) twelve little bunches of leaves and buds of the Bodai-ju ("Bodhidruma"), or Bodhi-tree of Buddhist legend. In all cases the footprint design is about the same; but the monuments are different in quality and finish. That of Zojoji,--with figures of divinities cut in low relief on its sides,--is the most ornate and costly of the four. The specimen at Eko-In is very poor and plain. The first Butsu-soku-seki made in Japan was that erected at Todaiji, in Nara. It was designed after a similar monument in China, said to be the faithful copy of an Indian original. Concerning this Indian original, the following tradition is given in an old Buddhist book(1):--"In a temple of the province of Makada [Maghada] there is a great stone. The Buddha once trod upon this stone; and the prints of the soles of his feet remain upon its surface. The length of the impressions is one foot and eight inches,(2) and the width of them a little more than six inches. On the sole-part of each footprint there is the impression of a wheel; and upon each of the prints of the ten toes there is a flower-like design, which sometimes radiates light. When the Buddha felt that the time of his Nirvana was approaching, he went to Kushina [Kusinara], and there stood upon that stone. He stood with his face to the south. Then he said to his disciple Anan [Ananda]: 'In this place I leave the impression of my feet, to remain for a last token. Although a king of this country will try to destroy the impression, it can never be entirely destroyed.' And indeed it has not been destroyed unto this day. Once a king who hated Buddhism caused the top of the stone to be pared off, so as to remove the impression; but after the surface had been removed, the footprints reappeared upon the stone." Concerning the virtue of the representation of the footprints of the Buddha, there is sometimes quoted a text from the Kwan-butsu- sanmai-kyo ["Buddha-dhyana-samadhi-sagara-sutra"], thus translated for me:--"In that time Shaka ["Sakyamuni"] lifted up his foot.... When the Buddha lifted up his foot all could perceive upon the sole of it the appearance of a wheel of a thousand spokes.... And Shaka said: 'Whosoever beholds the sign upon the sole of my foot shall be purified from all his faults. Even he who beholds the sign after my death shall be delivered from all the evil results of all his errors." Various other texts of Japanese Buddhism affirm that whoever looks upon the footprints of the Buddha "shall be freed from the bonds of error, and conducted upon the Way of Enlightenment." An outline of the footprints as engraved on one of the Japanese pedestals(3) should have some interest even for persons familiar with Indian sculptures of the S'ripada. The double-page drawing, accompanying this paper [Fig.1], and showing both footprints, has been made after the tracing at Dentsu-In, where the footprints have the full legendary dimension, It will be observed that there are only seven emblems: these are called in Japan the Shichi-So, or "Seven Appearances." I got some information about them from the Sho-Eko-Ho-Kwan,--a book used by the Jodo sect. This book also contains rough woodcuts of the footprints; and one of them I reproduce here for the purpose of calling attention to the curious form of the emblems upon the toes. They are said to be modifications of the manji, or svastika, but I doubt it. In the Butsu-soku-seki-tracings, the corresponding figures suggest the "flower-like design" mentioned in the tradition of the Maghada stone; while the symbols in the book-print suggest fire. Indeed their outline so much resembles the conventional flamelet-design of Buddhist decoration, that I cannot help thinking them originally intended to indicate the traditional luminosity of the footprints. Moreover, there is a text in the book called Ho-Kai- Shidai that lends support to this supposition:--"The sole of the foot of the Buddha is flat,--like the base of a toilet-stand.... Upon it are lines forming the appearance of a wheel of a thousand spokes.... The toes are slender, round, long, straight, graceful, and somewhat luminous." [Fig. 3] The explanation of the Seven Appearances which is given by the Sho-Eko-Ho-Kwan cannot be called satisfactory; but it is not without interest in relation to Japanese popular Buddhism. The emblems are considered in the following order:-- I.--The Svastika. The figure upon each toe is said to be a modification of the manji (4); and although I doubt whether this is always the case, I have observed that on some of the large kakemono representing the footprints, the emblem really is the svastika,--not a flamelet nor a flower-shape.(5) The Japanese commentator explains the svastika as a symbol of "everlasting bliss." II.--The Fish (Gyo). The fish signifies freedom from all restraints. As in the water a fish moves easily in any direction, so in the Buddha-state the fully-emancipated knows no restraints or obstructions. III.--The Diamond-Mace (Jap. Kongo-sho;--Sansc. "Vadjra"). Explained as signifying the divine force that "strikes and breaks all the lusts (bonno) of the world." IV.--The Conch-Shell (Jap. "Hora ") or Trumpet. Emblem of the preaching of the Law. The book Shin-zoku-butsu-ji-hen calls it the symbol of the voice of the Buddha. The Dai-hi-kyo calls it the token of the preaching and of the power of the Mahayana doctrine. The Dai-Nichi-Kyo says:--" At the sound of the blowing of the shell, all the heavenly deities are filled with delight, and come to hear the Law." V.--The Flower-Vase (Jap. "Hanagame"). Emblem of muro,--a mystical word which might be literally rendered as "not- leaking,"--signifying that condition of supreme intelligence triumphant over birth and death. VI.--The Wheel-of-a-Thousand-Spokes (Sansc. "Tchakra "). This emblem, called in Japanese Senfuku-rin-so, is curiously explained by various quotations. The Hokke-Monku says:--"The effect of a wheel is to crush something; and the effect of the Buddha's preaching is to crush all delusions, errors, doubts, and superstitions. Therefore preaching the doctrine is called, 'turning the Wheel.'"... The Sei-Ri-Ron says: "Even as the common wheel has its spokes and its hub, so in Buddhism there are many branches of the Hasshi Shodo ('Eight-fold Path,' or eight rules of conduct)." VII.--The Crown of Brahma. Under the heel of the Buddha is the Treasure-Crown (Ho-Kwan) of Brahma (Bon-Ten-O),--in symbol of the Buddha's supremacy above the gods. But I think that the inscriptions upon any of these Butsu-soku- seki will be found of more significance than the above imperfect attempts at an explanation of the emblems. The inscriptions upon the monument at Dentsu-In are typical. On different sides of the structure,--near the top, and placed by rule so as to face certain points of the compass,--there are engraved five Sanscrit characters which are symbols of the Five Elemental Buddhas, together with scriptural and commemorative texts. These latter have been translated for me as follows:-- The HO-KO-HON-NYO-KYO says:--"In that time, from beneath his feet, the Buddha radiated a light having the appearance of a wheel of a thousand spokes. And all who saw that radiance became strictly upright, and obtained the Supreme Enlightenment." The KWAN-BUTSU-SANMAI-KYO says:--"Whosoever looks upon the footprints of the Buddha shall be freed from the results even of innumerable thousands of imperfections." The BUTSU-SETSU-MU-RYO-JU-KYO says:--"In the land that the Buddha treads in journeying, there is not even one person in all the multitude of the villages who is not benefited. Then throughout the world there is peace and good will. The sun and the moon shine clear and bright. Wind and rain come only at a suitable time. Calamity and pestilence cease. The country prospers; the people are free from care. Weapons become useless. All men reverence religion, and regulate their conduct in all matters with earnestness and modesty." [Commemorative Text.] --The Fifth Month of the Eighteenth Year of Meiji, all the priests of this temple made and set up this pedestal-stone, bearing the likeness of the footprints of the Buddha, and placed the same within the main court of Dentsu-In, in order that the seed of holy enlightenment might be sown for future time, and for the sake of the advancement of Buddhism. TAIJO, priest,--being the sixty-sixth chief-priest by succession of this temple,--has respectfully composed. JUNYU, the minor priest, has reverentially inscribed. 1 The Chinese title is pronounced by Japanese as Sei-iki-ki. "Sei-iki"(the Country of the West) was the old Japanese name for India; and thus the title might be rendered, "The Book about India." I suppose this is the work known to Western scholars as Si-yu-ki. 2 "One shaku and eight sun." But the Japanese foot and inch are considerably longer than the English. 3 A monument at Nara exhibits the S'ripada in a form differing considerably from the design upon the Tokyo pedestals. 4 Lit.: "The thousand-character" sign. 5 On some monuments and drawings there is a sort of disk made by a single line in spiral, on each toe,--together with the image of a small wheel. II Strange facts crowd into memory as one contemplates those graven footprints,--footprints giant-seeming, yet less so than the human personality of which they remain the symbol. Twenty-four hundred years ago, out of solitary meditation upon the pain and the mystery of being, the mind of an Indian pilgrim brought forth the highest truth ever taught to men, and in an era barren of science anticipated the uttermost knowledge of our present evolutional philosophy regarding the secret unity of life, the endless illusions of matter and of mind, and the birth and death of universes. He, by pure reason,--and he alone before our time,-- found answers of worth to the questions of the Whence, the Whither, and the Why;--and he made with these answers another and a nobler faith than the creed of his fathers. He spoke, and returned to his dust; and the people worshipped the prints of his dead feet, because of the love that he had taught them. Thereafter waxed and waned the name of Alexander, and the power of Rome and the might of Islam;--nations arose and vanished;-- cities grew and were not;--the children of another civilization, vaster than Romes, begirdled the earth with conquest, and founded far-off empires, and came at last to rule in the land of that pilgrim's birth. And these, rich in the wisdom of four and twenty centuries, wondered at the beauty of his message, and caused all that he had said and done to be written down anew in languages unborn at the time when he lived and taught. Still burn his foot- prints in the East; and still the great West, marvelling, follows their gleam to seek the Supreme Enlightenment. Even thus, of old, Milinda the king followed the way to the house of Nagasena,--at first only to question, after the subtle method of the Greeks; yet, later, to accept with noble reverence the nobler method of the Master. Ululation SHE is lean as a wolf, and very old,--the white bitch that guards my gate at night. She played with most of the young men and women of the neighborhood when they were boys and girls. I found her in charge of my present dwelling on the day that I came to occupy it. She had guarded the place, I was told, for a long succession of prior tenants--apparently with no better reason than that she had been born in the woodshed at the back of the house. Whether well or ill treated she had served all occupants faultlessly as a watch. The question of food as wages had never seriously troubled her, because most of the families of the street daily contributed to her support. She is gentle and silent,--silent at least by day; and in spite of her gaunt ugliness, her pointed ears, and her somewhat unpleasant eyes, everybody is fond of her. Children ride on her back, and tease her at will; but although she has been known to make strange men feel uncomfortable, she never growls at a child. The reward of her patient good-nature is the friendship of the community. When the dog-killers come on their bi-annual round, the neighbors look after her interests. Once she was on the very point of being officially executed when the wife of the smith ran to the rescue, and pleaded successfully with the policeman superintending the massacres. "Put somebody's name on the dog," said the latter: "then it will be safe. Whose dog is it?" That question proved hard to answer. The dog was everybody's and nobody's--welcome everywhere but owned nowhere. "But where does it stay?" asked the puzzled constable. "It stays," said the smith's wife, "in the house of the foreigner." "Then let the foreigner's name be put upon the dog," suggested the policeman. Accordingly I had my name painted on her back in big Japanese characters. But the neighbors did not think that she was sufficiently safeguarded by a single name. So the priest of Kobudera painted the name of the temple on her left side, in beautiful Chinese text; and the smith put the name of his shop on her right side; and the vegetable-seller put on her breast the ideographs for "eight-hundred,"--which represent the customary abbreviation of the word yaoya (vegetable-seller),--any yaoya being supposed to sell eight hundred or more different things. Consequently she is now a very curious-looking dog; but she is well protected by all that calligraphy. I have only one fault to find with her: she howls at night. Howling is one of the few pathetic pleasures of her existence. At first I tried to frighten her out of the habit; but finding that she refused to take me seriously, I concluded to let her howl. It would have been monstrous to beat her. Yet I detest her howl. It always gives me a feeling of vague disquiet, like the uneasiness that precedes the horror of nightmare. It makes me afraid,--indefinably, superstitiously afraid. Perhaps what I am writing will seem to you absurd; but you would not think it absurd if you once heard her howl. She does not howl like the common street-dogs. She belongs to some ruder Northern breed, much more wolfish, and retaining wild traits of a very peculiar kind. And her howl is also peculiar. It is incomparably weirder than the howl of any European dog; and I fancy that it is incomparably older. It may represent the original primitive cry of her species,--totally unmodified by centuries of domestication. It begins with a stifled moan, like the moan of a bad dream,-- mounts into a long, long wail, like a wailing of wind,--sinks quavering into a chuckle,--rises again to a wail, very much higher and wilder than before,--breaks suddenly into a kind of atrocious laughter,--and finally sobs itself out in a plaint like the crying of a little child. The ghastliness of the performance is chiefly--though not entirely--in the goblin mockery of the laughing tones as contrasted with the piteous agony of the wailing ones: an incongruity that makes you think of madness. And I imagine a corresponding incongruity in the soul of the creature. I know that she loves me,--that she would throw away her poor life for me at an instant's notice. I am sure that she would grieve if I were to die. But she would not think about the matter like other dogs,--like a dog with hanging ears, for ex- ample. She is too savagely close to Nature for that. Were she to find herself alone with my corpse in some desolate place, she would first mourn wildly for her friend; but, this duty per- formed, she would proceed to ease her sorrow in the simplest way possible,--by eating him,--by cracking his bones between those long wolf's-teeth of hers. And thereafter, with spotless conscience, she would sit down and utter to the moon the funeral cry of her ancestors. It fills me, that cry, with a strange curiosity not less than with a strange horror,--because of certain extraordinary vowellings in it which always recur in the same order of sequence, and must represent particular forms of animal speech,-- particular ideas. The whole thing is a song,--a song of emotions and thoughts not human, and therefore humanly unimaginable. But other dogs know what it means, and make answer over the miles of the night,--sometimes from so far away that only by straining my hearing to the uttermost can I detect the faint response. The words--(if I may call them words)--are very few; yet, to judge by their emotional effect, they must signify a great deal. Possibly they mean things myriads of years old,--things relating to odors, to exhalations, to influences and effluences inapprehensible by duller human sense,--impulses also, impulses without name, bestirred in ghosts of dogs by the light of great moons. Could we know the sensations of a dog,--the emotions and the ideas of a dog, we might discover some strange correspondence between their character and the character of that peculiar disquiet which the howl of the creature evokes. But since the senses of a dog are totally unlike those of a man, we shall never really know. And we can only surmise, in the vaguest way, the meaning of the uneasiness in ourselves. Some notes in the long cry,--and the weirdest of them,--oddly resemble those tones of the human voice that tell of agony and terror. Again, we have reason to believe that the sound of the cry itself became associated in human imagination, at some period enormously remote, with particular impressions of fear. It is a remarkable fact that in almost all countries (including Japan) the howling of dogs has been attributed to their perception of things viewless to man, and awful,--especially gods and ghosts;--and this unanimity of superstitious belief suggests that one element of the disquiet inspired by the cry is the dread of the supernatural. To-day we have ceased to be consciously afraid of the unseen;--knowing that we ourselves are supernatural,--that even the physical man, with all his life of sense, is more ghostly than any ghost of old imagining: but some dim inheritance of the primitive fear still slumbers in our being, and wakens perhaps, like an echo, to the sound of that wail in the night. Whatever thing invisible to human eyes the senses of a dog may at times perceive, it can be nothing resembling our idea of a ghost. Most probably the mysterious cause of start and whine is not anything _seen_. There is no anatomical reason for supposing a dog to possess exceptional powers of vision. But a dog's organs of scent proclaim a faculty immeasurably superior to the sense of smell in man. The old universal belief in the superhuman perceptivities of the creature was a belief justified by fact; but the perceptivities are not visual. Were the howl of a dog really--as once supposed--an outcry of ghostly terror, the meaning might possibly be, "I smell Them!"-- but not, "I see Them!" No evidence exists to support the fancy that a dog can see any forms of being which a man cannot see. But the night-howl of the white creature in my close forces me to wonder whether she does not _mentally_ see something really terrible,--something which we vainly try to keep out of moral consciousness: the ghoulish law of life. Nay, there are times when her cry seems to me not the mere cry of a dog, but the voice of the law itself,--the very speech of that Nature so inexplicably called by poets the loving, the merciful, the divine! Divine, perhaps, in some unknowable ultimate way,--but certainly not merciful, and still more certainly not loving. Only by eating each other do beings exist! Beautiful to the poet's vision our world may seem,--with its loves, its hopes, its memories, its aspirations; but there is nothing beautiful in the fact that life is fed by continual murder,--that the tenderest affection, the noblest enthusiasm, the purest idealism, must be nourished by the eating of flesh and the drinking of blood. All life, to sustain itself, must devour life. You may imagine yourself divine if you please,--but you have to obey that law. Be, if you will, a vegetarian: none the less you must eat forms that have feeling and desire. Sterilize your food; and digestion stops. You cannot even drink without swallowing life. Loathe the name as we may, we are cannibals;--all being essentially is One; and whether we eat the flesh of a plant, a fish, a reptile, a bird, a mammal, or a man, the ultimate fact is the same. And for all life the end is the same: every creature, whether buried or burnt, is devoured,--and not only once or twice,--nor a hundred, nor a thousand, nor a myriad times! Consider the ground upon which we move, the soil out of which we came;--think of the vanished billions that have risen from it and crumbled back into its latency to feed what becomes our food! Perpetually we eat the dust of our race,--_the substance of our ancient selves_. But even so-called inanimate matter is self-devouring. Substance preys upon substance. As in the droplet monad swallows monad, so in the vast of Space do spheres consume each other. Stars give being to worlds and devour them; planets assimilate their own moons. All is a ravening that never ends but to recommence. And unto whomsoever thinks about these matters, the story of a divine universe, made and ruled by paternal love, sounds less persuasive than the Polynesian tale that the souls of the dead are devoured by the gods. Monstrous the law seems, because we have developed ideas and sentiments which are opposed to this demoniac Nature,--much as voluntary movement is opposed to the blind power of gravitation. But the possession of such ideas and sentiments does but aggravate the atrocity of our situation, without lessening in the least the gloom of the final problem. Anyhow the faith of the Far East meets that problem better than the faith of the West. To the Buddhist the Cosmos is not divine at all--quite the reverse. It is Karma;--it is the creation of thoughts and acts of error;--it is not governed by any providence;--it is a ghastliness, a nightmare. Likewise it is an illusion. It seems real only for the same reason that the shapes and the pains of an evil dream seem real to the dreamer. Our life upon earth is a state of sleep. Yet we do not sleep utterly. There are gleams in our darkness,--faint auroral wakenings of Love and Pity and Sympathy and Magnanimity: these are selfless and true;--these are eternal and divine;--these are the Four Infinite Feelings in whose after-glow all forms and illusions will vanish, like mists in the light of the sun. But, except in so far as we wake to these feelings, we are dreamers indeed,-- moaning unaided in darkness,--tortured by shadowy horror. All of us dream; none are fully awake; and many, who pass for the wise of the world, know even less of the truth than my dog that howls in the night. Could she speak, my dog, I think that she might ask questions which no philosopher would be able to answer. For I believe that she is tormented by the pain of existence. Of course I do not mean that the riddle presents itself to her as it does to us,-- nor that she can have reached any abstract conclusions by any mental processes like our own. The external world to her is "a continuum of smells." She thinks, compares, remembers, reasons by smells. By smell she makes her estimates of character: all her judgments are founded upon smells. Smelling thousands of things which we cannot smell at all, she must comprehend them in a way of which we can form no idea. Whatever she knows has been learned through mental operations of an utterly unimaginable kind. But we may be tolerably sure that she thinks about most things in some odor-relation to the experience of eating or to the intuitive dread of being eaten. Certainly she knows a great deal more about the earth on which we tread than would be good for us to know; and probably, if capable of speech, she could tell us the strangest stories of air and water. Gifted, or afflicted, as she is with such terribly penetrant power of sense, her notion of apparent realities must be worse than sepulchral. Small wonder if she howl at the moon that shines upon such a world! And yet she is more awake, in the Buddhist meaning, than many of us. She possesses a rude moral code--inculcating loyalty, submission, gentleness, gratitude, and maternal love; together with various minor rules of conduct;--and this simple code she has always observed. By priests her state is termed a state of darkness of mind, because she cannot learn all that men should learn; but according to her light she has done well enough to merit some better condition in her next rebirth. So think the people who know her. When she dies they will give her an humble funeral, and have a sutra recited on behalf of her spirit. The priest will let a grave be made for her somewhere in the temple- garden, and will place over it a little sotoba bearing the text,--Nyo-ze chikusho hotsu Bodai-shin (1): "Even within such as this animal, the Knowledge Supreme will unfold at last." 1 Lit., "the Bodhi-mind;"--that is to say, the Supreme Enlightenment, the intelligence of Buddhahood itself. Bits of Poetry I Among a people with whom poetry has been for centuries a universal fashion of emotional utterance, we should naturally suppose the common ideal of life to be a noble one. However poorly the upper classes of such a people might compare with those of other nations, we could scarcely doubt that its lower classes were morally and otherwise in advance of our own lower classes. And the Japanese actually present us with such a social phenomenon. Poetry in Japan is universal as the air. It is felt by everybody. It is read by everybody. It is composed by almost everybody,-- irrespective of class and condition. Nor is it thus ubiquitous in the mental atmosphere only: it is everywhere to be heard by the ear, and _seen by the eye_! As for audible poetry, wherever there is working there is singing. The toil of the fields and the labor of the streets are performed to the rhythm of chanted verse; and song would seem to be an expression of the life of the people in about the same sense that it is an expression of the life of cicadae.... As for visible poetry, it appears everywhere, written or graven,--in Chinese or in Japanese characters,--as a form of decoration. In thousands and thousands of dwellings, you might observe that the sliding- screens, separating rooms or closing alcoves, have Chinese or Japanese decorative texts upon them;--and these texts are poems. In houses of the better class there are usually a number of gaku, or suspended tablets to be seen,--each bearing, for all design, a beautifully written verse. But poems can be found upon almost any kind of domestic utensil,--for example upon braziers, iron kettles, vases, wooden trays, lacquer ware, porcelains, chopsticks of the finer sort,--even toothpicks! Poems are painted upon shop-signs, panels, screens, and fans. Poems are printed upon towels, draperies, curtains, kerchiefs, silk- linings, and women's crepe-silk underwear. Poems are stamped or worked upon letter-paper, envelopes, purses, mirror-cases, travelling-bags. Poems are inlaid upon enamelled ware, cut upon bronzes, graven upon metal pipes, embroidered upon tobacco- pouches. It were a hopeless effort to enumerate a tithe of the articles decorated with poetical texts. Probably my readers know of those social gatherings at which it is the custom to compose verses, and to suspend the compositions to blossoming frees,-- also of the Tanabata festival in honor of certain astral gods, when poems inscribed on strips of colored paper, and attached to thin bamboos, are to be seen even by the roadside,--all fluttering in the wind like so many tiny flags.... Perhaps you might find your way to some Japanese hamlet in which there are neither trees nor flowers, but never to any hamlet in which there is no visible poetry. You might wander,--as I have done,--into a settlement so poor that you could not obtain there, for love or money, even a cup of real tea; but I do not believe that you could discover a settlement in which there is nobody capable of making a poem. II Recently while looking over a manuscript-collection of verses,-- mostly short poems of an emotional or descriptive character,--it occurred to me that a selection from them might serve to illustrate certain Japanese qualities of sentiment, as well as some little-known Japanese theories of artistic expression,--and I ventured forthwith, upon this essay. The poems, which had been collected for me by different persons at many different times and places, were chiefly of the kind written on particular occasions, and cast into forms more serried, if not also actually briefer, than anything in Western prosody. Probably few Of my readers are aware of two curious facts relating to this order of composition. Both facts are exemplified in the history and in the texts of my collection,--though I cannot hope, in my renderings, to reproduce the original effect, whether of imagery or of feeling. The first curious fact is that, from very ancient times, the writing of short poems has been practised in Japan even more as a moral duty than as a mere literary art. The old ethical teaching was somewhat like this:--"Are you very angry?--do not say anything unkind, but compose a poem. Is your best-beloved dead?-- do not yield to useless grief, but try to calm your mind by making a poem. Are you troubled because you are about to die, leaving so many things unfinished?--be brave, and write a poem on death! Whatever injustice or misfortune disturbs you, put aside your resentment or your sorrow as soon as possible, and write a few lines of sober and elegant verse for a moral exercise." Accordingly, in the old days, every form of trouble was encountered with a poem. Bereavement, separation, disaster called forth verses in lieu of plaints. The lady who preferred death to loss of honor, composed a poem before piercing her throat The samurai sentenced to die by his own hand, wrote a poem before performing hara-kiri. Even in this less romantic era of Meiji, young people resolved upon suicide are wont to compose some verses before quitting the world. Also it is still the good custom to write a poem in time of ill-fortune. I have frequently known poems to be written under the most trying circumstances of misery or suffering,--nay even upon a bed of death;-and if the verses did not display any extraordinary talent, they at least afforded extraordinary proof of self-mastery under pain.... Surely this fact of composition as ethical practice has larger interest than all the treatises ever written about the rules of Japanese prosody. The other curious fact is only a fact of aesthetic theory. The common art-principle of the class of poems under present consideration is identical with the common principle of Japanese pictorial illustration. By the use of a few chosen words the composer of a short poem endeavors to do exactly what the painter endeavors to do with a few strokes of the brush,--to evoke an image or a mood,--to revive a sensation or an emotion. And the accomplishment of this purpose,--by poet or by picture-maker,-- depends altogether upon capacity to suggest, and only to suggest. A Japanese artist would be condemned for attempting elaboration of detail in a sketch intended to recreate the memory of some landscape seen through the blue haze of a spring morning, or under the great blond light of an autumn after-noon. Not only would he be false to the traditions of his art: he would necessarily defeat his own end thereby. In the same way a poet would be condemned for attempting any completeness of utterance in a very short poem: his object should be only to stir imagination without satisfying it. So the term ittakkiri--meaning "all gone," or "entirely vanished," in the sense of "all told,"-- is contemptuously applied to verses in which the verse-maker has uttered his whole thought;--praise being reserved for compositions that leave in the mind the thrilling of a something unsaid. Like the single stroke of a temple-bell, the perfect short poem should set murmuring and undulating, in the mind of the hearer, many a ghostly aftertone of long duration. III But for the same reason that Japanese short poems may be said to resemble. Japanese pictures, a full comprehension of them requires an intimate knowledge of the life which they reflect. And this is especially true of the emotional class of such poems,--a literal translation of which, in the majority of cases, would signify almost nothing to the Western mind. Here, for example, is a little verse, pathetic enough to Japanese comprehension:-- ChochO ni!.. Kyonen shishitaru Tsuma koishi! Translated, this would appear to mean only,--"Two butterflies!... Last year my dear wife died!" Unless you happen to know the pretty Japanese symbolism of the butterfly in relation to happy marriage, and the old custom of sending with the wedding-gift a large pair of paper-butterflies (ocho-mecho), the verse might well seem to be less than commonplace. Or take this recent composition, by a University student, which has been praised by good judges:-- Furusato ni Fubo ari--mushi no Koe-goe! (1) --"In my native place the old folks [or, my parents] are--clamor of insect-voices!" 1 I must observe, however, that the praise was especially evoked by the use of the term koe-goe--(literally meaning "voice after voice" or a crying of many voices);--and the special value of the syllables here can be appreciated only by a Japanese poet. The poet here is a country-lad. In unfamiliar fields he listens to the great autumn chorus of insects; and the sound revives for him the memory of his far-off home and of his parents. But here is something incomparably more touching,--though in literal translation probably more obscure,--than either of the preceding specimens;-- Mi ni shimiru Kaze ya I Shoji ni Yubi no ato! --"Oh, body-piercing wind!--that work of little fingers in the shoji!" (2).... What does this mean? It means the sorrowing of a mother for her dead child. Shoji is the name given to those light white-paper screens which in a Japanese house serve both as windows and doors, admitting plenty of light, but concealing, like frosted glass, the interior from outer observation, and excluding the wind. Infants delight to break these by poking their fingers through the soft paper: then the wind blows through the holes. In this case the wind blows very cold indeed,--into the mother's very heart;--for it comes through the little holes that were made by the fingers of her dead child. 2 More literally:--"body-through-pierce wind--ah! --shoji in the traces of [viz.: holes made by] fingers!" The impossibility of preserving the inner quality of such poems in a literal rendering, will now be obvious. Whatever I attempt in this direction must of necessity be ittakkiri;--for the unspoken has to be expressed; and what the Japanese poet is able to say in seventeen or twenty-one syllables may need in English more than double that number of words. But perhaps this fact will lend additional interest to the following atoms of emotional expression:-- A MOTHER'S REMEMBRANCE Sweet and clear in the night, the voice of a boy at study, Reading out of a book.... I also once had a boy! A MEMORY IN SPRING She, who, departing hence, left to the flowers of the plum-tree, Blooming beside our eaves, the charm of her youth and beauty, And maiden pureness of heart, to quicken their flush and fragrance,-- Ah! where does she dwell to-day, our dear little vanished sister? FANCIES OF ANOTHER FAITH (1) I sought in the place of graves the tomb of my vanished friend: From ancient cedars above there rippled a wild doves cry. (2) Perhaps a freak of the wind-yet perhaps a sign of remembrance,-- This fall of a single leaf on the water I pour for the dead. (3)I whispered a prayer at the grave: a butterfly rose and fluttered-- Thy spirit, perhaps, dear friend!... IN A CEMETERY AT NIGHT This light of the moon that plays on the water I pour for the dead, Differs nothing at all from the moonlight of other years. AFTER LONG ABSENCE The garden that once I loved, and even the hedge of the garden,-- All is changed and strange: the moonlight only is faithful;-- The moon along remembers the charm of the time gone by! MOONLIGHT ON THE SEA O vapory moon of spring!--would that one plunge into ocean Could win me renewal of life as a part of thy light on the waters! AFTER FAREWELL Whither now should! look?--where is the place of parting? Boundaries all have vanished;--nothing tells of direction: Only the waste of sea under the shining moon! HAPPY POVERTY Wafted into my room, the scent of the flowers of the plum-tree Changes my broken window into a source of delight. AUTUMN FANCIES (1) Faded the clover now;--sere and withered the grasses: What dreams the matsumushi(1) in the desolate autumn-fields? (2) Strangely sad, I thought, sounded the bell of evening;-- Haply that tone proclaimed the night in which autumn dies! (3)Viewing this autumn-moon, I dream of my native village Under the same soft light,--and the shadows about my home. 1 A musical cricket--calyptotryphus marmoratus. IN TIME OF GRIEF, HEARING A SEMI (CICADA) Only "I," "I,"--the cry of the foolish semi! Any one knows that the world is void as its cast-off shell. ON THE CAST-OFF SHELL OF A SEMI Only the pitiful husk!... O poor singer of summer, Wherefore thus consume all thy body in song? SUBLIMITY OF INTELLECTUAL POWER The mind that, undimmed, absorbs the foul and the pure together-- Call it rather a sea one thousand fathoms deep!(2) 2. This is quite novel in its way,--a product of the University: the original runs thus:-- Nigoréru mo Sumêru mo tomo ni Iruru koso Chi-hiro no umi no Kokoro nari-kere! SHINTO REVERY Mad waves devour The rocks: I ask myself in the darkness, "Have I become a god?" Dim is The night and wild! "Have I become a god?"--that is to say, "Have I died?--am I only a ghost in this desolation?" The dead, becoming kami or gods, are thought to haunt wild solitudes by preference. IV The poems above rendered are more than pictorial: they suggest something of emotion or sentiment. But there are thousands of pictorial poems that do not; and these would seem mere insipidities to a reader ignorant of their true purpose. When you learn that some exquisite text of gold means only, "Evening- sunlight on the wings of the water-fowl,"--or,"Now in my garden the flowers bloom, and the butterflies dance,"--then your first interest in decorative poetry is apt to wither away. Yet these little texts have a very real merit of their own, and an intimate relation to Japanese aesthetic feeling and experience. Like the pictures upon screens and fans and cups, they give pleasure by recalling impressions of nature, by reviving happy incidents of travel or pilgrimage, by evoking the memory of beautiful days. And when this plain fact is fully understood, the persistent attachment of modern Japanese poets--notwithstanding their University training--to the ancient poetical methods, will be found reasonable enough. I need offer only a very few specimens of the purely pictorial poetry. The following--mere thumb-nail sketches in verse--are of recent date. LONESOMENESS Furu-dera ya: Kane mono iwazu; Sakura chiru. --"Old temple: bell voiceless; cherry-flowers fall." MORNING AWAKENING AFTER A NIGHT'S REST IN A TEMPLE Yamadera no Shicho akeyuku: Taki no oto. --"In the mountain-temple the paper mosquito-curtain is lighted by the dawn: sound of water-fall." WINTER-SCENE Yuki no mura; Niwatori naite; Ake shiroshi. "Snow-village;--cocks crowing;--white dawn." Let me conclude this gossip on poetry by citing from another group of verses--also pictorial, in a certain sense, but chiefly remarkable for ingenuity--two curiosities of impromptu. The first is old, and is attributed to the famous poetess Chiyo. Having been challenged to make a poem of seventeen syllables referring to a square, a triangle, and a circle, she is said to have immediately responded,-- Kaya no te wo Hitotsu hazushite, Tsuki-mi kana! --"Detaching one corner of the mosquito-net, lo! I behold the moon!" The top of the mosquito-net, suspended by cords at each of its four corners, represents the square;--letting down the net at one corner converts the square into a triangle;--and the moon represents the circle. The other curiosity is a recent impromptu effort to portray, in one verse of seventeen syllables, the last degree of devil-may- care-poverty,--perhaps the brave misery of the wandering student;--and I very much doubt whether the effort could be improved upon:-- Nusundaru Kagashi no kasa ni Ame kyu nari. --"Heavily pours the rain on the hat that I stole from the scarecrow!" Japanese Buddhist Proverbs As representing that general quality of moral experience which remains almost unaffected by social modifications of any sort, the proverbial sayings of a people must always possess a special psychological interest for thinkers. In this kind of folklore the oral and the written literature of Japan is rich to a degree that would require a large book to exemplify. To the subject as a whole no justice could be done within the limits of a single essay. But for certain classes of proverbs and proverbial phrases something can be done within even a few pages; and sayings related to Buddhism, either by allusion or derivation, form a class which seems to me particularly worthy of study. Accordingly, with the help of a Japanese friend, I have selected and translated the following series of examples,-- choosing the more simple and familiar where choice was possible, and placing the originals in alphabetical order to facilitate reference. Of course the selection is imperfectly representative; but it will serve to illustrate certain effects of Buddhist teaching upon popular thought and speech. 1.--Akuji mi ni tomaru. All evil done clings to the body.* *The consequence of any evil act or thought never,--so long as karma endures,--will cease to act upon the existence of the person guilty of it. 2.--Atama soru yori kokoro wo sore. Better to shave the heart than to shave the head.* *Buddhist nuns and priests have their heads completely shaven. The proverb signifies that it is better to correct the heart,--to conquer all vain regrets and desires,--than to become a religious. In common parlance the phrase "to shave the head" means to become a monk or a nun. 3.--Au wa wakare no hajime. Meeting is only the beginning of separation.* *Regret and desire are equally vain in this world of impermanency; for all joy is the beginning of an experience that must have its pain. This proverb refers directly to the sutra- text,--Shoja bitsumetsu e-sha-jori,--" All that live must surely die; and all that meet will surely part." 4.--Banji wa yume. All things* are merely dreams. *Literally, "ten thousand things." 5.--Bonbu mo satoreba hotoke nari. Even a common man by obtaining knowledge becomes a Buddha.* *The only real differences of condition are differences In knowledge of the highest truth. 6.--Bonno kuno. All lust is grief.* *All sensual desire invariably brings sorrow. 7--Buppo to wara-ya no ame, dete kike. One must go outside to hear Buddhist doctrine or the sound of rain on a straw roof.* *There is an allusion here to the condition of the sbuhhl (priest): literally, "one who has left his house." The proverb suggests that the higher truths of Buddhism cannot be acquired by those who continue to live in the world of follies and desires. 8.--Bussho en yori okoru. Out of karma-relation even the divine nature itself grows.* *There is good as well as bad karma. Whatever hap-piness we enjoy is not less a consequence of the acts and thoughts of previous lives, than is any misfortune that comes to us. Every good thought and act contributes to the evolution of the Buddha-nature within each of us. Another proverb [No. 10],--En naki shujo wa doshi gatashi,--further illustrates the meaning of this one. 9.--Enko ga tsuki wo toran to suru ga gotoshi. Like monkeys trying to snatch the moon's reflection on water.* *Allusion to a parable, said to have been related by the Buddha himself, about some monkeys who found a well under a tree, and mistook for reality the image of the moon in the water. They resolved to seize the bright apparition. One monkey suspended himself by the tail from a branch overhanging the well, a second monkey clung to the first, a third to the second, a fourth to the third, and so on,--till the long chain of bodies had almost reached the water. Suddenly the branch broke under the unaccustomed weight; and all the monkeys were drowned. 10.--En naki shujo wa doshi gatashi. To save folk having no karma-relation would be difficult indeed!* *No karma-relation would mean an utter absence of merit as well as of demerit. 11.--Fujo seppo suru hoshi wa, biratake ni umaru. The priest who preaches foul doctrine shall be reborn as a fungus. 12.--Gaki mo ninzu. Even gaki (pretas) can make a crowd.* *Literally: "Even gaki are a multitude (or, 'population')." This is a popular saying used in a variety of ways. The ordinary meaning is to the effect that no matter how poor or miserable the individuals composing a multitude, they collectively represent a respectable force. Jocosely the saying is sometimes used of a crowd of wretched or tired-looking people,--sometimes of an assembly of weak boys desiring to make some demonstration,-- sometimes of a miserable-looking company of soldiers.--Among the lowest classes of the people it is not uncommon to call a deformed or greedy person a "gaki." 13.--Gaki no me ni midzu miezu. To the eyes of gaki water is viewless.* *Some authorities state that those pretas who suffer especially from thirst, as a consequence of faults committed in former lives, are unable to see water.--This proverb is used in speaking of persons too stupid or vicious to perceive a moral truth. 14.--Gosho wa daiji. The future life is the all-important thing.* *The common people often use the curious expression "gosho-daiji" as an equivalent for "extremely important." 15.--Gun-mo no tai-zo wo saguru ga gotoshi. Like a lot of blind men feeling a great elephant.* *Said of those who ignorantly criticise the doctrines of Buddhism.--The proverb alludes to a celebrated fable in the Avadanas, about a number of blind men who tried to decide the form of an elephant by feeling the animal. One, feeling the leg, declared the elephant to be like a tree; another, feeling the trunk only, declared the elephant to be like a serpent; a third, who felt only the side, said that the elephant was like a wall; a fourth, grasping the tail, said that the elephant was like a rope, etc. 16.--Gwai-men nyo-Bosatsu; nai shin nyo-Yasha. In outward aspect a Bodhisattva; at innermost heart a demon.* *Yasha (Sanscrit Yaksha), a man-devouring demon. 17.--Hana wa ne ni kaeru. The flower goes back to its root. *This proverb is most often used in reference to death,-- signifying that all forms go back into the nothingness out of which they spring. But it may also be used in relation to the law of cause-and-effect. 18.--Hibiki no koe ni ozuru ga gotoshi. Even as the echo answers to the voice.* *Referring to the doctrine of cause-and-effect. The philosophical beauty of the comparison will be appreciated only if we bear in mind that even the tone of the echo repeats the tone of the voice. 19.--Hito wo tasukéru ga sbukhé no yuku. The task of the priest is to save mankind. 20.--Hi wa kiyuredomo to-shin wa kiyedzu. Though the flame be put out, the wick remains.* *Although the passions may be temporarily overcome, their sources remain. A proverb of like meaning is, Bonno no inn o?4omo sara u: "Though driven away, the Dog of Lust cannot be kept from coming back again." 21.--Hotoke mo motowa bonbu. Even the Buddha was originally but a common man. 22.--Hotoke ni naru mo shami wo beru. Even to become a Buddha one must first become a novice. 23.--Hotoke no kao mo sando. Even a Buddha's face,--only three times.* *This is a short popular form of the longer proverb, Hotoke no kao mo sando nazureba, hara wo tatsu: "Stroke even the face of a Buddha three times, and his anger will be roused." 24.--Hotoke tanonde Jigoku e yuku. Praying to Buddha one goes to hell.* *The popular saying, Oni no Nembutsu,--"a devil's praying,"--has a similar meaning. 25.--Hotoke tsukutte tamashii iredzu. Making a Buddha without putting in the soul.* *That is to say, making an image of the Buddha without giving it a soul. This proverb is used in reference to the conduct of those who undertake to do some work, and leave the most essential part of the work unfinished. It contains an allusion to the curious ceremony called Kai-gen, or "Eye-Opening." This Kai-gen is a kind of consecration, by virtue of which a newly-made image is supposed to become animated by the real presence of the divinity represented. 26. Ichi-ju no kage, ichi-ga no nagare, tasho no en. Even [the experience of] a single shadow or a single flowing of water, is [made by] the karma-relations of a former life.* *Even so trifling an occurrence as that of resting with another person under the shadow of a tree, or drinking from the same spring with another person, is caused by the karma-relations of some previous existence. 27. Ichi-mo shu-mo wo hiku. One blind man leads many blind men.* *From the Buddhist work Dai-chi-do-ron.--The reader will find a similar proverb in Rhys-David's "Buddhist Suttas" (Sacred Books of the East), p. 173,--together with a very curious parable, cited in a footnote, which an Indian commentator gives in explanation. 28.--Ingwa na ko. A karma-child.* *A common saying among the lower classes in reference to an unfortunate or crippled child. Here the word ingwa is used especially in the retributive sense. It usually signifies evil karma; kwaho being the term used in speaking of meritorious karma and its results. While an unfortunate child is spoken of as "a child of ingwa," a very lucky person is called a "kwaho-mono,"-- that is to say, an instance, or example of kwaho. 29.--Ingwa wa, kuruma no wa. Cause-and-effect is like a wheel.* *The comparison of karma to the wheel of a wagon will be familiar to students of Buddhism. The meaning of this proverb is identical with that of the Dhammapada verse:--"If a man speaks or acts with an evil thought, pain follows him as the wheel follows the foot of the ox that draws the carriage." 30.--Innen ga fukai. The karma-relation is deep.* *A saying very commonly used in speaking of the attachment of lovers, or of the unfortunate results of any close relation between two persons. 31.--Inochi wa fu-zen no tomoshibi. Life is a lamp-flame before a wind.* *Or, "like the flame of a lamp exposed to the wind." A frequent expression in Buddhist literature is "the Wind of Death." 32.--Issun no mushi ni mo, gobu no tamashii. Even a worm an inch long has a soul half-an-inch long.* *Literally, "has a soul of five bu,"--five bu being equal to half of the Japanese inch. Buddhism forbids all taking of life, and classes as living things (Ujo) all forms having sentiency. The proverb, however,--as the use of the word "soul" (tamashii) implies,--reflects popular belief rather than Buddhist philosophy. It signifies that any life, however small or mean, is entitled to mercy. 33.--Iwashi* no atama mo shinjin kara. Even the head of an iwashi, by virtue of faith, [will have power to save, or heal]. *The iwashi is a very small fish, much resembling a sardine. The proverb implies that the object of worship signifies little, so long as the prayer is made with perfect faith and pure intention. 34.--Jigo-jitoku.* The fruit of ones own deeds [in a previous state of existence]. *Few popular Buddhist phrases are more often used than this. Jigo signifies ones own acts or thoughts; jitoku, to bring upon oneself,--nearly always in the sense of misfortune, when the word is used in the Buddhist way. "Well, it is a matter of Jigo- jitoku," people will observe on seeing a man being taken to prison; meaning, "He is reaping the consequence of his own faults." 35.--Jigoku de hotoke. Like meeting with a Buddha in hell.* *Refers to the joy of meeting a good friend in time of misfortune. The above is an abbreviation. The full proverb is, Jigoku de hotoke ni ota yo da. 36.--Jigoku Gokuraku wa kokoro ni ari. Hell and Heaven are in the hearts of men.* *A proverb in perfect accord with the higher Buddhism. 37.--Jigoku mo sumika. Even Hell itself is a dwelling-place.* *Meaning that even those obliged to live in hell must learn to accommodate themselves to the situation. One should always try to make the best of circumstances. A proverb of kindred signification is, Sumeba, My'ako: "Wheresoever ones home is, that is the Capital [or, imperial City]." 38.--Jigoku ni mo shirts bito. Even in hell old acquaintances are welcome. 39.--Kagé no katachi ni shitagau gotoshi. Even as the shadow follows the shape.* *Referring to the doctrine of cause-and-effect. Compare with verse 2 of the Dhammapada. 40.--Kane wa Amida yori bikaru. Money shines even more brightly than Amida.* *Amitabha, the Buddha of Immeasurable Light. His image in the temples is usually gilded from head to foot.--There are many other ironical proverbs about the power of wealth,--such as Jigoku no sata mo kane shidai: "Even the Judgments of Hell may be influenced by money." 41.--Karu-toki no Jizo-gao; nasu-toki no Emma-gao. Borrowing-time, the face of Jizö; repaying-time, the face of Emma.* [Figs. 2 & 3] *Emma is the Chinese and Japanese Yama,--in Buddhism the Lord of Hell, and the Judge of the Dead. The proverb is best explained by the accompanying drawings, which will serve to give an idea of the commoner representations of both divinities. 42.--Kiite Gokuraku, mite Jigoku. Heard of only, it is Paradise; seen, it is Hell.* *Rumor is never trustworthy. 43.--Koji mon wo idezu: akuji sen ni wo hashiru. Good actions go not outside of the gate: bad deeds travel a thousand ri. 44.--Kokoro no koma ni tadzuna wo yuru-suna. Never let go the reins of the wild colt of the heart. 45.--Kokoro no oni ga mi wo semeru. The body is tortured only by the demon of the heart.* *Or "mind." That is to say that we suffer only from the consequences of our own faults.--The demon-torturer in the Buddhist hell says to his victim:--"Blame not me!--I am only the creation of your own deeds and thoughts: you made me for this!"-- Compare with No. 36. 46.--Kokoro no shi to wa nare; kokoro wo shi to sezare. Be the teacher of your heart: do not allow your heart to become your teacher. 47.--Kono yo wa kari no yado. This world is only a resting-place.* *"This world is but a travellers' inn," would be an almost equally correct translation. Yado literally means a lodging, shelter, inn; and the word is applied often to those wayside resting-houses at which Japanese travellers halt during a journey. Kari signifies temporary, transient, fleeting,--as in the common Buddhist saying, Kono yo kari no yo: "This world is a fleeting world." Even Heaven and Hell represent to the Buddhist only halting places upon the journey to Nirvana. 48.--Kori wo chiribame; midzu ni égaku. To inlay ice; to paint upon water.* *Refers to the vanity of selfish effort for some merely temporary end. 49.--Korokoro to Naku wa yamada no Hototogisu, Chichi niteya aran, Haha niteya aran. The bird that cries korokoro in the mountain rice-field I know to be a hototogisu;--yet it may have been my father; it may have been my mother.* *This verse-proverb is cited in the Buddhist work Wojo Yosbu, with the following comment:--"Who knows whether the animal in the field, or the bird in the mountain-wood, has not been either his father or his mother in some former state of existence?"--The hototogisu is a kind of cuckoo. 50.--Ko wa Sangai no kubikase. A child is a neck-shackle for the Three States of Existence.* *That is to say, The love of parents for their child may impede their spiritual progress--not only in this world, but through all their future states of being,--just as a kubikasi, or Japanese cangue, impedes the movements of the person upon whom it is placed. Parental affection, being the strongest of earthly attachments, is particularly apt to cause those whom it enslaves to commit wrongful acts in the hope of benefiting their offspring.--The term Sangai here signifies the three worlds of Desire, Form, and Formlessness,--all the states of existence below Nirvana. But the word is sometimes used to signify the Past, the Present, and the Future. 51.--Kuchi wa wazawai no kado. The mouth is the front-gate of all misfortune.* *That is to say, The chief cause of trouble is unguarded speech. The word Kado means always the main entrance to a residence. 52.--Kwaho wa, nete mate. If you wish for good luck, sleep and wait.* *Kwaho, a purely Buddhist term, signifying good fortune as the result of good actions in a previous life, has come to mean in common parlance good fortune of any kind. The proverb is often used in a sense similar to that of the English saying: "Watched pot never boils." In a strictly Buddhist sense it would mean, "Do not be too eager for the reward of good deeds." 53.--Makanu tane wa haenu. Nothing will grow, if the seed be not sown.* *Do not expect harvest, unless you sow the seed. Without earnest effort no merit can be gained. 54.--Mateba, kanro no hiyori. If you wait, ambrosial weather will come.* *Kanro, the sweet dew of Heaven, or amrita. All good things come to him who waits. 55.--Meido no michi ni O wa nashi. There is no King on the Road of Death.* *Literally, "on the Road of Meido." The MeldS is the Japanese Hades,--the dark under-world to which all the dead must journey. 56.--Mekura hebi ni ojizu. The blind man does not fear the snake.* *The ignorant and the vicious, not understanding the law of cause-and-effect, do not fear the certain results of their folly. 57.--Mitsureba, hakuru. Having waxed, wanes.* *No sooner has the moon waxed full than it begins to wane. So the height of prosperity is also the beginning of fortunes decline. 58.--Mon zen no kozo narawanu kyo wo yomu. The shop-boy in front of the temple-gate repeats the sutra which he never learned. *Kozo means "acolyte" as well as "shop-boy,""errand-boy," or "apprentice;" but in this case it refers to a boy employed in a shop situated near or before the gate of a Buddhist temple. By constantly hearing the sutra chanted in the temple, the boy learns to repeat the words. A proverb of kindred meaning is, Kangaku-In no suzume wa, Mogyu wo sayezuru: "The sparrows of Kangaku-In [an ancient seat of learning] chirp the Mogyu,"--a Chinese text formerly taught to young students. The teaching of either proverb is excellently expressed by a third:--Narau yori wa narero: "Rather than study [an art], get accustomed to it,"-- that is to say, "keep constantly in contact with it." Observation and practice are even better than study. 59.--Mujo no kaze wa, toki erabazu. The Wind of Impermanency does not choose a time.* *Death and Change do not conform their ways to human expectation. 60.--Neko mo Bussho ari. In even a cat the Buddha-nature exists.* *Notwithstanding the legend that only the cat and the mamushi (a poisonous viper) failed to weep for the death of the Buddha. 61.--Neta ma ga Gokuraku. The interval of sleep is Paradise.* *Only during sleep can we sometimes cease to know the sorrow and pain of this world. (Compare with No. 83.) 62.--Nijiu-go Bosatsu mo sore-sore no yaku. Even each of the Twenty-five Bodhisattvas has his own particular duty to perform. 63.--Nin mite, no toke. [First] see the person, [then] preach the doctrine.* *The teaching of Buddhist doctrine should always be adapted to the intelligence of the person to be instructed. There is another proverb of the same kind,--Ki ni yorite, ho wo toke: "According to the understanding [of the person to be taught], preach the Law." 64.--Ninshin ukegataku Buppo aigatashi. It is not easy to be born among men, and to meet with [the good fortune of hearing the doctrine of] Buddhism.* *Popular Buddhism teaches that to be born in the world of mankind, and especially among a people professing Buddhism, is a very great privilege. However miserable human existence, it is at least a state in which some knowledge of divine truth may be obtained; whereas the beings in other and lower conditions of life are relatively incapable of spiritual progress. 65.--Oni mo jiu-hachi. Even a devil [is pretty] at eighteen.* *There are many curious sayings and proverbs about the oni, or Buddhist devil,--such as Oni no me ni mo namida, "tears in even a devil's eyes;"--Oni no kakuran, "devil's cholera" (said of the unexpected sickness of some very strong and healthy person), etc., etc.--The class of demons called Oni, properly belong to the Buddhist hells, where they act as torturers and jailers. They are not to be confounded with the Ma, Yasha, Kijin, and other classes of evil spirits. In Buddhist art they are represented as beings of enormous strength, with the heads of bulls and of horses. The bull-headed demons are called Go-zu; the horse-headed Me-zu. 66.--Oni mo mi, naretaru ga yoshi. Even a devil, when you become accustomed to the sight of him, may prove a pleasant acquaintance. 67.--Oni ni kanabo. An iron club for a demon.* *Meaning that great power should be given only to the strong. 68.--Oni no nyobo ni kijin. A devil takes a goblin to wife.* *Meaning that a wicked man usually marries a wicked woman. 69.--Onna no ke ni wa dai-zo mo tsunagaru. With one hair of a woman you can tether even a great elephant. 70.--Onna wa Sangai ni iye nashi. Women have no homes of their own in the Three States of Existence. 71.--Oya no ingwa ga ko ni mukuu. The karma of the parents is visited upon the child.* *Said of the parents of crippled or deformed children. But the popular idea here expressed is not altogether in acco~l with the teachings of the higher Buddhism. 72.--Rakkwa eda ni kaerazu. The fallen blossom never returns to the branch.* *That which has been done never can be undone: the past cannot be recalled.--This proverb is an abbreviation of the longer Buddhist text: Rakkwa eda ni kaerazu; ha-kyo futatabi terasazu: "The fallen blossom never returns to the branch; the shattered mirror never again reflects." 73.--Raku wa ku no tane; ku wa raku no tane. Pleasure is the seed of pain; pain is the seed of pleasure. 74.--Rokudo wa, me no mae. The Six Roads are right before your eyes.* *That is to say, Your future life depends upon your conduct in this life; and you are thus free to choose for yourself the place of your next birth. 75.--Sangai mu-an. There is no rest within the Three States of Existence. 76.--Sangai ni kaki nashi;--Rokudo ni hotori nashi. There is no fence to the Three States of Existence;--there is no neighborhood to the Six Roads.* *Within the Three States (Sangai), or universes, of Desire, Form, and Formlessness; and within the Six Worlds, or conditions of being,--Jigokudo (Hell), Gakido (Pretas), Chikushodo (Animal Life), Shurado (World of Fighting and Slaughter), Ningendo (Mankind), Tenjodo (Heavenly Spirits)--all existence is included. Beyond there is only Nirvana. "There is no fence," "no neighborhood,"--that is to say, no limit beyond which to escape, --no middle-path between any two of these states. We shall be reborn into some one of them according to our karma.--Compare with No. 74. 77.--Sange ni wa sannen no tsumi mo horobu. One confession effaces the sins of even three years. 78.--San nin yoreba, kugai. Where even three persons come together, there is a world of pain.* *Kugai (lit.: "bitter world") is a term often used to describe the life of a prostitute. 79.--San nin yoreba, Monju no chie. Where three persons come together, there is the wisdom of Monju.* *Monju Bosatsu [Mandjus'ri Bodhisattva] figures in Japanese Buddhism as a special divinity of wisdom.--The proverb signifies that three heads are better than one. A saying of like meaning is, Hiza to mo danko: "Consult even with your own knee;" that is to say, Despise no advice, no matter how humble the source of it. 80.--Shaka ni sekkyo. Preaching to Sakyamuni. 81.--Shami kara choro. To become an abbot one must begin as a novice. 82.--Shindareba, koso ikitare. Only by reason of having died does one enter into life.* *I never hear this singular proverb without being re-minded of a sentence in Huxley's famous essay, On the Physical Basis of Life:--"The living protoplasm not only ultimately dies and is resolved into its mineral and lifeless constituents, but is always dying, and, strange as the paradox may sound, could not live unless it died." 83.--Shiranu ga, hotoke; minu ga, Gokuraku. Not to know is to be a Buddha; not to see is Paradise. 84.--Shobo ni kidoku nashi. There is no miracle in true doctrine.* *Nothing can happen except as a result of eternal and irrevocable law. 85.--Sho-chie wa Bodai no samatage. A little wisdom is a stumbling-block on the way to Buddhahood.* *Bodai is the same word as the Sanscrit Bodhi, signifying the supreme enlightenment,--the knowledge that leads to Buddhahood; but it is often used by Japanese Buddhists in the sense of divine bliss, or the Buddha-state itself. 86.--Shoshi no kukai hetori nashi. There is no shore to the bitter Sea of Birth and Death.* *Or, "the Pain-Sea of Life and Death." 87.--Sode no furi-awase mo tasho no en. Even the touching of sleeves in passing is caused by some relation in a former life. 88.--Sun zen; shaku ma. An inch of virtue; a foot of demon.* *Ma (Sanscrit, Marakayikas) is the name given to a particular class of spirits who tempt men to evil. But in Japanese folklore the Ma have a part much resembling that occupied in Western popular superstition by goblins and fairies. 89.--Tanoshimi wa hanasimi no motoi. All joy is the source of sorrow. 90.--Tonde hi ni iru natsu no mushi. So the insects of summer fly to the flame.* *Said especially in reference to the result of sensual indulgence. 91.--Tsuchi-botoke no midzu-asobi. Clay-Buddha's water-playing.* *That is to say, "As dangerous as for a clay Buddha to play with water." Children often amuse themselves by making little Buddhist images of mud, which melt into shapelessness, of course, if placed in water. 92.--Tsuki ni murakumo, hana ni kaze. Cloud-wrack to the moon; wind to flowers.* *The beauty of the moon is obscured by masses of clouds; the trees no sooner blossom than their flowers are scattered by the wind. All beauty is evanescent. 93.--Tsuyu no inochi. Human life is like the dew of morning. 94.--U-ki wa, kokoro ni ari. Joy and sorrow exist only in the mind. 95.--Uri no tsuru ni nasubi wa naranu. Egg-plants do not grow upon melon-vines. 96.--Uso mo hoben. Even an untruth may serve as a device.* *That is, a pious device for effecting conversion. Such a device is justified especially by the famous parable of the third chapter of the Saddharma Pundarika. 97.--Waga ya no hotoke tattoshi. My family ancestors were all excellent Buddhas.* *Meaning that one most reveres the hotoke--the spirits of the dead regarded as Buddhas--in one's own household-shrine. There is an ironical play upon the word hotoke, which may mean either a dead person simply, or a Buddha. Perhaps the spirit of this proverb may be better explained by the help of another: Nigeta sakana ni chisai wa nai; shinda kodomo ni warui ko wa nai--"Fish that escaped was never small; child that died was never bad." 98.--Yuki no hate wa, Nehan. The end of snow is Nirvana.* *This curious saying is the only one in my collection containing the word Nehan (Nirvana), and is here inserted chiefly for that reason. The common people seldom speak of Nehan, and have little knowledge of those profound doctrines to which the term is related. The above phrase, as might be inferred, is not a popular expression: it is rather an artistic and poetical reference to the aspect of a landscape covered with snow to the horizon-line, --so that beyond the snow-circle there is only the great void of the sky. 99.--Zen ni wa zen no mukui; aku ni wa aku no mukui. Goodness [or, virtue] is the return for goodness; evil is the return for evil.* *Not so commonplace a proverb as might appear at first sight; for it refers especially to the Buddhist belief that every kindness shown to us in this life is a return of kindness done to others in a former life, and that every wrong inflicted upon us is the reflex of some injustice which we committed in a previous birth. 100.--Zense no yakusoku-goto. Promised [or, destined] from a former birth.* *A very common saying,--often uttered as a comment upon the unhappiness of separation, upon sudden misfortune, upon sudden death, etc. It is used especially in relation to shinju, or lovers' suicide. Such suicide is popularly thought to be a result of cruelty in some previous state of being, or the consequence of having broken, in a former life, the mutual promise to become husband and wife. SUGGESTION I had the privilege of meeting him in Tokyo, where he was making a brief stay on his way to India;--and we took a long walk together, and talked of Eastern religions, about which he knew incomparably more than I. Whatever I could tell him concerning local beliefs, he would comment upon in the most startling manner,--citing weird correspondences in some living cult of India, Burmah, or Ceylon. Then, all of a sudden, he turned the conversation into a totally unexpected direction. "I have been thinking," he said, "about the constancy of the relative proportion of the sexes, and wondering whether Buddhist doctrine furnishes an explanation. For it seems to me that, under ordinary conditions of karma, human rebirth would necessarily proceed by a regular alternation." "Do you mean," I asked, "that a man would be reborn as a woman, and a woman as a man?" "Yes," he replied, "because desire is creative, and the desire of either sex is towards the other." "And how many men," I said, "would want to be reborn as women?" "Probably very few," he answered. "But the doctrine that desire is creative does not imply that the individual longing creates its own satisfaction,--quite the contrary. The true teaching is that the result of every selfish wish is in the nature of a penalty, and that what the wish creates must prove--to higher knowledge at least--the folly of wishing." "There you are right," I said; "but I do not yet understand your theory." "Well," he continued, "if the physical conditions of human rebirth are all determined by the karma of the will relating to physical conditions, then sex would be determined by the will in relation to sex. Now the will of either sex is towards the other. Above all things else, excepting life, man desires woman, and woman man. Each individual, moreover, independently of any personal relation, feels perpetually, you say, the influence of some inborn feminine or masculine ideal, which you call 'a ghostly reflex of countless attachments in countless past lives.' And the insatiable desire represented by this ideal would of itself suffice to create the masculine or the feminine body of the next existence." "But most women," I observed, "would like to be reborn as men; and the accomplishment of that wish would scarcely be in the nature of a penalty." "Why not?" he returned. "The happiness or unhappiness of the new existence would not be decided by sex alone: it would of necessity depend upon many conditions in combination." "Your theory is interesting," I said;--"but I do not know how far it could be made to accord with accepted doctrine.... And what of the person able, through knowledge and practice of the higher law, to remain superior to all weaknesses of sex?" "Such a one," he replied, "would be reborn neither as man nor as woman,--providing there were no pre-existent karma powerful enough to check or to weaken the results of the self-conquest." "Reborn in some one of the heavens?" I queried,--"by the Apparitional Birth?" "Not necessarily," he said. "Such a one might be reborn in a world of desire,--like this,--but neither as man only, nor as woman only." "Reborn, then, in what form?" I asked. "In that of a perfect being," he responded. "A man or a woman is scarcely more than half-a-being,--because in our present imperfect state either sex can be evolved only at the cost of the other. In the mental and the physical composition of every man, there is undeveloped woman; and in the composition of every woman there is undeveloped man. But a being complete would be both perfect man and perfect woman, possessing the highest faculties of both sexes, with the weaknesses of neither. Some humanity higher than our own,--in other worlds,--might be thus evolved." "But you know," I observed, "that there are Buddhist texts,--in the Saddharma Pundarika, for example, and in the Vinayas,--which forbid...." "Those texts," he interrupted, "refer to imperfect beings--less than man and less than woman: they could not refer to the condition that I have been supposing.... But, remember, I am not preaching a doctrine;--I am only hazarding a theory." "May I put your theory some day into print?" I asked. "Why, yes," he made answer,--"if you believe it worth thinking about." And long afterwards I wrote it down thus, as fairly as I was able, from memory. Ingwa-banashi(1) The daimyo's wife was dying, and knew that she was dying. She had not been able to leave her bed since the early autumn of the tenth Bunsei. It was now the fourth month of the twelfth Bunsei, --the year 1829 by Western counting; and the cherry-trees were blossoming. She thought of the cherry-trees in her garden, and of the gladness of spring. She thought of her children. She thought of her husband's various concubines,--especially the Lady Yukiko, nineteen years old. "My dear wife," said the daimyo, "you have suffered very much for three long years. We have done all that we could to get you well,--watching beside you night and day, praying for you, and often fasting for your sake, But in spite of our loving care, and in spite of the skill of our best physicians, it would now seen that the end of your life is not far off. Probably we shall sorrow more than you will sorrow because of your having to leave what the Buddha so truly termed 'this burning-house of the world. I shall order to be performed--no matter what the cost--every religious rite that can serve you in regard to your next rebirth; and all of us will pray without ceasing for you, that you may not have to wander in the Black Space, but nay quickly enter Paradise, and attain to Buddha-hood." He spoke with the utmost tenderness, pressing her the while. Then, with eyelids closed, she answered him in a voice thin as the voice of in insect:-- "I am grateful--most grateful--for your kind words.... Yes, it is true, as you say, that I have been sick for three long years, and that I have been treated with all possible care and affection.... Why, indeed, should I turn away from the one true Path at the very moment of my death?... Perhaps to think of worldly matters at such a time is not right;--but I have one last request to make,--only one.... Call here to me the Lady Yukiko;--you know that I love her like a sister. I want to speak to her about the affairs of this household." Yukiko came at the summons of the lord, and, in obedience to a sign from him, knelt down beside the couch. The daimyo's wife opened her eyes, and looked at Yukiko, and spoke:--"Ah, here is Yukiko!... I am so pleased to see you, Yukiko!... Come a little closer,--so that you can hear me well: I am not able to speak loud.... Yukiko, I am going to die. I hope that you will be faithful in all things to our dear lord;--for I want you to take my place when I am gone.... I hope that you will always be loved by him,--yes, even a hundred times more than I have been,--and that you will very soon be promoted to a higher rank, and become his honored wife.... And I beg of you always to cherish our dear lord: never allow another woman to rob you of his affection.... This is what I wanted to say to you, dear Yukiko.... Have you been able to understand?" "Oh, my dear Lady," protested Yukiko, "do not, I entreat you, say such strange things to me! You well know that I am of poor and mean condition:--how could I ever dare to aspire to become the wife of our lord!" "Nay, nay!" returned the wife, huskily,--"this is not a time for words of ceremony: let us speak only the truth to each other. After my death, you will certainly be promoted to a higher place; and I now assure you again that I wish you to become the wife of our lord--yes, I wish this, Yukiko, even more than I wish to become a Buddha!... Ah, I had almost forgotten!--I want you to do something for me, Yukiko. You know that in the garden there is a yae-zakura,(2) which was brought here, the year before last, from Mount Yoshino in Yamato. I have been told that it is now in full bloom;--and I wanted so much to see it in flower! In a little while I shall be dead;--I must see that tree before I die. Now I wish you to carry me into the garden--at once, Yukiko,--so that I can see it.... Yes, upon your back, Yukiko;--take me upon your back...." While thus asking, her voice had gradually become clear and strong,--as if the intensity of the wish had given her new force: then she suddenly burst into tears. Yukiko knelt motionless, not knowing what to do; but the lord nodded assent. "It is her last wish in this world," he said. "She always loved cherry-flowers; and I know that she wanted very much to see that Yamato-tree in blossom. Come, my dear Yukiko, let her have her will." As a nurse turns her back to a child, that the child may cling to it, Yukiko offered her shoulders to the wife, and said:-- "Lady, I am ready: please tell me how I best can help you." "Why, this way!"--responded the dying woman, lifting herself with an almost superhuman effort by clinging to Yukiko's shoulders. But as she stood erect, she quickly slipped her thin hands down over the shoulders, under the robe, and clutched the breasts of the girl,, and burst into a wicked laugh. "I have my wish!" she cried-"I have my wish for the cherry- bloom,(3)--but not the cherry-bloom of the garden!... I could not die before I got my wish. Now I have it!--oh, what a delight!" And with these words she fell forward upon the crouching girl, and died. The attendants at once attempted to lift the body from Yukiko's shoulders, and to lay it upon the bed. But--strange to say!--this seemingly easy thing could not be done. The cold hands had attached themselves in some unaccountable way to the breasts of the girl,--appeared to have grown into the quick flesh. Yukiko became senseless with fear and pain. Physicians were called. They could not understand what had taken place. By no ordinary methods could the hands of the dead woman be unfastened from the body of her victim;--they so clung that any effort to remove them brought blood. This was not because the fingers held: it was because the flesh of the palms had united itself in some inexplicable manner to the flesh of the breasts! At that time the most skilful physician in Yedo was a foreigner, --a Dutch surgeon. It was decided to summon him. After a careful examination he said that he could not understand the case, and that for the immediate relief of Yukiko there was nothing to be done except to cut the hands from the corpse. He declared that it would be dangerous to attempt to detach them from the breasts. His advice was accepted; and the hands' were amputated at the wrists. But they remained clinging to the breasts; and there they soon darkened and dried up,--like the hands of a person long dead. Yet this was only the beginning of the horror. Withered and bloodless though they seemed, those hands were not dead. At intervals they would stir--stealthily, like great grey spiders. And nightly thereafter,--beginning always at the Hour of the Ox,(4)--they would clutch and compress and torture. Only at the Hour of the Tiger the pain would cease. Yukiko cut off her hair, and became a mendicant-nun,--taking the religious name of Dassetsu. She had an ibai (mortuary tablet) made, bearing the kaimyo of her dead mistress,--"Myo-Ko-In-Den Chizan-Ryo-Fu Daishi";--and this she carried about with her in all her wanderings; and every day before it she humbly besought the dead for pardon, and performed a Buddhist service in order that the jealous spirit might find rest. But the evil karma that had rendered such an affliction possible could not soon be exhausted. Every night at the Hour of the Ox, the hands never failed to torture her, during more than seventeen years,-- according to the testimony of those persons to whom she last told her story, when she stopped for one evening at the house of Noguchi Dengozayemon, in the village of Tanaka in the district of Kawachi in the province of Shimotsuke. This was in the third year of Kokwa (1846). Thereafter nothing more was ever heard of her. 1 Lit., "a tale of ingwa." Ingwa is a Japanese Buddhist term for evil karma, or the evil consequence of faults committed in a former state of existence. Perhaps the curious title of the narrative is best explained by the Buddhist teaching that the dead have power to injure the living only in consequence of evil actions committed by their victims in some former life. Both title and narrative may be found in the collection of weird stories entitled Hyaku-Monogatari. 2 Yae-zakura, yaë-no-sakura, a variety of Japanese cherry-tree that bears double-blossoms. 3 In Japanese poetry and proverbial phraseology, the physical beauty of a woman is compared to the cherry-flower; while feminine moral beauty is compared to the plum-flower. 4 In ancient Japanese time, the Hour of the Ox was the special hour of ghosts. It began at 2 A.M., and lasted until 4 A.M.--for the old Japanese hour was double the length of the modern hour. The Hour of the Tiger began at 4 A.M. Story of a Tengu (1) In the days of the Emperor Go-Reizei, there was a holy priest living in the temple of Saito, on the mountain called Hiyei-Zan, near Kyoto. One summer day this good priest, after a visit to the city, was returning to his temple by way of Kita-no-Oji, when he saw some boys ill-treating a kite. They had caught the bird in a snare, and were beating it with sticks. "Oh, the, poor creature!" compassionately exclaimed the priest;--"why do you torment it so, children?" One of the boys made answer:--"We want to kill it to get the feathers." Moved by pity, the priest persuaded the boys to let him have the kite in exchange for a fan that he was carrying; and he set the bird free. It had not been seriously hurt, and was able to fly away. Happy at having performed this Buddhist act of merit, the priest then resumed his walk. He had not proceeded very far when he saw a strange monk come out of a bamboo-grove by the road-side, and hasten towards him. The monk respectfully saluted him, and said: --"Sir, through your compassionate kindness my life has been saved; and I now desire to express my gratitude in a fitting manner." Astonished at hearing himself thus addressed, the priest replied:--"Really, I cannot remember to have ever seen you before: please tell me who you are." "It is not wonderful that you cannot recognize me in this form," returned the monk: "I am the kite that those cruel boys were tormenting at Kita-no-Oji. You saved my life; and there is nothing in this world more precious than life. So I now wish to return your kindness in some way or other. If there be anything that you would like to have, or to know, or to see,--anything that I can do for you, in short,--please to tell me; for as I happen to possess, in a small degree, the Six Supernatural Powers, I am able to gratify almost any wish that you can express." On hearing these words, the priest knew that he was speaking with a Tengu; and he frankly made answer:--"My friend, I have long ceased to care for the things of this world: I am now seventy years of age; neither fame nor pleasure has any attraction for me. I feel anxious only about my future birth; but as that is a matter in which no one can help me, it were useless to ask about it. Really, I can think of but one thing worth wishing for. It has been my life-long regret that I was not in India in the time of the Lord Buddha, and could not attend the great assembly on the holy mountain Gridhrakuta. Never a day passes in which this regret does not come to me, in the hour of morning or of evening prayer. Ah, my friend! if it were possible to conquer Time and Space, like the Bodhisattvas, so that I could look upon that marvellous assembly, how happy should I be!" "Why," the Tengu exclaimed, "that pious wish of yours can easily be satisfied. I perfectly well remember the assembly on the Vulture Peak; and I can cause everything that happened there to reappear before you, exactly as it occurred. It is our greatest delight to represent such holy matters.... Come this way with me!" And the priest suffered himself to be led to a place among pines, on the slope of a hill. "Now," said the Tengu, "you have only to wait here for awhile, with your eyes shut. Do not open them until you hear the voice of the Buddha preaching the Law. Then you can look. But when you see the appearance of the Buddha, you must not allow your devout feelings to influence you in any way; --you must not bow down, nor pray, nor utter any such exclamation as, 'Even so, Lord!' or 'O thou Blessed One!' You must not speak at all. Should you make even the least sign of reverence, something very unfortunate might happen to me." The priest gladly promised to follow these injunctions; and the Tengu hurried away as if to prepare the spectacle. The day waned and passed, and the darkness came; but the old priest waited patiently beneath a tree, keeping his eyes closed. At last a voice suddenly resounded above him,--a wonderful voice, deep and clear like the pealing of a mighty bell,--the voice of the Buddha Sakyamuni proclaiming the Perfect Way. Then the priest, opening his eyes in a great radiance, perceived that all things had been changed: the place was indeed the Vulture Peak,-- the holy Indian mountain Gridhrakuta; and the time was the time of the Sutra of the Lotos of the Good Law. Now there were no pines about him, but strange shining trees made of the Seven Precious Substances, with foliage and fruit of gems;--and the ground was covered with Mandarava and Manjushaka flowers showered from heaven;--and the night was filled with fragrance and splendour and the sweetness of the great Voice. And in mid-air, shining as a moon above the world, the priest beheld the Blessed One seated upon the Lion-throne, with Samantabhadra at his right hand, and Manjusri at his left,--and before them assembled-- immeasurably spreading into Space, like a flood Of stars--the hosts of the Mahasattvas and the Bodhisattvas with their countless following: "gods, demons, Nagas, goblins, men, and beings not human." Sariputra he saw, and Kasyapa, and Ananda, with all the disciples of the Tathagata,--and the Kings of the Devas,--and the Kings of the Four Directions, like pillars of fire,--and the great Dragon-Kings,--and the Gandharvas and Garudas,--and the Gods of the Sun and the Moon and the Wind,--and the shining myriads of Brahma's heaven. And incomparably further than even the measureless circling of the glory of these, he saw --made visible by a single ray of light that shot from the forehead of the Blessed One to pierce beyond uttermost Time--the eighteen hundred thousand Buddha-fields of the Eastern Quarter with all their habitants,--and the beings in each of the Six States of Existence,--and even the shapes of the Buddhas extinct, that had entered into Nirvana. These, and all the gods, and all the demons, he saw bow down before the Lion-throne; and he heard that multitude incalculable of beings praising the Sutra of the Lotos of the Good Law,--like the roar of a sea before the Lord. Then forgetting utterly his pledge,--foolishly dreaming that he stood in the very presence of the very Buddha,--he cast himself down in worship with tears of love and thanksgiving; crying out with a loud voice, "O thou Blessed One!"... Instantly with a shock as of earthquake the stupendous spectacle disappeared; and the priest found himself alone in the dark, kneeling upon the grass of the mountain-side. Then a sadness unspeakable fell upon him, because of the loss of the vision, and because of the thoughtlessness that had caused him to break his word. As he sorrowfully turned his steps homeward, the goblin- monk once more appeared before him, and said to him in tones of reproach and pain:--"Because you did not keep the promise which you made to me, and heedlessly allowed your feelings to overcome you, the Gohotendó, who is the Guardian of the Doctrine, swooped down suddenly from heaven upon us, and smote us in great anger, crying out, 'How do ye dare thus to deceive a pious person?' Then the other monks, whom I had assembled, all fled in fear. As for myself, one of my wings has been broken,--so that now I cannot fly." And with these words the Tengu vanished forever. 1 This story may be found in the curious old Japanese book called Jikkun-Sho. The same legend has furnished the subject of an interesting No-play, called Dai-E ("The Great Assembly"). In Japanese popular art, the Tengu are commonly represented either as winged men with beak-shaped noses, or as birds of prey. There are different kinds of Tengu; but all are supposed to be mountain-haunting spirits, capable of assuming many forms, and occasionally appearing as crows, vultures, or eagles. Buddhism appears to class the Tengu among the Marakayikas. At Yaidzu I Under a bright sun the old fishing-town of Yaidzu has a particular charm of neutral color. Lizard-like it takes the grey tints of the rude grey coast on which it rests,--curving along a little bay. It is sheltered from heavy seas by an extraordinary rampart of boulders. This rampart, on the water-side, is built in the form of terrace-steps;--the rounded stones of which it is composed being kept in position by a sort of basket-work woven between rows of stakes driven deeply into the ground,--a separate row of stakes sustaining each of the grades. Looking landward from the top of the structure, your gaze ranges over the whole town,--a broad space of grey-tiled roofs and weather-worn grey timbers, with here and there a pine-grove marking the place of a temple-court. Seaward, over leagues of water, there is a grand view,--a jagged blue range of peaks crowding sharply into the horizon, like prodigious amethysts,--and beyond them, to the left, the glorious spectre of Fuji, towering enormously above everything. Between sea-wall and sea there is no sand,--only a grey slope of stones, chiefly boulders; and these roll with the surf so that it is ugly work trying to pass the breakers on a rough day. If you once get struck by a stone-wave,--as I did several times,--you will not soon forget the experience. At certain hours the greater part of this rough slope is occupied by ranks of strange-looking craft,--fishing-boats of a form peculiar to the locality. They are very large,--capable of carrying forty or fifty men each;--and they have queer high prows, to which Buddhist or Shinto charms (mamori or shugo) are usually attached. A common form of Shinto written charm (shugo) is furnished for this purpose from the temple of the Goddess of Fuji: the text reads:--Fuji-san chojo Sengen-gu dai-gyo manzoku, --meaning that the owner of the boat pledges himself, in case of good-fortune at fishing, to perform great austerities in honor of the divinity whose shrine is upon the summit of Fuji. In every coast-province of Japan,--and even at different fishing- settlements of the same province,--the forms of boats and fishing-implements are peculiar to the district or settlement. Indeed it will sometimes be found that settlements, within a few miles of each other, respectively manufacture nets or boats as dissimilar in type as might be the inventions of races living thousands of miles apart. This amazing variety may be in some degree due to respect for local tradition,--to the pious conservatism that preserves ancestral teaching and custom unchanged through hundreds of years: but it is better explained by the fact that different communities practise different kinds of fishing; and the shapes of the nets or the boats made, at any one place, are likely to prove, on investigation, the inventions of a special experience. The big Yaidzu boats illustrate this fact. They were devised according to the particular requirements of the Yaidzu-fishing-industry, which supplies dried katsuo (bonito) to all parts of the Empire; and it was necessary that they should be able to ride a very rough sea. To get them in or out of the water is a heavy job; but the whole village helps. A kind of slipway is improvised in a moment by laying flat wooden frames on the slope in a line; and over these frames the flat- bottomed vessels are hauled up or down by means of long ropes. You will see a hundred or more persons thus engaged in moving a single boat,--men, women, and children pulling together, in time to a curious melancholy chant. At the coming of a typhoon, the boats are moved far back into the streets. There is plenty of fun in helping at such work; and if you are a stranger, the fisher- folk will perhaps reward your pains by showing you the wonders of their sea: crabs with legs of astonishing length, balloon-fish that blow themselves up in the most absurd manner, and various other creatures of shapes so extraordinary that you can scarcely believe them natural without touching them. The big boats with holy texts at their prows are not the strangest objects on the beach. Even more remarkable are the bait-baskets of split bamboo,--baskets six feet high and eighteen feet round, with one small hole in the dome-shaped top. Ranged along the sea-wall to dry, they might at some distance be mistaken for habitations or huts of some sort. Then you see great wooden anchors, shaped like ploughshares, and shod with metal; iron anchors, with four flukes; prodigious wooden mallets, used for driving stakes; and various other implements, still more unfamiliar, of which you cannot even imagine the purpose. The indescribable antique queerness of everything gives you that weird sensation of remoteness,--of the far away in time and place,--which makes one doubt the reality of the visible. And the life of Yaidzu is certainly the life of many centuries ago. The people, too, are the people of Old Japan: frank and kindly as children--good children,--honest to a fault, innocent of the further world, loyal to the ancient traditions and the ancient gods. II I happened to be at Yaidzu during the three days of the Bon or Festival of the Dead; and I hoped to see the beautiful farewell ceremony of the third and last day. In many parts of Japan, the ghosts are furnished with miniature ships for their voyage,-- little models of junks or fishing-craft, each containing offerings of food and water and kindled incense; also a tiny lantern or lamp, if the ghost-ship be despatched at night. But at Yaidzu lanterns only are set afloat; and I was told that they would be launched after dark. Midnight being the customary hour elsewhere, I supposed that it was the hour of farewell at Yaidzu also, and I rashly indulged in a nap after supper, expecting to wake up in time for the spectacle. But by ten o'clock, when I went to the beach again, all was over, and everybody had gone home. Over the water I saw something like a long swarm of fire- flies,--the lanterns drifting out to sea in procession; but they were already too far to be distinguished except as points of colored light. I was much disappointed: I felt that I had lazily missed an opportunity which might never again return,--for these old Bon-customs are dying rapidly. But in another moment it occurred to me that I could very well venture to swim out to the lights. They were moving slowly. I dropped my robe on the beach, and plunged in. The sea was calm, and beautifully phosphorescent. Every stroke kindled a stream of yellow fire. I swam fast, and overtook the last of the lantern-fleet much sooner than I had hoped. I felt that it would be unkind to interfere with the little embarcations, or to divert them from their silent course: so I contented myself with keeping close to one of them, and studying its details. The structure was very simple. The bottom was a piece of thick plank, perfectly square, and measuring about ten inches across. Each one of its corners supported a slender slick about sixteen inches high; and these four uprights, united above by cross- pieces, sustained the paper sides. Upon the point of a long nail, driven up through the centre of the bottom, was fixed a lighted candle. The top was left open. The four sides presented five different colors,--blue, yellow, red, white, and black; these five colors respectively symbolizing Ether, Wind, Fire, Water, and Earth,--the five Buddhist elements which are metaphysically identified with the Five Buddhas. One of the paper-panes was red, one blue, one yellow; and the right half of the fourth pane was black, while the left half, uncolored, represented white. No kaimyo was written upon any of the transparencies. Inside the lantern there was only the flickering candle. I watched those frail glowing shapes drifting through the night, and ever as they drifted scattering, under impulse of wind and wave, more and more widely apart. Each, with its quiver of color, seemed a life afraid,--trembling on the blind current that was bearing it into the outer blackness.... Are not we ourselves as lanterns launched upon a deeper and a dimmer sea, and ever separating further and further one from another as we drift to the inevitable dissolution? Soon the thought-light in each burns itself out: then the poor frames, and all that is left of their once fair colors, must melt forever into the colorless Void. Even in the moment of this musing I began to doubt whether I was really alone,--to ask myself whether there might not be something more than a mere shuddering of light in the thing that rocked beside me: some presence that haunted the dying flame, and was watching the watcher. A faint cold thrill passed over me,-- perhaps some chill uprising from the depths,--perhaps the creeping only of a ghostly fancy. Old superstitions of the coast recurred to me,--old vague warnings of peril in the time of the passage of Souls. I reflected that were any evil to befall me out there in the night,--meddling, or seeming to meddle, with the lights of the Dead,--I should myself furnish the subject of some future weird legend.... I whispered the Buddhist formula of farewell--to the lights,--and made speed for shore. As I touched the stones again, I was startled by seeing two white shadows before me; but a kindly voice, asking if the water was cold, set me at ease. It was the voice of my old landlord, Otokichi the fishseller, who had come to look for me, accompanied by his wife. "Only pleasantly cool," I made answer, as I threw on my robe to go home with them. "Ah," said the wife, "it is not good to go out there on the night of the Bon!" "I did not go far," I replied;--"I only wanted to look at the lanterns." "Even a Kappa gets drowned sometimes,"(1) protested Otokichi. "There was a man of this village who swam home a distance of seven ri, in bad weather, after his boat had been broken. But he was drowned afterwards." Seven ri means a trifle less than eighteen miles. I asked if any of the young men now in the settlement could do as much. "Probably some might," the old man replied. "There are many strong swimmers. All swim here,--even the little children. But when fisher-folk swim like that, it is only to save their lives." "Or to make love," the wife added,--"like the Hashima girl." "Who?" queried I. "A fisherman's daughter," said Otokichi. "She had a lover in Ajiro, several ri distant; and she used to swim to him at night, and swim back in the morning. He kept a light burning to guide her. But one dark night the light was neglected--or blown out; and she lost her way, and was drowned.... The story is famous in Idzu." --"So," I said to myself, "in the Far East, it is poor Hero that does the swimming. And what, under such circumstances, would have been the Western estimate of Leander?" 1 This is a common proverb:--Kappa mo obore-shini. The Kappa is a water-goblin, haunting rivers especially. III Usually about the time of the Bon, the sea gets rough; and I was not surprised to find next morning that the surf was running high. All day it grew. By the middle of the afternoon, the waves had become wonderful; and I sat on the sea-wall, and watched them until sundown. It was a long slow rolling,--massive and formidable. Sometimes, just before breaking, a towering swell would crack all its green length with a tinkle as of shivering glass; then would fall and flatten with a peal that shook the wall beneath me.... I thought of the great dead Russian general who made his army to storm as a sea,--wave upon wave of steel,--thunder following thunder.... There was yet scarcely any wind; but there must have been wild weather elsewhere,--and the breakers were steadily heightening. Their motion fascinated. How indescribably complex such motion is,--yet how eternally new! Who could fully describe even five minutes of it? No mortal ever saw two waves break in exactly the same way. And probably no mortal ever watched the ocean-roll or heard its thunder without feeling serious. I have noticed that even animals,--horses and cows,--become meditative in the presence of the sea: they stand and stare and listen as if the sight and sound of that immensity made them forget all else in the world. There is a folk-saying of the coast:--"The Sea has a soul and hears." And the meaning is thus explained: Never speak of your fear when you feel afraid at sea;--if you say that you are afraid, the waves will suddenly rise higher. Now this imagining seems to me absolutely natural. I must confess that when I am either in the sea, or upon it, I cannot fully persuade myself that it is not alive,--a conscious and a hostile power. Reason, for the time being, avails nothing against this fancy. In order to be able to think of the sea as a mere body of water, I must be upon some height from whence its heaviest billowing appears but a lazy creeping of tiny ripples. But the primitive fancy may be roused even more strongly in darkness than by daylight. How living seem the smoulderings and the flashings of the tide on nights of phosphorescence!--how reptilian the subtle shifting of the tints of its chilly flame! Dive into such a night-sea;--open your eyes in the black-blue gloom, and watch the weird gush of lights that follow your every motion: each luminous point, as seen through the flood, like the opening and closing of an eye! At such a moment, one feels indeed as if enveloped by some monstrous sentiency,--suspended within some vital substance that feels and sees and wills alike in every part, an infinite soft cold Ghost. IV Long I lay awake that night, and listened to the thunder-rolls and crashings of the mighty tide. Deeper than these distinct shocks of noise, and all the storming of the nearer waves, was the bass of the further surf,--a ceaseless abysmal muttering to which the building trembled,--a sound that seemed to imagination like the sound of the trampling of infinite cavalry, the massing of incalculable artillery,--some rushing, from the Sunrise, of armies wide as the world. Then I found myself thinking of the vague terror with which I had listened, when a child, to the voice of the sea;--and I remembered that in after-years, on different coasts in different parts of the world, the sound of surf had always revived the childish emotion. Certainly this emotion was older than I by thousands of thousands of centuries,--the inherited sum of numberless terrors ancestral. But presently there came to me the conviction that fear of the sea alone could represent but one element of the multitudinous awe awakened by its voice. For as I listened to that wild tide of the Suruga coast, I could distinguish nearly every sound of fear known to man: not merely noises of battle tremendous,--of interminable volleying,--of immeasurable charging,--but the roaring of beasts, the crackling and hissing of fire, the rumbling of earthquake, the thunder of ruin, and, above all these, a clamor continual as of shrieks and smothered shoutings,--the Voices that are said to be the voices of the drowned., Awfulness supreme of tumult,--combining all imaginable echoings of fury and destruction and despair! And to myself I said:--Is it wonderful that the voice of the sea should make us serious? Consonantly to its multiple utterance must respond all waves of immemorial fear that move in the vaster sea of soul-experience. Deep calleth unto deep. The visible abyss calls to that abyss invisible of elder being whose flood-flow made the ghosts of us. Wherefore there is surely more than a little truth in the ancient belief that the speech of the dead is the roar of the sea. Truly the fear and the pain of the dead past speak to us in that dim deep awe which the roar of the sea awakens. But there are sounds that move us much more profoundly than the voice of the sea can do, and in stranger ways,--sounds that also make us serious at times, and very serious,--sounds of music. Great music is a psychical storm, agitating to unimaginable depth the mystery of the past within us. Or we might say that it is a prodigious incantation, every different instrument and voice making separate appeal to different billions of prenatal memories. There are tones that call up all ghosts of youth and joy and tenderness;--there are tones that evoke all phantom pain of perished passion;--there are tones that resurrect all dead sensations of majesty and might and glory,--all expired exultations,--all forgotten magnanimities. Well may the influence of music seem inexplicable to the man who idly dreams that his life began less than a hundred years ago! But the mystery lightens for whomsoever learns that the substance of Self is older than the sun. He finds that music is a Necromancy;--he feels that to every ripple of melody, to every billow of harmony, there answers within him, out of the Sea of Death and Birth, some eddying immeasurable of ancient pleasure and pain. Pleasure and pain: they commingle always in great music; and therefore it is that music can move us more profoundly than the voice of ocean or than any other voice can do. But in music's larger utterance it is ever the sorrow that makes the undertone, --the surf-mutter of the Sea of Soul.... Strange to think how vast the sum of joy and woe that must have been experienced before the sense of music could evolve in the brain of man! Somewhere it is said that human life is the music of the Gods,-- that its sobs and laughter, its songs and shrieks and orisons, its outcries of delight and of despair, rise never to the hearing of the Immortals but as a perfect harmony.... Wherefore they could not desire to hush the tones of pain: it would spoil their music! The combination, without the agony-tones, would prove a discord unendurable to ears divine. And in one way we ourselves are as Gods,--since it is only the sum of the pains and the joys of past lives innumerable that makes for us, through memory organic, the ecstasy of music. All the gladness and the grief of dead generations come back to haunt us in countless forms of harmony and of melody. Even so,--a million years after we shall have ceased to view the sun,--will the gladness and the grief of our own lives pass with richer music into other hearts--there to bestir, for one mysterious moment, some deep and exquisite thrilling of voluptuous pain. 
56985	----	[Illustration: Book Cover: The Boy Travellers.] [Illustration] THE BOY TRAVELLERS IN THE FAR EAST * * * * * ADVENTURES OF TWO YOUTHS IN A JOURNEY TO JAPAN AND CHINA BY THOMAS W. KNOX AUTHOR OF "CAMP-FIRE AND COTTON-FIELD" "OVERLAND THROUGH ASIA" "UNDERGROUND" "JOHN" ETC. Illustrated [Illustration] NEW YORK HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS FRANKLIN SQUARE 1880 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1879, by HARPER & BROTHERS, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. PREFACE. * * * * * _To my Young Friends:_ Not many years ago, China and Japan were regarded as among the barbarous nations. The rest of the world knew comparatively little about their peoples, and, on the other hand, the inhabitants of those countries had only a slight knowledge of Europe and America. To-day the situation is greatly changed; China and Japan are holding intimate relations with us and with Europe, and there is every prospect that the acquaintance between the East and the West will increase as the years roll on. There is a general desire for information concerning the people of the Far East, and it is especially strong among the youths of America. The characters in "The Boy Travellers" are fictitious; but the scenes that passed before their eyes, the people they met, and the incidents and accidents that befell them are real. The routes they travelled, the cities they visited, the excursions they made, the observations they recorded--in fact, nearly all that goes to make up this volume--were the actual experiences of the author at a very recent date. In a few instances I have used information obtained from others, but only after careful investigation has convinced me of its entire correctness. I have aimed to give a faithful picture of Japan and China as they appear to-day, and to make such comparisons with the past that the reader can easily comprehend the changes that have occurred in the last twenty years. And I have also endeavored to convey the information in such a way that the story shall not be considered tedious. Miss Effie and "The Mystery" may seem superfluous to some readers, but I am of opinion that the majority of those who peruse the book will not consider them unnecessary to the narrative. In preparing illustrations for this volume the publishers have kindly allowed me to make use of some engravings that have already appeared in their publications relative to China and Japan. I have made selections from the volumes of Sir Rutherford Alcock and the Rev. Justus Doolittle, and also from the excellent work of Professor Griffis, "The Mikado's Empire." In the episode of a whaling voyage I have been under obligations to the graphic narrative of Mr. Davis entitled "Nimrod of the Sea," not only for illustrations, but for incidents of the chase of the monsters of the deep. The author is not aware that any book describing China and Japan, and specially addressed to the young, has yet appeared. Consequently he is led to hope that his work will find a welcome among the boys and girls of America. And when the juvenile members of the family have completed its perusal, the children of a larger growth may possibly find the volume not without interest, and may glean from its pages some grains of information hitherto unknown to them. T. W. K. NEW YORK, _October_, 1879. CONTENTS. * * * * * CHAPTER I. PAGE THE DEPARTURE. 17 CHAPTER II. OVERLAND TO CALIFORNIA. 30 CHAPTER III. ON THE PACIFIC OCEAN. 48 CHAPTER IV. INCIDENTS OF A WHALING VOYAGE. 58 CHAPTER V. ARRIVAL IN JAPAN. 72 CHAPTER VI. FIRST DAY IN JAPAN. 83 CHAPTER VII. FROM YOKOHAMA TO TOKIO. 101 CHAPTER VIII. SIGHTS IN THE EASTERN CAPITAL OF JAPAN. 115 CHAPTER IX. ASAKUSA AND YUYENO.--FIRST NATIONAL FAIR AT TOKIO. 131 CHAPTER X. WALKS AND TALKS IN TOKIO. 144 CHAPTER XI. AN EXCURSION TO DAI-BOOTS AND ENOSHIMA. 156 CHAPTER XII. SIGHTS AT ENOSHIMA. 169 CHAPTER XIII. ON THE ROAD TO FUSIYAMA. 183 CHAPTER XIV. THE ASCENT OF FUSIYAMA. 197 CHAPTER XV. EXECUTIONS AND HARI-KARI. 215 CHAPTER XVI. AMUSEMENTS.--WRESTLERS AND THEATRICAL ENTERTAINMENTS. 227 CHAPTER XVII. A STUDY OF JAPANESE ART. 239 CHAPTER XVIII. SOMETHING ABOUT JAPANESE WOMEN. 254 CHAPTER XIX. FROM YOKOHAMA TO KOBE AND OSAKA. 266 CHAPTER XX. THE MINT AT OSAKA.--FROM OSAKA TO NARA AND KIOTO. 279 CHAPTER XXI. KIOTO AND LAKE BIWA. 291 CHAPTER XXII. THE INLAND SEA AND NAGASAKI.--CAUGHT IN A TYPHOON. 303 CHAPTER XXIII. FIRST DAY IN CHINA. 318 CHAPTER XXIV. A VOYAGE UP THE YANG-TSE-KIANG. 328 CHAPTER XXV. THE TAE-PING REBELLION.--SCENES ON THE GREAT RIVER. 339 CHAPTER XXVI. FROM SHANGHAI TO PEKIN. 352 CHAPTER XXVII. SIGHTS IN PEKIN. 365 CHAPTER XXVIII. A JOURNEY TO THE GREAT WALL OF CHINA. 377 CHAPTER XXIX. FROM SHANGHAI TO HONG-KONG.--A STORY OF THE COOLIE TRADE. 388 CHAPTER XXX. HONG-KONG AND CANTON. 400 CHAPTER XXXI. SIGHTS AND SCENES IN CANTON. 408 ILLUSTRATIONS. A Japanese Swimming-scene. Reproduced from a Painting by a Japanese Artist _Frontispiece_. PAGE Mr. Bassett has Decided 17 Mary 18 Mary Thinking what she would Like from Japan 19 Overland by Stage in the Olden Time 20 Overland by Rail in a Pullman Car 21 Cooking-range in the Olden Time 24 Cooking range on a Pullman Car 24 Change for a Dollar--Before and After 25 Kathleen's Expectations for Frank and Fred 26 Effie Waiting for Somebody 28 Good-bye 29 Watering-place on the Erie Railway 30 The Course of Empire 31 Valley of the Neversink 32 Starucca Viaduct 33 Niagara Falls, from the American Side 34 Entrance to the Cave of the Winds 36 From Chicago to San Francisco 38 Omaha 39 Attacked by Indians 41 Herd of Buffaloes Moving 42 An Old Settler 43 "End of Track" 44 Snow-sheds on the Pacific Railway 45 View at Cape Horn, Central Pacific Railway 46 Seal-rocks, San Francisco 47 Departure from San Francisco 48 Dropping the Pilot 49 The Golden Gate 50 In the Fire-room 51 The Engineer at his Post 53 The Wind Rising 55 Spouts 57 Whale-ship Outward Bound 57 Captain Spofford Telling his Story 58 New Bedford 59 Sperm-whale 60 "There she blows!" 61 Implements Used in Whaling 62 Whale "Breaching" 63 In the Whale's Jaw 64 Captain Hunting's Fight 66 A Game Fellow 67 A Free Ride 68 Captain Sammis Selling Out 70 Shooting at a Water-spout 71 Frank Studying Navigation 73 Working up a Reckoning 75 View in the Bay of Yeddo 76 Japanese Junk and Boats 77 A Japanese Imperial Barge 78 Japanese Government Boat 79 Yokohama in 1854 81 A Japanese Street Scene 84 Japanese Musicians 86 Japanese Fishermen 87 "Sayonara" 88 Japanese Silk-shop 89 Seven-stroke Horse 90 Female Head-dress 91 The Siesta 91 A Japanese at his Toilet for a Visit of Ceremony 92 A Japanese Breakfast 95 Mutsuhito, Mikado of Japan 97 Landing of Perry's Expedition 98 The Last Shogoon of Japan 99 Third-class Passengers 102 Japanese Ploughing 103 Japanese Roller 104 Manuring Process 104 How they Use Manure 105 Mode of Protecting Land from Birds 106 Storks, Drawn by a Native Artist 106 Flock of Geese 107 Forts of Shinagawa 108 A Jin-riki-sha 109 Japanese on Foot 111 An Express Runner 112 A Japanese Coolie 113 Pity for the Blind 114 View of Tokio, from the South 115 Japanese Lady Coming from the Bath 116 Fire-lookouts in Tokio 117 Too Much Sa-kee 118 Sakuradu Avenue in Tokio 119 Japanese Children at Play 121 The Feast of Dolls ("Hina Matsuri") in a Japanese House 122 A Barber at Work 123 A Transaction in Clothes 124 Ball-playing in Japan 125 Sport at Asakusa 126 Spire of a Pagoda 127 Belfry in Court-yard of Temple, showing the Style of a Japanese Roof 128 Shrine of the Goddess Ku-wanon 130 Praying-machine 132 Archery Attendant 134 A Japanese Flower-show. Night Scene 135 A Christening in Japan 137 A Wedding Party 138 Strolling Singers at Asakusa 139 View from Suruga Dai in Tokio 140 A Child's Nurse 140 Lovers Behind a Screen. A Painting on Silk Exhibited at the Tokio Fair 141 Blacksmith's Bellows 142 A Grass Overcoat 143 A High-priest in Full Costume 145 A Japanese Temple 146 A Wayside Shrine 148 The Great Kosatsu, near the Nihon Basin 150 Blowing Bubbles 151 Father and Children 153 Caught in the Rain 155 A Village on the Tokaido 157 A Party on the Tokaido 159 Beginning of Relations between England and Japan 161 Pilgrims on the Road 162 Threshing Grain 163 Peasant and his Wife Returning from the Field 164 A Japanese Sandal 165 The Great Dai-Boots 166 Salutation of the Landlord 168 The Head Waiter Receiving Orders 168 A Japanese Kitchen 170 Boiling the Pot 171 Frank's Inventory 172 How the Japanese Sleep 173 A Japanese Fishing Scene 175 "Breakfast is ready" 176 Interior of a Tea-garden 178 The Path in Enoshima 179 A Group of Japanese Ladies 181 Specimen of Grotesque Drawing by a Japanese Artist 182 Bettos, or "Grooms," in Full Dress 185 A Japanese Loom 188 Artists at Work 189 Coopers Hooping a Vat 190 Crossing the River 192 Mother and Son 193 A Fishing Party 194 The Man they Met 196 Travelling by Cango 198 Japanese Norimon 199 Frank's Position 200 Hot Bath in the Mountains 201 A Japanese Bath 202 The Lake of Hakone 203 Antics of the Horses 206 A Near View of Fusiyama 207 In a Storm near Fusiyama 208 Ascent of Fusiyama 211 The Four Classes of Society 216 Two-sworded Nobles 218 A Samurai in Winter Dress 219 Beheading a Criminal 221 Japanese Court in the Old Style 224 Japanese Naval Officer 225 Japanese Steam Corvette 225 A Japanese War-junk of the Olden Time 226 A Japanese Wrestler 228 A Pair of Wrestlers and their Manager 230 The Clinch 231 Japanese Actor Dressed as a Doctor 233 The Samisen 234 Playing the Samisen 235 Scene from a Japanese Comedy.--Writing a Letter of Divorce 236 Scene from a Japanese Comedy.--Love-letter Discovered 237 Telling the Story of Bumbuku Chagama 238 Frank's Purchase 240 Japanese Pattern-designer 241 Fan-makers at Work 241 Chinese Cloisonné on Metal 242 Japanese Cloisonné on Metal 243 Japanese Bowl 243 Cover of Japanese Bowl 244 Chinese Metal Vase 246 Modern Japanese Cloisonné on Metal 247 Japanese Metal Cloisonné 248 Chinese Porcelain Cloisonné 248 Group Carved in Ivory 249 Japanese Pipe, Case, and Pouch 249 Japanese Artist Chasing on Copper 251 A Japanese Village.--Bamboo Poles Ready for Market 252 A Japanese Lady's-maid 254 Bride and Bridesmaid 255 Merchant's Family 255 Mysteries of the Dressing-room 256 Lady in Winter Walking-dress 257 A Girl who had never Seen a Dressing-pin 259 Ladies' Hair-dresser 260 Ladies at their Toilet 261 Japanese Ladies on a Picnic 262 Ladies and Children at Play 263 Flying Kites 264 A Village in the Tea District 266 Tea-merchants in the Interior 267 The Tea-plant 268 Firing Tea 269 Hiogo (Kobe) 270 The Junk at Anchor 271 The Helmsman at his Post 272 Japanese Sailors at Dinner 273 Junk Sailors on Duty 274 View from the Hotel 276 The Castle of Osaka 277 Vignette from the National Bank-notes 280 Imperial Crest for Palace Affairs 281 Imperial Crest on the New Coins 281 Old Kinsat, or Money-card 282 Ichi-boo 282 Vignette from Bank-note 283 Vignette from Bank-note 283 Men Towing Boats near Osaka 284 Mode of Holding the Tow-ropes 284 The Ferry-boat 285 The Hotel-maid 285 A Japanese Landscape 286 Dikes along the River 287 Night Scene near Fushimi 288 Women of Kioto 289 Ladies of the Western Capital 292 Restaurant and Tea-garden at Kioto 294 An Artist at Work 295 Lantern-maker at Kioto 295 A Japanese Archer 297 Temple Bell at Kioto 298 Reeling Cotton 298 Japanese Temple and Cemetery 299 Handcart for a Quartette 300 Horse Carrying Liquid Manure 301 The Paternal Nurse 301 Picnic Booth Overlooking Lake Biwa 302 A Maker of Bows 302 The Inland Sea near Hiogo 303 Approaching Simoneseki 304 Dangerous Place on the Suwo Nada 304 Pappenberg Island 305 Women of Nagasaki 306 A Christian Village in the Sixteenth Century 307 Monuments in Memory of Martyrs 308 A Path near Nagasaki 309 Hollander at Deshima Watching for a Ship 310 The Rain Dragon 311 The Wind Dragon 312 The Thunder Dragon 312 A Typhoon 314 Course of a Typhoon 316 Caught near the Storm's Centre 317 The Woosung River 318 Chinese Trading-junk on the Woosung River 319 Shanghai 321 A Coolie in the Streets of Shanghai 322 A Tea-house in the Country 324 Smoking Opium 324 Opium-pipe 325 Man Blinded by the Use of Opium 326 Chinese Gentleman in a Sedan 327 Canal Scene South of Shanghai 328 A Chinese Family Party 330 A Gentleman of Chin-kiang 331 Chinese Spectacles 332 Ploughing with a Buffalo 333 Threshing Grain near Chin-kiang 333 Carrying Bundles of Grain 334 A River Scene in China 335 A Nine-storied Pagoda 337 Little Orphan Rock 337 Entrance to Po-yang Lake 338 Tae-ping Rebels 340 General Ward 342 The Gate which Ward Attacked 343 General Burgevine 344 Fishing with Cormorants 347 A Street in Han-kow 349 Wo-chang 350 The Governor-general and his Staff 351 Attack on the Pei-ho Forts 353 Temple of the Sea-god at Taku 355 A Chinese Beggar 355 Signing the Treaty of Tien-tsin 356 Mode of Irrigating Fields 359 The Doctor's Bedroom 360 Part of the Wall of Pekin 361 A Pekin Cab 362 A Composite Team 363 A Chinese Dragon 364 A Pavilion in the Prohibited City 366 Temple of Heaven 367 Pekin Cash 367 Traditional Likeness of Confucius 368 God of War 368 God of Literature 368 God of Thieves 368 A Mandarin Judge Delivering Sentence 369 Squeezing the Fingers 371 Squeezing the Ankles 371 A Bed of Torture 372 Four Modes of Punishment 373 Standing in a Cage 374 Hot-water Snake 374 Carrying Forth to the Place of Execution 375 Just Before Decapitation 375 Military Candidates Competing with the Bow and Arrow 376 Walking on Stilts 378 Juggler Spinning a Plate 379 Gambling with a Revolving Pointer 379 Fortune-telling by Means of a Bird and Slips of Paper 380 Fortune-telling by Dissecting Chinese Characters 381 Chinese Razor 382 Barber Shaving the Head of a Customer 382 Bridge of the Cloudy Hills 383 The God of the Kitchen 384 A Lama 385 The Hills near Chan-kia-kow 386 Specimen of Chinese Writing 389 Four Illustrations of the Chinese Version of "Excelsior" 393 Barracoons at Macao 394 Coolies Embarking at Macao 395 Enraged Coolie 396 A Deadly Fall 396 Firing Down the Hatchway 397 The Writing in Blood 398 The Interpreters 399 Hong-kong 401 Fac-simile of a Hong-kong Mille, Dime, and Cent 403 Fort in Canton River 404 Gateway of Temple near Canton 406 Street Scene in Canton 410 Five-storied Pagoda 412 Horseshoe or Omega Grave 413 Presenting Food to the Spirits of the Dead 414 A Leper 414 A Literary Student 415 A Literary Graduate in his Robes of Honor 415 A Sedan-chair with Four Bearers 416 A Small Foot with a Shoe on it 417 Peasant-woman with Natural Feet 417 A Tablet Carved in Ivory 419 "Good-bye!" 421 CHAPTER I. THE DEPARTURE. [Illustration: MR. BASSETT HAS DECIDED.] "Well, Frank," said Mr. Bassett, "the question is decided." Frank looked up with an expression of anxiety on his handsome face. A twinkle in his father's eyes told him that the decision was a favorable one. "And you'll let me go with them, won't you, father?" he answered. "Yes, my boy," said the father, "you can go." Frank was so full of joy that he couldn't speak for at least a couple of minutes. He threw his arms around Mr. Bassett; then he kissed his mother and his sister Mary, who had just come into the room; next he danced around the table on one foot; then he hugged his dog Nero, who wondered what it was all about; and he ended by again embracing his father, who stood smiling at the boy's delight. By this time Frank had recovered the use of his tongue, and was able to express his gratitude in words. When the excitement was ended, Mary asked what had happened to make Frank fly around so. "Why, he's going to Japan," said Mrs. Bassett. "Going to Japan, and leave us all alone at home!" Mary exclaimed, and then her lips and eyes indicated an intention to cry. [Illustration: MARY.] Frank was eighteen years old and his sister was fifteen. They were very fond of each other, and the thought that her brother was to be separated from her for a while was painful to the girl. Frank kissed her again, and said, "I sha'n't be gone long, Mary, and I'll bring you such lots of nice things when I come back." Then there was another kiss, and Mary concluded she would have her cry some other time. "But you won't let him go all alone, father, now, will you?" she asked as they sat down to breakfast. "I think I could go alone," replied Frank, proudly, "and take care of myself without anybody's help; but I'm going with Cousin Fred and Doctor Bronson." "Better say Doctor Bronson and Cousin Fred," Mary answered, with a smile; "the Doctor is Fred's uncle and twenty years older." Frank corrected the mistake he had made, and said he was too much excited to remember all about the rules of grammar and etiquette. He had even forgotten that he was hungry; at any rate, he had lost his appetite, and hardly touched the juicy steak and steaming potatoes that were before him. During breakfast, Mr. Bassett explained to Mary the outline of the proposed journey. Doctor Bronson was going to Japan and China, and was to be accompanied by his nephew, Fred Bronson, who was very nearly Frank's age. Frank had asked his father's permission to join them, and Mr. Bassett had been considering the matter. He found that it would be very agreeable to Doctor Bronson and Fred to have Frank's company, and as the opportunity was an excellent one for the youth to see something of foreign lands under the excellent care of the Doctor, it did not take a long time for him to reach a favorable decision. "Doctor Bronson has been there before, hasn't he, father?" said Mary, when the explanation was ended. "Certainly, my child," was the reply; "he has been twice around the world, and has seen nearly every civilized and uncivilized country in it. He speaks three or four languages fluently, and knows something of half a dozen others. Five years ago he was in Japan and China, and he is acquainted with many people living there. Don't you remember how he told us one evening about visiting a Japanese prince, and sitting cross-legged on the floor for half an hour, while they ate a dinner of boiled rice and stewed fish, and drank hot wine from little cups the size of a thimble?" Mary remembered it all, and then declared she was glad Frank was going to Japan, and also glad that he was going with Doctor Bronson. And she added that the Doctor would know the best places for buying the presents Frank was to bring home. "A crape shawl for mother, and another for me; now don't you forget," said Mary; "and some fans and some ivory combs, and some of those funny little cups and saucers such as Aunt Amelia has, and some nice tea to drink out of them." "Anything else?" Frank asked. "I don't know just now," Mary answered; "I'll read all I can about Japan and China before you start, so's I can know all they make, and then I'll write out a list. I want something of everything, you understand." "If that's the case," Frank retorted, "you'd better wrap your list around a bushel of money. It'll take a good deal to buy the whole of those two countries." Mary said she would be satisfied with a shawl and a fan and anything else that was pretty. The countries might stay where they were, and there were doubtless a good many things in them that nobody would want anyway. All she wished was to have anything that was nice and pretty. [Illustration: MARY THINKING WHAT SHE WOULD LIKE FROM JAPAN.] For the next few days the proposed journey was the theme of conversation in the Bassett family. Mary examined all the books she could find about the countries her brother expected to visit; then she made a list of the things she desired, and the day before his departure she gave him a sealed envelope containing the paper. She explained that he was not to open it until he reached Japan, and that he would find two lists of what she wanted. "The things marked 'number one' you must get anyway," she said, "and those marked 'number two' you must get if you can." Frank thought she had shown great self-denial in making two lists instead of one, but intimated that there was not much distinction in the conditions she proposed. He promised to see about the matter when he reached Japan, and so the conversation on that topic came to an end. It did not take a long time to prepare Frank's wardrobe for the journey. His grandmother had an impression that he was going on a whaling voyage, as her brother had gone on one more than sixty years before. She proposed to give him two heavy jackets, a dozen pairs of woollen stockings, and a tarpaulin hat, and was sure he would need them. She was undeceived when the difference between a sea voyage of to-day and one of half a century ago was explained to her. The housemaid said he would not need any thick clothing if he was going to Japan, as it was close to Jerusalem, and it was very hot there. She thought Japan was a seaport of Palestine, but Mary made it clear to her that Japan and Jaffa were not one and the same place. When satisfied on this point, she expressed the hope that the white bears and elephants wouldn't eat the poor boy up, and that the natives wouldn't roast him, as they did a missionary from her town when she was a little girl. "And, sure," she added, "he won't want any clothes at all, at all, there, as the horrid natives don't wear nothing except a little cocoanut ile which they rubs on their skins." "What puts that into your head, Kathleen?" said Mary, with a laugh. "And didn't ye jest tell me," Kathleen replied, "that Japan is an island in the Pacific Oshin? Sure it was an island in that same oshin where Father Mullaly was roasted alive, and the wretched natives drissed theirselves wid cocoanut ile. It was in a place they called Feejee." Mary kindly explained that the Pacific Ocean was very large, and contained a great many islands, and that the spot where Father Mullaly was cooked was some thousands of miles from Japan. At breakfast the day before the time fixed for Frank's departure, Mr. Bassett told his son that he must make the most of his journey, enjoy it as much as possible, and bring back a store of useful knowledge. "To accomplish this," he added, "several things will be necessary; let us see what they are." "Careful observation is one requisite," said Frank, "and a good memory is another." "Constant remembrance of home," Mrs. Bassett suggested, and Mary nodded in assent to her mother's proposition. "Courage and perseverance," Frank added. "A list of the things you are going to buy," Mary remarked. "A light trunk and a cheerful disposition," said Doctor Bronson, who had entered the room just as this turn of the conversation set in. "One thing more," Mr. Bassett added. "I can't think of it," replied Frank; "what is it?" "Money." "Oh yes, of course; one couldn't very well go travelling without money. I'm old enough to know that, and to know it is very bad to be away from one's friends without money." The Doctor said it reminded him of a man who asked another for ten cents to pay his ferriage across the Mississippi River, and explained that he hadn't a single penny. The other man answered, "It's no use throwing ten cents away on you in that fashion. If you haven't any money, you are just as well off on this side of the river as on the other." "You will need money," said Mr. Bassett, "and here is something that will get it." He handed Frank a double sheet of paper with some printed and written matter on the first page, and some printed lists on the third and fourth pages. The second page was blank; the first page read as follows: LETTER OF CREDIT. NEW YORK, _June_ 18_th_, 1878. TO OUR CORRESPONDENTS: We have the pleasure of introducing to you Mr. FRANK BASSETT, the bearer of this letter, whose signature you will find in the margin. We beg you to honor his drafts to the amount of two hundred pounds sterling, upon our London house, all deductions and commissions being at his expense. We have the honor to remain, Gentlemen, Very truly yours, BLANK & CO. The printed matter on the third and fourth pages was a list of banking-houses in all the principal cities of the world. Frank observed that every country was included, and there was not a city of any prominence that was not named in the list, and on the same line with the list was the name of a banking-house. The paper was passed around the table and examined, and finally returned to Frank's hand. Mr. Bassett then explained to his son the uses of the document. "I obtained that paper," said he, "from the great house of Blank & Company. I paid a thousand dollars for it, but it is made in pounds sterling because the drafts are to be drawn on London, and you know that pounds, shillings, and pence are the currency of England." "When you want money, you go to any house named on that list, no matter what part of the world it may be, and tell them how much you want. They make out a draft which you sign, and then they pay you the money, and write on the second page the amount you have drawn. You get ten pounds in one place, ten in another, twenty in another, and you continue to draw whenever you wish. Each banker puts down the amount you have received from him on the second page, and you can keep on drawing till the sum total of your drafts equals the figures named on the first page. Then your credit is said to be exhausted, and you can draw no more on that letter." "How very convenient that is!" said Frank; "you don't have to carry money around with you, but get it when and where you want it." "You must be very careful not to lose that letter," said Mr. Bassett. "Would the money be lost altogether?" Frank asked in return. "No, the money would not be lost, but your credit would be gone, and of no use. A new letter would be issued in place of the missing one, but only after some months, and when the bankers had satisfied themselves that there was no danger of the old one ever being used again." "Can I get any kind of money with this letter, father?" Frank inquired, "or must I take it in pounds sterling? That would be very inconvenient sometimes, as I would have to go around and sell my pounds and buy the money of the country." "They always give you," was the reply, "the money that circulates in the country where you are. Here they would give you dollars; in Japan you will get Japanese money or Mexican dollars, which are current there; in India they would give you rupees; in Russia, rubles; in Italy, lire; in France, francs; in Spain, pesetas, and so on. They give you the equivalent of the amount you draw on your letter." This reminded the Doctor of a story, and at the general request he told it. [Illustration: CHANGE FOR A DOLLAR--BEFORE AND AFTER.] A traveller stopped one night at a tavern in the interior of Minnesota. On paying his bill in the morning, he received a beaver skin instead of a dollar in change that was due him. The landlord explained that beaver skins were legal tender in that region at a dollar each. He hid the skin under his coat, walked over the street to a grocery store, and asked the grocer if it was true that beaver skins were legal tender for one dollar each. "Certainly," answered the grocer, "everybody takes them at that rate." "Then be kind enough to change me a dollar bill," said the stranger, drawing the beaver skin from under his coat and laying it on the counter. The grocer answered that he was only too happy to oblige a stranger, and passed out four musk-rat skins, which were legal tender, as he said, at twenty-five cents each. "Please, Doctor," said Mary, "what do you mean by legal tender?" The Doctor explained that legal tender was the money which the law declares should be the proper tender, or offer, in paying a debt. "If I owed your father a hundred dollars," said he, "I could not compel him to accept the whole amount in ten-cent pieces, or twenty-five-cent pieces, or even in half-dollars. When the government issues a coin, it places a limit for which that coin can be a legal tender. Thus the ten-cent piece is a legal tender for all debts of one dollar or less, and the half-dollar for debts of five dollars or less." Mary said that when she was a child, ten cherries were exchanged among her schoolmates for one apple, two apples for one pear, and two pears for one orange. One day she took some oranges to school intending to exchange them for cherries, of which she was very fond; she left them in Katie Smith's desk, but Katie was hungry and ate one of the oranges at recess. "Not the first time the director of a bank has appropriated part of the funds," said the Doctor. "Didn't you find that an orange would buy more cherries or apples at one time than at another?" "Why, certainly," Mary answered, "and sometimes they wouldn't buy any cherries at all." "Bankers and merchants call that the fluctuation of exchanges," said Mr. Bassett; and with this remark he rose from the table, and the party broke up. [Illustration: KATHLEEN'S EXPECTATIONS FOR FRANK AND FRED.] The next morning a carriage containing Doctor Bronson and his nephew, Fred, drove up in front of Mr. Bassett's house. There were farewell kisses, and hopes for a prosperous journey; and in a few minutes the three travellers were on their way to the railway station. There was a waving of handkerchiefs as the carriage started from the house and rolled away; Nero barked and looked wistfully after his young master, and the warm-hearted Kathleen wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron, and flung an old shoe after the departing vehicle. "And sure," she said, "and I hope that wretched old Feejee won't be in Japan at all, at all, and the horrid haythens won't roast him." As they approached the station, Frank appeared a little nervous about something. The cause of his anxiety was apparent when the carriage stopped. He was the first to get out and the first to mount the platform. Somebody was evidently waiting for him. [Illustration: EFFIE WAITING FOR SOMEBODY.] Doctor Bronson followed him a minute later, and heard something like the following: "There, now, don't cry. Be a good girl, and I'll bring you the nicest little pigtail, of the most Celestial pattern, from China." "I tell you, Mr. Frank Bassett, I'm not crying. It's the dust in the road got into my eyes." "But you are; there's another big tear. I know you're sorry, and so am I. But I'm coming back." "I shall be glad to see you when you come back; of course I shall, for your sister's sake. And you'll be writing to Mary, and she'll tell me where you are. And when she's writing to you she'll--" The bright little face turned suddenly, and its owner saw the Doctor standing near with an amused expression on his features, and, perhaps, a little moisture in his eyes. She uttered a cheery "Good-morning," to which the Doctor returned, "Good-morning, Miss Effie. This is an unexpected pleasure." "You see, Doctor" (she blushed and stammered a little as she spoke), "you know I like to take a walk in the morning, and happened to come down to the station." "Of course, quite accidental," said the Doctor, with a merry twinkle in his eyes. "Yes, that is, I knew Frank--I mean Mr. Bassett--that is, I knew you were all three going away, and I thought I might come down and see you start." "Quite proper, Miss Effie," was the reply; "so good-bye: I must look after the tickets and the baggage." "Good-bye, Doctor Bronson; good-bye, Mr. Fred. _Bon voyage!_" Frank lingered behind, and the rest of the dialogue has not been recorded. "She's a nice girl," said Fred to the Doctor as they made their way to the ticket-office. "And she's very fond of Mary Bassett, Frank's sister. Spiteful people say, though, that she's oftener in Frank's company than in Mary's; and I know Frank is ready to punch the head of any other boy that dares to look at her." "Quite so," answered Dr. Bronson; "I don't think Frank is likely to be forgetful of home." Soon the whistle sounded, the great train rolled into the station, the conductor shouted "All aboard!" our friends took their seats, the bell rang, and the locomotive coughed asthmatically as it moved on. Frank looked back as long as the station was in sight. Somebody continued to wave a delicate handkerchief until the train had disappeared; somebody's eyes were full of tears, and so were the eyes of somebody else. Somebody's good wishes followed the travellers, and the travellers--Frank especially--wafted back good wishes for that somebody. [Illustration: GOOD-BYE.] CHAPTER II. OVERLAND TO CALIFORNIA. Our three travellers were seated in a Pullman car on the Erie Railway. Frank remarked that they were like the star of empire, as they were taking their way westward. [Illustration: OVERLAND BY STAGE IN THE OLDEN TIME.] Fred replied that he thought the star of empire had a much harder time of it, as it had no cushioned seat to rest upon, and no plate-glass window to look from. [Illustration: OVERLAND BY RAIL IN A PULLMAN CAR.] "And it doesn't go at the rate of thirty miles an hour," the Doctor added. [Illustration: COOKING-RANGE IN THE OLDEN TIME.] [Illustration: COOKING-RANGE ON A PULLMAN CAR.] "I'm not sure that I know exactly what the star of empire means," said Frank. "I used the expression as I have seen it, but can't tell what it comes from." He looked appealingly at Doctor Bronson. The latter smiled kindly, and then explained the origin of the phrase. "It is found," said the Doctor, "in a short poem that was written more than a hundred and fifty years ago, by Bishop Berkeley. The last verse is like this: "Westward the course of empire takes its way; The first four acts already past, A fifth shall close the drama with the day: Time's noblest offspring is the last." [Illustration: THE COURSE OF EMPIRE.] "You see the popular quotation is wrong," he added; "it is the _course_ of empire that is mentioned in the poem, and not the _star_." "I suppose," said Fred, "that the Bishop referred to the discovery of America by Columbus when he sailed to the West, and to the settlement of America which began on the Eastern coast and then went on to the West." "You are exactly right," was the reply. Frank added that he thought "star of empire" more poetical than "course of empire." [Illustration: WATERING-PLACE ON THE ERIE RAILWAY.] "But course is more near to the truth," said Fred, "than star. Don't you see that Bishop Berkeley wrote before railways were invented, and before people could travel as they do nowadays? Emigrants, when they went out West, went with wagons, or on horseback, or on foot. They travelled by day and rested at night. Now--don't you see?--they made their course in the daytime, when they couldn't see the stars at all; and when the stars were out, they were asleep, unless the wolves or the Indians kept them awake. They were too tired to waste any time over a twinkling star of empire, but they knew all about the course." There was a laugh all around at Fred's ingenious defence of the author of the verse in question, and then the attention of the party was turned to the scenery along the route. Although living near the line of the Erie Railway, neither of the boys had ever been west of his station. Everything was therefore new to the youths, and they took great interest in the panorama that unrolled to their eyes as the train moved on. [Illustration: VALLEY OF THE NEVERSINK.] They were particularly pleased with the view of the valley of the Neversink, with its background of mountains and the pretty town of Port Jervis in the distance. The railway at one point winds around the edge of a hill, and is far enough above the valley to give a view several miles in extent. [Illustration: STARUCCA VIADUCT.] Frank had heard much about the Starucca Viaduct, and so had Fred, and they were all anxiety to see it. Frank thought it would be better to call it a bridge, as it was only a bridge, and nothing more; but Fred inclined to the opinion that "viaduct" sounded larger and higher. "And remember," said he to Frank, "it is more than twelve hundred feet long, and is a hundred feet above the valley. It is large enough to have a much bigger name than viaduct." Frank admitted the force of the argument, and added that he didn't care what name it went by, so long as it carried them safely over. When they were passing the famous place, they looked out and saw the houses and trees far below them. Fred said they seemed to be riding in the air, and he thought he could understand how people must feel in a balloon. Doctor Bronson said he was reminded of a story about the viaduct. "Oh! tell it, please," said the two boys, in a breath. "It is this," answered the Doctor. "When the road was first opened, a countryman came to the backwoods to the station near the end of the bridge. He had never seen a railway before, and had much curiosity to look at the cars. When the train came along, he stepped aboard, and before he was aware of it the cars were moving. He felt the floor trembling, and as he looked from the window the train was just coming upon the viaduct. He saw the earth falling away, apparently, the tree-tops far below him, and the cattle very small in the distance. He turned pale as a sheet, and almost fainted. He had just strength enough to say, in a troubled voice, to the man nearest him, "Say, stranger, how far does this thing fly before it lights?" "I don't wonder at it," said Fred; "you see, I thought of the same thing when the train was crossing." [Illustration: NIAGARA FALLS, FROM THE AMERICAN SIDE.] The railway brought the party to Niagara, where they spent a day visiting the famous cataract and the objects of interest in the vicinity. Frank pronounced the cataract wonderful, and so did Fred; whereupon the Doctor told them of the man who said Niagara was not at all wonderful, as any other water put there would run down over the Falls, since there was nothing to hinder its doing so. The real wonder would be to see it go up again. [Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE CAVE OF THE WINDS.] They looked at the Falls from all the points of view. They went under the Canadian side, and they also went under the Central Fall, and into the Cave of the Winds. They stood for a long time watching the water tumbling over Horseshoe Fall, and they stood equally long on the American side. When the day was ended, the boys asked the Doctor if he would not permit them to remain another twenty-four hours. "Why so?" the Doctor asked. "Because," said Frank, with a bit of a blush on his cheeks--"because we want to write home about Niagara and our visit here. Fred wants to tell his mother about it, and I want to write to my mother and to Mary, and--and--" "Miss Effie, perhaps," Fred suggested. Frank smiled, and said he might drop a line to Miss Effie if he had time, and he was pretty certain there would be time if they remained another day. Doctor Bronson listened to the appeal of the boys, and when they were through he took a toothpick from his pocket and settled back in his chair in the parlor of the hotel. "Your request is very natural and proper," he answered; "but there are several things to consider. Niagara has been described many times, and those who have never seen it can easily know about it from books and other accounts. Consequently what you would write about the Falls would be a repetition of much that has been written before, and even your personal impressions and experiences would not be far different from those of others. I advise you not to attempt anything of the kind, and, at all events, not to stop here a day for that purpose. Spend the evening in writing brief letters home, but do not undertake a description of the Falls. If you want to stay a day in order to see more, we will stay, but otherwise we will go on." The boys readily accepted Doctor Bronson's suggestion. They wrote short letters, and Frank did not forget Miss Effie. Then they went out to see the Falls by moonlight, and in good season they went to bed, where they slept admirably. The next day the journey was resumed, and they had a farewell view of Niagara from the windows of the car as they crossed the Suspension Bridge from the American to the Canadian side. On they went over the Great Western Railway of Canada, and then over the Michigan Central; and on the morning after leaving Niagara they rolled into Chicago. Here they spent a day in visiting the interesting places in the Lake City. An old friend of Doctor Bronson came to see him at the Tremont House, and took the party out for a drive. Under the guidance of this hospitable citizen, they were taken to see the City-hall, the stock-yards, the tunnel under the river, the grain-elevators, and other things with which every one who spends a short time in Chicago is sure to be made familiar. They were shown the traces of the great fire of 1870, and were shown, too, what progress had been made in rebuilding the city and removing the signs of the calamity. Before they finished their tour, they had absorbed much of the enthusiasm of their guide, and were ready to pronounce Chicago the most remarkable city of the present time. As they were studying the map to lay out their route westward, the boys noticed that the lines of the railways radiated in all directions from Chicago, like the diverging cords of a spider's web. Everywhere they stretched out except over the surface of Lake Michigan, where railway building has thus far been impossible. The Doctor explained that Chicago was one of the most important railway centres in the United States, and owed much of its prosperity to the network they saw on the map. "I have a question," said Frank, suddenly brightening up. "Well, what is it?" "Why is that network we have just been looking at like a crow calling to his mates?" "Give it up; let's have it." "Because it makes Chi-ca-go." "What's that to do with the crow?" Fred asked. "Why, everything," Frank answered; "the crow makes ye-caw-go, doesn't it?" "Now, Frank," the Doctor said, as he laughed over the conundrum, "making puns when we're a thousand miles from home and going west! However, that will do for a beginner; but don't try too often." Fred thought he must say something, but was undecided for a moment. The room was open, and as he looked into the hall, he saw the chambermaid approaching the opposite door with the evident intention of looking through the keyhole. This gave him his opportunity, and he proposed his question. "Why are we like that chambermaid over there?" "The Doctor and Frank couldn't tell, and Fred answered, triumphantly, "Because we're going to Pek-in." "I think you boys are about even now," said the Doctor, "and may stop for the present." They agreed to call it quits, and resumed their study of the map. [Illustration: FROM CHICAGO TO SAN FRANCISCO.] They decided to go by the Northwestern Railway to Omaha. From the latter place they had no choice of route, as there was only a single line of road between Omaha and California. [Illustration: OMAHA.] From Chicago westward they traversed the rich prairies of Illinois and Iowa--a broad expanse of flat country, which wearied them with its monotony. At Omaha they crossed the Missouri River on a long bridge; and while they were crossing, Frank wrote some lines in his note-book to the effect that the Missouri was the longest river in the world, and was sometimes called the "Big Muddy," on account of its color. It looked like coffee after milk has been added; and was once said by Senator Benton to be too thick to swim in, but not thick enough to walk on. Now they had a long ride before them. The Union Pacific Railway begins at Omaha and ends at Ogden, 1016 miles farther west. It connects at Ogden with the Central Pacific Railway, 882 miles long, which terminates at San Francisco. As they rode along they had abundant time to learn the history of the great enterprise that unites the Atlantic and Pacific coasts, and enables one to travel in a single week from New York to San Francisco. The Doctor had been over the route previously; and he had once crossed the Plains before the railway was constructed. Consequently, he was an excellent authority, and had an abundant store of information to draw from. "The old way of crossing the Plains and the new way of doing the same thing," said Doctor Bronson, "are as different as black and white. My first journey to California was with an ox wagon, and it took me six months to do it. Now we shall make the same distance in four days." "What a difference, indeed!" the boys remarked. [Illustration: ATTACKED BY INDIANS.] "We walked by the side of our teams or behind the wagons, we slept on the ground at night, we did our own cooking, we washed our knives by sticking them into the ground rapidly a few times, and we washed our plates with sand and wisps of grass. When we stopped, we arranged our wagons in a circle, and thus formed a 'corral,' or yard, where we drove our oxen to yoke them up. And the corral was often very useful as a fort, or camp, for defending ourselves against the Indians. Do you see that little hollow down there?" he asked, pointing to a depression in the ground a short distance to the right of the train. "Well, in that hollow our wagon-train was kept three days and nights by the Indians. Three days and nights they stayed around, and made several attacks. Two of our men were killed and three were wounded by their arrows, and others had narrow escapes. One arrow hit me on the throat, but I was saved by the knot of my neckerchief, and the point only tore the skin a little. Since that time I have always had a fondness for large neckties. I don't know how many of the Indians we killed, as they carried off their dead and wounded, to save them from being scalped. Next to getting the scalps of their enemies, the most important thing with the Indians is to save their own. We had several fights during our journey, but that one was the worst. Once a little party of us were surrounded in a small 'wallow,' and had a tough time to defend ourselves successfully. Luckily for us, the Indians had no fire-arms then, and their bows and arrows were no match for our rifles. Nowadays they are well armed, but there are not so many of them, and they are not inclined to trouble the railway trains. They used to do a great deal of mischief in the old times, and many a poor fellow has been killed by them." Frank asked if the Doctor saw any buffaloes in his first journey, and if he ever went on a buffalo-hunt. "Of course," was the reply; "buffaloes were far more numerous then than now, and sometimes the herds were so large that it took an entire day, or even longer, for one of them to cross the road. Twice we were unable to go on because the buffaloes were in the way, and so all of us who had rifles went out for a hunt. I was one of the lucky ones, and we went on in a party of four. Creeping along behind a ridge of earth, we managed to get near two buffaloes that were slightly separated from the rest of the herd. We spread out, and agreed that, at a given signal from the foremost man, we were to fire together--two at one buffalo and two at the other. We fired as we had agreed. One buffalo fell with a severe wound, and was soon finished with a bullet through his heart; the other turned and ran upon us, and, as I was the first man he saw, he ran at me. Just then I remembered that I had forgotten something at the camp, and, as I wanted it at once, I started back for it as fast as I could go. It was a sharp race between the buffalo and me, and, as he had twice as many legs as I could count, he made the best speed. I could hear his heavy breathing close behind me, and his footsteps, as he galloped along, sounded as though somebody were pounding the ground with a large hammer. Just as I began to think he would soon have me on his horns, I heard the report of a rifle at one side. Then the buffalo stumbled and fell, and I ventured to look around. One of the men from camp had fired just in time to save me from a very unpleasant predicament, and I concluded I didn't want any more buffalo-hunting for that day." Hardly had the Doctor finished his story when there was a long whistle from the locomotive, followed by several short ones. The speed of the train was slackened, and, while the passengers were wondering what was the matter, the conductor came into the car where our friends were seated and told them there was a herd of buffaloes crossing the track. "We shall run slowly through the herd," the conductor explained, "and you will have a good chance to see the buffalo at home." [Illustration: HERD OF BUFFALOES MOVING.] They opened the windows and looked out. Sure enough, the plain was covered, away to the south, with a dark expanse like a forest, but, unlike a forest, it appeared to be in motion. Very soon it was apparent that what seemed to be a forest was a herd of animals. [Illustration: AN OLD SETTLER.] As the train approached the spot where the herd was crossing the track, the locomotive gave its loudest and shrillest shrieks. The noise had the effect of frightening the buffaloes sufficiently to stop those which had not crossed, and in the gap thus formed the train moved on. The boys were greatly interested in the appearance of the beasts, and Frank declared he had never seen anything that looked more fierce than one of the old bulls, with his shaggy mane, his humped shoulders, and his sharp, glittering eyes. He was quite contented with the shelter of the railway-car, and said if the buffalo wanted him he must come inside to get him; or give him a good rifle, so that they could meet on equal terms. Several of the passengers fired at the buffaloes, but Fred was certain he did not see anything drop. In half an hour the train had passed through the herd, and was moving on as fast as ever. On and on they went. The Doctor pointed out many places of interest, and told them how the road was built through the wilderness. [Illustration: "END OF TRACK."] "It was," said he, "the most remarkable enterprise, in some respects, that has ever been known. The working force was divided into parties like the divisions of an army, and each had its separate duties. Ties were cut and hauled to the line of the road; the ground was broken and made ready for the track; then the ties were placed in position, the rails were brought forward and spiked in place, and so, length by length, the road crept on. On the level, open country, four or five miles of road were built every day, and in one instance they built more than seven miles in a single day. There was a construction-train, where the laborers boarded and lodged, and this train went forward every day with the road. It was a sort of moving city, and was known as the 'End of Track;' there was a post-office in it, and a man who lived there could get his letters the same as though his residence had been stationary. The Union Pacific Company built west from Omaha, while the Central Pacific Company built east from Sacramento. They met in the Great Salt Lake valley; and then there was a grand ceremony over the placing of the last rail to connect the East with the West. The continent was spanned by the railway, and our great seaboards were neighbors." [Illustration: SNOW-SHEDS ON THE PACIFIC RAILWAY.] Westward and westward went our travellers. From the Missouri River, the train crept gently up the slope of the Rocky Mountains, till it halted to take breath at the summit of the Pass, more than eight thousand feet above the level of the sea. Then, speeding on over the Laramie Plains, down into the great basin of Utah, winding through the green carpet of Echo Cañon, skirting the shores of Great Salt Lake, shooting like a sunbeam over the wastes of the alkali desert, climbing the Sierra Nevada, darting through the snow-sheds and tunnels, descending the western slope to the level of the Pacific, it came to a halt at Oakland, on the shore of San Francisco Bay. The last morning of their journey our travellers were among the snows on the summit of the Sierras; at noon they were breathing the warm air of the lowlands of California, and before sundown they were looking out through the Golden Gate upon the blue waters of the great Western ocean. Nowhere else in the world does the railway bring all the varieties of climate more closely together. [Illustration: VIEW AT CAPE HORN, CENTRAL PACIFIC RAILWAY.] San Francisco, the City by the Sea, was full of interest for our young adventurers. They walked and rode through its streets; they climbed its steep hill-sides; they gazed at its long lines of magnificent buildings; they went to the Cliff House, and saw the sea-lions by dozens and hundreds, within easy rifle-shot of their breakfast-table; they steamed over the bay, where the navies of the world might find safe anchorage; they had a glimpse of the Flowery Kingdom, in the Chinese quarter; and they wondered at the vegetable products of the Golden State as they found them in the market-place. Long letters were written home, and before they had studied California to their satisfaction it was time for them to set sail for what Fred called "the under-side of the world." [Illustration: SEAL-ROCKS, SAN FRANCISCO.] CHAPTER III. ON THE PACIFIC OCEAN. Officers and men were at their posts, and the good steamer _Oceanic_ was ready for departure. It was a few minutes before noon. As the first note was sounded on the bell, the gangway plank was drawn in. "One," "two," "three," "four," "five," "six," "seven," "eight," rang out from the sonorous metal. [Illustration: DEPARTURE FROM SAN FRANCISCO.] The captain gave the order to cast off the lines. Hardly had the echo of his words ceased before the lines had fallen. Then he rang the signal to the engineer, and the great screw began to revolve beneath the stern of the ship. Promptly at the advertised time the huge craft was under way. The crowd on the dock cheered as she moved slowly on, and they cheered again as she gathered speed and ploughed the water into a track of foam. The cheers grew fainter and fainter; faces and forms were no longer to be distinguished; the waving of hats and kerchiefs ceased; the long dock became a speck of black against the hilly shore, and the great city faded from sight. Overhead was the immense blue dome of the sky; beneath and around were the waters of San Francisco Bay. On the right was Monte Diablo, like an advanced sentinel of the Sierras; and on the left were the sand-hills of the peninsula, covered with the walls and roofs of the great city of the Pacific Coast. The steamer moved on and on through the Golden Gate; and in less than an hour from the time of leaving the dock, she dropped her pilot, the gangway passage was closed, and her prow pointed to the westward for a voyage of five thousand miles. [Illustration: DROPPING THE PILOT.] "What a lovely picture!" said the Doctor, as he waved his hand towards the receding shore. "Why do they call that the Golden Gate?" Fred asked. [Illustration: THE GOLDEN GATE.] "Because," was the reply, "it is, or was, the entrance to the land of gold. It was so named after the discovery of gold in California, and until he completion of the Overland railway it was the principal pathway to the country where everybody expected to make a fortune." "It is very wide, and easy of navigation," the Doctor continued, "and yet a stranger might not be aware of its existence, and might sail by it if he did not know where to look for the harbor. A ship must get well in towards the land before the Golden Gate is visible." "How long shall we be on the voyage, Doctor?" "If nothing happens," he answered, "we shall see the coast of Japan in about twenty days. We have five thousand miles to go, and I understand the steamer will make two hundred and fifty miles a day in good weather." "Will we stop anywhere on the way?" "There is not a stopping-place on the whole route. We are not yet out of sight of the Golden Gate, and already we are steering for Cape King, at the entrance of Yeddo Bay. There's not even an island, or a solitary rock on our course." "I thought I had read about an island where the steamers intended to stop," Fred remarked. "So you have," was the reply; "an island was discovered some years ago, and was named Brook's Island, in honor of its discoverer. It was thought at first that the place might be convenient as a coaling station, but it is too far from the track of the steamers, and, besides, it has no harbor where ships can anchor. "There is a curious story in connection with it. In 1816 a ship, the _Canton_, sailed from Sitka, and was supposed to have been lost at sea, as she never reached her destination. Fifty years later this island was discovered, and upon it was part of the wreck of the _Canton_. There were traces of the huts which were built by the crew during their stay, and it was evident that they constructed a smaller vessel from the fragments of the wreck, and sailed away in it." "And were lost in it, I suppose?" "Undoubtedly, as nothing has ever been heard from them. They did not leave any history of themselves on the island, or, at any rate, none was ever found." [Illustration: IN THE FIRE-ROOM.] At this moment the steward rang the preparatory bell for dinner, and the conversation ended. Half an hour later dinner was on the table, and the passengers sat down to it. The company was not a large one, and there was abundant room and abundant food for everybody. The captain was at the head of the table, and the purser at the foot, and between them were the various passengers in the seats which had been reserved for them by the steward. The passengers included an American consul on his way to his post in China, and an American missionary, bound for the same country. There were several merchants, interested in commercial matters between the United States and the Far East; two clerks, going out to appointments in China; two sea-captains, going to take command of ships; a doctor and a mining engineer in the service of the Japanese government; half a dozen "globe-trotters," or tourists; and a very mysterious and nondescript individual, whom we shall know more about as we proceed. The consul and the missionary were accompanied by their families. Their wives and daughters were the only ladies among the passengers, and, according to the usual custom on board steamers, they were seated next to the captain in the places of highest honor. Doctor Bronson and his young companions were seated near the purser, whom they found very amiable, and they had on the opposite side of the table the two sea-captains already mentioned. Everybody appeared to realize that the voyage was to be a long one, and the sooner the party became acquainted, the better. By the end of dinner they had made excellent progress, and formed several likes and dislikes that increased as time went on. In the evening the passengers sat about the cabin or strolled on deck, continuing to grow in acquaintance, and before the ship had been twenty-four hours at sea it was hard to realize that the company had been assembled so recently. Brotherly friendships as well as brotherly hatreds grew with the rapidity of a beanstalk, and, happily, the friendships were greatly in the majority. [Illustration: THE ENGINEER AT HIS POST.] Life on a steamship at sea has many peculiarities. The ship is a world in itself, and its boundaries are narrow. You see the same faces day after day, and on a great ocean like the Pacific there is little to attract the attention outside of the vessel that carries you. You have sea and sky to look upon to-day as you looked upon them yesterday, and will look on them to-morrow. The sky may be clear or cloudy; fogs may envelop you; storms may arise, or a calm may spread over the waters; the great ship goes steadily on and on. The pulsations of the engine seem like those of the human heart; and when you wake at night, your first endeavor, as you collect your thoughts, is to listen for that ceaseless throbbing. One falls into a monotonous way of life, and the days run on one after another, till you find it difficult to distinguish them apart. The hours for meals are the principal hours of the day, and with many persons the table is the place of greatest importance. They wander from deck to saloon, and from saloon to deck again, and hardly has the table been cleared after one meal, before they are thinking what they will have for the next. The managers of our great ocean lines have noted this peculiarity of human nature; some of them give no less than five meals a day, and if a passenger should wish to eat something between times, he could be accommodated. Our young friends were too much absorbed with the novelty of their situation to allow the time to hang heavy on their hands. Everything was new and strange to them, but, of course, it was far otherwise with Doctor Bronson. They had many questions to ask, and he was never weary of answering, as he saw they were endeavoring to remember what they heard, and were not interrogating him from idle curiosity. "What is the reason they don't strike the hours here as they do on land?" Frank inquired, as they reached the deck after dinner. The Doctor explained that at sea the time is divided into watches, or periods, of four hours each. The bell strikes once for each half-hour, until four hours, or eight bells, are reached, and then they begin again. One o'clock is designated as "two bells," half-past one is "three bells," and four o'clock is "eight bells." Eight o'clock, noon, and midnight are also signalled by eight strokes on the bell, and after a little while a traveller accustoms himself to the new mode of keeping time. Fred remembered that when they left San Francisco at noon, the bell struck eight times, instead of twelve, as he thought it should have struck. The Doctor's explanation made it clear to him. The second day out the boys began to repeat all the poetry they could remember about the sea, and were surprised at the stock they had on hand. Fred recalled something he had read in _Harper's Magazine_, which ran as follows: "Far upon the unknown deep, 'Mid the billows circling round, Where the tireless sea-birds sweep; Outward bound. Nothing but a speck we seem, In the waste of waters round, Floating, floating like a dream; Outward bound." Frank was less sentimental, and repeated these lines: "Two things break the monotony Of a great ocean trip: Sometimes, alas! you ship a sea, And sometimes see a ship." Then they called upon the Doctor for a contribution, original or selected, with this result: "The praises of the ocean grand, 'Tis very well to sing on land. 'Tis very fine to hear them carolled By Thomas Campbell or Childe Harold; But sad, indeed, to see that ocean From east to west in wild commotion." [Illustration: THE WIND RISING.] The wind had been freshening since noon, and the rolling motion of the ship was not altogether agreeable to the inexperienced boys. They were about to have their first acquaintance with sea-sickness; and though they held on manfully and remained on deck through the afternoon, the ocean proved too much for them, and they had no appetite for dinner or supper. But their malady did not last long, and by the next morning they were as merry as ever, and laughed over the event. They asked the Doctor to explain the cause of their trouble, but he shook his head, and said the whole thing was a great puzzle. "Sea-sickness is a mystery," said he, "and the more you study it, the less you seem to understand it. Some persons are never disturbed by the motion of a ship, no matter how violent it may be, while others cannot endure the slightest rocking. Most of the sufferers recover in a short time, and after two or three days at sea are as well as ever, and continue so. On the other hand, there are some who never outlive its effects, and though their voyage may last a year or more, they are no better sailors at the end than at the beginning. "I knew a young man," he continued, "who entered the Naval Academy, and graduated. When he was appointed to service on board a ship, he found himself perpetually sick on the water; after an experience of two years, and finding no improvement, he resigned. Such occurrences are by no means rare. I once travelled with a gentleman who was a splendid sailor in fine weather; but when it became rough, he was all wrong, and went to bed." "Were you ever sea-sick, Doctor?" queried Frank. "Never," was the reply, "and I had a funny incident growing out of this fact on my first voyage. We were going out of New York harbor, and I made the acquaintance of the man who was to share my room. As he looked me over, he asked me if I had ever been to sea. "I told him I never had, and then he remarked that I was certain to be sea-sick, he could see it in my face. He said he was an old traveller, and rarely suffered, and then he gave me some advice as to what I should do when I began to feel badly. I thanked him and went on deck. "As the ship left the harbor, and went outside to the open Atlantic, she encountered a heavy sea. It was so rough that the majority of the passengers disappeared below. I didn't suffer in the least, and didn't go to the cabin for two or three hours. There I found that my new friend was in his bed with the very malady he had predicted for me." "What did you do then, Doctor?" "Well, I repeated to him the advice he had given me, and told him I saw in his face that he was sure to be sea-sick. He didn't recover during the whole voyage, and I never suffered a moment." The laugh that followed the story of the Doctor's experience was interrupted by the breakfast-bell, and the party went below. There was a light attendance, and the purser explained that several passengers had gone ashore. "Which is a polite way of saying that they are not inclined to come out," the Doctor remarked. "Exactly so," replied the purser, "they think they would make the best appearance alone." Captain Spofford, who sat opposite to Frank, remarked that he knew an excellent preventive of sea-sickness. Frank asked what it was. "Always stay at home," was the reply. "Yes," answered Frank, "and to escape drowning you should never go near the water." Fred said the best thing to prevent a horse running away was to sell him off. Everybody had a joke of some kind to propose, and the breakfast party was a merry one. Suddenly Captain Spofford called out, "There she blows!" and pointed through the cabin window. Before the others could look, the rolling of the ship had brought the window so far above the water that they saw nothing. "What is it?" Fred asked. "A whale," Captain Spofford answered. "What he is doing here, I don't know. This isn't a whaling-ground." They went on deck soon after, and, sure enough, several whales were in sight. Every little while a column of spray was thrown into the air, and indicated there was a whale beneath it. [Illustration: SPOUTS.] Frank asked why it was the whale "spouted," or blew up, the column of spray. Captain Spofford explained that the whale is not, properly speaking, a fish, but an animal. "He has warm blood, like a cow or horse," said the Captain, "and he must come to the surface to breathe. He takes a certain amount of water into his lungs along with the air, and when he throws it out, it makes the spray you have seen, and which the sailors call a spout." It turned out that the Captain was an old whaleman. The boys wanted to hear some whaling stories, and their new friend promised to tell them some during the evening. When the time came for the narration, the boys were ready, and so was the old mariner. The Doctor joined the party, and the four found a snug corner in the cabin where they were not likely to be disturbed. The Captain settled himself as comfortably as possible, and then began the account of his adventures in pursuit of the monsters of the deep. [Illustration: WHALE-SHIP OUTWARD BOUND.] CHAPTER IV. INCIDENTS OF A WHALING VOYAGE. Captain Spofford was a weather-beaten veteran who gave little attention to fine clothes, and greatly preferred his rough jacket and soft hat to what he called "Sunday gear." He was much attached to his telescope, which he had carried nearly a quarter of a century, and on the present occasion he brought it into the cabin, and held it in his hand while he narrated his whaling experiences. He explained that he could talk better in the company of his old spy-glass, as it would remind him of things he might forget without its aid, and also check him if he went beyond the truth. [Illustration: CAPTAIN SPOFFORD TELLING HIS STORY.] "There are very few men in the whaling business now," said he, "compared to the number twenty-five years ago. Whales are growing scarcer every year, and petroleum has taken the place of whale-oil. Consequently, the price of the latter is not in proportion to the difficulty of getting it. New Bedford used to be an important seaport, and did an enormous business. It is played out now, and is as dull and sleepy as a cemetery. It was once the great centre of the whaling business, and made fortunes for a good many men; but you don't hear of fortunes in whaling nowadays. [Illustration] "I went to sea from New Bedford when I was twelve years old, and kept at whaling for near on to twenty-seven years. From cabin-boy, I crept up through all the ranks, till I became captain and part owner, and it was a good deal of satisfaction to me to be boss of a ship, I can tell you. When I thought I had had enough of it I retired, and bought a small farm. I stocked and ran it after my own fashion, called one of my oxen 'Port' and the other 'Starboard,' had a little mound like my old quarter-deck built in my garden, and used to go there to take my walks. I had a mast with cross-trees fixed in this mound, and used to go up there, and stay for hours, and call out 'There she blows!' whenever I saw a bird fly by, or anything moving anywhere. I slept in a hammock under a tent, and when I got real nervous I had one of my farm-hands rock me to sleep in the hammock, and throw buckets of water against the sides of the tent, so's I could imagine I was on the sea again. But 'twasn't no use, and I couldn't cure myself of wanting to be on blue water once more. So I left my farm in my wife's hands, and am going out to Shanghai to command a ship whose captain died at Hong-Kong five months ago. "So much for history. Now we'll talk about whales. [Illustration: SPERM-WHALE.] "There are several kinds of them--sperm-whales, right-whales, bow-heads; and a whaleman can tell one from the other as easy as a farmer can tell a cart-horse from a Shetland pony. The most valuable is the sperm-whale, as his oil is much better, and brings more money; and then we get spermaceti from him to make candles of, which we don't get from the others. He's a funny-looking brute, as his head is a third of his whole length; and when you've cut it off, there doesn't seem to be much whale left of him. "I sailed for years in a sperm-whaler in the South Pacific, and had a good many lively times. The sperm-whale is the most dangerous of all, and the hardest to kill; he fights with his tail and his mouth, while the others fight only with their tails. A right-whale or a bow-head will lash the water and churn it up into foam; and if he hits a boat with his tail, he crushes it as if it was an egg-shell. A sperm-whale will do all this, and more too; he takes a boat in his mouth, and chews it, which the others never do. And when he chews it, he makes fine work of it, I can tell you, and short work, too. "Sometimes he takes a shy at a ship, and rushes at it, head on. Two ships are known to have been sunk in this way; one of them was the _Essex_, which the whale ran into three times, and broke her timbers so that she filled. The crew took to the boats, and made for the coast of South America. One boat was never heard from, one reached the coast, and the third was picked up near Valparaiso with everybody dead but two, and those barely alive. Provisions and water had given out, and another day would have finished the poor fellows. Another ship was the _Union_, which was stove right under the bows by a single blow from a sperm-whale, and went down in half an hour. "I was fifteen years old when I pulled my first oar in a whale-boat; I was boat-steerer at eighteen, and second mate at twenty, and before I was twenty-one I had known what it was to be in the mouth of a sperm-whale. It is hardly necessary to say that I got out of it as fast as I could, and didn't stop to see if my hair was combed and my shirt-collar buttoned. A man has no time to put on frills under such circumstances. [Illustration: "THERE SHE BLOWS!"] "The way of it was this. The lookout in the cross-trees--we always keep a man up aloft to look out for whales when we're on cruising ground--the man had called out, 'There she blows!' and everybody was on his feet in an instant. "'Where away?' shouted the first mate. "'Two points on the weather bow.' "And before the words had done echoing he called out 'There she blows' again, and a moment after again. That meant that he had seen two more whales. "We put two boats into the water, the first mate's and mine, and away we went. We pulled our best, and the boats fairly bounced through the waves. It was a race to see who could strike the first whale; we had a good half mile to go, and we went like race-horses. "Each boat has six men in her--a boat-steerer, as he is called, and five at the oars. The boat-steerer handles the harpoon and lance and directs the whole movement; in fact, for the time, he is captain of the boat. [Illustration: IMPLEMENTS USED IN WHALING.] "The first mate's boat headed me a little, and made for a big fellow on the starboard. I went for another, and we struck almost at the same instant. Within three boat-lengths, I stood up, braced my feet firmly, poised my harpoon, and made ready to strike. The whale didn't know we were about, and was taking it very easy. The bow of the boat was about ten feet from his black skin when I sent the iron spinning and whizzing away, and buried it deep in his flesh. Didn't he give a jump! You can bet he did. "'Starn all! starn all! for your lives!' I yelled. "There wasn't a moment lost, and the boat went back by the force of the strong arms of the men." [Illustration: WHALE "BREACHING."] "The whale lashed about and then 'breached;' that is, he threw his great body out of the water, giving me a chance to get in a second harpoon. Then he sounded--that is, he went down--and the lines ran out so fast that the side of the boat fairly smoked when they went over. He ran off two hundred fathoms of line before he stopped, and then we felt the line slack and knew he would soon be up again. "Up he came not a hundred yards from where he went down, and as he came up he caught sight of the boat. He went for it as a cat goes for a mouse. "The sperm-whale can't see straight ahead, as his eyes are set far back, and seem to be almost on his sides. He turns partly round to get a glimpse of a boat, then ports his helm, drops his jaw, calculates his distance, and goes ahead at full speed. His jaw is set very low, and sometimes he turns over, or partly over, to strike his blow. [Illustration: IN THE WHALE'S JAW.] "This time he whirled and took the bow of the boat in his mouth, crushing it as though it had been made of paper. We jumped out, the oars flew all around us, the sea was a mass of foam, and the whale chewed the boat as though it was a piece of sugar-candy and he hadn't seen any for a month. "We were all in the water, and nobody hurt. The first mate's boat had killed its whale inside of ten minutes, and before he tried to sound. They left the whale and came to pick us up; then they hurried and made fast to him, as another ship was coming up alongside of ours, and we might lose our game. It is a rule of the sea that you lose your claim to a whale when you let go, even though you may have killed him. Hang on to him and he's yours, though you may hang with only a trout-line and a minnow-hook. It's been so decided in the courts. "The captain sent another boat from the ship, and we soon had the satisfaction of seeing my whale dead on the water. He got the lance right in his vitals, and went into his 'flurry,' as we call it. The flurry is the whale's convulsive movements just before death, and sometimes he does great damage as he thrashes about." Frank wished to know how large the whale was, and how large whales are generally. "We don't reckon whales by their length," Captain Spofford answered, "but by the number of barrels of oil they make. Ask any old captain how long the largest whale was that he ever took, and the chances are he'll begin to estimate by the length of his ship, and frankly tell you he never measured one. I measured the largest sperm-whale I ever took, and found him seventy-nine feet long; he made a hundred and seven barrels of oil. Here's the figures of him: nose to neck, twenty-six feet; neck to hump, twenty-nine feet; hump to tail, seventeen feet; tail, seven feet. His tail was sixteen feet across, and he was forty-one feet six inches around the body. He had fifty-one teeth, and the heaviest weighed twenty-five ounces. We took nineteen barrels of oil from his case, the inside of the head, where we dipped it out with a bucket. I know one captain that captured a sperm-whale ninety feet long, that made a hundred and thirty-seven barrels, and there was another sperm taken by the ship _Monka_, of New Bedford, that made a hundred and forty-five barrels. I don't know how long he was. "There's a wonderful deal of excitement in fastening to a whale, and having a fight with him. You have the largest game that a hunter could ask for; you have the cool pure air of the ocean, and the blue waters all about you. A thrill goes through every nerve as you rise to throw the sharp iron into the monster's side, and the thrill continues when he plunges wildly about, and sends the line whistling over. He sinks, and he rises again; he dashes away to windward, and struggles to escape; you hold him fast, and, large as he is in proportion to yourself, you feel that he must yield to you, though, perhaps, not till after a hard battle. At length he lies exhausted, and you approach for the final blow with the lance. Another thrilling moment, another, and another; and if fortune is in your favor, your prize is soon motionless before you. And the man who cannot feel an extra beat of his pulse at such a time must be made of cooler stuff than the most of us. "But you don't get all the whales you see, by a long shot. Many a whale gets away before you can fasten to him, and many another whale, after you have laid on and fastened, will escape you. He sinks, and tears the iron loose; he runs away to windward ten or twenty miles an hour, and you must cut the line to save your lives; he smashes the boat, and perhaps kills some of his assailants; he dies below the surface, and when he dies there he stays below, and you lose him; and sometimes he shows such an amount of toughness that he seems to bear a charmed life. We fight him with harpoon and lance, and in these later days they have an invention called the bomb-lance or whaling-gun. A bomb-shell is thrown into him with a gun like a large musket, and it explodes down among his vitals. There's another gun that is fastened to the shaft of a harpoon, and goes off when the whale tightens the line; and there's another that throws a lance half-way through him. Well, there are whales that can stand all these things and live. [Illustration: CAPTAIN HUNTING'S FIGHT.] "Captain Hunting, of New Bedford, had the worst fight that I know of, while he was on a cruise in the South Atlantic. When he struck the fellow--it was a tough old bull that had been through fights before, I reckon--the whale didn't try to escape, but turned on the boat, bit her in two, and kept on thrashing the wreck till he broke it up completely. Another boat picked up the men and took them to the ship, and then two other boats went in on him. Each of them got in two irons, and that made him mad; he turned around and chewed those boats, and he stuck closely to business until there wasn't a mouthful left. The twelve swimmers were picked up by the boat which had taken the first lot to the ship; two of the men had climbed on his back, and he didn't seem to mind them. He kept on chewing away at the oars, sails, masts, planks, and other fragments of the boats; and whenever anything touched his body, he turned and munched away at it. There he was with six harpoons in him, and each harpoon had three hundred fathoms of line attached to it. Captain Hunting got out two spare boats, and started with them and the saved boat to renew the fight. He got alongside and sent a bomb-lance charged with six inches of powder right into the whale's vitals, just back of his fin. When the lance was fired, he turned and tore through the boat like a hurricane, scattering everything. The sun was setting, four boats were gone with all their gear and twelve hundred fathoms of line, the spare boats were poorly provided, the men were wearied and discouraged, and Captain Hunting hauled off and admitted himself beaten by a whale." [Illustration: A GAME FELLOW.] The nondescript individual whom we saw among the passengers early in the voyage had joined the party, and heard the story of Captain Hunting's whale. When it was ended, he ventured to say something on the subject of whaling. "That wasn't a circumstance," he remarked, "to the great whale that used to hang around the Philippine Islands. He was reckoned to be a king, as all the other whales took off their hats to him, and used to get down on their front knees when he came around. His skin was like leather, and he was stuck so full of harpoons that he looked like a porcupine under a magnifying-glass. Every ship that saw him used to put an iron into him, and I reckon you could get up a good history of the whale-fishery if you could read the ships' names on all of them irons. Lots of whalers fought with him, but he always came out first best. Captain Sammis of the _Ananias_ had the closest acquaintance with him, and the way he tells it is this: "'We'd laid into him, and his old jaw came up and bit off the bow of the boat. As he bit he gave a fling, like, and sent me up in the air; and when I came down, there was the whale, end up and mouth open waiting for me. His throat looked like a whitewashed cellar-door; but I saw his teeth were wore smooth down to the gums, and that gave me some consolation. When I struck his throat he snapped for me, but I had good headway, and disappeared like a piece of cake in a family of children. When I was splashing against the soft sides of his stomach, I heard his jaws snapping like the flapping of a mainsail. "'I was rather used up and tired out, and a little bewildered, and so I sat down on the southwest corner of his liver, and crossed my legs while I got my wits together. It wasn't dark down there, as there was ten thousand of them little sea jellies shinin' there, like second-hand stars, in the wrinkles of his stomach, and then there was lots of room too. By-an'-by, while I was lookin' round, I saw a black patch on the starboard side of his stomach, and went over to examine it. There I found printed in injey ink, in big letters, "Jonah, B.C. 1607." Then I knew where I was, and I began to feel real bad. "'I opened my tobacco-box to take a mouthful of fine-cut to steady my nerves. I suppose my hand was a little unsteady; anyhow, I dropped some of the tobacco on the floor of the whale's stomach. It gave a convulsive jump, and I saw at once the whale wasn't used to it. I picked up a jack-knife I saw layin' on the floor, and cut a ping of tobacco into fine snuff, and scattered it around in the little wrinkles in the stomach. You should have seen how the medicine worked. The stomach began to heave as though a young earthquake had opened up under it, and then it squirmed and twisted, and finally turned wrong side out, and flopped me into the sea. The mate's boat was there picking up the men from the smashed boat, and just as they had given me up for lost they saw me and took me in. They laughed when I told them of the inside of the whale, and the printin' I saw there; but when I showed them the old jack-knife with the American eagle on one side and Jonah's name on the other, they stopped laughin' and looked serious. It is always well to have something on hand when you are tellin' a true story, and that knife was enough.' [Illustration: A FREE RIDE.] "That same captain," he continued, "was once out for a whale, but when they killed him, they were ten miles from the ship. The captain got on the dead whale, and sent the boat back to let the ship know where they were. After they had gone, a storm came on and drove the ship away, and there the captain stayed three weeks. He stuck an oar into the whale to hang on to, and the third week a ship hove in sight. As he didn't know what she was, he hoisted the American flag, which he happened to have a picture of on his pocket-handkerchief; and pretty soon the ship hung out her colors, and her captain came on board. Captain Sammis was tired of the monotony of life on a whale, and so he sold out his interest to the visitor. He got half the oil and a passage to Honolulu, where he found his own craft all right." [Illustration: CAPTAIN SAMMIS SELLING OUT.] "You say he remained three weeks on the back of that whale," said one of the listeners. "Yes, I said three weeks." "Well, how did he live all that time?" "How can I tell?" was the reply; "that's none of my business. Probably he took his meals at the nearest restaurant and slept at home. And if you don't believe my story, I can't help it--I've done the best I can." With this remark he rose and walked away. It was agreed that there was a certain air of improbability about his narrations, and Frank ventured the suggestion that the stranger would never get into trouble on account of telling too much truth. They had a curiosity to know something about the man. Doctor Bronson questioned the purser and ascertained that he was entered on the passenger-list as Mr. A. of America; but whence he came, or what was his business, no one could tell. He had spoken to but few persons since they left port, and the bulk of his conversation had been devoted to stories like those about the whaling business. In short, he was a riddle no one could make out; and very soon he received from the other passengers the nickname of "The Mystery." Fred suggested that Mystery and Mr. A. were so nearly alike that the one name was as good as the other. While they were discussing him, he returned suddenly and said: "The Captain says there are indications of a water-spout to-morrow; and perhaps we may be destroyed by it." With these words he withdrew, and was not seen any more that evening. Fred wished to know what a water-spout was like, and was promptly set at rest by the Doctor. [Illustration: SHOOTING AT A WATER-SPOUT.] "A water-spout," the latter remarked, "is often seen in the tropics, but rarely in this latitude. The clouds lie quite close to the water, and there appears to be a whirling motion to the latter; then the cloud and the sea beneath it become united by a column of water, and this column is what we call a water-spout. It is generally believed that the water rises, through this spout, from the sea to the clouds, and sailors are fearful of coming near them lest their ships may be deluged and sunk. They usually endeavor to destroy them by firing guns at them, and this was done on board a ship where I was once a passenger. When the ball struck the spout, there was a fall of water sufficient to have sunk us if we had been beneath it, and we all felt thankful that we had escaped the danger." CHAPTER V. ARRIVAL IN JAPAN. The great ship steamed onward, day after day and night after night. There was no storm to break the monotony; no sail showed itself on the horizon; no one left the steamer, and no new-comers appeared; nobody saw fit to quarrel with any one else; and there was not a passenger who showed a disposition to quarrel with his surroundings. Stories were told and songs were sung, to while away the time; and, finally, on the twentieth day, the captain announced that they were approaching land, and the voyage would soon be over. [Illustration: FRANK STUDYING NAVIGATION.] Our young travellers had found a daily interest in the instruments by which a mariner ascertains his ship's position. Frank had gone so far as to borrow the captain's extra copy of "Bowditch's Navigator" and study it at odd intervals, and after a little while he comprehended the uses of the various instruments employed in finding a way over the trackless ocean. He gave Fred a short lecture on the subject, which was something like the following: "Of course, you know, Fred, all about the mariner's compass, which points towards the north, and always tells where north is. Now, if we know where north is, we can find south, east, and west without much trouble." Fred admitted the claim, and repeated the formula he had learned at school: Face towards the north, and back towards the south; the right hand east, and the left hand west. "Now," continued Frank, "there are thirty-two points of the compass; do you know them?" Fred shook his head; and then Frank explained that the four he had named were the cardinal points, while the other twenty-eight were the divisions between the cardinal points. One of the first duties of a sailor was to "box the compass," that is, to be able to name all these divisions. "Let me hear you box the compass, Frank," said Doctor Bronson, who was standing near. "Certainly, I can," Frank answered, and then began: "North, north by east, north-northeast, northeast by north, northeast, northeast by east, east-northeast, east by north, east--" "That will do," said the Doctor; "you have given one quadrant, or a quarter of the circle; I'm sure you can do the rest easily, for it goes on in the same way." "You see," Frank continued, "that you know by the compass exactly in what direction you are going; then, if you know how many miles you go in a day or an hour, you can calculate your place at sea. "That mode of calculation is called 'dead-reckoning,' and is quite simple, but it isn't very safe." "Why so?" Fred asked. "Because it is impossible to steer a ship with absolute accuracy when she is rolling and pitching about, and, besides, the winds make her drift a little to one side. Then there are currents that take her off her course, and sometimes they are very strong." "Yes, I know," Fred replied; "there's the Gulf Stream, in the Atlantic Ocean, everybody has heard of; it is a great river in the sea, and flows north at the rate of three or four miles an hour." "There's another river like it in the Pacific Ocean," Frank explained; "it is called the Japan Current, because it flows close to the coast of Japan. It goes through Behring Strait into the Arctic Ocean, and then it comes south by the coast of Greenland, and down by Newfoundland. That's what brings the icebergs south in the Atlantic, and puts them in the way of the steamers between New York and Liverpool. "On account of the uncertainty of dead-reckoning, the captain doesn't rely on it except when the fog is so thick that he can't get an observation." "What is that?" "Observing the positions of the sun and moon, and of certain stars with relation to each other. That is done with the quadrant and sextant; and then they use a chronometer, or clock, that tells exactly what the time is at Greenwich. Then, you see, this book is full of figures that look like multiplication-tables; and with these figures they 'work out their position;' that is, they find out where they are. Greenwich is near London, and all the tables are calculated from there." "But suppose a sailor was dropped down here suddenly, without knowing what ocean he was in; could he find out where he was without anybody telling him?" [Illustration: WORKING UP A RECKONING.] "Certainly; with the instruments I have named, the tables of figures, and a clear sky, so as to give good observations, he could determine his position with absolute accuracy. He gets his latitude by observing the sun at noon, and he gets his longitude by the chronometer and by observations of the moon. When he knows his latitude and longitude, he knows where he is, and can mark the place on the map." Fred opened his eyes with an expression of astonishment, and said he thought the science of navigation was something wonderful. The others agreed with him; and while they were discussing the advantages which it had given to the world, there was a call that sent them on deck at once. "Land, ho!" from the lookout forward. "Land, ho!" from the officer near the wheel-house. "Land, ho!" from the captain, as he emerged from his room, just aft of the wheel. "Where away?" "Dead ahead, sir," replied the officer. "'Tis Fusiyama, sir." The boys looked in the direction indicated, but could see nothing. This is not surprising, when we remember that sailors' eyes are accustomed to great distances, and can frequently see objects distinctly long before landsmen can make them out. But by-and-by they could distinguish the outline of a cone, white as a cloud and nearly as shadowy. It was the Holy Mountain of Japan, and they recognized the picture they had seen so many times upon Japanese fans and other objects. As they watched it, the form grew more and more distinct, and after a time they no longer doubted that they looked at Fusiyama. "Just to think," Fred exclaimed, "when we left San Francisco, we steered for this mountain, five thousand miles away, and here it is, right before us. Navigation is a wonderful science, and no mistake." As the ship went on, the mountain grew more and more distinct, and by-and-by other features of Japanese scenery were brought into view. The western horizon became a serrated line, that formed an agreeable contrast to the unbroken curve they had looked upon so many days; and as the sun went down, it no longer dipped into the sea and sank beneath the waves. All on board the ship were fully aware they were approaching land. [Illustration: VIEW IN THE BAY OF YEDDO.] During the night they passed Cape King and entered Yeddo bay. The great light-house that watches the entrance shot its rays far out over the waters and beamed a kindly welcome to the strangers. Slowly they steamed onward, keeping a careful lookout for the numerous boats and junks that abound there, and watching the hundreds of lights that gleamed along the shore and dotted the sloping hill-sides. Sixty miles from Cape King, they were in front of Yokohama; the engines stopped, the anchor fell, the chain rattled through the hawse-hole, and the ship was at rest, after her long journey from San Francisco. Our young adventurers were in Japan. With the first streak of dawn the boys were on deck, where they were joined by Doctor Bronson. The sun was just rising when the steamer dropped her anchor, and, consequently, their first day in the new country was begun very early. There was an abundance of sights for the young eyes, and no lack of subjects for conversation. Hardly was the anchor down before the steamer was surrounded by a swarm of little boats, and Frank thought they were the funniest boats he had ever seen. [Illustration: JAPANESE JUNK AND BOATS.] "They are called 'sampans,'" Doctor Bronson explained, "and are made entirety of wood. Of late years the Japanese sometimes use copper or iron nails for fastenings; but formerly you found them without a particle of metal about them." "They don't look as if they could stand rough weather," said Fred. "See; they are low and square at the stern, and high and sharp at the bow; and they sit very low in the water." "They are not in accordance with our notions," replied the Doctor; "but they are excellent sea-boats, and I have known them to ride safely where an American boat would have been swamped. You observe how easily they go through the water. They can be handled very readily, and, certainly, the Japanese have no occasion to be ashamed of their craft." [Illustration: A JAPANESE IMPERIAL BARGE.] Frank had his eye on a sampan that was darting about like an active fish, first in one direction and then in another. It was propelled by a single oar in the hands of a brown-skinned boatman, who was not encumbered with a large amount of superfluous clothing. The oar was in two pieces--a blade and a handle--lashed together in such a way that they did not form a straight line. At first Frank thought there was something wrong about it; but he soon observed that the oars in all the boats were of the same pattern, and made in the same way. They were worked like sculls rather than like oars. The man kept the oar constantly beneath the water; and, as he moved it forwards and back, he turned it partly around. A rope near his hand regulated the distance the oar could be turned, and also kept it from rising out of the water or going too far below the surface. Nearly every boat contained a funny little furnace, only a few inches square, where the boatman boiled his tea and cooked the rice and fish that composed his food. Each boat had a deck of boards which were so placed as to be readily removed; but, at the same time, were secured against being washed away. Every one of these craft was perfectly clean, and while they were waiting around the ship, several of the boatmen occupied themselves by giving their decks a fresh scrubbing, which was not at all necessary. The Doctor took the occasion to say something about the cleanliness of the Japanese houses, and of the neat habits of the people generally, and added, "You will see it as you go among them, and cannot fail to be impressed by it. You will never hesitate to eat Japanese food through fear that it may not be clean; and this is more than you can say of every table in our own country." [Illustration: JAPANESE GOVERNMENT BOAT.] The steamer was anchored nearly half a mile from shore. English, French, German, and other ships were in the harbor; tenders and steam-launches were moving about; row-boats were coming and going; and, altogether, the port of Yokohama presented a lively appearance. Shoreward the picture was interesting. At the water's edge there was a stone quay or embankment, with two inner harbors, where small boats might enter and find shelter from occasional storms. This quay was the front of a street where carriages and pedestrians were moving back and forth. The farther side of the street was a row of buildings, and as nearly every one of these buildings had a yard in front filled with shade-trees, the effect was pretty. Away to the right was the Japanese part of Yokohama, while on the left was the foreign section. The latter included the row of buildings mentioned above; they stood on a level space which was only a few feet above the level of the bay. Back of this was a range of steep hills, which were covered nearly everywhere with a dense growth of trees and bushes, with little patches of gardens here and there. On the summits of the hills, and occasionally on their sides, were houses with wide verandas, and with great windows capable of affording liberal ventilation. Many of the merchants and other foreigners living in Yokohama had their residences in these houses, which were far more comfortable than the buildings near the water. Doctor Bronson explained that the lower part of Yokohama was called the "Bund," while the upper was known as the "Bluff." Business was transacted in the Bund, and many persons lived there; but the Bluff was the favorite place for a residence, and a great deal of money had been expended in beautifying it. The quarantine officials visited the steamer, and after a brief inspection she was pronounced healthy, and permission was given for the passengers to go on shore. Runners from the hotels came in search of patrons, and clerks from several of the prominent business houses came on board to ask for letters and news. Nearly every commercial establishment in Yokohama has its own boat and a special uniform for its rowers; so that they can be readily distinguished. One of the clerks who visited the ship seemed to be in search of somebody among the passengers, and that somebody proved to be our friend, The Mystery. The two had a brief conversation when they met, and it was in a tone so low that nobody could hear what was said. When it was over, The Mystery went below, and soon reappeared with a small satchel. Without a word of farewell to anybody, he entered the boat and was rowed to the shore at a very rapid rate. There was great activity at the forward gangway. The steerage passengers comprised about four hundred Chinese who were bound for Hong-Kong; but, as the steamer would lie a whole day at Yokohama, many of them were preparing to spend the day on shore. The boats crowded at the foot of the gangway, and there was a great contention among the boatmen to secure the patronage of the passengers. Occasionally one of the men fell into the water, owing to some unguarded movement; but he was soon out again, and clamoring as earnestly as ever. In spite of the excitement and activity, there was the most perfect good-nature. Nobody was inclined to fight with any one else, and all the competitors were entirely friendly. The Chinese made very close bargains with the boatmen, and were taken to and from the shore at prices which astonished the boys when they heard them. The Doctor explained that the tariff for a boat to take one person from ship to shore and back again, including an hour's waiting, was ten cents, with five cents added for every hour beyond one. In the present instance the Chinese passengers bargained to be taken on shore in the morning and back again at night for five cents each, and not more than four of them were to go in one boat. Fred thought it would require a long time for any of the boatmen to become millionnaires at this rate. Our travellers were not obliged to bargain for their conveyance, as they went ashore in the boat belonging to the hotel where they intended to stay. The runner of the hotel took charge of their baggage and placed it in the boat; and when all was ready, they shook hands with the captain and purser of the steamer, and wished them prosperous voyages in future. Several other passengers went ashore at the same time. Among them was Captain Spofford, who was anxious to compare the Yokohama of to-day with the one he had visited twenty years before. [Illustration: YOKOHAMA IN 1854.] He explained to the boys that when the American fleet came to Japan in 1854, there was only a small fishing village where the city now stands. Yokohama means "across the strand," and the city is opposite, or across the strand from, Kanagawa, which was established as the official port. The consuls formerly had their offices in Kanagawa, and continued to date their official documents there long after they had moved to the newer and more prosperous town. Yokohama was found much more agreeable, as there was a large open space there for erecting buildings, while the high bluffs gave a cooling shelter from the hot, stifling air of summer. Commercial prosperity caused it to grow rapidly, and made it the city we now find it. They reached the shore. Their baggage was placed on a large hand-cart, and they passed through the gateway of the Custom-house. A polite official, who spoke English, made a brief survey of their trunks; and, on their assurance that no dutiable goods were within, he did not delay them any further. The Japanese duties are only five per cent. on the value of the goods, and, consequently, a traveller could not perpetrate much fraud upon the revenue, even if he were disposed to do so. "Here you are in Japan," said the Doctor, as they passed through the gate. "Yes, here we are," Frank replied; "let's give three cheers for Japan." "Agreed," answered Fred, "and here we go--Hip! hip! hurrah!" The boys swung their hats and gave the three cheers. "And three more for friends at home!" Fred added. "Certainly," Frank responded. "Here we go again;" and there was another "Hip! hip! hurrah!" "And a cheer from you, Frank," remarked the Doctor, "for somebody we saw at the railway station." Frank gave another swing of his hat and another cheer. The Doctor and Fred united their voices to his, and with a hearty shout all around, they concluded the ceremony connected with their arrival in Japan. CHAPTER VI. FIRST DAY IN JAPAN. They had no difficulty in reaching the hotel, as they were in the hands of the runner of the establishment, who took good care that they did not go astray and fall into the clutches of the representative of the rival concern. The publicans of the open ports of Japan have a watchful eye for their interests, and the stranger does not have to wander long in the streets to find accommodation. The Doctor had been there before, and took great pains to have his bargain made with the utmost exactness, lest there might be a mistake at the time of his departure. "In Europe and Asia," he remarked to Frank, "a traveller soon learns that he cannot be too explicit in making his contracts at hotels; if he neglects this little formality, he will often find that his negligence has cost him something. The last time I was in Yokohama I had a very warm discussion with my landlord when I settled my bill, and I don't propose to have a repetition of it." The hotel was much like an American house in its general characteristics, both in the arrangement of the rooms and the style of furniture. The proprietors and managers were foreigners, but the servants were native and were dressed in Japanese costume. The latter were very quiet and orderly in their manners, and made a favorable impression on the young visitors. Frank was so pleased with the one in charge of his room that he wished he could take him home with him, and have a Japanese servant in America. Testimony as to the excellent character of servants in Japan is nearly universal on the part of those who have employed them. Of course there will be an occasional lazy, inattentive, or dishonest fellow, but one finds them much more rarely than in Europe or America. In general, they are very keen observers, and learn the ways and peculiarities of their masters in a remarkably short time. And once having learned them, they never forget. "When I was last here," said the Doctor, "I was in this very hotel, and had one of the regular servants of the establishment to wait on me. The evening after my arrival, I told him to have my bath ready at seven o'clock in the morning, and to bring a glass of ice-water when he waked me. Exactly at seven he was at my bedside with the water, and told me the bath was waiting; and as long as I remained here he came at precisely the same hour in the morning, offered me the glass of water, and announced the readiness of the bath. I never had occasion to tell him the same thing twice, no matter what it was. Occasionally I went to Tokio to spend two or three days. The first time I went, I showed him what clothes I wished to take, and he packed them in my valise; and afterwards I had only to say I was going to Tokio, when he would immediately proceed to pack up exactly the same things I had taken the first time, or their equivalents. He never made the slightest error, and was a trifle more exact than I wished him to be. On my first journey I carried a bottle of cough-mixture to relieve a cold from which I happened to be suffering. The cold had disappeared, and the bottle was empty before my second trip to Tokio; but my faithful servant wrapped it carefully in paper, and put it in a safe corner of my valise, and continued to do so every time I repeated the excursion." [Illustration: A JAPANESE STREET SCENE.] The boys were all anxiety to take a walk through the streets of Yokohama, and could hardly wait for the Doctor to arrange matters with the hotel-keeper. In a little while everything was determined, and the party went out for a stroll. The Doctor led the way, and took them to the Japanese portion of the city, where they were soon in the midst of sights that were very curious to them. They stopped at several shops, and looked at a great variety of Japanese goods, but followed the advice of the Doctor in deferring their purchases to another time. Frank thought of the things he was to buy for his sister Mary, and also for Miss Effie; but as they were not to do any shopping on their first day in Japan, he did not see any occasion for opening the precious paper that Mary had confided to him previous to his departure. They had a walk of several hours, and on their return to the hotel were quite weary enough to rest awhile. Frank and Fred had a whispered conversation while the Doctor was talking with an old acquaintance; and as soon as he was at liberty they told him what they had been conversing about. "We think we want to write home now, Doctor," said Frank, "and wish to know if you approve of our doing so to-day." "By all means," replied the Doctor, with a smile; "it is time to begin at once. You are in a foreign country and there are plenty of things to write about. Your information will be to a great extent new and interesting to your friends, and the reasons that I gave you for not writing a long letter from Niagara do not exist here." "I thought you would say so," responded Fred, his eyes sparkling with animation, "and I want to write while everything is fresh in my mind. I am going to write at once." "And so am I," echoed Frank; "here goes for a letter to friends at home." Off the boys ran for their writing materials, and in a little while they were seated on the balcony of the hotel, and making their pens fairly fly over the paper. [Illustration: JAPANESE MUSICIANS.] Here is the letter from Frank to his mother: "YOKOHAMA, _August_ 4_th_, 1878. "MY DEAR MOTHER: "I wish you could see me just now. I am sitting on the veranda of the hotel, and Fred is at the table with me. If we look up from our paper, we can see out upon the bay, where lots of ships are at anchor, and where a whole fleet of Japanese fishing-boats are coming up and dragging their nets along after them. Down in the street in front of us there are some funny-looking men with trousers as tight as their skins, and making the men look a great deal smaller than they are. They have hats like small umbrellas, and made of plaited straw, to keep the sun off, and they have them tied down under the chin with cords as big as a clothes-line. Doctor Bronson says these are the lower class of Japanese, and that we haven't seen the fine people yet. There are three musicians, at least they are called so, but I can't see that they make much that I should call music. One of them has on one of those great broad hats, another has his head covered with a sort of small cap, while the third has his skull shaven as smooth as a door-knob. The man with the hat on is blowing a whistle and ringing a small bell, the second is beating on a brass plate with a tiny drumstick, while the third has a pair of clappers which he knocks together, and he sings at the same time. Each of them seems to pay no attention to the rest, but I suppose they think they are playing a tune. Two of them have their legs bare, but they have sandals on their feet, held in place by cords or thongs. The man with the hat must be the leader, as he is the only one that wears trousers, and, besides, he has a pocket-book hung to his girdle. I wonder if they make much money out of the music they are playing? [Illustration: JAPANESE FISHERMEN.] "A couple of fishermen just stopped to look at the musicians and hear the music. One had a spear and a net with a basket at the end, and the other carried a small rod and line such as I used to have when I went out for trout. They didn't have much clothing, though--nothing but a jacket of coarse cloth and a kilt made of reeds. Only one had a hat, and that didn't seem to amount to much. The bareheaded one scowled at me, and I think he can't be very fond of foreigners. Perhaps the foreigners deserve to be scowled at, or, at any rate, some of them do. [Illustration: JAPANESE SILK-SHOP.] "We have seen such lots of things to-day--lots and lots. I can't begin to tell you all in this letter, and there is so much that I don't know where to commence. Well, we went into some shops and looked at the things they had to sell, but didn't buy anything, as we thought it was too soon. One of the shops I liked very much was where they sold silk. It wasn't much like a silk-shop at home, where you sit on a stool in front of a counter and have the clerks spread the things out before you. In this shop the silk was in boxes out of sight, and they only showed you what you asked for. There was a platform in the middle of the shop, and the clerks squatted down on this platform, and unrolled their goods. Two women were there, buying some bright-colored stuff, for making a dress, I suppose, but I don't know. One man sat in the corner with a yardstick ready to measure off what was wanted, and another sat close by him looking on to see that everything was all right. Back of him there were a lot of boxes piled up with the goods in them; and whenever anything was wanted, he passed it out. You should have seen how solemn they all looked, and how one woman counted on her fingers to see how much it was all coming to, just as folks do at home. In a corner opposite the man with the yardstick there was a man who kept the accounts. He was squatted on the floor like the rest, and had his books all round him; and when a sale was made, he put it down in figures that I couldn't read in a week. [Illustration: "SAYONARA."] "Then it was ever so funny to see the men bowing to each other; they did it with so much dignity, as if they had all been princes, or something of the sort. They rest their hands on their knees, and then bend the body forward; and sometimes they bend so low that their backs are level enough to set out a tea-service on and use them for a table. When they want to bid good-bye, they say 'Sayonara,' just as we say 'Good-bye,' and it means exactly the same thing. They are not satisfied with one bow, but keep on several times, until you begin to wonder when they will get through. Everybody says they are the politest people in the world, and I can readily believe it if what I have seen is a fair sample. [Illustration: SEVEN-STROKE HORSE.] "There have been several men around the hotel trying to sell things to us, and we have been looking at them. One thing I am going to get and send in this letter is a box of Japanese pictures. They are not photographs, but real drawings by Japanese artists, and printed on Japanese paper. You will see how soft and nice the paper is; and though the pictures look rough, they are very good, and, above all things, they are truthful. I am going to get as many different ones as I can, and so I think you will be able to get a good idea of the country as the natives see it themselves. They have these pictures showing all their ways of life--how they cook their food, how they eat it, how they work, how they play--in fact, how everything is done in this very curious country. The Japanese make their drawings with very few lines, and it will astonish you to see how much they can express with a few strokes of a pencil. Here is a picture of a horse drawn with seven strokes of the artist's finger-nail dipped in ink, and with a few touches of a wide brush for the mane and tail. Do you think my old drawing-master at home could do the same thing? [Illustration: FEMALE HEAD-DRESS.] "The pillows they sleep on would never do for us. A Japanese pillow is a block of wood with a rest for the head, or rather for the neck, as the head doesn't touch it at all, except just below the ear. It is only a few inches long and high, and is perfectly hard, as the little piece of paper they put on it is intended for cleanliness, and not to make the pillow soft. You can't turn over on one of them, and as for doubling them up to throw at another boy, it is quite out of the question. I shall put in a picture of a Japanese woman lying down with her head on one of these curious things. The women have their hair done up so elaborately that they must sleep on something that does not disturb it, as they can't afford the time and trouble for fixing it every morning. You'll find a picture of their head-dress in the lot I send with this; but it is from a sketch by a foreigner, and not by a native. [Illustration: THE SIESTA.] "Perhaps you will want to know something about the weather in Japan. It is very warm in the middle of the day, but the mornings and evenings are delightful. Around where we are the ground is flat, and the heat is greater than back among the hills. People remain as quiet as possible during the middle of the day; and if you go around the shops at that time, you find nearly everybody asleep who can afford to be so. The Japanese houses are all so open that you see everything that is going on, and they think nothing of lying down in full sight of the street. Since the foreigners came to Yokohama, the natives are somewhat more particular about their houses than they used to be; at any rate, it is said so by those who ought to know. The weather is so warm in summer that the natives do not need to wear much clothing, and I suppose that is the reason why they are so careless about their appearance. In the last few years the government has become very particular about having the people properly dressed, and has issued orders compelling them to put on sufficient clothing to cover them whenever they go out of doors. They enforce these orders very rigidly in the cities and large towns; but in the country the people go around pretty much as they used to. Of course, you understand I am speaking of the lower classes only, and not of the aristocracy. The latter are as careful about their garments as the best people in any other part of the world, and they often spend hours over their toilets. A Japanese noble gotten up in fine old style is a sight worth going a long distance to see, and he knows it too. He has a lot of stiff silks and heavy robes that cost a great deal of money, and they must be arranged with the greatest care, as the least displacement is a serious affair. I haven't seen one of them yet, and Doctor Bronson says we may not see any during our stay in Japan, as the government has abolished the old dress, and adopted that of Western Europe. It is too bad that they have done so, as the Japanese dress is very becoming to the people--ever so much more so than the new one they have taken. Japan is fast losing its national characteristics, through the eagerness of the government to follow Western fashions. What a pity! I do hope I shall be able to see one of those old-fashioned dresses, and won't mind how far I have to go for it. [Illustration: A JAPANESE AT HIS TOILET FOR A VISIT OF CEREMONY.] "Now, mother, this letter is addressed to you, but it is intended for everybody; and I know you'll read it to everybody, and have it handed round, so that all can know where I am and what I have told you about Japan. When I don't write to each one of you, I know you will understand why it is,--because I am so busy, and trying to learn all I can. Give my love to each and every one in the family, and tell Mary she knows somebody outside of it that wants a share. Tell her I often think of the morning we left, and how a handkerchief waved from the railway station when we came away. And tell Mary, too, that I haven't yet opened her list of things I am to get for her; but I haven't forgotten it, and have it all safe and right. There are lots of pretty things to buy here; and if she has made a full catalogue of Japanese curiosities, she has given me enough to do for the present--and the presents. "Good-night, dear mother, and look for another letter by the next mail. "Your loving son, "FRANK." Fred finished his letter almost at the same moment that Frank affixed the signature to his own. By the time they were through it was late in the evening, and the hour for retiring to bed. Their sleeping-places were exactly such as they might have found in any American hotel, and they longed for a view of a Japanese bed. Frank was inclined to ask Doctor Bronson to describe one to them, but Fred thought it would be time enough when they went into the interior of the country and saw one. They were up early the next morning, but not as early as the Japanese. "I tell you what," said Frank, "I have made a discovery." "What is it?" "I have been thinking of something to introduce into the United States, and make everybody get up early in the morning." "Something Japanese?" "Yes. Something that interested us yesterday when we saw it." "Well, we saw so many things that I couldn't begin to guess in half an hour. What was it?" "It was a pillow." "You mean those little things the Japanese sleep on?" "Yes; they are so uncomfortable that we couldn't use them with any sort of pleasure. Nobody would want to lie in bed after he had waked up, if he had such a pillow under his head. He would be out in a minute, and wouldn't think of turning over for another doze. "Now, if our Congress will pass a law abolishing the feather pillow all over the United States, and commanding everybody to sleep on the Japanese one, it would make every man, woman, and child get up at least an hour earlier every day. For forty millions of people this would make a gain of forty million hours daily, and that would be equal to forty-five thousand years. Just think what an advantage that would be to the country, and how much more we could accomplish than we do now. Isn't it a grand idea?" Fred thought it might be grand and profitable to the country, but it would be necessary to make the pillows for the people; and from what he had heard of Congress, he didn't think they would vote away the public money for anything of the sort. Besides, the members of Congress would not wish to deprive themselves of the privilege of sleeping on feather pillows, and therefore they wouldn't vote away their liberties. So he advised Frank to study Japan a little longer before he suggested the adoption of the Japanese pillow in America. This conversation occurred while the boys were in front of the hotel, and waiting for the Doctor, whom they expected every moment. When he came, the three went out for a stroll, and returned in good season for breakfast. While they were out they took a peep into a Japanese house, where the family were at their morning meal, and thus the boys had an opportunity of comparing their own ways with those of the country they were in. [Illustration: A JAPANESE BREAKFAST.] A dignified native, with the fore part of his head closely shaven, was squatted on the floor in front of a little box about a foot high, which served as a table. Opposite was his wife, and at the moment our party looked in she was engaged in pouring something from a bottle into a small cup the size of a thimble. Directly under her hand was a bowl filled with freshly boiled rice, from which the steam was slowly rising; and at the side of the table was another and smaller one, holding some plates and chopsticks. A tiny cup and a bowl constituted the rest of the breakfast equipment. The master was waited upon by his wife, who was not supposed to attend to her own wants until his had been fully met. She sat with her back to the window, which was covered with paper in small squares pasted to the frame, and at her right was a screen, such as one finds in nearly all Eastern countries. On her left was a chest of drawers with curious locks and handles, which doubtless contained the family wealth of linen. As they went on, after their view of a Japanese interior, Frank asked what was the name and character of the liquid the woman was pouring into the glass or cup for her husband. "That was probably sa-kee," replied the Doctor. "And what is sa-kee, please?" "It is," answered the Doctor, "a sort of wine distilled from rice. Foreigners generally call it rice wine, but, more properly speaking, it is rice whiskey, as it partakes more of the nature of spirit than of wine. It is very strong, and will intoxicate if taken in any considerable quantity. The Japanese usually drink it hot, and take it from the little cups that you saw. The cups hold so small a quantity that a great many fillings are necessary to produce any unpleasant effect. The Japanese rarely drink to intoxication, and, on the whole, they are a very temperate people." Fred thereupon began to moralize on the policy of introducing Japanese customs into America. He thought more practicable good could be done by the adoption of the Japanese cup--which would teach our people to drink more lightly than at present--than by Frank's plan of introducing the Japanese pillow. He thought there would be some drawbacks to Frank's enterprise, which would offset the good it could do. Thus a great number of people whom the pillow might bring up at an early hour would spend the time in ways that would not be any benefit to society, and they might as well be asleep, and in many cases better, too. But the tiny drinking-cup would moderate the quantity of stimulants many persons would take, and thus a great good might be accomplished. While thus talking, and trying to conjure up absurd things, they reached the hotel, and soon were seated at breakfast. During breakfast Doctor Bronson unfolded some of the plans he had made for the disposal of their time, so that they might see as much as possible of Japan. "We have taken a look at Yokohama since we arrived," said he, "but there is still a great deal to see. We can study the place at our leisure, as I think it best to make this our headquarters while in this part of the empire, and then we will make excursions from here to the points of interest in the vicinity. To-day we will go to Tokio." "Can't we go first to Yeddo?" said Fred. "I want so much to see that city, and it is said to be very large." Doctor Bronson laughed slightly as he replied. "Tokio and Yeddo are one and the same thing. Tokio means the Eastern capital, while Yeddo means the Great City. Both names have long been in use; but the city was first known to foreigners as Yeddo. Hence it was called so in all the books that were written prior to a few years ago, when it was officially announced to be Tokio. It was considered the capital at the time Japan was opened to foreigners; but there were political complications not understood by the strangers, and the true relations of the city we are talking about and Kioto, which is the Western capital, were not explained until some time after. It was believed that there were two emperors or kings, the one in Yeddo and the other in Kioto, and that the one here was highest in authority. The real fact was that the Shogoon, or Tycoon (as he was called by the foreigners), at Yeddo was subordinate to the real emperor at Kioto: and the action of the former led to a war which resulted in the complete overthrow of the Tycoon, and the establishment of the Mikado's authority through the entire country." "Then the emperor is called the Mikado, is he not?" [Illustration: MUTSUHITO, MIKADO OF JAPAN.] "Yes; that is his official title. Formerly he was quite secluded, as his person was considered too sacred to be seen by ordinary eyes; but since the rebellion and revolution he has come out from his seclusion, and takes part in public ceremonials, receives visitors, and does other things like the monarchs of European countries. He is enlightened and progressive, and is doing all he can for the good of his country and its people. "The curious feature of the revolution which established the Mikado on his throne, and made him the ruler of the whole country is this--that the movement was undertaken to prevent the very things it has brought about." "How was that?" Frank asked. [Illustration: LANDING OF PERRY'S EXPEDITION.] "Down to 1853 Japan was in a condition of exclusiveness in regard to other nations. There was a Dutch trading-post at Nagasaki, on the western coast; but it was confined to a little island, about six hundred feet square, and the people that lived there were not allowed to go out of their enclosure except at rare intervals, and under restrictions that amounted to practical imprisonment. In the year I mentioned Commodore Perry came here with a fleet of American ships, left some presents that had been sent by the President of the United States, and sailed away. Before he left he laid the foundation for the present commercial intercourse between Japan and the United States; and on his return in the following year the privileges were considerably enlarged. Then came the English, and secured similar concessions; and thus Japan has reached her present standing among the nations. "Having been exclusive so long, and having been compelled against her will to open her ports to strangers, there was naturally a good deal of opposition to foreigners even after the treaty was signed. The government endeavored to carry out the terms of the treaty faithfully; but there was a large party opposed to it, and anxious to have the treaties torn up and the foreigners expelled. This party was so powerful that it seemed to include almost a majority of the nation, and the Kioto government took the Yeddo section to task for what it had done in admitting the foreigners. One thing led to another, and finally came the war between the Mikado and the Tycoon. The latter was overthrown, as I have already told you, and the Mikado was the supreme ruler of the land. "The Mikado's party was opposed to the presence of foreigners in the country, and their war-cry was 'Death to the strangers!' When the war was over, there was a general expectation that measures would be adopted looking to the expulsion of the hated intruder. But, to the surprise of many, the government became even more progressive than its predecessor had been, and made concessions to the foreigners that the others had never granted. It was a curious spectacle to see the conservative government doing more for the introduction of the foreigner than the very men they had put down because of their making a treaty with the Americans. [Illustration: THE LAST SHOGOON OF JAPAN.] "The opponents of the Mikado's government accuse it of acting in bad faith, but I do not see that the charge is just. As I understand the situation, the government acted honestly, and with good intent to expel the foreigner in case it should obtain power. But when the power was obtained, they found the foreigner could not be expelled so easily; he was here, and intended to remain, and the only thing the government could do was to make the best of it. The foreign nations who had treaties with Japan would not tear them up, and the government found that what it had intended at the time of the revolution could not be accomplished. Foreign intercourse went on, and the Japanese began to instruct themselves in Western ways. They sent their young men to America and other countries to be educated. They hired teachers to take charge of schools in Japan, and in every way tried to turn the presence of the foreigner to their advantage. There is an old adage that what can't be cured must be endured, and Japan seems to have acted upon it. The foreigner was here as an evil, and they couldn't cure him out. So they set about finding the best way of enduring him. "But it is time we were getting ready for a start for Tokio, and so we'll suspend our discussion of Japanese political history. It's a dry subject, and I hesitate to talk to you about it lest I may weary you." Both the boys declared the topic was interesting, and they would consider their study of Japan incomplete without some of its history. The Doctor promised to return to the subject at some future occasion; and with this understanding they separated to prepare for their journey to the capital. [Illustration] CHAPTER VII. FROM YOKOHAMA TO TOKIO. One of the innovations in Japan since the arrival of the foreigners is the railway. Among the presents carried to the country by Commodore Perry were a miniature locomotive and some cars, and several miles of railway track. The track was set up, and the new toy was regarded with much interest by the Japanese. For some years after the country was opened there was considerable opposition to the introduction of the new mode of travel, but by degrees all hostility vanished, and the government entered into contracts for the construction of a line from Yokohama to Tokio. The distance is about seventeen miles, and the route follows the shore of the bay, where there are no engineering difficulties of consequence. In spite of the ease of construction and the low price of labor in Japan, the cost of the work was very great, and would have astonished a railway engineer in America. The work was done under English supervision and by English contractors, and from all accounts there is no reason to suppose that they lost anything by the operation. Doctor Bronson and our young friends went from Yokohama to the capital by the railway, and found the ride a pleasant one of about an hour's duration. They found that the conductors, ticket-sellers, brake-men, and all others with whom they came in contact were Japanese. For some time after the line was opened the management was in the hands of foreigners; but by degrees they were removed, and the Japanese took charge of the business, for which they had paid a liberal price. They have shown themselves fully competent to manage it, and the new system of travel is quite popular with the people. Three kinds of carriages are run on most of the trains; the first class is patronized by the high officials and the foreigners who have plenty of money; the second by the middle-class natives--official and otherwise--and foreigners whose purses are not plethorie; and the third class by the peasantry, and common people generally. Frank observed that there were few passengers in the first-class carriages, more in the second, and that the third class attracted a crowd, and was evidently popular. The Doctor told him that the railway had been well patronized since the day it was first opened, and that the facilities of steam locomotion have not been confined to the eastern end of the empire. The experiment on the shores of Yeddo Bay proved so satisfactory that a line has since been opened from Kobe to Osaka and Kioto, in the West--a distance of a little more than fifty miles. The people take to it as kindly as did those of the East, and the third-class carriages are generally well filled. [Illustration: THIRD-CLASS PASSENGERS.] At the station in Yokohama the boys found a news-stand, the same as they might find one in a station in America, but with the difference against them that they were unable to read the papers that were sold there. They bought some, however, to send home as curiosities, and found them very cheap. Newspapers existed in Japan before the foreigners went there; but since the advent of the latter the number of publications has increased, as the Japanese can hardly fail to observe the great influence on public opinion which is exercised by the daily press. They have introduced metal types after the foreign system, instead of printing from wooden blocks, as they formerly did, and, but for the difference in the character, one of their sheets might be taken for a paper printed in Europe or America. Some of the papers have large circulations, and the newsboys sell them in the streets, in the same way as the urchins of New York engage in the kindred business. There is this difference, however, that the Japanese newsboys are generally men, and as they walk along they read in a monotonous tone the news which the paper they are selling contains. [Illustration: JAPANESE PLOUGHING.] The train started promptly on the advertised time, and the boys found that there were half a dozen trains each way daily, some of them running through, like express trains in other countries, while others were slower, and halted at every station. The line ran through a succession of fields and villages, the former bearing evidence of careful cultivation, while the latter were thickly populated, and gave indications of a good deal of taste in their arrangement. Shade-trees were numerous, and Frank readily accepted as correct the statement he had somewhere read, that a Japanese would rather move his house than cut down a tree in case the one interfered with the other. The rice harvest was nearly at hand, and the fields were thickly burdened with the waving rice-plants. Men were working in the fields, and moving slowly to and fro, and everywhere there was an activity that did not betoken a lazy people. The Doctor explained that if they had been there a month earlier, they would have witnessed the process of hoeing the rice-plants to keep down the weeds, but that now the hoeing was over, and there was little to do beyond keeping the fields properly flooded with water, so that the ripening plants should have the necessary nourishment. He pointed out an irrigating-machine, which was in operation close to the railway, and the boys looked at it with much interest. A wheel was so fixed in a small trough that when it was turned the water was raised from a little pool, and flowed over the land it was desirable to irrigate. The turning process was performed by a man who stood above the wheel, and stepped from one float to another. The machinery was very simple, and had the merit of cheapness, as its cost could not have been large at the price of labor in Japan. [Illustration: JAPANESE ROLLER.] In another place a man was engaged in ploughing. He had a primitive-looking instrument with a blade like that of a large hatchet, a beam set at right angles, and a single handle which he grasped with both hands. It was propelled by a horse which required some one to lead him, but he did not seem to regard the labor of dragging the plough as anything serious, as he walked off very much as though nothing were behind him. Just beyond the ploughman there was a man with a roller, engaged in covering some seed that had been put in for a late crop. He was using a common roller, which closely resembled the one we employ for smoothing our garden walks and beds, with the exception that it was rougher in construction, and did not appear as round as one naturally expects a roller to be. [Illustration: MANURING PROCESS.] Fred saw a man dipping something from a hole in the ground, and asked the Doctor what he was doing. [Illustration: HOW THEY USE MANURE.] The Doctor explained that the hole was a cask set in the ground, and that it probably contained liquid manure. The Japanese use it for enriching their fields. They keep it in these holes, covered with a slight roof to prevent its evaporation as much as possible, and they spread it around where wanted by means of buckets. The great drawback to a walk in a Japanese field is the frequency of the manure deposits, as the odor arising from them is anything but agreeable. Particularly is this so in the early part of the season, when the young plants require a great deal of attention and nourishment. A nose at such times is an organ of great inconvenience. [Illustration: MODE OF PROTECTING LAND FROM BIRDS.] The Doctor went on to explain that the Japanese farmers were very watchful of their crops, and that men were employed to scare away the birds, that sometimes dug up the seed after it was planted, and also ate the grain while it was ripening. The watchmen had pieces of board which they put on frames suspended in the air, and so arranged that they rattled in the wind, and performed a service similar to that of the scare-crow in America. In addition to this mode of making a noise, the watchmen had whistles and clappers, and sometimes they carried small bells which they rang as they walked about. It was the duty of a watchman to keep constantly on the alert, as the birds were full of mischief, and, from being rarely shot at, their boldness and impudence were quite astonishing to one freshly arrived from America, where the use of fire-arms is so general. While Doctor Bronson was explaining about the birds, Fred suddenly gave an exclamation of delight. "Look, look!" said he; "what are those beautiful white birds?" "Oh, I know," answered Frank; "they are storks. I recognize them from the pictures I have seen on fans and screens. I'm sure they are storks." [Illustration: STORKS, DRAWN BY A NATIVE ARTIST.] The decision was appealed to Doctor Bronson, who decided that the birds in question were storks, and nothing else. There was no mistaking their beautiful figures; whether standing in the fields or flying in the air, the stork is one of the handsomest birds known to the ornithologist. "You see," said Doctor Bronson, "that the stork justifies the homage that is paid to him so far as a graceful figure is concerned, and the Japanese have shown an eye for beauty when they selected him for a prominent place in their pictures. You see him everywhere in Japanese art--in bronzes, on costly paintings, embroidered on silk, printed on fans, and on nearly every article of household use. He has a sacred character, and it would not be easy to find a Japanese who would willingly inflict an injury upon one of these birds." [Illustration: FLOCK OF GEESE.] There are probably no other artists in the world who can equal the Japanese in drawing the stork in all the ways and attitudes he assumes. These are almost countless; but, not satisfied with this, there are some of the native artists who are accused of representing him in attitudes he was never known to take. Admitting this to be the case, it cannot be disputed that the Japanese are masters of their profession in delineating this bird, and that one is never weary of looking at his portrait as they draw it. They have nearly equal skill in drawing other birds, and a few strokes of the brush or pencil will accomplish marvels in the way of pictorial representation. A flock of geese, some on the ground and others in flight, can be drawn in a few moments by a native designer, and the most exacting critic will not find anything wanting. [Illustration: FORTS OF SHINAGAWA.] The train sped onward, and in an hour from the time of leaving the station at Yokohama it was nearing Tokio. It passed in full view of the forts of Shinagawa, which were made memorable during the days of Perry and Lord Elgin, as the foreign ships were not allowed to pass them, and there was at one time a prospect that they would open fire upon the intruders. Near one of the forts, a boat containing three fishermen was pulling slowly along, one man handling the oar, while the other two were lifting a net. Whether any fish were contained in it the boys did not ascertain, as the train would not stop long enough to permit an investigation. The fort rose from the water like a huge warehouse; it might resist a Chinese junk, or a whole fleet of the rude craft of the East, but could not hold out an hour against the artillery of the Western nations. In recent years the forts of Tokio have been strengthened, but they are yet far from what an American or English admiral would hold in high respect. The Japanese have made commendable progress in army organization; but, so far as one can learn generally, they have not done much in the way of constructing and manning fortifications. [Illustration: A JIN-RIKI-SHA.] On their arrival in Tokio, our young friends looked around to discover in what the city differed from Yokohama. They saw the same kind of people at the station that they had left in Yokohama, and heard pretty nearly the same sounds. Porters, and others who hoped to serve them and thereby earn something, gathered around; and they found in the open space in front of the station a liberal number of conveyances ready to take them wherever they wanted to go. There were carriages and jin-riki-shas from which they could choose, and it did not take them long to decide in favor of the jin-riki-sha. It was a novelty to them, though not altogether so, as they had seen it in Yokohama, and had tried its qualities in their journey from the hotel to the station in the morning. "What is the jin-riki-sha?" the reader naturally asks. Its name comes from three words, "jin," meaning man; "riki," power; and "sha," carriage: altogether it amounts to "man-power-carriage." It is a little vehicle like an exaggerated baby-cart or diminutive one-horse chaise, and has comfortable seating capacity for only one person, though it will hold two if they are not too large. It was introduced into Japan in 1870, and is said to have been the invention of an American. At all events, the first of them came from San Francisco; but the Japanese soon set about making them, and now there are none imported. It is said that there are nearly a hundred thousand of them in use, and, judging by the abundance of them everywhere, it is easy to believe that the estimate is not too high. The streets are full of them, and, no matter where you go, you are rarely at a loss to find one. As their name indicates, they are carriages drawn by men. For a short distance, or where it is not required to keep up a high speed, one man is sufficient; but otherwise two, or even three, men are needed. They go at a good trot, except when ascending a hill or where the roads are bad. They easily make four and a half or five miles an hour, and in emergencies can do better than the last-named rate. Frank and Fred were of opinion that the jin-riki-sha would be a slow vehicle to travel in, but asked the Doctor for his experience of one in his previous visit to the country. "On my first visit to Japan," replied Doctor Bronson, "this little carriage was not in use. We went around on foot or on horseback, or in norimons and cangos." "And what are norimons and cangos?" "They are the vehicles in which the Japanese used to travel, and which are still much employed in various parts of the country. We shall see them before long, and then we shall have an excellent opportunity to know what they are. We shall probably be travelling in them in a few days, and I will then have your opinion concerning them. "As to the jin-riki-sha," he continued, "my experience with it in my last visit to Japan since its introduction gives me a high opinion of the Japanese power of endurance. A few days after my arrival, I had occasion to go a distance of about forty miles on the great road along the coast, from Yokohama to Odiwara. I had three men to draw the carriage, and the journey was made in twelve hours, with three halts of fifteen minutes each. You could not have done better than this with a horse and carriage in place of the man-power vehicle. On another occasion I went from Osaka to Nara, a distance of thirty miles, between ten in the morning and five in the afternoon, and halted an hour for lunch at a Japanese inn on the road. Part of the way the road was through fields, where it was necessary to go slowly, and quite frequently the men were obliged to lift the vehicle over water-courses and gullies, and a good deal of time was lost by these detentions." Both the boys declared that the travel under such circumstances was excellent, and that it was fully up to what the average horse could accomplish in America. [Illustration: JAPANESE ON FOOT.] "The next day," said the Doctor, "I went on from Nara to Kioto, which was another thirty miles, in about the same time and with a similar halt for dinner. I had the same men as on the day before, and they raced merrily along without the least sign of fatigue, although there was a pouring rain all day that made the roads very heavy. Frequently there were steep little hills to ascend where the road passed over the water-courses or canals. You will find, as you travel in Japan, that the canals are above the general level of the country, in order to afford the proper fall for irrigation. Where the road crosses one of these canals, there is a sharp rise on one side, and an equally sharp descent on the other. You can manage the descent, but the rise is difficult. In the present instance the rain had softened the road, and made the pulling very hard indeed; and, to add to the trouble, I had injured my foot and was unable to walk, so that I could not lighten the burden of the men by getting out of the carriage at the bad places. "I was able on this journey, and partly in consequence of my lameness, to have an opportunity to see the great kindness of the Japanese to each other. I had my servant with me (a Japanese boy who spoke English), and he was in a jin-riki-sha with two men to pull it, the same as mine. When we came to a bad spot in the road, the men with his carriage dropped it and came to the aid of mine; and as soon as they had brought it through its troubles, the whole four went back to bring up the other. I did not hear a single expression of anger during the whole day, but everything was done with the utmost good-nature. In some other countries it is quite possible that the men with the lighter burden would adhere to the principle that everybody should look out for himself, and decline to assist unless paid extra for their trouble. "You will find, the more you know the Japanese, that they cannot be excelled in their kindnesses to each other. They have great reverence and respect for their parents; and their affection for brothers and sisters, cousins, aunts, and all relatives, is worthy of admiration. If you inquire into the circumstances of the laboring-men, whose daily earnings are very small, and with whom life is a most earnest struggle, you will find that nearly every one of them is supporting somebody besides himself, and that many of their families are inconveniently large. Yet they accept all their burdens cheerfully, and are always smiling, and apparently happy. Whether they are really so has been doubted; but I see no good reason to call their cheerfulness in question. [Illustration: AN EXPRESS RUNNER.] "But I will tell you a still more remarkable story of the endurance of these Japanese runners. While I was at Kioto, an English clergyman came there with his wife; and after they had seen the city, they were very anxious to go to Nara. They had only a day to spare, as they were obliged to be at Kobe at a certain date to meet the steamer for Shanghai. They made arrangements to be taken to Nara and back in that time--a distance, going and coming, of sixty miles. They had three men to each jin-riki-sha, and they kept the same men through the entire trip. They left the hotel at Kioto at four o'clock in the morning, and were back again at half-past eight in the evening. You couldn't do better than this with a horse, unless he were an exceptionally good one." Frank thought that he should not enjoy the jin-riki-sha, as he would be constantly thinking of the poor fellows who were pulling him, and of how much they were suffering on his account. He could not bear to see them tugging away and perspiring while he was reclining in a comfortable seat. [Illustration: A JAPANESE COOLIE.] "I readily understand you," Doctor Bronson answered, "as I had the same feeling myself, and every American has it when he first comes to the country. He has a great deal of sympathy for the men, and I have known some strangers to refuse to ride in a jin-riki-sha on that account. But if you will apply reason to the matter, you will soon get over the feeling. Remember that the man gets his living by pulling his little carriage, and that he regards it as a great favor when you patronize him. You do him a kindness when you employ him; and the more you employ him, the more will he regard you as his friend. He was born to toil, and expects to toil as long as he lives. He does not regard it as a hardship, but cheerfully accepts his lot; and the more work he obtains, the better is he satisfied. And when you pay him for his services, you will win his most heart-felt affection if you add a trifle by way of gratuity. If you give only the exact wages prescribed by law, he does not complain, and you have only to add a few cents to make his eyes glisten with gratitude. In my experience of laboring-men in all parts of the world, I have found that the Japanese coolie is the most patient, and has the warmest heart, the most thankful for honest pay for honest work, and the most appreciative of the trifles that his employer gives him in the way of presents." When the Doctor had finished his eulogy upon the Japanese, the boys clapped their hands, and were evidently touched with his enthusiasm. From the little they had seen since their arrival in the country, they coincided with him in opinion, and were ready to endorse what he said. And if they had been in any doubt, they had only to refer to the great majority of foreigners who reside in Japan for the confirmation of what the Doctor had declared. Testimony in this matter is as nearly unanimous as it is generally possible to find it on any subject, and some of the foreign residents are ready to go much further in their laudations of the kindly spirit of the natives than did Doctor Bronson. [Illustration: PITY FOR THE BLIND.] CHAPTER VIII. SIGHTS IN THE EASTERN CAPITAL OF JAPAN. To see the whole of Tokio is a matter of no small moment, as the area of the city is very great. There seems to have been no stint of ground when the place was laid out, and in riding through it you find whole fields and gardens so widely spread that you can readily imagine yourself to be in the rural districts, and are rather surprised when told that you are yet in the city limits. The city is divided into two unequal portions by the Sumida River, and over this river is the Nihon Bashi, or Nihon Bridge, which is often called the centre of Japan, for the reason that all the roads were formerly measured from it. It has the same relation to Japan as the famous "London Stone" has to England, or, rather, as the London Stone had a hundred years ago. [Illustration: VIEW OF TOKIO, FROM THE SOUTH.] From the railway station our travellers went to the Nihon Bashi, in order to begin their journey from the centre of the empire. A more practical reason was a desire to see the river, and the great street leading to it, as they would get a good idea of the extent of the city by taking this route, and would obtain numerous glimpses of Japanese street life. They found the streets full of people, and it seemed to the boys that the whole population must be out for an airing. But the Doctor informed them that the sight they were witnessing was an every-day affair, as the Japanese were essentially an outdoor people, and that many of the industries which in other countries would be conducted under a roof were here seen in progress out of doors. The fronts of the Japanese houses are quite open to the view of the public, and there is hardly anything of what we call privacy. It was formerly no uncommon sight to see people bathing in tubs placed in front of their door-steps; and even at the present time one has only to go into the villages, or away from the usual haunts of foreigners, to see that spectacle which would be unknown in the United States. The bath-houses are now closed in front in all the cities, but remain pretty much as before in the smaller towns. Year by year the country is adopting Western ideas, and coming to understand the Western views of propriety. [Illustration: JAPANESE LADY COMING FROM THE BATH.] As the boys rode along, their attention was drawn to some tall ladders that rose above the buildings, and they eagerly asked the Doctor what those ladders were for. They could not see the use of climbing up in the air and then coming down again; and, altogether, the things were a mystery to them. A few words explained the matter. The ladders were nothing more nor less than fire-lookouts, and were elevated above the buildings so that the watchmen could have an unobstructed view. A bell was attached to each ladder, and by means of it a warning-signal was given in case of a threatened conflagration. Fires are frequent in Tokio, and some of them have done immense damage. The city is mostly built of wood; and when a fire breaks out and a high wind is blowing, the result is often disastrous to an enormous extent. [Illustration: FIRE-LOOKOUTS IN TOKIO.] After the great fires of the last twenty years, the burned districts have been rebuilt of stone, or largely so; and precautions that were hitherto unknown are now taken for the prevention of fresh disasters. Some of the new quarters are quite substantial, but they resemble too strongly the edifices of a city in Europe to be characteristic of Japan. A portion of the way took our friends through the grounds of some of the castles, and the boys were rather astonished at the extent of these residences of princes. Doctor Bronson explained that Tokio was formerly a city of princes, and that the residences of the Daimios, as these great men were called, were of more consequence at one time than all the rest of the city. The palace of a Daimio was known as a _yashiki_, and the yashikis were capable, in some instances, of lodging five or ten thousand men. Under the present government the power of the princes has been taken away, and their troops of retainers have been disbanded. The government has converted the most of the yashikis into offices and barracks and schools, and one at least has been turned into a manufactory. The original plan of Tokio was that of a vast camp, and from that the city grew into its present condition. The best locations were occupied by the castles and yashikis, and the principal castle in the centre has the best place of all. Frank observed as they crossed the bridge leading into the castle-yard that the broad moat was full of lotos flowers in full bloom, and he longed to gather some of them so that he might send them home as a souvenir of the country. He had heard of the lotos as a sort of water-lily, similar in general appearance to the pond-lily of his native land. He was surprised to find a flower, eight or ten inches in diameter, growing on a strong stalk that did not float on the water, but held itself erect and far above it. The Doctor explained the matter by telling him that the Japanese lotos is unlike the Egyptian lotos, from which our ideas of that flower are derived. But the Japanese one is highly prized by the people of all ranks and classes, and it grows in abundance in all the castle-moats, and in marshy ground generally. [Illustration: TOO MUCH SA-KEE.] Near the entrance of one of the castle-yards they met a couple that attracted their attention. It was a respectable-appearing citizen who had evidently partaken too freely of the cup that cheers and also inebriates, as his steps were unsteady, and he would have fallen to the ground had it not been for the assistance of his wife, who was leading him and guiding him in the way he should go. As the strangers went past him he raised his hand to his head; but Frank could not determine whether it was a movement of salutation or of dazed inquiry. The Doctor suggested that it was more likely to have been the latter than the former, since the Japanese do not salute in our manner, and the man was too much under the influence of the "sa-kee" he had swallowed to adopt any foreign modes of politeness. Sights like this are not unknown in the great cities of Japan, but they are far less frequent than in New York or London. The Japanese say that drunkenness is on the decrease in the past few years, owing to the abolition of the Samurai class, who have been compelled to work for a living, instead of being supported out of the revenues of the state, as formerly. They have less time and money for dissipation now than they had in the olden days, and, consequently, their necessities have made them temperate. [Illustration: SAKURADU AVENUE IN TOKIO.] For an Oriental city Tokio has remarkably wide streets, and some of them are laid out with all the care of Western engineering. In the course of their morning ride the party came to Sakuradu Avenue, which Fred recognized from a drawing by a native artist, who had taken pains to preserve the architecture of the buildings on each side with complete fidelity. The foundations of the houses were of irregular stones cut in the form of lozenges, but not with mathematical accuracy. The boys had already noticed this form of hewing stone in the walls of the castles, where some very large blocks were piled. They were reported to have been brought from distant parts of the empire, and the cost of their transportation must have been very great. Few of the houses were of more than two stories, and the great majority were of only one. Along Sakuradu Avenue they were of two stories, and had long and low windows with paper screens, so that it was impossible for a person in the street to see what was going on inside. The eaves projected far over the upright sides, and thus formed a shelter that was very acceptable in the heat of summer, while in rainy weather it had many advantages. These yashikis were formerly the property of Daimios, but are now occupied by the Foreign Office and the War Department. Inside the enclosure there are many shade-trees, and they make a cooling contrast to the plain walls of the buildings. The Japanese rarely paint the interior or the exterior of their buildings. Nearly everything is finished in the natural color of the wood, and very pretty the wood is too. It is something like oak in appearance, but a trifle darker, and is susceptible of a high polish. It admits of a great variety of uses, and is very easily wrought. It is known as keyaki-wood; and, in spite of the immense quantity that is annually used, it is cheap and abundant. Some of the Daimios expended immense amounts of money in the decoration of their palaces by means of bronzes, embroideries on silk, fine lacquer, and the like. Art in Japan was nourished by the Daimios, and we have much to thank them for in the way of household adornment. Since the adoption of Western ideas in decoration and household furniture, the Japanese dwellings have lost somewhat in point of attractiveness. Our carpets and furniture are out of place in a Japanese room, and so are our pictures and statuary. It is a pity that the people should ever abandon their domestic customs for ours, whatever they might do in the matter of military equipment, machinery, and other things that are more or less commercial. Japanese men and women are far more attractive in their native dress than in ours, and a Japanese house loses its charm when the neat mattings give way to European carpets, and chairs and tables are spread around in place of the simple adornments to which the people were accustomed. After an interesting ride, in which their eyes were in constant use, the boys reached the Temple of Asakusa, which is one of the great points of attraction to a stranger in Tokio. The street which led up to the temple was lined with booths, in which a great variety of things were offered for sale. Nearly all of these things were of a cheap class, and evidently the patrons of the temple were not of the wealthier sort. Toys were numerous, and as our party alighted they saw some children gazing wistfully at a collection of dolls; Frank and Fred suggested the propriety of making the little people happy by expending something for them. The Doctor gave his approval; so the boys invested a sum equal to about twenty cents of our money, and were astonished at the number of dolls they were able to procure for their outlay. The little Japs were delighted, and danced around in their glee, just as any children might have done in another country. A few paces away some boys were endeavoring to walk on bamboo poles, and evidently they were having a jolly time, to judge by their laughter. Two boys were hanging by their hands from a pole, and endeavoring to turn somersets; while two others were trying to walk on a pole close by them. One of the walkers fell off, and was laughed at by his companions; but he was speedily up again, determined not to give up till he had accomplished his task. [Illustration: JAPANESE CHILDREN AT PLAY.] Japanese children are well supplied with dolls and other playthings, and there are certain festivals in which the whole family devotes itself to the preparation or purchase of dolls to amuse the little ones. The greatest of these festivals is known as the "Hina Matsuri," or Feast of Dolls, _hina_ meaning doll, and _matsuri_ being applicable to any kind of feast. It occurs on the third day of the third month, and for several days before the appointed time the shops are filled with dolls just as they are filled among us at Christmas. In fact, the whole business in this line is transacted at this period, and at other times it is next to impossible to procure the things that are so abundant at the Matsuri. Every family that can afford the outlay buys a quantity of images made of wood or enamelled clay, and dressed to represent various imperial, noble, or mythological characters, either of the present time or of some former period in Japanese history. In this way the children are taught a good deal of history, and their delight at the receipt of their presents is quite equal to that of children in Christian lands. Not only dolls, but a great variety of other things, are given to the girls; for the Hina Matsuri is more particularly a festival for girls rather than for boys. The presents are arranged on tables, and there is general rejoicing in the household. Miniature tea and toilet sets, miniature bureaus and wardrobes, and miniature houses are among the things that fall to the lot of a Japanese girl at the time of the Hina Matsuri. [Illustration: THE FEAST OF DOLLS ("HINA MATSURI") IN A JAPANESE HOUSE.] Fred thought the Japanese had queer notions when compared with ours about the location of a temple in the midst of all sorts of entertainments. He was surprised to find the temple surrounded with booths for singing and dancing and other amusements, and was very sure that such a thing would not be allowed in America. Doctor Bronson answered that the subject had been discussed before by people who had visited Japan, and various opinions had been formed concerning it. He thought it was not unlike some of the customs in Europe, especially in the more Catholic countries, where the people go to church in the forenoon and devote the afternoon to amusement. A Japanese does not see any wrong in going to his worship through an avenue of entertainments, and then returning to them. He says his prayers as a matter of devotion, and then applies himself to innocent pleasure. He is firmly attached to his religious faith, and his recreations are a part of his religion. What he does is all well enough for him, but whether it would answer for us is a question which cannot be decided in a moment. [Illustration: A BARBER AT WORK.] Men of various trades were working in the shops at Asakusa, and their way of operating was of much interest to our young friends. A barber was engaged in arranging the hair of a customer; the forehead had been shaven, and the hair at the back of the head was gathered into a knot and thickly plastered, so as to make it stick and remain in place when turned over into a short cue. The customer knelt on the ground in front of a box that contained the tools of the operator's trade, and by his side was a portable furnace for heating water. The whole equipment was of very little value, and the expense of fitting up a fashionable barber's shop in New York would send hundreds of Japanese barbers on their way rejoicing. Close by was a clothes-merchant, to whom a customer was making an offer, while the dealer was rubbing his head and vowing he could not possibly part with the garment at that price. Frank watched him to see how the affair terminated, and found it was very much as though the transaction had been in New York instead of Tokio: the merchant, whispering he would ne'er consent, consented, and the customer obtained the garment at his own figures when the vender found he could not obtain his own price. It is the same all the earth over, and Frank thought he saw in this tale of a coat the touch of nature that makes the whole world kin. [Illustration: A TRANSACTION IN CLOTHES.] Hundreds of pigeons were circling around the temple, or walking among the people that thronged the street. Nobody showed the slightest intention of harming them, and the consequence was they were very tame. Several stands were devoted to the sale of grain for the birds; and the sharp-eyed pigeons knew, when they saw the three strangers halt in front of one of the stands, that there was good prospect of a free breakfast. The Doctor bought a quart or more of the grain and threw it out upon the ground. Instantly there was a whirring of wings in the air, and in less time than it takes to say so the grain was devoured. The birds were rather shy of the visitors, and possibly it had been whispered to them that the foreigner likes his pigeons broiled or served up in pies. But they did not display any such timidity when the natives approached them. Some of the Japanese temples are the homes of a great number of pigeons, and in this respect they resemble the mosques at Constantinople and other Moslem cities. Close at hand is a stable where two beautiful ponies are kept. They are snowy white, and are consecrated to the goddess Ku-wanon, the deity of mercy, who is the presiding genius of the temple. They are in the care of a young girl, and it is considered a pious duty to feed them. Pease and beans are for sale outside, and many devotees contribute a few cash for the benefit of the sacred animals. If the poor beasts should eat a quarter of what is offered to them, or, rather, of what is paid for, they would soon die of overfeeding. It is shrewdly suspected that the grain is sold many times over, in consequence of a collusion between the dealers and the keeper of the horses. At all events, the health of the animals is regarded, and it would never do to give them all that is presented. [Illustration: BALL-PLAYING IN JAPAN.] Frank found the air full of odors more or less heavy, and some of them the reverse of agreeable. They arose from numerous sticks of incense burned in honor of the gods, and which are irreverently called joss-sticks by foreigners. The incense is supposed to be agreeable to the god, and the smoke is thought to waft the supplicant's prayer to heaven. The same idea obtains in the burning of a paper on which a prayer has been printed, the flame carrying the petition as it flies upward. Traces of a similar faith are found in the Roman Catholic and Greek churches, where candles have a prominent place in religious worship; and the Doctor insisted to his young companions that the Christian and the Pagan are not so very far apart, after all. In addition to the odor of incense, there was that of oil, in which a keeper of a tiny restaurant was frying some cuttle-fish. The oil was of the sort known as "sesame," or barley, and the smell was of a kind that does not touch the Western nostril as agreeably as does that of lavender or Cologne water. Men were tossing balls in the air in front of the restaurant, quite unmindful of the strong odors, and seeming to enjoy the sport, and a woman and a boy were so busy over a game of battledoor and shuttlecock that they did not observe the presence of the strangers. [Illustration: SPORT AT ASAKUSA.] Through this active scene of refreshment and recreation, our party strolled along, and at length came to the gateway of the temple, an enormous structure of wood like a house with triple eaves, and raised on pillars resembling the piers of a bridge. This is similar to the gateway that is found in front of nearly every Japanese temple, and is an imposing ornament. On either hand, as we pass through, we find two statues of demons, who guard the entrance, and are gotten up in the superlative degree of hideousness. When the Japanese give their attention to the preparation of an image of surpassing ugliness, they generally succeed, and the same is the case when they search after the beautiful. Nothing can be more ugly in feature than the giants at Asakusa, and what is there more gracefully beautiful than the Japanese bronzes that were shown in the great exhibitions at Philadelphia and Paris? _Les extrêmes se touchent._ Fred thought he would propitiate the demons in a roundabout way, and so he gave a few pennies to some old beggars that were sitting near the gateway. The most of them were far from handsome, and none were beautiful; some were even so repulsive in features as to draw from Frank the suggestion that they were relatives of the statues, and therefore entitled to charity. Near the gateway was a pagoda or tower in seven stories, and it is said to be one of the finest in Japan. The Japanese pagoda is always built in an odd number of stories, three, five, seven, or nine, and it usually terminates, as does the one we are now contemplating, with a spire that resembles an enormous corkscrew more than anything else. It is of copper or bronze, and is a very beautiful ornament, quite in keeping with the edifice that it crowns. On its pinnacle there is a jewel, or something supposed to be one, a sacred emblem that appears very frequently in Japanese paintings or bronze-work. The edges of the little roofs projecting from each story were hung with bells that rang in the wind, but their noise was not sufficiently loud to render any inconvenience to the visitor, and for the greater part of the time they do not ring at all. The architecture of the pagoda is in keeping with that of the surrounding buildings, and thoroughly Oriental in all its features. [Illustration: SPIRE OF A PAGODA.] They passed the gateway and entered the temple. The huge building towered above them with its curved roof covered with enormous tiles, and its eaves projecting so far that they suggested an umbrella or the over-hanging sides of a mushroom. Frank admired the graceful curves of the roof, and wondered why nobody had ever introduced them into architecture in America. The Doctor told him that the plan had been tried in a few instances, but that architects were generally timid about innovations, and, above all, they did not like to borrow from the Eastern barbarians. Fred thought they ought to be willing to take anything that was good, no matter where they found it, and Frank echoed his sentiment. [Illustration: BELFRY IN COURT-YARD OF TEMPLE, SHOWING THE STYLE OF A JAPANESE ROOF.] "When I build a house," said Fred, "I will have a roof on it after the Japanese style, or, at any rate, something suggestive of it. The Japanese roof is pretty and graceful, and would look well in our landscape, I am sure. I don't see why we shouldn't have it in our country, and I'll take home some photographs so that I can have something to work from." Frank hinted that for the present the house that Fred intended to build was a castle in the air, and he was afraid it would be some time before it assumed a more substantial form. "Perhaps so," Fred answered, "but you wait awhile, and see if I don't do something that will astonish our neighbors. I think it will do more practical good to introduce the Japanese roof into America than the Japanese pillow." They agreed to this, and then Frank said it was not the place to waste their time in discussions; they could talk these matters over in the evening, and meanwhile they would look further at the temple and its surroundings. The boys were somewhat disappointed at the appearance of the interior of the temple. They had expected an imposing edifice like a cathedral, with stately columns supporting a high roof, and with an air of solemn stillness pervading the entire building. They ascended a row of broad steps, and entered a doorway that extended to half the width of the front of the building. The place was full of worshippers mingled with a liberal quantity of pigeons, votive offerings, and dirt. Knowing the Japanese love for cleanliness in their domestic life, it was a surprise to the youths to find the temple so much neglected as it appeared to be. They mentioned the matter to Doctor Bronson, who replied that it probably arose from the fact that the business of everybody was the business of nobody, and that the priests in charge of the temple were not inclined to work very hard in such commonplace affairs as keeping the edifice properly swept out. Thousands of visitors came there daily, and after it was swept in the morning the place soon became soiled, and a renewal of the cleansing process would be a serious inconvenience to the devotees. People of all classes and kinds were coming and going, and saying their prayers, without regard to each other. The floor was crowded with worshippers, some in rags and others in silks, some in youth and others in old age, some just learning to talk and others trembling with the weight of years; beggars, soldiers, officers, merchants, women, and children knelt together before the shrine of the goddess whom they reverenced, and whose mercy and watchful care they implored. The boys were impressed with the scene of devotion, and reverently paused as they moved among the pious Japanese. They respected the unquestioning faith of the people in the power of their goddess, and had no inclination to the feeling of derision that is sometimes shown by visitors to places whose sanctity is not in accord with their own views. [Illustration: SHRINE OF THE GODDESS KU-WANON.] But very soon Frank had occasion to bite his lip to suppress a smile when he saw one of the Japanese throw what an American schoolboy would call a "spit-ball" at the head of the great image that stood behind the altar. Then he observed that the whole figure of the god was covered with these balls, and he knew there must be some meaning to the action that he at first thought so funny. He called Fred's attention to the matter, and then asked the Doctor what it meant. "It is a way they have," replied the Doctor, "of addressing their petitions to the deity. A Japanese writes his prayer on a piece of paper, or buys one already written; then he chews it to a pulp, and throws it at the god. If the ball sticks, the omen is a good one, and the prayer will be answered; if it rebounds or falls, the sign is unlucky, and the petitioner must begin over again. I have been told," continued Doctor Bronson, "that some of the dealers in printed prayers apply a small quantity of glue to them so as to insure their sticking when thrown at the divinity." In front of the great altar stood a box like a large trough, and into this box each worshipper threw a handful of copper cash or small coin before saying his prayers. There were two or three bushels of this coin in the trough, and it is said that frequently the contributions amount to a hundred dollars' worth in a single day. The money thus obtained is expended in repairing and preserving the building, and goes to support the priests attached to the temple. CHAPTER IX. ASAKUSA AND YUYENO.--FIRST NATIONAL FAIR AT TOKIO. All around the shrine of the temple there were prayers fastened, wherever there was a place for fastening them. On the left of the altar there was a large lattice, and this lattice had hundreds of prayers attached to it, some of them folded and others open. Several old men and women were leaning against this lattice, or squatted on the floor in front of it, engaged in selling prayers; and they appeared to be doing a thriving business. The boys bought some of these prayers to send home as curiosities; and they also bought some charms and beads, the latter not unlike those used by Catholics, and having a prominent place in the Japanese worship. Then there were votive tablets on the walls, generally in the form of pictures painted on paper or silk, or cut out of thin paper, like silhouettes. One of them represents a ship on the water in the midst of a storm, and is probably the offering of a merchant who had a marine venture that he wished to have the goddess take under her protection. Shoes and top-knots of men and women were among the offerings, and the most of them were labelled with the names of the donors. These valueless articles are never disturbed, but remain in their places for years, while costly treasures of silver or gold are generally removed in a few days to the private sanctuary of the goddess for fear of accidents. Even in a temple, all the visitors cannot be trusted to keep their hands in check. It is intimated that the priests are sometimes guilty of appropriating valuable things to their own use. But then what could you expect of a lot of heathens like the Japanese? Nothing of the kind could happen in a Christian land. There were more attractions outside the temple than in it for our young visitors, and, after a hasty glance at the shrines in the neighborhood of the great altar, they went again into the open air. Not far from the entrance of the temple Frank came upon a stone wheel set in a post of the same material. He looked it over with the greatest care, and wondered what kind of labor-saving machine it was. A quantity of letters and figures on the sides of the post increased his thirst for knowledge, and he longed to be able to read Japanese, so that he might know the name of the inventor of this piece of mechanism, and what it was made for. He turned to the Doctor and asked what was the use of the post, and how it was operated. Just as he spoke, a man passed near the machine and gave the wheel a blow that sent it spinning around with great rapidity. The man gave a glance at it to see that it was turning well, and then moved on in the direction of the temple. "I know what that is," said Fred, who came along at the moment Frank expressed his wonder to Doctor Bronson. "Well, what is it?" "It's a praying-machine; I read about it the other day in a book on Japan." "Quite right," responded the Doctor; "it is a machine used in every country where Buddhism is the religion." [Illustration: PRAYING-MACHINE.] Then he went on to explain that there is a formula of prayers on the sides of the post, and sometimes on the wheel, and that for each revolution of the wheel these prayers are supposed to be uttered. A devotee passes, and, as he does so, he revolves the wheel; and for each time it turns around a prayer is recorded in heaven to his credit. It follows that a man with strong arms, and possessing a knack of making the wheel spin around, can do a great deal more petitioning to Heaven than the weak and clumsy one. Fred thought that it would be a good thing to attach these prayer-wheels to mills propelled by water, wind, or steam, and thus secure a steady and continuous revolution. The Doctor told him that this was actually done in some of the Buddhist countries, and a good many of the pious people said their prayers by machinery. [Illustration: ARCHERY ATTENDANT.] They strolled along to where there were some black-eyed girls in charge of booths, where, for a small consideration, a visitor can practise shooting with bows and arrows. The bows were very small, and the arrows were blunt at the ends. The target was a drum, and consequently the marksman's ear, rather than the eye, told when a shot was successful. The drums were generally square, and in front of each there was a little block of wood. A click on the wood showed that a shot was of more value than when it was followed by the dull boom of the drum. The girls brought tea to the boys, and endeavored to engage them in conversation, but, as there was no common language in which they could talk, the dialogue was not particularly interesting. The boys patronized the archery business, and tried a few shots with the Japanese equipments; but they found the little arrows rather difficult to handle, on account of their diminutive size. An arrow six inches long is hardly heavy enough to allow of a steady aim, and both of the youths declared they would prefer something more weighty. Near the archery grounds there was a collection of so-called wax-works, and the Doctor paid the entrance-fees for the party to the show. These wax-works consist of thirty-six tableaux with life-size figures, and are intended to represent miracles wrought by Ku-wanon, the goddess of the temple. They are the production of one artist, who had visited the temples devoted to Ku-wanon in various parts of Japan, and determined to represent her miracles in such a way as to instruct those who were unable to make the pilgrimage, as he had done. One of the tableaux shows the goddess restoring to health a young lady who has prayed to her; another shows a woman saved from shipwreck, in consequence of having prayed to the goddess; in another a woman is falling from a ladder, but the goddess saves her from injury; in another a pious man is saved from robbers by his dog; and in another a true believer is overcoming and killing a serpent that sought to do him harm. Several of the groups represent demons and fairies, and the Japanese skill in depicting the hideous is well illustrated. One of them shows a robber desecrating the temple of the goddess; and the result of his action is hinted at by a group of demons who are about to carry him away in a cart of iron, which has been heated red-hot, and has wheels and axles of flaming fire. He does not appear overjoyed with the free ride that is in prospect for him. These figures are considered the most remarkable in all Japan, and many foreign visitors have pronounced them superior to the celebrated collection of Madame Tussaud in London. Ku-wanon is represented as a beautiful lady, and in some of the figures there is a wonderfully gentle expression to her features. Asakusa is famous for its flower-shows, which occur at frequent intervals, and, luckily for our visitors, one was in progress at the time of their pilgrimage to the temple. The Japanese are great lovers of flowers, and frequently a man will deprive himself of things of which he stands in actual need in order to purchase his favorite blossoms. As in all other countries, the women are more passionately fond of floral productions than the men; and when a flower-show is in progress, there is sure to be a large attendance of the fairer sex. Many of these exhibitions are held at night, as a great portion of the public are unable to come in the daytime on account of their occupations. At night the place is lighted up by means of torches stuck in the ground among the flowers, and the scene is quite picturesque. [Illustration: A JAPANESE FLOWER-SHOW. NIGHT SCENE.] Frank and Fred were greatly interested to find the love which the Japanese have for dwarfed plants and for plants in fantastic shapes. The native florists are wonderfully skilful in this kind of work, and some of their accomplishments would seem impossible to American gardeners. For example, they will make representations of mountains, houses, men, women, cats, dogs, boats, carts, ships under full sail, and a hundred other things--all in plants growing in pots or in the ground. To do this they take a frame of wire or bamboo in the shape of the article they wish to represent, and then compel the plant to grow around it. Day by day the plant is trained, bent a little here and a little there, and in course of time it assumes the desired form and is ready for the market. If an animal is represented, it is made more life-like by the addition of a pair of porcelain eyes; but there is rarely any other part of his figure that is formed of anything else than the living green. Our boys had a merry time among the treasures of the gardener in picking out the animate and inanimate forms that were represented, and both regretted that they could not send home some of the curious things that they found. Frank discovered a model of a house that he knew would please his sister; and he was quite sure that Miss Effie would dance with delight if she could feast her eyes on a figure of a dog, with the short nose for which the dogs of Japan are famous, and with sharp little eyes of porcelain. Fred cared less for the models in green than he did for some dwarf trees that seemed to strike his fancy particularly. There were pines, oaks, and other trees familiar to our eyes, only an inch or two in height, but as perfectly formed as though they were of the natural size in which we see them in their native forests. Then there were bamboo, cactus, and a great many other plants that grow in Japan, but with which we are not familiar. There was such a quantity of them as to leave no doubt that the dwarfing of plants is thoroughly understood in Japan and has received much attention. Doctor Bronson told the boys that the profession of florist, like many other professions and trades, was hereditary, and that the knowledge descended from father to son. The dwarfing of plants, and their training into unnatural shapes and forms, have been practised for thousands of years, and the present state of the florist's art is the result of centuries of development. [Illustration: A CHRISTENING IN JAPAN.] In the flower-show and among the tea-booths the party remained at their leisure until it was time to think of going away from Asakusa and seeing something else. As they came out of the temple grounds they met a wedding party going in, and a few paces farther on they encountered a christening party proceeding in the same direction. The wedding procession consisted of three persons, and the other of four; but the principal member of the latter group was so young that he was carried in the arms of one of his companions, and had very little to say of the performances in which he was to take a prominent part. Frank observed that he did not cry, as any well-regulated baby would have done in America, and remarked upon the oddity of the circumstance. The Doctor informed him that it was not the fashion for babies to cry in Japan, unless they belonged to foreign parents. Frank opened his eyes with astonishment. Fred did likewise. "And is it really the case," said Frank, "that a Japanese baby never cries?" "I could hardly say that," the Doctor answered; "but you may live a long time in Japan, and see lots of babies without hearing a cry from one of them. An American or English baby will make more noise and trouble than fifty Japanese ones. You have seen a great many small children since you landed in Japan, and now stop and think if you have heard one of them cry." The boys considered a moment, and were forced to admit that, as Frank expressed it, they hadn't heard a whimper from a native infant. And they added that they were not anxious to hear any either. The child that they saw was probably an urchin of about four weeks, as it is the custom to shave the head of an infant on the thirtieth day, or very near that date, and take him to the temple. There the priest performs a ceremonial very much like a christening with us, and for the same object. The party in the present instance consisted of a nurse carrying the child, a servant holding an umbrella to shield the nurse and child from the sun, and lastly the father of the youngster. The mother does not accompany the infant on this journey, or, at all events, it is not necessary that she should do so. [Illustration: A WEDDING PARTY.] The wedding procession that our boys encountered consisted of the bride and her mother, with a servant to hold an umbrella to protect them from the sun. Mother and daughter were richly attired, and their heads were covered with shawls heavily embroidered. Weddings in Japan do not take place in the temples, as might naturally be expected, but a part of the ceremonial is performed at the house of the bride, and the remainder at that of the bridegroom. After the wedding the bride accompanies her mother to the temple to say her prayers for a happy life, and this was the occasion which our young adventurers happened to witness. There are many other temples in Tokio besides Asakusa, and the stranger who wishes to devote his time to the study of Japanese temples can have his wishes gratified to the fullest degree. After our party had finished the sights of Asakusa, they went to another quarter where they spent an hour among temples that were less popular, though more elegant, than those of the locality we have just described. The beauty of the architecture and the general elegance of the interior of the structures captivated them, and they unhesitatingly pronounced the religious edifices of Japan the finest they had ever seen. They were hungry, and the Doctor suggested Uyeno. The boys did not know what Uyeno was, but concluded they would like some. Fred asked if it was really good. The Doctor told them that Uyeno was excellent, and Frank asked how it was prepared. He was somewhat taken aback when he learned that Uyeno was not an article of food, but a place where food was to be obtained. [Illustration: STROLLING SINGERS AT ASAKUSA.] They went there and found a pretty park on a hill that overlooked a considerable portion of the city. At one side of the park there was an enclosure containing several tombs of the shogoons, or tycoons, of Japan, and there was a neat little temple that is held in great reverence, and receives annually many thousands of visitors. On an edge of the hill, where a wide view was to be had over the houses of the great capital, an enterprising Japanese had erected a restaurant, which he managed after the European manner, and was driving a profitable business. He was patronized by the foreign visitors and residents, and also by many of the Japanese officials, who had learned to like foreign cookery and customs during their journeys abroad, or were endeavoring to familiarize themselves with its peculiarities. Our friends found the restaurant quite satisfactory, and complimented the proprietor on the success of his management. It is no easy matter for a native to introduce foreign customs into his hotel in such a way as to give satisfaction to the people of the country from which the customs are taken. [Illustration: VIEW FROM SURUGA DAI IN TOKIO.] Uyeno is not by any means the only elevation in Tokio from which a good view can be had of the city and surrounding country. There are several elevations where such views are obtainable, and in nearly all of them the holy mountain, Fusiyama, has a prominent place. A famous view is that of Atago Yama, and another is from Suruga Dai. Both these places are popular resorts, and abound in tea-houses, refreshment booths, swings, and other public attractions. On pleasant afternoons there is always a large attendance of the populace, and it is interesting to see them amusing themselves. There are old people, middle-aged people, youths, and infants, the latter on the backs of their nurses, where they hang patiently on, and seem to enjoy their share of the fun. The quantity of tea that the natives consume in one of these afternoon entertainments is something prodigious; but they do not seem to suffer any injury from what some of us would consider a wild dissipation. [Illustration: A CHILD'S NURSE.] Not far from where the Doctor and his young friends were seated was an enclosure where was held the First National Fair of Tokio in 1877. The enclosure was still standing, and it was the intention of the government to hold a fair there annually, as it fully recognized the advantages of these exhibitions as educators of the people. The Japanese are not generally well informed as to the products of their own country outside of the provinces where they happen to live. A native can tell you what his own district or province produces, but he is often lamentably ignorant of the resources of other parts of the country. It is to break up this ignorance, and also to stimulate improvements in the various industries, that these national fairs have been established. As the description of the First National Fair at Tokio may not be uninteresting, we will copy from a letter to a New York paper, by one of its correspondents who was in Japan at the time. After describing the opening ceremonies, which were attended by the emperor and empress, together with many high dignitaries of the government, he wrote as follows: "The buildings are arranged to enclose an octagonal space, and consequently a visitor finds himself at the starting-point when he has made the rounds. The affair is in the hands of the gentlemen who controlled the Japanese department of the Philadelphia Exhibition in 1876, and many of the features of our Centennial have been reproduced. They have Agricultural Hall, Machinery Hall, Horticultural Hall, and Fine Arts Gallery, as at the Centennial; and then they have Eastern Hall and Western Hall, which the Quaker City did not have. They have restaurants and refreshment booths, and likewise stands for the sale of small articles, such as are most likely to tempt strangers. In many respects the exhibition is quite similar to an affair of the same kind in America; and with a few changes of costume, language, and articles displayed, it might pass for a state or county fair in Maine or Minnesota. [Illustration: LOVERS BEHIND A SCREEN. A PAINTING ON SILK EXHIBITED AT THE TOKIO FAIR.] "The display of manufactured articles is much like that in the Japanese section at Philadelphia, but is not nearly so large, the reason being that the merchants do not see as good chances for business as they did at the Centennial, and consequently they have not taken so much trouble to come in. Many of the articles shown were actually at Philadelphia, but did not find a market, and have been brought out again in the hope that they may have better luck. The bronzes are magnificent, and some of them surpass anything that was shown at the Centennial, or has ever been publicly exhibited outside of Japan. The Japanese seem determined to maintain their reputation of being the foremost workers of bronze in the world. They have also some beautiful work in lacquered ware, but their old lacquer is better than the new. "In their Machinery Hall they have a very creditable exhibit, considering how recently they have opened the country to the Western world, and how little they had before the opening in the way of Western ideas. There is a small steam-engine of Japanese make; there are two or three looms, some rice-mills, winnowing-machines, an apparatus for winding and spinning silk, some pumps, a hay-cutter, and a fire-engine worked by hand. Then there are several agricultural machines, platform scales, pumps, and a wood-working apparatus from American makers, and there are two or three of English production. In the Agricultural Hall there are horse-rakes, mowers, reapers, and ploughs from America, and there are also some well-made ploughs from Japanese hands. In the Eastern Hall there are some delicate balances for weighing coin and the precious metals; they were made for the mint at Osaka, and look wonderfully like the best French or German balances. The Japanese have been quite successful in copying these instruments, more so than in imitating the heavier scales from America. Fairbanks's scales have been adopted as the standard of the Japanese postal and customs departments. Some of the skilful workmen in Japan thought they could make their own scales, and so they set about copying the American one. They made a scale that looked just as well, but was not accurate as a weighing-machine. As the chief use of a scale is to weigh correctly, they concluded to quit their experiments and stick to Fairbanks's. [Illustration: BLACKSMITH'S BELLOWS.] "There is an interesting display of the natural products of Japan, and it is exceedingly instructive to a stranger. The Japanese are studying these things with great attention, and the fair will undoubtedly prove an excellent school for the people by adding to their stock of information about themselves. Each section bears over its entrance the name of the city, province, or district it represents, and as these names are displayed in English as well as in Japanese, a stranger has no difficulty in finding out the products of the different parts of the empire. The result is that many articles are repeated in the exhibition, and you meet with them again and again. Such, for example, are raw silks, which come from various localities, as likewise do articles of leather, wood, and iron. Porcelain of various kinds appears repeatedly, and so do the woods used for making furniture. There is an excellent show of porcelain, and some of the pieces are of enormous size. Kaga, Satsuma, Hizen, Kioto, Nagasaki, and other wares are in abundance, and a student of ceramics will find enough to interest him for many hours. [Illustration: A GRASS OVERCOAT.] "In cordage and material for ship-building there is a good exhibit, and there are two well-made models of gun-boats. Wheat, rice, millet, and other grains are represented by numerous samples, and there are several specimens of Indian-corn, or maize, grown on Japanese soil. There is a goodly array of canned fruits and meats, mostly the former, some in tin and the rest in glass. Vinegars, rice-whiskey, soy, and the like are abundant, and so is dried fish of several kinds. There is a good display of tea and tobacco, the former being in every form, from the tea-plant up to the prepared article ready for shipment. One has only to come here to see the many uses to which the Japanese put fibrous grasses in making mats, overcoats, and similar things; and there are like displays of the serviceability of bamboo. From the north of Japan there are otter and other skins, and from various points there are models of boats and nets to illustrate the fishing business. The engineering department shows some fine models of bridges and dams, and has evidently made good progress since its organization." CHAPTER X. WALKS AND TALKS IN TOKIO. While the Doctor and his companions were at table in the restaurant at Uyeno, they were surprised by the presence of an old acquaintance. Mr. A., or "The Mystery," who had been their fellow-passenger from San Francisco, suddenly entered the room, accompanied by two Japanese officials, with whom he was evidently on very friendly terms. They were talking in English, and the two natives seemed to be quite fluent in it, but they evidently preferred to say little in the presence of the strangers. Mr. A. was equally disinclined to talk, or even to make himself known, as he simply nodded to Doctor Bronson and the boys, and then sat down in a distant corner. When the waiter came, he said something to him in a low tone, and in a few minutes the proprietor appeared, and led the way to a private room, where the American and his Japanese friends would be entirely by themselves. As Frank expressed it, "something was up," but what that something was they did not see any prospect of ascertaining immediately. After a few moments devoted to wondering what could be the meaning of the movements of the mysterious stranger, they dropped the subject and resumed their conversation about Japan. Fred had some questions of a religious character to propound to the Doctor. They had grown out of his observations during their visits to the temples. "I noticed in some of the temples," said Fred, "that there were statues of Buddha and also other statues, but in other temples there were no statues of Buddha or any one else. What is the meaning of this?" "It is because the temples belong to different forms of religion," the Doctor answered. "Those where you saw the statues of Buddha are Buddhist in their faith and form of worship, while the rest are of another kind which is called Shinto." "And what is the difference between Buddhism and Shintoism?" Frank inquired. "The difference," Doctor Bronson explained, "is about the same as that between the Roman Catholic faith and that of the Protestants. As I understand it--but I confess that I am not quite clear on the subject--Shintoism is the result of a reformation of the Buddhist religion, just as our Protestant belief is a reformation of Catholicism. "Now, if you want to study Buddhism," he continued, "I must refer you to a work on the religions of the world, or to an encyclopedia, as we have no time to go into a religious dissertation, and, besides, our lunch might be spoiled while we were talking. And another reason why we ought not to enter deeply into the subject is that I should find it impossible to make a clear exposition of the principles of the Buddhist faith or of Shintoism; and if you pressed me too closely, I might become confused. The religions of the East are very difficult to comprehend, and I have known men who had lived twenty years in China or India, and endeavored to study the forms and principles of the religions of those countries, who confessed their inability to understand them. For my own part, I must admit that when I have listened to explanations by Japanese, or other people of the East, of their religious faith, I have heard a great deal that I could not comprehend. I concede their sincerity; and when they say there is a great deal in our forms of worship that they do not understand, I believe they are telling the truth. Our ways of thought are not their ways, and what is clear to one is not at all so to another. [Illustration: A HIGH-PRIEST IN FULL COSTUME.] "I have already told you of the overthrow of the Shogoon, or Tycoon, and the return of the Mikado to power as the ruler of all the country. The Shogoon and his family were adherents of Buddhism, while the Mikado's followers were largely of the Shinto faith. When the Mikado's power was restored, there was a general demand on the part of the Shintoists that the Buddhist temples should be destroyed and the religion effaced. A good number of temples were demolished, and the government took away much of the revenue of those that remained. The temples are rapidly going to decay, as there is no money to expend on them for repairs, and it is quite possible that the beginning of the next century may see them overthrown. Some of them are magnificent specimens of architecture, and it is a great pity that they should thus go to ruin. Adherents of the old religion declare that the government had at one time determined to issue an order for the demolition of every Buddhist temple in the country, and only refrained from so doing through fear that it would lead to a revolution. The Shiba temple in Tokio, one of the finest in Japan, was burned under circumstances that led many persons to accuse the government of having had a hand in the conflagration, and I know there are foreigners in Tokio and Yokohama who openly denounce the authorities for the occurrence. [Illustration: A JAPANESE TEMPLE.] "As you have observed, the Buddhist temples contain the statue of Buddha, while the Shinto temples have nothing of the sort. For all practical purposes, you may compare a Buddhist temple to a Catholic church, with its statues and pictures of the saints; and a Shinto temple to a Protestant church, with its bare walls, and its altar with no ornament of consequence. The Buddhists, like the Catholics, burn a great deal of incense in front of their altars and before their statues; but the Shintoists do not regard the burning of incense as at all necessary to salvation. Both religions have an excellent code of morals; and if all the adherents of either should do as they are told by their sacred teachers, there would not be much wickedness in the country. As for that matter, there is enough of moral precept in nearly every religion in the world to live by, but the trouble is that the whole world will not live as it should. Buddhism is more than five hundred years older than Christianity. The old forms of Shintoism existed before Buddhism was brought to Japan; but the modern is so much changed from the old that it is virtually, as I told you, a reformation of Buddhism. At all events, that was the form which it assumed at the time the Shogoon's government was overthrown. [Illustration: A WAYSIDE SHRINE.] "You have only to see the many shrines and temples in all parts of the country to know how thoroughly religious the whole population is, especially when you observe the crowds of devout worshippers that go to the temples daily. Every village, however small and poor, has its temple; and wherever you go, you see little shrines by the roadside with steps leading up to them. They are invariably in the most picturesque spots, and always in a situation that has a view as commanding as possible. You saw them near the railway as we came here from Yokohama, and you can hardly go a mile on a Japanese road without seeing one of them. The Japanese have remembered their love for the picturesque in arranging their temples and shrines, and thus have made them attractive to the great mass of the people. "Since the opening of Japan to foreigners, the missionaries have devoted much attention to the country as a field of labor. Compared with the result of missionary labors in India, the cause has prospered, and a great deal of good has been accomplished. The Japanese are not an unthinking people, and their faculties of analysis are very keen. They show more interest in the doctrines of Christianity than do the Chinese and some other Oriental people, and are quite willing to discuss them whenever they are properly presented." The discussion came to an end, and the party prepared to move on. They were uncertain where to go, and, after a little time spent in debate, the Doctor suggested that they might as well go once more to the Nihon Bashi, or Central Bridge, and enjoy an afternoon view of the river. Off they started, and in due time were at the famous bridge, and in the midst of the active life that goes on in its vicinity. The view up and down the river was an animated one. Many boats were on the water, some of them lying at anchor, or tied up to the bank; while others were slowly threading the stream in one way and another. The banks of the river were lined with gay restaurants and other places of public resort, and from some of them came the sounds of native music, indicating that the patrons were enjoying themselves. The great mountain of Japan was in full view, and was a more welcome sight than the crowds of beggars that lined the bridge and showed altogether too much attention to the strangers. The bridge itself is not the magnificent structure that one might expect to find when he remembers its national importance. It is a rickety affair, built of wood, and showing signs of great antiquity; and its back rises as though somebody had attempted to lift it up by pressing his shoulders beneath and had nearly succeeded in his effort. Near the southern end of the bridge the boys observed something like a great sign-board with a railing around it, and a roof above to keep the rain from injuring the placards which were painted beneath. The latter were in Japanese, and, of course, neither Frank nor Fred could make out their meaning. So they asked the Doctor what the structure was for and why it was in such a conspicuous place. "That," answered the Doctor, "is the great kosatsu." Frank said he was glad to know it, and he would be more glad when he knew what the kosatsu was. [Illustration: THE GREAT KOSATSU, NEAR THE NIHON BASHI.] "The kosatsu," continued Doctor Bronson, "is the sign-board where the official notices of the government are posted. You find these boards in all the cities, towns, and villages of Japan; there may be several in a city, but there is always one which has a higher character than the rest, and is known as the _great_ kosatsu. The one you are now looking at is the most celebrated in the empire, as it stands near the Nihon Bashi, whence all roads are measured, as I have already explained to you." "Please, Doctor," said Frank, "what is the nature of the notices they put on the sign-board?" "Any public notice or law, any new order of the government, a regulation of the police, appointments of officials; in fact, anything that would be published as an official announcement in other countries. There was formerly an edict against Christians which was published all over the empire, and was on all the kosatsus. The edict appeared on the kosatsu of the Nihon Bashi down to the overthrow of the Shogoon's government, in 1868, when it was removed." "And what was the edict?" "It forbade Christianity in these words: 'The evil sect called Christians is strictly prohibited. Suspicious persons should be reported to the proper officers, and rewards will be given.' Directly under this edict was another, which said, 'Human beings must carefully practise the principles of the five social relations: Charity must be shown to widowers, widows, orphans, the childless, and sick. There must be no such crimes as murder, arson, or robbery.' Both these orders were dated in the month of April, 1868, and consequently are not matters of antiquity. The original edict against Christians was issued two hundred years ago, and was never revoked. St. Francis Xavier and his zealous comrades had introduced the religion of Europe into Japan, and their success was so great that the government became alarmed for its safety. They found proofs that the new religionists intended to subjugate the country and place it under the dominion of Spain; and in the latter part of the sixteenth and beginning of the seventeenth century there was an active persecution of the Christians. Many were expelled from the country, many more were executed, and the cause of Christianity received a blow from which it did not recover until our day. Now the missionaries are at liberty to preach the Gospel, and may make as many converts as they please." [Illustration: BLOWING BUBBLES.] As they walked away from the kosatsu they saw a group engaged in the childish amusement of blowing soap-bubbles. There were three persons in the group, a man and two boys, and the youngsters were as happy as American or English boys would have been under similar circumstances. While the man blew the bubbles, the boys danced around him and endeavored to catch the shining globes. Fred and Frank were much interested in the spectacle, and had it not been for their sense of dignity, and the manifest impropriety of interfering, they would have joined in the sport. The players were poorly clad, and evidently did not belong to the wealthier class; but they were as happy as though they had been princes; in fact, it is very doubtful if princes could have had a quarter as much enjoyment from the chase of soap-bubbles. Evening was approaching, and the party concluded to defer their sight-seeing until the morrow. They returned to the railway station, and were just in time to catch the last train of the day for Yokohama. There was a hotel at Tokio on the European system, and if they had missed the train, they would have patronized this establishment. The Doctor had spent a week there, and spoke favorably of the Sei-yo-ken, as the hotel is called. It is kept by a Japanese, and all the servants are natives, but they manage to meet very fairly the wants of the strangers that go there. It was some time after the opening of Tokio to foreigners before there was any hotel there, and a visitor was put to great inconvenience. He was compelled to accept the hospitality of his country's representative. As he generally had no personal claims to such hospitality, he was virtually an intruder; and if at all sensitive about forcing himself where he had no business to go, his position could not be otherwise than embarrassing. The American ministers in the early days were often obliged to keep free boarding-houses, and even at the present time they are not entirely exempt from intrusions. Our diplomatic and consular representatives abroad are the victims of a vast amount of polite fraud, and some very impolite frauds in addition. It is a sad thing to say, but nevertheless true, that a disagreeably large proportion of travelling Americans in distant lands make pecuniary raids on the purses of our representatives in the shape of loans, which they never repay, and probably never intend to. Another class manages to sponge its living by quartering at the consular or diplomatic residence, and making itself as much at home as though it owned everything. There are many consuls in Europe and Asia who dread the entrance of a strange countryman into their offices, through the expectation, born of bitter experience, that the introduction is to be followed by an appeal for a loan, which is in reality a gift, and can be ill afforded by the poorly paid representative. The next day the party returned to Tokio, but, unfortunately for their plans, a heavy rain set in and kept them indoors. Japanese life and manners are so much connected with the open air that a rainy day does not leave much opportunity for a sight-seer among the people. Finding the rain was likely to last an indefinite period, they returned to the hotel at Yokohama. The boys turned their attention to letter-writing, while the Doctor busied himself with preparations for an excursion to Hakone--a summer resort of foreigners in Japan--and possibly an ascent of Fusiyama. The boys greatly wished to climb the famous mountain; and as the Doctor had never made the journey, he was quite desirous of undertaking it, though, perhaps, he was less keen than his young companions, as he knew it could only be accomplished with a great deal of fatigue. The letters were devoted to descriptions of what the party had seen in their visit to Tokio, and they had a goodly number of comments to make on the manners and customs of the Japanese. Frank declared that he had never seen a more polite people than the Japanese, and then he added that he had never seen any other people outside of his own country, and therefore his judgment might not be worth much. Fred had been greatly impressed with his discovery that the babies of Japan do not cry, and he suggested that the American babies would do well to follow the example of the barbarian children. Then, too, he was much pleased with the respect the children showed for their parents, and he thought the parents were very fond of their children, if he were to judge by the great number of games that were provided for the amusement of the little folks. He described what he had seen in the temple at Asakusa, and in other parts of Tokio, and enclosed a picture of a Japanese father seated with his children, the one in his arms, and the other clinging to his knee, and forming an interesting scene. [Illustration: FATHER AND CHILDREN.] Frank had made a discovery about the cats of Japan, and carefully recorded it in his letter as follows: "There are the funniest cats in this country that you ever saw. They have the shortest kind of tails, and a good many of them haven't any tails at all any more than a rabbit. You know we expect every kitten in America to play with her tail, and what can she do when she has no tail to play with? I think that must be the reason why the Japanese cats are so solemn, and why they won't play as our cats do. I have tried to find out how it all happens, but nobody can tell. Doctor Bronson says the kittens are born without tails, and that is all he knows about it. I think they must be a different kind of cat from ours; but, apart from the absence of tails, they don't look any way dissimilar. Somebody says that an American once took one of these tailless cats to San Francisco as a curiosity, and that it would never make friends with any long-tailed cat. It would spit and scratch, and try to bite off the other cat's tail; but one day, when they put it with a cat whose tail had been cut off by a bad boy, it was friendly at once." Fred wanted ever so much to send home a goldfish with a very wide and beautiful tail. The fish didn't seem to be much unlike a common goldfish, except in the tail, which was triple, and looked like a piece of lace. As it swam around in the water, especially when the sun was shining on the globe, its tail seemed to have nearly as many colors as the rainbow, and both the boys were of opinion that no more beautiful fish was ever seen. But the proposal to send it to America was rather dampened by the statement of the Doctor that the experiment had been tried several times, and only succeeded in a very few instances. Almost all the fish died on the voyage over the Pacific; and even when they lived through that part of the trip, the overland journey from San Francisco to the Atlantic coast generally proved too much for them. The Japanese name for this fish is _kin-giyo_, and a pair of them may be bought for ten cents. It is said that a thousand dollars were offered for the first one that ever reached New York alive, which is a large advance on the price in Yokohama. The Japanese dogs were also objects of interest to our young friends, though less so than the cats and the goldfish. They have several varieties of dogs in Japan, some of them being quite without hair, while others have very thick coats. The latter are the most highly prized, and the shorter their noses, the more valuable they are considered. Fred found a dog, about the size of a King Charles spaniel, that had a nose only half an inch long. He was boasting of his discovery, when Frank pointed out one that had less than a third of an inch. Then the two kept on the hunt for the latest improvement in dogs, as Frank expressed it, and they finally found one that had no nose at all. The nostrils were set directly in the end of the little fellow's head, and his under-jaw was so short that the operations of barking and eating were not very easy to perform. In spite of the difficulty of barking, he made a great deal of noise when the boys attempted to examine him, and he gave Frank to understand in the most practical way that a noseless dog can bite. As they walked away from the shop where they found him, he kept up a continual snarling, which led to the remark by Fred that a noseless dog was very far from noiseless. As they had been kept in by the rain, Frank thought he could not do better than send to his sister a Japanese picture of a party caught in a rain-storm. He explained that the rain in Japan was quite as wet as in any other country, and that umbrellas were just as necessary as at home. He added that the Japanese umbrellas were made of paper, and kept the rain off very well, but they did not last a long time. You could buy one for half a dollar, and a very pretty one it was, and it spread out farther than the foreign umbrella did. The sticks were of bamboo, and they were covered with several thicknesses of oiled paper carefully dried in the sun. They were very much used, since nearly everybody carried an umbrella, in fair weather as well as in foul; if the umbrella was not needed against the rain, it was useful to keep off the heat of the sun, which was very severe in the middle of the day. The letters were ready in season for the mail for America, and in due time they reached their destination and carried pleasure to several hearts. It was evident that the boys were enjoying themselves, and at the same time learning much about the strange country they had gone to see. [Illustration: CAUGHT IN THE RAIN.] CHAPTER XI. AN EXCURSION TO DAI-BOOTS AND ENOSHIMA. A favorite resort of the foreign residents of Yokohama during the summer months is the island of Enoshima. It is about twenty miles away, and is a noted place of pilgrimage for the Japanese, on account of certain shrines that are reputed to have a sacred character. Doctor Bronson arranged that his party should pay a visit to this island, as it was an interesting spot, and they could have a glimpse of Japanese life in the rural districts, and among the fishermen of the coast. They went thither by jin-riki-shas, and arranged to stop on the way to see the famous bronze statue of Dai-Boots, or the Great Buddha. This statue is the most celebrated in all Japan, as it is the largest and finest in every way. Frank had heard and read about it; and when he learned from the Doctor that they were to see it on their way to Enoshima, he ran straightway to Fred to tell the good news. "Just think of it, Fred," said he, "we are to see a statue sixty feet high, all of solid bronze, and a very old one it is, too." "Sixty feet isn't so very much," Fred answered. "There are statues in Europe a great deal larger." "But they were not made by the Japanese, as this one was," Frank responded, "and they are statues of figures standing erect, while this represents a sitting figure. A sitting figure sixty feet high is something you don't see every day." Fred admitted that there might be some ground for Frank's enthusiasm, and, in fact, he was not long in sharing it, and thinking it was a very good thing that they were going to Enoshima, and intending to see Dai-Boots on the way. At the appointed time they were off. They went through the foreign part of Yokohama, and through the native quarter, and then out upon the Tokaido. The boys were curious to see the Tokaido, and when they reached it they asked the Doctor to halt the jin-riki-shas, and let them press their feet upon the famous work of Japanese road-builders. The halt was made, and gave a few minutes' rest to the men that were drawing them, and from whose faces the perspiration was running profusely. The Tokaido, or eastern road, is the great highway that connects Kioto with Tokio--the eastern capital with the western one. There is some obscurity in its history, but there is no doubt of its antiquity. It has been in existence some hundreds of years, and has witnessed many and many a princely procession, and many a display of Oriental magnificence. It was the road by which the Daimios of the western part of the empire made their journeys to Tokio in the olden days, and it was equally the route by which the cortége of the Shogoon went to Kioto to render homage to the Mikado. It is a well-made road; but as it was built before the days of wheeled carriages, and when a track where two men could ride abreast was all that was considered requisite, it is narrower than most of us would expect to find it. In many places it is not easy for two carriages to pass without turning well out into the ditch, and there are places on the great route where the use of wheeled vehicles is impossible. But in spite of these drawbacks it is a fine road, and abounds in interesting sights. [Illustration: A VILLAGE ON THE TOKAIDO.] Naturally the Tokaido is a place of activity, and in the ages that have elapsed since it was made many villages have sprang into existence along its sides. Between Yokohama and Tokio there is an almost continuous hedge of these villages, and there are places where you may ride for miles as along a densely filled street. From Tokio the road follows the shore of the bay until near Yokohama, when it turns inland; but it comes to or near the sea again in several places, and affords occasional glimpses of the great water. For several years after the admission of foreigners to Japan the Tokaido gave a great deal of trouble to the authorities, and figured repeatedly in the diplomatic history of the government. The most noted of these affairs was that in which an Englishman named Richardson was killed, and the government was forced to pay a heavy indemnity in consequence. A brief history of this affair may not be without interest, as it will illustrate the difficulties that arose in consequence of a difference of national customs. Under the old laws of Japan it was the custom for the Daimios to have a very complete right of way whenever their trains were out upon the Tokaido or any other road. If any native should ride or walk into a Daimio's procession, or even attempt anything of the kind, he would be put to death immediately by the attendants of the prince. This was the invariable rule, and had been in force for hundreds of years. When the foreigners first came to Yokohama, the Daimios' processions were frequently on the road; and, as the strangers had the right to go into the country, and consequently to ride on the Tokaido, there was a constant fear that some of them would ignorantly or wilfully violate the ancient usages and thus lead the Daimios' followers to use their swords. [Illustration: A PARTY ON THE TOKAIDO.] Things were in this condition when one day (September 14th, 1862) the procession of Shimadzu Saburo, father of the last Daimio of Satsuma, was passing along the Tokaido on its way from the capital to the western part of the empire. Through fear of trouble in case of an encounter with the train of this prince, the authorities had previously requested foreigners not to go upon the Tokaido that day; but the request was refused, and a party of English people--three gentlemen and a lady--embraced the opportunity to go out that particular afternoon to meet the prince's train. Two American gentlemen were out that afternoon, and encountered the same train; they politely turned aside to allow the procession to pass, and were not disturbed. When the English party met the train, the lady and one of the gentlemen suggested that they should stand at the side of the road, but Mr. Richardson urged his horse forward and said, "Come on; I have lived fourteen years in China, and know how to manage these people." He rode into the midst of the procession, and was followed by the other gentlemen, or partially so; the lady, in her terror, remained by the side of the road, as she had wished to do at the outset. The guards construed the movements of Mr. Richardson as a direct insult to their master, and fell upon him with their swords. The three men were severely wounded. Mr. Richardson died in less than half an hour, but the others recovered. The lady was not harmed in any way. On the one hand, the Japanese were a proud, haughty race who resented an insult to their prince, and punished it according to Japanese law and custom. On the other, the foreigners had the technical right, in accordance with the treaty, to go upon the Tokaido; but they offered a direct insult to the people in whose country they were, and openly showed their contempt for them. A little forbearance, and a willingness to avoid trouble by refraining from visiting the Tokaido, as requested by the Japanese authorities, would have prevented the sad occurrence. As a result of this affair, the Japanese government was compelled to pay a hundred thousand pounds sterling to the family of Mr. Richardson, or submit to the alternative of a war with England. In addition to this, the city of Kagoshima, the residence of the Prince of Satsuma, was bombarded, the place reduced to ashes, forts, palaces, factories, thrown into ruins, and thousands of buildings set on fire by the shells from the British fleet. Three steamers belonging to the Prince of Satsuma were captured, and the prince was further compelled to pay an additional indemnity of twenty-five thousand pounds. The loss of life in the affair has never been made known by the Japanese, but it is certain to have been very great. It would not be surprising if the Japanese should entertain curious notions of the exact character of the Christian religion, when such acts are perpetrated by the nations that profess it. The blessings of civilization have been wafted to them in large proportion from the muzzles of cannon; and the light of Western diplomacy has been, all too frequently, from the torch of the incendiary. But we must not forget our boys in our dissertation on the history of foreign intervention in Japan. In fact, they were not forgotten in it, as they heard the story from the Doctor's lips, and heard a great deal more besides. The Doctor summarized his opinion of the way the Japanese had been treated by foreigners somewhat as follows: [Illustration: BEGINNING OF RELATIONS BETWEEN ENGLAND AND JAPAN.] "The Japanese had been exclusive for a long time, and wished to continue so. They had had an experience of foreign relations two hundred years ago, and the result had well-nigh cost them their independence. It was unsatisfactory, and they chose to shut themselves up and live alone. If we wanted to shut up the United States, and admit no foreigners among us, we should consider it a matter of great rudeness if they forced themselves in, and threatened to bombard us when we refused them admittance. We were the first to poke our noses into Japan, when we sent Commodore Perry here with a fleet. The Japanese tried their best to induce us to go away and let them alone, but we wouldn't go. We stood there with the copy of the treaty in one hand, and had the other resting on a cannon charged to the muzzle and ready to fire. We said, 'Take the one or the other; sign a treaty of peace and good-will and accept the blessings of civilization, or we will blow you so high in the air that the pieces won't come down for a week.' Japan was convinced when she saw that resistance would be useless, and quite against her wishes she entered the family of nations. We opened the way and then England followed, and then came the other nations. We have done less robbing and bullying than England has, in our intercourse with Japan, and the Japanese like us better in consequence. But if it is a correct principle that no man should be disturbed so long as he does not disturb any one else, and does no harm, the outside nations had no right to interfere with Japan, and compel her to open her territory to them." [Illustration: PILGRIMS ON THE ROAD.] This conversation occurred while they were halted under some venerable shade-trees by the side of the Tokaido, and were looking at the people that passed. Every few minutes they saw groups varying from two to six or eight persons, very thinly clad, and having the appearance of wayfarers with a small stock of money, or none at all. The Doctor explained that these men were pilgrims on their way to holy places--some of them were doubtless bound for Enoshima, some for Hakone, and some for the great mountain which every now and then the turns in the road revealed to the eyes of the travellers. These pilgrimages have a religious character, and are made by thousands of persons every year. One member of a party usually carries a small bell, and as they walk along its faint tinkle gives notice of their religious character, and practically warns others that they are not commercially inclined, as they are without more money than is actually needed for the purposes of their journey. They wear broad hats to protect them from the sun, and their garments, usually of white material, are stamped with mystic characters to symbolize the particular divinity in whose honor the journey is made. [Illustration: THRESHING GRAIN.] Village after village was passed by our young adventurers and their older companion, and many scenes of Japanese domestic life were unfolded to their eyes. At one place some men were engaged in removing the hulls from freshly gathered rice. The grain was in large tubs, made of a section of a tree hollowed out, and the labor was performed by beating the grain with huge mallets. The process was necessarily slow, and required a great deal of patience. This mode of hulling rice has been in use in Japan for hundreds of years, and will probably continue for hundreds of years to come in spite of the improved machinery that is being introduced by foreigners. Rice is the principal article of food used in Japan, and many people have hardly tasted anything else in the whole course of their lives. The opening of the foreign market has largely increased the cost of rice; and in this way the entrance of Japan into the family of nations has brought great hardships upon the laboring classes. It costs three times as much for a poor man to support his family as it did before the advent of the strangers, and there has not been a corresponding advance in wages. Life for the coolie was bad enough under the old form of government, and he had much to complain of. His condition has not been bettered by the new order of things, according to the observation of impartial foreigners who reside in Yokohama and other of the open ports. [Illustration: PEASANT AND HIS WIFE RETURNING FROM THE FIELD.] About ten miles out from Yokohama the party turned from the Tokaido, and took a route through the fields. They found the track rather narrow in places; and on one occasion, when they met a party in jin-riki-shas, it became necessary to step to the ground to allow the vehicles to be lifted around. Then, too, there had been a heavy rain--the storm that cut short their visit to Tokio; and in some places the road had been washed out so that they were obliged to walk around the breaks. Their journey was consequently somewhat retarded; but they did not mind the detention, and had taken such an early start that they had plenty of time to reach Enoshima before dark. They met groups of Japanese peasants returning home from their work; and in every instance the latter made way for the strangers, and stood politely by the roadside as the man-power carriages went rolling by. Frank wanted to make sketches of some of the groups, and was particularly attracted by a woman who was carrying a teapot in one hand and a small roll or bundle under her other arm. By her side walked a man carrying a couple of buckets slung from a pole, after the fashion so prevalent in Japan and China. He steadied the pole with his hands, and seemed quite indifferent to the presence of the foreigners. Both were dressed in loosely fitting garments, and their feet were shod with sandals of straw. The Japanese sandal is held in place by two thongs that start from near the heel on each side and come together in front. The wearer inserts the thong between the great toe and its neighbor. When he is barefooted this operation is easily performed; and, in order to accommodate his stockinged feet to the sandal, the Japanese stocking has a separate place for the "thumb-toe," as one of them called the largest of his "foot-fingers." The foot of the Japanese stocking closely resembles the mitten of America, which young women in certain localities are said to present to discarded admirers. [Illustration: A JAPANESE SANDAL.] The road wound among the fields where the rice was growing luxuriantly, and where now and then they found beans and millet, and other products of Japanese agriculture. The cultivation was evidently of the most careful character, as the fields were cut here and there with little channels for irrigation; and there were frequent deposits of fertilizing materials, whose character was apparent to the nose before it was to the eye. In some places, where the laborers were stooping to weed the plants, there was little more of them visible than their broad sun-hats; and it did not require a great stretch of the imagination to believe they were a new kind of mushroom from Brobdingnagian gardens. Hills like sharply rounded cones rose from each side of the narrow valley they were descending; and the dense growth of wood with which the most of them were covered made a marked contrast to the thoroughly cleared fields. The boys saw over, and over, and over again the pictures they had often seen on Japanese fans and boxes and wondered if they were realities. They had already learned that the apparently impossible pictures we find in Japanese art are not only possible, but actual; but they had not yet seen so thorough a confirmation of it as on this day's ride. Several times they came suddenly upon villages, and very often these discoveries were quite unexpected. As they rode along the valley narrowed, and the hills became larger and more densely covered with trees. By-and-by they halted at a wayside tea-house, and were told to leave the little carriages and rest awhile. Frank protested that he was not in need of any rest; but he changed his mind when the Doctor told him that they had reached one of the objects of their journey, and that he would miss an interesting sight if he kept on. They were at the shrine of Dai-Boots. They went up an avenue between two rows of trees, and right before them was the famous statue. It was indeed a grand work of art. Frank made a careful note of the figures indicating the height of the statue. He found that the whole structure, including the pedestal, measured sixty feet from the ground to the top of the head, and that the figure alone was forty-three feet high. It was in a sitting, or rather a squatting, posture, with the hands partly folded and turned upwards, with the knuckles touching each other. The eyes were closed, and there was an expression of calm repose on the features such as one rarely sees in statuary. There was something very grand and impressive in this towering statue, and the boys gazed upon it with unfeigned admiration. [Illustration: THE GREAT DAI-BOOTS.] Fred asked if the statue was cast in a single piece. But after asking the question, he looked up and saw that the work was evidently done in sections, as the lines where the plates or sections were joined were plainly visible. But the plates were large, and the operation of making the statue was one that required the handling of some very heavy pieces. In many places the statue was covered with inscriptions, which are said to be of a religious character. The figure was hollow, and there was a sort of chapel inside where devout pilgrims were permitted to worship. On the platform in front there were several shrines, and the general surroundings of the place were well calculated to remind one of a sanctuary of Roman Catholicism. Thousands and thousands of pilgrims have come from all parts of Japan to worship at the feet of the great Buddha; and while our friends stood in front of the shrine, a group of devotees arrived and reverently said their prayers. A little way off from Dai-Boots are the temples of Kamakura, which are celebrated for their sanctity, and are the objects of much veneration. They are not unlike the other temples of Japan in general appearance; but the carvings and bronze ornamentations are unusually rich, and must have cost a great deal of money. There was once a large city at Kamakura, and traces of it are distinctly visible. The approach to the temples is over some stone bridges, crossing a moat that must have been a formidable defence in the days before gunpowder was introduced into warfare. After their sight-seeing in the grove of Dai-Boots was over, the party proceeded to Enoshima. When they arrived at the sea-shore opposite the island, they found, to their dismay, that the tide was up; and they were obliged to hire a boat to take them to their destination. At low tide one can walk upon a sand-bar the entire distance; but when the sea is at its highest, the bar is covered, and walking is not practicable. The beach slopes very gradually, and consequently the boats were at some distance out, and the travellers were compelled to wade to them or be carried on men's shoulders. The boys tried the wading, and were successful; the Doctor, more dignified, was carried on the shoulders of a stout Japanese, who was very glad of the opportunity to earn a few pennies. But he came near having a misadventure, as his bearer stumbled when close to the edge of the boat, and pitched the Doctor headlong into the craft. He was landed among a lot of baskets and other baggage, and his hat came in unpleasant contact with a bucket containing some freshly caught fish. Luckily he suffered no injury, and was able to join the others in laughing over the incident. On their arrival at the island, it was again necessary to wade to the shore. Frank found the slippery rocks such insecure footing that he went down into the water, but was not completely immersed. The others got ashore safely, and it was unanimously voted that the next time they came to Enoshima they would endeavor to arrive when the tide was out. An involuntary bath, before one is properly dressed, or undressed, for it, is no more to be desired in Japan than in any other country. [Illustration: SALUTATION OF THE LANDLORD.] A street leads up from the water towards the centre of the island, and along this street are the principal houses of the town. The most of these houses are hotels for the accommodation of the numerous pilgrims that come to the sacred shrines of Enoshima; and, as our party approached, there was a movement among the attendants of the nearest hostelry to invite the strangers to enter. They halted at the door of a large building on the left. The proprietor was just inside the entrance, and bowed to them in true Japanese style, with his head touching the floor. He not only bowed to the party in general, but to each one of them separately, and it took two or three minutes to go through with the preliminaries of politeness and begin negotiations for the desired accommodations. In a little while all was arranged to the satisfaction of everybody concerned, and our friends were installed in a Japanese inn. What they did there, and what they saw, will be made known in the next chapter. [Illustration: THE HEAD WAITER RECEIVING ORDERS.] CHAPTER XII. SIGHTS AT ENOSHIMA. The party was shown to a large room at the rear of the house. Frank suggested that a front room would be preferable; but the Doctor told him that in a Japanese hotel the rear of the establishment was the place of honor, and that in a hundred hotels of the true national type he would probably not be located half a dozen times in a front apartment. The room where they were was very speedily divided into three smaller ones by means of paper screens, such as we find in every Japanese house, and which are known to most Americans in consequence of the large number that have been imported in the last few years. They can be shifted with the rapidity of scenes in a theatre, and the promptness with which the whole appearance of a house can be changed in a few minutes is an approach to the marvellous. There is very little of what we call privacy in a Japanese house, as the paper screens are no obstructors of sound, and a conversation in an ordinary tone can be heard throughout the entire establishment. It is said that this form of building was adopted at a time when the government was very fearful of conspiracies, and wished to keep everybody under its supervision. Down to quite recent times there was a very complete system of espionage all over the country; and it used to be said that when three persons were together, one of them was certain to be a spy, and the other two were pretty sure to be spies as well. At the time Commodore Perry went to Japan, it was the custom to set a spy over every official to observe what he did and report accordingly. The system has been gradually dropped, but it is said to exist yet in some quarters. It was rather late, and our party were hungry. Consequently the Doctor ordered dinner to be served as soon as possible, and they sat down to wait for it. The kitchen was near the entrance of the hotel, and in full view of the strangers as they came in. Fred could not help contrasting this arrangement with that of an American hotel, where the kitchen is quite out of sight, and not one visitor in a thousand ever gets the faintest glimpse of it. He thought the plan was well calculated to insure cleanliness in the management of the house, since the kitchen, being so prominently placed, would ruin the prosperity of the house if it were not properly kept. As there seemed to be no objection to their doing so, the boys went there and watched the preparation of the meal for which their appetites were waiting. [Illustration: A JAPANESE KITCHEN.] They found a large and well-lighted room in the centre of the house; and, as before stated, near the entrance. In the middle of this room there was a raised platform, with some little furnaces set in the floor. On this floor the cooking of some fish was going on under the supervision of a woman, who was watching to see that everything progressed satisfactorily. A few pots and pans were visible, but not a tenth of the number that would be found in the kitchen of a hotel of similar capacity in America. The Japanese cookery is not elaborate, and therefore only a few articles are required for it. A small fire in a brazier that could be carried in the hand is all that is needed to offset the enormous ranges with which we are familiar. From the roof two or three safes are hung for the preservation of such things as the dogs and cats might take a fancy to. At first glance they are frequently taken for bird-cages, and this mistake was made by Fred, who innocently remarked that he wondered what kind of birds they kept there. At one side of the kitchen there was a long table, where the food was prepared previous to its introduction to the cooking-pot, and near this table there was a series of shelves where the plates, cups, saucers, and other articles of the dinner-service were kept. The kitchen could be shut off at night, like the other rooms, by means of paper screens, and it was here that the cook and her assistants slept when the labors of the day were over. The bedding, what little there was of it, was brought from a cupboard in one side of the room, and was altogether out of sight in the day. When not wanted, it was speedily put away, and a few minutes sufficed to convert the kitchen into a sleeping-room, or the sleeping-room into a kitchen. [Illustration: BOILING THE POT.] In due time the dinner or supper, whichever it was called, was brought to our travellers, and they lost no time in sitting down to eat it; or, rather, they squatted to it, as the hotel contained no chairs, or any substitute for them. The floor was covered with clean mats--in fact, it is very difficult to find dirty mats in Japan--and our travellers had followed the universal custom of removing their boots as they entered the front door. One of the complaints that the Japanese make against foreigners is that the latter often enter their houses without removing their boots, no matter if those boots are covered with mud and bring ruin to the neat mattings. It is always polite to offer to remove your foot-covering on going inside a Japanese dwelling, and a rudeness to neglect the offer. If the weather is dry and your shoes are clean, the host will tell you to remain as you are, and then you will be quite right to do so. There was a laugh all around at the oddity of the situation in which the boys found themselves. They tried various positions in front of the little table that had been spread for them, but no attitude they could assume was thoroughly comfortable. They squatted, they knelt, and then they sat flat on the floor, but all to no purpose. They were uncomfortable, and no mistake. But they had a merry time of it, and both Fred and Frank declared they would not have missed this dinner in Japan for a great deal. It was a novelty, and they thought their schoolmates would envy them if they knew where they were. The dinner consisted of stewed fish for the first course, and it was so thoroughly stewed that it resembled a thick soup. Then they had cold fish with grated radishes, and, finally, a composite dish of hard-boiled eggs, cut in two, and mixed with shrimps and seaweed. The table was cleared after each course before the next was brought, and the food was served in shallow bowls, which were covered to retain the heat. At the side of each person at table there were two cups. One of these contained _soy_, a sort of vinegar flavored with spices of different kinds, and in which each mouthful of food was dipped before it was swallowed. It is said that our word "sauce" comes from the Japanese (or Chinese) word which has just been quoted. The other cup was for sa-kee, a beverage which has been already mentioned in the pages of this book. They were not inclined to sa-kee; but the soy was to their taste, and Frank was especially warm in its praise. [Illustration: FRANK'S INVENTORY.] Not liking sa-kee, they called for tea, and in a moment the servant appeared with a steaming teapot. The flavor of the herb was delicious, and the boys partook liberally of the preparation. While they were engaged in tea-drinking, Frank made an inventory of the furniture of the room for the benefit of his sister and Miss Effie, in case they should wish to fit up a room in Japanese style to welcome him home. Here is what he found: No chairs, no sofas, no benches--nothing but the rush matting to sit upon. No clocks, no pictures on the walls, no mirrors; in fact, the room was quite bare of ornament. Two small tables, about twelve inches high and fifteen inches square. These tables held the dinner and tea service, and were removed when the meal was over. A little low stool, on which was a broad and very flat pot for holding hot water to put in the tea. Another stool for holding anything that was not wanted at the moment. A lamp-stand with three lamps. One was octagonal, and on the top of an upright stick; the others were oval, and hung at the ends of a horizontal bar of metal. Each lantern bore an inscription in Japanese. It was painted on the paper of which all the lanterns were composed; and as the light shone through, the letters were plainly to be seen. They were more visible than readable to our friends, as may be readily inferred. This completed the furniture of the room. When it was removed after dinner, Frank remarked that the only furniture remaining was Doctor Bronson, Fred, and himself. And, as they were quite weary after their ride, they were disposed to be as quiet as well-regulated furniture usually is. [Illustration: HOW THE JAPANESE SLEEP.] When it was time to go to sleep, the servant was called and the beds were made up. A thickly wadded quilt was spread on the floor for each person, and another was used for the covering. The quilt was not quite thick enough to take away all suggestion of hardness from the floor, and the covering was not the most convenient one in the world. Frank said that when the quilt was over him, he was altogether too warm, and when it was off he was too cold. Fred declared that his experience was exactly like that of Frank, except that it was more so. He had been bitten by fleas during the night, and, as he couldn't speak Japanese, he could not tell them to go away--at least, not in any language they would understand. Then the walls of the room were thin, or, rather, there were no walls at all. They had heard all the noises that the house afforded; and, as pilgrims were coming and going all night, and some of those in the building were engaged in a noisy game of an unknown character, sleep was not easy. The boys were more weary after their night's rest than before they took it, and they agreed that they could not recommend a Japanese inn as the most quiet spot in the world. They rose very early, and would have been up much sooner if there had been any way of getting up. [Illustration: A JAPANESE FISHING SCENE.] They went down to the water-side to try the effects of a bath in the surf as it rolled in from the Pacific Ocean. They found it refreshing, and were tempted to linger long in the foam-crested waves. Near by there was a fishing-place, where several Japanese were amusing themselves with rod and line, just as American boys and men take pleasure in the same way. Fish seemed to be abundant, as they were biting freely, and it took but a short time to fill a basket. In the little harbor formed between the island and the shore several junks and boats were at anchor, and in the foreground some smaller boats were moving about. There was not an American feature to the scene, and the boys were thoroughly delighted at this perfect picture of Japanese life. It was sea-life, too; and they had island and main, water and mountain, boats and houses, all in a single glance. The Japanese are great lovers of fish, and, fortunately for them, the coasts and bays which indent the country are well provided with finny life. The markets of Yokohama, Tokio, Osaka, and all the other great cities of Japan are well supplied with fish, and the business of catching them gives occupation to thousands of men. Many of the Japanese are fond of raw fish which has been killed at the table, and is to be eaten immediately. The fish is brought alive to the table; its eyes are then gouged out, and strong vinegar is poured into the sockets. The epicures say that this process gives a delicate flavor that can be obtained in no other way; and they argue that the fish does not suffer any more in this form of death than by the ordinary process of taking him out of the water. But since the advent of foreigners in Japan, the custom has somewhat fallen off, as the Japanese are quite sensitive to the comments that have been made concerning their cruelty. In the interior of Japan a traveller on the great roads, and on the smaller ones too, will sometimes see a runner carrying a couple of open pans, slung at the ends of a pole over his shoulder. He will observe that these pans contain water, and that there is a single fish in each pan. The man goes at a rapid pace, and keeps his eyes on his burden, to make sure that the water is not spilled. These runners are in the employ of the men who supply live fish for the tables of those who live at a distance from the sea or from the lakes, and are willing to pay for the luxury. A runner stands waiting, and the instant the fish is in his charge he is off. If the distance is great, there are relays of men stationed along the route; and so the precious merchandise goes forward from one to the other without a moment's delay. Only the wealthy can afford this mode of transporting fish, as the cost is often very heavy. Some of the princes, in the olden time, were in the habit of eating fresh fish at their tables every day that had been brought in this way for a hundred and fifty miles. Great quantities of fish are still carried in this primitive manner, but not for such long distances as formerly. Many fish are transported on horseback, in barrels of water; but the most delicate and valuable are borne only on the shoulders of men, as the jolting of a horse will soon kill them. [Illustration: "BREAKFAST IS READY."] After their bath, the boys returned with the Doctor to their breakfast in the hotel. The breakfast was almost identical with the dinner of the previous evening; and as their appetites were not set so sharply, the consumption of food was not so great. After breakfast they went on a stroll through the streets of the town and up the sharp hill where it is built. The shops along the streets were filled with curiosities, made principally from shells and other marine products; and the Doctor said he was forcibly reminded of Naples, Genoa, and other seaport places along the Mediterranean. There were numerous conch-shells; and Fred was desirous of blowing them, until told by the Doctor that they had probably been blown by many of the Japanese pilgrims, and he would run the risk of contracting some troublesome disease which had been left from the sores on their lips. So the boys were cautious, and politely rejected the invitation of the dealers to make a trial of the sonorous qualities of their wares. They bought a few small shells and some pieces of shell jewelry, which would be sure to please the girls at home. There are several small temples and shrines on the island, and the most of them are in picturesque spots in the forest, or on crags that overlook the sea. As they walked about they met parties of pilgrims on their way to these shrines; and on the summit they found a shaded resting-place, where some chairs had been set out on a cliff overlooking the broad waters of the Pacific. Two or three servants were in attendance, and our party thought they could not do better than stop awhile and sip some of the fragrant tea of Japan. So they sat down, and in a few moments the tea was before them. The tea-house was not a large one, and, as Frank expressed it, the most of the house was out of doors and under the shade of the trees. As every one knows who has read about the country, Japan contains a great many tea-houses, or places of rest and refreshment. They are to Japan what the beer-hall is to Germany, the wine-shop to France, or the whiskey-saloon to America, with the difference in their favor that they are much more numerous, and patronized by all classes of people. The first visitors to Japan came away with erroneous notions about the character of the tea-house, and these errors have found their way into books on the country and been repeated many times, to the great scandal of the people of the empire of the Mikado. The truth is that the tea-house is a perfectly reputable and correct place in nineteen cases out of twenty. It may have a bad character in the twentieth instance, just as there is now and then a hotel in New York or other city that is the resort of thieves and various bad persons. Nearly all classes of people in Japan, who can afford to do so, resort to the tea-houses, either in the hot hours of the day or in the evening. One can purchase, in addition to tea, a variety of light refreshments, and the building is almost invariably well ventilated and prettily situated. A person may sit in public if he wishes, or he may have one of the rooms partitioned off for himself and be quite secluded. The rooms are made, as in the hotels and other houses, by means of paper partitions, and can be formed with great rapidity. [Illustration: INTERIOR OF A TEA-GARDEN.] At Tokio, Osaka, Kioto, and other large and wealthy cities many of the tea-houses are so extensive that they take the name of gardens, and cover large areas of ground. The attendants are invariably girls, and the number is by no means niggardly. They are selected for their intelligence and good-looks, as the business of the house depends considerably upon the attractiveness of the servants. Their movements are graceful, and a Japanese tea-house, with its bevy of attendants, is no unpleasant sight. Foreigners in Japan are liberal patrons of the tea-houses, and many a stranger has found a cordial welcome within the walls of one of these popular establishments. [Illustration: THE PATH IN ENOSHIMA.] From the tea-house at the top of the hill, Doctor Bronson led the way down a steep path to the sea. At the end of the path, and opening upon the sea, there is a cavern which the Japanese consider sacred. Formerly they would not allow a stranger to enter the cavern for fear of polluting it; but at present they make no opposition, for the double reason that they have found the cave remains as if nothing had happened, and, moreover, the stranger is so willing to pay for the privilege of exploration that a considerable sum is annually obtained from him. When the tide is in, the cave can only be entered by means of a boat; but at low-water one can creep along a narrow ledge of rock where a pathway has been cut, which he can follow to the terminus. Our party engaged a guide with torches, and were taken to the end of the cave, where they found a hideous-looking idol that was the presiding divinity of the place. A shrine had been erected here, and when it was lighted up the appearance was fairly imposing. The pilgrims consider it a pious duty to visit this shrine whenever they come to the island, and it has become quite famous throughout Japan. The boys were not inclined to stay long in the cave, as the sound of the waters beating in at the entrance was almost deafening. They very soon sought the open air, where a new entertainment awaited them. There was a group of men and boys on the rocks at the entrance of the cavern, and they called to the strangers to throw coins into the water and see how soon they could be recovered by diving. Frank threw a small piece of silver into the clear water of the Pacific, and in an instant half a dozen boys sprang for it. One of them caught it before it reached the bottom, and came up with the piece in his mouth. Several coins were thrown, with a similar result; and finally it was proposed to let the money reach the bottom before the divers started. This was done, and, as the depth was about twelve feet, the work of finding the bit of silver was not very easy. But it was found and brought to the surface; and after the divers had been complimented on their skill, our friends moved on. It is hardly necessary to add that the money thrown into the water became the property of the youth who secured it; though it was rumored that the divers were associated, and everything obtained went into a common purse. The Oriental people are famous for their guilds, or labor and trade associations, and nearly every occupation in life is under the control of a guild, which has very arbitrary rules. It is not at all impossible that the boys who dive for small coins at Enoshima are under the control of an association, and that its rules and regulations may have been in force for hundreds of years. As the walk through the woods would have been fatiguing, and it was near the middle of the day, when the sun was high and the heat severe, Doctor Bronson engaged a boat to take the party back to the hotel. They returned safely, and, after resting awhile, went on another walk, in a direction slightly different from the first. [Illustration: A GROUP OF JAPANESE LADIES.] They soon found themselves among the huts of the fishermen, and the quantity of fish that lay around in various stages of preparation told that the business was not without prosperity. In a secluded part of the island they came upon a pretty summer-house, where a wealthy citizen of Tokio spent the hot months of the year. Through the gateway of the garden they had a glimpse of a group of three ladies that were evidently out for an airing. Frank thought he had never seen a prettier group in all his life, and while he looked at them he whispered his opinion to Fred. Fred agreed with him, and then added, "I tell you what, Frank, we'll get three dresses just like those, if they don't cost too much; and when we get home, we'll have Miss Effie and your sister and my sister put them on. Then we'll arrange the garden to look like that one as much as possible, with a little furnace and teapot in front of the girls, and the pedestal of a statue near them. Won't that be nice?" Frank agreed that it would, and, lest he should forget the arrangement of the group, he made a rough sketch of the scene, and said they could rely upon photographs for the costumes and their colors. If they got the dresses, the girls could easily arrange them with the aid of the pictures. When the sketch was finished, they returned to the hotel. The tide was now out, and so the Doctor settled their account and they started for Yokohama, following the most direct route, and making no halts for sight-seeing. They arrived late in the evening, well pleased with their excursion to Dai-Boots and Enoshima, and determined to give their friends at home a full and faithful account of what they had seen and learned. [Illustration: SPECIMEN OF GROTESQUE DRAWING BY A JAPANESE ARTIST.] CHAPTER XIII. ON THE ROAD TO FUSIYAMA. The morning after their return from Enoshima was mostly spent at the hotel, as all three of the excursionists were somewhat fatigued with their journey. The boys embraced the opportunity to ask the Doctor the meaning of certain things they had observed in Japan, and which had not been brought up in conversation. "For one thing," said Frank, "why is it that so many of the people, the coolies especially, have large scars on their skins, as if they had been burned. There is hardly a coolie I have seen that is without them, and one of the men that drew my jin-riki-sha to Enoshima had his legs covered with scars, and also a fresh sore on each leg." "Those scars," the Doctor answered, "are from the moxa, which is used to some extent in medical practice in Europe and America. Don't you remember that when your uncle Charles had a disease of the spine the doctors applied a hot iron to his back, along each side of the backbone?" "Certainly, I remember that," Frank replied; "and it cured him, too." "Well, that was the moxa. It is not very often used in our country, nor in Europe, but it is very common in Japan." "I should think it would be a very painful remedy," Fred remarked, "and that a man would be quite unwilling to have it applied." "That is the case," answered the Doctor, "with us, but it is not so here. The Japanese take the moxa as calmly as we would swallow a pill, and with far less opposition than some of us make to a common blister. "They take the moxa for nearly everything, real or imaginary. Sometimes they have the advice of a doctor, but oftener they go to a priest, who makes a mark on them where the burn is to be applied; then they go to a man who sells the burning material, and he puts it on as a druggist with us would fill up a prescription." "What do they use for the burning?" "They have a little cone the size of the intended blister. It is made of the pith of a certain tree, and burns exactly like the punk with which all boys in the country are familiar. It is placed over the spot to be cauterized, and is then lighted from a red-hot coal. It burns slowly and steadily down, and in a few minutes the patient begins to squirm, and perhaps wish he had tried some milder mode of cure. Sometimes he has half a dozen of these things burning at once, and I have seen them fully an inch in diameter. "Nearly every native has himself cauterized as often as once a year by way of precaution; and if he does not feel well some morning, he is very likely to go to the temple and have an application of the moxa. It is even applied to very young children. I have seen an infant not a month old lying across its mother's knee while another woman was amusing herself by burning a couple of these pith cones on the abdomen of the child. He objected to the operation by screaming and kicking with all his might, but it was of no use. The moxa was considered good for him, and he was obliged to submit." "Another thing," said Fred--"why is it that the grooms are covered with tattoo-marks, and wear so little clothing?" "I cannot say exactly why it is," the Doctor replied, "further than that such is the custom. If you ask a Japanese for the reason, he will answer that it is the old custom, and I can hardly say more than he would. [Illustration: BETTOS, OR GROOMS, IN FULL DRESS.] "But the grooms, or 'bettos,' as the Japanese call them, are not the only ones who indulge in tattooing. You will see many of the 'sendos,' or boat-coolies, thus marked, but in a less degree than the bettos. Perhaps it is because the grooms are obliged to run so much, and consequently wish to lay aside all garments. As they must wear something, they have their skins decorated in this way, and thus have a suit of clothing always about them. "And, speaking of these grooms, it is astonishing at what a pace they can run, and how long they will keep it up. You may go out with your carriage or on horseback, and, no matter how rapidly you go, the groom will be always at your side, and ready to take the bridle of your horse the moment you halt. They are powerful fellows, but their reputation for honesty is not first-class." Conversation ran on various topics for an hour or more, and then Doctor Bronson announced that he would go out for a while, and hoped to give them some interesting information on his return. The boys busied themselves with their journals, and in this way a couple of hours slipped along without their suspecting how rapidly the time was flying. They were still occupied when the Doctor returned. "Well, my boys," he said, "you must be ready for another journey to-morrow. And it will be much longer and more fatiguing than the one we have just made." "Where are we going, please?" said Frank. "I have arranged to go to Hakone and Fusiyama," the Doctor replied; "and if we get favorable weather, and are not too tired when we arrive, we will go to the summit of the mountain." Frank and Fred clapped their hands with delight, and thought of nothing else for some minutes than the journey to Fusiyama. It was an excursion they had wanted very much to make, and which very few visitors to Japan think of attempting. And now Doctor Bronson had arranged it for them, and they were to be off the next morning. Could anything be more fortunate? The arrangement for the journey was somewhat more serious than the one for Enoshima. It would take several days, and for a considerable part of the way the accommodations were entirely Japanese. This might do for a trip of a day or two where no unusual fatigue was to be expected; but in a tour of considerable length, where there was likely to be much hard work, and consequently much exhaustion, it was necessary to make the most complete preparations. The Doctor foresaw this, and arranged his plans accordingly. A Japanese who had been with parties to the holy mountain, and understood the ways and wants of the foreigners, had made a contract to accompany our friends to Fusiyama. He was to supply them with the necessary means of conveyance, servants, provisions, and whatever else they wanted. The contract was carefully drawn, and it was agreed that any points in dispute should be decided by a gentleman in Yokohama on their return. They were off at an early hour, and, as before, their route was along the Tokaido. The provisions and other things had been sent on ahead during the night, and they did not see them until they came to the place where they were to sleep. They took a light meal before starting from Yokohama, and found a substantial breakfast waiting for them at Totsooka. Their host was a famous character in the East--an English actor who had drifted through China and Japan, and finally settled down here as a hotel-keeper. "I met George Pauncefort in China years ago," said the Doctor, as they entered the hotel; "I wonder if he will recognize me." George greeted the travellers with all the dignity of an emperor saluting an embassy from a brother emperor, and wished them welcome to his roof and all beneath it. Then he straightened up to the very highest line of erectness, and rested his gaze upon Doctor Bronson. For fully a minute he stood without moving a muscle, and then struck an attitude of astonishment. "Can it be? Yes! No! Impossible!" he exclaimed. "Do my eyes deceive me? No, they do not; it is; it must be he! it must! it must!" Then he shook hands with the Doctor, struck another attitude of astonishment, and with the same Macbethian air turned to a servant and told him to put the steaks and the chicken on the table. It is said by the residents of Yokohama, with whom the hotel at Totsooka is a favorite resort, that George Pauncefort stirs an omelette as though he were playing Hamlet, and his conception of Sir Peter Teazle is manifested when he prepares a glass of stimulating fluid for a thirsty patron. [Illustration: A JAPANESE LOOM.] Various industrial processes were visible as our party rode along. Some women were weaving cotton at a native loom, and they halted the jin-riki-shas a few moments to look at the process. The loom was a very primitive affair, and the operator sat on the floor in front of it. A man who appeared to be the chief of the establishment was calmly smoking a pipe close by, and on the other side of the weaver a woman was winding some cotton thread on a spool by means of a simple reel. After looking a few moments at the loom, and the mode of weaving in Japan, the party moved on. The boys had learned to say "Sayonara" on bidding farewell to the Japanese, and they pronounced it on this occasion in the most approved style. The Japanese salutation on meeting is "Ohio," and it is pronounced exactly like the name of our Western state of which Columbus is the capital. Everywhere the Japanese greet you with "Ohio," and a stranger does not need to be long in the country to know how exceedingly polite are the people we were accustomed only a few years ago to consider as barbarians. There is a story current in Japan of a gentleman from Cincinnati who arrived one evening in Yokohama, and the following morning went into the country for a stroll. Everywhere the men, women, and children greeted him with the customary salutation, "Ohio, ohio," and the word rang in his ears till he returned to his hotel. He immediately sought the landlord and said, "I wish to ask if there is anything in my personal appearance that indicates what part of the States I am from." The landlord assured him that there was no peculiarity of his costume that he could point out as any such indication. "And yet," answered the stranger, "all the Japanese have discovered it. They knew me at a glance as a native of Ohio, as every one of them invariably said 'Ohio' when I met them. And I must give them the credit to say that they always did it very politely." He was somewhat astonished, and also a trifle disappointed, when he learned the exact state of affairs. [Illustration: ARTISTS AT WORK.] They passed a house where some artists were at work with the tools of their trade on the floor before them, forming a neat and curious collection. There were little saucers filled with paints of various colors, and the ever-present teapot with its refreshing contents. There were three persons in the group, and they kept steadily at their occupation without regarding the visitors who were looking at them. They were engaged upon pictures on thin paper, intended for the ornamentation of boxes for packing small articles of merchandise. Larger pictures are placed on an easel, as with us, but the small ones are invariably held in the hand. [Illustration: COOPERS HOOPING A VAT.] In front of a house by the roadside some coopers were hooping a vat, and Frank instantly recognized the fidelity of a picture he had seen by a native artist showing how the Japanese coopers performed their work. They make excellent articles in their line, and sell them for an astonishingly low price, when we compare them with similar things from an American maker. The fidelity of the work is to be commended, and the pails and tubs from their hands will last a long time without the least necessity of repairs. Near the end of the first day's journey the party stopped at a Japanese inn that had been previously selected by their conductor, and there they found their baggage, and, what was quite as welcome, a substantial dinner from the hands of the cook that had been sent on ahead of them. They had sharp appetites, and the dinner was very much to their liking. It was more foreign than Japanese, as it consisted largely of articles from America; but there was a liberal supply of boiled rice, and the savory stew of fish was not wanting. The boys were rather surprised when they sat down to a dinner at which stewed oysters, green corn, and other things with which they were familiar at home were smoking before them; and Fred remarked that the Japanese cooking was not so unlike that of America, after all. Doctor Bronson smiled and said the cooking was done in America, and all that the Japanese cook had to do with the articles was to warm them up after opening the cans. "And so these things come here in cans, do they?" Frank inquired. "Certainly," the Doctor responded, "these things come here in cans, and a great many other things as well. They serve to make life endurable to an American in a distant land like Japan, and they also serve to keep him patriotic by constantly reminding him of home. "No one," he continued, "who has not been in foreign lands, or has no direct connection with the business of canning our fruits, meats, and vegetables, can have an idea of the extent of our trade in these things. The invention of the process of preserving in a fresh state these products which are ordinarily considered perishable has enabled us to sell of our abundance, and supply the whole world with what the whole world could not otherwise obtain. You may sit down to a dinner in Tokio or Cairo, Calcutta or Melbourne, Singapore or Rome, and the entire meal may consist of canned fish, canned meats, canned fruits, or canned vegetables from the United States. A year or two ago the American consul at Bangkok, Siam, gave a Christmas dinner at which everything on the table was of home production, and a very substantial dinner it was." "I wonder what they had for dinner that day," said Fred, with a laugh. "As near as I can remember," the Doctor replied, "they began with oyster and clam soup. Then they had boiled codfish and fresh salmon, and, as if there were not fish enough, they had stewed eels. For meats they had turkey, chicken, ham, a goose that had been put up whole, stewed beef, roast beef, tongue, sausages, prairie chickens, ducks, and a few other things; and as for vegetables and fruits, you can hardly name any product of our gardens and orchards that they did not have before them. For drinks they had American wines, American beer, American cider, and, besides, they had honey just out of the comb that astonished everybody with its freshness. All who were present pronounced the dinner as good as any they had ever eaten, and it made them feel very patriotic to think that everything came from home. "You can hardly go anywhere in the world where there is an approach to civilization without finding our canned goods, as the merchants call them. They are widely known and appreciated, and well deserve the reputation they bear." This conversation went on while the party were engaged in the consumption of the dinner, and the presence of many of the things named gave it an additional point. When they were through dinner, they took a short period of lounging on the veranda, and soon retired to rest. We can be sure they slept well, for they had had a long and weary ride. They were off again early in the morning, and in a little while came to the banks of a river which they were to cross. Frank looked for a bridge, and saw none; then he looked for a ferry-boat, but none was visible. "Well," he said, half to himself, "I wonder how we are to get over to the other bank." "There are the boatmen, but no boats," said Fred, as he pointed to some stalwart men who were sitting on the bank, and evidently waiting for something to turn up. [Illustration: CROSSING THE RIVER.] The mystery was soon solved. The river was neither wide nor deep, and the men they saw waiting by the bank were porters who carried people across, and also carried merchandise. The stream was said to rise very rapidly, and owing to the nature of the bottom it was difficult to maintain a bridge there for any length of time. The porters took the party across very speedily; they carried the servants by what the boys called "pick-a-back," while Doctor Bronson and the boys were borne on chairs resting on poles, with six men to each chair. Some horses belonging to another party were led through the river at the same time, and evidently were not pleased with the bath they were receiving. Frank wondered if accidents did not happen sometimes, and asked their conductor about it. The latter told him that the Japanese law protected the traveller by requiring the head of the porter in case a person should be drowned in his charge. He said the law allowed no excuse, and the porter must pay with his life for any accident. Frank thought it would be a good thing to have the same system in the management of railways in America; but then he remembered that Miss Effie's uncle, who lived in New York, was a director in a railway, and perhaps it would be just as well to say nothing about his new discovery. It might bring trouble into the family and lead to unpleasant remarks. Since the party made their excursion to Fusiyama a bridge has been built over the river, and the occupation of the porters is gone. Some of them cling to the hope that the river will one day rise in its might, and protest against this invasion of its rights by sweeping away the structure that spans it, thus compelling travellers to return to the methods of the olden time. From the river they proceeded to Odiwara, where they had a rest of several hours, as the town contained certain things that they wished to see. They found that foreigners were not very numerous at Odiwara, and there was considerable curiosity to see them. Whenever they halted in front of a shop, or to look at anything, of interest, a crowd was speedily collected; and the longer they stood, the greater it became. But there was no impertinence, and not the least insult was offered to them; there was a manifestation of good-natured curiosity, and nothing more. Men, women, and children were equally respectful; and whenever they pressed too closely it was only necessary for the guide to say that the strangers were being inconvenienced, when the crowd immediately fell back. Every day and hour of their stay in Japan confirmed our friends more and more in the belief that there are no more polite people in the world than the Japanese. [Illustration: MOTHER AND SON.] Fred tried to open a conversation with a boy who was evidently out for a walk with his mother. The little fellow was somewhat shy at first, but very soon he became entirely confident that the stranger would not harm him, and he did his best to talk. They did not succeed very well in their interchange of ideas, as neither could speak the language of the other, and so they attempted an exchange of presents. Fred gave the young native an American lead-pencil that opened and closed with a screw, and received in return the fan which the youth carried in his hand. Both appeared well pleased with the transaction, and after several bows and "sayonaras" they separated. [Illustration: A FISHING PARTY.] Frank had several fish-hooks in his pockets, and was determined not to be behind Fred in making a trade. His eye rested on a family group that was evidently returning from a fishing excursion; the man was carrying some fishing-tackle and a small bag, while the woman bore a basket of fish on her head and held a child to her breast. A boy six or eight years old was dragging a live tortoise by a string, and it occurred to Frank to free the tortoise from captivity. So he produced one of his fish-hooks, and intimated that he would give it for the captive. There was a brief conversation between father and son, which resulted in the desired exchange. Frank handed the tortoise over to the guide, with instructions to set it free at a favorable time and place. The latter complied by delivering the prize to the cook as an agreeable addition to the bill of fare for the next meal. So the freedom of the tortoise was not exactly the kind that his liberator had intended. But there was an unforeseen result to this transaction, for it was soon noised about among the small boys that the foreigners were giving fish-hooks for tortoises; and as there was a good supply of the latter, and not a good one of the former, there was a public anxiety to benefit by the newly opened commerce. In less than half an hour there was a movement in the market that assumed serious importance, and Frank found himself in the character of a merchant in a foreign land. He became the owner of nearly a dozen of the kindred of his first purchase, and would have kept on longer had not his stock-in-trade given out. The guide took the purchases in charge, and they followed the fate of the pioneer in the business in finding their way to the cooking-pot. When the traffic was ended, and the Japanese urchins found that the market was closed, they pronounced their "sayonaras" and withdrew as quietly as they had come. From Odiwara the roads were worse than they had found them thus far. They had come by jin-riki-shas from Yokohama, and had had no trouble; but from this place onward they were told that the roads were not everywhere practicable for wheeled carriages. The Japanese are improving their roads every year, and therefore a description for one season does not exactly indicate the character of another. Anybody who reads this story and then goes to Japan may find good routes where formerly there were only impassable gorges, and hotels and comfortable lodging-houses where, only a year before, there was nothing of the kind. In no country in the world at the present time, with the possible exception of the Western States of North America, are the changes so rapid as in the land of the Mikado. Wheeled carriages were practically unknown before Commodore Perry landed on Japanese soil, and the railway was an innovation undreamed of in the Japanese philosophy. Now wheeled vehicles are common, and the railway is a popular institution, that bids fair to extend its benefits in many directions. Progress, progress, progress, is the motto of the Japan of to-day. Besides the natural desire to see Odiwara, the party had another reason for their delay, which was to give the conductor time to engage cangos for their transport in such localities as would not admit of the jin-riki-sha. We will see by-and-by what the cango is. [Illustration: THE MAN THEY MET.] The boys had been much amused at the appearance of a Japanese they met on the road just before reaching Odiwara, and wondered if they would be obliged to adopt that mode of riding before they finished their journey. The man in question was seated on a horse, not in the way in which we are accustomed to sit, but literally on the back of the animal. His baggage was fastened around him behind and on each side, and he was rather uncomfortably crouched (at least, so it seemed to Fred) on a flat pad like the one used by a circus-rider. A servant led the horse, and the pace was a walking one. Altogether, the appearance of the man was decidedly ludicrous, and the boys were somewhat surprised to learn that this was the ordinary way of travelling on horseback in the olden time. Before the arrival of foreigners in Japan it was not the fashion for a traveller to be in a hurry, and, even at the present time, it is not always easy to make a native understand the value of a day or an hour. A man setting out on a journey did not concern himself about the time he would consume on the road; if the weather was unfavorable, he was perfectly willing to rest for an indefinite period, and it mattered little if he occupied three weeks in making a journey that could be covered in one. In matters of business the Japanese have not yet learned the importance of time, and the foreign merchants complain greatly of the native dilatoriness. A Japanese will make a contract to deliver goods at a certain date; on the day appointed, or perhaps a week or two later, he will inform the other party to the agreement that he will not be ready for a month or two, and he is quite unable to comprehend the indignation of the disappointed merchant. He demurely says, "I can't have the goods ready," and does not realize that he has given any cause for anger. Time is of no consequence to him, and he cannot understand that anybody else should have any regard for it. The Japanese are every year becoming more and more familiarized with the foreign ways of business, and will doubtless learn, after a while, the advantages of punctuality. CHAPTER XIV. THE ASCENT OF FUSIYAMA. They did not get far from Odiwara before it was necessary to leave the jin-riki-shas and take to the cangos. These were found waiting for them where the road ended and the footpath began, and the boys were delighted at the change from the one mode of conveyance to the other. Doctor Bronson did not seem to share their enthusiasm, as he had been in a cango before and did not care for additional experience. He said that cango travelling was very much like eating crow--a man might do it if he tried, but he was not very likely to "hanker after it." [Illustration: TRAVELLING BY CANGO.] It required some time for them to get properly stowed in their new conveyances, as they needed considerable instruction to know how to double their legs beneath them. And even when they knew how, it was not easy to make their limbs curl into the proper positions and feel at home. Frank thought it would be very nice if he could unscrew his legs and put them on the top of the cango, where he was expected to place his boots; and Fred declared that if he could not do that, the next best thing would be to have legs of India-rubber. The cango is a box of light bamboo, with curtains that can be kept up or down, according to one's pleasure. The seat is so small that you must curl up in a way very uncomfortable for an American, but not at all inconvenient for a Japanese. It has a cushion, on which the traveller sits, and the top is so low that it is impossible to maintain an erect position. It has been in use for hundreds of years in Japan, and is not a great remove from the palanquin of India, though less comfortable. The body of the machine is slung from a pole, and this pole is upheld by a couple of coolies. The men move at a walk, and every few hundred feet they stop, rest the pole on their staffs, and shift from one shoulder to the other. This resting is a ticklish thing for the traveller, as the cango sways from side to side, and gives an intimation that it is liable to fall to the ground. It does fall sometimes, and the principal consolation in such an event is that it does not have far to go. [Illustration: JAPANESE NORIMON.] A more aristocratic vehicle of this kind is the norimon. The norimon is larger than the cango, and is completely closed in at the sides, so that it may be taken as a faint imitation of our covered carriages. The princes of Japan used to travel in norimons; and they are still employed in some parts of the empire, though becoming less and less common every year. The norimon has four bearers, instead of two, and, consequently, there is much more dignity attached to its use. The rate of progress is about the same as with the cango, and after several hours in one of them a foreigner feels very much as if he were a sardine and had been packed away in a can. It was always considered a high honor to be the bearer of a princely personage; and when the great man came out in state, with his army of retainers to keep the road properly cleared, the procession was an imposing one. The style and decorations of the norimon were made to correspond with the rank of the owner, and his coat-of-arms was painted on the outside, just as one may see the coats-of-arms on private carriages in London or Paris. When a prince or other great man expected a distinguished visitor, he used to send his private norimon out a short distance on the road to meet him. [Illustration: FRANK'S POSITION.] The boys tried all possible positions in the cangos, in the hope of finding some way that was comfortable. Frank finally settled down into what he pronounced the least uncomfortable mode of riding, and Fred soon followed his example. They had taken open cangos, so as to see as much of the country as possible and have the advantage of whatever air was in circulation; and but for the inconvenience to their lower limbs, they would have found it capital fun. Frank doubled himself so that his feet were as high as his head; he gave his hat into the care of the conductor, and replaced it with a cloth covering, so that he looked not much unlike a native. His bearers found him rather unwieldy, as he frequently moved about, and thus disturbed the equilibrium of the load. To ride properly in a cango or a norimon, one should not move a muscle from the time he enters till he leaves the vehicle. This may do for the phlegmatic Oriental, but is torture for a foreigner, and especially for an American. Doctor Bronson was a tall man, and could not fold himself with as much facility as could the more supple youths. He rode a mile or so and then got out and walked; and he continued thus to alternate as long as they were travelling in this way. He was emphatic in declaring that the way to ride in a cango and enjoy it thoroughly was to walk behind it, and let somebody else take the inside of the vehicle. Their journey brought them to Hakone, which has long been a favorite summer resort of the Japanese, and of late years is much patronized by foreigners. Those who can afford the time go there from Yokohama, Tokio, and other open ports of Japan; and during July and August there is quite a collection of English and Americans, and of other foreign nationalities. The missionaries, who have been worn down and broken in health by their exhaustive labors in the seaports during the winter, find relief and recuperation at Hakone as the summer comes on. There they gather new strength for their toils by breathing the pure air of the mountains and climbing the rugged paths, and they have abundant opportunities for doing good among the natives that reside there. [Illustration: HOT BATH IN THE MOUNTAINS.] Before reaching Hakone it was necessary to traverse a mountain pass, by ascending a very steep road to the summit and then descending another. In the wildest part of the mountains they came to a little village, which has a considerable fame for its hot springs. The boys had a fancy to bathe in these springs, and, as the coolies needed a little rest after their toilsome walk, it was agreed to halt awhile. There were several of the springs, and the water was gathered in pools, which had a very inviting appearance and increased the desire of our friends to try them. They went into one of the small rooms provided for the purpose, removed their clothing, and then plunged in simultaneously. They came out instantly, and without any request to do so by the Doctor, who stood laughing at the edge of the pool. For their skins the water was almost scalding-hot, though it was far otherwise to the Japanese. The Japanese are very fond of hot baths, and will bathe in water of a temperature so high that a foreigner cannot endure it except after long practice. The baths here in the mountains were just suited to the native taste; and Frank said they would be suited to his taste as well if they could have a few blocks of ice thrown into them. [Illustration: A JAPANESE BATH.] Public and private baths are probably more numerous in Japan than in any other country. The qualities of most of the natural sources are well known, and thousands flock to them every year to be cured of real or imaginary maladies. The country contains a great number of these springs; and, since the arrival of foreigners, and a careful analysis of the waters, certain properties have been discovered that were not known before. In some cases the curative powers of the Japanese springs are remarkable, and it has been predicted that patients will one day come to Japan from distant lands to be healed. [Illustration: THE LAKE OF HAKONE.] The Lake of Hakone is a beautiful sheet of water, not unlike Lake Tahoe in California--an aquatic gem in a setting of rugged mountains. These are not lofty, like the mountains of the Golden State, so far as their elevation above the lake is concerned; but they rise directly from the water, and present nearly everywhere a bold frontage. The surface of the lake is said to be more than six thousand feet above the level of the sea; and the water is clear and cold. Our young friends tried a bath in the lake, and found it as inconveniently cold as the springs had been inconveniently warm. "Some people are never satisfied," said Fred, when Frank was complaining about the temperature of the water in the lake. "You wouldn't be contented with the springs because they boiled you, and now you say the lake freezes you. Perhaps we'll find something by-and-by that will come to the point." The boys had observed that the farther they penetrated from Yokohama and Tokio, the less did they find the people affected in their dress and manners by the presence of the foreigners. Particularly was this the case with the women. They had seen in the open ports a good many women with blackened teeth; and the farther they went inland, the greater did they find the proportion of the fair sex who had thus disfigured themselves. So at the first opportunity they asked the Doctor about the custom. "I know," said Frank, "that it is the married women that blacken their teeth; but how does it happen that there are so many more married ones here than on the shores of Yeddo Bay?" "You are wrong there," answered the Doctor; "there is probably as large a proportion of married women in the one region as in the other. The difference is that the custom is rapidly falling off." "Is there any law about it?" Fred inquired. "Not in the least," Doctor Bronson explained. "It is an old custom for married women to blacken their teeth, and formerly it was most rigidly observed; but of late years, since the foreigners came to Japan, it has not been adhered to. The Japanese see that a married woman can get along without having her teeth discolored, and as they are inclined to fall into the customs of Europe, the most progressive of them not only permit, but require, their wives to keep their teeth white." "That is one point," said Frank, "in which I think the Japanese have gained by adopting the European custom. I don't think it improves their appearance to put on European clothes instead of their own; but when it comes to this habit of blackening the teeth, it is absolutely hideous." From this assertion there was no dissent. Then the question naturally arose, "How is the operation performed?" Doctor Bronson explained that it was done by means of a black paint or varnish, peculiar to Japan. The paint was rubbed on the teeth with a rag or stiff brush, and made the gums very sore at first. It remained quite bright and distinct for the first few days, but in the course of a week it faded, and by the end of ten or twelve days a renewal was necessary. If left to itself, the coloring would disappear altogether within a month from the time of its application. Frank wished to know if the women were desirous of having the custom abolished, but on this point it was not easy for him to obtain precise information. The Doctor thought it was a matter of individual rather than of general preference, and that the views of the women were largely influenced by those of their husbands. "The Japanese wives," said he, "are like the wives of most other countries, and generally wish to do according to the tastes and desires of their husbands. As you grow older you will find that the women of all lands endeavor to suit their modes of dressing and adornment to the wishes of the men with whom they come mostly in contact; of course, there are individual exceptions, but they do not weaken the force of the general rule. In America as in England, in China as in Japan, in India as in Peru, it is the fancy of the men that governs the dress and personal decoration of the other half of the race. As long as it was the fashion to blacken the teeth in this country, the women did it without a murmur; but as soon as the men showed a willingness for them to discontinue the practice, and especially when that willingness became a desire, they began to discontinue it. Twenty years from this time, I imagine, the women with blackened teeth will be less numerous than those at present with white ones. "The abandonment of the custom began in the open ports, and is spreading through the country. It will spread in exactly the same ratio as Japan adopts other customs and ways of the rest of the world; and as fast as she takes on our Western civilization, just so fast will she drop such of her forms as are antagonistic to it." [Illustration: ANTICS OF THE HORSES.] The party rested a portion of a day at Hakone, and then went on their way. Travelling by cango had become so wearisome that they engaged a horse-train for a part of the way, and had themselves and their baggage carried on the backs of Japanese steeds. They found this an improvement on the old plan, though the horses were rather more unruly than the cango coolies, and frequently made a serious disturbance. Occasionally, when the train was ready to start, the beasts would indulge in a general kicking-match all around, to the great detriment of their burdens, whether animate or otherwise. The best and gentlest horses had been selected for riding, and consequently the greatest amount of circus performances was with the baggage animals. The grooms had all they wished to attend to to keep the beasts under subjection, and not infrequently they came out of the contest with gashes and other blemishes on their variegated skins. But they showed great courage in contending with the vicious brutes, and it is said of a Japanese betto that he will fearlessly attack the most ill-tempered horse in the country, and not be satisfied till he has conquered him. There are several populous towns between Hakone and the base of Fusiyama. Among them may be mentioned Missimi, Noomads, and Harra, none of them containing any features of special importance after the other places our friends had seen. Consequently our party did not halt there any longer than was necessary for the ordinary demands of the journey, but pushed on to the foot of the Holy Peak. As they approached it they met many pilgrims returning from the ascent, and their general appearance of fatigue did not hold out a cheering prospect to the excursionists. But they had come with the determination to make the journey to the summit of the mountain, and were not to be frightened at trifles. They were full of enthusiasm, for the great mountain showed more distinctly every hour as they approached it, and its enormous and symmetrical cone was pushed far up into the sky, and literally pierced the clouds. At times the clouds blew away; the sunlight streamed full upon the lofty mass of ever-during stone, and seemed to warm it into a tropical heat. But the snow lying unmelted in the ravines dispelled the illusion, and they knew that they must encounter chilling winds, and perhaps biting frosts, as they ascended to the higher altitudes. [Illustration: A NEAR VIEW OF FUSIYAMA.] There lay the great Fusiyama, the holy mountain of Japan, which they had come so many thousand miles to see. In the afternoon the clouds rolled at its base, but the cone, barren as a hill in the great desert, was uncovered, and all the huge furrows of its sloping sides were distinctly to be seen. Close at hand were forests of the beautiful cedar of Japan, fields of waving corn, and other products of agriculture. Not far off were the waters of the bay that sweeps in from the ocean to near the base of the famous landmark for the mariners who approach this part of the coast. Now and then the wind brought to their ears the roar of the breakers, as they crashed upon the rocks, or rolled along the open stretches of sandy beach. [Illustration: IN A STORM NEAR FUSIYAMA.] Hitherto they had been favored by the weather, but now a rain came on that threatened to detain them for an indefinite period. It blew in sharp gusts that sometimes seemed ready to lift the roof from the house where they were lodged. The conductor explained that these storms were frequent at the base of the mountain, and were supposed by the ignorant and superstitions inhabitants of the region to be the exhibition of the displeasure of the deities of Fusiyama in consequence of something that had been done by those who professed to worship them. "When the gods are angry," said he, "we have storms, and when they are in good-humor we have fair weather. If it is very fine, we know they are happy; and when the clouds begin to gather, we know something is wrong, and it depends upon the amount of sacrifices and prayers that we offer whether the clouds clear away without a storm or not." Near the foot of the mountain there are several monasteries, where the pilgrims are lodged and cared for when making their religious visits to the God of Fusiyama. Some of these are of considerable importance, and are far from uncomfortable as places of residence. Our party spent the night at one of these monastic settlements, which was called Muriyama, and was the last inhabited spot on the road. And as they were considerably fatigued by the ride, and a day more or less in their journey would not make any material difference, they wisely concluded to halt until the second morning, so as to have all their forces fully restored. Frank said, "This day doesn't count, as we are to do nothing but rest; and if we want to rest, we must not see anything." So they did not try to see anything; but the Doctor was careful to make sure that their conductor made all the necessary preparations for the ascent. Early on the second morning after their arrival, they started for the final effort. They rode their horses as far as the way was practicable, and then proceeded on foot. Their baggage was mostly left in charge of the grooms to await their return, and such provisions and articles as they needed were carried by "yamabooshees," or "men of the mountain," whose special business it is to accompany travellers to the summit, and to aid them where the way is bad, or in case they become weary. If a person chooses, he may be carried all the way to the top of the mountain and back again; but such an arrangement was not to the taste of our robust adventurers. They were determined to walk, and walk they did, in spite of the entreaties of the coolies who wanted to earn something by transporting them. In addition to the yamabooshees, they had an escort of two "yoboos," or priests, from one of the temples. These men were not expected to carry burdens, but simply to serve as guides, as they were thoroughly familiar with the road and knew all its peculiarities. The first part of their way was through a forest, but, as they ascended, the trees became smaller and fewer, and their character changed. At the base there were pines and oaks, but they gradually made way for beeches and birches, the latter being the last because the hardiest. From the forest they emerged upon the region of barren rock and earth and the fragments left by the eruptions of the volcano. The last eruption took place in 1707, and there have been few signs of any intention of returning activity since that date. But all around there are abundant traces of what the mountain was when it poured out its floods of lava and covered large areas with desolation. In some places the heaps of scoriæ appear as though the eruption, whence they came, had been but a week ago, as they are above the line of vegetation, and their character is such that they undergo hardly any change from the elements from one century to another. This part of Japan, and, in fact, the whole of Japan, has a good deal of volcanic fire pent up beneath it. Earthquakes are of frequent occurrence, and sometimes they are very destructive; whole towns have been destroyed by them, and as for the little ones that do no material damage, but simply give things a general shaking-up, they are so frequent as to be hardly noticeable. That there is an underground relation between the disturbances in different parts of the country is evident, and the tradition is that at the time of the last eruption of Fusiyama the ground rose considerably in the vicinity of the mountain, while there was a corresponding depression of the earth near Kioto, on the other side of the island. Occasionally there are slight rumblings in the interior of Fusiyama, but none of them are serious enough to excite any alarm. From the place where our friends left their horses to the summit the distance is said to be not far from twenty miles, but it is not exactly the equivalent of twenty miles on a level turnpike or a paved street. Frank said it reminded him of a very muddy road somewhere in California, which a traveller described as nine miles long, ten feet wide, and three feet deep; and he thought a fair description of the way up the mountain would include the height and roughness as well as the length. [Illustration: ASCENT OF FUSIYAMA.] The path wound among the rocks and scoriæ, and through the beds of lava. Altogether they found the ascent a most trying one, and sometimes half wished that they had left the visit to Fusiyama out of their calculations when they were planning how to use their time in Japan. But it was too late to turn back now, and they kept on and on, encouraging each other with cheering words, stopping frequently to take breath and to look at the wonderful panorama that was unfolded to their gaze. The air grew light and lighter as they went on, and by-and-by the periods when they halted, panting and half suffocated, became as long as those devoted to climbing. They experienced the same difficulty that all travellers encounter at high elevations, and Fred remembered what he had read of Humboldt's ascent of the high peaks of the Andes, where the lungs seemed ready to burst and the blood spurted from the faces of himself and his companions in consequence of the rarity of the atmosphere. About every two miles along the way they found little huts or caves, partly dug in the mass of volcanic rubbish, and partly built up, with roofs to protect the interior from the rain. These were intended as refuges for the pilgrims for passing the night or resting during storms, and had no doubt been of great service to those who preceded them. At one of these they halted for luncheon, which they took from the pack of one of their bearers, and later on they halted at another to pass the night. It is considered too great a journey to be made in a single day, except by persons of unusual vigor and long accustomed to mountain-climbing. The customary plan is to pass a night on the mountain when little more than half way up, and then to finish the ascent, and make the whole of the descent on the second day. It was cold that night in the upper air, and there was a strong wind blowing that chilled our young friends to the bone. The sleeping accommodations were not of the best, as there were no beds, and they had nothing but the rugs and shawls they had brought along from the foot of the mountain. Fred asked if there was any danger of their being disturbed by tigers or snakes, and was speedily reassured by Frank, who thought that any well-educated beast or serpent would never undertake a pilgrimage to the top of Fusiyama; and if one should have strayed as far as their resting-place, he would be too much played out to attend to any business. But though large game did not abound, there was plenty of a smaller kind, as they found before they had been ten minutes in the huts. Previous visitors had left a large and well-selected assortment of fleas, for which they had no further use, and their activity indicated that they had been for some time without food. They made things lively for the strangers, and what with chilling winds, hard beds, cramped quarters, and the voracity of the permanent inhabitants of the place, there was little sleep in that hut during the time of their stay. They were up before daylight, and, while the coffee was boiling, the boys watched the approach of morning. They looked far out over the waters of the Pacific, to where a thin line of light was curving around the rim of the horizon. At first it was so faint that it took a sharp eye to discover it, but as they watched and as the day advanced it grew more and more distinct, till it rounded out like a segment of the great circle engirdling the globe. The gleam of light became a glow that seemed to warm the waters of the shimmering ocean and flash a message of friendship from their home in another land; the heavens became purple, then scarlet, then golden, and gradually changed to the whiteness of silver. Far beneath them floated the fleecy clouds, and far beneath these were the hills of Hakone and the surrounding plain. Land and sea were spread as in a picture, and the world seemed to be lying at their feet. The boys stood spellbound and silent as they watched the opening day from the heights of Fusiyama, and finally exclaimed in a breath that they were doubly paid for all the fatigue they had passed through in their journey thus far. The light breakfast was taken, and the adventurers moved on. At each step the way grew more and more difficult. Every mile was steeper than its predecessor, and in many instances it was rougher. The rarefaction of the air increased, and rendered the work of breathing more and more severe. The travellers panted like frightened deer, and their lungs seemed to gain little relief from the rest that the Doctor and his young friends were compelled to take at frequent intervals. The last of the huts of refuge was passed, and it seemed only a short distance to the summit. But it required more than an hour's effort to accomplish this final stage. The boys refused all offers of assistance, and struggled manfully on; but Doctor Branson was less confident of his powers, and was glad of the aid of the strong-limbed and strong-handed yamabooshees. All were glad enough to stand on the summit and gaze into the deep gulf of the crater, while their brows were cooled by the clear breezes from the Pacific. They were at the top of Fusiyama, 14,000 feet above the level of the ocean that lay so far below them, eighty miles from their starting-point at Yokohama, and their vision swept an area of the surface of the earth nearly two hundred miles in diameter. East and south lay the broad ocean. West and north was the wondrous land of Japan, a carpet of billowy green, roughened here and there with wooded hills and small mountains, indented with bays and with silver threads of rivers meandering through it. It was a picture of marvellous beauty which no pen can describe. They remained an hour or more on the mountain, and then began the descent. It was far easier than the upward journey, but was by no means a pleasurable affair. The boys slipped and fell several times, but, luckily, received no severe hurts; and in little more than three hours from the top they were at the spot where the horses were waiting for them. Altogether, they had been through about twelve hours of the hardest climbing they had ever known in their lives. Frank said he didn't want to climb any more mountains for at least a year, and Fred quite agreed with him. As they descended from their saddles at Muriyama, they were stiff and sore, and could hardly stand. They threw their arms around each other, and Frank said: "The proudest day of my life--I've been to the top of Fusiyama." "And it's my proudest day, too," Fred responded; "for I've been there with you." As they rested that evening, Frank thought of some lines that he had seen somewhere, which were appropriate to the journey they had made, and he wound up the day's experiences by repeating them. They were as follows: "As we climb from the vale to the high mountain's peak, We leave the green fields far below; We go on through the forest, beyond it we seek The line of perpetual snow. Cold and thin grows the air, the light dazzles our eyes, We struggle through storm-cloud and sleet; With courage undaunted we mount toward the skies, Till the world spreads out at our feet. "We are journeying now up the mountain of life, The green fields of youth we have passed; We've toiled through the forest with unceasing strife, And gained the bright snow-line at last. We are whitened by frost, we are chilled by the breeze-- With weariness hardly can move; But, faithful to duty, in our work we'll ne'er cease Till we look on the world from above." CHAPTER XV. EXECUTIONS AND HARI-KARI. The return to Yokohama was accomplished without any incident of consequence. Fred was a little disappointed to think that their lives had not been in peril. "Just a little danger for the fun of the thing," he remarked to Frank; and at one time on the way he was almost inclined to gloominess when he reflected on the situation. "There hasn't been any attack upon us," he said to himself, "when there might have been something of the kind just as well as not. Not that I wanted any real killing, or anything of the sort, but just a little risk of it to make things lively. It's really too bad." He was roused from his revery by the Doctor, who told him they were approaching the spot where some Englishmen were set upon by a party of two-sworded Samurai, in the early times of the foreign occupation. The attack was entirely unprovoked, and quite without warning. One of the Englishmen was killed and another seriously wounded, while the natives escaped unharmed. Fred wanted to know the exact character of the Samurai, and why they were nearly always concerned in the attacks upon foreigners. "It is a long story," said Doctor Bronson, "and I am not sure that you will find it altogether interesting; but it is a part of Japanese history that you ought to know, especially in view of the fact that the Samurai exist no longer. With the revolution of 1868 and the consequent overthrow of the old customs, the Samurai class was extinguished, and the wearing of two swords is forbidden. [Illustration: THE FOUR CLASSES OF SOCIETY.] "The population of Japan was formerly divided into four great classes. The first was the military and official class, and these are what were called Samurai; the second was the farmer class that rented the lands from the government, and engaged in agriculture; the third was the artisan class, and included all the trades and occupations of an industrial character; and the fourth was the merchant class, including all kinds of traders from the wholesale merchant to the petty peddler. Of course there were subdivisions of these classes, and sometimes several of them in a single class, but the general outline of the system is as I have stated it. Below these classes, and outside the ordinary scale of humanity, were the _Eta_ and _Hinin_ castes, who comprised beggars, tanners, grave-diggers, and, in fact, all persons who had anything to do with the handling of a dead body, whether human or of the lower animals. It was pollution to associate with a person of the Eta caste, and these people were compelled to dwell in villages by themselves. As they were not respected by others, they had no great respect for themselves, and lived in the most filthy condition. They could not enter a house where other people lived, and were not permitted to sit, eat, or drink with others, and they could not cook their food at the same fire. "This was the way society in Japan was made up till the revolution of 1868, when the whole fabric was swept away, and the principles of our Declaration of Independence were adopted. The Japanese have virtually declared that all men were created equal, by putting the classes on the same level and abolishing the distinctions of caste. The Eta and Hinin castes were made citizens, the Samurai (or gentry) were deprived of their hereditary rights, and the feudal princes were compelled to turn their possessions into the hands of the general government. The change was very great for all, but for none more so than the Samurai. "These fellows had been for centuries a class with extraordinary privileges. Their ideas in regard to work of any kind were like those of their kindred in Europe and some other parts of the world; it would degrade them to do anything, and consequently they were generally addicted to a life of idleness. There were studious and enterprising men among them, but they were the exceptions rather than the rule. The ordinary Samurai was, more or less, and usually more, a worthless fellow, whose sole idea of occupation was to follow the lord of his province and be present at ceremonials, and, for the rest, to spend his time in drinking-shops and other improper places, and indulge in occasional fights with the men of other clans. They were the only persons allowed to wear two swords; and it was the constant wearing of these swords, coupled with the drinking of sa-kee, that brought on most of the difficulties between the natives and the foreigners. A group of these men would be drinking in a tavern, and, while they were all heated with the spirits they had swallowed, one of them would propose to kill a foreigner. They would make a vow to go out and kill the first one they met, and in this mood they would leave the tavern and walk along the principal street. They would fall upon the first foreigner they met, and, as they were three or four to one, and were all well armed, the foreigner was generally slaughtered. Mr. Heusken, the interpreter of the American Legation, was thus murdered at Yeddo in 1861, and the German consul at Hakodadi met his death in the same way. The Samurai were the class most opposed to the entrance of foreigners into Japan, and, so long as they were allowed to wear swords and inflame themselves with sa-kee, the life of a stranger was never safe." "If they did no work," said Frank, "how did they manage to live?" [Illustration: TWO-SWORDED NOBLES.] "They were supported by the government," the Doctor answered, "in accordance with the ancient custom. Every Samurai received an allowance, which was paid to him in rice, the staple article of food, and what he did not eat he could convert into money. His pay was in proportion to his rank, and the great number of Samurai made their support a heavy burden upon the laboring class. It is said that nine tenths of the product of the soil went, in one way and another, for taxes; that is, for every hundred bushels of rice that a farmer raised, ninety bushels went to the local and general governments, and only ten bushels remained to the farmer. It was by being thus saddled on the country that the Samurai were able to live without work, and, as the right had been conceded to them for generations, they naturally looked with contempt upon all kinds of industry. Their dissipated way of living was very likely to lead them into debt, just as it leads similar men into debt everywhere else. The merchants and tradesmen of all kinds were their victims, as the law allowed no redress for the wrongs they committed. They would sometimes enter a shop, select what goods they wanted, hand them over to a servant, and then leave without paying. If the merchant intimated that he would like to be paid for his property, they became very insolent and threatened to report him to the police as a swindler. They would enter a tavern or tea-house with a crowd of their followers, and, after eating and drinking what they wished, walk coolly away. If the landlord asked for payment, he was not very likely to get it; and if he repeated the request, he not infrequently had his head slashed off by the sword of one of the offended gentlemen. The head of a landlord was not of much consequence; but he was generally quite unwilling to lose it, as, when once taken off, it was difficult to restore it to its place. "If the Samurai had been on the most friendly terms with each other, they would have rendered Japan too hot for anybody else to live in. But, fortunately for the rest of the population, there were many feuds among the different clans, and there was rarely an occasion when one clan was not in open warfare with some other. In this way they devoted their energies to cutting each other's throats, to the great delight of the merchants and tradesmen. Where two clans were in hostility to each other, and two opposing groups met in the streets, they used to fall to fighting without ceremony and furnish occupation for the coroner before the interview was over. They were a terror to all the rest of the populace; and it is safe to say that there was general rejoicing among the other classes when the Samurai ceased to exist." [Illustration: A SAMURAI IN WINTER DRESS.] Fred asked if the government took away the pensions of these men and gave them nothing in return. "Not by any means," the Doctor answered. "The government gave to each man a money allowance, or gift, to take the place of his pension, and let him do with it whatever he pleased. Some of them spent it in dissipation, and found themselves eventually without a penny, and with no means of obtaining anything. They were then obliged to go to work like other people, and some of them had a very hard time to exist. I was told in Yokohama that some of the former Samurai were working as coolies in various ways, not only in that city, but all through the empire. A good many of them have found employment among the foreign merchants as clerks and salesmen, and there are many in government employ in the offices at Tokio and in other cities. The officers you saw at the custom-house were probably ex-Samurai, and ten years ago they would have been wearing two swords apiece. The Japanese book-keeper you saw in the office of the American merchant on whom we called the day of our arrival was once a Samurai of high degree. He spent his government allowance in a short time after receiving it, and was then compelled to find employment or starve. He tried the starvation system a short time, and concluded he did not like it. He turned his education to account by undertaking to keep the Japanese accounts of a foreign merchant, and his employer is well pleased with him. "As the Samurai were the military class before the revolution, they retain the same character, to a large degree, under the present system. They are the officers of the army and navy, and, to a great extent, they fill the ranks of the soldiery. Those who accepted the change and remained loyal to the government have received appointments where there were vacancies to be filled, and the strength of Japan to-day is largely in the hands of the old Samurai. But, as might be expected, there was much discontent at the change, and some of the Samurai went into open rebellion against the government. This was the cause of the revolt in 1877, and for a time it was so formidable that many people believed it would succeed. Not a few among the foreigners predicted that the Mikado would be dethroned, and the power of the Tycoon restored; but the government triumphed in the end, and those of the leaders of the insurrection who did not perish in battle were beheaded." Frank asked how the Japanese performed the ceremony of beheading, and whether it was very frequent. "As to that," said Doctor Bronson, "much depends upon what you would call frequent. In former times a man might lose his head for a very slight reason, or, perhaps, no reason at all. Crimes that we would consider of small degree were punished with death, and there was very little time wasted between the sentence and its execution. As the Japanese have become more and more familiar with the customs of Western nations, they have learned that we do not remove the heads of our people for trifles, and they show their good sense by following our example. Of late years, executions by decapitation are much less frequent than formerly, but even now there are more of them than there need be. "As to the manner of performing it, a few words will describe it. The ceremonies that precede it are somewhat elaborate, but the affair itself is performed in the twinkling of an eye, or, rather, in the twinkling of a sword. It is a single flash, and all is over. [Illustration: BEHEADING A CRIMINAL.] "When I was in Japan the first time, I was invited to be present at an execution, and, as I had a scientific reason for being there, I accepted the invitation. As a friend and myself approached the prison we met a large crowd, and were told that the prisoner was being paraded through the streets, so that the public could see him. There was quite a procession to escort the poor fellow, and the people seemed to have very little sympathy for him, as they were doubtless hardened by the frequency of these occurrences. In front of the procession there were two men bearing large placards, like banners. One of the placards announced the name and residence of the victim, and the other the crime of which he had been convicted, together with his sentence. Close behind these men was the prisoner, tied to the horse on which he rode, and guarded by a couple of soldiers. Following him were more soldiers, and then came a couple of officers, with their attendants; for at that time every officer had a certain number of retainers, who followed him everywhere. We joined the party and went to the prison-yard, where we found the ground ready prepared for the execution. But first, according to the usual custom, the prisoner was provided with a hearty breakfast; and it was rather an astonishing circumstance that he ate it with an excellent appetite, though he complained of one dish as being unhealthy. In half an hour or so he had finished, and was led to the spot where he was to lose his head. He was required to kneel behind a small hole that had been dug to receive his head; a bandage was tied around his eyes, and as it was fastened he said 'Sayonara' to his friends and everybody present. When all was ready, the officer in command gave the signal, and the executioner, with a single blow, severed the head from the body. It fell into the hole prepared for it, and was immediately picked up and washed. Then the procession was formed again, and the head was taken to a mound by the side of the road, where it was placed on a post. According to law, it was to remain there six days, as a terror to all who were disposed to do wrong. It was the first Japanese execution I ever witnessed, and my last." Frank asked the Doctor if this execution was anything like the "hari-kari" of which he had read, where a Japanese was said to commit suicide by cutting open his stomach. "Not by any means," was the answer; "hari-kari is quite another thing." "Please tell us how it is performed," said Fred. "It is not altogether a pleasant subject," remarked the Doctor, with a slight shudder; "but as we want to learn all we can of the manners and customs of the people we are among, and as we are now among the Japanese, I suppose we must give some attention to hari-kari. "To understand the question thoroughly, it will be necessary to bear in mind that the Oriental way of thinking is very often the exact reverse of our way. We have one idea of honor and the Japanese have another; who is right or who is wrong we will not pretend to say, as each party has its own particular views and will not readily yield to the other. Writers on Japan differ considerably in their views of Japanese points of honor, and there are disagreements on the subject among the Japanese themselves; therefore I cannot speak with absolute exactness about it. According to the old code, all persons holding office under the government were required to kill themselves in the way mentioned whenever they had committed any crime, though not till they had received an order to do so from the court. If they disobeyed the order, their families would be disinherited, and none of their descendants would be allowed to hold office ever after; consequently a regard for one's family required a cheerful submission to the custom. There was no disgrace attached to a death by hari-kari, and in former times its occurrence was almost an every-day affair. One writer says, 'The sons of all persons of quality exercise themselves in their youth, for five or six years, with a view to performing the operation, in case of need, with gracefulness and dexterity; and they take as much pains to acquire this accomplishment as youth among us to become elegant dancers or skilful horsemen; hence the profound contempt of death which they imbibe in early years.' Curious custom, isn't it, according to our notions?" Both the boys thought it was, and said they were glad that they were not born in a country where such ideas of honor prevailed. The Doctor told them that an old story, which he had no doubt was true, since it accorded with the Japanese ideas of honor, would be a very good illustration of the subject. It was concerning two high officers of the court who met one day on a staircase, and accidentally jostled each other. One was a very quick-tempered man, and demanded satisfaction; the other was of a more peaceable disposition, and said the circumstance was accidental, and could be amply covered by an apology, which he was ready to make. The other tried to provoke him to a conflict, and when he found he could not do so he drew his short-sword and slashed himself open according to the prescribed mode. The other was compelled, as a point of honor, to follow his example. It often happened that where one man had offended another the court required that they should both perform hari-kari, and they always did so without the least hesitation. And when a man went to another's house, sat down and disembowelled himself, the owner of the house was obliged by law to do the same thing. There was no escaping it, and it is but fair to the Japanese to say that they did not try to escape it. "If you are deeply interested in the subject of hari-kari," said the Doctor, "I advise you to read Mitford's book entitled 'Tales of Old Japan.' Mr. Mitford lived some time in Japan in an official capacity, and on one occasion he was called upon to be present at the hari-kari of an officer who had given orders for firing on some foreigners. He gives an account of this affair, including a list of the ceremonies to be observed on such an occasion, which he translated from a Japanese work on the subject. Nothing could be more precise than the regulations, and some of them are exceedingly curious, particularly the one that requires the nearest friend of the victim to act as his second. The duty of the second is to cut off the principal's head at the moment he plunges the knife into his body. It is a post of honor, and a gentleman who should refuse thus to act for his friend would be considered no friend at all. Again I say it is a curious custom all through. "The term hari-kari means 'happy despatch,' and for the Japanese it was a happy form of going out of the world. It is still in use, the custom as well as the expression, but not so much so as formerly. The Japanese ideas of honor have not changed, but they have found that some of their ways of illustrating them are not in accordance with the customs of Europe. There are cases of hari-kari now and then at the present time, but they are very private, and generally the result of the sentence of a court. At the termination of the rebellion of 1877, several of the officers concerned in it committed hari-kari voluntarily just before the surrender, and others in consequence of their capture and sentence. [Illustration: JAPANESE COURT IN THE OLD STYLE.] "In the administration of justice," Doctor Bronson continued, "Japan has made great progress in the past few years. Formerly nearly all trials were conducted with torture, and sometimes the witnesses were tortured as well as the accused. The instruments in use were the refinement of cruelty: heavy weights were piled on the body of a prisoner; he was placed in a caldron of water, and a fire was lighted beneath which slowly brought the water to the boiling-point; he was cut with knives in a variety of ways that indicated great ingenuity on the part of the torturers; in fact, he was put to a great deal of pain such as we know nothing about. Under the old system the only persons at a trial were the prisoner, the torturer, the secretary, and the judge; at present the trials are generally open, and the accused has the benefit of counsel to defend him, as in our own courts. Torture has been formally abolished, though it is asserted that it is sometimes employed in cases of treason or other high crimes. Law-schools have been established, reform codes of law have been made, and certainly there is a manifest disposition on the part of the government to give the best system of justice to the people that can be found. Japan is endeavoring to take a place among the nations of the world, and show that she is no longer a barbarian land. The United States have been the foremost to acknowledge her right to such a place, but their action has not been seconded by England and other European countries. It will doubtless come in time, and every year sees some additional step gained in the proper direction. [Illustration: JAPANESE NAVAL OFFICER.] "As I have before stated," the Doctor continued, "the Japanese have made great progress in military and naval matters. They have ship-yards at several places, and have built ships of their own after the European models; in addition to these, they have ships that they bought from foreigners, but they are entirely commanded and managed by their own officers, and equipped with crews entirely Japanese. The old war-junks of the country have been discarded for the modern ships, and the young Japanese are trained in the Western mode of warfare; their schools for naval instruction have made remarkable advancement, and the teachers who were brought from other countries repeatedly declared that they never had seen anywhere a more intelligent assemblage of pupils than they found here. The Japanese naval officer of to-day is uniformed very much like his fellow-officer in Europe or America, and his manners are as polished as the most fastidious among us could wish. The Japanese ships have made long cruises, and visited the principal ports of Europe and America, and their commanders have shown that they understand the theory and practice of navigation, and are able to take their ships wherever they may be ordered to go. The picture of a Japanese war-junk of the olden time, and that of the war-steamer of to-day do not show many points of resemblance. They illustrate the difference between the old and the new, very much as do the cango and the railway car when placed side by side." [Illustration: JAPANESE STEAM CORVETTE.] The Doctor thought he had given the boys quite as much information as they would be likely to remember in his dissertation, and suggested that they should endeavor to recapitulate what he had said. Frank thought the discussion had taken a wide range, as it had included the status of the four classes of Japanese society, had embraced the Samurai and their peculiarities, some of the changes that were wrought by the revolution, and had told them how executions were conducted in former times. Then they had learned something about hari-kari and what it was for; and they had learned, at the same time, the difference between the old courts of justice and the new ones. What with these things and the naval progress of the empire of the Mikado, he thought they had quite enough to go around, and would be lucky if they remembered the whole of it. Fred thought so too, and therefore the discussion was suspended, with the understanding that it should be renewed on the first convenient occasion. [Illustration: A JAPANESE WAR-JUNK OF THE OLDEN TIME.] CHAPTER XVI. AMUSEMENTS.--WRESTLERS AND THEATRICAL ENTERTAINMENTS. After the party had recovered from the fatigues of the journey to Fusiyama, the boys were on the lookout for something new. Various suggestions were made, and finally Frank proposed that they should go to a theatre. This was quite to Fred's liking, and so it did not take a long time to come to a determination on the subject. The Doctor agreed that the theatre was an interesting study, and so the matter was settled. "What time in the evening must we go," said Fred, "so as to be there in season for the beginning of the performance?" "If you want to be there in season for the beginning," the Doctor answered, "you should go in the morning, or, at all events, very early in the day." "Wouldn't it be well to go the day before?" Frank ventured to ask. "Certainly you could do so," Fred responded, "or you might go next week or last summer." "The Japanese performances," Doctor Bronson continued, "do not all begin in the morning, but the most of them do, and they last the entire day. In China they have historic plays that require a week or more for their complete representation; but in Japan they are briefer in their ways, and a performance is not continued from one day to the next. They have greater variety here than in China, and the plays are less tedious both to one who understands the language and to one who does not. The Japanese are a gayer people than the Chinese, and consequently their plays are less serious in character." It was agreed that a day should be given to amusements, and these should include anything that the boys and their tutor could find. Frank went in pursuit of the landlord of the hotel, and soon returned with the information that there was a theatrical performance that very day in the native theatre, and also a wrestling match which was sure to be interesting, as the Japanese wrestlers are different from those of any other country. After a little discussion it was determined that they would first go to the wrestling match, and Frank should write a description of the wrestlers and what they did. After the wrestling match was disposed of, they would take up the theatre, and of this Fred should be the historian. Here is Frank's account of the wrestling as it appeared in the next letter he sent home: [Illustration: A JAPANESE WRESTLER.] "I thought we were going to a hall, but it was nothing of the sort, as we understand a hall. We went into a large tent, which was made by stretching matting over a space enclosed by a high fence; the fence formed the walls of the building, and the matting made the roof. We had the ground to sit on or stand on, but soon after we went in a man brought us some chairs, and we sat down. In the centre of the tent there was a circular mound something like a circus ring; it was perhaps two feet high and ten feet across, and there was a flat place outside of it where the master of ceremonies was to stand and see that everything was fair. We paid twenty-five cents to go in, and then we paid about five cents more for each chair; of course we were in the best places, and only a few others were in that part. I don't know how much the Japanese paid in the poor places, but I don't believe it was more than five cents. "In a little while after we went in, the performance began. A boy came into the ring from a room at one side of the tent, and he walked as if he were playing the king, or some other great personage. When he got to the middle of the ring, he opened a fan he carried in his right hand. He opened it with a quick jerk, as though he were going to shake it to pieces; and after he had opened it he announced the names of the wrestlers who were to come into the first act. If I hadn't been told what he was doing, I should have thought he was playing something from Shakspeare, he made such a fuss about it. Then he went out and the wrestlers came in, with a big fellow that Fred said must be the boss wrestler. He looked like an elephant, he was so big. "The wrestlers were the largest men I have seen in Japan; and the fact is I didn't suppose the country contained any men so large. As near as I could see, they had more fat than muscle on them; but there must have been a good deal of muscle, too, for they were strong as oxen. Doctor Bronson says he has seen some of these wrestlers carry two sacks of rice weighing a hundred and twenty-five pounds each, and that one man carried a sack with his teeth, while another took one under his arm and turned somersets with it, and did not once lose his hold. The Doctor says these men are a particular race of Japanese, and it used to be the custom for each prince to have a dozen or more of these wrestlers in his suite to furnish amusement for himself and his friends. Sometimes two princes would get up a match with their wrestlers, just as men in New York get up matches between dogs and chickens. Then there were troupes of wrestlers, who went around giving exhibitions, just as they sometimes do in America. But you never saw such fat men in all your life as they were; not fat in one place, like the man that keeps the grocery on the corner of the public square in our town, but fat all over. I felt the back and arms of one of them, and his muscles were as hard as iron. The flesh on his breast was soft, and seemed like a thick cushion of fat. I think you might have hit him there with a mallet without hurting him much. [Illustration: A PAIR OF WRESTLERS AND THEIR MANAGER.] "Some of them could hardly see out of their eyes on account of the fat around them; and when their arms were doubled up, they looked like the hams of a hog. I was told that the Japanese idea of a wrestler is to have a man as fat as possible, which is just the reverse of what we think is right. They train their men all their lives to have them get up all the fat they can; and if a man doesn't get it fast enough, they put him to work, and tell him he can never be a wrestler. It is odd that a people so thin as the Japanese should think so much about having men fat; but I suppose it is because we all like the things that are our opposites. But this isn't telling about the wrestling match. "After the herald had given the names of the wrestlers who were to make the first round, the fellows came in. They were dressed without any clothes to speak of, or rather they were quite undressed, with the exception of a cloth around their loins. They came in on opposite sides of the ring, and stood there about five feet apart, each man resting his hands on his knees, and glaring at the other like a wild beast. They looked more like a pair of tigers than human beings, and for a moment I thought it was not at all unlike what a bull-fight in Spain might be. [Illustration: THE CLINCH.] "There they stood glaring, as I told you, and making a noise like animals about to fight. They stamped on the ground and made two or three rushes at each other, and then fell back to watch for a better chance. They kept this up a minute or so, and then darted in and clinched; and then you could see their great muscles swell, and realize that they were as strong as they were fat. "They did not try to throw each other, as we do when we wrestle, but they tried to push from one side of the ring to the other. I couldn't understand this until the Doctor told me that it is not necessary for one of the men to be thrown. All that is to be done is for one of them to push the other outside the ring; and even if he only gets one foot out, the game is up. Only once during all we saw of the match did anybody get thrown down, as we should expect to see him in a wrestling match in America. And when he did get fairly on the ground, it was not very easy for him to rise, which is probably the reason why the rules of the Japanese ring are so different from ours. "They had several matches of this kind with the two men standing up facing each other before they clinched; and then they tried another plan. One man took his place in the ring, and braced himself as though he were trying to stop a locomotive. When he was ready a signal was given, and another man came out full tilt against him. They butted their heads together like two rams, and tried to hit each other in the breast. In a short time they were covered with blood, and looked very badly; but the Doctor says they were not hurt so much as they seemed to be. They kept this up for nearly a quarter of an hour, and took turns at the business--one of them being bull for the other to play railway train against. It was as bad for one as for the other; and if I had my choice which character to play, I wouldn't play either. "After the wrestling was over they had some fencing, which I liked much better, as there was more skill to it and less brutality. The fencers were announced in the same way as the other performers had been. They wore large masks that protected their heads, and their fencing was with wooden swords or sticks, so that no harm was done. The game was for each to hit his adversary's head, and when this was done a point was scored for the man who made the hit. They did a good deal of shouting and snarling at each other, and sometimes their noise sounded more as if made by cats than by human beings. In other respects their fencing was very much like ours, and was very creditable to the parties engaged in it. One of the best fencers in the lot was a young girl. She wasn't more than sixteen years old, and she had arms strong enough for a man of thirty. The performance ended with the fencing, and then we went back to the hotel." It was determined that the evening would be quite early enough to go to the theatre, and so the party did not start until after seven o'clock. They secured a box at one side of the auditorium, where they could see the stage and the audience at the same time. When you go to the play in a strange land, the audience is frequently quite as interesting a study as the performance, and sometimes more so. In no country is this more truly the case than in Japan. But it was agreed that Fred should give the account of the play, and so we will listen to him. Here is his story: "The theatre was a small one, according to our notions, but it was well ventilated, which is not always the case in America. The man that sold the tickets was very polite, and so was the one who took them at the door. The latter called an usher, who showed us to our box, and brought the chairs for us; and then he brought a programme, but we couldn't read a word of it, as it was all in Japanese. We cared more about looking at the people than trying to read something that we couldn't read at all; and so I folded up the programme and put it into my pocket. "The house had a floor and galleries like one of our theatres, but there were only two galleries, and one of them was on a level with the parquet. The parquet, or floor, was divided into boxes, and they were literally boxes, and no mistake. They were square, and the partitions between them were little more than a foot high, with a flat board on the top for a rail. This was about five inches wide, and I soon saw what it was used for, as the people walked on it in going to and from their boxes. The boxes had no chairs in them, but they were carpeted with clean matting; and anybody could get cushions from the ushers by asking for them. Each box was intended to hold four persons; but it required that the four should not be very large, and that each should stick to his own corner. One box in front of us had six women in it, and there were two or three boxes crowded with children. They had tea and sweetmeats in many of the boxes, and I noticed that men and boys were going around selling these things. I asked if we had come to the right place, as it occurred to me that it was only at the Bowery and that kind of theatre in New York that they sold peanuts and such things; but the Doctor said it was all right, and they did this in all the best theatres in Japan. [Illustration: JAPANESE ACTOR DRESSED AS A DOCTOR.] "Of course, if they come and stay all day, they must have something to eat, and so I saw the reason of their having tea and other refreshments peddled about the house. Then there were men who sold books which gave an account of the play, and had portraits of some of the principal players. I suppose these books were really the bills of the play; and if we could have read them, we should have known something about the performance more than we do now. "While we were looking at the audience there came half a dozen raps behind the curtain, as if two pieces of wood had been knocked together; and a moment after the rapping had stopped, the curtain was drawn aside. It was a common sort of curtain, and did not open in the middle like some of ours, or roll up like others; it was pulled aside as if it ran on a wire, and when it was out of sight we saw the stage set to represent a garden with lots of flower-pots and bushes. The stage was very small compared with an American one, and not more than ten or twelve feet deep; but it was set quite well, though not so elaborately as we would arrange it. The orchestra was in a couple of little boxes over the stage, one on each side, and each box contained six persons, three singers and three guitar-players. This is the regulation orchestra and chorus, so they say, in all the Japanese theatres, but it is sometimes differently made up. If a theatre is small and poor, it may have only two performers in each box, and sometimes one box may be empty, but this is not often. [Illustration: THE SAMISEN.] "The orchestra furnishes music by means of the guitar, or 'samisen.' It is played something like our guitar, except that a piece of ivory is used for striking the strings, and is always used in a concert that has any pretence to being properly arranged. There are two or three other instruments, one of them a small drum, which they play upon with the fingers; but it is not so common as the samisen, and I don't think it is so well liked. Then they have flutes, and some of them are very sweet, and harmonize well with the samisen; but the singers do not like them for an accompaniment unless they have powerful voices. The samisen-players generally sing, and in the theatres the musicians form a part of the chorus. A good deal of the play is explained by the chorus; and if there are any obscure points, the audience is told what they are. I remember seeing the same thing almost exactly, or, at any rate, the same thing in principle, in the performance of "Henry V." at a theatre in New York several years ago, so that this idea of having the play explained by the chorus cannot be claimed as a Japanese invention. [Illustration: PLAYING THE SAMISEN.] "In the theatre the singing goes on sometimes while the actors are on the stage, and we got tired of it in a little while. I don't suppose the Japanese get so tired of it, or they would stop having it. Some of them admit that it would be better to have the orchestra in front of the stage, as we do; but others say that so long as the chorus must do so much towards explaining the play, they had better remain where they are. The Japanese seem to like their theatre as it is, and therefore they will not be apt to change in a hurry. "Just after the curtain was pulled away, they opened a door in the middle of the garden, and the actors who were to be in the play came in. They sat down on the stage and began a song, which they kept up for ten or fifteen minutes, each of them singing a part that was evidently prepared for himself alone. The music in the little boxes joined them, and it made me think of the negro minstrels in a concert hall at home, where they all come on together. After they finished this part of the performance, there was a pantomime by a woman, or rather by a man disguised as a woman, as all the acting is done by men. They get themselves up perfectly, as they have very little beards, and they can imitate the voice and movements of a woman, so that nobody can tell the difference. I couldn't tell what the pantomime was all about, and it was so long that I got tired of it before they were through, and wondered when they would come on with something else. [Illustration: SCENE FROM A JAPANESE COMEDY.--WRITING A LETTER OF DIVORCE.] "Then the real acting of the piece began, and I wished ever so much that it had been in English, so that I could understand it. The story was a supernatural one, and there were badgers and foxes in it, and they had a woman changed to a badger, and the badger to a woman again. Gentlemen who are familiar with Japanese theatres say there are many of these stories, like our Little Red Riding-hood, and other fairy tales, acted on the stage, and that the play we saw is one of the most popular, and is called 'Bumbuku Chagama,' or 'The Bubbling Teapot.' One gentleman has shown me a translation of it, and I will put it in here, just to show you what a Japanese fairy story is like. "'Once upon a time, it is said, there lived a very old badger in the temple known as Morin-je, where there was also an iron teapot called Bumbuku Chagama, which was a precious thing in that sacred place. One day when the chief priest, who was fond of tea and kept the pot always hanging in his sitting-room, was about taking it, as usual, to make tea for drinking, a tail came out of it. He was startled, and called together all the little _bourges_, his pupils, that they might behold the apparition. Supposing it to be the mischievous work of a fox or badger, and being resolved to ascertain its real character, they made due preparations. Some of them tied handkerchiefs about their heads, and some stripped the coats from their shoulders, and armed themselves with sticks and bits of firewood. But when they were about to beat the vessel down, wings came out of it; and as it flew about from one side to another, like a dragon-fly, while they pursued it, they could neither strike nor secure it. Finally, however, having closed all the windows and sliding-doors, after hunting it vigorously from one corner to another, they succeeded in confining it in a small space, and presently in capturing it. [Illustration: SCENE FROM A JAPANESE COMEDY.--LOVE-LETTER DISCOVERED.] "'While they were consulting what to do with it, a man entered whose business it was to collect and sell waste paper, and they showed him the teapot with a view of disposing of it to him if possible. He observed their eagerness, and offered a much lower price than it was worth; but as it was now considered a disagreeable thing to have in the temple, they let him have it at his own price. He took it and hastily carried it away. He reached his home greatly pleased with his bargain, and looking forward to a handsome profit the next day, when he would sell it for what it was worth. "'Night came on, and he lay down to rest. Covering himself with his blankets, he slept soundly. "'But near the middle of the night the teapot changed itself into the form of a badger, and came out of the waste paper, where it had been placed. The merchant was aroused by the noise, and caught the teapot while it was in flight. By treating it kindly he soon gained its confidence and affection. In the course of time it became so docile that he was able to teach it rope-dancing and other accomplishments. "'The report soon spread that Bumbuku Chagama had learned to dance, and the merchant was invited to go to all the great and small provinces, where he was summoned to exhibit the teapot before the great daimios, who loaded him down with gifts of gold and silver. In course of time he reflected that it was only through the teapot, which he had bought so cheap, that he became so prosperous, and felt it his duty to return it again, with some compensation, to the temple. He therefore carried it to the temple, and, telling the chief priest of his good fortune, offered to restore it, together with half the money he had gained. [Illustration: TELLING THE STORY OF BUMBUKU CHAGAMA.] "'The priest was well pleased with his gratitude and generosity, and consented to receive the gifts. The badger was made the tutelary spirit of the temple, and the name of Bumbuku Chagama has remained famous in Morin-je to this day, and will be held in remembrance to the latest ages as a legend of ancient time.' "This is the fairy story," Fred continued, "which we saw on the stage; but it was varied somewhat in the acting, as the badger at times took the form of a woman, and afterwards that of a badger again, as I have already told you. A good deal of the acting was in pantomime, and in the scene where they are all trying to catch the teapot as it flies around the room they had quite a lively dance. We enjoyed the play very much, but I don't care to go again till I know something about the Japanese language. And a well-cushioned chair would add to the comfort of the place." CHAPTER XVII. A STUDY OF JAPANESE ART. Frank thought it was pretty nearly time to be thinking about the purchases he was to make for Mary. So he looked up the paper she gave him before his departure, and sat down to examine it. The list was not by any means a short one, and on consulting with the Doctor he learned that it would make a heavy inroad upon his stock of cash if he bought everything that was mentioned. He was rather disconcerted at the situation, but the good Doctor came to his relief. "It is nothing unusual," said he, "for persons going abroad to be loaded down with commissions that they are unable to execute. A great many people, with the best intentions in the world, ask their friends who are going to Europe to bring back a quantity of things, without stopping to think that the purchase of those things will involve a heavy outlay that cannot be easily borne by the traveller. The majority of people who go abroad have only a certain amount of money to expend on their journeys, and they cannot afford to lock up a considerable part of that money in purchases that will only be paid for on their return, or quite as often are never paid for at all. There is a good little story on this subject, and it may be of use to you to hear it. "A gentleman was once leaving New York for a trip to Europe, and many of his friends gave him commissions to execute for them. Some were thoughtful enough to give him the money for the articles they wanted; but the majority only said, 'I'll pay you when you get back, and I know how much it comes to.' When he returned, he told them that a singular circumstance had happened in regard to the commissions. 'The day after I sailed,' said he, 'I was in my room arranging the lists of things I was to get for my friends, and I placed the papers in two piles; those that had the money with them I put in one pile, and the money on top; and those that had no money with them I put in another pile. The wind came in and set things flying all around the room. The papers that had the money on them were held down by it, but those that had no money to keep them in place were carried out of the window and lost in the sea. And so you see how it is that the commissions that my friends gave me the money for are the only ones I have been able to execute.' "But in the present case," said Doctor Bronson, "it is all right, as your father privately gave me the money to buy the articles your sister wants. So you can go ahead and get them without any fear that you will trench on the amount you have for your personal expenses." The boys went on a round of shopping, and kept it up, at irregular intervals, during their stay in Japan. And in their shopping excursions they learned much about the country and people that they would not have been likely to know of in any other way. One of the first things on the list was a silk wrapper with nice embroidery. This gave rather a wide latitude in the way of selection, and Frank was somewhat puzzled what to get. He went to the store of one of the greatest silk-merchants of Yokohama and stated his wants. He was bewildered by the variety of things placed before him, and by their great beauty in color and workmanship. There were so many pretty things for sale there that he did not know when to stop buying; and he privately admitted to Fred that it was fortunate he was restricted in the amount he was to expend, or he would be in danger of buying out the whole of the establishment. He found the goods were admirably adapted to the foreign taste, and, at the same time, they preserved the national characteristics that gave them value as the products of Japan. [Illustration: FRANK'S PURCHASE.] He selected a robe of a delicate blue, and finely embroidered with silk of various colors. The embroideries represented flowers and leaves in curious combinations; and when the robe was placed on a frame where the light could fall full upon it, Frank thought he had never seen anything half so pretty. And it is proper to add that he bought two of these robes. Why he should buy two, when he had only one sister--and she would not be likely to want two wrappers of the same kind--I leave the reader to guess. [Illustration: JAPANESE PATTERN-DESIGNER.] Then there were fans on the list, and he went in pursuit of fans. He found them, and he thus had the opportunity of seeing the fan-makers at work. He found that there is a great variety in the fans which the Japanese make, and that the articles vary from prices which are astonishingly low to some which are dear in proportion. There is such a large trade in fans that he expected to find an extensive factory, employing hundreds of hands. He found, instead, that the fan-makers work on a very small scale, and that one person generally does only a small portion of the work, then turns it over to another, who does a little more, and so on. Certain low-priced fans are all finished in one shop; but with the high grades this is not the case, and, from first to last, a fan must pass through a good many hands. The fan-makers include women as well as men in their guild; and Frank thought it was by no means an unpleasant sight to see the women seated on the floor in front of low benches and gracefully handling the parts of the fan that was approaching completion in consequence of their manipulations. [Illustration: FAN-MAKERS AT WORK.] Mary had been seized with the prevailing mania for Japanese porcelain, and among the things in her list she had noted especially and underscored the words "some good things in Japanese _cloisonné_." Frank had seen a good many nice things in this kind of work, and he set about selecting, with the help of the Doctor and Fred, the articles he was to send home. He bought some in Yokohama, some in Tokio, and later on he made some purchases in Kobe and Kioto. We will look at what he bought and see if his sister had reason to be pleased when the consignment reached her and was unpacked from its carefully arranged wrappings. For hundreds of years Japan has been famous for its productions of porcelain of various kinds, from the tiny cup no larger than a lady's thimble to the elaborately decorated vase with a capacity of many gallons. Each province of Japan has its peculiar product, and sometimes one is in fashion, and sometimes another. For the last few years the favor has turned in the direction of Satsuma ware, which has commanded enormous figures, especially for the antique pieces. So great was the demand for old Satsuma that a good many manufacturers turned their attention to its production. They offer to make it to any amount, just as the wine-dealers in New York can accommodate a customer with wine of any vintage he requires, if he will only give them time enough to put on the proper labels. It is proper to say, on behalf of the Japanese, that they learned this trick from the foreigners; and their natural shrewdness has taught them to improve upon the lesson, so that in some instances they have actually sold to their instructors new ware for old, and convinced the purchasers of its genuineness. [Illustration: CHINESE CLOISONN� ON METAL.] We have not space enough to go into a full account of art in Japan, as a whole volume could be written on the subject without exhausting it. Frank followed the directions in Mary's note to find some good things in _cloisonné_; and, as he did not pay much attention to other matters, we will, for the present at least, follow his example and take a look at this branch of art in Japan. [Illustration: JAPANESE CLOISONN� ON METAL.] Frank thought it would be proper to have his sister understand the process by which the articles she desired were prepared, and, with the assistance of Doctor Bronson, he was able to write her an account of it that she could study, and, if she chose, could read or tell to her friends. Here is what he produced on the subject: [Illustration: JAPANESE BOWL.] "The term _cloisonné_ comes from the French word _cloison_, which means a _field_ or _enclosure_, and you will see as you go on how appropriate it is to this kind of work. If you examine the bowl which you will find in the box, you will see that it has a groundwork of light blue, and that on this groundwork there are fine threads of brass enclosing little squares and other figures in colors quite different from the body of the bowl. If you look at the cover, you will find that these squares and figures are repeated, and also that there are three circles, like plates with serrated edges, that seem to be lying on the top of the cover. These plates, or circles, have pictures of flowers on them, and the designs of the flowers on each one are different from those of the other two. Every leaf and petal is distinct from the others by means of the brass wires, and the colors do not at any time run together. [Illustration: COVER OF JAPANESE BOWL.] "In the first place, the bowl of plain porcelain is ground, so that the enamel will stick closely, which it would not do if the surface were glazed. Then the artist makes a design, on paper, of the pattern he intends putting on the bowl. When his design is finished, he lays it on a flat surface, and takes little pieces of brass wire which has been passed between rollers so that it becomes flattened; these he bends with pincers, so that they take the shape of the figure he wants to represent. Thus he goes over his whole design until every part of the outline, every leaf, flower, and stem--in fact, every line of his drawing--is represented by a piece of wire bent to the exact shape. The wire then forms a series of partitions; each fragment of it is a cell, or _cloison_, intended to retain the enamel in place and keep the colors from spreading or mingling. That is the first step in the work. "The second step is to attach these flattened threads of wire by their edges to the bowl. This is done by means of a fusible glass, which is spread over the surface of the bowl in the form of paste; the bits of wire are carefully laid in their places in the paste, and the bowl is then baked just enough to harden the surface and make it retain the threads where they belong. Now comes the third step. "This consists of filling the little cells or enclosures with the proper enamel, and, to do this correctly, the original design must be carefully followed. The design is drawn in colors, and as the artist proceeds with his work he has the colors ready mixed in little cups that are ranged before him. These colors are like thick pastes of powdered glass mixed with the proper pigments, and one by one the cells of the surface are filled up. Then the groundwork is filled in the same way; and when all this is done, the bowl is put into the oven and submitted to a strong heat. [Illustration: CHINESE METAL VASE.] "The baking serves to fix the colors firmly in their cells, as the fire is hot enough to melt the glass slightly and fuse it to a perfect union with the body of the bowl. For common work, a single coating of enamel and a single baking are sufficient, but for the finer grades this will not answer. Another coating of colors is laid on, and perhaps a third or a fourth, and after each application the bowl is baked again. When this process is finished, the surface is rough, and the bowl is not anything like what we see it now. It must be polished smooth, and, with this object, it is ground and rubbed, first with coarse stones, then with finer ones, then with emery, and finally with powdered charcoal. In this way the bowl was brought to the condition in which you will find it, if it comes all right and uninjured from the box. A good many pieces of this ware are broken in the handling, and consequently they add to the price of those that come out unharmed. [Illustration: MODERN JAPANESE CLOISONN� ON METAL.] "The fine threads of brass that run through the surface give a very pretty appearance to the work, as they look like gold, and are perfectly even with the rest of what has been laid on to the original bowl. In some of the most expensive of the enamel-work the threads are of fine gold instead of brass; but there is no particular advantage in having them of gold, as the brass answers all purposes and the gold serves as a temptation to robbers. There is an endless variety of designs in _cloisonné_ work, and you see so many pretty things in porcelain that you are at a loss what to choose. [Illustration: JAPANESE METAL CLOISONN�.] "But the artists do not confine themselves to porcelain; they do a great deal of enamelling on metal, and some of their productions in this way are quite as interesting as their enamelling on porcelain. They did not invent the art, so it is said, but borrowed it from the Chinese, who had in their turn borrowed it from Persia or some other of the Central Asiatic countries. Some of the Japanese artists claim that the art was borrowed from their country, but the most of those who have studied the subject say that this claim is incorrect. But no matter who invented the process, it is very beautiful and is of great antiquity; it is capable of a great many variations, and, although it has been in use for centuries, hardly a year passes without some improvements in it. In making the metal enamels the strips of brass are soldered to the surface and the cavities are filled up with the liquid coloring. The whole is then baked as in the porcelain process, and the surface of the work is carefully polished until all the lines are fully developed and the completed article shines like glass. [Illustration: CHINESE PORCELAIN CLOISONN�.] "I shall send you," Frank added, "several specimens of this kind of work, and I am sure that all of you will be delighted with them. In addition to the Japanese enamel, I have been able to pick up a few from China by the help of a gentleman who has been a long time in the country, and knows where to get the best things. And as I can't get all I want, I shall send you some pictures of very rare specimens, and you can judge by them of the quality of what you have. It is very difficult to find some of the varieties, as there have been a good many men out here making purchases for the New York and London markets, and they gather up everything that is curious. The demand is so great that the Japanese makers have all they can do to supply it; but I suppose that in a few years the taste of the public will change, and then you can buy all you want. But you can't get tired all at once of the pretty things that I have found; and I think that the more you look at the pictures on the bowls and plates, the more you will admire them. You are fond of birds and flowers, and you will find them on the porcelain; and there is one piece that has a river and some mountains on it, as well defined as if it were a painting on a sheet of paper. Look at the bridge over the river, and the trees on the side of the mountain, and then say if you ever saw anything nicer. I am in love with the Japanese art work, and sorry I can't buy more of it. And I think that is the case with most people who come to Japan, and take the trouble to look at the nice things it contains." [Illustration: GROUP CARVED IN IVORY.] Mary's list included some carvings in ivory and some lacquered boxes to keep her gloves in. These were not at all difficult to find, as they were everywhere in the shops, and it would have been much harder to avoid them if he had wanted to do so. There were chessmen of ivory, and representations of the divinities of the country; and then there were little statues of the kings and high dignitaries from ancient times down to the present. As it was a matter of some perplexity, Frank sought the advice of Doctor Bronson; the latter told him it would be just as well to restrain himself in the purchase of ivory carvings, as there was better work of the kind in China, and a few samples of the products of Japan would be sufficient. Frank acted upon this hint, and did not make any extensive investments in Japanese ivory. He found a great variety of what the Japanese call "nitschkis," which are small pieces of ivory carved in various shapes more or less fanciful. They were pretty, and had the merit of not being at all dear; and as they would make nice little souvenirs of Japan, he bought a good many of them. They are intended as ornaments to be worn at a gentleman's girdle, and in the olden times no gentleman considered his dress complete without one or more of these at his waist, just as most of the fashionable youths of America think that a scarf-pin is necessary to make life endurable. A large number of carvers made a living by working in ivory, and they displayed a wonderful amount of patience in completing their designs. One of these little carvings with which Frank was fascinated was a representation of a man mounting a horse with the assistance of a groom, who was holding the animal. The piece was less than two inches in length, and yet the carver had managed to put in this contracted space the figures of two men and a horse, with the dress of the men and the trappings of the horse as carefully shown as in a painting. There was a hole in the pedestal on which the group stood, and Frank found, on inquiry, that this hole was intended for the passage of a cord to attach the ornament to the waist of the wearer. And then he observed that all the carvings had a similar provision for rendering them useful. [Illustration: JAPANESE PIPE, CASE, AND POUCH.] Frank also ascertained that another ornament of the Japanese waist-belt was a pipe and a tobacco-pouch, the two being so inseparable that they formed a single article. The pipe was a tiny affair which only held a pinch of tobacco the size of a pea, and he learned that the smoker, in using it, took but a single whiff and then found the bowl exhausted. When not in use, the pipe was carried in a little case, which was made, like the pouch, of leather, and was generally embroidered with considerable care. Many of the pipe-cases were made of shark-skin, which has the double merit of being very durable and also quite pretty. It is polished to a condition of perfect smoothness, and the natural spots of the skin appear to be as regular as though drawn by an artist. Frank tried a few whiffs of the tobacco and found it very weak. He was thus informed of the reason why a Japanese can smoke so much as he does without being seriously affected by it. He can get through with a hundred of these little pipes in a day without the least trouble, and more if the time allows. Of lacquer-ware, of all kinds and prices, there was literally no end. There were trays and little boxes which could be had for a shilling or two, and there were cabinets and work-stands with numerous drawers and sliding panels curiously contrived, that a hundred dollars, or even five hundred, would not buy. Between these two figures there was a wide range, so that the most modest purse could be gratified as well as the most plethoric one. Frank found that the dealers did not put their best goods where they could be most readily seen. The front of a shop contained only the most ordinary things; and if you wanted to look at the better articles, it was necessary to say so. When the merchant knew what his customer wanted, he led the way to the rear store, or perhaps to an upper floor, where the best goods were kept. It was necessary to walk very carefully in these shops, as they were very densely crowded with goods, and the least incaution might result in overthrowing some of the brittle articles. A clumsy visitor in one of these establishments a few days before Frank called there had broken a vase valued at fifty dollars, and while stooping to pick up the fragments he knocked down another worth nearly half that amount. He paid for the damage, and in future declined to go around loosely in a Japanese store. The Japanese lacquer of the present time is not so highly prized as that of the last or the previous century. It is not so well made, partly for the reason that the workmen have lost their skill in the art, and partly because labor is much more expensive now than formerly. The prices obtained for some of the specimens of this kind of work have been very high, but they are not enough to meet the advance that has been made in wages in the past few years. The manufacturers are anxious to turn their money as rapidly as possible, and consequently they do not allow their productions to dry thoroughly. To be properly prepared, a piece of lacquer should dry very slowly; and it used to be said that the best lacquer was dried under water, so that the process should not be too rapid. The article, whatever it may be, is first shaped from wood or papier-maché, and then covered with successive coatings of varnish or lacquer; this is made from the gum of a tree, or, rather, from the juice, and it is said to have the peculiar property of turning black from exposure to the air, though it is of a milky whiteness when it exudes from the tree. It can be made to assume various colors by the addition of pigments; and while it is in a fresh condition coatings of gold-leaf are laid on in such a way as to form the figures that the artist has designed. Every coating must be dried before the next is laid on; and the more elaborate and costly the work, the more numerous are the coatings. Sometimes there may be a dozen or more of them, and pieces are in existence that are said to have received no less than fifty applications of lacquer. A box may thus require several years for its completion, as the drying process should never be hastened, lest the lacquer crack and peel when exposed to the air, and especially to heat. Good lacquer can be put into hot water without the least injury; but this is not the case with the ordinary article. In 1874 a steamer was lost on the coast of Japan. She had as a part of her cargo the Japanese goods from the Vienna Exhibition, and none of them were recovered for nearly a year. There they lay under the salt-water, and it was supposed that nearly everything would be ruined. But it was found that the lacquered ware had suffered very little, and some of these very articles were shown at Philadelphia in 1876. A few of the pieces required to be freshly polished, but there were many of them that did not need even this slight attention. [Illustration: JAPANESE ARTIST CHASING ON COPPER.] The boys were greatly interested in their shopping excursions, and learned a good deal about Japanese art and industry before they had ended their purchases. By the time they were through they had an excellent collection of porcelain and other ware, of ivory carvings, lacquered boxes, and similar things; silk robes, wrappers, and handkerchiefs; and quite enough fans to set up a small museum. They tried at first to get a sample of each kind of fan that they could find, but the variety proved so great that they were forced to give up the attempt. They bought some curious articles of bamboo, and were surprised to find to how many uses this vegetable production is put. Frank thought it was a pity the bamboo did not grow in America, as it could be turned to even more advantage by the enterprising Yankee than by the plodding Oriental, and Fred was inclined to agree with him. They changed their minds, however, when the Doctor told them how far the bamboo entered into the life of the people of the East, and on the whole they concluded that the American couldn't improve upon it. [Illustration: A JAPANESE VILLAGE.--BAMBOO POLES READY FOR MARKET.] "The bamboo," said the Doctor, "is of use from a very early age. The young shoots are boiled and eaten, or soaked in sugar, and preserved as confectionery. The roots of the plant are carved so as to resemble animals or men, and in this shape are used as ornaments; and when the bamboo is matured, and of full size, it is turned to purposes almost without number. The hollow stalks are used as water-pipes; rafts are made of them; the walls and roofs of houses are constructed from them; and they serve for the masts of smaller boats and the yards of larger ones. The light and strong poles which the coolies place over their shoulders for bearing burdens are almost invariably of bamboo; and where it grows abundantly it is used for making fences and sheds, and for the construction of nearly every implement of agriculture. Its fibres are twisted into rope, or softened into pulp for paper; every article of furniture is made of bamboo, and so are hats, umbrellas, fans, cups, and a thousand other things. In fact, it would be easier to say what is not made of it in these Eastern countries than to say what is; and an attempt at a mere enumeration of its uses and the articles made from it would be tedious. Take away the bamboo from the people of Japan and China, and you would deprive them of their principal means of support, or, at any rate, would make life a much greater burden than it now is." [Illustration] CHAPTER XVIII. SOMETHING ABOUT JAPANESE WOMEN. Frank thought it was no more than proper that he should devote a letter to Miss Effie. He wanted to make it instructive and interesting, and, at the same time, he thought it should appeal to her personally in some way. He debated the matter in his own mind without coming to a conclusion, and finally determined to submit the question to Doctor Bronson, from whom he hoped to receive a suggestion that would be useful. [Illustration: A JAPANESE LADY'S-MAID.] The Doctor listened to him, and was not long in arriving at a conclusion. "You have just written to Mary on the subject of Japanese art," said he, "and she will be pretty certain to show the letter to her intimate friend." "Nothing more likely," Frank answered. "In that case," the Doctor continued, "you want to take up a subject that will be interesting to both, and that has not been touched in your letters thus far." "I suppose so." [Illustration: BRIDE AND BRIDESMAID.] "Well, then, as they are both women, or girls, as you may choose to call them, why don't you take up the subject of women in Japan? They would naturally be interested in what relates to their own sex, and you can give them much information on that topic." The proposal struck Frank as an excellent one, and he at once set about obtaining the necessary information for the preparation of his letter. He had already seen and heard a great deal concerning the women of Japan, and it was not long before he had all the material he wanted for his purpose. His letter was a long one, and we will make some extracts from it, with the permission of Miss Effie, and also that of Mary, who claimed to have an interest in the missive. [Illustration: MERCHANT'S FAMILY.] "From what I can learn," Frank wrote, "the women of Japan are better off than those of most other Eastern countries. They are not shut up in harems and never allowed to go about among people, as in Turkey; and they are not compelled to stay indoors and see nobody, as in many other parts of the world. They have their share of the work to do; but they are not compelled to do all of it, while their husbands are idle, as in some parts of Europe, and among the American Indians. The system of harems is not known here; or, at all events, if it is known, it is practised so little that we never hear anything about it. The Japanese women do not veil their faces, as the women of all Mohammedan countries are compelled to do; and they are free to go about among their friends, just as they would be if they were Americans. They blacken their teeth when they get married; but this custom is fast dying out since the foreigners came here, and probably in twenty years or so we shall not hear much about it. The married women dress their hair differently from the single ones; and when you know the ways of arranging it, you can know at once whether a woman is married or not. I suppose they do this for the same reason that the women of America wear rings on their fingers, and let folks know if they are engaged or married or single. They remind me of what I have read about the Russian women, who wear their hair uncovered until they are married, and then tie it up in a net, or in a handkerchief. It is much better to have a sign of this sort than to have it in a ring, as the hair can be seen without any trouble, while you have to be a little impertinent sometimes to look at a lady's hand, and find out how her rings are. [Illustration: MYSTERIES OF THE DRESSING-ROOM.] "In China the women pinch their feet, so that they look like doubled fists, but nothing of the kind is done in Japan. Every woman here has her feet of the natural shape and size; and as to the size, I can say that there are women in Japan that have very pretty feet, almost as pretty as those of two young ladies I know of in America. They do not have shoes like those you wear, but instead they have sandals for staying in the house, and high clogs for going out of doors. The clogs are funny-looking things, as they are four or five inches high, and make you think of pieces of board with a couple of narrow pieces nailed to the upper edges. They can't walk fast in them, but they can keep their feet out of the mud, unless it is very deep, and in that case they ought not to go out at all. I wish you could see a Japanese woman walking in her clogs. I know you would laugh, at least the first time you saw one; but you would soon get used to it, as it is a very common sight. [Illustration: LADY IN WINTER WALKING-DRESS.] "In China and some other countries it is not considered necessary to give the girls any education; but in Japan it is not so. The girls are educated here, though not so much as the boys; and of late years they have established schools where they receive what we call the higher branches of instruction. Every year new schools for girls are opened; and a great many of the Japanese who formerly would not be seen in public with their wives have adopted the Western idea, and bring their wives into society. The marriage laws have been arranged so as to allow the different classes to marry among each other, and the government is doing all it can to improve the condition of the women. They were better off before than the women of any other Eastern country; and if things go on as they are now going, they will be still better in a few years. The world moves. "A gentleman who has given much attention to this subject says that of the one hundred and twenty rulers of Japan, nine have been women; and that the chief divinity in their mythology is a woman--the goddess Kuanon. A large part of the literature of Japan is devoted to the praise of woman; her fidelity, love, piety, and devotion form the groundwork of many a romance which has become famous throughout the country, and popular with all classes of readers. The history of Japan abounds in stories of the heroism of women in the various characters of patriot, rebel, and martyr; and I am told that a comparison of the standing of women in all the countries of the East, both in the past and in the present, would unquestionably place Japan at the head. "I suppose you will want to know something about the way the Japanese women dress. I'll try to tell you; but if I make any mistakes, you must remember that I have not had much practice in describing ladies' apparel. "They don't wear any crinoline, such as the ladies do in America; and their clothes fit very tight around them when compared to what we see in New York--that is, I mean, they are tight in the skirts, though loose enough above the waist. They fasten them with strings and bands, and without hooks or buttons or pins. You remember the pocket pin-cushion you made for me? of course you do. Well, one day while we were taking tea in a Japanese tea-house, the attendants stood around looking at us, and examining our watch-chains and the buttons on our coats. I showed them that pin-cushion, and they passed it from one to the other, and wondered what it was; and so I took out a pin, and showed it was for carrying pins. Evidently they did not know what a pin was for, as they looked at it very curiously, and then made signs for me to show them its use. I did so by pinning up the wide sleeve of one of the black-eyed girls. She took the pin out a moment after to return it to me; and when I motioned that she might keep it, she smiled and said 'Arinyato,' which means 'Thank you,' as sweetly and earnestly as though I had given her a diamond ring. Then I gave each one of them a pin, and they all thanked me as though they really thought they had received something of value. Just think of it! half a dozen young women, not one of whom had ever seen a common dressing-pin! [Illustration: A GIRL WHO HAD NEVER SEEN A DRESSING-PIN.] "Their dresses are folded around them, and then held in place by an _obi_, which is nothing more nor less than a wide belt. It is of the most expensive material that the wearer can afford; and sometimes it costs a great deal of money. Generally it is of silk, and they have it of all colors, and occasionally it is heavily embroidered. It is several yards long, and the work of winding it into place is no small affair. I shall enclose some pictures of Japanese women in this letter, and you can see from them what the dress of the women looks like, and understand much better than you will by what I write. I think the women look very pretty in their dresses--much better, in fact, than when they put on European garments. Their hair is always black, and they dress it with more grease than I wish they would. It fairly makes the hair shine, it is laid on so thick. But they have some very pretty ornaments for their hair, which they stick in with large pins, something like the hair-pins you use at home. I am told that you can distinguish the social position by the number and style of the hair-ornaments worn on a woman's head; but I have not yet learned how to do it. I suppose I shall find out if I stay long enough in Japan. [Illustration: LADIES' HAIR-DRESSER.] "Of course, you will want to know if the Japanese women are pretty. Now, you mustn't be jealous when I say they are. Fred thinks so too, and you know it won't do for me to have a quarrel with Fred when we are travelling together, and especially when I think he's right. They are all brunettes, and have sharp, bright eyes, full of smiles, and their skins are clear and healthy. They look very pleasant and happy; and they have such sweet, soft voices that nobody could help liking them even if he didn't want to. They have such nice manners, too, that you feel quite at your ease in their company. They may be wishing you ten thousand miles away, and saying to themselves that they hate the sight of a foreigner; but if they do, they manage to conceal their thoughts so completely that you can never know them. You may say this is all deception, and perhaps it is; but it is more agreeable than to have them treat you rudely, and tell you to get out of the way. [Illustration: LADIES AT THEIR TOILET.] "There are women here who are not pretty, just as there are some in America; but when you are among them, it isn't polite to tell them of it. Some of them paint their faces to make them look pretty. I suppose nobody ever does anything of the kind in America or any other country but Japan, and therefore it is very wicked for the Japanese ladies to do so. And when they do paint, they lay it on very thick. Mr. Bronson calls it kalsomining, and Fred says it reminds him of the veneering that is sometimes put on furniture to make pine appear like mahogany, and have an expensive look, when it isn't expensive at all. The 'geishas,' or dancing and singing girls, get themselves up in this way; and when they have their faces properly arranged, they must not laugh, for fear that the effort of smiling would break the coating of paint. And I have heard it said that the covering of paint is so thick that they couldn't smile any more than a mask could; and, in fact, the paint really takes the place of a mask, and makes it impossible to recognize anybody through it. "It is the rule in Japan for a man to have only one wife at a time, but he does not always stick to it. If he has children, a man is generally contented; but if he has none, he gets another wife, and either divorces the first one or not, as he chooses. Divorce is very easy for a man to obtain, but not so for the woman; and when she is divorced, she has hardly any means of obtaining justice. But, in justice to the Japanese, it should be said that the men do not often abuse their opportunities for divorce, and that the married life of the people is about as good as that of most countries. Among the reasons for divorce, in addition to what I have mentioned, there are the usual ones that prevail in America. Furthermore, divorce is allowed if a wife is disobedient to her husband's parents, and also if she talks too much. The last reason is the one most frequently given; but a woman cannot complain of her husband and become divorced from him for the same cause. I wonder if Japan is the only country in the world where women have ever been accused of talking too much. "Nearly every amusement that is open to men is also open to women. They can go to the theatres, to picnics, parties, and anything of the sort, as often as they please, which is not the case with women in Moslem countries, and in some others that are not Moslem. They are very fond of boat excursions, and on pleasant days a goodly number of boating parties may be seen on the waters around Tokio and the other large cities. On the whole, they seem to have a great capacity for enjoyment, and it is pretty certain that they enjoy themselves. [Illustration: JAPANESE LADIES ON A PICNIC.] "The houses in Japan are so open that you can see a great deal more of the life of the people than you would be likely to see in other countries. You can see the women playing with the children, and there are lots of the little ones everywhere about. I don't believe there is a country in the world where there is more attention to the wants of the children than in Japan, and I don't believe it is possible for a greater love to exist between parents and children than one finds here. There are so many things done for the amusement of children, and the children seem to enjoy them so much, that it is very pleasing to study the habits of the people in this respect. I have already told you about the amusements at the temple of Asakusa, and the sports and games that they have there for the children. They are not only at that temple, but all over Japan, and the man must be very poor to feel that he cannot afford something to make his children happy. In return, the children are not spoiled, but become very dutiful to their parents, and are ready to undergo any privations and sacrifices for their support and comfort. Respect for parents and devotion to them in every possible way are taught by the religion of the country; and, whatever we may think of the heathenism of Japan, we cannot fail to admire this feature of the religious creed. [Illustration: LADIES AND CHILDREN AT PLAY.] "It would amuse you if you could see the interest that the Japanese take in flying kites. And the funny part of it is that it is the men who do the most of the kite-flying, while the children look on, which is the exact reverse of what we do in our country. They have the funniest kinds of kites, and show a great deal of ingenuity in getting them up. Everybody has them, and they are so cheap that even the beggars can have kites to fly. They are of all sizes and shapes; you can buy a plain kite a few inches square, or you can get one as large as the side of a house, and covered all over with dragons and other things that sometimes cost a neat little sum for the painting alone. The Japanese understand the trick of flying a kite without a tail, and they do it by the arrangement of the strings, which is quite different from ours. On the other hand, some of their kites will have a whole line of strings hanging down as ornaments, and sometimes it looks as if the kite were anchored by means of these extra cords. They make their kites so large that three or four men are needed to hold some of them; and there is a story that a man who one day tied the cord of a kite to his waist was taken up in the air and never heard of again. And there is another story of a man in the country who had a kite that he harnessed to a plough, and when the wind was good he used to plough his fields by means of it. But the story does not explain how he turned the furrow when he reached the end of the field. Perhaps he had an accommodating wind that shifted at the right time. [Illustration: FLYING KITES.] "The first kite I saw in the air in Japan was so much like a large bird that I mistook it for one, and the delusion was kept up by a smaller one that seemed to be getting away from the other. The large one imitated the movements of a hawk to perfection, and it was some minutes before I could understand that it was nothing but a combination of sticks and paper and cords, instead of a real live bird. It rose and fell, and every few moments it swept down and seemed to be trying to swallow the little one out of sight. I never should have supposed such an imitation possible, and was thoroughly convinced that the Japanese must be very fond of kite-flying if they give it the study necessary to bring it to such a state of perfection. "The more I see of the Japanese, the more I like them, and think them a kind-hearted and happy people. And, from all I can see, they deserve to be happy, as they do all they can for the pleasure of each other, or, at any rate, all that anybody ever does." [Illustration] CHAPTER XIX. FROM YOKOHAMA TO KOBE AND OSAKA. Time was going on, and it became necessary that our travellers should follow its example. The Doctor engaged places for them by the steamer for Kobe, the port for the western capital of Japan, and at the appointed time they went on board. Before their departure, they had an opportunity to visit one of the tea-packing establishments for which Yokohama is famous, and the process they witnessed there was of special interest to the boys. Here is the account that Frank gave of it in his next letter home: [Illustration: A VILLAGE IN THE TEA DISTRICT.] "The Japanese tea is brought from the country to the seaports in large boxes. It is partially dried when it is picked, but not enough to preserve it for a long sea-voyage. When it gets here, it is delivered to the large establishments that make a business of shipping teas to America; and let me say, by the way, that nearly all the tea of Japan that is exported goes to America, and hardly any of it to any other country. When we went into the warehouse--they call it a 'go-down,' from a Hindostanee word--they showed us a room where there were probably a hundred bushels of tea in a great pile on the floor. Men were at work mixing it up with shovels, and the clerk who showed us around said that they spread all the tea out in layers, one over the other, and then mixed them up. He said it was a very difficult job to have the teas properly mixed, so that the samples should be perfectly even. "We saw lots of tea in another room where the same kind of work was going on; and then they took us to the firing-room, and it was a firing-room, you may believe. [Illustration: TEA-MERCHANTS IN THE INTERIOR.] "It was like a great shed, and it had the solid ground for a floor. On this floor there were kettles, or pans, set in brickwork, and each one of them had a little furnace under it, in which there was a charcoal fire. There must have been two hundred of these pans, and the heat from them was so great that it almost took away my breath. I don't believe I could exist there a day, and yet there were people who had to spend the entire day in the firing-room, and go there day after day besides. Many of them were women, and some of them had little children strapped to their backs, and there was a whole lot of children in a little room at one side of the shed, where a couple of women were looking after them. How I did pity the poor things! Fred and I just emptied our pockets of all the small change we could find in them for the benefit of the babies, and I wish we could have given them more. But there was hardly a cry from any of them, and they seemed as happy and contented as though their mothers were queens, instead of toiling over the firing-pan in that hot room for ten or fifteen cents a day. [Illustration: THE TEA-PLANT.] "They put a pound and a half of tea into each pan, and with it they put a teaspoonful of some coloring substance that they keep a secret. People say that this coloring matter is Prussian blue, and others say it is indigo, and that a little gypsum is put with it, so as to give the tea a bright appearance. The clerk told us it was indigo and gypsum that his house used, and declared that it was all false that any poisonous material was ever put in. He said they only used a teaspoonful of their mixture to a charge of tea, and the most of that little quantity was left in the pan in the shape of dust. When I asked him why they put anything in, he said it was to make the tea sell better in the American market. It looked so much better when it had been 'doctored' that their customers in New York and other cities would pay more for it, though they knew perfectly well what had been done. Then he showed me some of the tea that had been fired and put side by side with some that had not. I must say that the fired tea had a polished appearance that the other had not, and I could readily understand why it sells better. "As I have said, they put a charge of a pound and a half of tea into the pan with a teaspoonful of the mixture, and they have a fire of charcoal beneath it. The man or woman that does the firing stands in front of the pan and keeps the tea in constant motion. It must be kept moving all the time, so that it will not be scorched, and it must be gently rubbed between the fingers in order to polish it. It is kept in the pan eighty minutes, and then is considered dry enough for the packing-cases. [Illustration: FIRING TEA.] "You know how a tea-chest looks, so I need not describe it any more than to say that the chest is lined with tin, and that the tin is carefully soldered, so that not a single particle of dampness can get in while the tea is on the ocean. If it should, the tea would be spoiled, as the least dampness will injure it, and a great deal will make it quite useless. They always try to hurry the new crop of tea as rapidly as they can, since it is the best, and has more and better flavor than the crop of the previous year. When a ship sails with new tea, she races for home as hard as she can go, and the quickest voyages ever made from this part of the world to Europe and America have been made by ships with cargoes of new tea." When the party sailed from Yokohama, they found themselves on board a steamer which was, and was not, Japanese. She was built in New York, and formerly ran between that city and Aspinwall. Subsequently she was sent to Japan in the service of the Pacific Mail Steamship Company, and was sold, along with several other American steamers, to a Japanese company. This company was formed with Japanese capital, and its management was Japanese; but the ships were foreign, and the officers and engineers were mostly English or American. The Doctor told the boys that the Mitsu Bishi Company, as this Japanese organization was called, was increasing every year the number of its ships. It received assistance from the government in the form of a mail contract, and was evidently doing very well. The steamers ran once a week each way between Yokohama and Shanghai, touching at Kobe and Nagasaki, and there were lines to other ports of Japan. The Japanese were studying naval architecture and making good progress, and they hoped before many years to construct their own ships. Every year they reduced the number of foreigners in their service, and some of their establishments were entirely under native management. [Illustration: HIOGO (KOBE).] The second morning after leaving Yokohama, they were at Kobe, and the steamer anchored off the town. Kobe and Hiogo are practically one and the same place. The Japanese city that stands there was formerly known as Hiogo, and still retains that name, while the name of Kobe was applied to that portion where the foreigners reside. The view from the water is quite pretty, as there is a line of mountains just back of the city; and as the boys looked intently they could see that the mountains were inhabited. There are several neat little houses on the side of the hills, some of them the residences of the foreigners who go there to get the cool air, while the rest are the homes of the Japanese. There is a liberal allowance of tea-houses where the public can go to be refreshed, and there is a waterfall where a mountain stream comes rattling down from the rocks to a deep pool, where groups of bathers are sure to congregate in fine weather. The town stands on a level plain, where a point juts into the water, and there is nothing remarkable about it. If they had not seen Yokohama and Tokio, they might have found it interesting; but after those cities the boys were not long in agreeing that a short time in Kobe would be all they would wish. But they were at the port of Osaka and Kioto, and their thoughts were turned towards those important cities. There was no difficulty in going there, as the railway was in operation to Osaka, twenty miles, and to Kioto, thirty miles farther on. But Frank was seized with an idea, which he lost no time in communicating to his friends. It was this: "We can travel by rail almost anywhere," said he, "and needn't come away from America to do so. Now, instead of going to Osaka by rail, which wouldn't be anything remarkable, suppose we go by a Japanese junk. I have been asking the hotel-keeper about it, and he says it is perfectly easy to do so, and that we can sail there with a fair wind in a few hours." Fred was in favor of the junk voyage on account of its novelty. Of course, the Doctor was not likely to oppose any reasonable scheme that would give his young companions an opportunity to learn something, provided it did not consume too much time. Inquiry showed that the voyage could be made there with a fair wind, as Frank had suggested; and, as the wind happened to be all right and promised to continue, it was agreed to go by junk on the following morning, provided there were no change. [Illustration: THE JUNK AT ANCHOR.] A Japanese servant, who spoke English, was engaged from the hotel to accompany the party during their journey. He was sent to find a junk that was about to leave for Osaka, and in half an hour he returned with the captain of one. It was soon settled that he was to bring his craft to the anchorage near the hotel during the afternoon, and be ready to receive his passengers and their luggage at daylight if the wind held good. The servant, who said he was named "John" by the first European that ever employed him, and had stuck to it ever since, was kept busy during the afternoon in making preparations for the journey, as it was necessary to take a stock of provisions very much as the party had equipped themselves when they went to ascend Fusiyama. Everything was arranged in time, and the trio went to bed early, as it would be necessary to rise before the sun, and they wanted to lay in a good supply of sleep. The junk was all ready in the morning; and as soon as the passengers were on board, her sail was lifted, and she slowly worked her way through the water. The wind was all right for the voyage to the mouth of the river where Osaka lay; and if they had been on a sail-boat such as all New-Yorkers are familiar with, the journey would have been over in three or four hours. But the junk was not built for racing purposes, and the most that could be hoped for from her was a speed of about three miles an hour. This was no detriment, as they could thus make the mouth of the river by noon; and if the bar could be easily crossed, they would be at the city long before sunset. Life on a junk was a novelty, and therefore they were not annoyed to think that their craft was not a swift one. [Illustration: THE HELMSMAN AT HIS POST.] Fred thought that the stern of the junk was about the funniest thing in the way of a steering-place he had ever seen; and to make sure of remembering it, he made a sketch of the helmsman at his post. Frank insisted that he was not there at all, as his post was evidently the rudder-post, and it was at least ten feet off, owing to the length of the tiller. The deck where the man stood had a slope like that of a house-roof, and it was a mystery to the boys how the sailors could stand there when the planks were wet by the spray, or the sea was at all rough. But there was no denying that they did stay there, and so the boys concluded that the men must have claws on their feet like those with which a tiger is equipped. Fred remarked that the steep incline reminded him of a conundrum he had somewhere heard, which was as follows: "Why is a dog with a broken leg like the space between the eaves and the ridge of a house?" Frank could not answer, and the question was propounded to Dr. Bronson; the latter shook his head, and then Fred responded, in triumph, "Because he is a slow pup." It was three seconds at least before Frank could see the point of the joke. [Illustration: JAPANESE SAILORS AT DINNER.] The boys had too much to do in the way of sight-seeing to spend more time over conundrums. They proceeded to explore the interior of the junk, and to look about the decks in the hope of finding something new in the way of navigation. They discovered that there was considerable space for the stowage of cargo, in consequence of the great width of the craft in proportion to her length. The accommodations of the crew were not extensive; but as they did not expect much, they were not likely to complain. As the boys were near the bow of the junk, they came upon two of the sailors at dinner; the meal consisting of rice and fish, which they ate with the aid of chopsticks. The men were squatted on the deck in front of their food, or rather they had the food in front of themselves, and they evidently were the possessors of good appetites, to judge by the eagerness with which they attended to business and paid no heed to the strangers. The Japanese are excellent sailors, both on their junks and on the foreign ships that have been introduced to their service since the opening of the country to other nations. But the Japanese landsman has a horror of the water, and cannot be induced to venture upon it. In this respect the Japanese are not unlike the Italians, who are naturally a maritime nation, and have covered themselves with marine glory in times that are past. But the Italian landsman is ready to suffer any inconvenience rather than risk himself on the ocean, and not a more woe-begone being can be found in the world than a sea-sick Italian unless it be a sea-sick Japanese. [Illustration: JUNK SAILORS ON DUTY.] The sailors on the junk were very prompt in obeying orders, but they went about everything with an air of coolness which one does not always see on an American vessel. Ordinarily they pulled at ropes as though they would not hurt either the ropes or themselves; but it was observed that when the captain gave an order for anything, there was no attempt at shirking. One of the sailors stood at the sheet of the mainsail, and while he held on and waited for directions his mate was quietly smoking and seated on the deck. When the order came for changing the position of the sail, the pipe was instantly dropped and the work was attended to; when the work was over, the pipe was resumed as if nothing had happened. Evidently the sailors were not much affected by the fashions that the foreigners had introduced, for they were all dressed in the costume that prevailed previous to the treaty of Commodore Perry, and before a single innovation had been made in the way of navigation. The captain of the junk looked with disdain upon a steamer that was at anchor not far from where his craft was obliged to pass, and evidently he had no very high opinion of the barbarian invention. He was content with things as they were, and the ship that had borne his ancestors in safety was quite good enough for him and his comrades. [Illustration: VIEW FROM THE HOTEL.] About six hours after the departure from Kobe, the junk reached the bar of the river on which Osaka is situated. The bar was passed, and then the unwieldy concern came to anchor to wait for a stronger breeze; at the advice of John a row-boat was engaged to finish the journey as far as the hotel where they were to stop. The row-boat was rapidly propelled by the strong arms of half a dozen men; and in less than two hours from the time they said "Sayonara" to the captain of their transport, the Doctor and his young friends were safely lodged in the house where their rooms had been previously engaged by letter. In a short time dinner was ready, and they had it served on a little balcony which overlooked the water, and gave them an opportunity to study the river life of the city while they devoured the stewed chicken and juicy steaks that the host had provided for them. Boats passed and repassed, and there was a good deal of animation on the stream. Just beyond the hotel there was a bridge which curved like a quarter of a circle, as Fred thought, and beyond it was another of similar construction. Crowds of people were coming and going over these bridges, and Frank ventured to ask the Doctor if there were any more bridges and any more people in Osaka. "Certainly, my boy," the Doctor answered, "there are thirteen rivers and canals in Osaka, so that the city has an abundance of water communication. The streets are generally at right angles, and there are more than a hundred bridges over the water-ways. From this circumstance Osaka has received the name of the Venice of Japan, and she certainly deserves it. Formerly her commerce by water was very great, and you would see a large fleet of junks in the river below the town. The opening of the railway to Kobe has somewhat diminished the traffic by water; but it is still quite extensive, and employs a goodly amount of capital. "Osaka is one of the most important cities of Japan," Dr. Bronson continued, "and has long been celebrated for its commercial greatness. If you look at its position on the map, you will see that it is admirably situated to command trade both by land and by water; and when I tell you that it contains half a million of inhabitants, you will understand that it must have had prosperity to make it so great. The streets are of good width, and they are kept cleaner than those of most other cities in Japan. The people are very proud of Osaka, and are as tender of its reputation as the inhabitants of any Western city in America are tender of theirs. There are not so many temples as in Tokio, and not so many palaces, but there is a fair number of both; and, what is better in a practical way, there are many establishments where cotton, iron, copper, bronze, and other goods are manufactured. As a commercial and manufacturing centre, Osaka is at the head, and without a rival so far as Japan is concerned." Towards sunset the party took a stroll through the city, stopping in front of several shops, and entering one or two of the larger. The boys were of opinion that the shops of Osaka were larger than those of Tokio, and there was one silk-store that was twice the size of any they had seen in the eastern capital. The goods that were displayed were not materially different from what they had already seen, and consequently they were not disposed to linger long on the way. They extended their walk to the upper part of the city, where several temples are situated, and they finally reached the famous Castle of Osaka, whence there is a line view from the walls. There was some difficulty in entering the castle, but through the explanations of John the matter was arranged and they went inside. [Illustration: THE CASTLE OF OSAKA.] One of the wonders of Japan is the wall of the Castle of Osaka, or rather of a portion of it. During the sixteenth century Osaka was the capital of the empire, and remained so for many years; while it was the capital the emperor commanded the tributary princes to assist in building the walls of the imperial residence, and each was to send a stone for that purpose. The stones are there, and it would be no small matter to remove them. Our friends had no means of measurement at hand, but they estimated that some of the stones were twenty feet long by half that width, and six feet in depth. They were as large as an ordinary street-car, and some of them were larger; and how they could have been transported over the roads of Japan and hoisted into their places was a mystery no one could explain. The view from the top of the castle walls is magnificent, and well repays the trouble of making the ascent. In front is the city like a broad map, and there is no difficulty in tracing the lines of the streets and the sinuosities of the rivers and canals. Beyond the city, on the right, is the water of the bay, which opens into the Pacific, while on the left is the plain that stretches away to Kobe and Hiogo. Beyond the plain is the range of sharp hills and mountains; and as one turns slowly to the west and north he can sweep the landscape almost to the gates of Kioto and the shores of Lake Biwa. To the east, again, there are mountains rising sharply from the fertile plain, so that one seems to be standing in a basin of low land with a curving rim of mountains. The sun was about setting as our party reached the top of the high wall, and they remained there in full enjoyment of the scene until the shadows began to fall and the light to fade out from the sky. It was the most delightful landscape view that had fallen to the lot of the youths since their ascent of Fusiyama. They regretted the necessity of departing from the castle, but regrets were of no use, and they descended to the streets just as the lamps were getting into full blaze. CHAPTER XX. THE MINT AT OSAKA.--FROM OSAKA TO NARA AND KIOTO. Through the assistance of a gentleman to whom Doctor Bronson had a letter of introduction, our friends were enabled to pay a visit to the imperial mint at Osaka. They found a large establishment, like a foundry, on the bank of the river, and just outside the thickly settled portion of the city. A tall chimney was smoking vigorously, and gave signs of activity; and there was an air of neatness about the surroundings quite in keeping with what they had observed thus far in their journey through Japan. They were met at the entrance by the director of the mint, a Japanese gentleman who had spent a considerable time in Europe and America, and spoke English with fluency and precision. They were invited to seats in the office, and, after a brief delay, were escorted through the establishment. The mint at Osaka is one of the most noted enterprises which the government of Japan has undertaken, and likewise one of the most successful. When it was founded it was under foreign supervision, and the most of the employés were from Europe; but year by year the Japanese have learned how to conduct its machinery, and have relieved the foreigners of the labor of managing it. The direction is Japanese, and so are the heads of the departments, and the employés from highest to lowest. When the mint was established, the machinery for it was imported from Europe, but at present it is all made by the Japanese, in their own factory attached to the mint. "Just to think," said Frank, "that people persist in calling these Japanese 'barbarians!' Here are machines for stamping coin and performing all the work of a mint, and it bears the mark of the Japanese. Here are delicate balances for weighing gold and silver and getting the weight down to the fraction of a grain, and they are just as sensitive and as well made as the best specimens from the French or German makers. If the Japanese can do all this, and they certainly have done it, they deserve to be considered just as good as any other people in the world." The Doctor took from his pocket some of the coin which was in circulation, and with which the boys had by this time become thoroughly familiar. They had remarked that it was as neatly made as any coin of Europe or America, and, as a matter of curiosity, they were desirous of seeing the machine by which each of the different pieces was stamped. The director kindly pointed out the various machines, and the boys observed that, with a single exception, they were all of Japanese make. Then they were shown through a factory for the manufacture of sulphuric acid that is attached to the mint, and is run on government account. They were somewhat astonished to learn that all the sulphuric acid used in the mint was made there, and that in the previous year thirteen thousand cases were exported to China. For the benefit of his professor of chemistry, Fred made the following memorandum concerning the branch of business he was investigating: "The sulphur comes from the provinces of Satsuma and Bungo--the most from the latter, and the best from the former; and the product is partly for the use of the mint, and partly for general commerce. The acid is packed in earthen jars which are glazed on the inside, and not in the carboys that are in use with us. Two jars, holding about eight quarts each, are packed in a wooden case; they rest on a bed of lime about three inches thick, and the remainder of the space is filled with coarse ashes and coal cinders. This manner of packing is considered preferable to the old one, and, besides, it enables the Japanese to make their own jars, instead of importing the carboys. The director tells me that thus far the factory has not been able to supply the Chinese demand for acid, and therefore no shipments have been made to other countries. With an increased production, it is quite possible that shipments may be made to America at no very distant day. [Illustration: VIGNETTE FROM THE NATIONAL BANK-NOTES.] "Japan abounds in sulphur, and the supply is said to be inexhaustible. The copper used at the mint for making the Japanese small coins is of native production, and so is most of the silver; but occasionally the supply of the latter metal runs short, and then American silver comes into play. Last year nearly half a million trade-dollars were melted at the mint at Osaka, to be made into Japanese yens, and this year a large number have met a similar fate. The American trade-dollar has not yet become a popular coin for circulation in Japan and China, but is in good demand for the melting-pot. But I suppose we do not care what they do with our silver money so long as they pay for it; and the more they melt up, the better we shall be pleased." [Illustration: IMPERIAL CREST FOR PALACE AFFAIRS.] Having finished their inspection of the mint, our friends thanked the polite director for his kindness and attention, and bade him good-day. They returned to the hotel, where their lunch was waiting for them, and sat down on the balcony, where they had feasted and studied the river scenery the day before. Their morning's excursion naturally led them to talk about the money of Japan, and on this subject the Doctor was ready with his usual fund of information. [Illustration: IMPERIAL CREST ON THE NEW COINS.] [Illustration: OLD KINSAT, OR MONEY-CARD.] "The Japanese currency," said Doctor Bronson, "has had a somewhat checkered career. Previous to the coming of the foreigners, the currency consisted of gold, silver, copper, and bronze coins. The Daimios had money of their own, and some of them had issued paper kinsats, or money-cards. These were on thick paper, like card-board, and they circulated freely, though sometimes at a discount, owing to the difficulty of redemption or the wasteful ways of the prince by whom they were put forth. The old coins were oval or oblong, and the lower denominations had a square hole in the centre, so that they could be strung on a wire or on a cord. The gold coins were known as 'kobans,' while the silver ones had the general name of 'boos.' There were fractions of each, and they had their names, just as our half and quarter dollars have their distinctive names. The unit of the silver coin was a 'boo,' and it was always called 'ichiboo,' or one boo. The word _ichi_ means _one_, but the early visitors supposed it was a part of the name of the coin. Thus we read in books of twenty years ago that the writer paid 'one ichiboo' or 'two ichiboos' for certain purchases. It is the same as if some one writing of America should say that he paid 'one one-dollar' or 'two one-dollars' for what he had bought. [Illustration: ICHI-BOO.] "All that old currency has been set aside," continued the Doctor, "and the country is now in possession of a decimal system of money. The coins are round, and the general stamp on them is the same, apart from the words and figures showing the denomination and value. The unit is the 'yen,' which is equal to our dollar. In fact, the Japanese currency is assimilated to our own in weight, fineness, and decimal divisions. Here is the table of the values: "10 rin make 1 sen, equal to 1 cent. 100 sen make 1 yen, equal to 1 dollar. "The coins are stamped with the devices of the coiled dragons and the rising sun (both Japanese symbols), and not with the portrait of the Mikado. Japanese prejudice is opposed to the adoption of the picture of the imperial ruler on the coin of the country, but it will probably be overcome in time. It is less severe than with the Moslems (among whom a true believer is forbidden to make a picture of anything that has life), and consequently will be more easy to do away with. [Illustration: VIGNETTE FROM BANK-NOTE.] "The Japanese have ventured upon that feature of Western civilization known as a national debt, and how they will get out of it time alone will determine. At present they are increasing their indebtedness every year, and their paper does not show any signs of redemption. They have also, as you have seen, a paper currency like our national issue in America, and so much like ours is it that it is known as the Japanese greenbacks. They have notes of the same denominations as ours; and they also have a fractional currency, such as we had during the war of 1861 and the years that followed. The premium on coin has gone steadily upwards, partly in consequence of the large issue, and partly owing to the hostility of foreign bankers and others, who have done all they could to bring the Japanese credit into discredit." [Illustration: VIGNETTE FROM BANK-NOTE.] The dissertation on Japanese money came to an end with the meal they were eating, and soon after the party proceeded to take a stroll through the streets. The afternoon was spent in this way and in letter-writing, and on the following morning the trio started for Kioto, by way of Kara. The ride was a pleasant one--in jin-riki-shas--partly along the banks of the river, where they saw a goodly number of boats, some descending the stream with the aid of the current, and others making a laborious ascent. The difference of up-stream and down-stream travel was never better illustrated than in the present instance. The Japs who floated with the current were taking things easily and smoking their pipes, as though all the world were their debtor; while the men on the towpath were bending to their toil, evidently giving their whole minds to it, and their bodies as well. Some of the towmen had on their grass coats, while others were without them. Every head was carefully protected from the heat of the sun by the broad hats already described. [Illustration: MEN TOWING BOATS NEAR OSAKA.] [Illustration: MODE OF HOLDING THE TOW-ROPES.] They saw a native ferry-boat at one point, which was heavily laden with a mixed cargo. According to Fred's inventory, the craft contained a horse and half a dozen men, together with a lot of boxes and bundles, which were, as the auctioneers say, too numerous to mention. The head of the horse was firmly held by the groom who had him in charge, as it would have been a serious matter if the beast had broken away and jumped into the stream with all his load about him. A Japanese ferry-boat does not appear the safest thing in the world, but, somehow, one never hears of accidents with it. If any occur, they must be carefully kept out of the papers. [Illustration: THE FERRY-BOAT.] After riding about three hours through a succession of villages and across fields, they reached a hotel, where John suggested they had better halt for lunch. It was a Japanese inn, without the slightest pretence of adapting itself to foreign ideas. There were the usual fish-stew and boiled rice ready, and with these and their own provisions our travellers made a hearty meal, well seasoned with that best of sauces, hunger. There was a stout maid-of-all-work, who bustled about in a manner not altogether characteristic of the Japanese. At the suggestion from the Doctor that he would like to bathe his head in some cool water, she hurried away, and soon returned, bearing a bucket so large and so full that she was forced to bend her body far to one side to maintain her equilibrium. Her powerful limbs and general ruddiness of feature were indicative of the very best condition of robust health, and the boys agreed that she would make a most excellent model for an artist who was endeavoring to represent the best types of the Japanese peasantry. [Illustration: THE HOTEL-MAID.] Nara is about thirty miles from Osaka, and is famous for some ancient temples and fine groves of trees. The park containing the latter is quite extensive, and supports a considerable number of deer, so tame that they will feed from the hand of a stranger. As they are the stock sights of the place, there are plenty of opportunities to spend a few pennies for cakes to be given to the deer. The cakes are sold by some old women, who call the pets from the shelter of the trees, and bring them bounding to your side. The trees in the park are very old, and among the finest in Japan. There are few lovelier spots in the country than this; and as our friends reclined on the veranda of the little hotel to which John had led the way, and looked upon the smiling valley that spread before them, they pronounced the picture one of the prettiest they had ever seen. [Illustration: A JAPANESE LANDSCAPE.] The following morning they devoted to the sights of Nara, and were surprised at the number and extent of the temples and tombs. During the eighth century Nara was the capital of Japan, and it had the honor of being the residence of seven different sovereigns. The most famous of its monuments is the statue of Buddha, which was originally cast at the time Nara was the capital, and was afterwards destroyed during an insurrection. It was recast about seven hundred years ago, and has since remained uninjured. Frank applied himself to discovering the dimensions of this statue, and ended by making the following table of figures: Total height of statue, 53 feet 6 inches; width across shoulders, 29 feet; length of face, 16 feet; width of face, 9 feet 6 inches. It is said to weigh four hundred and fifty tons, and to be made of a bronze composed of gold, mercury, tin, and copper. The head is covered with curls, also of bronze, and there are said to be 966 of them; then there is a halo around the head 78 feet in diameter, and supporting 16 images, each one 8 feet long. The statue is in a squatting posture, like the one at Kamakura, and is covered with a building so small that it is impossible to obtain a good view in consequence of being too near the figure. The expression of the features is not at all equal to that of the great Dai-Boots at Kamakura, and the whole design is far less artistic. But it is the second in the empire in size, and for that reason is worthy of notice as well as for its antiquity. [Illustration: DIKES ALONG THE RIVER.] From Nara the party continued to Kioto, halting for dinner at Uji, which is the centre of an important tea district. Men and women were at work in the fields gathering the leaves from the plants, and other men and women were attending to the drying process which the gathered leaves were undergoing. They were spread out on matting, on paper, or on cloth, where they had the full force of the rays of the sun, and were frequently turned and stirred so as to have every part equally exposed to the solar heat. While the party was at Uji a shower came on, and then there was some very lively hurrying to and fro to save the tea from a wetting. During the afternoon the rain continued, and the rest of the ride to Kioto was not especially cheerful. Part of the route led along the banks of the river, which forms a navigable way for small boats between the tea district and Osaka; and at one place, where the bank was broken, Frank had a narrow escape from an overturn into the water. The wheel of his little carriage sank into the soft earth and spilled him out, but, luckily, a friendly tree was in his grasp and saved him from falling down the steep slope of twenty feet or so. "A miss is as good as a mile," he remarked, as he brushed the mud from his clothes, and took his seat again in his vehicle. "And I know a miss," said Fred, "that is better than any mile we have had to-day." Frank asked what he meant, and was told-- "Miss Effie." He quite agreed with Fred, and said he would gladly exchange that last mile, overturn and all, for one minute of her society. But he had the consolation of knowing he could have her society for a good many consecutive minutes when he got home again, and could keep as long as he liked the recollection of the miles between Nara and Kioto. [Illustration: NIGHT SCENE NEAR FUSHIMI.] They left the river at Fushimi, and followed what seemed to be an almost continuous street for six miles or more. Formerly the great route for travellers and commerce between Osaka and Kioto was by way of the river as far as Fushimi, and thence by the road. The result of this state of affairs for centuries was to build up a long village largely composed of hotels and tea-houses. Their business has somewhat fallen off since the completion of the railway from Kioto to Osaka and Kobe; but there is still enough to maintain a considerable number of them. There is one large hotel, at the foot of the Inari hill, about two miles from the centre of Kioto, where the jin-riki-sha coolies invariably stop for a short rest, and to take tea at the expense of their employers. The custom was carefully observed in the present instance, and our friends were shown to the rear of the hotel, where there was a pretty garden with a little fountain supplied from the hill above. They sipped their tea, and gave side-glances at the black-eyed maids that were moving around the house; and when John announced that the coolies were rested, the journey was resumed. They passed by several temples, and, after a time, their way led through some narrow streets and up a gently sloping hill. Suddenly they halted and were told that they had reached their stopping-place. There are several hotels at Kioto in the foreign style, but all kept and managed by Japanese. John declared that the one to which he had brought them was the best, but he added, in a quiet whisper, that it was not so good as the hotels at Kobe and Yokohama. After a day's experience of the establishment, Frank suggested that he could make an improvement in John's English. Fred asked what he had to propose. "Why," said Frank, "he spoke of this hotel as the best in the place; _best_ implies goodness somewhere, and I don't find any goodness in it." "But, for all that," Fred responded, "the others may be worse than this." "Quite true," was the answer, "and then let him say so. Instead of calling this the best hotel in Kioto, he should say that it is the least bad. Then he would be making a proper use of language." [Illustration: WOMEN OF KIOTO.] Fred retorted that Frank was demanding too much of a boy to whom they only paid fifty cents a day, and his expenses, and said he was reminded of the excuse of a soldier who was being censured for drunkenness. "What was that?" queried Frank. "His captain asked him what he had to say for himself to escape punishment, and the man replied that it was unreasonable to expect all the cardinal virtues for thirteen dollars a month. The captain told him the excuse was sufficient for that time, but would not do for a repetition of the offence." They had not been five minutes in the hotel before they were visited by a delegation of peddlers, who had all sorts of wares to offer. Among them were some beautiful embroideries on silk, of a kind they had not seen in Tokio or Yokohama, and there were some exquisite paintings that gave practical evidence of the superiority of the artists of Kioto. The dealers were not at all importunate, and did not seem to care whether the strangers purchased their wares or declined all negotiations. Two or three of them had brought photographs of the scenery around Kioto which they offered to leave for inspection until the next day. This proposal was received with favor, and on a hint that the travellers were tired and wished to be by themselves, each of the itinerant merchants retired, but not till after bowing low and pronouncing a respectful "Sayonara." Two of the hotels which the foreigners patronize are close to some of the famous temples of Kioto, and thus the process of sight-seeing is greatly facilitated. A third hotel is a considerable distance up the hill-side, and commands a fine view over nearly all the city. The ascent to it is somewhat fatiguing, but the visitor is well paid for the exertion by the remarkable and charming landscape that spreads before his eyes. CHAPTER XXI. KIOTO AND LAKE BIWA. To tell all that was done and seen by our young friends during their stay in Kioto would be to tell a great deal. They had their time fully occupied from their arrival to their departure, and they regretted much the necessity of leaving when they did. At the Doctor's suggestion, they attempted a new system of relating their adventures to their friends at home, and were so well pleased at the result that they determined to try it again. The new scheme was the preparation of a letter in which both had equal shares, Frank undertaking to write one half of it and Fred the other. They succeeded so well that when they read over their production to Doctor Bronson before sending it away, he was unable to say which was Fred's portion and which was Frank's. We will reproduce the letter and leave our readers to judge how well they performed their self-imposed duty. At the Doctor's suggestion, each of the boys wrote as though speaking for himself, and consequently the letter had a good deal of "I" in it. "MY DEAR FRIENDS: "We have seen so many things since we came here that I don't exactly know where to begin in telling the story of our sight-seeing. The names by which this city is known are so numerous that the reader of Japanese history of different dates is liable to be puzzled. Many of the natives speak of it as Miako, or the Capital; others have called it, and still call it, Saikio, or the Central City, and others know it only as Kioto, or the Western Capital. This last name has become the official one since the removal of the Mikado to Yeddo, which then became Tokio, or the Eastern Capital. But, by whatever name we know it, the city is a most delightful one, and the traveller who comes to Japan without seeing it is like one who goes to New York without visiting Central Park, or a stranger in Boston who does not see the famous Common. In many of its features Kioto is superior to Tokio, and any one of its inhabitants will tell you so. The city stands on a plain of nearly horseshoe shape, the mountains almost encircling it and giving an abundance of charming views. On one side the houses climb a considerable distance up the slopes, so that you may sit on a balcony and see Kioto lying at your feet. [Illustration: LADIES OF THE WESTERN CAPITAL.] "The streets are almost of chess-board regularity, and generally so clean that you might go out to walk in satin slippers without much danger of soiling them. The people are finer-looking than those of Tokio, and you meet more stalwart men than in the eastern capital. Kioto prides itself on the beauty of its women, and some of the Japanese writers say that they cause the women of all other parts of the country to despair. They are very proud of their head-dresses, and they have a great many ornaments for the hair; in fact, there are so many of these things, and the trade is so extensive, that you find whole shops devoted to their manufacture and sale. "Dancing and singing girls are to be counted by the thousand, and they certainly have the most gorgeous toilets I have seen in the country. They are engaged to sing and dance at dinner parties, just as we have bands of music to play for us at large banquets in America, and no Japanese gentleman who was giving a dinner to a friend or friends would think he had done the proper thing unless there were 'geishas' to sing and dance for them. The other evening Doctor Bronson ordered a dinner for us at a Japanese restaurant in the true style of the country; he told the manager to get it up properly, and the answer was that it should be perfect. When we went there, we found the dinner ready; and there were two singing geishas, and two dancing ones, to entertain us. I can't say that I considered it much of an entertainment after the novelty had gone, as the music was monotonous, and we couldn't understand a word of the singing. Their dancing consisted of sliding about the room, and taking a variety of postures with their arms and hands, and it wasn't a bit like what we call dancing. But it was all perfectly proper and nice, and the girls behaved like real ladies. They are educated for dancers or singers, as the case may be, and some of them are great favorites and get high wages. But if I were to have my way, and have them dress to my taste, I should make them put less paint on their faces; they consider that the one who can put the most paint on her face and neck is the prettiest, and so they cover themselves till they look as though they were veneered. One of those that danced for us had her face covered so thickly that she couldn't smile without cracking the varnish, and so she didn't smile at all. [Illustration: RESTAURANT AND TEA-GARDEN AT KIOTO.] "We are outside of treaty limits, and so we were obliged to have passports to come here. Foreigners may go freely within twenty-five miles of any of the treaty ports without special permission, but Kioto is just beyond the limit, as it is thirty miles from Osaka, and therefore the Japanese permit is needed. We had ours from the consul at Kobe, and had no trouble at all on coming here. A Japanese official called for them soon after we came to the hotel, and he bowed low as he received them. Then he spread the documents on the floor, and as he did so he fell on his hands and knees so as to bring his nose within six inches of the papers, and curve his back into the shape of an arch. He read the passports and copied our names into his note-book; or, at least, I suppose he did so, though I can't say positively. We can stay the time named in the permit without further interference; but if we stopped too long, we should probably be told some morning that a gentleman at Kobe was anxious to see us, and we had better start for there by the first train. The Japanese are so polite that they will never say a rude thing if they can help it, and they will even tell a plump falsehood rather than be uncivil. But the same thing has occurred in America, and so the Japs are not much worse than others, after all. [Illustration: AN ARTIST AT WORK.] "Kioto is famous in the rest of the world for its manufactures of porcelain of various kinds, and also for its bronzes and silk goods. There is a large trade in Kioto ware, and everybody says that it is increasing. At any rate, the prices they ask here are as high as in Yokohama for the same kind of articles, and some things are really dearer here than there. Some of the work in bronze is very fine, and I can tell you a funny story about the way the merchants prepare goods for the market. The incident happened yesterday, when we were in a shop with a gentleman from Kobe whom we had met at the hotel. "This gentleman was admiring a pair of very old vases; there was no doubt about their age, as they were eaten in several places with verdigris, and were covered in spots with dried earth. When he asked the price, he was astonished at the low figure demanded, and immediately said he would take them. Then he asked the shopkeeper if he had any more like them. "'I haven't any,' the dealer replied, 'but I can make anything you want to order.' "The gentleman said he didn't want new vases, but old ones, and thereupon the dealer said, "'I'll make old vases for you if you want them--will make them just as I made these.' "We learned how it is that they get up this old ware; at least, we were told so by a man who claims to know. 'Boil the bronzes in strong vinegar,' he says, 'for several hours; and if you want to make them look very old, you must put some acid in the vinegar. You want the strongest vinegar that can be found, and the bronze must be cleaned of all grease before it is boiled. [Illustration: LANTERN-MAKER AT KIOTO.] "'You can buy plenty of old ware of all kinds,' the same man said, 'but you had better have it made, and then you know you are not cheated.' Very sensible advice, I think--don't you? "They have a great deal of embroidered and figured silk; and when you go into a shop, these are the first things they show you. Some of the work is magnificent; and when you look at it and learn the price, it does not take you long to conclude that the labor of Kioto is not very highly paid. There are many silk-weavers here, and we have visited some of the factories. The largest that we saw contained twenty looms, about half of them devoted to brocades and other figured work, and the rest to plain silks. The looms for ordinary work are quite plain and simple; those for the figured silks are somewhat complicated, and require two persons to operate them. One sits in the usual position in front of the loom, and the other up aloft; each of them has a pattern of the work, and there is a bewildering lot of threads which must be pulled at the right time. The process is very slow; and if these weavers could see a Jacquard loom, I think they would be astonished. "Kioto is a place of great interest, as has been said already; and we have not been able to exhaust its sights, though we have worked very diligently. It is the most famous city in all Japan for its temples, as it contains altogether about three thousand of them. They are of all sizes and kinds, but the most of them are small and not worth the trouble of visiting. But, on the other hand, there are some magnificent ones, and a charming feature of the temples is the way they are situated. They are nearly all on hill-sides, and in the midst of groves and gardens where you may wander for hours in the shade; and whenever you feel weary you can be sure of finding a tea-house close by, where you may rest and refresh yourself on the fragrant tea of Japan. Children romp and play on the verandas of the temples without thought of harm, and run as they please through the edifices. Outside are the tea-gardens; and the people chatter and laugh as they move to and from the temple, without any of the solemnity of a congregation entering or leaving a church in America. At the hour of worship, the crowd kneels reverently, and pronounces in unison the prayers that are repeated by the priest, and when the prayers are ended, they return to their sport or their work as gayly as ever. [Illustration: A JAPANESE ARCHER.] "I must not fail to tell you of a remarkable temple that we have seen; not that any are unworthy of mention, but this one is certainly very curious. It is known as the Temple of Rengenhoin, and contains one thousand idols of large size; then each idol in this lot is surrounded by several smaller ones, and there is one idol larger than all the rest. The whole number is said to be 33,333. We did not count them to make sure that the estimate was correct, but I should think that there must be thirty thousand at least, so that a few odd thousands, more or less, would make no difference. The whole of the inside of the temple is full of them, and each figure is said to have a particular fable connected with it. The temple is nearly four hundred feet long, and is certainly a very fine building; and there is an artificial pond in front of it, which is covered with aquatic flowers in the season for them. There is a veranda that was used in olden times for a shooting-gallery for archery purposes; it is more than two hundred feet long, and there are records of some famous matches that have been shot there. The best on the books took place more than six hundred years ago, when one man is said to have hit the bull's-eye of the target 8,000 times out of 10,000, and another is reported to have done the same thing 8,133 times in 13,053. That was certainly good shooting, and I don't believe that it would be easy to find a bowman to-day who could equal it. [Illustration: TEMPLE BELL AT KIOTO.] "We have seen one of the famous bells of Japan, or rather of Kioto, for it is this city that has always been celebrated for its bells. The greatest of them lies on the ground just outside of one of the temples, and it is not a piece of property that a man could put in his pocket and walk off with. It is fourteen feet high, twenty-four feet in circumference, and ten inches thick. How much it weighs nobody knows, as the Japanese never made a pair of scales large enough to weigh it with. The Japanese bells have generally a very sweet tone, and to hear them booming out on the evening air is not by any means disagreeable. The art of casting them was carried to a state of great perfection, and stood higher, two or three centuries ago than it does at present. [Illustration: JAPANESE TEMPLE AND CEMETERY.] "If I should name half the temples and public places we have seen I should make you wish, perhaps, that I had not written at all, as the list alone would be tedious, and I could no more give you an idea of the peculiar beauty and attractions of each than I could describe the perfume of each flower in a bouquet from the hands of the florist. One temple had a large cemetery attached to it, and we walked around looking at the inscriptions in a language which we could not read, and studying symbols we could not understand. The temple stands in a grove, as do nearly all the temples of Kioto, and the place reminded us very much of some of our burial-places at home. [Illustration: REELING COTTON.] "Then we have had glimpses of the way the people spin cotton, and perform other work in the manufacturing line. Their apparatus is very simple, and it is rather surprising than otherwise that they can accomplish so much with so little machinery. Then we have walked about the streets, and several times we have had close escapes from being run over by some of the carts that were carrying heavy loads. With two men to push them, and two pulling at the same time, they will move loads that would be no small matter for a pair of horses. They keep up a great shouting, and at first it puzzles you to know why they do it until you remember that it is desirable they should all pull together. You can hear them a long way off, and if you get in their way it is your own fault, as it was ours. [Illustration: HANDCART FOR A QUARTETTE.] "Well, if we kept on telling you all we have seen in Kioto we should be a long time at it, and so we may as well stop short. Besides, we are going to Lake Biwa, and it is time to be off. If you enjoy this letter half as much as we have enjoyed the material for making it you will have a very pleasant time over it." [Illustration: HORSE CARRYING LIQUID MANURE.] The party went to Lake Biwa as they had proposed, and certainly no one should omit it from his excursions in the vicinity of Kioto. The distance is only seven miles, and an excellent road leads there from the city. Along the route they met a dense crowd of people coming and going, for there is a vast amount of business between the city and the lake. There were men on foot and in jin-riki-shas, there were porters with loads and porters without loads, there were pack-horses in great number, and there were wagons with merchandise bound for the interior or for the seaboard. Some of the pack-horses had burdens the reverse of savory, and the boys learned on inquiry that they were transporting liquid manure to the farms near the borders of the lake. Along the roadside they saw little family groups that were always more or less picturesque; fathers were caring for their children, and seemed to take great delight in playing the part of nurse. It is very common in all the Japanese cities to see men thus occupied, and they never appear to be weary of their tasks. In summer both parent and child will be thinly clad, while in winter they will be wrapped against the cold. The summer garments are not always so thick as the rules of polite society require, and even the winter costume is not very heavy. [Illustration: THE PATERNAL NURSE.] Lake Biwa is a beautiful sheet of water, surrounded by picturesque mountains and smiling valleys. Steamers ply upon it, so that an excursion may be made on its waters with the utmost ease; and all around it there are picnic booths where parties may sit and enjoy the view. The time of our friends was limited, and so they had only a glimpse of the lake from one of those pleasure resorts, if a couple of hours spent there may be called a glimpse. [Illustration: PICNIC BOOTH OVERLOOKING LAKE BIWA.] They returned to Kioto, and proceeded without delay to Kobe. They found the railway journey much more rapid than the one by jin-riki-sha, but it had the demerit of carrying them so fast that very little could be seen of the country. The day after their arrival at Kobe the steamer was ready to take them to Nagasaki and Shanghai, and at the appointed hour they went on board. Practically, they had finished their sight-seeing in Japan, as they were not to break the journey until setting foot on Chinese soil. They left it with the most agreeable recollections, and the boys, as they stood on the deck of the steamer slowly moving out of the harbor of Kobe, simultaneously asked the question, "Wonder if we shall ever see it again?" [Illustration: A MAKER OF BOWS.] CHAPTER XXII. THE INLAND SEA AND NAGASAKI.--CAUGHT IN A TYPHOON. From Kobe westward the route lies through the famous Inland Sea of Japan, known to the Japanese as the Suwo Nada. The Inland Sea is more like a lake than an arm of the ocean; and there have been travellers who could not readily believe that it was connected with the ocean, and that its waters were salt instead of fresh. The distance is, in round numbers, about two hundred and fifty miles; and through the entire voyage the land is constantly in sight, and generally close at hand. The islands rise sharply from the water, and a large portion of them are densely wooded and exceedingly picturesque. [Illustration: THE INLAND SEA NEAR HIOGO.] During the whole of the voyage, as long as the daylight favored them, our young friends remained on deck, and studied the scenery along the route. Sometimes the sea widened out to fifty miles or more, and at others it contracted so that there was no sign of a passage before them, and it was difficult to say which way the steamer would turn. Now and then the islands were so close together that the steamer made her course as though she were tracing the sinuosities of the Mississippi River, and it was necessary to keep a sharp lookout to avoid accidents on the numerous rocks that lie sunken in the channel. Mishaps to the steamers are of rare occurrence, as the channel has been carefully buoyed, and the pilots understand their business fully; but it is otherwise with the unwieldy junks, which are often driven by an adverse wind directly into the dangers their captains are seeking to avoid. The traffic through the Inland Sea is very great, both by the steamers and by the junks; and sometimes whole fleets of the latter may be seen waiting in some of the sheltering nooks for a favoring wind. The steamers make the passage from one end to the other of the Inland Sea in less than twenty-four hours; but the junks are frequently a fortnight in covering the same distance. They are never in a hurry, and therefore time is no object. [Illustration: APPROACHING SIMONESEKI.] The Inland Sea is entered soon after leaving Kobe, and it terminates at Simoneseki, where there is a narrow strait leading into the open waters. Our friends wanted to land at Simoneseki, where the steamer made a halt of a couple of hours; but they were informed that the port was not opened to foreigners, and, therefore, their only view of it was a distant one. However, they were consoled by the reflection that they could have plenty of time at Nagasaki, where the ship was to remain a day and a half before continuing her voyage. Nagasaki was the first place opened to foreigners, and there are many points of interest about the city. [Illustration: DANGEROUS PLACE ON THE SUWO NADA.] Hardly was the anchor down when our trio entered a boat and were rowed to the shore. Nagasaki is prettily situated in a bay that is completely landlocked, and affords secure anchorage to ships even in the severest gales. Doctor Bronson had been in the harbor of Rio Janeiro, in South America, and said that the bay of Nagasaki was a sort of pocket edition of that of Rio Janeiro. The hills rise abruptly from the water, and lie in terraces that seem to lose themselves in the distance. Some of the hills are wooded, while others are cleared and cultivated; and in either case there are evidences of the most careful attention on the part of the inhabitants of the country. Looking seaward the hills gradually separate until the entrance of the bay is reached; here the island of Pappenberg stands directly across the mouth of the bay, and, while seemingly obstructing it, serves as a breakwater against the in-rolling waves. [Illustration: PAPPENBERG ISLAND.] "That island has a fearful history," said Doctor Bronson, while they were looking at it when the steamer entered the harbor. "Do you mean the island of Pappenberg?" Frank asked. "I know," said Fred; "it has a history connected with the establishment of Christianity in Japan more than two hundred years ago." "I think I have already told you something of the attempt to make Japan a Christian country," the Doctor continued. "The island of Pappenberg is one of the places that witnessed the extinction of the Christian religion in Japan after it had gained a strong footing. Do you observe that one side of the island is like a precipice?" [Illustration: WOMEN OF NAGASAKI.] The boys regarded the point to which their attention was directed; and they regarded it more attentively when they were told that from that steep rock many thousands of men and women were hurled, solely for the offence of being Christians. Those that were not killed by the fall were drowned in the sea, and not one was allowed to escape. Pappenberg is known in history as the Tarpeian Rock of Japan. It is now used as a picnic resort of the foreign inhabitants of Nagasaki, and a more delightful spot for a pleasure excursion could not be easily found. According to some writers there were nearly a hundred thousand Christians massacred after the discovery of the conspiracy which was to put Japan under the control of Portugal, but the Japanese say that these figures are an exaggeration. It is difficult to get at the truth of the matter, as neither party can be relied on for accuracy, or rather the accounts that have come down to us cannot be considered impartial. [Illustration: A CHRISTIAN VILLAGE IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.] As nearly as can be ascertained the first European who landed on Japanese soil was Mendez Pinto, a Portuguese who combined the occupations of merchant and pirate in such intimate relations that it was not always easy for him to determine where the one ended and the other began. He has been greatly slandered, and his name has an ignoble place in history, as that of a champion liar. The fact is, that the stories he told on his return to Europe, and which caused him to be called "The Mendacious," were substantially correct--quite as much so as those of Marco Polo, and far more than the narrations of Sir John Mandeville. Pinto came with two companions to the island of Tanegashima in 1542, and, as might be expected, they were great curiosities. Even more curious were the fire-arms they carried; and they were invited to visit the Daimio of Bungo, and bring their strange weapons with them. They did so, and taught the natives how to make guns and powder, which soon became generally used throughout Japan. To this day fire-arms are frequently called "Tanegashima," after the island where Pinto landed with the first of these weapons. Christianity followed closely on the track of the musket. The adventurers returned with a profit of twelve hundred per cent. on their cargo. Their success stimulated others, and in 1549 two Portuguese missionaries, one of them being Francis Xavier, landed in Japan, and began the work of converting the heathen. Xavier's first labors were in Satsuma, and he afterwards went to Kioto and other cities. Personally he never accomplished much, as he could not speak the language fluently, and he remained in the country only a few years. But he did a great deal to inspire others; numbers of missionaries flocked to Japan, and it is said that thirty years after Xavier landed on the soil there were two hundred churches, and a hundred and fifty thousand native Christians. At the time of the highest success of the missionaries it is estimated that there were not less than half a million professing Christians in Japan, and perhaps another hundred thousand who were nominally so, though their faith was not regarded as more than "skin deep." Among the adherents of the new religion there were several Daimios, and a great number of persons occupying high social and official positions. Some of the Daimios were so zealous that they ordered their people to turn Christians whether they wished it or not; and one of them gave his subjects the option of being baptized or leaving the country within twenty-four hours. [Illustration: MONUMENTS IN MEMORY OF MARTYRS.] The Dutch were great traders in the East Indies, and they managed to obtain a footing in Japan during the time of the Portuguese success. They received a concession of the island of Deshima, about six hundred feet square, in the harbor of Nagasaki, and here they lived until our day. When the troubles arose that led to the expulsion of foreigners and the extinction of Christianity, the Dutch were excepted from the operations of the edict, as it could not be shown that they had had any part in the conspiracy. They had been too busy with their commerce to meddle in religious matters; and, if history is true, it is probable that they hadn't religion enough in their small colony at Deshima to go around and give a perceptible quantity to each man. This little island was in reality a prison, as its inhabitants were not allowed to go outside for any purpose, except once in three years, when a delegation of them made a journey to Yeddo to make presents to the Tycoon. They were compelled to travel the most of the way in closed norimons, and thus their journey did not afford them many glimpses of the country. There is a tradition that they were required to go through the ceremony of trampling on the cross in the presence of the Tycoon, and also to intoxicate themselves, as a warning to the Japanese to shun the wicked ways of the foreigners. Whether either account be true I am unable to say; the assertion is very positively made and as positively denied, and therefore I will leave every reader, who has paid his money for the book, to make choice of the side of the story which suits him best. [Illustration: A PATH NEAR NAGASAKI.] The first move of our friends on landing was to go to Deshima, as they had a curiosity to see the little island, which was so famous in the history of the foreign relations of Japan with the outer world. The drawbridge leading to the island, and the box where the Japanese sentries stood, were still there, and so were some of the buildings which the Dutch inhabited; but the Dutch were gone, and probably forever. Outside of the historical interest there was nothing remarkable about the island, and the boys wondered how men could voluntarily shut themselves up in a prison like this. Only one ship a year was allowed to come to them, and sometimes, during the wars between Holland and other countries, there were several years together when no ship came. They were permitted to purchase certain quantities of fresh provisions daily, and when they ran short of needed articles they were supplied by the governor of Nagasaki. But no permission could be granted to go outside their narrow limits. How they must have sighed as they gazed on the green hills opposite, and with what longing did they think of a ramble on those grassy or wooded slopes! [Illustration: HOLLANDER AT DESHIMA WATCHING FOR A SHIP.] The chief use of Deshima, as our friends found it, is to serve as a depository of Japanese wares, and particularly of the kinds for which Nagasaki is famous. Nagasaki vases and Nagasaki lacquer were in such quantities as to be absolutely bewildering, and for once they found the prices lower than at Yokohama. They made a few purchases--their final transactions in Japan--and then turned their attention to a stroll through the city. There was not much to amuse them after their acquaintance with other cities of Japan, and so they were speedily satisfied. On the hill overlooking the town and harbor they found an old temple of considerable magnitude, then another, and another, and then tea-houses almost without number. In one of the latter they sat and studied the scenery of Nagasaki until evening, when they returned to the steamer. Another ramble on shore the following morning, and they left the soil of Japan for the deck of the steamer. At noon they were slowly moving down the bay; they passed the island of Pappenberg, and, as they did so, Frank read from a book he had picked up in the ship's cabin the following paragraph: "In that same year, when the last of the Roman Catholic converts were hurled from the rocky islet of Pappenberg, in the Bay of Nagasaki, a few exiles landed at Plymouth, in the newly discovered continent, where they were destined to plant the seeds of a Protestant faith and a great Protestant empire. And it was the descendants of the same pilgrim fathers that, two centuries later, were the first among Western nations to supply the link of connection wanted, to bring the lapsed heathen race once more within the circle of Christian communion, and invite them anew to take their place in the family of civilized nations." And while meditating on the mutations of time and the strangeness of many events recorded in history, our friends passed from the harbor of Nagasaki into the open sea. "Sayonara!" said Frank, raising his cap and bowing towards the receding land. "Sayonara!" echoed Fred, as he followed his cousin's example. "I say 'Sayonara' now, but I hope that some time in the future I may be able to say 'Ohio.'" "And so do I," Frank added. "It is a charming country, and I don't think we shall find a more agreeable one anywhere." The conversation was cut short by the call to dinner, a call that has suppressed many a touch of sentiment before now, on land as well as on the water. [Illustration: THE RAIN DRAGON.] It is a voyage of two days, more or less, according to the speed of the steamer, from Nagasaki to Shanghai. Our friends had hoped to be in Shanghai on the afternoon of the second day from the former port; but their hopes were not destined to be realized. The Japanese gods of Rain, Wind, and Thunder interfered. [Illustration: THE WIND DRAGON.] The morning after their departure from Nagasaki, Frank went on deck soon after daylight. The wind was so strong that it almost took him from his feet, and he was compelled to grasp something to make sure of remaining upright. The sky was overcast, and every few minutes there came a sprinkling of rain that intimated that the cabin was the better place for any one who was particular about keeping dry. Fred joined him in a few minutes, and soon after Fred's arrival the Doctor made his appearance. [Illustration: THE THUNDER DRAGON.] The Captain was on the bridge of the steamer, and appeared much disturbed about something, so much so that the boys asked Dr. Bronson if he thought anything had gone wrong. The Doctor gave a hasty glance at the sky and the water, and then retreated to the cabin, where a barometer was hanging. A moment's observation of the instrument satisfied him, or, rather, it greatly dissatisfied him, for he returned hastily to the deck and rejoined the boys with the observation, "We shall have it very lively in a short time, and are not likely to reach Shanghai in a hurry." "Why? What do you mean?" "I mean that we are about to have a typhoon." "I should rather like to see one," Frank remarked. "Well," the Doctor replied, "you are about to be accommodated, and if we get safely out of it I am very sure you will not want to see another. "But as we are in for it," he continued, "we must make the best of the situation, and hope to go through in safety. Many a strong ship lies at the bottom of the sea, where she was sent by just such a storm as we are about to pass through, and many another has barely escaped. I was once on a ship in the China seas, when the captain told the passengers that it would be a miracle if we remained half an hour longer afloat. But hardly had he done speaking when the wind fell, the storm abated, and we were safe. The typhoon is to these waters what the hurricane is to the West Indies; it is liable to blow at any time between April and September, and is often fearfully destructive. "The word typhoon comes from the Japanese 'Tai-Fun,' which means 'great wind,' and the meaning is admirably descriptive of the thing itself. There is no greater wind in the world than a typhoon; the traditional wind that would blow the hair off the back of a dog is as nothing to it. A cyclone is the same sort of thing, and the two terms are interchangeable; cyclone is the name of European origin, while typhoon comes from the Asiatic. "The typhoon blows in a circle, and may be briefly described as a rapidly revolving wind that has a diameter of from two to five hundred miles. It is a whirlwind on a large scale, and as furious as it is large. A curious fact about it is that it has a calm centre, where there is absolutely no wind at all, and this centre is sometimes forty or fifty miles across. Nearest the centre the wind has the greatest violence, and the farther you can get from it, the less severe is the gale. Mariners always try to sail away from the centre of a typhoon, and I have known a ship to turn at right angles from her course in order to get as far as possible from the centre of a coming tempest. There is a great difference of opinion among captains concerning these storms, some declaring that they have been in the middle point of a typhoon and escaped safely, while others aver that no ship that was ever built can withstand the fury of a storm centre. But I think the weight of evidence is in favor of the former rather than the latter, as I have known captains who have described their situation in such a way as to leave not the slightest doubt in my mind of the correctness of their statements. "If you have any desire to study the subject fully, I advise you to get 'Piddington's Law of Storms;' you will find it treated very fully and intelligently, both from the scientific and the popular point of view. [Illustration: A TYPHOON.] "It has never been my fortune," the Doctor continued, "to be farther in a typhoon at sea than the outer edge, but that was quite as much as I wanted. One time on land I saw and felt one of these tempests; it drove ships from their moorings, swamped hundreds of boats, unroofed many houses, tore trees up by the roots, stripped others of their branches, threw down walls and fences, flooded the land, and caused a vast amount of havoc everywhere. Hundreds of people were drowned by the floods, and the traces of the storm will last for many years. The city that has suffered most by these storms is Calcutta. On two occasions the centre of a typhoon has passed over the harbor or within a few miles of it, and the whole shipping of the port was driven from its moorings and the greater part completely or partially wrecked." While they were listening to the remarks of the Doctor the boys observed that the wind was increasing, and as they looked at the compass they found that the ship's course had been changed. Everything about the vessel that could be made fast was carefully secured, and the party was notified that they might be ordered below at any moment. The waves were not running high, and but for the very severe wind there would have been nothing to cause more than ordinary motion on board the steamer. After a time the waves broke into what is called a "choppy sea;" the wind was so great that their crests were blown away before they could rise to any height worthy of notice. Mariners say that in a severe typhoon the ocean is quite smooth, owing to the inability of the waves to form against the irresistible force of the wind. It is fortunate for them that such is the case, as they could not possibly survive the combined action of the cyclone and the great waves together. For three or four hours the wind continued to increase, and the waters to assume the shapes we have seen. The barometer had fallen steadily, and everything indicated that the arrival of the steamer at Shanghai, or at any other port, was by no means a matter of certainty. The order was issued for the passengers to go below, and our friends descended to the cabin. Just as they did so the decks were swept by a mass of water that seemed to have been lifted bodily from the sea by a gust of wind. The order to go below was not issued a moment too soon. The Doctor took another glance at the barometer, and discovered something. The mercury was stationary! Ten minutes later it had risen a few hundredths of a degree. The rise was small, but it was a rise. In another ten minutes another gain was perceptible. The Doctor's face brightened, and he called the boys to observe what he had discovered. He had already explained to them that the barometer falls at the approach of stormy weather, and rises when the storm is about to pass away. Before a storm like a typhoon the fall is very rapid, and so certainly is this the case that mariners rely upon the barometer to give them warning of impending danger. An hour from the time they went below they were allowed to go on deck again. The wind had abated a little, so that there was no further danger of their being swept from the decks by the water; the clouds were less dense and the rain was not falling so heavily. In another hour there was another perceptible decline in the wind, and a little later the ship was again put on her course. The captain announced the danger over, and said the centre of the typhoon had passed at least a hundred miles to the west of them. "If we had kept our course," said he, "we should have been much nearer to it, and then the storm would have been more dangerous for us." "How do you know which way to turn?" Frank asked; "it seems to me you are just as likely to run to the centre of the storm as to the circumference." "There's where you don't understand the science of storms," said the captain smiling. "In the northern hemisphere typhoons, cyclones, and hurricanes--they are all the same--whirl from left to right, that is, they turn like the hands of a watch, while in the southern hemisphere their motion is exactly the reverse. When we think we are in the sweep of a typhoon in these waters, we run with the wind on our starboard, or right hand, and that course will take us away from the centre. In the southern hemisphere we run with the wind on the port, or left hand, with the same result. But we'll go to dinner now and be happy, for the danger is over." [Illustration: COURSE OF A TYPHOON.] Just as they were rising from table they were suddenly called on deck by the announcement of a wreck. An American bark had been dismasted by the gale and lay helpless on the water; her captain wished to be taken in tow to the mouth of the Yang-tse-kiang, and after some minutes spent in making a bargain, the matter was arranged and a line passed out. "They were less fortunate than we," the Doctor remarked as they proceeded with their tow. [Illustration: CAUGHT NEAR THE STORM'S CENTRE.] "Yes," answered the captain, "the poor fellow was nearer the centre of the typhoon than we were. There'll be a job for the ship-carpenters and riggers at Shanghai; it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good." Frank was looking through the captain's glass at the persons who were moving about the deck of the bark. Suddenly he observed something and called out to his companions: "Look, look! here's a familiar face!" The Doctor took the glass and then handed it to Fred; the latter looked steadily for a minute or more before he had a satisfactory view, and then said: "It's our old friend, the Mystery!" CHAPTER XXIII. FIRST DAY IN CHINA. In due time they entered the waters of the great river of Northern China, the Yang-tse. They entered them long before they sighted land, as the vast quantities of earth brought down by the stream make a change in the color of the sea that can be readily distinguished a great distance from the coast. In this respect the Yang-tse is similar to the Mississippi, and the effect of the former on the Yellow Sea is like that of the latter on the Gulf of Mexico. The coast at the mouth of the Yang-tse is low and flat, and a ship is fairly in the entrance of the river before land can be seen. The bar can be passed by deep-draught vessels only at high water, and consequently it often becomes necessary for them to wait several hours for the favorable moment. This was the case with our friends, and they walked the deck with impatience during the delay. But at last all was ready, and they steamed onward in triumph, dropping their tow at Woosung, and waving a good-bye to "the Mystery," who had recognized them from the deck of the disabled bark. [Illustration: THE WOOSUNG RIVER.] Shanghai is not on the Yang-tse, but on the Woosung River, about twelve miles from the point where the two streams unite. The channel is quite tortuous, and it requires careful handling on the part of a pilot to take a ship through in safety to herself and all others. Two or three times they narrowly escaped accidents from collisions with junks and other craft, and at one of the turnings the prow of their steamer made a nearer acquaintance with a mud-bank than her captain considered desirable; but nothing was injured, and the delay that followed the mishap was for only a few minutes. The tide was running in, and carried them along at good speed; and in less than two hours from the time of their departure from Woosung they were anchored in front of Shanghai and ready to go on shore. They had not seen anything particularly interesting on their voyage up the river, as the banks were low and not at all densely settled. Here and there a few villages were thrown together, and it occurred to Frank that the houses were huddling close up to each other in order to keep warm. The most of the ground was clear of timber; but there were some farm-houses standing in little clumps of trees that, no doubt, furnished a welcome shade in the summer season. One mile of the river was very much like another mile, and consequently the monotony of the scenery made the sight of Shanghai a welcome one. [Illustration: CHINESE TRADING-JUNK ON THE WOOSUNG RIVER.] Crowds of sampans surrounded the ship as the anchor-chain rattled through the hawse-hole, and it was very evident that there was no lack of transportation for the shore. The Doctor engaged one of these boats, and gave the baggage of the party into the hands of the runner from the Astor House, the principal hotel of the American section of Shanghai. They found it a less imposing affair than the Astor House of New York, though it occupied more ground, and had an evident determination to spread itself. A large space of greensward was enclosed by a quadrangle of one-story buildings, which formed the hotel, and consequently it required a great deal of walking to get from one part of the house to the opposite side. Our friends were shown to some rooms that were entered from a veranda on the side of the court-yard. They found that on the other side there was a balcony, where they could sit and study the life of the street; and as this balcony was well provided with chairs and lounges, it was a pleasant resort on a warm afternoon. The house was kept by an American, but all his staff of servants was Chinese. Fred regretted that he could not praise the dining-table as earnestly as he did the rooms, and he was vehement in declaring that a breakfast or dinner in the Astor at New York was quite another affair from the same meal in the one at Shanghai. The Doctor and Frank were of his opinion; but they found, on inquiry, that the landlord did not agree with them, and so they dropped the subject. As soon as they were settled at the hotel, they went out for a stroll through the city, and to deliver letters to several gentlemen residing there. They had some trouble in finding the houses they were searching for, as the foreigners at Shanghai do not consider it aristocratic to have signs on their doors or gate-posts, and a good deal of inquiry is necessary for a stranger to make his way about. If a man puts out a sign, he is regarded as a tradesman, and unfit to associate with the great men of the place; but as long as there is no sign or placard about his premises he is a merchant, and his company is desirable, especially if he is free with his money. A tradesman cannot gain admission to the Shanghai Club, and the same is the rule at Hong-Kong and other ports throughout the East. But there is no bar to the membership of his clerk; and it not infrequently happens that a man will be refused admission to a club on account of his occupation, while his clerk will be found eligible. There are many senseless rules of society in the East, and our boys were greatly amused as the Doctor narrated them. [Illustration: SHANGHAI.] Shanghai is very prettily situated in a bend of the river, and the water-front is ornamented with a small park, which has a background of fine buildings. These buildings are handsome, and the most of them are large. Like the foreign residences at the treaty ports of Japan, they have a liberal allowance of ground, so that nearly every house fronting on the river has a neat yard or garden in front of it. The balconies are wide, and they are generally enclosed in lattice-work that allows a free circulation of air. Back from the water-front there are streets and squares for a long distance; and the farther you go from the river-front, the less do you find the foreign population, and the greater the Chinese one. The foreign quarter is divided into three sections--American, English, and French--and each has a front on the river in the order here given, but the subjects, or citizens, of each country are not confined to their own national quarter; several Americans live in the French and English sections, and there are French and English inhabitants in the quarter where the American consul has jurisdiction. There is generally the most complete harmony among the nationalities, and they are accustomed to make common cause in any dispute with the Chinese. Sometimes they fall out; but they very soon become aware that disputes will be to their disadvantage, and proceed to fall in again. There is a great deal of social activity at Shanghai, and a vast amount of visiting and dinner-giving goes on in the course of a year. The Chinese city is quite distinct from the foreign one; it lies just beyond the French concession, or, rather, the French section extends up to the walls of the old city. The contrast between the two is very great. While the foreigners have taken plenty of space for the construction of their buildings and laying out their streets, the Chinese have crowded together as closely as possible, and seemed desirous of putting the greatest number into the smallest area. It is so all over China from north to south. Even where land is of no particular value, as in the extreme north, the result is the same; and there are probably no people in the world that will exist in so small an area as the Chinese. Ventilation is not a necessity with them, and it seems to make little difference whether the air they breathe be pure or the reverse. In almost any other country in the world a system of such close crowding would breed all sorts of pestilence, but in China nobody appears to die from its effect. [Illustration: A COOLIE IN THE STREETS OF SHANGHAI.] At the first opportunity our friends paid a visit to the Chinese part of Shanghai. They found a man at the gate of the city who was ready to serve them as guide, and so they engaged him without delay. He led them through one of the principal streets, which would have been only a narrow lane or alley in America; and they had an opportunity of studying the peculiarities of the people as they had studied in the Japanese cities the people of Japan. Here is what Frank wrote down concerning his first promenade in a Chinese city: "We found the streets narrow and dirty compared with Japan, or with any city I ever saw in America. The shops are small, and the shopkeepers are not so polite as those of Tokio or other places in Japan. In one shop, when I told the guide to ask the man to show his goods, they had a long talk in Chinese, and the guide said that the man refused to show anything unless we should agree to buy. Of course we would not agree to this, and we did nothing more than to ask the price of something we could see in a show-case. He wanted about ten times the value of the article; and then we saw why it was he wanted us to agree beforehand to buy what we looked at. Every time we stopped at a shop the people gathered around us, and they were not half so polite as the Japanese under the same circumstances. They made remarks about us, which of course we did not understand; but from the way they laughed when the remarks were made, we could see that they were the reverse of complimentary. "We went along the street, stopping now and then to look at something, and in a little while we came to a tea-house which stood in the middle of a pond of water. The house was rather pretty, and the balconies around it were nice, but you should have seen the water. It was covered with a green scum, such as you may see on a stagnant pool anywhere in the world, and the odor from it was anything but sweet. Fred said it was the same water that was let into the pool when they first made it. The guide says the house is a hundred years old, and I should think the water was quite as old as the house; or perhaps it is some second-hand water that they bought cheap, and if so it may be very ancient. We went into the house and sat down to take some tea. They gave us some tea-leaves, on which they poured hot water, and then covered the cup over for a minute or two. Each of us had his portion of tea separate from all the others. The tea was steeped in the cup, and when we wanted more we poured hot water on again. Then they brought little cakes and melon-seeds, with salt to eat with the seeds. Our guide took some of the seeds, and we ate one or two each to see how they tasted. I can't recommend them, and don't think there is any danger they will ever be introduced into the United States as a regular article of diet. [Illustration: A TEA-HOUSE IN THE COUNTRY.] "When we rose to go, and asked how much we owed, we were astonished at the price. The proprietor demanded a dollar for what we had had, when, as we afterwards learned, twenty-five cents would have been more than enough. We had some words with him through our interpreter, and finally paid the bill which we had found so outrageous. We told him we should not come there again; and he said he did not expect us to, as strangers rarely came more than once into the Chinese part of Shanghai. He was a nice specimen of a Chinese rascal; and Doctor Bronson says he must have taken lessons of some of the American swindlers at Niagara Falls and other popular resorts. What a pity it is that whenever you find something outrageously bad in a strange country, you have only to think a moment to discover something equally bad in your own! [Illustration: SMOKING OPIUM.] "At one place we looked into a little den where some people were smoking opium. They were lying on benches, and were very close together. The room wasn't more than eight feet square, and yet there were a dozen people in it, and perhaps one or two more. The guide told us it was a mistake to suppose that they smoked opium as we smoke tobacco. We stand, sit, or walk while smoking; but when a Chinese uses opium, he always reclines on a bench or bed, and gives himself up to his enjoyment. Men go to the shops where opium is sold and lie down on the benches for a period of pleasure. Sometimes two persons go together, and then they lie on the same bench and take turns in filling each other's pipe. "The opium must be boiled to fit it for use, and when ready it looks like very thick molasses. A man takes a long needle and dips it into the opium, and then he twists it around till he gets a ball of the drug as large as a pea. He holds this ball in the flame of a lamp till it becomes hot and partially burning, and then he thrusts it into a little orifice in the top of the bowl of the pipe. He continues to hold it in the flame, and, while it is burning, he slowly inhales the fumes that come from it. A few whiffs exhaust the pipe, and then the smoker rests for several minutes before he takes another. The amount required for intoxication is regulated and estimated in pipes; one man can be overcome by three or four pipes, while another will need ten, twenty, or even thirty of them. A beginner is satisfied with one or two pipes, and will go to sleep for several hours. He is said to have dreams of the pleasantest sort, but he generally feels weak and exhausted the next day. [Illustration; OPIUM-PIPE.] "Dr. Bronson says he tried to smoke opium the first time he was in China, but it made him very ill, and he did not get through with a single pipe. Some Europeans have learned to like it, and have lost their senses in consequence of giving way to the temptation. It is said to be the most seductive thing in the world, and some who have tried it once say it was so delightful that they would not risk a second time, for fear the habit would be so fixed that they could not shake it off. It is said that when a Chinese has tried it for ten or fifteen days in succession he cannot recover, or but very rarely does so. The effects are worse than those of intoxicating liquors, as they speedily render a man incapable of any kind of business, even when he is temporarily free from the influence of the drug. The habit is an expensive one, as the cost of opium is very great in consequence of the taxes and the high profits to those who deal in it. In a short time a man finds that all his earnings go for opium, and even when he is comfortably well off he will make a serious inroad on his property by his indulgence in the vice. A gentleman who has lived long in China, and studied the effects of opium on the people, says as follows: "'With all smokers the effect of this vice on their pecuniary standing is by no means to be estimated by the actual outlay in money for the drug. Its seductive influence leads its victims to neglect their business, and consequently, sooner or later, loss or ruin ensues. As the habit grows, so does inattention to business increase. Instances are not rare where the rich have been reduced to poverty and beggary, as one of the consequences of their attachment to the opium pipe. The poor addicted to this vice are often led to dispose of everything salable in the hovels where they live. Sometimes men sell their wives and children to procure the drug, and end by becoming beggars and thieves. In the second place, the smoking of opium injures one's health and bodily constitution. Unless taken promptly at the regular time, and in the necessary quantity, the victim becomes unable to control himself and to attend to his business. He sneezes, he gapes, mucus runs from his nose and eyes, griping pains seize him in the bowels, his whole appearance indicates restlessness and misery. If not indulged in smoking and left undisturbed, he usually falls asleep, but his sleep does not refresh and invigorate him. On being aroused, he is himself again, provided he can have his opium. If not, his troubles and pains multiply, he has no appetite for ordinary food, no strength or disposition to labor. He becomes emaciated to a frightful degree, his eyes protrude from their sockets; and if he cannot procure opium, he dies in the most horrible agony.' [Illustration: MAN BLINDED BY USE OF OPIUM.] "The government has tried to stop the use of opium, but was prevented from so doing by England, which made war upon China to compel her to open her ports and markets for its sale. It is no wonder that the Chinese are confused as to the exact character of Christianity, when a Christian nation makes war upon them to compel them to admit a poison which that Christian nation produces, and which kills hundreds of thousands of Chinese every year. "We made all our journey on foot, as we could not find any jin-riki-shas, except in the foreign part of Shanghai. They were only brought into use a few years ago, and they cannot be employed in all the cities of China, because the streets are very narrow, and the carriage could not move about. But we saw some sedan-chairs, and one of these days we are going to have a ride in them. It looks as though a ride of this sort would be very comfortable, as you have a good chair to sit in, and then you are held up by men who walk along very steadily. Ordinarily you have two men; but if you are a grand personage, or are going on a long course, three or four men are needed. The chair is quite pretty, as it has a lot of ornamental work about it, and the lower part is closed in with light panelling or bamboo-work. It is surprising what loads the coolies carry, and how long they will walk without apparent fatigue. They are accustomed to this kind of work all their lives, and seem to think it is all right. [Illustration: CHINESE GENTLEMAN IN A SEDAN.] "We came back pretty tired, as the streets are not agreeable for walking on account of the dust and the rough places. They don't seem to care how their streets are in China. When they have finished a street, they let it take care of itself; and if it wears out, it is none of their business. I am told that there are roads in China that were well made at the start, but have not had a particle of repair in a hundred years. They must be rough things to travel on." CHAPTER XXIV. A VOYAGE UP THE YANG-TSE KIANG. [Illustration: CANAL SCENE SOUTH OF SHANGHAI.] The plans of the Doctor included a journey up the great river, the Yang-tse. There was abundant opportunity for the proposed voyage, as there were two lines of steamers making regular trips as far as Han-kow, about six hundred miles from Shanghai. One line was the property of a Chinese company, and the other of an English one. The Chinese company's boats were of American build, and formerly belonged to an American firm that had large business relations in the East. The business of navigating the Yang-tse-kiang had been very profitable, and at one time it was said that the boats had made money enough to sink them if it were all put into silver and piled on their decks. But there was a decline when an opposition line came into the field and caused a heavy reduction of the prices for freight and passage. In the early days of steam navigation on the Yang-tse-kiang a passage from Shanghai to Han-kow cost four hundred dollars, and the price of freight was in proportion. For several years the Americans had a monopoly of the business, and could do pretty much as they liked. When the opposition began, the fares went down, down, down; and at the time our friends were in China the passage to Han-kow was to be had for twenty-four dollars--quite a decline from four hundred to twenty-four. The boys had expected to find the boats in China small and inconvenient. What was their astonishment to find them like the great steamers that ply on the North River, or from New York to Fall River or Providence. They found the cabins were large and comfortable, though they were not so numerous as on the American waters, for the reason that there were rarely many passengers to be carried. The captain, pilots, engineers, and other officers were Americans, while the crew were Chinese. The managers of the company were Chinese, but they left the control of the boats entirely in the hands of their respective captains. One boat had a Chinese captain and officers, but she was a small affair, and, from all that could be learned, the managers did not find their experiment of running with their own countrymen a successful one. At the advertised time the three strangers went on board the steamer that was to carry them up the river, and took possession of the cabins assigned to them. Their only fellow-passengers were some Chinese merchants on their way to Nanking, and a consular clerk at one of the British consulates along the stream. The captain of the steamer was a jolly New-Yorker, who had an inexhaustible fund of stories, which he was never tired of telling. Though he told dozens of them daily, Frank remarked that he was not like history, for he never repeated himself. Fred remembered that some one had said to him in Japan that he would be certain of a pleasant voyage on the Yang-tse-kiang if he happened to fall in with Captain Paul on the steamer _Kiang-ching_. Fortune had favored him, and he had found the steamer and the captain he desired. Frank observed that the steamer had been provided with a pair of eyes, which were neatly carved on wood, and painted so as to resemble the human eye. The captain explained that this was in deference to the Chinese custom of painting eyes on their ships and boats; and if he looked at the first boat, or other Chinese craft, large or small, that he saw, he would discover that it had eyes painted on the bow. This is the universal custom throughout China; and though a native may have a suspicion that it does no good, he would not be willing to fly in the face of old custom. In case he should leave his craft in blindness, and any accident befell her, he would be told by his friends, "Serves you right for not giving your ship eyes to see with." The steamer descended the Woosung River to its intersection with the Yang-tse-kiang, and then began the ascent of the latter. The great stream was so broad that it seemed more like a bay than a river. This condition continued for a hundred and fifty miles, when the bay narrowed to a river, and the far-famed Silver Island came in sight. It stands in mid-stream, a steep hill of rock, about three hundred feet high, crowned with a pagoda, and covered from base to summit with trees and bushes and rich grass. At first it might be taken for an uninhabited spot, but as the boat approaches you can see that there are numerous summer-houses and other habitations peeping out from the verdure. A little beyond the island there is a city which straggles over the hills, and is backed by a range of mountains that make a sharp outline against the sky. This is Chin-kiang, the first stopping-place of the steamer as she proceeds from Shanghai to Han-kow. She was to remain several hours, and our friends embraced the opportunity to take a stroll on shore. Here is Frank's account of the expedition: [Illustration: A CHINESE FAMILY PARTY.] "The streets of Chin-kiang are narrow and dirty, and the most of them that we saw seemed to be paved with kitchen rubbish and other unsavory substances. The smells that rose to our nostrils were too numerous and too disagreeable to mention; Fred says he discovered fifty-four distinct and different ones, but I think there were not more than forty-seven or forty-eight. The Doctor says we have not fairly tested the city, as there are several wards to hear from in addition to the ones we visited in our ramble. I was not altogether unprepared for these unpleasant features of Chin-kiang, as I had already taken a walk in the Chinese part of Shanghai. [Illustration: A GENTLEMAN OF CHIN-KIANG.] "Everybody says that one Chinese town is so much like another that a single one will do for a sample. This is undoubtedly true of the most of them, but you should make exceptions in the case of Canton and Pekin. They are of extra importance; and as one is in the extreme north, and the other in the far south, they have distinctive features of their own. We shall have a chance to talk about them by-and-by. As for Chin-kiang, I did not see anything worth notice while walking through it that I had not already seen at Shanghai, except, perhaps, that the dogs barked at us, and the cats ruffled their backs and tails, and fled from us as though we were bull-dogs. A pony tried to kick Fred as he walked by the brute, and only missed his mark by a couple of inches. You see that the dumb animals were not disposed to welcome us hospitably. They were evidently put up to their conduct by their masters, who do not like the strangers any more than the dogs and cats do, and are only prevented from showing their spite by the fear that the foreigners will blow their towns out of existence if any of them are injured. "We bought some things in the shops, but they did not amount to much either in cost or quality. Fred found a pair of Chinese spectacles which he paid half a dollar for; they were big round things, with glasses nearly as large as a silver dollar, and looked very comical when put on. But I am told that they are very comfortable to the eyes, and that the foreigners who live in China, and have occasion to wear spectacles, generally prefer those made by the Chinese opticians. A pair of really fine pebbles will cost from ten to twenty dollars. The glasses that Fred bought were only the commonest kind of stuff, colored with a smoky tint so as to reduce the glare of the sun. [Illustration: CHINESE SPECTACLES.] "We went outside the town, and found ourselves suddenly in the country. It was a complete change. Going through a gate in a wall took us from the streets to the fields, and going back through the gate took us to the streets again. We saw a man ploughing with a plough that had only one handle, and made a furrow in the ground about as large as if he had dragged a pickaxe through it. The plough was pulled by a Chinese buffalo about as large as a two-year-old steer, and he was guided by means of a cord drawn through the cartilage of his nose. It was a poor outfit for a farmer; but the man who had it appeared perfectly contented, and did not once turn his eyes from his work to look at us. [Illustration: PLOUGHING WITH A BUFFFALO.] "A little way off from this ploughman there was a man threshing grain on some slats; they looked like a small ladder placed on an incline, and the way he did the work was to take a handful of grain and thresh it against the slats till he had knocked out all the kernels and left nothing but the straw. Such a thing as a threshing-machine would astonish them very much, I should think, and I don't believe they would allow it to run. Labor is so cheap in China that they don't want any machinery to save it; when you can hire a man for five cents a day, and even less, you haven't any occasion to economize. [Illustration: THRESHING GRAIN NEAR CHIN-KIANG.] "The man who brought the bundles of grain to the thresher had them slung over his shoulder, as they carry everything in this country; two bundles made a load for him, and they were not large bundles either. Such a thing as a farm-wagon is as unknown as a threshing-machine, and would not be useful, as the paths among the fields are very narrow, and a wagon couldn't run on them at all. Land is very valuable in the neighborhood of the towns, and they would consider it wasteful to have a wide strip of it taken up for a road. And, as I have just said, labor is very cheap, especially the labor of the coolies who carry burdens. All the men I saw at work in the field were barefooted, and probably the wages they receive do not leave them much to spend on boots, after they have supported their families and paid their taxes. They must have a hard time to get along, but they appear perfectly cheerful and contented." [Illustration: CARRYING BUNDLES OF GRAIN.] From Chin-kiang the steamer proceeded up the river. The account of what they saw was thus continued by the boys: "The southern branch of the grand canal enters the river at Chin-kiang; the northern branch comes in some distance below. The river is plentifully dotted with junks, but this condition is not peculiar to the vicinity of the canal. All the way up from Shanghai to Han-kow it is the same, and sometimes twenty or thirty boats will be sailing so closely together as to endanger their cordage and sides. Perhaps you have seen New York Bay on a pleasant afternoon in summer when every boat that could hoist a sail was out for an airing? Well, imagine this great river for hundreds of miles dotted with sails as thickly as our bay on the occasion I have indicated, and you can have an idea of the native commerce of the Yang-tse-kiang. Nobody knows how many boats there are on the river, as no census of them is taken. The mandarins collect toll at the river stations, but do not trouble themselves to keep a record of the numbers. I asked a Chinese merchant who is a fellow-passenger with us how many boats there are engaged in the navigation of the Yang-tse and its tributaries, and he answers, "'P'raps hunder tousand, p'raps million; nobody don't know.' "Another says, 'Great many big million,' and he may not be far out of the way, though his statement is not very specific. [Illustration: A RIVER SCENE IN CHINA.] "I have heard a curious story of how the foreigners have secured more privileges than are allowed to the native merchants. Every district has the right to tax goods passing through it. At each district there is a barrier, commanded by a petty official, with a military guard, and here each native boat must stop and pay the transit tax. For long distances these taxes amount to a large sum, and frequently are a great deal more than the goods cost originally. These taxes are known as 'squeezes,' and the barriers where they are paid are called 'squeeze stations.' But the foreigners have secured a treaty with China, or, rather, there is a clause in one of the treaties, which exempts them from the payment of the transit 'squeezes;' they only pay the customs duties, and the local tax at the place of destination. Transit passes are issued by which goods belonging to foreigners, though carried in native boats, are exempt from squeezing, but these passes can only be obtained by foreigners. "Since the law went into operation, many Chinese merchants have gone into partnership with foreigners; the former furnishing the capital and attending to all the business, while the latter obtain the transit passes and give the name to the firm. A gentleman whom we met in Shanghai is associated with some wealthy Chinese; they put in the money, and he furnishes his name and gets the passes, which none of them could do. "The native junks will always give a free passage to a foreigner who will pretend to own the cargo, since they can escape the squeeze if he plays his part successfully. The captain says that last year a sailor who wanted to join an English gun-boat at a place up the river was carried through for nothing by a junk whose cargo he pretended to own. He passed as a 'foreign merchant,' but the fact was he had never bought anything in his life more valuable than a suit of clothes, and had sold a great deal less than that. [Illustration: A NINE-STORIED PAGODA.] "The river above Chin-kiang is in some places very pretty, and the mountains rise out of the water here and there, making a great contrast to the lowlands farther down. There are several large cities on the way, the most important (or, at all events, the one we know the most about) being Nanking. It was famous for its porcelain tower, which was destroyed years ago by the rebels. Every brick has been carried away, and they have actually dug down into the foundations for more. There is only a part of the city left; and as we did not have time to go on shore, I am not able to say much about it. But there are several other cities that were more fortunate, since they were able to save their towers, or pagodas, as they are generally called. These pagodas are always built with an odd number of stories, usually five, seven, or nine; but once in a great while there is an ambitious one of eleven stories, or a cheap and modest one of only three. We saw one handsome pagoda of nine stories that had bushes and climbing-plants growing from it. I suppose the birds carried the seeds there, and then they sprouted and took root. They make the pagoda look very old, and certainly that is quite proper, as they are all of an age that young people should respect. [Illustration: LITTLE ORPHAN ROCK.] "There is a funny little island--and not so little, after all, as it is three hundred feet high--that stands right in the middle of the river at one place. They call it the Little Orphan Rock, probably because it was never known to have any father or mother. There is a temple in the side of the rock, as if a niche had been cut to receive it. Fred thinks the people who live there ought not to complain of their ventilation and drainage; and if they fell out of the front windows by any accident, they would not be worth much when picked up. Away up on the top of the rock there is a little temple that would make a capital light-house, but I suppose the Chinese are too far behind the times to think of turning it to any practical use. Great Orphan Rock is farther up the river, or a little out of the river, in what they call Po-yang Lake. "Around the shores of Po-yang Lake is where they make a great deal of the porcelain, and what we call 'China ware,' that they send to America. The captain says he has frequently taken large quantities of it down the river to Shanghai, and that it was sent from there to our country. They dig the clay that they want for making the porcelain on the shores of the lake, and they get their fuel for burning it from the forests, not far away. The entrance to the lake is very picturesque; there is a town in a fortress on a hill that overlooks the river, and then there is a fort close down by the water. Probably the fort wouldn't be of much use against a fleet of foreign ships; but it looks well, and that is what pleases the Chinese." [Illustration: ENTRANCE TO PO-YANG LAKE.] CHAPTER XXV. THE TAE-PING REBELLION.--SCENES ON THE GREAT RIVER. The evidences of a large population along the Yang-tse were easy to see; but, nevertheless, Frank and Fred were somewhat disappointed. They had read of the overcrowded condition of China, and they saw the great numbers of boats that navigated the river, and consequently they looked for a proportionately dense mass of people on shore. Sometimes, for two or three hours at a time, not a house could be seen; and at others the villages were strung along in a straggling sort of way, as though they were thinly inhabited, and wished to make as good a show as possible. There were many places where the land did not seem to be under cultivation at all, as it was covered with a dense growth of reeds and rushes. In some localities the country appeared so much like a wilderness that the boys half expected to see wild beasts running about undisturbed; they began to speculate as to the kind of beasts that were to be found there, and finally questioned Dr. Bronson on the subject. The Doctor explained to them that this desolation was more apparent than real, and that if they should make a journey on shore, at almost any point, for a few miles back from the river, they would find all the people they wanted. "About thirty years ago," said he, "they had a rebellion in China; it lasted for a long time, and caused an immense destruction of life and property. The rebels had possession of the cities along the Yang-tse, and at one period it looked as though they would succeed in destroying the government." "Did they destroy the cities that we see in ruins?" Fred asked. "Yes," answered the Doctor, "they destroyed several cities so completely that not a hundred inhabitants remained, where formerly there had been many thousands; and other cities were so greatly injured that the traces of the rebel occupation have not been removed. I believe there is not a city that escaped uninjured, and you have seen for yourselves how some of them have suffered. "The rebellion," he continued, "is known in history as the Tae-ping insurrection. The words 'tae ping' mean 'general peace,' and were inscribed on the banners of the rebels. The avowed intention of the leader of the revolt was to overthrow the imperial power, and deliver the country from its oppressors. There were promises of a division of property, or, at all events, the rebels were to have free license to plunder wherever they went; and as there are always a great many people who have everything to gain and nothing to lose, the rebellion gathered strength as time went on. The leaders managed to convince the foreigners that they were inclined to look favorably on Christianity, and the idea went abroad that the Tae-pings were a sort of Chinese Protestants, who wanted to do away with old abuses, and were in favor of progress and of more intimate relations with foreign nations. Many of the missionaries in China were friendly to the rebellion, and so were some of the merchants and others established there. [Illustration: TAE-PING REBELS.] "So powerful did the rebels become that they had nearly a third of the best part of the empire under their control, and the imperial authorities became seriously alarmed. City after city had been captured by the rebels, and at one time the overthrow of the government appeared almost certain. The rebels were numerous and well officered, and they had the advantage of foreign instruction, and, to some extent, of foreign arms. The imperialists went to war after the old system, which consisted of sound rather than sense. They were accustomed to beat gongs, fire guns, and make a great noise to frighten the enemy; and as the enemy knew perfectly well what it was all about, it did not amount to much. The suppression of the rebellion was largely due to foreigners, and the most prominent of these was an American." "What! an American leader for Chinese?" "Yes, an American named Ward, who rose to be a high-class mandarin among the Chinese, and since his death temples have been erected to his honor. He came to Shanghai in 1860, and was looking around for something to do. The rebels were within forty miles of the city, and their appearance in front of it was hourly expected. They were holding the city of Soon-keong, and Ward proposed to take this place by contract, as one might propose to build a house or a railway line." The boys laughed at the idea of carrying on war by contract, but were reminded that they were in China, where things are done otherwise than in Europe and America. "The conditions of the contract were that Ward should raise a force of fifty Malays, and undertake the capture of a walled city having a garrison of four thousand rebels. If he succeeded, he was to have a certain sum of money--I think it was ten thousand dollars--and was then to raise a force of one thousand Chinese with twenty-five foreign officers, and was to have command of this army for the purpose of suppressing the rebellion. "Soon-keong has four gates, and they were opened at a certain hour in the morning. Ward went there secretly one night, and sent fourteen of his men to each of three of the gates, while he himself went with the remaining eight men to the fourth gate. The rebels suspected nothing, and at the usual time the gates were opened. Ward's men rushed in simultaneously at the four gates, made a great noise, set fire to several buildings, killed everybody they met, and pushed on for the centre of the town. In less than ten minutes the enemy had fled, and the battle was over. Ward was in full possession of the place, and a force of the imperial army, which was waiting near by, was marched in, to make sure that the rebels would not return. [Illustration: GENERAL WARD.] "Ward raised the army that he had proposed, and from one thousand it soon grew to three thousand. It was armed with foreign rifles, and had a battery of European artillery. The officers were English, American, French, and of other foreign nationalities, and the men were drilled in the European fashion. So uniformly were they successful that they received the name of 'the Invincibles,' and retained it through all their career. The American adventurer became 'General' Ward, was naturalized as a Chinese subject, was made a red-button mandarin, and received from the government a present of a large tract of land and a fine house in Shanghai. He was several times wounded, and finally, in October, 1862, he was killed in an attack on one of the rebel strongholds. [Illustration: THE GATE WHICH WARD ATTACKED.] "Ward was succeeded by an American named Burgevine, who had been one of his subordinates. Burgevine was quite as successful as Ward had been, and at one time with his army of 5000 trained Chinese he defeated 95,000 of the Tae-ping rebels. This made an end of the rebellion in that part of the country, but it was flourishing in other localities. Burgevine had some trouble with the authorities, which led to his retirement; and after that the Invincible army was commanded by an English officer named Gordon, who remained at the head of it till the downfall of the Tae-pings and the end of the rebellion. The success of this little army against the large force of the rebels shows the great advantages of discipline. In all time and in all countries this advantage has been apparent, but in none more so than in China. If the power of Ward and his men had been with the rebels instead of against them, it is highly probable that the government would have been overthrown. A few hundred well-trained soldiers could have decided the fate of an empire." [Illustration: GENERAL BURGEVINE.] The conversation about the Tae-ping rebellion and its termination occurred while the steamer was steadily making her way against the muddy waters of the Yang-tse. The party were sitting on the forward deck of the boat, and just as the closing words of the Doctor's remarks were pronounced, there was a new and unexpected sensation. The day was perfectly clear, but suddenly a cloud appeared to be forming like a thick mist. As they came nearer to it they discovered what it was, and made the discovery through their sense of feeling. It was a cloud of locusts moving from the southern to the northern bank of the river; they had devastated a large area, and were now hastening to fresh woods and pastures new. They filled the air so densely as to obscure the sun, and for more than an hour the steamer was enveloped in them. These locusts are the scourge of China, as they are of other countries. They are worse in some years than in others, and in several instances they have been the cause of local famines, or of great scarcity. Of course many of the locusts fell on the deck of the steamer, and found their way to the cabins. The flight of the cloud was from south to north, and Frank observed a remarkable peculiarity about the movements of individual members of the immense swarm. He captured several and placed them on the cabin table. No matter in what direction he turned their heads, they immediately faced about towards the north, and as long as they were in the cabin they continued to try to escape on the northern side. After the boat had passed through the swarm, the boys released several of the captives, and found that, no matter how they were directed at the moment of their release, they immediately turned and flew away to the north. "They've one consolation," Fred remarked--"they have their compasses always about them, and have no need to figure up their reckoning with 'Bowditch's Navigator' to know which way to steer." "Don't you remember," Frank retorted, "our old teacher used to tell us that instinct was often superior to reason. Birds and animals and fishes make their annual migrations, and know exactly where they are going, which is more than most men could begin to do. These locusts are guided by instinct, and they are obliged to be, as they would starve if they had to reason about their movements, and study to know where to go. Just think of a locust sitting down to a map of China, when there were millions of other locusts all doing the same thing. They wouldn't have maps enough to go around; and when they got to a place they wanted to reach, they would find that others had been there before them and eaten up all the grass." Frank's practical argument about instinct received the approval of his friends, and then the topic of conversation was changed to something else. Both the boys were greatly interested in the various processes of work that were visible on shore. Groups of men were to be seen cutting reeds for fuel, or for the roofs of houses, where they make a warm thatch that keeps out the rain and snow. Other groups were gathering cotton, hemp, millet, and other products of the earth; and at several points there were men with blue hands, who were extracting indigo from the plant which produces it. The plant is bruised and soaked in water till the coloring-matter is drawn out; the indigo settles to the bottom of the tub, and the water is poured off; and after being dried in the sun, the cake forms the indigo of commerce. In many places there were little stages about thirty feet high, and just large enough at the top for one man, who worked there patiently and alone. Frank could not make out the employment of these men, and neither could Fred. After puzzling awhile over the matter, they referred it to Doctor Bronson. "Those men," the Doctor explained, "are engaged in making ropes or cables out of the fibres of bamboo." "Why don't they work on the ground instead of climbing up there?" Fred asked. "Because," was the reply, "they want to keep the cable straight while they are braiding it. As fast as they braid it it hangs down by its own weight, and coils on the ground beneath. No expensive machinery is needed, and the principal labor in the business is to carry the bamboo fibre to the platform where it is wanted. This cable is very strong and cheap, and takes the place of hemp rope in a great many ways. It is larger and rougher than a hempen rope of the same strength, but the Chinese are willing to sacrifice beauty for cheapness in the majority of practical things." The Chinese have a way of catching fish which is peculiar to themselves, and much practised along the Yang-tse. A net several feet square hangs at the end of a long pole, and is lowered gently into the water and then suddenly raised. Any fish that happens to be swimming over the net at the time is liable to be taken in. He is lifted from the large net by means of a small scoop, and the raising and lowering process is resumed. Fred thought it was an excellent employment for a lazy man, and Frank suggested that it would be better for two lazy men than one, as they could keep each other company. The boys were desirous of seeing how the Chinese catch fish with the aid of cormorants, and were somewhat disappointed when told that these birds were rarely used on the Yang-tse, but must be looked for on some of the lakes and ponds away from the great stream, and particularly in the southern part of the empire. The Doctor thus described this novel mode of catching fish: "Three or four cormorants and a raft are necessary in this way of fishing. The cormorants are stupid-looking birds about the size of geese, but are of a dark color, so that they cannot be readily seen by the fish. The raft is of bamboo logs bound together, and about three feet wide by twenty in length. The fisherman is armed with a paddle for propelling his raft and a scoop-net for taking the fish after they have been caught by the cormorant, and he has a large basket for holding the fish after they have been safely secured. Each cormorant has a cord or ring around his neck to prevent him from swallowing the fish he has taken, and it is so tight that he cannot get down any but the smallest fish. [Illustration: FISHING WITH CORMORANTS.] "The birds dive off from the raft, and can swim under water with great rapidity. Sometimes they are not inclined to fish, and require to be pushed off, and, perhaps, beaten a little by their master. If they have been well trained, they swim directly towards the raft, when they rise to the surface; but sometimes a cormorant will go off the other way, in the hope of being able to swallow the fish he holds in his mouth. In such case the fisherman follows and captures the runaway, punishing him soundly for his misconduct. Whenever a bird catches a fish and brings it to the raft, he is rewarded with a mouthful of food. In this way he soon learns to associate his success with something to eat; and a cormorant that has been well trained has a good deal of fidelity in his composition. I am uncertain which to admire most, the dexterity of the fisherman in handling his raft, or the perseverance and celerity of the cormorants." On her arrival at Han-kow, the steamer was tied up to the bank in front of the portion of the city occupied by the foreigners. Han-kow is on a broad tongue of land at the junction of the Han with the Yang-tse. On the opposite side of the Han is the city of Han-yang, and over on the other bank of the Yang-tse is Wo-chang. Here is the brief description given by the Doctor in a letter to friends at home: "A hill between Han-kow and Han-yang rises about six hundred feet, and affords one of the finest views in the world, and, in some respects, one of the most remarkable. We climbed there yesterday a little before sunset, and remained as long as the fading daylight and the exigencies of our return permitted. At our feet lay the Yang-tse, rolling towards the sea after its junction with the Han, which we could trace afar, like a ribbon of silver winding through the green plain. Away to the west was a range of mountains, lighted by the setting sun, and overhung with golden and purple clouds; while to the south was an undulating country, whose foreground was filled with the walled city of Wo-chang. The crenelated walls enclose an enormous space, much of which is so desolate that foreigners are accustomed to hunt pheasants and hares within the limits. They say that at one time all this space was covered with buildings, and that the buildings were crowded with occupants. The three cities suffered terribly during the rebellion, and more than three fourths of their edifices were levelled. Looking from the hill, it is easy to see the traces of the destruction, although twenty years have passed since the insurrection was suppressed. The population of the three cities was said to have been four or five millions; but, even after making allowance for the density with which Chinese cities are crowded, I should think those figures were too high. However, there is no doubt that it was very great, and probably more people lived here than on any similar area anywhere else in the world." Han-kow is a great centre of trade. Frequently the mouth of the Han is so crowded with junks that the river is entirely covered, and you may walk for hours by merely stepping from one boat to another. The upper Yang-tse and the Han bring down large quantities of tea, furs, silk, wax, and other products, both for home use and for export. There are heavy exports of tea from Han-kow direct to England, and every year steamers go there to load with cargoes, which they take to London as rapidly as possible. Our friends were told that there was a large trade in brick tea, which was prepared for the Russian market; and as the boys were anxious to see the process of preparation, a visit to one of the factories was arranged. Frank made a note of what he saw and wrote it out as follows: [Illustration: A STREET IN HAN-KOW.] "The dry tea is weighed out into portions for single bricks, and each portion is wrapped in a cloth and placed over a steam-boiler. When it is thoroughly steamed, it is poured into a mould and placed beneath a machine, which presses it into the required shape and size. Some of the machines are worked by hand, and others by steam. Both kinds are very rapid and efficient, and we could not see that the steam had much advantage. Five men working a hand machine, and receiving twenty cents each for a day's labor, were able to press six bricks a minute, as we found by timing them with our watches. The steam press worked only a little faster, and the cost of fuel must have been about equal to that of human muscle. "Only the poorest kind of tea is made into bricks, and each brick is about six inches wide, eight inches long, and one inch thick. After it has been pressed, it is dried in ovens; and when it is thoroughly dried and ready for packing, it is weighed, to make sure that it is up to the required standard. All bricks that are too light are thrown out, to be mixed up again and done over. Nearly all of this business is in Russian hands, for the reason that this kind of tea is sold only in Russia." Doctor Bronson arranged that the party should visit Wo-chang and see a famous pagoda that stood on the bank of the river. There was not a great deal to see after they got there, as the place was not in good repair, and contained very little in the way of statues and idols. The stairways were narrow and dark, and the climb to the top was not accomplished without difficulty. Afterwards they went through the principal streets, and visited the shops, which they found much like those of Shanghai and Chin-kiang. The people showed some curiosity in looking at the strangers--more than they had found farther down the river--for the reason, doubtless, that fewer foreigners go there. [Illustration: WO-CHANG.] Wo-chang is the capital of the province of Hoo-peh, and the governor-general resides there. Our friends were fortunate enough to get a glimpse of this high official as he was carried through the streets in a sedan-chair, followed by several members of his staff. A Chinese governor never goes out without a numerous following, as he wishes the whole world to be impressed with a sense of his importance; and the rank and position of an official can generally be understood by a single glance at the number of his attendants, though the great man himself may be so shut up in his chair that his decorations and the button on his hat may not be visible. In a couple of days the steamer was ready for the return to Shanghai. The time had been well employed in visiting the streets and shops and temples of Han-kow, and learning something of its importance as a centre of trade. The return journey was begun with a feeling of satisfaction that they had taken the trouble and the time for the ascent of the Yang-tsu and made themselves acquainted with the internal life of the country. [Illustration: THE GOVERNOR-GENERAL AND HIS STAFF.] CHAPTER XXVI. FROM SHANGHAI TO PEKIN. On their return to Shanghai, the Doctor informed his young companions that they would take the first steamer up the coast in the direction of Pekin. They had only a day to wait, as the regular steamer for Tien-tsin was advertised to leave on the afternoon following their return. She was not so large and comfortable as the one that had carried them to Han-kow and back; but she was far better than no steamer at all, and they did not hesitate a moment at taking passage in her. They found that she had a Chinese crew, with foreign officers--the same as they had found the river-boat and the steamers from Japan. The captain was an American, who had spent twenty years in China, and knew all the peculiarities of the navigation of its waters. He had passed through two or three shipwrecks and been chased by pirates. Once he was in the hands of the rebels, who led him out for execution; but their attention was diverted by an attack on the town where they were, and he was left to take care of himself, which you can be sure he did. Another time he saved himself by crawling through a small window and letting himself fall about ten feet into a river. The night was dark, and he did not know where to go; but he thought it better to take the chance of an escape in this way, as he felt sure he would have his head taken off the next morning if he remained. Luckily he floated down to where a foreign ship was lying, and managed to be taken on board. He thought he had had quite enough of that sort of thing, and was willing to lead a quiet life for the rest of his days. They descended the river to the sea, and then turned to the northward. Nothing of moment occurred as the steamer moved along on her course, and on the morning of the third day from Shanghai they were entering the mouth of the Pei-ho River. The Doctor pointed out the famous Taku forts through the thin mist that overhung the water, and the boys naturally asked what the Taku forts had done to make themselves famous. [Illustration: ATTACK ON THE PEI-HO FORTS.] "There is quite a history connected with them," the Doctor answered. "They were the scene of the repulse of the British fleet in 1859, when an American commander came to its relief, with the remark, which has become historic, 'Blood is thicker than water!' In the following year the English returned, and had better success; they captured the forts and entered the river in spite of all that the Chinese could do to stop them. Do you see that low bank there, in front of a mud-wall to the left of the fort?" "Certainly," was the reply. "Well, that is the place where the sailors landed from the small boats for the purpose of storming the forts, while the gun-boats were shelling them farther up the river." "But it looks from here as if there were a long stretch of mud," Fred remarked. "You are right," the Doctor responded, "there is a long stretch of mud, and it was that mud which partly led to the failure at the time of the first attack. The storming force was compelled to wade through it, and many of the men perished. The fire of the Chinese was more severe than had been expected, and the ships of the fleet were badly injured. But when the attack was made the following year, the muddy belt was much narrower, and the sailors passed through it very quickly, and were at the walls of the fort before the Chinese were ready for them. "The navigation is difficult along the Pei-ho River, and the steamers of the attacking fleet found the passage barred by cables stretched across the stream. They had considerable trouble to break through these obstructions, but they finally succeeded, and the rest of the voyage to Tien-tsin was accomplished far more easily than the capture of the forts." As the steamer moved on against the muddy current, and turned in the very crooked channel of the Pei-ho, Frank espied a double-storied building with a wide veranda, and asked what it was. He was interested to learn that it was known as the Temple of the Sea-god, and had been at one time the residence of the Chinese commander of the Taku forts. It had a handsome front on the river, and a fleet of junks was moored directly above it. Each junk appeared to be staring with all the power of the great eyes painted on its bows, and some of the junks more distinguished than the rest were equipped with two eyes on each side, in order that they might see better than the ordinary craft. Flags floated from the masts of all the junks, and in nearly every instance they were attached to little rods, and swung from the centre. A Chinese flag twists and turns in the breeze in a manner quite unknown to a banner hung after the ways of Europe and America. [Illustration: TEMPLE OF THE SEA-GOD AT TAKU.] The river from Taku to Tien-tsin was crowded with junks and small boats, and it was easy to see that the empire of China has a large commerce on all its water-ways. The Grand Canal begins at Tien-tsin, and the city stands on an angle formed by the canal and the Pei-ho River. It is not far from a mile square, and has a wall surrounding it. Each of the four walls has a gate in the centre, and a wide street leads from this gate to the middle of the city, where there is a pagoda. The streets are wider than in most of the Chinese cities, and there is less danger of being knocked down by the pole of a sedan-chair, or of a coolie bearing a load of merchandise. In spite of its great commercial activity, the city does not appear very prosperous. Beggars are numerous, and wherever our friends went they were constantly importuned by men and women, who appeared to be in the severest want. [Illustration: A CHINESE BEGGAR.] The usual way of going to Pekin is by the road from Tien-tsin, while the return journey is by boat along the river. The road is about ninety miles long, and is one of the worst in the world, when we consider how long it has been in use. According to Chinese history, it was built about two thousand years ago. Frank said he could readily believe that it was at least two thousand years old, and Fred thought it had never been repaired since it was first opened to the public. It was paved with large stones for a good portion of the way, and these stones have been worn into deep ruts, so that the track is anything but agreeable for a carriage. The only wheeled vehicles in this part of China are carts without springs, and mounted on a single axle; the body rests directly on the axle, so that every jolt is conveyed to the person inside, and he feels after a day's journey very much as though he had been run through a winnowing-machine. The Chinese cart is too short for an average-sized person to lie in at full length, and too low to allow him to sit erect; it has a small window on each side, so placed that it is next to impossible to look out and see what there is along the route. Altogether it is a most uncomfortable vehicle to travel in, and the boys thought they would go on foot rather than ride in one of them. [Illustration: SIGNING THE TREATY OF TIEN-TSIN.] But it was not necessary to go on foot, as they were able to hire ponies for the journey, and it was agreed all round that a little roughness on horseback for a couple of days would do no harm. So they made a contract with a Chinese, who had been recommended to them by the consul as a good man, to carry them to Pekin. It was arranged that they should take an early start, so as to reach a village a little more than half way by nightfall, and they retired early in order to have a good night's sleep. They had time for a little stroll before they went to bed, and so they employed it in visiting the "Temple of the Oceanic Influences," where the treaty of Tien-tsin was signed after the capture of the Taku forts and the advance of the English to the city. The temple is on a plain outside of the walls, and contains a large hall, which was very convenient for the important ceremonial that took place there. At the time the treaty was signed the British officers were in full uniform, and made a fine appearance, while the Chinese were not a whit behind them in gorgeousness of apparel. Contrary to their usual custom, the Chinese did not think it necessary to hang up any elaborate decorations in the hall, and the attention of the spectators was concentrated on the dignitaries who managed the affair. There is another way of travelling in China, which is by means of a mule litter. This is a sort of sedan-chair carried by mules instead of men; one mule walks in front, and another in the rear, and the litter is supported between them on a couple of long shafts. The pace is slow, being always at a walk, except at the times when the mules run away and smash things generally, as happens not unfrequently. The straps that hold the shafts to the saddles of the mules have a way of getting loose, and leaving the box to fall to the ground with a heavy thud, which interferes materially with the comfort of the occupant. For invalids and ladies the mule litter is to be recommended, as well as for persons who are fond of having the greatest amount of comfort; but our young friends disdained anything so effeminate, and determined to make the journey on horseback. They took as little baggage as possible, leaving everything superfluous at Tien-tsin; six horses were sufficient for all the wants of the party--four for themselves and the guide, and two for the baggage. It was necessary to carry the most of the provisions needed for the journey to Pekin, as the Chinese hotels along the route could not be relied on with any certainty. No rain had fallen for some time, and the way was very dusty; but this circumstance only made it more amusing to the boys, though it was not so pleasing to the Doctor. Before they had been an hour on the road, it was not easy to say which was Fred and which Frank, until they had rendered themselves recognizable by washing their faces. Water was scarce, and not particularly good, and, besides, the operation of washing the face was an affair of much inconvenience. So they contented themselves with the dust, and concluded that for the present they wouldn't be particular about names or identity. At noon they had gone twenty-five miles through a country which abounded in villages and gardens, and had a great many fields of wheat, millet, cotton, and other products of China; the fields were not unlike those they had seen on their voyage up the Yang-tse; and as for the villages, they were exactly alike, especially in the items of dirt and general repulsiveness. The modes of performing field labor were more interesting than the villages; the most of the fields were watered artificially, and the process of pumping water attracted the attention of the boys. An endless chain, with floats on it, was propelled through an inclined box by a couple of men who kept up a steady walk on a sort of treadmill. There were spokes in a horizontal shaft, and on the ends of the spokes there were little pieces of board, with just sufficient space for a man's foot to rest. The men walked on these spokes, and steadied themselves on a horizontal pole which was held between a couple of upright posts. Labor is so cheap in China that there is no occasion for employing steam or wind machinery; it was said that a pump coolie was able to earn from five to ten cents a day in the season when the fields needed irrigation, and he had nothing to do at other times. [Illustration: MODE OF IRRIGATING FIELDS.] The night was passed at a village where there was a Chinese tavern, but it was so full that the party were sent to a temple to sleep. Beds were made on the floor, and the travellers managed to get along very well, in spite of the fleas that supped and breakfasted on their bodies, and would have been pleased to dine there. The boys were in a corner of the temple under the shadow of one of the idols to whom the place belonged, while the Doctor had his couch in front of a canopy where there was a deity that watched over him all night with uplifted hands. Two smaller idols, one near his head and the other at his feet, kept company with the larger one; but whether they took turns in staying awake, the Doctor was too sleepy to inquire. [Illustration: THE DOCTOR'S BEDROOM.] They were up very early in the morning, and off at daylight, somewhat to the reluctance of the guide, who had counted on sleeping a little longer. The scenes along the road were much like those of the day before, and they were glad when, just at nightfall, the guide pointed to a high wall in front of them, and pronounced the word "Pekin." They were in sight of the city. "I'm disappointed," said Fred. "Pekin isn't what I thought it was." "Well, what did you expect to find?" queried Frank. "Why, I thought it was on a hill, or something of the sort; I had no reason to think so, of course, but I had formed that picture of it." "Nearly every one who comes to Pekin is thus disappointed," said Doctor Bronson; "he expects to see the city from a distance, while, in reality, it is not visible till you are quite close to it." The walls were high, and there was nothing to be seen inside of them, as none of the buildings in that quarter were equally lofty. But the effect of the walls was imposing; there were towers at regular intervals, and the most of them were two stories above the level of the surrounding structure. For nearly a mile they rode along the base of one of the walls till they came to a gate that led them into the principal street. Once inside, they found themselves transferred very suddenly from the stillness of the country to the bustling life of the great city. [Illustration: PART OF THE WALL OF THE PEKIN.] "I'm not disappointed now," Fred remarked, as they rode along in the direction indicated by the guide; "the streets are so wide in comparison with those of the cities we have seen that they seem very grand, indeed." "You've hit it exactly, Fred," Doctor Bronson replied, "Pekin is called the 'City of Magnificent Distances' on account of the width of its streets, the great extent of the city, and the long walks or rides that are necessary for going about in it." "Evidently they took plenty of room when they laid it out," said Frank, "for it isn't crowded like Shanghai and the other places we have seen." It was dark when they reached the little hotel where they were to stay. It was kept by a German, who thought Pekin was an excellent place for a hotel, but would be better if more strangers would visit the city. His establishment was not large, and its facilities were not great, but they were quite sufficient for the wants of our friends, who were too tired to be particular about trifles. They took a hearty supper, and then went to bed to sleep away the fatigues of their journey. Next morning they were not very early risers, and the whole trio were weary and sore from the effect of the ride of ninety miles on the backs of Chinese ponies. Frank said that when he was sitting down he hesitated to rise for fear he should break in two, and Fred asserted that it was dangerous to go from a standing to a sitting position for the same reason. They determined to take things easily for the first day of their stay in Pekin, and confine their studies to the neighborhood of the hotel. With this object in view, they took short walks on the streets, and in the afternoon ventured on a ride in a small cart; or, rather, they hired two carts, as one was not sufficient to hold them. These carts are very abundant at Pekin, and are to be hired like cabs in European or American cities. They are not dear, being only sixty or seventy cents a day, and they are so abundant that one can generally find them at the principal public places. The carts, or cabs, are quite light in construction, and in summer they have shelters over the horses to protect them from the heat of the sun. The driver walks at the side of his team; and when the pace of the horse quickens to a run, he runs with it. No matter how rapidly the horse may go, the man does not seem troubled to keep alongside. The carts take the place of sedan-chairs, of which very few are to be seen in Pekin. [Illustration: A PEKIN CAB.] Another kind of cart which is used in the North to carry merchandise, and also for passengers, is much stronger than the cab, but, like it, is mounted on two wheels. The frame is of wood, and there is generally a cover of matting to keep off the heat of the sun. This cover is supported on posts that rise from the sides of the cart; but while useful against the sun, it is of no consequence in a storm, owing to its facility for letting the water run through. The teams for propelling these carts are more curious than the vehicles themselves, as they are indifferently made up of whatever animals are at hand. Oxen, cows, horses, mules, donkeys, and sometimes goats and dogs, are the beasts of burden that were seen by the boys in their rambles in Pekin and its vicinity, and on one occasion Fred saw a team which contained a camel harnessed with a mule and a cow. Camels come to Pekin from the Desert of Gobi, where great numbers of them are used in the overland trade between China and Russia. They are quite similar to the Arabian camel, but are smaller, and their hair is thicker, to enable them to endure the severe cold of the northern winter. In the season when tea is ready for export, thousands of camels are employed in transporting the fragrant herb to the Russian frontier, and the roads to the northward from Pekin are blocked with them. [Illustration: A COMPOSITE TEAM.] Walking was not altogether a pleasant amusement for our friends, as the streets were a mass of dust, owing to the carelessness of the authorities about allowing the refuse to accumulate in them. There is a tradition that one of the emperors, in a period that is lost in the mazes of antiquity, attempted to sweep the streets in order to make himself popular with the people; but he found the task too large, and, moreover, he had serious doubts about its being accomplished in his lifetime. So he gave it up, as he did not care to do something that would go more to the credit of his successor than of himself, and no one has had the courage to try it since that time. The amount of dirt that accumulates in a Chinese city would breed a pestilence in any other part of the world. Not only do the Chinese appear uninjured by it, but there are some who assert that it is a necessity of their existence, and they would lose their health if compelled to live in an atmosphere of cleanliness. One of the most interesting street sights of their first day in Pekin was a procession carrying a dragon made of bamboo covered with painted paper. There was a great noise of tom-toms and drums to give warning of the approach of the procession, and there was the usual rabble of small boys that precedes similar festivities everywhere. The dragon was carried by five men, who held him aloft on sticks that also served to give his body an undulating motion in imitation of life. He was not pretty to look upon, and his head seemed too large for his body. The Chinese idea of the dragon is, that he is something very hideous, and they certainly succeed in representing their conception of him. Dr. Bronson explained that the dragon was frequently carried in procession at night, and on these occasions the hollow body was illuminated, so that it was more hideous, if possible, than in the daytime. [Illustration: A CHINESE DRAGON.] CHAPTER XXVII. SIGHTS IN PEKIN. From their own observations and the notes and accounts of travellers who had preceded them, the boys made the following description of Pekin: "Pekin stands on a great sandy plain, and has a population of about two millions. It consists of two parts, which are separated by a wall; that towards the south is called the Chinese city, and that on the north the Tartar city. The Tartar city is the smaller both in area and population; it is said to measure about twelve square miles, while the Chinese city measures fifteen. There are thirteen gates in the outer walls, and there are three gates between the Tartar and the Chinese city. In front of each gate there is a sort of bastion or screen, so that you cannot see the entrance at all as you approach it, and are obliged to turn to one side to come in or go out. The Chinese city has few public buildings of importance, while the Tartar city has a great many of them. The latter city consists of three enclosures, one inside the other, and each enclosure has a wall of its own. The outer one contains dwellings and shops, the second includes the government offices, and the houses of private persons who are allowed to live there as a mark of special favor; while the third is called the Prohibited City, and is devoted to the imperial palace and temples that belong to it. Nobody can go inside the Prohibited City without special permission, and sometimes this is very hard to obtain; the wall enclosing it is nearly two miles in circumference, and has a gate in each of its four fronts, and the wall is as solid and high as the one that surrounds the whole city of Pekin. "We had no trouble in going to see the imperial palace, or such parts of it as are open to the public, and also the temples. We could readily believe what was told us--that the temples were the finest in the whole country, and certainly some of them were very interesting. There are temples to the earth, to the sun, the moon; and there are temples to agriculture, to commerce, and a great many other things. There is a very fine structure of marble more than a hundred feet high, which is called "The Gate of Extensive Peace." It is where the emperor comes on great public occasions; and beyond it are two halls where the foreign visitors are received at the beginning of each year, and where the emperor examines the implements used in the opening of the annual season of ploughing. The ploughing ceremony does not take place here, but in another part of the city, and the emperor himself holds the plough to turn the first furrow. There are some very pretty gardens in the Prohibited City, and we had a fine opportunity to learn something about the skill of the Chinese in landscape gardening. There are canals, fountains, bridges, flower-beds, groves, and little hillocks, all carefully tended, and forming a very pretty picture in connection with the temples and pavilions that stand among them. [Illustration: A PAVILION IN THE PROHIBITED CITY.] "We have seen many temples--so many, in fact, that it is difficult to remember all of them. One of the most impressive is the Temple of Heaven, which has three circular roofs, one above another, and is said to be ninety-nine feet high. The tiles on the top are of porcelain of the color of a clear sky, and the intention of the builder was to imitate the vault of heaven. On the inside there are altars where sacrifices are offered to the memory of former emperors of China, and on certain occasions the emperor comes here to take part in the ceremonies. [Illustration: TEMPLE OF HEAVEN.] [Illustration: PEKIN CASH.] "Then we went to see the great bell, which is one of the wonders of the world, though it is not so large as the bell at Moscow. It is said to weigh 112,000 pounds, but how they ever weighed it I don't know. It is a foot thick at the rim, about twenty feet high, and fifteen feet in diameter; it was cast more than two hundred years ago, and is covered all over, inside and outside, with Chinese characters. There is a little hole in the top of it where people try to throw copper cash. If they succeed, it is a sign that they will be fortunate in life; and if they fail, they must leave the money as an offering to the temple. All of us tried till we had thrown away a double-handful of cash, but we didn't get a single one of them through the hole. So if we fail now in anything, you will know the reason. [Illustration: TRADITIONAL LIKENESS OF CONFUCIUS.] [Illustration: GOD OF WAR.] "The Chinese have a great many gods, and pretty nearly every god has a temple in some part of Pekin. There is a fine temple to Confucius, which is surrounded by some trees that are said to be five hundred years old; the temple has a high roof which is very elaborately carved, and looks pretty both from a distance and when you are close by it. But there are no statues in the temple, as the Chinese do not worship Confucius through a statue, but by means of a tablet on which his name is inscribed. The other deities have their statues, and you may see the god of war with a long beard and mustache. The Chinese have very slight beards, and it is perhaps for this reason that they frequently represent their divinities as having a great deal of hair on their faces, so as to indicate their superiority to mortals. Then they have a god of literature, who is represented standing on the head of a large fish, and waving a pencil in his right hand, while he holds in his left a cap such as is worn by the literary graduates after they have received their degrees. The god of literature is worshipped a great deal by everybody who is studying for a degree, and by those whose ancestors or other relatives have been successful in carrying away the honors at an examination. Think what it would be to have such a divinity in our colleges and schools in America, and the amount of worship he would get if the students really believed in him! [Illustration: GOD OF LITERATURE.] [Illustration: GOD OF THIEVES.] "The Chinese have a god of thieves; but he has no temple, and is generally worshipped in the open air. All the thieves are supposed to worship him, as he is a saint who made their business successful; and, besides this, he is worshipped by those who wish to become wealthy in honest ways. He is said to have been a skilful thief, and very pious at the same time. He was kind to his mother, and the most of his stealing was done to support her. "One of the interesting places we have visited is the office of the Board of Punishments, which corresponds pretty nearly to our courts of justice. But one great point of difference between their mode of administering justice and ours is that they employ torture, while we do not. Not only is the prisoner tortured after condemnation, but he is tortured before trial, in order to make him tell the truth; and even the witnesses, under certain circumstances, are submitted to the same treatment. We saw some of the instruments that they use, and there was not the least attempt to keep us from seeing them. It is customary to have them piled or hung up at the doors of the courts, so that culprits may know what to expect, and honest persons may be deterred from wickedness through fear. It is the same principle that is followed by some of the school-teachers in America when they hang up in full view the stick with which they intend to punish unruly boys. [Illustration: A MANDARIN JUDGE DELIVERING SENTENCE.] "When we went into the court-room, a man had just been sentenced to receive twenty blows of the bamboo, and the sentence was immediately carried out. He was ordered to lie down with his face to the floor; his back was then stripped, and while his legs and arms were held by attendants, the executioner laid on the twenty blows with a bamboo stick about six feet long and two inches wide. One side of the stick was rounded and the other was flat; the flesh was blistered at every stroke, or raised in a great puff, and it is certain that the man must be some time in getting well. He did not scream or make the least outcry, but took his punishment patiently, and was raised to his feet at its end. He bowed to the judge, and, perhaps, thanked him for the attention he had received, and was then led away to make room for some one else. "The Chinese don't seem to have any nerves compared with what we have. They do not suffer so much as we do under tortures, and this is perhaps one of the reasons why they are so much more cruel than the people of Europe and America. For example, it would nearly kill a European to travel a week in carts such as we saw on the road from Tien-tsin to Pekin. The Chinese don't seem to mind it at all; and the best proof that they do not is that they have never invented any better or more comfortable way of travelling, or tried to improve their roads. And it is the same with their punishments in the courts. They don't care much for whippings, though it is not at all probable that they like them, and the only things that they appear to fear very much are the punishments that are prolonged. There are a good many of these, and I will tell you about some of the most prominent and best known. "Several times we have seen men with wooden collars three or four feet square, and with a hole in the centre, where the poor fellow's neck comes through. It is made of plank about two inches thick, and you can see that the load is a heavy one for a man to carry. He cannot bring his arms to his head; and if he has no friends to feed him, or no money to pay some one else to do so, he must starve. On the upper surface of the plank is painted the name of the criminal, together with the crime he has committed and the time he has been ordered to wear the collar. This instrument is called a 'cangue,' and is said to be in use all over China from one end of the country to the other. "There is a mode of torture which is chiefly used to extort confessions from persons accused of crime, and the result of its use is said to be that many a man has been induced to confess crimes of which he was entirely innocent, in order to escape from the terrible pain which is produced. The victim is compelled to stand against a post, and his cue is tied to it so that he cannot get away. His arms are tied to a cross-beam, and then little rods are placed between his fingers in such a way that every finger is enclosed. The rods are so arranged that by pulling a string the pressure on the fingers is increased, and the pain very soon becomes so great that most men are unable to endure it. If you want to know just how a little of it feels, I advise you to put one of your fingers between two lead-pencils and then squeeze the pencils together. You won't keep doing so very long. [Illustration: SQUEEZING THE FINGERS.] "They squeeze the ankles in much the same way, by making the man kneel on the ground, with his ankles in a frame of three sticks that are fastened together at one end by a cord like that of the finger-squeezer. Then, when all is ready, they pull at the cord and draw the sticks nearer to each other, so that pressure is brought on the ankles. The pain is intense, and the most demure Chinaman is not able to stand it without shrinking. This mode of torture, like the other, is used to make prisoners confess the crimes of which they are accused, and they generally confess them. It is said that witnesses may be subjected to the ankle torture, but with the modification in their favor that only one ankle can be squeezed at a time. Very kind, isn't it? [Illustration: SQUEEZING THE ANKLES.] "We went near the prison while we were in the Tartar city, and so it was proposed that we should see what there was inside. It was the most horrible place I have ever seen, and the wonder is that men can be found inhuman enough to condemn people to be shut up there. There was a large cage so full of men that there was not room on the floor for them all to lie down at once, even if they had been as close together as sardines in a can. We could see through the bars of the cage, as if the captives had been wild animals instead of human beings, and they looked so worn and wretched that we all pitied them very much. If a man is sent to prison in China, and has no money to pay for his food, he will die of starvation, as the jailers are not required by law to feed the prisoners under their charge. There were men chained, with iron collars around their necks; and others tied, with their hands and feet brought close together. The suffering was terrible, and we were glad to come away after a very few minutes. It is positive that we do not want to see another prison as long as we stay in this country. [Illustration: A BED OF TORTURE.] "In the Chinese prisons they torture men to make them confess, and also to compel them to tell if they have money, or any relatives or friends who have it. One of these cruelties is called 'putting a man to bed,' and consists in fastening him on a wooden bedstead by his neck, wrists, and ankles in such a way that he cannot move. He is compelled to pass the night in this position; and sometimes they give him a coverlet of a single board that presses on his body, and is occasionally weighted to make it more oppressive. The next morning he is released and told that he can be free until night, when he will be again tied up. Generally a man is willing to do anything in his power rather than pass a second night on such a bed. If he has money, he gives it up; and, no matter how reluctant he may be to call on his friends, he does so, sooner or later, and throws himself on their generosity. "They suspend men by the wrists and ankles; sometimes by one wrist and one ankle, and at others by all four brought closely together. Then they place a victim in a chair with his arms tied to cross-sticks, and in this position he is compelled to sit for hours in the most terrible pain. Another mode is by tying a man's hands together beneath his knees, and then passing a pole under his arm and suspending him from it. This is called 'the monkey grasping a peach,' and it is frequently employed to compel a rich man to pay heavily to escape punishment. How it got its name nobody can tell, unless it was owing to a supposed resemblance to the position of a monkey holding something in his paw. [Illustration: FOUR MODES OF PUNISHMENT.] "Just as we were coming out of the prison-yard we saw a man standing in a cage with his head through a board in the top, while his toes just touched the bottom. Unless he stood on tiptoe, the weight of his body fell on his neck; and everybody knows how difficult it is to remain on tiptoe for any length of time. Sometimes men are compelled to stand in this way till they die, but generally the punishment is confined to a few hours. It is the form most frequently employed for the sentence of criminals who have been robbing on the public highway, and are convicted of using violence at the time of committing their offences. [Illustration: STANDING IN A CAGE.] "I could go on with a long account of the tortures in China, but they are not very pleasant reading, and, besides, some of them are too horrible for belief. I will stop with the torture known as 'the hot-water snake,' which consists of a coil of thin tubing of tin or pewter in the form of a serpent. One of these coils is twisted around each arm of the victim, and another around his body, in such a way that the head of the snake is higher than any other part. Then they pour boiling water into the mouth of the snake, and the flesh of the prisoner is burned and scalded in the most terrible manner. This punishment is said to be used rarely, and only on persons accused of crimes against the government. It is too horrible to be popular, even among the most cold-blooded people in the world. [Illustration: HOT-WATER SNAKE.] "A good many of these punishments precede a much more merciful one, that of decapitation. The victim who is to suffer the loss of his head is carried to the place of execution in a small cage of bamboo, with his hands tied behind him, and the crime for which he is to suffer written on a piece of stiff paper and fastened to his hair. In one corner of the cage is a bucket, which is to hold his head after the executioner has cut it off; and frequently the pail with the head in it is hung near one of the gates of the city or in some other public place. When he reaches the execution-ground, he is required to kneel, and the executioner strikes his head off with a single blow of a heavy sword. The poor fellows who are to suffer death rarely make any opposition, and some of them seem quite willing to meet it. This is said to be due partly to the calmness of the Chinese, and partly to the fact that they have been so tortured and starved in their imprisonment that it is a relief to die. In most of the Chinese prisons the men condemned to death are usually kept until there are several on hand; then a general execution is ordered, and the whole lot of them are taken out to the place of decapitation. During the time of the rebellion they used to have executions by wholesale, and sometimes one or two hundred heads were taken off in a single morning. [Illustration: CARRYING FORTH TO THE PLACE OF EXECUTION.] "Very great crimes are punished by cutting the body into small pieces before decapitation, or, rather, by cutting it in several places. All the fleshy parts of the body are cut with the sword of the executioner before the final blow; and sometimes this species of torture goes on for an hour or two before the suffering of the victim is stopped by decapitation. There is a story that they have a lottery in which the executioner draws a knife from a basket. The basket is full of knives, and they are marked for various parts of the body. If he draws a knife for the face, he proceeds to cut off the cheeks; if for the hand, he cuts away one of the hands, and so on for all parts of the victim. If he is kindly disposed, or has been properly bribed, he will draw the beheading-knife first of all, and then he will have no occasion to use any other. [Illustration: JUST BEFORE DECAPITATION.] "Well, we have had enough of these disagreeable things, and will turn to something else. We passed by the place where the candidates for military honors compete for prizes by shooting with the bow and arrow. At the first examination they are required to shoot at a mark with three arrows, and the one who makes the best shots is pronounced the winner of the prize. At the second examination they must practise on horseback, with the horse standing still; and at the third they must shoot three arrows from the back of a running horse. Afterwards they are exercised in the bending of some very stiff bows and the handling of heavy swords and stones. There is a certain scale of merit they must pass to be successful; and when they succeed, their names are sent up for another examination before higher officials than the ones they have passed before. It is a curious fact that a man who does well as an archer is entitled to a degree among the literary graduates, though he may not be able to carry away a single prize for his literary accomplishments alone." [Illustration: MILITARY CANDIDATES COMPETING WITH THE BOW AND ARROW.] CHAPTER XXVIII. A JOURNEY TO THE GREAT WALL OF CHINA. Pekin is not very far from the famous wall that was built to keep the empire of China from the hands of the Tartars. It is commonly mentioned as "The Great Wall," and certainly it is clearly entitled to the honor, as it is the greatest wall in the world. To go to Pekin without visiting the Great Wall would be to leave the journey incomplete; and therefore, one of the first things that our friends considered was how they should reach the wall, and how much time they would require for the excursion. We shall let the boys tell the story, which they did in a letter to their friends at home. It was written while they were on the steamer between Tien-tsin and Shanghai, on their return from Pekin. "We have been to the Great Wall, and it was a journey not to be forgotten in a minute. We found that we should have to travel a hundred miles each way, and that the roads were as bad as they usually are in most parts of China. We went on horseback, but took a mule litter along for use in case of accidents, and to rest ourselves in whenever one of us should become weary of too much saddle. There are no hotels of any consequence, and so we had to take the most of our provisions from Pekin. We did the same way as when we went from Tien-tsin; that is, we hired a man to supply all the necessary horses and mules for a certain price to take us to the wall and back; and if any of them should fall sick on the road, he was to furnish fresh ones without extra charge. We were advised to make the bargain in this way, as there was a danger that some of the horses would get lame; and if there were no provision for such a case, we should have to pay very high for an extra animal. The Chinese horse-owners are said to be great rascals--almost equal to some American men who make a business of buying and selling saddle and carriage animals. Doctor Bronson says he would like to match the shrewdest Chinese jockey we have yet seen with a horse-dealer that he once knew in Washington. He thinks the Yankee could give the Chinese great odds, and then beat him. [Illustration: WALKING ON STILTS.] "It was a feast-day when we left Pekin, and there were a good many sports going on in the streets, as we filed out of the city on our way to the north. There was a funny procession of men on stilts. They were fantastically dressed, and waved fans and chopsticks and other things, while they shouted and sang to amuse the crowd. One of them was dressed as a woman, who pretended to hold her eyes down so that nobody could see them, and she danced around on her stilts as though she had been accustomed to them all her life. In fact, the whole party were quite at home on their stilts, and would have been an attraction in any part of America. Whenever the Chinese try to do anything of this sort, they are pretty sure to do it well. [Illustration: JUGGLER SPINNING A PLATE.] "Then there were jugglers spinning plates on sticks, and doing other things of a character more or less marvellous. One of their tricks is to spin the plate on two sticks held at right angles to each other, instead of on a single stick, as with us; but how they manage to do it I am unable to say. They make the plate whirl very fast, and can keep it up a long time without any apparent fatigue. [Illustration: GAMBLING WITH A REVOLVING POINTER.] "We passed several men who had small establishments for gambling, not unlike some that are known in America. There was one with a revolving pointer on the top of a horizontal table that was divided into sections with different marks and numbers. The pointer had a string, hanging down from one end, and the way they made the machine work was to whirl the pointer, and see where the string hung when it stopped. The game appeared to be very fair, as the man who paid his money had the chance of whirling the pointer, and he might do his own guessing as to where it would stop. If he was right, he would win eight times as much money as he had wagered, since the board was divided into eight spaces. If he was wrong, he lost all that he put down, and was obliged to go away or try his luck again. The temptation to natives seems to be very great, since they are constantly gambling, and sometimes lose all the money they have. Gambling is so great a vice in China that a good many of its forms have been forbidden by the government. The case is not unusual of a man losing everything he possesses, even to his wife and children, and then being thrown naked into the streets by the proprietor of the place where he has lost his money. [Illustration: FORTUNE-TELLING BY MEANS OF A BIRD AND SLIPS OF PAPER.] "We stopped to look at some fortune-tellers, who were evidently doing a good business, as they had crowds around them, and were taking in small sums of money every few minutes. One of them had a little bird in a cage, and he had a table which he folded and carried on his back when he was moving from one place to another. When he opened business, he spread his table, and then laid out some slips of paper which were folded, so that nobody could see what there was inside. Next he let the bird out of the cage, which immediately went forward and picked up one of the slips and carried it to his master. The man then opened the paper and read what was written on it, and from this paper he made a prediction about the fortune of the person who had engaged him. "There was another fortune-teller who did his work by writing on a plate. He had several sheets of paper folded up, and from these he asked his customer to select one. When the selection was made, he dissected the writing, and showed its meaning to be something so profound that the customer was bewildered and thought he had nothing but good-fortune coming to him. We tried to get these men to tell our fortunes, but they preferred to stick to their own countrymen, probably through fear that they would lose popularity if they showed themselves too friendly with the strangers. [Illustration: FORTUNE-TELLING BY DISSECTING CHINESE CHARACTERS.] "The Chinese are great believers in fortune-telling, and even the most intelligent of them are often calling upon the necromancers to do something for them. They rarely undertake any business without first ascertaining if the signs are favorable; and if they are not, they will decline to have anything to do with it. When a merchant has a cargo of goods on its way, he is very likely to ask a fortune-teller how the thing is to turn out; and if the latter says it is all right, he gets liberally paid for his information. But in spite of their superstition, the Chinese are very shrewd merchants, and can calculate their profits with great accuracy. "Well, this is not going to the Great Wall. We went out of Pekin by the north gate, and into a country that was flat and dusty. Fred's pony was not very good-natured, and every little while took it into his head to balance himself on the tip of his tail. This was not the kind of riding we had bargained for, as it made the travel rather wearisome, and interfered with the progress of the whole caravan. We thought the pony would behave himself after a little fatigue had cooled his temper; but the more we went on, the worse he became. When we were about ten miles out, he ran away, and went tearing through a cotton-field as though he owned it, and he ended by pitching his rider over his head across a small ditch. "Then we found how lucky it was we had brought along a mule litter, as Fred rode in it the rest of the day. Next morning he made our guide change ponies with him. In half an hour the guide was in a mud puddle, and saying something in Chinese that had a very bad sound, but it didn't help dry his clothes in the least. On the whole, we got along very well with the ponies in the north of China, when we remember the bad reputation they have and the things that most travellers say about them. [Illustration: CHINESE RAZOR.] "We stopped at the village of Sha-ho, about twenty miles from Pekin; and as we had started a little late, and it was near sunset, we concluded to spend the night there. There was not much to see at the village, except a couple of fine old bridges built of stone, and so solid that they will evidently last a long time. A barber came around and wanted to shave us, but for several reasons we declined his proposal, and satisfied ourselves by seeing him operate on a native customer. The Chinese razor is a piece of steel of a three-cornered shape, and is fastened to a handle about four inches long. It is kept very sharp, as any well-regulated razor should be, and a barber will handle it with a great deal of dexterity. The Chinese haven't much beard to shave off, but they make up for it with a very thick growth of hair, which is all removed every ten or twelve days, with the exception of a spot on the crown about four inches in diameter. The hair on this spot is allowed to grow as long as it will, and is then braided into the cue or pigtail that everybody knows about. [Illustration: BARBER SHAVING THE HEAD OF A CUSTOMER.] "After we left Sha-ho the country became rough, and the road grew steadily worse. Our ponies were pretty sure-footed, but they stumbled occasionally, and Frank narrowly escaped a bad fall. The pony went down all in a heap and threw Frank over his head. He fell on a soft spot, and so was not injured; but if the accident had happened six feet farther on, or six feet farther back, it would have thrown him among the rough stones, where there were some very ugly points sticking up. [Illustration: BRIDGE OF THE CLOUDY HILLS.] "We found another fine bridge on this part of the road, and our guide said it was called the 'Bridge of the Cloudy Hills,' because the clouds frequently hung over the hills in the distance. The Chinese are very fond of fanciful names for their bridges and temples, and frequently the name has very little to do with the structure itself. I am told that there is a bridge in the south of China with exactly the same name as this, and not far from it is another called the 'Bridge of the Ten Thousand Ages.' We have seen the 'Temple of Golden Happiness' and the 'Bridge of Long Repose.' We shall be on the lookout for the 'Temple of the Starry Firmament,' and probably shall not be long in finding it. Strange that a people so practical as the Chinese should have so much poetry in their language! "We came to the village of Nan-kow, at the entrance of the Nan-kow Pass, and stopped there for dinner. Our ride had given us a good appetite, and though our cook was not very skilful in preparing our meal, we did not find fault with him, as we did not wish to run the risk of waiting while he cooked the things over again. The Chinese inn at Nan-kow is not so good as the Palace Hotel at San Francisco; in fact, it is as bad as any other hotel that we have seen. They don't have much pleasure travel in this part of the world, and therefore it does not pay them to give much attention to the comfort of their guests. "The Nan-kow Pass is about thirteen miles long, and the road through it is very rough. The mountains are steep, and we saw here and there ruins of forts that were built long ago to keep out the Tartar invaders of China. Our animals had several falls, but they got through without accident, and, what was more, they brought us to a village where there was an inn with something good to eat. [Illustration: THE GOD OF THE KITCHEN.] "What do you suppose it was? It was mutton, which is kept boiling in a pot from morning till night; and as fast as any is taken out, or the soup boils down, they fill the kettle up again. Mutton is very cheap here, as sheep are abundant and can be bought at the purchaser's own price, provided he will keep himself within reason. Great numbers of sheep are driven to Pekin for the supply of the city, and we met large flocks at several points on the road. Their wool has been exported to England and America; but it is not of a fine quality, and does not bring a high price. "We passed the ruins of forts and towers every few miles, and our guide pointed out some of the towers that were formerly used for conveying intelligence by means of signal-fires. They are now falling to pieces, and are of no further use. "This is the road by which the Tartars went to the conquest of China, and there is a story that the empire was lost in consequence of a woman. The Chinese were very much afraid of the Tartars, and they built the Great Wall to keep them out of the country. But a wall would be of no use without soldiers to defend it, and so it was arranged that whenever the Tartars were approaching, a signal should be sent along the towers, and the army would come to Pekin to defend it. "One day a favorite lady of the emperor's palace persuaded the emperor to give the signal, to see how long it would take for the generals and the army to get to Pekin. He gave the signal, and the army came, but the generals were very angry when they found they had been called together just to amuse a woman. They went back to their homes, and the affair was supposed to be forgotten. "By-and-by the Tartars did come in reality, and the signal was sent out again. But this time no army came, nor did a single general turn his face to Pekin. The city fell into the hands of the invaders, and they are there to-day. So much for what a woman did; but it sounds too much like the story of 'The Boy and the Wolf' to be true. "At the last place where we stopped before reaching the Great Wall we found the people very insolent, both to us and to the men in our employ. They said rude things to us, and perhaps it was fortunate that we did not understand Chinese, or we might have been disposed to resent their impudence, and so found ourselves in worse trouble. Our guide said something to a lama, or priest, and he managed to make the people quiet, partly by persuasion and partly by threats. Some of the men had been drinking too freely of sam-shoo, which has the same effect on them as whiskey has on people in America. It is not unusual for strangers in this part of China to be pelted with stones; but the natives are afraid to do much more than this, as they would thereby get into trouble. [Illustration: A LAMA.] "At the place where we reach the Great Wall there is a Chinese city called Chan-kia-kow; but it is known to the Russians as Kalgan. It is the frontier town of Mongolia, and the Russians have a great deal of commerce with it. It stands in a valley, and so high are the mountains around it that the sun does not rise until quite late in the forenoon. Doctor Bronson said there is a town somewhere in the Rocky Mountains of America which is so shut in that the sun does not rise there until about eleven o'clock next day; and we thought it might possibly be a relative of Chan-kia-kow. There is an odd sort of population here, as the merchants who trade with the Russians are from all parts of China; and then there are Mongols from the Desert of Gobi, and a very fair number of real Russians. [Illustration: THE HILLS NEAR CHAN-KIA-KOW.] "One curious article of trade consisted of logs from the country to the north. They are cut in lengths of about six feet, and are intended for coffins for the people of the southern part of the empire. Wood is scarce in the more densely inhabited portions of China, and must be carried for great distances. It is six hundred miles from the Great Wall to where these logs are cut, and so they must be carried seven hundred miles in all before they reach Pekin. The carts on which they are loaded are very strong, and have not a bit of iron about them. "We are now at the Great Wall, which comes straggling over the hills that surround the city, and forms its northern boundary. It is very much in ruins, but at the town itself there is a portion of it kept in good repair, and one of the gates is regularly shut at night and opened in the morning. Some of the old towers are still in their places; but the weather is slowly wearing them away, and in time they will all be fallen. "The Great Wall is certainly one of the wonders of the world, and it was very much so at the time of its construction. It was built two thousand years ago, and is about twelve hundred miles long. It runs westward from the shores of the Gulf of Pe-chi-li to what was then the western frontier of the Chinese Empire. For the greater part of the way it consists of a wall of earth faced with stone or brick, and it is paved on the top with large tiles. It is about twenty-five feet wide at the bottom, and diminishes to fifteen feet wide at the top, with a height of thirty feet. In many places it is not so substantial as this, being nothing more than a wall of earth faced with brick, and not more than fifteen feet high. At varying intervals there are towers for watchmen and soldiers. They are generally forty or fifty feet high, and about three hundred feet apart. "The wall follows all the inequalities of the surface of the earth, winding over mountains and through valleys, crossing rivers by massive archways, and stretching straight as a sunbeam over the level plain. "Think what a work this would be at the present day, and then remember that it was built two thousand years ago, when the science of engineering was in its infancy, and the various mechanical appliances for moving heavy bodies were unknown! "We spent a day at the Great Wall. We scrambled over the ruins and climbed to the top of one of the towers, and we had more than one tumble among the remains of the great enterprise of twenty centuries ago. Then we started back to Pekin, and returned with aching limbs and a general feeling that we had had a hard journey. But we were well satisfied that we had been there, and would not have missed seeing the Great Wall for twice the fatigue and trouble. They told us in Pekin that some travellers have been imposed on by seeing only a piece of a wall about thirty miles from the city, which the guides pretend is the real one. They didn't try the trick on us, and probably thought it would not be of any use to do so. "We did not stay long in Pekin after we got back from the Great Wall, as we had to catch the steamer at Tien-tsin. Here we are steaming down the coast, and having a jolly time. We are on the same ship that took us up from Shanghai, and so we feel almost as if we had got home again. But we are aware that home is yet a long way off, and we have many a mile between us and the friends of whom we think so often." CHAPTER XXIX. FROM SHANGHAI TO HONG-KONG.--A STORY OF THE COOLIE TRADE. The party reached Shanghai without accident, and on their arrival at that port the boys had a welcome surprise in the shape of letters from home. Their first letters from Japan had been received, and read and reread by family and friends. To judge by the words of praise that they elicited, the efforts of the youths at descriptive composition were eminently successful. Frank's mother said that if they did as well all through their journey as they had done in the beginning, they would be qualified to write a book about Japan and China; and a similar opinion of their powers was drawn from Fred's mother, who took great pride in her son. Mary and Effie composed a joint letter to Frank, to tell how much pleasure he had given them. They were somewhat anxious about the purchases, but were entirely sure everything would be correct in the end. Fred began to be a trifle jealous of Frank when he saw how much the latter enjoyed the communication from the girl who came to the railway station to see them off. He vowed to himself that before he started on another journey he would make the acquaintance of another Effie, so that he would have some one to exchange letters with. The letters were read and reread, and their perusal and the preparation of answers consumed all the time of the stay in Shanghai. The delay, however, was only for a couple of days, as the weekly steamer for Hong-kong departed at the end of that time, and our friends were among her passengers. Another of the ship's company was our old friend "the Mystery," who told Doctor Bronson that he had been travelling in the interior of Japan, and had only recently arrived from there. He was going to Canton, and possibly farther, but could not speak with certainty until he had arranged some business at Hong-kong. The steamer on which our friends were travelling was under the French flag, and belonged to the line popularly known as "the French Mail." The service between Europe and China is performed alternately by two companies, one of them English and the other French; and by means of these two companies there is a weekly ship each way. The French steamers are preferred by a great many travellers, as they are generally larger than the English ones, and are admirably arranged for comfort. They make the voyage from Shanghai to Marseilles in about forty days, calling at the principal ports on the way, and going through the Suez Canal. The English steamers follow very nearly the same route as the French ones, as long as they are in Eastern waters; but when they reach the Mediterranean Sea, they have two lines, one going to Venice and the other to Southampton. The official names of the two companies are "The Peninsular and Oriental Steam Navigation Company" (English), and "La Compagnie des Messageries Maritimes" (French). There were not many passengers, perhaps a dozen in all, and they were mostly merchants and other residents of Shanghai on their way to Europe or to some of the southerly ports of Asia. Two of the passengers were accompanied by their Chinese servants, and the boys were greatly amused to hear the efforts of the latter to speak English. They had already heard the same kind of thing during their movements in China, but had not paid much attention to it in consequence of their occupation with other matters. Now, however, they had some leisure for investigation, and Fred suggested that they had better take a glance at the Chinese language. A few glances were all they wanted, as Frank was not long in ascertaining that it would require years of study to acquaint himself with enough of the language to be able to converse in it. Fred learned, about the same time, that there was a written language and a spoken one, and the two were so unlike that a man can read and write Chinese without being able to speak it, and can speak without being able to read and write. They found that very few foreigners who came to China to stay for years ever troubled themselves to learn the language, but were contented with "pidgin English." Then the question very naturally arose, "What is pidgin English?" [Illustration: SPECIMEN OF CHINESE WRITING.] In a small book entitled "John, or Our Chinese Relations," Frank found something relating to pidgin English, which he copied into his note-book for future reference. When he had done with the volume, it was borrowed by Fred for the same purpose, and the boys gave a vote of thanks to the author for saving them the trouble to hunt up the information by asking questions of their friends. What they selected was as follows: "In attempting to pronounce the word 'business,' the Chinese were formerly unable to get nearer to the real sound than 'pidgin' or 'pigeon;' hence the adoption of that word, which means nothing more nor less than 'business.' Pidgin English is therefore business English, and is the language of commerce at the open ports of China, or wherever else the native and foreigner come in contact. A pidgin French has made its appearance in Saigon and at other places, and is steadily increasing as French commerce has increased. On the frontier line between Russia and China there is an important trading-point--Kiachta--where the commerce of the two empires was exclusively conducted for a century and a half. A pidgin Russian exists there, and is the medium of commercial transactions between the Russian and Chinese merchants. "Long ago the Portuguese at Macao had a corresponding jargon for their intercourse with the Chinese: and it may be safely stated that wherever the Chinese have established permanent relations with any country, a language of trade has immediately sprung into existence, and is developed as time rolls on and its necessities multiply. "The decline in Portuguese trade with China was accompanied with a corresponding decline in the language, but it left its impress upon the more recent pidgin English, which contains many Portuguese words. Pidgin English is a language by itself, with very little inflection either in noun, pronoun, or verb, and with a few words doing duty for many. The Chinese learn it readily, as they have no grammatical giants to wrestle with in mastering it, and the foreigners are quite ready to meet them on the road and adapt their phraseology to its requirements. The Chinese has only to commit to memory a few hundred words and know their meaning; the foreigner (if he be English-speaking) has less than a hundred foreign words to learn, together with the peculiar construction of phrases. The Chinese have printed vocabularies in which the foreign word and its meaning are set forth in Chinese characters, and thus they have no occasion to trouble themselves with the alphabet of the stranger. These books are specially intended for the use of _compradores_ and servants in foreign employ, and are so small that they can be readily carried in the pocket. "In pidgin English the pronouns _he_, _she_, _it_, and _they_ are generally expressed by the single pronoun _he_. All the forms of the first person are included in _my_, and those of the second person in _you_. When we come to the verbs, we find that action, intention, existence, and kindred conditions are covered by _hab_, _belongey_, and _can do_. Various forms of possession are expressed by _catchee_ (catch), while _can do_ is particularly applied to ability or power, and is also used to imply affirmation or negation. Thus: 'Can do walkee?' means 'Are you able to walk?' If so, the response would be 'Can do,' while 'No can do' would imply inability to indulge in pedestrianism. _Belongey_ comes from 'belong,' and is often shortened to a single syllable, _b'long_. It is very much employed, owing to the many shades of meaning of which it is capable. Thus: 'I live in Hong-kong' would be rendered 'My belongey Hong-kong side,' and 'You are very large' would be properly translated 'You belongey too muchee big piecee.' "The Chinese find great difficulty in pronouncing _r_, which they almost invariably convert into _l_. They have a tendency to add a vowel sound (_o_ or _e_) to words ending with a consonant. Bearing these points in mind, we readily see how 'drink' becomes _dlinko_, and 'brown' _blownee_. Final _d_ and _t_ are awkward for them to handle, and _th_ is to their lips an abomination of first-class dimensions. 'Child' becomes _chilo_, and 'cold' is transformed to _colo_, in pidgin English. 'That,' and other words beginning with _th_, generally lose the sound of _h_, though sometimes they retain _h_ and drop the _t_ before it. 'Side' is used for position, and the vocabulary contains _inside_, _outside_, _bottom-side_ (below), and _top-side_ (above). _Chop-chop_ means 'fast,' 'quick,' 'immediately;' _man-man_ means 'slowly,' 'slower,' 'gently,' in the south of China; while at Han-kow, on the Yang-tse, it means exactly the reverse. At Canton or Swatow, if you say _man-man_ to your boatmen, they will cease rowing or will proceed very lightly; say the same thing to your boatmen at Han-kow or Ichang, and they will pull away with redoubled energy." "As we have learned the principles of this new language," Frank remarked, "we ought to be able to understand some proverbs in it. For instance, here are four that contain whole heaps of good advice, besides showing us how to read pidgin English: "'Who man swim best, t'hat man most gettee dlown; Who lidee best he most catch tumble down.' "'One piecee blind man healee best, maskee; One piecee deaf man makee best look-see.' "'One man who never leedee, Like one dly inkstand be; You turn he top-side downey, No ink lun outside he.' "'Suppose one man much had--how bad he be, One not'her bad man may be flaid of he.'" "Those will do," Fred answered, "and here is Longfellow's famous poem 'Excelsior,' which every schoolboy knows, or ought to know. It was done into pidgin English by somebody who lived in the country and evidently knew what he was about: "'TOP-SIDE GALAH! [Illustration] "'T'hat nightee teem he come chop-chop One young man walkee, no can stop; Maskee snow, maskee ice; He cally flag wit'h chop so nice-- Top-side Galah! "'He muchee solly; one piecee eye Lookee sharp--so fashion--my: He talkee large, he talkee stlong, Too muchee culio; allee same gong-- Top-side Galah! "'Insidee house he can see light, And evly loom got fire all light; He lookee plenty ice more high, Insidee mout'h he plenty cly-- Top-side Galah! "'Olo man talkee, "No can walk, Bimeby lain come, velly dark; Have got water, velly wide!" Maskee, my must go top-side-- Top-side Galah! [Illustration] "'"Man-man," one girlee talkee he: "What for you go top-side look-see?" And one teem more he plenty cly, But alla teem walk plenty high-- Top-side Galah! [Illustration] '"Take care t'hat spilum tlee, young man, Take care t'hat ice, must go man-man." One coolie chin-chin he good night; He talkee, "My can go all light"-- Top-side Galah! [Illustration] "'T'hat young man die: one large dog see Too muchee bobbly findee he. He hand b'long coldee, all same like ice, He holdee flag, wit'h chop so nice-- Top-side Galah!'" "But does every Chinese who goes to a foreign country understand how to talk pidgin English?" Frank asked of Doctor Bronson. "Not by any means," was the reply; "thousands of them are not able to speak a word when they go abroad, but they gradually pick up the language of the country to which they go. Not all of them go to America or other English-speaking lands; many have gone to Cuba, Peru, and Brazil, where there was no need of a knowledge of English. Spanish and Portuguese are the only tongues in use there, and many an emigrant never took the trouble to learn a word of them." Their old acquaintance "the Mystery" had joined the party while the conversation just recorded was going on. When the Doctor made allusion to the emigration to Cuba and Peru, "the Mystery" opened his eyes a little wider than was his custom, and said he was well aware that many had gone to those countries who knew nothing but Chinese, and never learned a word of any other language. As the boys showed a desire to hear more on the subject, he proposed to tell them something about the coolie-trade; and it was arranged that they should assemble in the smoking-saloon after dinner, where they could talk at their leisure. After dinner they met as agreed, and "the Mystery" seated himself comfortably for the story he was about to tell. "The coolie-trade," said he, "does not exist any more. It was very much like the slave-trade, of which you have read; in fact, it was nothing more than the slave-trade with the form changed a little. In the African slave-trade the slaves were bought as one might buy sheep and cattle. In the coolie-traffic the men were hired for a term of years at certain stipulated wages, and were to be returned to their homes at the end of that term, provided all their debts had been discharged. The plan was all right on its face, but it was not carried out. When the period for which he was engaged was up, the coolie was always made to be in debt to his employer; and, no matter how hard he might work, he was not allowed to free himself. He was a slave to his master just as much as was the negro from Africa, and not one coolie in a thousand ever saw his native land again. [Illustration: BARRACOONS AT MACAO.] "Not only were the men hired on contracts that they could never cancel, but they were stolen, just as slaves are stolen in Africa. Boats were sent up the rivers in the southern part of China to bring back loads of coolies. They would land an armed party at a village, seize all the men in the place, and bring them to the port, where they would be transferred to the dealers, who would send them to the places where their labor was needed. Macao was the great port for the coolie trade, and the Portuguese had large sheds there, which they called _barracoons_, for holding the coolies in prison till they were ready to ship them away. These barracoons were sometimes so crowded that thousands of coolies died there in the course of a single year. The natives called them '_chu-tze-kuan_,' or 'pig-pens,' and they were so filthy that they richly deserved the name. "The name 'coolie' belongs properly to a tribe of natives on the northern coast of Africa, but it is applied to a laborer of any part of the East, and this is its meaning in Japan and China. [Illustration: COOLIES EMBARKING AT MACAO.] "The laborers who were to be taken to Cuba or Peru were received on board the ships, and counted as they came over the side, like so many boxes or bales of merchandise; in fact, they were nothing but merchandise, and the receipts were made out for a certain number of coolies without the least record of their names and residences. I was once in a ship that took a cargo of these people to Peru, and I don't believe that anybody on board felt otherwise than if he had been in the slave-trade. And we had a narrow escape from having our throats cut by our cargo and our bodies thrown into the sea." "Please tell us about that," said Fred. Frank echoed the request, and their informer nodded his consent. "The ship had taken its cargo at Macao, and we went out to sea with a fine breeze. We had over a thousand 'passengers' in the hold, and only a small number were to be allowed on deck at one time, as several ships had been captured by the coolies, and we did not intend to be taken if we could help it. Two days after we started there was trouble among the coolies, and several of them ran about the space below-deck and threatened to set the ship on fire. They did build a fire of some of the dry boards used for making their sleeping-berths; but we covered the hatches with tarpaulins, and held the smoke down there, so that the coolies were nearly smothered and compelled to put the fire out themselves. [Illustration: ENRAGED COOLIE.] "The hatchways were covered with gratings to admit of a free circulation of air, and they were so firmly fastened that the coolies could not disturb them. Several men were on deck when the trouble began, and one of them tried to get through the grating to join his companions. He managed to squeeze his body through the opening, and then discovered too late that he had a fall of nearly thirty feet before him, as the hatch of the lower deck was open. He struggled a moment, then dropped to the lower hold, and was killed by the fall. [Illustration: A DEADLY FALL.] "It became necessary to fire on the mutineers, and for this we raised the tarpaulins over one of the hatches. The smoke poured out in a dense mass and almost smothered us, and we could only see the forms of the men very dimly, like a ship in a fog. We fired, and continued to fire till several of them had been shot down, and all their efforts to get at us were of no avail. There were about sixty men in the crew, and, as we had over a thousand coolies on board, we had numbers against us fearfully. But they had no fire-arms, while we had a good supply of rifles and pistols, with plenty of ammunition. At the time of the outbreak there were not far from a hundred coolies on deck; but we drove them forward, and kept so large a guard over them that they could not have done anything to help their friends below if they had been disposed to do so. [Illustration: FIRING DOWN THE HATCHWAY.] "We got out of water, and the only way to reach what we had on board was by going down through the hold. Of course anybody who ventured there would be killed instantly; but we had the consolation of knowing that they could not get water any more than we could, as the place where it was stowed was fastened too securely for the coolies to open it with any tools they had on hand. We had a small condenser in the cook's galley, and with this we procured enough water to save us from death by thirst; but we refused to give a drop to the mutineers. "They held out for two days, and during all that time hardly a man of us slept more than a few minutes at a stretch. Many of the coolies were suffering terribly with thirst and hunger, and they asked to have their wants supplied while they were making negotiations for peace. The captain refused anything but the most unconditional surrender, and the only concession he would grant was to have the dead bodies passed up to be thrown overboard. Of course the coolies were very glad of this, as they were suffering from the fearful condition of the narrow space where they were confined. When this work was completed, they asked for half an hour's time to make a proposal for surrender, which was allowed them. [Illustration: THE WRITING IN BLOOD.] "Looking through the hatch, we could see them grouped together and engaged in earnest conversation. Two were dead or dying, and from one of them there was a stream of blood slowly oozing. A coolie who appeared to be a ringleader among them dipped his pen in the blood and wrote on a sheet of paper: "'We want three hundred coolies to be allowed on deck at a time. The ship must go back to the coast, and allow us to land at Whampoa, below Canton. We promise to make no trouble if this be done, but will burn the ship at once unless the captain agree to it.' "We knew that any promise they made would not amount to anything when they were once in possession of the deck, and, besides, to go back to China would be a complete surrender of the voyage. The captain did not hesitate a moment in his answer to this demand. "He opened one of the hatches just enough to allow one man to descend at a time, and through this hole he compelled all the coolies who were then on deck to pass. Then he told the interpreters to say that they might burn the ship as soon as they liked, and the crew would leave in the boats. The boats were made ready for lowering; and, as we were not far from the coast, and the wind was fair, there was not much doubt of our getting safe to Hong-kong. Not a coolie would escape, and we should take good care that the fire would be so far advanced before we left that it could not be put out. "In an hour we received another message, written in blood, like the first. It promised to deliver the ringleaders of the mutiny, to be kept in irons till we arrived at our destination, and also promised that there should be no more attempts to set fire to the ship. The captain was to fix the number of men to be on deck at one time, and they were to obey his orders without question. In fact, the surrender was complete. "We had no trouble after that; but we only allowed fifty men on deck at one time, and those under a strong guard. You can be sure we were in a hurry to finish the voyage, which we did without accident. I had had all I wanted of the coolie-trade, and never went on another voyage like that." [Illustration: THE INTERPRETERS.] CHAPTER XXX. HONG-KONG AND CANTON.--CHINESE PIRATES. The story of the coolie-trade and some of the conversation that followed cleared the mystery that surrounded the narrator and had given him the name by which he was known. He had been an active participant in the peculiar commerce of the East, which includes the violation of laws whenever they prove inconvenient, such as the smuggling of opium and the shipment of coolies to the countries where they are in demand. His latest venture was one that required considerable secrecy, as it involved the purchase of arms for the rebels in Japan. For this reason he had been very cautious in his movements around Yokohama and during his whole stay in Japan, and he had found it judicious to leave the country on the vessel that came so near being wrecked in the typhoon that overtook our friends. He was safely away from Japan now, and the arms that he had purchased for the rebels were in the hands of the government. He had made money by the operation, and was on the lookout for something new. "That man belongs to a class which is not at all rare in the far East," said Doctor Bronson to the boys when the subject of the conversation had left them. "A great many adventurers find their way here, some of them being men of ability which borders on genius, while the others are not far removed from rascals. Ward and Burgevine were of the better sort; and there are others whom I could name, but they are not so numerous as the other and worse variety. They are very often men of good manners, and not at all disagreeable as travelling companions, but it is not advisable to be intimate with them. Travelling, like poverty, makes us some strange acquaintances. We can learn a great deal from them if we proceed properly; and if we know where the line of familiarity should be drawn, we are not in any danger of suffering by it." The morning after the above conversation the steamer arrived at Hong-kong, and dropped anchor in the harbor. She was immediately surrounded by a fleet of small boats, which competed eagerly among themselves for the patronage of the passengers. Our friends selected one which was rowed by a couple of women, and had a group of children in a little pen at the stern. Doctor Bronson explained to the boys that in Southern China a great deal of the boating is done by women, and that entire families live on board the little craft on which they earn their existence. The boat population of Canton numbers more than sixty thousand persons. They are not allowed to live on shore, and their whole lives, from birth to death, are passed on the water. The most of the boatmen and boatwomen at Hong-kong come from Canton, which is only ninety miles away; and as they have privileges at the former place which are denied them in the latter, they are quite satisfied to stay where they are. [Illustration: HONG-KONG.] Hong-kong is a rocky island on the coast of China, and has an excellent harbor, sheltered from most of the winds that blow. The town of Victoria is built at the edge of this harbor, and the streets that lead back from the water are so steep that the effort of climbing them is liable to throw a stranger from the North into a violent perspiration. Fortunately, there is an abundance of sedan-chairs, and any one who wishes to take a promenade may do his walking by hiring a couple of chair-coolies to do it for him. The chairs are everywhere, and it is generally desirable to hire one in order to be rid of the continual applications from those that are unemployed. At the wharf where they landed the Doctor engaged porters to carry the baggage to the hotel, and then took chairs for the transportation of himself and the boys. As they had the afternoon before them, the chairs were kept for making the ascent of the mountain just back of the town, and as soon as the rooms were secured, and a slight lunch had been served, they started on their excursion. At the highest point of the mountain--about eighteen hundred feet above the water-level--there is a signal-station, where all vessels coming into port are announced by means of flags. Our friends were carried along a zigzag road to this station, the coolies stopping every few minutes to rest from the fatigue of ascending a steep road with a burden on their shoulders. At the station they had a view extending a long distance out to sea and over the coast of China, and the mountain was so nearly perpendicular that it seemed as if they could toss a penny on the town or into the harbor. Fred tried it, and so did Frank; but after throwing away several ounces of copper, and finding they only went a short distance, they abandoned the experiment. They returned well satisfied with the excursion, and agreed that no one who visits Hong-kong should omit the journey to the top of the mountain. Hong-kong, being an English colony, is governed after the English form, and consequently the laws enforced in China do not necessarily prevail on the island. The population includes four or five thousand English and other European nationalities, and more than a hundred thousand Chinese. The number of the latter is steadily increasing, and a very large part of the business of the place is in their hands. The money in circulation is made in England for the special use of the colony. It has the head of the Queen on one side, and the denomination and date on the other; and, for the accommodation of the Chinese, the denomination is given in Chinese characters. The smallest of the Hong-kong coins is made to correspond with the Chinese cash, and it takes ten of them to make a cent, or one thousand for a dollar. It has a hole in the centre, like the Chinese coins generally, to facilitate stringing on a wire or cord, and is so popular with the natives that it is in free circulation in the adjacent parts of the empire. [Illustration: Obverse. Reverse. FAC-SIMILE OF A HONG-KONG MILLE.] [Illustration: Obverse. Reverse. FAC-SIMILE OF A HONG-KONG DIME.] [Illustration: Obverse. Reverse. FAC-SIMILE OF A HONG-KONG CENT.] There was not a great deal to be seen in the town, and so the next morning the three travellers started for Canton. There is a boat each way daily, and the journey is made in seven or eight hours; the boys found that the boat in which they went was of American construction, and had an American captain, and so they felt at home, as they had felt on the Yang-tse under similar circumstances. Soon after they left the dock, Frank observed that the gangway leading to the lower deck was covered with a grating fastened with a padlock, and that a Malay sailor stood over it with a sword in his hand and a pistol at his belt. He called Fred's attention to the arrangement, and as soon as they found the captain at leisure they asked what it meant. "It's a very simple matter," said Captain B----, "when you know about it. The fact is, that we were once very near losing our lives by Chinese pirates, and we don't propose to have another risk like it." "Why, what could pirates have to do with this boat, I wonder?" said Frank. "We didn't know at the time," was the reply, "but we found out." "How was that?" "Well, it seems that some Chinese pirates determined to capture this boat, murder all the foreigners on board, rob the Chinese passengers, and then get away on a junk that was to be ready to receive them. They made their plans, and on a certain day fifty of them took passage from Canton to Hong-kong. When about half way, they were to meet a junk with more men; and as the junk hung out her signal and came near, the fellows were to fall upon us with their knives, and capture the boat. They intended to kill us all, but their scheme failed, as there were four ships at anchor that day close by the spot where the junk was to meet them, and so the junk took the alarm and left. There was no disturbance, and we did not have a suspicion of anything wrong. Finding they had failed with us, they went the next day and captured the steamer _Spark_, which runs between Canton and Macao. They killed the captain and officers and the only European passenger who happened to be on board, plundered all the native passengers, and got away. Some of them were afterwards captured, and confessed to their part in the affair, and then the whole story came out that they had intended to rob this boat. Since then we always have the gratings down, so that the third-class passengers cannot come on deck; and we keep plenty of rifles and revolvers in the pilot-house and captain's cabin ready for use. They may never try it on us again, and we don't intend to give them a chance to do so." [Illustration: FORT IN CANTON RIVER.] The captain went on to say that there were many pirates in the waters around Canton, and all along the southern coast. The government tries to suppress them, but it is not easy to do so, and hardly a day passes without the report of a robbery somewhere. All trading-junks are obliged to go heavily armed, and out of this fact comes a great deal of the piracy, as a junk may be a peaceful trader at one o'clock, a pirate at two, and a peaceful trader again at three. It takes very little to induce a Chinese captain to turn pirate when he sees a rich prize before him, and he has no trouble in winning over his crew. It is impossible to distinguish the pirate from the trader; and as the coast is seamed with island passages and indented with bays, it is easy for a junk to escape after she has committed a robbery. The voyage from Hong-kong to Canton is partly among islands and through a bay, and partly on the Pearl River. The navigation is easy in the first part of the course, but after the steamer has reached the narrower portion of the river the great number of junks and other craft compels a sharp lookout on the part of the pilots, to avoid accidents. They passed the famous Whampoa Anchorage, where the ocean-bound ships used to receive their cargoes before Hong-kong assumed its present importance. A few miles farther on, the great city of Canton was brought into sight as the steamer swung around a bend in the river. In front was the island of Ho-nan, with its temple bowered in trees, and on the surface of the river there were thousands of boats of many kinds and sizes. The boys remembered what they had heard of the boat population of Canton, and now they realized that they had reached a city where sixty thousand people make their homes on the water. Before the steamer stopped she was surrounded by dozens of the smaller boats, and, as soon as they could do so, many of the boatwomen came on board. The captain recommended one of them who was known as "American Susan," and the trio were confided to her care for transfer to the hotel on Ho-nan Island. Susan and her attendant women shouldered the valises which the travellers had brought from Hong-kong, and led the way to her boat. The gallantry of the boys received a shock when they saw their baggage carried by women, while their own hands were empty; but the Doctor told them it was the custom of the country, and by carrying their own valises they would deprive the women of an opportunity of earning a few pennies. To this view of the matter they yielded; and before they had recovered their composure the boat was gliding across the river, propelled by the powerful arms of her feminine crew. Susan proposed to be in their employ during their stay at Canton, and a bargain was speedily concluded; for fifty cents at day, the boat was to be at their disposal from morning till night to carry them over the river, or to any point they wished to visit along its banks. Frank thought they would be obliged to look a long time to find a boat with two men at the oars for a similar price in New York, and Fred thought they would have to look still longer to find one rowed by two women. They had three or four hours to spare before sunset, and at once set about the business of sight-seeing. Their first visit was to the temple on the island, and they were followed from the landing by a crowd of idle people, who sometimes pressed too closely for comfort. There was an avenue of trees leading up to the temple, and before reaching the building they passed under a gateway not unlike those they had seen at the temples in Kioto and Tokio. The temple was not particularly impressive, as its architectural merit is not of much consequence, and, besides, it was altogether too dirty for comfort. There was quite a crowd of priests attached to it, and they were as slovenly in appearance as the building they occupied. In the yard of the temple the strangers were shown the furnaces in which the bodies of the priests are burned after death, and the little niches where their ashes are preserved. There were several pens occupied by the fattest pigs the boys had ever seen. The guide explained that these pigs were sacred, and maintained out of the revenues of the temple. The priests evidently held them in great reverence, and Frank intimated that he thought the habits of the pigs were the models which the priests had adopted for their own. Some of the holy men were at their devotions when the party arrived, but they dropped their prayer-books to have a good look at the visitors, and did not resume them until they had satisfied their curiosity. [Illustration: GATEWAY OF TEMPLE NEAR CANTON.] From the temple they proceeded to a garden, where they had an opportunity of seeing some of the curious productions of the Chinese gardeners in the way of dwarfing trees and plants. There were small bushes in the shape of animals, boats, houses, and other things, and the resemblance was in many cases quite good. They do this by tying the limbs of the plants to little sticks of bamboo, or around wire frames shaped like the objects they wish to represent; and by tightening the bandages every morning, and carefully watching the development of the work, they eventually accomplish their purpose. If they represent a dog or other animal, they generally give it a pair of great staring eyes of porcelain, and sometimes they equip its mouth with teeth of the same material. Many of the Chinese gardens are very prettily laid out, and there are some famous ones near Canton, belonging to wealthy merchants. On their return from the garden they stopped at a place where eggs are hatched by artificial heat. They are placed over brick ovens or furnaces, where a gentle heat is kept up, and a man is constantly on watch to see that the fire neither burns too rapidly nor too slowly. A great heat would kill the vitality of the egg by baking it, while if the temperature falls below a certain point, the hatching process does not go on. When the little chicks appear, they are placed under the care of an artificial mother, which consists of a bed of soft down and feathers, with a cover three or four inches above it. This cover has strips of down hanging from it, and touching the bed below, and the chickens nestle there quite safe from outside cold. The Chinese have practised this artificial hatching and rearing for thousands of years, and relieved the hens of a great deal of the monotony of life. On the river, not far from the hatching establishment, they saw a man engaged in the novel occupation of herding ducks. A hundred or more ducks were on the water, and the man was near them in a small boat and armed with a long pole. The ducks were very obedient to him, but occasionally one would show a little opposition to the herder's wishes, and endeavor to stray from his companions. A rap from the pole brought him speedily to his senses, and back to the herd, and he was pretty certain not to stray again till the blow had been forgotten. Geese were herded in the same way, and both they and the ducks managed to pick up a good part of their living from the water. Ducks are an important article of food among the Chinese, and the rearing of them gives occupation to a great many persons in all parts of the empire. CHAPTER XXXI. SIGHTS AND SCENES IN CANTON. The party remained three days at Canton. They rose early every morning, and went on excursions through and around the city, and it is fair to say that they did not have a single idle moment. Each of the boys made careful notes of what he saw and heard, and by the end of their stay both had enough to fill a small volume. They returned to Hong-kong on the fourth day, and on the morning after their return they sat down to write the story of their adventures. But before they began writing the projected letter a discussion arose between them, which was about like this: They expected the steamer to arrive from America in a day or two, and it would doubtless bring letters for them, which would determine their future movements. They expected to return home by way of San Francisco, as they had come; but it was by no means improbable that they would keep on to the westward, and so go around the world by way of India and Europe. "What is the use of writing up our Canton experiences," said Frank, "till we know what we are to do? If we go home by San Francisco, we will have plenty of time on the steamer; and if we go on to the west, we will have to go by steamer too; and then we will have time enough between Hong-kong and the first port we stop at. Why should we be in a hurry to write up our account, when, in any case, we shall have the time to do so while we are at sea?" Fred admitted the force of the argument, but thought there would be an advantage in writing while the subject was fresh in their minds. While they were debating the pros and cons of the case, the Doctor came into the room, and the question was appealed to him. After careful deliberation, he rendered a decision that covered the case to the perfect satisfaction of both the disputants. "It will be several days, at any rate," said he, "before we can leave Hong-kong, whether we go east or west. Now, I advise you to take an hour each day for writing up your story of Canton, and you will then have plenty of time for sight-seeing. You will have ended your writing before we leave, and then can devote your time at sea to other things which the voyage will suggest." His suggestion was adopted, and they at once set about their work, determined to write two hours daily till they had described Canton so fully that their friends would know exactly what was to be seen there. They divided the work, as they had done on previous occasions, one of them making a description of a certain part of their route, and the other taking another portion of it. When they were through with it, they put the two stories together, and found that they fitted to perfection. Here is what they wrote: "Canton is the capital of the province of Kwang-tung, and its name in English is a corruption of the Chinese one. The people who live there call it 'Kwang-tung-sang-shing,' and the Portuguese call it Kam-tom, and they write it that way. It is called the City of Rams, just as Florence is called the Beautiful City, and Genoa the Haughty; and the Chinese who live there are very proud of it. The climate is warm, the thermometer rising to 85° or 90° in the summer, and rarely going below 50° in winter. Occasionally ice forms to the thickness of heavy paper, and once in five or ten years there will be a slight fall of snow, which astonishes all the children, and many of the older people. "The population is said to be about a million, on land and water. Those who live in boats are about sixty thousand. The city was founded more than two thousand years ago, according to the Chinese historians, but it was not surrounded with a wall until the eleventh century. The wall to-day is the same that was first built, but it has been repaired and changed a good deal in the time it has stood, and some new parts have been added. The circuit of the walls is about seven miles, but there are suburbs that now form a part of the city, so that it is a journey of not less than ten miles to go around Canton. "There are sixteen gates to the city, and each has a name that designates its position. There are two pagodas near the West Gate, and there are a hundred and twenty-four temples, pavilions, and halls inside the walls of Canton. Then there are four prisons, and there is an execution ground, where many a poor fellow has lost his head. The prisons are like all such establishments in China, and a great many men would prefer death to incarceration in one of these horrible places. "We don't know positively whether there are a million people in Canton or not. We took the figures from the guide-book, just as everybody else takes them, and we want to acknowledge our indebtedness to it. The guide-book is very useful in a strange country, as it tells you in a few minutes what you might spend hours or days in learning. It gives you an outline which you must fill in for yourself by practical observation; and unless you have it with you, there is a great deal that you may miss, if your time is limited, and you are compelled to do your sight-seeing rapidly. [Illustration: STREET SCENE IN CANTON.] "When we came in sight of Canton, we saw some buildings that rose far above all others, and very naturally we asked what they were. We were somewhat taken aback when told that they were pawnbrokers' establishments, and of course they were among the things we went to look at. They were filled from top to bottom with clothing and other things, and our guide explained to us that the Chinese are in the habit of pawning everything they are not using, for the double reason that they get money which they can use, and at the same time they save the trouble of taking care of the property. At the beginning of winter they pawn their summer clothes, and at the beginning of summer they pawn their winter clothes. All other things on which they can borrow money they take to the pawn-shop, even when they are not obliged to have the cash. It saves the trouble of storing the goods themselves, and running the risk of having them stolen. "We went through one of the pawn-shops, climbing stairway after stairway, and being almost stifled in the narrow and musty places we were obliged to go through. The goods were done up in packages, each one of them being labelled and ticketed, and there was a register down-stairs, so that any desired package could be found when wanted. Diamonds and other articles of great value were kept in safes near the basement, and the least costly goods were near the roof. There must have been many thousands of things stowed away in this pawn-shop. The building was said to be fire-proof, and its great height was intended to secure it against thieves. "Close by the door of this establishment there was an opium den, where a dozen or more men were intoxicating themselves with opium, or sleeping off the effects of what they had already taken. We just looked in for a moment; it was so much like the place of the same kind that we saw in Shanghai that we did not care to stay, and, besides, the smell was very bad and the heat almost stifling. The Cantonese are said to be just as inveterate smokers of the deadly drug as the people of the North; in fact, it is about the same all over China, and with all classes that can afford to indulge in the vice. Only the middle and poorer classes go to the shops to smoke opium. The rich people can enjoy the luxury at home, and some of them have rooms in their houses specially fitted up for it. "We saw a good many temples, and went through some of them, but, on the whole, they were rather disappointing, as they were not so fine as those at Pekin, and far behind those of Japan. The most interesting of the pagodas is the one known as the 'Five-storied Pagoda,' so called because it is five stories high. It stands on a hill that overlooks the whole city on one side, and a large cemetery on the other; and when you have climbed to the top, the view is very fine. The roofs of the houses are of all shapes and kinds, and the streets are so narrow that you can see very few of them as you look down from the top of the pagoda. On the one hand you have a densely peopled city of the living, and on the other an equally densely peopled city of the dead. Our guide said the cemetery had more inhabitants than the city; and when we asked him how many people lived there, he said 'Many millions.' You have to come to China to learn that the people in a cemetery are supposed to live there. [Illustration: FIVE-STORIED PAGODA.] "And yet the guide was not so far out of the way, according to the Chinese idea. The Chinese bring food to the graves of their friends, and leave it there as an offering. The spirits of the dead are believed to linger around the spot and to eat this food, but it is really devoured by the priests and others who stay around the cemetery, and what they do not eat or carry away is consumed by the birds. At certain seasons they have grand festivals, when many thousands of people go to the cemeteries with offerings for the dead, and good things for themselves. The affair is more like a picnic than a ceremony of mourning; and when it breaks up, the mourners go to the theatre or some other place of amusement. The best burial-place is on a hill-side, and the tomb is made in the form of a terrace, or rather of three terraces, with steps leading up to them. As you look at it from a little distance, the tomb has the shape of a horseshoe, or, better still, of 'Omega,' the last letter of the Greek alphabet. [Illustration: HORSESHOE OR OMEGA GRAVE.] "Our guide said that not only do they make offerings in the cemeteries to the spirits of the dead, but they have shrines in their houses where the dead are worshipped. To prove what he said was true, he took us into a house and showed one of these shrines with bowls of rice and fruit, cups of tea, and other things, on a table. He explained that when the offerings were made they sent for a priest, who came with two men to assist him; and while the priest stood behind the table and repeated his prayers, one of his attendants pounded on a drum, and the other rang a bell. There was a fire in front of the shrine, and during the time the priest was performing the man who gave the feast knelt before the fire and burned some mock money, made out of silver paper in imitation of real coin. When the affair was over, the priest took all that he wanted from the table, and the remainder was eaten by the company who had been invited. [Illustration: PRESENTING FOOD TO THE SPIRITS OF THE DEAD.] "Not a great distance from the five-storied pagoda we saw the leper hospital, where the unfortunate people who suffer from leprosy are compelled to live, and soon to die. The sight was a horrible one, and we did not want to stay long among the sufferers. We had expected to find a large building, like a hospital in America, but instead of this there were several small buildings, grouped together in a little village, some of the houses having garden patches near them. The people were lying or sitting around in the sun, and some few of them were at work in the gardens. The most were not able to do anything, as they were suffering from the disease, which was slowly killing or crippling them. [Illustration: A LEPER.] "The guide said there were two kinds of leprosy, the 'wet' and the 'dry.' In the wet leprosy the body of the victim abounds in running sores, while in the dry there is nothing of the sort, and the appearance of the skin is not greatly different from what it is in health. The disease generally attacks the joints of the hands or feet, particularly those of the former, and the sufferer loses the first joint of the fingers and thumbs at about the same time. Then, in a few months, he loses the second joints, and in two or three months more the third joints go. We saw lepers in all the stages of the disease--some with the first joints of the hands gone, others who had lost the second joints, and others the third; while others, again, had lost the hands at the wrists. There seems to be no cure for most of the forms of the leprosy; and when a man is attacked with it, he must go at once to the hospital, no matter whether he is rich or poor. And when he has gone there, he generally remains till death relieves him from his sufferings. [Illustration: A LITERARY STUDENT.] "One of the curious places we saw was the Hall of Examinations. This is a large enclosed space, having rows on rows of little cells, where the candidates for the literary degree are examined once in every three years. There are eleven thousand of these cells, and each cell is just large enough for one man to occupy. The candidates are put in these cells, and each man is furnished with a sheet of paper and a pen. He must write on the paper any given page of the Chinese books called 'The Classics' without mistake or alteration, and he is not allowed to try a second time until the next examination comes round. There are men who keep on trying all their lives for the degree, and they tell of one man who succeeded after he was eighty years old. The candidates try all sorts of tricks to smuggle in copies of the books on which they are to be examined, and also extra sheets of paper; but they are carefully searched, and everything of the sort is taken away from them. [Illustration: A LITERARY GRADUATE IN HIS ROBES OF HONOR.] "There is a story in Pidgin-English verse of how a Chinese student befriended an American, who was a photographer by profession. The American believed that one good turn deserved another, and so, when the examination time came round, he photographed 'The Classics' on the finger-nails of his Oriental friend. The student was allowed to wear spectacles during his examination, and so he bought a pair of magnifying-glasses that enabled him to read every word that he wanted. He came out at the head of his class, and was no doubt very thankful that he had done a kindly action towards a stranger. [Illustration: A SEDAN-CHAIR WITH FOUR BEARERS.] "But the great sights of Canton we have not yet mentioned. These are the streets, and they are by all odds the finest we have seen in the country. They are very narrow, few of them being more than six or eight feet wide, and some of them less than the former figure. Not a single wheeled carriage can move in all Canton, and the only mode of locomotion is by means of sedan-chairs. We had chairs every day with four bearers to each, and it was strange to see how fast the men would walk in the dense crowds without hitting any one. They kept calling out that they were coming, and somehow a way was always made for them. Several times, when we met other chairs, it was no easy matter to get by, and once we turned into a side street to allow a mandarin's chair to pass along. We did knock down some things from the fronts of stores, and several times the tops of our chairs hit against the perpendicular sign-boards that hung from the buildings. There are great numbers of signs, all of them perpendicular, and they are painted in very gaudy colors, so that the effect is brilliant. Sometimes, as you look ahead, the space between the two sides of the street is quite filled with these signs, so that you cannot see anything else. "The streets are not at all dirty, and in this respect are vastly different from those of any other city we have seen in China. The authorities evidently pay some attention to keeping them clean and preventing the accumulation of dirt. The fronts of many shops are fully open to the street, and the merchants know how to arrange their wares in the most tempting manner. You see lots of pretty things, and are constantly tempted to buy, and it was very well for us that we agreed not to buy anything till the last day, which we were to devote to shopping. [Illustration: A SMALL FOOT WITH A SHOE ON IT.] "Nearly all the vast crowd in the streets consisted of men; now and then a woman was visible, but only rarely, except near the river-side, where there were some of the class that live on the water. We met some of the small-footed women, and it was really painful to see them stumping about as if they were barely able to stand. Double your fist and put it down on the table, and you have a fair resemblance of the small foot of a Chinese woman; and if you try to walk on your fists, you can imagine how one of these ladies gets along. Some of them have to use canes to balance themselves, and running is quite out of the question. The foot is compressed in childhood, and not allowed to grow much after five or six years of age. The compression is done by tight bandages, that give great pain at first, and sometimes cause severe inflammation. [Illustration: PEASANT WOMAN WITH NATURAL FEET.] "We were rather impatient for the last day, when we could do our shopping and buy the things for our friends at home. There are so many fine things for sale in Canton that it is hard to determine where to begin and where to leave off. A great many people keep on buying till their money is all gone, and some of them do not stop even then. "The first things we looked at in our shopping tour were silks, and we found them of all kinds and descriptions that you could name. There were silks for dresses and silks for shawls, and they were of all colors, from snowy white to jet-black. Some people say that white and black are not colors at all; but if they were turned loose among the silks of Canton, perhaps they might change their minds. It is said that there are fifty thousand people in Canton engaged in making silk and other fabrics, and these include the embroiderers, of whom there are several thousands. Chinese embroidery on silk is famous all over the world, and it has the advantage over the embroidery of most other countries in being the same on one side that it is on the other. We have selected some shawls that we think will be very pretty when they are at home. They are pretty enough now, but there are so many nice things all around that the articles we have selected look just a little common. "One good thing about going on a shopping excursion in Canton is that most of the establishments for the sale of different articles are grouped together, just as they are said to be in the bazaars of Cairo and Damascus. Thus we find most of the silk-dealers in Silk Street, those who sell mirrors and similar work are in Looking-glass Street, and the workers in ivory are in a street by themselves. Then there is Curiosity Street (or Curio Street, as it is generally called), where you can buy all sorts of odds and ends of things, old and new, which come under the head of Chinese curiosities. Lacquered ware and porcelain have their especial quarters; and so when you are in the region of any particular trade, you do not have to walk about much to make your purchases. In the vicinity of the river there are several large concerns where they have a general assortment of goods, and you may buy lacquer and porcelain, silk and ivory, and nearly everything else that is produced in Canton, under one roof. "We have already described lacquer and cloisonné work in writing from Japan. The Chinese productions in the same line are so much like the Japanese that a description of one will do for the other. Some of the shapes are different, and it is not difficult, after a little practice, to distinguish the Chinese from the Japanese; but the modes of working are essentially the same. All things considered, we like the Japanese lacquer better than the Chinese, as it has more variety, and the Japanese seem to be more cunning than the Canton people in making those bewildering little boxes with secret drawers and nooks and a great variety of shapes. But when it comes to ivory carvings, we have something else to say. "You can hardly have dreamed of the beautiful things we found in Canton cut out of ivory. There were combs and brooches so delicate that it seemed as if they could be blown to pieces by a breath; and there were boxes and card-cases with representations of landscapes, and men and animals on them so small that we needed a microscope to see them distinctly. In one shop we saw the whole tusk of an elephant carved from one end to the other so closely that you could hardly put a pin on it without hitting some part of the work. They told us that the tusk had been sent there by the gentleman who killed the elephant in India, and he was having it carved to keep as a trophy. The carving had cost six hundred dollars; and if it had been done in America, it would have cost nearer six thousand. Skilled labor is cheap in China, just as unskilled labor is, and it is astonishing for how little a man can be employed on the kind of work that would bring a high price in Europe or America. "Then there were carvings in tortoise-shell of a great many kinds, and all the forms you could think of, together with many you could not. The Chinese tortoise-shell work used to be the best in the world; but those who know about it say that it is now equalled by the productions of Naples and Florence, both in fineness and cheapness. Then they had some beautiful things in silver filigree and in bronzes, and we bought a few of each, so as to show what Canton can do in this line. [Illustration: A TABLET CARVED IN IVORY.] "But such fans! such fans! They were so pretty that we couldn't keep our eyes off them, and we bought more of them, perhaps, than we needed. In one shop we would find something so nice that we couldn't see how it could be surpassed, and so we would buy it; and in the next we found something nicer yet, and so we had to buy that. Anybody who has a liking for fans, and hasn't a mint of money, had better keep out of the stores of Canton, or he will run a risk of being ruined. The varieties are so great that we cannot begin to name them. There were fans on silk, and fans on paper; fans carved in ivory, tortoise-shell, sandal-wood; fans of feathers from various birds, with rich paintings right on the surface of the feathers; and a great many other fans besides. There was one with frame and sticks of sandal-wood, beautifully carved, while the body was of painted silk. There were groups of figures on each side of the fan, and each figure had a face painted on ivory which was afterwards glued to the silk. It was the prettiest thing to be found for any price we could afford, and you can be sure that it was secured for somebody at home. "We had a long search among the porcelain shops for some blue china plates of what is called 'the willow pattern.' We must have gone into twenty shops at least before we found them; and, finally, when we did get them, the dealer was as anxious to sell as we were to buy. He said he had had those plates on hand a very long time, and nobody wanted them. We did not tell him how rare they are at home, and how anxious people are to get hold of them. "The variety of porcelain in the Canton shops is very great, and a simple list of what there is would fill several pages. They showed us some of what they call egg-shell porcelain. It was so thin that you could almost see through it, and so delicate that it had to be carefully handled. The varieties of cups and saucers we could not begin to tell; they make them suited to every market in the world, and it is said that the greatest part of what they make is of the shapes that are not used in China. Of vases there was no end, and they were of all sizes, from a tiny cone for a small bouquet up to a huge one capable of holding a barrel of water, with plenty of room to spare. The trade in vases must be very great, if we are to judge by the quantities and variety that we saw. Many of them were very elaborate, and must have cost a great deal of money. "But there is danger that you will get tired if we keep on much longer about the sights of Canton, and particularly the shopping part of it. Besides, we want to go out and see what there is in Hong-kong, and perhaps we may run across something new in the Chinese part of the city that we shall want to buy. A good many people say that you can buy Canton goods just as cheaply in Hong-kong as in the city they come from. That may be so; but then it is more satisfactory to get them there and have the pleasure of buying them on the spot. "We'll stop now and say good-bye. We have seen China and Japan, and had a splendid time. We think we have learned a great deal about the two countries, and hope that what we have written about them has been interesting to those for whom it was intended. We have tried to see things, and think of them without partiality or prejudice. We believe that the people of the East have the same claims to respect that ours have, and that it is only a narrow mind that sneers at the ways of others because they are not like its own. We know that there are many things in which we are superior to the Orientals, but we also know that we have our weak points, and might be profitably instructed by those whom some of us affect to despise. And the more we know these patient and industrious people, the more we shall be likely to respect them. We are soon to leave China, perhaps never to see it again; but both China and Japan will always be pleasant recollections to both "FRANK AND FRED." [Illustration: "GOOD-BYE!"] INTERESTING BOOKS FOR BOYS. * * * * * HOW TO GET STRONG, AND HOW TO STAY SO. By WILLIAM BLAIKIE. With Illustrations. 16mo, Cloth, $1.00. THE BOYS OF '76. A History of the Battles of the Revolution. By CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $3.00. THE STORY OF LIBERTY. By CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $3.00. FRED MARKHAM IN RUSSIA; or, The Boy Travellers in the Land of the Czar. By W. H. G. KINGSTON. Illustrated. Small 4to, Cloth, 75 cents. THE ADVENTURES OF A YOUNG NATURALIST. By LUCIEN BIART. Edited and Adapted by PARKER GILLMORE. With 117 Illustrations. 12mo, Cloth, $1.75. 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43541	----	A DIPLOMAT IN JAPAN _NEW & RECENT BOOKS_ A Diplomat in Japan. The Inner History of the Critical Year in the Evolution of Japan when the Ports were Opened & the Monarchy Restored, Recorded by a Diplomatist who took an active part in the events of the time. By The Right Hon. Sir ERNEST SATOW, G.C.M.G., British Minister, Peking, 1900-5; Formerly Secretary to the British Legation at Tokio. With Illustrations. Demy 8vo. 32s. net. In Farthest Burma. The Record of an Arduous Journey of Exploration & Research through the Unknown Frontier Territory of Burma & Tibet. By Captain F. KINGDON WARD, B.A., F.R.G.S. With Illustrations & Maps. Demy 8vo. 25s. net. The Life and Explorations of Frederick Stanley Arnot. The Authorised Biography of a Zealous Missionary, Intrepid Explorer & Self-denying Benefactor amongst the Natives of the Dark Continent. By ERNEST BAKER. With many Illustrations & a Map. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net. In Unknown China. A Record of the Observations, Adventures & Experiences of a Pioneer Missionary during a prolonged sojourn amongst the wild & unknown Nosu tribe of Western China. By S. POLLARD, Author of "In Tight Corners in China," &c. &c. Many Illustrations. Two Maps. Demy 8vo. 25s. net. Among the Ibos of Nigeria. An Account of the Curious & Interesting Habits, Customs & Beliefs of a Little Known African People by one who has for many years lived amongst them on close & intimate terms. By G. T. BASDEN, M.A., F.R.G.S. With 37 Illustrations & a Map. Demy 8vo. 25s. net. _Second Edition._ Unexplored New Guinea. A Record of the Travels, Adventures & Experiences of a Resident Magistrate amongst the Head-Hunting Savages & Cannibals of the Unexplored Interior of New Guinea. By WILFRED N. BEAVER, with an Introduction by A. C. HADDON, M.A., Sc.D., F.R.S. With 24 Illustrations & 4 Maps. Demy 8vo. 25s. net. Modern Whaling and Bear-Hunting. A Record of Present-day Whaling with Up-to-date Appliances in many Parts of the World, & of Bear & Seal Hunting in the Arctic Regions. By W. G. BURN MURDOCH, F.R.S.G.S. With 110 Illustrations. Demy 8vo, 25s. net. _Third Edition_ Prehistoric Man & His Story. A Sketch of the History of Mankind from the Earliest Times. By Prof. G.F. SCOTT ELLIOT, M.A. (CANTAB), B.Sc.(Edin.), F.R.S.E., F.L.S., F.R.G.S. With 56 Illustrations. 10s. 6d. net. SEELEY, SERVICE & CO. LTD. [Illustration: THE LAST OF THE SHOGUNS Tokugawa Yoshinobu (Keiki)] A DIPLOMAT IN JAPAN THE INNER HISTORY OF THE CRITICAL YEARS IN THE EVOLUTION OF JAPAN WHEN THE PORTS WERE OPENED AND THE MONARCHY RESTORED, RECORDED BY A DIPLOMATIST WHO TOOK AN ACTIVE PART IN THE EVENTS OF THE TIME, WITH AN ACCOUNT OF HIS PERSONAL EXPERIENCES DURING THAT PERIOD BY THE RIGHT HON. SIR ERNEST SATOW G.C.M.G., LL.D., D.C.L.; British Minister at Peking 1900-05; Formerly Secretary of the British Legation at Tokio WITH ILLUSTRATIONS AND PLANS LONDON SEELEY, SERVICE & CO. LIMITED 38 GREAT RUSSELL STREET 1921 PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY THE DUNEDIN PRESS LIMITED, EDINBURGH PREFACE The first portion of this book was written at intervals between 1885 and 1887, during my tenure of the post of Her Majesty's minister at Bangkok. I had but recently left Japan after a residence extending, with two seasons of home leave, from September 1862 to the last days of December 1882, and my recollection of what had occurred during any part of those twenty years was still quite fresh. A diary kept almost uninterruptedly from the day I quitted home in November 1861 constituted the foundation, while my memory enabled me to supply additional details. It had never been my purpose to relate my diplomatic experiences in different parts of the world, which came finally to be spread over a period of altogether forty-five years, and I therefore confined myself to one of the most interesting episodes in which I have been concerned. This comprised the series of events that culminated in the restoration of the direct rule of the ancient line of sovereigns of Japan which had remained in abeyance for over six hundred years. Such a change involved the substitution of the comparatively modern city of Yedo, under the name of Tôkiô, for the more ancient Kiôto, which had already become the capital long before Japan was heard of in the western world. When I departed from Siam in 1887 I laid the unfinished manuscript aside, and did not look at it again until September 1919, when some of my younger relations, to whom I had shown it, suggested that it ought to be completed. This second portion is largely a transcript of my journals, supplemented from papers drawn up by me which were included in the Confidential Print of the time and by letters to my chief Sir Harry Parkes which have been published elsewhere. Letters to my mother have furnished some particulars that were omitted from the diaries. Part of the volume may read like a repetition of a few pages from my friend the late Lord Redesdale's "Memories," for when he was engaged on that work he borrowed some of my journals of the time we had spent together in Japan. But I have not referred to his volumes while writing my own. ERNEST SATOW. OTTERY ST MARY, _January 1921_. * * * * * _Note._--In pronouncing Japanese words the consonants are to be taken as in English, the vowels more or less as in Italian. _G_, except at the beginning of a word, when it is hard, represents _ng_. CONTENTS CHAPTER I PAGE APPOINTMENT AS STUDENT INTERPRETER AT YEDO 17 CHAPTER II YOKOHAMA SOCIETY, OFFICIAL AND UNOFFICIAL 22 CHAPTER III POLITICAL CONDITIONS IN JAPAN 33 CHAPTER IV TREATIES--ANTI-FOREIGN SPIRIT--MURDER OF FOREIGNERS 42 CHAPTER V RICHARDSON'S MURDER--JAPANESE STUDIES 50 CHAPTER VI OFFICIAL VISIT TO YEDO 61 CHAPTER VII DEMANDS FOR REPARATION--JAPANESE PROPOSALS TO CLOSE THE PORTS--PAYMENT OF THE INDEMNITY 72 CHAPTER VIII BOMBARDMENT OF KAGOSHIMA 84 CHAPTER IX SHIMONOSEKI: PRELIMINARY MEASURES 95 CHAPTER X SHIMONOSEKI--NAVAL OPERATIONS 102 CHAPTER XI SHIMONOSEKI--PEACE CONCLUDED WITH CHÔSHIÛ 116 CHAPTER XII THE MURDER OF BIRD AND BALDWIN 134 CHAPTER XIII RATIFICATION OF THE TREATIES BY THE MIKADO 141 CHAPTER XIV GREAT FIRE AT YOKOHAMA 156 CHAPTER XV VISIT TO KAGOSHIMA AND UWAJIMA 167 CHAPTER XVI FIRST VISIT TO OZAKA 185 CHAPTER XVII RECEPTION OF FOREIGN MINISTERS BY THE TYCOON 194 CHAPTER XVIII OVERLAND FROM OZAKA TO YEDO 204 CHAPTER XIX SOCIAL INTERCOURSE WITH JAPANESE OFFICIALS--VISIT TO NIIGATA, SADO GOLD MINES, AND NANAO 228 CHAPTER XX NANAO TO OZAKA OVERLAND 239 CHAPTER XXI OZAKA AND TOKUSHIMA 252 CHAPTER XXII TOSA AND NAGASAKI 265 CHAPTER XXIII DOWNFALL OF THE SHOGUNATE 281 CHAPTER XXIV OUTBREAK OF CIVIL WAR (1868) 295 CHAPTER XXV HOSTILITIES BEGUN AT YEDO AND FUSHIMI 310 CHAPTER XXVI THE BIZEN AFFAIR 319 CHAPTER XXVII FIRST VISIT TO KIOTO 332 CHAPTER XXVIII HARAKIRI--NEGOTIATIONS FOR AUDIENCE OF THE MIKADO AT KIOTO 343 CHAPTER XXIX MASSACRE OF FRENCH SAILORS AT SAKAI 351 CHAPTER XXX. KIOTO--AUDIENCE OF THE MIKADO 356 CHAPTER XXXI RETURN TO YEDO AND PRESENTATION OF THE MINISTER'S NEW CREDENTIALS AT OZAKA 364 CHAPTER XXXII MISCELLANEOUS INCIDENTS--MITO POLITICS 373 CHAPTER XXXIII CAPTURE OF WAKAMATSU AND ENTRY OF THE MIKADO INTO YEDO 386 CHAPTER XXXIV ENOMOTO WITH THE RUNAWAY TOKUGAWA SHIPS SEIZES YEZO 395 CHAPTER XXXV 1869--AUDIENCE OF THE MIKADO AT YEDO 400 CHAPTER XXXVI LAST DAYS IN TOKIO AND DEPARTURE FOR HOME 409 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE THE LAST OF THE SHOGUNS _Frontispiece_ SIR ERNEST SATOW--1869 56 SIR ERNEST SATOW--1903 56 PAYMENT OF THE INDEMNITY FOR THE MURDER OF RICHARDSON 80 KAGOSHIMA HARBOUR: BOMBARDMENT 90-91 THE STRAITS OF SHIMONOSEKI 106-107 INTERIOR OF A JAPANESE BATTERY AFTER THE LANDING OF THE ALLIED NAVAL FORCES 112 DAIMIO OF CHO-SHIU AND HIS HEIR 184 CHO-SHIU COUNCILLORS 184 GROUP PHOTOGRAPHED DURING A VISIT TO OZAKA 192 NIIRO GIOBU, A SATSUMA COUNCILLOR 272 KATSU AWA NO KAMI 272 _The Design on the Cover of this Book is the Family Crest of the Tokugawa Shôguns._ A DIPLOMAT IN JAPAN A DIPLOMAT IN JAPAN CHAPTER I APPOINTMENT AS STUDENT INTERPRETER AT YEDO (1861) MY thoughts were first drawn to Japan by a mere accident. In my eighteenth year an elder brother brought home from Mudie's Library the interesting account of Lord Elgin's Mission to China and Japan by Lawrence Oliphant, and the book having fallen to me in turn, inflamed my imagination with pictures verbal and coloured of a country where the sky was always blue, where the sun shone perpetually, and where the whole duty of man seemed to consist in lying on a matted floor with the windows open to the ground towards a miniature rockwork garden, in the company of rosy-lipped black-eyed and attentive damsels--in short, a realised fairyland. But that I should ever have a chance of seeing these Isles of the Blest was beyond my wildest dreams. An account of Commodore Perry's expedition, which had preceded Lord Elgin's Mission, came in my way shortly afterwards, and though much more sober in its outward appearance and literary style, only served to confirm the previous impression. I thought of nothing else from that time onwards. One day, on entering the library of University College, London, where I was then studying, I found lying on the table a notice that three nominations to student-interpreterships in China and Japan had been placed at the disposition of the Dean. Here was the chance for which I had been longing. Permission to enter myself for the competition was obtained, not without difficulty, from my parents, and having gained the first place in the public examination, I chose Japan. To China I never wished or intended to go. My age was sufficient by a few hours to enable me to compete. I was formally appointed in August 1861, and quitted England full of joyful anticipation in November of that year. Owing to the prevalence of a belief among those who then had the direction of our affairs in Japan that a knowledge of Chinese was a necessary preliminary to the study of Japanese, my fellow-student, R. A. Jamieson, and myself were at first stationed for a few months at Peking, where we were joined early in 1862 by Russell Robertson, who also belonged to the Japan establishment. I pass over our sojourn there, which, though not without its own interest, was not long enough for me to gain any useful knowledge of China. But I learnt a few hundred Chinese characters which were of great help to me afterwards, and I even began the study of Manchu. Our stay at the Chinese capital was suddenly cut short by the arrival of a despatch from Yedo, containing the original text of a Note from the Japanese Ministers, which it was found no Chinaman could decipher, much less understand. This was decisive of the question whether the short cut to Japanese lay through the Chinese language. I thought then, and still think, that though an acquaintance with Chinese characters may be found useful by the student of Japanese, it is no more indispensable than that of Latin is to a person who wishes to acquire Italian or Spanish. We were consequently bundled off to Japan with the least possible delay. Of the eight students belonging to the China establishment then at Peking, three only are still (1885) in the service--H. J. Allen, C. T. Gardner, and W. G. Stronach, each of whom attained the rank of consul in 1877. They had all passed the examination at the same time as myself. The man who came out second was "allowed to resign" in 1867, three are dead, and one, the best man of the whole set, and who oddly enough was last or last but one in the examination list, passed in 1872 into the Chinese Customs Service, in which he now holds one of the highest appointments. So unequal are the results obtained by even limited competitive examination. When the competition was afterwards thrown open to the public, the results became even more uncertain, as later experience has shown, at least in Japan, and perhaps elsewhere. The great fault of the system is that it takes no account of moral qualities. Whether a candidate has the manners or feelings of a gentleman cannot be ascertained from the way in which he will reproduce a proposition of Euclid or translate a passage from a Greek author. It does not test the intellectual powers, for a stupid young man who has been properly coached will almost always beat the real student who has not got the right "tips." Nowadays, every candidate for a public examination goes to a crammer, who trains him in a few months for the contest, and enables him to bring forth forced fruit for a moment. Show me a successful examinee, and I will show you a well-coached candidate. In the majority of cases the process disgusts the man who has undergone it, and takes away any inclination he may previously have had for study. And without serious study it is not possible to acquire such languages as Chinese, Siamese or Japanese. The scheme of examination is no test of the linguistic capabilities of the men, and sometimes sends into the service those who can no more learn to speak a foreign language than they can fly. My own success in the examination was due to my having left school more recently than any of the other competitors. While I was at Peking the whole body of students was invited to dine one evening with the Bishop of Victoria, who was stopping at the Legation in the absence of Mr. Bruce, the Minister. The conversation fell upon the effects of Chinese studies on the intellectual powers, and the Bishop inquired of us whether we did not find that the mind was weakened by close application to such a dry, unproductive form of learning. At least, his own experience had been to that effect. This was a curious admission to make, but the matter of his conversation certainly corroborated it. I do not think any of us was candid enough to confess to a similar result in his own case. I should like to dwell longer on our life in Peking--the rides in the early morning over the plain on the north of the city, excursions to the ruins of the Summer Palace, beautiful still in its desolation, the monasteries among the blue mountains west of the city, the magnificent temples inside and outside the walls, the dirt and dust of the streets in wet or fine weather, the pink lotus blossoms on the lake of the marble bridge, the beggars with their cry of _K'olien, k'olien, shang i-ko ta_, the bazaar outside the Ch'ien Men Gate, with its attractive shops, the Temple of Heaven, the view of yellow, brown and green-tiled roofs embosomed in trees as one saw them from the city wall, the carts bumping over the stone pavements worn into deep ruts, the strange Eastern life that surrounded a band of boys fresh from school or college or their mothers' apron-strings, and the splendour of the newly restored buildings of the Liang Kung Fu, occupied by the British Legation--which will never be effaced from my memory: but there is no time. Mr, afterwards Sir Frederick, Bruce was then our Minister there, a tall man of about fifty, with a noble forehead and brown eyes, grey beard, whiskers and moustache; altogether a beautiful appearance. The Chinese Secretary was Mr, afterwards Sir Thomas, Wade, a great Chinese scholar, to whom we looked up with awe, and who was said to be of an irascible temper. A story was told of his visiting the Chinese Ministers with the chief, and waxing very warm in argument. The president of the Ts'ung-li Ya-mên remarked: "But, Mr. Wade, I do not observe that Mr. Bruce is so angry." "D'ye hear that, Mr. Bruce, they say you're not angry." Whereupon Mr. Bruce, with a benevolent smile and with the most good-tempered expression in the world, replied: "Oh, tell them I'm in a deuce of a rage." We, that is to say Jamieson, Robertson and myself, got away early on the morning of August 6, arriving that evening at Ho-si-wu, a town on the way, and reached Tientsin next day. Thence we took boat to Taku, where we passed some days under the hospitable roof of the Vice-Consul Gibson. He was later on transferred to a post in Formosa, where he got into difficulties with the Chinese officials and called on the commander of a gunboat to bombard the Custom House, for which he was smartly reprimanded by the Foreign Office. Shortly afterwards he died, it was said, of a broken heart. This happened in the days when the so-called "gun-boat" policy was no longer in favour, and poor Gibson fell a victim to his excess of zeal. At Shanghai Jamieson left us, to start a newspaper on terms which promised him a better future than the Consular service could offer. Robertson and I embarked in the steamer _Lancefield_, and started for Japan on September 2. The first land we sighted after leaving the coast of China was Iwô Shima, a volcanic island to the south of Kiû-shiû, and on the 7th we found ourselves close to Cape Idzu in a fog. Luckily it lifted for a moment, and the captain, who was new to the coast, ordered the ship to be put about, and we ran down among the islands. Next morning early we were steaming over the blue waves east of Vries Island, passed the serrated wooded range of Nokogiri yama on our right and the tiny inlet of Uraga to our left, and stood across the broad bay towards Yokohama. It was one of those brilliant days that are so characteristic of Japan, and as we made our way up the bay of Yedo, I thought no scenery in the world could surpass it. Irregular-shaped hills, covered with dark-green trees, lined the whole southern coast, and above them rose into the air for 12,000 feet and more the magnificent cone of Fuji, with scarcely a patch of snow visible. The noble ranges of Oyama and others bounded the plain on its western side, while by way of contrast, a low-lying sandy coast trended rapidly away on our right, and speedily sank below the horizon in the direction of the capital. Curious duck-shaped boats of pure unpainted wood, carrying a large four-square sail formed of narrow strips of canvas loosely tacked together, crowded the surface of the sparkling waters. Now and then we passed near enough to note the sunburnt, copper-coloured skins of the fishermen, naked, with the exception of a white cloth round the loins, and sometimes a blue rag tied across the nose, so that you could just see his eyes and chin. At last the white cliffs of Mississippi Bay became closer and more distinct: we rounded Treaty Point and dropped anchor on the outer edge of the shipping. After the lapse of more than a year I had at last attained my cherished object. CHAPTER II YOKOHAMA SOCIETY, OFFICIAL AND UNOFFICIAL (1862) THREE years had now elapsed since the opening of the country to foreign trade in consequence of the Treaties of 1858, and a considerable number of merchants had settled at the ports of Nagasaki and Yokohama. Hakodaté, however, offered then, as now, few attractions to mercantile enterprise, and being far removed from the political centre, shared very slightly in the uneasy feeling which prevailed elsewhere. At Nagasaki most of the territorial nobles of Western Japan had establishments whither they sent for sale the rice and other produce received in payment of tribute from the peasants, and their retainers came into frequent contact with foreigners, whose houses they visited for the purchase of arms, gunpowder and steamers. Some sort of friendly feeling thus sprang up, which was increased by the American missionaries who gave instruction in English to younger members of this class, and imparted to them liberal ideas which had no small influence on the subsequent course of events. At Yokohama, however, the foreign merchants had chiefly to do with a class of adventurers, destitute of capital and ignorant of commerce. Broken contracts and fraud were by no means uncommon. Foreigners made large advances to men of straw for the purchase of merchandise which was never delivered, or ordered manufactures from home on the account of men who, if the market fell, refused to accept the goods that would now bring them in only a loss. Raw silk was adulterated with sand or fastened with heavy paper ties, and every separate skein had to be carefully inspected before payment, while the tea could not be trusted to be as good as the sample. Now and then a Japanese dealer would get paid out in kind, but the balance of wrong-doing was greatly against the native, and the conviction that Japanese was a synonym for dishonest trader became so firmly seated in the minds of foreigners that it was impossible for any friendly feeling to exist. The Custom House officials were in the highest degree corrupt, and demanded ever-increasing bribes from the foreigners who sought to elude the import duties. One of the worst abuses was the importation of large quantities of wines, beer, spirits and stores, for which exemption from the payment of duty was claimed as goods intended for "personal use." The local administration was carried on by a large staff of officials established at the Custom House. There were two Bugiô, or Governors; two Kumi-gashira, or Vice-Governors; two Metsuké, whose function was that of keeping an eye on the doings of the others; a number of Shirabé-yaku, or Directors; and Jô-yaku, or chief clerks, besides a host of scribes, interpreters, tidewaiters and policemen, in black or green robes. Dutch was the common medium of communication both orally and in writing, for English was as yet scarcely studied by the natives, and the foreigners who could speak Japanese might be counted on the fingers of one hand. Yet all knew a little. A sort of bastard language had been invented for the uses of trade, in which the Malay words _peggi_ and _sarampan_ played a great part, and with the addition of _anata_ and _arimasu_ every one fancied himself competent to settle the terms of a complicated transaction. In this new tongue all the rich variety of Japanese speech, by which the relative social position of the speakers is indicated, and the intricate inflexion of the verbs, were conspicuous by their absence. Outside the settlements it was of course not understood, and its use by Europeans must have contributed not a little to the contempt for the "barbarian" which was characteristic of the native attitude towards foreigners. By virtue of the treaties Kanagawa had been at first fixed upon for the residence of Europeans, but, lying on the Tôkaidô, or principal highway between Yedo and Kiôto, it was only too well calculated to afford occasion for collision between the armed followers of the Japanese nobles and the foreign settlers. Early in the day the Tycoon's government sought to avoid this difficulty by erecting a Custom House and rows of wooden bungalows at the fishing village of Yokohama, across the shallow bay to the south. Some of the foreign representatives, more intent upon enforcing Treaty provisions than desirous of meeting the convenience of the native officials and the European merchants, strongly opposed this arrangement, but the practical advantages of proximity to the anchorage and personal security won the favour of the merchants, and Yokohama became recognised as the port. Long after, and perhaps to this day, the foreign consuls continued to date their official reports from Kanagawa, though they were safely ensconced at the rival site, where a town of 100,000 inhabitants now exists, and curious stories are told of the difference in freight that used to be earned on goods shipped from Europe to Yokohama or Kanagawa as the case might be. The foreign settlement, for greater security, was surrounded on the land side by wide canals, across which bridges were thrown, while ingress and egress were controlled by strong guards of soldiers placed there with the double object of excluding dangerous characters and levying a tax on the supplies introduced from the surrounding country. At first land was given away freely to all applicants, some of whom were employés of the different consulates. These latter afterwards sold their lots to new arrivals bent upon commercial pursuits, and thus pocketed gains to which they had no shadow of a right. When further additions were afterwards made to the "settlement," precautions were taken which effectually prevented any one, whether merchant or official, from obtaining land without paying an adequate price. Later on, title-deeds were made out, by which the ground was conveyed to the holders, their heirs, administrators, executors and assigns, thus creating a form of property new to English experience, which purported to be at once real and personal. Streets were laid out with but little thought of the general convenience, and slight provision for the future. The day of wheeled carriages had not dawned upon Japan. It was sufficient if space were left for handcarts, and the most important Japanese commercial town of the future was thus condemned in perpetuity to inconveniences of traffic, the like of which can be best appreciated by those who knew the central parts of business London fifty years ago, or the successive capitals of the Italian kingdom when they were raised to that rank. Architectural ambition at first was contented with simple wooden bungalows, and in the latter part of 1862 there were not more than half a dozen two-storied buildings in the foreign portion of the town. Behind the settlement lay a newly filled-in tract of ground known as the "swamp," still unoccupied except by a racecourse track, and in the rear of this again, across a foul marsh, were conspicuous the flimsy buildings of the Yoshiwara, euphemistically described by a noble Duke from his place in Parliament as an "establishment for the education of young ladies," and where a colonial bishop, to the intense amusement of the younger and more irreverent of the foreign community, had innocently left his visiting-card upon the elderly female who presided over the pleasures of the place. But in those days all the residents were young. Two churches, however, had already been erected, by Catholics and Protestants respectively, and a foreign cemetery had been set apart on the outside of the settlement. The health enjoyed by the European and American inhabitants was such that the only occupants of the burial-ground were some Russian officers and two Dutch merchant captains, who had fallen victims to the deadly and mistaken patriotism of Japanese _samurai_ (two-sworded men). No one had yet succumbed to disease in that beautiful sunny climate. The foreign community of Yokohama of that day was somewhat extravagantly described by an English diplomat as "the scum of Europe." No doubt there was a fair sprinkling of men who, suddenly relieved from the restraints which social opinion places upon their class at home, and exposed to the temptations of Eastern life, did not conduct themselves with the strict propriety of students at a theological college. That they were really worse than their co-equals elsewhere is unlikely. But in a small community, where the actions of everyone are semi-public and concealment is not regarded as an object of first-rate importance, the vices that elsewhere pass unnoticed become prominent to the eyes of those who are not exposed to the same temptations. There were also not a few who came there without much capital to make a livelihood, or, if possible, something more, and hastened to the attainment of their object without being troubled with much scruple. And the difficulty which soon presented itself of obtaining a sufficiency of native coin in exchange for the silver dollar of Eastern commerce was the cause of extravagant demands being presented to the Japanese Treasury. But the compromise eventually arrived at, by which the merchant had to buy his _ichibus_ in the open market, while the official obtained the equivalent of his salary, and often much more, in native coin nearly weight for weight of his "Mexicans," was to the minds of all unprejudiced persons a far greater scandal. Detractors said that the advantages thus given to Ministers, Consuls, sailors and soldiers was a bribe to induce their compliance with violation of treaty stipulations to the prejudice of their non-official countrymen; but this is unfair. It was the result of false theories as to the nature and function of money, and personal interest worked against a conversion to views more in accordance with the principles of political economy. The fact, however, remains, that in September 1862 the current rate of exchange was 214 _ichibus_ for 100 dollars, though the latter were really exchangeable for 311 _ichibus_ according to the Treaty. Each diplomatic or consular establishment was allowed to exchange monthly a certain number of dollars, supposed to represent the total salaries of the staff, and other government charges, thirteen _ichibus_ per $100 being deducted for coinage. An official whose salary was $100 received 298 _ichibus_, the surplus of which over his bazaar expenses he proceeded to change back into dollars; but practically he received $139.25, or a profit of nearly 40 per cent. The gains of a Minister whose salary was £3000 a year it may easily be seen were very large. This was not all. The balance of the monthly quota of _ichibus_ was then reconverted into dollars, the amount due to the official chest was deducted, and the profit then divided among the staff in proportion to their salaries. On a nominally small income it was consequently possible to live well, keep a pony and drink champagne. As time went on, the number of _ichibus_ thus put into circulation increased, and the rate of exchange eventually declined to par. Then and only then the system was abandoned. Where the money came from that was thus transferred to the pockets of officials can be best explained by those who are versed in economical questions. For my own part, I cannot look back on that period without shame, and my only excuse, which is perhaps of little worth in the court of history, is that I was at the bottom of the ladder, and received the proportion paid to me by those who were in charge of the business. A few words may be devoted to describing the Yokohama society of those days. There were few ladies in the settlement. Japan was a long way from Europe, with no regular steam communication, and the lives of foreigners were supposed to be not very safe at the hands of the arm-bearing classes. The two great China firms of Jardine, Matheson & Co. and Dent & Co. were of course represented. The latter came down with a crash a year or two after my arrival. Fletcher & Co., another important Shanghai firm, had a branch, and so had Barnet & Co., both now long forgotten. Most of the remainder were Japan firms, amongst whom Aspinall, Cornes & Co., Macpherson, Marshall & Co., were the foremost English, and Walsh, Hall & Co., the leading American firms. Germans, French and Dutch were considered of "no account." Money was abundant, or seemed to be, every one kept a pony or two, and champagne flowed freely at frequent convivial entertainments. Races were held in the spring and autumn, and "real" horses competed in some of the events. A favourite Sunday's excursion was the ride along the Tôkaidô to Kawasaki for tiffin, and back again toward evening. Longer outings were to Kanazawa, Kamakura and Enoshima; but anyone who had ventured as far as Hachiôji or Hakoné, which were beyond the Treaty limits, was regarded as a bold, adventurous spirit. The privilege of travelling beyond a distance of 25 miles from Yokohama was reserved to the diplomatic representatives of foreign powers, and Yedo could be visited only in the disguise of a member of one of the legations, with the permission of its head. Such favours were regarded with extreme jealousy by those who were debarred by circumstances from obtaining them, and loud murmurs were heard that it was the Minister's duty to invite his countrymen to the capital, and give them board and lodging, irrespective of the shape which their private relations with him might have assumed. Then, and perhaps even yet, there existed a theory that public servants were practically the servants of the extremely small section of the public that inhabited Yokohama, and when the servants failed to comply with the wishes of their employers they were naturally and rightly abused--behind their backs. So strong was the hostility excited in the breasts of the English-Scotch-Irish portion of the community by the unlucky phrase, "scum of Europe," that no member of either legation or consulate of their country was allowed admittance into the Yokohama Club, composed chiefly of British merchants; and this feeling lasted until the year 1865 brought about a permanent change in the representation of Great Britain. The excuse for such relations between the British residents and one who ought to have been the leader of the small society, is to be found in the comparative youthfulness and ignorance of the world which characterised the former. The experience of men and manners which saves the dwellers in Little Peddlington from believing that others are deliberately plotting to inflict insults on them is seldom attained before middle life, especially when Little Peddlington happens to be located in an Eastern land where the mind's growth comes to a standstill, and a man's age is virtually to be reckoned by the years actually spent in the mother country. For all purposes of mental and moral development the time passed on the opposite side of the world must be left out of the calculation. It was agreed in the Treaties that Yedo should be the residence of the foreign diplomatic representatives, and four Buddhist monasteries had, in accordance with Japanese custom, been assigned to the representatives of the four chief powers--Great Britain, France, Holland and the United States. Sir R. Alcock[1] occupied Tô-zen-ji, in the suburb of Takanawa; M. de Graef van Polsbrock lived in Chô-ô-ji, a little nearer the city; then came Sai-kai-ji, the residence of M. Duchesne de Bellecourt; and Mr. Harris had settled down at Zem-puku-ji in Azabu. But a series of alarming occurrences had caused the European portion of the diplomatic body to transfer their quarters to Yokohama, and the American Minister alone held out, declaring his confidence in the good faith of the Japanese Government and their ability to protect him. In September of 1862 he had already been replaced by General Pruyn, who followed the example of his predecessor, until eventually driven out of the capital by a fire which destroyed his house, whether purely accidental or maliciously contrived. The English legation in 1861 had been the object of a murderous attack in which the Secretary, Mr. Laurence Oliphant, and Mr. G. C. Morrison were wounded. The assailants were principally retainers of the Daimiô of Mito, but others belonging to various clans were concerned in the affair, and some of these are still living. Sir R. Alcock had consequently removed to Yokohama, where the strong guard placed by the Japanese government at the entrances to the town and the foreign men-of-war in the harbour offered sufficient guarantees for safety. On his quitting Japan for a term of leave early in 1862, his locum-tenens, Colonel Neale, not believing in a danger of which he had no experience, brought the legation back to Tô-zen-ji. But he had no sooner installed himself there than an event occurred which led him to change his opinion. This was nothing less than the murder of the sentry who stood at his bedroom door and of a corporal on his rounds, at the hands of one of the Japanese guard, in revenge for an insult offered to him, it is said, by the youngest member of the staff, a heedless boy of fifteen or sixteen. So the British Legation packed up their archives and hastened back to Yokohama, where they installed themselves in a house that stood on the site of the present Grand Hotel. This building belonged to an Englishman named Hoey, who was murdered in his bed in 1870, apparently from motives of private revenge. The foreign consuls were all stationed at Yokohama with the exception of the American consul, Colonel Fisher, who remained at Kanagawa. Mr. Harris, it is said, would never admit that Yokohama could be rightfully substituted for Kanagawa, the town mentioned in the Treaty, and would not permit his consul to reside there. He even carried his opposition so far as to declare that he never would countenance the change of settlement, and carried out his vow by leaving Japan without having set foot in Yokohama. [1] It would be inconvenient to observe chronological exactness in matters of official rank or title, which in the case of most individuals are subject to progression. I shall speak therefore of persons by the titles they bore at the latest portion of the period covered by these reminiscences. At the time of my arrival there, Colonel Neale, an old warrior who had seen service with the Spanish Legion commanded by Sir de Lacy Evans, and who, gossip said, regarded Sir R. Alcock, formerly attached to the Marine Brigade of Portugal in the quality of surgeon, with no friendly feelings, was Secretary of Legation, and consequently chargé d'affaires in the absence of his chief. He had great command of his pen, and composed most drastic Notes to the Japanese Government, some of which have been printed by my friend, Mr. F. O. Adams in his _History of Japan_. He had previously been consul at Varna and Belgrade, and consequently had a sufficient experience of the system known as "extra-territoriality," which in most non-Christian countries of the East exempts Europeans from the operations of the local law. In stature considerably less than the average Englishman, he wore a heavy grey moustache, and thin wisps of grizzled hair wandered about his forehead. His temper was sour and suspicious. Of his political capacity there is not much to be said, except that he did not understand the circumstances amongst which he was thrown, as his despatches sufficiently indicate, well-written and incisive as they are. But this is only an example of the fact that power of speech with tongue or pen is not a measure of a man's fitness for the conduct of affairs. In his jovial moments he easily unbent, and would entertain his companions with snatches of operas of which he carried a large assortment in his memory. At this period he was about fifty-five, and probably already affected with the beginnings of the disease which carried him off a few years later at Quito. The second in rank was the so-called Japanese Secretary. He was neither a native of Japan nor had he any knowledge of the language, so that the title must be understood as signifying "secretary in charge of correspondence with the Japanese Government." At our mission in China there is always an official who bears the corresponding title of Chinese Secretary, but there the post has always been held by a scholar. Dutch was the only European language of which the Japanese knew anything, and therefore when the Foreign Office came to provide a staff of officials for the consular establishment, they sought high and low for Englishmen acquainted with that recondite tongue. Four were at last discovered, one of whom was first appointed interpreter to the legation and afterwards accorded the higher title. Part of his salary was expressly granted by way of remuneration for instructing the student-interpreters in the language of the country, and consequently could not be said to be earned. He retained his office for eight years, when a consulate became vacant, and the opportunity was at once seized of "kicking him up the ladder." All the domestic virtues were his, and of actively bad qualities he showed no trace. Next to this gentleman came a First Assistant, sociable and accomplished, musical, artistic and speaking many languages beside his own, but no lover of hard work. In his hands the accounts fell eighteen months in arrear, and the registers of correspondence were a couple of years behind hand. It was his function to preside over the chancery, and he left it to his successor in a condition which the latter aptly compared to that of an "Aegean stable." He was the sort of man who is always known among his friends by his Christian name, and no higher tribute to personal qualities is possible. In the course of time he became a consul, and retired from the service at an early age, carrying with him the regrets and good wishes of everybody who knew him. In the legation staff there were also included two doctors, who at the same time discharged the functions of Assistants in the chancery. One of them shortly quitted the service, and set up in Yokohama as a general practitioner, to retire with a competent fortune after but a few years. The other merits more extended notice, on account both of his character and public services of every kind. I mean my life-long friend, William Willis. Perhaps no other man ever exhibited in a greater measure the quality which we are wont to call conscientiousness, whether in his private relations or in the discharge of his duties. Those who have had the fortune to profit by his medical or surgical aid, feel that no man could be more tender or sympathetic towards a patient. He was devoted to his profession, and lost no opportunity of extending his experience. In those days a doctor had frequently to encounter personal risks such as fall to the lot of few civilians; he exposed himself freely, in order to succour the wounded. In the chancery his services were indispensable. He it was who "swept the 'Aegean stable,'" arranged the archives in order, and brought the register up to date. Always on the spot when he was wanted, an indefatigable worker, and unswervingly loyal to his chief. After nine years service he was promoted to be a vice-consul, but by this time the Japanese had become so impressed with his value as a surgeon and physician that they begged him to accept a salary more than four times what he received from the Foreign Office, and he went where his great qualities were likely to be of more use than in trying petty police cases and drawing up trade reports of a city which never had any foreign commerce. His gigantic stature made him conspicuous among all the Europeans who have resided in Japan since the ports were opened, and when I first knew him he was hardly five and twenty years of age. A man endowed with an untiring power of application, accurate memory for words and things, and brimful of good stories from the three kingdoms. Big men are big-hearted, and he was no exception. We shall come across him again repeatedly in the course of these reminiscences, and for the present these few words must suffice. Besides these, the legation staff included Russell Brooke Robertson and myself, as student-interpreters. Last, but not least, were the officers of the mounted escort and infantry guard. The latter was commanded by Lieut. Price of the 67th Regiment, and was soon replaced by fifty marines under the command of a man widely known in the service to which he belonged as "Public-spirited" Smith. I shall say more of him later on. The cavalry escort consisted of a dozen men from the Military Train, a corps which went by the honorary title of "Pig-drivers," and at their head was a lieutenant, a good, harmless sort of fellow, whose only weakness was for fine uniforms and showy horses. Not being learned in the extremely complicated subject of military costume, full dress, half dress, and undress, I cannot say what it was that he had adopted for himself, but it was whispered about that he had been audacious enough to assume the insignia of a field-officer, which is undoubtedly a serious offence against discipline. However that may be, the blaze of gold which decorated his person was wonderful to behold, and on at least one occasion, when we were going in solemn procession to an audience of the Tycoon, caused him to be mistaken for the Envoy by the Japanese officials, who gave him the salutes that rightfully belonged to his less conspicuously adorned diplomatic chief. To determine whether the pleasure derived from this confusion of persons by the one outweighed the mortification which might not unnaturally have been felt by the other would have required a delicate moral balance, which was not available at the moment; but judging from the relative scale of the two men in other points of character, I am inclined to infer that the good preponderated largely over the evil, and that applying consequently the criterion so unfairly attributed to the utilitarians by their opponents, we must arrive at the provisional conclusion that the lieutenant's uniform was highly virtuous and worthy of the applause of mankind. But it is time to quit this gossiping tone and speak of more serious matters. CHAPTER III POLITICAL CONDITIONS IN JAPAN AT this period the movement had already commenced that finally culminated in what may fitly be called the Revolution of 1868, by which the feudal system was destroyed and the old monarchical government revived. The tendency of the times was as yet scarcely perceived by foreigners, with but one or two exceptions. They generally supposed that political strife had broken out between the sovereign and a few unruly vassals dissatisfied with the treaties that permitted the sacred soil of Japan to be defiled by the footsteps of "barbarians," and secured all the profits of trade to the head of the State, the vassals being enabled to defy their suzerain owing to his own feebleness and the incapacity of his Ministers. It was still believed that the potentate in whose name the Treaties had been concluded was the Temporal Sovereign, and that the Mikado was little more than the head of the priesthood, or Spiritual Emperor. This theory of the Japanese Constitution was almost as old as the earliest knowledge of the country possessed by Europeans. Marco Polo, indeed, says nothing of its system of government in the two short chapters which he devotes to Zipangu, but the Jesuit missionaries who laboured in Japan during the 16th and 17th centuries uniformly held the Mikado to be a spiritual dignitary, and spoke of the Shôgun as the real ruler of the country, the temporal king, and even Emperor. Kaempfer, the best known and most often quoted of the authorities on Japan, writing at the beginning of the 18th century, calls the two potentates Ecclesiastical and Secular Emperors, and his example had, up to the time I am writing of, been followed by all his successors without exception. The truth is that the polity of the Japanese State had assumed already in the 12th century the form which it was still displaying at the beginning of the latter half of the 19th, and institutions which could boast of such a highly respectable antiquity might well be supposed to have taken a deep enough hold to be part and parcel of the national life. The history of Japan has still to be written. Native chronicles of the Mikados and annals of leading families exist in abundance, but the Japanese mind is only just now beginning to emancipate itself from the thraldom of Chinese literary forms, while no European has yet attempted a task which requires a training different from that of most men who pursue an Eastern career. Until within the last two decades, the literature of Japan was almost entirely unknown to Europeans, and the existing keys to the language were ridiculously inadequate. The only historical works accessible to foreigners were the scanty _Annales des Dairi_, translated by Titsingh with the aid of native Dutch interpreters and edited by Klaproth with a degree of bold confidence that nothing but the position of a one-eyed man amongst the blind can give; and a set of chronological tables, translated by Hoffman for Siebold's _Nippon_. It is no wonder, therefore, if at the outset of Treaty relations, the foreign representatives were at a loss to appreciate the exact nature of the political questions that confronted them, and were unable to diagnose the condition of the patient whose previous history was unknown to them. To trace in detail the development of the Japanese monarchy, from its beginnings as a pure theocracy of foreign invaders, attracting to itself the allegiance of a number of small tribal chieftains, the fusion of these tribes with their conquerors into one seemingly homogeneous race, the remodelling of the administration which followed upon the introduction of Chinese laws and philosophy, the supplanting of the native hero and native worship by the creed of Gautama, the rise of a military caste brought about by the constant warfare with the barbarous tribes in the east and north of the country, the rivalry of the Taira and Minamoto clans, both sprung from base-born younger sons of the Mikados, and the final suppression of the civil administration in the provinces by the distribution of the country amongst the followers of the Minamoto and their allies, would require a profound study of documents which no one has yet undertaken. With the appointment of Yoritomo to be Commander-in-Chief the feudal system was fully established. The ancient official hierarchy still existed at Kiôto, but in name only, exercising no influence whatever over the conduct of affairs, and in the 14th century its functions were already so far forgotten as to become the subject of antiquarian research. The civil and penal codes borrowed from the great Empire of Eastern Asia fell into disuse, and in part even the very traces of them perished. Martial law reigned throughout the land, half the people were converted into a huge garrison, which the other half toiled to feed and clothe. Reading and writing were the exclusive accomplishments of the Buddhist priesthood and of the impoverished nobles who formed the court of a Mikado shorn of all the usual attributes of a sovereign, and a deep sleep fell upon the literary genius of the nation. The absence of danger from foreign invasion rendered the necessity of a strong central administration unfelt, and Japan under the Shôguns assumed the aspect of Germany in the middle ages, the soil being divided between a multitude of petty potentates, independent in all but name, while their nominal head was little better than a puppet. This state of things lasted till the second quarter of the 14th century, when an attempt was made under the Mikado Go-Daigo to re-establish the pristine rule of the legitimate sovereigns. A civil war ensued that lasted for over fifty years, until the Ashikaga family finally established themselves in the office of hereditary Shôguns. Before long they split up into two branches which quarrelled among themselves and gave opportunity for local chiefs to re-establish their independence. In the middle of the 16th century a soldier of fortune, Ota Nobunaga by name, profited by the central position of the provinces he had acquired with his sword to arrogate to himself the right of arbitrating between the warlike leaders who had risen in every direction. After his assassination a still greater warrior, known most commonly by the title of Taicosama, carried on the work of pacification: every princelet who opposed his authority was in turn subdued, and he might have become the founder of a new line of "_maires du palais_." He died, however, before time had sufficiently consolidated his position, leaving an inexperienced youth heir to his power, under the tutelage of guardians who speedily quarrelled. The most distinguished of these was Iyéyasu, who, besides the vast domains which he had acquired in the neighbourhood of Yedo, the modern Tôkiô, possessed all the qualities which fit a man to lead armies and rule kingdoms. He had been Taicosama's sole remaining competitor for power, and at the death of the latter naturally assumed the most prominent position in the country. A couple of years sufficed for the transference to him of all, and more than all, the authority wielded by his two predecessors. No combination against him had any chance of success. The decisive battle of Sekigahara in 1600 brought the whole nation to his feet, and he made full use of this opportunity to create checks upon the _Daimiôs_ of whose fidelity he was not sufficiently assured, by grants of territories to his own friends and followers, a few of the older families alone being allowed to retain their ancient fiefs. Among these were Shimadzu in the south of Kiû-shiû, Môri in the extreme west, and Daté, Nambu and Tsugaru in the northern provinces of the main island. His own sons received portions in Owari, Ki-shiû, Mito and elsewhere. In 1616, at Iyéyasu's death 19-20ths of the whole country was held by his adherents. Thus there arose five or six classes of barons, as they may best be called, to render their position intelligible to the English reader. Firstly, there were the Three Families descended from his most favoured sons, from whom according to the constitution established by him in case of a default of direct heirs, the successor to the Shôgunate was to be chosen (as a matter of fact resort was had only to Ki-shiû when a break in the line occurred). Next came the Related Families (_Kamon_) sprung from his younger sons, and in the third place were ranked the Lords of Provinces (_Koku-shi_). The members of these three classes enjoyed the revenue of fiefs comprising one or more provinces, or lands of equivalent extent. Below them in importance were the Hereditary Servants (_fu-dai_) and Banner-men (_hatamoto_) composed as has been said before of the immediate retainers of the Tokugawa family, and the Stranger Lords (_tozama_), relics of the former barons, who had submitted to his supremacy and followed his banner in his last wars. The qualification of a _daimiô_ was the possession of lands assessed at a production of 10,000 _koku_ (=about 5 bushels) of rice and upwards. The _hatamotos_ were retainers of the Tokugawa family whose assessment was below 10,000 _koku_ and above 1000. Below them came the ordinary vassals (_go-ke-nin_). The fiefs of all classes of the _daimiôs_ were in their turn at first partitioned out among their retainers, and called _Ke-rai_ in their relation to their immediate lords, and _bai-shin_ (arrière vassals) as being vassals of those who acknowledged the suzerainty of the Shôgun. _Samurai_ and _ashigaru_ denoted the two ranks of sword-bearing gentlemen and common soldiers among the retainers of the _daimiôs_. In the end every retainer, except the _samurai_ of Satsuma, received an annual allowance of so much rice, in return for which he was bound to perform military service and appear in the field or discharge the ordinary military duties required in time of peace, accompanied by followers proportioned in number to his income. In Satsuma the feudal sub-division of the land was carried out to the fullest extent, so that the vassal of lowest rank held the sword in one hand and the hoe in the other. No taxes were paid by any feudal proprietor. The _koku-shi_ and other barons of equal rank ruled their provinces absolutely, levying land-tax on the farmers and imposts on internal trade as they chose. They had further the power of life and death, subject only to the nominal condition of reporting once a year the capital sentences inflicted by their officers. The other nobles were less independent. Every _daimiô_ had to maintain an establishment at the capital, where his wife and children resided permanently, while the lord passed alternate years in Yedo and in his territories. On his journeys to and fro he was accompanied by a little army of retainers, for whose accommodation inns were built at every town on the main roads throughout the country, and the expense involved was a heavy tax on his resources. A strict system of etiquette regulated the audiences with which the _daimiôs_ were favoured on their arrival and departure, and prescribed the presents they were to offer as a symbol of their inferiority. There was little social intercourse among them, and they lived for the most part a life of extreme seclusion surrounded by vast numbers of women and servants. A fixed number of hereditary councillors (_karô_ and _yônin_) checked all initiative in the administration of their fiefs. They were brought up in complete ignorance of the outer world, and the strings of government were pulled by the unseen hands of obscure functionaries who obtained their appointments by force of their personal qualities. After a few generations had passed the descendants of the active warriors and statesmen of Iyéyasu's time were reduced to the state of imbecile puppets, while the hereditary principle produced a similar effect on their councillors. Thus arose in each daimiate a condition of things which may be compared to that of a Highland clan, where the ultimate power was based upon the feelings and opinions of a poor but aristocratic oligarchy. This led to the surprising results of the revolution of 1868, when the power nominally exercised by the chief _daimiôs_ came to be wielded by the more energetic and intelligent of their retainers, most of whom were _samurai_ of no rank or position. These men it was who really ruled the clan, determined the policy of its head and dictated to him the language he should use on public occasions. The _daimiô_, it cannot be too often repeated, was a nobody; he possessed not even as much power as a constitutional sovereign of the modern type, and his intellect, owing to his education, was nearly always far below par. This strange political system was enabled to hold together solely by the isolation of the country from the outer world. As soon as the fresh air of European thought impinged upon this framework it crumbled to ashes like an Egyptian mummy brought out of its sarcophagus. The decline of the Mikado's power dates from the middle of the 9th century, when for the first time a boy of nine years ascended the throne of his ancestors. During his minority the country was governed by his father-in-law, the chief of the ancient Fujiwara family, who contrived for a long period to secure to themselves the power of setting up and removing their own nominees just as suited their convenience. A similar fate befel the institution of the Shôgunate. After the murder of Yoritomo's last surviving son, the country was nominally ruled by a succession of young princes, none of whom had emerged from the stage of boyhood when appointed, and who were deposed in turn after a few years of complete nullity, while the real heads of the government were the descendants of Hôjô Tokimasa, Yoritomo's father-in-law. The vices of the hereditary principle in their case had again full sway, and the later Hôjô were mere puppets in the hands of their principal advisers. A revolution in favour of the Mikado overthrew this system for a short interval, until the Shôgunate was restored for a time to reality by the founder of the Ashikaga family. But after the lapse of a few years its power was divided between Kiôto and Kamakura, and the two heads of the family fell under the dominating influence of their agents the _Kwan-rei_ Uyésugi and Hosokawa. Towards the end of the Ashikaga period the Shôgun had become as much an empty name as the Mikado himself, and the country was split up among the local chieftains. The bad condition of the internal communications between the provinces and the capital probably contributed to this state of things. Iyéyasu was the first to render consolidation possible by the construction of good military roads. The governmental system erected by him seemed calculated to ensure the lasting tranquillity of the country. But the hereditary principle again reasserted its influence. The third Shôgun, Iyémitsu, was a real man. Born four years after the battle of Sekigahara and already twelve years of age when his grandfather died in the year succeeding his final appearance in the battlefield, he had the education of a soldier, and to his energy was owing the final establishment of the Tokugawa supremacy on a solid basis. Iyéyasu and his successor had always been in the habit of meeting the _daimiôs_ on their visits to Yedo outside the city. Iyémitsu received them in his palace. He gave those who would not submit to their changed position the option of returning home, and offered them three years for preparation to try the ordeal of war. Not a single one ventured to resist. But he was succeeded by his son Iyétsuna, a boy of ten. During Iyétsuna's minority the government was carried on in his name by his Council of State, composed of Hereditary Servants (_fu-dai daimiôs_), and the personal authority of the head of the Tokugawa family thus received its first serious blow. But worse than that, the office of chief councillor was from the first confined to four baronial families, Ii, Honda, Sakakibara and Sakai, and the rôjiû or ordinary councillors were likewise _daimiôs_. On them the hereditary principle had, in the interval between the close of the civil wars and the accession of the fourth Shôgun, produced its usual result. Nominally the heads of the administration they were without any will of their own, and were guided by their own hereditary councillors, whose strings were pulled by someone else. The real power then fell into the hands of ministers or _bu-giô_, chosen from the _hatamoto_ or lesser vassals, and many of these were men of influence and real weight. Still with them the habit of delegating authority into the hands of anyone of sufficient industry and energy to prefer work to idleness, was invincible, and in the end the dominions of the Tokugawa family came to be ruled by the _Oku go-yû-hitsu_ or private secretaries. The machine in fact had been so skilfully constructed that a child could keep it turning. Political stagnation was mistaken for stability. Apart from one or two unsuccessful conspiracies against the government, Japan experienced during 238 years the profoundest tranquillity. She resembled the sleeping beauty in the wood, and the guardians of the public safety had a task not more onerous than that of waving a fan to keep the flies from disturbing the princess's slumbers. When her dreams were interrupted by the eager and vigorous West the ancient, decrepit and wrinkled watchers were found unfit for their posts, and had to give way to men more fit to cope with the altered circumstances which surrounded them. Socially the nation was divided into two sections by a wide gulf which it was impossible to pass. On the one hand the sword-bearing families or gentry, whose frequent poverty was compensated for by their privileges of rank, on the other the agricultural, labouring and commercial classes; intermarriage was forbidden between the orders. The former were ruled by the code of honour, offences against which were permitted to be expiated by self-destruction, the famous _harakiri_ or disembowelment, while the latter were subject to a severe unwritten law enforced by cruel and frequent capital punishment. They were the obedient humble servants of the two-sworded class. Japan had already made the experiment of free intercourse with European states in the middle of the 16th century, when the merchants and missionaries of Portugal were welcomed in the chief ports of Kiû-shiû, and Christianity bade fair to replace the ancient native religions. They were succeeded by the Spaniards, Dutch and English, the two latter nations confining themselves however to commerce. The gigantic missionary undertakings of the two great English-speaking communities of the far West were the creation of a much later time. It will be recollected that in 1580 Spain for a time absorbed Portugal. The Roman Catholics began before long to excite the enmity of the Buddhist and Shintô priesthood, whose temples they had caused to be pulled down and whose revenues they seemed on the point of usurping. Nobunaga had favoured them, but in the civil wars that raged at that period the principal patrons of the Jesuits were overthrown, and the new ruler Taicosama soon proclaimed his hostility to the strangers. Their worst offence was the refusal of a Christian girl to become his concubine. Iyéyasu, a devout Buddhist, pursued the same religious policy as his predecessor in possession of the ruling power. His dislike to Christianity was stimulated by the fact that some of Hidéyori's adherents were Christians, and the young prince Hidéyori was himself known to be on friendly terms with the missionaries. The flame was fanned by the Dutch and English, now become the hereditary political foes of Spain, and the persecution was renewed with greater vigour than ever. Missionaries were sought out with eager keenness, and in the company of their disciples subjected to cruel tortures and the most horrible deaths. The fury of persecution did not relax with Iyéyasu's disappearance from the scene, and the final act of the drama was played out in the time of his grandson. An insurrection provoked by the oppression of the local _daimiôs_ broke out in the island of Amakusa, where thousands of Christians joined the rebel flag. After a furious struggle the revolt was put an end to on the 24th February, 1638, by the assault and capture of the castle of Shimabara, when 37,000 people, two-thirds of whom were women and children, were put to the sword. It is hardly possible to read the native accounts of this business without a feeling of choking indignation at the ruthless sacrifice of so many unfortunate creatures who were incapable of defence, and whose only crime was their wish to serve the religion which they had chosen for their rule of life. The Portuguese were forbidden ever to set foot again in Japan. The English had previously retired from a commercial contest in which they found their rivals too fortunate and too skilful, and the edict went forth that the Dutch, who now alone remained, should thenceforth be confined to the small artificial island of Déshima, off the town of Nagasaki, where for the next 2-1/4 centuries they and the Chinese were permitted to carry on a restricted and constantly diminishing trade. Attempts were made once or twice by the English, and early in the present century by the Russians, to induce the government of Japan to relax their rule, but in vain. The only profit the world has derived from these abortive essays is the entrancing narrative of Golownin, who was taken prisoner in Yezo in connection with a descent made by Russian naval officers in revenge for the rejection of the overtures made by the Russian envoy Resanoff, perhaps the most lifelike picture of Japanese official manners that is anywhere to be met with. No further approaches were made by any Western Government until the United States took the matter in hand in 1852. CHAPTER IV TREATIES--ANTI-FOREIGN SPIRIT--MURDER OF FOREIGNERS THE expedition of Commodore Perry to Loochoo and Japan was not the first enterprise of its kind that had been undertaken by the Americans. Having accomplished their own independence as the result of a contest in which a few millions of half-united colonists had successfully withstood the well-trained legions of Great Britain and her German mercenaries (though not, it may be fairly said, without in a great measure owing their success to the very efficient assistance of French armies and fleets), they added to this memory of ancient wrongs a natural fellow-feeling for other nations who were less able to resist the might of the greatest commercial and maritime Power the world has yet seen. While sympathising with Eastern peoples in the defence of their independent rights, they believed that a conciliatory mode of treating them was at least equally well fitted to ensure the concession of those trading privileges to which the Americans are not less indifferent than the English. In 1836 they had despatched an envoy to Siam and Cochin-China, who was successful in negotiating by peaceful methods a treaty of commerce with the former state. In China, like the other western states, they had profited by the negotiations which were the outcome of the Opium War, without having to incur the odium of using force or the humiliation of finding their softer methods prove a failure in dealing with the obstinate conservatism of Chinese mandarins. For many years their eyes had been bent upon Japan, which lay on the opposite side of the Pacific fronting their own state of California, then rising into fame as one of the great gold-producing regions of the globe. Warned by the fate of all previous attempts to break down the wall of seclusion that hemmed in the 'country of the gods,' they resolved to make such a show of force that with reasonable people, unfamiliar with modern artillery, might prove as powerful an argument as theories of universal brotherhood and the obligations imposed by the comity of nations. They appointed to the chief command a naval officer possessed of both tact and determination, whose judicious use of the former qualification rendered the employ of the second unnecessary. Probably no one was more agreeably surprised than Commodore Perry at the comparative ease with which, on his second visit to the Bay of Yedo, he obtained a Treaty, satisfactory enough as a beginning. No doubt the counsels of the Dutch agent at Nagasaki were not without their effect, and we may also conjecture that the desire which had already begun to manifest itself among some of the lower _Samurai_ for a wider acquaintance with the mysterious outer world was secretly shared by men in high positions. Fear alone would not have induced a haughty government like that of the Shôguns to acquiesce in breaking through a law of restriction that had such a highly creditable antiquity to boast of. Most men's motives are mixed, and there was on the Japanese side no very decided unwillingness to yield to a show of force, which the pretext of prudence would enable them to justify. England and Russia, then or shortly afterwards at war, followed in the wake of the United States. Next an American Consul-General took up his residence at Shimoda, to look after the interests of whaling vessels, and skilfully made use of the recent events in China to induce the Shôgun's government to extend the concessions already granted. In 1858 the China War having been apparently brought to a successful conclusion, Lord Elgin and the French Ambassador, Baron Gros, ran across to Japan and concluded treaties on the same basis as Mr. Harris, and before long similar privileges were accorded to Holland and Russia. In 1859 the ports of Nagasaki, Hakodaté and Yokohama were thrown open to the trade of the Five Powers, and a new age was inaugurated in Japan. It was not without opposition that the Shôgun's government had entered into its first engagements with the United States, Great Britain and Russia. An agitation arose when the first American ships anchored in the Bay of Yedo, and there were not wanting bold and rash men ready to undertake any desperate enterprise against the foreign invaders of the sacred soil of Japan. But at this time there was no leader to whom the malcontents could turn for guidance. The Mikado was closely watched by the Shôgun's resident at Kiôto, and the _daimiôs_ were divided among themselves. The principal opponent was the ex-Prince of Mito, whose constitutional duty was to support the Shôgun and aid him with his counsels in all great national crises. During the presence of Commodore Perry the reigning Shôgun Iyéyoshi had fallen ill, and he died not long after the squadron had sailed. He was succeeded by his son Iyésada, a man of 28, who does not seem to have been endowed with either force of character or knowledge of the world. Such qualities are not to be expected from the kind of education which fell to the lot of Japanese princes in those days. In view of the expected return of the American ships in the following year, forts were constructed to guard the sea-front of the capital, and the ex-Prince of Mito was summoned from his retirement to take the lead in preparing to resist the encroachments of foreign powers. By a curious coincidence, this nobleman, then forty-nine years of age, was the representative of a family which for years had maintained the theoretical right of the Mikado to exercise the supreme government, and was at the same time strongly opposed to any extension of the limited intercourse with foreign countries then permitted. Nor can it be wondered that Japan, who had so successfully protected herself from foreign aggression by a policy of rigid exclusion, and which had seen the humiliation of China consequent upon disputes with a Western Power arising out of trade questions at the very moment when she was being torn by a civil war which owed its origin to the introduction of new religious beliefs from the West, should have believed that the best means of maintaining peace at home and avoiding an unequal contest with Europe, was to adhere strictly to the traditions of the past two centuries. But when the intrusive foreigners returned in the beginning of the following year, Japan found herself still unprepared to repel them by force. The treaty was therefore signed, interdicting trade, but permitting whalers to obtain supplies in the three harbours of Nagasaki, Hakodaté and Shimoda, and promising friendly treatment to shipwrecked sailors. While making these unavoidable concessions, the Japanese buoyed themselves up with the belief that their innate superiority could enable them easily to overcome the better equipped forces of foreign countries, when once they had acquired the modern arts of warfare and provided themselves with a sufficient proportion of the ships and weapons of the nineteenth century. From that time onwards this was the central idea of Japan's foreign policy for many years, as the sequel will show. Even at this period there were a few who would have willingly started off on this new quest, and two Japanese actually asked Commodore Perry to give them a passage in his flagship. They were refused, and their zeal was punished by their own government with imprisonment. The residence of Mr. Harris at Shimoda and the visit which he insisted on paying to the capital created fresh difficulties for the advisers of the Shôgun. Written protests were delivered by non-official members of his council, and he was obliged at last to ask the Mikado's sanction to the treaties, in order to strengthen his own position. This invocation of the Mikado's authority may fairly be called an innovation upon ancient custom. Neither Nobunaga, Hidéyoshi nor Iyéyasu had thought it necessary to get their acts approved by him, and Iyéyasu granted trade privileges entirely on his own responsibility, without his right to do so ever being questioned. This reference to Kiôto is the first sign of the decadence of the Shôgun's power. The supremacy of the Mikado having been once admitted, his right to a voice in the affairs of the country could no longer be disputed. His nobles seized the opportunity, and assumed the attitude of obstruction, which has always been a powerful weapon in the hands of individuals and parties. One man out of a dozen, of sufficient determination, can always force the others to yield, when his position is legal, and cannot be disturbed by the use of force. On the one hand, Mr. Harris pressed for a revision of the treaty and the concession of open ports at Kanagawa and Ozaka; on the other was the Court, turning an obstinately deaf ear to all proposals. In its desperation the Shôgun's government appointed to be Prime Minister, or Regent as he was called by foreigners, the descendant of Iyéyasu's most trusted retainer, the _daimiô_ Ii Kamon no Kami of Hikoné, and Mr. Harris, as has already been said, skilfully turning to account the recent exploits of the combined English and French squadrons in the Chinese seas, obtained his treaty, achieving a diplomatic triumph of the greatest value purely by the use of "moral" pressure. The English, French, Russian and Dutch treaties followed. The Shôgun stood committed to a policy from which his new allies were not likely to allow of his receding, while to the anti-foreign party was imparted a consistency that there had previously been little chance of its acquiring. Scarcely was the ink of these engagements dry, when the Shôgun, who had been indisposed for some weeks past, was gathered to his fathers, leaving no heir. According to the custom which had been observed on two previous occasions when there had been a break in the direct line, a prince was chosen from the house of Ki-shiû to be his successor. The ex-Prince of Mito, and several of his sympathisers among the leading nobles, namely, Hizen, Owari, Tosa, Satsuma and the Daté of Uwajima, a man of abilities superior to the size of his tiny fief in Shikoku, had desired to choose a younger son of Mito, who had been adopted into the family of Hitotsubashi. But the Prime Minister was too strong for them. He insisted on the election of his own nominee, and forced his opponents to retire into private life. Thus to their disapproval of the political course adopted by the Shôgunate, was added a personal resentment against its chief minister, and this feeling was shared in a remarkable degree by the retainers of the disgraced nobles. A bloody revenge was taken two years later on the individual, but the hostility to the system only increased with time, and in the end brought about its complete ruin. Mito was the ringleader of the opposition, and began actively to intrigue with the Mikado's party against the head of his own family. The foreigners arrived in numbers at Kanagawa and Yokohama, and affronted the feelings of the haughty _samurai_ by their independent demeanour, so different from the cringing subservience to which the rules of Japanese etiquette condemned the native merchant. It was not long before blood was shed. On the evening of the 26th August, six weeks after the establishment at Yedo of the British and American Representatives, an officer and a seaman belonging to a Russian man-of-war were cut to pieces in the streets of Yokohama, where they had landed to buy provisions. In November, a Chinese servant belonging to the French vice-consul was attacked and killed in the foreign settlement at Yokohama. Two months later, Sir R. Alcock's native linguist of the British Legation was stabbed from behind as he was standing at the gateway of the British Legation in Yedo, and within a month more two Dutch merchant captains were slaughtered in the high street at Yokohama. Then there was a lull for eight or nine months, till the French Minister's servant was cut at and badly wounded as he was standing at the gate of the Legation in Yedo. On the 14th January, 1861, Heusken, the Secretary of the American Mission, was attacked and murdered as he was riding home after a dinner-party at the Prussian Legation. And on the night of July 5 occurred the boldest attempt yet made on the life of foreigners, when the British Legation was attacked by a band of armed men and as stoutly defended by the native guard. This was a considerable catalogue for a period of no more than two years since the opening of the ports to commerce. In every case the attack was premeditated and unprovoked, and the perpetrators on every occasion belonged to the swordbearing class. No offence had been given by the victims to those who had thus ruthlessly cut them down; they were assassinated from motives of a political character, and their murderers went unpunished in every instance. Japan became to be known as a country where the foreigner carried his life in his hand, and the dread of incurring the fate of which so many examples had already occurred became general among the residents. Even in England before I left to take up my appointment, we felt that apart from the chances of climate, the risk of coming to an untimely end at the hands of an expert swordsman must be taken into account. Consequently, I bought a revolver, with a due supply of powder, bullets and caps. The trade to Japan in these weapons must have been very great in those days, as everyone wore a pistol whenever he ventured beyond the limits of the foreign settlement, and constantly slept with one under his pillow. It was a busy time for Colt and Adams. But in all the years of my experience in Japan I never heard of more than one life being taken by a revolver, and that was when a Frenchman shot a carpenter who demanded payment for his labour in a somewhat too demonstrative manner. In Yedo I think we finally gave up wearing revolvers in 1869, chiefly because the few of us who resided there had come to the conclusion that the weight of the weapon was inconvenient, and also that if any bloodthirsty two-sworded gentleman intended to take our lives, he would choose his time and opportunity so as to leave us no chance of anticipating his purpose with a bullet. In the spring of 1862 Sir Rutherford Alcock returned to England on leave of absence, and Colonel Neale was left in charge. As I have said before, disbelieving in the validity of the reasons which had led the Minister to remove his official residence to Yokohama, the Chargé d'Affaires reestablished himself at the temple formerly occupied as the British Legation. On the anniversary, according to the Japanese calendar, of the attack referred to on a previous page, some Commissioners for Foreign Affairs in calling upon Colonel Neale, congratulated him and themselves on the fact that a whole year had elapsed since any fresh attempt had been made on the life of a foreigner. It was not unnatural, therefore, that in the first impulse of indignation at the savage and bloody slaughter of the sentry and corporal almost at his bedroom door, he should have conceived the suspicion that the visit of the Commissioners and their language in the morning, had been intended to put him off his guard, and that consequently the Japanese government, or rather the Shôgun's ministers, were implicated in what looked like a barbarous act of treachery that deprived the Japanese nation of all right to be regarded as a civilized community; more especially as the native watch had been recently changed, and fresh men substituted for those who had fought so well in defence of Sir Rutherford Alcock the year before. But on reflection it will easily be seen that there was no real justification for such a belief. The assassin was one of the guard. After the murder of the two Englishmen he returned to his quarters and there committed suicide by ripping himself up in the approved Japanese fashion. We may be sure that if his act had been the result of a conspiracy, he would not have been alone. Ignorant as the Shôgun's ministers may have been, and probably were, of the sacred character of an envoy, it was not their interest to bring upon themselves the armed vengeance of foreign powers at a moment when they were confronted with the active enmity of the principal clans of the west. I think they may be entirely absolved from all share in this attempt to massacre the inmates of the English Legation. But on the other hand it seems highly probable that the man's comrades were aware of his intention, and that after his partial success they connived at his escape. But he had been wounded by a bullet discharged from the pistol of the second man whom he attacked, and drops of blood on the ground showed the route by which he had made his way out of the garden. As his identity could not be concealed, he had to commit suicide in order to anticipate the penalty of death which the Shôgun's government could not have avoided inflicting on him. The apparent cognisance of the other men on guard (who were what our law would call accessories before the fact), and the fact that nevertheless they took no share in his act, is consonant with the statement that he was merely accomplishing an act of private revenge. His selection of the darkness of night seems to indicate that he hoped to escape the consequences. Willis said that when he arose and looked out, the night was pitch dark. It was the night before full moon, and in the very middle of what is called in Japan the rainy season. He informed me that there was a high wind and that heavy black clouds were drifting over the sky. The stormy weather and the lateness of the hour (11 to 12 o'clock) might perhaps account for the native lanterns which were hung about the grounds having ceased to give any light, but even under those circumstances it is a little suspicious that the guard should have neglected to replace the burnt out candles. It was at Taku on our way down from Peking that Robertson, Jamieson and I heard of this new attack on the legation. I believe our feeling was rather one of regret that we had lost the opportunity of experiencing one of the stirring events which we had already learnt to regard as normally characteristic of life in Japan. It certainly did not take us by surprise, and in no way rendered the service less attractive. But Jamieson had found a better opening in Shanghai, and the remaining two went on to Yokohama as soon as they could get a passage. CHAPTER V RICHARDSON'S MURDER--JAPANESE STUDIES THE day after my arrival at Yokohama I was taken over to Kanagawa and introduced to the Rev. S. R. Brown, an American Missionary, who was then engaged in printing a work on colloquial Japanese, and to Dr J. C. Hepburn, M.D., who was employed on a dictionary of the language. The former died some years ago, but the latter is at this moment (1886) still in Japan,[2] bringing out the third edition of his invaluable lexicon and completing the translation of the Bible on which he has been occupied for many years. In those days we had either to take a native sculling boat for an _ichibu_ across the bay to Kanagawa or ride round by the causeway, the land along which the railway now runs not having been filled in at that time. Natives used to cross by a public ferry boat, paying a _tempô_ (16-1/2 to the _ichibu_) a-piece, but no foreigner was ever allowed to make use of the cheaper conveyance. If he was quick enough to catch the ferryboat before it had pushed off, and so seize a place for himself, the boatmen simply refused to stir. They remained immovable, until the intruder was tired of waiting, and abandoned the game. It was only after a residence of some years, when I had become pretty fluent in the language and could argue the point with the certainty of having the public on my side, that I at last succeeded in overcoming the obstinacy of the people at the boathouse who had the monopoly of carrying foreigners. There was in those days a fixed price for the foreigner wherever he went, arbitrarily determined without reference to the native tariff. At the theatre a foreigner had to pay an _ichibu_ for admittance, and was then thrust into the "deaf-box," as the gallery seats are called, which are so far from the stage that the actors' speeches are quite indistinguishable. The best place for both seeing and hearing is the _doma_, on the area of the theatre, close in front of the stage. On one occasion I walked into the theatre, and took my place in one of the divisions of the _doma_, offering to pay the regular price. No, they would not take it. I must pay my _ichibu_ and go to the foreigner's box. I held out, insisting on my right as one of the public. Did I not squat on the floor with my boots off, just like themselves? Well then, if I would not come out of that, the curtain would not rise. I rejoined that they might please themselves about that. In order to annoy a single foreigner, they would deprive the rest of the spectators of the pleasure they had paid to enjoy. So I obstinately kept my place, and in the end the manager gave way. The "house" was amused at the foreigner speaking their language and getting the best of the argument, and for the rest of my time in Yokohama I had no more difficulty in obtaining accommodation in any part of the theatre that I preferred. [2] Dr Hepburn died in 1911. In those days the Yokohama theatre used to begin about eleven o'clock in the morning and keep open for twelve hours. A favourite play was the _Chiu-Shin-Gura_, or _Treasury of Faithful Retainers_, and the _Sara-Yashiki_, or the _Broken Plate Mansion_. The arrangement of the interior, the fashion of dress and acting, the primitive character of the scenery and lights, the literary style of the plays have not undergone any changes, and are very unlikely to be modified in any marked degree by contact with European ideas. There is some talk now and then of elevating the character of the stage and making the theatre a school of morals and manners for the young, but the good people who advocate these theories in the press have not, as far as I know, ventured to put them to practical proof, and the _shibai_ will, I hope, always continue to be what it always has been in Japan, a place of amusement and distraction, where people of all ages and sizes go to enjoy themselves without caring one atom whether the incidents are probable or proper, so long as there is enough of the tragic to call forth the tears which every natural man sheds with satisfaction on proper occasions, and of the comic by-turns to give the facial muscles a stretch in the other direction. On the 14th September a most barbarous murder was committed on a Shanghai merchant named Richardson. He, in company with a Mrs Borradaile of Hongkong, and Woodthorpe C. Clarke and Wm. Marshall both of Yokohama, were riding along the high road between Kanagawa and Kawasaki, when they met with a train of _daimiô's_ retainers, who bid them stand aside. They passed on at the edge of the road, until they came in sight of a palanquin, occupied by Shimadzu Saburô, father of the Prince of Satsuma. They were now ordered to turn back, and as they were wheeling their horses in obedience, were suddenly set upon by several armed men belonging to the train, who hacked at them with their sharp-edged heavy swords. Richardson fell from his horse in a dying state, and the other two men were so severely wounded that they called out to the lady: "Ride on, we can do nothing for you." She got safely back to Yokohama and gave the alarm. Everybody in the settlement who possessed a pony and a revolver at once armed himself and galloped off towards the scene of slaughter. Lieut.-Colonel Vyse, the British Consul, led off the Legation mounted escort in spite of Colonel Neale's order that they should not move until he or their own commander gave the word. M. de Bellecourt, the French Minister, sent out his escort, consisting of a half-dozen French troopers; Lieut. Price of the 67th Regiment marched off part of the Legation guard, accompanied by some French infantry. But amongst the first, perhaps the very first of all, was Dr Willis, whose high sense of the duty cast on him by his profession rendered him absolutely fearless. Passing for a mile along the ranks of the men whose swords were reeking with the blood of Englishmen, he rode along the high road through Kanagawa, where he was joined by some three or four more Englishmen. He proceeded onwards to Namamugi, where poor Richardson's corpse was found under the shade of a tree by the roadside. His throat had been cut as he was lying there wounded and helpless. The body was covered with sword cuts, any one of which was sufficient to cause death. It was carried thence to the American Consulate in Kanagawa, where Clarke and Marshall had found refuge and surgical aid at the hands of Dr Hepburn and later on of Dr Jenkins, our other doctor. There was only one British man-of-war lying in the harbour, but in the course of the evening Admiral Küper arrived in his flagship, the _Euryalus_, with the gun-vessel _Ringdove_. The excitement among the foreign mercantile community was intense, for this was the first occasion on which one of their own number had been struck down. The Japanese sword is as sharp as a razor, and inflicts fearful gashes. The Japanese had a way of cutting a man to pieces rather than leave any life in him. This had a most powerful effect on the minds of Europeans, who came to look on every two-sworded man as a probable assassin, and if they met one in the street thanked God as soon as they had passed him and found themselves in safety. It was known that Shimadzu Saburô was to lie that night at Hodogaya, a post-town scarcely two miles from Yokohama. To surround and seize him with the united forces of all the foreign vessels in port would, in their opinion, have been both easy and justifiable, and viewed by the light of our later knowledge, not only of Japanese politics but also of Japanese ideas with regard to the right of taking redress, they were not far wrong. In the absence of any organised police or military force able to keep order among the turbulent two-sworded class it cannot be doubted that this course would have been adopted by any Japanese clan against whom such an offence had been committed, and the foreign nationalities in Japan were in the same position as a native clan. They were subject to the authorities of their own country, who had jurisdiction over them both in criminal and civil matters, and were responsible for keeping them within the bounds of law and for their protection against attack. A meeting was called at Hooper's (W. C. Clarke's partner) house under the presidency of Colonel F. Howard Vyse, the British Consul, when, after an earnest discussion and the rejection of a motion to request the foreign naval authorities to land 1000 men in order to arrest the guilty parties, a deputation consisting of some of the leading residents was appointed to wait on the commanding officers of the Dutch, French and English naval forces and lay before them the conclusions of the meeting. The British admiral, however, declined to act upon their suggestion, but consented to attend another meeting which was to be held at the residence of the French Minister at 6 a.m. on the following morning. The deputation then went to Colonel Neale, who with great magnanimity waived all personal considerations and promised to be present also. The idea had got abroad amongst the foreign community that Colonel Neale could not be trusted to take the energetic measures which they considered necessary under the circumstances. In fact, they found fault with him for preserving the cool bearing which might be expected from a man who had seen actual service in the field and which especially became a man in his responsible situation, and they thought that pressure could be put upon him through his colleagues and the general opinion of the other foreign representatives. But in this expectation they were disappointed. At the meeting Colonel Neale altogether declined to authorise the adoption of measures, which, if the Tycoon's government were to be regarded as the government of the country, would have amounted virtually to making war upon Japan, and the French Minister expressed an opinion entirely coinciding with that of his colleague. Calmer counsels prevailed, and Diplomacy was left to its own resources, arrangements, however, being made by the naval commanders-in-chief to patrol the settlement during the night and to station guard-boats along the sea-front to communicate with the ships in case of an alarm. Looking back now after the lapse of nearly a quarter of a century, I am strongly disposed to the belief that Colonel Neale took the best course. The plan of the mercantile community was bold, attractive and almost romantic. It would probably have been successful for the moment, in spite of the well-known bravery of the Satsuma _samurai_. But such an event as the capture of a leading Japanese nobleman by foreign sailors in the dominions of the Tycoon would have been a patent demonstration of his incapacity to defend the nation against the "outer barbarian," and would have precipitated his downfall long before it actually took place, and before there was anything in the shape of a league among the clans ready to establish a new government. In all probability the country would have become a prey to ruinous anarchy, and collisions with foreign powers would have been frequent and serious. Probably the slaughter of the foreign community at Nagasaki would have been the immediate answer to the blow struck at Hodogaya, a joint expedition would have been sent out by England, France and Holland to fight many a bloody battle and perhaps dismember the realm of the Mikados. In the meantime the commerce for whose sake we had come to Japan would have been killed. And how many lives of Europeans and Japanese would have been sacrificed in return for that of Shimadzu Saburô? I was standing outside the hotel that afternoon, and on seeing the bustle of men riding past, inquired what was the cause. The reply, "A couple of Englishmen have been cut down in Kanagawa," did not shock me in the least. The accounts of such occurrences that had appeared in the English press and the recent attack on the Legation of which I had heard on my way from Peking had prepared me to look on the murder of a foreigner as an ordinary, every-day affair, and the horror of bleeding wounds was not sufficiently familiar to me to excite the feelings of indignation that seemed to animate every one else. I was secretly ashamed of my want of sympathy. And yet, if it had been otherwise, such a sudden introduction to the danger of a horrid death might have rendered me quite unfit for the career I had adopted. This habit of looking upon assassination as part of the day's work enabled me later on to face with equanimity what most men whose sensations had not been deadened by a moral anæsthetic would perhaps have considered serious dangers. And while everyone in my immediate surroundings was in a state of excitement, defending Vyse or abusing Colonel Neale, I quietly settled down to my studies. In those days the helps to the acquisition of the Japanese language were very few. A thin pamphlet by the Rev. J. Liggins, containing a few phrases in the Nagasaki dialect, a vocabulary compiled by Wm. Medhurst, senior, and published at Batavia many years before; Rodriguez' _Japanese Grammar_, by Landresse; a grammar by MM. Donker Curtius and Hoffmann in Dutch, and a French translation of it by Léon Pagès; a translation by the latter of part of the Japanese-Portuguese Dictionary of 1603; Hoffmann's dialogues in Japanese, Dutch and English; Rosny's _Introduction à la langue Japonaise_, were about all. And but few of these were procurable in Japan. I had left London without any books on the language. Luckily for me, Dr S. R. Brown was just then printing his _Colloquial Japanese_, and generously allowed me to have the first few sheets as they came over at intervals from the printing office in Shanghai. A Japanese reprint of Medhurst's vocabulary, which could be bought in a Japanese bookshop that stood at the corner of Benten-Dôri and Honchô Itchôme, speedily proved useless. But I had a slight acquaintance with the Chinese written characters and was the fortunate possessor of Medhurst's Chinese-English Dictionary, by whose help I could manage to come at the meaning of a Japanese word if I got it written down. It was very uphill work at first, for I had no teacher, and living in a single room at the hotel, abutting too on the bowling alley, could not secure quiet. The colonel ordered us, Robertson and myself, to attend every day at the "office" (we did not call it the chancery then) to ask if our services were required, and what work we had consisted chiefly of copying despatches and interminable accounts. My handwriting was, unfortunately for me, considered to be rather better than the average, and I began to foresee that a larger share of clerical work would be given to me than I liked. My theory of the duty of a student-interpreter was then, and still is, to learn the language first of all. I considered that this order would be a great interruption to serious work if he insisted upon it, and would take away all chances of our learning the language thoroughly. At last I summoned up courage to protest, and I rather think my friend Willis encouraged me to do this; but I did not gain anything by remonstrating. The colonel evidently thought I was frightfully lazy, for when I said that the office work would interfere with my studies, he replied that it would be much worse for both to be neglected than for one to be hindered. At first there was some idea of renting a house for Robertson and myself, but finally the Colonel decided to give us rooms at one end of the rambling two-storied building that was then occupied as a Legation. It stood at the corner of the bund and the creek, where the Grand Hotel now is, and belonged to a man named Hoey, who took advantage of my inexperience and the love of books he had discovered to be one of my weaknesses to sell me an imperfect copy of the _Penny Cyclopædia_ for more than a complete one would have cost at home. I used to play bowls sometimes with Albert Markham (of Arctic fame), who was then a lieutenant on board H.M.S. _Centaur_, and Charles Wirgman, the artist-correspondent of the _Illustrated London News_. Towards the end of October we induced the colonel to consent to our getting two lessons a week from the Rev. S. R. Brown, and to allow us to engage a native "teacher," at the public expense. So we had to get a second, and pay for him out of our own pockets. He also agreed to leave us the mornings free for study up to one o'clock. A "teacher," it must be understood, does not mean a man who can "teach." In those days, at Peking and in Japan also, we worked with natives who did not understand a word of English, and the process by which one made out the meaning of a sentence was closely akin to that which Poe describes in the _Gold Beetle_ for the decyphering of a cryptograph. Through my "boy," who was equally ignorant of English, I got hold of a man who explained that he had once been a doctor, and having nothing to do at the moment would teach me Japanese without any pay. We used to communicate at first by writing down Chinese characters. One of his first sentences was literally "Prince loves men, I also venerate the prince as a master"; prince, as I afterwards divined, being merely a polite way of saying _you_. He said he had lots of dollars and _ichibus_ and would take nothing for his services, so I agreed with him that he should come to my room every day from ten to one. However, he never presented himself again after the first interview. [Illustration: SIR ERNEST SATOW 1869] [Illustration: SIR ERNEST SATOW 1903] My "boy" turned out to be what I considered a great villain. I had at an early date wanted one of the native dictionaries of Chinese characters with the Japanese equivalents in _Katakana_. I sent him out to buy one, but he shortly returned and said that there were none in the place, and he must go over to Kanagawa, where he would be sure to find what I wanted. After being out the whole day, he brought me a copy which he said was the only one to be found and for which he charged me four _ichibus_, or nearly two dollars. This was just after my arrival, when I was new to the place and ignorant of prices. Six weeks afterwards, being in the bookseller's shop, I asked him what was the price of the book, when he replied that he had asked only 1-1/2 _ichibu_. My boy had taken it away and returned next day to say that I had refused to give more than one, which he consequently accepted. Unconscionable rascal this, not content with less than 300 per cent. of a squeeze! I found out also that he had kept back a large slice out of money I had paid to a carpenter for some chairs and a table. He had to refund his illicit gains, or else to find another place. After a time I got my rooms at the Legation and was able to study to my heart's content. The lessons which Mr. Brown gave me were of the greatest value. Besides hearing us repeat the sentences out of his book of _Colloquial Japanese_ and explaining the grammar, he also read with us part of the first sermon in the collection entitled _Kiu-ô Dôwa_, so that I began to get some insight into the construction of the written language. Our two teachers were Takaoka Kanamé, a physician from Wakayama in Ki-shiû, and another man, whose name I forget. He was stupid and of little assistance. Early in 1863 Robertson went home on sick leave, and I had Takaoka Kanamé to myself. In those days the correspondence with the Japanese Government was carried on by means of Dutch, the only European tongue of which anything was known. An absurd idea existed at one time that Dutch was the Court language of Japan. Nothing was farther from the truth. It was studied solely by a corps of interpreters attached to the Dutch settlement at Nagasaki, and when Kanagawa and Hakodaté were opened to foreign trade, some of these interpreters were transferred to those ports. On our side we had collected with some difficulty a body of Dutch interpreters. They included three Englishmen, one Cape Dutchman, one Swiss, and one real Dutchman from Holland, and they received very good pay. Of course it was my ambition to learn to read, write, and speak Japanese, and so to displace these middlemen. So Takaoka began to give me lessons in the epistolary style. He used to write a short letter in the running-hand, and after copying it out in square character, explain to me its meaning. Then I made a translation and put it away for a few days. Meanwhile I exercised myself in reading, now one and now the other copy of the original. Afterwards I took out my translation and tried to put it back into Japanese from memory. The plan is one recommended by Roger Ascham and by the late George Long in a preface to his edition of the de Senectute, etc., which had been one of my school books. Before long I had got a thorough hold of a certain number of phrases, which I could piece together in the form of a letter, and this was all the easier, as the epistolary style of that time demanded the employment of a vast collection of merely complimentary phrases. I also took writing lessons from an old writing-master, whom I engaged to come to me at fixed hours. He was afflicted with a watery eye, and nothing but a firm resolve to learn would ever have enabled me to endure the constant drip from the diseased orbit, which fell now on the copy-book, now on the paper I was writing on, as he leant over it to correct a bad stroke, now on the table. There are innumerable styles of caligraphy in Japan, and at that date the _on-ye-riû_ was in fashion. I had unluckily taken up with the mercantile form of this. Several years afterwards I changed to a teacher who wrote a very beautiful hand, but still it was _on-ye-riû_. After the revolution of 1868 the _kara-yô_, which is more picturesque and self-willed, became the mode, and I put myself under the tuition of Takasai Tanzan, who was the teacher of several nobles, and one of the half dozen best in Tôkiô. But owing to this triple change of style, and also perhaps for want of real perseverance, I never came to have a good handwriting, nor to be able to write like a Japanese; nor did I ever acquire the power of composing in Japanese without making mistakes, though I had almost daily practice for seven or eight years in the translation of official documents. Perhaps that kind of work is of itself not calculated to ensure correctness, as the translator's attention is more bent on giving a faithful rendering of the original than on writing good Japanese. I shall have more to say at a later period as to the change which the Japanese written language has undergone in consequence of the imitation of European modes of expression. The first occasion on which my knowledge of the epistolary style was put into requisition was in June 1863, when there came a note from one of the Shogun's ministers, the exact wording of which was a matter of importance. It was therefore translated three times, once from the Dutch by Eusden, by Siebold with the aid of his teacher from the original Japanese, and by myself. I shall never forget the sympathetic joy of my dear Willis when I produced mine. There was no one who could say which of the three was the most faithful rendering, but in his mind and my own there was, of course, no doubt. I think I had sometime previously translated a private letter from a Japanese to one of our colleagues who had left Yokohama; it must have been done with great literalness, for I recollect that _sessha_ was rendered "I, the shabby one." But it could not be made use of officially to testify to my progress in the language. After the Richardson affair the Tycoon's government erected guardhouses all along the Tôkaidô within Treaty limits, and even proposed to divert the trains of the _daimiôs_ to another route which ran through the town of Atsugi, but this project fell through. Foreigners were in the habit of using it for their excursions, but Robertson and I had to pass along it twice a week on our way to and from our Japanese lesson at Mr. Brown's, and though determined not to show the white feather, I always felt in passing one of these trains that my life was in peril. On one occasion as I was riding on the Tôkaidô for my pleasure, I met a tall fellow armed with the usual two swords, who made a step towards me in what I thought was a threatening manner, and having no pistol with me, I was rather alarmed, but he passed on, content probably with having frightened a foreigner. That is the only instance I can recollect of even seeming intention on the part of a _samurai_ to do me harm on a chance meeting in the street, and the general belief in the bloodthirsty character of that class, in my opinion, was to a very great extent without foundation. But it must be admitted that whenever a Japanese made up his mind to shed the blood of a foreigner, he took care to do his business pretty effectually. My first experience of an earthquake was on the 2nd November of this year. It was said by the foreign residents to have been a rather severe one. The house shook considerably, as if some very heavy person were walking in list slippers along the verandah and passages. It lasted several seconds, dying away gradually, and gave me a slight sensation of sickness, insomuch that I was beginning to fancy that a shaking which lasted so long must arise from within myself. I believe the sensations of most persons on experiencing a slight shock of earthquake for the first time are very similar. It is usually held that familiarity with these phenomena does not breed contempt for them, but on the contrary persons who have resided longest in Japan are the most nervous about the danger. And there is a reason for this. We know that in not very recent times extremely violent shocks have occurred, throwing down houses, splitting the earth, and causing death to thousands of people in a few moments. The longer the interval that has elapsed since the last, the sooner may its re-occurrence be looked for. We have escaped many times, but the next will be perhaps our last. So we feel on each occasion, and the anticipation of harm becomes stronger and stronger, and where we at first used to sit calmly through a somewhat prolonged vibration, the wooden joints of the house harshly creaking and the crockery rattling merrily on the shelves, we now spring from our chairs and rush for the door at the slightest movement. My experiences in Japan of an exciting kind were pretty numerous, but, I regret to say, never included a really serious earthquake, and those who care to read more about the insignificant specimens that the country produces now-a-days must be referred to the pages of the Seismological Society's Journal and other publications of the distinguished geologist, my friend Professor John Milne, who has not only recorded observations on a large number of natural earthquakes, but has even succeeded in producing artificial ones so closely resembling the real thing as almost to defy detection. CHAPTER VI OFFICIAL VISIT TO YEDO DURING the later months of 1862 a good deal of correspondence went forward about the Itô Gumpei (murderer of the sentry and of the corporal) affair and the Richardson murder, and Colonel Neale held various conferences with the Shôgun's ministers. The diplomatic history of these proceedings has been already recounted by Sir Francis Adams, and as for the most part I knew little of what was going on, it need not be repeated here. The meeting-place for the more important discussions was Yedo, whither the Colonel used to proceed with his escort and the larger portion of the Legation staff. Some went by a gunboat, others rode up to the capital along the Tôkaidô. At that period and for several years after, the privilege of visiting Yedo was by Treaty restricted to the foreign diplomatic representatives, and non-official foreigners could not cross the Rokugô ferry, half way between Kanagawa and Yedo, except as the invited guest of one of the legations. And now all the foreign ministers had transferred their residences to Yokohama in consequence of the danger which menaced them at Yedo. We younger members, therefore, appreciated highly our opportunities, and it was with intense delight that I found myself ordered to accompany the chief early in December on one of his periodical expeditions thither. We started on horseback about one o'clock in the afternoon in solemn procession, the party consisting of Colonel Neale, A von Siebold, Russell Robertson, and myself, with Lieutenant Applin commanding the mounted escort. It was a miserably cold day, but R. and I combated the temperature by dropping behind to visit Mr. Brown on our way through Kanagawa, and then galloping on after the others. They had evidently been going at a foot's pace during the interval. At Kawasaki we encountered an obstruction in the shape of an obstinate head ferryman, who did not recognize the British Chargé d'Affaires, and refused to pass us over. The men on guard at the watch-house commanding the ferry, on seeing some of us approach to demand their assistance, ran away. The Colonel fumed with wrath, but fortunately at this moment there arrived in breathless haste a mounted officer from Kanagawa, who had followed us of his own accord on hearing that the English Chargé d'Affaires had passed without a Japanese escort. So the ferryman collected his men, and we got over without further trouble. A couple of miles beyond the river we came to the well-known gardens called _Mmé Yashiki_, the plum-orchard, where we were waited on by some very pretty girls. Everybody who travelled along the Tôkaidô in those days, who had any respect for himself, used to stop here, in season or out of season, to drink a cup of straw-coloured tea, smoke a pipe and chaff the waiting-maids. Fish cooked in various ways and warm _saké_ (rice beer) were also procurable, and red-faced native gentlemen might often be seen folding themselves up into their palanquins after a mild daylight debauch. Europeans usually brought picnic baskets and lunched there, but even if they started late were glad of any excuse for turning in to this charmingly picturesque tea-garden. Everyone now-a-days is familiar with the Japanese plum-tree as it is represented in the myriad works of art of these ingenious people, but you must see the thing itself to understand what a joyful surprise it is to enter the black-paled enclosure crowded with the oddly angular trees, utterly leafless but covered with delicate pink or white blossoms which emit a faint fragrance, and cover the ground with the snow of their fallen petals. It is early in February that they are in their glory, on a calm day when the sun shines with its usual brilliance at that season, while in every shady corner you may find the ground frozen as hard as a stone. But to my taste the plum-blossom looks better on a cloudy day against a dull background of cryptomeria when you sit by a warm fire and gaze on it out of window. In December, however, only the swelling buds are to be seen stretching along the slender shoots of last spring. We proceeded on our way without any special incident until we reached the notorious suburb of Shinagawa, half consisting of houses, or rather palaces, of ill-fame, where a drunken fellow who stood in the middle of the road and shouted at us got a fall from one of the troopers, and so we reached the Legation about sunset. The rest of the staff and the infantry guard, who had come by sea, landed about an hour later. The building occupied as the legation was part of a Buddhist temple, Tô-zen-ji, behind which lay a large cemetery. But our part of it had never been devoted to purposes of worship. Every large temple in Japan has attached to it a suite of what we might call state apartments, which are used only on ceremonial occasions once or twice in the year, but from time immemorial it has been the custom to accommodate foreign embassies in these buildings. A suitable residence for a foreign representative could not otherwise have been found in Yedo. As a general rule every Japanese, with the exception of the working classes, lives in his own house, instead of renting it as do most residents in an European capital. The only purely secular buildings large enough to lodge the British Minister and his staff were the _Yashiki_ or "hotels" of _Daimiôs_, but the idea of expropriating one of these nobles in order to accommodate a foreign official was probably never mooted. There remained, therefore, only the "state apartments" of some large monastery as a temporary residence until a site could be obtained and the necessary buildings constructed. Consequently there was no ground for the reproach which one writer at least has urged against the foreign ministers, that by turning sacred edifices into dwelling-houses they had insulted the religious feelings of the Japanese people. In the early years of our intercourse with Japan it is true that we were regarded as unwelcome "intruders," but in native opinion we "polluted" the temples by our presence no more than we should have "polluted" any other residence that might have been assigned to us. Tô-zen-ji lay in the suburb of Takanawa fronting the seashore, and was therefore conveniently situated for communication with our ships, the smallest of which could anchor just inside the forts, at a distance of perhaps a mile and a half. Owing, however, to the shallowness of the bay, boats were unable to get up to the landing place at low tide, and the assistance which could have been rendered by a gunboat in the event of a sudden attack, such as had been experienced in 1861, was absolutely _nil_. There remained, however, the comfort derived from knowing that a refuge lay at no great distance, and no doubt the appearance of a gunboat within the line of forts that had been built to keep out foreign fleets produced a considerable moral effect upon the general population, though desperadoes of the sort that assaulted the guard in July 1861 would certainly have been no whit deterred by any number of threatening men-of-war which could not reach them. Behind the house there was a small ornamental garden with an artificial pond for gold fish, on the opposite side of which rose a hill covered with pine-trees. A good way off from the quarters of the minister, and at the back of the cemetery belonging to the temple, there was a small house named Jô-tô-an, which was occupied by the senior chancery assistant. A tall bamboo fence cut us off entirely from this part of the grounds, and joined the house at either end. The rooms were not spacious, and very little attempt had been made to convert them into comfortable apartments. I think there was an iron stove or two in the principal rooms, but elsewhere the only means of warming was a Japanese brasier piled up with red hot charcoal, the exhalations from which were very disagreeable to a novice. The native who wraps himself up in thick wadded clothes and squats on the floor has no difficulty in keeping himself warm with the aid of this arrangement, over which he holds the tips of his fingers. His legs being crumpled up under him, the superficies he presents to the cold air is much less than it would be if he sat in a chair with outstretched limbs in European fashion. To protect himself against draughts he has a screen standing behind him, and squats on a warm cushion stuffed with silk wool. These arrangements enable him even in winter to sit with the window open, so long as it has a southern aspect, and foreigners who adopt the same system have made shift to get on. But if you are going to live in Japan in European style, you must, in order to be moderately warm during the winter months, replace the paper of the outer wooden slides with glass, stop up the openwork above the grooves in which the slides work that divide the rooms, and either build a fireplace or put up an American stove. But even all this will not make you thoroughly comfortable. Underneath you there are thick straw mats laid upon thin and badly jointed boarding, through which the cutting north-west wind rises all over the floor, while the keen draughts pierce through between the uprights and the shrunken lath-and-plaster walls. The unsuitability of such a building as a residence for the minister and his staff had been perceived from the outset, and long negotiations, having for their object the erection of a permanent legation, had by this time resulted in the assignment of an excellent site, on which a complete series of buildings was being constructed from English designs, but at the expense of the Shôgun's government. Other sites in the immediate vicinity had been given to the French, Dutch and Americans for the same purpose. All these were carved out of what had been once a favourite pleasure resort of the people of Yedo, whither in the spring all classes flocked to picnic under the blossoms of the cherry-trees in sight of the blue waters of the bay. Gotenyama was indeed a famous spot in the history of the Shôgunate. In its early days the head of the State was wont to go forth thither to meet the great _daimiôs_ on their annual entry into Yedo, until Iyémitsu, the third of the line, to mark still more strongly the supremacy to which he felt he could safely lay claim, resolved that henceforward he would receive them in his castle, just like the rest of his vassals. From that time the gardens had been dedicated to the public use. But already before the foreign diplomats took up their abode in Yedo, Gotenyama had been partially diverted from its original purpose, and vast masses of earth had been carried off to form part of the line of forts from Shinagawa to the other side of the junk channel that leads into the river. The British minister's residence, a large two-storied house, which from a distance seemed to be two, stood on an eminence fronting the sea. Magnificent timbers had been employed in its construction, and the rooms were of palatial dimensions. The floors were lacquered, and the walls covered with a tastefully designed Japanese paper. Behind and below it a bungalow had been erected for the Japanese secretary, and a site had been chosen for a second, destined for the assistants and students. On the southern side of the compound was an immense range of stables containing stalls for 40 horses, and on the second storey quarters for a portion of the European guard. Some slight progress had been made with the buildings for the French and Dutch legations. But we knew that the people disliked our presence there. The official and military class objected to the foreigner being permitted to occupy such a commanding position overlooking the rear of the forts, and the populace resented the conversion of their former pleasure-ground into a home for the "outer barbarians." To press on the completion of the houses and to take possession was rightly considered an important matter of policy. A deep trench was being dug round the enclosure, and a lofty wooden palisade was built on the inner margin, which, it was expected, would afford sufficient protection against a repetition of such attacks as that of the 5th July 1861, and the British ensign was to be hoisted again in Yedo as soon as the buildings should be ready for occupation. We all looked forward to that event with the liveliest feelings of anticipation, and for myself I anxiously expected its arrival because Yokohama was a hybrid sort of town, that by no means fulfilled my expectations, and I hoped before long to become a resident of the famous city to which I had looked with longing eyes from the other side of Europe. We rode daily in the environs of Yedo, to the pretty tea-house at Oji, which is depicted with such bright colours in Laurence Oliphant's book, to the pond of Jiû-ni-sô on the road to Kô-shiû, to the other pond called Senzoku half way to Mariko, and to the temple of Fudô at Meguro, where the pretty damsels at the tea-houses formed more than half the attraction. Within the city we made excursions to the temple of Kwannon at Asakusa, then and for long afterwards the principal sight of interest to the foreign visitor, to Atagoyama, where other pretty damsels served a decoction of salted cherry-blossoms, and to the temple of Kanda Miôjin for the view over the city. But the gorgeous mausoleums of the Shôguns at Shiba and Uyeno were closed to the foreigner, and remained so up to the revolution of 1868. We were allowed in riding back from Asakusa to catch a passing glimpse of the lotus pond Shinobazu-no-iké, which is now surrounded by a racecourse after the European manner, but the Fukiagé Park, since known as the Mikado's garden, and the short cut through the castle from the Sakurada Gate to the Wadagura Gate of the inner circle were shut to us in common with the Japanese public. A large portion of the city in the immediate neighbourhood of the castle, and large areas in every quarter were occupied by the _Yashiki_ of _Daimiôs_ and _Hatamotos_, of which little could be seen but long two-storied rows of stern barrack-buildings surrounding the residence of the owner. From the top of Atagoyama alone was it possible to get a view of the interior of such enclosures, and it must be admitted that the knowledge thus gained completely upset the idea that the nobles lived in palaces. Irregular masses of low brown roofs and black weather-boarded walls alone were visible. The use of telescopes was strictly forbidden on Atagoyama, lest the people should pry into the domestic doings of their masters. Wherever we went a band of mounted guards surrounded us, ostensibly for our protection, but also for the purpose of preventing free communication with the people. These men belonged to a force raised by the Shôgun's ministers from the younger sons of the _hatamotos_, and numbered 1000 or 1200. They wore the customary pair of swords (_i.e._ a long and short sabre thrust through the belt on the left side), a round flat hat woven from the tendrils of the wistaria, for the rank and file, and a mound-shaped lacquered wooden hat for the officers, a mantle or _haori_, and the wide petticoat-shaped trousers called _hakama_. Between them and the members of the foreign legations there existed no tie of any kind, for they were changed every fifteen days just like so many policemen, and mounted guard indifferently at all the legations. It was not until 1867 that I managed to break through this rule and get a special body of men attached to myself. Small guardhouses were dotted about the legation grounds for their accommodation. As soon as it became known that a foreigner was about to go out on foot or on horseback, half-a-dozen were detailed to follow him at all hazards. It was impossible to escape their vigilance. They were to prevent our speaking to any person above the rank of a common citizen or to enter a private house. On one occasion two members of our legation managed a visit to the father of a young _samurai_ named Kotarô, who lived with us to study English. The fact was reported, and when the visitors went a second time they found the occupants of the house had removed to another part of the city. We were allowed to sit down in shops, and even to bargain for articles that took our fancy; but two kind of purchases were strictly prohibited, maps and the official list of _daimiôs_ and government officials. Anything we bought had to be sent afterwards to the legation, and delivered to the officials of the foreign department who lived within our gates, and payment was made to them. On one occasion the Prussian representative, Herr Max von Brandt, made a determined stand against this prohibition. Entering the shop of the bookseller Okada-ya in Shimmei Maye, where we foreigners were in the habit of buying books, he inquired for the List of Daimiôs. The bookseller replied that he had it not in stock. Herr von Brandt knew that he had, and announced his intention of remaining there until he was furnished with what he required. He sent a member of his party home to the Legation to bring out the materials for luncheon, and sat determinedly down in the shop. The guards were at their wits' end. At last they dispatched a messenger to the castle to represent the impossibility of inducing him to give way, and at last towards evening there came an order to say that for this once the foreigner was to have the book. So the day was won. As a matter of fact, however, it was never necessary to proceed to this extremity, as we could easily procure what we wanted in the way of maps and printed books through our Japanese teachers. MSS. were always a difficulty. As nothing could be published without permission, any book that touched upon governmental matters had from of old to be circulated in MS. Amongst such works were the so-called "Hundred Laws of Iyéyasu," which were supposed to embody the constitution of the Japanese government. The book contains references to offices of state that were instituted after his time, and the utmost that can be alleged in its favour is that it perhaps contains a few maxims from his lips and certain rules as to the appointment of high political functionaries that were observed in actual practice. There was another book, of undoubted authenticity, containing a vast mass of administrative regulations, of which I never obtained a copy until after the revolution, when it was no longer of practical value. That MS. is now in the British Museum. Another expedient for eluding the censorate was printing forbidden books with moveable types. It was frequently resorted to during the last years of the Shôgunate and at the beginning of the new rule of the Mikado, especially for narratives of political events during that period and for one or two important treatises on politics. Shimmei Maye was one of our favourite resorts in those days; here were to be had cheap swords, porcelain, coloured prints, picture-books and novels. I much regret that I did not then begin to collect, when the blocks were comparatively fresh; a complete set of Hokusai's Mangwa, in perfect condition, could be had for a couple of dollars, and his Hundred Views of Fuji for about a couple of shillings. But I had little spare cash for such luxuries, and all my money went in necessaries. Two days after our arrival in Yedo we paid a visit to the Gorôjiû, or Shôgun's Council. The word means "August Elders." It was somewhat _infra dig._ for a foreign representative to use the prefix _go_ in speaking of them, but the phrase had been caught up from the Japanese who surrounded the minister, and for a long time I believe it was thought that _go_ meant five. I unveiled the mistake, and when I afterwards became interpreter to the Legation we adopted the practice of giving them the bare _rôjiû_, except in addressing them direct, when etiquette demanded the honorific. I was unprovided with anything in the shape of uniform, and had to borrow a gold-laced forage cap from Applin. We came afterwards to look with much contempt on these gauds, and to speak derisively of "brass caps," but in 1862 I was young enough to take considerable pride in a distinctive mark of rank, and after this occasion lost no time in buying a bit of broad gold lace to wear like my fellow officers. It was an imposing procession, consisting as it did of half-a-dozen "brass caps," the military train escort of twelve men under their gorgeous lieutenant, and a flock of about forty Japanese guards hovering about us before, behind, and on either flank. In these days a foreign representative may often be detected approaching the office of the minister for foreign affairs without any suite, and in the humble _jinrikisha_ drawn by one scantily clad coolie. The interview took place in a long room in the house of one of the _rôjiû_. A row of small black-lacquered tables extended down each side, and chairs were set for the Japanese as well as the foreigners. On each table stood an earthen brasier, a black-lacquered smoking-stand, with brass fire-pot and ash-pit, and two long pipes, with a supply of finely cut tobacco in a neat black box. Three of the ministers sat on the right side of the room, and with them an _ometsuké_, whose title was explained to me to mean spy. I suppose "censor" or "reporter" would be nearer. Below them sat eight _gai-koku bu-giô_, or commissioners for foreign affairs. We used to call them governors of foreign affairs, probably because the governor of Kanagawa was also a _bu-giô_. In the centre of the room sat a "governor" on a stool, while two interpreters (one of whom was Moriyama Takichirô) squatted on the floor. The four higher Japanese officers alone were provided with tables and chairs, the "governors" sitting on square stools, with their hands in the plackets of their trousers. After some complimentary talk about the weather and health, which are _de rigueur_ in Japan, a double row of attendants in light blue hempen robes (we used to term the upper part "wings") came in bearing aloft black lacquer boxes full of slices of sponge cake and _yôkan_ (a sweetened bean paste), and afterwards oranges and persimmons. Then tea was served in two manners, simply infused, and also the powdered leaf mixed up with hot water and frothed. The conversation proceeded at a very slow pace, as it had to be transmitted through two interpreters, ours who spoke Dutch and English, and theirs who spoke Japanese and Dutch. This gave rise to misunderstandings, and the Japanese ministers seemed every now and then to profit by this double obstruction to answer very much from the purpose, so that Colonel Neale's observations had to be repeated all over again, interpreted and re-interpreted. Often the ministers would seem at a loss, whereupon one of the "governors" would leave his stool and glide up to whisper something in his ear. This proceeding reminded one of the flappers in Laputa. The principal topic was the murder of the sentry and corporal at Tô-zen-ji which has already been related. To all the demands made by Colonel Neale, in accordance with the instructions he had received from Lord Russell, the _rôjiû_ objected, and when he informed them that the British Government required the payment of £10,000 in gold as an indemnity to the families of the two murdered men, they opened their eyes very wide indeed. They offered $3000. Colonel Neale at last lost all patience, which no doubt was what they were aiming at. He gave them a piece of his mind in pretty strong language, and the interview came to an end, after, I suppose, a sitting of about three hours length, without anything having been settled. I forget whether it was on this occasion that Siebold literally translated the epithet "son of a gun" by _teppô no musuko_; the adjective that preceded it he did not attempt to translate, as it has not even a literal equivalent in Japanese. The way in which the ministers contradicted themselves from time to time was something wonderful, and the application of the good unmistakeable Anglo-Saxon word for him who "says the thing that is not," was almost venial. Of course Colonel Neale did not omit to complain of the ferryman and the guards at Kawasaki, who had run away instead of putting us over the river, and Eusden in translating used the words _zij sloopen alle weg_, which excited my risible muscles kept at too great a stretch through these tedious hours. I whispered to my neighbour, "they all sloped away"; a terrible frown from the old gentleman rebuked my indecorous behaviour, and I was afterwards informed that I should never be allowed thenceforth to be present on one of these solemn occasions. That was a relief to me, but I confess I ought to have felt more contrite than I did. At the age of nineteen and a half a boy is still a boy, but I ought to have manifested more respect for my elders. Early in February we received news that the legation buildings in Gotenyama had been destroyed by fire on the night of the 1st. Many years afterwards I learnt on the best possible authority that the incendiaries were chiefly Chôshiû men belonging to the anti-foreign party; three at least afterwards rose to high position in the state. These were Count Itô, Minister President of State (1886); Count Inouyé Kaoru; who the third was I forget. It need scarcely be said that they long ago abandoned their views of the necessity of putting an end to the intercourse of their country with the outside world, and they are now the leaders of the movement in favour of the introduction into Japan of whatever western institutions are adapted to the wants and wishes of the people. Willis and I were now living together in a wing of the legation house at No. 20 on the Bund, and a young Japanese _samurai_ named Kobayashi Kotarô messed with us. He had been placed under Willis' charge by the Japanese Government in order to acquire the English language, and was a nice boy, though perhaps not endowed with more than average abilities. He disappeared to his home about the time that the ultimatum of the British Government was presented to the Council of the Tycoon in the spring of 1863, and we never heard of him again. I had the teacher Takaoka Kanamé now all to myself, and was beginning to read Japanese documents. Across the hills south of the settlement lived a priest who knew something of the Sanskrit alphabet as used in Japan, and I used to go once or twice a week to him for instruction, but these studies were interrupted by the rumours of war that began soon to prevail; and the lessons from the American missionary, Mr. Brown, also came to an end, as I was now able to get on alone. CHAPTER VII DEMANDS FOR REPARATION--JAPANESE PROPOSAL TO CLOSE THE PORTS--PAYMENT OF THE INDEMNITY (1863) A VERY complete account of the murder of Richardson, and the failure of the Japanese Government to afford satisfactory redress either for that injury or for the attack on the Legation in June, had been sent home to the Foreign Office, and in March 1863 Colonel Neale received instructions to demand ample reparation from both the Tycoon and the Prince of Satsuma. On the 6th April he sent Eusden up to Yedo on board the gunboat "Havoc" to deliver a Note, demanding the payment of £10,000 in gold for the wives and families of Sweet and Crimp, an ample apology for the other affair, and the payment of £100,000 as a penalty on the Tycoon for allowing an Englishman to be murdered in his territory in open daylight without making any effort to arrest the murderers. He warned the Council that refusal would be attended with very deplorable consequences to their country, and gave them twenty days to consider their reply. This lengthened period was allowed on account of the absence of the Tycoon and his chief advisers, who had left for Kiôto on the 3rd. If at the conclusion of the term allotted no answer was returned, or an unsatisfactory one was given, coercive measures would immediately be taken. It was also intended that on the return of the "Havoc" from Yedo, the "Pearl" should be despatched to Kagoshima to demand of the Prince of Satsuma the trial and execution of the murderers of Richardson in the presence of one or more English officers, and the payment of £25,000 to be distributed to the relatives of Richardson, to Marshall, Clarke and Mrs Borradaile. On the 10th Eusden came back from Yedo, bringing a receipt for the note and a refusal on the part of the Council to send an officer down to Kagoshima to advise the Prince of Satsuma to admit the demands to be made upon him. So the idea of despatching the "Pearl" was abandoned for the moment, as it was impossible to foretell whether the Council would give in. If they were obstinate, reprisals would at once, it was thought, be commenced, and all our available force would be required to coerce the Tycoon's people. Satsuma must be left to be dealt with afterwards. So the Colonel waited until the 26th. By the 24th April we had in the harbour the "Euryalus," 35 guns, bearing the flag of Admiral Küper, the "Pearl," 21 guns, "Encounter," 14 (commanded by the brave Roderick Dew), "Rattler," 17, "Argus," 6, "Centaur," 6, and 3 gunboats. The despatch boats "Racehorse" and "Ringdove" were employed in travelling backwards and forwards between Yokohama and Shanghai with the mails, and the "Coquette" was daily expected from Hongkong. But as was to be anticipated, the Council begged for further delay. They asked for thirty days, and Colonel Neale gave them fifteen. My teacher Takaoka, who had private relations with the _yashiki_ of the Prince of Ki-shiû, said they had never expected to get more than a fortnight, and as they felt certain the English Chargé d' Affaires would cut down their demands, they asked for double. He believed that the only motive for the delay was to gain time for preparation, and that war was certain. In the native quarter it was rumoured that the English had asked for the delay, which had been graciously granted by the Council; otherwise we should have been attacked the very day after the term elapsed. The inhabitants of Yedo expected war, and began to remove their valuables into the country. Young Kotarô had been carried off by his mama about the 20th. At Uraga, the little junk-port just outside the entrance to the bay of Yedo, there was a panic, and the people were said to have decamped with all their movable property to Hodogaya on the Tôkaidô. On the other hand, there was some alarm felt in the foreign settlement. Meetings were held at which resolutions were passed to the effect that it was the duty of the executive to provide for the safety of the European residents. At the same time the merchants declared their intention of not leaving the settlement unless specially called on to do so by Colonel Neale, as they believed that if they deserted their property without such an order, they would not be able to recover its value afterwards in the event of its being destroyed. The precedent of the opium surrendered to Captain Elliot, the British Superintendent of Trade at Canton in 1839, was of course in their minds, and they acted prudently in throwing the responsibility on the authorities. On the 1st May the Council asked for another delay of fifteen days. Eusden was sent up to Yedo with a message to the Council that before the Colonel could grant their request they must send down to Yokohama one of their number to receive an important communication which he had to make to them. The native population now began to be seriously alarmed, and the shopkeepers of Kanagawa removed their effects to Hodogaya so as to be out of reach of a bombardment, and to secure a further retreat into the interior, if necessary, by the cross-country paths. The 2nd of May was the last day on which the Yokohama people were permitted by the native authorities to send away their property to Yedo. The government circulated a sensible proclamation from door to door telling them not to be alarmed as there would be no war. At the same time notice was served on the peasants within two miles of Yokohama to be prepared to give up their houses to the troops, but as yet no soldiers had appeared on the scene. On the 4th and 5th May long conferences took place between the English and French representatives and Admirals and two Commissioners for Foreign Affairs, Takémoto Kai no Kami and Takémoto Hayato no Shô, who had been deputed by the Council to explain the reasons why a further delay was necessary. They probably represented that the difficulty in acceding to the English demands arose from the opposition of the _daimiôs_, for it seems that an offer was made to them that the English and French forces should assist the Tycoon to quell the resistance of the anti-foreign party, in order to enable him to carry out the promises to which he was bound by treaty. They offered, it was reported, to pay the money indemnity, disguising it under the ingenious fiction of payment for a man-of-war ordered in England, and wrecked on its way out. Finally an extension of time was accorded until the 23rd of May, in order that the personal consent of the Tycoon, who was expected to return by that date, might be obtained to the English ultimatum. I rode out to Hodogaya on the afternoon of the 5th and met the train of the wife of a _daimiô_ going westwards, but saw very few armed men other than those who accompanied her. A rumour had got about that 10,000 men were in the village and its neighbourhood, but the report was obviously without foundation. During the night of the 5th May there was a general exodus of all the native servants employed in the foreign settlement. Many of them took advantage of the occasion to "spoil the Egyptians." When Willis and I rose in the morning and called for "boy" to bring breakfast, there was a dead silence. I descended to the pantry and found it empty. Servants and cook had gone off, carrying with them a revolver, a Japanese sword, several spoons and forks which they doubtless imagined to be silver, and the remains of last night's dinner wrapped in a table-cloth. This theft was the more curious, as I had the day before entrusted my servant with a considerable sum of native money to change into Mexican dollars, which he had faithfully delivered to me. But we ought to have suspected their intentions, as they had asked for an advance of half a month's wages, and had contentedly received wages up to date. Takaoka and my groom were faithful, so was also the messenger who went off into fits of congratulation on learning that the petty cash-box, of which I had charge, had not disappeared. It is much to the credit of the latter class that they have often stuck by their masters on occasions of trouble and even danger, when every one else has deserted the foreigner. With some difficulty we procured some eggs and sponge cake, and I went off to the customhouse to report the robbery. The officials, of course, promised to find the thieves, but we never heard anything more of them or of our property. All day long the townspeople continued to depart at a great rate. I went down to the native town, where I found many of the houses shut up, and at others everything ready packed for removal. Among the rest my friend the bookseller, at the corner of Benten-dôri, had taken to his heels. But during the afternoon a proclamation was issued by the customhouse to tell the people that there would be no fighting, and many of them returned. The excitement was great throughout the town, both among foreigners and natives, and a lamentable instance of hastiness occurred on the part of a Frenchman. A native merchant, accompanied by two others, went to ask payment of a small debt that he claimed, and on its being refused, tried to obtain the money by force. Thereupon the Frenchman shot him, and two others, including the vice-consul, also fired their revolvers. Four bullets passed through the body of the unfortunate man, but without killing him. The French Admiral was excessively angry. He at once arrested the merchant and had him conveyed on board the flagship. Two Americans were likewise attacked, and one of them was carried off halfway across the swamp by eight men, who frightened him with a spear and an iron hook which they held over his head. He was rescued by the tall sergeant of our legation guard, or else he would probably have been severely beaten, if not killed, for the Japanese were unable to distinguish between foreigners of different nationalities. On the 11th my teacher told me that a messenger had come to him from Yedo, sent by a personage of high rank, who desired to learn confidentially the intentions of the English Chargé d'Affaires, and whether he was disposed to await the return of the Tycoon, which would not be for three or four months, before taking hostile measures. In that case the high personage, who was superior in rank to the Council, would agree to issue a proclamation that a delay of a thousand days had been agreed upon, which would have the effect of restoring tranquillity at Yokohama. That if Colonel Neale, getting tired of these repeated delays, should change the seat of the negotiations to Ozaka, the high personage would have to perform _hara-kiri_, which he rather wished to avoid, as a penalty for failing to induce the foreigner to listen to his representations. I communicated this to Colonel Neale, and the reply sent was that he could not consent to wait so long as three months. The Council had announced the return of the Tycoon for the 24th May, and Colonel Neale had replied that under the circumstances he would give time for "His Majesty's" settling down again at home, but on the 16th a note was received from them stating that circumstances had arisen which prevented their fixing any date whatever for his arrival at Yedo. This seemed to point to an indefinite postponement of a settlement, but the Colonel's patience was not even yet exhausted. This accorded with what my teacher had told me. The high personage turned out to be the Prince of Owari. Takaoka now said that having transmitted Colonel Neale's answer to Kiôto, he would no longer be under the necessity of committing suicide, as he had been able to show that he was not responsible for the foreigner's obstinacy. Up to the 16th the general feeling was that the Council would give way, but the demand for a further postponement of the Japanese answer did not tend to encourage the hope of a peaceful settlement. A Japanese friend told me that the Tycoon could not by any means accept the assistance of foreign powers against the _daimiôs_, and that the abolition of the Mikado's dignity was impracticable. If we attacked Satsuma the Tycoon and _daimiôs_ would be bound to make common cause with him. I suppose the idea of the foreign diplomatic representatives at that time was to support the Tycoon, whose claim to be considered the sovereign of Japan had already been called in question by Rudolph Lindau in his "Open Letter" of 1862, against the anti-foreign party consisting of the Mikado and _daimiôs_, and if necessary to convert him into something more than a mere feudal ruler. For we had as yet no idea of the immense potency that lay in the mere name of the sovereign _de jure_, and our studies in Japanese history had not yet enabled us to realize the truth that in the civil wars of Japan the victory had as a rule rested with the party that had managed to obtain possession of the person of the Mikado and the regalia. There has probably never been any sovereign in the world whose title has rested upon so secure a basis as that of the ancient emperors of Japan. On the 25th another conference took place between the English and French diplomatic and naval authorities on the one side, and Takémoto Kai no Kami and a new man named Shibata Sadatarô on the other. The latter began by thanking the foreign representatives in the name of the Tycoon for their offer of material assistance, which he was, however, compelled to decline, as he must endeavour to settle the differences between the _daimiôs_ and himself by his own unaided forces and authority. As to the indemnity, the Tycoon's government recognized that the demand was just, but they were afraid to pay immediately, as their yielding would bring the _daimiôs_ down upon them. But they offered to pay the money by instalments in such a manner as not to attract public notice, and the further discussion of the details was put off to a future occasion. Probably Colonel Neale did not care very much how the matter was arranged, provided he could show to Her Majesty's Government that he had carried out his instructions. So the basis of an understanding was arrived at, and it was further conceded that the foreign representatives, that is those of England and France, should take measures to defend Yokohama from attack by the anti-foreign party. Colonel Neale had written to Major-General Brown, who was in command at Shanghai, applying for a force of two thousand men, but a despatch now arrived from the general stating his inability and objections to furnishing any troops. It was said that he had ridiculed the idea of a military expedition against Japan long before Colonel Neale proposed it to him. Nevertheless the establishment of a garrison of English troops at Yokohama was merely delayed by this refusal, and after Sir Rutherford Alcock's return to Japan in the spring of 1864 good reasons were given to the same general why he should change his mind. All this time there existed considerable alarm with respect to the aims and intentions of a somewhat mysterious class of Japanese called _rônin_. These were men of the two-sworded class, who had thrown up the service of their _daimiôs_, and plunged into the political agitations of the time, which had a two-fold object, firstly, to restore the Mikado to his ancient position, or rather to pull down the Tycoon to the same level as the great _daimiôs_, and secondly, the expulsion of "the barbarians" from the sacred soil of Japan. They came principally from the south and west of the country, but there were many from Mito in the east, and a sprinkling from all the other clans. About the end of May there was a rumour that they designed to attack Kanagawa, and the Americans still living there were compelled to transfer their residence to Yokohama, not, however, without "compensation for disturbance." The Tycoon's people were naturally desirous of doing all that was practicable to conciliate their domestic enemies, and turned such rumours to account in the hope of being able to confine the foreigners at Yokohama within a limited space, such as had formed the prison-residence of the Dutch at Nagasaki in former times. Incidents, too, were not wanting of a character to enforce their arguments. One of the assistants of the English consulate was threatened with personal violence by a couple of two-sworded men as he was entering a tea-house on the hill at Kanagawa. He pulled out his pistol, and pointed it at them, on which they drew back. Taking advantage of the opportunity he ran down to the landing-place, where he got a boat and so returned in safety to Yokohama. It was reported that the officials at the guardhouse tried to prevent the boatmen from taking him across the bay, but however this may be, they pacified his assailants, one of whom had half-drawn his sword; and in those days we were always told that a _samurai_ might not return his sword to the scabbard without shedding blood, so that the affair was entitled to be ranked as very alarming. At the beginning of June, in consequence of a report that half-a-dozen _rônins_ were concealed in the place, the _betté-gumi_ (a body from which the legation guards at Yedo were supplied), together with some drilled troops, came down to Yokohama, and took up their quarters at some newly erected buildings under Nogé hill, and from that date until long after the revolution of 1868 we had constantly a native garrison. I recognized among the former several men with whom I had become friends during the visit to Yedo already narrated. Fresh additions were made to the British squadron in the shape of two sloops, the "Leopard" and the "Perseus." The rumours of warlike operations had died away, and it was given out that the intention of directly enforcing our demands on Satsuma had been abandoned, as the Tycoon had undertaken to see to that part of the business, and it was believed also that to insist upon them at present would give rise to a civil war. On the 14th June there arrived at the legation in Yokohama Kikuchi Iyo no Kami and Shibata Sadatarô, Commissioners for Foreign Affairs, to complete arrangements for paying $440,000 (representing £110,000) in seven instalments extending over six weeks, the first to be delivered on the 18th. But on that day came a note of excuse from one of the Council stating that unavoidable circumstances had arisen which prevented the agreement being carried out, and that he himself would in a day or two arrive at Yokohama to discuss matters with the English Chargé d' Affaires. Colonel Neale very properly refused to hold any more communications with the Tycoon's ministers, and after a couple of days' consideration, finally placed the solution in the hands of Admiral Küper. The latter, it was said, did not know what to do. He had never seen a gun fired in action, and hardly appreciated the Colonel's suggestion that he should at once proceed to seize the steamers lately purchased in such numbers by the Japanese. The Council at Yedo now became thoroughly frightened; they had temporized as long as possible, and had worn out the patience of the English authorities. But they left no stone unturned to avoid openly giving way, and Ogasawara himself came down to Yokohama to bring the French Chargé d'Affaires and Admiral to intercede. The latter, however, refused; insisted on the demands of Great Britain being satisfied, and claimed that the defence of Yokohama should be entrusted to them. Ogasawara had just returned from Kiôto with an order from the Tycoon, dictated to him by the Mikado and the anti-foreign element in the ancient capital, to make arrangements with the foreign representatives for closing all the ports! For himself he seemed to dislike his instructions, and even gave hints to the French Chargé d'Affaires as to the nature of the reply which had best be given. A pageful of notes of exclamation would not be sufficient to express the astonishment of the foreign public of Yokohama when this extraordinary announcement was made, but the presence of the combined squadrons in the harbour relieved them from any anxiety as to the manner in which the diplomatic representatives would reply to it. The Japanese Government, having completely failed to persuade the French authorities to intervene on their behalf, which would have indeed been impossible when the request was accompanied by the preposterous demand that foreigners should forthwith clear out of Yokohama, sent a message to Colonel Neale at one a.m. on the morning of the 24th June to say that the money should be paid, and requesting to be informed at what hour he would receive it. The reply was that the original agreement to pay in instalments, having been broken by the Japanese Government, was now null and void, and that the whole must be delivered in the course of the day. This was accordingly done; at an early hour carts laden with boxes containing each a couple of thousand dollars began to arrive at the legation. All the Chinese shroffs (men employed by merchants and bankers in the Far East to examine coin to see whether it is genuine) were borrowed to do the shroffing and counting. The chancery was crowded with the intelligent Chinamen busily employed in clinking one coin against another, and putting them up into parcels, to be replaced in the boxes and carried off on board the squadron. The process occupied three days. But already on the 24th Colonel Neale had addressed a letter to the Admiral relieving him of the unwelcome task of undertaking coercive operations. [Illustration: PAYMENT OF THE INDEMNITY FOR THE MURDER OF RICHARDSON] The note, dated on the very day on which the indemnity was paid, in which Ogasawara Dzusho no Kami (to give him his full title) had conveyed to Colonel Neale the orders of the Tycoon to close the ports and expel all foreigners from the country, was the first on which I was called to exercise my capacity as a translator. Of course I had to get the help of my teacher to read it, but my previous practice in the epistolary style enabled me to understand the construction, and to give a closer version perhaps than either of the others which were prepared in the legation. This, to me supremely important, document ran as follows:-- I communicate with you by a despatch. The orders of the Tycoon, received from Kiôto, are to the effect that the ports are to be closed and the foreigners driven out, because the people of the country do not desire intercourse with foreign countries. The discussion of this has been entirely entrusted to me by His Majesty. I therefore send you this communication first, before holding a Conference as to the details. Respectful and humble communication. It is perhaps a little too literal. The opening phrase is simply equivalent to the "Monsieur le Chargé d'Affaires," and the sentence with which the note concludes is about the same thing as the "assurance of high consideration," which we have borrowed from the French. But the rest of it is accurate, and the allusion to the Mikado which appears in the version made from the Dutch translation furnished by the Japanese (_vide_ the Bluebook) had nothing to support it in the original text. I cannot forbear from quoting the reply of Colonel Neale, though as far as possible I intend in these "Reminiscences" not to rely on published sources of information. It ran thus:-- Lieutenant-Colonel Neale to the Japanese Minister for Foreign Affairs. Yokohama, June 24, 1863. The undersigned, Her Britannic Majesty's Chargé d'Affaires, has received, in common with his colleagues, and with extreme amazement, the extraordinary announcement which, under instructions from the Tycoon, His Excellency has addressed to him. Apart from the audacious nature of this announcement, which is unaccompanied by any explanations whatever, the Undersigned is bound to believe that both the Spiritual and Temporal sovereigns of this country are totally ignorant of the disastrous consequences which must arise to Japan by their determinations thus conveyed through you to close the opened ports, and to remove therefrom the subjects of the Treaty Powers. For himself, as Representative of Her Britannic Majesty, the Undersigned has to observe, in the first instance, that the Rulers of this country may perhaps still have it in their power to modify and soften the severe and irresistible measures which will, without the least doubt, be adopted by Great Britain most effectually to maintain and enforce its Treaty obligations with this country, and, more than this, to place them on a far more satisfactory and solid footing than heretofore, by speedily making known and developing any rational and acceptable plans directed to this end, which may be at present concealed by His Majesty the Tycoon or the Mikado, or by both, to the great and imminent peril of Japan. It is therefore the duty of the Undersigned solemnly to warn the Rulers of this country that when the decision of Her Majesty's Government, consequent upon the receipt of Your Excellency's announcement, shall have in due course been taken, the development of all ulterior determinations now kept back will be of no avail. The Undersigned has in the meantime to inform Your Excellency, with a view that you may bring the same to the knowledge of His Majesty the Tycoon, who will doubtless make the same known to the Mikado, that the indiscreet communication now made through Your Excellency is unparalleled in the history of all nations, civilized or uncivilized; that it is, in fact, a declaration of war by Japan itself against the whole of the Treaty Powers, and the consequences of which, if not at once arrested, it will have to expiate by the severest and most merited chastisement. With Respect and Consideration. EDWD. ST. JOHN NEALE. With the exception of the lapse from the third person to the second, in the second, third and fourth paragraphs, this note is well constructed, and its periods nicely balanced. The language is perhaps rather stronger than more modern taste would approve, but with a powerful, almost overwhelming squadron of men-of-war at one's back, the temptation to express one's feelings with frankness is not easy to resist. What the writer meant by "rational and acceptable means" directed to the end of placing the treaty obligations of Great Britain with Japan on a more "satisfactory and solid footing than heretofore" can only be conjectured. I think it is an allusion to the plan that had been mooted of our affording material assistance to the Tycoon in suppressing the opposition of the _daimiôs_ of the west and south to the pro-foreign policy of the Japanese Government, and perhaps to a formal agreement between the Tycoon and the Mikado that the latter should ratify the treaties. Certainly the successful execution of such a plan would have placed the Tycoon firmly in the seat of his ancestors, and have forestalled the revolution of 1868 by which his successor was upset, but it would not have been effected without enormous bloodshed, and the Japanese people would have hated the ruler who had called in foreign aid to strengthen his position. He could then only have maintained himself there by the adoption of the severest measures of repression, and the nation would have been subjected to a terrible and lasting despotism. It is certainly a thing to rejoice at that the Tycoon's council had sufficient patriotism to reject such an offer. The Japanese were left to work out their own salvation, and when the revolution did at last break out, the loss of life and property was restricted within narrow limits, while the resulting benefits to the Japanese nation in the establishment of civilized and comparatively free institutions have been such as would have been for ever precluded had the suggestions of certain Europeans been listened to. CHAPTER VIII BOMBARDMENT OF KAGOSHIMA THUS one portion of the instructions sent out from home had been carried into effect, and there now remained only the exaction of reparation from the Prince of Satsuma. The demands to be made included, it will be remembered, the trial and execution in the presence of English officers of the murderers of Richardson, and the payment by the Prince of an indemnity of £25,000 as compensation to Richardson's relatives and to the three other members of the party who had been attacked. Marshall and Clarke had recovered from their wounds, which in the case of the latter were serious enough, as he had received a dangerous sword cut in the shoulder, and Mrs Borradaile, who was not wounded, had returned to China. The Tycoon's people were naturally desirous of having the settlement with Satsuma left in their hands, but I suppose Ogasawara, when pressed on the point by Colonel Neale, acknowledged that the government were impotent in the matter, and the British Chargé d'Affaires consequently assumed the responsibility of requesting the Admiral to convey him and his staff to Kagoshima, in order to present the demands he had been instructed to formulate. The Admiral had at first been unwilling to send more than a couple of ships, but it was finally determined that the squadron should consist of H.M.S. "Euryalus," "Pearl," "Perseus," "Argus," "Coquette," "Racehorse," and the gunboat "Havoc." The whole staff of the legation, from Colonel Neale down to myself, embarked on board the various ships, Willis and myself being in the paddle-sloop "Argus," Commander Lewis Moore. The weather on the voyage down was remarkably fine, and the squadron arrived at the mouth of the Bay of Kagoshima, where it anchored for the night, on the afternoon of the 11th August. Early on the following morning we proceeded up the bay, and came to an anchor off the town. A letter had been prepared beforehand stating the demands, which had somehow or other been translated into Japanese by Siebold and his teacher; it was a difficult document, and I fancy the Japanese version did not read very well. A boat at once came off from the shore with two officers, to whom the letter was delivered. In the afternoon of the following day some other officials visited the flagship, and stated that it was quite impossible to say when the answer would be given. The name of the principal official who visited Colonel Neale on this occasion was Ijichi Shôji. I knew him very well afterwards in Yedo. He and his retinue of forty men came on board, after having exchanged a parting cup of _saké_ with their prince, with the full design of making a sudden onslaught upon the British officers, and killing at any rate the principal ones among them; they intended in this way to make themselves masters of the flagship. It was a bold conception, and might have been successful but for the precautions taken on our side. Only two or three were admitted into the Admiral's cabin, while the marines kept a vigilant eye upon the retinue who remained on the quarter deck. While they were still on board another boat arrived, whether with reinforcements or orders to countermand the intended slaughter I do not know, but Ijichi, after communicating with the men who came in her, said he must return to the shore. In the evening a written reply was received, the bearer of which was told to return on the following morning to learn whether it was considered of a satisfactory character. The letter on examination proved to contain a _fin de non recevoir_; it said that the murderers could not be found, blamed the Tycoon for having made treaties without inserting a clause to prevent foreigners from impeding the passage of the prince along the highroads; spoke of delay until the criminals could be arrested, captured, and punished, after which the question of an indemnity could be discussed, and practically referred the British Chargé d'Affaires back to the Yedo Government. When the messenger arrived on the morning of the 14th, he was informed that the reply was considered unsatisfactory, and that no further communication would be held with the Japanese except under a flag of truce. The Admiral then made a little trip up the bay to reconnoitre some foreign-built steamers lying at anchor off Wilmot Point in the plan, and take some soundings at the head of the bay beyond. On his return in the afternoon the commanders of the various ships were summoned on board the flagship to receive their instructions from the Admiral. There was no intention on our part of immediately attacking the batteries, but the Admiral probably supposed that by adopting reprisals, that is taking possession of the steamers, he would induce the Satsuma men to give some more satisfactory reply than that already received. In pursuance of this plan, Captain Borlase in the "Pearl," with the "Coquette," "Argus," and "Racehorse," proceeded to seize the steamers at dawn of the 15th. We were, of course, very excited, and busily engaged, as we approached, in estimating the probability of their offering resistance; but as the "Argus" was laid alongside the "Sir George Grey," we saw the crew rapidly disappearing over the other side into shore boats with which they had already provided themselves. No attempt was made by us to take any prisoners, but two remained on board the "Sir George Grey," who gave their names to me as Godai and Matsugi Kôwan. On being transferred to the flagship they adopted the aliases of Otani and Kashiwa. The former was a remarkably handsome man, with a noble countenance, and was, I believe, the captain of the steamer. The profession of the second was that of a physician; he had been to Europe with the first Japanese embassy in 1862, and had in fact only just returned. Both of them were afterwards well known, the first as a rather speculative man of business who established indigo works at Ozaka with capital borrowed from the Mikado's government, the second was for a short time prefect of Yokohama in 1868, and afterwards Minister for Foreign Affairs under the name of Terashima Munénori, and he still (in 1887) holds office at Tôkiô. We returned, with our prizes lashed alongside, to the anchorage under the island of Sakura Jima, whither the squadron had removed on the afternoon of the 12th in order to be out of range of the guns in the forts before the town, the "Euryalus" and "Pearl" lying about mid channel, between us and the forts. Here we awaited the development of events, which came sooner than was expected. The Japanese made no sign, and we could not divine their intentions from the slight glimpses obtainable of the movements on shore. But at noon the report of a gun was suddenly heard, and immediately all the batteries opened fire upon the squadron. Although it was raining and blowing like a typhoon, the Admiral at once gave orders to engage, and made a signal to us and the "Racehorse" and the "Coquette" to burn the prizes. On this we all rushed on board our prize and began to plunder. I secured a Japanese matchlock and a conical black war-hat (_jin-gasa_), but some of the officers found money, silver _ichibus_ and gilt _nibus_. The sailors seized hold of everything portable, such as looking glasses, decanters, benches and even old pieces of matting. After about an hour of this disorder the steamer was scuttled and set on fire, and we went to take up our order in the line of battle. The plan shows how the line was formed. Some time elapsed before we returned the fire of the Japanese, and it was said that the tardiness of the flagship in replying to the first shot of the Japanese (two hours) was due to the fact that the door of the ammunition magazine was obstructed by piles of boxes of dollars, the money paid for the indemnity being still on board. The "Perseus," which was lying close under fort No. 9, had to slip her cable, and the anchor was months afterwards recovered by the Satsuma people and returned to us. Owing to this delay she had to take the last position in the line. It was a novel sensation to be exposed to cannon shot, and the boisterous weather did not add at all to one's equanimity. The whole line went a little way up the bay, and then curving round to the left returned along the northern shore at a distance of about 400 yards, each vessel as she passed pouring her broadside into the successive forts. About three quarters of an hour after the engagement commenced we saw the flagship hauling off, and next the "Pearl" (which had rather lagged behind) swerved out of the line. The cause of this was the death of Captain Josling and Commander Wilmot of the "Euryalus" from a roundshot fired from fort No. 7. Unwittingly she had been steered between the fort and a target at which the Japanese gunners were in the habit of practising, and they had her range to a nicety. A 10-inch shell exploded on her main-deck about the same time, killing seven men and wounding an officer, and altogether the gallant ship had got into a hot corner; under the fire of 37 guns at once, from 10-inch down to 18 pounders. The "Racehorse" having got ashore opposite fort No. 8, the "Coquette" and "Argus" went back to tow her off, which we succeeded in doing after about an hour's work. During this time she kept up a constant cannonade, and the gunners in the fort were unable to do her any mischief. But at one moment it was feared that she would have to be abandoned and set on fire. I shall never forget the interest and excitement of the whole affair, from the bursting of the shells high in the air against the grey sky all round the flagship as she lay at anchor before we weighed, till we came into action ourselves and could see first the belching forth of flame from the middle of a puff of smoke, and then, strange to say, a round black thing coming straight at us. This black thing, however, suddenly rose high into the air just as it seemed about to strike us, and passed overhead. The "Argus" was struck only three times, first in the starboard gangway, then by a shot which went right through the mainmast, but left it standing, and thirdly by a round shot near the water line which penetrated about three inches, and then fell off into the sea. By five o'clock we were all safely anchored again under Josling point, except the "Havoc," which went off to set fire to five Loochooan junks that were lying off the factories. Probably the latter were set on fire by sparks from the junks, but credit was taken for their wilful destruction. Under the impression that a large white building in the rear of the town was the prince's palace, every effort was made to destroy it, but it turned out afterwards to be a temple, and we learnt that during the engagement the prince and his father had not been within range. Rockets were also fired with the object of burning the town, in which we were only too successful. The gale had increased to such a height that all efforts on the part of the townspeople to extinguish the flames must have been unavailing. It was an awful and magnificent sight, the sky all filled with a cloud of smoke lit up from below by the pointed masses of pale fire. Our prize was still burning when we came back to our former anchorage, and as she had 140 tons of coal on board she made a good bonfire. At last she gave a lurch and went to the bottom. It was no doubt a great disappointment to the sailors, for the steamers alone were worth $300,000, and everyone would have had a good share of prize money if we had been able to carry them off. It was rumoured that the prizes were burnt at Colonel Neale's instance, who was very anxious, like the old warrior that he was, that every ship should go into action unhampered. It was also said that poor Captain Josling urged the Admiral against his better judgment to fight that day, in spite of the adverse weather. On Sunday morning the 16th August the bodies of Captain Josling, Commander Wilmot and of the nine men who had lost their lives in the action were buried in the sea. In the afternoon the squadron weighed anchor and proceeded down the bay at slow speed, shelling the batteries and town at long range until we left them too far behind. We anchored for the night at some distance from the town, and on the 17th proceeded to return to Yokohama. Most of us on board the "Argus," and I believe the feeling was the same on board the other ships, came away bitterly discontented. The Japanese guns still continued firing at us as we left, though all their shot fell short, and they might fairly claim that though we had dismounted some of their batteries and laid the town in ruins, they had forced us to retreat. Had we maintained the bombardment until every gun was silenced, and then landed, or even lain off the town for a few days, the opinion was that the demands would have been acceded to. Rumour said that Colonel Neale was very anxious that the Admiral should land some men and carry off a few guns as trophies of victory, but that he declined to send a single man on shore. And men said that he was demoralized by the death of his flag-captain and commander, with whom he was talking on the bridge when the shot came that took off their heads. But none of this appears in the official correspondence. I believe the real explanation to be that differences had arisen between the diplomatist and the sailor, the former of whom interfered too much with the conduct of the operations. No doubt the etiquette was for him to remain silent after he had placed matters in the hands of the Admiral, but this the impetuosity of his nature would not permit him to do. It is also possible that insufficiency of the supply of coals, provisions and ammunition may have been a factor in the determination that was come to. The Admiral in his report, which was published in the London "Gazette," took credit for the destruction of the town, and Mr. Bright very properly called attention to this unnecessary act of severity in the House of Commons; whereupon he wrote again, or Colonel Neale wrote, to explain that the conflagration was accidental. But that I cannot think was a correct representation of what took place, in face of the fact that the "Perseus" continued to fire rockets into the town after the engagement with the batteries was at an end, and it is also inconsistent with the air of satisfaction which marks the despatch reporting that £1,000,000 worth of property had been destroyed during the bombardment. [Illustration: KAGOSIMA HARBOUR] After the return of the squadron to Yokohama we settled down quietly again, and the trade went on pretty much as usual; there were some complaints that the Tycoon's council were laying hands on all the raw silk destined for exportation, with a view doubtless of forcing up the price and so recouping themselves out of foreign pockets for the indemnities they had been forced to pay to the British Government. But on a strong protest being made to them by Colonel Neale, the embargo was removed. Rumours reached us of disturbances at Kiôto, where the retainers of Chôshiû had been plotting to take possession of the palace, and seize the person of the Mikado. Failing in their plans, they had been dismissed from their share in guarding the palace, and had departed to their native province, taking with them seven court nobles who had been mixed up in the plot. Amongst them were Sanjô Sanéyoshi, Higashi-Kuzé and Sawa, who afterwards held high office in the government of the restoration. The ill-success of the Chôshiû clan, which had been one of the foremost in demanding the expulsion of the foreigners, was a turn of luck for the Tycoon, and the result was the withdrawal of the circular of Ogasawara proposing the closing of the ports. Ogasawara himself was disgraced. Foreigners at Yokohama began to breathe freely again, and to renew their former excursions in the neighbouring country. But on the 14th October a fresh outrage completely upset our tranquillity. A French officer of Chasseurs named Camus, while taking his afternoon's ride at a distance of not more than two or three miles from the settlement, and far from the high road, was attacked and murdered. His right arm was found at a little distance from his body, still clutching the bridle of his pony. There was a cut down one side of the face, one through the nose, a third across the chin, the right jugular vein was severed by a slash in the throat, and the vertebral column was completely divided. The left arm was hanging on by a piece of skin and the left side laid open to the heart. All the wounds were perfectly clean, thus showing what a terrible weapon the Japanese _katana_ was in the hands of a skilful swordsman. No clue to the identity of the perpetrators of this horrible assassination was ever discovered, but it made a profound impression upon the foreign community, who after that were careful not to ride out unarmed or in parties of less than three or four. Not that we were able to place much confidence in our revolvers, for it was pretty certain that the _samurai_ who was lying in wait to kill a foreigner would not carry out his purpose unless he could take his victim at a disadvantage, and cases of chance encounters with peaceably inclined Japanese were not known to have occurred. Excepting perhaps the Richardson affair, from the very first all these murders were premeditated, and the perpetrators took care to secure their own safety beforehand. It was an agreeable surprise to us a month later, when there appeared at the legation two high officers of Satsuma, who undertook to pay the indemnity of £25,000 and gave an engagement to make diligent search for Richardson's murderers, who upon their arrest were to be punished with death in the presence of British officers, in accordance with the original demand. We may give Colonel Neale credit for knowing that there was no genuine intention on the part of Satsuma to carry out this promise, but on the other hand there was strong reason to suppose that Shimadzu Saburô himself had actually given the order to cut down the foreigners, and it could hardly be expected that the Satsuma men would ever consent to do punishment upon him. The actual doers of the deed were merely subordinate agents. We could not with justice have insisted on their lives being taken, and at the same time suffer the principal culprit to go scot-free. In order to succeed therefore in enforcing the whole of the demands made by Her Majesty's Government, it would have been necessary to invade Satsuma with an overwhelming force and exterminate the greater part of the clan before we could get at their chief; and we may be sure that he would never have fallen alive into our hands. We had bombarded and destroyed the greater part of the forts and town, probably killed a good many persons who were innocent of Richardson's murder, and had thereby elevated what was in the beginning a crime against public order into a _casus belli_. There would indeed, it seems to me, have been no justification after that for taking more lives by way of expiation. The Satsuma envoys, however, formally acknowledged that their countrymen had been in the wrong, and they paid the fine demanded by the British Government. No one therefore can blame the British Chargé d'Affaires for having made peace on these terms. It should be mentioned, however, that the Satsuma men borrowed the money from the Tycoon's treasury, and I have never heard that it was repaid. CHAPTER IX SHIMONOSEKI; PRELIMINARY MEASURES SIR RUTHERFORD ALCOCK returned from Europe early in March 1864, and Colonel Neale took his departure. The members of the legation gave him a farewell dinner, at which he delivered himself of prognostications as to the future of those who had served under him. For me he prophesied a professorship of Japanese at an English University, but so far his words have not come true. The new chief was liked by everyone, and he was particularly gracious to myself, relieving me from all chancery work, so that I could devote the whole of my time to my Japanese studies. Willis and I occupied a wooden house in a back street between the native town and the foreign settlement, and there I worked industriously with my three teachers. Sir Rutherford had brought with him very ample powers, which he determined to make use of to chastise the Chôshiû clan for its hostile attitude. We had, it might be said, conquered the goodwill of Satsuma, and a similar process applied to the other principal head of the anti-foreign party might well be expected to produce an equally wholesome effect. In the summer of the previous year the Chôshiû people, acting upon the orders which they had extorted from the Mikado for the "expulsion of the barbarians," had fired upon an American merchant vessel, a Dutch corvette and a French despatch-boat as they passed through the straits of Shimonoséki. The corvette had returned the fire, and in the other two cases satisfaction of an incomplete kind had been obtained by the United States sloop "Wyoming" and the French squadron under Admiral Jaurès respectively. The batteries had been destroyed, but as soon as the foreign men-of-war quitted the scene, the Chôshiû men set to work to rebuild the forts, to construct others, and to mount all the guns they could bring together. So the hornet's nest was after no long interval in good repair again, and more formidable for attack and defence than before. That no foreign vessels could take their way through the straits of Shimonoséki, which they had been in the habit of passing from time to time after touching at Nagasaki in order to make a pleasant and easy passage to Yokohama, instead of encountering the stormy Cape Chichakoff, was felt to involve a diminution of western prestige. Nothing but the complete subjugation of this warlike clan, and the permanent destruction of its means of offence, would suffice to convince the Japanese nation that we were determined to enforce the treaties, and to carry on our trade without molestation from anybody, irrespective of internal dissensions. Sir Rutherford Alcock therefore lost no time in diligently setting to work in order to bring about a coalition with the representatives of France, Holland and the United States. In this he completely succeeded. The Tycoon's government were warned that if they did not within twenty days give a satisfactory undertaking to re-open the straits, the foreign squadrons would be despatched thither to bring the Prince of Chôshiû to reason. By a curious coincidence there had just returned to Japan two out of a band of five young _samurai_ of Chôshiû, who the year before had been smuggled away to England to see the world, and learn something of the resources of foreign powers. Their names were Itô Shunsuké and Inouyé Bunda. The other three who remained in England while their companions, armed with the new knowledge, set forth on their journey to warn their fellow clansmen that it was no use trying to run their heads against a brick wall, were Endo Kinsuké, Inouyé Masaru and Yamao Yôzo. They made themselves and the object of their return known to Sir Rutherford, who promptly seized the opportunity thus offered of entering into direct communication with the _daimiô_ of Chôshiû, and while delivering a sort of ultimatum, of affording him the chance of abandoning his hostile attitude for one more in accordance with the treaties. He obtained the consent of his colleagues to the despatch of two men-of-war to the neighbourhood of Shimonoséki in order to land the two young men at a convenient spot, and delivered to them a long memorandum for presentation to their prince. A French officer (Commandant Layrle) and a Dutch naval officer, besides Major Wray, R.E., were sent at the same time to gain what information might be obtainable as to the present condition of the batteries, and to my great joy I was lent as interpreter, along with my colleague, Mr. J. J. Enslie. On the 21st July we left in the corvette "Barrosa," Captain W. M. Dowell, and the gun vessel "Cormorant," Commander Buckle, and passing up the Bungo channel, anchored off Himéshima Island after dark on the 26th. We ran ashore, but managed to get off again, smashing the jib-boom of the "Cormorant" as we did so. Early on the following morning we landed our two Japanese friends Itô and Inouyé (who at that time went by the name of Shiji), after promising to call for them on the 7th August at the island of Kasato, off the coast of Suwô. On the way down I had talked a good deal with them, and between us, with the aid of my teacher, Nakazawa Kensaku (a retainer of Ogasawara, who had to seek his livelihood in consequence of his master's disgrace), we had managed to put Sir Rutherford's memorandum into Japanese. They were to cross over in an open boat and land at Tonomi in Suwô. At eight o'clock we saw them leave the shore. In Nakazawa's opinion the chances were six or seven out of ten that their heads would be cut off, and that we should never see them again. We landed later on in the day at Himéshima and found the people very friendly. They sold to us a plentiful supply of fish, but there were no vegetables, beef or chickens to be had. Cattle were pretty plentiful and fat, but the people looked poor and half starved. The population was about 2000. The island was not fertile. I tried to buy some beef, but the pretext that it was wanted as medicine for sick sailors (a Japanese idea) was useless. Half the population was engaged in salt-burning; 1/2d and 1d banknotes were current, and very little coin was to be seen. At one place we gave a man an _ichibu_, worth say 10d. He pretended to turn it over and look at it carefully, and then said "these are very rare things here." Next day we went round to the north side of the island and anchored there. Here we again landed to visit the salt pans, and met with the same friendly reception as before. On the 29th we crossed in one of the ship's boats to Imi in Iyo, where the villagers refused to have anything to do with us, but at Takeda-tsu, a mile or two further west, they made no difficulties, and we were able to lay in a supply of pumpkins and brinjalls. On the 1st August we weighed anchor before sunrise, and stood away towards the straits. The "Barrosa" anchored about ten miles on this side of Shimonoséki, and we went on in the "Cormorant," steaming towards the coast of Buzen and then up to Isaki Point. When half-way across the mouth of the straits we saw signal guns fired all along the north coast from Chôfu to Saho. After going nearly up to Tanoura, keeping carefully out of the range of the batteries, and cruising backwards and forwards for a while, in order that the situation of the batteries and the number of guns might be accurately noted, we finally returned to Himéshima. We used to go on shore there for a walk every day, and found the people inquisitive but friendly. On one occasion, however, as we were returning through the village to our boats, we met a party of four _samurai_, who appeared to form part of a detachment sent over from Kitsuki in Buzen to protect the island against a possible attack from us. I spoke civilly to them, and asked where they had come from, but they answered in a surly manner, "from a distance." They looked as villainous a set as one could wish to see, and remained at the water's edge watching our movements until we got on board. On the 6th August we made another trip to Shimonoséki in the "Cormorant" to reconnoitre, going in a little further than before in the direction of Tanoura. On this occasion, in addition to the signal guns, the batteries fired a round shot and a shell as a warning, which fell in the sea about a mile ahead. When we got back to the "Barrosa" at half-past ten in the evening we found Itô and Shiji had already returned. After dinner we had a long talk, and received the prince's answer. They brought with them a single retainer, but said they had been accompanied down to the coast by a guard of soldiers given them by their prince. They commenced the delivery of the communication with which they were charged by saying that they had found him at Yamaguchi, and had handed over the letters of the four foreign representatives to him in person. He had then consulted with his chief retainers and come to the following conclusion: that he entirely acknowledged the truth of what was stated in the letters, and was conscious of his own inability to cope with the forces of western nations. But he was acting under orders which he had received, once from the Tycoon, and oftener from the Mikado, and not on his own responsibility, and it was out of his power to reply to the foreign representatives without first receiving permission. It was his intention, therefore, to proceed to Kiôto in order to impress his own views on the Mikado, which he calculated would take about three months. He begged therefore that the powers would postpone operations for that period. They brought no written documents with them, not even a letter to certify that they were the accredited agents of their prince, but told us they could procure one if the vessels were delayed for two or three days. They were informed that a mere verbal reply such as they had brought could not be expected to satisfy the foreign representatives. They then inquired whether they should send a written reply to Yokohama with copies of the orders of the Tycoon and Mikado, but Captain Dowell replied that their prince might do as he liked about that. His instructions did not go so far as to enable him to express an opinion. In private conversation they afterwards told me that their prince had originally been favourable to foreigners, but had gone too far now in the opposite direction to be able to retract, and they did not believe that the matters at issue could be settled without fighting. They suggested that it would be a good measure for the foreign representatives to throw over the Tycoon, and proceeding to Ozaka, demand an interview with the Mikado's ministers in order to conclude a direct treaty with him. They spoke with great bitterness of the Tycoon's dynasty, accused them of keeping all the trade, both foreign and native, in their own hands, by taking possession of every place where trade was likely to develope, such as Nagasaki and Niigata, and they said these feelings were shared by most of the people. The way in which they delivered their message made me suspect that it was couched in far more uncompromising terms than those which they made use of in communicating it. This was the first occasion on which I had been in full and frank communication with men belonging to the anti-Tycoon party. Their proposal that we should at once try to enter into negotiations with the Mikado was a bold one, and calculated, if it had been adopted, rather to injure than help their cause. The time was not yet ripe, for the Shôgun's authority, though much weakened, was still admitted and obeyed by a large majority of the _daimiôs_. His troops had not as yet exhibited their inferiority in arms, and as a matter of fact almost at this very moment the forces of the Prince of Chôshiû were suffering an overwhelming defeat in their attack upon Kiôto, which was defended in the Tycoon's interest by Aidzu and Satsuma. By the time we returned to Yokohama, and before the idea could have been even considered by the foreign representatives, Chôshiû's principal men were either fugitives or dead, and the Tycoon was temporarily master of the field. Itô and his companion left again during the night. I could not help feeling sorry for their failure to impress on their prince the warning which they had come all the way from Europe to impart. But there was no help for it. We weighed anchor early on the following morning and arrived at Yokohama on the 10th. As soon as it became known that Chôshiû would not give way preparations were actively made for carrying out the resolutions previously agreed upon by the representatives of the four Powers. They held a conference with the ministers of the Shôgun, in order to impress on them that the moment had now come when the naval forces must be charged with the duty of opening the straits, but before the meeting had separated there came like a thunderbolt on their deliberations an announcement of the return from Europe of a mission that had been despatched in the month of January to treat with Great Britain and France. They brought with them a convention concluded with the latter Power which provided for an indemnity in respect of the attack on the French gunboat, for the removal by the Shôgun's government within three months of the impediments to the navigation of the straits of Shimonoséki, for a modification of the import tariff in favour of French manufactures, and for the payment of an indemnity of $35,000 to the relatives of Lieutenant Camus. This news seemed to Sir Rutherford Alcock to threaten an utter collapse of his plans, for if the convention were ratified, the French at least would be compelled to withdraw from the coalition. But it was of course clear to those on the spot that the second article could not be possibly carried out by the Tycoon's government, and never could have been seriously intended, at least on the Japanese side. Pressure was therefore put on the council to make them declare that they would not ratify the convention, and a note from them to this effect reached the foreign representatives on the 25th August. On the same day they signed a memorandum declaring the necessity of a resort to force, which was then communicated to the naval commanders-in-chief, and four days later the allied squadrons put to sea to carry into execution the plans decided on before the return of the envoys had for a moment seemed to threaten the disruption of the diplomatic union so strenuously worked for by our chief. It was an immense responsibility that he had assumed. There was no telegraph in those days to any point nearer than Ceylon, but a despatch dated 26th July was already on its way to him positively prohibiting the adoption of military measures in the interior of Japan, and limiting naval operations against the Japanese Government or princes to defensive measures for the protection of the life and property of British subjects. By the time it reached his hands, his schemes had already been accomplished with the happiest possible results, and he was able to console himself with the conviction that he had done the right thing, even though he might be censured for acting contrary to the wishes of Lord John Russell, and have incurred the penalty of a recall from his post. The United States steamer "Monitor" had been fired at as she lay at anchor in a bay on the north coast of Nagato on July 11. This afforded fresh justification of the action adopted by the foreign representatives. CHAPTER X SHIMONOSEKI--NAVAL OPERATIONS TO my great satisfaction I was appointed interpreter to Admiral Küper, and, packing up a few necessaries, embarked on board the "Euryalus." I was messed in the ward room, and as there was no cabin available, slept on a sofa. The officers were a very pleasant set of fellows; among them I especially remember Tracey and Maclear, both of them now post-captains. The former is a very distinguished officer, but what particularly attracted me towards him was his love of books, and his wide knowledge of modern languages, acquired by dint of sheer perseverance amid all the noisy distractions of life on board ship. The "Coquette" was sent off to Nagasaki to bring up Sir Rutherford's stepson, Fred. Lowder, to be additional interpreter. The only other civilian on board the flagship was Felix Beato, the well-known photographer, who, making his first start in life with a camera in the Crimean war, had also accompanied the Anglo-French expedition to North China in 1859, and had subsequently settled in Japan, where his social qualities had gained him many friends. My teacher Nakazawa had been secretly taken away from me by the Tycoon's government as a punishment for having accompanied me on the visit to Himéshima; many years afterwards I was made acquainted with the treachery of the foreigner who had denounced him to the Commissioners for Foreign Affairs. But Willis lent me his Japanese instructor and pupil in medicine, Hayashi Bokuan, and I was able to make shift with this faithful man, though as a scholar he was greatly inferior to Nakazawa. The English squadron consisted of the flagship "Euryalus," 35, commanded by Captain Alexander; the corvettes "Tartar," 21, Captain Hayes; "Barrosa," 21, Captain W. M. Dowell; the two-decker "Conqueror," 48, Captain Luard; the paddle-sloop "Leopard," 18, Captain Leckie; the paddle-sloop "Argus," 6, Commander Moresby; the "Coquette," 14, Commander Roe; and gunboat "Bouncer," 2, Lieutenant Holder. The French frigate "Sémiramis," 35, bearing the broad pennon of Admiral Jaurés, and the American chartered steamer "Takiang," carrying a Parrot gun and its crew from the United States corvette "Jamestown," under the command of Lieutenant Pearson, accompanied us. The French corvette "Dupleix," 10, and despatch boat "Tancrède," 4, with the Dutch corvettes "Metalen Kruis," 16, Captain de Man; "Djambi," 16, Captain van Rees; "Amsterdam," 8; and "Medusa," 16, Captain de Casembroot, left the bay of Kanagawa on the 28th August, and the remainder of the ships on the following day. We had calm weather and a smooth sea on the way down, sighting the south-west corner of Shikoku on the 1st September. About 5 p.m. we fell in with the "Perseus," 17, Commander Kingston, towing a collier, and bringing the Admiral's mail. The "Perseus" had met Commander Buckle in the "Cormorant" on his way to Shanghai for the mail, who, having started from Yokohama about the time of the return of the Japanese embassy, reported that the expedition was indefinitely postponed; she had therefore cast off the collier and steamed away at full speed for Yokohama, but falling a little later in with the "Coquette" on her way to Nagasaki, learnt a very different tale, and turning round, had picked up the collier again and brought her on. On the following day we reached Himéshima and anchored a little after noon; here we found the "Djambi" and "Metalen Kruis." Shortly afterwards the "Medusa" and the three French ships appeared, and by midnight every ship of the allied squadron had arrived. We had still to wait for the "Coquette," and either the "Cormorant" or "Osprey." In the afternoon the Admiral, Captain Alexander, with other officers, went ashore for a walk, and I acted as their guide. The poor village mayor made his appearance in a great state of alarm. He was indeed in an uncomfortable position, uncertain of the disposition of the strangers, and sure of punishment from his own countrymen if he manifested too great friendliness towards us. He promised, however, to send us off some fish, "quite privately," but was positive that he could sell no bullocks. He had despatched a messenger to Kitsuki to inquire whether the islanders might hold intercourse with the squadron and furnish us with what supplies they had. During the night we took in 150 tons of coal, and the 3rd of September was spent by the rest of our squadron in replenishing their bunkers. In the afternoon I went ashore to the mayor's house, where I found three of the garrison from Kitsuki. They were very reticent, not to say sulky, and only one of them, who was evidently afraid of his companions, could be induced to open his mouth. It was a grand sight to see the master of the collier and his wife parading along the beach with a couple of dirty little village urchins running ahead of them. The common people were friendly enough, except when the eyes of the two-sworded men were upon them. On the 4th September we weighed anchor at nine o'clock and proceeded towards the straits of Shimonoséki, the eight British ships in the centre, with "Euryalus" leading, the French squadron and the "Takiang" in a line on the left, and the four Dutch vessels on the right. It was a beautiful show as the allied squadrons steamed in the consciousness of irresistible strength calmly across the unruffled surface of this inland sea, which lay before us like a glassy mirror in its framework of blue hills. Towards half past three we anchored at a distance of about two miles from the mouth of the straits, and prepared for action. Everything was in readiness by the time we had got half-way through our dinner, but to the disappointment of the more eager spirits, we remained where we were without firing a shot. Every one was naturally very anxious that no new complication should arise to delay the longed-for encounter with the enemy. Early on the following morning two Chôshiû men, common soldiers, came on board to inquire why all these men-of-war had come to the straits, but the Admiral refused to hold any parley with men of evidently inferior rank, and they were told to return on shore at once. One of them told me very innocently that if we intended to go through he must go on shore to make preparations for us, and when I asked what preparation, he said "for fighting." I was then sent in a boat to overhaul a couple of junks that in the meanwhile had been stopped as they were entering the straits. One was the "Isé Maru," of Matsuyama in Iyo, going to load coals at Hirado, the other belonged to Kurumé in Chikugo, and was returning from Ozaka with a miscellaneous cargo. As they did not belong to the enemy we let them go. About two p.m. the two men who had previously visited the ship came on board again to announce the arrival of a _bugiô_ or commissioner of some sort, accompanied by Inouyé Bunda (he had now laid aside his alias of Shiji). But signals had already been made to the captains to take up the positions allotted to them for shelling the batteries, and when my friend Inouyé and his companion reached the flagship the only answer they received to their request that hostilities might be deferred with a view to negotiation was that the time for a peaceable arrangement had passed. We went into action at ten minutes past four. The "Barrosa," "Tartar," "Djambi," "Metalen Kruis," "Leopard," and "Dupleix" moved along the southern coast of the funnel-shaped entrance to the strait, and took up their station in front of Tanoura, as shown in the annexed plan, while a light squadron consisting of the "Perseus," "Medusa," "Tancrède," "Coquette," and "Bouncer" passed along the northern shore, the "Amsterdam" and "Argus" being held in reserve. The "Euryalus," "Sémiramis," "Conqueror," and "Takiang" anchored out of range of the enemy's batteries, at a distance of about 2500 yards from the central cluster at Maeda mura, and consequently near enough to reach them with our 110-pounder breech-loading Armstrong gun on the forecastle. The first shot was fired from the "Euryalus," and the whole of the Tanoura squadron then followed her example. The light squadron speedily silenced the three-gun battery on Kushi Saki Point, but not before it had managed to pitch a shot pretty near the British flagship. Then the "Sémiramis," which had been occupied in getting springs on her cable, opened fire from her quarter-deck guns with terrible effect, scarcely a shot falling short. The "Takiang" did her best with her single gun, and the "Conqueror" fired three shells, one of which burst beautifully among the great cluster of batteries. The "Euryalus" fired only sixteen rounds between 4.10 and 5.10 p.m. from her 110-pounder, which was pretty good work, considering that the vent piece got jammed once and a considerable time was lost in digging it out with handspikes. Another time the vent piece was blown up into the fore-top owing to its not having been screwed in tightly enough. The six vessels anchored south were soon engaged in a sharp conflict with the batteries opposite, while the light squadron, having silenced the batteries on the north, came to their aid, enfilading the 4, 7, and 9-gun batteries. The furthest shot fired from the "Euryalus" was at 4800 yards, and it went plump into a battery. [Illustration: THE STRAITS OF SHIMONOSEKI] By 5.10 the principal batteries had been silenced, and a signal was made to discontinue firing. A fire now burst out among the buildings in the Maeda mura batteries and a magazine exploded, making the third "blow-up" during the afternoon. We continued firing a shot now and then up to six o'clock. The quarter-deck 40-pounder Armstrongs were fired once only, as their range proved to be too short, and none of the smooth-bore guns on the main deck were brought into action, to the great disappointment of the bluejackets, who had probably not forgotten the slaughter made amongst their comrades at Kagoshima, and burned to avenge it. It must be admitted that the Japanese fought well and with great persistence, for I attach no value to the story that was told that the gunners were only allowed to fire once, and were then replaced by fresh men. At first many of our shot fell short, but when the range was found, they struck the batteries every moment, as we could see by the clouds of dust that were knocked up. After the signal to discontinue firing had been made, Kingston of the "Perseus" and De Casembroot of the "Medusa" landed and spiked fourteen guns in the Maeda mura batteries. At the small battery on Kushi Saki Point two out of the three guns had been dismounted by our fire. The entire casualties on our side this first day were six men wounded in the "Tartar," which bore the brunt of the fire. Early on the following morning one of the Maeda mura batteries re-opened fire on the squadron anchored off Tanoura, but was replied to with such effect that it was speedily silenced, and the barrack behind was set on fire. The "Dupleix" lost two killed and two wounded, while the first lieutenant of the "Tartar" was struck by a round shot on the posteriors and severely wounded. He recovered, however, contrary to the expectations of the surgeons. I slept through the noise, but was woke by somebody with a message that I had to land with Captain Alexander, who was to command the small-arms party of the "Euryalus," 200 strong. From the "Conqueror" there landed the battalion of 450 marines under Colonel Suther, besides her own complement of 100, and some bluejackets, small detachments of marines being added from the other ships of our squadron. The French landed 350, and the Dutch 200. Another calculation showed that 1900 men were put ashore, of whom we furnished 1400. We rowed straight for the nearest land, followed by a string of cutters and pinnaces so full of men that there was only just room to work the oars, and got on shore at nine o'clock exactly. The task assigned to Captain Alexander's party was to scale a bluff immediately to the east of the Maeda mura batteries, and take a one-gun battery. It was a stiff pull up the steep grassy hill, but up went the bluejackets pell-mell, as if they were out on a picnic, every man for himself. On climbing over the earthwork we found that the gun had been either carried off or concealed. There were a score or so of the enemy on the platform, who retreated as soon as the first of our people showed his nose above the parapet, but they kept up a dropping fire from the other side of the hill. Here one of our men received a bullet wound in the leg, and a second was accidentally shot through the body by the sailor immediately behind him. Passing through the battery, we clambered up the hill behind, through a tangled brake of ferns and creepers. The heat was intense. It was a difficult job to keep one's footing on the narrow path cut through the slippery grass. Our bluejackets were very eager to get at the enemy, but not a single one was to be seen. Descending the other side of the hill, we at last found ourselves in a sort of covered way, which ran along the side of a narrow valley. It was reported that the enemy were posted further up the valley in considerable numbers, but instead of pursuing them we turned to the left along the covered way, which brought us down past a magazine into the central battery of the principal group. It turned out afterwards to be a fortunate counter-march, for if we had proceeded in the other direction we should have stumbled on a stockade defended by three field guns, which would have played "Old Harry" with our small force. The first battery we entered was already in the possession of the French landing party and some of our marines, who, having disembarked below the bluff, had marched along the beach, meeting with no opposition. This work was of earth, having a parapet about twenty feet wide, armed along the edge with a chevaux-de-frise of pointed bamboo stakes. In battery No. 7 the guns were mounted en barbette, on carriages with enormous wheels, and worked on pivots. They were of bronze, very long, and threw a 32-pound shot, though marked as 24's. They bore a Japanese date corresponding to 1854, and had evidently been cast in Yedo. Besides these, there was a short 32-pounder, and on the other side of a traverse, containing a small magazine, was a single 10-inch gun, also of bronze. We upset them all, broke up the carriages, threw the shot and shell into the sea, burned the powder, and even dragged a couple of guns down on to the beach. This occupied us till three or four o'clock in the afternoon. During this time our men were perpetually firing musketry at the enemy on the hill, who every now and then showed themselves to give us a shot or two. In the 9-gun battery were a couple of heavy 11-inch bronze guns. Afterwards we proceeded to the next battery, which was almost _à fleur d' eau_. It was divided into two by a traverse containing a magazine, on one side of which were one 10-inch howitzer, two 32-pounders, and one 24-pounder; on the other side were the same number, with the addition of a single 24-pounder. These likewise were overturned, and the carriages and ammunition disposed of as before. The Japanese field battery up the valley, which had been advanced some little way from the stockade along a path leading towards Maeda mura, Dannoura and Shimonoséki annoyed us considerably during this operation, firing shells over us and at long ranges into the sea, while their musketeers kept up a pretty constant fire, though no one was touched on our side. Part of our men were told off to keep them in check, but our aim was not much better than that of the enemy. The great thing in war, until you come to close quarters, seems to be to make as much noise as you can to put your foes in a funk, or in other words to demoralize them. You can't do much harm, and it was laughable to see how many of our men ducked to avoid the shot, and I confess I followed their example until reason came to my aid. The "Medusa" moved up and threw a few shells in among them, while the "Perseus," "Amsterdam," and "Argus" fired over the hill from their station before Tanoura. This quieted the zeal of our warrior foes for a while, and we returned to the first battery we had dismantled, for the men to have their dinners. Crowdy of the Engineers, McBean the assistant-surgeon of the flagship and I divided a loaf of bread and a tin of sardines, which we opened with Crowdy's sword. There were no knives or forks handy, but that did not hinder us from satisfying our well-earned appetite as we sat on the steps of the magazine in the traverse. After dinner we helped the French to overturn the guns in their battery, which were four in number, very long 32-pounders, mounted on field carriages. The enemy still continued annoying us from their position up the valley, while some of our men kept up a fitful musketry fire in reply, without much damage on either side. The afternoon being already far advanced, the signal to re-embark was made from the "Euryalus," and the French and Dutch detachments, some of the marine detachment, and the "Conqueror's" small-arms men, were already in their boats, when about six o'clock we saw Colonel Suther's battalion of marines returning from the Maeda mura 15-gun battery through a heavy fire from the Japanese. The Japanese on perceiving them threw a round shot in among them, but without doing any harm; our men replied, and for fifteen minutes there was nothing but ping, ping, ping on both sides. At last the Colonel came up to Captain Alexander and said:--"Where are these men who are annoying us. I've enough men to take any battery." "All right," replied Alexander, "I'll take the left side of the valley and you the right." So the marines clambered up into the French battery (the eastern-most one) and proceeded up the covered way, while the "Conqueror's" men disembarked again, and the advance commenced. Beato and I stuck close to Alexander, and followed the bluejackets across the paddyfields by the narrow "bunds," and then along the path on the western side of the valley. How the bluejackets shouted and cheered, each man running on by himself, now stopping to take aim at an enemy from behind one of the pine trees that lined the edge of the road, and then on again. There was no order or discipline. Some of them wasted their ammunition on imaginary foes on the hillsides. I passed several wounded men as I went up, some seriously hurt, and the corpse of a sailor who had been killed by an arrow. At last we reached the battery, whence the gunners had been driven by our fire, dismounted the guns and threw them into the paddyfield close by, after destroying the carriages. Here Alexander was wounded by a ball which passed through the ankle-joint of his right foot, and he had to be carried to the rear on a stretcher. From this point the valley contracted rapidly, while immediately in front of us was a stockaded barrack into which most of the Japanese retreated, turning back repeatedly to fire. But I saw others in black armour and white surcoats retreating with great rapidity along the road to the left. Lieutenant Edwards and Crowdy of the Engineers were ahead with a middy named D. G. Boyes, who carried the colours most gallantly; he afterwards received the V.C. for conduct very plucky in one so young. When I got up to the front of the stockade there were three or four dead Japanese lying about and one of our men, shot through the heart. He presented a most ghastly sight as he lay there, getting visibly bluer and bluer, without any exterior signs of blood to show how he had come by his death. Having directed some of the men to put his corpse into a huge oblong basket which was on the ground close by and carry him off, I passed on into the stockade whence the Japanese had already fled. In retiring they had set fire to some houses close to the magazine, with the amiable intention of blowing us up, but the train was discovered and the explosion prevented. After ranging over the whole place and removing whatever was worth carrying off as trophies, such as armour, bows and arrows, spears and swords, and bayonets bearing a foreign maker's name, we set fire to the buildings and retired in good order. The loss of the enemy was about twenty killed, but they had carried off all their wounded. We had five killed and thirteen or fourteen wounded, two mortally. What the marine battalion was doing all this time I cannot say, for the excitement about what was going on ahead left me no disposition to look elsewhere, but I rather think that having marched along the covered way with great steadiness they managed to arrive just as the more active and impetuous "jacks" had finished the business. And no blame to them either for going about their work in a business-like manner. If we had met with a check in our heedless, headlong advance, the marines would have saved us from destruction. It was lucky for us that the skirmish terminated as it did, for our loss in small-arms' men would have been much greater if the Japanese had been strong enough to stand to their guns, or had posted marksmen on the hills to take us in flank as we hurried up the valley. They had the advantage in position, besides possessing seven small field pieces, while on the other hand we had at least a couple of hundred men in excess of their number, which it was supposed was 600. But I fancy I remember having heard since from a Chôshiû man who was present that their force was only one half of that. The bluejackets bore the brunt of the business, as they had to cross the line of fire and to advance along the outer edge of the horn-shaped valley, which curved away to the east out of sight of the shipping. The Japanese could not stand our advance, the sharp musketry fire threw them into disorder, and they had to run for it. In only one case was an attempt made to come to close quarters. One fellow had concealed himself behind a door with uplifted sword in both hands, ready to cut down a man just about to enter. But contrary to his expectation, his intended victim gave him a prod in the belly which laid him on his back and spoilt his little game. Our French companions in arms were disgusted at not having been present at the affair, and turned up their noses at it, as _pas grand chose après tout_. It was the fortune of war, and we commiserated them sincerely. [Illustration: INTERIOR OF A JAPANESE BATTERY AFTER THE LANDING OF THE ALLIED NAVAL FORCES] The marines who in the first instance marched on Maeda mura had one man killed and two wounded. They dismantled fifteen guns in the battery there. During the day a boat belonging to one of the Dutch men-of-war, with two men in her, got loose and drifted down with the tide towards the town. They were immediately shot, though quite defenceless. Fred Lowder and his brother George, who had come up with him from Nagasaki "to see the fun," had a narrow escape as they were paddling about in a Japanese boat, which became unmanageable and was drifting off in the same direction; they jumped into the water and swam ashore, or they would probably have encountered the same fate. The eastern end of the town of Shimonoséki (more properly speaking, I believe, Akamagaséki) was set on fire, but the number of houses burnt was extremely small. It was alleged that this was done by the French because some Japanese soldiers had fired thence on their men, but I do not know whether this is a fact. The "Perseus" ran ashore opposite the nearest batteries, and as the tide ebbed her bow was high out of the water, nor did she get off again until the following day. I found myself on board again at half-past seven o'clock, very dirty, very tired, very hungry and very thirsty. On the 7th September working parties of bluejackets landed under the protection of some marines to take possession of the guns, ten of which they got into the boats. Others went up to the stockade and found some field pieces, which they destroyed, hove down wells, or brought away. We got together sixty, all but one of bronze, with two mortars and six cohorns. We blew up all the powder and threw the shot and shell into the sea. There was not a single hostile Japanese to be seen. The "Perseus" had to be lightened by discharging all her guns and coals, and so managed to get afloat by noon. Our list of casualties during the two days' operation was eight killed and thirty wounded, of whom one or two were not expected to live. We landed at half-past one on the Tanoura side to bury our dead, the French having already buried two in the forenoon. In digging the graves our men found particles of a glittering substance which was at first taken to be gold dust, but turned out to be mica. I met a party of Ogasawara's two-sworded men, who asked how many dead we had, and how we had fared on the previous day. On learning what a complete thrashing we had given the enemy at the stockade, they expressed great satisfaction, and recounted how the Chôshiû people had crossed over the straits in the previous year, cut down their crops, carried off their live stock, and driven the peasants away, after which they held possession of Tanoura for some time, until public opinion and the necessity of providing for the defence of Chôshiû's own territories had compelled them to withdraw. Ogasawara's men feared that when Chôshiû came to find out that communication had taken place between us and the Buzen folk, he would visit them again after the withdrawal of the squadron, but I boldly assured them that they need not alarm themselves, as we intended to destroy the batteries, and deprive Chôshiû of his territory. For I knew that part of the plan entertained by Sir Rutherford and his colleagues was the seizure of a sufficient piece of territory near Shimonoséki as a material guarantee for the payment of an adequate indemnity, and to hold it until it could be conveniently handed over to the Tycoon's government. Sir Rutherford contemplated nothing less than the complete subjugation of the Chôshiû clan, and he had enjoined upon the Admiral the necessity of attacking Hagi, which was supposed to be the stronghold of the _daimiô_. The Admiral, however, who was a prudent commander, and by no means disposed to take orders from the civil representatives of Her Majesty further than he was obliged, came to the conclusion that the resources at his disposal did not permit of a permanent occupation of any portion of Chôshiû's territory, and considered that as soon as the forts were destroyed and the straits opened, his task was accomplished. Fear had made the Ogasawara _samurai_ wondrously polite. The villagers were also friendly enough, and I made them laugh good-humouredly with some commonplace jokes, but did not succeed in inducing them to sell any supplies. The officials, after hunting all through the village, as they assured us, produced eight or ten eggs, which they said was all they could find. Our bluejackets brought me some papers which they had picked up in the stockade, and which appeared to contain evidences of plots by Chôshiû against the Mikado, also quantities of pills made, or said to be made, from bear's gall, and banknotes for small sums, such as were commonly used in the territories of all the _daimiôs_. I believe that silver coin was current at that time in the dominions of the Tycoon alone. On the 8th, fatigue parties landed again to bring off more guns; we got all but two from the group of batteries, which made nineteen, besides fifteen from Maeda mura and an equal number from the batteries on Hikushima, the large island in the western entrance of the straits. I went on shore to Maeda mura, and found a well built battery, with a parapet twenty feet wide cased with stone towards the sea, and divided into four sections by traverses, between which the guns were planted in unequal numbers. In the rear stood a stone-built magazine, the roof of which had been smashed by a round shot that went right through it. The powder magazine, also of stone, which stood on one side of the valley behind, had been blown up the previous day. Further up was a stockaded barrack, which the French had burned. I went towards the advanced guard near the town, but as the enemy began to show themselves and fire at us, I made a prudent retreat. CHAPTER XI SHIMONOSEKI; PEACE CONCLUDED WITH CHÔSHIÛ Returning to the ship at noon, I found there my acquaintance Itô Shunsuké, who had come to say that Chôshiû desired peace, and that a _karô_ or hereditary councillor, provided with full powers, was coming off to treat. A boat was accordingly despatched to meet the great man, who shortly afterwards stood on the quarter-deck of the flagship. He was dressed in a robe called the _daimon_, which was covered with large light blue crests (the paulownia leaf and flower) on a yellow ground, and wore on his head a black silk cap, which he took off on passing the gangway. His queue was then seen to be loose, hanging over the back of his head like a tassel, and his white silk underclothing was a marvel of purity. His two companions, who bore a rank next only to his own, wore their hair in the same fashion, but were without mantles. They were conducted into the cabin, and presented to the Admirals, the Abbé Girard, Lowder and myself acting as interpreters. They began by stating that the Prince of Chôshiû acknowledged his defeat, and desired to make peace with a view to the establishment of friendly relations. The Admiral thereupon asked to see their credentials, and finding they had none, intimated that he would give them forty-eight hours to provide themselves with a letter from their _daimiô_. They were told that the letter must contain the substance of what they had said, acknowledging that he had committed a grievous wrong in firing upon foreign ships, and begging for peace, that it must be signed with his own hand and sealed with his seal, and that a copy must be addressed to each of the four senior naval officers in command. The conditions imposed were--first, that we should continue to remove the guns and destroy the forts; second, that we would discontinue hostilities, they on their side doing the same, but that if they fired another shot we should burn everything we could lay our hands on in Chôshiû's territories; third, they must deliver up intact the Dutch sailors and boat which had fallen into their hands on the 6th; and fourth, that they should endeavour to induce the villagers to bring off poultry and fresh vegetables for sale. In order that they might have a token of a peaceable disposition on our part, a white flag should be hoisted at the main until the expiration of the time fixed for their return. They gave as their names Shishido Giôma, adopted son of Shishido Bizen, minister of Nagato; Sugi Tokusuké and Watanabé Kurata, councillors. They then returned on shore, leaving communications addressed to each of the commanders of the allied squadron, which they had been charged to deliver at Himéshima before the bombardment. They handed these over at the Admiral's desire, remarking that we should perceive from the contents that the documents were useless now. Itô gave me also transcripts of the orders received from the Mikado and the Tycoon to expel foreigners from Japan, which Shishido certified with his own hand to be true copies. The translations made of these papers were afterwards published in the bluebook on Japan, where the curious can consult them. There is no doubt that they were perfectly authentic. It was amusing to observe the change which manifested itself gradually in the demeanour of the envoy, who was as proud as Lucifer when he stepped on board, but gradually toned down, and agreed to every proposal without making any objections. Itô seemed to exercise great influence over him. After the truce was agreed to, the country people ventured freely along the road near the batteries, and passed on into the town, no doubt heartily pleased at the termination of hostilities. It must be said to their credit that the terms were faithfully adhered to by the Chôshiû people, none of whom, except Itô and Inouyé, had supposed Europeans to be any better than mere barbarians. On the 9th September the "Coquette" took the two Admirals through the straits to visit the batteries on Hikushima, and as usual I accompanied them to interpret. From the eastern side the strait contracts rapidly, between lofty well-wooded hills, to a width of no more than six cables' lengths, and then as quickly opens out again, with the long line of houses forming the town of Shimonoséki on the northern shore, while to the left the coast trends away southwards past the village of Moji and the town of Kokura. In front lay the broad undulating Hikushima. Passing right out through the strait till we reached the north-west corner of the island, we turned back again and came along its coast, passing a little cove crowded with junks, till we came to Lime Point. Here we disembarked to inspect the site of the batteries, from which the guns had already been removed by our people. One of the batteries, which originally had six guns mounted, was cut out of the cliff, and there had evidently not been time to complete it. Immediately below the parapet was a single gun in a pit. A little further east was a battery of eight guns mounted _à fleur d'eau_, and close by was a smaller battery with four embrasures which had never been armed. The only other sign of a battery on this island was an old earthwork to the west of Lime Point, also without guns. Kokura appeared to be strongly fortified, and it was reported that the Chôshiû people had demanded, but unsuccessfully, to be allowed to work the batteries against us. The "Tartar," "Dupleix," "Djambi," and "Metalen Kruis" had been stationed here since the 7th, chiefly for the purpose of dismantling the batteries. Leaving them we steamed up to Kushi saki Point, where three brass and four _wooden_ guns had been taken. The latter were about four feet long, and were constructed of single logs with a bore about eight inches in diameter, having a chamber behind capable of holding about a pound and a half of powder. Bamboo hoops surrounded the gun from breech to muzzle, then came a layer of boards, and then more bamboo hoops; the wood itself was only about 3-1/2 in. thick. The shot consisted of a small bag of pebbles fastened to a wooden disk, and was intended to act like grape at close quarters against a landing party. These curious weapons were simply laid on the earthen parapet, and were not calculated to be used more than once. The Japanese had shown themselves very friendly to the working party, and had themselves carried down the guns for delivery. They were not improbably glad to get rid of the toys that had brought them into so much trouble. On returning to the flagship we found a couple of boats laden with fowls and vegetables which Shiji Bunda had sent on board as a present. There was a note from him saying that the common people were much too frightened to come near us to sell supplies, and complaining that one of the ships had been firing again, an action which, he said, would tend to endanger the friendly relations so recently established. But this was a mistake on his part, for no incident of the kind had occurred. The bumboatmen were shown over the ship, and expressed themselves much delighted with the novel and wonderful sight. We sent half of Shiji's present to the French Admiral, and our share was divided among the officers and men of the flagship. On the following day the envoys of the Prince of Chôshiû arrived punctually on board the "Euryalus." Shishido and Sugi, however, did not make their appearance, their absence being explained to be caused by illness from want of sleep and the hot weather in combination. Admiral Küper observed that it was singular how often this sort of thing happened, and ironically begged that if the negotiations were not concluded in one sitting, the delegates would take care of their health until everything was settled. Their names were Môri Idzumo, Minister (_Karô_) 'Yamada Uyemon, Hadano Kingo (Hadano was afterwards better known as Hirozawa Hiôsuké) and Watanabé Kurata, councillors (_sansei_), and Isota Kenzô and Harata Junji of Chôfu, councillors, with Shiji Bunda. We had looked up the Japanese "blue-book" in the meantime, and fancied we had reason to suppose the previous envoy had given an incorrect account of his position, but they were able to clear up the discrepancy in a satisfactory manner. The officer there called Shishido Mino had recently changed his name to Shishido Bizen, and retired from public life in favour of Giôma, who now represented the family. They produced a letter from their prince which, on being read, was found to declare in satisfactory terms that he sued for peace. The Admiral then said: "We quite agree with your prince in desiring peace. It was never our intention to fight your countrymen. We solely desire to cement amicable relations between Japan and foreign countries, and to carry on trade." Môri replied that these were entirely the views held by the prince. _Ad. Küper_--"Do you wish us distinctly to understand that you will offer no further opposition to the free passage of the straits?" _Môri_--"We do." _Ad. Küper_--"We should like very much to have an interview with the prince, for we could concede much to him that we could not perhaps concede to you. We are ourselves of high rank in our own country, but will come on shore to meet him at Shimonoséki." After consulting among themselves they named the 14th September as the date on which he should come down from his capital to receive the two Admirals in the town. _Ad. Küper_--"We will first state our demands, which can be ratified by the prince when he comes. We shall then be able to explain to him many matters connected with the customs of foreign countries which will prevent mistakes arising in future. In any case the transaction of business will be facilitated and time will be saved by the prince's coming, as in any case his ratification has to be obtained to the terms agreed on." "In the first place, no batteries must be constructed in the straits until all questions between foreigners and Japanese have been settled by the Tycoon's government and the foreign ministers at Yedo." "Secondly, according to the custom of foreign nations in time of war, a ransom for the town of Shimonoséki must be paid, because we spared it when we had a perfect right to set it on fire, for our people had been fired on from the houses. The amount shall be communicated to the prince himself at the conference which is to take place." "Thirdly, when foreign vessels passing through the straits are in need of coals, provisions, or water, they shall be permitted to purchase what they want." These conditions were readily accepted by the envoy, who said that as the tides were very strong in the straits, and both wind and waves sometimes violent, persons in distress should be permitted to land. The Admiral then informed him that during our stay we should go on shore at Shimonoséki to buy whatever we required, and requested him to tell the townspeople to bring together for sale what they could, in fact to start a market for the fleet. To this they at first objected, on the ground that the town had been completely abandoned by its inhabitants, but eventually agreed to do what was desired. Then Môri got up, and leaning over to me said confidentially that there was one thing about which he was very anxious. The peace they had obtained was a most precious and valuable thing, and they would greatly regret if any untoward event were to injure our present friendly relations. It might happen that an ill-disposed person would lie in wait to attack foreigners, and, to prevent anything of this kind occurring, he begged that those who went ashore would be on their guard. This was interpreted to Admiral Küper, who at once replied that we had no fear of any such evilly disposed persons, but that if a single European were hurt, the whole town should be burnt to the ground. The Japanese authorities, he added, were in the habit of saying this sort of thing, solely to prevent our landing, and it looked to him a little suspicious. Môri answered that he feared the purity of his intentions in giving this warning was not understood. He was sure the Japanese authorities would on their part take every precaution to prevent mishaps, and he had only mentioned this to prevent mistakes. _Ad. Küper_--"Very well. We shall not go into the country at all. No doubt there is a governor in the town. You can give orders to him to keep out the ill-disposed, and if he cannot defend the place, we will land and do it for him." _Môri_--"We will give orders to the governor." This finished the business part of the conference, but the Admiral was curious to know the details of what had recently taken place at Kiôto, where it was reported there had been fighting between the Chôshiû and Aidzu men. Thereupon Shiji told us a long story, the gist of which was that after Chôshiû had received the orders of both the Mikado and Tycoon for "the expulsion of the foreigners," and had acted upon them to the best of his ability, he got a great deal of abuse for having done so. Being both surprised and hurt at this treatment, he sent several times to Kiôto to inquire the reason, but his people were driven out of the capital, and he was forbidden to present himself there again. He became indignant at this injustice, and his retainers sympathized with him very strongly. At last a band of them, who could bear it no longer, set out for Kiôto to demand an explanation from the Mikado's ministers. They took swords, spears, and other warlike weapons in their hands. For why? On a former occasion, nay twice, Aidzu had put to death every Chôshiû man to be found in Kiôto. So, said they, "Aidzu may attack us also, and then we must defend ourselves; we will not be killed for nothing." The prince, happening to hear of their departure, sent three of his ministers (_karô_) to recall them, but they refused to return. Then the governor of Kiôto summoned Chôshiû's agent at the capital to send the men home again, "for if you don't," said he, "I shall attack them." However, the agent refused, and a battle ensued. When the "Barrosa" came the first time to Himéshima with the letters of the foreign representatives, the prince despatched his son to communicate with the Mikado, but owing to the disturbed state of affairs he was unable to effect anything. Shiji hoped we would not believe that the Chôshiû clan harboured any treasonable intentions towards the Mikado, and the whole truth was that they had simply tried to get an explanation of the manner in which they had been treated. He added that we ought not to put any trust in what was told us by the Kokura people or the junk sailors, who came from Yedo and Hizen and all parts of the country, and were enemies of Chôshiû. Our visitors were then conducted over the ship, and after being entertained with some music by the band they went over the side, and we parted on very friendly terms. A comparison of dates with the account given in Adams, chapters 25 and 26, of what had passed at Kiôto during the summer, shows that the Chôshiû clansmen were marching from Ozaka to Kiôto at the very time that Itô and Shiji landed from the "Barrosa" and reached Yamaguchi to convey the messages of the foreign representatives to the princes. From time to time other bodies of Chôshiû men reached the capital, and the accumulated elements of civil war finally exploded on the 20th August, before the younger prince of Chôshiû, who seems to have really started from home to calm the excited spirits of the clansmen with news of a new enemy in their rear, had time to arrive. The best fighting men were consequently absent when the allied squadron appeared at the straits, and our victory was therefore a much easier affair than it would otherwise have been. I doubt whether any of the fugitives from Kiôto got home in time to take part in the defence of the place. Next day Captain Hayes of the "Tartar," Major Wray, R.E., and I went ashore for a walk through Shimonoséki. The eastern end of the town had received a good many round shot on the 6th September, and some of the houses were almost knocked to pieces. I believe the Chôshiû men had brought out a field piece or two and fired from that point against the squadron lying in front of Tanoura. This had drawn on them our heavy artillery. The townspeople were flocking back, and had commenced to settle down again, but very few shops were open. The common people followed us in crowds, and appeared very friendly, but the prices asked by the shopkeepers were exorbitant. We were somewhat surprised, though of course without reason, to find that the proportion of _curio_ shops was very small as compared with Yokohama. We saw several soldiers, some armed with rifles, others carrying swords and spears; they of course could not be expected to look very amicably at their late foes. On the 12th, Hadano and the two governors of the town came off to tell the Admiral that a market would be opened at a wharf called Nabéhama from ten to twelve in the forenoon for the sale of fresh provisions. We of course suspected them of having made this arrangement in order to have everything under their own control, and to keep the prices as high as possible. The Admiral demanded a market from six to eight o'clock, to which after much discussion they agreed. I learnt through my teacher that the people were told to sell dearly to us, in spite of the promise given to us by the officials that they would not interfere. The latter had begged that our men might be ordered not to purchase anything in the shops, on the ground that we should buy up all the provisions intended for the townsfolk. On the 13th, Captain Dowell transferred to the "Euryalus" as flag-captain, vice captain Alexander invalided. Next day I accompanied the two Admirals on shore to the clean little village of Moji. On asking some Kokura men whom we met to show us the way up to the battery on the point where the strait sweeps round, they inquired whether we had permission from the guard established at a temple close by. The answer to this astounding query was that we were not in the habit of asking leave. "Was that the path?" "Yes, that's the path." So we toiled up a hill through the pine trees, turned to the left, and descended into the battery, which was constructed for three guns. It commanded a view right up and down the straits, from Manshiû to Hikushima. It was a splendid position for guns, though a shell pitched in the line of the work would of necessity have fallen into it, unless passing very high, as it was cut out of the hillside. All about it there were places cleared for guns which would have a powerful effect against ships. The thick brushwood would prevent any attempt at escalade, and a single gun is not easily hit. I do not know what might be done with modern artillery, but it was the opinion of all our engineer officers that if the Japanese of that day had known the advantages of the position, they could easily have rendered it impregnable. At two o'clock in the afternoon arrived the Chôshiû delegates, who by agreement made earlier in the day were to represent the prince. The story they told us was that he had voluntarily shut himself up in order to await the will of the Mikado, or as they phrased it, he had placed himself in an attitude of respectful attention (_tsutsushindé oru_). Lest it should be supposed that this is merely a joke, I must explain that in the old times, whenever a member of the _samurai_ class had committed an act in person or vicariously which might be expected to bring down upon him the wrath of his political superiors, he at once assumed a submissive posture, and as it were delivered himself up, tied hands and feet, to the pleasure of his lord. It was a sort of voluntary self-imprisonment as a first-class misdemeanant. We did not accept the excuse, which it was natural to suppose had been invented to save him the trouble of travelling to Shimonoséki, but I now incline to think that horrorstruck at the violent proceedings of his followers who had dared to fight against the defenders of the palace (and also repenting of their failure), the old prince had hastened to atone for the crime of treason, as far as lay in his power, by declaring his readiness to undergo any penalty that might be decreed by the sovereign--if his retainers would let him, being understood. Their names were Shishido Bizen, Môri Idzumo, Shishido Giôma and Ibara Kazuyé, ministers; and Nawozaki Yahichirô (_metsuké_, a secretary), Itô Shunsuké, Hadano Kingo and another whose name I did not note down. Bizen, it appeared, had after all not completely retired from public affairs. Both the Admirals were present. As soon as the conference was formed, Admiral Küper asked why they had not let him know earlier that the prince was in seclusion, as the truce had been granted solely that there might be time for him to reach Shimonoséki. They answered that the boat was slow, and they had only arrived late on the previous day. They had spent a long time arguing with the prince and using their best efforts to persuade him to come, but he always answered that it was an old custom from which he could not depart. He was in disgrace with the Mikado, and was not able to see even his own confidential retainers, much less could he see the Admirals. They regretted it very much, but it could not be helped. The prince would have greatly liked to meet the Admirals. After this question had been so thoroughly thrashed out that the Japanese could not but suppose that great importance was attached to a direct undertaking on the part of the prince, the Admirals' demands were announced, as follows:-- _Firstly._ Foreign vessels passing through the straits to be treated in a friendly manner; to be permitted to purchase coals, provisions, water and other necessaries. If driven in through stress of weather, the crews to be permitted to land. _Secondly._ Henceforth no new batteries to be constructed, the old ones not to be repaired, and no guns to be mounted in them. This article caused some discussion, for as now put it deprived them of a loophole that had been left open on the previous occasion. But when they were asked for what purpose the batteries had been erected, they had but one answer--"for making war on foreigners." "Well then, those foreigners having destroyed the batteries, and taken the guns, will not permit any more to be put in the same place. The article is indispensable, and must stand as it is." So they agreed to it. _Thirdly._ The town of Shimonoséki might justly have been destroyed, because it fired on our ships. But it was left unhurt, and therefore a ransom must be paid. Furthermore, the prince must defray the cost of the expedition. The whole amount will be determined by the foreign representatives at Yedo. To this our friends offered strenuous opposition. Chôshiû and Bôshiû were two very small provinces, and possessed a revenue of scarcely 360,000 _koku_ of rice. Of this, 200,000 went to support the retainers, the balance having been spent in batteries, guns, and all other manner of warlike equipments. If the sum demanded were beyond their resources, they could not pay it. There were plenty of men in the province who cared nothing for their lives in comparison with the fulfilment of their duty towards the prince. It is he who wishes to make peace, and he has much difficulty in repressing their zeal. The Admiral replied that they should have calculated the price beforehand. They had chosen to make war, and now that the bill was being presented to them, they must pay it. Finally they agreed to this article, but it struck me that their object was solely to let us know that their spirit was not entirely broken, and that if our demands were too exorbitant they would fight rather than yield. Last of all we inserted in the draft a declaration that this was merely a treaty for the temporary cessation of hostilities, and was entirely independent of any questions connected with Chôshiû which might have to be settled later on between the foreign representatives and the Japanese Government. I imagine that this clause had reference to the indemnities which might be demanded on the part of France, Holland and the United States. At any rate, it was agreed to without any discussion. A fair copy was written out, to which two of the _karôs_ affixed their signatures, and a couple of days were given to them to go to Yamaguchi in order to obtain the prince's signature. Those who had not previously seen the ship were taken the usual round through the lower deck and engine room, and they left in a body. On the 15th things seemed quiet enough for a little private exploration on my own account in company with my teacher. We went first to call on Ibara Kazuyé, one of the envoys who had negotiated the agreement of the day before, and asked him to come on board to be photographed by Beato. Then while Hayashi, whose crown was by this time black with a fortnight's bristly growth, went to a barber's shop to get himself clean shaved, I strolled about the streets alone, and turned into an eating-house where we had agreed to meet. The people received me civilly, and showed me upstairs to a room, one side of which was entirely open to the air, and overlooked a small courtyard. In the next apartment were some Chôshiû two-sworded men leaning over the wooden balcony, who waved their hands to me to go away, but I called out, "What do you want!" in a fierce tone, and they collapsed immediately, so great was the prestige of our victory. When Hayashi joined me, we ordered an _awabi_ to be got ready, and while it was being cooked, devoured nearly the whole of a ripe water melon. The _awabi_ (rocksucker) was cooked with sugar and proved terribly tough. Two sorts of _saké_ were served, and the waiting maid smoked all the while to perfume the room. We wound up with terrapin soup and rice. During the rest of my stay at Shimonoséki, which lasted nearly a month, I was constantly on shore, and never had any trouble with the townspeople, who were always civil and friendly. The treaty was brought down on the 16th, and found to be duly signed and sealed. At the same time the Japanese produced a paper which they wanted the Admirals to sign, undertaking that the officers and crews should keep within certain limits, and above all, should not land at night. There was a good deal of misunderstanding about this document. The Abbé Girard's teacher maintained that it was a memorandum or note-verbale from the Chôshiû authorities, and as I was younger and had not the prestige of the Abbé as a Japanese scholar, I had to give way. So we concocted a letter in reply, which I wrote out, and took on shore to the governor. Our letter said that the principal restrictions which the Japanese asked us to agree to had been granted already, and that as for the rest, the governor had on the occasion of his last visit said there were no complaints to make of our people trespassing on either guardhouses or temples, and therefore it was unnecessary for them to make such demands. In future, if they had anything to communicate, it must be done by letter, signed and sealed by Ibara Kazuyé. On reading this, the governor to my delight said, "Here's a mistake. What I brought to you was a draft of a letter for the naval commanders to write to us." The object of the naval operations in the straits having been completely attained by the destruction of the batteries and the establishment of a good understanding with the Prince of Chôshiû, preparations were now made to withdraw the major portion of the allied squadrons, leaving only three ships to prevent the possibility of the passage being again fortified. I received orders to remain behind on board the "Barrosa." A day before the Admiral sailed a letter came from the governor asking him to give a passage as far as Yokohama to a _karô_ and two officers. The request was at once granted, but the three passengers not arriving in time, word was left that they might apply to the French Admiral, who was to leave a day later. But this they declined to do, having been instructed to ask for a passage in an English ship, and they would go by no other. Eventually the "Barrosa" took them. On the 20th accordingly, all the British ships except the "Barrosa," and all the Dutch ships but the "Djambi," sailed away up the inland sea towards Ozaka, the French, however, remaining. I went ashore afterwards with some officers of the "Barrosa" for a walk, and as we passed the guardhouse, its occupants called out, "Take off your hats." I replied, "What do you say." The man on guard, "Take off your hats. This is the honourable guardhouse of Shimonoséki." Answer from our side, "What folly do you talk! If you repeat it, the governor shall be informed." So we passed on into the town to the governor's house and laid a complaint in due form against the over-zealous guardhouse keeper. The governor promised to administer a reprimand, and was as good as his word, so that when some other officers came ashore and passed the same spot, the Japanese officers rushed out into the road to tell them that they need not uncap. I found the townspeople very communicative about the exploits of the Americans and French in 1863, and from their relation it was easy to see that while Captain M'Dougall of the "Wyoming" had given a very modest account of his achievements in the way of sinking ships and firing houses, the French had greatly exaggerated their own deeds of valour. The "Wyoming" ran the gauntlet of all the batteries and sank the "Lancefield" and the brig right in front of the town, whereas the "Sémiramis" never ventured further than Tanoura. The common folk were all entirely convinced that the Tycoon had given orders for the expulsion of the foreigners, and I overheard a man in the market say "the _Bakufu_ is playing a double game." _Bakufu_ was the most common term by which the Tycoon's government was then designated. I was asked whether the Tycoon had asked us to come down and destroy the batteries, to which I answered "No; but he said he could not open the straits." Then I gave them our view of the case, which was that the Tycoon, finding himself in a tight place between the _daimiôs_ and the foreigners, had to give assurances to both which were inconsistent with each other, whereupon they all cried out with one voice: "_Homma da_, it is true." That evening there arrived from Nagasaki the steamer "Victoria" with the vice-governor of that port and an interpreter. Passing in front of the town they paid the French Admiral a call, and then anchored near us in Tanoura Bay. Coming on board to make inquiries, they asked whether Chôshiû had been beaten, and on our replying in the affirmative, they produced a copy of the prince's first letter begging for peace addressed to the _Americans_, which they said had been furnished to them by the Kokura people. That I told them bluntly must be a lie, but they would not confess the source from which they had obtained the document. They said their instructions were to ask the Admiral not to believe the lies Chôshiû was telling about orders received from the Tycoon to expel foreigners, and also that having heard the fleet was going to Ozaka, the governor of Nagasaki, who was afraid that the appearance of so large a force before the city, fresh from the destruction of the batteries of Shimonoséki, might cause a panic, had sent them to prevent any difficulties between the Admiral and the governor of Ozaka. They were very anxious lest a treaty had been concluded with Chôshiû for the opening of Shimonoséki to foreign trade, which would have caused the commercial ruin of Nagasaki; but we declined to give them any information. Having beaten the Chôshiû people, we had come to like and respect them, while a feeling of dislike began to arise in our minds for the Tycoon's people on account of their weakness and double-dealing, and from this time onwards I sympathized more and more with the _daimiô_ party, from whom the Tycoon's government had always tried to keep us apart. On the 21st the "Sémiramis" and "Dupleix" quitted the straits, leaving behind them the "Tancrède." Some of us went ashore to the _honjin_ to inquire whether we could obtain a supply of bullocks for the ship. The officials promised to do all they could, but said it would be difficult, as they killed none for themselves. We also asked them to change some Mexican dollars into Japanese money, which they promised to do at the Nagasaki market rate, but it was finally arranged that if we found ourselves in actual need of coin, they should lend us a thousand _ichibus_, to be returned to their agent at Yokohama. They proved so obliging that we could not help regretting that in order to gain their friendship it had been necessary to come to blows with them. And it is not a little remarkable that neither the Satsuma nor the Chôshiû men ever seemed to cherish any resentment against us for what we had done, and during the years of disturbance and revolution that followed they were always our most intimate allies. That day we walked the whole length of the town unattended by any guard, and got a glimpse of the China sea beyond the straits. We met, however, with a little show of insolence from a couple of two-sworded men, who motioned us back to our boats, but I discoursed to them in their own tongue, and they were speedily reduced to silence: the exhibition of a revolver had something to do with the production of this effect. Itô came on board one day with a couple of men who, he said, were merchants, but it was evident from the respect he paid to one of them, who wore two swords, that they belonged to the high official class. They were conducted round the ship and entertained with various liquors. He declared that in all the fighting they had only seven or eight men killed, and about twice that number wounded, but one of his companions told me that the number killed was nearly twenty. Itô said that trade could be done at Shimonoséki in cotton, wax and silk produced in Chôshiû, as well as in all the productions of the northern provinces and Ozaka. Probably they might manufacture paper for the English market. The prince, he added, was very desirous of opening the port to foreign commerce, but just at present they expected an invasion of the combined forces of the Tycoon and all the _daimiôs_, and all their attention was directed to their own defence. The two vessels sunk by the "Wyoming" in 1863 had been raised, and sent round to Hagi. I was surprised to learn that the batteries at Maeda mura, as well as those at Kushi saki Point, were within the territory of the _daimiô_ of Chôfu, who was however not in so far independent that he could stand aside when the head of the family went to war. Last year, at the time when the Dutch corvette "Medusa" was fired on as she passed the straits, batteries had existed on the low hills behind the town, and at two points on the sea front, but the guns had subsequently been removed thence to Dannoura and Maeda mura; their fate was to fall into our hands. The small three-gun battery on Moji Point within the Kokura territory was also the work of the Chôshiû men, who had levelled land and commenced the construction of barracks, which were however destroyed by the Kokura people when the failure of the prince's Kiôto schemes drove him to withdraw within his own boundaries for self-protection. We went one day in our boats down to Kokura with the intention of landing there to walk through the town, but after keeping us waiting an hour and a half, and repeatedly promising to open the gate, they finally refused to admit us. They did indeed open it, but only to let out a couple of fellows, who told us in the lowest of low voices that Kokura not being a treaty port, we could not be allowed to enter. I took care to inform them of our opinion that it was a great piece of ingratitude on their part to treat us in so inhospitable a manner after we had thrashed their enemy for them. Crowds of people had collected to look at us, and doubtless we should have been mobbed if we had landed. There was no idea on our part of forcing our way in. Towards the end of the month smallpox broke out on board, and W. H. Cummings, who had succeeded to the temporary command on Captain Dowell's transfer to the flagship, determined to leave for Yokohama as soon as the necessary arrangements could be made. On the 27th we applied therefore to the authorities for a pilot to take the ship through the inland sea, and gave notice that the commanders of the three ships would pay a visit to Ibara on the morrow in order to settle about the passage up to Yokohama which had been promised to him and two other officers. I took the message on shore, and stopped to have a meal with Itô, who good-naturedly had made great efforts to get up a dinner in European style. He had built a table seven feet long by half that width, covered with a short cloth of some coarse foreign material. Four plates were laid, flanked by long knives, villainously sharp, attenuated brass spoons with flat bowls, and a pair of chopsticks. The first dish consisted of a boiled rockfish, which I found great difficulty in cutting, but accomplished the task at last by inserting a sharpened chopstick into the head, and using a spoon to remove the flesh. Soy, a large bowl of rice, and a small saucer full of coarse salt, were also placed on the table. The second course was broiled eels, and then came a stewed terrapin, both of which were very good, but the boiled _awabi_ and boiled chicken which followed were quite out of the question. It was a problem how to cut up a fowl with a knife that had no point, and whose blade threatened at every moment to part company with its handle. I abandoned the attempt, and served my companions with slices from the breast. Unripe persimmons, peeled and cut in four, with sweet rice beer (_mirin_) were now produced, and this was excellent. This was certainly the earliest attempt ever made in that part of Japan at giving a dinner in European style, perhaps the first in Japan. It was finally determined that the party that was to visit Yokohama should consist of Ibara, a councillor named Sugi Tokusuké, a secretary, and Itô, with four servants, who were to be accommodated on board the "Barrosa" and "Djambi." The "Tancrède," which was to leave before us, could not find room for more than half the party, and as they did not wish to be separated longer than they could help, they elected to come with us. On the 4th October the "Racehorse," Commander Boxer, arrived to relieve us. Ibara and his secretary, Yamagata Keizô, and we sailed the following morning. News of our successful result of the naval operations and of the conclusion of a convention with the Prince of Chôshiû was at once conveyed to the foreign representatives at Yokohama, who lost no time in calling the Tycoon's government to account for their apparent complicity with Chôshiû, as evidenced by the copies of orders from Kiôto which Itô had given us. The explanation was feeble, and the representatives found no difficulty in obtaining from the ministers their consent to pay whatever war indemnity might be due from Chôshiû, or else to throw open to trade a port in the inland sea. Although in the sequel the receipt of the indemnity money by us actually took place, it was in a manner forced upon the four Powers and their diplomatic agents, and certainly as far as Sir R. Alcock is concerned, he may be entirely exonerated from the accusation of a desire to exact an indemnity from either the defeated _daimiô_ or the government which assumed responsibility for him. The principal object he sought was to obtain the sanction of the Mikado to the treaties, so as to put an end to the agitation against foreign commerce which had been carried on by hostile _daimiôs_ in the Mikado's name ever since the opening of the ports. Now that Satsuma and Chôshiû, the two ringleaders of the opposition, had been brought to their senses, it ought to have been, he thought, an easy matter for the Tycoon's government, if they sincerely desired to carry out their treaty obligations, to assert their authority and compel the whole country to accept the new policy of foreign intercourse. The fixing of an indemnity was intended only to provide a means of pressure upon the Tycoon's government in order to procure the Mikado's ratification of the treaties, and the consequent extension of commercial relations. Ibara and his companions reached Yokohama on the 10th October, and obtained an interview the same day with Sir Rutherford Alcock and Mr. Pruyn, the United States minister. The reception accorded to them was of such a nature as to convince them that the foreign powers were not hostilely disposed towards the _daimiô_ of Chôshiû, and it was no doubt with a sense of relief that they learnt the intention of the foreign representatives to claim the payment of the indemnity from the Tycoon. At the same time it was clearly understood by both parties that the other engagements entered into by Chôshiû respecting the permanent disarmament of the straits of Shimonoséki and the hospitable treatment of foreign vessels were to be faithfully adhered to, and on these heads his subsequent conduct gave no ground for complaint. It was somewhat a curious position for the retainers of a prince, who had been declared a rebel against the Mikado and enemy of the Tycoon, to land at Yokohama, a port belonging to the latter, but as far as I remember, they confined their visit to the foreign settlement, where they were safe from interference, and on the 14th the "Tartar" left with them on board to return to their native province. CHAPTER XII THE MURDER OF BIRD AND BALDWIN IT was about this time that Sir Rutherford Alcock received Lord Russell's despatches recalling him to England. Ostensibly for the purpose of consulting with him on the situation of affairs, this summons to London was accompanied by the expression of an opinion that the passage of the inland sea was not necessary to foreign commerce, which amounted to a censure upon his conduct. It is seldom that an agent of the Foreign Office is told in so many words that he is recalled because his conduct of affairs has not given satisfaction, but inasmuch as leave of absence is usually granted upon the application of the ambassador, envoy, or whatever the title of the head of a mission may be, an invitation to return home is equivalent to the removal of a diplomatic officer from his employment. But arriving just at the moment when his policy had been successful in every direction, and when all the foreigners in the country were united in a chorus of gratitude to him for his energetic action, he and all the members of his legation felt that the displeasure of Lord John Russell was not a matter of much moment. The crushing defeat of Chôshiû by the foreign squadrons coming so immediately after the repulse of his troops from the gates of the palace at Kiôto restored confidence to the Tycoon's government, and enabled them to declare firmly to the Mikado that the idea of expelling foreigners from the country and putting an end to trade was utterly and entirely impracticable, while on the other hand the demonstrated superiority of European methods of warfare had converted our bitterest and most determined foes into fast friends. The vindication of his proceedings was no difficult task, and the despatch in which he justified the course he had taken was conceived in a style at once calm and convincing. It is only fair to Lord Russell to say that he lost no time in acknowledging that his agent had been in the right, and in conveying to him the Queen's full approbation of his conduct. But this solatium to his feelings did not reach Yokohama until he was already on his way to England. The Shôgun's government voluntarily undertook to be responsible for whatever sum might be fixed upon as the indemnity to be paid by the Prince of Chôshiû. On the 22nd October a convention was signed by a member of the Shôgun's second council and the four foreign representatives by which three millions of dollars were to be paid in satisfaction of all claims, or as an alternative the opening of Shimonoséki or some other port in the inland sea, if the Tycoon preferred to offer it and the Powers were willing to accept. The division of this sum of money among the different Powers was reserved for adjustment between the four governments. Advantage was also taken of the desire to conciliate foreign Powers now manifested by the Tycoon's ministers to obtain the promise of various improvements at Yokohama calculated to add to the comfort and well-being of the foreign residents, and Sir Rutherford, having thus reaped all the fruits of his courage and perseverance was preparing to quit Japan in obedience to the instructions of Lord Russell, when a fresh and totally unforeseen event occurred which for a time delayed his departure. After our successes at Shimonoséki, and the frank admission by the Tycoon's government of the necessity of maintaining the treaties, the confidence of foreign residents in the safety of the neighbourhood had so completely revived that they no longer feared to make excursions within the limits marked out by the treaties. But they received a rude shock on the night of the 20th November when the governor of Kanagawa came to Mr. Winchester, the British Consul, and informed him that Major Baldwin and Lieutenant Bird of the xxth regiment had been barbarously murdered at Kamakura, a well-known resort some twelve miles from Yokohama. Baldwin was killed on the spot, but according to the testimony of the inhabitants, Bird had lived for some hours after he was disabled. The two officers had visited the famous colossal Buddha, and riding along the road towards the temple of Hachiman, were just about to turn the corner into the avenue when a couple of men sprang out upon them with their keen-edged swords and inflicted such ghastly wounds as brought them to the ground almost unresistingly. The horror of the foreign community can be more easily imagined than described, and it was further deepened when as the result of the inquest it came to be suspected that the mortal wound to which Bird had succumbed had been inflicted some hours after the assassins had left the spot. This, in the opinion of the surgeons, was a wound in the neck completely dividing the spinal cord between the second and third cervical vertebrae, which clearly must have been followed by instant death. Now all the evidence went to show that the younger victim had lived until ten o'clock in the evening. If so, by whom was this wound given, and with what motive? Those who implicitly relied upon the report of the regimental surgeons jumped to the conclusion that it was the act of one of the officials despatched to the scene of the murder by the governor as soon as the news was brought to him, which was no doubt some three or four hours before he himself went to communicate it to Mr. Winchester, and the motive was suggested to be a desire to prevent the wounded man from giving such information to his countrymen as might have led to the identification of the murderers. But I cannot believe that any Japanese, official or not, could ever have compassed such a treacherous deed. I believe on the contrary that the surgeons who dissected out the wound, not using sufficient care, themselves divided the spinal cord with a probe or some other instrument, and that Bird's death was caused in reality by the loss of blood from his numerous wounds. And this was the view taken by Dr Willis of our legation and Dr Jenkins, then established as a general practitioner in Yokohama, neither of whom was invited to assist at the _post mortem_. The two surgeons having made a hurried examination and enunciated certain views as to the nature of Bird's wounds, without foreseeing the inferences that might be drawn, would naturally, and probably with entire good faith, adhere to those views afterwards, especially as it would not appear to them at all incredible _à priori_ that the countrymen of the men who had committed such a foul assassination should be capable of a deed, dastardly enough in itself, but no doubt justifiable in the opinion of any foreigner-hating Japanese official. There are many additional considerations suggested by the reports contained in the Parliamentary papers which would corroborate the view here put forth, if I had space to discuss them. But as this book is intended to be a record of my own experiences and memories, and not a compilation from published materials, it is not the place to go into all these particulars at length. The Tycoon's government made all the exertions in their power to trace the assassins, and before a month was over they had arrested one of the guilty persons, named Shimidzu Seiji. Already on the 16th two of his associates named Gamaiké and Inaba, accused of combining with him in a plot to murder foreigners, and of extorting money from a rich farmer, had been executed, though they were not actual accomplices in the Kamakura crime. I was present at the execution of these two men, which took place in an enclosure outside the Japanese gaol in the afternoon of the 16th December 1864. There was a large concourse of spectators, both foreign and native. A little after three o'clock a whisper ran round that the condemned were being brought out. A door opened, and a man blindfolded and bound with cords was led through the crowd. He was made to kneel down on a rough mat placed in front of a hole dug in the ground to receive his blood. The attendants drew his clothes downwards so as to lay the neck bare, and with the hand brushed his hair upwards, so as to give full play to the sword. The executioner secured a piece of cotton cloth round the handle of his weapon, and having carefully whetted the blade, took up a position to the left of his victim, then raising the sword high above his head with both hands, let it fall with a swoop that severed the neck completely. The head was held up for the inspection of the chief officer present, who simply remarked: "I have seen it," and it was thrown into the hole. The second man being then carried in, the attendants seemed to have a little trouble in getting him to kneel in the proper position, but at last the arrangements were completed to their satisfaction. The neck having been bared as before, a fresh executioner advanced, took his place at the prisoner's left side, and raising the sword with a flourish, let it descend with the same skill as his predecessor. It was a horrible sight to see the attendants holding the headless corpse down to the hole, and kneading it so as to make the blood flow more readily into the hole, and I left the spot in all haste, vowing that mere curiosity should never induce me to witness another execution. Capital punishment was much commoner in Japan in those days than it has been since the promulgation of the present humane penal code, and included transfixing with spears. Many of the foreign residents must have been present at such sanguinary spectacles, merely impelled by curiosity, and without the natural excuse of desiring to see the sentence of the law fulfilled upon an offender against their own blood. The night before Sir Rutherford embarked for England news was brought to him of the arrest of Shimidzu Seiji, one of the actual murderers of Baldwin and Bird. Owing to the reputed excellence of the native detective police, which under a despotic government is usually efficient, it was believed by us that the Japanese Government could always have procured the arrest of the assailants of foreigners, if they had been determined to do so. The names, _e.g._, of many of those who were engaged in the attack on our legation in 1861 were, as I learnt some years afterwards, matter of common notoriety, but in the difficult political position that the Tycoon's advisers had created for themselves, they did not dare to convict the murderer of a foreigner. This then was the first instance of such a crime being brought home to its perpetrators. The British minister had good reason to feel gratified at this proof that his policy had been the right one, and it was a very natural movement that induced him to take off his watch and chain and throw them over the neck of the messenger of good tidings. Shimidzu Seiji was executed on the 28th December at ten o'clock in the morning, in the presence of a detachment of the English garrison. Whatever doubts may have existed as to the complicity of Gamaiké and Inaba in his designs against the lives of the foreign residents, there is none as to the fact that this man was one of the actual murderers of Baldwin and Bird. I was instructed to accompany Mr. M. O. Flowers, the acting consul, to the prison on the preceding day to hear the sentence pronounced. We waited some hours till he arrived from Yedo in custody of a strong guard, and he was at once confronted with the witnesses, who examined his features in silence. They were then separately interrogated, and one and all recognized him, the most important witness being the boy who had seen the attack. Afterwards we proceeded to another room and questioned the prisoner, who acknowledged his guilt in the clearest manner possible. He was proceeding to say something more, but was ordered by the Japanese officers to be silent. But the best evidence of his identity was obtained by another member of the consular service, who after the murderer had been paraded round the town preceded by a banner on which his sentence was inscribed (this was part of his punishment), accompanied the procession back to the execution ground. Here Mr. Fletcher overheard him say: "When I killed the foreigners, I expected one of them might be a consul," and every one who knew our colleague will acknowledge that he was a man of the most exact truthfulness, who was not in the least degree likely to make a mistake in such a matter, or over anxious to believe that the Japanese Government were in this instance departing from the bad faith which is the usual refuge of Asiatics in a difficult position. On the morning of the 28th the garrison was marched over to the execution ground, and drawn up on one side. The prisoner was brought out about ten o'clock. The first words he uttered were a request for some _saké_. Being again questioned, he frankly acknowledged his guilt. I asked him what it was that he had been prevented from saying to us on the previous day, to which he answered that if Bird and Baldwin had got out of his way he would not have attacked them. Whether this was true or not I have no means of judging, but it does not accord with his written deposition. That, it must be recollected, is not in Japan a simple record of everything a prisoner says, but is a reduction in writing by an officer of the court of the final result of all the statements made by him on the different occasions when he was examined, and resembles much more the summing up of the evidence on a criminal trial in England by the presiding judge. He begged the Japanese officials not to bandage his eyes, and began to chant a verse which might be thus translated: "I do not regret being taken and put to death, For to kill barbarians is the true spirit of a Japanese." As the attendants were drawing back the clothes from his neck to prepare it for the executioner's stroke, he bade them loosen his cords so that they might do it with greater ease, adding: "In after ages they will say, what a fine fellow was Shimidzu Seiji." He also remarked, "I don't think the sword that cut off Gempachi's head will do for me," alluding probably to the thickness of his own neck, and begged that the blade might be well whetted. Then saying, "Cut neatly if you please," he stretched out his neck for the stroke. These were the last words he spoke, but just as the sword began to descend he turned his head to the left as if to address some further observation to the officials, so that the cut partly missed its purpose, and the executioner had to hack the head off--a most horrible sight. Simultaneously with the delivery of the first blow, a gun fired by the battery of Royal Artillery announced to all that the assassin had received the punishment of his crime, and we dispersed as quickly as possible. The head was taken to the bridge at the northern entrance of Yokohama and there exposed on a gibbet for three days. Copies of the sentence were posted up at Totsuka and at the scene of the murder, and a few days later I accompanied the Legation mounted guard to see that this part of the undertaking given by the Japanese authorities had been duly performed. We found that they had fulfilled their promises to the letter, and thus ended one of the most dramatic incidents in the whole of my experience in the country. It was impossible not to hate the assassin, but nevertheless, looking at the matter from a Japanese point of view, I confess that I could not help regretting that a man who was evidently of such heroic mould, should have been misguided enough to believe that his country could be helped by such means. But the blood of the foreigners who fell under the swords of Japanese murderers, and the lives which were sacrificed to avenge it bore fruit in later days, and fertilised the ground from which sprang the tree of the national regeneration. CHAPTER XIII RATIFICATION OF THE TREATIES BY THE MIKADO SIR RUTHERFORD having quitted Japan, the conduct of affairs was assumed by Mr. Winchester as Chargé d'Affaires. Before long despatches reached us from Lord Russell expressing the entire satisfaction of the British Government with the policy pursued by our late chief, and we heard that he had been rewarded by promotion to the more important post of minister at Peking. He was succeeded by Sir Harry Parkes, who came to us invested with the prestige of a man who had looked death in the face with no ordinary heroism, and in the eyes of all European residents in the far east held a higher position than any officer of the crown in those countries. And whatever may have been his faults and shortcomings, especially towards the latter part of his career, it must be acknowledged that England never was represented by a more devoted public servant, and that Japan herself owes to his exertions a debt which she can never repay and has never fully acknowledged. If he had taken a different side in the revolution of 1868, if he had simply acted with the majority of his colleagues, almost insurmountable difficulties would have been placed in the way of the Mikado's restoration, and the civil war could never have been brought to so speedy a termination. He was an indefatigable worker, entirely absorbed in the duties of his post, untiring in his endeavours to obtain a correct view of his surroundings, never sparing himself, and requiring from his subordinates the same zealous assiduity. Of his personal courage I had the opportunity afterwards of witnessing one striking example, and brilliant as have been the achievements of many of our Indian civilians, I do not think that his coolness and fortitude in the moment of peril have ever been surpassed by any man not bred to war. He was strict and severe in service matters, but in his private relations gracious to all those who had occasion to seek his help, and a faithful friend to all who won his goodwill. Unfortunately I was not one of these, and the result was that from the beginning we were never friends, down to the very last, though he never had reason to complain of sloth or unreadiness to take my share of the work, and so it came about that before long I became one of his assistants, and in the end of 1866 was finally transferred from the Yokohama Consulate (where I had been appointed interpreter early in 1865) to the Legation. The accomplice of Shimidzu Seiji in the murder of Bird and Baldwin, named Mamiya Hajimé, was executed on the 30th October 1865. I went out early with Flowers in pouring rain to question the prisoner on some points which had to be cleared up in connection with the crime. He was condemned to the same punishment as his confederate, and we went out again at one o'clock to be present at his decapitation. It was a pouring wet day, and the dull leaden sky overhead was in keeping with the melancholy occasion. Mamiya was a young fellow, and endowed with far less fortitude than Shimidzu, and in order to enable him to face the executioner he had been allowed to stupify himself with drink. His head was taken off at a single blow. The usual doubts as to his identity were expressed by the local foreign press, but for myself I was convinced that he was one of the assassins. If the Tycoon's government had substituted any other criminal for a man whom they had not succeeded in capturing, the truth would have surely leaked out, and by this time we had sources of information which would have enabled us speedily to detect any trick. Sir Harry Parkes reached Yokohama early in July, and Mr. Winchester took his departure for Shanghai, where he had been appointed to be consul. F. S. Myburgh was transferred at the same time from Nagasaki to the Yokohama consulate. In passing through Nagasaki Sir Harry had already learnt from the agents of some of the _daimiôs_ that a civil war was expected at no distant date, the object of which would be the overthrow of the Tycoon. He already in September began to speak to the Tycoon's council of the desirability of obtaining the Mikado's ratification of the treaties, but the credit of the idea is in reality due to Mr. Winchester, who (I did not know it at the time) as early as April had suggested to the British Government that the written adhesion of the Mikado to the treaties, and the reduction of the import duties to a uniform tariff of 5 per cent. _ad valorem_ might be obtained in return for the partial abandonment of the Shimonoséki indemnity, the Tycoon's ministers having stated they could not continue to make the quarterly payments of $500,000 at a time, as had been stipulated in the convention. In fact Sir Rutherford Alcock had begun to lay stress on the necessity of the Mikado's ratification of the treaties almost immediately after the bombardment of Shimonoséki. This suggestion was approved by Lord Russell, who at once communicated it to the governments of Holland, France, and the United States, and sent despatches to Japan to the same effect which reached Sir Harry Parkes towards the end of October. He lost no time in consulting with his colleagues, and in proposing that they should proceed in a body to Ozaka, supported by a considerable squadron of men-of-war, to negotiate direct with the main body of the Tycoon's ministers. I should have mentioned before that the Tycoon was at Kiôto, having proceeded thither in the month of June, ostensibly for the purpose of taking command of the army which was to chastise the presumptuous rebel, the Prince of Chôshiû, and was still detained there by various intrigues and the insufficiency of his military means. The French minister, who was at first strongly opposed to the abandonment of the indemnity in exchange for the opening of a port, had received instructions from his government which had induced him to come over to the views of the British representative, who found the United States Chargé d'Affaires and Netherlands Political Agent equally willing to follow his lead. As to the latter, we were accustomed to believe that Sir Harry had him "in his pocket," as the phrase goes, and the Americans had at that time partially abandoned the affectation of acting on different lines from the "effete monarchies of Europe." Unity of action being thus secured, the word was passed to the naval commanders to get ready for sea, and the legations having packed up a sufficient quantity of foolscap paper, silk tape, quill pens and bottles of ink, embarked on board the next day but one after the signature of a protocol in which the four diplomatic representatives had recorded their views and projects. Sir Harry took with him John Macdonald, Alexander von Siebold and myself. The squadron was an imposing one, though not so overwhelmingly strong as that which had destroyed the batteries at Shimonoséki in the previous year. Of British ships there were the "Princess Royal," 73, flying the broad pennant of Admiral St George Vincent King; the "Leopard," 18; "Pelorus," 22; and "Bouncer," 1; of French, the "Guerrière," 36; "Dupleix," 12; and "Kienchang," 4; while the Netherlands contributed the corvette "Zoutman." Our Admiral was extremely good-natured, and had fitted up private cabins for us three civilians on the main deck. I was delighted to find myself on board with my friend A. G. S. Hawes, a marine officer recently transferred to the flagship from the "Severn." The foreign representatives, it was rumoured, proposed, in addition to the Mikado's ratification of the treaties and the reduction of the tariff, to ask for the opening of Ozaka and Hiôgo to foreign trade on the 1st January 1866. By the Treaty of 1858 these places were to have been opened on the 1st January 1863, but the powers had in 1862 agreed to a postponement of five years, in order to give time for things to settle down. In return, the four powers were ready to forgo two-thirds of the Shimonoséki indemnity, and the option of deciding was to be left to the Tycoon. This much was bruited about among the members of the foreign legations. Outsiders said that we were about to present an _ultimatum_, and that the creation of two new centres of foreign trade was to be demanded without alternative. The men in the service who expected appointments would of course have been eager to believe this version but for the glorious uncertainty which surrounds all diplomatic projects. The Yedo government were alarmed at the energetic step on which the representatives had resolved, and Midzuno Idzumi no Kami, the only member of the first council who had remained behind in Yedo when the Tycoon went up to Kiôto, came down in the company of Sakai Hida no Kami, one of the second council, to exert all his powers of dissuasion with Sir Harry. It was the first time that a functionary of so high a rank had ever visited a foreign legation, and the evidence of anxiety thus afforded simply confirmed the resolution that had been taken to bring matters to a crisis. That Midzuno and his subordinate hoped their efforts would be successful there is no reason to suppose, and in fact they contented themselves mainly with offering some advice as to the best method of proceeding on the arrival of the representatives at Hiôgo. We left on the 1st November, and proceeding in a leisurely manner along the coast, passed the Idzumi Straits at 8 a.m. on the 4th. The guns were loaded and the men beat to quarters, but the garrison of the forts at Yura showed no signs of molesting us, and everybody soon quieted down again. At half-past eleven we came in sight of Ozaka, lying on the low land at the mouth of the Yodo river. The mountains which enclose the bay on either side here appear to retire far into the interior, until they disappear in the haze. The Tycoon's castle was easily distinguished by its innumerable many-storied white towers, rising at the back of the city. But of the town very little was visible owing to the slight elevation of the houses and the distance from the deep water outside where we were passing. The allied squadron formed in one line, headed by the "Princess Royal," and gradually rounded off in the direction of Hiôgo, where we anchored at half-past one. One by one the other ships came in and took up the positions indicated to them. The bay was crowded with junks of all sizes, and we counted seven Japanese steamers lying at anchor. From one of these, belonging to the Tycoon's War Department, a couple of officers came on board to make the usual inquiries, and shortly afterwards some very inquisitive shore-going officials came off, who put a great many questions about the object of our visit and where we had come from. They got very little information in reply, but were told that some officers would be going by sea to Ozaka on the following day, and that notice should be sent to the governor of the city in order that he might despatch somebody down to the landing-place to meet them. They were also requested to provide pilots for the two vessels to be despatched to Ozaka, but they declared themselves unable to promise anything we asked. However, as by their own rules they were under an obligation to send information to the governor, this refusal was not of any great consequence. The Abbé Girard, who had acted as interpreter to Admiral Jaurès the previous year at Shimonoséki, was on this occasion replaced by M. Mermet de Cachon, a Jesuit attached to the French legation. He, with Messrs Macdonald and von Siebold of our legation, and Mr. Hegt, the clerk of the Netherlands Political Agent, were despatched on the following day in the "Kienchang" to Ozaka bearing letters from the foreign representatives. The "Bouncer" was to have taken our people, but her commander was not able to get up steam in time, so that the French flag alone made its appearance at the bar of Ozaka. First point scored by the French. M. Mermet had ingeniously prepared the French's minister's letter in Japanese, inserting at the end a long paragraph, which did not appear in the other three letters, empowering himself to state in outline to the Tycoon's council the objects of the foreign representatives, hoping thus to become the spokesman for all four. On arriving at the mouth of the river, they were met by the two governors of the city (all officials were kept in duplicate in those days), who conducted them to a building close at hand, evidently prepared beforehand for their reception. On learning that M. Mermet and his companions desired to have a personal interview with one of the council, the governors started off immediately to fetch him, as they said, promising that he should be down by four o'clock. In the meantime Macdonald, Siebold and Hegt started off to walk to Ozaka, intending to seek out the ministers there, but after wandering a long distance, they found themselves at three o'clock only just in sight of the city, and had to hurry back in a boat. The governors, however, did more than keep their promise, and instead of one, produced two of the council, namely Ogasawara Iki no Kami and Abé Bungo no Kami. The letters were delivered to them, and they listened civilly and even affably to the messages which Mermet and Macdonald delivered, but were unprepared of course to give any answer. It was agreed, however, that Abé should proceed to Hiôgo on the 9th to meet the four representatives on board the "Princess Royal," as sole negotiator on behalf of the Tycoon, who, it was stated, had gone up to Kiôto. For me had been reserved the less glorious task of opening up communications with the local officials, and in company with Captain W. G. Jones I went ashore to talk about beef, water, coals, and other ship's requirements. We also informed them that the officers would land, and requested that the townspeople might be ordered to treat them with civility. This they promised to do, but added that their duty to their chiefs, the governors of Ozaka, would oblige them to detail one or two constables to watch over the safety of each party. After we had conversed awhile with the head constable, a young man of 19 or 20, some higher officials made their appearance and assumed the power. They promised to do everything we asked, and to help their memories made very full notes. In the afternoon accordingly, leave to go ashore was given to all the ships, and many of the officers availed themselves of the opportunity of visiting what was then a _terra incognita_ to most Europeans. The Admiral, Sir Harry and myself walked from one end of the town to the other, and found the inhabitants well-disposed, though they followed us in crowds. This was a very different reception from what the Tycoon's officers had warned us to expect. They always talked to us of the hostility of the _daimiôs_ and the dislike and fear of us entertained by the common people, but we met with nothing but indications of goodwill from all classes. It became clearer to us every day that the Shôgunate feared lest free communication between foreigners and those sections of the Japanese people who were outside its direct control would impair the authority of the institutions that had now lasted, with no small benefit to the Tokugawa family, for the last 260 years, and that consequently it could not be a desirable policy for Great Britain to endeavour to bolster up a decaying power. As an instance of the manner in which the Tycoon's officials endeavoured to obstruct intercourse, it may be mentioned that they published a notification in Ozaka forbidding the townspeople to visit the ships, knowing full well that a closer acquaintance would make their subjects and foreigners better friends. The next few days were spent in exploring the neighbourhood with a view to selecting a site for a foreign settlement, and there was a good deal of running up and down to Ozaka by sea with messages for the council. Abé was not able to come on Thursday, and at first it was held out that another member of the council would replace him, but when the day arrived, the two governors of Ozaka made their appearance with other excuses. Sir Harry spoke very strongly to them, and insisted on seeing some one on Saturday at the latest. But as he did not expect that his request would be complied with, he despatched Siebold, Hegt and myself early in the morning to Ozaka. On approaching the anchorage, however, we saw a Japanese steamer coming from the opposite direction, and lowering a boat we went on board. We found that she was conveying Abé Bungo no Kami to Hiôgo to see the foreign ministers. It was arranged therefore that Siebold should return with him, while Hegt and I went on with a couple of officials lent to us by Abé. But as soon as we anchored these men began to be obstructive, refusing to accompany us on shore until the port officers had first visited the ship. Seeing, however, that we were determined to go, without them if necessary, they at last stepped over the side into the boat with a very bad grace indeed. We rowed in safely in the ship's gig, with four bluejackets well-armed, over the bar, which a few days before had been rendered impassable by a strong west wind, and landed in a small creek behind the battery at Tempôzan Point. We at once took possession of a house where Macdonald and Siebold had lodged on their last visit, disregarding the excuses of the officials, who said it was occupied by a sick person, but we were used to such subterfuges, and of course there was no sick man there at all. After a while we returned to the gig, and rowing up the river in half-an-hour, reached the outskirts of the city, where we landed to inspect a house that had been assigned for the accommodation of the foreign representatives. The latter intended to negotiate in Ozaka itself, but this idea was subsequently abandoned. As this one house was evidently not large enough for the representatives and their suites, I said I would go to the governor and ask him to provide other accommodation. The officials became alarmed at this, and at once offered to show us another house, to which they would take us in a boat. As we wished to see something of the city, I declined this proposal, and to their horror we proceeded to walk along the bank. A dense crowd of people gathered round us, but they were very quiet, and after passing the Ajikawa-bashi, the first of the series of bridges that span the river right up to the castle, we were shown a temple which, however, proved to be again insufficient for our needs. It being clear that our guides were not animated by goodwill, I again menaced them with a visit to the governor, but here they became utterly obstinate, and I had to give way. So we returned to our gig, and resolving to have a good look at the city, got on board and started to row up stream. Before long we reached a barrier composed of native boats moored right across from bank to bank, with the evident intention of impeding our further progress. Some officials in a guardhouse on the bank shouted to us to go back, but we pushed straight ashore, and I ascended the steps to demand the reason of this obstruction. Orders from the governor was the reply. A somewhat heated altercation ensued, and I demanded that either we should be allowed to pass or that I should at once be conducted to the governor's house. At last they gave way and removed one or two of the junks, leaving just enough space for our gig. Taking one of the guardhouse officials on board, we proceeded up the river, not a little proud of our victory over the bumbledom of a city of 400,000 people, and fully determined to go right up to the castle. Dense crowds of people collected on the bridges, sometimes yelling and abusing us, now and then throwing stones. Hegt began to lose his temper, and drawing his revolver, threatened to fire, but I made him put it back in his pouch. We were in no danger, and could not afford to commit murder for such a trifling reason. At last, after grounding once or twice on the sandbanks, we reached the Kiô-bashi just below the castle. On our left was a small boat full of officials who called to us to come and report ourselves, while on the right extended a grassy bank crowded with soldiers dressed in semi-European costume, among whom were a few men in plain dress, apparently noblemen's retainers. One of these came down to the water's edge, close to which we had approached, and shouted out to the Japanese who was with us for his name and office. Our man replied: "Who are you?" and they wrangled for about five minutes, while we kept a watchful eye on the straggling soldiery. But it was clearly unadvisable to land in the midst of a hostile armed crowd, and we reluctantly turned the boat's head down stream, which now carried us swiftly along. The same crowds still occupied the bridges, and shouted abusive epithets as we passed, to the great alarm of the Japanese official, who had not got over Hegt's fierce demeanour on the way up, and trembled for fear lest there should be a row. Landing the poor fellow, whose tone had become remarkably fainter and humbler since he first made our acquaintance in the morning, we pulled out across the bar to the "Bouncer," and in a few minutes more were on our way back to Hiôgo, having seen a good deal more of Ozaka than any one else, and braved the wrath of multitudinous _yakunins_. I began to feel contempt for the weak-kneed officials who so easily allowed themselves to be browbeaten by a few Europeans. A curious rencontre took place during our stay at Hiôgo. A Satsuma steamer was lying in the port, and one day the captain, Arigawa Yakurô, came on board the flagship with some of his officers. One of them remembered having seen me at Kagoshima, and we immediately fraternized very heartily. After drinking and smoking a good deal they took leave, promising to send a boat for me next day to accompany them ashore to a Japanese dinner. But they forgot their promise. The day after my expedition to Ozaka, Siebold and I went on board Arigawa's ship to find him on the point of weighing anchor. He was very glad to see us, abounded in apologies for being unable to fulfil his engagement to give an _onna gochisô_, and showed us the cabin that had been fitted up for the entertainment. This gentleman was too civil by half, but still the contrast to the "offishness" of the Tycoon's officials was very agreeable. If I would like to visit Kagoshima and Loochoo he would be glad to give me a passage. We passed some time on board eating raw eggs and drinking _saké_. I rather think I here met Kawamura for the first time. A few days later when the steamer returned I again went on board and made an even more interesting acquaintance. This was a big burly man, with small, sparkling black eyes, who was lying down in one of the berths. His name, they said, was Shimadzu Sachiû, and I noticed that he had the scar of a sword cut on one of his arms. Many months afterwards I met him again, this time under his real name of Saigô Kichinosuké. I shall have more to say of him hereafter. Abé Bungo no Kami had a _five hours'_ interview with Sir Harry on the 10th, after which he went on board the "Guerrière" to see Mr. Roches, the French envoy. I learnt from Siebold that the conversation had not been of a satisfactory character. His answer to the three propositions of the representatives amounted to a _non possumus_. The Tycoon would pay up the second instalment of the indemnity rather than run the risk of incurring unpopularity by giving way to our demands. _Jin-shin fu-ori-ai_, the popular mind very unsettled, was the excuse then, and for many a day after. Sir Harry had given Abé a piece of his mind, and said he had better return to his colleagues and get them to reconsider their answer. On the 13th he was to have come down again, but feigning indisposition as an excuse (this is well-known in Japan under the name of _yaku-biô_, official sickness), he sent a member of the second council, Tachibana Idzumo no Kami, to inform the representatives that the Tycoon had hitherto never spoken to the Mikado about acknowledging the treaties, but that now he had made up his mind to do so. But he required a delay of fifteen days for this purpose. The ministers up to this moment had believed, on the faith of assurances given by the Tycoon's council in 1864 after the Shimonoséki business, that the Mikado had long ago been approached on this subject, and that Abé himself had been entrusted with a mission to Kiôto to that effect. They were therefore naturally both surprised and incensed, but consented to a delay of ten days. The prospects of the negotiation looked very dark indeed. The Tycoon seemed either unable or unwilling to obtain the Mikado's sanction to the treaties, and it began to be thought that we should have to throw him over entirely. If the Tycoon was controlled by a superior authority, he was clearly not the proper person for foreign Powers to deal with, who must insist upon direct communication with the authority. For the present, however, it was too early to talk of going to see the Mikado against his will. We had not sufficient men in the allied squadrons to force a way up to Kiôto, and even if we had, Sir Harry's instructions would not have enabled him to take such a step. So there was nothing for it but to wait. An interesting visit was that of some retainers of Aidzu and Hosokawa, who came on board privately to talk politics and to pick up what information they could for their own princes. The former was the commander of the Tycoon's garrison in Kiôto, the latter one of the more important _daimiôs_ in the island of Kiûshiû, nominally a partizan of the Tycoon, but already beginning to consider whether it would not suit him better to go over to the other party. For by this time a definite issue had been raised between the Tycoon and the court of the Mikado. The former being the friend of foreigners and an usurping vassal, the war cry of the latter was "serve the sovereign and expel the barbarians." My visitors talked a great deal about the "unsettled state of popular feeling." They said the Mikado had already given his sanction to the treaties in a general sort of way, and had consented to Nagasaki, Hakodaté and Shimoda being opened to foreign trade. But Kanagawa had been substituted for the latter port without his approval. They felt quite certain that the Mikado would not agree at present to the establishment of foreign merchants at Hiôgo. They maintained that the anti-foreign feeling was pretty general among the people, but admitted that Chôshiû made use of it as a mere party cry with the object of dispossessing the Tycoon of his power. After an interval of five days Tachibana paid Sir Harry another visit. He reported that the Tycoon had not yet started for Kiôto to obtain the Mikado's ratification of the treaties, being detained at Ozaka by a headache! Abé and Ogasawara were afflicted with indisposition which prevented their having the pleasure of coming down to call on the British minister. Sir Harry administered some home-truths to the unfortunate prevaricator, and demonstrated very clearly to him that as the council acknowledged the inability of the Tycoon to carry out the treaty stipulations in respect of the opening of new ports without the Mikado's consent, which they had little hope of obtaining and still less desire to get, they must eventually go to the wall, and the foreign Powers would be compelled to make a demand for the ratification direct on the Mikado. It was pitiable to see the shifts that the Tycoon's officials were put to in face of his merciless logic; they were perpetually being driven into a corner and left without a leg to stand on. The demands presented by the foreign representatives had created a considerable movement at Kiôto, and dissension followed among the advisers of the Tycoon. In a few days we heard that Abé and Matsumai Idzu no Kami had been dismissed from office. They were believed to be in favour of accepting our demands, and their disgrace seemed to threaten the failure of the negotiations. The representatives thereupon resolved on the important step of addressing a _note identique_ to the Tycoon himself, containing a repetition of the demands already made, and warning him that if an answer were not made within the period of ten days originally fixed, it would be assumed by them that their propositions were refused. M. Mermet and I went ashore together to deliver the letters of our respective chiefs, and I learnt that the indefatigable little man had translated the French copy into Japanese and induced his minister to sign the translation. He had also addressed it to the council, instead of to the Tycoon, though he told me otherwise. On our arrival at the governor's house, he wrapped it in a sheet of Japanese paper, in order that I might not see the address, but the officials who received the Notes, of whom I afterwards inquired, voluntarily assured me that it was addressed to the council at Ozaka. What Mermet's object can have been I was not able to conjecture, and it is probable that he did it merely to keep his hand in. It is a dangerous thing for an habitual intriguer to get out of practice by acting straightforwardly, even in unimportant matters. We learnt that the Tycoon had presented a memorial to the Mikado urging him to ratify the treaties as well for his own sake as for that of the nation in general. That on its being refused, he had resolved to return to Yedo, but was stopped by an order from the court before he had got half-way to Ozaka. The dismissal of the pro-foreign members of the council seemed to forebode resistance and the probable outbreak of hostilities. Japanese steamers lying at Ozaka got up steam and went off in every direction, some passing through Hiôgo on their way. Siebold and I pulled on board one of these which belonged to Satsuma, and learnt that she was going off to Yura in Kishiû in order to be out of the way in case the Mikado should issue such orders to the Tycoon as might result in war-like measures being taken by the allied squadron. On the 24th, the last day, notice was given to the governor of Hiôgo that the ships would move on the morrow to Ozaka to await there the answer of the Tycoon's government. From him we learnt that Ogasawara would surely be down next day with the reply, but as had already happened so often in the course of these negotiations, he was ill, and Matsudaira Hôki no Kami took his place. The interview with the foreign representatives lasted several hours, but the gist of it was that the Tycoon had at last obtained the Mikado's consent to the treaties, by his own urgent representations, backed by those of his cousin Shitotsubashi, who declared (so it was said) that he would perform disembowelment unless the Mikado yielded. At last the latter gave way, saying "Well, speak to the nobles of my court about it." The opening of Hiôgo was, however, to be still deferred until January 1, 1868, but the tariff would be revised, and the remaining instalments of the indemnity paid punctually. Thus the foreign representatives had obtained two out of the three conditions, and those the most important, while giving up nothing in return. It must, however, be acknowledged that the payment of the indemnity was never completed by the Tycoon, and survived the revolution to be a constant source of irritation and ill-feeling between the Mikado's government and the British minister. Hôki no Kami, on leaving the "Princess Royal," promised that a note embodying these arrangements should be sent off in the course of the evening. But as it had to be sent up to Ozaka to receive the signatures of his two remaining colleagues, the document did not reach us before half-past two in the morning. I sat up till that hour in expectation of its arrival, and was called into the cabin to read it to Sir Harry and M. Roches, and then make a translation. The Mikado's decree to his vizier the Kwambaku delegating the conduct of foreign affairs to the Tycoon, a short document of only three lines, was enclosed in it. At Sir Harry's request Hôki no Kami added an engagement to promulgate the decree throughout the country. It was a proud night for me when I displayed my knowledge of written Japanese in the presence of the French minister, whose interpreter, M. Mermet, even could not read a document without the assistance of his teacher. Thus successfully ended the negotiations which up to the day before showed no signs of fruit. The foreign representatives had to congratulate themselves on having secured the means of tranquillizing the country, while at the same time consolidating the relations between the Japanese people and foreign nations. The opening of Hiôgo on the 1st January 1866 was a concession which few people had been sanguine enough to expect, but something had been secured which was of more immediate value, namely the solemn reiterated promise of the council to adhere to the London agreement of 1862. It was hoped also on good grounds that Sir Rutherford's convention of the previous October would also be carried out in its entirety. At dinner the following evening the Admiral made a speech, proposing Sir Harry's health and giving to him the whole credit of the success achieved. He replied by disclaiming any merit, and attributing a far greater share of the achievement to M. Roches; "but after all," he added, "it was you who did it, Admiral, for without you and your magnificent ship, we should not have made the slightest impression." On our return to Yokohama we found that the wildest rumours had been flying about. The United States Chargé d'Affaires, Portman, was said to have been killed, and Sir Harry taken prisoner, while Siebold and myself were also reported to have fallen martyrs to the cause. The "Japan Times," a newspaper conducted by Charles Rickerby, affected to pooh-pooh the whole affair, and denied the authenticity of the Mikado's decree, which, he said, ought to have been covered with seals. I wrote a letter to his paper, controverting his arguments, but without convincing him. There was one point about it, however, that escaped notice at the time, namely that the existing treaties were not explicitly sanctioned. All that the Mikado had given was a general authority to conclude treaties with foreign countries, and he had added a rider enjoining on the Tycoon the cancellation of the undertaking to open Hiôgo and Ozaka to trade. This, however, was carefully concealed from the foreign representatives, and we only came to know of it later. But without seeing it, no one could have guessed that the document represented to the foreign ministers to be the Mikado's sanction to the existing treaties had not that meaning, because of the absence of the definite article in Japanese. In English it makes a great deal of difference whether you say "the treaties are sanctioned," or simply "treaties are sanctioned," but in Japanese the same form of expression does for both, and we had no ground for suspecting the Tycoon's ministers of taking refuge in an ambiguity in order to play a trick on us and to gain time. CHAPTER XIV GREAT FIRE AT YOKOHAMA IN pursuance of instructions from the chief, I proceeded to Yedo the day after my return to find out if possible what had been the popular feeling about our doings at Hiôgo, but did not succeed in discovering anything of importance. A general curiosity prevailed, and the result of the negotiations was yet unknown. A meeting of the _daimiôs_' agents had been held on the receipt of the news that two of the council had been dismissed, and it was rumoured that the Tycoon had asked to be allowed to retire, but that his petition had been rejected. I stopped at the monastery of Dai-chiû-ji, which had been temporarily lent to Sir Harry for a residence. It was in a convenient position, nearer to the centre of the city than our former location at Tô-zen-ji, but the rooms were dark and scarcely numerous enough for the accommodation of the staff in addition to the minister and his family. A new building had therefore been already commenced in front of Sen-gaku-ji, about half-way between the two, and, instead of being called the British Legation, was to be named the _setsu-gu-jo_ or "place for meeting (sc. foreigners)," in order to avoid the risk of its being burnt down by the anti-foreign party. Report said that the Prince of Sendai, offended at not having been consulted on this matter, had retired to his castle in great dudgeon. Sen-gaku-ji is a well-known monastery containing the tombs and effigies of the celebrated "Forty-seven faithful retainers." After a couple of days' stay at the capital, I returned to my duties at the consulate in Yokohama, where I now held the post of interpreter. I was beginning to become known among the Japanese as a foreigner who could speak their language correctly, and my circle of acquaintance rapidly extended. Men used to come down from Yedo on purpose to talk to me, moved as much by mere curiosity as by a desire to find out what foreign policy towards their country was likely to be. Owing to my name being a common Japanese surname, it was easily passed on from one to another, and I was talked about by people whom I had never met. The two-sworded men were always happy to get a glass of wine or liqueur and a foreign cigar, and they were fond of discussion. They would sit for hours if the subject interested them. Politics afforded the principal material of our debates, which sometimes became rather warm. I used to attack the abuses of the existing régime, and then explain that I liked them very much, but hated despotic institutions. Many of the men who visited me were retainers of _daimiôs_, from whom I gained every day a firmer conviction that the Tycoon ought not to be regarded by foreigners as the sovereign of the country, and that sooner or later we must enter into direct relations with the Mikado. And the state papers, of which copies came into my hands through these men, proved that the Tycoon regarded himself as nothing more than the Mikado's principal vassal. At the same time the Tycoon's ministers still persevered in their endeavour to keep the conduct of foreign affairs in their own hands, and had succeeded in persuading Mr. Winchester that this was an ancient and indefeasible prerogative of the Tokugawa family. Sir Harry Parkes, however, from the first, with clearer insight, held that this was untenable, and resolved to press matters to a definite solution, which should bring the sovereign face to face with foreign Powers. Sir Harry had gone over to Shanghai to meet Lady Parkes and his children, and immediately after his return set to work at the revision of the tariff on the basis agreed to at Hiôgo. The negotiations, which began about January 1866, took much less time than is usual in these days, and the new convention was signed in June. I had little to do with it beyond assisting in its translation into Japanese. In February he began to make use of me as a translator, in addition to my work at the consulate. My salary as interpreter at the Yokohama consulate, which I had joined in April 1865, was only £400 a year, and after the Hiôgo business, where I had demonstrated my knowledge of the Japanese language, I began to think my services worth quite as much as those of the Dutch interpreters, who received £500. At an interview with the Japanese ministers they used to translate into Dutch what the minister said, and the native Dutch interpreters translated this again into Japanese. The reply had in the same way to go through two men. But when Siebold or I interpreted, the work was performed much more quickly and accurately, because we translated direct into Japanese. It was the same with the official correspondence, for I was able, with the assistance of a native writer, and sometimes without, to put an official note directly into Japanese. Then I was able to read and translate into English all sorts of confidential political papers, which the Dutch interpreters could make nothing of. We took a bold resolution, and in August 1866, Sir Harry having given me a quantity of political documents to translate, we addressed letters to him asking that he would recommend us to the Foreign Office for an additional £100 a year. This brought down his wrath upon our heads, and I became convinced that my application would be refused. Under these circumstances I wrote to my father that the service was not worth remaining in. At that time the telegraph reached only to Ceylon, but in as short a time as possible I received a telegram from him telling me to come home at once, and that I should have an allowance sufficient to enable me to go to the university and afterwards to the bar. Armed with this, I approached Sir Harry again, and asked him to accept my resignation. I had received a telegram from home which necessitated my immediate return to England. After a little humming and hawing, he finally produced from a drawer a despatch from Lord Clarendon, which had been lying there for several days, granting the applications of both Siebold and myself, and I consequently abandoned my intention of quitting the service. About March 6, 1866, a review and sham fight were held of the English garrison in combination with the Japanese drilled troops commanded by Kubota Sentarô on the dry rice fields between Jiû-ni-ten and Hommoku. The enemy was entirely imaginary, his place being taken by a crowd of spectators. The marching of the Japanese was very good, and received all the greater praise because they had received no practical instruction. Their officers had got it up from books, the difficult passages being explained to them by ours. The English soldiers looked magnificent by the side of the rather dwarfish Japanese. The bluejackets from the fleet were very amusing; one or two got drunk and danced a hornpipe in the face of the supposed enemy, to the great wrath and disgust of their commander, a young lieutenant. There was the usual amount of firing with blank cartridge, which, when it comes from one side only, renders every one so plucky and desirous of charging the foe. It was a wonder that no ramrods were fired away, nor was any one hit by a wad. The day was universally voted a great success. The 2/xx regiment was despatched to Hongkong about March 20, and replaced by the 2/ix. The danger to foreigners had so much abated since the execution of the murderers of Bird and Baldwin, and the ratification of the treaties by the Mikado that we began freely to make excursions into the surrounding country. On one occasion I went away for a few days with Charles Rickerby of the "Japan Times," and having thus become intimate with him, was permitted to try my inexperienced pen in the columns of his paper. My first attempt was an article upon travelling in Japan, but before long an incident occurred which tempted me to write on politics. It was doubtless very irregular, very wrong, and altogether contrary to the rules of the service, but I thought little of that. A Satsuma trading steamer had come into the bay, and was ordered by the authorities to anchor far away on the Kanagawa side, so that there might be no communication between the foreign community and the people on board. Taking this for my text, I descanted on the insufficiency of the treaties concluded with the Tycoon, which confined us to commercial intercourse with the inhabitants of his dominions, and thus cut us off from relations with a good half of the country. I called therefore for a revision of the treaties, and for a remodelling of the constitution of the Japanese government. My proposal was that the Tycoon should descend to his proper position as a great territorial noble, and that a confederation of daimiôs under the headship of the Mikado should take his place as the ruling power. And then I proceeded to make various suggestions for the improvement and modification of the existing treaties. With the aid of my teacher, Numata Torasaburô, a retainer of the Prince of Awa, who knew some English, I put them into Japanese in the form of a pamphlet for the perusal of his prince, but copies got into circulation, and in the following year I found myself to be favourably known through this means to all the _daimiôs_ retainers whom I met in the course of my journeys. In the end the translation was printed and sold in all the bookshops at Ozaka and Kiôto under the title of "Ei-koku Saku-ron," English policy, by the Englishman Satow, and was assumed by both parties to represent the views of the British Legation. With this of course I had nothing to do. As far as I know it never came to the ears of my chief, but it may fairly be supposed to have been not without its influence upon the relations between the English Legation and the new government afterwards established in the beginning of 1868. At the same time, it doubtless rendered us more or less "suspect" to the Tycoon's government while the latter lasted. During Sir Harry's absence in July on a visit to the _daimiôs_ of Satsuma and Uwajima after the signature of the tariff convention, some of us at the legation made up a party with three or four officers of the ix regiment, and went for a trip to Hachiôji and Atsugi. In those days all the high roads were intersected at certain points by strictly guarded barriers, where all travellers had to show their passports. Beyond Hachiôji a few miles to the west was one of these, just at the foot of a hill known as Takao-zan, about 1600 feet high, with a good road to the top. Up this we rode on our sure-footed ponies, and after lunching under the shade of the lofty cryptomerias, descended to the high road again, but unintentionally reached it beyond the barrier. The guards, who were inclined to interpret their duties rather too strictly than otherwise, shut the gates and refused to let us pass. It was in vain that we explained our mistake; they had orders not to let foreigners through. One would have thought that as we were on the side where we had no business to be, and were desirous of getting back to the right side, the officers in command would have facilitated our wishes to repair our error. But nothing would move them. At last Willis, who stood 6 feet 8 inches in his stockings and weighed then about 20 stone, made as if he would charge the gate on his pony, and seriously alarmed lest he should batter the whole thing down in a rush, they prudently flung it open, and we rode through triumphantly. A similar incident occurred on another occasion when I was out with Francis Myburgh, Captain W. G. Jones, R.N., of the flagship, and Charles Wirgman. The limit of excursions from Yokohama in the direction of the capital was formed by the Tama-gawa, which in the treaties is called the Logo river (a corruption of Rokugô). We had slept at Mizoguchi, and ascended the right bank on horseback to Sekido, where without difficulty we induced the ferryman to put us across, and rode into the town of Fuchiû to visit a well-known Shintô temple. We were bound for a monastery on the other side of the river, where we had planned to spend the night, and to do this it was necessary to recross further up to the Buddhist monastery of Ren-kô-ji. But on arriving there, and shouting to the ferryman, we got a blank refusal, accompanied by the information that we had no business to be where we were. "We know that we are, and want to get back where we ought to be." _Ferryman_: "Can't help that. Our orders are not to ferry any foreigner over." It was impossible to convince him that though he would be right in refusing to facilitate a breach of the law, he was bound to assist the repentant and contrite offenders in repairing such a breach, and we saw ourselves menaced with separation from our baggage and perhaps a cold night on the stones. Just above the ferry was a shallower spot, too deep to cross on ponies without getting rather wet. Charles Wirgman and I therefore took off our trousers, and tucking our shirts up as high as possible waded to the other bank, walked down to the ferry house, jumped into the boat before the ferrymen had time to recover from their surprise at our audacity, poled it across to our friends amid cries of _Koré wa rambô-rôzeki_ (about equivalent to "Robbery and murder") from the guardians of the posts, and so got the whole party across. On the 26th of November occurred one of the most destructive fires with which Yokohama has ever been visited. One fourth of the foreign settlement and one-third of the native town were laid in ashes. The fire-bell began to ring about nine o'clock in the morning. Willis and I ascended to the look-out on the roof of our house and saw the flames mounting to the sky exactly to windward of us, maybe half a mile away. I rushed into a pair of boots (unluckily my oldest), and putting on my hat, hastened forth to find out the location of the fire. My servants said it was only a few doors off, but when I got that distance it proved to be further away, and I pursued my course for a quarter of an hour before arriving on the scene. From the lower end of a narrow street, usually well crowded but now absolutely crammed with people, there surged along an agitated multitude carrying such of their goods as they had been able to snatch from the devouring element that closely pursued them. I approached as near as I could to the burning houses, but finding that the conflagration was rapidly advancing, beat a hasty retreat and made my way to the open space at the back of the settlement, where a terrible spectacle of confusion presented itself to my eyes. The portion of the native town where the fire was raging most violently was on a small island surrounded by a muddy swamp and connected with the rest of Yokohama by a wooden bridge, already crowded with fugitives; to wade or swim across to the firm ground was impossible. There were one or two boats available, but they were already overcrowded, and their occupants were so paralysed by fear that they never thought of landing and sending back the boats to take off others. Most of the inhabitants of the quarter were women. I saw a few poor wretches plunge into the water in order to escape, but they failed to reach the nearer bank. It was a fearful sight to see the flames darting among the roofs of the houses on the causeway, and sending forth jets here and there where the fire had not yet attained full mastery, when suddenly one half of the street nearest blazed up with a tremendous flash, and a volume of black smoke arose which obscured the sky. This was an oil merchant's shop that had caught fire. I turned and fled homewards, for there was no time to lose. I knew my own house was doomed, as it lay directly to leeward, and a violent wind was blowing from the north-west. As I passed through the little garden I shouted to Willis to bestir himself, and called my servants to assist in packing up my movables. My first thought was for my MS. dictionary; if that went I lost the results of two years' labour. So I put it into a light chest of drawers, and huddled some clothes in from the wardrobe. To get our things out we had to break down the high wooden fence round the garden. At this moment up came some friends, who plunged into the house and reappeared, some with books, others with half a chest of drawers, and we worked with a will until the building was cleared of everything but carpets, curtains, and the heavier furniture. My harmonium, a massive article, was also got into the street, and some men from the garrison carried it away to a place of safety. By the time we had removed the salvage to what we thought was a respectable distance, the fire had reached the house, which five minutes later was a heap of glowing embers. It now became evident that the houses in the rear of the settlement had caught fire, and as my property was lying on the open space between the foreign and native towns, it had to be transported further. Here occurred a serious loss. Most of my books were in boxes which had been carried out bodily, but the rest, hastily wrapped up in blankets, had to be left. There were plenty of pilferers about, who, under the pretence of helping, carried off chests full of clothing that I never saw again. I lost a good many European volumes and a large number of Japanese books, besides some notes on Manchu and Chinese which were irreplaceable. After we had deposited our property where we thought it would be in safety, it was threatened by the progress of the flames, and was therefore removed to a godown belonging to our friends Wilkin and Robison at No. 3 in the settlement. By this time the area of destruction had extended to the main street of the native town, and the houses where A. B. Mitford, A. von Siebold, Walsh and Vidal lived, as well as our own, had already gone. A Japanese house lightly built of wood, with paper instead of glass, takes little time to burn. Next the fire spread to the nearest houses in the foreign settlement. Huge sparks and pieces of red hot wood flew across the intervening space, set the American consulate alight, ignited the roof of Jardine, Matheson & Co., and began to spread along both streets of the settlement. The supposed "fireproof" godown where most of our things were deposited caught fire, and nearly everything we had saved was destroyed. It was a scene of the wildest confusion. Bluejackets were landed from the ships, and soldiers came down from the camp to work at the fire engines. There was no discipline among the men, and no organization existed for dealing with the disaster. After the final destruction of my own property I went about helping others to save theirs or to fight the flames, handing buckets, fetching water, pouring it on whatever seemed most inflammable. Some of the redcoats behaved disgracefully. They had managed to get hold of liquor, and stood by drinking and jeering, while we civilians did the work they had been brought there to perform. At the close of the day there remained to me only the clothes I had on my back, and I was hatless. But the excitement had been so lively that I felt rather pleased at the idea of beginning the world afresh. I had saved the manuscript of the English-Japanese dictionary on which Ishibashi and I were then engaged, as well as that of an annotated edition of Sir R. Alcock's _Colloquial Japanese_, which was then in the press, though destined never to see the light. My loss came to between £300 and £400, a portion of which was afterwards made good to me by Her Majesty's Government. The losses of the insurance offices amounted to $2,800,000, or about £700,000. The value of what was not insured was not great. The conflagration raged so fiercely among the foreign warehouses and residences that before four o'clock in the afternoon it had made its way half down the bund, leaving only the club-house standing, and at one period it was thought that the whole settlement would be in a blaze before night. If that had happened the European community would have had to seek an asylum on board ship, but fortunately our fears were not realized. The flames seemed invincible by the side of our puny efforts. The expedient was resorted to of blowing up houses in the line of fire, but not with great success, for some of those so destroyed were never touched by it at all, while in other instances the _débris_ could not be cleared away, and only helped it to spread to the buildings beyond. One hundred and seven Europeans and Americans were rendered homeless, and many of those who had trusted in their so-called fireproof godowns were left without anything in the world but the clothes they stood in. Merchants whose goods were uninsured were devoured by a terrible anxiety, for the most solidly-constructed stone godowns seemed to offer little more resistance than the wooden houses of the Japanese. Although the wind had fallen, much apprehension was entertained for the safety of what still remained unburnt, for owing to the damaged condition of the hose, all the fire engines had become useless, and nothing could be done to extinguish the smouldering embers. The fire was therefore left to burn itself out, and four days elapsed before the flames entirely died down. The price of clothing rose incredibly, as also did house rent. Yokohama was not as well supplied with hatters, tailors and bootmakers as it is in these days, and most men were in the habit of supplying themselves from home. For the next two years, consequently, I was reduced to a very moderate wardrobe. I had, for example, to pay $4, or 18 shillings, for five pocket handkerchiefs. After the fire I took up my abode with my friend Tom Foster, then the manager of Gilman & Co.'s Yokohama branch, until the 9th or 10th of December, when I migrated to the Legation at Yedo. The new buildings in front of Sen-gaku-ji were now completed, and enclosed by a lofty black wooden fence which imparted to the establishment somewhat of the aspect of a jail. There were two long wooden buildings, one of which was the minister's residence, the other being occupied by the members of the chancery. Eusden had gone to Hakodaté as acting consul, and the staff consisted of Mitford as second secretary, Willis as assistant accountant and medical officer, Siebold and myself as interpreters, and Vidal as student interpreter. The infantry guard was commanded by Lieutenant Bradshaw. Sidney Locock, the first secretary, a married man with a family, lived at Yokohama, as did also H. S. Wilkinson, still a student. They were "ramshackle" buildings, all windows and doors, terribly cold from want of proper fireplaces and bad construction, which admitted draughts on every side. But I did not live there long. After my transfer from the Yokohama consulate to the Legation in the autumn of 1866, one of the first matters in which I was able to be of use to our new chief was connected with the wording of the treaty. In the English text the Tycoon was spoken of as "His Majesty," and thus placed on a level with the Queen. In the Japanese version, however, this epithet was rendered by the equivalent of "Highness," and it was thus to be inferred that our sovereign was of lower rank than the Mikado. Moreover, the word "queen" had been translated by a title which was borne by great-grand-daughters of a Mikado. I recommended that a new Japanese version should be made, in which "Majesty" should be rendered by its proper Japanese equivalent, and "Queen" by the word _Kôtei_ (Hwang-ti), usually translated by "Emperor" in all the Chinese-English dictionaries, but really meaning "supreme sovereign," and applicable to both sexes. The preparation of the new version was entrusted to my hands, and with the aid of my teacher I managed in about a month's time to complete an accurate translation, which was adopted as official. It was the keynote of a new policy which recognized the Mikado as the sovereign of Japan and the Tycoon as his lieutenant. We gave up the use of "Tycoon," which my reading had taught me was properly a synonym for the Mikado, in our communications with the Japanese government, though retaining it in correspondence with the Foreign Office, in order not to create confusion, but the most important result was to set in a clearer light than before the political theory that the Mikado was the treaty-making power. As long as his consent had not been obtained to the existing treaties we had no _locus standi_, while after he had been induced to ratify them, the opposition of the _daimiôs_ ceased to have any logical basis. CHAPTER XV VISIT TO KAGOSHIMA AND UWAJIMA A FEW days after I had assumed my new duties, and had settled down, as I thought, for a period of uninterrupted study, Sir Harry informed me that he contemplated sending me down to Nagasaki in the "Princess Royal," which was about to proceed thither through the inland sea, to collect political information at Hiôgo and elsewhere. I was to return in the "Argus" by way of Kagoshima and Uwajima. The Tycoon had recently died, and had been succeeded by his cousin Shitotsubashi, whose position, however, was not very clearly defined. Before his elevation to the headship of the Tokugawa family he had been regarded as a partisan of the "return to the ancient régime," now so much in men's mouths, and it was desirable to learn as much as possible of his probable line of policy. In Yedo we were too far away from the political centre to learn much. I was greatly pleased at the prospect of visiting Nagasaki, but took care not to seem too desirous of being sent on the proposed mission, lest over-eagerness should defeat itself. Next day I got a note from Sir Harry, who resided chiefly at Yokohama, telling me that he had not yet seen the Admiral, but that he still thought I should have to go. So I packed up some clothes in a wicker basket such as the Japanese use when travelling, and went down to Yokohama in the gunboat which was our principal means of conveyance between the two places. In the evening I learnt that the matter had been arranged, and that the "Princess Royal" would sail the next day but one. I wrote to Willis for his teacher Hayashi, whom I intended to put ashore at Hiôgo to collect news, and for a tin box containing some stationery, and a little money, but neither arrived in time. In despair I borrowed a few hundred _ichibus_ from Foster, bought a box of cheroots, wrapped a few sheets of foolscap in a newspaper, and got on board on the 12th December just in time. We had fine weather for our start, but encountered a strong westerly wind outside, which prevented our passing between Vries Island and the mainland. For four days I lay in my cot, utterly unable to eat, but consoling myself with reference to previous experiences of the same kind. At last I was revived by a plateful of greasy beefsteak pudding that Admiral King sent me, and a glass of champagne. The gale had not abated, and the huge two decker rolled terribly. At one time the betting was strong on Hongkong as our first port of anchorage, and Hiôgo was given up as quite unattainable. Hakodaté, Yokohama and Nagasaki rose by turns to the position of favourite. We were blown right out of the chart of Japan, and at last, after many days of tossing to and fro, tacking and wearing, we sighted the Linschoten Islands, where we turned to the north, and steaming as fast as 400 horse power will carry a vessel of 3500 tons, got into Nagasaki on the evening of the 23rd. The appearance of the town and foreign settlement, lighted up by innumerable lamps dotted all over the hillsides, reminded me of Gibraltar as I had seen it from the deck of the "Indus" a little more than five years previously. At Nagasaki I made the acquaintance of some retainers of Uwajima, the most important of whom was Iséki Sayemon, afterwards prefect of Yokohama in the first years of the Mikado's rule. He came to call on me, and said that the proposed assemblage of a council of _daimiôs_ at Kiôto had been put off for the present. But it was sure to take place eventually, and one of the first topics of discussion would be the position of Chôshiû. About half of Shi-koku was in favour of Hiôgo being opened to foreign trade, but the Kiûshiû people opposed it, on account of the anticipated decline of Nagasaki. He thought that the visit of the Admiral and Sir Harry Parkes in the "Princess Royal" to Uwajima had done immense good, by familiarizing the common people with the appearance of foreigners, and their ingenuity in the construction of ships and warlike appliances. The _daimiô_ of Uwajima and his brother the _ex-daimiô_ (who was the leading spirit of the clan) had excused themselves on the ground of sickness from attending the council at Kiôto. Shitotsubashi had not yet been invested with the office of Shôgun and its attendant court titles, and the probability was that they would be withheld until he had settled the Chôshiû difficulty, which would doubtless give him a good deal of trouble. When I met him again on the following day the conversation turned upon our relations with Chôshiû. I told him that the British Government had stationed a man-of-war at Shimonoséki to prevent merchant vessels frequenting the straits during the continuance of hostilities between Chôshiû and the Tycoon; we did not wish to interfere in any of the civil quarrels of the Japanese. We were at peace with Chôshiû, who had agreed to let foreign vessels pass without molestation, and had undertaken to let them purchase wood, water, and other necessaries, while promising to build no more batteries. The Tycoon's government had undertaken to pay the indemnity imposed upon the Prince of Chôshiû. The powers, however, did not care for the money, and would be willing at any time to abandon the indemnity if their doing so would tend to the improvement of relations with Japan. The Tycoon's people had asked for delay in making payment of the remaining instalments, and in consenting to this, the foreign ministers had obtained in return the concession of permission for Japanese to travel in foreign countries. It was to be supposed, however, that the nation was desirous of having the ancient prohibition removed, and the government would have had, therefore, no excuse for maintaining it. Hiôgo would certainly be opened on the 1st of January 1868 in accordance with the undertaking entered into by the Tycoon; the intention of the Powers was to uphold the treaties in their entirety and get them carried out. We could not ask for the opening of Shimonoséki under the present treaties, as the Tycoon's authority did not extend so far. It would require a separate treaty with Chôshiû. As long as the present treaties remained unchanged, no ports could be opened in _daimiôs_' territories. At Hiôgo we had discussed matters with the Tycoon's Council, who, we now learnt, had deceived us by concealing the Mikado's injunction to them to negotiate for the abandonment of Ozaka and Hiôgo as seats of foreign commerce. It was a pity we had not thrown them over, and negotiated direct with the Mikado's court, from which we heard that a noble had been deputed to visit the foreign representatives. During my stay at Nagasaki I made the acquaintance of officers from Tosa and Higo. One of the latter said that there never would be another Shôgun, but that the Mikado would be restored to the throne. Here was a clear glimpse into the future. My instructions from Sir Harry were to proceed from Nagasaki to Kagoshima and Uwajima, and call in at Hiôgo on my way back. I embarked, therefore, on the 1st January 1867 in the "Argus," Commander Round, with my two servants, Noguchi Tomizô and Yasu. The former was a young _samurai_ of Aidzu, who had left his home and attached himself to Vyse, our consul at Hakodaté, in order to study English. In the autumn of 1865 he came to live with me, to carry on his studies, and on the present occasion he had accompanied me to Nagasaki, whence he was to have gone to England as cabin-servant to Alexander Buller, the Commander of the flagship. But whether it was the tossing about on the way down, or the disagreeable servant's position, he now changed his mind, and begged me to take him back to Yedo. Buller expressed himself as somewhat annoyed, but I could not help it. Noguchi eventually went with me in 1869 to England, where I paid for his schooling during a couple of years. After my return to Japan he stayed on awhile in London at the expense of the Japanese government, and eventually came back to Tôkiô, where he obtained a minor appointment in a public office. In spite of his then comparatively elevated position, he never gave himself airs, or forgot that I had befriended him, and it was with great regret that I heard of his death about the beginning of 1885. He was honest and faithful to the end. Yasu was a young monkey belonging to the lower classes, and I don't remember that he had any virtues. Round did not treat me very well, and made me sleep in the cockpit, a sort of common den in the bottom of the ship, where the midshipmen keep their chests and sling their hammocks. There was no privacy, and we were crowded together in a most uncomfortable manner. I got a cot to sleep in, but no mattress or pillow, and was forced to borrow a cushion off a bunk in the captain's cabin and roll up my greatcoat for a pillow. We reached Kagoshima next day early in the afternoon. As soon as we dropped our anchor, some officers pulled off from the shore, bringing a flag for us to hoist while firing the salute in answer to theirs. Matsuoka Jiûdaiyu came on board to explain that the prince and his father were in retirement owing to the recent death of the latter's mother. As neither was able to receive visitors, the duty of receiving the Admiral's letter, of which we were the bearers, would be performed by the prince's second brother and two councillors. This was a letter thanking him for kindness shown to shipwrecked sailors. Sir Harry and the Admiral on their visit in the previous summer had seen and conversed with both the prince and his father Shimadzu Saburô, but I do not suppose that my being unable to meet them made much difference to the result of my visit, as the conduct of affairs was to a great extent in the hands of the principal retainers. I went ashore to stay at the factory with three Englishmen named Sutcliffe, Harrison and Shillingford. The last of these, an engineer by profession, had been engaged by the _daimiô_ in connection with some cotton mills which he was erecting, the other two had come to Kagoshima in search of employment. On the 3rd, Round came on shore with a party of officers to deliver the Admiral's letter, and I accompanied him to interpret. We were met at the landing-place by some high officials, who conducted us through the town for half a mile to the house, where we were received by Shimadzu Dzusho, a handsome youth, the second son of Shimadzu Saburô, Niiro Giôbu, a councillor who had been in England, and Shimadzu Isé, also a councillor. It was a house set apart for the reception of visitors. The prince's brother, 29 years years of age, seemed a perfect child as far as intelligence went. All the talking was done by the high officials who sat on his right hand. I interpreted the contents of the letter, which was then handed to Shimadzu Dzusho, the whole ceremony not occupying more than five minutes. We then sat down to an entertainment, which opened with a few courses of Japanese cookery with _saké_, but consisted in the main of an interminable succession of European dishes, moistened with sherry, champagne and brandy. I took my revenge upon Round by keeping up a lively conversation in Japanese, and translating none of it, so the poor man was driven to count the oranges in a dish which stood near, in order to keep off ennui. After the banquet, the officers dispersed themselves through the town, while I remained behind to assist in making a translation of the Admiral's letter. Niiro also stopped. We talked about the proposed meeting of _daimiôs_, which had been postponed _sine die_. Then I praised the composition of a letter which had been addressed to the Mikado in the name of the Prince of Satsuma some months back. "Did you see it? What a stupid document it was," said Niiro. "Not at all," I replied. "I thought it excellent, and the style was worthy of all praise." "Had it not reference to Hiôgo?" "No. I mean the memorial objecting to sending Satsuma troops to co-operate with those of the Tycoon against Chôshiû." "Oh, yes. Shimadzu Isé, who sat next to me to-day, was the writer of that letter. He was in Kiôto at the time." "How is the Chôshiû business getting on," I asked. "I hear the Tycoon has withdrawn the greater part of his troops." "Chôshiû is very strong," he replied, "and he has right on his side. None of the _daimiôs_ will support the Tycoon, and the latter has now no chance of beating him." "Well, I think that if he had put his best troops into the field, and attacked Chôshiû energetically at first, he must have conquered him." "No, never. He had not right on his side." "You appear to be very friendly with Chôshiû," I remarked. "No," said he, "not friendly, but we have a natural fellow-feeling for one of our own class." Niiro's reference to the letter of the Prince of Satsuma, which he supposed I had seen, revealed the important fact that the Satsuma clan were opposed to the opening of Hiôgo, and in fact it was the presentation of this letter or memorial to the Mikado during the visit of the foreign representatives in November 1865 which had encouraged the Mikado to make it a condition of giving his sanction to the treaties that the Tycoon should arrange for that port being given up. It was necessary, therefore, to impress on Niiro's mind, for the benefit of his fellow clansmen, that the foreign Powers would not for a moment entertain the idea of giving up Hiôgo or any other part of the treaties. At this moment there was lying in the bay a little steamer named the "Otentosama," belonging to Chôshiû. She had brought down the leading man of that clan, Katsura Kogorô, afterwards known during the year of the revolution as Kido Junichirô. I said to Niiro that I should like to call on him to inquire after some of my Shimonoséki friends. Niiro replied that Katsura was to have an interview with Shimadzu Saburô at ten o'clock the same evening, and a meeting afterwards with some of the Satsuma councillors at three in the morning. If I wished particularly to see him, I might go and sleep at his lodgings, and wait till he turned up. I declined the invitation, preferring a European bed, for at that time I was not so accustomed to Japanese ways as I afterwards became. It was weak on my part. But what Niiro said rendered it perfectly clear that an understanding was being negotiated between the two most powerful of the western clans, and that they would henceforth be united against the Tycoon. Fortunate for us that they were on friendly terms with us, and fortunate also for the general interest of foreign Powers, between whom and the revolutionary government of 1868 the British Legation acted as mediators. The French Legation on the other hand supported the Tycoon. M. Roches was projecting the foundation of the arsenal at Yokosuka, which would place the military organization of the Tokugawa family on a new and superior footing, and he had procured a distinguished staff of French officers to drill the Tycoon's troops. It was even rumoured that he had made, or was contemplating making, offers of material assistance to Shitotsubashi. And this policy he pursued until the logic of facts at last demonstrated its folly, being followed by the North German Chargé d' Affaires, Herr von Brandt, and the Italian Minister, Count La Tour. The Netherlands Political Agent, however, adhered to Sir Harry, while the new American Minister, General van Valkenburg, was neutral. We had felt the pulse of the Japanese people more carefully and diagnosed the political condition better than our rivals, so that the prestige of the British Minister in the years 1868 and 1869 was completely in the ascendant. On the 4th January the prince's reply was to have been delivered on board the "Argus," but at noon Niiro presented himself to say that it was not yet ready. We therefore landed and inspected the glass factory, shot and shell foundry, gun foundry and pot and kettle foundry near the prince's garden at Iso. The letter now arrived in charge of Matsuoka, and after its formal delivery, we sat down once more to a banquet in European style. It was shorter than that of the previous day, and the dishes better cooked, but it was politeness rather than gastronomic satisfaction that caused us to praise it. For in truth the dinner was bad and ill-arranged. About five o'clock I started off with Sutcliffe to call on Niiro, who had not been seen since the morning. After an hour's walking, we arrived at his house, darkness having already set in. Niiro received us very cordially, and entertained us with tea, oranges, beer, cakes and conversation for an hour and a half. He told me that in passing through Hiôgo lately he had heard that the French Minister was shortly expected there with a letter from the Emperor Napoleon III, and that there was to be a general gathering of foreign representatives. Shitotsubashi had disappointed his friends by accepting the succession to the headship of the Tokugawa family, and was suspected of wishing to establish his power as Tycoon with the aid of foreigners. He gave me to understand that they regarded the French with dislike and distrust, and seemed to be all the more friendly with us because they had learnt to appreciate the value of our enmity. The Satsuma people seemed to be making great progress in the civilized arts, and gave me the impression of great courage and straightforwardness. I thought they would soon be far ahead of the rest of Japan. Tycoon, as I have said before, was the title given in the treaties to the temporal sovereign. The Japanese, however, never used it. Sei-i-tai Shôgun, or "Generalissimo for the subjugation of barbarians," was his official designation, which delicacy prevented his ministers from employing in their official communications with the foreign representatives, while the common people spoke of him as _Kubô sama_. The "opposition" _daimiôs_, however, had adopted the term _Baku-fu_, which most closely might be rendered by "military establishment," and it was this term that my friends and I used in conversation. In like manner, for the honorific designation _Gorôjiû_ (noble old men) applied in the east of Japan to the Tycoon's council of ministers, the expression _Kaku-rô_ (old ones) was substituted. The opposition refused to recognize that the government which they wished to upset was entitled to any mark of respect. On the 5th January we left Kagoshima and anchored in Uwajima Bay at eleven o'clock on the following day. The beautiful bay is completely landlocked, and surrounded by hills of varying height up to 2000 feet. Close behind the town, on its east side, rises a high peak known as Oni-ga-jô, the "demon's castle." The prince's fortress was a conspicuous object to the right of the town; it stood on a low, wooded hill, close to the seashore, and consisted of a three-storied keep, surrounded by a double wall of stonework surmounted by white plastered walls, almost hidden by the trees. South of this lay the official quarter, the citizens' quarter being to the east and north, stretching for some distance along the shore, as the hills behind leave the town no room to expand. Close in shore the water is very shallow, and advantage had been taken of this to construct salterns and reclaim rice fields by building a dyke. There was a small battery on each side of the bay, more for show than for defensive use. About an hour and a half after we anchored, a boat was noticed hovering about the stern, with a person in the stern-sheets busily engaged in examining the ship through an opera glass. Finding out that it was the prince, Commander Round sent a gig at once to invite him on board. He explained his curious behaviour by saying that he had wished to remain _incognito._ The Admiral's letter wishing him a happy new year was produced, and after I had translated its contents, he took possession of it. He was aged 32, of about middle height, and had an aristocratic cast of countenance, with a slightly aquiline nose, on the whole a handsome man. As a matter of course he was shown over the ship. In the meantime I had some conversation with a gentleman-like young man of about twenty years of age named Matsuné Kura, son of the principal _karô_. He said that Satsuma and Uwajima were on very friendly terms, which was natural, as the ex-_daimiô_ and Shimadzu Saburô had been amongst the little band of princes who were disgraced for their opposition to the elevation of the lately deceased Tycoon. Shitotsubashi had not been appointed Shôgun, and perhaps never would be. When the prince returned on shore I accompanied him in the gig, and found a number of his women waiting for him on the bank with his children, the eldest of whom was a little boy of seven years of age. The others were mostly babies in arms, and each was attended by an undernurse bearing a small sword wrapped in gold brocade. The Japanese _samurai_ was accustomed to the companionship of his weapon from his very infancy. The prince was extremely affable, and promised to repeat his visit on the following day, and to bring the _in-kio_ or _ex-daimiô_ with him. I said good-bye, and went into the town, where I met three officers from the ship engaged in "curio" hunting. An immense crowd followed us everywhere, examining our clothes and asking all manner of questions, but behaving with the utmost civility. I felt my heart warm more and more to the Japanese. On the 7th January it rained violently and blew hard all day, but the weather did not prevent the _daimiô_ and the _in-kio_ from coming on board. The latter was a tall man with strongly marked features and a big nose, and reputed to be one of the most intelligent of his class, imperious in manner, and 49 years of age. He was not a born _Daté_ (that was the surname of the Uwajima _daimiôs_), but had been adopted from a _hatamoto_ family in Yedo. After his adoption the present _daimiô_ was born, and the relationship between them was that of brothers by adoption. But still the adopted son could not be set aside, and he eventually succeeded to the title and fief, but by way of compensation to the younger brother who had lost his birthright, he adopted him as his son. Consequently, when the prince was disgraced in 1858 the real heir succeeded. _In-kio_ (living retired) is a common term for the head of a family, whether noble or commoner, who has given up the active headship and the management of the estate to his son, a not unusual thing in "Old Japan" for a father who had reached the sixties. Here the _in-kio_ was manifestly the ruling spirit, and it was touching to observe the immense respect paid to him by the titular prince, who always addressed him as father, while he on his part used the depreciatory term _sengaré_ (my youngster) in speaking of the _daimiô_. They stopped for a couple of hours talking and drinking some Moselle with which I had provided myself at Nagasaki. The _in-kio_ began to talk eagerly to me about the very suspicious intimacy that existed between the Tycoon's government (_baku-fu_) and the French Legation, but as soon as old Matsuné, the principal councillor, perceived that his master was becoming indiscreet, he hurried him away on the pretext that it would be too late to fire the salute. So away they went, amid the thunder of seventeen guns, which was returned from one of the batteries. After he left the wives and families of the two princes flocked on board. They were not in the least afraid of us, and conversed with as much ease and readiness as European ladies. There was a Japanese officer on board, afterwards Admiral Hayashi Kenzô. Noguchi, who had been ashore to have a hot bath and get shaved, had brought me an invitation to dine with Iriyé, the captain of the battery. So I took a boat and went off in spite of the wind and rain. My host had not yet returned from his duties, but his wife asked me to come in, and in about a quarter of an hour he made his appearance. Soon afterwards another artillery officer named Mori came in, and then two more juniors. Dinner was at once ordered. It consisted of innumerable courses of fish and soup, and lasted from six o'clock till eleven. We talked, drank hot _saké_, and sang by turns, and I had to answer a multitude of questions on all possible subjects. This gave me numerous opportunities of uttering appropriate wise saws and proverbial sayings, which gave my hearers unbounded delight, and inspired them with no small amount of respect for the philosophy of the western peoples. At half-past eleven the last guest retired, and after we had eaten a little rice, we went to bed in Japanese fashion. I was surprised to find that one could sleep comfortably without sheets. On the following morning, after a good breakfast _à la Japonaise_, I rejoined the ship, and started in company with Round, and Wright and Dunn of the ixth regiment, who as I have hitherto neglected to mention, had come on board at Nagasaki, for the rifle range, in accordance with an engagement made on the previous day. A guard of honour of 25 men received us at the landing-place, and we were escorted by an officer of the Uwajima navy. Half-way we found another guard, which fell in and led us up a pretty stiff hill to the ranges. Some of our small-arms men were landed to exhibit their skill. We had to walk a short distance and climb the hills. There is not sufficient flat ground in Uwajima for a proper rifle range, so the butts were placed on the side of another hill separated from us by a valley about 700 yards wide. Here we found tents set us, and the _in-kio_, his own son, and the prince awaiting our arrival. Our men, who were not accustomed to shooting across a chasm of unknown depth and width, showed themselves less skilful than the Uwajima marksmen, who had the advantage of knowing their ground. We got the shooting over by half-past one, and the whole party then proceeded to the _goten_ or palace, which was outside the castle. It was an old building, dating from about 500 years back, but without pretensions to architectural style. We were not received at the great entrance, but at some temporary steps erected for the occasion which led up at once from the garden into the verandah. Here old Matsuné met us and conducted us into a long room, which was shut off on all sides by handsome folding screens covered with gold leaf. At one end of the room was a particularly large screen, which the prince said was a present to his ancestor from the great Taikô-sama. A table was placed down the middle of the room, with armchairs on the right side for the _in-kio_, the prince, and Matsuné, while on the left were seated Round and his officers. I sat at the head of the table to facilitate conversation. The dinner was beautifully got up, every separate dish prettily arranged and decorated, but the most tasteful of all was a wild duck with all its plumage perfect, and the roasted meat cut up small and laid on the back between the wings, elevated in such a way as to convey the idea that the bird was swimming and flying at the same time. Other dishes consisted of huge crayfish, and there was a large baked tai, as required by etiquette, for each person. Each of us had a large porcelain cup to drink from, and the warm liquor was handed round in pewter vessels with long spouts, like flat teapots. The ex-prince exchanged cups with Round, myself, and the two redcoats in turn, and the same ceremony was aftwards gone through with the prince and his minister, old Matsuné. There was a good deal of eating and saké drinking, and the _in-kio_ presented me with a large shallow cup of red lacquer which I had first to empty. My companions left early, while at the _in-kio's_ request I remained behind for some conversation on politics. He began by speaking of Hiôgo, as to which he had expressed his opinion to Sir Harry Parkes in July last. But he was now in favour of opening the place to foreign trade, and so was Shitotsubashi. He had heard that negotiations were proceeding with the French for its being opened next September, but he would prefer that the arrangements should be made with us rather than with the French, whom he did not like. I replied that I believed the French policy was based upon the belief that the country needed a recognized head, and that as they had a treaty with the Shôgun, who apparently was the most powerful political personage, they thought it would be better to strengthen him as far as possible. The English policy was different. We regarded our treaty as having been made with Japan, and not with the Shôgun in particular. If with the latter, then as there was no actual Shôgun at the moment, our treaty would have to be regarded as being in abeyance. We did not wish to interfere, and were quite content that the Japanese should settle their internal disputes among themselves. "But," said _In-kio_, "if civil war becomes chronic, your trade will suffer, and you will have to put an end to it for your own sakes." "No," I replied, "for if we interfered and took a side, matters would become ten times more difficult, and the foreign trade would come altogether to an end." The _in-kio_ then remarked that his idea was for Japan to become a confederated empire, with the Mikado for its head, and that this idea was favoured by Satsuma and Chôshiû. I said I thought there was no other way out of the difficulty, and I had written an article in a Yokohama newspaper to that effect. "Oh," said the _in-kio_, "I have read it," meaning the translation which has been already mentioned. At last the ex-prince said, "Let us send for the women and have some music. The captain will be jealous if he hears that I produced them to you after he had left, so don't tell him, but if he hears of it, you may say I was drunk." Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the ladies of the harem, such a bevy of pretty women, some wives and some not. All the children came in too. I had to drink _saké_ with all of the ladies, till I began to fear my head might give way. Musical instruments were brought in, and a great deal of _saké_ was drunk, greatly to the increase of friendliness and conviviality, but not to the advantage of the interchange of political views. In fact the _in-kio_ gave himself up to enjoyment and would talk no more. He afterwards said in a casual sort of way: "You must not let it appear in the newspapers that I went on board the "Argus," for I have declined attending the meeting at Kiôto on the ground of sickness, and I should not wish the government to hear of it. I should not like to be at Kiôto just now." After the music had begun, I looked round and saw one of the officers of the "Argus," who had come in after the captain's departure, performing a Japanese dance. I proposed to him to dance a hornpipe, which he at once did, and the ex-prince, a man of the sober age of 49, got up, placed himself opposite, and tried to imitate the steps, holding up his loose trousers with both hands. The fun infected two of the ministers, who joined him in a three-handed reel. After drinking a great deal of _saké_ with the two princes and their ladies, I was carried off--no, led--to his own house by old Matsuné, where more _saké_ was produced, and I was made acquainted with the rest of his family. After about an hour's conversation, I was glad to get to bed, for the fumes of the hot _saké_ were beginning to have some effect on my head. Hayashi, young Matsuné, another Japanese and myself, slept in one room. Next morning I was roused before daylight by the report of a signal gun fired from the "Argus" to announce that she was ready to leave. I dressed hastily and went on board with young Matsuné, to whom I presented my opera glass as a souvenir. Noguchi and my boy Yasu, who had also been sleeping on shore, had not yet made their appearance, but Round refused to wait for them. So I begged Matsuné to send them somehow to Yokohama, and advance them any money which they might ask for, to be repaid to the Uwajima agent in Yedo. At half-past six we weighed anchor, and steamed out of the bay, full of regrets at being obliged to part from our kind, hospitable friends. We reached Hiôgo about noon on the 11th of January, after visiting one or two unimportant places in the inland sea. I went on shore to inquire whether we could get coals, beef and vegetables. After arranging with the local officials to send some supplies on board, I walked about the town, and found the people quite accustomed to the sight of a foreigner. I met some two-sworded men, who protested that they were determined to prevent the opening of Hiôgo to foreign trade, but they were evidently joking. A Hizen man whom I came across declared that I was an old acquaintance, though I had never set eyes on him before. Afterwards Hayashi Kenzô and I went on board a Satsuma steamer that was lying in port, and made the acquaintance of her captain, Inouyé Shinzayemon. She had brought up from Kagoshima one of the leading Satsuma men named Komatsu Tatéwaki; he had gone up to Ozaka to meet Saigô, the greatest of all the Satsuma leaders. I immediately proposed to go up to Ozaka and see them, and letters were written by Inouyé and Hayashi to Godai Saisuké (our captive of 1863 at Kagoshima) to make the necessary arrangements. Next day, however, I heard that Saigô was himself probably coming to Hiôgo, and in the meantime Hayashi took me ashore to have a hot bath and some luncheon _à la Japonaise_. Here for the first time I learnt how to put on a cotton gown (_yukata_) after the bath, and enjoy the sensation of gradually cooling down. We had just sat down to eat when it was announced that Saigô had arrived, and hastily swallowing our rice, we sallied forth to the other house-of-call of the Satsuma men. Saigô, as I had all along suspected, turned out to be identical with the man introduced to me as Shimadzu Sachiû in November 1865, and he laughed heartily when I reminded him of his alias. After exchanging the usual compliments, I began to feel rather at a loss, the man looked so stolid, and would not make conversation. But he had an eye that sparkled like a big black diamond, and his smile when he spoke was so friendly. I began about the employment of foreigners in Satsuma and the difficulties which might, under certain circumstances, arise from the residence of British subjects outside the treaty limits and beyond the jurisdiction of the consular authorities. But this did not produce much in the way of response. So I bethought myself of another subject which was more likely to draw him, and inquired if Shitotsubashi had not lately received in person a letter addressed to him by the Emperor of the French. He replied "Yes." A short time ago he memorialized the Mikado to the effect that there was a letter from the French Emperor addressed to the Shôgun, the reception of which had been delayed owing to the late Tycoon's detention at Kiôto in connexion with the expedition against Chôshiû; that he now intended to summon all the foreign representatives to Ozaka, and would profit by the occasion to receive the letter in question. Shitotsubashi would accordingly come down to Ozaka on the 17th of the Japanese month (22nd January), and expected the representatives to arrive shortly afterwards. We (the Satsuma people) sent up a copy of the memorial to Sir Harry Parkes by the hands of Yoshii Kôsuké, but he had replied that he was uncertain whether he would accept the Tycoon's invitation, not having yet heard anything direct about the matter. "But," I asked, "how can Shitotsubashi receive a letter addressed to the Shôgun. He is not Shôgun, is he?" "Yes; he received his commission the day before yesterday." "Well," I replied, "that is very unexpected. I thought he had to settle Chôshiû's affair first. But his influence must have increased immensely for him to have been able to manage this." "Yes, indeed"--(emphatically)--"A man who was yesterday no better than a beggarly _rônin daimiô_ is to-day _Sei-i-tai-shôgun_." "Who," I asked, "contrived it." "Itakura Suwô no Kami" (a newly appointed member of the council). "Shitotsubashi is in great favour now with the Mikado, and he could become _Kwambaku_ (grand vizier) if he chose. He has made his brother Mimbutayu, a younger scion of the Mito house, head of the Shimidzu family, which had become extinct, and he is going to send him as ambassador to France." "On what business?" "We have not the least idea." "And for what is Shitotsubashi going to summon the foreign representatives to Ozaka?" "We have not the slightest idea of that either," said Saigô. "How odd that he should be able to do these things without consulting the _daimiôs_." "The _daimiôs_ ought to have been consulted, as we expected they would be henceforth on all political matters. The _Baku-fu_ have got on so badly of late years that my prince is of opinion that they should not be left to ruin the country as they please. And when certain of the _daimiôs_ were summoned by the Mikado to Kiôto, they expected to have a share in the government. Now they perceive that such is not the intention of the _Baku-fu_, and they don't intend to be made fools of. So they have one and all refused to attend. Echizen stopped there as long as he could, but went away at last." "Then everything is over for the present?" I said. "Well, we shall be able to find him out in the next three years, I suppose." "Three years is a long time. But this council at Kiôto, was it not connected with the latter part of the decree giving power to the Shôgun to conclude treaties, where the Mikado says, 'There are points in the existing treaties which I wish you to rectify in concert with the _daimiôs_?'" "Oh no!" said Saigô, "you are quite wrong there. It was intended, as I have said before, that the _daimiôs_ should consult with the _Baku-fu_ about government reforms." "I suppose," I said, "that among other questions for discussion the Chôshiû affair and the opening of Hiôgo were included. What is the position with regard to Chôshiû? We foreigners cannot comprehend it?" "It is indeed incomprehensible," Saigô replied. "The _Baku-fu_ commenced the war without justification, and they have stopped it equally without reason." "Is it peace, or what?" "No. Simply that hostilities have ceased, and the troops have been withdrawn. There the matter rests." "For us foreigners it is a great puzzle why the _Baku-fu_ attacked Chôshiû at all. It was certainly not because he had fired on foreign ships. If he really had offended the Mikado, surely your prince, with his profound affection for the 'Son of Heaven,' could have lent assistance." "I believe the _Baku-fu_ hated Chôshiû all along," replied Saigô. "It is a great pity the council did not take place, because it is of the highest importance that the affairs of the country should come to a settlement within this year. We have a treaty with Japan, not with any particular person, and we don't intend to interfere with you in the settlement of your domestic disputes. Whether Japan is governed by the Mikado or the _Baku-fu_, or becomes a confederation of separate states is a matter of indifference to us, but we want to know who is the real head. I confess to you that we have serious doubts about the _Baku-fu_. We saw that they are not supreme, or rather not omnipotent when they asked us to let them off the opening of Hiôgo. Then the murder of Richardson and the impotence of the _Baku-fu_ to punish his murderers showed us that their authority did not extend as far as Satsuma. Then when ships-of-war belonging to friendly nations were fired on by Chôshiû, we had to go and punish him because the _Baku-fu_ could not do it. And we see now that Chôshiû has got the best of the late war. These things make us doubt the supremacy of the _Baku-fu_ throughout the country, and we had hoped that the council would settle the difficulty. The _Baku-fu_ will again be in a difficult position next year when, as we intend to do, we demand the opening of Hiôgo, if the _daimiôs_ oppose it." "My master does not oppose the opening of Hiôgo, but objects to its being opened after the fashion of other ports. We want it to be opened so as to be a benefit to Japan, and not solely for the private advantage of the _Baku-fu_." "But how would you have it opened?" I asked. "By placing all questions regarding Hiôgo in the hands of a committee of five or six _daimiôs_, who would be able to prevent the _Baku-fu_ from acting exclusively for its own selfish interests. Hiôgo is very important to us. We all owe money to the Ozaka merchants, and we have to send the productions of our provinces to them every year in payment of our debts. Our affairs will be much thrown out of order if the place is opened on the same plan as Yokohama." "I see now why you attach so much importance to Hiôgo. It is your last card. It is a great pity you cannot settle all your internal difficulties before the port is opened." "When we sent Yoshii up to see Sir Harry Parkes, he told him if he came to Ozaka to ask for us. We could not go to call on him for fear of incurring suspicion. And Sir Harry replied that he would ask not only to see the Prince of Satsuma, but all the other _daimiôs_ as well." _Saké_ and _sakana_ (_i.e._ its accompaniments) were now introduced, and we were waited on by a good-looking girl who was said to be a sweetheart of Godai's. Saigô excused himself and retired for a few moments with my companion Hayashi, who was apparently a confidential agent of the Satsuma people. After the second course, as he seemed in a hurry to get away, I rose to go, but he would not hear of my leaving so early. I begged him not to stand on ceremony, but to leave whenever he chose, as I knew he had a long way to go. After a few minutes more, he rose, and saying, "In case Sir Harry wants to communicate anything to us, he has only to send a message to our house at Yedo, and we will despatch anyone he likes from Kiôto to see him," he took his departure. I thanked him very warmly for coming so far to see me, and we bade each other farewell. The feast was resumed, and after numerous courses, Hayashi and I went back on board the "Argus" by half-past seven. Next day we left for Yokohama. During our stay at Hiôgo we had walked freely about the town, and found the people perfectly civil. They were evidently becoming accustomed to the sight of foreigners, and scarcely took any notice of us as we passed through the streets. [Illustration: CHOSHIU COUNCILLORS Katsura Kogorû and Kikkawa Kemmotsu] [Illustration: DAIMIÔ OF CHÔ-SHIU AND HIS HEIR Môri Daizen and Môri Nagato] CHAPTER XVI FIRST VISIT TO OZAKA ON reaching Yokohama on the 15th January 1867, I duly made my report to the chief of all I had seen, heard, and said, and took up my quarters on the following day at Yedo. The first news I learnt was that the Shôgun had invited all the foreign representatives to meet him at Ozaka, and that they would probably accept. His object, it was explained, was to break through all the traditions of the past eight years and to make the treaties of friendship which had been concluded by Japan with foreign countries more of a reality than they had hitherto been. But Sir Harry, who had now learnt enough of the internal political condition to convince him that the Shôgun's power was fast decaying, still hesitated, and it was only when he found a majority of his colleagues determined to go, that he made up his mind to join them. But he persuaded them that it would be well to have inquiries made beforehand as to the kind of accommodation that would be provided, and consequently deputed Mitford and myself to proceed thither in the "Argus." We were joined by Captain Cardew of the 2/ix, and reached Hiôgo on the 9th of February, after a two days' run. A couple of subordinate officials of the Shôgun's foreign department had accompanied us to make the necessary arrangements, and were landed at once to provide for our going to Ozaka without loss of time. We determined to go by land. The "Princess Royal," "Basilisk," "Serpent," and "Firm" were in port, having just arrived from visiting the Princes of Chikuzen at Fukuoka, and the Princes of Chôshiû at Mitajiri. Lord Walter Kerr of the "Princess Royal" kindly gave me photographs of the four nobles and of two of the leading councillors of Chôshiû, which are here reproduced. Among them will be recognized Katsura Kogorô, already mentioned. On board the "Princess Royal" I met some native traders, who were greatly interested in the approaching opening of the port, and discussed various suitable sites for a foreign settlement. They also conveyed to me the news of the Mikado's death, which had only just been made public. Rumour attributed his decease to smallpox, but several years afterwards I was assured by a Japanese well acquainted with what went on behind the scenes that he had been poisoned. He was by conviction utterly opposed to any concessions to foreigners, and had therefore been removed out of the way by those who foresaw that the coming downfall of the _Baku-fu_ would force the court into direct relations with Western Powers. But with a reactionary Mikado nothing but difficulties, resulting probably in war, was to be expected. It is common enough in eastern countries to attribute the deaths of important personages to poison, and in the case of the last preceding Shôgun rumours had been pretty rife that he had been made away with by Shitotsubashi. In connexion with the Mikado I certainly never heard any such suggestion at the time. But it is impossible to deny that his disappearance from the political scene, leaving as his successor a boy of fifteen or sixteen years of age, was most opportune. Noguchi and my boy Yasu turned up here, having been forwarded from Uwajima. They were full of excuses, which were readily admitted. We got away on the morning of the 11th, and Lieutenant Thalbitzer, a Danish officer from the "Argus," having joined us, we were a party of four. Ponies had been provided by the Japanese authorities, and we had an escort of nine men armed with swords from the corps which supplied the guards of the foreign legations at Yedo. Our steeds were small, ill-fed, and untrained, but each had a splendid running footman attached to it, who kept up the pace in magnificent style. Troops had been posted along the road for our protection, and the whole number thus detailed cannot have been less than 1500. This gave us a novel and somewhat embarrassing sense of importance. The road is perfectly flat the whole way, and fairly straight until it approaches Ozaka, when it begins to make zig-zags which lengthened it unnecessarily. This plan was formerly adopted nearly all over Japan in the vicinity of _daimiôs_' towns for strategical purposes. As the roads nearly always run through the swampy rice fields, a hostile force is unable to march straight at its point of attack, but must follow the road, being thus constantly exposed to a flank fire from the defending force occupying the other arm of the angle ahead. Soon after passing Ama-ga-saki we came in sight of the castle of Ozaka, a conspicuous object in the landscape by its shining white walls and many-storied towers, visible for many a league. At last we reached the city. Although our guides missed the route at first, and here and there a break occurred in the troops which lined the narrow streets, the crowd quietly made way for us, and stood in front of the houses without uttering a sound. At every corner there was an immense concourse, and the side-streets were filled with eager, gazing faces as far as the eye could reach. We crossed the great wooden bridge over the river which runs through the city, turned to the left along the embankment, and bending again to the right proceeded down a long, apparently interminable street until we finally reached our lodgings at the Hon-gaku-In monastery. Here we found some officials of the foreign department, and received calls from a few of the local functionaries. Everything had been done to make us comfortable, and the locality was the best that could have been selected. It was impossible to avoid contrasting this generous hospitality with the reluctant, almost hostile, reception accorded to us on the occasion of our visit in 1865. The times had evidently changed since the accession of the new Shôgun, and the recent death of the Mikado did not appear to have made any difference in his plans and intentions for the carrying-out of a conciliatory policy. Preparations had been made by the officials for our accommodation to the best of their ability. After washing off the dust of our long ride in a comfortable bathroom, we sat down to a dinner served in imitation of western fashion, with French wines, including an excellent bottle of Larose. Alas, it was the only one. The seats, however, were mere four-legged wooden stools, and I suffered a good deal from them during our stay. Afterwards we inspected the bedrooms. The bedsteads were mere makeshifts, but there was a plentiful supply of bedding, consisting of cotton quilts and stuffed silk coverlets. The toilet service was made up of two ludicrously small basins and, underneath the toilet table, a huge water pot; at the side were a cake of almond soap and a bottle of eau-de-cologne. But what seemed especially unusual was the deference of manner and language exhibited by all the officials with whom we came in contact. Hitherto I had experienced only familiarity approaching to rudeness at the hands of government officers. On the following morning we were visited by Suzuki, an official of the Uwajima clan, who came with a message from the resident _Karô_ to beg that we would not visit them at their _yashiki_, but at the same time he managed to convey the contrary impression. I sent Noguchi to the Satsuma _yashiki_ to invite Komatsu to call on us, and to that of Uwajima to convey my thanks for the kindness exhibited to my two servants. In the afternoon we went out for a walk in the Shinsai-bashi Suji, which is the principal street of the city, preceded by a small band of one-sworded men, who emitted a cry like a crow--_kau, kau_--to warn the people out of the way. Dense crowds hovered on our footsteps, eager to catch a glimpse of the strangers, for no Europeans had been in Ozaka since the last Dutch mission from Nagasaki had passed through a few years before. We were no less inquisitive, and made a great round, past all the booksellers' and mercers' shops, till dark. Our next visitor was Yoshii Kôsuké, whom I have already mentioned. He reminded me that we had met at Hiôgo in the autumn of 1865 on board the steamer, when I had also seen Saigô for the first time. Yoshii was a little man, very vivacious and talked with a perfect Satsuma brogue. Every day we spent the greater part of our time in sight-seeing, and the officials proved obliging in every way. We had only to express a wish and it was immediately gratified. In a day or two we got Komatsu and Yoshii to tiffin. The former was one of the most charming Japanese I have known, a Karô by birth, but unlike most of that class, distinguished for his political ability, excellent manners, and a genial companion. He had a fairer complexion than most, but his large mouth prevented his being good-looking. They partook heartily of pâte de foie gras and pale ale, and at last became so merry that we feared they might make indiscreet revelations in the presence of the Tokugawa servants who crowded the house. On the next day Mitford and I returned their visit at the Satsuma _Kura-yashiki_, or produce agency, near the river bank. Yoshii received us at the door, and ushered us into a room where we found Komatsu, the agent and Matsuki Kôwan; the latter was one of the two prisoners taken by us in 1863, and I had some suspicion that he was not altogether to be trusted, as he was reported to have been in the Tycoon's service during the interval. So after the exchange of compliments I suggested that we might have some more private talk. It was a mistake on my part, however. Matsuki afterwards changed his name to Terashima Tôzô, or perhaps merely reassumed it, and held office pretty constantly since the revolution of 1868, chiefly in connexion with foreign affairs. So Komatsu, Yoshii, Mitford and I retired together into an inner room. They told us that the Mikado's death had taken place on the 30th January, though the date officially announced was the 3rd February. He had been succeeded by his son, a youth of fifteen, who, it was thought, had in him the makings of a clever man if properly educated in foreign and domestic politics. But unfortunately the _Baku-fu_ would not allow him to be approached by any teachers who could improve his mind. During the new Mikado's youth, the conduct of public affairs would be carried on in his name by the Kwambaku (best rendered vizier). This officer is chosen from one of five noble court families, nominally of course by the Mikado, but in reality by the Tycoon and principal _daimiôs_. The present Kwambaku was a wise and good man, but too much disposed to listen to the counsels of the _Baku-fu_. They thought the new Shôgun's idea in inviting the foreign representatives to Ozaka was merely a counter move to the invitations which Sir Harry Parkes had accepted from the _daimiôs_ of Satsuma and Uwajima. The Shôgun would probably talk a great deal about drawing closer the bonds of friendship, etc., but would avoid treating about the opening of Hiôgo. The _Baku-fu_ in fact did not wish that event to take place, because it would let a flood of light into the minds of the Mikado and the court nobles. Komatsu said he had remonstrated with the _Baku-fu_ for delaying to hand over the land at Hiôgo and postponing the notification of the tariff convention of last June, their answer being that they had not yet made up their minds on those subjects. Satsuma, he said, had purchased some land near Kôbé as a site for a _Kura-yashiki_, of which they would be willing to let us have the greater portion for a foreign settlement. Satsuma wished to see the place opened to foreign trade, but wanted it to be done in a proper manner. Many of the court nobles were also in favour of the measure; these were men of liberal tendencies, but not in favour with the _Baku-fu_, who had imprisoned some of them; they were not allowed to have access to the Mikado. Affairs being in a critical condition, it was probable that the Shôgun would stop a long time at Kiôto. Were he to return to Yedo, he would lose his hold over the Mikado, and Chôshiû might make another dash at the palace. None of the _daimiôs_ had proceeded specially to Kiôto for the investiture of the Shôgun, the absent ones being represented by their agents. Komatsu begged us to tell Sir Harry that it was not the desire of Satsuma and the other _daimiôs_ who acted with him to upset the _Baku-fu_, but simply to restrain them from misusing their powers. They hoped, however, to see the Mikado restored to his ancient position as _de facto_ ruler of the country. All the plans and hopes of Satsuma tended to the benefit of the country, and not to a revolution against the Shôgun. If Sir Harry on his arrival would propose to make a treaty with the Mikado, the _daimiôs_ would at once give in their adhesion, and flock to Kiôto in order to take part in carrying out the great scheme. All that was necessary was for him to help them to this extent, and they would do the rest. The conversation had now lasted so long that we thought it best to break off, for fear of exciting suspicion, and we returned to the other room, where a capital Japanese luncheon was spread out. To my great surprise we were joined by Inouyé Bunda, whom I had not seen since the bombardment of Shimonoséki. His face was now disfigured by a huge scar, the vestige of one of several wounds which he had received in the course of a party fight down in Chôshiû. He said his people had now got the steam up and would like to give the Shôgun another thrashing. He brought a message from the prince to Sir Harry inviting him to visit the province at the earliest opportunity. When Sir Harry last passed through Shimonoséki, he said, the French Minister was there, and that accident had prevented an intended interview. The Satsuma people expressed the hope that Mitford and I would visit Kagoshima as soon as possible. We had a discussion with Shibata Hiûga no Kami, one of the Commissioners for Foreign Affairs, about Sir Harry's public entry into Ozaka, and settled all the details quietly and amicably. But when we came to the ceremony of presentation to the Shôgun some difficulties cropped up. He wanted the British Minister to make his bow outside the room in which the Shôgun would be, and we could not allow this. Our object was to insist on the forms being as like those of European courts as possible. Noguchi, as I have said, belonged to the Aidzu clan, which furnished the best part of the Shogun's fighting force at Kiôto. I had sent him there to see his people, and he returned with the news that some were coming down to call on me. Accordingly, late in the evening of the 17th, four of them appeared, named Kajiwara Heima (a _Karô_), Kurazawa Uhei, Yamada Teisuké and Kawara Zenzayemon, bearing as presents rolls of light blue silk damask, and lists of swords and other articles to be hereafter given to Sir Harry, Mitford, and myself. In making official presents the custom was that a list written on thick, light cream-coloured paper called _hôsho-gami_ should accompany the articles, and often, if these were not ready, the list was handed over beforehand. We had nothing to give in return, but entertained them to the best of our ability. Kajiwara in particular distinguished himself by drinking champagne, whiskey, sherry, rum, gin and gin and water without blinking or shrinking. He was a particularly handsome young fellow, with a fair complexion, and had perfect manners. We gave them a letter of introduction to Captain Hewett of the "Basilisk," as they wanted to see a foreign man-of-war. This was the foundation of a close friendship between myself and the Aidzu clan, which survived the war of the revolution and the completest possible difference of opinion on Japanese internal politics. But they never resented the part we took, clearly seeing that all the English wanted was the good of the Japanese as a nation, and that they were not partisans of any faction. Our new friends came a couple of days later to tiffin, when they were regaled with champagne and preserved meats, greatly to the elevation of their spirits. It ought to be noted that in those days it was quite the proper thing to get drunk at a dinner party, and a host whose guests went away sober would have been mortified by a feeling that his hospitality had not been properly appreciated. One of them got very tight, and began to talk things unfit for the ears of boys or maidens, while another produced a packet of indecent pictures, which he generously distributed among the four of us. In return for this entertainment Kajiwara invited us to go and drink _saké_ with him in the evening. We at once accepted, but had some trouble with the foreign department officials from Yedo, to whom it appeared an improper violation of all precedent for members of a foreign legation to attend a feast given by a _daimiô's_ man, even though the _daimiô_ belonged to the Shôgun's party. We could therefore trust them to make every effort behind our backs to prevent the entertainment coming off. [Illustration: GROUP PHOTOGRAPHED DURING A VISIT TO OZAKA Yasu. Noguchi. Akum. Mitford. Linfu. Satow. Cardew. Thalbitzer.] The afternoon was spent in visiting the boats in which it was proposed to bring the British Minister and his suite to the temporary Legation, and a long weary tramp of it we had, but at last we got to the place where they would leave the men-of-wars' boats. Embarking here, we made an experimental trip ourselves, and came to the conclusion that it would not do. To begin with, the distance was very great, and poling against the stream was a slow method of progression; next, instead of showing themselves to the populace, the minister and his staff would be almost hidden from view, and would be taken through a succession of narrow, obscure, and not very clean canals, to a very short distance from their lodgings, to which they would have to proceed on foot. We found a dense crowd had collected at the landing-place to see us, although it was quite dark. We had been more than a week in the city, and the curiosity of the inhabitants seemed not a whit abated, though we had traversed the city in all directions, and not a day passed without our taking a long walk. Noguchi, who had gone with the Aidzu men to find out where the symposium was to be held, was not yet back, so reconciling ourselves to the idea that the officials had succeeded in putting it off, we sat down to a dinner of terrapin soup and boiled terrapins. In the middle of it, however, Noguchi appeared to announce that all was ready. The guard that usually dogged our steps when we went out had all retired to rest for the night, so we got away unaccompanied except by one man carrying a lantern. The streets were by this time quite deserted, and we hugged ourselves with the consciousness of an adventure. No European had yet been abroad in the streets of a Japanese city at night as a free man. We had to walk a couple of miles, and then turn down by the river till we came to a house close to the great bridge. Here we found our friends awaiting our arrival. Blankets were spread for us on the floor at the upper end of the room, while the Aidzu men sat on cushions opposite to us, a row of tall candlesticks occupying the centre. Tea was served by some very ancient females, and we began again to fear a disappointment, for the invitation had been accompanied by a promise to show us some of the most celebrated singing and dancing girls of the city. However, when the _saké_ was brought up, they descended from the upper storey, where they had been engaged in completing their toilette. Some of them were certainly pretty, others decidedly ugly, but we thought their looks ruined in any case by the blackened teeth and white-lead-powdered faces. In later times I became more accustomed to the shining black teeth which were then the distinctive mark of a married woman, as well as of every "artiste" old enough to have an admirer, so much so that when the empress set the fashion by discontinuing the practice, it was long before I, in common with most Japanese, could reconcile myself to the new style. I have always thought Japanese dancing, or rather posturing, extremely uninteresting. It is a sort of interpreting by more or less graceful (or, as one may look at it, affected) movements of body and limbs, of the words of a song chanted to the accompaniment of a kind of three-stringed lute. It is some help to know the words of the song beforehand; they are no more comprehensible when sung than the sounds given forth by the singers in Italian opera are to the majority of their audience. But no foreigner, unless he be an enthusiast, would ever take the trouble to educate himself to appreciate this form of art. He can enjoy the beautiful in other ways at much less cost of time and mental exertion. Then it takes a long apprenticeship to accustom the European ear to music constructed with a set of intervals that are different enough from ours to make nine-tenths of the notes seem out of tune. This form of entertainment is universal all over the east, in India, Burma, Siam, China and Japan, with local variations, and is, to my uncultivated taste, everywhere equally tedious. Our Yedo officials had found us out, and did not cease to urge our return, until at eleven o'clock we gave way to their importunity and said good-bye to our hosts, after only a short stay. I daresay they kept it up to a much later hour. This was the evening before we left Ozaka. CHAPTER XVII RECEPTION OF FOREIGN MINISTERS BY THE TYCOON ON our return to Yedo we were horrified to learn of the death by his own hand of poor Vidal, the junior student interpreter. No motive was assignable for the terrible act, except ill-health. Insane he certainly was not. A more lucid intellect it would be difficult to find. He had abilities of a very high order, but was a prey to a torpid liver, which seemed always to embitter his existence. His first nomination was to Siam, but before he had taken up his appointment he was transferred to Peking. After a year or two there, finding the climate did not suit him, he obtained a change to Japan. But even there he was not content with his lot, and preferred annihilation. The next few days were spent in visiting Atami and Hakoné in company with some friends from Yokohama. There is nothing worthy of record about this excursion, except that Atami, which then contained only a couple of hotels, now (1887) possesses at least a dozen, and has become a fashionable winter resort, much frequented by the higher classes living in Tôkiô (Yedo). The cost of transport then was much less than it would be now. We paid the coolies who carried our baggage over to Hakoné, a distance of about ten miles, 1-3/4 _ichibus_, about 2 shillings and 4d per man. At that time there existed a barrier at the eastern end of the village, at which all travellers had to exhibit their passports to the men on guard. The notice-board at the guardhouse, among other provisions, stated that dead bodies, wounded persons, and individuals of suspicious aspect were not allowed to proceed without the production of a passport. A lady of our party accomplished the difficult feat of riding on a Japanese pony down the steep and badly paved road which descends from the top of the pass to Odawara. We established ourselves in the official inn, where we were received with due respect and cordiality by the innkeeper. It was a one-storied building spread over a considerable area, and containing ten or fifteen rooms of the regulation size, namely 12 feet square, besides a huge kitchen and an entrance hall. Here we passed the night, and on the following day Noguchi procured for us packhorses and coolies at the government rates, which were 1 horse load 464 cash, 1 coolie load 233 cash, for a distance of ten miles. Now 6600 cash were equal to one _riô_, that is four _ichibus_, or at par rates about 5s 4d, so that the official rate for the coolie was about two and a fifth pence for the whole distance or a little over the 1/5 of a penny per mile. The coolies were obliged to perform the labour as corvée, and if they were not in sufficient number, the population of the post towns had to hire men at ordinary rates to let them out at the government tariff. It was a heavy tax, and one of the first reforms of the new government established after the revolution was the abolition of this system. At Hodogaya I parted from the rest of the party, who returned to Yokohama, and went on to Kanagawa, where I slept at the _hon-jin_ or official hotel, occupying the best rooms, which were reserved for _daimiôs_ and high officials of the government. I rode in a _kago_ or palanquin from Hodogaya, just five miles, and was two hours accomplishing that short distance. It was, however, the ordinary rate of travelling in those days. One of the native legation guard went ahead, also in a _kago_, preceded by a big bamboo and paper lantern on a pole, then came my _kago_, followed by a coolie carrying my baggage in a couple of wicker boxes slung on a pole (_riô-gaké_), and a second guardsman. Noguchi probably walked. Next morning when I came to discharge the bill for my whole party, including rooms, _saké_ and _sakana_, supper and breakfast, I found it amounted to about 8s 6d, and I gave one _ichibu_ (say 1s 4d) to the hotelkeeper as _cha-dai_ or tea money, which was considered quite enough. In Japan the charge for a night's lodging, called _hatago_, used to include everything, rice, tea, sleeping accommodation, fuel, candles, and use of the hot bath. The only extras were _saké_ and _sakana_, which a liberal-minded traveller ordered "for the good of the house," but if he was of an economical turn, he contented himself with the regular two meals, which were quite enough to satisfy his appetite. _Sakana_ (fish) is more played with than eaten, and is merely the excuse for _saké_. The comparison with a European hotel bill, with its charges for candles, firing and bath, is striking. Moreover, in Japan, you give no tips, for none are expected, and the tea money takes the place of the charge for the room you occupy. It was after my return from this journey that Mitford and I removed to a little house outside the legation, situated in a pretty garden on the rising ground which overhangs the side road leading from the Tôkaidô to Sen-gaku-ji. It was in reality a small monastery named Monriô-In, and we occupied the guest apartments, having each a bedroom and one sitting room. No palisade surrounded it, and our only protection was a hut at the gate which held three or four of the _betté-gumi_. We thought ourselves very plucky in thus braving the risks of midnight assassination, when the legation grounds below us were patrolled all night, and sentries passed the word to each other as the hours struck. Here we spent several months together, living entirely on Japanese food, which was brought three times a day from a restaurant known as _Mansei_, much frequented by our friends the Satsuma men. Mitford devoted himself with unflagging diligence to the study of the Japanese language, as he had before at Peking to that of the Chinese, and made rapid progress. I began to compile for his use a series of sentences and dialogues which some years afterwards were published under the title of Kwai-wa Hen. It was convenient to be outside the legation compound, because I could receive visits from the retainers of _daimiôs_ without obstruction. I used to go a good deal to the Satsuma _yashiki_ in Mita to get political information from two men named Shibayama Riôsuké and Nambu Yahachirô; the former met his death towards the close of the year in a remarkable manner. The _yashiki_, having gained evil repute as the refuge of a number of _rônin_ and other disorderly political characters, was surrounded and set on fire by the Shôgun's police. There was a fight, many were killed, but Shibayama was made prisoner. When brought up for examination, he boldly avowed that he had been the ringleader, and then drawing a pistol from the bosom of his dress, shot himself through the head. He was a capital companion, and I had more than one agreeable adventure with him. Towards the middle of April the foreign diplomatic representatives moved in a body down to Ozaka. The French Minister, M. Roches, had already been there in March in furtherance of the special line of policy he was pursuing, and seen the Shôgun; doubtless promises of support had been given; at any rate, counsel had been offered. In fact, as it afterwards turned out, M. Roches so far committed himself with the _Baku-fu_ that he found it impossible to remain one day longer in Japan after its final overthrow. On our side Sir Harry Parkes was resolved henceforth to treat the Shôgun as of no more importance than a vice-gerent; henceforward he was styled by us His Highness, while for the Queen we used a Japanese title placing her on full equality with the Mikado. Sir Harry took with him to Ozaka the mounted escort under Captain Applin, and a detachment of 50 men from the 2/ix, commanded by Captain Daunt and Lieutenant Bradshaw. Lady Parkes was also of the party. The staff consisted of the secretary of legation, Sidney Locock, Mitford, myself (I was acting Japanese secretary), Willis, Aston and Wilkinson. We had persuaded Sir Harry to let Charles Wirgman come with us. We numbered about seventy Europeans, besides some thirty Chinese and Japanese, writers, servants and grooms. The Tycoon's government furnished all the fresh supplies required. Great offence was caused by this exclusive privilege, and Rickerby in the "Japan Times" poured out his wrath upon the head of our friend the artist. It was perhaps not an unreasonable complaint from their point of view that no representatives of the mercantile community were invited to accompany the foreign ministers, but it is quite certain that they would have been very much in the way. The British Legation occupied four spacious temples or monasteries at the further end of a street called Tera-machi, the other representatives being accommodated in perhaps somewhat inferior buildings nearer to its entrance. But the British Minister had taken the trouble to send down two of his staff beforehand to make all the arrangements, while the others were ready to be contented with what was provided for them by the Japanese Government. Mitford, Wirgman and I occupied one end of a temple (Chô-hô-ji) overlooking the city, while at the other end were Sir Harry's "office" and the temporary chancery. The whole mission messed together in the temple on the other side of the street, where Sir Harry and Lady Parkes had their abode. Next door was a temple given up to the officers of the guard and two student interpreters, and the fourth was set apart for guests. I had a charming set of rooms on three floors. The bottom was occupied by the Japanese writers and my retainers, the centre floor, consisting of two rooms, served as a bedroom and "office," and the top was a sort of parlour where I received guests, only twelve feet by nine, but large enough to accommodate a dozen persons, as it did not contain a single piece of furniture. It was a busy time. I was employed from morning till night translating and interpreting, and remember that on one occasion I had to talk Japanese for eleven successive hours, as the chief had Japanese guests both at luncheon and dinner. For this reason I found no time to keep my journal, and what follows is a pure effort of memory, aided only as far as the dates are concerned by reference to printed sources. A great part of our time was taken up with the regulations under which settlements were to be formed at Hiôgo and Ozaka, the conditions under which land was to be leased to foreigners, and the creation of a municipality at each place, and Sir Harry being the most practical man among the whole body of foreign representatives, the work fell in the main on his shoulders. The Japanese Government were evidently desirous of conciliating the representatives, and the negotiations proceeded with unaccustomed smoothness and celerity. No more angry discussions and heated arguments (in which the heat and anger of our chief were opposed to the stolid calm of the imperturbable Japanese Ministers) such as had characterized our official interviews at Yedo. At the word of the new Shôgun an entirely new line had been adopted, and a serious endeavour was made to convert the treaty of friendship into a reality. Then we had visits from Satsuma, Awa and Uwajima men, and tried to ascertain what was likely to be the out-turn of the political movement that had been in progress now for thirteen years. But on the whole everything seemed to point to the triumph of the Shôgun over his opponents. And one of the principal objects with which he had invited the foreign ministers to Ozaka was that he might make their personal acquaintance, and thus manifest his desire to cultivate friendly relations with foreign countries. Who put this into his head I do not know, but it does not seem _á priori_ unlikely that a closer intimacy with the legations had been suggested to him by one of the representatives themselves. A good deal of time was consumed in discussing the etiquette to be observed at the audiences of the Shôgun, but in the end it was arranged that it should be entirely according to European fashion. The first interview was a private one. Sir Harry proceeded to the castle on horseback, accompanied by all the members of the mission, preceded by the mounted escort, and with a detachment of the infantry guard before and behind. A cloud of the Japanese guard called _betté-gumi_ hovered on our flanks and kept back the crowd. A rather ludicrous incident was the presentation of arms by the soldiers who lined the open space in front of the castle to the officer in command of the escort, whose resplendent uniform had led them to mistake him for the minister. At the nearer end of the causeway crossing the moat there used to stand a wooden board inscribed with the Chinese characters for "alight from horseback," but as had been agreed upon beforehand, we took no notice of this and passed on through the gateway to the very door of the palace. If I recollect rightly, this was almost close to the gate. The palace unfortunately exists no longer, having been destroyed by fire during the retreat of the defeated _Baku-fu_ forces early in February 1868. But it was reputed to be the most splendid example of domestic architecture then extant in Japan. It certainly was far superior to the Mikado's Palace at Kiôto. Wide and lofty matted corridors, partitioned off by painted screens, of choice cryptomeria wood, ran along the front of a succession of large rooms and away to the right by the side of the three large apartments constituting the _ôbiroma_ or hall of audience. The other apartments had each a specific name, and the _daimiôs_ were classified according to their right of waiting in one or the other for their turn of admission to the presence. Over these wooden screens were large panels of carved wood representing birds and animals surrounded by foliage, but somewhat too richly painted, very much in the style familiar to those who have visited the mausoleum of Iyéyasu at Nikkô. We were conducted along the matted corridor by the Commissioners for Foreign Affairs, who had some difficulty in walking, as the court rules prescribed their wearing long wide trousers that extended far beyond their feet, so as to give them the appearance of moving on their knees, until we reached the further room, where the Shôgun was awaiting us. He shook hands with Sir Harry, and sat down at the head of a long table, with Sir Harry on his right and on his left Itakura Iga no Kami, who might be styled Prime Minister. The rest of the staff sat next to Sir Harry, and I had a stool between him and the Shôgun. He was one of the most aristocratic-looking Japanese I have ever seen, of fair complexion, with a high forehead and well-cut nose--such a gentleman. I felt somewhat nervous, not knowing whether I had got hold of the forms of speech required by court etiquette, and remember making a ridiculous blunder over an observation of Sir Harry's that all that was disagreeable in the past relations of Great Britain and Japan was now forgotten. There was no business talk on this occasion, and after the conversation was over, the whole company adjourned to a smaller apartment where dinner was served in European style. The Shôgun sat at the head of the table, and was very gracious. Round the walls hung paintings of the thirty-six poets, and Sir Harry having admired them, the Shôgun made him a present of one. Whiskey and water were produced after the repast, and I had the honour of brewing toddy for the great man. It was dark when we left. A few days later there was a formal audience, at which the captains of the men-of-war were presented. We had arranged beforehand the address of Sir Harry and the reply of the Shôgun, who had been tutored also into saying a few words to each person presented to him. These somewhat resembled the Turkish Pasha's remarks as translated by the dragoman at the famous interview described in _Eothen_. To Captain Haswell, who had been on a polar expedition, for instance, he said what really amounted to "you had a long journey," but was interpreted in much more complimentary style. I remember receiving a visit from Saigô and others of that party, who were not at all pleased at the _rapprochement_ between us and the Shôgun. I hinted to Saigô that the chance of a revolution was not to be lost. If Hiôgo were once opened, then good-bye to the chances of the _daimiôs_. The street in which the foreign representatives lodged was shut in at each end by solid wooden gates, at which a number of the _betté-gumi_ were stationed on guard day and night, and it was impossible to get out into the city without an escort, as the guard had instructions to follow us wherever we went. This was very irksome to Mitford and myself, until we found out a gap in the wall which surrounded one of the temples, and from that time we used to make nocturnal excursions to all parts of the town, accompanied by my retainer Noguchi. The sense of a certain peril to be encountered, combined with a sort of truant schoolboy feeling, rendered these explorations into the night life of Japan very enjoyable. On one occasion young Matsuné joined us on an expedition to the quarter occupied by singing and dancing girls; it was a moonlight night, and the chance of detection by the guard was so much the greater. After getting through our gap, we doubled back, and passing behind the legations, got into a lower street running parallel to that in which we lived, where we ran along for some distance keeping close in the shadow of the houses, then darted into another street at right angles, turned to the right again until we felt sure of having baffled any possible pursuers, after which we walked on quietly, and crossing one of the long bridges over the river, found ourselves at our destination. A room had been taken in Matsuné's name, and some of the bepowdered and berouged girls were awaiting the arrival of the Japanese party they had expected to meet, when to their surprise and horror three Europeans were ushered into their midst. We were at that time objects of more alarm than interest to the women of Ozaka. The fair damsels starting up with a scream fairly ran away, and no assurances from our friend would induce them to return. The keeper of the house besought us to leave, as a crowd might collect, and if there was any disturbance he would get into trouble, and so we had to submit to our disappointment. But even the slight glimpse we had of the native beauties seemed to compensate for the risk run, for here in Ozaka no foreigner had ever been admitted to the quarter. On another occasion, when we were accompanied by some of the guard we had better success, and enjoyed the society of some gei-shas for several hours, the government officials having given their consent and even interfered, I believe, on our behalf. Matsuné, being a _daimiô's_ man, was looked on with much suspicion. It seemed a plucky thing on his part to spend so much time with us, and even to accompany us in broad daylight to the tea-gardens opposite to where the Mint now stands. Everything was new and delightful in Ozaka, politics and diplomacy afforded unceasing interest and excitement, the streets, shops, theatres and temples were full of life and character of a kind thoroughly distinct from what we were accustomed to in Yedo and Yokohama, and the difference of dialect and costume imparted additional piquancy to the women. During the whole five weeks we spent there we had not a single dull day. There was always something to do in the intervals of our official work, visits to temples and theatres, tea-drinking according to the elaborate ceremonial of the _cha-no-yu_, an excursion to the large commercial town of Sakai, the existence of which in such close proximity to Ozaka seems hard to explain. Near our residence was a florist's establishment, famous for its collection of orchids, which in Japan are cultivated more for their foliage than for their flowers; this taste is conditioned by the fact that in Loochoo, China and Japan there are very few species bearing conspicuous or fine blossoms, and the amateur makes the best of what is procurable. More attractive to the European was the exhibition of tree-peonies, which was going on during our stay. These flowers are now fashionable in England, but at that time were not much known; the magnificent pink or white blossoms of various shades, often as much as nine inches in diameter, are quite unsurpassable, and fully justify the Chinese title of "king of flowers." In Chinese and Japanese decorative art it is always associated with the lion, and has often been mistaken for the rose by European writers. _Curio_ shops and silk stores also took up a good deal of our time, but the fabrics of the loom had not then attained the high artistic development of later years. We went about the city in every direction, and though frequently encountering men of the two-sworded class, never met with any instance of rudeness, while the common people were uniformly friendly to us. The negotiations between the foreign representatives and the delegates of the Japanese Government proceeded satisfactorily though somewhat slowly, and about the middle of May had reached a stage at which it was felt that nothing more could be done for the present. All the ministers, therefore, made their preparations for returning to Yedo. Before leaving that part of the country Sir Harry made a trip across to Tsuruga, which had been talked of as a possible substitute for the port of Niigata, reported to be practically closed to commerce for one half of the year by the combined inconveniences of a bar at the mouth of the river on which it stands, and the persistent north-west gales that raise a most dangerous sea. It had been agreed between us and the Japanese that as a supplementary refuge for ships the harbour of Ebisuminato in the island of Sado should be opened if necessary, but only as an anchorage. If after an inspection of these two places the combined arrangement should appear unworkable, then some other port was to be substituted, either Tsuruga or Nanao. Sir Harry was accompanied by Lady Parkes and some of the staff. He proceeded by way of Fushimi, along the western side of the Biwa Lake, and returning by the eastern shore. The anti-Shôgun party made a great grievance of this journey, and fell foul of the government for having permitted the "barbarians" to approach so near to the sacred capital, Fushimi being practically a suburb of Kiôto, and the Satsuma people put in a written memorial on the subject, more to annoy the Tycoon's government than as a mark of real hostility to us. Of course we did not know of this until long after. I obtained leave to return to Yedo overland, and Wirgman became my travelling companion. A proposal was made to Sir Harry by the Tycoon's government through Kawakatsu Omi no Kami to procure professors for English for a large public school to be established in Yedo on the basis of the existing Kaiseijo. Dr Temple was asked by Her Majesty's Government to furnish a sufficient staff at salaries which we in the legation thought quite adequate, but he took no trouble about the matter, and we thus lost the opportunity of giving an English turn to the higher class education of the country. CHAPTER XVIII OVERLAND FROM OZAKA TO YEDO FOR centuries the interior of Japan had been closed to all Europeans, with the exception of the head of the Dutch trading factory at Nagasaki, who used to travel overland to Yedo at fixed intervals to pay his respects to the Shôgun and carry valuable presents to him and his ministers. Perhaps the best account of these tribute bearing missions is to be found in Kaempfer. But in the new treaties a provision had been inserted giving to the diplomatic representatives of foreign powers the right of travelling throughout the country, and Sir Rutherford Alcock had availed himself of this privilege a few years earlier, as he has recounted in his "Court and Capital of the Tycoon." As a guide to succeeding travellers it cannot be said that his description of the journey was of much assistance. But the Japanese are great travellers themselves, and the booksellers' shops abound in printed itineraries which furnish the minutest possible information about inns, roads, distances, ferries, temples, productions, and other particulars which the tourist requires. Then a fairly good map was easily procurable, not drawn to scale, but affording every geographical detail that can be of any real service, and there was a splendid illustrated guidebook to the Tôkaidô containing all the legendary and historical lore that an Englishman accustomed to his Murray can desire. There are two great roads which unite the eastern and western capitals, namely the Nakasendô or road through the mountains, which, as its name implies, traverses the central provinces, and the Tôkaidô or road along the sea to the east, which follows the sea shore wherever practicable. Properly speaking this is not the original name of the road, but rather of the administrative division through which it runs, but practically it came to the same thing. It was the latter which had been chosen for me as the principal highway in the country, and the best provided with inn accommodation. Ever since the third Tokugawa Shôgun established the rule that each _daimiô_ must pass a portion of the year in Yedo, the great highroads had become important means of internal communication. Posting stations were established at every few miles for the supply of porters and baggage ponies, and at each of these were erected one or two official inns called _hon-jin_ for the use of _daimiôs_ and high functionaries of government. Around these sprang up a crowd of private inns and houses of entertainment where the _daimiôs_' retainers and travelling merchants used to put up. The Tôkaidô was the recognized route for all the _daimiôs_ west of Kiôto, and of course for those whose territories lay along it. Then it was the main route for the pilgrims who flocked annually to the sacred shrines in Isé, and was the means of access to many other famous temples; so that of all the roads in Japan it was the most frequented and the most important from every point of view. Who that collects Japanese colour prints is unacquainted with the numerous delightful series of views devoted to its illustration, which present such vivid pictures of Japanese life. One of the most famous of all native novels is occupied with the adventures of a couple of merry dogs on their way from Yedo up to Kiôto, and the list of its fifty-three posting towns was one of the first lessons in reading and writing which the youth of Japan had to commit to memory. On account of its historical and legendary associations, to say nothing of its famous scenery, it occupied something of the same place in the imaginations of the Japanese that the Rhine formerly did in the minds of English tourists before the Loreley rock had been tunnelled, and crowds of indifferent travellers were hastily whirled in a few hours along an iron track on either side of the great stream which at one time it was the fashion to "do" with dignity in a carriage and four. Carefully as one may study a map, there is no way of learning geography comparable to the pedestrian method, which, by a thousand associations of pleasure, fatigue and weather, fixes indelibly the minutest topographical facts, and enables the student of history to understand the vicissitudes of warfare. Japan being a country where a peculiar political system had taken its birth from centuries of civil war, the more we saw of its interior districts, the more likely were we to arrive at a correct understanding of the problem which at that moment was being attacked by the rival parties. I do not pretend that any considerations such as these determined my application to the chief for permission to return to headquarters by land. Insatiable curiosity as to everything Japanese, a certain love of adventure, and dislike of life on board of a man-of-war were the real motives, the last perhaps as strong as any, and probably many persons would agree with me in preferring to spend a day in walking from Calais to Dover, if it were practicable, to taking their chance of rough weather in a steamer, even though it might not last for more than an hour and ten minutes. Wirgman and I were by this time so accustomed to living on Japanese food that we resolved not to burden ourselves with stores of any kind, knives or forks, finger glasses or table napkins. Ponies were not procurable, so we bought a couple of secondhand palanquins, called _hikido kago_, such as were used by public officials, and had them repaired. They cost the small price of 32 ichibus each, or not £4. The pole was a long piece of deal, called by euphemism paulownia wood. A cushion of silk damask, thickly stuffed with raw cotton, was spread on the bottom, and there was then just room enough to sit in it cross-legged without discomfort. In front was a small shelf above the window, and underneath a small flap which served as a table. The sliding doors also had windows, furnished with a paper slide to exclude cold, and another covered with gauze to keep out the dust while letting in the air. If it rained, blinds made of slender strips of bamboo were let down over the windows. The body of the palanquin could also be enveloped in a covering of black oiled paper, in which a small aperture was left for the occupant to peep out of, a blind of the same material being propped up outside; this arrangement was, however, only resorted to on days of persistent rain. Each of us had a pair of oblong wicker-work baskets to hold our clothing, called _riô-gaké_, which were slung at opposite ends of a black pole and carried by one man over his shoulder. My bedding, which consisted of a couple of Japanese mattresses covered with white crape and edged with a broad border of common brocade known as _yamato nishiki_, and one of the huge stuffed bedgowns called yogi of figured crape with a velvet collar, with a couple of European pillows, was packed in a wicker box of the kind called _akéni_, and formed a burden for two men. To each package was fastened a small deal board on which my name and titles were inscribed with Indian ink in large Chinese characters. As escort we had ten picked men belonging to the native legation guard (_betté gumi_), and a couple of officials belonging to the Japanese Foreign Department (_gai-koku-gata_) were attached to us, who were instructed to make arrangements for our accommodation along the road. Last of all, a list was made out of the places at which we were to take our mid-day meals and sleep at night, the journey of 320 miles from Fushimi being calculated to occupy sixteen days. On the 18th May, having exchanged farewell calls with the commissioners of foreign affairs, we got away from our temple lodging at nine o'clock in the morning. Willis, who was to join Sir Harry Parkes' party at Fushimi, accompanied us. We embarked at the Hachikenya wharf on the river side in a houseboat, the escort and _gai-koku-gata_ in another, two open boats following with the luggage of the whole party. The stream was very strong, and our progress was correspondingly slow, but we felt that we were travelling in a dignified manner, and therefore repressed our natural impatience. Where the stream was deep enough close in shore, the boatmen landed, and towed us by a line attached to the top of a mast fixed in the front of the boat, while the steersman remained at his post to prevent us from running into the bank. When the towing path changed to the opposite side, the boatmen came on board and poled across to resume their labour as before. The river, which winds a good deal, is enclosed between lofty dykes, so that we had no prospect but the broad surface of the river itself and the tops of ranges of mountains peering over the bank. It was a fine day, and we were full of eager anticipations about the novel scenes we were about to pass through, every inch of the way being entirely new to us as far as Hakoné, and for myself the prospect of a fortnight's holiday was especially exhilarating after the hard work of the past five weeks. By one o'clock we reached Suido mura, a small village on the right bank about five miles above Ozaka, and landed to take our lunch. There was nothing to be had but rice and bean-curd, which did not constitute a very palatable meal. But _à la guerre comme à la guerre_. We passed a large number of crowded passenger boats descending the river, and ten barges laden with bales of rice. At half-past six we stopped at Hirakata, a somewhat more important place than Suido mura. Here we landed to dine off soup, fish and rice, the ordinary constituents of a traveller's meal. The charge for our three selves and three servants was less than an _ichibu_, and a second _ichibu_ was given as _cha-dai_ or "tea-money." Noguchi was paymaster, and gave whatever he thought right under this heading. The charge seemed extraordinarily cheap, which was explained by a regulation binding innkeepers to supply persons travelling in an official capacity at one quarter of the rates charged to ordinary people. We started again by moonlight, and as the night advanced, a thin mist rose and covered the surface of the broad river, imparting to the landscape that mysterious, sketchy indistinctness which is so characteristic of Japan, that none but native artists whose eyes have been educated to it from their childhood have ever been able to seize and represent. The air now became as cold as it had been hot during the day time. We had blankets fetched from one of the baggage boats, and lay down to sleep in opposite corners of the boat. At two in the morning I woke and found that we were lying off the guardhouse on the right bank opposite to Hashimoto, which was held by troops of Matsudaira Hôki no Kami, a member of the Tycoon's Council, the other bank being in the charge of Tôdô, the _daimiô_ of Isé. We had been as far as Yodo, where they turned us back because our pass had not been viséd here, and we did not reach Yodo again till four o'clock. It was still dark, the moon having set during the night. The river is here joined by the Kidzu kawa, and is divided into several channels by islands lying in its course. We kept along the right bank, and arrived at Fushimi about six, where we found Sir Harry on the point of starting for Tsuruga. Here a generous member of his party gave us a last cigar. Our stock had been completely exhausted during the long stay in Ozaka, and for the rest of the journey we had to content ourselves with Japanese tobacco, smoked in tiny whiffs out of the diminutive native pipes, all inadequate to satisfy a craving nourished on something stronger. The worst of the Japanese pipe, with its metal bowl and mouthpiece united by a hard bamboo stem, is the rapidity with which it gets foul, necessitating cleaning at least once a day with a slender spill twisted out of tough mulberry-bark paper. Willis left us here, and joined the chief. Special precautions had been taken by the government to prevent Sir Harry turning aside to Kiôto, which it was thought his adventurous disposition might tempt him to visit. After breakfast we started in our _kagos_ for the journey overland. A crowd of _machi-kata_, who were a sort of municipal officers of all grades, dressed in their Sunday best, escorted us out of the town. Our road lay for a mile or so between the banks of the Uji-kawa and the low, fir-clad hills masked by clumps of graceful bamboo, and then leaving the tea plantations of Uji to the right, we journeyed along a level road winding through the hills to Oiwaké, where we joined the Tôkaidô. A kind of stone tramway ran from Kiôto all the way to Otsu, our next resting-place, for the heavy, broad-wheeled bullock carts, of which we passed a couple of score laden with rice for the use of the Tycoon's garrison at the capital. Oiwaké was famous for pipes, counting boards (_abacus_), and a species of comic prints called _toba-yé_, and lies at the foot of the hills separating the province of Yamashiro from the beautiful Biwa Lake. By the roadside we had an opportunity of inspecting some tea-firing establishments on a small scale, like every other manufacturing enterprise in those days. The fresh tea leaves were damped, then spread out on a flat table heated from beneath by fuel enclosed in a plastered chamber, and twisted by hand. This new tea forms a delicious and refreshing drink when infused after the Japanese method for the finer qualities, with lukewarm water. At each establishment there were not more than two persons at work. At one o'clock we got to Otsu, and after lunch went to a monastery called Riô-zen-ji to enjoy the celebrated prospect of the lake, but the mid-day heat had covered its surface with a dull grey haze, and hid it entirely from view. We found everything nicely arranged for us at Takajima-ya, where we rested for the mid-day meal, while the escort and foreign office men in our train vied in accommodating themselves to our wishes. From Otsu a level road skirted the lake, and, soon after passing through Zézé, the "castle town" of Honda Oki no Kami, we got out to walk. In crossing the great double bridge of Séta we saw a couple of men in a boat spinning for carp; the shallows here are crowded with traps, irregular shaped enclosures of reeds planted in the mud, into which the fish enter when stormy winds agitate the surface of the water and deprive them of their equanimity. But before reaching Kusatsu, where we were to put up for the night, we retreated into our kagos, in order not to be overwhelmed by the crowd, and for the better preservation of our dignity, which required that we should not be seen on foot. At the confines of the town we were met by a deputation of the municipal officers and by the host of the official inn, who escorted us in with great pomp, keeping back the inquisitive multitude. Our bearers quickened their pace, not indeed to our satisfaction, for the _kago_, which is uncomfortable at all times, becomes almost uninhabitable when the men get out of a walk. At last we turned round a corner, and passing through a black gate, before the posts of which were two neatly piled-up heaps of sand, flanked by buckets of water, were set down in the wide porch of the official inn. It was one of the most beautifully decorated buildings of its kind that I have ever seen. That implies woodwork of the finest grain, plaster of the least obtrusive shades of colour, sliding doors papered with an artistic pattern touched up with gold leaf and framed with shining black lacquered wood, and hard thick mats of the palest straw edged with stencilled cotton cloth. In the principal room, only twelve feet square, raised six inches above the rest of the house, lay two thick mats forming a sort of bed-place, where the distinguished traveller was expected to squat without moving. The baggage was deposited in the corridor which ran round two sides of the apartment. There was no view from the windows, which looked out on a small courtyard enclosed by a sulky-looking, black wooden fence. Etiquette prescribed that a great man should neither see nor be seen. Our host came in with a small present, and bowed his forehead to the sill. After a few minutes he returned to give thanks in the same humble manner for the gift of two _ichibus_ which he had received as _cha-dai_. We went in turn to the hot bath, where a modest, not to say prim, young damsel asked whether she might have the honour of washing our "august" back, but not being trained from our youth up to be waited on by lovely females during our ablutions, we declined her assistance. At dinner time we ordered a dish of fish and a bottle of _saké_, which had to be several times replenished before the artist had had enough. The people of the inn were astonished to find that we could eat rice, having been taught to believe that the food of Europeans consisted exclusively of beef and pork. When we went to bed, soft silk mattresses in plenty were spread on the floor, and the chambermaid placed within the mosquito net a fire-box with a bit of red-hot charcoal neatly embedded in white ashes for a last smoke, and a pot of freshly-infused tea. _O yasumi nasai_, be pleased to take your august rest, was the end of the first day. In Japan travellers are in the habit of making an early start. A native usually rises before day, makes a hasty toilet by scrubbing his teeth with a handful of salt from a basket hanging over the kitchen sink, washes his hands and face without soap, swallows a hasty breakfast, and is on the road as soon as the sun is up, or even earlier. His principal object is to arrive at the town where he is going to pass the night at as early an hour as possible, in order to secure a good room and the first turn at the hot bath, there being only one tub and one water for the whole of the guests. In some out of the way places this is not even changed every day, and I remember on one occasion to have found the bath absolutely green with age and odorous in proportion. We were not expected to do as the vulgar herd, and did not get away much before half-past seven. Our average rate of going was about three miles an hour, and the day's journey not over twenty miles, but there were so many interruptions that we rarely reached our evening's destination before six o'clock. First and foremost there was the mid-day meal (_o hiru yasumi_), which consumed at least an hour, and then our exalted rank required that we should stop to rest (_o ko-yasumi_) at least once in the morning and once again in the afternoon. Then we stopped again at every point of view to drink tea, and to taste every dish of cakes or other comestibles of which centuries of wayfarers had been in the habit of partaking before us. Thus on the third day we stopped at Mmé-no-ki to take tea at a house commanding a fine view of the legendary mountain Mukadé yama (Centipede's Mount), and again for half-an-hour at Ishibé, where a big board was stuck up outside inscribed with "the little resting-place of the interpreter (the officer) of England." We lunched sumptuously at Minakuchi on fish, soup and rice, and so got through an hour and a quarter. At Ono, celebrated for pheasants' meat preserved in _miso_ paste, we again drank tea, which was served out by pretty girls who made a great pretence of bashfulness. Wirgman's costume, consisting of wide blue cotton trousers, a loose yellow pongee jacket, no collar, and a conical hat of grey felt, gave rise to a grave discussion as to whether he was really an European, or only a Chinaman after all. At Mayéno, a centre of tea production, we stopped for another half-hour to taste several sorts of leaf at a tea-dealer's shop. This was a great act of condescension on the part of such distinguished personages, but we made up for this derogation from our dignity by having our purchases paid for by Noguchi, the real Japanese swell being supposed to know nothing about money, not even theoretically. The dealer declared that unless the leaf is picked and fired by virgins, it will not be drinkable, but I fear he was humbugging the innocent foreigner. Many of the houses bore a notice-paper inscribed with Chinese characters meaning "Economy in all things," a laconic sentence which was interpreted to signify that the occupants had forsworn social entertainments and other unnecessary sources of expenditure. Wirgman made himself very popular by the sketches he threw off and gave away to the innkeepers, sometimes of ourselves as we appeared on the road, or of a bit of local scenery, or perhaps a pretty girl, whose bashful pride on discovering that her features had been perpetuated on paper was a pleasant sight to contemplate. It usually took some time before the waiting maids overcame what seemed to us to be their excessive modesty, but it was explained to us that women were not usually permitted to approach the dais-room, as noble swells had their own men-servants to attend on them. We regretted the exigencies of our lofty position, and pitied the _daimiôs_ who have always to be correct and proper--in public. Another consequence of our supposed high rank was that in many towns the people knelt down by the side of the street as we passed along, being invited to assume that posture by the municipal officers who preceded us beadle-fashion, crying out _Shitaniro, shitaniro_ ("down, down"). This honour used in those days to be rendered to every _daimiô_, no matter whether travelling in his own dominions or those of another nobleman, and also to the high officials of the Shôgun's government, as, for example, the governor of Kanagawa, to the great indignation of the European residents. The only reported instance of a foreigner ever submitting to this indignity was that of Mr Eugene van Reed, who is said to have fallen in with the train of Shimadzu Saburô on the day fatal to poor Richardson, and to have then and there conformed to the native custom. The practice had its origin, perhaps, in the necessity of protecting the nobles from sudden attack, combined with the rule of Japanese etiquette which considers that a standing posture implies disrespect. This latter fact was forcibly impressed on me at Fuchiû, where I went to visit the public school for the sons of _samurai_. Having taken off my shoes and laid my hat on the floor at the entrance, I was escorted into a room where about thirty youngsters were squatting on the floor, with Chinese books before them which they were learning to repeat by rote from the mouths of older and more advanced pupils, under the superintendence of half-a-dozen professors. I bowed and remained standing, but to my surprise no one acknowledged my salute; I had in my ignorance of propriety assumed what to the Japanese appeared an attitude of disrespect, and it was only on being admonished by one of the escort that I discovered my error, which being at once repaired, the professors returned my bow, made in proper form with head to the ground. I afterwards found it necessary to adopt Japanese manners, as far as was compatible with a certain stiff-jointedness that forbade my sitting on my heels for more than a very limited period, but could never resist the uneasy feeling that while I was pressing my forehead on the mats, the man opposite might perhaps be taking advantage of the opportunity to inflict a slight on the "barbarian" by sitting bolt upright. In fact, Japanese themselves were not exempt from a similar uncertainty, and they might sometimes be detected, whilst performing the obeisance, in the act of squinting sideways to ascertain whether the person they were saluting lowered his head simultaneously and to the same level. Whenever we passed through a town of any importance, the population turned out _en masse_, eager to convert the occasion into a holiday. At Kaméyama, for instance, which is a _daimiô's_ castle town, the streets were thronged with _samurai_ and their children in gala dress, presenting a gay appearance; some of the young girls were extremely pretty, in spite of the quantity of white powder with which fashion condemned them to bedaub their faces. Some odd methods of locomotion were practised in this part of the country, such as children riding in nets of coarse cord suspended from opposite ends of a pole carried by a man on his shoulder, women riding in pairs on packhorses, and in the flat plain between Séki and Kuwana in small open omnibuses, not unlike the costermonger's carts in which fruit is hawked about the streets of London, but drawn by a man instead of a donkey; perhaps half-a-dozen grown-up persons in one of these small vehicles, the precursors of the jinrikisha which came into vogue in 1869. Wirgman, who was too careless of his dignity (for he was travelling not as an artist, but in the quality of a _yakunin_ or government official), insisted in getting into one of these, and rode all the way from Tomida to Kuwana, a distance of at least five miles, for three tempôes, say 2-1/2d. At a tea-house at Komuki we were presented by our host with some teapots of very inferior Banko ware; this is the famous unglazed pottery moulded by hand, and showing all over its surface, both inside and outside, the marks of finger tips. On the 22nd we reached Kuwana, a large town belonging to one of the principal hereditary vassals of the Tokugawa family. Here an enormous concourse of people had collected to see us make our entry, and we had some difficulty in making our way through the crush, until suddenly the procession turned aside through a gateway under a tower, and traversed the outer enceinte of the castle, finally arriving at the official inn on the shore of the bay. Dealers in Banko ware, curious stones from Mino and fans from Nagoya came flocking in, and the evening was passed in bargaining. The stage from Kuwana to Miya is by sea, across the head of the bay of Owari. Nowadays (1887) people perform the journey by steamer, but in 1867 we had to content ourselves with a rather dirty boat, roofed in with planks. We left at half-past seven and arrived at the termination of our voyage a little after eleven, but as the distance is estimated at seven ri or 17-1/2 miles, we were precluded from going further that day. I proposed, therefore, to devote the afternoon to visiting Nagoya, of which Miya is little more than a suburb. It boasts a castle founded by Nobunaga towards the end of the sixteenth century. It is famous throughout Japan for two huge golden dolphins which surmount the donjon tower, and is one of the finest extant specimens of that sort of architecture. But the foreign department officials had no instructions to let us deviate from the high road, and did not venture to take on themselves the responsibility for making other arrangements. They promised, of course, to see the governor of the town, and ask him to get permission which they represented was required before they could take us into the castle town of a great noble like the Prince of Owari, but it was all fudge. Shopkeepers flocked in laden with fans, metal work, lacquered porcelain and crape, with which we occupied the interval till an answer should be received from the authorities at Nagoya. A report of Wirgman's skill with the brush having spread, he was overwhelmed with quantities of Chinese paper and fans which, our host said, had been brought by the leading inhabitants who desired specimens of his art, and I wrote mottoes to his productions. The _saké_ bottle furnished us with the necessary inspiration. But we found out at last that the fans thus decorated were being sold outside at an _ichibu_ a piece, and refused to be imposed on any further. In the evening we had in some singing and dancing girls, and having got ourselves up in native costume, invited the two foreign office clerks and some of our escort to join the party. One or two of the latter became so merry that they could not resist a temptation to perform buffoon dancing, and Sano, the biggest and most good-humoured, gave imitations of famous actors. We did not get rid of our guests until nine o'clock, by which time they had taken a good quantity of _saké_ on board. In passing through Arimatsu on the following day, famous for cotton _shibori_, dyed in the same way as the Indian _bandhana_, we called at the shop where the heads of the Dutch factory at Nagasaki had been in the habit of stopping from time immemorial on the occasion of their annual journeys to Yedo, and were shown a ledger containing records of the purchases made by them year after year. It was a matter of obligation to follow this time-honoured example, and we selected some pieces of the stuff, which oddly enough is called by the name not of the place where it is made, but by that of the last post-town, Narumi. Noguchi and the two foreign department officials did the bargaining, while Wirgman and I looked on and smoked in dignified silence as if we were utterly unconcerned about the prices. The owner of the shop was a distinguished person, evidently invested with a municipal function, in consequence of which he was allowed to have a few stands of matchlocks in his hall. Many of the houses were of more substantial construction than usual, thus testifying to the prosperity conferred by the local manufacture. At Chiriû the landlord of the inn where we lunched came privately to Noguchi and asked him for four _ichibus_ as "tea money," on the ground that Sir R. Alcock had given that sum in 1861, but his request was refused, and he was forced to content himself with what we had paid elsewhere, namely, half an _ichibu_. I always left such questions to his discretion, and have no doubt that he acted rightly. In the afternoon when the train stopped as usual to give the palanquin bearers a rest, the people of the _tatéba_, or half-way tea-house, presented us with buckwheat vermicelli, for which, as they assured us, the place was reputed famous. It was, however, inferior to what I have eaten in other places. Wirgman's fame having preceded him, paper, brushes and ink were brought, and he executed a masterpiece representing us eating vermicelli and drinking _saké_ from a gourd which he had been careful to get replenished at Miya. The bridge over the Yahagi-gawa being broken down, we crossed the river in a ferry boat, and were met at the entrance of the town by municipal officers and constables, the latter being furnished by the local _daimiô_, whose function was to walk at the head of the procession and to cry "Down, down." Down went the whole crowd of spectators, including men of the two-sworded class, all the more willingly perhaps because that was the only way they had of bringing their eyes to a level with the windows of our palanquins. For etiquette demanded that we should always ride in entering and quitting a town, the vulgar practice of proceeding on foot being allowable only in the more countryfied portions of the highroad. The following day opened with what promised to be persistent rain, and we had to be fastened up in our palanquins with the oiled paper covering thrown over us; through a small opening we could just manage to see a few yards to right and left. All day long we ploughed our way onwards along the almost level road, which in places was flooded nearly six inches deep. At Arai there was then a guardhouse close to the shore of the Hamana Bay, where all travellers had to alight from their palanquins and walk through, taking off their hats and shoes in order to show respect while submitting to a searching examination. Over the _saké_ on the preceding evening there had been a good deal of chaff about our being obliged to subject ourselves to this rule, which was said to admit of no exceptions. I was inwardly resolved not to submit, and was much relieved when the time came to find that the warden was satisfied with the _kago_ door being opened about half-way as we were carried past; this slight concession had been arranged overnight by the foreign department officers, in order that the letter of the rule enforcing inspection might be observed, and we were quite contented, as the door was opened by a third party, so that our dignity as Europeans was duly saved by our not having to alight. Some years ago a series of dykes and bridges exceeding a mile in length was thrown across the shallowest part of the bay. We had, however, to embark in boats so small that they would not hold more than a single _kago_. The spits which run out towards each other at the mouth gave the bay the appearance of a landlocked lake, until we got half-way across and the breakers became visible; nevertheless the sea at the point where we crossed was as smooth as a mirror. Two miles on the western side of Hamamatsu we were met by some retainers of Inouyé Kawachi no Kami, the local _daimiô_, wearing black hats as flat as a pancake, who, being himself a member of the Tycoon's Council, had no doubt given special orders regarding our reception, and at the entrance of the town they were joined by more. The procession was now formed in the following order. Two _machi-kata_, in green mantles with one in brown between them, marched a long way ahead to clear the street, followed by a couple of aldermen (_shuku-yakunin_) in single file on each side of the road, and a couple of _seishi_ or heralds, whose fierce demeanour was delightful to behold, who roared out _shitaniro, shitaniro_, and warned some young _samurai_ who displayed a disposition to approach too close that they must keep at a respectful distance. Then followed our _kagos_, with one of the native escort (_betté-gumi_) walking on each side. Then a constable (_dôshin_) carrying a spear, and behind him the rest of the escort, servants and baggage. On arriving at the inn, we received visits from the head merchants, and were told that we were to be specially cared for, by orders of the _daimiô_, some of whose retainers kept watch and ward in the kitchen throughout the night, this being very spacious and situated in the front of the house. In leaving on the following day the procession was arranged in the same way, and as we passed the castle gates a high official stationed there handed his card to one of the _betté-gumi_ to present to me. At the end of the town the escort was changed, and we were placed again in charge of the four black-hatted _seishi_, who did not leave us until we arrived at the boundary of Inouye's, the _daimiô's_, territory. After the rain of the day before yesterday the country looked especially beautiful; ripe fields of barley behind the rows of tall pine trees that lined the road stretched right away to the foot of the nearer hills, behind which rose range after range in the blue distance. We met yesterday and to-day soldiers of the 3rd regiment of the Tycoon's drilled troops marching to Kiôto to support the new policy of the head of the government, and perhaps to defend him against an armed confederation of the leading _daimiôs_ of the west. As soon as the local escort had turned back we descended from our palanquins to pursue our way on foot to the Tenriû-gawa, which we crossed by means of ferry boats. The river here is very wide and the current swift, and except during freshets is divided into two branches by a sandbank which occupies the middle of the stream. Wirgman had stopped behind to sketch, and I waited with one of the foreign office officials, who confided to me that we should probably meet a "barbáre" on the road. By this I understood the _rei-hei-shi_, a high official of the Mikado's court who was returning from a mission to the tomb of Iyéyasu at Nikkô. He was of higher rank than any Japanese _daimiô_, and everyone on meeting him had to get out of his palanquin and go down on his knees. My informant hoped we should manage to avoid him, and I hoped so too. The rest of the party having at last come up, we proceeded by a short cut through the fields, which saved us a couple of miles walking. We got to Mitsuké, where we were to lunch, some time before noon. The streets were crowded with pretty girls, who had turned out to see the foreigners. Our host, who had put on his robes of ceremony, made his appearance, bowing low and bearing a gift of dried white-bait fry, which when toasted and dipped in soy is very palatable. Handsome Turkish carpets had been spread in the bedroom. Two charming little boys about ten years of age, with perfect manners, were told off to wait on us. The _rei-hei-shi_ was of course the principal topic of discussion. He had not yet passed, and our followers were full of anxiety. Noguchi said that all Japanese of rank, down to the lowest two-sworded man, got out of his way, because his followers were in the habit of extorting money on the pretext that the proper amount of respect had not been paid to the great man. I was quite ready to follow the example of the Japanese in avoiding if possible the chance of an encounter. We were told that the _rei-hei-shi_, whose rank by this time had been much diminished in the mouths of our informants, was to stop the night at Fukuroi, the very next town, only four miles further, so we hurried away hoping to get to our own destination early in the afternoon. Two miles over the tableland, then zig-zag down a beautiful hill covered with pine trees, then two more over the rice field flat to Fukuroi, where we changed the palanquin and baggage porters and hastened on without stopping. To-day, the 27th of May, the peasants were cutting barley and planting out the young rice. I did the six miles more to Kakégawa in two hours, including the last stoppage, which was considered very quick going. A young Satsuma man who was on his way to Nagasaki called at our inn and gave me an account of the _rei-hei-shi_ and the doings of his retainers, for whom he professed the greatest contempt. He said they were wretched citizens of Kiôto hired for the occasion, and dressed in a little brief authority. At Shinagawa, the last suburb of Yedo, they had seized eighteen people and fined them for exhibiting a want of respect towards the Mikado's messenger. It was rumoured that he would pass through about six o'clock, and spend the night at Fukuroi. Six o'clock came, but no _rei-hei-shi_; we passed the evening in expectation, and went to bed; still no _rei-hei-shi_. Wirgman and I slept in separate rooms, Noguchi in a third, and all the escort but one were quartered at another house a little way off. At a quarter past one I was roused from sleep by a Japanese saying to me: "Mr. Satow, Mr. Satow, get your sword; they've come." My sword was an old cavalry sabre, not good for much but to make a show. I got up and groped my way through the black darkness to the sword-stand in the alcove and got the weapon. The Japanese led me by the hand, and we stood together in a corner of the next room, wondering what was going to happen. He said: "I wish the escort would come." Meanwhile violent noises were heard, as if of people breaking in. Bewildered by the darkness, I imagined them to be coming from the little garden at the back, on to which my bedroom looked. We remained still and breathless. In three minutes all was silent again, and I heard a voice cry "Mr. Satow." It was Noguchi, who appeared with a light, and reported that the enemy had fled. Wirgman and my chancery servant Yokichi were nowhere to be found. The Japanese who had woke me proved to be Matsushita, the youngest of the escort. We proceeded then towards Noguchi's room; the wooden door opposite was lying on the floor, where the assailants had broken in. As we stood in the passage, others of the escort came in, all dressed in fighting mantles, with drawn swords in their hands and wearing iron forehead pieces. Seeing my scarlet sleeping trousers, they begged me either to hide myself or take them off, but the danger being past, I only laughed at them. Two of them went in search of Wirgman, and found him in an alley leading to the back of the house; they narrowly escaped being shot. We began to feel cooler, and Noguchi narrated what had happened. He heard the noise of the front door being broken down, jumped up, tied his girdle, and stood in the doorway of his room, a sword in the right hand, a revolver in the left. Some men approached and asked for the "barbarians," to which he replied that if they would only come in, he would give the "barbarians" to them. They took fright at his attitude and determined tone, and fled. Altogether there were, he thought, about a dozen, two armed with long swords, the rest with short ones. On looking about, we discovered that the mosquito nets in the room diagonal to Wirgman's had been cut to pieces, the occupants having escaped. It was lucky for us that we had put out the lamps before going to bed, so that the assailants could not find their way. Wirgman explained that on being awakened by the noise of people breaking down the doors and shouting for the "barbarians," he followed the people of the house, who took to their heels. A lantern that had been dropped by one of the "ruffians" led to the conclusion that they belonged to the _rei-hei-shi_'s suite. No one was hurt, except one of the assailants, who in the hurry-scurry of running away was accidentally wounded by a companion. After everyone had related his own experiences, I retired to bed, while Wirgman called for _saké_ and sliced raw fish, with which he and the escort regaled themselves until daylight. On getting up in the morning my first step was to send for the two foreign office officials, and endeavour to obtain redress through them. The escort, who had not appeared on the scene till the danger was past, were now very anxious to distinguish themselves by some act of valour. I told the officials, with the full support of the escort, that they should either get the guilty men delivered up to me, or that I would go with my escort and take them by force. This was the attitude maintained until mid-day. I verily believe that if I had given the signal, the escort would have attacked the _rei-hei-shi's_ lodgings. At last the official came back and said that the _rei-hei-shi's_ people refused to give the men up to me; as an alternative they proposed to obtain a written apology, coupled with a promise to punish the assailants on their reaching Kiôto. To this I expressed my willingness to assent, in the hope that we should be able to pursue our journey before night set in. But the negotiations lingered, and this was not to be. So we sent for some musicians, and invited the two officials and the escort to a banquet. Wirgman and one of the escort entertained the company with dancing. Another of the escort got very drunk, and begged me to take him into my personal service on the same terms as Noguchi. We heard that the townspeople were delighted at the _rei-hei-sh_i and his blackguards being so bothered by a couple of foreigners. No Mikado's messenger was ever before stopped on his road and talked to in our imperious manner. Four or five of the escort, when full of _saké_, started up the street in their fighting mantles and created great alarm in the minds of the _rei-hei-shi's_ retainers, who, thinking they were to be attacked in earnest, begged for a guard from the _daimiô_ of the town. The captain of the escort and two others in particular behaved in a delightfully swaggering manner. But in spite of all this, nothing was settled, and we had to stop a second night. On the following morning on getting up, I was told that matters were nearly arranged, that the men who had attacked our lodgings were to be left behind in the custody of the _daimiô_, the people at the castle giving a receipt on his behalf. The morning wore on without the desired document making its appearance, and I feared they would slip through my fingers altogether. I got tired of waiting and went to sleep, from which I was awakened by one of the foreign office officials, who had been acting as go-between, bringing me a certified copy, signed by the governor of the town, of a written undertaking given by a leading retainer of the _rei-hei-shi_ to remain there with three of the assailants. Another copy was given to him, and he started at once for Ozaka with it, accompanied by one of the escort. I was now asked whether I would permit the _rei-hei-shi_ to depart, to which I gave my assent. We saw him and his retinue pass the inn; there were two large palanquins, half-a-dozen smaller ones, and about fifty ruffianly-looking fellows in green coats. We had thus remained on the field of victory. As soon as the _rei-hei-shi_ was clear of the place, we started in the opposite direction about three o'clock in the afternoon. The _daimiô's_ people offered to give us a body of men to escort us out of the town, but I replied that my escort was sufficient to ensure our safety. A guard of honour was drawn up in front of the inn as we left, and eight policemen accompanied us to the exit of the town. Ultimately, some months later, these men and three others implicated in the affair were brought to Yedo and put on their trial. Two were condemned to death, and four more to transportation to an island. Sir Harry wanted me to be present at the execution of these two men, but I persuaded him to send some one else instead. To look on at the execution of men who have tried to take one's life would have borne an appearance of revengefulness, which one would not have liked. But I think that under the circumstances of those times the punishment was rightly inflicted. Our next stage was to Nissaka, a pretty little town lying in a basin of hills. Beyond rose a steep ascent, which we climbed not without fatigue, to find ourselves on the top of a tableland running away to the sea on our right, while on the left hills rose ever higher and higher above the road, being cultivated up to their summits in tiny level plots cut out of their sides. At the highest point of the road we rested at a tea-house, where a kind of soft rice cake, bedaubed with a substance resembling extract of malt, was served to us by a diminutive girl. Though fifteen years of age, and consequently nearly full grown, she did not measure four feet in height. On the further side of the tableland lay Kanaya, the next post-town, and beyond that the Oi-gawa, which had to be crossed before we could gain our stopping place for the night. A hundred naked porters hurried forward to carry our palanquins and baggage to the other bank. For ourselves there were a sort of square stretcher, carried on the shoulders of twelve men for greater safety, who made a point of plunging into the deepest part of the torrent to give us a greater idea of the difficulties they had to contend with. For the idea then entertained by every Japanese was that the force of the stream was too great for a boat to live in it, and that a bridge was impossible. As it has since been successfully bridged, the probability is that this belief was purposely inculcated on the people on the principle of _divide et impera_, and what more effectual means of division could be found than a river which was not to be passed but by taking off your clothes and running the risk of drowning in it while effecting the passage, to say nothing of the inconvenience of emerging half-naked on the other side; that is to say, unless you could pay to be carried. Following the economical practice we had observed all along of limiting our tips to the smallest respectable sum, we threw a _bu_ to the men, who clamoured loudly for its division, the share of each being somewhat over 2/3 of a penny. We did not get to the inn till eight o'clock. Our host was particularly polite, and thanked us profoundly for doing him the honour of stopping at his humble abode. We were still under the influence of the excitement produced by our recent adventures, so _saké_ and fish were ordered in, and the liveliest of the escort were bidden to the feast. Some one distinguished himself by adding a new verse to the popular ballad then in vogue, expressive of our contempt for the "turnip-top" coated retainers of the _rei-hei-shi_, which was sung over and over again to the accompaniment of a lute played by an exceedingly ugly red faced damsel who waited on us. The next day brought us to the large town of Fuchiû, formerly the residence of Iyéyasu after his retirement from the active government of the state early in the seventeenth century, and since re-christened Shidzuoka. It is an important centre of the tea and paper trades, and at the time we passed through was the seat of one of the principal universities of Japan, but greatly fallen from its ancient grandeur. On our way we had to taste various local delicacies, among which was a horribly tenacious kind of gruel, resembling bird-lime in appearance, made from the powdered root of the Dioscorea japonica, a species of wild potato. We found the streets so full of spectators that it became necessary to get into our palanquins to avoid the crush of curious sightseers. The town is also noted for a variety of articles of cabinet work and lacquered ware of the ordinary sort, and the room next to our apartment had been converted into a kind of bazaar in expectation of our arrival. The articles were of the class common enough at Yokohama, and not much cheaper; in fact the prices were such as befitted the supposed exalted rank of the travellers. In those days in Japan it was a well observed doctrine that "noblesse oblige" in the matter of payments. Next morning when we rose at six, we got a beautiful view of Fuji, the "Peerless One," springing from the ground as it seemed almost behind the inn, and lifting its beautiful head into the pale blue sky, above horizontal wreaths and stretches of cloud. After breakfast we paid a visit to the "university," where we found about thirty youngsters seated on the floor in one room, with copies of some Chinese classic before them, learning to read by rote from the mouths of older and more advanced pupils. This instruction was given for about two hours each morning, and six times a month explanations of the text were imparted by professors. The headmaster, who was from the Confucian College at Yedo, used to be changed annually. And this, with the addition of learning to write with a brush, constituted the education of a young Japanese in the olden time. The system was one that cultivated the memory, but failed altogether to appeal to the reasoning faculties. Of course all this has long ago disappeared, and it is possible that this system of instruction is as obsolete in Japan as the dodo. The great mountain having at last appeared on our horizon, we were to have its company for nearly every step of the rest of the journey. Near Ejiri we caught a delicious view of the summit appearing over the lower mountains on the left hand. At one o'clock we reached Okitsu, where we were to lunch. The inn stood close to the sea shore, and possessed an upper room commanding a magnificent view, in favour of which we abandoned the dignified glories of the _jô-dan_ or dais. On the left the blue promontory of Idzu stretched away far into the ocean until it became almost invisible in the haze; on the right hand the low hills of Kunô-zan terminating in a low spit of sand covered with irregular growth of pine trees, the famous Miyo no Matsubara of the Japanese poets. From the back window we had a glimpse of the snowy peak of Fuji peeping over the tops of the intervening hills, and by craning our necks out sideways the double-topped head of the Futagoyama near Hakoné. On leaving this spot, which we did with reluctance, we followed the base of the cliffs for two or three miles along the shore, when suddenly we turned a corner and Fuji came full in view; in front, the base of the great mountain was hidden by the low range which runs down into the sea near Kambara, and a white cloud encircled its middle. Wirgman sat down to make a sketch, from which he painted a picture which is still in my possession. Next we reached Kurazawa, famous for Venus-ear (_awabi_) and _sazai_, a big whorl with a curious spiral operculum. Of course we rested here awhile to eat of the local dish, washed down with repeated cups of _saké_, in which the guard joined us. Since the affair of Kakégawa we had become great friends, as men usually do who have shared the same perils. The road followed the sea-shore here to Kambara, and would be one of the most picturesque in Japan, but for the dirty uninteresting fishing villages which line nearly the whole of its length. Next morning we were astir early, and crossing the low intervening hills, reached the banks of the Fuji kawa at eight o'clock. Extensive preparations had been made at the official hotel for our reception, mats laid down to the entrance and red blankets spread on the floor of the dais. At the urgent entreaty of the innkeeper we turned in for a few minutes, and discovered that Wirgman was an ancient acquaintance of our host, having seen him when he travelled overland from Nagasaki to Yedo in 1861 in the suite of Sir Rutherford Alcock. We were shown into the best room with much ceremony, and when we had taken our seats on the floor, piled-up boxes (_jû-bako_) were brought in full of chestnut meal cakes, the speciality of the village, with a bit of pickled radish on the top. Other "famous things" sold here are ink stones, bits of crystal with green streaks in them supposed by the common people to be grass, also agates. We crossed in a boat the narrow turbulent Fuji kawa, running between wide beds of shingle. Nowadays you cross in the train. We then had a view of Fuji almost rising out of the sea and drawing its skirts up gradually behind it, curious but not so beautiful as when it is partly concealed by lesser summits which afford a standard of comparison. It looks in fact more like an exaggerated molehill than anything else. We met on the road two little boys of twelve and fourteen years of age, who, having begged their way as pilgrims all the way from Yedo to the sacred temples of Isé and of Kompira in Sanuki, were now on their way home, carrying slung across their backs huge packages of temple charms done up in oiled paper. The road was terribly sandy and hot, and passing for the most part between the bamboo fences of cottagers' gardens, was the reverse of picturesque. We had intended to sleep at Hakoné, but owing to delays for sketching, to say nothing of a huge feast of broiled eels and _saké_ at Kashiwabara, did not manage to get beyond Mishima, at the western foot of the hills. Next morning we started at half-past six to ascend the pass which climbs the range of mountains by an excellent road paved with huge stones after the manner of the Via Appia where it leaves Rome at the Forum, and lined with huge pine trees and cryptomerias. At a tiny hamlet more than halfway up some hunters came to present us with eggs, according to immemorial custom. Three hours brought us to Hakoné, the little mountain village standing on the southern border of the lake, surrounded by steep grassy hills. The warmth of the day tempted me to take a bath in the lake, which at first was strenuously opposed by the foreign official with us. It appeared that no boats were allowed on the lake, nor was any one permitted to swim in it, lest he should take the opportunity of swimming round at the back of the barrier gate, and so avoid the necessity of showing his passport. With considerable trouble I persuaded the objector to withdraw his opposition, by representing that my natatory powers were altogether insufficient for the purpose. After a couple of hours spent in this charming spot, which nowadays has become a fashionable summer retreat of foreigners residing at Yokohama, we resumed our journey down the eastern side of the pass, already described in a previous chapter, and got to our inn at Odawara by five, little dreaming of what lay before me. A letter from Sir Harry Parkes was at once delivered to me urging me to hasten my return, as there were important negotiations on foot. On conferring with the leader of the escort, I learnt that by starting at once and travelling post-haste through the night, I might get to Yedo next morning. Eight porters in relays of four would be able to carry the palanquin at the rate of about four miles an hour. So the men were ordered without delay. The Japanese on these occasions, to save themselves from being too severely shaken, wind a broad piece of cotton cloth tightly round the waist, and tie another piece round the temples. A third is suspended from the ceiling of the palanquin, to which the traveller clings with might and main. I had to adopt this arrangement, and in addition stuffed my palanquin full of bedding and pillows. Noguchi and two of the escort accompanied me to negotiate the changes of coolies at the various posting stations on the way, and by seven o'clock we were in motion. The porters maintained a constant crying "eeya-oy," "eeya-oy," in order to keep step with each other and render the swinging of the palanquin less unendurable. To sleep was impossible, as this noise continued all night. When the day broke we had done twenty-six miles, which was slower than I had expected. So we urged on the fresh men we got here, and accomplished the remaining twenty-two miles by ten o'clock. From sitting cross-legged so many hours I was almost unable to stand upright when I got to the Legation. And the vexatious part of it all was that the important conference, which I had hurried to be present at, turned out to be a mere complimentary visit of a crowd of officials for whom anyone could easily have interpreted. CHAPTER XIX SOCIAL INTERCOURSE WITH JAPANESE OFFICIALS--VISIT TO NIIGATA, SADO GOLD MINES, AND NANAO OUR relations with government officials suddenly from this time onward assumed a character of cordiality which formerly would have been thought impossible. This was, of course, in consequence of very explicit instructions given by the Tycoon to his ministers to cultivate the friendship of the foreign missions, and especially of the British Legation, in order doubtless to counteract the intimate intercourse which was known to be carried on between ourselves and the retainers of Satsuma and Chôshiû. Each of the commissioners for foreign affairs in turn invited me to dine with him in Japanese fashion, and as I was extremely ignorant of Japanese etiquette, Noguchi used to accompany me on these occasions to be my tutor. An exchange of presents was always an important part of the entertainment, and this was a very troublesome business on account of the difficulty of buying anything at the foreign stores in Yokohama that was worth giving away as a specimen of English productions. Most of these officials lived in a very modest way. The rooms in which they gave their entertainments were usually upstairs, perhaps not more than twelve feet by fifteen, but as there was no furniture, there was plenty of space. On arriving at the house we were shown up a very narrow staircase, and through an equally narrow door. Down we plumped on our knees immediately, and bowed our heads to the mats to the host, who did the same. Then ensued a contest of politeness, our entertainer trying to get us nearer to the top of the room, and we protesting that we were very comfortable where we were. Of course it ended in my being put down in front of the recess (_tokonoma_), which is the seat of honour, while Noguchi remained where he was, just inside the door. Usually I was then allowed to cross my legs in tailor fashion, owing to my joints not having yet acquired the lissomness of the Japanese. Then Noguchi with great solemnity unwrapping the present, would slide across the floor and deposit it between the host and myself. In Japan you don't use brown paper for parcels, but every household possesses a set of cloths of different sizes, silk or crape for the smaller, of cotton dyed green for the larger, which fulfil the same purpose as paper. Then I pushed the present gently towards my entertainer, saying "This is really a very shabby article, but as it is a production of my contemptible country, I ..." To which he would reply, "Really I am quite overpowered. What a magnificent article. I am really ashamed to deprive you of it." And then all women folk, the servants, and the children who were peeping in at the door or round the corner of the balcony which ran along the front of the room would crane out their necks to get a glimpse of the precious rarity from the far west. Then the other guests, three or four in number, would begin to arrive. If they were strangers, the following dialogue would take place. Each person putting his hands together on the mat in front would bend over and almost touching them with his forehead, say "I have the honour to present myself to you for the first time. My name is so-and-so. I hope to enjoy your friendship in perpetuity." To which either may add that he has often heard of the great fame of the other, and longed for an opportunity of meeting him. When these bowings and prostrations are over, a small apparatus for smoking is brought in and placed before the guest, after which tea and sweetmeats are served. Perhaps an hour passes in this way, for the entertainment is provided from a restaurant, as the domestic who performs the office of cook in a household only knows how to boil rice and make commonplace stews; and in those days at least neither clocks nor punctuality were common. If you were invited for two o'clock, you went most often at one or three, or perhaps later. In fact, as the Japanese hour altered in length every fortnight, it was very difficult to be certain about the time of day, except at sunrise, noon, sunset and midnight. At last you began to hear a gentle clatter of dishes below stairs; the teacups, cakes and sweetmeats were removed, and a covered lacquered basin was set before you on a square tray, with a pair of chopsticks, the ends of which were neatly wrapped in paper. At the same time a girl put a basin half full of water down on the middle of the floor, with a small pile of diminutive flat cups by the side. Your host took one of these, held it out for a little of the hot _saké_, which is poured from a slender porcelain bottle, and having drunk it, slid forward to the basin to wash it. Having well shaken it, he crawled to where you were sitting, bowed profoundly, and presented the cup to you on his crossed palms. You bowed, and taking the cup between your own two hands deposited it on the floor, after which you were bound at once to present it to the damsel to be filled for yourself. If your host, or one of the guests who has offered you the cup, wished to be very polite indeed, he waited before you with his hands resting on the floor in front of him while you emptied the cup, or at least took a good sip. When this ceremony had been gone through with all the guests, your host lifted the cover off his soup-basin, and invited you at the same time to follow his example. You drank a little of the soup, just dipped the end of the chopsticks into it by way of pretending to touch the meat, and laid down the bowl again; usually you replaced the cover. A number of dishes were brought in piled up with fish-cake, white beans boiled with sugar, raw, broiled and boiled fish, perhaps some boiled fowl or roast wild duck, cut up in small pieces, and these were served on small plates or saucers, and each person received a bowl containing a sort of pudding made of eggs, loach and the large seeds of the maidenhair tree. The raw fish, which was usually either _bonito_ or sole, was sliced up very thin, and eaten with soy, raw laver (seaweed) and grated _wasabi_, which is the root of a plant belonging to the same order as the horse-radish, and resembling it in taste. Towards the end of the feast a second water _souché_ was brought in, and perhaps some broiled eels. The courses were not removed as each succeeding one was brought in, and the plates collected on your tray and the floor close by you till all the extent of the feast was exhibited. You ate very little, picking here a mouthful, there a mouthful, but you drank as much _saké_ as you could stand, and sometimes more. After two or three hours of conversation, perhaps enlivened by some music and singing performed by professionals hired for the occasion, and you felt that you had had enough liquor you bowed to your host, and said that you would like some rice. This was the well-understood signal. A fresh tray was brought in with a large lacquered bowl for rice, and a couple more containing soups, accompanied almost invariably by the fish of ceremony called sea-bream, and the bigger it was the greater the honour. You had your bowl filled with rice, of which you were, however, not able to eat much, as your appetite had been nearly destroyed by the repeated libations of warm _saké_, so after a few mouthfuls you handed the bowl to the maid, who filled it half full of very weak tea, or on very formal occasions with hot water, and thus you managed to swallow the contents, aided by a piece of salted radish or vegetable marrow pickled in the lees of _saké_. That over, you carefully replaced the covers on their respective bowls, pushed the tray a foot or two away from you, and executed a bow of profound gratitude to your entertainer. The feast was then removed downstairs, where all the portable parts of it were packed into a box of white wood-shavings and delivered to your servant, if you had one in your train, to carry home. Freshly infused tea was brought in, after which you thanked your host for the feast, and took your leave, being accompanied to the door of the house by the whole family, to whom you made as low a bow as possible before mounting your pony or entering your palanquin. For the next six or seven weeks we were very busy arranging with the Japanese the details of a scheme for organizing their navy, with the assistance of a body of English officers who were to be sent out from England, as a counterpoise to the French Military Mission, which had been at work since the beginning of the year, and for the establishment of a college to be superintended by a body of graduates from English Universities. The former plan was successfully carried out, and some months later a mission under the command of Commander, now Admiral, Richard Tracey, arrived in Japan. The educational proposal, however, came to nothing. Ultimately the Japanese obtained the assistance of a leading American missionary residing at Nagasaki, and the present (in 1885) educational system was in fact established by teachers from the United States. Sir Harry, as I have said before, had already visited Tsuruga, which was suggested as a possible alternative to Niigata as the port to be opened on the west coast, but before deciding this question, it was necessary to make a careful examination of Niigata itself. So in the latter part of July he started off on a voyage of inspection, taking Mitford and myself with him. I had Ono Seigorô, one of the legation writers, and my trusty Noguchi with me. We left Yokohama on the 23rd July in the "Basilisk," commanded by Captain, afterwards Sir William, Hewett, V.C. In less than four days we reached Hakodaté, where the usual visits were exchanged with the governor, a little dark-faced man named Koidé Yamato no Kami. A good deal was said about the coal mine at Iwanai on the west coast of Yezo, at which a commencement of working had recently been made under the superintendence of my friend Erasmus Gower. Admiral Keppel was already here in the yacht "Salamis," and on the 1st August we left again for Niigata, arriving there after a prosperous voyage of thirty-six hours. From the sea the view of Niigata is very fine. In the background the mountains of Aidzu rise at some distance inland, stretching far away to right and left. In front lies a level plain, consisting mainly of rice fields, fringed with trees. The foreground is a sandy shore, rising into sandhills to the right of the river mouth, and at some distance to the west the prospect terminates in the lofty peaks of Yahiko yama. I landed immediately with Dr Wilson of the "Basilisk," and the sea being quite smooth we crossed the bar without difficulty. Inside the water is very deep, and some eighty junks were lying there at anchor. The town is situated a little way up the river, not quite close to the bank. We chose what seemed a convenient landing-place, and pushed ashore. Immediately a number of two-sworded officials made their appearance, and forming themselves into an escort, led the way to a Buddhist temple, the reception rooms of which had been prepared for the use of foreigners. After we had waited for a few minutes the governor came in; he proved to be Shiraishi Shimôsa no Kami, an old acquaintance of mine when he held a similar post at Yokohama in 1864 and 1865. In those days we used often to have serious disputes about the claims of British subjects against defaulting Japanese merchants and questions of customs' duties, but I found him now in quite a different mood. He was very polite and cheery, and alluded with regret to the ridiculous arguments which in former days under a different régime he had been obliged to maintain against me. Now that the foreign ministers had visited the Tycoon at Ozaka all was to be changed, and our intercourse was to be really friendly. He had himself received from Kiôto a copy of instructions to that effect. After some further talk about the possibility of Niigata being made an open port, I arranged for him to call on Sir Harry on the following morning on board the "Basilisk," bringing all the maps in his possession, and took my leave. On our way back to the ship we stopped at a new hotel, where we dined in Japanese fashion, and made some purchases of the curious lacquered articles called _mokusa-nuri_, which are manufactured in Aidzu, and China grass cloth woven in the villages further inland. This was not to be had in the shops, but was hawked about the town by people from the country. Here for the first time I saw the frozen snow, which in those days was the Japanese substitute for ice, and we found it a great luxury at that season of the year. Niigata was laid out in the form of the truncated segment of a circle, and intersected by canals, the banks of which were lined with willow trees, suggesting a Dutch model. The canals, however, were narrow and dirty, and better deserving perhaps the name of ditches. At this moment the feast of Tanabata was at hand, and the streets were crowded with little boys carrying paper lanterns of all sizes and colours, many of them adorned with clever sketches in colour representing Japanese historical traditions and popular customs. On the following day the promised interview came off on board, and we returned the governor's visit in the afternoon at his official residence. He had hastily had some benches constructed, which were covered with red cloth, the best substitute procurable for leather-bottom chairs. Old Shiraishi renewed acquaintance with me some twelve years later at Tôkiô, and used to give me lessons in the interpretation of the _utai_ plays; his son became my librarian, and died in my house. After a two hours' talk we started off to inspect an island in the river which it was proposed should be converted to the uses of a foreign settlement. Sir Harry, who was of an active inquisitive temperament, here signalized himself in the eyes of the natives by scrambling up to the top of a large shed, under which a junk was in course of construction, to get a view of the surrounding country, much to the horror of Mitford and myself, who were so orientalized by this time in our notions that we longed to see our chief conduct himself with the impassive dignity of a Japanese gentleman. This exploit being over, he dragged us all, including Hewett, about the town till half-past six, not to the improvement of the tempers of that gallant officer or of his boat's crew, who thus lost their dinner. I remained behind with Noguchi, dined again in Japanese fashion, and spent the night on shore, in the enjoyment of a few hours' perfect freedom. In fact, I did not return to the ship till the following afternoon, and then had some difficulty in getting off, as there was a heavy swell on the bar, though outside there was neither wind nor rough sea. From Niigata we crossed over to the island of Sado, the site of gold mines that have for a long period been famous. The Japanese proverb is that the "soil of Sado is the most effective of love-philtres." We had been told by the governor of Niigata that there was a good port here, where foreign vessels could lie, when the bar at the mouth of the Shinano River was too rough to cross owing to the northwest winds that prevail during the winter. A letter had been sent off from Niigata on the previous day to announce the visit of the British Minister, and as soon as we let go our anchor some of the local officials came off to call. The mines however lay at Aikawa on the other side of the island, where the governor resided. He had sent over his own _kago_ for Sir Harry to perform the journey in, but the chief did not relish either the idea of locomotion after this fashion, nor yet of walking across the island and of passing the night on the floor of a Japanese house in native quilts, and with nothing better than rice and fish to eat. So he decided to send me across in his stead, and proceeded round to Aikawa in the "Basilisk." This arrangement suited me down to the ground. It was much jollier to travel by one's self than to play second fiddle to one's chief always. The distance was about sixteen miles to Aikawa, and the officials made me extremely comfortable for the night. Next day Sir Harry and a large party, including some of the officers of the "Serpent," Commander Bullock and W. G. Aston our interpreter, landed at Sawané, where I went to meet them, and we walked over the hills to the village near the mines, where I had put up. On his arrival at the house where I had lodged, which in fact had been prepared for his reception, one of those scenes occurred which were not infrequent in those days, when the Japanese tried to treat foreigners with indignity, and it became necessary to resent their impertinence. At the door he was met by one of two vice-governors, who ushered him into a side room, where the idea was that he should do "ante-chamber" till the governor deigned to receive him. But Sir Harry was equal to the occasion, and promptly turning round without saying a word, walked out of the house. I overtook him at the gate, and having found out what was the matter, was on my way back to tell the alarmed officials that the governor must receive the British Minister at the door of the house, when I met the two vice-governors hurrying after us with some ridiculous excuse. So we turned back, walking with immense dignity so as to give him time, and by the time we arrived back again the old fellow made his appearance beaming with smiles, as if nothing had happened. He was at once forgiven, and led the way into a large room where a long row of chairs extended down one side for ourselves, faced by three others for himself and the vice-governors. We speedily became great friends and drank a quantity of _saké_ together, Sir Harry and the governor vying with each other in the manufacture of the most high-flown compliments. After this the whole party adjourned to visit the gold mines, which were then, whatever they may be now, low-roofed burrows half full of water, and those who ventured in returned to the outer air again looking more like half-drowned rabbits than human Englishmen. I had never been able to see much pleasure in this sort of subterranean excursion, and carefully stayed outside. We got on board that night, and weighed anchor in order to proceed to Nanao in Noto. There a fine harbour was said to exist, which we thought could perhaps be substituted for Niigata. Early on the morning of the 7th August we came in sight of the lofty mountains of Etchiû, which centre round the volcanic peak of Tatéyama, nearly 10,000 feet high, and at eleven o'clock reached the southern entrance of the harbour, which is formed by a considerable island lying opposite to a bay. The "Serpent" led the way, in discharge of the functions appertaining to her as a surveying ship, but we had to take great care on account of the numerous patches of shoal water, and did not come to an anchor in front of the town till half-past twelve. Nanao, or Tokoro no kuchi, at that time containing from 8000 to 9000 inhabitants, was rising into importance as a port for the few steamers belonging to the _daimiô_ of Kaga, and was administered by a _machi bugiô_ or prefect named Abé Junjirô. He was a young man who had been to Nagasaki and knew a little English, both of which facts in those days gave him a title to be considered travelled and learned, but he had no authority to speak on behalf of his prince. We therefore waited until the arrival of some more representative officials named Sano and Satomi, who were expected from Kanazawa, the capital of this daimiate. They turned up on board the "Basilisk" on the 9th August, and sat talking, or rather being talked to, by Sir Harry for five mortal hours. The chief topic was the question of the suitability of Nanao as a substitute for Niigata. What the Kaga people feared was that this would lead to its being taken away from them by the Tycoon's government, as in former times had happened in the case of Nagasaki and Niigata. But they did not venture to state this openly, and alleged therefore various other excuses, such as that the inhabitants were not accustomed to see foreigners, that the majority would object on account of the general rise in prices which would follow on the exportation of produce, and the _daimiô_, however willing to see the place opened to foreign trade, must of course act in harmony with the wishes of the people. Sir Harry then gave up pressing the point directly, enlarged on the inconveniences of the anchorage at Niigata, the need of a port of refuge, and the "fact" that none existed nearer than Nanao. He said nothing of our having inspected Ebisu Minato in Sado with the view of using it as an alternative anchorage to Niigata. Would the _daimiô_ object to foreign vessels anchoring at Nanao when the weather was bad at the bar of Niigata. The reply was that for the sake of humanity and of our friendly relations he would be unable to refuse this. Well then, as ships could not afford to lie a long time at Nanao doing nothing, would there be any objection to their cargoes being landed and stored till they could be transported to Niigata. No, probably not, in the interests of humanity. Who then, asked Sir Harry, should undertake the construction of the necessary warehouses? The reply was that either foreigners or the Kaga administration could do this as seemed most convenient. Well then, supposing that the people of Nanao should wish to buy any of the goods so stored by foreigners, would it not be a hard thing to prevent the sale? They said perhaps it might be, but to give such permission would lead to converting Nanao into a foreign trading port; nevertheless, if all the articles required were ordered beforehand, and not selected from those stored with a view to their transportation to Niigata, there could be no objection. But in actual fact, to speak frankly, they thought they could undertake the regulation of the port and the storage of goods without the assistance of the Tycoon's government. The territory of Nanao had belonged to the Maeda clan from very early times; it was the only good port in the three provinces of Kaga, Etchiû and Noto, and could ill be spared. They would dislike to share the local administration with the government, nor could they give it up to them altogether. Sir Harry expressed his concurrence in these views, and then proceeded to talk about the means of transport for himself and his party overland to Ozaka. This subject had been discussed in the legation before our departure from Yedo, though when the governor of Niigata had asked Sir Harry whether it was not his intention to return by land from Nanao, our very diplomatic chief had replied that such an idea had never entered his head. They received his suggestion with no marks of cordiality, and drew on themselves a severe rebuke for their want of friendship towards foreigners, so different to the feelings displayed by certain other clans. This plain speaking completely spoiled their temper. They became very sulky and silent, and alleging hunger, probably with much truth, took their departure. As soon as they had left the ship Sir Harry made up his mind to send Mitford and myself overland to Ozaka, while he went round by way of Nagasaki in the "Basilisk." It was, of course, evident that we could travel through the country in a much less formal style than would be necessary for him, and on our part of course we were only too delighted to get the opportunity of seeing a part of the interior where foreigners had never been before. I was therefore sent on shore to get hold of the prefect. Bullock was ordered to remain behind with the "Serpent" to make a complete survey of the bay. The Admiral, who had arrived from Niigata the day before us, got up steam in the "Salamis," and was off at half-past three, the "Basilisk" following a couple of hours later. The chief, who liked to keep us by him till the last moment, took us as far as the entrance of the harbour, where we put our traps into a boat belonging to the "Serpent." But just as we were pulling away, the "Basilisk" got ashore in a shallow place, and they signalled to us to return to her. Eventually we were released from dancing attendance on him, and reached the shore at eight o'clock in the evening. We proceeded to a house where I had more than once passed the night, and shortly received a visit from Sano and Abé, who were to make all the arrangements for our journey. Thither came also two officials of the Yedo Foreign Department, who had come from Yokohama with Sir Harry, and whom he had left behind with injunctions to facilitate the survey of the harbour by Bullock. But as soon as they heard that we were going overland, they conceived the plan of offering that one of them should accompany us, to spy upon our movements. They alleged that although everything might go well with us in the territories of the _daimiô_ of Kaga, we should meet with difficulties further on. We should be unable to procure baggage and palanquin coolies; we might be attacked and killed. They had instructions in fact to accompany us wherever we went on shore, and that it was a law of Japan that foreigners must not travel without foreign department officials to look after them. To this I replied with equal weight that they were bound to respect the injunctions laid on them by Sir Harry, to whom they had been lent by the Tycoon's Council. He had told them to remain at Nanao for a specific purpose, while we had positive orders from our chief not to take them. We felt assured that the _daimiôs_ of Kaga and Echizen, which was the territory that lay immediately beyond, would do everything to smooth our way; and as regarded the rest of the line of road, they might write to the Tycoon's people at Kiôto to send down the necessary instructions, and even take on themselves the responsibility of transmitting the orders direct to the authorities of the towns we should have to pass through. As for the law they mentioned, I felt convinced that it had no existence. At best there was only a custom to that effect, which we could decline to abide by at our option. These considerations proved to them that argument would not help them, so they tried to work upon my feelings by representing that they would get into hot water with their superiors in Yedo if they suffered us to depart alone. But this also failed. Finally they washed their hands of the business, and begged to be excused from all responsibility for any difficulties we might encounter. This request was most readily granted, and they retired with a secret intention of getting Bullock to dispense with their services, while we betook ourselves to our beds with the consciousness of a victory achieved. CHAPTER XX NANAO TO OZAKA OVERLAND NEXT morning Sano and Abé presented themselves with the welcome news that everything was ready for our journey, and made many apologies for the inconveniences we should have to put up with. They had provided a handsome palanquin for each of us, and ordinary ones for Noguchi and Mitford's Chinese servant, the philosophic Lin-fu. A guard was furnished of twenty two-sworded men carrying long staves, under the command of an officer named Tominaga. We got away at half-past eight. Looking out to sea, we perceived that the "Basilisk" had departed, and that the "Serpent" was lying peacefully at anchor. The foreign department officials did not show up, and it was to be concluded that they had made up their minds to submit. So we were perfectly free, away from our chief, from Tycoon's officials, from any other Europeans, embarked on an adventure in a totally unknown part of the country, which might end anyhow for aught we cared, but at any rate was of an altogether novel character. As soon as we were clear of the town we got out and walked. It was a piping hot day. Each man of the twenty who formed the escort as he went along fanned himself with one hand, and wiped the perspiration from his brow with a towel carried in the other. It soon became evident that we were to be treated with great distinction, for we had not travelled more than an hour and a half before we were invited to rest and refresh ourselves with delicious water melons and tea; nectarines were also offered, but of such fearful unripeness that we dared not make their close acquaintance. An hour further we had again to rest. Every one was excessively polite; the peasants whom we met were made to crouch down and take off their hats. This was much more than could have been expected after the scolding Sir Harry had given to Sano and his colleagues on the previous day. The road lay up a gradually narrowing valley, cultivated principally with rape and hemp. At a quarter past one we stopped for lunch at a clean inn where they gave us a capital meal. After a nap we resumed our way at three o'clock down another valley, stopped to rest at half-past four, and reached our night quarters at half-past six, having accomplished eighteen miles. This was the village of Shiwo, prettily situated on the banks of a tiny stream, and close to the mouth of a valley, the view up which into the hills growing ever higher and higher was one of the charming prospects in which Japan abounds. After the hot bath, they served an excellent dinner with many polite apologies for its badness. The next day brought us some sixteen miles further to Tsubata, where we joined the high road which traverses the dominions of the _daimiô_ from one end to the other at no great distance from the coast. Here our escort left us, and a new set of men took their place. We were now passing through a more populous part of the country, and were objects of intense curiosity to the inhabitants. At Morimoto the front rooms of the houses on both sides of the street were filled with spectators sitting in rows three or four deep or on mats placed at the side of the roadway. Shortly after leaving this place we caught a glimpse of the white castle walls of Kanazawa peeping through the pine trees. As soon as we came in sight of the town itself we got into our palanquins, and were carried to one of the first houses, where we met Satomi and another official named Tsunékawa. Crowds of spectators had assembled, and some of them were so eager to gratify their curiosity that they even stood in a muddy lotus pond which commanded a view of the back of the house where we were. Here delicious melons and apples were served with frozen snow from the mountains behind the town. Gold paper screens lined the walls, there were tables piled high with fruit and cakes, and in the recess behind the seat of honour a beautiful writing box of the finest gold lacquer, in case we wished to sit down and write letters. A most unnecessary piece of ceremonial preparation, one would say. The officials asked us to proceed from here on foot in order that the people might see us better, but we preferred making use of our palanquins, as we had on our travelling garments, and were somewhat dusty and way-worn. The streets were thickly lined with spectators of all ranks and ages, among whom were some very pretty girls. Another charming resting place had been prepared for us, into which they obliged us to turn aside, although we had previously expressed our wish to go on straight to the inn. Continuing thence along the street, thickly filled with inquisitive but perfectly orderly townspeople, we crossed a bridge, and after turning a few times to right and left, at last reached our inn, rather tired with all the fuss and ceremony. At the porch we were welcomed by Satomi, who had hurried on ahead to superintend our reception. He conducted us through several rooms into an inner room of great size, spread with a huge velvet-pile carpet and furnished with Chinese tables and scarlet-lacquered chairs such as the high priests of Buddhist temples occupy on grand ceremonial occasions. The host immediately presented himself, bowing his head to the floor as if he were saluting a pair of kings. Each servant who brought in the tobacco trays or tea bowed low to the ground, then advanced holding the article high in both hands, deposited it on the table, and then retiring backwards to the edge of the carpet, knocked his head on the floor again before withdrawing. We were conducted in turn to the bath with great ceremony, and then put on our best clothes (which were neither new nor good) to receive visitors. The first to call was a special messenger from the _daimiô_, to express a hope that we had not suffered from the heat, and rejoicing at our fortunate arrival. Mitford replied with great dignity that we had not felt the heat. We were deeply grateful for the hospitality and kindness shown to us, and would like to call on the _daimiô_ to thank him in person. "My master," said the messenger, "is unfortunately indisposed, otherwise he would have been delighted to make your acquaintance." Mitford expressed a hope that he would soon recover. The real truth I imagine to have been that an interview between a _daimiô_ and two foreigners would have involved far too important and complicated decisions on questions of etiquette for it to be lightly contemplated. The messenger added that he had been commanded by his master to offer us a small entertainment, and to accompany us in partaking of it. Mitford rose to even greater heights of flowery speech than before, and invented a message from Sir Harry Parkes (which if the chief did not actually charge us with, the omission could only be attributed to inadvertence), expressing his desire to swear eternal friendship with the _daimiô_ and people of Kaga, which gave very great satisfaction to the messenger and everyone else present. Doctors were also introduced, whom the prince had deputed to attend on us in case we felt any ill-effects from the heat. To this exchange of compliments succeeded a feast resembling in character what has already been described but far surpassing it in magnificence and the number of courses. Observing that our Japanese entertainers were not comfortable on their chairs, we proposed to banish the furniture and squat on the floor after the manner of the country, and thus facilitate the passing of the _saké_ cup. After a considerable time had been passed in general conversation, and everyone's head was more or less heated, we introduced political topics, which were discussed very confidentially in the presence of a crowd of people. The structure of a Japanese house is such that no secrets can be whispered; there is always some one listening behind a paper partition or on the other side of a screen, and if you wish to hatch a plot, your best way is to transfer your deliberations to the middle of the garden, where you can keep off eavesdroppers. However, as we could not do that on the present occasion, it seemed better to take all who chose it into our confidence. The gist of the conversation amounted to this--that the Kaga people wished to trade with foreigners, but did not wish avowedly to make an open port of Nanao, because the Tycoon's government would then try to deprive them of it; but they would agree to its being an anchorage for foreign vessels, ancillary to Niigata, and to goods being landed there, in which case everything else would naturally follow. If the Tycoon's government were to inquire what view they took of the question, they would reply ambiguously. Our answer was that of course we desired to act in harmony with the wishes of the _daimiô_, and would do nothing that could possibly be prejudicial to his interests. This proved very satisfactory to our entertainers, who declared the warm feelings of friendship for us which animated them, and a stratagem, the details of which I do not recollect, was agreed upon for keeping up secret and confidential communications with them after our return to Yedo. Both sides bound themselves to secrecy, and the party broke up. The bedding, which was of the most magnificent description, was then brought in, piles of soft, quilted mattresses covered with silk or crape, and stuffed with silk wool, and a large net of silk gauze was hung up to keep off the mosquitoes. Then a freshly-infused pot of green tea, with teacups, on a small tray, and the necessary apparatus for smoking, were gently slid under the bottom of the mosquito curtain, and the people of the house wished us a good night's rest. In the morning the very first thing, before we were awake, the same elements of a comfortable existence were provided in the same unobtrusive manner. The forenoon was spent in choosing lacquer and porcelain. On the previous evening an arrangement had been made for our visiting the neighbouring hills, but some hitch had occurred, and we were now asked to accept instead an excursion to Kanaiwa, the port of Kanazawa. It lay at a distance of about five miles, so we started on horseback about three o'clock. Our steeds were rather shabby-looking ponies, unshod, with saddles in the European fashion covered with thick black paper instead of leather, and painfully stiff bridles of badly tanned leather. Noguchi was mounted on a pony splendidly caparisoned in the native style, and the philosophic Lin-fu, who could not ride, was put into a palanquin. Though we had such a very short way to ride, it was supposed that delicately nurtured persons like ourselves would feel the fatigue, and three resting places had been prepared, two on the road and one at Kanaiwa itself. The so-called port proved to be an open roadstead at the mouth of an insignificant stream, quite useless except in perfectly calm weather. At dinner that evening we had some further talk with a couple of officials. They had come to the conclusion, after thinking over the conversation of the previous evening, that it would be their wisest course to admit to the Tycoon's government the probability of a certain amount of trade taking place at Nanao. In that way no danger would arise of their getting into trouble for what would otherwise be smuggling. We approved of this proposal, and suggested their sending to Yedo some one authorized to treat with the government and the foreign representatives. In the course of conversation on the domestic politics of the country, they said that in their opinion the Tycoon's government ought to be supported, and not done away with altogether, as the Satsuma and Chôshiû people, with other clans, were believed to be advocating. But at the same time limits ought to be placed on its authority. They had read my pamphlet, and entirely approved of the suggestions it contained. After that, all one could say was that we entirely concurred in the views of the Kaga clan. As a matter of fact, these people were rather too remote from the main centre of political thought to be cognisant of or sympathise with the aspirations of the southern and western clans. They lay in an isolated position on the northern coast, in a part of the country that had always been looked upon somewhat as the home of ignorance and want of culture. They cared only for themselves. The lands held by the _daimiô_ of Kaga were assessed at a much greater annual value than the fief of any other prince, which gave the clansmen an importance in the eyes of the rest of the world with which they were thoroughly satisfied; an alteration in the political organization of the country could hardly benefit them, and they were at bottom disposed to be contented with the _status quo_. The British Legation, on the contrary, were determined that so far as their influence went, the Mikado should be restored to the headship of the nation, so that our treaties might receive a sanction that no one would venture to dispute, and for this purpose it was necessary that the constitution of the Tycoon's government should be modified in such a manner as to admit the principal _daimiôs_ (or clans rather) to a share in the distribution of power. Our hosts would have been contented to keep us longer, but we were due at Ozaka at a fixed date, and could not stay with them. We resumed our journey, therefore, on the morning of August 14. The landlord was very urgent with us that we should call in passing at a shop for patent medicines kept by a relation, to lay in a stock of a preparation called "purple snow" (_shi-setsu_), composed chiefly of nitre and perfumed with musk, and believed to be a remedy for most of the ills to which flesh is heir. The streets were again crowded with eager spectators. When just clear of the town we were forced to alight from our _kagos_ for a parting feast at a restaurant on a height commanding a picturesque view of the castle, which planted plentifully with trees presented a park-like aspect very unlike the grim fortresses which in Europe usually go by the name. Here we spent an hour eating fish and drinking _saké_, and vowing eternal friendship with the Kaga clansmen, with whom previous to this visit we had had no intercourse whatever. We lunched that day at Mattô, where I had a long talk with the mayor upon things in general, in the presence of a vast and attentive crowd, and reached Komatsu in the evening, having accomplished twenty miles. This was very fair going, considering the numerous delays and stoppages for refreshment. The next day we passed the boundary line between the territories of Kanazawa and Daishôji, where the escort was changed. At the latter town we found the streets entirely cleared, and crowds of people quietly sitting in the front rooms of the houses, among them many daughters of the best families in holiday garb, with wreaths of silver flowers on their heads, their faces nicely powdered with white lead, and their lips stained with the safflower dye which imparts such a curious metallic lustre to the skin. Here we took a formal farewell of Okada and Shimbô, two Kaga gentlemen who had accompanied us during the previous days. Mitford's Chinese servant came in for a share in the general leave-taking, and philosophically remarked that he did not understand Japanese etiquette, which appears to consist chiefly in the performance of the _ko-t'ou_. About three miles further we finally quitted the domains of the Maeda family, and passed into the territory of Echizen. There was no guard to meet us, only a couple of policemen, and it was proposed that we should retrace our steps to a tea-house half a mile back, to wait till an escort could be procured. To this we objected, saying that we were willing to go on without a guard. The _rusui_ or head bailiff of the _daimiô_ of Daishôji said that it would not be correct for his men to undertake our protection beyond the limits. Finally a compromise was effected. Okada and Shimbô, who in spite of the formal parting that had taken place at Daishôji, were still of the party, borrowed ten men from the bailiff on the distinct understanding that they were not any longer a guard, and walked on with us. Shortly afterwards we met an Echizen official of low rank (he was a _metsuké_ or assistant clerk), and our Kaga friends took their final leave of us, not without expressing the opinion that the Echizen people showed very little courtesy in not deputing some one of more exalted rank to offer us a welcome. But the fact was we were not welcome at all, as we speedily found, for although every possible pains had been taken to provide us with good food and quarters, the whole Echizen clan held aloof from us. For instance at Kanadzu, where we passed the night, the whole town was illuminated with coloured lanterns, and the spectators who crowded the main street went down on their knees in the usual respectful manner. Very beautiful guest rooms had been prepared for us at a monastery, chairs and tables had been provided, and a couple of good little boys, of preternaturally solemn demeanour, sat on the floor behind us to fan away the mosquitoes. The superior civilization and resources of the country, as compared with Kaga, were exhibited by the production of beer and champagne. Next day we reached Fukui, the capital of the province, a town of about 40,000 inhabitants. Here again the streets had been cleared; spectators in their best were seated in rows in the shops, and looked just as if they had paid for their places, like the people who go to see the Queen open Parliament. I never saw so many pretty girls together anywhere. White brooms and buckets of water stood before each house, as a sign that the road had been swept clean and the dust laid. We were conducted to the monastery of the Hongwanji sect, a new and handsome building, where a large room had been prepared for us, and hung with silk crape curtains dyed with the Echizen crest. In the recess stood a beautiful vase containing a huge bouquet of lotus flowers, standing quite six feet high. The table was loaded with piles of fruit and cakes, and the usual Japanese luncheon was served, with champagne. No one approached us, with the exception of a young Japanese who had been in the service of a foreigner at Nagasaki and spoke a little English; but numbers of officials, some of high rank, collected in the passages to stare at us. We took no notice of them, adopting the perfectly cold and impassive manner of Orientals on their dignity. This was bad, but worse came behind. Although on our quitting Fukui, they sent men before us to sweep the road ahead, our guards were rude, and chaffed about us among themselves. At Fuchiû, the town where we stopped for the night, a noisy crowd pursued us from the entrance of the town to our lodging, running along the other side of the stream which lay along the middle of the street. Arrived at the inn, we found the dais room shut up, and the matted floors spread with _shibukami_, a sort of thick, tough paper in sheets, which is laid down when any particularly dirty household business is to take place. It is the correlative of the dust sheets used in England to cover up furniture when a weekly cleaning takes place. We were, of course, indignant, but I think these, to us, offensive precautions had been taken in the belief that we were ignorant of Japanese manners and customs, and would walk in with our shoes on. The day after this we crossed the boundary on the top of a hill called the Tochinoki Tôgé (Horse-Chestnut Pass), where we said good-bye to the rude Echizen escort, and were taken charge of by men belonging to Ii Kamon no Kami, the _daimiô_ of Hikoné. A very moderate bill was presented to us for our board, lodging and coolie hire, which we paid, and we offered payment also for the extras in the shape of beer, champagne and fish, but could not induce the officials to accept it. It is not very easy to explain why the Echizen people showed such an utter want of cordiality, but I think it may perhaps be attributable to the difficult position in which the clan then stood. Its head was closely allied to the Tycoon's family, being in fact descended from one of the sons of Iyéyasu, the founder of the Tycoonate. Although perfectly well aware of the difficulties in which the Tycoon was involved, he was not prepared to side with the Satsuma and Chôshiû party, which aimed at the restoration of the Mikado, and was probably acquainted with the policy of the British Legation, as supposed to be set forth in my pamphlet. Intimacy with foreigners had never until quite lately been a part of the government programme, and the Echizen people very likely thought it wiser to hold entirely aloof from us, in spite of the recent change of attitude on the part of the Tycoon, especially as the south-western _daimiôs_ had never openly adhered to the policy of friendship with foreigners. The "expulsion of the barbarians" was still their ostensible party cry. So that on the whole I incline to the opinion that extreme caution was the keynote to the want of cordiality displayed by the Echizen folk. We stopped that night at a little village among the hills called Naka-no-kawachi, where we could get nothing to eat but rice and tea. In ordinary years there are no mosquitoes here, owing to its elevation, and we had therefore considerable trouble in procuring mosquito curtains. The general aspect of the country reminded me closely of Scawfell Pass in Cumberland. At the further foot of the hills we passed one of those barriers, curious relics of a past full of suspicion, where no woman was allowed to pass, and where every man had to exhibit a passport. At Nagahama we met an official of the Tycoon's government named Tsukahara Kwanjirô (brother of Tsukahara Tajima no Kami), with eighteen of the foreign guard, who henceforward charged themselves with our protection. Sir Harry Parkes had passed through here in May last in returning from his visit to Tsuruga, and we found the people disposed to be familiar and careless of our comfort. We felt that we were now little better than prisoners; farewell all jollity and all politeness on the part of the inhabitants. We hastened on as rapidly as possible, being now as anxious to get over the rest of our journey as we had in the beginning been disposed to loiter among a friendly population. At Takamiya, where we lunched, we found the dais room closed against us, but I took the innkeeper and his servants roundly to task, and made them open it. After this, they recognized that we understood Japanese etiquette, and for their previous rudeness substituted perfect courtesy. As we were now about to quit the territory of Ii Kamon no Kami, we offered to settle our bill for lodging and coolie hire, but the official in charge refused to accept payment, alleging that he had received reiterated orders not to take anything from us. So we contented ourselves with addressing to him a letter of acknowledgment, and told him we would thank the _daimiô's_ people on our return to Yedo. The local escort left us at Nakajiku, the boundary, and we were consigned to the care of the foreign guard, who concerned themselves very little on our behalf. The consequence of this was that the people crowded in upon us at every village, and were extremely rude in their behaviour. On our arrival at Musa I administered a quiet blowing-up to the commander of the guard, who promised that things should be better arranged for the morrow. Next day we reached Kusatsu, where, to our surprise, we fell in with a couple more Tycoon's officials, whom I knew very well, Takabataké Gorô and a young fellow named Koméda Keijirô, the latter of whom spoke English remarkably well. They told us that they had come overland from Yedo with Hirayama Dzusho no Kami, one of the Tycoon's second council, and had been dropped here by him to look after us. He had charged them to say to us that the temple of Ishiyama, just below the Seta Bridge, which had been closed to Sir Harry in May, would be shown to us, and was well worthy of a visit. This temple in fact lay on the route which Tsukahara had already persuaded us to adopt. We were to take boat at Kusatsu, descend the river which flows out of the Biwa Lake as far as the rapids, then walk for about a couple of leagues (five miles), and take boat again to Fushimi. This, he said, was a much shorter and pleasanter route than that which Wirgman and I had taken in May. We therefore jumped at the offer made on the part of Hirayama, whom we voted a capital fellow, and some amicable conversation followed on Japanese politics, in which they tried to persuade us that the positions taken up by my pamphlet were all wrong, but without success. After they left, Noguchi came to me and said that the road over the hills to Uji, instead of being only ten or twelve miles, as had been represented to us, was in reality much nearer five-and-twenty, so that we could not possibly get there by mid-day. A misgiving immediately arose in my mind that there was something concealed behind all this solicitude about our seeing temples. Probably the Tycoon's officials wanted to get us away from Otsu, which lay on the direct route, and the vicinity of Kiôto, in order to prevent trouble with the anti-Tycoon party, such as had occurred in May when Sir Harry passed through there. I therefore despatched Noguchi to probe Tsukahara, and sent for the posting officer to inquire about the distances. What he told me only confirmed my suspicions, which I then mentioned to Mitford. We therefore resolved to go by Otsu and to run all risks. We had invited Takabataké and the other man to dinner. Just before our guests arrived Noguchi returned, and I imparted my suspicions to him. He thought I was wrong. As soon as they came in, I announced to Takabataké our intention of taking the usual route. He was greatly disconcerted, declared it would be very inconvenient, nay impossible. I replied that we were indifferent to temples and scenery, but extremely fond of saving time in travelling; and as the road by Otsu was the shorter, we would take it. Seeing that we were very firm in our resolve, he retired from the room, and got hold of Noguchi, whom he begged to use his influence. Noguchi thereupon called me outside for a private conversation, and urged me to adhere to the original arrangement. I replied that it was useless; we wanted to go by the shorter route, and if altering the arrangements as to boats, etc., cost money, we were willing to pay it. I returned to the dining-room, and my answer was communicated to Takabataké, who thereupon called out Koméda. Koméda came back, and begged me in turn to come out; as soon as we were alone, he said that he wished to have a friendly talk, and confessed that the whole thing was a plant. I said that we knew it before, and had felt convinced that Tsukahara had been sent down from Kiôto by the Tycoon's prime minister (Itakura Iga no Kami) to hoodwink us. If they had told us the truth in the beginning, we would have complied with their wishes; but that now it was too late to talk to us of going so far out of our way merely to oblige them. We then returned to the dining-room again, and tried to proceed with our meal. The three Japanese were very crestfallen, and became still more so when Mitford suddenly turned to Koméda and said to him in English that if the private secretary (_ometsuké_) who had been sent down from Kiôto on this particular business would address to him a letter stating explicitly the reasons why they wished us to change our route, we would fall in with their wishes; otherwise we would go by Otsu, even if the guard should refuse to accompany us. After a little demur, they accepted his offer, as the easiest alternative, and Takabataké went off to prepare the letter. We had great difficulty in obtaining a document to our minds. Takabataké produced three drafts, one after the other, which had to be rejected, because it was alleged in them that we were travelling without the permission of the government, and the phraseology was so confused that it became impossible to make head or tail of it. At three o'clock in the morning they at last brought the fair copy of what we had insisted on being put down in black and white, namely that great complications had arisen at Kiôto in the previous May on account of Sir Harry's passing through Otsu, which was only six miles from the Mikado's capital, and begging Mitford as a favour to go by way of Uji. Great victory for us and corresponding defeat for the Japanese officials. I had very little sleep that night, for we were on the move by a quarter to seven. We went in palanquins as far as the bridge of Séta, and embarking in a boat, proceeded down the river to Ishiyama-dera. As soon as we were sighted by the priests in charge, they ran to shut the gates in our face. So much for Hirayama's promise of admission. It was a very hot day. We left the river to ascend and descend a series of little hills for four miles, and then came out by the river again. Here we got a scanty meal of rice and tea, all that was procurable in such an out-of-the-way spot. Then along the path for a mile or so by the river, which roared over its rocky bed between steep schistose hills, and then climbed a very stiff ascent, trying in the extreme under the burning August sun. At every peasant's hut they told us that it was still four miles to Uji. Frequently we had to stop and wash out our mouths by some scanty stream trickling from the rock. But at last we reached the summit, and gained a magnificent view of the great plain below, in the centre of which lies the mysterious and jealously guarded Kiôto, like a Japanese Mecca, in which it was death for the heathen foreigner to set his foot. To the left lay Fushimi, with its network of canals and rivers, far away in front the sacred top of Atagoyama. At four o'clock we got to Uji, hot and tired, having trudged our weary way almost unceasingly since noon. We rested for a couple of hours at a charming tea-house on the bank of the river close to the broken bridge. At six we embarked in a comfortable houseboat, and drifted rapidly down stream to Fushimi, where we got a bath and dinner at the official hotel. Noguchi afterwards told me that he had overheard some men there talking about the advisability of murdering us. However, they lacked the courage to carry out their idea, and we got away safely at nine in a large boat. It was too hot to sleep inside, so I lay all night on the gangway which ran along the gunwale, overhanging the water. Early in the morning we reached Ozaka, washed our faces in the stream, dressed, and betook ourselves to the temple we had occupied in the spring. Sir Harry turned up in the afternoon, with the news of the murder of two sailors of H.M.S. "Icarus" at Nagasaki, as they were lying in a drunken sleep on the roadway in a low quarter of the town. Before this new outrage the tale of our experiences paled altogether in interest. CHAPTER XXI OZAKA AND TOKUSHIMA THE next few days were occupied almost exclusively with the question of what measures were to be adopted for the detection and punishment of the murderers of the "Icarus" sailors at Nagasaki. Sir Harry, as was very natural, took up the matter with great warmth, and used some extremely strong language to the principal minister of the Tycoon, a good-natured, yet not by any means weak, old gentleman named Itakura Iga no Kami. He seemed to be old, though probably not over five-and-forty. The rumour at Nagasaki had been that the perpetrators were Tosa men, and the suspicion was strengthened by the fact that a sailing vessel and a steamer belonging to Tosa, which were lying in the harbour, suddenly left before dawn, a few hours after the murder. It was suggested that the perpetrators had escaped in the sailing vessel, as she left an hour and a half before the steamer, and that they were transferred to the latter somewhere outside the harbour. As far as we could judge, the Tycoon's government seemed to entertain the same suspicions. The Tosa men had always had the reputation for being more savagely disposed than any other Japanese. The government promised to dismiss the two governors of Nagasaki, and to send a body of 500 men from Yedo to patrol the foreign settlement at Nagasaki to prevent anything of the kind recurring. Upon this Sir Harry accepted an invitation to see the Tycoon, who had come down from Kiôto to give an audience to the French Minister, M. Roches, about the recent arrest of some native Christians at Nagasaki. Sir Harry, Mitford and I went accordingly to the castle in palanquins, as the weather was very hot, and no good ponies could be procured. We were received in the private drawing-room (_shiro-in_). The Tycoon, who looked a little worn, had with him Itakura and Hirayama; the latter was a little old man of rather low origin with sharp cunning features, who had lately been promoted. We nicknamed him the fox, and he deserved it well. After an hour's talk, on indifferent matters, we were joined by Admiral Keppel and his staff. This led to some conversation on naval affairs, but I came to the conclusion that His Highness took very little interest in the subject. After a while the Tycoon sent for Matsudaira Kansô, the ex-_daimiô_ of Hizen, an oldish-looking man of forty-seven, and introduced him to Sir Harry and the Admiral. He had a sharp countenance, and spoke in a fitful, abrupt manner, constantly winking with both eyes. He had the reputation of being a time-server and a great intriguer, and certainly, up to the very moment of the revolution, which took place in 1868, he never allowed anyone to guess what side he would take. He sat next to the Tycoon on his left, and the only other mark of respect, other than that due to equals, which he employed in speaking was the word "kami," for "you." Sir Harry endeavoured to get an invitation out of him to visit his place at Saga, but he was too wary, and merely expressed the expectation that they might meet some day at Nagasaki; but that never came to pass. When the Tycoon was tired of talking we adjourned to the next room, where a Japanese luncheon was served, with cold _saké_; which was a sign that no one was expected to take more than enough. Early that morning I had received a call from Saigô Kichinosuké, and here I insert a translation of a letter which he afterwards wrote to Okubo Ichizô giving an account of our conversation. The original was found many years afterwards among the papers of Iwakura Jijiû, and a copy was given to me in 1906, as I was passing through Tôkiô on my way home from Peking, by my old friend Matsugata Masayoshi. Copy of letter addressed by Saigô Takamori to Okubo Toshimichi. Yesterday morning at 6 I arrived at Ozaka, and on inquiring where was the lodging of the English, I learnt that it was at the temple where they were in the spring; so I at once sent to Satow to inquire at what time to-day it would be convenient for me to call. The answer was that I should come at 7 o'clock. I went at that hour, and found he had just woke, and I was shown upstairs. I said that hearing of the minister's arrival at Ozaka, I had been, as you know, sent as a special messenger to inquire after his health. The ordinary compliments having been offered, he said the mail to England was being despatched about ten o'clock, and that at half-past eleven the minister was going to the Castle. I said that I had no particular business, but had only come to call in order to congratulate him on his arrival at Ozaka. As he must be very busy, I would not trouble him with a personal interview, and begged him to say so to the Minister. He replied that the Minister particularly wished to meet me, but as he was so much occupied he would ask to be excused that day. He said the Minister would remain two or three days at Ozaka, and particularly desired to meet me, and he thought he would be able to give me an interview in two or three days. He said he would sail from here on the 2nd of next month in order to return to Yokohama (or probably Yedo). When I saw Satow, he said things were exactly as before and that there had been no change of any importance, and the position being just as before, it was entirely different from what Shibayama had suspected; therefore I told him that the Ozaka Commercial Co. has, as I said to you the other day, agreed with the French, and is planning to make great profits. [An obscure passage follows.] I said I should like to try to discuss the settlement of Japanese affairs by the French, on which Satow replied that he would very much like to argue it. I told him the French said Japan must have a single concentrated government like all western countries, and the _daimiôs_ must be deprived of their power. Above all it was desirable to destroy the two provinces of Chôshiû and Satsuma, and that it would be well to join in subduing them. I asked what he thought of this. Satow then answered that it might be seen from the two previous attempts at subjugation, that a government which had not been able to beat Chôshiû alone would certainly not be able to deprive all the _daimiôs_ of their powers. I said: How could such weak people be helped. He replied that not a word could be said to that, and the argument was impossible. If such an argument were publicly brought forward, there was no doubt that they would help the government to destroy the _daimiôs_. It was heard that the idea was that in two or three years' time money would be collected, machinery be provided, French assistance be invoked and war be begun. As the French would then send troops to give assistance, it would be dangerous unless an opposite great Power were got to assist. If a report were then spread that England would also send out troops to protect, it would be impossible for French auxiliary troops to be set in motion; he said that therefore it was necessary to come to a thorough agreement beforehand. In the first place the English idea was that the sovereign of Japan should wield the governing power, and under him the _daimiôs_ should be placed, and so the establishment of the constitution (or national polity) would be similar to the system of all other countries. This was the first (word omitted here) thing of all. The sovereign of England had lately sent to the _Bakufu_ a letter addressed to the sovereign of Japan. This was a letter of condolence on hearing of the death of the late Emperor. This was to be delivered to the Emperor by the _Bakufu_. It would be improper if no reply were made to it, but up to the present no reply had been received. Although that was what they had declared with respect to the Emperor of Japan, at Kiôto H.M. did not take that view at all. It was maintained that the admission of aliens into the capital would be a defilement. As that sort of thing was undesirable, it would be necessary that a definite form of government vis-a-vis all countries carried on ordinary relations. If it was desired to consult with England, he would like to be informed, and as he was disposed to undertake the assistance asked for I replied that we would exert ourselves for the transformation of the Japanese government and we had no justification (?) vis-a-vis foreigners. The French grabbed profit at Yokohama and entered into agreements for their own pleasure. England was a country based on commerce, and would strenuously oppose any attempt to hinder commerce, and was therefore extremely indignant. The culprits who had killed two English sailors at Nagasaki were not yet known. We had heard it was rumoured to be the act of Nagasaki[3] men. He heard that Nagasaki was very badly spoken of. When Satow and others travelled overland from Echizen, Nagasaki men lay in wait for them at Fushimi. It was also said by many that they committed acts of violence at Kiôto, and gathered gamblers together. If it was Nagasaki men who had killed aliens at Nagasaki, it was to be much regretted as doing a great injury. [3] Substituted by Saigô for Tosa. When they came to Echizen no one came to meet them. Though local governors came to meet them in the country, no one came to see them at the castle-town, but they were entertained hospitably with _saké_ and _sakana_. Satow said he could not understand this. The above is a summary of the important points. Satow says he will come here to-morrow at ten o'clock, and I think there will be more conversation. I propose to stay two or three days longer, so please understand that. Satow's language about the _Bakufu_ is very insulting. I will tell you all in detail. Good-bye. 27th of 7th moon. SAIGO KICHINOSUKE. Okubo Ichizô sama. P.S. note by penman.--This copy of the letter contains obscurities, and some incorrect transcriptions. Next day I went to see Saigô at the Satsuma agency, in order to learn from him how things were going on at Kiôto. He talked a good deal of a parliament of the whole nation, to be established as a substitute for the existing government of the Tycoon, which I found from my young friend Matsuné was a very general idea among the anti-Tycoon party. To me it seemed a mad idea. Saigô also revealed to me a plan conceived by the government for monopolizing all the trade of Ozaka and Hiôgo by placing it in the hands of a guild of twenty rich native merchants, which was no doubt copied from the old arrangement at Canton before the opium war of 1840. This piece of news, when it was brought to him, inflamed the chief's wrath, who immediately got hold of the prime minister and insisted upon the scheme being abandoned. A new proclamation was issued, annulling the previous one establishing the guild, but as it was extorted by dint of great diplomatic pressure, I had very little belief in its being acted on. It was, and always has been, a Japanese idea to regulate commerce, both domestic and foreign, by means of the guilds, who pay for their monopoly, and make the most of it. Whatever may be the abstract merits of such a system, it is not altogether in accordance with western ideas, and we have never ceased to make war upon it whenever it crossed our path in eastern countries. Another matter about which we had to speak very strongly was the wording of the Tycoon's reply to the Queen's letter, conveying the usual expressions of condolence on the death of the late Mikado. The ministers apologized very humbly for having made use of discourteous forms, and promised to take great care for the future. The style of official documents addressed to the British Minister was also a subject upon which we had never-ending disputes with the Japanese officials, and it was only after the revolution that I succeeded in getting these things done in proper form. Their object was always by the use of particular forms and turns of phraseology to convey to their own people the belief that the foreign representatives were the inferiors of the Tycoon's ministers; doubtless they did not in their own country hold a rank at all approaching that of the high functionaries they had to deal with, most of whom were _daimiôs_, and it was a difficult matter, as it always has been in every eastern country, to induce them to recognize the official position of a diplomatist representing his sovereign. I have said in an earlier chapter that one of my teachers at Yokohama had been a retainer of the _daimiô_ of Awa. During the spring, when we were first at Ozaka, there had been some talk about my going to pay the _daimiô_ a visit at his capital, which lay not far from that city, but owing to a misunderstanding it came to nothing. On the present occasion the Awa people had sought me out again, and renewed the invitation, which I however persuaded them to transfer to Sir Harry and the Admiral. It had been already agreed that the British Legation should proceed to the province of Tosa in company with some special Commissioners of the Tycoon, in order to discover, if possible, the murderers of the two sailors belonging to H.M.S. "Icarus." Our wily old friend Hirayama was selected, along with a couple of other officials, for this business, and they wished to precede us by a few days in order to make a preliminary inquiry. So when the projected visit to Awa came to the ears of the ministers, they pressed Sir Harry to accept it, as Tokushima lay in the direct route to Tosa, and also because they believed that the _daimiô_ was not a dangerous opponent, but rather inclined to be a partisan of the Tycoon, if he took any side at all. Sir Harry was pleased, because he liked these entertainments, and so the matter was settled to every one's satisfaction. I took care to keep to myself the fact that the invitation had really been intended for myself alone, the _daimiô_ having heard about me from my teacher, and being curious to see the writer of the pamphlet on "English policy." Sir Harry and Mitford went off in the "Basilisk" with Hewett, the "Salamis" remaining behind to pick me up on the following morning. She was to leave at eleven, so I had to pack up overnight, and start very early. I hurried off with the Legation writer Ono, leaving Noguchi in charge of the baggage, and as usual he was late. I waited some time, but still he delayed. I became impatient, and desperately started in a boat with only the writer. Just as we were passing the proposed site of the foreign settlement, Noguchi came alongside in a tiny skiff, without the baggage. Further down, near the mouth of the river, we changed into a larger boat, built to cross the bar, and got on board half-an-hour late. Two Awa officials had joined just before me, and to my great joy and relief the baggage boat came alongside a quarter of an hour afterwards. We weighed anchor precisely at noon, and steaming southward through the Yura straits, got to the little harbour of Nei in Awa about six o'clock in the evening. The "Basilisk" was there already. Apparently no one awaited our arrival. Sir Harry therefore despatched me to Tokushima to find out what sort of reception he might expect. I got into a big native sailing boat with one of the Awa officials, while the other man hastened on ahead in another. There was a fresh breeze, and we rushed along under the cliffs at a good pace until we found ourselves approaching the bar at the mouth of the river on which Tokushima is situated. It was already dark, and the breakers extended right across the entrance. The other boat, which had preceded me, now turned back, and as she passed the people on board shouted out that the passage was no longer safe. My pilot however disregarded the warning, and pushed boldly on. The passage was extremely narrow, between widely extended sandbanks on either side; the huge waves tossed about the boat, big as it was, like a child's toy. At last after some anxious minutes we got inside, and were now in comparatively smooth water, without having shipped a drop. A great deal of apparently unmeaning shouting and hallooing took place, and our boat was allowed to surge hither and thither, till we drifted back again to the sandbank, where we found the other Japanese; they had run their boat ashore in the most reckless way, narrowly escaping a drowning in the surf. After mutual congratulations, we got into a houseboat and proceeded up the river to the landing-place, where I had to wait some time till a guard of soldiers could be brought down. This gave time for a crowd of spectators to collect, in spite of the advanced hour. At last the guard arrived; it consisted of cavalry, in long boots and conical hats, with white plumes of horsehair, commanded by a grizzled old warrior named Hachisuka Mimasaka, a descendant of the robber chieftain who founded the House of Awa, but a retainer for all that. They escorted me in solemn procession to a temple that had been prepared for our accommodation, by laying down red felt carpets and furnishing it with hastily constructed tables, chairs and bedsteads. It was evident that they had expected only a small party of three or four Europeans, but I explained to them that Sir Harry would not land without the Admiral, and neither of them could come on shore without the whole of his staff. So they had to make the best of it, and greatly extend their preparations before I would acknowledge myself satisfied. They had written up our official titles over the doors of the rooms intended for us, and mine had been rendered by "tongue-officer," a euphemism for interpreter; this I immediately had done away with, and my name substituted, for in Japan the office of interpreter at that time was looked upon as only fit for the lowest class of domestic servants, and no one of _samurai_ rank would ever condescend to speak a foreign language. I had often to fight pretty hard with Japanese of rank in order to ensure being treated as something better than a valet or an orderly. My good Awa friends, anxious to make me as happy as possible, had racked their brains in order to produce a dinner in European style, and a most dismal banquet it was; uneatable fishes in unsightly dishes, piles of unripe grapes and melons, heavy and tasteless sponge cakes, with coarse black-handled knives and forks to eat with. A wretched being, who had been to the United States as a sailor and had picked up a few words of low English, was put forward prominently to wait upon me, as if I were so ignorant of Japanese as to need an interpreter. It was explained that he was the only person in the clan who understood European manners and customs. I found him disgustingly familiar, and had to address a private remonstrance to one of the officials who had come down with me, who said that he was a privileged person "on account of his great learning." Nevertheless he administered a rebuke to the individual in question, who thereupon reverted to his native Japanese good manners. I had entirely lost my appetite, owing to having been without food since the middle of the day. We proceeded to discuss various points of etiquette connected with our proposed visit to the _daimiô_ at his castle. It was the first occasion on which foreigners of rank had been received within the walls of a native baron's fortress. It was finally decided that we should ride past the place where the notice to dismount stands, and get off our horses at the inner gate. The question of precedence at table was also decided. On one side were to sit the _daimiô_, his eldest son and a _karô_ named Mori, Commander Suttie of the "Salamis," Major Crossman of the Royal Engineers, Lieutenant Stephenson (flag lieutenant); on the other Sir Harry Parkes, Admiral Sir Harry Keppel, Captain Hewett, Mitford and Mr. Risk, the Admiral's secretary; I was to sit at the head of the table between Sir Harry and the _daimiô_. Separate and special individual presents were to be given to Sir Harry Parkes, to the Admiral and to myself, and a general present to all the others, to be divided among them as they liked. After all these knotty points had been disposed of, at a late hour I got to bed. On the following morning I left early and went down to the mouth of the river to see whether it was possible to cross the bar in order to meet Sir Harry, but found that it was still impassable owing to the heavy swell that continued to roll in from the open sea. After wasting a good deal of time in this vain attempt, I returned to the town, and procured nine horses, with which I started off overland to Nei, where the ships were lying. The road was pretty good in places, but at times very narrow, and wound in and out among the hills. The ponies were sturdy little animals, and though unshod trotted over the stones without stumbling, but they had hard mouths, and would not obey the snaffle. At Nei I got a small boat and went on board. From Sir Harry downwards everyone was willing to risk the ride to Tokushima, in spite of the weather. We started at four, and in a couple of hours reached the town, in a heavy storm of rain and wind. The streams, which had been quite dry when I passed in the middle of the day, were now so swollen that the water came up to the ponies' girths. We were wet through. If we changed at the temple, there was the risk of getting wet again in riding to the castle. It was arranged therefore that we should go on as we were, and dress in an ante-room. Mitford and Aston were engaged in drying their clothes. I had got into a pair of pyjamas, and could not ride in that costume. So I tried to procure three palanquins for us, which took an unexpectedly long time to produce. Sir Harry lost his temper, and swore he would not be kept waiting for all the d----d _daimiôs_ in Japan. Numata (my old teacher) and the other Awa people manifested the most stoical indifference to all this wrath. Mitford volunteered to go on horseback, so they set out. Aston, as a punishment for not being ready, was forbidden by Sir Harry to join the party, a prohibition which caused him the intensest joy. At last my palanquin arrived, I got in, and the bearers went off at such a pace that I reached the castle at the same moment as the others. In the dark, for it was now nine or ten o'clock, the walls of cyclopean masonry, as we entered the gates and wound through the outer fortifications, seemed very imposing, though they were not so in reality. We had to alight outside the point at which I had agreed with the officials, but luckily no one seemed to be aware of the alteration. We got into the palace and were shown into rooms where we changed our dress; and the different garb worn by the various members of the party was very curious, no proper uniforms or evening dress at all. I could only muster a shirt, a white coat and trousers, no waistcoat, and no cummerbund. Sir Harry was the only one who kept his shoes on, as every one had got his feet wet in riding from Nei. Everyone being at last ready, we were ushered through a series of wide passages into the banqueting room, and were met by the prince, who according to the agreement was clad in the ordinary costume of a gentleman, wide trousers, gown and mantle of silk. The introductions followed in the proper order of rank, and the prince led the way to the tables. The top one was oval, having been made months ago when it was expected that Mitford and I would be the only guests; the others were square. For the prince and his son there were elaborately carved chairs of old-fashioned style, for the rest of us there were three-legged chairs with semi-circular seats, very rickety and badly balanced. We were placed with our backs to the alcove (_tokonoma_), this being the seat of honour, on which the presents were laid out, a magnificent bronze about two feet high occupying the centre. Sir Harry and the Admiral gave the prince a couple of revolvers, which seemed to afford him much pleasure, and the return presents, consisting of rolls of brocade, crape and so forth, were then announced by one of the attendants. Sir Harry, who had by this time quite recovered his equanimity, made himself very agreeable to the prince, talking on general topics, instead of dwelling on the "relations of friendship which happily unite our respective countries" and the usual diplomatic commonplaces. The prince, Awa no Kami, to give him his proper title, was a man of about forty-seven years of age, of middle height, and with a refined countenance, slightly pock-marked; his manner abrupt and imperious, but his good humour without limits. Awaji no Kami, the son, was about twenty-two, a little taller than his father, with a mild, fat countenance, a gentle and subdued manner; and he exhibited great deference towards his father. The usual order of a Japanese dinner was reversed, the rice, soup and baked fish being first placed on the table. When this course had been removed, drinking commenced, a red lacquer cup being handed first to Sir Harry. I whispered to Sir Harry to call for the bowl to dip it in, and he returned it to the prince, who then offered it to the Admiral and to Captain Hewett, and then it travelled down the line to Stephenson, from whom it was returned to the prince. There was a good deal of picking at the various dishes of the banquet which was placed before us, and a great quantity of _saké_ was drunk. After a while a play was announced, and in order to get a better view of the acting we moved our chairs down to the other end of the room, where tables with our plates and drinking cups were placed before us. The actors were retainers of the prince wearing the long trousers belonging to the court costume, but not otherwise dressed for their parts. In the first piece there was three characters--master, servant, and guest. The master tells the servant to imitate him in all things, which injunction he takes literally, and addresses the guest in exactly the same style as his master employs to him; this enrages the master, who cuffs the servant, and he in turn the guest. This sort of fun continues with variations until the master's patience is quite exhausted, and he kicks the servant out of the room. The second piece is a well-known one, entitled "The Three Cripples." A rich and benevolent person advertises for cripples to enter his employ, and there enter successively a lame, a blind and a dumb man, gamblers who having become beggars have adopted these disguises in order to impose on the charitable. They are accepted, and having placed them in charge of three store-houses, their employer goes out. Then the three recognize each other as old comrades, and agree to open one of the store-rooms, which is full of _saké_, after which they will rob the other two. However, they get so drunk that when their master returns each forgets the part he had previously played; the blind man assumes dumbness, the lame one blindness, and the dumb pretends to be deaf. Their detection of course follows, with the natural consequences. After the play was over we drew round the little tables, and the _saké_ cup passed freely from hand to hand; Awa no Kami vowed that the Admiral was his father, and Sir Harry his elder brother, while Awaji no Kami expressed himself to me in a similarly affectionate manner. It was arranged that we should have a review of the troops on the following day, and about midnight the wind and rain having moderated we took our leave, getting back to our lodging at one in the morning. I found that even our servants had not been forgotten, presents having been sent to each one of them; not a single person was passed over. This was truly princely hospitality. I forgot to mention that before we started for the castle, a polite message of welcome was brought to Sir Harry from the prince, accompanied by a box three feet long, one deep and one wide, full of eggs, another of the same size full of vermicelli and a basket of fish. The trouble that had been taken to make us comfortable was very great, even after they had heard of the increased number they would have to entertain; they had gone to work to make bedsteads and tables, and even to build bathrooms. The morning turned out finer than could have been reasonably hoped for after the storm of the preceding day, and after breakfast we started for the parade ground. Our way lay through the castle, and over a considerable stream which washed one side of the fortress. It was a very good ground, though rather small, but the prince explained that he could not enlarge it without pulling down some Buddhist temples, which would shock the religious feeling of the townspeople. Some five hundred men, divided into five bodies of varying strength, were put through their drill. Their uniform was in imitation of European style, black trousers with red stripes down the side, and black coats; happy the soldier who could muster a pair of boots, the rest had only straw sandals. On their heads they had hats of papier-maché, either conical or of dish-cover shape, with two horizontal red bands. They used the English infantry drill, with the quaint addition of a shout to indicate the discharge of their firearms. In the opinion of those who were competent to judge, they acquitted themselves very creditably. We viewed the evolutions from a sort of grand stand, with tables before us piled up with various delicacies. _Saké_ of course formed part of the entertainment, and Hewett was singled out by the prince as assuredly the best toper of us all, on account of his jolly red face. Everyone this morning had remarked what a capital liquor is _saké_, it leaves no bad effects behind, from which it may be inferred that we had returned home on the previous night in a happy frame of mind and body. About noon we took our leave. Sir Harry presented a ring to the young prince, and the Admiral put another on the finger of Awa no Kami, to their intense delight. On our way back from the drill ground we were taken to a temple on a hill commanding an extensive view, where we were entertained with a luncheon washed down with bad champagne procured in Yokohama for the occasion. The prince whispered privately into my ear that he intended to abdicate and pay a visit to England. To Sir Harry he said all sorts of friendly things about the opening of Hiôgo to foreign trade. The Admiral promised to bring the "Ocean" and "Rodney" to Nei in the coming winter to show him what English men-of-war were like. After returning to our lodgings we had a substantial lunch off the provisions brought from the ships, but our entertainers were not contented till they had made us sit down to a final feast prepared by themselves, just for five minutes, to drink a farewell cup and receive a parting message from the prince. At last we got away, some on horseback, others in palanquins, and in three hours after leaving Tokushima we were safely on board ship. Sir Harry was accompanied by four principal officials to the "Basilisk," where Hewett gave them some excellent champagne, and they went over the ship's side full of affectionate regrets at having to part from us. The "Salamis" left at once for Yokohama with the Admiral, Mitford, Aston and Crossman, while we remained to pursue our voyage to Tosa on the morrow in the "Basilisk." CHAPTER XXII TOSA AND NAGASAKI EARLY on the morning of September 3 we anchored outside the little harbour of Susaki in Tosa. Inside were lying the Tycoon's war steamer "Eagle" (Kaiten Maru) and a smaller one belonging to the Prince of Tosa. We had fully expected a hostile reception, and preparations had been made for action. Shortly afterwards Takabataké Gorô and Koméda Keijirô came on board to say that Hirayama, the chief commissioner, was up at Kôchi. Gotô Shôjirô, the leading Tosa minister, also paid us a visit, but we told him to go away till we could get the ship inside the bay. Then arrived the other two commissioners (Togawa and an ômetsuké) to tell us that no evidence implicating any of the Tosa men had been discovered. The little schooner "Nankai," in which the assassins were supposed to have escaped from Nagasaki, was lying higher up the bay at Urado. Later on Gotô came on board with two other local officers. They promised to do all they could to discover the murderers, even if they should not be Tosa men. Sir Harry, who had quite made up his mind that the Tosa men were guilty, tried to browbeat them, adding oddly enough that with Tosa he could have none but friendly relations; the official discussions must take place with the Tycoon's government. After they left, Hirayama made his appearance; a long and stormy interview took place, in the course of which he heard a good deal of strong language, and was told that he was of no more use than a common messenger. He recounted to us in a plaintive manner the hardships he had undergone on the way down and since his arrival, for the Tosa people were extremely angry at the suspicions cast on them. Later on Sir Harry sent me ashore to see Gotô, and detail to him all the circumstances which seemed to us to be evidence against his fellow clansmen. He renewed the assurances he had given in the morning, and said he felt certain my writer Ono and Noguchi were neither more nor less than government spies. The next morning I saw Gotô again, who renewed his protestations, and complained of Sir Harry's rough language and demeanour, which he felt sure would some day cause a terrible row. I was myself rather sick of being made the intermediary of the overbearing language to which the chief habitually resorted, and told Gotô to remonstrate with him, if he really thought this; as for myself, I did not dare to hint anything of the kind to my chief. I also saw Hirayama, and arranged with him that I should be present at the examination of the officers of the "Nankai," who were to be sent down from Urado. At three o'clock two small steamers arrived, yet it was seven before the Tycoon's officials reached the "Basilisk" to say that everything was in readiness. As dinner was now announced, the inquiry was put off till the next day. On the 5th September the examination was accordingly held in my presence. On the Japanese side the evidence went to show that the "Nankai" did not leave till ten p.m. on the 6th August, while Sir Harry's version was that she sailed at half-past four that morning, only an hour and a half after the schooner; and it was on this alleged fact that the whole of the suspicion against the Tosa men was founded. (It was proved at the end of 1868 that the murderers belonged to the Chikuzen clan, which was rather an unfortunate conclusion for him.) I reported this to Sir Harry, who was of course greatly dissatisfied. Gotô afterwards came on board to see Sir Harry and there was the usual talk about cultivating friendly relations between the English and Tosa. Sir Harry said he wished to send me as his envoy to call formally on the retired _daimiô_ of Tosa, to which Gotô replied that Sir Harry could himself see the ex-_daimiô_, if we were on friendly terms. Otherwise, it was useless to hold any communications even by messenger. I knew perfectly well that I could easily manage to visit Kôchi, if left to myself, without the chief taking a roundabout way to get me there under the pretext of a mission to the old prince. By this time my relations with the Japanese were such that I could have gone anywhere with perfect safety. A visit from Hirayama and his colleagues came next. The evidence taken was discussed, and Sir Harry said the inquiry must now be removed to Nagasaki, and that Hirayama ought to proceed thither to conduct it. Hirayama objected strongly, offering to send his two fellow commissioners, but it would not do, and he was finally forced to consent. The poor old fellow was almost at his wit's end. He became actually impertinent, and remarked that after all this murder case concerned Englishmen alone, while he had business to transact at Yedo which concerned all nations. I was much astonished to find that Sir Harry did not get into a passion on being talked to in this somewhat unceremonious way by a Japanese, but simply replied to it in a quiet argumentative tone. But a more curious thing followed. After dinner Gotô came on board to have a talk on politics. He spoke of his idea of establishing a parliament, and a constitution on the English model, and said that Saigô entertained similar notions. That we had learnt at Ozaka. Then followed a good deal of abuse of the Tycoon's government, especially with reference to the proposed formation of a guild to control the foreign commerce of Ozaka and Hiôgo. We showed him the proclamation we had extorted from the government, intended to annul the previous one constituting these guilds. He replied that it was a mere blind, and I confess that I agreed with him. Sir Harry took a great fancy to him, as being one of the most intelligent Japanese we had as yet met with, and to my own mind Saigô alone was his superior by force of character. They swore eternal friendship, and Gotô promised to write once a month to report anything that might come to light in connection with the "Icarus" murder. Last of all he remonstrated with Sir Harry, at some length and in very explicit terms, about his rough demeanour on previous occasions, and hinted that perhaps others would not have submitted so quietly to such treatment. It was by no means a pleasant task for me to put his words into English, especially as Hewett's presence rendered the rebuke all the more galling, and Sir Harry at first seemed inclined to resent being thus lectured by a Japanese. However he managed to keep his temper, so no bones were broken. Poor old Hirayama was made quite ill by the struggle he had had with the chief, but he did not venture to break his promise to proceed to Nagasaki and pursue the inquiry in person. I now received detailed written instructions from Sir Harry to follow the old fox, as we called him, to Nagasaki, to watch the proceedings and stimulate both the Tycoon's officials and the Tosa people to leave no stone unturned in their search for the murderers. Sir Harry himself was obliged to return to Yedo in the "Basilisk," and it was arranged that I should take a passage down to Nagasaki in a Tosa steamer, together with the incriminated officers of the "Nankai" and the officials named to conduct the inquiry. I was to be clothed with authority equal to that of the consul, but was not to interfere in any measures he might think fit to take. Sir Harry left on the 6th September, and I transferred myself to the Tosa steamer along with my writer and the faithful Noguchi. There I spent the next day, after having seen the Tycoon's war steamer "Eagle" depart with Hirayama on board. In the middle of the night I was woken up by a messenger from Gotô, bringing an invitation for me to go up to Kôchi and make the acquaintance of the ex-_daimiô_. They had sent down a tugboat for me, so I went on board at once at four, after a hasty meal of rice and tea, and falling asleep on a locker, woke up at daylight to find myself already some way from Susaki. We did not anchor at Urado till half-past nine. The view outside of distant hills and a belt of pine trees fringing the shore reminded me strongly of the Bay of Point de Galle in Ceylon, where the eastern mail steamers used to call before the construction of the harbour at Colombo. Kôchi Bay is in reality an estuary, with a very narrow outlet, much obstructed by rocks. We seemed to be running straight on to the sandy beach, when a sudden turn to the left put our head into the river, and we came to an anchor in fifteen feet of water inside a little cove. The river widens considerably above this point, but is so shallow that only boats drawing less than a foot of water can go up. I was transferred to a houseboat, which made very slow progress. At last, after traversing two or three broad lake-like reaches, we came in sight of the castle of Kôchi, rendered conspicuous from a distance by its lofty donjon four storeys high. Soon afterwards we turned up an embanked canal to the left, and touched the shore under a large new building on the outskirts of the town. Here I was met by Gotô, who told me that the ex-_daimiô_ would shortly arrive. While waiting for his appearance I changed my dress, and was introduced to a host of Gotô's colleagues. At last the ex-_daimiô_ Yôdô was announced, and I was conducted upstairs into his presence. He met me at the threshold, and saluted me by touching the tips of his toes with the tips of his fingers. I replied by a bow of exactly equal profundity. We then took our seats, he on a handsome Japanese armchair with his back to the alcove, and I on a common cane-bottomed wooden chair opposite, a little lower down to his right. Gotô and some of his fellow councillors squatted on the sill dividing the room from that next to it. He began by saying that he had heard my name. I replied by thanking him for according me the honour of this interview. He then renewed the assurances already given through Gotô that if the murderers were Tosa men, they should be arrested and punished, and that even if it should appear that the guilty persons belonged to another clan, he would not relax his efforts to trace them out. He had received a letter from the Tycoon stating that he had heard there was strong evidence against Tosa, and advising him to punish the offenders. This of course he would be ready to do, supposing that the murderers were men of his clan, but he did not understand what the Tycoon meant by "evidence." I replied that we supposed the government to be in possession of proofs which they had not disclosed, as it was not likely that they were convinced simply by what Sir Harry had said to them. Perhaps, I added, they threw the suspicion on Tosa in order to get rid of an unpleasant discussion. This remark called forth from Gotô somewhat unmeasured expressions of indignation, and he announced his intention of giving the government a piece of his mind on the subject. Old Yôdô said that he had received a letter from a friend advising him to try and compromise the matter, as the English were greatly incensed at the murder of their men, but he would do nothing of the kind. If his people were guilty he would punish them; he could do no more; but if they were innocent he would declare their innocence through thick and thin. Matsuné Dzusho (the chief man of Uwajima) had told Iyo no Kami that Sir Harry had said the Tycoon's government had assured him of Tosa's guilt. I replied again that from the language of the Tycoon's ministers we could not help inferring that they had independent grounds for their suspicions. Yôdô remarked that the only thing Hirayama had alleged was the supposed transfer of men from the schooner "Yokobuyé" to the steamer "Nankai," which had never been proved. I answered that this was all we had to go upon, but I should consider that we had good reason to blush if after all we had said the men should turn out to belong to another clan; at present I saw no ground for supposing that we were mistaken. An argument then ensued between Gotô and myself as to the nature of suspiciousness in general, and what might be held to be sufficient justification for that attitude of mind; in the end he admitted that we were entitled, by our past experience, to mistrust all Japanese _à priori_, though he maintained that in the present case the rule did not apply. After this Yôdô and Gotô plied me with questions about the Luxemburg affair, the constitution and powers of parliament and the electoral system; it was evident that the idea of a constitution resembling that of Great Britain had already taken deep root in their minds. Later on a proposition was actually made to either Mitford or myself, I forget which, to enter the service of the Mikado and assist in organizing their parliament for them. Huge dishes of fish were now placed on the table, and waiting women, _coiffées_ in the exaggerated style of the _daimiôs'_ courts, poured out the _saké_. While we drank and conversed, a pair of anatomical models of the male and female human being, life size, were exhibited and taken to pieces for my especial edification! Rice was afterwards served in the next room, Yôdô excusing himself on the ground of indisposition. The fact was, he preferred to remain alone with the _saké_ bottle, of which he was notoriously fond. I had once in my possession a scroll of Chinese verses from his brush, signed "Drunken old man" (_sui-ô_). Before taking my departure, I saw him once more for a few minutes, when he presented me with seven rolls of white crape. Under the circumstances I should have preferred to decline them, but Gotô argued that they were a part of the entertainment, and I could not refuse without being ungracious, almost discourteous. I therefore accepted, subject to the chief's approval, and we parted, with the same exchange of formal bows as before. Yôdô was a tall man, slightly pock-marked, with bad teeth, and a hurried manner of getting out his words. He certainly looked very ill, and over-indulgence in _saké_ would quite account for that. From some of the remarks he made, I gathered that he was free from prejudice, and not by any means conservative in his political notions. Still, it may be doubted whether he was prepared to go the same lengths as Satsuma and Chôshiû in the direction of change. It was not considered advisable or safe for me to promenade through the town, and I made no attempt to insist on doing the sights. As I returned back to Urado in the gondola, multitudes of people followed in small boats, anxious to get a sight of the first European that had visited their part of the country since the wreck of the Spanish galleon in 1596, and even grappling with us in order better to satisfy their curiosity. No order was kept, and I was easily convinced that a walk in Kôchi itself might have given rise to a tumult. Next day they took me to Susaki, and put me on board the "Shooeyleen," the steamer in which we were to proceed to Nagasaki. For the past two days I had been suffering from a whitlow on one of the fingers of the right hand, and felt utterly indifferent to all that passed around me. Bad food, a dirty cabin, excessive heat, sullen fellow-voyagers were all accepted with the calmness of exhausted misery. The "Shooeyleen's" boilers were old, and we steamed along at the rate of two knots an hour. Luckily the weather was calm, otherwise there was every reason to think we must have gone to the bottom. Passing through Shimonoséki, I went on shore to ask after old friends, and found Inouyé Bunda, who was a perfect sink of taciturnity. There was no appearance here of guns or men-of-war, nothing to indicate that Chôshiû was still at war with the Tycoon; but all around were signs of peace and prosperity. The Tosa officers also landed, one and all, on some pretext or other, and the whole day was spent at anchor. Towards evening we set forth again in the same leisurely fashion, and reached Nagasaki on the 12th September late in the afternoon. Here I put up with Marcus Flowers, the consul. At dinner that evening I met for the first time the well-known Kido Junichirô, otherwise Katsura Kogorô, who came to the consulate together with Itô Shunsuké, whom I had known since 1864. Katsura was remarkable for his gentle suave manner, though under this there lay a character of the greatest courage and determination, both military and political. We had some talk after dinner about politics, but I think they mistrusted me. At any rate they thought it necessary to assert that their prince was a much wronged, innocent and harmless individual, who had never entertained any schemes for overturning the Tycoon's government. But we had long been in possession of indisputable evidence that the abolition of the Shôgunate was the cardinal point in the policy pursued by the western _daimiôs_ acting in concert. On the following day Flowers and I went to meet Hirayama at the custom-house. The two governors were also present. Though they had been severely blamed by Sir Harry, they did not appear to be particularly disturbed by his censures. The Tosa steamer "Nankai" had left, in fact she steamed out of the harbour just after Sir Harry went off in the "Basilisk." On the 19th of August, as she was about to leave for Kagoshima, she was stopped, and an examination was held, which lasted through the night until the afternoon of the 20th, but without any evidence of complicity in the murders being elicited. The officers and crew were then entrusted to the charge of Iwasaki Yatarô, Tosa's agent (_kiki-yaku_), who undertook to produce them whenever they should be wanted. But she sailed the same evening, in defiance of Iwasaki's orders, at least so the Tosa people alleged. Nothing had been discovered with respect to the real criminals, and, as far as we could see, the governors had not exerted themselves to find out the guilty persons. The 14th I spent with Itô and Katsura at a tea-house called Tamagawa, away at the back of the town close to the stream which flows down through it. We had a long discussion on Japanese politics, domestic and foreign, ending with the conclusion that Europeans and Japanese would never mix, at least not in our time. On my way back I called on Hikozô (the well-known Joseph Heco), who told me of a document, said to be signed by Satsuma, Tosa, Geishiû, Bizen and Awa, which had been presented to the Shôgun Keiki, requiring him to resign his office and allow the government to be reconstituted. On Sunday the 15th I lunched with Hirayama. He said that Sasaki Sanshirô, the Tosa _metsuké_ (equivalent to attorney-general, but not trained in law), was overruled by the Tosa society called the _Kai-yen-tai_, a sort of local navy league, who would not allow him to carry out the official orders received from his prince to have search made for the criminals. This was natural enough, as it was afterwards proved that the Tosa men were altogether innocent of the affair. [Illustration: KATSU AWA NO KAMI Commissioner of the Navy] [Illustration: NIIRO GIÔBU, SATSUMA KARÔ] The 16th was spent at the custom house in the examination of the men of the "Yokobuyé," a Tosa sailing-vessel. It appeared certain that the "Nankai" did not leave Nagasaki till the evening of the 6th August. Two of the _Kai-yen-tai_, one of whom was the captain of the "Yokobuyé," were shown to have been at a house of entertainment opposite to the spot where the British sailors were murdered up to midnight. This looked suspicious, but I told the Japanese officials that if they did not disbelieve the statements that had been made, neither did I. The Tosa people did not want to make the "Yokobuyé" return, neither did the government officials seem to insist on her recall. As my plan was to throw on the government officials the responsibility of discovering the murderers, I did not urge it, but left it to Flowers, who was associated with me in the inquiry, to do so if he judged it necessary. In the evening of the 18th I went to see Hirayama, and communicated to him my suspicions regarding a young fellow of forbidding countenance, who was with the captain of the "Yokobuyé" on the night of the murder at the house of entertainment referred to. I suggested that his companion should be sent for, and also the four men stated to have gone to Karatsu (in the north of Hizen, near the boundary of Chikuzen) in the "Nankai," and to have landed there. I advised that the keeper of the house of entertainment should be examined, and asked for copies of all depositions received, especially of the two Tosa men. What had fixed suspicion upon men of that province in particular was their general evil reputation as being predisposed towards assassination. The depositions were sent to us by the governors in the afternoon of the 19th, and on discrepancies being pointed out in those of the two Tosa men, they promised to send for one of them whose further examination appeared to be especially desirable. The translation of the depositions occupied me for the whole of the succeeding day. Then on the 21st I went to see Niiro Giôbu, a Satsuma _karô_, and asked him to make an inquiry about the murder among his own people. He said this had already been done, and offered to give me a copy of the record. As he said that nothing suspicious had been discovered, I declined his offer with thanks. But I hinted to him the possibility of the exclusion of all two-sworded men from the foreign settlement after dark, unless the murderers were discovered and delivered up by the combined clans, a measure which had been recommended to Flowers and myself by Sir Harry, for if the discovery were made by the government, it would be taken to be a proof of the complicity of his clan at least. He did not at all like this suggestion. Then I went to Sasaki Sanshirô, with whom I had travelled from Tosa. He said that the governors had lent a steamer to fetch the captain of the "Yokobuyé" and another man, and complained of Hirayama's supposition that he was lukewarm, seeing that he had given money to all the detectives in the place, and had offered a reward of 4000 pieces of silver (worth £450) for the discovery of the murderer or murderers. Next to Hirayama, to whom I proposed that he should order the Nagasaki representatives of all the clans to examine their men as strictly as the Tosa agents were doing, for as we had been ten days at work without being able to fix the responsibility on them, it was not unreasonable to admit the possibility of men of some other clan being guilty. I proposed that every two-sworded man should be called upon to give an account of his doings on the night of the murder, and that all the houses of entertainment should show their lists of guests on that date. There was, I said, no real difficulty in discovering the perpetrators. In consequence of all this one of the governors called the next afternoon. We proposed to him that the two-sworded men should be excluded from the settlement after dark, to which he added an amendment that if they had urgent business there in the evening, they should be escorted to and fro. The examination of all the clansmen and of persons who were in a house of entertainment close to the site of the murder was again urged by us. The governor also promised to have guard-houses erected at three points in the foreign settlement. Two days later the same governor called again, and promised that the precautionary measures we had proposed to him should be taken. Nothing further was done until the 28th, when I attended at the custom house to hear the examination of two Tosa men who had been brought from Kôchi in the government steamer. It led to this result, that the governors declared that they found nothing to incriminate any of the men who had left Nagasaki in the "Yokobuyé" and "Nankai," and considered the Tosa people to be cleared of all suspicion as far as these two vessels were concerned. We rejoined that on the contrary we entertained very strong suspicions, not founded on any ocular testimony, but on circumstantial evidence, namely, that the murder was almost certainly committed by men in white foreign dress a little after midnight. That one of the two men with a companion were close to the spot where the murder was committed at the very moment, and that they were dressed in that fashion, and that no one else had been shown to have been in the brothel quarter in similar costume. We afterwards addressed a letter to the governors demanding the arrest of these two men on the above grounds, but we were not sanguine of obtaining their consent, as it was evident that the government officials were unable to exercise any control over the Tosa people. Very little progress was made after this, as was natural enough, seeing that the Tosa people were entirely innocent of any share in the murders, as was afterwards proved. On October 6 I had an opportunity of conversing amicably with the vice-governor. I said that the Tosa people tried to throw obstacles in the way of discovering the criminals, instead of courting inquiry in accordance with Prince Yôdô's expressed wishes. That the government had lost much ground with foreigners in this affair. Firstly, the possibility of the murder being committed in such a manner showed the incapacity of the government to maintain order, and, secondly, it was not fitting that a body calling itself a government should allow _daimiôs_ to enjoy such rights of extraterritoriality to the extent that was shown by the recent examinations at the custom-house. The vice-governor replied that he had nothing to do with these matters, to which I rejoined that this was precisely the reason why I had spoken to him about them. We received a refusal to our demand for the arrest of the two Tosa men. A few days later a drunken Englishman was cut about the head and an American wounded slightly in the arm by a Tosa man, who straightway gave himself up to his own authorities, and they reported the affair. Having failed entirely in our attempts to bring the crime home to the Tosa people, Flowers and I agreed that it was useless for me to remain any longer, and accordingly I returned to Yedo, leaving about midnight of the 12th October on board H.M.S. "Coquette," which had been lent by the Admiral to bring me back to Yokohama. During my stay at Nagasaki we heard a good deal about the discovery and arrest of native Roman Catholic Christians of Urakami, a village near the town. Niiro Giôbu of Satsuma, who came to see me on the 12th October, said that besides the Urakami people, some of the inhabitants of a village close by, belonging to the _daimiô_ of Omura, had been converted, and were now in prison at Nagasaki. According to Japanese law this was a capital offence. The Omura officials had hitherto conformed to the practice of the Nagasaki government with respect to the punishment of criminals, and desired to act accordingly in the present case. It was, however, reported that the governors intended to pardon all those who were willing to abjure, because the number of offenders was so large. This offended the Omura officials, who held that believing in Christianity was a very grave crime; further, that the proposal to let such criminals off on the pretext that they were too numerous to punish was revolutionary and subversive of good government, and they were endeavouring to induce all the _daimiôs_ of Kiûshiû to join in a representation in that sense to the government at Yedo. This proposal was of course intended as a general manifesto against the Shôgun's government. I replied that he must quite well know that Christianity was not harmful to any country by whose people it was professed, and that even a Protestant government such as that of England would not be pleased to hear of Roman Catholics being persecuted on the ground of their religious belief, but if the only object of the remonstrance was to annoy the Shôgun's government, we should not disapprove of that by itself. On the general subject of Japanese internal politics, he said he did not believe that civil war would break out, or at least he pretended not to, though at the same time he acknowledged its possibility. Hirayama, to whom I said good-bye on the same day, told me that all the Christians of Urakami had been forgiven on their promising "not to do so again," and that they would be permitted to believe what they liked, doubtless on condition of their not professing their religion openly. He thought the Omura officials would also forgive their Christians. This opinion of his was, however, in contradiction to what I had heard from Niiro. My stay at Nagasaki afforded me useful opportunities of making the acquaintance of _samurai_ of various southern clans. I have already mentioned my introduction to Kido Junichirô. The 14th I spent almost entirely in the company of Kido and Itô. A few days later Kido called to offer me the use of a steamer to Ozaka, if it suited me to return to Yedo by that route, but I deferred accepting, as my plans were not yet settled. Eventually arrangements were made for my being conveyed to Yokohama in one of H.M. ships, so that I was able to decline his obliging proposal. When Itô came to say good-bye on September 23, he was accompanied by a young fellow-clansman whom he wished me to take to Yedo, nominally as a pupil. This was Endo Kinsuké, one of the party of five Chôshiû men to which Itô had belonged, who went secretly to England in 1863, as already narrated. He bore the alias of Yamamoto Jinsuké. Itô's pseudonym was Hayashi Uichi, and Inouyé Bunda went by the name of Takada Harutarô. Amongst other interesting information given to me by Itô was that my friend Yamagata Keizô, who was one of the Chôshiû men that had accompanied me to Yokohama in October 1864, had been adopted by Shishido Bizen. It was his father, Yamagata Taiga, who wrote the pamphlet of which the title translated is the equivalent of "The present _daimiôs_ are not vassals of the prince," _i.e._ of the Shôgun, and not Nagai Uta, to whom it was usually attributed. Itô was a pupil of the well-known patriot Yoshida Torajirô, the author of several books controverting the views of Yamagata and Nagai. He said there were two schools of Chinese philosophy in Japan, namely, of Teishi (Ch'êng-tzu) and Oyômei (Wang Yang-ming), of which the first inculcates the duty of resisting tyrants, the second that of self-reformation. Yamagata belonged to the latter, hence his arguments against any attempt to disturb the existing political arrangements. (But the most widely diffused system in Japan was that of the philosopher Chu Hsi.) Niiro Giôbu I saw four times. I dined with him once at a Japanese restaurant, when he said that he knew nothing of the engagement of Frenchmen by Iwashita Sajiemon, a Satsuma man who had gone to Paris for the exposition of 1867, and there came under the influence of the Comte de Montblanc. Directly he heard of it he wrote to Iwashita that the engagements must be cancelled, but his letter did not reach Paris in time. I said that of course we could not object to Satsuma employing Frenchmen, but as French views of Japanese domestic politics differed so widely from ours, and it was well understood that ours coincided to a certain extent with those of Satsuma, it was natural to ask whether this engagement implied a change of policy on the part of the Satsuma clan. Niiro replied that such a supposition would be quite natural, but that in fact no such change had occurred. Since the time when Osumi no Kami (father of the Prince of Satsuma, and virtual ruler of the clan notwithstanding his formal retirement from public life) had decreed the adoption of English methods, the whole province had become enthusiastic in their favour, and objected very strongly to the proposed introduction of Frenchmen. He was afraid he should have to send them home again. A few days later Niiro dined with Russell Robertson (assistant at the consulate) and myself at Robertson's house, when we engaged a French cook to serve the dinner. On this occasion no political conversation took place, but he told us that Saigô was Osumi no Kami's confidential man, and Komatsu Tatéwaki one of the seven _shussei_ (administrators) of the Satsuma clan. The prince, whose title was Shiuri no Taiyu, was 29 years of age, and his brother, Shimadzu Dzusho, 28. Altogether there were ten brothers and sisters, besides the three girls of the late prince, Satsuma no Kami. My last talk with Niiro was on October 12, when he gave me information about the native Christians, already recorded. Last year I had met at Robertson's house a doctor belonging to the Kurumé clan, and he now came with his son to ask permission to bring some of his fellow clansmen to call on me. This they did on the 8th October. Their names were Imae Sakai, said to be connected with the government of the clan; Nagata Chiûhei, who was visiting Nagasaki for the first time in his life; and Tanaka Konoyé. Originally a Kiôto clockmaker, he had developed into a skilled mechanical engineer, and had constructed engines and boilers for a couple of Japanese steamers. After drinking a bottle of champagne together, we sallied forth to a Japanese restaurant, where we had a little feast in the style of the country, and a great deal of political talk. They said their principal reason for objecting to Hiôgo being opened as a port for foreign trade was that the tea consumed at Kurumé came from the provinces to the west of Hiôgo, and they feared it would be diverted to that place for exportation. With regard to internal affairs, I said I did not see how they could be settled without a war of some kind or other, as the _daimiôs_ could not agree among themselves. A civil war might last twenty or thirty years, and greatly impoverish the country, while it would afford an opportunity to foreign powers to appropriate bits of Japanese territory by aiding one party against the other. But a foreign war, in which Kiôto became the object of attack, would lead to the reconciliation of their internal differences, and when peace came to be made we could conclude treaties with the Mikado, in which the constitutional position of the Tycoon might be defined. Nagata, who was already drunk, shouted out: "You must not attack Kiôto, but destroy the _Baku-fu_." This was the term, meaning "military power," by which the adversaries of the Tycoon were in the habit of speaking of his government. It appeared from this utterance that the men of Kurumé shared what was evidently the general feeling in the west of the country. Afterwards we adjourned to another restaurant, where a grand feast was served. More of the Kurumé clan came in, and the room was gradually filled with courtesans and musicians. Most of my friends got very drunk, so after about two hours of this festivity I left, and the party broke up. I also had a dinner with a Tosa man named Yui, who was captain of the "Yugawo." Another acquaintance I made was that of Hosokawa Riônosuké, younger brother of the Prince of Higo, who came to call on Flowers. He had a fat round face, was about 25 years of age, and intelligent. He tried to pump me about the Tosa affair but failed, and when he proceeded to talk politics I held my tongue, for Higo was supposed not to belong to the Satsuma party. He then invited me to visit him on board his steamer and have a long conversation, but when I went at the appointed hour on the following day he was absent. However, next day two of his men called to apologize for his breaking the engagement, and he also appeared in person to tell me of the desire cherished by the Higo people to invite Sir Harry Keppel, the Admiral in command of the China squadron, to some point off their coast to display naval evolutions; for the clan having ordered an iron-clad man-of-war and two smaller war steamers to be built in England, wanted to learn how they should be manoeuvred. He was at great pains to prove that he was on the best of terms with Kido (_alias_ Katsura), and that the Hosokawa brothers loved the English more than they did any other nation, for all their steamers, besides 16,000 rifles of different patterns, had been bought from us. I replied that their inviting the Admiral to a place off their coast and not to the castle at Kumamoto, was like sending for a troupe of tumblers to perform before one's house, into which one would not care to admit them. If a man were prevented from inviting a guest to his own house, it would be more courteous to go and call on him than to ask him to come half-way, and that Riônosuké at least ought to come to Nagasaki and visit the Admiral first of all. He said he intended going to Shimonoséki with one of the Higo _karô_ (councillor) to arrange an alliance between Higo and Chôshiû. Endo presented himself on the 12th, but instead of coming straight to me, he sent in his card by my Aidzu retainer Noguchi, who read it and at once discovered who he was. We embarked in the course of the evening, and steamed out of the harbour at eleven p.m. through the inland sea, and without calling anywhere, arrived at Yokohama at midnight on the 16th. CHAPTER XXIII DOWNFALL OF THE SHOGUNATE BEFORE leaving Yedo I had taken a lease of a house known as _Taka-yashiki_ (high mansion) on a bluff overlooking the bay, at a monthly rental of 100 _ichibus_, equal to £6 13s. 4. It was the retired home of a Japanese gentleman of rank, who had abdicated his position in favour of his eldest son, and had bought a piece of ground to build himself a residence after his own taste. Consequently it was one of the oddest houses imaginable, consisting of a number of small rooms of varying sizes, and the garden was laid out in little hills and grass-plots, planted with trees and shrubs. The only flowers were those of the camellia and St John's wort bushes (Hypericum Chinense), for herbaceous borders are almost impossible to manage in Japan, owing to the heavy summer rains, which beat down all plants that have not woody stems. The whole covered about two-thirds of an acre. There was an upper storey, where I had my bedroom and apartments for the entertainment of Japanese guests, and three staircases provided means of escape in case of attack from the midnight murderer. Downstairs was a room for the reception of European visitors, and two waiting rooms for callers, one more for the accommodation of my head man and my own study. This was nine feet square, with a circular window commanding a view of the sea, and a square one at the side overlooking the garden. It was fitted up with numerous small cupboards and shelves for the accommodation of books and papers. It held a writing desk, a small table, a chair for myself and one for my Japanese teacher, and a stool for the Chinese teacher attached to the legation. There were also a large bathroom, a kitchen, and a two-storeyed building beyond where my head man lived, and where the young Japanese to whom I intended to teach English were to be lodged. My food was entirely in the Japanese style, sent in from the well-known house called Mansei, but I continued to drink English beer. The household consisted of my head man (the Aidzu _samurai_, Noguchi, who has been already mentioned), whose function was to superintend everything, pay my bills, arrange for necessary repairs, and receive persons who came on business which did not require a personal interview with myself. Next to him came a small boy of fourteen who waited at table and acted as valet. He was of the _samurai_ class, and so entitled to wear sword and dagger when he went abroad. Then there was a woman of about thirty years of age, whose duty it was to sweep the floors, open the sliding shutters in the morning and close them at night, and sew on my buttons. As there was hardly any furniture, she had very little dusting to do. I was to engage a man to go, not run, on errands, perhaps cook the rice for the whole family, and make himself generally useful. Lastly came a gatekeeper, who had also the duty of sweeping the garden, and a groom or running footman. When I went out walking or on horseback, I was accompanied by a couple of the mounted escort that had been attached to me by the Tycoon's government since my journey overland from Ozaka in the earlier part of the year. Thus established as a householder after my own liking, able to devote myself to Japanese studies and to live intimately with Japanese and thus become acquainted with their thoughts and views, I was perfectly happy. In my journal I find noted down a dinner on November 6 with Nakamura Matazô at the Sanku-tei near Shimbashi, with _geisha_ of course to pour out the _saké_ and entertain us with music and bright conversation, and on the 7th a dinner of broiled eels and rice at the Daikokuya, Reiganbashi, with Yanagawa Shunsan, a teacher at the foreign language school (_kaiseijo_). The political ferment threw a great deal of work on me in interpreting for Sir Harry in his talks with government people, and in translating official papers from and into Japanese, and these duties often occupied me from nine o'clock in the morning till nine in the evening, with only short intervals for meals. In the dead of night on November 16 Ishikawa Kawachi no Kami, one of the commissioners for foreign affairs, came to impart to Sir Harry the momentous news that the Tycoon had resigned the direction of government into the hands of the Mikado, and in future would simply be the instrument for carrying out His Majesty's orders. We had heard from other sources that he had abdicated, and that the office of Shôgun would cease to exist. Already on the 14th Ogasawara Iki no Kami had told us confidentially that the programme of the future consisted of a council of the great _daimiôs_, decision by the Tycoon subject to the approval of the Mikado.[4] The actual date of Keiki's resignation was November 8. [4] For the detailed circumstances of this event I must refer the reader to Chapter V. of my friend Mr. J. H. Gubbins' valuable volume "The Progress of Japan, 1853-1871." At an interview with Sir Harry two days afterwards, Iki no Kami read out a long paper explaining the causes which had led to the Tycoon's decision to surrender the government into the hands of the Mikado. He went into a long retrospect of affairs from the commencement of the renewed intercourse with foreign nations. The blame was, of course, thrown on the agitators for political change. Keiki, it said, had not resigned the chieftainship of the Tokugawa clan, but had simply abolished the office of Shôgun. The new arrangement would not involve any change in the previous agreements about the opening of the new ports which had been entered into earlier in the year. Two of the Council of State, Nui no Kami and Hiôbu Taiyu, were off to Kiôto. Katsu Awa no Kami told us that he was afraid that the Tycoon's party would precipitate events, and cause the outbreak of civil war. Kanéko Taisuké, a retainer of Sakai Hida no Kami, told us that the _daimiôs_ were collecting troops at Ozaka. Satsuma had 5000 men, and Chôshiû and Tosa men, under the command of Môri Nagato, were also encamped there, so that we should find ourselves in a hornets' nest when we went down to superintend the opening of the ports. The Tycoon had ordered 4000 or 5000 men to be despatched thither. The Council of State had informed his chief and Matsudaira Hôki no Kami that in future they might be Tycoon's or Mikado's men as they liked. A secret circular had been sent round among the _hatamoto_ (retainers of the Tokugawa chief holding fiefs assessed at less than 10,000 _koku_ of rice) inciting them against Keiki, by accusing him of having poisoned the previous Shôgun Iyémochi, and calling upon the faithful to assemble at Mukôjima, a suburb of Yedo. The _sampei_ or drilled troops were clamouring for their pay. Civil war at Kiôto was inevitable. Truly it seemed as if the end of the old régime had come. A week later Iki no Kami circulated another paper to be substituted for the first, in which he had vented a little too much abuse of the anti-Tycoon party. Matters had quieted down very much in the interval. Kanéko also came to us and confessed that there was no foundation for the rumours he had previously reported. Last night there arrived a letter from Gotô Shôjirô, brought by Gotô Kiûjirô, one of the aliases of him whom we afterwards knew so well as Nakai Kôzô, and a companion. They produced a copy of the Tosa memorial of last month, advising the Tycoon to take the step he had since adopted, and proposing various reforms. Of these the most important were the establishment of an assembly composed of two houses, the erection of schools of science and literature in the principal cities, and the negotiation of new treaties with foreign powers. They asked me for detailed information about parliamentary practice, which I did not possess, so I put them off by promising that they should get it from Mitford when we went to Ozaka for the opening of the ports. They were succeeded the following day by a messenger from Yoshii Kôsuké of Satsuma, to report that all was going on well, and that they hoped to be "favoured with a call" as soon as we reached Ozaka. Saigô and Komatsu had gone down to Kagoshima to fetch either Osumi no Kami or Shiuri no Taiyu. We had now become acquainted with the Satsuma agents in Yedo; the _rusui_ (as the principal representative of a _daimiô_ was called) Shinosaki Hikojirô scoffed at the notion that the Tycoon had given up the reins of government because he thought it would be better for the country at large to be ruled by an assembly; the fact was that he could not help himself. Messages arrived by post from Tosa and Satsuma, the "two or three clans acquainted with the dispositions of foreigners" mentioned in the Mikado's most recent edict respecting foreign affairs. This seemed to indicate a pretty strong desire to gain our support. We now prepared to start for Ozaka. On the 27th November I went down to Yokohama with my little pupil, Tetsu, dressed like a drummer-boy. Mitford and I sailed on the 30th at daylight in H.M.S. "Rattler," Captain Swann. On December 2, as we were steaming up the Kii channel, we encountered a strong northwest breeze, against which the ship could only do two knots, so deficient in boiler-power were the British men-of-war of that period. We anchored off Ozaka in the afternoon, and as no boats put off from the shore, we had to conclude that the bar was impassable. However, we managed to get ashore about noon, and proceeded to call on the governors at their official residence opposite the castle. It is a remarkable proof of Mitford's linguistic powers that he was able to carry on the conversation in Japanese entirely unaided, although he had been in the country no longer than twelve months. Our mission was to find quarters for the legation, and after consultation with them we went to inspect a _yashiki_ behind the castle, which had been occupied in the spring by Iga no Kami, Keiki's principal minister. We arranged for its repair, and for the construction of a temporary barrack for the mounted escort and a detachment of fifty men of the 9th regiment, who were to arrive as a guard. Everything was to be ready by the 18th if possible. This peaceable and entirely commercial city was full of two-sworded retainers of _daimiôs_. Finding that Saigô had not yet returned from Kagoshima, and that Yoshii was in Kiôto, we wrote to the latter asking him to come down to see us, but he replied that he was too busy, and recommended us to wait until Saigô came back. We visited the site of the intended foreign settlement, where we found bonded warehouses, a custom-house, a guardhouse and a palisade being erected, the object of the latter being to cut off the foreign residents from the city. This proceeding was altogether contrary to treaty stipulations, and we lost no time in lodging a protest with the governors. On December 7 we called on two of the Council of State and their colleagues of the second council (Inaba Hiôbu Taiyu, Matsudaira Nui no Kami, Nagai Hizen no Kami and Kawakatsu Bingo no Kami), who were on their way to Yedo, and had orders from the Tycoon to stop at Ozaka to see us. They gave us no information worth mentioning, but asserted that he had long ago been intending to take the step of surrendering the government to the Mikado. This of course we did not believe, our view being that he was tired of being badgered by Satsuma, Chôshiû, Tosa and Hizen, and that in order to give unity to his own party, he had resolved to call a general council, which possibly might reinstate him by a majority of votes, and thus establish his authority more strongly than ever. On December 12, having transacted all our business at Ozaka, we started in palanquins for Hiôgo. Mitford walked as far as Ama-ga-saki, which he reached in 3-3/4 hours, and I in a palanquin took half-an-hour more. By three o'clock in the afternoon, after travelling six hours, we had got only half-way. So we betook ourselves to Shanks' mare. Mitford's Japanese teacher Nagazawa and our escort had to trot in order to keep pace with us, and we got on board the "Rattler" soon after six. Having dined with Captain Swann, we went ashore again, and took up our quarters for the night at the municipal office (_sô-kwai-sho_). Next day we called on the newly appointed governor, Shibata Hiuga no Kami, to discuss various business details. He told us that there had been a week of feasting at Kôbé in honour of the anticipated opening of the port, with processions of people dressed in red silk crape, with carts which were supposed to be transporting earth to raise the site of the proposed foreign settlement. Its situation appeared to us entirely satisfactory. Fêtes at Hiôgo itself were also projected. These we took to be marked signs of goodwill on the part of both government and people, and to promise a great extension of friendly intercourse between Japanese and foreigners. The same day we returned to Ozaka by boat, accompanied by Noel (afterwards Admiral Sir Gerard Noel), first lieutenant of the "Rattler." There we found the whole population occupied with festivities in honour of the approaching opening of the city to foreign trade. Crowds of people in holiday garb, dancing and singing "Ii ja nai ka, ii ja nai ka" (isn't it good), houses decorated with rice-cakes in all colours, oranges, little bags, straw and flowers. The dresses worn were chiefly red crape, a few blue and purple. Many of the dancers carried red lanterns on their heads. The pretext for these rejoicings was a shower of pieces of paper, bearing the names of the two gods of Isé, alleged to have taken place recently. On the 14th we received a visit from our Satsuma friend Yoshii. He told us that the coalition, which was determined to push matters to the last extremity in order to gain their points, consisted of Satsuma, Tosa, Uwajima, Chôshiû and Geishiû. Higo and Arima were inclined to join, Hizen and Chikuzen indifferent. On the whole, it might safely be said that all the western clans were pretty much of one mind. Osumi no Kami (who suffered a good deal from _kakké_, a sort of dropsy of the legs) was too ill to come to Kiôto, and Shiuri no Taiyu was to take his place, arriving in a few days. Saedani Umétarô, a Tosa man whose acquaintance I had made at Nagasaki, had been murdered a few days ago at his lodgings in Kiôto by three men unknown. The Tycoon had about 10,000 troops at Kiôto, Satsuma and Tosa about half that number between them, part in Kiôto, part in Ozaka. Other _daimiôs_, such as Geishiû, would also bring up troops. The Chôshiû question would be difficult to settle peacefully, as the Tycoon's party included a large number of men who wished to force on a renewal of the war in order to effect the complete destruction of that clan. I took occasion to say that the murder of our sailors at Nagasaki was by no means disposed of, and that one of the first demands to be laid by us before the new government would be for the punishment of the murderers; that no money compensation would be accepted, and that the Japanese, if they wished to remain on good terms with foreigners and to avoid a disaster, had better prevent the occurrence of such incidents. Yoshii replied that if internal affairs were not placed on a sound footing on the present occasion, the _daimiôs_ would wreak their wrath upon foreigners, in order to provoke bad relations between the Tycoon and the treaty powers. I responded that they would not gain their object, as we could no longer hold the Tycoon responsible for the acts of persons over whom he had no real control. On the 16th I received a visit from two Uwajima men, Sutô Tajima and Saionji Yukiyé, the former a man of high rank in his clan, the other an official whom I had met when I was at Uwajima in the spring of the year. They had come up to Ozaka as precursors of Daté Iyo no Kami, who was expected to arrive early in January. They represented him as greatly pleased with the existing prospect of the establishment of a parliament, regarding which the old prince had talked to me on more than one occasion. I mentioned the Nagasaki affair in similar terms to those I had used to Yoshii, and assured them that the question of reparation was by no means abandoned, but was simply in abeyance for the present, and I explained that we were on as good terms with Tosa as before. No sooner had they gone than Nakai came in to say that Gotô had arrived the previous evening, but was too busy to call on us. We offered to call on him instead of his coming to us, a proposal which was joyfully accepted, and meeting Gotô in front of the Tosa _yashiki_ (agency), we turned in there with him. Our first topic was the murder of our two sailors. We said that though the particular suspicion against Tosa was removed by the discovery that there was no foundation for the report of the "Yokobuyé" and "Nankai" leaving the port together on the night of the murder, the fact that our men had been killed by Japanese still remained, and that we should not rest until redress was afforded, not in the shape of a pecuniary indemnity, which some people appeared to suppose would satisfy the British Government, but by the punishment of the criminals, and that we were content to wait until the establishment of the new constitution gave us an opportunity for presenting our demand with effect. He replied that the recent murder of two of his own subordinates inspired him with sympathy for our feelings, and that both the ex-Prince Yôdô and he himself held that no stone should be left unturned to discover the criminals. I then asked him to take charge of a gun which I wished to present to Yôdô as a small return, though not of any great value or beauty, for his kindness to me. We then discussed the constitution which he proposed for the new government, and particularly the senate he desired to see established. The upshot of the conversation was that he promised to come down from Kiôto to see the chief on his arrival, and to stay a few days at Ozaka in order to learn more from Mitford and myself about the English form of government. All we could do on that occasion was to give him some information about the composition of the Cabinet, and the method of carrying legislation through Parliament. Gotô said he wanted to employ a foreigner, such as myself for instance, to collect information for him, and with whom he could consult. I replied that I was content to serve my own government, and could not take service under that of any other state, but that if the clan wanted the services of an officer they should apply to the minister for the loan of one. The idea of taking _pay_ from a Japanese, however highly placed, did not suit me, and I was resolved, in case I quitted Her Majesty's service, not to seek another career in Japan. That evening we, that is, Mitford, Noel and I, devoted to a _dîner en ville_ in the Japanese fashion at a sort of "Trois frères" called Tokaku, and about half-past six we started forth. It was expected that the streets would be full of merry-makers, and the two men of my escort who were detailed to accompany us wished that the rest of them should be summoned to attend us. But I threw the burden of decision on their shoulders by saying that I thought the two of them would be enough for anything, and no more was heard of that proposition. So we issued into the streets, and dived through all sorts of back lanes to find a shorter cut, for my instinct seemed to show the road, but our escort triumphed after all, and they brought us to the place of entertainment by what proved to be a circuitous route. Some difficulty was experienced in making our way through the crowds of people in flaming red garments dancing and shouting the refrain _ii ja nai ka_. They were so much taken up with their dancing and lantern-carrying that we passed along almost unnoticed, but I was half afraid the escort (_betté_) would provoke a quarrel by the violent manner in which they thrust people aside in order to make way for us; on the contrary, the crowd did not offer any rudeness to us, and let us pass without hindrance. On reaching Tokaku we found the principal rooms occupied by festival makers and the rest of the house shut up. Our messenger had been just that instant turned away with a refusal to receive us. While we stood there trying to persuade the people of the house to give us a room, a herd of young men and boys trooped in, shouting and dancing, and tossing about in their midst a palanquin occupied by a fat doll clad in the most gorgeous robes. All the feasters in the house came out to meet them, one cannot say at the doors, for in Japan there are no doors, but on the thresholds in which the sliding screens run that divide the different parts of a house. After a violent united dance executed by all present, the troop disappeared again. The number of pretty girls who appeared as dancers was much larger than previous experience had led us to suppose Ozaka could possibly contain. We could not prevail on the Tokaku people to take us in, but they gave us a guide to a house about "five minutes" walk distant. There we found the doors locked, the explanation being that all the inmates had gone to the dance. We began to despair of success, and contemplate the possibility of having to return to our quarters and sup on whatever cold food "the philosopher" (Mitford's Chinese servant Lin-fu) could give us. Luckily however the guide, a little man on sturdy legs, said he knew of a house called Shô-ô-tei (Hall of the Old Man of the Pine Tree), where we might as well call, since it lay on our road home. So we went there, and after waiting a few minutes were shown into a very good room, where we had our meal, waited on by the women of the house, who carried on the conversation and passed the wine cup, offices usually discharged on such occasions by _geishas_. The entire absence of fear or dislike on the part of the Ozaka women was very remarkable when compared with the cold and often hostile reception we were accustomed to meet with in Yedo. Curiosity apparently triumphed over every other feeling; and besides, the attendants mostly had their teeth dyed black, a sign of mature age, instead of wearing them as they are naturally, and probably felt immune from attempts at flirtation. We got home early, very pleased with our adventure. Noel returned next day to his ship, and we moved over from our lodgings in Tera-machi to the quarters prepared for the whole legation behind the castle. The main building was large enough to accommodate the minister and three or four members of what he delighted to call "the staff," a military term picked up during his campaigns in China. The outbuildings were given up to Mitford, the officers of the detachment from the 2/ix regiment shared a second, guests were to be put up in a third, the mounted escort in a fourth, and the fifth I reserved for myself; a temporary shed was provided for the infantry guard. After settling in, we went to call on Saigô, with whom we found Iwashita Sajiémon, just back from Europe, accompanied by his friend the Comte de Montblanc. The conversation turned on the murder of the two bluejackets of H.M.S. "Icarus." Saigô paid me the compliment of saying that I gave little hits, but hard ones. Opinion seemed to be divided as to the probability of more such murders being committed. I used to find that men who desired the progress of Japan, and were actuated by friendly feeling towards its people, maintained that the attacks on foreigners would cease, but that unprejudiced observers did not give one much encouragement to leave off the practice of carrying revolvers. We gave them clearly to understand that the "Icarus" affair could not be disposed of by the payment of a sum of money by way of "indemnity." They were anxious to disprove the possibility of there having been a plot on the part of Tosa and Satsuma men to murder Mitford and myself when we passed through Fushimi in the previous August. (Fortunately we changed our route for other reasons.) But I had no doubt myself of the fact. Noguchi had told me when we reached Ozaka that he had overheard some men, whom he believed to be Tosa _samurai_, expressing their regret at having failed to carry out their project, and when I told Gotô at Susaki that I had heard this story, he replied that being in Kiôto at the time he too had heard such a report, and took measures to prevent the scheme, if there were one, from being carried out. Saigô tried to show that it could not have been true, and asserted that Gotô was not then in Kiôto. We assured him that we did not think it probable that men of either Satsuma or Tosa would desire to take the lives of foreigners, but that the clans contained ruffians who sometimes took such ideas into their heads quite independently of their chiefs. Ishikawa Kawachi no Kami, a commissioner of foreign affairs, came to see us on the 18th. He told us that no date had been fixed for the assembling of the _daimiôs_, and no one of them could be blamed if he arrived at Kiôto later than the others. Even supposing that the few who were already there, or were about to arrive, should discuss matters and come to a decision, how could they enforce it? Objections would surely be raised. We came to the conclusion from this conversation that civil war was after all not unlikely to break out, and that the omission to fix a date for the assembly was part of the Tycoon's plan for embarrassing his opponents. Letters which arrived overland from Yedo on the 20th reported the general impression to be that there was no more a Tycoon, and that Keiki was nobody. So much did distance and report by word of mouth change the look of the situation. Itô Shunsuké's opinion was that war would begin almost immediately, with the object of depriving the Tycoon of a part of his domains, which were far too large for the peace of the country. He had only seven battalions of infantry in Kiôto, all reinforcements having been countermanded in the belief that no cause for war existed. Of course Hiôgo and Ozaka would not be the most peaceful places of residence for foreigners if war did break out, and our Legation, situated just at the back of the Ozaka castle, would be endangered, as that fortress was certain to be the centre of a severe conflict in arms. He wanted to know whether Sir Harry's arrival and the opening of Hiôgo and Ozaka to foreign trade could not be deferred, and whether Saigô had written to the chief to make this proposal. I said "No, of course" (though I did not know). Then, said he, their object must be to open these two places, and so content foreigners, while the Japanese went on with their plans for the reformation of the government. Some one however must be appointed to represent Japan at Ozaka and Hiôgo. I suggested the present governors, but he replied that they would immediately be expelled when the crisis arrived. I rejoined that as long as the insurgent forces did not attack the residences of foreigners, they might do as they liked with the Tycoon, but that if they interfered with us they would have a couple of English regiments and all the foreign men-of-war to fight against, as well as the Tokugawa troops. Itô did not think they would wish to do this, and promised to let me know beforehand when the actual day for taking action became imminent. A body of Chôshiû men was coming up under the command of Môri Heirokurô and Fukumoto Shima, Katsura (_i.e._ Kido) and Kikkawa Kemmotsu being obliged to remain at home to carry on the administration of the province. Sir Harry arrived on December 24, took a look at the legation quarters, and then went back to the ship that had brought him down. There was a fine confusion all day. I received a letter from Shinosaki Yatarô comparing the present condition of the country to an eggshell held in the hand, and begging me to persuade Komatsu and Saigô to keep the peace. On Christmas Day Kasuya Chikugo no Kami, a commissioner of foreign affairs, called. He said that the _daimiôs_ of Hikoné, Bizen and Geishiû, all three men of importance, were in Kiôto, and he appeared to be doubtful what was going to happen. My old friend Hayashi Kenzô, who had made the cruise in H.M.S. "Argus" with me in January, called on the 28th, and reported that 1500 Chôshiû men had disembarked at Nishinomiya on the 23rd, under the command of Môri Takumi. He also seemed uncertain whether there would be any fighting, but he thought that Saigô and Gotô were trying to keep the peace. My protégé Endo naturally went off to Nishinomiya to see his clansmen, and doubtless to report what he had learned in Yedo to Môri Takumi. The latter had the reputation of being a man of capacity, which was perhaps the reason why he had retired into a private position (_in-kio_) early in life. On the 29th Iga no Kami came to see the chief, accompanied by Nagai Gemba no Kami, who had the credit of being almost the only adviser of the Tycoon at the moment, though of course Iga no Kami was admitted into their secrets. All the governors of Ozaka and Hiôgo were present, and the only subjects of discussion related to the arrangement for opening these places to trade on January 1. "All the governors" is the phrase, because the practice in those days was to duplicate nearly every administrative office. Next day the two great men came again, and the Nagasaki murders were the topic of conversation. It appeared unlikely that we should obtain any satisfaction. It was however agreed that old Hirayama should again go to Nagasaki, in spite of Gemba's efforts to get him let off this disagreeable errand. The Foreign Office had written approving Sir Harry's action, and he seemed inclined to keep this question hanging over the Tycoon's government as a perpetual nightmare. He told them in the strongest language that we would never desist from pressing the matter until the murderers were seized and punished. Our callers asked a great number of questions about the English constitution, just as Gotô had done, so that it appeared as if both parties were desirous of getting our advice. Then Sir Harry told them that unless they got all troops away from Ozaka, where they might come into collision with foreigners, he would send for a couple of regiments. I could not help feeling that it was unfair of him to meddle in this way in Japanese domestic affairs and thus add to the Tycoon's embarrassments, for as the _daimiôs_' forces had taken Ozaka merely as a stage towards advancing on Kiôto, where else could they go except to the capital? Following on this move, he sent me the following day to Koba Dennai, the Satsuma agent, to explain why he wished their troops to be removed. Koba replied that there were only two hundred and fifty, but doubtless they could be sent elsewhere, and he would write to Saigô on this point. From there I went on to see a Chôshiû man named Nagamatsu Bunsuké, who had come over from Nishinomiya, and was stopping with the Geishiû people. A proclamation was out announcing that the Chôshiû forces, having been ordered to come up to the neighbourhood of the capital, were allowed to borrow the use of the Geishiû _yashiki_, and to be quartered also at the Nishi Hongwanji temple. Nevertheless, they had no wish to come to Ozaka, and thought it a great piece of luck that the English Minister had proposed to the Tycoon's people what they themselves happened to desire most particularly. I found it impossible to get any explanation from Nagamatsu of the real reason for their coming. Iga no Kami had told us that by a messenger who left Geishiû on the 15th, instructions were sent ordering them not to come, but he went by sea, thus missing a Chôshiû messenger who arrived there by land to report that they were starting in compliance with the orders previously given. (This was evidently a mere fiction.) He also said that on the 20th three Chôshiû steamers full of troops put in at Mitarai in Geishiû, and asked for Geishiû officers to accompany them. This request was refused, and they were advised to return home, which they declined to do, alleging their prince's orders; without a recall from him they were unable to go back to Chôshiû. This was the Geishiû story, which it was impossible to believe. I felt certain that it had been concocted between the two clans, and was simply in accordance with the general plan of campaign. That the Tycoon should have sent orders to countermand the movements of Chôshiû troops was pretty clear proof that when the original instructions were given (if they really were given), the present change of policy on the part of the government was not contemplated--as Iki no Kami had pretended to us--but in reality had recently been forced on them by the confederate daimiôs. It had been intended by the chief that I should go down to Nishinomiya to ascertain how the land lay, but having learnt all that the Chôshiû man was willing to tell me, I was relieved from the necessity of undertaking a toilsome journey. That day, the last of the year 1867, despatches arrived from the Foreign Office sanctioning my appointment as Japanese Secretary, with a salary of £700 a year, in succession to Eusden, transferred to Hakodaté as consul. CHAPTER XXIV OUTBREAK OF CIVIL WAR (1868) ON New Year's Day salutes were fired at Tempôzan, the fort at the mouth of the Ozaka river, and at Hiôgo, in honour of the opening of the city and the port to foreign trade. Many Japanese had been under the impression that it had been deferred, owing to the notification about the west coast port, _i.e._ Niigata, which they took to mean Hiôgo because of its situation west of Kiôto. I conceived a plan for taking the chief up to Kiôto to mediate between the contending parties, and to prevent the Japanese from cutting each other's throats, and I proposed to go ahead of him to Fushimi in order to make the necessary arrangements with Saigô and Gotô. But this ambitious scheme was frustrated by the rapidity with which events developed at Kiôto. Rumour was very busy during the next few days. First, we heard that the two princes of Chôshiû had been reinstated in their titles. The Tosa _in-kio_ (Yôdô) landed on the afternoon of January 1, and went up to Kiôto at once without stopping at Ozaka. It was said that the Tycoon's position was weak, for he had no support except from Aidzu and one or two of the smaller clans. Chôshiû's people had taken military possession of Nishinomiya, and were patrolling the surrounding country, as if afraid of being attacked. My man Noguchi told us that the Chôshiû troops had left Nishinomiya, and marched ten miles to Koya on the road to Kiôto. All the Aidzu men at Ozaka had gone up to Kiôto. The prince was dissatisfied with the Tycoon's leniency in the Chôshiû business, and intended to resign his office of guardian of the Mikado's person (_Shugo-shoku_). On the 4th January there were symptoms of a great disturbance at Kiôto. The ministers of the other Treaty Powers came to visit the chief and impart their views of what had passed. For the most part these were of very slight value, for they were very much in the dark as to the internal condition of Japan. Von Brandt, the Chargé d'Affaires of the North German Confederation, was so little acquainted with the geography of the country as to confound Geishiû and Kishiû. Endo, who had come back from Nishinomiya, told me that Môri Takumi was already at Kiôto with part of the Chôshiû force, and that another part had occupied Fushimi in conjunction with Satsuma troops. But more significant than anything else was the fact that Satsuma, Geishiû and Tosa were guarding the imperial palace in the place of Aidzu. There was some talk of the Tycoon intending to come down to Ozaka, and boats were said to have been embargoed at Yodo to convey his drilled soldiers down the river. That the object of the _daimiôs_ was not to fight the Tycoon, but only to extort concessions from him. They proposed to deprive him of a million _koku_ of lands as a punishment for the transgressions of the Tokugawa family. It was certain, Endo said, that the Chôshiû question was settled, and that the guards of the palace had been changed. Noguchi's story was that Aidzu, disgusted with the Tycoon, sent in his written resignation, but that it was intercepted by Kuwana. The Tycoon however had heard of Aidzu's intention, of which he informed Iga no Kami directly after the return of the latter from Ozaka, and sent him his dismissal. Then the three clans above-mentioned seized the environs of the palace. The _daimiôs_ thereupon proceeded to the palace to discuss the situation, but the Tycoon refused to attend. He would neither fight nor take any decided action; his sole aim was to arrange matters peaceably. Noguchi evidently was reflecting the war-like disposition of his clan. Ishikawa Kawachi no Kami gave a somewhat different account, but it was clear that up to that moment there had been no disturbance of the peace. The _Kwambaku_ Nijô, a nephew of the Tycoon Iyénari, who died in 1841 aged 52, was said to have been dismissed, and either Konoyé or Kujô appointed in his place. Chôshiû's troops had entered Kiôto on January 2. Ozaka was not perturbed by the events that had passed at the capital, and on the 5th I was able to give an entertainment to my Japanese escort at a restaurant in the city. We had two charming _geishas_ to attend on the party, one looking as if she had just stepped out of a picture, the classical contour of the face, arched nose, small full underlip, narrow eyes, and a good-hearted expression of countenance. The other personally more attractive according to western notions of beauty, but with a little of the devil in her eyes. Lastly, there was an old _geiko_ or musician of six or eight and twenty, a clever woman. The streets were still illuminated at night for the festival, and crowded with dancers. On the 6th the mystery was cleared up by Ishikawa, who came to tell me that on the 3rd Satsuma had proposed to abolish not only the Tycoon, but also the _Kwambaku_, _Tensô_ and _Gisô_, the three offices intermediary between the Mikado and the Tycoon. The new administration would consist of _Sôsai_, which sounded like secretaries of state; _Gijô_, which he thought meant a cabinet; and thirdly _Sanyo_, resembling our under-secretaries of state. This looked rather like what we had suggested to Gotô as the framework of the future executive.[5] He said that this proposal had met with great opposition from others besides the _fudai daimiôs_, who were afraid that the extremists might go further and abolish the Mikado. I endeavoured to reassure him on this point. "It is not," he continued, "a proposal which can be discussed over the table, and fighting must decide." It seemed from his account that the Tycoon personally did not object, but his followers objected for him, while he seemed willing to make every possible sacrifice in order to secure peace. [5] But it was not quite correct. The Sôsai were to be a sort of partners in the office of Minister-President, as we should call it, and Gijô were to be the heads of administrative departments. From a letter of January 4 to my mother, I find that on the 1st Locock, Mitford and Willis, the legation doctor, and I were to have gone over to Hiôgo to dine with the Admiral, whose steam-launch was to come to Ozaka to fetch us. So we went down to the foreign settlement, and, having no other resource, got into a large Japanese boat managed by a single little boy with a paddle. At first we proceeded very slowly, but a sailing boat gave us a tow, after which we shoved off and had to depend again on the small boy. It was bitterly cold, with a north-east wind. I sat in the bows, holding up a railway rug with my teeth. Two of the others protected themselves with umbrellas, and Mitford's Chinese servant, the faithful Lin-fu, hoisted a mat on a pole. So we sailed down the river to the port at its mouth. No signs were to be seen of the launch, so we tried to hire a Japanese boat to carry us across the bay, the distance being only eleven miles and the wind fair, but one and all refused, on account of the gale they would have to encounter in coming back. So we were compelled to put our luggage into a boat and return. The distance from the fort to the Legation was about seven miles and a half, but it took us several hours, as we had to call in at the newly established vice-consulate in the foreign settlement. We dined all together at the Legation, the chief being confined to his room with a sharp attack of lumbago, which had not, however, prevented his making a formal entry into Ozaka on horseback, accompanied by the mounted escort and the guard of fifty infantry detached from one of the regiments stationed at Yokohama. By January 7 all was over with the Tycoon. That morning Moriyama, the ancient Dutch linguist who used to interpret between the foreign ministers and the Rôjiû, came to communicate the news of Keiki's withdrawal from Kiôto. At first I feigned to suppose that he was coming down to see the French Minister. "Not at all, he is coming here, deprived of the office of _Shôgun_." He had already made up his mind to do this four or five days before, but was persuaded to countermand the orders given for his departure, whereat the commissioners for foreign affairs stationed at Ozaka had rejoiced greatly. But now the orders had been repeated, and would be carried out. We sauntered out to look at the preparations made for his arrival. Small bodies of drilled troops were marching about headed by drummers, and field-pieces were placed so as to sweep the narrow streets. We saw men in all sorts of military costumes with their heads muffled up to protect them from the cold, not presenting a very martial appearance. We went on to the restaurant on the river bank, where in the spring we had been often entertained _à la Japonaise_, and found it full of Aidzu men, whose arms were piled outside. There was a _karô_ inside, on whom I paid a call. He ascribed the Tycoon's withdrawal to his unwillingness to fight under the walls of the palace, and described the leading _daimiôs_ as being at loggerheads, Satsuma desiring to carry out their plans by main force, and Tosa preferring to rely on reason; but their objects were identical. It was not Kaga, but Tosa, that was endeavouring to negotiate an arrangement between Satsuma and the Tycoon. He talked a good deal about forms of government, and thought that Gotô's plans would be delightful, if feasible, but the nation was not yet ripe for fundamental changes. I agreed with him that representative government would be a curious substitute for the despotic form of authority that had existed hitherto. Mitford and I went out again about two o'clock to have another look at the preparations, and wandered over the Kiô-bashi bridge on to the Kiôto road. Here it was evident that the Tycoon was expected to arrive at any moment. There were wonderful groups of men in armour, wearing surcoats of various gay colours, armed with spears and helmets. Here we found Kubota Sentarô, the commander of the Tycoon's drilled troops, with a couple of colleagues, one of whom told Mitford in bad Japanese that they were very brave and intended to die. I whispered to Kubota that a brave man did not retreat in this fashion. He repeated the explanation of the Tycoon's objection to fighting at the steps of the throne, and perhaps endangering the person of the Mikado. I replied that he should not have given up the guard of the palace. Kubota alleged the Mikado's orders. I suggested that if the Mikado ordered that there should be no fighting, that order must be obeyed. The significant rejoinder was: "Yes, by the Tycoon, but not by his retainers." We had just got to the end of the street that ran by the castle moat when the bugles sounded to arms, and we saw a long train of drilled troops advancing. We stood on one side opposite to a man wearing a gorgeous red surcoat, till the troops should pass. On they went, followed by a herd of men in fantastic costumes (_yû-géki-tai_, "brave fighting men"), some wearing helmets with long wigs of black or white hair reaching half-way down their backs, others in ordinary helmets, basin-shaped war-hats (_jin-gasa_), flat hats, armed, some with long spears, short spears, Spencer rifles, Swiss rifles, muskets, or the plain two swords. Then a silence came over the scene. Every Japanese knelt down as a group of horsemen approached. It was Keiki and his train. We took off our hats to fallen greatness. He was muffled in a black hood, and wore an ordinary war-hat. What could be seen of his countenance looked worn and sad. He did not seem to notice us. Iga no Kami and Buzen no Kami, members of his council, who came next, on the contrary nodded gaily to our salute. Aidzu and Kuwana were also there. Then followed other _yû-géki-tai_, and the procession closed with more drilled troops. We turned round with the last of these, and hurried on to see the entrance into the castle. On the way we met the chief, who had come out to have a look at the Tycoon, to whose downfall he had contributed as far as lay in his power. The defiling across the bridge over the moat was an effective scheme of colour, and the procession entered by the great gate (_ôté_). Every one dismounted except the Tycoon. Rain fell, in much accordance with the occasion. The chief insisted, much against my own feeling, in sending to ask for an interview on the morrow. In the letter I sent, I spoke of Keiki as Tycoon Denka (His Highness the Tycoon). The reply which came back styled him simply Uyésama, the title borne by the head of the Tokugawa family before his formal recognition as Shôgun by the Mikado's Court. Endo came back with the following information. Arisugawa and Yamashina, both princes of the blood, Ogimachi and Iwakura, court nobles, were appointed _Sôsai_; the princes of Owari, Echizen, Geishiû, Satsuma and Tosa were appointed _gijô_. Ohara (a court noble) and various others were to be _Sanyo_, besides three from each of the great clans. Satsuma in this way was represented by Iwashita, Okubo and Saigô. Those of the other clans were not known to him. The titles of the Prince of Chôshiû and his son had been restored to them. The palace was guarded by Satsuma and Geishiû, Chôshiû's troops held the city of Kiôto. A Satsuma steamer had left for Chikuzen to bring back the five court nobles who had fled in 1864, Sanjô (afterwards prime minister for a series of years), Sanjô-Nishi, Mibu, Shijô and Higashi-kuzé (subsequently minister for Foreign Affairs). It was difficult to accuse Keiki of cowardice. No one had ever yet expressed such an opinion of him, and the probability was that he could not put confidence in the courage of his troops. How a new government which did not include the Tokugawa chief could hope to succeed one did not see. He must either join the _daimiôs_ or be destroyed. Perhaps the latter alternative was what his adversaries designed. Keiki had declined to see the chief on the following day, and it looked as if the audience would have to be deferred. The policy advocated in the _Sakuron_, translated from my articles in the "Japan Times," seemed to govern the situation. The opening of Yedo to foreign trade must evidently be postponed, as Locock had declined the responsibility of superintending the execution of the arrangements. On the morning of January 8 the chief became very impatient, and about noon ordered me to prepare a note to the effect that Locock and I should go to the castle and arrange for an audience. Its despatch was delayed by a private note from Koba Dennai asking me to name an hour for an interview with him. At three o'clock our note was to have gone in, when in came Tsukahara and Ishikawa to inform us that the French Minister was to see the Tycoon, as we still called him, at once, and that Keiki could receive Sir Harry to-morrow at any hour he chose to name. On hearing that he had been outstripped by his colleague, his wrath was unbounded; he claimed priority on the ground of superior diplomatic rank, and ordered out the escort. We proceeded to the castle in pouring rain. I was a little behind the others, and entered the audience chamber just as Roches and Sir Harry were exchanging words about what the former stigmatized as a breach of _les convénances_ in interrupting his interview. But he got as good as he gave, and the audience then proceeded, after Aidzu and Kuwana had been presented and ordered to retire. Aidzu was a dark-complexioned man with a hooked nose, about thirty-two years old, of middle stature and thin; Kuwana an ugly young person, apparently twenty-four years of age, pock-marked and of dwarfish proportions. The old fox Hirayama sat behind the Uyésama and took notes. Shiwoda Samurô, who spoke French well, interpreted for Roches and I for Sir Harry simultaneously the words which fell from Keiki's lips. He gave but a lame account of the events of the last few days, professing at one moment to have withdrawn his troops from the palace in accordance with an imperial order, while refusing to recognize another such order, which he felt was equally dictated by Satsuma. Perhaps this was natural on his part, for it abolished his office and forbade him access to the palace. He had had it hinted to him that he should also resign his rank of Naidaijin, and offer to surrender two million _koku_ of lands; but he had resolved not to heed the suggestion, on the ground that this property belonged to him apart from his office, just as much as the lands of Chôshiû, Satsuma and the other _daimiôs_ belonged to them. He appeared to feel that the _daimiôs_ had stolen a march on him by preparing their plans beforehand, instead of proceeding with the general congress of princes at which each should be free to speak his own mind; in other words, he was vexed at having been taken in by a stratagem. That the proposal of a congress was merely intended to throw dust in his eyes was pretty evident. He explained the order for the withdrawal of the Aidzu palace guard by saying that other _daimiôs_, amongst them Satsuma and Geishiû, held some of the gates under Aidzu, and that they introduced certain proscribed court nobles into the precincts after the _Kwambaku_ and other dignitaries had retired for the day on the morning of January 3rd., and that at noon the same day these persons issued the proclamation setting up the new government. This he said was a preconcocted matter; they had it all ready on paper, and took these measures without consulting anyone. At one time he seemed to say that the five great _daimiôs_ were divided among themselves, at another he spoke of the decrees as having been agreed to by them all beforehand. After finishing his account, he asked the opinion of the two ministers. Both expressed admiration of his patriotism in surrendering power, and the justice of his desire to settle all questions by a general congress, Roches in very flattering terms, Sir Harry more moderately, asking also some pertinent questions, which were answered without much frankness. Keiki gave as his reason for coming down to Ozaka his fear lest a tumult should arise in the vicinity of the palace, and his desire to appease the indignation of his followers. It was his intention to remain at Ozaka, but could not say whether the opposite party would attack him there. To another question as to the form of government that had been set up at Kiôto, he replied that the Mikado ruled nominally, but that Kiôto was occupied by a set of men who did nothing but quarrel among themselves, anything but govern. Yet he did not appear to claim that he himself possessed any authority, and he did not know whether the other _daimiôs_ would rally to his support. Some of those who were at Kiôto had been disgusted at the congress not having come into existence, and had returned to their homes; others who were confounded by the audacity of the five still remained there. Our inference, of course, was that they were not of his party. The Uyésama finally said he was tired, and so put an end to the conversation. One could not but pity him, so changed as he was from the proud, handsome man of last May. Now he looked thin and worn, and his voice had a sad tone. He said he would see the ministers again in order to consult with them. The commissioners for Foreign Affairs gave us a paper announcing Keiki's resignation of the office of Shôgun, and the change of his title back to Uyésama. It turned out that what Koba wanted was to ask whether I could tell him what the Uyésama's plans were; was he returning to Yedo in order to gather his forces together, or remaining at Ozaka with the intention of undertaking a "ruffianly" expedition to the capital. I sent back a reply by Itô that I knew nothing of Keiki's intended movements. To suppose that I would supply information on such points showed great simplicity. The diplomatic body being intent on the observation of neutrality between the contending parties, held a meeting on the morning of January 9 at the Prussian Legation to frame a declaration, and a request to be informed where the government was being carried on. The French Minister did his best to make the former a declaration of non-partizanship with the _daimiôs_. Shiwoda his interpreter and I had to translate it into Japanese, which we did separately. His version was very literal, and he rendered "divers partis" by a term which could only be applied to conspirators. I also wished the translation to be in free Japanese, not adhering slavishly to the wording of the original, and we had a quarrel over this point. After Shiwoda left me, Ishikawa came in, to whom I showed my version, in order that whatever were the result, no doubt should be possible as to the attitude of the British Legation. Up to a late hour at night nothing was settled, except that the interview with the Uyésama, which was to have been immediate, was put off. On the following morning, after the two translations had been compared, the chief suggested an alteration in the French original which removed the cause of dispute. Then Locock and I went round to the other ministers and got them to accept my translation. While we were at the French Legation Hirayama and Kawakatsu came in, and they took the paper away with them to prepare the Uyésama's reply. A difference had arisen between Roches and Sir Harry as to relative precedence. The former was only minister plenipotentiary, while our chief was envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary. According to all rules he was senior, but the other ministers held that Roches, having arrived first in Japan, had precedence. This decision did away with Sir Harry's claim to be _doyen_, and his reason for asserting a right to have audience before any of his colleagues. The latter pretension was, of course, one that could in no circumstances be upheld. At three o'clock the whole diplomatic body assembled at the castle in the _o-shiro-jô-in_, all the other apartments being occupied by Aidzu, Kuwana and Kishiû. The same ceremony was observed as at an European court. Behind the Uyésama stood his pages; at his left Aidzu, Kuwana, Makino Bitchiû no Kami, Matsudaira Buzen no Kami (two councillors of state), and a noble person whom I took to be Ogaki, then Hirayama and Tsukahara. On his right were a number of _ô-metsukés_. In Japan, as in China, the left was the position of honour. Close to His Highness stood Iga no Kami, on whom devolved the task of reading the translation of the Diplomatic Body's address. The reply was a very long one, spoken by the Uyésama himself. He began by explaining his policy, vindicating his retirement from Kiôto, and expressing his determination to abide by the decisions of a general council. His reply to the particular question asked by the ministers was that foreigners should not trouble themselves about the internal affairs of Japan, and that until the form of government was settled he regarded the conduct of Foreign Affairs as his own function. The commissioners for foreign affairs, who were probably apprehensive that they might to-day become nonentities, were obviously relieved. They became joyful, and somewhat triumphant. The audience was over in an hour and a half. After the delivery of his speech the Uyésama went round the row of foreign ministers and spoke a few words to each. To Sir Harry he said that he hoped for a continuation of his friendship, and for his assistance in organizing the Japanese navy. The chief replied in florid style that his heart was the same as it had ever been towards him, and that he trusted the sun shining through the windows was an omen of his future, a metaphor which I found some difficulty in putting into Japanese. However, the Uyésama pretended to take it all in. One of the private secretaries, Tsumagi Nakadzukasa, came in the evening to assist me in translating the answer into English. From Kuroda Shinyémon I received the correct text of the Kiôto decrees. He told me that the _daimiôs_ were unanimously awaiting Keiki's reply to the demand for two million _koku_ of lands and the surrender of a step in court rank. They expected to be joined by the other western _daimiôs_, and also by the northern ones. I advised that they should not fight if they could help it, but if they judged it necessary, to do it at once. He nodded assent. It was intended that in three or four days the _daimiôs_ would declare their intentions to the foreign ministers. It showed, I thought, a good deal of courage on the part of a Satsuma man to come all the way past the castle sentries to our legation, and to spare him this risky proceeding I promised to go and see him at his own quarters. Ishikawa brought me a document purporting to be a protest of the retainers of Awa, Hizen, Higo, Chikuzen and other great _daimiôs_ against the violent proceedings of the Satsuma party, and insisting on the convocation of a general council. As far as could be inferred from their language, it did not appear that war was contemplated by either party. We heard that in a day or two Owari, Echizen and the court noble Iwakura would come down to receive the Tokugawa answer to the demands already mentioned. The troops of Sakai Uta no Kami of Obama in Wakasa, a powerful adherent of the Uyésama, had been sent to Nishinomiya, where there were probably Satsuma and Chôshiû troops. Endo however was of opinion that war would certainly break out. He said that a hundred of Satsuma's people arrived from Kiôto last night to escort thither the five court nobles who had been recalled from exile. On the 12th I went to see Kuroda Shinyémon and Koba Dennai, and gave them copies of the address of the foreign diplomatic representatives to the _ci-devant_ Tycoon as well as of his reply. They acknowledged the authenticity of the protest of Awa and the other eleven clans, and said that there were others who had disapproved of his restoring the sovereign power to the Mikado. From this it was evident to me that the reason why the five clans were in such a hurry to act was that they wanted to carry out their plans before the others arrived. Kaga was said to have left Kiôto in order to muster his forces for the assistance of Keiki. It now became evident that the Tokugawa party were preparing for war. Kishiû's men were at Tennôji, Sumiyoshi, and Kidzu, close to Ozaka. Aidzu had occupied the castle of Yodo, a few miles south of Kiôto on the direct road, with 500 of his own troops, and 300 of the Shinsen-gumi, a recently raised body of Tokugawa infantry, had also proceeded thither, while all along the road small detachments were stationed. Owari, Echizen and Iwakura were expected on the 18th January, but it was possible that the five clans might march on Ozaka before that date. Koba Dennai invited us to the Satsuma _yashiki_ on the 14th, so Mitford and I went there, and there we met Terashima Tôzô (formerly known as Matsugi Kôan), who had arrived from Kiôto that morning. He explained that it was thought better to delay issuing the Mikado's announcement to foreign countries of his having assumed the government until the question of a surrender of territory by the late Tycoon, which Owari and Echizen had undertaken to arrange, should be settled. (It must be understood that in conversation with Japanese this title was never employed, as it was only invented for foreign use. Either Tokugawa, or the _Baku-fu_, was the term we employed.) It had been originally proposed that only Aidzu and Kuwana should come down to Ozaka, in order to return by sea to their respective countries, but as they were unwilling to come alone, Keiki was allowed to accompany them. The territory to be surrendered by him was to form the nucleus of a national treasury, and it had been proposed by Tosa and some other clans that each _daimiô_ should sacrifice a smaller proportion for the same purpose, but Satsuma objected to this latter part of the scheme. The Mikado's notification would be in archaic Japanese,[6] stating that he was the head of the confederated _daimiôs_, that he alone was the sovereign of Japan, that the office of Shôgun was abolished, that the government was entrusted to a general council of _daimiôs_ subject to his supervision, and lastly that the treaties were to be remodelled in his name. We quite agreed with him that to issue the announcement in the present undecided state of affairs would be premature. A civil governor had been appointed for Kiôto, and a night patrol to arrest marauders and disturbers of the public peace. Of course Keiki's plan of calling a general council of _daimiôs_ to deliberate on the state of the country was put forward because he was certain of securing a majority by the aid of those of them who were his own vassals, and that he would get a vote carried in favour of reinstating him in his previous position of authority. This stratagem had been defeated by the bold stroke of Satsuma getting possession of the Mikado's person. [6] This was stated in reply to a question about the court language. When the document eventually was delivered, it was found, as far as my memory serves me, to be framed in classical Chinese. Next day Sir Harry paid a visit to the castle with the object of pumping the Uyésama about his plans for the general council and the new form of government, but he was anticipated by inquiries about the British Constitution, which took up all the time available, and he was only able to get in a question or two at the end. These the Uyésama adroitly parried by saying that the events he narrated on the last occasion of their meeting had upset all his arrangements. The escort was ordered, and we were obliged to leave. As we were going, Aidzu came up and saluted the chief with great cordiality, who replied that he was very fond of making the acquaintance of _daimiôs_, and already knew several. He hoped to know more of them. Could the Prince of Aidzu tell him whether the Prince of Awa was at Kiôto or Ozaka. Aidzu replied that he did not know. The chief rejoined that last year he had been to Awa's place, and had been very civilly treated. This rather broad hint, however, produced no effect. The same day there came to see me a young Tosa man, of Kishiû origin, named Mutsu Yônosuké, with whom I discussed the question of the recognition of the Mikado's government by the foreign ministers. I explained that it was not for the foreign representative to take the first step. We had received assurances from the Tokugawa chief that he would continue to carry on the administration, and as no communication had yet come from the Kiôto side, we had to go on holding official relations with him. If the Kiôto government wished to assume the direction of affairs they should inform the _Baku-fu_ that they were going to notify their assumption of foreign affairs to the ministers, and then invite the latter to Kiôto. This would be to all the world a clear proof of the position held by the Mikado. Mutsu replied that he had not come as a messenger from Gotô, but was merely giving his individual views. He thought a prince of the blood should come down to Ozaka and hold an interview at the castle with the foreign representatives, at which the Tokugawa chief should attend and resign the conduct of foreign affairs, on which the prince of the blood would deliver the Mikado's declaration of policy. Of course he would be escorted by _daimiôs_ and their troops. I warmly approved his suggestion, and at his request promised not to divulge it to anyone. The next day Mitford and I went again to the Satsuma _yashiki_, and found that a list of questions to be put to us had been sent down from Kiôto. We gave one answer to everything, namely, that it was only necessary for the Mikado to invite the ministers to Kiôto, and compel the ex-Tycoon to abandon his claim to conduct the foreign affairs of the country. They proposed to make Keiki withdraw his answer of the 10th. I gave them copies of Sir Harry's Note conveying the Queen's condolences on the death of the late Mikado, and of Itakura's reply; but they were not able to say whether the Note had been communicated to the court. The _daimiô_ of Higo had arrived and proceeded to Kiôto. Bizen was to garrison Nishinomiya. The five exiled court nobles were expected to arrive that evening, and would go up to Kiôto by the river. Echizen and Owari came down from Kiôto and went to the castle, as had been announced several days previously. The former sent a message through the Japanese Foreign Department to ask when his retainers might come to see our guard go through their drill. We replied that they did not drill. Perhaps they had heard of the mounted escort being exhibited to the Tycoon on some previous occasion. We should have preferred to have this request made to us direct. On the 23rd Ishikawa came to tell us that our Japanese guard was to be increased by one hundred men in consequence of disturbances that had occurred at Yedo. On the night of the 16th, he said, some Satsuma men had attacked the Shiba barracks of Sakai Saemon no jô, _daimiô_ of Shônai in the north, but were beaten off. On the next day but one Sakai's people went together with some troops which they had borrowed from the government, intending to demand the surrender of the men concerned in the violence of the 16th, but before they reached the Satsuma _yashiki_ fire was opened on them with field pieces and small arms, to which they replied. In the end the _yashiki_ was burnt to the ground. Some of the defenders were killed, others captured, and some escaped to a Satsuma war vessel that was lying in the bay. This at once attacked a government ship, but the result of the fight was unknown. At any rate, the other _yashikis_ of Satsuma and of Shimadzu Awaji no Kami had also been burnt. It was possible that the Satsuma people who had escaped might try to revenge themselves by creating disturbances at Ozaka. Though it was not likely that they would attack the castle, it was thought desirable as a measure of precaution to station some troops where we were. The chief's answer was that they must first write all this officially to him and await his reply before sending a single man to the Legation. To alarm us still further Ishikawa told us a story of boatmen having reported that the student interpreters we had left at Yedo had been fired at from the Satsuma _yashiki_ in the street called Tamachi, the date of the letter which brought this news being January 14th. As this was two days before the Satsuma attack on the Sakai _yashiki_, we did not give credit to his tale. What we thought was that Keiki had returned a refusal to the ultimatum of the _daimiôs_, and feared they would attack him at Ozaka. Echizen and Owari returned to Kiôto that day, but we did not hear what had been the result of their mission. On the 24th the Admiral arrived with news from Yedo confirming all that Ishikawa had reported. His account of it was that on the night of the 17th the Satsuma people had contrived to set a part of the castle on fire, and carried off Tenshô-In Sama, a princess of theirs who had married the last Tycoon but one. Thereupon the government people attacked all the Satsuma _yashikis_ in Yedo and burnt them, and the occupants getting on board their steamer put to sea. In the meanwhile, the "Eagle" and other government vessels received orders to get up steam and attack her. A sea fight ensued, which ended by the "Eagle" and the Satsuma steamer disappearing in the offing. The former was met by H.M.S. "Rodney," the Admiral's flagship, returning next day with her fore-yard gone, and the latter was seen off Cape Oshima, south of the province of Kishiû, on the 23rd. The story that our student interpreters Quin and Hodges had been fired at about the 12th as they were passing in front of the Satsuma battery in a Japanese boat was true, but no harm was done. CHAPTER XXV HOSTILITIES BEGUN AT FUSHIMI ON the evening of the 27th a great blaze was seen in the direction of Kiôto. Endo said it was at Fushimi, three miles from the capital, and that the ex-Tycoon's troops and those of Satsuma and his allies were fighting there. The government ship "Kaiyô-maru" with others were blockading Satsuma vessels at Hiôgo. On the preceding day a couple of battalions had been seen parading for the march to Kiôto, and were probably among the troops engaged at Fushimi. Report said that Keiki himself would take the field in a few days. Willis' servant, the faithful Sahei, who passed through Fushimi the same day, saw bodies of Satsuma men waiting about in the streets and warming themselves at fires, but he could not say for certain whether there were any other imperialists with them. A little on the nearer side of Fushimi were the _shinsen-gumi_, and behind them large bodies of infantry, all apparently eager for the fray. During the succeeding night the Satsuma _yashiki_ on the Tosa-bori canal, where we used to meet our friends, was burnt down. Some accounts said it was set on fire by the occupants before they stole away, others that the Tokugawa troops sent three or four shells into it and so caused the blaze. At any rate the Satsuma people got into boats and went down the river, pursued by the Tokugawa men, who fired at them from the banks, and killed two of the fugitives. Sir Harry went to call on Itakura, who told us that the town of Fushimi had been set on fire by Satsuma troops, who were opposing the entry of the Uyésama's forces into Kiôto. Fighting began at four o'clock, and the result was not yet known. Another detachment marching up the Toba road, which follows the right bank of the river, fell into an ambuscade and was forced to retire. He could not tell us when the Uyésama would start. The troops that had been opposed at Fushimi were his advanced guard, destined to occupy the castle of Nijô in Kiôto, as he was returning there shortly, having been invited to do so by Echizen and Owari. All the other _daimiôs_ were tired of the arrogant conduct of Satsuma. Probably it was his troops alone which had fought at Fushimi. Ishikawa gave me a copy of a letter from the commandant at Fushimi, who writing to Tsukahara and Buzen no Kami mentioned that guns had been lent for the destruction of the Satsuma _yashiki_. It was reported that Tsukahara had disappeared, and it was conjectured that he had been shot during the imperialist attack on the official residence of the governor of Fushimi, but we could not ascertain that he had been seen farther on than Yodo. Next day the chief went to Itakura's house just inside the Tama-tsukuri Gate near our legation, where he saw Nagai Gemba no Kami. Nagai told us that up to last night the Tokugawa troops had been repulsed on both points of their advance, and were going to try another road, the Takéda kaidô, further to the west. To us it appeared that they ought to have done better, as they were 10,000 to 6000. They reported the enemy force to consist of Satsuma and Chôshiû men, assisted by _rônin_, which probably meant the men of other clans, but the remaining _daimiôs_ appeared to be preserving a neutral attitude. The Uyésama's commander-in-chief was Takenaga Tango no Kami. The denunciation of Satsuma's crimes was carried by the advanced guard, whom Gemba no Kami described as the Uyésama's "retinue." He still maintained that the Uyésama had not wished to have recourse to arms, but was forced into it against his will. Still Gemba no Kami could not give a satisfactory explanation of the firing on the Satsuma steamer "Lotus" as early as the evening of January 26. The same evening reports came in that the Tokugawa troops had retired 7-1/2 miles from Fushimi, and had destroyed the bridge over the Kidzu-kawa river below Yodo, to obstruct the further advance of the Satsuma forces. Seven boat-loads of wounded had come down the river. From what we heard on the morning of the 30th, it appeared that the prospects of the Tokugawa party were not very encouraging. In the afternoon great fires were distinctly visible from the hill by the castle, in the direction of Hirakata and Nashimoto, about half-way between Ozaka and Fushimi, which showed that the battle was approaching nearer. A consultation was held by the chief with the Legation staff, the result of which was that we were to hire as many boats as possible to convey the archives to the British squadron, and when they were placed in safety we should be able to await the development of events with calmness. After dinner Sir Harry went to see the French Minister, and returned about half-past nine with information that a circular was to be addressed to the foreign ministers announcing that the Uyésama could no longer defend them, and they must take their own measures for the protection of their flags. At eleven came an official messenger with the circular, who promised to get us as many boats as possible on the following morning to move our baggage; and after packing up the archives we went to bed. At four o'clock in the morning, Locock woke me with the news that a note had come from the French Minister to say that the enemy would enter the city early in the day, and that we must run off at daylight with what we could carry. So we all got up, frightfully cold though it was, and packed up our belongings. No boats had arrived. At daylight my Japanese escort came to say that with the greatest difficulty they had managed to procure one large boat; on this the archives were placed, and started off about nine. Then came Ishikawa, who said he was powerless to help us. The imperialists had not yet appeared, but he considered it advisable for us to get off at once. So Sir Harry and I went off with him to look for the porters, whom we met outside the great gate of the castle. Just at that moment we saw a curious procession going in. It consisted of a palanquin like a _mikoshi_, one of those gods' litters carried in religious pageants, a large umbrella held over it and two men with lanterns on long poles in front. Ishikawa let out that he thought it was conveying a messenger from the Mikado. He and I came back with the porters, and brought the greater part of the baggage down to the bank of the stream behind the legation, but still there were no boats. So we went off to the governor's residence and tried to interest the officials on our behalf. They appeared to be in a state of extreme perturbation, and declared that it was impossible to procure any boats. Ishikawa almost shed tears, and vowed that he would never again try to get boats and porters for the legation; it was none of his business. We agreed therefore to deposit the greater part of the baggage inside the castle. Luckily however this proved unnecessary, for when I returned to our quarters I found the chief radiant with joy, five boats having arrived in the interval. About ten o'clock therefore we were able to make a start for the foreign settlement, but I stayed behind with the six men of my Japanese escort, capital fellows who had stuck to me ever since we made the journey overland from Ozaka to Yedo in 1867. I had to procure boats for my own baggage, which by an oversight had been left behind, and to get the stores removed to the castle. However, more boats arrived than had been expected, so I put all the baggage on board, including even a huge pot of mince-meat. Unluckily, a fine gold lacquer cabinet of Mitford's, for which he had recently paid 800 _ichibus_, was overlooked. About noon I started for the foreign settlement in great triumph. There was even a house-boat (_yakata-buné_). I asked a man whom I had never seen before for whom this was intended, and was greatly flattered when he replied innocently that it was for Satow sama. This enabled me to go down comfortably instead of walking the whole distance. On the way we all nodded and dozed, for we had had no proper night's rest. From time to time we were challenged by the posts on the banks, but no attempt was made to stop us. On arriving at the settlement I found the wind was blowing too strongly from the west to allow of our passing the bar at the mouth of the river. The chief, Locock, Willis and Wilkinson were all fast asleep. Captain Bruce, commandant of the infantry guard, and the constable had gone off again to the Legation to endeavour to recover the remainder of our property that had been left behind, and I got Lieutenant Bradshaw a boat with the same object. Towards evening they returned. A steam launch from the squadron was lying off the settlement, and the Legation was located at the vice-consulate there. It was bitterly cold, and we were glad to get to bed, after what was a very good dinner considering the circumstances. The other foreign representatives were at Tempôzan, at the mouth of the river, in miserable huts, and with very little to eat. We felt pity for them, mingled with pride, when we compared our situation with theirs. Rumours were flying about among the townspeople that Keiki had been declared a rebel (_chô-téki_). About nine o'clock on the following morning (February 1), Locock and I took an escort from the 2/ix detachment and went off to the castle to see what was the state of things there. In front of it there was a great crowd, and all the gates seemed deserted. We knocked at the governor's door, but got no answer, a clear sign that he and his people had taken to flight. The crowd laughed. We sent in to the castle by one of my Japanese escort to inquire who was there, and were told in reply that Keiki had departed, leaving it empty. We went on to the Legation, where we found everything just as we had left it. We got back by noon, and as we were at lunch there came in a detachment of thirteen Frenchmen, who in return for being stoned by the crowd had fired and killed some eight or nine people. This was looked upon as a wholesome lesson to the rabble not to cry out abuse of foreigners, but nevertheless was much to be regretted, as it would tend to make the foreign colleagues believe Ozaka unsafe for themselves. During our walk to the castle and back we had observed no signs of hostility, a fact which seemed to show that the population were able to distinguish between nationalities. The French Legation had been pillaged and the furniture smashed. After lunch, Sir Harry, Willis and I went down to Tempôzan, the chief to call on his colleagues, Willis to attend to the wounds of some Aidzu men who had been brought down from Kiôto, where they had fought against the imperialists. The colleagues were furious with Sir Harry for having been so fortunate as to save all his baggage and archives, and for having had the pluck to remain four miles nearer the supposed danger than they had. A rather angry discussion ensued. Sir Harry declared that he would not leave Ozaka unless he was able to carry off every atom of Legation property, and he did not know when that might be possible. They, on the contrary, said that having struck their flags, it was their intention to move across to Kôbé (Hiôgo), and await the course of events. I went to make friends with some of the Aidzu wounded, who were waiting for boats to put them on board of Tokugawa ships. They asserted that they would have beaten the enemy if they had been properly supported, but Tôdô had turned traitor at Yamazaki (on the right bank of the river, nearly opposite Yodo), which was the most important point of the defence, and Keiki's general Takénaga had gone over to the enemy at Yodo itself. Moreover, the drilled infantry were useless; if one man ran the rest followed like a flock of sheep (as we should say). They estimated the Satsuma force at the low figure of 1000, but said the skirmishing of the enemy was very good, and they were armed with breech-loaders. Keiki had run away, they knew not whither, but probably to Yedo. We found that the fort at Tempôzan, and one a little further up the river, which had hitherto been under the charge of Kôriyama (a Kiûshiû _daimiô_) had been dismantled, the guns in the former being spiked, and the ammunition embarked in the Tokugawa warship "Kaiyô-maru," which left at noon. Keiki was believed to be on board of her. Old Hirayama was in the fort at Tempôzan, but studiously concealed himself. Chanoine (many years afterwards for a brief period French Minister of War) and another officer of the French military mission had arrived the previous night from Yedo, but had had to leave again, greatly disappointed that they had come too late for the fair. Obviously it had been intended that they should act as advisers to Keiki's commander-in-chief. The town of Sakai was reported to have been burnt, and also the houses round the Namba-bashi bridge over the Yamato-gawa, but it was not known whether by accident or intentionally. No Satsuma men had yet entered Ozaka. The French Minister was our authority for a story that Keiki, on finding that the majority of the _daimiôs_ were arrayed against him, had surrendered the castle and city of Ozaka to Echizen and Owari, because they had been kind and polite to him when they came on their mission from the court! The Aidzu men were very grateful to Willis for the assistance he gave in attending their wounded, and apparently regarded the English as the best and kindest people in the world. It was resolved by Sir Harry that he should go to Hiôgo in order to avoid a quarrel with his colleagues, and I volunteered to remain at Ozaka with Russell Robertson as acting vice-consul, and half the guard from the 2/ix under the command of Bruce, so that the honour of the flag might be maintained. It was certain that Noguchi and my Japanese escort would stand by me, and we were determined to fight to the last if we should be attacked, but that I did not anticipate. I despatched the Chôshiû student Endo Kiôto-wards to urge that the _daimiôs_ should forthwith make their declaration of policy to the foreign representatives, as Mitford and I had given the draft of a notification to our Satsuma friends, and there was also my private understanding with Tosa on that subject. The Aidzu soldiers at the fort said that Satsuma men had been found in the castle in disguise, and that there even were some amongst Keiki's drilled troops; cunning devils they must have been if all we heard was true. Accordingly on February 2, the chief went away to Hiôgo to arrange for H.M.S. "Rattler" to convey Locock to Yokohama, where he was to be in the charge of the Legation, and also for his own temporary withdrawal to Kôbé. About half-past eight in the morning we saw from the vice-consulate a puff of white smoke ascend in the direction of the castle, followed by dense clouds of black smoke. The report soon spread that the castle was on fire, and so it was in fact. After breakfast Locock and I took forty of the 2/ix guard, with Bruce and Bradshaw, and went off to see the fire and find out whether our Legation had been burnt. We marched along the bank of the river to the Kiôbashi gate of the castle, and turning in there, found that the granaries and the _hommaru_ (inner circle) had been set on fire, but no one could tell us by whom this had been done. The wind was blowing from the north, and sparks had spread the conflagration to some of the huts previously occupied by the drilled troops on the south side. We walked round to Tama-tsukuri, where we found that the Legation buildings were being plundered by people of the lowest class. We pursued some of them, but were not in time to put an end to the devastation. All the furniture had been destroyed, and the godown sacked. Unfortunately this contained Mitford's beautiful _étagère_, which had no doubt been carried off. There was an immense crowd in front of the castle, and men were pouring in and out of the gates, but they offered no opposition to us, and did not stone us as we might have expected them to do. The mob had, of course, destroyed the official residence of the governors as far as was possible. We got back to the vice-consulate about mid-day, and found there Endo, who had already returned from his mission. He said that two or three hundred of the Chôshiû folk were already in the castle, and that an official had been left behind to hand the place over to Owari, but the flames broke out before the ceremony could be completed. Whether the fire was started by the rabble or by Keiki's followers he did not know. The only imperialists who had yet arrived were Chôshiû men. About two o'clock we left the foreign settlement in a lifeboat with Locock and Wilkinson, who were to be embarked on board H.M.S. "Rattler" and proceed to Yedo. Halfway down the river we met the steam-launch, with two other large boats, bringing the chief and Captain Stanhope of H.M.S. "Ocean," who, seeing what they took to be a general conflagration of all Ozaka, had come to take us away and haul down the flag. How angry I was! We were not in the slightest danger, either of being attacked by the victors or from the burning of the castle, and I would have answered with my life for the safety of every person left with me. Had I not received repeated assurances from Satsuma, Tosa and Chôshiû that our Legation would be respected. However, there was no help for it; orders had to be obeyed. We found great difficulty in procuring barges, and had to send the steam-launch out to seize as many as we wanted. We secured three, into which we packed everything, including the vice-consul's furniture; the archives and the baggage of the 2/ix having been already started off. Everything was got away by half-past six, and we eventually crossed the bar in safety. The steam-launch, in which I was, grounded three times, and finally stuck fast, but Captain Bullock of H.M.S. "Serpent" fetched me off in his gig. Willis, who, with the safe containing the Legation funds, was in a boat towed by the "Serpent's" pinnace, did not get on board till midnight. Then she took all the barges in tow, and steamed over to Hiôgo. Next morning we landed there, and got the baggage on shore. Most of the party found accommodation at the consulate. I took possession of the district administrator's house, which had been occupied by some custom-house officers. The caretaker objected. I insisted however that as we had been turned out of Ozaka by the _Baku-fu_, we had the best right in the world to the abandoned accommodation of the _Baku-fu's_ officials. So I had my baggage carried in and set up house there. Our chief had quartered himself at the consulate, and the other five foreign representatives, French, Dutch, American, North-German and Italian, occupied the custom-house, a large two-storeyed building in foreign style, which the officials would otherwise have set on fire to prevent it falling into the hands of the victors. The governor, an old acquaintance of ours named Shibata, had chartered the steamer "Osaka" at $500 a day (say £100) to convey himself and his staff back to Yedo, whither he started the same afternoon. Satsuma's man Godai, I learnt, had gone to Ozaka the previous night, or early that morning, in order to assure the chief that he might safely remain there, but of course he came too late. The next thing one heard was that it had been intended to declare Keiki a rebel if he did not withdraw his troops from Ozaka, Kiôto and other points between the two cities, and that Satsuma, Geishiû, Chôshiû and Tosa were charged with the duty of using force to compel obedience if he refused to listen to the advice offered to him by Echizen and Owari in the first place. This seemed to explain his hasty flight, but from any point of view, European as well as Japanese, it was disgraceful. After informing the diplomatic representatives that he regarded himself as charged with the direction of foreign affairs, the only further intimation they received from his officials was that he could no longer protect the Legations, but he never so much as hinted that he was about to abscond. I was also informed that it was intended to invite the ministers to Kiôto, and Keiki had been ordered to transmit the invitation to them, which of course he omitted to do. In fact the policy of the Tokugawa government from the very beginning of their relations with the outer world of Europe had been to keep foreigners from coming in contact with the Kiôto party; and in this they were heartily assisted by Roches, the French Minister. I well recollect how, when we went to the castle to see Keiki after his retirement from Kiôto, some of the commissioners for foreign affairs jeered at me, saying, "Of course you now expect to get to Kiôto, but don't be too sure," or words to that effect. A report having been circulated that somebody, either Satsuma or Tokugawa people, were going to blow up the martello tower which stood at the end of the dry river bed between Hiôgo and Kôbé, boats were sent from H.M.S. "Ocean," the French flagship "Laplace" and the "Oneida"; the door was locked and the key taken away. CHAPTER XXVI THE BIZEN AFFAIR ON February 4, Bizen troops were passing through Kôbé from the early morning, and about two o'clock in the afternoon the retinue of one of their _karô_ shot an American sailor who had crossed the street just in front, which according to Japanese ideas was an insult that deserved mortal chastisement. After that they attempted the life of every foreigner whom they met, but fortunately without any serious results. What at a later time became the foreign settlement was then an open plain; at the upper edge of it ran the high road, and as the Bizen people passed along they suddenly opened fire, apparently from breech-loaders. Then every foreigner was seen scurrying across the plain for safety. The American marines immediately started in pursuit, our guard of 2/ix was called out, and some French sailors were landed. Half of our guard under Bruce were despatched to occupy the entrance from Kôbé into the foreign quarter, and the other half followed in pursuit. On reaching the Ikuta-gawa stream-bed, at the eastern extremity of the plain, we perceived the Bizen men marching in close column about 600 or 700 yards ahead, so we passed through the gap in the river bank and opened fire. There were at least half-a-dozen civilians with us, all armed with rifles, who likewise fired. Willis, Mitford and I had only our revolvers. At the first volley from our side, the enemy turned into a field by the side of the road, and fired at us from below a bank. On our returning their fire, they all took to flight. We pursued them, every now and then firing at one or other who had failed to get under cover, but finally they took to the hills and disappeared completely. Sir Harry, followed by his mounted escort of ex-policemen, galloped some distance down the road in the direction of Nishinomiya, but was unable to catch sight of the foe. If any of them had suffered from our fire, he must have been carried off by his comrades. Willis found an old peasant woman lying by a bank with a bullet wound through both ankles, whom he brought back and cured of her hurt. Then we took prisoner a wretched porter, who escaped with his life by a mere miracle, for at least fifteen revolver shots were fired at him at close quarters as he rose from his place of concealment, without his receiving a single wound. We opened the baggage which had been dropped by the fugitives, but found nothing of value, only three small weapons, representing a cross between a matchlock and a howitzer, and a few carpenters' tools. From the porter, whom we led home as our prisoner, we ascertained that the detachment consisted of two Bizen _karô_, Ikéda Isé and Hiki Tatéwaki, who were on their way with about 400 men to reinforce the garrison of Nishinomiya, and that some of them had remained behind at Hiôgo. On returning to the settlement we found a quantity more baggage which had been dropped in Kôbé by the men whom Bruce had intercepted. Sentries were then posted along the main street of Kôbé as far as the first barrier gate, where a strong guard was stationed with a howitzer. A line of sentries was also drawn round the north and east sides of the plain. From some of these, who were Americans, sailors or marines, an alarm was raised about ten o'clock. Great alacrity was displayed by the naval people; field pieces were landed and numbers of small-arms men. After all, no enemy made his appearance to justify so great a stir being made. I proposed to Sir Harry that we should issue a manifesto declaring that if Bizen's people did not satisfactorily explain their behaviour, the foreign powers would make it a quarrel with Japan as a whole. He induced his colleagues to agree to this, and I started our prisoner back to his people with a copy, though I did not feel much confidence in its reaching its destination. About half-past one, a hundred Chôshiû men sent down for the protection of Kôbé and Hiôgo against Tokugawa troops arrived just outside our post in the middle of the village, and were within an ace of being fired on by our guard. Luckily I came up at the moment, and went to an inn at which they had billeted their rank and file, to arrange that they should withdraw, which they did very readily. During the afternoon, four steamers belonging to Chikuzen, Kurumé, Uwajima, and one it was thought to the Tokugawa, were seized at Kiôgo and Kôbé, to hold as a "material guarantee." The morning of February 5 brought me again an invitation from Yoshii to visit him at Ozaka and talk over affairs, but it was impossible, for I had too much on my hands. The "Whampoa," a steamer belonging to Glover & Co., of Nagasaki, had arrived, and a rumour was invented and spread that she was conveying 800 Satsuma troops, so I was sent off in a boat to stop their landing. There was not a single Satsuma man on board. Some men of Awa in Shikoku had decamped in boats from Hiôgo, and our people pursued them, but as they were only a few in number and very miserable in appearance, they were not molested. We then issued proclamations, with the wording of which I was entrusted, explaining why we had seized the steamers, a second exhorting the people to go quietly about their business, and a third announcing that all unarmed persons would be allowed to pass our posts. About one o'clock a Dutchman (appropriately enough in accordance with popular notions) raised an alarm that the Japanese were advancing to the attack. The report spread as far as the quarters of the Foreign Representatives at the custom-house, where von Brandt was making a great fuss about a body of at least three hundred armed men that he asserted were menacing Kôbé from the hills close by on the north side. I had a look at them through his glass, and certainly saw men, but if they were armed, I was sure they were friendly Chôshiû men. So I got leave to take Lieutenant Gurdon of H.M.S. "Ocean" with ten men, and we started out to explore, and to paste up our proclamations wherever we found one of Chôshiû's. The only people on the hills turned out to be peasants. The Chôshiû troops were billeted at Shôfukuji, a large temple, or Buddhist monastery, about two miles away among the hills, so it was manifest that they were keeping their engagement to us. We marched through Hiôgo, and pasted a copy of our first notification on the door of the Bizen official hotel (_honjin_), and the whole series of four on the house where their troops had passed the night of the 4th. Having accomplished all this, we returned to relieve the anxiety of our fellow foreigners. Just as I got back I met Yoshii and Terashima, who had come down to have a talk. The chief gave them a short interview, at which he advised them to send off at once and get the Mikado's messengers to come down with their notification to the Foreign Representatives. They wanted him to let 300 Satsuma troops pass through our lines, but he refused, on the ground that as we did not know anything officially from the Mikado, we could not recognize Satsuma as acting under His Majesty's orders. So they agreed to bring their men into Hiôgo by another route. Then I went off with them to their _honjin_ at Hiôgo, and they told me a good deal about the course of recent events. Theirs had been a continuous course of victory from the very first, for being like "rats in a bag," they had to fight hard for their lives, and were compelled to be victorious. At Fushimi they had had a desperate fight, but after that they pressed on and drove the Tokugawa forces into Yodo. This place, as well as the long bridge over the river, was fired by the retreating troops. Aidzu's men fought very bravely. The plan of the _Baku-fu_ was to get the Satsuma and Chôshiû soldiers engaged with Aidzu and the _Shin-sen-gumi_ (a body of armed _samurai_ recently raised), and then to creep round to the imperialist right with the drilled infantry and seize Kiôto. Higo too was only waiting for signs that Satsuma was getting the worst of it, in order to seize the palace, but now he was very humble. The number of Satsuma and Chôshiû men actually engaged was about 1500, the remainder being employed in the defence of the city. Anyhow, as the roads to be held were very narrow, large bodies could not have been employed to any advantage. They loaded their field-pieces with bags of bullets, which did great execution on the enemy. About twenty Satsuma men were killed, and the entire list of casualties did not exceed 150. They took a good many prisoners, and captured numbers of guns and small arms, etc. Tôdô's defection was a great help to the imperialists. His men had been fighting against them, but when the Mikado's standards, the sun in gold on a red ground and the moon in silver, were displayed, they lost heart and changed sides. Another of their advantages was their good skirmishing. Ninnaji no Miya, a prince of the blood, also known as Omura no gosho, was the commander-in-chief. They anticipated that all the clans as far as Hakoné would submit, and that Sendai would join them. Kishiû already showed signs of a desire to come to terms, and Ogaki had submitted, as indeed had nearly all the other clans who had fought, with the exception of Aidzu. They said that Iwashita, Gotô and Higashi-Kuzé, the latter one of the five runaway court nobles, were to come down to Kôbé to communicate the Mikado's proclamation to the foreign representatives. It would be the desire of the new government to show perfect impartiality in its relations with foreign states, but as the English had been the good friends of the Kiôto party, they would always be regarded with particularly grateful and amicable feelings. I remained with Yoshii and Terashima till half-past ten in the evening. They seemed to admit that we had acted within our rights in seizing the steamers, and while I was with them they wrote and despatched long letters to their own people at Ozaka, explaining the affair and enclosing our notification. They also wrote up to Kiôto urging that no time should be lost in despatching the Mikado's messengers with the announcement to the foreign ministers. Early on the morning of the 6th Satsuma troops came over from Nishinomiya in large boats, and were landed at Hiôgo, in accordance with our agreement of the previous day. Some retainers of Omura in Hizen, Watanabé Noboru and Fukuzaka Kôzô, came to inquire about our intentions with regard to their steamer which had been seized, and was now held by the French. The steamer belonged to Uwajima, and was only borrowed by Omura for this trip. So I gave them copies of our manifesto against Bizen, and another one explaining why the steamers were seized, and they declared themselves quite convinced that we had acted rightly. Our bluejackets however and the Americans and French also, were getting us a bad name by committing all sorts of petty pilfering. I went to call on Katano, commander of the Chôshiû troops, who said that the two Bizen _karô_ had gone to Ozaka or Kiôto, he did not know which, after the affray on the 4th, the rank and file remaining behind. It was on February 7th that the Mikado's messenger, Higashi-Kuzé, accompanied by Iwashita, Terashima and Itô, with a small retinue, arrived at Hiôgo in a little steamer belonging to Geishiû. As soon as I received the note informing me of this, I went over to the chief, on whom devolved the task of seeing his colleagues, and arranging with them the place and hour of meeting. Apparently they were greatly annoyed, especially the French Minister, at finding themselves as it were ignored, and that their English colleague had thus become the channel of communication between the Mikado and themselves. They tried to pump him about the contents of the imperial message, but he did not tell them even the little he knew. It having been decided that the interview should take place at the custom-house at noon on the following day, I went over to Hiôgo and informed Iwashita. There had been a report that 300 Bizen men had entered the town, but I could not find a trace of them. All our marines had been withdrawn on account of the difficulty experienced in forming mixed posts, and the Americans now had charge of the gate in the middle of the town, so that they would henceforth be responsible for all the petty pilfering that went on. I found them most unpleasantly strict, and because I had no pass they obliged me to go a long way round in order to reach my destination and get back again. So on the 8th of February the fateful communication was made by Higashi-Kuzé at the place and hour previously fixed. Higashi-Kuzé was a small man even for a Japanese, with sparkling eyes, irregular teeth, which were not yet completely freed from the black dye (_o-haguro_) worn by court nobles, and with a stutter in his speech. The document was drawn up in classical Chinese, and might be thus translated:-- The Emperor of Japan announces to the sovereigns of all foreign countries and to their subjects that permission has been granted to the Shôgun Tokugawa Yoshinobu[7] to return the governing power in accordance with his own request. We shall henceforward exercise supreme authority in all the internal and external affairs of the country. Consequently the title of Emperor must be substituted for that of Tycoon, in which the treaties have been made. Officers are being appointed by us to the conduct of foreign affairs. It is desirable that the representatives of the treaty powers recognize this announcement. February 3, 1868. MUTSUSHITO (L.S.). [7] Keiki, by which he was usually spoken of, is the pronunciation of the two Chinese characters with which his name Yoshinobu was written. This document was very ingeniously framed. It assumed as a matter of course that the treaties were binding on the Mikado, and therefore only mentioned them incidentally, in saying that the Mikado's title must be substituted for that of Tycoon. After the translation had been made and shown to all the ministers, a fire of questions was directed against the envoy, who answered them well. Roches asked whether the Mikado's authority extended throughout the whole of Japan, to which he replied coolly that the rebellion of Tokugawa prevented that from being the case at present; but it would gradually extend all over the empire. Roches' interpreter (who was a Tokugawa man) then made a wilful mistake by representing the envoy to say that "if all the people submitted to the Mikado, he would be able to govern the country," whereas he really said, "the people will all submit to the Mikado as a natural consequence of his taking the reins," as we ascertained on repeating the question. With regard to the Bizen affray, the Mikado's government undertook to protect the lives and property of foreigners at Kôbé for the future, and to satisfy the demands of the Foreign Representatives for the punishment of Bizen. On these conditions, it was agreed that the marines and bluejackets should be withdrawn to the ships, and the steamers released. Ozaka was not as yet perfectly quiet, but normal conditions would soon be restored, and foreigners would be formally invited to return there. On the part of the Mikado's government the envoy desired to know whether the Foreign Representatives would report the announcement to their governments and proclaim it to their people. This was tantamount to asking for "recognition." Roches became very angry, and said: "We must not throw ourselves upon the necks of these people," whereupon the Italian Comte de la Tour and the German von Brandt raised their voices against him, and replied that so far from doing anything of the sort we had waited till they came to seek us (not knowing, of course, of our secret negotiations at the Satsuma _yashiki_ in Ozaka). On this, everyone said he would report to his government, and that satisfied the envoy. A great deal of desultory conversation went on while he was waiting for the gunboat to convey him back to Hiôgo, but on no particularly important topic. Itô said to me that it was all right about our going to Kiôto, that there would be no difficulty. I pretended to be indifferent, though in truth I was very eager to get a view of the city and its famous buildings, from which foreigners had been so jealously excluded for over two centuries. Next day Higashi-Kuzé, at his own request, went to visit H.M.S. "Ocean." A joint note was sent in to him demanding reparation for the Bizen offence, namely a full and ample apology and the capital punishment of the officer who gave the order to fire. The ministers, and especially M. Roches, insisted that the fact that they were under fire increased the gravity of the offence--as if their presence there could have been known to the Bizen troops passing through on the march. Itô seemed to think that the government would agree to make the Bizen _karô_ perform _harakiri_. He said that Chôshiû had relinquished to the Mikado the territories he had conquered in Kokura (on the south side of the strait of Shimonoséki) and in the province of Iwami. Katsura (_i.e._ Kido) and Itô wanted him to go much farther, and resign to the Mikado all his lands, retainers and other possessions, except so much as might be required for the support of his household. If all the _daimiôs_ would do this, a powerful central government might be formed, which was impossible with the existing system. Japan could not be strong as long as it was open to every _daimiô_ to withdraw his assistance at his own pleasure, and each prince to drill his troops after a different fashion. It was the story of the North German Confederation over again; the petty sovereigns must be swallowed up by some bigger one. The _daimiôs_ of Matsuyama and Takamatsu in Shikoku, who were partizans of the Tokugawa, would be destroyed, and their territories imperialized. Tosa was charged with the execution of this measure, having offered to undertake the duty. It was probable that Himéji, a few miles west of Hiôgo, would also be attacked by the imperialists. A notification, signed by Iwashita, Itô and Terashima, as officers of the Foreign Department, was placarded about the town, informing the people that the Mikado would observe the treaties, and enjoining on them proper behaviour towards foreigners. It was given out that Roches, with his interpreter Shiwoda, would leave that evening for Europe, Baron Brin, the secretary, remaining in charge. The official declaration made the day before by the Kiôto envoy had quite thrown him on his beam-ends, and he could not bear to stand by and see his policy turn out a complete failure. His intention was to proceed first to Yokohama, where I suspected that he would try to rehabilitate his reputation as a diplomatist by some of his artful tricks. However, he thought better of this idea, and remained in Japan until matters shaped themselves so that he could accept the Mikado's invitation to Kiôto, and so decently recognize the new political arrangements. The other ministers behaved very correctly, having very little to do but to follow Parkes' lead. The foreign ministers had another interview on February 10 with Higashi-Kuzé, who was accompanied by Iwashita and Gotô. They told us that Itô was to act temporarily as superintendent of customs and governor of the town of Kôbé. It seemed curious, we thought, that a man of certainly not very high rank should be thought fit for this double post, and that the common people should be ready to obey him, but the Japanese lower classes, as I noted in my diary, had a great appetite for being governed, and were ready to submit to any one who claimed authority over them, especially if there appeared to be a military force in the background. Itô had the great recommendation in his favour that he spoke English, a very uncommon Japanese accomplishment in those days, especially in the case of men concerned in the political movement. It would not be difficult, owing to the submissive habits of the people, for foreigners to govern Japan, if they could get rid of the two-sworded class, but the foreigners who were to do the governing should all of them speak, read and write the Japanese language, otherwise they would make a complete failure of their undertaking. But as the _samurai_ were existent in large numbers, the idea was incapable of realization. Looking back now in 1919, it seems perfectly ludicrous that such a notion should have been entertained, even as a joke, for a single moment, by any one who understood the Japanese spirit. Gotô was to proceed to Kiôto with the joint note about the Bizen business, and there was every reason to expect that the court would agree to the infliction of the capital sentence, but they would probably desire to let the _karô_ Hiki Tatéwaki perform _harakiri_ instead of having him decapitated. At least that was what I heard privately from my Japanese friends, who also asked that, until the question was finally disposed of, foreigners should abstain from visiting Nishinomiya, where Bizen men were stationed. Everything was now reported to be quiet at Ozaka, and we looked forward to returning there in a few days. Gotô Kiûjirô, as he had called himself previously, now resumed his real name of Nakai, and was attached to the Foreign Department. He was a very cheery and gay personality, always ready for any kind of fun and jollity, and when an entertainment had to be got up, it was to him that its organization and conduct were entrusted. In this way he earned the nickname of _Gaimushô no taikomochi_, "jester of the Foreign Department." On the 11th, Higashi-Kuzé with his staff came to the consulate to talk business with Sir Harry and von Brandt, a talk which lasted three hours. We exhibited to them all the Treaties, Conventions and Agreements respecting the opening of the ports, all of which had to be confirmed by the chief minister for Foreign Affairs, Ninnaji no Miya, a prince of the blood, in the name of the Mikado. There was much said by way of question and answer about the recent transactions at Kiôto, which ended in their promising to furnish a detailed narrative, rebutting the statements made by Ogasawara Iki no Kami and other supporters of the former _régime_. The general council, which Keiki complained had been violently anticipated by Satsuma, ought to have met on December 15. The western _daimiôs_ waited a considerable time after this date, but none of the others arrived, so they were compelled to take action. The demands made on the _Baku-fu_ were that, together with the governing power, they should surrender as much territory as would suffice to maintain that power. They estimated that 2,500,000 _koku_ of lands would then be left to the Tokugawa family, besides the territories of the _fudai daimiôs_ and most of the _hatamoto_. Tokugawa had declined, but offered to surrender 800,000 _koku_ of lands, and to continue his subsidy for the support of the imperial establishment. When leaving Kiôto however he had agreed to make the surrender demanded of him, though this was strenuously opposed by Aidzu and Kuwana. Then when Echizen and Owari came down to Ozaka, they invited him back to Kiôto to conclude these arrangements, but it was never intended that Aidzu and Kuwana should form the van of his retinue, and that was how it happened that fighting ensued. At the date of this conversation nearly all the _daimiôs_ west of Hakoné had been reduced, or had given in their adhesion, or would soon be compelled by force to submit to the Mikado, and thus about seven out of the eight million _koku_ of lands possessed by Tokugawa would be actually in the hands of the Mikado. If Tokugawa then submitted, he would be left peaceably with the remainder of his possessions. It was to be feared however that he would endeavour to regain what he had lost, and in that case the Mikado's party would destroy him. It was intended to despatch forces against him by the north-eastern road (which passes through the provinces of Echizen and Kaga), by the central road through Shinshiû, and by the Tôkaidô. Ii Kamon no Kami of Hikoné and later adherents to the Kiôto party would be placed in the van of the imperial forces, in order that their fidelity might be tested. The _daimiôs_ of the north had nothing to thank Tokugawa for, and there was no reason why they should support him. Awa had submitted, and was assisting in garrisoning Hiôgo. Prisoners taken in Kiôto during the recent fighting would be returned to their homes on the restoration of peace, instead of being put to death according to the ancient Japanese custom in civil war. We understood that the Mikado's party intended to call upon the Foreign Powers to observe strict neutrality. A report went about that Nambu Yahachirô and Shibayama Riôsuké, old friends of mine in the Satsuma _yashiki_ at Yedo, had been put to death, the one by crucifixion the other by simple decapitation, and I felt that I should like to do something to avenge them, for to western minds the idea of taking the lives of prisoners was revolting. We heard that old Matsudaira Kansô, the retired _daimiô_ of Hizen, Mr. Facing-both-ways as he was universally regarded, was expected to make his appearance shortly at Kiôto. Also that the governors of Nagasaki had departed, and that the town was occupied by Satsuma, Geishiû and Tosa, Hizen holding the batteries. The mail which reached us on February 13 brought a letter from Iki no Kami to Sir Harry very diplomatically framed, in which Keiki's failure to reach Kiôto was attributed entirely to the machinations of Satsuma, and a hope was expressed that a momentary success on the part of the latter would not cause the violation of engagements of long standing. He entirely burked the question put to him by Locock, as to the course the chief should take in case the Mikado sent an envoy to the Foreign Representatives. The news came from home that Mukôyama,[8] had complained at the Foreign Office of Sir Harry having applied the title of "Highness" to the Tycoon instead of "Majesty"; to this Lord Stanley replied that he understood there was a higher title than that of _Denka_ in use in Japan, and that consequently _Denka_ could not mean "Majesty," which was the highest designation applicable to any potentate. It was also a noteworthy fact that in this letter of Iki no Kami _Heika_ (which is synonymous with "Majesty") was reserved for the Queen, _Denka_ being used of the Tycoon. As modern slang would have it, this was giving away the whole show. [8] Hayato no Shô, who went to Europe for the French Exhibition of 1867. Godai and Terashima came to see me, after which they had a long talk with the chief on political matters. They told him that in three weeks or a month's time affairs would have made sufficient progress at Kiôto to enable the government to invite the Foreign Representatives thither in order to enter on friendly relations. They also asked for the loan of a surgeon to attend to their wounded at Kiôto. The chief replied that the alleviation of suffering in the case of any human being was always a pleasure, and that as the Legation doctor had looked after the wounds of Aidzu men, no objection could exist to his treating the hurts of others; but his consent would depend upon the nature of the reply the ministers received about the Bizen affair. The question of the Legation returning to Ozaka was mooted, and Buddhist temples were offered for our accommodation as the buildings which we had occupied behind the castle had been too much knocked about to be fit for a residence; but this would not matter much, as they would be occupied only temporarily. Godai and Terashima were very anxious that I, and I alone, should visit Ozaka at once. (In fact I believed I could have gone anywhere that I liked, for instance to Kiôto the next day, by only expressing a wish.) Godai wanted to buy an English man-of-war with which to attack Yedo; it was a curious notion that we had H.M. ships for sale. I advised them to get their Note demanding neutrality on the part of all Foreign Powers sent in at once, because then they could request the American Minister to prevent the "Stonewall Jackson" being delivered to the Tokugawa people, as well as the two iron-clads from France which were expected. Godai said further that Uyésugi and Sataké, two _daimiôs_ of Déwa province, had asked to have the duty of chastising Aidzu entrusted to them, and their request had been granted. Next day they brought Notes from Higashi-Kuzé enclosing copy of the instructions he had received from Daté Iyo no Kami (Uwajima) and Sanjô Sanéyoshi (one of the fugitive court nobles) accepting on behalf of the Mikado's government the terms of settlement of the Bizen affair laid down by the Foreign Representatives, namely the capital punishment of the officer who had given the order to fire on foreigners and the apology. The ministers expressed themselves gratified with the promptness of the reply, which was received twenty-four hours before the expiration of the delay accorded. They said they would wait three or four days for the letters of apology and for the announcement of detailed arrangements for carrying out the execution. Godai and Terashima stated that if Bizen were to refuse to surrender the officer, the Mikado's troops would compel obedience. They also brought a Note from Ninnaji no Miya, ratifying the Treaties and all subsequent engagements in the name of the Mikado, and notifying his own appointment as Chief Administrator of Foreign Affairs, with Daté, Sanjô and Higashi-Kuzé as his assistants. There was also a Note demanding strict neutrality on the part of the British Government and its subjects, and a like Note to each of the other Representatives. Facsimiles of the Mikado's notification to the Treaty Powers were also handed to those of the ministers who had not yet received it. The request for Willis to go to Kiôto to treat the wounded was repeated and granted, and a proposal made by myself to accompany him was accepted with alacrity. News was received that day from Nagasaki that the withdrawal of the governor Kawadzu Idzu no Kami had been quietly effected on the night of the 7th, and a provisional government formed on the following day of all the _daimiôs_' agents in the port, thirteen clans in all. The direction of local affairs had been offered by the governor to Hizen and Chikuzen, but they declined undertaking such a responsibility without the co-operation of the other clans. All the subordinate custom-house officials and interpreters, as well as 500 troops raised at Nagasaki for defensive purposes, were taken over by the provisional government, so that the business of the port had not been interrupted for a single day. A few fires broke out, but were soon extinguished. CHAPTER XXVII FIRST VISIT TO KIOTO The next day was taken up with our preparations for Kiôto, including the purchase of sufficient stores for a fortnight. Saionji Yukiyé of Uwajima called, and I offered him a passage to Ozaka in the gunboat which was to convey Willis and myself to the starting-point of our journey. A Satsuma man named Oyama Yasuké,[9] whom I had known in Yedo, came to announce himself as commander of our escort. That European surgical skill was very necessary for the treatment of the wounded can be seen from the fact I find recorded in one of my letters home, that the Japanese surgeons had sewn up all the gunshot wounds, and some of their patients died from this cause. The prospect of visiting the city from which foreigners had been rigidly excluded ever since the ports were opened in 1859 was enticing, especially as we were now being invited thither by the very people who, we were told by the Tycoon's officials, had all along tried to keep us out. [9] Afterwards Field-Marshal Oyama, Commander-in-chief in Manchuria in 1904-5 in the Russo-Japanese War. Sir Harry was now in high spirits and in very good temper. We had no more of the interviews with Japanese officials at which he used strong language, and interpreting for him, which used to be a painful duty, was changed into a labour of love. Success makes a man kind, and certainly Sir Harry had been successful. By the departure of the French Minister he became the _doyen_ of the diplomatic body, and the rest of his colleagues followed his lead with perfect unanimity, for they had begun to see that his policy was the right one to adopt. It was his influence that induced his colleagues to join him in issuing declarations of neutrality in the conflict between the Mikado and the Tycoon, which among other things prevented the delivery to the latter of the American iron-clad ram "Stonewall Jackson," bought with Japanese money. These declarations were subsequent to the departure of M. Roches to Yokohama, and while his secretary Baron Brin was in charge of the French Legation. We started about nine o'clock in the morning of February 16 on board the gunboat "Cockchafer," having in our train Noguchi, a boy-pupil named Tetsu, one of my Japanese escort named Matsushita, and Willis' servant the faithful Sahei. Off the Ozaka bar we found the Satsuma steamer "Keangsoo" and another engaged in disembarking a large body of troops. On landing at the city we found lodgings had been taken for us at a Buddhist temple close to a burnt Satsuma _yashiki_ called Takamatsu, and no sooner had we seated ourselves than a messenger arrived, in the person of Koba Dennai's secretary, to ask us to stop two or three days in Ozaka so that Willis might see some men who were ill of fever, and that boats to convey us up the river were not obtainable. We replied that Willis had not made any preparations for treating fever patients, and had brought appliances for wounds only; that we supposed boats were as numerous at Ozaka as they had been before the recent fighting up-river, and that we could not understand this delay being interposed, after we had been so urged and hurried by Iwashita and Terashima, who had wished us to start even a day earlier than we had found possible. So the secretary went out, and Yasuké after him. They stayed away a whole hour, and we came to the conclusion that the permission to bring us into Kiôto had been revoked, resolving to return to Kôbé rather than waste our time at Ozaka. At four o'clock Oyama returned, bringing with him an old, ugly, mis-shapen fellow named Ijichi Shôji, who appeared to be one of the Satsuma generals. After bestowing on us a vast quantity of complimentary phrases, this individual brought out in a jerky St Vitus' dance sort of way the same sort of excuses as had been made by Koba's secretary. To this we returned the same answer as before, with the addition that if they found it inconvenient to receive us in Kiôto, we would go back at once to Kôbé. This decided attitude induced Ijichi to give orders at once for boats to be got ready, and we then went off to see the castle ruins. There was a notice at the front gate refusing entrance to any but Satsuma and Chôshiû men, but as we had one of the former clan with us we found no difficulty in gaining access. Passing through the gate we came upon a wide scene of desolation. The white-plastered towers and wall of the inner moat were gone; all the barracks and towers of the outer wall to the south likewise; only the stones of the gateway to the right remained. We passed into the _hommaru_ or keep, through the gateway constructed with huge blocks of stone, the largest measuring 42 by 16 feet and 35 by 18 feet. Nothing was left but the masonry, giving somewhat of the look of the ancient Greek Cyclopean walls of Tiryns. The magnificent palace itself had disappeared; all that there was to show where it had once stood was a level surface covered with half-calcined tiles. The way to the foundation tower of the _tenshi_ remained clear, and we mounted to the summit. Here in the exfoliation of the stones were traces of a former conflagration; a plaster wall built right round had escaped not only the flames, but also the explosion of the great magazine close underneath. Four doors in this wall gave on to the outer parapet, from which the view of the river, with its three great bridges, winding through the city to the sea, and the hills on the further side of the bay surpassed anything I had ever seen. In the opposite direction the stream could be distinguished here and there as it meandered through the fields down from Fushimi. The interior of the castle had been completely destroyed, with the exception of a few rows of store-houses, which had escaped through being situated to windward of the flames. The three concentric walls of masonry, including the one from which we looked, reminded one of the appearance that West's Tower of Babel would have presented if viewed from above. We sounded the well, whence is drawn the famous _ô-gon-sui_, or golden water, and found the depth to be 140 feet. Issuing again from the gate at the base of the _tenshi_, we came upon a quantity of burnt armour and helmets piled up round a store-house which the flames had spared; some had been melted by the violent heat into an irregular mass of metal. There were also piles of thousands of matchlock barrels, with a few rifles among them. Curious to see what had become of our temporary legation buildings, we took our way out of the ruined Tamatsukuri gate. The whole place, excepting the houses that had been occupied by Mitford and myself, was level with the ground, and even they had been gutted so completely by the rabble as to be quite beyond the possibility of repair. It was a melancholy sight. On returning to our lodging we found Godai, who with many profuse apologies conducted us to a house close by which was better fitted for inhabitation by human beings. He explained that we could not start for Kiôto before the following morning. From what he said it appeared that delay in issuing the permission from the Imperial Court for our entrance into Kiôto was caused by Ninnaji no Miya's having unexpectedly gone there himself, but as he, Godai, had at once despatched a messenger, the pass would be received at Fushimi the next evening before our arrival there. This arrangement being accepted by us, _saké_ and its accompaniments were ordered in, and half-a-dozen singing girls attended to help us pass away the time. February 17, at ten o'clock in the morning, saw us start in a houseboat from the stairs below the burnt Satsuma _yashiki_. The party, seven in number, included our merry friend Oyama, and another officer in command of a guard for our protection. Although we had only just breakfasted, _saké_ and various dishes were soon introduced, and the entertainment was repeated all through the day at short intervals. It was a fine morning, and the scenery was as beautiful as on the previous occasion in May, when Willis, Wirgman and I had made the same journey. Conversation naturally turned for the most part on the incidents of the recent fighting. The Tokugawa forces had been pressing all day along the Toba road until four o'clock, when they made an attempt to force the Satsuma position. The attack was met by a steady fire from a field-piece planted in the middle of the path (for the so-called road was very little wider), and from three others in position on the left, while troops concealed in the brushwood opened on them with musketry. This unexpected reception threw the Tokugawa men into confusion, and they retired precipitately leaving numbers of dead and wounded on the ground. The imperialists at Fushimi, on hearing the sound of firing in the direction of Toba, from which place they were about a mile distant, attacked the Tycoon's troops as they formed outside the governor's residence, and the fighting lasted till the middle of the night. The officers on the Tycoon's side set the example of flight, and their men could not resist the temptation, so that the rout became general. After Yodo was passed no more fighting occurred on the road to Ozaka. At Hirakata the drilled infantry broke into the storehouses of the townspeople who had run away, and disguised themselves in the finest garments they could find; other townspeople pursued the marauders and killed six of them. We passed Hirakata at four, but did not reach our hotel at Fushimi till midnight. Tôdô was holding his old post at Yamazaki, and Kaga occupied Hashimoto. Dear old Yoshii was at our hotel to welcome us, and more respectably dressed and shaven than I had seen him for a long time past. A fresh supply of _saké_ was produced, and we kept up the conversation till past two in the morning. These late hours did not prevent our being ready to start at ten o'clock, escorted by a company of eighty-eight men. Large palanquins of the sort called _kiri-bô kago_, that is "with a Paulownia-wood pole," used by personages of the highest rank, had been provided for us, but Willis, who was 6 feet 3 high and big in proportion, was not able to double himself up inside, and preferred to walk. The route lay through Fushimi for some way, issuing on to the Takéda road, fifteen feet wide, then ascended to the top of a dyke constructed to keep the river within bounds, crossed a bridge and so into the city of Kiôto. At a temple by the roadside we fell in with Komatsu, who had followed us from Fushimi, and by one o'clock we arrived at Sô-koku-ji, a Buddhist temple close to the Satsuma _yashiki_ at the back of the imperial palace. Shiuri no Taiyu, the Prince of Satsuma, paid us a visit of welcome, accompanied by his confidential adviser Saigô. After shaking hands with us both, he sat down in a chair placed at the end of the table by the door, while we occupied chairs behind the table in a position of greater dignity. All his attendants squatted on the floor. After the exchange of a few complimentary speeches he took his leave, and we accompanied him as far as the door. The grounds of Sô-koku-ji were extensive, and well planted with trees, the temple itself a fine example of wood architecture, the state apartments divided off by splendid gold paper screens decorated with landscapes in Indian ink, the coffered ceilings fifteen feet above the floor. To suit the convenience of us westerners a table and chairs had been provided, and a luxurious feast was served immediately after the prince had taken his leave. In the afternoon Willis went to look after the wounded, while I took a walk down to the bookshops in Sanjô-dôri, accompanied by an escort. It was not until I reached this point that the populace seemed to be certain that I was a foreigner; one little boy asked whether I were not a native of Loochoo. The Tokugawa Castle of Nijô struck me as insignificant compared with many a fortress belonging to a small Fudai _daimiô_. It was then occupied by the troops of Owari; the _yashiki_ which had been the head-quarters of Aidzu as military governor of Kiôto was tenanted by a few of Tosa's troops. The men who had accompanied me about the city took the liberty of sitting down with us to dinner, and showed great want of good manners. It was evident that they took a departure from the polite social observances characteristic of the Japanese to be an evidence of what was held to be civilization, i.e. in their own words _hiraketa_. Next day I went to ask Saigô about the settlement of the Bizen affair. He replied that Hiki Tatéwaki, the _karô_ who was riding in the palanquin, could not be regarded as free from blame, and that he would be imprisoned in the charge of three clans. The officer who had been riding on horseback would be executed. The Mikado's inspectors (_kenshi_) would attend, the sentence would be pronounced, and a copy would be furnished to the foreign Representatives. Afterwards the sentence and an account of the proceedings would be circulated throughout the country for the information and warning of others. Saigô said the Mikado's government hoped to be able to keep the whole of Japan in order, so as to prevent the necessity ever arising for foreigners to take the law into their own hands. I said that this view was shared by Sir Harry; that in regard of the Bizen outrage he had felt confident that an envoy would be sent from the Mikado, and he had therefore resisted the solicitations of those around him, who had urged that a force should be despatched against the Bizen people at Nishinomiya; he preferred to leave the opportunity open to the Mikado. Saigô also explained the reference in the Mikado's proclamation regarding the observation of the treaties, to the "reform of abuses," to mean that the new government would propose a revision of those agreements. I mentioned three points on which changes were desirable, firstly, the residence of the foreign ministers being fixed at Yedo (for it was naturally supposed that the government of the country would in future be conducted from Kiôto); secondly, the confinement of foreigners to a radius of ten _ri_ (245 miles) round treaty ports; and thirdly, the circulation of all foreign coin throughout the country. While abolishing the ten _ri_ limit, it should be made obligatory on a person travelling about the country to carry a passport signed either by the Minister or the Consul, and countersigned by the governor of the port from which he set out. This last proposal was in fact one made by the Japanese themselves. In the afternoon we went to return the call of the Prince of Satsuma. As during his visit yesterday, he scarcely opened his lips, but Willis said that he had treated Sir Harry in the same way when he went to Kagoshima in 1866, and that it was supposed he was advised by his councillors not to talk, lest he should make a fool of himself; a probable though not very charitable explanation. We spent the afternoon in exploring the city, which had been little more than half rebuilt after it was burnt in 1864 in the Chôshiû attack on the Palace. Next day I went with Yoshii to call on Gotô, to whom I spoke about the Bizen affair. He told me pretty much the same thing as Saigô, but less decisively. He talked of executing the man who used his spear before the firing began. Then he discussed the new constitution, and said he despaired of getting a deliberative assembly, because the majority would always be stupid and wrong-headed. I advised him to make the experiment nevertheless; if the members ran their heads against a block of stone, they would learn reason from the blow. He seemed to favour the idea of governing by a _junta_ composed of the prime minister and the cleverest men in the country, in default of one man of heroic mould, who should rule autocratically. Of course he included himself among "the cleverest men" (_jinketsu_). During this part of our conversation Gotô had excluded Yoshii, as well as Saionji of Uwajima, who happened to be calling on him, and Yoshii expressed his annoyance to me afterwards at having been treated with so little confidence. I pacified him by saying that we had been discussing the settlement of the Bizen affair. After these two were admitted some general conversation ensued among them, from which I gathered that it was by no means decided as yet who was to be what, and that the chief men of the different clans found it difficult to manage each other, that mutual jealousy, and especially jealousy of Satsuma, prevented their pulling together. I gave them a hint to use in revising the treaties, namely, the establishment of mixed courts for trying cases between foreigners and Japanese, instead of deciding them according to the laws of the defendant's nationality. I also called on Katsura (Kido), but we did not meet till the next day, when he came to our lodging in company with a Chôshiû naval captain named Shinagawa, who for some time past had been living in Kiôto as a Satsuma man. Yoshii also turned up, but the conversation flagged until Willis came back from the hospital, and during lunch a heated argument arose as to the best way of preventing affrays from happening between Japanese and foreigners. Katsura and I had previously agreed that the Japanese Government should discuss the procedure with the foreign representatives; foreigners should be informed that to break through a procession is an offence in Japanese eyes, and Japanese on the other hand should be taught that they must not use weapons, but simply arrest offenders and hand them over to their own authorities; further, that when a _daimiô's_ train was to pass along a thoroughfare, constables from a mixed force of westerners and Japanese should be stationed to keep the road clear. Willis dissented from this view, and maintained that the only way to preserve the peace between foreign rowdies and Japanese bullies was to keep them apart, and to carry the high road round at the back outside Kôbé. My argument against this, in which Katsura concurred, was that a change of road would give rise to a great deal more ill-will between the opposite nationalities than the murder of a few foreigners, and that from what we had hitherto seen in this country a little fighting would open the eyes of the Japanese and make us all better friends than before; in fact, we held it was better to apply caustic at once than to let the disease linger on and attempt to cure each symptom as it presented itself. We did not settle the question, but I noted down what precedes as being a Japanese view. In the evening I went to call on Okubo Ichizô, a Satsuma _karô_, who was one of the councillors of the Home Department. Last year he and I had sent presents to each other, but had never met, so I wished to make his acquaintance. Instead of merely exchanging formalities, we had some interesting conversation. He said that 7000 infantry were being sent forward to Hakoné, and 5000 to a pass on the Nakasendô. Satsuma and Chôshiû were determined to prosecute the war, and perfect unanimity prevailed among the _sanyo_ (councillors). Even Echizen and Higo, who at first had been opposed to the employment of force, were now working hand-in-hand with the other clans. The _daimiô_ of Ogaki, who was a councillor of the Finance Department, until recently an adherent of the Tokugawa, had expressed his hope that the expedition against Yedo would soon be sent on its way. Probably the Mikado would accompany the army in person, a step which would greatly weaken the rebels. He thought that the return of M. Roches to France would have the effect of determining the Tycoon to submit, as he would have no one to rely on for material assistance. If he submitted, his life might be spared, but Aidzu and Kuwana must lose their heads. At Ozaka the discovery had been made of the diary kept by a confidential adviser of Keiki's, in which the false hopes that had given rise to the expedition against Kiôto at the end of last month were plainly expressed; the other clans were represented as getting tired of Satsuma, and even Chôshiû to be divided into two parties, one for war the other for peace; that Gotô Shôjirô was inclined towards making terms with the Shôgun, and that the Court desired to see him back in Kiôto. But, said Okubo, Keiki was in too much of a hurry, and now the whole situation had completely changed; those who previously had wavered were now convinced of the _Baku-fu's_ weakness, and were eager to be first in striking a blow at the Tokugawa. At his request I explained to him as well as I could the working of our executive government in combination with the parliamentary system, the existence of political parties and the election of members of the lower house. The Bizen affair he said was pretty well settled, and his account agreed in the main with what Saigô and Gotô had told me. Next day however there arrived a very peevish letter from the chief, complaining that the Bizen business did not appear to be nearing a settlement, that sufficient preparations had not been made at Ozaka for the reception of the Foreign Representatives, that he doubted whether he would ever go there at all, and winding up by ordering Willis and myself to rejoin him by the 24th at latest. This gave me one day more at Kiôto, but it considerably upset Willis' arrangements, as he had calculated on a fortnight's stay. Okubo having called to return my visit, and Yoshii also, I took the opportunity of urging on them the necessity of settling Bizen at once. They replied that they did not belong to the department concerned, but undertook to see Gotô and Higashi-Kuzé, and repeat to them what I had said. I had to go, but left Willis to await further orders. On the 23rd Saigô came to say good-bye to me, and present me with two large rolls of red and white crape and two of gold brocade. He said there was no possibility of my carrying back the final decision of the Bizen affair. When he was gone, Yoshii came in; he told me Sir Harry perfectly well understand the cause of the delay, and had consented to wait a week. A letter had gone from Higashi-Kuzé to him, which had probably crossed his to me. The final decision would probably be arrived at on the morrow or the day after. Daté (Uwajima) and Gotô would go down next day to Ozaka, and Higashi-Kuzé would follow with the sentences of the Bizen men as soon as they were made out. Both Saigô and Yoshii begged that Willis would stay five or six days longer. The war news was that the town and territory of Kuwana had submitted to the imperial messenger, but the retainers replied that they could not undertake for their prince, who was in Yedo, having accompanied Keiki thither. Everyone in Kiôto hoped that the Yedo people would resist instead of peaceably submitting, for the western men were all "spoiling for a fight." At three o'clock in the afternoon I therefore set out alone. It took me a long time to get through the city to the Gojô bridge, as I completed my sight-seeing as I went, and I did not reach Fushimi till dark. There I found Oyama's elder brother, who was Satsuma agent (_rusui_), and from words dropped by Notsu, the captain of my escort, I learnt that the orders to march on Yedo were expected to be issued in a day or two. At nine o'clock we embarked for Ozaka in a fifty _koku_ flat-bottomed boat, long and narrow, with a roofing of coarse straw mats supported by rafters resting on a pole laid from one end of the boat to the other, horribly uncomfortable, and especially so when crowded. We got to our destination at 6.30 next morning, and I crossed to Hiôgo in the gunboat. Notsu said that in the recent fighting the heads of all the wounded who could not escape had been taken off, a proceeding hardly reconcilable with what we had been told about the resolution to spare the lives of prisoners; unless, indeed, it was done to put them out of their pain. The next entry in my journal is of February 29th, when Daté came over from Ozaka. On arriving he went to the consulate by invitation from the chief to have lunch, and began to talk about the Foreign Representatives being presented to the Mikado, who was to be brought down to Ozaka, perhaps by March 13. We had to stop this interesting communication in order that he might go to call on the other ministers. In the evening I went to see him, when he told me M. Roches had asked to see Saigô, Okubo, Komatsu and Gotô, as he understood they were the leaders of the Kiôto movement; this had greatly annoyed the dear old man, who resented being ignored in that fashion, and said he hated Roches and his interpreter. Roches had sent to say he would call next morning, and it was with difficulty that I persuaded him to receive the visit, instead of going on board H.M.S. "Ocean" on Sir Harry's invitation. Inouyé Bunda, whom I saw that day, told me the French consul at Nagasaki had refused to pay duties to the provisional government, and had threatened war, especially against Satsuma and Chôshiû. We had a good laugh over this exhibition of impotent wrath. CHAPTER XXVIII _Harakiri_--NEGOTIATIONS FOR AUDIENCE OF THE MIKADO AT KIOTO NEXT day Daté introduced to the Foreign Representatives Sawa Mondô no Kami, one of the five fugitive court nobles of 1864, who was proceeding to Nagasaki as governor, together with the _daimiô_ of Omura, who was to furnish his guard. Sawa wore rather a forbidding expression of countenance, not to say slightly villainous, but for all that had the look of a good companion, and a year or two later, when he was minister for Foreign Affairs, we liked him greatly. Omura Tango no Kami, to give him his full title, was a weak, sickly looking man, who did not utter a word during the interview, and seemed even afraid of speaking to a foreigner. Sawa's son, a dissipated-looking young man, with the white complexion of a woman, was also present. After the compliments were over, these three were turned out of the room, and we learnt that the Bizen affair would be wound up by the decapitation of the responsible officer. Early that morning the chief had been asking my opinion about the advisability of granting a reprieve, or rather a mitigation of the penalty. Mitford learnt from von Brandt that the colleagues knew him to have leanings that way, and that he was believed to have put forward Polsbroek, the Dutch Political Agent, to advocate clemency. Mitford and I had however agreed previously that lenience would be a mistake, and that was the view I maintained in reply to Sir Harry. Daté and Sawa came to dinner that evening with the chief, an arrangement which he fancied he had kept secret from his colleagues, but they knew of it as soon as the invitation was accepted. Afterwards there was a long conversation which lasted until midnight, a principal topic being the proposed visit of the Mikado to Ozaka. Daté said the object of the excursion was to open the mind of the young sovereign by showing him something of the outer world, and also a big English man-of-war. Of course, he added, if the foreign diplomats were there at the time, they might be presented. Parkes said the Mikado might receive the Diplomatic Body as a whole, but not each minister separately, his object being to secure priority of presentation for himself, as he had already written home for new credentials. Daté suggested that the capital might possibly be moved from its present position to Ozaka, as it was situated at a spot hemmed in by mountains, to which all supplies had to be transported by water. My own belief was that Satsuma and Chôshiû wanted to get the person of the Mikado into their own hands in order to make him march with the army, and secondly to have him on the sea-coast in order to be able to cut and run whenever it might become necessary. This was confirmed by the fact that the Mikado had issued an order announcing that he was taking the field in person. In reply to a question as to the fate of the ex-Tycoon, Daté said it would depend on circumstances, which no one could foretell. The people of Ozaka, aware of the anti-foreign policy of the late Mikado and the former political opinions of Chôshiû, supposed that since the Court and Chôshiû had come into power, foreigners would be generally obnoxious, not any longer having the Tokugawa power to defend them; that was the reason of the populace having wrecked the various legations. Perhaps the Bizen people had been actuated by the same notions. This last suggestion furnished an additional ground for our refusing to reduce the capital sentence. By this time M. Roches had come back to Kôbé, to the great annoyance of his colleagues, who considered that he had played a trick on them in leaving his secretary here as Chargé d' Affaires, in order that he might not be unrepresented, and at the same time playing the part of French Minister in Yedo. It did not cause us, that is Mitford and myself, much surprise when in the afternoon of the next day Godai and Itô came to ask for the life of Taki Zenzaburô, the retainer of Hiki Tatéwaki, who had been condemned to perform _harakiri_ as the penalty for ordering his soldiers to fire on foreigners. A long discussion took place between the foreign ministers which lasted for nearly three hours, in which Sir Harry voted for clemency, but the majority were for the sentence being carried out. It was half-past eight o'clock in the evening when Godai and Itô were called back into the room and told in a few words that there was no way but to let the law take its course. So we started at nine o'clock, Mitford and myself, with a single representative of each of the other legations. We were guided to the Buddhist temple of Sei-fuku-ji at Hiôgo, arriving there at a quarter to ten. Strong guards were posted in the courtyard and in the ante-chambers. We were shown into a room, where we had to squat on the matted floor for about three-quarters of an hour; during this interval we were asked whether we had any questions to put to the condemned man, and also for a list of our names. At half-past ten we were conducted into the principal hall of the temple, and asked to sit down on the right hand side of the dais in front of the altar. Then the seven Japanese witnesses, Itô, Nakashima Sakutarô, two Satsuma captains of infantry, two Chôshiû captains, and a Bizen _o-metsuké_ took their places. After we had sat quietly thus for about ten minutes footsteps were heard approaching along the verandah. The condemned man, a tall Japanese of gentleman-like bearing and aspect, entered on the left side, accompanied by his _kai-shaku_ or best men, and followed by two others, apparently holding the same office. Taki was dressed in blue _kami-shimo_ of hempen cloth; the _kai-shaku_ wore war surcoats (_jimbaori_). Coming before the Japanese witnesses they prostrated themselves, the bow being returned, and then the same ceremony was exchanged with us. Then the condemned man was led to a red sheet of felt-cloth laid on the dais before the altar; on this he squatted, after performing two bows, one at a distance, the other close to the altar. With the calmest deliberation he took his seat on the red felt, choosing the position which would afford him the greatest convenience for falling forward. A man dressed in black with a light grey hempen mantle then brought in the dirk wrapped in paper on a small unpainted wooden stand, and with a bow placed it in front of him. He took it up in both hands, raised it to his forehead and laid it down again with a bow. This is the ordinary Japanese gesture of thankful reception of a gift. Then in a distinct voice, very much broken, not by fear or emotion, but as it seemed reluctance to acknowledge an act of which he was ashamed--declared that he alone was the person who on the fourth of February had outrageously at Kôbé ordered fire to be opened on foreigners as they were trying to escape, that for having committed this offence he was going to rip up his bowels, and requested all present to be witnesses. He next divested himself of his upper garments by withdrawing his arms from the sleeves, the long ends of which he tucked under his legs to prevent his body from falling backward. The body was thus quite naked to below the navel. He then took the dirk in his right hand, grasping it just close to the point, and after stroking down the front of his chest and belly inserted the point as far down as possible and drew it across to the right side, the position of his clothes still fastened by the girth preventing our seeing the wound. Having done this he with great deliberation bent his body forward, throwing the head back so as to render the neck a fair object for the sword. The one _kai-shaku_ who had accompanied him round the two rows of witnesses to make his bows to them, had been crouching on his left hand a little behind him with drawn sword poised in the air from the moment the operation commenced. He now sprang up suddenly and delivered a blow the sound of which was like thunder. The head dropped down on to the matted floor, and the body lurching forward fell prostrate over it, the blood from the arteries pouring out and forming a pool. When the blood vessels had spent themselves all was over. The little wooden stand and the dirk were removed. Itô came forward with a bow, asking had we been witnesses; we replied that we had. He was followed by Nakashima, who also made a bow. A few minutes elapsed, and we were asked were we ready to leave. We rose and went out, passing in front of the corpse and through the Japanese witnesses. It was twelve o'clock when we got back to the consulate, where we found Sir Harry waiting up to receive our report. The newspaper reports which reached England of this execution, and of the subsequent execution by _harakiri_ of eleven Tosa men at Sakai gave a very distorted view of the facts. Charles Rickerby who was the owner and editor of "The Japan Times" of Yokohama was responsible for the attempts to mislead public opinion in both instances. He invented an account of the proceedings witnessed by Mitford and myself which was entirely false, and wound up by saying that it was disgraceful for Christians to have attended the execution, and that he hoped the Japanese, if they took revenge for this "judicial murder" would assassinate gentlemen of the foreign Legations rather than anyone else. As for being ashamed of having been present at a _harakiri_ on the ground that it was a disgusting exhibition, I was proud to feel that I had not shrunk from witnessing a punishment which I did my best to bring about. It was no disgusting exhibition, but a most decent and decorous ceremony, and far more respectable than what our own countrymen were in the habit of producing for the entertainment of the public in the front of Newgate prison. The countrymen of this Bizen man told us that they considered the sentence a just and beneficial one. As regards the case of the Tosa men at Sakai, no punishment was ever more righteously inflicted. These Japanese massacred a boat's crew of inoffensive and unarmed men, who were never alleged to have given the slightest provocation. Twenty were condemned to death, and one could only regret that Captain du Petit Thouars judged it necessary to stop the execution when eleven had suffered, for the twenty were all equally guilty, and requiring a life for life of the eleven Frenchmen looked more like revenge than justice. A few days afterwards all the ministers returned to Ozaka. We went over on board H.M.S. "Ocean," Captain Stanhope. She was an iron-clad, of 4000 tons, carrying 26 muzzle-loading rifled guns of the Woolwich pattern, enough to blow any vessel on the station into tiny fragments. With us went Daté and Polsbroek, and the transport "Adventure" conveyed our baggage. Our former temporary residence having been destroyed by fire, we were accommodated at temples in Naka-dera-machi, and were fortunate enough to light upon some of the furniture stolen by the mob after we decamped in January. The townspeople recognized us as "the foreigners who ran away the other day," but they were very civil, and did not shout after us as they rudely did in the last days of the ex-Tycoon's occupation of the city. From Yedo we heard reports that the feeling among Tokugawa people was that he should be compelled to perform _harakiri_ and that his principal advisers should be beheaded, in order to appease the imperialists. It was difficult not to feel a certain degree of sympathy for him, mingled with resentment, for he had let us believe he would fight at Ozaka, while he had made up his mind to beat a retreat. If he had told us the truth we could have remained there tranquilly, for we were well assured of the friendliness of Satsuma and Chôshiû. The "Ocean's" steam launch landed us at the foreign settlement, and we marched through the city with our guard of the 2/ix to our new quarters. There had been a great deal of talk about the Mikado being brought down to Ozaka to see some steamers and to meet the foreign ministers, but I hoped this would not happen. If we were to have an audience of His Majesty, we ought to have it at Kiôto, otherwise the ceremony would lose half its significance. In the afternoon Iyo no Kami and Komatsu paid friendly visits to Sir Harry. It was evident that we were in a fair way to regain the diplomatic ascendancy of which we had been deprived by the recall of Sir Rutherford Alcock in 1864. When Daté and Higashi-Kuzé called next day on the foreign representatives they came to us last of all, which was convenient. Sir Harry spoke to them about the proposed audience of the Mikado. They acknowledged the advantages that would result from its taking place at Kiôto instead of at Ozaka, but were evidently not prepared to promise that immediately. The American, Prussian and Italian Representatives had told Daté that they wished to leave in three days' time, thus causing some amount of consternation in the minds of the Japanese, who desired to keep them for the audience, while they fully appreciated what the chief told them, namely that the three Representatives who wanted to get away would not stop for an audience which was to be merely incidental to the Mikado's visit to some Japanese steamers. It would be unsuitable to the dignity of the Representatives to be presented to His Majesty while at Ozaka on a visit made ostensibly for a different purpose. I myself greatly hoped that the way in which the chief had put the matter would induce the Japanese to invite the ministers at once to Kiôto. That would be the consummation of the imperialist theory and scheme. Von Brandt had said privately that he would not accept even if asked, but publicly had said he would, while the American Minister was apparently of the same way of thinking. Sir Harry had proposed that the Mikado should receive the whole Diplomatic Body together, on one day, and not accord separate audiences until they could present credentials, and this suggestion had been readily adopted. On the 7th March an important conference was held between the Foreign Representatives and high Japanese functionaries, Daté, Higashi-Kuzé, Daigo Dainagon a court noble appointed governor of Ozaka, and _karôs_ of Owari, Echizen, Satsuma, Chôshiû, Tosa, Geishiû, Hizen, Higo and Inshiû, practically all the great territorial nobles of the west. It is a remarkable fact that the princes of Echizen, Bizen and Inshiû, now ranged among the enemies of the Tokugawa, were descended from the founder of that house. The conference took place in the vast hall of the Buddhist temple of Nishi Hongwanji. After the Japanese Ministers had expressed their good wishes for the extension of friendly intercourse between Japan and foreign countries, and declared that the _daimiôs_ there represented heartily supported the foreign policy of the Mikado, discussions arose about the ministers going up to Kiôto for an audience of the Mikado, about exchange of foreign coin for Japanese and the sale of land in the foreign settlements at Ozaka and Hiôgo (Kôbé). We were told that letters were expected from Kiôto in a day or two fixing a date for the audience, so that the ministers could go up one day, see the Mikado on the next, and come down again, thus being absent only three days from Ozaka. M. Roches was of course deadly opposed to accepting any such arrangement. Van Valkenburg the American, von Brandt and de la Tour the Italian seemed unwilling to commit themselves too deeply with the imperialists. The chief tried hard to conceal his determination to accept the invitation in any case, while Polsbroek put on an appearance of indifference. Roches attempted to get an unconditional refusal conveyed to the Japanese Ministers, but was unsuccessful thanks to the watch I kept over his interpreter Shiwoda, and finally the decision was left to depend on the contents of the letters expected from Kiôto. Yamanouchi Yôdô, the older Prince of Tosa, was reported to be very ill at Kiôto, and the services of Willis were asked for on his behalf. This request was readily acceded to by the chief, and Willis started the same evening accompanied by Mitford. My personal relations with the Awa clan had long been of an intimate character, and it was therefore no surprise when Hayamidzu Sukéyomon, formerly Awa agent at Yedo and now at Ozaka, came to call on me on March 8, bringing a present of silk for Major Crossman in return for the treatises on artillery which the latter had sent to Awa no Kami. It was with great regret that I learnt from him of the death of that friendly and hospitable old gentleman on January 30th. His son and successor, who had been kept at home till the period of mourning expired, was now expected at Ozaka on his way to Kiôto. Hayamidzu brought a budget of Yedo news which mostly proved afterwards to be little better than mere gossip, such as that Itakura was reported to have committed suicide by _harakiri_ because the other ministers of state differed from him in opinion; that the _fudai daimiôs_ and _hatamoto_ talked of compelling Keiki to disembowel himself; of cutting off the heads of Aidzu and Kuwana in order that those two families might escape destruction. He had not heard of Keiki being allowed to retire into private life (_in-kio_), and thought it absurd to suggest such a step under existing circumstances. His conduct had been too shabby for him to become entitled to such consideration. On the 7th February Hori Kura no Kami, one of the second council, had performed _harakiri_, after having vainly endeavoured to persuade Keiki to take that step, and offering to accompany him in the act. All Yedo applauded Kura no Kami and said Keiki ought to follow his example. The _Baku-fu_, said my friend, had no desire to fight. The Awa clan was now supporting the Mikado and was taking part in the expedition to subjugate Tokugawa, and would like to make a declaration to the foreign representatives such as was made by the other clans on the previous day. In the afternoon I went to Daté to inquire whether he had any news from Kiôto about the invitation of the ministers. He said they would be asked to start on the 11th, but the date of the audience not having been fixed, the invitations could not be sent out. I advised him to go at once to invite each of the ministers and to say that the day after their arrival in Kiôto would be appointed for the audience, because he and Higashi-Kuzé had written asking for that arrangement to be made, and therefore no doubt existed that it would eventually be done. So off he started, beginning with the French Minister, who kept him to dinner, but declined going to Kiôto until he could perceive actual evidence of the Mikado's supremacy. He was answered that even were the _Baku-fu_ to be restored with all its original powers, the Mikado being undoubtedly the sovereign of Japan, and the Shôgun only his vicegerent, no offence could possibly be given by being received in audience by the former. From him Daté went to the Italian, Prussian, American and Dutch Representatives. The first three refused on the ground of pressing business at Yokohama, but the last said he would act in the same way as the British Minister. And when Iyo no Kami came to our chief, he accepted the invitation. CHAPTER XXIX MASSACRE OF FRENCH SAILORS AT SAKAI UNFORTUNATELY just at this moment news was received that a boat-load of Frenchmen had been massacred by the Tosa troops at Sakai. This put an end to the conversation and to all hope of going to Kiôto for an audience. Two men were reported killed on the spot, seven missing, seven wounded, while five escaped unhurt. The account received by Daté just as he left the French Legation was that only one had been killed. It was evident to everybody that the execution of the Bizen officer had not had the effect of a warning. Confusion, despair; hopes dashed to the ground just on the point of fulfilment. No better accounts being given by Daté and Higashi-Kuzé on the following morning, and the missing sailors not having been given up, the Foreign Ministers resolved to withdraw their flags. When the two Japanese Ministers called on the French Minister to express their deep regret, he refused to see them, and addressed a letter to the Japanese authorities demanding the surrender of the missing men by eight o'clock the following morning. The French, Italian, Prussian and American representatives embarked. We and the Dutch political agent remained on shore. But on the morning of the 10th the British flag was formally lowered, and Sir Harry went on board the "Ocean," leaving Russell Robertson and myself at the vice-consulate, with Lieutenant Bradshaw and six men of the 2/ix. The dead bodies of the seven missing French sailors having been found, Daté and Higashi-Kuzé went on board the French flagship "Vénus" to inform M. Roches. But by some curious blunder the boxes containing the corpses were sent first to the British transport "Adventure," where they were mistaken for cases of "curios" belonging to our Legation, and how the discovery was made of the real nature of the contents I never heard, but they did not arrive at the French flagship till late in the afternoon. I saw Daté on his way back, who said he was greatly pleased with the moderation with which the French Minister was treating the affair. Next day Sir Harry landed, and carried off Bradshaw and his men. He instructed me to call on Daté and say to him that the Representatives would consult together after the funeral as to the reparation to be demanded from the Mikado's government, and that if they were unanimous the Japanese might feel assured that the demands were just. In that case the best thing they could do would be to accept them without delay. On the other hand, if the requirements of M. Roches exceeded the bounds of justice, the other ministers would refuse to join him, and the Japanese Government could then appeal to the French Government and those of the other Foreign Powers. In Sir Harry's own opinion a large number of the Tosa men ought to suffer death, but he did not approve of pecuniary indemnities. Having given me these instructions he went off to Hiôgo to attend the funeral of the murdered Frenchmen, eleven in all. Robertson and I called on Daté to deliver the chief's message, and after having executed our commission, we went with Komatsu and Nakai to a Japanese restaurant and had a feast in the usual style. We got home about seven o'clock, and as the day was still young we took it into our heads to give ourselves an entertainment, and with a guide carrying a lantern went to the quarter of the town where such amusements are provided, to a house to which I knew that a foreigner had been introduced, and that by Tosa people. The master said he was afraid of his trade being injured if he received foreigners, but suggested our applying to the local authority for permission. While we were still in the shop a Tosa man came down from a room upstairs, and on seeing us asked for his sword, but the people of the house refused to give it, and led him away. It never entered my head that the master of the house wished to get rid of us on account of his Tosa guests. So we went to the municipal office, and came back again with the desired permission, but the landlord was still not satisfied. We were conversing with him when the same Tosa man came down sword in hand, and squatting down before us with a threatening air, demanded to know who we were and what we were doing there. I replied that we were English officers and was proceeding to explain what we wanted, but he interrupted by fiercely questioning our right to be present. One of his companions roused by the disturbance came downstairs and carried him up again, the women taking his sword and hiding it. The peaceful man then came to us, and was offering an apology, when the madcap descended again with a naked weapon in his hand, at least that was Robertson's impression. His friend rushed to stop him; a struggle took place on the stairs and we bolted through the door into the street. The master of the house came out after us with our lantern, saying that our guide had disappeared, and as he was not to be found, the old man had to escort us home. Mitford and Willis arrived back from Kiôto on the 12th, Sir Harry's letter giving permission for the latter to remain having crossed him on the way. Having made arrangements for his going back again, we went on board the "Adventure" to see the chief, and while we were there Daté and Komatsu arrived to tell him what the French Minister's demands were: namely, 1st, the execution of all the men concerned in the massacre (about twenty Tosa men and twenty townspeople armed with fire-hooks, they told us); 2nd, $150,000 for the families of the murdered men; 3rd, apology of the principal minister for Foreign Affairs at Ozaka (this was Yamashina no Miya, a Prince of the Blood); 4th, apology of the Tosa _daimiô_ Yamanouchi Tosa no Kami on board a French man-of-war at Susaki (the port of Tosa); 5th, the exclusion of all Tosa armed men from treaty ports and cities. These had all been agreed to. We then returned ashore and started Willis on his way back to Kiôto. Next day we moved over to Hiôgo on board H.M.S. "Adventure." All the Foreign Representatives had addressed Notes to the Japanese Government counselling them to comply with the French demands. Hasé Sammi, a Court Noble, arrived as an envoy from the Mikado to the French Minister bearing a message of condolence. He afterwards saw Sir Harry and arranged with him that he should go to Kiôto for an audience of the Mikado, as soon as this affair was disposed of. M. Roches had not fixed any date, but it was expected by the Japanese authorities that everything would be finished by the 16th. M. Roches seemed to be harping on one string, that it would be regrettable if any single representative went to Kiôto by himself, and Komatsu, who told us that he had expressed himself to Hasé in that sense, thought that this was intended as a hit at Sir Harry. However, Polsbroek had also promised the Japanese that he too would go up to Kiôto as soon as satisfaction for the Tosa outrage were afforded. Next day Daté arrived at six o'clock with Komatsu and went on board the French flagship to deliver to Roches the Note accepting his demands. The 5th demand was understood to mean not merely that no Tosa troops should garrison treaty ports and cities, but that no Tosa _samurai_ of any class should be allowed at the treaty ports. This appeared to be too severe, and we held that it would have to be modified. After he had finished with Roches, Daté came over to see Sir Harry and to tell him what had been arranged. Two officers and eighteen rank and file were to perform _harakiri_ at Sakai at two p.m. the next day, and Yamashina no Miya was simultaneously to call on Roches to deliver the apology, and also invite him to Kiôto. On the day after that the prince was to call on Sir Harry, at the same hour, on board H.M.S. "Ocean" at Kôbé. We were to leave Kôbé for Ozaka on the 19th, pass the night of the 20th at Fushimi, and enter Kiôto the next day. On the 22nd we were to receive visits, and have audience of the Emperor on the 23rd. This was only a private and confidential arrangement with Daté, and would only become official after Yamashina no Miya delivered the formal invitation. In accordance with this programme the Prince, who was a first cousin once removed of the Mikado, and principal minister for Foreign Affairs, came to Kôbé on the 18th to call on Sir Harry and Polsbroek. We learnt from him that Roches had begged off nine out of the twenty condemned men, taking only one life for each of the murdered Frenchmen,[10] and that he had decided to go to Kiôto having heard from Daté that Sir Harry would accept the invitation. The Miya was dressed in the same costume as the other court nobles we had seen, a purple silk robe (_kari-ginu_) and a small black-lacquered wrinkled hat perched on the top of the head. His age might be about fifty, and he wore a short beard and moustache. His teeth bore marked signs of having been once dyed black. He was accompanied by Higashi-Kuzé, a son of the latter, and by Môri Heirokurô, son of Môri Awaji no Kami; this young man was to go to England with the son of Sanjô Sanéyoshi and young Nakamikado. It was expected, they said, that the Mikado would move down to Ozaka about the end of the month, and remain there until Yedo was finished with. Keiki had sent an apology through his relative Echizen, but it was not considered satisfactory, and military operations would be continued. [10] This statement was not exact. The fact was, as we learnt afterwards, that Captain du Petit Thouars, commanding officer of the "Dupleix" to which ship the murdered sailors belonged, who had been deputed by the French senior naval officer to witness the execution with a party of his men, finding that the completion of the proceedings would involve the detention of his men on shore after dark, raised his hand after the eleventh man had suffered. The nine whose lives were spared were grievously hurt, we were afterwards told, and no wonder, considering what the spirit of the Japanese _samurai_ was. Patriotic death poems by the men who suffered the extreme penalty were afterwards circulated among the people. The following are prose translations of some of these: Though I regret not my body which becomes as dew scattered by the wind, my country's fate weighs down my heart with anxiety. As I also am of the seed of the country of the gods, I create for myself to-day a glorious subject for reflection in the next world. The sacrifice of my life for the sake of my country gives me a pure heart in my hour of death. Unworthy as I am I have not wandered from the straight path of the duty which a Japanese owes to his prince. Though reproaches may be cast upon me, those who can fathom the depths of a warrior's heart will appreciate my motives. In this age, when the minds of men are darkened, I would show the way to purity of heart. In throwing away this life, so insignificant a possession, I would desire to leave behind me an unsullied name. The cherry flowers too have their seasons of blossoming and fading. What is there for the Japanese soul to regret in death? Here I leave my soul and exhibit to the world the intrepidity of a Japanese heart. CHAPTER XXX KIOTO--AUDIENCE OF THE MIKADO ON March 19 the whole legation crossed to Ozaka in H.M.S. "Adventure." I left my Japanese escort behind, as they would have been in the way at Kiôto, and probably, being Tokugawa retainers, in fear of their lives the whole time. Our party slept at the vice-consulate, and next day we rode up to Fushimi, escorted by Komatsu and a couple of Hizen officers, one of whom named Nakamuta was the commander of the "Eugénie," a steamer recently acquired by Nabéshima. The party on horseback consisted of Sir Harry, Lieutenant Bradshaw and myself, with the legation mounted escort. We went nearly the whole way at a foot's pace, the road being in fairly good condition, but the bridges at Yodo having been burnt during the recent fighting we had some difficulty in getting across the Kidzukawa, which falls into the river there. We got to Fushimi about six o'clock, and found comfortable quarters prepared for us in the guest rooms of a Buddhist monastery, where we were well looked after by some Hizen officers. The rest of our party, together with the infantry guard of the 2/ix, were to come up in boats, starting at three o'clock in the afternoon, and travelling through the night. They gradually reached Fushimi next morning, and we managed to make a start about ten o'clock. The first half of the way we were escorted by Hizen men, who were then joined by Owari troops, and here we were met by Gotô and our cheery little friend Nakai. The streets were crowded with spectators, who observed perfect order. Chi-on-in, a very fine Buddhist monastery at the foot of Higashi-yama, had been prepared for our accommodation, and guards were posted consisting of Higo, Awa and Owari troops. We found the Owari officials who were in charge to attend to our comforts very dilatory people, and as yet quite unacquainted with foreigners and their requirements. The apartments assigned to us were magnificently decorated, altogether in the style of a feudal noble's palace, such as we had seen at Tokushima the previous year. Shimadzu Osumi no Kami (father of the Prince of Satsuma) had occupied them for some time when he first visited Kiôto. As soon as we settled in, a grand feast of many dishes in Japanese style was served up to us, but of course we had brought our own cooks and utensils with us, for most of us were unaccustomed to Japanese food. Old Yôdô of Tosa, whom Willis had been attending, was reported to be out of danger and in a fair way of recovery. The 22nd March was spent by the chief in making a round of visits. It took the Owari folk three hours to get us the necessary palanquins and bearers. We called first on Yamashina no Miya, who was very affable and jolly, his dirty beard shaved off, and his teeth dyed black in correct style; he was dressed in the costume called _nôshi_, and wore the tiny black lacquered hat as before. The conversation turned upon the delightfulness of the occasion which had brought the British Minister to Kiôto. Just after leaving the prince's residence we were stopped in the road to let Ninnaji no Miya pass. He was on horseback, a stoutish, swarthy, thick-lipped young man, with his hair just beginning to sprout; for until recently he had been in the Buddhist priesthood. Our next visit was to Sanjô, who had had his title of Dainagon just restored to him, a pale effeminate-looking undersized man of thirty-three years of age. He discoursed very formally on the happiness it gave to all the Court people to see foreign ministers in Kiôto. From there we went through the enclosure known as the Nine Gates, past the Imperial Palace. It was surrounded by a finely stuccoed wall four feet thick at the base, with gates like those of a Buddhist temple, very neatly thatched with small shingles. Iwakura, whom we called on next, had his temporary residence just inside and opposite the Kugé Mon gate on the west of the palace. He was a severe-looking oldish man, but frank in speech. He told the chief it was true that the Mikado and Court Nobles had hated foreigners hitherto, and talked of "barbarian-expelling" (_jô-i_), while the _Bakufu_ was all for "opening the country." But now that was completely changed. They had specially to thank the English for having been the first to recognize the truth that the Mikado was the sovereign. Itô told me that after we had left the house Iwakura expressed to him a fear that he might have given offence by speaking too frankly about the former attitude of the Court towards foreigners. We then went to the Hizen _yashiki_, and saw the prince, a young good-looking man of about twenty-four years of age; he had been appointed to the department of Foreign Affairs, but we would not discover that he had any great aptitude for official work. Daté and Higashi-Kuzé luckily were not in when we called. We also visited the younger Chôshiû prince, Nagato no Kami, whom we easily recognized by his likeness to the photograph taken when Admiral King was in Chôshiû. At the other houses we had been accommodated with chairs, but here we had to squat on the floor in Japanese fashion, and when we rose to leave it was with difficulty that we could straighten our knee joints. We exchanged with him hearty expressions of goodwill and congratulations on our ancient friendship. On returning to Chi-on-in we found Daté and Gotô who had come to discuss the details of the audience that was to take place on the morrow. They expressed much anxiety lest the Mikado should find some difficulty in making his speech to the minister, as he had not up to the present ever spoken to any one but inmates of the Palace, and it was only ten days since he had first shown his face to a _daimiô_. So we finally arranged that His Majesty's speech should be written down, that he should try to repeat it, and then hand the copy to Yamashina no Miya, who would read it out, and hand it to Itô for translation. The document was finally to remain in Sir Harry's possession. Then the latter would reply direct to the Mikado through Itô acting as interpreter. The only member of the legation staff to be admitted to the audience was Mitford, as he alone had been presented at court in England. He was to be introduced by Yamashina no Miya, and the Mikado would salute him with the word _kurô_, which might be freely rendered by "Glad to see you." The _Shishinden_ where the audience was to take place was, they told us, a large hall 28 yards deep by 36 in length, with a floor of planking, with a dais and a canopy for the Mikado, and another dais, rather lower, specially arranged for the ministers. _Daimiôs_ who were received in audience had, we were assured, to kneel on the bare planks. The three foreign representatives, Roches, Sir Harry and Polsbroek were to assemble in one room, and be thence conducted into the presence of the Mikado. It was now our turn to suffer an assault at the hands of the fanatics of patriotism, from which our constant advocacy of the rights of the sovereign afforded us no protection. It was arranged that we should start from Chi-on-in for the palace at one o'clock on March 23. The procession was to be headed by the mounted escort, led by Inspector Peacock and Nakai, then Sir Harry and Gotô, myself and Lieutenant Bradshaw, the detachment of the 2/ix, followed by Willis, J. J. Enslie, Mitford in a palanquin (being unable to ride) and five naval officers who had come up with us. We descended the whole length of the street called Nawaté opposite to the main gate of Chi-on-in, but just as the last file of the mounted escort turned the corner to the right, a couple of men sprang out from opposite sides of the street, drew their swords, and attacked the men and horses, running down the line and hacking wildly. Nakai observing what was passing jumped down from his pony and engaged the fellow on the right, with whom he had a pretty tough fight. In the struggle his feet got entangled in his long loose trousers, and he fell on his back. His enemy tried to cut off his head, but Nakai parried the blow, receiving only a scalp wound, and pierced the man's breast with the point of his sword at the same time. This sickened him, and as he was turning his back on Nakai he received a blow on the shoulder from Gotô's sword, which prostrated him on the ground, and Nakai jumping up hacked off his head. In the meanwhile the troopers on the left had turned, and some of them pursued the other villain, who rushed down the street from which Sir Harry and I had not yet emerged. I had only just arrived at a comprehension of what was taking place; my presence of mind had deserted me, and as he passed my sole idea of defence was to turn my pony's head round to ward off the blow aimed at me. It was a narrow escape, as I afterwards found, for the animal received a slight cut on the nose, and was also wounded on the shoulder an inch of two in front of my knee. As soon as I recovered my equanimity I moved up to the head of the procession. There I saw Sir Harry Parkes, in his brilliant uniform of an Envoy and Minister calmly sitting on his horse in the middle of the cross-roads, with Inspector Peacock close by, also on horseback, and a crowd of Japanese spectators. The Japanese infantry, 300 men of Higo, who had led our procession had disappeared, as had also those who had originally brought up the rear. But our Japanese grooms stuck to us with the greatest cool pluck. Behind me was the infantry guard of the 2/ix, facing to the left. Upon them he hurled himself, cutting one man over the head and inflicting a severe wound, but here his career came to an end, for one of the soldiers put out his foot and tripped him up, and others drove their bayonets into him. Nevertheless he managed to get to the end of the line, where being stopped by Mitford's palanquin, he fled into the courtyard of a house, dropping his sword outside. Here he was found by Bradshaw, who discharged a pistol at his head, but the bullet struck the joint of the lower jaw, and did not penetrate the bone. On this he fell down in the yard, and became nearly insensible. Our wounded were too numerous to admit of our proceeding to court. Nine of our escort were wounded, and one of the 2/ix guard, besides Nakai and Sir Harry's Japanese groom. We therefore procured bearers for the palanquins which had been abandoned by their frightened porters, and returned to our quarters without any further mishap. When the wounds were examined it was found that none were in a vital part, though there had been much loss of blood. A cut into the knee of one man, and the almost complete severance of the wrist of another were the worst cases. It was a great piece of good fortune that we had such an experienced surgeon as Willis with us. The captured assailant appeared to be a Buddhist priest, at least his head was shaven. Assisted by a retainer of Sanjô's we examined him. He expressed great penitence, and asked that his head might be cut off and exposed publicly to inform the Japanese nation of his crime. His wounds were attended to by Willis, and he was carefully deposited in the guard-room. Nakai brought the head of the other man back with him, and kept it by his side in a bucket as a trophy; it was a ghastly sight; on the left side of the skull a terrible triangular wound exposed the brain, and there was a cut on the right jaw which apparently had been dealt by the sword of one of the escort. My diary contains no further entry until the middle of May, and letters I wrote to my parents narrating the incidents which befel us at Kiôto have not been preserved. A very full account of this affair, written by Mitford to his father, was communicated to the "Times," and the despatch of March 25 in which the chief reported the whole affair was included in a volume of "confidential print" and has not been published. See also "Memories" by Lord Redesdale, ii. 449. A briefer narrative based on official documents is to be found in vol. II of "The History of Japan" by F. O. Adams. As long as we remained at Kiôto I was so busy with interpreting between the chief and Japanese high functionaries and in translating documents that my journal had to be neglected, and my memory of what occurred over fifty years ago, left unrecorded at the time, is scarcely full enough to afford material for completing this chapter unaided. It will readily be comprehended that this fanatical attack on the British Minister, who had proved himself a cordial friend of the imperialist party, caused a feeling of utmost consternation at the Court as soon as the news was received there about four o'clock in the afternoon. The French Minister and the Dutch Political Agent had punctually reached the Palace, where they were kept waiting for the arrival of their colleague. As he failed to make his appearance their reception was hurried through, and on leaving the audience chamber they received the notes Sir Harry had sent off informing them of what had happened. About six o'clock in the evening there came to him straight from the court Tokudaiji, Echizen Saishô, Higashi-Kuzé, Daté and the Prince of Hizen to express the deep regret of the Mikado. The minister replied that he would leave the matter in the hands of the Mikado's government. He considered that a graver outrage had been committed upon the Mikado than upon himself, and he felt assured that the government would know how to vindicate the honour of their sovereign. They manifested a degree of feeling and concern which showed that remonstrance from him was not needed to make them sensible of the gravity of the offence. They reproached themselves for not having taken better precautions for his safety, and deplored the disgrace attaching to themselves for an outrage committed on a foreign representative specially invited by the Mikado to Kiôto. He added that of course their apologies would take a written form, but he recurred to arguments he had previously addressed to various members of the government as to the necessity of an enactment which should attach the penalty of an ignominious death to all _samurai_ who committed murderous attacks on foreigners instead of allowing them to die with credit by their own hand; as in the case of the eleven men who were executed for the murder of the French seamen at Sakai. He urged also that the Mikado's government should make known by public proclamation that His Majesty really desired to cultivate friendly relations with foreign powers. It was their duty to eradicate the spirit of hostility towards foreigners to which so many had fallen victims, and which was fostered by the erroneous idea entertained by a certain class that in attacking foreigners they were doing the Mikado good service. Accordingly the written apology was delivered next day, together with a copy of the sentence depriving the prisoner of his rank as _samurai_, and passing a sentence of decapitation on him. Sanjô, Iwakura, Tokudaiji, Higashi-Kuzé and other ministers called to offer their regrets, and promised that the proclamation should be posted on the public notice-boards which were a feature in every town and village. They offered also in case any of our wounded should die, or be deprived of their livelihood by inability to perform their duties, to provide suitable compensation. This affair having been satisfactorily disposed of, the chief agreed to have an audience of the Mikado, which took place on March 26th. Of course we were not able to make such a show as on the 23rd, since most of the mounted escort were incapacitated by the severity of their wounds. On the other hand extraordinary precautions were taken for the security of the party in passing along the streets. As had previously been arranged, of the legation staff only Mitford was presented. The minister and he ascended the Shishinden by steps at the north end, entered by the door on the south, and issuing from it after the audience descended by steps at the south end. Those of us, like Willis and myself, and the other members of our party walked through the courtyard past the hall of audience, and rejoined them as they came down again. The Mikado was the first to speak, and his speech ran as follows:-- I hope your sovereign enjoys good health. I trust that the intercourse between our respective countries will become more and more friendly, and be permanently established. I regret deeply that an unfortunate affair which took place as you were proceeding to the palace on the 23rd instant has delayed this ceremony. It gives me great pleasure therefore to see you here to-day. To this the minister made the following reply:-- Sire, Her Majesty the Queen is in the enjoyment of good health. I shall have great pleasure in reporting to my government Your Majesty's inquiries and assurances of friendship. The condition of the foreign relations of a state must ever be dependent upon its internal stability and progress, and Your Majesty is taking the best measures to place the foreign relations of Japan upon a permanent footing by establishing a strong general government throughout Your Majesty's dominions, and by adopting the system of international law universally recognized by other states. I am deeply sensible of the manner in which Your Majesty has been pleased to notice the attack made upon me on the 23rd instant, and I appreciate the exertions of Your Majesty's ministers on that unfortunate occasion. The memory of it will be effaced by the gracious reception which Your Majesty has given me this day. The foreign representatives left Kiôto the following day. Saegusa Shigéru, the captive of our bow and spear on the 23rd, was executed that morning. Three supposed accomplices before the fact were sentenced to perpetual exile, but we were never convinced of their guilt. If it had been proved against them they ought to have suffered the same penalty, but the chief did not care to press the point. It was Sir Harry's wish that I should remain at Ozaka to keep up communication with the court, but I persuaded him to leave Mitford there for the purpose. Two motives actuated me. I wished to get back to my newly acquired house at Yedo, and Mitford knew much more than I did about English parliamentary institutions, which was a subject in which the leaders of the _samurai_ class at Kiôto, and especially Gotô Shôjirô, were greatly interested. For their hope was to base the new government of Japan on a representative system. CHAPTER XXXI RETURN TO YEDO AND PRESENTATION OF THE MINISTER'S NEW CREDENTIALS AT OZAKA ON March 31 I arrived back at Yokohama with the chief, and went up to Yedo on April 1 to find out what was the state of things there. I took Noguchi and my six Japanese escort men with me. The latter were lodged in a building by the gate of my house. My chief source of information was Katsu Awa no Kami who had been the head of the Tokugawa navy. To avoid exciting attention I used to visit him after dark. The van of the imperialist army had already arrived in the neighbourhood of Yedo, the advanced posts being at Shinagawa, Shinjiku and Itabashi. Slight skirmishes with detached bodies of disbanded Yedo troops had taken place on the Kôshiû and Kisô roads, which had delayed the arrival of the imperial forces for a day or two. Small parties of Satsuma and Chôshiû men wandered about the streets of the city unmolested, and a smaller Satsuma _yashiki_, near our legation, was re-occupied on March 7 by a few soldiers of that clan. Arisugawa no Miya, the commander-in-chief, was reported to be still at Numadzu, half a day's journey west of the top of the Hakoné pass. Keiki was residing in retirement at the Tokugawa mausoleum of Uyéno, straining every effort to keep his retainers in a submissive temper towards the Mikado, by means of notifications to the people and a body of armed police. Already as early as March 4 a proclamation had been issued declaring that the ex-Shôgun was determined to submit to any orders which might be given to him by the Mikado, and that no opposition was to be offered to the imperial troops. Aidzu and his clansmen had retired to their home at Wakamatsu in Oshiû, after dismantling all the clan establishments in Yedo. Nearly all the other _daimiôs_ who had been residing in Yedo until recently had either returned to their territories or gone to Kiôto to give in their allegiance to the Mikado. The _hatamoto_, or retainers of Tokugawa below the rank of _daimiô_ were daily following their example. The people of the city, ignorant of the demands about to be made on Keiki, and mindful of the misfortunes some of them had experienced when the Satsuma _yashiki_ were attacked in the previous December, were apprehensive of a general conflagration. Some had removed their household property, but the shops were still open, and the panic was by no means general. The forts in the bay of Yedo were handed over to the imperialists on April 4, after the guns bearing on the city had been dismounted. This was the news on the 8th. On the 12th I went up again for a three days' stay, and found the city much quieter, owing to a feeling that the terms offered to Keiki would be such as he could accept. Katsu, who was now commander-in-chief of the Tokugawa forces, told me that he and Okubo Ichiô had charge of the negotiations. On the other side Saigô represented Arisugawa no Miya, the imperialist commander-in-chief who was still at Sumpu. The demands made on Keiki were that he should surrender all arms and munitions of war, all vessels of war and other steamers, evacuate the castle of Yedo, and execute those of his officers who had been foremost in prompting and conducting the attack on Fushimi; when these demands were complied with the Mikado would show clemency towards the ex-Shôgun. The nature of the further conditions covered by the word "clemency" was the subject of negotiations between Katsu and Saigô, which took place at a house in Shinagawa. Katsu was willing to agree to any arrangement that would save the life of his chief and secure sufficient revenue to support his large body of retainers. He had hinted to Saigô that less favourable terms would be met by armed resistance. Keiki also desired to retain possession of his steamers and munitions of war, and had addressed a petition to the Mikado on this subject. Saigô, carrying this petition and Katsu's verbal proposals, had returned to Sumpu to lay them before Arisugawa. From there he had journeyed to Kiôto, but was expected back on the 18th. Katsu said he was ready to fight in defence of Keiki's life, and expressed his confidence in Saigô's ability to prevent a demand being made which might not only be a disgrace to the Mikado, but prolong the civil war. He begged that Sir Harry Parkes would use his influence with the Mikado's government to obviate such a disaster. This the chief did repeatedly, and in particular when Saigô called on him at Yokohama on April 28, he urged on him that severity towards Keiki or his supporters, especially in the way of personal punishment, would injure the reputation of the new government in the opinion of European Powers. Saigô said the life of the ex-Shôgun would not be demanded, and he hoped that similar leniency would be extended to those who had instigated him to march against Kiôto. Keiki was still at the monastery at Uyéno, but some of his late advisers, whom he had ordered into strict seclusion (_kin-shin_) had secretly fled. Amongst these Katsu mentioned Ogasawara, late chief minister for Foreign Affairs, Hirayama, whom we used to call "the old fox," Tsukahara, an official whom we greatly liked, and Oguri Kôdzuké no Suké, a finance minister. The most remarkable statement Katsu made to me was that at a conference between the ex-Shôgun's ministers and M. Roches in February the latter strongly urged resistance, and that the officers of the French Military Mission were persistent in advising the fortification of the Hakoné pass and other measures of a warlike nature. On the whole Katsu was of opinion that he and Okubo Ichiô would be able to arrange satisfactory terms, if they could manage to escape the hot-heads of their own party who were threatening their lives. By this time the first division of the imperialist naval force had arrived to co-operate with the army which had advanced by land. There seemed to be little likelihood of fighting, but even a peaceable settlement would be disadvantageous to the prosperity of the city. Now that the _daimiôs_ whose wants had been supplied by the merchants and shopkeepers had left for their country homes, the population would naturally decrease. It was a sad thing that Yedo should decline, for it was one of the handsomest cities in the Far East. Though it contained no fine public buildings, its position on the seashore, fringed with the pleasure gardens of the _daimiôs_, and the remarkable huge moats surrounding the castle, crowned with cyclopean walls and shaded by picturesque lines of pine-tree, the numerous rural spots in the city itself, all contributed to produce an impression of greatness. It covered a huge extent of ground, owing to the size of the castle, and the large number of official residences, intersected by fine broad well-gravelled streets. The commercial quarter was actually smaller than the city of Ozaka. Newspapers, to a large extent in the nature of gazettes, had lately been started in Kiôto and Yedo, and contained a great number of interesting political documents, which I had to translate for the information of my chief. Previously we had been obliged to rely on such manuscript copies as we could obtain from our friends in _daimiôs' yashikis_, and the supply was limited. Nor were the papers that came into our hands altogether trustworthy. There was as much forgery of memorials, manifestoes and correspondence as in any other part of the world in a time of political excitement. There were rumours about this time that the capital would be transferred from Kiôto to Ozaka, an arrangement we felt inclined to welcome, for it would have been very inconvenient to establish the foreign legations at Kiôto, so far inland and away from our sources of supply, subject to great cold in winter and excessive heat in summer. Even at Ozaka, close to the sea, the climate was almost unbearable in July and August. But as everyone knows, Yedo was after all constituted the centre of government, and its name changed to Tôkiô. During this period my time was passed half at Yedo gathering information and half at Yokohama making translations and drawing up reports. Bread and beef were unprocurable at Yedo, and I could not afford to set up a cuisine in European fashion, so while there I used to have my food brought in from a well-reputed Japanese restaurant close by, and came to like it quite as well as what I had been accustomed to all my life. As early as the end of November 1867 Sir Harry had applied to Lord Stanley for letters of credence to the Mikado. No time was wasted in their preparation and despatch, and they reached him at the end of March 1868, but it was not till the middle of May that things had quieted down at Yokohama sufficiently to allow of his leaving that part of the country. By that time Sidney Locock and his family had left for home, and his successor Francis Ottiwell Adams had arrived. We started from Yokohama in the Admiral's yacht "Salamis" on May 15, Sir Harry, Adams, J. J. Quin the senior student interpreter, and myself. Next afternoon we anchored in the harbour of Oshima, between the island of that name and the southernmost point of the province of Kii. On a neck of land there was a small village, very dirty, stinking and labyrinthine, surrounded by prettily wooded hills, where we started several pheasants in the course of a walk. At dusk we weighed anchor, and reached Hiôgo at nine o'clock the next morning, where we found H.M.S. "Ocean" and "Zebra" already in harbour. We had passed H.M.S. "Rodney," the flagship of Admiral Sir Harry Keppel, on the way up the Kii channel. These ships were assembled off Ozaka to give _éclat_ to the presentation of the first letter of an European sovereign to the rightful sovereign of Japan. We got to the Ozaka bar about noon, and afterwards Adams, Quin and I went ashore with the baggage. The chief did not land until the 18th, when a salute was fired from the fort in his honour. We then became busily occupied with the arrangements for the presentation of the minister's credentials, of his staff and a large number of naval officers. We took up our quarters at the vice-consulate for the sake of convenience in communicating with the squadron outside the bar. The 22nd was fixed on as the day for the ceremony. Then the credentials had to be translated into Japanese, and the number of officers to be presented had to be agreed upon. I had to be present, much to my annoyance, for I possessed no diplomatic uniform. The chief offered me the loan of a sort of staff jacket of blue serge fastened in front with frogs, and an old pair of trousers with gold lace down the sides, but I put them away in a cupboard and went to Court in plain evening dress. As soon as Sir Harry landed he was visited by Gotô, one of the two _samurai_ who had fought in our defence at Kiôto on the 23rd March, and by Daté. With the latter we had a discussion about the recently published edict against Christianity; it revived the ancient prohibition, but in less stringent terms. Daté admitted that the wording was objectionable, and said that he had caused it not to be exhibited on the public notice-boards at Ozaka and Hiôgo. He had tried to get the expression (translated "evil" or "pernicious" sect) altered, but said it would be impossible to suppress the proscription of Christianity altogether. Sir Harry responded that religious toleration was a mark of civilization, and to us he said privately that the presentation of the Queen's letter was a good opportunity which we ought to turn to account. Afterwards I had a long talk with Nakai on this subject, and suggested that instead of specifically mentioning Christianity the decree should merely forbid "pernicious sects" in general. It was clear that the Japanese Government would not be induced to revoke the law completely, for that would be to give a free hand to the Roman Catholic missionaries at Nagasaki, who had already made themselves obnoxious by the active manner in which they had carried on their proselytism. It was however agreed that Sir Harry should meet Sanjô, Daté, Gotô and Kido on the following day to dispose, if possible, of this question, but Nakai warned me that not even the heads of the government (_sôsai_) could make a definite promise; they were not absolute, as he said. So on the 19th we had a palaver at the Nishi Hongwanji, at which Yamashina no Miya, the president of the Foreign Board, was present, besides those already mentioned, and several more. They defended what had been done on the ground that the hostility to Christianity was still intense, and that in popular opinion it was allied to magic or sorcery. This I knew myself to be a fact. I had once been asked by a Japanese to teach him "Kiristan," which he believed would enable him to discover what his wife was doing in his absence from the house. They admitted however that an error had been committed in describing Christianity as a pernicious sect, and said that this wording would be altered. To have published nothing would have been tantamount to toleration, "silent approval" as the Japanese expression goes, and upon this they could not venture. On the 24th Sir Harry recurred to the subject with the same set of ministers, with whom Iwakura was joined. Perhaps it was on this occasion that a young _samurai_ of Hizen, Okuma Hachitarô, whom we had not met before, assured us that he knew all about the subject, for he had read the Bible and the "Prairie-book." It appeared that he had been a pupil of Dr Verbeck, an American missionary at Nagasaki. Sir Harry gave them a copy and a Japanese version of a despatch on this subject, which had been received from Lord Stanley. The other foreign diplomats took the same line, but their united remonstrances produced little effect, and the measure of exiling to other parts of the country some four thousand Japanese of all ages and both sexes mostly from the village of Urakami near Nagasaki, was unflinchingly carried out. The presentation of the minister's letters of credence took place on the 22nd. Admiral Keppel landed in the morning accompanied by his flag-Captain Heneage, and Captain Stanhope of the "Ocean"; Commander Pollard and Lieutenant Kerr in command of a gunboat; Pusey, commander of the "Salamis"; his secretary William Risk, and Garnier, flag-lieutenant, and joined us at the vice-consulate. The legation party included the chief, Adams, Mitford, who had just been gazetted second secretary, and myself. Our procession consisted of a hundred marines from H.M.S. "Rodney" and the same number from H.M.S. "Ocean," twelve palanquins in which such of us rode as had legs flexible enough, four of the legation escort on foot, and two bodies of Japanese troops who preceded and followed us. We arrived punctually at one o'clock at the Nishi Hongwanji, assigned for the performance of the ceremony. The theory of the Mikado's presence at Ozaka was that he was at the head of the army operating from Kiôto against the rebellious Tokugawa chief at Yedo, and he was therefore obliged to put up with such accommodation as he could find in the Buddhist monasteries, which were not very imperial in their appointments. We were ushered into an ante-chamber which was merely a part of the hall of audience divided off by screens. Down the middle ran a long table covered with cloth of gold, about the only piece of splendour in the place; on one side of this we took our seats, the Japanese ministers for Foreign Affairs on the other. Tea, and sweetmeats piled on wooden trays were brought in for our refection, and we had to wait about half-an-hour before the chief of the ministry entered the room and made the polite speeches necessary on such an occasion. In a few minutes more we were informed that everything was ready, whereupon the second and third ministers proceeded to usher us into the throne room. This was an apartment of considerable size down each side of which there ran a row of wooden pillars supporting the roof. On a dais at the extreme end sat the Mikado, under a canopy supported by black-lacquered poles, and with the blinds rolled up as high as was possible. We advanced up the middle of the room in double column, the one on the right headed by the Admiral and composed of naval officers, the other headed by the minister, and consisting of the legation staff. Everyone made three bows, first on advancing into the middle of the room, the second at the foot of the dais, the third on mounting the dais, which was large enough to afford place for us all. The Mikado rose and stood under the canopy from the moment that we began to bow. The principal minister for Foreign Affairs and one other great personage knelt, one on each side of the throne. In front of the throne, on each side, stood a small wooden image of a lion; these are of great antiquity and are much revered by the Japanese people. Behind the throne a crowd of courtiers were ranged in a double row, wearing little black paper caps and gorgeous brocade robes of various hues. As the Mikado stood up, the upper part of his face, including the eyes, became hidden from view, but I saw the whole of it whenever he moved. His complexion was white, perhaps artificially so rendered, his mouth badly formed, what a doctor would call prognathous, but the general contour was good. His eyebrows were shaven off, and painted in an inch higher up. His costume consisted of a long black loose cape hanging backwards, a white upper garment or mantle and voluminous purple trousers. The proceedings were as follows: the minister stood in front of the Mikado's right, with the Legation behind him in order of seniority, the Admiral with his personal staff and the other naval officers on the imperial left. Sir Harry then recited his address, which he had got by heart; it seemed truly absurd when one at last stood face to face with the recipient. Then Itô, who discharged the functions of interpreter on the occasion, read the translation, and we all bowed. Sir Harry stepping forward put the Queen's letter into the hand of the Mikado, who evidently felt bashful or timid, and had to be assisted by Yamashina no Miya; his part was to receive it from the Mikado. Then His Majesty forgot his speech, but catching a word from the personage on his left managed to get out the first sentence, whereupon Itô read out the translation of the whole that had been prepared beforehand. Sir Harry then introduced each of us in turn, and next the Admiral, who presented his officers. The Mikado expressed the hope that all was well with the squadron under his command, and we retired backwards out of the presence into the ante-chamber, bowing as we went, and congratulating ourselves that everything had passed off without a hitch. In the evening we went to dine with Daté, who gave us a banquet cooked as nearly in European fashion as he could manage. Next day we celebrated the Queen's birthday in advance by firing salutes, and a large party of Japanese nobles went on board the "Rodney" to lunch with the Admiral. Yamashina no Miya proposed the Queen's health, which was responded to enthusiastically by everyone present. Many of the guests were intelligent and well behaved, but the Prince of Chôshiû, who insisted on my sitting next to him, behaved like a great baby, and drank more champagne than was good for him. One felt however that Japanese princes could not be blamed if they were weak-minded, their education being planned so as to produce that result. The son of the Mikado's maternal uncle was possessed with a huge desire to see an European cat, while another great man wanted to get sight of a negro, and we had great difficulty in satisfying their wishes. The principal minister for Foreign Affairs, who had of course to be saluted, desired that as little powder as possible should be used, because the sound of a violent explosion hurt his ears. One of the great attractions was the "Rodney's" band, which played a great deal of noisy music for the benefit of the Admiral's guests, and the bandmaster of the "Ocean" gained great applause by composing a march and a Japanese national anthem, which he dedicated to the Mikado. The conference held at Ozaka on the following day (a Sunday), at which among other things the Christian question was discussed, lasted for six hours, and that meant six hours for me of interpreting from English into Japanese and from Japanese into English. So it was a certain amount of relief to me when on the 25th we reembarked on board the "Salamis" to return to Yokohama. The Mikado left Ozaka on the 28th and returned to Kiôto, the submission of the ex-Tycoon being held to justify this step. CHAPTER XXXII MISCELLANEOUS INCIDENTS--MITO POLITICS ADAMS and I set up housekeeping together in the First Secretary's house at Yokohama, but I still kept on the Japanese _yashiki_ I had rented at Yedo, and spent a great deal of time there watching the course of events. From time to time I returned to Yokohama to report to my chief, or else reported to him by letter. I was very busily occupied in making translations from the official gazette that was now being published at Kiôto and the popular newspapers that had started into existence at Yedo. One of these contained documents of the highest interest, the terms communicated to Keiki on April 27, the acceptance of which by him involved his retirement to Mito on May 8, and the provisional recognition of Kaménosuké (Tayasu) as the head of the Tokugawa clan. The castle of Yedo was occupied by the imperialist forces, and the troops of Satsuma, Chôshiû and other clans moved freely about the city. On June 23 I went up to Yedo for a three days' stay with Adams; I found there in the local papers interesting communications which were probably fictitious. Thus one, said to be written by a retainer of the Miya of Chi-on-in, where the British Legation had been lodged in March, who though regarding the expulsion of foreigners as perhaps difficult of achievement, recommended that the organization of the army be diligently taken in hand, in order that foreigners might be humbled and kept in subjection. He also deprecated audiences being granted by the Mikado to foreign diplomatic representatives. Another such paper professed to represent the views of Chôshiû "irregular troops" and protested against audiences being granted, because such friendly treatment of foreigners would prevent the nation from affording hearty support to the Mikado when the time should arrive for "expelling the barbarian." When I mentioned these publications to my friend Katsu, he replied that a council of court and territorial nobles (_kugé_ and _daimiôs_) was held at Kiôto about the end of May, at which the former expressed the opinion that a favourable occasion for expelling foreigners from the country had now presented itself; their attempt to introduce Christianity at Nagasaki might be alleged as the justifying ground of the measure. That the _daimiôs_ were silent and that the Mikado, on being referred to, took no notice of the proposal. Katsu was not very accurately informed, but it is a fact that on May 14 the principal members of the government and _daimiôs_ in attendance on the Mikado at Ozaka were summoned before His Majesty at the Hongwanji, and were informed that Christianity was on the increase at Urakami, a village near Nagasaki; he asked for their opinion as to the best way of dealing with the matter, and it was understood that their replies would be published in the government gazette. Daté denied to Mitford that part of the story which said that the meeting was for the purpose of considering whether an anti-foreign policy might not be resorted to. It was difficult for us to obtain accurate information, and probably every Japanese in the position of Katsu or Daté experienced similar difficulty. I do not think however that these documents ever saw the light, and the suggestion is very natural that some of them were of such a character that it was considered advisable to suppress them. The formal appointment of Kaménosuké, a mere boy of six years of age, took place on June 19, and the leading men of the Tokugawa clan waited on him the following morning to present their felicitations. The situation and extent of the territory to be left to the clan had not then been determined. Katsu told me that Sanjô, who had arrived in Yedo on the 13th, was waiting for the reinforcements expected from the south and west before announcing a decision on these points. He gave me such statistics about the revenue hitherto accruing to the Tycoon's government as showed, to his satisfaction at least, that it would not be possible for the Mikado to derive any income from forfeiture of that revenue, and there was danger of his government falling to pieces for want of funds. Higashi-Kuzé, who was then in Yedo, said to me that the revenue to be granted to the Tokugawa would not be fixed until that part of the clan still in arms against the Mikado was entirely reduced to submission. The war was being vigorously prosecuted near Niigata in Echigo and in the neighbourhood of Aidzu. I myself saw a considerable body of southern troops march into Yedo on June 25, which effectually contradicted the hopes of the Tokugawa people that the imperialists were weakening, and that some of the western clans, in particular Higo, were likely to afford them sympathy, if not actual support. M. Roches finally left Yokohama on June 23, having been succeeded by M. Outrey, with the intention of visiting Ozaka and Nagasaki on his way home. His policy had proved a complete failure, as far as supporting the Shôgun against the Mikado was concerned. He had succeeded however in procuring for French engineers the construction of the arsenal at Yokosuka and the engagement of a French military mission, which were continued for several years after the establishment of the new government. Noguchi had an elder and a younger brother, the latter of whom had joined the followers of the Tokugawa who after the withdrawal of Keiki to Mito had gathered themselves together in the mausoleum enclosure at Uyéno. Thence they issued forth at night and assassinated imperialist soldiers from time to time. At last it was decided to attack them in their stronghold, and early in the morning of July 4 an advance was made which led to the destruction by fire of a considerable part of the city lying between the outer moat and the main gate of Uyéno, and also of the great temple building which occupied the centre of the enclosure. The burial places of the Shôguns were not damaged. Rinôji no Miya, the imperial prince who had always resided there in the character of abbot, and whom the recalcitrant Tokugawa men talked of raising to the throne as Mikado, was carried off by the survivors at the end of the day. The fighting began at eight o'clock in the morning and was over by five o'clock in the evening. During this affair I was at Yokohama, having been kept there since my last visit to Yedo at the end of June. At the beginning of that month Willis and I were in Yedo together for a few days, while he attended to wounded men of the Satsuma and other clans, such as Toda, Chôshiû and Bizen. The latter occupied Tôzenji, which had formerly been the British Legation, and he recorded in his report the fact of his being received and treated by the Bizen men with great courtesy, which showed that they entertained no feelings of hostility against foreigners, and regarded the death of Taki Zenzaburô as a just retribution for the attack on foreigners at Kôbé in the previous February. The condition of these wounded men was deplorable, for at that time Japan had no experienced surgeons, and the treatment of gunshot wounds was of a very amateurish character. There were but few cases of sword-cuts. Subsequently some of the more urgent cases were at Willis' suggestion sent down to Yokohama, and towards the end of July there were 176 patients in the building appropriated as a military hospital. Under the previous government it had been a school for instruction in the Chinese classics. Two-thirds of the number were Satsuma men, Chôshiû and Tosa soldiers together made up a fourth. About 40 had been wounded in the recent fighting at Uyéno, the others had received their injuries in the expeditions to the north of Yedo against Aidzu. Willis' services were so greatly appreciated that the minister was asked in October to lend them again to the troops which had been fighting in Echigo. This arrangement was facilitated by the fact that he was now vice-consul at Yedo, a post which he was unable to take up because the opening of the city to foreign residence and trade had to be deferred; and he was relieved at Yokohama by Dr J. B. Siddall who had been appointed medical officer to the legation early in January. On the 29th July I went to Yedo with Adams, and spent four days in visiting Okuma, Katsu and Komatsu, but though I must have reported to my chief the result of the conversation with these persons of importance, I have no record, except of voluminous translations from the Japanese of anti-Christian pamphlets and political documents of all kinds. I went alone to Yedo again on August 17, and next day called on Okuma, whom I found in bed looking very ill. From him I learnt that fighting had commenced on the 13th at Imaichi, near Nikkô. The imperialists were victorious and were still advancing on Aidzu, 75 miles further. A messenger who left Echigo on the 8th reported that Niigata was still held by Aidzu men. Subsequently to the capture of Nagaoka by the imperial troops more fighting had taken place, in which both sides lost heavily. The imperialists were holding their ground, and expected further reinforcements which would enable them to advance on Wakamatsu, the capital of Aidzu, at the same time as the divisions from Shirakawa and Akita. The Prince of Hizen, Okuma's own chief, had been urged by his troops in Shimotsuké, where Imaichi is situated, to lead them against the enemy, but his councillors (_karô_) had dissuaded him from taking the field. Since the beginning of the year several constitutions had been framed and issued one after the other, and about this time I was engaged in translating the newest edition, which bore the date of June. It showed marked traces of American political theories, and I have little doubt that Okuma and his fellow-clansman Soyéjima, pupils of Dr Verbeck, had had a considerable part in framing it. "The power and authority of the _Daijôkan_ (_i.e._ government), threefold, legislative, executive and judicial," was the wording of one article. By another it was provided that "All officers shall be changed after four years' service. They shall be appointed by a majority of votes given by ballot. When the first period for changing the officers of government arrives, half of the present staff shall be retained for an additional space of two years, in order that there be no interruption of the public business." In this we seemed to hear an echo of the "spoils system." Okuma explained that the "executive" represented the executive department in the United States Constitution, "consisting of the president and his advisers," but that in fact it was the head of the Shintô religion, finance, war and foreign departments. It is needless to say that this state paper has long ago been superseded by the existing Itô constitution of 1889. Then I went on to Katsu. He said that Sumpu (now called Shidzuoka) was to have been formally handed over to the Tokugawa family two days previously, but as a matter of fact it had always formed part of their possessions. He took down from a shelf a memorandum in which he had noted down some years before the names of the ablest men in different clans. Many of them were already dead. Satsuma and Chôshiû accounted for the largest number; of the Tokugawa clan there were very few. All our friends of Satsuma, Chôshiû and Tosa were among the number of those still living. While I was there Tsumagi Nakadzukasa, who had given me a dinner a couple of months earlier, came in. He had returned a few days before from Mito, where he had left Keiki, employing his leisure in the composition of Japanese poetry, and not expecting to be invited at present to take a share in the government. This was an absolutely baseless notion on his part, if he in reality entertained it. He had sent an affectionate message to Katsu, which Tsumagi appeared to be afraid of delivering in my presence, but it proved to be nothing more than a warning to care for his personal safety, which was said to have been threatened by the hot-headed younger Tokugawa men. He said that about 500 Mito men had gone to join Aidzu. The outcome of their conversation was that there was nothing in the existing political situation to cause them anxiety. The Tokugawa people were desirous of getting Katsu to take office under Kaménosuké, but he was unwilling. I asked him whether he had heard of a general feeling of dislike towards the English. That he replied was an old thing, dating from the time when Sir Harry used to advise the Shôgun's ministers to refrain from attacking Chôshiû. The idea was no doubt fostered by Roches, who told them that unless they asked the British Government to lend naval instructors, the English would back up the _daimiôs'_ party, and the want of confidence in British friendship was the reason why Dutchmen had been engaged to bring out the "Kaiyô-maru," a ship of war constructed in England for the Prince of Higo by Glover & Co. of Nagasaki, which had come into the possession of the Mikado's adherents. I had heard from Komatsu and Nakai that imperialist troops landed from the "Kaiyô-maru" at Hirakata about the 5th or 6th August had gained a victory there over a mixed force of Sendai men and Tokugawa _rônin_, and this was confirmed by Tsumagi. On the 19th I walked as far as the Nihom-bashi, the bridge in the centre of the city from which all distances were measured by road, and from there to the huge hotel at the foreign settlement constructed under the supervision of the Tokugawa government for the accommodation of foreigners. The commercial quarter was very lively, the streets were crowded, especially by _samurai_ belonging to the imperialist forces, but the neighbourhood of the _daimiôs' yashikis_ below the castle was like a city of the dead. On the 20th I had a visit from Kawakatsu Omi, an ex-commissioner for Foreign Affairs. He said that the Castle of Sumpu was little better than a ruin, and that there were no houses which could receive the Tokugawa retainers. He would like to become a retainer of the Mikado (_chô-shin_); his family was not originally in the service of the Tokugawa family, but was of more ancient descent. He would be satisfied if he was made a minister of public instruction. Midzuno Wakasa, a former governor of Yokohama, and Sugiura Takésaburô, another Tokugawa man, would probably be employed by the imperialist government to make all the arrangements with regard to the foreign settlement at Yedo. Mimbu Taiyu, the younger brother of Keiki, then still in France, was to be fetched home to succeed the late Prince of Mito, who had died just about the time of Keiki's retreat thither. About a hundred and thirty _hatamotos_ went up to Kiôto in February and by surrendering to the Mikado, secured the possession of their lands. He regretted that he had lost everything through not following their example. The Tokugawa family were to retain 700,000 _koku_ of lands, which would enable them to keep a good many retainers, but not all the 30,000 who had hitherto belonged to the clan as _go-ké-nin_. My own Japanese escort, who belonged to the body of _betté-gumi_ created several years before to act as guards and escorts for the foreign legations, 300 of whom were to be kept together for that purpose, all wanted to become Mikado's men. On the 21st Komatsu and Nakai came to call on me. They said the troops sent by way of Hirakata to Tanagura in Oshiû had been completely victorious, and that more would speedily follow. In fact, while we were talking, 500 Satsuma men marched past the house along the main-road by the seashore in order to embark for the north. Kido, who had gone to Kiôto to report the state of affairs at Yedo, was expected back soon. They thought that a good deal of pressure would be necessary to induce the very conservative Kiôto Court to bring the Mikado there. That afternoon I called on Okuma, who was still very unwell, and, like most of the Hizen people, not disposed to be communicative. From him I went to Nakai, who showed me the draft of the state paper by which Gotô overturned the late government in the previous October. It differed slightly from the published copies, in that it contained proposals for the engagement of French and English teachers of language, to get military instructors from England, and to abolish the Tycoon and reduce the Tokugawa clan to the same level as the others. These were all struck out on reconsideration in order to avoid exciting a suspicion that Gotô and his political allies were too partial to foreigners, and provoking the hostility of the _fudai_ and _hatamotos_. He had also the drafts of a letter from Higashi-Kuzé to Sanjô, in which, among other things which strengthened the Aidzu resistance to the imperial troops, he reported that foreign vessels anchored at Niigata and supplied the rebels with arms and ammunition; and Higashi-Kuzé said that on his informing the foreign representatives of this, they replied that they would put a stop to the practice. I pointed out to Nakai that this must be a mistake. The Ministers having issued proclamations of neutrality had nothing to do with their enforcement, and that if the Japanese authorities wished to put an end to this traffic, they had merely to notify to the foreign representatives the blockade of the port of Niigata, and that a vessel-of-war was stationed there to prevent communication with the shore. This must have appeared a very strange doctrine to him, but international law was a complete novelty in Japan in those days. He also showed me the draft of Komatsu's letter to Kiôto about the treatment of the Nagasaki Japanese Christians, embodying the arguments recently used to him by Sir Harry, and advocating the adoption of milder measures. Next day I went again to see Nakai, and found with him a very attractive Satsuma man named Inouyé Iwami, who was greatly interested in the development of the resources of the island of Yezo. He was full of schemes for its colonization from Japan, and for the introduction of the European system of farming under the supervision of a German named Gaertner. He said that Shimidzudani, a young Court noble of about 25, was to be governor of Hakodaté, and that he intended to make him learn English. We discussed various leading personalities with considerable freedom--I hinted that Higashi-Kuzé, in spite of his rank, was not the best representative man to send to Europe as Ambassador. I thought Daté or Iwakura or even Kansô of Hizen would do better. He replied that Iwakura could not be spared. The most important and interesting suggestion he made was that the Mikado must move to Yedo, and make it his Capital, as otherwise it would not be possible to keep in order the rebellious clans of the north. Both he and Komatsu, who joined us later on at a restaurant on the river, approved of what I had suggested about the blockade of Niigata. On the 23rd I dined with Komatsu and Nakai to meet Okubo, the Satsuma statesman who had suggested the removal of the Capital from Kiôto to Ozaka earlier in the year. I have no doubt that the final decision to make Yedo the centre of government, and to change its name to Tôkiô or Eastern Capital was largely his work. He was very taciturn by disposition, and the only information he vouchsafed was that Daté was to go to Sendai to endeavour to persuade the _daimiô_, who was the head of the Daté family and all its branches, to abandon the cause of Aidzu. Komatsu talked a good deal about the English naval instructors who had been engaged by the previous government, whom he evidently wished to get rid of, and I encouraged him to dismiss them, for I felt it would not be fair to insist on their keeping these officers in their service during a period of civil war, when the British neutrality proclamation prevented their making use of them. Komatsu told me that their plan was to retain the services of the commissioned officers, but to send the petty officers and seamen back to England. About two months before this time some Higo men had called on me, and said they were going north to Tsugaru. They argued that any other system than feudalism was impossible in Japan. Now I heard that the Higo clan had privately sent messengers to Wakamatsu to endeavour to effect a reconciliation between Aidzu and the _daimiôs_ of the west and south, but Aidzu replied that matters had gone too far, and the questions at issue must be decided by the sword. I thought it likely that these envoys from Higo were the men who had been to see me, as the ideas which they entertained seemed to be similar. The translation of the June Constitution, which superseded one that had been promulgated in March, had given me a great deal of trouble. I was unable to decide upon the best name in English for the second department. It might be Imperial Council, Privy Council, or Cabinet. It appeared that the officials of this department were merely secretaries to the two prime ministers, and had no real executive authority; and that the administration was divided into this nameless department and the other four which followed it. This was Okubo's explanation. It was, however, pretty evident that this constitution was not to be the final one, and it seemed to me to contain in itself the elements of change. There were so many appointments that were held by dummies of high birth, while the real work was done by their underlings. The ancient ranks and precedence had been practically done away with, and I could not help thinking that the court and territorial nobles (_kugé_ and _daimiôs_) would have to be struck out of the list of officials. There was hardly one of them fit to occupy the place of head of a department, and yet these appointments were confined to them, no commoner being eligible. The 25th August was chiefly occupied with arrangements made with Nakai for the opening of Yedo on October 1, by instructions from the chief, the abolition of the absurd existing rules about passports for foreigners proceeding to Yedo, and for ordering one of the naval instructors there to buoy the channel. The ex-Tycoon's government had arranged to have a huge hotel built for the accommodation of foreign visitors, and the owners would have liked to let it, but it seemed unlikely that any foreigner would undertake to run such an establishment on his own account, and I advised that they should engage a man from Yokohama to act as steward for the proprietors, make out the visitors' bills and purchase the necessary wines and provisions. It was evident that the imperialists were gathering their forces for a combined attack on Aidzu, and as Nakai said, if they could not crush him with their troops they now had in the field, they never would succeed. An American sailing barque named the "Despatch" was hired for $3000 to carry men to Hirakata. On August 25 I saw 200 men march through Shinagawa to embark for the north; on the 22nd a large body of Chô-shiû men arrived, and were billetted in Sengakuji, the temple in which the 47 Faithful Rônins were buried. And Nakahara Naosuké, a Satsuma man, usually believed to be their admiral, but in reality an artillery officer, had been sent to Echigo with four companies of artillery, and great things were expected of him. August 26 I went to see Katsu, and found him greatly relieved in his mind as the result of a visit paid to him on the previous day by Komatsu. He said that the Castle of Sumpu had been handed over to the head of the Tokugawa clan on the 18th, but that the territories assigned to him had not yet been vacated by their previous possessors, who were very difficult to move, so that the lands at present available did not exceed 80,000 _koku_ in extent. He hoped Kaménosuké, by which he, of course, meant the guardians of the six-year-old child, would not go to any great expense in building or in engaging crowds of retainers. He said that the "Kaiyô-maru," flagship of Enomoto Idzumi, who commanded the Tokugawa fleet, was supplied with provisions by that clan. Enomoto, otherwise known as E. Kamajirô, was a naval officer who had been trained in Holland. I asked him whether the son of the late Prince of Mito was dead, or whether he was to be set aside in favour of Mimbu Taiyu. On this he gave me the following account of Mito politics, which had been a puzzle for many years to foreign observers. Noriakira, commonly called "the old prince of Mito," was the younger son of Harutoshi, and his childhood's name (_zoku-miô_) was Keisaburô. His elder brother Narinobu was the heir, and his portion as a younger brother was only 200 _koku_. Being averse to society on account of his deafness, he spent his time in wandering about the country and acquainting himself with its actual condition, and no doubt then formed the habits of simplicity and frugality which distinguished him in after life. On the death of Harutoshi, Keisaburô's elder brother succeeded him, but dying shortly afterwards, left the prince-dom vacant. By that time two parties had gradually formed themselves in the Mito clan, one which supported the ancient Kiôto policy of the author of the Dainihonshi, the other which, fearing Keisaburô, had formed an alliance with the Court of Yedo, at that time ably directed by Midzuno Echizen no Kami, father of Idzumi no Kami until lately a member of the Go-rôjiû (Council of State). The latter party schemed to set aside the claims of Keisaburô in favour of an adopted heir from the then Shôgun's family. A will of the late prince was however discovered, in which he declared his desire that the claims of blood should be respected, and his brother Keisaburô be appointed as his successor. The will was backed up by a strong party known as the _Tengu-ren_, and Keisaburô became prince of Mito. This was in 1834 when he was about 30 years of age. The new prince was bent on carrying out certain reforms which the luxurious habits of the age appeared to him to render necessary. With this object he obtained a relaxation of the ancient rule which required the head of the house of Mito to be a resident in Yedo, the more easily because he had rendered himself obnoxious to the Go-rôjiû by the ostentatious manner in which he seemed to reprove their pomp and luxury by the simplicity of his own dress and manner of life, and retiring to his province on the pretext that it was necessary for him to superintend personally the government of the clan, he devoted his time to drilling troops in the only fashion then known in Japan. Openly advocating the supremacy of the Mikado, and non-intercourse with the western world (_Kin-ô, jô-i_), he secretly introduced into the province every Dutch scholar he could find, and made himself acquainted as far as was then possible with the resources of European science. With incredible labour he constructed from drawings contained in old Dutch books a frigate, which long lay at Yokohama for the protection of foreigners, but had he believed been since broken up. The report of his doings having been brought to Yedo, it was represented to the Go-rôjiû that the drilling of men and building of warships were merely preparations for carrying out the traditional Mito policy, and that the prince was plotting rebellion. In 1844 he was compelled to retire into seclusion, and he was succeeded by his son, the late prince, then a mere boy. In 1851 a Dutch man-of-war made its appearance at Nagasaki, and caused no slight consternation at Yedo. It was said that the Nagasaki Dutchmen were becoming restive, and that the ship was merely a precursor of the English, who at that time bore the detestable reputation of being a nation of pirates ready for any violence. Succeeding events proved to the Shôgun's government that Japan was in danger of being forced into relations with European Powers; the advent of Admiral Perry and his squadron heightened their alarm to such a degree that they yielded to the voice of public opinion, and inviting the old prince of Mito to Yedo admitted him again into their councils. In 1858 the Shôgun Iyésada died, and the old prince of Mito wished to secure the succession to his seventh son, who having been adopted as heir to the house of Shitotsubashi was in a legitimate position to become the Shôgun's heir. It was at this moment that Ii Kamon no Kami came into power, and though it is uncertain whether he had a previous understanding with the Ki-shiû family that they should furnish an heir, it is certain that he found them ready to comply; and his influence was strong enough to force old Mito to retire a second time into private life, and to order Echizen, Tosa and Uwajima, who had supported the Mito claims, to resign their _daimiates_ to their sons. The assassination of Ii Kamon no Kami a couple of years later by Mito men was the consequence. Other influences were then at work in the west. The Kiôto policy and the expulsion of foreigners had been warmly espoused by Satsuma and Chô-shiû. Hence the bond of union between them and the _Tengu-ren_ section of the Mito men, who on hearing that civil war had broken out at Kiôto, made their appearance before the castle of the prince, and demanded that he should carry out the clan policy. This action proving unsuccessful they raised the standard of rebellion on Mount Tsukuba in Hitachi, whence they were expelled by the forces of the Shôgun after some hard fighting. Their fate among the mountains of Kaga was a well-known tale. Takéda Kô-un-sai, who had been driven by the force of circumstances to join them, and several hundred of his comrades were beheaded at Tsuruga. The remainder of the _Tengu-ren_ fled to Kiôto, where the ex-Tycoon, at that time still bearing the name of Shitotsubashi, took them into his pay. Now that the revolution of the previous January had so completely changed the face of affairs, these men had returned to their native province, headed by Takéda Kinjirô, a grandson of Kô-un-sai, and their political opponents, whom they styled _Kan-tô_ (traitors), finding themselves on the losing side, and likely to be in a perilous minority, since the _Tengu-ren_ were backed up by the imperialists, had gone off to Echigo, to the number of some five hundred. The _Tengu-ren_, out of gratitude to their former protector, had determined to set aside the heir in favour of Mimbu Taiyu, Shitotsubashi's younger brother, and had despatched agents to bring the latter back from Paris. That day Nagaoka, younger brother of Higo, arrived by sea with a large number of retainers, and on the 29th the Prince of Awa marched in in great pomp with about 600 men. On the 28th I had a great feast with Komatsu, Inouyé Iwami and young Matsuné of Uwajima. One of the party drank so much _saké_ that he lay down on the floor and went to sleep. In half an hour's time he woke up quite sober, and was able to repeat the process. From September 8 to October 17 Adams and I were absent on a wild-goose chase after the Russians who were reported to be occupying the northern coast of Yezo, in the course of which H.M.S. "Rattler," in which we had embarked, was wrecked in Sôya Bay. But as this was not concerned with the progress of political events in Japan, it seems unnecessary to occupy space in narrating our experiences. We were rescued by the French corvette "Dupleix," Captain du Petit Thouars. CHAPTER XXXIII CAPTURE OF WAKAMATSU AND ENTRY OF THE MIKADO INTO YEDO NOVEMBER 6th was celebrated with much pomp and ceremony as being the Mikado's birthday. A review of the 2/x regiment was held at Yokohama to which Sir Harry invited Sanjô, now promoted to the rank of Udaijin. The foreign men-of-war joined with the Kanagawa fort in firing a royal salute, which the party viewed from my upstairs verandah overlooking the bay. Besides Sanjô we had Nagaoka Riônosuké, Higashi-Kuzé and Madé-no-kôji. A luncheon at the minister's residence followed, and the swords of honour sent out from England for presentation to Gotô and Nakai in recognition of their gallant conduct on the 23rd of March were handed over. Nakai at once girt his on, and strutted about with a gold-laced cap on his head, to his own great delight and the intense amusement of the rest of the company. As it happened to be the second day of the Yokohama races it was proposed that the whole party should adjourn to the race-course. Sanjô and Higashi-Kuzé, who had on white _maedaré_ and black-lacquered paper caps, declined. I rode down with Madé-no-kôji and Nagaoka, who enjoyed themselves immensely. On returning home I took Nakai in with me and gave him tea; in exchange for this he informed me that news had been received of the capture of the outer castle of Wakamatsu, and that only the inner ring and citadel remained in possession of the defenders; also that the Mikado would arrive at Yedo about November 27. Next day I went up to Yedo on board a Japanese steamer belonging to the Yokosuka arsenal with Sanjô, Higashi-Kuzé, Nagaoka and Nakai. By a mistake of Nakai's about the hour of leaving I kept the party waiting for me at the custom house and a mounted messenger had to be sent to fetch me. I hurried down and found them sitting quietly smoking. They protested against my apologising. How different from some Europeans! On the 8th Mitford and I went to call on Katsu. His wife had gone off to Sumpu, but he remained to do the "head muck-and-bottle-washing" (_miso-zuri_) of the clan. He hoped to obtain the Shimidzu lands, amounting to 110,000 _koku_, for feeding the retainers who had lost their lands and pay. Instead of the lands promised in Oshiû, part of Mikawa and the whole of Enshiû had been conceded, but the _daimiôs_ hitherto entitled had not yet given up possession. Keiki had preceded Kaménosuké to Sumpu. Katsu also had a story that Brunet, one of the French military instructors, went off in the Kayô-maru, when the Tokugawa naval squadron left the Yedo anchorage on the night of October 4. We doubted this, as we knew that he had just received promotion in the French army. Nevertheless it turned out to be a fact. He was accompanied by another officer named Caseneuve, and several other Frenchmen. We also visited Nakai, who gave us a first-rate dinner from the hotel. He said that the citadel of Wakamatsu was captured on October 29. He had also received a letter from Kido placing the question of the Mikado's coming to Yedo beyond a doubt. And as we returned to my house we found that great preparations were already being made in anticipation of His Majesty's arrival, roads being re-made, bridges rebuilt, and ward-gates being constructed in side streets where they had never existed before. One of my _betté_ Sano Ikunosuké called to present his thanks for having been selected by the court to remain one of the Yedo guard for foreigners; all my sixteen men had been engaged for this service. He said that the Shimidzu domain had been granted provisionally to the Tokugawa family for the purpose mentioned by Katsu. To-day (November 9) was the last day on which men of the Tokugawa clan could send in their names for service under the Mikado. In some cases they would receive about half their former revenue, but others would be better off than before, because their allowances, though nominally diminished, would be issued in rice instead of in money at a low fixed rate. That evening Mitford and I dined with Nagaoka at the Higo _yashiki_ in Shirokané, close by our legation, Higashi-Kuzé and Nakai being the other guests. It was a dinner in European style served from the hotel in a picturesque two-storeyed house, built in the garden so as to command a view over the _nagaya_ in the direction of the bay. In the garden there were some splendid trees and pretty shaded nooks. Hosokawa himself was there, very fat and amiable, very small eyes and a tendency to "fly catching." On the 10th I went back to Yokohama. At an interview on November 16 between all the Foreign Representatives, Higashi-Kuzé and Térashima, the Japanese ministers stated that the castle of Wakamatsu had surrendered on the 6th November to the imperial forces. The two princes, father and son, in robes of ceremony and preceded by a retainer carrying a large banner inscribed with the word "surrender" (_kô-fuku_), and followed by the garrison, likewise in robes of ceremony and with their heads shaven, came to the camp of the besiegers and gave themselves up. The castle and all the arms it contained were handed over, and the two princes retired into strict seclusion (_kin-shin_) at a Buddhist monastery in the town. Nakamura Hanjirô, the chief of the staff (_gun-kan_) wept when he went to take delivery of the castle and its contents. It was a pleasure to us to see how the countenances of some of those who had to listen to the story fell, for they had counted on a desperate resistance on the part of Aidzu to defeat the imperialist party and frustrate the policy of the British Legation. Now that this exciting episode was at an end, the speedy submission of the other northern clans could be counted on with confidence. The detailed report made by the Hizen clan, dated November 16, published in the "Kiôto Gazette," shows that the garrison included _samurai_ soldiers 764, troops of a lower class 1609, wounded 570, outlaws from other territories (_rônin_) 462; women and children 639, officials 199, civilians 646, personal attendants of the princes 42, and porters 42. There was no record of the number of men killed in the defence. On November 19 I went to Yedo with Captain Stanhope, Charles Wirgman the artist, and Dr. Siddall, after breakfasting with Du Petit Thouars on board the "Dupleix." Adams and William Marshall went up by road. On our arrival possession was at once taken of Siddall, by a Japanese doctor named Takéda Shingen, and he was carried off to the military hospital established at the Tôdô _yashiki_ in the Shitaya quarter. On the 21st Adams, Mitford, Marshall and Wirgman went to the Yoshiwara and had a feast in fine style at the Kimpeirô, part of which was furnished in western style for such Japanese guests as liked it. The admission of Europeans into that quarter of the town, from which they had until then been jealously shut out, was hailed as the dawn of a day of friendly intercourse of the frankest character. Next evening I gave a great entertainment at my own house. There were three _geisha_ from Shimmei-mae and two _taikomochi_ (jesters). We kept it up boisterously till midnight. The jesters performed a foreigner and his escort arriving at the Kawasaki ferry on the way to Yedo, and meeting with the usual obstruction at the hands of the men placed there to guard the crossing. My escort men also exhibited some comic scenes, much to their own satisfaction and to the delight of the household, who were admitted to a room at the top of the stairs. Letters arrived from the chief to say that he wanted a stand erected for himself opposite to the gate of our former legation buildings, in front of Sengakuji, for him to see the Mikado pass in (he was expected to reach Yedo on the 27th), and that Higashi-Kuzé and I must go down to Yokohama on the 24th to see himself. We wrote in reply to say that a stand was altogether an impossibility, seeing what Japanese etiquette was in such matters, and that I could not leave Siddall alone in Yedo without some one to interpret for him. So next day Wirgman and I went over to see Siddall, and found that the Tôdô _yashiki_ had now been turned into a general hospital. Here we fell in with old Ishigami, the Satsuma doctor who married a daughter of old Freiherr von Siebold by a Japanese mother, a very cheery person. After lunch we went with him and a crowd of other Japanese doctors to Uyéno, intending to get in and examine the scene of the fighting that took place on July 4, but the gate was shut in our face, and though we waited and argued patiently for a whole hour with the sentries, we could not convince them that we might safely be admitted. I think our Japanese companions felt even more annoyance than we did. The gateway was riddled with bullets, and it was evident that a pretty stiff fight had taken place there in July. We stayed the night at the hospital, and spent a jolly evening with Ishigami and another doctor named Yamashita. Next morning, in spite of the bitter cold, we went round the wards with the doctors. All the state apartments of the _daimiô's_ mansion (_go-ten_) had been converted into wards, and provided with iron bedsteads and hair mattresses. There was a very plucky little Tosa boy, probably a drummer, who had had his foot amputated. Then our attention was attracted to an aristocratic-looking little surgeon from Chôshiû, with his sleeves turned up like ruffles over a pair of delicate little wrists. At noon there came the two brothers Notsu, Shichizayemon and Shichiji, who persuaded Wirgman and myself to go to the Yoshiwara with them, instead of keeping an engagement with Nakai. Siddall compounded _mistura vini gallici_, and after partaking of this we started on a journey of exploration. It was a terribly cold day, with a gale from the north-west coming straight down the plain from the snowy peak of Asama-yama and other mountains of Shinshiû. The Yoshiwara lay right out in the middle of the rice-fields, occupying a considerable extent of ground. It was entered through a narrow gate at the end of a long causeway. After passing this gate, we were introduced into the upstairs rooms of a rather shabby house, evidently much frequented by the Satsuma clan. _Geishas_ were of course sent for, and the _saké_-cup circulated merrily. Towards nightfall it was proposed that we should visit the Kimpeirô, a hideous house furnished in what was regarded as European style; but we stayed there only a few minutes, and then returned to the house where we had first been entertained. Here we had more drinking, dancing and playing at _nanko_. In this game a wooden chopstick is broken up into six pieces, of which each player receives three. He puts in one palm as many as he thinks fit, and guesses at the total of what his hand and the hand of the other player contain. If he guesses right, the loser has to drink, and his turn comes to give the challenge. Evidently this is the way to get speedily drunk. We stopped there till a message came from Ishigami to say that he was awaiting us at another house to drink sober again. We went in search of him to a restaurant on the river bank, the _Yu-mei-rô_, where much singing, dancing, drinking and _nanko_ followed, till we had had enough of it, and came home by boat to the hospital, accompanied by three of the _geishas_. Next afternoon the artist and I said good-bye to Siddall, and walked over to Nakai's, but not finding him at home, we went to the hotel for refreshment, where we sat down in the garden and found ourselves overwhelmed with melancholy at the ugliness of the building. For five cups of tea and a bundle of Manila cheroots the manager charged us a dollar, to the surprise and horror of the Japanese boy who waited on us. To him it appeared an exorbitant demand. The cheroots were perhaps worth 20 cents, which left 16 cents for a cup of tea. On getting home to Takanawa we found that Rickerby, the proprietor and editor of the "Japan Times," had just arrived in a boat from Yokohama to witness the ceremony of the following day. November 26, 1868. About ten o'clock in the morning the Mikado passed into Yedo, having slept at Shinagawa. Mitford, the artist, Rickerby and I saw the procession from the open space recently created in front of the new gate of what had previously been Sir Harry Parkes' diplomatic residence, now transformed into a sort of foreign office. The display could not be described as splendid, for the effect of what was oriental in the courtiers' costumes was marred by the horribly untidy soldiers with unkempt hair and clothing vilely imitated from the west. The Mikado's black-lacquered palanquin (_hôren_) was to us a curious novelty. As it passed along the silence which fell upon the crowd was very striking. Old Daté, who rode between it and the closed chair in which the Mikado was really seated, nodded to us in a friendly manner. Rickerby wrote and published an excellent newspaper account of the whole show a few days afterwards in the "Japan Times." In the afternoon he and I walked to Kai-an-ji, a Buddhist religious house at Shinagawa, celebrated for its very pretty plantations of maple. From there we proceeded to a house of entertainment, the Kawasaki-ya, close by, to drink _saké_ and crack jokes with the girls about the Prince of Bizen, who had passed the night there. The house was full of troops from the west, but they scarcely took any notice of us, and in fact all those we met on the road ignored us completely. It must be said that whenever I went out into the streets of Yedo I was always accompanied by my Aidzu _samurai_ Noguchi and from four to six of my personal escort of the _betté-gumi_. On the 28th Sir Harry and Dr. Alford the Bishop of Victoria, Hongkong, came up to Yedo, and were entertained in European style at the new foreign office by Daté and Higashi-Kuzé. Machida and Môri, young Satsuma men, were also of the party. Both had been in England and spoke English, the latter, who was only about one-and-twenty, particularly well. Next day Mitford and I went to call on Nakai. We met there Machida, and Yamaguchi Hanzô, a Hizen _samurai_, who brought with him a man who had just returned from Shônai. He reported that Shônai had submitted on the 4th instant, and that two foreigners, one an American, the other an Englishman, both from Hakodaté, were present as spectators. Nakai, who was a member of the local government of the city, now called the Tô-kei-fu instead of Yedo, had given in his resignation because he found that the governor-general instead of placing confidence in himself and the other officials, was in the habit of upsetting their arrangements on the complaint of a few wretched tradespeople. Wirgman and I went down to Yokohama on the 30th, walking as far as Namamugi-mura (where Richardson was murdered in 1862), whence we took boat across to the foreign settlement. At Kawasaki-ya in Shinagawa we fell in with Notsu Shichizayémon and Ijiû-in, with two Kurohané men and one from Utsunomiya, companions on the occasion of our visit to the Yoshiwara, of whom the Satsuma men were on their way home. There was a large consumption of _saké_ and Japanese dishes, and much Doric Japanese spoken. Further on, at Mmé-yashiki or Bai-rin, as it had now become the fashion to call this very pleasant half-way house between Yedo and the ferry at Kawasaki, we found Oyama, who was like the others returning to Kagoshima as the civil war was practically at an end. We drank many parting cups together, and then walked with him to his hotel at Kawasaki. The road was full of homeward bound Satsuma men and Tokugawa people going to Sumpu. A report had got about that difficulties had arisen between Satsuma and Higo, and that the latter in conjunction with Arima and Chikuzen were going to fall upon the great clan; that in consequence of this the troops were rushing off as fast as possible to forestal the attack. Another rumour, much credited by the French Legation, was that Aidzu surrendered only on condition that the Satsuma troops should be withdrawn from the east and north of the country, and the Mikado come to Yedo. But as others besides the Satsuma fighting men were also going home, these stories were easily discredited. On December 3 I went back to Yedo, half-way in a _kago_ (common palanquin) from Kanagawa, and on foot from Kawasaki. At Bai-rin I met Midzuno Chinami, hurrying back from Shimoda where he had been put ashore from H.M.S. "Manila." Here was the late governor of Yokohama, who last year used to ride in a state palanquin (_nagabô_), with a large cortége and preceded by running footmen crying _shitaniro_, "down on your knees," now travelling in a wretched cheap hackney _kago_, without a single retainer. For all that he seemed cheerful enough. A good deal of my time in those days was passed in the compilation of an English-Japanese dictionary of the spoken language and in reading Japanese novels. On the 4th I went over to the hospital, where I found Siddall with his hands full, wounded men from Echigo having begun to arrive. Willis had gone on from Echigo to Wakamatsu to look after the Aidzu wounded, of whom there were nearly 600 in the castle when it was surrendered. My new pony "Fushimi," a present from Katsu before he left Yedo, carried me splendidly; the imperialists who crowded the streets appeared to admire with envy a black chimney-pot hat which I was wearing. On the 5th I went there again to pass the night, with Ishigami and Yamashita. They complained bitterly of one Mayéda Kiôsai, who had been appointed chief of the hospital, and said that the patients had threatened to cut his head off because he spent his time in driving about the city in a carriage and pair instead of attending to his duties. The reflection came naturally that you cannot make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, or give the standing of an European physician to a Japanese half-educated apothecary. On December 9 I went to the hotel to dine with Machida. The indispensable Nakai was there, also Okubo and Yoshii. The latter had left Wakamatsu on December 1st. Willis was there looking after the wounded, of whom he said there were at least two thousand on the Aidzu side alone. Snow was lying deep both in Echigo and Aidzu. Shônai was pacified, and the whole country might now be said to be at peace, a state of things which of course was displeasing to anti-imperialists, whether among diplomatists or merchants. Information had arrived that the murderers of the two sailors of H.M.S. "Icarus" in August 1867 had been discovered; they were from Chikuzen and the party to which they belonged was said to number nine in all. This of course would be welcome news to the Tosa people. It was strange that retainers of Chikuzen, who entertained Admiral King so hospitably in January should have been guilty of such a wanton crime. The newly issued paper money, known as _kinsatsu_, was much discussed, and it was evidently creating a great ferment among the people. Uchida, the mayor (_nanushi_) of Kanasugi, who had been to see me a few days earlier, said that a refusal to receive these notes in the payment of taxes was the only obstacle to their free circulation. Nakai denied the correctness of the statement that taxes might not be paid with them, but he thought that in the end it would be found necessary to establish a proper banking system by giving authority to the great firm of Mitsui to issue notes against a reserve of coin or bullion. It was a matter of vital importance to the imperial government, which had not found any money in the Tokugawa treasury, and the Mikado had always been kept very poorly supplied by the Shôgun's ministers. CHAPTER XXXIV ENOMOTO WITH THE RUNAWAY TOKUGAWA SHIPS SEIZES YEZO ON December 11 Machida came to me with a report from Hakodaté that the Tokugawa pirates, as they were styled after their refusal to surrender and their exodus from Yedo Bay on October 4, had landed at that port from the Kaiyô-maru and her consorts. The rebels were led by a member of the French military mission sent out in 1866 who had gone off with them when they left the bay, and it was very annoying for the French Legation that this officer should have violated the neutrality proclaimed by the Minister, and have joined rebels against the authority of a sovereign with whom France maintained friendly relations. A fight had ensued near Hakodaté, in which a large number of imperialists were killed or wounded. The Yokohama foreign press however represented that the Mikado's men had won the victory at a place about 15 miles from the port. According to despatches received from the consul the rebels had had by far the best of it. The foreign residents were in a great state of alarm. The consul wrote thus: "As the enemy approach we shall retire towards the hill; if he comes nearer, we shall go up the hill, and should it come to the last extremity we shall have no resource but to put our trust in an over-ruling Power." Nakai came on the 13th to talk about the new paper money, and the difficulties with foreigners to which it would give rise. Tom Glover's opinion was quoted in favour of a paper circulation, but he did not himself agree that a merchant, who was naturally an interested party, should be regarded as an authority on currency. This paper money had been issued to the troops, who forced the shop-keepers and the hucksters on the high roads to accept it in payment. But this could not go on long, for the paper did not pass current amongst the civilian population. We spoke about the state of foreign relations. He admitted that the old distrust of foreigners still existed; the foreign representatives were regarded as a necessary evil, to be endured, but not to be embraced. Nothing pleased the Mikado's government so much as to see the diplomatists living at Yokohama, and the idea of asking their advice upon any matter was never entertained for a moment. In fact the representatives were looked upon much in the same light as the agents (_rusui_) of the _daimiôs_, _i.e._ persons sent to Japan by their respective governments to receive the Mikado's orders, whenever occasion might arise. The representatives were themselves partly to blame for this state of things. Fine houses, comfortable living and whole skins at Yokohama were doubtless preferable to makeshifts and dangers at Yedo, but for all they knew or could learn of pending international questions they might just as well be resident at Hongkong. Another day was spent with the mayor of Kanasugi and three or four retainers at the classical theatre Kongo-daiyu in Iigura chô, to see _Nô_ and _Kiôgen_. Minami Torajirô was also among the audience. This was a young Aidzu _samurai_, who had come in the previous April to see me, with his countryman Hirozawa, when I had a great argument with the latter about Japanese politics and especially about the part our Legation had taken. It was the first time a foreigner had been present at this kind of theatrical performance. _Nô_ is a sort of tragedy or historical play, _Kiôgen_ is low comedy. There is no scenery and the costumes are all in an ancient style. The stage is about 24 feet square, and a long passage on the left connects it with the greenroom from which the actors make their appearance. There are 200 _Nô_, and printed books of the text, known as _utai_, could be bought for a trifling cost. They are delivered in slow recitative to the accompaniment of the music, or rather dissonance, of the fife and small drum. The orchestra, likewise dressed in antique fashion, were seated on campstools at the back of the stage. The _Kiôgen_, which pleased me most, were _Suyéhirogari_, in which a sort of Moses Primrose is sent to Kiôto to buy a fan, and is cheated by the merchant into paying 500 _riô_ for an umbrella, and _Oba ga saké_, in which a fellow having tried in vain to persuade his aunt, a rich old curmudgeon, to give him some _saké_, puts on a devil's mask and frightens her into submission, while he goes to get drunk at the store room where the liquor is kept. He threatens to eat her if she looks his way; her cries,"Oh fearful to behold; spare your retainer's life"; her anger on discovering in the drunken and sleepy demon her rascally nephew, were infinitely diverting. The _Nô_ I could not understand until I borrowed the book from a Japanese lady in the next box, and was enabled to follow the text. This was _Hachi no ki_. Sano Genzayémon, who has been deprived of his feudal estate, entertains a Buddhist priest at night. Having no food to offer him nor fuel to warm the room, he cuts down his own favourite dwarf plum, cherry and pine trees, and makes a fire of the branches. In return for this the holy man persuades the Lord of Kamakura to restore to him his forfeited lands. There were at that time three other companies of _nô-yakusha_; Kanzé-daiyu, Kôshô-daiyu and Kompara-daiyu. The audience consisted entirely of the _samurai_ class. The two Aidzu princes were brought to the suburb of Senji on December 15. Matsudaira Higo (now, like all other rebels, shorn of his title of _Kami_) was placed in the charge of Inshiû, and Wakasa in that of Chikuzen. Ninnaji no Miya, the commander-in-chief of the imperialist forces engaged in Echigo and Oshiu, was expected to arrive in Yedo on the 17th. And on or about the 16th the foreign representatives were officially notified of the restoration of peace. The guns and stores of H.M.S. "Rattler" which had perforce to be left behind at Sôya when the "Dupleix" brought us away, had been offered to the Mikado's government and accepted by them. This was the news heard from Okubo and Yoshii, whom I met at Nakai's on the 16th. As a measure of protection for British and French subjects at Hakodaté the "Satellite" and "Vénus" were despatched thither on the 14th, the former conveying our secretary of legation Adams. His "History of Japan," vol. ii., gives an account of what he saw and did there. Up to the 5th of December however that place had not been threatened with an attack from the fugitive Tokugawa navy. My old writing master Tédzuka, who came to call, gave me the following statistics about his clan. The chief's name was Sengoku Sanuki no Kami, and he ruled over territories assessed at 30,000 _koku_. The actual yield to the _daimiô_ was 16,000 _koku_ of rice; of this 8000 _koku_ were accounted for by fiefs held by retainers; 4000 _koku_ were required for the maintenance of the _daimiô's_ personal establishment, and an equal quantity went in expenses of administration. The latter included official salaries, cost of journeys to court at Yedo, of soldiers in the field, arms, etc. The clan numbered no more than 60 _samurai_ families. Its constitution as regards the offices of _karô_ and _yônin_ was the same as in the case of other clans. In accordance with orders promulgated in No. 5 of the Kiôto Gazette the old practice of hereditary office-holding had been abolished, and a system of promotion by merit established in its stead. In order to carry out these new arrangements, the hereditary fiefs of the retainers ought he thought to be equalized. When I went back to Yokohama on the 18th I found that news had been received of the capture, which I had anticipated, of Hakodaté by the runaway Tokugawa ships, and the flight of Shimidzu-dani with all his staff. The consul was, as one would expect, very seriously alarmed. And from the "Satellite's" expedition to the spot one could not look for any results of importance. On December 21 a great conference was held at the legation in Yokohama of the chief with Daté, Higashi-Kuzé, Komatsu, Kido, Machida and Ikébé Goi (of Yanagawa in Kiûshiû). The first thing they wanted was that Sir Harry would arrange to give Yamaguchi Hanzô a passage on board an English man-of-war to Hakodaté, in order that he might open negotiations with the rebel leaders. The chief seemed to me to fear that this would involve him too much in the opinion of the public as a partizan of the imperial government, and he advised them instead to despatch a common messenger across the strait from Awomori bearing written offers to treat. Seeing that they could not induce him to accede to their request, they acquiesced in his suggestion, but in such a half-hearted manner as to make one doubt whether they would follow his advice. A great discussion took place on the Christian question, in which the Japanese spoke very reasonably, and Sir Harry likewise, until he unfortunately lost his temper over the arguments used by Kido, and made use of very violent language such as I do not care to repeat. The result was that they promised to write Notes to the Foreign Representatives announcing the Mikado's intention of showing clemency to the converts. Next day Ikébé came to me to explain the theory of the imperial paper currency, but I did not understand much of what he said, and we wandered off into other subjects, especially Christianity. The old fellow professed to be not only an admirer of its doctrines, but also a believer. In the afternoon the chief and I went to return Daté's call at what had formerly been the governor's official residence at Tobé, a suburb of Yokohama. They had a long conversation, especially about the Christian question and the representative system, and Sir Harry tried to pump him about the future capital. Would it be at Kiôto, Ozaka or Yedo (Tokei, Tôkiô), for we had of course read what Okubo Ichizô had written on the subject early in the year. The old prince gave him some very polite "digs in the ribs" about his violent language of the previous day, saying that when people became animated in conversation, spectators were apt to think that a dispute was going on, whereas instead of that being the case, it was merely that the speakers were in earnest; and naturally every man desired to express his own views. The chief replied that his animation was caused by the extreme regret he felt at seeing the Japanese do things that were prejudicial to themselves. On this Daté observed that it did them good now and then, to be got angry with (_hara wo tatté morau_). This set the chief "a-thynkynge," and as we were driving home he suddenly said: "I think they would never have spoken to the other representatives about Christianity, had it not been for the little piece of excitement I got up yesterday." I replied: "Well, it may be so but I think you hurt Kido's feelings; he shut up at once and preserved a marked silence." "Did you think so?" says P. "I am sorry to think he was offended." I then said: "If you will excuse my speaking freely, I believe that although that sort of thing may have a good effect in a particular case, it makes the Japanese dread interviews with you." Upon this the chief declared that he would have Kido to breakfast the next morning, and begged me to write him as polite a note of invitation as possible. CHAPTER XXXV 1869--AUDIENCE OF THE MIKADO AT YEDO ON January 2 I went back to Yedo (as we long continued to call the Eastern capital, being, like most Englishmen, averse to innovation). The city had been opened to foreign trade and residence on the 1st, and dear old William Willis was installed as H.M. vice-consul. He and Adams had returned on December 29th, the one from caring for the wounded in Echigo and Aidzu, the other from Hakodaté. On January 5 we had an audience of the Mikado. On this occasion Sir Harry asked a large number of naval and military officers, besides Captain Stanhope, R.N., of the "Ocean," and Colonel Norman, in command of the 2/ix. So the list of persons to be presented, fixed originally at twelve, was increased to double that figure. As usual the chief had mismanaged the business, because he insisted on doing it all himself instead of leaving details to his subordinates, and he did not even know the names of those who were to be presented. The Squadron furnished a guard of a hundred marines. The costumes worn were very various, especially those of the legation and consulate men. It was a terribly cold day, snow falling, which changed into sleet, and then into rain by the time we reached the castle, and what made things worse was that we had to ride on horseback instead of driving in carriages. The audience took place in the palace of the Nishi-no-Maru, just inside the Sakurada Gate. We were allowed to ride over the first bridge, past the usual _géba_ or notice to alight, right up to the abutments of the second bridge, where we got down. Here we were met by Machida, who conducted us into the courtyard, from which we ascended at once into the ante-chamber. The Prince of Awa, Sanjô, Higashi-Kuzé, Nakayama Dainagon and Okubo came in and exchanged the usual compliments. Then we were ushered into a very dark room, where the Mikado was sitting under a canopy rather larger than that used at Ozaka. It was so dark that we could hardly distinguish his dress, but his face, which was whitened artificially, shone out brightly from the surrounding obscurity. The Prime Minister stood below on the right and after H.M. had uttered a few words of inquiry about the Queen's health, and congratulated the chief on continuing at Yedo as minister, read the Mikado's speech. To this Sir Harry replied very neatly. After the audience, which took up no more than five minutes, was over we cantered back to the old Legation building in Takanawa, now converted into a branch of the Japanese Foreign Office, where we had great feasting beginning by an entertainment in Japanese style, very good of its kind, followed by a late luncheon supplied from the hotel. Awa and Higashi-Kuzé presided in our room. The American Minister and the North German Chargé d'Affaires were also present. Higashi-Kuzé proposed the health of the Queen, the President and the King of Prussia _en bloc_, after which we drank to the health of the Mikado. Katsu had come back to Yedo, and early in January was to start again for Sumpu, to lay a foundation for negotiation with the Tokugawa runaway ships at Hakodaté. On the 8th a review of the English troops in garrison at Yokohama was held for the entertainment of the prince of Awa, as our particular friend, and a party of young Court nobles. These were not men of political importance, and I do not think we ever heard of them again. The rapidity of the fire from the Snider rifles was a surprise to all the spectators. On the 9th the chief and I having ridden up to Yedo in the morning, he had an important interview at Hama-goten, the sea-side palace of the Shôguns, with Iwakura. Kido, Higashi-Kuzé and Machida were also present. Many compliments were offered to Sir Harry, and assurances of the gratitude which the Mikado's government felt for the hearty recognition they had received from Great Britain. To this succeeded some confidential conversation. It was intended that the Mikado should return to Kiôto to be married, and also for the performance of certain funeral rites in honour of his late father. When these ceremonies were completed he would come again to his Eastern Capital to hold a great council of the empire. The date of this was not yet fixed; it might be in the first month of the Japanese calendar, perhaps in the third. Sir Harry advised Iwakura to notify this to all the Foreign Representatives. The question of foreign neutrality and the situation at Hakodaté were then discussed. Iwakura denounced very eloquently those of the ministers who, while recognising the Mikado as sovereign, granted the status of belligerents to the Hakodaté pirates. Sir Harry declared for himself and the French Minister, Outrey, that no neutrality existed, and that they did not recognize Enomoto and his associates as belligerents; nor did van Polsbroek. To this Iwakura responded: "Why does the American Minister still allege a declaration of neutrality as the ground of his refusal to hand over the 'Stonewall Jackson' to the lawful government?" Sir Harry replied that the declaration in question had been of very great service to the Mikado's government, that but for its existence Enomoto would now be in possession of the iron-clad ram, and that he himself had been mainly instrumental in procuring the signature of that document. This was quite true. An excellent lunch was served from the hotel, and we parted from our hosts just at sundown, both parties well satisfied with each other. I went on the 10th January to visit Siddall at his hospital on the other side of the city; there I found Willis, who on the way there from Tsukiji, the foreign Settlement, had been threatened by a swash-buckler. We discussed together the means by which the Japanese government might be induced to apply for the services of Willis for a year in order to assist them in establishing their general hospital. So we told Ishigami that Siddall was to be recalled to the Legation, and that Higashi-Kuzé must ask for Willis. The Mikado had presented Willis with seven rolls of beautiful gold brocade, and Higashi-Kuzé wrote a nice letter thanking the dear old fellow for his services to the Japanese wounded warriors. On January 12 we heard that the "Kaiyô-Maru" had sailed from Hakodaté, with her rudder lashed to her stern; her destination was supposed to be Esashi, where fighting was going on. It was believed that the pirates were running short of money and rice. The Ainos were reported to have joined the people of Matsumae in resisting the pirates. I had some interesting conversation with Ikébé Goi, whom I went to see on the 13th. At his lodgings I met a young man named Yoshida Magoichirô, a councillor of the Yanagawa clan. We talked about Christianity, and Ikébé cited the Sermon on the Mount as a composition that pleased him more than anything written by Buddhist or Confucian Sages. I remarked that the Christian religion reversed the Chinese saying: "Do not unto others as ye would not that others should do unto you"; upon which he quoted the command to turn the other cheek to be smitten. After a little he began to talk about my chief's violence in conference, and said: "Now in his case, when he gets in a rage, so far from offering the other cheek, I feel inclined to kick him out of the room." Ikébé said that the Mikado would leave for Kiôto about the 17th or 18th January, and that a notification had been issued announcing his departure during the first decade of the 12th month, to return again in the spring. On the morning of the 15th I was summoned by the chief to Yokohama in a great hurry to attend a conference between Iwakura and the foreign colleagues. I rode the 20 miles on my pony "Fushimi," in two hours and a half without drawing bridle, and arrived at the Legation to find the conference just assembling. Iwakura addressed to the colleagues pretty much the same arguments as he had made use of at Hama-goten on the 9th. They put a number of questions to him by way of reply, and at last said they could not give answer to so important a matter as he had laid before them without mature consideration. Iwakura then said that he would take the opportunity of saying a few words about the causes of the existing political situation. The present Mikado was the descendant of sovereigns who ruled the country more than 2000 years back; the Shôgunate was an institution not more than 700 years old. Still, the power had been in its hands, and it was during the continuance of its authority that the Americans came to the country in 1853. The Shôgun's people were sharp enough to see the necessity and advantage of entering into relations with foreign countries, while the Mikado's Court, followed by the greater part of the nation, professed the anti-foreign policy. The country thus became disturbed, and the authority of the Shôgun could no longer be maintained. Then both the Mikado and the Shôgun died, and the latter's successor, a man of ability, was able to see the absolute indispensability of a government directed by the Mikado. Sincerely convinced of this, he surrendered the power into the hands of the Mikado, not as a mere gift, but because it was the only way of solving the political difficulties which existed. Thereupon the Mikado's government changed its policy with regard to foreigners, and did what never could have been done under the late sovereign, that is, entered into relations with the Treaty Powers. Hitherto our relations had been merely commercial, but the government hoped that they would improve and become something like those which existed among European and other civilized nations. The foreign ministers replied that they would consult together, and send him a reply without delay. Sir Harry came up on the 19th from Yokohama to tell Iwakura the result of yesterday's conference of colleagues on the subject of neutrality. We were to have met him at Hama-goten, but when we got there we found the gates shut, and since no orders had been received to admit us, we came away. As we were returning to the Legation Mori came after us in a great hurry, and begged the chief to turn back, but he refused, and said Iwakura might come to see him. This message was misunderstood by Mori, and there was more delay, but at last everything was arranged, and Iwakura came at half-past seven to the Legation, accompanied by Higashi-Kuzé. Iwakura had sent through Mori to ask me to come to Yedo, in order that he might speak to me personally, but I took no notice of this request, treating it merely as an invitation to the chief, or rather as a request to me to be present on the 19th in order to perform interpretation. He asked Sir Harry what had been the result of the conference of foreign ministers, and all he could say was that it had been adjourned. It appeared that the colleagues were willing to make a declaration that the war was over, but were not willing to give up the "Stonewall Jackson"; and that in order to justify her retention they would not withdraw their notifications of neutrality. To us this appeared highly illogical. The chief, after Iwakura had repeated all his arguments and had added that so far from desiring to get hold of the "Stonewall" in order to attack Enomoto, the Mikado's government were determined to offer him lenient terms, declared that in his own opinion the war had ceased, and that the neutrality lapsed with it; and that he was ready to state this in writing. Iwakura said that the Mikado was very desirous of knowing the answers of the ministers, and had therefore ordered him to stop behind for five days in order to try to settle this question and to rejoin him at Shimidzu, a port on the Tôkaidô, that he would like to get Sir Harry's answer confidentially, so that the Mikado might have a pleasant souvenir to carry away with him. Another thing Iwakura said was that the Mikado's government had made a sufficient display of power by reducing the provinces of Oshiû and Déwa in six months, whereas in former wars twelve years had been nothing extraordinary; that their intention was to adopt a humane line of conduct, and they had therefore ordered the two Tokugawas of Sumpu and Mito to proceed against the remaining rebels, and if they succeeded in arranging matters Keiki would be pardoned and restored to favour. He had himself seen Katsu, who believed that the offer of lenient terms would induce submission. The Mikado's government would not however consider any capitulation satisfactory that was not accompanied by a complete surrender of arms and ships of war. If the rebels proved obstinate they must be reduced by force. This frank statement drew out a favourable reply from Sir Harry. Iwakura also appeared to be alarmed about the attitude of Russia, and asked whether she might not possibly enter into an alliance with Enomoto. The chief thought this unlikely. The interview lasted three hours, and ended with many thanks from Iwakura and apologies for having kept Sir Harry waiting at the gate of Hama-goten. The chief on his side undertook to do everything possible to bring his colleagues round to his view and to induce them to send in their answer by the 25th, and he engaged to publish his own reply in the "Japan Herald" of the same day; that would be as decisive a manifestation of his policy as he could possibly give. I was greatly pleased myself to find that he had now made up his mind to "go the whole hog." The Mikado passed through Takanawa about eight o'clock the following morning, on his way back to Kiôto. His train appeared to be smaller than on the occasion of his entry. News arrived from Hakodaté on January 21 that the "Kaiyô-maru" had got on the rocks near Esashi and was expected to stick there; her guns had been thrown overboard and buoyed. The sentences on Aidzu and Sendai were promulgated on the 21st, with the penalties inflicted on other _daimiôs_ of the northern provinces, and a few more who had held out to the last. The Aidzu princes were let off with their lives, but the whole of their territories were confiscated. Sendai was reduced from 625,000 to 280,000 _koku_. The reigning prince was made to retire into private life, and was succeeded by a son of our old friend, the Daté of Uwajima. On the 22nd a further conference of the ministers was held with reference to the question of withdrawing the declarations of neutrality, and the little Italian minister, who came up to Yedo on the 23rd, assured us that only Sir Harry and Polsbroek were willing to consent, the others having refused. Letters however arrived from Sir Harry showing that all the colleagues had agreed to write a _note identique_ acknowledging that the war was over, but demanding a short delay in order to concert measures for the simultaneous withdrawal of their notifications. Also a note from him instructing me to arrange an interview with Iwakura for Adams and Montebello (Secretary of the French Legation) in order that they might hand to him the petition which the Tokugawa rebels at Hakodaté had asked M. Outrey and Sir Harry to forward to the Mikado. The translation of this document was made and sent off at once. Then, after learning from Higashi-Kuzé that 2 o'clock was fixed for the interview, Mitford and I went off to Kido, to whom I gave a copy of the _note identique_ about neutrality. He at once pitched on the 'short delay' clause as unsatisfactory, but I could only give him my opinion that this was inserted as a sort of compromise; it was better, I said, for the Mikado's government that all the ministers should agree to recognise that the war was over, even with this slight drawback, than that only two of them should have recognised the fact and the other four have continued to declare themselves neutral. A memorandum reached us from Adams stating the nature of the final arrangement, and suggesting that the government should make it generally known by publishing the correspondence in their official Gazette. Then I went off to Higashi-Kuzé's place, to meet Adams, Montebello and Dubousquet,[11] who arrived there about a quarter past two. Proceedings began by Montebello handing in Outrey's copy of the _note identique_; Iwakura at once pointed out the sentence in the letters of the English and French ministers which spoke of 'a short delay,' and asked what was its meaning. Both Adams and Montebello replied that they had no authority to say anything on this point, but they undertook at his request to write to their chiefs, and obtain if possible a definite date. I also whispered to Yamaguchi Hanzô to tell Iwakura afterwards that Kido already knew all about the compromise. The business of handing over the petition of the Tokugawa rebels was then proceeded with. Iwakura was told that in delivering this document the ministers did not offer any opinion on its contents, and they renounced for themselves any idea of acting as mediators; but that as the Japanese Foreign Minister had expressed to both of them his desire to learn if possible the feelings and intentions of the fugitives, they were very glad to have this opportunity of complying with his request. [11] An officer of the French Military Mission who devoted himself to the study of the Japanese language, and ultimately became interpreter to the French Legation. Iwakura replied that these men had now been declared to be rebels, and the two clans of Mito and Sumpu had been ordered out against them. That the proper course to adopt in presenting the petition which he had just read was to send it through the chiefs of those two clans. From the hasty glance he had cast over the document he could not profess to judge of its merits, but he was glad to see that the petitioners had some desire, however slight, of returning to their allegiance. (But if he had been aware of the extreme bumptiousness of the letter to Parkes and Outrey in which the petitions were forwarded, he would hardly have thought so.) Still, while thanking the ministers, and appreciating the disinterestedness of their motives, he could not consent to receive the petition through such a channel. Would the ministers mind forwarding it through the Tokugawa clan? Adams and Montebello declined to have any business relations with the clan, and after some urging from the French side, Iwakura said he would accept the petition temporarily and give his answer to-morrow. We then returned home and Adams despatched a report to the chief. Next day (the 25th) in the afternoon came fresh instructions. Adams was to go to Iwakura, inform him of the surprise felt by both ministers at the refusal to accept the petition, and state that the expression 'a short delay' in the _note identique_ respecting neutrality meant what it said. After consultation with Montebello, it was decided to ask for an interview with Iwakura at 10 o'clock on the morning of the 26th, and a letter to that effect was sent off to Higashi-Kuzé. Before an answer could be received at the Legations there came a letter from Yamaguchi Hanzô written by Iwakura's order, refusing to accept the petition, and saying that as he was going down to Yokohama next day to see the representatives on the subject of neutrality, he would take the opportunity of speaking to the two ministers about the other matter as well. However Higashi-Kuzé's reply to our letter soon arrived to say that Iwakura's departure was postponed for a day, and that he would see the two secretaries as proposed by them. On the 26th, as I was unwell, Mitford went in my stead to interpret for Adams. Iwakura receded from his previous attitude, and declared himself ready to receive the petition from the two ministers, but that he intended to return it to the Tokugawa fugitives without taking any notice of its contents. Further, that he was determined to demand from the ministers the meaning of the words 'a short delay.' He also addressed a letter to the two ministers thanking them for the trouble they had taken about the petition, which he characterized as impertinent; it would therefore have to be returned direct. This was a slap in the face for our two chiefs, who ought never to have presented the petition, considering the covering letters received by them, which threatened to throw down the gauntlet to the Mikado's government if it did not leave them in quiet possession of Yezo. But Sir Harry was drawn on by the fear that Outrey would manage to get the petition accepted, and thereby win prestige; but if so, Outrey's little game was frustrated by Iwakura's good luck or perspicacity. The following day I had to rush down to Yokohama for Iwakura's meeting with the Foreign Representatives. He asked what they meant by 'a short time.' They appeared to him to have had time enough already. When issuing their original notifications of neutrality they had acted immediately on receiving the communication of the Mikado's government, and why hesitate now? The colleagues fenced a little with the question and then retired into another room to consider their answer. When they emerged they announced their readiness to issue proclamations in fourteen days' time at the furthest. With this Iwakura was forced to be content. But our chief had gained the battle, and was correspondingly rejoiced. Iwakura left the same afternoon in the "Keangsoo"[12] for the port of Toba in Shima. Higashi-Kuzé informed the ministers that Yedo was to be the capital of the country, after the Mikado's return there next Japanese New-Year, but this decision was not at present to be made public. He displayed a map of the city and offered them the whole waterside from the Kanasugi Bridge to the Hotel, except the Owari _yashiki_, where the Foreign Office was to be, for sites on which to build Legations. All but Sir Harry declared their unwillingness to accept sites; I remarked to myself that he was gradually getting out of the bad habit of believing all the Japanese told him to be lies. [12] Originally the flagship of Captain Sherard Osborn, when in command of the Chinese flotilla brought out by H. N. Lay, and afterwards bought by Satsuma. CHAPTER XXXVI LAST DAYS IN TOKIO AND DEPARTURE FOR HOME A WEEK before this Iwakura had sent me a present of a beautiful lacquered cabinet by way of thanks for the trouble he said I had taken in interpreting for him on various occasions, and on January 28th when I returned to Yedo I found a letter from Saméshima Seizô with presents from the Prince of Satsuma, Okubo, Yoshii and himself. The letter said: "Prince Satsuma wishes me to give you his thanks for your kindness and the trouble you have hitherto taken for his sake. He presents you the two boxes, and the rest, though a little, Okubo, Ioxy and myself present you merely to thank you for your kindness. We hope you will always keep them as our memorial." The prince's present consisted of a silver boat in the form of a peacock (called Takara-buné, or Ship of Treasures) and the lacquered stand, besides two rolls of white silk; Yoshii sent two pieces of Kiyo-midzu porcelain, and each of the others two pieces of white satin brocade. The spelling Ioxy, which is in accordance with ancient Portuguese orthography of Japanese names, shows that this letter came in English. My translation of the sentences of the northern _daimiôs_ was published in the "Japan Herald" of January 30. This state paper completed the discomfiture of the _som-bak-ka_ diplomats, the term invented by the Japanese for application to the foreign ministers who supported the cause of the Shôgunate as far as was possible for them. February 11 was the Japanese New Year's Day, which I passed at Yedo. Rice-cakes (_mochi_) had been prepared and decorated in proper fashion with a Seville orange and fern, and dried fronds had also been hung up in the alcove (_toko no ma_) of my study. Silk cushions had been provided for a guest and myself to sit on as we ate our _zôni_. This is a soup in which pieces of fried _mochi_ are soaked; on the first day of the year one is eaten, on the second two, on the third three. A New Year's drink called _toso_ was also provided; this is a sweet _saké_ mingled with spices; it is drunk from porcelain cups of gradually decreasing size, placed on a stand. Every member of the household came in turn to wish me a happy new year, and to thank me for the _O Sébo_, or presents given to them at the end of the year, proportioned to the respective merits of the different servants. Next evening I gave an entertainment to my Japanese escort, to which the Legation writer Ono Seigórô, Mitford's teacher Nagazawa and my household were also invited. Mitford and I sat on white brocade cushions at the head of the room, with a big lacquered brazier between us; the Japanese guests were ranged along both sides of the room and at the end. I had to apologize by way of form for sitting on a cushion, which as host I ought not to have done, under the pretence that it made my knees sore to squat on the mats. There was a great deal of stiff conversation at first, until the _saké_ was brought, and the waiting women from the restaurant that supplied the dinner, the _geishas_, Noguchi's wife and a very clever girl from Yokohama made their appearance. We had comic dances, charades, songs and the Manzai new year's dance. An immense quantity of _saké_ was drunk, and every one departed well pleased by twelve o'clock. Alexander Siebold, who had been in France with Mimbu Taiyu, had at last arrived back in Japan, releasing me from the duties that had kept me two years longer than provided by the existing rules about leave of absence. On February 14 he and I went to call on Katsu, who had been such a valuable source of political information ever since the downfall of the Shôgunate. Katsu thought the Tokugawa rebels at Hakodaté would give in their submission. At parting he gave me his _wakizashi_ (short sword), and we separated with many mutual expressions of regret. He was quartered in an outhouse at the Ki-shiû _yashiki_, where old Takénouchi, a Ki-shiû retainer who had been our purveyor of news and papers current among the _daimiô yashikis_, was also living; we had to go into his rooms and drink a cup of tea; there I found the secretary of Daté Gorô, a distinguished Ki-shiû official, to whom I sent my farewell compliments. We got back to my house just in time to rush off again, to a dinner at the hotel, given by Higashi-Kuzé in honour of my departure. Besides Mitford, Siebold and myself, the other guests were the Prince of Bizen, the Court Noble Ohara Jijiû, Kido, Machida, Mori (afterwards known as Mori Arinori), Kanda Kôhei a professor at the School of Languages and editor of one of the recently established Yedo newspapers, and Tsudzuki Shôzô of Uwajima. It was a very pleasant party. Little Bizen greeted me very politely, said he had heard a great deal about me, but had not had a previous opportunity of meeting me, so had taken advantage of this farewell entertainment to make my acquaintance. I had the post of honour at the left of Higashi-Kuzé. After dinner they drank my health in bumpers of champagne and wished me a pleasant voyage. Every one had some commission to give me. The Japanese government wanted six expensive gold watches and chains. Tsudzuki Shôzô, who presented me with a farewell letter written in the name of old Daté, asked for a copy of Hertslet's Treaties. Besides parting gifts from the Prince of Satsuma, Okubo, Yoshii and Saméshima, I received presents from Machida, my Japanese escort men, and a host of other people, including Kido. The latter spoke to me confidentially after dinner about the advantages which would result to Japan from opening a port in Corea; not so much material as moral, by teaching the Coreans to look abroad outside their own country. Both he and Mori talked about the native Christians and asked my advice. I counselled moderate measures, and long Notes to the Foreign Ministers now and then to keep them quiet. I acknowledged the difficulty of instilling the idea of toleration into the minds of the whole Japanese people by Act of Parliament, and told them of the disabilities under which Protestants had lain in Spain until recently, but I did not see the advantage of Mori's suggestion of allotting lands in Yezo to the Christians with the free exercise of their religion. Tsudzuki confided to me as a great secret the intended visit to England of a young Bizen _karô_ named Tokura. Altogether we spent a very satisfactory evening, in spite of the long distance we had to go for our dinner. Next day I left Yedo for good. As I passed the entrance to the barracks of the Legation mounted escort of London policemen, Inspector Peacock and the men came out to wish me a pleasant journey. Noguchi, Mitford's teacher Nagazawa and four of my Japanese guard came down the road as far as Mmé-yashiki, where we had a parting cup. Higashi-Kuzé sent me a complimentary letter, regretting my departure, and presenting me with a big lacquered cabinet as a mark of the Mikado's appreciation of all I had done to smooth diplomatic relations. Kido also wrote, asking me to communicate to him any information about Japanese affairs that I might pick up in Europe, promising to answer any letters I might send him, wishing me a fine voyage and a happy arrival in England. On the 24th February I sailed from Yokohama in the P. and O. steamer "Ottawa," 814 tons, master Edmond. Lady Parkes also was on board on her way to England, and the English community paid her the compliment of sending out a band, which played "Home, sweet home" as the anchor was weighed. I felt the tears come into my eyes. It would be hard to say whether they were caused by the emotion that a much-loved piece of music always produces, or by regret at leaving a country where I had lived so happily for six years and a half. With me I had my faithful Aidzu _samurai_, Noguchi Tomizô. GLOSSARY OF JAPANESE WORDS akéni, a wicker trunk for luggage. anata, you. arimasu, is, there is. ashigaru, common soldier in the service of a baron. awabi, rocksucker, a species of univalve shell-fish, haliotis japonicus, which furnishes also mother-of-pearl. bai-shin, arrière vassal. baku-fu, 'military power,' term applied to the _de facto_ government by its adversaries. See p. 172. betté, a member of the corps of guards enrolled for the protection of the foreign legations. betté-gumi, the corps of guards, see betté. bugiô, governor, commissioner. cha-dai, present made to an innkeeper, which takes the place of tips to waiters and chamber-maids. cha-no-yu, tea-drinking with an elaborate ceremonial. chô-téki, rebel against the sovereign. daimiô, baron, see p. 36. denka, Highness. doma, the pit in a theatre. dôshin, constable. fudai, lesser barons, vassals of the Tokugawa family, see p. 36. gai-koku bugiô, commissioners for foreign affairs, corresponding to our Under-Secretaries of State. gai-koku-gata, official of the department of foreign affairs. gaimushô, ministry of foreign affairs. Gautama, family name of the founder of Buddhism. géba, notice to alight from horseback. gei-sha, a female musician, employed at dinner-parties. gijô, head of an administrative department, see p. 297 n. gisô, a councillor acting as intermediary between the Mikado and the Tycoon, q.v. go-ké-nin, an ordinary retainer of the Tokugawa family. gorôjiû, the Shôgun's council, see p. 68. goten, the palace of a _daimiô_ or baron, as distinguished from his castle. gun-kan, army-inspector. hakama, a pair of wide trousers. haori, a mantle. harakiri, self-immolation by disembowelment, described at p. 344. hatago, charge for entertainment at an inn. hatamoto, name of lesser vassals of the Tokugawa family, see p. 36. heika, Majesty. hikido kago, a palanquin with sliding doors, see p. 206. hiraketa, civilized. homma da, it is true. hommaru, keep of a castle. honjin, literally 'headquarters,' mostly used for the official inn at a posting town. hôren, phoenix-chariot, name given to the Mikado's state palanquin. ichibu, a silver coin, value varying from 10d to 1s 8d, according to the rate of exchange. inkio, applied to the retired head of a family, whether noble or commoner, see p. 174. jimbaori, war-surcoat. jingasa, war-hat. jinketsu, a man of mark, cleverest man. jinrikisha, vulgo 'rickshaw,' a light carriage for one person, drawn by a man. jin-shin fu-ori-ai, unsettlement of the popular mind. jô-dan, elevated floor. jô-i, expulsion of barbarians. jô-yaku, a chief clerk. jû-bako, consisting of a pile of open boxes for holding food, the top one of which alone has a cover. kago, a palanquin. kaiseijo, government school for teaching European languages. kai-shaku, 'best man' of one who is performing _harakiri_, q.v. p. 345. kakké, dropsy of the lower limbs. kakurô, unceremonious appellation of the Tycoon's Council, see p. 172. kami, title corresponding to earl, baron, when following the name of a province, but after the name of a government department equivalent to minister. kami, English 'sire.' kami-shimo, costume consisting of hempen trousers and mantle, worn on occasions of ceremony. kamon, a class of barons, see p. 36. kan-tô, rebel, traitor. kara-yô, the Chinese style of running-hand script. kari-ginu, gala dress of a noble. karô, the higher class of hereditary councillors of a baron. katakana, a Japanese syllabary, corresponding to our Roman alphabet. kenshi, an official inspector. kerai, retainer of a baron. kiki-yaku, agent for the sale of a baron's produce as rent paid in kind. kin-ô, jô-i, honouring the sovereign and expelling barbarians. kinsatsu, gold-note, paper-money so-called. kinshin, voluntary self-confinement in expiation of an offence. kiôgen, farce. kiri-bô kago, a palanquin suspended from a pole of Paulownia wood. kô-fuku, surrender. koku, a measure, equal to about 5 bushels, used also as a measure of land assessment, see p. 36. kokushi, a baron whose fief comprised one or more provinces. kôtei, Emperor, the same as the Chinese term 'hwang-ti,' see p. 163. ko-t'ou, Chinese expression meaning to knock the forehead on the floor. kubô-sama, title applied by the people to the Shôgun, and meaning 'civil ruler'; _sama_ is the equivalent of the French 'monsieur,' see p. 172. kumi-gashira, vice-governor. kurô, trouble, used in the sense of 'thank you.' kwambaku, Grand Vizier, see p. 152. kwanrei, administrator for the Shôgun, see p. 38. machi-kata, municipal officer. mae-daré, apron. metsuké, an official with no administrative functions, whose duty was to report, if necessary, on the proceedings of others, variously translated, see pp. 23, 122, 245, 272. Mikado, the ancient title of the Japanese sovereign. mikoshi, a god's litter carried in religious pageants. mirin, a sweet liquor brewed from rice. miso, a paste made from a bean called _ko-mamé_, and used chiefly in the preparation of soup. mochi, a cake made of glutinous rice. mokusa-muri, lacquered articles showing a sea-weed pattern. naga-bô, long pole, used to denote a palanquin with an extra long pole. nanko, name of a game, see p. 390. nanushi, mayor. Nippon, same as Nihon, the Japanese word which we have corrupted into Japan. nôshi, a noble's court dress. nô-yakusha, actor of the classical drama, see p. 397. ôbiroma, hall of audience. ohaguro, a dye composed of galls and sulphate of iron, used for staining the teeth. ohiruyasumi, midday rest; _o_ is an honorific prefix. okoyasumi, a slight rest. oku-go-yû-hitsu, an official private secretary. ometsuké, see _metsuké_; _o_ is the honorific prefix. ô-metsuké, a chief _metsuké_, q.v.; _ô_, chief. onna-gochiso, an entertainment at which women were employed to amuse the guests. on-ye-riû, a Japanese style of running-hand script. o-shiro-jô-in, a hall in the Tycoon's palace inside the castle. o yasumi nasai, 'good-night,' literally 'be pleased to repose.' peggi, corruption of a Malay word, used in Japan in the sense of 'go away.' rambô-rôzéki, disturbance and violence, see p. 159. rei-hei-shi, name of an envoy sent by the Mikado to worship at the tomb of Iyéyasu at Nikkô. riô, a Japanese coin of account, formerly equivalent to about 1-1/3 Mexican dollar. riô-gaké, a pair of wicker-trunks for luggage, suspended from the opposite ends of a pole carried on the shoulder. rô-jiû, councillors of the Shôgun, see pp. 39 and 69. rônin, a run-away retainer of a baron, see p. 78. rusui, a person left in charge of an establishment during the absence of the owner or master. sakana, food taken with liquor; as it chiefly consists of fish, it is often used in the sense of 'fish' as a food. saké, a light liquor brewed from rice, mostly drunk mulled. sakuron, 'a political discussion,' see p. 300. samurai, a member of the military class, entitled to wear a pair of swords, a longer and a shorter one, the latter being an over-grown dirk. sanyo, councillor, see p. 297. sarampan, corruption of a Malay word used in Japan in the sense of 'break,' 'broken.' sazai, a shell-fish named Turbo cornutus; the shell also furnishes mother-of-pearl. sei-i-tai-Shôgun, the full title of the Tycoon or Shôgun, see p. 174. seishi, herald, harbinger. sengaré, a familiar word meaning son, and used only by the father in speaking of him. sessha, a self-depreciatory word used for the pronoun of the 1st person. shibori, a kind of crape resembling the Indian bandhanna. shibukami, thick paper rendered tough by being soaked in the juice of the unripe persimmon fruit. shinsen-gumi, a body of armed _samurai_ or two-sworded men, recently raised. shirabé-yaku, director in an administrative department. shishinden, name of the Emperor's hall of audience. shiro-in, private drawing-room. shisetsu, literally 'purple snow,' a patent medicine. shitaniro, down! Shôgun, the _de facto_ ruler of Japan when it was opened to foreign trade in 1859, see p. 33. By foreigners he was usually called 'the Tycoon,' which means 'great prince,' a title properly belonging to the sovereign. It seems to have been originally used in diplomatic correspondence with Korea; see also p. 163. sô-kwai-sho, municipal office. sôsai, chief minister, see p. 300. shugo-shoku, office of the guardian of the Mikado's person, see p. 295. shuku-yakunin, alderman of a posting-station. shussei, administrator, minister. tai, Serranus marginalis, sometimes called sea-bream. taikomochi, a professional jester. tatéba, a halfway tea-house between two posting-stations. tengu-ren, 'goblin-band,' name assumed by a society of seditious men of the military class. tenshi, the central tower rising from the keep of a castle. tensô, an official whose duty it was to report to the Mikado the decisions of the Shôgun. tobayé, caricature. tokonoma, the shallow recess or alcove in a room, originally the bedplace; in front of it was the place of honour. Tô-kai-dô, properly speaking the row of provinces along the coast between Ozaka and Yedo, but also applied to the high road from Kiôto to Yedo. toso, a new-year's drink, see p. 409. tozama, descendants of barons who had submitted to the supremacy of Iyéyasu, see p. 36. tsutsushindé oru, used to express the retirement of a personage in order to signify his acknowledgment that he has committed an offence against his superior. Tycoon, see Shôgun. utai, the classical drama of Japan. wakizashi, the short sword or dirk worn alongside of the fighting sword by a member of the military class, and not laid aside within doors as the other is. wasabi, Eutrema wasabi, root of a plant belonging to the same order as horse-radish. yakata-buné, house-boat. yaku-biô, official indisposition. yakunin, official. yamato-nishiki, cotton brocade. yashiki, the hotel of a baron or lesser noble, also at trading centres the depôt for the sale of a baron's produce received as payment of rent or taxes in kind. Yedo, the original name of Tôkiô, the seat of government. yogi, large stuffed bed-gown, used as a coverlet. yônin, hereditary councillor of a baron, of lower rank than _karô_, q.v. yû-geki-tai, literally 'brave fighting-men,' see p. 299. yukata, a cotton bathing-gown. zoku-miô, the name borne by a male child until adolescence. zôni, a soup eaten at New Year, see p. 409. INDEX Abé Bungo no Kami, 147. Adams, F. O., 29. Adventure with a Tosa man, 352. Aikawa, 234. Ainos, The, 402. Alcock, Sir R., 28, 29, 47, 93, 132, 134. Alexander, Capt., 103. Alford, Bp., 391. Allen, H. J., 18. American guards, 324. American missionaries, 22. American sailor shot, 319. Americans, 42. Anatomical models, 270. Archaic Japanese, notification in, 306. Arigawa Yakuro, 149. Arimatsu, 215. Ashigaru, The, 37. Aspinall, Cornes & Co., 27. Atami, 194. Attack on the Foreign Officials, 359. Attack on the French, 314. Attacks on _Yashikis_, 308. "Attitude of respectful attention," 124. Audience Chamber, The Mikado's, 358. Audience with the Shôgun, 199. Awa, 257. Awa Clan, The, 249. Awa no Kami, 261. Babies, Samurai, 175. _Bakufu_, 128, 174, 279. Banquet, A, 371. Barnet & Co., 27. Barons, 36. Baths, Japanese, 211. Batteries, Japanese, 118. Bedrooms, Japanese, 187. Bird, Lieut., Murder of, 135. Bizen Affair, The, 319, 325, 327, 337. Bombardment of Kagoshima, 87. Bombardment of Shimonoséki, 105. Boyes, D. G., V.C., 112. Borradaile, Mrs., Attack on, 51, 84. Brandt, Max von, 67. "Brass caps" and marks of rank, 69. Brown, Rev. S. R., 50, 55. Bruce, Sir F., 20. Capital punishment, 137. Camus, Murder of, 90. Candidates, Qualities of, 18. Cash, Value of, 195. Castle of Ozaka, Burning of the, 316. Castle of the Shôgun, 199. Chinese as an aid to Japanese, 18. Chinese, Studying, 18. Chi-on-in Buddhist Monastery, 356. Chôshiû, 99, 119; indemnity, 125, 326. Chôshiû and Aidzu, 121. Chôshiû Clan, The, 90, 93. Chôshiû and the Mikado, 96, 98. Chôshiû, Peace with, 116. Chôshiû, The Prince of, 371. Christianity, Edict against, 368. Christianity and Magic, 369. Civil Wars, 85. Classes, Division of, 40. Coalition, A, 286. Coin and Currency, 25. Competitive Examinations, Value of, 18. Conference at Ozaka, 372. Constitutions, Framed and Issued, 377. Convention with France, 100. Convivial Evening, A, 215. Coolies, 195. Corvée, System of, 195. "Court and Capital of the Tycoon," Sir R. Alcock's, 204. Court Language, 306. Custom House Officials, 23. Daimiôs, The, 36. Daimiôs, Curtailing the Power of the, 326, 328. Daimiôs and Mikado, 77. Daishôji, 245. Dancing Girls, 192. Daté, 351. Deferred Audience with the Mikado, 362. Dent & Co., 27. Dining with the Shôgun, 200. Dinner, An English, 258. Dinner, A Japanese, 178. Diplomatic Assembly, A, 304. Discourtesy, Acts of, 213. Doctors, Personal Risks of, 31. Document, An Important, 324. Domestic Attendants, 282. "Drunken Old Man," 270. Dutch, The, 41. Dutch Language as a Medium, 23, 58. Early Impressions, 17. Earthquakes, 60. Echizen Clan, Cool Reception by, 245. English Policy, 178, 257. Entertaining, Japanese, 228. Entertainment, An Evening, 352. European Dinner, A, 131, 173. Etchiû, Mts. of, 235. Etiquette, 228, 259. Exchange, Rate of, 26. Execution of Murderers, 137. Expulsion of Foreigners, Order for the, 117, 121. Ferry at Yokohama, 50. Ferryman, An Obdurate, 161. Feudal System in Japan, 36. Fire at Yokohama, Destructive, 161. Fish Traps, 209. Fisher, Col., 29. Fletcher & Co., 27. Flight from the Legation, 313. Forbidden Books, 68. Foreign Residents, Conditions, 337. Foreign Settlement, The, 24. French Policy, 178, 277, 323, 326, 366. French Support of the Tycoon, 173. Fuchiu, 223, 246. Fuji Kawa, 225. Fuji yama, 224. Fukui, 246. Fushimi, 356. Fushimi, Troops at, 310. Fushimi, A Visit to, 203. Gardens, 62. Gardner, C. T., 18. Gibson, Vice-C., 20. Godai, 86. Gold Mines, 235. Gorôjiû, or Shôgun's Council, The, 68, 174. Gotenyama, 65. Gotô, 265, 267, 287. "Governors," 292. Governors of Foreign Affairs, 69. Gubbins, J. H., 283. Guardhouses, 128, 194. Guards, Personal, 66. Guide Books, Japanese, 204. "Gun-boat" Policy, 20. Guns, Japanese, 109, 118. Hakodaté, 22. Hakodaté, Capture of, 398. Hakoné, 194, 226. Hamamatsu, Reception at, 217. Hamana Bay, 217. Harakiri, 345. Harris, Mr., 45. Heated Discussions, 398. Hepburn, Dr. J. C., 50. Higashi-Kuzé, 324. High Roads, The, 160. Highway Barriers, 160. Higo Clan, The, 381. Himéshima, 95, 97. Hiôgo, 144, 149, 154, 169, 180, 185. Hiôgo, Transference to, 317. Hirayama, 257, 265. "History of Japan," by F. O. Adams, 361. Hoey, 56. Hôki no Kami, 154. Hosokawa Riônosuké, 279. Hospital, Visit to a, 388. Hospitality, Princely, 262. Hotel Charges, 195. House, A Japanese, 281. Houseboat, Travelling in a, 207. Houses, Uncomfortable, 64. "Hundred Laws of Iyéyasu," The, 68. _Ichibu_, The, 25. Ijichi Shôji, 85, 333. Iki no Kami, 283. _In-kio_, 176. Indemnities and Penalties for Murder, 72, 80, 143. Indemnity from Chôshiû, 125. Indemnity for Murder of French Sailors, 353. Indemnity paid by Satsuma, 91. Inn Charges, 208. Inouyé Bunda, 190. Interpreting and Translating, 198. Introductions, 229. Itô Constitution, The, 377. Itô as Governor of Kôbé, 327. Itô, 130, 276. Itô and Inouyé, 95. Itô and Shiji, 97, 98. Itô's European Dinner, 131. Iwakura, 357, 404. Iyémitsu, 39, 65. Iyéyasu, 35. Jamieson, R. A., 18. Japan: First Impressions 21, Mikado and Shôgun 33, Literature 34, Civil Wars 35, Feudal System 36, Daimiôs 37, Decline of Mikado's Power 38, Shôgunate 38, Divisions of Classes 40, Intercourse with Europe 40, Religious Persecution 41, Americans 42, Treaties 43, Decline of the Shôgun 45, Murders, 46, 51, Written Language 58, the Tôkaidô 59, Earthquakes 60, Yedo 61, Tea-gardens 62, Temples 63, Houses 64, the _Rônin_ 78, Bombardment of Kagoshima 88, Convention with France 100, Bombardment of Shimonoséki 108, Order for Expulsion of Foreigners 117, 121, Treaty with Chôshiû 127, Double Dealing of the Tycoon's Party 131, Squadron at Ozaka 161, Mikado's Consent to Treaties 153, Fire at Yokohama 161, Death of Mikado 186, Travelling 211, Guilds 256, Abdication of the Shôgun 282, Deposition of the Tycoon 299, Civil War 319, Suppression of the _Daimiôs_ 326. Japan, Appointed to, 17. "Japan Times," The, 154. Japanese Caligraphy, 58. Japanese, Difficulties in the Study of, 55. Japanese Secretary, Promotion to, 294. Japanese Wounded, Treatment of, 332. Jardine, Matheson and Co., 27. "Jester of the Foreign Department," 327. Jinrikisha, The, 213. Josling, Capt., Death of, 87. Journalism, 159. June Constitution, Translating the, 381. Kaempfer, 33. Kaga Clan, The, 244. Kagoshima, 84, Bombardment 87, 170. Kai-yen-tai Society, The, 272. _Kaiyô-Maru_, The, 402. Kajiwara, 191. _Kaku-rô_, 174. Kanagawa, 23. Kanaiwa, 243. Kanazawa, 240. _Karô_, or Hereditary Councillor, 116. Katsu, A Visit to, 387. Katsura Kogorô, 172, 271. Kawakatsu Omi, 378. Keiki, 283. Keiki deposed, 300. Keiki's Flight from Ozaka, 318. Keiki, Terms to, 365. Keisaburô, Prince of Mito, 383. Kidzukawa, R., 356. Kiôto, 121, 325, 332, 367. Kneeling to Daimiôs, 212. Kobayashi Kotarô, 71. Kôbé, Fêtes at, 286. Kôchi Bay, 268. Kokura, 130. Komatsu, 188. Küper, Admiral, 52, 79. Kurazawa, 225. Kusatsu, 210. Kwai-wa Hen, 196. Kwambaku, The, 189. Land, Feudal Sub-division of, 87. Legation Officials, 30. Legation Residences, 65, Destroyed 71. Letter to Okubo Ichizô, 253. Letters of Credence, 369. Lindau, Rudolf, "Open Letter" of, 77. Literature of Japan, 34. Locomotion, Odd Methods of, 213. London Agreement of 1862, 154. Macpherson, Marshall & Co., 27. Maeda Mura, 130. Mamiya Hajimé, 142. Marco Polo, 33. Marshall & Clarke, 84. Matsudaira Kansô, 253. Matsugi Kôwan, 86. Matsuki, 188. Mayéno, A Centre of Tea Production, 211. "Memories" by Lord Redesdale, 360. Mermet, M., 146, 152. Mexican Dollars, 26. Milne, Prof. J., 60. Mikado, The, 371. Mikado, Audience with the, 358. Mikado and Shôgun, 33. Mikado and Tycoon, 157. Mikado's Birthday, The, 386. Mikado's Consent to Treaties, 153. Mikado and the Treaties, 324, 327. Mikado's Reception, The, 370. Moji Point, 130. Monasteries as Residences, 197. "Monitor," U.S., 101. Monriô-In, Monastery, 196. Môri, 120. Morrison, G. C., Attack on, 28. Murder of Baldwin and Bird, 135. Murder of Foreigners, 46. Murder of Sailors, 251, 265-266, 287. Murderous Plan, A, 290. Music, Japanese, 193. Mission to Great Britain, 100. Mita, A Yashiki in, 196. Mitford's Linguistic Powers, 285. Mito Clan, The, 383. Mito, ex-Prince, 44. Mitsuké, 218. Nagasaki, 22, 168. Nagoya, 214. Nakai, A Visit to, 379. Nakasendô Road, The, 204. Nanao, 235. _Nankai_, The, 265. Nanko, The Game, 390. Navy, Organising the, 231. Neale, Col., 29, 47, 53, 70, 78, 79, 81, 93. Nei, Harbour of, 258. Neutrality of the Western Powers, 331. Neutrality, A Question of, 405. New Year's Day, Japanese, 409. Newspapers, Japanese, 366. Night Attack, A, 220. Niigata, Port, 202, 231, 232. Niiro, 174. Niiro Giôbu, 273. Nocturnal Escapades, 200. Noguchi Tomizô, 170, 176. "Notes," Official, 81. Official Correspondence, 256. Official Inn, An, 210. Official Interview, An, 69. "Official Sickness," 150. Official Visits, 357. Ogasawara, 80. Oi-gawa, Crossing the, 222. Oiwaké, 209. Oji, Tea-house at, 66. Oliphant, L., Attack on, 28. Omnibus, Native, 213. Oshima, 367. Ota Nobunaga, 35. Outrages in Yokohama, 75, 76. Overland Journey, An, 206. Owari Officials, Dilatory, 356. Oyama, Field-Marshal, 332. Ozaka, 285. Ozaka, Arrival of Deposed Tycoon, 299. Ozaka, Destruction of the Castle of, 333. Ozaka, Fêtes at, 286. Ozaka, Life in, 201. Ozaka, Legation at, 197. Ozaka, Squadron for, 143, 145, 148, 187. Palanquin, Travelling by, 227. Palanquins, 206. Paper Money, Difficulties with, 393, 395. Parkes, Sir H., 141, 154, 198, 231, 233, 257, 260, 267, 301, 303, 315, 332, 352, 371, 398. Peking, At, 18, 19. "Pernicious" Sects, 368. Perry, Commodore, 42. Pilfering by Sailors, 323. Pipes, Japanese, 208. Plays, Tragic and Comic, 396. Plays, Private, 262. Plum-tree, Japanese, 62. Portuguese, The, 41. "Prairie" Book, The, 369. Precedence, A Question of, 301, 303. Presents, 191, 229, 261. Prizes, 87. Procession, A, 391. Procrastination and Prevarication, 76, 79. Pruyn, Gen., 28. Public Roads, 186. _Racehorse_, Grounding of the, 88. Rapid Travelling, 226. Reforms, Proposed, 284. _Rei-hei-shi_, The, 218. Religious Persecution, 41, 275. Ren-kô-ji, Buddhist Temple, 161. Resignation of the Shôgun, 282. Restrictions and Prohibitions, Personal, 67. Retainers, 37. Review, A, 158, 263. Revolt of 1638, 41. Richardson, Murder of, 51. Richardson, Indemnity for the Murder of, 91. Roads, Main, 204. Robertson, R. B., 32. Robertson, Russell, 278. Roches, M., Policy of, 197, 353. Roman Catholics, 40. _Rônin_, The, 78. Russell, Lord John, 134. Russians, The, 41. Sado, Island of, 234. Saigô, 181, 200. Sakai, Murder of French at, 351. Saké, 62. Salary of Interpreter, 157. Samurai, The, 25, 37, 46, 47, 53, 60, 79, 91, 96, 98, 126, 129, 157, 175, 327. Satsuma People, The, 174. Satsuma, Prince of, 72, 84, 336. Schools of Philosophy, 277. Sea-Fight, A, 309. Sékigahara, Battle of, 36. Sen-gaku-ji, 156, 165. _Sengaré_, 176. Shibayama, Tragedy of, 196. Shimadzu Saburô, 52. Shimadzu Sachiu, 150. Shimidzu Seiji, 137, 138. Shimmei Maye, 68. Shimonoséki, 93, 102, 105. Shiraishi Shimôsa no Kami, 232. Shitotsubashi, 167, 173, 175, 181, 186. Shiwo, 240. Shôgun, Abdication of the, 282. Shôgun and Foreign Representatives, 199. Shôgun, Status of, 197. Shôgunate, The, 38. Shôguns, The, 35. Shooting Competition, A, 177. Smith, "Public-spirited," 32. Sô-koku-ji, Hospitality at, 336. Squadron at Yokohama, The, 73. _Stonewall Jackson_, The, 404. Stronach, W. G., 18. "Swamp," The, 25. Taicosama, 35. Takaoka, 58. Takao-zan, Incident at, 160. Takasai Tanzan, 58. _Taka-yashiki_, 281. Tanabata, Feast of, 233. Tea-firing Establishments, 209. Tea-houses, 66. "Tea-money," 215. "Teachers," Native, 56. Temples, 63. Tenriû-gawa, The, 218. Theatre at Yokohama, 50. Threats, 287. Throne Room, The, 370. Time, Japanese, 229. Titles, The Question of, 197, 329. Titles in Treaties, A Question of, 165. Tôkaidô, The, 23, 204. Tôkaidô, Guard Houses on the, 59. Tokaku, Reception at, 289. Tokugawa Pirates, The, 395. Tokugawa, Suppression of his Power, 328. Tokushima, The Bar at, 258. "Tongue-Officer," or Interpreter, 258. Tosa, 265. Tosa Men, Character of, 252, 273. Tô-zen-ji, British Legation at, 29, 63. Tracey, Capt., 102. Trade Relations, Unsatisfactory, 22. Transport, Cost of, 194. Travelling in Japan, 211. Travel, Limits of, 27. Treaties, 43. Treaties of 1858, 22, 43, with Chôshiû, 127, 144, London Agreement, 154. Tree-peonies, 202. Tycoon, Arrival in Ozaka, 300. Tycoon and Anti-Tycoon Parties, 99. Tycoon, Obstruction by the, 151. Tycoon's Party, Double Dealing of, 129. "Tycoon," The Title, 174. Uji, 251. University, A, 224. Urakami, Religious Persecution at, 276. Uwajima Bay, 174. Uyéno, Fighting at, 375. Uyésama, 302. Victoria, The Bp. of, 19. Vidal, Death of, 194. Vyse, Lt.-Col., 52. Wakamatsu, Capture of, 386, 388. Walsh, Hall & Co., 27. Willis, Wm., 31, 52, 332, 349, 376. Wilmot, Comm., Death of, 87. Winchester, Mr., 141, 142. Wirgman's Sketches, 212. Wounded, Treatment of, 375. Wreck of the "Rattler," 385. Written Language, The, 58. _Yashiki_ of Daimiôs, The, 66. Yamashina no Miya, 354. Yedo, British Legation at, 28, 61, 366. Yedo, Audience with the Mikado at, 400. Yôdô, ex-Daimiô, 268, 270. _Yokobuyé_, The, 272. Yokohama, 22, 23, Foreign Community 25, Society 26, Legation 29, Public Ferry 50, Theatre 50, Murder of Richardson 51, Life in 56, Squadron at 73, Scare in 74, 75, Fire 161. Yokohama Races, 386. Yoshii, 188. Yoshiwara, The, 390. IN UNKNOWN CHINA A Record of the Observations, Adventures and Experiences of a Pioneer of Civilization During a Prolonged Sojourn Amongst the Wild and Unknown Nosu Tribe of Western China BY =S. POLLARD= Author of "In Tight Corners in China." [Illustration] _Demy 8vo. With Many Illustrations & Maps. Price 25s. Nett_ SOME EARLY REVIEWS. "Fascinating, racy and humorous."--_Aberdeen Journal._ "An amazing record of adventure. Mr. Pollard is delightful from every point of view. 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Or, again, in boldly telling Cecil Rhodes that he would not play his game, and as boldly denouncing Portuguese and native rulers for prosecuting the horrible traffic in slaves." _Manchester Guardian._ SEELEY, SERVICE & CO., LTD., 38 GREAT RUSSELL STREET, W.C. Transcriber Notes: Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. Passages in bold were indicated by =equal signs=. Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS. Throughout the document, the oe ligature was replaced with "oe". Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. Those words were retained as-is. The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate. Thus the page number of the illustration might not match the page number in the List of Illustrations, and the order of illustrations may not be the same in the List of Illustrations and in the book. There were two two-page maps, which were converted into one-maps by converting the two image parts of the maps into single images. Errors in punctuation and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted. Throughout the document, instances of "Mr" were replaced with "Mr." when preceding a name. Since hyphenation was not used in the Japanese language of the this period, and since the transliteration of Japanese words in this text sometimes used hyphenation, no attempt was made to "correct" inconsistencies in that hyphenation. In the glossary of Japanese words, the order changed to be "alphabetical" in the western sense. On page 9, "Choshiu" was replaced with "Chôshiû". On page 27, "Ministers'" was replaced with "Minister's". On page 103, a quotation mark was added after "Tancrède,". On page 113, the period was removed after "Fred". On page 116, "CHOSHIU" was replaced with "CHOSHIÛ". On page 122, "Ito" was replaced with "Itô". On page 124, "Ito" was replaced with "Itô". On page 179, "bcomes" was replaced with "becomes". On page 182, a period was placed after "I said". On page 184, "Choshiu" was replaced with "Chôshiû". On page 197, "somwhat" was replaced with "somewhat". On page 206, "betté gumi" was replaced with "betté-gumi". On page 237, "couple of house" was replaced with "couple of hours". On page 269, "It his people" was replaced with "If his people". On page 275, "bue" was replaced with "but". On page 282, "sumurai" was replaced with "samurai". On page 304, "the the" was replaced with "the". On page 310, "of of" was replaced with "of". On page 318, "Kôbè" was replaced with "Kôbé". On page 362, the period after "Those of us" was changed to a comma. On page 371, "artifically" was replaced with "artificially". On page 373, "housekeping" was replaced with "housekeeping". On page 384, "quadron" was replaced with "squadron". On page 384, "Chô-shiû" was replaced with "Chôshiû". On page 386, "Madé-no-koji" was replaced with "Madé-no-kôji". On page 388, "Dr Siddall" was replaced with "Dr. Siddall". On page 391, "Dr Alford" was replaced with "Dr. Alford". On page 400, "2/IX" was replaced with "2/ix". On page 401, "artifically" was replaced with "artificially". On page 413, a period was placed after "also mother-of-pearl". On page 417, "see p. 172." was replaced with "see p. 174.". On page 417, a period was placed after "two posting-stations". On page 418, a period was placed after "offence against his superior". On page 420, a period was placed after "Christianity, Edict against, 368". On page 420, "Etchiu" was replaced with "Etchiû". On page 421, a period was placed after "Hamamatsu, Reception at, 217". On page 421, a period was placed after "Houseboat, Travelling in a, 207". On page 423, "Matsudairo Kanso" was replaced with "Matsudaira Kansô". On page 423, "Matsugi Kowan" was replaced with "Matsugi Kôwan". On page 423, a period was placed after "Mikado, Audience with the, 358". On page 424, a period was placed after "Neutrality, A Question of, 405". On page 425, a period was placed after "Roches, M., Policy of, 197, 353". On page 424, "Tenriu" was replaced with "Tenriû". 
5979	----	[Transcriber's Note: Page numbers are retained in square brackets.] JAPAN AN ATTEMPT AT INTERPRETATION BY LAFCADIO HEARN 1904 Contents CHAPTER PAGE I. DIFFICULTIES.........................1 II. STRANGENESS AND CHARM................5 III. THE ANCIENT CULT....................21 IV. THE RELIGION OF THE HOME............33 V. THE JAPANESE FAMILY.................55 VI. THE COMMUNAL CULT...................81 VII. DEVELOPMENTS OF SHINTO.............107 VIII. WORSHIP AND PURIFICATION...........133 IX. THE RULE OF THE DEAD...............157 X. THE INTRODUCTION OF BUDDHISM.......183 XI. THE HIGHER BUDDHISM................207 XII. THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION............229 XIII. THE RISE OF THE MILITARY POWER.....259 XIV. THE RELIGION OF LOYALTY............283 XV. THE JESUIT PERIL...................303 XVI. FEUDAL INTEGRATION.................343 XVII. THE SHINTO REVIVAL.................367 XVIII. SURVIVALS..........................381 XIX. MODERN RESTRAINTS..................395 XX. OFFICIAL EDUCATION.................419 XXI. INDUSTRIAL DANGER..................443 XXII. REFLECTIONS........................457 APPENDIX...........................481 BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTES..............487 INDEX..............................489 "Perhaps all very marked national characters can be traced back to a time of rigid and pervading discipline"--WALTER BAGEHOT. [1] DIFFICULTIES A thousand books have been written about Japan; but among these,--setting aside artistic publications and works of a purely special character,--the really precious volumes will be found to number scarcely a score. This fact is due to the immense difficulty of perceiving and comprehending what underlies the surface of Japanese life. No work fully interpreting that life,--no work picturing Japan within and without, historically and socially, psychologically and ethically,--can be written for at least another fifty years. So vast and intricate the subject that the united labour of a generation of scholars could not exhaust it, and so difficult that the number of scholars willing to devote their time to it must always be small. Even among the Japanese themselves, no scientific knowledge of their own history is yet possible; because the means of obtaining that knowledge have not yet been prepared,--though mountains of material have been collected. The want of any good history upon a modern plan is but one of many discouraging wants. Data for the study of sociology [2] are still inaccessible to the Western investigator. The early state of the family and the clan; the history of the differentiation of classes; the history of the differentiation of political from religious law; the history of restraints, and of their influence upon custom; the history of regulative and cooperative conditions in the development of industry; the history of ethics and aesthetics,--all these and many other matters remain obscure. This essay of mine can serve in one direction only as a contribution to the Western knowledge of Japan. But this direction is not one of the least important. Hitherto the subject of Japanese religion has been written of chiefly by the sworn enemies of that religion: by others it has been almost entirely ignored. Yet while it continues to be ignored and misrepresented, no real knowledge of Japan is possible. Any true comprehension of social conditions requires more than a superficial acquaintance with religious conditions. Even the industrial history of a people cannot be understood without some knowledge of those religious traditions and customs which regulate industrial life during the earlier stages of its development .... Or take the subject of art. Art in Japan is so intimately associated with religion that any attempt to study it without extensive knowledge of the [3] beliefs which it reflects, were mere waste of time. By art I do not mean only painting and sculpture, but every kind of decoration, and most kinds of pictorial representation,--the image on a boy's kite or a girl's battledore, not less than the design upon a lacquered casket or enamelled vase,--the figures upon a workman's towel not less than the pattern of the girdle of a princess,--the shape of the paper-dog or the wooden rattle bought for a baby, not less than the forms of those colossal Ni-O who guard the gateways of Buddhist temples .... And surely there can never be any just estimate made of Japanese literature, until a study of that literature shall have been made by some scholar, not only able to understand Japanese beliefs, but able also to sympathize with them to at least the same extent that our great humanists can sympathize with the religion of Euripides, of Pindar, and of Theocritus. Let us ask ourselves how much of English or French or German or Italian literature could be fully understood without the slightest knowledge of the ancient and modern religions of the Occident. I do not refer to distinctly religious creators,--to poets like Milton or Dante,--but only to the fact that even one of Shakespeare's plays must remain incomprehensible to a person knowing nothing either of Christian beliefs or of the beliefs which preceded them. The real mastery of any European tongue is impossible [4] without a knowledge of European religion. The language of even the unlettered is full of religious meaning: the proverbs and household-phrases of the poor, the songs of the street, the speech of the workshop,--all are infused with significations unimaginable by any one ignorant of the faith of the people. Nobody knows this better than a man who has passed many years in trying to teach English in Japan, to pupils whose faith is utterly unlike our own, and whose ethics have been shaped by a totally different social experience. [5] STRANGENESS AND CHARM The majority of the first impressions of Japan recorded by travellers are pleasurable impressions. Indeed, there must be something lacking, or something very harsh, in the nature to which Japan can make no emotional appeal. The appeal itself is the clue to a problem; and that problem is the character of a race and of its civilization. My own first impressions of Japan,--Japan as seen in the white sunshine of a perfect spring day,--had doubtless much in common with the average of such experiences. I remember especially the wonder and the delight of the vision. The wonder and the delight have never passed away: they are often revived for me even now, by some chance happening, after fourteen years of sojourn. But the reason of these feelings was difficult to learn,--or at least to guess; for I cannot yet claim to know much about Japan .... Long ago the best and dearest Japanese friend I ever had said to me, a little before his death: "When you find, in four or five years more, that you cannot understand the Japanese at [6] all, then you will begin to know something about them." After having realized the truth of my friend's prediction,--after having discovered that I cannot understand the Japanese at all,--I feel better qualified to attempt this essay. As first perceived, the outward strangeness of things in Japan produces (in certain minds, at least) a queer thrill impossible to describe,--a feeling of weirdness which comes to us only with the perception of the totally unfamiliar. You find yourself moving through queer small streets full of odd small people, wearing robes and sandals of extraordinary shapes; and you can scarcely distinguish the sexes at sight. The houses are constructed and furnished in ways alien to all your experience; and you are astonished to find that you cannot conceive the use or meaning of numberless things on display in the shops. Food-stuffs of unimaginable derivation; utensils of enigmatic forms; emblems incomprehensible of some mysterious belief; strange masks and toys that commemorate legends of gods or demons; odd figures, too, of the gods themselves, with monstrous ears and smiling faces,--all these you may perceive as you wander about; though you must also notice telegraph-poles and type-writers, electric lamps and sewing machines. Everywhere on signs and hangings, and on the backs of people passing by, you will observe wonderful Chinese [7] characters; and the wizardry of all these texts makes the dominant tone of the spectacle. Further acquaintance with this fantastic world will in nowise diminish the sense of strangeness evoked by the first vision of it. You will soon observe that even the physical actions of the people are unfamiliar,--that their work is done in ways the opposite of Western ways. Tools are of surprising shapes, and are handled after surprising methods: the blacksmith squats at his anvil, wielding a hammer such as no Western smith could use without long practice; the carpenter pulls, instead of pushing, his extraordinary plane and saw. Always the left is the right side, and the right side the wrong; and keys must be turned, to open or close a lock, in what we are accustomed to think the wrong direction. Mr. Percival Lowell has truthfully observed that the Japanese speak backwards, read backwards, write backwards,--and that this is "only the abc of their contrariety." For the habit of writing backwards there are obvious evolutional reasons; and the requirements of Japanese calligraphy sufficiently explain why the artist pushes his brush or pencil instead of pulling it. But why, instead of putting the thread through the eye of the needle, should the Japanese maiden slip the eye of the needle over the point of the thread? Perhaps the most remarkable, out of a hundred possible examples of antipodal action, is furnished by the Japanese art of fencing. The [8] swordsman, delivering his blow with both hands, does not pull the blade towards him in the moment of striking, but pushes it from him. He uses it, indeed, as other Asiatics do, not on the principle of the wedge, but of the saw; yet there is a pushing motion where we should expect a pulling motion in the stroke .... These and other forms of unfamiliar action are strange enough to suggest the notion of a humanity even physically as little related to us as might be the population of another planet,--the notion of some anatomical unlikeness. No such unlikeness, however, appears to exist; and all this oppositeness probably implies, not so much the outcome of a human experience entirely independent of Aryan experience, as the outcome of an experience evolutionally younger than our own. Yet that experience has been one of no mean order. Its manifestations do not merely startle: they also delight. The delicate perfection of workmanship, the light strength and grace of objects, the power manifest to obtain the best results with the least material, the achieving of mechanical ends by the simplest possible means, the comprehension of irregularity as aesthetic value, the shapeliness and perfect taste of everything, the sense displayed of harmony in tints or colours,--all this must convince you at once that our Occident has much to learn from this remote civilization, not only in matters of art and taste, but in matters likewise of [9] economy and utility. It is no barbarian fancy that appeals to you in those amazing porcelains, those astonishing embroideries, those wonders of lacquer and ivory and bronze, which educate imagination in unfamiliar ways. No: these are the products of a civilization which became, within its own limits, so exquisite that none but an artist is capable of judging its manufactures,--a civilization that can be termed imperfect only by those who would also term imperfect the Greek civilization of three thousand years ago. But the underlying strangeness of this world,--the psychological strangeness,--is much more startling than the visible and superficial. You begin to suspect the range of it after having discovered that no adult Occidental can perfectly master the language. East and West the fundamental parts of human nature--the emotional bases of it--are much the same: the mental difference between a Japanese and a European child is mainly potential. But with growth the difference rapidly develops and widens, till it becomes, in adult life, inexpressible. The whole of the Japanese mental superstructure evolves into forms having nothing in common with Western psychological development: the expression of thought becomes regulated, and the expression of emotion inhibited in ways that bewilder and astound. The ideas of this people are not our [10] ideas; their sentiments are not our sentiments their ethical life represents for us regions of thought and emotion yet unexplored, or perhaps long forgotten. Any one of their ordinary phrases, translated into Western speech, makes hopeless nonsense; and the literal rendering into Japanese of the simplest English sentence would scarcely be comprehended by any Japanese who had never studied a European tongue. Could you learn all the words in a Japanese dictionary, your acquisition would not help you in the least to make yourself understood in speaking, unless you had learned also to think like a Japanese,--that is to say, to think backwards, to think upside-down and inside-out, to think in directions totally foreign to Aryan habit. Experience in the acquisition of European languages can help you to learn Japanese about as much as it could help you to acquire the language spoken by the inhabitants of Mars. To be able to use the Japanese tongue as a Japanese uses it, one would need to be born again, and to have one's mind completely reconstructed, from the foundation upwards. It is possible that a person of European parentage, born in Japan, and accustomed from infancy to use the vernacular, might retain in after-life that instinctive knowledge which could alone enable him to adapt his mental relations to the relations of any Japanese environment. There is actually an Englishman named Black, born in Japan, whose proficiency [11] in the language is proved by the fact that he is able to earn a fair income as a professional storyteller (hanashika). But this is an extraordinary case .... As for the literary language, I need only observe that to make acquaintance with it requires very much more than a knowledge of several thousand Chinese characters. It is safe to say that no Occidental can undertake to render at sight any literary text laid before him--indeed the number of native scholars able to do so is very small;--and although the learning displayed in this direction by various Europeans may justly compel our admiration, the work of none could have been given to the world without Japanese help. But as the outward strangeness of Japan proves to be full of beauty, so the inward strangeness appears to have its charm,--an ethical charm reflected in the common life of the people. The attractive aspects of that life do not indeed imply, to the ordinary observer, a psychological differentiation measurable by scores of centuries: only a scientific mind, like that of Mr. Percival Lowell, immediately perceives the problem presented. The less gifted stranger, if naturally sympathetic, is merely pleased and puzzled, and tries to explain, by his own experience of happy life on the other side of the world, the social conditions that charm him. Let us suppose that he has the good fortune of being able to [12] live for six months or a year in some old-fashioned town of the interior. From the beginning of this sojourn he can scarcely fail to be impressed by the apparent kindliness and joyousness of the existence about him. In the relations of the people to each other, as well as in all their relations to himself, he will find a constant amenity, a tact, a good-nature such as he will elsewhere have met with only in the friendship of exclusive circles. Everybody greets everybody with happy looks and pleasant words; faces are always smiling; the commonest incidents of everyday life are transfigured by a courtesy at once so artless and so faultless that it appears to spring directly from the heart, without any teaching. Under all circumstances a certain outward cheerfulness never falls: no matter what troubles may come,--storm or fire, flood or earthquake,--the laughter of greeting voices, the bright smile and graceful bow, the kindly inquiry and the wish to please, continue to make existence beautiful. Religion brings no gloom into this sunshine: before the Buddhas and the gods folk smile as they pray; the temple-courts are playgrounds for the children; and within the enclosure of the great public shrines--which are places of festivity rather than of solemnity--dancing-platforms are erected. Family existence would seem to be everywhere characterized by gentleness: there is no visible quarrelling, no loud harshness, no tears and reproaches. Cruelty, even [13] to animals, appears to be unknown: one sees farmers, coming to town, trudging patiently beside their horses or oxen, aiding their dumb companions to bear the burden, and using no whips or goads. Drivers or pullers of carts will turn out of their way, under the most provoking circumstances, rather than overrun a lazy dog or a stupid chicken .... For no inconsiderable time one may live in the midst of appearances like these, and perceive nothing to spoil the pleasure of the experience. Of course the conditions of which I speak are now passing away; but they are still to be found in the remoter districts. I have lived in districts where no case of theft had occurred for hundreds of years,--where the newly-built prisons of Meiji remained empty and useless,--where the people left their doors unfastened by night as well as by day. These facts are familiar to every Japanese. In such a district, you might recognize that the kindness shown to you, as a stranger, is the consequence of official command; but how explain the goodness of the people to each other? When you discover no harshness, no rudeness, no dishonesty, no breaking of laws, and learn that this social condition has been the same for centuries, you are tempted to believe that you have entered into the domain of a morally superior humanity. All this soft urbanity, impeccable honesty, ingenuous kindliness of speech and act, you might naturally interpret [14] as conduct directed by perfect goodness of heart. And the simplicity that delights you is no simplicity of barbarism. Here every one has been taught; every one knows how to write and speak beautifully, how to compose poetry, how to behave politely; there is everywhere cleanliness and good taste; interiors are bright and pure; the daily use of the hot bath is universal. How refuse to be charmed by a civilization in which every relation appears to be governed by altruism, every action directed by duty, and every object shaped by art? You cannot help being delighted by such conditions, or feeling indignant at hearing them denounced as "heathen." And according to the degree of altruism within yourself, these good folk will be able, without any apparent effort, to make you happy. The mere sensation of the milieu is a placid happiness: it is like the sensation of a dream in which people greet us exactly as we like to be greeted, and say to us all that we like to hear, and do for us all that we wish to have done,--people moving soundlessly through spaces of perfect repose, all bathed in vapoury light. Yes--for no little time these fairy-folk can give you all the soft bliss of sleep. But sooner or later, if you dwell long with them, your contentment will prove to have much in common with the happiness of dreams. You will never forget the dream,--never; but it will lift at last, like those vapours of spring which lend preternatural [15] loveliness to a Japanese landscape in the forenoon of radiant days. Really you are happy because you have entered bodily into Fairyland,--into a world that is not, and never could be your own. You have been transported out of your own century--over spaces enormous of perished time--into an era forgotten, into a vanished age,--back to something ancient as Egypt or Nineveh. That is the secret of the strangeness and beauty of things,--the secret of the thrill they give,--the secret of the elfish charm of the people and their ways. Fortunate mortal! the tide of Time has turned for you! But remember that here all is enchantment,--that you have fallen under the spell of the dead,--that the lights and the colours and the voices must fade away at last into emptiness and silence. * * * * * * Some of us, at least, have often wished that it were possible to live for a season in the beautiful vanished world of Greek culture. Inspired by our first acquaintance with the charm of Greek art and thought, this wish comes to us even before we are capable of imagining the true conditions of the antique civilization. If the wish could be realized, we should certainly find it impossible to accommodate ourselves to those conditions,--not so much because of the difficulty of learning the environment, as because of the much greater difficulty of feeling just as people used to feel some thirty centuries [16] ago. In spite of all that has been done for Greek studies since the Renaissance, we are still unable to understand many aspects of the old Greek life: no modern mind can really feel, for example, those sentiments and emotions to which the great tragedy of Oedipus made appeal. Nevertheless we are much in advance of our forefathers of the eighteenth century, as regards the knowledge of Greek civilization. In the time of the French revolution, it was thought possible to reestablish in France the conditions of a Greek republic, and to educate children according to the system of Sparta. To-day we are well aware that no mind developed by modern civilization could find happiness under any of those socialistic despotisms which existed in all the cities of the ancient world before the Roman conquest. We could no more mingle with the old Greek life, if it were resurrected for us,--no more become a part of it,--than we could change our mental identities. But how much would we not give for the delight of beholding it,--for the joy of attending one festival in Corinth, or of witnessing the Pan-Hellenic games? ... And yet, to witness the revival of some perished Greek civilization,--to walk about the very Crotona of Pythagoras,--to wander through the Syracuse of Theocritus,--were not any more of a privilege than is the opportunity actually afforded us to study Japanese life. Indeed, from the evolutional [17] point of view, it were less of a privilege,--since Japan offers us the living spectacle of conditions older, and psychologically much farther away from us, than those of any Greek period with which art and literature have made us closely acquainted. The reader scarcely needs to be reminded that a civilization less evolved than our own, and intellectually remote from us, is not on that account to be regarded as necessarily inferior in all respects. Hellenic civilization at its best represented an early stage of sociological evolution; yet the arts which it developed still furnish our supreme and unapproachable ideals of beauty. So, too, this much more archaic civilization of Old Japan attained an average of aesthetic and moral culture well worthy of our wonder and praise. Only a shallow mind--a very shallow mind--will pronounce the best of that culture inferior. But Japanese civilization is peculiar to a degree for which there is perhaps no Western parallel, since it offers us the spectacle of many successive layers of alien culture superimposed above the simple indigenous basis, and forming a very bewilderment of complexity. Most of this alien culture is Chinese, and bears but an indirect relation to the real subject of these studies. The peculiar and surprising fact is that, in spite of all superimposition, the original character of the people and of their society should still remain recognizable. [18] The wonder of Japan is not to be sought in the countless borrowings with which she has clothed herself,--much as a princess of the olden time would don twelve ceremonial robes, of divers colours and qualities, folded one upon the other so as to show their many-tinted edges at throat and sleeves and skirt;--no, the real wonder is the Wearer. For the interest of the costume is much less in its beauty of form and tint than in its significance as idea,--as representing something of the mind that devised or adopted it. And the supreme interest of the old--Japanese civilization lies in what it expresses of the race-character,--that character which yet remains essentially unchanged by all the changes of Meiji. "Suggests" were perhaps a better word than "expresses," for this race-character is rather to be divined than recognized. Our comprehension of it might be helped by some definite knowledge of origins; but such knowledge we do not yet possess. Ethnologists are agreed that the Japanese race has been formed by a mingling of peoples, and that the dominant element is Mongolian; but this dominant element is represented in two very different types,--one slender and almost feminine of aspect; the other, squat and powerful. Chinese and Korean elements are known to exist in the populations of certain districts; and, there appears to have been a large infusion of Aino blood. Whether there be [19] any Malay or Polynesian element also has not been decided. Thus much only can be safely affirmed,--that the race, like all good races, is a mixed one; and that the peoples who originally united to form it have been so blended together as to develop, under long social discipline, a tolerably uniform type of character. This character, though immediately recognizable in some of Its aspects, presents us with many enigmas that are very difficult to explain. Nevertheless, to understand it better has become a matter of importance. Japan has entered into the world's competitive struggle; and the worth of any people in that struggle depends upon character quite as much as upon force. We can learn something about Japanese character if we are able to ascertain the nature of the conditions which shaped it,--the great general facts of the moral experience of the race. And these facts we should find expressed or suggested in the history of the national beliefs, and in the history of those social institutions derived from and developed by religion. [20] [21] THE ANCIENT CULT The real religion of Japan, the religion still professed in one form or other, by the entire nation, is that cult which has been the foundation of all civilized religion, and of all civilized society,--Ancestor-worship. In the course of thousands of years this original cult has undergone modifications, and has assumed various shapes; but everywhere in Japan its fundamental character remains unchanged. Without including the different Buddhist forms of ancestor-worship, we find three distinct rites of purely Japanese origin, subsequently modified to some degree by Chinese influence and ceremonial. These Japanese forms of the cult are all classed together under the name of "Shinto," which signifies, "The Way of the Gods." It is not an ancient term; and it was first adopted only to distinguish the native religion, or "Way" from the foreign religion of Buddhism called "Butsudo," or "The Way of the Buddha." The three forms of the Shinto worship of ancestors are the Domestic Cult, the Communal Cult, and the State Cult;--or, in other words, the worship of family ancestors, the worship of clan or tribal ancestors, [22] and the worship of imperial ancestors. The first is the religion of the home; the second is the religion of the local divinity, or tutelar god; the third is the national religion. There are various other forms of Shinto worship; but they need not be considered for the present. Of the three forms of ancestor-worship above mentioned, the family-cult is the first in evolutional order,--the others being later developments. But, in speaking of the family-cult as the oldest, I do not mean the home-religion as it exists to-day;--neither do I mean by "family" anything corresponding to the term "household." The Japanese family in early times meant very much more than "household": it might include a hundred or a thousand households: it was something like the Greek (Greek genos); or the Roman gens,--the patriarchal family in the largest sense of the term. In prehistoric Japan the domestic cult of the house-ancestor probably did not exist;--the family-rites would appear to have been performed only at the burial-place. But the later domestic cult, having been developed out of the primal family-rite, indirectly represents the most ancient form of the religion, and should therefore be considered first in any study of Japanese social evolution. The evolutional history of ancestor-worship has been very much the same in all countries; and that [23] of the Japanese cult offers remarkable evidence in support of Herbert Spencer's exposition of the law of religious development. To comprehend this general law, we must, however, go back to the origin of religious beliefs. One should bear in mind that, from a sociological point of view, it is no more correct to speak of the existing ancestor-cult in Japan as "primitive," than it would be to speak of the domestic cult of the Athenians in the time of Pericles as "primitive." No persistent form of ancestor-worship is primitive; and every established domestic cult has been developed out of some irregular and non-domestic family-cult, which, again, must have grown out of still more ancient funeral-rites. Our knowledge of ancestor-worship, as regards the early European civilizations, cannot be said to extend to the primitive form of the cult. In the case of the Greeks and the Romans, our knowledge of the subject dates from a period at which a domestic religion had long been established; and we have documentary evidence as to the character of that religion. But of the earlier cult that must have preceded the home-worship, we have little testimony; and we can surmise its nature only by study of the natural history of ancestor-worship among peoples not yet arrived at a state of civilization. The true domestic cult begins with a settled civilization. Now when the Japanese race first established itself in Japan, it does not appear to have [24] brought with it any civilization of the kind which we would call settled, nor any well-developed ancestor-cult. The cult certainly existed; but its ceremonies would seem to have been irregularly performed at graves only. The domestic cult proper may not have been established until about the eighth century, when the spirit-tablet is supposed to have been introduced from China. The earliest ancestor-cult, as we shall presently see, was developed out of the primitive funeral-rites and propitiatory ceremonies. The existing family religion is therefore a comparatively modern development; but it is at least as old as the true civilization of the country, and it conserves beliefs and ideas which are indubitably primitive, as well as ideas and beliefs derived from these. Before treating further of the cult itself, it will be necessary to consider some of these older beliefs. The earliest ancestor-worship,--"the root of all religions," as Herbert Spencer calls it,--was probably coeval with the earliest definite belief in ghosts. As soon as men were able to conceive the idea of a shadowy inner self, or double, so soon, doubtless, the propitiatory cult of spirits began. But this earliest ghost-worship must have long preceded that period of mental development in which men first became capable of forming abstract ideas. The [25] primitive ancestor-worshippers could not have formed the notion of a supreme deity; and all evidence existing as to the first forms of their worship tends to show that there primarily existed no difference whatever between the conception of ghosts and the conception of gods. There were, consequently, no definite beliefs in any future state of reward or of punishment,--no ideas of any heaven or hell. Even the notion of a shadowy underworld, or Hades, was of much later evolution. At first the dead were thought of only as dwelling in the tombs provided for them,--whence they could issue, from time to time, to visit their former habitations, or to make apparition in the dreams of the living. Their real world was the place of burial,--the grave, the tumulus. Afterwards there slowly developed the idea of an underworld, connected in some mysterious way with the place of sepulture. Only at a much later time did this dim underworld of imagination expand and divide into regions of ghostly bliss and woe .... It is a noteworthy fact that Japanese mythology never evolved the ideas of an Elysium or a Tartarus,--never developed the notion of a heaven or a hell. Even to this day Shinto belief represents the pre-Homeric stage of imagination as regards the supernatural. Among the Indo-European races likewise there appeared to have been at first no difference between gods and ghosts, nor any ranking of gods as greater [26] and lesser. These distinctions were gradually developed. "The spirits of the dead," says Mr. Spencer, "forming, in a primitive tribe, an ideal group the members of which are but little distinguished from one another, will grow more and more distinguished;--and as societies advance, and as traditions, local and general, accumulate and complicate, these once similar human souls, acquiring in the popular mind differences of character and importance, will diverge--until their original community of nature becomes scarcely recognizable." So in antique Europe, and so in the Far East, were the greater gods of nations evolved from ghost-cults; but those ethics of ancestor-worship which shaped alike the earliest societies of West and East, date from a period before the time of the greater gods,--from the period when all the dead were supposed to become gods, with no distinction of rank. No more than the primitive ancestor-worshippers of Aryan race did the early Japanese think of their dead as ascending to some extra-mundane region of light and bliss, or as descending into some realm of torment. They thought of their dead as still inhabiting this world, or at least as maintaining with it a constant communication. Their earliest sacred records do, indeed, make mention of an underworld, where mysterious Thunder-gods and evil goblins dwelt in corruption; but this vague world of the dead communicated with the world of the living; [27] and the spirit there, though in some sort attached to its decaying envelope, could still receive upon earth the homage and the offerings of men. Before the advent of Buddhism, there was no idea of a heaven or a hell. The ghosts of the departed were thought of as constant presences, needing propitiation, and able in some way to share the pleasures and the pains of the living. They required food and drink and light; and in return for these; they could confer benefits. Their bodies had melted into earth; but their spirit-power still lingered in the upper world, thrilled its substance, moved in its winds and waters. By death they had acquired mysterious force;--they had become "superior ones," Kami, gods. That is to say, gods in the oldest Greek and Roman sense. Be it observed that there were no moral distinctions, East or West, in this deification. "All the dead become gods," wrote the great Shinto commentator, Hirata. So likewise, in the thought of the early Greeks and even of the late Romans, all the dead became gods. M. de Coulanges observes, in La Cite Antique: "This kind of apotheosis was not the privilege of the great alone. no distinction was made .... It was not even necessary to have been a virtuous man: the wicked man became a god as well as the good man,--only that in this after-existence, he retained the evil inclinations of his former life." Such also [28] was the case in Shinto belief: the good man became a beneficent divinity, the bad man an evil deity,--but all alike became Kami. "And since there are bad as well as good gods," wrote Motowori, "it is necessary to propitiate them with offerings of agreeable food, playing the harp, blowing the flute, singing and dancing and whatever is likely to put them in a good humour." The Latins called the maleficent ghosts of the dead, Larvae, and called the beneficent or harmless ghosts, Lares, or Manes, or Genii, according to Apuleius. But all alike were gods,--dii-manes; and Cicero admonished his readers to render to all dii-manes the rightful worship: "They are men," he declared, "who have departed from this life;-consider them divine beings ...." In Shinto, as in old Greek belief, to die was to enter into the possession of superhuman power, to become capable of conferring benefit or of inflicting misfortune by supernatural means .... But yesterday, such or such a man was a common toiler, a person of no importance;--to-day, being dead, he becomes a divine power, and his children pray to him for the prosperity of their undertakings. Thus also we find the personages of Greek tragedy, such as Alcestis, suddenly transformed into divinities by death, and addressed in the language of worship or prayer. But, in despite of their supernatural [29] power, the dead are still dependent upon the living for happiness. Though viewless, save in dreams, they need earthly nourishment and homage,--food and drink, and the reverence of their descendants. Each ghost must rely for such comfort upon its living kindred;--only through the devotion of that kindred can it ever find repose. Each ghost must have shelter,--a fitting tomb;--each must have offerings. While honourably sheltered and properly nourished the spirit is pleased, and will aid in maintaining the good-fortune of its propitiators. But if refused the sepulchral home, the funeral rites, the offerings of food and fire and drink, the spirit will suffer from hunger and cold and thirst, and, becoming angered, will act malevolently and contrive misfortune for those by whom it has been neglected .... Such were the ideas of the old Greeks regarding the dead; and such were the ideas of the old Japanese. Although the religion of ghosts was once the religion of our own forefathers--whether of Northern or Southern Europe,--and although practices derived from it, such as the custom of decorating graves with flowers, persist to-day among our most advanced communities,--our modes of thought have so changed under the influences of modern civilization that it is difficult for us to imagine how people could ever have supposed that the happiness of the dead depended upon material food. But it [30] is probable that the real belief in ancient European societies was much like the belief as it exists in modern Japan. The dead are not supposed to consume the substance of the food, but only to absorb the invisible essence of it. In the early period of ancestor-worship the food-offerings were large; later on they were made smaller and smaller as the idea grew up that the spirits required but little sustenance of even the most vapoury kind. But, however small the offerings, it was essential that they should be made regularly. Upon these shadowy repasts depended the well-being of the dead; and upon the well-being of the dead depended the fortunes of the living. Neither could dispense with the help of the other. the visible and the invisible worlds were forever united by bonds innumerable of mutual necessity; and no single relation of that union could be broken without the direst consequences. The history of all religious sacrifices can be traced back to this ancient custom of offerings made to ghosts; and the whole Indo-Aryan race had at one time no other religion than this religion of spirits. In fact, every advanced human society has, at some period of its history, passed through the stage of ancestor-worship; but it is to the Far East that we must took to-day in order to find the cult coexisting with an elaborate civilization. Now the Japanese ancestor-cult--though representing the beliefs of a [31] non-Aryan people, and offering in the history of its development various interesting peculiarities--still embodies much that is characteristic of ancestor-worship in general. There survive in it especially these three beliefs, which underlie all forms of persistent ancestor-worship in all climes and countries:-- I.--The dead remain in this world,--haunting their tombs, and also their former homes, and sharing invisibly in the life of their living descendants;-- II.--All the dead become gods, in the sense of acquiring supernatural power; but they retain the characters which distinguished them during life;-- III.--The happiness of the dead depends upon the respectful service rendered them by the living; and the happiness of the living depends upon the fulfilment of pious duty to the dead. To these very early beliefs may be added the following, probably of later development, which at one time must have exercised immense influence:-- IV.--Every event in the world, good or evil,--fair seasons or plentiful harvests,--flood and famine,--tempest and tidal-wave and earthquake,--is the work of the dead. V.--All human actions, good or bad, are controlled by the dead. The first three beliefs survive from the dawn of civilization, or before it,--from the time in which [32] the dead were the only gods, without distinctions of power. The latter two would seem rather of the period in which a true mythology--an enormous polytheism--had been developed out of the primitive ghost-worship. There is nothing simple in these beliefs: they are awful, tremendous beliefs; and before Buddhism helped to dissipate them, their pressure upon the mind of a people dwelling in a land of cataclysms, must have been like an endless weight of nightmare. But the elder beliefs, in softened form, are yet a fundamental part of the existing cult. Though Japanese ancestor-worship has undergone many modifications in the past two thousand years, these modifications have not transformed its essential character in relation to conduct; and the whole framework of society rests upon it, as on a moral foundation. The history of Japan is really the history of her religion. No single fact in this connection is more significant than the fact that the ancient Japanese term for government--matsuri-goto--signifies liberally "matters of worship." Later on we shall find that not only government, but almost everything in Japanese society, derives directly or indirectly from this ancestor-cult; and that in all matters the dead, rather than the living, have been the rulers of the nation and--the shapers of its destinies. [33] THE RELIGION OF THE HOME Three stages of ancestor-worship are to be distinguished in the general course of religious and social evolution; and each of these finds illustration in the history of Japanese society. The first stage is that which exists before the establishment of a settled civilization, when there is yet no national ruler, and when the unit of society is the great patriarchal family, with its elders or war-chiefs for lords. Under these conditions, the spirits of the family-ancestors only are worshipped;--each family propitiating its own dead, and recognizing no other form of worship. As the patriarchal families, later on, become grouped into tribal clans, there grows up the custom of tribal sacrifice to the spirits of the clan-rulers;--this cult being superadded to the family-cult, and marking the second stage of ancestor-worship. Finally, with the union of all the clans or tribes under one supreme head, there is developed the custom of propitiating the spirits of national, rulers. This third form of the cult becomes the obligatory religion [34] of the country; but it does not replace either of the preceding cults: the three continue to exist together. Though, in the present state of our knowledge, the evolution in Japan of these three stages of ancestor-worship is but faintly traceable, we can divine tolerably well, from various records, how the permanent forms of the cult were first developed out of the earlier funeral-rites. Between the ancient Japanese funeral customs and those of antique Europe, there was a vast difference,--a difference indicating, as regards Japan, a far more primitive social condition. In Greece and in Italy it was an early custom to bury the family dead within the limits of the family estate; and the Greek and Roman laws of property grew out of this practice. Sometimes the dead were buried close to the house. The author of 'La Cite Antique' cites, among other ancient texts bearing upon the subject, an interesting invocation from the tragedy of Helen, by Euripides:--"All hail! my father's tomb! I buried thee, Proteus, at the place where men pass out, that I might often greet thee; and so, even as I go out and in, I, thy son Theoclymenus, call upon thee, father! ..." But in ancient Japan, men fled from the neighbourhood of death. It was long the custom to abandon, either temporarily, or permanently, the house in which a death occurred; [35] and we can scarcely suppose that, at any time, it was thought desirable to bury the dead close to the habitation of the surviving members of the household. Some Japanese authorities declare that in the very earliest ages there was no burial, and that corpses were merely conveyed to desolate places, and there abandoned to wild creatures. Be this as it may, we have documentary evidence, of an unmistakable sort, concerning the early funeral-rites as they existed when the custom of burying had become established,--rites weird and strange, and having nothing in common with the practices of settled civilization. There is reason to believe that the family-dwelling was at first permanently, not temporarily, abandoned to the dead; and in view of the fact that the dwelling was a wooden hut of very simple structure, there is nothing improbable in the supposition. At all events the corpse was left for a certain period, called the period of mourning, either in the abandoned house where the death occurred, or in a shelter especially built for the purpose; and, during the mourning period, offerings of food and drink were set before the dead, and ceremonies performed without the house. One of these ceremonies consisted in the recital of poems in praise of the dead,--which poems were called shinobigoto. There was music also of flutes and drums, and dancing; and at night a fire was kept burning before the house. After all this had been [36] done for the fixed period of mourning--eight days, according to some authorities, fourteen according to others--the corpse was interred. It is probable that the deserted house may thereafter have become an ancestral temple, or ghost-house,--prototype of the Shinto miya. At an early time,--though when we do not know,--it certainly became the custom to erect a moya, or "mourning-house" in the event of a death; and the rites were performed at the mourning-house prior to the interment. The manner of burial was very simple: there were yet no tombs in the literal meaning of the term, and no tombstones. Only a mound was thrown up over the grave; and the size of the mound varied according to the rank of the dead. The custom of deserting the house in which a death took place would accord with the theory of a nomadic ancestry for the Japanese people: it was a practice totally incompatible with a settled civilization like that of the early Greeks and Romans, whose customs in regard to burial presuppose small landholdings in permanent occupation. But there may have been, even in early times, some exceptions to general custom--exceptions made by necessity. To-day, in various parts of the country, and perhaps more particularly in districts remote from temples, it is the custom for farmers to bury their dead upon their own lands. [37]--At regular intervals after burial, ceremonies were performed at the graves; and food and drink were then served to the spirits. When the spirit-tablet had been introduced from China, and a true domestic cult established, the practice of making offerings at the place of burial was not discontinued. It survives to the present time,--both in the Shinto and the Buddhist rite; and every spring an Imperial messenger presents at the tomb of the Emperor Jimmu, the same offerings of birds and fish and seaweed, rice and rice-wine, which were made to the spirit of the Founder of the Empire twenty-five hundred years ago. But before the period of Chinese influence the family would seem to have worshipped its dead only before the mortuary house, or at the grave; and the spirits were yet supposed to dwell especially in their tombs, with access to some mysterious subterranean world. They were supposed to need other things besides nourishment; and it was customary to place in the grave various articles for their ghostly use,--a sword, for example, in the case of a warrior; a mirror in the case of a woman,--together with certain objects, especially prized during life,--such as objects of precious metal, and polished stones or gems .... At this stage of ancestor-worship, when the spirits are supposed to require shadowy service of a sort corresponding to that exacted during their life-time in the body, we should expect to hear of [38] human sacrifices as well as of animal sacrifices. At the funerals of great personages such sacrifices were common. Owing to beliefs of which all knowledge has been lost, these sacrifices assumed a character much more cruel than that of the immolations of the Greek Homeric epoch. The human victims* were buried up to the neck in a circle about the grave, and thus left to perish under the beaks of birds and the teeth of wild beasts. [*How the horses and other animals were sacrificed, does not clearly appear.] The term applied to this form of immolation,--hitogaki, or "human hedge,"--implies a considerable number of victims in each case. This custom was abolished, by the Emperor Suinin, about nineteen hundred years ago; and the Nihongi declares that it was then an ancient custom. Being grieved by the crying of the victims interred in the funeral mound erected over the grave of his brother, Yamato-hiko-no-mikoto, the Emperor is recorded to have said: "It is a very painful thing to force those whom one has loved in life to follow one in death. Though it be an ancient custom, why follow it, if it is bad? From this time forward take counsel to put a stop to the following of the dead." Nomi-no-Sukune, a court-noble--now apotheosized as the patron of wrestlers--then suggested the substitution of earthen images of men and horses for the living victims; and his suggestion was approved. The hitogaki, was thus abolished; but compulsory as well as voluntary following of the [39] dead certainly continued for many hundred years after, since we find the Emperor Kotoku issuing an edict on the subject in the year 646 A.D.:-- "When a man dies, there have been cases of people sacrificing themselves by strangulation, or of strangling others by way of sacrifice, or of compelling the dead man's horse to be sacrificed, or of burying valuables in the grave in honour of the dead, or of cutting off the hair and stabbing the thighs and [in that condition] pronouncing a eulogy on the dead. Let all such old customs be entirely discontinued."--Nihongi; Aston's translation. As regarded compulsory sacrifice and popular custom, this edict may have had the immediate effect desired; but voluntary human sacrifices were not definitively suppressed. With the rise of the military power there gradually came into existence another custom of junshi, or following one's lord in death,--suicide by the sword. It is said to have begun about 1333, when the last of the Hojo regents, Takatoki, performed suicide, and a number of his retainers took their own lives by harakiri, in order to follow their master. It may be doubted whether this incident really established the practice. But by the sixteenth century junshi had certainly become an honoured custom among the samurai. Loyal retainers esteemed it a duty to kill themselves after the death of their lord, in order to attend upon him during his ghostly journey. A thousand years [40] of Buddhist teaching had not therefore sufficed to eradicate all primitive notions' of sacrificial duty. The practice continued into the time of the Tokugawa shogunate, when Iyeyasu made laws to check it. These laws were rigidly applied,--the entire family of the suicide being held responsible for a case of junshi: yet the custom cannot be said to have become extinct until considerably after the beginning of the era of Meiji. Even during my own time there have been survivals,--some of a very touching kind: suicides performed in hope of being able to serve or aid the spirit of master or husband or parent in the invisible world. Perhaps the strangest case was that of a boy fourteen years old, who killed himself in order to wait upon the spirit of a child, his master's little son. The peculiar character of the early human sacrifices at graves, the character of the funeral-rites, the abandonment of the house in which death had occurred.--all prove that the early ancestor-worship was of a decidedly primitive kind. This is suggested also by the peculiar Shinto horror of death as pollution: even at this day to attend a funeral,--unless the funeral be conducted after the Shinto rite,--is religious defilement. The ancient legend of Izanagi's descent to the nether world, in search of his lost spouse, illustrates the terrible beliefs that once existed as to goblin-powers presiding over decay. [41] Between the horror of death as corruption, and the apotheosis of the ghost, there is nothing incongruous: we must understand the apotheosis itself as a propitiation. This earliest Way of the Gods was a religion of perpetual fear. Not ordinary homes only were deserted after a death: even the Emperors, during many centuries, were wont to change their capital after the death of a predecessor. But, gradually, out of the primal funeral-rites, a higher cult was evolved. The mourning-house, or moya, became transformed into the Shinto temple, which still retains the shape of the primitive hut. Then under Chinese influence, the ancestral cult became established in the home; and Buddhism at a later day maintained this domestic cult. By degrees the household religion became a religion of tenderness as well as of duty, and changed and softened the thoughts of men about their dead. As early as the eighth century, ancestor-worship appears to have developed the three principal forms under which it still exists; and thereafter the family-cult began to assume a character which offers many resemblances to the domestic religion of the old European civilizations. Let us now glance at the existing forms of this domestic cult,--the universal religion of Japan. In every home there is a shrine devoted to it. If the family profess only the Shinto belief, this shrine, [42] or mitamaya* ("august-spirit-dwelling"),--tiny model of a Shinto temple,--is placed upon a shelf fixed against the wall of some inner chamber, at a height of about six feet from the floor. Such a shelf is called Mitama-San-no-tana, or--"Shelf of the august spirits." [*It is more popularly termed miya, "august house,"--a name given to the ordinary Shinto temples.] In the shrine are placed thin tablets of white wood, inscribed with the names of the household dead. Such tablets are called by a name signifying "spirit-substitutes" (mitamashiro), or by a probably older name signifying "spirit-sticks." ... If the family worships its ancestors according to the Buddhist rite, the mortuary tablets are placed in the Buddhist household-shrine, or Butsudan, which usually occupies the upper shelf of an alcove in one of the inner apartments. Buddhist mortuary-tablets (with some exceptions) are called ihai,--a term signifying "soul-commemoration." They are lacquered and gilded, usually having a carved lotos-flower as pedestal; and they do not, as a rule, bear the real, but only the religious and posthumous name of the dead. Now it is important to observe that, in either cult, the mortuary tablet actually suggests a miniature tombstone--which is a fact of some evolutional interest, though the evolution itself should be Chinese rather than Japanese. The plain gravestones in Shinto cemeteries resemble in form the simple [43] wooden ghost-sticks, or spirit-sticks; while the Buddhist monuments in the old-fashioned Buddhist graveyards are shaped like the ihai, of which the form is slightly varied to indicate sex and age, which is also the case with the tombstone. The number of mortuary tablets in a household shrine does not generally exceed five or six,--only grandparents and parents and the recently dead being thus represented; but the name of remoter ancestors are inscribed upon scrolls, which are kept in the Butsudan or the mitamaya. Whatever be the family rite, prayers are repeated and offerings are placed before the ancestral tablets every day. The nature of the offerings and the character of the prayers depend upon the religion of the household; but the essential duties of the cult are everywhere the same. These duties are not to be neglected under any circumstances; their performance in these times is usually intrusted to the elders, or to the women of the household.* [*Not, however, upon any public occasion,--such as a gathering of relatives at the home for a religious anniversary: at such times the rites are performed by the head of the household.] Speaking of the ancient custom (once prevalent in every Japanese household, and still observed in Shinto homes) of making offerings to the deities of the cooking range and of food, Sir Ernest Satow observes: "The rites in honour of these gods were at first performed by the head of the household; but in after-times the duty came to he delegated to the women of the family" (Ancient Japanese Rituals). We may infer that in regard to the ancestral rites likewise, the same transfer of duties occurred at an early time, for obvious reasons of convenience. When the duty devolves upon the elders of the family--grandfather and grandmother--it is usually the grandmother who attends to the offerings. In the Greek and Roman household the performance of the domestic rites appears to have been obligatory upon the head of the household; but we know that the women took part in them. [44] There is no long ceremony, no imperative rule about prayers, nothing solemn: the food-offerings are selected out of the family cooking; the murmured or whispered invocations are short and few. But, trifling as the rites may seem, their performance must never be overlooked. Not to make the offerings is a possibility undreamed of: so long as the family exists they must be made. To describe the details of the domestic rite would require much space,--not because they are complicated in themselves, but because they are of a sort unfamiliar to Western experience, and vary according to the sect of the family. But to consider the details will not be necessary: the important matter is to consider the religion and its beliefs in relation to conduct and character. It should be recognized that no religion is more sincere, no faith more touching than this domestic worship, which regards the dead as continuing to form a part of the household life, and needing still the affection and the respect of their children and kindred. Originating in those dim ages when fear was stronger than love,--when the wish to please the ghosts of the departed must have been chiefly inspired by dread of their anger,--the cult at last developed into a religion of affection; and this it yet remains. The belief that the dead [45] need affection, that to neglect them is a cruelty, that their happiness depends upon duty, is a belief that has almost cast out the primitive fear of their displeasure. They are not thought of as dead: they are believed to remain among those who loved them. Unseen they guard the home, and watch over the welfare of its inmates: they hover nightly in the glow of the shrine-lamp; and the stirring of its flame is the motion of them. They dwell mostly within their lettered tablets;--sometimes they can animate a tablet,--change it into the substance of a human body, and return in that body to active life, in order to succour and console. From their shrine they observe and hear what happens in the house; they share the family joys and sorrows; they delight in the voices and the warmth of the life about them. They want affection; but the morning and the evening greetings of the family are enough to make them happy. They require nourishment; but the vapour of food contents them. They are exacting only as regards the daily fulfilment of duty. They were the givers of life, the givers of wealth, the makers and teachers of the present: they represent the past of the race, and all its sacrifices;--whatever the living possess is from them. Yet how little do they require in return! Scarcely more than to be thanked, as the founders and guardians of the home, in simple words like these:--"For aid received, by day and by night, accept, August Ones, our reverential gratitude."... [46] To forget or neglect them, to treat them with rude indifference, is the proof of an evil heart; to cause them shame by ill-conduct, to disgrace their name by bad actions, is the supreme crime. They represent the moral experience of the race: whosoever denies that experience denies them also, and falls to the level of the beast, or below it. They represent the unwritten law, the traditions of the commune, the duties of all to all: whosoever offends against these, sins against the dead. And, finally, they represent the mystery of the invisible: to Shinto belief, at least, they are gods. It is to be remembered, of course, that the Japanese word for gods, Kami, does not imply, any more than did the old Latin term, dii-manes, ideas like those which have become associated with the modern notion of divinity. The Japanese term might be more closely rendered by some such expression as "the Superiors," "the Higher Ones"; and it was formerly applied to living rulers as well as to deities and ghosts. But it implies considerably more than the idea of a disembodied spirit; for, according to old Shinto teaching the dead became world-rulers. They were the cause of all natural events,--of winds, rains, and tides, of buddings and ripenings, of growth and decay, of everything desirable or dreadful. They formed a kind of subtler element,--an ancestral aether,--universally extending and [47] unceasingly operating. Their powers, when united for any purpose, were resistless; and in time of national peril they were invoked en masse for aid against the foe .... Thus, to the eyes of faith, behind each family ghost there extended the measureless shadowy power of countless Kami; and the sense of duty to the ancestor was deepened by dim awe of the forces controlling the world,--the whole invisible Vast. To primitive Shinto conception the universe was filled with ghosts;--to later Shinto conception the ghostly condition was not limited by place or time, even in the case of individual spirits. "Although," wrote Hirata, "the home of the spirits is in the Spirit-house, they are equally present wherever they are worshipped,--being gods, and therefore ubiquitous." The Buddhist dead are not called gods, but Buddhas (Hotoke),--which term, of course, expresses a pious hope, rather than a faith. The belief is that they are only on their way to some higher state of existence; and they should not be invoked or worshipped after the manner of the Shinto gods: prayers should be said FOR them, not, as a rule, TO them.* [*Certain Buddhist rituals prove exceptions to this teaching.] But the vast majority of Japanese Buddhists are also followers of Shinto; and the two faiths, though seemingly incongruous, have long been reconciled in the popular mind. The Buddhist doctrine has [48] therefore modified the ideas attaching to the cult much less deeply than might be supposed. In all patriarchal societies with a settled civilization, there is evolved, out of the worship of ancestors, a Religion of Filial Piety. Filial piety still remains the supreme virtue among civilized peoples possessing an ancestor-cult.... By filial piety must not be understood, however, what is commonly signified by the English term,--the devotion of children to parents. We must understand the word "piety" rather in its classic meaning, as the pietas of the early Romans,--that is to say, as the religious sense of household duty. Reverence for the dead, as well as the sentiment of duty towards the living; the affection of children to parents, and the affection of parents to children; the mutual duties of husband and wife; the duties likewise of sons-in-law and daughters-in-law to the family as a body; the duties of servant to master, and of master to dependent,--all these were included under the term. The family itself was a religion; the ancestral home a temple. And so we find the family and the home to be in Japan, even at the present day. Filial piety in Japan does not mean only the duty of children to parents and grandparents: it means still more, the cult of the ancestors, reverential service to the dead, the gratitude of the present to the past, and the conduct of the individual in relation [49] to the entire household. Hirata therefore declared that all virtues derived from the worship of ancestors; and his words, as translated by Sir Ernest Satow, deserve particular attention:-- "It is the duty of a subject to be diligent in worshipping his ancestors, whose minister he should consider himself to be. The custom of adoption arose from the natural desire of having some one to perform sacrifices; and this desire ought not to be rendered of no avail by neglect. Devotion to the memory of ancestors is the mainspring of all virtues. No one who discharges his duty to them will ever be disrespectful to the gods or to his living parents. Such a man also will be faithful to his prince, loyal to his friends, and kind and gentle to his wife and children. For the essence of this devotion is indeed filial piety." From the sociologist's point of view, Hirata is right: it is unquestionably true that the whole system of Far-Eastern ethics derives from the religion of the household. By aid of that cult have been evolved all ideas of duty to the living as well as to the dead,--the sentiment of reverence, the sentiment of loyalty, the spirit of self-sacrifice, and the spirit of patriotism. What filial piety signifies as a religious force can best be imagined from the fact that you can buy life in the East--that it has its price in the market. This religion is the religion of China, and of countries adjacent; and life is for sale in China. It was the filial piety of China that rendered [50] possible the completion of the Panama railroad, where to strike the soil was to liberate death,--where the land devoured labourers by the thousand, until white and black labour could no more be procured in quantity sufficient for the work. But labour could be obtained from China--any amount of labour--at the cost of life; and the cost was paid; and multitudes of men came from the East to toil and die, in order that the price of their lives might be sent to their families.... I have no doubt that, were the sacrifice imperatively demanded, life could be as readily bought in Japan,--though not, perhaps, so cheaply. Where this religion prevails, the individual is ready to give his life, in a majority of cases, for the family, the home, the ancestors. And the filial piety impelling such sacrifice becomes, by extension, the loyalty that will sacrifice even the family itself for the sake of the lord,--or, by yet further extension, the loyalty that prays, like Kusunoki Masashige, for seven successive lives to lay down on behalf of the sovereign. Out of filial piety indeed has been developed the whole moral power that protects the state,--the power also that has seldom failed to impose the rightful restraints upon official despotism whenever that despotism grew dangerous to the common weal. Probably the filial piety that centred about the domestic altars of the ancient West differed in little [51] from that which yet rules the most eastern East. But we miss in Japan the Aryan hearth, the family altar with its perpetual fire. The Japanese home-religion represents, apparently, a much earlier stage of the cult than that which existed within historic time among the Greeks and Romans. The homestead in Old Japan was not a stable institution like the Greek or the Roman home; the custom of burying the family dead upon the family estate never became general; the dwelling itself never assumed a substantial and lasting character. It could not be literally said of the Japanese warrior, as of the Roman, that he fought pro aris et focis. There was neither altar nor sacred fire: the place of these was taken by the spirit-shelf or shrine, with its tiny lamp, kindled afresh each evening; and, in early times, there were no Japanese images of divinities. For Lares and Penates there were only the mortuary-tablets of the ancestors, and certain little tablets bearing names of other gods--tutelar gods .... The presence of these frail wooden objects still makes the home; and they may be, of course, transported anywhere. To apprehend the full meaning of ancestor-worship as a family religion, a living faith, is now difficult for the Western mind. We are able to imagine only in the vaguest way how our Aryan forefathers felt and thought about their dead. But in the [52] living beliefs of Japan we find much to suggest the nature of the old Greek piety. Each member of the family supposes himself, or herself, under perpetual ghostly surveillance. Spirit-eyes are watching every act; spirit-ears are listening to every word. Thoughts too, not less than deeds, are visible to the gaze of the dead: the heart must be pure, the mind must be under control, within the presence of the spirits. Probably the influence of such beliefs, uninterruptedly exerted upon conduct during thousands of years, did much to form the charming side of Japanese character. Yet there is nothing stern or solemn in this home-religion to-day,--nothing of that rigid and unvarying discipline supposed by Fustel de Coulanges to have especially characterized the Roman cult. It is a religion rather of gratitude and tenderness; the dead being served by the household as if they were actually present in the body .... I fancy that if we were able to enter for a moment into the vanished life of some old Greek city, we should find the domestic religion there not less cheerful than the Japanese home-cult remains to-day. I imagine that Greek children, three thousand years ago, must have watched, like the Japanese children of to-day, for a chance to steal some of the good things offered to the ghosts of the ancestors; and I fancy that Greek parents must have chidden quite as gently as Japanese parents [53] chide in this era of Meiji,--mingling reproof with instruction, and hinting of weird possibilities.* [*Food presented to the dead may afterwards be eaten by the elders of the household, or given to pilgrims; but it is said that if children eat of it, they will grow with feeble memories, and incapable of becoming scholars.] [54] [55] THE JAPANESE FAMILY The great general idea, the fundamental idea, underlying every persistent ancestor-worship, is that the welfare of the living depends upon the welfare of the dead. Under the influence of this idea, and of the cult based upon it, were developed the early organization of the family, the laws regarding property and succession, the whole structure, in short, of ancient society,--whether in the Western or the Eastern world. But before considering how the social structure in old Japan was shaped by the ancestral cult, let me again remind the reader that there were at first no other gods than the dead. Even when Japanese ancestor-worship evolved a mythology, its gods were only transfigured ghosts,--and this is the history of all mythology. The ideas of heaven and hell did not exist among the primitive Japanese, nor any notion of metempsychosis. The Buddhist doctrine of rebirth--a late borrowing--was totally inconsistent with the archaic Japanese beliefs, and required an elaborate metaphysical system to support it. But we may suppose the early ideas of the Japanese about the dead to have been much [56] like those of the Greeks of the pre-Homeric era. There was an underground world to which spirits descended; but they were supposed to haunt by preference their own graves, or their "ghost-houses." Only by slow degrees did the notion of their power of ubiquity become evolved. But even then they were thought to be particularly attached to their tombs, shrines, and homesteads. Hirata wrote, in the early part of the nineteenth century: "The spirits of the dead continue to exist in the unseen world which is everywhere about us; and they all become gods of varying character and degrees of influence. Some reside in temples built in their honour; others hover near their tombs; and they continue to render service to their prince, parents, wives, and children, as when in the body." Evidently "the unseen world" was thought to be in some sort a duplicate of the visible world, and dependent upon the help of the living for its prosperity. The dead and the living were mutually dependent. The all-important necessity for the ghost was sacrificial worship; the all-important necessity for the man was to provide for the future cult of his own spirit; and to die without assurance of a cult was the supreme calamity .... Remembering these facts we can understand better the organization of the patriarchal family,--shaped to maintain and to provide for the cult of its dead, any neglect of which cult was believed to involve misfortune. [57] The reader is doubtless aware that in the old Aryan family the bond of union was not the bond of affection, but a bond of religion, to which natural affection was altogether subordinate. This condition characterizes the patriarchal family wherever ancestor-worship exists. Now the Japanese family, like the ancient Greek or Roman family, was a religious society in the strictest sense of the term; and a religious society it yet remains. Its organization was primarily shaped in accordance with the requirements of ancestor-worship; its later imported doctrines of filial piety had been already developed in China to meet the needs of an older and similar religion. We might expect to find in the structure, the laws, and the customs of the Japanese family many points of likeness to the structure and the traditional laws of the old Aryan household,--because the law of sociological evolution admits of only minor exceptions. And many such points of likeness are obvious. The materials for a serious comparative study have not yet been collected: very much remains to be learned regarding the past history of the Japanese family. But, along certain general lines, the resemblances between domestic institutions in ancient Europe and domestic institutions in the Far East can be clearly established. Alike in the early European and in the old Japanese civilization it was believed that the prosperity [58] of the family depended upon the exact fulfilment of the duties of the ancestral cult; and, to a considerable degree, this belief rules the life of the Japanese family to-day. It is still thought that the good fortune of the household depends on the observance of its cult, and that the greatest possible calamity is to die without leaving a male heir to perform the rites and to make the offerings. The paramount duty of filial piety among the early Greeks and Romans was to provide for the perpetuation of the family cult; and celibacy was therefore generally forbidden,--the obligation to marry being enforced by opinion where not enforced by legislation. Among the free classes of Old Japan, marriage was also, as a general rule, obligatory in the case of a male heir: otherwise, where celibacy was not condemned by law, it was condemned by custom. To die without offspring was, in the case of a younger son, chiefly a personal misfortune; to die without leaving a male heir, in the case of an elder son and successor, was a crime against the ancestors,--the cult being thereby threatened with extinction. No excuse existed for remaining childless: the family law in Japan, precisely as in ancient Europe, having amply provided against such a contingency. In case that a wife proved barren, she might be divorced. In case that there were reasons for not divorcing her, a concubine might be taken for the purpose of obtaining an heir. Furthermore, every family representative was privileged [59] to adopt an heir. An unworthy son, again, might be disinherited, and another young man adopted in his place. Finally, in case that a man had daughters but no son, the succession and the continuance of the cult could be assured by adopting a husband for the eldest daughter. But, as in the antique European family, daughters could not inherit: descent being in the male line, it was necessary to have a male heir. In old Japanese belief, as in old Greek and Roman belief, the father, not the mother, was the life-giver; the creative principle was masculine; the duty of maintaining the cult rested with the man, not with the woman.* [*Wherever, among ancestor-worshipping races, descent is in the male line, the cult follows the male line. But the reader is doubtless aware that a still more primitive form of society than the patriarchal--the matriarchal--is supposed to have had its ancestor-worship. Mr. Spencer observes: "What has happened when descent in the female line obtains, is not clear. I have met with no statement showing that, in societies characterized by this usage, the duty of administering to the double of the dead man devolved on one of his children rather than on others,"--Principles of Sociology, Vol. III, section 601.] The woman shared the cult; but she could not maintain it. Besides, the daughters of the family, being destined, as a general rule, to marry into other households, could bear only a temporary relation to the home-cult. It was necessary that the religion of the wife should be the religion of the husband; and the Japanese, like the Greek woman, on marrying into another household, necessarily became attached to the cult of her husband's family. For this reason especially the females in the patriarchal [60] family are not equal to the males; the sister cannot rank with the brother. It is true that the Japanese daughter, like the Greek daughter, could remain attached to her own family even after marriage, providing that a husband were adopted for her,--that is to say, taken into the family as a son. But even in this case, she could only share in the cult, which it then became the duty of the adopted husband to maintain. The constitution of the patriarchal family everywhere derives from its ancestral cult; and before considering the subjects of marriage and adoption in Japan, it will be necessary to say something about the ancient family-organization. The ancient family was called uji,--a word said to have originally signified the same thing as the modern term uchi,--"interior," or "household," but certainly used from very early times in the sense of "name"--clan-name especially. There were two kinds of uji: the o-uji, or great families, and the ko-uji, or lesser families,--either term signifying a large body of persons united by kinship, and by the cult of a common ancestor. The o-uji corresponded in some degree to the Greek (Greek genos) or the Roman gens: the ko-uji were its branches, and subordinate to it. The unit of society was the uji. Each o-uji, with its dependent ko-uji, represented something like a phratry or curia; and all the larger groups making [61] up the primitive Japanese society were but multiplications of the uji,--whether we call them clans, tribes, or hordes. With the advent of a settled civilization, the greater groups necessarily divided and subdivided; but the smallest subdivision still retained its primal organization. Even the modern Japanese family partly retains that organization. It does not mean only a household: it means rather what the Greek or Roman family became after the dissolution of the gens. With ourselves the family has been disintegrated: when we talk of a man's family, we mean his wife and children. But the Japanese family is still a large group. As marriages take place early, it may consist, even as a household, of great-grandparents, grandparents, parents, and children--sons and daughters of several generations; but it commonly extends much beyond the limits of one household. In early times it might constitute the entire population of a village or town; and there are still in Japan large communities of persons all bearing the same family name. In some districts it was formerly the custom to keep all the children, as far as possible, within the original family group--husbands being adopted for all the daughters. The group might thus consist of sixty or more persons, dwelling under the same roof; and the houses were of course constructed, by successive extension, so as to meet the requirement. (I am mentioning these curious facts [62] only by way of illustration.) But the greater uji, after the race had settled down, rapidly multiplied; and although there are said to be house-communities still in some remote districts of the country, the primal patriarchal groups must have been broken up almost everywhere at some very early period. Thereafter the main cult of the uji did not cease to be the cult also of its sub-divisions: all members of the original gens continued to worship the common ancestor, or uji-no-kami, "the god of the uji." By degrees the ghost-house of the uji-no-kami became transformed into the modern Shinto parish-temple; and the ancestral spirit became the local tutelar god, whose modern appellation, ujigami, is but a shortened form of his ancient title, uji-no-kami. Meanwhile, after the general establishment of the domestic cult, each separate household maintained the special cult of its own dead, in addition to the communal cult. This religious condition still continues. The family may include several households; but each household maintains the cult of its dead. And the family-group, whether large or small, preserves its ancient constitution and character; it is still a religious society, exacting obedience, on the part of all its members, to traditional custom. So much having been explained, the customs regarding marriage and adoption, in their relation [63] to the family hierarchy, can be clearly understood. But a word first regarding this hierarchy, as it exists to-day. Theoretically the power of the head of the family is still supreme in the household. All must obey the head. Furthermore the females must obey the males--the wives, the husbands; and the younger members of the family are subject to the elder members. The children must not only obey the parents and grandparents, but must observe among themselves the domestic law of seniority: thus the younger brother should obey the elder brother, and the younger sister the elder sister. The rule of precedence is enforced gently, and is cheerfully obeyed even in small matters: for example, at meal-time, the elder boy is served first, the second son next, and so on,--an exception being made in the case of a very young child, who is not obliged to wait. This custom accounts for an amusing popular term often applied in jest to a second son, "Master Cold-Rice" (Hiameshi-San); as the second son, having to wait until both infants and elders have been served, is not likely to find his portion desirably hot when it reaches him .... Legally, the family can have but one responsible head. It may be the grandfather, the father, or the eldest son; and it is generally the eldest son, because according to a custom of Chinese origin, the old folks usually resign their active authority as soon as the eldest son is able to take charge of affairs. [64] The subordination of young to old, and of females to males,--in fact the whole existing constitution of the family,--suggests a great deal in regard to the probably stricter organization of the patriarchal family, whose chief was at once ruler and priest, with almost unlimited powers. The organization was primarily, and still remains, religious: the marital bond did not constitute the family; and the relation of the parent to the household depended upon his or her relation to the family as a religious body. To-day also, the girl adopted into a household as wife ranks only as an adopted child: marriage signifies adoption. She is called "flower-daughter" (hana-yome). In like manner, and for the same reasons, the young man received into a household as a husband of one of the daughters, ranks merely as an adopted son. The adopted bride or bridegroom is necessarily subject to the elders, and may be dismissed by their decision. As for the adopted husband, his position is both delicate and difficult,--as an old Japanese proverb bears witness: Konuka san-go areba, mukoyoshi to naruna ("While you have even three go* of rice-bran left, do not become a son-in-law"). [*A go is something more than a pint.] Jacob does not have to wait for Rachel: he is given to Rachel on demand; and his service then begins. And after twice seven years of service, Jacob may be sent away. In that event his children do not any more belong to him. [65] but to the family. His adoption may have had nothing to do with affection; and his dismissal may have nothing to do with misconduct. Such matters, however they may be settled in law, are really decided by family interests--interests relating to the maintenance of the house and of its cult.** [**Recent legislation has been in favour of the mukoyoshi; but, as a rule, the law is seldom resorted to except by men dismissed from the family for misconduct, and anxious to make profit by the dismissal.] It should not be forgotten that, although a daughter-in-law or a son-in-law could in former times be dismissed almost at will, the question of marriage in the old Japanese family was a matter of religious importance,--marriage being one of the chief duties of filial piety. This was also the case in the early Greek and Roman family; and the marriage ceremony was performed, as it is now performed in Japan, not at a temple, but in the home. It was a rite of the family religion,--the rite by which the bride was adopted into the cult in the supposed presence of the ancestral spirits. Among the primitive Japanese there was probably no corresponding ceremony; but after the establishment of the domestic cult, the marriage ceremony became a religious rite, and this it still remains. Ordinary marriages are not, however, performed before the household shrine or in front of the ancestral tablets, except under certain circumstances. The rule, as regards such ordinary marriages, seems to be that [66] if the parents of the bridegroom are yet alive, this is not done; but if they are dead, then the bridegroom leads his bride before their mortuary tablets, where she makes obeisance. Among the nobility, in former times at least, the marriage ceremony appears to have been more distinctly religious,--judging from the following curious relation in the book Shorei-Hikki, or "Record of Ceremonies"*: "At the weddings of the great, the bridal-chamber is composed of three rooms thrown into one [by removal of the sliding-screens ordinarily separating them], and newly decorated .... The shrine for the image of the family-god is placed upon a shelf adjoining the sleeping-place." It is noteworthy also that Imperial marriages are always officially announced to the ancestors; and that the marriage of the heir-apparent, or other male offspring of the Imperial house, is performed before the Kashiko-dokoro, or imperial temple of the ancestors, which stands within the palace-grounds.** [**That was the case at the marriage of the present Crown-Prince.] As a general rule it would appear that the evolution of the marriage-ceremony in Japan chiefly followed Chinese precedent; and in the Chinese patriarchal family the ceremony is in its own way quite as much of a religious rite as the early Greek or Roman marriage. And though the relation of the Japanese [67] rite to the family cult is less marked, it becomes sufficiently clear upon investigation. The alternate drinking of rice-wine, by bridegroom and bride, from the same vessels, corresponds in a sort to the Roman confarreatio. By the wedding-rite the bride is adopted into the family religion. She is adopted not only by the living but by the dead; she must thereafter revere the ancestors of her husband as her own ancestors; and should there be no elders in the household, it will become her duty to make the offerings, as representative of her husband. With the cult of her own family she has nothing more to do; and the funeral ceremonies performed upon her departure from the parental roof,--the solemn sweeping-out of the house-rooms, the lighting of the death-fire before the gate,--are significant of this religious separation. [*The translation is Mr. Mitford's. There are no "images" of the family-god, and I suppose that the family's Shinto-shrine is meant, with its ancestral tablets.] Speaking of the Greek and Roman marriage, M. de Coulanges observes:--"Une telle religion ne pouvait pas admettre la polygamie." As relating to the highly developed domestic cult of those communities considered by the author of La Cite Antique, his statement will scarcely be called in question. But as regards ancestor-worship in general, it would be incorrect; since polygamy or polygyny, and polyandry may coexist with ruder forms of ancestor-worship. The Western-Aryan societies, in the epoch studied by M. de Coulanges, were practically [68] monogamic. The ancient Japanese society was polygynous; and polygyny persisted, after the establishment of the domestic cult. In early times, the marital relation itself would seem to have been indefinite. No distinction was made between the wife and the concubines: "they were classed together as 'women.'"* [*Satow: The Revival of Pure Shintau] Probably under Chinese influence the distinction was afterwards sharply drawn; and with the progress of civilization, the general tendency was towards monogamy, although the ruling classes remained polygynous. In the 54th article of Iyeyasu's legacy, this phase of the social condition is clearly expressed,--a condition which prevailed down to the present era:-- "The position a wife holds towards a concubine is the same as that of a lord to his vassal. The Emperor has twelve imperial concubines. The princes may have eight concubines. Officers of the highest class may have five mistresses. A Samurai may have two handmaids. All below this are ordinary married men." This would suggest that concubinage had long been (with some possible exceptions) an exclusive privilege; and that it should have persisted down to the period of the abolition of the daimiates and of the military class, is sufficiently explained by the militant character of the ancient society.* Though [69] it is untrue that domestic ancestor-worship cannot coexist with polygamy or polygyny (Mr. Spencer's term is the most inclusive), it is at least true that such worship is favoured by the monogamic relation, and tends therefore to establish it,--since monogamy insures to the family succession a stability that no other relation can offer. We may say that, although the old Japanese society was not monogamic, the natural tendency was towards monogamy, as the condition best according with the religion of the family, and with the moral feeling of the masses. [*See especially Herbert Spencer's chapter, "The Family," in Vol. I, Principles of Sociology, section 315.] Once that the domestic ancestor-cult had become universally established, the question of marriage, as a duty of filial pity, could not be judiciously left to the will of the young people themselves. It was a matter to be decided by the family, not by the children; for mutual inclination could not be suffered to interfere with the requirements of the household religion. It was not a question of affection, but of religious duty; and to think otherwise was impious. Affection might and ought to spring up from the relation. But any affection powerful enough to endanger the cohesion of the family would be condemned. A wife might therefore be divorced because her husband had become too much attached to her; an adopted husband might be divorced because of his power to exercise, through affection, too [70] great an influence upon the daughter of the house. Other causes would probably he found for the divorce in either case--but they would not be difficult to find. For the same reason that connubial affection could be tolerated only within limits, the natural rights of parenthood (as we understand them) were necessarily restricted in the old Japanese household. Marriage being for the purpose of obtaining heirs to perpetuate the cult, the children were regarded as belonging to the family rather than to the father and mother. Hence, in case of divorcing the son's wife, or the adopted son-in-law,--or of disinheriting the married son,--the children would be retained by the family. For the natural right of the young parents was considered subordinate to the religious rights of the house. In opposition to those rights, no other rights could be tolerated. Practically, of course, according to more or less fortunate circumstances, the individual might enjoy freedom under the paternal roof; but theoretically and legally there was no freedom in the old Japanese family for any member of it,--not excepting even its acknowledged chief, whose responsibilities were great. Every person, from the youngest child up to the grandfather, was subject to somebody else; and every act of domestic life was regulated by traditional custom. Like the Greek or Roman father, the patriarch of the Japanese family appears to have had in early [71] times powers of life and death over all the members of the household. In the ruder ages the father might either kill or sell his children; and afterwards, among the ruling classes his powers remained almost unlimited until modern times. Allowing for certain local exceptions, explicable by tradition, or class-exceptions, explicable by conditions of servitude, it may be said that originally the Japanese paterfamilias was at once ruler, priest, and magistrate within the family. He could compel his children to marry or forbid them to marry; he could disinherit or repudiate them; he could ordain the profession or calling which they were to follow; and his power extended to all members of the family, and to the household dependents. At different epochs limits were placed to the exercise of this power, in the case of the ordinary people; but in the military class, the patria potestas was almost unrestricted. In its extreme form, the paternal power controlled everything,--the right to life and liberty,--the right to marry, or to keep the wife or husband already espoused,--the right to one's own children,--the right to hold property,--the right to hold office,--the right to choose or follow an occupation. The family was a despotism. It should not be forgotten, however, that the absolutism prevailing in the patriarchal family has its justification in a religious belief,--in the conviction that everything should be sacrificed for the sake [72] of the cult, and every member of the family should be ready to give up even life, if necessary, to assure the perpetuity of the succession. Remembering this, it becomes easy to understand why, even in communities otherwise advanced in civilization, it should have seemed right that a father could kill or sell his children. The crime of a son might result in the extinction of a cult through the ruin of the family,--especially in a militant society like that of Japan, where the entire family was held responsible for the acts of each of its members, so that a capital offence would involve the penalty of death on the whole of the household, including the children. Again, the sale of a daughter, in time of extreme need, might save a house from ruin; and filial piety exacted submission to such sacrifice for the sake of the cult. As in the Aryan family,* property descended by right of primogeniture from father to son; the eldest-born, even in cases where the other property was to be divided among the children, always inheriting the homestead. The homestead property was, however, family property; and it passed to the eldest son as representative, not as individual. Generally speaking, sons could not hold property, without the father's consent, during such time as he retained his [73] headship. As a rule,--to which there were various exceptions,--a daughter could not inherit; and in the case of an only daughter, for whom a husband had been adopted, the homestead property would pass to the adopted husband, because (until within recent times) a woman could not become the head of a family. This was the case also in the Western Aryan household, in ancestor-worshipping times. [*The laws of succession in Old Japan differed considerably according to class, place, and era; the entire subject has not yet been fully treated; and only a few safe general statements can be ventured at the present time.] To modern thinking, the position of woman in the old Japanese family appears to have been the reverse of happy. As a child she was subject, not only to the elders, but to all the male adults of the household. Adopted into another household as wife, she merely passed into a similar state of subjection, unalleviated by the affection which parental and fraternal ties assured her in the ancestral home. Her retention in the family of her husband did not depend upon his affection, but upon the will of the majority, and especially of the elders. Divorced, she could not claim her children: they belonged to the family of the husband. In any event her duties as wife were more trying than those of a hired servant. Only in old age could she hope to exercise some authority; but even in old age she was under tutelage--throughout her entire life she was in tutelage. "A woman can have no house of her own in the Three Universes," declared an old Japanese proverb. Neither could she have a cult of her own: there was no special cult for the women of a family [74]--no ancestral rite distinct from that of the husband. And the higher the rank of the family into which she entered by marriage, the more difficult would be her position. For a woman of the aristocratic class no freedom existed: she could not even pass beyond her own gate except in a palanquin (kago) or under escort; and her existence as a wife was likely to be embittered by the presence of concubines in the house. Such was the patriarchal family in old times; yet it is probable that conditions were really better than the laws and the customs would suggest. The race is a joyous and kindly one; and it discovered, long centuries ago, many ways of smoothing the difficulties of life, and of modifying the harsher exactions of law and custom. The great powers of the family-head were probably but seldom exercised in cruel directions. He might have legal rights of the most formidable character; but these were required by reason of his responsibilities, and were not likely to be used against communal judgment. It must be remembered that the individual was not legally considered in former times: the family only was recognized; and the head of it legally existed only as representative. If he erred, the whole family was liable to suffer the penalty of his error. Furthermore, every extreme exercise of his authority involved proportionate responsibilities. He could [75] divorce his wife, or compel his son to divorce the adopted daughter-in-law; but in either case he would have to account for this action to the family of the divorced; and the divorce-right, especially in the samurai class, was greatly restrained by the fear of family resentment; the unjust dismissal of a wife being counted as an insult to her kindred. He might disinherit an only son; but in that event he would be obliged to adopt a kinsman. He might kill or sell either son or daughter; but unless he belonged to some abject class, he would have to justify his action to the community.* He might be reckless in his management of the family property; but in that case an appeal to communal authority was possible, and the appeal might result in his deposition. So far as we are able to judge from the remains of old Japanese law which have been studied, it would seem to have been the general rule that the family-head could not sell or alienate the estate. Though the family-rule was despotic, it was the rule of a body rather than of a chief; the family-head really exercising authority in the name of the rest .... In this sense, the family still remains a despotism; but the powers of its legal head are now checked, from within as well as from without, [76] by later custom. The acts of adoption, disinheritance, marriage, or divorce, are decided usually by general consent; and the decision of the household and kindred is required in the taking of any important step to the disadvantage of the individual. [*Samurai fathers might kill a daughter convicted of unchastity, or kill a son guilty of any action calculated to disgrace the family name. But they would not sell a child. The sale of daughters was practised only by the abject classes, or by families of other castes reduced to desperate extremities. A girl might, however, sell herself for the sake of her family.] Of course the old family-organization had certain advantages which compensated the individual for his state of subjection. It was a society of mutual help; and it was not less powerful to give aid, than to enforce obedience. Every member could do something to assist another member in case of need: each had a right to the protection of all. This remains true of the family to-day. In a well-conducted household, where every act is performed according to the old forms of courtesy and kindness,--where no harsh word is ever spoken, where the young look up to the aged with affectionate respect,--where those whom years have incapacitated for more active duty, take upon themselves the care of the children, and render priceless service in teaching and training,--an ideal condition has been realized. The daily life of such a home,--in which the endeavour of each is to make existence as pleasant as possible for all.,--in which the bond of union is really love and gratitude,--represents religion in the best and purest sense; and the place is holy .... It remains to speak of the dependants in the [77] ancient family. Though the fact has not yet been fully established, it is probable that the first domestics were slaves or serfs; and the condition of servants in later times,--especially of those in families of the ruling classes,--was much like that of slaves in the early Greek and Roman families. Though necessarily treated as inferiors, they were regarded as members of the household: they were trusted familiars, permitted to share in the pleasures of the family, and to be present at most of its reunions. They could legally be dealt with harshly; but there is little doubt that, as a rule, they were treated kindly,--absolute loyalty being expected from them. The best indication of their status in past times is furnished by yet surviving customs. Though the power of the family over the servant no longer exists in law or in fact, the pleasant features of the old relation continue; and they are of no little interest. The family takes a sincere interest in the welfare of its domestics,--almost such interest as would be shown in the case of poorer kindred. Formerly the family furnishing servants to a household of higher rank, stood to the latter in the relation of vassal to liege-lord; and between the two there existed a real bond of loyalty and kindliness. The occupation of servant was then hereditary; children were trained for the duty from an early age. After the man-servant or maidservant had arrived at a certain age, permission to [78] marry was accorded; and the relation of service then ceased, but not the bond of loyalty. The children of the married servants would be sent, when old enough, to work in the house of the master, and would leave it only when the time also came for them to marry. Relations of this kind still exist between certain aristocratic families and former vassal-families, and conserve some charming traditions and customs of hereditary service, unchanged for hundreds of years. In feudal times, of course, the bond between master and servant was of the most serious kind; the latter being expected, in case of need, to sacrifice life and all else for the sake of the master or of the master's household. This also was the loyalty demanded of the Greek and Roman domestic,--before there had yet come into existence that inhuman form of servitude which reduced the toiler to the condition of a beast of burden; and the relation was partly a religious one. There does not seem to have been in ancient Japan any custom corresponding to that, described by M. de Coulanges, of adopting the Greek or Roman servant into the household cult. But as the Japanese vassal-families furnishing domestics were, as vassals, necessarily attached to the clan-cult of their lord, the relation of the servant to the family was to some extent a religious bond. [79] The reader will be able to understand, from the facts of this chapter, to what extent the individual was sacrificed to the family, as a religious body. From servant to master--up through all degrees of the household hierarchy--the law of duty was the same: obedience absolute to custom and tradition. The ancestral cult permitted no individual freedom: nobody could live according to his or her pleasure; every one had to live according to rule. The individual did not even have a legal existence;--the family was the unit of society. Even its patriarch existed in law as representative only, responsible both to the living and the dead. His public responsibility, however, was not determined merely by civil law. It was determined by another religious bond,--that of the ancestral cult of the clan or tribe; and this public form of ancestor-worship was even more exacting than the religion of the home. [80] [81] THE COMMUNAL CULT As by the religion of the household each individual was ruled in every action of domestic life, so, by the religion of the village or district the family was ruled in all its relations to the outer world. Like the religion of the home, the religion of the commune was ancestor-worship. What the household shrine represented to the family, the Shinto parish-temple represented to the community; and the deity there worshipped as tutelar god was called Ujigami, the god of the Uji, which term originally signified the patriarchal family or gens, as well as the family name. Some obscurity still attaches to the question of the original relation of the community to the Uji-god. Hirata declares the god of the Uji to have been the common ancestor of the clan-family,--the ghost of the first patriarch; and this opinion (allowing for sundry exceptions) is almost certainly correct. But it is difficult to decide whether the Uji-ko, or "children of the family" (as Shinto parishioners are still termed) at first included only the descendants of the clan-ancestor, or also the whole of the inhabitants [82] of the district ruled by the clan. It is certainly not true at the present time that the tutelar deity of each Japanese district represents the common ancestor of its inhabitants,--though, to this general rule, there might be found exception in some of the remoter provinces. Most probably the god of the Uji was first worshipped by the people of the district rather as the spirit of a former ruler, or the patron-god of a ruling family, than as the spirit of a common ancestor. It has been tolerably well proved that the bulk of the Japanese people were in a state of servitude from before the beginning of the historic period, and so remained until within comparatively recent times. The subject-classes may not have had at first a cult of their own: their religion would most likely have been that of their masters. In later times the vassal was certainly attached to the cult of the lord. But it is difficult as yet to venture any general statement as to the earliest phase of the communal cult in Japan; for the history of the Japanese nation is not that of a single people of one blood, but a history of many clan-groups, of different origin, gradually brought together to form one huge patriarchal society. However, it is quite safe to assume, with the best native authorities, that the Ujigami were originally clan-deities, and that they were usually, though not invariably, worshipped as clan-ancestors. [83] Some Ujigami belong to the historic period. The war god Hachiman, for example,--to whom parish-temples are dedicated in almost every large city,--is the apotheosized spirit of the Emperor Ojin, patron of the famed Minamoto clan. This is an example of Ujigami worship in which the clan-god is not an ancestor. But in many instances the Ujigami is really the ancestor of an Uji; as in the case of the great deity of Kasuga, from whom the Fujiwara clan claimed descent. Altogether there were in ancient Japan, after the beginning of the historic era, 1182 clans, great and small; and these appear to have established the same number of cults. We find, as might be expected, that the temples now called Ujigami--which is to say, Shinto parish-temples in general--are always dedicated to a particular class of divinities, and never dedicated to certain other gods. Also, it is significant that in every large town there are Shinto temples dedicated to the same Uji-gods,--proving the transfer of communal worship from its place of origin. Thus the Izumo worshipper of Kasuga-Sama can find in Osaka, Kyoto, Tokyo, parish-temples dedicated to his patron: the Kyushu worshipper of Hachiman-Sama can place himself under the protection of the same deity in Musashi quite as well as in Higo or Bungo. Another fact worth observing is that the Ujigami temple is not necessarily the most important Shinto temple in the parish: it is the parish-temple, [84] and important to the communal worship; but it may be outranked and overshadowed by some adjacent temple dedicated to higher Shinto gods. Thus in Kitzuki of Izumo, for example, the great Izumo temple is not the Ujigami,--not the parish-temple; the local cult is maintained at a much smaller temple .... Of the higher cults I shall speak further on; for the present let us consider only the communal cult, in its relation to communal life. From the social conditions represented by the worship of the Ujigami to-day, much can be inferred as to its influence in past times. Almost every Japanese village has its Ujigami; and each district of every large town or city also has its Ujigami. The worship of the tutelar deity is maintained by the whole body of parishioners, the Ujiko, or children of the tutelar god. Every such parish-temple has its holy days, when all Ujiko are expected to visit the temple, and when, as a matter of fact, every household sends at least one representative to the Ujigami. There are great festival-days and ordinary festival-days; there are processions, music, dancing, and whatever in the way of popular amusement can serve to make the occasion attractive. The people of adjacent districts vie with each other in rendering their respective temple-festivals (matsuri) enjoyable: every household contributes according to its means. [85] The Shinto parish-temple has an intimate relation to the life of the community as a body, and also to the individual existence of every Ujiko. As a baby he or she is taken to the Ujigami--(at the expiration of thirty-one days after birth if a boy, or thirty-three days after birth if a girl)--and placed under the protection of the god, in whose supposed presence the little one's name is recorded. Thereafter the child is regularly taken to the temple on holy days, and of course to all the big festivals, which are made delightful to young fancy by the display of toys on sale in temporary booths, and by the amusing spectacles to be witnessed in the temple grounds,--artists forming pictures on the pavement with coloured sands,--sweetmeat-sellers moulding animals and monsters out of sugar-paste,--conjurors and tumblers exhibiting their skill.... Later, when the child becomes strong enough to run about, the temple gardens and groves serve for a playground. School-life does not separate the Ujiko from the Ujigami (unless the family should permanently leave the district); the visits to the temple are still continued as a duty. Grown-up and married, the Ujiko regularly visits the guardian-god, accompanied by wife or husband, and brings the children to pay obeisance. If obliged to make a long journey, or to quit the district forever, the Ujiko pays a farewell visit to the Ujigami, as well as to the tombs of the family ancestors; and on returning to one's native place after prolonged [86] absence, the first visit is to the god .... I have more than once been touched by the spectacle of soldiers at prayer before lonesome little temples in country places,--soldiers but just returned from Korea, China, or Formosa: their first thought on reaching home was to utter their thanks to the god of their childhood, whom they believed to have guarded them in the hour of battle and the season of pestilence. The best authority on the local customs and laws of Old Japan, John Henry Wigmore, remarks that the Shinto cult had few relations with local administration. In his opinion the Ujigami were the deified ancestors of certain noble families of early times; and their temples continued to be in the patronage of those families. The office of the Shinto priest, or "god-master" (kannushi) was, and still is, hereditary; and, as a rule, any kannushi can trace back his descent from the family of which the Ujigami was originally the patron-god. But the Shinto priests, with some few exceptions, were neither magistrates nor administrators; and Professor Wigmore thinks that this may have been "due to the lack of administrative organization within the cult itself."* [87] This would be an adequate explanation. But in spite of the fact that they exercised no civil function, I believe it can be shown that Shinto priests had, and still have, powers above the law. Their relation to the community was of an extremely important kind: their authority was only religious but it was heavy and irresistible. [*The vague character of the Shinto hierarchy is probably best explained by Mr. Spencer in Chapter VIII of the third volume of Principles of Sociology: "The establishment of an ecclesiastical organization separate from the political organization, but akin to it in its structure, appears to be largely determined by the rise of a decided distinction in thought between the affairs of this world and those of a supposed other world. Where the two are conceived as existing in continuity, or as intimately related, the organizations appropriate to their respective administrations remain either identical or imperfectly distinguished .... if the Chinese are remarkable for the complete absence of a priestly caste, it is because, along with their universal and active ancestor-worship, they have preserved that inclusion of the duties of priest in the duties of ruler, which ancestor-worship in its simple form shows us." Mr. Spencer remarks in the same paragraph on the fact that in ancient Japan "religion and government were the same." A distinct Shinto hierarchy was therefore never evolved.] To understand this, we must remember that the Shinto priest represented the religious sentiment of his district. The social bond of each community was identical with the religious bond,--the cult of the local tutelar god. It was to the Ujigami that prayers were made for success in all communal undertakings, for protection against sickness, for the triumph of the lord in time of war, for succour in the season of famine or epidemic. The Ujigami was the giver of all good things,--the special helper and guardian of the people. That this belief still prevails may be verified by any one who studies the peasant-life of Japan. It is not to the Buddhas that the farmer prays for bountiful harvests, or for rain in time of drought; it is not to the Buddhas [88] that thanks are rendered for a plentiful rice-crop--but to the ancient local god. And the cult of the Ujigami embodies the moral experience of the community,--represents all its cherished traditions and customs, its unwritten laws of conduct, its sentiment of duty .... Now just as an offence against the ethics of the family must, in such a society, be regarded as an impiety towards the family-ancestor, so any breach of custom in the village or district must be considered as an act of disrespect to its Ujigami. The prosperity of the family depends, it is thought, upon the observance of filial piety, which is identified with obedience to the traditional rules of household conduct; and, in like manner, the prosperity of the commune is supposed to depend upon the observance of ancestral custom,--upon obedience to those unwritten laws of the district, which are taught to all from the time of their childhood. Customs are identified with morals. Any offence against the customs of the settlement is an offence against the gods who protect it, and therefore a menace to the public weal. The existence of the community is endangered by the crime of any of its members: every member is therefore held accountable by the community for his conduct. Every action must conform to the traditional usages of the Ujiko: independent exceptional conduct is a public offence. What the obligations of the individual to the [89] community signified in ancient times may therefore be imagined. He had certainly no more right to himself than had the Greek citizen three thousand years ago,--probably not so much. To-day, though laws have been greatly changed, he is practically in much the same condition. The mere idea of the right to do as one pleases (within such limits as are imposed on conduct by English and American societies, for example) could not enter into his mind. Such freedom, if explained to him, he would probably consider as a condition morally comparable to that of birds and beasts. Among ourselves, the social regulations for ordinary people chiefly settle what must not be done. But what one must not do in Japan--though representing a very wide range of prohibition means much less than half of the common obligation: what one must do, is still more necessary to learn .... Let us briefly consider the restraints which custom places upon the liberty of the individual. First of all, be it observed that the communal will reinforces the will of the household,--compels the observance of filial piety. Even the conduct of a boy, who has passed the age of childhood, is regulated not only by the family, but by the public. He must obey the household; and he must also obey public opinion in regard to his domestic relations. Any marked act of disrespect, inconsistent [90] with filial piety, would be judged and rebuked by, all. When old enough to begin work or study, a lad's daily conduct is observed and criticised; and at the age when the household law first tightens about him, he also commences to feel the pressure of common opinion. On coming of age, he has to marry; and the idea of permitting him to choose a wife for himself is quite out of the question: he is expected to accept the companion selected for him. But should reasons be found for humouring him in the event of an irresistible aversion, then he must wait until another choice has been made by the family. The community would not tolerate insubordination in such matters: one example of filial revolt would constitute too dangerous a precedent. When the young man at last becomes the head of a household, and responsible for the conduct of its members, he is still constrained by public sentiment to accept advice in his direction of domestic affairs. He is not free to follow his own judgment, in certain contingencies. For example, he is bound by custom to furnish help to relatives; and he is obliged to accept arbitration in the event of trouble with them. He is not permitted to think of his own wife and children only,--such conduct would be deemed intolerably selfish: he must be able to act, to outward seeming at least, as if uninfluenced by paternal or marital affection in his public conduct. Even supposing that, later in life, he should be [91] appointed to the position of village or district headman, his right of action and judgment would be under just as much restriction as before. Indeed, the range of his personal freedom actually decreases in proportion to his ascent in the social scale. Nominally he may rule as headman: practically his authority is only lent to him by the commune, and it will remain to him just so long as the commune pleases. For he is elected to enforce the public will, not to impose his own,--to serve the common interests, not to serve his own,--to maintain and confirm custom, not to break with it. Thus, though appointed chief, he is only the public servant, and the least free man in his native place. Various documents translated and published by Professor Wigmore, in his "Notes on Land Tenure and Local Institutions in Old Japan," give a startling idea of the minute regulation of communal life in country-districts during the period of the Tokujawa Shoguns. Much of the regulation was certainly imposed by higher authority; but it is likely that a considerable portion of the rules represented old local custom. Such documents were called Kumi-cho or "Kumi*-enactments": they established the rules of conduct to be observed by all the members of a village-community, and their social interest is very great. By personal inquiry I have learned that in various parts of the country, rules much like those recorded in the Kumi-cho, are still enforced by village custom. I select a few examples from Professor Wigmore's translation:-- [*Down to the close of the feudal period, the mass of the population throughout the country, in the great cities as well as in the villages, was administratively ordered by groups of families, or rather of households, called Kumi, or "companies." The general number of households in a Kumi was five; but there were in some provinces Kumi consisting of six, and of ten, households. The heads of the households composing a Kumi elected one of their number as chief,--who became the responsible representative of all the members of the Kumi. The origin and history of the Kumi-system is obscure: a similar system exists in China and in Korea. (Professor Wigmore's reasons for doubting that the Japanese Kumi-system had a military origin, appear to be cogent.) Certainly the system greatly facilitated administration. To superior authority the Kumi was responsible, not the single household.] [92] "If there be any of our number who are unkind to parents, or neglectful or disobedient, we will not conceal it or condone it, but will report it ...." "We shall require children to respect their parents, servants to obey their masters, husbands and wives and brothers and sisters to live together in harmony, and the younger people to revere and to cherish their elders .... Each kumi [group of five households] shall carefully watch over the conduct of its members, so as to prevent wrongdoing." "If any member of a kumi, whether farmer, merchant, or artizan, is lazy, and does not attend properly to his business, the ban-gashira [chief officer] will advise him, warn him, and lead him into better ways. If the person does not listen to this advice, and becomes angry and obstinate, he is to be reported to the toshiyori [village elder] ...." "When men who are quarrelsome and who like to [93] indulge in late hours away from home will not listen to admonition, we will report them. If any other kumi neglects to do this, it will be part of our duty to do it for them ...." "All those who quarrel with their relatives, and refuse to listen to their good advice, or disobey their parents, or are unkind to their fellow-villagers, shall be reported [to the village officers] ...." "Dancing, wrestling, and other public shows shall be forbidden. Singing and dancing-girls and prostitutes shall not be allowed to remain a single night in the mura [village]." "Quarrels among the people shall be forbidden. In case of dispute the matter shall be reported. If this is not done, all parties shall be indiscriminately punished ...." "Speaking disgraceful things of another man, or publicly posting him as a bad man, even if he is so, is forbidden." "Filial piety and faithful service to a master should be a matter of course; but when there is any one who is especially faithful and diligent in these things, we promise to report him ... for recommendation to the government ...." "As members of a kumi we will cultivate friendly feeling even more than with our relatives, and will promote each other's happiness, as well as share each other's griefs. If there is an unprincipled or lawless person in a kumi, we will all share the responsibility for him."* [*"Notes on Land Tenure and Local Institutions in Old Japan" (Transactions Asiatic Society of Japan, Vol. XIX, Part I) I have chosen the quotations from different kumi-cho, and arranged them illustratively.] [94] The above are samples of the moral regulations only: there were even more minute regulations about other duties.--for instance:-- "When a fire occurs, the people shall immediately hasten to the spot, each bringing a bucketful of water, and shall endeavour, under direction of the officers, to put the fire out .... Those who absent themselves shall be deemed culpable. "When a stranger comes to reside here, enquiries shall be made as to the mura whence he came, and a surety shall be furnished by him .... No traveller shall lodge, even for a single night, in a house other than a public inn. "News of robberies and night attacks shall be given by the ringing of bells or otherwise; and all who hear shall join in pursuit, until the offender is taken. Any one wilfully refraining, shall, on investigation, be punished." From these same Kumi-cho, it appears that no one could leave his village even for a single night, without permission,--or take service elsewhere, or marry in another province, or settle in another place. Punishments were severe,--a terrible flogging being the common mode of chastisement by the higher authority.... To-day, there are no such punishments; and, legally, a man can go where he pleases. But as a matter of fact he can nowhere do as he pleases; for individual liberty is still largely restricted by the survival of communal sentiment and old-fashioned custom. In any country community it would be unwise to proclaim such a doctrine as that [95] a man has the right to employ his leisure and his means as he may think proper. No man's time or money or effort can be considered exclusively his own,--nor even the body that his ghost inhabits. His right to live in the community rests solely upon his willingness to serve the community; and whoever may need his help or sympathy has the privilege of demanding it. That "a man's house is his castle" cannot be asserted in Japan--except in the case of some high potentate. No ordinary person can shut his door to lock out the rest of the world. Everybody's house must be open to visitors: to close its gates by day would be regarded as an insult to the community,--sickness affording no excuse. Only persons in very great authority have the right of making themselves inaccessible. And to displease the community in which one lives,--especially if the community be a rural one,--is a serious matter. When a community is displeased, if acts as an individual. It may consist of five hundred, a thousand, or several thousand persons; but the thinking of all is the thinking of one. By a single serious mistake a man may find himself suddenly placed in solitary opposition to the common will,--isolated, and most effectively ostracized. The silence and the softness of the hostility only render it all the more alarming. This is the ordinary form of punishment for a grave offence against custom: violence is rare, and when resorted to is intended (except in [96] some extraordinary cases presently to be noticed) as a mere correction, the punishment of a blunder. In certain rough communities, blunders endangering life are immediately punished by physical chastisement,--not in anger, but on traditional principle. Once I witnessed at a fishing-settlement, a chastisement of this kind. Men were killing tunny in the surf; the work was bloody and dangerous; and in the midst of the excitement, one of the fishermen struck his killing-spike into the head of a boy. Everybody knew that it was a pure accident; but accidents involving danger to life are rudely dealt with, and this blunderer was instantly knocked senseless by the men nearest him,--then dragged out of the surf and flung down on the sand to recover himself as best he might. No word was said about the matter; and the killing went on as before. Young fishermen, I am told, are roughly handled by their fellows on board a ship, in the case of any error involving risk to the vessel. But, as I have already observed, only stupidity is punished in this fashion; and ostracism is much more dreaded than violence. There is, indeed, only one yet heavier punishment than ostracism--namely, banishment, either for a term of years or for life. Banishment must in old feudal times have been a very serious penalty; it is a serious penalty even to-day, under the new order of things. In former years the man expelled from his native place by the [97] communal will--cast out from his home, his clan, his occupation --found himself face to face with misery absolute. In another community there would be no place for him, unless he happened to have relatives there; and these would be obliged to consult with the local authorities, and also with the officials of the fugitive's native place, before venturing to harbour him. No stranger was suffered to settle in another district than his own without official permission. Old documents are extant which record the punishments inflicted upon households for having given shelter to a stranger under pretence of relationship. A banished man was homeless and friendless. He might be a skilled craftsman; but the right to exercise his craft depended upon the consent of the guild representing that craft in the place to which he might go; and banished men were not received by the guilds. He might try to become a servant; but the commune in which he sought refuge would question the right of any master to employ a fugitive and a stranger. His religious connexions could not serve him in the least: the code of communal life was decided not by Buddhist, but by Shinto ethics. Since the gods of his birthplace had cast him out, and the gods of any other locality had nothing to do with his original cult, there was no religious help for him. Besides, the mere fact of his being a refugee was itself proof that he must have offended against his own cult. [98] In any event no stranger could look for sympathy among strangers. Even now to take a wife from another province is condemned by local opinion (it was forbidden in feudal times): one is still expected to live, work, and marry in the place where one has been born,--though, in certain cases, and with the public approval of one's own people, adoption into another community is tolerated. Under the feudal system there was incomparably less likelihood of sympathy for the stranger; and banishment signified hunger, solitude, and privation unspeakable. For be it remembered that the legal existence of the individual, at that period, ceased entirely outside of his relation to the family and to the commune. Everybody lived and worked for some household; every household for some clan; outside of the household, and the related aggregate of households, there was no life to be lived--except the life of criminals, beggars, and pariahs. Save with official permission, one could not even become a Buddhist monk. The very outcasts--such as the Eta classes--formed self-governing communities, with traditions of their own, and would not voluntarily accept strangers. So the banished man was most often doomed to become a hinin,--one of that wretched class of wandering pariahs who were officially termed "not-men," and lived by beggary, or by the exercise of some vulgar profession, such as that of ambulant musician or [99] mountebank. In more ancient days a banished man could have sold himself into slavery; but even this poor privilege seems to have been withdrawn during the Tokugawa era. We can scarcely imagine to-day the conditions of such banishment: to find a Western parallel we must go back to ancient Greek and Roman times long preceding the Empire. Banishment then signified religious excommunication, and practically expulsion from all civilized society,--since there yet existed no idea of human brotherhood, no conception of any claim upon kindness except the claim of kinship. The stranger was everywhere the enemy. Now in Japan, as in the Greek city of old time, the religion of the tutelar god has always been the religion of a group only, the cult of a community: it never became even the religion of a province. The higher cults, on the other hand, did not concern themselves with the individual: his religion was only of the household and of the village or district; the cults of other households and districts were entirely distinct; one could belong to them only by adoption, and strangers, as a rule, were not adopted. Without a household or a clan-cult, the individual was morally and socially dead; for other cults and clans excluded him. When cast out by the domestic cult that regulated his private life, and by the local cult that ordered his life in relation to the community, he simply ceased to exist in relation to human society. [100] How small were the chances in past times for personality to develop and assert itself may be imagined from the foregoing facts. The individual was completely and pitilessly sacrificed to the community. Even now the only safe rule of conduct in a Japanese settlement is to act in all things according to local custom; for the slightest divergence from rule will be observed with disfavour. Privacy does not exist; nothing can be hidden; everybody's vices or virtues are known to everybody else. Unusual behaviour is judged as a departure from the traditional standard of conduct; all oddities are condemned as departures from custom; and tradition and custom still have the force of religious obligations. Indeed, they really are religious and obligatory, not only by reason of their origin, but by reason of their relation also to the public cult, which signifies the worship of the past. It is therefore easy to understand why Shinto never had a written code of morals, and why its greatest scholars have declared that a moral code is unnecessary. In that stage of religious evolution which ancestor-worship represents, there can be no distinction between religion and ethics, nor between ethics and custom. Government and religion are the same; custom and law are identified. The ethics of Shinto were all included in conformity to custom. The traditional rules of the household, the traditional laws of the commune--these were [101] the morals of Shinto: to obey them was religion; to disobey them, impiety .... And, after all, the true significance of any religious code, written or unwritten, lies in its expression of social duty, its doctrine of the right and wrong of conduct, its embodiment of a people's moral experience. Really the difference between any modern ideal of conduct, such as the English, and the patriarchal ideal, such as that of the early Greeks or of the Japanese, would be found on examination to consist mainly in the minute extension of the older conception to all details of individual life. Assuredly the religion of Shinto needed no written commandment: it was taught to everybody from childhood by precept and example, and any person of ordinary intelligence could learn it. When a religion is capable of rendering it dangerous for anybody to act outside of rules, the framing of a code would be obviously superfluous. We ourselves have no written code of conduct as regards the higher social life, the exclusive circles of civilized existence, which are not ruled merely by the Ten Commandments. The knowledge of what to do in those zones, and of how to do it, can come only by training, by experience, by observation, and by the intuitive recognition of the reason of things. And now to return to the question of the authority of the Shinto priest as representative of communal [102] sentiment,--an authority which I believe to have been always very great .... Striking proof that the punishments inflicted by a community upon its erring members were originally inflicted in the name of the tutelar god is furnished by the fact that manifestations of communal displeasure still assume, in various country districts, a religious character. I have witnessed such manifestations, and I am assured that they still occur in most of the provinces. But it is in remote country-towns or isolated villages, where traditions have remained almost unchanged, that one can best observe these survivals of antique custom. In such places the conduct of every resident is closely watched and rigidly judged by all the rest. Little, however, is said about misdemeanours of a minor sort until the time of the great local Shinto festival,--the annual festival of the tutelar god. It is then that the community gives its warnings or inflicts its penalties: this at least in the case of conduct offensive to local ethics. The god, on the occasion of this festival, is supposed to visit the dwellings of his Ujiko; and his portable shrine,--a weighty structure borne by thirty or forty men,--is carried through the principal streets. The bearers are supposed to act according to the will of the god,--to go whithersoever his divine spirit directs them .... I may describe the incidents of the procession as I saw it in a seacoast village, not once, but several times. [103] Before the procession a band of young men advance, leaping and wildly dancing in circles: these young men clear the way; and it is unsafe to pass near them, for they whirl about as if moved by frenzy .... When I first saw such a band of dancers, I could imagine myself watching some old Dionysiac revel;--their furious gyrations certainly realized Greek accounts of the antique sacred frenzy. There were, indeed, no Greek heads; but the bronzed lithe figures, naked save for loin-cloth and sandals, and most sculpturesquely muscled, might well have inspired some vase-design of dancing fauns. After these god-possessed dancers--whose passage swept the streets clear, scattering the crowd to right and left--came the virgin priestess, white-robed and veiled, riding upon a horse, and followed by several mounted priests in white garments and high black caps of ceremony. Behind them advanced the ponderous shrine, swaying above: the heads of its bearers like a junk in a storm. Scores of brawny arms were pushing it to the right; other scores were pushing it to the left: behind and before, also, there was furious pulling and pushing; and the roar of voices uttering invocations made it impossible to hear anything else. By immemorial custom the upper stories of all the dwellings had been tightly closed: woe to the Peeping Tom who should be detected, on such a day, in the impious act of looking down upon the god!... [104] Now the shrine-bearers, as I have said, are supposed to be moved by the spirit of the god--(probably by his Rough Spirit; for the Shinto god is multiple); and all this pushing and pulling and swaying signifies only the deity's inspection of the dwellings on either hand. He is looking about to see whether the hearts of his worshippers are pure, and is deciding whether it will be necessary to give a warning, or to inflict a penalty. His bearers will carry him whithersoever he chooses to go--through solid walls if necessary. If the shrine strikes against any house,--even against an awning only,--that is a sign that the god is not pleased with the dwellers in that house. If the shrine breaks part of the house, that is a serious warning. But it may happen that the god wills to enter a house,--breaking his way. Then woe to the inmates, unless they flee at once through the back-door; and the wild procession, thundering in, will wreck and rend and smash and splinter everything on the premises before the god consents to proceed upon his round. Upon enquiring into the reasons of two wreckings of which I witnessed the results, I learned enough to assure me that from the communal point of view, both aggressions were morally justifiable. In one case a fraud had been practised; in the other, help had been refused to the family of a drowned resident. Thus one offence had been legal; the other only moral. A country community [105] will not hand over its delinquents to the police except in case of incendiarism, murder, theft, or other serious crime. It has a horror of law, and never invokes it when the matter can be settled by any other means. This was the rule also in ancient times, and the feudal government encouraged its maintenance. But when the tutelar deity has been displeased, he insists upon the punishment or disgrace of the offender; and the offender's entire family, as by feudal custom, is held responsible. The victim can invoke the new law, if he dares, and bring the wreckers of his home into court, and recover damages, for the modern police-courts are not ruled by Shinto. But only a very rash man will invoke the new law against the communal judgment, for that action in itself would be condemned as a gross breach of custom. The community is always ready, through its council, to do justice in cases where innocence can be proved. But if a man really guilty of the faults charged to his account should try to avenge himself by appeal to a non-religious law, then it were well for him to remove himself and his family, as soon as possible thereafter, to some far-away place. We have seen that, in Old Japan, the life of the individual was under two kinds of religious control. All his acts were regulated according to the traditions either of the domestic or of the communal [106] cult; and these conditions probably began with the establishment of a settled civilization. We have also seen that the communal religion took upon itself to enforce the observance of the household religion. The fact will not seem strange if we remember that the underlying idea in either cult was the same,--the idea that the welfare of the living depended upon the welfare of the dead. Neglect of the household rite would provoke, it was believed, the malevolence of the spirits; and their malevolence might bring about some public misfortune. The ghosts of the ancestors controlled nature;--fire and flood, pestilence and famine were at their disposal as means of vengeance. One act of impiety in a village might, therefore, bring about misfortune to all. And the community considered itself responsible to the dead for the maintenance of filial piety in every home. [107] DEVELOPMENTS OF SHINTO The teaching of Herbert Spencer that the greater gods of a people--those figuring in popular imagination as creators, or as particularly directing certain elemental forces--represent a later development of ancestor-worship, is generally accepted to-day. Ancestral ghosts, considered as more or less alike in the time when primitive society had not yet developed class distinctions of any important character, subsequently become differentiated, as the society itself differentiates, into greater and lesser. Eventually the worship of some one ancestral spirit, or group of spirits, overshadows that of all the rest; and a supreme deity, or group of supreme deities, becomes evolved. But the differentiations of the ancestor-cult must be understood to proceed in a great variety of directions. Particular ancestors of families engaged in hereditary occupations may develop into tutelar deities presiding over those occupations--patron gods of crafts and guilds. Out of other ancestral cults, through various processes of mental association, may be evolved the worship of deities of strength, of health, of long life, of particular products, of particular localities. [108] When more light shall have been thrown upon the question of Japanese origins, it will probably be found that many of the lesser tutelar or patron gods now worshipped in the country were originally the gods of Chinese or Korean craftsmen; but I think that Japanese mythology, as a whole, will prove to offer few important exceptions to the evolutional law. Indeed, Shinto presents us with a mythological hierarchy of which the development can be satisfactorily explained by that law alone. Besides the Ujigami, there are myriads of superior and of inferior deities. There are the primal deities, of whom only the names are mentioned,--apparitions of the period of chaos; and there are the gods of creation, who gave shape to the land. There are the gods of earth, and, sky, and the gods of the sun and moon. Also there are gods, beyond counting, supposed to preside over all things good or evil in human life,--birth and marriage and death, riches and poverty, strength and disease .... It can scarcely be supposed that all this mythology was developed out of the old ancestor-cult in Japan itself: more probably its evolution began on the Asiatic continent. But the evolution of the national cult--that form of Shinto which became the state religion--seems to have been Japanese, in the strict meaning of the word. This cult is the worship of the gods from whom the emperors claim descent,--the worship of the "imperial ancestors." [109] It appears that the early emperors of Japan--the "heavenly sovereigns," as they are called in the old records--were not emperors at all in the true meaning of the term, and did not even exercise universal authority. They were only the chiefs of the most powerful clan, or Uji, and their special ancestor-cult had probably in that time no dominant influence. But eventually, when the chiefs of this great clan really became supreme rulers of the land, their clan-cult spread everywhere, and overshadowed, without abolishing, all the other cults. Then arose the national mythology. We therefore see that the course of Japanese ancestor-worship, like that of Aryan ancestor-worship, exhibits those three successive stages of development before mentioned. It may be assumed that on coming from the continent to their present island home, the race brought with them a rude form of ancestor-worship, consisting of little more than rites and sacrifices performed at the graves of the dead. When the land had been portioned out among the various clans, each of which had its own ancestor cult, all the people of the district belonging to any particular clan would eventually adopt the religion of the clan ancestor; and thus arose the thousand cults of the Ujigami. Still later, the special cult of the most powerful clan developed into a national religion,--the worship of the goddess of the sun, [110] from whom the supreme ruler claimed descent. Then, under Chinese influence, the domestic form of ancestor-worship was established in lieu of the primitive family-cult: thereafter offerings and prayers were made regularly in the home, where the ancestral tablets represented the tombs of the family dead. But offerings were still made, on special occasions, at the graves; and the three Shinto forms of the cult, together with later forms of Buddhist introduction, continued to exist; and they rule the life of the nation to-day. It was the cult of the supreme ruler that first gave to the people a written account of traditional beliefs. The mythology of the reigning house furnished the scriptures of Shinto, and established ideas linking together all the existing forms of ancestor-worship. All Shinto traditions were by these writings blended into one mythological history,--explained upon the basis of one legend. The whole mythology is contained in two books, of which English translations have been made. The oldest is entitled Ko-ji-ki, or "Records of Ancient Matters"; and it is supposed to have been compiled in the year 712 A.D. The other and much larger work is called Nihongi, "Chronicles of Nihon [Japan]," and dates from about 720 A.D. Both works profess to be histories; but a large portion of them is mythological, and either begins with a story of creation. [111] They were compiled, mostly, from oral tradition we are told, by imperial order. It is said that a yet earlier work, dating from the seventh century, may have been drawn upon; but this has been lost. No great antiquity can, therefore, be claimed for the texts as they stand; but they contain traditions which must be very much older,--possibly thousands of years older. The Ko-ji-ki is said to have been written from the dictation of an old man of marvellous memory; and the Shinto theologian Hirata would have us believe that traditions thus preserved are especially trustworthy. "It is probable," he wrote, "that those ancient traditions, preserved for us by exercise of memory, have for that very reason come down to us in greater detail than if they had been recorded in documents. Besides, men must have had much stronger memories in the days before they acquired the habit of trusting to written characters for facts which they wished to remember,--as is shown at the present time in the case of the illiterate, who have to depend on memory alone." We must smile at Hirata's good faith in the changelessness of oral tradition; but I believe that folk-lorists would discover in the character of the older myths, intrinsic evidence of immense antiquity.--Chinese influence is discernible in both works; yet certain parts have a particular quality not to be found, I imagine, in anything Chinese,--a primeval artlessness, a weirdness, and a strangeness [112] having nothing in common with other mythical literature. For example, we have, in the story of Izanagi, the world-maker, visiting the shades to recall his dead spouse, a myth that seems to be purely Japanese. The archaic naivete of the recital must impress anybody who studies the literal translation. I shall present only the substance of the legend, which has been recorded in a number of different versions:*-- [*See for these different versions Aston's translation of the Nihongi, Vol I.] When the time came for the Fire-god, Kagu-Tsuchi, to be born, his mother, Izanami-no-Mikoto, was burnt, and suffered change, and departed. Then Izanagi-no-Mikoto, was wroth and said, "Oh! that I should have given my loved younger sister in exchange for a single child!" He crawled at her head and he crawled at her feet, weeping and lamenting; and the tears which he shed fell down and became a deity .... Thereafter Izanagi-no-Mikoto went after Izanami-no-Mikoto into the Land of Yomi, the world of the dead. Then Izanami-no-Mikoto, appearing still as she was when alive, lifted the curtain of the palace (of the dead), and came forth to meet him; and they talked together. And Izanagi-no-Mikoto said to her: "I have come because I sorrowed for thee, my lovely younger sister. O my lovely younger sister, the lands that I and thou were making together are not [113] yet finished; therefore come back!" Then Izanami-no-Mikoto made answer, saying, "My august lord and husband, lamentable it is that thou didst not come sooner,--for now I have eaten of the cooking-range of Yomi. Nevertheless, as I am thus delightfully honoured by thine entry here, my lovely elder brother, I wish to return with thee to the living world. Now I go to discuss the matter with the gods of Yomi. Wait thou here, and look not upon me." So having spoken, she went back; and Izanagi waited for her. But she tarried so long within that he became impatient. Then, taking the wooden comb that he wore in the left bunch of his hair, he broke off a tooth from one end of the comb and lighted it, and went in to look for Izanami-no-Mikoto. But he saw her lying swollen and festering among worms; and eight kinds of Thunder-Gods sat upon her .... And Izanagi, being overawed by that sight, would have fled away; but Izanami rose up, crying: "Thou hast put me to shame! Why didst thou not observe that which I charged thee?... Thou hast seen my nakedness; now I will see thine!" And she bade the Ugly Females of Yomi to follow after him, and slay him; and the eight Thunders also pursued him, and Izanami herself pursued him .... Then Izanagi-no-Mikoto drew his sword, and flourished it behind him as he ran. But they followed close upon him. He took off his black headdress and flung it down; [114] and it became changed into grapes; and while the Ugly Ones were eating the grapes, he gained upon them. But they followed quickly; and he then took his comb and cast it down, and it became changed into bamboo sprouts; and while the Ugly Ones were devouring the sprouts, he fled on until he reached the mouth of Yomi. Then taking a rock which it would have required the strength of a thousand men to lift, he blocked therewith the entrance as Izanami came up. And standing behind the rock, he began to pronounce the words of divorce. Then, from the other side of the rock, Izanami cried out to him, "My dear lord and master, if thou dost so, in one day will I strangle to death a thousand of thy people!" And Izanagi-no-Mikoto answered her, saying, "My beloved younger sister, if thou dost so, I will cause in one day to be born fifteen hundred ...." But the deity Kukuri-hime-no-Kami then came, and spake to Izanami some word which she seemed to approve, and thereafter she vanished away .... The strange mingling of pathos with nightmare-terror in this myth, of which I have not ventured to present all the startling naiveti, sufficiently proves its primitive character. It is a dream that some one really dreamed,--one of those bad dreams in which the figure of a person beloved becomes horribly transformed; and it has a particular interest as [115] expressing that fear of death and of the dead informing all primitive ancestor-worship. The whole pathos and weirdness of the myth, the vague monstrosity of the fancies, the formal use of terms of endearment in the moment of uttermost loathing and fear,--all impress one as unmistakably Japanese. Several other myths scarcely less remarkable are to be found in the Ko-ji-ki and Nihongi; but they are mingled with legends of so light and graceful a kind that it is scarcely possible to believe these latter to have been imagined by the same race. The story of the magical jewels and the visit to the sea-god's palace, for example, in the second book of the Nihongi, sounds oddly like an Indian fairy-tale; and it is not unlikely that the Ko-ji-ki and Nihongi both contain myths derived from various alien sources. At all events their mythical chapters present us with some curious problems which yet remain unsolved. Otherwise the books are dull reading, in spite of the light which they shed upon ancient customs and beliefs; and, generally speaking, Japanese mythology is unattractive. But to dwell here upon the mythology, at any length, is unnecessary; for its relation to Shinto can be summed up in the space of a single brief paragraph-- In the beginning neither force nor form was manifest; and the world was a shapeless mass that floated [116] like a jelly-fish upon water. Then, in some way--we are not told how--earth and heaven became separated; dim gods appeared and disappeared; and at last there came into existence a male and a female deity, who gave birth and shape to things. By this pair, Izanagi and Izanami, were produced the islands of Japan, and the generations of the gods, and the deities of the Sun and Moon. The descendants of these creating deities, and of the gods whom they brought into being, were the eight thousand (or eighty thousand) myriads of gods worshipped by Shinto. Some went to dwell in the blue Plain of High Heaven; others remained on earth and became the ancestors of the Japanese race. Such is the mythology of the Ko-ji-ki and the Nihongi, stated in the briefest possible way. At first it appears that there were two classes of gods recognized: Celestial and Terrestrial; and the old Shinto rituals (norito) maintain this distinction. But it is a curious fact that the celestial gods of this mythology do not represent celestial forces; and that the gods who are really identified with celestial phenomena are classed as terrestrial gods,--having been born or "produced" upon earth. The Sun and Moon, for example, are said to have been born in Japan,--though afterwards placed in heaven; the Sun-goddess, Ama-terasu-no-oho-Kami, having been produced from the left eye of Izanagi, and the [117] Moon-god, Tsuki-yomi-no-Mikoto, having been produced from the right eye of Izanagi when, after his visit to the under-world, he washed himself at the mouth of a river in the island of Tsukushi. The Shinto scholars of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries established some order in this chaos of fancies by denying all distinction between the Celestial and Terrestrial gods, except as regarded the accident of birth. They also denied the old distinction between the so-called Age of the Gods (Kami-yo), and the subsequent period of the Emperors. It was true, they said, that the early rulers of Japan were gods; but so were also the later rulers. The whole Imperial line, the "Sun's Succession," represented one unbroken descent from the Goddess of the Sun. Hirata wrote: "There exists no hard and fast line between the Age of the Gods and the present age--and there exists no justification whatever for drawing one, as the Nihongi does." Of course this position involved the doctrine of a divine descent for the whole race,--inasmuch as, according to the old mythology, the first Japanese were all descendants of gods,--and that doctrine Hirata boldly accepted. All the Japanese, he averred, were of divine origin, and for that reason superior to the people of all other countries. He even held that their divine descent could be proved without difficulty. These are his words: "The descendants of the gods who accompanied Ninigi-no-Mikoto [grandson of the Sun-goddess, [118] and supposed founder of the Imperial house,]--as well as the offspring of the successive Mikados, who entered the ranks of the subjects of the Mikados, with the names of Taira, Minamoto, and so forth,--have gradually increased and multiplied. Although numbers of Japanese cannot state with certainty from what gods they are descended, all of them have tribal names (kabane), which were originally bestowed on them by the Mikados; and those who make it their province to study genealogies can tell from a man's ordinary surname, who his remotest ancestor must have been." All the Japanese were gods in this sense; and their country was properly called the Land of the Gods,--Shinkoku or Kami-no-kuni. Are we to understand Hirata literally? I think so--but we must remember that there existed in feudal times large classes of people, outside of the classes officially recognized as forming the nation, who were not counted as Japanese, nor even as human beings: these were pariahs, and reckoned as little better than animals. Hirata probably referred to the four great classes only--samurai, farmers, artizans, and merchants. But even in that case what are we to think of his ascription of divinity to the race, in view of the moral and physical feebleness of human nature? The moral side of the question is answered by the Shinto theory of evil deities, "gods of crookedness," who were alleged to have "originated from the impurities contracted by [119] Izanagi during his visit to the under-world." As for the physical weakness of men, that is explained by a legend of Ninigi-no-Mikoto, divine founder of the imperial house. The Goddess of Long Life, Iha-naga-hime (Rock-long-princess), was sent to him for wife; but he rejected her because of her ugliness; and that unwise proceeding brought about "the present shortness of the lives of men." Most mythologies ascribe vast duration to the lives of early patriarchs or rulers: the farther we go back into mythological history, the longer-lived are the sovereigns. To this general rule Japanese mythology presents no exception. The son of Ninigi-no-Mikoto is said to have lived five hundred and eighty years at his palace of Takachiho; but that, remarks Hirata, "was a short life compared with the lives of those who lived before him." Thereafter men's bodies declined in force; life gradually became shorter and shorter; yet in spite of all degeneration the Japanese still show traces of their divine origin. After death they enter into a higher divine condition, without, however, abandoning this world .... Such were Hirata's views. Accepting the Shinto theory of origins, this ascription of divinity to human nature proves less inconsistent than it appears at first sight; and the modern Shintoist may discover a germ of scientific truth in the doctrine which traces back the beginnings of life to the Sun. [120] More than any other Japanese writer, Hirata has enabled us to understand the hierarchy of Shinto mythology,--corresponding closely, as we might have expected, to the ancient ordination of Japanese society. In the lowermost ranks are the spirits of common people, worshipped only at the household shrine or at graves. Above these are the gentile gods or Ujigami,--ghosts of old rulers now worshipped as tutelar gods. All Ujigami, Hirata tells us, are under the control of the Great God of Izumo,--Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami,--and, "acting as his agents, they rule the fortunes of human beings before their birth, during their life, and after their death." This means that the ordinary ghosts obey, in the world invisible, the commands of the clan-gods or tutelar deities; that the conditions of communal worship during life continue after death. The following extract from Hirata will be found of interest,--not only as showing the supposed relation of the individual to the Ujigami, but also as suggesting how the act of abandoning one's birthplace was formerly judged by common opinion:-- "When a person removes his residence, his original Ujigami has to make arrangements with the Ujigami of the place whither he transfers his abode. On such occasions it is proper to take leave of the old god, and to pay a visit to the temple of the new god as soon as possible after coming within his jurisdiction. The apparent reasons which a man imagines to have induced him to change his [121] abode may be many; but the real reasons cannot be otherwise than that either he has offended his Ujigami, and is therefore expelled, or that the Ujigami of another place has negotiated his transfer ...."* [*Translated by Satow. The italics are mine.] It would thus appear that every person was supposed to be the subject, servant, or retainer of some Ujigami, both during life and after death. There were, of course, various grades of these clan-gods, just as there were various grades of living rulers, lords of the soil. Above ordinary Ujigami ranked the deities worshipped in the chief Shinto temples of the various provinces, which temples were termed Ichi-no-miya, or temples of the first grade. These deities appear to have been in many cases spirits of princes or greater daimyo, formerly, ruling extensive districts; but all were not of this category. Among them were deities of elements or elemental forces,--Wind, Fire, and Sea,--deities also of longevity, of destiny, and of harvests,--clan-gods, perhaps, originally, though their real history had been long forgotten. But above all other Shinto divinities ranked the gods of the Imperial Cult,--the supposed ancestors of the Mikados. Of the higher forms of Shinto worship, that of the imperial ancestors proper is the most important, being the State cult; but it is not the oldest. There are two supreme cults: that of the Sun-goddess, [122] represented by the famous shrines of Ise; and the Izumo cult, represented by the great temple of Kitzuki. This Izumo temple is the centre of the more ancient cult. It is dedicated to Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami, first ruler of the Province of the Gods, and offspring of the brother of the Sun-goddess. Dispossessed of his realm in favour of the founder of the imperial dynasty, Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami became the ruler of the Unseen World,--that is to say the World of Ghosts. Unto his shadowy dominion the spirits of all men proceed after death; and he rules over all of the Ujigami. We may therefore term him the Emperor of the Dead. "You cannot hope," Hirata says, "to live more than a hundred years, under the most favourable circumstances; but as you will go to the Unseen Realm of Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami after death, and be subject to him, learn betimes to bow down before him." ... That weird fancy expressed in the wonderful fragment by Coleridge, "The Wanderings of Cain," would therefore seem to have actually formed an article of ancient Shinto faith: "The Lord is God of the living only: the dead have another God." ... The God of the Living in Old Japan was, of course, the Mikado,--the deity incarnate, Arahito-gami,--and his palace was the national sanctuary, the Holy of Holies. Within the precincts of that [123] palace was the Kashiko-Dokoro ("Place of Awe"), the private shrine of the Imperial Ancestors, where only the court could worship,--the public form of the same cult being maintained at Ise. But the Imperial House worshipped also by deputy (and still so worships) both at Kitzuki and Ise, and likewise at various other great sanctuaries. Formerly a great number of temples were maintained, or partly maintained, from the imperial revenues. All Shinto temples of importance used to be classed as greater and lesser shrines. There were 304 of the first rank, and 2828 of the second rank. But multitudes of temples were not included in this official classification, and depended upon local support. The recorded total of Shinto shrines to-day is upwards of 195,000. We have thus--without counting the great Izumo cult of Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami--four classes of ancestor-worship: the domestic religion, the religion of the Ujigami, the worship at the chief shrines [Ichi-no-miya] of the several provinces, and the national cult at Ise. All these cults are now linked together by tradition; and the devout Shintoist worships the divinities of all, collectively, in his daily morning prayer. Occasionally he visits the chief shrine of his province; and he makes a pilgrimage to Ise if he can. Every Japanese is expected to visit the shrines of Ise once in his lifetime, [124] or to send thither a deputy. Inhabitants of remote districts are not all able, of course, to make the pilgrimage; but there is no village which does not, at certain intervals, send pilgrims either to Kitzuki or to Ise on behalf of the community, the expense of such representation being defrayed by local subscription. And, furthermore, every Japanese can worship the supreme divinities of Shinto in his own house, where upon a "god-shelf" (Kamidana) are tablets inscribed with the assurance of their divine protection,--holy charms obtained from the priests of Ise or of Kitzuki. In the case of the Ise cult, such tablets are commonly made from the wood of the holy shrines themselves, which, according to primal custom, must be rebuilt every twenty years,--the timber of the demolished structures being then cut into tablets for distribution throughout the country. Another development of ancestor-worship--the cult of gods presiding over crafts and callings--deserves special study. Unfortunately we are as yet little informed upon the subject. Anciently this worship must have been more definitely ordered and maintained than it is now. Occupations were hereditary; artizans were grouped into guilds--perhaps we might even say castes;--and each guild or caste then probably had in patron-deity. In some cases the craft-gods may have been ancestors [125] of Japanese craftsmen; in other cases they were perhaps of Korean or Chinese origin,--ancestral gods of immigrant artizans, who brought their cults with them to Japan. Not much is known about them. But it is tolerably safe to assume that most, if not all of the guilds, were at one time religiously organized, and that apprentices were adopted not only in a craft, but into a cult. There were corporations of weavers, potters, carpenters, arrow-makers, bow-makers, smiths, boat-builders, and other tradesmen; and the past religious organization of these is suggested by the fact that certain occupations assume a religious character even to-day. For example, the carpenter still builds according to Shinto tradition: he dons a priestly costume at a certain stage of the work, performs rites, and chants invocations, and places the new house under the protection of the gods. But the occupation of the swordsmith was in old days the most sacred of crafts: he worked in priestly garb, and practised Shinto) rites of purification while engaged in the making of a good blade. Before his smithy was then suspended the sacred rope of rice-straw (shime-nawa), which is the oldest symbol of Shinto: none even of his family might enter there, or speak to him; and he ate only of food cooked with holy fire. The 195,000 shrines of Shinto represent, however, more than clan-cults or guild-cults or national-cults .... [126] Many are dedicated to different spirits of the same god; for Shinto holds that the spirit of either a man or a god may divide itself into several spirits, each with a different character. Such separated spirits are called waka-mi-tama ("august-divided-spirits"). Thus the spirit of the Goddess of Food, Toyo-uke-bime, separated itself into the God of Trees, Kukunochi-no-Kami, and into the Goddess of Grasses, Kayanu-hime-no-Kami. Gods and men were supposed to have also a Rough Spirit and a Gentle Spirit; and Hirata remarks that the Rough Spirit of Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami was worshipped at one temple, and his Gentle Spirit at another.*... Also we have to remember that great numbers of Ujigami temples are dedicated to the same divinity. These duplications or multiplications are again offset by the fact that in some of the principal temples a multitude of different deities are enshrined. Thus the number of Shinto temples in actual existence affords no indication whatever of the actual number of gods worshipped, nor of the variety of their cults. Almost every deity mentioned in the Ko-ji-ki or Nihongi has a shrine somewhere; and hundreds of others--including many later apotheoses--have their temples. Numbers of temples have been dedicated, for example, to [127] historical personages,--to spirits of great ministers, captains, rulers, scholars, heroes, and statesmen. The famous minister of the Empress Jingo, Takeno-uji-no-Sukune,--who served under six successive sovereigns, and lived to the age of three hundred years,--is now invoked in many a temple as a giver of long life and great wisdom. The spirit of Sugiwara-no-Michizane, once minister to the Emperor Daigo, is worshipped as the god of calligraphy, under the name of Tenjin, or Temmangu: children everywhere offer to him the first examples of their handwriting, and deposit in receptacles, placed before his shrine, their worn-out writing-brushes. The Soga brothers, victims and heroes of a famous twelfth-century tragedy, have become gods to whom people pray for the maintenance of fraternal harmony. Kato Kiyomasa, the determined enemy of Jesuit Christianity, and Hideyoshi's greatest captain, has been apotheosized both by Buddhism and by Shinto. Iyeyasu is worshipped under the appellation of Toshogu. In fact most of the great men of Japanese history have had temples erected to them; and the spirits of the daimyo were, in former years, regularly worshipped by the subjects of their descendants and successors. [*Even men had the Rough and the Gentle Spirit; but a god had three distinct spirits,--the Rough, the Gentle, and the Bestowing,--respectively termed Ara-mi-tama, Nigi-mi-tama, and Saki-mi-tama.--[See SATOW's Revival of Pure Shintau.] Besides temples to deities presiding over industries and agriculture,--or deities especially invoked by the peasants, such as the goddess of silkworms, [128] the goddess of rice, the gods of wind and weather,--there are to be found in almost every part of the country what I may call propitiatory temples. These latter Shinto shrines have been erected by way of compensation to spirits of persons who suffered great injustice or misfortune. In these cases the worship assumes a very curious character, the worshipper always appealing for protection against the same kind of calamity or trouble as that from which the apotheosized person suffered during life. In Izumo, for example, I found a temple dedicated to the spirit of a woman, once a prince's favourite. She had been driven to suicide by the intrigues of jealous rivals. The story is that she had very beautiful hair; but it was not quite black, and her enemies used to reproach her with its color. Now mothers having children with brownish hair pray to her that the brown may be changed to black; and offerings are made to her of tresses of hair and Tokyo coloured prints, for it is still remembered that she was fond of such prints. In the same province there is a shrine erected to the spirit of a young wife, who pined away for grief at the absence of her lord. She used to climb a hill to watch for his return, and the shrine was built upon the place where she waited; and wives pray there to her for the safe return of absent husbands .... An almost similar kind of propitiatory worship is practised in cemeteries. Public pity seeks to apotheosize those [129] urged to suicide by cruelty, or those executed for offences which, although legally criminal, were inspired by patriotic or other motives commanding sympathy. Before their graves offerings are laid and prayers are murmured. Spirits of unhappy lovers are commonly invoked by young people who suffer from the same cause .... And, among other forms of propitiatory worship I must mention the old custom of erecting small shrines to spirits of animals,--chiefly domestic animals,--either in recognition of dumb service rendered and ill-rewarded, or as a compensation for pain unjustly inflicted. Yet another class of tutelar divinities remains to be noticed,--those who dwell within or about the houses of men. Some are mentioned in the old mythology, and are probably developments of Japanese ancestor-worship; some are of alien origin; some do not appear to have any temples; and some represent little more than what is called Animism. This class of divinities corresponds rather to the Roman dii genitales than to the Greek (Greek daemones). Suijin-Sarna, the God of Wells; Kojin, the God of the Cooking-range (in almost every kitchen there is either a tiny shrine for him, or a written charm bearing his name); the gods of the Cauldron and Saucepan, Kudo-no-Kami and Kobe-no-Kami (anciently called Okitsuhiko and Okitsuhime); the Master of Ponds, Ike-no-Nushi, [130] supposed to make apparition in the form of a serpent; the Goddess of the Rice-pot, O-Kama-Sama; the Gods of the Latrina, who first taught men how to fertilize their fields (these are commonly represented by little figures of paper, having the forms of a man and a woman, but faceless); the Gods of Wood and Fire and Metal; the Gods likewise of Gardens, Fields, Scarecrows, Bridges, Hills, Woods, and Streams; and also the Spirits of Trees (for Japanese mythology has its dryads): most of these are undoubtedly of Shinto. On the other hand, we find the roads under the protection of Buddhist deities chiefly. I have not been able to learn anything regarding gods of boundaries,--termes, as the Latins called them; and one sees only images of the Buddhas at the limits of village territories. But in almost every garden, on the north side, there is a little Shinto shrine, facing what is called the Ki-Mon, or "Demon-Gate,"--that is to say, the direction from which, according to Chinese teaching, all evils come; and these little shrines, dedicated to various Shinto deities, are supposed to protect the home from evil spirits. The belief in the Ki-Mon is obviously a Chinese importation. One may doubt, however, if Chinese influence alone developed the belief that every part of a house,--every beam of it,--and every domestic utensil has its invisible guardian. Considering this belief, it is not surprising that the building of a [131] house--unless the house be in foreign style--is still a religious act, and that the functions of a master-builder include those of a priest. This brings us to the subject of Animism. (I doubt whether any evolutionist of the contemporary school holds to the old-fashioned notion that animism preceded ancestor-worship,--a theory involving the assumption that belief in the spirits of inanimate objects was evolved before the idea of a human ghost had yet been developed.) In Japan it is now as difficult to draw the line between animistic beliefs and the lowest forms of Shinto, as to establish a demarcation between the vegetable and the animal worlds; but the earliest Shinto literature gives no evidence of such a developed animism as that now existing. Probably the development was gradual, and largely influenced by Chinese beliefs. Still, we read in the Ko-ji-ki of "evil gods who glittered like fireflies or were disorderly as mayflies," and of "demons who made rocks, and stumps of trees, and the foam of the green waters to speak,"--showing that animistic or fetichistic notions were prevalent to some extent before the period of Chinese influence. And it is significant that where animism is associated with persistent worship (as in the matter of the reverence paid to strangely shaped stones or trees), the form of the worship is, in most cases, Shinto. Before such objects there is usually [132] to be seen the model of a Shinto gateway,--torii.... With the development of animism, under Chinese and Korean influence, the man of Old Japan found himself truly in a world of spirits and demons. They spoke to him in the sound of tides and of cataracts in the moaning of wind and the whispers of leafage, in the crying of birds, and the trilling of insects, in all the voices of nature. For him all visible motion--whether of waves or grasses or shifting mist or drifting cloud--was ghostly; and the never moving rocks--nay, the very stones by the wayside--were informed with viewless and awful being. [133] WORSHIP AND PURIFICATION We have seen that, in Old Japan, the world of the living was everywhere ruled by the world of the dead,--that the individual, at every moment of his existence, was under ghostly supervision. In his home he was watched by the spirits of his fathers; without it, he was ruled by the god of his district. All about him, and above him, and beneath him were invisible powers of life and death. In his conception of nature all things were ordered by the dead,--light and darkness, weather and season, winds and tides, mist and rain, growth and decay, sickness and health. The viewless atmosphere was a phantom-sea, an ocean of ghost; the soil that he tilled was pervaded by spirit-essence; the trees were haunted and holy; even the rocks and the stones were infused with conscious life .... How might he discharge his duty to the infinite concourse of the invisible? Few scholars could remember the names of all the greater gods, not to speak of the lesser; and no mortal could have found time to address those greater gods by their respective names in his daily [134] prayer. The later Shinto teachers proposed to simplify the duties of the faith by prescribing one brief daily prayer to the gods in general, and special prayers to a few gods in particular; and in thus doing they were most likely confirming a custom already established by necessity. Hirata wrote: "As the number of the gods who possess different functions is very great, it will be convenient to worship by name the most important only, and to include the rest in a general petition." He prescribed ten prayers for persons having time to repeat them, but lightened the duty for busy folk,--observing: "Persons whose daily affairs are so multitudinous that they have not time to go through all the prayers, may content themselves with adoring (1) the residence of the Emperor, (2) the domestic god-shelf,--kamidana, (3) the spirits of their ancestors, (4) their local patron-god, Ujigami, (5) the deity of their particular calling." He advised that the following prayer should be daily repeated before the "god-shelf":-- "Reverently adoring the great god of the two palaces of Ise in the first, place,--the eight hundred myriads of celestial gods,--the eight hundred myriads of terrestrial gods,--the fifteen hundred myriads of gods to whom are consecrated the great and small temples in all provinces, all islands, and all places of the Great Land of Eight Islands,--the fifteen hundred myriads of gods whom they cause to serve them, and the gods of branch-palaces and branch-temples, [135]--and Sohodo-no-Kami* whom I have invited to the shrine set up on this divine shelf, and to whom I offer praises day by day,--I pray with awe that they will deign to correct the unwilling faults which, heard and seen by them, I have committed; and that, blessing and favouring me according to the powers which they severally wield, they will cause me to follow the divine example, and to perform good works in the Way."** [*Sohodo-no-Kami is the god of scarecrows,--protector of the fields.] [**Translated by Satow.] This text is interesting as an example of what Shinto's greatest expounder thought a Shinto prayer should be; and, excepting the reference to So-ho-do-no-Kami, the substance of it is that of the morning prayer still repeated in Japanese households. But the modern prayer is very much shorter.... In Izumo, the oldest Shinto province, the customary morning worship offers perhaps the best example of the ancient rules of devotion. Immediately upon rising, the worshipper performs his ablutions; and after having washed his face and rinsed his mouth, he turns to the sun, claps his hands, and with bowed head reverently utters the simple greeting: "Hail to thee this day, August One!" In thus adoring the sun he is also fulfilling his duty as a subject, paying obeisance to the Imperial Ancestor .... The act is performed out of doors, not kneeling, but standing; and the spectacle of this simple worship is impressive. I can now see in memory,-- [136] just as plainly as I saw with my eyes many years ago, off the wild Oki coast,--the naked figure of a young fisherman erect at the prow of his boat, clapping his hands in salutation to the rising sun, whose ruddy glow transformed him into a statue of bronze. Also I retain a vivid memory of pilgrim-figures poised upon the topmost crags of the summit of Fuji, clapping their hands in prayer, with faces to the East .... Perhaps ten thousand--twenty thousand-years ago all humanity so worshipped the Lord of Day .... After having saluted the sun, the worshipper returns to his house, to pray before the Kamidana and before the tablets of the ancestors. Kneeling, he invokes the great gods of Ise or of Izumo, the gods of the chief temples of his province, the god of his parish-temple also (Ujigami), and finally all the myriads of the deities of Shinto. These prayers are not said aloud. The ancestors are thanked for the foundation of the home; the higher deities are invoked for aid and protection .... As for the custom of bowing in the direction of the Emperor's palace, I am not able to say to what extent it survives in the remoter districts; but I have often seen the reverence performed. Once, too, I saw reverence done immediately in front of the gates of the palace in Tokyo by country-folk on a visit to the capital. They knew me, because I had often sojourned in their village; and on reaching Tokyo [137] they sought me out, and found me, I took them to the palace; and before the main entrance they removed their hats, and bowed, and clapped their hands, just as they would have done when saluting the gods or the rising sun,--and this with a simple and dignified reverence that touched me not a little. The duties of morning worship, which include the placing of offerings before the tablets, are not the only duties of the domestic cult. In a Shinto household, where the ancestors and the higher gods are separately worshipped, the ancestral shrine may be said to correspond with the Roman lararium; while the "god-shelf," with its taima or o-nusa (symbols of those higher gods especially revered by the family), may be compared with the place accorded by Latin custom to the worship of the Penates. Both Shinto cults have their particular feast-days; and, in the case of the ancestor-cult, the feast-days are occasions of religious assembly,--when the relatives of the family should gather to celebrate the domestic rite .... The Shintoist must also take part in the celebration of the festivals of the Ujigami, and must at least aid in the celebration of the nine great national holidays related to the national cult; these nine, out of a total eleven, being occasions of imperial ancestor-worship. The nature of the public rites varied according to [138] the rank of the gods. Offerings and prayers were made to all; but the greater deities were worshipped with exceeding ceremony. To-day the offerings usually consist of food and rice-wine, together with symbolic articles representing the costlier gifts of woven stuffs presented by ancient custom. The ceremonies include processions, music, singing, and dancing. At the very small shrines there are few ceremonies,--only offerings of food are presented. But at the great temples there are hierarchies of priests and priestesses (miko)--usually daughters of priests; and the ceremonies are elaborate and solemn. It is particularly at the temples of Ise (where, down to the fourteenth century the high-priestess was a daughter of emperors), or at the great temple of Izumo, that the archaic character of the ceremonial can be studied to most advantage. There, in spite of the passage of that huge wave of Buddhism, which for a period almost submerged the more ancient faith, all things remain as they were a score of centuries ago;--Time, in those haunted precincts, would seem to have slept, as in the enchanted palaces of fairy-tale. The mere shapes of the buildings, weird and tall, startle by their unfamiliarity. Within, all is severely plain and pure: there are no images, no ornaments, no symbols visible--except those strange paper-cuttings (gohei), suspended to upright rods, which are symbols of offerings and also tokens of the [139] viewless. By the number of them in the sanctuary, you know the number of the deities to whom the place is consecrate. There is nothing imposing but the space, the silence, and the suggestion of the past. The innermost shrine is veiled: it contains, perhaps, a mirror of bronze, an ancient sword, or other object enclosed in multiple wrappings: that is all. For this faith, older than icons, needs no images: its gods are ghosts; and the void stillness of its shrines compels more awe than tangible representation could inspire. Very strange, to Western eyes at least, are the rites, the forms of the worship, the shapes of sacred objects. Not by any modern method must the sacred fire be lighted,--the fire that cooks the food of the gods: it can be kindled only in the most ancient of ways, with a wooden fire-drill. The chief priests are robed in the sacred colour,--white,--and wear headdresses of a shape no longer seen elsewhere: high caps of the kind formerly worn by lords and princes. Their assistants wear various colours, according to grade; and the faces of none are completely shaven;--some wear full beards, others the mustache only. The actions and attitudes of these hierophants are dignified, yet archaic, in a degree difficult to describe. Each movement is regulated by tradition; and to perform well the functions of a Kannushi, a long disciplinary preparation is necessary. The office is hereditary; the training begins in boyhood; and [140] the impassive deportment eventually acquired is really a wonderful thing. Officiating, the Kannushi seems rather a statue than a man,--an image moved by invisible strings;--and, like the gods, he never winks. Not at least observably.... Once, during a great Shinto procession, several Japanese friends, and I myself, undertook to watch a young priest on horseback, in order to see how long he could keep from winking; and none of us were able to detect the slightest movement of eyes or eyelids, notwithstanding that the priest's horse became restive during the time that we were watching. The principal incidents of the festival ceremonies within the great temples are the presentation of the offerings, the repetition of the ritual, and the dancing of the priestesses. Each of these performances retains a special character rigidly fixed by tradition. The food-offerings are served upon archaic vessels of unglazed pottery (red earthenware mostly): boiled rice pressed into cones of the form of a sugar-loaf, various preparations of fish and of edible sea-weed, fruits and fowls, rice-wine presented in jars of immemorial shape. These offerings are carried into the temple upon white wooden trays of curious form, and laid upon white wooden tables of equally curious form;--the faces of the bearers being covered, below the eyes, with sheets of white paper, in order that their breath may [141] not contaminate the food of the gods; and the trays, for like reason, must be borne at arms' length .... In ancient times the offerings would seem to have included things much more costly than food,--if we may credit the testimony of what are probably the oldest documents extant in the Japanese tongue, the Shinto rituals, or norito.* The following excerpt from Satow's translation of the ritual prayer to the Wind-gods of Tatsuta is interesting, not only as a fine example of the language of the norito, but also as indicating the character of the great ceremonies in early ages, and the nature of the offerings:-- [*Several have been translated by Satow, whose opinion of their antiquity is here cited; and translations have also been made into German.] "As the great offerings set up for the Youth-god, I set up various sorts of offerings: for Clothes, bright cloth, glittering cloth, soft cloth, and coarse cloth,--and the five kinds of things, a mantlet, a spear, a horse furnished with a saddle;--for the Maiden-god I set up various sorts of offerings--providing Clothes, a golden thread-box, a golden tatari, a golden skein-holder, bright cloth, glittering cloth, soft cloth, and coarse cloth, and the five kinds of things, a horse furnished with a saddle;--as to Liquor, I raise high the beer-jars, fill and range-in-a-row the bellies of the beer-jars; soft grain and coarse grain;--as to things which dwell in the hills, things soft of hair and things coarse of hair;--as to things which grow in the great field--plain, sweet herbs and bitter herbs;--as to things which dwell in the blue sea-plain, things broad of fin and things narrow of fin--down to the weeds of the offing and weeds of the [142] shore. And if the sovran gods will take these great offerings which I set up,--piling them up like a range of hills,--peacefully in their hearts, as peaceful offerings and satisfactory offerings; and if the sovran gods, deigning not to visit the things produced by, the great People of the region under heaven with bad winds and rough waters, will open and bless them,--I will at the autumn service set up the first fruits, raising high the beer-jars, filling and ranging-in-rows the bellies of the beer-jars,--and drawing them hither in juice and in ear, in many hundred rice-plants and a thousand rice-plants. And for this purpose the princes and councillors and all the functionaries, the servants of the six farms of the country of Yamato--even to the males and females of them--have all come and assembled in the fourth month of this year, and, plunging down the root of the neck cormorant-wise in the presence of the sovran gods, fulfil their praise as the Sun of to-day rises in glory."... The offerings are no longer piled up "like a range of hills," nor do they include all things dwelling in the mountains and in the sea; but the imposing ritual remains, and the ceremony is always impressive. Not the least interesting part of it is the sacred dance. While the gods are supposed to be partaking of the food and wine set out before their shrines, the girl-priestesses, robed in crimson and white, move gracefully to the sound of drums and flutes,--waving fans, or shaking bunches of tiny bells as they circle about the sanctuary. According to our Western notions. the performance of the [143] miko could scarcely be called dancing; but it is a graceful spectacle, and very curious,--for every step and attitude is regulated by traditions of unknown antiquity. As for the plaintive music, no Western ear can discern in it anything resembling a real melody; but the gods should find delight in it, because it is certainly performed for them to-day exactly as it used to be performed twenty centuries ago. I speak of the ceremonies especially as I have witnessed them in Izumo: they vary somewhat according to cult and province. At the shrines of Ise, Kasuga, Kompira, and several others which I visited, the ordinary priestesses are children; and when they have reached the nubile age, they retire from the service. At Kitzuki the priestesses are grown-up women: their office is hereditary; and they are permitted to retain it even after marriage. Formerly the Miko was more than a mere officiant: the songs which she is still obliged to learn indicate that she was originally offered to the gods as a bride. Even yet her touch is holy; the grain sown by her hand is blessed. At some time in the past she seems to have been also a pythoness: the spirits of the gods possessed her and spoke through her lips. All the poetry of this most ancient of religions centres in the figure of its little Vestal,--child-bride of ghosts,--as she flutters, [144] like some wonderful white-and-crimson butterfly, before the shrine of the Invisible. Even in these years of change, when she must go to the public school, she continues to represent all that is delightful in Japanese girlhood; for her special home-training keeps her reverent, innocent, dainty in all her little ways, and worthy to remain the pet of the gods. The history of the higher forms of ancestor-worship in other countries would lead us to suppose that the public ceremonies of the Shinto-cult must include some rite of purification. As a matter of fact, the most important of all Shinto ceremonies is the ceremony of purification,--o-harai, as it is called, which term signifies the casting-out or expulsion of evils .... In ancient Athens a corresponding ceremony took place every year; in Rome, every four years. The o-harai is performed twice every year,--in the sixth month and the twelfth month by the ancient calendar. It used to be not less obligatory than the Roman lustration; and the idea behind the obligation was the same as that which inspired the Roman laws on the subject .... So long as men believe that the welfare of the living depends upon the will of the dead,--that all happenings in the world are ordered by spirits of different characters, evil as well as good,--that every bad action lends additional power to the viewless [145] forces of destruction, and therefore endangers the public prosperity,--so long will the necessity of a public purification remain an article of common faith. The presence in any community of even one person who has offended the gods, consciously or unwillingly, is a public misfortune, a public peril. Yet it is not possible for all men to live so well as never to vex the gods by thought, word, or deed,--through passion or ignorance or carelessness. "Every one," declares Hirata, "is certain to commit accidental offences, however careful he may be... Evil acts and words are of two kinds: those of which we are conscious, and those of which we are not conscious .... It is better to assume that we have committed such unconscious offences." Now it should be remembered that for the man of Old Japan,--as for the Greek or the Roman citizen of early times,--religion consisted chiefly in the exact observance of multitudinous custom; and that it was therefore difficult to know whether, in performing the duties of the several cults, one had not inadvertently displeased the Unseen. As a means of maintaining and assuring the religious purity of the people periodical lustration was consequently deemed indispensable. From the earliest period Shinto exacted scrupulous cleanliness --indeed, we might say that it regarded physical impurity as identical with moral impurity, and intolerable to the gods. It has [146] always been, and still remains, a religion of ablutions. The Japanese love of cleanliness--indicated by the universal practice of daily bathing, and by the irreproachable condition of their homes has been maintained, and was probably initiated, by their religion. Spotless cleanliness being required by the rites of ancestor-worship,--in the temple, in the person of the officiant, and in the home,--this rule of purity was naturally extended by degrees to all the conditions of existence. And besides the great periodical ceremonies of purification, a multitude of minor lustrations were exacted by the cult. This was the case also, it will be remembered in the early Greek and Roman civilizations--the citizen had to submit to purification upon almost every important occasion of existence. There were lustrations indispensable at birth, marriage, and death; lustrations on the eve of battle; lustrations at regular periods, of the dwelling, estate, district, or city. And, as in Japan, no one could approach a temple without a preliminary washing of hands. But ancient Shinto exacted more than the Greek or the Roman cult: it required the erection of special houses for birth, --"parturition-houses"; special houses for the consummation of marriage,--"nuptial-huts"; and special buildings for the dead,--"mourning-houses." Formerly women were obliged during the period of menstruation, as well as during the time of confinement, to live apart. These harsher archaic customs [147] have almost disappeared, except in one or two remote districts, and in the case of certain priestly families; but the general rules as to purification, and as to the times and circumstances forbidding approach to holy places, are still everywhere obeyed. Purity of heart is not less insisted upon than physical purity; and the great rite of lustration, performed every six months, is of course a moral purification. It is performed not only at the great temples, and at all the Ujigami, but likewise in every home _________________________________________________________________ [*On the kamidana, "or god-shelf," there is usually placed a kind of oblong paper-box containing fragments of the wands used by the priests of Ise at the great national purification-ceremony, or o-harai. This box is commonly called by the name of the ceremony, o-harai, or "august purification," and is inscribed with the names of the great gods of Ise. The presence of this object is supposed to protect the home; but it should be replaced by a new o-harai at the expiration of six months; for the virtue of the charm is supposed to last only during the interval between two official purifications. This distribution to thousands of homes of fragments of the wands, used to "drive away evils" at the time of the Ise lustration, represents of course the supposed extension of the high-priest's protection to those homes until the time of the next o-harai. The modern domestic form of the harai is very simple. Each Shinto parish-temple furnishes to all its Ujiko, or parishioners, small paper-cuttings called hitogata ("mankind-shapes"), representing figures of men, women, and children as in silhouette,--only that the paper is white, and folded curiously. Each household receives a number of hitogata corresponding to the number of its members,--"men-shapes" for the men and boys, "women-shapes"] _________________________________________________________________ [148] for the women and girls. Each person in the house touches his head, face, limbs, and body with one of these hitogata; repeating the while a Shinto invocation, and praying that any misfortune or sickness incurred by reason of offences involuntarily committed against the gods (for in Shinto belief sickness and misfortune are divine punishments) may be mercifully taken away. Upon each hitogata is then written the age and sex (not the name) of the person for whom it was furnished; and when this has been done, all are returned to the parish-temple, and there burnt, with rites of purification. Thus the community is "lustrated" every six Months. In the old Greek and Latin cities lustration was accompanied with registration. The attendance of every citizen at the ceremony was held to be so necessary that one who wilfully failed to attend might be whipped and sold as a slave. Non-attendance involved loss of civic rights. It would seem that in Old Japan also every member of a community was obliged to be present at the rite; but I have not been able to learn whether any registration was made upon such occasions. Probably it would have been superfluous: the Japanese individual was not officially recognized; the family-group alone was responsible, and the attendance of the several members would have been assured by the responsibility of the group. The use of the hitogata, on which the name is not written, but only the sex and age [149] of the worshipper, is probably modern, and of Chinese origin. Official registration existed, even in early times; but it appears to have had no particular relation to the o-harai; and the registers were kept, it seems, not by the Shinto, but by the Buddhist parish-priests .... In concluding these remarks about the o-harai, I need scarcely add that special rites were performed in cases of accidental religious defilement, and that any person judged to have sinned against the rules of the public cult had to submit to ceremonial purification. Closely related by origin to the rites of purification are sundry ascetic practices of Shinto. It is not an essentially ascetic religion: it offers flesh and wine to its gods; and it prescribes only such forms of self-denial as ancient custom and decency require. Nevertheless, some of its votaries perform extraordinary austerities on special occasions,--austerities which always include much cold-water bathing. It is not uncommon for the very fervent worshipper to invoke the gods as he stands naked under the ice-cold rush of a cataract in midwinter .... But the most curious phase of this Shinto asceticism is represented by a custom still prevalent in remote districts. According to this custom a community yearly appoints one of its citizens to devote himself wholly to the gods on behalf of the rest. During the term of his consecration, this communal representative [150] must separate from his family, must not approach women, must avoid all places of amusement, must eat only food cooked with sacred fire, must abstain from wine, must bathe in fresh cold water several times a day, must repeat particular prayers at certain hours, and must keep vigil upon certain nights. When he has performed these duties of abstinence and purification for the specified time, he becomes religiously free; and another man is then elected to take his place. The prosperity of the settlement is supposed to depend upon the exact observance by its representative of the duties prescribed: should any public misfortune occur, he would be suspected of having broken his vows. Anciently, in the case of a common misfortune, the representative was put to death. In the little town of Mionoseki, where I first learned of this custom, the communal representative is called ichi-nen-gannushi ("one-year god-master"); and his full term of vicarious atonement is twelve months. I was told that elders are usually appointed for this duty,--young men very seldom. In ancient times such a communal representative was called by a name signifying "abstainer." References to the custom have been found in Chinese notices of Japan dating from a time before the beginning of Japanese authentic history. Every persistent form of ancestor-worship has its [151] system or systems of divination; and Shinto exemplifies the general law. Whether divination ever obtained in ancient Japan the official importance which it assumed among the Greeks and the Romans is at present doubtful. But long before the introduction of Chinese astrology, magic, and fortune-telling, the Japanese practised various kinds of divination, as is proved by their ancient poetry, their records, and their rituals. We find mention also of official diviners, attached to the great cults. There was divination by bones, by birds, by rice, by barley-gruel, by footprints, by rods planted in the ground, and by listening in public ways to the speech of people passing by. Nearly all--probably all--of these old methods of divination are still in popular use. But the earliest form of official divination was performed by scorching the shoulder-blade of a deer, or other animal, and observing the cracks produced by the heat.* Tortoise-shells were afterwards used for the same purpose. Diviners were especially attached, it appears, to the imperial palace; and Motowori, writing in the latter half of the eighteenth century, speaks of divination as still being, in that epoch, a part of the imperial function. "To the end of time," he said, "the Mikado is the child of the Sun-goddess. His mind is in perfect harmony of thought and feeling with hers. He does not seek out new inventions; but he rules in accordance with precedents which date from the Age of the Gods; and if he is ever in doubt, he has recourse to divination, which reveals to him the mind of the great goddess." [*Concerning this form of divination, Satow remarks that it was practised by the Mongols in the time of Genghis Khan, and is still practised by the Khirghiz Tartars,--facts of strong interest in view of the probable origin of the early Japanese tribes. For instances of ancient official divination see Aston's translation of the Nihongi, Vol. I, pp. 157, 189, 227, 299, 237.] [152] Within historic times at least, divination would not seem to have been much used in warfare,--certainly not to the extent that it was used by the Greek and Roman armies. The greatest Japanese captains,--such as Hideyoshi and Nobunaga--were decidedly irreverent as to omens. Probably the Japanese, at an early period of their long military history, learned by experience that the general who conducts his campaign according to omens must always be at a hopeless disadvantage in dealing with a skilful enemy who cares nothing about omens. Among the ancient popular forms of divination which still survive, the most commonly practised in households is divination by dry rice. For the public, Chinese divination is still in great favour; but it is interesting to observe that the Japanese fortune-teller invariably invokes the Shinto gods before consulting his Chinese books, and maintains a Shinto shrine in his reception-room. [153] We have seen that the developments of ancestor-worship in Japan present remarkable analogies with the developments of ancestor-worship in ancient Europe,--especially in regard to the public cult, with its obligatory rites of purification. But Shinto seems nevertheless to represent conditions of ancestor-worship less developed than those which we are accustomed to associate with early Greek and Roman life; and the coercion which it exercised appears to have been proportionally more rigid. The existence of the individual worshipper was ordered not merely in relation to the family and the community, but even in relation to inanimate things. Whatever his occupation might be, some god presided over it; whatever tools he might use, they had to be used in such manner as tradition prescribed for all admitted to the craft-cult. It was necessary that the carpenter should so perform his work as to honour the deity of carpenters,--that the smith should fulfil his daily task so as to honour the god of the bellows,--that the farmer should never fail in respect to the earth-god, and the food-god, and the scare-crow god, and the spirits of the trees--about his habitation. Even the domestic utensils were sacred: the servant could not dare to forget the presence of the deities of the cooking-range, the hearth, the cauldron, the brazier,--or the supreme necessity of keeping the fire pure. The professions, not less [154] than the trades, were under divine patronage: the physician, the teacher, the artist--each had his religious duties to observe, his special traditions to obey. The scholar, for example, could not dare to treat his writing-implements with disrespect, or put written paper to vulgar uses: such conduct would offend the god of calligraphy. Nor were women ruled less religiously than men in their various occupations: the spinners and weaving-maidens were bound to revere the Weaving-goddess and the Goddess of Silkworms; the sewing-girl was taught to respect her needles; and in all homes there was observed a certain holiday upon which offerings were made to the Spirits of Needles. In Samurai families the warrior was commanded to consider his armour and his weapons as holy things: to keep them in beautiful order was an obligation of which the neglect might bring misfortune in the time of combat; and on certain days offerings were set before the bows and spears, arrows and swords, and other war-implements, in the alcove of the family guest-room. Gardens, too, were holy; and there were rules to be observed in their management, lest offence should be given to the gods of trees and flowers. Carefulness, cleanliness, dustlessness, were everywhere enforced as religious obligations. ... It has often been remarked in these latter days that the Japanese do not keep their public offices, their railway stations, their new factory-buildings, [155] thus scrupulously clean. But edifices built foreign style, with foreign material, under foreign supervision, and contrary to every local tradition, must seem to old-fashioned thinking God-forsaken places; and servants amid such unhallowed surroundings do not feel the invisible about them, the weight of pious custom, the silent claim of beautiful and simple things to human respect. [156] [157] THE RULE OF THE DEAD It should now be evident to the reader that the ethics of Shinto were all comprised in the doctrine of unqualified obedience to customs originating, for the most part, in the family cult. Ethics were not different from religion; religion was not different from government; and the very word for government signified "matters-of-religion." All government ceremonies were preceded by prayer and sacrifice; and from the highest rank of society to the lowest every person was subject to the law of tradition. To obey was piety; to disobey was impious; and the rule of obedience was enforced upon each individual by the will of the community to which he belonged. Ancient morality consisted in the minute observance of rules of conduct regarding the household, the community, and the higher authority. But these rules of behaviour mostly represented the outcome of social experience; and it was scarcely possible to obey them faithfully, and yet to remain a bad man. They commanded reverence toward the Unseen, respect for authority, affection to parents, [158] tenderness to wife and children, kindness to neighbours, kindness to dependants, diligence and exactitude in labour, thrift and cleanliness in habit. Though at first morality signified no more than obedience to tradition, tradition itself gradually became identified with true morality. To imagine the consequent social condition is, of course, somewhat difficult for the modern mind. Among ourselves, religious ethics and social ethics have long been practically dissociated; and the latter have become, with the gradual weakening of faith, more imperative and important than the former. Most of us learn, sooner or later in life, that it is not enough to keep the ten commandments, and that it is much less dangerous to break most of the commandments in a quiet way than to violate social custom. But in Old Japan there was no distinction tolerated between ethics and custom--between moral requirements and social obligations: convention identified both, and to conceal a breach of either was impossible,--as privacy did not exist. Moreover the unwritten commandments were not limited to ten; they were numbered by hundreds, and the least infringement was punishable, not merely as a blunder, but as a sin. Neither in his own home nor anywhere else could the ordinary person do as he pleased; and the extraordinary person was under the surveillance of zealous dependants whose constant duty was to reprove any breach of usage. The religion capable [159] of regulating every act of existence by the force of common opinion requires no catechism. Early moral custom must be coercive custom. But as many habits, at first painfully formed under compulsion only, become easy through constant repetition, and at last automatic, so the conduct compelled through many generations by religious and civil authority, tends eventually to become almost instinctive. Much depends, no doubt, upon the degree to which religious compulsion is hindered by exterior causes,--by long-protracted war, for example,--and in Old Japan there was interference extraordinary. Nevertheless, the influence of Shinto accomplished wonderful things,--evolved a national type of character worthy, in many ways, of earnest admiration. The ethical sentiment developed in that character differed widely from our own; but it was exactly adapted to the social requirements. For this national type of moral character was invented the name Yamato-damashi (or Yamato-gokoro),--the Soul of Yamato (or Heart of Yamato),--the appellation of the old province of Yamato, seat of the early emperors, being figuratively used for the entire country. We might correctly, though less literally, interpret the expression Yamato-damashi as "The Soul of Old Japan." It was in reference to this "Soul of Old Japan" that the great Shinto scholars of the eighteenth [160] and nineteenth centuries put forth their bold assertion that conscience alone was a sufficient ethical guide. They declared the high quality of the Japanese conscience a proof of the divine origin of the race. "Human beings," wrote Motowori, "having been produced by the spirits of the two Creative Deities, are naturally endowed with the knowledge of what they ought to do, and of what they ought to refrain from doing. It is unnecessary for them to trouble their minds with systems of morality. If a system of morals were necessary, men would be inferior to animals,--all of whom are endowed with the knowledge of what they ought to do, only in an inferior degree to men."*... [*All of these extracts are quoted from Satow's great essay on the Shinto revival.] Mabuchi, at an earlier day, had made a comparison between Japanese and Chinese morality, greatly to the disadvantage of the latter. "In ancient times," said Mabuchi, "when men's dispositions were straightforward, a complicated system of morals was unnecessary. It would naturally happen that bad actions might be occasionally committed; but the straightforwardness of men's dispositions would prevent the evil from being concealed and so growing in extent. So in those days it was unnecessary to have a doctrine of right and wrong. But the Chinese, being bad at heart, in spite of the teaching which they got, were good [161] only on the outside; so their bad acts became of such magnitude that society was thrown into disorder. The Japanese, being straightforward, could do without teaching." Motowori repeated these ideas in a slightly different way: "It is because the Japanese were truly moral in their practice, that, they required no theory of morals; and the fuss made by the Chinese about theoretical morals is owing to their laxity, in practice.... To have learned that there is no Way [ethical system] to be learned and practised, is really to have learned to practise the Way of the Gods." At a later day Hirata wrote "Learn to stand in awe of the Unseen, and that will prevent you from doing wrong. Cultivate the conscience implanted in you then you will never wander from the Way." Though the sociologist may smile at these declarations of moral superiority (especially as based on the assumption that the race had been better in primeval times, when yet fresh from the hands of the gods), there was in them a grain of truth. When Mabuchi and Motowori wrote, the nation had been long subjected to a discipline of almost incredible minuteness in detail, and of extraordinary rigour in application. And this discipline had actually brought into existence a wonderful average of character,--a character of surprising patience, unselfishness, honesty, kindliness, and docility combined with high courage. But only the evolutionist [162] can imagine what the cost of developing that character must have been. It is necessary here to observe that the discipline to which the nation had been subjected up to the age of the great Shinto writers, seems to have had a curious evolutional history of its own. In primitive times it had been much less uniform, less complex, less minutely organized, though not less implacable; and it had continued to develop and elaborate more and more with the growth and consolidation of society, until, under the Tokugawa Shogunate the possible maximum of regulation was reached. In other words, the yoke had been made heavier and heavier in proportion to the growth of the national strength,--in proportion to the power of the people to bear it.... We have seen that, from the beginning of this civilization, the whole life of the citizen was ordered for him: his occupation, his marriage, his rights of fatherhood, his rights to hold or to dispose of property,--all these matters were settled by religious custom. We have also seen that outside as well as inside of his home, his actions were under supervision, and that a single grave breach of usage might cause his social ruin,--in which case he would be given to understand that he was not merely a social, but also a religious offender; that the communal god was angry with him; and that to pardon his fault might [163] provoke the divine vengeance against the entire settlement. But it yet remains to be seen what rights were left him by the central authority ruling his district,--which authority represented a third form of religious despotism from which there was no appeal in ordinary cases. Material for the study of the old laws and customs have not yet been collected in sufficient quantity to yield us full information as to the conditions of all classes before Meiji. But a great deal of precious work has been accomplished in this direction by American scholars; and the labours of Professor Wigmore and of the late Dr. Simmons have furnished documentary evidence from which much can be learned about the legal status of the masses during the Tokugawa period. This, as I have said, was the period of the most elaborated regulation. The extent to which the people were controlled can be best inferred from the nature and number of the sumptuary laws to which they were subjected. Sumptuary laws in Old Japan probably exceeded in multitude and minuteness anything of which Western legal history yields record. Rigidly as the family-cult dictated behaviour in the home, strictly as the commune enforced its standards of communal duty,--just so rigidly and strictly did the rulers of the nation dictate how the individual--man, woman, or child--should dress, walk, sit, [164] speak, work, eat, drink. Amusements were not less unmercifully regulated than were labours. Every class of Japanese society was under sumptuary regulation,--the degree of regulation varying in different centuries; and this kind of legislation appears to have been established at an early period. It is recorded that, in the year 681 A.D., the Emperor Temmu regulated the costumes of all classes,--"from the Princes of the Blood down to the common people,--and the wearing of headdresses and girdles, as well as of all kinds of coloured stuffs,--according to a scale."* [* See Nihongi Aston's translation, Vol. II, pp. 343, 349, 350.] The costumes and the colours to be worn by priests and nuns had been already fixed, by an edict issued in 679 A.D. Afterwards these regulations were greatly multiplied and detailed. But it was under the Tokugawa rulers, a thousand years later, that sumptuary laws obtained their most remarkable development; and the nature of them is best: indicated by the regulations applying to the peasantry. Every detail of the farmer's existence was prescribed for by law,--from the size, form, and cost of his dwelling, down even to such trifling matters as the number and the quality of the dishes to be served to him at meal-times. A farmer with an income of 100 koku of rice--(let us say 90 to 100 pounds per annum)--might build a house 60 feet long, but no longer: he was forbidden to construct it with a room containing an alcove; and he was not [165] allowed--except by special permission--to roof it with tiles. None of his family were permitted to wear silk; and in case of the marriage of his daughter to a person legally entitled to wear silk, the bridegroom was to be requested not to wear silk at the wedding. Three kinds of viands only were to be served at the wedding of such a farmer's daughter or son; and the quality as well as the quantity of the soup, fish, or sweetmeats offered to the wedding-guests, were legally fixed. So likewise the number of the wedding-gifts: even the cost of the presents, of rice-wine and dried fish was prescribed, and the quality of the single fan which it was permissible to offer the bride. At no time was a farmer allowed to make any valuable presents to his friends. At a funeral he might serve the guests with certain kinds of plain food; but if rice-wine were served it was not to be served in wine-cups,--only in soup-cups! (The latter regulation probably referred to Shinto funerals in especial.) On the occasion of a child's birth, the grandparents were allowed to make only four presents (according to custom),--including "one cotton baby-dress"; and the values of the presents were fixed. On the occasion of the Boy's Festival, the presents to be given to the child by the whole family, including grandparents, were limited by law to "one paper-flag," and "two toy-spears." ... A farmer whose, property was assessed at 50 koku was forbidden to [166] build a house more than 45 feet long. At the wedding of his daughter the gift-girdle was not to exceed 50 sen in value; and it was forbidden to serve more than one kind of soup at the wedding-feast.... A farmer with a property assessed at 20 koku was not allowed to build a house more than 36 feet long, or to use in building it such superior qualities of wood as keyaki or hinoki. The roof of his house was to be made of bamboo-thatch or straw; and he was strictly forbidden the comfort of floor-mats. On the occasion of the wedding of his daughter he was forbidden to have fish or any roasted food served at the wedding-feast. The women of his family were not allowed to wear leather sandals: they might wear only straw-sandals or wooden clogs; and the thongs of the sandals or the clogs were to be made of cotton. The women were further forbidden to wear hair-bindings of silk, or hair-ornaments of tortoise-shells; but they might wear wooden combs and combs of bone--not ivory. The men were forbidden to wear stockings, and their sandals were to be made of bamboo.* [*There are sandals or clogs made of bamboo-wood, but the meaning here is bamboo-grass.] They were also forbidden to use sun-shades --hi-gasa--or paper-umbrellas.... A farmer assessed at 10 koku was forbidden to build a house more than 30 feet long. The women of his family were required to wear sandals with thongs of [167] bamboo-grass. At the wedding of his son or daughter one present only was allowed,--a quilt-chest. At the birth of his child one present only was to be made: namely, one toy-spear, in the case of a boy; or one paper-doll, or one "mud-doll," in the case of a girl... As for the more unfortunate class of farmers, having no land of their own, and officially termed mizunomi, or "water-drinkers," it is scarcely necessary to remark that these were still more severely restricted in regard to food, apparel, etc. They were not even allowed, for example, to have a quilt-chest as a wedding-present. But a fair idea of the complexity of these humiliating restrictions can only be obtained by reading the documents published by Professor Wigmore, which chiefly consist of paragraphs like these:-- "The collar and the sleeve-ends of the clothes may be ornamented with silk, and an obi (soft girdle) of silk or crepe-silk may be worn--but not in public." ... "A family ranking less than 20 koku must use the Takeda-wan (Takeda rice-bowl), and the Nikko-zen (Nikko tray).".. (These were utensils of the cheapest kind of lacquer-ware.) "Large farmers or chiefs of Kumi may use umbrellas; but small farmers and farm-labourers must use only mino (straw-raincoats), and broad straw-hats." ... These documents published by Professor Wigmore contain only the regulations issued for the daimiate of Maizuru; but regulations equally [168] minute and vexatious appear to have been enforced throughout the whole country. In Izumo I found that, prior to Meiji, there were sumptuary laws prescribing not only the material of the dresses to be worn by the various classes, but even the colours of them, and the designs of the patterns. The size of rooms, as well as the size of houses, was fixed there by law,--also the height of buildings and of fences, the number of windows, the material of construction.... It is difficult for the Western mind to understand how human beings could patiently submit to laws that regulated not only the size of one's dwelling, and the cost of its furniture, but even the substance and character of clothing,--not only the expense of a wedding outfit, but the quality of the marriage-feast, and the quality of the vessels in which the food was to be served,--not only the kind of ornaments to be worn in a woman's hair, but the material of the thongs of her sandals,--not only the price of presents to be made to friends, but the character and the cost of the cheapest toy to be given to a child. And the peculiar constitution of society made it possible to enforce this sumptuary legislation by communal will; the people were obliged to coerce themselves! Each community, as we have seen, had been organized in groups of five or more households, called kumi; and the heads of the households forming a kumi elected one of their number as kumi-gashira, or group-chief, directly [169] responsible to the higher authority. The kumi was accountable for the conduct of each and all of its members; and each member was in some sort responsible for the rest. "Every member of a kumi," declares one of the documents above mentioned, "must carefully watch the conduct of his fellow-members. If any one violates these regulations, without due excuse, he is to be punished; and his kumi will also be held responsible." Responsible even for the serious offence of giving more than one paper-doll to a child! ... But we should remember that in early Greek and Roman societies there was much legislation of a similar kind. The laws of Sparta regulated the way in which a woman should dress her hair; the laws of Athens fixed the number of her robes. At Rome, in early times, women were forbidden to drink wine; and a similar law existed in the Greek cities of Miletus and Massilia. In Rhodes and Byzantium the citizen was forbidden to shave; in Sparta he was forbidden to wear a moustache. (I need scarcely refer to the later Roman laws regulating the cost of marriage-feasts, and the number of guests that might be invited to a banquet; for this legislation was directed chiefly against luxury.) The astonishment evoked by Japanese sumptuary laws, particularly as inflicted upon the peasantry, is justified less by their general character than by their implacable minuteness,--their ferocity of detail.... [170] Where a man's life was legally ordered even to the least particulars,--even to the quality of his foot-gear and head-gear, the cost of his wife's hairpins, and the price of his child's doll,--one could hardly suppose that freedom of speech would have been tolerated. It did not exist; and the degree to which speech became regulated can be imagined only by those who have studied the spoken tongue. The hierarchical organization of society was faithfully reflected in the conventional organization of language,--in the ordination of pronouns, nouns, and verbs,--in the grades conferred upon adjectives by prefixes or suffixes. With the same merciless exactitude which prescribed rules for dress, diet, and manner of life, all utterance was regulated both negatively and positively,--but positively much more than negatively. There was little insistence upon what was not to be said; but rules innumerable decided exactly what should be said,--the word to be chosen, the phrase to be used. Early training enforced caution in this regard: everybody had to learn that only certain verbs and nouns and pronouns were lawful when addressing superiors, and other words permissible only when speaking to equals or to inferiors. Even the uneducated were obliged to learn something about this. But education cultivated a system of verbal etiquette so multiform that only the training of years could enable any one to master it. Among the [171] higher classes this etiquette developed almost inconceivable complexity. Grammatical modifications of language, which, by implication, exalted the person addressed or humbly depreciated the person addressing, must have come into general use at some very early period; but under subsequent Chinese influence these forms of propitiatory speech multiplied exceedingly. From the Mikado himself--who still makes use of personal pronouns, or at least pronominal expressions, forbidden to any other mortal--down through all the grades of society, each class had an "I" peculiarly its own. Of terms corresponding to "you" or "thou" there are still sixteen in use; but formerly there were many more. There are yet eight different forms of the second person singular used only in addressing children, pupils, or servants.* Honorific or humble forms of nouns indicating relationship were similarly multiplied and graded: there are still in use nine terms signifying "father," nine terms signifying "mother," eleven terms for "wife," eleven terms for "son," nine terms for "daughter," and seven terms for "husband." The rules of the verb, above all, were complicated by the exigencies of etiquette to a [172] degree of which no idea can be given in any brief statement.... At nineteen or twenty years of age a person carefully trained from childhood might have learned all the necessary verbal usages of respectable society; but for a mastery of the etiquette of superior converse many more years of study and experience were required. With the unceasing multiplication of ranks and classes there came into existence a corresponding variety of forms of language: it was possible to ascertain to what class a man or a woman belonged by listening to his or to her conversation. The written, like the spoken tongue, was regulated by strict convention: the forms used by women were not those used by men; and those differences in verbal etiquette arising from the different training of the sexes resulted in the creation of a special epistolary style,--a "woman's language," which remains in use. And this sex-differentiation of language was not confined to letter-writing: there was a woman's language also of converse, varying according to class. Even to-day, in ordinary conversation, an educated woman makes use of words and phrases not employed by men. Samurai women especially had their particular forms of expression in feudal times; and it is still possible to decide, from the speech of any woman brought up according to the old home-training, whether she belongs to a Samurai family. [*The sociologist will of course understand that these facts are not by any means inconsistent with that very sparing use of pronouns so amusingly discussed in Percival Lowell's "Soul of the Far East." In societies where subjection is extreme "there is an avoidance of the use of personal pronouns," though, as Herbert Spencer points out in illustrating this law, it is just among such societies that the most elaborate distinctions in pronominal forms of address are to be found.] [173] Of course the matter as well as the manner of converse was restricted; and the nature of the restraints upon free speech can be inferred from the nature of the restraints upon freedom of demeanour. Demeanour was most elaborately and mercilessly regulated, not merely as to obeisances, of which there were countless grades, varying according to sex as well as class,--but even in regard to facial expression, the manner of smiling, the conduct of the breath, the way of sitting, standing, walking, rising. Everybody was trained from infancy in this etiquette of expression and deportment. At what period it first became a mark of disrespect to betray, by look or gesture, any feeling of grief or pain in the presence of a superior, we cannot know; there is reason to believe that the most perfect self-control in this regard was enforced from prehistoric times. But there was gradually developed--partly, perhaps, under Chinese teaching--a most elaborate code of deportment which exacted very much more than impassiveness. It required not only that any sense of anger or pain should be denied all outward expression, but that the sufferer's face and manner should indicate the contrary feeling. Sullen submission was an offence; mere impassive obedience inadequate: the proper degree of submission should manifest itself by a pleasant smile, and by a soft and happy tone of voice. The smile, however, was also regulated. [174] One had to be careful about the quality of the smile: it was a mortal offence, for example, so to smile in addressing a superior, that the back teeth could be seen. In the military class especially this code of demeanour was ruthlessly enforced. Samurai women were required, like the women of Sparta, to show signs of joy on hearing that their husbands or sons had fallen in battle: to betray any natural feeling under the circumstances was a grave breach of decorum. And in all classes demeanour was regulated so severely that even to-day the manners of the people everywhere still reveal the nature of the old discipline. The strangest fact is that the old-fashioned manners appear natural rather than acquired, instinctive rather than made by training. The bow,--the sibilant in drawing of the breath which accompanies the prostration, and is practised also in praying to the gods,--the position of the hands upon the floor in the moment of greeting or of farewell,--the way of sitting or rising or walking in presence of a guest,--the manner of receiving or presenting anything,--all these ordinary actions have a charm of seeming naturalness that mere teaching seems incapable of producing. And this is still more true of the higher etiquette,--the exquisite etiquette of the old-time training in cultivated classes, --particularly as displayed by women. We must suppose that the capacity to acquire such manners depends considerably upon inheritance,--that it could only have [175] been formed by the past experience of the race under discipline. What such discipline, as regards politeness, must have signified for the mass of the people, may be inferred from the enactment of Iyeyasu authorizing a Samurai to kill any person of the three inferior classes guilty of rudeness. Be it observed that Iyeyasu was careful to qualify the meaning of "rude": he said that the Japanese term for a rude fellow signified "an other-than-expected person"--so that to commit an offence worthy of death it was only necessary to act in an "unexpected manner"; that is to say, contrary to prescribed etiquette:-- "The Samurai are the masters of the four classes. Agriculturists, artizans, and merchants may not behave in a rude manner towards Samurai. The term for a rude man is an 'other-than-expected fellow'; and a Samurai is not to be interfered with in cutting down a fellow who has behaved to him in a manner other than is expected. The Samurai are grouped into direct retainers, secondary retainers, and nobles and retainers of high and low grade; but the same line of conduct is equally allowable to them all towards an other-than-expected fellow."--[Art. 45.] But there is little reason to suppose that Iyeyasu created any new privilege of slaughter: he probably did no more than confirm by enactment certain long established military rights. Stern rules about the conduct of inferiors to superiors would seem to have been pitilessly enforced long before the rise of the [176] military power. We read that the Emperor Yuriaku, in the latter part of the fifth century, killed a steward for the misdemeanour of remaining silent, through fear, when spoken to: we also find it recorded that he struck down a maid-of-honour who had brought him a cup of wine, and that he would have cut off her head but for the extraordinary presence of mind which enabled her to improvise a poetical appeal for mercy. Her only fault had been that, in carrying the wine-cup, she failed to notice that a leaf had fallen into it,--probably because court-custom obliged her to carry the cup in such a way as not to breathe upon it; for emperors and high nobles were served after the manner of gods. It is true that Yuriaku was in the habit of killing people for little mistakes; but it is evident that, in the cases cited, such mistakes were regarded as breaches of long-established decorum. Probably before as well as after the introduction of the Chinese penal codes,--the so-called Ming and Tsing codes, by which the country was ruled under the Shoguns,--the bulk of the nation was literally under the rod. Common folk were punished by cruel whippings for the most trifling offences. For serious offences, death by torture was an ordinary penalty; and there were extraordinary penalties as savage, or almost as savage, as those established during our own medieval period,--[177] burnings and crucifixions and quarterings and boiling alive in oil. The documents regulating the life of village-folk do not contain any indication of the severity of legal discipline: the Kumi-cho declarations that such and such conduct "shall be punished" suggest nothing terrible to the reader who has not made himself familiar with the ancient codes. As a matter of fact the term "punishment" in a Japanese legal document might, signify anything from a trifling fine up to burning alive.... Some evidence of the severity used to repress quarrelling even as late as the time of Iyeyasu, may be found in a curious letter of Captain Saris, who visited Japan in 1613. "The first of July," wrote the Captain, "two of our Company happened to quarrell the one with the other, and were very likely to haue gone into the field [i.e. to have fought a duel] to the endangering of vs all. For it is a custome here that whosoever drawes a weapon in anger, although he do noe harme therewith, hee is presently cut in peeces; and, doing but small hurt, not only themselues are so executed, but their whole generation." ... The literal meaning of "cut in peeces" he explains later on, when recounting in the same letter an execution that came under his observation:-- "The eighth, three Iaponians were executed, viz., two men and one woman: the cause this,--the woman, none of the honestest (her husband being trauelled from home) [178] had appointed these two their several hours to repair vnto her. The latter man, not knowing of the former, and comming in before the houre appointed, found the first man, and enraged thereat, he whipped out his cattan [katana] and wounded both of them very sorely,--hauing very neere hewn the chine of the mans back in two. But as well as hee might he cleared himselfe, and recouering his cattan, wounded the other. The street, taking notice of the fray, forthwith seased vpon them, led them aside, and acquainted King Foyne therewith, and sent to know his pleasure, (for according to his will, the partie is executed), who presently gaue order that they should cut off their heads: which done, euery man that listed (as very many did) came to try the sharpness of their cattans vpon the corps, so that, before they left off, they had hewne them all three into peeces as small as a mans hand,--and yet notwithstanding, did not then giue over, but, placing the peeces one vpon another, would try how many of them they could strike through at a blow; and the peeces are left to the fowles to deuoure." .... Evidently the execution was in this case ordered for cause more serious than the offence of fighting; but it is true that quarrels were strictly forbidden and rigorously punished. Though privileged to cut down "other-than-expected" people of inferior rank, the military class itself had to endure a discipline even more severe than that which it maintained. The penalty for a word or a look that displeased, or for a trifling mistake in performance of duty, might be death. In [179] most cases the Samurai was permitted to be his own executioner; and the right of self-destruction was deemed a privilege; but the obligation to thrust a dagger deeply into one's belly on the left side, and then draw the blade slowly and steadily across to the right side, so as to sever all the entrails, was certainly not less cruel than the vulgar punishment of crucifixion, or rather, double-transfixion. Just as all matters relating to the manner of the individual's life were regulated by law, so were all matters relating to his death,--the quality of his coffin, the expenses of his interment, the order of his funeral, the form of his tomb. In the seventh century laws were passed to the effect that no one should be buried with unseemly expense; and these laws fixed the cost of funerals according to rank and grade. Subsequent edicts decided the dimensions and material of coffins, and the size of graves. In the eighth century every detail of funerals, for all classes of persons from prince to peasant, was fixed by decree. Other laws, and modifications of laws, were made upon the subject in later centuries; but there appears to have always been a general tendency to extravagance in the matter of funerals,--a tendency so strong that, in spite of centuries of sumptuary legislation, it remains to-day a social danger. This can easily be understood if we remember the beliefs regarding duty to the dead, and the consequent [180] desire to honour and to please the spirit even at the risk of family impoverishment. Most of the legislation to which reference has already been made must appear to modern minds tyrannical; and some of the regulations seem to us strangely cruel. There was, moreover, no way of evading or shirking these obligations of law and custom: whoever failed to fulfil them was doomed to perish or to become an outcast; implicit obedience was the condition of survival. The tendency of such regulation was necessarily to suppress all mental and moral differentiation, to numb personality, to establish one uniform and unchanging type of character; and such was the actual result. To this day every Japanese mind reveals the lines of that antique mould by which the ancestral mind was compressed and limited. It is impossible to understand Japanese psychology without knowing something of the laws that helped to form it,--or, rather, to crystallize it under pressure. Yet, on the other hand, the ethical effects of this iron discipline were unquestionably excellent. It compelled each succeeding generation to practise the frugality of the forefathers; and that--compulsion was partly justified by the great poverty of the nation. It reduced the cost of living to a figure far below our Western comprehension of the necessary; it cultivated sobriety, simplicity, economy; it enforced [181] cleanliness, courtesy, and hardihood. And--strange as the fact may seem--it did not make the people miserable: they found the world beautiful in spite of all their trouble; and the happiness of the old life was reflected in the old Japanese art, much as the joyousness of Greek life yet laughs to us from the vase-designs of forgotten painters. And the explanation is not difficult. We must remember that the coercion was not exercised only from without: it was really maintained from within. The discipline of the race was self-imposed. The people had gradually created their own social conditions, and therefore the legislation conserving those conditions; and they believed that legislation the best possible. They believed it to be the best possible for the excellent reason that it had been founded upon their own moral experience; and they could greatly endure because they had great faith. Only religion could have enabled any people to bear such discipline without degenerating into mopes and cowards; and the Japanese never so degenerated: the traditions that compelled self-denial and obedience, also cultivated courage, and insisted upon cheerfulness. The power of the ruler was unlimited because the power of all the dead supported him. "Laws," says Herbert Spencer, "whether written or unwritten, formulate the rule of the dead over the living. In addition to that power which past generations exercise over present generations, by transmitting [182] their natures,--bodily and mental,--and in addition to the power they exercise over them by bequeathed habits and modes of life, there is the power they exercise through their regulations for public conduct, handed down orally, or in writing.... I emphasize these truths,"--he adds,--"for the purpose of showing that they imply a tacit ancestor-worship." ... Of no other laws in the history of human civilization are these observations more true than of the laws of Old Japan. Most strikingly did they "formulate the rule of the dead over the living." And the hand of the dead was heavy: it is heavy upon the living even to-day. [183] THE INTRODUCTION OF BUDDHISM The nature of the opposition which the ancient religion of Japan could offer to the introduction of any hostile alien creed, should now be obvious. The family being founded upon ancestor-worship, the commune being regulated by ancestor-worship, the clan-group or tribe being governed by ancestor-worship, and the Supreme Ruler being at once the high-priest and deity of an ancestral cult which united all the other cults in one common tradition, it must be evident that the promulgation of any religion essentially opposed to Shinto would have signified nothing less than an attack upon the whole system of society. Considering these circumstances, it may well seem strange that Buddhism should have succeeded, after some preliminary struggles (which included one bloody battle), in getting itself accepted as a second national faith. But although the original Buddhist doctrine was essentially in disaccord with Shinto beliefs, Buddhism had learned in India, in China, in Korea, and in divers adjacent countries, how to meet the spiritual needs of peoples maintaining a persistent ancestor-worship. [184] Intolerance of ancestor-worship would have long, ago resulted in the extinction of Buddhism; for its vast conquests have all been made among ancestor-worshipping races. Neither in India nor in China nor in Korea,--neither in Siam nor Burmah nor Annam,--did it attempt to extinguish ancestor-worship, Everywhere it made itself accepted as an ally, nowhere as an enemy, of social custom. In Japan it adopted the same policy which had secured its progress on the continent; and in order to form any clear conception of Japanese religious conditions, this fact must be kept in mind. As the oldest extant Japanese texts--with the probable exception of some Shinto rituals--date from the eighth century, it is only possible to surmise the social conditions of that earlier epoch in which there was no form of religion but ancestor-worship. Only by imagining the absence of all Chinese and Korean influences, can we form some vague idea of the state of things which existed during the so-called Age of the Gods,--and it is difficult to decide at what period these influences began to operate. Confucianism appears to have preceded Buddhism by a considerable interval; and its progress, as an organizing power, was much more rapid. Buddhism was first introduced from Korea, about 552 A.D.; but the mission accomplished little. By the end of the eighth century [185] the whole fabric of Japanese administration had been reorganized upon the Chinese plan, under Confucian influence; but it was not until well into the ninth century that Buddhism really began to spread throughout the country. Eventually it over-shadowed the national life, and coloured all the national thought. Yet the extraordinary conservatism of the ancient ancestor-cult--its inherent power of resisting fusion--was exemplified by the readiness with which the two religions fell apart on the disestablishment of Buddhism in 1871. After having been literally overlaid by Buddhism for nearly a thousand years, Shinto immediately reassumed its archaic simplicity, and reestablished the unaltered forms of its earliest rites. But the attempt of Buddhism to absorb Shinto seemed at one period to have almost succeeded. The method of the absorption is said to have been devised, about the year 800, by the famous founder of the Shingon sect, Kukai or "Kobodaishi" (as he is popularly called), who first declared the higher Shinto gods to be incarnations of various Buddhas. But in this matter, of course, Kobodaishi was merely following precedents of Buddhist policy. Under the name of Ryobu-Shinto,* the new compound of Shinto and Buddhism obtained imperial approval and support. [*The term "Ryobu" signifies "two-departments" or "two religions."] Thereafter, in hundreds of [186] places, the two religions were domiciled within the same precinct--sometimes even within the same building: they seemed to have been veritably amalgamated. And nevertheless there was no real fusion;--after ten centuries of such contact they separated again, as lightly as if they had never touched. It was only in the domestic form of the ancestor-cult that Buddhism really affected permanent modifications; yet even these were neither fundamental nor universal. In certain provinces they were not made; and almost everywhere a considerable part of the population preferred to follow the Shinto form of the ancestor-cult. Yet another large class of persons, converts to Buddhism, continued to profess the older creed as well; and, while practising their ancestor-worship according to the Buddhist rite, maintained separately also the domestic worship of the elder gods. In most Japanese houses to-day, the "god-shelf" and the Buddhist shrine can both be found; both cults being maintained under the same roof.* ... But I am mentioning these facts only as illustrating the conservative vitality of Shinto, not as indicating any weakness in the Buddhist propaganda. Unquestionably the influence which Buddhism exerted upon Japanese [187] civilization was immense, profound, multiform, incalculable; and the only wonder is that it should not have been able to stifle Shinto forever. To state, as various writers have carelessly stated, that Buddhism became the popular religion, while Shinto remained the official religion, is altogether misleading. As a matter of fact Buddhism became as much an official religion as Shinto itself, and influenced the lives of the highest classes not less than the lives of the poor. It made monks of Emperors, and nuns of their daughters; it decided the conduct of rulers, the nature of decrees, and the administration of laws. In every community the Buddhist parish-priest was a public official as well as a spiritual teacher: he kept the parish register, and made report to the authorities upon local matters of importance. [*The ancestor-worship and the funeral rites are Buddhist, as a general rule, if the family be Buddhist; but the Shinto gods are also worshipped in most Buddhist households, except those attached to the Shin sect. Many followers of even the Shin sect, however, appear to follow the ancient religion likewise; and they have their Ujigami.] By introducing the love of learning, Confucianism had partly prepared the way for Buddhism. As early even as the first century there were some Chinese scholars in Japan; but it was toward the close of the third century that the study of Chinese literature first really became fashionable among the ruling classes. Confucianism, however, did not represent a new religion: it was a system of ethical teachings founded upon an ancestor-worship much like that of Japan. What it had to offer was a kind of social philosophy,--an explanation of the [188] eternal reason of things. It reinforced and expanded the doctrine of filial piety; it regulated and elaborated preexisting ceremonial; and it systematized all the ethics of government. In the education of the ruling classes it became a great power, and has so remained down to the present day. Its doctrines were humane, in the best meaning of the word; and striking evidence of its humanizing effect on government policy may be found in the laws and the maxims of that wisest of Japanese rulers--Iyeyasu. But the religion of the Buddha brought to Japan another and a wider humanizing influence,--a new gospel of tenderness,--together with a multitude of new beliefs that were able to accommodate themselves to the old, in spite of fundamental dissimilarity. In the highest meaning of the term, it was a civilizing power. Besides teaching new respect for life, the duty of kindness to animals as well as to all human beings, the consequence of present acts upon the conditions of a future existence, the duty of resignation to pain as the inevitable result of forgotten error, it actually gave to Japan the arts and the industries of China. Architecture, painting, sculpture, engraving, printing, gardening--in short, every art and industry that helped to make life beautiful--developed first in Japan under Buddhist teaching. There are many forms of Buddhism; and in [189] modern Japan there are twelve principal Buddhist sects; but, for present purposes, it will be enough to speak, in the most general way, of popular Buddhism only, as distinguished from philosophical Buddhism, which I shall touch upon in a subsequent chapter. The higher Buddhism could not, at any time or in any country, have had a large popular following; and it is a mistake to suppose that its particular doctrines--such as the doctrine of Nirvana--were taught to the common people. Only such forms of doctrine were preached as could be made intelligible and attractive to very simple minds. There is a Buddhist proverb: "First observe the person; then preach the Law,"--that is to say, Adapt your instruction to the capacity of the listener. In Japan, as in China, Buddhism had to adapt its instruction to the mental capacity of large classes of people yet unaccustomed to abstract ideas. Even to this day the masses do not know so much as the meaning of the word "Nirvana" (Nehan): they have been taught only the simpler forms of the religion; and in dwelling upon these, it will be needless to consider differences of sect and dogma. To appreciate the direct influence of Buddhist teaching upon the minds of the common people, we must remember that in Shinto there was no doctrine of metempsychosis. As I have said before, the spirits of the dead, according to ancient Japanese thinking, continued to exist in the world: they [190] mingled somehow with the viewless forces of nature, and acted through them. Everything happened by the agency of these spirits--evil or good. Those who had been wicked in life remained wicked after death; those who had been good in life became good gods after death; but all were to be propitiated. No idea of future reward or punishment existed before the coming of Buddhism: there was no notion of any heaven or hell. The happiness of ghosts and gods alike was supposed to depend upon the worship and the offerings of the living. With these ancient beliefs Buddhism attempted to interfere only by expanding and expounding them,--by interpreting them in a totally new light. Modifications were effected, but no suppressions: we might even say that Buddhism accepted the whole body of the old beliefs. It was true, the new teaching declared, that the dead continued to exist invisibly; and it was not wrong to suppose that they became divinities, since all of them were destined, sooner or later, to enter upon the way to Buddhahood--the divine condition. Buddhism acknowledged likewise the greater gods of Shinto, with all their attributes and dignities,--declaring them incarnations of Buddhas or Bodhisattvas: thus the goddess of the sun was identified with Dai-Nichi-Nyorai (the Tathagata Mahavairokana); the deity Hachiman was identified with Amida (Amitabha). Nor did Buddhism deny the existence of goblins [191] and evil gods: these were identified with the Pretas and the Merakayikas; and the Japanese popular term for goblin, Ma, to-day reminds us of this identification. As for wicked ghosts, they were to be thought of as Pretas only,--Gaki,--self-doomed by the errors of former lives to the Circle of Perpetual Hunger. The ancient sacrifices to the various gods of disease and pestilence--gods of fever, small-pox, dysentery, consumption, coughs, and colds--were continued with Buddhist approval; but converts were bidden to consider such maleficent beings as Pretas, and to present them with only such food-offerings as are bestowed upon Pretas--not for propitiation, but for the purpose of relieving ghostly pain. In this case, as in the case of the ancestral spirits, Buddhism prescribed that the prayers to be repeated were to be said for the sake of the haunters, rather than to them.... The reader may be reminded of the fact that Roman Catholicism, by making a similar provision, still practically tolerates a continuance of the ancient European ancestor-worship. And we cannot consider that worship extinct in any of those Western countries where the peasants still feast their dead upon the Night of All Souls. Buddhism, however, did more than tolerate the old rites. It cultivated and elaborated them. Under its teaching a new and beautiful form of the domestic cult came into existence; and all the [192] touching poetry of ancestor-worship in modern Japan can be traced to the teaching of the Buddhist missionaries. Though ceasing to regard their dead as gods in the ancient sense, the Japanese converts were encouraged to believe in their presence, and to address them in terms of reverence and affection. It is worthy of remark that the doctrine of Pretas gave new force to the ancient fear of neglecting the domestic rites. Ghosts unloved might not become "evil gods" in the Shinto meaning of the term; but the malevolent Gaki was even more to be dreaded than the malevolent Kami,--for Buddhism defined in appalling ways the nature of the Gaki's power to harm. In various Buddhist funeral-rites, the dead are actually addressed as Gaki,--beings to be pitied but also to be feared,--much needing human sympathy and succour, but able to recompense the food-giver by ghostly help. One particular attraction of Buddhist teaching was its simple and ingenious interpretation of nature. Countless matters which Shinto had never attempted to explain, and could not have explained, Buddhism expounded in detail, with much apparent consistency. Its explanations of the mysteries of birth, life, and death were at once consoling to pure minds, and wholesomely discomforting to bad consciences. It taught that the dead were happy or unhappy not directly because of the attention or the [193] neglect shown them by the living, but because of their past conduct while in the body.* It did not attempt to teach the higher doctrine of successive rebirths,--which the people could not possibly have understood,--but the merely symbolic doctrine of transmigration, which everybody could understand. To die was not to melt back into nature, but to be reincarnated; and the character of the new body, as well as the conditions of the new existence, would depend upon the quality of one's deeds and thoughts in the present body. All states and conditions of being were the consequence of past actions. Such a man was now rich and powerful, because in previous lives he had been generous and kindly; such another man was now sickly and poor, because in some previous existence he had been sensual and selfish. This woman was happy in her husband and her children, because in the time of a former birth she had proved herself a loving daughter and a faithful spouse; this other was wretched and childless, because in some anterior existence she had been a jealous wife and a cruel mother. "To hate your enemy," the Buddhist preacher would proclaim, "is [194] foolish as well as wrong: he is now your enemy only because of some treachery that you practised upon him in a previous life, when he desired to be your friend. Resign yourself to the injury which he now does you accept it as the expiation of your forgotten fault... The girl whom you hoped to marry has been refused you by her parents,--given away to another. But once, in another existence, she was yours by promise; and you broke the pledge then given.... Painful indeed the loss of your child; but this loss is the consequence of having, in some former life, refused affection where affection was due.... Maimed by mishap, you can no longer earn your living as before. Yet this mishap is really due to the fact that in some previous existence you wantonly inflicted bodily injury. Now the evil of your own act has returned upon you: repent of your crime, and pray that its Karma may be exhausted by this present suffering." ... All the sorrows of men were thus explained and consoled. Life was expounded as representing but one stage of a measureless journey, whose way stretched back through all the night of the past, and forward through all the mystery of the future,--out of eternities forgotten into the eternities to be; and the world itself was to be thought of only as a traveller's resting-place, an inn by the roadside. [*The reader will doubtless wonder how Buddhism could reconcile its doctrine of successive rebirths with the ideas of ancestor-worship, If one died only to be born again, what could be the use of offering food or addressing any kind of prayer to the reincarnated spirit? This difficulty was met by the teaching that the dead were not immediately reborn in most cases, but entered into a particular condition called Chu-U. They might remain in this disembodied condition for the time of one hundred years, after which they were reincarnated. The Buddhist services for the dead are consequently limited to the time of one hundred years.] Instead of preaching to the people about Nirvana, [195] Buddhism discoursed to them of blisses to be won and pains to be avoided: the Paradise of Amida, Lord of Immeasurable Light; the eight hot hells called To-kwatsu, and the eight icy hells called Abuda. On the subject of future punishment the teaching was very horrible: I should advise no one of delicate nerves to read the Japanese, or rather the Chinese accounts of hell. But hell was the penalty for supreme wickedness only: it was not eternal; and the demons themselves would at last be saved.... Heaven was to be the reward of good deeds: the reward might indeed be delayed, through many successive rebirths, by reason of lingering Karma; but, on the other hand, it might be attained by virtue of a single holy act in this present life. Besides, prior to the period of supreme reward, each succeeding rebirth could be made happier than the preceding one by persistent effort in the holy Way. Even as regarded conditions in this transitory world, the results of virtuous conduct were not to be despised. The beggar of to-day might to-morrow be reborn in the palace of a daimyo; the blind shampooer might become, in his very next life, an imperial minister. Always the recompense would be proportionate to the sum of merit. In this lower world to practise the highest virtue was difficult; and the great rewards were hard to win. But for all good deeds a recompense was sure; and there was no one who could not acquire merit. [196] Even the Shinto doctrine of conscience--the god-given sense of right and wrong--was not denied by Buddhism. But this conscience was interpreted as the essential wisdom of the Buddha dormant in every human creature,--wisdom darkened by ignorance, clogged by desire, fettered by Karma, but destined sooner or later to fully awaken, and to flood the mind with light. It would seem that the Buddhist teaching of the duty of kindness to all living creatures, and of pity for all suffering, had a powerful effect upon national habit and custom, long before the new religion found general acceptance. As early as the year 675, a decree was issued by the Emperor Temmu forbidding the people to eat "the flesh of kine, horses, dogs, monkeys, or barn-door fowls," and prohibiting the use of traps or the making of pitfalls in catching game.* [*See Aston's translation of the Nihongi, Vol. II, p. 329.] The fact that all kinds of flesh-meat were not forbidden is probably explained by this Emperor's zeal for the maintenance of both creeds;--an absolute prohibition might have interfered with Shinto usages, and would certainly have been incompatible with Shinto traditions. But, although fish never ceased to be an article of food for the laity, we may say that from about this time the mass of the nation abandoned its habits of diet, and forswore the eating of meat, in accordance with [197] Buddhist teaching.... This teaching was based upon the doctrine of the unity of all sentient existence. Buddhism explained the whole visible world by its doctrine of Karma,--simplifying that doctrine so as to adapt it to popular comprehension. The forms of all creatures,--bird, reptile, or mammal; insect or fish,--represented only different results of Karma: the ghostly life in each was one and the same; and, in even the lowest, some spark of the divine existed. The frog or the serpent, the bird or the bat, the ox or the horse,--all had had, at some past time, the privilege of human (perhaps even superhuman) shape: their present conditions represented only the consequence of ancient faults. Any human being also, by reason of like faults, might hereafter be reduced to the same dumb state,--might be reborn as a reptile, a fish, a bird, or a beast of burden. The consequence of wanton cruelty to any animal might cause the perpetrator of that cruelty to be reborn as an animal of the same kind, destined to suffer the same cruel treatment. Who could even be sure that the goaded ox, the over-driven horse, or the slaughtered bird, had not formerly been a human being of closest kin,--ancestor, parent, brother, sister, or child? ... Not by words only were all these things taught. It should be remembered that Shinto had no art: its ghost-houses, silent and void, were not even [198] decorated. But Buddhism brought in its train all the arts of carving, painting, and decoration. The images of its Bodhisattvas, smiling in gold,--the figures of its heavenly guardians and infernal judges, its feminine angels and monstrous demons,--must have startled and amazed imaginations yet unaccustomed to any kind of art. Great paintings hung in the temples, and frescoes limned upon their walls or ceilings, explained better than words the doctrine of the Six States of Existence, and the dogma of future rewards and punishments. In rows of kakemono, suspended side by side, were displayed the incidents of a Soul's journey to the realm of judgment, and all the horrors of the various hells. One pictured the ghosts of faithless wives, for ages doomed to pluck, with bleeding fingers, the rasping bamboo-grass that grows by the Springs of Death; another showed the torment of the slanderer, whose tongue was torn by demon-pincers; in a third appeared the spectres of lustful men, vainly seeking to flee the embraces of women of fire, or climbing, in frenzied terror, the slopes of the Mountain of Swords. Pictured also were the circles of the Preta-world, and the pangs of the Hungry Ghosts, and likewise the pains of rebirth in the form of reptiles and of beasts. And the art of these early representations--many of which have been preserved--was an art of no mean order. We can hardly conceive the effect upon inexperienced imagination of the crimson frown of Emma [199] (Yama), Judge of the dead,--or the vision of that weird Mirror which reflected, to every spirit the misdeeds of its life in the body,--or the monstrous fancy of that double-faced Head before the judgment seat, representing the visage of the woman Mirume, whose eyes behold all secret sin; and the vision of the man Kaguhana, who smells all odours of evil-doing.... Parental affection must have been deeply touched by the painted legend of the world of children's ghosts,--the little ghosts that must toil, under demon-surveillance, in the Dry Bed of the River of Souls.... But pictured terrors were offset by pictured consolations,--by the beautiful figure of Kwannon, white Goddess of Mercy,--by the compassionate smile of Jizo, the playmate of infant-ghosts,--by the charm also of celestial nymphs, floating on iridescent wings in light of azure. The Buddhist painter opened to simple fancy the palaces of heaven, and guided hope, through gardens of jewel-trees, even to the shores of that lake where the souls of the blessed are reborn in lotos-blossoms, and tended by angel-nurses. Moreover, for people accustomed only to such simple architecture as that of the Shinto miya, the new temples erected by the Buddhist priests must have been astonishments. The colossal Chinese gates, guarded by giant statues; the lions and lanterns of bronze and stone; the enormous suspended [200] bells, sounded by swinging-beams; the swarming of dragon-shapes under the caves of the vast roofs; the glimmering splendour of the altars; the ceremonial likewise, with its chanting and its incense-burning and its weird Chinese music,--cannot have failed to inspire the wonder-loving with delight and awe. It is a noteworthy fact that the earliest Buddhist temples in Japan still remain, even to Western eyes, the most impressive. The Temple of the Four Deva Kings at Osaka--which, though more than once rebuilt, preserves the original plan--dates from 600 A.D.; the yet more remarkable temple called Horyuji, near Nara, dates from about the year 607. Of course the famous paintings and the great statues could be seen at the temples only; but the Buddhist image-makers soon began to people even the most desolate places with stone images of Buddhas and of Bodhisattvas. Then first were made those icons of Jizo, which still smile upon the traveller from every roadside,--and the images of Koshin, protector of highways, with his three symbolic Apes,--and the figure of that Bato-Kwannon, who protects the horses of the peasant,--with other figures in whose rude but impressive art suggestions of Indian origin are yet recognizable. Gradually the graveyards became thronged with dreaming Buddhas or Bodhisattvas,--holy guardians of the dead, throned upon lotos-flowers of [201] stone, and smiling with closed eyes the smile of the Calm Supreme. In the cities everywhere Buddhist sculptors opened shops, to furnish pious households with images of the chief divinities worshipped by the various Buddhist sects; and the makers of ihai, or Buddhist mortuary tablets, as well as the makers of household shrines, multiplied and prospered. Meanwhile the people were left free to worship their ancestors according to either creed; and if a majority eventually gave preference to the Buddhist rite, this preference was due in large measure to the peculiar emotional charm which Buddhism had infused into the cult. Except in minor details, the two rites differed scarcely at all; and there was no conflict whatever between the old ideas of filial piety and the Buddhist ideas attaching to the new ancestor-worship, Buddhism taught that the dead might be helped and made happier by prayer, and that much ghostly comfort could be given them by food-offerings. They were not to be offered flesh or wine; but it was proper to gratify them with fruits and rice and cakes and flowers and the smoke of incense. Besides, even the simplest food-offerings might be transmuted, by force of prayer, into celestial nectar and ambrosia. But what especially helped the new ancestor-cult to popular favour, was the fact that it included many beautiful and touching customs not known to the old. Everywhere [202] the people soon learned to kindle the hundred and eight fires of welcome for the annual visit of their dead,--to supply the spirits with little figures made of straw, or made out of vegetables, to-serve for oxen or horses,*--also to prepare the ghost-ships (shoryobune), in which the souls of the ancestors were to return, over the sea, to their under-world. Then too were instituted the Bon-odori, or Dances of the Festival of the Dead,** and the custom of suspending white lanterns at graves, and coloured lanterns at house-gates, to light the coining and the going of the visiting dead. [*An eggplant, with four pegs of wood stuck into it, to represent legs, usually stands for an ox; and a cucumber, with four pegs, serves for a horse.... One is reminded of the fact that, at some of the ancient Greek sacrifices, similar substitutes for real animals were used. In the worship of Apollo, at Thebes, apples with wooden pegs stuck into them, to represent feet and horns, were offered as substitutes for sheep. **The dances themselves--very curious and very attractive to witness--are much older than Buddhism; but Buddhism made them a feature of the festival referred to, which lasts for three days. No person who has not witnessed a Bon-odori can form the least idea of what Japanese dancing means: it is something utterly different from what usually goes by the name,--something indescribably archaic, weird, and nevertheless fascinating. I have repeatedly sat up all night to watch the peasants dancing. Japanese dancing girls, be it observed, do not dance: they pose. The peasants dance.] But perhaps the greatest value of Buddhism to the nation was educational. The Shinto priests were not teachers. In early times they were mostly aristocrats, religious representatives of the clans; and the idea of educating the common people could not even have occurred to them. Buddhism, on [203] the other hand, offered the boon of education to all,--not merely a religious education, but an education in the arts and the learning of China. The Buddhist temples eventually became common schools, or had schools attached to them; and at each parish temple the children of the community were taught, at a merely nominal cost, the doctrines of the faith, the wisdom of the Chinese classics, calligraphy, drawing, and much besides. By degrees the education of almost the whole nation came under Buddhist control; and the moral effect was of the best. For the military class indeed there was another and special system of education; but Samurai scholars sought to perfect their knowledge under Buddhist teachers of renown; and the imperial household itself employed Buddhist instructors. For the common people everywhere the Buddhist priest was the schoolmaster; and by virtue of his occupation as teacher, not less than by reason of his religious office, he ranked with the samurai. Much of what remains most attractive, in Japanese character--the winning and graceful aspects of it--seems to have been developed under Buddhist training. It was natural enough that to his functions of public instructor, the Buddhist priest should have added those of a public registrar. Until the period of disendowment, the Buddhist clergy remained, throughout the country, public as well as religious officials. They kept the parish records, and furnished [204] at need certificates of birth, death, or family descent. To give any just conception of the immense civilizing influence which Buddhism exerted in Japan would require many volumes. Even to summarize the results of that influence by stating only the most general facts, is scarcely possible,--for no general statement can embody the whole truth of the work accomplished. As a moral force, Buddhism strengthened authority and cultivated submission, by its capacity to inspire larger hopes and fears than the more ancient religion could create. As teacher, it educated the race, from the highest to the humblest, both in ethics and in esthetics. All that can be classed under the name of art in Japan was either introduced or developed by Buddhism; and the same may be said regarding nearly all Japanese literature possessing real literary quality,--excepting some Shinto rituals, and some fragments of archaic poetry. Buddhism introduced drama, the higher forms of poetical composition, and fiction, and history, and philosophy. All the refinements of Japanese life were of Buddhist introduction, and at least a majority of its diversions and pleasures. There is even to-day scarcely one interesting or beautiful thing, produced in the country, for which the nation is not in some sort indebted to Buddhism. Perhaps the best and briefest way of [205] stating the range of such indebtedness, is simply to, say that Buddhism brought the whole of Chinese civilization into Japan, and thereafter patiently modified and reshaped it to Japanese requirements. The elder civilization was not merely superimposed upon the social structure, but fitted carefully into it, combined with it so perfectly that the marks of the welding, the lines of the juncture, almost totally disappeared. [207] THE HIGHER BUDDHISM Philosphical Buddhism requires some brief consideration in this place,--for two reasons. The first is that misapprehension or ignorance of the subject has rendered possible the charge of atheism against the intellectual classes of Japan. The second reason is that some persons imagine the Japanese common people--that is to say, the greater part of the nation--believers in the doctrine of Nirvana as extinction (though, as a matter of fact, even the meaning of the word is unknown to the masses), and quite resigned to vanish from the face of the earth, because of that incapacity for struggle which the doctrine is supposed to create. A little serious thinking ought to convince any intelligent man that no such creed could ever have been the religion of either a savage or a civilized people. But myriads of Western minds are ready at all times to accept statements of impossibility without taking the trouble to think about them; and if I can show some of my readers how far beyond popular comprehension the doctrines of the higher Buddhism really are, something will have been accomplished for the cause of truth and [208] common-sense. And besides the reasons already given for dwelling upon the subject, there is this third and special reason,--that it is one of extraordinary interest to the student of modern philosophy. Before going further, I must remind you that the metaphysics of Buddhism can be studied anywhere else quite as well as in Japan, since the more important sutras have been translated into various European languages, and most of the untranslated texts edited and published. The texts of Japanese Buddhism are Chinese; and only Chinese scholars are competent to throw light upon the minor special phases of the subject. Even to read the Chinese Buddhist canon of 7000 volumes is commonly regarded as an impossible feat,--though it has certainly been accomplished in Japan. Then there are the commentaries, the varied interpretations of different sects, the multiplications of later doctrine, to heap confusion upon confusion. The complexities of Japanese Buddhism are incalculable; and those who try to unravel them soon become, as a general rule, hopelessly lost in the maze of detail. All this has nothing to do with my present purpose, I shall have very little to say about Japanese Buddhism as distinguished from other Buddhism, and nothing at all to say about sect-differences. I shall keep to general facts as regards the higher doctrine,--selecting from among such facts only those most suitable [209] for the illustration of that doctrine. And I shall not take up the subject of Nirvana, in spite of its great importance,--having treated it as fully as I was able in my _Gleanings in Buddha-Fields_, --but confine myself to the topic of certain analogies between the conclusions of Buddhist metaphysics and the conclusions of contemporary Western thought. In the best single volume yet produced in English on the subject of Buddhism,* the late Mr. Henry Clarke Warren observed: "A large part of the pleasure that I have experienced in the study of Buddhism has arisen from what I may call the strangeness of the intellectual landscape. [*Buddhism in Translations, by Henry Clarke Warren (Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1896). Published by Harvard University.] All the ideas, the modes of argument, even the postulates assumed and not argued about, have always seemed so strange, so different from anything to which I have been accustomed, that I felt all the time as though walking in Fairyland. Much of the charm that the Oriental thoughts and ideas have for me appears to be because they so seldom fit into Western categories." ... The serious attraction of Buddhist philosophy could not be better suggested: it is indeed "the strangeness of the intellectual landscape," as of a world inside-out and upside-down, that has chiefly interested Western [210] thinkers heretofore. Yet after all, there is a class of Buddhist concepts which can be fitted, or very nearly fitted, into Western categories. The higher Buddhism is a kind of Monism; and it includes doctrines that accord, in the most surprising manner, with the scientific theories of the German and the English monists. To my thinking, the most curious part of the subject, and its main interest, is represented just by these accordances,--particularly in view of the fact that the Buddhist conclusions have been reached through mental processes unknown to Western thinking, and unaided by any knowledge of science.... I venture to call myself a student of Herbert Spencer; and it was because of my acquaintance with the Synthetic Philosophy that I came to find in Buddhist philosophy a more than romantic interest. For Buddhism is also a theory of evolution, though the great central idea of our scientific evolution (the law of progress from homogeneity to heterogeneity) is not correspondingly implied by Buddhist doctrine as regards the life of this world. The course of evolution as we conceive it, according to Professor Huxley, "must describe a trajectory like that of a ball fired from a mortar; and the sinking half of that course is as much a part of the general process of evolution as the rising." The highest point of the trajectory would represent what Mr. Spencer calls Equilibration,--the supreme point of development preceding the period [211] of decline; but, in Buddhist evolution, this supreme point vanishes into Nirvana. I can best illustrate the Buddhist position by asking you to imagine the trajectory line upside-down,--a course descending out of the infinite, touching ground, and ascending again to mystery.... Nevertheless, some Buddhist ideas do offer the most startling analogy with the evolutional ideas of our own time; and even those Buddhist concepts most remote from Western thought can be best interpreted by the help of illustrations and of language borrowed from modern science. I think that we may consider the most remarkable teachings of the higher Buddhism,--excluding the doctrine of Nirvana, for the reason already given,--to be the following:-- That there is but one Reality;-- That the Consciousness is not the real Self;-- That Matter is an aggregate of phenomena created by the force of acts and thoughts;-- That all objective and subjective existence is made by Karma,-- the present being the creation of the Past, and the actions of the present and the past, in combination, determining the conditions of the future.... (Or, in other words, that the universe of Matter, and the universe of [conditioned] Mind, represent in their evolution a strictly moral order.) It will he worth while now to briefly consider [212] these doctrines in their relation to modern thought, beginning with the first, which is Monism:-- All things having form or name,--Buddhas, gods, men, and all living creatures,--suns, worlds, moons, the whole visible cosmos,--are transitory phenomena.... Assuming, with Herbert Spencer, that the test of reality is permanence, one can scarcely question this position; it differs little from the statement with which the closing chapter of the First Principles concludes:-- "Though the relation of subject and object renders necessary to us these antithetical conceptions of Spirit and Matter, the one is no less than the other to be regarded as but a sign of the Unknown Reality which underlies both."--Edition of 1894. For Buddhism the sole reality is the Absolute,--Buddha as unconditioned and Infinite Being. There is no other veritable existence, whether of Matter or of Mind; there is no real individuality or personality; the "I" and the "Not-I" are essentially nowise different. We are reminded of Mr. Spencer's position, that "it is one and the same Reality which is manifested to us both subjectively and objectively." Mr. Spencer goes on to say: "Subject and Object, as actually existing, can never be contained in the consciousness produced by the cooperation of the two, though they are necessarily [213] implied by it; and the antithesis of Subject and Object, never to be transcended while consciousness lasts, renders impossible all knowledge of that Ultimate Reality in which Subject and Object are united."... I do not think that a master of the higher Buddhism would dispute Mr. Spencer's doctrine of Transfigured Realism. Buddhism does not deny the actuality of phenomena as phenomena, but denies their permanence, and the truth of the appearances which they present to our imperfect senses. Being transitory, and not what they seem, they are to be considered in the nature of illusions,--impermanent manifestations of the only permanent Reality. But the Buddhist position is not agnosticism: it is astonishingly different, as we shall presently see. Mr. Spencer states that we cannot know the Reality so long as consciousness lasts,--because while consciousness lasts we cannot transcend the antithesis of Object and Subject, and it is this very antithesis which makes consciousness possible. "Very true," the Buddhist metaphysician would reply; "we cannot know the sole Reality while consciousness lasts. But destroy consciousness, and the Reality becomes cognizable. Annihilate the illusion of Mind, and the light will come." This destruction of consciousness signifies Nirvana,--the extinction of all that we call Self. Self is blindness: destroy it, and the Reality will be revealed as infinite vision and infinite peace. [214] We have now to ask what, according to Buddhist philosophy, is the meaning of the visible universe as phenomenon, and the nature of the consciousness that perceives. However transitory, the phenomenon makes an impression upon consciousness; and consciousness itself, though transitory, has existence; and its perceptions, however delusive, are perceptions of actual relation. Buddhism answers that both the universe and the consciousness are merely aggregates of Karma--complexities incalculable of conditions shaped by acts and thoughts through some enormous past. All substance and all conditioned mind (as distinguished from unconditioned mind) are products of acts and thoughts: by acts and thoughts the atoms of bodies have been integrated; and the affinities of those atoms--the polarities of them, as a scientist might say--represent tendencies shaped in countless vanished lives. I may quote here from a modern Japanese treatise on the subject:-- "The aggregate actions of all sentient beings give birth to the varieties of mountains, rivers, countries, etc. They are caused by aggregate actions, and so are called aggregate fruits. Our present life is the reflection of past actions. Men consider these reflections as their real selves. Their eyes, noses, ears, tongues, and bodies--as well as their gardens, woods, farms, residences, servants, and maids--men imagine to be their own possessions; but, in fact, they are only results endlessly produced by innumerable [215] actions. In tracing every thing back to the ultimate limits of the past, we cannot find a beginning: hence it is said that death and birth have no beginning. Again, when seeking the ultimate limit of the future, we cannot find the end."* [*Outlines of the Maheyena Philosophy, by S. Kuroda.] This teaching that all things are formed by Karma--whatever is good in the universe representing the results of meritorious acts or thoughts; and what ever is evil, the results of evil acts or thoughts--has the approval of five of the great sects; and we may accept it as a leading doctrine of Japanese Buddhism.... The cosmos is, then, an aggregate of Karma; and the mind of man is an aggregate of Karma; and the beginnings thereof are unknown, and the end cannot be imagined. There is a spiritual evolution, of which the goal is Nirvana; but we have no declaration as to a final state of universal rest, when the shaping of substance and of mind will have ceased forever.... Now the Synthetic Philosophy assumes a very similar position as regards the evolution of Phenomena: there is no beginning to evolution, nor any conceivable end. I quote from Mr. Spencer's reply to a critic in the North American Review: "That 'absolute commencement of organic life upon the globe,' which the reviewer says I 'cannot evade the admission of,' I distinctly deny. The affirmation of [216] universal evolution is in itself the negation of an absolute commencement of anything. Construed in terms of evolution, every kind of being is conceived as a product of modification wrought by insensible gradations upon a preexisting kind of being; and this holds as fully of the supposed 'commencement of organic life' as of all subsequent developments of organic life.... That organic matter was not produced all at once, but was reached through steps, we are well warranted in believing by the experiences of chemists."* ... [*Principles of Biology, Vol. I, p. 482.] Of course it should be understood that the Buddhist silence, as to a beginning and an end, concerns only the production of phenomena, not any particular existence of groups of phenomena. That of which no beginning or end can be predicated is simply the Eternal Becoming. And, like the older Indian philosophy from which it sprang, Buddhism teaches the alternate apparition and disparition of universes. At certain prodigious periods of time, the whole cosmos of "one hundred thousand times ten millions of worlds" vanishes away,--consumed by fire or otherwise destroyed,--but only to be reformed again. These periods are called "World-Cycles," and each World-Cycle is divided into four "Immensities,"--but we need not here consider the details of the doctrine. It is only the fundamental idea of a evolutional rhythm that is really interesting. I need scarcely remind the reader that [217] the alternate disintegration and reintegration of the cosmos is also a scientific conception, and a commonly accepted article of evolutional belief. I may quote, however, for other reasons, the paragraph expressing Herbert Spencer's views upon the subject:-- "Apparently the universally coexistent forces of attraction and repulsion, which, as we have seen, necessitate rhythm in all minor changes throughout the Universe, also necessitate rhythm in the totality of changes,--produce now an immeasurable period during which the attractive forces, predominating, cause universal concentration; and then an immeasurable period during which the repulsive forces, predominating, cause diffusion,--alternate eras of Evolution and Dissolution. And thus there is suggested to us the conception of a past during which there have been successive Evolutions analogous to that which is now going on; and a future during which successive other such Evolutions may go on-ever the same in principle, but never the same in concrete result."--First Principles, Section 183* [*This paragraph, from the fourth edition, has been considerably qualified in the definitive edition of 1900.] Further on, Mr. Spencer has pointed out the vast logical consequence involved by this hypothesis:-- "If, as we saw reason to think, there is an alternation of Evolution and Dissolution in the totality of things,--if, as we are obliged to infer from the Persistence of Force, the arrival at either limit of this vast rhythm brings about the conditions under which a counter-movement commences, [218]--if we are hence compelled to entertain the conception of Evolutions that have filled an immeasurable past, and Evolutions that will fill an immeasurable future,--we can no longer contemplate the visible creation as having a definite beginning or end, or as being isolated. It becomes unified with all existence before and after; and the Force which the Universe presents falls into the same category with its Space and Time as admitting of no limitation in thought."*--First Principles, Section 190. [*Condensed and somewhat modified in the definitive edition of 1900; but, for present purposes of illustration, the text of the fourth edition has been preferred.] The foregoing Buddhist positions sufficiently imply that the human consciousness is but a temporary aggregate,--not an eternal entity. There is no permanent self: there is but one eternal principle in all life,--the supreme Buddha. Modern Japanese call this Absolute the "Essence of Mind." "The fire fed by faggots," writes one of these, "dies when the faggots have been consumed; but the essence of fire is never destroyed.... All things in the Universe are Mind." So stated, the position is unscientific; but as for the conclusion reached, we may remember that Mr. Wallace has stated almost exactly the same thing, and that there are not a few modern preachers of the doctrine of a "universe of mind-stuff." The hypothesis is "unthinkable." But the most serious thinker will agree with the Buddhist assertion that the relation of all phenomena to the unknowable is merely that of waves to sea. "Every [219] feeling and thought being but transitory," says Mr. Spencer, "an entire life made up of such feelings and thoughts being but transitory,--nay, the objects amid which life is passed, though less transitory, being severally in course of losing their individualities quickly or slowly,--we learn that the one thing permanent is the Unknown Reality hidden under all these changing shapes." Here the English and the Buddhist philosophers are in accord; but thereafter they suddenly part company. For Buddhism is not agnosticism, but gnosticism, and professes to know the unknowable. The thinker of Mr. Spencer's school cannot make assumptions as to the nature of the sole Reality, nor as to the reason of its manifestations. He must confess himself intellectually incapable of comprehending the nature of force, matter, or motion. He feels justified in accepting the hypothesis that all known elements have been evolved from one primordial undifferentiated substance,--the chemical evidence for this hypothesis being very strong. But he certainly would not call that primordial substance a substance of mind, nor attempt to explain the character of the forces that effected its integration. Again, though Mr. Spencer would probably acknowledge that we know of matter only as an aggregate of forces, and of atoms only as force-centres, or knots of force, he would not declare that an atom is a force-centre, and nothing else.... But we find evolutionists [220] of the German school taking a position very similar to the Buddhist position,--which implies a universal sentiency, or, more strictly speaking, a universal potential-sentiency. Haeckel and other German monists assume such a condition for all substance. They are not agnostics, therefore, but gnostics; and their gnosticism very much resembles that of the higher Buddhism. According to Buddhism there is no reality save Buddha: all things else are but Karma. There is but one Life, one Self: human individuality and personality are but phenomenal conditions of that Self, Matter is Karma; Mind is Karma--that is to say, mind as we know it: Karma, as visibility, represents to us mass and quality; Karma, as mentality, signifies character and tendency. The primordial substance--corresponding to the "protyle" of our Monists--is composed of Five Elements, which are mystically identified with Five Buddhas, all of whom are really but different modes of the One. With this idea of a primordial substance there is necessarily associated the idea of a universal sentiency. Matter is alive. Now to the German monists also matter is alive. On the phenomena of cell-physiology, Haeckel claims to base his conviction that "even the atom is not without rudimentary form of sensation and will,--or, as it is better expressed, of feeling (aesthesis), and of inclination (tropesis),--that is to [221] say, a universal soul of the simplest kind." I may quote also from Haeckel's Riddle of the Universe the following paragraph expressing the monistic notion of substance as held by Vogt and others:-- "The two fundamental forms of substance, ponderable matter and ether, are not dead and only moved by extrinsic force; but they are endowed with sensation and will (though, naturally, of the lowest grade); they experience an inclination for condensation, a dislike of strain; they strive after the one, and struggle against the other." Less like a revival of the dreams of the Alchemists is the very probable hypothesis of Schneider, that sentiency begins with the formation of certain combinations,--that feeling is evolved from the non-feeling just as organic being has been evolved from inorganic substance. But all these monist ideas enter into surprising combination with the Buddhist teaching about matter as integrated Karma; and for that reason they are well worth citing in this relation. To Buddhist conception all matter is sentient,--the sentiency varying according to condition: "even rocks and stones," a Japanese Buddhist text declares, "can worship Buddha." In the German monism of Professor Haeckel's school, the particular qualities and affinities of the atom represent feeling and inclination, "a soul of the simplest kind"; in Buddhism these qualities are made by [222] Karma,--that is to say, they represent tendencies formed in previous states of existence. The hypotheses appear to be very similar. But there is only immense, all-important difference, between the Occidental and the Oriental monism. The former would attribute the qualities of the atom merely to a sort of heredity,--to the persistency of tendencies developed under chance--influences operating throughout an incalculable past. The latter declares the history of the atom to be purely moral! All matter, according to Buddhism, represents aggregated sentiency, making, by its inherent tendencies, toward conditions of pain or pleasure, evil or good. "Pure actions," writes the author of Outlines of the Maheyena Philosophy, "bring forth the Pure Lands of all the quarters of the universe; while impure deeds produce the Impure Lands." That is to say, the matter integrated by the force of moral acts goes to the making of blissful worlds; and the matter formed by the force of immoral acts goes to the making of miserable worlds. All substance, like all mind, has its Karma; planets, like men, are shaped by the creative power of acts and thoughts; and every atom goes to its appointed place, sooner or later, according to the moral or immoral quality of the tendencies that inform it. Your good or bad thought or deed will not only affect your next rebirth, but will likewise affect in some sort the nature of worlds yet unevolved, wherein, after innumerable cycles, [223] you may have to live again. Of course, this tremendous idea has no counterpart in modern evolutional philosophy. Mr. Spencer's position is well known; but I must quote him for the purpose of emphasizing the contrast between Buddhist and scientific thought:-- "...We have no ethics of nebular condensation, or of sidereal movement, or of planetary evolution; the conception is not relevant to inorganic matter. Nor, when we turn to organized things, do we find that it has any relation to the phenomena of plant-life; though we ascribe to plants superiorities and inferiorities, leading to successes and failures in the struggle for existence, we do not associate with them praise or blame. It is only with the rise of sentiency in the animal world that the subject-matter of ethics originates."--Principles of Ethics, Vol. II, Section 326. On the contrary, it will be seen, Buddhism actually teaches what we may call, to borrow Mr. Spencer's phrase, "the ethics of nebular condensation,"--though to Buddhist astronomy, the scientific meaning of the term "nebular condensation" was never known. Of course the hypothesis is beyond the power of human intelligence to prove or to disprove. But it is interesting, for it proclaims a purely moral order of the cosmos, and attaches almost infinite consequence to the least of human acts. Had the old Buddhist metaphysicians been acquainted with the facts of modern chemistry, they [224] might have applied their doctrine, with appalling success, to the interpretation of those facts. They might have explained the dance of atoms, the affinities of molecules, the vibrations of ether, in the most fascinating and terrifying way by their theory of Karma.... Here is a universe of suggestion,--most weird suggestion--for anybody able and willing to dare the experiment of making a new religion, or at least a new and tremendous system of Alchemy, based upon the notion of a moral order in the inorganic world! But the metaphysics of Karma in the higher Buddhism include much that is harder to understand than any alchemical hypothesis of atom-combinations. As taught by popular Buddhism, the doctrine of rebirth is simple enough,--signifying no more than transmigration: you have lived millions of times in the past, and you are likely to live again millions of times in the future,--all the conditions of each rebirth depending upon past conduct. The common notion is that after a certain period of bodiless sojourn in this world, the spirit is guided somehow to the place of its next incarnation. The people, of course, believe in souls. But there is nothing of all this in the higher doctrine, which denies transmigration, denies the existence of the soul, denies personality. There is no Self to be reborn; there is no transmigration--and yet there [225] is rebirth! There is no real "I" that suffers or is glad--and yet there is new suffering to be borne or new happiness to be gained! What we call the Self,--the personal consciousness,--dissolves at the death of the body; but the Karma, formed during life, then brings about the integration of a new body and a new consciousness. You suffer in this existence because of acts done in a previous existence---yet the author of those acts was not identical with your present self! Are you, then, responsible for the faults of another person? The Buddhist metaphysician would answer thus: "The form of your question is wrong, because it assumes the existence of personality,--and there is no personality. There is really no such individual as the 'you' of the inquiry. The suffering is indeed the result of errors committed in some anterior existence or existences; but there is no responsibility for the acts of another person, since there is no personality. The 'I' that was and the 'I' that is represent in the chain of transitory being aggregations momentarily created by acts and thoughts; and the pain belongs to the aggregates as condition resulting from quality." All this sounds extremely obscure: to understand the real theory we must put away the notion of personality, which is a very difficult thing to do. Successive births do not mean transmigration in the common sense of that word, but only the self-propagation of [226] Karma: the perpetual multiplying of certain conditions by a kind of ghostly gemmation,--if I may borrow a biological term. The Buddhist illustration, however, is that of flame communicated from one lamp-wick to another: a hundred lamps may thus be lighted from one flame, and the hundred flames will all be different, though the origin of all was the same. Within the hollow flame of each transitory life is enclosed a part of the only Reality; but this is not a soul that transmigrates. Nothing passes from birth to birth but Karma,--character or condition. One will naturally ask how can such a doctrine exert any moral influence whatever? If the future being shaped by my Karma is to be in nowise identical with my present self,--if the future consciousness evolved by my Karma is to be essentially another consciousness,--how can I force myself to feel anxious about the sufferings of that unborn person? "Again your question is wrong," a Buddhist would answer: "to understand the doctrine you must get rid of the notion of individuality, and think, not of persons, but of successive states of feeling and consciousness, each of which buds out of the other,--a chain of existences interdependently united." ... I may attempt another illustration. Every individual, as we understand the term, is continually changing. All the structures of the body are constantly undergoing waste and repair; and the [227] body that you have at this hour is not, as to substance, the same body that you had ten years ago. Physically you are not the same person: yet you suffer the same pains, and feel the same pleasures, and find your powers limited by the same conditions. Whatever disintegrations and reconstructions of tissue have taken place within you, you have the same physical and mental peculiarities that you had ten years ago. Doubtless the cells of your brain have been decomposed and recomposed: yet you experience the same emotions, recall the same memories, and think the same thoughts. Everywhere the fresh substance has assumed the qualities and tendencies of the substance replaced. This persistence of condition is like Karma. The transmission of tendency remains, though the aggregate is changed.... These few glimpses into the fantastic world, of Buddhist metaphysics will suffice, I trust, to convince any intelligent reader that the higher Buddhism (to which belongs the much-discussed and little-comprehended doctrine of Nirvana) could never have been the religion of millions almost incapable of forming abstract ideas,--the religion of a population even yet in a comparatively early stage of religious evolution. It was never understood by the people at all, nor is it ever taught to them to-day. It is a religion of metaphysicians, a [228] religion of scholars, a religion so difficult to be understood, even by persons of some philosophical training, that it might well be mistaken for a system of universal negation. Yet the reader should now be able to perceive that, because a man disbelieves in a personal God, in an immortal soul, and in any continuation of personality after death, it does not follow that we are justified in declaring him an irreligious Person,--especially if he happen to be an Oriental. The Japanese scholar who believes in the moral order of the universe, the ethical responsibility of the present to all the future, the immeasurable consequence of every thought and deed, the ultimate disparition of evil, and the power of attainment to conditions of infinite memory and infinite vision,--cannot be termed either an atheist or a materialist, except by bigotry and ignorance. Profound as may be the difference between his religion and our own, in respect of symbols and modes of thought, the moral conclusions reached in either case are very much the same. [229] THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION The late Professor Fiske, in his Outline of Cosmic Philosophy, made a very interesting remark about societies like those of China, ancient Egypt, and ancient Assyria. "I am expressing," he said, "something more than an analogy, I am describing a real homology so far as concerns the process of development,--when I say that these communities simulated modern European nations, much in the same way that a tree-fern of the carboniferous period simulated the exogenous trees of the present time." So far as this is true of China, it is likewise true of Japan. The constitution of the old Japanese society was no more than an amplification of the constitution of the family,--the patriarchal family of primitive times. All modern Western societies have been developed out of a like patriarchal condition: the early civilizations of Greece and Rome were similarly constructed, upon a lesser scale. But the patriarchal family in Europe was disintegrated thousands of years ago; the gens and the curia dissolved and disappeared; the originally distinct classes became fused together; and a total reorganization of society was gradually [230] effected, everywhere resulting in the substitution of voluntary for compulsory cooperation. Industrial types of society developed; and a state-religion overshadowed the ancient and exclusive local cults. But society in Japan never, till within the present era, became one coherent body, never developed beyond the clan-stage. It remained a loose agglomerate of clan-groups, or tribes, each religiously and administratively independent of the rest; and this huge agglomerate was kept together, not by voluntary cooperation, but by strong compulsion. Down to the period of Meiji, and even for some time afterward, it was liable to split and fall asunder at any moment that the central coercive power showed signs of weakness. We may call it a feudalism; but it resembled European feudalism only as a tree-fern resembles a tree. Let us first briefly consider the nature of the ancient Japanese society. Its original unit was not the household, but the patriarchal family,--that is to say, the gens or clan, a body of hundreds or thousands of persons claiming descent from a common ancestor, and so religiously united by a common ancestor-worship,--the cult of the Ujigami. As I have said before, there were two classes of these patriarchal families: the O-uji, or Great Clans; and the Ko-uji, or Little Clans. The lesser were branches of the greater, and subordinate to [231] them,--so that the group formed by an O-uji with its Ko-uji might be loosely compared with the Roman curia or Greek phratry. Large bodies of serfs or slaves appear to have been attached to the various great Uji; and the number of these, even at a very early period, seems to have exceeded that of the members of the clans proper. The different names given to these subject-classes indicate different grades and kinds of servitude. One name was tomobe, signifying bound to a place, or district; another was yakabe, signifying bound to a family; a third was kakibe, signifying bound to a close, or estate; yet another and more general term was tami, which anciently signified "dependants," but is now used in the meaning of the English word "folk." ... There is little doubt that the bulk of the people were in a condition of servitude, and that there were many forms of servitude. Mr. Spencer has pointed out that a general distinction between slavery and serfdom, in the sense commonly attached to each of those terms, is by no means easy to establish; the real state of a subject-class, especially in early forms of society, depending much more upon the character of the master, and the actual conditions of social development, than upon matters of privilege and legislation. In speaking of early Japanese institutions, the distinction is particularly hard to draw: we are still but little informed as to the condition of the subject [232] classes in ancient times. It is safe to assert, however, that there were then really but two great classes,--a ruling oligarchy, divided into many grades; and a subject population, also divided into many grades. Slaves were tattooed, either on the face or some part of the body, with a mark indicating their ownership. Until within recent years this system of tattooing appears to have been maintained in the province of Satsuma,--where the marks were put especially upon the hands; and in many other provinces the lower classes were generally marked by a tattoo on the face. Slaves were bought and sold like cattle in early times, or presented as tribute by their owners,--a practice constantly referred to in the ancient records. Their unions were not recognized: a fact which reminds us of the distinction among the Romans between connubium and contubernium; and the children of a slave-mother by a free father remained slaves.* In the seventh century, however, private slaves were declared state-property, and great numbers were [233] then emancipated,--including nearly all--probably all--who were artizans or followed useful callings. Gradually a large class of freedmen came into existence; but until modern times the great mass of the common people appear to have remained in a condition analogous to serfdom. The greater number certainly had no family names,--which is considered evidence of a former slave-condition. Slaves proper were registered in the names of their owners: they do not seem to have had a cult of their own,--in early times, at least. But, prior to Meiji, only the aristocracy, samurai, doctors, and teachers--with perhaps a few other exceptions--could use a family name. Another queer bit of evidence or, the subject, furnished by the late Dr. Simmons, relates to the mode of wearing the hair among the subject-classes. Up to the time of the Ashikaga shogunate (1334 A.D.), all classes excepting the nobility, samurai, Shinto priests, and doctors, shaved the greater part of the head, and wore queues; and this fashion of wearing the hair was called yakko-atama or dorei-atama--terms signifying "slave-head," and indicating that the fashion originated in a period of servitude. [*In the year 645, the Emperor Kotoku issued the following edict on the subject:-- "The law of men and women shall be that the children born of a free man and a free woman shall belong to the father; if a free man takes to wife a slave-woman, her children shall belong to the mother; if a free woman marries a slave-man, the children shall belong to the father; if they are slaves of two houses, the children shall belong to the mother. The children of temple-serfs shall follow the rule for freemen. But in regard to others who become slaves, they shall be treated according to the rule for slaves.--Aston's translation of the Nihongi, Vol. II, p. 202.] About the origin of Japanese slavery, much remains to be learned. There are evidences of successive immigrations; and it is possible that some, at least, of the earlier Japanese settlers were reduced by later invaders to the status of servitude. Again, [234] there was a considerable immigration of Koreans and Chinese, some of whom might have voluntarily sought servitude as a refuge from worse evils. But the subject remains obscure. We know, however, that degradation to slavery was a common punishment in early times; also, that debtors unable to pay became the slaves of their creditors; also, that thieves were sentenced to become the slaves of those whom they had robbed.* Evidently there were great differences in the conditions of servitude. The more unfortunate class of slaves were scarcely better off than domestic animals; but there were serfs who could not be bought or sold, nor employed at other than special work; these were of kin to their lords, and may have entered voluntarily into servitude for the sake of sustenance and protection. Their relation to their masters reminds us of that of the Roman client to the Roman patron. [*An edict issued by the Empress Jito, in 690, enacted that a father could sell his son into real slavery; but that debtors could be sold only into a kind of serfdom. The edict ran thus: "If a younger brother of the common people is sold by his elder brother, he should be classed with freemen; if a child is sold by his parents, he should be classed with slaves; persons confiscated into slavery, by way of payment of interest on debts, are to be classed with freemen; and their children, though born of a union with a slave, are to be all classed with freemen."--Aston's Nihongi, Vol. II, p, 402.] As yet it is difficult to establish any clear distinction between the freedmen and the freemen of ancient Japanese society; but we know that the free population, ranking below the ruling class, [235] consisted of two great divisions: the kunitsuko and the tomonotsuko. The first were farmers, descendants perhaps of the earliest Mongol invaders, and were permitted to hold their own lands independently of the central government: they were lords of their own soil, but not nobles. The tomonotsuko were artizans,--probably of Korean or Chinese descent, for the most part,--and numbered no less than 180 clans. They followed hereditary occupations; and their clans were attached to the imperial clans, for which they were required to furnish skilled labour. Originally each of the O-uji and Ko-uji had its own territory, chiefs, dependants, serfs, and slaves. The chieftainships were hereditary,--descending from father to son in direct succession from the original patriarch. The chief of a great clan was lord over the chiefs of the subclans attached to it: his authority was both religious and military. It must not be forgotten that religion and government were considered identical. All Japanese clan-families were classed under three heads,--Kobetsu, Shinbetsu, and Bambetsu. The Kobetsu ("Imperial Branch") represented the so-called imperial families, claiming descent from the Sun-goddess; the Shinbetsu ("Divine Branch") were clans claiming descent from other deities, terrestrial or celestial; the Bambetsu ("Foreign Branch") represented the mass of the people. [236] Thus it would seem that, by the ruling classes, the common people were originally considered strangers,--Japanese only by adoption. Some scholars think that the term Bambetsu was at first given to serfs or freedmen of Chinese or Korean descent. But this has not been proved. It is only certain that all society was divided into three classes, according to ancestry; that two of these classes constituted a ruling oligarchy;* and that the third, or "foreign" class represented the bulk of the nation,--the plebs. [*Dr. Florenz accounts for the distinction between Kobetsu and Shinbetsu as due to the existence of two military ruling classes,--resulting from two successive waves of invasion or immigration. The Kobetsu were the followers of Jimmu Tenno; the Shinbetsu were earlier conquerors who had settled in Yamato prior to the advent of Jimmu. These first conquerors, he thinks, were not dispossessed.] There was a division also into castes--kabane or sei. (I use the term "castes," following Dr. Florenz, a leading authority on ancient Japanese civilization, who gives the meaning of sei as equivalent to that of the Sanscrit varna, signifying "caste" or "colour.") Every family in the three great divisions of Japanese society belonged to some caste; and each caste represented at first some occupation or calling. Caste would not seem to have developed any very rigid structure in Japan; and there were early tendencies to a confusion of the kabane. In the seventh century the confusion became so great that the Emperor Temmu thought it necessary to reorganize the sei; and by him all the clan-families were regrouped into eight new castes. [237] Such was the primal constitution of Japanese society; and that society was, therefore, in no true sense of the term, a fully formed nation. Nor can the title of Emperor be correctly applied to its early rulers. The German scholar, Dr. Florenz, was the first to establish these facts, contrary to the assumption of Japanese historians. He has shown that the "heavenly sovereign" of the early ages was the hereditary chief of one Uji only,--which Uji, being the most powerful of all, exercised influence over many of the others. The authority of the "heavenly sovereign" did not extend over the country. But though not even a king,--outside of his own large group of patriarchal families,--he enjoyed three immense prerogatives. The first was the right of representing the different Uji before the common ancestral deity,--which implies the privileges and powers of a high priest. The second was the right of representing the different Uji in foreign relations: that is to say, he could make peace or declare war in the name of all the clans, and therefore exercised the supreme military authority. His third prerogative included the right to settle disputes between clans; the right to nominate a clan-patriarch, in case that the line of direct succession to the chieftainship of any Uji came to an end; the right to establish new Uji; and the right to abolish an Uji guilty of so acting as to endanger the welfare of the rest. He was, therefore, Supreme Pontiff, Supreme Military Commander, [238] Supreme Arbitrator, and Supreme Magistrate. But he was not yet supreme king: his powers were exercised only by consent of the clans. Later he was to become the Great Khan in very fact, and even much more,--the Priest-Ruler, the God-King, the Deity-Incarnate. But with the growth of his dominion, it became more and more difficult for him to exercise all the functions originally combined in his authority; and, as a consequence of deputing those functions, his temporal sway was doomed to decline, even while his religious power continued to augment. The earliest Japanese society was not, therefore, even a feudalism in the meaning which we commonly attach to that word: it was a union of clans at first combined for defence and offence,--each clan having a religion of its own. Gradually one clan-group, by power of wealth and numbers, obtained such domination that it was able to impose its cult upon all the rest, and to make its hereditary chief Supreme High Pontiff. The worship of the Sun-goddess so became a race-cult; but this worship did not diminish the relative importance of the other clan-cults,--it only furnished them with a common tradition. Eventually a nation formed; but the clan remained the real unit of society; and not until the present era of Meiji was its disintegration effected--at least in so far as legislation could accomplish. [239] We may call that period during which the clans became really united under one head, and the national cult was established, the First Period of Japanese Social Evolution. However, the social organism did not develop to the limit of its type until the era of the Tokugawa shoguns,--so that, in order to study it as a completed structure, we must turn to modern times. Yet it had taken on the vague outline of its destined form as early as the reign of the Emperor Temmu, whose accession is generally dated 673 A.D. During that reign Buddhism appears to have become a powerful influence at court; for the Emperor practically imposed a vegetarian diet upon the people--proof positive of supreme power in fact as well as in theory. Even before this time society had been arranged into ranks and grades,--each of the upper grades being distinguished by the form and quality of the official head-dresses worn; but the Emperor Temmu established many new grades, and reorganized the whole administration, after the Chinese manner, in one hundred and eight departments. Japanese society then assumed, as to its upper ranks, nearly all the hierarchical forms which it presented down to the era of the Tokugawa shoguns, who consolidated the system without seriously changing its fundamental structure. We may say that from the close of the First Period of its social evolution, the nation remained practically separated into two classes: the [240] governing class, including all orders of the nobility and military; and the producing class, comprising all the rest. The chief event of the Second Period of the social evolution was the rise of the military power, which left the imperial religious authority intact, but usurped all the administrative functions (this subject will be considered in a later chapter). The society eventually crystallized by this military power was a very complex structure--outwardly resembling a huge feudalism, as we understand the term, but intrinsically different from any European feudalism that ever existed. The difference lay especially in the religious organization of the Japanese communities, each of which, retaining its particular cult and patriarchal administration, remained essentially separate from every other. The national cult was a bond of tradition, not of cohesion: there was no religious unity. Buddhism, though widely accepted, brought no real change into this order of things; for, whatever Buddhist creed a commune might profess, the real social bond remained the bond of the Ujigami. So that, even as fully developed under the Tokugawa rule, Japanese society was still but a great aggregate of clans and subclans, kept together by military coercion. At the head of this vast aggregate was the Heavenly Sovereign, the Living God of the race,--Priest-Emperor and Pontiff Supreme, --representing the oldest dynasty in the world. [241] Next to him stood the Kuge, or ancient nobility,--descendants of emperors and of gods. There were, in the time of the Tokugawa, 155 families of this high nobility. One of these, the Nakatomi, held, and still holds, the highest hereditary priesthood: the Nakatomi were, under the Emperor, the chiefs of the ancestral cult. All the great clans of early Japanese history--such as the Fujiwara, the Taira, the Minamoto--were Kuge; and most of the great regents and shoguns of later history were either Kuge or descendants of Kuge. Next to the Kuge ranked the Buke, or military class,--also called Monofufu, Wasarau, or Samurahi (according to the ancient writing of these names),--with an extensive hierarchy of its own. But the difference, in most cases, between the lords and the warriors of the Buke was a difference of rank based upon income and title: all alike were samurai, and nearly all were of Kobetsu or Shinbetsu descent. In early times the head of the military class was appointed by the Emperor, only as a temporary commander-in-chief: afterwards, these commanders-in-chief, by usurpation of power, made their office hereditary, and became veritable imperatores, in the Roman sense. Their title of shogun is well known to Western readers. The shogun ruled over between two and three hundred lords of provinces or districts, whose powers and privileges varied according to income and grade. Under the Tokugawa [242] shogunate there were 292 of these lords, or daimyo. Before that time each lord exercised supreme rule over his own domain; and it is not surprising that the Jesuit missionaries, as well as the early Dutch and English traders should have called the daimyo "kings." The despotism of the daimyo was first checked by the founders of the Tokugawa dynasty, Iyeyasu, who so restricted their powers that they became, with some exceptions, liable to lose their estates if proved guilty of oppression and cruelty. He ranked them all in four great classes: (1) Sanke, or Go-Sanke, the "Three Exalted Families" (those from whom a successor to the shogunate might be chosen, in case of need); (2) Kokushu, "Lords of Provinces"; (3) Tozama, "Outside-Lords"; (4) Fudai, "Successful Families": a name given to those families promoted to lordship or otherwise rewarded for fealty to Iyeyasu. Of the Sanke, there were three clans, or families: of the Kokushu, eighteen; of the Tozama, eighty-six; and of the Fudai, one hundred and seventy-six. The income of the least of these daimyo was 10,000 koku of rice (we may say about 10,000 pounds, though the value of the koku differed greatly at different periods); and the income of the greatest, the Lord of Kaga, was estimated at 1,027,000 koku. The great daimyo had their greater and lesser vassals; and each of these, again, had his force of trained samurai, or fighting gentry. There was [243] also a particular class of soldier-farmers, called goshi, some of whom possessed privileges and powers exceeding those of the lesser daimyo. These goshi, who were independent landowners, for the most part, formed a kind of yeomanry; but there were many points of difference between the social position of the goshi and that of the English yeomen. Besides reorganizing the military class, Iyeyasu created several new subclasses. The more important of these were the hatamoto and the gokenin. The hatamoto, whose appellation signifies "banner-supporters," numbered about 2000, and the gokenin about 5000. These two bodies of samurai formed the special military force of the shogun; the hatamoto being greater vassals, with large incomes; and the gokenin lesser vassals, with small incomes, who ranked above other common samurai only because of being directly attached to the shogun's service.... The total number of samurai of all grades was about 2,000,000. They were exempted from taxation, and privileged to wear two swords. Such, in brief outline, was the general ordination of those noble and military classes by whom the nation was ruled with great severity. The bulk of the common people were divided into three classes (we might even say castes, but for Indian ideas long associated with the term): Farmers, Artizans, and Merchants. [244] Of these three classes, the farmers (hyakusho) were the highest; ranking immediately after the samurai. Indeed, it is hard to draw a line between the samurai class and the farming-class,--because many samurai were farmers also, and because some farmers held a rank considerably above that of ordinary samurai. Perhaps we should limit the term hyakusho (farmers, or peasantry) to those tillers of the soil who lived only by agriculture, and were neither of Kobetsu nor Shinbetsu descent.... At all events, the occupation of the peasant was considered honourable: a farmer's daughter might become a servant in the imperial household itself--though she could occupy only an humble position in the service. Certain farmers were privileged to wear swords. It appears that in the early ages of Japanese society there was no distinction between farmers and warriors: all able-bodied farmers were then trained fighting-men, ready for war at any moment,--a condition paralleled in old Scandinavian society. After a special military class had been evolved, the distinction between farmer and samurai still remained vague in certain parts of the country. In Satsuma and in Tosa, for example, the samurai continued to farm down to the present era: the best of the Kyushu samurai were nearly all farmers; and their superior stature and strength were commonly attributed to their rustic occupations. In other parts of the country, as in Izumo, farming was forbidden to samurai: [245] they were not even allowed to hold rice-land, though they might own forest-land. But in various provinces they were permitted to farm, even while strictly forbidden to follow any other occupation,--any trade or craft.... At no time did any degradation attach to the pursuit of agriculture. Some of the early emperors took a personal interest in farming; and in the grounds of the Imperial Palace at Akasaka may even now be seen a little rice-field. By religious tradition, immemorially old, the first sheaf of rice grown within the imperial grounds should be reaped and offered by the imperial hand to the divine ancestors as a harvest offering, on the occasion of the Ninth Festival,--Shin-Sho-Sai.* [*At this festival the first new silk of the year, as well as the first of the new rice-crop, is still offered to the Sun-goddess by the Emperor in person.] Below the peasantry ranked the artizan-class (Shokunin), including smiths, carpenters, weavers, potters,--all crafts, in short. Highest among these were reckoned, as we might expect, the sword-smiths. Sword-smiths not infrequently rose to dignities far beyond their class: some had conferred upon them the high title of Kami, written with the same character used in the title of a daimyo, who was usually termed the Kami of his province or district. Naturally they enjoyed the patronage of the highest,--emperors and Kuge. The Emperor Go-Toba is known to have worked at sword-making in a smithy [246] of his own. Religious rites were practised during the forging of a blade down to modern times.... All the principal crafts had guilds; and, as a general rule, trades were hereditary. There are good historical grounds for supposing that the ancestors of the Shokunin were mostly Koreans and Chinese. The commercial class (Akindo), including bankers, merchants, shopkeepers, and traders of all kinds, was the lowest officially recognized. The business of money-making was held in contempt by the superior classes; and all methods of profiting by the purchase and re-sale of the produce of labour were regarded as dishonourable. A military aristocracy would naturally look down upon the trading-classes; and there is generally, in militant societies, small respect for the common forms of labour. But in Old Japan the occupations of the farmer and the artizan were not despised: trade alone appears to have been considered degrading,--and the discrimination may have been partly a moral one. The relegation of the mercantile class to the lowest place in the social scale must have produced some curious results. However rich, for example, a rice-dealer might be, he ranked below the carpenters or potters or boat-builders whom he might employ,--unless it happened that his family originally belonged to another class. In later times [247] the Akindo included many persons of other than Akindo descent; and the class thus virtually retrieved itself. Of the four great classes of the nation--Samurai, Farmers, Artizans, and Merchants (the Shi-No-Ko-Sho, as they were briefly called, after the initial characters of the Chinese terms used to designate them)--the last three were counted together under the general appellation of Heimin, "common folk." ll heimin were subject to the samurai; any samurai being privileged to kill the heimin showing him disrespect. But the heimin were actually the nation: they alone created the wealth of the country, produced the revenues, paid the taxes, supported the nobility and military and clergy. As for the clergy, the Buddhist (like the Shinto) priests, though forming a class apart, ranked with the samurai, not with the heimin. Outside of the three classes of commoners, and hopelessly below the lowest of them, large classes of persons existed who were not reckoned as Japanese, and scarcely accounted human beings. Officially they were mentioned generically as chori, and were counted with the peculiar numerals used in counting animals: ippiki, nihiki, sambiki, etc. Even to-day they are commonly referred to, not as persons (hito), but as "things" (mono). To English readers (chiefly through Mr. Mitford's yet unrivalled Tales of Old [248] Japan) they are known as Eta; but their appellations varied according to their callings. They were pariah-people: Japanese writers have denied, upon apparently good grounds, that the chori belong to the Japanese race. Various tribes of these outcasts followed occupations in the monopoly of which they were legally confirmed: they were well-diggers, garden-sweepers, straw-workers, sandal-makers, according to local privileges. One class was employed officially in the capacity of torturers and executioners; another was employed as night-watchmen; a third as grave-makers. But most of the Eta followed the business of tanners and leather-dressers. They alone had the right to slaughter and flay animals, to prepare various kinds of leather, and to manufacture leather sandals, stirrup-straps, and drumheads,--the making of drumheads being a lucrative occupation in a country where drums were used in a hundred thousand temples. The Eta had their own laws, and their own chiefs, who exercised powers of life and death. They lived always in the suburbs or immediate neighbourhood of towns, but only in separate settlements of their own. They could enter the town to sell their wares, or to make purchases; but they could not enter any shop, except the shop of a dealer in footgear.* [*This is still the rule in certain parts of the country.] As professional singers they were tolerated; but they were forbidden to enter any house--so they could perform their music or sing [249] their songs only in the street, or in a garden. Any occupations other than their hereditary callings were strictly forbidden to them. Between the lowest of the commercial classes and the Eta, the barrier was impassable as any created by caste-tradition in India; and never was Ghetto more separated from the rest of a European city by walls and gates, than an Eta settlement from the rest of a Japanese town by social prejudice. No Japanese would dream of entering an Eta settlement unless obliged to do so in some official capacity.... At the pretty little seaport of Mionoseki, I saw an Eta settlement, forming one termination of the crescent of streets extending round the bay. Mionoseki is certainly one of the most ancient towns in Japan; and the Eta village attached to it must be very old. Even to-day, no Japanese habitant of Mionoseki would think of walking through that settlement, though its streets are continuations of the other streets: children never pass the unmarked boundary; and the very dogs will not cross the prejudice-line. For all that the settlement is clean, well built,--with gardens, baths, and temples of its own. It looks like any well-kept Japanese village. But for perhaps a thousand years there has been no fellowship between the people of those contiguous communities.... Nobody can now tell the history of these outcast folk: the cause of their social excommunication has long been forgotten. [250] Besides the Eta proper, there were pariahs called hinin,--a name signifying "not-human-beings." Under this appellation were included professional mendicants, wandering minstrels, actors, certain classes of prostitutes, and persons outlawed by society. The hinin had their own chiefs, and their own laws. Any person expelled from a Japanese community might join the hinin; but that signified good-by to the rest of humanity. The Government was too shrewd to persecute the hinin. Their gipsy-existence saved a world of trouble. It was unnecessary to keep petty offenders in jail, or to provide for people incapable of earning an honest living, so long as these could be driven into the hinin class. There the incorrigible, the vagrant, the beggar, would be kept under discipline of a sort, and would practically disappear from official cognizance. The killing of a hinin was not considered murder, and was punished only by a fine. The reader should now be able to form an approximately correct idea of the character of the old Japanese society. But the ordination of that society was much more complex than I have been able to indicate,--so complex that volumes would be required to treat the subject in detail. Once fully evolved, what we may still call Feudal Japan, for want of a better name, presented most of the features of a doubly-compound society of the militant type, with [251] certain marked approaches toward the trebly-compound type. A striking peculiarity, of course, is the absence of a true ecclesiastical hierarchy,--due to the fact that Government never became dissociated from religion. There was at one time a tendency on the part of Buddhism to establish a religious hierarchy independent of central authority; but there were two fatal obstacles in the way of such a development. The first was the condition of Buddhism itself,--divided into a number of sects, some bitterly opposed to others. The second obstacle was the implacable hostility of the military clans, jealous of any religious power capable of interfering, either directly or indirectly, with their policy. So soon as the foreign religion began to prove itself formidable in the world of action, ruthless measures were decided; and the frightful massacres of priests by Nobunaga, in the sixteenth century, ended the political aspirations of Buddhism in Japan. Otherwise the regimentation of society resembled that of all antique civilizations of the militant type,--all action being both positively and negatively regulated. The household ruled the person; the five-family group; the household; the community, the group; the lord of the soil, the community; the Shogun, the lord. Over the whole body of the producing classes, two million samurai had power of life and death; over these samurai the daimyo held a like power; and the daimyo were subject to the Shogun. [252] Nominally the Shogun was subject to the Emperor, but not in fact: military usurpation disturbed and shifted the natural order of the higher responsibility. However, from the nobility downwards, the regulative discipline was much reinforced by this change in government. Among the producing classes there were countless combinations--guilds of all sorts; but these were only despotisms within despotisms--despotisms of the communistic order; each member being governed by the will of the rest; and enterprise, whether commercial or industrial, being impossible outside of some corporation.... We have already seen that the individual was bound to the commune--could not leave it without a permit, could not marry out of it. We have seen also that the stranger was a stranger in the old Greek and Roman sense,--that is to say an enemy, a hostis,--and could enter another community only by being religiously adopted into it. As regards exclusiveness, therefore, the social conditions were like those of the early European communities; but the militant conditions resembled rather those of the great Asiatic empires. Of course such a society had nothing in common with any modern form of Occidental civilization. It was a huge mass of clan-groups, loosely united under a duarchy, in which the military head was omnipotent, and the religious head only an object of [253] worship,--the living symbol of a cult. However this organization might outwardly resemble what we are accustomed to call feudalism, its structure was rather like that of ancient Egyptian or Peruvian society,--minus the priestly hierarchy. The supreme figure is not an Emperor in our meaning of the word,--not a king of kings and viceregent of heaven,--but a God incarnate, a race-divinity, an Inca descended from the Sun. About his sacred person, we see the tribes ranged in obeisance,--each tribe, nevertheless, maintaining its own ancestral cult; and the clans forming these tribes, and the communities forming these clans, and the households forming these communities, have all their separate cults; and out of the mass of these cults have been derived the customs and the laws. Yet everywhere the customs and the laws differ more or less, because of the variety of their origins: they have this only in common,--that they exact the most humble and implicit obedience, and regulate every detail of private and public life. Personality is wholly suppressed by coercion; and the coercion is chiefly from within, not from without,--the life of every individual being so ordered by the will of the rest as to render free action, free speaking, or free thinking, out of the question. This means something incomparably harsher than the socialistic tyranny of early Greek society: it means religious communism doubled with a military despotism of [254] the most terrible kind. The individual did not legally exist,--except for punishment; and from the whole of the producing-classes, whether serfs or freemen, the most servile submission was ruthlessly exacted. It is difficult to believe that any intelligent man of modern times could endure such conditions and live (except under the protection of some powerful ruler, as in the case of the English pilot Will Adams, created a samurai by Iyeyasu): the incessant and multiform constraint upon mental and moral life would of itself be enough to kill.... Those who write to-day about the extraordinary capacity of the Japanese for organization, and about the "democratic spirit" of the people as natural proof of their fitness for representative government in the Western sense, mistake appearances for realities. The truth is that the extraordinary capacity of the Japanese for communal organization, is the strongest possible evidence of their unfitness for any modern democratic form of government. Superficially the difference between Japanese social organization, and local self-government in the modern American, or the English colonial meaning of the term, appears slight; and we may justly admire the perfect self-discipline of a Japanese community. But the real difference between the two is fundamental, prodigious,--measurable only by thousands of years. It is the difference between compulsory and free [255] cooperation,--the difference between the most despotic form of communism, founded upon the most ancient form of religion, and the most highly evolved form of industrial union, with unlimited individual right of competition. There exists a popular error to the effect that what we call communism and socialism in Western civilization are modern growths, representing aspiration toward some perfect form of democracy. As a matter of fact these movements represent reversion,--reversion toward the primitive conditions of human society. Under every form of ancient despotism we find exactly the same capacity of self-government among the people: it was manifested by the old Egyptians and Peruvians as well as by the early Greeks and Romans; it is exhibited to-day by Hindoo and Chinese communities; it may be studied in Siamese or Annamese villages quite as well as in Japan. It means a religious communistic despotism,--a supreme social tyranny suppressing personality, forbidding enterprise, and making competition a public offence. Such self-government also has its advantages: it was perfectly adapted to the requirements of Japanese life so long as the nation could remain isolated from the rest of the world. Yet it must be obvious that any society whose ethical traditions forbid the individual to profit at the cost of his fellow-men will be placed at an enormous disadvantage when forced into the [256] industrial struggle for existence against communities whose self-government permits of the greatest possible personal freedom, and the widest range of competitive enterprise. We might suppose that perpetual and universal coercion, moral and physical, would have brought about a state of universal sameness,--a dismal uniformity and monotony in all life's manifestations. But such monotony existed only as to the life of the commune, not as to that of the race. The most wonderful variety characterized this quaint civilization, as it also characterized the old Greek civilization, and for precisely the same reasons. In every patriarchal civilization ruled by ancestor-worship, all tendency to absolute sameness, to general uniformity, is prevented by the character of the aggregate itself, which never becomes homogeneous and plastic. Every unit of that aggregate, each one of the multitude of petty despotisms composing it, most jealously guards its own particular traditions and customs, and remains self-sufficing. Hence results, sooner or later, incomparable variety of detail, small detail, artistic, industrial, architectural, mechanical. In Japan such differentiation and specialization was thus maintained, that you will hardly find in the whole country even two villages where the customs, industries, and methods of production are exactly the same.... The customs [257] of the fishing-villages will, perhaps, best illustrate what I mean. In every coast district the various fishing-settlements have their own traditional ways of constructing nets and boats, and their own particular methods of handling them. Now, in the time of the great tidal-wave of 1896, when thirty thousand people perished, and scores of coast-villages were wrecked, large sums of money were collected in Kobe and elsewhere for the benefit of the survivors; and well-meaning foreigners attempted to supply the want of boats and fishing implements by purchasing quantities of locally made nets and boats, and sending them to the afflicted districts. But it was found that these presents were of no use to the men of the northern provinces, who had been accustomed to boats and nets of a totally different kind; and it was further discovered that every fishing-hamlet had special requirements of its own in this regard.... Now the differentiations of habit and custom, thus exhibited in the life of the fishing-communities, is paralleled in many crafts and callings. The way of building houses, and of roofing them, differs in almost every province, also the methods of agriculture and of horticulture, the manner of making wells, the methods of weaving and lacquering and pottery-making and tile-baking. Nearly every town and village of importance boasts of some special production, bearing the name of the place, and unlike anything made elsewhere.... [258] No doubt the ancestral cults helped to conserve and to develop such local specialization of industries: the craft-ancestors, the patron-gods of the guild, were supposed to desire that the work of their descendants and worshippers should maintain a particular character of its own. Though individual enterprise was checked by communal regulation, the specialization of local production was encouraged by difference of cults. Family-conservatism or guild-conservatism would tolerate small improvements or modifications suggested by local experience, but would be wary, perhaps superstitious likewise, about accepting the results of strange experience. Still, for the Japanese themselves, not the least pleasure of travel in Japan is the pleasure of studying the curious variety in local production,--the pleasure of finding the novel, the unexpected, the unimagined. Even those arts or industries of Old Japan, primarily borrowed from Korea or from China, appear to have developed and conserved innumerable queer forms under the influence of the numberless local cults. [259] THE RISE OF THE MILITARY POWER Almost the whole of authentic Japanese history is comprised in one vast episode: the rise and fall of the military power.... It has been customary to speak of Japanese history as beginning with the accession of Jimmu Tenno, alleged to have reigned from 660 to 585 B.C., and to have lived for one hundred and twenty-seven years. Before the time of the Emperor Jimmu was the Age of the Gods,--the period of mythology. But trustworthy history does not begin for a thousand years after the accession of Jimmu Tenno; and the chronicles of those thousand years must be regarded as little better than fairy-tales. They contain records of fact; but fact and myth are so interwoven that it is difficult to distinguish the one from the other. We have legends, for example, of an alleged conquest of Korea in the year 202 A.D., by the Empress Jingo; and it has been tolerably well proved that no such conquest took place.* [*See Aston's paper, Early Japanese History, in the translations of the Asiatic Society of Japan.] The later records are somewhat less mythical than the earlier. We have traditions apparently founded on [260] fact, of Korean immigration in the time of the fifteenth ruler, the Emperor Ojin; then later traditions, also founded on fact, of early Chinese studies in Japan; then some vague accounts of a disturbed state of society, which appears to have continued through the whole of the fifth century. Buddhism was introduced in the middle of the century following; and we have record of the fierce opposition offered to the new creed by a Shinto faction, and of a miraculous victory won by the help of the Four Deva Kings, at the prayer of Shotoku Taishi,--the great founder of Buddhism, and regent of the Empress Suiko. With the firm establishment of Buddhism in the reign of that Empress (593-628 A.D.), we reach the period of authentic history, and of the thirty-third Japanese sovereign counting from Jimmu Tenno. But although everything prior to the seventh century remains obscured for us by the mists of fable, much can be inferred, even from the half-mythical records, concerning social conditions during the reigns of the first thirty-three Emperors and Empresses. It appears that the early Mikado lived very simply--scarcely better, indeed, than their subjects. The Shinto scholar Mabuchi tells us that they dwelt in huts with mud walls and roofs of shingle; that they wore hempen clothes; that they carried their swords in simple wooden scabbards, bound round with the tendrils of a wild [261] vine; that they walked about freely among the people; that they carried their own bows and arrows when they went to hunt. But as society developed wealth and power, this early simplicity disappeared, and the gradual introduction of Chinese customs and etiquette effected great changes. The Empress Suiko introduced Chinese court-ceremonies, and first established among the nobility the Chinese grades of rank. Chinese luxury, as well as Chinese learning, soon made its appearance at court; and thereafter the imperial authority appears to have been less and less directly exerted. The new ceremonialism must have rendered the personal exercise of the multiform imperial functions more difficult than before; and it is probable that the temptation to act more or less by deputy would have been strong even in the case of an energetic ruler. At all events we find that the real administration of government began about this time to pass into the hands of deputies,--all of whom were members of the great Kuge clan of the Fujiwara. This clan, which included the highest hereditary priesthood, represented a majority of the ancient nobility, claiming divine descent. Ninety-five out of the total one hundred and fifty-five families of Kuge belonged to it,--including the five families, Go-Sekke, from which alone the Emperor was by tradition allowed to choose his Empress. Its historic name dates only from the reign of the Emperor [262] Kwammu (782-806 A.D.), who bestowed it as an honour upon Nakatomi no Kamatari; but the clan had long previously held the highest positions at Court. By the close of the seventh century most of the executive power had passed into its hands. Later the office of Kwambaku, or Regent, was established, and remained hereditary in the house down to modern times--ages after all real power had been taken from the descendants of Nakatomi no Kamatari. But during almost five centuries the Fujiwara remained the veritable regents of the country, and took every possible advantage of their position. All the civil offices were in the hands of Fujiwara men; all the wives and favourites of the Emperors were Fujiwara women. The whole power of government was thus kept in the hands of the clan; and the political authority of the Emperor ceased to exist. Moreover the succession was regulated entirely by the Fujiwara; and even the duration of each reign was made to depend upon their policy. It was deemed advisable to compel Emperors to abdicate at an early age, and after abdicating to become Buddhist monks,--the successor chosen being often a mere child. There is record of an Emperor ascending the throne at the age of two, and abdicating at the age of four; another Mikado was appointed at the age of five; several at the age of ten. Yet the religious dignity of the throne remained undiminished, or, rather, continued [263] to grow. The more the Mikado was withdrawn from public view by policy and by ceremonial, the more did his seclusion and inaccessibility serve to deepen the awe of the divine legend. Like the Lama of Thibet the living deity was made invisible to the multitude; and gradually the belief arose that to look upon his face was death.... It is said that the Fujiwara were not satisfied even with these despotic means of assuring their own domination, and that luxurious forms of corruption were maintained within the palace for the purpose of weakening the character of young emperors who might otherwise have found the energy to assert the ancient rights of the throne. Perhaps this usurpation--which prepared the way for the rise of the military power--has never been rightly interpreted. The history of all the patriarchal societies of ancient Europe will be found to illustrate the same phase of social evolution. At a certain period in the development of each we find the same thing happening,--the withdrawal of all political authority from the Priest-King, who is suffered, nevertheless, to retain the religious dignity. It may be a mistake to judge the policy of the Fujiwara as a policy of mere ambition and usurpation. The Fujiwara were a religious aristocracy, claiming divine origin,--clan-chiefs of a society in which religion and government were identical, and holding to that society much the same relation as that of the [264] Eupatridae to the ancient Attic society. The Mikado had originally become supreme magistrate, military commander, and religious head by consent of a majority of the clan-chiefs,--each of whom represented to his own following what the "Heavenly Sovereign" represented to the social aggregate. But as the power of the ruler extended with the growth of the nation, those who had formerly united to maintain that power began to find it dangerous. They decided to deprive the Heavenly Sovereign of all political and legal authority, without disturbing in any way his religious supremacy. At Athens, at Sparta, at Rome, and elsewhere in ancient Europe, the same policy was carried out, for the same reasons, by religious senates. The history of the early kings of Rome, as interpreted by M. de Coulanges, best illustrates the nature of the antagonism developed between the priest-ruler and the religious aristocracy; but the same thing took place in all the Greek communities, with about the same result. Everywhere political power was taken away from the early kings; but they were mostly left in possession of their religious dignities and privileges: they remained supreme priests after having ceased to be rulers. This was the case also in Japan; and I imagine that future Japanese historians will be able to give us an entirely new interpretation of the Fujiwara episode, as reviewed in the light of modern sociology. At all events, there can be little doubt [265] that, in curtailing the powers of the Heavenly Sovereign, the religious aristocracy must have been actuated by conservative precaution as well as by ambition. There had been various Emperors who made changes in the laws and customs--changes which could scarcely have been viewed with favour by many of the ancient nobility; there had been an Emperor whose diversions can to-day be written of only in Latin; there had even been an Emperor--Kotoku--who, though "God Incarnate," and chief of the ancient faith, "despised the Way of the Gods," and cut down the holy grove of the shrine of Iku-kuni-dama. Kotoku, for all his Buddhist piety (perhaps, indeed, because of it), was one of the wisest and best of rulers; but the example of a heavenly sovereign "despising the Way of the Gods," must have given the priestly clan matter for serious reflection.... Besides, there is another important fact to be noticed. The Imperial household proper had become, in the course of centuries, entirely detached from the Uji; and the omnipotence of this unit, independent of all other units, constituted in itself a grave danger to aristocratic privileges and established institutions. Too much might depend upon the personal character and will of an omnipotent God-King, capable of breaking with all clan-custom, and of abrogating clan-privileges. On the other hand, there was safety for all alike under the patriarchal rule of the clan, which [266] could cheek every tendency on the part of any of its members to exert predominant influence at the expense of the rest. But for obvious reasons the Imperial cult--traditional source of all authority and privilege--could not be touched: it was only by maintaining and reinforcing it that the religious nobility could expect to keep the real power in their hands. They actually kept it for nearly five centuries. The history of all the Japanese regencies, however, amply illustrates the general rule that inherited authority is ever and everywhere liable to find itself supplanted by deputed authority. The Fujiwara appear to have eventually become the victims of that luxury which they had themselves, for reasons of policy, introduced and maintained. Degenerating into a mere court-nobility, they made little effort to exert any direct authority in other than civil directions, entrusting military matters almost wholly to the Buke. In the eighth century the distinction between military and civil organization had been made upon the Chinese plan; the great military class then came into existence, and began to extend its power rapidly. Of the military clans proper, the most powerful were the Minamoto and the Taira. By deputing to these clans the conduct of all important matters relating to war, the Fujiwara eventually lost their high position and influence. As soon [267] as the Buke found themselves strong enough to lay hands upon the reins of government,--which happened about the middle of the eleventh century,--the Fujiwara supremacy became a thing of the past, although members of the clan continued for centuries to occupy positions of importance under various regents. But the Buke could not realize their ambition without a bitter struggle among themselves,--the longest and the fiercest war in Japanese history. The Minamoto and the Taira were both Kuge; both claimed imperial descent. In the early part of the contest the Taira carried all before them; and it seemed that no power could hinder them from exterminating the rival clan. But fortune turned at last in favour of the Minamoto; and at the famous sea-fight of Dan-no-ura, in 1185, the Taira were themselves exterminated. Then began the reign of the Minamoto regents, or rather shogun. I have elsewhere said that the title "shogun" originally signified, as did the Roman military term Imperator, only a commander-in-chief: it now became the title of the supreme ruler de facto, in his double capacity of civil and military sovereign,--the King of kings. From the accession of the Minamoto to power the history of the shogunate--the long history of the military supremacy--really begins; Japan thereafter, down to the present era of Meiji, having really two Emperors: [268] the Heavenly Sovereign, or Deity Incarnate, representing the religion of the race; and the veritable Imperator, who wielded all the powers of the administration. No one sought to occupy by force the throne of the Sun's Succession, whence all authority was at least supposed to be derived. Regent or shogun bowed down before it: divinity could not be usurped. Yet peace did not follow upon the battle of Dan-no-ura: the clan-wars initiated by the great struggle of the Minamoto and the Taira, continued, at irregular intervals, for five centuries more; and the nation remained disintegrated. Nor did the Minamoto long keep the supremacy which they had so dearly won. Deputing their powers to the Hojo family, they were supplanted by the Hojo, just as the Fujiwara had been supplanted by the Taira. Three only of the Minamoto shogun really exercised rule. During the whole of the thirteenth century, and for some time afterwards, the Hojo continued to govern the country; and it is noteworthy that these regents never assumed the title of shogun, but professed to be merely shogunal deputies. Thus a triple-headed government appeared to exist; for the Minamoto kept up a kind of court at Kamakura. But they faded into mere shadows, and are yet remembered by the significant appellation of "Shadow-Shogun," or "Puppet Shogun." There was nothing shadowy, however, about the administration of the Hojo, [269]--men of immense energy and ability. By them Emperor or shogun could be deposed and banished without scruple; and the helplessness of the shogunate can be inferred from the fact, that the seventh Hojo regent, before deposing the seventh shogun, sent him home in a palanquin, head downwards and heels upwards. Nevertheless the Hojo suffered the phantom-shogunate to linger on, until 1333. Though unscrupulous in their methods, these regents were capable rulers; and proved themselves able to save the country in a great emergency,--the famous invasion attempted by Kublai Khan in 1281. Aided by a fortunate typhoon, which is said to have destroyed the hostile fleet in answer to prayer offered up at the national shrines, the Hojo could repel this invasion. They were less successful in dealing with certain domestic disorders,--especially those fomented by the turbulent Buddhist priesthood. During the thirteenth century, Buddhism had developed into a great military power,--strangely like that church-militant of the European middle ages: the period of soldier-priests and fighting-bishops. The Buddhist monasteries had been converted into fortresses filled with men-at arms; Buddhist menace had more than once carried terror into the sacred seclusion of the imperial court. At an early day, Yoritomo, the far-seeing founder of the Minamoto dynasty, had observed a militant tendency in Buddhism, and had attempted to check [270] it by forbidding all priests and monks either to bear arms, or to maintain armed retainers. But his successors had been careless about enforcing these prohibitions; and the Buddhist military power developed in consequence so rapidly that the shrewdest Hojo were doubtful of their ability to cope with it. Eventually this power proved capable of giving them serious trouble. The ninety-sixth Mikado, Go-Daigo, found courage to revolt against the tyranny of the Hojo; and the Buddhist soldiery took part with him. He was promptly defeated, and banished to the islands of Oki; but his cause was soon espoused by powerful lords, who had long chafed under the despotism of the regency. These assembled their forces, restored the banished Emperor, and combined in a desperate attack upon the regent's capital, Kamakura. The city was stormed and burned; and the last of the Hojo rulers, after a brave but vain defence, performed harakiri. Thus shogunate and regency vanished together, in 1333. For the moment the whole power of administration had been restored to the Mikado. Unfortunately for himself and for the country, Go-Daigo was too feeble of character to avail himself of this great opportunity. He revived the dead shogunate by appointing his own son shogun; he weakly ignored the services of those whose loyalty and courage had restored him; and he foolishly strengthened [271] the hands of those whom he had every reason to fear. As a consequence there happened the most serious political catastrophe in the history of Japan, a division of the imperial house against itself. The unscrupulous despotism of the Hojo regents had prepared the possibility of such an event. During the last years of the thirteenth century, there were living at the same time in Kyoto, besides the reigning Mikado, no less than three deposed emperors. To bring about a contest for the succession was, therefore, an easy matter; and this was soon accomplished by the treacherous general Ashikaga Takeuji, to whom Go-Daigo had unwisely shown especial favour. Ashikaga had betrayed the Hojo in order to help the restoration of Go-Daigo: he subsequently would have betrayed the trust of Go-Daigo, in order to seize the administrative power. The Emperor discovered this treasonable purpose when too late, and sent against Ashikaga an army which was defeated. After some further contest Ashikaga mastered the capital, drove Go-Daigo a second time into exile, set up a rival Emperor, and established a new shogunate. Now for the first time, two branches of the Imperial family, each supported by powerful lords, contended for the right of succession. That of which Go-Daigo remained the acting representative, is known in history as the Southern Branch (Nancho), and by Japanese historians is held to be the only legitimate branch. [272] The other was called the Northern Branch (Hokucho), and was maintained at Kyoto by the power of the Ashikaga clan; while Go-Daigo, finding refuge in a Buddhist monastery, retained the insignia of empire. Thereafter, for a period of fifty-six years Japan continued to have two Mikado; and the resulting disorder was such as to imperil the national integrity. It would have been no easy matter for the people to decide which Emperor possessed the better claim. Hitherto the imperial presence had represented the national divinity; and the imperial palace had been regarded as the temple of the national religion: the division maintained by the Ashikaga usurpers therefore signified nothing less than the breaking up of the whole tradition upon which existing society had been built. The confusion became greater and greater, the danger increased more and more, until the Ashikaga themselves took alarm. They managed then to end the trouble by persuading the fifth Mikado of the Southern Dynasty, Go Kameyama, to surrender his insignia to the reigning Mikado of the Northern Dynasty, Go-Komatsu. This having been done, in 1392, Go-Kameyama was honoured with the title of retired Emperor, and Go-Komatsu was nationally acknowledged as legitimate Emperor. But the names of the other four Emperors of the Northern Dynasty are still excluded from the official list. The Ashikaga shogunate thus averted the supreme [273] peril; but the period of this military domination, which endured until 1573, was destined to remain the darkest in Japanese history. The Ashikaga gave the country fifteen rulers, several of whom were men of great ability: they tried to encourage industry; they cultivated literature and the arts; but they could not give peace. Fresh disputes arose; and lords whom the shogunate could not subdue made war upon each other. To such a condition of terror was the capital reduced that the court nobility fled from it to take refuge with daimyo powerful enough to afford them protection. Robbery became rife throughout the land; and piracy terrorized the seas. The shogunate itself was reduced to the humiliation of paying tribute to China. Agriculture and industry at last ceased to exist outside of the domains of certain powerful lords. Provinces became waste; and famine, earthquake, and pestilence added their horror to the misery of ceaseless war. The poverty prevailing may be best imagined from the fact that when the Emperor known to history as Go-Tsuchi-mikado--one hundred and second of the Sun's Succession --died in the year 1500, his corpse had to be kept at the gates of the palace forty days, because the expenses of the funeral could not be defrayed. Until 1573 the misery continued; and the shogunate meanwhile degenerated into insignificance. Then a strong captain arose and ended the house of Ashikaga, and seized the reins of power. [274] This usurper was Oda Nobunaga; and the usurpation was amply provoked. Had it not occurred, Japan might never have entered upon an era of peace. For there had been no peace since the fifth century. No emperor or regent or shogun had ever been able to impose his rule firmly upon the whole country. Somewhere or other, there were always wars of clan with clan. By the time of the sixteenth century personal safety could be found only under the protection of some military leader, able to exact his own terms for the favour of such protection. The question of the imperial succession,--which had almost wrecked the empire during the fourteenth century,--might be raised again at any time by some reckless faction, with the probable result of ruining civilization, and forcing the nation back to its primitive state of barbarism. Never did the future of Japan appear so dark as at the moment when Oda Nobunaga suddenly found himself the strongest man in the empire, and leader of the most formidable Japanese army that had ever obeyed a single head. This man, a descendant of Shinto priests, was above all things a patriot. He did not seek the title of shogun, and never received it. His hope was to save the country; and he saw that this could be done only by centralizing all feudal power under one control, and strenuously enforcing law. Looking about him for the ways and means of effecting [275] this centralization, he perceived that one of the very first obstacles to be removed was that created by the power of Buddhism militant,--the feudal Buddhism developed under the Hojo regency, and especially represented by the great Shin and Tendai sects. As both had already given aid to his enemies, it was easy to find a cause for quarrel; and he first proceeded against the Tendai. The campaign was conducted with ferocious vigour; the monastery-fortresses of Hiyei-san were stormed and razed, and all the priests, with all their adherents, put to the sword--no mercy being shown even to women and children. By nature Nobunaga was not cruel; but his policy was ruthless, and he knew when and why to strike hard. The power of the Tendai sect before this massacre may be imagined from the fact that three thousand monastery buildings were burnt at Hiyei-san. The Shin sect of the Hongwanji, with headquarters at Osaka, was scarcely less powerful; and its monastery, occupying the site of the present Osaka castle, was one of the strongest fortresses in the country. Nobunaga waited several years, merely to prepare for the attack. The soldier-priests defended themselves well; upwards of fifty thousand lives are said to have been lost in the siege; yet only the personal intervention of the Emperor prevented the storming of the stronghold, and the slaughter of every being within its walls. Through respect for the Emperor, Nobunaga agreed [276] to spare the lives of the Shin priests: they were only dispossessed and scattered, and their power forever broken. Buddhism having been thus effectually crippled, Nobunaga was able to turn his attention to the warring clans. Supported by the greatest generals that the nation ever produced,--Hideyoshi and Iyeyasu,--he proceeded to enforce pacification and order; and his grand purpose would probably have been soon accomplished, but for the revengeful treachery of a subordinate, who brought about his death in 1583. Nobunaga, with Taira blood in his veins, had been essentially an aristocrat, inheriting all the aptitudes of his great race for administration, and versed in all the traditions of diplomacy. His avenger and successor, Hideyoshi, was a totally different type of soldier: a son of peasants, an untrained genius who had won his way to high command by shrewdness and courage, natural skill of arms, and immense inborn capacity for all the chess-play of war. With the great purpose of Nobunaga he had always been in sympathy; and he actually carried it out,--subduing the entire country, from north to south, in the name of the Emperor, by whom he was appointed Regent (Kwambaku). Thus universal peace was temporarily established. But the vast military powers which Hideyoshi had collected and disciplined, threatened to become refractory. He found employment for them by declaring unprovoked [277] war against Korea, whence he hoped to effect the conquest of China. The war with Korea opened in 1592, and dragged on unsatisfactorily until 1598, when Hideyoshi died. He had proved himself one of the greatest soldiers ever born, but not one of the best among rulers. Perhaps the issue of the war in Korea would have been more fortunate, if he could have ventured to conduct it himself. As a matter of fact, it merely exhausted the force of both countries; and Japan had little to show for her dearly bought victories abroad except the Mimidzuka or "Ear-Monument" at Nara,--marking the spot where thirty thousand pairs of foreign ears, cut from the pickled heads of slain, were buried in the grounds of the temple of Daibutsu.... Into the vacant place of power then stepped the most remarkable man that Japan ever produced,--Tokugawa Iyeyasu. Iyeyasu was of Minamoto descent, and an aristocrat to the marrow of his bones. As a soldier he was scarcely inferior to Hideyoshi, whom he once defeated,--but he was much more than a soldier, a far-sighted statesman, an incomparable diplomat, and something of a scholar. Cool, cautious, secretive,--distrustful, yet generous,--stern, yet humane,--by the range and the versatility of his genius he might be not unfavourably contrasted with Julius Caesar. All that Nobunaga and Hideyoshi had wished to do, and failed to [278] do, Iyeyasu speedily accomplished. After fulfilling Hideyoshi's dying injunction, not to leave the troops in Korea "to become ghosts haunting a foreign land,"--that is to say, in the condition of spirits without a cult,--Iyeyasu had to face a formidable league of lords resolved to dispute his claim to rule. The terrific battle of Sekigahara left him master of the country; and he at once took measures to consolidate his power, and to perfect, even to the least detail, all the machinery of military government. As shogun, he reorganized the daimiates, redistributed a majority of fiefs; among those whom he could trust, created new military grades, and ordered and so balanced the powers of the greater daimyo as to make it next to impossible for them to dare a revolt. Later on the daimyo were even required to furnish security for their good behaviour: they were obliged to pass a certain time of the year* in the shogun's capital, leaving their families as hostages during the rest of the year. The entire administration was readjusted upon a simple and sagacious plan; and the Laws of Iyeyasu prove him to have been an excellent legislator. For the first time in Japanese history the nation was integrated,--integrated, at least, in so far as the peculiar nature of the social unit rendered possible. The counsels [279] of the founder of Yedo were followed by his successors; and the Tokugawa shogunate, which lasted until 1867, gave the country fifteen military sovereigns. Under these, Japan enjoyed both peace and prosperity for the time of two hundred and fifty years; and her society was thus enabled to evolve to the full limit of its peculiar type. Industries and arts developed in new and wonderful ways; literature found august patronage. The national cult was carefully maintained; and all precautions were taken to prevent the occurrence of another such contest for the imperial succession as had nearly ruined the country in the fourteenth century. [*The period of obligatory residence in Yedo was not the same for all daimyo. In some cases the obligation seems to have extended to six months; in others, the requirement was to pass every alternate year in the capital.] We have seen that the history of military rule in Japan embraces nearly the whole period of authentic history, down to modern times, and closes with the second period of national integration. The first period had been reached when the clans first accepted the leadership of the chief of the greatest clan,--thereafter revered as the Heavenly Sovereign, Supreme Pontiff, Supreme Arbiter, Supreme Commander, and Supreme Magistrate. How long a time was required for this primal integration, under a patriarchal monarchy, we cannot know; but we have learned that the later integration, under a duarchy, occupied considerably more than a thousand years.... Now the extraordinary fact to note is that, during all those centuries, the imperial [280] cult was carefully maintained by even the enemies of the Mikado; the only legitimate ruler being, in national belief, the Tenshi, "Son of Heaven,"--the Tenno, "Heavenly King." Through every period of disorder the Offspring of the Sun was the object of national worship, and his palace the temple of the national faith. Great captains might coerce the imperial will; but they styled themselves, none the less, the worshippers and slaves of the incarnate deity; and they would no more have thought of trying to occupy his throne, than they would have thought of trying to abolish all religion by decree. Once only, by the arbitrary folly of the Ashikaga shogun, the imperial cult had been seriously interfered with; and the social earthquake consequent upon that division of the imperial house, apprised the usurpers of the enormity of their blunder.... Only the integrity of the imperial succession, the uninterrupted maintenance of the imperial worship, made it possible even for Iyeyasu to clamp together the indissoluble units of society. Herbert Spencer has taught the student of sociology to recognize that religious dynasties have extraordinary powers of longevity, because they possess extraordinary power to resist change; whereas military dynasties, depending for their perpetuity upon the individual character of their sovereigns, are particularly liable to disintegration. The immense duration of the Japanese imperial dynasty, as contrasted [281] with the history of the various shogunates and regencies representing a merely military domination, illustrates this teaching in a most remarkable way. Back through twenty-five hundred years we can follow the line of the imperial succession, till it vanishes out of sight into the mystery of the past. Here we have evidence of that extreme power of resisting all changes which is inherently characteristic of religious conservatism; on the other hand, the history of shogunates and regencies proves the tendency to disintegration of institutions having no religious foundation, and therefore no religious power of cohesion. The remarkable duration of the Fujiwara rule, as compared with others, may perhaps be accounted for by the fact that the Fujiwara represented a religious, rather than a military, aristocracy. Even the marvellous military structure devised by Iyeyasu had begun to decay before alien aggression precipitated its inevitable collapse. [283] THE RELIGION OF LOYALTY "Militant societies," says the author of the Principles of Sociology, "must have a patriotism which regards the triumph of their society as the supreme end of action; they must possess the loyalty whence flows obedience to authority,--and, that they may be obedient, they must have abundant faith." The history of the Japanese people strongly exemplifies these truths. Among no other people has loyalty ever assumed more impressive and extraordinary forms; and among no other people has obedience ever been nourished by a more abundant faith,--that faith derived from the cult of the ancestors. The reader will understand how filial piety--the domestic religion of obedience--widens in range with social evolution, and eventually differentiates both into that political obedience required by the community, and that military obedience exacted by the war-lord,--obedience implying not only submission, but affectionate submission,--not merely the sense of obligation, but the sentiment of duty. In its origin such dutiful obedience is essentially religious; and, as expressed in loyalty, it retains the [284] religious character,--becomes the constant manifestation of a religion of self-sacrifice. Loyalty is developed early in the history of a militant people; and we find touching examples of it in the earliest Japanese chronicles. We find also terrible ones,--stories of self-immolation. To his divinely descended lord, the retainer owed everything--in fact, not less than in theory: goods, household, liberty, and life. Any or all of these he was expected to yield up without a murmur, on demand, for the sake of the lord. And duty to the lord, like the duty to the family ancestor, did not cease with death. As the ghosts of parents were to be supplied with food by their living children, so the spirit of the lord was to be worshipfully served by those who, during his lifetime, owed him direct obedience. It could not be permitted that the spirit of--the ruler should enter unattended into the world of shadows: some, at least, of those who served him living were bound to follow him in death. Thus in early societies arose the custom of human sacrifices,--sacrifices at first obligatory, afterwards voluntary. In Japan, as stated in a former chapter, they remained an indispensable feature of great funerals, up to the first century, when images of baked clay were first substituted for the official victims. I have already mentioned how, after this abolition of obligatory [285] junshi, or following of one's lord in death, the practice of voluntary junshi continued up to the sixteenth century, when it actually became a military fashion. At the death of a daimyo it was then common for fifteen or twenty of his retainers to disembowel themselves. Iyeyasu determined to put an end to this custom of suicide, which is thus considered in the 76th article of his celebrated Legacy:-- "Although it is undoubtedly the ancient custom for a vassal to follow his Lord in death, there is not the slightest reason in the practice. Confucius has ridiculed the making of Yo [effigies buried with the dead]. These practices are strictly forbidden, more especially to primary retainers, but to secondary retainers likewise, even of the lowest rank. He is the reverse of a faithful servant who disregards this prohibition. His posterity shall be impoverished by the confiscation of his property, as a warning for those who disobey the laws." Iyeyasu's command ended the practice of junshi among his own vassals; but it continued, or revived again, after his death. In 1664 the shogunate issued an edict proclaiming that the family of any person performing junshi should be punished; and the shogunate was in earnest. When this edict was disobeyed by one Uyemon no Hyoge, who disembowelled himself at the death of his lord, Okudaira Tadamasa, the government promptly confiscated the lands of the family of the suicide, executed two of [286] his sons, and sent the rest of the household into exile. Though cases of junshi have occurred even within this present era of Meiji, the determined attitude of the Tokugawa government so far checked the practice that even the most fervid loyalty latterly made its sacrifices through religion, as a rule. Instead of performing harakiri, the retainer shaved his head at the death of his lord, and became a Buddhist monk. The custom of junshi represents but one aspect of Japanese loyalty: there were other customs equally, if not even more, significant,--for example, the custom of military suicide, not as junshi, but as a self-inflicted penalty exacted by the traditions of samurai discipline. Against harakiri, as punitive suicide, there was no legislative enactment, for obvious reasons. It would seem that this form of self-destruction was not known to the Japanese in early ages; it may have been introduced from China, with other military customs. The ancient Japanese usually performed suicide by strangulation, as the Nihongi bears witness. It was the military class that established the harakiri as a custom and privilege. Previously, the chiefs of a routed army, or the defenders of a castle taken by storm, would thus end themselves to avoid falling into the enemy's hands,--a custom which continued into the present era. About the close of the fifteenth century, the [287] military custom of permitting any samurai to perform harakiri, instead of subjecting him to the shame of execution, appears to have been generally established. Afterwards it became the recognized duty of a samurai to kill himself at the word of command. All samurai were subject to this disciplinary law, even lords of provinces; and in samurai families, children of both sexes were trained how to perform suicide whenever personal honour or the will of a liege-lord, might require it.... Women, I should observe, did not perform harakiri, but jigai,--that is to say, piercing the throat with a dagger so as to sever the arteries by a single thrust-and-cut movement.... The particulars of the harakiri ceremony have become so well known through Mitford's translation of Japanese texts on the subject, that I need not touch upon them. The important fact to remember is that honour and loyalty required the samurai man or woman to be ready at any moment to perform self-destruction by the sword. As for the warrior, any breach of trust (voluntary or involuntary), failure to execute a difficult mission, a clumsy mistake, and even a look of displeasure from one's liege, were sufficient reasons for harakiri, or, as the aristocrats preferred to call it, by the Chinese term, seppuku. Among the highest class of retainers, it was also a duty to make protest against misconduct on the part of their lord by performing seppuku, when all other means of bringing him to reason had [288] failed,--which heroic custom has been made the subject of several popular dramas founded upon fact. In the case of married women of the samurai class,--directly responsible to their husbands, not to the lord,--jigai was resorted to most often as a means of preserving honour in time of war, though it was sometimes performed merely as a sacrifice of loyalty to the spirit of the husband, after his untimely death.* [*The Japanese moralist Yekken wrote 'A woman has no feudal lord: she must reverence and obey her husband.'] In the case of girls it was not uncommon for other reasons,--samurai maidens often entering into the service of noble households, where the cruelty of intrigue might easily bring about a suicide, or where loyalty to the wife of the lord might exact it. For the samurai maiden in service was bound by loyalty to her mistress not less closely than the warrior to the lord; and the heroines of Japanese feudalism were many. In the early ages it appears to have been the custom for the wives of officials condemned to death to kill themselves the ancient chronicles are full of examples. But this custom is perhaps to be partly accounted for by the ancient law, which held the household of the offender equally responsible with him for the offence, independently of the facts in the case. However, it was certainly also common enough for a bereaved wife to perform suicide, not through despair, but through the wish to follow her [289] husband into the other world, and there to wait upon him as in life. Instances of female suicide, representing the old ideal of duty to a dead husband, have occurred in recent times. Such suicides are usually performed according to the feudal rules,--the woman robing herself in white for the occasion. At the time of the late war with China there occurred in Tokyo one remarkable suicide of this kind; the victim being the wife of Lieutenant Asada, who had fallen in battle. She was only twenty-one. On hearing of her husband's death, she at once began to make preparations for her own,--writing letters of farewell to her relatives, putting her affairs in order, and carefully cleaning the house, according to old-time rule. Thereafter she donned her death-robe; laid mattings down opposite to the alcove in the guest-room; placed her husband's portrait in the alcove, and set offerings before it. When everything had been arranged, she seated herself before the portrait, took up her dagger, and with a single skilful thrust divided the arteries of her throat. Besides the duty of suicide for the sake of preserving honour, there was also, for the samurai woman, the duty of suicide as a moral protest. I have already said that among the highest class of retainers it was thought a moral duty to perform harakiri as a remonstrance against shameless conduct on the part of one's lord, when all other means of persuasion [290] had been tried in vain. Among samurai women--taught to consider their husbands as their lords, in the feudal meaning of the term--it was held a moral obligation to perform jigai, by way of protest, against disgraceful behaviour upon the part of a husband who would not listen to advice or reproof. The ideal of wifely duty which impelled such sacrifice still survives; and more than one recent example might be cited of a generous life thus laid down in rebuke of some moral wrong. Perhaps the most touching instance occurred in 1892, at the time of the district elections in Nagano prefecture. A rich voter named Ishijima, after having publicly pledged himself to aid in the election of a certain candidate, transferred his support to the rival candidate. On learning of this breach of promise, the wife of Ishijima, robed herself in white, and performed jigai after the old samurai manner. The grave of this brave woman is still decorated with flowers by the people of the district; and incense is burned before her tomb. To kill oneself at command--a duty which no loyal samurai would have dreamed of calling in question--appears to us much less difficult than another duty, also fully accepted: the sacrifice of children, wife, and household for the sake of the lord. Much of Japanese popular tragedy is devoted to incidents of such sacrifice made by retainers or [291] dependents of daimyo,--men or women who gave their children to death in order to save the children of their masters.* [*See, for a good example, the translation of the drama Terakoya, published, with admirable illustrations, by T. Hasegawa (Tokyo).] Nor have we any reason to suppose that the facts have been exaggerated in these dramatic compositions, most of which are based upon feudal history. The incidents, of course, have been rearranged and expanded to meet theatrical requirements; but the general pictures thus given of the ancient society are probably even less grim than the vanished reality. The people still love these tragedies; and the foreign critic of their dramatic literature is wont to point out only the blood-spots, and to comment upon them as evidence of a public taste for gory spectacles,--as proof of some innate ferocity in the race. Rather, I think, is this love of the old tragedy proof of what foreign critics try always to ignore as--much as possible,--the deeply religious character of the people. These plays continue to give delight,--not because of their horror, but because of their moral teaching,--because of their exposition of the duty of sacrifice and courage, the religion of loyalty. They represent the martyrdoms of feudal society for its noblest ideals. All down through that society, in varying forms, the same spirit--of loyalty had its manifestations. As the samurai to his liege-lord, so the apprentice was bound to the patron, and the clerk to the [292] merchant. Everywhere there was trust, because everywhere there existed the like sentiment of mutual duty between servant and master. Each industry and occupation had its religion of loyalty,--requiring, on the one side, absolute obedience and sacrifice at need; and on the other, kindliness and aid. And the rule of the dead was over all. Not less ancient than the duty of dying for parent or lord was the social obligation to avenge the killing of either. Even before the beginnings of settled society, this duty is recognized. The oldest chronicles of Japan teem with instances of obligatory vengeance. Confucian ethics more than affirmed the obligation,--forbidding a man to live "under the same heaven" with the slayer of his lord, or parent, or brother; and fixing all the degrees of kinship, or other relationship, within which the duty of vengeance was to be considered imperative. Confucian ethics, it will be remembered, became at an early date the ethics of the Japanese ruling-classes, and so remained down to recent times. The whole Confucian system, as I have remarked elsewhere, was founded upon ancestor-worship, and represented scarcely more than an amplification and elaboration of filial piety: it was therefore in complete accord with Japanese moral experience. As the military power developed in Japan, the Chinese code of vengeance became universally accepted; and it was sustained [293] by law as well as by custom in later ages. Iyeyasu himself maintained it--exacting only that preliminary notice of an intended vendetta should be given in writing to the district criminal court. The text of his article on the subject is interesting:-- "In respect to avenging injury done to master or father, it is acknowledged by the Wise and Virtuous [Confucius] that you and the injurer cannot live together under the canopy of heaven. A person harbouring such vengeance shall give notice in writing to the criminal court; and although no check or hindrance may be offered to the carrying out of his design within the period allowed for that purpose, it is forbidden that the chastisement of an enemy be attended with riot. Fellows who neglect to give notice of their intended revenge are like wolves of pretext:* their punishment or pardon should depend upon the circumstances of the case." [*Or "hypocritical wolves."--that is to say brutal murderers seeking to excuse their crime on the pretext justifiable vengeance. (The translation is by Lowder.)] Kindred, as well as parents; teachers, as well as lords, were to be revenged. A considerable proportion of popular romance and drama is devoted to the subject of vengeance taken by women; and, as a matter of fact, women, and even children, sometimes became avengers when there were no men of a wronged family left to perform the duty. Apprentices avenged their masters; and even sworn friends were bound to avenge each other. [294] Why the duty of vengeance was not confined to the circle of natural kinship is explicable, of course, by the peculiar organization of society. We have seen that the patriarchal family was a religious corporation; and that the family-bond was not the bond of natural affection, but the bond of the cult. We have also seen that the relation of the household to the community, and of the community to the clan, and of the clan to the tribe, was equally a religious relation. As a necessary consequence, the earlier customs of vengeance were regulated by the bond of the family, communal, or tribal cult, as well as by the bond of blood; and with the introduction of Chinese ethics, and the development of militant conditions, the idea of revenge as duty took a wider range. The son or the brother by adoption was in respect of obligation the same as the son or brother by blood; and the teacher stood to his pupil in the relation of father to child. To strike one's natural parent was a crime punishable by death: to strike one's teacher was, before the law, an equal offence. This notion of the teacher's claim to filial reverence was of Chinese importation: an extension of the duty of filial piety to "the father of the mind." There were other such extensions; and the origin of all, Chinese or Japanese, may be traced alike to ancestor-worship. Now, what has never been properly insisted upon, in any of the books treating of ancient [295] Japanese customs, is the originally religious significance of the kataki-uchi. That a religious origin can be found for all customs of vendetta established in early societies is, of course, well known; but a peculiar interest attaches to the Japanese vendetta in view of the fact that it conserved its religious character unchanged down to the present era. The kataki-uchi was essentially an act of propitiation, as is proved by the rite with which it terminated,--the placing of the enemy's head upon the tomb of the person avenged, as an offering of atonement. And one of the most impressive features of this rite, as formerly practised, was the delivery of an address to the ghost of the person avenged. Sometimes the address was only spoken; sometimes it was also written, and the manuscript left upon the tomb. There is probably none of my readers unacquainted with Mitford's ever-delightful Tales of Old Japan, and his translation of the true story of the "Forty-Seven Ronins." But I doubt whether many persons have noticed the significance of the washing of Kira Kotsuke-no-Suke's severed head, or the significance of the address inscribed to their dead lord by the brave men who had so long waited and watched for the chance to avenge him. This address, of which I quote Mitford's translation, was laid upon the tomb of the Lord Asano. It is still preserved at the temple called Sengakuji:-- [296] "The fifteenth year of Genroku [17031, the twelfth month, the fifteenth day.--We have come this day to do homage here: forty-seven men in all, from Oishi Kuranosuke down to the foot-soldier Terasaka Kichiyemon,--all cheerfully about to lay down our lives on your behalf. We reverently announce this to the honoured spirit of our dead master. On the fourteenth day of the third month of last year, our honoured master was pleased to attack Kira Kotsuke-no-Suke, for what reason we know not. Our honoured master put an end to his own life; but Kira Kotsuke-no-Suke lived. Although we fear that after the decree issued by the Government, this plot of ours will be displeasing to our honoured master, still we, who have eaten of your food, could not without blushing repeat the verse, "Thou shalt not live under the same heaven, nor tread the same earth with the enemy of thy father or lord," nor could we have dared to leave hell [Hades] and present ourselves before you in Paradise, unless we had carried out the vengeance which you began. Every day that we waited seemed as three autumns to us. Verily we have trodden the snow for one day, nay, for two days, and have tasted food but once. The old and decrepit, the sick and the ailing, have come forth gladly to lay down their lives. Men might laugh at us, as at grasshoppers trusting in the strength of their arms, and thus shame our honoured lord; but we could not halt in our deed of vengeance. Having taken counsel together last night, we have escorted my Lord Kotsuke-no-Suke hither to your tomb. This dirk, by which our honoured lord set great store last year, and entrusted to our care, we now bring back. If your noble spirit be now present before this tomb, we pray you, as a [297] sign, to take the dirk, and, striking the head of your enemy with it a second time, to dispel your hatred forever. This is the respectful statement of forty-seven men." It will be observed that the Lord Asano is addressed as if he were present and visible. The head of the enemy has been carefully washed, according to the rule concerning the presentation of heads to a living superior. It is laid upon the tomb together with the nine-inch sword, or dagger, originally used by the Lord Asano in performing harakiri at Government command, and afterwards used by Oishi Kuranosuke in cutting off the head of Kira Kotsuke-no-Suke;--and the spirit of the Lord Asano is requested to take up the weapon and to strike the head, so that the pain of ghostly anger may be dissipated forever. Then, having been themselves all sentenced to perform harakiri, the forty-seven retainers join their lord in death, and are buried in front of his tomb. Before their graves the smoke of incense, offered by admiring visitors, has been ascending daily for two hundred years.* [*It has been long the custom also for visitors to leave their cards upon the tombs of the Forty-seven Ronin. When I last visited Sengakuji, the ground about the tombs was white with visiting-cards.] One must have lived in Japan, and have been able to feel the true spirit of the old Japanese life, in order to comprehend the whole of this romance of loyalty; but I think that whoever carefully reads Mr. Mitford's version of it, and his translation of the [298] authentic documents relating to it, will confess himself moved. That address especially touches,--because of the affection and the faith to which it testifies, and the sense of duty beyond this life. However much revenge must be condemned by our modern ethics, there is a noble side to many of the old Japanese stories of loyal vengeance; and these stories affect us by the expression of what has nothing to do with vulgar revenge,--by their exposition of gratitude, self-denial, courage in facing death, and faith in the unseen. And this means, of course, that we are, consciously or unconsciously, impressed by their religious quality. Mere individual revenge--the postponed retaliation for some personal injury--repels our moral feeling: we have learned to regard the emotion inspiring such revenge as simply brutal --something shared by man with lower forms of animal life. But in the story of a homicide exacted by the sentiment of duty or gratitude to a dead master, there may be circumstances which can make appeal to our higher moral sympathies,--to our sense of the force and beauty of unselfishness, unswerving fidelity, unchanging affection. And the story of the Forty-Seven Ronin is one of this class.... Yet it must be borne in mind that the old Japanese religion of loyalty, which found its supreme manifestation in those three terrible customs of [299] junshi, harakiri, and kataki-uchi, was narrow in its range. It was limited by the very constitution of society. Though the nation was ruled, through all its groups, by notions of duty everywhere similar in character, the circle of that duty, for each individual, did not extend beyond the clan-group to which he belonged. For his own lord the retainer was always ready to die; but he did not feel equally bound to sacrifice himself for the military government, unless he happened to belong to the special military following of the Shogun. His fatherland, his country, his world, extended only to the boundary of his chief's domain. Outside of that domain he could be only a wanderer,--a ronin, or "wave-man," as the masterless samurai was termed. Under such conditions that larger loyalty which identifies itself with love of king and country,--which is patriotism in the modern, not in the narrower antique sense,--could not fully evolve. Some common peril, some danger to the whole race--such as the attempted Tartar conquest of Japan--might temporarily arouse the true sentiment of patriotism; but otherwise that sentiment had little opportunity for development. The Ise cult represented, indeed, the religion of the nation, as distinguished from the clan or tribal worship; but each man had been taught to believe that his first duty was to his lord. One cannot efficiently serve two masters; and feudal government practically [300] suppressed any tendencies in that direction. The lordship so completely owned the individual, body and soul, that the idea of any duty to the nation, outside of the duty to the chief, had neither time nor chance to define itself in the mind of the vassal. To the ordinary samurai, for example, an imperial order would not have been law: he recognized no law above the law of his daimyo. As for the daimyo, he might either disobey or obey an imperial command according to circumstances: his direct superior was the shogun; and he was obliged to make for himself a politic distinction between the Heavenly Sovereign as deity, and the Heavenly Sovereign as a human personality. Before the ultimate centralization of the military power, there were many instances of lords sacrificing themselves for their emperor; but there were even more cases of open rebellion by lords against the imperial will. Under the Tokugawa rule, the question of obeying or resisting an imperial command would have depended upon the attitude of the shogun; and no daimyo would have risked such obedience to the court at Kyoto as might have signified disobedience to the court at Yedo. Not at least until the shogunate had fallen into decay. In Iyemitsu's time the daimyo were strictly forbidden to approach the imperial palace on their way to Yedo,--even in response to an imperial command; and they were also forbidden to make any direct appeal to the [301] Mikado. The policy of the shogunate was to prevent all direct communication between the Kyoto court and the daimyo. This policy paralyzed intrigue for two hundred years; but it prevented the development of patriotism. And for that very reason, when Japan at last found herself face to face with the unexpected peril of Western aggression, the abolition of the dairmates was felt to be a matter of paramount importance. The supreme danger required that the social units should be fused into one coherent mass, capable of uniform action,--that the clan and tribal groupings should be permanently dissolved,--that all authority should immediately be centred in the representative of the national religion,--that the duty of obedience to the Heavenly Sovereign should replace, at once and forever, the feudal duty of obedience to the territorial lord. The religion of loyalty, evolved by a thousand years of war, could not be cast away--properly utilized, it would prove a national heritage of incalculable worth,--a moral power capable of miracles if directed by one wise will to a single wise end. Destroyed by reconstruction it could not be; but it could be diverted and transformed. Diverted, therefore, to nobler ends --expanded to larger needs,--it became the new national sentiment of trust and duty: the modern sense of patriotism. What wonders it has wrought, within the space of thirty years, the world is now obliged to confess: what [302] more it may be able to accomplish remains to be seen. One thing at least is certain,---that the future of Japan must depend upon the maintenance of this new religion of loyalty, evolved, through the old, from the ancient religion of the dead. [303] THE JESUIT PERIL The second half of the sixteenth century is the most interesting period in Japanese history--for three reasons. First, because it witnessed the apparition of those mighty captains, Nobunaga, Hideyoshi, and Iyeyasu,--types of men that a race seems to evolve for supreme emergencies only,--types requiring for their production not merely the highest aptitudes of numberless generations, but likewise an extraordinary combination of circumstances. Secondly, this period is all-important because it saw the first complete integration of the ancient social system,--the definitive union of all the clan-lordships under a central military government. And lastly, the period is of special interest because the incident of the first attempt to christianize Japan--the story of the rise and fall of the Jesuit power--properly belongs to it. The sociological significance of this episode is instructive. Excepting, perhaps, the division of the imperial house against itself in the twelfth century, the greatest danger that ever threatened Japanese national integrity was the introduction of Christianity [304] by the Portuguese Jesuits. The nation saved itself only by ruthless measures, at the cost of incalculable suffering and of myriads of lives. It was during the period of great disorder preceding Nobunaga's effort to centralize authority, that this unfamiliar disturbing factor was introduced by Xavier and his followers. Xavier landed at Kagoshima in 1549; and by 1581 the Jesuits had upwards of two hundred churches in the country. This fact alone sufficiently indicates the rapidity with which the new religion spread; and it seemed destined to extend over the entire empire. In 1585 a Japanese religious embassy was received at Rome; and by that date no less than eleven daimyo,--or "kings," as the Jesuits not inaptly termed them--had become converted. Among these were several very powerful lords. The new creed had made rapid way among the common people also: it was becoming "popular," in the strict meaning of the word. When Nobunaga rose to power, he favoured the Jesuits in many ways--not because of any sympathy with their creed, for he never dreamed of becoming a Christian, but because he thought that their influence would be of service to him in his campaign against Buddhism. Like the Jesuits themselves, Nobunaga had no scruple about means in his pursuit of ends. More ruthless than William the Conqueror, he did not hesitate to put to death [305] his own brother and his own father-in-law, when they dared to oppose his will. The aid and protection which he extended to the foreign priests, for merely political reasons, enabled them to develop their power to a degree which soon gave him cause for repentance. Mr. Gubbins, in his "Review of the Introduction of Christianity into China and Japan," quotes from a Japanese work, called Ibuki Mogusa, an interesting extract on the subject:-- "Nobunaga now began to regret his previous policy in permitting the introduction of Christianity. He accordingly assembled his retainers, and said to them:--'The conduct of these missionaries in persuading people to join them by giving money, does not please me. How would it be, think you, if we were to demolish Nambanji [The "Temple of the Southern Savages"--so the Portuguese church was called]?' To this Mayeda Tokuzenin replied. 'It is now too late to demolish the Temple of the Namban. To endeavour to arrest the power of this religion now is like trying to arrest the current of the ocean. Nobles, both great and small, have become adherents of it. If you would exterminate this religion now, there is fear that disturbance should be created among your own retainers. I am therefore of opinion that you should abandon your intention of destroying Nambanji.' Nobunaga in consequence regretted exceedingly his previous action in regard to the Christian religion, and set about thinking how he could root it out." The assassination of Nobunaga in 1586 may have prolonged the period of toleration. His successor [306] Hideyoshi, who judged the influence of the foreign priests dangerous, was for the moment occupied with the great problem of centralizing the military power, so as to give peace to the country. But the furious intolerance of the Jesuits in the southern provinces had already made them many enemies, eager to avenge the cruelties of the new creed. We read in the histories of the missions about converted daimyo burning thousands of Buddhist temples, destroying countless works of art, and slaughtering Buddhist priests;--and we find the Jesuit writers praising these crusades as evidence of holy zeal. At first the foreign faith had been only persuasive; afterwards, gathering power under Nobunaga's encouragement, it became coercive and ferocious. A reaction against it set in about a year after Nobunaga's death. In 1587 Hideyoshi destroyed the mission churches in Kyoto, Osaka, and Sakai, and drove the Jesuits from the capital; and in the following year he ordered them to assemble at the port of Hirado, and prepare to leave the country. They felt themselves strong enough to disobey: instead of leaving Japan, they scattered through the country, placing themselves under the protection of various Christian daimyo. Hideyoshi probably thought it impolitic to push matters further: the priests kept quiet, and ceased to preach publicly; and their self-effacement served them well until 1591. In that year the advent of [307] certain Spanish Franciscans changed the state of affairs. These Franciscans arrived in the train of an embassy from the Philippines, and obtained leave to stay in the country on condition that they were not to preach Christianity. They broke their pledge, abandoned all prudence, and aroused the wrath of Hideyoshi. He resolved to make an example; and in 1597 he had six Franciscans, three Jesuits, and several other Christians taken to Nagasaki and there crucified. The attitude of the great Taiko toward the foreign creed had the effect of quickening the reaction against it,--a reaction which had already begun to show itself in various provinces. But Hideyoshi's death in 1598 enabled the Jesuits to hope for better fortune. His successor, the cold and cautious Iyeyasu, allowed them to hope, and even to reestablish themselves in Kyoto, Osaka, and elsewhere. He was preparing for the great contest which was to be decided by the battle of Sekigahara;--he knew that the Christian element was divided,--some of its leaders being on his own side, and some on the side of his enemies;--and the time would have been ill chosen for any repressive policy. But in 1606, after having solidly established his power, Iyeyasu for the first time showed himself decidedly opposed to Christianity by issuing an edict forbidding further mission work, and proclaiming that those who had adopted the foreign religion must abandon it. Nevertheless the propaganda [308] went on--conducted no longer by Jesuits only, but also by Dominicans and Franciscans. The number of Christians then in the empire is said, with gross exaggeration, to have been nearly two millions. But Iyeyasu neither took, nor caused to be taken, any severe measures of repression until 1614,--from which date the great persecution may be said to have begun. Previously there had been local persecutions only, conducted by independent daimyo,--not by the central government. The local persecutions in Kyushu, for example, would seem to have been natural consequences of the intolerance of the Jesuits in the days of their power, when converted daimyo burned Buddhist temples and massacred Buddhist priests; and these persecutions were most pitiless in those very districts such as Bungo, Omura, and Higo --where the native religion had been most fiercely persecuted at Jesuit instigation. But from 1614--at which date there remained only eight, out of the total sixty-four provinces of Japan, into which Christianity had not been introduced--the suppression of the foreign creed became a government matter; and the persecution was conducted systematically and uninterruptedly until every outward trace of Christianity had disappeared. The fate of the missions, therefore, was really settled by Iyeyasu and his immediate successors; [309] and it is the part taken by Iyeyasu that especially demands attention. Of the three great captains, all had, sooner or later, become suspicious of the foreign propaganda; but only Iyeyasu could find both the time and the ability to deal with the social problem which it had aroused. Even Hideyoshi had been afraid to complicate existing political troubles by any rigorous measures of an extensive character. Iyeyasu long hesitated. The reasons for his hesitation were doubtless complex, and chiefly diplomatic. He was the last of men to act hastily, or suffer himself to be influenced by prejudice of any sort; and to suppose him timid would be contrary to all that we know of his character. He must have recognized, of course, that to extirpate a religion which could claim, even in exaggeration, more than a million of adherents, was no light undertaking, and would involve an immense amount of suffering. To cause needless misery was not in his nature: he had always proved himself humane, and a friend of the common people. But he was first of all a statesman and patriot; and the main question for him must have been the probable relation of the foreign creed to political and social conditions in Japan. This question required long and patient investigation; and he appears to have given it all possible attention. At last he decided that Roman Christianity constituted a grave political danger and that its extirpation would be an unavoidable necessity. [310] The fact that the severe measures which he and his successors enforced against Christianity--measures steadily maintained for upwards of two hundred years--failed to completely eradicate the creed, proves how deeply the roots had struck. Superficially, all trace of Christianity vanished to Japanese eyes; but in 1865 there were discovered near Nagasaki some communities which had secretly preserved among themselves traditions of the Roman forms of worship, and still made use of Portuguese and Latin words relating to religious matters. To rightly estimate the decision of Iyeyasu--one of the shrewdest, and also one of the most humane statesmen that ever lived,--it is necessary to consider, from a Japanese point of view, the nature of the evidence upon which he was impelled to act. Of Jesuit intrigues in Japan he must have had ample knowledge--several of them having been directed against himself;--but he would have been more likely to consider the ultimate object and probable result of such intrigues, than the mere fact of their occurrence. Religious intrigues were common among the Buddhists, and would scarcely attract the notice of the military government except when they interfered with state policy or public order. But religious intrigues having for their object the overthrow of government, and a sectarian domination of the country, would be gravely considered. [311] Nobunaga had taught Buddhism a severe lesson about the danger of such intriguing. Iyeyasu decided that the Jesuit intrigues had a political object of the most ambitious kind; but he was more patient than Nobunaga. By 1603 he, had every district of Japan under his yoke; but he did not issue his final edict until eleven years later. It plainly declared that the foreign priests were plotting to get control of the government, and to obtain possession of the country:-- "The Kirishitan band have come to Japan, not only sending their merchant-vessels to exchange commodities, but also longing to disseminate an evil law, to overthrow right doctrine, so that they may change the government of the country, and obtain possession of the land. This is the germ of great disaster, and must be crushed..... "Japan is the country of the gods and of the Buddha: it honours the gods, and reveres the Buddha.... The faction of the Bateren* disbelieve in the Way of the Gods, and blaspheme the true Law, --violate right-doing, and injure the good.... They truly are the enemies of the gods and of the Buddha.... If this be not speedily prohibited, the safety of the state will, assuredly hereafter be imperilled; and if those who are charged with ordering its affairs do not put a stop to the evil, they will expose themselves to Heaven's rebuke. [*Bateren, a corruption of the Portuguese padre, is still the term used for Roman Catholic priests, of any denomination.] "These [missionaries] must be instantly swept out, so that not an inch of soil remains to them in Japan on which [312] to plant their feet; and if they refuse to obey this command, they shall suffer the penalty.... Let Heaven and the Four Seas hear this. Obey!"* [*The entire proclamation, which is of considerable length, has been translated by Satow, and may be found in Vol. VI, part I, of the Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan.] It will be observed that there are two distinct charges made against the Bateren in this document,--that of political conspiracy under the guise of religion, with a view to getting possession of the government; and that of intolerance, towards both the Shinto and the Buddhist forms of native worship. The intolerance is sufficiently proved by the writings of the Jesuits themselves. The charge of conspiracy was less easy to prove; but who could reasonably have doubted that, were opportunity offered, the Roman Catholic orders would attempt to control the general government precisely as they had been able to control local government already in the lordships of converted daimyo. Besides, we may be sure that by the time at which the edict was issued, Iyeyasu must have heard of many matters likely to give him a most evil opinion of Roman Catholicism:--the story of the Spanish conquests in America, and the extermination of the West Indian races; the story of the persecutions in the Netherlands, and of the work of the Inquisition elsewhere; the story of the attempt of Philip II to conquer England, and of the loss of the two great [313] Armadas. The edict was issued in 1614, and Iyeyasu had found opportunity to inform himself about some of these matters as early as 1600. In that year the English pilot Will Adams had arrived at Japan in charge of a Dutch ship, Adams had started on this eventful voyage in the year 1598,--that is to say, just ten years after the defeat of the first Spanish Armada, and one year after the ruin of the second. He had seen the spacious times of great Elizabeth--who was yet alive;--he had very probably seen Howard and Seymour and Drake and Hawkins and Frobisher and Sir Richard Grenville, the hero of 1591. For this Will Adams was a Kentish man, who had "serued for Master and Pilott in her Majesties ships ..." The Dutch vessel was seized immediately upon her arrival at Kyushu; and Adams and his shipmates were taken into custody by the daimyo of Bungo, who reported the fact to Iyeyasu. The advent of these Protestant sailors was considered an important event by the Portuguese Jesuits, who had their own reasons for dreading the results of an interview between such heretics and the ruler of Japan. But Iyeyasu also happened to think the event an important one; and he ordered that Adams should be sent to him at Osaka. The malevolent anxiety of the Jesuits about the matter had not escaped Iyeyasu's penetrating observation. They endeavoured again and again to have the sailors killed, according to the [314] written statement of Adams himself, who was certainly no liar; and they had been able--in Bungo to frighten two scoundrels of the ship's company into giving false testimony.* "The Iesuites and the Portingalls," wrote Adams, "gaue many euidences against me and the rest to the Emperour [Iyeyasu], that we were theeues and robbers of all nations,--and [that] were we suffered to liue,--it should be against the profit of his Highnes, and the land." But Iyeyasu was perhaps all the more favourably inclined towards Adams by the eagerness of the Jesuits to have him killed--"crossed [crucified]," as Adams called it,--"the custome of iustice in Japan, as hanging is in our land." He gave them answer, says Adams, "that we had as yet not doen to him nor to none of his lande any harme or dammage: therefore against Reason and Iustice to put vs to death." ... And there came to pass precisely what the Jesuits had most feared,--what they had vainly endeavoured by intimidation, by slander, by all possible intrigue to prevent,--an interview between Iyeyasu and the heretic Adams. [315] "Soe that as soon as I came before him," wrote Adams, "he demanded of me of what countrey we were: so I answered him in all points; for there was nothing that he demanded not, both concerning warre and peace between countrey and countrey: so that the particulars here to wryte would be too tedious. And for that time I was commanded to prison, being well vsed, with one of our mariners that cam with me to serue me." From another letter of Adams it would seem that this interview lasted far into the night, and that Iyeyasu's questions referred especially to politics and religion. "He asked," says Adams, "whether our countrey had warres? I answered him yea, with the Spaniards and Portugals--beeing in peace with all other nations. Further he asked me in what I did beleeue? I said, in God, that made heauen and earth. He asked me diverse other questions of things of religion, and many other things: As, what way we came to the country? Having a chart of the whole world, I shewed him through the Straight of Magellan. At which he wondred, and thought me to lie. Thus, from one thing to another, I abode with him till midnight." ... The two men liked each other at sight, it appears. Of Iyeyasu, Adams significantly observes: "He viewed me well, and seemed to be wonderful favourable." Two days later Iyeyasu again sent for Adams, and cross-questioned him just about those matters which the [316] Jesuits wanted to remain in the dark. "He demaunded also as conserning the warres between the Spaniard or Portingall and our countrey, and the reasons: the which I gaue him to vnderstand of all things, which he was glad to heare, as it seemed to me. In the end I was commaunded to prisson agein, but my lodging was bettered." Adams did not see Iyeyasu again for nearly six weeks: then he was sent for, and cross-questioned a third time. The result was liberty and favour. Thereafter, at intervals, Iyeyasu used to send for him; and presently we hear of him teaching the great statesman "some points of jeometry, and understanding of the art of mathematickes, with other things." ... Iyeyasu gave him many presents, as well as a good living, and commissioned him to build some ships for deep-sea sailing. Eventually, the poor pilot was created a samurai, and given an estate. "Being employed in the Emperour's seruice," he wrote, "he hath given me a liuing, like vnto a lordship in England, with eightie or ninetie husbandmen that be as my slaues or seruents: the which, or the like president [precedent], was neuer here before geven to any stranger." ... Witness to the influence of Adams with Iyeyasu is furnished by the correspondence of Captain Cock, of the English factory, who thus wrote home about him in 1614: "The truth is the Emperour esteemeth hym much, and he may goe in and speake with hym at all times, when [317] kynges and princes are kept ovt."** It was through this influence that the English were allowed to establish their factory at Hirado. There is no stranger seventeenth-century romance than that of this plain English pilot,--with only his simple honesty and common-sense to help him,--rising to such extraordinary favour with the greatest and shrewdest of all Japanese rulers. Adams was never allowed, however, to return to England,--perhaps because his services were deemed too precious to lose. He says himself in his letters that Iyeyasu never refused him anything that he asked for,*** except the privilege of revisiting England: when he asked that, once too often, the "ould Emperour" remained silent. [*"Daily more and more the Portugalls incensed the justices and the people against vs. And two of our men, as traytors, gaue themselves in seruice to the king [daimyo], beeing all in all with the Portugals, hauing by them their liues warranted. The one was called Gilbert de Conning, whose mother dwelleth at Middleborough, who gaue himself out to be marchant of all the goods in the shippe. The other was called Iobn Abelson Van Owater. These traitours sought all manner of wayes to get the goods into their hands, and made known vnto them all things that had passed in our voyage. Nine dayes after our arriuall, the great king of the land [Iyeyasu] sent for me to come vnto him. "--Letter of Will Adams to his wife.] **"It has plessed God to bring things to pass, so as in ye eyes of ye world [must seem] strange; for the Spaynnard and Portingall hath bin my bitter enemies to death; and now theay must seek to me, an unworthy wretch; for the Spaynard as well as the Portingall must haue all their negosshes [negotiations] go thorough my hand.--" Letter of Adams dated January 12, 1613. ***Even favours for the people who had sought to bring about his death. "I pleased him so," wrote Adams, "that what I said he would not contrarie. At which my former enemies did wonder; and at this time must entreat me to do them a friendship, which to both Spaniards and Portingals have I doen: recompencing them good for euill. So, to passe my time to get my liuing, it hath cost mee great labour and trouble at the first, but God hath blessed my labour."] The correspondence of Adams proves that Iyeyasu disdained no means of obtaining direct information about foreign affairs in regard to religion and politics. As for affairs in Japan, he had at his disposal the most perfect system of espionage ever [318] established; and he knew all that was going on. Yet he waited, as we have seen, fourteen years before he issued his edict. Hideyoshi's edict was, indeed, renewed by him in 1606; but that referred particularly to the public preaching of Christianity; and while the missionaries outwardly conformed to the law, he continued to suffer them within his own dominions. Persecutions were being carried on elsewhere; but the secret propaganda was also being carried on, and the missionaries could still hope. Yet there was menace in the air, like the heaviness preceding storms. Captain Saris, writing from Japan in 1613, records a pathetic incident which is very suggestive. "I gaue leaue," he says, "to divers women of the better sort to come into my Cabbin, where the picture of Venus, with her sonne Cupid, did hang somewhat wantonly set out in a large frame. They, thinking it to bee Our Ladie and her sonne, fell downe and worshipped it, with shewes of great deuotion, telling me in a whispering manner (that some of their own companions, which were not so, might not heare), that they were Christianos: whereby we perceived them to be Christians, conuerted by the Portugall Iesuits." ... When Iyeyasu first took strong measures, they were directed, not against the Jesuits, but against a more imprudent order,--as we know from Adams's correspondence. "In the yeer 1612," he says, "is put downe all the sects of the Franciscannes. The Jesouets hau [319] what priuiledge ... theare beinge in Nangasaki, in which place only may be so manny as will of all sectes: in other places not so many permitted...." Roman Catholicism was given two more years' grace after the Franciscan episode. Why Iyeyasu should have termed it a "false and corrupt religion," both in his Legacy and elsewhere, remains to be considered. From the Far-Eastern point of view he could scarcely have judged it otherwise, after an impartial investigation. It was essentially opposed to all the beliefs and traditions upon which Japanese society had been founded. The Japanese State was an aggregate of religious communities, with a God-King at its head;--the customs of all these communities had the force of religious laws, and ethics were identified with obedience to custom; filial piety was the basis of social order, and loyalty itself was derived from filial piety. But this Western creed, which taught that a husband should leave his parents and cleave to his wife, held filial piety to be at best an inferior virtue. It proclaimed that duty to parents, lords, and rulers remained duty only when obedience involved no action opposed to Roman teaching, and that the supreme duty of obedience was not to the Heavenly Sovereign at Kyoto, but to the Pope at Rome. Had not the Gods and the Buddhas been called devils by these missionaries from Portugal and Spain? Assuredly such doctrines were subversive, [320] no matter how astutely they might be interpreted by their apologists. Besides, the worth of a creed as a social force might be judged from its fruits. This creed in Europe had been a ceaseless cause of disorders, wars, persecutions, atrocious cruelties. This creed, in Japan, had fomented great disturbances, had instigated political intrigues, had wrought almost immeasurable mischief. In the event of future political trouble, it would justify the disobedience of children to parents, of wives to husbands, of subjects to lords, of lords to shogun. The paramount duty of government was now to compel social order, and to maintain those conditions of peace and security without which the nation could never recover from the exhaustion of a thousand years of strife. But so long as this foreign religion was suffered to attack and to sap the foundations of order, there never could be peace.... Convictions like these must have been well established in the mind of Iyeyasu when he issued his famous edict. The only wonder is that he should have waited so long. Very possibly Iyeyasu, who never did anything by halves, was waiting until Christianity should find itself without one Japanese leader of ability. In 1611 he had information of a Christian conspiracy in the island of Sado (a convict mining-district) whose governor, Okubo, had been induced to adopt Christianity, and was to be made ruler of the country if [321] the plot proved successful. But still Iyeyasu waited. By 1614 Christianity had scarcely even an Okubo to lead the forlorn hope. The daimyo converted in the sixteenth century were dead or dispossessed or in banishment; the great Christian generals had been executed; the few remaining converts of importance had been placed under surveillance, and were practically helpless. The foreign priests and native catechists were not cruelly treated immediately after the proclamation of 1614. Some three hundred of them were put into ships and sent out of the country,--together with various Japanese suspected of religious political intrigues, such as Takayama, former daimyo of Akashi, who was called "Justo Ucondono" by the Jesuit writers, and who had been dispossessed and degraded by Hideyoshi for the same reasons. Iyeyasu set no example of unnecessary severity. But harsher measures followed upon an event which took place in 1615,--the very year after the issuing of the edict. Hideyori, the son of Hideyoshi, had been supplanted--fortunately for Japan--by Iyeyasu, to whose tutelage the young man had been confided. Iyeyasu took all care of him, but had no intention of suffering him to direct the government of the country,--a task scarcely within the capacity of a lad of twenty-three. In spite of various political intrigues in which Hideyori was known to have taken part, Iyeyasu had left him in possession [322] of large revenues, and of the strongest fortress in Japan,--that mighty castle of Osaka, which Hideyoshi's genius had rendered almost impregnable. Hideyori, unlike his father, favoured the Jesuits: and he made the castle a refuge for adherents of the "false and corrupt sect." Informed by government spies of a dangerous intrigue there preparing, Iyeyasu resolved to strike; and he struck hard. In spite of a desperate defence, the great fortress was stormed and burnt--Hideyori perishing in the conflagration. One hundred thousand lives are said to have been lost in this siege. Adams wrote thus quaintly of Hideyori's fate, and the results of his conspiracy:-- "Hee mad warres with the Emperour ... allso by the Jessvits and Ffriers, which mad belleeue he should be fauord with mirrackles and wounders; but in fyne it proued the contrari. For the ould Emperour against him pressentlly maketh his forces reddy by sea and land, and compasseth his castell that he was in; although with loss of multitudes on both sides, yet in the end rasseth the castell walles, setteth it on fyre, and burneth hym in it. Thus ended the warres. Now the Emperour heering of thees Jessvets and friers being in the castell with his ennemis, and still from tym to tym agaynst hym, coumandeth all romische sorte of men to depart ovt of his countri--thear churches pulld dooun, and burned. This folowed in the ould Emperour's [323] daies. Now this yeear, 1616, the old Emperour he died. His son raigneth in his place, and hee is more hot agaynste the romish relligion then his ffather wass: for he hath forbidden thorough all his domynions, on paine of deth, none of his subjects to be romish christiane; which romish seckt to prevent eueri wayes that he maye, he hath forbidden that no stranger merchant shall abid in any of the great citties." ... The son here referred to was Hidetada, who, in 1617, issued an ordinance sentencing to death every Roman priest or friar discovered in Japan,--an ordinance provoked by the fact that many priests expelled from the country had secretly returned, and that others had remained to carry on their propaganda under various disguises. Meanwhile, in every city, town, village, and hamlet throughout the empire, measures had been taken for the extirpation of Roman Christianity. Every community was made responsible for the existence in it of any person belonging to the foreign creed; and special magistrates, or inquisitors, were appointed, called Kirishitan-bugyo, to seek out and punish members of the prohibited religion.* Christians [324] who freely recanted were not punished, but only kept under surveillance: those who refused to recant, even after torture, were degraded to the condition of slaves, or else put to death. In some parts of the country, extraordinary cruelty was practised, and every form of torture used to compel recantation. But it is tolerably certain that the more atrocious episodes of the persecution were due to the individual ferocity of local governors or magistrates--as in the case of Takenaka Uneme-no-Kami, who was compelled by the government to perform harakiri for abusing his powers at Nagasaki, and making persecution a means of extorting money. Be that as it may, the persecution at last either provoked, or helped to bring about a Christian rebellion in the daimiate of Arima,--historically remembered as the Shimabara Revolt. In 1636 a host of peasants, driven to desperation by the tyranny of their lords--the daimyo of Arima and the daimyo of Karatsu (convert-districts)--rose in arms, burnt all the Japanese temples in their vicinity, and proclaimed religious war. Their banner bore a cross; their leaders were converted samurai. They were soon [325] joined by Christian refugees from every part of the country, until their numbers swelled to thirty or forty thousand. On the coast of the Shimabara peninsula they seized an abandoned castle, at a place called Hara, and there fortified themselves. The local authorities could not cope with the uprising; and the rebels more than held their own until government forces, aggregating over 160,000 men, were despatched against them. After a brave defence of one hundred and two days, the castle was stormed in 1638, and its defenders, together with their women and children, put to the sword. Officially the occurrence was treated as a peasant revolt; and the persons considered responsible for it were severely punished;--the lord of Shimabara (Arima) was further sentenced to perform harakiri. Japanese historians state that the rising was first planned and led by Christians, who designed to seize Nagasaki, subdue Kyushu, invite foreign military help, and compel a change of government;--the Jesuit writers would have us believe there was no plot. One thing certain is that a revolutionary appeal was made to the Christian element, and was largely responded to with alarming consequences. A strong castle on the Kyushu coast, held by thirty or forty thousand Christians, constituted a serious danger,--a point of vantage from which a Spanish invasion of the country might have been attempted with some [326] chance of success. The government seems to have recognized this danger, and to have despatched in consequence an overwhelming force to Shimabara. If foreign help could have been sent to the rebels, the result might have been a prolonged civil war. As for the wholesale slaughter, it represented no more than the enforcement of Japanese law: the punishment of the peasant revolting against his lord, under any circumstances whatever, being death. So far as concerns the policy of such massacre, it may be remembered that, with less provocation, Nobunaga exterminated the Tendai Buddhists at Hiyei-san. We have every reason to pity the brave men who perished at Shimabara, and to sympathize with their revolt against the atrocious cruelty of their rulers. But it is necessary, as a simple matter of justice, to consider the whole event from the Japanese political point of view. [*It should be borne in mind that none of these edicts were directed against Protestant Christianity: the Dutch were not considered Christians in the sense of the ordinances, nor were the English. The following extract from a typical village, Kumicho, or code of communal regulations, shows the responsibility imposed upon all communities regarding the presence in their midst of Roman Catholic converts or believers:-- "Every year, between the first and the third month, we will renew our Shumon-cho If we know of any person who belongs to a prohibited sect, we will immediately inform the Daikwan.... Servants and labourers shall give to their masters a certificate declaring that they are not Christians. In regard to persons who have been Christians, but have recanted,--if such persons come to or leave the village, we promise to report it."--See Professor Wigmore's Notes on Land-Tenure and Local Institutions in Old Japan.] The Dutch have been denounced for helping to crush the rebellion with ships and cannon: they fired, by their own acknowledgment, 426 shot into the castle. However, the extant correspondence of the Dutch factory at Hirado proves beyond question that they were forced, under menace, to thus act. In any event, it would be difficult to discover a good reason for the merely religious denunciations of their conduct,--although that conduct would be open to criticism from the humane [327] point of view. Dutchmen could not reasonably have refused to assist the Japanese authorities in suppressing a revolt, merely because a large proportion of the rebels happened to profess the religion which had been burning alive as heretics the men and women of the Netherlands. Very possibly, not a few persons of kin to those very Dutch had suffered in the days of Alva. What would have happened to all the English and Dutch in Japan, if the Portuguese and Spanish clergy could have got full control of government, ought to be obvious. With the massacre of Shimabara ends the real history of the Portuguese and Spanish missions. After that event, Christianity was slowly, steadily, implacably stamped out of visible existence. It had been tolerated, or half-tolerated, for only sixty-five years: the entire history of its propagation and destruction occupies a period of scarcely ninety years. People of nearly every rank, from prince to pauper, suffered for it; thousands endured tortures for its sake--tortures so frightful that even three of those Jesuits who sent multitudes to useless martyrdom were forced to deny their faith under the infliction;* and tender women, sentenced to, the stake, carried [328] their little ones with them into the fire, rather than utter the words that would have saved both mother and child. Yet this religion, for which thousands vainly died, had brought to Japan nothing but evil disorders, persecutions, revolts, political troubles, and war. Even those virtues of the people which had been evolved at unutterable cost for the protection and conservation of society,--their self-denial, their faith, their loyalty, their constancy and courage,--were by this black creed distorted, diverted, and transformed into forces directed to the destruction of that society. Could that destruction have been accomplished, and a new Roman Catholic empire have been founded upon the ruins, the forces of that empire would have been used for the further extension of priestly tyranny, the spread of the Inquisition, the perpetual Jesuit warfare against freedom of conscience and human progress. Well may we pity the victims of this pitiless faith, and justly admire their useless courage: yet who can regret that their cause was lost? ... Viewed from another standpoint than that of religious bias, and simply judged by its results, the Jesuit effort to Christianize Japan must be regarded as a crime against humanity, a labour of devastation, a calamity comparable only,--by reason of the misery and destruction which it wrought,--to an earthquake, a tidal-wave, a volcanic eruption. [*Francisco Cassola, Pedro Marquez, and Giuseppe Chiara. Two of these--probably under compulsion--married Japanese women. For their after-history, see a paper by Satow in the Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan, Vol. VI, Part I.] [329] The policy of isolation,--of shutting off Japan from the rest of the world,--as adopted by Hidetada and maintained by his successors, sufficiently indicates the fear that religious intrigues had inspired. Not only were all foreigners, excepting the Dutch traders, expelled from the country; all half-breed children of Portuguese or Spanish blood were also expatriated, Japanese families being forbidden to adopt or conceal any of them, under penalties to be visited upon all the members of the household disobeying. In 1636 two hundred and eighty-seven half-breed children were shipped to Macao. It is possible that the capacity of half-breed children to act as interpreters was particularly dreaded; but there can be little doubt that, at the time when this ordinance was issued, race-hatred had been fully aroused by religious antagonism. After the Shimabara episode all Western foreigners, without exception, were regarded with unconcealed distrust.* [*The Chinese traders, however, were allowed much more liberty than the Dutch.] The Portuguese and Spanish traders were replaced by the Dutch (the English factory having been closed some years previously); but even in the case of these, extraordinary precautions were taken. They were compelled to abandon their good quarters at Hirado, and transfer their factory to Deshima,--a tiny island only six hundred feet long, by two hundred and forty feet wide. There they were kept under constant guard, like prisoners; they were not [330] permitted to go among the people; no man could visit them without permission, and no woman, except a prostitute, was allowed to enter their reservation under any circumstances. But they had a monopoly of the trade of the country; and Dutch patience endured these conditions, for the profit's sake, during more than two hundred years. Other commerce with foreign countries than that maintained by the Dutch factory, and by the Chinese, was entirely suppressed. For any Japanese to leave Japan was a capital offence; and any one who might succeed in leaving the country by stealth, was to be put to death upon his return. The purpose of this law was to prevent Japanese, sent abroad by the Jesuits for missionary training, from returning to Japan in the disguise of laymen. It was forbidden also to construct ships capable of long voyages; and all ships exceeding a dimension fixed by the government were broken up, Lookouts were established along the coast to watch for strange vessels; and any European ships entering a Japanese port, excepting the ships of the Dutch company, were to be attacked and destroyed. The great success at first achieved by the Portuguese missions remains to be considered. In our present comparative ignorance of Japanese social history, it is not easy to understand the whole of the Christian episode. There are plenty of Jesuit-missionary [331] records; but the Japanese contemporary chronicles yield us scanty information about the missions--probably for the reason that an edict was issued in the seventeenth century interdicting, not only all books on the subject of Christianity, but any book containing the words Christian or Foreign. What the Jesuit books do not explain, and what we should rather have expected Japanese historians to explain, had they been allowed, is how a society founded on ancestor-worship, and apparently possessing immense capacity for resistance to outward assault, could have been so quickly penetrated and partly dissolved by Jesuit energy. The question of all questions that I should like to see answered, by Japanese evidence, is this: To what extent did the missionaries interfere with the ancestor-cult? It is an important question. In China, the Jesuits were quick to perceive that the power of resistance to proselytism lay in ancestor-worship; and they shrewdly endeavoured to tolerate it, somewhat as Buddhism before them had been obliged to do. Had the Papacy supported their policy, the Jesuits might have changed the history of China; but other religious orders fiercely opposed the compromise, and the chance was lost. How far the ancestor-cult was tolerated by the Portuguese missionaries in Japan is a matter of much sociological interest for investigation. The supreme cult was, of course, left alone, for obvious reasons. It is difficult to suppose that the [332] domestic cult was attacked then as implacably as it is attacked now by Protestant and Roman Catholic missionaries alike;--is difficult to suppose, for example, that Converts were compelled to cast away or to destroy their ancestral tablets. On the other hand, we are yet in doubt as to whether many of the poorer converts--servants and other common folk--possessed a domestic ancestor-cult. The outcast classes, among whom many converts were made, need not be considered, of course, in this relation. Before the matter can be fairly judged, much remains to be learned about the religious condition of the heimin during the sixteenth century. Anyhow, whatever methods were followed, the early success of the missions was astonishing. Their work, owing to the particular character of the social organization, necessarily began from the top: the subject could change his creed only by permission of his lord. From the outset this permission was freely granted. In some cases the people were officially notified that they were at liberty to adopt the new religion; in other cases, converted lords ordered them to do so. It would seem that the foreign faith was at first mistaken for a new kind of Buddhism; and in the extant official grant of land at Yamaguchi to the Portuguese mission, in 1552, the Japanese text plainly states that the grant (which appears to have included a temple called Daidoji) was made to the strangers that they might preach [333] the Law of Buddha "--Buppo shoryo no tame. The original document is thus translated by Sir Ernest Satow, who reproduced it in facsimile:-- "With respect to Daidoji in Yamaguchi Agata, Yoshiki department, province of Suwo. This deed witnesses that I have given permission to the priests who have come to this country from the Western regions, in accordance with their request and desire, that they may found and erect a monastery and house in order to develope the Law of Buddha. "The 28th day of the 8th month of the 21st year of Tembun. "SUWO NO SUKE. [August Seal]"* [*In the Latin and Portuguese translations, or rather pretended translations of this document, there is nothing about preaching the Law of Buddha; and there are many things added which do not exist in the Japanese text at all. See Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan (Vol. VIII, Part II) for Satow's comment on this document and the false translation made of it.] If this error [or deception?] could have occurred at Yamaguchi, it is reasonable to suppose that it also occurred in other places. Exteriorly the Roman rites resembled those of popular Buddhism: the people would have observed but little that was unfamiliar to them in the forms of the service, the vestments, the beads, the prostrations, the images, the bells, and the incense. The virgins and the saints would have been found to resemble the aureoled Boddhisattvas and Buddhas; the angels and the demons would have been at once identified with the Tennin [334] and the Oni. All that pleased popular imagination in the Buddhist ceremonial could be witnessed, under slightly different form, in those temples which had been handed over to the Jesuits, and consecrated by them as churches or chapels. The fathomless abyss really separating the two faiths could not have been perceived by the common mind; but the outward resemblances were immediately observable. There were furthermore some attractive novelties. It appears, for example, that the Jesuits used to have miracle-plays performed in their churches for the purpose of attracting popular attention.... But outward attractions of whatever sort, or outward resemblances to Buddhism, could only assist the spread of the new religion; they could not explain the rapid progress of the propaganda. Coercion might partly explain it,--coercion exercised by converted daimyo upon their subjects. Populations of provinces are known to have followed, under strong compulsion, the religion of their converted lords; and hundreds--perhaps thousands--of persons must have done the same thing through mere habit of loyalty. In these cases it is worth while to consider what sort of persuasion was used upon the daimyo. We know that one great help to the missionary work was found in Portuguese commerce,--especially the trade in firearms and ammunition. In the disturbed state of the country [335] preceding the advent to power of Hideyoshi, this trade was a powerful bribe in religious negotiation with provincial lords. The daimyo able to use firearms would necessarily possess some advantage over a rival lord having no such weapons; and those lords able to monopolize the trade could increase their power at the expense of their neighbours. Now this trade was actually offered for the privilege of preaching; and sometimes much more than that privilege was demanded and obtained. In 1572 the Portuguese presumed to ask for the whole town of Nagasaki, as a gift to their church,--with power of jurisdiction over the same; threatening, in case of refusal, to establish themselves elsewhere. The daimyo, Omura, at first demurred, but eventually yielded; and Nagasaki then became Christian territory, directly governed by the Church. Very soon the fathers began to prove the character of their creed by furious attacks upon the local religion. They set fire to the great Buddhist temple, Jinguji, and attributed the fire to the "wrath of God,"--after which act, by the zeal of their converts, some eighty other temples, in or about Nagasaki, were burnt. Within Nagasaki territory Buddhism was totally suppressed,--its priests being persecuted and driven away. In the province of Bungo the Jesuit persecution of Buddhism was far more violent, and conducted upon an extensive scale. Otomo Sorin Munechika, the reigning daimyo, not [336] only destroyed all the Buddhist temples in his dominion (to the number, it is said, of three thousand), but had many of the Buddhist priests put to death. For the destruction of the great temple of Hikozan, whose priests were reported to have prayed for the tyrant's death, he is said to have maliciously chosen the sixth day of the fifth month (1576),--the festival of the Birthday of the Buddha! Coercion, exercised by their lords upon a docile people trained to implicit obedience, would explain something of the initial success of the missions; but it would leave many other matters unexplained: the later success of the secret propaganda, the fervour and courage of the converts under persecution, the long-continued indifference of the chiefs of the ancestor-cult to the progress of the hostile faith.... When Christianity first began to spread through the Roman empire, the ancestral religion had fallen into decay, the structure of society had lost its original form, and there was no religious conservatism really capable of successful resistance. But in the Japan of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the religion of the ancestors was very much alive; and society was only entering upon the second period of its yet imperfect integration. The Jesuit conversions were not made among a people already losing their ancient faith, but in one of the most intensely religious and conservative societies that ever existed. Christianity of any sort could not [337] have been introduced into such a society without effecting structural disintegrations,--disintegrations, at least, of a local character. How far these disintegrations extended and penetrated we do not know; and we have yet no adequate explanation of the long inertia of the native religious instinct in the face of danger. But there are certain historical facts which appear to throw at least a side-light upon the subject. The early Jesuit policy in China, as established by Ricci, had been to leave converts free to practise the ancestral rites. So long as this policy was followed, the missions prospered. When, in consequence of this compromise, dissensions arose, the matter was referred to Rome. Pope Innocent X decided for intolerance by a bull issued in 1645; and the Jesuit missions were thereby practically ruined in China. Pope Innocent's decision was indeed reversed the very next year by a bull of Pope Alexander VIII; but again and again contests were raised by the religious bodies over this question of ancestor-worship, until in 1693 Pope Clement XI definitively prohibited converts from practising the ancestral rites under any form whatsoever.... All the efforts of all the missions in the Far East have ever since then failed to advance the cause of Christianity. The sociological reason is plain. We have seen, then, that up to the year 1645 the ancestor-cult had been tolerated by the Jesuits [338] in China, with promising results; and it is probable that an identical policy of tolerance was maintained in Japan during the second half of the sixteenth century. The Japanese missions began in 1549, and their history ends with the Shimabara slaughter in 1638,--about seven years before the first Papal decision against the tolerance of ancestor-worship. The Jesuit mission-work seems to have prospered steadily, in spite of all opposition, until it was interfered with by less cautious and more uncompromising zealots. By a bull issued in 1585 by Gregory XIII, and confirmed in 1600 by Clement III, the Jesuits alone were authorized to do missionary-work in Japan; and it was not until after their privileges had been ignored by Franciscan zeal that trouble with the government began. We have seen that in 1593 Hideyoshi had six Franciscans executed. Then the issue of a new Papal bull in 1608, by Paul V, allowing Roman Catholic missionaries of all orders to work in Japan, probably ruined the Jesuit interests. It will be remembered that Iyeyasu suppressed the Franciscans in 1612,--a proof that their experience with Hideyoshi had profited them little. On the whole, it appears more than likely that both Dominicans and Franciscans recklessly meddled with matters which the Jesuits (whom they accused of timidity) had been wise enough to leave alone, and that this interference hastened the inevitable ruin of the missions. [339] We may reasonably doubt whether there were a million Christians in Japan at the beginning of the seventeenth century: the more probable claim of six hundred thousand can be accepted. In this era of toleration the efforts of all the foreign missionary bodies combined, and the yearly expenditure of immense sums in support of their work, have enabled them to achieve barely one-fifth f the success attributed to their Portuguese predecessors, upon a not incredible estimate. The sixteenth-century Jesuits were indeed able to exercise, through various lords, the most forcible sort of coercion upon whole populations of provinces; but the modern missions certainly enjoy advantages educational, financial, and legislative, much outweighing the doubtful value of the power to coerce; and the smallness of the results which they have achieved seems to require explanation. The explanation is not difficult. Needless attacks upon the ancestor-cult are necessarily attacks upon the constitution of society; and Japanese society instinctively resists these assaults upon its ethical basis. For it is an error to suppose that this Japanese society has yet arrived even at such a condition as Roman society presented in the second or third century of our era. Rather it remains at a stage resembling that of a Greek or Latin society many centuries before Christ. The introduction of railroads, telegraphs, modern arms of precision, modern applied science of all kinds, has not yet [340] sufficed to change the fundamental order of things, Superficial disintegrations are rapidly proceeding; new structures are forming; but the social condition still remains much like that which, in southern Europe, long preceded the introduction of Christianity. Though every form of religion holds something of undying truth, the evolutionist must classify religions. He must regard a monotheistic faith as representing, in the progress of human thought, a very considerable advance upon any polytheistic creed; monotheism signifying the fusion and expansion of countless ghostly beliefs into one vast concept of unseen omnipotent power. And, from the standpoint of psychological evolution, he must of course consider pantheism as an advance upon monotheism, and must further regard agnosticism as an advance upon both. But the value of a creed is necessarily relative, and the question of its worth is to be decided, not by its adaptability to the intellectual developments of a single cultured class, but by its larger emotional relation to the whole society of which it embodies the moral experience. Its value to any other society must depend upon its power of self-adaptation to the ethical experience of that society. We may grant that Roman Catholicism was, by sole virtue of its monotheistic conception, a stage in advance of the primitive ancestor-worship. But it was adapted only to a form of society at [341] which neither Chinese nor Japanese civilization had arrived,--a form of society in which the ancient family had been dissolved, and the religion of filial piety forgotten. Unlike that subtler and incomparably more humane creed of India, which had learned the secret of missionary-success a thousand years before Loyola, the religion of the Jesuits could never have adapted itself to the social conditions of Japan; and by the fact of this incapacity the fate of the missions was really decided in advance. The intolerance, the intrigues, the savage persecutions carried on,--all the treacheries and cruelties of the Jesuits,--may simply be considered as the manifestations of such incapacity; while the repressive measures taken by Iyeyasu and his successors signify sociologically no more than the national perception of supreme danger. It was recognized that the triumph of the foreign religion would involve the total disintegration of society, and the subjection of the empire to foreign domination. Neither the artist nor the sociologist, at least, can regret the failure of the missions. Their extirpation, which enabled Japanese society to evolve to its type-limit, preserved for modern eyes the marvellous world of Japanese art, and the yet more marvellous world of its traditions, beliefs, and customs. Roman Catholicism, triumphant, would have swept all this out of existence. The natural antagonism [342] of the artist to the missionary may be found in the fact that the latter is always, and must be, an unsparing destroyer. Everywhere the developments of art are associated in some sort with religion; and by so much as the art of a people reflects their beliefs, that art will be hateful to the enemies of those beliefs. Japanese art, of Buddhist origin, is especially an art of religious suggestion,--not merely as regards painting and sculpture, but likewise as regards decoration, and almost every product of aesthetic taste. There is something of religious feeling associated even with the Japanese delight in trees and flowers, the charm of gardens, the love of nature and of nature's voices,--with all the poetry of existence, in short. Most assuredly the Jesuits and their allies would have ended all this, every detail of it, without the slightest qualm. Even could they have understood and felt the meaning of that world of strange beauty,--result of a race-experience never to be repeated or replaced,--they would not have hesitated a moment in the work of obliteration and effacement. To-day, indeed, that wonderful art-world is being surely and irretrievably destroyed by Western industrialism. But industrial influence, though pitiless, is not fanatic; and the destruction is not being carried on with such ferocious rapidity but that the fading story of beauty can be recorded for the future benefit of human civilization. [343] FEUDAL INTEGRATION It was under the later Tokugawa Shogun--during the period immediately preceding the modern regime--that Japanese civilization reached the limit of its development. No further evolution was possible, except through social reconstruction. The conditions of this integration chiefly represented the reinforcement and definition of conditions preexisting,--scarcely anything in the way of fundamental change. More than ever before the old compulsory systems of cooperation were strengthened; more than ever before all details of ceremonial convention were insisted upon with merciless exactitude. In preceding ages there had been more harshness; but at no previous period had there been less liberty. Nevertheless, the results of this increased restriction were not without ethical value: the time was yet far off at which personal liberty could prove a personal advantage; and the paternal coercion of the Tokugawa rule helped to develop and to accentuate much of what is most attractive in the national character. Centuries of warfare had previously allowed small opportunity for the cultivation of the more delicate qualities of that character: the refinements, the [344] ingenuous kindliness, the joy in life that afterward lent so rare a charm to Japanese existence. But during two hundred years of peace, prosperity, and national isolation, the graceful and winning side of this human nature found chance to bloom; and the multiform restraints of law and custom then quickened and curiously shaped the blossoming,--as the gardener's untiring art evolves the flowers of the chrysanthemum into a hundred forms of fantastic beauty.... Though the general social tendency under pressure was toward rigidity, constraint left room, in special directions, for moral and aesthetic cultivation. In order to understand the social condition, it will be necessary to consider the nature of the paternal rule in its legal aspects. To modern imagination the old Japanese laws may well seem intolerable; but their administration was really less uncompromising than that of our Western laws. Besides, although weighing heavily upon all classes, from the highest to the lowest, the legal burden was proportioned to the respective strength of the bearers; the application of law being made less and less rigid as the social scale descended. In theory at least, from the earliest times, the poor and unfortunate had been considered as entitled to pity; and the duty of showing them all possible mercy was insisted upon in the oldest extant moral code of Japan,--the Laws of Shotoku Taishi. [345] But the most striking example of such discrimination appears in the Legacy of Iyeyasu, which represents the conception of justice in a time when society had become much more developed, its institutions more firmly fixed, and all its bonds tightened. This stern and wise ruler, who declared that "the people are the foundation of the Empire," commanded leniency in dealing with the humble. He ordained that any lord, no matter what his rank, convicted of breaking laws "to the injury of the people," should be punished by the confiscation of his estates. Perhaps the humane spirit of the legislator is most strongly shown in his enactments regarding crime, as, for example, where he deals with the question of adultery--necessarily a crime of the first magnitude in any society based on ancestor-worship. By the 50th article of the Legacy, the injured husband is confirmed in his ancient right to kill,--but with this important provision, that should he kill but one of the guilty parties, he must himself be held as guilty as either of them. Should the offenders be brought up for trial, Iyeyasu advises that, in the case of common people, particular deliberation be given to the matter: he remarks upon the weakness of human nature, and suggests that, among the young and simple-minded, some momentary impulse of passion may lead to folly even when the parties are not naturally depraved. But in the next article, [346] No. 51, he orders that no mercy whatever be shown to men and women of the upper classes when convicted of the same crime. "These," he declares, "are expected to know better than to occasion disturbance by violating existing regulations; and such persons, breaking the laws by lewd trifling or illicit intercourse, shall at once be punished without deliberation or consultation.* [*That is to say, immediately put to death.] It is not the same in this case as in the case of farmers, artizans, and traders." ... Throughout the entire code, this tendency to tighten the bonds of law in the case of the military classes, and to loosen them mercifully for the lower classes, is equally visible. Iyeyasu strongly disapproved of unnecessary punishments; and held that the frequency of punishments was proof, not of the ill-conduct of subjects, but of the ill-conduct of officials. The 91st article of his code puts the matter thus plainly, even as regarded the Shogunate: "When punishments and executions abound in the Empire, it is a proof that the military ruler is without virtue and degenerate." He devised particular enactments to protect the peasantry and the poor from the cruelty or the rapacity of powerful lords. The great daimyo were strictly forbidden, when making their obligatory journeys to Yedo, "to disturb or harass the people at the post-houses," or suffer themselves "to be puffed up with military pride." [347] The private, not less than the public conduct of these great lords, was under Government surveillance; and they were actually liable to punishment for immorality! Concerning debauchery among them, the legislator remarked that "even though this can hardly be pronounced insubordination," it should be judged and punished according to the degree in which it constitutes a bad example for the lower classes (Art. 88).* As to veritable insubordination there was no pardon: the severity of the law on this subject allowed of no exception or mitigation. The 53rd section of the Legacy proves this to have been regarded as the supreme crime: "The guilt of a vassal murdering his suzerain is in principle the same as that of an arch-traitor to the Emperor. His immediate companions, his relations,--all even to his most distant connexions,--shall be cut off, hewn to atoms, root and fibre. The guilt of a vassal only lifting his hand against his master, even though he does not assassinate him, is the same." In strong contrast to this grim ordinance is the spirit of all the regulations touching the administration of law among the lower classes. Forgery, incendiarism, and poisoning were indeed crimes justifying the penalty of burning or crucifixion; but judges were instructed to act with as much leniency as circumstances permitted in the case of ordinary offences. "With regard to minute details affecting individuals of the inferior classes," says the 73d article of the code, "learn the wide benevolence of Koso of the Han [Chinese] dynasty." It was further ordered that magistrates of the criminal and civil courts should be chosen only from "a class of men who are upright and pure, distinguished for charity and benevolence." All magistrates were kept under close supervision, and their conduct regularly reported by government spies. [*Though even daimyo were liable to suffer for debauchery, Iyeyasu did not believe in the expediency of attempting to suppress all vice by law. There is a strangely modern ring in his remarks upon this subject, in the 73d section of the Legacy: "Virtuous men have said, both in poetry and in classic works, that houses of debauch, for women of pleasure and for street-walkers, are the worm-eaten spots of cities and towns. But these are necessary evils, and if they be forcibly abolished, men of unrighteous principles will become like ravelled thread, and there will be no end to daily punishments and floggings." In many castle-towns, however, such houses were never allowed--probably in view of the large military force, assembled in such towns, which had to be maintained under iron discipline.] [348] Another humane aspect of Tokugawa legislation is furnished by its dictates in regard to the relations of the sexes. Although concubinage was tolerated in the Samurai class, for reasons relating to the continuance of the family-cult, Iyeyasu denounces the indulgence of the privilege for merely selfish reasons: "Silly and ignorant men neglect their true wives for the sake of a loved mistress, and thus disturb the most important relation.... Men so far sunk as this may always be known as Samurai without fidelity or sincerity." Celibacy, condemned by public [349] opinion,--except in the case of Buddhist priests,--was equally condemned by the code. "One should not live alone after sixteen years of age," declares the legislator; "all mankind recognize marriage as the first law of nature." The childless man was obliged to adopt a son; and the 47th article of the Legacy ordained that the family estate of a person dying without male issue, and without having adopted a son, should be "forfeited without any regard to his relatives or connexions." This law, of course, was made in support of the ancestor-cult, the continuance of which it was deemed the paramount duty of each man to provide for; but the government regulations concerning adoption enabled everybody to fulfil the legal requirement, without difficulty. Considering that this code which inculcated humanity, repressed moral laxity, prohibited celibacy, and rigorously maintained the family-cult, was drawn up in the time of the extirpation of the Jesuit missions, the position assumed in regard to religious freedom appears to us one of singular liberality. "High and low alike," proclaims the 31st article, "may follow their own inclinations with respect to religious tenets which have obtained down to the present time, except as regards the false and corrupt school [Roman Catholicism]. Religious disputes have ever proved the bane and misfortune of this Empire, and must be firmly, suppressed." ... But the seeming liberality of this article must not be misinterpreted: [350] the legislator who made so rigid an enactment in regard to the religion of the family was not the man to proclaim that any Japanese was free to abandon the faith of his race for an alien creed. One must carefully read the entire Legacy in order to understand Iyeyasu's real position,--which was simply this: that any man was free to adopt any religion tolerated by the State, in addition to his ancestor-cult. Iyeyasu was himself a member of the Jodo sect of Buddhism, and a friend of Buddhism in general. But he was first of all a Shintoist; and the third article of his code commands devotion to the Kami as the first of duties:--"Keep your heart pure; and so long as your body shall exist, be diligent in paying honour and veneration to the Gods." That he placed the ancient cult above Buddhism should be evident from the text of the 52d article of the Legacy, in which he declares that no one should suffer himself to neglect the national faith because of a belief in any other form of religion. This text is of particular interest: "My body, and the bodies of others, being born in the Empire of the Gods, to accept unreservedly the teachings of other countries,--such as Confucian, Buddhist, or Taoist doctrines,--and to apply one's whole and undivided attention to them, would be, in short, to desert one's own master, and transfer one's loyalty to another. Is not this to forget the origin of one's being?" [351] Of course the Shogun, professing to derive his authority from the descendant of the elder gods, could not with consistency have proclaimed the right of freedom to doubt those gods: his official religious duty permitted of no compromise. But the interest attaching to his opinions, as expressed in the Legacy, rests upon the fact that the Legacy was not a public, but a strictly private document, intended for the perusal and guidance of his successors only. Altogether his religious position was much like that of the liberal Japanese statesman of to-day,--respect for whatever is good in Buddhism, qualified by the patriotic conviction that the first religious duty is to the cult of the ancestors, the ancient creed of the race.... Iyeyasu had preferences regarding Buddhism; but even in this he showed no narrowness. Though he wrote in his Legacy, "Let my posterity ever be of the honoured sect of Jodo," he greatly reverenced the high-priest of the Tendai temple, Yeizan, who had been one of his instructors, and obtained for him the highest court-office possible for a Buddhist priest to obtain, as well as the headship of the Tendai sect. Moreover the Shogun visited Yeizan to make there official prayer for the prosperity of the country. There is every reason to believe that within the territories of the Shogunate proper, comprising the greater part of the Empire, the administration of [352] ordinary criminal law was humane, and that the infliction of punishment was made, in the case of the common people, to depend largely upon circumstances. Needless severity was a crime before the higher military law, which, in such cases, made no distinctions of rank. Although the ring-leaders of a peasant-revolt, for example, would be sentenced to death, the lord through whose oppression the uprising was provoked, would be deprived of a part or the whole of his estates, or degraded in rank, or perhaps even sentenced to perform harakiri. Professor Wigmore, whose studies of Japanese law first shed light upon the subject, has given us an excellent review of the spirit of the ancient legal methods. He points out that the administration of law was never made impersonal in the modern sense; that unbending law did not, for the people at least, exist in relation to minor offences. The Anglo-Saxon idea of inflexible law is the idea of a justice impartial and pitiless as fire: whoever breaks the law must suffer the consequence, just as surely as the person who puts his hand into fire must experience pain. But in the administration of the old Japanese law, everything was taken into consideration: the condition of the offender, his intelligence, his degree of education, his previous conduct, his motives, suffering endured, provocation received, and so forth; and final judgment was decided by moral common sense rather than by legal enactment [353] or precedent. Friends and relatives were allowed to make plea for the offender, and to help him in whatever honest way they could. If a man were falsely accused, and proved innocent upon trial, he would not only be consoled by kind words, but, would probably receive substantial compensation; and it appears that judges were accustomed, at the end of important trials, to reward good conduct as well as to punish crime.* ... On the other hand, litigation was officially discouraged. Everything possible was done to prevent any cases from being taken into court, which could be settled or compromised by communal arbitration; and the people were taught to consider the court only as the last possible resort. [*The following extracts from a sentence said to have been passed by the famous judge, Ooka Tadasuke, at the close of a celebrated criminal trial, are illustrative: "Musashiya Chobei and Goto Hanshiro, these actions of yours are worthy of the highest praise: as a remuneration I award ten silver ryo to each of you.... Tami, you, for maintaining your brother, are to be commended: for this you are to receive the amount of five kwammon. Ko, daughter of Chohachi, you are obedient to your parents: in consideration of this, the sum of five silver ryo is awarded to you."--(See Dening's Japan in Days of Yore.) The good old custom of rewarding notable cases of filial piety, courage, generosity, etc., though not now practised in the courts, is still maintained by the local governments. The rewards are small; but the public honour which they confer upon the recipient is very great.] The general character of the Tokugawa rule can be to some degree inferred from the foregoing facts. It was in no sense a reign of terror that compelled peace and encouraged industry for two hundred and [354] fifty years. Though the national civilization was restrained, pruned, clipped in a thousand ways, it was at the same time cultivated, refined, and strengthened. The long peace established throughout the Empire what had never before existed,--a universal feeling of security. The individual was bound more than ever by law and custom; but he was also protected: he could move without anxiety to the length of his chains. Though coerced by his fellows, they helped him to bear the coercion cheerfully: everybody aided everybody else to fulfil the obligations and to support the burdens of communal life. Conditions tended, therefore, toward the general happiness as well as toward the general prosperity. There was not, in those years, any struggle for existence,--not at least in our modern meaning of the phrase. The requirements of life were easily satisfied; every man had a master to provide for him or to protect him; competition was repressed or discouraged; there was no need for supreme effort of any sort,--no need for the straining of any faculty. Moreover, there was little or nothing to strive after: for the vast majority of the people, there were no prizes to win. Ranks and incomes were fixed; occupations were hereditary; and the desire to accumulate wealth must have been checked or numbed by those regulations which limited the rich man's right to use his money as he might please. Even a great lord--even the Shogun himself [355] --could not do what he pleased. As for any common person,--farmer, craftsman, or shopkeeper,--he could not build a house as he liked, or furnish it as he liked, or procure for himself such articles of luxury as his taste might incline him to buy. The richest heimin, who attempted to indulge himself in any of these ways, would at once have been forcibly reminded that he must not attempt to imitate the habits, or to assume the privileges, of his betters. He could not even order certain kinds of things to be made for him. The artizans or artists who created objects of luxury, to gratify aesthetic taste, were little disposed to accept commissions from people of low rank: they worked for princes, or great lords, and could scarcely afford to take the risk of displeasing their patrons. Every man's pleasures were more or less regulated by his place in society, and to pass from a lower into a higher rank was no easy matter. Extraordinary men were sometimes able to do this, by attracting the favour of the great. But many perils attended upon such distinction; and the wisest policy for the heimin was to remain satisfied with his position, and try to find as much happiness in life as the law allowed. Personal ambition being thus restrained, and the cost of existence reduced to a minimum much below our Western ideas of the necessary, there were really established conditions highly favourable to certain forms of culture, in despite of sumptuary [356] regulations. The national mind was obliged to seek solace for the monotony of existence, either in amusement or study. Tokugawa policy had left imagination partly free in the directions of literature and art--the cheaper art; and within those two directions repressed personality found means to utter itself, and fancy became creative. There was a certain amount of danger attendant upon even such intellectual indulgences; and much was dared. Aesthetic taste, however, mostly followed the line of least resistance. Observation concentrated itself upon the interest of everyday life,--upon incidents which might be watched from a window, or studied in a garden,--upon familiar aspects of nature in various seasons,--upon trees, flowers, birds, fishes, or reptiles,--upon insects and the ways of them, --upon all kinds of small details, delicate trifles, amusing curiosities. Then it was that the race-genius produced most of that queer bric-a-brac which still forms the delight of Western collectors. The painter, the ivory-carver, the decorator, were left almost untroubled in their production of fairy-pictures, exquisite grotesqueries, miracles of liliputian art in metal and enamel and lacquer-of-gold. In all such small matters they could feel free; and the results of that freedom are now treasured in the museums of Europe and America. It is true that most of the arts (nearly all of Chinese origin) were considerably developed before the Tokugawa era; but it was then that they [357] began to assume those inexpensive forms which placed aesthetic gratification within reach of the common people. Sumptuary legislation or rule might yet apply to the use and possession of costly production, but not to the enjoyment of form; and the beautiful, whether shaped in paper or in ivory, in clay or gold, is always a power for culture. It has been said that in a Greek city of the fourth century before Christ, every household utensil, even the most trifling object, was in respect of design an object of art; and the same fact is true, though in another and a stranger way, of all things in a Japanese home: even such articles of common use as a bronze candlestick, a brass lamp, an iron kettle, a paper lantern, a bamboo curtain, a wooden pillow, a wooden tray, will reveal to educated eyes a sense of beauty and fitness entirely unknown to Western cheap production. And it was especially during the Tokugawa period that this sense of beauty began to inform everything in common life. Then also was developed the art of illustration; then came into existence those wonderful colour-prints (the most beautiful made in any age or country) which are now so eagerly collected by wealthy dilettanti. Literature also ceased, like art, to be the enjoyment of the upper classes only: it developed a multitude of popular forms. This was the age of popular fiction, of cheap books, of popular drama, of storytelling for young and old.... We may certainly [358] call the Tokugawa period the happiest in the long life of the nation. The mere increase of population and of wealth would prove the fact, irrespective of the general interest awakened in matters literary and aesthetic. It was an age of popular enjoyment, also of general culture and social refinement. Customs spread downward from the top of society. During the Tokugawa period, various diversions or accomplishments, formerly fashionable in upper circles only, became common property. Three of these were of a sort indicating a high degree of refinement: poetical contests, tea-ceremonies, and the complex art of flower-arrangement. All were introduced into Japanese society long before the Tokugawa regime;--the fashion of poetical competitions must be as old as Japanese authentic history. But it was under the Tokugawa Shogunate that such amusements and accomplishments became national. Then the tea-ceremonies were made a feature of female education throughout the country. Their elaborate character could be explained only by the help of many pictures; and it requires years of training and practice to graduate in the art of them. Yet the whole of this art, as to detail, signifies no more than the making and serving of a cup of tea. However, it is a real art--a most exquisite art. The actual making of the infusion is a matter of no consequence in itself: the supremely important matter is that the act be performed in the most perfect, [359] most polite, most graceful, most charming manner possible. Everything done--from the kindling of the charcoal fire to the presentation of the tea--must be done according to rules of supreme etiquette: rules requiring natural grace as well as great patience to fully master. Therefore a training in the tea-ceremonies is still held to be a training in politeness, in self-control, in delicacy,--a discipline in deportment.... Quite as elaborate is the art of arranging flowers. There are many different schools; but the object of each system is simply to display sprays of leaves and flowers in the most beautiful manner possible, and according to the irregular graces of Nature herself. This art also requires years to learn; and the teaching of it has a moral as well as an aesthetic value. It was in this period also that etiquette was cultivated to its uttermost,--that politeness became diffused throughout all ranks, not merely as a fashion, but as an art. In all civilized societies of the militant type politeness becomes a national characteristic at an early period; and it must have been a common obligation among the Japanese, as their archaic tongue bears witness, before the historical epoch. Public enactments on the subject were made as early as the seventh century by the founder of Japanese Buddhism, the prince-regent, Shotoku Taishi. "Ministers and functionaries," he proclaimed, [360] "should make decorous behaviour* their leading principle; for their leading principle of the government of the people consists in decorous behaviour. If the superiors do not behave with decorum, the inferiors are disorderly: if inferiors are wanting in proper behaviour, there must necessarily be offences. Therefore it is that when lord and vassal behave with propriety, the distinctions of rank are not confused when the people behave with propriety, the government of the Commonwealth proceeds of itself." Something of the same old Chinese teaching we find reechoed, a thousand years later, in the Legacy of Iyeyasu: "The art of governing a country consists in the manifestation of due deference on the part of a suzerain to his vassals. Know that if you turn your back upon this, you will be assassinated; and the Empire will be lost." We have already seen that etiquette was rigidly enforced upon all classes by the military rule: for at least ten centuries before Iyeyasu, the nation had been disciplined in politeness, under the edge of the sword. But under the Tokugawa Shogunate politeness became particularly a popular characteristic,--a rule of conduct maintained by even the lowest classes in their daily relations. Among the higher classes it became the art of beauty in life. All the taste, the grace, the [361] nicety which then informed artistic production in precious material, equally informed every detail of speech and action. Courtesy was a moral and aesthetic study, carried to such incomparable perfection that every trace of the artificial disappeared. Grace and charm seemed to have become habit,--inherent qualities of the human fibre,--and doubtless, in the case of one sex at least, did so become. [*Or, "ceremony": the Chinese term used signifying everything relating to gentlemanly and upright conduct. The translation is Mr. Aston's (see Vol. II, p, 130, of his translation of the Nihongi).] For it has well been said that the most wonderful aesthetic products of Japan are not its ivories, nor its bronzes, nor its porcelains, nor its swords, nor any of its marvels in metal or lacquer--but its women. Accepting as partly true the statement that woman everywhere is what man has made her, we might say that this statement is more true of the Japanese woman than of any other. Of course it required thousands and thousands of years to make her; but the period of which I am speaking beheld the work completed and perfected. Before this ethical creation, criticism should hold its breath; for there is here no single fault save the fault of a moral charm unsuited to any world of selfishness and struggle. It is the moral artist that now commands our praise,--the realizer of an ideal beyond Occidental reach. How frequently has it been asserted that, as a moral being, the Japanese woman does not seem to belong to the same race as the Japanese man! Considering that heredity is limited by sex, there is reason in the assertion: the Japanese woman is an ethically different [362] being from the Japanese man. Perhaps no such type of woman will appear again in this world for a hundred thousand years: the conditions of industrial civilization will not admit of her existence. The type could not have been created in any society shaped on modern lines, nor in any society where the competitive struggle takes those unmoral forms with which we have become too familiar. Only a society under extraordinary regulation and regimentation,--a society in which all self-assertion was repressed, and self-sacrifice made a universal obligation,--a society in which personality was clipped like a hedge, permitted to bud and bloom from within, never from without,--in short, only a society founded upon ancestor-worship, could have produced it. It has no more in common with the humanity of this twentieth century of ours--perhaps very much less--than has the life depicted upon old Greek vases. Its charm is the charm of a vanished world--a charm strange, alluring, indescribable as the perfume of some flower of which the species became extinct in our Occident before the modern languages were born. Transplanted successfully it cannot be: under a foreign sun its forms revert to something altogether different, its colours fade, its perfume passes away. The Japanese woman can be known only in her own country,--the Japanese woman as prepared and perfected by the old-time education for that strange society in which the charm [363] of her moral being,--her delicacy, her supreme unselfishness, her child-like piety and trust, her exquisite tactful perception of all ways and means to make happiness about her,--can be comprehended and valued. I have spoken only of her moral charm: it requires time for the unaccustomed foreign eye to discern the physical charm. Beauty, according to our Western standards, can scarcely be said to exist in this race,--or, shall we say that it has never yet been developed? One seeks in vain for a facial angle satisfying Western aesthetic canons. It is seldom that one meets even with a fine example of that physical elegance,--that manifestation of the economy of force,--which we call grace, in the Greek meaning of the word. Yet there is charm--great charm--both of face and form: the charm of childhood--childhood with its every feature yet softly and vaguely outlined (efface, as a French artist would call it),--childhood before the limbs have fully lengthened,--slight and, dainty, with admirable little hands and feet. The eyes at first surprise us, by the strangeness of their lids, so unlike Aryan eyelids, and folding upon another plan. Yet they are often very charming; and a Western artist would not fail to appreciate the graceful terms, invented by Japanese or Chinese art, to designate particular beauties in the lines of the eyelids. Even if she cannot be called handsome, according to Western [364] standards, the Japanese woman must be confessed pretty,--pretty like a comely child; and if she be seldom graceful in the Occidental sense, she is at least in all her ways incomparably graceful: her every motion, gesture, or expression being, in its own Oriental manner, a perfect thing,--an act performed, or a look conferred, in the most easy, the most graceful, the most modest way possible. By ancient custom, she is not permitted to display her grace in the street: she must walk in a particular shrinking manner, turning her feet inward as she patters along upon her wooden sandals. But to watch her at home, where she is free to be comely,--merely to see her performing any household duty, or waiting upon guests, or arranging flowers, or playing with her children,--is an education in Far Eastern aesthetics for whoever has the head and the heart to learn.... But is she not, then, one may ask, an artificial product,--a forced growth of Oriental civilization? I would answer both "Yes" and "No." She is an artificial product in only the same evolutional sense that all character is an artificial product; and it required tens of centuries to mould her. She is not, on the other hand, an artificial type, because she has been particularly trained to be her true self at all times when circumstances allow,--or, in other words, to be delightfully natural. The old-fashioned education of her sex was directed to the development [365] of every quality essentially feminine, and to the suppression of the opposite quality. Kindliness, docility, sympathy, tenderness, daintiness--these and other attributes were cultivated into incomparable blossoming. "Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever: do noble things, not dream them, all day long"--those words of Kingsley really embody the central idea in her training. Of course the being, formed by such training only, must be protected by society; and by the old Japanese society she was protected. Exceptions did not affect the rule. What I mean is that she was able to be purely herself, within certain limits of emotional etiquette, in all security. Her success in life was made to depend on her power to win affection by gentleness, obedience, kindliness;--not the affection merely of a husband, but of the husband's parents and grandparents, and brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law,--in short of all the members of a strange household. Thus to succeed required angelic goodness and patience; and the Japanese woman realized at least the ideal of a Buddhist angel. A being working only for others, thinking only for others, happy only in making pleasure for others,--a being incapable of unkindness, incapable of selfishness, incapable of acting contrary to her own inherited sense of right,--and in spite of this softness and gentleness ready, at any moment, to lay down her life, to [366] sacrifice everything at the call of duty: such was the character of the Japanese woman. Most strange may seem the combination, in this child-soul, of gentleness and force, tenderness and courage,--yet the explanation is not far to seek. Stronger within her than wifely affection or parental affection or even maternal affection,--stronger than any womanly emotion, was the moral conviction born of her great faith. This religious quality of character can be found among ourselves only within the shadow of cloisters, where it is cultivated at the expense of all else; and the Japanese woman has been therefore compared to a Sister of Charity. But she had to be very much more than a Sister of Charity,--daughter-in-law and wife and mother, and to fulfil without reproach the multiform duties of her triple part. Rather might she be compared to the Greek type of noble woman,--to Antigone, to Alcestis. With the Japanese woman, as formed by the ancient training, each act of life was an act of faith: her existence was a religion, her home a temple, her every word and thought ordered by the law of the cult of the dead.... This wonderful type is not extinct--though surely doomed to disappear. A human creature so shaped for the service of gods and men that every beat of her heart is duty, that every drop of her blood is moral feeling, were not less out of place in the future world of competitive selfishness, than an angel in hell. [367] THE SHINTO REVIVAL The slow weakening of the Tokugawa Shogunate was due to causes not unlike those which had brought about the decline of previous regencies: the race degenerated during that long period of peace which its rule had inaugurated; the strong builders were succeeded by feebler and feebler men. Nevertheless the machinery of administration, astutely devised by Iyeyasu, and further perfected by Iyemitsu, worked so well that the enemies of the Shogunate could find no opportunity for a successful attack until foreign aggression unexpectedly came to their aid. The most dangerous enemies of the government were the great clans of Satsuma and Choshu. Iyeyasu had not ventured to weaken them beyond a certain point: the risks of the undertaking would have been great; and, on the other hand, the alliance of those clans was for the time being a matter of vast political importance. He only took measures to preserve a safe balance of power, placing between those formidable allies new lordships in whose rulers he could put trust,--a trust based first upon interest, secondly upon kinship. But he always felt that danger to the Shogunate [368] might come from Satsuma and Choshu; and he left to his successors careful instructions about the policy to be followed in dealing with such possible enemies. He felt that his work was not perfect,--that certain outlying blocks of the structure had not been properly clamped to the rest. He could not do more in the direction of consolidation, simply because the material of society had not yet sufficiently evolved, had not yet become plastic enough, to permit of perfect and permanent cohesion. In order to effect that, it would have been necessary to dissolve the clans. But Iyeyasu did all that human foresight could have safely attempted under the circumstances; and no one was more keenly conscious than himself of the weak points in his wonderful organization. For more than two hundred years the Satsuma and Choshu clans, and several others ready to league with them, submitted to the discipline of the Tokugawa rule. But they chafed under it, and watched for a chance to break the yoke. All the while this chance was being slowly created for them--not by any political changes, but by the patient toil of Japanese men of letters. Three among these--the greatest scholars that Japan ever produced--especially prepared the way, by their intellectual labours, for the abolition of the Shogunate. They were Shinto scholars; and they represented the not unnatural reaction of native conservatism against the [309] long tyranny of alien ideas and alien beliefs,--against the literature and philosophy and bureaucracy of China,--against the preponderant influence upon education of the foreign religion of Buddhism. To all this they opposed the old native literature of Japan, the ancient poetry, the ancient cult, the early traditions and rites of Shinto. The names of these three remarkable men were Mabuchi (1697-1769), Motowori (1730-1801), and Hirata (1776-1843). Their efforts actually resulted in the disestablishment of Buddhism, and in the great Shinto revival of 1871. The intellectual revolution made by these scholars could have been prepared only during a long era of peace, and by men enjoying the protection and patronage of members of the ruling class. By a strange chance, it was the house of Tokugawa itself which first gave to literature such encouragement and aid as made possible the labours of the Shinto scholars. Iyeyasu had been a lover of learning; and had devoted the later years of his life--passed in retirement at Shidzuoka--to the collection of ancient books and manuscripts. He bequeathed his Japanese books to his eighth son, the Prince of Owari; and his Chinese books to another son, the Prince of Kishu. The Prince of Owari himself composed several works upon Japanese early literature. Other descendants of Iyeyasu, inherited the great [370] Shogun's love of letters: one of his grandsons, Mitsukuni, the second Prince of Mito (1622-1700), compiled, with the aid of various scholars, the first, important history of Japan,--the Dai-Nihon-Shi, in 240 books. Also he compiled a work of 500 volumes upon the ceremonies and the etiquette of the Imperial Court, and set aside from his revenues a sum equal to about 30,000 pounds per annum, to cover the cost of publishing the splendid productions.... Under the patronage of great lords like these--collectors of libraries--there gradually developed a new school of men-of-letters: men who turned away from Chinese literature to the study of the Japanese classics. They reedited the ancient poetry and chronicles; they republished the sacred records, with ample commentaries. They produced whole libraries of works upon religious, historical, and philological subjects; they made grammars and dictionaries; they wrote treatises on the art of poetry, on popular errors, on the nature of the gods, on government, on the manners and customs of ancient days.... The foundations of this new scholarship were laid by two Shinto priests,--Kada and Mabuchi. The high patrons of learning never suspected the possible results of those researches which they had encouraged and aided. The study of the ancient records, the study of Japanese literature, the study of the early political and religious conditions, [371] naturally led men to consider the history of those foreign literary influences which had well-nigh stifled native learning, and to consider also the history of the foreign creed which had overwhelmed the religion of the ancestral gods. Chinese ethics, Chinese ceremonial, and Chinese Buddhism had reduced the ancient faith to the state of a minor belief--almost to the state of a superstition. "The Shinto gods," exclaimed one of the scholars of the new school, "have become the servants of the Buddhas!" But those Shinto gods were the ancestors of the race,--the fathers of its emperors and princes,--and their degradation could not but involve the degradation of the imperial tradition. Already, indeed, the emperors had been deprived not only of their immemorial rights and privileges, but of their revenues: many had been deposed and banished and insulted. Just as the gods had been admitted only as inferior personages to the Buddhist pantheon, so their living descendants were now permitted to reign only as the dependants of military usurpers. By sacred law the whole soil of the empire belonged to the Heavenly Sovereign: yet there had been great poverty at times in the imperial palace; and the revenues, allotted for the maintenance of the Mikado, had often been insufficient to relieve his family from want. Assuredly all this was wrong. The Shogunate had indeed established peace and inaugurated prosperity; but who could forget that [372] it had originated in a military usurpation of imperial rights? Only by the restoration of the Son of Heaven to his ancient position of power, and by the relegation of the military chiefs to their proper state of subordination, could the best interests of the nation be really served.... All this was thought and felt and strongly suggested; but not all of it was openly proclaimed. To have publicly preached against the military government as a usurpation would have been to invite destruction. The Shinto scholars dared only so much as the politics and the temper of their time seemed to permit,--though they closely approached the danger-line. By the end of the eighteenth century, however, their teaching had created a strong party in favour of the official revival of the ancient religion, the restoration of the Mikado to supreme power, and the repression, if not suppression, of the military power. Yet it was not until the year 1841 that the Shogunate took alarm, and proclaimed its disquiet by banishing from the capital the great scholar Hirata, and forbidding him to write anything more. Not long afterwards he died. But he had been able to teach for forty years; he had written and published several hundred volumes; and the school of which he was the last and greatest theologian already exerted far-reaching influence. The restive lords of Choshu, Satsuma, Tosa, and Hizen were watching and waiting. They perceived [373] the worth of the new ideas to their own policy; they encouraged the new Shintoism; they felt that a time was coming when they could hope to shake off the domination of the Tokugawa. And their opportunity came at last with the advent to Japan of Commodore Perry's fleet. The events of that time are well known, and need not here be dwelt upon at any length. Suffice to say that after the Shogunate had been terrified into making commercial treaties with the United States and other powers, and practically compelled to open sundry ports to foreign trade, great discontent arose and was fomented as much as possible by the enemies of the military government. Meanwhile the Shogunate had ascertained for itself the impossibility of resisting foreign aggression: it was fairly well informed as to the strength of Western countries. The imperial court was nowise informed; and the Shogunate naturally dreaded to furnish the information. To acknowledge incapacity to resist Occidental aggression would be to invite the ruin of the Tokugawa house; to resist, on the other hand, would be to invite the destruction of the Empire. The enemies of the Shogunate then persuaded the imperial court to order the expulsion of the foreigners; and this order--which, it must be remembered, was essentially a religious order, emanating from the source of all acknowledged authority--placed the military government in a serious dilemma. [374] It tried to effect by diplomacy what it could not accomplish by force; but while it was negotiating for the withdrawal of the foreign' settlers, matters were suddenly forced to a crisis by the Prince of Choshu, who fired upon various ships belonging to the foreign powers. This action provoked the bombardment of Shimonoseki, and the demand of an indemnity of three million dollars. The Shogun Iyemochi attempted to chastise the daimyo of Choshu for this act of hostility; but the attempt only proved the weakness of the military government. Iyemochi died soon after this defeat; and his successor Hitotsubashi had no chance to do anything,--for the now evident feebleness of the Shogunate gave its enemies courage to strike a fatal blow. Pressure was brought upon the imperial court to proclaim the abolition of the Shogunate; and the Shogunate was abolished by decree. Hitotsubashi submitted; and the Tokugawa regime thus came to an end,--although its more devoted followers warred for two years afterwards, against hopeless odds, to reestablish it. In 1867 the entire administration was reorganized; the supreme power, both military and civil, being restored to the Mikado. Soon afterward the Shinto cult, officially revived in its primal simplicity, was declared the Religion of State; and Buddhism was disendowed. Thus the Empire was reestablished upon the ancient lines; and all that the literary party had [375] hoped for seemed to be realized--except one thing.... Be it here observed that the adherents of the literary party wanted to go much further than the great founders of the new Shintoism had dreamed of going. These later enthusiasts were not satisfied with the abolition of the Shogunate, the restoration of imperial power, and the revival of the ancient cult: they wanted a return of all society to the simplicity of primitive times; they desired that all foreign influence should be got rid of, and that the official ceremonies, the future education, the future literature, the ethics, the laws, should be purely Japanese. They were not even satisfied with the disendowment of Buddhism: there was a vigorous proposal made for its total suppression! And all this would have signified, in more ways than one, a social retrogression towards barbarism. The great scholars had never proposed to cast away Buddhism and all Chinese learning; they had only insisted that the native religion and culture should have precedence. But the new literary party desired what would have been equivalent to the destruction of a thousand years' experience. Happily the clansmen who had broken down the Shogunate saw both past and future in another light. They understood that the national existence was in peril, and that resistance to foreign pressure would be hopeless. Satsuma had witnessed the bombardment of Kagoshima in [376] 1863; Choshu, the bombardment of Shimonoseki in 1864. Evidently the only chance of being able to face Western power would be through the patient study of Western science; and the survival of the Empire depended upon the Europeanization of society. By 1871 the daimiates were abolished; in 1873 the edicts against Christianity were withdrawn; in 1876 the wearing of swords was prohibited. The samurai, as a military body, were suppressed; and all classes were declared thenceforward equal before the law. New codes were compiled; a new army and navy organized; a new police system established; a new system of education introduced at Government expense; and a new constitution promised. Finally, in 1891, the first Japanese parliament (strictly speaking) was convoked. By that time the entire framework of society had been remodelled, so far as laws could remodel it, upon a European pattern. The nation had fairly entered upon its third period of integration. The clan had been legally dissolved; the family was no longer the legal unit of society: by the new constitution the individual had been recognized. When we consider the history of some vast and sudden political change in its details only,--the factors of the movement, the combinations of immediate cause and effect, the influences of strong personality, the conditions impelling individual action, [377]--then the transformation is apt to appear to us the work and the triumph of a few superior minds. We forget, perhaps, that those minds themselves were the product of their epoch, and that every such rapid change must represent the working of a national or race-instinct quite as much as the operation of individual intelligence. The events of the Meiji reconstruction strangely illustrate the action of such instinct in the face of peril,--the readjustment of internal relations to sudden changes of environment. The nation had found its old political system powerless before the new conditions; and it transformed that system. It had found its military organization incapable of defending it; and it reconstructed that organization. It had found its educational system useless in the presence of unforeseen necessities; and it replaced that system,--simultaneously crippling the power of Buddhism, which might otherwise have offered serious opposition to the new developments required. And in that hour of greatest danger the national instinct turned back at once to the moral experience upon which it could best rely,--the experience embodied in its ancient cult, the religion of unquestioning obedience. Relying upon Shinto tradition, the people rallied about their ruler, descendant of the ancient gods, and awaited his will with unconquerable zeal of faith. By strict obedience to his commands the peril might be averted,--never otherwise: this was [378] the national conviction. And the imperial order was simply that the nation should strive by study to make itself, as far as possible, the intellectual equal of its enemies. How faithfully that command was obeyed,--how well the old moral discipline of the race served it in the period of that supreme emergency,--I need scarcely say. Japan, by right of self-acquired strength, has entered into the circle of the modern civilized powers,--formidable by her new military organization, respectable through her achievements in the domain of practical science. And the force to effect this astonishing self-improvement, within the time of thirty years, she owes assuredly to the moral habit derived from her ancient cult,--the religion of the ancestors. To fairly measure the feat, we should remember that Japan was evolutionally younger than any modern European nation, by at least twenty-seven hundred years, when she went to school! ... Herbert Spencer has shown that the great value to society of ecclesiastical institutions lies in their power to give cohesion to the mass,--to strengthen rule by enforcing obedience to custom, and by opposing innovations likely to supply any element of disintegration. In other words, the value of a religion, from the sociological standpoint, lies in its conservatism. Various writers have alleged that the [379] Japanese national religion proved itself weak by incapacity to resist the overwhelming influence of Buddhism. I cannot help thinking that the entire social history of Japan yields proof to the contrary. Though Buddhism did for a long period appear to have almost entirely absorbed Shinto, by the acknowledgment of the Shinto scholars themselves; though Buddhist emperors reigned who neglected or despised the cult of their ancestors; though Buddhism directed, during ten centuries, the education of the nation, Shinto remained all the while so very much alive that it was able not only to dispossess its rival at last, but to save the country from foreign domination. To assert that the Shinto revival signified no more than a stroke of policy imagined by a group of statesmen, is to ignore all the antecedents of the event. No such change could have been wrought by mere decree had not the national sentiment welcomed it.... Moreover, there are three important facts to be remembered in regard to the former Buddhist predomination: (1) Buddhism conserved the family-cult, modifying the forms of the rite; (2) Buddhism never really supplanted the Ujigami cults, but maintained them; (3) Buddhism never interfered with the imperial cult. Now these three forms of ancestor-worship,--the domestic, the communal, and the national,--constitute all that is vital in Shinto. No single essential of the ancient faith had ever been weakened, [380] much less abolished, under the long pressure of Buddhism. The Supreme Cult is not now the State Religion by request of the chiefs of Shinto, it is not even officially classed as a religion. Obvious reasons of state policy decided this course. Having fulfilled its grand task, Shinto abdicated. But as representing all those traditions which appeal to race-feeling, to the sentiment of duty, to the passion of loyalty, and the love of country, it yet remains an immense force, a power to which appeal will not be vainly made in another hour of national peril. [381] SURVIVALS In the gardens of certain Buddhist temples there are trees which have been famous for centuries,--trees trained and clipped into extraordinary shapes. Some have the form of dragons; others have the form of pagodas, ships, umbrellas. Supposing that one of these trees were abandoned to its own natural tendencies, it would eventually lose the queer shape so long imposed upon it; but the outline would not be altered for a considerable time, as the new leafage would at first unfold only in the direction of least resistance: that is to say, within limits originally established by the shears and the pruning-knife. By sword and law the old Japanese society had been pruned and clipped, bent and bound, just like such a tree; and after the reconstructions of the Meiji period,--after the abolition of the daimiates, and the suppression of the military class, it still maintained its former shape, just as the tree would continue to do when first abandoned by the gardener. Though delivered from the bonds of feudal law, released from the shears of military rule, the great bulk of the social structure preserved its ancient [382] aspect; and the rare spectacle bewildered and delighted and deluded the Western observer. Here indeed was Elf-land,--the strange, the beautiful, the grotesque, the very mysterious,--totally unlike aught of strange and attractive ever beheld elsewhere. It was not a world of the nineteenth century after Christ, but a world of many centuries before Christ: yet this fact--the wonder of wonders--remained unrecognized; and it remains unrecognized by most people even to this day. Fortunate indeed were those privileged to enter this astonishing fairyland thirty odd years ago, before the period of superficial change, and to observe the unfamiliar aspects of its life: the universal urbanity, the smiling silence of crowds, the patient deliberation of toil, the absence of misery and struggle. Even yet, in those remoter districts where alien influence has wrought but little change, the charm of the old existence lingers and amazes; and the ordinary traveller can little understand what it means. That all are polite, that nobody quarrels, that everybody smiles, that pain and sorrow remain invisible, that the new police have nothing to do, would seem to prove a morally superior humanity. But for the trained sociologist it would prove something different, and suggest something very terrible. It would prove to him that this society had been moulded under immense coercion, and that the coercion must have been exerted uninterruptedly [383] for thousands of years. He would immediately perceive that ethics and custom had not yet become dissociated, and that the conduct of each person was regulated by the will of the rest. He would know that personality could not develop in such a social medium,--that no individual superiority dare assert itself, that no competition would be tolerated. He would understand that the outward charm of this life--its softness, its smiling silence as of dreams--signified the rule of the dead. He would recognize that between those minds and the minds of his own epoch no kinship of thought, no community of sentiment, no sympathy whatever could exist,--that the separating gulf was not to be measured by thousands of leagues, but only by thousands of years,--that the psychological interval was hopeless as the distance from planet to planet. Yet this knowledge probably would not--certainly should not--blind him to the intrinsic charm of things. Not to feel the beauty of this archaic life is to prove oneself insensible to all beauty. Even that Greek world, for which our scholars and poets profess such loving admiration, must have been in many ways a world of the same kind, whose daily mental existence no modern mind could share. Now that the great social tree, so wonderfully clipped and cared for during many centuries, [384] is losing its fantastic shape, let us try to see how much of the original design can still be traced. Under all the outward aspects of individual activity that modern Japan presents to the visitor's gaze, the ancient conditions really persist to an extent that no observation could reveal. Still the immemorial cult rules all the land. Still the family-law, the communal law, and (though in a more irregular manner) the clan-law, control every action of existence. I do not refer to any written law, but only to the old unwritten religious law, with its host of obligations deriving from ancestor-worship. It is true that many changes--and, in the opinion of the wise, too many changes--have been made in civil legislation; but the ancient proverb, "Government-laws are only seven-day laws," still represents popular sentiment in regard to hasty reforms. The old law, the law of the dead, is that by which the millions prefer to act and think. Though ancient social groupings have been officially abolished, re-groupings of a corresponding sort have been formed, instinctively, throughout the country districts. In theory the individual is free; in practice he is scarcely more free than were his forefathers. Old penalties for breach of custom have been abrogated; yet communal opinion is able to compel the ancient obedience. Legal enactments can nowhere effect immediate [385] change of sentiment and long-established usage,--least of all among a people of such fixity of character as the Japanese. Young persons are no more at liberty now, than were their fathers and mothers under the Shogunate, to marry at will, to invest their means and efforts in undertakings not sanctioned by family approval, to consider themselves in any way enfranchised from family authority; and it is probably better for the present that they are not. No man is yet complete master of his activities, his time, or his means. Though the individual is now registered, and made directly accountable to the law, while the household has been relieved from its ancient responsibility for the acts of its members, still the family practically remains the social unit, retaining its patriarchal organization and its particular cult. Not unwisely, the modern legislators have protected this domestic religion: to weaken its bond at this time were to weaken the foundations of the national moral life,--to introduce disintegrations into the most deeply seated structures of the social organism. The new codes forbid the man who becomes by succession the head of a house to abolish that house: he is not permitted to suppress a cult. No legal presumptive heir to the headship of a family can enter into another family as adopted son or husband; nor can he abandon the paternal house to establish an independent [386] family of his own.* Provision has been made to meet extraordinary cases; but no individual is allowed, without good and sufficient reason, to free himself from those traditional obligations which the family-cult imposes. As regards adoption, the new law maintains the spirit of the old, with fresh provision for the conservation of the family religion,--permitting any person of legal age to adopt a son, on the simple condition that the person adopted shall be younger than the adopter. The new divorce-laws do not permit the dismissal of a wife for sterility alone (and divorce for such cause had long been condemned by Japanese sentiment); but, in view of the facilities given for adoption, this reform does not endanger the continuance of the cult. An interesting example of the manner in which the law still protects ancestor-worship is furnished by the fact that an aged and childless widow, last representative of her family, is not permitted to remain without an heir. She must adopt a son if she can: if she cannot, because of poverty, or for other reasons, [387] the local authorities will provide a son for her,--that is to say, a male heir to maintain the family-worship. Such official interference would seem to us tyrannical: it is simply paternal, and represents the continuance of an ancient regulation intended to protect the bereaved against what Eastern faith still deems the supreme misfortune,--the extinction of the home-cult.... In other respects the later codes allow of individual liberty unknown in previous generations. But the ordinary person would not dream of attempting to claim a legal right opposed to common opinion. Family and public sentiment are still more potent than law. The Japanese newspapers frequently record tragedies resulting from the prevention or dissolution of unions; and these tragedies afford strong proof that most young people would prefer even suicide to the probable consequence of a successful appeal to law against family decision. [*That is to say, he cannot separate himself from the family in law; but he is free to live in a separate house. The tendency to further disintegration of the family is shown by a custom which has been growing of late years,--especially in Tokyo: the custom of demanding, as a condition of marriage, that the bride shall not be obliged to live in the same house with the parents of the bridegroom. This custom is yet confined to certain classes, and has been adversely criticised. Many young men, on marrying, leave the parental home to begin independent housekeeping,--though remaining legally attached to their parents' families, of course.... It will perhaps be asked, What becomes of the cult in such cases? The cult remains in the parental home. When the parents die, then the ancestral tablets are transferred to the home of the married son.] The communal form of coercion is less apparent in the large cities; but everywhere it endures to some extent, and in the agricultural districts it remains supreme. Between the new conditions and the old there is this difference, that the man who finds the yoke of his district hard to bear can flee from it: he could not do so fifty years ago. But he can flee from it only to enter into another state of subordination of nearly the same kind. Full [388] advantage, nevertheless, has been taken of this modern liberty of movement: thousands yearly throng to the cities; other thousands travel over the country, from province to province; working for a year or a season in one place, then going to another, with little more to hope for than experience of change. Emigration also has been taking place upon an extensive scale; but for the common class of emigrants, at least, the advantage of emigration is chiefly represented by the chance of earning larger wages. A Japanese emigrant community abroad organizes itself upon the home-plan;* and the individual emigrant probably finds himself as much under communal coercion in Canada, Hawaii, or the Philippine Islands, as he could ever have been in his native province. Needless to say that in foreign countries such coercion is more than compensated by the aid and protection which the communal organization insures. But with the constantly increasing number of restless spirits at home, and the ever widening experience of Japanese emigrants abroad, it would seem likely that the power of the commune for compulsory cooperation must become considerably weakened in the near future. [*Except as regards the communal cult, perhaps. The domestic cult is transplanted; emigrants who go abroad, accompanied by their families, take the ancestral tablets with them. To what extent the communal cult may have been established in emigrant communities, I have not yet been able to learn. It would appear, however, that the absence of Ujigami in certain emigrant settlements is to be accounted for solely by the pecuniary difficulty of constructing such temples and maintaining competent officials. In Formosa, for example, though the domestic ancestor-cult is maintained in the homes of the Japanese settlers, Ujigami have not yet been established. The government, however, has erected several important Shinto temples; and I am told that some of these will probably be converted into Ujigami when the Japanese population has increased enough to justify the measure.] [389] As for the tribal or clan law, it survives to the degree of remaining almost omnipotent in administrative circles, and in all politics. Voters, officials, legislators, do not follow principles in our sense of the word: they follow men, and obey commands. In these spheres of action the penalties of disobedience to orders are endless as well as serious: by a single such offence one may array against oneself powers that will continue their hostile operation for years and years,--unreasoningly, implacably, blindly, with the weight and persistence of natural forces,--of winds or tides. Any comprehension of the history of Japanese politics during the last fifteen years is not possible without some knowledge of clan-history. A political leader, fully acquainted with the history of clan-parties, and their offshoots, can accomplish marvellous things; and even foreign residents, with long experience of Japanese life, have been able, by pressing upon clan-interests, to exercise a very real power in government circles. But to the ordinary foreigner, Japanese contemporary politics must appear a chaos, a disintegration, a hopeless flux. The truth is that most things remain, under varying outward forms, "as all were ordered, ages since,"--though the [390] shiftings have become more rapid, and the results less obvious, in the haste of an era of steam and electricity. The greatest of living Japanese statesmen, the Marquis Ito, long ago perceived that the tendency of political life to agglomerations, to clan-groupings, presented the most serious obstacle to the successful working of constitutional government. He understood that this tendency could be opposed only by considerations weightier than clan-interests, considerations worthy of supreme sacrifice. He therefore formed a party of which every member was pledged to pass over clan-interests, clique-interests, personal and every other kind of interests, for the sake of national interests. Brought into collision with a hostile cabinet in 1903, this party achieved the feat of controlling its animosities even to the extent of maintaining its foes in power; but large fragments broke off in the process. So profoundly is the grouping-tendency, the clan-sentiment, identified with national character, that the ultimate success of Marquis Ito's policy must still be considered doubtful. Only a national danger--the danger of war,--has yet been able to weld all parties together, to make all wills work as one. Not only politics, but nearly all phases of modern life, yield evidence that the disintegration of the old society has been superficial rather than fundamental. Structures dissolved have recrystallized, taking forms [391] dissimilar in aspect to the original forms, but inwardly built upon the same plan. For the dissolutions really effected represented only a separation of masses, not a breaking up of substance into independent units; and these masses, again cohering, continue to act only as masses. Independence of personal action, in the Western sense, is still almost inconceivable. The individual of every class above the lowest must continue to be at once coercer and coerced. Like an atom within a solid body, he can vibrate; but the orbit of his vibration is fixed. He must act and be acted upon in ways differing little from those of ancient time. As for being acted upon, the average man is under three kinds of pressure: pressure from above, exemplified in the will of his superiors; pressure about him, represented by the common will of his fellows and equals; pressure from below, represented by the general sentiment of his inferiors. And this last sort of coercion is not the least formidable. Individual resistance to the first kind of pressure--that represented by authority--is not even to be thought of; because the superior represents a clan, a class, an exceedingly multiple power of some description; and no solitary individual, in the present order of things, can strive against a combination. To resist injustice he must find ample support, in [392] which case his resistance does not represent individual action. Resistance to the second kind of pressure--communal coercion --signifies ruin, loss of the right to form a part of the social body. Resistance to the third sort of pressure, embodied in the common sentiment of inferiors, may result in almost anything,--from momentary annoyance to sudden death,--according to circumstances. In all forms of society these three kinds of pressure are exerted to some degree; but in Japanese society, owing to inherited tendency, and traditional sentiment, their power is tremendous. Thus, in every direction, the individual finds himself confronted by the despotism of collective opinion: it is impossible for him to act with safety except as one unit of a combination. The first kind of pressure deprives him of moral freedom, exacting unlimited obedience to orders; the second kind of pressure denies him the right to use his best faculties in the best way for his own advantage (that is to say, denies him the right of free competition); the third kind of pressure compels him, in directing the actions of others, to follow tradition, to forbear innovations, to avoid making any changes, however beneficial, which do not find willing acceptance on the part of his inferiors. These are the social conditions which, under [393] normal circumstances, make for stability, for conservation; and they represent the will of the dead. They are inevitable to a militant state; they make the strength of that state; they render facile the creation and maintenance of formidable armies. But they are not conditions favourable to success in the future international competition,--in the industrial struggle for existence against societies incomparably more plastic, and of higher mental energy. [394] [395] MODERN RESTRAINTS For even a vague understanding of modern Japan, it will be necessary to consider the effect of the three forms of social coercion, mentioned in the preceding chapter, as restraints upon individual energy and capacity. All three represent survivals of the ancient religious responsibility. I shall treat of them in order inverse, beginning with the under-pressure. It has often been asserted by foreign observers that the real power in Japan is exercised not from above, but from below. There is some truth in this assertion, but not all the truth: the conditions are much too complex to be covered by any general statement. What cannot be gainsaid is that superior authority has always been more or less restrained by tendencies to resistance from below.... At no time in Japanese history, for example, do the peasants appear to have been left without recourse against excessive oppression,--notwithstanding all the humiliating regulations imposed on their existence. They were suffered to frame their own village-laws, to estimate the possible amount of [396] their tax-payments,--and to make protest--through official channels--against unmerciful exaction. They were made to pay as much as they could; but they were not reduced to bankruptcy or starvation; and their holdings were mostly secured to them by laws forbidding the sale or alienation of family property. Such was at least the general rule. There were, however, wicked daimyo, who treated their farmers with extreme cruelty, and found ways to prevent complaints or protests from reaching the higher authorities. The almost invariable result of such tyranny was revolt; and the tyrant was then made responsible for the disorder, and punished. Though denied in theory, the right of the peasant to rebel against oppression was respected in practice; the revolt was punished, but the oppressor was likewise punished. Daimyo were obliged to reckon with their farmers in regard to any fresh imposition of taxes or forced labour. We also find that although heimin were made subject to the military class, it was possible for artizans and commercial folk to form, in the great cities, strong associations by which military tyranny was kept in check. Everywhere the reverential deference of the common people to authority, as exercised in usual directions, seems to have been accompanied by an extraordinary readiness to defy authority exercised in other directions. It may seem strange that a society in which religion [397] and government, ethics and custom, were practically identical, should furnish striking examples of resistance to authority. But the religious fact itself supplies the explanation. From the earliest period there was firmly established, in the popular mind, the conviction that implicit obedience to authority was the universal duty under all ordinary circumstances. But with this conviction there was united another,--that resistance to authority (excepting the sacred authority of the Supreme Ruler) was equally a duty under extraordinary circumstances. And these seemingly opposed convictions were not really inconsistent. So long as rule followed precedent,--so long as its commands, however harsh, did not conflict with sentiment and tradition,--that rule was regarded as religious, and there was absolute submission. But when rulers presumed to break with ethical usage,--in a spirit of reckless cruelty or greed,--then the people might feel it a religious obligation to resist with all the zeal of voluntary martyrdom. The danger-line for every form of local tyranny was departure from precedent. Even the conduct of regents and princes was much restrained by the common opinion of their retainers, and by the knowledge that certain kinds of arbitrary conduct were likely to provoke assassination. Deference to the sentiment of vassals and retainers was from ancient time a necessary policy with Japanese rulers,--not merely because of the peril involved [398] by needless oppression, but much more because of the recognition that duties are well performed only when subordinates feel assured that their efforts will be fairly considered, and that sudden needless changes will not be made to their disadvantage. This old policy still characterizes Japanese administration; and the deference of high authority to collective opinion astonishes and puzzles the foreign observer. He perceives only that the conservative power of sentiment, as exercised by groups of subordinates, remains successfully opposed to those conditions of discipline which we think indispensable to social progress. Just as in Old Japan the ruler of a district was held, responsible for the behaviour of his subjects, so to-day, in New Japan, every official in charge of a department is held responsible for the smooth working of its routine. But this does not mean that he is responsible only for the efficiency of a service: it means that he is held responsible likewise for failure to satisfy the wishes of his subordinates, or at least the majority of his subordinates. If this majority be displeased with their minister, governor, president, manager, chief, or director, the fact is considered proof of administrative incompetency.... Perhaps educational circles afford the most curious examples of this old idea of responsibility. A student-revolt is commonly supposed to mean, not that the students are intractable, but that the superintendent or teacher does not know [399] his business. Thus the principal of a college, the director of a school, holds his office only on the condition that his rule gives satisfaction to a majority of the students. In the higher government institutions, each professor or lecturer is made responsible for the success of his lectures. No matter how great may be his ability in other directions, the official instructor, unable to make himself liked by his pupils, will be got rid of in short order--unless some powerful protectors interfere on his behalf. The efforts of the man will never be judged (officially) by any accepted standard of excellence,--never estimated by their intrinsic worth; they will be considered only according to their direct effect upon the average of minds.* Almost everywhere this antique system of responsibility is maintained. A minister of state is by public sentiment made responsible not only for the results of his administration, but likewise for any scandals or troubles that may occur in his department, independently of the question whether he could or could not have prevented them. To a considerable degree, therefore, it is true that the ultimate [400] power is below. The highest official is not able with impunity to impose his personal will in certain directions; and, for the time being, it is probably better that his powers are thus restrained. [*Unjust as this policy must appear to the Western reader (a policy which certainly presupposes ethical conditions very different from our own), it was probably at one time the best possible under the new order. Considering the extraordinary changes suddenly made in the educational system, it will be obvious that a teacher's immediate value was likely---twenty years ago--to depend on his ability to make his teaching attractive. If he attempted to teach either above or below the average capacity of his pupils, or if he made his instruction unpalatable to minds greedy for new knowledge, but innocent as to method, his inexperience could be corrected by the will of his class.] From above downwards through all the grades of society, the same system of responsibility, and the same restraints upon individual exercise of will, persist under varying forms. The conditions within the household differ but little in this regard from the conditions in a government department: no householder, for example, can impose his will, beyond certain fixed limits, even upon his own servants or dependents. Neither for love nor money can a good servant be induced to break with traditional custom; and the old opinion, that the value of a servant is proved by such inflexibility, has been justified by the experience of centuries. Popular sentiment remains conservative; and the apparent zeal for superficial innovation affords no indication of the real order of existence. Fashions and formalities, house-interiors and street-vistas, habits and methods, and all the outer aspects of life are changed; but the old regimentation of society persists under all these surface-shiftings; and the national character remains little affected by all the transformations of Meiji. The second kind of coercion to which the individual is subjected --the communal, or communistic--[401] seems likely to prove mischievous in the near future, as it signifies practical suppression of the right to compete.... The everyday life of any Japanese city offers numberless suggestions of the manner in which the masses continue to think and to act by groups. But no more familiar and forcible illustration of the fact can be cited than that which is furnished by the code of the kurumaya or jinrikisha-men. According to its terms, one runner must not attempt to pass by another going in the same direction. Exceptions have been made, grudgingly, in favour of runners in private employ,--men selected for strength and speed, who are expected to use their physical powers to the utmost. But among the tens of thousands of public kurumaya, it is the rule that a young and active man must not pass by an old and feeble man, nor even by a needlessly slow and lazy man. To take advantage of one's own superior energy, so as to force competition, is an offence against the calling, and certain to be resented. You engage a good runner, whom you order to make all speed: he springs away splendidly, and keeps up the pace until he happens to overtake some weak or lazy puller, who seems to be moving as slowly as the gait permits. Therewith, instead of bounding by, your man drops immediately behind the slow-going vehicle, and slackens his pace almost to a walk. For half an hour, or more, you may be thus delayed by the regulation which obliges the strong and [402] swift to wait for the weak and slow. An angry appeal is made to the runner who dares to pass another; and the idea behind the words might be thus expressed:--"You know that you are breaking the rule,--that you are acting to the disadvantage of your comrades! This is a hard calling; and our lives would be made harder than they are, if there were no rules to prevent selfish competition!" Of course there is no thought of the consequences of such rules to business interests at large.... Now it is not unjust to say that this moral code of the kurumaya exemplifies an unwritten law which has been always imposed, in varying forms, upon every class of workers in Japan: "You must not try, without special authorization, to pass your fellows." ... La carriere est ouverte aux talents--mais la concurrence est defendue! Of course the modern communal restraint upon free competition represents the survival and extension of that altruistic spirit which ruled the ancient society,--not the mere continuance of any fixed custom. In feudal times there were no kurumaya; but all craftsmen and all labourers formed guilds or companies; and the discipline maintained by those guilds or companies prohibited competition as undertaken for merely personal advantage. Similar or nearly similar forms of organization are maintained by artizans and labourers to-day; and the relation [403] of any outside employer to skilled labour is regulated, by the guild or company, in the old communistic manner.... Let us suppose, for instance, that you wish to have a good house built. For that undertaking, you will have to deal with a very intelligent class of skilled labour; for the Japanese house-carpenter may be ranked with the artist almost as much as with the artizan. You may apply to a building-company; but, as a general rule, you will do better by applying to a master-carpenter, who combines in himself the functions of architect, contractor, and builder. In any event you cannot select and hire workmen: guild-regulations forbid. You can only make your contract; and the master-carpenter, when his plans have been approved, will undertake all the rest,--purchase and transport of material,--hire of carpenters, plasterers, tilers, mat-makers, screen-fitters, brass-workers, stone-cutters, locksmiths, and glaziers. For each master-carpenter represents much more than his own craft-guild: he has his clients in every trade related to house-building and house-furnishing; and you must not dream of trying to interfere with his claims and privileges. He builds your house according to contract; but that is only the beginning of the relation. You have really made with him an agreement which you must not break, without good and sufficient reason, for the rest of your life. Whatever afterwards may happen to any part [404] of your house,--walls, floor, ceiling, roof, foundation,--you must arrange for repairs with him, never with anybody else. Should the roof leak, for instance, you must not send for the nearest tiler or tinsmith; if the plaster cracks, you must not send for a plasterer. The man who built your house holds himself responsible for its condition; and he is jealous of that responsibility: none but he has the right to send for the plasterer, the roofer, the tinsmith. If you interfere with that right, you may have some unpleasant surprises. If you make appeal to the law against that right, you will find that you can get no carpenter, tiler, or plasterer to work for you at any terms. Compromise is always possible; but the guilds will resent a needless appeal to the law. And after all, these craft-guilds are usually faithful performers, and well worth conciliating. Or take the occupation of landscape-gardening. You want a pretty garden; and you hire a professional gardener who comes to you well recommended. He makes the garden; and you pay his price. But your gardener really represents a company; and by engaging him it is understood that either he, or some other member of the gardeners' corporation to which he belongs, will continue to take care of your garden as long as you own it. At each season he will pay your garden a visit, and put everything to rights--he will clip the hedges, prune the fruit trees, [405] repair the fences, train the climbing-plants, look after the flowers,--putting up paper awnings to protect delicate shrubs from the sun during the hot season, or making little tents of straw to shelter them in time of frost;--he will do a hundred useful and ingenious things for a very small remuneration. You cannot dismiss him, however, without good reason, and hire another gardener to take his place. No other gardener would serve you at any price, unless assured that the original relation had been dissolved by mutual consent. If you have just cause for complaint, the matter can be settled through arbitration; and the guild will see that you have no further trouble. But you cannot dismiss your gardener without cause, merely to engage another. The above examples will suffice to show the character of the old communistic organization which is yet maintained in a hundred forms. This communism suppressed competition, except as between groups; but it insured good work, and secured easy conditions for the workman. It was the best system possible in those ages of isolation when there was no such thing as want, and when the population, for yet undetermined causes, appears to have remained always below the numerical level at which serious pressure begins.... Another interesting survival is represented by existing conditions of apprenticeship [406] and service,--conditions which also originated in the patriarchal organization, and imposed other kinds of restraint upon competition. Under the old regime service was, for the most part, unsalaried. Boys taken into a commercial house to learn the business, or apprentices bound to a master-workman, were boarded, lodged, clothed, and even educated by their patron, with whom they might hope to pass the rest of their lives. But they were not paid wages until they had learned the business or the trade of their employer, and were fully capable of managing a business or a workshop of their own. To a considerable degree these conditions still prevail in commercial centres,--though the merchant or patron seldom now finds it necessary to send his clerk or apprentice to school. Many of the great commercial houses pay salaries only to men of great experience: other employes are only trained and cared for until their term of service ends, when the most clever among them will be reengaged as experts, and the others helped to start in business for themselves. In like manner the apprentice to a trade, when his term expires, may be reengaged by his master as a hired journeyman, or helped to find permanent employ elsewhere. These paternal and filial relations between employer and employed have helped to make life pleasant and labour cheerful; and the quality of all industrial production must suffer much when they disappear. [407] Even in private domestic service the patriarchal system still prevails to a degree that is little imagined; and this subject deserves more than a passing mention. I refer especially to female service. The maid-servant, according to the old custom, is not primarily responsible to her employers, but to her own family; and the terms of her service must be arranged with her family, who pledge themselves for their daughter's good behaviour. As a general rule, a nice girl does not seek domestic service for the sake of the wages (which it is now the custom to pay), nor for the sake of a living, but chiefly to prepare herself for marriage; and this preparation is desired as much in the hope of doing credit to her own family, as in the hope of better fitting herself for membership in the family of her future husband. The best servants are country girls; and they are sometimes put out to service very young. Parents are careful about choosing the family into which their daughter thus enters: they particularly desire that the house be one in which a girl can learn nice ways,--therefore a house in which things are ordered according to the old etiquette. A good girl expects to be treated rather as a helper than as a hireling,--to be kindly considered, and trusted, and liked. In an old-fashioned household the maid is indeed so treated; and the relation is not a brief one--from three to five years being the term of service usually agreed upon. But when a girl is [408] taken into service at the age of eleven or twelve, she will probably remain for eight or ten years. Besides wages, she is entitled to receive from her employers the gift of a dress, twice every year, besides other necessary articles of clothing; and she is entitled also to a certain number of holidays. Such wages, or presents in money, as she receives, should enable her to provide herself, by degrees, with a good wardrobe. Except in the event of some extraordinary misfortune, her parents will make no claim upon her wages; but she remains subject to them; and when she is called home to be married, she must go. During the period of her service, the services of her family are also at the disposal of her employers. Even if the mistress or master desire no recognition of the interest taken in the girl, some recognition will certainly be made. If the servant be a farmer's daughter, it is probable that gifts of vegetables, fruits, or fruit trees, garden-plants or other country products, will be sent to the house at intervals fixed by custom;--if the parents belong to the artizan-class, it is likely that some creditable example of handicraft will be presented as a token of gratitude. The gratitude of the parents is not for the wages or the dresses given to their daughter, but for the practical education she receives, and for the moral and material care taken of her, as a temporarily adopted child of the house. The employers may reciprocate such attentions [409] on the part of the parents by contributing to the girl's wedding outfit. The relation, it will be observed, is entirely between families, not between individuals; and it is a permanent relation. Such a relation, in feudal ages, might continue through many generations. The patriarchal conditions which these survivals exemplify helped to make existence easy and happy. Only from a modern point of view is it possible to criticise them. The worst that can be said about them is that their moral value was chiefly conservative, and that they tended to repress effort in new directions. But where they still endure, Japanese life keeps something of its ancient charm; and where they have disappeared, that charm has vanished forever. There remains to be considered a third form of restraint,--that exercised upon the individual by official authority. This also presents us with various survivals, which have their bright as well as their dark aspects. We have seen that the individual has been legally freed from most of the obligations imposed by the ancient law. He is no longer obliged to follow a particular occupation; he is able to travel; he is at liberty to marry into a higher or a lower class than his own; he is not even forbidden to change his religion; he can do a great many things--at his own [410] risk. But where the law leaves him free, the family and the community do not; and the persistence of old sentiment and custom nullifies many of the rights legally conferred. Precisely in the same way, his relations to higher authority are still controlled by traditions which maintain, in despite of constitutional law, many of the ancient restraints, and not a little of the ancient coercion. In theory any man of great talent and energy may rise, from rank to rank, up to the highest positions. But as private life is still controlled to no small degree by the old communism, so public life is yet controlled by survivals of class or clan despotism. The chances for ability to rise without assistance, to win its way to rank and power, are extraordinarily small; since to contend alone against an opposition that thinks by groups, and acts by masses, must be almost hopeless. Only commercial or industrial life now offers really fair opportunities to capable men. The few talented persons of humble origin who do succeed in official directions owe their success chiefly to party-help or clan-patronage: in order to force any recognition of personal ability, group must be opposed to group. Alone, no man is likely to accomplish anything by mere force of competition, outside of trade or commerce.... It is true, of course, that individual talent must in every country encounter many forms of opposition. It is likewise true that the malevolence of envy and the brutalities of class-prejudice [411] have their sociological worth: they help to make it impossible for any but the most gifted to win and to keep success. But in Japan the peculiar constitution of society lends excessive power to social intrigues directed against obscure ability, and makes them highly injurious to the interests of the nation;--for at no previous time in her history has Japan needed, so much as now, the best capacities of her best men, irrespective of class or condition. But all this was inevitable in the period of reconstruction. More significant is the fact that in no single department of its multitudinous service does the Government yet offer substantial reward to rising merit. No matter how well a man may strive to win Government approbation, he must strive for little more than honour and the bare means of existence. The costliest efforts are no more highly paid in proportion to their worth than the cheapest; the most invaluable services are scarcely better recognized than those most easily dispensed with or replaced. (There have been some remarkable exceptions: I am stating only the general rule.) By extraordinary energy, patience, and cleverness, one may reach, with class-help, some position which in Europe would assure comfort as well as honour; but the emoluments of such a position in Japan will scarcely cover the actual cost of living. Whether in the army or in the navy, in the departments of justice, of education, of communications, or of [412] home affairs,--the differences in remuneration nowhere represent the differences in capacity and responsibility. To rise from grade to grade signifies pecuniarily almost nothing,--for the expenses of each higher position augment out of all proportion to the salaries fixed by law. The general rule has been to exact everywhere the greatest possible amount of service for the least possible amount of pay.* Any one unacquainted with the social history [413] of the country might suppose that the policy of the Government toward its employes consisted in substituting empty honours for material advantages. But the truth is that the Government has simply maintained, under modern forms, the ancient feudal condition of service,--service in exchange for the means of simple but honourable living. In feudal times the farmer was expected to pay all that he could pay for the right to exist; the artist or artizan was expected to content himself with the good fortune of having a distinguished patron; even the ordinary samurai were supplied with barely more than the necessary by their liege-lords. To receive considerably more than the necessary signified extraordinary favour; and the gift was usually accompanied by promotion. But although the same policy is yet successfully maintained by Government, under the modern system of money-payments, the conditions everywhere, outside of commercial life, are incomparably harder than in feudal times. Then the poorest samurai was secured against want, and not liable to be dismissed from his post without fault. Then the teacher received no salary; but the respect of the community and the gratitude of his pupils assured him of the means to live [414] respectably. Then the artizans were patronized by great lords who vied with each other in the encouragement of humble genius. They might expect the genius to be satisfied with merely nominal payment, so far as money was concerned; but they secured him against want or discomfort, allowed him ample leisure to perfect his work, made him happy in the certainty that his best would be prized and praised. But now that the cost of living has tripled or quadrupled, even the artist and the artizan have small encouragement to do their best: cheap rapid work is replacing the beautiful leisurely work of the old days; and the best traditions of the crafts are doomed to perish. It cannot even be said that the state of the agricultural classes to-day is happier or better than in the time when a farmer's land could not legally be taken from him. And as the cost of life continues always to increase, it is evident that at no distant time, the present patient order of things will become impossible. [*Salaries of judges range from 70 pounds to 500 pounds per annum,--the latter figure representing the highest possible emolument. The highest salary allowed to a Japanese professor in the imperial universities has been fixed at 120 pounds. The wages of employees in the postal departments is barely sufficient to meet the cost of living. The police are paid from 1 pound to 1 pound 10s. per month, according to locality; and the average pay of school-teachers is yet lower (being 9 yen 50 sen, or about 19s. per month),--many receiving less than 7s. a month. Readers may be interested in the following table of army-payments (1904):-- MONTHLY PAY ALLOWANCE FOR TOTAL HOUSE-RENT yen yen yen General 500 (50 pounds) 25:00 525:00 Lieutenant-General 333 18:75 351:75 Major-General 263 12:50 275:50 Colonel 179 10:00 189:00 Lieutenant-Colonel 146 8:75 154:75 Major 102 7:50 109:50 Captain (1st grade) 70 4:75 74:75 (2nd grade) 60 4:75 64:75 Lieutenant (1st grade) 45 4:00 49:00 (2nd grade) 34 4:00 38:00 Second Lieutenant 30 3:50 33:50 When these rates of pay were fixed, about twenty years ago, house-rent was cheap: a good house could be rented anywhere at 3 Yen or 4 Yen per month. To-day in Tokyo an officer can scarcely rent even a very small house at less than 19 yen or 20 yen; and prices of food-stuffs have tripled. Yet there have been very few complaints. Officers whose pay will not allow them to rent houses hire rooms wherever they can. Many suffer hardship; but all are proud of the privilege of serving, and no one dreams of resigning.] To many it would seem that a wise government must recognize the impracticability of indefinitely maintaining its present demand for self-sacrifice, must perceive the necessity of encouraging talent, inviting fair competition, and making the prizes of life large enough to stimulate healthy egoism. But it is possible that the Government has been acting more wisely than outward appearances would indicate. Several years ago a Japanese official made in [415] my presence this curious observation: "Our Government does not wish to encourage competition beyond the necessary. The people are not prepared for it; and if it were strongly encouraged, the worst side of character would came to the surface." How far this statement really expressed any policy I do not know. But every one is aware that free competition can be made as cruel and as pitiless as war,--though we are apt to forget what experience must have been undergone before Occidental free competition could become as comparatively merciful, as it is. Among a people trained for centuries to regard all selfish competition as criminal, and all profit-seeking despicable, any sudden stimulation of effort for purely personal advantage might well be impolitic. Evidence as to how little the nation was prepared, twelve or thirteen years ago, for Western forms of free government, has been furnished by the history of the earlier district-elections and of the first parliamentary sessions. There was really no personal enmity in those furious election-contests, which cost so many lives; there was scarcely any personal antagonism in those parliamentary debates of which the violence astonished strangers. The political struggles were not really between individuals, but between clan-interests, or party-interests; and the devoted followers of each clan or party understood the new politics only as a new kind of war,--a war of loyalty to be fought for the leader's sake, [416]--a war not to be interfered with by any abstract notions of right or justice. Suppose that a people have been always accustomed to think of loyalty in relation to persons rather than to principles,--loyalty as involving the duty of self-sacrifice regardless of consequence,--it is obvious that the first experiments of such a people with parliamentary government will not reveal any comprehension of fair play in the Western sense. Eventually that comprehension may come; but it will not come quickly. And if you can persuade such a people that in other matters every man has a right to act according to his own convictions, and for his own advantage, independently of any group to which he may belong, the immediate result will not be fortunate,--because the sense of individual moral responsibility has not yet been sufficiently cultivated outside of the group-relation. The probable truth is that the strength of the government up to the present time has been chiefly due to the conservation of ancient methods, and to the survival of the ancient spirit of reverential submission. Later on, no doubt, great changes will have to be made; meanwhile, much must be bravely endured. Perhaps the future history of modern civilization will hold record of nothing more touching than the patient heroism of those myriads of Japanese patriots, content to accept, under legal [417] conditions of freedom, the official servitude of feudal days,--satisfied to give their talent, their strength, their utmost effort, their lives, for the simple privilege of obeying a government that still accepts all sacrifices in the feudal spirit--as a matter of course,--as a national duty. And as a national duty, indeed, the sacrifices are made. All know that Japan is in danger, between the terrible friendship of England and the terrible enmity of Russia,--that she is poor,--that the cost of maintaining her armaments is straining her resources,--that it is everybody's duty to be content with as little as possible. So the complaints are not many.... Nor has the simple obedience of the nation at large been less touching,--especially, perhaps, as regards the imperial order to acquire Western knowledge, to learn Western languages, to imitate Western ways. Only those who have lived in Japan during or before the early nineties are qualified to speak of the loyal eagerness that made self-destruction by over-study a common form of death,--the passionate obedience that impelled even children to ruin their health in the effort to master tasks too difficult for their little minds (tasks devised by well-meaning advisers with no knowledge of Far-Eastern psychology),--and the strange courage of persistence in periods of earthquake and conflagration, when boys and girls used the tiles of their ruined homes for school-slates, and bits of fallen plaster for pencils. What [418] tragedies I might relate even of the higher educational life of universities!--of fine brains giving way under pressure of work beyond the capacity of the average European student,--of triumphs won in the teeth of death,--of strange farewells from pupils in the time of the dreaded examinations, as when one said to me: "Sir, I am very much afraid that my paper is bad, because I came out of the hospital to make it--there is something the matter with my heart." (His diploma was placed in his hands scarcely an hour before he died.) ... And all this striving--striving not only against difficulties of study, but in most cases against difficulties of poverty, and underfeeding, and discomfort--has been only for duty, and the means to live. To estimate the Japanese student by his errors, his failures, his incapacity to comprehend sentiments and ideas alien to the experience of his race, is the mistake of the shallow: to judge him rightly one must have learned to know the silent moral heroism of which he is capable. [419] OFFICIAL EDUCATION The extent to which national character has been fixed by the discipline of centuries, and the extent or its extraordinary capacity to resist change, is perhaps most strikingly indicated by certain results of State education. The whole nation is being educated, with Government help, upon a European plan; and the full programme includes the chief subjects of Western study, excepting Greek and Latin classics. From Kindergarten to University the entire system is modern in outward seeming; yet the effect of the new education is much less marked in thought and sentiment than might be supposed. This fact is not to be explained merely by the large place which old Chinese study still occupies in the obligatory programme, nor by differences of belief--it is much more due to the fundamental difference in the Japanese and the European conceptions of education as means to an end. In spite of new system and programme the whole of Japanese education is still conducted upon a traditional plan almost the exact opposite of the Western plan. With us, the repressive part of moral training begins in early childhood--the European or American teacher is strict with the little [420] ones; we think that it is important to inculcate the duties of behaviour,--the "must" and the "must not" of individual obligation,--as soon as possible. Later on, more liberty is allowed. The well-grown boy is made to understand that his future will depend upon his personal effort and capacity; and he is thereafter left, in a great measure, to take care of himself, being occasionally admonished or warned, as seems needful. Finally, the adult student of promise and character may become the intimate, or, under happy circumstances, even the friend of his tutor, to whom he can look for counsel in all difficult situations. And throughout the whole course of mental and moral training competition is not only expected, but required. But it is more and more required as discipline is more and more relaxed, with the passing of boyhood into manhood. The aim of Western education is the cultivation of individual ability and personal character,--the creation of an independent and forceful being. Now Japanese education has always been conducted, and, in spite of superficial appearances, is still being conducted, mostly upon the reverse plan. Its object never has been to train the individual for independent action, but to train him for cooperative action,--to fit him to occupy an exact place in the mechanism of a rigid society. Constraint among ourselves begins with childhood, and gradually relaxes; constraint in Far-Eastern training begins later, [421] and thereafter gradually tightens; and it is not a constraint imposed directly by parents or teachers--which fact, as we shall presently see, makes an enormous difference in results. Not merely up to the age of school-life,--supposed to begin at six years,--but considerably beyond it, a Japanese child enjoys a degree of liberty far greater than is allowed to Occidental children. Exceptional cases are common, of course; but the general rule is that the child be permitted to do as he pleases, providing that his conduct can cause no injury to himself or to others. He is guarded, but not constrained; admonished, but rarely compelled. In short, he is allowed to be so mischievous that, as a Japanese proverb says, "even the holes by the roadside hate a boy of seven or eight years old"* [*By former custom a newly-born child was said to be one year old; and in this case the words "seven or eight years old" mean "six or seven years old."] (Nanatsu, yatsu--michibata no ana desaimon nikumu). Punishment is administered only when absolutely necessary; and on such occasions, by ancient custom, the entire household--servants and all--intercede for the offender; the little brothers and sisters, if any there be, begging in turn to bear the penalty instead. Whipping is not a common punishment, except among the roughest classes; the moxa is preferred as a deterrent; and it is a severe one. To frighten a child by loud harsh words, or angry looks, is condemned by general opinion: all punishment ought [422] to be inflicted as quietly as possible, the punisher calmly admonishing the while. To slap a child about the head, for any reason, is a proof of vulgarity and ignorance. It is not customary to punish by restraining from play, or by a change of diet, or by any denial of accustomed pleasures. To be perfectly patient with children is the ethical law. At school the discipline begins; but it is at first so very light that it can hardly be called discipline: the teacher does not act as a master, but rather as an elder brother; and there is no punishment beyond a public admonition. Whatever restraint exists is chiefly exerted on the child by the common opinion of his class; and a skilful teacher is able to direct that opinion. Also each class is nominally governed by one or two little captains, selected for character and intelligence; and when a disagreeable order has to be given, it is the child-captain, the kyucho, who is commissioned with the duty of giving it. (These little details are worthy of note: I cite them only to show how early in school-life begins the discipline of opinion, the pressure of the common will, and how perfectly this policy accords with the ethical traditions of the race.) In higher classes the pressure slightly increases; and in higher schools it is very much stronger; the ruling power always being class-sentiment, not the individual will of the teacher. In middle schools the pupils become serious: class-opinion there attains a force to which the teacher [423] himself must bend, as it is quite capable of expelling him for any attempt to override it. Each middle-school class has its elected officers, who represent and enforce the moral code of the majority,--the traditional standard of conduct. (This moral standard is deteriorating; but it survives everywhere to some degree.) Fighting or bullying are yet unknown in Japanese schools of this grade for obvious reasons: there can be little indulgence of personal anger, and no attempt at personal domination, under a discipline enforcing a uniform manner of behaviour. It is never the domination of the one over the many that regulates class-life: it is always the rule of the many over the one,--and the power is formidable. The student who consciously or unconsciously offends class-sentiment will suddenly find himself isolated,--condemned to absolute solitude. No one will speak to him or notice him even outside of the school, until such time as he decides to make a public apology, when his pardon will depend upon a majority-vote. Such temporary ostracism is not unreasonably feared, because it is regarded even outside of student-circles as a disgrace; and the memory of it will cling to the offender during the rest of his career. However high he may rise in official or professional life in after years, the fact that he was once condemned by the general opinion of his schoolmates will not be forgotten,--though circumstances may occur [424] which will turn the fact to his credit.... In the great Government schools--to one of which the student may proceed after graduating from a middle-school--class-discipline is still more severe. The instructors are mostly officials looking for promotion: the students are grown men, preparing for the University, and destined, with few exceptions, for public office. In this quietly and coldly ordered world there is little place for the joy of youth, and small opportunity for sympathetic expansion. There are gatherings and societies; but these are arranged or established for practical purposes--chiefly in relation to particular branches of study; there is little time for merry-making, and less inclination. Under all circumstances, a certain formal demeanour is exacted by tradition,--a tradition older by far than any public school. Everybody watches everybody: eccentricities or singularities are quickly marked and quietly suppressed. The results of this class-discipline, as maintained in some institutions, must seem to the foreign observer discomforting. What most impressed me about these higher official schools was the sinister silence of them. In one where I taught for several years--the most conservative school in the country--there were more than a thousand young men, full of life and energy; yet during the intervals between classes, or during recreation-hours in the playground, the garden, and the gymnastic hall, the general hush gave one a strange sense of [425] oppression. One might watch a game of foot-ball being played, and hear nothing but the thud of the kicking; or one might watch wrestling-contests in the jiujutsu-room, and hear no word spoken for half an hour at a time. (The rules of jiujutsu, it is true, require not only silence, but the total suppression of all visible emotional interest on the part of the spectators.) All this repression at first seemed to me very strange--though I knew that thirty years previously, the training at samurai-schools compelled the same impassiveness and reticence. At last the University is reached,--the great gate of ceremony to public office. Here the student finds himself released from the restraints previously imposed upon his private life,* though the class-will continues to rule him in certain directions. As a rule, the student passes into official life after having graduated, marries, and becomes the head, or the [426] prospective head, of a household. How sudden the transformation of the man at this epoch of his career, only those who have observed the transformation can imagine. It is then that the full significance of Japanese education reveals itself. [*This release is of recent date; and the results, by the acknowledgment of the students themselves, have not been good. Twenty-five years ago, University study was so seriously thought about that a scholar who failed, through his own fault, would have been considered a criminal. There was then a Chinese poem in vogue, which used to be sung at the departure of youths for the University of that time (Daigaku Nanko) by their friends and relations:-- Danji kokorozashi wo tatete, kyokwan wo idzu; Gaku moshi narazunba, shisudomo kaeradzu, [The young man, having made a firm resolve, leaves his native home. If he fail to acquire learning, then, even though he die, he must never return.] In those years also it was obligatory upon students to live and dress simply, and to abstain from all self-indulgence.] Few incidents of Japanese life are more surprising than the metamorphosis of the gawky student into the dignified, impassive, easy-mannered official. But a little time ago he was respectfully asking, cap in hand, the explanation of some text, the meaning of some foreign idiom; to-day, perhaps, he is judging cases in some court, or managing diplomatic correspondence under ministerial supervision, or directing the management of some public school. Whatever you may have thought of his particular capacity as a student, you will scarcely doubt his particular fitness for the position to which he has been called. Success in study was at best a secondary consideration in the matter of his appointment,--though he had to succeed. He was put through some special course, under high protection, after having been selected for certain qualities of character,--or at least for the promise of such qualities. There may have been favouritism in his case; but, generally speaking, capable men are appointed to positions of trust: the Government seldom makes serious mistakes. This man has value beyond what mere study could make for him,--some capacity in the direction of management or of organization, [427]--some natural force or talent which his training has served to cultivate. According to the quality of his worth, his position was chosen for him in advance. His long, hard schooling has taught him more than books can teach, and more than a stupid person can ever learn: how to read minds and motives,--how to remain impassive under all circumstances,--how to reach a truth quickly by simple questioning,--how to live upon his guard (even against the most intimate of old acquaintances),--how to remain, even when most amiable, secretive and inscrutable. He has graduated in the art of worldly wisdom. He is really a wonderful person, a highly developed type of his race; and no inexperienced Occidental is capable of judging him, because his visible acquirements count for very little in the measure of his relative value. His University study--his English or French or German knowledge--serves him only as so much oil to make easy the working of certain official machinery: he esteems this learning only as means to some administrative end; his real learning, considerably deeper, represents the development of the Japanese soul of him. Between that mind and any Western mind the distance has become immeasurable. And now, less than ever before, does he belong to himself. He belongs to a family, to a party, to a government: privately he is bound by custom; publicly he must act according to order only, and never dream of yielding to [428] any impulses at variance with order, however generous or sensible such impulses may be. A word might ruin him: he has learned to use no words unnecessarily. By silent submission and tireless observance of duty he may rise, and rise quickly: he may become Governor, Chief justice, Minister of State, Minister Plenipotentiary; but the higher he rises, the heavier will his bonds become. Long training in caution and self-control is indeed an indispensable preparation for official existence; the ability either to keep a position won, or to resign it with honour, depending much upon such training. The most sinister circumstance of official life is the absence of moral freedom,--the absence of the right to act according to one's own convictions of justice. The subordinate, who desires above all things to keep his place, is not supposed to have personal convictions or sympathies--save by permission. He is not the slave of a man, but of a system--a system as old as China. Were human nature perfect, that system would be perfect; but so long as human nature remains what it is now, the system leaves much to be desired. Everything may depend upon the personal character of those temporarily intrusted with higher power; and the only choice left for the most capable servant under a bad master may be to resign or to do wrong. The strong man faces the problem bravely and resigns; but for one strong man there are fifty timid ones. [429] Probably the prospect of a broken career is much less terrifying than the ancient idea of crime attaching to any form of insubordination. As the forms of a religion survive after the faith in doctrine has passed away, so the power of Government to coerce even conscience still remains, though religion is no longer identified with Government. The system of secrecy, implacably enforced, helps to maintain the vague awe that has always attached to the idea of administrative authority; and such authority is practically omnipotent within those limits which I have already indicated. To be favoured by authority means to experience all the illusive pleasure of a suddenly created popularity: an entire community, a whole city, is made by a word to turn all the amiable side of its human nature toward the favourite,--to charm him into the belief that he is worthy of the best that the world can give him. But suppose that the moving powers happen, latter on, to find the favoured man in the way of some policy--lo! at another whispered word he finds himself, without knowing why, the public enemy. None speak to him or salute him or smile upon him--save ironically: long-esteemed friends pass him by without recognition, or, if pursued, reply to his most earnest questions with all possible brevity and caution. Most likely they do not know the "why" of the matter: they only know that orders have been given, and that into the [430] reason of orders it is not good to enquire. Even the street-children know this much, and mock the despondent victim of fortune; even the dogs seem instinctively to divine the change and bark at him as he passes by.... Such is the power of official displeasure; and the penalty of a blunder or a breach of discipline may extend considerably further--but in feudal times the offender would have been simply told to perform harakiri. Sometimes, when the wrong men get into power, the force of authority may be used for malevolent ends; and in such event it requires not a little courage to disobey an order to act against conscience. What saved Japanese society in former ages from the worst results of this form of tyranny, was the moral sentiment of the mass,--the common feeling that underlay all submission to authority, and remained always capable, if pressed upon too brutally, of compelling a reaction. Conditions to-day are more favourable to justice; but it requires much tact, steadiness, and resolution on the part of a rising official to steer himself safely among the reefs and the whirlpools of the new political life. * * * * * * The reader will now be able to understand the general character, aim, and results of official education as a system. It will be also worth while to consider in detail certain phases of student-life, which equally prove the survival of old conditions and old [431] traditions. I can speak about these matters from personal experience as a teacher,--an experience extending over nearly thirteen years. Readers of Goethe will remember the trustful docility of the student received by Doctor Mephistopheles in the First Part of Faust, and the very different demeanour of the same student when he reappears, in the Second Part, as Baccalaureus. More than one foreign professor in Japan must have been reminded of that contrast by personal experience, and must have wondered whether some one of the early educational advisers to the Japanese Government did not play, without malice prepense, the very role of Mephistopheles.... The gentle boy who, with innocent reverence, makes his visit of courtesy to the foreign teacher, bringing for gift a cluster of iris-flowers or odorous spray of plum-blossoms,--the boy who does whatever he is told, and charms by an earnestness, a trustfulness, a grace of manner rarely met with among Western lads of the same age,--is destined to undergo the strangest of transformations long before becoming a baccalaureus. You may meet with him a few years later, in the uniform of some Higher School, and find it difficult to recognize your former pupil,--now graceless, taciturn, secretive, and inclined to demand as a right what could scarcely, with propriety, be requested as a favour. You may find [432] him patronizing,--possibly something worse. Later on, at the University, he becomes more formally correct, but also more far away,--so very far away from his boyhood that the remoteness is a pain to one who remembers that boyhood. The Pacific is less wide and deep than the invisible gulf now extending between the mind of the stranger and the mind of the student. The foreign professor is now regarded merely as a teaching-machine; and he is more than likely to regret any effort made to maintain an intimate relation with his pupils. Indeed the whole formal system of official education is opposed to the development of any such relation. I am speaking of general facts in this connexion, not of merely personal experiences. No matter what the foreigner may do in the hope of finding his way into touch with the emotional life of his students, or in the hope of evoking that interest in certain studies which renders possible an intellectual tie, he must toil in vain. Perhaps in two or three cases out of a thousand he may obtain something precious,--a lasting and kindly esteem, based upon moral comprehension; but should he wish for more he must remain in the state of the Antarctic explorer, seeking, month after month, to no purpose, some inlet through endless cliffs of everlasting ice. Now the case of the Japanese professor proves the barrier natural, to a large extent. The Japanese professor can ask for extraordinary efforts and, [433] obtain them; he can afford to be easily familiar with his students outside of class; and he can get what no stranger can obtain,--their devotion. The difference has been attributed to race-feeling; but it cannot be so easily and vaguely explained. Something of race-sentiment there certainly is; it were impossible that there should not be. No inexperienced foreigner can converse for one half hour with any Japanese--at least with any Japanese who has not sojourned abroad---and avoid saying something that jars upon Japanese good taste or sentiment; and few--perhaps, none--among untravelled Japanese can maintain a brief conversation in any European tongue without making some startling impression upon the foreign listener. Sympathethic understanding, between minds so differently constructed, is next to impossible. But the foreign professor who looks for the impossible--who expects from Japanese students the same quality of intelligent comprehension that he might reasonably expect from Western students--is naturally disturbed. "Why must there always, remain the width of a world between us?" is a question often asked and rarely answered. Some of the reasons should by this time be obvious to my reader; but one among them and the most, curious--will not. Before stating it I must observe that while the relation between foreign [434] instructor and the Japanese student is artificial, that between the Japanese teacher and the student is traditionally one of sacrifice and obligation. The inertia encountered by the stranger, the indifference which chills him at all times, are due in great part to the misapprehension arising from totally opposite conceptions of duty. Old sentiment lingers long after old forms have passed away; and how much of feudal Japan survives in modern Japan, no stranger can readily divine. Probably the bulk of existing sentiment is hereditary sentiment: the ancient ideals have not yet been replaced by fresh ones.... In feudal times the teacher taught without salary: he was expected to devote all his time, thought, and strength to his profession. High honour was attached to that profession; and the matter of remuneration was not discussed,--the instructor trusting wholly to the gratitude of parents and pupils. Public sentiment bound them to him with a bond that could not be broken. Therefore a general, upon the eve of an assault, would take care that his former teacher should have an opportunity to escape from the place beleaguered. The tie between teacher and pupil was in force second only to the tie between parent and child. The teacher sacrificed everything for his pupil: the pupil was ready at all times to die for his teacher. Now, indeed, the hard and selfish aspects of Japanese character are coming to the surface. But a [435] single fact will sufficiently indicate how much of the old ethical sentiment persists under the new and rougher surface: Nearly all the higher educational work accomplished in Japan represents, though aided by Government, the results of personal sacrifice. From the summit of society to the base, this sacrificial spirit rules. That a large part of the private income of their Imperial Majesties has, for many years, been devoted to public education is well known; but that every person of rank or wealth or high position educates students at his private expense, is not generally known. In the majority of cases this help is entirely gratuitous; in a minority of cases, the expenses of the student are advanced only, to be repaid by instalments at some future time. The reader is doubtless aware that the daimyo in former times used to dispose of the bulk of their incomes in supporting and helping their retainers; supplying hundreds, in some cases thousands, and in some few cases, even tens of thousands, of persons with the necessaries of life; and exacting in return military service, loyalty, and obedience. Those former daimyo or their successors--particularly those who are still large landholders--now vie with each other in assisting education. All who can afford it are educating sons or grandsons or descendants of former retainers; the subjects of this patronage being annually selected from among the students of [436] schools established in the former daimiates. It is only the rich noble who can now support a number of students gratuitously, year after year; the poorer men of rank cannot care for many. But all, or very nearly all, maintain some,--and this even in cases where the patron's income is so small that the expense could not be borne unless the student were pledged to repay it after graduation. In some instances, half of the cost is borne by the patron; the student being required to repay the rest. Now these aristocratic examples are extensively followed through other grades of society. Merchants, bankers, and manufacturers--all rich men of the commercial and industrial classes--are educating students. Military officers, civil service officials, physicians, lawyers, men of every profession, in short, are doing the same thing. Persons whose incomes are too small to permit of much generosity are able to help students by employing them as door-keepers, messengers, tutors,--giving them board and lodging, and a little pocket-money at times, in return, for light services. In Tokyo, and in most of the large cities, almost every large house is guarded by students who are being thus assisted. As for what the teachers do--that requires special mention. The majority of teachers in the public schools do not receive salaries enabling them to help students with money; but all teachers earning more than the [437] bare necessary give aid of some sort. Among the instructors and professors of the higher educational establishments, the helping of students seems to be thought of as a matter of course,--so much a matter of course that we might suspect a new "tyranny of custom," especially in view of the smallness of official salaries. But no tyranny of custom would explain the pleasure of sacrifice and the strange persistence of feudal idealism which are revealed by some extraordinary facts. For example: A certain University professor is known to have supported and educated a large number of students by dividing among them, during many years, nearly the whole of his salary. He lodged, clothed, boarded, and educated them, bought their books, and paid their fees,--reserving for himself only the cost of his living, and reducing even that cost by living upon hot sweet potatoes. (Fancy a foreign professor in Japan putting himself upon a diet of bread and water for the purpose of educating gratuitously a number of poor young men!) I know of two other cases nearly as remarkable; the helper, in one instance, being an old man of more than seventy, who still devotes all his means, time, and knowledge to his ancient ideal of duty. How much obscure sacrifice of this kind has been performed by those least able to afford it never will be known: indeed, the publication of the facts would only give pain. I am guilty of some indiscretion in mentioning [418] even the cases brought to my attention--though human nature is honoured by the mention.... Now it should be evident that while Japanese students are accustomed to witness self-denial of this sort on the part of native professors, they cannot be much impressed by any manifestation of interest or sympathy on the part of the foreign professor, who, though receiving a higher salary than his Japanese colleagues, has no reason and small inclination to imitate their example. Surely this heroic fact of education sustained by personal sacrifices, in the face of unimaginable difficulties, is enough to redeem much humbug and wrong. In spite of the corruption which has been of late years rife in educational circles,--in spite of official scandals, intrigues, and shams,--all needed reforms can be hoped for while the spirit of generous self-denial continues to rule the world of teachers and students. I can venture also the opinion that most of the official scandals and failures have resulted from the interference of politics with modern education, or from attempting to imitate foreign conventional methods totally at variance with national moral experience. Where Japan has remained true to her old moral ideals she has done nobly and well: where she has needlessly departed from them, sorrow and trouble have been the natural consequences. There are yet other facts in modern education [439] suggesting even more forcibly how much of the old life remains hidden under the new conditions, and how rigidly race-character has become fixed in the higher types of mind. I refer chiefly to the results of Japanese education abroad,--a higher special training in German, English, French, or American Universities. In some directions these results, to foreign observation at least, appear to be almost negative. Considering the immense psychological differentiation,--the total oppositeness of mental structure and habit,--it is astonishing that Japanese students have been able to do what they actually have done at foreign Universities. To graduate at any European or American University of mark, with a mind shaped by Japanese culture, filled with Chinese learning, crammed with ideographs,--is a prodigious feat: scarcely less of a feat than it would be for an American student to graduate at a Chinese University. Certainly the men sent abroad to study are carefully selected for ability; and one indispensable requisite for the mission is a power of memory incomparably superior to the average Occidental memory, and different altogether as to quality,--a memory for details;--nevertheless, the feat is amazing. But with the return to Japan of these young scholars, there is commonly an end of effort in the direction of the speciality studied,--unless it happens to have been a purely practical subject. Does this signify incapacity for independent work [440] upon Occidental lines? incapacity for creative thought? lack of constructive imagination? disinclination or indifference? The history of that terrible mental and moral discipline to which the race was so long subjected would certainly suggest such limitations in the modern Japanese mind. Perhaps these questions cannot yet be answered,--except, I imagine, as regards the indifference, which is self-evident and undisguised. But, independently of any question of capacity or inclination, there is this fact to be considered,--that proper encouragement has not yet been given to home-scholarship. The plain truth is that young men are sent to foreign seats of learning for other ends than to learn how to devote the rest of their lives to the study of psychology, philology, literature, or modern philosophy. They are sent abroad to fit them for higher posts in Government-service; and their foreign study is but one obligatory episode in their official career. Each has to qualify himself for special duty by learning how Western people study and think and feel in certain directions, and by ascertaining the range of educational progress in those directions; but he is not ordered to think or to feel like Western people--which would, in any event, be impossible for him. He has not, and probably could not have, any deep personal interest in Western learning outside of the domain of applied science. His business is to learn how to understand such matters from the [441] Japanese, not from the Occidental, point of view. But he performs his part well, does exactly what he has been told to do, and rarely anything more. His value to his Government is doubled or quadrupled by his allotted experience; but at home--except during a few years of expected duty as professor or lecturer--he will probably use that experience only as a psychological costume of ceremony,--a mental uniform to be donned when official occasion may require. It is otherwise in the case of men sent abroad for scientific studies requiring, not only intelligence and memory, but natural quickness of hand and eye,--surgery, medicine, military specialities. I doubt whether the average efficiency of Japanese surgeons can be surpassed. The study of war, I need hardly say, is one for which the national mind and character have inherited aptitude. But men sent abroad merely to win a foreign University-degree, and destined, after a term of educational duty, to higher official life, appear to set small value upon their foreign acquirements. However, even if they could win distinction in Europe by further effort at home, that effort would have to be made at a serious pecuniary sacrifice, and its results could not as yet be fairly appreciated by their own countrymen. Some of us have wondered at times what the old Egyptians or the old Greeks would have done if [442] suddenly brought into dangerous contact with a civilization like our own,--a civilization of applied mathematics, with sciences and branch-sciences of which the mere names would fill a dictionary. I think that the history of modern Japan suggests very clearly what any wise people, with a civilization based upon ancestor-worship, would have done. They would have speedily reconstructed their patriarchal society to meet the sudden peril; they would have adopted, with astonishing success, all the scientific machinery that they could use; they would have created a formidable army and a highly efficient navy; they would have sent their young aristocrats abroad to study alien convention, and to qualify for diplomatic duty; they would have established a new system of education, and obliged all their children to study many new things;--but toward the higher emotional and intellectual life of that alien civilization, they would naturally exhibit indifference: its best literature, its philosophy, its broader forms of tolerant religion could make no profound appeal to their moral and social experience. [443] INDUSTRIAL DANGER Everywhere the course of human civilization has been shaped by the same evolutional law; and as the earlier history of the ancient European communities can help us to understand the social conditions of Old Japan, so a later period of the same history can help us to divine something of the probable future of the New Japan. It has been shown by the author of La Cite Antique that the history of all the ancient Greek and Latin communities included four revolutionary periods.* The first revolution had everywhere for its issue the withdrawal of political power from the priest-king; who was nevertheless allowed to retain the religious authority. The second revolutionary period witnessed the breaking up of the gens or (Greek genos). the enfranchisement of the client from the authority of the patron, and several important changes in [444] the legal constitution of the family. The third revolutionary period saw the weakening of the religious and military aristocracy, the entrance of the common people into the rights of citizenship, and the rise of a democracy of wealth,--presently to be opposed by a democracy of poverty. The fourth revolutionary period witnessed the first bitter struggles between rich and poor, the final triumph of anarchy, and the consequent establishment of a new and horrible form of despotism,--the despotism of the popular Tyrant. [*Not excepting Sparta. The Spartan society was evolutionally much in advance of the Ionian societies; the Dorian patriarchal clan having been dissolved at some very early period. Sparta kept its Kings; but affairs of civil justice were regulated by the Senate, and affairs of criminal justice by the ephors, who also had the power to declare war and to make treaties of peace. After the first great revolution of Spartan history the King was deprived of power in civil matters, in criminal matters, and in military matters: he retained his sacerdotal office. See for details. La Cite Antique, pp, 285-287.] To these four revolutionary periods, the social history of Old Japan presents but two correspondences. The first Japanese revolutionary period was represented by the Fujiwara usurpation of the imperial civil and military authority,--after which event the aristocracy, religious and military, really governed Japan down to our own time. All the events of the rise of the military power and the concentration of authority under the Tokugawa Shogunate properly belong to the first revolutionary period. At the time of the opening of Japan, society had not evolutionally advanced beyond a stage corresponding to that of the antique Western societies in the seventh or eighth century before Christ. The second revolutionary period really began only with the reconstruction of society in 1871. But within the space of a single generation thereafter, Japan entered upon her third revolutionary [445] period. Already the influence of the elder aristocracy is threatened by the sudden rise of a new oligarchy of wealth,--a new industrial power probably destined to become omnipotent in politics. The disintegration (now proceeding) of the clan, the changes in the legal constitution of the family, the entrance of the people into the enjoyment of political rights, must all tend to hasten the coming transfer of power. There is every indication that, in the present order of things, the third revolutionary period will run its course rapidly; and then a fourth revolutionary period, fraught with serious danger, would be in immediate prospect. Consider the bewildering rapidity of recent changes,--from the reconstruction of society in 1871 to the opening of the first national parliament in 1891. Down to the middle of the nineteenth century the nation had remained in the condition common to European patriarchal communities twenty-six hundred years ago: society had indeed entered upon a second period of integration, but had traversed only one great revolution. And then the country was suddenly hurried through two more social revolutions of the most extraordinary kind,--signalized by the abolition of the daimiates, the suppression of the military class, the substitution of a plebeian for an aristocratic army, popular enfranchisement, the rapid formalism of a new commonalty. industrial [446] expansion, the rise of a new aristocracy of wealth, and popular representation in government! Old Japan had never developed a wealthy and powerful middle class: she had not even approached that stage of industrial development which, in the ancient European societies, naturally brought about the first political struggles between rich and poor. Her social organization made industrial oppression impossible: the commercial classes were kept at the bottom of society,--under the feet even of those who, in more highly evolved communities, are most at the mercy of money-power. But now those commercial classes, set free and highly privileged, are silently and swiftly ousting the aristocratic ruling-class from power,--are becoming supremely important. And under the new order of things, forms of social misery, never before known in the history of the race, are being developed. Some idea of this misery may be obtained from the fact that the number of poor people in Tokyo unable to pay their annual resident-tax is upwards of 50,000; yet the amount of the tax is only about 20 sen, or 5 pence English money. Prior to the accumulation of wealth in the hands of a minority there was never any such want in any part of Japan,--except, of course, as a temporary consequence of war. The early history of European civilization supplies analogies. In the Greek and Latin communities, up to the time of the dissolution of the gens, there [447] was no poverty in the modern meaning of that word. Slavery. with some few exceptions, existed only in the mild domestic form; there were yet no commercial oligarchies, and no industrial oppressions; and the various cities and states were ruled, after political power had been taken from the early kings, by military aristocracies which also exercised religious functions. There was yet little trade in the modern signification of the term; and money, as current coinage, came into circulation only in the seventh century before Christ. Misery did not exist. Under any patriarchal system, based upon ancestor-worship, there is no misery, as a consequence of poverty, except such as may be temporarily created by devastation or famine. If want thus comes, it comes to all alike. In such a state of society everybody is in the service of somebody, and receives in exchange for service all the necessaries of life: there is no need for any one to trouble himself about the question of living. Also, in such a patriarchal community, which is self-sufficing, there is little need of money: barter takes the place of trade.... In all these respects, the condition of Old Japan offered a close parallel to the conditions of patriarchal society in ancient Europe. While the uji or clan existed, there was no misery except as a result of war, famine, or pestilence. Throughout society--excepting the small commercial class--the need of money was rare; and such coinage as existed [448] was little suited to general circulation. Taxes were paid in rice and other produce. As the lord nourished his retainers, so the samurai cared for his dependants, the farmer for his labourers, the artizan for his apprentices and journeymen, the merchant for his clerks. Everybody was fed; and there was no need, in ordinary times at least, for any one to go hungry. It was only with the breaking-up of the clan-system in Japan that the possibilities of starvation for the worker first came into existence. And as, in antique Europe, the enfranchised client-class and plebeian-class developed, under like conditions, into a democracy clamouring for suffrage and all political rights, so in Japan have the common people developed the political instinct, in self-protection. It will be remembered how, in Greek and Roman society, the aristocracy founded upon religious tradition and military power had to give way to an oligarchy of wealth, and how there subsequently came into existence a democratic form of government,--democratic, not in the modern, but in the old Greek meaning. At a yet later day the results of popular suffrage were the breaking-up of this democratic government, and the initiation of an atrocious struggle between rich and poor. After that strife had begun there was no more security for life or property until the Roman conquest enforced order.... Now it seems not unlikely that there will he witnessed in Japan, at no very [449] distant day, a strong tendency to repeat the history of the old Greek anarchies. With the constant increase of poverty and pressure of population, and the concomitant accumulation of wealth in the hands of a new industrial class, the peril is obvious. Thus far the nation has patiently borne all changes. relying upon the experience of its past, and trusting implicitly to its rulers. But should wretchedness be so permitted to augment that the question of how to keep from starving becomes imperative for the millions, the long patience and the long trust may fail. And then, to repeat a figure effectively used by Professor Huxley, the Primitive Man, finding that the Moral Man has landed him in the valley of the shadow of death, may rise up to take the management of affairs into his own hands, and fight savagely for the right of existence. As popular instinct is not too dull to divine the first cause of this misery in the introduction of Western industrial methods, it is unpleasant to reflect what such an upheaval might signify. But nothing of moment has yet been done to ameliorate the condition of the wretched class of operatives, now estimated to exceed half a million. M. de Coulanges has pointed out* that the absence of individual liberty was the real cause of the disorders and the final ruin of the Greek societies. [*La Cite Antique. pp, 400-401.] [450] Rome suffered less, and survived, and dominated,--because within her boundaries the rights of the individual had been more respected.... Now the absence of individual freedom in modern Japan would certainly appear to be nothing less than a national danger. For those very habits of unquestioning obedience, and loyalty, and respect for authority, which made feudal society possible, are likely to render a true democratic regime impossible, and would tend to bring about a state of anarchy. Only races long accustomed to personal liberty,--liberty to think about matters of ethics apart from matters of government,--liberty to consider questions of right and wrong, justice and injustice, independently of political authority,--are able to face without risk the peril now menacing Japan. For should social disintegration take in Japan the same course which it followed in the old European societies,--unchecked by any precautionary legislation,--and so bring about another social revolution, the consequence could scarcely be less than utter ruin. In the antique world of Europe, the total disintegration of the patriarchal system occupied centuries: it was slow, and it was normal--not having been brought about by external forces. In Japan, on the contrary, this disintegration is taking place under enormous outside pressure, operating with the rapidity of electricity and steam. In Greek societies the changes were effected in about three [451] hundred years; in Japan it is hardly more than thirty years since the patriarchal system was legally dissolved and the industrial system reshaped; yet already the danger of anarchy is in sight, and the population--astonishingly augmented by more than ten millions--already begins to experience all the forms of misery developed by want under industrial conditions. It was perhaps inevitable that the greatest freedom accorded under the new order of things should have been given in the direction of greatest danger. Though the Government cannot be said to have done much for any form of competition within the sphere of its own direct control, it has done even more than could have been reasonably expected on behalf of national industrial competition. Loans have been lavishly advanced. subsidies generously allowed; and, in spite of various panics and failures, the results have been prodigious. Within thirty years the value of articles manufactured for export has risen from half a million to five hundred million yen. But this immense development has been effected at serious cost in other directions. The old methods of family production--and therefore most of the beautiful industries and arts, for which Japan has been so long famed--now seem doomed beyond hope; and instead of the ancient kindly relations between master and workers, there have been brought into existence--with no legislation to restrain [452] inhumanity--all the horrors of factory-life at its worst. The new combinations of capital have actually reestablished servitude, under harsher forms than ever were imagined under the feudal era; the misery of the women and children subjected to that servitude is a public scandal, and proves strange possibilities of cruelty on the part of a people once renowned for kindness,--kindness even to animals. There is now a humane outcry for reform; and earnest efforts have been made, and will be made, to secure legislation for the protection of operatives. But, as might be expected, these efforts have been hitherto strongly opposed by manufacturing companies and syndicates with the declaration that any Government interference with factory management will greatly hamper, if not cripple, enterprise, and hinder competition with foreign industry. Less than twenty years ago the very same arguments were used in England to oppose the efforts then being made to improve the condition of the industrial classes; and that opposition was challenged by Professor Huxley in a noble address, which every Japanese legislator would do well to read to-day. Speaking of the reforms in progress during 1888. the professor said: "If it is said that the carrying out of such arrangements as those indicated must enhance the cost of production, and thus handicap the producer in the race of competition. I venture, in the first place. to doubt the fact; but, if it be [453] so, it results that industrial society has to face a dilemma, either alternative of which threatens destruction. "On the one hand, a population, the labour of which is sufficiently remunerated, may be physically and morally healthy, and socially stable, but may fail in industrial competition by reason of the dearness of its produce. On the other hand, a population, the labour of which is insufficiently remunerated, must become physically and morally unhealthy, and socially unstable; and though it may succeed for a while in competition, by reason of the cheapness of its produce, it must in the end fall, through hideous misery and degradation, to utter ruin. "Well, if these be the only alternatives, let us for ourselves and our children choose the former, and, if need be, starve like men. But I do not believe that a stable society, made up of healthy, vigorous, instructed, and self-ruling people would ever incur serious risk of that fate. They are not likely to be troubled with many competitors of the same character just yet; and they may be safely trusted to find ways of holding their own."* [*The Struggle for Existence in Human Society. "Collected Essays," Vol. IX. pp, 113--219.] If the future of Japan could depend upon her army and her navy, upon the high courage of her people and their readiness to die by the hundred thousand for ideals of honour and of duty, there would be small cause for alarm in the present state of affairs. Unfortunately her future must depend upon other qualities than courage, other abilities than those of [454] sacrifice; and her struggle hereafter must be one in which her social traditions will place her at an immense disadvantage. The capacity for industrial competition cannot be made to depend upon the misery of women and children; it must depend upon the intelligent freedom of the individual; and the society which suppresses this freedom, or suffers it to be suppressed, must remain too rigid for competition with societies in which the liberties of the individual are strictly maintained. While Japan continues to think and to act by groups, even by groups of industrial companies, so long she must always continue incapable of her best. Her ancient social experience is not sufficient to avail her for the future international struggle,--rather it must sometimes impede her as so much dead weight. Dead, in the ghostliest sense of the word,--the viewless pressure upon her life of numberless vanished generations. She will have not only to strive against colossal odds in her rivalry with more plastic and more forceful societies; she will have to strive much more against the power of her phantom past. Yet it were a grievous error to imagine that she has nothing further to gain from her ancestral faith. All her modern successes have been aided by it; and all her modern failures have been marked by needless breaking with its ethical custom. She could compel her people, by a simple fiat, to adopt the [455] civilization of the West, with all its pain and struggle, only because that people had been trained for ages in submission and loyalty and sacrifice; and the time has not yet come in which she can afford to cast away the whole of her moral past. More freedom indeed she requires,--but freedom restrained by wisdom; freedom to think and act and strive for self as well as for others,--not freedom to oppress the weak, or to exploit the simple. And the new cruelties of her industrial life can find no justification in the traditions of her ancient faith, which exacted absolute obedience from the dependant, but equally required the duty of kindness from the master. In so far as she has permitted her people to depart from the way of kindness, she herself has surely departed from the Way of the Gods.... And the domestic future appears dark. Born of that darkness, an evil dream comes oftentimes to those who love Japan: the fear that all her efforts are being directed, with desperate heroism, only to prepare the land for the sojourn of peoples older by centuries in commercial experience; that her thousands of miles of railroads and telegraphs, her mines and forges, her arsenals and factories, her docks and fleets, are being put in order for the use of foreign capital; that her admirable army and her heroic navy may be doomed to make their last sacrifices in hopeless contest against some combination of greedy states. provoked or encouraged to aggression [456] by circumstances beyond the power of Government to control.... But the statesmanship that has already guided Japan through many storms should prove able to cope with this gathering peril. [457] REFLECTIONS In the preceding pages I have endeavoured to suggest a general idea of the social history of Japan, and a general idea of the nature of those forces which shaped and tempered the character of her people. Certainly this attempt leaves much to be desired: the time is yet far away at which a satisfactory work upon the subject can be prepared. But the fact that Japan can be understood only through the study of her religious and social evolution has been, I trust, sufficiently indicated. She affords us the amazing spectacle of an Eastern society maintaining all the outward forms of Western civilization; using, with unquestionable efficiency, the applied science of the Occident; accomplishing, by prodigious effort, the work of centuries within the time of three decades,--yet sociologically remaining at a stage corresponding to that which, in ancient Europe, preceded the Christian era by hundreds of years. But no suggestion of origins and causes should diminish the pleasure of contemplating this curious world, psychologically still so far away from us in the course of human evolution. The wonder and [458] the beauty of what remains of the Old Japan cannot be lessened by any knowledge of the conditions that produced them. The old kindliness and grace of manners need not cease to charm us because we know that such manners were cultivated, for a thousand years, under the edge of the sword. The common politeness which appeared, but a few years ago, to be almost universal, and the rarity of quarrels, should not prove less agreeable because we have learned that, for generations and generations, all quarrels among the people were punished with extraordinary rigour; and that the custom of the vendetta, which rendered necessary such repression, also made everybody cautious of word and deed. The popular smile should not seem less winning because we have been told of a period, in the past of the subject-classes, when not to smile in the teeth of pain might cost life itself. And the Japanese woman, as cultivated by the old home-training, is not less sweet a being because she represents the moral ideal of a vanishing world, and because we can faintly surmise the cost,--the incalculable cost in pain,--of producing her. No: what remains of this elder civilization is full of charm,--charm unspeakable,--and to witness its gradual destruction must be a grief for whomsoever has felt that charm. However intolerable may seem, to the mind of the artist or poet, those countless restrictions which once ruled all this fairy-world [459] and shaped the soul of it, he cannot but admire and love their best results: the simplicity of old custom,--the amiability of manners,--the daintiness of habits,--the delicate tact displayed in pleasure-giving,--the strange power of presenting outwardly, under any circumstances, only the best and brightest aspects of character. What emotional poetry, for even the least believing, in the ancient home-religion,--in the lamplet nightly kindled before the names of the dead, the tiny offerings of food and drink, the welcome-fires lighted to guide the visiting ghosts, the little ships prepared to bear--them back to their rest! And this immemorial doctrine of filial piety,--exacting all that is noble, not less than all that is terrible, in duty, in gratitude, in self-denial,--what strange appeal does it make to our lingering religious instincts; and how close to the divine appear to us the finer natures forged by it! What queer weird attraction in those parish-temple festivals, with their happy mingling of merriment and devotion in the presence of the gods! What a universe of romance in that Buddhist art which has left its impress upon almost every product of industry, from the toy of a child to the heirloom of a prince;--which has peopled the solitudes with statues, and chiselled the wayside rocks with texts of sutras! Who can forget the soft enchantment of this Buddhist atmosphere?--the deep music of the great bells?--the [460] green peace of gardens haunted by fearless things, doves that flutter down at call, fishes rising to be fed? ... Despite our incapacity to enter into the soul-life of this ancient East, --despite the certainty that one might as well hope to remount the River of Time and share the vanished existence of some old Greek city, as to share the thoughts and the emotions of Old Japan,--we find ourselves bewitched forever by the vision, like those wanderers of folk-tale who rashly visited Elf-land. We know that there is illusion,--not as to the reality of the visible, but as to its meanings,--very much illusion. Yet why should this illusion attract us, like some glimpse of Paradise?--why should we feel obliged to confess the ethical glamour of a civilization as far away from us in thought as the Egypt of Ramses? Are we really charmed by the results of a social discipline that refused to recognize the individual?--enamoured of a cult that exacted the suppression of personality? No: the charm is made by the fact that this vision of the past represents to us much more than past or present,--that it foreshadows the possibilities of some higher future, in a world of Perfect sympathy. After many a thousand years there may be developed a humanity able to achieve, with never a shadow of illusion, those ethical conditions prefigured by the ideals of Old Japan: instinctive unselfishness, [461] a common desire to find the joy of life in making happiness for others, a universal sense of moral beauty. And whenever men shall have so far gained upon the present as to need no other code than the teaching of their own hearts, then indeed the ancient ideal of Shinto will find its supreme realization. Moreover, it should be remembered that the social state, whose results thus attract us, really produced much more than a beautiful mirage. Simple characters of great charm, though necessarily of great fixity, were developed by it in multitude. Old Japan came nearer to the achievement of the highest moral ideal than our far more evolved societies can hope to do for many a hundred years. And but for those ten centuries of war which followed upon the rise of the military power, the ethical end to which all social discipline tended might have been much more closely approached. Yet if the better side of this human nature had been further developed at the cost of darker and sterner qualities, the consequence might have proved unfortunate for the nation. No people so ruled by altruism as to lose its capacities for aggression and cunning could hold their own, in the present state of the world, against races hardened by the discipline of competition as well as by the discipline of war. The future Japan must rely upon the least [462] amiable qualities of her character for success in the universal struggle; and she will need to develop them strongly. * * * How strongly she has been able to develop them in one direction, the present war with Russia bears startling witness. But it is certainly to the long discipline of the past that she owes the moral strength behind this unexpected display of aggressive power. No superficial observation could discern the silent energies masked by the resignation of the people to change,--the unconscious heroism informing this mass of forty million souls, the compressed force ready to expand at Imperial bidding either for construction or destruction. From the leaders of a nation with such a military and political history, one might expect the manifestation of all those abilities of supreme importance in diplomacy and war. But such capacities could prove of little worth were it not for the character of the masses,--the quality of the material that moves to command with the power of winds and tides. The veritable strength of Japan still lies in the moral nature of her common people,--her farmers and fishers, artizans and labourers,--the patient quiet folk one sees toiling in the rice-fields, or occupied with the humblest of crafts and callings in city by-ways. All the unconscious heroism of the race is in these, and all its splendid courage,--a [463] courage that does not mean indifference to life, but the desire to sacrifice life at the bidding of the Imperial Master who raises the rank of the dead. From the thousands of young men now being summoned to the war, one hears no expression of hope to return to their homes with glory;--the common wish uttered is only to win remembrance at the Shokonsha--that "Spirit-Invoking Temple," where the souls of all who die for Emperor and fatherland are believed to gather. At no time was the ancient faith stronger than in this hour of struggle; and Russian power will have very much more to fear from that faith than from repeating rifles or Whitehead torpedoes.* Shinto, as a religion of patriotism, is a force that should suffice, if permitted fair-play, to affect not only the destinies of the whole Far East, but the future of civilization. No more irrational assertion was ever made about the Japanese than the statement of their indifference to religion. Religion is still, as it has [464] ever been, the very life of the people,--the motive and the directing power of their every action: a religion of doing and suffering, a religion without cant and hypocrisy. And the qualities especially developed by it are just those qualities which have startled Russia, and may yet cause her many a painful surprise. She has discovered alarming force where she imagined childish weakness; she has encountered heroism where she expected to find timidity and helplessness.** [*The following reply, made by Admiral Togo Commander-in-Chief of the Japanese fleet, to an Imperial message of commendation received after the second attempt to block the entrance to Port Arthur, is characteristically Shinto:-- "The warm message which Your imperial Majesty condescended to grant us with regard to the second attempt to seal Port Arthur, has not only overwhelmed us with gratitude, but may also influence the patriotic manes of the departed heroes to hover long over the battle-field and give unseen protection to the Imperial forces."... [Translated in the JAPAN TIMES of March 31st, 1904.] --Such thoughts and hopes about the brave dead might have been uttered by a Greek warrior before the battle of Salamis. The faith and courage which helped the Greeks to repel the Persian invasion were of precisely the same quality as that religious heroism which now helps the Japanese to challenge the power of Russia.] [**The case of the Japanese officers and men on the transport Kinshu Maru, sank by the Russian warships on the 26th of last April, should have given the enemy matter for reflection. Although allowed an hour's time for consideration, the soldiers refused to surrender, and opened fire with their rifles on the battleships. Then, before the Kinshu Maru was blown in two by a torpedo, a number of the Japanese officers and men performed harakiri.... This strong display of the fierce old feudal spirit suggests how dearly a Russian success would be bought.] * * * For countless reasons this terrible war (of which no man can yet see the end) is unspeakably to be regretted; and of these reasons not the least are industrial. War must temporarily check all tendencies towards the development of that healthy individualism without which no modern nation can become prosperous and wealthy. Enterprise is numbed, markets paralyzed, manufactures stopped. Yet, in the extraordinary case of this extraordinary people, it is possible that the social effects of the contest will prove to some degree beneficial. Prior to hostilities, there had been a visible tendency to [465] the premature dissolution of institutions founded upon centuries of experience,--a serious likelihood of moral disintegration. That great changes must hereafter be made,--that the future well-being of the country requires them,--would seem to admit of no argument. But it is necessary that such changes be effected by degrees,--not with such inopportune haste as to imperil the moral constitution of the nation. A war for independence,--a war that obliges the race to stake its all upon the issue,--must bring about a tightening of the old social bonds, a strong quickening of the ancient sentiments of loyalty and duty, a reinforcement of conservatism. This will signify retrogression in some directions; but it will also mean invigoration in others. Before the Russian menace, the Soul of Yamato revives again. Out of the contest Japan will come, if successful, morally stronger than before; and a new sense of self-confidence, a new spirit of independence, might then reveal itself in the national attitude toward foreign policy and foreign pressure. --There would be, of course, the danger of overconfidence. A people able to defeat Russian power on land and sea might be tempted to believe themselves equally able to cope with foreign capital upon their own territory; and every means would certainly be tried of persuading or bullying the government [466] into some fatal compromise on the question of the right of foreigners to hold land. Efforts in this direction have been carried on persistently and systematically for years; and these efforts seem to have received some support from a class of Japanese politicians, apparently incapable of understanding what enormous tyranny a single privileged syndicate of foreign capital would be capable of exercising in such a country. It appears to me that any person comprehending, even in the vaguest way, the nature of money-power and the average conditions of life throughout Japan, must recognize the certainty that foreign capital, with right of land-tenure, would find means to control legislation, to control government, and to bring about a state of affairs that would result in the practical domination of the empire by alien interests. I cannot resist the conviction that when Japan yields to foreign industry the right to purchase land, she is lost beyond hope. The self-confidence that might tempt to such yielding, in view of immediate advantages, would be fatal. Japan has incomparably more to fear from English or American capital than from Russian battleships and bayonets. Behind her military capacity is the disciplined experience of a thousand years; behind her industrial and commercial power, the experience of half-a-century. But she has been fully warned; and if she chooses hereafter to invite her own ruin, it will not have [467] been for lack of counsel,--since she had the wisest man in the world to advise her.* [*Herbert Spencer.] To the reader of these pages, at least, the strength and the weakness of the new social organization--its great capacities for offensive or defensive action in military directions, and its comparative feebleness in other directions--should now be evident. All things considered, the marvel is that Japan should have been so well able to hold her own; and it was assuredly no common wisdom that guided her first unsteady efforts in new and perilous ways. Certainly her power to accomplish what she has accomplished was derived from her old religious and social training: she was able to keep strong because, under the new forms of rule and the new conditions of social activity, she could still maintain a great deal of the ancient discipline. But even thus it was only by the firmest and shrewdest policy that she could avert disaster,--could prevent the disruption of her whole social structure under the weight of alien pressure. It was imperative that vast changes should be made, but equally imperative that they should not be of a character to endanger the foundations; and it was above all things necessary, while preparing for immediate necessities, to provide against future perils. Never before, perhaps, in the history of human civilization, did any rulers find themselves [468] obliged to cope with problems so tremendous, so complicated, and so inexorable. And of these problems the most inexorable remains to be solved. It is furnished by the fact that although all the successes of Japan have been so far due to unselfish collective action, sustained by the old Shinto ideals of duty and obedience, her industrial future must depend upon egoistic individual action of a totally opposite kind! * * * What then will become of the ancient morality?--the ancient cult? --In this moment the conditions are abnormal. But it seems certain that there will be, under normal conditions, a further gradual loosening of the old family-bonds; and this would bring about a further disintegration. By the testimony of the Japanese themselves, such disintegration was spreading rapidly among the upper and middle classes of the great cities, prior to the present war. Among the people of the agricultural districts, and even in the country towns, the old ethical order of things has yet been little affected. And there are other influences than legislative change or social necessity which are working for disintegration. Old beliefs have been rudely shaken by the introduction of larger knowledge: a new generation is being taught, in twenty-seven thousand primary schools, the rudiments of science and the modern conception of the universe. The [460] Buddhist cosmology, with its fantastic pictures of Mount Meru, has become a nursery-tale; the old Chinese nature-philosophy finds believers only among the little educated, or the survivors of the feudal era; and the youngest schoolboy has learned that the constellations are neither gods nor Buddhas, but far-off groups of suns. No longer can popular fancy picture the Milky Way as the River of Heaven; the legend of the Weaving-Maiden, and her waiting lover, and the Bridge of Birds, is now told only to children; and the young fisherman, though steering, like his fathers, by the light of stars, no longer discerns in the northern sky the form of Mioken Bosatsu. Yet it were easy to misinterpret the weakening of a certain class of old beliefs, or the visible tendency to social change. Under any circumstances a religion decays slowly; and the most conservative forms of religion are the last to yield to disintegration. It were a grave mistake to suppose that the ancestor-cult has yet been appreciably affected by exterior influences of any kind, or to imagine that it continues to exist merely by force of hallowed custom, and not because the majority still believe. No religion--and least of all the religion of the dead--could thus suddenly lose its hold upon the affections of the race that evolved it. Even in other directions the new scepticism is superficial: it has not spread downwards into the core of things. There is indeed [470] a growing class of young men with whom scepticism of a certain sort is the fashion, and scorn of the past an affectation,--but even among these no word of disrespect concerning the religion of the home is ever heard. Protests against the old obligations of filial piety, complaints of the growing weight of the family yoke, are sometimes uttered; but the domestic cult is never spoken of lightly. As for the communal and other public forms of Shinto, the vigour of the old religion is sufficiently indicated by the continually increasing number of temples. In 1897 there were 191,962 Shinto temples; in 1901 there were 195,256. It seems probable that such changes as must occur in the near future will be social rather than religious; and there is little reason to believe that these changes--however they may tend to weaken filial piety in sundry directions--will seriously affect the ancestor-cult itself. The weight of the family-bond, aggravated by the increasing difficulty and cost of life, may be more and more lightened for the individual; but no legislation can abolish the sentiment of duty to the dead. When that sentiment utterly fails, the heart of a nation will have ceased to beat. Belief in the old gods, as gods, may slowly pass; but Shinto may live on as the Religion of the Fatherland, a religion of heroes and patriots; and the likelihood of such future modification is indicated by the memorial character of many new temples. [471]--It has been much asserted of late years (chiefly because of the profound impression made by Mr. Percival Lowell's Soul of the Far East) that Japan is desperately in need of a Gospel of Individualism; and many pious persons assume that the conversion of the country to Christianity would suffice to produce the Individualism. This assumption has nothing to rest on except the old superstition that national customs and habits and modes of feeling, slowly shaped in the course of thousands of years, can be suddenly transformed by a mere act of faith. Those further dissolutions of the old order which would render possible, under normal conditions, a higher social energy, can be safely brought about through industrialism only,--through the working of necessities that enforce competitive enterprise and commercial expansion. A long peace will be required for such healthy transformation; and it is not impossible that an independent and progressive Japan would then consider questions of religious change from the standpoint of political expediency. Observation and study abroad may have unduly impressed Japanese statesmen with the half-truth so forcibly uttered by Michelet,--that "money has a religion,"--that "capital is Protestant,"--that the power and wealth and intellectual energy of the world belong to the races who cast off the yoke of Rome, and freed themselves from the creed of the Middle [472] Ages.* A Japanese statesman is said to have lately declared that his countrymen were "rapidly drifting towards Christianity"! Newspaper reports of eminent utterances are not often trustworthy; but the report in this case is probably accurate, and the utterance intended to suggest possibilities. Since the declaration of the Anglo-Japanese alliance, there has been a remarkable softening in the attitude of safe conservatism which the government formerly maintained toward Western religion.... But as for the question whether the Japanese nation will ever adopt an alien creed under official encouragement, I think that the sociological answer is evident. Any understanding of the fundamental structure of society should make equally obvious the imprudence of attempting hasty transformations, and the impossibility of effecting them. For the present, at least, the religious question in Japan is a question of social integrity; and any efforts to precipitate the natural course of change can result only in provoking reaction and disorder. I believe that the time is far away at which Japan can venture to abandon the policy of [473] caution that has served her so well. I believe that the day on which she adopts a Western creed, her immemorial dynasty is doomed; and I cannot help fearing that whenever she yields to foreign capital the right to hold so much as one rood of her soil, she signs away her birthright beyond hope of recovery. [*No inferences can be safely drawn from the apparent attitude of the government towards religious bodies in Japan. Of late years the seeming policy has been to encourage the less tolerant forms of Western religion. In curious contrast to this attitude is the non-toleration of Freemasonry. Strictly speaking, Freemasonry is not allowed in Japan--although, since the abolition of exterritoriality, the foreign lodges at the open ports have been permitted (or rather, suffered) to exist upon certain conditions. A Japanese in Europe or America is free to become a Mason; but he cannot become a Mason in Japan, where the proceedings of all societies must remain open to official surveillance.] * * * With a few general remarks upon the religion of the Far East, in its relation to Occidental aggressions, this attempt at interpretation may fitly conclude. --All the societies of the Far East are founded, like that of Japan, upon ancestor-worship. This ancient religion, in various forms, represents their moral experience; and it offers everywhere to the introduction of Christianity, as now intolerantly preached, obstacles of the most serious kind. Attacks upon it must seem, to those whose lives are directed by it, the greatest of outrages and the most unpardonable of crimes. A religion for which every member of a community believes it his duty to die at call, is a religion for which he will fight. His patience with attacks upon it will depend upon the degree of his intelligence and the nature of his training. All the races of the Far East have not the intelligence of the Japanese, nor have they been equally well trained, under ages of military discipline, to adapt their conduct to circumstances. For [474] the Chinese peasant, in especial, attacks upon his religion are intolerable. His cult remains the most precious of his possessions, and his supreme guide in all matters of social right and wrong. The East has been tolerant of all creeds which do not assault the foundations of its societies; and if Western missions had been wise enough to leave those foundations alone,--to deal with the ancestor-cult as Buddhism did, and to show the same spirit of tolerance in other directions,--the introduction of Christianity upon a very extensive scale should have proved a matter of no difficulty. That the result would have been a Christianity differing considerably from Western Christianity is obvious,--the structure of Far-Eastern society not admitting of sudden transformations;--but the essentials of doctrine might have been widely propagated, without exciting social antagonism, much less race-hatred. To-day it is probably impossible to undo what the sterile labour of intolerance has already done. The hatred of Western religion in China and adjacent countries is undoubtedly due to the needless and implacable attacks which have been made upon the ancestor-cult. To demand of a Chinese or an Annamese that he cast away or destroy his ancestral tablets is not less irrational and inhuman than it would be to demand of an Englishman or a Frenchman that he destroy his mother's tombstone in proof of his devotion to Christianity. [475] Nay, it is much more inhuman,--for the European attaches to the funeral monument no such idea of sacredness as that which attaches, in Eastern belief, to the simple tablet inscribed with the name of the dead parent. From old time these attacks upon the domestic faith of docile and peaceful communities have provoked massacres; and, if persisted in, they will continue to provoke massacres while the people have strength left to strike. How foreign religious aggression is answered by native religious aggression; and how Christian military power avenges the foreign victims with tenfold slaughter and strong robbery, need not here be recorded. It has not been in these years only that ancestor-worshipping peoples have been slaughtered, impoverished, or subjugated in revenge for the uprisings that missionary intolerance provokes. But while Western trade and commerce directly gain by these revenges, Western public opinion will suffer no discussion of the right of provocation or the justice of retaliation. The less tolerant religious bodies call it a wickedness even to raise the question of moral right; and against the impartial observer, who dares to lift his voice in protest, fanaticism turns as ferociously as if he were proved an enemy of the human race. From the sociological point of view the whole missionary system, irrespective of sect and creed, represents the skirmishing-force of Western civilization in its general attack upon all civilizations of the [476] ancient type,--the first line in the forward movement of the strongest and most highly evolved societies upon the weaker and less evolved. The conscious work of these fighters is that of preachers and teachers; their unconscious work is that of sappers and destroyers. The subjugation of weak races has been aided by their work to a degree little imagined; and by no other conceivable means could it have been accomplished so quickly and so surely. For destruction they labour unknowingly, like a force of nature. Yet Christianity does not appreciably expand. They perish; and they really lay down their lives, with more than the courage of soldiers, not, as they hope, to assist the spread of that doctrine which the East must still of necessity refuse, but to help industrial enterprise and Occidental aggrandizement. The real and avowed object of missions is defeated by persistent indifference to sociological truths; and the martyrdoms and sacrifices are utilized by Christian nations for ends essentially opposed to the spirit of Christianity. Needless to say that the aggressions of race upon race are fully in accord with the universal law of struggle,--that perpetual struggle in which only the more capable survive. Inferior races must become subservient to higher races, or disappear before them; and ancient types of civilization, too rigid for progress, must yield to the pressure of more efficient and [477] more complex civilizations. The law is pitiless and plain: its operations may be mercifully modified, but never prevented, by humane consideration. Yet for no generous thinker can the ethical questions involved be thus easily settled. We are not justified in holding that the inevitable is morally ordained,--much less that, because the higher races happen to be on the winning side in the world-struggle, might can ever constitute right. Human progress has been achieved by denying the law of the stronger,--by battling against those impulses to crush the weak, to prey upon the helpless, which rule in the world of the brute, and are no less in accord with the natural order than are the courses of the stars. All virtues and restraints making civilization possible have been developed in the teeth of natural law. Those races which lead are the races who first learned that the highest power is acquired by the exercise of forbearance, and that liberty is best maintained by the protection of the weak, and by the strong repression of injustice. Unless we be ready to deny the whole of the moral experience thus gained,--unless we are willing to assert that the religion in which it has been expressed is only the creed of a particular civilization, and not a religion of humanity,--it were difficult to imagine any ethical justification for the aggressions made upon alien peoples in the name of Christianity and enlightenment. Certainly the results in China of such aggression [478] have not been Christianity nor enlightenment, but revolts, massacres, detestable cruelties,--the destruction of cities, the devastation of provinces, the loss of tens of thousands of lives, the extortion of hundreds of millions of money. If all this be right, then might is might indeed; and our professed religion of humanity and justice is proved to be as exclusive as any primitive cult, and intended to regulate conduct only as between members of the same society. But to the evolutionist, at least, the matter appears in a very different light. The plain teaching of sociology is that the higher races cannot with impunity cast aside their moral experience in dealing with feebler races, and that Western civilization will have to pay, sooner or later, the full penalty of its deeds of oppression. Nations that, while refusing to endure religious intolerance at home, steadily maintain religious intolerance abroad, must eventually lose those rights of intellectual freedom which cost so many centuries of atrocious struggle to win. Perhaps the period of the penalty is not very far away. With the return of all Europe to militant conditions, there has set in a vast ecclesiastical revival of which the menace to human liberty is unmistakable; the spirit of the Middle Ages threatens to prevail again; and anti-semitism has actually become a factor in the politics of three Continental powers.... [479]--It has been well said that no man can estimate the force of a religious conviction until he has tried to oppose it. Probably no man can imagine the wicked side of convention upon the subject of missions until the masked batteries of its malevolence have been trained against him. Yet the question of mission-policy cannot be answered either by secret slander or by public abuse of the person raising it. To-day it has become a question that concerns the peace of the world, the future of commerce, and the interests of civilization. The integrity of China depends upon it; and the present war is not foreign to it. Perhaps this book, in spite of many shortcomings, will not fail to convince some thoughtful persons that the constitution of Far-Eastern society presents insuperable obstacles to the propaganda of Western religion, as hitherto conducted; that these obstacles now demand, more than at any previous epoch, the most careful and humane consideration; and that the further needless maintenance of an uncompromising attitude towards them can result in nothing but evil. Whatever the religion of ancestors may have been thousands of years ago, to-day throughout the Far East it is the religion of family affection and duty; and by inhumanly ignoring this fact, Western zealots can scarcely fail to provoke a few more "Boxer" uprisings. The real power to force upon the world a peril from China (now that the chance seems lost for Russia) should [480] not be suffered to rest with those who demand religious tolerance for the purpose of preaching intolerance. Never will the East turn Christian while dogmatism requires the convert to deny his ancient obligation to the family, the community, and the government,--and further insists that he prove his zeal for an alien creed by destroying the tablets of his ancestors, and outraging the memory of those who gave him life. [481] APPENDIX HERBERT SPENCER'S ADVICE TO JAPAN Some five years ago I was told by an American professor, then residing in Tokyo, that after Herbert Spencer's death there would be published a letter of advice, which the philosopher had addressed to a Japanese statesman, concerning the policy by which the Empire might be able to preserve its independence. I was not able to obtain any further information; but I felt tolerably sure, remembering the statement regarding Japanese social disintegration in "First Principles" (section 178), that the advice would prove to have been of the most conservative kind. As a matter of fact it was even more conservative than I had imagined. Herbert Spencer died on the morning of December 8th, 1903 (while this book was in course of preparation); and the letter, addressed to Baron Kaneko Kentaro, under circumstances with which the public have already been made familiar, was published in the London Times of January 18th, 1904. FAIRFIELD, PEWSEY, WILTS, Aug. 26, 1892. MY DEAR SIR,--Your proposal to send translations of my two letters* to Count Ito, the newly-appointed Prime Minister, is quite satisfactory. I very willingly give my assent. [*These letters have not as yet been made public.] Respecting the further questions you ask, let me, in the first place, answer generally that the Japanese policy should, I think, be that of keeping Americans and Europeans as much as possible at arm's length. In presence of the more powerful races your position is one of chronic danger, and you should take every precaution to give as little foothold as possible to foreigners. [482] It seems to me that the only forms of intercourse which you may with advantage permit are those which are indispensable for the exchange of commodities--importation and exportation of physical and mental products. No further privileges should be allowed to people of other races, and especially to people of the more powerful races, than is absolutely needful for the achievement of these ends. Apparently you are proposing by revision of the treaty with the Powers of Europe and America "to open the whole Empire to foreigners and foreign capital." I regret this as a fatal policy. If you wish to see what is likely to happen, study the history of India. Once let one of the more powerful races gain a point d'appui and there will inevitably in course of time grow up an aggressive policy which will lead to collisions with the Japanese; these collisions will be represented as attacks by the Japanese which must be avenged, as the case may be; a portion of territory will be seized and required to be made over as a foreign settlement; and from this there will grow eventually subjugation of the entire Japanese Empire. I believe that you will have great difficulty in avoiding this fate in any case, but you will make the process easy if you allow of any privileges to foreigners beyond those which I have indicated. In pursuance of the advice thus generally indicated, I should say, in answer to your first question, that there should be, not only a prohibition of foreign persons to hold property in land, but also a refusal to give them leases, and a permission only to reside as annual tenants. To the second question I should say decidedly prohibit to foreigners the working of the mines owned or worked by Government. Here there would be obviously liable to arise grounds of difference between the Europeans or Americans who worked them and the Government, and these grounds of quarrel would be followed by invocations to the English or American Governments or other Powers to send forces to insist on whatever the European workers claimed, for always the habit here and elsewhere among the civilized peoples is to believe what their agents or sellers abroad represent to them. In the third place, in pursuance of the policy I have indicated, you ought also to keep the coasting trade in your own hands and forbid foreigners to engage in it. This coasting trade is clearly not included in the requirement I have indicated as the sole one to be recognized--a requirement to facilitate exportation and importation [483] of commodities. The distribution of commodities brought to Japan from other places may be properly left to the Japanese themselves, and should be denied to foreigners, for the reason that again the various transactions involved would become so many doors open to quarrels and resulting aggressions. To your remaining question respecting the intermarriage of foreigners and Japanese, which you say is "now very much agitated among our scholars and politicians" and which you say is "one of the most difficult problems," my reply is that, as rationally answered, there is no difficulty at all. It should be positively forbidden. It is not at root a question of social philosophy. It is at root a question of biology. There is abundant proof, alike furnished by the intermarriages of human races and by the interbreeding of animals, that when the varieties mingled diverge beyond a certain slight degree the result is inevitably a bad one in the long run. I have myself been in the habit of looking at the evidence bearing on this matter for many years past, and my conviction is based on numerous facts derived from numerous sources. This conviction I have within the last half-hour verified, for I happen to be staying in the country with a gentleman who is well known and has had much experience respecting the interbreeding of cattle; and he has just, on inquiry, fully confirmed my belief that when, say of the different varieties of sheep, there is an interbreeding of those which are widely unlike, the result, especially in the second generation, is a bad one--there arise an incalculable mixture of traits, and what may be called a chaotic constitution. And the same thing happens among human beings--the Eurasians in India, the half-breeds in America, show this. The physiological basis of this experience appears to be that any one variety of creature in course of many generations acquires a certain constitutional adaptation to its particular form of life, and every other variety similarly acquires its own special adaptation. The consequence is that, if you mix the constitution of two widely divergent varieties which have severally become adapted to widely divergent modes of life, you get a constitution which is adapted to the mode of life of neither--a constitution which will not work properly, because it is not fitted for any set of conditions whatever. By all means, therefore, peremptorily interdict marriages of Japanese with foreigners. I have for the reasons indicated entirely approved of the regulations which have been established in America for restraining the Chinese immigration, and had I the power I would restrict them [484] to the smallest possible amount, my reasons for this decision being that one of two things must happen. If the Chinese are allowed to settle extensively in America, they must either, if they remain unmixed, form a subject race standing in the position, if not of slaves, yet of a class approaching to slaves; or if they mix they must form a bad hybrid. In either case, supposing the immigration to be large, immense social mischief must arise, and eventually social disorganization. The same thing will happen if there should be any considerable mixture of European or American races with the Japanese. You see, therefore, that my advice is strongly conservative in all directions, and I end by saying as I began--keep other races at arm's length as much as possible. I give this advice in confidence. I wish that it should not transpire publicly, at any rate during my life, for I do not desire to rouse the animosity of my fellow-countrymen. I am sincerely yours, HERBERT SPENCER. P.S.--Of course, when I say I wish this advice to be in confidence, I do not interdict the communication of it to Count Ito, but rather wish that he should have the opportunity of taking it into consideration. How fairly Herbert Spencer understood the prejudices of his countrymen has been shown by the comments of the Times upon this letter,--comments chiefly characterized by that unreasoning quality of abuse with which the English conventional mind commonly resents the pain of a new idea opposed to immediate interests. Yet some knowledge of the real facts in the case should serve to convince even the Times that if Japan is able in this moment to fight for the cause of civilization in general, and for English interests in particular, it is precisely because the Japanese statesmen of a wiser generation maintained a sound conservative policy upon the very lines indicated in that letter--so unjustly called a proof of "colossal egotism." Whether the advice itself directly served at any time to influence government policy, I do not know. But that it fully accorded with the national instinct of self-preservation, is shown by the history [485] of that fierce opposition which the advocates of the abolition of extra-territoriality had to encounter, and by the nature of the precautionary legislation enacted in regard to those very matters dwelt upon in Herbert Spencer's letter, Though extra-territoriality has been (unavoidably, perhaps) abolished, foreign capital has not been left free to exploit the resources of the country; and foreigners are not allowed to own land. Though marriages between Japanese and foreigners have never been forbidden,* they have never been encouraged, and can take place only under special legal restrictions. If foreigners could have acquired, through marriage, the right to hold Japanese real estate, a considerable amount of such estate would soon have passed into alien hands. But the law has wisely provided that the Japanese woman marrying a foreigner thereby becomes a foreigner, and that the children by such a marriage remain foreigners. On the other hand, any foreigner adopted by marriage into a Japanese family becomes a Japanese; and the children in such event remain Japanese. But they also remain under certain disabilities: they are precluded from holding high offices of state; and they cannot even become officers of the army or navy except by special permission. (This permission appears to have been accorded in one or two cases.) Finally, it is to be observed that Japan has kept her coasting-trade in her own hands. [*The number of families in Tokyo representing such unions is said to be over one hundred.] On the whole, then, it may be said that Japanese policy followed, to a considerable extent, the course suggested in Herbert Spencer's letter of advice; and it is much to be regretted, in my humble opinion, that the advice could not have been followed more closely. Could the philosopher have lived to hear of the recent Japanese victories,--the defeat of a powerful Russian fleet without the loss of a single Japanese vessel, and the rout of thirty thousand Russian troops on the Yalu,--I do not think that he would have changed his counsel by a hair's-breadth. Perhaps he would have commended, [486] so far as his humanitarian conscience permitted, the thoroughness of the Japanese study of the new science of war: he might have praised the high courage displayed, and the triumph of the ancient discipline;--his sympathies would have been on the side of the country compelled to choose between the necessities of inviting a protectorate or fighting Russia. But had he been questioned again as to the policy of the future, in case of victory, he would probably have reminded the questioner that military efficiency is a very different thing from industrial power, and have vigorously repeated his warning. Understanding the structure and the history of Japanese society, he could clearly perceive the dangers of foreign contact, and the directions from which attempts to take advantage of the industrial weakness of the country were likely to be made.... In another generation Japan will be able, without peril, to abandon much of her conservatism; but, for the time being, her conservatism is her salvation. [487] BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTES In the preparation of this essay, I have been much indebted to the "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan", and especially to the following contributions:-- (ON THE SUBJECT OF SHINTO) "The Revival of Pure Shinto," by Sir Ernest Satow,--Appendix to Vol. III. "The Shinto Temples of Ise," by Satow,--Vol. II. "Ancient Japanese Rituals," by Satow,--Vols. VII and IX. "Japanese Funeral Rites," by A. H. Lay,--Vol. XIX. (ON THE SUBJECT OF LAW AND CUSTOM) "Notes on Land Tenure and Local Institutions in Old Japan," by Dr. D. B. Simmons. Edited by Professor J. H. Wigmore,--Vol. XIX. "Materials for the Study of Private Law in Old Japan," by Professor J. H. Wigmore,--Vol. XX, Supplements 1, 2, 3, 5. (ON THE CHRISTIAN EPISODE OF THE SIXTEENTH AND SEVENTEENTH CENTURIES) "The Church at Yamaguchi from 1550 to 1586," by Satow,--Vol. VII. "Review of the Introduction of Christianity into China and Japan," by J. H. Gubbins,--Vol. VI. "Historical Notes on Nagasaki," by W. A. Wooley,--Vol. IX. "The Arima Rebellion," by Dr. Geertz,--Vol. IX. [488] (ON JAPANESE HISTORY AND SOCIOLOGY) "Early Japanese History," by W. G. Aston,--Vol. XVI. "The Feudal System of Japan under the Tokugawa Shoguns," by J. H. Gubbins,--Vol. XV. --The extracts quoted from "The Legacy of Iyeyasu" have been taken from the translation made by J. F. Lowder. --I regret not having been able, in preparing this essay, to avail myself of the very remarkable "History of Japan during the Century of Early Foreign Intercourse (1542-1651),"--by James Murdoch and Isoh Yamagata,--which was published at Kobe last winter. This important work contains much documentary material never before printed, and throws new light upon the religious history of the period. The authors are inclined to believe that, allowing for numerous apostasies, the total number of Christians in Japan at no time much exceeded 300,000; and the reasons given for this opinion, if not conclusive, are at least very strong. Perhaps the most interesting chapters are those dealing with the Machiavellian policy of Hideyoshi in his attitude to the foreign religion and its preachers, but there are few dull pages in the book. Help to a correct understanding of the history of the time is furnished by an excellent set of maps, showing the distribution of the great fiefs and the political partition of the country before and after the establishment of the Tokugawa Shogunate. Not the least merit of the work is its absolute freedom from religious bias of any sort. INDEX Ability, slight opportunity for, to rise, 410-411. Adams, Will, 254, 313; interviewed by Iyeyasu, 314-316, favoured by the Emperor, 316-317; quoted concerning Hideyori's intrigues and fate. 322-323. Adoption, custom of, in patriarchal family, 59, 64-65; marriage signified merely, 64; modern practices regarding, 386. Adultery, enactments of Iyeyasu regarding, 345-346. Affection, limitations placed on, 69 ff. Age of the Gods, period called the, 259. Agnosticism, Buddhism is not. 213, 220. Agriculture, gods of, 126, 153-154; no degradation attached to pursuit of, 245. Akindo, the commercial class, 246-247. See Commerce. Alcestis, the Japanese woman might be compared to, 366. Ancestors, imperial, worship of the, 108-123, 279-280. Ancestor-worship, introduction to religion of, 21-32; the real religion of Japan, 21; summary of the three forms of, 21-22; the family-cult of, 21-22, 25-26; characteristics of earliest, 24 ff.; stability of, in Japan for two thousand years, 32; summary of beliefs surviving from, 31; three stages of, 33-34; evolution of permanent form from funeral-rites, 34-51: characteristics of religion of, to-day, 51-53; bearing of, on family-organization of, 55 ff. ; marriage under the religion of, 107 ff. ; four classes of, to-day, 123-124; accommodation of Buddhism to, 183-184; toleration of ancient European, by Roman Catholicism, 191; Buddhist theory of rebirths reconciled to, 195 n.; Confucian system founded on, 177-178, 292; needless attacks on, account for smallness of result, of modern missions, 339, 473-475; protection of, by modern laws, 385-388; obstacles presented to Christianity by, 473-475. "Ancient Japanese Rituals", 43 n. See Satow. Animals, absence of cruelty to, 12-13; kindness to, taught by Buddhism, 196-197. Animism, development of, 131-132. Antigone, comparison of the Japanese woman to, 366. Apes, images of Koshin's symbolic, 200. Apprentices, obligation of, to avenge masters, 293; past and present position of, 406. Architecture, displayed in Buddhist temples, 199-200. Arima, lord of Shimabara, 324, 325. Army, birth of modern, 376: pay of officers in, 412. Art, knowledge of Japanese religion necessary to understanding of, 2-3; introduction by Buddhism, 197-198, 204, 459; forms of, in Buddhist temples, 198-199; expulsion of Jesuits, a fortunate thing for, 341-342; causes which tended to production of a multitude of objects of, 356; effect of modern industrial conditions on, 451. Artizans, gods of, 124-125; clans of, 235; position of, under quasi-feudal system, 245-246; organizations of, see Guilds. Arts, developed in Japan under Buddhist teaching, 188; progress of the, under Iyeyasu, 279. Asada, Lieutenant, suicide of widow of, 289. Asceticism, Shinto, 149-150. Ashikaga shogunate, 271-273. Sec undo Iyeyasu. Aston, W.G., translation of the Nihongi by, cited, 38, 39, 112 n., 151 n., 164 n., 232 n., 234 n.; "Early Japanese History" by, cited, 259 n. Bambetsu, "Foreign Branch", the mass of people, 235-236. Banishment, punishment by, 96-99. Banner-supporters (hatamoto), 243. Bateren, Roman Catholic priests, 311 n. Bato-Kwannon, images of, 200. Behaviour, sumptuary regulations as to, 173-174; proclamation of Shotoku Taishi regarding, 359-360. Births, regulations as to presents on occasions of, 165; registration of, by Buddhist priests, 203-204. Black, an Englishman, as a Japanese story-teller, 10-11. Bon-odori, dances of the festival of the dead, 202. Boundaries, gods of, 130. Bow, etiquette of the, 174. Boys, conduct of, regulated by the community, 89-90; proverb regarding mischievousness of, 421. Buddhism, Japanese name for (Butsudo), 21; mortuary tablets of, 42-43, 201; the dead according to, and Shinto, 47-48; entry of, into Japan, 183-184; disestablishment of (1871), 107-109; charm of, to Western thinkers, 209-210; summary of teachings of, under Emperor Temmu, 239; obstacles to establishment of religious hierarchy by, 251; military development of, 269-270; violent end to militant, 275-276; jesuitism mistaken for a new kind of, 332-334; no essential of Shinto weakened by, 379-380. Buke, the military class, 241. Butsudan, household-shrine, 42. Butsudo, "The Way of the Buddha", 21. Capital, danger to Japan from foreign, 465-466, 473. Carpenters, religious rites preformed by, 125; organizations of, 403-404. Castes, division of society into, 236. Cauldron and saucepan, god of the, 129. Celibacy, forbidden by early religion, 58; condemned by code of Iyeyasu, 349. Charms, to protect houses, 147 n. Chastisement, punishment by, 95-96, 421. Chiara, Giuseppe, 327 n. Chieftainship, hereditary, 235. China, date of introduction of spirit-tablet from, 24; religion of filial piety in, 49-50; belief as to the Demon-Gate imported from, 130; penal codes imported from, 176; arts and learning of, taught by Buddhism, 201; civilization of, brought to Japan by Buddhism, 203; harakiri, perhaps introduced from, 286; Jesuit policy in, 331; cause for hatred of Western religion in, 474; integrity of, depends on mission-policy, 479-480. Chori, pariahs, 247-250. Chosku, clan of, 367, 368, 372, 374. "Chronicles of Nihon", see Nihongi. Christianity, assumption that individualism would be produced by, 471; obstacles to, presented by religion of ancestor-worship, 479-481. See Jesuits and Missions. Chi-U, the condition of, 191 n. Circle of Perpetual Hunger for wicked ghosts, 191. Clan, cult of the, 81-83. Clans, number of, in ancient Japan, 83; three great classes of, 235-236; early society an aggregation of, 236-237, 252-253; wars between the military, for supremacy, 267 ff.; misery one result of break-up of, 447-449. Cleanliness exacted by Shinto, 145-146. Coffins, size regulated by law, 179. Colour-prints, production of, 357. Commerce, contempt for, 246; Portuguese, a help to Jesuit missionary work, 334-335; rise to power, 446; dangers resulting from the rise of, 447-452. Communism not a modern growth, 255. Competition, undesirability of, 414-416; Government aid to national industrial, 451-452. Concubines, under patriarchal system, 58, 68-69, 74; remarks of Iyeyasu regarding, 68, 348. Confucianism, influence of, in Japan, 187-188, 292 ff. Conscience, doctrine of, admitted by Buddhism, 196. Coulanges, Fustel de, 52, 264, 449; quoted, 27, 67. Courtesy, legal regulation of, 173-176. Craft-gods, 124, 153-154. Crafts, effect of Buddhism on, 188; guilds connected with, 246, 252, 402-405. Crucifixion of Christians at Nagasaki, 307. Cruelty to animals, apparent absence of, 12-13; punishment of, after death, 197. Daimyo, lords of provinces, 242; conversion of, to Jesuitism, 304; Jesuits work with aid of, 304, 306,308, 339; protection of peasantry against, 396. Dai-Nihon-Shi, compilation of, 370. Dances, sacred, 142-143; of the festival of the dead, 202. Dancing, Japanese, 202 n. 2. Dan-no-ura, sea-fight of, 267. Daughter, gradation of terms signifying, 171. Daughters, sale of, 72, 75 n. Daughters-in-law, custom as to, 64-65. Dead, early conceptions of fate of, 25-28; rites in honour of, 34-46; poems in praise of, 35; Buddhist doctrine of, 47; effects of Buddhism on worship of, 191-192. Death, penalty of, inflicted for slight offences, 178-179; matters relating to, regulated by law, 179. Debtors, reduction of, to slavery, 234. Deities, punishments by tutelar, 102-105; lesser Shinto, 108. See Gods and Ujigami. Demeanour, regulation of, 173-176; cultivation of, as an art, 359-361. Demon-Gate, the, 130. Dependants, under the patriarchal system, 76-78, 231-234; conservative attitude of, 400; position of employes in commercial houses, 406; position of maid-servants, 407-409. Deportment, code of, 173. Discipline, strength of, in Old Japan, 159-182. Divination, systems of, 150-152; not used in warfare, 152. Divorce, in ancient family system, 58, 69-70, 73, 75; the new laws about, 386. Dominicans in Japan, 307; reckless zeal of, 338. Drama, introduction by Buddhism, 204; the age of popular, 357; incidents of real tragedy reproduced in, 290-291. Dress, restrictions as to, 166-168. Dutch, assistance of, in putting down Shimabara Revolt, 326-327; effect on status of, of Shimabara Revolt, 329-330. Ear-Monument, the, 277. Education, effect of Buddhism on, 202-203; introduction of modern system of, 376; of the State, 419-441; the sustaining of, by personal sacrifices, 435-436; of students abroad, 439-441. Emma (Yama), judge of the dead, 199. Emperor, application of term, to early rulers, incorrect, 237. Enactments of the Kumi, 91-94. Eta, people, the, 98, 247-250. Etiquette, cultivation of, in Tokugawa period, 359-361. Evolution, Buddhism a theory of, 210. Execution, account of an early, 177-178. Exports, rise in value of, 451. Expression, etiquette of, 173. Factory-life, horrors of modern, 452. Families of the nobility, number of, 241. Family, definition of Japanese term, 22; basis of the ancient, 55-57; obligation to perpetuate the, 58-59; constitution of the patriarchal, 60-79. Farmers, the rank of, 244-245; secured against undue oppression, 396-397. See Agriculture. Father, gradation of terms signifying, 171. Feast-days, Shinto, 103, 137: Fencing, Japanese, an example of antipodal action, 7-8. Festival of the dead, dances of the, 202. Festival-processions, Shinto, 103. Festivals of the Ujigami, 84, 137, 140-142; laws as to presents at boys', 165: Shin-Sho-Sai, 245; temple, 84, 459. Feudalism, Japanese so-called, 230-238, 253. Flower-arrangement, art of, 358-359. Flower-daughter, the, 64. Food, the use by ghosts of, 29-30; offerings of, to the dead, 29-30, 45; offerings to the gods, 53 n., 138, 140, 141; for the dead might not be eaten by children, 51 n.: laws as to, at weddings and funerals, 165; offerings of, to Pretas, 191; decree forbidding use of flesh for, 196; Buddhist offerings of, 201; recent increase in price of, 412 n. "Forty-seven Ronin", story of the, 295-296: tombs of the, 297 n. Four Deva Kings, the, 260; temple of, 200. Franciscans in Japan, 307 ff. Freedmen, class of, 233, 234-235. Freemasonry in Japan, 472 n. Fujiwara clan, rise of the, 260-261; duration of rule of, 260, 266, 281; final degeneration of, 266-267. Funeral-rites, ancient, 34-46. Funerals, laws as to food at, 165; laws governing. 179. Gardening, first development of, under Buddhism, 188; modern, 404. Gardens, holiness of, 154. Ghost-house, 36, 56; transformation of, into Shinto temples, 62. Ghosts, ancestor-worship coeval with belief in, 24; identified in early beliefs with gods, 25, 46-48, 55. Ghost-ships, Buddhist, 202. Girl-priestesses in Shinto temples, 142-143. Girls in service, position of, 407-409. Go, definition of, 64 n. Goblins, admitted to exist by Buddhism, 190-191. Go-Daigo, Mikado, revolt of, against Hojo, 270; later vicissitudes of, 270-271. Gods, no early difference between ghosts and, 25, 55; development of distinction, between greater and lesser, 25-26; early conceptions of, compared with Greek and Roman, 27-28: the dead and, 46-48; the minor, 108; all Japanese considered as, in one sense, 118: of crookedness, 118-119; of crafts and callings, 118-119; number of Shinto, worshipped, 127-128; of the house, 130-131; the great number of, 133-134; of industry, 153-154; identity of Shinto and Buddhist evil, 190-191. God-shelves, 124; daily prayers before, 134-136; religious charms on, 147 n. Go-Kameyama, Emperor, 272. Go-Komatsu, Emperor, 272. Goshi yeomanry, 243. Go-Toba, Emperor, works at sword. making, 245. Go-Tsuchi-mikado, Emperor, 273. Government, identity of, with religion, 90-91. Graves, legal dimensions of, 179; white lanterns at, 202. Greeks, parallels drawn between Japanese and, 15-16, 27-28, 34, 36, 57, 59, 65, 67, 70, 78, 89, 99, 148, 169, 202 n., 229, 264, 443-444, 446. Guilds, 246, 252; religious organization of, 124-125; modern workings of, 402-403. Hachiman, the war god, 83; acknowledgment of, in Buddhism, 190. Hades, development of belief in, 25. Hair, class indicated by method of wearing, 233. Harakiri, custom of, 285-286; instance of, in Russian war, 464. Harmony, Japanese sense of, in tints and colors. 8. Heavenly sovereigns, worship of the, 108-109; maintained through years of revolt, 279-280. Heimin, "common folk", 247. Hell, according to Buddhism, 195. Hidetada, son of Iyeyasu, 321-322. Hideyoshi, career of, 276-277; attitude of, toward Jesuits, 306-307. Hinin, a wandering pariah, 98; "not-human-beings", 250. Hirata, great Shinto commentator, 27, 369; quoted, 47, 49, 56, 111, 116, 117, 119, 120-121, 122, 134-135, 145, 161; banishment and death of, 372. History, scientific knowledge of Japanese, impossible, 1; legendary, 259-260; beginning of authentic, 260. Hitagaki, the "human hedge", 34. Hitogata, "mankind-shapes", 147-148. Hitotsubashi, Shogun, 374. Hiyei-san, monastery buildings burnt at, 275. Hizen, clan of, 372. Hojo, supremacy of the, 268; defeat of and extinction, 270. Home, gods of the, 129-130. Honesty, Japanese, 13. Hongwanji, Shin sect of, 275. Horyfuji, the temple called, 200. House, building of, a religious act, 125, 130-131; gods of the, 129. Houses, size of, prescribed by law, 164, 165, 166; of prostitution, enactment of Iyeyasu regarding, 347; operation of labour-unions when building, 403-404. Husband, seven terms for, 171. Husbands, position of adopted, 64-65. Huxley, T. H., quoted concerning industrial reform, 452-453. "I", gradations of the pronoun. 171. Ibuku Mogusa, extract from, 305. Ihai, "soul-commemoration", Buddhist mortuary tablets, 42, 201. Images, Buddhist, 459; setting up of, 200-201. Imperial ancestors, worship of the, 108-109; duration of, 279-280. Individual, obligations of the, under patriarchal system, 88-99; relation of, to the Ujigami, 120-121; freedom of, did not exist, 158, 253-254; modern recognition of, 376; now free in theory, in practice like his forefathers, 384-387, 391-392; Government official authority over the, 409-416. Individualism, assumption that Christianity would produce, 471. Industry, developed in Japan under Buddhist teachings, 188; development of, under Iyeyasu, 279. Industry, gods of, 124-125, 153-154. Irregularity, the aesthetie value of, 8. Ise, shrines of, 122.123-124; every Japanese expected to visit, 123-124; worship at shrines of, 138-139. Ishijima, suicide of wife of, 290. Isolation, causes for policy of, 329. Ito, Marquis, policy of, 390. Iyemochi, Shogun, 374. Iyeyasu, Tokugawa, apotheosis of, 127; enactment of, concerning rudeness, 175; powers of daimyo restricted by, 242; Will Adams created a samurai by, 254; sketch of career of, 277-278; decree of, concerning suicide, 285; decree concerning code of vengeance, 293; persecution of Christians by, 307, 308, 320-321; interviews with Will Adams, 314-315; castle of Osaka stormed and burnt by, 322; Legacy of, 68, 319, 345-351, 360. Izanagi, the legend concerning, 40, 112-117. Izumo, farming forbidden to samurai in, 244-245. Izumo temple, the, 122; worship at, 138, 139, 142-143. Jesuitism, effect of, on Japan, 328: causes of early success of, 330-337; policy of, in China, 331, 337; inability of, to adapt itself to Japanese social conditions, 341. Jesuits, arrival of, in Japan, 304; favoured by Nobunaga, 304-305; persecutions of, 304-305, 307-308; partial expulsion of, 321; revolt of peasantry managed by, 324-325; final crushing of, 327. Jigai, method of suicide for women, 287. Jimmu, Emperor, 259; offerings at tomb of, 37. Jingo, Emperor, legend of Korean conquest by, 259. Jinrikisha-men, code of, 401-402. Jito, Empress, edict of, concerning slavery, 234 n. Jizo, playmate of infant ghosts, 199; first production of icons of, 200. Joyousness of existence, Japanese, 12-13. Junshi, voluntary self-sacrifice, 39-40; decree of Iyeyasu puts stop to, 285-286. Kami, "gods", 27; significance of, 46-47; devotion to, the first of duties according to Iyeyasu, 350. Kannushi, office of, 138-140. Karma, metaphysics of, 220, 221, 222, 224. Kasuga, the deity of, 83. Kataki-uchi, custom of, 294-295. Kiyomasa, Kato, apotheosis of, 127. Kobetsu, imperial families, 235. Kobodaishi, 185. Ko-ji-ki, "Record of Ancient Matters", 110-111, 126, 131; extracts from, 112-114. Korea, Buddhism brought into Japan from (552 A.D.), 184; Hideyoshi's war against, 277. Koshin, protector of highways, 200. Kotoku, Emperor, 39, 265; edict of, concerning slaves, 232 n. Ko-uji, "lesser families", 60, 230. Kublai Khan, invasion by, 269. Kuge, noble families, 241. Kukai, founder of Shingon sect, 185. Kumi-enactment's of, 91-92. Kumi-system, the, 91-94, 168-169. Kwambaku, "regent", office of the, established, 262. Kwannon, Goddess of Mercy, 199. "La Cite Antique", de Coulanges', cited, 27, 34, 67, 443, 449. Landscape-gardeners, union of the, 404-405. Language, impossibility of mastering, by adult Occidental, 9; conventional organization of, 170-172; rules governing use of, 171-172. Law, method and manner of administration, 351-353. Laws, sumptuary, 164-180. Laws of Iyeyasu, the, 278. Laws of Shotoku Taishi, 344-345. Legacy of Iyeyasu, 68, 319, 345-351, 360. Libraries under the Tokugawa regime, 357, 370. Literature, qualifications essential for an understanding of Japanese, 2-3; introduction of Chinese, 187-188; introduction or development by Buddhism, 204; under the patronage of Iyeyasu, 279; development of, in Tokugawa period, 357; the party of, 370-372, 375-376. Mabuchi, Shinto commentator, 159-160, 260, 369. Maid-servants, position of, 407-409. Manners, laws as to, 173-176. Marriage, obligatory in ancient Japan, 58; in patriarchal family, 58-60, 64-67; signified adoption only, 64; a chief duty of filial piety, 65; ceremony of, 65-67; of servants, 77-78; modern innovations in, 385-386; service by girls merely a preparation for, 407-408. Masashige, Kusunoki, 50. Massacre of Shimabara, 325-327. Massacres, of priests by Nobunaga, 251; caused by Christian attacks on domestic faiths, 475, 479. Matsuri-goto, "matters of worship", 32. Matsuri, temple-festivals, 84. Meat, forbidden for food, 196-197; forbidden as offerings by Buddhism, 201. Merchants, place of, in social ranking, 246; modern rise of, to power, 446. Metempsychosis, no doctrine of, in Shinto, 55 ff., 189-190. Mikado, God of the Living, 122-125; usurpation of powers of, 260-266. Miko, girl-priestesses, 142-143. Mimidzuka, "Ear-monument", 277. Minamoto, regency of the, 267-268. Mionoseki, Eta settlement at, 249. Miracle-plays performed by Jesuits, 334. Missions, Christian, causes of small results of modern, 339, 473-476; consideration of work of foreign 476-478; importance of policy of, in Far East, 479-480. See Jesuits. Mitama-San-no-tana, "shelf of the august spirits", 42. Mitama-shiro, "spirit-substitutes", 42. Mitamaya, "august-spirit-dwelling." 42. Mitsukuni, Prince of Mito, 370. Miya, "august house", 36, 42. Money, first appearance of, 447. Monism, higher Buddhism a species of, 210, 220-222. Mother, nine terms signifying, 171. Motowori, Shinto commentator, 368. Mourning-houses, 36; Shinto temple, evolve from, 41-42. Mythology, of the reigning house, 119; summary of the Japanese, 115-116. Nakatomi, noble family of, 241. Nature, controlled by ghosts of ancestors, according to Shinto, 106; Buddhist interpretation of, 192-194. Nihongi, "Chronicles of Nihon", 110, 111, 115-116, 126; cited, 38-39, 112 n., 164 n., 196 n., 232 n., 234 n., 360 n. Nirvana, not preached to common Japanese people, 189, 194-195. Nobility, origin of the, 241-242. See Daimyo. Nobunaga, Oda, massacres of priests by, 251; career of, 274-276; Jesuits favored by, 304-305. Obedience, rules of, 48-49, 63, 157, (see Filial Piety); modern reversion to law of, 63, 377-378; of individual to the community, 89-99. Offerings, to the dead, 37; meat forbidden as, 201. Officers, army pay of, 412. O-harai, ceremony of purification, 144-147. Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami, 120, 122; Rough and Gentle Spirits of, 126. Ojin, Emperor, 83; Korean immigration in reign of, 260. Osaka, Temple of the Four Deva Kings at, 200; military headquarters of the Shin sect at, 275; Iyeyasu storms castle of, 322. Ostracism, the punishment by, 95-96; student, 423-424. O-uji, "great families", 60-62, 252. Outcasts, the class of, 98, 247, 250. "Outlines of the Mahayana Philosophy", Kuroda's, 214-215, 222. Painting, effect of Buddhism on, 188; examples of, in temples, 198-199. Panama railroad, debt of, to religion of filial piety, 50. Papacy, interference of, in Jesuit missionary system, 337-338. Parents, rights of, in patriarchal system, 70-72. Pariahs, class of, 98, 247-250. Parliament, convocation of, first, 377 Peasants, revolt of, 324-325; security of, against oppression, 395-396; in the quasi-feudal system, 244-245. See Farmers. Perry, Commodore, advent of, 374. Poems in praise of the dead, 35. Poetry, contests in, during Tokugawa period, 358. Politeness as an art, 359-361. Politics, modern Japanese, 389. Pollution, death regarded as, 40-41. Polygyny, in ancient society, 67-69. Population, alien elements in, 16-17. Porcelains, Japanese, 9, 356-357. Poverty, resulting from modern industrial revolution, 446-451. Prayer, prescribed by Hirata. 134; daily, 134-137. Presents, sumptuary laws concerning, 165, 168. Pretas, wicked ghosts, 191. Priests, Shinto, office and powers of, 86-87, 101-105, 139-140; Buddhist, as teachers, 203-204; ranked with the samurai, 247; massacres of, in the sixteenth century, 251; Buddhist, as warriors, 269, 275-276. See Jesuits. Privacy, lack of, in Japan ancient and modern, 100. Professions, under divine patronage, 153-154. Pronouns, rules as to use of, 171. Property, laws of succession to, in Old Japan, 72-73. Psychology, difference between Eastern and Western, 9. Punishment of school-children, 421-422. Punishment, severity of, under ancient system, 94-95, 176-177; by communities, 94-99; by tutelar deities, 102-105; laws as to, 175-177. Purification, ceremonies of, 144-115; by ascetic practices, 148-150. Rebirth, doctrine of, inconsistent with early Japanese beliefs, 55; the Buddhist idea of, and ancestor-worship, 193 n. Reform, agitation for industrial. 452-454. Regency, growth of the, 262-264; usurpation of power by the, 264-267. Registrars, Buddhist priests become public, 203-204. Relationship, gradation of nouns indicating, 171. Religion, summary of three forms of Shinto, 21-22; of final piety, 48-51, 57, 65, 188, 459; the basis of organization of patriarchal family, 57, 64; marriage a rite of, 65-67: identity of government with, 100, 101; metaphysics of Buddhist, 207-228; origin in, of customs of the vendetta, 295; tolerance of, by Iyeyasu (except Roman Catholicism), 349-350; the life of the Japanese people, 463-464; obstacles to propagation of the Western, in the Far East, 479. See Ancestor-worship and Missions. Responsibility from above downward, 395-400. "Review of the Introduction of Christianty into China and Japan", quoted from, 305. Revolution, modern industrial, 445-449; dangers of a social, 448-451. Rice-pot, goddess of the, 130. "Riddle of the Universe", Haeckel's cited, 221. Roads, under the protection of Buddhist deities, 130. Romans, ancient, parallels between Japanese and, 27, 29, 34, 57, 65, 67, 70, 78, 99, 148, 169, 229, 234, 264, 443, 444, 446. Rudeness, Japanese definition of, 175. Russia, the war with, 462-463. Ryobu-Shinto, establishment of; 185-186. Sacrifices, history of all religious, traceable to offerings to ghosts, 30; ancient funeral, 37-38; origin of human, 284; of one's family, 290-291. See Junshi. Samurai, class of the, 243, 251; obligation of, to perform harakiri, 287; suppression of, 376. Saris, Captain, account by, of an execution, 177-178; quoted, 318. Satow, Sir Earnest, quoted, 43 n., 49, 68, 126 n., 141, 142, 160-161, 312 n., 333. Satsuma, clan of the, 367, 372. Scarecrows, god of, 130, 135, 153. Scholarship, advance of, in Tokugawa period, 369-370. School, training of children in, 421-425. Schools, connected with Buddhist temples, 203; Government, 424-425. Sculpture, developed in Japan under Buddhist teachings, 188; displayed in roadside images, 200, 459. Sekigahara, battle of, 278. Self-control, legal enforcement of, 173-174. Seppuku, Chinese term for harakiri, 287. Servants, in Old Japan, 76-78; conservative attitude of, 400; position of maid, 407-408. See Apprentices and Dependants. "Shadow-Shogun", the, 268; deposition of, 267. Shelf of the august spirits, 42. Shimabara Revolt, the, 324-325. Shimonoseki, Bombardment of, 374. Shin, sect of, defeated by Nobunaga, 275-276. Shinbetsu, "divine branch" of families, 235. Shin-Shir-Sai, the Ninth Festival, 245. Shinto, signification, 21; forms of worship, 21-22; the morals of, 100-101; relation to Japanese mythology to, summarized, 115-134; origin of gods of the house in, 129-130; greater gods of, acknowledged by Buddhism, 190; restoration of, 374; no essential of Buddhism weakened by, 379-380. See Ancestor-worship. Shogun, authority of the, 241, 251-252: significance of term, 267; extension of power of the, 267-268. Shogunate, beginning of the history of, 267; abolition of the, 374. Shorei-Hikki, "Record of Ceremonies", 66. Shoryobune, "ghost-ships;" 202. Shrines, worship at, 121, 123, 138-139. Sickness, charms against, 147-148. Sisters of Charity, comparison of Japanese women to, 366. Smile, rules and regulations about the, 173-174. Socialism, not a modern growth, 255. Societies, secret, 472 n. Society, organization of Old Japanese, 229-258. Sociology, difficulties in studying Japanese, 1-2. Soga brothers, the, apotheosis of, 127. Sohodo-no-kami, god of scarecrows. 130, 135, 153. Son, eleven graded terms signifying, 171. Sons-in-law, significant motto concerning, 64; customs as to, 64-65. Speech, non-existence of freedom of, 170; regulations of forms of, 171-173. Spirits, Rough and Gentle, 126. Story-teller, an Englishman who is a professional Japanese, 10-11. Strangulation, suicide by, 286. Student-revolts, significance and results of, 398-399. Students, private means furnished for education of, 435-436; education of abroad, 437-438. See Education. Subsidies, Government, to industries, 451. Succession laws, in Old Japan, 72-73. Sugiwara-no-Michizane, spirit of, 127. Suicide, by the sword, 39-40; customs as to, 286-290; modern instances of female, 289; instances of, in Russian war, 464 n. See Harakiri and Junshi. Sulko, Empress, 260, 261. Suinin, Emperor, abolishes the "human hedge", 38. Sun, daily greeting to the, 135-136. Sun-goddess, worship of, 109-110, 116-117; acknowledged by Buddhism, 190; offerings of first fruits to, by Emperor, 245 n. Surgeons, efficiency of Japanese, 441. Sword-making, most sacred of crafts, 125, 154, 245-246. Swords, wearing of, prohibited, 376. Tables, mortuary, 42-43; Buddhist mortuary (ihai), 201. Taira, rise and fall of the, 266-267. Taishi, Shotoku, proclamation of, regarding politeness, 359-360. Takatoki, sacrifical suicide by the sword originated by, 39. Takayama, a Japanese Jesuit, 321. Take-no-uji-no-Sukune, apotheosis of, 127. "Tales of Old Japan", Mitford's, 247, 295. Tattooing of slaves, 232. Tea-ceremony, in Tokugawa period, 358-359. Teachers, Buddhist priests as, 202-203; duties to, same as to fathers, 294; salaries of, 412; relation of, to pupils, 422; transformation stages in attitude of, pupils toward, 431-433. Temmu, Emperor, decree of, forbidding use of meat, 196; reorganization of castes by, 236; reign of, 237. Temple of the Four Deva Kings at Osaka, 200. Temples, Shinto, evolved from mourning-houses, 41; Shinto parish dedicated to Uji-gods (Ujigami), 82-84; Shinto, of the first grade, 121; Shinto, classification of, 123; forms of art in Buddhist, 198-199; notable examples of, 200; schools connected with, 203; Buddhist, burned by Jesuits, 306, 308; Shinto, in Formosa, 388; number of Shinto, at present, 470; memorial character of new, 470. Terakoya, drama of, 291. Thieves sentenced to slavery, 234. Togo, Vice-Admiral, reply of, to Imperial message, 463. Tokugawa, shogunate of, Japanese civilization reaches limit of development under, 343. See Iyeyasu. Tokyo, widespread poverty in, resulting from industrial revolution, 446. Tools, surprising shapes of, 7; sacredness of, 153. Toshogu, Iyeyasu worshipped under name of, 127. Trade, mean rank of those engaged in, 246. See Commerce. Tragedy, Japanese, founded on fact, 290-291. Ujigami, original relation of community to, 81-82; as clan-deities, 82-84; offences against, 88; relation of the individual to, 120-121; cults of, maintained, and not supplanted, by Buddhism, 379. Uneme-no-kami, Takenaka, 324. University, students at the, 425-426. Utensils, domestic, sacredness of, 153; art displayed in, 357. Uyernon no Hyoge, decree concerning junshi disobeyed by, 285. Variety to be found in Japanese form of civilization, 256-257. Vendetta, religious origin for customs of, 295. Vengeance, the duty of, 292-293; Iyeyasu's decree concerning code of, 293. Verb, etiquette governing uses of the, 171-172. Vice, Iyeyasu on suppression of, 346-347. Village-laws, peasants' 395-396. Wages of maid-servants, 408. "Wanderings of Cain", Coleridge's, 122. War, ten centuries of, following rise of military power, 259-267; against Korea, 277; with peasantry, 324-325; with Russia, 462-463. Warfare, divination in, 152. Way of the Buddha, the (Butsudo), 21. Way of the Gods, the (Shinto), 21, 41. Weddings, customs as to, 65-67; laws as to food at, 73; presents at, 165-166. Whipping, infrequency of now, as punishment, 421. See Punishments. Wife, gradation of terms signifying, 171. Wine, Buddhist forbids offerings of, 201. Woman, tribute paid to the Japanese, 361-362. Women, mourning rites intrusted to, 43; position of, in old Japanese family, 73-74; as priestesses, 143; forms of speech for use of, 172; methods of suicide for, 287; modern instances of suicide by, 289, 290; duty of vengeance performed by, 293. Worship, three forms of Shinto, 21-22 (See Ancestor-worship); of Imperial ancestors, 108-109; of Sun-goddess, 109-110; at shrines, 119; phallic, 132. Yama, judge of the dead, 198-199. Yamaguchi, land granted to Jesuits at. 332-333. Yamato-damashi, "The Soul of Yamato", 159. Yedo, obligatory residence of daimyo in, 278; Iyeyasu, the founder of, 279. Yeizan, Buddhist high priest, 351. Yuriaku, Emperor, deaths inflicted by, for rudeness, 176. 
8868	----	BOTCHAN (MASTER DARLING) By The Late Mr. Kin-nosuke Natsume TRANSLATED By Yasotaro Morri Revised by J. R. KENNEDY 1919 A NOTE BY THE TRANSLATOR No translation can expect to equal, much less to excel, the original. The excellence of a translation can only be judged by noting how far it has succeeded in reproducing the original tone, colors, style, the delicacy of sentiment, the force of inert strength, the peculiar expressions native to the language with which the original is written, or whatever is its marked characteristic. The ablest can do no more, and to want more than this will be demanding something impossible. Strictly speaking, the only way one can derive full benefit or enjoyment from a foreign work is to read the original, for any intelligence at second-hand never gives the kind of satisfaction which is possible only through the direct touch with the original. Even in the best translated work is probably wanted the subtle vitality natural to the original language, for it defies an attempt, however elaborate, to transmit all there is in the original. Correctness of diction may be there, but spontaneity is gone; it cannot be helped. The task of the translator becomes doubly hazardous in case of translating a European language into Japanese, or vice versa. Between any of the European languages and Japanese there is no visible kinship in word-form, significance, grammatical system, rhetorical arrangements. It may be said that the inspiration of the two languages is totally different. A want of similarity of customs, habits, traditions, national sentiments and traits makes the work of translation all the more difficult. A novel written in Japanese which had attained national popularity might, when rendered into English, lose its captivating vividness, alluring interest and lasting appeal to the reader. These remarks are made not in way of excuse for any faulty dictions that may be found in the following pages. Neither are they made out of personal modesty nor of a desire to add undue weight to the present work. They are made in the hope that whoever is good enough to go through the present translation will remember, before he may venture to make criticisms, the kind and extent of difficulties besetting him in his attempts so as not to judge the merit of the original by this translation. Nothing would afford the translator a greater pain than any unfavorable comment on the original based upon this translation. If there be any deserving merits in the following pages the credit is due to the original. Any fault found in its interpretation or in the English version, the whole responsibility is on the translator. For the benefit of those who may not know the original, it must be stated that "Botchan" by the late Mr. K. Natsume was an epoch-making piece of work. On its first appearance, Mr. Natsume's place and name as the foremost in the new literary school were firmly established. He had written many other novels of more serious intent, of heavier thoughts and of more enduring merits, but it was this "Botchan" that secured him the lasting fame. Its quaint style, dash and vigor in its narration appealed to the public who had become somewhat tired of the stereotyped sort of manner with which all stories had come to be handled. In its simplest understanding, "Botchan" may be taken as an episode in the life of a son born in Tokyo, hot-blooded, simple-hearted, pure as crystal and sturdy as a towering rock, honest and straight to a fault, intolerant of the least injustice and a volunteer ever ready to champion what he considers right and good. Children may read it as a "story of man who tried to be honest." It is a light, amusing and, at the name time, instructive story, with no tangle of love affairs, no scheme of blood-curdling scenes or nothing startling or sensational in the plot or characters. The story, however, may be regarded as a biting sarcasm on a hypocritical society in which a gang of instructors of dark character at a middle school in a backwoods town plays a prominent part. The hero of the story is made a victim of their annoying intrigues, but finally comes out triumphant by smashing the petty red tapism, knocking down the sham pretentions and by actual use of the fist on the Head Instructor and his henchman. The story will be found equally entertaining as a means of studying the peculiar traits of the native of Tokyo which are characterised by their quick temper, dashing spirit, generosity and by their readiness to resist even the lordly personage if convinced of their own justness, or to kneel down even to a child if they acknowledge their own wrong. Incidently the touching devotion of the old maid servant Kiyo to the hero will prove a standing reproach to the inconstant, unfaithful servants of which the number is ever increasing these days in Tokyo. The story becomes doubly interesting by the fact that Mr. K. Natsume, when quite young, held a position of teacher of English at a middle school somewhere about the same part of the country described in the story, while he himself was born and brought up in Tokyo. It may be added that the original is written in an autobiographical style. It is profusely interladed with spicy, catchy colloquials patent to the people of Tokyo for the equals of which we may look to the rattling speeches of notorious Chuck Conners of the Bowery of New York. It should be frankly stated that much difficulty was experienced in getting the corresponding terms in English for those catchy expressions. Strictly speaking, some of them have no English equivalents. Care has been exercised to select what has been thought most appropriate in the judgment or the translator in converting those expressions into English but some of them might provoke disapproval from those of the "cultured" class with "refined" ears. The slangs in English in this translation were taken from an American magazine of world-wide reputation editor of which was not afraid to print of "damn" when necessary, by scorning the timid, conventional way of putting it as "d--n." If the propriety of printing such short ugly words be questioned, the translator is sorry to say that no means now exists of directly bringing him to account for he met untimely death on board the Lusitania when it was sunk by the German submarine. Thanks are due to Mr. J. R. Kennedy, General Manager, and Mr. Henry Satoh, Editor-in-Chief, both of the Kokusai Tsushin-sha (the International News Agency) of Tokyo and a host of personal friends of the translator whose untiring assistance and kind suggestions have made the present translation possible. Without their sympathetic interests, this translation may not have seen the daylight. Tokyo, September, 1918. BOTCHAN (MASTER DARLING) CHAPTER I Because of an hereditary recklessness, I have been playing always a losing game since my childhood. During my grammar school days, I was once laid up for about a week by jumping from the second story of the school building. Some may ask why I committed such a rash act. There was no particular reason for doing such a thing except I happened to be looking out into the yard from the second floor of the newly-built school house, when one of my classmates, joking, shouted at me; "Say, you big bluff, I'll bet you can't jump down from there! O, you chicken-heart, ha, ha!" So I jumped down. The janitor of the school had to carry me home on his back, and when my father saw me, he yelled derisively, "What a fellow you are to go and get your bones dislocated by jumping only from a second story!" "I'll see I don't get dislocated next time," I answered. One of my relatives once presented me with a pen-knife. I was showing it to my friends, reflecting its pretty blades against the rays of the sun, when one of them chimed in that the blades gleamed all right, but seemed rather dull for cutting with. "Rather dull? See if they don't cut!" I retorted. "Cut your finger, then," he challenged. And with "Finger nothing! Here goes!" I cut my thumb slant-wise. Fortunately the knife was small and the bone of the thumb hard enough, so the thumb is still there, but the scar will be there until my death. About twenty steps to the east edge of our garden, there was a moderate-sized vegetable yard, rising toward the south, and in the centre of which stood a chestnut tree which was dearer to me than life. In the season when the chestnuts were ripe, I used to slip out of the house from the back door early in the morning to pick up the chestnuts which had fallen during the night, and eat them at the school. On the west side of the vegetable yard was the adjoining garden of a pawn shop called Yamashiro-ya. This shopkeeper's son was a boy about 13 or 14 years old named Kantaro. Kantaro was, it happens, a mollycoddle. Nevertheless he had the temerity to come over the fence to our yard and steal my chestnuts. One certain evening I hid myself behind a folding-gate of the fence and caught him in the act. Having his retreat cut off he grappled with me in desperation. He was about two years older than I, and, though weak-kneed, was physically the stronger. While I wallopped him, he pushed his head against my breast and by chance it slipped inside my sleeve. As this hindered the free action of my arm, I tried to shake him loose, though, his head dangled the further inside, and being no longer able to stand the stifling combat, he bit my bare arm. It was painful. I held him fast against the fence, and by a dexterous foot twist sent him down flat on his back. Kantaro broke the fence and as the ground belonging to Yamashiro-ya was about six feet lower than the vegetable yard, he fell headlong to his own territory with a thud. As he rolled off he tore away the sleeve in which his head had been enwrapped, and my arm recovered a sudden freedom of movement. That night when my mother went to Yamashiro-ya to apologize, she brought back that sleeve. Besides the above, I did many other mischiefs. With Kaneko of a carpenter shop and Kaku of a fishmarket, I once ruined a carrot patch of one Mosaku. The sprouts were just shooting out and the patch was covered with straws to ensure their even healthy growth. Upon this straw-covered patch, we three wrestled for fully half a day, and consequently thoroughly smashed all the sprouts. Also I once filled up a well which watered some rice fields owned by one Furukawa, and he followed me with kicks. The well was so devised that from a large bamboo pole, sunk deep into the ground, the water issued and irrigated the rice fields. Ignorant of the mechanical side of this irrigating method at that time, I stuffed the bamboo pole with stones and sticks, and satisfied that no more water came up, I returned home and was eating supper when Furukawa, fiery red with anger, burst into our house with howling protests. I believe the affair was settled on our paying for the damage. Father did not like me in the least, and mother always sided with my big brother. This brother's face was palish white, and he had a fondness for taking the part of an actress at the theatre. "This fellow will never amount to much," father used to remark when he saw me. "He's so reckless that I worry about his future," I often heard mother say of me. Exactly; I have never amounted to much. I am just as you see me; no wonder my future used to cause anxiety to my mother. I am living without becoming but a jailbird. Two or three days previous to my mother's death, I took it into my head to turn a somersault in the kitchen, and painfully hit my ribs against the corner of the stove. Mother was very angry at this and told me not to show my face again, so I went to a relative to stay with. While there, I received the news that my mother's illness had become very serious, and that after all efforts for her recovery, she was dead. I came home thinking that I should have behaved better if I had known the conditions were so serious as that. Then that big brother of mine denounced me as wanting in filial piety, and that I had caused her untimely death. Mortified at this, I slapped his face, and thereupon received a sound scolding from father. After the death of mother, I lived with father and brother. Father did nothing, and always said "You're no good" to my face. What he meant by "no good" I am yet to understand. A funny dad he was. My brother was to be seen studying English hard, saying that he was going to be a businessman. He was like a girl by nature, and so "sassy" that we two were never on good terms, and had to fight it out about once every ten days. When we played a chess game one day, he placed a chessman as a "waiter,"--a cowardly tactic this,--and had hearty laugh on me by seeing me in a fix. His manner was so trying that time that I banged a chessman on his forehead which was injured a little bit and bled. He told all about this to father, who said he would disinherit me. Then I gave up myself for lost, and expected to be really disinherited. But our maid Kiyo, who had been with us for ten years or so, interceded on my behalf, and tearfully apologized for me, and by her appeal my father's wrath was softened. I did not regard him, however, as one to be afraid of in any way, but rather felt sorry for our Kiyo. I had heard that Kiyo was of a decent, well-to-do family, but being driven to poverty at the time of the Restoration, had to work as a servant. So she was an old woman by this time. This old woman,--by what affinity, as the Buddhists say, I don't know,--loved me a great deal. Strange, indeed! She was almost blindly fond of me,--me, whom mother, became thoroughly disgusted with three days before her death; whom father considered a most aggravating proposition all the year round, and whom the neighbors cordially hated as the local bully among the youngsters. I had long reconciled myself to the fact that my nature was far from being attractive to others, and so didn't mind if I were treated as a piece of wood; so I thought it uncommon that Kiyo should pet me like that. Sometimes in the kitchen, when there was nobody around, she would praise me saying that I was straightforward and of a good disposition. What she meant by that exactly, was not clear to me, however. If I were of so good a nature as she said, I imagined those other than Kiyo should accord me a better treatment. So whenever Kiyo said to me anything of the kind, I used to answer that I did not like passing compliments. Then she would remark; "That's the very reason I say you are of a good disposition," and would gaze at me with absorbing tenderness. She seemed to recreate me by her own imagination, and was proud of the fact. I felt even chilled through my marrow at her constant attention to me. After my mother was dead, Kiyo loved me still more. In my simple reasoning, I wondered why she had taken such a fancy to me. Sometimes I thought it quite futile on her part, that she had better quit that sort of thing, which was bad for her. But she loved me just the same. Once in, a while she would buy, out of her own pocket, some cakes or sweetmeats for me. When the night was cold, she would secretly buy some noodle powder, and bring all unawares hot noodle gruel to my bed; or sometimes she would even buy a bowl of steaming noodles from the peddler. Not only with edibles, but she was generous alike with socks, pencils, note books, etc. And she even furnished me,--this happened some time later,--with about three yen, I did not ask her for the money; she offered it from her own good will by bringing it to my room, saying that I might be in need of some cash. This, of course, embarrassed me, but as she was so insistent I consented to borrow it. I confess I was really glad of the money. I put it in a bag, and carried it in my pocket. While about the house, I happened to drop the bag into a cesspool. Helpless, I told Kiyo how I had lost the money, and at once she fetched a bamboo stick, and said she will get it for me. After a while I heard a splashing sound of water about our family well, and going there, saw Kiyo washing the bag strung on the end of the stick. I opened the bag and found the edict of the three one-yen bills turned to faint yellow and designs fading. Kiyo dried them at an open fire and handed them over to me, asking if they were all right. I smelled them and said; "They stink yet." "Give them to me; I'll get them changed." She took those three bills, and,--I do not know how she went about it,--brought three yen in silver. I forget now upon what I spent the three yen. "I'll pay you back soon," I said at the time, but didn't. I could not now pay it back even if I wished to do so with ten times the amount. When Kiyo gave me anything she did so always when both father and brother were out. Many things I do not like, but what I most detest is the monopolizing of favors behind some one else's back. Bad as my relations were with my brother, still I did not feel justified in accepting candies or color-pencils from Kiyo without my brother's knowledge. "Why do you give those things only to me and not to my brother also?" I asked her once, and she answered quite unconcernedly that my brother may be left to himself as his father bought him everything. That was partiality; father was obstinate, but I am sure he was not a man who would indulge in favoritism. To Kiyo, however, he might have looked that way. There is no doubt that Kiyo was blind to the extent of her undue indulgence with me. She was said to have come from a well-to-do family, but the poor soul was uneducated, and it could not be helped. All the same, you cannot tell how prejudice will drive one to the extremes. Kiyo seemed quite sure that some day I would achieve high position in society and become famous. Equally she was sure that my brother, who was spending his hours studiously, was only good for his white skin, and would stand no show in the future. Nothing can beat an old woman for this sort of thing, I tell you. She firmly believed that whoever she liked would become famous, while whoever she hated would not. I did not have at that time any particular object in my life. But the persistency with which Kiyo declared that I would be a great man some day, made me speculate myself that after all I might become one. How absurd it seems to me now when I recall those days. I asked her once what kind of a man I should be, but she seemed to have formed no concrete idea as to that; only she said that I was sure to live in a house with grand entrance hall, and ride in a private rikisha. And Kiyo seemed to have decided for herself to live with me when I became independent and occupy my own house. "Please let me live with you,"--she repeatedly asked of me. Feeling somewhat that I should eventually be able to own a house, I answered her "Yes," as far as such an answer went. This woman, by the way, was strongly imaginative. She questioned me what place I liked,--Kojimachi-ku or Azabu-ku?--and suggested that I should have a swing in our garden, that one room be enough for European style, etc., planning everything to suit her own fancy. I did not then care a straw for anything like a house; so neither Japanese nor European style was much of use to me, and I told her to that effect. Then she would praise me as uncovetous and clean of heart. Whatever I said, she had praise for me. I lived, after the death of mother, in this fashion for five or six years. I had kicks from father, had rows with brother, and had candies and praise from Kiyo. I cared for nothing more; I thought this was enough. I imagined all other boys were leading about the same kind of life. As Kiyo frequently told me, however, that I was to be pitied, and was unfortunate, I imagined that that might be so. There was nothing that particularly worried me except that father was too tight with my pocket money, and this was rather hard on me. In January of the 6th year after mother's death, father died of apoplexy. In April of the same year, I graduated from a middle school, and two months later, my brother graduated from a business college. Soon he obtained a job in the Kyushu branch of a certain firm and had to go there, while I had to remain in Tokyo and continue my study. He proposed the sale of our house and the realization of our property, to which I answered "Just as you like it." I had no intention of depending upon him anyway. Even were he to look after me, I was sure of his starting something which would eventually end in a smash-up as we were prone to quarrel on the least pretext. It was because in order to receive his protection that I should have to bow before such a fellow, that I resolved that I would live by myself even if I had to do milk delivery. Shortly afterwards he sent for a second-hand dealer and sold for a song all the bric-a-bric which had been handed down from ages ago in our family. Our house and lot were sold, through the efforts of a middleman to a wealthy person. This transaction seemed to have netted a goodly sum to him, but I know nothing as to the detail. For one month previous to this, I had been rooming in a boarding house in Kanda-ku, pending a decision as to my future course. Kiyo was greatly grieved to see the house in which she had lived so many years change ownership, but she was helpless in the matter. "If you were a little older, you might have inherited this house," she once remarked in earnest. If I could have inherited the house through being a little older, I ought to have been able to inherit the house right then. She knew nothing, and believed the lack of age only prevented my coming into the possession of the house. Thus I parted from my brother, but the disposal of Kiyo was a difficult proposition. My brother was, of course, unable to take her along, nor was there any danger of her following him so far away as Kyushu, while I was in a small room of a boarding house, and might have to clear out anytime at that. There was no way out, so I asked her if she intended to work somewhere else. Finally she answered me definitely that she would go to her nephew's and wait until I started my own house and get married. This nephew was a clerk in the Court of Justice, and being fairly well off, had invited Kiyo before more than once to come and live with him, but Kiyo preferred to stay with us, even as a servant, since she had become well used to our family. But now I think she thought it better to go over to her nephew than to start a new life as servant in a strange house. Be that as it may, she advised me to have my own household soon, or get married, so she would come and help me in housekeeping. I believe she liked me more than she did her own kin. My brother came to me, two days previous to his departure for Kyushu, and giving me 600 yen, said that I might begin a business with it, or go ahead with my study, or spend it in any way I liked, but that that would be the last he could spare. It was a commendable act for my brother. What! about only 600 yen! I could get along without it, I thought, but as this unusually simple manner appealed to me, I accepted the offer with thanks. Then he produced 50 yen, requesting me to give it to Kiyo next time I saw her, which I readily complied with. Two days after, I saw him off at the Shimbashi Station, and have not set my eyes on him ever since. Lying in my bed, I meditated on the best way to spend that 600 yen. A business is fraught with too much trouble, and besides it was not my calling. Moreover with only 600 yen no one could open a business worth the name. Were I even able to do it, I was far from being educated, and after all, would lose it. Better let investments alone, but study more with the money. Dividing the 600 yen into three, and by spending 200 yen a year, I could study for three years. If I kept at one study with bull-dog tenacity for three years, I should be able to learn something. Then the selection of a school was the next problem. By nature, there is no branch of study whatever which appeals to my taste. Nix on languages or literature! The new poetry was all Greek to me; I could not make out one single line of twenty. Since I detested every kind of study, any kind of study should have been the same to me. Thinking thus, I happened to pass front of a school of physics, and seeing a sign posted for the admittance of more students, I thought this might be a kind of "affinity," and having asked for the prospectus, at once filed my application for entrance. When I think of it now, it was a blunder due to my hereditary recklessness. For three years I studied about as diligently as ordinary fellows, but not being of a particularly brilliant quality, my standing in the class was easier to find by looking up from the bottom. Strange, isn't it, that when three years were over, I graduated? I had to laugh at myself, but there being no reason for complaint, I passed out. Eight days after my graduation, the principal of the school asked me to come over and see him. I wondered what he wanted, and went. A middle school in Shikoku was in need of a teacher of mathematics for forty yen a month, and he sounded me to see if I would take it. I had studied for three years, but to tell the truth, I had no intention of either teaching or going to the country. Having nothing in sight, however, except teaching, I readily accepted the offer. This too was a blunder due to hereditary recklessness. I accepted the position, and so must go there. The three years of my school life I had seen confined in a small room, but with no kick coming or having no rough house. It was a comparatively easy going period in my life. But now I had to pack up. Once I went to Kamakura on a picnic with my classmates while I was in the grammar school, and that was the first and last, so far, that I stepped outside of Tokyo since I could remember. This time I must go darn far away, that it beats Kamakura by a mile. The prospective town is situated on the coast, and looked the size of a needle-point on the map. It would not be much to look at anyway. I knew nothing about the place or the people there. It did not worry me or cause any anxiety. I had simply to travel there and that was the annoying part. Once in a while, since our house was no more, I went to Kiyo's nephew's to see her. Her nephew was unusually good-natured, and whenever I called upon her, he treated me well if he happened to be at home. Kiyo would boost me sky-high to her nephew right to my face. She went so far once as to say that when I had graduated from school, I would purchase a house somewhere in Kojimachi-ku and get a position in a government office. She decided everything in her own way, and talked of it aloud, and I was made an unwilling and bashful listener. I do not know how her nephew weighed her tales of self-indulgence on me. Kiyo was a woman of the old type, and seemed, as if it was still the days of Feudal Lords, to regard her nephew equally under obligation to me even as she was herself. After settling about my new position, I called upon her three days previous to my departure. She was sick abed in a small room, but, on seeing me she got up and immediately inquired; "Master Darling, when do you begin housekeeping?" She evidently thought as soon as a fellow finishes school, money comes to his pocket by itself. But then how absurd to call such a "great man" "Darling." I told her simply that I should let the house proposition go for some time, as I had to go to the country. She looked greatly disappointed, and blankly smoothed her gray-haired sidelocks. I felt sorry for her, and said comfortingly; "I am going away but will come back soon. I'll return in the vacation next summer, sure." Still as she appeared not fully satisfied, I added; "Will bring you back a surprise. What do you like?" She wished to eat "sasa-ame"[1] of Echigo province. I had never heard of "sasa-ame" of Echigo. To begin with, the location is entirely different. [Footnote 1: Sasa-ame is a kind of rice-jelly wrapped with sasa, or the bamboo leaves, well-known as a product of Echigo province.] "There seems to be no 'sasa-ame' in the country where I'm going," I explained, and she rejoined; "Then, in what direction?" I answered "westward" and she came back with "Is it on the other side of Hakone?" This give-and-take conversation proved too much for me. On the day of my departure, she came to my room early in the morning and helped me to pack up. She put into my carpet-bag tooth powder, tooth-brush and towels which she said she had bought at a dry goods store on her way. I protested that I did not want them, but she was insistent.[A] We rode in rikishas to the station. Coming up the platform, she gazed at me from outside the car, and said in a low voice; "This may be our last good-by. Take care of yourself." Her eyes were full of tears. I did not cry, but was almost going to. After the train had run some distance, thinking it would be all right now, I poked my head out of the window and looked back. She was still there. She looked very small. CHAPTER II. With a long, sonorous whistle the steamer which I was aboard came to a standstill, and a boat was seen making toward us from the shore. The man rowing the boat was stark naked, except for a piece of red cloth girt round his loins. A barbarous place, this! though he may have been excused for it in such hot weather as it was. The sun's rays were strong and the water glimmered in such strange colors as to dazzle one's sight if gazed at it for long. I had been told by a clerk of the ship that I was to get off here. The place looked like a fishing village about the size of Omori. Great Scott! I wouldn't stay in such a hole, I thought, but I had to get out. So, down I jumped first into the boat, and I think five or six others followed me. After loading about four large boxes besides, the red-cloth rowed us ashore. When the boat struck the sand, I was again the first to jump out, and right away I accosted a skinny urchin standing nearby, asking him where the middle school was. The kid answered blankly that he did not know. Confound the dull-head! Not to know where the middle school was, living in such a tiny bit of a town. Then a man wearing a rig with short, queer shaped sleeves approached me and bade me follow. I walked after him and was taken to an inn called Minato-ya. The maids of the inn, who gave me a disagreeable impression, chorused at sight of me; "Please step inside." This discouraged me in proceeding further, and I asked them, standing at the door-way, to show me the middle school. On being told that the middle school was about four miles away by rail, I became still more discouraged at putting up there. I snatched my two valises from the man with queer-shaped [B] sleeves who had guided me so far, and strode away. The people of the inn looked after me with a dazed expression. The station was easily found, and a ticket bought without any fuss. The coach I got in was about as dignified as a match-box. The train rambled on for about five minutes, and then I had to get off. No wonder the fare was cheap; it cost only three sen. I then hired a rikisha and arrived at the middle school, but school was already over and nobody was there. The teacher on night-duty was out just for a while, said the janitor,--the night-watch was taking life easy, sure. I thought of visiting the principal, but being tired, ordered the rikishaman to take me to a hotel. He did this with much alacrity and led me to a hotel called Yamashiro-ya. I felt it rather amusing to find the name Yamashiro-ya the same as that of Kantaro's house. They ushered me to a dark room below the stairway. No one could stay in such a hot place! I said I did not like such a warm room, but the maid dumped my valises on the floor and left me, mumbling that all the other rooms were occupied. So I took the room though it took some resolution to stand the weltering heat. After a while the maid said the bath was ready, and I took one: On my way back from the bathroom, I peeped about, and found many rooms, which looked much cooler than mine, vacant. Sunnovagun! They had lied. By'm-by, she fetched my supper. Although the room was hot, the meal was a deal better than the kind I used to have in my boarding house. While waiting on me, she questioned me where I was from, and I said, "from Tokyo." Then she asked; "Isn't Tokyo a nice place?" and I shot back, "Bet 'tis." About the time the maid had reached the kitchen, loud laughs were heard. There was nothing doing, so I went to bed, but could not sleep. Not only was it hot, but noisy,--about five times noisier than my boarding house. While snoozing, I dreamed of Kiyo. She was eating "sasa-ame" of Echigo province without taking off the wrapper of bamboo leaves. I tried to stop her, saying bamboo leaves may do her harm, but she replied, "O, no, these leaves are very helpful for the health," and ate them with much relish. Astounded, I laughed "Ha, ha, ha!"--and so awoke. The maid was opening the outside shutters. The weather was just as clear as the previous day. I had heard once before that when travelling, one should give "tea money" to the hotel or inn where he stops; that unless this "tea money" is given, the hostelry would accord him rather rough treatment. It must have been on account of my being slow in the fork over of this "tea money" that they had huddled me into such a narrow, dark room. Likewise my shabby clothes and the carpet bags and satin umbrella must have been accountable for it. Took me for a piker, eh? those hayseeds! I would give them a knocker with "tea money." I left Tokyo with about 30 yen in my pocket, which remained from my school expenses. Taking off the railway and steamship fare, and other incidental expenses, I had still about 14 yen in my pocket. I could give them all I had;--what did I care, I was going to get a salary now. All country folk are tight-wads, and one 5-yen bill would hit them square. Now watch and see. Having washed myself, I returned to my room and waited, and the maid of the night before brought in my breakfast. Waiting on me with a tray, she looked at me with a sort of sulphuric smile. Rude! Is any parade marching on my face? I should say. Even my face is far better than that of the maid. I intended of giving "tea money" after breakfast, but I became disgusted, and taking out one 5-yen bill told her to take it to the office later. The face of the maid became then shy and awkward. After the meal, I left for the school. The maid did not have my shoes polished. I had had vague idea of the direction of the school as I rode to it the previous day, so turning two or three corners, I came to the front gate. From the gate to the entrance the walk was paved with granite. When I had passed to the entrance in the rikisha, this walk made so outlandishly a loud noise that I had felt coy. On my way to the school, I met a number of the students in uniforms of cotton drill and they all entered this gate. Some of them were taller than I and looked much stronger. When I thought of teaching fellows of this ilk, I was impressed with a queer sort of uneasiness. My card was taken to the principal, to whose room I was ushered at once. With scant mustache, dark-skinned and big-eyed, the principal was a man who looked like a badger. He studiously assumed an air of superiority, and saying he would like to see me do my best, handed the note of appointment, stamped big, in a solemn manner. This note I threw away into the sea on my way back to Tokyo. He said he would introduce me to all my fellow teachers, and I was to show to each one of them the note of appointment. What a bother! It would be far better to stick this note up in the teachers' room for three days instead of going through such a monkey process. The teachers would not be all in the room until the bugle for the first hour was sounded. There was plenty of time. The principal took out his watch, and saying that he would acquaint me particularly with the school by-and-bye, he would only furnish me now with general matters, and started a long lecture on the spirit of education. For a while I listened to him with my mind half away somewhere else, but about half way through his lecture, I began to realize that I should soon be in a bad fix. I could not do, by any means, all he expected of me. He expected that I should make myself an example to the students, should become an object of admiration for the whole school or should exert my moral influence, besides teaching technical knowledge in order to become a real educator, or something ridiculously high-sounding. No man with such admirable qualities would come so far away for only 40 yen a month! Men are generally alike. If one gets excited, one is liable to fight, I thought, but if things are to be kept on in the way the principal says, I could hardly open my mouth to utter anything, nor take a stroll around the place. If they wanted me to fill such an onerous post, they should have told all that before. I hate to tell a lie; I would give it up as having been cheated, and get out of this mess like a man there and then. I had only about 9 yen left in my pocket after tipping the hotel 5 yen. Nine yen would not take me back to Tokyo. I had better not have tipped the hotel; what a pity! However, I would be able to manage it somehow. I considered it better to run short in my return expenses than to tell a lie. "I cannot do it the way you want me to. I return this appointment." I shoved back the note. The principal winked his badger-like eyes and gazed at me. Then he said; "What I have said just now is what I desire of you. I know well that you cannot do all I want, So don't worry." And he laughed. If he knew it so well already, what on earth did he scare me for? Meanwhile the bugle sounded, being followed by bustling noises in the direction of the class rooms. All the teachers would be now ready, I was told, and I followed the principal to the teachers' room. In a spacious rectangular room, they sat each before a table lined along the walls. When I entered the room, they all glanced at me as if by previous agreement. Did they think my face was for a show? Then, as per instructions, I introduced myself and showed the note to each one of them. Most of them left their chairs and made a slight bow of acknowledgment. But some of the more painfully polite took the note and read it and respectfully returned it to me, just like the cheap performances at a rural show! When I came to the fifteenth, who was the teacher of physical training, I became impatient at repeating the same old thing so often. The other side had to do it only once, but my side had to do it fifteen times. They ought to have had some sympathy. Among those I met in the room there was Mr. Blank who was head teacher. Said he was a Bachelor of Arts. I suppose he was a great man since he was a graduate from Imperial University and had such a title. He talked in a strangely effeminate voice like a woman. But what surprised me most was that he wore a flannel shirt. However thin it might be, flannel is flannel and must have been pretty warm at that time of the year. What painstaking dress is required which will be becoming to a B.A.! And it was a red shirt; wouldn't that kill you! I heard afterwards that he wears a red shirt all the year round. What a strange affliction! According to his own explanation, he has his shirts made to order for the sake of his health as the red color is beneficial to the physical condition. Unnecessary worry, this, for that being the case, he should have had his coat and hakama also in red. And there was one Mr. Koga, teacher of English, whose complexion was very pale. Pale-faced people are usually thin, but this man was pale and fat. When I was attending grammar school, there was one Tami Asai in our class, and his father was just as pale as this Koga. Asai was a farmer, and I asked Kiyo if one's face would become pale if he took up farming. Kiyo said it was not so; Asai ate always Hubbard squash of "uranari" [2] and that was the reason. Thereafter when I saw any man pale and fat, I took it for granted that it was the result of his having eaten too much of squash of "uranari." This English teacher was surely subsisting upon squash. However, what the meaning of "uranari" is, I do not know. I asked Kiyo once, but she only laughed. Probably she did not know. Among the teachers of mathematics, there was one named Hotta. This was a fellow of massive body, with hair closely cropped. He looked like one of the old-time devilish priests who made the Eizan temple famous. I showed him the note politely, but he did not even look at it, and blurted out; "You're the man newly appointed, eh? Come and see me sometime, ha, ha, ha!" [Footnote 2: Means the last crop.] Devil take his "Ha, ha, ha!" Who would go to see a fellow so void of the sense of common decency! I gave this priest from this time the nickname of Porcupine. The Confucian teacher was strict in his manner as becoming to his profession. "Arrived yesterday? You must be tired. Start teaching already? Working hard, indeed!"--and so on. He was an old man, quite sociable and talkative. The teacher of drawing was altogether like a cheap actor. He wore a thin, flappy haori of sukiya, and, toying with a fan, he giggled; "Where from? eh? Tokyo? Glad to hear that. You make another of our group. I'm a Tokyo kid myself." If such a fellow prided himself on being a Tokyo kid, I wished I had never been born in Tokyo. I might go on writing about each one of them, for there are many, but I stop here otherwise there will be no end to it. When my formal introduction was over, the principal said that I might go for the day, but I should make arrangements as to the class hours, etc., with the head teacher of mathematics and begin teaching from the day after the morrow. Asked who was the head teacher of mathematics, I found that he was no other than that Porcupine. Holy smokes! was I to serve under him? I was disappointed. "Say, where are you stopping? Yamashiro-ya? Well, I'll come and talk it over." So saying, Porcupine, chalk in hand, left the room to his class. That was rather humiliating for a head-teacher to come over and see his subordinate, but it was better than to call me over to him. After leaving the school, I thought of returning straight to the hotel, but as there was nothing to do, I decided to take in a little of the town, and started walking about following my nose. I saw prefectural building; it was an old structure of the last century. Also I saw the barracks; they were less imposing than those of the Azabu Regiment, Tokyo. I passed through the main street. The width of the street is about one half that of Kagurazaka, and its aspect is inferior. What about a castle-town of 250,000-koku Lord! Pity the fellows who get swell-headed in such a place as a castle-town! While I walked about musing like this, I found myself in front of Yamashiro-ya. The town was much narrower than I had been led to believe. "I think I have seen nearly all. Guess I'll return and eat." And I entered the gate. The mistress of the hotel who was sitting at the counter, jumped out of her place at my appearance and with "Are you back, Sire!" scraped the floor with her forehead. When I took my shoes off and stepped inside, the maid took me to an upstairs room that had became vacant. It was a front room of 15 mats (about 90 square feet). I had never before lived in so splendid a room as this. As it was quite uncertain when I should again be able to occupy such a room in future, I took off my European dress, and with only a single Japanese summer coat on, sprawled in the centre of the room in the shape of the Japanese letter "big" (arms stretched out and legs spread wide[D]). I found it very refreshing. After luncheon I at once wrote a letter to Kiyo. I hate most to write letters because I am poor at sentence-making and also poor in my stock of words. Neither did I have any place to which to address my letters. However, Kiyo might be getting anxious. It would not do to let her worry lest she think the steamer which I boarded had been wrecked and I was drowned,--so I braced up and wrote a long one. The body of the letter was as follows: "Arrived yesterday. A dull place. Am sleeping in a room of 15 mats. Tipped the hotel five yen as tea money. The house-wife of the hotel scraped the floor with her forehead. Couldn't sleep last night. Dreamed Kiyo eat sasa-ame together with the bamboo-leaf wrappers. Will return next summer. Went to the school to-day, and nicknamed all the fellows. 'Badger' for the principal, 'Red Shirt' for the head-teacher, 'Hubbard Squash' for the teacher of English, 'Porcupine' the teacher of mathematics and 'Clown' for that of drawing. Will write you many other things soon. Good bye." When I finished writing the letter, I felt better and sleepy. So I slept in the centre of the room, as I had done before, in the letter "big" shape ([D]). No dream this time, and I had a sound sleep. "Is this the room?"--a loud voice was heard,--a voice which woke me up, and Porcupine entered. "How do you do? What you have to do in the school----" he began talking shop as soon as I got up and rattled me much. On learning my duties in the school, there seemed to be no difficulty, and I decided to accept. If only such were what was expected of me, I would not be surprised were I told to start not only two days hence but even from the following day. The talk on business over, Porcupine said that he did not think it was my intention to stay in such a hotel all the time, that he would find a room for me in a good boarding house, and that I should move. "They wouldn't take in another from anybody else but I can do it right away. The sooner the better. Go and look at the room to-day, move tomorrow and start teaching from the next day. That'll be all nice and settled." He seemed satisfied by arranging all by himself. Indeed, I should not be able to occupy such a room for long. I might have to blow in all of my salary for the hotel bill and yet be short of squaring it. It was pity to leave the hotel so soon after I had just shone with a 5-yen tip. However, it being decidedly convenient to move and get settled early if I had to move at all, I asked Porcupine to get that room for me. He told me then to come over with him and see the house at any rate, and I did. The house was situated mid-way up a hill at the end of the town, and was a quiet. The boss was said to be a dealer in antique curios, called Ikagin, and his wife was about four years his senior. I learned the English word "witch" when I was in middle school, and this woman looked exactly like one. But as she was another man's wife, what did I care if she was a witch. Finally I decided to live in the house from the next day. On our way back Porcupine treated me to a cup of ice-water. When I first met him in the school, I thought him a disgustingly overbearing fellow, but judging by the way he had looked after me so far, he appeared not so bad after all. Only he seemed, like me, impatient by nature and of quick-temper. I heard afterward that he was liked most by all the students in the school. CHAPTER III. My teaching began at last. When I entered the class-room and stepped upon the platform for the first time, I felt somewhat strange. While lecturing, I wondered if a fellow like me could keep up the profession of public instructor. The students were noisy. Once in a while, they would holler "Teacher!" "Teacher,"--it was "going some." I had been calling others "teacher" every day so far, in the school of physics, but in calling others "teacher" and being called one, there is a wide gap of difference. It made me feel as if some one was tickling my soles. I am not a sneakish fellow, nor a coward; only--it's a pity--I lack audacity. If one calls me "teacher" aloud, it gives me a shock similar to that of hearing the noon-gun in Marunouchi when I was hungry. The first hour passed away in a dashing manner. And it passed away without encountering any knotty questions. As I returned to the teachers' room, Porcupine asked me how it was. I simply answered "well," and he seemed satisfied. When I left the teachers' room, chalk in hand, for the second hour class, I felt as if I was invading the enemy's territory. On entering the room, I found the students for this hour were all big fellows. I am a Tokyo kid, delicately built and small, and did not appear very impressive even in my elevated position. If it comes to a scraping, I can hold my own even with wrestlers, but I had no means of appearing awe-inspiring[E], merely by the aid of my tongue, to so many as forty such big chaps before me. Believing, however, that it would set a bad precedent to show these country fellows any weakness, I lectured rather loudly and in brusque tone. During the first part the students were taken aback and listened literally with their mouths open. "That's one on you!" I thought. Elated by my success, I kept on in this tone, when one who looked the strongest, sitting in the middle of the front row, stood up suddenly, and called "Teacher!" There it goes!--I thought, and asked him what it was. "A-ah sa-ay, you talk too quick. A-ah ca-an't you make it a leetle slow? A-ah?" "A-ah ca-an't you?" "A-ah?" was altogether dull. "If I talk too fast, I'll make it slow, but I'm a Tokyo fellow, and can't talk the way you do. If you don't understand it, better wait until you do." So I answered him. In this way the second hour was closed better than I had expected. Only, as I was about to leave the class, one of the students asked me, "A-ah say, won't you please do them for me?" and showed me some problems in geometry which I was sure I could not solve. This proved to be somewhat a damper on me. But, helpless, I told him I could not make them out, and telling him that I would show him how next time, hastily got out of the room. And all of them raised "Whee--ee!" Some of them were heard saying "He doesn't know much." Don't take a teacher for an encyclopaedia! If I could work out such hard questions as these easily, I would not be in such a backwoods town for forty yen a month. I returned to the teachers' room. "How was it this time?" asked Porcupine. I said "Umh." But not satisfied with "Umh" only, I added that all the students in this school were boneheads. He put up a whimsical face. The third and the fourth hour and the first hour in the afternoon were more or less the same. In all the classes I attended, I made some kind of blunder. I realised that the profession of teaching not quite so easy a calling as might have appeared. My teaching for the day was finished but I could not get away. I had to wait alone until three o'clock. I understood that at three o'clock the students of my classes would finish cleaning up the rooms and report to me, whereupon I would go over the rooms. Then I would run through the students' roll, and then be free to go home. Outrageous, indeed, to keep on chained to the school, staring at the empty space when he had nothing more to do, even though he was "bought" by a salary! Other fellow teachers, however, meekly submitted to the regulation, and believing it not well for me,--a new comer--to fuss about it, I stood it. On my way home, I appealed to Porcupine as to the absurdity of keeping me there till three o'clock regardless of my having nothing to do in the school. He said "Yes" and laughed. But he became serious and in an advisory manner told me not to make many complaints about the school. "Talk to me only, if you want to. There are some queer guys around." As we parted at the next corner, I did not have time to hear more from him. On reaching my room, the boss of the house came to me saying, "Let me serve you tea." I expected he was going to treat me to some good tea since he said "Let me serve you," but he simply made himself at home and drank my own tea. Judging by this, I thought he might be practising "Let me serve you" during my absence. The boss said that he was fond of antique drawings and curios and finally had decided to start in that business. "You look like one quite taken about art. Suppose you begin patronizing my business just for fun as er--connoisseur of art?" It was the least expected kind of solicitation. Two years ago, I went to the Imperial Hotel (Tokyo) on an errand, and I was taken for a locksmith. When I went to see the Daibutsu at Kamakura, haying wrapped up myself from head to toe with a blanket, a rikisha man addressed me as "Gov'ner." I have been mistaken on many occasions for as many things, but none so far has counted on me as a probable connoisseur of art. One should know better by my appearance. Any one who aspires to be a patron of art is usually pictured,--you may see in any drawing,--with either a hood on his head, or carrying a tanzaku[3] in his hand. The fellow who calls me a connoisseur of art and pretends to mean it, may be surely as crooked as a dog's hind legs. I told him I did not like such art-stuff, which is usually favored by retired people. He laughed, and remarking that that nobody liked it at first, but once in it, will find it so fascinating that he will hardly get over it, served tea for himself and drank it in a grotesque manner. I may say that I had asked him the night before to buy some tea for me, but I did not like such a bitter, heavy kind. One swallow seemed to act right on my stomach. I told him to buy a kind not so bitter as that, and he answered "All right, Sir," and drank another cup. The fellow seemed never to know of having enough of anything so long as it was another man's. After he left the room, I prepared for the morrow and went to bed. [Footnote 3: A tanzaku is a long, narrow strip of stiff paper on which a Japanese poem is written.] Everyday thereafter I attended at the school and worked as per regulations. Every day on my return, the boss came to my room with the same old "Let me serve you tea." In about a week I understood the school in a general way, and had my own idea as to the personality of the boss and his wife. I heard from one of my fellow teachers that the first week to one month after the receipt of the appointment worried them most as to whether they had been favorably received among the students. I never felt anything on that score. Blunders in the class room once in a while caused me chagrin, but in about half an hour everything would clear out of my head. I am a fellow who, by nature, can't be worrying long about[F] anything even if I try to. I was absolutely indifferent as how my blunders in the class room affected the students, or how much further they affected the principal or the head-teacher. As I mentioned before, I am not a fellow of much audacity to speak of, but I am quick to give up anything when I see its finish. I had resolved to go elsewhere at once if the school did not suit me. In consequence, neither Badger nor Red Shirt wielded any influence over me. And still less did I feel like coaxing or coddling the youngsters in the class room. So far it was O.K. with the school, but not so easy as that at my boarding house. I could have stood it if it had been only the boss coming to my room after my tea. But he would fetch many things to my room. First time he brought in seals.[4] He displayed about ten of them before me and persuaded me to buy them for three yen, which was very cheap, he said. Did he take me for a third rate painter making a round of the country? I told him I did not want them. Next time he brought in a panel picture of flowers and birds, drawn by one Kazan or somebody. He hung it against the wall of the alcove and asked me if it was not well done, and I echoed it looked well done. Then he started lecturing about Kazan, that there are two Kazans, one is Kazan something and the other is Kazan anything, and that this picture was the work of that Kazan something. After this nonsensical lecture, he insisted that he would make it fifteen yen for me to buy it. I declined the offer saying that I was shy of the money. [Footnote 4: Artists have several seals of stone with which to stamp on the picture they draw as a guarantee of their personal work or for identification. The shape and kind of seals are quite a hobby among artists, and sales or exchange are of common occurrence.] "You can pay any time." He was insistent. I settled him by telling him of my having no intention of purchasing it even if I had the necessary money. Again next time, he yanked in a big writing stone slab about the size of a ridge-tile. "This is a tankei,"[5] he said. As he "tankeied" two or three times, I asked for fun what was a tankei. Right away he commenced lecturing on the subject. "There are the upper, the middle and the lower stratum in tankei," he said. "Most of tankei slabs to-day are made from the upper stratum," he continued, "but this one is surely from the middle stratum. Look at this 'gan.'[6] 'Tis certainly rare to have three 'gans' like this. The ink-cake grates smoothly on it. Try it, sir,"--and he pushed it towards me. I asked him how much, and he answered that on account of its owner having brought it from China and wishing to sell if as soon as possible, he would make it very cheap, that I could have it for thirty yen. I was sure he was a fool. I seemed to be able to get through the school somehow, but I would soon give out if this "curio siege" kept on long. [Footnote 5: Tankei is the name of a place in China where a certain kind of stone suitable for writing purposes was produced.] [Footnote 6: "Gan" may be understood as a kind of natural mark on the stone peculiar to the stone from Tankei.] Shortly afterwards, I began to get sick of the school. One certain night, while I was strolling about a street named Omachi, I happened to notice a sign of noodles below of which was annotated "Tokyo" in the house next to the post office. I am very fond of noodles. While I was in Tokyo, if I passed by a noodle house and smelled the seasoning spices, I felt uncontrollable temptation to go inside at any cost. Up to this time I had forgotten the noodle on account of mathematics and antique curios, but since I had seen thus the sign of noodles, I could hardly pass it by unnoticed. So availing myself of this opportunity, I went in. It was not quite up to what I had judged by the sign. Since it claimed to follow the Tokyo style, they should have tidied up a little bit about the room. They did not either know Tokyo or have the means,--I did not know which, but the room was miserably dirty. The floor-mats had all seen better days and felt shaggy with sandy dust. The sootcovered walls defied the blackest black. The ceiling was not only smoked by the lamp black, but was so low as to force one involuntarily bend down his neck. Only the price-list, on which was glaringly written "Noodles" and which was pasted on the wall, was entirely new. I was certain that they bought an old house and opened the business just two or three days before. At the head of the price-list appeared "tempura" (noodles served with shrimp fried in batter). "Say, fetch me some tempura," I ordered in a loud voice. Then three fellows who had been making a chewing noise together in a corner, looked in my direction. As the room was dark I did not notice them at first. But when we looked at each other, I found them all to be boys in our school. They "how d'ye do'd" me and I acknowledged it. That night, having come across the noodle after so long a time, it tasted so fine that I ate four bowls. The next day as I entered the class room quite unconcernedly, I saw on the black board written in letters so large as to take up the whole space; "Professor Tempura." The boys all glanced at my face and made merry hee-haws at my cost. It was so absurd that I asked them if it was in any way funny for me to eat tempura noodle. Thereupon one of them said,--"But four bowls is too much." What did they care if I ate four bowls or five as long as I paid it with my own money,--and speedily finishing up my class, I returned to the teachers' room. After ten minutes' recess, I went to the next class, and there on the black board was newly written quite as large as before; "Four bowls of tempura noodles, but don't laugh." The first one did not arouse any ill-temper in me, but this time it made me feel irritating mad. A joke carried too far becomes mischievous. It is like the undue jealousy of some women who, like coal, look black and suggest flames. Nobody likes it. These country simpletons, unable to differentiate upon so delicate a boundary, would seem to be bent on pushing everything to the limit. As they lived in such a narrow town where one has no more to see if he goes on strolling about for one hour, and as they were capable of doing nothing better, they were trumpeting aloud this tempura incident in quite as serious a manner as the Russo-Japanese war. What a bunch of miserable pups! It is because they are raised in this fashion from their boyhood that there are many punies who, like the dwarf maple tree in the flower pot, mature gnarled and twisted. I have no objection to laugh myself with others over innocent jokes. But how's this? Boys as they are, they showed a "poisonous temper." Silently erasing off "tempura" from the board, I questioned them if they thought such mischief interesting, that this was a cowardly joke and if they knew the meaning of "cowardice." Some of them answered that to get angry on being laughed at over one's own doing, was cowardice. What made them so disgusting as this? I pitied myself for coming from far off Tokyo to teach such a lot. "Keep your mouth shut, and study hard," I snapped, and started the class. In the next class again there was written: "When one eats tempura noodles it makes him drawl nonsense." There seemed no end to it. I was thoroughly aroused with anger, and declaring that I would not teach such sassies, went home straight. The boys were glad of having an unexpected holiday, so I heard. When things had come to this pass, the antique curious seemed far more preferable to the school. My return home and sleep over night greatly rounded off my rugged temper over the tempura affair. I went to the school, and they were there also. I could not tell what was what. The three days thereafter were pacific, and on the night of the fourth day, I went to a suburb called Sumida and ate "dango" (small balls made of glutinous rice, dressed with sugar-paste). Sumida is a town where there are restaurants, hot-springs bath houses and a park, and in addition, the "tenderloin." The dango shop where I went was near the entrance to the tenderloin, and as the dango served there was widely known for its nice taste, I dropped in on my way back from my bath. As I did not meet any students this time, I thought nobody knew of it, but when I entered the first hour class next day, I found written on the black board; "Two dishes of dango--7 sen." It is true that I ate two dishes and paid seven sen. Troublesome kids! I declare. I expected with certainty that there would be something at the second hour, and there it was; "The dango in the tenderloin taste fine." Stupid wretches! No sooner I thought, the dango incident closed than the red towel became the topic for widespread gossip. Inquiry as to the story revealed it to be something unusually absurd. Since, my arrival here, I had made it a part of my routine to take in the hot springs bath every day. While there was nothing in this town which compared favorably with Tokyo, the hot springs were worthy of praise. So long as I was in the town, I decided that I would have a dip every day, and went there walking, partly for physical exercise, before my supper. And whenever I went there I used to carry a large-size European towel dangling from my hand. Added to somewhat reddish color the towel had acquired by its having been soaked in the hot-springs, the red color on its border, which was not fast enough, streaked about so that the towel now looked as if it were dyed red. This towel hung down from my hand on both ways whether afoot or riding in the train. For this reason, the students nicknamed me Red Towel. Honest, it is exasperating to live in a little town. There is some more. The bath house I patronized was a newly built three-story house, and for the patrons of the first class the house provided a bath-robe, in addition to an attendant, and the cost was only eight sen. On top of that, a maid would serve tea in a regular polite fashion. I always paid the first class. Then those gossipy spotters started saying that for one who made only forty yen a month to take a first class bath every day was extravagant. Why the devil should they care? It was none of their business. There is still some more. The bath-tub,--or the tank in this case,--was built of granite, and measured about thirty square feet. Usually there were thirteen or fourteen people in the tank, but sometimes there was none. As the water came up clear to the breast, I enjoyed, for athletic purposes, swimming in the tank. I delighted in swimming in this 30-square feet tank, taking chances of the total absence of other people. Once, going downstairs from the third story with a light heart, and peeping through the entrance of the tank to see if I should be able to swim, I noticed a sign put up in which was boldly written: "No swimming allowed in the tank." As there may not have been many who swam in the tank, this notice was probably put up particularly for my sake. After that I gave up swimming. But although I gave up swimming, I was surprised, when I went to the school, to see on the board, as usual, written: "No swimming allowed in the tank." It seemed as if all the students united in tracking me everywhere. They made me sick. I was not a fellow to stop doing whatever I had started upon no matter what students might say, but I became thoroughly disgusted when I meditated on why I had come to such a narrow, suffocating place. And, then, when I returned home, the "antique curio siege" was still going on. CHAPTER IV For us teachers there was a duty of night watch in the school, and we had to do it in turn. But Badger and Red Shirt were not in it. On asking why these two were exempt from this duty, I was told that they were accorded by the government treatment similar to officials of "Sonin" rank. Oh, fudge! They were paid more, worked less, and were then excused from this night watch. It was not fair. They made regulations to suit their convenience and seemed to regard all this as a matter of course. How could they be so brazen faced as this! I was greatly dissatisfied relative to this question, but according to the opinion of Porcupine, protests by a single person, with what insistency they may be made, will not be heard. They ought to be heard whether they are made by one person or by two if they are just. Porcupine remonstrated with me by quoting "Might is right" in English. I did not catch his point, so I asked him again, and he told me that it meant the right of the stronger. If it was the right of the stronger I had known it for long, and did not require Porcupine explain that to me at this time. The right of the stronger was a question different from that of the night watch. Who would agree that Badger and Red Shirt were the stronger? But argument or no argument, the turn of this night watch at last fell upon me. Being quite fastidious, I never enjoyed sound sleep unless I slept comfortably in my own bedding. From my childhood, I never stayed out overnight. When I did not find sleeping under the roof of my friends inviting, night watch in the school, you may be sure, was still worse. However repulsive, if this was a part of the forty yen a month, there was no alternative. I had to do it. To remain alone in the school after the faculty and students had gone home, was something particularly awkward. The room for the night watch was in the rear of the school building at the west end of the dormitory. I stepped inside to see how it was, and finding it squarely facing the setting sun, I thought I would melt. In spite of autumn having already set in, the hot spell still lingered, quite in keeping with the dilly-dally atmosphere of the country. I ordered the same kind of meal as served for the students, and finished my supper. The meal was unspeakably poor. It was a wonder they could subsist on such miserable stuff and keep on "roughing it" in that lively fashion. Not only that, they were always hungry for supper, finishing it at 4.30 in the afternoon. They must be heroes in a sense. I had thus my supper, but the sun being still high, could not go to bed yet. I felt like going to the hot-springs. I did not know the wrong or right of night watch going out, but it was oppressively trying to stand a life akin to heavy imprisonment. When I called at the school the first time and inquired about night watch, I was told by the janitor that he had just gone out and I thought it strange. But now by taking the turn of night watch myself, I could fathom the situation; it was right for any night watch to go out. I told the janitor that I was going out for a minute. He asked me "on business?" and I answered "No," but to take a bath at the hot springs, and went out straight. It was too bad that I had left my red towel at home, but I would borrow one over there for to-day. I took plenty of time in dipping in the bath and as it became dark at last, I came to the Furumachi Station on a train. It was only about four blocks to the school; I could cover it in no time. When I started walking schoolwards, Badger was seen coming from the opposite direction. Badger, I presumed, was going to the hot springs by this train. He came with brisk steps, and as we passed by, I nodded my courtesy. Then Badger, with a studiously owlish countenance, asked: "Am I wrong to understand that you are night watch?" Chuck that "Am-I-wrong-to-understand"! Two hours ago, did he not say to me "You're on first night watch to-night. Now, take care of yourself?" What makes one use such a roundabout, twisted way of saying anything when he becomes a principal? I was far from smiling. "Yes, Sir," I said, "I'm night watch to-night, and as I am night watch I will return to the school and stay there overnight, sure." With this parting shot, I left him where we met. Coming then to the cross-streets of Katamachi, I met Porcupine. This is a narrow place, I tell you. Whenever one ventures out, he is sure to come across some familiar face. "Say, aren't you night watch?" he hallooed, and I said "Yes, I am." "Tis wrong for night watch to leave his post at his pleasure," he added, and to this I blurted out with a bold front; "Nothing wrong at all. It is wrong not to go out." "Say, old man, your slap-dash is going to the limit. Wouldn't look well for the principal or the head teacher to see you out like this." The submissive tone of his remark was contrary to Porcupine as I had known him so far, so I cut him short by saying: "I have met the principal just now. Why, he approved my taking a stroll about the town. Said it would be hard on night watch unless he took a walk when it is hot." Then I made a bee-line for the school. Soon it was night. I called the janitor to my room and had a chat for about two hours. I grew tired of this, and thought I would get into bed anyway, even if I could not sleep. I put on my night shirt, lifted the mosquito-net, rolled off the red blanket and fell down flat on my back with a bang. The making of this bumping noise when I go to bed is my habit from my boyhood. "It is a bad habit," once declared a student of a law school who lived on the ground floor, and I on the second, when I was in the boarding house at Ogawa-machi, Kanda-ku, and who brought complaints to my room in person. Students of law schools, weaklings as they are, have double the ability of ordinary persons when it comes to talking. As this student of law dwelt long on absurd accusations, I downed him by answering that the noise made when I went to bed was not the fault of my hip, but that of the house which was not built on a solid base, and that if he had any fuss to make, make it to the house, not to me. This room for night watch was not on the second floor, so nobody cared how much I banged. I do not feel well-rested unless I go to bed with the loudest bang I can make. "This is bully!" and I straightened out my feet, when something jumped and clung to them. They felt coarse, and seemed not to be fleas. I was a bit surprised, and shook my feet inside the blanket two or three times. Instantly the blamed thing increased,--five or six of them on my legs, two or three on the thighs, one crushed beneath my hip and another clear up to my belly. The shock became greater. Up I jumped, took off the blanket, and about fifty to sixty grasshoppers flew out. I was more or less uneasy until I found out what they were, but now I saw they were grasshoppers, they set me on the war path. "You insignificant grasshoppers, startling a man! See what's coming to you!" With this I slapped them with my pillow twice or thrice, but the objects being so small, the effect was out of proportion to the force with which the blows were administered. I adopted a different plan. In the manner of beating floor-mats with rolled matting at house-cleaning, I sat up in bed and began beating them with the pillow. Many of them flew up by the force of the pillow; some desperately clung on or shot against my nose or head. I could not very well hit those on my head with the pillow; I grabbed such, and dashed them on the floor. What was more provoking was that no matter how hard I dashed them, they landed on the mosquito-net where they made a fluffy jerk and remained, far from being dead. At last, in about half an hour the slaughter of the grasshoppers was ended. I fetched a broom and swept them out. The janitor came along and asked what was the matter. "Damn the matter! Where in thunder are the fools who keep grasshoppers in bed! You pumpkinhead!" The janitor answered by explaining that he did not know anything about it. "You can't get away with Did-not-know," and I followed this thundering by throwing away the broom. The awe-struck janitor shouldered the broom and faded away. At once I summoned three of the students to my room as the "representatives," and six of them reported. Six or ten made no difference; I rolled up the sleeves of my night-shirt and fired away. "What do you mean by putting grasshoppers in my bed!" "Grasshoppers? What are they?" said one in front, in a tone disgustingly quiet. In this school, not only the principal, but the students as well, were addicted to using twisted-round expressions. "Don't know grasshoppers! You shall see!" To my chagrin, there was none; I had swept them all out. I called the janitor again and told him to fetch those grasshoppers he had taken away. The janitor said he had thrown them into the garbage box, but that he would pick them out again. "Yes, hurry up," I said, and he sped away. After a while he brought back about ten grasshoppers on a white paper, remarking: "I'm sorry, Sir. It's dark outside and I can't find out more. I'll find some tomorrow." All fools here, down to the janitor. I showed one grasshopper to the students. "This is a grasshopper. What's the matter for as big idiots as you not to know a grasshopper." Then the one with a round face sitting on the left saucily shot back: "A-ah say, that's a locust, a-ah----." "Shut up. They're the same thing. In the first place, what do you mean by answering your teacher 'A-ah say'? Ah-Say or Ah-Sing is a Chink's name!" For this counter-shot, he answered: "A-ah say and Ah-Sing is different,--A-ah say." They never got rid of "A-ah say." "Grasshoppers or locusts, why did you put them into my bed? When I asked you to?" "Nobody put them in." "If not, how could they get into the bed?" "Locusts are fond of warm places and probably they got in there respectfully by themselves." "You fools! Grasshoppers getting into bed respectfully! I should smile at them getting in there respectfully! Now, what's the reason for doing this mischief? Speak out." "But there is no way to explain it because we didn't do it." Shrimps! If they were afraid of making a clean breast of their own deed, they should not have done it at all. They looked defiant, and appeared to insist on their innocence as long as no evidence was brought up. I myself did some mischief while in the middle school, but when the culprit was sought after, I was never so cowardly, not even once, to back out. What one has done, has been done; what he has not, has not been,--that's the black and white of it. I, for one have been game and square, no matter how much mischief I might have done. If I wished to dodge the punishment, I would not start it. Mischief and punishment are bound to go together. We can enjoy mischief-making with some show of spirit because it is accompanied by certain consequences. Where does one expect to see the dastardly spirit which hungers for mischief-making without punishment, in vogue? The fellows who like to borrow money but not pay it back, are surely such as these students here after they are graduated. What did these fellows come to this middle school for, anyway? They enter a school, tattle round lies, play silly jokes behind some one by sneaking and cheating and get wrongly swell-headed when they finish the school thinking they have received an education. A common lot of jackasses they are. My hatred of talking with these scamps became intense, so I dismissed them by saying: "If you fellows have nothing to say, let it go at that. You deserve pity for not knowing the decent from the vulgar after coming to a middle school." I am not very decent in my own language or manner, but am sure that my moral standard is far more decent than that of these gangs. Those six boys filed out leisurely. Outwardly they appeared more dignified than I their teacher, it was the more repulsive for their calm behavior. I have no temerity equal to theirs. Then I went to bed again, and found the inside of the net full of merry crowds of mosquitoes. I could not bother myself to burn one by one with a candle flame. So I took the net off the hooks, folded it the lengthwise, and shook it crossways, up and down the room. One of the rings of the net, flying round, accidentally hit the back of my hand, the effect of which I did not soon forget. When I went to bed for the third time, I cooled off a little, but could not sleep easily. My watch showed it was half past ten. Well, as I thought it over, I realized myself as having come to a dirty pit. If all teachers of middle schools everywhere have to handle fellows like these in this school, those teachers have my sympathy. It is wonderful that teachers never run short. I believe there are many boneheads of extraordinary patience; but me for something else. In this respect, Kiyo is worthy of admiration. She is an old woman, with neither education nor social position, but as a human, she does more to command our respect. Until now, I have been a trouble to her without appreciating her goodness, but having come alone to such a far-off country, I now appreciated, for the first time, her kindness. If she is fond of sasa-ame of Echigo province, and if I go to Echigo for the purpose of buying that sweetmeat to let her eat it, she is fully worth that trouble. Kiyo has been praising me as unselfish and straight, but she is a person of sterling qualities far more than I whom she praises. I began to feel like meeting her. While I was thus meditating about Kiyo, all of a sudden, on the floor above my head, about thirty to forty people, if I guess by the number, started stamping the floor with bang, bang, bang that well threatened to bang down the floor. This was followed by proportionately loud whoops. The noise surprised me, and I popped up. The moment I got up I became aware that the students were starting a rough house to get even with me. What wrong one has committed, he has to confess, or his offence is never atoned for. They are just to ask for themselves what crimes they have done. It should be proper that they repent their folly after going to bed and to come and beg me pardon the next morning. Even if they could not go so far as to apologize they should have kept quiet. Then what does this racket mean? Where we keeping hogs in our dormitory? "This crazy thing got to stop. See what you get!" I ran out of the room in my night shirt, and flew upstairs in three and half steps. Then, strange to say, thunderous rumbling, of which I was sure of hearing in the act, was hushed. Not only a whisper but even footsteps were not heard. This was funny. The lamp was already blown out and although I could not see what was what in the dark, nevertheless could tell by instinct whether there was somebody around or not. In the long corridor running from the east to the west, there was not hiding even a mouse. From other end of the corridor the moonlight flooded in and about there it was particularly light. The scene was somewhat uncanny. I have had the habit from my boyhood of frequently dreaming and of flying out of bed and of muttering things which nobody understood, affording everybody a hearty laugh. One night, when I was sixteen or seventeen, I dreamed that I picked up a diamond, and getting up, demanded of my brother who was sleeping close to me what he had done with that diamond. The demand was made with such force that for about three days all in the house chaffed me about the fatal loss of precious stone, much to my humiliation. Maybe this noise which I heard was but a dream, although I was sure it was real. I was wondering thus in the middle of the corridor, when at the further end where it was moonlit, a roar was raised, coming from about thirty or forty throats, "One, two, three,--Whee-ee!" The roar had hardly subsided, when, as before, the stamping of the floor commenced with furious rhythm. Ah, it was not a dream, but a real thing! "Quit making the noise! 'Tis midnight!" I shouted to beat the band, and started in their direction. My passage was dark; the moonlight yonder was only my guide. About twelve feet past, I stumbled squarely against some hard object; ere the "Ouch!" has passed clear up to my head, I was thrown down. I called all kinds of gods, but could not run. My mind urged me on to hurry up, but my leg would not obey the command. Growing impatient, I hobbled on one foot, and found both voice and stamping already ceased and perfectly quiet. Men can be cowards but I never expected them capable of becoming such dastardly cowards as this. They challenged hogs. Now the situation having developed to this pretty mess, I would not give it up until I had dragged them out from hiding and forced them to apologize. With this determination, I tried to open one of the doors and examine inside, but it would not open. It was locked or held fast with a pile of tables or something; to my persistent efforts the door stood unyielding. Then I tried one across the corridor on the northside, but it was also locked. While this irritating attempt at door-opening was going on, again on the east end of the corridor the whooping roar and rhythmic stamping of feet were heard. The fools at both ends were bent on making a goose of me. I realized this, but then I was at a loss what to do. I frankly confess that I have not quite as much tact as dashing spirit. In such a case I am wholly at the mercy of swaying circumstances without my own way of getting through it. Nevertheless, I do not expect to play the part of underdog. If I dropped the affair then and there, it would reflect upon my dignity. It would be mortifying to have them think that they had one on the Tokyo-kid and that Tokyo-kid was wanting in tenacity. To have it on record that I had been guyed by these insignificant spawn when on night watch, and had to give in to their impudence because I could not handle them,--this would be an indelible disgrace on my life. Mark ye,--I am descendant of a samurai of the "hatamato" class. The blood of the "hatamoto" samurai could be traced to Mitsunaka Tada, who in turn could claim still a nobler ancestor. I am different from, and nobler than, these manure-smelling louts. The only pity is that I am rather short of tact; that I do not know what to do in such a case. That is the trouble. But I would not throw up the sponge; not on your life! I only do not know how because I am honest. Just think,--if the honest does not win, what else is there in this world that will win? If I cannot beat them to-night, I will tomorrow; if not tomorrow, then the day after tomorrow. If not the day after tomorrow, I will sit down right here, get my meals from my home until I beat them. Thus resolved, I squatted in the middle of the corridor and waited for the dawn. Myriads of mosquitoes swarmed about me, but I did not mind them. I felt my leg where I hit it a while ago; it seemed bespattered with something greasy. I thought it was bleeding. Let it bleed all it cares! Meanwhile, exhausted by these unwonted affairs, I fell asleep. When I awoke, up I jumped with a curse. The door on my right was half opened, and two students were standing in front of me. The moment I recovered my senses from the drowsy lull, I grabbed a leg of one of them nearest to me, and yanked it with all my might. He fell down prone. Look at what you're getting now! I flew at the other fellow, who was much confused; gave him vigorous shaking twice or thrice, and he only kept open his bewildering eyes. "Come up to my room." Evidently they were mollycoddles, for they obeyed my command without a murmur. The day had become already clear. I began questioning those two in my room, but,--you cannot pound out the leopard's spots no matter how you may try,--they seemed determined to push it through by an insistent declaration of "not guilty," that they would not confess. While this questioning was going on, the students upstairs came down, one by one, and began congregating in my room. I noticed all their eyes were swollen from want of sleep. "Blooming nice faces you got for not sleeping only one night. And you call yourselves men! Go, wash your face and come back to hear what I've got to tell you." I hurled this shot at them, but none of them went to wash his face. For about one hour, I had been talking and back-talking with about fifty students when suddenly Badger put in his appearance. I heard afterward that the janitor ran to Badger for the purpose of reporting to him that there was a trouble in the school. What a weak-knee of the janitor to fetch the principal for so trifling an affair as this! No wonder he cannot see better times than a janitor. The principal listened to my explanation, and also to brief remarks from the students. "Attend school as usual till further notice. Hurry up with washing your face and breakfast; there isn't much time left." So the principal let go all the students. Decidedly slow way of handling, this. If I were the principal, I would expel them right away. It is because the school accords them such luke-warm treatment that they get "fresh" and start "guying" the night watch. He said to me that it must have been trying on my nerves, and that I might be tired, and also that I need not teach that day. To this I replied: "No, Sir, no worrying at all. Such things may happen every night, but it would not disturb me in the least as long as I breathe. I will do the teaching. If I were not able to teach on account of lack of sleep for only one single night, I would make a rebate of my salary to the school." I do not know how this impressed him, but he gazed at me for a while, and called my attention to the fact that my face was rather swollen. Indeed, I felt it heavy. Besides, it itched all over. I was sure the mosquitoes must have stung me there to their hearts' content. I further added: "My face may be swollen, but I can talk all right; so I will teach;" thus scratching my face with some warmth. The principal smiled and remarked, "Well, you have the strength." To tell the truth, he did not intend remark to be a compliment, but, I think, a sneer. CHAPTER V. "Won't you go fishing?" asked Red Shirt He talks in a strangely womanish voice. One would not be able to tell whether he was a man or a woman. As a man he should talk like one. Is he not a college graduate? I can talk man-like enough, and am a graduate from a school of physics at that. It is a shame for a B.A. to have such a squeak. I answered with the smallest enthusiasm, whereupon he further asked me an impolite question if I ever did fishing. I told him not much, that I once caught three gibels when I was a boy, at a fishing game pond at Koume, and that I also caught a carp about eight inches long, at a similar game at the festival of Bishamon at Kagurazaka;--the carp, just as I was coaxing it out of the water, splashed back into it, and when I think of the incident I feel mortified at the loss even now. Red Shirt stuck out his chin and laughed "ho, ho." Why could he not laugh just like an ordinary person? "Then you are not well acquainted with the spirit of the game," he cried. "I'll show you if you like." He seemed highly elated. Not for me! I take it this way that generally those who are fond of fishing or shooting have cruel hearts. Otherwise, there is no reason why they could derive pleasure in murdering innocent creatures. Surely, fish and birds would prefer living to getting killed. Except those who make fishing or shooting their calling, it is nonsense for those who are well off to say that they cannot sleep well unless they seek the lives of fish or birds. This was the way I looked at the question, but as he was a B. A. and would have a better command of language when it came to talking, I kept mum, knowing he would beat me in argument. Red Shirt mistook my silence for my surrender, and began to induce me to join him right away, saying he would show me some fish and I should come with him if I was not busy, because he and Mr. Yoshikawa were lonesome when alone. Mr. Yoshikawa is the teacher of drawing whom I had nicknamed Clown. I don't know what's in the mind of this Clown, but he was a constant visitor at the house of Red Shirt, and wherever he went, Clown was sure to be trailing after him. They appeared more like master and servant than two fellow teachers. As Clown used to follow Red Shirt like a shadow, it would be natural to see them go off together now, but when those two alone would have been well off, why should they invite me,--this brusque, unaesthetic fellow,--was hard to understand. Probably, vain of his fishing ability, he desired to show his skill, but he aimed at the wrong mark, if that was his intention, as nothing of the kind would touch me. I would not be chagrined if he fishes out two or three tunnies. I am a man myself and poor though I may be in the art, I would hook something if I dropped a line. If I declined his invitation, Red Shirt would suspect that I refused not because of my lack of interest in the game but because of my want of skill of fishing. I weighed the matter thus, and accepted his invitation. After the school, I returned home and got ready, and having joined Red Shirt and Clown at the station, we three started to the shore. There was only one boatman to row; the boat was long and narrow, a kind we do not have in Tokyo. I looked for fishing rods but could find none. "How can we fish without rods? How are we going to manage it?" I asked Clown and he told me with the air of a professional fisherman that no rods were needed in the deep-sea fishing, but only lines. I had better not asked him if I was to be talked down in this way. The boatman was rowing very slowly, but his skill was something wonderful. We had already come far out to sea, and on turning back, saw the shore minimized, fading in far distance. The five-storied pagoda of Tosho Temple appeared above the surrounding woods like a needle-point. Yonder stood Aoshima (Blue Island). Nobody was living on this island which a closer view showed to be covered with stones and pine trees. No wonder no one could live there. Red Shirt was intently surveying about and praising the general view as fine. Clown also termed it "an absolutely fine view." I don't know whether it is so fine as to be absolute, but there was no doubt as to the exhilarating air. I realized it as the best tonic to be thus blown by the fresh sea breeze upon a wide expanse of water. I felt hungry. "Look at that pine; its trunk is straight and spreads its top branches like an umbrella. Isn't it a Turnersque picture?" said Red Shirt. "Yes, just like Turner's," responded Clown, "Isn't the way it curves just elegant? Exactly the touch of Turner," he added with some show of pride. I didn't know what Turner was, but as I could get along without knowing it, I kept silent. The boat turned to the left with the island on the right. The sea was so perfectly calm as to tempt one to think he was not on the deep sea. The pleasant occasion was a credit to Red Shirt. As I wished, if possible, to land on the island, I asked the boatman if our boat could not be made to it. Upon this Red Shirt objected, saying that we could do so but it was not advisable to go too close the shore for fishing. I kept still for a while. Then Clown made the unlooked-for proposal that the island be named Turner Island. "That's good; We shall call it so hereafter," seconded Red Shirt. If I was included in that "We," it was something I least cared for. Aoshima was good enough for me. "By the way, how would it look," said Clown, "if we place Madonna by Raphael upon that rock? It would make a fine picture." "Let's quit talking about Madonna, ho, ho, ho," and Red Shirt emitted a spooky laugh. "That's all right. Nobody's around," remarked Clown as he glanced at me, and turning his face to other direction significantly, smiled devilishly. I felt sickened. As it was none of my business whether it was a Madonna or a kodanna (young master), they let pose there any old way, but it was vulgar to feign assurance that one's subject is in no danger of being understood so long as others did not know the subject. Clown claims himself as a Yedo kid. I thought that the person called Madonna was no other than a favorite geisha of Red Shirt. I should smile at the idea of his gazing at his tootsy-wootsy standing beneath a pine tree. It would be better if Clown would make an oil painting of the scene and exhibit it for the public. "This will be about the best place." So saying the boatman stopped rowing the boat and dropped an anchor. "How deep is it?" asked Red Shirt, and was told about six fathoms. "Hard to fish sea-breams in six fathoms," said Red Shirt as he dropped a line into the water. The old sport appeared to expect to fetch some bream. Bravo! "It wouldn't be hard for you. Besides it is calm," Clown fawningly remarked, and he too dropped a line. The line had only a tiny bit of lead that looked like a weight. It had no float. To fish without a float seemed as nearly reasonable as to measure the heat without a thermometer, which was something impossible for me. So I looked on. They then told me to start, and asked me if I had any line. I told them I had more than I could use, but that I had no float. "To say that one is unable to fish without a float shows that he is a novice," piped up Clown. "See? When the line touches the bottom, you just manage it with your finger on the edge. If a fish bites, you could tell in a minute. There it goes," and Red Shirt hastily started taking out the line. I wondered what he had got, but I saw no fish, only the bait was gone. Ha, good for you, Gov'nur! "Wasn't it too bad! I'm sure it was a big one. If you miss that way, with your ability, we would have to keep a sharper watch to-day. But, say, even if we miss the fish, it's far better than staring at a float, isn't it? Just like saying he can't ride a bike without a brake." Clown has been getting rather gay, and I was almost tempted to swat him. I'm just as good as they are. The sea isn't leased by Red Shirt, and there might be one obliging bonito which might get caught by my line. I dropped my line then, and toyed it with my finger carelessly. After a while something shook my line with successive jerks. I thought it must be a fish. Unless it was something living, it would not give that tremulous shaking. Good! I have it, and I commenced drawing in the line, while Clown jibed me "What? Caught one already? Very remarkable, indeed!" I had drawn in nearly all the line, leaving only about five feet in the water. I peeped over and saw a fish that looked like a gold fish with stripes was coming up swimming to right and left. It was interesting. On taking it out of the water, it wriggled and jumped, and covered my face with water. After some effort, I had it and tried to detach the hook, but it would not come out easily. My hands became greasy and the sense was anything but pleasing. I was irritated; I swung the line and banged the fish against the bottom of the boat. It speedily died. Red Shirt and Clown watched me with surprise. I washed my hands in the water but they still smelled "fishy." No more for me! I don't care what fish I might get, I don't want to grab a fish. And I presume the fish doesn't want to be grabbed either. I hastily rolled up the line. "Splendid for the first honor, but that's goruki," Clown again made a "fresh" remark. "Goruki sounds like the name of a Russian literator," said Red Shirt. "Yes, just like a Russian literator," Clown at once seconded Red Shirt. Gorky for a Russian literator, Maruki a photographer of Shibaku, and komeno-naruki (rice) a life-giver, eh? This Red Shirt has a bad hobby of marshalling before anybody the name of foreigners. Everybody has his specialty. How could a teacher of mathematics like me tell whether it is a Gorky or shariki (rikishaman). Red Shirt should have been a little more considerate. And if he wants to mention such names at all, let him mention "Autobiography of Ben Franklin," or "Pushing to the Front," or something we all know. Red Shirt has been seen once in a while bringing a magazine with a red cover entitled Imperial Literature to the school and poring over it with reverence. I heard it from Porcupine that Red Shirt gets his supply of all foreign names from that magazine. Well, I should say! For some time, Red Shirt and Clown fished assiduously and within about an hour they caught about fifteen fish. The funny part of it was that all they caught were goruki; of sea-bream there was not a sign. "This is a day of bumper crop of Russian literature," Red Shirt said, and Clown answered: "When one as skilled as you gets nothing but goruki, it's natural for me to get nothing else." The boatman told me that this small-sized fish goruki has too many tiny bones and tastes too poor to be fit for eating, but they could be used for fertilising. So Red Shirt and Clown were fishing fertilisers with vim and vigor. As for me, one goruki was enough and I laid down myself on the bottom, and looked up at the sky. This was far more dandy than fishing. Then the two began whispering. I could not hear well, nor did I care to. I was looking up at the sky and thinking about Kiyo. If I had enough of money, I thought, and came with Kiyo to such a picturesque place, how joyous it would be. No matter how picturesque the scene might be, it would be flat in the company of Clown or of his kind. Kiyo is a poor wrinkled woman, but I am not ashamed to take her to any old place. Clown or his likes, even in a Victoria or a yacht, or in a sky-high position, would not be worthy to come within her shadow. If I were the head teacher, and Red Shirt I, Clown would be sure to fawn on me and jeer at Red Shirt. They say Yedo kids are flippant. Indeed, if a fellow like Clown was to travel the country and repeatedly declare "I am a Yedo kid," no wonder the country folk would decide that the flippant are Yedo kids and Yedo kids are flippant. While I was meditating like this, I heard suppressed laughter. Between their laughs they talked something, but I could not make out what they were talking about. "Eh? I don't know......" "...... That's true ...... he doesn't know ...... isn't it pity, though ......." "Can that be......." "With grasshoppers ...... that's a fact." I did not listen to what they were talking, but when I heard Clown say "grasshoppers," I cocked my ear instinctively. Clown emphasized, for what reason I do not know the word "grasshopers" so that it would be sure to reach my ear plainly, and he blurred the rest on purpose. I did not move, and kept on listening. "That same old Hotta," "that may be the case...." "Tempura ...... ha, ha, ha ......" "...... incited ......" "...... dango also? ......" The words were thus choppy, but judging by their saying "grasshoppers," "tempura" or "dango," I was sure they were secretly talking something about me. If they wanted to talk, they should do it louder. If they wanted to discuss something secret, why in thunder did they invite me? What damnable blokes! Grasshoppers or glass-stoppers, I was not in the wrong; I have kept quiet to save the face of Badger because the principle asked me to leave the matter to him. Clown has been making unnecessary criticisms; out with your old paint-brushes there! Whatever concerns me, I will settle it myself sooner or later, and they had just to keep off my toes. But remarks such as "the same old Hotta" or "...... incited ......" worried me a bit. I could not make out whether they meant that Hotta incited me to extend the circle of the trouble, or that he incited the students to get at me. As I gazed at the blue sky, the sunlight gradually waned and chilly winds commenced stirring. The clouds that resembled the streaky smokes of joss sticks were slowly extending over a clear sky, and by degrees they were absorbed, melted and changed to a faint fog. "Well, let's be going," said Red Shirt suddenly. "Yes, this is the time we were going. See your Madonna to-night?" responded Clown. "Cut out nonsense ...... might mean a serious trouble," said Red Shirt who was reclining against the edge of the boat, now raising himself. "O, that's all right if he hears.......," and when Clown, so saying, turned himself my way, I glared squarely in his face. Clown turned back as if to keep away from a dazzling light, and with "Ha, this is going some," shrugged his shoulders and scratched his head. The boat was now being rowed shore-ward over the calm sea. "You don't seem much fond of fishing," asked Red Shirt. "No, I'd rather prefer lying and looking at the sky," I answered, and threw the stub of cigarette I had been smoking into the water; it sizzled and floated on the waves parted by the oar. "The students are all glad because you have come. So we want you do your best." Red Shirt this time started something quite alien to fishing. "I don't think they are," I said. "Yes; I don't mean it as flattery. They are, sure. Isn't it so, Mr. Yoshikawa?" "I should say they are. They're crazy over it," said Clown with an unctuous smile. Strange that whatever Clown says, it makes me itching mad. "But, if you don't look out, there is danger," warned Red Shirt. "I am fully prepared for all dangers," I replied. In fact, I had made up my mind either to get fired or to make all the students in the dormitory apologize to me. "If you talk that way, that cuts everything out. Really, as a head teacher, I've been considering what is good for you, and wouldn't like you to mistake it." "The head teacher is really your friend. And I'm doing what I can for you, though mighty little, because you and I are Yedo kids, and I would like to have you stay with us as long as possible and we can help each other." So said Clown and it sounded almost human. I would sooner hang myself than to get helped by Clown. "And the students are all glad because you had come, but there are many circumstances," continued Red Shirt. "You may feel angry sometimes but be patient for the present, and I will never do anything to hurt your interests." "You say 'many circumstances'; what are they?" "They're rather complicated. Well, they'll be clear to you by and by. You'll understand them naturally without my talking them over. What do you say, Mr. Yoshikawa?" "Yes, they're pretty complicated; hard to get them cleared up in a jiffy. But they'll become clear by-the-bye. Will be understood naturally without my explaining them," Clown echoed Red Shirt. "If they're such a bother, I don't mind not hearing them. I only asked you because you sprang the subject." "That's right. I may seem irresponsible in not concluding the thing I had started. Then this much I'll tell you. I mean no offense, but you are fresh from school, and teaching is a new experience. And a school is a place where somewhat complicated private circumstances are common and one cannot do everything straight and simple". "If can't get it through straight and simple, how does it go?" "Well, there you are so straight as that. As I was saying, you're short of experience........" "I should be. As I wrote it down in my record-sheet, I'm 23 years and four months." "That's it. So you'd be done by some one in unexpected quarter." "I'm not afraid who might do me as long as I'm honest." "Certainly not. No need be afraid, but I do say you look sharp; your predecessor was done." I noticed Clown had become quiet, and turning round, saw him at the stern talking with the boatman. Without Clown, I found our conversation running smoothly. "By whom was my predecessor done?" "If I point out the name, it would reflect on the honor of that person, so I can't mention it. Besides there is no evidence to prove it and I may be in a bad fix if I say it. At any rate, since you're here, my efforts will prove nothing if you fail. Keep a sharp look-out, please." "You say look-out, but I can't be more watchful than I'm now. If I don't do anything wrong, after all, that's all right isn't it?" Red Shirt laughed. I did not remember having said anything provocative of laughter. Up to this very minute, I have been firm in my conviction that I'm right. When I come to consider the situation, it appears that a majority of people are encouraging others to become bad. They seem to believe that one must do wrong in order to succeed. If they happen to see some one honest and pure, they sneer at him as "Master Darling" or "kiddy." What's the use then of the instructors of ethics at grammar schools or middle schools teaching children not to tell a lie or to be honest. Better rather make a bold departure and teach at schools the gentle art of lying or the trick of distrusting others, or show pupils how to do others. That would be beneficial for the person thus taught and for the public as well. When Red Shirt laughed, he laughed at my simplicity. My word! what chances have the simple-hearted or the pure in a society where they are made objects of contempt! Kiyo would never laugh at such a time; she would listen with profound respect. Kiyo is far superior to Red Shirt. "Of course, that't all right as long as you don't do anything wrong. But although you may not do anything wrong, they will do you just the same unless you can see the wrong of others. There are fellows you have got to watch,--the fellows who may appear off-hand, simple and so kind as to get boarding house for you...... Getting rather cold. 'Tis already autumn, isn't it. The beach looks beer-color in the fog. A fine view. Say, Mr. Yoshikawa, what do you think of the scene along the beach?......" This in a loud voice was addressed to Clown. "Indeed, this is a fine view. I'd get a sketch of it if I had time. Seems a pity to leave it there," answered Clown. A light was seen upstairs at Minato-ya, and just as the whistle of a train was sounded, our boat pushed its nose deep into the sand. "Well, so you're back early," courtesied the wife of the boatman as she stepped upon the sand. I stood on the edge of the boat; and whoop! I jumped out to the beach. CHAPTER VI. I heartily despise Clown. It would be beneficial for Japan if such a fellow were tied to a quernstone and dumped into the sea. As to Red Shirt, his voice did not suit my fancy. I believe he suppresses his natural tones to put on airs and assume genteel manner. He may put on all kinds of airs, but nothing good will come of it with that type of face. If anything falls in love with him, perhaps the Madonna will be about the limit. As a head-teacher, however, he is more serious than Clown. As he did not say definitely, I cannot get to the point, but it appears that he warned me to look-out for Porcupine as he is crooked. If that was the case, he should have declared it like a man. And if Porcupine is so bad a teacher as that, it would be better to discharge him. What a lack of backbone for a head teacher and a Bachelor of Arts! As he is a fellow so cautious as to be unable to mention the name of the other even in a whisper, he is surely a mollycoddle. All mollycoddles are kind, and that Red Shirt may be as kind as a woman. His kindness is one thing, and his voice quite another, and it would be wrong to disregard his kindness on account of his voice. But then, isn't this world a funny place! The fellow I don't like is kind to me, and the friend whom I like is crooked,--how absurd! Probably everything here goes in opposite directions as it is in the country, the contrary holds in Tokyo. A dangerous place, this. By degrees, fires may get frozen and custard pudding petrified. But it is hardly believable that Porcupine would incite the students, although he might do most anything he wishes as he is best liked among them. Instead of taking in so roundabout a way, in the first place, it would have saved him a lot of trouble if he came direct to me and got at me for a fight. If I am in his way, he had better tell me so, and ask me to resign because I am in his way. There is nothing that cannot be settled by talking it over. If what he says sounds reasonable, I would resign even tomorrow. This is not the only town where I can get bread and butter; I ought not to die homeless wherever I go. I thought Porcupine was a better sport. When I came here, Porcupine was the first to treat me to ice water. To be treated by such a fellow, even if it is so trifling a thing as ice water, affects my honor. I had only one glass then and had him pay only one sen and a half. But one sen or half sen, I shall not die in peace if I accept a favor from a swindler. I will pay it back tomorrow when I go to the school. I borrowed three yen from Kiyo. That three yen is not paid yet to-day, though it is five years since. Not that I could not pay, but that I did not want to. Kiyo never looks to my pocket thinking I shall pay it back by-the-bye. Not by any means. I myself do not expect to fulfill cold obligation like a stranger by meditating on returning it. The more I worry about paying it back, the more I may be doubting the honest heart of Kiyo. It would be the same as traducing her pure mind. I have not paid her back that three yen not because I regard her lightly, but because I regard her as part of myself. Kiyo and Porcupine cannot be compared, of course, but whether it be ice water or tea, the fact that I accept another's favor without saying anything is an act of good-will, taking the other on his par value, as a decent fellow. Instead of chipping in my share, and settling each account, to receive munificence with grateful mind is an acknowledgment which no amount of money can purchase. I have neither title nor official position but I am an independent fellow, and to have an independent fellow kowtow to you in acknowledgment of the favor you extend him should be considered as far more than a return acknowledgment with a million yen. I made Porcupine blow one sen and a half, and gave him my gratitude which is more costly than a million yen. He ought to have been thankful for that. And then what an outrageous fellow to plan a cowardly action behind my back! I will give him back that one sen and a half tomorrow, and all will be square. Then I will land him one. When I thought thus far, I felt sleepy and slept like a log. The next day, as I had something in my mind, I went to the school earlier than usual and waited for Porcupine, but he did not appear for a considerable time. "Confucius" was there, so was Clown, and finally Red Shirt, but for Porcupine there was a piece of chalk on his desk but the owner was not there. I had been thinking of paying that one sen and a half as soon as I entered the room, and had brought the coppers to the school grasped in my hand. My hands get easily sweaty, and when I opened my hand, I found them wet. Thinking that Porcupine might say something if wet coins were given him, I placed them upon my desk, and cooled them by blowing in them. Then Red Shirt came to me and said he was sorry to detain me yesterday, thought I have been annoyed. I told him I was not annoyed at all, only I was hungry. Thereupon Red Shirt put his elbows upon the desk, brought his sauce-pan-like face close to my nose, and said; "Say, keep dark what I told you yesterday in the boat. You haven't told it anybody, have you?" He seems quite a nervous fellow as becoming one who talks in a feminish voice. It was certain that I had not told it to anybody, but as I was in the mood to tell it and had already one sen and a half in my hand, I would be a little rattled if a gag was put on me. To the devil with Red Shirt! Although he had not mentioned the name "Porcupine," he had given me such pointers as to put me wise as to who the objective was, and now he requested me not to blow the gaff!--it was an irresponsibility least to be expected from a head teacher. In the ordinary run of things, he should step into the thick of the fight between Porcupine and me, and side with me with all his colors flying. By so doing, he might be worthy the position of the head teacher, and vindicate the principle of wearing red shirts. I told the head teacher that I had not divulged the secret to anybody but was going to fight it out with Porcupine. Red Shirt was greatly perturbed, and stuttered out; "Say, don't do anything so rash as that. I don't remember having stated anything plainly to you about Mr. Hotta....... if you start a scrimmage here, I'll be greatly embarrassed." And he asked the strangely outlandish question if I had come to the school to start trouble? Of course not, I said, the school would not stand for my making trouble and pay me salary for it. Red Shirt then, perspiring, begged me to keep the secret as mere reference and never mention it. "All right, then," I assured him, "this robs me shy, but since you're so afraid of it, I'll keep it all to myself." "Are you sure?" repeated Red Shirt. There was no limit to his womanishness. If Red Shirt was typical of Bachelors of Arts, I did not see much in them. He appeared composed after having requested me to do something self-contradictory and wanting logic, and on top of that suspects my sincerity. "Don't you mistake," I said to myself, "I'm a man to the marrow, and haven't the idea of breaking my own promises; mark that!" Meanwhile the occupants of the desks on both my sides came to the room, and Red Shirt hastily withdrew to his own desk. Red Shirt shows some air even in his walk. In stepping about the room, he places down his shoes so as to make no sound. For the first time I came to know that making no sound in one's walk was something satisfactory to one's vanity. He was not training himself for a burglar, I suppose. He should cut out such nonsense before it gets worse. Then the bugle for the opening of classes was heard. Porcupine did not appear after all. There was no other way but to leave the coins upon the desk and attend the class. When I returned to the room a little late after the first hour class, all the teachers were there at their desks, and Porcupine too was there. The moment Porcupine saw my face, he said that he was late on my account, and I should pay him a fine. I took out that one sen and a half, and saying it was the price of the ice water, shoved it on his desk and told him to take it. "Don't josh me," he said, and began laughing, but as I appeared unusually serious, he swept the coins back to my desk, and flung back, "Quit fooling." So he really meant to treat me, eh? "No fooling; I mean it," I said. "I have no reason to accept your treat, and that's why I pay you back. Why don't you take it?" "If you're so worried about that one sen and a half, I will take it, but why do you pay it at this time so suddenly?" "This time or any time, I want to pay it back. I pay it back because I don't like you treat me." Porcupine coldly gazed at me and ejaculated "H'm." If I had not been requested by Red Shirt, here was the chance to show up his cowardice and make it hot for him. But since I had promised not to reveal the secret, I could do nothing. What the deuce did he mean by "H'm" when I was red with anger. "I'll take the price of the ice water, but I want you leave your boarding house." "Take that coin; that's all there is to it. To leave or not,--that's my pleasure." "But that is not your pleasure. The boss of your boarding house came to me yesterday and wanted me to tell you leave the house, and when I heard his explanation, what he said was reasonable. And I dropped there on my way here this morning to hear more details and make sure of everything." What Porcupine was trying to get at was all dark to me. "I don't care a snap what the boss was damn well pleased to tell you," I cried. "What do you mean by deciding everything by yourself! If there is any reason, tell me first. What's the matter with you, deciding what the boss says is reasonable without hearing me." "Then you shall hear," he said. "You're too tough and been regarded a nuisance over there. Say, the wife of a boarding house is a wife, not a maid, and you've been such a four-flusher as to make her wipe your feet." "When did I make her wipe my feet?" I asked. "I don't know whether you did or did not, but anyway they're pretty sore about you. He said he can make ten or fifteen yen easily if he sell a roll of panel-picture." "Damn the chap! Why did he take me for a boarder then!" "I don't know why. They took you but they want you leave because they got tired of you. So you'd better get out." "Sure, I will. Who'd stay in such a house even if they beg me on their knees. You're insolent to have induced me to go to such a false accuser in the first place." "Might be either I'm insolent or you're tough." Porcupine is no less hot-tempered than I am, and spoke with equally loud voice. All the other teachers in the room, surprised, wondering what has happened, looked in our direction and craned their necks. I was not conscious of having done anything to be ashamed of, so I stood up and looked around. Clown alone was laughing amused. The moment he met my glaring stare as if to say "You too want to fight?" he suddenly assumed a grave face and became serious. He seemed to be a little cowed. Meanwhile the bugle was heard, and Porcupine and I stopped the quarrel and went to the class rooms. In the afternoon, a meeting of the teachers was going to be held to discuss the question of punishment of those students in the dormitory who offended me the other night. This meeting was a thing I had to attend for the first time in my life, and I was totally ignorant about it. Probably it was where the teachers gathered to blow about their own opinions and the principal bring them to compromise somehow. To compromise is a method used when no decision can be delivered as to the right or wrong of either side. It seemed to me a waste of time to hold a meeting over an affair in which the guilt of the other side was plain as daylight. No matter who tried to twist it round, there was no ground for doubting the facts. It would have been better if the principal had decided at once on such a plain case; he is surely wanting in decision. If all principals are like this, a principal is a synonym of a "dilly-dally." The meeting hall was a long, narrow room next to that of the principal, and was used for dining room. About twenty chairs, with black leather seat, were lined around a narrow table, and the whole scene looked like a restaurant in Kanda. At one end of the table the principal took his seat, and next to him Red Shirt. All the rest shifted for themselves, but the gymnasium teacher is said always to take the seat farthest down out of modesty. The situation was new to me, so I sat down between the teachers of natural history and of Confucius. Across the table sat Porcupine and Clown. Think how I might, the face of Clown was a degrading type. That of Porcupine was far more charming, even if I was now on bad terms with him. The panel picture which hung in the alcove of the reception hall of Yogen temple where I went to the funeral of my father, looked exactly like this Porcupine. A priest told me the picture was the face of a strange creature called Idaten. To-day he was pretty sore, and frequently stared at me with his fiery eyes rolling. "You can't bulldoze me with that," I thought, and rolled my own in defiance and stared back at him. My eyes are not well-shaped but their large size is seldom beaten by others. Kiyo even once suggested that I should make a fine actor because I had big eyes. "All now here?" asked the principal, and the clerk named Kawamura counted one, two, three and one was short. "Just one more," said the clerk, and it ought to be; Hubbard Squash was not there. I don't know what affinity there is between Hubbard Squash and me, but I can never forget his face. When I come to the teachers' room, his face attracts me first; while walking out in the street, his manners are recalled to my mind. When I go to the hot springs, sometimes I meet him with a pale-face in the bath, and if I hallooed to him, he would raise his trembling head, making me feel sorry for him. In the school there is no teacher so quiet as he. He seldom, if ever, laughs or talks. I knew the word "gentleman" from books, and thought it was found only in the dictionary, but not a thing alive. But since I met Hubbard Squash, I was impressed for the first time that the word represented a real substance. As he is a man so attached to me, I had noticed his absence as soon as I entered the meeting hall. To tell the truth, I came to the hall with the intention of sitting next to him. The principal said that the absentee may appear shortly, and untied a package he had before him, taking out some hectograph sheets and began reading them. Red Shirt began polishing his amber pipe with a silk handkerchief. This was his hobby, which was probably becoming to him. Others whispered with their neighbors. Still others were writing nothings upon the table with the erasers at the end of their pencils. Clown talked to Porcupine once in a while, but he was not responsive. He only said "Umh" or "Ahm," and stared at me with wrathful eyes. I stared back with equal ferocity. Then the tardy Hubbard Squash apologetically entered, and politely explained that he was unavoidably detained. "Well, then the meeting is called to order," said Badger. On these sheets was printed, first the question of the punishment of the offending students, second that of superintending the students, and two or three other matters. Badger, putting on airs as usual, as if he was an incarnation of education, spoke to the following effect. "Any misdeeds or faults among the teachers or the students in this school are due to the lack of virtues in my person, and whenever anything happens, I inwardly feel ashamed that a man like me could hold his position. Unfortunately such an affair has taken place again, and I have to apologize from my heart. But since it has happened, it cannot be helped; we must settle it one way or other. The facts are as you already know, and I ask you gentlemen to state frankly the best means by which the affair may be settled." When I heard the principal speak, I was impressed that indeed the principal, or Badger, was saying something "grand." If the principal was willing to assume all responsibilities, saying it was his fault or his lack of virtues, it would have been better stop punishing the students and get himself fired first. Then there will be no need of holding such thing as a meeting. In the first place, just consider it by common sense. I was doing my night duty right, and the students started trouble. The wrong doer is neither the principal nor I. If Porcupine incited them, then it would be enough to get rid of the students and Porcupine. Where in thunder would be a peach of damfool who always swipes other people's faults and says "these are mine?" It was a stunt made possible only by Badger. Having made such an illogical statement, he glanced at the teachers in a highly pleased manner. But no one opened his mouth. The teacher of natural history was gazing at the crow which had hopped on the roof of the nearby building. The teacher of Confucius was folding and unfolding the hectograph sheet. Porcupine was still staring at me. If a meeting was so nonsensical an affair as this, I would have been better absent taking a nap at home. I became irritated, and half raised myself, intending to make a convincing speech, but just then Red Shirt began saying something and I stopped. I saw him say something, having put away his pipe, and wiping his face with a striped silk handkerchief. I'm sure he copped that handkerchief from the Madonna; men should use white linen. He said: "When I heard of the rough affairs in the dormitory, I was greatly ashamed as the head teacher of my lack of discipline and influence. When such an affair takes place there is underlying cause somewhere. Looking at the affair itself, it may seem that the students were wrong, but in a closer study of the facts, we may find the responsibility resting with the School. Therefore, I'm afraid it might affect us badly in the future if we administer too severe a punishment on the strength of what has been shown on the surface. As they are youngsters, full of life and vigor, they might half-consciously commit some youthful pranks, without due regard as to their good or bad. As to the mode of punishment itself, I have no right to suggest since it is a matter entirely in the hand of the principal, but I should ask, considering these points, that some leniency be shown toward the students." Well, as Badger, so was Red Shirt. He declares the "Rough Necks" among the students is not their fault but the fault of the teachers. A crazy person beats other people because the beaten are wrong. Very grateful, indeed. If the students were so full of life and vigor, shovel them out into the campus and let them wrestle their heads off. Who would have grasshoppers put into his bed unconsciously! If things go on like this, they may stab some one asleep, and get freed as having done the deed unconsciously. Having figured it out in this wise, I thought I would state my own views on the matter, but I wanted to give them an eloquent speech and fairly take away their breath. I have an affection of the windpipe which clog after two or three words when I am excited. Badger and Red Shirt are below my standing in their personality, but they were skilled in speech-making, and it would not do to have them see my awkwardness. I'll make a rough note of composition first, I thought, and started mentally making a sentence, when, to my surprise, Clown stood up suddenly. It was unusual for Clown to state his opinion. He spoke in his flippant tone: "Really the grasshopper incident and the whoop-la affair are peculiar happenings which are enough to make us doubt our own future. We teachers at this time must strive to clear the atmosphere of the school. And what the principal and the head teacher have said just now are fit and proper. I entirely agree with their opinions. I wish the punishment be moderate." In what Clown had said there were words but no meaning. It was a juxtaposition of high-flown words making no sense. All that I understood was the words, "I entirely agree with their opinions." Clown's meaning was not clear to me, but as I was thoroughly angered, I rose without completing my rough note. "I am entirely opposed to......." I said, but the rest did not come at once. ".......I don't like such a topsy-turvy settlement," I added and the fellows began laughing. "The students are absolutely wrong from the beginning. It would set a bad precedent if we don't make them apologize ....... What do we care if we kick them all out ....... darn the kids trying to guy a new comer......." and I sat down. Then the teacher of natural history who sat on my right whined a weak opinion, saying "The students may be wrong, but if we punish them too severely, they may start a reaction and would make it rather bad. I am for the moderate side, as the head teacher suggested." The teacher of Confucius on my left expressed his agreement with the moderate side, and so did the teacher of history endorse the views of the head teacher. Dash those weak-knees! Most of them belonged to the coterie of Red Shirt. It would make a dandy school if such fellows run it. I had decided in my mind that it must be either the students apologize to me or I resign, and if the opinion of Red Shirt prevailed, I had determined to return home and pack up. I had no ability of out-talking such fellows, or even if I had, I was in no humor to keeping their company for long. Since I don't expect to remain in the school, the devil may take care of the rest. If I said anything, they would only laugh; so I shut my mouth tight. Porcupine, who up to this time had been listening to the others, stood up with some show of spirit. Ha, the fellow was going to endorse the views of Red Shirt, eh? You and I got to fight it out anyway, I thought, so do any way you darn please. Porcupine spoke in a thunderous voice: "I entirely differ from the opinions of the head teacher and other gentlemen. Because, viewed from whatever angle, this incident cannot be other than an attempt by those fifty students in the dormitory to make a fool of a new teacher. The head teacher seems to trace the cause of the trouble to the personality of that teacher himself, but, begging his pardon, I think he is mistaken. The night that new teacher was on night duty was not long after his arrival, not more than twenty days after he had come into contact with the students. During those short twenty days, the students could have no reason to criticise his knowledges or his person. If he was insulted for some cause which deserved insult, there may be reasons in our considering the act of the students, but if we show undue leniency toward the frivolous students who would insult a new teacher without cause, it would affect the dignity of this school. The spirit of education is not only in imparting technical knowledges, but also in encouraging honest, ennobling and samurai-like virtues, while eliminating the evil tendency to vulgarity and roughness. If we are afraid of reaction or further trouble, and satisfy ourselves with make-shifts, there is no telling when we can ever get rid of this evil atmosphere[G]. We are here to eradicate this very evil. If we mean to countenance it, we had better not accepted our positions here. For these reasons, I believe it proper to punish the students in the dormitory to the fullest extent and also make them apologize to that teacher in the open." All were quiet. Red Shirt again began polishing his pipe. I was greatly elated. He spoke almost what I had wanted to. I'm such a simple-hearted fellow that I forgot all about the bickerings with Porcupine, and looked at him with a grateful face, but he appeared to take no notice of me. After a while, Porcupine again stood up, and said. "I forgot to mention just now, so I wish to add. The teacher on night duty that night seems to have gone to the hot springs during his duty hours, and I think it a blunder. It is a matter of serious misconduct to take the advantage of being in sole charge of the school, to slip out to a hot springs. The bad behavior of the students is one thing; this blunder is another, and I wish the principal to call attention of the responsible person to that matter." A strange fellow! No sooner had he backed me up than he began talking me down. I knew the other night watch went out during his duty hours, and thought it was a custom, so I went as far out as to the hot springs without considering the situation seriously. But when it was pointed out like this, I realised that I had been wrong. Thereupon I rose again and said; "I really went to the hot springs. It was wrong and I apologize." Then all again laughed. Whatever I say, they laugh. What a lot of boobs! See if you fellows can make a clean breast of your own fault like this! You fellows laugh because you can't talk straight. After that the principal said that since it appeared that there will be no more opinions, he will consider the matter well and administer what he may deem a proper punishment. I may here add the result of the meeting. The students in the dormitory were given one week's confinement, and in addition to that, apologized to me. If they had not apologized, I intended to resign and go straight home, but as it was it finally resulted in a bigger and still worse affair, of which more later. The principal then at the meeting said something to the effect that the manners of the students should be directed rightly by the teachers' influence, and as the first step, no teacher should patronize, if possible, the shops where edibles and drinks were served, excepting, however, in case of farewell party or such social gatherings. He said he would like no teacher to go singly to eating houses of lower kind--for instance, noodle-house or dango shop.... And again all laughed. Clown looked at Porcupine, said "tempura" and winked his eyes, but Porcupine regarded him in silence. Good! My "think box" is not of superior quality, so things said by Badger were not clear to me, but I thought if a fellow can't hold the job of teacher in a middle school because he patronizes a noodle-house or dango shop, the fellow with bear-like appetite like me will never be able to hold it. If it was the case, they ought to have specified when calling for a teacher one who does not eat noodle and dango. To give an appointment without reference to the matter at first, and then to proclaim that noodle or dango should not be eaten was a blow to a fellow like me who has no other petty hobby. Then Red Shirt again opened his mouth. "Teachers of the middle school belong to the upper class of society and they should not be looking after material pleasures only, for it would eventually have effect upon their personal character. But we are human, and it would be intolerable in a small town like this to live without any means of affording some pleasure to ourselves, such as fishing, reading literary products, composing new style poems, or haiku (17-syllable poem). We should seek mental consolation of higher order." There seemed no prospect that he would quit the hot air. If it was a mental consolation to fish fertilisers on the sea, have goruki for Russian literature, or to pose a favorite geisha beneath pine tree, it would be quite as much a mental consolation to eat dempura noodle and swallow dango. Instead of dwelling on such sham consolations, he would find his time better spent by washing his red shirts. I became so exasperated that I asked; "Is it also a mental consolation to meet the Madonna?" No one laughed this time and looked at each other with queer faces, and Red Shirt himself hung his head, apparently embarrassed. Look at that! A good shot, eh? Only I was sorry for Hubbard Squash who, having heard the remark, became still paler. CHAPTER VII. That very night I left the boarding house. While I was packing up, the boss came to me and asked if there was anything wrong in the way I was treated. He said he would be pleased to correct it and suit me if I was sore at anything. This beats me, sure. How is it possible for so many boneheads to be in this world! I could not tell whether they wanted me to stay or get out. They're crazy. It would be disgrace for a Yedo kid to fuss about with such a fellow; so I hired a rikishaman and speedily left the house. I got out of the house all right, but had no place to go. The rikishaman asked me where I was going. I told him to follow me with his mouth shut, then he shall see and I kept on walking. I thought of going to Yamashiro-ya to avoid the trouble of hunting up a new boarding house, but as I had no prospect of being able to stay there long, I would have to renew the hunt sooner or later, so I gave up the idea. If I continued walking this way, I thought I might strike a house with the sign of "boarders taken" or something similar, and I would consider the first house with the sign the one provided for me by Heaven. I kept on going round and round through the quiet, decent part of the town when I found myself at Kajimachi. This used to be former samurai quarters where one had the least chance of finding any boarding house, and I was going to retreat to a more lively part of the town when a good idea occurred to me. Hubbard Squash whom I respected lived in this part of the town. He is a native of the town, and has lived in the house inherited from his great grandfather. He must be, I thought, well informed about nearly everything in this town. If I call on him for his help, he will perhaps find me a good boarding house. Fortunately, I called at his house once before, and there was no trouble in finding it out. I knocked at the door of a house, which I knew must be his, and a woman about fifty years old with an old fashioned paper-lantern in hand, appeared at the door. I do not despise young women, but when I see an aged woman, I feel much more solicitous. This is probably because I am so fond of Kiyo. This aged lady, who looked well-refined, was certainly mother of Hubbard Squash whom she resembled. She invited me inside, but I asked her to call him out for me. When he came I told him all the circumstances, and asked him if he knew any who would take me for a boarder. Hubbard Squash thought for a moment in a sympathetic mood, then said there was an old couple called Hagino, living in the rear of the street, who had asked him sometime ago to get some boarders for them as there are only two in the house and they had some vacant rooms. Hubbard Squash was kind enough to go along with me and find out if the rooms were vacant. They were. From that night I boarded at the house of the Haginos. What surprised me was that on the day after I left the house of Ikagin, Clown stepped in and took the room I had been occupying. Well used to all sorts of tricks and crooks as I might have been, this audacity fairly knocked me off my feet. It was sickening. I saw that I would be an easy mark for such people unless I brace up and try to come up, or down, to their level. It would be a high time indeed for me to be alive if it were settled that I would not get three meals a day without living on the spoils of pick pockets. Nevertheless, to hang myself,--healthy and vigorous as I am,--would be not only inexcusable before my ancestors but a disgrace before the public. Now I think it over, it would have been better for me to have started something like a milk delivery route with that six hundred yen as capital, instead of learning such a useless stunt as mathematics at the School of Physics. If I had done so, Kiyo could have stayed with me, and I could have lived without worrying about her so far a distance away. While I was with her I did not notice it, but separated thus I appreciated Kiyo as a good-natured old woman. One could not find a noble natured woman like Kiyo everywhere. She was suffering from a slight cold when I left Tokyo and I wondered how she was getting on now? Kiyo must have been pleased when she received the letter from me the other day. By the way, I thought it was the time I was in receipt of answer from her. I spent two or three days with things like this in my mind. I was anxious about the answer, and asked the old lady of the house if any letter came from Tokyo for me, and each time she would appear sympathetic and say no. The couple here, being formerly of samurai class, unlike the Ikagin couple, were both refined. The old man's recital of "utai" in a queer voice at night was somewhat telling on my nerves, but it was much easier on me as he did not frequent my room like Ikagin with the remark of "let me serve you tea." The old lady once in a while would come to my room and chat on many things. She questioned me why I had not brought my wife with me. I asked her if I looked like one married, reminding her that I was only twenty four yet. Saying "it is proper for one to get married at twenty four" as a beginning, she recited that Mr. Blank married when he was twenty, that Mr. So-and-So has already two children at twenty two, and marshalled altogether about half a dozen examples,--quite a damper on my youthful theory. I will then get marred at twenty four, I said, and requested her to find me a good wife, and she asked me if I really meant it. "Really? You bet! I can't help wanting to get married." "I should suppose so. Everybody is just like that when young." This remark was a knocker; I could not say anything to that. "But I'm sure you have a Madam already. I have seen to that with my own eyes." "Well, they are sharp eyes. How have you seen it?" "How? Aren't you often worried to death, asking if there's no letter from Tokyo?" "By Jupiter! This beats me!" "Hit the mark, haven't I?" "Well, you probably have." "But the girls of these days are different from what they used to be and you need a sharp look-out on them. So you'd better be careful." "Do you mean that my Madam in Tokyo is behaving badly?" "No, your Madam is all right." "That makes me feel safe. Then about what shall I be careful?" "Yours is all right. Though yours is all right......." "Where is one not all right?" "Rather many right in this town. You know the daughter of the Toyamas? "No, I do not." "You don't know her yet? She is the most beautiful girl about here. She is so beautiful that the teachers in the school call her Madonna. You haven't heard that? "Ah, the Madonna! I thought it was the name of a geisha." "No, Sir. Madonna is a foreign word and means a beautiful girl, doesn't it?" "That may be. I'm surprised." "Probably the name was given by the teacher of drawing." "Was it the work of Clown?" "No, it was given by Professor Yoshikawa." "Is that Madonna not all right?" "That Madonna-san is a Madonna not all right." "What a bore! We haven't any decent woman among those with nicknames from old days. I should suppose the Madonna is not all right." "Exactly. We have had awful women such as O-Matsu the Devil or Ohyaku the Dakki. "Does the Madonna belong to that ring?" "That Madonna-san, you know, was engaged to Professor Koga,--who brought you here,--yes, was promised to him." "Ha, how strange! I never knew our friend Hubbard Squash was a fellow of such gallantry. We can't judge a man by his appearance. I'll be a bit more careful." "The father of Professor Koga died last year,--up to that time they had money and shares in a bank and were well off,--but since then things have grown worse, I don't know why. Professor Koga was too good-natured, in short, and was cheated, I presume. The wedding was delayed by one thing or another and there appeared the head teacher who fell in love with the Madonna head over heels and wanted to many her." "Red Shirt? He ought be hanged. I thought that shirt was not an ordinary kind of shirt. Well?" "The head-teacher proposed marriage through a go-between, but the Toyamas could not give a definite answer at once on account of their relations with the Kogas. They replied that they would consider the matter or something like that. Then Red Shirt-san worked up some ways and started visiting the Toyamas and has finally won the heart of the Miss. Red Shirt-san is bad, but so is Miss Toyama; they all talk bad of them. She had agreed to be married to Professor Koga and changed her mind because a Bachelor of Arts began courting her,--why, that would be an offense to the God of To-day." "Of course. Not only of To-day but also of tomorrow and the day after; in fact, of time without end." "So Hotta-san a friend of Koga-san, felt sorry for him and went to the head teacher to remonstrate with him. But Red Shirt-san said that he had no intention of taking away anybody who is promised to another. He may get married if the engagement is broken, he said, but at present he was only being acquainted with the Toyamas and he saw nothing wrong in his visiting the Toyamas. Hotta-san couldn't do anything and returned. Since then they say Red Shirt-san and Hotta-san are on bad terms." "You do know many things, I should say. How did you get such details? I'm much impressed." "The town is so small that I can know everything." Yes, everything seems to be known more than one cares. Judging by her way, this woman probably knows about my tempura and dango affairs. Here was a pot that would make peas rattle! The meaning of the Madonna, the relations between Porcupine and Red Shirt became clear and helped me a deal. Only what puzzled me was the uncertainty as to which of the two was wrong. A fellow simple-hearted like me could not tell which side he should help unless the matter was presented in black and white. "Of Red Shirt and Porcupine, which is a better fellow?" "What is Porcupine, Sir?" "Porcupine means Hotta." "Well, Hotta-san is physically strong, as strength goes, but Red Shirt-san is a Bachelor of Arts and has more ability. And Red Shirt-san is more gentle, as gentleness goes, but Hotta-san is more popular among the students." "After all, which is better?" "After all, the one who gets a bigger salary is greater, I suppose?" There was no use of going on further in this way, and I closed the talk. Two or three days after this, when I returned from the school, the old lady with a beaming smile, brought me a letter, saying, "Here you are Sir, at last. Take your time and enjoy it." I took it up and found it was from Kiyo. On the letter were two or three retransmission slips, and by these I saw the letter was sent from Yamashiro-ya to the Iagins, then to the Haginos. Besides, it stayed at Yamashiro-ya for about one week; even letters seemed to stop in a hotel. I opened it, and it was a very long letter. "When I received the letter from my Master Darling, I intended to write an answer at once. But I caught cold and was sick abed for about one week and the answer was delayed for which I beg your pardon. I am not well-used to writing or reading like girls in these days, and it required some efforts to get done even so poorly written a letter as this. I was going to ask my nephew to write it for me, but thought it inexcusable to my Master Darling when I should take special pains for myself. So I made a rough copy once, and then a clean copy. I finished the clean copy, in two days, but the rough copy took me four days. It may be difficult for you to read, but as I have written this letter with all my might, please read it to the end." This was the introductory part of the letter in which, about four feet long, were written a hundred and one things. Well, it was difficult to read. Not only was it poorly written but it was a sort of juxtaposition of simple syllables that racked one's brain to make it clear where it stopped or where it began. I am quick-tempered and would refuse to read such a long, unintelligible letter for five yen, but I read this seriously from the first to the last. It is a fact that I read it through. My efforts were mostly spent in untangling letters and sentences; so I started reading it over again. The room had become a little dark, and this rendered it harder to read it; so finally I stepped out to the porch where I sat down and went over it carefully. The early autumn breeze wafted through the leaves of the banana trees, bathed me with cool evening air, rustled the letter I was holding and would have blown it clear to the hedge if I let it go. I did not mind anything like this, but kept on reading. "Master Darling is simple and straight like a split bamboo by disposition," it says, "only too explosive. That's what worries me. If you brand other people with nicknames you will only make enemies of them; so don't use them carelessly; if you coin new ones, just tell them only to Kiyo in your letters. The countryfolk are said to be bad, and I wish you to be careful not have them do you. The weather must be worse than in Tokyo, and you should take care not to catch cold. Your letter is too short that I can't tell how things are going on with you. Next time write me a letter at least half the length of this one. Tipping the hotel with five yen is all right, but were you not short of money afterward? Money is the only thing one can depend upon when in the country and you should economize and be prepared for rainy days. I'm sending you ten yen by postal money order. I have that fifty yen my Master Darling gave me deposited in the Postal Savings to help you start housekeeping when you return to Tokyo, and taking out this ten, I have still forty yen left,--quite safe." I should say women are very particular on many things. When I was meditating with the letter flapping in my hand on the porch, the old lady opened the sliding partition and brought in my supper. "Still poring over the letter? Must be a very long one, I imagine," she said. "Yes, this is an important letter, so I'm reading it with the wind blowing it about," I replied--the reply which was nonsense even for myself,--and I sat down for supper. I looked in the dish on the tray, and saw the same old sweet potatoes again to-night. This new boarding house was more polite and considerate and refined than the Ikagins, but the grub was too poor stuff and that was one drawback. It was sweet potato yesterday, so it was the day before yesterday, and here it is again to-night. True, I declared myself very fond of sweet potatoes, but if I am fed with sweet potatoes with such insistency, I may soon have to quit this dear old world. I can't be laughing at Hubbard Squash; I shall become Sweet Potato myself before long. If it were Kiyo she would surely serve me with my favorite sliced tunny or fried kamaboko, but nothing doing with a tight, poor samurai. It seems best that I live with Kiyo. If I have to stay long in the school, I believe I would call her from Tokyo. Don't eat tempura, don't eat dango, and then get turned yellow by feeding on sweet potatoes only, in the boarding house. That's for an educator, and his place is really a hard one. I think even the priests of the Zen sect are enjoying better feed. I cleaned up the sweet potatoes, then took out two raw eggs from the drawer of my desk, broke them on the edge of the rice bowl, to tide it over. I have to get nourishment by eating raw eggs or something, or how can I stand the teaching of twenty one hours a week? I was late for my bath to-day on account of the letter from Kiyo. But I would not like to drop off a single day since I had been there everyday. I thought I would take a train to-day, and coming to the station with the same old red towel dangling out of my hand, I found the train had just left two or three minutes ago, and had to wait for some time. While I was smoking a cigarette on a bench, my friend Hubbard Squash happened to come in. Since I heard the story about him from the old lady my sympathy for him had become far greater than ever. His reserve always appeared to me pathetic. It was no longer a case of merely pathetic; more than that. I was wishing to get his salary doubled, if possible, and have him marry Miss Toyama and send them to Tokyo for about one month on a pleasure trip. Seeing him, therefore, I motioned him to a seat beside me, addressing him cheerfully: "Hello[H], going to bath? Come and sit down here." Hubbard Squash, appearing much awe-struck, said; "Don't mind me, Sir," and whether out of polite reluctance or I don't know what, remained standing. "You have to wait for a little while before the next train starts; sit down; you'll be tired," I persuaded him again. In fact, I was so sympathetic for him that I wished to have him sit down by me somehow. Then with a "Thank you, Sir," he at last sat down. A fellow like Clown, always fresh, butts in where he is not wanted; or like Porcupine swaggers about with a face which says "Japan would be hard up without me," or like Red Shirt, self-satisfied in the belief of being the wholesaler of gallantry and of cosmetics. Or like Badger who appears to say; "If 'Education' were alive and put on a frockcoat, it would look like me." One and all in one way or other have bravado, but I have never seen any one like this Hubbard Squash, so quiet and resigned, like a doll taken for a ransom. His face is rather swollen but for the Madonna to cast off such a splendid fellow and give preference to Red Shirt, was frivolous beyond my understanding. Put how many dozens of Red Shirt you like together, it will not make one husband of stuff to beat Hubbard Squash. "Is anything wrong with you? You look quite fatigued," I asked. "No, I have no particular ailments......." "That's good. Poor health is the worst thing one can get." "You appear very strong." "Yes, I'm thin, but never got sick. That's something I don't like." Hubbard Squash smiled at my words. Just then I heard some young girlish laughs at the entrance, and incidentally looking that way, I saw a "peach." A beautiful girl, tall, white-skinned, with her head done up in "high-collared" style, was standing with a woman of about forty-five or six, in front of the ticket window. I am not a fellow given to describing a belle, but there was no need to repeat asserting that she was beautiful. I felt as if I had warmed a crystal ball with perfume and held it in my hand. The older woman was shorter, but as she resembled the younger, they might be mother and daughter. The moment I saw them, I forgot all about Hubbard Squash, and was intently gazing at the young beauty. Then I was a bit startled to see Hubbard Squash suddenly get up and start walking slowly toward them. I wondered if she was not the Madonna. The three were courtesying in front of the ticket window, some distance away from me, and I could not hear what they were talking about. The clock at the station showed the next train to start in five minutes. Having lost my partner, I became impatient and longed for the train to start as soon as possible, when a fellow rushed into the station excited. It was Red Shirt. He had on some fluffy clothes, loosely tied round with a silk-crepe girdle, and wound to it the same old gold chain. That gold chain is stuffed. Red Shirt thinks nobody knows it and is making a big show of it, but I have been wise. Red Shirt stopped short, stared around, and then after bowing politely to the three still in front of the ticket window, made a remark or two, and hastily turned toward me. He came up to me, walking in his usual cat's style, and hallooed. "You too going to bath? I was afraid of missing the train and hurried up, but we have three or four minutes yet. Wonder if that clock is right?" He took out his gold watch, and remarking it wrong about two minutes sat down beside me. He never turned toward the belle, but with his chin on the top of a cane, steadily looked straight before him. The older woman would occasionally glance toward Red Shirt, but the younger kept her profile away. Surely she was the Madonna. The train now arrived with a shrill whistle and the passengers hastened to board. Red Shirt jumped into the first class coach ahead of all. One cannot brag much about boarding the first class coach here. It cost only five sen for the first and three sen for the second to Sumida; even I paid for the first and a white ticket. The country fellows, however, being all close, seemed to regard the expenditure of the extra two sen a serious matter and mostly boarded the second class. Following Red Shirt, the Madonna and her mother entered the first class. Hubbard Squash regularly rides in the second class. He stood at the door of a second class coach and appeared somewhat hesitating, but seeing me coming, took decisive steps and jumped into the second. I felt sorry for him--I do not know why--and followed him into the same coach. Nothing wrong in riding on the second with a ticket for the first, I believe. At the hot springs, going down from the third floor to the bath room in bathing gown, again I met Hubbard Squash. I feel my throat clogged up and unable to speak at a formal gathering, but otherwise I am rather talkative; so I opened conversation with him. He was so pathetic and my compassion was aroused to such an extent that I considered it the duty of a Yedo kid to console him to the best of my ability. But Hubbard Squash was not responsive. Whatever I said, he would only answer "eh?" or "umh," and even these with evident effort. Finally I gave up my sympathetic attempt and cut off the conversation. I did not meet Red Shirt at the bath. There are many bath rooms, and one does not necessarily meet the fellows at the same bath room though he might come on the same train. I thought it nothing strange. When I got out of the bath, I found the night bright with the moon. On both sides of the street stood willow trees which cast their shadows on the road. I would take a little stroll, I thought. Coming up toward north, to the end of the town, one sees a large gate to the left. Opposite the gate stands a temple and both sides of the approach to the temple are lined with houses with red curtains. A tenderloin inside a temple gate is an unheard-of phenomenon. I wanted to go in and have a look at the place, but for fear I might get another kick from Badger, I passed it by. A flat house with narrow lattice windows and black curtain at the entrance, near the gate, is the place where I ate dango and committed the blunder. A round lantern with the signs of sweet meats hung outside and its light fell on the trunk of a willow tree close by. I hungered to have a bite of dango, but went away forbearing. To be unable to eat dango one is so fond of eating, is tragic. But to have one's betrothed change her love to another, would be more tragic. When I think of Hubbard Squash, I believe that I should, not complain if I cannot eat dango or anything else for three days. Really there is nothing so unreliable a creature as man. As far as her face goes, she appears the least likely to commit so stony-hearted an act as this. But the beautiful person is cold-blooded and Koga-san who is swollen like a pumpkin soaked in water, is a gentleman to the core,--that's where we have to be on the look-out. Porcupine whom I had thought candid was said to have incited the students and he whom then I regarded an agitator, demanded of the principal a summary punishment of the students. The disgustingly snobbish Red Shirt is unexpectedly considerate and warns me in ways more than one, but then he won the Madonna by crooked means. He denies, however, having schemed anything crooked about the Madonna, and says he does not care to marry her unless her engagement with Koga is broken. When Ikagin beat me out of his house, Clown enters and takes my room. Viewed from any angle, man is unreliable. If I write these things to Kiyo, it would surprise her. She would perhaps say that because it is the west side of Hakone that the town had all the freaks and crooks dumped in together.[7] [Footnote 7: An old saying goes that east of the Hakone pass, there are no apparitions or freaks.] I do not by nature worry about little things, and had come so far without minding anything. But hardly a month had passed since I came here, and I have begun to regard the world quite uneasily. I have not met with any particularly serious affairs, but I feel as if I had grown five or six years older. Better say "good by" to this old spot soon and return to Tokyo, I thought. While strolling thus thinking on various matters, I had passed the stone bridge and come up to the levy of the Nozeri river. The word river sounds too big; it is a shallow stream of about six feet wide. If one goes on along the levy for about twelve blocks, he reaches the Aioi village where there is a temple of Kwanon. Looking back at the town of the hot springs, I see red lights gleaming amid the pale moon beams. Where the sound of the drum is heard must be the tenderloin. The stream is shallow but fast, whispering incessantly. When I had covered about three blocks walking leisurely upon the bank, I perceived a shadow ahead. Through the light of the moon, I found there were two shadows. They were probably village youngsters returning from the hot springs, though they did not sing, and were exceptionally quiet for that. I kept on walking, and I was faster than they. The two shadows became larger. One appeared like a woman. When I neared them within about sixty feet, the man, on hearing my footsteps, turned back. The moon was shining from behind me. I could see the manner of the man then and something queer struck me. They resumed their walk as before. And I chased them on a full speed. The other party, unconscious, walked slowly. I could now hear their voice distinctly. The levy was about six feet wide, and would allow only three abreast. I easily passed them, and turning back gazed squarely into the face of the man. The moon generously bathed my face with its beaming light. The fellow uttered a low "ah," and suddenly turning sideway, said to the woman "Let's go back." They traced their way back toward the hot springs town. Was it the intention of Red Shirt to hush the matter up by pretending ignorance, or was it lack of nerve? I was not the only fellow who suffered the consequence of living in a small narrow town. CHAPTER VIII. On my way back from the fishing to which I was invited by Red Shirt, and since then, I began to suspect Porcupine. When the latter wanted me to get out of Ikagin's house on sham pretexts, I regarded him a decidedly unpleasant fellow. But as Porcupine, at the teachers' meeting, contrary to my expectation, stood firmly for punishing the students to the fullest extent of the school regulations, I thought it queer. When I heard from the old lady about Porcupine volunteering himself for the sake of Hubbard Squash to stop Red Shirt meddling with the Madonna, I clapped my hands and hoorayed for him. Judging by these facts, I began to wonder if the wrong-doer might be not Porcupine, but Red Shirt the crooked one. He instilled into my head some flimsy hearsay plausibly and in a roundabout-way. At this juncture I saw Red Shirt taking a walk with the Madonna on the levy of the Nozeri river, and I decided that Red Shirt may be a scoundrel. I am not sure of his being really scoundrel at heart, but at any rate he is not a good fellow. He is a fellow with a double face. A man deserves no confidence unless he is as straight as the bamboo. One may fight a straight fellow, and feel satisfied. We cannot lose sight of the fact that Red Shirt or his kind who is kind, gentle, refined, and takes pride in his pipe had to be looked sharp, for I could not be too careful in getting into a scrap with the fellow of this type. I may fight, but I would not get square games like the wrestling matches it the Wrestling Amphitheatre in Tokyo. Come to think of it, Porcupine who turned against me and startled the whole teachers' room over the amount of one sen and a half is far more like a man. When he stared at me with owlish eyes at the teachers' meeting, I branded him as a spiteful guy, but as I consider the matter now, he is better than the feline voice of Red Shirt. To tell the truth, I tried to get reconciled with Porcupine, and after the meeting, spoke a word or two to him, but he shut up like a clam and kept glaring at me. So I became sore, and let it go at that. Porcupine has not spoken to me since. The one sen and a half which I paid him back upon the desk, is still there, well covered with dust. I could not touch it, nor would Porcupine take it. This one sen and a half has become a barrier between us two. We two were cursed with this one sen and a half. Later indeed I got sick of its sight that I hated to see it. While Porcupine and I were thus estranged, Red Shirt and I continued friendly relations and associated together. On the day following my accidental meeting with him near the Nozeri river, for instance, Red Shirt came to my desk as soon as he came to the school, and asked me how I liked the new boarding house. He said we would go together for fishing Russian literature again, and talked on many things. I felt a bit piqued, and said, "I saw you twice last night," and he answered, "Yes, at the station. Do you go there at that time every day? Isn't it late?" I startled him with the remark; "I met you on the levy of the Nozeri river too, didn't I?" and he replied, "No, I didn't go in that direction. I returned right after my bath." What is the use of trying to keep it dark. Didn't we meet actually face to face? He tells too many lies. If one can hold the job of a head teacher and act in this fashion, I should be able to run the position of Chancellor of a university. From this time on, my confidence in Red Shirt became still less. I talk with Red Shirt whom I do not trust, and I keep silent with Porcupine whom I respect. Funny things do happen in this world. One day Red Shirt asked me to come over to his house as he had something to tell me, and much as I missed the trip to the hot springs, I started for his house at about 4 o'clock. Red Shirt is single, but in keeping with the dignity of a head teacher, he gave up the boarding house life long ago, and lives in a fine house. The house rent, I understood, was nine yen and fifty sen. The front entrance was so attractive that I thought if one can live in such a splendid house at nine yen and a half in the country, it would be a good game to call Kiyo from Tokyo and make her heart glad. The younger brother of Red Shirt answered my bell. This brother gets his lessons on algebra and mathematics from me at the school. He stands no show in his school work, and being a "migratory bird" is more wicked than the native boys. I met Red Shirt. Smoking the same old unsavory amber pipe, he said something to the following effect: "Since you've been with us, our work has been more satisfactory than it was under your predecessor, and the principal is very glad to have got the right person in the right place. I wish you to work as hard as you can, for the school is depending upon you." "Well, is that so. I don't think I can work any harder than now......." "What you're doing now is enough. Only don't forget what I told you the other day." "Meaning that one who helps me find a boarding house is dangerous?" "If you state it so baldly, there is no meaning to it....... But that's all right,...... I believe you understand the spirit of my advice. And if you keep on in the way you're going to-day ...... We have not been blind ...... we might offer you a better treatment later on if we can manage it." "In salary? I don't care about the salary, though the more the better." "And fortunately there is going to be one teacher transferred,...... however, I can't guarantee, of course, until I talk it over with the principal ...... and we might give you something out of his salary." "Thank you. Who is going to be transferred?" "I think I may tell you now; 'tis going to be Announced soon. Koga is the man." "But isn't Koga-san a native of this town?" "Yes, he is. But there are some circumstances ...... and it is partly by his own preference." "Where is he going?" "To Nobeoka in Hiuga province. As the place is so far away, he is going there with his salary raised a grade higher." "Is some one coming to take his place?" "His successor is almost decided upon." "Well, that's fine, though I'm not very anxious to have my salary raised." "I'm going to talk to the principal about that anyway. And, we may have to ask you to work more some time later ...... and the principal appears to be of the same opinion....... I want you to go[I] ahead with that in your mind." "Going to increase my working hours?" "No. The working hours may be reduced......" "The working hours shortened and yet work more? Sounds funny." "It does sound funny ...... I can't say definitely just yet ...... it means that we way have to ask you to assume more responsibility." I could not make out what he meant. To assume more responsibility might mean my appointment to the senior instructor of mathematics, but Porcupine is the senior instructor and there is no danger of his resigning. Besides, he is so very popular among the students that his transfer or discharge would be inadvisable. Red Shirt always misses the point. And though he did not get to the point, the object of my visit was ended. We talked a while on sundry matters, Red Shirt proposing a farewell dinner party for Hubbard Squash, asking me if I drink liquor and praising Hubbard Squash as an amiable gentleman, etc. Finally he changed the topic and asked me if I take an interest in "haiku"[8] Here is where I beat it, I thought, and, saying "No, I don't, good by," hastily left the house. The "haiku" should be a diversion of Baseo[9] or the boss of a barbershop. It would not do for the teacher of mathematics to rave over the old wooden bucket and the morning glory.[10] [Footnote 8: The 17-syllable poem] [Footnote 9: A famous composer of the poem.] [Footnote 10: There is a well-known 17-syllable poem describing the scene of morning glories entwining around the wooden bucket.] I returned home and thought it over. Here is a man whose mental process defies a layman's understanding. He is going to court hardships in a strange part of the country in preference of his home and the school where he is working,--both of which should satisfy most anybody,--because he is tired of them. That may be all right if the strange place happens to be a lively metropolis where electric cars run,--but of all places, why Nobeoka in Hiuga province? This town here has a good steamship connection, yet I became sick of it and longed for home before one month had passed. Nobeoka is situated in the heart of a most mountainous country. According to Red Shirt, one has to make an all-day ride in a wagonette to Miyazaki, after he had left the vessel, and from Miyazaki another all-day ride in a rikisha to Nobeoka. Its name alone does not commend itself as civilized. It sounds like a town inhabited by men and monkeys in equal numbers. However sage-like Hubbard Squash might be I thought he would not become a friend of monkeys of his own choice. What a curious slant! Just then the old lady brought in my supper--"Sweet potatoes again?" I asked, and she said, "No, Sir, it is tofu to-night." They are about the same thing. "Say, I understand Koga-san is going to Nobeoka." "Isn't it too bad?" "Too bad? But it can't be helped if he goes there by his own preference." "Going there by his own preference? Who, Sir?" "Who? Why, he! Isn't Professor Koga going there by his own choice?" "That's wrong Mr. Wright, Sir." "Ha, Mr. Wright, is it? But Red Shirt told me so just now. If that's wrong Mr. Wright, then Red Shirt is blustering Mr. Bluff." "What the head-teacher says is believable, but so Koga-san does not wish to go." "Our old lady is impartial, and that is good. Well, what's the matter?" "The mother of Koga-san was here this morning, and told me all the circumstances." "Told you what circumstances?" "Since the father of Koga-san died, they have not been quite well off as we might have supposed, and the mother asked the principal if his salary could not be raised a little as Koga-san has been in service for four years. See?" "Well?" "The principal said that he would consider the matter, and she felt satisfied and expected the announcement of the increase before long. She hoped for its coming this month or next. Then the principal called Koga-san to his office one day and said that he was sorry but the school was short of money and could not raise his salary. But he said there is an opening in Nobeoka which would give him five yen extra a month and he thought that would suit his purpose, and the principal had made all arrangements and told Koga-san he had better go......." "That wasn't a friendly talk but a command. Wasn't it?" "Yes, Sir, Koga-san told the principal that he liked to stay here better at the old salary than go elsewhere on an increased salary, because he has his own house and is living with his mother. But the matter has all been settled, and his successor already appointed and it couldn't be helped, said the principal." "Hum, that's a jolly good trick, I should say. Then Koga-san has no liking to go there? No wonder I thought it strange. We would have to go a long way to find any blockhead to do a job in such a mountain village and get acquainted with monkeys for five yen extra." "What is a blockhead, Sir?" "Well, let go at that. It was all the scheme of Red Shirt. Deucedly underhand scheme, I declare. It was a stab from behind. And he means to raise my salary by that; that's not right. I wouldn't take that raise. Let's see if he can raise it." "Is your salary going to be raised, Sir?" "Yes, they said they would raise mine, but I'm thinking of refusing it." "Why do you refuse?" "Why or no why, it's going to be refused. Say, Red Shirt is a fool; he is a coward." "He may be a coward, but if he raises your salary, it would be best for you to make no fuss, but accept it. One is apt to get grouchy when young, but will always repent when he is grown up and thinks that it was pity he hadn't been a little more patient. Take an old woman's advice for once, and if Red Shirt-san says he will raise your salary, just take it with thanks." "It's none of business of you old people." The old lady withdrew in silence. The old man is heard singing "utai" in the off-key voice. "Utai," I think, is a stunt which purposely makes a whole show a hard nut to crack by giving to it difficult tunes, whereas one could better understand it by reading it. I cannot fathom what is in the mind of the old man who groans over it every night untired. But I'm not in a position to be fooling with "utai." Red Shirt said he would have my salary raised, and though I did not care much about it, I accepted it because there was no use of leaving the money lying around. But I cannot, for the love of Mike, be so inconsiderate as to skin the salary of a fellow teacher who is being transferred against his will. What in thunder do they mean by sending him away so far as Nobeoka when the fellow prefers to remain in his old position? Even Dazai-no-Gonnosutsu did not have to go farther than about Hakata; even Matagoro Kawai [11] stopped at Sagara. I shall not feel satisfied unless I see Red Shirt and tell him I refuse the raise. [Footnote 11: The persons in exile, well-known in Japanese history.] I dressed again and went to his house. The same younger brother of Red Shirt again answered the bell, and looked at me with eyes which plainly said, "You here again?" I will come twice or thrice or as many times as I want to if there is business. I might rouse them out of their beds at midnight;--it is possible, who knows. Don't mistake me for one coming to coax the head teacher. I was here to give back my salary. The younger brother said that there is a visitor just now, and I told him the front door will do; won't take more than a minute, and he went in. Looking about my feet, I found a pair of thin, matted wooden clogs, and I heard some one in the house saying, "Now we're banzai." I noticed that the visitor was Clown. Nobody but Clown could make such a squeaking voice and wear such clogs as are worn by cheap actors. After a while Red Shirt appeared at the door with a lamp in his hand, and said, "Come in; it's no other than Mr. Yoshikawa." "This is good enough," I said, "it won't take long." I looked at his face which was the color of a boiled lobster. He seemed to have been drinking with Clown. "You told me that you would raise my salary, but I've changed my mind, and have come here to decline the offer." Red Shirt, thrusting out the lamp forward, and intently staring at me, was unable to answer at the moment. He appeared blank. Did he think it strange that here was one fellow, only one in the world, who does not want his salary raised, or was he taken aback that I should come back so soon even if I wished to decline it, or was it both combined, he stood there silent with his mouth in a queer shape. "I accepted your offer because I understood that Mr. Koga was being transferred by his own preference......." "Mr. Koga is really going to be transferred by his own preference." "No, Sir. He would like to stay here. He doesn't mind his present salary if he can stay." "Have you heard it from Mr. Koga himself?" "No, not from him." "Then, from who?" "The old lady in my boarding house told me what she heard from the mother of Mr. Koga." "Then the old woman in your boarding house told you so?" "Well, that's about the size of it." "Excuse me, but I think you are wrong. According to what you say, it seems as if you believe what the old woman in the boarding house tells you, but would not believe what your head teacher tells you. Am I right to understand it that way?" I was stuck. A Bachelor of Arts is confoundedly good in oratorical combat. He gets hold of unexpected point, and pushes the other backward. My father used to tell me that I am too careless and no good, and now indeed I look that way. I ran out of the house on the moment's impulse when I heard the story from the old lady, and in fact I had not heard the story from either Hubbard Squash or his mother. In consequence, when I was challenged in this Bachelor-of-Arts fashion, it was a bit difficult to defend myself. I could not defend his frontal attack, but I had already declared in my mind a lack of confidence on Red Shirt. The old lady in the boarding house may be tight and a grabber, I do not doubt it, but she is a woman who tells no lie. She is not double faced like Red Shirt, I was helpless, so I answered. "What you say might be right,--anyway, I decline the raise." "That's still funnier. I thought your coming here now was because you had found a certain reason for which you could not accept the raise. Then it is hard to understand to see you still insisting on declining the raise in spite of the reason having been eradicated by my explanation." "It may be hard to understand, but anyway I don't want it." "If you don't like it so much, I wouldn't force it on you. But if you change your mind within two or three hours with no particular reason, it would affect your credit in future." "I don't care if it does affect it." "That can't be. Nothing is more important than credit for us. Supposing, the boss of the boarding house......." "Not the boss, but the old lady." "Makes no difference,--suppose what the old woman in the boarding house told you was true, the raise of your salary is not to be had by reducing the income of Mr. Koga, is it? Mr. Koga is going to Nobeoka; his successor is coming. He comes on a salary a little less than that of Mr. Koga, and we propose to add the surplus money to your salary, and you need not be shy. Mr. Koga will be promoted; the successor is to start on less pay, and if you could be raised, I think everything be satisfactory to all concerned. If you don't like it, that's all right, but suppose you think it over once more at home?" My brain is not of the best stuff, and if another fellow flourishes his eloquence like this, I usually think, "Well, perhaps I was wrong," and consider myself defeated, but not so to-night. From the time I came to this town I felt prejudiced against Red Shirt. Once I had thought of him in a different light, taking him for a fellow kind-hearted and feminished. His kindness, however, began to look like anything but kindness, and as a result, I have been getting sick of him. So no matter how he might glory himself in logical grandiloquence, or how he might attempt to out-talk me in a head-teacher-style, I don't care a snap. One who shines in argument is not necessarily a good fellow, while the other who is out-talked is not necessarily a bad fellow, either. Red Shirt is very, very reasonable as far as his reasoning goes, but however graceful he may appear, he cannot win my respect. If money, authority or reasoning can command admiration, loansharks, police officers or college professors should be liked best by all. I cannot be moved in the least by the logic by so insignificant a fellow as the head teacher of a middle school. Man works by preference, not by logic. "What you say is right, but I have begun to dislike the raise, so I decline. It will be the same if I think it over. Good by." And I left the house of Red Shirt. The solitary milky way hung high in the sky. CHAPTER IX. When I went to the school, in the morning of the day the farewell dinner party was to be held, Porcupine suddenly spoke to me; "The other day I asked you to quit the Ikagins because Ikagin begged of me to have you leave there as you were too tough, and I believed him. But I heard afterward that Ikagin is a crook and often passes imitation of famous drawings for originals. I think what he told me about you must be a lie. He tried to sell pictures and curios to you, but as you shook him off, he told some false stories on you. I did very wrong by you because I did not know his character, and wish you would forgive me." And he offered me a lengthy apology. Without saying a word, I took up the one sen and a half which was lying on the desk of Porcupine, and put it into my purse. He asked me in a wondering tone, if I meant to take it back. I explained, "Yes. I didn't like to have you treat me and expected to pay this back at all hazard, but as I think about it, I would rather have you treated me after all; so I'm going to take it back." Porcupine laughed heartily and asked me why I had not taken it back sooner. I told him that I wanted to more than once, in fact, but somehow felt shy and left it there. I was sick of that one sen and a half these days that I shunned the sight of it when I came to the school, I said. He said "You're a deucedly unyielding sport," and I answered "You're obstinate." Then ensued the following give-and-take between us two; "Where were you born anyway?" "I'm a Yedo kid." "Ah, a Yedo kid, eh? No wonder I thought you a pretty stiff neck." "And you?" "I'm from Aizu." "Ha, Aizu guy, eh? You've got reason to be obstinate. Going to the farewell dinner to-day?" "Sure. You?" "Of course I am. I intend to go down to the beach to see Koga-san off when he leaves." "The farewell dinner should be a big blow-out. You come and see. I'm going to get soused to the neck." "You get loaded all you want. I quit the place right after I finish my plates. Only fools fight booze." "You're a fellow who picks up a fight too easy. It shows up the characteristic of the Yedo kid well." "I don't care. Say, before you go to the farewell dinner, come to see me. I want to tell you something." Porcupine came to my room as promised. I had been in full sympathy with Hubbard Squash these days, and when it came to his farewell dinner, my pity for him welled up so much that I wished I could go to Nobeoka for him myself. I thought of making a parting address of burning eloquence at the dinner to grace the occasion, but my speech which rattles off like that of the excited spieler of New York would not become the place. I planned to take the breath out of Red Shirt by employing Porcupine who has a thunderous voice. Hence my invitation to him before we started for the party. I commenced by explaining the Madonna affair, but Porcupine, needless to say, knew more about it than I. Telling about my meeting Red Shirt on the Nozeri river, I called him a fool. Porcupine then said; "You call everybody a fool. You called me a fool to-day at the school. If I'm a fool, Red Shirt isn't," and insisted that he was not in the same group with Red Shirt. "Then Red Shirt may be a four-flusher," I said and he approved this new alias with enthusiasm. Porcupine is physically strong, but when it comes to such terms, he knows less than I do. I guess all Aizu guys are about the same. Then, when I disclosed to him about the raise of my salary and the advance hint on my promotion by Red Shirt, Porcupine pished, and said, "Then he means to discharge me." "Means to discharge you? But you mean to get discharged?" I asked. "Bet you, no. If I get fired, Red Shirt will have to go with me," he remarked with a lordly air. I insisted on knowing how he was going to get Red Shirt kicked out with him, and he answered that he had not thought so far yet. Yes, Porcupine looks strong, but seems to be possessed of no abundance of brain power. I told him about my refusal of the raise of my salary, and the Gov'nur was much pleased, praising me with the remark, "That's the stuff for Yedo kids." "If Hubbard Squash does not like to go down to Nobeoka, why didn't you do something to enable him remain here," I asked, and Porcupine said that when he heard the story from Hubbard Squash, everything had been settled already, but he had asked the principal twice and Red Shirt once to have the transfer order cancelled, but to no purpose. Porcupine bitterly condemned Hubbard Squash for being too good-natured. If Hubbard Squash, he said, had either flatly refused or delayed the answer on the pretext of considering it, when Red Shirt raised the question of transfer, it would have been better for him. But he was fooled by the oily tongue of Red Shirt, had accepted the transfer outright, and all efforts by Porcupine who was moved by the tearful appeal of the mother, proved unavailing. I said; "The transfer of Koga is nothing but a trick of Red Shirt to cop the Madonna by sending Hubbard Squash away." "Yes," said Porcupine "That must be. Red Shirt looks gentle, but plays nasty tricks. He is a sonovagun for when some one finds fault with him, he has excuses prepared already. Nothing but a sound thumping will be effective for fellows like him." He rolled up his sleeves over his plump arms as he spoke. I asked him, by the way, if he knew jiujitsu, because his arms looked powerful. Then he put force in his forearm, and told me to touch it. I felt its swelled muscle which was hard as the pumic stone in the public bathhouse. I was deeply impressed by his massive strength, and asked him if he could not knock five or six of Red Shirt in a bunch. "Of course," he said, and as he extended and bent back the arm, the lumpy muscle rolled round and round, which was very amusing. According to the statement of Porcupine himself, this muscle, if he bends the arm back with force, would snap a paper-string wound around it twice. I said I might do the same thing if it were a paper-string, and he challenged me. "No, you can't," he said. "See if you can." As it would not look well if I failed, I did not try. "Say, after you have drunk all you want to-night at the dinner, take a fall out of Red Shirt and Clown, eh?" I suggested to him for fun. Porcupine thought for a moment and said, "Not to-night, I guess." I wanted to know why, and he pointed out that it would be bad for Koga. "Besides, if I'm going to give it to them at all, I've to get them red handed in their dirty scheme, or all the blame will be on me," he added discretely. Even Porcupine seems to have wiser judgment than I. "Then make a speech and praise Mr. Koga sky-high. My speech becomes sort of jumpy, wanting dignity. And at any formal gathering, I get lumpy in my throat, and can't speak. So I leave it to you," I said. "That's a strange disease. Then you can't speak in the presence of other people? It would be awkward, I suppose," he said, and I told him not quite as much awkward as he might think. About then, the time for the farewell dinner party arrived, and I went to the hall with Porcupine. The dinner party was to be held at Kashin-tei which is said to be the leading restaurant in the town, but I had never been in the house before. This restaurant, I understood, was formerly the private residence of the chief retainer of the daimyo of the province, and its condition seemed to confirm the story. The residence of a chief retainer transformed into a restaurant was like making a saucepan out of warrior's armor. When we two came there, about all of the guests were present. They formed two or three groups in the spacious room of fifty mats. The alcove in this room, in harmony with its magnificence, was very large. The alcove in the fifteen-mat room which I occupied at Yamashiro-ya made a small showing beside it. I measured it and found it was twelve feet wide. On the right, in the alcove, there was a seto-ware flower vase, painted with red designs, in which was a large branch of pine tree. Why the pine twigs, I did not know, except that they are in no danger of withering for many a month to come, and are economical. I asked the teacher of natural history where that seto-ware flower vase is made. He told me it was not a seto-ware but an imari. Isn't imari seto-ware? I wondered audibly, and the natural history man laughed. I heard afterward that we call it a seto-ware because it is made in Seto. I'm a Yedo kid, and thought all china was seto-wares. In the center of the alcove was hung a panel on which were written twenty eight letters, each letter as large as my face. It was poorly written; so poorly indeed that I enquired of the teacher of Confucius why such a poor work be hung in apparent show of pride. He explained that it was written by Kaioku a famous artist in the writing, but Kaioku or anyone else, I still declare the work poorly done. By and by, Kawamura, the clerk, requested all to be seated. I chose one in front of a pillar so I could lean against it. Badger sat in front of the panel of Kaioku in Japanese full dress. On his left sat Red Shirt similarly dressed, and on his right Hubbard Squash, as the guest of honor, in the same kind of dress. I was dressed in a European suit, and being unable to sit down, squatted on my legs at once. The teacher of physical culture next to me, though in the same kind of rags as mine, sat squarely in Japanese fashion. As a teacher of his line he appeared to have well trained himself. Then the dinner trays were served and the bottles placed beside them. The manager of the day stood up and made a brief opening address. He was followed by Badger and Red Shirt. These two made farewell addresses, and dwelt at length on Hubbard Squash being an ideal teacher and gentleman, expressing their regret, saying his departure was a great loss not only to the school but to them in person. They concluded that it could not be helped, however, since the transfer was due to his own earnest desire and for his own convenience. They appeared to be ashamed not in the least by telling such a lie at a farewell dinner. Particularly, Red Shirt, of these three, praised Hubard Squash in lavish terms. He went so far as to declare that to lose this true friend was a great personal loss to him. Moreover, his tone was so impressive in its same old gentle tone that one who listens to him for the first time would be sure to be misled. Probably he won the Madonna by this same trick. While Red Shirt was uttering his farewell buncomb, Porcupine who sat on the other side across me, winked at me. As an answer of this, I "snooked" at him. No sooner had Red Shirt sat down than Porcupine stood up, and highly rejoiced, I clapped hands. At this Badger and others glanced at me, and I felt that I blushed a little. "Our principal and other gentlemen," he said, "particularly the head teacher, expressed their sincere regret at Mr. Koga's transfer. I am of a different opinion, and hope to see him leave the town at the earliest possible moment. Nobeoka is an out-of-the-way, backwoods town, and compared with this town, it may have more material inconveniences, but according to what I have heard, Nobeoka is said to be a town where the customs are simple and untainted, and the teachers and students still strong in the straightforward characteristics of old days. I am convinced that in Nobeoka there is not a single high-collared guy who passes round threadbare remarks, or who with smooth face, entraps innocent people. I am sure that a man like Mr. Koga, gentle and honest, will surely be received with an enthusiastic welcome there. I heartily welcome this transfer for the sake of Mr. Koga. In concluding, I hope that when he is settled down at Nobeoka, he will find a lady qualified to become his wife, and form a sweet home at an early date and incidentally let the inconstant, unchaste sassy old wench die ashamed ...... a'hum, a'hum!" He coughed twice significantly and sat down. I thought of clapping my hands again, but as it would draw attention, I refrained. When Porcupine finished his speech, Hubbard Squash arose politely, slipped out of his seat, went to the furthest end of the room, and having bowed to all in a most respectful manner, acknowledged the compliments in the following way; "On the occasion of my going to Kyushu for my personal convenience, I am deeply impressed and appreciate the way my friends have honored me with this magnificent dinner....... The farewell addresses by our principal and other gentlemen will be long held in my fondest recollection....... I am going far away now, but I hope my name be included in the future as in the past in the list of friends of the gentlemen here to-night." Then again bowing, he returned to his seat. There was no telling how far the "good-naturedness" of Hubbard Squash might go. He had respectfully thanked the principal and the head teacher who had been fooling him. And it was not a formal, cut-and-dried reply he made, either; by his manner, tone and face, he appeared to have been really grateful from his heart. Badger and Red Shirt should have blushed when they were addressed so seriously by so good a man as Hubbard Squash, but they only listened with long faces. After the exchange of addresses, a sizzling sound was heard here and there, and I too tried the soup which tasted like anything but soup. There was kamaboko in the kuchitori dish, but instead of being snow white as it should be, it looked grayish, and was more like a poorly cooked chikuwa. The sliced tunny was there, but not having been sliced fine, passed the throat like so many pieces of chopped raw tunny. Those around me, however, ate with ravenous appetite. They have not tasted, I guess, the real Yedo dinner. Meanwhile the bottles began passing round, and all became more or less "jacked up." Clown proceeded to the front of the principal and submissively drank to his health. A beastly fellow, this! Hubbard Squash made a round of all the guests, drinking to their health. A very onerous job, indeed. When he came to me and proposed my health, I abandoned the squatting posture and sat up straight. "Too bad to see you go away so soon. When are you going? I want to see you off at the beach," I said. "Thank you, Sir. But never mind that. You're busy," he declined. He might decline, but I was determined to get excused for the day and give him a rousing send-off. Within about an hour from this, the room became pretty lively. "Hey, have another, hic; ain't goin', hic, have one on me?" One or two already in a pickled state appeared on the scene. I was little tired, and going out to the porch, was looking at the old fashioned garden by the dim star light, when Porcupine came. "How did you like my speech? Wasn't it grand, though!" he remarked in a highly elated tone. I protested that while I approved 99 per cent, of his speech, there was one per cent, that I did not. "What's that one per cent?" he asked. "Well, you said,...... there is not a single high-collared guy who with smooth face entraps innocent people......." "Yes." "A 'high-collared guy' isn't enough." "Then what should I say?" "Better say,--'a high-collared guy; swindler, bastard, super-swanker, doubleface, bluffer, totempole, spotter, who looks like a dog as he yelps.'" "I can't get my tongue to move so fast. You're eloquent. In the first place, you know a great many simple words. Strange that you can't make a speech." "I reserve these words for use when I chew the rag. If it comes to speech-making, they don't come out so smoothly." "Is that so? But they simply come a-running. Repeat that again for me." "As many times as you like. Listen,--a high-collared guy, swindler, bastard, super-swanker ..." While I was repeating this, two shaky fellows came out of the room hammering the floor. "Hey, you two gents, if won't do to run away. Won't let you off while I'm here. Come and have a drink. Bastard? That's fine. Bastardly fine. Now, come on." And they pulled Porcupine and me away. These two fellows really had come to the lavatory, but soaked as they were, in booze bubbles, they apparently forgot to proceed to their original destination, and were pulling us hard. All booze fighters seem to be attracted by whatever comes directly under their eyes for the moment and forget what they had been proposing to do. "Say, fellows, we've got bastards. Make them drink. Get them loaded. You gents got to stay here." And they pushed me who never attempted to escape against the wall. Surveying the scene, I found there was no dish in which any edibles were left. Some one had eaten all his share, and gone on a foraging expedition. The principal was not there,--I did not know when he left. At that time, preceded by a coquetish voice, three or four geishas entered the room. I was a bit surprised, but having been pushed against the wall, I had to look on quietly. At the instant, Red Shirt who had been leaning against a pillar with the same old amber pipe stuck into his mouth with some pride, suddenly got up and started to leave the room. One of the geishas who was advancing toward him smiled and courtesied at him as she passed by him. The geisha was the youngest and prettiest of the bunch. They were some distance away from me and I could not see very well, but it seemed that she might have said "Good evening." Red Shirt brushed past as if unconscious, and never showed again. Probably he followed the principal. The sight of the geishas set the room immediately in a buzz and it became noisy as they all raised howls of welcome. Some started the game of "nanko" with a force that beat the sword-drawing practice. Others began playing morra, and the way they shook their hands, intently absorbed in the game, was a better spectacle than a puppet show. One in the corner was calling "Hey, serve me here," but shaking the bottle, corrected it to "Hey, fetch me more sake." The whole room became so infernally noisy that I could scarcely stand it. Amid this orgy, one, like a fish out of water, sat down with his head bowed. It was Hubbard Squash. The reason they have held this farewell dinner party was not in order to bid him a farewell, but because they wanted to have a jolly good time for themselves with John Barleycorn. He had come to suffer only. Such a dinner party would have been better had it not been started at all. After a while, they began singing ditties in outlandish voices. One of the geishas came in front of me, and taking up a samisen, asked me to sing something. I told her I didn't sing, but I'd like to hear, and she droned out: "If one can go round and meet the one he wants, banging gongs and drums ...... bang, bang, bang, bang, bing, shouting after wandering Santaro, there is some one I'd like to meet by banging round gongs and drums ...... bang, bang, bang, bang, b-i-n-g." She dashed this off in two breaths, and sighed, "O, dear!" She should have sung something easier. Clown who had come near us meanwhile, remarked in his flippant tone: "Hello, dear Miss Su-chan, too bad to see your beau go away so soon." The geisha pouted, "I don't know." Clown, regardless, began imitating "gidayu" with a dismal voice,--"What a luck, when she met her sweet heart by a rare chance...." The geisha slapped the lap of Clown with a "Cut that out," and Clown gleefully laughed. This geisha is the one who made goo-goo eyes[J] at Red Shirt. What a simpleton, to be pleased by the slap of a geisha, this Clown. He said: "Say, Su-chan, strike up the string. I'm going to dance the Kiino-kuni." He seemed yet to dance. On other side of the room, the old man of Confucius, twisting round his toothless mouth, had finished as far as "...... dear Dembei-san" and is asking a geisha who sat in front of him to couch him for the rest. Old people seem to need polishing up their memorizing system. One geisha is talking to the teacher of natural history: "Here's the latest. I'll sing it. Just listen. 'Margaret, the high-collared head with a white ribbon; she rides on a bike, plays a violin, and talks in broken English,--I am glad to see you.'" Natural history appears impressed, and says; "That's an interesting piece. English in it too." Porcupine called "geisha, geisha," in a loud voice, and commanded; "Bang your samisen; I'm going to dance a sword-dance." His manner was so rough that the geishas were startled and did not answer. Porcupine, unconcerned, brought out a cane, and began performing the sword-dance in the center of the room. Then Clown, having danced the Kii-no-kuni, the Kap-pore[K] and the Durhma-san on the Shelf, almost stark-naked, with a palm-fibre broom, began turkey-trotting about the room, shouting "The Sino-Japanese negotiations came to a break......." The whole was a crazy sight. I had been feeling sorry for Hubbard Squash, who up to this time had sat up straight in his full dress. Even were this a farewell dinner held in his honor, I thought he was under no obligation to look patiently in a formal dress at the naked dance. So I went to him and persuaded him with "Say, Koga-san, let's go home." Hubbard Squash said the dinner was in his honor, and it would be improper for him to leave the room before the guests. He seemed to be determined to remain. "What do you care!" I said, "If this is a farewell dinner, make it like one. Look at those fellows; they're just like the inmates of a lunatic asylum. Let's go." And having forced hesitating Hubbard Squash to his feet, we were just leaving the room, when Clown, marching past, brandishing the broom, saw us. "This won't do for the guest of honor to leave before us," he hollered, "this is the Sino-Japanese negotiations. Can't let you off." He enforced his declaration by holding the broom across our way. My temper had been pretty well aroused for some time, and I felt impatient. "The Sino-Japanese negotiation, eh? Then you're a Chink," and I whacked his head with a knotty fist. This sudden blow left Clown staring blankly speechless for a second or two; then he stammered out: "This is going some! Mighty pity to knock my head. What a blow on this Yoshikawa! This makes the Sino-Japanese negotiations the sure stuff." While Clown was mumbling these incoherent remarks, Porcupine, believing some kind of row had been started, ceased his sword-dance and came running toward us. On seeing us, he grabbed the neck of Clown and pulled him back. "The Sino-Japane......ouch!......ouch! This is outrageous," and Clown writhed under the grip of Porcupine who twisted him sideways and threw him down on the floor with a bang. I do not know the rest. I parted from Hubbard Squash on the way, and it was past eleven when I returned home. CHAPTER X. The town is going to celebrate a Japanese victory to-day, and there is no school. The celebration is to be held at the parade ground, and Badger is to take out all the students and attend the ceremony. As one of the instructors, I am to go with them. The streets are everywhere draped with flapping national flags almost enough to dazzle the eyes. There were as many as eight hundred students in all, and it was arranged, under the direction of the teacher of physical culture to divide them into sections with one teacher or two to lead them. The arrangement itself was quite commendable, but in its actual operation the whole thing went wrong. All students are mere kiddies who, ever too fresh, regard it as beneath their dignity not to break all regulations. This rendered the provision of teachers among them practically useless. They would start marching songs without being told to, and if they ceased the marching songs, they would raise devilish shouts without cause. Their behavior would have done credit to the gang of tramps parading the streets demanding work. When they neither sing nor shout, they tee-hee and giggle. Why they cannot walk without these disorder, passes my understanding, but all Japanese are born with their mouths stuck out, and no kick will ever be strong enough to stop it. Their chatter is not only of simple nature, but about the teachers when their back is turned. What a degraded bunch! I made the students apologize to me on the dormitory affair, and considered the incident closed. But I was mistaken. To borrow the words of the old lady in the boarding house, I was surely wrong Mr. Wright. The apology they offered was not prompted by repentance in their hearts. They had kowtowed as a matter of form by the command of the principal. Like the tradespeople who bow their heads low but never give up cheating the public, the students apologize but never stop their mischiefs. Society is made up, I think it probable, of people just like those students. One may be branded foolishly honest if he takes seriously the apologies others might offer. We should regard all apologies a sham and forgiving also as a sham; then everything would be all right. If one wants to make another apologize from his heart, he has to pound him good and strong until he begs for mercy from his heart. As I walked along between the sections, I could hear constantly the voices mentioning "tempura" or "dango." And as there were so many of them, I could not tell which one mentioned it. Even if I succeeded in collaring the guilty one I was sure of his saying, "No, I didn't mean you in saying tempura or dango. I fear you suffer from nervousness and make wrong inferences." This dastardly spirit has been fostered from the time of the feudal lords, and is deep-rooted. No amount of teaching or lecturing will cure it. If I stay in a town like this for one year or so, I may be compelled to follow their example, who knows,--clean and honest though I have been. I do not propose to make a fool of myself by remaining quiet when others attempt to play games on me, with all their excuses ready-made. They are men and so am I--students or kiddies or whatever they may be. They are bigger than I, and unless I get even with them by punishment, I would cut a sorry figure. But in the attempt to get even, if I resort to ordinary means, they are sure to make it a boomerang. If I tell them, "You're wrong," they will start an eloquent defence, because they are never short of the means of sidestepping. Having defended themselves, and made themselves appear suffering martyrs, they would begin attacking me. As the incident would have been started by my attempting to get even with them, my defence would not be a defence until I can prove their wrong. So the quarrel, which they had started, might be mistaken, after all, as one begun by me. But the more I keep silent the more they would become insolent, which, speaking seriously, could not be permitted for the sake of public morale. In consequence, I am obliged to adopt an identical policy so they cannot catch men in playing it back on them. If the situation comes to that, it would be the last day of the Yedo kid. Even so, if I am to be subjected to these pin-pricking[L] tricks, I am a man and got to risk losing off the last remnant of the honor of the Yedo kid. I became more convinced of the advisability of returning to Tokyo quickly and living with Kiyo. To live long in such a countrytown would be like degrading myself for a purpose. Newspaper delivering would be preferable to being degraded so far as that. I walked along with a sinking heart, thinking like this, when the head of our procession became suddenly noisy, and the whole came to a full stop. I thought something has happened, stepped to the right out of the ranks, and looked toward the direction of the noise. There on the corner of Otemachi, turning to Yakushimachi, I saw a mass packed full like canned sardines, alternately pushing back and forth. The teacher of physical culture came down the line hoarsely shouting to all to be quiet. I asked him what was the matter, and he said the middle school and the normal had come to a clash at the corner. The middle school and the normal, I understood, are as much friendly as dogs and monkeys. It is not explained why but their temper was hopelessly crossed, and each would try to knock the chip off the shoulder of the other on all occasions. I presume they quarrel so much because life gets monotonous in this backwoods town. I am fond of fighting, and hearing of the clash, darted forward to make the most of the fun. Those foremost in the line are jeering, "Get out of the way, you country tax!"[12] while those in the rear are hollowing "Push them out!" I passed through the students, and was nearing the corner, when I heard a sharp command of "Forward!" and the line of the normal school began marching on. The clash which had resulted from contending for the right of way was settled, but it was settled by the middle school giving way to the normal. From the point of school-standing the normal is said to rank above the middle. [Footnote 12: The normal school in the province maintains the students mostly on the advance-expense system, supported by the country tax.] The ceremony was quite simple. The commander of the local brigade read a congratulatory address, and so did the governor, and the audience shouted banzais. That was all. The entertainments were scheduled for the afternoon, and I returned home once and started writing to Kiyo an answer which had been in my mind for some days. Her request had been that I should write her a letter with more detailed news; so I must get it done with care. But as I took up the rolled letter-paper, I did not know with what I should begin, though I have many things to write about. Should I begin with that? That is too much trouble. Or with this? It is not interesting. Isn't there something which will come out smoothly, I reflected, without taxing my head too much, and which will interest Kiyo. There seemed, however, no such item as I wanted I grated the ink-cake, wetted the writing brush, stared at the letter-paper--stared at the letter-paper, wetted the writing brush, grated the ink-cake--and, having repeated the same thing several times, I gave up the letter writing as not in my line, and covered the lid of the stationery box. To write a letter was a bother. It would be much simpler to go back to Tokyo and see Kiyo. Not that I am unconcerned about the anxiety of Kiyo, but to get up a letter to please the fancy of Kiyo is a harder job than to fast for three weeks. I threw down the brush and letter-paper, and lying down with my bent arms as a pillow, gazed at the garden. But the thought of the letter to Kiyo would come back in my mind. Then I thought this way; If I am thinking of her from my heart, even at such a distance, my sincerity would find responsive appreciation in Kiyo. If it does find response, there is no need of sending letters. She will regard the absence of letters from me as a sign of my being in good health. If I write in case of illness or when something unusual happens, that will be sufficient. The garden is about thirty feet square, with no particular plants worthy of name. There is one orange tree which is so tall as to be seen above the board fence from outside. Whenever I returned from the school I used to look at this orange tree. For to those who had not been outside of Tokyo, oranges on the tree are rather a novel sight. Those oranges now green will ripen by degrees and turn to yellow, when the tree would surely be beautiful. There are some already ripened. The old lady told me that they are juicy, sweet oranges. "They will all soon be ripe, and then help yourself to all you want," she said. I think I will enjoy a few every day. They will be just right in about three weeks. I do not think I will have to leave the town in so short a time as three weeks. While my attention was centered on the oranges, Porcupine[M] came in. "Say, to-day being the celebration[N] of victory, I thought I would get something good to eat with you, and bought some beef." So saying, he took out a package covered with a bamboo-wrapper, and threw it down in the center of the room. I had been denied the pleasure of patronizing the noodle house or dango shop, on top of getting sick of the sweet potatoes and tofu, and I welcomed the suggestion with "That's fine," and began cooking it with a frying pan and some sugar borrowed from the old lady. Porcupine, munching the beef to the full capacity of his mouth, asked me if I knew Red Shirt having a favorite geisha. I asked if that was not one of the geishas who came to our dinner the other night, and he answered, "Yes, I got the wind of the fact only recently; you're sharp." "Red Shirt always speaks of refinement of character or of mental consolation, but he is making a fool of himself by chasing round a geisha. What a dandy rogue. We might let that go if he wouldn't make fuss about others making fools of themselves. I understand through the principal he stopped your going even to noodle houses or dango shops as unbecoming to the dignity of the school, didn't he?" "According to his idea, running after a geisha is a mental consolation but tempura or dango is a material pleasure, I guess. If that's mental consolation, why doesn't the fool do it above board? You ought to see the jacknape skipping out of the room when the geisha came into it the other night,--I don't like his trying to deceive us, but if one were to point it out for him, he would deny it or say it was the Russian literature or that the haiku is a half-brother of the new poetry, and expect to hush it up by twaddling soft nonsense. A weak-knee like him is not a man. I believe he lived the life of a court-maid in former life. Perhaps his daddy might have been a kagema at Yushima in old days." "What is a kagema?" "I suppose something very unmanly,--sort of emasculated chaps. Say, that part isn't cooked enough. It might give you tape worm." "So? I think it's all right. And, say, Red Shirt is said to frequent Kadoya at the springs town and meet his geisha there, but he keeps it in dark." "Kadoya? That hotel?" "Also a restaurant. So we've got to catch him there with his geisha and make it hot for him right to his face." "Catch him there? Suppose we begin a kind of night watch?" "Yes, you know there is a rooming house called Masuya in front of Kadoya. We'll rent one room upstairs of the house, and keep peeping through a loophole we could make in the shoji." "Will he come when we keep peeping at him?" "He may. We will have to do it more than one night. Must expect to keep it up for at least two weeks." "Say, that would make one pretty well tired, I tell you. I sat up every night for about one week attending my father when he died, and it left me thoroughly down and out for some time afterward." "I don't care if I do get tired some. A crook like Red Shirt should not go unpunished that way for the honor of Japan, and I am going to administer a chastisement in behalf of heaven." "Hooray! If things are decided upon that way, I am game. And we are going to start from to-night?" "I haven't rented a room at Masuya yet, so can't start it to-night." "Then when?" "Will start before long. I'll let you know, and want you help me." "Right-O. I will help you any time. I am not much myself at scheming, but I am IT when it comes to fighting." While Porcupine and I were discussing the plan of subjugating Red Shirt, the old lady appeared at the door, announcing that a student was wanting to see Professor Hotta. The student had gone to his house, but seeing him out, had come here as probable to find him. Porcupine went to the front door himself, and returning to the room after a while, said: "Say, the boy came to invite us to go and see the entertainment of the celebration. He says there is a big bunch of dancers from Kochi to dance something, and it would be a long time before we could see the like of it again. Let's go." Porcupine seemed enthusiastic over the prospect of seeing that dance, and induced me to go with him. I have seen many kinds of dance in Tokyo. At the annual festival of the Hachiman Shrine, moving stages come around the district, and I have seen the Shiokukmi and almost any other variety. I was little inclined to see that dance by the sturdy fellows from Tosa province, but as Porcupine was so insistent, I changed my mind and followed him out. I did not know the student who came to invite Porcupine, but found he was the younger brother of Red Shirt. Of all students, what a strange choice for a messenger! The celebration ground was decorated, like the wrestling amphitheater at Ryogoku during the season, or the annual festivity of the Hommonji temple, with long banners planted here and there, and on the ropes that crossed and recrossed in the mid-air were strung the colors of all nations, as if they were borrowed from as many nations for the occasion and the large roof presented unusually cheerful aspect. On the eastern corner there was built a temporary stage upon which the dance of Koehi was to be performed. For about half a block, with the stage on the right, there was a display of flowers and plant settings arranged on shelves sheltered with reed screens. Everybody was looking at the display seemingly much impressed, but it failed to impress me. If twisted grasses or bamboos afforded so much pleasure, the gallantry of a hunchback or the husband of a wrong pair should give as much pleasure to their eyes. In the opposite direction, aerial bombs and fire works were steadily going on. A balloon shot out on which was written "Long Live the Empire!" It floated leisurely over the pine trees near the castle tower, and fell down inside the compound of the barracks. Bang! A black ball shot up against the serene autumn sky; burst open straight above my head, streams of luminous green smoke ran down in an umbrella-shape, and finally faded. Then another balloon. It was red with "Long Live the Army and Navy" in white. The wind slowly carried it from the town toward the Aioi village. Probably it would fall into the yard of Kwanon temple there. At the formal celebration this morning there were not quite so many as here now. It was surging mass that made me wonder how so many people lived in the place. There were not many attractive faces among the crowd, but as far as the numerical strength went, it was a formidable one. In the meantime that dance had begun. I took it for granted that since they call it a dance, it would be something similar to the kind of dance by the Fujita troupe, but I was greatly mistaken. Thirty fellows, dressed up in a martial style, in three rows of ten each, stood with glittering drawn swords. The sight was an eye-opener, indeed. The space between the rows measured about two feet, and that between the men might have been even less. One stood apart from the group. He was similarly dressed but instead of a drawn sword, he carried a drum hung about his chest. This fellow drawled out signals the tone of which suggested a mighty easy-life, and then croaking a strange song, he would strike the drum. The tune was outlandishly unfamiliar. One might form the idea by thinking it a combination of the Mikawa Banzai and the Fudarakuya. The song was drowsy, and like syrup in summer is dangling and slovenly. He struck the drum to make stops at certain intervals. The tune was kept with regular rhythmical order, though it appeared to have neither head nor tail. In response to this tune, the thirty drawn swords flash, with such dexterity and speed that the sight made the spectator almost shudder. With live men within two feet of their position, the sharp drawn blades, each flashing them in the same manner, they looked as if they might make a bloody mess unless they were perfectly accurate in their movements. If it had been brandishing swords alone without moving themselves, the chances of getting slashed or cut might have been less, but sometimes they would turn sideways together, or clear around, or bend their knees. Just one second's difference in the movement, either too quick or too late, on the part of the next fellow, might have meant sloughing off a nose or slicing off the head of the next fellow. The drawn swords moved in perfect freedom, but the sphere of action was limited to about two feet square, and to cap it all, each had to keep moving with those in front and back, at right and left, in the same direction at the same speed. This beats me! The dance of the Shiokumi or the Sekinoto would make no show compared with this! I heard them say the dance requires much training, and it could not be an easy matter to make so many dancers move in a unison like this. Particularly difficult part in the dance was that of the fellow with drum stuck to his chest. The movement of feet, action of hands, or bending of knees of those thirty fellows were entirely directed by the tune with which he kept them going. To the spectators this fellow's part appeared the easiest. He sang in a lazy tune, but it was strange that he was the fellow who takes the heaviest responsibility. While Porcupine and I, deeply impressed, were looking at the dance with absorbing interest, a sudden hue and cry was raised about half a block off. A commotion was started among those who had been quietly enjoying the sights and all ran pell-mell in every direction. Some one was heard saying "fight!" Then the younger brother of Red Shirt came running forward through the crowd. "Please, Sir," he panted, "a row again! The middles are going to get even with the normals and have just begun fighting. Come quick, Sir!" And he melted somewhere into the crowd. "What troublesome brats! So they're at it again, eh? Why can't they stop it!" Porcupine, as he spoke, dashed forward, dodging among the running crowd. He meant, I think, to stop the fight, because he could not be an idle spectator once he was informed of the fact. I of course had no intention of turning tail, and hastened on the heels of Porcupine. The fight was in its fiercest. There were about fifty to sixty normals, and the middles numbered by some ninety. The normals wore uniform, but the middles had discarded their uniform and put on Japanese civilian clothes, which made the distinction between the two hostile camps easy. But they were so mixed up, and wrangling with such violence, that we did not know how and where we could separate them. Porcupine, apparently at a loss what to do, looked at the wild scene awhile, then turned to me, saying: "Let's jump in and separate them. It will be hell if cops get on them." I did not answer, but rushed to the spot where the scuffle appeared most violent. "Stop there! Cut this out! You're ruining the name of the school! Stop this, dash you!" Shouting at the top of my voice, I attempted to penetrate the line which seemed to separate the hostile sides, but this attempt did not succeed. When about ten feet into the turmoil, I could neither advance nor retreat. Right in my front, a comparatively large normal was grappling with a middle about sixteen years of ago. "Stop that!" I grabbed the shoulder of the normal and tried to force them apart when some one whacked my feet. On this sudden attack, I let go the normal and fell down sideways. Some one stepped on my back with heavy shoes. With both hands and knees upon the ground, I jumped up and the fellow on my back rolled off to my right. I got up, and saw the big body of Porcupine about twenty feet away, sandwiched between the students, being pushed back and forth, shouting, "Stop the fight! Stop that!" "Say, we can't do anything!" I hollered at him, but unable to hear, I think, he did not answer. A pebble-stone whiffled through the air and hit squarely on my cheek bone; the same moment some one banged my back with a heavy stick from behind. "Profs mixing in!" "Knock them down!" was shouted. "Two of them; big one and small. Throw stones at them!" Another shout. "Drat you fresh jackanapes!" I cried as I wallopped the head of a normal nearby. Another stone grazed my head, and passed behind me. I did not know what had become of Porcupine, I could not find him. Well, I could not help it but jumped into the teapot to stop the tempest. I wasn't[O] a Hottentot to skulk away on being shot at with pebble-stones. What did they think I was anyway! I've been through all kinds of fighting in Tokyo, and can take in all fights one may care to give me. I slugged, jabbed and banged the stuffing out of the fellow nearest to me. Then some one cried, "Cops! Cops! Cheese it! Beat it!" At that moment, as if wading through a pond of molasses, I could hardly move, but the next I felt suddenly released and both sides scampered off simultaneously. Even the country fellows do creditable work when it comes to retreating, more masterly than General Kuropatkin, I might say. I searched for Porcupine who, I found his overgown torn to shreds, was wiping his nose. He bled considerably, and his nose having swollen was a sight. My clothes were pretty well massed with dirt, but I had not suffered quite as much damage as Porcupine. I felt pain in my cheek and as Porcupine said, it bled some. About sixteen police officers arrived at the scene but, all the students having beat it in opposite directions, all they were able to catch were Porcupine and me. We gave them our names and explained the whole story. The officers requested us to follow them to the police station which we did, and after stating to the chief of police what had happened, we returned home. CHAPTER XI. The next morning on awakening I felt pains all over my body, due, I thought, to having had no fight for a long time. This is not creditable to my fame as regards fighting, so I thought while in bed, when the old lady brought me a copy of the Shikoku Shimbun. I felt so weak as to need some effort even reaching for the paper. But what should be man so easily upset by such a trifling affair,--so I forced myself to turn in bed, and, opening its second page, I was surprised. There was the whole story of the fight of yesterday in print. Not that I was surprised by the news of the fight having been published, but it said that one teacher Hotta of the Middle School and one certain saucy Somebody, recently from Tokyo, of the same institution, not only started this trouble by inciting the students, but were actually present at the scene of the trouble, directing the students and engaged themselves against the students of the Normal School. On top of this, something of the following effect was added. "The Middle School in this prefecture has been an object of admiration by all other schools for its good and ideal behavior. But since this long-cherished honor has been sullied by these two irresponsible persons, and this city made to suffer the consequent indignity, we have to bring the perpetrators to full account. We trust that before we take any step in this matter, the authorities will have those 'toughs' properly punished, barring them forever from our educational circles." All the types were italicized, as if they meant to administer typographical chastisement upon us. "What the devil do I care!" I shouted, and up I jumped out of bed. Strange to say, the pain in my joints became tolerable. I rolled up the newspaper and threw it into the garden. Not satisfied, I took that paper to the cesspool and dumped it there. Newspapers tell such reckless lies. There is nothing so adept, I believe, as the newspaper in circulating lies. It has said what I should have said. And what does it mean by "one saucy Somebody who is recently from Tokyo?" Is there any one in this wide world with the name of Somebody? Don't forget, I have a family and personal name of my own which I am proud of. If they want to look at my family-record, they will bow before every one of my ancestors from Mitsunaka Tada down. Having washed my face, my cheek began suddenly smarting. I asked the old lady for a mirror, and she asked if I had read the paper of this morning. "Yes," I said, "and dumped it in the cesspool; go and pick it up if you want it,"--and she withdrew with a startled look. Looking in the mirror, I saw bruises on my cheek. Mine is a precious face to me. I get my face bruised, and am called a saucy Somebody as if I were nobody. That is enough. It will be a reflection on my honor to the end of my days if it is said that I shunned the public gaze and kept out of the school on account of the write-up in the paper. So, after the breakfast, I attended the school ahead of all. One after the other, all coming to the school would grin at my face. What is there to laugh about! This face is my own, gotten up, I am sure, without the least obligation on their part. By and by, Clown appeared. "Ha, heroic action yesterday. Wounds of honor, eh?" He made this sarcastic remark, I suppose, in revenge for the knock he received on his head from me at the farewell dinner. "Cut out nonsense; you get back there and suck your old drawing brushes!" Then he answered "that was going some," and enquired if it pained much? "Pain or no pain, this is my face. That's none of your business," I snapped back in a furious temper. Then Clown took his seat on the other side, and still keeping his eye on me, whispered and laughed with the teacher of history next to him. Then came Porcupine. His nose had swollen and was purple,--it was a tempting object for a surgeon's knife. His face showed far worse (is it my conceit that make this comparison?) than mine. I and Porcupine are chums with desks next to each other, and moreover, as ill-luck would have it, the desks are placed right facing the door. Thus were two strange faces placed together. The other fellows, when in want of something to divert them, would gaze our way with regularity. They say "too bad," but they are surely laughing in their minds as "ha, these fools!" If that is not so, there is no reason for their whispering together and grinning like that. In the class room, the boys clapped their hands when I entered; two or three of them banzaied. I could not tell whether it was an enthusiastic approval or open insult. While I and Porcupine were thus being made the cynosures of the whole school, Red Shirt came to me as usual. "Too bad, my friend; I am very sorry indeed for you gentlemen," he said in a semi-apologetic manner. "I've talked with the principal in regard to the story in the paper, and have arranged to demand that the paper retract the report, so you needn't worry on that score. You were plunged into the trouble because my brother invited Mr. Hotta, and I don't know how I can apologize you! I'm going to do my level best in this matter; you gentlemen please depend on that." At the third hour recess the principal came out of his room, and seemed more or less perturbed, saying, "The paper made a bad mess of it, didn't it? I hope the matter will not become serious." As to anxiety, I have none. If they propose to relieve me, I intend to tender my resignation before I get fired,--that's all. However, if I resign with no fault on my part, I would be simply giving the paper advantage. I thought it proper to make the paper take back what it had said, and stick to my position. I was going to the newspaper office to give them a piece of my mind on my way back but having been told that the school had already taken steps to have the story retracted, I did not. Porcupine and I saw the principal and Red Shirt at a convenient hour, giving them a faithful version of the incident. The principal and Red Shirt agreed that the incident must have been as we said and that the paper bore some grudge against the school and purposely published such a story. Red Shirt made a round of personal visits on each teacher in the room, defending and explaining our action in the affair. Particularly he dwelt upon the fact that his brother invited Porcupine and it was his fault. All teachers denounced the paper as infamous and agreed that we two deserved sympathy. On our way home, Porcupine warned me that Red Shirt smelt suspicious, and we would be done unless we looked out. I said he had been smelling some anyway,--it was not necessarily so just from to-day. Then he said that it was his trick to have us invited and mixed in the fight yesterday,--"Aren't you on to that yet?" Well, I was not. Porcupine was quite a Grobian but he was endowed, I was impressed, with a better brain than I. "He made us mix into the trouble, and slipped behind and contrived to have the paper publish the story. What a devil!" "Even the newspaper in the band wagon of Red Shirt? That surprises me. But would the paper listen to Red Shirt so easily?" "Wouldn't it, though. Darn easy thing if one has friends in the paper."[P] "Has he any?" "Suppose he hasn't, still that's easy. Just tell lies and say such and such are facts, and the paper will take it up." "A startling revelation, this. If that was really a trick of Red Shirt, we're likely to be discharged on account of this affair." "Quite likely we may be discharged." "Then I'll tender my resignation tomorrow, and back to Tokyo I go. I am sick of staying in such a wretched hole." "Your resignation wouldn't make Red Shirt squeal." "That's so. How can he be made to squeal?" "A wily guy like him always plots not to leave any trace behind, and it would be difficult to follow his track." "What a bore! Then we have to stand in a false light, eh? Damn it! I call all kinds of god to witness if this is just and right!" "Let's wait for two or three days and see how it turns out. And if we can't do anything else, we will have to catch him at the hot springs town." "Leaving this fight affair a separate case?" "Yes. We'll have to his hit weak spot with our own weapon." "That may be good. I haven't much to say in planning it out; I leave it to you and will do anything at your bidding." I parted from Porcupine then. If Red Shirt was really instrumental in bringing us two into the trouble as Porcupine supposed, he certainly deserves to be called down. Red Shirt outranks us in brainy work. And there is no other course open but to appeal to physical force. No wonder we never see the end of war in the world. Among individuals, it is, after all, the question of superiority of the fist. Next day I impatiently glanced over the paper, the arrival of which I had been waiting with eagerness, but not a correction of the news or even a line of retraction could be found. I pressed the matter on Badger when I went to the school, and he said it might probably appear tomorrow. On that "tomorrow" a line of retraction was printed in tiny types. But the paper did not make any correction of the story. I called the attention of Badger to the fact, and he replied that that was about all that could be done under the circumstance. The principal, with the face like a badger and always swaggering, is surprisingly, wanting in influence. He has not even as much power as to bring down a country newspaper, which had printed a false story. I was so thoroughly indignant that I declared I would go alone to the office and see the editor-in-chief on the subject, but Badger said no. "If you go there and have a blowup with the editor," he continued, "it would only mean of your being handed out worse stuff in the paper again. Whatever is published in a paper, right or wrong, nothing can be done with it." And he wound up with a remark that sounded like a piece of sermon by a Buddhist bonze that "We must be contented by speedily despatching the matter from our minds and forgetting it." If newspapers are of that character, it would be beneficial for us all to have them suspended,--the sooner the better. The similarity of the unpleasant sensation of being written-up in a paper and being bitten-down by a turtle became plain for the first time by the explanation of Badger. About three days afterward, Porcupine came to me excited, and said that the time has now come, that he proposes to execute that thing we had planned out. Then I will do so, I said, and readily agreed to join him. But Porcupine jerked his head, saying that I had better not. I asked him why, and he asked if I had been requested by the principal to tender my resignation. No, I said, and asked if he had. He told me that he was called by the principal who was very, very sorry for him but under the circumstance requested him to decide to resign. "That isn't fair. Badger probably had been pounding his belly-drum too much and his stomach is upside down," I said, "you and I went to the celebration, looked at the glittering sword dance together, and jumped into the fight together to stop it. Wasn't it so? If he wants you to tender your resignation, he should be impartial and should have asked me to also. What makes everything in the country school so dull-head. This is irritating!" "That's wire-pulling by Red Shirt," he said. "I and Red Shirt cannot go along together, but they think you can be left as harmless." "I wouldn't get along with that Red Shirt either. Consider me harmless, eh? They're getting too gay with me." "You're so simple and straight that they think they can handle you in any old way." "Worse still. I wouldn't get along with him, I tell you." "Besides, since the departure of Koga, his successor has not arrived. Furthermore, if they fire me and you together, there will be blank spots in the schedule hours at the school." "Then they expect me to play their game. Darn the fellow! See if they can make me." On going to the school next day I made straightway for the room of the principal and started firing; "Why don't you ask me to put in my resignation?" I said. "Eh?" Badger stared blankly. "You requested Hotta to resign, but not me. Is that right?" "That is on account of the condition of the school......" "That condition is wrong, I dare say. If I don't have to resign, there should be no necessity for Hotta to resign either." "I can't offer a detailed explanation about that......as to Hotta, it cannot be helped if he goes...... ......we see no need of your resigning." Indeed, he is a badger. He jabbers something, dodging the point, but appears complacent. So I had to say: "Then, I will tender my resignation. You might have thought that I would remain peacefully while Mr. Hotta is forced to resign, but I cannot do it" "That leaves us in a bad fix. If Hotta goes away and you follow him, we can't teach mathematics here." "None of my business if you can't." "Say, don't be so selfish. You ought to consider the condition of the school. Besides, if it is said that you resigned within one month of starting a new job, it would affect your record in the future. You should consider that point also." "What do I care about my record. Obligation is more important than record." "That's right. What you say is right, but be good enough to take our position into consideration. If you insist on resigning, then resign, but please stay until we get some one to take your place. At any rate, think the matter over once more, please." The reason was so plain as to discourage any attempt to think it over, but as I took some pity on Badger whose face reddened or paled alternately as he spoke, I withdrew on the condition that I would think the matter over. I did not talk with Red Shirt. If I have to land him one, it was better, I thought, to have it bunched together and make it hot and strong. I acquainted Porcupine with the details of my meeting with Badger. He said he had expected it to be about so, and added that the matter of resignation can be left alone without causing me any embarrassment until the time comes. So I followed his advice. Porcupine appears somewhat smarter than I, and I have decided to accept whatever advices he may give. Porcupine finally tendered his resignation, and having bidden farewell of all the fellow teachers, went down to Minato-ya on the beach. But he stealthily returned to the hot springs town, and having rented a front room upstairs of Masuya, started peeping through the hole he fingered out in the shoji. I am the only person who knows of this. If Red Shirt comes round, it would be night anyway, and as he is liable to be seen by students or some others during the early part in the evening, it would surely be after nine. For the first two nights, I was on the watch till about 11 o'clock, but no sight of Red Shirt was seen. On the third night, I kept peeping through from nine to ten thirty, but he did not come. Nothing made me feel more like a fool than returning to the boarding house at midnight after a fruitless watch. In four or five days, our old lady began worrying about me and advised me to quit night prowling,--being married. My night prowling is different from that kind of night prowling. Mine is that of administering a deserved chastisement. But then, when no encouragement is in sight after one week, it becomes tiresome. I am quick tempered, and get at it with all zeal when my interest is aroused, and would sit up all night to work it out, but I have never shone in endurance. However loyal a member of the heavenly-chastisement league I may be, I cannot escape monotony. On the sixth night I was a little tired, and on the seventh thought I would quit. Porcupine, however, stuck to it with bull-dog tenacity. From early in the evening up to past twelve, he would glue his eye to the shoji and keep steadily watching under the gas globe of Kadoya. He would surprise me, when I come into the room, with figures showing how many patrons there were to-day, how many stop-overs and how many women, etc. Red Shirt seems never to be coming, I said, and he would fold his arms, audibly sighing, "Well, he ought to." If Red Shirt would not come just for once, Porcupine would be deprived of the chance of handing out a deserved and just punishment. I left my boarding house about 7 o'clock on the eighth night and after having enjoyed my bath, I bought eight raw eggs. This would counteract the attack of sweet potatoes by the old lady. I put the eggs into my right and left pockets, four in each, with the same old red towel hung over my shoulder, my hands inside my coat, went to Masuya. I opened the shoji of the room and Porcupine greeted me with his Idaten-like face suddenly radiant, saying: "Say, there's hope! There's hope!" Up to last night, he had been downcast, and even I felt gloomy. But at his cheerful countenance, I too became cheerful, and before hearing anything, I cried, "Hooray! Hooray!" "About half past seven this evening," he said, "that geisha named Kosuzu has gone into Kadoya." "With Red Shirt?" "No." "That's no good then." "There were two geishas......seems to me somewhat hopeful." "How?" "How? Why, the sly old fox is likely to send his girls ahead[Q], and sneak round behind later." "That may be the case. About nine now, isn't it?" "About twelve minutes past nine," said he, pulling out a watch with a nickel case, "and, say put out the light. It would be funny to have two silhouettes of bonze heads on the shoji. The fox is too ready to suspect." I blew out the lamp which stood upon the lacquer-enameled table. The shoji alone was dimly plain by the star light. The moon has not come up yet. I and Porcupine put our faces close to the shoji, watching almost breathless. A wall clock somewhere rang half past nine. "Say, will he come to-night, do you think? If he doesn't show up, I quit." "I'm going to keep this up while my money lasts." "Money? How much have you?" "I've paid five yen and sixty sen up to to-day for eight days. I pay my bill every night, so I can jump out anytime." "That's well arranged. The people of this hotel must have been rather put out, I suppose." "That's all right with the hotel; only I can't take my mind off the house." "But you take some sleep in daytime." "Yes, I take a nap, but it's nuisance because I can't go out." "Heavenly chastisement is a hard job, I'm sure," I said. "If he gives us the slip after giving us such trouble, it would have been a thankless task." "Well, I'm sure he will come to-night...--... Look, look!" His voice changed to whisper and I was alert in a moment. A fellow with a black hat looked up at the gas light of Kadoya and passed on into the darkness. No, it was not Red Shirt. Disappointing, this! Meanwhile the clock at the office below merrily tinkled off ten. It seems to be another bum watch to-night. The streets everywhere had become quiet. The drum playing in the tenderloin reached our ears distinctively. The moon had risen from behind the hills of the hot springs. It is very light outside. Then voices were heard below. We could not poke our heads out of the window, so were unable to see the owners of the voices, but they were evidently coming nearer. The dragging of komageta (a kind of wooden footwear) was heard. They approached so near we could see their shadows. "Everything is all right now. We've got rid of the stumbling block." It was undoubtedly the voice of Clown. "He only glories in bullying but has no tact." This from Red Shirt. "He is like that young tough, isn't he? Why, as to that young tough, he is a winsome, sporty Master Darling." "I don't want my salary raised, he says, or I want to tender resignation,--I'm sure something is wrong with his nerves." I was greatly inclined to open the window, jump out of the second story and make them see more stars than they cared to, but I restrained myself with some effort. The two laughed, and passed below the gas light, and into Kadoya. "Say." "Well." "He's here." "Yes, he has come at last." "I feel quite easy now." "Damned Clown called me a sporty Master Darling." "The stumbling[R] block means me. Hell!" I and Porcupine had to waylay them on their return. But we knew no more than the man in the moon when they would come out. Porcupine went down to the hotel office, notifying them to the probability of our going out at midnight, and requesting them to leave the door unfastened so we could get out anytime. As I think about it now, it is wonderful how the hotel people complied with our request. In most cases, we would have been taken for burglars. It was trying to wait for the coming of Red Shirt, but it was still more trying to wait for his coming out again. We could not go to sleep, nor could we remain with our faces stuck to the shoji all the time our minds constantly in a state of feverish agitation. In all my life, I never passed such fretful, mortifying hours. I suggested that we had better go right into his room and catch him but Porcupine rejected the proposal outright. If we get in there at this time of night, we are likely to be prevented from preceding much further, he said, and if we ask to see him, they will either answer that he is not there or will take us into a different room. Supposing we do break into a room, we cannot tell of all those many rooms, where we can find him. There is no other way but to wait for him to come out, however tiresome it may be. So we sat up till five in the morning. The moment we saw them emerging from Kadoya, I and Porcupine followed them. It was some time before the first train started and they had to walk up to town. Beyond the limit of the hot springs town, there is a road for about one block running through the rice fields, both sides of which are lined with cedar trees. Farther on are thatch-roofed farm houses here and there, and then one comes upon a dyke leading straight to the town through the fields. We can catch them anywhere outside the town, but thinking it would be better to get them, if possible, on the road lined with cedar trees where we may not be seen by others, we followed them cautiously. Once out of the town limit, we darted on a double-quick time, and caught up with them. Wondering what was coming after them, they turned back, and we grabbed their shoulders. We cried, "Wait!" Clown, greatly rattled, attempted to escape, but I stepped in front of him to cut off his retreat. "What makes one holding the job of a head teacher stay over night at Kadoya!" Porcupine directly fired the opening gun. "Is there any rule that a head teacher should not stay over night at Kadoya?" Red Shirt met the attack in a polite manner. He looked a little pale. "Why the one who is so strict as to forbid others from going even to noodle house or dango shop as unbecoming to instructors, stayed over night at a hotel with a geisha!" Clown was inclined to run at the first opportunity; so kept I before him. "What's that Master Darling of a young tough!" I roared. "I didn't mean you. Sir. No, Sir, I didn't mean you, sure." He insisted on this brazen excuse. I happened to notice at that moment that I had held my pockets with both hands. The eggs in both pockets jerked so when I ran, that I had been holding them, I thrust my hand into the pocket, took out two and dashed them on the face of Clown. The eggs crushed, and from the tip of his nose the yellow streamed down. Clown was taken completely surprised, and uttering a hideous cry, he fell down on the ground and begged for mercy. I had bought those eggs to eat, but had not carried them for the purpose of making "Irish Confetti" of them. Thoroughly roused, in the moment of passion, I had dashed them at him before I knew what I was doing. But seeing Clown down and finding my hand grenade successful, I banged the rest of the eggs on him, intermingled with "Darn you, you sonovagun!" The face of Clown was soaked in yellow. While I was bombarding Clown with the eggs, Porcupine was firing at Red[S] Shirt. "Is there any evidence that I stayed there over night with a geisha?" "I saw your favorite old chicken go there early in the evening, and am telling you so. You can't fool me!" "No need for us of fooling anybody. I stayed there with Mr. Yoshikawa, and whether any geisha had gone there early in the evening or not, that's none of my business." "Shut up!" Porcupine wallopped him one. Red Shirt tottered. "This is outrageous! It is rough to resort to force before deciding the right or wrong of it!" "Outrageous indeed!" Another clout. "Nothing but wallopping will be effective on you scheming guys." The remark was followed by a shower of blows. I soaked Clown at the same time, and made him think he saw the way to the Kingdom-Come. Finally the two crawled and crouched at the foot of a cedar tree, and either from inability to move or to see, because their eyes had become hazy, they did not even attempt to break away. "Want more? If so, here goes some more!" With that we gave him more until he cried enough. "Want more? You?" we turned to Clown, and he answered "Enough, of course." "This is the punishment of heaven on you grovelling wretches. Keep this in your head and be more careful hereafter. You can never talk down justice." The two said nothing. They were so thoroughly cowed that they could not speak. "I'm going to neither, run away nor hide. You'll find me at Minato-ya on the beach up to five this evening. Bring police officers or any old thing you want," said Porcupine. "I'm not going to run away or hide either. Will wait for you at the same place with Hotta. Take the case to the police station if you like, or do as you damn please," I said, and we two walked our own way. It was a little before seven when I returned to my room. I started packing as soon as I was in the room, and the astonished old lady asked me what I was trying to do. I'm going to Tokyo to fetch my Madam, I said, and paid my bill. I boarded a train and came to Minato-ya on the beach and found Porcupine asleep upstairs. I thought of writing my resignation, but not knowing how, just scribbled off that "because of personal affairs, I have to resign and return, to Tokyo. Yours truly," and addressed and mailed it to the principal. The steamer leaves the harbor at six in the evening. Porcupine and I, tired out, slept like logs, and when we awoke it was two o'clock. We asked the maid if the police had called on us, and she said no. Red Shirt and Clown had not taken it to the police, eh? We laughed. That night I and Porcupine left the town. The farther the vessel steamed away from the shore, the more refreshed we felt. From Kobe to Tokyo we boarded a through train and when we made Shimbashi, we breathed as if we were once more in congenial human society. I parted from Porcupine at the station, and have not had the chance of meeting him since. I forgot to tell you about Kiyo. On my arrival at Tokyo, I rushed into her house swinging my valise, before going to a hotel, with "Hello, Kiyo, I'm back!" "How good of you to return so soon!" she cried and hot tears streamed down her cheeks. I was overjoyed, and declared that I would not go to the country any more but would start housekeeping with Kiyo in Tokyo. Some time afterward, some one helped me to a job as assistant engineer at the tram car office. The salary was 25 yen a month, and the house rent six. Although the house had not a magnificent front entrance, Kiyo seemed quite satisfied, but, I am sorry to say, she was a victim of pneumonia and died in February this year. On the day preceding her death, she asked me to bedside, and said, "Please, Master Darling, if Kiyo is dead, bury me in the temple yard of Master Darling. I will be glad to wait in the grave for my Master Darling." So Kiyo's grave is in the Yogen temple at Kobinata. --(THE END)-- [A: Insitent] [B: queershaped] [C: The original just had the Japanese character, Unicode U+5927, sans description] [D: aweinspiring] [E: about about] [F: atomosphere] [G: Helloo] [H: you go] [I: goo-goo eyes] [J: proper hyphenation unknown] [K: pin-princking] [L: Procupine] [M: celabration] [N: wans't] [O: paper.] [P: girl shead] [Q: stumblieg] [R: Rad] 
8882	----	KOKORO BY LAFCADIO HEARN THE papers composing this volume treat of the inner rather than of the outer life of Japan,--for which reason they have been grouped under the title Kokoro (heart). Written with the above character, this word signifies also mind, in the emotional sense; spirit; courage; resolve; sentiment; affection; and inner meaning,--just as we say in English, "the heart of things." KOBE September 15, 1895. CONTENTS I. AT A RAILWAY STATION II. THE GENIUS Of JAPANESE CIVILIZATION III. A STREET SINGER IV. FROM A TRAVELING DIARY V. THE NUN OF THE TEMPLE OF AMIDA VI. AFTER THE WAR VII. HARU VIII. A GLIMPSE OF TENDENCIES IX. BY FORCE OF KARMA X. A CONSERVATIVE XI. IN THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS XII. THE IDEA OF PRE-EXISTENCE XIII. IN CHOLERA-TIME XIV. SOME THOUGHTS ABOUT ANCESTOR-WORSHIP XV. KIMIKO APPENDIX. THREE POPULAR BALLADS KOKORO I AT A RAILWAY STATION Seventh day of the sixth Month;-- twenty-sixth of Meiji. Yesterday a telegram from Fukuoka announced that a desperate criminal captured there would be brought for trial to Kumamoto to-day, on the train due at noon. A Kumamoto policeman had gone to Fukuoka to take the prisoner in charge. Four years ago a strong thief entered some house by night in the Street of the Wrestlers, terrified and bound the inmates, and carried away a number of valuable things. Tracked skillfully by the police, he was captured within twenty-four hours,--even before he could dispose of his plunder. But as he was being taken to the police station he burst his bonds, snatched the sword of his captor, killed him, and escaped. Nothing more was heard of him until last week. Then a Kumamoto detective, happening to visit the Fukuoka prison, saw among the toilers a face that had been four years photographed upon his brain. "Who is that man?" he asked the guard. "A thief," was the reply,--"registered here as Kusabe." The detective walked up to the prisoner and said:-- "Kusabe is not your name. Nomura Teichi, you are needed in Kumamoto for murder." The felon confessed all. I went with a great throng of people to witness the arrival at the station. I expected to hear and see anger; I even feared possibilities of violence. The murdered officer had been much liked; his relatives would certainly be among the spectators; and a Kumamoto crowd is not very gentle. I also thought to find many police on duty. My anticipations were wrong. The train halted in the usual scene of hurry and noise,--scurry and clatter of passengers wearing geta,--screaming of boys wanting to sell Japanese newspapers and Kumamoto lemonade. Outside the barrier we waited for nearly five minutes. Then, pushed through the wicket by a police-sergeant, the prisoner appeared,--a large wild-looking man, with head bowed down, and arms fastened behind his back. Prisoner and guard both halted in front of the wicket; and the people pressed forward to see--but in silence. Then the officer called out,-- "Sugihara San! Sugihara O-Kibi! is she present?" A slight small woman standing near me, with a child on her back, answered, "Hai!" and advanced through the press. This was the widow of the murdered man; the child she carried was his son. At a wave of the officer's hand the crowd fell back, so as to leave a clear space about the prisoner and his escort. In that space the woman with the child stood facing the murderer. The hush was of death. Not to the woman at all, but to the child only, did the officer then speak. He spoke low, but so clearly that I could catch every syllable:-- "Little one, this is the man who killed your father four years ago. You had not yet been born; you were in your mother's womb. That you have no father to love you now is the doing of this man. Look at him--[here the officer, putting a hand to the prisoner's chin, sternly forced him to lift his eyes]--look well at him, little boy! Do not be afraid. It is painful; but it is your duty. Look at him!" Over the mother's shoulder the boy gazed with eyes widely open, as in fear; then he began to sob; then tears came; but steadily and obediently he still looked--looked--looked--straight into the cringing face. The crowd seemed to have stopped breathing. I saw the prisoner's features distort; I saw him suddenly dash himself down upon his knees despite his fetters, and beat his face into the dust, crying out the while in a passion of hoarse remorse that made one's heart shake:-- "Pardon! pardon! pardon me, little one! That I did--not for hate was it done, but in mad fear only, in my desire to escape. Very, very wicked have I been; great unspeakable wrong have I done you! But now for my sin I go to die. I wish to die; I am glad to die! Therefore, O little one, be pitiful!--forgive me!" The child still cried silently. The officer raised the shaking criminal; the dumb crowd parted left and right to let them by. Then, quite suddenly, the whole multitude began to sob. And as the bronzed guardian passed, I saw what I had never seen before, --what few men ever see,--what I shall probably never see again, --the tears of a Japanese policeman. The crowd ebbed, and left me musing on the strange morality of the spectacle. Here was justice unswerving yet compassionate,-- forcing knowledge of a crime by the pathetic witness of its simplest result. Here was desperate remorse, praying only for pardon before death. And here was a populace--perhaps the most dangerous in the Empire when angered--comprehending all, touched by all, satisfied with the contrition and the shame, and filled, not with wrath, but only with the great sorrow of the sin,--through simple deep experience of the difficulties of life and the weaknesses of human nature. But the most significant, because the most Oriental, fact of the episode was that the appeal to remorse had been made through the criminal's sense of fatherhood,--that potential love of children which is so large a part of the soul of every Japanese. There is a story that the most famous of all Japanese robbers, Ishikawa Goemon, once by night entering a house to kill and steal, was charmed by the smile of a baby which reached out hands to him, and that he remained playing with the little creature until all chance of carrying out his purpose was lost. It is not hard to believe this story. Every year the police records tell of compassion shown to children by professional criminals. Some months ago a terrible murder case was reported in the local papers,--the slaughter of a household by robbers. Seven persons had been literally hewn to pieces while asleep; but the police discovered a little boy quite unharmed, crying alone in a pool of blood; and they found evidence unmistakable that the men who slew must have taken great care not to hurt the child. II THE GENIUS OF JAPANESE CIVILIZATION I Without losing a single ship or a single battle, Japan has broken down the power of China, made a new Korea, enlarged her own territory, and changed the whole political face of the East. Astonishing as this has seemed politically, it is much more astonishing psychologically; for it represents the result of a vast play of capacities with which the race had never been credited abroad,--capacities of a very high order. The psychologist knows that the so-called "adoption of Western civilization" within a time of thirty years cannot mean the addition to the Japanese brain of any organs or powers previously absent from it. He knows that it cannot mean any sudden change in the mental or moral character of the race. Such changes are not made in a generation. Transmitted civilization works much more slowly, requiring even hundreds of years to produce certain permanent psychological results. It is in this light that Japan appears the most extraordinary country in the world; and the most wonderful thing in the whole episode of her "Occidentalization" is that the race brain could bear so heavy a shock. Nevertheless, though the fact be unique in human history, what does it really mean? Nothing more than rearrangement of a part of the pre-existing machinery of thought. Even that, for thousands of brave young minds, was death. The adoption of Western civilization was not nearly such an easy matter as un-thinking persons imagined. And it is quite evident that the mental readjustments, effected at a cost which remains to be told, have given good results only along directions in which the race had always shown capacities of special kinds. Thus, the appliances of Western industrial invention have worked admirably in Japanese hands,--have produced excellent results in those crafts at which the nation had been skillful, in other and quainter ways, for ages. There has been no transformation, --nothing more than the turning of old abilities into new and larger channels. The scientific professions tell the same story. For certain forms of science, such as medicine, surgery (there are no better surgeons in the world than the Japanese), chemistry, microscopy, the Japanese genius is naturally adapted; and in all these it has done work already heard of round the world. In war and statecraft it has shown wonderful power; but throughout their history the Japanese have been characterized by great military and political capacity. Nothing remarkable has been done, however, in directions foreign to the national genius. In the study, for example, of Western music, Western art, Western literature, time would seem to have been simply wasted(1). These things make appeal extraordinary to emotional life with us; they make no such appeal to Japanese emotional life. Every serious thinker knows that emotional transformation of the individual through education is impossible. To imagine that the emotional character of an Oriental race could be transformed in the short space of thirty years, by the contact of Occidental ideas, is absurd. Emotional life, which is older than intellectual life, and deeper, can no more be altered suddenly by a change of milieu than the surface of a mirror can be changed by passing reflections. All that Japan has been able to do so miraculously well has been done without any self-transformation; and those who imagine her emotionally closer to us to-day than she may have been thirty years ago ignore facts of science which admit of no argument. Sympathy is limited by comprehension. We may sympathize to the same degree that we understand. One may imagine that he sympathizes with a Japanese or a Chinese; but the sympathy can never be real to more than a small extent outside of the simplest phases of common emotional life,--those phases in which child and man are at one. The more complex feelings of the Oriental have been composed by combinations of experiences, ancestral and individual, which have had no really precise correspondence in Western life, and which we can therefore not fully know. For converse reasons, the Japanese cannot, even though they would, give Europeans their best sympathy. But while it remains impossible for the man of the West to discern the true color of Japanese life, either intellectual or emotional (since the one is woven into the other), it is equally impossible for him to escape the conviction that, compared with his own, it is very small. It is dainty; it holds delicate potentialities of rarest interest and value; but it is otherwise so small that Western life, by contrast with it, seems almost supernatural. For we must judge visible and measurable manifestations. So judging, what a contrast between the emotional and intellectual worlds of West and East! Far less striking that between the frail wooden streets of the Japanese capital and the tremendous solidity of a thoroughfare in Paris or London. When one compares the utterances which West and East have given to their dreams, their aspirations, their sensations,--a Gothic cathedral with a Shinto temple, an opera by Verdi or a trilogy by Wagner with a performance of geisha, a European epic with a Japanese poem,--how incalculable the difference in emotional volume, in imaginative power, in artistic synthesis! True, our music is an essentially modern art; but in looking back through all our past the difference in creative force is scarcely less marked,--not surely in the period of Roman magnificence, of marble amphitheatres and of aqueducts spanning provinces, nor in the Greek period of the divine in sculpture and of the supreme in literature. And this leads to the subject of another wonderful fact in the sudden development of Japanese power. Where are the outward material signs of that immense new force she has been showing both in productivity and in war? Nowhere! That which we miss in her emotional and intellectual life is missing also from her industrial and commercial life,--largeness! The land remains what it was before; its face has scarcely been modified by all the changes of Meiji. The miniature railways and telegraph poles, the bridges and tunnels, might almost escape notice in the ancient green of the landscapes. In all the cities, with the exception of the open ports and their little foreign settlements, there exists hardly a street vista suggesting the teaching of Western ideas. You might journey two hundred miles through the interior of the country, looking in vain for large manifestations of the new civilization. In no place do you find commerce exhibiting its ambition in gigantic warehouses, or industry expanding its machinery under acres of roofing. A Japanese city is still, as it was ten centuries ago, little more than a wilderness of wooden sheds,--picturesque, indeed, as paper lanterns are, but scarcely less frail. And there is no great stir and noise anywhere,--no heavy traffic, no booming and rumbling, no furious haste. In Tokyo itself you may enjoy, if you wish, the peace of a country village. This want of visible or audible signs of the new-found force which is now menacing the markets of the West and changing the maps of the far East gives one a queer, I might even say a weird feeling. It is almost the sensation received when, after climbing through miles of silence to reach some Shinto shrine, you find voidness only and solitude,--an elfish, empty little wooden structure, mouldering in shadows a thousand years old. The strength of Japan, like the strength of her ancient faith, needs little material display: both exist where the deepest real power of any great people exists,--in the Race Ghost. (1) In one limited sense, Western art has influenced Japanese. literature and drama; but the character of the influence proves the racial difference to which I refer. European plays have been reshaped for the Japanese stage, and European novels rewritten for Japanese readers. But a literal version is rarely attempted; for the original incidents, thoughts, and emotions would be unintelligible to the average reader or playgoer. Plots are adopted; sentiments and incidents are totally transformed. "The New Magdalen" becomes a Japanese girl who married an Eta. Victor Hugo's _Les Miserables_ becomes a tale of the Japanese civil war; and Enjolras a Japanese student. There have been a few rare exceptions, including the marked success of a literal translation of the _Sorrows of Werther_. II As I muse, the remembrance of a great city comes back to me,--a city walled up to the sky and roaring like the sea. The memory of that roar returns first; then the vision defines: a chasm, which is a street, between mountains, which are houses. I am tired, because I have walked many miles between those precipices of masonry, and have trodden no earth,--only slabs of rock,--and have heard nothing but thunder of tumult. Deep below those huge pavements I know there is a cavernous world tremendous: systems underlying systems of ways contrived for water and steam and fire. On either hand tower facades pierced by scores of tiers of windows,--cliffs of architecture shutting out the sun. Above, the pale blue streak of sky is cut by a maze of spidery lines,--an infinite cobweb of electric wires. In that block on the right there dwell nine thousand souls; the tenants of the edifice facing it pay the annual rent of a million dollars. Seven millions scarcely covered the cost of those bulks overshadowing the square beyond,--and there are miles of such. Stairways of steel and cement, of brass and stone, with costliest balustrades, ascend through the decades and double-decades of stories; but no foot treads them. By water-power, by steam, by electricity, men go up and down; the heights are too dizzy, the distances too great, for the use of the limbs. My friend who pays rent of five thousand dollars for his rooms in the fourteenth story of a monstrosity not far off has never trodden his stairway. I am walking for curiosity alone; with a serious purpose I should not walk: the spaces are too broad, the time is too precious, for such slow exertion,--men travel from district to district, from house to office, by steam. Heights are too great for the voice to traverse; orders are given and obeyed by machinery. By electricity far-away doors are opened; with one touch a hundred rooms are lighted or heated. And all this enormity is hard, grim, dumb; it is the enormity of mathematical power applied to utilitarian ends of solidity and durability. These leagues of palaces, of warehouses, of business structures, of buildings describable and indescribable, are not beautiful, but sinister. One feels depressed by the mere sensation of the enormous life which created them, life without sympathy; of their prodigious manifestation of power, power without pity. They are the architectural utterance of the new industrial age. And there is no halt in the thunder of wheels, in the storming of hoofs and of human feet. To ask a question, one must shout into the ear of the questioned; to see, to understand, to move in that high-pressure medium, needs experience. The unaccustomed feels the sensation of being in a panic, in a tempest, in a cyclone. Yet all this is order. The monster streets leap rivers, span sea-ways, with bridges of stone, bridges of steel. Far as the eye can reach, a bewilderment of masts, a web-work of rigging, conceals the shores, which are cliffs of masonry. Trees in a forest stand less thickly, branches in a forest mingle less closely, than the masts and spars of that immeasurable maze. Yet all is order. III Generally speaking, we construct for endurance, the Japanese for impermanency. Few things for common use are made in Japan with a view to durability. The straw sandals worn out and replaced at each stage of a journey, the robe consisting of a few simple widths loosely stitched together for wearing, and unstitched again for washing, the fresh chopsticks served to each new guest at a hotel, the light shoji frames serving at once for windows and walls, and repapered twice a year; the mattings renewed every autumn,--all these are but random examples of countless small things in daily life that illustrate the national contentment with impermanency. What is the story of a common Japanese dwelling? Leaving my home in the morning, I observe, as I pass the corner of the next street crossing mine, some men setting up bamboo poles on a vacant lot there. Returning after five hours' absence, I find on the same lot the skeleton of a two-story house. Next forenoon I see that the walls are nearly finished already,--mud and wattles. By sundown the roof has been completely tiled. On the following morning I observe that the mattings have been put down, and the inside plastering has been finished. In five days the house is completed. This, of course, is a cheap building; a fine one would take much longer to put up and finish. But Japanese cities are for the most part composed of such common buildings. They are as cheap as they are simple. I cannot now remember where I first met with the observation that the curve of the Chinese roof might preserve the memory of the nomad tent. The idea haunted me long after I had ungratefully forgotten the book in which I found it; and when I first saw, in Izumo, the singular structure of the old Shinto temples, with queer cross-projections at their gable-ends and upon their roof-ridges, the suggestion of the forgotten essayist about the possible origin of much less ancient forms returned to me with great force. But there is much in Japan besides primitive architectural traditions to indicate a nomadic ancestry for the race. Always and everywhere there is a total absence of what we would call solidity; and the characteristics of impermanence seem to mark almost everything in the exterior life of the people, except, indeed, the immemorial costume of the peasant and the shape of the implements of his toil. Not to dwell upon the fact that even during the comparatively brief period of her written history Japan has had more than sixty capitals, of which the greater number have completely disappeared, it may be broadly stated that every Japanese city is rebuilt within the time of a generation. Some temples and a few colossal fortresses offer exceptions; but, as a general rule, the Japanese city changes its substance, if not its form, in the lifetime of a man. Fires, earth-quakes, and many other causes partly account for this; the chief reason, however, is that houses are not built to last. The common people have no ancestral homes. The dearest spot to all is, not the place of birth, but the place of burial; and there is little that is permanent save the resting-places of the dead and the sites of the ancient shrines. The land itself is a land of impermanence. Rivers shift their courses, coasts their outline, plains their level; volcanic peaks heighten or crumble; valleys are blocked by lava-floods or landslides; lakes appear and disappear. Even the matchless shape of Fuji, that snowy miracle which has been the inspiration of artists for centuries, is said to have been slightly changed since my advent to the country; and not a few other mountains have in the same short time taken totally new forms. Only the general lines of the land, the general aspects of its nature, the general character of the seasons, remain fixed. Even the very beauty of the landscapes is largely illusive,--a beauty of shifting colors and moving mists. Only he to whom those landscapes are familiar can know how their mountain vapors make mockery of real changes which have been, and ghostly predictions of other changes yet to be, in the history of the archipelago. The gods, indeed, remain,--haunt their homes upon the hills, diffuse a soft religious awe through the twilight of their groves, perhaps because they are without form and substance. Their shrines seldom pass utterly into oblivion, like the dwellings of men. But every Shinto temple is necessarily rebuilt at more or less brief intervals; and the holiest,--the shrine of Ise,--in obedience to immemorial custom, must be demolished every twenty years, and its timbers cut into thousands of tiny charms, which are distributed to pilgrims. From Aryan India, through China, came Buddhism, with its vast doctrine of impermanency. The builders of the first Buddhist temples in Japan--architects of another race--built well: witness the Chinese structures at Kamakura that have survived so many centuries, while of the great city which once surrounded them not a trace remains. But the psychical influence of Buddhism could in no land impel minds to the love of material stability. The teaching that the universe is an illusion; that life is but one momentary halt upon an infinite journey; that all attachment to persons, to places, or to things must be fraught with sorrow; that only through suppression of every desire--even the desire of Nirvana itself--can humanity reach the eternal peace, certainly harmonized with the older racial feeling. Though the people never much occupied themselves with the profounder philosophy of the foreign faith, its doctrine of impermanency must, in course of time, have profoundly influenced national character. It explained and consoled; it imparted new capacity to bear all things bravely; it strengthened that patience which is a trait of the race. Even in Japanese art--developed, if not actually created, under Buddhist influence--the doctrine of impermanency has left its traces. Buddhism taught that nature was a dream, an illusion, a phantasmagoria; but it also taught men how to seize the fleeting impressions of that dream, and how to interpret them in relation to the highest truth. And they learned well. In the flushed splendor of the blossom-bursts of spring, in the coming and the going of the cicada, in the dying crimson of autumn foliage, in the ghostly beauty of snow, in the delusive motion of wave or cloud, they saw old parables of perpetual meaning. Even their calamities--fire, flood, earthquake, pestilence-- interpreted to them unceasingly the doctrine of the eternal Vanishing. _All things which exist in Time must perish. The forests, the mountains,--all things thus exist. In Time are born all things having desire._ _The Sun and Moon, Sakra himself with all the multitude of his attendants, will all, without exception, perish; there is not one that will endure._ _In the beginning things were fixed; in the end again they separate: different combinations cause other substance; for in nature there is no uniform and constant principle._ _All component things must grow old; impermanent are all component things. Even unto a grain of sesamum seed there is no such thing as a compound which is permanent. All are transient; all have the inherent quality of dissolution._ _All component things, without exception, are impermanent, unstable, despicable, sure to depart, disintegrating; all are temporary as a mirage, as a phantom, or as foam.... Even as all earthen vessels made by the potter end in being broken, so end the lives of men._ _And a belief in matter itself is unmentionable and inexpressible,--it is neither a thing nor no-thing: and this is known even by children and ignorant persons._ IV Now it is worth while to inquire if there be not some compensatory value attaching to this impermanency and this smallness in the national life. Nothing is more characteristic of that life than its extreme fluidity. The Japanese population represents a medium whose particles are in perpetual circulation. The motion is in itself peculiar. It is larger and more eccentric than the motion of Occidental populations, though feebler between points. It is also much more natural,--so natural that it could not exist in Western civilization. The relative mobility of a European population and the Japanese population might be expressed by a comparison between certain high velocities of vibration and certain low ones. But the high velocities would represent, in such a comparison, the consequence of artificial force applied; the slower vibrations would not. And this difference of kind would mean more than surface indications could announce. In one sense, Americans may be right in thinking themselves great travelers. In another, they are certainly wrong; the man of the people in America cannot compare, as a traveler, with the man of the people in Japan. And of course, in considering relative mobility of populations, one must consider chiefly the great masses, the workers,--not merely the small class of wealth. In their own country, the Japanese are the greatest travelers of any civilized people. They are the greatest travelers because, even in a land composed mainly of mountain chains, they recognize no obstacles to travel. The Japanese who travels most is not the man who needs railways or steamers to carry him. Now, with us, the common worker is incomparably less free than the common worker in Japan. He is less free because of the more complicated mechanism of Occidental societies, whose forces tend to agglomeration and solid integration. He is less free because the social and industrial machinery on which he must depend reshapes him to its own particular requirements, and always so as to evolve some special and artificial capacity at the cost of other inherent capacity. He is less free because he must live at a standard making it impossible for him to win financial independence by mere thrift. To achieve any such independence, he must possess exceptional character and exceptional faculties greater than those of thousands of exceptional competitors equally eager to escape from the same thralldom. In brief, then, he is less independent because the special character of his civilization numbs his natural power to live without the help of machinery or large capital. To live thus artificially means to lose, sooner or later, the power of independent movement. Before a Western man can move he has many things to consider. Before a Japanese moves he has nothing to consider. He simply leaves the place he dislikes, and goes to the place he wishes, without any trouble. There is nothing to prevent him. Poverty is not an obstacle, but a stimulus. Impedimenta he has none, or only such as he can dispose of in a few minutes. Distances have no significance for him. Nature has given him perfect feet that can spring him over fifty miles a day without pain; a stomach whose chemistry can extract ample nourishment from food on which no European could live; and a constitution that scorns heat, cold, and damp alike, because still unimpaired by unhealthy clothing, by superfluous comforts, by the habit of seeking warmth from grates and stoves, and by the habit of wearing leather shoes. It seems to me that the character of our footgear signifies more than is commonly supposed. The footgear represents in itself a check upon individual freedom. It signifies this even in costliness; but in form it signifies infinitely more. It has distorted the Western foot out of the original shape, and rendered it incapable of the work for which it was evolved. The physical results are not limited to the foot. Whatever acts as a check, directly or indirectly, upon the organs of locomotion must extend its effects to the whole physical constitution. Does the evil stop even there? Perhaps we submit to conventions the most absurd of any existing in any civilization because we have too long submitted to the tyranny of shoemakers. There may be defects in our politics, in our social ethics, in our religious system, more or less related to the habit of wearing leather shoes. Submission to the cramping of the body must certainly aid in developing submission to the cramping of the mind. The Japanese man of the people--the skilled laborer able to underbid without effort any Western artisan in the same line of industry--remains happily independent of both shoemakers and tailors. His feet are good to look at, his body is healthy, and his heart is free. If he desire to travel a thousand miles, he can get ready for his journey in five minutes. His whole outfit need not cost seventy-five cents; and all his baggage can be put into a handkerchief. On ten dollars he can travel for a year without work, or he can travel simply on his ability to work, or he can travel as a pilgrim. You may reply that any savage can do the same thing. Yes, but any civilized man cannot; and the Japanese has been a highly civilized man for at least a thousand years. Hence his present capacity to threaten Western manufacturers. We have been too much accustomed to associate this kind of independent mobility with the life of our own beggars and tramps, to have any just conception of its intrinsic meaning. We have thought of it also in connection with unpleasant things,--uncleanliness and bad smells. But, as Professor Chamberlain has well said, "a Japanese crowd is the sweetest in the world" Your Japanese tramp takes his hot bath daily, if he has a fraction of a cent to pay for it, or his cold bath, if he has not. In his little bundle there are combs, toothpicks, razors, toothbrushes. He never allows himself to become unpleasant. Reaching his destination, he can transform himself into a visitor of very nice manners, and faultless though simple attire(1). Ability to live without furniture, without impedimenta, with the least possible amount of neat clothing, shows more than the advantage held by this Japanese race in the struggle of life; it shows also the real character of some weaknesses in our own civilization. It forces reflection upon the useless multiplicity of our daily wants. We must have meat and bread and butter; glass windows and fire; hats, white shirts, and woolen underwear; boots and shoes; trunks, bags, and boxes; bedsteads, mattresses, sheets, and blankets: all of which a Japanese can do without, and is really better off without. Think for a moment how important an article of Occidental attire is the single costly item of white shirts! Yet even the linen shirt, the so-called "badge of a gentleman," is in itself a useless garment. It gives neither warmth nor comfort. It represents in our fashions the survival of something once a luxurious class distinction, but to-day meaningless and useless as the buttons sewn on the outside of coat-sleeves. (1) Critics have tried to make fun of Sir Edwin Arnold's remark that a Japanese crowd smells like a geranium-flower. Yet the simile is exact! The perfume called jako, when sparingly used, might easily be taken for the odor of a musk-geranium. In almost any Japanese assembly including women a slight perfume of jako is discernible; for the robes worn have been laid in drawers containing a few grains of jako. Except for this delicate scent, a Japanese crowd is absolutely odorless. V The absence of any huge signs of the really huge things that Japan has done bears witness to the very peculiar way in which her civilization has been working. It cannot forever so work; but it has so worked thus far with amazing success. Japan is producing without capital, in our large sense of the word. She has become industrial without becoming essentially mechanical and artificial. The vast rice crop is raised upon millions of tiny, tiny farms; the silk crop, in millions of small poor homes, the tea crop, on countless little patches of soil. If you visit Kyoto to order something from one of the greatest porcelain makers in the world, one whose products are known better in London and in Paris than even in Japan, you will find the factory to be a wooden cottage in which no American farmer would live. The greatest maker of cloisonne vases, who may ask you two hundred dollars for something five inches high, produces his miracles behind a two-story frame dwelling containing perhaps six small rooms. The best girdles of silk made in Japan, and famous throughout the Empire, are woven in a house that cost scarcely five hundred dollars to build. The work is, of course, hand-woven. But the factories weaving by machinery--and weaving so well as to ruin foreign industries of far vaster capacity--are hardly more imposing, with very few exceptions. Long, light, low one-story or two-story sheds they are, about as costly to erect as a row of wooden stables with us. Yet sheds like these turn out silks that sell all round the world. Sometimes only by inquiry, or by the humming of the machinery, can you distinguish a factory from an old yashiki, or an old-fashioned Japanese school building,--unless indeed you can read the Chinese characters over the garden gate. Some big brick factories and breweries exist; but they are very few, and even when close to the foreign settlements they seem incongruities in the landscape. Our own architectural monstrosities and our Babels of machinery have been brought into existence by vast integrations of industrial capital. But such integrations do not exist in the Far East; indeed, the capital to make them does not exist. And supposing that in the course of a few generations there should form in Japan corresponding combinations of money power, it is not easy to suppose correspondences in architectural construction. Even two-story edifices of brick have given bad results in the leading commercial centre; and earthquakes seem to condemn Japan to perpetual simplicity in building. The very land revolts against the imposition of Western architecture, and occasionally even opposes the new course of traffic by pushing railroad lines out of level and out of shape. Not industry alone still remains thus unintegrated; government itself exhibits a like condition. Nothing is fixed except the Throne. Perpetual change is identical with state policy. Ministers, governors, superintendents, inspectors, all high civil and military officials, are shifted at irregular and surprisingly short intervals, and hosts of smaller officials scatter each time with the whirl. The province in which I passed the first twelvemonth of my residence in Japan has had four different governors in five years. During my stay at Kumamoto, and before the war had begun, the military command of that important post was three times changed. The government college had in three years three directors. In educational circles, especially, the rapidity of such changes has been phenomenal. There have been five different ministers of education in my own time, and more than five different educational policies. The twenty-six thousand public schools are so related in their management to the local assemblies that, even were no other influences at work, constant change would be inevitable because of the changes in the assemblies. Directors and teachers keep circling from post to post; there are men little more than thirty years old who have taught in almost every province of the country. That any educational system could have produced any great results under these conditions seems nothing short of miraculous. We are accustomed to think that some degree of stability is necessary to all real progress, all great development. But Japan has given proof irrefutable that enormous development is possible without any stability at all. The explanation is in the race character,--a race character in more ways than one the very opposite of our own. Uniformly mobile, and thus uniformly impressionable, the nation has moved unitedly in the direction of great ends, submitting the whole volume of its forty millions to be moulded by the ideas of its rulers, even as sand or as water is shaped by wind. And this submissiveness to reshaping belongs to the old conditions of its soul life,--old conditions of rare unselfishness and perfect faith. The relative absence from the national character of egotistical individualism has been the saving of an empire; has enabled a great people to preserve its independence against prodigious odds. Wherefore Japan may well be grateful to her two great religions, the creators and the preservers of her moral power to Shinto, which taught the individual to think of his Emperor and of his country before thinking either of his own family or of himself; and to Buddhism, which trained him to master regret, to endure pain, and to accept as eternal law the vanishing of things loved and the tyranny of things hated. To-day there is visible a tendency to hardening,--a danger of changes leading to the integration of just such an officialism as that which has proved the curse and the weakness of China. The moral results of the new education have not been worthy of the material results. The charge of want of "individuality," in the accepted sense of pure selfishness, will scarcely be made against the Japanese of the next century. Even the compositions of students already reflect the new conception of intellectual strength only as a weapon of offense, and the new sentiment of aggressive egotism. "Impermanency," writes one, with a fading memory of Buddhism in his mind, "is the nature of our life. We see often persons who were rich yesterday, and are poor to-day. This is the result of human competition, according to the law of evolution. We are exposed to that competition. We must fight each other, even if we are not inclined to do so. With what sword shall we fight? With the sword of knowledge, forged by education." Well, there are two forms of the cultivation of Self. One leads to the exceptional development of the qualities which are noble, and the other signifies something about which the less said the better. But it is not the former which the New Japan is now beginning to study. I confess to being one of those who believe that the human heart, even in the history of a race, may be worth infinitely more than the human intellect, and that it will sooner or later prove itself infinitely better able to answer all the cruel enigmas of the Sphinx of Life. I still believe that the old Japanese were nearer to the solution of those enigmas than are we, just because they recognized moral beauty as greater than intellectual beauty. And, by way of conclusion, I may venture to quote from an article on education by Ferdinand Brunetiere:-- "All our educational measures will prove vain, if there be no effort to force into the mind, and to deeply impress upon it, the sense of those fine words of Lamennais: '_Human society is based upon mutual giving, or upon the sacrifice of man for man, or of each man for all other men; and sacrifice is the very essence of all true society._' It is this that we have been unlearning for nearly a century; and if we have to put ourselves to school afresh, it will be in order that we may learn it again. Without such knowledge there can be no society and no education,--not, at least, if the object of education be to form man for society. Individualism is to-day the enemy of education, as it is also the enemy of social order. It has not been so always; but it has so become. It will not be so forever; but it is so now. And without striving to destroy it-which would mean to fall from one extreme into another--we must recognize that, no matter what we wish to do for the family, for society, for education, and for the country, it is against individualism that the work will have to be done." III A STREET SINGER A woman carrying a samisen, and accompanied by a little boy seven or eight years old, came to my house to sing. She wore the dress of a peasant, and a blue towel tied round her head. She was ugly; and her natural ugliness had been increased by a cruel attack of smallpox. The child carried a bundle of printed ballads. Neighbors then began to crowd into my front yard,--mostly young mothers and nurse girls with babies on their backs, but old women and men likewise--the inkyo of the vicinity. Also the jinrikisha-men came from their stand at the next street-corner; and presently there was no more room within the gate. The woman sat down on my doorstep, tuned her samisen, played a bar of accompaniment,--and a spell descended upon the people; and they stared at each other in smiling amazement. For out of those ugly disfigured lips there gushed and rippled a miracle of a voice--young, deep, unutterably touching in its penetrating sweetness. "Woman or wood-fairy?" queried a bystander. Woman only,--but a very, very great artist. The way she handled her instrument might have astounded the most skillful geisha; but no such voice had ever been heard from any geisha, and no such song. She sang as only a peasant can sing,--with vocal rhythms learned, perhaps, from the cicada and the wild nightingales,--and with fractions and semi-fractions and demi-semi-fractions of tones never written down in the musical language of the West. And as she sang, those who listened began to weep silently. I did not distinguish the words; but I felt the sorrow and the sweetness and the patience of the life of Japan pass with her voice into my heart,--plaintively seeking for something never there. A tenderness invisible seemed to gather and quiver about us; and sensations of places and of times forgotten came softly back, mingled with feelings ghostlier,--feelings not of any place or time in living memory. Then I saw that the singer was blind. When the song was finished, we coaxed the woman into the house, and questioned her. Once she had been fairly well to do, and had learned the samisen when a girl. The little boy was her son. Her husband was paralyzed. Her eyes had been destroyed by smallpox. But she was strong, and able to walk great distances. When the child became tired, she would carry him on her back. She could support the little one, as well as the bed-ridden husband, because whenever she sang the people cried, and gave her coppers and food.... Such was her story. We gave her some money and a meal; and she went away, guided by her boy. I bought a copy of the ballad, which was about a recent double suicide: "_The sorrowful ditty of Tamayone and Takejiro,-- composed by Tabenaka Yone of Number Fourteen of the Fourth Ward of Nippon-bashi in the South District of the City of Osaka_." It had evidently been printed from a wooden block; and there were two little pictures. One showed a girl and boy sorrowing together. The other--a sort of tail-piece--represented a writing-stand, a dying lamp, an open letter, incense burning in a cup, and a vase containing shikimi,--that sacred plant used in the Buddhist ceremony of making offerings to the dead. The queer cursive text, looking like shorthand written perpendicularly, yielded to translation only lines like these:-- "In the First Ward of Nichi-Hommachi, in far-famed Osaka-- _O the sorrow of this tale of shinju!_ "Tamayone, aged nineteen,--to see her was to love her, for Takejiro, the young workman. "For the time of two lives they exchange mutual vows-- _O the sorrow of loving a courtesan!_ "On their arms they tattoo a Raindragon, and the character 'Bamboo'--thinking never of the troubles of life.... "But he cannot pay the fifty-five yen for her freedom-- _O the anguish of Takejiro's heart!_ "Both then vow to pass away together, since never in this world can they become husband and wife.... "Trusting to her comrades for incense and for flowers-- _O the pity of their passing like the dew!_ "Tamayone takes the wine-cup filled with water only, in which those about to die pledge each other.... "_O the tumult of the lovers' suicide!--O the pity of their lives thrown away!_" In short, there was nothing very unusual in the story, and nothing at all remarkable in the verse. All the wonder of the performance had been in the voice of the woman. But long after the singer had gone that voice seemed still to stay,--making within me a sense of sweetness and of sadness so strange that I could not but try to explain to myself the secret of those magical tones. And I thought that which is hereafter set down:-- All song, all melody, all music, means only some evolution of the primitive natural utterance of feeling,--of that untaught speech of sorrow, joy, or passion, whose words are tones. Even as other tongues vary, so varies this language of tone combinations. Wherefore melodies which move us deeply have no significance to Japanese ears; and melodies that touch us not at all make powerful appeal to the emotion of a race whose soul-life differs from our own as blue differs from yellow....Still, what is the reason of the deeper feelings evoked in me--an alien--by this Oriental chant that I could never even learn,--by this common song of a blind woman of the people? Surely that in the voice of the singer there were qualities able to make appeal to something larger than the sum of the experience of one race,--to something wide as human life, and ancient as the knowledge of good and evil. One summer evening, twenty-five years ago, in a London park, I heard a girl say "Good-night" to somebody passing by. Nothing but those two little words,--"Good-night." Who she was I do not know: I never even saw her face; and I never heard that voice again. But still, after the passing of one hundred seasons, the memory of her "Good-night" brings a double thrill incomprehensible of pleasure and pain,--pain and pleasure, doubtless, not of me, not of my own existence, but of pre-existences and dead suns. For that which makes the charm of a voice thus heard but once cannot be of this life. It is of lives innumerable and forgotten. Certainly there never have been two voices having precisely the same quality. But in the utterance of affection there is a tenderness of timbre common to the myriad million voices of all humanity. Inherited memory makes familiar to even the newly-born the meaning of the tone of caress. Inherited, no doubt, likewise, our knowledge of the tones of sympathy, of grief, of pity. And so the chant of a blind woman in this city of the Far East may revive in even a Western mind emotion deeper than individual being,--vague dumb pathos of forgotten sorrows,--dim loving impulses of generations unremembered. The dead die never utterly. They sleep in the darkest cells of tired hearts and busy brains,--to be startled at rarest moments only by the echo of some voice that recalls their past. IV FROM A TRAVELING DIARY I OSAKA-KYOTO RAILWAY. April 15, 1895. Feeling drowsy in a public conveyance, and not being able to lie down, a Japanese woman will lift her long sleeve before her face ere she begins to nod. In this second-class railway-carriage there are now three women asleep in a row, all with faces screened by the left sleeve, and all swaying together with the rocking of the train, like lotos-flowers in a soft current. (This use of the left sleeve is either fortuitous or instinctive; probably instinctive, as the right hand serves best to cling to strap or seat in case of shock.) The spectacle is at once pretty and funny, but especially pretty, as exemplifying that grace with which a refined Japanese woman does everything,--always in the daintiest and least selfish way possible. It is pathetic, too, for the attitude is also that of sorrow, and sometimes of weary prayer. All because of the trained sense of duty to show only one's happiest face to the world. Which fact reminds me of an experience. A male servant long in my house seemed to me the happiest of mortals. He laughed invariably when spoken to, looked always delighted while at work, appeared to know nothing of the small troubles of life. But one day I peeped at him when he thought himself quite alone, and his relaxed face startled me. It was not the face I had known. Hard lines of pain and anger appeared in it, making it seem twenty years older. I coughed gently to announce my presence. At once the face smoothed, softened, lighted up as by a miracle of rejuvenation. Miracle, indeed, of perpetual unselfish self-control. II Kyoto, April 16. The wooden shutters before my little room in the hotel are pushed away; and the morning sun immediately paints upon my shoji, across squares of gold light, the perfect sharp shadow of a little peach-tree. No mortal artist--not even a Japanese--could surpass that silhouette! Limned in dark blue against the yellow glow, the marvelous image even shows stronger or fainter tones according to the varying distance of the unseen branches outside. it sets me thinking about the possible influence on Japanese art of the use of paper for house-lighting purposes. By night a Japanese house with only its shoji closed looks like a great paper-sided lantern,--a magic-lantern making moving shadows within, instead of without itself. By day the shadows on the shoji are from outside only; but they may be very wonderful at the first rising of the sun, if his beams are leveled, as in this instance, across a space of quaint garden. There is certainly nothing absurd in that old Greek story which finds the origin of art in the first untaught attempt to trace upon some wall the outline of a lover's shadow. Very possibly all sense of art, as well as all sense of the supernatural, had its simple beginnings in the study of shadows. But shadows on shoji are so remarkable as to suggest explanation of certain Japanese faculties of drawing by no means primitive, but developed beyond all parallel, and otherwise difficult to account for. Of course, the quality of Japanese paper, which takes shadows better than any frosted glass, must be considered, and also the character of the shadows themselves. Western vegetation, for example, could scarcely furnish silhouettes so gracious as those of Japanese garden-trees, all trained by centuries of caressing care to look as lovely as Nature allows. I wish the paper of my shoji could have been, like a photographic plate, sensitive to that first delicious impression cast by a level sun. I am already regretting distortions: the beautiful silhouette has begun to lengthen. III Kyoto, April 16. Of all peculiarly beautiful things in Japan, the most beautiful are the approaches to high places of worship or of rest,--the Ways that go to Nowhere and the Steps that lead to Nothing. Certainly, their special charm is the charm of the adventitious, --the effect of man's handiwork in union with Nature's finest moods of light and form and color,--a charm which vanishes on rainy days; but it is none the less wonderful because fitful. Perhaps the ascent begins with a sloping paved avenue, half a mile long, lined with giant trees. Stone monsters guard the way at regular intervals. Then you come to some great flight of steps ascending through green gloom to a terrace umbraged by older and vaster trees; and other steps from thence lead to other terraces, all in shadow. And you climb and climb and climb, till at last, beyond a gray torii, the goal appears: a small, void, colorless wooden shrine,--a Shinto miya. The shock of emptiness thus received, in the high silence and the shadows, after all the sublimity of the long approach, is very ghostliness itself. Of similar Buddhist experiences whole multitudes wait for those who care to seek them. I might suggest, for example, a visit to the grounds of Higashi Otani, which are in the city of Kyoto. A grand avenue leads to the court of a temple, and from the court a flight of steps fully fifty feet wide--massy, mossed, and magnificently balustraded--leads to a walled terrace. The scene makes one think of the approach to some Italian pleasure-garden of Decameron days. But, reaching the terrace, you find only a gate, opening--into a cemetery! Did the Buddhist landscape-gardener wish to tell us that all pomp and power and beauty lead only to such silence at last? IV KYOTO, April 10-20. I have passed the greater part of three days in the national Exhibition,--time barely sufficient to discern the general character and significance of the display. It is essentially industrial, but nearly all delightful, notwithstanding, because of the wondrous application of art to all varieties of production. Foreign merchants and keener observers than I find in it other and sinister meaning,--the most formidable menace to Occidental trade and industry ever made by the Orient. "Compared with England," wrote a correspondent of the London Times, "it is farthings for pennies throughout.... The story of the Japanese invasion of Lancashire is older than that of the invasion of Korea and China. It has been a conquest of peace,--a painless process of depletion which is virtually achieved.... The Kyoto display is proof of a further immense development of industrial enterprise.... A country where laborers' hire is three shillings a week, with all other domestic charges in proportion, must--other things being equal--kill competitors whose expenses are quadruple the Japanese scale." Certainly the industrial jiujutsu promises unexpected results. The price of admission to the Exhibition is a significant matter also. Only five sen! Yet even at this figure an immense sum is likely to be realized,--so great is the swarm of visitors. Multitudes of peasants are pouring daily into the city,--pedestrians mostly, just as for a pilgrimage. And a pilgrimage for myriads the journey really is, because of the inauguration festival of the greatest of Shinshu temples. The art department proper I thought much inferior to that of the Tokyo Exhibition of 1890. Fine things there were, but few. Evidence, perhaps, of the eagerness with which the nation is turning all its energies and talents in directions where money is to be made; for in those larger departments where art is combined with industry,--such as ceramics, enamels, inlaid work, embroideries,--no finer and costlier work could ever have been shown. Indeed, the high value of certain articles on display suggested a reply to a Japanese friend who observed, thoughtfully, "If China adopts Western industrial methods, she will be able to underbid us in all the markets of the world." "Perhaps in cheap production," I made answer. "But there is no reason why Japan should depend wholly upon cheapness of production. I think she may rely more securely upon her superiority in art and good taste. The art-genius of a people may have a special value against which all competition by cheap labor is vain. Among Western nations, France offers an example. Her wealth is not due to her ability to underbid her neighbors. Her goods are the dearest in the world: she deals in things of luxury and beauty. But they sell in all civilized countries because they are the best of their kind. Why should not Japan become the France of the Further East?" The weakest part of the art display is that devoted to oil-painting,--oil-painting in the European manner. No reason exists why the Japanese should not be able to paint wonderfully in oil by following their own particular methods of artistic expression. But their attempts to follow Western methods have even risen to mediocrity only in studies requiring very realistic treatment. Ideal work in oil, according to Western canons of art, is still out of their reach. Perhaps they may yet discover for themselves a new gateway to the beautiful, even through oil-painting, by adaptation of the method to the particular needs of the race-genius; but there is yet no sign of such a tendency. A canvas representing a perfectly naked woman looking at herself in a very large mirror created a disagreeable impression. The Japanese press had been requesting the removal of the piece, and uttering comments not flattering to Western art ideas. Nevertheless the canvas was by a Japanese painter. It was a daub; but it had been boldly priced at three thousand dollars. I stood near the painting for a while to observe its effect upon the people,--peasants by a huge majority. They would stare at it, laugh scornfully, utter some contemptuous phrase, and turn away to examine the kakemono, which were really far more worthy of notice though offered at prices ranging only from ten to fifty yen. The comments were chiefly leveled at "foreign" ideas of good taste (the figure having been painted with a European head). None seemed to consider the thing as a Japanese work. Had it represented a Japanese woman, I doubt whether the crowd would have even tolerated its existence. Now all this scorn for the picture itself was just. There was nothing ideal in the work. It was simply the representation of a naked woman doing what no woman could like to be seen doing. And a picture of a mere naked woman, however well executed, is never art if art means idealism. The realism of the thing was its offensiveness. Ideal nakedness may be divine,--the most godly of all human dreams of the superhuman. But a naked person is not divine at all. Ideal nudity needs no girdle, because the charm is of lines too beautiful to be veiled or broken. The living real human body has no such divine geometry. Question: Is an artist justified in creating nakedness for its own sake, unless he can divest that nakedness of every trace of the real and personal? There is a Buddhist text which truly declares that he alone is wise who can see things without their individuality. And it is this Buddhist way of seeing which makes the greatness of the true Japanese art. V These thoughts came:-- That nudity which is divine, which is the abstract of beauty absolute, gives to the beholder a shock of astonishment and delight,--not unmixed with melancholy. Very few works of art give this, because very few approach perfection. But there are marbles and gems which give it, and certain fine studies of them, such as the engravings published by the Society of Dilettanti. The longer one looks, the more the wonder grows, since there appears no line, or part of a line, whose beauty does not surpass all remembrance. So the secret of such art was long thought supernatural; and, in very truth, the sense of beauty it communicates is more than human,--is superhuman, in the meaning of that which is outside of existing life,--is therefore supernatural as any sensation known to man can be. What is the shock? It resembles strangely, and is certainly akin to, that psychical shock which comes with the first experience of love. Plato explained the shock of beauty as being the Soul's sudden half-remembrance of the World of Divine Ideas. "They who see here any image or resemblance of the things which are there receive a shock like a thunderbolt, and are, after a manner, taken out of themselves." Schopenhauer explained, the shock of first love as the Willpower of the Soul of the Race. The positive psychology of Spencer declares in our own day that the most powerful of human passions, when it makes its first appearance, is absolutely antecedent to all individual experience. Thus do ancient thought and modern--metaphysics and science--accord in recognizing that the first deep sensation of human beauty known to the individual is not individual at all. Must not the same truth hold of that shock which supreme art gives? The human ideal expressed in such art appeals surely to the experience of all that Past enshrined in the emotional life of the beholder,--to something inherited from innumerable ancestors. Innumerable indeed! Allowing three generations to a century, and presupposing no consanguineous marriages, a French mathematician estimates that each existing individual of his nation would have in his veins the blood of twenty millions of contemporaries of the year 1000. Or calculating from the first year of our own era, the ancestry of a man of to-day would represent a total of eighteen quintillions. Yet what are twenty centuries to the time of the life of man! Well, the emotion of beauty, like all of our emotions, is certainly the inherited product of unimaginably countless experiences in an immeasurable past. In every aesthetic sensation is the stirring of trillions of trillions of ghostly memories buried in the magical soil of the brain. And each man carries within him an ideal of beauty which is but an infinite composite of dead perceptions of form, color, grace, once dear to look upon. It is dormant, this ideal,--potential in essence,--cannot be evoked at will before the imagination; but it may light up electrically at any perception by the living outer senses of some vague affinity. Then is felt that weird, sad, delicious thrill, which accompanies the sudden backward-flowing of the tides of life and time; then are the sensations of a million years and of myriad generations summed into the emotional feeling of a moment. Now, the artists of one civilization only--the Greeks--were able to perform the miracle of disengaging the Race-Ideal of beauty from their own souls, and fixing its wavering out-line in jewel and stone. Nudity, they made divine; and they still compel us to feel its divinity almost as they felt it themselves. Perhaps they could do this because, as Emerson suggested, they possessed all-perfect senses. Certainly it was not because they were as beautiful as their own statues. No man and no woman could be that. This only is sure,--that they discerned and clearly fixed their ideal,--composite of countless million remembrances of dead grace in eyes and eyelids, throat and cheek, mouth and chin, body and limbs. The Greek marble itself gives proof that there is no absolute individuality,--that the mind is as much a composite of souls as the body is of cells. VI Kyoto, April 21. The noblest examples of religious architecture in the whole empire have just been completed; and the great City of Temples is now enriched by two constructions probably never surpassed in all the ten centuries of its existence. One is the gift of the Imperial Government; the other, the gift of the common people. The government's gift is the Dai-Kioku-Den,--erected to commemorate the great festival of Kwammu Tenno, fifty-first emperor of Japan, and founder of the Sacred City. To the Spirit of this Emperor the Dai-Kioku-Den is dedicated: it is thus a Shinto temple, and the most superb of all Shinto temples. Nevertheless, it is not Shinto architecture, but a facsimile of the original palace of Kwammu Tenno upon the original scale. The effect upon national sentiment of this magnificent deviation from conventional forms, and the profound poetry of the reverential feeling which suggested it, can be fully comprehended only by those who know that Japan is still practically ruled by the dead. Much more than beautiful are the edifices of the Dai-Kioku-Den. Even in this most archaic of Japan cities they startle; they tell to the sky in every tilted line of their horned roofs the tale of another and more fantastic age. The most eccentrically striking parts of the whole are the two-storied and five-towered gates,--veritable Chinese dreams, one would say. In color the construction is not less oddly attractive than in form,--and this especially because of the fine use made of antique green tiles in the polychromatic roofing. Surely the august Spirit of Kwammu Tenno might well rejoice in this charming evocation of the past by architectural necromancy! But the gift of the people to Kyoto is still grander. It is represented by the glorious Higashi Hongwanji,--or eastern Hongwan temple (Shinshu). Western readers may form some idea of its character from the simple statement that it cost eight millions of dollars and required seventeen years to build. In mere dimension it is largely exceeded by other Japanese buildings of cheaper construction; but anybody familiar with the Buddhist temple architecture of Japan can readily perceive the difficulty of building a temple one hundred and, twenty-seven feet high, one hundred and ninety-two feet deep, and more than two hundred feet long. Because of its peculiar form, and especially because of the vast sweeping lines of its roof, the Hongwanji looks even far larger than it is,--looks mountainous. But in any country it would be deemed a wonderful structure. There are beams forty-two feet long and four feet thick; and there are pillars nine feet in circumference. One may guess the character of the interior decoration from the statement that the mere painting of the lotos-flowers on the screens behind the main altar cost ten thousand dollars. Nearly all this wonderful work was done with the money contributed in coppers by hard-working peasants. And yet there are people who think that Buddhism is dying! More than one hundred thousand peasants came to see the grand inauguration. They seated themselves by myriads on matting laid down by the acre in the great court. I saw them waiting thus at three in the afternoon. The court was a living sea. Yet all that host was to wait till seven o'clock for the beginning of the ceremony, without refreshment, in the hot sun. I saw at one corner of the court a band of about twenty young girls,--all in white, and wearing peculiar white caps,--and I asked who they were. A bystander replied: "As all these people must wait here many hours, it is to be feared that some may become ill. Therefore professional nurses have been stationed here to take care of any who may be sick. There are likewise stretchers in waiting, and carriers. And there are many physicians." I admired the patience and the faith. But those peasants might well love the magnificent temple,--their own creation in very truth, both directly and indirectly. For no small part of the actual labor of building was done for love only; and the mighty beams for the roof had been hauled to Kyoto from far-away mountain-slopes, with cables made of the hair of Buddhist wives and daughters. One such cable, preserved in the temple, is more than three hundred and sixty feet long, and nearly three inches in diameter. To me the lesson of those two magnificent monuments of national religious sentiment suggested the certain future increase in ethical power and value of that sentiment, concomitantly with the increase of national prosperity. Temporary poverty is the real explanation of the apparent temporary decline of Buddhism. But an era of great wealth is beginning. Some outward forms of Buddhism must perish; some superstitions of Shinto must die. The vital truths and recognitions will expand, strengthen, take only deeper root in the heart of the race, and potently prepare it for the trials of that larger and harsher life upon which it has to enter. VII Kobe, April 23. I have been visiting the exhibition of fishes and of fisheries which is at Hyogo, in a garden by the sea. Waraku-en is its name, which signifies, "The Garden of the Pleasure of Peace." It is laid out like a landscape garden of old time, and deserves its name. Over its verge you behold the great bay, and fishermen in boats, and the white far-gliding of sails splendid with light, and beyond all, shutting out the horizon, a lofty beautiful massing of peaks mauve-colored by distance. I saw ponds of curious shapes, filled with clear sea-water, in which fish of beautiful colors were swimming. I went to the aquarium where stranger kinds of fishes swam behind glass--fishes shaped like toy-kites, and fishes shaped like sword-blades, and fishes that seemed to turn themselves inside out, and funny, pretty fishes of butterfly-colors, that move like dancing-girls, waving sleeve-shaped fins. I saw models of all manner of boats and nets and hooks and fish-traps and torch-baskets for night-fishing. I saw pictures of every kind of fishing, and both models and pictures of men killing whales. One picture was terrible,--the death agony of a whale caught in a giant net, and the leaping of boats in a turmoil of red foam, and one naked man on the monstrous back--a single figure against the sky--striking with a great steel, and the fountain-gush of blood responding to the stroke.... Beside me I heard a Japanese father and mother explain the picture to their little boy; and the mother said:-- "When the whale is going to die, it speaks; it cries to the Lord Buddha for help,--_Namu Amida Butsu!_" I went to another part of the garden where there were tame deer, and a "golden bear" in a cage, and peafowl in an aviary, and an ape. The people fed the deer and the bear with cakes, and tried to coax the peacock to open its tail, and grievously tormented the ape. I sat down to rest on the veranda of a pleasure-house near the aviary, and the Japanese folk who had been looking at the picture of whale-fishing found their way to the same veranda; and presently I heard the little boy say:-- "Father, there is an old, old fisherman in his boat. Why does he not go to the Palace of the Dragon-King of the Sea, like Urashima?" The father answered: "Urashima caught a turtle which was not really a turtle, but the Daughter of the Dragon-King. So he was rewarded for his kindness. But that old fisherman has not caught any turtle, and even if he had caught one, he is much too old to marry. Therefore he will not go to the Palace." Then the boy looked at the flowers, and the fountains, and the sunned sea with its white sails, and the mauve-colored mountains beyond all, and exclaimed:-- "Father, do you think there is any place more beautiful than this in the whole world?" The father smiled deliciously, and seemed about to answer, but before he could speak the child cried out, and leaped, and clapped his little hands for delight, because the peacock had suddenly outspread the splendor of its tail. And all hastened to the aviary. So I never heard the reply to that pretty question. But afterwards I thought that it might have been answered thus:-- "My boy, very beautiful this is. But the world is full of beauty; and there may be gardens more beautiful than this. "But the fairest of gardens is not in our world. It is the Garden of Amida, in the Paradise of the West. "And whosoever does no wrong what time he lives may after death dwell in that Garden. "There the divine Kujaku, bird of heaven, sings of the Seven Steps and the Five Powers, spreading its tail as a sun. "There lakes of jewel-water are, and in them lotos-flowers of a loveliness for which there is not any name. And from those flowers proceed continually rays of rainbow-light, and spirits of Buddhas newly-born. "And the water, murmuring among the lotos-buds, speaks to the souls in them of Infinite Memory and Infinite Vision, and of the Four Infinite Feelings. "And in that place there is no difference between gods and men, save that under the splendor of Amida even the gods must bend; and all sing the hymn of praise beginning, '_O Thou of Immeasurable Light!_' "But the Voice of the River Celestial chants forever, like the chanting of thousands in unison: '_Even this is not high; there is still a Higher! This is not real; this is not Peace!_'" V THE NUN OF THE TEMPLE OF AMIDA When O-Toyo's husband--a distant cousin, adopted into her family for love's sake--had been summoned by his lord to the capital, she did not feel anxious about the future. She felt sad only. It was the first time since their bridal that they had ever been separated. But she had her father and mother to keep her company, and, dearer than either,--though she would never have confessed it even to herself,--her little son. Besides, she always had plenty to do. There were many household duties to perform, and there was much clothing to be woven--both silk and cotton. Once daily at a fixed hour, she would set for the absent husband, in his favorite room, little repasts faultlessly served on dainty lacquered trays,--miniature meals such as are offered to the ghosts of the ancestors, and to the gods(1). These repasts were served at the east side of the room, and his kneeling-cushion placed before them. The reason they were served at the east side, was because he had gone east. Before removing the food, she always lifted the cover of the little soup-bowl to see if there was vapor upon its lacquered inside surface. For it is said that if there be vapor on the inside of the lid covering food so offered, the absent beloved is well. But if there be none, he is dead,--because that is a sign that his soul has returned by itself to seek nourishment. O-Toyo found the lacquer thickly beaded with vapor day by day. The child was her constant delight. He was three years old, and fond of asking questions to which none but the gods know the real answers. When he wanted to play, she laid aside her work to play with him. When he wanted to rest, she told him wonderful stories, or gave pretty pious answers to his questions about those things which no man can ever understand. At evening, when the little lamps had been lighted before the holy tablets and the images, she taught his lips to shape the words of filial prayer. When he had been laid to sleep, she brought her work near him, and watched the still sweetness of his face. Sometimes he would smile in his dreams; and she knew that Kwannon the divine was playing shadowy play with him, and she would murmur the Buddhist invocation to that Maid "who looketh forever down above the sound of prayer." Sometimes, in the season of very clear days, she would climb the mountain of Dakeyama, carrying her little boy on her back. Such a trip delighted him much, not only because of what his mother taught him to see, but also of what she taught him to hear. The sloping way was through groves and woods, and over grassed slopes, and around queer rocks; and there were flowers with stories in their hearts, and trees holding tree-spirits. Pigeons cried korup-korup; and doves sobbed owao, owao and cicada wheezed and fluted and tinkled. All those who wait for absent dear ones make, if they can, a pilgrimage to the peak called Dakeyama. It is visible from any part of the city; and from its summit several provinces can be seen. At the very top is a stone of almost human height and shape, perpendicularly set up; and little pebbles are heaped before it and upon it. And near by there is a small Shinto shrine erected to the spirit of a princess of other days. For she mourned the absence of one she loved, and used to watch from this mountain for his coming until she pined away and was changed into a stone. The people therefore built the shrine; and lovers of the absent still pray there for the return of those dear to them; and each, after so praying, takes home one of the little pebbles heaped there. And when the beloved one returns, the pebble must be taken back to the pebble-pile upon the mountain-top, and other pebbles with it, for a thank-offering and commemoration. Always ere O-Toyo and her son could reach their home after such a day, the dusk would fall softly about them; for the way was long, and they had to both go and return by boat through the wilderness of rice-fields round the town,--which is a slow manner of journeying. Sometimes stars and fireflies lighted them; sometimes also the moon,--and O-Toyo would softly sing to her boy the Izumo child-song to the moon:-- Nono-San, Little Lady Moon, How old are you? "Thirteen days,-- Thirteen and nine." That is still young, And the reason must be For that bright red obi, So nicely tied(2), And that nice white girdle About your hips. Will you give it to the horse? "Oh, no, no!" Will you give it to the cow? "Oh, no, no!(3)" And up to the blue night would rise from all those wet leagues of labored field that great soft bubbling chorus which seems the very voice of the soil itself,--the chant of the frogs. And O-Toyo would interpret its syllables to the child: Me kayui! me kayui! "Mine eyes tickle; I want to sleep." All those were happy hours. (1) Such a repast, offered to the spirit of the absent one loved, is called a Kage-zen; lit., "Shadow-tray." The word zen is also use to signify the meal served on the lacquered tray,--which has feet, like miniature table. So that time term "Shadow-feast" would be a better translation of Kage-zen. (2) Because an obi or girdle of very bright color can be worn only by children. (3) Nono-San, or O-Tsuki-san Ikutsu? "Jiu-san,-- Kokonotsu." Sore wa mada Wakai yo, Wakai ye mo Dori Akai iro no Obi to, Shire iro no Obi to Koshi ni shanto Musun de. Uma ni yaru? "Iyaiya!" Ushi ni yaru? "Iyaiya!" II Then twice, within the time of three days, those masters of life and death whose ways belong to the eternal mysteries struck at her heart. First she was taught that the gentle husband for whom she had so often prayed never could return to her,--having been returned unto that dust out of which all forms are borrowed. And in another little while she knew her boy slept so deep a sleep that the Chinese physician could not waken him. These things she learned only as shapes are learned in lightning flashes. Between and beyond the flashes was that absolute darkness which is the pity of the gods. It passed; and she rose to meet a foe whose name is Memory. Before all others she could keep her face, as in other days, sweet and smiling. But when alone with this visitant, she found herself less strong. She would arrange little toys and spread out little dresses on the matting, and look at them, and talk to them in whispers, and smile silently. But the smile would ever end in a burst of wild, loud weeping; and she would beat her head upon the floor, and ask foolish questions of the gods. One day she thought of a weird consolation,--that rite the people name Toritsu-banashi,--the evocation of the dead. Could she not call back her boy for one brief minute only? It would trouble the little soul; but would he not gladly bear a moment's pain for her dear sake? Surely! [To have the dead called back one must go to some priest--Buddhist or Shinto--who knows the rite of incantation. And the mortuary tablet, or ihai, of the dead must be brought to that priest. Then ceremonies of purification are performed; candles are lighted and incense is kindled before the ihai; and prayers or parts of sutras are recited; and offerings of flowers and of rice are made. But, in this case, the rice must not be cooked. And when everything has been made ready, the priest, taking in his left hand an instrument shaped like a bow, and striking it rapidly with his right, calls upon the name of the dead, and cries out the words, Kitazo yo! kitazo yo! kitazo yo! meaning, "I have come(1)." And, as he cries, the tone of his voice gradually changes until it becomes the very voice of the dead person,--for the ghost enters into him. Then the dead will answer questions quickly asked, but will cry continually: "Hasten, hasten! for this my coming back is painful, and I have but a little time to stay!" And having answered, the ghost passes; and the priest falls senseless upon his face. Now to call back the dead is not good. For by calling them back their condition is made worse. Returning to the underworld, they must take a place lower than that which they held before. To-day these rites are not allowed by law. They once consoled; but the law is a good law, and just,--since there exist men willing to mock the divine which is in human hearts.] So it came to pass that O-Toyo found herself one night in a lonely little temple at the verge of the city,--kneeling before the ihai of her boy, and hearing the rite of incantation. And presently, out of the lips of the officiant there came a voice she thought she knew,--a voice loved above all others,--but faint and very thin, like a sobbing of wind. And the thin voice cried to her:-- "Ask quickly, quickly, mother! Dark is the way and long; and I may not linger." Then tremblingly she questioned:-- "Why must I sorrow for my child? What is the justice of the gods?" And there was answer given:-- "O mother, do not mourn me thus! That I died was only that you might not die. For the year was a year of sickness and of sorrow,--and it was given me to know that you were to die; and I obtained by prayer that I should take your place(2). "O mother, never weep for me! it is not kindness to mourn for the dead. Over the River of Tears(3) their silent road is; and when mothers weep, the flood of that river rises, and the soul cannot pass, but must wander to and fro. "Therefore, I pray you, do not grieve, O mother mine! Only give me a little water sometimes." (1) Whence the Izumo saying about one who too often announces his coming: "Thy talk is like the talk of necromancy!"--Toritsubanashi no yona. (2) Migawari, "substitute," is the religious term. (3) "Namida-no-Kawa." III From that hour she was not seen to weep. She performed, lightly and silently, as in former days, the gentle duties of a daughter. Seasons passed; and her father thought to find another husband for her. To the mother, he said:-- "If our daughter again have a son, it will be great joy for her, and for all of us." But the wiser mother made answer:-- "Unhappy she is not. It is impossible that she marry again. She has become as a little child, knowing nothing of trouble or sin." It was true that she had ceased to know real pain. She had begun to show a strange fondness for very small things. At first she had found her bed too large--perhaps through the sense of emptiness left by the loss of her child; then, day by day, other things seemed to grow too large,--the dwelling itself, the familiar rooms, the alcove and its great flower-vases,--even the household utensils. She wished to eat her rice with miniature chop-sticks out of a very small bowl such as children use. In these things she was lovingly humored; and in other matters she was not fantastic. The old people consulted together about her constantly. At last the father said:-- "For our daughter to live with strangers might be painful. But as we are aged, we may soon have to leave her. Perhaps we could provide for her by making her a nun. We might build a little temple for her." Next day the mother asked O-Toyo:-- "Would you not like to become a holy nun, and to live in a very, very small temple, with a very small altar, and little images of the Buddhas? We should be always near you. If you wish this, we shall get a priest to teach you the sutras." O-Toyo wished it, and asked that an extremely small nun's dress be got for her. But the mother said:-- "Everything except the dress a good nun may have made small. But she must wear a large dress--that is the law of Buddha." So she was persuaded to wear the same dress as other nuns. IV They built for her a small An-dera, or Nun's-Temple, in an empty court where another and larger temple, called Amida-ji, had once stood. The An-dera was also called Amida-ji, and was dedicated to Amida-Nyorai and to other Buddhas. It was fitted up with a very small altar and with miniature altar furniture. There was a tiny copy of the sutras on a tiny reading-desk, and tiny screens and bells and kakemono. And she dwelt there long after her parents had passed away. People called her the Amida-ji no Bikuni,--which means The Nun of the Temple of Amida. A little outside the gate there was a statue of Jizo. This Jizo was a special Jizo--the friend of sick children. There were nearly always offerings of small rice-cakes to be seen before him. These signified that some sick child was being prayed for; and the number of the rice-cakes signified the number of the years of the child. Most often there were but two or three cakes; rarely there were seven or ten. The Amida-ji no Bikuni took care of the statue, and supplied it with incense-offerings, and flowers from the temple garden; for there was a small garden behind the An-dera. After making her morning round with her alms-bowl, she would usually seat herself before a very small loom, to weave cloth much too narrow for serious use. But her webs were bought always by certain shopkeepers who knew her story; and they made her presents of very small cups, tiny flower-vases, and queer dwarf-trees for her garden. Her greatest pleasure was the companionship of children; and this she never lacked. Japanese child-life, is mostly passed in temple courts; and many happy childhoods were spent in the court of the Amida-ji. All the mothers in that street liked to have their little ones play there, but cautioned them never to laugh at the Bikuni-San. "Sometimes her ways are strange," they would say; "but that is because she once had a little son, who died, and the pain became too great for her mother's heart. So you must be very good and respectful to her." Good they were, but not quite respectful in the reverential sense. They knew better than to be that. They called her "Bikuni-San" always, and saluted her nicely; but otherwise they treated her like one of themselves. They played games with her; and she gave them tea in extremely small cups, and made for them heaps of rice-cakes not much bigger than peas, and wove upon her loom cloth of cotton and cloth of silk for the robes of their dolls. So she became to them as a blood-sister. They played with her daily till they grew too big to play, and left the court of the temple of Amida to begin the bitter work of life, and to become the fathers and mothers of children whom they sent to play in their stead. These learned to love the Bikuni-San like their parents had done. And the Bikuni-San lived to play with the children of the children of the children of those who remembered when her temple was built. The people took good heed that she should not know want. There was always given to her more than she needed for herself. So she was able to be nearly as kind to the children as she wished, and to feed extravagantly certain small animals. Birds nested in her temple, and ate from her hand, and learned not to perch upon the heads of the Buddhas. Some days after her funeral, a crowd of children visited my house. A little girl of nine years spoke for them all:-- "Sir, we are asking for the sake of the Bikuni-San who is dead. A very large haka(1) has been set up for her. It is a nice haka. But we want to give her also a very, very small haka because in the time she was with us she often said that she would like a very little haka. And the stone-cutter has promised to cut it for us, and to make it very pretty, if we can bring the money. Therefore perhaps you will honorably give something." "Assuredly," I said. "But now you will have nowhere to play." She answered, smiling:--"We shall still play in the court of the temple of Amida. She is buried there. She will hear our playing, and be glad." (1) Tombstone. VI AFTER THE WAR I Hyogo, May 5, 1895. Hyogo, this morning, lies bathed in a limpid magnificence of light indescribable,--spring light, which is vapory, and lends a sort of apparitional charm to far things seen through it. Forms remain sharply outlined, but are almost idealized by faint colors not belonging to them; and the great hills behind the town aspire into a cloudless splendor of tint that seems the ghost of azure rather than azure itself. Over the blue-gray slope of tiled roofs there is a vast quivering and fluttering of extraordinary shapes,--a spectacle not indeed new to me, but always delicious. Everywhere are floating--tied to very tall bamboo poles--immense brightly colored paper fish, which look and move as if alive. The greater number vary from five to fifteen feet in length; but here and there I see a baby scarcely a foot long, hooked to the tail of a larger one. Some poles have four or five fish attached to them at heights proportioned to the dimensions of the fish, the largest always at the top. So cunningly shaped and colored these things are that the first sight of them is always startling to a stranger. The lines holding them are fastened within the head; and the wind, entering the open mouth, not only inflates the body to perfect form, but keeps it undulating,--rising and descending, turning and twisting, precisely like a real fish, while the tail plays and the fins wave irreproachably. In the garden of my next-door neighbor there are two very fine specimens. One has an orange belly and a bluish-gray back; the other is all a silvery tint; and both have big weird eyes. The rustling of their motion as they swim against the sky is like the sound of wind in a cane-field. A little farther off I see another very big fish, with a little red boy clinging to its back. That red boy represents Kintoki, strongest of all children ever born in Japan, who, while still a baby, wrestled with bears and set traps for goblin-birds. Everybody knows that these paper carp, or koi, are hoisted only during the period of the great birth festival of boys, in the fifth month; that their presence above a house signifies the birth of a son; and that they symbolize the hope of the parents that their lad will be able to win his way through the world against all obstacles,--even as the real koi, the great Japanese carp, ascends swift rivers against the stream. In many parts of southern and western Japan you rarely see these koi. You see, instead, very long narrow flags of cotton cloth, called nobori, which are fastened perpendicularly, like sails, with little spars and rings to poles of bamboo, and bear designs in various colors of the koi in an eddy,--or of Shoki, conqueror of demons,--or of pines,--or of tortoises,--or other fortunate symbols. II But in this radiant spring of the Japanese year 2555, the koi might be taken to symbolize something larger than parental hope, --the great trust of a nation regenerated through war. The military revival of the Empire--the real birthday of New Japan--began with the conquest of China. The war is ended; the future, though clouded, seems big with promise; and, however grim the obstacles to loftier and more enduring achievements, Japan has neither fears nor doubts. Perhaps the future danger is just in this immense self-confidence. It is not a new feeling created by victory. It is a race feeling, which repeated triumphs have served only to strengthen. From the instant of the declaration of war there was never the least doubt of ultimate victory. There was universal and profound enthusiasm, but no outward signs of emotional excitement. Men at once set to writing histories of the triumphs of Japan, and these histories--issued to subscribers in weekly or monthly parts, and illustrated with photo-lithographs or drawings on wood--were selling all over the country long before any foreign observers could have ventured to predict the final results of the campaign. From first to last the nation felt sure of its own strength, and of the impotence of China. The toy-makers put suddenly into the market legions of ingenious mechanisms, representing Chinese soldiers in flight, or being cut down by Japanese troopers, or tied together as prisoners by their queues, or kowtowing for mercy to illustrious generals. The old-fashioned military playthings, representing samurai in armor, were superseded by figures--in clay, wood, paper, or silk--of Japanese cavalry, infantry, and artillery; by models of forts and batteries; and models of men-of-war. The storming of the defenses of Port Arthur by the Kumamoto Brigade was the subject of one ingenious mechanical toy; another, equally clever, repeated the fight of the Matsushima Kan with the Chinese iron-clads. There were sold likewise myriads of toy-guns discharging corks by compressed air with a loud pop, and myriads of toy-swords, and countless tiny bugles, the constant blowing of which recalled to me the tin-horn tumult of a certain New Year's Eve in New Orleans. The announcement of each victory resulted in an enormous manufacture and sale of colored prints, rudely and cheaply executed, and mostly depicting the fancy of the artist only,--but well fitted to stimulate the popular love of glory. Wonderful sets of chessmen also appeared, each piece representing a Chinese or Japanese officer or soldier. Meanwhile, the theatres were celebrating the war after a much more complete fashion. It is no exaggeration to say that almost every episode of the campaign was repeated upon the stage. Actors even visited the battlefields to study scenes and backgrounds, and fit themselves to portray realistically, with the aid of artificial snowstorms, the hardships of the army in Manchuria. Every gallant deed was dramatized almost as soon as reported. The death of the bugler Shirakami Genjiro(1); the triumphant courage of Harada Jiukichi, who scaled a rampart and opened a fortress gate to his comrades; the heroism of the fourteen troopers who held their own against three hundred infantry; the successful charge of unarmed coolies upon a Chinese battalion,--all these and many other incidents were reproduced in a thousand theatres. Immense illuminations of paper lanterns, lettered with phrases of loyalty or patriotic cheer, celebrated the success of the imperial arms, or gladdened the eyes of soldiers going by train to the field. In Kobe,--constantly traversed by troop-trains,--such illuminations continued night after night for weeks together; and the residents of each street further subscribed for flags and triumphal arches. But the glories of the war were celebrated also in ways more durable by the various great industries of the country. Victories and incidents of sacrificial heroism were commemorated in porcelain, in metal-work, and in costly textures, not less than in new designs for envelopes and note-paper. They were portrayed on the silk linings of haori(2), on women's kerchiefs of chirimen(3), in the embroidery of girdles, in the designs of silk shirts and of children's holiday robes,--not to speak of cheaper printed goods, such as calicoes and toweling. They were represented in lacquer-ware of many kinds, on the sides and covers of carven boxes, on tobacco-pouches, on sleeve-buttons, in designs for hairpins, on women's combs, even on chopsticks. Bundles of toothpicks in tiny cases were offered for sale, each toothpick having engraved upon it, in microscopic text, a different poem about the war. And up to the time of peace, or at least up to the time of the insane attempt by a soshi(4) to kill the Chinese plenipotentiary during negotiations, all things happened as the people had wished and expected. But as soon as the terms of peace had been announced, Russia interfered, securing the help of France and Germany to bully Japan. The combination met with no opposition; the government played jiujutsu, and foiled expectations by unlooked-for yielding. Japan had long ceased to feel uneasy about her own military power. Her reserve strength is probably much greater than has ever been acknowledged, and her educational system, with its twenty-six thousand schools, is an enormous drilling-machine. On her own soil she could face any foreign power. Her navy was her weak point, and of this she was fully aware. It was a splendid fleet of small, light cruisers, and splendidly handled. Its admiral, without the loss of a single vessel, had annihilated the Chinese fleet in two engagements, but it was not yet sufficiently heavy to face the combined navies of three European powers; and the flower of the Japanese army was beyond the sea. The most opportune moment for interference had been cunningly chosen, and probably more than interference was intended. The heavy Russian battle-ships were stripped for fighting; and these alone could possibly have overpowered the Japanese fleet, though the victory would have been a costly one. But Russian action was suddenly checked by the sinister declaration of English sympathy for Japan. Within a few weeks England could bring into Asiatic waters a fleet capable of crushing, in one short battle, all the iron-clads assembled by the combination. And a single shot from a Russian cruiser might have plunged the whole world into war. But in the Japanese navy there was a furious desire to battle with the three hostile powers at once. It would have been a great fight, for no Japanese commander would have dreamed of yielding, no Japanese ship would have struck her colors. The army was equally desirous of war. It needed all the firmness of the government to hold the nation back. Free speech was gagged; the press was severely silenced; and by the return to China of the Liao-Tung peninsula, in exchange for a compensatory increase of the war indemnity previously exacted, peace was secured. The government really acted with faultless wisdom. At this period of Japanese development a costly war with Russia could not fail to have consequences the most disastrous to industry, commerce, and finance. But the national pride has been deeply wounded, and the country can still scarcely forgive its rulers. (1) At the battle of Song-Hwan, a Japanese bugler named Shirakami Genjiro was ordered to sound the charge (suzume). He had sounded it once when a bullet passed through his lungs, throwing him down.. His comrades tried to take the bugle away, seeing the wound was fatal. He wrested it from them, lifted it again to his lips, sounded the charge once more with all his strength, and fell back dead. I venture to offer this rough translation of a song now sung about him by every soldier and schoolboy in Japan:-- SHIRAKAMI GENJIRO (After the Japanese military ballad, Rappa-no-hibiki.) Easy in other times than this Were Anjo's stream to cross; But now, beneath the storm of shot, Its waters seethe and toss. In other time to pass that stream Were sport for boys at play; But every man through blood must wade Who fords Anjo to-day. The bugle sounds;--through flood and flame Charges the line of steel;-- Above the crash of battle rings The bugle's stern appeal. Why has that bugle ceased to call? Why does it call once more? Why sounds the stirring signal now More faintly than before? What time the bugle ceased to sound, The breast was smitten through;-- What time the blast rang faintly, blood Gushed from the lips that blew. Death-stricken, still the bugler stands! He leans upon his gun,-- Once more to sound the bugle-call Before his life be done. What though the shattered body fall? The spirit rushes free Through Heaven and Earth to sound anew That call to Victory! Far, far beyond our shore, the spot Now honored by his fall;-- But forty million brethren Have heard that bugle-call. Comrade!--beyond the peaks and seas Your bugle sounds to-day In forty million loyal hearts A thousand miles away! (2) Haori, a sort of upper dress, worn by men as well as women. The linings are often of designs beautiful beyond praise. (3) Chirimen is crape-silk, of which there are many qualities; some very costly and durable. (4) Soshi form one of the modern curses of Japan. They are mostly ex-students who earn a living by hiring themselves out as rowdy terrorists. Politicians employ them either against the soshi of opponents, or as bullies in election time. Private persons sometimes employ them as defenders. They have figured in most of the election rows which have taken place of late years in Japan, also in a number of assaults made on distinguished personages. The causes which produced nihilism in Russia have several points of resemblance with the causes which developed the modern soshi class in Japan. III Hyogo, May 15. The Matsushima Kan, returned from China, is anchored before the Garden of the Pleasure of Peace. She is not a colossus, though she has done grand things; but she certainly looks quite formidable as she lies there in the clear light,--a stone-gray fortress of steel rising out of the smooth blue. Permission to visit her has been given to the delighted people, who don their best for the occasion, as for a temple festival, and I am suffered to accompany some of them. All the boats in the port would seem to have been hired for the visitors, so huge is the shoal hovering about the ironclad as we arrive. It is not possible for such a number of sightseers to go on board at once, and we have to wait while hundreds are being alternately admitted and dismissed. But the waiting in the cool sea air is not unpleasant; and the spectacle of the popular joy is worth watching. What eager rushing when the turn comes! what swarming and squeezing and clinging! Two women fall into the sea, and are pulled out by blue-jackets, and say they are not sorry to have fallen in, because they can now boast of owing their lives to the men of the Matsushima Kan! As a matter of fact, they could not very well have been drowned; there were legions of common boatmen to look after them. But something of larger importance to the nation than the lives of two young women is really owing to the men of the Matsushima Kan; and the people are rightly trying to pay them back with love,--for presents, such as thousands would like to make, are prohibited by disciplinary rule. Officers and crew must be weary; but the crowding and the questioning are borne with charming amiability. Everything is shown and explained in detail: the huge thirty-centimetre gun, with its loading apparatus and directing machinery; the quick-firing batteries; the torpedoes, with their impulse-tubes; the electric lantern, with its searching mechanism. I myself, though a foreigner, and therefore requiring a special permit, am guided all about, both below and above, and am even suffered to take a peep at the portraits of their Imperial Majesties, in the admiral's cabin; and I am told the stirring story of the great fight off the Yalu. Meanwhile, the old bald men and the women and the babies of the port hold for one golden day command of the Matsushima. Officers, cadets, blue-jackets, spare no effort to please. Some talk to the grandfathers; others let the children play with the hilts of their swords, or teach them how to throw up their little hands and shout "_Teikoku Banzai!_" And for tired mothers, matting has been spread, where they can squat down in the shade between decks. Those decks, only a few months ago, were covered with the blood of brave men. Here and there dark stains, which still resist holy-stoning, are visible; and the people look at them with tender reverence. The flagship was twice struck by enormous shells, and her vulnerable parts were pierced by a storm of small projectiles. She bore the brunt of the engagement, losing nearly half her crew. Her tonnage is only four thousand two hundred and eighty; and her immediate antagonists were two Chinese ironclads of seven thousand four hundred tons each. Outside, her cuirass shows no deep scars, for the shattered plates have been replaced;--but my guide points proudly to the numerous patchings of the decks, the steel masting supporting the fighting-tops, the smoke-stack,--and to certain terrible dents, with small cracks radiating from them, in the foot-thick steel of the barbette. He traces for us, below, the course of the thirty-and-a-half centimetre shell that pierced the ship. "When it came," he tells us, "the shock threw men into the air that high" (holding his hand some two feet above the deck). "At the same moment all became dark; you could not see your hand. Then we found that one of the starboard forward guns had been smashed, and the crew all killed. We had forty men killed instantly, and many more wounded: no man escaped in that part of the ship. The deck was on fire, because a lot of ammunition brought up for the guns had exploded; so we had to fight and to work to put out the fire at the same time. Even badly wounded men, with the skin blown from their hands and faces, worked as if they felt no pain; and dying men helped to pass water. But we silenced the Ting-yuen with one more shot from our big gun. The Chinese had European gunners helping them. If we had not had to fight against Western gunners, _our victory would have been too easy._" He gives the true note. Nothing, on this splendid spring day, could so delight the men of the Matsushima Kan as a command to clear for action, and attack the great belted Russian cruisers lying off the coast. IV Kobe, June 9. Last year, while traveling from Shimonoseki to the capital, I saw many regiments on their way to the seat of war, all uniformed in white, for the hot season was not yet over. Those soldiers looked so much like students whom I had taught (thousands, indeed, were really fresh from school) that I could not help feeling it was cruel to send such youths to battle. The boyish faces were so frank, so cheerful, so seemingly innocent of the greater sorrows of life! "Don't fear for them," said an English fellow-traveler, a man who had passed his life in camps; "they will give a splendid account of themselves." "I know it," was my answer; "but I am thinking of fever and frost and Manchurian winter: these are more to be feared than Chinese rifles(1)." The calling of the bugles, gathering the men together after dark, or signaling the hour of rest, had for years been one of the pleasures of my summer evenings in a Japanese garrison town. But during the months of war, those long, plaintive notes of the last call touched me in another way. I do not know that the melody is peculiar; but it was sometimes played, I used to think, with peculiar feeling; and when uttered to the starlight by all the bugles of a division at once, the multitudinously blending tones had a melancholy sweetness never to be forgotten. And I would dream of phantom buglers, summoning the youth and strength of hosts to the shadowy silence of perpetual rest. Well, to-day I went to see some of the regiments return. Arches of greenery had been erected over the street they were to pass through, leading from Kobe station to Nanko-San,--the great temple dedicated to the hero spirit of Kusunoki Masashige. The citizens had subscribed six thousand yen for the honor of serving the soldiers with the first meal after their return; and many battalions had already received such kindly welcome. The sheds under which they ate in the court of the temple had been decorated with flags and festoons; and there were gifts for all the troops,--sweetmeats, and packages of cigarettes, and little towels printed with poems in praise of valor. Before the gate of the temple a really handsome triumphal arch had been erected, bearing on each of its facades a phrase of welcome in Chinese text of gold, and on its summit a terrestrial globe surmounted by a hawk with outspread pinions(2). I waited first, with Manyemon, before the station, which is very near the temple. The train arrived; a military sentry ordered all spectators to quit the platform, and outside, in the street, police kept back the crowd, and stopped all traffic. After a few minutes, the battalions came, marching in regular column through the brick archway,--headed by a gray officer, who limped slightly as he walked, smoking a cigarette. The crowd thickened about us, but there was no cheering, not even speaking,--a hush broken only by the measured tramp of the passing troops. I could scarcely believe those were the same men I had seen going to the war; only the numbers on the shoulder-straps assured me of the fact. Sunburnt and grim the faces were; many had heavy beards. The dark blue winter uniforms were frayed and torn, the shoes worn into shapelessness; but the strong, swinging stride was the stride of the hardened soldier. Lads no longer these, but toughened men, able to face any troops in the world; men who had slaughtered and stormed; men who had also suffered many things which never will be written. The features showed neither joy nor pride; the quick-searching eyes hardly glanced at the welcoming flags, the decorations, the arch with its globe-shadowing hawk of battle, --perhaps because those eyes had seen too often the things which make men serious. (Only one man smiled as he passed; and I thought of a smile seen on the face of a Zouave when I was a boy, watching the return of a regiment from Africa,--a mocking smile, that stabbed.) Many of the spectators were visibly affected, feeling the reason of the change. But, for that, the soldiers were better soldiers now; and they were going to find welcome, and comforts, and gifts, and the great warm love of the people,--and repose thereafter, in their old familiar camps. I said to Manyemon: "This evening they will be in Osaka and Nagoya. They will hear the bugles calling; and they will think of comrades who never can return." The old man answered, with simple earnestness: "Perhaps by Western people it is thought that the dead never return. But we cannot so think. There are no Japanese dead who do not return. There are none who do not know the way. From China and from Chosen, and out of the bitter sea, all our dead have come back,--all! They are with us now. In every dusk they gather to hear the bugles that called them home. And they will hear them also in that day when the armies of the Son of Heaven shall be summoned against Russia." (1) The total number of Japanese actually killed in battle, from the fight at A-san to the capture of the Pescadores, was only 739. But the deaths resulting from other causes, up to as late a date as the 8th of June, during the occupation of Formosa, were 3,148. Of these, 1,602 were due to cholera alone. Such, at least, were the official figures as published in the Kobe Chronicle. (2) At the close of the great naval engagement of the 17th of September, 1894, a hawk alighted on the fighting-mast of the Japanese cruiser Takachiho, and suffered itself to be taken and fed. After much petting, this bird of good omen was presented to the Emperor. Falconry was a great feudal sport in Japan, and hawks were finely trained. The hawk is now likely to become, more than ever before in Japan, a symbol of victory. VII. HARU Haru was brought up, chiefly at home, in that old-fashioned way which produced one of the sweetest types of woman the world has ever seen. This domestic education cultivated simplicity of heart, natural grace of manner, obedience, and love of duty as they were never cultivated but in Japan. Its moral product was something too gentle and beautiful for any other than the old Japanese society: it was not the most judicious preparation for the much harsher life of the new,--in which it still survives. The refined girl was trained for the condition of being theoretically at the mercy of her husband. She was taught never to show jealousy, or grief, or anger,--even under circumstances compelling all three; she was expected to conquer the faults of her lord by pure sweetness. In short, she was required to be almost superhuman,--to realize, at least in outward seeming, the ideal of perfect unselfishness. And this she could do with a husband of her own rank, delicate in discernment,--able to divine her feelings, and never to wound them. Haru came of a much better family than her husband; and she was a little too good for him, because he could not really understand her. They had been married very young, had been poor at first, and then had gradually become well-off, because Haru's husband was a clever man of business. Sometimes she thought he had loved her most when they were less well off; and a woman is seldom mistaken about such matters. She still made all his clothes; and he commended her needle-work. She waited upon his wants, aided him to dress and undress, made everything comfortable for him in their pretty home; bade him a charming farewell as he went to business in the morning, and welcomed him upon his return; received his friends exquisitely; managed his household matters with wonderful economy, and seldom asked any favors that cost money. Indeed she scarcely needed such favors; for he was never ungenerous, and liked to see her daintily dressed,--looking like some beautiful silver moth robed in the folding of its own wings,--and to take her to theatres and other places of amusement. She accompanied him to pleasure-resorts famed for the blossoming of cherry-trees in spring, or the shimmering of fireflies on summer nights, or the crimsoning of maples in autumn. And sometimes they would pass a day together at Maiko, by the sea, where the pines seem to sway like dancing girls; or an afternoon at Kiyomidzu, in the old, old summer-house, where everything is like a dream of five hundred years ago,--and where there is a great shadowing of high woods, and a song of water leaping cold and clear from caverns, and always the plaint of flutes unseen, blown softly in the antique way,--a tone-caress of peace and sadness blending, just as the gold light glooms into blue over a dying sun. Except for such small pleasures and excursions, Haru went out seldom. Her only living relatives, and also those of her husband, were far away in other provinces, and she had few visits to make. She liked to be at home, arranging flowers for the alcoves or for the gods, decorating the rooms, and feeding the tame gold-fish of the garden-pond, which would lift up their heads when they saw her coming. No child had yet brought new joy or sorrow into her life. She looked, in spite of her wife's coiffure, like a very young girl; and she was still simple as a child,--notwithstanding that business capacity in small things which her husband so admired that he often condescended to ask her counsel in big things. Perhaps the heart then judged for him better than the pretty head; but, whether intuitive or not, her advice never proved wrong. She was happy enough with him for five years,--during which time he showed himself as considerate as any young Japanese merchant could well be towards a wife of finer character than his own. Then his manner suddenly became cold,--so suddenly that she felt assured the reason was not that which a childless wife might have reason to fear. Unable to discover the real cause, she tried to persuade herself that she had been remiss in her duties; examined her innocent conscience to no purpose; and tried very, very hard to please. But he remained unmoved. He spoke no unkind words,-- though she felt behind his silence the repressed tendency to utter them. A Japanese of the better class is not very apt to be unkind to his wife in words. It is thought to be vulgar and brutal. The educated man of normal disposition will even answer a wife's reproaches with gentle phrases. Common politeness, by the Japanese code, exacts this attitude from every manly man; moreover, it is the only safe one. A refined and sensitive woman will not long submit to coarse treatment; a spirited one may even kill herself because of something said in a moment of passion, and such a suicide disgraces the husband for the rest of his life. But there are slow cruelties worse than words, and safer,-- neglect or indifference, for example, of a sort to arouse jealousy. A Japanese wife has indeed been trained never to show jealousy; but the feeling is older than all training,--old as love, and likely to live as long. Beneath her passionless mask the Japanese wife feels like her Western sister,--just like that sister who prays and prays, even while delighting some evening assembly of beauty and fashion, for the coming of the hour which will set her free to relieve her pain alone. Haru had cause for jealousy; but she was too much of a child to guess the cause at once; and her servants too fond of her to suggest it. Her husband had been accustomed to pass his evenings in her company, either at home or elsewhere. But now, evening after evening, he went out by himself. The first time he had given her some business pretexts; afterwards he gave none, and did not even tell her when he expected to return. Latterly, also, he had been treating her with silent rudeness. He had become changed,--"as if there was a goblin in his heart,"--the servants said. As a matter of fact he had been deftly caught in a snare set for him. One whisper from a geisha had numbed his will; one smile blinded his eyes. She was far less pretty than his wife; but she was very skillful in the craft of spinning webs,--webs of sensual delusion which entangle weak men; and always tighten more and more about them until the final hour of mockery and ruin. Haru did not know. She suspected no wrong till after her husband's strange conduct had become habitual,--and even then only because she found that his money was passing into unknown hands. He had never told her where he passed his evenings. And she was afraid to ask, lest he should think her jealous. Instead of exposing her feelings in words, she treated him with such sweetness that a more intelligent husband would have divined all. But, except in business, he was dull. He continued to pass his evenings away; and as his conscience grew feebler, his absences lengthened. Haru had been taught that a good wife should always sit up and wait for her lord's return at night; and by so doing she suffered from nervousness, and from the feverish conditions, that follow sleeplessness, and from the lonesomeness of her waiting after the servants, kindly dismissed at the usual hour, had left her with her thoughts. Once only, returning very late, her husband said to her: "I am sorry you should have sat up so late for me; do not wait like that again!" Then, fearing he might really have been pained on her account, she laughed pleasantly, and said: "I was not sleepy, and I am not tired; honorably please not to think about me." So he ceased to think about her,--glad to take her at her word; and not long after that he stayed away for one whole night. The next night he did likewise, and a third night. After that third night's absence he failed even to return for the morning meal; and Haru knew the time had come when her duty as a wife obliged her to speak. She waited through all the morning hours, fearing for him, fearing for herself also; conscious at last of the wrong by which a woman's heart can be most deeply wounded. Her faithful servants had told her something; the rest she could guess. She was very ill, and did not know it. She knew only that she was angry-- selfishly angry, because of the pain given her, cruel, probing, sickening pain. Midday came as she sat thinking how she could say least selfishly what it was now her duty to say,--the first words of reproach that would ever have passed her lips. Then her heart leaped with a shock that made everything blur and swim before her sight in a whirl of dizziness,--because there was a sound of kuruma-wheels and the voice of a servant calling: "_Honorable-return-is!_" She struggled to the entrance to meet him, all her slender body a-tremble with fever and pain, and terror of betraying that pain. And the man was startled, because instead of greeting him with the accustomed smile, she caught the bosom of his silk robe in one quivering little hand,--and looked into his face with eyes that seemed to search for some shred of a soul,--and tried to speak, but could utter only the single word, "_Anata(1)?_" Almost in the same moment her weak grasp loosened, her eyes closed with a strange smile; and even before he could put out his arms to support her, she fell. He sought to lift her. But something in the delicate life had snapped. She was dead. There were astonishments, of course, and tears, and useless callings of her name, and much running for doctors. But she lay white and still and beautiful, all the pain and anger gone out of her face, and smiling as on her bridal day. Two physicians came from the public hospital,--Japanese military surgeons. They asked straight hard questions,--questions that cut open the self of the man down to the core. Then they told him truth cold and sharp as edged steel,--and left him with his dead. The people wondered he did not become a priest,--fair evidence that his conscience had been awakened. By day he sits among his bales of Kyoto silks and Osaka figured goods,--earnest and silent. His clerks think him a good master; he never speaks harshly. Often he works far into the night; and he has changed his dwelling-place. There are strangers in the pretty house where Haru lived; and the owner never visits it. Perhaps because he might see there one slender shadow, still arranging flowers, or bending with iris-grace above the goldfish in his pond. But wherever he rest, sometime in the silent hours he must see the same soundless presence near his pillow,--sewing, smoothing, softly seeming to make beautiful the robes he once put on only to betray. And at other times--in the busiest moments of his busy life--the clamor of the great shop dies; the ideographs of his ledger dim and vanish; and a plaintive little voice, which the gods refuse to silence, utters into the solitude of his heart, like a question, the single word,--"_Anata?_" (1) "Thou?" VIII A GLIMPSE OP TENDENCIES I The foreign concession of an open port offers a striking contrast to its far-Eastern environment. In the well-ordered ugliness of its streets one finds suggestions of places not on this side of the world,--just as though fragments of the Occident had been magically brought oversea: bits of Liverpool, of Marseilles, of New York, of New Orleans, and bits also of tropical towns in colonies twelve or fifteen thousand miles away. The mercantile buildings--immense by comparison with the low light Japanese shops--seem to utter the menace of financial power. The dwellings, of every conceivable design--from that of an Indian bungalow to that of an English or French country-manor, with turrets and bow-windows--are surrounded by commonplace gardens of clipped shrubbery; the white roadways are solid and level as tables, and bordered with boxed-up trees. Nearly all things conventional in England or America have been domiciled in these districts. You see church-steeples and factory-chimneys and telegraph-poles and street-lamps. You see warehouses of imported brick with iron shutters, and shop fronts with plate-glass windows, and sidewalks, and cast-iron railings. There are morning and evening and weekly newspapers; clubs and reading-rooms and bowling alleys; billiard halls and barrooms; schools and bethels. There are electric-light and telephone companies; hospitals, courts, jails, and a foreign police. There are foreign lawyers, doctors, and druggists; foreign grocers, confectioners, bakers, dairymen; foreign dress-makers and tailors; foreign school-teachers and music-teachers. There is a town-hall, for municipal business and public meetings of all kinds,--likewise for amateur theatricals or lectures and concerts; and very rarely some dramatic company, on a tour of the world, halts there awhile to make men laugh and women cry like they used to do at home. There are cricket-grounds, racecourses, public parks,--or, as we should call them in England, "squares,"--yachting associations, athletic societies, and swimming baths. Among the familiar noises are the endless tinkling of piano-practice, the crashing of a town-band, and an occasional wheezing of accordions: in fact, one misses only the organ-grinder. The population is English, French, German, American, Danish, Swedish, Swiss, Russian, with a thin sprinkling of Italians and Levantines. I had almost forgotten the Chinese. They are present in multitude, and have a little corner of the district to themselves. But the dominant element is English and American, the English being in the majority. All the faults and some of the finer qualities of the masterful races can be studied here to better advantage than beyond seas,--because everybody knows all about everybody else in communities so small,--mere oases of Occidental life in the vast unknown of the Far East. Ugly stories may be heard which are not worth writing about; also stories of nobility and generosity--about good brave things done by men who pretend to be selfish, and wear conventional masks to hide what is best in them from public knowledge. But the domains of the foreigner do not stretch beyond the distance of an easy walk, and may shrink back again into nothing before many years--for reasons I shall presently dwell upon. His settlements developed precociously,--almost like "mushroom cities" in the great American West,--and reached the apparent limit of their development soon after solidifying. About and beyond the concession, the "native town"--the real Japanese city--stretches away into regions imperfectly known. To the average settler this native town remains a world of mysteries; he may not think it worth his while to enter it for ten years at a time. It has no interest for him, as he is not a student of native customs, but simply a man of business; and he has no time to think how queer it all is. Merely to cross the concession line is almost the same thing as to cross the Pacific Ocean,--which is much less wide than the difference between the races. Enter alone into the interminable narrow maze of Japanese streets, and the dogs will bark at you, and the children stare at you as if you were the only foreigner they ever saw. Perhaps they will even call after you "Ijin," "Tojin," or "Ke-tojin,"--the last of which signifies "hairy foreigner," and is not intended as a compliment. II For a long time the merchants of the concessions had their own way in everything, and forced upon the native firms methods of business to which no Occidental merchant would think of submitting,--methods which plainly expressed the foreign conviction that all Japanese were tricksters. No foreigner would then purchase anything until it had been long enough in his hands to be examined and re-examined and "exhaustively" examined,--or accept any order for imports unless the order were accompanied by "a substantial payment of bargain money"(1). Japanese buyers and sellers protested in vain; they found themselves obliged to submit. But they bided their time,--yielding only with the determination to conquer. The rapid growth of the foreign town, and the immense capital successfully invested therein, proved to them how much they would have to learn before being able to help themselves. They wondered without admiring, and traded with the foreigners or worked for them, while secretly detesting them. In old Japan the merchant ranked below the common peasant; but these foreign invaders assumed the tone of princes and the insolence of conquerors. As employers they were usually harsh, and sometimes brutal. Nevertheless they were wonderfully wise in the matter of making money; they lived like kings and paid high salaries. It was desirable that young men should suffer in their service for the sake of learning things which would have to be learned to save the country from passing under foreign rule. Some day Japan would have a mercantile marine of her own, and foreign banking agencies, and foreign credit, and be well able to rid herself of these haughty strangers: in the meanwhile they should be endured as teachers. So the import and export trade remained entirely in foreign hands, and it grew from nothing to a value of hundreds of millions; and Japan was well exploited. But she knew that she was only paying to learn; and her patience was of that kind which endures so long as to be mistaken for oblivion of injuries. Her opportunities came in the natural order of things. The growing influx of aliens seeking fortune gave her the first advantage. The intercompetition for Japanese trade broke down old methods; and new firms being glad to take orders and risks without "bargain-money," large advance-payments could no longer be exacted. The relations between foreigners and Japanese simultaneously improved,--as the latter showed a dangerous capacity for sudden combination against ill-treatment, could not be cowed by revolvers, would not suffer abuse of any sort, and knew how to dispose of the most dangerous rowdy in the space of a few minutes. Already the rougher Japanese of the ports, the dregs of the populace, were ready to assume the aggressive on the least provocation. Within two decades from the founding of the settlements, those foreigners who once imagined it a mere question of time when the whole country would belong to them, began to understand how greatly they had underestimated the race. The Japanese had been learning wonderfully well--"nearly as well as the Chinese." They were supplanting the small foreign shopkeepers; and various establishments had been compelled to close because of Japanese competition. Even for large firms the era of easy fortune-making was over; the period of hard work was commencing. In early days all the personal wants of foreigners had necessarily been supplied by foreigners,--so that a large retail trade had grown up under the patronage of the wholesale trade. The retail trade of the settlements was evidently doomed. Some of its branches had disappeared; the rest were visibly diminishing. To-day the economic foreign clerk or assistant in a business house cannot well afford to live at the local hotels. He can hire a Japanese cook at a very small sum per month, or can have his meals sent him from a Japanese restaurant at five to seven sen per plate. He lives in a house constructed in "semi-foreign style," and owned by a Japanese. The carpets or mattings on his floor are of Japanese manufacture. His furniture is supplied by a Japanese cabinet-maker. His suits, shirts, shoes, walking-cane, umbrella, are "Japanese make": even the soap on his washstand is stamped with Japanese ideographs. If a smoker, he buys his Manila cigars from a Japanese tobacconist half a dollar cheaper per box than any foreign house would charge him for the same quality. If he wants books he can buy them at much lower prices from a Japanese than from a foreign book dealer,--and select his purchases from a much larger and better-selected stock. If he wants a photograph taken he goes to a Japanese gallery: no foreign photographer could make a living in Japan. If he wants curios he visits a Japanese house;--the foreign dealer would charge him a hundred per cent. dearer. On the other hand, if he be a man of family, his daily marketing is supplied by Japanese butchers, fishmongers, dairymen, fruit-sellers, vegetable dealers. He may continue for a time to buy English or American hams, bacon, canned goods, etc., from some foreign provision dealer; but he has discovered that Japanese stores now offer the same class of goods at lower prices. If he drinks good beer, it probably comes from a Japanese brewery; and if he wants a good quality of ordinary wine or liquor, Japanese storekeepers can supply it at rates below those of the foreign importer. Indeed, the only things he cannot buy from the Japanese houses are just those things which he cannot afford,--high-priced goods such as only rich men are likely to purchase. And finally, if any of his family become sick, he can consult a Japanese physician who will charge him a fee perhaps one tenth less than he would have had to pay a foreign physician in former times. Foreign doctors now find it very hard to live,--unless they have something more than their practice to rely upon. Even when the foreign doctor brings down his fee to a dollar a visit, the high-class Japanese doctor can charge two, and still crush competition; for, he furnishes the medicine himself at prices which would ruin a foreign apothecary. There are doctors and doctors, of course, as in all countries; but the German-speaking Japanese physician capable of directing a public or military hospital is not easily surpassed in his profession; and the average foreign physician cannot possibly compete with him. He furnishes no prescriptions to be taken to a drugstore: his drugstore is either at home or in a room of the hospital he directs. These facts, taken at random out of a multitude, imply that foreign shops or as we call them in America, "stores," will soon cease to be. The existence of some has been prolonged only by needless and foolish trickery on the part of some petty Japanese dealers,--attempts to sell abominable decoctions in foreign bottles under foreign labels, to adulterate imported goods, or to imitate trade-marks. But the common sense of the Japanese dealers, as a mass, is strongly opposed to such immorality, and the evil will soon correct itself. The native storekeepers can honestly undersell the foreign ones, because able not only to underlive them, but to make fortunes during the competition. This has been for some time well recognized in the concessions. But the delusion prevailed that the great exporting and importing firms were impregnable; that they could still control the whole volume of commerce with the West; and that no Japanese companies could find means to oppose the weight of foreign capital, or to acquire the business methods according to which it was employed. Certainly the retail trade would go. But that signified little. The great firms would remain and multiply, and would increase their capacities. (1) See Japan Mail, July 21, 1895. III During all this time of outward changes the real feeling between the races--the mutual dislike of Oriental and Occidental--had continued to grow. Of the nine or ten English papers published in the open ports, the majority expressed, day after day, one side of this dislike, in the language of ridicule or contempt; and a powerful native press retorted in kind, with dangerous effectiveness. If the "anti-Japanese" newspapers did not actually represent--as I believe they did--an absolute majority in sentiment, they represented at least the weight of foreign capital, and the preponderant influences of the settlements. The English "pro-Japanese" newspapers, though conducted by shrewd men, and distinguished by journalistic abilities of no common order, could not appease the powerful resentment provoked by the language of their contemporaries. The charges of barbarism or immorality printed in English were promptly answered by the publication in Japanese dailies of the scandals of the open ports,--for all the millions of the empire to know. The race question was carried into Japanese politics by a strong anti-foreign league; the foreign concessions were openly denounced as hotbeds of vice; and the national anger became so formidable that only the most determined action on the part of the government could have prevented disastrous happenings. Nevertheless oil was still poured on the smothered fire by foreign editors, who at the outbreak of the war with China openly took the part of China. This policy was pursued throughout the campaign. Reports of imaginary reverses were printed recklessly, undeniable victories were unjustly belittled, and after the war had been decided, the cry was raised that the Japanese "had been allowed to become dangerous" Later on, the interference of Russia was applauded and the sympathy of England condemned by men of English blood. The effect of such utterances at such a time was that of insult never to be forgiven upon a people who never forgive. Utterances of hate they were, but also utterances of alarm,--alarm excited by the signing of those new treaties, bringing all aliens under Japanese jurisdiction,--and fear, not unfounded, of another anti-foreign agitation with the formidable new sense of national power behind it. Premonitory symptoms of such agitation were really apparent in a general tendency to insult or jeer at foreigners, and in some rare but exemplary acts of violence. The government again found it necessary to issue proclamations and warnings against such demonstrations of national anger; and they ceased almost as quickly as they began. But there is no doubt that their cessation was due largely to recognition of the friendly attitude of England as a naval power, and the worth of her policy to Japan in a moment of danger to the world's peace. England, too, had first rendered treaty-revision possible,--in spite of the passionate outcries of her own subjects in the Far East; and the leaders of the people were grateful. Otherwise the hatred between settlers and Japanese might have resulted quite as badly as had been feared. In the beginning, of course, this mutual antagonism was racial, and therefore natural; and the irrational violence of prejudice and malignity developed at a later day was inevitable with the ever-increasing conflict of interests. No foreigner really capable of estimating the conditions could have seriously entertained any hope of a rapprochement. The barriers of racial feeling, of emotional differentiation, of language, of manners and beliefs, are likely to remain insurmountable for centuries. Though instances of warm friendship, due to the mutual attraction of exceptional natures able to divine each other intuitively, might be cited, the foreigner, as a general rule, understands the Japanese quite as little as the Japanese understands him. What is worse for the alien than miscomprehension is the simple fact that he is in the position of an invader. Under no ordinary circumstances need he expect to be treated like a Japanese, and this not merely because he has more money at his command, but because of his race. One price for the foreigner, another for the Japanese, is the common regulation,--except in those Japanese stores which depend almost exclusively upon foreign trade. If you wish to enter a Japanese theatre, a figure-show, any place of amusement, or even an inn, you must pay a virtual tax upon your nationality. Japanese artisans, laborers, clerks, will not work for you at Japanese rates--unless they have some other object in view than wages. Japanese hotel-keepers--except in those hotels built and furnished especially for European or American travelers--will not make out your bill at regular prices. Large hotel-companies have been formed which maintain this rule,-- companies controlling scores of establishments throughout the country, and able to dictate terms to local storekeepers and to the smaller hostelries. It has been generously confessed that foreigners ought to pay higher than Japanese for accommodation, since they give more trouble; and this is true. But under even these facts race-feeling is manifest. Those innkeepers who build for Japanese custom only, in the great centres, care nothing for foreign custom, and often lose by it,--partly because well-paying native guests do not like hotels patronized by foreigners, and partly because the Western guest wants all to himself the room which can be rented more profitably to a Japanese party of five or eight. Another fact not generally understood in connection with this is that in Old Japan the question of recompense for service was left to honor. The Japanese innkeeper always supplied (and in the country often still supplies) food at scarcely more than cost; and his real profit depended upon the conscience of the customer. Hence the importance of the chadai, or present of tea-money, to the hotel. From the poor a very small sum, from the rich a larger sum, was expected,--according to services rendered. In like manner the hired servant expected to be remunerated according to his master's ability to pay, even more than according to the value of the work done; the artist preferred, when working for a good patron, never to name a price: only the merchant tried to get the better of his customers by bargaining, --the immoral privilege of his class. It may be readily imagined that the habit of trusting to honor for payment produced no good results in dealing with Occidentals. All matters of buying and selling we think of as "business"; and business in the West is not conducted under purely abstract ideas of morality, but at best under relative and partial ideas of morality. A generous man extremely dislikes to have the price of an article which he wants to buy left to his conscience; for, unless he knows exactly the value of the material and the worth of the labor, he feels obliged to make such over-payment as will assure him that he has done more than right; while the selfish man takes advantage of the situation to give as nearly next to nothing as he can. Special rates have to be made, therefore, by the Japanese in all dealings with foreigners. But the dealing itself is made more or less aggressive, according to circumstance, because of race antagonism. The foreigner has not only to pay higher rates for every kind of skilled labor; but must sign costlier leases, and submit to higher rents. Only the lowest class of Japanese servants can be hired even at high wages by a foreign household; and their stay is usually brief, as they dislike the service required of them. Even the apparent eagerness of educated Japanese to enter foreign employ is generally misunderstood; their veritable purpose being simply, in most cases, to fit themselves for the same sort of work in Japanese business houses, stores, and hotels. The average Japanese would prefer to work fifteen hours a day for one of his own countrymen than eight hours a day for a foreigner paying higher wages. I have seen graduates of the university working as servants; but they were working only to learn special things. IV Really the dullest foreigner could not have believed that a people of forty millions, uniting all their energies to achieve absolute national independence, would remain content to leave the management of their country's import and export trade to aliens, --especially in view of the feeling in the open ports. The existence of foreign settlements in Japan, under consular jurisdiction, was in itself a constant exasperation to national pride,--an indication of national weakness. It had so been proclaimed in print,--in speeches by members of the anti-foreign league,--in speeches made in parliament. But knowledge of the national desire to control the whole of Japanese commerce, and the periodical manifestations of hostility to foreigners as settlers, excited only temporary uneasiness. It was confidently asserted that the Japanese could only injure themselves by any attempt to get rid of foreign negotiators. Though alarmed at the prospect of being brought under Japanese law, the merchants of the concessions never imagined a successful attack upon large interests possible, except by violation of that law itself. It signified little that the Nippon Yusen Kwaisha had become, during the war, one of the largest steamship companies in the world; that Japan was trading directly with India and China; that Japanese banking agencies were being established in the great manufacturing centres abroad; that Japanese merchants were sending their sons to Europe and America for a sound commercial education. Because Japanese lawyers were gaining a large foreign clientele; because Japanese shipbuilders, architects, engineers had replaced foreigners in government service, it did not at all follow that the foreign agents controlling the import and export trade with Europe and America could be dispensed with. The machinery of commerce would be useless in Japanese hands; and capacity for other professions by no means augured latent capacity for business. The foreign capital invested in Japan could not be successfully threatened by any combinations formed against it. Some Japanese houses might carry on a small import business, but the export trade required a thorough knowledge of business conditions on the other side of the world, and such connections and credits as the Japanese could not obtain. Nevertheless the self-confidence of the foreign importers, and exporters was rudely broken in July, 1895, when a British house having brought suit against a Japanese company in a Japanese court, for refusal to accept delivery of goods ordered, and having won a judgment for nearly thirty thousand dollars, suddenly found itself confronted and menaced by a guild whose power had never been suspected. The Japanese firm did not appeal against the decision of the court: it expressed itself ready to pay the whole sum at once--if required. But the guild to which it belonged informed the triumphant plaintiffs that a compromise would be to their advantage. Then the English house discovered itself threatened with a boycott which could utterly ruin it,--a boycott operating in all the industrial centres of the Empire. The compromise was promptly effected at considerable loss to the foreign firm; and the settlements were dismayed. There was much denunciation of the immorality of the proceeding(1). But it was a proceeding against which the law could do nothing; for boycotting cannot be satisfactorily dealt with under law; and it afforded proof positive that the Japanese were able to force foreign firms to submit to their dictation,--by foul means if not by fair. Enormous guilds had been organized by the great industries,--combinations whose moves, perfectly regulated by telegraph, could ruin opposition, and could set at defiance even the judgment of tribunals. The Japanese had attempted boycotting in previous years with so little success that they were deemed incapable of combination. But the new situation showed how well they had learned through defeat, and that with further improvement of organization they could reasonably expect to get the foreign trade under control,--if not into their own hands. It would be the next great step toward the realization of the national desire,--Japan only for the Japanese. Even though the country should be opened to foreign settlement, foreign investments would always be at the mercy of Japanese combinations. (1) A Kobe merchant of great experience, writing to the Kobe Chronicle of August 7, 1895, observed:--"I am not attempting to defend boycotts; but I firmly believe from what has come to my knowledge that in each and every case there has been provocation irritating the Japanese, rousing their feelings and their sense of justice, and driving them to combination as a defense." V The foregoing brief account of existing conditions may suffice to prove the evolution in Japan of a social phenomenon of great significance. Of course the prospective opening of the country under new treaties, the rapid development of its industries, and the vast annual increase in the volume of trade with America and Europe, will probably bring about some increase of foreign settlers; and this temporary result might deceive many as to the inevitable drift of things. But old merchants of experience even now declare that the probable further expansion of the ports will really mean the growth of a native competitive commerce that must eventually dislodge foreign merchants. The foreign settlements, as communities, will disappear: there will remain only some few great agencies, such as exist in all the chief ports of the civilized world; and the abandoned streets of the concessions, and the costly foreign houses on the heights, will be peopled and tenanted by Japanese. Large foreign investments will not be made in the interior. And even Christian mission-work must be left to native missionaries; for just as Buddhism never took definite form in Japan until the teaching of its doctrines was left entirely to Japanese priests,--so Christianity will never take any fixed shape till it has been so remodeled as to harmonize with the emotional and social life of the race. Even thus remodeled it can scarcely hope to exist except in the form of a few small sects. The social phenomenon exhibited can be best explained by a simile. In many ways a human society may be compared biologically with an individual organism. Foreign elements introduced forcibly into the system of either, and impossible to assimilate, set up irritations and partial disintegration, until eliminated naturally or removed artificially. Japan is strengthening herself through elimination of disturbing elements; and this natural process is symbolized in the resolve to regain possession of all the concessions, to bring about the abolishment of consular jurisdiction, to leave nothing under foreign control within the Empire. It is also manifested in the dismissal of foreign employes, in the resistance offered by Japanese congregations to the authority of foreign missionaries, and in the resolute boycotting of foreign merchants. And behind all this race-movement there is more than race-feeling: there is also the definite conviction that foreign help is proof of national feebleness, and that the Empire remains disgraced before the eyes of the commercial world, so long as its import and export trade are managed by aliens. Several large Japanese firms have quite emancipated themselves from the domination of foreign middlemen; large trade with India and China is being carried on by Japanese steamship companies; and communication with the Southern States of America is soon to be established by the Nippon Yusen Kwaisha, for the direct importation of cotton. But the foreign settlements remain constant sources of irritation; and their commercial conquest by untiring national effort will alone satisfy the country, and will prove, even better than the war with China, Japan's real place among nations. That conquest, I think, will certainly be achieved. VI What of the future of Japan? No one can venture any positive prediction on the assumption that existing tendencies will continue far into that future. Not to dwell upon the grim probabilities of war, or the possibility of such internal disorder as might compel indefinite suspension of the constitution, and lead to a military dictatorship,--a resurrected Shogunate in modern uniform,--great changes there will assuredly be, both for better and for worse. Supposing these changes normal, however, one may venture some qualified predictions, based upon the reasonable supposition that the race will continue, through rapidly alternating periods of action and reaction, to assimilate its new-found knowledge with the best relative consequences. Physically, I think, the Japanese will become before the close of the next century much superior to what they now are. For such belief there are three good reasons. The first is that the systematic military and gymnastic training of the able-bodied youth of the Empire ought in a few generations to produce results as marked as those of the military system in Germany,--increase in stature, in average girth of chest, in muscular development Another reason is that the Japanese of the cities are taking to a richer diet,--a flesh diet; and that a more nutritive food must have physiological results favoring growth. Immense numbers of little restaurants are everywhere springing up, in which "Western Cooking" is furnished almost as cheaply as Japanese food. Thirdly, the delay of marriage necessitated by education and by military service must result in the production of finer and finer generations of children. As immature marriages become the exception rather than the rule, children of feeble constitution will correspondingly diminish in number. At present the extraordinary differences of stature noticeable in any Japanese crowd seem to prove that the race is capable of great physical development under a severer social discipline. Moral improvement is hardly to be expected--rather the reverse. The old moral ideals of Japan were at least quite as noble as our own; and men could really live up to them in the quiet benevolent times of patriarchal government. Untruthfulness, dishonesty, and brutal crime were rarer than now, as official statistics show, the percentage of crime having been for some years steadily on the increase--which proves of course, among other things, that the struggle for existence has been intensified. The old standard of chastity, as represented in public opinion, was that of a less developed society than our own; yet I do not believe it can be truthfully asserted that the moral conditions were worse than with us. In one respect they were certainly better; for the virtue of Japanese wives was generally in all ages above suspicion(1). If the morals of men were much more open to reproach, it is not necessary to cite Lecky for evidence as to whether a much better state of things prevails in the Occident. Early marriages were encouraged to guard young men from temptations to irregular life; and it is only fair to suppose that in a majority of cases this result was obtained. Concubinage, the privilege of the rich, had its evil side; but it had also the effect of relieving the wife from the physical strain of rearing many children in rapid succession. The social conditions were so different from those which Western religion assumes to be the best possible, that an impartial judgment of them cannot be ecclesiastical. One fact is indisputable,--that they were unfavorable to professional vice; and in many of the larger fortified towns,--the seats of princes,--no houses of prostitution were suffered to exist. When all things are fairly considered, it will be found that Old Japan might claim, in spite of her patriarchal system, to have been less open to reproach even in the matter of sexual morality than many a Western country. The people were better than their laws asked them to be. And now that the relations of the sexes are to be regulated by new codes,--at a time when new codes are really needed, the changes which it is desirable to bring about cannot result in immediate good. Sudden reforms are not made by legislation. Laws cannot directly create sentiment; and real social progress can be made only through change of ethical feeling developed by long discipline and training. Meanwhile increasing pressure of population and increasing competition must tend, while quickening intelligence, to harden character and develop selfishness. Intellectually there will doubtless be great progress, but not a progress so rapid as those who think that Japan has really transformed herself in thirty years would have us believe. However widely diffused among the people, scientific education cannot immediately raise the average of practical intelligence to the Western level. The common capacity must remain lower for generations. There will be plenty of remarkable exceptions, indeed; and a new aristocracy of intellect is coming into existence. But the real future of the nation depends rather upon the general capacity of the many than upon the exceptional capacity of the few. Perhaps it depends especially upon the development of the mathematical faculty, which is being everywhere assiduously cultivated. At present this is the weak point; hosts of students being yearly debarred from the more important classes of higher study through inability to pass in mathematics. At the Imperial naval and military colleges, however, such results have been obtained as suffice to show that this weakness will eventually be remedied. The most difficult branches of scientific study, will become less formidable to the children of those who have been able to distinguish themselves in such branches. In other respects, some temporary retrogression is to be looked for. Just so certainly as Japan has attempted that which is above the normal limit of her powers, so certainly must she fall back to that limit, or, rather, below it. Such retrogression will be natural as well as necessary: it will mean nothing more than a recuperative preparation for stronger and loftier efforts. Signs of it are even now visible in the working of certain state-departments,--notably in that of education. The idea of forcing upon Oriental students a course of study above the average capacity of Western students; the idea of making English the language, or at least one of the languages of the country; and the idea of changing ancestral modes of feeling and thinking for the better by such training, were wild extravagances. Japan must develop her own soul: she cannot borrow another. A dear friend whose life has been devoted to philology once said to me while commenting upon the deterioration of manners among the students of Japan: "_Why, the English language itself has been a demoralizing influence!_" There was much depth in that observation. Setting the whole Japanese nation to study English (the language of a people who are being forever preached to about their "rights," and never about their "duties") was almost an imprudence. The policy was too wholesale as well as too sudden. It involved great waste of money and time, and it helped to sap ethical sentiment. In the future Japan will learn English, just as England learns German. But if this study has been wasted in some directions, it has not been wasted in others. The influence of English has effected modifications in the native tongue, making it richer, more flexible, and more capable of expressing the new forms of thought created by the discoveries of modern science. This influence must long continue. There will be a considerable absorption of English--perhaps also of French and German words--into Japanese: indeed this absorption is already marked in the changing speech of the educated classes, not less than in the colloquial of the ports which is mixed with curious modifications of foreign commercial words. Furthermore, the grammatical structure of Japanese is being influenced; and though I cannot agree with a clergyman who lately declared that the use of the passive voice by Tokyo street-urchins announcing the fall of Port Arthur--("_Ryojunko ga senryo sera-reta!_") represented the working of "divine providence," I do think it afforded some proof that the Japanese language, assimilative like the genius of the race, is showing capacity to meet all demands made upon it by the new conditions. Perhaps Japan will remember her foreign teachers more kindly in the twentieth century. But she will never feel toward the Occident, as she felt toward China before the Meiji era, the reverential respect due by ancient custom to a beloved instructor; for the wisdom of China was voluntarily sought, while that of the West was thrust upon her by violence. She will have some Christian sects of her own; but she will not remember our American and English missionaries as she remembers even now those great Chinese priests who once educated her youth. And she will not preserve relics of our sojourn, carefully wrapped in septuple coverings of silk, and packed away in dainty whitewood boxes, because we had no new lesson of beauty to teach her,--nothing by which to appeal to her emotions. (1) The statement has been made that there is no word for chastity in the Japanese language. This is true in the same sense only that we might say there is no word for chastity in the English language,--became such words as honor, virtue, purity, chastity have been adopted into English from other languages. Open any good Japanese-English dictionary and you will find many words for chastity. Just as it would be ridiculous to deny that the word "chastity" is modern English, because it came to us through the French from the Latin, so it is ridiculous to deny that Chinese moral terms, adopted into the Japanese tongue more than a thousand years ago are Japanese to-day. The statement, like a majority of missionary statements on these subjects, is otherwise misleading; for the reader is left to infer the absence of an adjective as well as a noun,--and the purely Japanese adjectives signifying chaste are numerous. The word most commonly used applies to both sexes,--and has the old Japanese sense of firm, strict, resisting, honorable. The deficiency of abstract terms in a language by no means implies the deficiency of concrete moral ideas,--a fact which has been vainly pointed out to missionaries more than once. IX BY FORCE OF KARMA "The face of the beloved and the face of the risen sun cannot be looked at."--Japanese Proverb. I Modern science assures us that the passion of first love, so far as the individual may be concerned, is "absolutely antecedent to all relative experience whatever(1)." In other words, that which might well seem to be the most strictly personal of all feelings, is not an individual matter at all. Philosophy discovered the same fact long ago, and never theorized more attractively than when trying to explain the mystery of the passion. Science, so far, has severely limited itself to a few suggestions on the subject. This seems a pity, because the metaphysicians could at no time give properly detailed explanations,--whether teaching that the first sight of the beloved quickens in the soul of the lover some dormant prenatal remembrance of divine truth, or that the illusion is made by spirits unborn seeking incarnation. But science and philosophy both agree as to one all-important fact, that the lovers themselves have no choice, that they are merely the subjects of an influence. Science is even the more positive on this point: it states quite plainly that the dead, not the living, are responsible. There would seem to be some sort of ghostly remembrance in first loves. It is true that science, unlike Buddhism, does not declare that under particular conditions we may begin to recollect our former lives. That psychology which is based upon physiology even denies the possibility of memory-inheritance in this individual sense. But it allows that something more powerful, though more indefinite, is inherited,--the sum of ancestral memories incalculable,--the sum of countless billions of trillions of experiences. Thus can it interpret our most enigmatical sensations,--our conflicting impulses,--our strangest intuitions; all those seemingly irrational attractions or repulsions,--all those vague sadnesses or joys, never to be accounted for by individual experience. But it has not yet found leisure to discourse much to us about first love,--although first love, in its relation to the world invisible, is the very weirdest of all human feelings, and the most mysterious. In our Occident the riddle runs thus. To the growing youth, whose life is normal and vigorous, there comes a sort of atavistic period in which he begins to feel for the feebler sex that primitive contempt created by mere consciousness of physical superiority. But it is just at the time when the society of girls has grown least interesting to him that he suddenly becomes insane. There crosses his life-path a maiden never seen before,--but little different from other daughters of men,--not at all wonderful to common vision. At the same instant, with a single surging shock, the blood rushes to his heart; and all his senses are bewitched. Thereafter, till the madness ends, his life belongs wholly to that new-found being, of whom he yet knows nothing, except that the sun's light seems more beautiful when it touches her. From that glamour no mortal science can disenthrall him. But whose the witchcraft? Is it any power in the living idol? No, psychology tells us that it is the power of the dead within the idolater. The dead cast the spell. Theirs the shock in the lover's heart; theirs the electric shiver that tingled through his veins at the first touch of one girl's hand. But why they should want her, rather than any other, is the deeper part of the riddle. The solution offered by the great German pessimist will not harmonize well with scientific psychology. The choice of the dead, evolutionally considered, would be a choice based upon remembrance rather than on prescience. And the enigma is not cheerful. There is, indeed, the romantic possibility that they want her because there survives in her, as in some composite photograph, the suggestion of each and all who loved them in the past. But there is the possibility also that they want her because there reappears in her something of the multitudinous charm of all the women they loved in vain. Assuming the more nightmarish theory, we should believe that passion, though buried again and again, can neither die nor rest. They who have vainly loved only seem to die; they really live on in generations of hearts, that their desire may be fulfilled. They wait, perhaps though centuries, for the reincarnation of shapes beloved,--forever weaving into the dreams of youth their vapory composite of memories. Hence the ideals unattainable,--the haunting of troubled souls by the Woman-never-to-be-known. In the Far East thoughts are otherwise; and what I am about to write concerns the interpretation of the Lord Buddha. (1) Herbert Spencer, Principles of Psychology: "The Feelings." II A priest died recently under very peculiar circumstances. He was the priest of a temple, belonging to one of the older Buddhist sects, in a village near Osaka. (You can see that temple from the Kwan-Setsu Railway, as you go by train to Kyoto.) He was young, earnest, and extremely handsome--very much too handsome for a priest, the women said. He looked like one of those beautiful figures of Amida made by the great Buddhist statuaries of other days. The men of his parish thought him a pure and learned priest, in which they were right. The women did not think about his virtue or his learning only: he possessed the unfortunate power to attract them, independently of his own will, as a mere man. He was admired by them, and even by women of other parishes also, in ways not holy; and their admiration interfered with his studies and disturbed his meditations. They found irreproachable pretexts for visiting the temple at all hours, just to look at him and talk to him; asking questions which it was his duty to answer, and making religious offerings which he could not well refuse. Some would ask questions, not of a religious kind, that caused him to blush. He was by nature too gentle to protect himself by severe speech, even when forward girls from the city said things that country-girls never would have said,--things that made him tell the speakers to leave his presence. And the more he shrank from the admiration of the timid, or the adulation of the unabashed, the more the persecution increased, till it became the torment of his life(1). His parents had long been dead; he had no worldly ties: he loved only his calling, and the studies belonging to it; and he did not wish to think of foolish and forbidden things. His extraordinary beauty--the beauty of a living idol--was only a misfortune. Wealth was offered him under conditions that he could not even discuss. Girls threw themselves at his feet, and prayed him in vain to love them. Love-letters were constantly being sent to him, letters which never brought a reply. Some were written in that classical enigmatic style which speaks of "the Rock-Pillow of Meeting," and "waves on the shadow of a face," and "streams that part to reunite." Others were artless and frankly tender, full of the pathos of a girl's first confession of love. For a long time such letters left the young priest as unmoved, to outward appearance, as any image of that Buddha in whose likeness he seemed to have been made. But, as a matter of fact, he was not a Buddha, but only a weak man; and his position was trying. One evening there came to the temple a little boy who gave him a letter, whispered the name of the sender, and ran away in the dark. According to the subsequent testimony of an acolyte, the priest read the letter, restored it to its envelope, and placed it on the matting, beside his kneeling cushion. After remaining motionless for a long time, as if buried in thought, he sought his writing-box, wrote a letter himself, addressed it to his spiritual superior, and left it upon the writing-stand. Then he consulted the clock, and a railway time-table in Japanese. The hour was early; the night windy and dark. He prostrated himself for a moment in prayer before the altar; then hurried out into the blackness, and reached the railway exactly in time to kneel down in the middle of the track, facing the roar and rush of the express from Kobe. And, in another moment, those who had worshiped the strange beauty of the man would have shrieked to see, even by lantern-light, all that remained of his poor earthliness, smearing the iron way. The letter written to his superior was found. It contained a bare statement to the effect that, feeling his spiritual strength departing from him, he had resolved to die in order that he might not sin. The other letter was still lying where he had left it on the floor,--a letter written in that woman-language of which every syllable is a little caress of humility. Like all such letters (they are never sent through the post) it contained no date, no name, no initial, and its envelope bore no address. Into our incomparably harsher English speech it might be imperfectly rendered as follows:-- _To take such freedom may be to assume overmuch; yet I feel that I must speak to you, and therefore send this letter. As for my lowly self, I have to say only that when first seeing you in the period of the Festival of the Further Shore, I began to think; and that since then I have not, even for a moment, been able to forget. More and more each day I sink into that ever-growing thought of you; and when I sleep I dream; and when, awaking and seeing you not, I remember there was no truth in my thoughts of the night, I can do nothing but weep. Forgive me that, having been born into this world a woman, I should utter my wish for the exceeding favor of being found not hateful to one so high. Foolish and without delicacy I may seem in allowing my heart to be thus tortured by the thought of one so far above me. But only because knowing that I cannot restrain my heart, out of the depth of it I have suffered these poor words to come, that I may write them with my unskillful brush, and send them to you. I pray that you will deem me worthy of pity; I beseech that you will not send me cruel words in return. Compassionate me, seeing that this is but the overflowing of my humble feelings; deign to divine and justly to judge,--be it only with the least of kindliness,--this heart that, in its great distress alone, so ventures to address you. Each moment I shall hope and wait for some gladdening answer_. _Concerning all things fortunate, felicitation_. _To-day,-- from the honorably-known, to the longed-for, beloved, august one, this letter goes._ (1) Actors in Japan often exercise a similar fascination upon sensitive girls of the lower classes, and often take cruel advantage of the power so gained. It is very rarely, indeed, that such fascination can be exerted by a priest. III I called upon a Japanese friend, a Buddhist scholar, to ask some questions about the religious aspects of the incident. Even as a confession of human weakness, that suicide appeared to me a heroism. It did not so appear to my friend. He spoke words of rebuke. He reminded me that one who even suggested suicide as a means of escape from sin had been pronounced by the Buddha a spiritual outcast,--unfit to live with holy men. As for the dead priest, he had been one of those whom the Teacher called fools. Only a fool could imagine that by destroying his own body he was destroying also within himself the sources of sin. "But," I protested, "this man's life was pure.... Suppose he sought death that he might not, unwittingly, cause others to commit sin?" My friend smiled ironically. Then he said:--"There was once a lady of Japan, nobly torn and very beautiful, who wanted to become a nun. She went to a certain temple, and made her wish known. But the high-priest said to her, 'You are still very young. You have lived the life of courts. To the eyes of worldly men you are beautiful; and, because of your face, temptations to return to the pleasures of the world will be devised for you. Also this wish of yours may be due to some momentary sorrow. Therefore, I cannot now consent to your request.' But she still pleaded so earnestly, that he deemed it best to leave her abruptly. There was a large hibachi--a brazier of glowing charcoal--in the room where she found herself alone. She heated the iron tongs of the brazier till they were red, and with them horribly pierced and seamed her face, destroying her beauty forever. Then the priest, alarmed by the smell of the burning, returned in haste, and was very much grieved by what he saw. But she pleaded again, without any trembling in her voice: 'Because I was beautiful, you refused to take me. Will you take me now?' She was accepted into the Order, and became a holy nun.... Well, which was the wiser, that woman, or the priest you wanted to praise?" "But was it the duty of the priest," I asked, "to disfigure his face?" "Certainly not! Even the woman's action would have been very unworthy if done only as a protection against temptation. Self-mutilation of any sort is forbidden by the law of Buddha; and she transgressed. But, as she burned her face only that she might be able to enter at once upon the Path, and not because afraid of being unable by her own will to resist sin, her fault was a minor fault. On the other hand, the priest who took his own life committed a very great offense. He should have tried to convert those who tempted him. This he was too weak to do. If he felt it impossible to keep from sinning as a priest, then it would have been better for him to return to the world, and there try to follow the law for such as do not belong to the Order." "According to Buddhism, therefore, he has obtained no merit?" I queried. "It is not easy to imagine that he has. Only by those ignorant of the Law can his action be commended." "And by those knowing the Law, what will be thought of the results, the karma of his act?" My friend mused a little; then he said, thoughtfully:--"The whole truth of that suicide we cannot fully know. Perhaps it was not the first time." "Do you mean that in some former life also he may have tried to escape from sin by destroying his own body?" "Yes. Or in many former lives." "What of his future lives?" "Only a Buddha could answer that with certain knowledge." "But what is the teaching?" "You forget that it is not possible for us to know what was in the mind of that man." "Suppose that he sought death only to escape from sinning?" "Then he will have to face the like temptation again and again, and all the sorrow of it, and all the pain, even for a thousand times a thousand times, until he shall have learned to master himself. There is no escape through death from the supreme necessity of self-conquest." After parting with my friend, his words continued to haunt me; and they haunt me still. They forced new thoughts about some theories hazarded in the first part of this paper. I have not yet been able to assure myself that his weird interpretation of the amatory mystery is any less worthy of consideration than our Western interpretations. I have been wondering whether the loves that lead to death might not mean much more than the ghostly hunger of buried passions. Might they not signify also the inevitable penalty of long-forgotten sins? X A CONSERVATIVE Amazakaru Hi no iru kuni ni Kite wa aredo, Yamato-nishiki no Iro wa kawaraji. I He was born in a city of the interior, the seat of a daimyo of three hundred thousand koku, where no foreigner had ever been. The yashiki of his father, a samurai of high rank, stood within the outer fortifications surrounding the prince's castle. It was a spacious yashiki; and behind it and around it were landscape gardens, one of which contained a small shrine of the god of armies. Forty years ago there were many such homes. To artist eyes the few still remaining seem like fairy palaces, and their gardens like dreams of the Buddhist paradise. But sons of samurai were severely disciplined in those days; and the one of whom I write had little time for dreaming. The period of caresses was made painfully brief for him. Even before he was invested with his first hakama, or trousers,--a great ceremony in that epoch,--he was weaned as far as possible from tender influence, and taught to check the natural impulses of childish affection. Little comrades would ask him mockingly, "Do you still need milk?" if they saw him walking out with his mother, although he might love her in the house as demonstratively as he pleased, during the hours he could pass by her side. These were not many. All inactive pleasures were severely restricted by his discipline; and even comforts, except during illness, were not allowed him. Almost from the time he could speak he was enjoined to consider duty the guiding motive of life, self-control the first requisite of conduct, pain and death matters of no consequence in the selfish sense. There was a grimmer side to this Spartan discipline, designed to cultivate a cold sternness never to be relaxed during youth, except in the screened intimacy of the home. The boys were inured to sights of blood. They were taken to witness executions; they were expected to display no emotion; and they were obliged, on their return home, to quell any secret feeling of horror by eating plentifully of rice tinted blood-color by an admixture of salted plum juice. Even more difficult things might be demanded of a very young boy,--to go alone at midnight to the execution-ground, for example, and bring back a head in proof of courage. For the fear of the dead was held not less contemptible in a samurai than the fear of man. The samurai child was pledged to fear nothing. In all such tests, the demeanor exacted was perfect impassiveness; any swaggering would have been judged quite as harshly as any sign of cowardice. As a boy grew up, he was obliged to find his pleasures chiefly in those bodily exercises which were the samurai's early and constant preparations for war,--archery and riding, wrestling and fencing. Playmates were found for him; but these were older youths, sons of retainers, chosen for ability to assist him in the practice of martial exercises. It was their duty also to teach him how to swim, to handle a boat, to develop his young muscles. Between such physical training and the study of the Chinese classics the greater part of each day was divided for him. His diet, though ample, was never dainty; his clothing, except in time of great ceremony, was light and coarse; and he was not allowed the use of fire merely to warm himself. While studying of winter mornings, if his hands became too cold to use the writing brush, he would be ordered to plunge them into icy water to restore the circulation; and if his feet were numbed by frost, he would be told to run about in the snow to make them warm. Still more rigid was his training in the special etiquette of the military class, and he was early made to know that the little sword in his girdle was neither an ornament nor a plaything. He was shown how to use it, how to take his own life at a moment's notice, without shrinking, whenever the code of his class might so order(1). Also in the matter of religion, the training of a samurai boy was peculiar. He was educated to revere the ancient gods and the spirits of his ancestors; he was well schooled in the Chinese ethics; and he was taught something of Buddhist philosophy and faith. But he was likewise taught that hope of heaven and fear of hell were for the ignorant only; and that the superior man should be influenced in his conduct by nothing more selfish than the love of right for its own sake, and the recognition of duty as a universal law. Gradually, as the period of boyhood ripened into youth, his conduct was less subjected to supervision. He was left more and more free to act upon his own judgment,--but with full knowledge that a mistake would not be forgotten; that a serious offense would never be fully condoned, and that a well-merited reprimand was more to be dreaded than death. On the other hand, there were few moral dangers against which to guard him. Professional vice was then strictly banished from many of the provincial castle-towns; and even so much of the non-moral side of life as might have been reflected in popular romance and drama, a young samurai could know little about. He was taught to despise that common literature appealing either to the softer emotions or the passions, as essentially unmanly reading; and the public theatre was forbidden to his class(2). Thus, in that innocent provincial life of Old Japan, a young samurai might grow up exceptionally pure-minded and simple-hearted. So grew up the young samurai concerning whom these things are written,--fearless, courteous, self-denying, despising pleasure, and ready at an instant's notice to give his life for love, loyalty, or honor. But though already a warrior in frame and spirit, he was in years scarcely more than a boy when the country was first startled by the coming of the Black Ships. II The policy of Iyemitsu, forbidding any Japanese to leave the country under pain of death, had left the nation for two hundred years ignorant of the outer world. About the colossal forces gathering beyond seas nothing was known. The long existence of the Dutch settlement at Nagasaki had in no wise enlightened Japan as to her true position,--an Oriental feudalism of the sixteenth century menaced by a Western world three centuries older. Accounts of the real wonders of that world would have sounded to Japanese ears like stories invented to please children, or have been classed with ancient tales of the fabled palaces of Horai. The advent of the American fleet, "the Black Ships," as they were then called, first awakened the government to some knowledge of its own weakness, and of danger from afar. National excitement at the news of the second coming of the Black Ships was followed by consternation at the discovery that the Shogunate confessed its inability to cope with the foreign powers. This could mean only a peril greater than that of the Tartar invasion in the days of Hojo Tokimune, when the people had prayed to the gods for help, and the Emperor himself, at Ise, had besought the spirits of his fathers. Those prayers had been answered by sudden darkness, a sea of thunder, and the coming of that mighty wind still called Kami-kaze,--"the Wind of the Gods," by which the fleets of Kublai Khan were given to the abyss. Why should not prayers now also be made? They were, in countless homes and at thousands of shrines. But the Superior Ones gave this time no answer; the Kami-kaze did not come. And the samurai boy, praying vainly before the little shrine of Hachiman in his father's garden, wondered if the gods had lost their power, or if the people of the Black Ships were under the protection of stronger gods. (1) "Is that really the head of your father?" a prince once asked of a samurai boy only seven years old. The child at once realized the situation. The freshly-severed head set before him was not his father's: the daimyo had been deceived, but further deception was necessary. So the lad, after having saluted the head with every sign of reverential grief, suddenly cut out his own bowels. All the prince's doubts vanished before that bloody proof of filial piety; the outlawed father was able to make good his escape, and the memory of the child is still honored in Japanese drama and poetry. (2) Samurai women, in some province, at least, could go to the public theatre. The men could not,--without committing a breach of good manners. But in samurai homes, or within the grounds of the yashiki, some private performances of a particular character were given. Strolling players were the performers. I know several charming old samurai who have never been to a public theatre in their lives, and refuse all invitations to witness a performance. They still obey the rules of their samurai education. III It soon became evident that the foreign "barbarians" were not to be driven away. Hundreds had come, from the East as well as from the West; and all possible measures for their protection had been taken; and they had built queer cities of their own upon Japanese soil. The government had even commanded that Western knowledge was to be taught in all schools; that the study of English was to be made an important branch of public education; and that public education itself was to be remodeled upon Occidental lines. The government had also declared that the future of the country would depend upon the study and mastery of the languages and the science of the foreigners. During the interval, then, between such study and its successful results, Japan would practically remain under alien domination. The fact was not, indeed, publicly stated in so many words; but the signification of the policy was unmistakable. After the first violent emotions provoked by knowledge of the situation,--after the great dismay of the people, and the suppressed fury of the samurai,--there arose an intense curiosity regarding the appearance and character of those insolent strangers who had been able to obtain what they wanted by mere display of superior force. This general curiosity was partly satisfied by an immense production and distribution of cheap colored prints, picturing the manner and customs of the barbarians, and the extraordinary streets of their settlements. Caricatures only those flaring wood--prints could have seemed to foreign eyes. But caricature was not the conscious object of the artist. He tried to portray foreigners as he really saw them; and he saw them as green-eyed monsters, with red hair like Shojo(1), and with noses like Tengu(2), wearing clothes of absurd forms and colors; and dwelling in structures like storehouses or prisons. Sold by hundreds of thousands throughout the interior, these prints must have created many uncanny ideas. Yet as attempts to depict the unfamiliar they were only innocent. One should be able to study those old drawings in order to comprehend just how we appeared to the Japanese of that era; how ugly, how grotesque, how ridiculous. The young samurai of the town soon had the experience of seeing a real Western foreigner, a teacher hired for them by the prince. He was an Englishman. He came under the protection of an armed escort; and orders were given to treat him as a person of distinction. He did not seem quite so ugly as the foreigners in the Japanese prints: his hair was red, indeed, and his eyes of a strange color; but his face was not disagreeable. He at once became, and long remained, the subject of tireless observation. How closely his every act was watched could never be guessed by any one ignorant of the queer superstitions of the pre-Meiji era concerning ourselves. Although recognized as intelligent and formidable creatures, Occidentals were not generally regarded as quite human; they were thought of as more closely allied to animals than to mankind. They had hairy bodies of queer shape; their teeth were different from those of men; their internal organs were also peculiar; and their moral ideas those of goblins. The timidity which foreigners then inspired, not, indeed, to the samurai, but to the common people, was not a physical, but a superstitious fear. Even the Japanese peasant has never been a coward. But to know his feelings in that time toward foreigners, one must also know something of the ancient beliefs, common to both Japan and China, about animals gifted with supernatural powers, and capable of assuming human form; about the existence of races half-human and half-superhuman; and about the mythical beings of the old picture-books,--goblins long-legged and long-armed and bearded (ashinaga and tenaga), whether depicted by the illustrators of weird stories or comically treated by the brush of Hokusai. Really the aspect of the new strangers seemed to afford confirmation of the fables related by a certain Chinese Herodotus; and the clothing they wore might seem to have been devised for the purpose of hiding what would prove them not human. So the new English teacher, blissfully ignorant of the fact, was studied surreptitiously, just as one might study a curious animal! Nevertheless, from his students he experienced only courtesy: they treated him by that Chinese code which ordains that "even the shadow of a teacher must not be trodden on." In any event it would have mattered little to samurai students whether their teacher were perfectly human or not, so long as he could teach. The hero Yoshitsune had been taught the art of the sword by a Tengu. Beings not human had proved themselves scholars and poets(3). But behind the never-lifted mask of delicate courtesy, the stranger's habits were minutely noted; and the ultimate judgment, based upon the comparison of such observation, was not altogether flattering. The teacher himself could never have imagined the comments made upon him by his two-sworded pupils; nor would it have increased his peace of mind, while overlooking compositions in the class-room, to have understood their conversation:-- "See the color of his flesh, how soft it is! To take off his head with a single blow would be very easy." Once he was induced to try their mode of wrestling, just for fun, he supposed. But they really wanted to take his physical measure. He was not very highly estimated as an athlete. "Strong arms he certainly has," one said. "But he does not know how to use his body while using his arms; and his loins are very weak. To break his back would not be difficult." "I think," said another, "that it would be easy to fight with foreigners." "With swords it would be very easy," responded a third; "but they are more skilful than we in the use of guns and cannon." "We can learn all that," said the first speaker. "When we have learned Western military matters, we need not care for Western soldiers." "Foreigners," observed another, "are not hardy like we are. They soon tire, and they fear cold. All winter our teacher must have a great fire in his room. To stay there five minutes gives me the headache." But for all that, the lads were kind to their teacher, and made him love them. (1) Apish mythological beings with red hair, delighting in drunkenness. (2) Mythological beings of several kinds, supposed to live in the mountains. Some have long noses. (3) There is a legend that when Toryoko, a great poet, who was the teacher of Sugiwara-no-Michizane (now deified as Tenjin), was once passing the Gate called Ra-jo-mon, of the Emperor's palace at Kyoto, he recited aloud this single verse which he had just composed:-- "Clear is the weather and fair;--and the wind waves the hair of young willows." Immediately a deep mocking voice from the gateway continued the poem, thus:-- "Melted and vanished the ice; the waves comb the locks of old mosses." Toryoko looked, but there was no one to be seen. Reaching home, he told his pupil about the matter, and repeated the two compositions. Sugiwara-no-Michizane praised the second one, saying:-- "Truly the words of the first are the words of a poet; but the words of the second are the words of a Demon!" IV Changes came as great earthquakes come, without warning: the transformation of daimyates into prefectures, the suppression of the military class, the reconstruction of the whole social system. These events filled the youth with sadness, although he felt no difficulty in transferring his allegiance from prince to emperor, and although the wealth of his family remained unimpaired by the shock. All this reconstruction told him of the greatness of the national danger, and announced the certain disappearance of the old high ideals, and of nearly all things loved. But he knew regret was vain. By self-transformation alone could the nation hope to save its independence; and the obvious duty of the patriot was to recognize necessity, and fitly prepare himself to play the man in the drama of the future. In the samurai school he had learned much English, and he knew himself able to converse with Englishmen. He cut his long hair, put away his swords, and went to Yokohama that he might continue his study of the language under more favorable conditions. At Yokohama everything at first seemed to him both unfamiliar and repellent. Even the Japanese of the port had been changed by foreign contact: they were rude and rough; they acted and spoke as common people would not have dared to do in his native town. The foreigners themselves impressed him still more disagreeably: it was the period when new settlers could assume the tone of conquerors to the conquered, and when the life of the "open ports" was much less decorous than now. The new buildings of brick or stuccoed timber revived for him unpleasant memories of the Japanese colored pictures of foreign manners and customs; and he could not quickly banish the fancies of his boyhood concerning Occidentals. Reason, based on larger knowledge and experience, fully assured him what they really were; but to his emotional life the intimate sense of their kindred humanity still failed to come. Race-feeling is older than intellectual development; and the superstitions attaching to race-feeling are not easy to get rid of. His soldier-spirit, too, was stirred at times by ugly things heard or seen,--incidents that filled him with the hot impulse of his fathers to avenge a cowardice or to redress a wrong. But he learned to conquer his repulsions as obstacles to knowledge: it was the patriot's duty to study calmly the nature of his country's foes. He trained himself at last to observe the new life about him without prejudice,--its merits not less than its defects; its strength not less than its weakness. He found kindness; he found devotion to ideals,--ideals not his own, but which he knew how to respect because they exacted, like the religion of his ancestors, abnegation of many things. Through such appreciation he learned to like and to trust an aged missionary entirely absorbed in the work of educating and proselytizing. The old man was especially anxious to convert this young samurai, in whom aptitudes of no common order were discernible; and he spared no pains to win the boy's confidence. He aided him in many ways, taught him something of French and German, of Greek and Latin, and placed entirely at his disposal a private library of considerable extent. The use of a foreign library, including works of history, philosophy, travel, and fiction, was not a privilege then easy for Japanese students to obtain. It was gratefully appreciated; and the owner of the library found no difficulty at a later day in persuading his favored and favorite pupil to read a part of the New Testament. The youth expressed surprise at finding among the doctrines of the "Evil Sect" ethical precepts like those of Confucius. To the old missionary he said: "This teaching is not new to us; but it is certainly very good. I shall study the book and think about it." V The study and the thinking were to lead the young man much further than he had thought possible. After the recognition of Christianity as a great religion came recognitions of another order, and various imaginings about the civilization of the races professing Christianity. It then seemed to many reflective Japanese, possibly even to the keen minds directing the national policy, that Japan was doomed to pass altogether under alien rule. There was hope, indeed; and while even the ghost of hope remained, the duty for all was plain. But the power that could be used against the Empire was irresistible. And studying the enormity of that power, the young Oriental could not but ask himself, with a wonder approaching awe, whence and how it had been gained. Could it, as his aged teacher averred, have some occult relation to a higher religion? Certainly the ancient Chinese philosophy, which declared the prosperity of peoples proportionate to their observance of celestial law and their obedience to the teaching of sages, countenanced such a theory. And if the superior force of Western civilization really indicated the superior character of Western ethics, was it not the plain duty of every patriot to follow that higher faith, and to strive for the conversion of the whole nation? A youth of that era, educated in Chinese wisdom, and necessarily ignorant of the history of social evolution in the West, could never have imagined that the very highest forms of material progress were developed chiefly through a merciless competition out of all harmony with Christian idealism, and at variance with every great system of ethics. Even to-day in the West unthinking millions imagine some divine connection between military power and Christian belief, and utterances are made in our pulpits implying divine justification for political robberies, and heavenly inspiration for the invention of high explosives. There still survives among us the superstition that races professing Christianity are divinely destined to rob or exterminate races holding other beliefs. Some men occasionally express their conviction that we still worship Thor and Odin,--the only difference being that Odin has become a mathematician, and that the Hammer Mjolnir is now worked by steam. But such persons are declared by the missionaries to be atheists and men of shameless lives. Be this as it may, a time came when the young samurai resolved to proclaim himself a Christian, despite the opposition of his kindred. It was a bold step; but his early training had given him firmness; and he was not to be moved from his decision even by the sorrow of his parents. His rejection of the ancestral faith would signify more than temporary pain for him: it would mean disinheritance, the contempt of old comrades, loss of rank, and all the consequences of bitter poverty. But his samurai training had taught him to despise self. He saw what he believed to be his duty as a patriot and as a truthseeker, and he followed it without fear or regret. VI Those who hope to substitute their own Western creed in the room of one which they wreck by the aid of knowledge borrowed from modern science, do not imagine that the arguments used against the ancient faith can be used with equal force against the new. Unable himself to reach the higher levels of modern thought, the average missionary cannot foresee the result of his small teaching of science upon an Oriental mind naturally more powerful than his own. He is therefore astonished and shocked to discover that the more intelligent his pupil, the briefer the term of that pupil's Christianity. To destroy personal faith in a fine mind previously satisfied with Buddhist cosmogony, because innocent of science, is not extremely difficult. But to substitute, in the same mind, Western religious emotions for Oriental, Presbyterian or Baptist dogmatisms for Chinese and Buddhist ethics, is not possible. The psychological difficulties in the way are never recognized by our modern evangelists. In former ages, when the faith of the Jesuits and the friars was not less superstitious than the faith they strove to supplant, the same deep-lying obstacles existed; and the Spanish priest, even while accomplishing marvels by his immense sincerity and fiery zeal, must have felt that to fully realize his dream he would need the sword of the Spanish soldier. To-day the conditions are far less favorable for any work of conversion than they ever were in the sixteenth century. Education has been secularized and remodeled upon a scientific basis; our religions are being changed into mere social recognitions of ethical necessities; the functions of our clergy are being gradually transformed into those of a moral police; and the multitude of our church-spires proves no increase of our faith, but only the larger growth of our respect for conventions. Never can the conventions of the Occident become those of the Far East; and never will foreign missionaries be suffered in Japan to take the role of a police of morals. Already the most liberal of our churches, those of broadest culture, begin to recognize the vanity of missions. But it is not necessary to drop old dogmatisms in order to perceive the truth: thorough education should be enough to reveal it; and the most educated of nations, Germany, sends no missionaries to work in the interior of Japan. A result of missionary efforts, much more significant than the indispensable yearly report of new conversions, has been the reorganization of the native religions, and a recent government mandate insisting upon the higher education of the native priest-hoods. Indeed, long before this mandate the wealthier sects had established Buddhist schools on the Western plan; and the Shinshu could already boast of its scholars, educated in Paris or at Oxford,--men whose names are known to Sanscritists the world over. Certainly Japan will need higher forms of faith than her mediaeval ones; but these must be themselves evolved from the ancient forms,--from within, never from without. A Buddhism strongly fortified by Western science will meet the future needs of the race. The young convert at Yokohama proved a noteworthy example of missionary failures. Within a few years after having sacrificed a fortune in order to become a Christian,--or rather the member of a foreign religious sect,--he publicly renounced the creed accepted at such a cost. He had studied and comprehended the great minds of the age better than his religious teachers, who could no longer respond to the questions he propounded, except by the assurance that books of which they had recommended him to study parts were dangerous to faith as wholes. But as they could not prove the fallacies alleged to exist in such books, their warnings availed nothing. He had been converted to dogmatism by imperfect reasoning; by larger and deeper reasoning he found his way beyond dogmatism. He passed from the church after an open declaration that its tenets were not based upon true reason or fact; and that he felt himself obliged to accept the opinions of men whom his teachers had called the enemies of Christianity. There was great scandal at his "relapse." The real "relapse" was yet far away. Unlike many with a similar experience, he knew that the religious question had only receded for him, and that all he had learned was scarcely more than the alphabet of what remained to learn. He had not lost belief in the relative value of creeds,--in the worth of religion as a conserving and restraining force. A distorted perception of one truth--the truth of a relation subsisting between civilizations and their religions--had first deluded him into the path that led to his conversion. Chinese philosophy had taught him that which modern sociology recognizes in the law that societies without priesthoods have never developed; and Buddhism had taught him that even delusions--the parables, forms, and symbols presented as actualities to humble minds--have their value and their justification in aiding the development of human goodness. From such a point of view, Christianity had lost none of its interest for him; and though doubting what his teacher had told him about the superior morality of Christian nations, not at all illustrated in the life of the open ports, he desired to see for himself the influence of religion upon morals in the Occident; to visit European countries and to study the causes of their development and the reason of their power. This he set out to do sooner than he had purposed. That intellectual quickening which had made him a doubter in religious matters had made him also a freethinker in politics. He brought down upon himself the wrath of the government by public expressions of opinion antagonistic to the policy of the hour; and, like others equally imprudent under the stimulus of new ideas, he was obliged to leave the country. Thus began for him a series of wanderings destined to carry him round the world. Korea first afforded him a refuge; then China, where he lived as a teacher; and at last he found himself on board a steamer bound for Marseilles. He had little money; but he did not ask himself how he was going to live in Europe. Young, tall, athletic, frugal and inured to hardship, he felt sure of himself; and he had letters to men abroad who could smooth his way. But long years were to pass before he could see his native land again. VII During those years he saw Western civilization as few Japanese ever saw it; for he wandered through Europe and America, living in many cities, and toiling in many capacities,--sometimes with his brain, oftener with his hands,--and so was able to study the highest and the lowest, the best and the worst of the life about him. But he saw with the eyes of the Far East; and the ways of his judgments were not as our ways. For even as the Occident regards the Far East, so does the Far East regard the Occident, --only with this difference: that what each most esteems in itself is least likely to be esteemed by the other. And both are partly right and partly wrong; and there never has been, and never can be, perfect mutual comprehension. Larger than all anticipation the West appeared to him,--a world of giants; and that which depresses even the boldest Occidental who finds himself, without means or friends, alone in a great city, must often have depressed the Oriental exile: that vague uneasiness aroused by the sense of being invisible to hurrying millions; by the ceaseless roar of traffic drowning voices; by monstrosities of architecture without a soul; by the dynamic display of wealth forcing mind and hand, as mere cheap machinery, to the uttermost limits of the possible. Perhaps he saw such cities as Dore saw London: sullen majesty of arched glooms and granite deeps opening into granite deeps beyond range of vision, and mountains of masonry with seas of labor in turmoil at their base, and monumental spaces displaying the grimness of ordered power slow-gathering through centuries. Of beauty there was nothing to make appeal to him between those endless cliffs of stone which walled out the sunrise and the sunset, the sky and the wind. All that which draws us to great cities repelled or oppressed him; even luminous Paris soon filled him with weariness. It was the first foreign city in which he made a long sojourn. French art, as reflecting the aesthetic thought of the most gifted of European races, surprised him much, but charmed him not at all. What surprised him especially were its studies of the nude, in which he recognized only an open confession of the one human weakness which, next to disloyalty or cowardice, his stoical training had taught him to most despise. Modern French literature gave him other reasons for astonishment. He could little comprehend the amazing art of the story-teller; the worth of the workmanship in itself was not visible to him; and if he could have been made to understand it as a European understands, he would have remained none the less convinced that such application of genius to production signified social depravity. And gradually, in the luxurious life of the capital itself, he found proof for the belief suggested to him by the art and the literature of the period. He visited the pleasure-resorts, the theatres, the opera; he saw with the eyes of an ascetic and a soldier, and wondered why the Western conception of the worth of life differed so little from the Far-Eastern conception of folly and of effeminacy. He saw fashionable balls, and exposures de rigueur intolerable to the Far-Eastern sense of modesty, --artistically calculated to suggest what would cause a Japanese woman to die of shame; and he wondered at criticisms he had heard about the natural, modest, healthy half-nudity of Japanese toiling under a summer sun. He saw cathedrals and churches in vast number, and near to them the palaces of vice, and establishments enriched by the stealthy sale of artistic obscenities. He listened to sermons by great preachers; and he heard blasphemies against all faith and love by priest--haters. He saw the circles of wealth, and the circles of poverty, and the abysses underlying both. The "restraining influence" of religion he did not see. That world had no faith. It was a world of mockery and masquerade and pleasure-seeking selfishness, ruled not by religion, but by police; a world into which it were not good that a man should be born. England, more sombre, more imposing, more formidable furnished him with other problems to consider. He studied her wealth, forever growing, and the nightmares of squalor forever multiplying in the shadow of it. He saw the vast ports gorged with the riches of a hundred lands, mostly plunder; and knew the English still like their forefathers, a race of prey; and thought of the fate of her millions if she should find herself for even a single month unable to compel other races to feed them. He saw the harlotry and drunkenness that make night hideous in the world's greatest city; and he marveled at the conventional hypocrisy that pretends not to see, and at the religion that utters thanks for existing conditions, and at the ignorance that sends missionaries where they are not needed, and at the enormous charities that help disease and vice to propagate their kind. He saw also the declaration of a great Englishman(1) who had traveled in many countries that one tenth of the population of England were professional criminals or paupers. And this in spite of the myriads of churches, and the incomparable multiplication of laws! Certainly English civilization showed less than any other the pretended power of that religion which he had been taught to believe the inspiration of progress. English streets told him another story: there were no such sights to be seen in the streets of Buddhist cities. No: this civilization signified a perpetual wicked struggle between the simple and the cunning, the feeble and the strong; force and craft combining to thrust weakness into a yawning and visible hell. Never in Japan had there been even the sick dream of such conditions. Yet the merely material and intellectual results of those conditions he could not but confess to be astonishing; and though he saw evil beyond all he could have imagined possible, he also saw much good, among both poor and rich. The stupendous riddle of it all, the countless contradictions, were above his powers of interpretation. He liked the English people better than the people of other countries he had visited; and the manners of the English gentry impressed him as not unlike those of the Japanese samurai. Behind their formal coldness he could discern immense capacities of friendship and enduring kindness,--kindness he experienced more than once; the depth of emotional power rarely wasted; and the high courage that had won the dominion of half a world. But ere he left England for America, to study a still vaster field of human achievement, mere differences of nationality had ceased to interest him: they were blurred out of visibility in his growing perception of Occidental civilization as one amazing whole, everywhere displaying--whether through imperial, monarchical, or democratic forms--the working of the like merciless necessities with the like astounding results, and everywhere based on ideas totally the reverse of Far-Eastern ideas. Such civilization he could estimate only as one having no single emotion in harmony with it,--as one finding nothing to love while dwelling in its midst, and nothing to regret in the hour of leaving it forever. It was as far away from his soul as the life of another planet under another sun. But he could understand its cost in terms of human pain, feel the menace of its weight, and divine the prodigious range of its intellectual power. And he hated it,--hated its tremendous and perfectly calculated mechanism; hated its utilitarian stability; hated its conventions, its greed, its blind cruelty, its huge hypocrisy, the foulness of its want and the insolence of its wealth. Morally, it was monstrous; conventionally, it was brutal. Depths of degradation unfathomable it had shown him, but no ideals equal to the ideals of his youth. It was all one great wolfish struggle;--and that so much real goodness as he had found in it could exist, seemed to him scarcely less than miraculous. The real sublimities of the Occident were intellectual only; far steep cold heights of pure knowledge, below whose perpetual snow-line emotional ideals die. Surely the old Japanese civilization of benevolence and duty was incomparably better in its comprehension of happiness, in its moral ambitions, its larger faith, its joyous courage, its simplicity and unselfishness, its sobriety and contentment. Western superiority was not ethical. It lay in forces of intellect developed through suffering incalculable, and used for the destruction of the weak by the strong. And, nevertheless, that Western science whose logic he knew to be irrefutable assured him of the larger and larger expansion of the power of that civilization, as of an irresistible, inevitable, measureless inundation of world-pain. Japan would have to learn the new forms of action, to master the new forms of thought, or to perish utterly. There was no other alternative. And then the doubt of all doubts came to him, the question which all the sages have had to face: _Is the universe moral?_ To that question Buddhism had given the deepest answer. But whether moral or immoral the cosmic process, as measured by infinitesimal human emotion, one conviction remained with him that no logic could impair: the certainty that man should pursue the highest moral ideal with all his power to the unknown end, even though the suns in their courses should fight against him. The necessities of Japan would oblige her to master foreign science, to adopt much from the material civilization of her enemies; but the same necessities could not compel her to cast bodily away her ideas of right and wrong, of duty and of honor. Slowly a purpose shaped itself in his mind,--a purpose which was to make him in after years a leader and a teacher: to strive with all his strength for the conservation of all that was best in the ancient life, and to fearlessly oppose further introduction of anything not essential to national self-preservation, or helpful to national, self-development. Fail he well might, and without shame; but he could hope at least to save something of worth from the drift of wreckage. The wastefulness of Western life had impressed him more than its greed of pleasure and its capacity for pain: in the clean poverty of his own land he saw strength; in her unselfish thrift, the sole chance of competing with the Occident. Foreign civilization had taught him to understand, as he could never otherwise have understood, the worth and the beauty of his own; and he longed for the hour of permission to return to the country of his birth. (1)"Although we have progressed vastly beyond the savage state in intellectual achievements, we have not advanced equally in morals.... It is not too much to say that the mass of our populations have not at all advanced beyond the savage code of morals, and have in many cases sunk below it. A deficient morality is the great blot of modern civilization.... Our whole social and moral civilization remains in a state of barbarism.... We are the richest country in the world; and yet nearly one twentieth of our population are parish paupers, and one thirtieth known criminals. Add to these the criminals who escape detection, and the poor who live mainly or partly on private charity (which, according to Dr. Hawkesley, expends seven millions sterling annually in London alone), and we may be sure that more than ONE TENTH of our population are actually Paupers and Criminals." --ALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE VIII It was through the transparent darkness of a cloudless April morning, a little before sunrise, that he saw again the mountains of his native land,--far lofty sharpening sierras, towering violet-black out of the circle of an inky sea. Behind the steamer which was bearing him back from exile the horizon was slowly filling with rosy flame. There were some foreigners already on deck, eager to obtain the first and fairest view of Fuji from the Pacific;--for the first sight of Fuji at dawn is not to be forgotten in this life or the next. They watched the long procession of the ranges, and looked over the jagged looming into the deep night, where stars were faintly burning still,--and they could not see Fuji. "Ah!" laughed an officer they questioned, "you are looking too low! higher up--much higher!" Then they looked up, up, up into the heart of the sky, and saw the mighty summit pinkening like a wondrous phantom lotos-bud in the flush of the coming day: a spectacle that smote them dumb. Swiftly the eternal snow yellowed into gold, then whitened as the sun reached out beams to it over the curve of the world, over the shadowy ranges, over the very stars, it seemed; for the giant base remained viewless. And the night fled utterly; and soft blue light bathed all the hollow heaven; and colors awoke from sleep; --and before the gazers there opened the luminous bay of Yokohama, with the sacred peak, its base ever invisible, hanging above all like a snowy ghost in the arch of the infinite day. Still in the wanderer's ears the words rang, "_Ah! you are looking too low!--higher up--much higher!_"--making vague rhythm with an immense, irresistible emotion swelling at his heart. Then everything dimmed: he saw neither Fuji above, nor the nearing hills below, changing their vapory blue to green, nor the crowding of the ships in the bay; nor anything of the modern Japan; he saw the Old. The land-wind, delicately scented with odors of spring, rushed to him, touched his blood, and startled from long-closed cells of memory the shades of all that he had once abandoned and striven to forget. He saw the faces of his dead: he knew their voices over the graves of the years. Again he was a very little boy in his father's yashiki, wandering from luminous room to room, playing in sunned spaces where leaf-shadows trembled on the matting, or gazing into the soft green dreamy peace of the landscape garden. Once more he felt the light touch of his mother's hand guiding his little steps to the place of morning worship, before the household shrine, before the tablets of the ancestors; and the lips of the man murmured again, with sudden new-found meaning, the simple prayer of the child. XI IN THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS "Do you know anything about josses?" "Josses?" "Yes; idols, Japanese idols,--josses." "Something," I answered, "but not very much." "Well, come, and look at my collection, won't you? I've been collecting josses for twenty years, and I've got some worth seeing. They're not for sale, though,--except to the British Museum." I followed the curio dealer through the bric-a-brac of his shop, and across a paved yard into an unusually large go-down(1). Like all go-downs it was dark: I could barely discern a stairway sloping up through gloom. He paused at the foot. "You'll be able to see better in a moment," he said. "I had this place built expressly for them; but now it is scarcely big enough. They're all in the second story. Go right up; only be careful,--the steps are bad." I climbed, and reached a sort of gloaming, under a very high roof, and found myself face to face with the gods. In the dusk of the great go-down the spectacle was more than weird: it was apparitional. Arhats and Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, and the shapes of a mythology older than they, filled all the shadowy space; not ranked by hierarchies, as in a temple, but mingled without order, as in a silent panic. Out of the wilderness of multiple heads and broken aureoles and hands uplifted in menace or in prayer,--a shimmering confusion of dusty gold half lighted by cobwebbed air-holes in the heavy walls,--I could at first discern little; then, as the dimness cleared, I began to distinguish personalities. I saw Kwannon, of many forms; Jizo, of many names; Shaka, Yakushi, Amida, the Buddhas and their disciples. They were very old; and their art was not all of Japan, nor of any one place or time: there were shapes from Korea, China, India,--treasures brought over sea in the rich days of the early Buddhist missions. Some were seated upon lotos-flowers, the lotos-flowers of the Apparitional Birth. Some rode leopards, tigers, lions, or monsters mystical,--typifying lightning, typifying death. One, triple-headed and many-handed, sinister and splendid, seemed moving through the gloom on a throne of gold, uplifted by a phalanx of elephants. Fudo I saw, shrouded and shrined in fire, and Maya-Fujin, riding her celestial peacock; and strangely mingling with these Buddhist visions, as in the anachronism of a Limbo, armored effigies of Daimyo and images of the Chinese sages. There were huge forms of wrath, grasping thunderbolts, and rising to the roof: the Deva-kings, like impersonations of hurricane power; the Ni-O, guardians of long-vanished temple gates. Also there were forms voluptuously feminine: the light grace of the limbs folded within their lotos-cups, the suppleness of the fingers numbering the numbers of the Good Law, were ideals possibly inspired in some forgotten tune by the charm of an Indian dancing-girl. Shelved against the naked brickwork above, I could perceive multitudes of lesser shapes: demon figures with eyes that burned through the dark like the eyes of a black cat, and figures half man, half bird, winged and beaked like eagles,--the _Tengu_ of Japanese fancy. "Well?" queried the curio dealer, with a chuckle of satisfaction at my evident surprise. "It is a very great collection," I responded. He clapped his hand on my shoulder, and exclaimed triumphantly in my ear, "Cost me fifty thousand dollars." But the images themselves told me how much more was their cost to forgotten piety, notwithstanding the cheapness of artistic labor in the East. Also they told me of the dead millions whose pilgrim feet had worn hollow the steps leading to their shrines, of the buried mothers who used to suspend little baby-dresses before their altars, of the generations of children taught to murmur prayers to them, of the countless sorrows and hopes confided to them. Ghosts of the worship of centuries had followed them into exile; a thin, sweet odor of incense haunted the dusty place. "What would you call that?" asked the voice of the curio dealer. "I've been told it's the best of the lot." He pointed to a figure resting upon a triple golden lotos,--Avalokitesvara: she "_who looketh down above the sound of prayer."... Storms and hate give way to her name. Fire is quenched by her name. Demons vanish at the sound of her name. By her name one may stand firm in the sky, like a sun...._ The delicacy of the limbs, the tenderness of the smile, were dreams of the Indian paradise. "It is a Kwannon," I made reply, "and very beautiful." "Somebody will have to pay me a very beautiful price for it," he said, with a shrewd wink. "It cost me enough! As a rule, though, I get these things pretty cheap. There are few people who care to buy them, and they have to be sold privately, you know: that gives me an advantage. See that Jizo in the corner,--the big black fellow? What is it?" "Emmei-Jizo," I answered,--"Jizo, the giver of long life. It must be very old." "Well," he said, again taking me by the shoulder, "the man from whom I got that piece was put in prison for selling it to me." Then he burst into a hearty laugh,--whether at the recollection of his own cleverness in the transaction, or at the unfortunate simplicity of the person who had sold the statue contrary to law, I could not decide. "Afterwards," he resumed, "they wanted to get it back again, and offered me more, than I had given for it. But I held on. I don't know everything about josses, but I do know what they are worth. There isn't another idol like that in the whole country. The British Museum will be glad to get it." "When do you intend to offer the collection to the British Museum?" I presumed to ask. "Well, I first want to get up a show," he replied. "There's money to be made by a show of josses in London. London people never saw anything like this in their lives. Then the church folks help that sort of a show, if you manage them properly: it advertises the missions. 'Heathen idols from Japan!'... How do you like the baby?" I was looking at a small gold-colored image of a naked child, standing, one tiny hand pointing upward, and the other downward, --representing the Buddha newly born. _Sparkling with light he came from the womb, as when the Sun first rises in the east.... Upright he took deliberately seven steps; and the prints of his feet upon the ground remained burning as seven stars. And he spake with clearest utterance, saying, "This birth is a Buddha birth. Re-birth is not for me. Only this last time am I born for the salvation of all on earth and in heaven._" "That is what they call a Tanjo-Shaka," I said. "It looks like bronze." "Bronze it is," he responded, tapping it with his knuckles to make the metal ring. "The bronze alone is worth more than the price I paid." I looked at the four Devas whose heads almost touched the roof, and thought of the story of their apparition told in the Mahavagga. _On a beautiful night the Four Great Kings entered the holy grove, filling all the place with light; and having respectfully saluted the Blessed One, they stood in the four directions, like four great firebrands_. "How did you ever manage to get those big figures upstairs?" I asked. "Oh, hauled them up! We've got a hatchway. The real trouble was getting them here by train. It was the first railroad trip they ever made.... But look at these here: they will make the sensation of the show!" I looked, and saw two small wooden images, about three feet high. "Why do you think they will make a sensation?" I inquired innocently. "Don't you see what they are? They date from the time of the persecutions. _Japanese devils trampling on the Cross!_" They were small temple guardians only; but their feet rested upon X-shaped supports. "Did any person tell you these were devils trampling on the cross?" I made bold to ask. "What else are they doing?" he answered evasively. "Look at the crosses under their feet!" "But they are not devils," I insisted; "and those cross-pieces were put under their feet simply to give equilibrium." He said nothing, but looked disappointed; and I felt a little sorry for him. _Devils trampling on the Cross_, as a display line in some London poster announcing the arrival of "josses from Japan," might certainly have been relied on to catch the public eye. "This is more wonderful," I said, pointing to a beautiful group, --Maya with the infant Buddha issuing from her side, according to tradition. _Painlessly the Bodhisattva was born from her right side. It was the eighth day of the fourth moon_. "That's bronze, too," he remarked, tapping it. "Bronze josses are getting rare. We used to buy them up and sell them for old metal. Wish I'd kept some of them! You ought to have seen the bronzes, in those days, coming in from the temples,--bells and vases and josses! That was the time we tried to buy the Daibutsu at Kamakura." "For old bronze?" I queried. "Yes. We calculated the weight of the metal, and formed a syndicate. Our first offer was thirty thousand. We could have made a big profit, for there's a good deal of gold and silver in that work. The priests wanted to sell, but the people wouldn't let them." "It's one of the world's wonders," I said. "Would you really have broken it up?" "Certainly. Why not? What else could you do with it?... That one there looks just like a Virgin Mary, doesn't it?" He pointed to the gilded image of a female clasping a child to her breast. "Yes," I replied; "but it is Kishibojin, the goddess who loves little children." "People talk about idolatry," he went on musingly. "I've seen things like many of these in Roman Catholic chapels. Seems to me religion is pretty much the same the world over." "I think you are right," I said. "Why, the story of Buddha is like the story of Christ, isn't it?" "To some degree," I assented. "Only, he wasn't crucified." I did not answer; thinking of the text, _In all the world there is not one spot even so large as a mustard-seed where he has not surrendered his body for the sake of creatures_. Then it suddenly seemed to me that this was absolutely true. For the Buddha of the deeper Buddhism is not Gautama, nor yet any one Tathagata, but simply the divine in man. Chrysalides of the infinite we all are: each contains a ghostly Buddha, and the millions are but one. All humanity is potentially the Buddha-to-come, dreaming through the ages in Illusion; and the teacher's smile will make beautiful the world again when selfishness shall die. Every noble sacrifice brings nearer the hour of his awakening; and who may justly doubt--remembering the myriads of the centuries of man--that even now there does not remain one place on earth where life has not been freely given for love or duty? I felt the curio dealer's hand on my shoulder again. "At all events," he cried in a cheery tone, "they'll be appreciated in the British Museum--eh?" "I hope so. They ought to be." Then I fancied them immured somewhere in that vast necropolis of dead gods, under the gloom of a pea-soup-fog, chambered with forgotten divinities of Egypt or Babylon, and trembling faintly at the roar of London,--all to what end? Perhaps to aid another Alma Tadema to paint the beauty of another vanished civilization; perhaps to assist the illustration of an English Dictionary of Buddhism; perhaps to inspire some future laureate with a metaphor startling as Tennyson's figure of the "oiled and curled Assyrian bull." Assuredly they would not be preserved in vain. The thinkers of a less conventional and selfish era would teach new reverence for them. Each eidolon shaped by human faith remains the shell of a truth eternally divine, and even the shell itself may hold a ghostly power. The soft serenity, the passionless tenderness, of these Buddha faces might yet give peace of soul to a West weary of creeds transformed into conventions, eager for the coming of another teacher to proclaim, "_I have the same feeling for the high as for the low, for the moral as for the immoral, for the depraved as for the virtuous, for those holding sectarian views and false opinions as for those whose beliefs are good and true_." (1) A name given to fireproof storehouses in the open ports of the Far East. The word is derived from the Malay gadong. XII THE IDEA OF PRE-EXISTENCE "If A Bikkhu should desire, O brethren, to call to mind his various temporary states in days gone by--such as one birth, two births, three, four, five, ten, twenty, thirty, fifty, one hundred, or one thousand, or one hundred thousand births,--in all their modes and all their details, let him be devoted to quietude of heart,--let him look through things, let him be much alone." --Akankheyya Sutta. I Were I to ask any reflecting Occidental, who had passed some years in the real living atmosphere of Buddhism, what fundamental idea especially differentiates Oriental modes of thinking from our own, I am sure he would answer: "The Idea of Pre-existence." It is this idea, more than any other, which permeates the whole mental being of the Far East. It is universal as the wash of air: it colors every emotion; it influences, directly or indirectly, almost every act. Its symbols are perpetually visible, even in details of artistic decoration; and hourly by day or night, some echoes of its language float uninvited to the ear. The utterances of the people,--their household sayings, their proverbs, their pious or profane exclamations, their confessions of sorrow, hope, joy, or despair,--are all informed with it. It qualifies equally the expression of hate or the speech of affection; and the term _ingwa_, or _innen_,--meaning karma as inevitable retribution, --comes naturally to every lip as an interpretation, as a consolation, or as a reproach. The peasant toiling up some steep road, and feeling the weight of his handcart straining every muscle, murmurs patiently: "Since this is ingwa, it must be suffered." Servants disputing, ask each other, "By reason of what ingwa must I now dwell with such a one as you?" The incapable or vicious man is reproached with his ingwa; and the misfortunes of the wise or the virtuous are explained by the same Buddhist word. The law-breaker confesses his crime, saying: "That which I did I knew to be wicked when doing; but my ingwa was stronger than my heart." Separated lovers seek death under the belief that their union in this life is banned by the results of their sins in a former one; and, the victim of an injustice tries to allay his natural anger by the self-assurance that he is expiating some forgotten fault which had to, be expiated in the eternal order of things.... So likewise even the commonest references to a spiritual future imply the general creed of a spiritual past. The mother warns her little ones at play about the effect of wrong-doing upon their future births, as the children of other parents. The pilgrim or the street-beggar accepts your alms with the prayer that your next birth may be fortunate. The aged _inkyo_, whose sight and hearing begin to fail, talks cheerily of the impending change that is to provide him with a fresh young body. And the expressions _Yakusoku_, signifying the Buddhist idea of necessity; _mae no yo_, the last life; _akirame_, resignation, recur as frequently in Japanese common parlance as do the words "right" and "wrong" in English popular speech. After long dwelling in this psychological medium, you find that it has penetrated your own thought, and has effected therein various changes. All concepts of life implied by the idea of preexistence,--all those beliefs which, however sympathetically studied, must at first have seemed more than strange to you,-- finally lose that curious or fantastic character with which novelty once invested them, and present themselves under a perfectly normal aspect. They explain so many things so well as even to look rational; and quite rational some assuredly are when measured by the scientific thought of the nineteenth century. But to judge them fairly, it is first necessary to sweep the mind clear of all Western ideas of metempsychosis. For there is no resemblance between the old Occidental conceptions of soul--the Pythagorean or the Platonic, for example--and the Buddhist conception; and it is precisely because of this unlikeness that the Japanese beliefs prove themselves reasonable. The profound difference between old-fashioned Western thought and Eastern thought in this regard is, that for the Buddhist the conventional soul--the single, tenuous, tremulous, transparent inner man, or ghost--does not exist. The Oriental Ego is not individual. Nor is it* even a definitely numbered multiple like the Gnostic soul. It is an aggregate or composite of inconceivable complexity,--the concentrated sum of the creative thinking of previous lives beyond all reckoning. II The interpretative power of Buddhism, and the singular accord of its theories with the facts of modern science, appear especially in that domain of psychology whereof Herbert Spencer has been the greatest of all explorers. No small part of our psychological life is composed of feelings which Western theology never could explain. Such are those which cause the still speechless infant to cry at the sight of certain faces, or to smile at the sight of others. Such are those instantaneous likes or dislikes experienced on meeting strangers, those repulsions or attractions called "first impressions," which intelligent children are prone to announce with alarming frankness, despite all assurance that "people must not be judged by appearances": a doctrine no child in his heart believes. To call these feelings instinctive or intuitive, in the theological meaning of instinct or intuition, explains nothing at all--merely cuts off inquiry into the mystery of life, just like the special creation hypothesis. The idea that a personal impulse or emotion might be more than individual, except through demoniacal possession, still seems to old-fashioned orthodoxy a monstrous heresy. Yet it is now certain that most of our deeper feelings are superindividual,--both those which we classify as passional, and those which we call sublime. The individuality of the amatory passion is absolutely denied by science; and what is true of love at first sight is also true of hate: both are superindividual. So likewise are those vague impulses to wander which come and go with spring, and those vague depressions experienced in autumn,--survivals, perhaps, from an epoch in which human migration followed the course of the seasons, or even from an era preceding the apparition of man. Superindividual also those emotions felt by one who, after having passed the greater part of a life on plain or prairies, first looks upon a range of snow-capped peaks; or the sensations of some dweller in the interior of a continent when he first beholds the ocean, and hears its eternal thunder. The delight, always toned with awe, which the sight of a stupendous landscape evokes; Or that speechless admiration, mingled with melancholy inexpressible, which the splendor of a tropical sunset creates,--never can be interpreted by individual experience. Psychological analysis has indeed shown these emotions to be prodigiously complex, and interwoven with personal experiences of many kinds; but in either case the deeper wave of feeling is never individual: it is a surging up from that ancestral sea of life out of which we came. To the same psychological category possibly belongs likewise a peculiar feeling which troubled men's minds long before the time of Cicero, and troubles them even more betimes in our own generation,--the feeling of having already seen a place really visited for the first time. Some strange air of familiarity about the streets of a foreign town, or the forms of a foreign landscape, comes to the mind with a sort of soft weird shock, and leaves one vainly ransacking memory for interpretations. Occasionally, beyond question, similar sensations are actually produced by the revival or recombination of former relations in consciousness; but there would seem to be many which remain wholly mysterious when we attempt to explain them by individual experience. Even in the most common of our sensations there are enigmas never to be solved by those holding the absurd doctrine that all feeling and cognition belong to individual experience, and that the mind of the child newly-born is a _tabula rasa_. The pleasure excited by the perfume of a flower, by certain shades of color, by certain tones of music; the involuntary loathing or fear aroused by the first sight of dangerous or venomous life; even the nameless terror of dreams,--are all inexplicable upon the old-fashioned soul-hypothesis. How deeply-reaching into the life of the race some of these sensations are, such as the pleasure in odors and in colors, Grant Allen has most effectively suggested in his "Physiological Aesthetics," and in his charming treatise on the Color-Sense. But long before these were written, his teacher, the greatest of all psychologists, had clearly proven that the experience-hypothesis was utterly inadequate to account for many classes of psychological phenomena. "If possible," observes Herbert Spencer, "it is even more at fault in respect to the emotions than to the cognitions. The doctrine that all the desires, all the sentiments, are generated by the experiences of the individual, is so glaringly at variance with facts that I cannot but wonder how any one should ever have ventured to entertain it." It was Mr. Spencer, also, who showed us that words like "instinct," "intuition," have no true signification in the old sense; they must hereafter be used in a very different one. Instinct, in the language of modern psychology, means "organized memory," and memory itself is "incipient instinct,"--the sum of impressions to be inherited by the next succeeding individual in the chain of life. Thus science recognizes inherited memory: not in the ghostly signification of a remembering of the details of former lives, but as a minute addition to psychological life accompanied by minute changes in the structure of the inherited nervous system. "The human brain is an organized register of infinitely numerous experiences received during the evolution of life, or rather, during the evolution of that series of organisms through which the human organism has been reached. The effects of the most uniform and frequent of these experiences have been successively bequeathed, principal and interest; and have slowly amounted to that high intelligence which lies latent in the brain of the infant--which the infant in after-life exercises and perhaps strengthens or further complicates--and which, with minute additions, it bequeaths to future generations(1)." Thus we have solid physiological ground for the idea of pre-existence and the idea of a multiple Ego. It is incontrovertible that in every individual brain is looked up the inherited memory of the absolutely inconceivable multitude of experiences received by all the brains of which it is the descendant. But this scientific assurance of self in the past is uttered in no materialistic sense. Science is the destroyer of materialism: it has proven matter incomprehensible; and it confesses the mystery of mind insoluble, even while obliged to postulate an ultimate unit of sensation. Out of the units of simple sensation, older than we by millions of years, have undoubtedly been built up all the emotions and faculties of man. Here Science, in accord with Buddhism, avows the Ego composite, and, like Buddhism, explains the psychical riddles of the present by the psychical experiences of the past. (1) Principles of Psychology: "The Feelings." III To many persons it must seem that the idea of Soul as an infinite multiple would render impossible any idea of religion in the Western sense; and those unable to rid themselves of old theological conceptions doubtless imagine that even in Buddhist countries, and despite the evidence of Buddhist texts, the faith of the common people is really based upon the idea of the soul as a single entity. But Japan furnishes remarkable proof to the contrary. The uneducated common people, the poorest country-folk who have never studied Buddhist metaphysics, believe the self composite. What is even more remarkable is that in the primitive faith, Shinto, a kindred doctrine exists; and various forms of the belief seem to characterize the thought of the Chinese and of the Koreans. All these peoples of the Far East seem to consider the soul compound; whether in the Buddhist sense, or in the primitive sense represented by Shinto (a sort of ghostly multiplying by fission), or in the fantastic sense elaborated by Chinese astrology. In Japan I have fully satisfied myself that the belief is universal. It is not necessary to quote here from the Buddhist texts, because the common or popular beliefs, and not the philosophy of a creed, can alone furnish evidence that religious fervor is compatible and consistent with the notion of a composite soul. Certainly the Japanese peasant does not think the psychical Self nearly so complex a thing as Buddhist philosophy considers it, or as Western science proves it to be. _But he thinks of himself as multiple_. The struggle within him between impulses good and evil he explains as a conflict between the various ghostly wills that make up his Ego; and his spiritual hope is to disengage his better self or selves from his worse selves,--Nirvana, or the supreme bliss, being attainable only through the survival of the best within him. Thus his religion appears to be founded upon a natural perception of psychical evolution not nearly so remote from scientific thought as are those conventional notions of soul held by our common people at home. Of course his ideas on these abstract subjects are vague and unsystematized; but their general character and tendencies are unmistakable; and there can be no question whatever as to the earnestness of his faith, or as to the influence of that faith upon his ethical life. Wherever belief survives among the educated classes, the same ideas obtain definition and synthesis. I may cite, in example, two selections from compositions, written by students aged respectively twenty-three and twenty-six. I might as easily cite a score; but the following will sufficiently indicate what I mean:-- "Nothing is more foolish than to declare the immortality of the soul. The soul is a compound; and though its elements be eternal, we know they can never twice combine in exactly the same way. All compound things must change their character and their conditions." "Human life is composite. A combination of energies make the soul. When a man dies his soul may either remain unchanged, or be changed according to that which it combines with. Some philosophers say the soul is immortal; some, that it is mortal. They are both right. The soul is mortal or immortal according to the change of the combinations composing it. The elementary energies from which the soul is formed are, indeed, eternal; but the nature of the soul is determined by the character of the combinations into which those energies enter." Now the ideas expressed in these compositions will appear to the Western reader, at first view, unmistakably atheistic. Yet they are really compatible with the sincerest and deepest faith. It is the use of the English word "soul," not understood at all as we understand it, which creates the false impression. "Soul," in the sense used by the young writers, means an almost infinite combination of both good and evil tendencies,--a compound doomed to disintegration not only by the very fact of its being a compound, but also by the eternal law of spiritual progress. IV That the idea, which has been for thousands of years so vast a factor in Oriental thought-life, should have failed to develop itself in the West till within, our own day, is sufficiently explained by Western theology. Still, it would not be correct to say that theology succeeded in rendering the notion of pre-existence absolutely repellent to Occidental minds. Though Christian doctrine, holding each soul specially created out of nothing to fit each new body, permitted no avowed beliefs in pre-existence, popular common-sense recognized a contradiction of dogma in the phenomena of heredity. In the same way, while theology decided animals to be mere automata, moved by a sort of incomprehensible machinery called instinct, the people generally recognized that animals had reasoning powers. The theories of instinct and of intuition held even a generation ago seem utterly barbarous to-day. They were commonly felt to be useless as interpretations; but as dogmas they served to check speculation and to prevent heresy. Wordsworth's "Fidelity" and his marvelously overrated "Intimations of Immortality" bear witness to the extreme timidity and crudeness of Western notions on these subjects even at the beginning of the century. The love of the dog for his master is indeed "great beyond all human estimate," but for reasons Wordsworth never dreamed about; and although the fresh sensations of childhood are certainly intimations of something much more wonderful than Wordsworth's denominational idea of immortality, his famous stanza concerning them has been very justly condemned by Mr. John Morley as nonsense. Before the decay of theology, no rational ideas of psychological inheritance, of the true nature of instinct, or of the unity of life, could possibly have forced their way to general recognition. But with the acceptance of the doctrine of evolution, old forms of thought crumbled; new ideas everywhere arose to take the place of worn-out dogmas; and we now have the spectacle of a general intellectual movement in directions strangely parallel with Oriental philosophy. The unprecedented rapidity and multiformity of scientific progress during the last fifty years could not have failed to provoke an equally unprecedented intellectual quickening among the non-scientific. That the highest and most complex organisms have been developed from the lowest and simplest; that a single physical basis of life is the substance of the whole living world; that no line of separation can be drawn between the animal and vegetable; that the difference between life and non-life is only a difference of degree, not of kind; that matter is not less incomprehensible than mind, while both are but varying manifestations of one and the same unknown reality,--these have already become the commonplaces of the new philosophy. After the first recognition even by theology of physical evolution, it was easy to predict that the recognition of psychical evolution could not be indefinitely delayed; for the barrier erected by old dogma to keep men from looking backward had been broken down. And to-day for the student of scientific psychology the idea of pre-existence passes out of the realm of theory into the realm of fact, proving the Buddhist explanation of the universal mystery quite as plausible as any other. "None but very hasty thinkers," wrote the late Professor Huxley, "will reject it on the ground of inherent absurdity. Like the doctrine of evolution itself, that of transmigration has its roots in the world of reality; and it may claim such support as the great argument from analogy is capable of supplying(1)." Now this support, as given by Professor Huxley, is singularly strong. It offers us no glimpse of a single soul flitting from darkness to light, from death to rebirth, through myriads of millions of years; but it leaves the main idea of pre-existence almost exactly in the form enunciated by the Buddha himself. In the Oriental doctrine, the psychical personality, like the individual body, is an aggregate doomed to disintegration By psychical personality I mean here that which distinguishes mind from mind,--the "me" from the "you": that which we call self. To Buddhism this is a temporary composite of illusions. What makes it is the karma. What reincarnates is the karma,--the sum-total of the acts and thoughts of countless anterior existences,--each existences,--each one of which, as an integer in some great spiritual system of addition and subtraction, may affect all the rest. Like a magnetism, the karma is transmitted from form to form, from phenomenon to phenomenon, determining conditions by combinations. The ultimate mystery of the concentrative and creative effects of karma the Buddhist acknowledges to be inscrutable; but the cohesion of effects he declares to be produced by tanha, the desire of life, corresponding to what Schopenhauer called the "will" to live. Now we find in Herbert Spencer's "Biology" a curious parallel for this idea. He explains the transmission of tendencies, and their variations, by a theory of polarities,--polarities of the physiological unit between this theory of polarities and the Buddhist theory of tanha, the difference is much less striking than the resemblance. Karma or heredity, tanha or polarity, are inexplicable as to their ultimate nature: Buddhism and Science are here at one. The fact worthy of attention is that both recognize the same phenomena under different names. (1) Evolution and Ethics, p.61 (ed 1894). V The prodigious complexity of the methods by which Science has arrived at conclusions so strangely in harmony with the ancient thought of the East, may suggest the doubt whether those conclusions could ever be made clearly comprehensible to the mass of Western minds. Certainly it would seem that just as the real doctrines of Buddhism can be taught to the majority of believers through forms only, so the philosophy of science can be communicated to the masses through suggestion only,--suggestion of such facts, or arrangements of fact, as must appeal to any naturally intelligent mind. But the history of scientific progress assures the efficiency of this method; and there is no strong reason for the supposition that, because the processes of the higher science remain above the mental reach of the unscientific classes, the conclusions of that science will not be generally accepted. The dimensions and weights of planets; the distances and the composition of stars; the law of gravitation; the signification of heat, light, and color; the nature of sound, and a host of other scientific discoveries, are familiar to thousands quite ignorant of the details of the methods by which such knowledge was obtained. Again we have evidence that every great progressive movement of science during the century has been followed by considerable modifications of popular beliefs. Already the churches, though clinging still to the hypothesis of a specially-created soul, have accepted the main doctrine of physical evolution; and neither fixity of belief nor intellectual retrogression can be rationally expected in the immediate future. Further changes of religious ideas are to be looked for; and it is even likely that they will be effected rapidly rather than slowly. Their exact nature, indeed, cannot be predicted; but existing intellectual tendencies imply that the doctrine of psychological evolution must be accepted, though not at once so as to set any final limit to ontological speculation; and that the whole conception of the Ego will be eventually transformed through the consequently developed idea of pre-existence. VI More detailed consideration of these probabilities may be ventured. They will not, perhaps, be acknowledged as probabilities by persons who regard science as a destroyer rather than a modifier. But such thinkers forget that religious feeling is something infinitely more profound than dogma; that it survives all gods and all forms of creed; and that it only widens and deepens and gathers power with intellectual expansion. That as mere doctrine religion will ultimately pass away is a conclusion to which the study of evolution leads; but that religion as feeling, or even as faith in the unknown power shaping equally a brain or a constellation, can ever utterly die, is not at present conceivable. Science wars only upon erroneous interpretations of phenomena; it only magnifies the cosmic mystery, and proves that everything, however minute, is infinitely wonderful and incomprehensible. And it is this indubitable tendency of science to broaden beliefs and to magnify cosmic emotion which justifies the supposition that future modifications of Western religious ideas will be totally unlike any modifications effected in the past; that the Occidental conception of Self will orb into something akin to the Oriental conception of Self; and that all present petty metaphysical notions of personality and individuality as realities per se will be annihilated. Already the growing popular comprehension of the facts of heredity, as science teaches them, indicates the path by which some, at least, of these modifications will be reached. In the coming contest over the great question of psychological evolution, common intelligence will follow Science along the line of least resistance; and that line will doubtless be the study of heredity, since the phenomena to be considered, however in themselves uninterpretable, are familiar to general experience, and afford partial answers to countless old enigmas. It is thus quite possible to imagine a coming form of Western religion supported by the whole power of synthetic philosophy, differing from Buddhism mainly in the greater exactness of its conceptions, holding the soul as a composite, and teaching a new spiritual law resembling the doctrine of karma. An objection to this idea will, however, immediately present itself to many minds. Such a modification of belief, it will be averred, would signify the sudden conquest and transformation of feelings by ideas. "The world," says Herbert Spencer, "is not governed by ideas, but by feelings, to which ideas serve only as guides." How are the notions of a change, such as that supposed, to be reconciled with common knowledge of existing religious sentiment in the West, and the force of religious emotionalism? Were the ideas of pre-existence and of the soul as multiple really antagonistic to Western religious sentiment, no satisfactory answer could be made. But are they so antagonistic? The idea of pre-existence certainly is not; the Occidental mind is already prepared for it. It is true that the notion of Self as a composite, destined to dissolution, may seem little better than the materialistic idea of annihilation,--at least to those still unable to divest themselves of the old habits of thought. Nevertheless, impartial reflection will show that there is no emotional reason for dreading the disintegration of the Ego. Actually, though unwittingly, it is for this very disintegration that Christians and Buddhists alike perpetually pray. Who has not often wished to rid himself of the worse parts of his nature, of tendencies to folly or to wrong, of impulses to say or do unkind things,--of all that lower inheritance which still clings about the higher man, and weighs down his finest aspirations? Yet that of which we so earnestly desire the separation, the elimination, the death, is not less surely a part of psychological inheritance, of veritable Self, than are those younger and larger faculties which help to the realization of noble ideals. Rather than an end to be feared, the dissolution of Self is the one object of all objects to which our efforts should be turned. What no new philosophy can forbid us to hope is that the best elements of Self will thrill on to seek loftier affinities, to enter into grander and yet grander combinations, till the supreme revelation comes, and we discern, through infinite vision,--through the vanishing of all Self,--the Absolute Reality. For while we know that even the so-called elements themselves are evolving, we have no proof that anything utterly dies. That we are is the certainty that, we have been and will be. We have survived countless evolutions, countless universes. We know that through the Cosmos all is law. No chance decides what units shall form the planetary core, or what shall feel the sun; what shall be locked in granite and basalt, or shall multiply in plant and in animal. So far as reason can venture to infer from analogy, the cosmical history of every ultimate unit, psychological or physical, is determined just as surely and as exactly as in the Buddhist doctrine of karma. VII The influence of Science will not be the only factor in the modification of Western religious beliefs: Oriental philosophy will certainly furnish another. Sanscrit, Chinese, and Pali scholarship, and the tireless labor of philologists in all parts of the East, are rapidly familiarizing Europe and America with all the great forms of Oriental thought; Buddhism is being studied with interest throughout the Occident; and the results of these studies are yearly showing themselves more and more definitely in the mental products of the highest culture. The schools of philosophy are not more visibly affected than the literature of the period. Proof that a reconsideration of the problem of the Ego is everywhere forcing itself upon Occidental minds, may be found not only in the thoughtful prose of the time, but even in its poetry and its romance. Ideas impossible a generation ago are changing current thought, destroying old tastes, and developing higher feelings. Creative art, working under larger inspiration, is telling what absolutely novel and exquisite sensations, what hitherto unimaginable pathos, what marvelous deepening of emotional power, may be gained in literature with the recognition of the idea of pre-existence. Even in fiction we learn that we have been living in a hemisphere only; that we have been thinking but half-thoughts; that we need a new faith to join past with future over the great parallel of the present, and so to round out our emotional world into a perfect sphere. The clear conviction that the self is multiple, however paradoxical the statement seem, is the absolutely necessary step to the vaster conviction that the many are One, that life is unity, that there is no finite, but only infinite. Until that blind pride which imagines Self unique shall have been broken down, and the feeling of self and of selfishness shall have been utterly decomposed, the knowledge of the Ego as infinite,--as the very Cosmos,--never can be reached. Doubtless the simple emotional conviction that we have been in the past will be developed long before the intellectual conviction that the Ego as one is a fiction of selfishness. But the composite nature of Self must at last be acknowledged, though its mystery remain. Science postulates a hypothetical psychological unit as well as a hypothetical physiological unit; but either postulated entity defies the uttermost power of mathematical estimate,--seems to resolve itself into pure ghostliness. The chemist, for working purposes, must imagine an ultimate atom; but the fact of which the imagined atom is the symbol may be a force centre only,--nay, a void, a vortex, an emptiness, as in Buddhist concept. "_Form is emptiness, and emptiness is form. What is form, that is emptiness; what is emptiness, that is form. Perception and conception, name and knowledge,--all these are emptiness._" For science and for Buddhism alike the cosmos resolves itself into a vast phantasmagoria,--a mere play of unknown and immeasurable forces. Buddhist faith, however, answers the questions "Whence?" and "Whither?" in its own fashion, and predicts in every great cycle of evolution a period of spiritual expansion in which the memory of former births returns, and all the future simultaneously opens before the vision unveiled, even to the heaven of heavens. Science here remains dumb. But her silence is the Silence of the Gnostics,--Sige, the Daughter of Depth and the Mother of Spirit. What we may allow ourselves to believe, with the full consent of Science, is that marvelous revelations await us. Within recent time new senses and powers have been developed,--the sense of music, the ever-growing faculties of the mathematician. Reasonably it may be expected that still higher unimaginable faculties will be evolved in our descendants. Again it is known that certain mental capacities, undoubtedly inherited, develop in old age only; and the average life of the human race is steadily lengthening. With increased longevity there surely may come into sudden being, through the unfolding of the larger future brain, powers not less wonderful than the ability to remember former births. The dreams of Buddhism can scarcely be surpassed, because they touch the infinite; but who can presume to say they never will be realized? NOTE. It may be necessary to remind some of those kind enough to read the foregoing that the words "soul," "self," "ego," "transmigration," "heredity," although freely used by me, convey meanings entirely foreign to Buddhist philosophy, "Soul," in the English sense of the word, does not exist for the Buddhist. "Self" is an illusion, or rather a plexus of illusions. "Transmigration," as the passing of soul from one body to another, is expressly denied in Buddhist texts of unquestionable authority. It will therefore be evident that the real analogy which does exist between the doctrine of karma and the scientific facts of heredity is far from complete. Karma signifies the survival, not of the same composite individuality, but of its tendencies, which recombine to form a new composite individuality. The new being does not necessarily take even a human form: the karma does not descend from parent to child; it is independent of the line of heredity, although physical conditions of life seem to depend upon karma. The karma-being of a beggar may have rebirth in the body of a king; that of a king in the body of a beggar; yet the conditions of either reincarnation have been predetermined by the influence of karma. It will be asked, What then is the spiritual element in each being that continues unchanged,--the spiritual kernel, so to speak, within the shell of karma,--the power that makes for righteousness? If soul and body alike are temporary composites, and the karma (itself temporary) the only source of personality, what is the worth or meaning of Buddhist doctrine? What is it that suffers by karma; what is it that lies within the illusion, --that makes progress,--that attains Nirvana? Is it not a self? Not in our sense of the word. The reality of what we call self is denied by Buddhism. That which forms and dissolves the karma; that which makes for righteousness; that which reaches Nirvana, is not our Ego in our Western sense of the word. Then what is it? It is the divine in each being. It is called in Japanese Muga-no-taiga,--the Great Self-without-selfishness. There Is no other true self. The self wrapped in illusion is called Nyorai-zo,--(Tathagata-gharba),--the Buddha yet unborn, as one in a womb. The Infinite exists potentially in every being. That is the Reality. The other self is a falsity,---a lie,--a mirage. The doctrine of extinction refers only to the extinction of Illusions; and those sensations and feelings and thoughts, which belong to this life of the flesh alone, are the illusions which make the complex illusive self. By the total decomposition of this false self,--as by a tearing away of veils, the Infinite Vision comes. There is no "soul": the Infinite All-Soul is the only eternal principle in any being;--all the rest is dream. What remains in Nirvana? According to one school of Buddhism potential identity in the infinite,--so that a Buddha, after having reached Nirvana, can return to earth. According to another, identity more than potential, yet not in our sense "personal." A Japanese friend says:--"I take a piece of gold, and say it is one. But this means that it produces on my visual organs a single impression. Really in the multitude of atoms composing it each atom is nevertheless distinct and separate, and independent of every other atom. In Buddhahood even so are united psychical atoms innumerable. They are one as to condition;--yet each has its own independent existence." But in Japan the primitive religion has so affected the common class of Buddhist beliefs that it is not incorrect to speak of the Japanese "idea of self." It is only necessary that the popular Shinto idea be simultaneously considered. In Shinto we have the plainest possible evidence of the conception of soul. But this soul is a composite,--not a mere "bundle of sensations, perceptions, and volitions," like the karma-being, but a number of souls united to form one ghostly personality. A dead man's ghost may appear as one or as many. It can separate its units, each of which remains capable of a special independent action. Such separation, however, appears to be temporary, the various souls of the composite naturally cohering even after death, and reuniting after any voluntary separation. The vast mass of the Japanese people are both Buddhists and Shintoists; but the primitive beliefs concerning the self are certainly the most powerful, and in the blending of the two faiths remain distinctly recognizable. They have probably supplied to common imagination a natural and easy explanation of the difficulties of the karma-doctrine, though to what extent I am not prepared to say. Be it also observed that in the primitive as well as in the Buddhist form of belief the self is not a principle transmitted from parent to offspring,--not an inheritance always dependent upon physiological descent. These facts will indicate how wide is the difference between Eastern ideas and our own upon the subject of the preceding essay. They will also show that any general consideration of the real analogies existing between this strange combination of Far-Eastern beliefs and the scientific thought of the nineteenth century could scarcely be made intelligible by strict philosophical accuracy in the use of terms relating to the idea of self. Indeed, there are no European words capable of rendering the exact meaning of the Buddhist terms belonging to Buddhist Idealism. Perhaps it may be regarded as illegitimate to wander from that position so tersely enunciated by Professor Huxley in his essay on "Sensation and the Sensiferous Organs:" "In ultimate analysis it appears that a sensation is the equivalent in terms of consciousness for a mode of motion of the matter of the sensorium. But if inquiry is pushed a stage further, and the question is asked, What, then, do we know about matter and motion? there is but one reply possible. All we know about motion is that it is a name for certain changes in the relations of our visual, tactile, and muscular sensations; and all we know about matter is that it is the hypothetical substance of physical phenomena, _the assumption of which is as pure a piece of metaphysical speculation as is that of a substance of mind_." But metaphysical speculation certainly will not cease because of scientific recognition that ultimate truth is beyond the utmost possible range of human knowledge. Rather, for that very reason, it will continue. Perhaps it will never wholly cease. Without it there can be no further modification of religious beliefs, and without modifications there can be no religious progress in harmony with scientific thought. Therefore, metaphysical speculation seems to me not only justifiable, but necessary. Whether we accept or deny a _substance_ of mind; whether we imagine thought produced by the play of some unknown element through the cells of the brain, as music is made by the play of wind through the strings of a harp; whether we regard the motion itself as a special mode of vibration inherent in and peculiar to the units of the cerebral structure,--still the mystery is infinite, and still Buddhism remains a noble moral working-hypothesis, in deep accord with the aspirations of mankind and with the laws of ethical progression. Whether we believe or disbelieve in the reality of that which is called the material universe, still the ethical significance of the inexplicable laws of heredity--of the transmission of both racial and personal tendencies in the unspecialized reproductive cell--remains to justify the doctrine of karma. Whatever be that which makes consciousness, its relation to all the past and to all the future is unquestionable. Nor can the doctrine of Nirvana ever cease to command the profound respect of the impartial thinker. Science has found evidence that known substance is not less a product of evolution than mind,--that all our so-called "elements" have been evolved out of "one primary undifferentiated form of matter." And this evidence is startlingly suggestive of some underlying truth in the Buddhist doctrine of emanation and illusion,--the evolution of all forms from the Formless, of all material phenomena from immaterial Unity,--and the ultimate return of all into "that state which is empty of lusts, of malice, of dullness,--that state in which the excitements of individuality are known no more, and which is therefore designated THE VOID SUPREME." XIII IN CHOLERA-TIME I China's chief ally in the late war, being deaf and blind, knew nothing, and still knows nothing, of treaties or of peace. It followed the returning armies of Japan, invaded the victorious empire, and killed about thirty thousand people during the hot season. It is still slaying; and the funeral pyres burn continually. Sometimes the smoke and the odor come wind-blown into my garden down from the hills behind the town, just to remind me that the cost of burning an adult of my own size is eighty sen,--about half a dollar in American money at the present rate of exchange. From the upper balcony of my house, the whole length of a Japanese street, with its rows of little shops, is visible down to the bay. Out of various houses in that street I have seen cholera-patients conveyed to the hospital,--the last one (only this morning) my neighbor across the way, who kept a porcelain shop. He was removed by force, in spite of the tears and cries of his family. The sanitary law forbids the treatment of cholera in private houses; yet people try to hide their sick, in spite of fines and other penalties, because the public cholera-hospitals are overcrowded and roughly managed, and the patients are entirely separated from all who love them. But the police are not often deceived: they soon discover unreported cases, and come with litters and coolies. It seems cruel; but sanitary law must be cruel. My neighbor's wife followed the litter, crying, until the police obliged her to return to her desolate little shop. It is now closed up, and will probably never be opened again by the owners. Such tragedies end as quickly as they begin. The bereaved, so soon as the law allows, remove their pathetic belongings, and disappear; and the ordinary life of the street goes on, by day and by night, exactly as if nothing particular had happened. Itinerant venders, with their bamboo poles and baskets or buckets or boxes, pass the empty houses, and utter their accustomed cries; religious processions go by, chanting fragments of sutras; the blind shampooer blows his melancholy whistle; the private watchman makes his heavy staff boom upon the gutter-flags; the boy who sells confectionery still taps his drum, and sings a love-song with a plaintive sweet voice, like a girl's:-- "_You and I together_.... I remained long; yet in the moment of going I thought I had only just come. "_You and I together_.... Still I think of the tea. Old or new tea of Uji it might have seemed to others; but to me it was Gyokoro tea, of the beautiful yellow of the yamabuki flower. "_You and I together_.... I am the telegraph-operator; you are the one who waits the message. I send my heart, and you receive it. What care we now if the posts should fall, if the wires be broken?" And the children sport as usual. They chase one another with screams and laughter; they dance in chorus; they catch dragon-flies and tie them to long strings; they sing burdens of the war, about cutting off Chinese heads:-- "_Chan-chan bozu no Kubi wo hane!_" Sometimes a child vanishes; but the survivers continue their play. And this is wisdom. It costs only forty-four sen to burn a child. The son of one of my neighbors was burned a few days ago. The little stones with which he used to play lie there in the sun just as he left them.... Curious, this child-love of stones! Stones are the toys not only of the children of the poor, but of all children at one period of existence: no matter how well supplied with other playthings, every Japanese child wants sometimes to play with stones. To the child-mind a stone is a marvelous thing, and ought so to be, since even to the understanding of the mathematician there can be nothing more wonderful than a common stone. The tiny urchin suspects the stone to be much more than it seems, which is an excellent suspicion; and if stupid grown-up folk did not untruthfully tell him that his plaything is not worth thinking about, he would never tire of it, and would always be finding something new and extraordinary in it. Only a very great mind could answer all a child's questions about stones. According to popular faith, my neighbor's darling is now playing with small ghostly stones in the Dry Bed of the River of Souls, --wondering, perhaps, why they cast no shadows. The true poetry in the legend of the Sai-no-Kawara is the absolute naturalness of its principal idea,--the phantom-continuation of that play which all little Japanese children play with stones. II The pipe-stem seller used to make his round with two large boxes suspended from a bamboo pole balanced upon his shoulder: one box containing stems of various diameters, lengths, and colors, together with tools for fitting them into metal pipes; and the other box containing a baby,--his own baby. Sometimes I saw it peeping over the edge of the box, and smiling at the passers-by; sometimes I saw it lying, well wrapped up and fast asleep, in the bottom of the box; sometimes I saw it playing with toys. Many people, I was told, used to give it toys. One of the toys bore a curious resemblance to a mortuary tablet (ihai); and this I always observed in the box, whether the child were asleep or awake. The other day I discovered that the pipe-stem seller had abandoned his bamboo pole and suspended boxes. He was coming up the street with a little hand-cart just big enough to hold his wares and his baby, and evidently built for that purpose in two compartments. Perhaps the baby had become too heavy for the more primitive method of conveyance. Above the cart fluttered a small white flag, bearing in cursive characters the legend _Ki-seru-rao kae_ (pipe-stems exchanged), and a brief petition for "honorable help," _O-tasuke wo negaimasu_. The child seemed well and happy; and I again saw the tablet-shaped object which had so often attracted my notice before. It was now fastened upright to a high box in the cart facing the infant's bed. As I watched the cart approaching, I suddenly felt convinced that the tablet was really an ihai: the sun shone full upon it, and there was no mistaking the conventional Buddhist text. This aroused my curiosity; and I asked Manyemon to tell the pipe-stem seller that we had a number of pipes needing fresh stems,--which was true. Presently the cartlet drew up at our gate, and I went to look at it. The child was not afraid, even of a foreign face,--a pretty boy. He lisped and laughed and held out his arms, being evidently used to petting; and while playing with him I looked closely at the tablet. It was a Shinshu ihai, bearing a woman's kaimyo, or posthumous name; and Manyemon translated the Chinese characters for me: _Revered and of good rank in the Mansion of Excellence, the thirty-first day of the third month of the twenty-eighth year of Meiji_. Meantime a servant had fetched the pipes which needed new stems; and I glanced at the face of the artisan as he worked. It was the face of a man past middle age, with those worn, sympathetic lines about the mouth, dry beds of old smiles, which give to so many Japanese faces an indescribable expression of resigned gentleness. Presently Manyemon began to ask questions; and when Manyemon asks questions, not to reply is possible for the wicked only. Sometimes behind that dear innocent old head I think I see the dawning of an aureole,--the aureole of the Bosatsu. The pipe-stem seller answered by telling his story. Two months after the birth of their little boy, his wife had died. In the last hour of her illness she had said: "From what time I die till three full years be past I pray you to leave the child always united with the Shadow of me: never let him be separated from my ihai, so that I may continue to care for him and to nurse him-- since thou knowest that he should have the breast for three years. This, my last asking, I entreat thee, do not forget." But the mother being dead, the father could not labor as he had been wont to do, and also take care of so young a child, requiring continual attention both night and day; and he was too poor to hire a nurse. So he took to selling pipe-stems, as he could thus make a little money without leaving the child even for a minute alone. He could not afford to buy milk; but he had fed the boy for more than a year with rice gruel and cane syrup. I said that the child looked very strong, and none the worse for lack of milk. "That," declared Manyemon, in a tone of conviction bordering on reproof, "is because the dead mother nurses him. How should he want for milk?" And the boy laughed softly, as if conscious of a ghostly caress. XIV SOME THOUGHTS ABOUT ANCESTOR-WORSHIP "For twelve leagues, Ananda, around the Sala-Grove, there is no spot in size even as the pricking of the point of the tip of a hair, which is not pervaded by powerful spirits." --The Book Of the Great Decease. I The truth that ancestor-worship, in various unobtrusive forms, still survives in some of the most highly civilized countries of Europe, is not so widely known as to preclude the idea that any non-Aryan race actually practicing so primitive a cult must necessarily remain in the primitive stage of religious thought. Critics of Japan have pronounced this hasty judgment; and have professed themselves unable to reconcile the facts of her scientific progress, and the success of her advanced educational system, with the continuance of her ancestor-worship. How can the beliefs of Shinto coexist with the knowledge of modern science? How can the men who win distinction as scientific specialists still respect the household shrine or do reverence before the Shinto parish-temple? Can all this mean more than the ordered conservation of forms after the departure of faith? Is it not certain that with the further progress of education, Shinto, even as ceremonialism, must cease to exist? Those who put such questions appear to forget that similar questions might be asked about the continuance of any Western faith, and similar doubts expressed as to the possibility of its survival for another century. Really the doctrines of Shinto are not in the least degree more irreconcilable with modern science than are the doctrines of Orthodox Christianity. Examined with perfect impartiality, I would even venture to say that they are less irreconcilable in more respects than one. They conflict less with our human ideas of justice; and, like the Buddhist doctrine of karma, they offer some very striking analogies with the scientific facts of heredity,--analogies which prove Shinto to contain an element of truth as profound as any single element of truth in any of the world's great religions. Stated in the simplest possible form, the peculiar element of truth in Shinto is the belief that the world of the living is directly governed by the world of the dead. That every impulse or act of man is the work of a god, and that all the dead become gods, are the basic ideas of the cult. It must be remembered, however, that the term Kami, although translated by the term deity, divinity, or god, has really no such meaning as that which belongs to the English words: it has not even the meaning of those words as referring to the antique beliefs of Greece and Rome. It signifies that which is "above," "superior," "upper," "eminent," in the non-religious sense; in the religious sense it signifies a human spirit having obtained supernatural power after death. The dead are the "powers above," the "upper ones,"--the Kami. We have here a conception resembling very strongly the modern Spiritualistic notion of ghosts, only that the Shinto idea is in no true sense democratic. The Kami are ghosts of greatly varying dignity and power,--belonging to spiritual hierarchies like the hierarchies of ancient Japanese society. Although essentially superior to the living in certain respects, the living are, nevertheless, able to give them pleasure or displeasure, to gratify or to offend them,--even sometimes to ameliorate their spiritual condition. Wherefore posthumous honors are never mockeries, but realities, to the Japanese mind. During the present year(1), for example, several distinguished statesmen and soldiers were raised to higher rank immediately after their death; and I read only the other day, in the official gazette, that "His Majesty has been pleased to posthumously confer the Second Class of the Order of the Rising Sun upon Major-General Baron Yamane, who lately died in Formosa." Such imperial acts must not be regarded only as formalities intended to honor the memory of brave and patriotic men; neither should they be thought of as intended merely to confer distinction upon the family of the dead. They are essentially of Shinto, and exemplify that intimate sense of relation between the visible and invisible worlds which is the special religious characteristic of Japan among all civilized countries. To Japanese thought the dead are not less real than the living. They take part in the daily life of the people,--sharing the humblest sorrows and the humblest joys. They attend the family repasts, watch over the well-being of the household, assist and rejoice in the prosperity of their descendants. They are present at the public pageants, at all the sacred festivals of Shinto, at the military games, and at all the entertainments especially provided for them. And they are universally thought of as finding pleasure in the offerings made to them or the honors conferred upon them. For the purpose of this little essay, it will be sufficient to consider the Kami as the spirits of the dead,--without making any attempt to distinguish such Kami from those primal deities believed to have created the land. With this general interpretation of the term Kami, we return, then, to the great Shinto idea that all the dead still dwell in the world and rule it; influencing not only the thoughts and the acts of men, but the conditions of nature. "They direct," wrote Motowori, "the changes of the seasons, the wind and the rain, the good and the bad fortunes of states and of individual men." They are, in short, the viewless forces behind all phenomena. (1) Written in September, 1896. II The most interesting sub-theory of this ancient spiritualism is that which explains the impulses and acts of men as due to the influence of the dead. This hypothesis no modern thinker can declare irrational, since it can claim justification from the scientific doctrine of psychological evolution, according to which each living brain represents the structural work of innumerable dead lives,--each character a more or less imperfectly balanced sum of countless dead experiences with good and evil. Unless we deny psychological heredity, we cannot honestly deny that our impulses and feelings, and the higher capacities evolved through the feelings, have literally been shaped by the dead, and bequeathed to us by the dead; and even that the general direction of our mental activities has been determined by the power of the special tendencies bequeathed to us. In such a sense the dead are indeed our Kami and all our actions are truly influenced by them. Figuratively we may say that every mind is a world of ghosts,--ghosts incomparably more numerous than the acknowledged millions of the higher Shinto Kami and that the spectral population of one grain of brain-matter more than realizes the wildest fancies of the medieval schoolmen about the number of angels able to stand on the point of a needle. Scientifically we know that within one tiny living cell may be stored up the whole life of a race,--the sum of all the past sensation of millions of years; perhaps even (who knows?) of millions of dead planets. But devils would not be inferior to angels in the mere power of congregating upon the point of a needle. What, of bad men and of bad acts in this theory of Shinto? Motowori made answer; "Whenever anything goes wrong in the world, it is to be attributed to the action of the evil gods called the Gods of Crookedness, whose power is so great that the Sun-Goddess and the Creator-God are sometimes powerless to restrain them; much less are human beings always able to resist their influence. The prosperity of the wicked, and the misfortunes of the good, which seem opposed to ordinary justice, are thus explained." All bad acts are due to the influence of evil deities; and evil men may become evil Kami. There are no self-contradictions in this simplest of cults(1),--nothing complicated or hard to be understood. It is not certain that all men guilty of bad actions necessarily become "gods of crookedness," for reasons hereafter to be seen; but all men, good or bad, become Kami, or influences. And all evil acts are the results of evil influences. Now this teaching is in accord with certain facts of heredity. Our best faculties are certainly bequests from the best of our ancestors; our evil qualities are inherited from natures in which evil, or that which we now call evil, once predominated. The ethical knowledge evolved within us by civilization demands that we strengthen the high powers bequeathed us by the best experience of our dead, and diminish the force of the baser tendencies we inherit. We are under obligation to reverence and to obey our good Kami, and to strive against our gods of crookedness. The knowledge of the existence of both is old as human reason. In some form or other, the doctrine of evil and of good spirits in personal attendance upon every soul is common to most of the great religions. Our own mediaeval faith developed the idea to a degree which must leave an impress on our language for all time; yet the faith in guardian angels and tempting demons evolutionarily represents only the development of a cult once simple as the religion of the Kami. And this theory of mediaeval faith is likewise pregnant with truth. The white-winged form that whispered good into the right ear, the black shape that murmured evil into the left, do not indeed walk beside the man of the nineteenth century, but they dwell within his brain; and he knows their voices and feels their urging as well and as often as did his ancestors of the Middle Ages. The modern ethical objection to Shinto is that both good and evil Kami are to be respected. "Just as the Mikado worshiped the gods of heaven and of earth, so his people prayed to the good gods in order to obtain blessings, and performed rites in honor of the bad gods to avert their displeasure.... As there are bad as well as good gods, it is necessary to propitiate them with offerings of agreeable food, with the playing of harps and the blowing of flutes, with singing and dancing, and with whatever else is likely to put them in good-humor(2)." As a matter of fact, in modern Japan, the evil Kami appear to receive few offerings or honors, notwithstanding this express declaration that they are to be propitiated. But it will now be obvious why the early missionaries characterized such a cult as devil-worship, --although, to Shinto imagination, the idea of a devil, in the Western meaning of the word, never took shape. The seeming weakness of the doctrine is in the teaching that evil spirits are not to be warred upon,--a teaching essentially repellent to Roman Catholic feeling. But between the evil spirits of Christian and of Shinto belief there is a vast difference. The evil Kami is only the ghost of a dead man, and is not believed to be altogether evil,--since propitiation is possible. The conception of absolute, unmixed evil is not of the Far East. Absolute evil is certainly foreign to human nature, and therefore impossible in human ghosts. The evil Kami are not devils. They are simply ghosts, who influence the passions of men; and only in this sense the deities of the passions. Now Shinto is of all religions the most natural, and therefore in certain respects the most rational. It does not consider the passions necessarily evil in themselves, but evil only according to cause, conditions, and degrees of their indulgence. Being ghosts, the gods are altogether human,--having the various good and bad qualities of men in varying proportions. The majority are good, and the sum of the influence of all is toward good rather than evil. To appreciate the rationality of this view requires a tolerably high opinion of mankind,--such an opinion as the conditions of the old society of Japan might have justified. No pessimist could profess pure Shintoism. The doctrine is optimistic; and whoever has a generous faith in humanity will have no fault to find with the absence of the idea of implacable evil from its teaching. Now it is just in the recognition of the necessity for propitiating the evil ghosts that the ethically rational character of Shinto reveals itself. Ancient experience and modern knowledge unite in warning us against the deadly error of trying to extirpate or to paralyze certain tendencies in human nature,--tendencies which, if morbidly cultivated or freed from all restraint, lead to folly, to crime, and to countless social evils. The animal passions, the ape-and-tiger impulses, antedate human society, and are the accessories to nearly all crimes committed against it. But they cannot be killed; and they cannot be safely starved. Any attempt to extirpate them would signify also an effort to destroy some of the very highest emotional faculties with which they remain inseparably blended. The primitive impulses cannot even be numbed save at the cost of intellectual and emotional powers which give to human life all its beauty and all its tenderness, but which are, nevertheless, deeply rooted in the archaic soil of passion. The highest in us had its beginnings in the lowest. Asceticism, by warring against the natural feelings, has created monsters. Theological legislation, irrationally directed against human weaknesses, has only aggravated social disorders; and laws against pleasure have only provoked debaucheries. The history of morals teaches very plainly indeed that our bad Kami require some propitiation. The passions still remain more powerful than the reason in man, because they are incomparably older,--because they were once all-essential to self-preservation,--because they made that primal stratum of consciousness, out of which the nobler sentiments have slowly grown. Never can they be suffered to rule; but woe to whosoever would deny their immemorial rights! (1) I am considering only the pure Shinto belief as expounded by Shinto scholars. But it may be necessary to remind the reader that both Buddhism and Shintoism are blended in Japan, not only with each other, but with Chinese ideas of various kinds. It is doubtful whether the pure Shinto ideas now exist in their original form in popular belief. We are not quite clear as to the doctrine of multiple souls in Shinto,--whether the psychical combination was originally thought of as dissolved by death. My own opinion, the result of investigation in different parts of Japan, is that the multiple soul was formerly believed to remain multiple after death. (2) Motowori, translated by Satow. III Out of these primitive, but--as may now be perceived--not irrational beliefs about the dead, there have been evolved moral sentiments unknown to Western civilization. These are well worth considering, as they will prove in harmony with the most advanced conception of ethics,--and especially with that immense though yet indefinite expansion of the sense of duty which has followed upon the understanding of evolution. I do not know that we have any reason to congratulate ourselves upon the absence from our lives of the sentiments in question;--I am even inclined to think that we may yet find it morally necessary to cultivate sentiments of the same kind. One of the surprises of our future will certainly be a return to beliefs and ideas long ago abandoned upon the mere assumption that they contained no truth,--belief still called barbarous, pagan, mediaeval, by those who condemn them out of traditional habit. Year after year the researches of science afford us new proof that the savage, the barbarian, the idolater, the monk, each and all have arrived, by different paths, as near to some one point of eternal truth as any thinker of the nineteenth century. We are now learning, also, that the theories of the astrologers and of the alchemists were but partially, not totally, wrong. We have reason even to suppose that no dream of the invisible world has ever been dreamed,--that no hypothesis of the unseen has ever been imagined,--which future science will not prove to have contained some germ of reality. Foremost among the moral sentiments of Shinto is that of loving gratitude to the past,--a sentiment having no real correspondence in our own emotional life. We know our past better than the Japanese know theirs;--we have myriads of books recording or considering its every incident and condition: but we cannot in any sense be said to love it or to feel grateful to it. Critical recognitions of its merits and of its defects;--some rare enthusiasms excited by its beauties; many strong denunciations of its mistakes: these represent the sum of our thoughts and feelings about it. The attitude of our scholarship in reviewing it is necessarily cold; that of our art, often more than generous; that of our religion, condemnatory for the most part. Whatever the point of view from which we study it, our attention is mainly directed to the work of the dead,--either the visible work that makes our hearts beat a little faster than usual while looking at it, or the results of their thoughts and deeds in relation to the society of their time. Of past humanity as unity,--of the millions long-buried as real kindred,--we either think not at all, or think only with the same sort of curiosity that we give to the subject of extinct races. We do indeed find interest in the record of some individual lives that have left large marks in history;--our emotions are stirred by the memories of great captains, statesmen, discoverers, reformers,--but only because the magnitude of that which they accomplished appeals to our own ambitions, desires, egotisms, and not at all to our altruistic sentiments in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. The nameless dead to whom we owe most we do not trouble ourselves about,--we feel no gratitude, no love to them. We even find it difficult to persuade ourselves that the love of ancestors can possibly be a real, powerful, penetrating, life-moulding, religious emotion in any form of human society,--which it certainly is in Japan. The mere idea is utterly foreign to our ways of thinking, feeling, acting. A partial reason for this, of course, is that we have no common faith in the existence of an active spiritual relation between our ancestors and ourselves. If we happen to be irreligious, we do not believe in ghosts. If we are profoundly religious, we think of the dead as removed from us by judgment,--as absolutely separated from us during the period of our lives. It is true that among the peasantry of Roman Catholic countries there still exists a belief that the dead are permitted to return to earth once a year,--on the night of All Souls. But even according to this belief they are not considered as related to the living by any stronger bond than memory; and they are thought of,--as our collections of folk-lore bear witness,--rather with fear than love. In Japan the feeling toward the dead is utterly different. It is a feeling of grateful and reverential love. It is probably the most profound and powerful of the emotions of the race,--that which especially directs national life and shapes national character. Patriotism belongs to it. Filial piety depends upon it. Family love is rooted in it. Loyalty is based upon it. The soldier who, to make a path for his comrades through the battle, deliberately flings away his life with a shout of "_Teikoku manzai!_"--the son or daughter who unmurmuring sacrifices all the happiness of existence for the sake, perhaps, of an undeserving or even cruel, parent; the partisan who gives up friends, family, and fortune, rather than break the verbal promise made in other years to a now poverty-stricken master; the wife who ceremoniously robes herself in white, utters a prayer, and thrusts a sword into her throat to atone for a wrong done to strangers by her husband,--all these obey the will and hear the approval of invisible witnesses. Even among the skeptical students of the new generation, this feeling survives many wrecks of faith, and the old sentiments are still uttered: "Never must we cause shame to our ancestors;" "it is our duty to give honor to our ancestors." During my former engagement as a teacher of English, it happened more than once that ignorance of the real meaning behind such phrases prompted me to change them in written composition. I would suggest, for example, that the expression, "to do honor to the memory of our ancestors," was more correct than the phrase given. I remember one day even attempting to explain why we ought not to speak of ancestors exactly as if they were living parents! Perhaps my pupils suspected me of trying to meddle with their beliefs; for the Japanese never think of an ancestor as having become "only a memory": their dead are alive. Were there suddenly to arise within us the absolute certainty that our dead are still with us,--seeing every act, knowing our every thought, hearing each word we utter, able to feel sympathy with us or anger against us, able to help us and delighted to receive our help, able to love us and greatly needing our love,-- it is quite certain that our conceptions of life and duty would be vastly changed. We should have to recognize our obligations to the past in a very solemn way. Now, with the man of the Far East, the constant presence of the dead has been a matter of conviction for thousands of years: he speaks to them daily; he tries to give them happiness; and, unless a professional criminal he never quite forgets his duty towards them. No one, says Hirata, who constantly discharges that duty, will ever be disrespectful to the gods or to his living parents. "Such a man will also be loyal to his friends, and kind and gentle with his wife and children; for the essence of this devotion is in truth filial piety." And it is in this sentiment that the secret of much strange feeling in Japanese character must be sought. Far more foreign to our world of sentiment than the splendid courage with which death is faced, or the equanimity with which the most trying sacrifices are made, is the simple deep emotion of the boy who, in the presence of a Shinto shrine never seen before, suddenly feels the tears spring to his eyes. He is conscious in that moment of what we never emotionally recognize,--the prodigious debt of the present to the past, and the duty of love to the dead. IV If we think a little about our position as debtors, and our way of accepting that position, one striking difference between Western and Far-Eastern moral sentiment will become manifest. There is nothing more awful than the mere fact of life as mystery when that fact first rushes fully into consciousness. Out of unknown darkness we rise a moment into sun-light, look about us, rejoice and suffer, pass on the vibration of our being to other beings, and fall back again into darkness. So a wave rises, catches the light, transmits its motion, and sinks back into sea. So a plant ascends from clay, unfolds its leaves to light and air, flowers, seeds, and becomes clay again. Only, the wave has no knowledge; the plant has no perceptions. Each human life seems no more than a parabolic curve of motion out of earth and back to earth; but in that brief interval of change it perceives the universe. The awfulness of the phenomenon is that nobody knows anything about it. No mortal can explain this most common, yet most incomprehensible of all facts,--life in itself; yet every mortal who can think has been obliged betimes, to think about it in relation to self. I come out of mystery;--I see the sky and the land, men and women and their works; and I know that I must return to mystery;--and merely what this means not even the greatest of philosophers--not even Mr. Herbert Spencer--can tell me. We are all of us riddles to ourselves and riddles to each other; and space and motion and time are riddles; and matter is a riddle. About the before and the after neither the newly-born nor the dead have any message for us. The child is dumb; the skull only grins. Nature has no consolation for us. Out of her formlessness issue forms which return to formlessness,--that is all. The plant becomes clay; the clay becomes a plant. When the plant turns to clay, what becomes of the vibration which was its life? Does it go on existing viewlessly, like the forces that shape spectres of frondage in the frost upon a window-pane? Within the horizon-circle of the infinite enigma, countless lesser enigmas, old as the world, awaited the coming of man. Oedipus had to face one Sphinx; humanity, thousands of thousands,--all crouching among bones along the path of Time, and each with a deeper and a harder riddle. All the sphinxes have not been satisfied; myriads line the way of the future to devour lives yet unborn; but millions have been answered. We are now able to exist without perpetual horror because of the relative knowledge that guides us, the knowledge won out of the jaws of destruction. All our knowledge is bequeathed knowledge. The dead have left us record of all they were able to learn about themselves and the world,--about the laws of death and life,--about things to be acquired and things to be avoided,--about ways of making existence less painful than Nature willed it,--about right and wrong and sorrow and happiness,--about the error of selfishness, the wisdom of kindness, the obligation of sacrifice. They left us information of everything they could find out concerning climates and seasons and places,--the sun and moon and stars,--the motions and the composition of the universe. They bequeathed us also their delusions which long served the good purpose of saving us from falling into greater ones. They left us the story of their errors and efforts, their triumphs and failures, their pains and joys, their loves and hates,--for warning or example. They expected our sympathy, because they toiled with the kindest wishes and hopes for us, and because they made our world. They cleared the land; they extirpated monsters; they tamed and taught the animals most useful to us. "_The mother of Kullervo awoke within her tomb, and from the deeps of the dust she cried to him, --'I have left thee the Dog, tied to a tree, that thou mayest go with him to the chase.'_(1)" They domesticated likewise the useful trees and plants; and they discovered the places and the powers of the metals. Later they created all that we call civilization,--trusting us to correct such mistakes as they could not help making. The sum of their toil is incalculable; and all that they have given us ought surely to be very sacred, very precious, if only by reason of the infinite pain and thought which it cost. Yet what Occidental dreams of saying daily, like the Shinto believer:--"_Ye forefathers of the generations, and of our families, and of our kindred,--unto you, the founders of our homes, we utter the gladness of our thanks_"? None. It is not only because we think the dead cannot hear, but because we have not been trained for generations to exercise our powers of sympathetic mental representation except within a very narrow circle,--the family circle. The Occidental family circle is a very small affair indeed compared with the Oriental family circle. In this nineteenth century the Occidental family is almost disintegrated;--it practically means little more than husband, wife, and children well under age. The Oriental family means not only parents and their blood-kindred, but grandparents and their kindred, and great-grandparents, and all the dead behind them, This idea of the family cultivates sympathetic representation to such a degree that the range of the emotion belonging to such representation may extend, as in Japan, to many groups and sub-groups of living families, and even, in time of national peril, to the whole nation as one great family: a feeling much deeper than what we call patriotism. As a religious emotion the feeling is infinitely extended to all the past; the blended sense of love, of loyalty, and of gratitude is not less real, though necessarily more vague, than the feeling to living kindred. In the West, after the destruction of antique society, no such feeling could remain. The beliefs that condemned the ancients to hell, and forbade the praise of their works,--the doctrine that trained us to return thanks for everything to the God of the Hebrews,--created habits of thought and habits of thoughtlessness, both inimical to every feeling of gratitude to the past. Then, with the decay of theology and the dawn of larger knowledge, came the teaching that the dead had no choice in their work,--they had obeyed necessity, and we had only received from them of necessity the results of necessity. And to-day we still fail to recognize that the necessity itself ought to compel our sympathies with those who obeyed it, and that its bequeathed results are as pathetic as they are precious. Such thoughts rarely occur to us even in regard to the work of the living who serve us. We consider the cost of a thing purchased or obtained to ourselves;--about its cost in effort to the producer we do not allow ourselves to think: indeed, we should be laughed at for any exhibition of conscience on the subject. And our equal insensibility to the pathetic meaning of the work of the past, and to that of the work of the present, largely explains the wastefulness of our civilization,--the reckless consumption by luxury of the labor of years in the pleasure of an hour,--the inhumanity of the thousands of unthinking rich, each of whom dissipates yearly in the gratification of totally unnecessary wants the price of a hundred human lives. The cannibals of civilization are unconsciously more cruel than those of savagery, and require much more flesh. The deeper humanity,--the cosmic emotion of humanity,--is essentially the enemy of useless luxury, and essentially opposed to any form of society which places no restraints upon the gratifications of sense or the pleasures of egotism. In the Far East, on the other hand, the moral duty of simplicity of life has been taught from very ancient times, because ancestor-worship had developed and cultivated this cosmic emotion of humanity which we lack, but which we shall certainly be obliged to acquire at a later day, simply to save our selves from extermination, Two sayings of Iyeyasu exemplify the Oriental sentiment. When virtually master of the empire, this greatest of Japanese soldiers and statesmen was seen one day cleaning and smoothing with his own hands an old dusty pair of silk hakama or trousers. "What you see me do," he said to a retainer, "I am not doing because I think of the worth of the garment in itself, but because I think of what it needed to produce it. It is the result of the toil of a poor woman; and that is why I value it. _If we do not think, while using things, of the time and effort required to make them,--then our want of consideration puts us on a level with the beasts_." Again, in the days of his greatest wealth, we hear of him rebuking his wife for wishing to furnish him too often with new clothing. "When I think," he protested, "of the multitudes around me, and of the generations to come after me, I feel it my duty to be very sparing, for their sake, of the goods in my possession." Nor has this spirit of simplicity yet departed from Japan. Even the Emperor and Empress, in the privacy of their own apartments, continue to live as simply as their subjects, and devote most of their revenue to the alleviation of public distress. (1) Kalevala; thirty-sixth Rune. V It is through the teachings of evolution that there will ultimately be developed in the West a moral recognition of duty to the past like that which ancestor-worship created in the Far East. For even to-day whoever has mastered the first principles of the new philosophy cannot look at the commonest product of man's handiwork without perceiving something of its evolutional history. The most ordinary utensil will appear to him not the mere product of individual capacity on the part of carpenter or potter, smith or cutler, but the product of experiment continued through thousands of years with methods, with materials, and with forms. Nor will it be possible for him to consider the vast time and toil necessitated in the evolution, of any mechanical appliance, and yet experience no generous sentiment. Coming generations must think of the material bequests of the past in relation to dead humanity. But in the development of this "cosmic emotion" of humanity, a much more powerful factor than recognition of our material indebtedness to the past will be the recognition of our psychical indebtedness. For we owe to the dead our immaterial world also,--the world that lives within us,--the world of all that is lovable in impulse, emotion, thought. Whosoever understands scientifically what human goodness is, and the terrible cost of making it, can find in the commonest phases of the humblest lives that beauty, which is divine, and can feel that in one sense our dead are truly gods. So long as we supposed the woman soul one in itself,--a something specially created to fit one particular physical being,--the beauty and the wonder of mother-love could never be fully revealed to us. But with deeper knowledge we must perceive that the inherited love of myriads of millions of dead mothers has been treasured up in one life;--that only thus can be interpreted the infinite sweetness of the speech which the infant hears,--the infinite tenderness of the look of caress which meets its gaze. Unhappy the mortal who has not known these; yet what mortal can adequately speak of them! Truly is mother-love divine; for everything by human recognition called divine is summed up in that love; and every woman uttering and transmitting its highest expression is more than the mother of man: she is the _Mater Dei_. Needless to speak here about the ghostliness of first love, sexual love, which is illusion,--because the passion and the beauty of the dead revive in it, to dazzle, to delude; and to bewitch. It is very, very wonderful; but it is not all good, because it is not all true. The real charm of woman in herself is that which comes later,--when all the illusions fade away to reveal a reality, lovelier than any illusion, which has been evolving behind the phantom-curtain of them. What is the divine magic of the woman thus perceived? Only the affection, the sweetness, the faith, the unselfishness, the intuitions of millions of buried hearts. All live again;--all throb anew, in every fresh warm beat of her own. Certain amazing faculties exhibited in the highest social life tell in another way the story of soul structure built up by dead lives. Wonderful is the man who can really "be all things to all men," or the woman who can make herself twenty, fifty, a hundred different women,--comprehending all, penetrating all, unerring to estimate all others;--seeming to have no individual self, but only selves innumerable;--able to meet each varying personality with a soul exactly toned to the tone of that to be encountered. Rare these characters are, but not so rare that the traveler is unlikely to meet one or two of them in any cultivated society which he has a chance of studying. They are essentially multiple beings,--so visibly multiple that even those who think of the Ego as single have to describe them as "highly complex." Nevertheless this manifestation of forty or fifty different characters in the same person is a phenomenon so remarkable (especially remarkable because it is commonly manifested in youth long before relative experience could possibly account for it) that I cannot but wonder how few persons frankly realize its signification. So likewise with what have been termed the "intuitions" of some forms of genius,--particularly those which relate to the representation of the emotions. A Shakespeare would always remain incomprehensible on the ancient soul-theory. Taine attempted to explain him by the phrase, "a perfect imagination;"--and the phrase reaches far in the truth. But what is the meaning of a perfect imagination? Enormous multiplicity of soul-life,--countless past existences revived in one. Nothing else can explain it.... It is not however, in the world of pure intellect that the story of psychical complexity is most admirable: it is in the world which speaks to our simplest emotions of love honor, sympathy, heroism. "But by such a theory," some critic may observe, "the source of impulses to heroism is also the source of the impulses that people jails. Both are of the dead." This is true. We inherited evil as well as good. Being composites only,--still evolving, still becoming,--we inherit imperfections. But the survival of the fittest in impulses is certainly proven by the average moral condition of humanity,--using the word "fittest" in its ethical sense. In spite of all the misery and vice and crime, nowhere so terribly developed as under our own so-called Christian civilization, the fact must be patent to any one who has lived much, traveled much, and thought much, that the mass of humanity is good, and therefore that the vast majority of impulses bequeathed us by past humanity is good. Also it is certain that the more normal a social condition, the better its humanity. Through all the past the good Kami have always managed to keep the bad Kami from controlling the world. And with the acceptation of this truth, our future ideas of wrong and of right must take immense expansion. Just as a heroism, or any act of pure goodness for a noble end, must assume a preciousness heretofore unsuspected,--so a real crime must come to be regarded as a crime less against the existing individual or society, than against the sum of human experience, and the whole past struggle of ethical aspiration. Real goodness will, therefore, be more prized, and real crime less leniently judged. And the early Shinto teaching, that no code of ethics is necessary,--that the right rule of human conduct can always be known by consulting the heart,--is a teaching which will doubtless be accepted by a more perfect humanity than that of the present. VI "Evolution" the reader may say, "does indeed show through its doctrine of heredity that the living are in one sense really controlled by the dead. But it also shows that the dead are within us, not without us. They are part of us;--there is no proof that they have any existence which is not our own. Gratitude to the past would, therefore, be gratitude to ourselves; love of the dead would be self-love. So that your attempt at analogy ends in the absurd." No. Ancestor-worship in its primitive form may be a symbol only of truth. It may be an index or foreshadowing only of the new moral duty which larger knowledge must force upon as the duty of reverence and obedience to the sacrificial past of human ethical experience. But it may also be much more. The facts of heredity can never afford but half an explanation of the facts of psychology. A plant produces ten, twenty, a hundred plants without yielding up its own life in the process. An animal gives birth to many young, yet lives on with all its physical capacities and its small powers of thought undiminished. Children are born; and the parents survive them. Inherited the mental life certainly is, not less than the physical; yet the reproductive cells, the least specialized of all cells, whether in plant or in animal, never take away, but only repeat the parental being. Continually multiplying, each conveys and transmits the whole experience of a race; yet leaves the whole experience of the race behind it. Here is the marvel inexplicable: the self-multiplication of physical and psychical being,--life after life thrown off from the parent life, each to become complete and reproductive. Were all the parental life given to the offspring, heredity might be said to favor the doctrine of materialism. But like the deities of Hindoo legend, the Self multiplies and still remains the same, with full capacities for continued multiplication. Shinto has its doctrine of souls multiplying by fission; but the facts of psychological emanation are infinitely more wonderful than any theory. The great religions have recognized that heredity could not explain the whole question of self,--could not account for the fate of the original residual self. So they have generally united in holding the inner independent of the outer being. Science can no more fully decide the issues they have raised than it can decide the nature of Reality-in-itself. Again we may vainly ask, What becomes of the forces which constituted the vitality of a dead plant? Much more difficult the question, What becomes of the sensations which formed the psychical life of a dead man?--since nobody can explain the simplest sensation. We know only that during life certain active forces within the body of the plant or the body of the man adjusted themselves continually to outer forces; and that after the interior forces could no longer respond to the pressure of the exterior forces,--then the body in which the former were stored was dissolved into the elements out of which it had been built up. We know nothing more of the ultimate nature of those elements than we know of the ultimate nature of the tendencies which united them. But we have more right to believe the ultimates of life persist after the dissolution of the forms they created, than to believe they cease. The theory of spontaneous generation (misnamed, for only in a qualified sense can the term "spontaneous" be applied to the theory of the beginnings of mundane life) is a theory which the evolutionist must accept, and which can frighten none aware of the evidence of chemistry that matter itself is in evolution. The real theory (not the theory of organized life beginning in bottled infusions, but of the life primordial arising upon a planetary surface) has enormous--nay, infinite--spiritual significance. It requires the belief that all potentialities of life and thought and emotion pass from nebula to universe, from system to system, from star to planet or moon, and again back to cyclonic storms of atomicity; it means that tendencies survive sunburnings,--survive all cosmic evolutions and disintegrations. The elements are evolutionary products only; and the difference of universe from universe must be the creation of tendencies,--of a form of heredity too vast and complex for imagination. There is no chance. There is only law. Each fresh evolution must be influenced by previous evolutions,--just as each individual human life is influenced by the experience of all the lives in its ancestral chain. Must not the tendencies even of the ancestral forms of matter be inherited by the forms of matter to come; and may not the acts and thoughts of men even now be helping to shape the character of future worlds? No longer is it possible to say that the dreams of the Alchemists were absurdities. And no longer can we even assert that all material phenomena are not determined, as in the thought of the ancient East, by soul-polarities. Whether our dead do or do not continue to dwell without us as well as within us,--a question not to be decided in our present undeveloped state of comparative blindness,--certain it is that the testimony of cosmic facts accords with one weird belief of Shinto: the belief that all things are determined by the dead,--whether by ghosts of men or ghosts of worlds. Even as our personal lives are ruled by the now viewless lives of the past, so doubtless the life of our Earth, and of the system to which it belongs, is ruled by ghosts of spheres innumerable: dead universes,--dead suns and planets and moons,--as forms long since dissolved into the night, but as forces immortal and eternally working. Back to the Sun, indeed, like the Shintoist, we can trace our descent; yet we know that even there the beginning of us was not. Infinitely more remote in time than a million sun-lives was that beginning,--if it can truly be said there was a beginning. The teaching of Evolution is that we are one with that unknown Ultimate, of which matter and human mind are but ever-changing manifestations. The teaching of Evolution is also that each of us is many, yet that all of us are still one with each other and with the cosmos;--that we must know all past humanity not only in ourselves, but likewise in the preciousness and beauty of every fellow-life;--that we can best love ourselves in others;--that we shall best serve ourselves in others;--that forms are but veils and phantoms;--and that to the formless Infinite alone really belong all human emotions, whether of the living or the dead. XV KIMIKO _Wasuraruru Mi naran to omo Kokoro koso Wasure nu yori mo Omoi nari-kere_. "To wish to be forgotten by the beloved is a soul-task harder far than trying not to forget."--Poem by Kimiko. I The name is on a paper-lantern at the entrance of a house in the Street of the Geisha. Seen at night the street is one of the queerest in the world. It is narrow as a gangway; and the dark shining woodwork of the house-fronts, all tightly closed,--each having a tiny sliding door with paper-panes that look just like frosted glass,--makes you think of first-class passenger-cabins. Really the buildings are several stories high; but you do not observe this at once,--especially if there be no moon,--because only the lower stories are illuminated up to their awnings, above which all is darkness. The illumination is made by lamps behind the narrow paper-paned doors, and by the paper-lanterns hanging outside,--one at every door. You look down the street between two lines of these lanterns,--lines converging far-off into one motionless bar of yellow light. Some of the lanterns are egg-shaped, some cylindrical; others four-sided or six-sided; and Japanese characters are beautifully written upon them. The street is very quiet,--silent as a display of cabinet-work in some great exhibition after closing-time. This is because the inmates are mostly away,--at tending banquets and other festivities. Their life is of the night. The legend upon the first lantern to the left as you go south is "Kinoya: uchi O-Kata;" and that means The House of Gold wherein O-Kata dwells. The lantern to the right tells of the House of Nishimura, and of a girl Miyotsuru,--which name signifies The Stork Magnificently Existing. Next upon the left comes the House of Kajita;--and in that house are Kohana, the Flower-Bud, and Hinako, whose face is pretty as the face of a doll. Opposite is the House Nagaye, wherein live Kimika and Kimiko.... And this luminous double litany of names is half-a-mile long. The inscription on the lantern of the last-named house reveals the relationship between Kimika and Kimiko,--and yet something more; for Kimiko is styled Ni-dai-me, an honorary untranslatable title which signifies that she is only Kimiko No.2. Kimika is the teacher and mistress: she has educated two geisha, both named, or rather renamed by her, Kimiko; and this use of the same name twice is proof positive that the first Kimiko--Ichi-dai-me--must have been celebrated. The professional appellation borne by an unlucky or unsuccessful geisha is never given to her successor. If you should ever have good and sufficient reason to enter the house,--pushing open that lantern-slide of a door which sets a gong-bell ringing to announce visits,--you might be able to see Kimika, provided her little troupe be not engaged for the evening. You would find her a very intelligent person, and well worth talking to. She can tell, when she pleases, the most remarkable stories,--real flesh-and-blood stories,--true stories of human nature. For the Street of the Geisha is full of traditions,--tragic, comic, melodramatic;--every house has its memories;--and Kimika knows them all. Some are very, very terrible; and some would make you laugh; and some would make you think. The story of the first Kimiko belongs to the last class. It is not one of the most extraordinary; but it is one of the least difficult for Western people to understand. II There is no more Ichi-dai-me Kimiko: she is only a remembrance. Kimika was quite young when she called that Kimiko her professional sister. "An exceedingly wonderful girl," is what Kimika says of Kimiko. To win any renown in her profession, a geisha must be pretty or very clever; and the famous ones are usually both,--having been selected at a very early age by their trainers according to the promise of such qualities, even the commoner class of singing-girls must have some charm in their best years,--if only that _beaute du diable_ which inspired the Japanese proverb that even a devil is pretty at eighteen(1). But Kimiko was much more than pretty. She was according to the Japanese ideal of beauty; and that standard is not reached by one woman in a hundred thousand. Also she was more than clever: she was accomplished. She composed very dainty poems,--could arrange flowers exquisitely, perform tea-ceremonies faultlessly, embroider, make silk mosaic: in short, she was genteel. And her first public appearance made a flutter in the fast world of Kyoto. It was evident that she could make almost any conquest she pleased, and that fortune was before her. But it soon became evident, also, that she had been perfectly trained for her profession. She had been taught how to conduct herself under almost any possible circumstances; for what she could not have known Kimika knew everything about: the power of beauty, and the weakness of passion; the craft of promises and the worth of indifference; and all the folly and evil in the hearts of men. So Kimiko made few mistakes and shed few tears. By and by she proved to be, as Kimika wished,--slightly dangerous. So a lamp is to night-fliers: otherwise some of them would put it out. The duty of the lamp is to make pleasant things visible: it has no malice. Kimiko had no malice, and was not too dangerous. Anxious parents discovered that she did not want to enter into respectable families, nor even to lend herself to any serious romances. But she was not particularly merciful to that class of youths who sign documents with their own blood, and ask a dancing-girl to cut off the extreme end of the little finger of her left hand as a pledge of eternal affection. She was mischievous enough with them to cure them of their folly. Some rich folks who offered her lands and houses on condition of owning her, body and soul, found her less merciful. One proved generous enough to purchase her freedom unconditionally, at a price which made Kimika a rich woman; and Kimiko was grateful,--but she remained a geisha. She managed her rebuffs with too much tact to excite hate, and knew how to heal despairs in most cases. There were exceptions, of course. One old man, who thought life not worth living unless he could get Kimiko all to himself, invited her to a banquet one evening, and asked her to drink wine with him. But Kimika, accustomed to read faces, deftly substituted tea (which has precisely the same color) for Kimiko's wine, and so instinctively saved the girl's precious life,--for only ten minutes later the soul of the silly host was on its way to the Meido alone, and doubtless greatly disappointed.... After that night Kimika watched over Kimiko as a wild cat guards her kitten. The kitten became a fashionable mania, a craze,--a delirium,--one of the great sights and sensations of the period. There is a foreign prince who remembers her name: he sent her a gift of diamonds which she never wore. Other presents in multitude she received from all who could afford the luxury of pleasing her; and to be in her good graces, even for a day, was the ambition of the "gilded youth." Nevertheless she allowed no one to imagine himself a special favorite, and refused to make any contracts for perpetual affection. To any protests on the subject she answered that she knew her place. Even respectable women spoke not unkindly of her,--because her name never figured in any story of family unhappiness. She really kept her place. Time seemed to make her more charming. Other geisha grew into fame, but no one was even classed with her. Some manufacturers secured the sole right to use her photograph for a label; and that label made a fortune for the firm. But one day the startling news was abroad that Kimiko had at last shown a very soft heart. She had actually said good-by to Kimika, and had gone away with somebody able to give her all the pretty dresses she could wish for,--somebody eager to give her social position also, and to silence gossip about her naughty past,--somebody willing to die for her ten times over, and already half-dead for love of her. Kimika said that a fool had tried to kill himself because of Kimiko, and that Kimiko had taken pity on him, and nursed him back to foolishness. Taiko Hideyoshi had said that there were only two things in this world which he feared,--a fool and a dark night. Kimika had always been afraid of a fool; and a fool had taken Kimiko away. And she added, with not unselfish tears, that Kimiko would never come back to her: it was a case of love on both sides for the time of several existences. Nevertheless, Kimika was only half right. She was very shrewd indeed; but she had never been able to see into certain private chambers in the soul of Kimiko. If she could have seen, she would have screamed for astonishment. (1) Oni mo jiuhachi, azami no hana. There is a similar saying of a dragon: ja mo hatachi ("even a dragon at twenty"). III Between Kimiko and other geisha there was a difference of gentle blood. Before she took a professional name, her name was Ai, which, written with the proper character, means love. Written with another character the same word-sound signifies grief. The story of Ai was a story of both grief and love. She had been nicely brought up. As a child she had been sent to a private school kept by an old samurai,--where the little girls squatted on cushions before little writing-tables twelve inches high, and where the teachers taught without salary. In these days when teachers get better salaries than civil-service officials, the teaching is not nearly so honest or so pleasant as it used to be. A servant always accompanied the child to and from the school-house, carrying her books, her writing-box, her kneeling cushion, and her little table. Afterwards she attended an elementary public school. The first "modern" text-books had just been issued,--containing Japanese translations of English, German, and French stories about honor and duty and heroism, excellently chosen, and illustrated with tiny innocent pictures of Western people in costumes never of this world. Those dear pathetic little text-books are now curiosities: they have long been superseded by pretentious compilations much less lovingly and sensibly edited. Ai learned well. Once a year, at examination time, a great official would visit the school, and talk to the children as if they were all his own, and stroke each silky head as he distributed the prizes. He is now a retired statesman, and has doubtless forgotten Ai;--and in the schools of to-day nobody caresses little girls, or gives them prizes. Then came those reconstructive changes by which families of rank were reduced to obscurity and poverty; and Ai had to leave school. Many great sorrows followed, till there remained to her only her mother and an infant sister. The mother and Ai could do little but weave; and by weaving alone they could not earn enough to live. House and lands first,--then, article by article, all things not necessary to existence--heirlooms, trinkets, costly robes, crested lacquer-ware--passed cheaply to those whom misery makes rich, and whose wealth is called by the people _Namida no kane_,--"the Money of Tears." Help from the living was scanty,--for most of the samurai-families of kin were in like distress. But when there was nothing left to sell,--not even Ai's little school-books,--help was sought from the dead. For it was remembered that the father of Ai's father had been buried with his sword, the gift of a daimyo; and that the mountings of the weapon were of gold. So the grave was opened, and the grand hilt of curious workmanship exchanged for a common one, and the ornaments of the lacquered sheath removed. But the good blade was not taken, because the warrior might need it. Ai saw his face as he sat erect in the great red-clay urn which served in lieu of coffin to the samurai of high rank when buried by the ancient rite. His features were still recognizable after all those years of sepulture; and he seemed to nod a grim assent to what had been done as his sword was given back to him. At last the mother of Ai became too weak and ill to work at the loom; and the gold of the dead had been spent. Ai said:--"Mother, I know there is but one thing now to do. Let me be sold to the dancing-girls." The mother wept, and made no reply. Ai did not weep, but went out alone. She remembered that in other days, when banquets were given in her father's house, and dancers served the wine, a free geisha named Kimika had often caressed her. She went straight to the house of Kimika. "I want you to buy me," said Ai;--"and I want a great deal of money." Kimika laughed, and petted her, and made her eat, and heard her story,--which was bravely told, without one tear. "My child," said Kimika, "I cannot give you a great deal of money; for I have very little. But this I can do:--I can promise to support your mother. That will be better than to give her much money for you,--because your mother, my child, has been a great lady, and therefore cannot know how to use money cunningly. Ask your honored mother to sign the bond,--promising that you will stay with me till you are twenty-four years old, or until such time as you can pay me back. And what money I can now spare, take home with you as a free gift." Thus Ai became a geisha; and Kimika renamed her Kimiko, and kept the pledge to maintain the mother and the child-sister. The mother died before Kimiko became famous; the little sister was put to school. Afterwards those things already told came to pass. The young man who had wanted to die for love of a dancing-girl was worthy of better things. He was an only son and his parents, wealthy and titled people, were willing to make any sacrifice for him,--even that of accepting a geisha for daughter-in-law. Moreover they were not altogether displeased with Kimiko, because of her sympathy for their boy. Before going away, Kimiko attended the wedding of her young sister, Ume, who had just finished school. She was good and pretty. Kimiko had made the match, and used her wicked knowledge of men in making it. She chose a very plain, honest, old-fashioned merchant,--a man who could not have been bad, even if he tried. Ume did not question the wisdom of her sister's choice, which time proved fortunate. IV It was in the period of the fourth moon that Kimiko was carried away to the home prepared for her,--a place in which to forget all the unpleasant realities of life,--a sort of fairy-palace lost in the charmed repose of great shadowy silent high-walled gardens. Therein she might have felt as one reborn, by reason of good deeds, into the realm of Horai. But the spring passed, and the summer came,--and Kimiko remained simply Kimiko. Three times she had contrived, for reasons unspoken, to put off the wedding-day. In the period of the eighth moon, Kimiko ceased to be playful, and told her reasons very gently but very firmly:--"It is time that I should say what I have long delayed saying. For the sake of the mother who gave me life, and for the sake of my little sister, I have lived in hell. All that is past; but the scorch of the fire is upon me, and there is no power that can take it away. It is not for such as I to enter into an honored family,--nor to bear you a son,--nor to build up your house.... Suffer me to speak; for in the knowing of wrong I am very, very much wiser than you.... Never shall I be your wife to become your shame. I am your companion only, your play-fellow, your guest of an hour, --and this not for any gifts. When I shall be no longer with you nay! certainly that day must come!--you will have clearer sight. I shall still be dear to you, but not in the same way as now--which is foolishness. You will remember these words out of my heart. Some true sweet lady will be chosen for you, to become the mother of your children. I shall see them; but the place of a wife I shall never take, and the joy of a mother I must never know. I am only your folly, my beloved,--an illusion, a dream, a shadow flitting across your life. Somewhat more in later time I may become, but a wife to you never, neither in this existence nor in the next. Ask me again-and I go." In the period of the tenth moon, and without any reason imaginable, Kimiko disappeared,--vanished,--utterly ceased to exist. V Nobody knew when or how or whither she had gone. Even in the neighborhood of the home she had left, none had seen her pass. At first it seemed that she must soon return. Of all her beautiful and precious things-her robes, her ornaments, her presents: a fortune in themselves--she had taken nothing. But weeks passed without word or sign; and it was feared that something terrible had befallen her. Rivers were dragged, and wells were searched. Inquiries were made by telegraph and by letter. Trusted servants were sent to look for her. Rewards were offered for any news--especially a reward to Kimika, who was really attached to the girl, and would have been only too happy to find her without any reward at all. But the mystery remained a mystery. Application to the authorities would have been useless: the fugitive had done no wrong, broken no law; and the vast machinery of the imperial police-system was not to be set in motion by the passionate whim of a boy. Months grew into years; but neither Kimika, nor the little sister in Kyoto, nor any one of the thousands who had known and admired the beautiful dancer, ever saw Kimiko again. But what she had foretold came true;--for time dries all tears and quiets all longing; and even in Japan one does not really try to die twice for the same despair. The lover of Kimiko became wiser; and there was found for him a very sweet person for wife, who gave him a son. And other years passed; and there was happiness in the fairy-home where Kimiko had once been. There came to that home one morning, as if seeking alms, a traveling nun; and the child, hearing her Buddhist cry of "_Ha--i! ha--i!_" ran to the gate. And presently a house-servant, bringing out the customary gift of rice, wondered to see the nun caressing the child, and whispering to him. Then the little one cried to the servant, "Let me give!"--and the nun pleaded from under the veiling shadow of her great straw hat: "Honorably allow the child to give me." So the boy put the rice into the mendicant's bowl. Then she thanked him, and asked:--"Now will you say again for me the little word which I prayed you to tell your honored father?" And the child lisped:--"_Father, one whom you will never see again in this world, says that her heart is glad because she has seen your son_." The nun laughed softly, and caressed him again, and passed away swiftly; and the servant wondered more than ever, while the child ran to tell his father the words of the mendicant. But the father's eyes dimmed as he heard the words, and he wept over his boy. For he, and only he, knew who had been at the gate, --and the sacrificial meaning of all that had been hidden. Now he thinks much, but tells his thought to no one. He knows that the space between sun and sun is less than the space between himself and the woman who loved him. He knows it were vain to ask in what remote city, in what fantastic riddle of narrow nameless streets, in what obscure little temple known only to the poorest poor, she waits for the darkness before the Dawn of the Immeasurable Light,--when the Face of the Teacher will smile upon her,--when the Voice of the Teacher will say to her, in tones of sweetness deeper than ever came from human lover's lips:--"_O my daughter in the Law, thou hast practiced the perfect way; thou hast believed and understood the highest truth;--therefore come I now to meet and to welcome thee!_" APPENDIX THREE POPULAR BALLADS Read before the Asiatic Society of Japan, October 17, 1894. During the spring of 1891, I visited the settlement in Matsue, Izumo, of an outcast people known as the _yama-no-mono_. Some results of the visit were subsequently communicated to the "Japan Mail," in a letter published June 13, 1891, and some extracts from that letter I think it may be worth while to cite here, by way of introduction to the subject of the present paper. "The settlement is at the southern end of Matsue in a tiny valley, or rather hollow among the hills which form a half-circle behind the city. Few Japanese of the better classes have ever visited such a village; and even the poorest of the common people shun the place as they would shun a centre of contagion; for the idea of defilement, both moral and physical, is still attached to the very name of its inhabitants. Thus, although the settlement is within half an hour's walk from the heart of the city, probably not half a dozen of the thirty-six thousand residents of Matsue have visited it. "There are four distinct outcast classes in Matsue and its environs: the _hachiya_, the _koya-no-mono_, the _yama-no-mono_, and the _eta_ of Suguta. "There are two settlements of _hachiya_. These were formerly the public executioners, and served under the police in various capacities. Although by ancient law the lowest class of pariahs, their intelligence was sufficiently cultivated by police service and by contact with superiors to elevate them in popular opinion above the other outcasts. They are now manufacturers of bamboo cages and baskets. They are said to be descendants of the family and retainers of Taira-no-Masakado-Heishino, the only man in Japan who ever seriously conspired to seize the imperial thrones by armed force, and who was killed by the famous general Taira-no-Sadamori. "The _koya-no-mono_ are slaughterers and dealers in hides. They are never allowed to enter any house in Matsue except the shop of a dealer in geta and other footgear. Originally vagrants, they were permanently settled in Matsue by some famous daimyo, who built for them small houses--_koya_--on the bank of the canal. Hence their name. As for the _eta_ proper, their condition and calling are too familiar to need comment in this connection. "The _yama-no-mono_ are so called because they live among the hills (_yama_) at the southern end of Matsue. They have a monopoly of the rag-and-waste-paper business, and are buyers of all sorts of refuse, from old bottles to broken-down machinery. Some of them are rich. Indeed, the whole class is, compared with other outcast classes, prosperous. Nevertheless, public prejudice against them is still almost as strong as in the years previous to the abrogation of the special laws concerning them. Under no conceivable circumstances could any of them obtain employment as servants. Their prettiest girls in old times often became _joro_; but at no time could they enter a _joroya_ in any neighboring city, much less in their own, so they were sold to establishments in remote places. A _yama-no-mono_ to-day could not even become a _kurumaya_. He could not obtain employment as a common laborer in any capacity, except by going to some distant city where he could hope to conceal his origin. But if detected under such conditions he would run serious risk of being killed by his fellow-laborers. Under any circumstance it would be difficult for a _yama-no-mono_ to pass himself off for a _heimin_. Centuries of isolation and prejudice have fixed and moulded the manners of the class in recognizable ways; and even its language has become a special and curious dialect. "I was anxious to see something of a class so singularly situated and specialized; and I had the good fortune to meet a Japanese gentleman who, although belonging to the highest class of Matsue, was kind enough to agree to accompany me to their village, where he had never been himself. On the way thither he told me many curious things about the _yama-no-mono_. In feudal times these people had been kindly treated by the samurai; and they were often allowed or invited to enter the courts of samurai dwellings to sing and dance, for which performances they were paid. The songs and the dances with which they were able to entertain even those aristocratic families were known to no other people, and were called Daikoku-mai. Singing the Daikoku-mai was, in fact, the special hereditary art of the _yama-no-mono_, and represented their highest comprehension of aesthetic and emotional matters. In former times they could not obtain admittance to a respectable theatre; and, like the _hachiya_, had theatres of their own. It would be interesting, my friend added, to learn the origin of their songs and their dances; for their songs are not in their own special dialect, but in pure Japanese. And that they should have been able to preserve this oral literature without deterioration is especially remarkable from the fact that the _yama-no-mono_ were never taught to read or write. They could not even avail themselves of those new educational opportunities which the era of Meiji has given to the masses; prejudice is still far too strong to allow of their children being happy in a public school. A small special school might be possible, though there would perhaps be no small difficulty in obtaining willing teachers(1). "The hollow in which the village stands is immediately behind the Buddhist cemetery of Tokoji. The settlement has its own Shinto temple. I was extremely surprised at the aspect of the place; for I had expected to see a good deal of ugliness and filth. On the contrary, I saw a multitude of neat dwellings, with pretty gardens about them, and pictures on the walls of the rooms. There were many trees; the village was green with shrubs and plants, and picturesque to an extreme degree; for, owing to the irregularity of the ground, the tiny streets climbed up and down hill at all sorts of angles,--the loftiest street being fifty or sixty feet above the lowermost. A large public bath-house and a public laundry bore evidence that the _yama-no-mono_ liked clean linen as well as their _heimin_ neighbors on the other side of the hill. "A crowd soon gathered to look at the strangers who had come to their village,--a rare event for them. The faces I saw seemed much like the faces of the _heimin_, except that I fancied the ugly ones were uglier, making the pretty ones appear more pretty by contrast. There were one or two sinister faces, recalling faces of gypsies that I had seen; while some little girls, on the other hand, had remarkably pleasing features. There were no exchanges of civilities, as upon meeting _heimin_; a Japanese of the better class would as soon think of taking off his hat to a _yama-no-mono_ as a West-Indian planter would think of bowing to a negro. The _yama-no-mono_ themselves usually show by their attitude that they expect no forms. None of the men saluted us; but some of the women, on being kindly addressed, made obeisance. Other women, weaving coarse straw sandals (an inferior quality of zori), would answer only 'yes' or 'no' to questions, and seemed to be suspicious of us. My friend called my attention to the fact that the women were dressed differently from Japanese women of the ordinary classes. For example, even among the very poorest _heimin_ there are certain accepted laws of costume; there are certain colors which may or may not be worn, according to age. But even elderly women among these people wear obi of bright red or variegated hues, and kimono of a showy tint. "Those of the women seen in the city street, selling or buying, are the elders only. The younger stay at home. The elderly women always go into town with large baskets of a peculiar shape, by which the fact that they are _yama-no-mono_ is at once known. Numbers of these baskets were visible, principally at the doors of the smaller dwellings. They are carried on the back, and are used to contain all that the _yama-no-mono_ buy,--old paper, old wearing apparel, bottles, broken glass, and scrap-metal. "A woman at last ventured to invite us to her house, to look at some old colored prints she wished to sell. Thither we went, and were as nicely received as in a _heimin_ residence. The pictures --including a number of drawings by Hiroshige--proved to be worth buying; and my friend then asked if we could have the pleasure of hearing the Daikoku-mai. To my great satisfaction the proposal was well received; and on our agreeing to pay a trifle to each singer, a small band of neat-looking young girls, whom we had not seen before, made their appearance, and prepared to sing, while an old woman made ready to dance. Both the old woman and the girls provided themselves with curious instruments for the performance. Three girls had instruments shaped like mallets, made of paper and bamboo: these were intended to represent the hammer of Dai-koku(2); they were held in the left hand, a fan being waved in the right. Other girls were provided with a kind of castanets,--two flat pieces of hard dark wood, connected by a string. Six girls formed in a line before the house. The old woman took her place facing the girls, holding in her hands two little sticks, one stick being notched along a part of its length. By drawing it across the other stick, a curious rattling noise was made. "My friend pointed out to me that the singers formed two distinct parties, of three each. Those bearing the hammer and fan were the Daikoku band: they were to sing the ballads. Those with the castanets were the Ebisu party and formed the chorus. "The old woman rubbed her little sticks together, and from the throats of the Daikoku band there rang out a clear, sweet burst of song, quite different from anything I had heard before in Japan, while the tapping of the castanets kept exact time to the syllabification of the words, which were very rapidly uttered. When the first three girls had sung a certain number of lines, the voices of the other three joined in, producing a very pleasant though untrained harmony; and all sang the burden together. Then the Daikoku party began another verse; and, after a certain interval, the chorus was again sung. In the meanwhile the old woman was dancing a very fantastic dance which provoked laughter from the crowd, occasionally chanting a few comic words. "The song was not comic, however; it was a very pathetic ballad entitled 'Yaoya O-Shichi.' Yaoya O-Shichi was a beautiful girl, who set fire to her own house in order to obtain another meeting with her lover, an acolyte in a temple where she expected that her family would be obliged to take refuge after the fire. But being detected and convicted of arson, she was condemned by the severe law of that age to be burnt alive. The sentence was carried into effect; but the youth and beauty of the victim, and the motive of her offense, evoked a sympathy in the popular heart which found later expression in song and, drama. "None of the performers, except the old woman, lifted the feet from the ground while singing--but all swayed their bodies in time to the melody. The singing lasted more than one hour, during which the voices never failed in their quality; and yet, so far from being weary of it, and although I could not understand a word uttered, I felt very sorry when it was all over. And with the pleasure received there came to the foreign listener also a strong sense of sympathy for the young singers, victims of a prejudice so ancient that its origin is no longer known." (1) Since the time this letter to the Mail was written, a primary school has been established for the yama-no-mono, through the benevolence of Matsue citizens superior to prejudice. The undertaking did not escape severe local criticism, but it seems to have proved successful. (2) Daikoku is the popular God of Wealth. Ebisu is the patron of labor. See, for the history of these deities, an article (translated) entitled "The Seven Gods of Happiness," by Carlo Puini, vol. iii. Transactions of the Asiatic Society. See, also, for an account of their place in Shinto worship, Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan, vol. 1. The foregoing extracts from my letter to the "Mail" tell the history of my interest in the Daikoku-mai. At a later time I was able to procure, through the kindness of my friend Nishida Sentaro, of Matsue, written copies of three of the ballads as sung by the _yama-no-mono_; and translations of these were afterwards made for me. I now venture to offer my prose renderings of the ballads,--based on the translations referred to,--as examples of folk-song not devoid of interest. An absolutely literal rendering, executed with the utmost care, and amply supplied with explanatory notes, would be, of course, more worthy the attention of a learned society. Such a version would, however, require a knowledge of Japanese which I do not possess, as well as much time and patient labor. Were the texts in themselves of value sufficient to justify a scholarly translation, I should not have attempted any translation at all; but I felt convinced that their interest was of a sort which could not be much diminished by a free and easy treatment. From any purely literary point of view, the texts are disappointing, exhibiting no great power of imagination, and nothing really worthy to be called poetical art. While reading such verses, we find ourselves very far away indeed from the veritable poetry of Japan,--from those compositions which, with a few chosen syllables only, can either create a perfect colored picture in the mind, or bestir the finest sensations of memory with marvelous penetrative delicacy. The Daikoku-mai are extremely crude; and their long popularity has been due, I fancy, rather to the very interesting manner of singing them than to any quality which could permit us to compare them with the old English ballads. The legends upon which these chants were based still exist in many other forms, including dramatic compositions. I need scarcely refer to the vast number of artistic suggestions which they have given, but I may observe that their influence in this regard has not yet passed away. Only a few months ago, I saw a number of pretty cotton prints, fresh from the mill, picturing Oguri-Hangwan making the horse Onikage stand upon a chessboard. Whether the versions of the ballads I obtained in Izumo were composed there or elsewhere I am quite unable to say; but the stories of Shuntoku-maru, Oguri-Hangwan, and Yaoya O-Shichi are certainly well known in every part of Japan. Together with these prose translations, I submit to the Society the original texts, to which are appended some notes of interest about the local customs connected with the singing of the Daikoku-mai, about the symbols used by the dancers, and about the comic phrases chanted at intervals during the performances,--phrases of which the coarse humor sometimes forbids any rendering. All the ballads are written in the same measure, exemplified by the first four lines of "Yaoya O-Shichi." Koe ni yoru ne no, aki no skika Tsuma yori miwoba kogasu nari Go-nin musume no sanno de Iro mo kawasanu Edo-zakura. The chorus, or _hayashi_, does not seem to be sung at the end of a fixed number of lines, but rather at the termination of certain parts of the recitative. There is also no fixed limit to the number of singers in either band: these may be very many or very few. I think that the curious Izumo way of singing the burden--so that the vowel sounds in the word iya uttered by one band, and in the word sorei uttered by the other, are made to blend together --might be worth the attention of some one interested in Japanese folk-music. Indeed, I am convinced that a very delightful and wholly unexplored field of study offers itself in Japan to the student of folk-music and popular chants. The songs of the _Honen-odori_, or harvest dances, with their curious choruses; the chants of the _Bon-odori_, which differ in every district; the strange snatches of song, often sweet and weird, that one hears from the rice-fields or the mountain slopes in remote provinces, have qualities totally different from those we are accustomed to associate with the idea of Japanese music,--a charm indisputable even for Western ears, because not less in harmony with the nature inspiring it than the song of a bird or the shrilling of cicadae. To reproduce such melodies, with their extraordinary fractional tones, would be no easy task, but I cannot help believing that the result would fully repay the labor. Not only do they represent a very ancient, perhaps primitive musical sense: they represent also something essentially characteristic of the race; and there is surely much to be learned in regard to race-emotion from the comparative study of folk-music. The fact, however, that few of those peculiarities which give so strange a charm to the old peasant-chants are noticeable in the Izumo manner of singing the Daikoku-mai would perhaps indicate that the latter are comparatively modern. THE BALLAD OF SHUNTOKU-MARU _Ara!--Joyfully young Daikoko and Ebisu enter dancing_ Shall we tell a tale, or shall we utter felicitations? A tale: then of what is it best that we should tell? Since we are bidden to your august house to relate a story, we shall relate the story of Shuntoku. Surely there once lived, in the Province of Kawachi, a very rich man called Nobuyoshi. And his eldest son was called Shuntoku-maru. When Shuntoku-maru, that eldest son, was only three years old, his mother died. And when he was five years old, there was given to him a stepmother. When he was seven years old, his stepmother gave birth to a son who was called Otowaka-maru. And the two brothers grew up together. When Shuntoku became sixteen years old, he went to Kyoto, to the temple of Tenjin-Sama, to make offerings to the god. There he saw a thousand people going to the temple, and a thousand returning, and a thousand remaining: there was a gathering of three thousand persons(1). Through that multitude the youngest daughter of a rich man called Hagiyama was being carried to the temple in a kago(2). Shuntoku also was traveling in a kago; and the two kago moved side by side along the way. Gazing on the girl, Shuntoku fell in love with her. And the two exchanged looks and letters of love. All this was told to the stepmother of Shuntoku by a servant that was a flatterer. Then the stepmother began to think that should the youth remain in his father's home, the store-houses east and west, and the granaries north and south, and the house that stood in the midst, could never belong to Otowaka-maru. Therefore she devised an evil thing, and spoke to her husband, saying, "Sir, my lord, may I have your honored permission to be free for seven days from the duties of the household?" Her husband answered, "Yes, surely; but what is it that you wish to do for seven days?" She said to him: "Before being wedded to my lord, I made a vow to the August Deity of Kiyomidzu; and now I desire to go to the temple to fulfill that vow." Said the master: "That is well. But which of the man servants or maid servants would you wish to go with you?" Then she made reply: "Neither man servant nor maid servant do I require. I wish to go all alone." And without paying heed to any advice about her journey, she departed from the house, and made great haste to Kyoto. Reaching the quarter Sanjo in the city of Kyoto, she asked the way to the street Kajiyamachi, which is the Street of the Smiths. And finding it, she saw three smithies side by side. Going to the middle one, she greeted the smith, and asked him: "Sir smith, can you make some fine small work in iron?" And he answered: "Ay, lady, that I can." Then she said: "Make me, I pray you, nine and forty nails without heads." But he answered: "I am of the seventh generation of a family of smiths; yet never did I hear till now of nails without heads, and such an order I cannot take. It were better that you should ask elsewhere." "Nay," said she, "since I came first to you, I do not want to go elsewhere. Make them for me, I pray, sir smith." He answered: "Of a truth, if I make such nails, I must be paid a thousand ryo(3)." She replied to him: "If you make them all for me, I care nothing whether you desire one thousand or two thousand ryo. Make them, I beseech you, sir smith." So the smith could not well refuse to make the nails. He arranged all things rightly to honor the God of the Bellows(4). Then taking up his first hammer, he recited the Kongo-Sutra(5); taking up his second, he recited the Kwannon-Sutra; taking up his third, he recited the Amida-Sutra,--because he feared those nails might be used for a wicked purpose. Thus in sorrow he finished the nails. Then was the woman much pleased. And receiving the nails in her left hand, she paid the money to the smith with her right, and bade him farewell, and went upon her way. When she was gone, then the smith thought: "Surely I have in gold koban(6) the sum of a thousand ryo. But this life of ours is only like the resting-place of a traveler journeying, and I must show to others some pity and kindness. To those who are cold I will give clothing, and to those who are hungry I will give food." And by announcing his intention in writings(7) set up at the boundaries of provinces and at the limits of villages, he was able to show his benevolence to many people. On her way the woman stopped at the house of a painter, and asked the painter to paint for her a picture. And the painter questioned her, sayings "Shall I paint you the picture of a very old plum-tree, or of an ancient pine?" She said to him; "No: I want neither the picture of an old plum-tree nor of an ancient pine. I want the picture of a boy of sixteen years, having a stature of five feet, and two moles upon his face." "That," said the painter, "will be an easy thing to paint." And he made the picture in a very little time. It was much like Shuntoku-maru; and the woman rejoiced as she departed. With that picture of Shuntoku she hastened to Kiyomidzu; and she pasted the picture upon one of the pillars in the rear of the temple. And with forty-seven out of the forty-nine nails she nailed the picture to the pillar; and with the two remaining nails she nailed the eyes. Then feeling assured that she had put a curse upon Shuntoku, that wicked woman went home. And she said humbly, "I have returned;" and she pretended to be faithful and true. (1) These numbers simply indicate a great multitude in the language of the people; they have no exact significance. (2) Kago, a kind of palanquin. (3) The ancient ryo or tael had a value approximating that of the dollar of 100 sen. (4) Fuigo Sama, deity of smiths. (5) "Diamond Sutra." (6) Koban, a gold coin. There were koban of a great many curious shapes and designs. The most common form was a flat or oval disk, stamped with Chinese characters. Some koban were fully five inches in length by four in width. (7) Public announcements are usually written upon small wooden tablets attached to a post; and in the country such announcements are still set up just as suggested in the ballad. Now three or four months after the stepmother of Shuntoku had thus invoked evil upon him he became very sick. Then that stepmother secretly rejoiced. And she spoke cunningly to Nobuyoshi, her husband, saying: "Sir, my lord, this sickness of Shuntoku seems to be a very bad sickness; and it is difficult to keep one having such sickness in the house of a rich man." Then Nobuyoshi was much surprised, and sorrowed greatly; but, thinking to himself that indeed it could not be helped, he called Shuntoku to him, and said:-- "Son, this sickness which you have seems to be leprosy; and one having such a sickness cannot continue to dwell in this house. "It were best for you, therefore, to make a pilgrimage through all the provinces, in the hope that you may be healed by divine influence. "And my storehouses and my granaries I will not give to Otowaka-maru, but only to you, Shuntoku; so you must come back to us." Poor Shuntoku, not knowing how wicked his stepmother was, besought her in his sad condition, saying: "Dear mother, I have been told that I must go forth and wander as a pilgrim. "But now I am blind, and I cannot travel without difficulty. I should be content with one meal a day in place of three, and glad for permission to live in a corner of some storeroom or outhouse; but I should like to remain somewhere near my home. "Will you not please permit me to stay, if only for a little time? Honored mother, I beseech you, let me stay." But she answered: "As this trouble which you now have is only the beginning of the bad disease, it is not possible for me to suffer you to stay. You must go away from the house at once." Then Shuntoku was forced out of the house by the servants, and into the yard, sorrowing greatly. And the wicked stepmother, following, cried out: "As your father has commanded, you must go away at once, Shuntoku." Shuntoku answered: "See, I have not even a traveling-dress. A pilgrim's gown and leggings I ought to have, and a pilgrim's wallet for begging." At hearing these words, the wicked stepmother was glad; and she at once gave him all that he required. Shuntoku received the things, and thanked her, and made ready to depart, even in his piteous state. He put on the gown and hung a wooden mamori (charm) upon his breast(1), and he suspended the wallet about his neck. He put on his straw sandals and fastened them tightly, and took a bamboo staff in his hand, and placed a hat of woven rushes upon his head. And saying, "Farewell, father; farewell, mother," poor Shuntoku started on his journey. Sorrowfully Nobuyoshi accompanied his son a part of the way, saying: "It cannot be helped, Shuntoku. But if, through the divine favor of those august deities to whom that charm is dedicated, your disease should become cured, then come back to us at once, my son." Hearing from his father these kind words of farewell, Shuntoku felt much happier, and covering his face with the great rush hat, so as not to be known to the neighbors, he went on alone. But in a little while, finding his limbs so weak that he was afraid he could not go far, and feeling his heart always drawn back toward his home, so that he could not help often stopping and turning his face thither, he became sad again. (1) See Professor Chamberlain's "Notes on some Minor Japanese Religious Practices," for full details of pilgrimages and pilgrim costumes, in Journal of the Anthropological Institute (1898). The paper is excellently illustrated. Since it would have been difficult for him to enter any dwelling, he had often to sleep under pine-trees or in the forests; but sometimes he was lucky enough to find shelter in some wayside shrine containing images of the Buddhas. And once in the darkness of the morning, before the breaking of the day, in the hour when the crows first begin to fly abroad and cry, the dead mother of Shuntoku came to him in a dream. And she said to him: "Son, your affliction has been caused by the witchcraft of your wicked stepmother. Go now to the divinity of Kiyomidzu, and beseech the goddess that you may be healed." Shuntoku arose, wondering, and took his way toward the city of Kyoto, toward the temple of Kiyomidzu. One day, as he traveled, he went to the gate of the house of a rich man named Hagiyama, crying out loudly: "Alms! alms!" Then a maid servant of the house, hearing the cry, came out and gave him food, and laughed aloud, saying: "Who could help laughing at the idea of trying to give anything to so comical a pilgrim?" Shuntoku asked: "Why do you laugh? I am the son of a rich and well-famed man, Nobuyoshi of Kawachi. But because of a malediction invoked upon me by my wicked stepmother, I have become as you see me." Then Otohime, a daughter of that family, hearing the voices, came out, and asked the maid: "Why did you laugh?" The servant answered: "Oh, my lady, there was a blind man from Kawachi, who seemed about twenty years old, clinging to the pillar of the gate, and loudly crying, 'Alms! alms.' "So I tried to give him some clean rice upon a tray; but when I held out the tray toward his right hand, he advanced his left; and when I held out the tray toward his left hand, he advanced his right: that was the reason I could not help laughing." Hearing the maid explaining thus to the young lady, the blind man became angry, and said: "You have no right to despise strangers. I am the son of a rich and well-famed man in Kawachi, and I am called Shuntoku-maru." Then the daughter of that house, Otohime, suddenly remembering him, also became quite angry, and said to the servant: "You must not laugh rudely. Laughing at others to-day, you might be laughed at yourself to-morrow." But Otohime had been so startled that she could not help trembling a little, and, retiring to her room, she suddenly fainted away. Then in the house all was confusion, and a doctor was summoned in great haste. But the girl, being quite unable to take any medicine, only became weaker and weaker. Then many famous physicians were sent for; and they consulted together about Otohime; and they decided at last that her sickness had been caused only by some sudden sorrow. So the mother said to her sick daughter "Tell me, without concealment, if you have any secret grief; and if there be anything you want, whatever it be, I will try to get it for you." Otohime replied: "I am very much ashamed; but I shall tell you what I wish. "The blind man who came here the other day was the son of a rich and well-famed citizen of Kawachi, called Nobuyoshi. "At the time of the festival of Tenjin at Kitano in Kyoto, I met that young man there, on my way to the temple; and we then exchanged letters of love, pledging ourselves to each other. "And therefore I very much wish that I may be allowed to travel in search of him, until I find him, wherever he may be." The mother kindly made answer: "That, indeed, will be well. If you wish for a kago, you may have one; or if you would like to have a horse, you can have one. "You can choose any servant you like to accompany you, and I can let you have as many koban as you desire." Otohime answered: "Neither horse nor kago do I need, nor any servant; I need only the dress of a pilgrim,--leggings and gown,--and a mendicant's wallet." For Otohime held it her duty to set out by herself all alone, just as Shuntoku had done. So she left home, saying farewell to her parents, with eyes full of tears: scarcely could she find voice to utter the word "good-by." Over mountains and mountains she passed, and again over mountains; hearing only the cries of wild deer and the sound of torrent-water. Sometimes she would lose her way; sometimes she would pursue alone a steep and difficult path; always she journeyed sorrowing. At last she saw before her--far, far away--the pine-tree called Kawama-matsu, and the two rocks called Ota(1); and when she saw those rocks, she thought of Shuntoku with love and hope. Hastening on, she met five or six persona going to Kumano; and she asked them: "Have you not met on your way a blind youth, about sixteen years old?" They made answer: "No, not yet; but should we meet him anywhere, we will tell him whatever you wish." This reply greatly disappointed Otohime; and she began to think that all her efforts to find her lover might be in vain; and she became very sad. At last she became so sad that she resolved not to try to find him in this world anymore, but to drown herself at once in the pool of Sawara, that she might be able to meet him in a future state. She hurried there as fast as she could. And when she reached the pond, she fixed her pilgrim's staff in the ground, and hung her outer robe on a pine-tree, and threw away her wallet, and, loosening her hair, arranged it in the style called Shimada(2). Then, having filled her sleeves with stones, she was about to leap into the water, when there appeared suddenly before her a venerable man of seemingly not less than eighty years, robed all in white, and bearing a tablet in his hand. And the aged man said to her: "Be not thus in haste to die, Otohime! Shuntoku whom you seek is at Kiyomidzu San: go thither and meet him." These were, indeed, the happiest tidings she could have desired, and she became at once very happy. And she knew she had thus been saved by the august favor of her guardian deity, and that it was the god himself who had spoken to her those words. So she cast away the stones she had put into her sleeves, and donned again the outer robe she had taken off, and rearranged her hair, and took her way in all haste to the temple of Kiyomidzu. (1) One meaning of "Ota" in Japanese is "has met" or "have met." (2) The simple style in which the hair of dead woman is arranged. See chapter "Of Women's Hair," in Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan, vol. ii. At last she reached the temple. She ascended the three lower steps, and glancing beneath a porch she saw her lover, Shuntoku, lying there asleep, covered with a straw mat; and she called to him, "Moshi! Moshi!(1)" Shuntoku, thus being suddenly awakened, seized his staff, which was lying by his side, and cried out, "Every day the children of this neighborhood come here and annoy me, because I am blind!" Otohime hearing these words, and feeling great sorrow, approached and laid her hands on her poor lover, and said to him:-- "I am not one of those bad, mischievous children; I am the daughter of the wealthy Hagiyama. And because I promised myself to you at the festival of Kitano Tenjin in Kyoto, I have come here to see you." Astonished at hearing the voice of his sweet-heart, Shuntoku rose up quickly, and cried out: "Oh! are you really Otohime? It is a long time since we last met--but this is so strange! Is it not all a lie?" And then, stroking each other, they could only cry, instead of speaking. But presently Shuntoku, giving way to the excitement of his grief, cried out to Otohime: "A malediction has been laid upon me by my stepmother, and my appearance has been changed, as you see. "Therefore never can I be united to you as your husband. Even as I now am, so must I remain until I fester to death. "And so you must go back home at once, and live in happiness and splendor." But she answered in great sorrow: "Never! Are you really in earnest? Are you truly in your right senses? "No, no! I have disguised myself thus only because I loved you enough even to give my life for you. "And now I will never leave you, no matter what may become of me in the future." Shuntoku was comforted by these words; but he was also filled with pity for her, so that he wept, without being able to speak a word. Then she said to him: "Since your wicked stepmother bewitched you only because you were rich, I am not afraid to revenge you by bewitching her also; for I, too, am the child of a rich man." And then, with her whole heart, she spoke thus to the divinity within the temple:--"For the space of seven days and seven nights I shall remain fasting in this temple, to prove my vow; and if you have any truth and pity, I beseech you to save us. "For so great a building as this a thatched roof is not the proper roof. I will re-roof it with feathers of little birds; and the ridge of the roof I will cover with thigh-feathers of falcons. "This torii and these lanterns of stone are ugly: I will erect a torii of gold; and I will make a thousand lamps of gold and a thousand of silver, and every evening I will light them. "In so large a garden as this there should be trees. I will plant a thousand hinoki, a thousand sugi, a thousand karamatsu. "But if Shuntoku should not be healed by reason of this vow, then he and I will drown ourselves together in yonder lotos-pond. "And after our death, taking the form of two great serpents, we will torment all who come to worship at this temple, and bar the way against pilgrims." (1) An exclamation uttered to call the attention of another to the presence of the speaker,--from the respectful verb "to say." Our colloquial "say" does not give the proper meaning. Our "please" comes nearer to it. Now, strange to say, on the night of the seventh day after she had vowed this vow, there came to her in a dream Kwannon-Sama who said to her: "The prayer which you prayed I shall grant." Forthwith Otohime awoke, and told her dream to Shuntoku, and they both wondered. They arose, and went down to the river together, and washed themselves, and worshiped the goddess. Then, strange to say, the eyes of blind Shuntoku were fully opened, and his clear sight came back to him, and the disease passed away from him. And both wept because of the greatness of their joy. Together they sought an inn, and there laid aside their pilgrim-dresses, and put on fresh robes, and hired kago and carriers to bear them home. Reaching the house of his father, Shuntoku cried out: "Honored parents, I have returned to you! By virtue of the written charm upon the sacred tablet, I have been healed of my sickness, as you may see. Is all well with you, honored parents?" And Shuntoku's father, hearing, ran out and cried: "Oh! how much troubled I have been for your sake! "Never for one moment could I cease to think of you; but now--how glad I am to see you, and the bride you have brought with you!" And all rejoiced together. But, on the other hand, it was very strange that the wicked stepmother at the same moment became suddenly blind, and that her fingers and her toes began to rot, so that she was in great torment. Then the bride and the bridegroom said to that wicked stepmother: "Lo! the leprosy has come upon you! "We cannot keep a leper in the house of a rich man. Please to go away at once! "We shall give you a pilgrim's gown and leggings, a rush hat, and a staff; for we have all these things ready here." Then the wicked stepmother knew that even to save her from death it could not be helped, because she herself had done so wicked a thing before. Shuntoku and his wife were very glad; how rejoiced they were! The stepmother prayed them to allow her only one small meal a day,--just as Shuntoku had done; but Otohime said to the stricken woman: "We cannot keep you here,--not even in the corner of an outhouse. Go away at once!" Also Nobuyoshi said to his wicked wife: "What do you mean by remaining here? How long do you require to go?" And he drove her out, and she could not help herself, and she went away crying, and striving to hide her face from the sight of the neighbors. Otowaka led his blind mother by the hand; and together they went to Kyoto and to the temple of Kiyomidzu. When they got there they ascended three of the temple steps, and knelt down, and prayed the goddess, saying: "Give us power to cast another malediction!" But the goddess suddenly appeared before them, and said: "Were it a good thing that you pray for, I would grant your prayer; but with an evil matter I will have no more to do. "If you must die, then die there! And after your death you shall be sent to hell, and there put into the bottom of an iron caldron to be boiled." _This is the end of the Story of Shuntoku. With a jubilant tap of the fan we finish so! Joyfully!--joyfully!--joyfully!_ THE BALLAD OF OGURI-HANGWAN _To tell every word of the tale,--this is the story of Oguri-Hangwan_. I. THE BIRTH The famed Takakura Dainagon, whose other name was Kane-ie, was so rich that he had treasure-houses in every direction. He owned one precious stone that had power over fire, and another that had power over water. He also had the claws of a tiger, extracted from the paws of the living animal; he had the horns of a colt; and he likewise owned even a musk-cat (jako-neko)(1). Of all that a man might have in this world, he wanted nothing except an heir, and he had no other cause for sorrow. A trusted servant in his house named Ikenoshoji said at last to him these words:-- "Seeing that the Buddhist deity Tamon-Ten, enshrined upon the holy mountain of Kurama, is famed for his divine favor far and near, I respectfully entreat you to go to that temple and make prayer to him; for then your wish will surely be fulfilled." To this the master agreed, and at once began to make preparation for a journey to the temple. As he traveled with great speed he reached the temple very soon; and there, having purified his body by pouring water over it, he prayed with all his heart for an heir. And during three days and three nights he abstained from food of every sort. But all seemed in vain. Wherefore the lord, despairing because of the silence of the god, resolved to perform _harakiri_ in the temple, and so to defile the sacred building. Moreover, he resolved that his spirit, after his death, should haunt the mountain of Kurama, to deter and terrify all pilgrims upon the nine-mile path of the mountain. The delay of even one moment would have been fatal; but good Ikenoshoji came running to the place just in time, and prevented the seppuku(2). "Oh, my lord!" the retainer cried, "you are surely too hasty in your resolve to die. "Rather first suffer me to try my fortune, and see if I may not be able to offer up prayer for your sake with more success." Then after having twenty-one times purified his body,--seven times washing with hot water, seven times with cold, and yet another seven times washing himself with a bundle of bamboo-grass,--he thus prayed to the god:-- "If to my lord an heir be given by the divine favor, then I vow that I will make offering of paving-blocks of bronze wherewith to pave this temple court. "Also of lanterns of bronze to stand in rows without the temple, and of plating of pure gold and pure silver to cover all the pillars within!" And upon the third of the three nights which he passed in prayer before the god, Tamon-Ten revealed himself to the pious Ikenoshoji and said to him:-- "Earnestly wishing to grant your petition, I sought far and near for a fitting heir,--even as far as Tenjiku (India) and Kara (China). "But though human beings are numerous as the stars in the sky or the countless pebbles upon the shore, I was grieved that I could not find of the seed of man one heir that might well be given to your master. "And at last, knowing not what else to do, I took away by stealth [the spirit?] of one of the eight children whose father was one of the Shi-Tenno(3), residing on the peak Ari-ari, far among the Dandoku mountains. And that child I will give to become the heir of your master." Having thus spoken, the deity retired within the innermost shrine. Then Ikenoshoji, starting from his real dream, nine times prostrated himself before the god, and hastened to the dwelling of his master. Erelong the wife of Takakura Dainagon found herself with child; and after the ten(4) happy months she bore a son with painless labor. It was strange that the infant had upon his forehead, marked quite plainly and naturally, the Chinese character for "rice." And it was yet more strange to find that in his eyes four Buddhas(5) were reflected. Ikenoshoji and the parents rejoiced; and the name Ari-waka (Young Ari) was given the child--after the name of the mountain Ari-ari --on the third day after the birth. (1)"Musk-rat" is the translation given by some dictionaries. "Musk-deer" was suggested by my translator. But as some mythological animal is evidently meant, I thought it better to translate the word literally. (2) The Chinese term for harakiri. It is thought to be the more refined word. (3) Shi-Tenno: the Four Deva Kings of Buddhism, who guard the Four Quarters of the World. (4) That is, ten by the ancient native manner of reckoning time. (5) Shitai-no-mi-Hotoke: literally, a four-bodied-august Buddha. The image in the eye is called the Buddha: the idea here expressed seems to be that the eyes of the child reflected four instead of two images. Children of supernatural beings were popularly said to have double pupils. But I am giving only a popular explanation of the term. II. THE BANISHMENT Very quickly the child grew; and when he became fifteen, the reigning Emperor gave him the name and title of Oguri-Hangwan Kane-uji. When he reached manhood his father resolved to get him a bride. So the Dainagon looked upon all the daughters of the ministers and high officials, but he found none that he thought worthy to become the wife of his son. But the young Hangwan, learning that he himself had been a gift to his parents from Tamon-Ten, resolved to pray to that deity for a spouse; and he hastened to the temple of the divinity, accompanied by Ikenoshoji. There they washed their hands and rinsed their mouths, and remained three nights without sleep, passing all the time in religious exercises. But as they had no companions, the young prince at last felt very lonesome, and began to play on his flute, made of the root of the bamboo. Seemingly charmed by these sweet sounds, the great serpent that lived in the temple pond came to the entrance of the temple,--transforming its fearful shape into the likeness of a lovely female attendant of the Imperial Court,--and fondly listened to the melody. Then Kane-uji thought he saw before him the very lady he desired for a wife. And thinking also that she was the one chosen for him by the deity, he placed the beautiful being in a palanquin and returned to his home. But no sooner had this happened than a fearful storm burst upon the capital, followed by a great flood; and the flood and the storm both lasted for seven days and seven nights. The Emperor was troubled greatly by these omens; and he sent for the astrologers, that they might explain the causes thereof. They said in answer to the questions asked of them that the terrible weather was caused only by the anger of the male serpent, seeking vengeance for the loss of its mate,--which was none other than the fair woman that Kane-uji had brought back with him. Whereupon the Emperor commanded that Kane-uji should be banished to the province of Hitachi, and that the transformed female serpent should at once be taken back to the pond upon the mountain of Kurama. And being thus compelled by imperial order to depart, Kane-uji went away to the province of Hitachi, followed only by his faithful retainer, Ikenoshoji. III. THE EXCHANGE OF LETTERS Only a little while after the banishment of Kane-uji, a traveling merchant, seeking to sell his wares, visited the house of the exiled prince at Hitachi. And being asked by the Hangwan where he lived, the merchant made answer, saying:--"I live in Kyoto, in the street called Muromachi, and my name is Goto Sayemon. "My stock consists of goods of one thousand and eight different kinds which I send to China, of one thousand and eight kinds which I send to India, and yet another thousand and eight kinds which I sell only in Japan. "So that my whole stock consists of three thousand and twenty-four different kinds of goods. "Concerning the countries to which I have already been, I may answer that I made three voyages to India and three to China and this is my seventh journey to this part of Japan." Having heard these things, Oguri-Hangwan asked the merchant whether he knew of any young girl who would make a worthy wife, since he, the prince, being still unmarried, desired to find such a girl. Then said Sayemon: "In the province of Sagami, to the west of us, there lives a rich man called Tokoyama Choja, who has eight sons. "Long he lamented that he had no daughter, and he long prayed for a daughter to the August Sun. "And a daughter was given him; and after her birth, her parents thought it behoved them to give her a higher rank than their own, because her birth had come to pass through the divine influence of the August Heaven-Shining Deity; so they built for her a separate dwelling. "She is, in very truth, superior to all other Japanese women; nor can I think of any other person in every manner worthy of you." This story much pleased Kane-uji; and he at once asked Sayemon to act the part of match-maker(1) for him; and Sayemon promised to do everything in his power to fulfill the wish of the Hangwan. Then Kane-uji called for inkstone and writing-brush, and wrote a love-letter, and tied it up with such a knot as love-letters are tied with. And he gave it to the merchant to be delivered to the lady; and he gave him also, in reward for his services, one hundred golden ryo. Sayemon again and again prostrated himself in thanks; and he put the letter into the box which he always carried with him. And then he lifted the box upon his back, and bade the prince fare-well. Now, although the journey from Hitachi to Sagami is commonly a journey of seven days, the merchant arrived there at noon upon the third day, having traveled in all haste, night and day together, without stopping. And he went to the building called Inui-no-Goshyo, which had been built by the rich Yokoyama for the sake of his only daughter, Terute-Hime, in the district of Soba, in the province of Sagami; and he asked permission to enter therein. But the stern gate-keepers bade him go away, announcing that the dwelling was the dwelling of Terute-Hime, daughter of the famed Choja Yokoyama, and that no person of the male sex whosoever could be permitted to enter; and furthermore, that guards had been appointed to guard the palace--ten by night and ten by day--with extreme caution and severity. But the merchant told the gate-keepers that he was Goto Sayemon, of the street called Muromachi, in the city of Kyoto; that he was a well-famed merchant there, and was by the people called Sendanya; that he had thrice been to India and thrice to China, and was now upon his seventh return journey to the great country of the Rising Sun. And he said also to them: "Into all the palaces of Nihon, save this one only, I have been freely admitted; so I shall be deeply grateful to you if you permit me to enter." Thus saying, he produced many rolls of silk, and presented them to the gate-keepers; and their cupidity made them blind; and the merchant, without more difficulty, entered, rejoicing. Through the great outer gate he passed, and over a bridge, and then found himself in front of the chambers of the female attendants of the superior class. And he called out with a very loud voice: "O my ladies, all things that you may require I have here with me! "I have all _jorogata-no-meshi-dogu_; I have hair-combs and needles and tweezers; I have _tategami_, and combs of silver, and _kamoji_ from Nagasaki, and even all kinds of Chinese mirrors!" Whereupon the ladies, delighted with the idea of seeing these things, suffered the merchant to enter their apartment, which he presently made to look like a shop for the sale of female toilet articles. (1) Nakodo. The profession of nakodo exists; but any person who arranges marriages for a consideration is for the time being called the nakodo. But while making bargains and selling very quickly, Sayemon did not lose the good chance offered him; and taking from his box the love-letter which had been confided to him, he said to the ladies:-- "This letter, if I remember rightly, I picked up in some town in Hitachi, and I shall be very glad if you will accept it,--either to use it for a model if it be written beautifully, or to laugh at if it prove to have been written awkwardly." Then the chief among the maids, receiving the letter, tried to read the writing upon the envelope: _"Tsuki ni hoshi--ame ni arare ga--kori kana,_"-- Which signified, "Moon and stars--rain and hail--make ice." But she could not read the riddle of the mysterious words. The other ladies, who were also unable to guess the meaning of the words, could not but laugh; and they laughed so shrilly that the Princess Terute heard, and came among them, fully robed, and wearing a veil over her night-black hair. And the bamboo-screen having been rolled up before her, Terute-Hime asked: "What is the cause of all this laughing? If there be anything amusing, I wish that you will let me share in the amusement." The maids then answered, saying: "We were laughing only at our being unable to read a letter which this merchant from the capital says that he picked up in some street. And here is the letter: even the address upon it is a riddle to us." And the letter, having been laid upon an open crimson fan, was properly presented to the princess, who received it, and admired the beauty of the writing, and said:-- "Never have I seen so beautiful a hand as this: it is like the writing of Kobodaishi himself, or of Monju Bosatsu. "Perhaps the writer is one of those princes of the Ichijo, or Nijo, or Sanjo families, all famed for their skill in writing. "Or, if this guess of mine be wrong, then I should say that these characters have certainly been written by Oguri-Hangwan Kane-uji, now so famed in the province of Hitachi.... I shall read the letter for you." Then the envelope was removed; and the first phrase she read was _Fuji no yama_ (the Mountain of Fuji), which she interpreted as signifying loftiness of rank. And then she met with such phrases as these:-- _Kiyomidzu kosaka_ (the name of a place); _arare ni ozasa_ (hail on the leaves of the bamboo-grass); _itaya ni arare_ (hail following upon a wooden roof); _Tamato ni kori_ (ice in the sleeve); _nonaka ni shimidzu_ (pure water running through a moor); _koike ni makomo_ (rushes in a little pond); _Inoba ni tsuyu_ (dew on the leaves of the taro); _shakunaga obi_ (a very long girdle); _shika ni momiji_ (deer and maple-trees); _Futamata-gawa_ (a forked river); _hoso tanigawa-ni marukibashi_ (a round log laid over a little stream for a bridge); _tsurunashi yumi ni hanuki dori_ (a stringless bow, and a wingless bird). And then she understood that the characters signified:-- _Maireba au_--they would meet, for he would call upon her. _Arare nai_--then they would not be separated. _Korobi au_--they would repose together. And the meaning of the rest was thus:-- "This letter should be opened within the sleeve, so that others may know nothing of it. Keep the secret in your own bosom. "You must yield to me even as the rush bends to the wind. I am earnest to serve you in all things. "We shall surely be united at last, whatever chance may separate us at the beginning. I wish for you even as the stag for its mate in the autumn. "Even though long kept apart we shall meet, as meet the waters of a river divided in its upper course into two branches. "Divine, I pray you, the meaning of this letter, and preserve it. I hope for a fortunate answer. Thinking of Terute-Hime, I feel as though I could fly." And the Princess Terute found at the end of the letter the name of him who wrote it,--Oguri-Hangwan Kane-uji himself,--together with her own name, as being written to her. Then she felt greatly troubled, because she had not at first supposed that the letter was addressed to her, and had, without thinking, read it aloud to the female attendants. For she well knew that her father would quickly kill her in a most cruel manner, should the iron-hearted Choja(1) come to know the truth. Wherefore, through fear of being mingled with the earth of the moor Uwanogahara,--fitting place for a father in wrath to slay his daughter,--she set the end of the letter between her teeth, and rent it to pieces, and withdrew to the inner apartment. (1) Choja is not a proper name: it signifies really a wealthy man only, like the French terms "un richard," "un riche." But it is used almost like a proper name in the country still; the richest man in the place, usually a person of influence, being often referred to as "the Choja." But the merchant, knowing that he could not go back to Hitachi without bearing some reply, resolved to obtain one by cunning. Wherefore he hurried after the princess even into her innermost apartment, without so much as waiting to remove his sandals, and he cried out loudly:--"Oh, my princess! I have been taught that written characters were invented in India by Monju Bosatsu, and in Japan by Kobodaishi. "And is it not like tearing the hands of Kobodaishi, thus to tear a letter written with characters? "Know you not that a woman is less pure than a man? Wherefore, then, do you, born a woman, thus presume to tear a letter? "Now, if you refuse to write a reply, I shall call upon all the gods; I shall announce to them this unwomanly act, and I shall invoke their malediction upon you!" And with these words he took from the box which he always carried with him a Buddhist rosary; and he began to twist it about with an awful appearance of anger. Then the Princess Terute, terrified and grieved, prayed him to cease his invocations, and promised that she would write an answer at once. So her answer was quickly written, and given to the merchant, who was overjoyed by his success, and speedily departed for Hitachi, carrying his box upon his back. IV. HOW KANE-UJI BECAME A BRIDEGROOM WITHOUT HIS FATHER-IN-LAW'S CONSENT Traveling with great speed, the nakodo quickly arrived at the dwelling of the Hangwan, and gave the letter to the master, who removed the cover with hands that trembled for joy. Very, very short the answer was,--only these words: _Oki naka bune_, "a boat floating in the offing." But Kane-uji guessed the meaning to be: "As fortunes and misfortunes are common to all, be not afraid, and try to come unseen." Therewith he summoned Ikenoshoji, and bade him make all needful preparation for a rapid journey. Goto Sayemon consented to serve as guide. He accompanied them; and when they reached the district of Soba, and were approaching the house of the princess, the guide said to the prince:-- "That house before us, with the black gate, is the dwelling of the far-famed Yokoyama Choja; and that other house, to the northward of it, having a red gate, is the residence of the flower-fair Terute. "Be prudent in all things, and you will succeed." And with these words, the guide disappeared. Accompanied by his faithful retainer, the Hangwan approached the red gate. Both attempted to enter, when the gate-keeper sought to prevent them; declaring they were much too bold to seek to enter the dwelling of Terute-Hime, only daughter of the renowned Yokoyama Choja,--the sacred child begotten through the favor of the deity of the Sun. "You do but right to speak thus," the retainer made reply. "But you must learn that we are officers from the city in search of a fugitive. "And it is just because all males are prohibited from entering this dwelling that a search therein must be made." Then the guards, amazed, suffered them to pass, and saw the supposed officers of justice enter the court, and many of the ladies in waiting come forth to welcome them as guests. And the Lady Terute, marvelously pleased by the coming of the writer of that love-letter, appeared before her wooer, robed in her robes of ceremony, with a veil about her shoulders. Kane-uji was also much delighted at being thus welcomed by the beautiful maiden. And the wedding ceremony was at once performed, to the great joy of both, and was followed by a great wine feast. So great was the mirth, and so joyful were all, that the followers of the prince and the maids of the princess danced together, and together made music. And Oguri-Hangwan himself produced his flute, made of the root of a bamboo, and began to play upon it sweetly. Then the father of Terute, hearing all this joyous din in the house of his daughter, wondered greatly what the cause might be. But when he had been told how the Hangwan had become the bridegroom of his daughter without his consent, the Choja grew wondrous angry, and in secret devised a scheme of revenge. V. THE POISONING The next day Yokoyama sent to Prince Kane-uji a message, inviting him to come to his house, there to perform the wine-drinking ceremony of greeting each other as father-in-law and son-in-law. Then the Princess Terute sought to dissuade the Hangwan from going there, because she had dreamed in the night a dream of ill omen. But the Hangwan, making light of her fears, went boldly to the dwelling of the Choja, followed by his young retainers. Then Yokoyama Choja, rejoicing, caused many dishes to be prepared, containing all delicacies furnished by the mountains and the sea(1), and well entertained the Hangwan. At last, when the wine-drinking began to flag, Yokoyama uttered the wish that his guest, the lord Kane-uji, would also furnish some entertainment(2). "And what shall it be?" the Hangwan asked. "Truly," replied the Choja, "I am desirous to see you show your great skill in riding." "Then I shall ride," the prince made answer. And presently the horse called Onikage(3) was led out. That horse was so fierce that he did not seem to be a real horse, but rather a demon or a dragon, so that few dared even to approach him. But the Prince Hangwan Kane-uji at once loosened the chain by which the horse was fastened, and rode upon him with wondrous ease. In spite of his fierceness, Onikage found himself obliged to do everything which his rider wished. All present, Yokoyama and the others, could not speak for astonishment. But soon the Choja, taking and setting up a six-folding screen, asked to see the prince ride his steed upon the upper edge of the screen. The lord Oguri, consenting, rode upon the top of the screen; and then he rode along the top of an upright shoji frame. Then a chessboard being set out, he rode upon it, making the horse rightly set his hoof upon the squares of the chessboard as he rode. And, lastly, he made the steed balance himself upon the frame of an andon(4). Then Yokoyama was at a loss what to do, and he could only say, bowing low to the prince: "Truly I am grateful for your entertainment; I am very much delighted." And the lord Oguri, having attached Onikage to a cherry-tree in the garden, reentered the apartment. But Saburo, the third son of the house, having persuaded his father to kill the Hangwan with poisoned wine, urged the prince to drink sake with which there had been mingled the venom of a blue centipede and of a blue lizard, and foul water that had long stood in the hollow joint of a bamboo. And the Hangwan and his followers, not suspecting the wine had been poisoned, drank the whole. Sad to say, the poison entered into their viscera and their intestines; and all their bones burst asunder by reason of the violence of that poison. (1) Or, "with all strange flavors of mountain and sea." (2) The word is really sakana, "fish." It has always been the rule to serve fish with sake; and gradually the word "fish" became used for any entertainment given during the wine-party by guests, such as songs, dances, etc. (3) Literally, "Demon-deer-hair." The term "deer-hair" refers to color. A less exact translation of the original characters would be "the demon chestnut". Kage, "deer-color" also means "chestnut." A chestnut horse is Kage-no-uma. (4) A large portable lantern, having a wooden frame and paper sides. There are andon of many forms, some remarkably beautiful. Their lives passed from them quickly as dew in the morning from the grass. And Saburo and his father buried their corpses in the moor Uwanogahara. VI. CAST ADRIFT The cruel Yokoyama thought that it would not do to suffer his daughter to live, after he had thus killed her husband. Therefore he felt obliged to order his faithful servants, Onio and Oniji, (1) who were brothers, to take her far out into the sea of Sagami, and to drown her there. And the two brothers, knowing their master was too stony-hearted to be persuaded otherwise, could do nothing but obey. So they went to the unhappy lady, and told her the purpose for which they had been sent. Terute-Hime was so astonished by her father's cruel decision that at first she thought all this was a dream, from which she earnestly prayed to be awakened. After a while she said: "Never in my whole life have I knowingly committed any crime.... But whatever happens to my own body, I am more anxious than I can say to learn what became of my husband after he visited my father's house." "Our master," answered the two brothers, "becoming very angry at learning that you two had been wedded without his lawful permission, poisoned the young prince, according to a plan devised by your brother Saburo." Then Terute, more and more astonished, invoked, with just cause, a malediction upon her father for his cruelty. But she was not even allowed time to lament her fate; for Onio and his brother at once removed her garments, and put her naked body into a roll of rush matting. When this piteous package was carried out of the house at night, the princess and her waiting-maids bade each other their last farewells, with sobs and cries of grief. (1) Onio, "the king of devils," Oniji, "the next greatest devil." The brothers Onio and Oniji then rowed far out to sea with their pitiful burden. But when they found themselves alone, then Oniji said to Onio that it were better they should try to save their young mistress. To this the elder brother at once agreed without difficulty; and both began to think of some plan to save her. Just at the same time an empty canoe came near them, drifting with the sea-current. At once the lady was placed in it; and the brothers, exclaiming, "That indeed was a fortunate happening," bade their mistress farewell, and rowed back to their master. VII. THE LADY YORIHIME The canoe bearing poor Terute was tossed about by the waves for seven days and seven nights, during which time there was much wind and rain. And at last it was discovered by some fishermen who were fishing near Nawoye. But they thought that the beautiful woman was certainly the spirit that had caused the long storm of many days; and Terute might have been killed by their oars, had not one of the men of Nawoye taken her under his protection. Now this man, whose name was Murakimi Dayu, resolved to adopt the princess as his daughter as he had no child of his own to be his heir. So he took her to his home, and named her Yorihime, and treated her so kindly that his wife grew jealous of the adopted daughter, and therefore was often cruel to her when the husband was absent. But being still more angered to find that Yorihime would not go away of her own accord, the evil-hearted woman began to devise some means of getting rid of her forever. Just at that time the ship of a kidnapper happened to cast anchor in the harbor. Needless to say that Yorihime was secretly sold to this dealer in human flesh. VIII. BECOMING A SERVANT After this misfortune, the unhappy princess passed from one master to another as many as seventy-five times. Her last purchaser was one Yorodzuya Chobei, well known as the keeper of a large joroya(1) in the province of Mino. When Terute-Hime was first brought before this new master, she spoke meekly to him, and begged him to excuse her ignorance of all refinements and of deportment. And Chobei then asked her to tell him all about herself, her native place, and her family. But Terute-Hime thought it would not be wise to mention even the name of her native province, lest she might possibly be forced to speak of the poisoning of her husband by her own father. So she resolved to answer only that she was born in Hitachi; feeling a sad pleasure in saying that she belonged to the same province in which the lord Hangwan, her lover, used to live. "I was born," she said, "in the province of Hitachi; but I am of too low birth to have a family name. Therefore may I beseech you to bestow some suitable name upon me?" Then Terute-Hime was named Kohagi of Hitachi, and she was told that she would have to serve her master very faithfully in his business. But this order she refused to obey, and said that she would perform with pleasure any work given her to do, however mean or hard, but that she would never follow the business of a joro. "Then," cried Chobei in anger, "your daily tasks shall be these:-- "To feed all the horses, one hundred in number, that are kept in the stables, and to wait upon all other persons in the house when they take their meals. "To dress the hair of the thirty-six joro belonging to this house, dressing the hair of each in the style that best becomes her; and also to fill seven boxes with threads of twisted hemp. "Also to make the fire daily in seven furnaces, and to draw water from a spring in the mountains, half a mile from here." Terute knew that neither she nor any other being alive could possibly fulfill all the tasks thus laid upon her by this cruel master; and she wept over her misfortune. But she soon felt that to weep could avail her nothing. So wiping away her tears, she bravely resolved to try what she could do, and then putting on an apron, and tying back her sleeves, she set to work feeding the horses. The great mercy of the gods cannot be understood; but it is certain that as she fed the first horse, all the others, through divine influence, were fully fed at the same time. And the same wonderful thing happened when she waited upon the people of the house at mealtime, and when she dressed the hair of the girls, and when she twisted the threads of hemp, and when she went to kindle the fire in the furnaces. But saddest of all it was to see Terute-Hime bearing the water-buckets upon her shoulders, taking her way to the distant spring to draw water. And when she saw the reflection of her much-changed face in the water with which she filled her buckets, then indeed she wept very bitterly. But the sudden remembrance of the cruel Chobei filled her with exceeding fear, and urged her back in haste to her terrible abode. But soon the master of the joroya began to see that his new servant was no common woman, and to treat her with a great show of kindness. (1)A house of prostitution. IX. DRAWING THE CART And now we shall tell what became of Kane-uji. The far-famed Yugyo Shonin, of the temple of Fujisawa in Kagami, who traveled constantly in Japan to preach the law of Buddha in all the provinces, chanced to be passing over the moor Uwanogahara. There he saw many crows and kites flitting about a grave. Drawing nearer, he wondered much to see a nameless thing, seemingly without arms or legs, moving between the pieces of a broken tombstone. Then he remembered the old tradition, that those who are put to death before having completed the number of years allotted to them in this world reappear or revive in the form called _gaki-ami_. And he thought that the shape before him must be one of those unhappy spirits; and the desire arose in his kindly heart to have the monster taken to the hot springs belonging to the temple of Kumano, and thereby enable it to return to its former human state. So he had a cart made for the _gaki-ami_, and he placed the nameless shape in it, and fastened to its breast a wooden tablet, inscribed with large characters. And the words of the inscription were these: "Take pity upon this unfortunate being, and help it upon its journey to the hot springs of the temple of Kumano. "Those who draw the cart even a little way, by pulling the rope attached to it, will be rewarded with very great good fortune. "To draw the cart even one step shall be equal in merit to feeding one thousand priests, and to draw it two steps shall be equal in merit to feeding ten thousand priests; "And to draw it three steps shall be equal in merit to causing any dead relation--father, mother, or husband--to enter upon the way of Buddhahood." Thus very soon travelers who traveled that way took pity on the formless one: some drew the cart several miles, and, others were kind enough to draw it for many days together. And so, after much time, the _gaki-ami_ in its cart appeared before the joroya of Yorodzuya Chobei; and Kohagi of Hitachi, seeing it, was greatly moved by the inscription. Then becoming suddenly desirous to draw the cart if even for one day only, and so to obtain for her dead husband the merit resulting from such work of mercy, she prayed her master to allow her three days' liberty that she might draw the cart. And she asked this for the sake of her parents; for she dared not speak of her husband, fearing the master might become very angry were he to learn the truth. Chobei at first refused, declaring in a harsh voice that since she had not obeyed his former commands, she should never be allowed to leave the house, even for a single hour. But Kohagi said to him: "Lo, master! the hens go to their nests when the weather becomes cold, and the little birds hie to the deep forest. Even so do men in time of misfortune flee to the shelter of benevolence. "Surely it is because you are known as a kindly man that the _gaki-ami_ rested a while outside the fence of this house. "Now I shall promise to give up even a life for my master and mistress in case of need, providing you will only grant me three days' freedom now." So at last the miserly Chobei was persuaded to grant the prayer; and his wife was glad to add even two days more to the time permitted. And Kohagi, thus freed for five days, was so rejoiced that she at once without delay commenced her horrible task. After having, with much hardship, passed through such places as Fuhanoseki, Musa, Bamba, Samegaye, Ono, and Suenaga-toge, she reached the famed town of Otsu, in the space of three days. There she knew that she would have to leave the cart, since it would take her two days to return thence to the province of Mino. On her long way to Otsu, the only pleasing sights and sounds were the beautiful lilies growing wild by the roadside, the voices of the hibari and shijugara(1) and all the birds of spring that sang in the trees, and the songs of the peasant girls who were planting the rice. But such sights and sounds could please her only a moment; for most of them caused her to dream of other days, and gave her pain by making her recollect the hopeless condition into which she had now fallen. (1) Hibari, a species of field lark; shijugara, a kind of titmouse. Though greatly wearied by the hard labor she had undertaken for three whole days, she would not go to an inn. She passed the last night beside the nameless shape, which she would have to leave next day. "Often have I heard," she thought to herself, "that a _gaki-ami_ is a being belonging to the world of the dead. This one, then, should know something about my dead husband. "Oh that this _gaki-ami_ had the sense either of hearing or of sight! Then I could question it about Kane-uji, either by word of mouth or in writing." When day dawned above the neighboring misty mountains, Kohagi went away to get an inkstone and a brush; and she soon returned with these to the place where the cart was. Then, with the brush, she wrote, below the inscription upon the wooden tablet attached to the breast of the _gaki-ami_, these words:-- "When you shall have recovered and are able to return to your province, pray call upon Kohagi of Hitachi, a servant of Yorodzuya Chobei of the town of Obaka in the province of Mino. "For it will give me much joy to see the person for whose sake I obtained with difficulty five days' freedom, three of which I gave to drawing your cart as far as this place." Then she bade the _gaki-ami_ farewell, and turned back upon her homeward way, although she found it very difficult thus to leave the cart alone. X. THE REVIVAL At last the _gaki-ami_ was brought to the hot springs of the famed temple of Kumano Gongen, and, by the aid of those compassionate persons who pitied its state, was daily enabled to experience the healing effects of the bath. After a single week the effects of the bath caused the eyes, nose, ears, and mouth to reappear; after fourteen days all the limbs had been fully re-formed; And after one-and-twenty days the nameless shape was completely transformed into the real Oguri-Hangwan Kane-uji, perfect and handsome as he had been in other years. When this marvelous change had been effected, Kane-uji looked all about him, and wondered much when and how he had been brought to that strange place. But through the august influence of the god of Kumano things were so ordained that the revived prince could return safely to his home at Nijo in Kyoto, where his parents, the lord Kane-ie and his spouse, welcomed him with great joy. Then the august Emperor, hearing all that had happened, thought it a wonderful thing that one of his subjects, after having been dead three years, should have thus revived. And not only did he gladly pardon the fault for which the Hangwan had been banished, but further appointed him to be lord ruler of the three provinces, Hitachi, Sagami, and Mino. XI. THE INTERVIEW One day Oguri-Hangwan left his residence to make a journey of inspection through the provinces of which he had been appointed ruler. And reaching Mino, he resolved to visit Kohagi of Hitachi, and to utter his thanks to her for her exceeding goodness. Therefore he lodged at the house of Yorodzuya, where he was conducted to the finest of all the guest-chambers, which was made beautiful with screens of gold, with Chinese carpets, with Indian hangings, and with other precious things of great cost. When the lord ordered Kohagi of Hitachi to be summoned to his presence, he was answered that she was only one of the lowest menials, and too dirty to appear before him. But he paid no heed to these words, only commanding that she should come at once, no matter how dirty she might be. Therefore, much against her will, Kohagi was obliged to appear before the lord, whom she at first beheld through a screen, and saw that he was so much like the Hangwan that she was greatly startled. Oguri then asked her to tell him her real name; but Kohagi refused, saying: "If I may not serve my lord with wine, except on condition of telling my real name, then I can only leave the presence of my lord." But as she was about to go, the Hangwan called to her: "Nay, stop a little while. I have a good reason to ask your name, because I am in truth that very _gaki-ami_ whom you so kindly drew last year to Otsu in a cart." And with these words he produced the wooden tablet upon which Kohagi had written. Then she was greatly moved, and said: "I am very happy to see you thus recovered. And now I shall gladly tell you all my history; hoping only that you, my lord, will tell me something of that ghostly world from which you have come back, and in which my husband, alas, now dwells. "I was born (it hurts my heart to speak of former times!) the only daughter of Yokoyama Choja, who dwelt in the district of Soba, in the province of Sagami, and my name was Terute-Hime. "I remember too well, alas! having been wedded, three years ago, to a famous person of rank, whose name was Oguri-Hangwan Kane-uji, who used to live in the province of Hitachi. But my husband was poisoned by my father at the instigation of his own third son, Saburo. "I myself was condemned by him to be drowned in the sea of Sagami. And I owe my present existence to the faithful servants of my father, Onio and Oniji." Then the lord Hangwan said, "You see here before you, Terute, your husband, Kane-uji. Although killed together with my followers, I had been destined to live in this world many years longer. "By the learned priest of Fujisawa temple I was saved, and, being provided with a cart, I was drawn by many kind persons to the hot springs of Kumano, where I was restored to my former health and shape. And now I have been appointed lord ruler of the three provinces, and can have all things that I desire." Hearing this tale, Terute could scarcely believe it was not all a dream, and she wept for joy. Then she said: "Ah! since last I saw you, what hardships have I not passed through! "For seven days and seven nights I was tossed about upon the sea in a canoe; then I was in a great danger in the bay of Nawoye, and was saved by a kind man called Murakami Deyu. "And after that I was sold and bought seventy-five times; and the last time I was brought here, where I have been made to suffer all kinds of hardship only because I refused to become a joro. That is why you now see me in so wretched a condition." Very angry was Kane-uji to hear of the cruel conduct of the inhuman Chobei, and desired to kill him at once. But Terute besought her husband to spare the man's life, and so fulfilled the promise she had long before made to Chobei,--that she would give even her own life, if necessary, for her master and mistress, on condition of being allowed five days' freedom to draw the cart of the _gaki-ami_. And for this Chobei was really grateful; and in compensation he presented the Hangwan with the hundred horses from his stable, and gave to Terute the thirty-six servants belonging to his house. And then Terute-Hime, appropriately attired, went away with the Prince Kane-uji; and, they began their journey to Sagami with hearts full of joy. XII. THE VENGEANCE This is the district of Soba, in the province of Sagami, the native land of Terute: how many beautiful and how many sorrowful thoughts does it recall to their minds! And here also are Yokoyama and his son, who killed Lord Ogiri with poison. So Saburo, the third son, being led to the moor called Totsuka-no-hara, was there punished. But Yokoyama Choja, wicked as he had been, was not punished; because parents, however bad, must be for their children always like the sun and moon. And hearing this order, Yokoyama repented very greatly for that which he had done. Qnio and Oniji, the brothers, were rewarded with many gifts for having saved the Princess Terute off the coast of Sagami. Thus those who were good prospered, and the bad were brought to destruction. Fortunate and happy, Oguri-Sama and Terute-Hime together returned to Miako, to dwell in the residence at Nijo, and their union was beautiful as the blossoming of spring. _Fortunate! Fortunate!_ THE BALLAD OF O-SHICHI, THE DAUGHTER OF THE YAOYA (1) In autumn the deer are lured within reach of the hunters by the sounds of the flute, which resemble the sounds of the voices of their mates, and so are killed. Almost in like manner, one of the five most beautiful girls in Yedo, whose comely faces charmed all the capital even as the spring-blossoming of cherry-trees, cast away her life in the moment of blindness caused by love. When, having done a foolish thing, she was brought before the mayor of the city of Yedo, that high official questioned the young criminal, asking: "Are you not O-Shichi, the daughter of the yaoya? And being so young, how came you to commit such a dreadful crime as incendiarism?" Then O-Shichi, weeping and wringing her hands, made this answer: "Indeed, that is the only crime I ever committed; and I had no extraordinary reason for it but this:-- "Once before, when there had been a great fire,--so great a fire that nearly all Yedo was consumed,--our house also was burned down. And we three,--my parents and I,--knowing no otherwhere to go, took shelter in a Buddhist temple, to remain there until our house could be rebuilt. "Surely the destiny that draws two young persons to each other is hard to understand!... In that temple there was a young acolyte, and love grew up between us. "In secret we met together, and promised never to forsake each other; and we pledged ourselves to each other by sucking blood from small cuts we made in our little fingers, and by exchanging written vows that we should love each other forever. "Before our pillows had yet become fixed(2), our new house in Hongo was built and made ready for us. "But from that day when I bade a sad farewell to Kichiza-Sama, to whom I had pledged myself for the time of two existences, never was my heart consoled by even one letter from the acolyte. "Alone in my bed at night, I used to think and think, and at last in a dream there came to me the dreadful idea of setting fire to the house, as the only means of again being able to meet my beautiful lover. "Then, one evening, I got a bundle of dry rushes, and placed inside it some pieces of live charcoal, and I secretly put the bundle into a shed at the back of the house. "A fire broke out, and there was a great tumult, and I was arrested and brought here--oh! how dreadful it was! "I will never, never commit such a fault again. But whatever happen, oh, pray save me, my Bugyo(3)! Oh, pray take pity on me!" Ah! the simple apology!... But what was her age? Not twelve? not thirteen? not fourteen? Fifteen comes after fourteen. Alas! she was fifteen, and could not be saved! Therefore O-Shichi was sentenced according to the law. But first she was bound with strong cords, and was for seven days exposed to public view on the bridge called Nihonbashi. Ah! what a piteous sight it was! Her aunts and cousins, even Bekurai and Kakusuke, the house servants, had often to wring their sleeves, so wet were their sleeves with tears. But, because the crime could not be forgiven, O-Shichi was bound to four posts, and fuel was kindled, and the fire rose up!... And poor O-Shichi in the midst of that fire! _Even so the insects of summer fly to the flame_. (1) Yaoya, a seller of vegetables. (2) This curious expression has its origin in the Japanese saying that lovers "exchange pillows." In the dark, the little Japanese wooden pillows might easily be exchanged by mistake. "While the pillows, were yet not definite or fixed" would mean, therefore, while the two lovers were still in the habit of seeking each other secretly at night. (3) Governor or local chief. The Bugyo of old days often acted as judge. 
8130	----	GLIMPSES OF UNFAMILIAR JAPAN First Series by LAFCADIO HEARN (dedication) TO THE FRIENDS WHOSE KINDNESS ALONE RENDERED POSSIBLE MY SOJOURN IN THE ORIENT, PAYMASTER MITCHELL McDONALD, U.S.N. AND BASIL HALL CHAMBERLAIN, ESQ. Emeritus Professor of Philology and Japanese in the Imperial University of Tokyo I DEDICATE THESE VOLUMES IN TOKEN OF AFFECTION AND GRATITUDE CONTENTS PREFACE 1 MY FIRST DAY IN THE ORIENT 2 THE WRITING OF KOBODAISHI 3 JIZO 4 A PILGRIMAGE TO ENOSHIMA 5 AT THE MARKET OF THE DEAD 6 BON-ODORI 7 THE CHIEF CITY OF THE PROVINCE OF THE GODS 8 KITZUKI: THE MOST ANCIENT SHRINE IN JAPAN 9 IN THE CAVE OF THE CHILDREN'S GHOSTS 10 AT MIONOSEKI 11 NOTES ON KITZUKI 12 AT HINOMISAKI 13 SHINJU 14 YAEGAKI-JINJA 15 KITSUNE PREFACE In the Introduction to his charming Tales of Old Japan, Mr. Mitford wrote in 1871: 'The books which have been written of late years about Japan have either been compiled from official records, or have contained the sketchy impressions of passing travellers. Of the inner life of the Japanese the world at large knows but little: their religion, their superstitions, their ways of thought, the hidden springs by which they move--all these are as yet mysteries.' This invisible life referred to by Mr. Mitford is the Unfamiliar Japan of which I have been able to obtain a few glimpses. The reader may, perhaps, be disappointed by their rarity; for a residence of little more than four years among the people--even by one who tries to adopt their habits and customs--scarcely suffices to enable the foreigner to begin to feel at home in this world of strangeness. None can feel more than the author himself how little has been accomplished in these volumes, and how much remains to do. The popular religious ideas--especially the ideas derived from Buddhism and the curious superstitions touched upon in these sketches are little shared by the educated classes of New Japan. Except as regards his characteristic indifference toward abstract ideas in general and metaphysical speculation in particular, the Occidentalised Japanese of to-day stands almost on the intellectual plane of the cultivated Parisian or Bostonian. But he is inclined to treat with undue contempt all conceptions of the supernatural; and toward the great religious questions of the hour his attitude is one of perfect apathy. Rarely does his university training in modern philosophy impel him to attempt any independent study of relations, either sociological or psychological. For him, superstitions are simply superstitions; their relation to the emotional nature of the people interests him not at all. [1] And this not only because he thoroughly understands that people, but because the class to which he belongs is still unreasoningly, though quite naturally, ashamed of its older beliefs. Most of us who now call ourselves agnostics can recollect the feelings with which, in the period of our fresh emancipation from a faith far more irrational than Buddhism, we looked back upon the gloomy theology of our fathers. Intellectual Japan has become agnostic within only a few decades; and the suddenness of this mental revolution sufficiently explains the principal, though not perhaps all the causes of the present attitude of the superior class toward Buddhism. For the time being it certainly borders upon intolerance; and while such is the feeling even to religion as distinguished from superstition, the feeling toward superstition as distinguished from religion must be something stronger still. But the rare charm of Japanese life, so different from that of all other lands, is not to be found in its Europeanised circles. It is to be found among the great common people, who represent in Japan, as in all countries, the national virtues, and who still cling to their delightful old customs, their picturesque dresses, their Buddhist images, their household shrines, their beautiful and touching worship of ancestors. This is the life of which a foreign observer can never weary, if fortunate and sympathetic enough to enter into it--the life that forces him sometimes to doubt whether the course of our boasted Western progress is really in the direction of moral development. Each day, while the years pass, there will be revealed to him some strange and unsuspected beauty in it. Like other life, it has its darker side; yet even this is brightness compared with the darker side of Western existence. It has its foibles, its follies, its vices, its cruelties; yet the more one sees of it, the more one marvels at its extraordinary goodness, its miraculous patience, its never-failing courtesy, its simplicity of heart, its intuitive charity. And to our own larger Occidental comprehension, its commonest superstitions, however condemned at Tokyo have rarest value as fragments of the unwritten literature of its hopes, its fears, its experience with right and wrong--its primitive efforts to find solutions for the riddle of the Unseen flow much the lighter and kindlier superstitions of the people add to the charm of Japanese life can, indeed, be understood only by one who has long resided in the interior. A few of their beliefs are sinister--such as that in demon-foxes, which public education is rapidly dissipating; but a large number are comparable for beauty of fancy even to those Greek myths in which our noblest poets of today still find inspiration; while many others, which encourage kindness to the unfortunate and kindness to animals, can never have produced any but the happiest moral results. The amusing presumption of domestic animals, and the comparative fearlessness of many wild creatures in the presence of man; the white clouds of gulls that hover about each incoming steamer in expectation of an alms of crumbs; the whirring of doves from temple-eaves to pick up the rice scattered for them by pilgrims; the familiar storks of ancient public gardens; the deer of holy shrines, awaiting cakes and caresses; the fish which raise their heads from sacred lotus-ponds when the stranger's shadow falls upon the water--these and a hundred other pretty sights are due to fancies which, though called superstitious, inculcate in simplest form the sublime truth of the Unity of Life. And even when considering beliefs less attractive than these, superstitions of which the grotesqueness may provoke a smile--the impartial observer would do well to bear in mind the words of Lecky: Many superstitions do undoubtedly answer to the Greek conception of slavish "fear of the Gods," and have been productive of unspeakable misery to mankind; but there are very many others of a different tendency. Superstitions appeal to our hopes as well as our fears. They often meet and gratify the inmost longings of the heart. They offer certainties where reason can only afford possibilities or probabilities. They supply conceptions on which the imagination loves to dwell. They sometimes impart even a new sanction to moral truths. Creating wants which they alone can satisfy, and fears which they alone can quell, they often become essential elements of happiness; and their consoling efficacy is most felt in the languid or troubled hours when it is most needed. We owe more to our illusions than to our knowledge. The imagination, which is altogether constructive, probably contributes more to our happiness than the reason, which in the sphere of speculation is mainly critical and destructive. The rude charm which, in the hour of danger or distress, the savage clasps so confidently to his breast, the sacred picture which is believed to shed a hallowing and protecting influence over the poor man's cottage, can bestow a more real consolation in the darkest hour of human suffering than can be afforded by the grandest theories of philosophy. . . . No error can be more grave than to imagine that when a critical spirit is abroad the pleasant beliefs will all remain, and the painful ones alone will perish. That the critical spirit of modernised Japan is now indirectly aiding rather than opposing the efforts of foreign bigotry to destroy the simple, happy beliefs of the people, and substitute those cruel superstitions which the West has long intellectually outgrown--the fancies of an unforgiving God and an everlasting hell--is surely to be regretted. More than hundred and sixty years ago Kaempfer wrote of the Japanese 'In the practice of virtue, in purity of life and outward devotion they far outdo the Christians.' And except where native morals have suffered by foreign contamination, as in the open ports, these words are true of the Japanese to-day. My own conviction, and that of many impartial and more experienced observers of Japanese life, is that Japan has nothing whatever to gain by conversion to Christianity, either morally or otherwise, but very much to lose. Of the twenty-seven sketches composing these volumes, four were originally purchased by various newspaper syndicates and reappear in a considerably altered form, and six were published in the Atlantic Monthly (1891-3). The remainder forming the bulk of the work, are new. L.H. KUMAMOTO, KYUSHU, JAPAN. May, 1894. GLIMPSES OF UNFAMILIAR JAPAN by LAFCADIO HEARN Chapter One My First Day in the Orient 'Do not fail to write down your first impressions as soon as possible,' said a kind English professor [Basil Hall Chamberlain: PREPARATOR'S NOTE] whom I had the pleasure of meeting soon after my arrival in Japan: 'they are evanescent, you know; they will never come to you again, once they have faded out; and yet of all the strange sensations you may receive in this country you will feel none so charming as these.' I am trying now to reproduce them from the hasty notes of the time, and find that they were even more fugitive than charming; something has evaporated from all my recollections of them--something impossible to recall. I neglected the friendly advice, in spite of all resolves to obey it: I could not, in those first weeks, resign myself to remain indoors and write, while there was yet so much to see and hear and feel in the sun-steeped ways of the wonderful Japanese city. Still, even could I revive all the lost sensations of those first experiences, I doubt if I could express and fix them in words. The first charm of Japan is intangible and volatile as a perfume. It began for me with my first kuruma-ride out of the European quarter of Yokohama into the Japanese town; and so much as I can recall of it is hereafter set down. Sec. 1 It is with the delicious surprise of the first journey through Japanese streets--unable to make one's kuruma-runner understand anything but gestures, frantic gestures to roll on anywhere, everywhere, since all is unspeakably pleasurable and new--that one first receives the real sensation of being in the Orient, in this Far East so much read of, so long dreamed of, yet, as the eyes bear witness, heretofore all unknown. There is a romance even in the first full consciousness of this rather commonplace fact; but for me this consciousness is transfigured inexpressibly by the divine beauty of the day. There is some charm unutterable in the morning air, cool with the coolness of Japanese spring and wind-waves from the snowy cone of Fuji; a charm perhaps due rather to softest lucidity than to any positive tone--an atmospheric limpidity extraordinary, with only a suggestion of blue in it, through which the most distant objects appear focused with amazing sharpness. The sun is only pleasantly warm; the jinricksha, or kuruma, is the most cosy little vehicle imaginable; and the street-vistas, as seen above the dancing white mushroom-shaped hat of my sandalled runner, have an allurement of which I fancy that I could never weary. Elfish everything seems; for everything as well as everybody is small, and queer, and mysterious: the little houses under their blue roofs, the little shop-fronts hung with blue, and the smiling little people in their blue costumes. The illusion is only broken by the occasional passing of a tall foreigner, and by divers shop-signs bearing announcements in absurd attempts at English. Nevertheless such discords only serve to emphasise reality; they never materially lessen the fascination of the funny little streets. 'Tis at first a delightfully odd confusion only, as you look down one of them, through an interminable flutter of flags and swaying of dark blue drapery, all made beautiful and mysterious with Japanese or Chinese lettering. For there are no immediately discernible laws of construction or decoration: each building seems to have a fantastic prettiness of its own; nothing is exactly like anything else, and all is bewilderingly novel. But gradually, after an hour passed in the quarter, the eye begins to recognise in a vague way some general plan in the construction of these low, light, queerly-gabled wooden houses, mostly unpainted, with their first stories all open to the street, and thin strips of roofing sloping above each shop-front, like awnings, back to the miniature balconies of paper-screened second stories. You begin to understand the common plan of the tiny shops, with their matted floors well raised above the street level, and the general perpendicular arrangement of sign-lettering, whether undulating on drapery or glimmering on gilded and lacquered signboards. You observe that the same rich dark blue which dominates in popular costume rules also in shop draperies, though there is a sprinkling of other tints--bright blue and white and red (no greens or yellows). And then you note also that the dresses of the labourers are lettered with the same wonderful lettering as the shop draperies. No arabesques could produce such an effect. As modified for decorative purposes these ideographs have a speaking symmetry which no design without a meaning could possess. As they appear on the back of a workman's frock--pure white on dark blue--and large enough to be easily read at a great distance (indicating some guild or company of which the wearer is a member or employee), they give to the poor cheap garment a fictitious appearance of splendour. And finally, while you are still puzzling over the mystery of things, there will come to you like a revelation the knowledge that most of the amazing picturesqueness of these streets is simply due to the profusion of Chinese and Japanese characters in white, black, blue, or gold, decorating everything--even surfaces of doorposts and paper screens. Perhaps, then, for one moment, you will imagine the effect of English lettering substituted for those magical characters; and the mere idea will give to whatever aesthetic sentiment you may possess a brutal shock, and you will become, as I have become, an enemy of the Romaji-Kwai--that society founded for the ugly utilitarian purpose of introducing the use of English letters in writing Japanese. Sec. 2 An ideograph does not make upon the Japanese brain any impression similar to that created in the Occidental brain by a letter or combination of letters--dull, inanimate symbols of vocal sounds. To the Japanese brain an ideograph is a vivid picture: it lives; it speaks; it gesticulates. And the whole space of a Japanese street is full of such living characters--figures that cry out to the eyes, words that smile or grimace like faces. What such lettering is, compared with our own lifeless types, can be understood only by those who have lived in the farther East. For even the printed characters of Japanese or Chinese imported texts give no suggestion of the possible beauty of the same characters as modified for decorative inscriptions, for sculptural use, or for the commonest advertising purposes. No rigid convention fetters the fancy of the calligrapher or designer: each strives to make his characters more beautiful than any others; and generations upon generations of artists have been toiling from time immemorial with like emulation, so that through centuries and centuries of tireless effort and study, the primitive hieroglyph or ideograph has been evolved into a thing of beauty indescribable. It consists only of a certain number of brush-strokes; but in each stroke there is an undiscoverable secret art of grace, proportion, imperceptible curve, which actually makes it seem alive, and bears witness that even during the lightning-moment of its creation the artist felt with his brush for the ideal shape of the stroke equally along its entire length, from head to tail. But the art of the strokes is not all; the art of their combination is that which produces the enchantment, often so as to astonish the Japanese themselves. It is not surprising, indeed, considering the strangely personal, animate, esoteric aspect of Japanese lettering, that there should be wonderful legends of calligraphy relating how words written by holy experts became incarnate, and descended from their tablets to hold converse with mankind. Sec. 3 My kurumaya calls himself 'Cha.' He has a white hat which looks like the top of an enormous mushroom; a short blue wide-sleeved jacket; blue drawers, close-fitting as 'tights,' and reaching to his ankles; and light straw sandals bound upon his bare feet with cords of palmetto-fibre. Doubtless he typifies all the patience, endurance, and insidious coaxing powers of his class. He has already manifested his power to make me give him more than the law allows; and I have been warned against him in vain. For the first sensation of having a human being for a horse, trotting between shafts, unwearyingly bobbing up and down before you for hours, is alone enough to evoke a feeling of compassion. And when this human being, thus trotting between shafts, with all his hopes, memories, sentiments, and comprehensions, happens to have the gentlest smile, and the power to return the least favour by an apparent display of infinite gratitude, this compassion becomes sympathy, and provokes unreasoning impulses to self-sacrifice. I think the sight of the profuse perspiration has also something to do with the feeling, for it makes one think of the cost of heart-beats and muscle-contractions, likewise of chills, congestions, and pleurisy. Cha's clothing is drenched; and he mops his face with a small sky-blue towel, with figures of bamboo-sprays and sparrows in white upon it, which towel he carries wrapped about his wrist as he runs. That, however, which attracts me in Cha--Cha considered not as a motive power at all, but as a personality--I am rapidly learning to discern in the multitudes of faces turned toward us as we roll through these miniature streets. And perhaps the supremely pleasurable impression of this morning is that produced by the singular gentleness of popular scrutiny. Everybody looks at you curiously; but there is never anything disagreeable, much less hostile in the gaze: most commonly it is accompanied by a smile or half smile. And the ultimate consequence of all these kindly curious looks and smiles is that the stranger finds himself thinking of fairy-land. Hackneyed to the degree of provocation this statement no doubt is: everybody describing the sensations of his first Japanese day talks of the land as fairyland, and of its people as fairy-folk. Yet there is a natural reason for this unanimity in choice of terms to describe what is almost impossible to describe more accurately at the first essay. To find one's self suddenly in a world where everything is upon a smaller and daintier scale than with us--a world of lesser and seemingly kindlier beings, all smiling at you as if to wish you well--a world where all movement is slow and soft, and voices are hushed--a world where land, life, and sky are unlike all that one has known elsewhere--this is surely the realisation, for imaginations nourished with English folklore, of the old dream of a World of Elves. Sec. 4 The traveller who enters suddenly into a period of social change--especially change from a feudal past to a democratic present--is likely to regret the decay of things beautiful and the ugliness of things new. What of both I may yet discover in Japan I know not; but to-day, in these exotic streets, the old and the new mingle so well that one seems to set off the other. The line of tiny white telegraph poles carrying the world's news to papers printed in a mixture of Chinese and Japanese characters; an electric bell in some tea-house with an Oriental riddle of text pasted beside the ivory button, a shop of American sewing-machines next to the shop of a maker of Buddhist images; the establishment of a photographer beside the establishment of a manufacturer of straw sandals: all these present no striking incongruities, for each sample of Occidental innovation is set into an Oriental frame that seems adaptable to any picture. But on the first day, at least, the Old alone is new for the stranger, and suffices to absorb his attention. It then appears to him that everything Japanese is delicate, exquisite, admirable--even a pair of common wooden chopsticks in a paper bag with a little drawing upon it; even a package of toothpicks of cherry-wood, bound with a paper wrapper wonderfully lettered in three different colours; even the little sky-blue towel, with designs of flying sparrows upon it, which the jinricksha man uses to wipe his face. The bank bills, the commonest copper coins, are things of beauty. Even the piece of plaited coloured string used by the shopkeeper in tying up your last purchase is a pretty curiosity. Curiosities and dainty objects bewilder you by their very multitude: on either side of you, wherever you turn your eyes, are countless wonderful things as yet incomprehensible. But it is perilous to look at them. Every time you dare to look, something obliges you to buy it--unless, as may often happen, the smiling vendor invites your inspection of so many varieties of one article, each specially and all unspeakably desirable, that you flee away out of mere terror at your own impulses. The shopkeeper never asks you to buy; but his wares are enchanted, and if you once begin buying you are lost. Cheapness means only a temptation to commit bankruptcy; for the resources of irresistible artistic cheapness are inexhaustible. The largest steamer that crosses the Pacific could not contain what you wish to purchase. For, although you may not, perhaps, confess the fact to yourself, what you really want to buy is not the contents of a shop; you want the shop and the shopkeeper, and streets of shops with their draperies and their inhabitants, the whole city and the bay and the mountains begirdling it, and Fujiyama's white witchery overhanging it in the speckless sky, all Japan, in very truth, with its magical trees and luminous atmosphere, with all its cities and towns and temples, and forty millions of the most lovable people in the universe. Now there comes to my mind something I once heard said by a practical American on hearing of a great fire in Japan: 'Oh! those people can afford fires; their houses are so cheaply built.' It is true that the frail wooden houses of the common people can be cheaply and quickly replaced; but that which was within them to make them beautiful cannot--and every fire is an art tragedy. For this is the land of infinite hand-made variety; machinery has not yet been able to introduce sameness and utilitarian ugliness in cheap production (except in response to foreign demand for bad taste to suit vulgar markets), and each object made by the artist or artisan differs still from all others, even of his own making. And each time something beautiful perishes by fire, it is a something representing an individual idea. Happily the art impulse itself, in this country of conflagrations, has a vitality which survives each generation of artists, and defies the flame that changes their labour to ashes or melts it to shapelessness. The idea whose symbol has perished will reappear again in other creations--perhaps after the passing of a century--modified, indeed, yet recognisably of kin to the thought of the past. And every artist is a ghostly worker. Not by years of groping and sacrifice does he find his highest expression; the sacrificial past is within him; his art is an inheritance; his fingers are guided by the dead in the delineation of a flying bird, of the vapours of mountains, of the colours of the morning and the evening, of the shape of branches and the spring burst of flowers: generations of skilled workmen have given him their cunning, and revive in the wonder of his drawing. What was conscious effort in the beginning became unconscious in later centuries--becomes almost automatic in the living man,--becomes the art instinctive. Wherefore, one coloured print by a Hokusai or Hiroshige, originally sold for less than a cent, may have more real art in it than many a Western painting valued at more than the worth of a whole Japanese street. Sec. 5 Here are Hokusai's own figures walking about in straw raincoats, and immense mushroom-shaped hats of straw, and straw sandals--bare-limbed peasants, deeply tanned by wind and sun; and patient-faced mothers with smiling bald babies on their backs, toddling by upon their geta (high, noisy, wooden clogs), and robed merchants squatting and smoking their little brass pipes among the countless riddles of their shops. Then I notice how small and shapely the feet of the people are--whether bare brown feet of peasants, or beautiful feet of children wearing tiny, tiny geta, or feet of young girls in snowy tabi. The tabi, the white digitated stocking, gives to a small light foot a mythological aspect--the white cleft grace of the foot of a fauness. Clad or bare, the Japanese foot has the antique symmetry: it has not yet been distorted by the infamous foot-gear which has deformed the feet of Occidentals. Of every pair of Japanese wooden clogs, one makes in walking a slightly different sound from the other, as kring to krang; so that the echo of the walker's steps has an alternate rhythm of tones. On a pavement, such as that of a railway station, the sound obtains immense sonority; and a crowd will sometimes intentionally fall into step, with the drollest conceivable result of drawling wooden noise. Sec. 6 'Tera e yuke!' I have been obliged to return to the European hotel--not because of the noon-meal, as I really begrudge myself the time necessary to eat it, but because I cannot make Cha understand that I want to visit a Buddhist temple. Now Cha understands; my landlord has uttered the mystical words: 'Tera e yuke!' A few minutes of running along broad thoroughfares lined with gardens and costly ugly European buildings; then passing the bridge of a canal stocked with unpainted sharp-prowed craft of extraordinary construction, we again plunge into narrow, low, bright pretty streets--into another part of the Japanese city. And Cha runs at the top of his speed between more rows of little ark-shaped houses, narrower above than below; between other unfamiliar lines of little open shops. And always over the shops little strips of blue-tiled roof slope back to the paper-screened chamber of upper floors; and from all the facades hang draperies dark blue, or white, or crimson--foot-breadths of texture covered with beautiful Japanese lettering, white on blue, red on black, black on white. But all this flies by swiftly as a dream. Once more we cross a canal; we rush up a narrow street rising to meet a hill; and Cha, halting suddenly before an immense flight of broad stone steps, sets the shafts of his vehicle on the ground that I may dismount, and, pointing to the steps, exclaims: 'Tera!' I dismount, and ascend them, and, reaching a broad terrace, find myself face to face with a wonderful gate, topped by a tilted, peaked, many-cornered Chinese roof. It is all strangely carven, this gate. Dragons are inter-twined in a frieze above its open doors; and the panels of the doors themselves are similarly sculptured; and there are gargoyles--grotesque lion heads--protruding from the eaves. And the whole is grey, stone-coloured; to me, nevertheless, the carvings do not seem to have the fixity of sculpture; all the snakeries and dragonries appear to undulate with a swarming motion, elusively, in eddyings as of water. I turn a moment to look back through the glorious light. Sea and sky mingle in the same beautiful pale clear blue. Below me the billowing of bluish roofs reaches to the verge of the unruffled bay on the right, and to the feet of the green wooded hills flanking the city on two sides. Beyond that semicircle of green hills rises a lofty range of serrated mountains, indigo silhouettes. And enormously high above the line of them towers an apparition indescribably lovely--one solitary snowy cone, so filmily exquisite, so spiritually white, that but for its immemorially familiar outline, one would surely deem it a shape of cloud. Invisible its base remains, being the same delicious tint as the sky: only above the eternal snow-line its dreamy cone appears, seeming to hang, the ghost of a peak, between the luminous land and the luminous heaven--the sacred and matchless mountain, Fujiyama. And suddenly, a singular sensation comes upon me as I stand before this weirdly sculptured portal--a sensation of dream and doubt. It seems to me that the steps, and the dragon-swarming gate, and the blue sky arching over the roofs of the town, and the ghostly beauty of Fuji, and the shadow of myself there stretching upon the grey masonry, must all vanish presently. Why such a feeling? Doubtless because the forms before me--the curved roofs, the coiling dragons, the Chinese grotesqueries of carving--do not really appear to me as things new, but as things dreamed: the sight of them must have stirred to life forgotten memories of picture-books. A moment, and the delusion vanishes; the romance of reality returns, with freshened consciousness of all that which is truly and deliciously new; the magical transparencies of distance, the wondrous delicacy of the tones of the living picture, the enormous height of the summer blue, and the white soft witchery of the Japanese sun. Sec. 7 I pass on and climb more steps to a second gate with similar gargoyles and swarming of dragons, and enter a court where graceful votive lanterns of stone stand like monuments. On my right and left two great grotesque stone lions are sitting--the lions of Buddha, male and female. Beyond is a long low light building, with curved and gabled roof of blue tiles, and three wooden steps before its entrance. Its sides are simple wooden screens covered with thin white paper. This is the temple. On the steps I take off my shoes; a young man slides aside the screens closing the entrance, and bows me a gracious welcome. And I go in, feeling under my feet a softness of matting thick as bedding. An immense square apartment is before me, full of an unfamiliar sweet smell--the scent of Japanese incense; but after the full blaze of the sun, the paper-filtered light here is dim as moonshine; for a minute or two I can see nothing but gleams of gilding in a soft gloom. Then, my eyes becoming accustomed to the obscurity, I perceive against the paper-paned screens surrounding the sanctuary on three sides shapes of enormous flowers cutting like silhouettes against the vague white light. I approach and find them to be paper flowers--symbolic lotus-blossoms beautifully coloured, with curling leaves gilded on the upper surface and bright green beneath, At the dark end of the apartment, facing the entrance, is the altar of Buddha, a rich and lofty altar, covered with bronzes and gilded utensils clustered to right and left of a shrine like a tiny gold temple. But I see no statue; only a mystery of unfamiliar shapes of burnished metal, relieved against darkness, a darkness behind the shrine and altar--whether recess or inner sanctuary I cannot distinguish. The young attendant who ushered me into the temple now approaches, and, to my great surprise, exclaims in excellent English, pointing to a richly decorated gilded object between groups of candelabra on the altar: 'That is the shrine of Buddha.' 'And I would like to make an offering to Buddha,' I respond. 'It is not necessary,' he says, with a polite smile. But I insist; and he places the little offering for me upon the altar. Then he invites me to his own room, in a wing of the building--a large luminous room, without furniture, beautifully matted. And we sit down upon the floor and chat. He tells me he is a student in the temple. He learned English in Tokyo and speaks it with a curious accent, but with fine choice of words. Finally he asks me: 'Are you a Christian?' And I answer truthfully: 'No.' 'Are you a Buddhist?' 'Not exactly.' 'Why do you make offerings if you do not believe in Buddha?' 'I revere the beauty of his teaching, and the faith of those who follow it.' 'Are there Buddhists in England and America?' 'There are, at least, a great many interested in Buddhist philosophy.' And he takes from an alcove a little book, and gives it to me to examine. It is an English copy of Olcott's Buddhist Catechism. 'Why is there no image of Buddha in your temple?' I ask. 'There is a small one in the shrine upon the altar,' the student answers; 'but the shrine is closed. And we have several large ones. But the image of Buddha is not exposed here every day--only upon festal days. And some images are exposed only once or twice a year. From my place, I can see, between the open paper screens, men and women ascending the steps, to kneel and pray before the entrance of the temple. They kneel with such naive reverence, so gracefully and so naturally, that the kneeling of our Occidental devotees seems a clumsy stumbling by comparison. Some only join their hands; others clap them three times loudly and slowly; then they bow their heads, pray silently for a moment, and rise and depart. The shortness of the prayers impresses me as something novel and interesting. From time to time I hear the clink and rattle of brazen coin cast into the great wooden money-box at the entrance. I turn to the young student, and ask him: 'Why do they clap their hands three times before they pray?' He answers: 'Three times for the Sansai, the Three Powers: Heaven, Earth, Man.' 'But do they clap their hands to call the Gods, as Japanese clap their hands to summon their attendants?' 'Oh, no!' he replied. 'The clapping of hands represents only the awakening from the Dream of the Long Night.' [1] 'What night? what dream?' He hesitates some moments before making answer: 'The Buddha said: All beings are only dreaming in this fleeting world of unhappiness.' 'Then the clapping of hands signifies that in prayer the soul awakens from such dreaming?' 'Yes.' 'You understand what I mean by the word "soul"?' 'Oh, yes! Buddhists believe the soul always was--always will be.' 'Even in Nirvana?' 'Yes.' While we are thus chatting the Chief Priest of the temple enters--a very aged man-accompanied by two young priests, and I am presented to them; and the three bow very low, showing me the glossy crowns of their smoothly-shaven heads, before seating themselves in the fashion of gods upon the floor. I observe they do not smile; these are the first Japanese I have seen who do not smile: their faces are impassive as the faces of images. But their long eyes observe me very closely, while the student interprets their questions, and while I attempt to tell them something about the translations of the Sutras in our Sacred Books of the East, and about the labours of Beal and Burnouf and Feer and Davids and Kern, and others. They listen without change of countenance, and utter no word in response to the young student's translation of my remarks. Tea, however, is brought in and set before me in a tiny cup, placed in a little brazen saucer, shaped like a lotus-leaf; and I am invited to partake of some little sugar-cakes (kwashi), stamped with a figure which I recognise as the Swastika, the ancient Indian symbol of the Wheel of the Law. As I rise to go, all rise with me; and at the steps the student asks for my name and address. 'For,' he adds, 'you will not see me here again, as I am going to leave the temple. But I will visit you.' 'And your name?' I ask. 'Call me Akira,' he answers. At the threshold I bow my good-bye; and they all bow very, very low, one blue-black head, three glossy heads like balls of ivory. And as I go, only Akira smiles. Sec. 8 'Tera?' queries Cha, with his immense white hat in his hand, as I resume my seat in the jinricksha at the foot of the steps. Which no doubt means, do I want to see any more temples? Most certainly I do: I have not yet seen Buddha. 'Yes, tera, Cha.' And again begins the long panorama of mysterious shops and tilted eaves, and fantastic riddles written over everything. I have no idea in what direction Cha is running. I only know that the streets seem to become always narrower as we go, and that some of the houses look like great wickerwork pigeon-cages only, and that we pass over several bridges before we halt again at the foot of another hill. There is a lofty flight of steps here also, and before them a structure which I know is both a gate and a symbol, imposing, yet in no manner resembling the great Buddhist gateway seen before. Astonishingly simple all the lines of it are: it has no carving, no colouring, no lettering upon it; yet it has a weird solemnity, an enigmatic beauty. It is a torii. 'Miya,' observes Cha. Not a tera this time, but a shrine of the gods of the more ancient faith of the land--a miya. I am standing before a Shinto symbol; I see for the first time, out of a picture at least, a torii. How describe a torii to those who have never looked at one even in a photograph or engraving? Two lofty columns, like gate-pillars, supporting horizontally two cross-beams, the lower and lighter beam having its ends fitted into the columns a little distance below their summits; the uppermost and larger beam supported upon the tops of the columns, and projecting well beyond them to right and left. That is a torii: the construction varying little in design, whether made of stone, wood, or metal. But this description can give no correct idea of the appearance of a torii, of its majestic aspect, of its mystical suggestiveness as a gateway. The first time you see a noble one, you will imagine, perhaps, that you see the colossal model of some beautiful Chinese letter towering against the sky; for all the lines of the thing have the grace of an animated ideograph,--have the bold angles and curves of characters made with four sweeps of a master-brush. [2] Passing the torii I ascend a flight of perhaps one hundred stone steps, and find at their summit a second torii, from whose lower cross-beam hangs festooned the mystic shimenawa. It is in this case a hempen rope of perhaps two inches in diameter through its greater length, but tapering off at either end like a snake. Sometimes the shimenawa is made of bronze, when the torii itself is of bronze; but according to tradition it should be made of straw, and most commonly is. For it represents the straw rope which the deity Futo-tama-no-mikoto stretched behind the Sun-goddess, Ama-terasu-oho-mi-Kami, after Ame-no-ta-jikara-wo-no-Kami, the Heavenly-hand-strength-god, had pulled her out, as is told in that ancient myth of Shinto which Professor Chamberlain has translated. [3] And the shimenawa, in its commoner and simpler form, has pendent tufts of straw along its entire length, at regular intervals, because originally made, tradition declares, of grass pulled up by the roots which protruded from the twist of it. Advancing beyond this torii, I find myself in a sort of park or pleasure-ground on the summit of the hill. There is a small temple on the right; it is all closed up; and I have read so much about the disappointing vacuity of Shinto temples that I do not regret the absence of its guardian. And I see before me what is infinitely more interesting,--a grove of cherry-trees covered with something unutterably beautiful,--a dazzling mist of snowy blossoms clinging like summer cloud-fleece about every branch and twig; and the ground beneath them, and the path before me, is white with the soft, thick, odorous snow of fallen petals. Beyond this loveliness are flower-plots surrounding tiny shrines; and marvellous grotto-work, full of monsters--dragons and mythologic beings chiselled in the rock; and miniature landscape work with tiny groves of dwarf trees, and Lilliputian lakes, and microscopic brooks and bridges and cascades. Here, also, are swings for children. And here are belvederes, perched on the verge of the hill, wherefrom the whole fair city, and the whole smooth bay speckled with fishing-sails no bigger than pin-heads, and the far, faint, high promontories reaching into the sea, are all visible in one delicious view--blue-pencilled in a beauty of ghostly haze indescribable. Why should the trees be so lovely in Japan? With us, a plum or cherry tree in flower is not an astonishing sight; but here it is a miracle of beauty so bewildering that, however much you may have previously read about it, the real spectacle strikes you dumb. You see no leaves--only one great filmy mist of petals. Is it that the trees have been so long domesticated and caressed by man in this land of the Gods, that they have acquired souls, and strive to show their gratitude, like women loved, by making themselves more beautiful for man's sake? Assuredly they have mastered men's hearts by their loveliness, like beautiful slaves. That is to say, Japanese hearts. Apparently there have been some foreign tourists of the brutal class in this place, since it has been deemed necessary to set up inscriptions in English announcing that 'IT IS FORBIDDEN TO INJURE THE TREES.' Sec. 9 'Tera?' 'Yes, Cha, tera.' But only for a brief while do I traverse Japanese streets. The houses separate, become scattered along the feet of the hills: the city thins away through little valleys, and vanishes at last behind. And we follow a curving road overlooking the sea. Green hills slope steeply down to the edge of the way on the right; on the left, far below, spreads a vast stretch of dun sand and salty pools to a line of surf so distant that it is discernible only as a moving white thread. The tide is out; and thousands of cockle-gatherers are scattered over the sands, at such distances that their stooping figures, dotting the glimmering sea-bed, appear no larger than gnats. And some are coming along the road before us, returning from their search with well-filled baskets--girls with faces almost as rosy as the faces of English girls. As the jinricksha rattles on, the hills dominating the road grow higher. All at once Cha halts again before the steepest and loftiest flight of temple steps I have yet seen. I climb and climb and climb, halting perforce betimes, to ease the violent aching of my quadriceps muscles; reach the top completely out of breath; and find myself between two lions of stone; one showing his fangs, the other with jaws closed. Before me stands the temple, at the farther end of a small bare plateau surrounded on three sides by low cliffs,-a small temple, looking very old and grey. From a rocky height to the left of the building, a little cataract rumbles down into a pool, ringed in by a palisade. The voice of the water drowns all other sounds. A sharp wind is blowing from the ocean: the place is chill even in the sun, and bleak, and desolate, as if no prayer had been uttered in it for a hundred years. Cha taps and calls, while I take off my shoes upon the worn wooden steps of the temple; and after a minute of waiting, we hear a muffled step approaching and a hollow cough behind the paper screens. They slide open; and an old white-robed priest appears, and motions me, with a low bow, to enter. He has a kindly face; and his smile of welcome seems to me one of the most exquisite I have ever been greeted with. Then he coughs again, so badly that I think if I ever come here another time, I shall ask for him in vain. I go in, feeling that soft, spotless, cushioned matting beneath my feet with which the floors of all Japanese buildings are covered. I pass the indispensable bell and lacquered reading-desk; and before me I see other screens only, stretching from floor to ceiling. The old man, still coughing, slides back one of these upon the right, and waves me into the dimness of an inner sanctuary, haunted by faint odours of incense. A colossal bronze lamp, with snarling gilded dragons coiled about its columnar stem, is the first object I discern; and, in passing it, my shoulder sets ringing a festoon of little bells suspended from the lotus-shaped summit of it. Then I reach the altar, gropingly, unable yet to distinguish forms clearly. But the priest, sliding back screen after screen, pours in light upon the gilded brasses and the inscriptions; and I look for the image of the Deity or presiding Spirit between the altar-groups of convoluted candelabra. And I see--only a mirror, a round, pale disk of polished metal, and my own face therein, and behind this mockery of me a phantom of the far sea. Only a mirror! Symbolising what? Illusion? or that the Universe exists for us solely as the reflection of our own souls? or the old Chinese teaching that we must seek the Buddha only in our own hearts? Perhaps some day I shall be able to find out all these things. As I sit on the temple steps, putting on my shoes preparatory to going, the kind old priest approaches me again, and, bowing, presents a bowl. I hastily drop some coins in it, imagining it to be a Buddhist alms-bowl, before discovering it to be full of hot water. But the old man's beautiful courtesy saves me from feeling all the grossness of my mistake. Without a word, and still preserving his kindly smile, he takes the bowl away, and, returning presently with another bowl, empty, fills it with hot water from a little kettle, and makes a sign to me to drink. Tea is most usually offered to visitors at temples; but this little shrine is very, very poor; and I have a suspicion that the old priest suffers betimes for want of what no fellow-creature should be permitted to need. As I descend the windy steps to the roadway I see him still looking after me, and I hear once more his hollow cough. Then the mockery of the mirror recurs to me. I am beginning to wonder whether I shall ever be able to discover that which I seek--outside of myself! That is, outside of my own imagination. Sec. 10 'Tera?' once more queries Cha. 'Tera, no--it is getting late. Hotel, Cha.' But Cha, turning the corner of a narrow street, on our homeward route, halts the jinricksha before a shrine or tiny temple scarcely larger than the smallest of Japanese shops, yet more of a surprise to me than any of the larger sacred edifices already visited. For, on either side of the entrance, stand two monster-figures, nude, blood-red, demoniac, fearfully muscled, with feet like lions, and hands brandishing gilded thunderbolts, and eyes of delirious fury; the guardians of holy things, the Ni-O, or "Two Kings." [4] And right between these crimson monsters a young girl stands looking at us; her slight figure, in robe of silver grey and girdle of iris-violet, relieved deliciously against the twilight darkness of the interior. Her face, impassive and curiously delicate, would charm wherever seen; but here, by strange contrast with the frightful grotesqueries on either side of her, it produces an effect unimaginable. Then I find myself wondering whether my feeling of repulsion toward those twin monstrosities be altogether lust, seeing that so charming a maiden deems them worthy of veneration. And they even cease to seem ugly as I watch her standing there between them, dainty and slender as some splendid moth, and always naively gazing at the foreigner, utterly unconscious that they might have seemed to him both unholy and uncomely. What are they? Artistically they are Buddhist transformations of Brahma and of Indra. Enveloped by the absorbing, all-transforming magical atmosphere of Buddhism, Indra can now wield his thunderbolts only in defence of the faith which has dethroned him: he has become a keeper of the temple gates; nay, has even become a servant of Bosatsu (Bodhisattvas), for this is only a shrine of Kwannon, Goddess of Mercy, not yet a Buddha. 'Hotel, Cha, hotel!' I cry out again, for the way is long, and the sun sinking,--sinking in the softest imaginable glow of topazine light. I have not seen Shaka (so the Japanese have transformed the name Sakya-Muni); I have not looked upon the face of the Buddha. Perhaps I may be able to find his image to-morrow, somewhere in this wilderness of wooden streets, or upon the summit of some yet unvisited hill. The sun is gone; the topaz-light is gone; and Cha stops to light his lantern of paper; and we hurry on again, between two long lines of painted paper lanterns suspended before the shops: so closely set, so level those lines are, that they seem two interminable strings of pearls of fire. And suddenly a sound--solemn, profound, mighty--peals to my ears over the roofs of the town, the voice of the tsurigane, the great temple-bell of Nogiyama. All too short the day seemed. Yet my eyes have been so long dazzled by the great white light, and so confused by the sorcery of that interminable maze of mysterious signs which made each street vista seem a glimpse into some enormous grimoire, that they are now weary even of the soft glowing of all these paper lanterns, likewise covered with characters that look like texts from a Book of Magic. And I feel at last the coming of that drowsiness which always follows enchantment. Sec. 11 'Amma-kamishimo-go-hyakmon!' A woman's voice ringing through the night, chanting in a tone of singular sweetness words of which each syllable comes through my open window like a wavelet of flute-sound. My Japanese servant, who speaks a little English, has told me what they mean, those words: 'Amma-kamishimo-go-hyakmon!' And always between these long, sweet calls I hear a plaintive whistle, one long note first, then two short ones in another key. It is the whistle of the amma, the poor blind woman who earns her living by shampooing the sick or the weary, and whose whistle warns pedestrians and drivers of vehicles to take heed for her sake, as she cannot see. And she sings also that the weary and the sick may call her in. 'Amma-kamishimo-go-hyakmon!' The saddest melody, but the sweetest voice. Her cry signifies that for the sum of 'five hundred mon' she will come and rub your weary body 'above and below,' and make the weariness or the pain go away. Five hundred mon are the equivalent of five sen (Japanese cents); there are ten rin to a sen, and ten mon to one rin. The strange sweetness of the voice is haunting,--makes me even wish to have some pains, that I might pay five hundred mon to have them driven away. I lie down to sleep, and I dream. I see Chinese texts--multitudinous, weird, mysterious--fleeing by me, all in one direction; ideographs white and dark, upon signboards, upon paper screens, upon backs of sandalled men. They seem to live, these ideographs, with conscious life; they are moving their parts, moving with a movement as of insects, monstrously, like phasmidae. I am rolling always through low, narrow, luminous streets in a phantom jinricksha, whose wheels make no sound. And always, always, I see the huge white mushroom-shaped hat of Cha dancing up and down before me as he runs. Chapter Two The Writing of Kobodaishi Sec. 1 KOBODAISHI, most holy of Buddhist priests, and founder of the Shingon-sho--which is the sect of Akira--first taught the men of Japan to write the writing called Hiragana and the syllabary I-ro-ha; and Kobodaishi was himself the most wonderful of all writers, and the most skilful wizard among scribes. And in the book, Kobodaishi-ichi-dai-ki, it is related that when he was in China, the name of a certain room in the palace of the Emperor having become effaced by time, the Emperor sent for him and bade him write the name anew. Thereupon Kobodaishi took a brush in his right hand, and a brush in his left, and one brush between the toes of his left foot, and another between the toes of his right, and one in his mouth also; and with those five brushes, so holding them, he limned the characters upon the wall. And the characters were beautiful beyond any that had ever been seen in China--smooth-flowing as the ripples in the current of a river. And Kobodaishi then took a brush, and with it from a distance spattered drops of ink upon the wall; and the drops as they fell became transformed and turned into beautiful characters. And the Emperor gave to Kobodaishi the name Gohitsu Osho, signifying The Priest who writes with Five Brushes. At another time, while the saint was dwelling in Takawasan, near to Kyoto, the Emperor, being desirous that Kobodaishi should write the tablet for the great temple called Kongo-jo-ji, gave the tablet to a messenger and bade him carry it to Kobodaishi, that Kobodaishi might letter it. But when the Emperor's messenger, bearing the tablet, came near to the place where Kobodaishi dwelt, he found a river before him so much swollen by rain that no man might cross it. In a little while, however, Kobodaishi appeared upon the farther bank, and, hearing from the messenger what the Emperor desired, called to him to hold up the tablet. And the messenger did so; and Kobodaishi, from his place upon the farther bank, made the movements of the letters with his brush; and as fast as he made them they appeared upon the tablet which the messenger was holding up. Sec. 2 Now in that time Kobodaishi was wont to meditate alone by the river-side; and one day, while so meditating, he was aware of a boy standing before him, gazing at him curiously. The garments of the boy were as the garments worn by the needy; but his face was beautiful. And while Kobodaishi wondered, the boy asked him: 'Are you Kobodaishi, whom men call "Gohitsu-Osho"--the priest who writes with five brushes at once?' And Kobodaishi answered: 'I am he.' Then said the boy: 'If you be he, write, I pray you, upon the sky.' And Kobodaishi, rising, took his brush, and made with it movements toward the sky as if writing; and presently upon the face of the sky the letters appeared, most beautifully wrought. Then the boy said: 'Now I shall try;' and he wrote also upon the sky as Kobodaishi had done. And he said again to Kobodaishi: 'I pray you, write for me--write upon the surface of the river.' Then Kobodaishi wrote upon the water a poem in praise of the water; and for a moment the characters remained, all beautiful, upon the face of the stream, as if they had fallen upon it like leaves; but presently they moved with the current and floated away. 'Now I will try,' said the boy; and he wrote upon the water the Dragon-character--the character Ryu in the writing which is called Sosho, the 'Grass-character;' and the character remained upon the flowing surface and moved not. But Kobodaishi saw that the boy had not placed the ten, the little dot belonging to the character, beside it. And he asked the boy: 'Why did you not put the ten?' 'Oh, I forgot!' answered the boy; 'please put it there for me,' and Kobodaishi then made the dot. And lo! the Dragon-character became a Dragon; and the Dragon moved terribly in the waters; and the sky darkened with thunder-clouds, and blazed with lightnings; and the Dragon ascended in a whirl of tempest to heaven. Then Kobodaishi asked the boy: 'Who are you?' And the boy made answer: 'I am he whom men worship on the mountain Gotai; I am the Lord of Wisdom,--Monju Bosatsu!' And even as he spoke the boy became changed; and his beauty became luminous like the beauty of gods; and his limbs became radiant, shedding soft light about. And, smiling, he rose to heaven and vanished beyond the clouds. Sec. 3 But Kobodaishi himself once forgot to put the ten beside the character O on the tablet which he painted with the name of the Gate O-Te-mon of the Emperor's palace. And the Emperor at Kyoto having asked him why he had not put the ten beside the character, Kobodaishi answered: 'I forgot; but I will put it on now.' Then the Emperor bade ladders be brought; for the tablet was already in place, high above the gate. But Kobodaishi, standing on the pavement before the gate, simply threw his brush at the tablet; and the brush, so thrown, made the ten there most admirably, and fell back into his hand. Kobodaishi also painted the tablet of the gate called Ko-kamon of the Emperor's palace at Kyoto. Now there was a man, dwelling near that gate, whose name was Kino Momoye; and he ridiculed the characters which Kobodaishi had made, and pointed to one of them, saying: 'Why, it looks like a swaggering wrestler!' But the same night Momoye dreamed that a wrestler had come to his bedside and leaped upon him, and was beating him with his fists. And, crying out with the pain of the blows, he awoke, and saw the wrestler rise in air, and change into the written character he had laughed at, and go back to the tablet over the gate. And there was another writer, famed greatly for his skill, named Onomo Toku, who laughed at some characters on the tablet of the Gate Shukaku-mon, written by Kobodaishi; and he said, pointing to the character Shu: 'Verily shu looks like the character "rice".' And that night he dreamed that the character he had mocked at became a man; and that the man fell upon him and beat him, and jumped up and down upon his face many times--even as a kometsuki, a rice-cleaner, leaps up and down to move the hammers that beat the rice--saying the while: 'Lo! I am the messenger of Kobodaishi!' And, waking, he found himself bruised and bleeding as one that had been grievously trampled. And long after Kobodaishi's death it was found that the names written by him on the two gates of the Emperor's palace Bi-fuku-mon, the Gate of Beautiful Fortune; and Ko-ka-mon, the Gate of Excellent Greatness--were well-nigh effaced by time. And the Emperor ordered a Dainagon [1], whose name was Yukinari, to restore the tablets. But Yukinari was afraid to perform the command of the Emperor, by reason of what had befallen other men; and, fearing the divine anger of Kobodaishi, he made offerings, and prayed for some token of permission. And the same night, in a dream, Kobodaishi appeared to him, smiling gently, and said: 'Do the work even as the Emperor desires, and have no fear.' So he restored the tablets in the first month of the fourth year of Kwanko, as is recorded in the book, Hon-cho-bun-sui. And all these things have been related to me by my friend Akira. Chapter Three Jizo Sec. 1 I HAVE passed another day in wandering among the temples, both Shinto and Buddhist. I have seen many curious things; but I have not yet seen the face of the Buddha. Repeatedly, after long wearisome climbing of stone steps, and passing under gates full of gargoyles--heads of elephants and heads of lions--and entering shoeless into scented twilight, into enchanted gardens of golden lotus-flowers of paper, and there waiting for my eyes to become habituated to the dimness, I have looked in vain for images. Only an opulent glimmering confusion of things half-seen--vague altar-splendours created by gilded bronzes twisted into riddles, by vessels of indescribable shape, by enigmatic texts of gold, by mysterious glittering pendent things--all framing in only a shrine with doors fast closed. What has most impressed me is the seeming joyousness of popular faith. I have seen nothing grim, austere, or self-repressive. I have not even noted anything approaching the solemn. The bright temple courts and even the temple steps are thronged with laughing children, playing curious games; and mothers, entering the sanctuary to pray, suffer their little ones to creep about the matting and crow. The people take their religion lightly and cheerfully: they drop their cash in the great alms-box, clap their hands, murmur a very brief prayer, then turn to laugh and talk and smoke their little pipes before the temple entrance. Into some shrines, I have noticed the worshippers do not enter at all; they merely stand before the doors and pray for a few seconds, and make their small offerings. Blessed are they who do not too much fear the gods which they have made! Sec. 2 Akira is bowing and smiling at the door. He slips off his sandals, enters in his white digitated stockings, and, with another smile and bow, sinks gently into the proffered chair. Akira is an interesting boy. With his smooth beardless face and clear bronze skin and blue-black hair trimmed into a shock that shadows his forehead to the eyes, he has almost the appearance, in his long wide-sleeved robe and snowy stockings, of a young Japanese girl. I clap my hands for tea, hotel tea, which he calls 'Chinese tea.' I offer him a cigar, which he declines; but with my permission, he will smoke his pipe. Thereupon he draws from his girdle a Japanese pipe-case and tobacco-pouch combined; pulls out of the pipe-case a little brass pipe with a bowl scarcely large enough to hold a pea; pulls out of the pouch some tobacco so finely cut that it looks like hair, stuffs a tiny pellet of this preparation in the pipe, and begins to smoke. He draws the smoke into his lungs, and blows it out again through his nostrils. Three little whiffs, at intervals of about half a minute, and the pipe, emptied, is replaced in its case. Meanwhile I have related to Akira the story of my disappointments. 'Oh, you can see him to-day,' responds Akira, 'if you will take a walk with me to the Temple of Zotokuin. For this is the Busshoe, the festival of the Birthday of Buddha. But he is very small, only a few inches high. If you want to see a great Buddha, you must go to Kamakura. There is a Buddha in that place, sitting upon a lotus; and he is fifty feet high.' So I go forth under the guidance of Akira. He says he may be able to show me 'some curious things.' Sec. 3 There is a sound of happy voices from the temple, and the steps are crowded with smiling mothers and laughing children. Entering, I find women and babies pressing about a lacquered table in front of the doorway. Upon it is a little tub-shaped vessel of sweet tea--amacha; and standing in the tea is a tiny figure of Buddha, one hand pointing upward and one downward. The women, having made the customary offering, take up some of the tea with a wooden ladle of curious shape, and pour it over the statue, and then, filling the ladle a second time, drink a little, and give a sip to their babies. This is the ceremony of washing the statue of Buddha. Near the lacquered stand on which the vessel of sweet tea rests is another and lower stand supporting a temple bell shaped like a great bowl. A priest approaches with a padded mallet in his hand and strikes the bell. But the bell does not sound properly: he starts, looks into it, and stoops to lift out of it a smiling Japanese baby. The mother, laughing, runs to relieve him of his burden; and priest, mother, and baby all look at us with a frankness of mirth in which we join. Akira leaves me a moment to speak with one of the temple attendants, and presently returns with a curious lacquered box, about a foot in length, and four inches wide on each of its four sides. There is only a small hole in one end of it; no appearance of a lid of any sort. 'Now,' says Akira, 'if you wish to pay two sen, we shall learn our future lot according to the will of the gods.' I pay the two sen, and Akira shakes the box. Out comes a narrow slip of bamboo, with Chinese characters written thereon. 'Kitsu!' cries Akira. 'Good-fortune. The number is fifty-and-one.' Again he shakes the box; a second bamboo slip issues from the slit. 'Dai kitsu! great good-fortune. The number is ninety-and-nine. Once more the box is shaken; once more the oracular bamboo protrudes. 'Kyo!' laughs Akira. 'Evil will befall us. The number is sixty-and-four.' He returns the box to a priest, and receives three mysterious papers, numbered with numbers corresponding to the numbers of the bamboo slips. These little bamboo slips, or divining-sticks, are called mikuji. This, as translated by Akira, is the substance of the text of the paper numbered fifty-and-one: 'He who draweth forth this mikuji, let him live according to the heavenly law and worship Kwannon. If his trouble be a sickness, it shall pass from him. If he have lost aught, it shall be found. If he have a suit at law, he shall gain. If he love a woman, he shall surely win her, though he should have to wait. And many happinesses will come to him.' The dai-kitsu paper reads almost similarly, with the sole differences that, instead of Kwannon, the deities of wealth and prosperity--Daikoku, Bishamon, and Benten--are to be worshipped, and that the fortunate man will not have to wait at all for the woman loved. But the kyo paper reads thus: 'He who draweth forth this mikuji, it will be well for him to obey the heavenly law and to worship Kwannon the Merciful. If he have any sickness, even much more sick he shall become. If he have lost aught, it shall never be found. If he have a suit at law, he shall never gain it. If he love a woman, let him have no more expectation of winning her. Only by the most diligent piety can he hope to escape the most frightful calamities. And there shall be no felicity in his portion.' 'All the same, we are fortunate,' declares Akira. 'Twice out of three times we have found luck. Now we will go to see another statue of Buddha.' And he guides me, through many curious streets, to the southern verge of the city. Sec. 4 Before us rises a hill, with a broad flight of stone steps sloping to its summit, between foliage of cedars and maples. We climb; and I see above me the Lions of Buddha waiting--the male yawning menace, the female with mouth closed. Passing between them, we enter a large temple court, at whose farther end rises another wooded eminence. And here is the temple, with roof of blue-painted copper tiles, and tilted eaves and gargoyles and dragons, all weather-stained to one neutral tone. The paper screens are open, but a melancholy rhythmic chant from within tells us that the noonday service is being held: the priests are chanting the syllables of Sanscrit texts transliterated into Chinese--intoning the Sutra called the Sutra of the Lotus of the Good Law. One of those who chant keeps time by tapping with a mallet, cotton-wrapped, some grotesque object shaped like a dolphin's head, all lacquered in scarlet and gold, which gives forth a dull, booming tone--a mokugyo. To the right of the temple is a little shrine, filling the air with fragrance of incense-burning. I peer in through the blue smoke that curls up from half a dozen tiny rods planted in a small brazier full of ashes; and far back in the shadow I see a swarthy Buddha, tiara-coiffed, with head bowed and hands joined, just as I see the Japanese praying, erect in the sun, before the thresholds of temples. The figure is of wood, rudely wrought and rudely coloured: still the placid face has beauty of suggestion. Crossing the court to the left of the building, I find another flight of steps before me, leading up a slope to something mysterious still higher, among enormous trees. I ascend these steps also, reach the top, guarded by two small symbolic lions, and suddenly find myself in cool shadow, and startled by a spectacle totally unfamiliar. Dark--almost black--soil and the shadowing of trees immemorially old, through whose vaulted foliage the sunlight leaks thinly down in rare flecks; a crepuscular light, tender and solemn, revealing the weirdest host of unfamiliar shapes--a vast congregation of grey, columnar, mossy things, stony, monumental, sculptured with Chinese ideographs. And about them, behind them, rising high above them, thickly set as rushes in a marsh-verge, tall slender wooden tablets, like laths, covered with similar fantastic lettering, pierce the green gloom by thousands, by tens of thousands. And before I can note other details, I know that I am in a hakaba, a cemetery--a very ancient Buddhist cemetery. These laths are called in the Japanese tongue sotoba. [1] All have notches cut upon their edges on both sides near the top-five notches; and all are painted with Chinese characters on both faces. One inscription is always the phrase 'To promote Buddhahood,' painted immediately below the dead man's name; the inscription upon the other surface is always a sentence in Sanscrit whose meaning has been forgotten even by those priests who perform the funeral rites. One such lath is planted behind the tomb as soon as the monument (haka) is set up; then another every seven days for forty-nine days, then one after the lapse of a hundred days; then one at the end of a year; then one after the passing of three years; and at successively longer periods others are erected during one hundred years. And in almost every group I notice some quite new, or freshly planed unpainted white wood, standing beside others grey or even black with age; and there are many, still older from whose surface all the characters have disappeared. Others are lying on the sombre clay. Hundreds stand so loose in the soil that the least breeze jostles and clatters them together. Not less unfamiliar in their forms, but far more interesting, are the monuments of stone. One shape I know represents five of the Buddhist elements: a cube supporting a sphere which upholds a pyramid on which rests a shallow square cup with four crescent edges and tilted corners, and in the cup a pyriform body poised with the point upwards. These successively typify Earth, Water, Fire, Wind, Ether, the five substances wherefrom the body is shapen, and into which it is resolved by death; the absence of any emblem for the Sixth element, Knowledge, touches more than any imagery conceivable could do. And nevertheless, in the purpose of the symbolism, this omission was never planned with the same idea that it suggests to the Occidental mind. Very numerous also among the monuments are low, square, flat-topped shafts, with a Japanese inscription in black or gold, or merely cut into the stone itself. Then there are upright slabs of various shapes and heights, mostly rounded at the top, usually bearing sculptures in relief. Finally, there are many curiously angled stones, or natural rocks, dressed on one side only, with designs etched upon the smoothed surface. There would appear to be some meaning even in the irregularity of the shape of these slabs; the rock always seems to have been broken out of its bed at five angles, and the manner in which it remains balanced perpendicularly upon its pedestal is a secret that the first hasty examination fails to reveal. The pedestals themselves vary in construction; most have three orifices in the projecting surface in front of the monument supported by them, usually one large oval cavity, with two small round holes flanking it. These smaller holes serve for the burning of incense-rods; the larger cavity is filled with water. I do not know exactly why. Only my Japanese companion tells me 'it is an ancient custom in Japan thus to pour out water for the dead.' There are also bamboo cups on either side of the monument in which to place flowers. Many of the sculptures represent Buddha in meditation, or in the attitude of exhorting; a few represent him asleep, with the placid, dreaming face of a child, a Japanese child; this means Nirvana. A common design upon many tombs also seems to be two lotus-blossoms with stalks intertwined. In one place I see a stone with an English name upon it, and above that name a rudely chiselled cross. Verily the priests of Buddha have blessed tolerance; for this is a Christian tomb! And all is chipped and mouldered and mossed; and the grey stones stand closely in hosts of ranks, only one or two inches apart, ranks of thousands upon thousands, always in the shadow of the great trees. Overhead innumerable birds sweeten the air with their trilling; and far below, down the steps behind us, I still hear the melancholy chant of the priests, faintly, like a humming of bees. Akira leads the way in silence to where other steps descend into a darker and older part of the cemetery; and at the head of the steps, to the right, I see a group of colossal monuments, very tall, massive, mossed by time, with characters cut more than two inches deep into the grey rock of them. And behind them, in lieu of laths, are planted large sotoba, twelve to fourteen feet high, and thick as the beams of a temple roof. These are graves of priests. Sec. 5 Descending the shadowed steps, I find myself face to face with six little statues about three feet high, standing in a row upon one long pedestal. The first holds a Buddhist incense-box; the second, a lotus; the third, a pilgrim's staff (tsue); the fourth is telling the beads of a Buddhist rosary; the fifth stands in the attitude of prayer, with hands joined; the sixth bears in one hand the shakujo or mendicant priest's staff, having six rings attached to the top of it and in the other hand the mystic jewel, Nio-i ho-jiu, by virtue whereof all desires may be accomplished. But the faces of the Six are the same: each figure differs from the other by the attitude only and emblematic attribute; and all are smiling the like faint smile. About the neck of each figure a white cotton bag is suspended; and all the bags are filled with pebbles; and pebbles have been piled high also about the feet of the statues, and upon their knees, and upon their shoulders; and even upon their aureoles of stone, little pebbles are balanced. Archaic, mysterious, but inexplicably touching, all these soft childish faces are. Roku Jizo--'The Six Jizo'--these images are called in the speech of the people; and such groups may be seen in many a Japanese cemetery. They are representations of the most beautiful and tender figure in Japanese popular faith, that charming divinity who cares for the souls of little children, and consoles them in the place of unrest, and saves them from the demons. 'But why are those little stones piled about the statues?' I ask. Well, it is because some say the child-ghosts must build little towers of stones for penance in the Sai-no-Kawara, which is the place to which all children after death must go. And the Oni, who are demons, come to throw down the little stone-piles as fast as the children build; and these demons frighten the children, and torment them. But the little souls run to Jizo, who hides them in his great sleeves, and comforts them, and makes the demons go away. And every stone one lays upon the knees or at the feet of Jizo, with a prayer from the heart, helps some child-soul in the Sai-no-Kawara to perform its long penance. [2] 'All little children,' says the young Buddhist student who tells all this, with a smile as gentle as Jizo's own, 'must go to the Sai-no-Kawara when they die. And there they play with Jizo. The Sai-no-Kawara is beneath us, below the ground. [3] 'And Jizo has long sleeves to his robe; and they pull him by the sleeves in their play; and they pile up little stones before him to amuse themselves. And those stones you see heaped about the statues are put there by people for the sake of the little ones, most often by mothers of dead children who pray to Jizo. But grown people do not go to the Sai-no-Kawara when they die.' [4] And the young student, leaving the Roku-Jizo, leads the way to other strange surprises, guiding me among the tombs, showing me the sculptured divinities. Some of them are quaintly touching; all are interesting; a few are positively beautiful. The greater number have nimbi. Many are represented kneeling, with hands joined exactly like the figures of saints in old Christian art. Others, holding lotus-flowers, appear to dream the dreams that are meditations. One figure reposes on the coils of a great serpent. Another, coiffed with something resembling a tiara, has six hands, one pair joined in prayer, the rest, extended, holding out various objects; and this figure stands upon a prostrate demon, crouching face downwards. Yet another image, cut in low relief, has arms innumerable. The first pair of hands are joined, with the palms together; while from behind the line of the shoulders, as if shadowily emanating therefrom, multitudinous arms reach out in all directions, vapoury, spiritual, holding forth all kinds of objects as in answer to supplication, and symbolising, perhaps, the omnipotence of love. This is but one of the many forms of Kwannon, the goddess of mercy, the gentle divinity who refused the rest of Nirvana to save the souls of men, and who is most frequently pictured as a beautiful Japanese girl. But here she appears as Senjiu-Kwannon (Kwannon-of-the-Thousand-Hands). Close by stands a great slab bearing upon the upper portion of its chiselled surface an image in relief of Buddha, meditating upon a lotus; and below are carven three weird little figures, one with hands upon its eyes, one with hands upon its ears, one with hands upon its mouth; these are Apes. 'What do they signify?' I inquire. My friend answers vaguely, mimicking each gesture of the three sculptured shapes: 'I see no bad thing; I hear no bad thing; I speak no bad thing.' Gradually, by dint of reiterated explanations, I myself learn to recognise some of the gods at sight. The figure seated upon a lotus, holding a sword in its hand, and surrounded by bickering fire, is Fudo-Sama--Buddha as the Unmoved, the Immutable: the Sword signifies Intellect; the Fire, Power. Here is a meditating divinity, holding in one hand a coil of ropes: the divinity is Buddha; those are the ropes which bind the passions and desires. Here also is Buddha slumbering, with the gentlest, softest Japanese face--a child face--and eyes closed, and hand pillowing the cheek, in Nirvana. Here is a beautiful virgin-figure, standing upon a lily: Kwannon-Sama, the Japanese Madonna. Here is a solemn seated figure, holding in one hand a vase, and lifting the other with the gesture of a teacher: Yakushi-Sama, Buddha the All-Healer, Physician of Souls. Also, I see figures of animals. The Deer of Buddhist birth-stories stands, all grace, in snowy stone, upon the summit of toro, or votive lamps. On one tomb I see, superbly chiselled, the image of a fish, or rather the Idea of a fish, made beautifully grotesque for sculptural purposes, like the dolphin of Greek art. It crowns the top of a memorial column; the broad open jaws, showing serrated teeth, rest on the summit of the block bearing the dead man's name; the dorsal fin and elevated tail are elaborated into decorative impossibilities. 'Mokugyo,' says Akira. It is the same Buddhist emblem as that hollow wooden object, lacquered scarlet-and-gold, on which the priests beat with a padded mallet while chanting the Sutra. And, finally, in one place I perceive a pair of sitting animals, of some mythological species, supple of figure as greyhounds. 'Kitsune,' says Akira--'foxes.' So they are, now that I look upon them with knowledge of their purpose; idealised foxes, foxes spiritualised, impossibly graceful foxes. They are chiselled in some grey stone. They have long, narrow, sinister, glittering eyes; they seem to snarl; they are weird, very weird creatures, the servants of the Rice-God, retainers of Inari-Sama, and properly belong, not to Buddhist iconography, but the imagery of Shinto. No inscriptions upon these tombs corresponding to our epitaphs. Only family names--the names of the dead and their relatives and a sculptured crest, usually a flower. On the sotoba, only Sanscrit words. Farther on, I find other figures of Jizo, single reliefs, sculptured upon tombs. But one of these is a work of art so charming that I feel a pain at being obliged to pass it by. More sweet, assuredly, than any imaged Christ, this dream in white stone of the playfellow of dead children, like a beautiful young boy, with gracious eyelids half closed, and face made heavenly by such a smile as only Buddhist art could have imagined, the smile of infinite lovingness and supremest gentleness. Indeed, so charming the ideal of Jizo is that in the speech of the people a beautiful face is always likened to his--'Jizo-kao,' as the face of Jizo. Sec. 6 And we come to the end of the cemetery, to the verge of the great grove. Beyond the trees, what caressing sun, what spiritual loveliness in the tender day! A tropic sky always seemed to me to hang so low that one could almost bathe one's fingers in its lukewarm liquid blue by reaching upward from any dwelling-roof. But this sky, softer, fainter, arches so vastly as to suggest the heaven of a larger planet. And the very clouds are not clouds, but only dreams of clouds, so filmy they are; ghosts of clouds, diaphanous spectres, illusions! All at once I become aware of a child standing before me, a very young girl who looks up wonderingly at my face; so light her approach that the joy of the birds and whispering of the leaves quite drowned the soft sound of her feet. Her ragged garb is Japanese; but her gaze, her loose fair hair, are not of Nippon only; the ghost of another race--perhaps my own--watches me through her flower-blue eyes. A strange playground surely is this for thee, my child; I wonder if all these shapes about thee do not seem very weird, very strange, to that little soul of thine. But no; 'tis only I who seem strange to thee; thou hast forgotten the Other Birth, and thy father's world. Half-caste and poor and pretty, in this foreign port! Better thou wert with the dead about thee, child! better than the splendour of this soft blue light the unknown darkness for thee. There the gentle Jizo would care for thee, and hide thee in his great sleeves, and keep all evil from thee, and play shadowy play with thee; and this thy forsaken mother, who now comes to ask an alms for thy sake, dumbly pointing to thy strange beauty with her patient Japanese smile, would put little stones upon the knees of the dear god that thou mightest find rest. Sec. 7 'Oh, Akira! you must tell me something more about Jizo, and the ghosts of the children in the Sai-no-Kawara.' 'I cannot tell you much more,' answers Akira, smiling at my interest in this charming divinity; 'but if you will come with me now to Kuboyama, I will show you, in one of the temples there, pictures of the Sai-no-Kawara and of Jizo, and the Judgment of Souls.' So we take our way in two jinricksha to the Temple Rinko-ji, on Kuboyama. We roll swiftly through a mile of many-coloured narrow Japanese streets; then through a half-mile of pretty suburban ways, lined with gardens, behind whose clipped hedges are homes light and dainty as cages of wicker-work; and then, leaving our vehicles, we ascend green hills on foot by winding paths, and traverse a region of fields and farms. After a long walk in the hot sun we reach a village almost wholly composed of shrines and temples. The outlying sacred place--three buildings in one enclosure of bamboo fences--belongs to the Shingon sect. A small open shrine, to the left of the entrance, first attracts us. It is a dead-house: a Japanese bier is there. But almost opposite the doorway is an altar covered with startling images. What immediately rivets the attention is a terrible figure, all vermilion red, towering above many smaller images--a goblin shape with immense cavernous eyes. His mouth is widely opened as if speaking in wrath, and his brows frown terribly. A long red beard descends upon his red breast. And on his head is a strangely shaped crown, a crown of black and gold, having three singular lobes: the left lobe bearing an image of the moon; the right, an image of the sun; the central lobe is all black. But below it, upon the deep gold-rimmed black band, flames the mystic character signifying KING. Also, from the same crown-band protrude at descending angles, to left and right, two gilded sceptre-shaped objects. In one hand the King holds an object similar of form, but larger, his shaku or regal wand. And Akira explains. This is Emma-O, Lord of Shadows, Judge of Souls, King of the Dead. [5] Of any man having a terrible countenance the Japanese are wont to say, 'His face is the face of Emma.' At his right hand white Jizo-Sama stands upon a many-petalled rosy lotus. At his left is the image of an aged woman--weird Sodzu-Baba, she who takes the garments of the dead away by the banks of the River of the Three Roads, which flows through the phantom-world. Pale blue her robe is; her hair and skin are white; her face is strangely wrinkled; her small, keen eyes are hard. The statue is very old, and the paint is scaling from it in places, so as to lend it a ghastly leprous aspect. There are also images of the Sea-goddess Benten and of Kwannon-Sama, seated on summits of mountains forming the upper part of miniature landscapes made of some unfamiliar composition, and beautifully coloured; the whole being protected from careless fingering by strong wire nettings stretched across the front of the little shrines containing the panorama. Benten has eight arms: two of her hands are joined in prayer; the others, extended above her, hold different objects a sword, a wheel, a bow, an arrow, a key, and a magical gem. Below her, standing on the slopes of her mountain throne, are her ten robed attendants, all in the attitude of prayer; still farther down appears the body of a great white serpent, with its tail hanging from one orifice in the rocks, and its head emerging from another. At the very bottom of the hill lies a patient cow. Kwannon appears as Senjiu-Kwannon, offering gifts to men with all the multitude of her arms of mercy. But this is not what we came to see. The pictures of heaven and hell await us in the Zen-Shu temple close by, whither we turn our steps. On the way my guide tells me this: 'When one dies the body is washed and shaven, and attired in white, in the garments of a pilgrim. And a wallet (sanyabukkero), like the wallet of a Buddhist pilgrim, is hung about the neck of the dead; and in this wallet are placed three rin. [6] And these coin are buried with the dead. 'For all who die must, except children, pay three rin at the Sanzu-no-Kawa, "The River of the Three Roads." When souls have reached that river, they find there the Old Woman of the Three Roads, Sodzu-Baba, waiting for them: she lives on the banks of that river, with her husband, Ten Datsu-Ba. And if the Old Woman is not paid the sum of three rin, she takes away the clothes of the dead, and hangs them upon the trees.' Sec. 8 The temple is small, neat, luminous with the sun pouring into its widely opened shoji; and Akira must know the priests well, so affable their greeting is. I make a little offering, and Akira explains the purpose of our visit. Thereupon we are invited into a large bright apartment in a wing of the building, overlooking a lovely garden. Little cushions are placed on the floor for us to sit upon; and a smoking-box is brought in, and a tiny lacquered table about eight inches high. And while one of the priests opens a cupboard, or alcove with doors, to find the kakemono, another brings us tea, and a plate of curious confectionery consisting of various pretty objects made of a paste of sugar and rice flour. One is a perfect model of a chrysanthemum blossom; another is a lotus; others are simply large, thin, crimson lozenges bearing admirable designs--flying birds, wading storks, fish, even miniature landscapes. Akira picks out the chrysanthemum, and insists that I shall eat it; and I begin to demolish the sugary blossom, petal by petal, feeling all the while an acute remorse for spoiling so beautiful a thing. Meanwhile four kakemono have been brought forth, unrolled, and suspended from pegs upon the wall; and we rise to examine them. They are very, very beautiful kakemono, miracles of drawing and of colour-subdued colour, the colour of the best period of Japanese art; and they are very large, fully five feet long and more than three broad, mounted upon silk. And these are the legends of them: First kakemono: In the upper part of the painting is a scene from the Shaba, the world of men which we are wont to call the Real--a cemetery with trees in blossom, and mourners kneeling before tombs. All under the soft blue light of Japanese day. Underneath is the world of ghosts. Down through the earth-crust souls are descending. Here they are flitting all white through inky darknesses; here farther on, through weird twilight, they are wading the flood of the phantom River of the Three Roads, Sanzu-no-Kawa. And here on the right is waiting for them Sodzu-Baba, the Old Woman of the Three Roads, ghastly and grey, and tall as a nightmare. From some she is taking their garments;--the trees about her are heavily hung with the garments of others gone before. Farther down I see fleeing souls overtaken by demons--hideous blood-red demons, with feet like lions, with faces half human, half bovine, the physiognomy of minotaurs in fury. One is rending a soul asunder. Another demon is forcing souls to reincarnate themselves in bodies of horses, of dogs, of swine. And as they are thus reincarnated they flee away into shadow. Second kakemono: Such a gloom as the diver sees in deep-sea water, a lurid twilight. In the midst a throne, ebon-coloured, and upon it an awful figure seated--Emma Dai-O, Lord of Death and Judge of Souls, unpitying, tremendous. Frightful guardian spirits hover about him--armed goblins. On the left, in the foreground below the throne, stands the wondrous Mirror, Tabarino-Kagami, reflecting the state of souls and all the happenings of the world. A landscape now shadows its surface,--a landscape of cliffs and sand and sea, with ships in the offing. Upon the sand a dead man is lying, slain by a sword slash; the murderer is running away. Before this mirror a terrified soul stands, in the grasp of a demon, who compels him to look, and to recognise in the murderer's features his own face. To the right of the throne, upon a tall-stemmed flat stand, such as offerings to the gods are placed upon in the temples, a monstrous shape appears, like a double-faced head freshly cut off, and set upright upon the stump of the neck. The two faces are the Witnesses: the face of the Woman (Mirume) sees all that goes on in the Shaba; the other face is the face of a bearded man, the face of Kaguhana, who smells all odours, and by them is aware of all that human beings do. Close to them, upon a reading-stand, a great book is open, the record-book of deeds. And between the Mirror and the Witnesses white shuddering souls await judgment. Farther down I see the sufferings of souls already sentenced. One, in lifetime a liar, is having his tongue torn out by a demon armed with heated pincers. Other souls, flung by scores into fiery carts, are being dragged away to torment. The carts are of iron, but resemble in form certain hand-wagons which one sees every day being pulled and pushed through the streets by bare-limbed Japanese labourers, chanting always the same melancholy alternating chorus, Haidak! hei! haidak hei! But these demon-wagoners--naked, blood-coloured, having the feet of lions and the heads of bulls--move with their flaming wagons at a run, like jinricksha-men. All the souls so far represented are souls of adults. Third kakemono: A furnace, with souls for fuel, blazing up into darkness. Demons stir the fire with poles of iron. Down through the upper blackness other souls are falling head downward into the flames. Below this scene opens a shadowy landscape--a faint-blue and faint-grey world of hills and vales, through which a river serpentines--the Sai-no-Kawara. Thronging the banks of the pale river are ghosts of little children, trying to pile up stones. They are very, very pretty, the child-souls, pretty as real Japanese children are (it is astonishing how well is child-beauty felt and expressed by the artists of Japan). Each child has one little short white dress. In the foreground a horrible devil with an iron club has just dashed down and scattered a pile of stones built by one of the children. The little ghost, seated by the ruin of its work, is crying, with both pretty hands to its eyes. The devil appears to sneer. Other children also are weeping near by. But, lo! Jizo comes, all light and sweetness, with a glory moving behind him like a great full moon; and he holds out his shakujo, his strong and holy staff, and the little ghosts catch it and cling to it, and are drawn into the circle of his protection. And other infants have caught his great sleeves, and one has been lifted to the bosom of the god. Below this Sai-no-Kawara scene appears yet another shadow-world, a wilderness of bamboos! Only white-robed shapes of women appear in it. They are weeping; the fingers of all are bleeding. With finger-nails plucked out must they continue through centuries to pick the sharp-edged bamboo-grass. Fourth kakemono: Floating in glory, Dai-Nichi-Nyorai, Kwannon-Sama, Amida Buddha. Far below them as hell from heaven surges a lake of blood, in which souls float. The shores of this lake are precipices studded with sword-blades thickly set as teeth in the jaws of a shark; and demons are driving naked ghosts up the frightful slopes. But out of the crimson lake something crystalline rises, like a beautiful, clear water-spout; the stem of a flower,--a miraculous lotus, bearing up a soul to the feet of a priest standing above the verge of the abyss. By virtue of his prayer was shaped the lotus which thus lifted up and saved a sufferer. Alas! there are no other kakemonos. There were several others: they have been lost! No: I am happily mistaken; the priest has found, in some mysterious recess, one more kakemono, a very large one, which he unrolls and suspends beside the others. A vision of beauty, indeed! but what has this to do with faith or ghosts? In the foreground a garden by the waters of the sea, of some vast blue lake,--a garden like that at Kanagawa, full of exquisite miniature landscape-work: cascades, grottoes, lily-ponds, carved bridges, and trees snowy with blossom, and dainty pavilions out-jutting over the placid azure water. Long, bright, soft bands of clouds swim athwart the background. Beyond and above them rises a fairy magnificence of palatial structures, roof above roof, through an aureate haze like summer vapour: creations aerial, blue, light as dreams. And there are guests in these gardens, lovely beings, Japanese maidens. But they wear aureoles, star-shining: they are spirits! For this is Paradise, the Gokuraku; and all those divine shapes are Bosatsu. And now, looking closer, I perceive beautiful weird things which at first escaped my notice. They are gardening, these charming beings!--they are caressing the lotus-buds, sprinkling their petals with something celestial, helping them to blossom. And what lotus-buds with colours not of this world. Some have burst open; and in their luminous hearts, in a radiance like that of dawn, tiny naked infants are seated, each with a tiny halo. These are Souls, new Buddhas, hotoke born into bliss. Some are very, very small; others larger; all seem to be growing visibly, for their lovely nurses are feeding them with something ambrosial. I see one which has left its lotus-cradle, being conducted by a celestial Jizo toward the higher splendours far away. Above, in the loftiest blue, are floating tennin, angels of the Buddhist heaven, maidens with phoenix wings. One is playing with an ivory plectrum upon some stringed instrument, just as a dancing-girl plays her samisen; and others are sounding those curious Chinese flutes, composed of seventeen tubes, which are used still in sacred concerts at the great temples. Akira says this heaven is too much like earth. The gardens, he declares, are like the gardens of temples, in spite of the celestial lotus-flowers; and in the blue roofs of the celestial mansions he discovers memories of the tea-houses of the city of Saikyo. [7] Well, what after all is the heaven of any faith but ideal reiteration and prolongation of happy experiences remembered--the dream of dead days resurrected for us, and made eternal? And if you think this Japanese ideal too simple, too naive, if you say there are experiences of the material life more worthy of portrayal in a picture of heaven than any memory of days passed in Japanese gardens and temples and tea-houses, it is perhaps because you do not know Japan, the soft, sweet blue of its sky, the tender colour of its waters, the gentle splendour of its sunny days, the exquisite charm of its interiors, where the least object appeals to one's sense of beauty with the air of something not made, but caressed, into existence. Sec. 9 'Now there is a wasan of Jizo,' says Akira, taking from a shelf in the temple alcove some much-worn, blue-covered Japanese book. 'A wasan is what you would call a hymn or psalm. This book is two hundred years old: it is called Saino-Kawara-kuchi-zu-sami-no-den, which is, literally, "The Legend of the Humming of the Sai-no-Kawara." And this is the wasan'; and he reads me the hymn of Jizo--the legend of the murmur of the little ghosts, the legend of the humming of the Sai-no-Kawara-rhythmically, like a song: [8] 'Not of this world is the story of sorrow. The story of the Sai-no-Kawara, At the roots of the Mountain of Shide; Not of this world is the tale; yet 'tis most pitiful to hear. For together in the Sai-no-Kawara are assembled Children of tender age in multitude, Infants but two or three years old, Infants of four or five, infants of less than ten: In the Sai-no-Kawara are they gathered together. And the voice of their longing for their parents, The voice of their crying for their mothers and their fathers--"Chichi koishi! haha koishi!"--Is never as the voice of the crying of children in this world, But a crying so pitiful to hear That the sound of it would pierce through flesh and bone. And sorrowful indeed the task which they perform--Gathering the stones of the bed of the river, Therewith to heap the tower of prayers. Saying prayers for the happiness of father, they heap the first tower; Saying prayers for the happiness of mother, they heap the second tower; Saying prayers for their brothers, their sisters, and all whom they loved at home, they heap the third tower. Such, by day, are their pitiful diversions. But ever as the sun begins to sink below the horizon, Then do the Oni, the demons of the hells, appear, And say to them--"What is this that you do here?" Lo! your parents still living in the Shaba-world "Take no thought of pious offering or holy work "They do nought but mourn for you from the morning unto the evening. "Oh, how pitiful! alas! how unmerciful! "Verily the cause of the pains that you suffer "Is only the mourning, the lamentation of your parents." And saying also, "Blame never us!" The demons cast down the heaped-up towers, They dash the stones down with their clubs of iron. But lo! the teacher Jizo appears. All gently he comes, and says to the weeping infants:-- "Be not afraid, dears! be never fearful! "Poor little souls, your lives were brief indeed! "Too soon you were forced to make the weary journey to the Meido, "The long journey to the region of the dead! "Trust to me! I am your father and mother in the Meido, "Father of all children in the region of the dead." And he folds the skirt of his shining robe about them; So graciously takes he pity on the infants. To those who cannot walk he stretches forth his strong shakujo; And he pets the little ones, caresses them, takes them to his loving bosom So graciously he takes pity on the infants. Namu Amida Butsu! Chapter Four A Pilgrimage to Enoshima Sec. 1 KAMAKURA. A long, straggling country village, between low wooded hills, with a canal passing through it. Old Japanese cottages, dingy, neutral-tinted, with roofs of thatch, very steeply sloping, above their wooden walls and paper shoji. Green patches on all the roof-slopes, some sort of grass; and on the very summits, on the ridges, luxurious growths of yaneshobu, [1] the roof-plant, bearing pretty purple flowers. In the lukewarm air a mingling of Japanese odours, smells of sake, smells of seaweed soup, smells of daikon, the strong native radish; and dominating all, a sweet, thick, heavy scent of incense,--incense from the shrines of gods. Akira has hired two jinricksha for our pilgrimage; a speckless azure sky arches the world; and the land lies glorified in a joy of sunshine. And yet a sense of melancholy, of desolation unspeakable, weighs upon me as we roll along the bank of the tiny stream, between the mouldering lines of wretched little homes with grass growing on their roofs. For this mouldering hamlet represents all that remains of the million-peopled streets of Yoritomo's capital, the mighty city of the Shogunate, the ancient seat of feudal power, whither came the envoys of Kublai Khan demanding tribute, to lose their heads for their temerity. And only some of the unnumbered temples of the once magnificent city now remain, saved from the conflagrations of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, doubtless because built in high places, or because isolated from the maze of burning streets by vast courts and groves. Here still dwell the ancient gods in the great silence of their decaying temples, without worshippers, without revenues, surrounded by desolations of rice-fields, where the chanting of frogs replaces the sea-like murmur of the city that was and is not. Sec. 2 The first great temple--En-gaku-ji--invites us to cross the canal by a little bridge facing its outward gate--a roofed gate with fine Chinese lines, but without carving. Passing it, we ascend a long, imposing succession of broad steps, leading up through a magnificent grove to a terrace, where we reach the second gate. This gate is a surprise; a stupendous structure of two stories--with huge sweeping curves of roof and enormous gables--antique, Chinese, magnificent. It is more than four hundred years old, but seems scarcely affected by the wearing of the centuries. The whole of the ponderous and complicated upper structure is sustained upon an open-work of round, plain pillars and cross-beams; the vast eaves are full of bird-nests; and the storm of twittering from the roofs is like a rushing of water. Immense the work is, and imposing in its aspect of settled power; but, in its way, it has great severity: there are no carvings, no gargoyles, no dragons; and yet the maze of projecting timbers below the eaves will both excite and delude expectation, so strangely does it suggest the grotesqueries and fantasticalities of another art. You look everywhere for the heads of lions, elephants, dragons, and see only the four-angled ends of beams, and feel rather astonished than disappointed. The majesty of the edifice could not have been strengthened by any such carving. After the gate another long series of wide steps, and more trees, millennial, thick-shadowing, and then the terrace of the temple itself, with two beautiful stone lanterns (toro) at its entrance. The architecture of the temple resembles that of the gate, although on a lesser scale. Over the doors is a tablet with Chinese characters, signifying, 'Great, Pure, Clear, Shining Treasure.' But a heavy framework of wooden bars closes the sanctuary, and there is no one to let us in. Peering between the bars I see, in a sort of twilight, first a pavement of squares of marble, then an aisle of massive wooden pillars upholding the dim lofty roof, and at the farther end, between the pillars, Shaka, colossal, black-visaged, gold-robed, enthroned upon a giant lotus fully forty feet in circumference. At his right hand some white mysterious figure stands, holding an incense-box; at his left, another white figure is praying with clasped hands. Both are of superhuman stature. But it is too dark within the edifice to discern who they may be--whether disciples of the Buddha, or divinities, or figures of saints. Beyond this temple extends an immense grove of trees--ancient cedars and pines--with splendid bamboos thickly planted between them, rising perpendicularly as masts to mix their plumes with the foliage of the giants: the effect is tropical, magnificent. Through this shadowing, a flight of broad stone steps slant up gently to some yet older shrine. And ascending them we reach another portal, smaller than the imposing Chinese structure through which we already passed, but wonderful, weird, full of dragons, dragons of a form which sculptors no longer carve, which they have even forgotten how to make, winged dragons rising from a storm-whirl of waters or thereinto descending. The dragon upon the panel of the left gate has her mouth closed; the jaws of the dragon on the panel of the right gate are open and menacing. Female and male they are, like the lions of Buddha. And the whirls of the eddying water, and the crests of the billowing, stand out from the panel in astonishing boldness of relief, in loops and curlings of grey wood time-seasoned to the hardness of stone. The little temple beyond contains no celebrated image, but a shari only, or relic of Buddha, brought from India. And I cannot see it, having no time to wait until the absent keeper of the shari can be found. Sec. 3 'Now we shall go to look at the big bell,' says Akira. We turn to the left as we descend along a path cut between hills faced for the height of seven or eight feet with protection-walls made green by moss; and reach a flight of extraordinarily dilapidated steps, with grass springing between their every joint and break--steps so worn down and displaced by countless feet that they have become ruins, painful and even dangerous to mount. We reach the summit, however, without mishap, and find ourselves before a little temple, on the steps of which an old priest awaits us, with smiling bow of welcome. We return his salutation; but ere entering the temple turn to look at the tsurigane on the right--the famous bell. Under a lofty open shed, with a tilted Chinese roof, the great bell is hung. I should judge it to be fully nine feet high, and about five feet in diameter, with lips about eight inches thick. The shape of it is not like that of our bells, which broaden toward the lips; this has the same diameter through all its height, and it is covered with Buddhist texts cut into the smooth metal of it. It is rung by means of a heavy swinging beam, suspended from the roof by chains, and moved like a battering-ram. There are loops of palm-fibre rope attached to this beam to pull it by; and when you pull hard enough, so as to give it a good swing, it strikes a moulding like a lotus-flower on the side of the bell. This it must have done many hundred times; for the square, flat end of it, though showing the grain of a very dense wood, has been battered into a convex disk with ragged protruding edges, like the surface of a long-used printer's mallet. A priest makes a sign to me to ring the bell. I first touch the great lips with my hand very lightly; and a musical murmur comes from them. Then I set the beam swinging strongly; and a sound deep as thunder, rich as the bass of a mighty organ--a sound enormous, extraordinary, yet beautiful--rolls over the hills and away. Then swiftly follows another and lesser and sweeter billowing of tone; then another; then an eddying of waves of echoes. Only once was it struck, the astounding bell; yet it continues to sob and moan for at least ten minutes! And the age of this bell is six hundred and fifty years. [2] In the little temple near by, the priest shows us a series of curious paintings, representing the six hundredth anniversary of the casting of the bell. (For this is a sacred bell, and the spirit of a god is believed to dwell within it.) Otherwise the temple has little of interest. There are some kakemono representing Iyeyasu and his retainers; and on either side of the door, separating the inner from the outward sanctuary, there are life-size images of Japanese warriors in antique costume. On the altars of the inner shrine are small images, grouped upon a miniature landscape-work of painted wood--the Jiugo-Doji, or Fifteen Youths--the Sons of the Goddess Benten. There are gohei before the shrine, and a mirror upon it; emblems of Shinto. The sanctuary has changed hands in the great transfer of Buddhist temples to the State religion. In nearly every celebrated temple little Japanese prints are sold, containing the history of the shrine, and its miraculous legends. I find several such things on sale at the door of the temple, and in one of them, ornamented with a curious engraving of the bell, I discover, with Akira's aid, the following traditions: Sec. 4 In the twelfth year of Bummei, this bell rang itself. And one who laughed on being told of the miracle, met with misfortune; and another, who believed, thereafter prospered, and obtained all his desires. Now, in that time there died in the village of Tamanawa a sick man whose name was Ono-no-Kimi; and Ono-no-Kimi descended to the region of the dead, and went before the Judgment-Seat of Emma-O. And Emma, Judge of Souls, said to him, 'You come too soon! The measure of life allotted you in the Shaba-world has not yet been exhausted. Go back at once.' But Ono-no-Kimi pleaded, saying, 'How may I go back, not knowing my way through the darkness?' And Emma answered him, 'You can find your way back by listening to the sound of the bell of En-gaku-ji, which is heard in the Nan-en-budi world, going south.' And Ono-no-Kimi went south, and heard the bell, and found his way through the darknesses, and revived in the Shaba-world. Also in those days there appeared in many provinces a Buddhist priest of giant stature, whom none remembered to have seen before, and whose name no man knew, travelling through the land, and everywhere exhorting the people to pray before the bell of En-gaku-ji. And it was at last discovered that the giant pilgrim was the holy bell itself, transformed by supernatural power into the form of a priest. And after these things had happened, many prayed before the bell, and obtained their wishes. Sec. 5 'Oh! there is something still to see,' my guide exclaims as we reach the great Chinese gate again; and he leads the way across the grounds by another path to a little hill, previously hidden from view by trees. The face of the hill, a mass of soft stone perhaps one hundred feet high, is hollowed out into chambers, full of images. These look like burial-caves; and the images seem funereal monuments. There are two stories of chambers--three above, two below; and the former are connected with the latter by a narrow interior stairway cut through the living rock. And all around the dripping walls of these chambers on pedestals are grey slabs, shaped exactly like the haka in Buddhist cemeteries, and chiselled with figures of divinities in high relief. All have glory-disks: some are naive and sincere like the work of our own mediaeval image-makers. Several are not unfamiliar. I have seen before, in the cemetery of Kuboyama, this kneeling woman with countless shadowy hands; and this figure tiara-coiffed, slumbering with one knee raised, and cheek pillowed upon the left hand--the placid and pathetic symbol of the perpetual rest. Others, like Madonnas, hold lotus-flowers, and their feet rest upon the coils of a serpent. I cannot see them all, for the rock roof of one chamber has fallen in; and a sunbeam entering the ruin reveals a host of inaccessible sculptures half buried in rubbish. But no!--this grotto-work is not for the dead; and these are not haka, as I imagined, but only images of the Goddess of Mercy. These chambers are chapels; and these sculptures are the En-gaku-ji-no-hyaku-Kwannon, 'the Hundred Kwannons of En-gaku-ji.' And I see in the upper chamber above the stairs a granite tablet in a rock-niche, chiselled with an inscription in Sanscrit transliterated into Chinese characters, 'Adoration to the great merciful Kwan-ze-on, who looketh down above the sound of prayer.' [3] Sec. 6 Entering the grounds of the next temple, the Temple of Ken-cho-ji, through the 'Gate of the Forest of Contemplative Words,' and the 'Gate of the Great Mountain of Wealth,' one might almost fancy one's self reentering, by some queer mistake, the grounds of En-gaku-ji. For the third gate before us, and the imposing temple beyond it, constructed upon the same models as those of the structures previously visited, were also the work of the same architect. Passing this third gate--colossal, severe, superb--we come to a fountain of bronze before the temple doors, an immense and beautiful lotus-leaf of metal, forming a broad shallow basin kept full to the brim by a jet in its midst. This temple also is paved with black and white square slabs, and we can enter it with our shoes. Outside it is plain and solemn as that of En-gaku-ji; but the interior offers a more extraordinary spectacle of faded splendour. In lieu of the black Shaka throned against a background of flamelets, is a colossal Jizo-Sama, with a nimbus of fire--a single gilded circle large as a wagon-wheel, breaking into fire-tongues at three points. He is seated upon an enormous lotus of tarnished gold--over the lofty edge of which the skirt of his robe trails down. Behind him, standing on ascending tiers of golden steps, are glimmering hosts of miniature figures of him, reflections, multiplications of him, ranged there by ranks of hundreds--the Thousand Jizo. From the ceiling above him droop the dingy splendours of a sort of dais-work, a streaming circle of pendants like a fringe, shimmering faintly through the webbed dust of centuries. And the ceiling itself must once have been a marvel; all beamed in caissons, each caisson containing, upon a gold ground, the painted figure of a flying bird. Formerly the eight great pillars supporting the roof were also covered with gilding; but only a few traces of it linger still upon their worm-pierced surfaces, and about the bases of their capitals. And there are wonderful friezes above the doors, from which all colour has long since faded away, marvellous grey old carvings in relief; floating figures of tennin, or heavenly spirits playing upon flutes and biwa. There is a chamber separated by a heavy wooden screen from the aisle on the right; and the priest in charge of the building slides the screen aside, and bids us enter. In this chamber is a drum elevated upon a brazen stand,--the hugest I ever saw, fully eighteen feet in circumference. Beside it hangs a big bell, covered with Buddhist texts. I am sorry to learn that it is prohibited to sound the great drum. There is nothing else to see except some dingy paper lanterns figured with the svastika--the sacred Buddhist symbol called by the Japanese manji. Sec. 7 Akira tells me that in the book called Jizo-kyo-Kosui, this legend is related of the great statue of Jizo in this same ancient temple of Ken-cho-ji. Formerly there lived at Kamakura the wife of a Ronin [4] named Soga Sadayoshi. She lived by feeding silkworms and gathering the silk. She used often to visit the temple of Ken-cho-ji; and one very cold day that she went there, she thought that the image of Jizo looked like one suffering from cold; and she resolved to make a cap to keep the god's head warm--such a cap as the people of the country wear in cold weather. And she went home and made the cap and covered the god's head with it, saying, 'Would I were rich enough to give thee a warm covering for all thine august body; but, alas! I am poor, and even this which I offer thee is unworthy of thy divine acceptance.' Now this woman very suddenly died in the fiftieth year of her age, in the twelfth month of the fifth year of the period called Chisho. But her body remained warm for three days, so that her relatives would not suffer her to be taken to the burning-ground. And on the evening of the third day she came to life again. Then she related that on the day of her death she had gone before the judgment-seat of Emma, king and judge of the dead. And Emma, seeing her, became wroth, and said to her: 'You have been a wicked woman, and have scorned the teaching of the Buddha. All your life you have passed in destroying the lives of silkworms by putting them into heated water. Now you shall go to the Kwakkto-Jigoku, and there burn until your sins shall be expiated.' Forthwith she was seized and dragged by demons to a great pot filled with molten metal, and thrown into the pot, and she cried out horribly. And suddenly Jizo-Sama descended into the molten metal beside her, and the metal became like a flowing of oil and ceased to burn; and Jizo put his arms about her and lifted her out. And he went with her before King Emma, and asked that she should be pardoned for his sake, forasmuch as she had become related to him by one act of goodness. So she found pardon, and returned to the Shaba-world. 'Akira,' I ask, 'it cannot then be lawful, according to Buddhism, for any one to wear silk?' 'Assuredly not,' replies Akira; 'and by the law of Buddha priests are expressly forbidden to wear silk. Nevertheless,' he adds with that quiet smile of his, in which I am beginning to discern suggestions of sarcasm, 'nearly all the priests wear silk.' Sec. 8 Akira also tells me this: It is related in the seventh volume of the book Kamakurashi that there was formerly at Kamakura a temple called Emmei-ji, in which there was enshrined a famous statue of Jizo, called Hadaka-Jizo, or Naked Jizo. The statue was indeed naked, but clothes were put upon it; and it stood upright with its feet upon a chessboard. Now, when pilgrims came to the temple and paid a certain fee, the priest of the temple would remove the clothes of the statue; and then all could see that, though the face was the face of Jizo, the body was the body of a woman. Now this was the origin of the famous image of Hadaka-Jizo standing upon the chessboard. On one occasion the great prince Taira-no-Tokyori was playing chess with his wife in the presence of many guests. And he made her agree, after they had played several games, that whosoever should lose the next game would have to stand naked on the chessboard. And in the next game they played his wife lost. And she prayed to Jizo to save her from the shame of appearing naked. And Jizo came in answer to her prayer and stood upon the chessboard, and disrobed himself, and changed his body suddenly into the body of a woman. Sec. 9 As we travel on, the road curves and narrows between higher elevations, and becomes more sombre. 'Oi! mat!' my Buddhist guide calls softly to the runners; and our two vehicles halt in a band of sunshine, descending, through an opening in the foliage of immense trees, over a flight of ancient mossy steps. 'Here,' says my friend, 'is the temple of the King of Death; it is called Emma-Do; and it is a temple of the Zen sect--Zen-Oji. And it is more than seven hundred years old, and there is a famous statue in it.' We ascend to a small, narrow court in which the edifice stands. At the head of the steps, to the right, is a stone tablet, very old, with characters cut at least an inch deep into the granite of it, Chinese characters signifying, 'This is the Temple of Emma, King.' The temple resembles outwardly and inwardly the others we have visited, and, like those of Shaka and of the colossal Jizo of Kamakura, has a paved floor, so that we are not obliged to remove our shoes on entering. Everything is worn, dim, vaguely grey; there is a pungent scent of mouldiness; the paint has long ago peeled away from the naked wood of the pillars. Throned to right and left against the high walls tower nine grim figures--five on one side, four on the other--wearing strange crowns with trumpet-shapen ornaments; figures hoary with centuries, and so like to the icon of Emma, which I saw at Kuboyama, that I ask, 'Are all these Emma?' 'Oh, no!' my guide answers; 'these are his attendants only--the Jiu-O, the Ten Kings.' 'But there are only nine?' I query. 'Nine, and Emma completes the number. You have not yet seen Emma.' Where is he? I see at the farther end of the chamber an altar elevated upon a platform approached by wooden steps; but there is no image, only the usual altar furniture of gilded bronze and lacquer-ware. Behind the altar I see only a curtain about six feet square--a curtain once dark red, now almost without any definite hue--probably veiling some alcove. A temple guardian approaches, and invites us to ascend the platform. I remove my shoes before mounting upon the matted surface, and follow the guardian behind the altar, in front of the curtain. He makes me a sign to look, and lifts the veil with a long rod. And suddenly, out of the blackness of some mysterious profundity masked by that sombre curtain, there glowers upon me an apparition at the sight of which I involuntarily start back--a monstrosity exceeding all anticipation--a Face. [5] A Face tremendous, menacing, frightful, dull red, as with the redness of heated iron cooling into grey. The first shock of the vision is no doubt partly due to the somewhat theatrical manner in which the work is suddenly revealed out of darkness by the lifting of the curtain. But as the surprise passes I begin to recognise the immense energy of the conception--to look for the secret of the grim artist. The wonder of the creation is not in the tiger frown, nor in the violence of the terrific mouth, nor in the fury and ghastly colour of the head as a whole: it is in the eyes--eyes of nightmare. Sec. 10 Now this weird old temple has its legend. Seven hundred years ago, 'tis said, there died the great image-maker, the great busshi; Unke-Sosei. And Unke-Sosei signifies 'Unke who returned from the dead.' For when he came before Emma, the Judge of Souls, Emma said to him: 'Living, thou madest no image of me. Go back unto earth and make one, now that thou hast looked upon me.' And Unke found himself suddenly restored to the world of men; and they that had known him before, astonished to see him alive again, called him Unke-Sosei. And Unke-Sosei, bearing with him always the memory of the countenance of Emma, wrought this image of him, which still inspires fear in all who behold it; and he made also the images of the grim Jiu-O, the Ten Kings obeying Emma, which sit throned about the temple. I want to buy a picture of Emma, and make my wish known to the temple guardian. Oh, yes, I may buy a picture of Emma, but I must first see the Oni. I follow the guardian out of the temple, down the mossy steps, and across the village highway into a little Japanese cottage, where I take my seat upon the floor. The guardian disappears behind a screen, and presently returns dragging with him the Oni--the image of a demon, naked, blood-red, indescribably ugly. The Oni is about three feet high. He stands in an attitude of menace, brandishing a club. He has a head shaped something like the head of a bulldog, with brazen eyes; and his feet are like the feet of a lion. Very gravely the guardian turns the grotesquery round and round, that I may admire its every aspect; while a naive crowd collects before the open door to look at the stranger and the demon. Then the guardian finds me a rude woodcut of Emma, with a sacred inscription printed upon it; and as soon as I have paid for it, he proceeds to stamp the paper, with the seal of the temple. The seal he keeps in a wonderful lacquered box, covered with many wrappings of soft leather. These having been removed, I inspect the seal--an oblong, vermilion-red polished stone, with the design cut in intaglio upon it. He moistens the surface with red ink, presses it upon the corner of the paper bearing the grim picture, and the authenticity of my strange purchase is established for ever. Sec. 11 You do not see the Dai-Butsu as you enter the grounds of his long-vanished temple, and proceed along a paved path across stretches of lawn; great trees hide him. But very suddenly, at a turn, he comes into full view and you start! No matter how many photographs of the colossus you may have already seen, this first vision of the reality is an astonishment. Then you imagine that you are already too near, though the image is at least a hundred yards away. As for me, I retire at once thirty or forty yards back, to get a better view. And the jinricksha man runs after me, laughing and gesticulating, thinking that I imagine the image alive and am afraid of it. But, even were that shape alive, none could be afraid of it. The gentleness, the dreamy passionlessness of those features,--the immense repose of the whole figure--are full of beauty and charm. And, contrary to all expectation, the nearer you approach the giant Buddha, the greater this charm becomes. You look up into the solemnly beautiful face--into the half-closed eyes that seem to watch you through their eyelids of bronze as gently as those of a child; and you feel that the image typifies all that is tender and calm in the Soul of the East. Yet you feel also that only Japanese thought could have created it. Its beauty, its dignity, its perfect repose, reflect the higher life of the race that imagined it; and, though doubtless inspired by some Indian model, as the treatment of the hair and various symbolic marks reveal, the art is Japanese. So mighty and beautiful the work is, that you will not for some time notice the magnificent lotus-plants of bronze, fully fifteen feet high, planted before the figure, on either side of the great tripod in which incense-rods are burning. Through an orifice in the right side of the enormous lotus-blossom on which the Buddha is seated, you can enter into the statue. The interior contains a little shrine of Kwannon, and a statue of the priest Yuten, and a stone tablet bearing in Chinese characters the sacred formula, Namu Amida Butsu. A ladder enables the pilgrim to ascend into the interior of the colossus as high as the shoulders, in which are two little windows commanding a wide prospect of the grounds; while a priest, who acts as guide, states the age of the statue to be six hundred and thirty years, and asks for some small contribution to aid in the erection of a new temple to shelter it from the weather. For this Buddha once had a temple. A tidal wave following an earthquake swept walls and roof away, but left the mighty Amida unmoved, still meditating upon his lotus. Sec. 12 And we arrive before the far-famed Kamakura temple of Kwannon--Kwannon, who yielded up her right to the Eternal Peace that she might save the souls of men, and renounced Nirvana to suffer with humanity for other myriad million ages--Kwannon, the Goddess of Pity and of Mercy. I climb three flights of steps leading to the temple, and a young girl, seated at the threshold, rises to greet us. Then she disappears within the temple to summon the guardian priest, a venerable man, white-robed, who makes me a sign to enter. The temple is large as any that I have yet seen, and, like the others, grey with the wearing of six hundred years. From the roof there hang down votive offerings, inscriptions, and lanterns in multitude, painted with various pleasing colours. Almost opposite to the entrance is a singular statue, a seated figure, of human dimensions and most human aspect, looking upon us with small weird eyes set in a wondrously wrinkled face. This face was originally painted flesh-tint, and the robes of the image pale blue; but now the whole is uniformly grey with age and dust, and its colourlessness harmonises so well with the senility of the figure that one is almost ready to believe one's self gazing at a living mendicant pilgrim. It is Benzuru, the same personage whose famous image at Asakusa has been made featureless by the wearing touch of countless pilgrim-fingers. To left and right of the entrance are the Ni-O, enormously muscled, furious of aspect; their crimson bodies are speckled with a white scum of paper pellets spat at them by worshippers. Above the altar is a small but very pleasing image of Kwannon, with her entire figure relieved against an oblong halo of gold, imitating the flickering of flame. But this is not the image for which the temple is famed; there is another to be seen upon certain conditions. The old priest presents me with a petition, written in excellent and eloquent English, praying visitors to contribute something to the maintenance of the temple and its pontiff, and appealing to those of another faith to remember that 'any belief which can make men kindly and good is worthy of respect.' I contribute my mite, and I ask to see the great Kwannon. Then the old priest lights a lantern, and leads the way, through a low doorway on the left of the altar, into the interior of the temple, into some very lofty darkness. I follow him cautiously awhile, discerning nothing whatever but the flicker of the lantern; then we halt before something which gleams. A moment, and my eyes, becoming more accustomed to the darkness, begin to distinguish outlines; the gleaming object defines itself gradually as a Foot, an immense golden Foot, and I perceive the hem of a golden robe undulating over the instep. Now the other foot appears; the figure is certainly standing. I can perceive that we are in a narrow but also very lofty chamber, and that out of some mysterious blackness overhead ropes are dangling down into the circle of lantern-light illuminating the golden feet. The priest lights two more lanterns, and suspends them upon hooks attached to a pair of pendent ropes about a yard apart; then he pulls up both together slowly. More of the golden robe is revealed as the lanterns ascend, swinging on their way; then the outlines of two mighty knees; then the curving of columnar thighs under chiselled drapery, and, as with the still waving ascent of the lanterns the golden Vision towers ever higher through the gloom, expectation intensifies. There is no sound but the sound of the invisible pulleys overhead, which squeak like bats. Now above the golden girdle, the suggestion of a bosom. Then the glowing of a golden hand uplifted in benediction. Then another golden hand holding a lotus. And at last a Face, golden, smiling with eternal youth and infinite tenderness, the face of Kwannon. So revealed out of the consecrated darkness, this ideal of divine feminity--creation of a forgotten art and time--is more than impressive. I can scarcely call the emotion which it produces admiration; it is rather reverence. But the lanterns, which paused awhile at the level of the beautiful face, now ascend still higher, with a fresh squeaking of pulleys. And lo! the tiara of the divinity appears with strangest symbolism. It is a pyramid of heads, of faces-charming faces of maidens, miniature faces of Kwannon herself. For this is the Kwannon of the Eleven Faces--Jiu-ichimen-Kwannon. Sec. 13 Most sacred this statue is held; and this is its legend. In the reign of Emperor Gensei, there lived in the province of Yamato a Buddhist priest, Tokudo Shonin, who had been in a previous birth Hold Bosatsu, but had been reborn among common men to save their souls. Now at that time, in a valley in Yamato, Tokudo Shonin, walking by night, saw a wonderful radiance; and going toward it found that it came from the trunk of a great fallen tree, a kusunoki, or camphor-tree. A delicious perfume came from the tree, and the shining of it was like the shining of the moon. And by these signs Tokudo Shonin knew that the wood was holy; and he bethought him that he should have the statue of Kwannon carved from it. And he recited a sutra, and repeated the Nenbutsu, praying for inspiration; and even while he prayed there came and stood before him an aged man and an aged woman; and these said to him, 'We know that your desire is to have the image of Kwannon-Sama carved from this tree with the help of Heaven; continue therefore, to pray, and we shall carve the statue.' And Tokudo Shonin did as they bade him; and he saw them easily split the vast trunk into two equal parts, and begin to carve each of the parts into an image. And he saw them so labour for three days; and on the third day the work was done--and he saw the two marvellous statues of Kwannon made perfect before him. And he said to the strangers: 'Tell me, I pray you, by what names you are known.' Then the old man answered: 'I am Kasuga Myojin.' And the woman answered: 'I am called Ten-sho-ko-dai-jin; I am the Goddess of the Sun.' And as they spoke both became transfigured and ascended to heaven and vanished from the sight of Tokudo Shonin. [6] And the Emperor, hearing of these happenings, sent his representative to Yamato to make offerings, and to have a temple built. Also the great priest, Gyogi-Bosatsu, came and consecrated the images, and dedicated the temple which by order of the Emperor was built. And one of the statues he placed in the temple, enshrining it, and commanding it: 'Stay thou here always to save all living creatures!' But the other statue he cast into the sea, saying to it: 'Go thou whithersoever it is best, to save all the living.' Now the statue floated to Kamakura. And there arriving by night it shed a great radiance all about it as if there were sunshine upon the sea; and the fishermen of Kamakura were awakened by the great light; and they went out in boats, and found the statue floating and brought it to shore. And the Emperor ordered that a temple should be built for it, the temple called Shin-haseidera, on the mountain called Kaiko-San, at Kamakura. Sec. 14 As we leave the temple of Kwannon behind us, there are no more dwellings visible along the road; the green slopes to left and right become steeper, and the shadows of the great trees deepen over us. But still, at intervals, some flight of venerable mossy steps, a carven Buddhist gateway, or a lofty torii, signals the presence of sanctuaries we have no time to visit: countless crumbling shrines are all around us, dumb witnesses to the antique splendour and vastness of the dead capital; and everywhere, mingled with perfume of blossoms, hovers the sweet, resinous smell of Japanese incense. Be-times we pass a scattered multitude of sculptured stones, like segments of four-sided pillars--old haka, the forgotten tombs of a long-abandoned cemetery; or the solitary image of some Buddhist deity--a dreaming Amida or faintly smiling Kwannon. All are ancient, time-discoloured, mutilated; a few have been weather-worn into unrecognisability. I halt a moment to contemplate something pathetic, a group of six images of the charming divinity who cares for the ghosts of little children--the Roku-Jizo. Oh, how chipped and scurfed and mossed they are! Five stand buried almost up to their shoulders in a heaping of little stones, testifying to the prayers of generations; and votive yodarekake, infant bibs of divers colours, have been put about the necks of these for the love of children lost. But one of the gentle god's images lies shattered and overthrown in its own scattered pebble-pile-broken perhaps by some passing wagon. Sec. 15 The road slopes before us as we go, sinks down between cliffs steep as the walls of a canyon, and curves. Suddenly we emerge from the cliffs, and reach the sea. It is blue like the unclouded sky--a soft dreamy blue. And our path turns sharply to the right, and winds along cliff-summits overlooking a broad beach of dun-coloured sand; and the sea wind blows deliciously with a sweet saline scent, urging the lungs to fill themselves to the very utmost; and far away before me, I perceive a beautiful high green mass, an island foliage-covered, rising out of the water about a quarter of a mile from the mainland--Enoshima, the holy island, sacred to the goddess of the sea, the goddess of beauty. I can already distinguish a tiny town, grey-sprinkling its steep slope. Evidently it can be reached to-day on foot, for the tide is out, and has left bare a long broad reach of sand, extending to it, from the opposite village which we are approaching, like a causeway. At Katase, the little settlement facing the island, we must leave our jinricksha and walk; the dunes between the village and the beach are too deep to pull the vehicle over. Scores of other jinricksha are waiting here in the little narrow street for pilgrims who have preceded me. But to-day, I am told, I am the only European who visits the shrine of Benten. Our two men lead the way over the dunes, and we soon descend upon damp firm sand. As we near the island the architectural details of the little town define delightfully through the faint sea-haze--curved bluish sweeps of fantastic roofs, angles of airy balconies, high-peaked curious gables, all above a fluttering of queerly shaped banners covered with mysterious lettering. We pass the sand-flats; and the ever-open Portal of the Sea-city, the City of the Dragon-goddess, is before us, a beautiful torii. All of bronze it is, with shimenawa of bronze above it, and a brazen tablet inscribed with characters declaring: 'This is the Palace of the Goddess of Enoshima.' About the bases of the ponderous pillars are strange designs in relievo, eddyings of waves with tortoises struggling in the flow. This is really the gate of the city, facing the shrine of Benten by the land approach; but it is only the third torii of the imposing series through Katase: we did not see the others, having come by way of the coast. And lo! we are in Enoshima. High before us slopes the single street, a street of broad steps, a street shadowy, full of multi-coloured flags and dank blue drapery dashed with white fantasticalities, which are words, fluttered by the sea wind. It is lined with taverns and miniature shops. At every one I must pause to look; and to dare to look at anything in Japan is to want to buy it. So I buy, and buy, and buy! For verily 'tis the City of Mother-of-Pearl, this Enoshima. In every shop, behind the lettered draperies there are miracles of shell-work for sale at absurdly small prices. The glazed cases laid flat upon the matted platforms, the shelved cabinets set against the walls, are all opalescent with nacreous things--extraordinary surprises, incredible ingenuities; strings of mother-of-pearl fish, strings of mother-of-pearl birds, all shimmering with rainbow colours. There are little kittens of mother-of-pearl, and little foxes of mother-of-pearl, and little puppies of mother-of-pearl, and girls' hair-combs, and cigarette-holders, and pipes too beautiful to use. There are little tortoises, not larger than a shilling, made of shells, that, when you touch them, however lightly, begin to move head, legs, and tail, all at the same time, alternately withdrawing or protruding their limbs so much like real tortoises as to give one a shock of surprise. There are storks and birds, and beetles and butterflies, and crabs and lobsters, made so cunningly of shells, that only touch convinces you they are not alive. There are bees of shell, poised on flowers of the same material--poised on wire in such a way that they seem to buzz if moved only with the tip of a feather. There is shell-work jewellery indescribable, things that Japanese girls love, enchantments in mother-of-pearl, hair-pins carven in a hundred forms, brooches, necklaces. And there are photographs of Enoshima. Sec. 16 This curious street ends at another torii, a wooden torii, with a steeper flight of stone steps ascending to it. At the foot of the steps are votive stone lamps and a little well, and a stone tank at which all pilgrims wash their hands and rinse their mouths before approaching the temples of the gods. And hanging beside the tank are bright blue towels, with large white Chinese characters upon them. I ask Akira what these characters signify: 'Ho-Keng is the sound of the characters in the Chinese; but in Japanese the same characters are pronounced Kenjitatetmatsuru, and signify that those towels are mostly humbly offered to Benten. They are what you call votive offerings. And there are many kinds of votive offerings made to famous shrines. Some people give towels, some give pictures, some give vases; some offer lanterns of paper, or bronze, or stone. It is common to promise such offerings when making petitions to the gods; and it is usual to promise a torii. The torii may be small or great according to the wealth of him who gives it; the very rich pilgrim may offer to the gods a torii of metal, such as that below, which is the Gate of Enoshima.' 'Akira, do the Japanese always keep their vows to the gods?' Akira smiles a sweet smile, and answers: 'There was a man who promised to build a torii of good metal if his prayers were granted. And he obtained all that he desired. And then he built a torii with three exceedingly small needles.' Sec. 17 Ascending the steps, we reach a terrace, overlooking all the city roofs. There are Buddhist lions of stone and stone lanterns, mossed and chipped, on either side the torii; and the background of the terrace is the sacred hill, covered with foliage. To the left is a balustrade of stone, old and green, surrounding a shallow pool covered with scum of water-weed. And on the farther bank above it, out of the bushes, protrudes a strangely shaped stone slab, poised on edge, and covered with Chinese characters. It is a sacred stone, and is believed to have the form of a great frog, gama; wherefore it is called Gama-ishi, the Frog-stone. Here and there along the edge of the terrace are other graven monuments, one of which is the offering of certain pilgrims who visited the shrine of the sea-goddess one hundred times. On the right other flights of steps lead to loftier terraces; and an old man, who sits at the foot of them, making bird-cages of bamboo, offers himself as guide. We follow him to the next terrace, where there is a school for the children of Enoshima, and another sacred stone, huge and shapeless: Fuku-ishi, the Stone of Good Fortune. In old times pilgrims who rubbed their hands upon it believed they would thereby gain riches; and the stone is polished and worn by the touch of innumerable palms. More steps and more green-mossed lions and lanterns, and another terrace with a little temple in its midst, the first shrine of Benten. Before it a few stunted palm-trees are growing. There is nothing in the shrine of interest, only Shinto emblems. But there is another well beside it with other votive towels, and there is another mysterious monument, a stone shrine brought from China six hundred years ago. Perhaps it contained some far-famed statue before this place of pilgrimage was given over to the priests of Shinto. There is nothing in it now; the monolith slab forming the back of it has been fractured by the falling of rocks from the cliff above; and the inscription cut therein has been almost effaced by some kind of scum. Akira reads 'Dai-Nippongoku-Enoshima-no-reiseki-ken . . .'; the rest is undecipherable. He says there is a statue in the neighbouring temple, but it is exhibited only once a year, on the fifteenth day of the seventh month. Leaving the court by a rising path to the left, we proceed along the verge of a cliff overlooking the sea. Perched upon this verge are pretty tea-houses, all widely open to the sea wind, so that, looking through them, over their matted floors and lacquered balconies one sees the ocean as in a picture-frame, and the pale clear horizon specked with snowy sails, and a faint blue-peaked shape also, like a phantom island, the far vapoury silhouette of Oshima. Then we find another torii, and other steps leading to a terrace almost black with shade of enormous evergreen trees, and surrounded on the sea side by another stone balustrade, velveted with moss. On the right more steps, another torii, another terrace; and more mossed green lions and stone lamps; and a monument inscribed with the record of the change whereby Enoshima passed away from Buddhism to become Shino. Beyond, in the centre of another plateau, the second shrine of Benten. But there is no Benten! Benten has been hidden away by Shinto hands. The second shrine is void as the first. Nevertheless, in a building to the left of the temple, strange relics are exhibited. Feudal armour; suits of plate and chain-mail; helmets with visors which are demoniac masks of iron; helmets crested with dragons of gold; two-handed swords worthy of giants; and enormous arrows, more than five feet long, with shafts nearly an inch in diameter. One has a crescent head about nine inches from horn to horn, the interior edge of the crescent being sharp as a knife. Such a missile would take off a man's head; and I can scarcely believe Akira's assurance that such ponderous arrows were shot from a bow by hand only. There is a specimen of the writing of Nichiren, the great Buddhist priest--gold characters on a blue ground; and there is, in a lacquered shrine, a gilded dragon said to have been made by that still greater priest and writer and master-wizard, Kobodaishi. A path shaded by overarching trees leads from this plateau to the third shrine. We pass a torii and beyond it come to a stone monument covered with figures of monkeys chiselled in relief. What the signification of this monument is, even our guide cannot explain. Then another torii. It is of wood; but I am told it replaces one of metal, stolen in the night by thieves. Wonderful thieves! that torii must have weighed at least a ton! More stone lanterns; then an immense count, on the very summit of the mountain, and there, in its midst, the third and chief temple of Benten. And before the temple is a large vacant space surrounded by a fence in such manner as to render the shrine totally inaccessible. Vanity and vexation of spirit! There is, however, a little haiden, or place of prayer, with nothing in it but a money-box and a bell, before the fence, and facing the temple steps. Here the pilgrims make their offerings and pray. Only a small raised platform covered with a Chinese roof supported upon four plain posts, the back of the structure being closed by a lattice about breast high. From this praying-station we can look into the temple of Benten, and see that Benten is not there. But I perceive that the ceiling is arranged in caissons; and in a central caisson I discover a very curious painting--a foreshortened Tortoise, gazing down at me. And while I am looking at it I hear Akira and the guide laughing; and the latter exclaims, 'Benten-Sama!' A beautiful little damask snake is undulating up the lattice-work, poking its head through betimes to look at us. It does not seem in the least afraid, nor has it much reason to be, seeing that its kind are deemed the servants and confidants of Benten. Sometimes the great goddess herself assumes the serpent form; perhaps she has come to see us. Near by is a singular stone, set on a pedestal in the court. It has the form of the body of a tortoise, and markings like those of the creature's shell; and it is held a sacred thing, and is called the Tortoise-stone. But I fear exceedingly that in all this place we shall find nothing save stones and serpents! Sec. 18 Now we are going to visit the Dragon cavern, not so called, Akira says, because the Dragon of Benten ever dwelt therein, but because the shape of the cavern is the shape of a dragon. The path descends toward the opposite side of the island, and suddenly breaks into a flight of steps cut out of the pale hard rock--exceedingly steep, and worn, and slippery, and perilous--overlooking the sea. A vision of low pale rocks, and surf bursting among them, and a toro or votive stone lamp in the centre of them--all seen as in a bird's-eye view, over the verge of an awful precipice. I see also deep, round holes in one of the rocks. There used to be a tea-house below; and the wooden pillars supporting it were fitted into those holes. I descend with caution; the Japanese seldom slip in their straw sandals, but I can only proceed with the aid of the guide. At almost every step I slip. Surely these steps could never have been thus worn away by the straw sandals of pilgrims who came to see only stones and serpents! At last we reach a plank gallery carried along the face of the cliff above the rocks and pools, and following it round a projection of the cliff enter the sacred cave. The light dims as we advance; and the sea-waves, running after us into the gloom, make a stupefying roar, multiplied by the extraordinary echo. Looking back, I see the mouth of the cavern like a prodigious sharply angled rent in blackness, showing a fragment of azure sky. We reach a shrine with no deity in it, pay a fee; and lamps being lighted and given to each of us, we proceed to explore a series of underground passages. So black they are that even with the light of three lamps, I can at first see nothing. In a while, however, I can distinguish stone figures in relief--chiselled on slabs like those I saw in the Buddhist graveyard. These are placed at regular intervals along the rock walls. The guide approaches his light to the face of each one, and utters a name, 'Daikoku-Sama,' 'Fudo-Sama,' 'Kwannon-Sama.' Sometimes in lieu of a statue there is an empty shrine only, with a money-box before it; and these void shrines have names of Shinto gods, 'Daijingu,' 'Hachiman,' 'Inari-Sama.' All the statues are black, or seem black in the yellow lamplight, and sparkle as if frosted. I feel as if I were in some mortuary pit, some subterranean burial-place of dead gods. Interminable the corridor appears; yet there is at last an end--an end with a shrine in it--where the rocky ceiling descends so low that to reach the shrine one must go down on hands and knees. And there is nothing in the shrine. This is the Tail of the Dragon. We do not return to the light at once, but enter into other lateral black corridors--the Wings of the Dragon. More sable effigies of dispossessed gods; more empty shrines; more stone faces covered with saltpetre; and more money-boxes, possible only to reach by stooping, where more offerings should be made. And there is no Benten, either of wood or stone. I am glad to return to the light. Here our guide strips naked, and suddenly leaps head foremost into a black deep swirling current between rocks. Five minutes later he reappears, and clambering out lays at my feet a living, squirming sea-snail and an enormous shrimp. Then he resumes his robe, and we re-ascend the mountain. Sec. 19 'And this,' the reader may say,--'this is all that you went forth to see: a torii, some shells, a small damask snake, some stones?' It is true. And nevertheless I know that I am bewitched. There is a charm indefinable about the place--that sort of charm which comes with a little ghostly thrill never to be forgotten. Not of strange sights alone is this charm made, but of numberless subtle sensations and ideas interwoven and inter-blended: the sweet sharp scents of grove and sea; the blood-brightening, vivifying touch of the free wind; the dumb appeal of ancient mystic mossy things; vague reverence evoked by knowledge of treading soil called holy for a thousand years; and a sense of sympathy, as a human duty, compelled by the vision of steps of rock worn down into shapelessness by the pilgrim feet of vanished generations. And other memories ineffaceable: the first sight of the sea-girt City of Pearl through a fairy veil of haze; the windy approach to the lovely island over the velvety soundless brown stretch of sand; the weird majesty of the giant gate of bronze; the queer, high-sloping, fantastic, quaintly gabled street, flinging down sharp shadows of aerial balconies; the flutter of coloured draperies in the sea wind, and of flags with their riddles of lettering; the pearly glimmering of the astonishing shops. And impressions of the enormous day--the day of the Land of the Gods--a loftier day than ever our summers know; and the glory of the view from those green sacred silent heights between sea and sun; and the remembrance of the sky, a sky spiritual as holiness, a sky with clouds ghost-pure and white as the light itself--seeming, indeed, not clouds but dreams, or souls of Bodhisattvas about to melt for ever into some blue Nirvana. And the romance of Benten, too,--the Deity of Beauty, the Divinity of Love, the Goddess of Eloquence. Rightly is she likewise named Goddess of the Sea. For is not the Sea most ancient and most excellent of Speakers--the eternal Poet, chanter of that mystic hymn whose rhythm shakes the world, whose mighty syllables no man may learn? Sec. 20 We return by another route. For a while the way winds through a long narrow winding valley between wooded hills: the whole extent of bottom-land is occupied by rice-farms; the air has a humid coolness, and one hears only the chanting of frogs, like a clattering of countless castanets, as the jinricksha jolts over the rugged elevated paths separating the flooded rice-fields. As we skirt the foot of a wooded hill upon the right, my Japanese comrade signals to our runners to halt, and himself dismounting, points to the blue peaked roof of a little temple high-perched on the green slope. 'Is it really worth while to climb up there in the sun?' I ask. 'Oh, yes!' he answers: 'it is the temple of Kishibojin--Kishibojin, the Mother of Demons!' We ascend a flight of broad stone steps, meet the Buddhist guardian lions at the summit, and enter the little court in which the temple stands. An elderly woman, with a child clinging to her robe, comes from the adjoining building to open the screens for us; and taking off our footgear we enter the temple. Without, the edifice looked old and dingy; but within all is neat and pretty. The June sun, pouring through the open shoji, illuminates an artistic confusion of brasses gracefully shaped and multi-coloured things--images, lanterns, paintings, gilded inscriptions, pendent scrolls. There are three altars. Above the central altar Amida Buddha sits enthroned on his mystic golden lotus in the attitude of the Teacher. On the altar to the right gleams a shrine of five miniature golden steps, where little images stand in rows, tier above tier, some seated, some erect, male and female, attired like goddesses or like daimyo: the Sanjiubanjin, or Thirty Guardians. Below, on the façade of the altar, is the figure of a hero slaying a monster. On the altar to the left is the shrine of the Mother-of-Demons. Her story is a legend of horror. For some sin committed in a previous birth, she was born a demon, devouring her own children. But being saved by the teaching of Buddha, she became a divine being, especially loving and protecting infants; and Japanese mothers pray to her for their little ones, and wives pray to her for beautiful boys. The face of Kishibojin [7] is the face of a comely woman. But her eyes are weird. In her right hand she bears a lotus-blossom; with her left she supports in a fold of her robe, against her half-veiled breast, a naked baby. At the foot of her shrine stands Jizo-Sama, leaning upon his shakujo. But the altar and its images do not form the startling feature of the temple-interior. What impresses the visitor in a totally novel way are the votive offerings. High before the shrine, suspended from strings stretched taut between tall poles of bamboo, are scores, no, hundreds, of pretty, tiny dresses--Japanese baby-dresses of many colours. Most are made of poor material, for these are the thank-offerings of very poor simple women, poor country mothers, whose prayers to Kishibojin for the blessing of children have been heard. And the sight of all those little dresses, each telling so naively its story of joy and pain--those tiny kimono shaped and sewn by docile patient fingers of humble mothers--touches irresistibly, like some unexpected revelation of the universal mother-love. And the tenderness of all the simple hearts that have testified thus to faith and thankfulness seems to thrill all about me softly, like a caress of summer wind. Outside the world appears to have suddenly grown beautiful; the light is sweeter; it seems to me there is a new charm even in the azure of the eternal day. Sec. 21 Then, having traversed the valley, we reach a main road so level and so magnificently shaded by huge old trees that I could believe myself in an English lane--a lane in Kent or Surrey, perhaps--but for some exotic detail breaking the illusion at intervals; a torii, towering before temple-steps descending to the highway, or a signboard lettered with Chinese characters, or the wayside shrine of some unknown god. All at once I observe by the roadside some unfamiliar sculptures in relief--a row of chiselled slabs protected by a little bamboo shed; and I dismount to look at them, supposing them to be funereal monuments. They are so old that the lines of their sculpturing are half obliterated; their feet are covered with moss, and their visages are half effaced. But I can discern that these are not haka, but six images of one divinity; and my guide knows him--Koshin, the God of Roads. So chipped and covered with scurf he is, that the upper portion of his form has become indefinably vague; his attributes have been worn away. But below his feet, on several slabs, chiselled cunningly, I can still distinguish the figures of the Three Apes, his messengers. And some pious soul has left before one image a humble votive offering--the picture of a black cock and a white hen, painted upon a wooden shingle. It must have been left here very long ago; the wood has become almost black, and the painting has been damaged by weather and by the droppings of birds. There are no stones piled at the feet of these images, as before the images of Jizo; they seem like things forgotten, crusted over by the neglect of generations--archaic gods who have lost their worshippers. But my guide tells me, 'The Temple of Koshin is near, in the village of Fujisawa.' Assuredly I must visit it. Sec. 22 The temple of Koshin is situated in the middle of the village, in a court opening upon the main street. A very old wooden temple it is, unpainted, dilapidated, grey with the greyness of all forgotten and weather-beaten things. It is some time before the guardian of the temple can be found, to open the doors. For this temple has doors in lieu of shoji--old doors that moan sleepily at being turned upon their hinges. And it is not necessary to remove one's shoes; the floor is matless, covered with dust, and squeaks under the unaccustomed weight of entering feet. All within is crumbling, mouldering, worn; the shrine has no image, only Shinto emblems, some poor paper lanterns whose once bright colours have vanished under a coating of dust, some vague inscriptions. I see the circular frame of a metal mirror; but the mirror itself is gone. Whither? The guardian says: 'No priest lives now in this temple; and thieves might come in the night to steal the mirror; so we have hidden it away.' I ask about the image of Koshin. He answers it is exposed but once in every sixty-one years: so I cannot see it; but there are other statues of the god in the temple court. I go to look at them: a row of images, much like those upon the public highway, but better preserved. One figure of Koshin, however, is different from the others I have seen--apparently made after some Hindoo model, judging by the Indian coiffure, mitre-shaped and lofty. The god has three eyes; one in the centre of his forehead, opening perpendicularly instead of horizontally. He has six arms. With one hand he supports a monkey; with another he grasps a serpent; and the other hands hold out symbolic things--a wheel, a sword, a rosary, a sceptre. And serpents are coiled about his wrists and about his ankles; and under his feet is a monstrous head, the head of a demon, Amanjako, sometimes called Utatesa ('Sadness'). Upon the pedestal below the Three Apes are carven; and the face of an ape appears also upon the front of the god's tiara. I see also tablets of stone, graven only with the god's name,--votive offerings. And near by, in a tiny wooden shrine, is the figure of the Earth-god, Ken-ro-ji-jin, grey, primeval, vaguely wrought, holding in one hand a spear, in the other a vessel containing something indistinguishable. Sec. 23 Perhaps to uninitiated eyes these many-headed, many-handed gods at first may seem--as they seem always in the sight of Christian bigotry--only monstrous. But when the knowledge of their meaning comes to one who feels the divine in all religions, then they will be found to make appeal to the higher aestheticism, to the sense of moral beauty, with a force never to be divined by minds knowing nothing of the Orient and its thought. To me the image of Kwannon of the Thousand Hands is not less admirable than any other representation of human loveliness idealised bearing her name--the Peerless, the Majestic, the Peace-Giving, or even White Sui-Getsu, who sails the moonlit waters in her rosy boat made of a single lotus-petal; and in the triple-headed Shaka I discern and revere the mighty power of that Truth, whereby, as by a conjunction of suns, the Three Worlds have been illuminated. But vain to seek to memorise the names and attributes of all the gods; they seem, self-multiplying, to mock the seeker; Kwannon the Merciful is revealed as the Hundred Kwannon; the Six Jizo become the Thousand. And as they multiply before research, they vary and change: less multiform, less complex, less elusive the moving of waters than the visions of this Oriental faith. Into it, as into a fathomless sea, mythology after mythology from India and China and the farther East has sunk and been absorbed; and the stranger, peering into its deeps, finds himself, as in the tale of Undine, contemplating a flood in whose every surge rises and vanishes a Face--weird or beautiful or terrible--a most ancient shoreless sea of forms incomprehensibly interchanging and intermingling, but symbolising the protean magic of that infinite Unknown that shapes and re-shapes for ever all cosmic being. Sec. 24 I wonder if I can buy a picture of Koshin. In most Japanese temples little pictures of the tutelar deity are sold to pilgrims, cheap prints on thin paper. But the temple guardian here tells me, with a gesture of despair, that there are no pictures of Koshin for sale; there is only an old kakemono on which the god is represented. If I would like to see it he will go home and get it for me. I beg him to do me the favour; and he hurries into the street. While awaiting his return, I continue to examine the queer old statues, with a feeling of mingled melancholy and pleasure. To have studied and loved an ancient faith only through the labours of palaeographers and archaeologists, and as a something astronomically remote from one's own existence, and then suddenly in after years to find the same faith a part of one's human environment,--to feel that its mythology, though senescent, is alive all around you--is almost to realise the dream of the Romantics, to have the sensation of returning through twenty centuries into the life of a happier world. For these quaint Gods of Roads and Gods of Earth are really living still, though so worn and mossed and feebly worshipped. In this brief moment, at least, I am really in the Elder World--perhaps just at that epoch of it when the primal faith is growing a little old-fashioned, crumbling slowly before the corrosive influence of a new philosophy; and I know myself a pagan still, loving these simple old gods, these gods of a people's childhood. And they need some human love, these naive, innocent, ugly gods. The beautiful divinities will live for ever by that sweetness of womanhood idealised in the Buddhist art of them: eternal are Kwannon and Benten; they need no help of man; they will compel reverence when the great temples shall all have become voiceless and priestless as this shrine of Koshin is. But these kind, queer, artless, mouldering gods, who have given ease to so many troubled minds, who have gladdened so many simple hearts, who have heard so many innocent prayers--how gladly would I prolong their beneficent lives in spite of the so-called 'laws of progress' and the irrefutable philosophy of evolution! The guardian returns, bringing with him a kakemono, very small, very dusty, and so yellow-stained by time that it might be a thousand years old. But I am disappointed as I unroll it; there is only a very common print of the god within--all outline. And while I am looking at it, I become for the first time conscious that a crowd has gathered about me,--tanned kindly-faced labourers from the fields, and mothers with their babies on their backs, and school children, and jinricksha men--all wondering that a stranger should be thus interested in their gods. And although the pressure about me is very, very gentle, like a pressure of tepid water for gentleness, I feel a little embarrassed. I give back the old kakemono to the guardian, make my offering to the god, and take my leave of Koshin and his good servant. All the kind oblique eyes follow me as I go. And something like a feeling of remorse seizes me at thus abruptly abandoning the void, dusty, crumbling temple, with its mirrorless altar and its colourless lanterns, and the decaying sculptures of its neglected court, and its kindly guardian whom I see still watching my retreating steps, with the yellow kakemono in his hand. The whistle of a locomotive warns me that I shall just have time to catch the train. For Western civilisation has invaded all this primitive peace, with its webs of steel, with its ways of iron. This is not of thy roads, O Koshin!--the old gods are dying along its ash-strewn verge! Chapter Five At the Market of the Dead Sec. 1 IT is just past five o'clock in the afternoon. Through the open door of my little study the rising breeze of evening is beginning to disturb the papers on my desk, and the white fire of the Japanese sun is taking that pale amber tone which tells that the heat of the day is over. There is not a cloud in the blue--not even one of those beautiful white filamentary things, like ghosts of silken floss, which usually swim in this most ethereal of earthly skies even in the driest weather. A sudden shadow at the door. Akira, the young Buddhist student, stands at the threshold slipping his white feet out of his sandal-thongs preparatory to entering, and smiling like the god Jizo. 'Ah! komban, Akira.' 'To-night,' says Akira, seating himself upon the floor in the posture of Buddha upon the Lotus, 'the Bon-ichi will be held. Perhaps you would like to see it?' 'Oh, Akira, all things in this country I should like to see. But tell me, I pray you; unto what may the Bon-ichi be likened?' 'The Bon-ichi,' answers Akira, 'is a market at which will be sold all things required for the Festival of the Dead; and the Festival of the Dead will begin to-morrow, when all the altars of the temples and all the shrines in the homes of good Buddhists will be made beautiful.' 'Then I want to see the Bon-ichi, Akira, and I should also like to see a Buddhist shrine--a household shrine.' 'Yes, will you come to my room?' asks Akira. 'It is not far--in the Street of the Aged Men, beyond the Street of the Stony River, and near to the Street Everlasting. There is a butsuma there--a household shrine--and on the way I will tell you about the Bonku.' So, for the first time, I learn those things--which I am now about to write. Sec. 2 From the 13th to the 15th day of July is held the Festival of the Dead--the Bommatsuri or Bonku--by some Europeans called the Feast of Lanterns. But in many places there are two such festivals annually; for those who still follow the ancient reckoning of time by moons hold that the Bommatsuri should fall on the 13th, 14th, and 15th days of the seventh month of the antique calendar, which corresponds to a later period of the year. Early on the morning of the 13th, new mats of purest rice straw, woven expressly for the festival, are spread upon all Buddhist altars and within each butsuma or butsudan--the little shrine before which the morning and evening prayers are offered up in every believing home. Shrines and altars are likewise decorated with beautiful embellishments of coloured paper, and with flowers and sprigs of certain hallowed plants--always real lotus-flowers when obtainable, otherwise lotus-flowers of paper, and fresh branches of shikimi (anise) and of misohagi (lespedeza). Then a tiny lacquered table--a zen-such as Japanese meals are usually served upon, is placed upon the altar, and the food offerings are laid on it. But in the smaller shrines of Japanese homes the offerings are more often simply laid upon the rice matting, wrapped in fresh lotus-leaves. These offerings consist of the foods called somen, resembling our vermicelli, gozen, which is boiled rice, dango, a sort of tiny dumpling, eggplant, and fruits according to season--frequently uri and saikwa, slices of melon and watermelon, and plums and peaches. Often sweet cakes and dainties are added. Sometimes the offering is only O-sho-jin-gu (honourable uncooked food); more usually it is O-rio-gu (honourable boiled food); but it never includes, of course, fish, meats, or wine. Clear water is given to the shadowy guest, and is sprinkled from time to time upon the altar or within the shrine with a branch of misohagi; tea is poured out every hour for the viewless visitors, and everything is daintily served up in little plates and cups and bowls, as for living guests, with hashi (chopsticks) laid beside the offering. So for three days the dead are feasted. At sunset, pine torches, fixed in the ground before each home, are kindled to guide the spirit-visitors. Sometimes, also, on the first evening of the Bommatsuri, welcome-fires (mukaebi) are lighted along the shore of the sea or lake or river by which the village or city is situated--neither more nor less than one hundred and eight fires; this number having some mystic signification in the philosophy of Buddhism. And charming lanterns are suspended each night at the entrances of homes--the Lanterns of the Festival of the Dead--lanterns of special forms and colours, beautifully painted with suggestions of landscape and shapes of flowers, and always decorated with a peculiar fringe of paper streamers. Also, on the same night, those who have dead friends go to the cemeteries and make offerings there, and pray, and burn incense, and pour out water for the ghosts. Flowers are placed there in the bamboo vases set beside each haka, and lanterns are lighted and hung up before the tombs, but these lanterns have no designs upon them. At sunset on the evening of the 15th only the offerings called Segaki are made in the temples. Then are fed the ghosts of the Circle of Penance, called Gakido, the place of hungry spirits; and then also are fed by the priests those ghosts having no other friends among the living to care for them. Very, very small these offerings are--like the offerings to the gods. Sec. 3 Now this, Akira tells me, is the origin of the Segaki, as the same is related in the holy book Busetsuuran-bongyo: Dai-Mokenren, the great disciple of Buddha, obtained by merit the Six Supernatural Powers. And by virtue of them it was given him to see the soul of his mother in the Gakido--the world of spirits doomed to suffer hunger in expiation of faults committed in a previous life. Mokenren saw that his mother suffered much; he grieved exceedingly because of her pain, and he filled a bowl with choicest food and sent it to her. He saw her try to eat; but each time that she tried to lift the food to her lips it would change into fire and burning embers, so that she could not eat. Then Mokenren asked the Teacher what he could do to relieve his mother from pain. And the Teacher made answer: 'On the fifteenth day of the seventh month, feed the ghosts of the great priests of all countries.' And Mokenren, having done so, saw that his mother was freed from the state of gaki, and that she was dancing for joy. [1] This is the origin also of the dances called Bono-dori, which are danced on the third night of the Festival of the Dead throughout Japan. Upon the third and last night there is a weirdly beautiful ceremony, more touching than that of the Segaki, stranger than the Bon-odori--the ceremony of farewell. All that the living may do to please the dead has been done; the time allotted by the powers of the unseen worlds unto the ghostly visitants is well nigh past, and their friends must send them all back again. Everything has been prepared for them. In each home small boats made of barley straw closely woven have been freighted with supplies of choice food, with tiny lanterns, and written messages of faith and love. Seldom more than two feet in length are these boats; but the dead require little room. And the frail craft are launched on canal, lake, sea, or river--each with a miniature lantern glowing at the prow, and incense burning at the stern. And if the night be fair, they voyage long. Down all the creeks and rivers and canals the phantom fleets go glimmering to the sea; and all the sea sparkles to the horizon with the lights of the dead, and the sea wind is fragrant with incense. But alas! it is now forbidden in the great seaports to launch the shoryobune, 'the boats of the blessed ghosts.' Sec. 4 It is so narrow, the Street of the Aged Men, that by stretching out one's arms one can touch the figured sign-draperies before its tiny shops on both sides at once. And these little ark-shaped houses really seem toy-houses; that in which Akira lives is even smaller than the rest, having no shop in it, and no miniature second story. It is all closed up. Akira slides back the wooden amado which forms the door, and then the paper-paned screens behind it; and the tiny structure, thus opened, with its light unpainted woodwork and painted paper partitions, looks something like a great bird-cage. But the rush matting of the elevated floor is fresh, sweet-smelling, spotless; and as we take off our footgear to mount upon it I see that all within is neat, curious, and pretty. 'The woman has gone out,' says Akira, setting the smoking-box (hibachi) in the middle of the floor, and spreading beside it a little mat for me to squat upon. 'But what is this, Akira?' I ask, pointing to a thin board suspended by a ribbon on the wall--a board so cut from the middle of a branch as to leave the bark along its edges. There are two columns of mysterious signs exquisitely painted upon it. 'Oh, that is a calendar,' answers Akira. 'On the right side are the names of the months having thirty-one days; on the left, the names of those having less. Now here is a household shrine.' Occupying the alcove, which is an indispensable part of the structure of Japanese guest-rooms, is a native cabinet painted with figures of flying birds; and on this cabinet stands the butsuma. It is a small lacquered and gilded shrine, with little doors modelled after those of a temple gate--a shrine very quaint, very much dilapidated (one door has lost its hinges), but still a dainty thing despite its crackled lacquer and faded gilding. Akira opens it with a sort of compassionate smile; and I look inside for the image. There is none; only a wooden tablet with a band of white paper attached to it, bearing Japanese characters--the name of a dead baby girl--and a vase of expiring flowers, a tiny print of Kwannon, the Goddess of Mercy, and a cup filled with ashes of incense. 'Tomorrow,' Akira says, 'she will decorate this, and make the offerings of food to the little one.' Hanging from the ceiling, on the opposite side of the room, and in front of the shrine, is a wonderful, charming, funny, white-and-rosy mask--the face of a laughing, chubby girl with two mysterious spots upon her forehead, the face of Otafuku. [2] It twirls round and round in the soft air-current coming through the open shoji; and every time those funny black eyes, half shut with laughter, look at me, I cannot help smiling. And hanging still higher, I see little Shinto emblems of paper (gohei), a miniature mitre-shaped cap in likeness of those worn in the sacred dances, a pasteboard emblem of the magic gem (Nio-i hojiu) which the gods bear in their hands, a small Japanese doll, and a little wind-wheel which will spin around with the least puff of air, and other indescribable toys, mostly symbolic, such as are sold on festal days in the courts of the temples--the playthings of the dead child. 'Komban!' exclaims a very gentle voice behind us. The mother is standing there, smiling as if pleased at the stranger's interest in her butsuma--a middle-aged woman of the poorest class, not comely, but with a most kindly face. We return her evening greeting; and while I sit down upon the little mat laid before the hibachi, Akira whispers something to her, with the result that a small kettle is at once set to boil over a very small charcoal furnace. We are probably going to have some tea. As Akira takes his seat before me, on the other side of the hibachi, I ask him: 'What was the name I saw on the tablet?' 'The name which you saw,' he answers, 'was not the real name. The real name is written upon the other side. After death another name is given by the priest. A dead boy is called Ryochi Doji; a dead girl, Mioyo Donyo.' While we are speaking, the woman approaches the little shrine, opens it, arranges the objects in it, lights the tiny lamp, and with joined hands and bowed head begins to pray. Totally unembarrassed by our presence and our chatter she seems, as one accustomed to do what is right and beautiful heedless of human opinion; praying with that brave, true frankness which belongs to the poor only of this world--those simple souls who never have any secret to hide, either from each other or from heaven, and of whom Ruskin nobly said, 'These are our holiest.' I do not know what words her heart is murmuring: I hear only at moments that soft sibilant sound, made by gently drawing the breath through the lips, which among this kind people is a token of humblest desire to please. As I watch the tender little rite, I become aware of something dimly astir in the mystery of my own life--vaguely, indefinably familiar, like a memory ancestral, like the revival of a sensation forgotten two thousand years. Blended in some strange way it seems to be with my faint knowledge of an elder world, whose household gods were also the beloved dead; and there is a weird sweetness in this place, like a shadowing of Lares. Then, her brief prayer over, she turns to her miniature furnace again. She talks and laughs with Akira; she prepares the tea, pours it out in tiny cups and serves it to us, kneeling in that graceful attitude--picturesque, traditional--which for six hundred years has been the attitude of the Japanese woman serving tea. Verily, no small part of the life of the woman of Japan is spent thus in serving little cups of tea. Even as a ghost, she appears in popular prints offering to somebody spectral tea-cups of spectral tea. Of all Japanese ghost-pictures, I know of none more pathetic than that in which the phantom of a woman kneeling humbly offers to her haunted and remorseful murderer a little cup of tea! 'Now let us go to the Bon-ichi,' says Akira, rising; 'she must go there herself soon, and it is already getting dark. Sayonara!' It is indeed almost dark as we leave the little house: stars are pointing in the strip of sky above the street; but it is a beautiful night for a walk, with a tepid breeze blowing at intervals, and sending long flutterings through the miles of shop draperies. The market is in the narrow street at the verge of the city, just below the hill where the great Buddhist temple of Zoto-Kuin stands--in the Motomachi, only ten squares away. Sec. 5 The curious narrow street is one long blaze of lights--lights of lantern signs, lights of torches and lamps illuminating unfamiliar rows of little stands and booths set out in the thoroughfare before all the shop-fronts on each side; making two far-converging lines of multi-coloured fire. Between these moves a dense throng, filling the night with a clatter of geta that drowns even the tide-like murmuring of voices and the cries of the merchant. But how gentle the movement!-- there is no jostling, no rudeness; everybody, even the weakest and smallest, has a chance to see everything; and there are many things to see. 'Hasu-no-hana!--hasu-no-hana!' Here are the venders of lotus-flowers for the tombs and the altars, of lotus leaves in which to wrap the food of the beloved ghosts. The leaves, folded into bundles, are heaped upon tiny tables; the lotus-flowers, buds and blossoms intermingled, are fixed upright in immense bunches, supported by light frames of bamboo. 'Ogara!--ogara-ya! White sheaves of long peeled rods. These are hemp-sticks. The thinner ends can be broken up into hashi for the use of the ghosts; the rest must be consumed in the mukaebi. Rightly all these sticks should be made of pine; but pine is too scarce and dear for the poor folk of this district, so the ogara are substituted. 'Kawarake!--kawarake-ya!' The dishes of the ghosts: small red shallow platters of unglazed earthenware; primeval pottery suku-makemasu!' Eh! what is all this? A little booth shaped like a sentry-box, all made of laths, covered with a red-and-white chess pattern of paper; and out of this frail structure issues a shrilling keen as the sound of leaking steam. 'Oh, that is only insects,' says Akira, laughing; 'nothing to do with the Bonku.' Insects, yes!--in cages! The shrilling is made by scores of huge green crickets, each prisoned in a tiny bamboo cage by itself. 'They are fed with eggplant and melon rind,' continues Akira, 'and sold to children to play with.' And there are also beautiful little cages full of fireflies--cages covered with brown mosquito-netting, upon each of which some simple but very pretty design in bright colours has been dashed by a Japanese brush. One cricket and cage, two cents. Fifteen fireflies and cage, five cents. Here on a street corner squats a blue-robed boy behind a low wooden table, selling wooden boxes about as big as match-boxes, with red paper hinges. Beside the piles of these little boxes on the table are shallow dishes filled with clear water, in which extraordinary thin flat shapes are floating--shapes of flowers, trees, birds, boats, men, and women. Open a box; it costs only two cents. Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, are bundles of little pale sticks, like round match-sticks, with pink ends. Drop one into the water, it instantly unrolls and expands into the likeness of a lotus-flower. Another transforms itself into a fish. A third becomes a boat. A fourth changes to an owl. A fifth becomes a tea-plant, covered with leaves and blossoms. . . . So delicate are these things that, once immersed, you cannot handle them without breaking them. They are made of seaweed. 'Tsukuri hana!--tsukuri-hana-wa-irimasenka?' The sellers of artificial flowers, marvellous chrysanthemums and lotus-plants of paper, imitations of bud and leaf and flower so cunningly wrought that the eye alone cannot detect the beautiful trickery. It is only right that these should cost much more than their living counterparts. Sec. 6 High above the thronging and the clamour and the myriad fires of the merchants, the great Shingon temple at the end of the radiant street towers upon its hill against the starry night, weirdly, like a dream--strangely illuminated by rows of paper lanterns hung all along its curving eaves; and the flowing of the crowd bears me thither. Out of the broad entrance, over a dark gliding mass which I know to be heads and shoulders of crowding worshippers, beams a broad band of yellow light; and before reaching the lion-guarded steps I hear the continuous clanging of the temple gong, each clang the signal of an offering and a prayer. Doubtless a cataract of cash is pouring into the great alms-chest; for to-night is the Festival of Yakushi-Nyorai, the Physician of Souls. Borne to the steps at last, I find myself able to halt a moment, despite the pressure of the throng, before the stand of a lantern-seller selling the most beautiful lanterns that I have ever seen. Each is a gigantic lotus-flower of paper, so perfectly made in every detail as to seem a great living blossom freshly plucked; the petals are crimson at their bases, paling to white at their tips; the calyx is a faultless mimicry of nature, and beneath it hangs a beautiful fringe of paper cuttings, coloured with the colours of the flower, green below the calyx, white in the middle, crimson at the ends. In the heart of the blossom is set a microscopic oil-lamp of baked clay; and this being lighted, all the flower becomes luminous, diaphanous--a lotus of white and crimson fire. There is a slender gilded wooden hoop by which to hang it up, and the price is four cents! How can people afford to make such things for four cents, even in this country of astounding cheapness? Akira is trying to tell me something about the hyaku-hachino-mukaebi, the Hundred and Eight Fires, to be lighted to-morrow evening, which bear some figurative relation unto the Hundred and Eight Foolish Desires; but I cannot hear him for the clatter of the geta and the komageta, the wooden clogs and wooden sandals of the worshippers ascending to the shrine of Yakushi-Nyorai. The light straw sandals of the poorer men, the zori and the waraji, are silent; the great clatter is really made by the delicate feet of women and girls, balancing themselves carefully upon their noisy geta. And most of these little feet are clad with spotless tabi, white as a white lotus. White feet of little blue-robed mothers they mostly are--mothers climbing patiently and smilingly, with pretty placid babies at their backs, up the hill to Buddha. And while through the tinted lantern light I wander on with the gentle noisy people, up the great steps of stone, between other displays of lotus-blossoms, between other high hedgerows of paper flowers, my thought suddenly goes back to the little broken shrine in the poor woman's room, with the humble playthings hanging before it, and the laughing, twirling mask of Otafuku. I see the happy, funny little eyes, oblique and silky-shadowed like Otafuku's own, which used to look at those toys,--toys in which the fresh child-senses found a charm that I can but faintly divine, a delight hereditary, ancestral. I see the tender little creature being borne, as it was doubtless borne many times, through just such a peaceful throng as this, in just such a lukewarm, luminous night, peeping over the mother's shoulder, softly clinging at her neck with tiny hands. Somewhere among this multitude she is--the mother. She will feel again to-night the faint touch of little hands, yet will not turn her head to look and laugh, as in other days. Chapter Six Bon-odori Sec. 1 Over the mountains to Izumo, the land of the Kamiyo, [1] the land of the Ancient Gods. A journey of four days by kuruma, with strong runners, from the Pacific to the Sea of Japan; for we have taken the longest and least frequented route. Through valleys most of this long route lies, valleys always open to higher valleys, while the road ascends, valleys between mountains with rice-fields ascending their slopes by successions of diked terraces which look like enormous green flights of steps. Above them are shadowing sombre forests of cedar and pine; and above these wooded summits loom indigo shapes of farther hills overtopped by peaked silhouettes of vapoury grey. The air is lukewarm and windless; and distances are gauzed by delicate mists; and in this tenderest of blue skies, this Japanese sky which always seems to me loftier than any other sky which I ever saw, there are only, day after day, some few filmy, spectral, diaphanous white wandering things: like ghosts of clouds, riding on the wind. But sometimes, as the road ascends, the rice-fields disappear a while: fields of barley and of indigo, and of rye and of cotton, fringe the route for a little space; and then it plunges into forest shadows. Above all else, the forests of cedar sometimes bordering the way are astonishments; never outside of the tropics did I see any growths comparable for density and perpendicularity with these. Every trunk is straight and bare as a pillar: the whole front presents the spectacle of an immeasurable massing of pallid columns towering up into a cloud of sombre foliage so dense that one can distinguish nothing overhead but branchings lost in shadow. And the profundities beyond the rare gaps in the palisade of blanched trunks are night-black, as in Dore's pictures of fir woods. No more great towns; only thatched villages nestling in the folds of the hills, each with its Buddhist temple, lifting a tilted roof of blue-grey tiles above the congregation of thatched homesteads, and its miya, or Shinto shrine, with a torii before it like a great ideograph shaped in stone or wood. But Buddhism still dominates; every hilltop has its tera; and the statues of Buddhas or of Bodhisattvas appear by the roadside, as we travel on, with the regularity of milestones. Often a village tera is so large that the cottages of the rustic folk about it seem like little out-houses; and the traveller wonders how so costly an edifice of prayer can be supported by a community so humble. And everywhere the signs of the gentle faith appear: its ideographs and symbols are chiselled upon the faces of the rocks; its icons smile upon you from every shadowy recess by the way; even the very landscape betimes would seem to have been moulded by the soul of it, where hills rise softly as a prayer. And the summits of some are domed like the head of Shaka, and the dark bossy frondage that clothes them might seem the clustering of his curls. But gradually, with the passing of the days, as we journey into the loftier west, I see fewer and fewer tera. Such Buddhist temples as we pass appear small and poor; and the wayside images become rarer and rarer. But the symbols of Shinto are more numerous, and the structure of its miya larger and loftier. And the torii are visible everywhere, and tower higher, before the approaches to villages, before the entrances of courts guarded by strangely grotesque lions and foxes of stone, and before stairways of old mossed rock, upsloping, between dense growths of ancient cedar and pine, to shrines that moulder in the twilight of holy groves. At one little village I see, just beyond, the torii leading to a great Shinto temple, a particularly odd small shrine, and feel impelled by curiosity to examine it. Leaning against its closed doors are many short gnarled sticks in a row, miniature clubs. Irreverently removing these, and opening the little doors, Akira bids me look within. I see only a mask--the mask of a goblin, a Tengu, grotesque beyond description, with an enormous nose--so grotesque that I feel remorse for having looked at it. The sticks are votive offerings. By dedicating one to the shrine, it is believed that the Tengu may be induced to drive one's enemies away. Goblin-shaped though they appear in all Japanese paintings and carvings of them, the Tengu-Sama are divinities, lesser divinities, lords of the art of fencing and the use of all weapons. And other changes gradually become manifest. Akira complains that he can no longer understand the language of the people. We are traversing regions of dialects. The houses are also architecturally different from those of the country-folk of the north-east; their high thatched roofs are curiously decorated with bundles of straw fastened to a pole of bamboo parallel with the roof-ridge, and elevated about a foot above it. The complexion of the peasantry is darker than in the north-east; and I see no more of those charming rosy faces one observes among the women of the Tokyo districts. And the peasants wear different hats, hats pointed like the straw roofs of those little wayside temples curiously enough called an (which means a straw hat). The weather is more than warm, rendering clothing oppressive; and as we pass through the little villages along the road, I see much healthy cleanly nudity: pretty naked children; brown men and boys with only a soft narrow white cloth about their loins, asleep on the matted floors, all the paper screens of the houses having been removed to admit the breeze. The men seem to be lightly and supply built; but I see no saliency of muscles; the lines of the figure are always smooth. Before almost every dwelling, indigo, spread out upon little mats of rice straw, may be seen drying in the sun. The country-folk gaze wonderingly at the foreigner. At various places where we halt, old men approach to touch my clothes, apologising with humble bows and winning smiles for their very natural curiosity, and asking my interpreter all sorts of odd questions. Gentler and kindlier faces I never beheld; and they reflect the souls behind them; never yet have I heard a voice raised in anger, nor observed an unkindly act. And each day, as we travel, the country becomes more beautiful--beautiful with that fantasticality of landscape only to be found in volcanic lands. But for the dark forests of cedar and pine, and this far faint dreamy sky, and the soft whiteness of the light, there are moments of our journey when I could fancy myself again in the West Indies, ascending some winding way over the mornes of Dominica or of Martinique. And, indeed, I find myself sometimes looking against the horizon glow for shapes of palms and ceibas. But the brighter green of the valleys and of the mountain-slopes beneath the woods is not the green of young cane, but of rice-fields--thousands upon thousands of tiny rice-fields no larger than cottage gardens, separated from each other by narrow serpentine dikes. Sec. 2 In the very heart of a mountain range, while rolling along the verge of a precipice above rice-fields, I catch sight of a little shrine in a cavity of the cliff overhanging the way, and halt to examine it. The sides and sloping roof of the shrine are formed by slabs of unhewn rock. Within smiles a rudely chiselled image of Bato-Kwannon--Kwannon-with-the-Horse's-Head--and before it bunches of wild flowers have been placed, and an earthen incense-cup, and scattered offerings of dry rice. Contrary to the idea suggested by the strange name, this form of Kwannon is not horse-headed; but the head of a horse is sculptured upon the tiara worn by the divinity. And the symbolism is fully explained by a large wooden sotoba planted beside the shrine, and bearing, among other inscriptions, the words, 'Bato Kwan-ze-on Bosatsu, giu ba bodai han ye.' For Bato-Kwannon protects the horses and the cattle of the peasant; and he prays her not only that his dumb servants may be preserved from sickness, but also that their spirits may enter after death, into a happier state of existence. Near the sotoba there has been erected a wooden framework about four feet square, filled with little tablets of pine set edge to edge so as to form one smooth surface; and on these are written, in rows of hundreds, the names of all who subscribed for the statue and its shrine. The number announced is ten thousand. But the whole cost could not have exceeded ten Japanese dollars (yen); wherefore I surmise that each subscriber gave not more than one rin--one tenth of one sen, or cent. For the hyakusho are unspeakably poor. [2] In the midst of these mountain solitudes, the discovery of that little shrine creates a delightful sense of security. Surely nothing save goodness can be expected from a people gentle-hearted enough to pray for the souls of their horses and cows. [3] As we proceed rapidly down a slope, my kurumaya swerves to one side with a suddenness that gives me a violent start, for the road overlooks a sheer depth of several hundred feet. It is merely to avoid hurting a harmless snake making its way across the path. The snake is so little afraid that on reaching the edge of the road it turns its head to look after us. Sec. 3 And now strange signs begin to appear in all these rice-fields: I see everywhere, sticking up above the ripening grain, objects like white-feathered arrows. Arrows of prayer! I take one up to examine it. The shaft is a thin bamboo, split down for about one-third of its length; into the slit a strip of strong white paper with ideographs upon it--an ofuda, a Shinto charm--is inserted; and the separated ends of the cane are then rejoined and tied together just above it. The whole, at a little distance, has exactly the appearance of a long, light, well-feathered arrow. That which I first examine bears the words, 'Yu-Asaki-jinja-kozen-son-chu-an-zen' (From the God whose shrine is before the Village of Peace). Another reads, 'Mihojinja-sho-gwan-jo-ju-go-kito-shugo,' signifying that the Deity of the temple Miho-jinja granteth fully every supplication made unto him. Everywhere, as we proceed, I see the white arrows of prayer glimmering above the green level of the grain; and always they become more numerous. Far as the eye can reach the fields are sprinkled with them, so that they make upon the verdant surface a white speckling as of flowers. Sometimes, also, around a little rice-field, I see a sort of magical fence, formed by little bamboo rods supporting a long cord from which long straws hang down, like a fringe, and paper cuttings, which are symbols (gohei) are suspended at regular intervals. This is the shimenawa, sacred emblem of Shinto. Within the consecrated space inclosed by it no blight may enter--no scorching sun wither the young shoots. And where the white arrows glimmer the locust shall not prevail, nor shall hungry birds do evil. But now I look in vain for the Buddhas. No more great tera, no Shaka, no Amida, no Dai-Nichi-Nyorai; even the Bosatsu have been left behind. Kwannon and her holy kin have disappeared; Koshin, Lord of Roads, is indeed yet with us; but he has changed his name and become a Shinto deity: he is now Saruda-hiko-no-mikoto; and his presence is revealed only by the statues of the Three Mystic Apes which are his servants--Mizaru, who sees no evil, covering his eyes with his hands, Kikazaru, who hears no evil, covering his ears with his hands. Iwazaru, who speaks no evil, covering his mouth with his hands. Yet no! one Bosatsu survives in this atmosphere of magical Shinto: still by the roadside I see at long intervals the image of Jizo-Sama, the charming playfellow of dead children. But Jizo also is a little changed; even in his sextuple representation, [4] the Roku-Jizo, he appears not standing, but seated upon his lotus-flower, and I see no stones piled up before him, as in the eastern provinces. Sec. 4 At last, from the verge of an enormous ridge, the roadway suddenly slopes down into a vista of high peaked roofs of thatch and green-mossed eaves--into a village like a coloured print out of old Hiroshige's picture-books, a village with all its tints and colours precisely like the tints and colours of the landscape in which it lies. This is Kami-Ichi, in the land of Hoki. We halt before a quiet, dingy little inn, whose host, a very aged man, comes forth to salute me; while a silent, gentle crowd of villagers, mostly children and women, gather about the kuruma to see the stranger, to wonder at him, even to touch his clothes with timid smiling curiosity. One glance at the face of the old innkeeper decides me to accept his invitation. I must remain here until to-morrow: my runners are too wearied to go farther to-night. Weather-worn as the little inn seemed without, it is delightful within. Its polished stairway and balconies are speckless, reflecting like mirror-surfaces the bare feet of the maid-servants; its luminous rooms are fresh and sweet-smelling as when their soft mattings were first laid down. The carven pillars of the alcove (toko) in my chamber, leaves and flowers chiselled in some black rich wood, are wonders; and the kakemono or scroll-picture hanging there is an idyll, Hotei, God of Happiness, drifting in a bark down some shadowy stream into evening mysteries of vapoury purple. Far as this hamlet is from all art-centres, there is no object visible in the house which does not reveal the Japanese sense of beauty in form. The old gold-flowered lacquer-ware, the astonishing box in which sweetmeats (kwashi) are kept, the diaphanous porcelain wine-cups dashed with a single tiny gold figure of a leaping shrimp, the tea-cup holders which are curled lotus-leaves of bronze, even the iron kettle with its figurings of dragons and clouds, and the brazen hibachi whose handles are heads of Buddhist lions, delight the eye and surprise the fancy. Indeed, wherever to-day in Japan one sees something totally uninteresting in porcelain or metal, something commonplace and ugly, one may be almost sure that detestable something has been shaped under foreign influence. But here I am in ancient Japan; probably no European eyes ever looked upon these things before. A window shaped like a heart peeps out upon the garden, a wonderful little garden with a tiny pond and miniature bridges and dwarf trees, like the landscape of a tea-cup; also some shapely stones of course, and some graceful stone-lanterns, or toro, such as are placed in the courts of temples. And beyond these, through the warm dusk, I see lights, coloured lights, the lanterns of the Bonku, suspended before each home to welcome the coming of beloved ghosts; for by the antique calendar, according to which in this antique place the reckoning of time is still made, this is the first night of the Festival of the Dead. As in all the other little country villages where I have been stopping, I find the people here kind to me with a kindness and a courtesy unimaginable, indescribable, unknown in any other country, and even in Japan itself only in the interior. Their simple politeness is not an art; their goodness is absolutely unconscious goodness; both come straight from the heart. And before I have been two hours among these people, their treatment of me, coupled with the sense of my utter inability to repay such kindness, causes a wicked wish to come into my mind. I wish these charming folk would do me some unexpected wrong, something surprisingly evil, something atrociously unkind, so that I should not be obliged to regret them, which I feel sure I must begin to do as soon as I go away. While the aged landlord conducts me to the bath, where he insists upon washing me himself as if I were a child, the wife prepares for us a charming little repast of rice, eggs, vegetables, and sweetmeats. She is painfully in doubt about her ability to please me, even after I have eaten enough for two men, and apologises too much for not being able to offer me more. 'There is no fish,' she says, 'for to-day is the first day of the Bonku, the Festival of the Dead; being the thirteenth day of the month. On the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth of the month nobody may eat fish. But on the morning of the sixteenth day, the fishermen go out to catch fish; and everybody who has both parents living may eat of it. But if one has lost one's father or mother then one must not eat fish, even upon the sixteenth day.' While the good soul is thus explaining I become aware of a strange remote sound from without, a sound I recognise through memory of tropical dances, a measured clapping of hands. But this clapping is very soft and at long intervals. And at still longer intervals there comes to us a heavy muffled booming, the tap of a great drum, a temple drum. 'Oh! we must go to see it,' cries Akira; 'it is the Bon-odori, the Dance of the Festival of the Dead. And you will see the Bon-odori danced here as it is never danced in cities--the Bon-odori of ancient days. For customs have not changed here; but in the cities all is changed.' So I hasten out, wearing only, like the people about me, one of those light wide-sleeved summer robes--yukata--which are furnished to male guests at all Japanese hotels; but the air is so warm that even thus lightly clad, I find myself slightly perspiring. And the night is divine, still, clear, vaster than nights of Europe, with a big white moon flinging down queer shadows of tilted eaves and horned gables and delightful silhouettes of robed Japanese. A little boy, the grandson of our host, leads the way with a crimson paper lantern; and the sonorous echoing of geta, the koro-koro of wooden sandals, fills all the street, for many are going whither we are going, to see the dance. A little while we proceed along the main street; then, traversing a narrow passage between two houses, we find ourselves in a great open space flooded by moonlight. This is the dancing-place; but the dance has ceased for a time. Looking about me, I perceive that we are in the court of an ancient Buddhist temple. The temple building itself remains intact, a low long peaked silhouette against the starlight; but it is void and dark and unhallowed now; it has been turned, they tell me, into a schoolhouse. The priests are gone; the great bell is gone; the Buddhas and the Bodhisattvas have vanished, all save one--a broken-handed Jizo of stone, smiling with eyelids closed, under the moon. In the centre of the court is a framework of bamboo supporting a great drum; and about it benches have been arranged, benches from the schoolhouse, on which villagers are resting. There is a hum of voices, voices of people speaking very low, as if expecting something solemn; and cries of children betimes, and soft laughter of girls. And far behind the court, beyond a low hedge of sombre evergreen shrubs, I see soft white lights and a host of tall grey shapes throwing long shadows; and I know that the lights are the white lanterns of the dead (those hung in cemeteries only), and that the grey shapes are shapes of tombs. Suddenly a girl rises from her seat, and taps the huge drum once. It is the signal for the Dance of Souls. Sec. 5 Out of the shadow of the temple a processional line of dancers files into the moonlight and as suddenly halts--all young women or girls, clad in their choicest attire; the tallest leads; her comrades follow in order of stature; little maids of ten or twelve years compose the end of the procession. Figures lightly poised as birds--figures that somehow recall the dreams of shapes circling about certain antique vases; those charming Japanese robes, close-clinging about the knees, might seem, but for the great fantastic drooping sleeves, and the curious broad girdles confining them, designed after the drawing of some Greek or Etruscan artist. And, at another tap of the drum, there begins a performance impossible to picture in words, something unimaginable, phantasmal--a dance, an astonishment. All together glide the right foot forward one pace, without lifting the sandal from the ground, and extend both hands to the right, with a strange floating motion and a smiling, mysterious obeisance. Then the right foot is drawn back, with a repetition of the waving of hands and the mysterious bow. Then all advance the left foot and repeat the previous movements, half-turning to the left. Then all take two gliding paces forward, with a single simultaneous soft clap of the hands, and the first performance is reiterated, alternately to right and left; all the sandalled feet gliding together, all the supple hands waving together, all the pliant bodies bowing and swaying together. And so slowly, weirdly, the processional movement changes into a great round, circling about the moonlit court and around the voiceless crowd of spectators. [5] And always the white hands sinuously wave together, as if weaving spells, alternately without and within the round, now with palms upward, now with palms downward; and all the elfish sleeves hover duskily together, with a shadowing as of wings; and all the feet poise together with such a rhythm of complex motion, that, in watching it, one feels a sensation of hypnotism--as while striving to watch a flowing and shimmering of water. And this soporous allurement is intensified by a dead hush. No one speaks, not even a spectator. And, in the long intervals between the soft clapping of hands, one hears only the shrilling of the crickets in the trees, and the shu-shu of sandals, lightly stirring the dust. Unto what, I ask myself, may this be likened? Unto nothing; yet it suggests some fancy of somnambulism--dreamers, who dream themselves flying, dreaming upon their feet. And there comes to me the thought that I am looking at something immemorially old, something belonging to the unrecorded beginnings of this Oriental life, perhaps to the crepuscular Kamiyo itself, to the magical Age of the Gods; a symbolism of motion whereof the meaning has been forgotten for innumerable years. Yet more and more unreal the spectacle appears, with its silent smilings, with its silent bowings, as if obeisance to watchers invisible; and I find myself wondering whether, were I to utter but a whisper, all would not vanish for ever save the grey mouldering court and the desolate temple, and the broken statue of Jizo, smiling always the same mysterious smile I see upon the faces of the dancers. Under the wheeling moon, in the midst of the round, I feel as one within the circle of a charm. And verily this is enchantment; I am bewitched, bewitched by the ghostly weaving of hands, by the rhythmic gliding of feet, above all by the flitting of the marvellous sleeves--apparitional, soundless, velvety as a flitting of great tropical bats. No; nothing I ever dreamed of could be likened to this. And with the consciousness of the ancient hakaba behind me, and the weird invitation of its lanterns, and the ghostly beliefs of the hour and the place there creeps upon me a nameless, tingling sense of being haunted. But no! these gracious, silent, waving, weaving shapes are not of the Shadowy Folk, for whose coming the white fires were kindled: a strain of song, full of sweet, clear quavering, like the call of a bird, gushes from some girlish mouth, and fifty soft voices join the chant: Sorota soroimashita odorikoga sorota, Soroikite, kita hare yukata. 'Uniform to view [as ears of young rice ripening in the field] all clad alike in summer festal robes, the company of dancers have assembled.' Again only the shrilling of the crickets, the shu-shu of feet, the gentle clapping; and the wavering hovering measure proceeds in silence, with mesmeric lentor--with a strange grace, which, by its very naivete, seems old as the encircling hills. Those who sleep the sleep of centuries out there, under the grey stones where the white lanterns are, and their fathers, and the fathers of their fathers' fathers, and the unknown generations behind them, buried in cemeteries of which the place has been forgotten for a thousand years, doubtless looked upon a scene like this. Nay! the dust stirred by those young feet was human life, and so smiled and so sang under this self-same moon, 'with woven paces, and with waving hands.' Suddenly a deep male chant breaks the hush. Two giants have joined the round, and now lead it, two superb young mountain peasants nearly nude, towering head and shoulders above the whole of the assembly. Their kimono are rolled about their waistilike girdles, leaving their bronzed limbs and torsos naked to the warm air; they wear nothing else save their immense straw hats, and white tabi, donned expressly for the festival. Never before among these people saw I such men, such thews; but their smiling beardless faces are comely and kindly as those of Japanese boys. They seem brothers, so like in frame, in movement, in the timbre of their voices, as they intone the same song: No demo yama demo ko wa umiokeyo, Sen ryo kura yori ko ga takara. 'Whether brought forth upon the mountain or in the field, it matters nothing: more than a treasure of one thousand ryo, a baby precious is.' And Jizo the lover of children's ghosts, smiles across the silence. Souls close to nature's Soul are these; artless and touching their thought, like the worship of that Kishibojin to whom wives pray. And after the silence, the sweet thin voices of the women answer: Oomu otoko ni sowa sanu oya Wa, Qyade gozaranu ko no kataki. 'The parents who will not allow their girl to be united with her lover; they are not the parents, but the enemies of their child.' And song follows song; and the round ever becomes larger; and the hours pass unfelt, unheard, while the moon wheels slowly down the blue steeps of the night. A deep low boom rolls suddenly across the court, the rich tone of some temple bell telling the twelfth hour. Instantly the witchcraft ends, like the wonder of some dream broken by a sound; the chanting ceases; the round dissolves in an outburst of happy laughter, and chatting, and softly-vowelled callings of flower-names which are names of girls, and farewell cries of 'Sayonara!' as dancers and spectators alike betake themselves homeward, with a great koro-koro of getas. And I, moving with the throng, in the bewildered manner of one suddenly roused from sleep, know myself ungrateful. These silvery-laughing folk who now toddle along beside me upon their noisy little clogs, stepping very fast to get a peep at my foreign face, these but a moment ago were visions of archaic grace, illusions of necromancy, delightful phantoms; and I feel a vague resentment against them for thus materialising into simple country-girls. Sec. 6 Lying down to rest, I ask myself the reason of the singular emotion inspired by that simple peasant-chorus. Utterly impossible to recall the air, with its fantastic intervals and fractional tones--as well attempt to fix in memory the purlings of a bird; but the indefinable charm of it lingers with me still. Melodies of Europe awaken within us feelings we can utter, sensations familiar as mother-speech, inherited from all the generations behind us. But how explain the emotion evoked by a primitive chant totally unlike anything in Western melody,--impossible even to write in those tones which are the ideographs of our music-tongue? And the emotion itself--what is it? I know not; yet I feel it to be something infinitely more old than I--something not of only one place or time, but vibrant to all common joy or pain of being, under the universal sun. Then I wonder if the secret does not lie in some untaught spontaneous harmony of that chant with Nature's most ancient song, in some unconscious kinship to the music of solitudes--all trillings of summer life that blend to make the great sweet Cry of the Land. Chapter Seven The Chief City of the Province of the Gods Sec. 1 THE first of the noises of a Matsue day comes to the sleeper like the throbbing of a slow, enormous pulse exactly under his ear. It is a great, soft, dull buffet of sound--like a heartbeat in its regularity, in its muffled depth, in the way it quakes up through one's pillow so as to be felt rather than heard. It is simply the pounding of the ponderous pestle of the kometsuki, the cleaner of rice--a sort of colossal wooden mallet with a handle about fifteen feet long horizontally balanced on a pivot. By treading with all his force on the end of the handle, the naked kometsuki elevates the pestle, which is then allowed to fall back by its own weight into the rice-tub. The measured muffled echoing of its fall seems to me the most pathetic of all sounds of Japanese life; it is the beating, indeed, of the Pulse of the Land. Then the boom of the great bell of Tokoji the Zenshu temple, shakes over the town; then come melancholy echoes of drumming from the tiny little temple of Jizo in the street Zaimokucho, near my house, signalling the Buddhist hour of morning prayer. And finally the cries of the earliest itinerant venders begin--'Daikoyai! kabuya-kabu!'--the sellers of daikon and other strange vegetables. 'Moyaya-moya!'--the plaintive call of the women who sell little thin slips of kindling-wood for the lighting of charcoal fires. Sec. 2 Roused thus by these earliest sounds of the city's wakening life, I slide open my little Japanese paper window to look out upon the morning over a soft green cloud of spring foliage rising from the river-bounded garden below. Before me, tremulously mirroring everything upon its farther side, glimmers the broad glassy mouth of the Ohashigawa, opening into the grand Shinji Lake, which spreads out broadly to the right in a dim grey frame of peaks. Just opposite to me, across the stream, the blue-pointed Japanese dwellings have their to [1] all closed; they are still shut up like boxes, for it is not yet sunrise, although it is day. But oh, the charm of the vision--those first ghostly love-colours of a morning steeped in mist soft as sleep itself resolved into a visible exhalation! Long reaches of faintly-tinted vapour cloud the far lake verge--long nebulous bands, such as you may have seen in old Japanese picture-books, and must have deemed only artistic whimsicalities unless you had previously looked upon the real phenomena. All the bases of the mountains are veiled by them, and they stretch athwart the loftier peaks at different heights like immeasurable lengths of gauze (this singular appearance the Japanese term 'shelving'), [2] so that the lake appears incomparably larger than it really is, and not an actual lake, but a beautiful spectral sea of the same tint as the dawn-sky and mixing with it, while peak-tips rise like islands from the brume, and visionary strips of hill-ranges figure as league-long causeways stretching out of sight--an exquisite chaos, ever-changing aspect as the delicate fogs rise, slowly, very slowly. As the sun's yellow rim comes into sight, fine thin lines of warmer tone--spectral violets and opalines--shoot across the flood, treetops take tender fire, and the unpainted façades of high edifices across the water change their wood-colour to vapoury gold through the delicious haze. Looking sunward, up the long Ohashigawa, beyond the many-pillared wooden bridge, one high-pooped junk, just hoisting sail, seems to me the most fantastically beautiful craft I ever saw--a dream of Orient seas, so idealised by the vapour is it; the ghost of a junk, but a ghost that catches the light as clouds do; a shape of gold mist, seemingly semi-diaphanous, and suspended in pale blue light. Sec. 3 And now from the river-front touching my garden there rises to me a sound of clapping of hand,--one, two, three, four claps,--but the owner of the hands is screened from view by the shrubbery. At the same time, however, I see men and women descending the stone steps of the wharves on the opposite side of the Ohashigawa, all with little blue towels tucked into their girdles. They wash their faces and hands and rinse their mouths--the customary ablution preliminary to Shinto prayer. Then they turn their faces to the sunrise and clap their hands four times and pray. From the long high white bridge come other clappings, like echoes, and others again from far light graceful craft, curved like new moons--extraordinary boats, in which I see bare-limbed fishermen standing with foreheads bowed to the golden East. Now the clappings multiply--multiply at last into an almost continuous volleying of sharp sounds. For all the population are saluting the rising sun, O-Hi-San, the Lady of Fire--Ama-terasu-oho-mi-Kami, the Lady of the Great Light. [3] 'Konnichi-Sama! Hail this day to thee, divinest Day-Maker! Thanks unutterable unto thee, for this thy sweet light, making beautiful the world!' So, doubt-less, the thought, if not the utterance, of countless hearts. Some turn to the sun only, clapping their hands; yet many turn also to the West, to holy Kitzuki, the immemorial shrine and not a few turn their faces successively to all the points of heaven, murmuring the names of a hundred gods; and others, again, after having saluted the Lady of Fire, look toward high Ichibata, toward the place of the great temple of Yakushi Nyorai, who giveth sight to the blind--not clapping their hands as in Shinto worship, but only rubbing the palms softly together after the Buddhist manner. But all--for in this most antique province of Japan all Buddhists are Shintoists likewise--utter the archaic words of Shinto prayer: 'Harai tamai kiyome tamai to Kami imi tami.' Prayer to the most ancient gods who reigned before the coming of the Buddha, and who still reign here in their own Izumo-land,--in the Land of Reed Plains, in the Place of the Issuing of Clouds; prayer to the deities of primal chaos and primeval sea and of the beginnings of the world--strange gods with long weird names, kindred of U-hiji-ni-no-Kami, the First Mud-Lord, kindred of Su-hiji-ni-no-Kanii, the First Sand-Lady; prayer to those who came after them--the gods of strength and beauty, the world-fashioners, makers of the mountains and the isles, ancestors of those sovereigns whose lineage still is named 'The Sun's Succession'; prayer to the Three Thousand Gods 'residing within the provinces,' and to the Eight Hundred Myriads who dwell in the azure Takamano-hara--in the blue Plain of High Heaven. 'Nippon-koku-chu-yaoyorozu-no-Kami-gami-sama!' Sec. 4 'Ho--ke-kyo!' My uguisu is awake at last, and utters his morning prayer. You do not know what an uguisu is? An uguisu is a holy little bird that professes Buddhism. All uguisu have professed Buddhism from time immemorial; all uguisu preach alike to men the excellence of the divine Sutra. 'Ho--ke-kyo!' In the Japanese tongue, Ho-ke-kyo; in Sanscrit, Saddharma Pundarika: 'The Sutra of the Lotus of the Good Law,' the divine book of the Nichiren sect. Very brief, indeed, is my little feathered Buddhist's confession of faith--only the sacred name reiterated over and over again like a litany, with liquid bursts of twittering between. 'Ho--ke-kyo!' Only this one phrase, but how deliciously he utters it! With what slow amorous ecstasy he dwells upon its golden syllables! It hath been written: 'He who shall keep, read, teach, or write this Sutra shall obtain eight hundred good qualities of the Eye. He shall see the whole Triple Universe down to the great hell Aviki, and up to the extremity of existence. He shall obtain twelve hundred good qualities of the Ear. He shall hear all sounds in the Triple Universe,--sounds of gods, goblins, demons, and beings not human.' 'Ho--ke-kyo!' A single word only. But it is also written: 'He who shall joyfully accept but a single word from this Sutra, incalculably greater shall be his merit than the merit of one who should supply all beings in the four hundred thousand Asankhyeyas of worlds with all the necessaries for happiness.' 'Ho--ke-kyo!' Always he makes a reverent little pause after uttering it and before shrilling out his ecstatic warble--his bird-hymn of praise. First the warble; then a pause of about five seconds; then a slow, sweet, solemn utterance of the holy name in a tone as of meditative wonder; then another pause; then another wild, rich, passionate warble. Could you see him, you would marvel how so powerful and penetrating a soprano could ripple from so minute a throat; for he is one of the very tiniest of all feathered singers, yet his chant can be heard far across the broad river, and children going to school pause daily on the bridge, a whole cho away, to listen to his song. And uncomely withal: a neutral-tinted mite, almost lost in his immense box-cage of hinoki wood, darkened with paper screens over its little wire-grated windows, for he loves the gloom. Delicate he is and exacting even to tyranny. All his diet must be laboriously triturated and weighed in scales, and measured out to him at precisely the same hour each day. It demands all possible care and attention merely to keep him alive. He is precious, nevertheless. 'Far and from the uttermost coasts is the price of him,' so rare he is. Indeed, I could not have afforded to buy him. He was sent to me by one of the sweetest ladies in Japan, daughter of the governor of Izumo, who, thinking the foreign teacher might feel lonesome during a brief illness, made him the exquisite gift of this dainty creature. Sec. 5 The clapping of hands has ceased; the toil of the day begins; continually louder and louder the pattering of geta over the bridge. It is a sound never to be forgotten, this pattering of geta over the Ohashi--rapid, merry, musical, like the sound of an enormous dance; and a dance it veritably is. The whole population is moving on tiptoe, and the multitudinous twinkling of feet over the verge of the sunlit roadway is an astonishment. All those feet are small, symmetrical--light as the feet of figures painted on Greek vases--and the step is always taken toes first; indeed, with geta it could be taken no other way, for the heel touches neither the geta nor the ground, and the foot is tilted forward by the wedge-shaped wooden sole. Merely to stand upon a pair of geta is difficult for one unaccustomed to their use, yet you see Japanese children running at full speed in geta with soles at least three inches high, held to the foot only by a forestrap fastened between the great toe and the other toes, and they never trip and the geta never falls off. Still more curious is the spectacle of men walking in bokkuri or takageta, a wooden sole with wooden supports at least five inches high fitted underneath it so as to make the whole structure seem the lacquered model of a wooden bench. But the wearers stride as freely as if they had nothing upon their feet. Now children begin to appear, hurrying to school. The undulation of the wide sleeves of their pretty speckled robes, as they run, looks precisely like a fluttering of extraordinary butterflies. The junks spread their great white or yellow wings, and the funnels of the little steamers which have been slumbering all night by the wharves begin to smoke. One of the tiny lake steamers lying at the opposite wharf has just opened its steam-throat to utter the most unimaginable, piercing, desperate, furious howl. When that cry is heard everybody laughs. The other little steamboats utter only plaintive mooings, but unto this particular vessel--newly built and launched by a rival company--there has been given a voice expressive to the most amazing degree of reckless hostility and savage defiance. The good people of Matsue, upon hearing its voice for the first time, gave it forthwith a new and just name--Okami-Maru. 'Maru' signifies a steamship. 'Okami' signifies a wolf. Sec. 6 A very curious little object now comes slowly floating down the river, and I do not think that you could possibly guess what it is. The Hotoke, or Buddhas, and the beneficent Kami are not the only divinities worshipped by the Japanese of the poorer classes. The deities of evil, or at least some of them, are duly propitiated upon certain occasions, and requited by offerings whenever they graciously vouchsafe to inflict a temporary ill instead of an irremediable misfortune. [4] (After all, this is no more irrational than the thanksgiving prayer at the close of the hurricane season in the West Indies, after the destruction by storm of twenty-two thousand lives.) So men sometimes pray to Ekibiogami, the God of Pestilence, and to Kaze-no-Kami, the God of Wind and of Bad Colds, and to Hoso-no-Kami, the God of Smallpox, and to divers evil genii. Now when a person is certainly going to get well of smallpox a feast is given to the Hoso-no-Kami, much as a feast is given to the Fox-God when a possessing fox has promised to allow himself to be cast out. Upon a sando-wara, or small straw mat, such as is used to close the end of a rice-bale, one or more kawarake, or small earthenware vessels, are placed. These are filled with a preparation of rice and red beans, called adzukimeshi, whereof both Inari-Sama and Hoso-no-Kami are supposed to be very fond. Little bamboo wands with gohei (paper cuttings) fastened to them are then planted either in the mat or in the adzukimeshi, and the colour of these gohei must be red. (Be it observed that the gohei of other Kami are always white.) This offering is then either suspended to a tree, or set afloat in some running stream at a considerable distance from the home of the convalescent. This is called 'seeing the God off.' Sec. 7 The long white bridge with its pillars of iron is recognisably modern. It was, in fact, opened to the public only last spring with great ceremony. According to some most ancient custom, when a new bridge has been built the first persons to pass over it must be the happiest of the community. So the authorities of Matsue sought for the happiest folk, and selected two aged men who had both been married for more than half a century, and who had had not less than twelve children, and had never lost any of them. These good patriarchs first crossed the bridge, accompanied by their venerable wives, and followed by their grown-up children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, amidst a great clamour of rejoicing, the showering of fireworks, and the firing of cannon. But the ancient bridge so recently replaced by this structure was much more picturesque, curving across the flood and supported upon multitudinous feet, like a long-legged centipede of the innocuous kind. For three hundred years it had stood over the stream firmly and well, and it had its particular tradition. When Horio Yoshiharu, the great general who became daimyo of Izumo in the Keicho era, first undertook to put a bridge over the mouth of this river, the builders laboured in vain; for there appeared to be no solid bottom for the pillars of the bridge to rest upon. Millions of great stones were cast into the river to no purpose, for the work constructed by day was swept away or swallowed up by night. Nevertheless, at last the bridge was built, but the pillars began to sink soon after it was finished; then a flood carried half of it away and as often as it was repaired so often it was wrecked. Then a human sacrifice was made to appease the vexed spirits of the flood. A man was buried alive in the river-bed below the place of the middle pillar, where the current is most treacherous, and thereafter the bridge remained immovable for three hundred years. This victim was one Gensuke, who had lived in the street Saikamachi; for it had been determined that the first man who should cross the bridge wearing hakama without a machi [5] should be put under the bridge; and Gensuke sought to pass over not having a machi in his hakama, so they sacrificed him Wherefore the midmost pillar of the bridge was for three hundred years called by his name--Gensuke-bashira. It is averred that upon moonless nights a ghostly fire flitted about that pillar--always in the dead watch hour between two and three; and the colour of the light was red, though I am assured that in Japan, as in other lands, the fires of the dead are most often blue. Sec. 8 Now some say that Gensuke was not the name of a man, but the name of an era, corrupted by local dialect into the semblance of a personal appellation. Yet so profoundly is the legend believed, that when the new bridge was being built thousands of country folk were afraid to come to town; for a rumour arose that a new victim was needed, who was to be chosen from among them, and that it had been determined to make the choice from those who still wore their hair in queues after the ancient manner. Wherefore hundreds of aged men cut off their queues. Then another rumour was circulated to the effect that the police had been secretly instructed to seize the one-thousandth person of those who crossed the new bridge the first day, and to treat him after the manner of Gensuke. And at the time of the great festival of the Rice-God, when the city is usually thronged by farmers coming to worship at the many shrines of Inari this year there came but few; and the loss to local commerce was estimated at several thousand yen. The vapours have vanished, sharply revealing a beautiful little islet in the lake, lying scarcely half a mile away--a low, narrow strip of land with a Shinto shrine upon it, shadowed by giant pines; not pines like ours, but huge, gnarled, shaggy, tortuous shapes, vast-reaching like ancient oaks. Through a glass one can easily discern a torii, and before it two symbolic lions of stone (Kara-shishi), one with its head broken off, doubtless by its having been overturned and dashed about by heavy waves during some great storm. This islet is sacred to Benten, the Goddess of Eloquence and Beauty, wherefore it is called Benten-no-shima. But it is more commonly called Yomega-shima, or 'The Island of the Young Wife,' by reason of a legend. It is said that it arose in one night, noiselessly as a dream, bearing up from the depths of the lake the body of a drowned woman who had been very lovely, very pious, and very unhappy. The people, deeming this a sign from heaven, consecrated the islet to Benten, and thereon built a shrine unto her, planted trees about it, set a torii before it, and made a rampart about it with great curiously-shaped stones; and there they buried the drowned woman. Now the sky is blue down to the horizon, the air is a caress of spring. I go forth to wander through the queer old city. Sec. 10 I perceive that upon the sliding doors, or immediately above the principal entrance of nearly every house, are pasted oblong white papers bearing ideographic inscriptions; and overhanging every threshold I see the sacred emblem of Shinto, the little rice-straw rope with its long fringe of pendent stalks. The white papers at once interest me; for they are ofuda, or holy texts and charms, of which I am a devout collector. Nearly all are from temples in Matsue or its vicinity; and the Buddhist ones indicate by the sacred words upon them to what particular shu or sect, the family belong--for nearly every soul in this community professes some form of Buddhism as well as the all-dominant and more ancient faith of Shinto. And even one quite ignorant of Japanese ideographs can nearly always distinguish at a glance the formula of the great Nichiren sect from the peculiar appearance of the column of characters composing it, all bristling with long sharp points and banneret zigzags, like an army; the famous text Namu-myo-ho-ren-gekyo inscribed of old upon the flag of the great captain Kato Kiyomasa, the extirpator of Spanish Christianity, the glorious vir ter execrandus of the Jesuits. Any pilgrim belonging to this sect has the right to call at whatever door bears the above formula and ask for alms or food. But by far the greater number of the ofuda are Shinto. Upon almost every door there is one ofuda especially likely to attract the attention of a stranger, because at the foot of the column of ideographs composing its text there are two small figures of foxes, a black and a white fox, facing each other in a sitting posture, each with a little bunch of rice-straw in its mouth, instead of the more usual emblematic key. These ofuda are from the great Inari temple of Oshiroyama, [6] within the castle grounds, and are charms against fire. They represent, indeed, the only form of assurance against fire yet known in Matsue, so far, at least, as wooden dwellings are concerned. And although a single spark and a high wind are sufficient in combination to obliterate a larger city in one day, great fires are unknown in Matsue, and small ones are of rare occurrence. The charm is peculiar to the city; and of the Inari in question this tradition exists: When Naomasu, the grandson of Iyeyasu, first came to Matsue to rule the province, there entered into his presence a beautiful boy, who said: 'I came hither from the home of your august father in Echizen, to protect you from all harm. But I have no dwelling-place, and am staying therefore at the Buddhist temple of Fu-mon-in. Now if you will make for me a dwelling within the castle grounds, I will protect from fire the buildings there and the houses of the city, and your other residence likewise which is in the capital. For I am Inari Shinyemon.' With these words he vanished from sight. Therefore Naomasu dedicated to him the great temple which still stands in the castle grounds, surrounded by one thousand foxes of stone. Sec. 11 I now turn into a narrow little street, which, although so ancient that its dwarfed two-story houses have the look of things grown up from the ground, is called the Street of the New Timber. New the timber may have been one hundred and fifty years ago; but the tints of the structures would ravish an artist--the sombre ashen tones of the woodwork, the furry browns of old thatch, ribbed and patched and edged with the warm soft green of those velvety herbs and mosses which flourish upon Japanesese roofs. However, the perspective of the street frames in a vision more surprising than any details of its mouldering homes. Between very lofty bamboo poles, higher than any of the dwellings, and planted on both sides of the street in lines, extraordinary black nets are stretched, like prodigious cobwebs against the sky, evoking sudden memories of those monster spiders which figure in Japanese mythology and in the picture-books of the old artists. But these are only fishing-nets of silken thread; and this is the street of the fishermen. I take my way to the great bridge. Sec. 12 A stupendous ghost! Looking eastward from the great bridge over those sharply beautiful mountains, green and blue, which tooth the horizon, I see a glorious spectre towering to the sky. Its base is effaced by far mists: out of the air the thing would seem to have shaped itself--a phantom cone, diaphanously grey below, vaporously white above, with a dream of perpetual snow--the mighty mountain of Daisen. At the first approach of winter it will in one night become all blanched from foot to crest; and then its snowy pyramid so much resembles that Sacred Mountain, often compared by poets to a white inverted fan, half opened, hanging in the sky, that it is called Izumo-Fuji, 'the Fuji of Izumo.' But it is really in Hoki, not in Izumo, though it cannot be seen from any part of Hoki to such advantage as from here. It is the one sublime spectacle of this charming land; but it is visible only when the air is very pure. Many are the marvellous legends related concerning it, and somewhere upon its mysterious summit the Tengu are believed to dwell. Sec. 13 At the farther end of the bridge, close to the wharf where the little steamboats are, is a very small Jizo temple (Jizo-do). Here are kept many bronze drags; and whenever anyone has been drowned and the body not recovered, these are borrowed from the little temple and the river is dragged. If the body be thus found, a new drag must be presented to the temple. From here, half a mile southward to the great Shinto temple of Tenjin, deity of scholarship and calligraphy, broadly stretches Tenjinmachi, the Street of the Rich Merchants, all draped on either side with dark blue hangings, over which undulate with every windy palpitation from the lake white wondrous ideographs, which are names and signs, while down the wide way, in white perspective, diminishes a long line of telegraph poles. Beyond the temple of Tenjin the city is again divided by a river, the Shindotegawa, over which arches the bridge Tenjin-bashi. Again beyond this other large quarters extend to the hills and curve along the lake shore. But in the space between the two rivers is the richest and busiest life of the city, and also the vast and curious quarter of the temples. In this islanded district are likewise the theatres, and the place where wrestling-matches are held, and most of the resorts of pleasure. Parallel with Tenjinmachi runs the great street of the Buddhist temples, or Teramachi, of which the eastern side is one unbroken succession of temples--a solid front of court walls tile-capped, with imposing gateways at regular intervals. Above this long stretch of tile-capped wall rise the beautiful tilted massive lines of grey-blue temple roofs against the sky. Here all the sects dwell side by side in harmony--Nichirenshu, Shingon-shu, Zen-shu, Tendai-shu, even that Shin-shu, unpopular in Izumo because those who follow its teaching strictly must not worship the Kami. Behind each temple court there is a cemetery, or hakaba; and eastward beyond these are other temples, and beyond them yet others--masses of Buddhist architecture mixed with shreds of gardens and miniature homesteads, a huge labyrinth of mouldering courts and fragments of streets. To-day, as usual, I find I can pass a few hours very profitably in visiting the temples; in looking at the ancient images seated within the cups of golden lotus-flowers under their aureoles of gold; in buying curious mamori; in examining the sculptures of the cemeteries, where I can nearly always find some dreaming Kwannon or smiling Jizo well worth the visit. The great courts of Buddhist temples are places of rare interest for one who loves to watch the life of the people; for these have been for unremembered centuries the playing-places of the children. Generations of happy infants have been amused in them. All the nurses, and little girls who carry tiny brothers or sisters upon their backs, go thither every morning that the sun shines; hundreds of children join them; and they play at strange, funny games--'Onigokko,' or the game of Devil, 'Kage-Oni,' which signifies the Shadow and the Demon, and 'Mekusangokko,' which is a sort of 'blindman's buff.' Also, during the long summer evenings, these temples are wrestling-grounds, free to all who love wrestling; and in many of them there is a dohyo-ba, or wrestling-ring. Robust young labourers and sinewy artisans come to these courts to test their strength after the day's tasks are done, and here the fame of more than one now noted wrestler was first made. When a youth has shown himself able to overmatch at wrestling all others in his own district, he is challenged by champions of other districts; and if he can overcome these also, he may hope eventually to become a skilled and popular professional wrestler. It is also in the temple courts that the sacred dances are performed and that public speeches are made. It is in the temple courts, too, that the most curious toys are sold, on the occasion of the great holidays--toys most of which have a religious signification. There are grand old trees, and ponds full of tame fish, which put up their heads to beg for food when your shadow falls upon the water. The holy lotus is cultivated therein. 'Though growing in the foulest slime, the flower remains pure and undefiled. 'And the soul of him who remains ever pure in the midst of temptation is likened unto the lotus. 'Therefore is the lotus carven or painted upon the furniture of temples; therefore also does it appear in all the representations of our Lord Buddha. 'In Paradise the blessed shall sit at ease enthroned upon the cups of golden lotus-flowers.' [7] A bugle-call rings through the quaint street; and round the corner of the last temple come marching a troop of handsome young riflemen, uniformed somewhat like French light infantry, marching by fours so perfectly that all the gaitered legs move as if belonging to a single body, and every sword-bayonet catches the sun at exactly the same angle, as the column wheels into view. These are the students of the Shihan-Gakko, the College of Teachers, performing their daily military exercises. Their professors give them lectures upon the microscopic study of cellular tissues, upon the segregation of developing nerve structure, upon spectrum analysis, upon the evolution of the colour sense, and upon the cultivation of bacteria in glycerine infusions. And they are none the less modest and knightly in manner for all their modern knowledge, nor the less reverentially devoted to their dear old fathers and mothers whose ideas were shaped in the era of feudalism. Sec. 14 Here come a band of pilgrims, with yellow straw overcoats, 'rain-coats' (mino), and enormous yellow straw hats, mushroom-shaped, of which the down-curving rim partly hides the face. All carry staffs, and wear their robes well girded up so as to leave free the lower limbs, which are inclosed in white cotton leggings of a peculiar and indescribable kind. Precisely the same sort of costume was worn by the same class of travellers many centuries ago; and just as you now see them trooping by--whole families wandering together, the pilgrim child clinging to the father's hands--so may you see them pass in quaint procession across the faded pages of Japanese picture-books a hundred years old. At intervals they halt before some shop-front to look at the many curious things which they greatly enjoy seeing, but which they have no money to buy. I myself have become so accustomed to surprises, to interesting or extraordinary sights, that when a day happens to pass during which nothing remarkable has been heard or seen I feel vaguely discontented. But such blank days are rare: they occur in my own case only when the weather is too detestable to permit of going out-of-doors. For with ever so little money one can always obtain the pleasure of looking at curious things. And this has been one of the chief pleasures of the people in Japan for centuries and centuries, for the nation has passed its generations of lives in making or seeking such things. To divert one's self seems, indeed, the main purpose of Japanese existence, beginning with the opening of the baby's wondering eyes. The faces of the people have an indescribable look of patient expectancy--the air of waiting for something interesting to make its appearance. If it fail to appear, they will travel to find it: they are astonishing pedestrians and tireless pilgrims, and I think they make pilgrimages not more for the sake of pleasing the gods than of pleasing themselves by the sight of rare and pretty things. For every temple is a museum, and every hill and valley throughout the land has its temple and its wonders. Even the poorest farmer, one so poor that he cannot afford to eat a grain of his own rice, can afford to make a pilgrimage of a month's duration; and during that season when the growing rice needs least attention hundreds of thousands of the poorest go on pilgrimages. This is possible, because from ancient times it has been the custom for everybody to help pilgrims a little; and they can always find rest and shelter at particular inns (kichinyado) which receive pilgrims only, and where they are charged merely the cost of the wood used to cook their food. But multitudes of the poor undertake pilgrimages requiring much more than a month to perform, such as the pilgrimage to the thirty-three great temples of Kwannon, or that to the eighty-eight temples of Kobodaishi; and these, though years be needed to accomplish them, are as nothing compared to the enormous Sengaji, the pilgrimage to the thousand temples of the Nichiren sect. The time of a generation may pass ere this can be made. One may begin it in early youth, and complete it only when youth is long past. Yet there are several in Matsue, men and women, who have made this tremendous pilgrimage, seeing all Japan, and supporting themselves not merely by begging, but by some kinds of itinerant peddling. The pilgrim who desires to perform this pilgrimage carries on his shoulders a small box, shaped like a Buddhist shrine, in which he keeps his spare clothes and food. He also carries a little brazen gong, which he constantly sounds while passing through a city or village, at the same time chanting the Namu-myo-ho-ren-ge-kyo; and he always bears with him a little blank book, in which the priest of every temple visited stamps the temple seal in red ink. The pilgrimage over, this book with its one thousand seal impressions becomes an heirloom in the family of the pilgrim. Sec. 15 I too must make divers pilgrimages, for all about the city, beyond the waters or beyond the hills, lie holy places immemorially old. Kitzuki, founded by the ancient gods, who 'made stout the pillars upon the nethermost rock bottom, and made high the cross-beams to the Plain of High Heaven'--Kitzuki, the Holy of Holies, whose high-priest claims descent from the Goddess of the Sun; and Ichibata, famed shrine of Yakushi-Nyorai, who giveth sight to the blind--Ichibata-no-Yakushi, whose lofty temple is approached by six hundred and forty steps of stone; and Kiomidzu, shrine of Kwannon of the Eleven Faces, before whose altar the sacred fire has burned without ceasing for a thousand years; and Sada, where the Sacred Snake lies coiled for ever on the sambo of the gods; and Oba, with its temples of Izanami and Izanagi, parents of gods and men, the makers of the world; and Yaegaki, whither lovers go to pray for unions with the beloved; and Kaka, Kaka-ura, Kaka-no-Kukedo San--all these I hope to see. But of all places, Kaka-ura! Assuredly I must go to Kaka. Few pilgrims go thither by sea, and boatmen are forbidden to go there if there be even wind enough 'to move three hairs.' So that whosoever wishes to visit Kaka must either wait for a period of dead calm--very rare upon the coast of the Japanese Sea--or journey thereunto by land; and by land the way is difficult and wearisome. But I must see Kaka. For at Kaka, in a great cavern by the sea, there is a famous Jizo of stone; and each night, it is said, the ghosts of little children climb to the high cavern and pile up before the statue small heaps of pebbles; and every morning, in the soft sand, there may be seen the fresh prints of tiny naked feet, the feet of the infant ghosts. It is also said that in the cavern there is a rock out of which comes a stream of milk, as from a woman's breast; and the white stream flows for ever, and the phantom children drink of it. Pilgrims bring with them gifts of small straw sandals--the zori that children wear--and leave them before the cavern, that the feet of the little ghosts may not be wounded by the sharp rocks. And the pilgrim treads with caution, lest he should overturn any of the many heaps of stones; for if this be done the children cry. Sec. 16 The city proper is as level as a table, but is bounded on two sides by low demilunes of charming hills shadowed with evergreen foliage and crowned with temples or shrines. There are thirty-five thousand souls dwelling in ten thousand houses forming thirty-three principal and many smaller streets; and from each end of almost every street, beyond the hills, the lake, or the eastern rice-fields, a mountain summit is always visible--green, blue, or grey according to distance. One may ride, walk, or go by boat to any quarter of the town; for it is not only divided by two rivers, but is also intersected by numbers of canals crossed by queer little bridges curved like a well-bent bow. Architecturally (despite such constructions in European style as the College of Teachers, the great public school, the Kencho, the new post-office), it is much like other quaint Japanese towns; the structure of its temples, taverns, shops, and private dwellings is the same as in other cities of the western coast. But doubtless owing to the fact that Matsue remained a feudal stronghold until a time within the memory of thousands still living, those feudal distinctions of caste so sharply drawn in ancient times are yet indicated with singular exactness by the varying architecture of different districts. The city can be definitely divided into three architectural quarters: the district of the merchants and shop-keepers, forming the heart of the settlement, where all the houses are two stories high; the district of the temples, including nearly the whole south-eastern part of the town; and the district or districts of the shizoku (formerly called samurai), comprising a vast number of large, roomy, garden-girt, one-story dwellings. From these elegant homes, in feudal days, could be summoned at a moment's notice five thousand 'two-sworded men' with their armed retainers, making a fighting total for the city alone of probably not less than thirteen thousand warriors. More than one-third of all the city buildings were then samurai homes; for Matsue was the military centre of the most ancient province of Japan. At both ends of the town, which curves in a crescent along the lake shore, were the two main settlements of samurai; but just as some of the most important temples are situated outside of the temple district, so were many of the finest homesteads of this knightly caste situated in other quarters. They mustered most thickly, however, about the castle, which stands to-day on the summit of its citadel hill--the Oshiroyama--solid as when first built long centuries ago, a vast and sinister shape, all iron-grey, rising against the sky from a cyclopean foundation of stone. Fantastically grim the thing is, and grotesquely complex in detail; looking somewhat like a huge pagoda, of which the second, third, and fourth stories have been squeezed down and telescoped into one another by their own weight. Crested at its summit, like a feudal helmet, with two colossal fishes of bronze lifting their curved bodies skyward from either angle of the roof, and bristling with horned gables and gargoyled eaves and tilted puzzles of tiled roofing at every story, the creation is a veritable architectural dragon, made up of magnificent monstrosities--a dragon, moreover, full of eyes set at all conceivable angles, above below, and on every side. From under the black scowl of the loftiest eaves, looking east and south, the whole city can be seen at a single glance, as in the vision of a soaring hawk; and from the northern angle the view plunges down three hundred feet to the castle road, where walking figures of men appear no larger than flies. Sec. 17 The grim castle has its legend. It is related that, in accordance with some primitive and barbarous custom, precisely like that of which so terrible a souvenir has been preserved for us in the most pathetic of Servian ballads, 'The Foundation of Skadra,' a maiden of Matsue was interred alive under the walls of the castle at the time of its erection, as a sacrifice to some forgotten gods. Her name has never been recorded; nothing concerning her is remembered except that she was beautiful and very fond of dancing. Now after the castle had been built, it is said that a law had to be passed forbidding that any girl should dance in the streets of Matsue. For whenever any maiden danced the hill Oshiroyama would shudder, and the great castle quiver from basement to summit. Sec. 18 One may still sometimes hear in the streets a very humorous song, which every one in town formerly knew by heart, celebrating the Seven Wonders of Matsue. For Matsue was formerly divided into seven quarters, in each of which some extraordinary object or person was to be seen. It is now divided into five religious districts, each containing a temple of the State religion. People living within those districts are called ujiko, and the temple the ujigami, or dwelling-place of the tutelary god. The ujiko must support the ujigami. (Every village and town has at least one ujigami.) There is probably not one of the multitudinous temples of Matsue which has not some marvellous tradition attached to it; each of the districts has many legends; and I think that each of the thirty-three streets has its own special ghost story. Of these ghost stories I cite two specimens: they are quite representative of one variety of Japanese folk-lore. Near to the Fu-mon-in temple, which is in the north-eastern quarter, there is a bridge called Adzuki-togi-bashi, or The Bridge of the Washing of Peas. For it was said in other years that nightly a phantom woman sat beneath that bridge washing phantom peas. There is an exquisite Japanese iris-flower, of rainbow-violet colour, which flower is named kaki-tsubata; and there is a song about that flower called kaki-tsubata-no-uta. Now this song must never be sung near the Adzuki-togi-bashi, because, for some strange reason which seems to have been forgotten, the ghosts haunting that place become so angry upon hearing it that to sing it there is to expose one's self to the most frightful calamities. There was once a samurai who feared nothing, who one night went to that bridge and loudly sang the song. No ghost appearing, he laughed and went home. At the gate of his house he met a beautiful tall woman whom he had never seen before, and who, bowing, presented him with a lacquered box-fumi-bako--such as women keep their letters in. He bowed to her in his knightly way; but she said, 'I am only the servant--this is my mistress's gift,' and vanished out of his sight. Opening the box, he saw the bleeding head of a young child. Entering his house, he found upon the floor of the guest-room the dead body of his own infant son with the head torn off. Of the cemetery Dai-Oji, which is in the street called Nakabaramachi, this story is told. In Nakabaramachi there is an ameya, or little shop in which midzu-ame is sold--the amber-tinted syrup, made of malt, which is given to children when milk cannot be obtained for them. Every night at a late hour there came to that shop a very pale woman, all in white, to buy one rin [8] worth of midzu-ame. The ame-seller wondered that she was so thin and pale, and often questioned her kindly; but she answered nothing. At last one night he followed her, out of curiosity. She went to the cemetery; and he became afraid and returned. The next night the woman came again, but bought no midzu-ame, and only beckoned to the man to go with her. He followed her, with friends, into the cemetery. She walked to a certain tomb, and there disappeared; and they heard, under the ground, the crying of a child. Opening the tomb, they saw within it the corpse of the woman who nightly visited the ameya, with a living infant, laughing to see the lantern light, and beside the infant a little cup of midzu-ame. For the mother had been prematurely buried; the child was born in the tomb, and the ghost of the mother had thus provided for it--love being stronger than death. Sec. 19 Over the Tenjin-bashi, or Bridge of Tenjin, and through small streets and narrow of densely populated districts, and past many a tenantless and mouldering feudal homestead, I make my way to the extreme south-western end of the city, to watch the sunset from a little sobaya [9] facing the lake. For to see the sun sink from this sobaya is one of the delights of Matsue. There are no such sunsets in Japan as in the tropics: the light is gentle as a light of dreams; there are no furies of colour; there are no chromatic violences in nature in this Orient. All in sea or sky is tint rather than colour, and tint vapour-toned. I think that the exquisite taste of the race in the matter of colours and of tints, as exemplified in the dyes of their wonderful textures, is largely attributable to the sober and delicate beauty of nature's tones in this all-temperate world where nothing is garish. Before me the fair vast lake sleeps, softly luminous, far-ringed with chains of blue volcanic hills shaped like a sierra. On my right, at its eastern end, the most ancient quarter of the city spreads its roofs of blue-grey tile; the houses crowd thickly down to the shore, to dip their wooden feet into the flood. With a glass I can see my own windows and the far-spreading of the roofs beyond, and above all else the green citadel with its grim castle, grotesquely peaked. The sun begins to set, and exquisite astonishments of tinting appear in water and sky. Dead rich purples cloud broadly behind and above the indigo blackness of the serrated hills--mist purples, fading upward smokily into faint vermilions and dim gold, which again melt up through ghostliest greens into the blue. The deeper waters of the lake, far away, take a tender violet indescribable, and the silhouette of the pine-shadowed island seems to float in that sea of soft sweet colour. But the shallower and nearer is cut from the deeper water by the current as sharply as by a line drawn, and all the surface on this side of that line is a shimmering bronze--old rich ruddy gold-bronze. All the fainter colours change every five minutes,--wondrously change and shift like tones and shades of fine shot-silks. Sec. 20 Often in the streets at night, especially on the nights of sacred festivals (matsuri), one's attention will be attracted to some small booth by the spectacle of an admiring and perfectly silent crowd pressing before it. As soon as one can get a chance to look one finds there is nothing to look at but a few vases containing sprays of flowers, or perhaps some light gracious branches freshly cut from a blossoming tree. It is simply a little flower-show, or, more correctly, a free exhibition of master skill in the arrangement of flowers. For the Japanese do not brutally chop off flower-heads to work them up into meaningless masses of colour, as we barbarians do: they love nature too well for that; they know how much the natural charm of the flower depends upon its setting and mounting, its relation to leaf and stem, and they select a single graceful branch or spray just as nature made it. At first you will not, as a Western stranger, comprehend such an exhibition at all: you are yet a savage in such matters compared with the commonest coolies about you. But even while you are still wondering at popular interest in this simple little show, the charm of it will begin to grow upon you, will become a revelation to you; and, despite your Occidental idea of self-superiority, you will feel humbled by the discovery that all flower displays you have ever seen abroad were only monstrosities in comparison with the natural beauty of those few simple sprays. You will also observe how much the white or pale blue screen behind the flowers enhances the effect by lamp or lantern light. For the screen has been arranged with the special purpose of showing the exquisiteness of plant shadows; and the sharp silhouettes of sprays and blossoms cast thereon are beautiful beyond the imagining of any Western decorative artist. Sec. 21 It is still the season of mists in this land whose most ancient name signifies the Place of the Issuing of Clouds. With the passing of twilight a faint ghostly brume rises over lake and landscape, spectrally veiling surfaces, slowly obliterating distances. As I lean over the parapet of the Tenjin-bashi, on my homeward way, to take one last look eastward, I find that the mountains have already been effaced. Before me there is only a shadowy flood far vanishing into vagueness without a horizon--the phantom of a sea. And I become suddenly aware that little white things are fluttering slowly down into it from the fingers of a woman standing upon the bridge beside me, and murmuring something in a low sweet voice. She is praying for her dead child. Each of those little papers she is dropping into the current bears a tiny picture of Jizo and perhaps a little inscription. For when a child dies the mother buys a small woodcut (hanko) of Jizo, and with it prints the image of the divinity upon one hundred little papers. And she sometimes also writes upon the papers words signifying 'For the sake of...'--inscribing never the living, but the kaimyo or soul-name only, which the Buddhist priest has given to the dead, and which is written also upon the little commemorative tablet kept within the Buddhist household shrine, or butsuma. Then, upon a fixed day (most commonly the forty-ninth day after the burial), she goes to some place of running water and drops the little papers therein one by one; repeating, as each slips through her fingers, the holy invocation, 'Namu Jizo, Dai Bosatsu!' Doubtless this pious little woman, praying beside me in the dusk, is very poor. Were she not, she would hire a boat and scatter her tiny papers far away upon the bosom of the lake. (It is now only after dark that this may be done; for the police--I know not why--have been instructed to prevent the pretty rite, just as in the open ports they have been instructed to prohibit the launching of the little straw boats of the dead, the shoryobune.) But why should the papers be cast into running water? A good old Tendai priest tells me that originally the rite was only for the souls of the drowned. But now these gentle hearts believe that all waters flow downward to the Shadow-world and through the Sai-no-Kawara, where Jizo is. Sec. 22 At home again, I slide open once more my little paper window, and look out upon the night. I see the paper lanterns flitting over the bridge, like a long shimmering of fireflies. I see the spectres of a hundred lights trembling upon the black flood. I see the broad shoji of dwellings beyond the river suffused with the soft yellow radiance of invisible lamps; and upon those lighted spaces I can discern slender moving shadows, silhouettes of graceful women. Devoutly do I pray that glass may never become universally adopted in Japan--there would be no more delicious shadows. I listen to the voices of the city awhile. I hear the great bell of Tokoji rolling its soft Buddhist thunder across the dark, and the songs of the night-walkers whose hearts have been made merry with wine, and the long sonorous chanting of the night-peddlers. 'U-mu-don-yai-soba-yai!' It is the seller of hot soba, Japanese buckwheat, making his last round. 'Umai handan, machibito endan, usemono ninso kaso kichikyo no urainai!' The cry of the itinerant fortune-teller. 'Ame-yu!' The musical cry of the seller of midzu-ame, the sweet amber syrup which children love. 'Amail' The shrilling call of the seller of amazake, sweet rice wine. 'Kawachi-no-kuni-hiotan-yama-koi-no-tsuji-ura!' The peddler of love-papers, of divining-papers, pretty tinted things with little shadowy pictures upon them. When held near a fire or a lamp, words written upon them with invisible ink begin to appear. These are always about sweethearts, and sometimes tell one what he does not wish to know. The fortunate ones who read them believe themselves still more fortunate; the unlucky abandon all hope; the jealous become even more jealous than they were before. From all over the city there rises into the night a sound like the bubbling and booming of great frogs in a march--the echoing of the tiny drums of the dancing-girls, of the charming geisha. Like the rolling of a waterfall continually reverberates the multitudinous pattering of geta upon the bridge. A new light rises in the east; the moon is wheeling up from behind the peaks, very large and weird and wan through the white vapours. Again I hear the sounds of the clapping of many hands. For the wayfarers are paying obeisance to O-Tsuki-San: from the long bridge they are saluting the coming of the White Moon-Lady.[10] I sleep, to dream of little children, in some mouldering mossy temple court, playing at the game of Shadows and of Demons. Chapter Eight Kitzuki: The Most Ancient Shrine of Japan SHINKOKU is the sacred name of Japan--Shinkoku, 'The Country of the Gods'; and of all Shinkoku the most holy ground is the land of Izumo. Hither from the blue Plain of High Heaven first came to dwell awhile the Earth-makers, Izanagi and Izanami, the parents of gods and of men; somewhere upon the border of this land was Izanami buried; and out of this land into the black realm of the dead did Izanagi follow after her, and seek in vain to bring her back again. And the tale of his descent into that strange nether world, and of what there befell him, is it not written in the Kojiki? [1] And of all legends primeval concerning the Underworld this story is one of the weirdest--more weird than even the Assyrian legend of the Descent of Ishtar. Even as Izumo is especially the province of the gods, and the place of the childhood of the race by whom Izanagi and Izanami are yet worshiped, so is Kitzuki of Izumo especially the city of the gods, and its immemorial temple the earliest home of the ancient faith, the great religion of Shinto. Now to visit Kitzuki has been my most earnest ambition since I learned the legends of the Kojiki concerning it; and this ambition has been stimulated by the discovery that very few Europeans have visited Kitzuki, and that none have been admitted into the great temple itself. Some, indeed, were not allowed even to approach the temple court. But I trust that I shall be somewhat more fortunate; for I have a letter of introduction from my dear friend Nishida Sentaro, who is also a personal friend of the high pontiff of Kitzuki. I am thus assured that even should I not be permitted to enter the temple--a privilege accorded to but few among the Japanese themselves--I shall at least have the honour of an interview with the Guji, or Spiritual Governor of Kitzuki, Senke Takanori, whose princely family trace back their descent to the Goddess of the Sun. [2] Sec. 1 I leave Matsue for Kitzuki early in the afternoon of a beautiful September day; taking passage upon a tiny steamer in which everything, from engines to awnings, is Lilliputian. In the cabin one must kneel. Under the awnings one cannot possibly stand upright. But the miniature craft is neat and pretty as a toy model, and moves with surprising swiftness and steadiness. A handsome naked boy is busy serving the passengers with cups of tea and with cakes, and setting little charcoal furnaces before those who desire to smoke: for all of which a payment of about three-quarters of a cent is expected. I escape from the awnings to climb upon the cabin roof for a view; and the view is indescribably lovely. Over the lucent level of the lake we are steaming toward a far-away heaping of beautiful shapes, coloured with that strangely delicate blue which tints all distances in the Japanese atmosphere--shapes of peaks and headlands looming up from the lake verge against a porcelain-white horizon. They show no details, whatever. Silhouettes only they are--masses of absolutely pure colour. To left and right, framing in the Shinjiko, are superb green surgings of wooded hills. Great Yakuno-San is the loftiest mountain before us, north-west. South-east, behind us, the city has vanished; but proudly towering beyond looms Daisen--enormous, ghostly blue and ghostly white, lifting the cusps of its dead crater into the region of eternal snow. Over all arches a sky of colour faint as a dream. There seems to be a sense of divine magic in the very atmosphere, through all the luminous day, brooding over the vapoury land, over the ghostly blue of the flood--a sense of Shinto. With my fancy full of the legends of the Kojiki, the rhythmic chant of the engines comes to my ears as the rhythm of a Shinto ritual mingled with the names of gods: Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami, Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami. Sec. 2 The great range on the right grows loftier as we steam on; and its hills, always slowly advancing toward us, begin to reveal all the rich details of their foliage. And lo! on the tip of one grand wood-clad peak is visible against the pure sky the many-angled roof of a great Buddhist temple. That is the temple of Ichibata, upon the mountain Ichibata-yama, the temple of Yakushi-Nyorai, the Physician of Souls. But at Ichibata he reveals himself more specially as the healer of bodies, the Buddha who giveth sight unto the blind. It is believed that whosoever has an affection of the eyes will be made well by praying earnestly at that great shrine; and thither from many distant provinces do afflicted thousands make pilgrimage, ascending the long weary mountain path and the six hundred and forty steps of stone leading to the windy temple court upon the summit, whence may be seen one of the loveliest landscapes in Japan. There the pilgrims wash their eyes with the water of the sacred spring, and kneel before the shrine and murmur the holy formula of Ichibata: 'On-koro-koro-sendai-matoki-sowaka'--words of which the meaning has long been forgotten, like that of many a Buddhist invocation; Sanscrit words transliterated into Chinese, and thence into Japanese, which are understood by learned priests alone, yet are known by heart throughout the land, and uttered with the utmost fervour of devotion. I descend from the cabin roof, and squat upon the deck, under the awnings, to have a smoke with Akira. And I ask: 'How many Buddhas are there, O Akira? Is the number of the Enlightened known?' 'Countless the Buddhas are,' makes answer Akira; 'yet there is truly but one Buddha; the many are forms only. Each of us contains a future Buddha. Alike we all are except in that we are more or less unconscious of the truth. But the vulgar may not understand these things, and so seek refuge in symbols and in forms.' 'And the Kami,--the deities of Shinto?' 'Of Shinto I know little. But there are eight hundred myriads of Kami in the Plain of High Heaven--so says the Ancient Book. Of these, three thousand one hundred and thirty and two dwell in the various provinces of the land; being enshrined in two thousand eight hundred and sixty-one temples. And the tenth month of our year is called the "No-God-month," because in that month all the deities leave their temples to assemble in the province of Izumo, at the great temple of Kitzuki; and for the same reason that month is called in Izumo, and only in Izumo, the "God-is-month." But educated persons sometimes call it the "God-present-festival," using Chinese words. Then it is believed the serpents come from the sea to the land, and coil upon the sambo, which is the table of the gods, for the serpents announce the coming; and the Dragon-King sends messengers to the temples of Izanagi and Izanami, the parents of gods and men.' 'O Akira, many millions of Kami there must be of whom I shall always remain ignorant, for there is a limit to the power of memory; but tell me something of the gods whose names are most seldom uttered, the deities of strange places and of strange things, the most extraordinary gods.' 'You cannot learn much about them from me,' replies Akira. 'You will have to ask others more learned than I. But there are gods with whom it is not desirable to become acquainted. Such are the God of Poverty, and the God of Hunger, and the God of Penuriousness, and the God of Hindrances and Obstacles. These are of dark colour, like the clouds of gloomy days, and their faces are like the faces of gaki.' [3] 'With the God of Hindrances and Obstacles, O Akira I have had more than a passing acquaintance. Tell me of the others.' 'I know little about any of them,' answers Akira, 'excepting Bimbogami. It is said there are two gods who always go together,--Fuku-no-Kami, who is the God of Luck, and Bimbogami, who is the God of Poverty. The first is white, and the second is black.' 'Because the last,' I venture to interrupt, 'is only the shadow of the first. Fuku-no-Kami is the Shadow-caster, and Bimbogami the Shadow; and I have observed, in wandering about this world, that wherever the one goeth, eternally followeth after him the other.' Akira refuses his assent to this interpretation, and resumes: 'When Bimbogami once begins to follow anyone it is extremely difficult to be free from him again. In the village of Umitsu, which is in the province of Omi, and not far from Kyoto, there once lived a Buddhist priest who during many years was grievously tormented by Bimbogami. He tried oftentimes without avail to drive him away; then he strove to deceive him by proclaiming aloud to all the people that he was going to Kyoto. But instead of going to Kyoto he went to Tsuruga, in the province of Echizen; and when he reached the inn at Tsuruga there came forth to meet him a boy lean and wan like a gaki. The boy said to him, "I have been waiting for you"--and the boy was Bimbogami. 'There was another priest who for sixty years had tried in vain to get rid of Bimbogami, and who resolved at last to go to a distant province. On the night after he had formed this resolve he had a strange dream, in which he saw a very much emaciated boy, naked and dirty, weaving sandals of straw (waraji), such as pilgrims and runners wear; and he made so many that the priest wondered, and asked him, "For what purpose are you making so many sandals?" And the boy answered, "I am going to travel with you. I am Bimbogami."' 'Then is there no way, Akira, by which Bimbogami may be driven away?' 'It is written,' replies Akira, 'in the book called Jizo-Kyo-Kosui that the aged Enjobo, a priest dwelling in the province of Owari, was able to get rid of Bimbogami by means of a charm. On the last day of the last month of the year he and his disciples and other priests of the Shingon sect took branches of peach-trees and recited a formula, and then, with the branches, imitated the action of driving a person out of the temple, after which they shut all the gates and recited other formulas. The same night Enjobo dreamed of a skeleton priest in a broken temple weeping alone, and the skeleton priest said to him, "After I had been with you for so many years, how could you drive me away?" But always thereafter until the day of his death, Enjobo lived in prosperity.' Sec. 3 For an hour and a half the ranges to left and right alternately recede and approach. Beautiful blue shapes glide toward us, change to green, and then, slowly drifting behind us, are all blue again. But the far mountains immediately before us--immovable, unchanging--always remain ghosts. Suddenly the little steamer turns straight into the land--a land so low that it came into sight quite unexpectedly--and we puff up a narrow stream between rice-fields to a queer, quaint, pretty village on the canal bank--Shobara. Here I must hire jinricksha to take us to Kitzuki. There is not time to see much of Shobara if I hope to reach Kitzuki before bedtime, and I have only a flying vision of one long wide street (so picturesque that I wish I could pass a day in it), as our kuruma rush through the little town into the open country, into a vast plain covered with rice-fields. The road itself is only a broad dike, barely wide enough for two jinricksha to pass each other upon it. On each side the superb plain is bounded by a mountain range shutting off the white horizon. There is a vast silence, an immense sense of dreamy peace, and a glorious soft vapoury light over everything, as we roll into the country of Hyasugi to Kaminawoe. The jagged range on the left is Shusai-yama, all sharply green, with the giant Daikoku-yama overtopping all; and its peaks bear the names of gods. Much more remote, upon our right, enormous, pansy-purple, tower the shapes of the Kita-yama, or northern range; filing away in tremendous procession toward the sunset, fading more and more as they stretch west, to vanish suddenly at last, after the ghostliest conceivable manner, into the uttermost day. All this is beautiful; yet there is no change while hours pass. Always the way winds on through miles of rice-fields, white-speckled with paper-winged shafts which are arrows of prayer. Always the voice of frogs--a sound as of infinite bubbling. Always the green range on the left, the purple on the right, fading westward into a tall file of tinted spectres which always melt into nothing at last, as if they were made of air. The monotony of the scene is broken only by our occasional passing through some pretty Japanese village, or by the appearance of a curious statue or monument at an angle of the path, a roadside Jizo, or the grave of a wrestler, such as may be seen on the bank of the Hiagawa, a huge slab of granite sculptured with the words, 'Ikumo Matsu kikusuki.' But after reaching Kandogori, and passing over a broad but shallow river, a fresh detail appears in the landscape. Above the mountain chain on our left looms a colossal blue silhouette, almost saddle-shaped, recognisable by its outline as a once mighty volcano. It is now known by various names, but it was called in ancient times Sa-hime-yama; and it has its Shinto legend. It is said that in the beginning the God of Izumo, gazing over the land, said, 'This new land of Izumo is a land of but small extent, so I will make it a larger land by adding unto it.' Having so said, he looked about him over to Korea, and there he saw land which was good for the purpose. With a great rope he dragged therefrom four islands, and added the land of them to Izumo. The first island was called Ya-o-yo-ne, and it formed the land where Kitzuki now is. The second island was called Sada-no-kuni, and is at this day the site of the holy temple where all the gods do yearly hold their second assembly, after having first gathered together at Kitzuki. The third island was called in its new place Kurami-no-kuni, which now forms Shimane-gori. The fourth island became that place where stands the temple of the great god at whose shrine are delivered unto the faithful the charms which protect the rice-fields. [4] Now in drawing these islands across the sea into their several places the god looped his rope over the mighty mountain of Daisen and over the mountain Sa-hime-yama; and they both bear the marks of that wondrous rope even unto this day. As for the rope itself, part of it was changed into the long island of ancient times [5] called Yomi-ga-hama, and a part into the Long Beach of Sono. After we pass the Hori-kawa the road narrows and becomes rougher and rougher, but always draws nearer to the Kitayama range. Toward sundown we have come close enough to the great hills to discern the details of their foliage. The path begins to rise; we ascend slowly through the gathering dusk. At last there appears before us a great multitude of twinkling lights. We have reached Kitzuki, the holy city. Sec. 4 Over a long bridge and under a tall torii we roll into upward-sloping streets. Like Enoshima, Kitzuki has a torii for its city gate; but the torii is not of bronze. Then a flying vision of open lamp-lighted shop-fronts, and lines of luminous shoji under high-tilted eaves, and Buddhist gateways guarded by lions of stone, and long, low, tile-coped walls of temple courts overtopped by garden shrubbery, and Shinto shrines prefaced by other tall torii; but no sign of the great temple itself. It lies toward the rear of the city proper, at the foot of the wooded mountains; and we are too tired and hungry to visit it now. So we halt before a spacious and comfortable-seeming inn,--the best, indeed, in Kitzuki--and rest ourselves and eat, and drink sake out of exquisite little porcelain cups, the gift of some pretty singing-girl to the hotel. Thereafter, as it has become much too late to visit the Guji, I send to his residence by a messenger my letter of introduction, with an humble request in Akira's handwriting, that I may be allowed to present myself at the house before noon the next day. Then the landlord of the hotel, who seems to be a very kindly person, comes to us with lighted paper lanterns, and invites us to accompany him to the Oho-yashiro. Most of the houses have already closed their wooden sliding doors for the night, so that the streets are dark, and the lanterns of our landlord indispensable; for there is no moon, and the night is starless. We walk along the main street for a distance of about six squares, and then, making a turn, find ourselves before a superb bronze torii, the gateway to the great temple avenue. Sec. 5 Effacing colours and obliterating distances, night always magnifies by suggestion the aspect of large spaces and the effect of large objects. Viewed by the vague light of paper lanterns, the approach to the great shrine is an imposing surprise--such a surprise that I feel regret at the mere thought of having to see it to-morrow by disenchanting day: a superb avenue lined with colossal trees, and ranging away out of sight under a succession of giant torii, from which are suspended enormous shimenawa, well worthy the grasp of that Heavenly-Hand-Strength Deity whose symbols they are. But, more than by the torii and their festooned symbols, the dim majesty of the huge avenue is enhanced by the prodigious trees--many perhaps thousands of years old--gnarled pines whose shaggy summits are lost in darkness. Some of the mighty trunks are surrounded with a rope of straw: these trees are sacred. The vast roots, far-reaching in every direction, look in the lantern-light like a writhing and crawling of dragons. The avenue is certainly not less than a quarter of a mile in length; it crosses two bridges and passes between two sacred groves. All the broad lands on either side of it belong to the temple. Formerly no foreigner was permitted to pass beyond the middle torii The avenue terminates at a lofty wall pierced by a gateway resembling the gateways of Buddhist temple courts, but very massive. This is the entrance to the outer court; the ponderous doors are still open, and many shadowy figures are passing in or out. Within the court all is darkness, against which pale yellow lights are gliding to and fro like a multitude of enormous fireflies--the lanterns of pilgrims. I can distinguish only the looming of immense buildings to left and right, constructed with colossal timbers. Our guide traverses a very large court, passes into a second, and halts before an imposing structure whose doors are still open. Above them, by the lantern glow, I can see a marvellous frieze of dragons and water, carved in some rich wood by the hand of a master. Within I can see the symbols of Shinto, in a side shrine on the left; and directly before us the lanterns reveal a surface of matted floor vaster than anything I had expected to find. Therefrom I can divine the scale of the edifice which I suppose to be the temple. But the landlord tells us this is not the temple, but only the Haiden or Hall of Prayer, before which the people make their orisons, By day, through the open doors, the temple can be seen But we cannot see it to-night, and but few visitors are permitted to go in. 'The people do not enter even the court of the great shrine, for the most part,' interprets Akira; 'they pray before it at a distance. Listen!' All about me in the shadow I hear a sound like the plashing and dashing of water--the clapping of many hands in Shinto prayer. 'But this is nothing,' says the landlord; 'there are but few here now. Wait until to-morrow, which is a festival day.' As we wend our way back along the great avenue, under the torii and the giant trees, Akira interprets for me what our landlord tells him about the sacred serpent. 'The little serpent,' he says, 'is called by the people the august Dragon-Serpent; for it is sent by the Dragon-King to announce the coming of the gods. The sea darkens and rises and roars before the coming of Ryu-ja-Sama. Ryu-ja. Sama we call it because it is the messenger of Ryugu-jo, the palace of the dragons; but it is also called Hakuja, or the 'White Serpent.' [6] 'Does the little serpent come to the temple of its own accord?' 'Oh, no. It is caught by the fishermen. And only one can be caught in a year, because only one is sent; and whoever catches it and brings it either to the Kitzuki-no-oho-yashiro, or to the temple Sadajinja, where the gods hold their second assembly during the Kami-ari-zuki, receives one hyo [7] of rice in recompense. It costs much labour and time to catch a serpent; but whoever captures one is sure to become rich in after time.' [8] 'There are many deities enshrined at Kitzuki, are there not?' I ask. 'Yes; but the great deity of Kitzuki is Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami, [9] whom the people more commonly call Daikoku. Here also is worshipped his son, whom many call Ebisu. These deities are usually pictured together: Daikoku seated upon bales of rice, holding the Red Sun against his breast with one hand, and in the other grasping the magical mallet of which a single stroke gives wealth; and Ebisu bearing a fishing-rod, and holding under his arm a great tai-fish. These gods are always represented with smiling faces; and both have great ears, which are the sign of wealth and fortune.' Sec. 6 A little wearied by the day's journeying, I get to bed early, and sleep as dreamlessly as a plant until I am awakened about daylight by a heavy, regular, bumping sound, shaking the wooden pillow on which my ear rests--the sound of the katsu of the kometsuki beginning his eternal labour of rice-cleaning. Then the pretty musume of the inn opens the chamber to the fresh mountain air and the early sun, rolls back all the wooden shutters into their casings behind the gallery, takes down the brown mosquito net, brings a hibachi with freshly kindled charcoal for my morning smoke, and trips away to get our breakfast. Early as it is when she returns, she brings word that a messenger has already arrived from the Guji, Senke Takanori, high descendant of the Goddess of the Sun. The messenger is a dignified young Shinto priest, clad in the ordinary Japanese full costume, but wearing also a superb pair of blue silken hakama, or Japanese ceremonial trousers, widening picturesquely towards the feet. He accepts my invitation to a cup of tea, and informs me that his august master is waiting for us at the temple. This is delightful news, but we cannot go at once. Akira's attire is pronounced by the messenger to be defective. Akira must don fresh white tabi and put on hakama before going into the august presence: no one may enter thereinto without hakama. Happily Akira is able to borrow a pair of hakama from the landlord; and, after having arranged ourselves as neatly as we can, we take our way to the temple, guided by the messenger. Sec. 7 I am agreeably surprised to find, as we pass again under a magnificent bronze torii which I admired the night before, that the approaches to the temple lose very little of their imposing character when seen for the first time by sunlight. The majesty of the trees remains astonishing; the vista of the avenue is grand; and the vast spaces of groves and grounds to right and left are even more impressive than I had imagined. Multitudes of pilgrims are going and coming; but the whole population of a province might move along such an avenue without jostling. Before the gate of the first court a Shinto priest in full sacerdotal costume waits to receive us: an elderly man, with a pleasant kindly face. The messenger commits us to his charge, and vanishes through the gateway, while the elderly priest, whose name is Sasa, leads the way. Already I can hear a heavy sound, as of surf, within the temple court; and as we advance the sound becomes sharper and recognisable--a volleying of handclaps. And passing the great gate, I see thousands of pilgrims before the Haiden, the same huge structure which I visited last night. None enter there: all stand before the dragon-swarming doorway, and cast their offerings into the money-chest placed before the threshold; many making contribution of small coin, the very poorest throwing only a handful of rice into the box. [10] Then they clap their hands and bow their heads before the threshold, and reverently gaze through the Hall of Prayer at the loftier edifice, the Holy of Holies, beyond it. Each pilgrim remains but a little while, and claps his hands but four times; yet so many are coming and going that the sound of the clapping is like the sound of a cataract. Passing by the multitude of worshippers to the other side of the Haiden, we find ourselves at the foot of a broad flight of iron-bound steps leading to the great sanctuary--steps which I am told no European before me was ever permitted to approach. On the lower steps the priests of the temple, in full ceremonial costume, are waiting to receive us. Tall men they are, robed in violet and purple silks shot through with dragon-patterns in gold. Their lofty fantastic head-dresses, their voluminous and beautiful costume, and the solemn immobility of their hierophantic attitudes make them at first sight seem marvellous statues only. Somehow or other there comes suddenly back to me the memory of a strange French print I used to wonder at when a child, representing a group of Assyrian astrologers. Only their eyes move as we approach. But as I reach the steps all simultaneously salute me with a most gracious bow, for I am the first foreign pilgrim to be honoured by the privilege of an interview in the holy shrine itself with the princely hierophant, their master, descendant of the Goddess of the Sun--he who is still called by myriads of humble worshippers in the remoter districts of this ancient province Ikigami, 'the living deity.' Then all become absolutely statuesque again. I remove my shoes, and am about to ascend the steps, when the tall priest who first received us before the outer gate indicates, by a single significant gesture, that religion and ancient custom require me, before ascending to the shrine of the god, to perform the ceremonial ablution. I hold out my hands; the priest pours the pure water over them thrice from a ladle-shaped vessel of bamboo with a long handle, and then gives me a little blue towel to wipe them upon, a votive towel with mysterious white characters upon it. Then we all ascend; I feeling very much like a clumsy barbarian in my ungraceful foreign garb. Pausing at the head of the steps, the priest inquires my rank in society. For at Kitzuki hierarchy and hierarchical forms are maintained with a rigidity as precise as in the period of the gods; and there are special forms and regulations for the reception of visitors of every social grade. I do not know what flattering statements Akira may have made about me to the good priest; but the result is that I can rank only as a common person--which veracious fact doubtless saves me from some formalities which would have proved embarrassing, all ignorant as I still am of that finer and more complex etiquette in which the Japanese are the world's masters. Sec. 8 The priest leads the way into a vast and lofty apartment opening for its entire length upon the broad gallery to which the stairway ascends. I have barely time to notice, while following him, that the chamber contains three immense shrines, forming alcoves on two sides of it. Ofthese, two are veiled by white curtains reaching from ceiling to matting--curtains decorated with perpendicular rows of black disks about four inches in diameter, each disk having in its centre a golden blossom. But from before the third shrine, in the farther angle of the chamber, the curtains have been withdrawn; and these are of gold brocade, and the shrine before which they hang is the chief shrine, that of Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami. Within are visible only some of the ordinary emblems of Shinto, and the exterior of that Holy of Holies into which none may look. Before it a long low bench, covered with strange objects, has been placed, with one end toward the gallery and one toward the alcove. At the end of this bench, near the gallery, I see a majestic bearded figure, strangely coifed and robed all in white, seated upon the matted floor in hierophantic attitude. Our priestly guide motions us to take our places in front of him and to bow down before him. For this is Senke Takanori, the Guji of Kitzuki, to whom even in his own dwelling none may speak save on bended knee, descendant of the Goddess of the Sun, and still by multitudes revered in thought as a being superhuman. Prostrating myself before him, according to the customary code of Japanese politeness, I am saluted in return with that exquisite courtesy which puts a stranger immediately at ease. The priest who acted as our guide now sits down on the floor at the Guji's left hand; while the other priests, who followed us to the entrance of the sanctuary only, take their places upon the gallery without. Sec. 9 Senke Takanori is a youthful and powerful man. As he sits there before me in his immobile hieratic pose, with his strange lofty head-dress, his heavy curling beard, and his ample snowy sacerdotal robe broadly spreading about him in statuesque undulations, he realises for me all that I had imagined, from the suggestion of old Japanese pictures, about the personal majesty of the ancient princes and heroes. The dignity alone of the man would irresistibly compel respect; but with that feeling of respect there also flashes through me at once the thought of the profound reverence paid him by the population of the most ancient province of Japan, the idea of the immense spiritual power in his hands, the tradition of his divine descent, the sense of the immemorial nobility of his race--and my respect deepens into a feeling closely akin to awe. So motionless he is that he seems a sacred statue only--the temple image of one of his own deified ancestors. But the solemnity of the first few moments is agreeably broken by his first words, uttered in a low rich basso, while his dark, kindly eyes remain motionlessly fixed upon my face. Then my interpreter translates his greeting--large fine phrases of courtesy--to which I reply as I best know how, expressing my gratitude for the exceptional favour accorded me. 'You are, indeed,' he responds through Akira, 'the first European ever permitted to enter into the Oho-yashiro. Other Europeans have visited Kitzuki and a few have been allowed to enter the temple court; but you only have been admitted into the dwelling of the god. In past years, some strangers who desired to visit the temple out of common curiosity only were not allowed to approach even the court; but the letter of Mr. Nishida, explaining the object of your visit, has made it a pleasure for us to receive you thus.' Again I express my thanks; and after a second exchange of courtesies the conversation continues through the medium of Akira. 'Is not this great temple of Kitzuki,' I inquire, 'older than the temples of Ise?' 'Older by far,' replies the Guji; 'so old, indeed, that we do not well know the age of it. For it was first built by order of the Goddess of the Sun, in the time when deities alone existed. Then it was exceedingly magnificent; it was three hundred and twenty feet high. The beams and the pillars were larger than any existing timber could furnish; and the framework was bound together firmly with a rope made of taku [11] fibre, one thousand fathoms long. 'It was first rebuilt in the time of the Emperor Sui-nin. [12] The temple so rebuilt by order of the Emperor Sui-nin was called the Structure of the Iron Rings, because the pieces of the pillars, which were composed of the wood of many great trees, had been bound fast together with huge rings of iron. This temple was also splendid, but far less splendid than the first, which had been built by the gods, for its height was only one hundred and sixty feet. 'A third time the temple was rebuilt, in the reign of the Empress Sai-mei; but this third edifice was only eighty feet high. Since then the structure of the temple has never varied; and the plan then followed has been strictly preserved to the least detail in the construction of the present temple. 'The Oho-yashiro has been rebuilt twenty-eight times; and it has been the custom to rebuild it every sixty-one years. But in the long period of civil war it was not even repaired for more than a hundred years. In the fourth year of Tai-ei, one Amako Tsune Hisa, becoming Lord of Izumo, committed the great temple to the charge of a Buddhist priest, and even built pagodas about it, to the outrage of the holy traditions. But when the Amako family were succeeded by Moro Mototsugo, this latter purified the temple, and restored the ancient festivals and ceremonies which before had been neglected.' 'In the period when the temple was built upon a larger scale,' I ask, 'were the timbers for its construction obtained from the forests of Izumo?' The priest Sasa, who guided us into the shrine, makes answer: 'It is recorded that on the fourth day of the seventh month of the third year of Ten-in one hundred large trees came floating to the sea coast of Kitzuki, and were stranded there by the tide. With these timbers the temple was rebuilt in the third year of Ei-kyu; and that structure was called the Building-of-the-Trees-which-came-floating. Also in the same third year of Ten-in, a great tree-trunk, one hundred and fifty feet long, was stranded on the seashore near a shrine called Ube-no-yashiro, at Miyanoshita-mura, which is in Inaba. Some people wanted to cut the tree; but they found a great serpent coiled around it, which looked so terrible that they became frightened, and prayed to the deity of Ube-noyashiro to protect them; and the deity revealed himself, and said: "Whensoever the great temple in Izumo is to be rebuilt, one of the gods of each province sends timber for the building of it, and this time it is my turn. Build quickly, therefore, with that great tree which is mine." And therewith the god disappeared. From these and from other records we learn that the deities have always superintended or aided the building of the great temple of Kitzuki.' 'In what part of the Oho-yashiro,' I ask, 'do the august deities assemble during the Kami-ari-zuki?' 'On the east and west sides of the inner court,' replies the priest Sasa, 'there are two long buildings called the Jiu-kusha. These contain nineteen shrines, no one of which is dedicated to any particular god; and we believe it is in the Jiu-ku-sha that the gods assemble.' 'And how many pilgrims from other provinces visit the great shrine yearly?' I inquire. 'About two hundred and fifty thousand,' the Guji answers. 'But the number increases or diminishes according to the condition of the agricultural classes; the more prosperous the season, the larger the number of pilgrims. It rarely falls below two hundred thousand.' Sec. 10 Many other curious things the Guji and his chief priest then related to me; telling me the sacred name of each of the courts, and of the fences and holy groves and the multitudinous shrines and their divinities; even the names of the great pillars of the temple, which are nine in number, the central pillar being called the august Heart-Pillar of the Middle. All things within the temple grounds have sacred names, even the torii and the bridges. The priest Sasa called my attention to the fact that the great shrine of Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami faces west, though the great temple faces east, like all Shinto temples. In the other two shrines of the same apartment, both facing east, are the first divine Kokuzo of Izumo, his seventeenth descendant, and the father of Nominosukune, wise prince and famous wrestler. For in the reign of the Emperor Sui-nin one Kehaya of Taima had boasted that no man alive was equal to himself in strength. Nominosukune, by the emperor's command, wrestled with Kehaya, and threw him down so mightily that Kehaya's ghost departed from him. This was the beginning of wrestling in Japan; and wrestlers still pray unto Nominosukune for power and skill. There are so many other shrines that I could not enumerate the names of all their deities without wearying those readers unfamiliar with the traditions and legends of Shinto. But nearly all those divinities who appear in the legend of the Master of the Great Land are still believed to dwell here with him, and here their shrines are: the beautiful one, magically born from the jewel worn in the tresses of the Goddess of the Sun, and called by men the Torrent-Mist Princess--and the daughter of the Lord of the World of Shadows, she who loved the Master of the Great Land, and followed him out of the place of ghosts to become his wife--and the deity called 'Wondrous-Eight-Spirits,' grandson of the 'Deity of Water-Gates,' who first made a fire-drill and platters of red clay for the august banquet of the god at Kitzuki--and many of the heavenly kindred of these. Sec. 11 The priest Sasa also tells me this: When Naomasu, grandson of the great Iyeyasu, and first daimyo of that mighty Matsudaira family who ruled Izumo for two hundred and fifty years, came to this province, he paid a visit to the Temple of Kitzuki, and demanded that the miya of the shrine within the shrine should be opened that he might look upon the sacred objects--upon the shintai or body of the deity. And this being an impious desire, both of the Kokuzo [13] unitedly protested against it. But despite their remonstrances and their pleadings, he persisted angrily in his demand, so that the priests found themselves compelled to open the shrine. And the miya being opened, Naomasu saw within it a great awabi [14] of nine holes--so large that it concealed everything behind it. And when he drew still nearer to look, suddenly the awabi changed itself into a huge serpent more than fifty feet in length; [15]--and it massed its black coils before the opening of the shrine, and hissed like the sound of raging fire, and looked so terrible, that Naomasu and those with him fled away having been able to see naught else. And ever thereafter Naomasu feared and reverenced the god. Sec. 12 The Guji then calls my attention to the quaint relics lying upon the long low bench between us, which is covered with white silk: a metal mirror, found in preparing the foundation of the temple when rebuilt many hundred years ago; magatama jewels of onyx and jasper; a Chinese flute made of jade; a few superb swords, the gifts of shoguns and emperors; helmets of splendid antique workmanship; and a bundle of enormous arrows with double-pointed heads of brass, fork-shaped and keenly edged. After I have looked at these relics and learned something of their history, the Guji rises and says to me, 'Now we will show you the ancient fire-drill of Kitzuki, with which the sacred fire is kindled.' Descending the steps, we pass again before the Haiden, and enter a spacious edifice on one side of the court, of nearly equal size with the Hall of Prayer. Here I am agreeably surprised to find a long handsome mahogany table at one end of the main apartment into which we are ushered, and mahogany chairs placed all about it for the reception of guests. I am motioned to one chair, my interpreter to another; and the Guji and his priests take their seats also at the table. Then an attendant sets before me a handsome bronze stand about three feet long, on which rests an oblong something carefully wrapped in snow-white cloths. The Guji removes the wrappings; and I behold the most primitive form of fire-drill known to exist in the Orient. [16] It is simply a very thick piece of solid white plank, about two and a half feet long, with a line of holes drilled along its upper edge, so that the upper part of each hole breaks through the sides of the plank. The sticks which produce the fire, when fixed in the holes and rapidly rubbed between the palms of the hands, are made of a lighter kind of white wood; they are about two feet long, and as thick as a common lead pencil. While I am yet examining this curious simple utensil, the invention of which tradition ascribes to the gods, and modern science to the earliest childhood of the human race, a priest places upon the table a light, large wooden box, about three feet long, eighteen inches wide, and four inches high at the sides, but higher in the middle, as the top is arched like the shell of a tortoise. This object is made of the same hinoki wood as the drill; and two long slender sticks are laid beside it. I at first suppose it to be another fire-drill. But no human being could guess what it really is. It is called the koto-ita, and is one of the most primitive of musical instruments; the little sticks are used to strike it. At a sign from the Guji two priests place the box upon the floor, seat themselves on either side of it, and taking up the little sticks begin to strike the lid with them, alternately and slowly, at the same time uttering a most singular and monotonous chant. One intones only the sounds, 'Ang! ang!' and the other responds, 'Ong! ong!' The koto-ita gives out a sharp, dead, hollow sound as the sticks fall upon it in time to each utterance of 'Ang! ang!' 'Ong! ong!' [17] Sec. 13 These things I learn: Each year the temple receives a new fire-drill; but the fire-drill is never made in Kitzuki, but in Kumano, where the traditional regulations as to the manner of making it have been preserved from the time of the gods. For the first Kokuzo of Izumo, on becoming pontiff, received the fire-drill for the great temple from the hands of the deity who was the younger brother of the Sun-Goddess, and is now enshrined at Kumano. And from his time the fire-drills for the Oho-yashiro of Kitzuki have been made only at Kumano. Until very recent times the ceremony of delivering the new fire-drill to the Guji of Kitzuki always took place at the great temple of Oba, on the occasion of the festival called Unohimatauri. This ancient festival, which used to be held in the eleventh month, became obsolete after the Revolution everywhere except at Oba in Izumo, where Izanami-no-Kami, the mother of gods and men, is enshrined. Once a year, on this festival, the Kokuzo always went to Oba, taking with him a gift of double rice-cakes. At Oba he was met by a personage called the Kame-da-yu, who brought the fire-drill from Kumano and delivered it to the priests at Oba. According to tradition, the Kame-da-yu had to act a somewhat ludicrous role so that no Shinto priest ever cared to perform the part, and a man was hired for it. The duty of the Kame-da-yu was to find fault with the gift presented to the temple by the Kokuzo; and in this district of Japan there is still a proverbial saying about one who is prone to find fault without reason, 'He is like the Kame-da-yu.' The Kame-da-yu would inspect the rice-cakes and begin to criticise them. 'They are much smaller this year,' he would observe, 'than they were last year.' The priests would reply: 'Oh, you are honourably mistaken; they are in truth very much larger.' 'The colour is not so white this year as it was last year; and the rice-flour is not finely ground.' For all these imaginary faults of the mochi the priests would offer elaborate explanations or apologies. At the conclusion of the ceremony, the sakaki branches used in it were eagerly bid for, and sold at high prices, being believed to possess talismanic virtues. Sec. 14 It nearly always happened that there was a great storm either on the day the Kokuzo went to Oba, or upon the day he returned therefrom. The journey had to be made during what is in Izumo the most stormy season (December by the new calendar). But in popular belief these storms were in some tremendous way connected with the divine personality of the Kokuzo whose attributes would thus appear to present some curious analogy with those of the Dragon-God. Be that as it may, the great periodical storms of the season are still in this province called Kokuzo-are [18]; it is still the custom in Izumo to say merrily to the guest who arrives or departs in a time of tempest, 'Why, you are like the Kokuzo!' Sec. 15 The Guji waves his hand, and from the farther end of the huge apartment there comes a sudden burst of strange music--a sound of drums and bamboo flutes; and turning to look, I see the musicians, three men, seated upon the matting, and a young girl with them. At another sign from the Guji the girl rises. She is barefooted and robed in snowy white, a virgin priestess. But below the hem of the white robe I see the gleam of hakama of crimson silk. She advances to a little table in the middle of the apartment, upon which a queer instrument is lying, shaped somewhat like a branch with twigs bent downward, from each of which hangs a little bell. Taking this curious object in both hands, she begins a sacred dance, unlike anything I ever saw before. Her every movement is a poem, because she is very graceful; and yet her performance could scarcely be called a dance, as we understand the word; it is rather a light swift walk within a circle, during which she shakes the instrument at regular intervals, making all the little bells ring. Her face remains impassive as a beautiful mask, placid and sweet as the face of a dreaming Kwannon; and her white feet are pure of line as the feet of a marble nymph. Altogether, with her snowy raiment and white flesh and passionless face, she seems rather a beautiful living statue than a Japanese maiden. And all the while the weird flutes sob and shrill, and the muttering of the drums is like an incantation. What I have seen is called the Dance of the Miko, the Divineress. Sec. 16 Then we visit the other edifices belonging to the temple: the storehouse; the library; the hall of assembly, a massive structure two stories high, where may be seen the portraits of the Thirty-Six Great Poets, painted by Tosano Mitsu Oki more than a thousand years ago, and still in an excellent state of preservation. Here we are also shown a curious magazine, published monthly by the temple--a record of Shinto news, and a medium for the discussion of questions relating to the archaic texts. After we have seen all the curiosities of the temple, the Guji invites us to his private residence near the temple to show us other treasures--letters of Yoritomo, of Hideyoshi, of Iyeyasu; documents in the handwriting of the ancient emperors and the great shoguns, hundreds of which precious manuscripts he keeps in a cedar chest. In case of fire the immediate removal of this chest to a place of safety would be the first duty of the servants of the household. Within his own house the Guji, attired in ordinary Japanese full dress only, appears no less dignified as a private gentleman than he first seemed as pontiff in his voluminous snowy robe. But no host could be more kindly or more courteous or more generous. I am also much impressed by the fine appearance of his suite of young priests, now dressed, like himself, in the national costume; by the handsome, aquiline, aristocratic faces, totally different from those of ordinary Japanese--faces suggesting the soldier rather than the priest. One young man has a superb pair of thick black moustaches, which is something rarely to be seen in Japan. At parting our kind host presents me with the ofuda, or sacred charms given to pilgrimsh--two pretty images of the chief deities of Kitzuki--and a number of documents relating to the history of the temple and of its treasures. Sec. 17 Having taken our leave of the kind Guji and his suite, we are guided to Inasa-no-hama, a little sea-bay at the rear of the town, by the priest Sasa, and another kannushi. This priest Sasa is a skilled poet and a man of deep learning in Shinto history and the archaic texts of the sacred books. He relates to us many curious legends as we stroll along the shore. This shore, now a popular bathing resort--bordered with airy little inns and pretty tea-houses--is called Inasa because of a Shinto tradition that here the god Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami, the Master-of-the-Great-Land, was first asked to resign his dominion over the land of Izumo in favour of Masa-ka-a-katsu-kachi-hayabi-ame-no-oshi-ho-mimi-no-mikoto; the word Inasa signifying 'Will you consent or not?' [19] In the thirty-second section of the first volume of the Kojiki the legend is written: I cite a part thereof: 'The two deities (Tori-bune-no-Kami and Take-mika-dzuchi-no-wo-no-Kami), descending to the little shore of Inasa in the land of Izumo, drew their swords ten handbreadths long, and stuck them upside down on the crest of a wave, and seated themselves cross-legged upon the points of the swords, and asked the Deity Master-of-the-Great-Land, saying: "The Heaven-Shining-Great-August-Deity and the High-Integrating-Deity have charged us and sent us to ask, saying: 'We have deigned to charge our august child with thy dominion, as the land which he should govern. So how is thy heart?'" He replied, saying: "I am unable to say. My son Ya-he-koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami will be the one to tell you." . . . So they asked the Deity again, saying: "Thy son Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami has now spoken thus. Hast thou other sons who should speak?" He spoke again, saying: "There is my other son, Take-mi-na-gata-no-Kami."... While he was thus speaking the Deity Take-mi-na-gata-no-Kami came up [from the sea], bearing on the tips of his fingers a rock which it would take a thousand men to lift, and said, "I should like to have a trial of strength."' Here, close to the beach, stands a little miya called Inasa-no-kami-no-yashiro, or, the Temple of the God of Inasa; and therein Take-mika-dzu-chi-no-Kami, who conquered in the trial of strength, is enshrined. And near the shore the great rock which Take-mi-na-gata-no-Kami lifted upon the tips of his fingers, may be seen rising from the water. And it is called Chihiki-noiha. We invite the priests to dine with us at one of the little inns facing the breezy sea; and there we talk about many things, but particularly about Kitzuki and the Kokuzo. Sec. 18 Only a generation ago the religious power of the Kokuzo extended over the whole of the province of the gods; he was in fact as well as in name the Spiritual Governor of Izumo. His jurisdiction does not now extend beyond the limits of Kitzuki, and his correct title is no longer Kokuzo, but Guji. [20] Yet to the simple-hearted people of remoter districts he is still a divine or semi-divine being, and is mentioned by his ancient title, the inheritance of his race from the epoch of the gods. How profound a reverence was paid to him in former ages can scarcely be imagined by any who have not long lived among the country folk of Izumo. Outside of Japan perhaps no human being, except the Dalai Lama of Thibet, was so humbly venerated and so religiously beloved. Within Japan itself only the Son of Heaven, the 'Tenshi-Sama,' standing as mediator 'between his people and the Sun,' received like homage; but the worshipful reverence paid to the Mikado was paid to a dream rather than to a person, to a name rather than to a reality, for the Tenshi-Sama was ever invisible as a deity 'divinely retired,' and in popular belief no man could look upon his face and live. [21] Invisibility and mystery vastly enhanced the divine legend of the Mikado. But the Kokuzo, within his own province, though visible to the multitude and often journeying among the people, received almost equal devotion; so that his material power, though rarely, if ever, exercised, was scarcely less than that of the Daimyo of Izumo himself. It was indeed large enough to render him a person with whom the shogunate would have deemed it wise policy to remain upon good terms. An ancestor of the present Guji even defied the great Taiko Hideyoshi, refusing to obey his command to furnish troops with the haughty answer that he would receive no order from a man of common birth. [22] This defiance cost the family the loss of a large part of its estates by confiscation, but the real power of the Kokuzo remained unchanged until the period of the new civilisation. Out of many hundreds of stories of a similar nature, two little traditions may be cited as illustrations of the reverence in which the Kokuzo was formerly held. It is related that there was a man who, believing himself to have become rich by favour of the Daikoku of Kitzuki, desired to express his gratitude by a gift of robes to the Kokuzo. The Kokuzo courteously declined the proffer; but the pious worshipper persisted in his purpose, and ordered a tailor to make the robes. The tailor, having made them, demanded a price that almost took his patron's breath away. Being asked to give his reason for demanding such a price, he made answer: Having made robes for the Kokuzo, I cannot hereafter make garments for any other person. Therefore I must have money enough to support me for the rest of my life.' The second story dates back to about one hundred and seventy years ago. Among the samurai of the Matsue clan in the time of Nobukori, fifth daimyo of the Matsudaira family, there was one Sugihara Kitoji, who was stationed in some military capacity at Kitzuki. He was a great favourite with the Kokuzo, and used often to play at chess with him. During a game, one evening, this officer suddenly became as one paralysed, unable to move or speak. For a moment all was anxiety and confusion; but the Kokuzo said: 'I know the cause. My friend was smoking, and although smoking disagrees with me, I did not wish to spoil his pleasure by telling him so. But the Kami, seeing that I felt ill, became angry with him. Now I shall make him well.' Whereupon the Kokuzo uttered some magical word, and the officer was immediately as well as before. Sec. 19 Once more we are journeying through the silence of this holy land of mists and of legends; wending our way between green leagues of ripening rice white-sprinkled with arrows of prayer between the far processions of blue and verdant peaks whose names are the names of gods. We have left Kitzuki far behind. But as in a dream I still see the mighty avenue, the long succession of torii with their colossal shimenawa, the majestic face of the Guji, the kindly smile of the priest Sasa, and the girl priestess in her snowy robes dancing her beautiful ghostly dance. It seems to me that I can still hear the sound of the clapping of hands, like the crashing of a torrent. I cannot suppress some slight exultation at the thought that I have been allowed to see what no other foreigner has been privileged to see--the interior of Japan's most ancient shrine, and those sacred utensils and quaint rites of primitive worship so well worthy the study of the anthropologist and the evolutionist. But to have seen Kitzuki as I saw it is also to have seen something much more than a single wonderful temple. To see Kitzuki is to see the living centre of Shinto, and to feel the life-pulse of the ancient faith, throbbing as mightily in this nineteenth century as ever in that unknown past whereof the Kojiki itself, though written in a tongue no longer spoken, is but a modern record. [23] Buddhism, changing form or slowly decaying through the centuries, might seem doomed to pass away at last from this Japan to which it came only as an alien faith; but Shinto, unchanging and vitally unchanged, still remains all dominant in the land of its birth, and only seems to gain in power and dignity with time.[24] Buddhism has a voluminous theology, a profound philosophy, a literature vast as the sea. Shinto has no philosophy, no code of ethics, no metaphysics; and yet, by its very immateriality, it can resist the invasion of Occidental religious thought as no other Orient faith can. Shinto extends a welcome to Western science, but remains the irresistible opponent of Western religion; and the foreign zealots who would strive against it are astounded to find the power that foils their uttermost efforts indefinable as magnetism and invulnerable as air. Indeed the best of our scholars have never been able to tell us what Shinto is. To some it appears to be merely ancestor-worship, to others ancestor-worship combined with nature-worship; to others, again, it seems to be no religion at all; to the missionary of the more ignorant class it is the worst form of heathenism. Doubtless the difficulty of explaining Shinto has been due simply to the fact that the sinologists have sought for the source of it in books: in the Kojiki and the Nihongi, which are its histories; in the Norito, which are its prayers; in the commentaries of Motowori and Hirata, who were its greatest scholars. But the reality of Shinto lives not in books, nor in rites, nor in commandments, but in the national heart, of which it is the highest emotional religious expression, immortal and ever young. Far underlying all the surface crop of quaint superstitions and artless myths and fantastic magic there thrills a mighty spiritual force, the whole soul of a race with all its impulses and powers and intuitions. He who would know what Shinto is must learn to know that mysterious soul in which the sense of beauty and the power of art and the fire of heroism and magnetism of loyalty and the emotion of faith have become inherent, immanent, unconscious, instinctive. Trusting to know something of that Oriental soul in whose joyous love of nature and of life even the unlearned may discern a strange likeness to the soul of the old Greek race, I trust also that I may presume some day to speak of the great living power of that faith now called Shinto, but more anciently Kami-no-michi, or 'The Way of the Gods.' Chapter Nine In the Cave of the Children's Ghosts Sec. 1 IT is forbidden to go to Kaka if there be wind enough 'to move three hairs.' Now an absolutely windless day is rare on this wild western coast. Over the Japanese Sea, from Korea, or China, or boreal Siberia, some west or north-west breeze is nearly always blowing. So that I have had to wait many long months for a good chance to visit Kaka. Taking the shortest route, one goes first to Mitsu-ura from Matsue, either by kuruma or on foot. By kuruma this little journey occupies nearly two hours and a half, though the distance is scarcely seven miles, the road being one of the worst in all Izumo. You leave Matsue to enter at once into a broad plain, level as a lake, all occupied by rice-fields and walled in by wooded hills. The path, barely wide enough for a single vehicle, traverses this green desolation, climbs the heights beyond it, and descends again into another and a larger level of rice-fields, surrounded also by hills. The path over the second line of hills is much steeper; then a third rice-plain must be crossed and a third chain of green altitudes, lofty enough to merit the name of mountains. Of course one must make the ascent on foot: it is no small labour for a kurumaya to pull even an empty kuruma up to the top; and how he manages to do so without breaking the little vehicle is a mystery, for the path is stony and rough as the bed of a torrent. A tiresome climb I find it; but the landscape view from the summit is more than compensation. Then descending, there remains a fourth and last wide level of rice-fields to traverse. The absolute flatness of the great plains between the ranges, and the singular way in which these latter 'fence off' the country into sections, are matters for surprise even in a land of surprises like Japan. Beyond the fourth rice-valley there is a fourth hill-chain, lower and richly wooded, on reaching the base of which the traveller must finally abandon his kuruma, and proceed over the hills on foot. Behind them lies the sea. But the very worst bit of the journey now begins. The path makes an easy winding ascent between bamboo growths and young pine and other vegetation for a shaded quarter of a mile, passing before various little shrines and pretty homesteads surrounded by high-hedged gardens. Then it suddenly breaks into steps, or rather ruins of steps--partly hewn in the rock, partly built, everywhere breached and worn which descend, all edgeless, in a manner amazingly precipitous, to the village of Mitsu-ura. With straw sandals, which never slip, the country folk can nimbly hurry up or down such a path; but with foreign footgear one slips at nearly every step; and when you reach the bottom at last, the wonder of how you managed to get there, even with the assistance of your faithful kurumaya, keeps you for a moment quite unconscious of the fact that you are already in Mitsu-ura. Sec. 2 Mitsu-ura stands with its back to the mountains, at the end of a small deep bay hemmed in by very high cliffs. There is only one narrow strip of beach at the foot of the heights; and the village owes its existence to that fact, for beaches are rare on this part of the coast. Crowded between the cliffs and the sea, the houses have a painfully compressed aspect; and somehow the greater number give one the impression of things created out of wrecks of junks. The little streets, or rather alleys, are full of boats and skeletons of boats and boat timbers; and everywhere, suspended from bamboo poles much taller than the houses, immense bright brown fishing-nets are drying in the sun. The whole curve of the beach is also lined with boats, lying side by side so that I wonder how it will be possible to get to the water's edge without climbing over them. There is no hotel; but I find hospitality in a fisherman's dwelling, while my kurumaya goes somewhere to hire a boat for Kaka-ura. In less than ten minutes there is a crowd of several hundred people about the house, half-clad adults and perfectly naked boys. They blockade the building; they obscure the light by filling up the doorways and climbing into the windows to look at the foreigner. The aged proprietor of the cottage protests in vain, says harsh things; the crowd only thickens. Then all the sliding screens are closed. But in the paper panes there are holes; and at all the lower holes the curious take regular turns at peeping. At a higher hole I do some peeping myself. The crowd is not prepossessing: it is squalid, dull-featured, remarkably ugly. But it is gentle and silent; and there are one or two pretty faces in it which seem extraordinary by reason of the general homeliness of the rest. At last my kurumaya has succeeded in making arrangements for a boat; and I effect a sortie to the beach, followed by the kurumaya and by all my besiegers. Boats have been moved to make a passage for us, and we embark without trouble of any sort. Our crew consists of two scullers--an old man at the stem, wearing only a rokushaku about his loins, and an old woman at the bow, fully robed and wearing an immense straw hat shaped like a mushroom. Both of course stand to their work and it would be hard to say which is the stronger or more skilful sculler. We passengers squat Oriental fashion upon a mat in the centre of the boat, where a hibachi, well stocked with glowing charcoal, invites us to smoke. Sec. 3 The day is clear blue to the end of the world, with a faint wind from the east, barely enough to wrinkle the sea, certainly more than enough to 'move three hairs.' Nevertheless the boatwoman and the boatman do not seem anxious; and I begin to wonder whether the famous prohibition is not a myth. So delightful the transparent water looks, that before we have left the bay I have to yield to its temptation by plunging in and swimming after the boat. When I climb back on board we are rounding the promontory on the right; and the little vessel begins to rock. Even under this thin wind the sea is moving in long swells. And as we pass into the open, following the westward trend of the land, we find ourselves gliding over an ink-black depth, in front of one of the very grimmest coasts I ever saw. A tremendous line of dark iron-coloured cliffs, towering sheer from the sea without a beach, and with never a speck of green below their summits; and here and there along this terrible front, monstrous beetlings, breaches, fissures, earthquake rendings, and topplings-down. Enormous fractures show lines of strata pitched up skyward, or plunging down into the ocean with the long fall of cubic miles of cliff. Before fantastic gaps, prodigious masses of rock, of all nightmarish shapes, rise from profundities unfathomed. And though the wind to-day seems trying to hold its breath, white breakers are reaching far up the cliffs, and dashing their foam into the faces of the splintered crags. We are too far to hear the thunder of them; but their ominous sheet-lightning fully explains to me the story of the three hairs. Along this goblin coast on a wild day there would be no possible chance for the strongest swimmer, or the stoutest boat; there is no place for the foot, no hold for the hand, nothing but the sea raving against a precipice of iron. Even to-day, under the feeblest breath imaginable, great swells deluge us with spray as they splash past. And for two long hours this jagged frowning coast towers by; and, as we toil on, rocks rise around us like black teeth; and always, far away, the foam-bursts gleam at the feet of the implacable cliffs. But there are no sounds save the lapping and plashing of passing swells, and the monotonous creaking of the sculls upon their pegs of wood. At last, at last, a bay--a beautiful large bay, with a demilune of soft green hills about it, overtopped by far blue mountains--and in the very farthest point of the bay a miniature village, in front of which many junks are riding at anchor: Kaka-ura. But we do not go to Kaka-ura yet; the Kukedo are not there. We cross the broad opening of the bay, journey along another half-mile of ghastly sea-precipice, and finally make for a lofty promontory of naked Plutonic rock. We pass by its menacing foot, slip along its side, and lo! at an angle opens the arched mouth of a wonderful cavern, broad, lofty, and full of light, with no floor but the sea. Beneath us, as we slip into it, I can see rocks fully twenty feet down. The water is clear as air. This is the Shin-Kukedo, called the New Cavern, though assuredly older than human record by a hundred thousand years. Sec. 4 A more beautiful sea-cave could scarcely be imagined. The sea, tunnelling the tall promontory through and through, has also, like a great architect, ribbed and groined and polished its mighty work. The arch of the entrance is certainly twenty feet above the deep water, and fifteen wide; and trillions of wave tongues have licked the vault and walls into wondrous smoothness. As we proceed, the rock-roof steadily heightens and the way widens. Then we unexpectedly glide under a heavy shower of fresh water, dripping from overhead. This spring is called the o-chozubachi or mitarashi [1] of Shin-Kukedo-San.. From the high vault at this point it is believed that a great stone will detach itself and fall upon any evil-hearted person who should attempt to enter the cave. I safely pass through the ordeal! Suddenly as we advance the boatwoman takes a stone from the bottom of the boat, and with it begins to rap heavily on the bow; and the hollow echoing is reiterated with thundering repercussions through all the cave. And in another instant we pass into a great burst of light, coming from the mouth of a magnificent and lofty archway on the left, opening into the cavern at right angles. This explains the singular illumination of the long vault, which at first seemed to come from beneath; for while the opening was still invisible all the water appeared to be suffused with light. Through this grand arch, between outlying rocks, a strip of beautiful green undulating coast appears, over miles of azure water. We glide on toward the third entrance to the Kukedo, opposite to that by which we came in; and enter the dwelling-place of the Kami and the Hotoke, for this grotto is sacred both to Shinto and to Buddhist faith. Here the Kukedo reaches its greatest altitude and breadth. Its vault is fully forty feet above the water, and its walls thirty feet apart. Far up on the right, near the roof, is a projecting white rock, and above the rock an orifice wherefrom a slow stream drips, seeming white as the rock itself. This is the legendary Fountain of Jizo, the fountain of milk at which the souls of dead children drink. Sometimes it flows more swiftly, sometimes more slowly; but it never ceases by night or day. And mothers suffering from want of milk come hither to pray that milk may be given unto them; and their prayer is heard. And mothers having more milk than their infants need come hither also, and pray to Jizo that so much as they can give may be taken for the dead children; and their prayer is heard, and their milk diminishes. At least thus the peasants of Izumo say. And the echoing of the swells leaping against the rocks without, the rushing and rippling of the tide against the walls, the heavy rain of percolating water, sounds of lapping and gurgling and plashing, and sounds of mysterious origin coming from no visible where, make it difficult for us to hear each other speak. The cavern seems full of voices, as if a host of invisible beings were holding tumultuous converse. Below us all the deeply lying rocks are naked to view as if seen through glass. It seems to me that nothing could be more delightful than to swim through this cave and let one's self drift with the sea-currents through all its cool shadows. But as I am on the point of jumping in, all the other occupants of the boat utter wild cries of protest. It is certain death! men who jumped in here only six months ago were never heard of again! this is sacred water, Kami-no-umi! And as if to conjure away my temptation, the boatwoman again seizes her little stone and raps fearfully upon the bow. On finding, however, that I am not sufficiently deterred by these stories of sudden death and disappearance, she suddenly screams into my ear the magical word, 'SAME!' Sharks! I have no longer any desire whatever to swim through the many-sounding halls of Shin-Kukedo-San. I have lived in the tropics! And we start forthwith for Kyu-Kukedo-San, the Ancient Cavern. Sec. 5 For the ghastly fancies about the Kami-no-umi, the word 'same' afforded a satisfactory explanation. But why that long, loud, weird rapping on the bow with a stone evidently kept on board for no other purpose? There was an exaggerated earnestness about the action which gave me an uncanny sensation--something like that which moves a man while walking at night upon a lonesome road, full of queer shadows, to sing at the top of his voice. The boatwoman at first declares that the rapping was made only for the sake of the singular echo. But after some cautious further questioning, I discover a much more sinister reason for the performance. Moreover, I learn that all the seamen and seawomen of this coast do the same thing when passing through perilous places, or places believed to be haunted by the Ma. What are the Ma? Goblins! Sec. 6 From the caves of the Kami we retrace our course for about a quarter of a mile; then make directly for an immense perpendicular wrinkle in the long line of black cliffs. Immediately before it a huge dark rock towers from the sea, whipped by the foam of breaking swells. Rounding it, we glide behind it into still water and shadow, the shadow of a monstrous cleft in the precipice of the coast. And suddenly, at an unsuspected angle, the mouth of another cavern yawns before us; and in another moment our boat touches its threshold of stone with a little shock that sends a long sonorous echo, like the sound of a temple drum, booming through all the abysmal place. A single glance tells me whither we have come. Far within the dusk I see the face of a Jizo, smiling in pale stone, and before him, and all about him, a weird congregation of grey shapes without shape--a host of fantasticalities that strangely suggest the wreck of a cemetery. From the sea the ribbed floor of the cavern slopes high through deepening shadows back to the black mouth of a farther grotto; and all that slope is covered with hundreds and thousands of forms like shattered haka. But as the eyes grow accustomed to the gloaming it becomes manifest that these were never haka; they are only little towers of stone and pebbles deftly piled up by long and patient labour. 'Shinda kodomo no shigoto,' my kurumaya murmurs with a compassionate smile; 'all this is the work of the dead children.' And we disembark. By counsel, I take off my shoes and put on a pair of zori, or straw sandals provided for me, as the rock is extremely slippery. The others land barefoot. But how to proceed soon becomes a puzzle: the countless stone-piles stand so close together that no space for the foot seems to be left between them. 'Mada michiga arimasu!' the boatwoman announces, leading the way. There is a path. Following after her, we squeeze ourselves between the wall of the cavern on the right and some large rocks, and discover a very, very narrow passage left open between the stone-towers. But we are warned to be careful for the sake of the little ghosts: if any of their work be overturned, they will cry. So we move very cautiously and slowly across the cave to a space bare of stone-heaps, where the rocky floor is covered with a thin layer of sand, detritus of a crumbling ledge above it. And in that sand I see light prints of little feet, children's feet, tiny naked feet, only three or four inches long--the footprints of the infant ghosts. Had we come earlier, the boatwoman says, we should have seen many more. For 'tis at night, when the soil of the cavern is moist with dews and drippings from the roof, that They leave Their footprints upon it; but when the heat of the day comes, and the sand and the rocks dry up, the prints of the little feet vanish away. There are only three footprints visible, but these are singularly distinct. One points toward the wall of the cavern; the others toward the sea. Here and there, upon ledges or projections of the rock, all about the cavern, tiny straw sandals--children's zori--are lying: offerings of pilgrims to the little ones, that their feet may not be wounded by the stones. But all the ghostly footprints are prints of naked feet. Then we advance, picking our way very, very carefully between the stone-towers, toward the mouth of the inner grotto, and reach the statue of Jizo before it. A seated Jizo carven in granite, holding in one hand the mystic jewel by virtue of which all wishes may be fulfilled; in the other his shakujo, or pilgrim's staff. Before him (strange condescension of Shinto faith!) a little torii has been erected, and a pair of gohei! Evidently this gentle divinity has no enemies; at the feet of the lover of children's ghosts, both creeds unite in tender homage. I said feet. But this subterranean Jizo has only one foot. The carven lotus on which he reposes has been fractured and broken: two great petals are missing; and the right foot, which must have rested upon one of them, has been knocked off at the ankle. This, I learn upon inquiry, has been done by the waves. In times of great storm the billows rush into the cavern like raging Oni, and sweep all the little stone towers into shingle as they come, and dash the statues against the rocks. But always during the first still night after the tempest the work is reconstructed as before! Hotoke ga shimpai shite: naki-naki tsumi naoshi-masu.' They make mourning, the hotoke; weeping, they pile up the stones again, they rebuild their towers of prayer. All about the black mouth of the inner grotto the bone-coloured rock bears some resemblance to a vast pair of yawning jaws. Downward from this sinister portal the cavern-floor slopes into a deeper and darker aperture. And within it, as one's eyes become accustomed to the gloom, a still larger vision of stone towers is disclosed; and beyond them, in a nook of the grotto, three other statues of Jizo smile, each one with a torii before it. Here I have the misfortune to upset first one stone-pile and then another, while trying to proceed. My kurumaya, almost simultaneously, ruins a third. To atone therefore, we must build six new towers, or double the number of those which we have cast down. And while we are thus busied, the boatwoman tells of two fishermen who remained in the cavern through all one night, and heard the humming of the viewless gathering, and sounds of speech, like the speech of children murmuring in multitude. Only at night do the shadowy children come to build their little stone-heaps at the feet of Jizo; and it is said that every night the stones are changed. When I ask why they do not work by day, when there is none to see them, I am answered: 'O-Hi-San [2] might see them; the dead exceedingly fear the Lady-Sun.' To the question, 'Why do they come from the sea?' I can get no satisfactory answer. But doubtless in the quaint imagination of this people, as also in that of many another, there lingers still the primitive idea of some communication, mysterious and awful, between the world of waters and the world of the dead. It is always over the sea, after the Feast of Souls, that the spirits pass murmuring back to their dim realm, in those elfish little ships of straw which are launched for them upon the sixteenth day of the seventh moon. Even when these are launched upon rivers, or when floating lanterns are set adrift upon lakes or canals to light the ghosts upon their way, or when a mother bereaved drops into some running stream one hundred little prints of Jizo for the sake of her lost darling, the vague idea behind the pious act is that all waters flow to the sea and the sea itself unto the 'Nether-distant Land.' Some time, somewhere, this day will come back to me at night, with its visions and sounds: the dusky cavern, and its grey hosts of stone climbing back into darkness, and the faint prints of little naked feet, and the weirdly smiling images, and the broken syllables of the waters inward-borne, multiplied by husky echoings, blending into one vast ghostly whispering, like the humming of the Sai-no-Kawara. And over the black-blue bay we glide to the rocky beach of Kaka-ura. Sec. 8 As at Mitsu-ura, the water's edge is occupied by a serried line of fishing-boats, each with its nose to the sea; and behind these are ranks of others; and it is only just barely possible to squeeze one's way between them over the beach to the drowsy, pretty, quaint little streets behind them. Everybody seems to be asleep when we first land: the only living creature visible is a cat, sitting on the stern of a boat; and even that cat, according to Japanese beliefs, might not be a real cat, but an o-bake or a nekomata--in short, a goblin-cat, for it has a long tail. It is hard work to discover the solitary hotel: there are no signs; and every house seems a private house, either a fisherman's or a farmer's. But the little place is worth wandering about in. A kind of yellow stucco is here employed to cover the exterior of walls; and this light warm tint under the bright blue day gives to the miniature streets a more than cheerful aspect. When we do finally discover the hotel, we have to wait quite a good while before going in; for nothing is ready; everybody is asleep or away, though all the screens and sliding-doors are open. Evidently there are no thieves in Kaka-ura. The hotel is on a little hillock, and is approached from the main street (the rest are only miniature alleys) by two little flights of stone steps. Immediately across the way I see a Zen temple and a Shinto temple, almost side by side. At last a pretty young woman, naked to the waist, with a bosom like a Naiad, comes running down the street to the hotel at a surprising speed, bowing low with a smile as she hurries by us into the house. This little person is the waiting-maid of the inn, O-Kayo-San--name signifying 'Years of Bliss.' Presently she reappears at the threshold, fully robed in a nice kimono, and gracefully invites us to enter, which we are only too glad to do. The room is neat and spacious; Shinto kakemono from Kitzuki are suspended in the toko and upon the walls; and in one corner I see a very handsome Zen-but-sudan, or household shrine. (The form of the shrine, as well as the objects of worship therein, vary according to the sect of the worshippers.) Suddenly I become aware that it is growing strangely dark; and looking about me, perceive that all the doors and windows and other apertures of the inn are densely blocked up by a silent, smiling crowd which has gathered to look at me. I could not have believed there were so many people in Kaka-ura. In a Japanese house, during the hot season, everything is thrown open to the breeze. All the shoji or sliding paper-screens, which serve for windows; and all the opaque paper-screens (fusuma) used in other seasons to separate apartments, are removed. There is nothing left between floor and roof save the frame or skeleton of the building; the dwelling is literally unwalled, and may be seen through in any direction. The landlord, finding the crowd embarrassing, closes up the building in front. The silent, smiling crowd goes to the rear. The rear is also closed. Then the crowd masses to right and left of the house; and both sides have to be closed, which makes it insufferably hot. And the crowd make gentle protest. Wherefore our host, being displeased, rebukes the multitude with argument and reason, yet without lifting his voice. (Never do these people lift up their voices in anger.) And what he says I strive to translate, with emphasis, as follows: 'You-as-for! outrageousness doing--what marvellous is? 'Theatre is not! 'Juggler is not! 'Wrestler is not! 'What amusing is? 'Honourable-Guest this is! 'Now august-to-eat-time-is; to-look-at evil matter is. Honourable-returning-time-in-to-look-at-as-for-is-good.' But outside, soft laughing voices continue to plead; pleading, shrewdly enough, only with the feminine portion of the family: the landlord's heart is less easily touched. And these, too, have their arguments: 'Oba-San! 'O-Kayo-San! 'Shoji-to-open-condescend!--want to see! 'Though-we-look-at, Thing-that-by-looking-at-is-worn-out-it-is-not! 'So that not-to-hinder looking-at is good. 'Hasten therefore to open!' As for myself, I would gladly protest against this sealing-up, for there is nothing offensive nor even embarrassing in the gaze of these innocent, gentle people; but as the landlord seems to be personally annoyed, I do not like to interfere. The crowd, however, does not go away: it continues to increase, waiting for my exit. And there is one high window in the rear, of which the paper-panes contain some holes; and I see shadows of little people climbing up to get to the holes. Presently there is an eye at every hole. When I approach the window, the peepers drop noiselessly to the ground, with little timid bursts of laughter, and run away. But they soon come back again. A more charming crowd could hardly be imagined: nearly all boys and girls, half-naked because of the heat, but fresh and clean as flower-buds. Many of the faces are surprisingly pretty; there are but very few which are not extremely pleasing. But where are the men, and the old women? Truly, this population seems not of Kaka-ura, but rather of the Sai-no-Kawara. The boys look like little Jizo. During dinner, I amuse myself by poking pears and little pieces of radish through the holes in the shoji. At first there is much hesitation and silvery laughter; but in a little while the silhouette of a tiny hand reaches up cautiously, and a pear vanishes away. Then a second pear is taken, without snatching, as softly as if a ghost had appropriated it. Thereafter hesitation ceases, despite the effort of one elderly woman to create a panic by crying out the word Mahotsukai, 'wizard.' By the time the dinner is over and the shoji removed, we have all become good friends. Then the crowd resumes its silent observation from the four cardinal points. I never saw a more striking difference in the appearance of two village populations than that between the youth of Mitsu-ura and of Kaka. Yet the villages are but two hours' sailing distance apart. In remoter Japan, as in certain islands of the West Indies, particular physical types are developed apparently among communities but slightly isolated; on one side of a mountain a population may be remarkably attractive, while upon the other you may find a hamlet whose inhabitants are decidedly unprepossessing. But nowhere in this country have I seen a prettier jeunesse than that of Kaka-ura. 'Returning-time-in-to-look-at-as-for-is-good.' As we descend to the bay, the whole of Kaka-ura, including even the long-invisible ancients of the village, accompanies us; making no sound except the pattering of geta. Thus we are escorted to our boat. Into all the other craft drawn up on the beach the younger folk clamber lightly, and seat themselves on the prows and the gunwales to gaze at the marvellous Thing-that-by-looking-at-worn-out-is-not. And all smile, but say nothing, even to each other: somehow the experience gives me the sensation of being asleep; it is so soft, so gentle, and so queer withal, just like things seen in dreams. And as we glide away over the blue lucent water I look back to see the people all waiting and gazing still from the great semicircle of boats; all the slender brown child-limbs dangling from the prows; all the velvety-black heads motionless in the sun; all the boy-faces smiling Jizo-smiles; all the black soft eyes still watching, tirelessly watching, the Thing-that-by-looking-at-worn-out-is-not. And as the scene, too swiftly receding, diminishes to the width of a kakemono, I vainly wish that I could buy this last vision of it, to place it in my toko, and delight my soul betimes with gazing thereon. Yet another moment, and we round a rocky point; and Kaka-ura vanishes from my sight for ever. So all things pass away. Assuredly those impressions which longest haunt recollection are the most transitory: we remember many more instants than minutes, more minutes than hours; and who remembers an entire day? The sum of the remembered happiness of a lifetime is the creation of seconds. 'What is more fugitive than a smile? yet when does the memory of a vanished smile expire? or the soft regret which that memory may evoke? Regret for a single individual smile is something common to normal human nature; but regret for the smile of a population, for a smile considered as an abstract quality, is certainly a rare sensation, and one to be obtained, I fancy, only in this Orient land whose people smile for ever like their own gods of stone. And this precious experience is already mine; I am regretting the smile of Kaka. Simultaneously there comes the recollection of a strangely grim Buddhist legend. Once the Buddha smiled; and by the wondrous radiance of that smile were countless worlds illuminated. But there came a Voice, saying: 'It is not real! It cannot last!' And the light passed. Chapter Ten At Mionoseki Seki wa yoi toko, Asahi wo ukete; O-Yama arashiga Soyo-soyoto! (SONG OF MIONOSEKI.) [Seki is a goodly place, facing the morning sun. There, from the holy mountains, the winds blow softly, softly--soyosoyoto.] Sec. 1 THE God of Mionoseki hates eggs, hen's eggs. Likewise he hates hens and chickens, and abhors the Cock above all living creatures. And in Mionoseki there are no cocks or hens or chickens or eggs. You could not buy a hen's egg in that place even for twenty times its weight in gold. And no boat or junk or steamer could be hired to convey to Mionoseki so much as the feather of a chicken, much less an egg. Indeed, it is even held that if you have eaten eggs in the morning you must not dare to visit Mionoseki until the following day. For the great deity of Mionoseki is the patron of mariners and the ruler of storms; and woe unto the vessel which bears unto his shrine even the odour of an egg. Once the tiny steamer which runs daily from Matsue to Mionoseki encountered some unexpectedly terrible weather on her outward journey, just after reaching the open sea. The crew insisted that something displeasing to Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami must have been surreptitiously brought on board. All the passengers were questioned in vain. Suddenly the captain discerned upon the stem of a little brass pipe which one of the men was smoking, smoking in the face of death, like a true Japanese, the figure of a crowing cock! Needless to say, that pipe was thrown overboard. Then the angry sea began to grow calm; and the little vessel safely steamed into the holy port, and cast anchor before the great torii of the shrine of the god! Sec. 2 Concerning the reason why the Cock is thus detested by the Great Deity of Mionoseki, and banished from his domain, divers legends are told; but the substance of all of them is about as follows: As we read in the Kojiki, Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami, Son of the Great Deity of Kitsuki, was wont to go to Cape Miho, [1] 'to pursue birds and catch fish.' And for other reasons also he used to absent himself from home at night, but had always to return before dawn. Now, in those days the Cock was his trusted servant, charged with the duty of crowing lustily when it was time for the god to return. But one morning the bird failed in its duty; and the god, hurrying back in his boat, lost his oars, and had to paddle with his hands; and his hands were bitten by the wicked fishes. Now the people of Yasugi, a pretty little town on the lagoon of Naka-umi, through which we pass upon our way to Mionoseki, most devoutly worship the same Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami; and nevertheless in Yasugi there are multitudes of cocks and hens and chickens; and the eggs of Yasugi cannot be excelled for size and quality. And the people of Yasugi aver that one may better serve the deity by eating eggs than by doing as the people of Mionoseki do; for whenever one eats a chicken or devours an egg, one destroys an enemy of Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami. Sec. 3 From Matsue to Mionoseki by steamer is a charming journey in fair weather. After emerging from the beautiful lagoon of Naka-umi into the open sea, the little packet follows the long coast of Izumo to the left. Very lofty this coast is, all cliffs and hills rising from the sea, mostly green to their summits, and many cultivated in terraces, so as to look like green pyramids of steps. The bases of the cliffs are very rocky; and the curious wrinklings and corrugations of the coast suggest the work of ancient volcanic forces. Far away to the right, over blue still leagues of sea, appears the long low shore of Hoki, faint as a mirage, with its far beach like an endless white streak edging the blue level, and beyond it vapoury lines of woods and cloudy hills, and over everything, looming into the high sky, the magnificent ghostly shape of Daisen, snow-streaked at its summit. So for perhaps an hour we steam on, between Hoki and Izumo; the rugged and broken green coast on our left occasionally revealing some miniature hamlet sheltered in a wrinkle between two hills; the phantom coast on the right always unchanged. Then suddenly the little packet whistles, heads for a grim promontory to port, glides by its rocky foot, and enters one of the prettiest little bays imaginable, previously concealed from view. A shell-shaped gap in the coast--a semicircular basin of clear deep water, framed in by high corrugated green hills, all wood-clad. Around the edge of the bay the quaintest of little Japanese cities, Mionoseki. There is no beach, only a semicircle of stone wharves, and above these the houses, and above these the beautiful green of the sacred hills, with a temple roof or two showing an angle through the foliage. From the rear of each house steps descend to deep water; and boats are moored at all the back-doors. We moor in front of the great temple, the Miojinja. Its great paved avenue slopes to the water's edge, where boats are also moored at steps of stone; and looking up the broad approach, one sees a grand stone torii, and colossal stone lanterns, and two magnificent sculptured lions, karashishi, seated upon lofty pedestals, and looking down upon the people from a height of fifteen feet or more. Beyond all this the walls and gate of the outer temple court appear, and beyond them, the roofs of the great haiden, and the pierced projecting cross-beams of the loftier Go-Miojin, the holy shrine itself, relieved against the green of the wooded hills. Picturesque junks are lying in ranks at anchor; there are two deep-sea vessels likewise, of modern build, ships from Osaka. And there is a most romantic little breakwater built of hewn stone, with a stone lantern perched at the end of it; and there is a pretty humped bridge connecting it with a tiny island on which I see a shrine of Benten, the Goddess of Waters. I wonder if I shall be able to get any eggs! Sec. 4 Unto the pretty waiting maiden of the inn Shimaya I put this scandalous question, with an innocent face but a remorseful heart: 'Ano ne! tamago wa arimasenka?' With the smile of a Kwannon she makes reply:-'He! Ahiru-no tamago-ga sukoshi gozarimasu.' Delicious surprise! There augustly exist eggs--of ducks! But there exist no ducks. For ducks could not find life worth living in a city where there is only deep-sea water. And all the ducks' eggs come from Sakai. Sec. 5 This pretty little hotel, whose upper chambers overlook the water, is situated at one end, or nearly at one end, of the crescent of Mionoseki, and the Miojinja almost at the other, so that one must walk through the whole town to visit the temple, or else cross the harbour by boat. But the whole town is well worth seeing. It is so tightly pressed between the sea and the bases of the hills that there is only room for one real street; and this is so narrow that a man could anywhere jump from the second story of a house upon the water-side into the second story of the opposite house upon the land-side. And it is as picturesque as it is narrow, with its awnings and polished balconies and fluttering figured draperies. From this main street several little ruelles slope to the water's edge, where they terminate in steps; and in all these miniature alleys long boats are lying, with their prows projecting over the edge of the wharves, as if eager to plunge in. The temptation to take to the water I find to be irresistible: before visiting the Miojinja I jump from the rear of our hotel into twelve feet of limpid sea, and cool myself by a swim across the harbour. On the way to Miojinja, I notice, in multitudes of little shops, fascinating displays of baskets and utensils made of woven bamboo. Fine bamboo-ware is indeed the meibutsu, the special product of Mionoseki; and almost every visitor buys some nice little specimen to carry home with him. The Miojinja is not in its architecture more remarkable than ordinary Shinto temples in Izumo; nor are its interior decorations worth describing in detail. Only the approach to it over the broad sloping space of level pavement, under the granite torii, and between the great lions and lamps of stone, is noble. Within the courts proper there is not much to be seen except a magnificent tank of solid bronze, weighing tons, which must have cost many thousands of yen. It is a votive offering. Of more humble ex-votos, there is a queer collection in the shamusho or business building on the right of the haiden: a series of quaintly designed and quaintly coloured pictures, representing ships in great storms, being guided or aided to port by the power of Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami. These are gifts from ships. The ofuda are not so curious as those of other famous Izumo temples; but they are most eagerly sought for. Those strips of white paper, bearing the deity's name, and a few words of promise, which are sold for a few rin, are tied to rods of bamboo, and planted in all the fields of the country roundabout. The most curious things sold are tiny packages of rice-seeds. It is alleged that whatever you desire will grow from these rice-seeds, if you plant them uttering a prayer. If you desire bamboos, cotton-plants, peas, lotus-plants, or watermelons, it matters not; only plant the seed and believe, and the desired crop will arise. Sec. 6 Much more interesting to me than the ofuda of the Miojinja are the yoraku, the pendent ex-votos in the Hojinji, a temple of the Zen sect which stands on the summit of the beautiful hill above the great Shinto shrine. Before an altar on which are ranged the images of the Thirty-three Kwannons, the thirty-three forms of that Goddess of Mercy who represents the ideal of all that is sweet and pure in the Japanese maiden, a strange, brightly coloured mass of curious things may be seen, suspended from the carven ceiling. There are hundreds of balls of worsted and balls of cotton thread of all colours; there are skeins of silk and patterns of silk weaving and of cotton weaving; there are broidered purses in the shape of sparrows and other living creatures; there are samples of bamboo plaiting and countless specimens of needlework. All these are the votive offerings of school children, little girls only, to the Maid-mother of all grace and sweetness and pity. So soon as a baby girl learns something in the way of woman's work--sewing, or weaving, or knitting, or broidering, she brings her first successful effort to the temple as an offering to the gentle divinity, 'whose eyes are beautiful,' she 'who looketh down above the sound of prayer.' Even the infants of the Japanese kindergarten bring their first work here--pretty paper-cuttings, scissored out and plaited into divers patterns by their own tiny flower-soft hands. Sec. 7 Very sleepy and quiet by day is Mionoseki: only at long intervals one hears laughter of children, or the chant of oarsmen rowing the most extraordinary boats I ever saw outside of the tropics; boats heavy as barges, which require ten men to move them. These stand naked to the work, wielding oars with cross-handles (imagine a letter T with the lower end lengthened out into an oar-blade). And at every pull they push their feet against the gunwales to give more force to the stroke; intoning in every pause a strange refrain of which the soft melancholy calls back to me certain old Spanish Creole melodies heard in West Indian waters: A-ra-ho-no-san-no-sa, Iya-ho-en-ya! Ghi! Ghi! The chant begins with a long high note, and descends by fractional tones with almost every syllable, and faints away a last into an almost indistinguishable hum. Then comes the stroke, 'Ghi!--ghi!' But at night Mionoseki is one of the noisiest and merriest little havens of Western Japan. From one horn of its crescent to the other the fires of the shokudai, which are the tall light of banquets, mirror themselves in the water; and the whole air palpitates with sounds of revelry. Everywhere one hears the booming of the tsudzumi, the little hand-drums of the geisha, and sweet plaintive chants of girls, and tinkling of samisen, and the measured clapping of hands in the dance, and the wild cries and laughter of the players at ken. And all these are but echoes of the diversions of sailors. Verily, the nature of sailors differs but little the world over. Every good ship which visits Mionoseki leaves there, so I am assured, from three hundred to five hundred yen for sake and for dancing-girls. Much do these mariners pray the Great Deity who hates eggs to make calm the waters and favourable the winds, so that Mionoseki may be reached in good time without harm. But having come hither over an unruffled sea with fair soft breezes all the way, small indeed is the gift which they give to the temple of the god, and marvellously large the sums which they pay unto geisha and keepers of taverns. But the god is patient and long-suffering--except in the matter of eggs. However, these Japanese seamen are very gentle compared with our own Jack Tars, and not without a certain refinement and politeness of their own. I see them sitting naked to the waist at their banquets; for it is very hot, but they use their chopsticks as daintily and pledge each other in sake almost as graciously as men of a better class. Likewise they seem to treat their girls very kindly. It is quite pleasant to watch them feasting across the street. Perhaps their laughter is somewhat more boisterous and their gesticulation a little more vehement than those of the common citizens; but there is nothing resembling real roughness--much less rudeness. All become motionless and silent as statues--fifteen fine bronzes ranged along the wall of the zashiki, [2] --when some pretty geisha begins one of those histrionic dances which, to the Western stranger, seem at first mysterious as a performance of witchcraft--but which really are charming translations of legend and story into the language of living grace and the poetry of woman's smile. And as the wine flows, the more urbane becomes the merriment--until there falls upon all that pleasant sleepiness which sake brings, and the guests, one by one, smilingly depart. Nothing could be happier or gentler than their evening's joviality--yet sailors are considered in Japan an especially rough class. What would be thought of our own roughs in such a country? Well, I have been fourteen months in Izumo; and I have not yet heard voices raised in anger, or witnessed a quarrel: never have I seen one man strike another, or a woman bullied, or a child slapped. Indeed I have never seen any real roughness anywhere that I have been in Japan, except at the open ports, where the poorer classes seem, through contact with Europeans, to lose their natural politeness, their native morals--even their capacity for simple happiness. Sec. 8 Last night I saw the seamen of Old Japan: to-day I shall see those of New Japan. An apparition in the offing has filled all this little port with excitement--an Imperial man-of-war. Everybody is going out to look at her; and all the long boats that were lying in the alleys are already hastening, full of curious folk, to the steel colossus. A cruiser of the first class, with a crew of five hundred. I take passage in one of those astounding craft I mentioned before--a sort of barge propelled by ten exceedingly strong naked men, wielding enormous oars--or rather, sweeps--with cross-handles. But I do not go alone: indeed I can scarcely find room to stand, so crowded the boat is with passengers of all ages, especially women who are nervous about going to sea in an ordinary sampan. And a dancing-girl jumps into the crowd at the risk of her life, just as we push off--and burns her arm against my cigar in the jump. I am very sorry for her; but she laughs merrily at my solicitude. And the rowers begin their melancholy somnolent song: A-ra-ho-no-san-no-sa, Iya-ho-en-ya! Ghi! Ghi! It is a long pull to reach her--the beautiful monster, towering motionless there in the summer sea, with scarce a curling of thin smoke from the mighty lungs of her slumbering engines; and that somnolent song of our boatmen must surely have some ancient magic in it; for by the time we glide alongside I feel as if I were looking at a dream. Strange as a vision of sleep, indeed, this spectacle: the host of quaint craft hovering and trembling around that tremendous bulk; and all the long-robed, wide-sleeved multitude of the antique port--men, women, children--the grey and the young together--crawling up those mighty flanks in one ceaseless stream, like a swarming of ants. And all this with a great humming like the humming of a hive,--a sound made up of low laughter, and chattering in undertones, and subdued murmurs of amazement. For the colossus overawes them--this ship of the Tenshi-Sama, the Son of Heaven; and they wonder like babies at the walls and the turrets of steel, and the giant guns and the mighty chains, and the stern bearing of the white-uniformed hundreds looking down upon the scene without a smile, over the iron bulwarks. Japanese those also--yet changed by some mysterious process into the semblance of strangers. Only the experienced eye could readily decide the nationality of those stalwart marines: but for the sight of the Imperial arms in gold, and the glimmering ideographs upon the stern, one might well suppose one's self gazing at some Spanish or Italian ship-of-war manned by brown Latin men. I cannot possibly get on board. The iron steps are occupied by an endless chain of clinging bodies--blue-robed boys from school, and old men with grey queues, and fearless young mothers holding fast to the ropes with over-confident babies strapped to their backs, and peasants, and fishers, and dancing-girls. They are now simply sticking there like flies: somebody has told them they must wait fifteen minutes. So they wait with smiling patience, and behind them in the fleet of high-prowed boats hundreds more wait and wonder. But they do not wait for fifteen minutes! All hopes are suddenly shattered by a stentorian announcement from the deck: 'Mo jikan ga naikara, miseru koto dekimasen!' The monster is getting up steam--going away: nobody else will be allowed to come on board. And from the patient swarm of clingers to the hand-ropes, and the patient waiters in the fleet of boats, there goes up one exceedingly plaintive and prolonged 'Aa!' of disappointment, followed by artless reproaches in Izumo dialect: 'Gun-jin wa uso iwanuka to omoya!-uso-tsuki dana!--aa! so dana!' ('War-people-as-for-lies-never-say-that-we-thought!--Aa-aa-aa!') Apparently the gunjin are accustomed to such scenes; for they do not even smile. But we linger near the cruiser to watch the hurried descent of the sightseers into their boats, and the slow ponderous motion of the chain-cables ascending, and the swarming of sailors down over the bows to fasten and unfasten mysterious things. One, bending head-downwards, drops his white cap; and there is a race of boats for the honour of picking it up. A marine leaning over the bulwarks audibly observes to a comrade: 'Aa! gwaikojn dana!--nani ski ni kite iru daro?'--The other vainly suggests: 'Yasu-no-senkyoshi daro.' My Japanese costume does not disguise the fact that I am an alien; but it saves me from the imputation of being a missionary. I remain an enigma. Then there are loud cries of 'Abunail'--if the cruiser were to move now there would be swamping and crushing and drowning unspeakable. All the little boats scatter and flee away. Our ten naked oarsmen once more bend to their cross-handled oars, and recommence their ancient melancholy song. And as we glide back, there comes to me the idea of the prodigious cost of that which we went forth to see, the magnificent horror of steel and steam and all the multiple enginery of death--paid for by those humble millions who toil for ever knee-deep in the slime of rice-fields, yet can never afford to eat their own rice! Far cheaper must be the food they live upon; and nevertheless, merely to protect the little that they own, such nightmares must be called into existence--monstrous creations of science mathematically applied to the ends of destruction. How delightful Mionoseki now seems, drowsing far off there under its blue tiles at the feet of the holy hills!--immemorial Mionoseki, with its lamps and lions of stone, and its god who hates eggs!--pretty fantastic Mionoseki, where all things, save the schools, are medieval still: the high-pooped junks, and the long-nosed boats, and the plaintive chants of oarsmen! A-ra-ho-no-san-no-sa, Iya-ho-en-ya! Ghi! Ghi! And we touch the mossed and ancient wharves of stone again: over one mile of lucent sea we have floated back a thousand years! I turn to look at the place of that sinister vision--and lo!--there is nothing there! Only the level blue of the flood under the hollow blue of the sky--and, just beyond the promontory, one far, small white speck: the sail of a junk. The horizon is naked. Gone!--but how soundlessly, how swiftly! She makes nineteen knots. And, oh! Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami, there probably existed eggs on board! Chapter Eleven Notes on Kitzuki Sec. 1 KITZUKI, July 20, 1891. AKIRA is no longer with me. He has gone to Kyoto, the holy Buddhist city, to edit a Buddhist magazine; and I already feel without him like one who has lost his way--despite his reiterated assurances that he could never be of much service to me in Izumo, as he knew nothing about Shinto. But for the time being I am to have plenty of company at Kitzuki, where I am spending the first part of the summer holidays; for the little city is full of students and teachers who know me. Kitzuki is not only the holiest place in the San-indo; it is also the most fashionable bathing resort. The beach at Inasa bay is one of the best in all Japan; the beach hotels are spacious, airy, and comfortable; and the bathing houses, with hot and cold freshwater baths in which to wash off the brine after a swim, are simply faultless. And in fair weather, the scenery is delightful, as you look out over the summer space of sea. Closing the bay on the right, there reaches out from the hills overshadowing the town a mighty, rugged, pine-clad spur--the Kitzuki promontory. On the left a low long range of mountains serrate the horizon beyond the shore-sweep, with one huge vapoury shape towering blue into the blue sky behind them--the truncated silhouette of Sanbeyama. Before you the Japanese Sea touches the sky. And there, upon still clear nights, there appears a horizon of fire--the torches of hosts of fishing-boats riding at anchor three and four miles away--so numerous that their lights seem to the naked eye a band of unbroken flame. The Guji has invited me and one of my friends to see a great harvest dance at his residence on the evening of the festival of Tenjin. This dance--Honen-odori--is peculiar to Izumo; and the opportunity to witness it in this city is a rare one, as it is going to be performed only by order of the Guji. The robust pontiff himself loves the sea quite as much as anyone in Kitzuki; yet he never enters a beach hotel, much less a public bathing house. For his use alone a special bathing house has been built upon a ledge of the cliff overhanging the little settlement of Inasa: it is approached by a narrow pathway shadowed by pine-trees; and there is a torii before it, and shimenawa. To this little house the Guji ascends daily during the bathing season, accompanied by a single attendant, who prepares his bathing dresses, and spreads the clean mats upon which he rests after returning from the sea. The Guji always bathes robed. No one but himself and his servant ever approaches the little house, which commands a charming view of the bay: public reverence for the pontiff's person has made even his resting-place holy ground. As for the country-folk, they still worship him with hearts and bodies. They have ceased to believe as they did in former times, that anyone upon whom the Kokuzo fixes his eye at once becomes unable to speak or move; but when he passes among them through the temple court they still prostrate themselves along his way, as before the Ikigami. KITZUKI, July 23rd Always, through the memory of my first day at Kitzuki, there will pass the beautiful white apparition of the Miko, with her perfect passionless face, and strange, gracious, soundless tread, as of a ghost. Her name signifies 'the Pet,' or 'The Darling of the Gods,'--Mi-ko. The kind Guji, at my earnest request, procured me--or rather, had taken for me--a photograph of the Miko, in the attitude of her dance, upholding the mystic suzu, and wearing, over her crimson hakama, the snowy priestess-robe descending to her feet. And the learned priest Sasa told me these things concerning the Pet of the Gods, and the Miko-kagura--which is the name of her sacred dance. Contrary to the custom at the other great Shinto temples of Japan, such as Ise, the office of miko at Kitzuki has always been hereditary. Formerly there were in Kitzuki more than thirty families whose daughters served the Oho-yashiro as miko: to-day there are but two, and the number of virgin priestesses does not exceed six--the one whose portrait I obtained being the chief. At Ise and elsewhere the daughter of any Shinto priest may become a miko; but she cannot serve in that capacity after becoming nubile; so that, except in Kitzuki, the miko of all the greater temples are children from ten to twelve years of age. But at the Kitzuki Oho-yashiro the maiden-priestesses are beautiful girls of between sixteen and nineteen years of age; and sometimes a favourite miko is allowed to continue to serve the gods even after having been married. The sacred dance is not difficult to learn: the mother or sister teaches it to the child destined to serve in the temple. The miko lives at home, and visits the temple only upon festival days to perform her duties. She is not placed under any severe discipline or restrictions; she takes no special vows; she risks no dreadful penalties for ceasing to remain a virgin. But her position being one of high honour, and a source of revenue to her family, the ties which bind her to duty are scarcely less cogent than those vows taken by the priestesses of the antique Occident. Like the priestesses of Delphi, the miko was in ancient times also a divineress--a living oracle, uttering the secrets of the future when possessed by the god whom she served. At no temple does the miko now act as sibyl, oracular priestess, or divineress. But there still exists a class of divining-women, who claim to hold communication with the dead, and to foretell the future, and who call themselves miko--practising their profession secretly; for it has been prohibited by law. In the various great Shinto shrines of the Empire the Mikokagura is differently danced. In Kitzuki, most ancient of all, the dance is the most simple and the most primitive. Its purpose being to give pleasure to the gods, religious conservatism has preserved its traditions and steps unchanged since the period of the beginning of the faith. The origin of this dance is to be found in the Kojiki legend of the dance of Ame-nouzume-no-mikoto--she by whose mirth and song the Sun-goddess was lured from the cavern into which she had retired, and brought back to illuminate the world. And the suzu--the strange bronze instrument with its cluster of bells which the miko uses in her dance--still preserves the form of that bamboo-spray to which Ame-no-uzume-no-mikoto fastened small bells with grass, ere beginning her mirthful song. Sec. 4 Behind the library in the rear of the great shrine, there stands a more ancient structure which is still called the Miko-yashiki, or dwelling-place of the miko. Here in former times all the maiden-priestesses were obliged to live, under a somewhat stricter discipline than now. By day they could go out where they pleased; but they were under obligation to return at night to the yashiki before the gates of the court were closed. For it was feared that the Pets of the Gods might so far forget themselves as to condescend to become the darlings of adventurous mortals. Nor was the fear at all unreasonable; for it was the duty of a miko to be singularly innocent as well as beautiful. And one of the most beautiful miko who belonged to the service of the Oho-yashiro did actually so fall from grace--giving to the Japanese world a romance which you can buy in cheap printed form at any large bookstore in Japan. Her name was O-Kuni, and she was the daughter of one Nakamura Mongoro of Kitzuki, where her descendants still live at the present day. While serving as dancer in the great temple she fell in love with a ronin named Nagoya Sanza--a desperate, handsome vagabond, with no fortune in the world but his sword. And she left the temple secretly, and fled away with her lover toward Kyoto. All this must have happened not less than three hundred years ago. On their way to Kyoto they met another ronin, whose real name I have not been able to learn. For a moment only this 'wave-man' figures in the story, and immediately vanishes into the eternal Night of death and all forgotten things. It is simply recorded that he desired permission to travel with them, that he became enamoured of the beautiful miko, and excited the jealousy of her lover to such an extent that a desperate duel was the result, in which Sanza slew his rival. Thereafter the fugitives pursued their way to Kyoto without other interruption. Whether the fair O-Kuni had by this time found ample reason to regret the step she had taken, we cannot know. But from the story of her after-life it would seem that the face of the handsome ronin who had perished through his passion for her became a haunting memory. We next hear of her in a strange role at Kyoto. Her lover appears to have been utterly destitute; for, in order to support him, we find her giving exhibitions of the Miko-kagura in the Shijo-Kawara--which is the name given to a portion of the dry bed of the river Kamagawa--doubtless the same place in which the terrible executions by torture took place. She must have been looked upon by the public of that day as an outcast. But her extraordinary beauty seems to have attracted many spectators, and to have proved more than successful as an exhibition. Sanza's purse became well filled. Yet the dance of O-Kuni in the Shijo-Kawara was nothing more than the same dance which the miko of Kitzuki dance to-day, in their crimson hakama and snowy robes--a graceful gliding walk. The pair next appear in Tokyo--or, as it was then called, Yedo--as actors. O-Kuni, indeed, is universally credited by tradition, with having established the modern Japanese stage--the first profane drama. Before her time only religious plays, of Buddhist authorship, seem to have been known. Sanza himself became a popular and successful actor, under his sweetheart's tuition. He had many famous pupils, among them the great Saruwaka, who subsequently founded a theatre in Yedo; and the theatre called after him Saruwakaza, in the street Saruwakacho, remains even unto this day. But since the time of O-Kuni, women have been--at least until very recently--excluded from the Japanese stage; their parts, as among the old Greeks, being taken by men or boys so effeminate in appearance and so skilful in acting that the keenest observer could never detect their sex. Nagoya Sanza died many years before his companion. O-Kuni then returned to her native place, to ancient Kitzuki, where she cut off her beautiful hair, and became a Buddhist nun. She was learned for her century, and especially skilful in that art of poetry called Renga; and this art she continued to teach until her death. With the small fortune she had earned as an actress she built in Kitzuki the little Buddhist temple called Rengaji, in the very heart of the quaint town--so called because there she taught the art of Renga. Now the reason she built the temple was that she might therein always pray for the soul of the man whom the sight of her beauty had ruined, and whose smile, perhaps, had stirred something within her heart whereof Sanza never knew. Her family enjoyed certain privileges for several centuries because she had founded the whole art of the Japanese stage; and until so recently as the Restoration the chief of the descendants of Nakamura Mongoro was always entitled to a share in the profits of the Kitzuki theatre, and enjoyed the title of Zamoto. The family is now, however, very poor. I went to see the little temple of Rengaji, and found that it had disappeared. Until within a few years it used to stand at the foot of the great flight of stone steps leading to the second Kwannondera, the most imposing temple of Kwannon in Kitzuki. Nothing now remains of the Rengaji but a broken statue of Jizo, before which the people still pray. The former court of the little temple has been turned into a vegetable garden, and the material of the ancient building utilised, irreverently enough, for the construction of some petty cottages now occupying its site. A peasant told me that the kakemono and other sacred objects had been given to the neighbouring temple, where they might be seen. Sec. 5 Not far from the site of the Rengaji, in the grounds of the great hakaba of the Kwannondera, there stands a most curious pine. The trunk of the tree is supported, not on the ground, but upon four colossal roots which lift it up at such an angle that it looks like a thing walking upon four legs. Trees of singular shape are often considered to be the dwelling-places of Kami; and the pine in question affords an example of this belief. A fence has been built around it, and a small shrine placed before it, prefaced by several small torii; and many poor people may be seen, at almost any hour of the day, praying to the Kami of the place. Before the little shrine I notice, besides the usual Kitzuki ex-voto of seaweed, several little effigies of horses made of straw. Why these offerings of horses of straw? It appears that the shrine is dedicated to Koshin, the Lord of Roads; and those who are anxious about the health of their horses pray to the Road-God to preserve their animals from sickness and death, at the same time bringing these straw effigies in token of their desire. But this role of veterinarian is not commonly attributed to Koshin; and it appears that something in the fantastic form of the tree suggested the idea. Sec. 6 KITZUKI, July 24th Within the first court of the Oho-yashiro, and to the left of the chief gate, stands a small timber structure, ashen-coloured with age, shaped like a common miya or shrine. To the wooden gratings of its closed doors are knotted many of those white papers upon which are usually written vows or prayers to the gods. But on peering through the grating one sees no Shinto symbols in the dimness within. It is a stable! And there, in the central stall, is a superb horse--looking at you. Japanese horseshoes of straw are suspended to the wall behind him. He does not move. He is made of bronze! Upon inquiring of the learned priest Sasa the story of this horse, I was told the following curious things: On the eleventh day of the seventh month, by the ancient calendar,[1] falls the strange festival called Minige, or 'The Body-escaping.' Upon that day, 'tis said that the Great Deity of Kitzuki leaves his shrine to pass through all the streets of the city, and along the seashore, after which he enters into the house of the Kokuzo. Wherefore upon that day the Kokuzo was always wont to leave his house; and at the present time, though he does not actually abandon his home, he and his family retire into certain apartments, so as to leave the larger part of the dwelling free for the use of the god. This retreat of the Kokuzo is still called the Minige. Now while the great Deity Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami is passing through the streets, he is followed by the highest Shinto priest of the shrine--this kannushi having been formerly called Bekkwa. The word 'Bekkwa' means 'special' or 'sacred fire'; and the chief kannushi was so called because for a week before the festival he had been nourished only with special food cooked with the sacred fire, so that he might be pure in the presence of the God. And the office of Bekkwa was hereditary; and the appellation at last became a family name. But he who performs the rite to-day is no longer called Bekkwa. Now while performing his function, if the Bekkwa met anyone upon the street, he ordered him to stand aside with the words: 'Dog, give way!' And the common people believed, and still believe, that anybody thus spoken to by the officiating kannushi would be changed into a dog. So on that day of the Minige nobody used to go out into the streets after a certain hour, and even now very few of the people of the little city leave their homes during the festival.[2] After having followed the deity through all the city, the Bekkwa used to perform, between two and three o'clock in the darkness of the morning, some secret rite by the seaside. (I am told this rite is still annually performed at the same hour.) But, except the Bekkwa himself, no man might be present; and it was believed, and is still believed by the common people, that were any man, by mischance, to see the rite he would instantly fall dead, or become transformed into an animal. So sacred was the secret of that rite, that the Bekkwa could not even utter it until after he was dead, to his successor in office. Therefore, when he died, the body was laid upon the matting of a certain inner chamber of the temple, and the son was left alone with the corpse, after all the doors had been carefully closed. Then, at a certain hour of the night, the soul returned into the body of the dead priest, and he lifted himself up, and whispered the awful secret into the ear of his son--and fell back dead again. But what, you may ask, has all this to do with the Horse of Bronze? Only this: Upon the festival of the Minige, the Great Deity of Kitzuki rides through the streets of his city upon the Horse of Bronze. Sec. 7 The Horse of Bronze, however, is far from being the only statue in Izumo which is believed to run about occasionally at night: at least a score of other artistic things are, or have been, credited with similar ghastly inclinations. The great carven dragon which writhes above the entrance of the Kitzuki haiden used, I am told, to crawl about the roofs at night--until a carpenter was summoned to cut its wooden throat with a chisel, after which it ceased its perambulations. You can see for yourself the mark of the chisel on its throat! At the splendid Shinto temple of Kasuga, in Matsue, there are two pretty life-size bronze deer--stag and doe--the heads of which seemed to me to have been separately cast, and subsequently riveted very deftly to the bodies. Nevertheless I have been assured by some good country-folk that each figure was originally a single casting, but that it was afterwards found necessary to cut off the heads of the deer to make them keep quiet at night. But the most unpleasant customer of all this uncanny fraternity to have encountered after dark was certainly the monster tortoise of Gesshoji temple in Matsue, where the tombs of the Matsudairas are. This stone colossus is almost seventeen feet in length and lifts its head six feet from the ground. On its now broken back stands a prodigious cubic monolith about nine feet high, bearing a half-obliterated inscription. Fancy--as Izumo folks did--this mortuary incubus staggering abroad at midnight, and its hideous attempts to swim in the neighbouring lotus- pond! Well, the legend runs that its neck had to be broken in consequence of this awful misbehaviour. But really the thing looks as if it could only have been broken by an earthquake. Sec. 8 KITZUKI, July 25th. At the Oho-yashiro it is the annual festival of the God of Scholarship, the God of Calligraphy--Tenjin. Here in Kitzuki, the festival of the Divine Scribe, the Tenjin-Matsuri, is still observed according to the beautiful old custom which is being forgotten elsewhere. Long ranges of temporary booths have been erected within the outer court of the temple; and in these are suspended hundreds of long white tablets, bearing specimens of calligraphy. Every schoolboy in Kitzuki has a sample of his best writing on exhibition. The texts are written only in Chinese characters--not in hirakana or katakana--and are mostly drawn from the works of Confucius or Mencius. To me this display of ideographs seems a marvellous thing of beauty--almost a miracle, indeed, since it is all the work of very, very young boys. Rightly enough, the word 'to write' (kaku) in Japanese signifies also to 'paint' in the best artistic sense. I once had an opportunity of studying the result of an attempt to teach English children the art of writing Japanese. These children were instructed by a Japanese writing-master; they sat upon the same bench with Japanese pupils of their own age, beginners likewise. But they could never learn like the Japanese children. The ancestral tendencies within them rendered vain the efforts of the instructor to teach them the secret of a shapely stroke with the brush. It is not the Japanese boy alone who writes; the fingers of the dead move his brush, guide his strokes. Beautiful, however, as this writing seems to me, it is far from winning the commendation of my Japanese companion, himself a much experienced teacher. 'The greater part of this work,' he declares, 'is very bad.' While I am still bewildered by this sweeping criticism, he points out to me one tablet inscribed with rather small characters, adding: 'Only that is tolerably good.' 'Why,' I venture to observe, 'that one would seem to have cost much less trouble; the characters are so small.' 'Oh, the size of the characters has nothing to do with the matter,' interrupts the master, 'it is a question of form.' 'Then I cannot understand. What you call very bad seems to me exquisitely beautiful.' 'Of course you cannot understand,' the critic replies; 'it would take you many years of study to understand. And even then-- 'And even then?' 'Well, even then you could only partly understand.' Thereafter I hold my peace on the topic of calligraphy. Sec. 9 Vast as the courts of the Oho-yashiro are, the crowd within them is now so dense that one must move very slowly, for the whole population of Kitzuki and its environs has been attracted here by the matsuri. All are making their way very gently toward a little shrine built upon an island in the middle of an artificial lake and approached by a narrow causeway. This little shrine, which I see now for the first time (Kitzuki temple being far too large a place to be all seen and known in a single visit), is the Shrine of Tenjin. As the sound of a waterfall is the sound of the clapping of hands before it, and myriads of nin, and bushels of handfuls of rice, are being dropped into the enormous wooden chest there placed to receive the offerings. Fortunately this crowd, like all Japanese crowds, is so sympathetically yielding that it is possible to traverse it slowly in any direction, and thus to see all there is to be seen. After contributing my mite to the coffer of Tenjin, I devote my attention to the wonderful display of toys in the outer courts. At almost every temple festival in Japan there is a great sale of toys, usually within the court itself--a miniature street of small booths being temporarily erected for this charming commence. Every matsuri is a children's holiday. No mother would think of attending a temple-festival without buying her child a toy: even the poorest mother can afford it; for the price of the toys sold in a temple court varies from one-fifth of one sen [3] or Japanese cent, to three or four sen; toys worth so much as five sen being rarely displayed at these little shops. But cheap as they are, these frail playthings are full of beauty and suggestiveness, and, to one who knows and loves Japan, infinitely more interesting than the costliest inventions of a Parisian toy-manufacturer. Many of them, however, would be utterly incomprehensible to an English child. Suppose we peep at a few of them. Here is a little wooden mallet, with a loose tiny ball fitted into a socket at the end of the handle. This is for the baby to suck. On either end of the head of the mallet is painted the mystic tomoye--that Chinese symbol, resembling two huge commas so united as to make a perfect circle, which you may have seen on the title-page of Mr. Lowell's beautiful Soul of the Far East. To you, however, this little wooden mallet would seem in all probability just a little wooden mallet and nothing more. But to the Japanese child it is full of suggestions. It is the mallet of the Great Deity of Kitzuki, Ohokuni-nushi-no-Kami--vulgarly called Daikoku--the God of Wealth, who, by one stroke of his hammer, gives fortune to his worshippers. Perhaps this tiny drum, of a form never seen in the Occident (tsudzumi), or this larger drum with a mitsudomoye, or triple-comma symbol, painted on each end, might seem to you without religious signification; but both are models of drums used in the Shinto and the Buddhist temples. This queer tiny table is a miniature sambo: it is upon such a table that offerings are presented to the gods. This curious cap is a model of the cap of a Shinto priest. Here is a toy miya, or Shinto shrine, four inches high. This bunch of tiny tin bells attached to a wooden handle might seem to you something corresponding to our Occidental tin rattles; but it is a model of the sacred suzu used by the virgin priestess in her dance before the gods. This face of a smiling chubby girl, with two spots upon her forehead--a mask of baked clay--is the traditional image of Ame-no-uzume-no-mikoto, commonly called Otafuku, whose merry laughter lured the Goddess of the Sun out of the cavern of darkness. And here is a little Shinto priest in full hieratic garb: when this little string between his feet is pulled, he claps his hands as if in prayer. Hosts of other toys are here--mysterious to the uninitiated European, but to the Japanese child full of delightful religious meaning. In these faiths of the Far East there is little of sternness or grimness--the Kami are but the spirits of the fathers of the people; the Buddhas and the Bosatsu were men. Happily the missionaries have not succeeded as yet in teaching the Japanese to make religion a dismal thing. These gods smile for ever: if you find one who frowns, like Fudo, the frown seems but half in earnest; it is only Emma, the Lord of Death, who somewhat appals. Why religion should be considered too awful a subject for children to amuse themselves decently with never occurs to the common Japanese mind. So here we have images of the gods and saints for toys--Tenjin, the Deity of Beautiful Writing--and Uzume, the laughter-loving--and Fukusuke, like a happy schoolboy--and the Seven Divinities of Good Luck, in a group--and Fukurojin, the God of Longevity, with head so elongated that only by the aid of a ladder can his barber shave the top of it--and Hotei, with a belly round and huge as a balloon--and Ebisu, the Deity of Markets and of fishermen, with a tai-fish under his arm--and Daruma, ancient disciple of Buddha, whose legs were worn off by uninterrupted meditation. Here likewise are many toys which a foreigner could scarcely guess the meaning of, although they have no religious signification. Such is this little badger, represented as drumming upon its own belly with both forepaws. The badger is believed to be able to use its belly like a drum, and is credited by popular superstition with various supernatural powers. This toy illustrates a pretty fairy-tale about some hunter who spared a badger's life and was rewarded by the creature with a wonderful dinner and a musical performance. Here is a hare sitting on the end of the handle of a wooden pestle which is set horizontally upon a pivot. By pulling a little string, the pestle is made to rise and fall as if moved by the hare. If you have been even a week in Japan you will recognise the pestle as the pestle of a kometsuki, or rice-cleaner, who works it by treading on the handle. But what is the hare? This hare is the Hare-in-the-Moon, called Usagi-no-kometsuki: if you look up at the moon on a clear night you can see him cleaning his rice. Now let us see what we can discover in the way of cheap ingenuities. Tombo, 'the Dragon-Fly.' Merely two bits of wood joined together in the form of a T. The lower part is a little round stick, about as thick as a match, but twice as long; the upper piece is flat, and streaked with paint. Unless you are accustomed to look for secrets, you would scarcely be able to notice that the flat piece is trimmed along two edges at a particular angle. Twirl the lower piece rapidly between the palms of both hands, and suddenly let it go. At once the strange toy rises revolving in the air, and then sails away slowly to quite a distance, performing extraordinary gyrations, and imitating exactly--to the eye at least--the hovering motion of a dragon-fly. Those little streaks of paint you noticed upon the top-piece now reveal their purpose; as the tombo darts hither and thither, even the tints appear to be those of a real dragon-fly; and even the sound of the flitting toy imitates the dragon-fly's hum. The principle of this pretty invention is much like that of the boomerang; and an expert can make his tombo, after flying across a large room, return into his hand. All the tombo sold, however, are not as good as this one; we have been lucky. Price, one-tenth of one cent! Here is a toy which looks like a bow of bamboo strung with wire. The wire, however, is twisted into a corkscrew spiral. On this spiral a pair of tiny birds are suspended by a metal loop. When the bow is held perpendicularly with the birds at the upper end of the string, they descend whirling by their own weight, as if circling round one another; and the twittering of two birds is imitated by the sharp grating of the metal loop upon the spiral wire. One bird flies head upward, and the other tail upward. As soon as they have reached the bottom, reverse the bow, and they will recommence their wheeling flight. Price, two cents--because the wire is dear. O-Saru, the 'Honourable Monkey.' [4] A little cotton monkey, with a blue head and scarlet body, hugging a bamboo rod. Under him is a bamboo spring; and when you press it, he runs up to the top of the rod. Price, one-eighth of one cent. O-Saru. Another Honourable Monkey. This one is somewhat more complex in his movements, and costs a cent. He runs up a string, hand over hand, when you pull his tail. Tori-Kago. A tiny gilded cage, with a bird in it, and plum flowers. Press the edges of the bottom of the cage, and a minuscule wind-instrument imitates the chirping of the bird. Price, one cent. Karuwazashi, the Acrobat. A very loose-jointed wooden boy clinging with both hands to a string stretched between two bamboo sticks, which are curiously rigged together in the shape of an open pair of scissors. Press the ends of the sticks at the bottom; and the acrobat tosses his legs over the string, seats himself upon it, and finally turns a somersault. Price, one-sixth of one cent. Kobiki, the Sawyer. A figure of a Japanese workman, wearing only a fundoshi about his loins, and standing on a plank, with a long saw in his hands. If you pull a string below his feet, he will go to work in good earnest, sawing the plank. Notice that he pulls the saw towards him, like a true Japanese, instead of pushing it from him, as our own carpenters do. Price, one-tenth of one cent. Chie-no-ita, the 'Intelligent Boards,' or better, perhaps, 'The Planks of Intelligence.' A sort of chain composed of about a dozen flat square pieces of white wood, linked together by ribbons. Hold the thing perpendicularly by one end-piece; then turn the piece at right angles to the chain; and immediately all the other pieces tumble over each other in the most marvellous way without unlinking. Even an adult can amuse himself for half an hour with this: it is a perfect trompe-l'oeil in mechanical adjustment. Price, one cent. Kitsune-Tanuki. A funny flat paper mask with closed eyes. If you pull a pasteboard slip behind it, it will open its eyes and put out a tongue of surprising length. Price, one-sixth of one cent. Chin. A little white dog, with a collar round its neck. It is in the attitude of barking. From a Buddhist point of view, I should think this toy somewhat immoral. For when you slap the dog's head, it utters a sharp yelp, as of pain. Price, one sen and five rin. Rather dear. Fuki-agari-koboshi, the Wrestler Invincible. This is still dearer; for it is made of porcelain, and very nicely coloured The wrestler squats upon his hams. Push him down in any direction, he always returns of his own accord to an erect position. Price, two sen. Oroga-Heika-Kodomo, the Child Reverencing His Majesty the Emperor. A Japanese schoolboy with an accordion in his hands, singing and playing the national anthem, or Kimiga. There is a little wind-bellows at the bottom of the toy; and when you operate it, the boy's arms move as if playing the instrument, and a shrill small voice is heard. Price, one cent and a half. Jishaku. This, like the preceding, is quite a modern toy. A small wooden box containing a magnet and a tiny top made of a red wooden button with a steel nail driven through it. Set the top spinning with a twirl of the fingers; then hold the magnet over the nail, and the top will leap up to the magnet and there continue to spin, suspended in air. Price, one cent. It would require at least a week to examine them all. Here is a model spinning-wheel, absolutely perfect, for one-fifth of one cent. Here are little clay tortoises which swim about when you put them into water--one rin for two. Here is a box of toy-soldiers--samurai in full armour--nine rin only. Here is a Kaze-Kuruma, or wind-wheel--a wooden whistle with a paper wheel mounted before the orifice by which the breath is expelled, so that the wheel turns furiously when the whistle is blown--three rin. Here is an Ogi, a sort of tiny quadruple fan sliding in a sheath. When expanded it takes the shape of a beautiful flower--one rin. The most charming of all these things to me, however, is a tiny doll--O-Hina-San (Honourable Miss Hina)--or beppin ('beautiful woman'). The body is a phantom, only--a flat stick covered with a paper kimono--but the head is really a work of art. A pretty oval face with softly shadowed oblique eyes--looking shyly downward--and a wonderful maiden coiffure, in which the hair is arranged in bands and volutes and ellipses and convolutions and foliole curlings most beautiful and extraordinary. In some respects this toy is a costume model, for it imitates exactly the real coiffure of Japanese maidens and brides. But the expression of the face of the beppin is, I think, the great attraction of the toy; there is a shy, plaintive sweetness about it impossible to describe, but deliciously suggestive of a real Japanese type of girl-beauty. Yet the whole thing is made out of a little crumpled paper, coloured with a few dashes of the brush by an expert hand. There are no two O-Hina-San exactly alike out of millions; and when you have become familiar by long residence with Japanese types, any such doll will recall to you some pretty face that you have seen. These are for little girls. Price, five rin. Sec. 10 Here let me tell you something you certainly never heard of before in relation to Japanese dolls--not the tiny O-Hina-San I was just speaking about, but the beautiful life-sized dolls representing children of two or three years old; real toy-babes which, although far more cheaply and simply constructed than our finer kinds of Western dolls, become, under the handling of a Japanese girl, infinitely more interesting. Such dolls are well dressed, and look so life-like--little slanting eyes, shaven pates, smiles, and all!--that as seen from a short distance the best eyes might be deceived by them. Therefore in those stock photographs of Japanese life, of which so many thousands are sold in the open ports, the conventional baby on the mother's back is most successfully represented by a doll. Even the camera does not betray the substitution. And if you see such a doll, though held quite close to you, being made by a Japanese mother to reach out his hands, to move its little bare feet, and to turn its head, you would be almost afraid to venture a heavy wager that it was only a doll. Even after having closely examined the thing, you would still, I fancy, feel a little nervous at being left alone with it, so perfect the delusion of that expert handling. Now there is a belief that some dolls do actually become alive. Formerly the belief was less rare than it is now. Certain dolls were spoken of with a reverence worthy of the Kami, and their owners were envied folk. Such a doll was treated like a real son or daughter: it was regularly served with food; it had a bed, and plenty of nice clothes, and a name. If in the semblance of a girl, it was O-Toku-San; if in that of a boy, Tokutaro-San. It was thought that the doll would become angry and cry if neglected, and that any ill-treatment of it would bring ill-fortune to the house. And, moreover, it was believed to possess supernatural powers of a very high order. In the family of one Sengoku, a samurai of Matsue, there was a Tokutaro-San which had a local reputation scarcely inferior to that of Kishibojin--she to whom Japanese wives pray for offspring. And childless couples used to borrow that doll, and keep it for a time--ministering unto it--and furnish it with new clothes before gratefully returning it to its owners. And all who did so, I am assured, became parents, according to their heart's desire. 'Sengoku's doll had a soul.' There is even a legend that once, when the house caught fire, the Tokutar O-San ran out safely into the garden of its own accord! The idea about such a doll seems to be this: The new doll is only a doll. But a doll which is preserved for a great many years in one family, [5] and is loved and played with by generations of children, gradually acquires a soul. I asked a charming Japanese girl: 'How can a doll live?' 'Why,' she answered, 'if you love it enough, it will live!' What is this but Renan's thought of a deity in process of evolution, uttered by the heart of a child? Sec. 11 But even the most beloved dolls are worn out at last, or get broken in the course of centuries. And when a doll must be considered quite dead, its remains are still entitled to respect. Never is the corpse of a doll irreverently thrown away. Neither is it burned or cast into pure running water, as all sacred objects of the miya must be when they have ceased to be serviceable. And it is not buried. You could not possibly imagine what is done with it. It is dedicated to the God Kojin, [6]--a somewhat mysterious divinity, half-Buddhist, half-Shinto. The ancient Buddhist images of Kojin represented a deity with many arms; the Shinto Kojin of Izumo has, I believe, no artistic representation whatever. But in almost every Shinto, and also in many Buddhist, temple grounds, is planted the tree called enoki [7] which is sacred to him, and in which he is supposed by the peasantry to dwell; for they pray before the enoki always to Kojin. And there is usually a small shrine placed before the tree, and a little torii also. Now you may often see laid upon such a shrine of Kojin, or at the foot of his sacred tree, or in a hollow thereof--if there be any hollow--pathetic remains of dolls. But a doll is seldom given to Kojin during the lifetime of its possessor. When you see one thus exposed, you may be almost certain that it was found among the effects of some poor dead woman--the innocent memento of her girlhood, perhaps even also of the girlhood of her mother and of her mother's mother. Sec. 12 And now we are to see the Honen-odori--which begins at eight o'clock. There is no moon; and the night is pitch-black overhead: but there is plenty of light in the broad court of the Guji's residence, for a hundred lanterns have been kindled and hung out. I and my friend have been provided with comfortable places in the great pavilion which opens upon the court, and the pontiff has had prepared for us a delicious little supper. Already thousands have assembled before the pavilion--young men of Kitzuki and young peasants from the environs, and women and children in multitude, and hundreds of young girls. The court is so thronged that it is difficult to assume the possibility of any dance. Illuminated by the lantern-light, the scene is more than picturesque: it is a carnivalesque display of gala-costume. Of course the peasants come in their ancient attire: some in rain-coats (mino), or overcoats of yellow straw; others with blue towels tied round their heads; many with enormous mushroom hats--all with their blue robes well tucked up. But the young townsmen come in all guises and disguises. Many have dressed themselves in female attire; some are all in white duck, like police; some have mantles on; others wear shawls exactly as a Mexican wears his zarape; numbers of young artisans appear almost as lightly clad as in working-hours, barelegged to the hips, and barearmed to the shoulders. Among the girls some wonderful dressing is to be seen--ruby-coloured robes, and rich greys and browns and purples, confined with exquisite obi, or girdles of figured satin; but the best taste is shown in the simple and very graceful black and white costumes worn by some maidens of the better classes--dresses especially made for dancing, and not to be worn at any other time. A few shy damsels have completely masked themselves by tying down over their cheeks the flexible brims of very broad straw hats. I cannot attempt to talk about the delicious costumes of the children: as well try to describe without paint the variegated loveliness of moths and butterflies. In the centre of this multitude I see a huge rice-mortar turned upside down; and presently a sandalled peasant leaps upon it lightly, and stands there--with an open paper umbrella above his head. Nevertheless it is not raining. That is the Ondo-tori, the leader of the dance, who is celebrated through all Izumo as a singer. According to ancient custom, the leader of the Honen-odori [8] always holds an open umbrella above his head while he sings. Suddenly, at a signal from the Guji, who has just taken his place in the pavilion, the voice of the Ondo-tori, intoning the song of thanksgiving, rings out over all the murmuring of the multitude like a silver cornet. A wondrous voice, and a wondrous song, full of trills and quaverings indescribable, but full also of sweetness and true musical swing. And as he sings, he turns slowly round upon his high pedestal, with the umbrella always above his head; never halting in his rotation from right to left, but pausing for a regular interval in his singing, at the close of each two verses, when the people respond with a joyous outcry: 'Ya-ha-to-nai!-ya-ha-to-nai!' Simultaneously, an astonishingly rapid movement of segregation takes place in the crowd; two enormous rings of dancers form, one within the other, the rest of the people pressing back to make room for the odori. And then this great double-round, formed by fully five hundred dancers, begins also to revolve from right to left--lightly, fantastically--all the tossing of arms and white twinkling of feet keeping faultless time to the measured syllabification of the chant. An immense wheel the dance is, with the Ondo-tori for its axis--always turning slowly upon his rice-mortar, under his open umbrella, as he sings the song of harvest thanksgiving: [9] Ichi-wa--Izumo-no-Taisha-Sama-ye; Ni-ni-wa--Niigata-no-Irokami-Sama-ye; San-wa--Sanuki-no-Kompira-Sama-ye; Shi-ni-wa--Shinano-no-Zenkoji-Sama-ye; Itsutsu--Ichibata-O-Yakushi-Sama-ye; Roku-niwa--Rokkakudo-no-O-Jizo-Sama-ye; Nanatsu--Nana-ura-no-O-Ebisu-Sama-ye; Yattsu--Yawata-no-Hachiman-Sama-ye; Kokonotsu--Koya-no-O-teradera-ye; To-niwa--Tokoro-no-Ujigami-Sama-ye. And the voices of all the dancers in unison roll out the chorus: Ya-ha-to-nai! Ya-ha-to-nail Utterly different this whirling joyous Honen-odori from the Bon-odori which I witnessed last year at Shimo-Ichi, and which seemed to me a very dance of ghosts. But it is also much more difficult to describe. Each dancer makes a half-wheel alternately to left and right, with a peculiar bending of the knees and tossing up of the hands at the same time--as in the act of lifting a weight above the head; but there are other curious movements--jerky with the men, undulatory with the women--as impossible to describe as water in motion. These are decidedly complex, yet so regular that five hundred pairs of feet and hands mark the measure of the song as truly as if they were under the control of a single nervous system. It is strangely difficult to memorise the melody of a Japanese popular song, or the movements of a Japanese dance; for the song and the dance have been evolved through an aesthetic sense of rhythm in sound and in motion as different from the corresponding Occidental sense as English is different from Chinese. We have no ancestral sympathies with these exotic rhythms, no inherited aptitudes for their instant comprehension, no racial impulses whatever in harmony with them. But when they have become familiar through study, after a long residence in the Orient, how nervously fascinant the oscillation of the dance, and the singular swing of the song! This dance, I know, began at eight o'clock; and the Ondo-tori, after having sung without a falter in his voice for an extraordinary time, has been relieved by a second. But the great round never breaks, never slackens its whirl; it only enlarges as the night wears on. And the second Ondo-tori is relieved by a third; yet I would like to watch that dance for ever. 'What time do you think it is?' my friend asks, looking at his watch. 'Nearly eleven o'clock,' I make answer. 'Eleven o'clock! It is exactly eight minutes to three o'clock. And our host will have little time for sleep before the rising of the sun.' Chapter Twelve At Hinomisaki KITZUKI, August 10, 1891. MY Japanese friends urge me to visit Hinomisaki, where no European has ever been, and where there is a far-famed double temple dedicated to Amaterasu-oho-mi-Kami, the Lady of Light, and to her divine brother Take-haya-susa-no-wo-no-mikoto. Hinomisaki is a little village on the Izumo coast about five miles from Kitzuki. It maybe reached by a mountain path, but the way is extremely steep, rough, and fatiguing. By boat, when the weather is fair, the trip is very agreeable. So, with a friend, I start for Hinomisaki in a very cozy ryosen, skilfully sculled by two young fishermen. Leaving the pretty bay of Inasa, we follow the coast to the right--a very lofty and grim coast without a beach. Below us the clear water gradually darkens to inky blackness, as the depth increases; but at intervals pale jagged rocks rise up from this nether darkness to catch the light fifty feet under the surface. We keep tolerably close to the cliffs, which vary in height from three hundred to six hundred feet--their bases rising from the water all dull iron-grey, their sides and summits green with young pines and dark grasses that toughen in sea-wind. All the coast is abrupt, ravined, irregular--curiously breached and fissured. Vast masses of it have toppled into the sea; and the black ruins project from the deep in a hundred shapes of menace. Sometimes our boat glides between a double line of these; or takes a zigzag course through labyrinths of reef-channels. So swiftly and deftly is the little craft impelled to right and left, that one could almost believe it sees its own way and moves by its own intelligence. And again we pass by extraordinary islets of prismatic rock whose sides, just below the water-line, are heavily mossed with seaweed. The polygonal masses composing these shapes are called by the fishermen 'tortoise-shell stones.' There is a legend that once Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami, to try his strength, came here, and, lifting up one of these masses of basalt, flung it across the sea to the mountain of Sanbeyama. At the foot of Sanbe the mighty rock thus thrown by the Great Deity of Kitzuki may still be seen, it is alleged, even unto this day. More and more bare and rugged and ghastly the coast becomes as we journey on, and the sunken ledges more numerous, and the protruding rocks more dangerous, splinters of strata piercing the sea-surface from a depth of thirty fathoms. Then suddenly our boat makes a dash for the black cliff, and shoots into a tremendous cleft of it--an earthquake fissure with sides lofty and perpendicular as the walls of a canyon-and lo! there is daylight ahead. This is a miniature strait, a short cut to the bay. We glide through it in ten minutes, reach open water again, and Hinomisaki is before us--a semicircle of houses clustering about a bay curve, with an opening in their centre, prefaced by a torii. Of all bays I have ever seen, this is the most extraordinary. Imagine an enormous sea-cliff torn out and broken down level with the sea, so as to leave a great scoop-shaped hollow in the land, with one original fragment of the ancient cliff still standing in the middle of the gap--a monstrous square tower of rock, bearing trees upon its summit. And a thousand yards out from the shore rises another colossal rock, fully one hundred feet high. This is known by the name of Fumishima or Okyogashima; and the temple of the Sun-goddess, which we are now about to see, formerly stood upon that islet. The same appalling forces which formed the bay of Hinomisaki doubtless also detached the gigantic mass of Fumishima from this iron coast. We land at the right end of the bay. Here also there is no beach; the water is black-deep close to the shore, which slopes up rapidly. As we mount the slope, an extraordinary spectacle is before us. Upon thousands and thousands of bamboo frames--shaped somewhat like our clothes-horses--are dangling countless pale yellowish things, the nature of which I cannot discern at first glance. But a closer inspection reveals the mystery. Millions of cuttlefish drying in the sun! I could never have believed that so many cuttlefish existed in these waters. And there is scarcely any variation in the dimensions of them: out of ten thousand there is not the difference of half an inch in length. Sec. 2 The great torii which forms the sea-gate of Hinomisaki is of white granite, and severely beautiful. Through it we pass up the main street of the village--surprisingly wide for about a thousand yards, after which it narrows into a common highway which slopes up a wooded hill and disappears under the shadow of trees. On the right, as you enter the street, is a long vision of grey wooden houses with awnings and balconies--little shops, little two-story dwellings of fishermen--and ranging away in front of these other hosts of bamboo frames from which other millions of freshly caught cuttlefish are hanging. On the other side of the street rises a cyclopean retaining wall, massive as the wall of a daimyo's castle, and topped by a lofty wooden parapet pierced with gates; and above it tower the roofs of majestic buildings, whose architecture strongly resembles that of the structures of Kitzuki; and behind all appears a beautiful green background of hills. This is the Hinomisaki-jinja. But one must walk some considerable distance up the road to reach the main entrance of the court, which is at the farther end of the inclosure, and is approached by an imposing broad flight of granite steps. The great court is a surprise. It is almost as deep as the outer court of the Kitzuki-no-oho-yashiro, though not nearly so wide; and a paved cloister forms two sides of it. From the court gate a broad paved walk leads to the haiden and shamusho at the opposite end of the court--spacious and dignified structures above whose roofs appears the quaint and massive gable of the main temple, with its fantastic cross-beams. This temple, standing with its back to the sea, is the shrine of the Goddess of the Sun. On the right side of the main court, as you enter, another broad flight of steps leads up to a loftier court, where another fine group of Shinto buildings stands--a haiden and a miya; but these are much smaller, like miniatures of those below. Their woodwork also appears to be quite new. The upper miya is the shrine of the god Susano-o, [1]--brother of Amaterasu-oho-mi-Kami. Sec. 3 To me the great marvel of the Hinomisaki-jinja is that structures so vast, and so costly to maintain, can exist in a mere fishing hamlet, in an obscure nook of the most desolate coast of Japan. Assuredly the contributions of peasant pilgrims alone could not suffice to pay the salary of a single kannushi; for Hinomisaki, unlike Kitzuki, is not a place possible to visit in all weathers. My friend confirms me in this opinion; but I learn from him that the temples have three large sources of revenue. They are partly supported by the Government; they receive yearly large gifts of money from pious merchants; and the revenues from lands attached to them also represent a considerable sum. Certainly a great amount of money must have been very recently expended here; for the smaller of the two miya seems to have just been wholly rebuilt; the beautiful joinery is all white with freshness, and even the carpenters' odorous chips have not yet been all removed. At the shamusho we make the acquaintance of the Guji of Hinomisaki, a noble-looking man in the prime of life, with one of those fine aquiline faces rarely to be met with except among the high aristocracy of Japan. He wears a heavy black moustache, which gives him, in spite of his priestly robes, the look of a retired army officer. We are kindly permitted by him to visit the sacred shrines; and a kannushi is detailed to conduct us through the buildings. Something resembling the severe simplicity of the Kitzuki-no-oho-yashiro was what I expected to see. But this shrine of the Goddess of the Sun is a spectacle of such splendour that for the first moment I almost doubt whether I am really in a Shinto temple. In very truth there is nothing of pure Shinto here. These shrines belong to the famous period of Ryobu-Shinto, when the ancient faith, interpenetrated and allied with Buddhism, adopted the ceremonial magnificence and the marvellous decorative art of the alien creed. Since visiting the great Buddhist shrines of the capital, I have seen no temple interior to be compared with this. Daintily beautiful as a casket is the chamber of the shrine. All its elaborated woodwork is lacquered in scarlet and gold; the altar-piece is a delight of carving and colour; the ceiling swarms with dreams of clouds and dragons. And yet the exquisite taste of the decorators--buried, doubtless, five hundred years ago--has so justly proportioned the decoration to the needs of surface, so admirably blended the colours, that there is no gaudiness, no glare, only an opulent repose. This shrine is surrounded by a light outer gallery which is not visible from the lower court; and from this gallery one can study some remarkable friezes occupying the spaces above the doorways and below the eaves--friezes surrounding the walls of the miya. These, although exposed for many centuries to the terrific weather of the western coast, still remain masterpieces of quaint carving. There are apes and hares peeping through wonderfully chiselled leaves, and doves and demons, and dragons writhing in storms. And while looking up at these, my eye is attracted by a peculiar velvety appearance of the woodwork forming the immense projecting eaves of the roof. Under the tiling it is more than a foot thick. By standing on tiptoe I can touch it; and I discover that it is even more velvety to the touch than to the sight. Further examination reveals the fact that this colossal roofing is not solid timber, only the beams are solid. The enormous pieces they support are formed of countless broad slices thin as the thinnest shingles, superimposed and cemented together into one solid-seeming mass. I am told that this composite woodwork is more enduring than any hewn timber could be. The edges, where exposed to wind and sun, feel to the touch just like the edges of the leaves of some huge thumb-worn volume; and their stained velvety yellowish aspect so perfectly mocks the appearance of a book, that while trying to separate them a little with my fingers, I find myself involuntarily peering for a running-title and the number of a folio! We then visit the smaller temple. The interior of the sacred chamber is equally rich in lacquered decoration and gilding; and below the miya itself there are strange paintings of weird foxes--foxes wandering in the foreground of a mountain landscape. But here the colours have been damaged somewhat by time; the paintings have a faded look. Without the shrine are other wonderful carvings, doubtless executed by the same chisel which created the friezes of the larger temple. I learn that only the shrine-chambers of both temples are very old; all the rest has been more than once rebuilt. The entire structure of the smaller temple and its haiden, with the exception of the shrine-room, has just been rebuilt--in fact, the work is not yet quite done--so that the emblem of the deity is not at present in the sanctuary. The shrines proper are never repaired, but simply reinclosed in the new buildings when reconstruction becomes a necessity. To repair them or restore them to-day would be impossible: the art that created them is dead. But so excellent their material and its lacquer envelope that they have suffered little in the lapse of many centuries from the attacks of time. One more surprise awaits me--the homestead of the high pontiff, who most kindly invites us to dine with him; which hospitality is all the more acceptable from the fact that there is no hotel in Hinomisaki, but only a kichinyado [2] for pilgrims. The ancestral residence of the high pontiffs of Hinomisaki occupies, with the beautiful gardens about it, a space fully equal to that of the great temple courts themselves. Like most of the old-fashioned homes of the nobility and of the samurai, it is but one story high--an immense elevated cottage, one might call it. But the apartments are lofty, spacious, and very handsome--and there is a room of one hundred mats. [3] A very nice little repast, with abundance of good wine, is served up to us, and I shall always remember one curious dish, which I at first mistake for spinach. It is seaweed, deliciously prepared--not the common edible seaweed, but a rare sort, fine like moss. After bidding farewell to our generous host, we take an uphill stroll to the farther end of the village. We leave the cuttlefish behind; but before us the greater part of the road is covered with matting, upon which indigo is drying in the sun. The village terminates abruptly at the top of the hill, where there is another grand granite torii--a structure so ponderous that it is almost as difficult to imagine how it was ever brought up the hill as to understand the methods of the builders of Stonehenge. From this torii the road descends to the pretty little seaport of U-Ryo, on the other side of the cape; for Hinomisaki is situated on one side of a great promontory, as its name implies--a mountain-range projecting into the Japanese Sea. Sec. 4 The family of the Guji of Hinomisaki is one of the oldest of the Kwazoku or noble families of Izumo; and the daughters are still addressed by the antique title of Princess--O-Hime-San. The ancient official designation of the pontiff himself was Kengyo, as that of the Kitzuki pontiff was Kokuzo; and the families of the Hinomisaki and of the Kitzuki Guji are closely related. There is one touching and terrible tradition in the long history of the Kengyos of Hinomisaki, which throws a strange light upon the social condition of this province in feudal days. Seven generations ago, a Matsudaira, Daimyo of Izumo, made with great pomp his first official visit to the temples of Hinomisaki, and was nobly entertained by the Kengyo--doubtless in the same chamber of a hundred mats which we to-day were privileged to see. According to custom, the young wife of the host waited upon the regal visitor, and served him with dainties and with wine. She was singularly beautiful; and her beauty, unfortunately, bewitched the Daimyo. With kingly insolence he demanded that she should leave her husband and become his concubine. Although astounded and terrified, she answered bravely, like the true daughter of a samurai, that she was a loving wife and mother, and that, sooner than desert her husband and her child, she would put an end to her life with her own hand. The great Lord of Izumo sullenly departed without further speech, leaving the little household plunged in uttermost grief and anxiety; for it was too well known that the prince would suffer no obstacle to remain in the way of his lust or his hate. The anxiety, indeed, proved to be well founded. Scarcely had the Daimyo returned to his domains when he began to devise means for the ruin of the Kengyo. Soon afterward, the latter was suddenly and forcibly separated from his family, hastily tried for some imaginary offence, and banished to the islands of Oki. Some say the ship on which he sailed went down at sea with all on board. Others say that he was conveyed to Oki, but only to die there of misery and cold. At all events, the old Izumo records state that, in the year corresponding to A.D. 1661 'the Kengyo Takatoshi died in the land of Oki.' On receiving news of the Kengyo's death, Matsudaira scarcely concealed his exultation. The object of his passion was the daughter of his own Karo, or minister, one of the noblest samurai of Matsue, by name Kamiya. Kamiya was at once summoned before the Daimyo, who said to him: 'Thy daughter's husband being dead, there exists no longer any reason that she should not enter into my household. Do thou bring her hither.' The Karo touched the floor with his forehead, and departed on his errand. Upon the following day he re-entered the prince's apartment, and, performing the customary prostration, announced that his lord's commands had been obeyed--that the victim had arrived. Smiling for pleasure, the Matsudaira ordered that she should be brought at once into his presence. The Karo prostrated himself, retired and presently returning, placed before his master a kubi-oke [4] upon which lay the freshly-severed head of a beautiful woman--the head of the young wife of the dead Kengyo--with the simple utterance: 'This is my daughter.' Dead by her own brave will--but never dishonoured. Seven generations have been buried since the Matsudaira strove to appease his remorse by the building of temples and the erection of monuments to the memory of his victim. His own race died with him: those who now bear the illustrious name of that long line of daimyos are not of the same blood; and the grim ruin of his castle, devoured by vegetation, is tenanted only by lizards and bats. But the Kamiya family endures; no longer wealthy, as in feudal times, but still highly honoured in their native city. And each high pontiff of Hinomisakei chooses always his bride from among the daughters of that valiant race. NOTE.--The Kengyo of the above tradition was enshrined by Matsudaira in the temple of Shiyekei-jinja, at Oyama, near Matsue. This miya was built for an atonement; and the people still pray to the spirit of the Kengyo. Near this temple formerly stood a very popular theatre, also erected by the Daimyo in his earnest desire to appease the soul of his victim; for he had heard that the Kengyo was very fond of theatrical performances. The temple is still in excellent preservation; but the theatre has long since disappeared; and its site is occupied by a farmer's vegetable garden. Chapter Thirteen Shinju Sec. 1 SOMETIMES they simply put their arms round each other, and lie down together on the iron rails, just in front of an express train. (They cannot do it in Izumo, however, because there are no railroads there yet.) Sometimes they make a little banquet for themselves, write very strange letters to parents and friends, mix something bitter with their rice-wine, and go to sleep for ever. Sometimes they select a more ancient and more honoured method: the lover first slays his beloved with a single sword stroke, and then pierces his own throat. Sometimes with the girl's long crape-silk under-girdle (koshi-obi) they bind themselves fast together, face to face, and so embracing leap into some deep lake or stream. Many are the modes by which they make their way to the Meido, when tortured by that world-old sorrow about which Schopenhauer wrote so marvellous a theory. Their own theory is much simpler. None love life more than the Japanese; none fear death less. Of a future world they have no dread; they regret to leave this one only because it seems to them a world of beauty and of happiness; but the mystery of the future, so long oppressive to Western minds, causes them little concern. As for the young lovers of whom I speak, they have a strange faith which effaces mysteries for them. They turn to the darkness with infinite trust. If they are too unhappy to endure existence, the fault is not another's, nor yet the world's; it is their own; it is innen, the result of errors in a previous life. If they can never hope to be united in this world, it is only because in some former birth they broke their promise to wed, or were otherwise cruel to each other. All this is not heterodox. But they believe likewise that by dying together they will find themselves at once united in another world, though Buddhism proclaims that self-destruction is a deadly sin. Now this idea of winning union through death is incalculably older than the faith of Shaka; but it has somehow borrowed in modern time from Buddhism a particular ecstatic colouring, a mystical glow. Hasu no hana no ue ni oite matan. On the lotus-blossoms of paradise they shall rest together. Buddhism teaches of transmigrations countless, prolonged through millions of millions of years, before the soul can acquire the Infinite Vision, the Infinite Memory, and melt into the bliss of Nehan, as a white cloud melts into the summer 's blue. But these suffering ones think never of Nehan; love's union, their supremest wish, may be reached, they fancy, through the pang of a single death. The fancies of all, indeed--as their poor letters show--are not the same. Some think themselves about to enter Amida's paradise of light; some see in their visional hope the saki-no-yo only, the future rebirth, when beloved shall meet beloved again, in the all-joyous freshness of another youth; while the idea of many, indeed of the majority, is vaguer far--only a shadowy drifting together through vapoury silences, as in the faint bliss of dreams. They always pray to be buried together. Often this prayer is refused by the parents or the guardians, and the people deem this refusal a cruel thing, for 'tis believed that those who die for love of each other will find no rest, if denied the same tomb. But when the prayer is granted the ceremony of burial is beautiful and touching. From the two homes the two funeral processions issue to meet in the temple court, by light of lanterns. There, after the recitation of the kyo and the accustomed impressive ceremonies, the chief priest utters an address to the souls of the dead. Compassionately he speaks of the error and the sin; of the youth of the victims, brief and comely as the flowers that blossom and fall in the first burst of spring. He speaks of the Illusion--Mayoi--which so wrought upon them; he recites the warning of the Teacher. But sometimes he will even predict the future reunion of the lovers in some happier and higher life, re-echoing the popular heart-thought with a simple eloquence that makes his hearers weep. Then the two processions form into one, which takes its way to the cemetery where the grave has already been prepared. The two coffins are lowered together, so that their sides touch as they rest at the bottom of the excavation. Then the yama-no-mono [1] folk remove the planks which separate the pair--making the two coffins into one; above the reunited dead the earth is heaped; and a haka, bearing in chiselled letters the story of their fate, and perhaps a little poem, is placed above the mingling of their dust. Sec. 2 These suicides of lovers are termed 'joshi' or 'shinju'--(both words being written with the same Chinese characters)--signifying 'heart-death,' 'passion-death,' or 'love-death.' They most commonly occur, in the case of women, among the joro [2] class; but occasionally also among young girls of a more respectable class. There is a fatalistic belief that if one shinju occurs among the inmates of a joroya, two more are sure to follow. Doubtless the belief itself is the cause that cases of shinju do commonly occur in series of three. The poor girls who voluntarily sell themselves to a life of shame for the sake of their families in time of uttermost distress do not, in Japan (except, perhaps, in those open ports where European vice and brutality have become demoralising influences), ever reach that depth of degradation to which their Western sisters descend. Many indeed retain, through all the period of their terrible servitude, a refinement of manner, a delicacy of sentiment, and a natural modesty that seem, under such conditions, as extraordinary as they are touching. Only yesterday a case of shinju startled this quiet city. The servant of a physician in the street called Nadamachi, entering the chamber of his master's son a little after sunrise, found the young man lying dead with a dead girl in his arms. The son had been disinherited. The girl was a joro. Last night they were buried, but not together; for the father was not less angered than grieved that such a thing should have been. Her name was Kane. She was remarkably pretty and very gentle; and from all accounts it would seem that her master had treated her with a kindness unusual in men of his infamous class. She had sold herself for the sake of her mother and a child-sister. The father was dead, and they had lost everything. She was then seventeen. She had been in the house scarcely a year when she met the youth. They fell seriously in love with each other at once. Nothing more terrible could have befallen them; for they could never hope to become man and wife. The young man, though still allowed the privileges of a son, had been disinherited in favour of an adopted brother of steadier habits. The unhappy pair spent all they had for the privilege of seeing each other: she sold even her dresses to pay for it. Then for the last time they met by stealth, late at night, in the physician's house, drank death, and laid down to sleep for ever. I saw the funeral procession of the girl winding its way by the light of paper lanterns--the wan dead glow that is like a shimmer of phosphorescence--to the Street of the Temples, followed by a long train of women, white-hooded, white-robed, white-girdled, passing all soundlessly--a troop of ghosts. So through blackness to the Meido the white Shapes flit--the eternal procession of Souls--in painted Buddhist dreams of the Underworld. Sec. 3 My friend who writes for the San-in Shimbun, which to-morrow will print the whole sad story, tells me that compassionate folk have already decked the new-made graves with flowers and with sprays of shikimi. [3] Then drawing from a long native envelope a long, light, thin roll of paper covered with beautiful Japanese writing, and unfolding it before me, he adds:--'She left this letter to the keeper of the house in which she lived: it has been given to us for publication. It is very prettily written. But I cannot translate it well; for it is written in woman's language. The language of letters written by women is not the same as that of letters written by men. Women use particular words and expressions. For instance, in men's language "I" is watakushi, or ware, or yo, or boku, according to rank or circumstance, but in the language of woman, it is warawa. And women's language is very soft and gentle; and I do not think it is possible to translate such softness and amiability of words into any other language. So I can only give you an imperfect idea of the letter.' And he interprets, slowly, thus: 'I leave this letter: 'As you know, from last spring I began to love Tashiro-San; and he also fell in love with me. And now, alas!--the influence of our relation in some previous birth having come upon us--and the promise we made each other in that former life to become wife and husband having been broken--even to-day I must travel to the Meido. 'You not only treated me very kindly, though you found me so stupid and without influence, [4] but you likewise aided in many ways for my worthless sake my mother and sister. And now, since I have not been able to repay you even the one myriadth part of that kindness and pity in which you enveloped me--pity great as the mountains and the sea [5]--it would not be without just reason that you should hate me as a great criminal. 'But though I doubt not this which I am about to do will seem a wicked folly, I am forced to it by conditions and by my own heart. Wherefore I still may pray you to pardon my past faults. And though I go to the Meido, never shall I forget your mercy to me--great as the mountains and the sea. From under the shadow of the grasses [6] I shall still try to recompense you--to send back my gratitude to you and to your house. Again, with all my heart I pray you: do not be angry with me. 'Many more things I would like to write. But now my heart is not a heart; and I must quickly go. And so I shall lay down my writing-brush. 'It is written so clumsily, this. 'Kane thrice prostrates herself before you. 'From KANE. 'To---SAMA.' 'Well, it is a characteristic shinju letter,' my friend comments, after a moment's silence, replacing the frail white paper in its envelope. 'So I thought it would interest you. And now, although it is growing dark, I am going to the cemetery to see what has been done at the grave. Would you like to come with me?' We take our way over the long white bridge, up the shadowy Street of the Temples, toward the ancient hakaba of Miokoji--and the darkness grows as we walk. A thin moon hangs just above the roofs of the great temples. Suddenly a far voice, sonorous and sweet--a man's voice-breaks into song under the starred night: a song full of strange charm and tones like warblings--those Japanese tones of popular emotion which seem to have been learned from the songs of birds. Some happy workman returning home. So clear the thin frosty air that each syllable quivers to us; but I cannot understand the words: Saite yuke toya, ano ya wo saite; Yuke ba chikayoru nushi no soba. 'What is that?' I ask my friend. He answers: 'A love-song. "Go forward, straight forward that way, to the house that thou seest before thee;--the nearer thou goest thereto, the nearer to her [7] shalt thou be."' Chapter Fourteen Yaegaki-jinja Sec. 1 UNTO Yaegaki-jinja, which is in the village of Sakusa in Iu, in the Land of Izumo, all youths and maidens go who are in love, and who can make the pilgrimage. For in the temple of Yaegaki at Sakusa, Take-haya-susa-no-wo-no-mikoto and his wife Inada-hime and their son Sa-ku-sa-no-mikoto are enshrined. And these are the Deities of Wedlock and of Love--and they set the solitary in families--and by their doing are destinies coupled even from the hour of birth. Wherefore one should suppose that to make pilgrimage to their temple to pray about things long since irrevocably settled were simple waste of time. But in what land did ever religious practice and theology agree? Scholiasts and priests create or promulgate doctrine and dogma; but the good people always insist upon making the gods according to their own heart--and these are by far the better class of gods. Moreover, the history of Susano-o the Impetuous Male Deity, does not indicate that destiny had anything to do with his particular case: he fell in love with the Wondrous Inada Princess at first sight--as it is written in the Kojiki: 'Then Take-haya-susa-no-wo-no-mikoto descended to a place called Tori-kami at the headwaters of the River Hi in the land of Idzumo. At this time a chopstick came floating down the stream. So Take-haya-susa-no-wo-no-mikoto, thinking that there must be people at the headwaters of the river, went up it in quest of them. And he came upon an old man and an old woman who had a young girl between them, and were weeping. Then he deigned to ask: "Who are ye?" So the old man replied, saying: "I am an Earthly Deity, son of the Deity Oho-yama-tsu-mi-no-Kami. I am called by the name of Ashi-nadzu-chi; my wife is called by the name of Te-nadzu-chi; and my daughter is called by the name of Kushi-Inada-hime." Again he asked: "What is the cause of your crying?" The old man answered, saying: "I had originally eight young daughters. But the eight-forked serpent of Koshi has come every year, and devoured one; and it is now its time to come, wherefore we weep." Then he asked him: "What is its form like?" The old man answered, saying: "Its eyes are like akaka-gachi; it has one body with eight heads and eight tails. Moreover, upon its body grow moss and sugi and hinoki trees. Its length extends over eight valleys and eight hills; and if one look at its belly, it is all constantly bloody and inflamed." Then Take-haya-susa-no-wo-no-mikoto said to the old man: "If this be thy daughter, wilt thou offer her to me?" He replied: "With reverence; but I know not thine august name." Then he replied, saying: "I am elder brother to Ama-terasu-oho-mi-Kami. So now I have descended from heaven." Then the Deities Ashi-nadzu-chi and Te-nadzu-chi said: "If that be so, with reverence will we offer her to thee." So Take-haya-susa-no-wo-no-mikoto, at once taking and changing the young girl into a close-toothed comb, which he stuck into his august hair-bunch, said to the Deities Ashi-nadzu-chi and Te-nadzu-chi: "Do you distil some eightfold refined liquor. Also make a fence round about; in that fence make eight gates; at each gate tie a platform; on each platform put a liquor-vat; and into each vat pour the eightfold refined liquor, and wait." So as they waited after having prepared everything in accordance with his bidding, the eight-forked serpent came and put a head into each vat and drank the liquor. Thereupon it was intoxicated, and all the heads lay down and slept. Then Take-haya-susa-no-wo-nomikoto drew the ten-grasp sabre that was augustly girded upon him, and cut the serpent in pieces, so that the River Hi flowed on changed into a river of blood. 'Then Take-haya-susa-no-wo-no-mikoto sought in the Land of Idzumo where he might build a palace. 'When this great Deity built the palace, clouds rose up thence. Then he made an august song: 'Ya-kumo tatsu: Idzumo ya-he-gaki; Tsuma-gomi ni Ya-he-gaki-tsukuru: Sono ya-he-gaki wo!' [1] Now the temple of Yaegaki takes its name from the words of the august song Ya-he-gaki, and therefore signifies The Temple of the Eightfold Fence. And ancient commentators upon the sacred books have said that the name of Idzumo (which is now Izumo), as signifying the Land of the Issuing of Clouds, was also taken from that song of the god. [2] Sec. 2 Sakusa, the hamlet where the Yaegaki-jinja stands, is scarcely more than one ri south from Matsue. But to go there one must follow tortuous paths too rough and steep for a kuruma; and of three ways, the longest and roughest happens to be the most interesting. It slopes up and down through bamboo groves and primitive woods, and again serpentines through fields of rice and barley, and plantations of indigo and of ginseng, where the scenery is always beautiful or odd. And there are many famed Shinto temples to be visited on the road, such as Take-uchi-jinja, dedicated to the venerable minister of the Empress Jingo, Take-uchi, to whom men now pray for health and for length of years; and Okusa-no-miya, or Rokusho-jinja, of the five greatest shrines in Izumo; and Manaijinja, sacred to Izanagi, the Mother of Gods, where strange pictures may be obtained of the Parents of the World; and Obano-miya, where Izanami is enshrined, also called Kamoshijinja, which means, 'The Soul of the God.' At the Temple of the Soul of the God, where the sacred fire-drill used to be delivered each year with solemn rites to the great Kokuzo of Kitzuki, there are curious things to be seen--a colossal grain of rice, more than an inch long, preserved from that period of the Kamiyo when the rice grew tall as the tallest tree and bore grains worthy of the gods; and a cauldron of iron in which the peasants say that the first Kokuzo came down from heaven; and a cyclopean toro formed of rocks so huge that one cannot imagine how they were ever balanced upon each other; and the Musical Stones of Oba, which chime like bells when smitten. There is a tradition that these cannot be carried away beyond a certain distance; for 'tis recorded that when a daimyo named Matsudaira ordered one of them to be conveyed to his castle at Matsue, the stone made itself so heavy that a thousand men could not move it farther than the Ohashi bridge. So it was abandoned before the bridge; and it lies there imbedded in the soil even unto this day. All about Oba you may see many sekirei or wagtails-birds sacred to Izanami and Izanagi--for a legend says that from the sekirei the gods first learned the art of love. And none, not even the most avaricious farmer, ever hurts or terrifies these birds. So that they do not fear the people of Oba, nor the scarecrows in the fields. The God of Scarecrows is Sukuna-biko-na-no-Kami. Sec. 3 The path to Sakusa, for the last mile of the journey, at least, is extremely narrow, and has been paved by piety with large flat rocks laid upon the soil at intervals of about a foot, like an interminable line of stepping-stones. You cannot walk between them nor beside them, and you soon tire of walking upon them; but they have the merit of indicating the way, a matter of no small importance where fifty rice-field paths branch off from your own at all bewildering angles. After having been safely guided by these stepping-stones through all kinds of labyrinths in rice valleys and bamboo groves, one feels grateful to the peasantry for that clue-line of rocks. There are some quaint little shrines in the groves along this path--shrines with curious carvings of dragons and of lion-heads and flowing water--all wrought ages ago in good keyaki-wood, [3] which has become the colour of stone. But the eyes of the dragons and the lions have been stolen because they were made of fine crystal quartz, and there was none to guard them, and because neither the laws nor the gods are quite so much feared now as they were before the period of Meiji. Sakusa is a very small cluster of farmers' cottages before a temple at the verge of a wood--the temple of Yaegaki. The stepping-stones of the path vanish into the pavement of the court, just before its lofty unpainted wooden torii between the torii and the inner court, entered by a Chinese gate, some grand old trees are growing, and there are queer monuments to see. On either side of the great gateway is a shrine compartment, inclosed by heavy wooden gratings on two sides; and in these compartments are two grim figures in complete armour, with bows in their hands and quivers of arrows upon their backs--the Zuijin, or ghostly retainers of the gods, and guardians of the gate. Before nearly all the Shinto temples of Izumo, except Kitzuki, these Zuijin keep grim watch. They are probably of Buddhist origin; but they have acquired a Shinto history and Shinto names. [4] Originally, I am told, there was but one Zuijin-Kami, whose name was Toyo-kushi-iwa-mato-no-mikoto. But at a certain period both the god and his name were cut in two--perhaps for decorative purposes. And now he who sits upon the left is called Toyo-iwa-ma-to-no-mikoto; and his companion on the right, Kushi-iwa-ma-to-no-mikoto. Before the gate, on the left side, there is a stone monument upon which is graven, in Chinese characters, a poem in Hokku, or verse of seventeen syllables, composed by Cho-un: Ko-ka-ra-shi-ya Ka-mi-no-mi-yu-ki-no Ya-ma-no-a-to. My companion translates the characters thus:--'Where high heap the dead leaves, there is the holy place upon the hills, where dwell the gods.' Near by are stone lanterns and stone lions, and another monument--a great five-cornered slab set up and chiselled--bearing the names in Chinese characters of the Ji-jin, or Earth-Gods--the Deities who protect the soil: Uga-no-mitama-no-mikoto (whose name signifies the August Spirit-of-Food), Ama-terasu-oho-mi-Kami, Ona-muji-no-Kami, Kaki-yasu-hime-no-Kami, Sukuna-hiko-na-no-Kami (who is the Scarecrow God). And the figure of a fox in stone sits before the Name of the August Spirit-of-Food. The miya or Shinto temple itself is quite small--smaller than most of the temples in the neighbourhood, and dingy, and begrimed with age. Yet, next to Kitzuki, this is the most famous of Izumo shrines. The main shrine, dedicated to Susano-o and Inada-hime and their son, whose name is the name of the hamlet of Sakusa, is flanked by various lesser shrines to left and right. In one of these smaller miya the spirit of Ashi-nadzu-chi, father of Inada-hime, is supposed to dwell; and in another that of Te-nadzu-chi, the mother of Inada-hime. There is also a small shrine of the Goddess of the Sun. But these shrines have no curious features. The main temple offers, on the other hand, some displays of rarest interest. To the grey weather-worn gratings of the doors of the shrine hundreds and hundreds of strips of soft white paper have been tied in knots: there is nothing written upon them, although each represents a heart's wish and a fervent prayer. No prayers, indeed, are so fervent as those of love. Also there are suspended many little sections of bamboo, cut just below joints so as to form water receptacles: these are tied together in pairs with a small straw cord which also serves to hang them up. They contain offerings of sea-water carried here from no small distance. And mingling with the white confusion of knotted papers there dangle from the gratings many tresses of girls' hair--love-sacrifices [5]--and numerous offerings of seaweed, so filamentary and so sun-blackened that at some little distance it would not be easy to distinguish them from long shorn tresses. And all the woodwork of the doors and the gratings, both beneath and between the offerings, is covered with a speckling of characters graven or written, which are names of pilgrims. And my companion reads aloud the well-remembered name of--AKIRA! If one dare judge the efficacy of prayer to these kind gods of Shinto from the testimony of their worshippers, I should certainly say that Akira has good reason to hope. Planted in the soil, all round the edge of the foundations of the shrine, are multitudes of tiny paper flags of curious shape (nobori), pasted upon splinters of bamboo. Each of these little white things is a banner of victory, and a lover's witness of gratitude. [6] You will find such little flags stuck into the ground about nearly all the great Shinto temples of Izumo. At Kitzuki they cannot even be counted--any more than the flakes of a snowstorm. And here is something else that you will find at most of the famous miya in Izumo--a box of little bamboo sticks, fastened to a post before the doors. If you were to count the sticks, you would find their number to be exactly one thousand. They are counters for pilgrims who make a vow to the gods to perform a sendo-mairi. To perform a sendo-mairi means to visit the temple one thousand times. This, however, is so hard to do that busy pious men make a sort of compromise with the gods, thus: they walk from the shrine one foot beyond the gate, and back again to the shrine, one thousand times--all in one day, keeping count with the little splints of bamboo. There is one more famous thing to be seen before visiting the holy grove behind the temple, and that is the Sacred Tama-tsubaki, or Precious-Camellia of Yaegaki. It stands upon a little knoll, fortified by a projection-wall, in a rice-field near the house of the priest; a fence has been built around it, and votive lamps of stone placed before it. It is of vast age, and has two heads and two feet; but the twin trunks grow together at the middle. Its unique shape, and the good quality of longevity it is believed to possess in common with all of its species, cause it to be revered as a symbol of undying wedded love, and as tenanted by the Kami who hearken to lovers' prayers--enmusubi-no-kami. There is, however, a strange superstition, about tsubaki-trees; and this sacred tree of Yaegaki, in the opinion of some folk, is a rare exception to the general ghastliness of its species. For tsubaki-trees are goblin trees, they say, and walk about at night; and there was one in the garden of a Matsue samurai which did this so much that it had to be cut down. Then it writhed its arms and groaned, and blood spurted at every stroke of the axe. Sec. 4 At the spacious residence of the kannushi some very curious ofuda and o-mamori--the holy talismans and charms of Yaegaki--are sold, together with pictures representing Take-haya-susa-no-wo-no-mikoto and his bride Inada-hime surrounded by the 'manifold fence' of clouds. On the pictures is also printed the august song whence the temple derives its name of Yaegaki-jinja,--'Ya kumo tatsu Idzumo ya-he-gaki.' Of the o-mamori there is quite a variety; but by far the most interesting is that labelled: 'Izumo-Yaegaki-jinja-en-musubi-on-hina' (August wedlock-producing 'hina' of the temple of Yaegaki of Izumo). This oblong, folded paper, with Chinese characters and the temple seal upon it, is purchased only by those in love, and is believed to assure nothing more than the desired union. Within the paper are two of the smallest conceivable doll-figures (hina), representing a married couple in antique costume--the tiny wife folded to the breast of the tiny husband by one long-sleeved arm. It is the duty of whoever purchases this mamori to return it to the temple if he or she succeed in marrying the person beloved. As already stated, the charm is not supposed to assure anything more than the union: it cannot be accounted responsible for any consequences thereof. He who desires perpetual love must purchase another mamori labelled: 'Renri-tama-tsubaki-aikyo-goki-to-on-mamori' (August amulet of august prayer-for-kindling-love of the jewel-precious tsubaki-tree-of-Union). This charm should maintain at constant temperature the warmth of affection; it contains only a leaf of the singular double-bodied camellia tree before mentioned. There are also small amulets for exciting love, and amulets for the expelling of diseases, but these have no special characteristics worth dwelling upon. Then we take our way to the sacred grove--the Okuno-in, or Mystic Shades of Yaegaki. Sec. 5 This ancient grove--so dense that when you first pass into its shadows out of the sun all seems black--is composed of colossal cedars and pines, mingled with bamboo, tsubaki (Camellia Japonica), and sakaki, the sacred and mystic tree of Shinto. The dimness is chiefly made by the huge bamboos. In nearly all sacred groves bamboos are thickly set between the trees, and their feathery foliage, filling every lofty opening between the heavier crests, entirely cuts off the sun. Even in a bamboo grove where no other trees are, there is always a deep twilight. As the eyes become accustomed to this green gloaming, a pathway outlines itself between the trees--a pathway wholly covered with moss, velvety, soft, and beautifully verdant. In former years, when all pilgrims were required to remove their footgear before entering the sacred grove, this natural carpet was a boon to the weary. The next detail one observes is that the trunks of many of the great trees have been covered with thick rush matting to a height of seven or eight feet, and that holes have been torn through some of the mats. All the giants of the grove are sacred; and the matting was bound about them to prevent pilgrims from stripping off their bark, which is believed to possess miraculous virtues. But many, more zealous than honest, do not hesitate to tear away the matting in order to get at the bark. And the third curious fact which you notice is that the trunks of the great bamboos are covered with ideographs--with the wishes of lovers and the names of girls. There is nothing in the world of vegetation so nice to write a sweetheart's name upon as the polished bark of a bamboo: each letter, however lightly traced at first, enlarges and blackens with the growth of the bark, and never fades away. The deeply mossed path slopes down to a little pond in the very heart of the grove--a pond famous in the land of Izumo. Here there are many imori, or water-newts, about five inches long, which have red bellies. Here the shade is deepest, and the stems of the bamboos most thickly tattooed with the names of girls. It is believed that the flesh of the newts in the sacred pond of Yaegaki possesses aphrodisiac qualities; and the body of the creature, reduced to ashes, by burning, was formerly converted into love-powders. And there is a little Japanese song referring to the practice: 'Hore-gusuri koka niwa naika to imori ni toeba, yubi-wo marumete kore bakari.' [7] The water is very clear; and there are many of these newts to be seen. And it is the custom for lovers to make a little boat of paper, and put into it one rin, and set it afloat and watch it. So soon as the paper becomes wet through, and allows the water to enter it, the weight of the copper coin soon sends it to the bottom, where, owing to the purity of the water, it can be still seen distinctly as before. If the newts then approach and touch it, the lovers believe their happiness assured by the will of the gods; but if the newts do not come near it, the omen is evil. One poor little paper boat, I observe, could not sink at all; it simply floated to the inaccessible side of the pond, where the trees rise like a solid wall of trunks from the water's edge, and there became caught in some drooping branches. The lover who launched it must have departed sorrowing at heart. Close to the pond, near the pathway, there are many camellia-bushes, of which the tips of the branches have been tied together, by pairs, with strips of white paper. These are shrubs of presage. The true lover must be able to bend two branches together, and to keep them united by tying a paper tightly about them--all with the fingers of one hand. To do this well is good luck. Nothing is written upon the strips of paper. But there is enough writing upon the bamboos to occupy curiosity for many an hour, in spite of the mosquitoes. Most of the names are yobi-na,--that is to say, pretty names of women; but there are likewise names of men--jitsumyo; [8] and, oddly enough, a girl's name and a man's are in no instance written together. To judge by all this ideographic testimony, lovers in Japan--or at least in Izumo--are even more secretive than in our Occident. The enamoured youth never writes his own jitsumyo and his sweetheart's yobi-na together; and the family name, or myoji, he seldom ventures to inscribe. If he writes his jitsumyo, then he contents himself with whispering the yobi-na of his sweetheart to the gods and to the bamboos. If he cuts her yobi-na into the bark, then he substitutes for his own name a mention of his existence and his age only, as in this touching instance: Takata-Toki-to-en-musubi-negaimas. Jiu-hassai-no-otoko [9] This lover presumes to write his girl's whole name; but the example, so far as I am able to discover, is unique. Other enamoured ones write only the yobi-na of their bewitchers; and the honourable prefix, 'O,' and the honourable suffix, 'San,' find no place in the familiarity of love. There is no 'O-Haru-San,' 'O-Kin-San,' 'O-Take-San,' 'O-Kiku-San'; but there are hosts of Haru, and Kin, and Take, and Kiku. Girls, of course, never dream of writing their lovers' names. But there are many geimyo here, 'artistic names,'--names of mischievous geisha who worship the Golden Kitten, written by their saucy selves: Rakue and Asa and Wakai, Aikichi and Kotabuki and Kohachi, Kohana and Tamakichi and Katsuko, and Asakichi and Hanakichi and Katsukichi, and Chiyoe and Chiyotsuru. 'Fortunate-Pleasure,' 'Happy-Dawn,' and 'Youth' (such are their appellations), 'Blest-Love' and 'Length-of-Days,' and 'Blossom-Child' and 'Jewel-of-Fortune' and 'Child-of-Luck,' and 'Joyous-Sunrise' and 'Flower-of-Bliss' and 'Glorious Victory,' and 'Life-as-the-Stork's-for-a-thousand-years.' Often shall he curse the day he was born who falls in love with Happy-Dawn; thrice unlucky the wight bewitched by the Child-of-Luck; woe unto him who hopes to cherish the Flower-of-Bliss; and more than once shall he wish himself dead whose heart is snared by Life-as-the-Stork's-for-a-thou sand-years. And I see that somebody who inscribes his age as twenty and three has become enamoured of young Wakagusa, whose name signifies the tender Grass of Spring. Now there is but one possible misfortune for you, dear boy, worse than falling in love with Wakagusa--and that is that she should happen to fall in love with you. Because then you would, both of you, write some beautiful letters to your friends, and drink death, and pass away in each other's arms, murmuring your trust to rest together upon the same lotus-flower in Paradise: 'Hasu no ha no ue ni oite matsu.' Nay! pray the Deities rather to dissipate the bewitchment that is upon you: Te ni toru na, Yahari no ni oke Gengebana. [10] And here is a lover's inscription--in English! Who presumes to suppose that the gods know English? Some student, no doubt, who for pure shyness engraved his soul's secret in this foreign tongue of mine--never dreaming that a foreign eye would look upon it. 'I wish You, Haru!' Not once, but four--no, five times!--each time omitting the preposition. Praying--in this ancient grove--in this ancient Land of Izumo--unto the most ancient gods in English! Verily, the shyest love presumes much upon the forbearance of the gods. And great indeed must be, either the patience of Take-haya-susano-wo-no-mikoto, or the rustiness of the ten-grasp sabre that was augustly girded upon him. Chapter Fifteen Kitsune Sec. 1 By every shady wayside and in every ancient grove, on almost every hilltop and in the outskirts of every village, you may see, while travelling through the Hondo country, some little Shinto shrine, before which, or at either side of which, are images of seated foxes in stone. Usually there is a pair of these, facing each other. But there may be a dozen, or a score, or several hundred, in which case most of the images are very small. And in more than one of the larger towns you may see in the court of some great miya a countless host of stone foxes, of all dimensions, from toy-figures but a few inches high to the colossi whose pedestals tower above your head, all squatting around the temple in tiered ranks of thousands. Such shrines and temples, everybody knows, are dedicated to Inari the God of Rice. After having travelled much in Japan, you will find that whenever you try to recall any country-place you have visited, there will appear in some nook or corner of that remembrance a pair of green-and-grey foxes of stone, with broken noses. In my own memories of Japanese travel, these shapes have become de rigueur, as picturesque detail. In the neighbourhood of the capital and in Tokyo itself--sometimes in the cemeteries--very beautiful idealised figures of foxes may be seen, elegant as greyhounds. They have long green or grey eyes of crystal quartz or some other diaphanous substance; and they create a strong impression as mythological conceptions. But throughout the interior, fox-images are much less artistically fashioned. In Izumo, particularly, such stone-carving has a decidedly primitive appearance. There is an astonishing multiplicity and variety of fox-images in the Province of the Gods--images comical, quaint, grotesque, or monstrous, but, for the most part, very rudely chiselled. I cannot, however, declare them less interesting on that account. The work of the Tokkaido sculptor copies the conventional artistic notion of light grace and ghostliness. The rustic foxes of Izumo have no grace: they are uncouth; but they betray in countless queer ways the personal fancies of their makers. They are of many moods--whimsical, apathetic, inquisitive, saturnine, jocose, ironical; they watch and snooze and squint and wink and sneer; they wait with lurking smiles; they listen with cocked ears most stealthily, keeping their mouths open or closed. There is an amusing individuality about them all, and an air of knowing mockery about most of them, even those whose noses have been broken off. Moreover, these ancient country foxes have certain natural beauties which their modern Tokyo kindred cannot show. Time has bestowed upon them divers speckled coats of beautiful soft colours while they have been sitting on their pedestals, listening to the ebbing and flowing of the centuries and snickering weirdly at mankind. Their backs are clad with finest green velvet of old mosses; their limbs are spotted and their tails are tipped with the dead gold or the dead silver of delicate fungi. And the places they most haunt are the loveliest--high shadowy groves where the uguisu sings in green twilight, above some voiceless shrine with its lamps and its lions of stone so mossed as to seem things born of the soil--like mushrooms. I found it difficult to understand why, out of every thousand foxes, nine hundred should have broken noses. The main street of the city of Matsue might be paved from end to end with the tips of the noses of mutilated Izumo foxes. A friend answered my expression of wonder in this regard by the simple but suggestive word, 'Kodomo', which means, 'The children.' Sec. 2. Inari the name by which the Fox-God is generally known, signifies 'Load-of-Rice.' But the antique name of the Deity is the August-Spirit-of-Food: he is the Uka-no-mi-tama-no-mikoto of the Kojiki. [1] In much more recent times only has he borne the name that indicates his connection with the fox-cult, Miketsu-no-Kami, or the Three-Fox-God. Indeed, the conception of the fox as a supernatural being does not seem to have been introduced into Japan before the tenth or eleventh century; and although a shrine of the deity, with statues of foxes, may be found in the court of most of the large Shinto temples, it is worthy of note that in all the vast domains of the oldest Shinto shrine in Japan--Kitzuki--you cannot find the image of a fox. And it is only in modern art--the art of Toyokuni and others--that Inari is represented as a bearded man riding a white fox. [2] Inari is not worshipped as the God of Rice only; indeed, there are many Inari just as in antique Greece there were many deities called Hermes, Zeus, Athena, Poseidon--one in the knowledge of the learned, but essentially different in the imagination of the common people. Inari has been multiplied by reason of his different attributes. For instance, Matsue has a Kamiya-San-no-Inari-San, who is the God of Coughs and Bad Colds--afflictions extremely common and remarkably severe in the Land of Izumo. He has a temple in the Kamachi at which he is worshipped under the vulgar appellation of Kaze-no-Kami and the politer one of Kamiya-San-no-Inari. And those who are cured of their coughs and colds after having prayed to him, bring to his temple offerings of tofu. At Oba, likewise, there is a particular Inari, of great fame. Fastened to the wall of his shrine is a large box full of small clay foxes. The pilgrim who has a prayer to make puts one of these little foxes in his sleeve and carries it home. He must keep it, and pay it all due honour, until such time as his petition has been granted. Then he must take it back to the temple, and restore it to the box, and, if he be able, make some small gift to the shrine. Inari is often worshipped as a healer; and still more frequently as a deity having power to give wealth. (Perhaps because all the wealth of Old Japan was reckoned in koku of rice.) Therefore his foxes are sometimes represented holding keys in their mouths. And from being the deity who gives wealth, Inari has also become in some localities the special divinity of the joro class. There is, for example, an Inari temple worth visiting in the neighbourhood of the Yoshiwara at Yokohama. It stands in the same court with a temple of Benten, and is more than usually large for a shrine of Inari. You approach it through a succession of torii one behind the other: they are of different heights, diminishing in size as they are placed nearer to the temple, and planted more and more closely in proportion to their smallness. Before each torii sit a pair of weird foxes--one to the right and one to the left. The first pair are large as greyhounds; the second two are much smaller; and the sizes of the rest lessen as the dimensions of the torii lessen. At the foot of the wooden steps of the temple there is a pair of very graceful foxes of dark grey stone, wearing pieces of red cloth about their necks. Upon the steps themselves are white wooden foxes--one at each end of each step--each successive pair being smaller than the pair below; and at the threshold of the doorway are two very little foxes, not more than three inches high, sitting on sky-blue pedestals. These have the tips of their tails gilded. Then, if you look into the temple you will see on the left something like a long low table on which are placed thousands of tiny fox-images, even smaller than those in the doorway, having only plain white tails. There is no image of Inari; indeed, I have never seen an image of Inari as yet in any Inari temple. On the altar appear the usual emblems of Shinto; and before it, just opposite the doorway, stands a sort of lantern, having glass sides and a wooden bottom studded with nail-points on which to fix votive candles. [3] And here, from time to time, if you will watch, you will probably see more than one handsome girl, with brightly painted lips and the beautiful antique attire that no maiden or wife may wear, come to the foot of the steps, toss a coin into the money-box at the door, and call out: 'O-rosoku!' which means 'an honourable candle.' Immediately, from an inner chamber, some old man will enter the shrine-room with a lighted candle, stick it upon a nail-point in the lantern, and then retire. Such candle-offerings are always accompanied by secret prayers for good-fortune. But this Inari is worshipped by many besides members of the joro class. The pieces of coloured cloth about the necks of the foxes are also votive offerings. Sec. 3 Fox-images in Izumo seem to be more numerous than in other provinces, and they are symbols there, so far as the mass of the peasantry is concerned, of something else besides the worship of the Rice-Deity. Indeed, the old conception of the Deity of Rice-fields has been overshadowed and almost effaced among the lowest classes by a weird cult totally foreign to the spirit of pure Shinto--the Fox-cult. The worship of the retainer has almost replaced the worship of the god. Originally the Fox was sacred to Inari only as the Tortoise is still sacred to Kompira; the Deer to the Great Deity of Kasuga; the Rat to Daikoku; the Tai-fish to Ebisu; the White Serpent to Benten; or the Centipede to Bishamon, God of Battles. But in the course of centuries the Fox usurped divinity. And the stone images of him are not the only outward evidences of his cult. At the rear of almost every Inari temple you will generally find in the wall of the shrine building, one or two feet above the ground, an aperture about eight inches in diameter and perfectly circular. It is often made so as to be closed at will by a sliding plank. This circular orifice is a Fox-hole, and if you find one open, and look within, you will probably see offerings of tofu or other food which foxes are supposed to be fond of. You will also, most likely, find grains of rice scattered on some little projection of woodwork below or near the hole, or placed on the edge of the hole itself; and you may see some peasant clap his hands before the hole, utter some little prayer, and swallow a grain or two of that rice in the belief that it will either cure or prevent sickness. Now the fox for whom such a hole is made is an invisible fox, a phantom fox--the fox respectfully referred to by the peasant as O-Kitsune-San. If he ever suffers himself to become visible, his colour is said to be snowy white. According to some, there are various kinds of ghostly foxes. According to others, there are two sorts of foxes only, the Inari-fox (O-Kitsune-San) and the wild fox (kitsune). Some people again class foxes into Superior and Inferior Foxes, and allege the existence of four Superior Sorts--Byakko, Kokko, Jenko, and Reiko--all of which possess supernatural powers. Others again count only three kinds of foxes--the Field-fox, the Man-fox, and the Inari-fox. But many confound the Field-fox or wild fox with the Man-fox, and others identify the Inari-fox with the Man-fox. One cannot possibly unravel the confusion of these beliefs, especially among the peasantry. The beliefs vary, moreover, in different districts. I have only been able, after a residence of fourteen months in Izumo, where the superstition is especially strong, and marked by certain unique features, to make the following very loose summary of them: All foxes have supernatural power. There are good and bad foxes. The Inari-fox is good, and the bad foxes are afraid of the Inari-fox. The worst fox is the Ninko or Hito-kitsune (Man-fox): this is especially the fox of demoniacal possession. It is no larger than a weasel, and somewhat similar in shape, except for its tail, which is like the tail of any other fox. It is rarely seen, keeping itself invisible, except to those to whom it attaches itself. It likes to live in the houses of men, and to be nourished by them, and to the homes where it is well cared for it will bring prosperity. It will take care that the rice-fields shall never want for water, nor the cooking-pot for rice. But if offended, it will bring misfortune to the household, and ruin to the crops. The wild fox (Nogitsune) is also bad. It also sometimes takes possession of people; but it is especially a wizard, and prefers to deceive by enchantment. It has the power of assuming any shape and of making itself invisible; but the dog can always see it, so that it is extremely afraid of the dog. Moreover, while assuming another shape, if its shadow fall upon water, the water will only reflect the shadow of a fox. The peasantry kill it; but he who kills a fox incurs the risk of being bewitched by that fox's kindred, or even by the ki, or ghost of the fox. Still if one eat the flesh of a fox, he cannot be enchanted afterwards. The Nogitsune also enters houses. Most families having foxes in their houses have only the small kind, or Ninko; but occasionally both kinds will live together under the same roof. Some people say that if the Nogitsune lives a hundred years it becomes all white, and then takes rank as an Inari-fox. There are curious contradictions involved in these beliefs, and other contradictions will be found in the following pages of this sketch. To define the fox-superstition at all is difficult, not only on account of the confusion of ideas on the subject among the believers themselves, but also on account of the variety of elements out of which it has been shapen. Its origin is Chinese [4]; but in Japan it became oddly blended with the worship of a Shinto deity, and again modified and expanded by the Buddhist concepts of thaumaturgy and magic. So far as the common people are concerned, it is perhaps safe to say that they pay devotion to foxes chiefly because they fear them. The peasant still worships what he fears. Sec. 4 It is more than doubtful whether the popular notions about different classes of foxes, and about the distinction between the fox of Inari and the fox of possession, were ever much more clearly established than they are now, except in the books of old literati. Indeed, there exists a letter from Hideyoshi to the Fox-God which would seem to show that in the time of the great Taiko the Inari-fox and the demon fox were considered identical. This letter is still preserved at Nara, in the Buddhist temple called Todaiji: KYOTO, the seventeenth day of the Third Month. TO INARI DAIMYOJIN: My Lord--I have the honour to inform you that one of the foxes under your jurisdiction has bewitched one of my servants, causing her and others a great deal of trouble. I have to request that you will make minute inquiries into the matter, and endeavour to find out the reason of your subject misbehaving in this way, and let me know the result. If it turns out that the fox has no adequate reason to give for his behaviour, you are to arrest and punish him at once. If you hesitate to take action in this matter, I shall issue orders for the destruction of every fox in the land. Any other particulars that you may wish to be informed of in reference to what has occurred, you can learn from the high-priest YOSHIDA. Apologising for the imperfections of this letter, I have the honour to be, Your obedient servant, HIDEYOSHI TAIKO [5] But there certainly were some distinctions established in localities, owing to the worship of Inari by the military caste. With the samurai of Izumo, the Rice-God, for obvious reasons, was a highly popular deity; and you can still find in the garden of almost every old shizoku residence in Matsue, a small shrine of Inari Daimyojin, with little stone foxes seated before it. And in the imagination of the lower classes, all samurai families possessed foxes. But the samurai foxes inspired no fear. They were believed to be 'good foxes'; and the superstition of the Ninko or Hito-kitsune does not seem to have unpleasantly affected any samurai families of Matsue during the feudal era. It is only since the military caste has been abolished, and its name, simply as a body of gentry, changed to shizoku, [6] that some families have become victims of the superstition through intermarriage with the chonin or mercantile classes, among whom the belief has always been strong. By the peasantry the Matsudaira daimyo of Izumo were supposed to be the greatest fox-possessors. One of them was believed to use foxes as messengers to Tokyo (be it observed that a fox can travel, according to popular credence, from Yokohama to London in a few hours); and there is some Matsue story about a fox having been caught in a trap [7] near Tokyo, attached to whose neck was a letter written by the prince of Izumo only the same morning. The great Inari temple of Inari in the castle grounds--O-Shiroyama-no-Inari-Sama--with its thousands upon thousands of foxes of stone, is considered by the country people a striking proof of the devotion of the Matsudaira, not to Inari, but to foxes. At present, however, it is no longer possible to establish distinctions of genera in this ghostly zoology, where each species grows into every other. It is not even possible to disengage the ki or Soul of the Fox and the August-Spirit-of-Food from the confusion in which both have become hopelessly blended, under the name Inari by the vague conception of their peasant-worshippers. The old Shinto mythology is indeed quite explicit about the August-Spirit-of-Food, and quite silent upon the subject of foxes. But the peasantry in Izumo, like the peasantry of Catholic Europe, make mythology for themselves. If asked whether they pray to Inari as to an evil or a good deity, they will tell you that Inari is good, and that Inari-foxes are good. They will tell you of white foxes and dark foxes--of foxes to be reverenced and foxes to be killed--of the good fox which cries 'kon-kon,' and the evil fox which cries 'kwai-kwai.' But the peasant possessed by the fox cries out: 'I am Inari--Tamabushi-no-Inari!'--or some other Inari. Sec. 5 Goblin foxes are peculiarly dreaded in Izumo for three evil habits attributed to them. The first is that of deceiving people by enchantment, either for revenge or pure mischief. The second is that of quartering themselves as retainers upon some family, and thereby making that family a terror to its neighbours. The third and worst is that of entering into people and taking diabolical possession of them and tormenting them into madness. This affliction is called 'kitsune-tsuki.' The favourite shape assumed by the goblin fox for the purpose of deluding mankind is that of a beautiful woman; much less frequently the form of a young man is taken in order to deceive some one of the other sex. Innumerable are the stories told or written about the wiles of fox-women. And a dangerous woman of that class whose art is to enslave men, and strip them of all they possess, is popularly named by a word of deadly insult--kitsune. Many declare that the fox never really assumes human shape; but that he only deceives people into the belief that he does so by a sort of magnetic power, or by spreading about them a certain magical effluvium. The fox does not always appear in the guise of a woman for evil purposes. There are several stories, and one really pretty play, about a fox who took the shape of a beautiful woman, and married a man, and bore him children--all out of gratitude for some favour received--the happiness of the family being only disturbed by some odd carnivorous propensities on the part of the offspring. Merely to achieve a diabolical purpose, the form of a woman is not always the best disguise. There are men quite insusceptible to feminine witchcraft. But the fox is never at a loss for a disguise; he can assume more forms than Proteus. Furthermore, he can make you see or hear or imagine whatever he wishes you to see, hear, or imagine. He can make you see out of Time and Space; he can recall the past and reveal the future. His power has not been destroyed by the introduction of Western ideas; for did he not, only a few years ago, cause phantom trains to run upon the Tokkaido railway, thereby greatly confounding, and terrifying the engineers of the company? But, like all goblins, he prefers to haunt solitary places. At night he is fond of making queer ghostly lights, [8] in semblance of lantern-fires, flit about dangerous places; and to protect yourself from this trick of his, it is necessary to learn that by joining your hands in a particular way, so as to leave a diamond-shaped aperture between the crossed fingers, you can extinguish the witch-fire at any distance simply by blowing through the aperture in the direction of the light and uttering a certain Buddhist formula. But it is not only at night that the fox manifests his power for mischief: at high noon he may tempt you to go where you are sure to get killed, or frighten you into going by creating some apparition or making you imagine that you feel an earthquake. Consequently the old-fashioned peasant, on seeing anything extremely queer, is slow to credit the testimony of his own eyes. The most interesting and valuable witness of the stupendous eruption of Bandai-San in 1888--which blew the huge volcano to pieces and devastated an area of twenty-seven square miles, levelling forests, turning rivers from their courses, and burying numbers of villages with all their inhabitants--was an old peasant who had watched the whole cataclysm from a neighbouring peak as unconcernedly as if he had been looking at a drama. He saw a black column of ashes and steam rise to the height of twenty thousand feet and spread out at its summit in the shape of an umbrella, blotting out the sun. Then he felt a strange rain pouring upon him, hotter than the water of a bath. Then all became black; and he felt the mountain beneath him shaking to its roots, and heard a crash of thunders that seemed like the sound of the breaking of a world. But he remained quite still until everything was over. He had made up his mind not to be afraid--deeming that all he saw and heard was delusion wrought by the witchcraft of a fox. Sec. 6 Strange is the madness of those into whom demon foxes enter. Sometimes they run naked shouting through the streets. Sometimes they lie down and froth at the mouth, and yelp as a fox yelps. And on some part of the body of the possessed a moving lump appears under the skin, which seems to have a life of its own. Prick it with a needle, and it glides instantly to another place. By no grasp can it be so tightly compressed by a strong hand that it will not slip from under the fingers. Possessed folk are also said to speak and write languages of which they were totally ignorant prior to possession. They eat only what foxes are believed to like--tofu, aburage, [9] azukimeshi, [10] etc.--and they eat a great deal, alleging that not they, but the possessing foxes, are hungry. It not infrequently happens that the victims of fox-possession are cruelly treated by their relatives--being severely burned and beaten in the hope that the fox may be thus driven away. Then the Hoin [11] or Yamabushi is sent for--the exorciser. The exorciser argues with the fox, who speaks through the mouth of the possessed. When the fox is reduced to silence by religious argument upon the wickedness of possessing people, he usually agrees to go away on condition of being supplied with plenty of tofu or other food; and the food promised must be brought immediately to that particular Inari temple of which the fox declares himself a retainer. For the possessing fox, by whomsoever sent, usually confesses himself the servant of a certain Inari though sometimes even calling himself the god. As soon as the possessed has been freed from the possessor, he falls down senseless, and remains for a long time prostrate. And it is said, also, that he who has once been possessed by a fox will never again be able to eat tofu, aburage, azukimeshi, or any of those things which foxes like. Sec. 7 It is believed that the Man-fox (Hito-kitsune) cannot be seen. But if he goes close to still water, his SHADOW can be seen in the water. Those 'having foxes' are therefore supposed to avoid the vicinity of rivers and ponds. The invisible fox, as already stated, attaches himself to persons. Like a Japanese servant, he belongs to the household. But if a daughter of that household marry, the fox not only goes to that new family, following the bride, but also colonises his kind in all those families related by marriage or kinship with the husband's family. Now every fox is supposed to have a family of seventy-five--neither more, nor less than seventy-five--and all these must be fed. So that although such foxes, like ghosts, eat very little individually, it is expensive to have foxes. The fox-possessors (kitsune-mochi) must feed their foxes at regular hours; and the foxes always eat first--all the seventy-five. As soon as the family rice is cooked in the kama (a great iron cooking-pot), the kitsune-mochi taps loudly on the side of the vessel, and uncovers it. Then the foxes rise up through the floor. And although their eating is soundless to human ear and invisible to human eye, the rice slowly diminishes. Wherefore it is fearful for a poor man to have foxes. But the cost of nourishing foxes is the least evil connected with the keeping of them. Foxes have no fixed code of ethics, and have proved themselves untrustworthy servants. They may initiate and long maintain the prosperity of some family; but should some grave misfortune fall upon that family in spite of the efforts of its seventy-five invisible retainers, then these will suddenly flee away, taking all the valuables of the household along with them. And all the fine gifts that foxes bring to their masters are things which have been stolen from somebody else. It is therefore extremely immoral to keep foxes. It is also dangerous for the public peace, inasmuch as a fox, being a goblin, and devoid of human susceptibilities, will not take certain precautions. He may steal the next-door neighbour's purse by night and lay it at his own master's threshold, so that if the next-door neighbour happens to get up first and see it there is sure to be a row. Another evil habit of foxes is that of making public what they hear said in private, and taking it upon themselves to create undesirable scandal. For example, a fox attached to the family of Kobayashi-San hears his master complain about his neighbour Nakayama-San, whom he secretly dislikes. Therewith the zealous retainer runs to the house of Nakayama-San, and enters into his body, and torments him grievously, saying: 'I am the retainer of Kobayashi-San to whom you did such-and-such a wrong; and until such time as he command me to depart, I shall continue to torment you.' And last, but worst of all the risks of possessing foxes, is the danger that they may become wroth with some member of the family. Certainly a fox may be a good friend, and make rich the home in which he is domiciled. But as he is not human, and as his motives and feelings are not those of men, but of goblins, it is difficult to avoid incurring his displeasure. At the most unexpected moment he may take offence without any cause knowingly having been given, and there is no saying what the consequences may be. For the fox possesses Instinctive Infinite Vision--and the Ten-Ni-Tsun, or All-Hearing Ear--and the Ta-Shin-Tsun, which is the Knowledge of the Most Secret Thoughts of Others--and Shiyuku-Mei-Tsun, which is the Knowledge of the Past--and Zhin-Kiyan-Tsun, which means the Knowledge of the Universal Present--and also the Powers of Transformation and of Transmutation. [12] So that even without including his special powers of bewitchment, he is by nature a being almost omnipotent for evil. Sec. 8 For all these reasons, and, doubtless many more, people believed to have foxes are shunned. Intermarriage with a fox-possessing family is out of the question; and many a beautiful and accomplished girl in Izumo cannot secure a husband because of the popular belief that her family harbours foxes. As a rule, Izumo girls do not like to marry out of their own province; but the daughters of a kitsune-mochi must either marry into the family of another kitsune-mochi, or find a husband far away from the Province of the Gods. Rich fox-possessing families have not overmuch difficulty in disposing of their daughters by one of the means above indicated; but many a fine sweet girl of the poorer kitsune-mochi is condemned by superstition to remain unwedded. It is not because there are none to love her and desirous of marrying her--young men who have passed through public schools and who do not believe in foxes. It is because popular superstition cannot be yet safely defied in country districts except by the wealthy. The consequences of such defiance would have to be borne, not merely by the husband, but by his whole family, and by all other families related thereunto. Which are consequences to be thought about! Among men believed to have foxes there are some who know how to turn the superstition to good account. The country-folk, as a general rule, are afraid of giving offence to a kitsune-mochi, lest he should send some of his invisible servants to take possession of them. Accordingly, certain kitsune-mochi have obtained great ascendancy over the communities in which they live. In the town of Yonago, for example, there is a certain prosperous chonin whose will is almost law, and whose opinions are never opposed. He is practically the ruler of the place, and in a fair way of becoming a very wealthy man. All because he is thought to have foxes. Wrestlers, as a class, boast of their immunity from fox-possession, and care neither for kitsune-mochi nor for their spectral friends. Very strong men are believed to be proof against all such goblinry. Foxes are said to be afraid of them, and instances are cited of a possessing fox declaring: 'I wished to enter into your brother, but he was too strong for me; so I have entered into you, as I am resolved to be revenged upon some one of your family.' Sec. 9 Now the belief in foxes does not affect persons only: it affects property. It affects the value of real estate in Izumo to the amount of hundreds of thousands. The land of a family supposed to have foxes cannot be sold at a fair price. People are afraid to buy it; for it is believed the foxes may ruin the new proprietor. The difficulty of obtaining a purchaser is most great in the case of land terraced for rice-fields, in the mountain districts. The prime necessity of such agriculture is irrigation--irrigation by a hundred ingenious devices, always in the face of difficulties. There are seasons when water becomes terribly scarce, and when the peasants will even fight for water. It is feared that on lands haunted by foxes, the foxes may turn the water away from one field into another, or, for spite, make holes in the dikes and so destroy the crop. There are not wanting shrewd men to take advantage of this queer belief. One gentleman of Matsue, a good agriculturist of the modern school, speculated in the fox-terror fifteen years ago, and purchased a vast tract of land in eastern Izumo which no one else would bid for. That land has sextupled in value, besides yielding generously under his system of cultivation; and by selling it now he could realise an immense fortune. His success, and the fact of his having been an official of the government, broke the spell: it is no longer believed that his farms are fox-haunted. But success alone could not have freed the soil from the curse of the superstition. The power of the farmer to banish the foxes was due to his official character. With the peasantry, the word 'Government' is talismanic. Indeed, the richest and the most successful farmer of Izumo, worth more than a hundred thousand yen--Wakuri-San of Chinomiya in Kandegori--is almost universally believed by the peasantry to be a kitsune-mochi. They tell curious stories about him. Some say that when a very poor man he found in the woods one day a little white fox-cub, and took it home, and petted it, and gave it plenty of tofu, azukimeshi, and aburage--three sorts of food which foxes love--and that from that day prosperity came to him. Others say that in his house there is a special zashiki, or guest-room for foxes; and that there, once in each month, a great banquet is given to hundreds of Hito-kitsune. But Chinomiya-no-Wakuri, as they call him, can afford to laugh at all these tales. He is a refined man, highly respected in cultivated circles where superstition never enters. Sec. 10 When a Ninko comes to your house at night and knocks, there is a peculiar muffled sound about the knocking by which you can tell that the visitor is a fox--if you have experienced ears. For a fox knocks at doors with its tail. If you open, then you will see a man, or perhaps a beautiful girl, who will talk to you only in fragments of words, but nevertheless in such a way that you can perfectly well understand. A fox cannot pronounce a whole word, but a part only--as 'Nish... Sa...' for 'Nishida-San'; 'degoz...' for 'degozarimasu, or 'uch... de...?' for 'uchi desuka?' Then, if you are a friend of foxes, the visitor will present you with a little gift of some sort, and at once vanish away into the darkness. Whatever the gift may be, it will seem much larger that night than in the morning. Only a part of a fox-gift is real. A Matsue shizoku, going home one night by way of the street called Horomachi, saw a fox running for its life pursued by dogs. He beat the dogs off with his umbrella, thus giving the fox a chance to escape. On the following evening he heard some one knock at his door, and on opening the to saw a very pretty girl standing there, who said to him: 'Last night I should have died but for your august kindness. I know not how to thank you enough: this is only a pitiable little present. And she laid a small bundle at his feet and went away. He opened the bundle and found two beautiful ducks and two pieces of silver money--those long, heavy, leaf-shaped pieces of money--each worth ten or twelve dollars--such as are now eagerly sought for by collectors of antique things. After a little while, one of the coins changed before his eyes into a piece of grass; the other was always good. Sugitean-San, a physician of Matsue, was called one evening to attend a case of confinement at a house some distance from the city, on the hill called Shiragayama. He was guided by a servant carrying a paper lantern painted with an aristocratic crest. [13] He entered into a magnificent house, where he was received with superb samurai courtesy. The mother was safely delivered of a fine boy. The family treated the physician to an excellent dinner, entertained him elegantly, and sent him home, loaded with presents and money. Next day he went, according to Japanese etiquette, to return thanks to his hosts. He could not find the house: there was, in fact, nothing on Shiragayama except forest. Returning home, he examined again the gold which had been paid to him. All was good except one piece, which had changed into grass. Sec. 11 Curious advantages have been taken of the superstitions relating to the Fox-God. In Matsue, several years ago, there was a tofuya which enjoyed an unusually large patronage. A tofuya is a shop where tofu is sold--a curd prepared from beans, and much resembling good custard in appearance. Of all eatable things, foxes are most fond of tofu and of soba, which is a preparation of buckwheat. There is even a legend that a fox, in the semblance of an elegantly attired man, once visited Nogi-no-Kuriharaya, a popular sobaya on the lake shore, and ate much soba. But after the guest was gone, the money he had paid changed into wooden shavings. The proprietor of the tofuya had a different experience. A man in wretched attire used to come to his shop every evening to buy a cho of tofu, which he devoured on the spot with the haste of one long famished. Every evening for weeks he came, and never spoke; but the landlord saw one evening the tip of a bushy white tail protruding from beneath the stranger's rags. The sight aroused strange surmises and weird hopes. From that night he began to treat the mysterious visitor with obsequious kindness. But another month passed before the latter spoke. Then what he said was about as follows: 'Though I seem to you a man, I am not a man; and I took upon myself human form only for the purpose of visiting you. I come from Taka-machi, where my temple is, at which you often visit. And being desirous to reward your piety and goodness of heart, I have come to-night to save you from a great danger. For by the power which I possess I know that tomorrow this street will burn, and all the houses in it shall be utterly destroyed except yours. To save it I am going to make a charm. But in order that I may do this, you must open your go-down (kura) that I may enter, and allow no one to watch me; for should living eye look upon me there, the charm will not avail.' The shopkeeper, with fervent words of gratitude, opened his storehouse, and reverently admitted the seeming Inari and gave orders that none of his household or servants should keep watch. And these orders were so well obeyed that all the stores within the storehouse, and all the valuables of the family, were removed without hindrance during the night. Next day the kura was found to be empty. And there was no fire. There is also a well-authenticated story about another wealthy shopkeeper of Matsue who easily became the prey of another pretended Inari. This Inari told him that whatever sum of money he should leave at a certain miya by night, he would find it doubled in the morning--as the reward of his lifelong piety. The shopkeeper carried several small sums to the miya, and found them doubled within twelve hours. Then he deposited larger sums, which were similarly multiplied; he even risked some hundreds of dollars, which were duplicated. Finally he took all his money out of the bank and placed it one evening within the shrine of the god--and never saw it again. Sec. 12 Vast is the literature of the subject of foxes--ghostly foxes. Some of it is old as the eleventh century. In the ancient romances and the modern cheap novel, in historical traditions and in popular fairy-tales, foxes perform wonderful parts. There are very beautiful and very sad and very terrible stories about foxes. There are legends of foxes discussed by great scholars, and legends of foxes known to every child in Japan--such as the history of Tamamonomae, the beautiful favourite of the Emperor Toba--Tamamonomae, whose name has passed into a proverb, and who proved at last to be only a demon fox with Nine Tails and Fur of Gold. But the most interesting part of fox-literature belongs to the Japanese stage, where the popular beliefs are often most humorously reflected--as in the following excerpts from the comedy of Hiza-Kuruge, written by one Jippensha Ikku: [Kidahachi and Iyaji are travelling from Yedo to Osaka. When within a short distance of Akasaka, Kidahachi hastens on in advance to secure good accommodations at the best inn. Iyaji, travelling along leisurely, stops a little while at a small wayside refreshment-house kept by an old woman] OLD WOMAN.--Please take some tea, sir. IYAJI.--Thank you! How far is it from here to the next town?--Akasaka? OLD WOMAN.--About one ri. But if you have no companion, you had better remain here to-night, because there is a bad fox on the way, who bewitches travellers. IYAJI.--I am afraid of that sort of thing. But I must go on; for my companion has gone on ahead of me, and will be waiting for me. [After having paid for his refreshments, Iyaji proceeds on his way. The night is very dark, and he feels quite nervous on account of what the old woman has told him. After having walked a considerable distance, he suddenly hears a fox yelping--kon-kon. Feeling still more afraid, he shouts at the top of his voice:] IYAJI.--Come near me, and I will kill you! [Meanwhile Kidahachi, who has also been frightened by the old woman's stories, and has therefore determined to wait for Iyaji, is saying to himself in the dark: 'If I do not wait for him, we shall certainly be deluded.' Suddenly he hears Iyaji's voice, and cries out to him:] KIDAHACHI.--O Iyaji-San! IYAJI.--What are you doing there? KIDAHACHI.--I did intend to go on ahead; but I became afraid, and so I concluded to stop here and wait for you. IYAJI (who imagines that the fox has taken the shape of Kidahachi to deceive him).--Do not think that you are going to dupe me! KIDAHACHI.--That is a queer way to talk! I have some nice mochi [14] here which I bought for you. IYAJI.--Horse-dung cannot be eaten! [15] KIDAHACHI.--Don't be suspicious!--I am really Kidahachi. IYAJI (springing upon him furiously).--Yes! you took the form of Kidahachi just to deceive me! KIDAHACHI.--What do you mean?--What are you going to do to me? IYAJI.--I am going to kill you! (Throws him down.) KIDAHACHI.--Oh! you have hurt me very much--please leave me alone! IYAJI.--If you are really hurt, then let me see you in your real shape! (They struggle together.) KIDAHACHI.--What are you doing?--putting your hand there? IYAJI.--I am feeling for your tail. If you don't put out your tail at once, I shall make you! (Takes his towel, and with it ties Kidahachi's hands behind his back, and then drives him before him.) KIDAHACHI.--Please untie me--please untie me first! [By this time they have almost reached Akasaka, and Iyaji, seeing a dog, calls the animal, and drags Kidahachi close to it; for a dog is believed to be able to detect a fox through any disguise. But the dog takes no notice of Kidahachi. Iyaji therefore unties him, and apologises; and they both laugh at their previous fears.] Sec. 13 But there are some very pleasing forms of the Fox-God. For example, there stands in a very obscure street of Matsue--one of those streets no stranger is likely to enter unless he loses his way--a temple called Jigyoba-no-Inari, [16] and also Kodomo-no-Inari, or 'the Children's Inari.' It is very small, but very famous; and it has been recently presented with a pair of new stone foxes, very large, which have gilded teeth and a peculiarly playful expression of countenance. These sit one on each side of the gate: the Male grinning with open jaws, the Female demure, with mouth closed. [17] In the court you will find many ancient little foxes with noses, heads, or tails broken, two great Karashishi before which straw sandals (waraji) have been suspended as votive offerings by somebody with sore feet who has prayed to the Karashishi-Sama that they will heal his affliction, and a shrine of Kojin, occupied by the corpses of many children's dolls. [18] The grated doors of the shrine of Jigyoba-no-Inari, like those of the shrine of Yaegaki, are white with the multitude of little papers tied to them, which papers signify prayers. But the prayers are special and curious. To right and to left of the doors, and also above them, odd little votive pictures are pasted upon the walls, mostly representing children in bath-tubs, or children getting their heads shaved. There are also one or two representing children at play. Now the interpretation of these signs and wonders is as follows: Doubtless you know that Japanese children, as well as Japanese adults, must take a hot bath every day; also that it is the custom to shave the heads of very small boys and girls. But in spite of hereditary patience and strong ancestral tendency to follow ancient custom, young children find both the razor and the hot bath difficult to endure, with their delicate skins. For the Japanese hot bath is very hot (not less than 110 degs F., as a general rule), and even the adult foreigner must learn slowly to bear it, and to appreciate its hygienic value. Also, the Japanese razor is a much less perfect instrument than ours, and is used without any lather, and is apt to hurt a little unless used by the most skilful hands. And finally, Japanese parents are not tyrannical with their children: they pet and coax, very rarely compel or terrify. So that it is quite a dilemma for them when the baby revolts against the bath or mutinies against the razor. The parents of the child who refuses to be shaved or bathed have recourse to Jigyoba-no-Inati. The god is besought to send one of his retainers to amuse the child, and reconcile it to the new order of things, and render it both docile and happy. Also if a child is naughty, or falls sick, this Inari is appealed to. If the prayer be granted, some small present is made to the temple--sometimes a votive picture, such as those pasted by the door, representing the successful result of the petition. To judge by the number of such pictures, and by the prosperity of the temple, the Kodomo-no-Inani would seem to deserve his popularity. Even during the few minutes I passed in his court I saw three young mothers, with infants at their backs, come to the shrine and pray and make offerings. I noticed that one of the children--remarkably pretty--had never been shaved at all. This was evidently a very obstinate case. While returning from my visit to the Jigyoba Inani, my Japanese servant, who had guided me there, told me this story: The son of his next-door neighbour, a boy of seven, went out to play one morning, and disappeared for two days. The parents were not at first uneasy, supposing that the child had gone to the house of a relative, where he was accustomed to pass a day or two from time to time. But on the evening of the second day it was learned that the child had not been at the house in question. Search was at once made; but neither search nor inquiry availed. Late at night, however, a knock was heard at the door of the boy's dwelling, and the mother, hurrying out, found her truant fast asleep on the ground. She could not discover who had knocked. The boy, upon being awakened, laughed, and said that on the morning of his disappearance he had met a lad of about his own age, with very pretty eyes, who had coaxed him away to the woods, where they had played together all day and night and the next day at very curious funny games. But at last he got sleepy, and his comrade took him home. He was not hungry. The comrade promised 'to come to-morrow.' But the mysterious comrade never came; and no boy of the description given lived in the neighbourhood. The inference was that the comrade was a fox who wanted to have a little fun. The subject of the fun mourned long in vain for his merry companion. Sec. 14 Some thirty years ago there lived in Matsue an ex-wrestler named Tobikawa, who was a relentless enemy of foxes and used to hunt and kill them. He was popularly believed to enjoy immunity from bewitchment because of his immense strength; but there were some old folks who predicted that he would not die a natural death. This prediction was fulfilled: Tobikawa died in a very curious manner. He was excessively fond of practical jokes. One day he disguised himself as a Tengu, or sacred goblin, with wings and claws and long nose, and ascended a lofty tree in a sacred grove near Rakusan, whither, after a little while, the innocent peasants thronged to worship him with offerings. While diverting himself with this spectacle, and trying to play his part by springing nimbly from one branch to another, he missed his footing and broke his neck in the fall. Sec. 15 But these strange beliefs are swiftly passing away. Year by year more shrines of Inari crumble down, never to be rebuilt. Year by year the statuaries make fewer images of foxes. Year by year fewer victims of fox-possession are taken to the hospitals to be treated according to the best scientific methods by Japanese physicians who speak German. The cause is not to be found in the decadence of the old faiths: a superstition outlives a religion. Much less is it to be sought for in the efforts of proselytising missionaries from the West--most of whom profess an earnest belief in devils. It is purely educational. The omnipotent enemy of superstition is the public school, where the teaching of modern science is unclogged by sectarianism or prejudice; where the children of the poorest may learn the wisdom of the Occident; where there is not a boy or a girl of fourteen ignorant of the great names of Tyndall, of Darwin, of Huxley, of Herbert Spencer. The little hands that break the Fox-god's nose in mischievous play can also write essays upon the evolution of plants and about the geology of Izumo. There is no place for ghostly foxes in the beautiful nature-world revealed by new studies to the new generation The omnipotent exorciser and reformer is the Kodomo. NOTES Note for preface 1 In striking contrast to this indifference is the strong, rational, far-seeing conservatism of Viscount Torio--a noble exception. Notes for Chapter One 1 I do not think this explanation is correct; but it is interesting, as the first which I obtained upon the subject. Properly speaking, Buddhist worshippers should not clap their hands, but only rub them softly together. Shinto worshippers always clap their hands four times. 2 Various writers, following the opinion of the Japanologue Satow, have stated that the torii was originally a bird-perch for fowls offered up to the gods at Shinto shrines--'not as food, but to give warning of daybreak.' The etymology of the word is said to be 'bird-rest' by some authorities; but Aston, not less of an authority, derives it from words which would give simply the meaning of a gateway. See Chamberlain's Things Japanese, pp. 429, 430. 3 Professor Basil Hall Chamberlain has held the extraordinary position of Professor of Japanese in the Imperial University of Japan--no small honour to English philology! 4 These Ni-O, however, the first I saw in Japan, were very clumsy figures. There are magnificent Ni-O to be seen in some of the great temple gateways in Tokyo, Kyoto, and elsewhere. The grandest of all are those in the Ni-O Mon, or 'Two Kings' Gate,' of the huge Todaiji temple at Nara. They are eight hundred years old. It is impossible not to admire the conception of stormy dignity and hurricane-force embodied in those colossal figures. Prayers are addressed to the Ni-O, especially by pilgrims. Most of their statues are disfigured by little pellets of white paper, which people chew into a pulp and then spit at them. There is a curious superstition that if the pellet sticks to the statue the prayer is heard; if, on the other hand, it falls to the ground, the prayer will not be answered. Note for Chapter Two 1 Dainagon, the title of a high officer in the ancient Imperial Court. Notes for Chapter Three 1 Derived from the Sanscrit stupa. 2 'The real origin of the custom of piling stones before the images of Jizo and other divinities is not now known to the people. The custom is founded upon a passage in the famous Sutra, "The Lotus of the Good Law." 'Even the little hoys who, in playing, erected here and there heaps of sand, with the intention of dedicating them as Stupas to the Ginas,-they have all of them reached enlightenment.'--Saddharma Pundarika, c. II. v. 81 (Kern's translation), 'Sacred Books of the East,' vol. xxi. 3 The original Jizo has been identified by Orientalists with the Sanscrit Kshitegarbha; as Professor Chamberlain observes, the resemblance in sound between the names Jizo and Jesus 'is quite fortuitous.' But in Japan Jizo has become totally transformed: he may justly be called the most Japanese of all Japanese divinities. According to the curious old Buddhist book, Sai no Kawara Kuchi zu sams no den, the whole Sai-no-Kawara legend originated in Japan, and was first written by the priest Kuya Shonin, in the sixth year of the period called Ten-Kei, in the reign of the Emperor Shuyaku, who died in the year 946. To Kuya was revealed, in the village of Sai-in, near Kyoto, during a night passed by the dry bed of the neighbouring river, Sai-no-Kawa (said to be the modern Serikawa), the condition of child-souls in the Meido. (Such is the legend in the book; but Professor Chamberlain has shown that the name Sai-no-Kawara, as now written, signifies 'The Dry Bed of the River of Souls,' and modern Japanese faith places that river in the Meido.) Whatever be the true history of the myth, it is certainly Japanese; and the conception of Jizo as the lover and playfellow of dead children belongs to Japan. There are many other popular forms of Jizo, one of the most common being that Koyasu-Jizo to whom pregnant women pray. There are but few roads in Japan upon which statues of Jizo may not be seen; for he is also the patron of pilgrims. 4 Except those who have never married. 5 In Sanscrit, 'Yama-Raja.' But the Indian conception has been totally transformed by Japanese Buddhism. 6 Funeral customs, as well as the beliefs connected with them, vary considerably in different parts of Japan. Those of the eastern provinces differ from those of the western and southern. The old practice of placing articles of value in the coffin--such as the metal mirror formerly buried with a woman, or the sword buried with a man of the Samurai caste--has become almost obsolete. But the custom of putting money in the coffin still prevails: in Izumo the amount is always six rin, and these are called Rokudo-kane, or 'The Money for the Six Roads.' 7 Literally 'Western Capital,'--modern name of Kyoto, ancient residence of the emperors. The name 'Tokyo,' on the other hand, signifies 'Eastern Capital.' 8 These first ten lines of the original will illustrate the measure of the wasan: Kore wa konoyo no koto narazu, Shide no yamaji no suso no naru, Sai-no-Kawara no monogatari Kiku ni tsuketemo aware nari Futatsu-ya, mitsu-ya, yotsu, itsutsu, To nimo taranu midorigo ga Sai-no-Kawara ni atsumari te, Chichi koishi! haha koishi! Koishi! koishi! to naku koe wa Konoyo no koe towa ko to kawari. Notes for Chapter Four 1 Yane, 'roof'; shobu, 'sweet-flag' (Acorus calamus). 2 At the time this paper was written, nearly three years ago, I had not seen the mighty bells at Kyoto and at Nara. The largest bell in Japan is suspended in the grounds of the grand Jodo temple of Chion-in, at Kyoto. Visitors are not allowed to sound it. It was cast in 1633. It weighs seventy-four tons, and requires, they say, twenty-five men to ring it properly. Next in size ranks the bell of the Daibutsu temple in Kyoto, which visitors are allowed to ring on payment of a small sum. It was cast in 1615, and weighs sixty-three tons. The wonderful bell of Todaiji at Nara, although ranking only third, is perhaps the most interesting of all. It is thirteen feet six inches high, and nine feet in diameter; and its inferiority to the Kyoto bells is not in visible dimensions so much as in weight and thickness. It weighs thirty-seven tons. It was cast in 733, and is therefore one thousand one hundred and sixty years old. Visitors pay one cent to sound it once. 3 In Sanscrit, Avalokitesvara. The Japanese Kwannon, or Kwanze-on, is identical in origin with the Chinese virgin-goddess Kwanyin adopted by Buddhism as an incarnation of the Indian Avalokitesvara. (See Eitel's Handbook of Chinese Buddhism.) But the Japanese Kwan-non has lost all Chinese characteristics--has become artistically an idealisation of all that is sweet and beautiful in the woman of Japan. 4 Let the reader consult Mitford's admirable Tales of Old Japan for the full meaning of the term 'Ronin.' 5 There is a delicious Japanese proverb, the full humour of which is only to be appreciated by one familiar with the artistic representations of the divinities referred to: Karutoki no Jizo-gao, Nasutoki no Emma-gao. 'Borrowing-time, the face of Jizo; Repaying-time, the face of Emma.' 6 This old legend has peculiar interest as an example of the efforts made by Buddhism to absorb the Shinto divinities, as it had already absorbed those of India and of China. These efforts were, to a great extent, successful prior to the disestablishment of Buddhism and the revival of Shinto as the State religion. But in Izumo, and other parts of western Japan, Shinto has always remained dominant, and has even appropriated and amalgamated much belonging to Buddhism. 7 In Sanscrit 'Hariti'--Karitei-Bo is the Japanese name for one form of Kishibojin. Notes for Chapter Five 1 It is related in the same book that Ananda having asked the Buddha how came Mokenren's mother to suffer in the Gakido, the Teacher replied that in a previous incarnation she had refused, through cupidity, to feed certain visiting priests. 2 A deity of good fortune Notes for Chapter Six 1 The period in which only deities existed. 2 Hyakusho, a peasant, husbandman. The two Chinese characters forming the word signify respectively, 'a hundred' (hyaku), and 'family name' (sei). One might be tempted to infer that the appellation is almost equivalent to our phrase, 'their name is legion.' And a Japanese friend assures me that the inference would not be far wrong. Anciently the peasants had no family name; each was known by his personal appellation, coupled with the name of his lord as possessor or ruler. Thus a hundred peasants on one estate would all be known by the name of their master. 3 This custom of praying for the souls of animals is by no means general. But I have seen in the western provinces several burials of domestic animals at which such prayers were said. After the earth was filled in, some incense-rods were lighted above the grave in each instance, and the prayers were repeated in a whisper. A friend in the capital sends me the following curious information: 'At the Eko-in temple in Tokyo prayers are offered up every morning for the souls of certain animals whose ihai [mortuary tablets] are preserved in the building. A fee of thirty sen will procure burial in the temple-ground and a short service for any small domestic pet.' Doubtless similar temples exist elsewhere. Certainly no one capable of affection for our dumb friends and servants can mock these gentle customs. 4 Why six Jizo instead of five or three or any other number, the reader may ask. I myself asked the question many times before receiving any satisfactory reply. Perhaps the following legend affords the most satisfactory explanation: According to the Book Taijo-Hoshi-mingyo-nenbutsu-den, Jizo-Bosatsu was a woman ten thousand ko (kalpas) before this era, and became filled with desire to convert all living beings of the Six Worlds and the Four Births. And by virtue of the Supernatural Powers she multiplied herself and simultaneously appeared in all the Rokussho or Six States of Sentient Existence at once, namely in the Jigoku, Gaki, Chikusho, Shura, Ningen, Tenjo, and converted the dwellers thereof. (A friend insists that in order to have done this Jizo must first have become a man.) Among the many names of Jizo, such as 'The Never Slumbering,' 'The Dragon-Praiser,' 'The Shining King,' 'Diamond-of-Pity,' I find the significant appellation of 'The Countless Bodied.' 5 Since this sketch was written, I have seen the Bon-odori in many different parts of Japan; but I have never witnessed exactly the same kind of dance. Indeed, I would judge from my experiences in Izumo, in Oki, in Tottori, in Hoki, in Bingo, and elsewhere, that the Bonodori is not danced in the same way in any two provinces. Not only do the motions and gestures vary according to locality, but also the airs of the songs sung--and this even when the words are the same. In some places the measure is slow and solemn; in others it is rapid and merry, and characterised by a queer jerky swing, impossible to describe. But everywhere both the motion and the melody are curious and pleasing enough to fascinate the spectator for hours. Certainly these primitive dances are of far greater interest than the performances of geisha. Although Buddhism may have utilised them and influenced them, they are beyond doubt incomparably older than Buddhism. Notes for Chapter Seven 1 Thick solid sliding shutters of unpainted wood, which in Japanese houses serve both as shutters and doors. 2 Tanabiku. 3 Ama-terasu-oho-mi-Kami literally signifies 'the Heaven-Shining Great-August-Divinity.' (See Professor Chamberlain's translation of the Kojiki.) 4 'The gods who do harm are to be appeased, so that they may not punish those who have offended them.' Such are the words of the great Shinto teacher, Hirata, as translated by Mr. Satow in his article, 'The Revival of Pure Shintau.' 5 Machi, a stiff piece of pasteboard or other material sewn into the waist of the hakama at the back, so as to keep the folds of the garment perpendicular and neat-looking. 6 Kush-no-ki-Matsuhira-Inari-Daimyojin. 7 From an English composition by one of my Japanese pupils. 8 Rin, one tenth of one cent. A small round copper coin with a square hole in the middle. 9 An inn where soba is sold. 10 According to the mythology of the Kojiki the Moon-Deity is a male divinity. But the common people know nothing of the Kojiki, written in an archaic Japanese which only the learned can read; and they address the moon as O-Tsuki-San, or 'Lady Moon,' just as the old Greek idyllists did. Notes for Chapter Eight 1 The most ancient book extant in the archaic tongue of Japan. It is the most sacred scripture of Shinto. It has been admirably translated, with copious notes and commentaries, by Professor Basil Hall Chamberlain, of Tokyo. 2 The genealogy of the family is published in a curious little book with which I was presented at Kitzuki. Senke Takanori is the eighty-first Pontiff Governor (formerly called Kokuzo) of Kitzuki. His lineage is traced back through sixty-five generations of Kokuzo and sixteen generations of earthly deities to Ama-terasu and her brother Susanoo-no-mikoto. 3 In Sanscrit pretas. The gaki are the famished ghosts of that Circle of Torment in hell whereof the penance is hunger; and the mouths of some are 'smaller than the points of needles.' 4 Mionoseki. 5 Now solidly united with the mainland. Many extraordinary changes, of rare interest to the physiographer and geologist, have actually taken place along the coast of Izumo and in the neighbourhood of the great lake. Even now, each year some change occurs. I have seen several very strange ones. 6 The Hakuja, or White Serpent, is also the servant of Benten, or Ben-zai-ten, Goddess of Love, of Beauty, of Eloquence, and of the Sea. 'The Hakuja has the face of an ancient man, with white eyebrows and wears upon its head a crown.' Both goddess and serpent can be identified with ancient Indian mythological beings, and Buddhism first introduced both into Japan. Among the people, especially perhaps in Izumo, certain divinities of Buddhism are often identified, or rather confused, with certain Kami, in popular worship and parlance. Since this sketch was written, I have had opportunity of seeing a Ryu-ja within a few hours after its capture. It was between two and three feet long, and about one inch in diameter at its thickest girth The upper part of the body was a very dark brown, and the belly yellowish white; toward the tail there were some beautiful yellowish mottlings. The body was not cylindrical, but curiously four-sided--like those elaborately woven whip-lashes which have four edges. The tail was flat and triangular, like that of certain fish. A Japanese teacher, Mr. Watanabe, of the Normal School of Matsue, identified the little creature as a hydrophid of the species called Pelamis bicalor. It is so seldom seen, however, that I think the foregoing superficial description of it may not be without interest to some readers. 7 Ippyo, one hyo; 2 1/2 hyo make one koku = 5.13 bushels. The word hyo means also the bag made to contain one hyo. 8 Either at Kitzuki or at Sada it is possible sometimes to buy a serpent. On many a 'household-god-shelf' in Matsue the little serpent may be seen. I saw one that had become brittle and black with age, but was excellently preserved by some process of which I did not learn the nature. It had been admirably posed in a tiny wire cage, made to fit exactly into a small shrine of white wood, and must have been, when alive, about two feet four inches in length. A little lamp was lighted daily before it, and some Shinto formula recited by the poor family to whom it belonged. 9 Translated by Professor Chamberlain the 'Deity Master-of-the-Great-Land'-one of the most ancient divinities of Japan, but in popular worship confounded with Daikoku, God of Wealth. His son, Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami, is similarly confounded with Ebisu, or Yebisu, the patron of honest labour. The origin of the Shinto custom of clapping the hands in prayer is said by some Japanese writers to have been a sign given by Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami. Both deities are represented by Japanese art in a variety of ways, Some of the twin images of them sold at Kitzuki are extremely pretty as well as curious. 10 Very large donations are made to this temple by wealthy men. The wooden tablets without the Haiden, on which are recorded the number of gifts and the names of the donors, mention several recent presents of 1000 yen, or dollars; and donations of 500 yen are not uncommon. The gift of a high civil official is rarely less than 50 yen. 11 Taku is the Japanese name for the paper mulberry. 12 See the curious legend in Professor Chamberlain's translation of the Kojiki. 13 From a remote period there have been two Kokuzo in theory, although but one incumbent. Two branches of the same family claim ancestral right to the office,--the rival houses of Senke and Kitajima. The government has decided always in favour of the former; but the head of the Kitajima family has usually been appointed Vice-Kokuzo. A Kitajima to-day holds the lesser office. The term Kokuzo is not, correctly speaking, a spiritual, but rather a temporal title. The Kokuzo has always been the emperor's deputy to Kitzuki,--the person appointed to worship the deity in the emperor's stead; but the real spiritual title of such a deputy is that still borne by the present Guji,--'Mitsuye-Shiro.' 14 Haliotis tuberculata, or 'sea-ear.' The curious shell is pierced with a row of holes, which vary in number with the age and size of the animal it shields. 15 Literally, 'ten hiro,' or Japanese fathoms. 16 The fire-drill used at the Shinto temples of Ise is far more complicated in construction, and certainly represents a much more advanced stage of mechanical knowledge than the Kitzuki fire-drill indicates. 17 During a subsequent visit to Kitzuki I learned that the koto-ita is used only as a sort of primitive 'tuning' instrument: it gives the right tone for the true chant which I did not hear during my first visit. The true chant, an ancient Shinto hymn, is always preceded by the performance above described. 18 The tempest of the Kokuzo. 19 That is, according to Motoori, the commentator. Or more briefly: 'No or yes?' This is, according to Professor Chamberlain, a mere fanciful etymology; but it is accepted by Shinto faith, and for that reason only is here given. 20 The title of Kokuzo indeed, still exists, but it is now merely honorary, having no official duties connected with it. It is actually borne by Baron Senke, the father of Senke Takanori, residing in the capital. The active religious duties of the Mitsuye-shiro now devolve upon the Guji. 21 As late as 1890 I was told by a foreign resident, who had travelled much in the interior of the country, that in certain districts many old people may be met with who still believe that to see the face of the emperor is 'to become a Buddha'; that is, to die. 22 Hideyoshi, as is well known, was not of princely extraction 23 The Kojiki dates back, as a Written work, only to A.D. 722. But its legends and records are known to have existed in the form of oral literature from a much more ancient time. 24 In certain provinces of Japan Buddhism practically absorbed Shinto in other centuries, but in Izumo Shinto absorbed Buddhism; and now that Shinto is supported by the State there is a visible tendency to eliminate from its cult certain elements of Buddhist origin. Notes for Chapter Nine 1 Such are the names given to the water-vessels or cisterns at which Shinto worshippers must wash their hands and rinse their mouths ere praying to the Kami. A mitarashi or o-chozubachi is placed before every Shinto temple. The pilgrim to Shin-Kukedo-San should perform this ceremonial ablution at the little rock-spring above described, before entering the sacred cave. Here even the gods of the cave are said to wash after having passed through the seawater. 2 'August Fire-Lady'; or, 'the August Sun-Lady,' Amaterasu-oho-mi-Kami. Notes for Chapter Ten 1 Mionoseki 2 Zashiki, the best and largest room of a Japanese dwelling--the guest-room of a private house, or the banquet-room of a public inn. Notes for Chapter Eleven 1 Fourteenth of August. 2 In the pretty little seaside hotel Inaba-ya, where I lived during my stay in Kitzuki, the kind old hostess begged her guests with almost tearful earnestness not to leave the house during the Minige. 3 There are ten rin to one sen, and ten mon to one rin, on one hundred to one sen. The majority of the cheap toys sold at the matsuri cost from two to nine rin. The rin is a circular copper coin with a square hole in the middle for stringing purposes. 4 Why the monkey is so respectfully mentioned in polite speech, I do not exactly know; but I think that the symbolical relation of the monkey, both to Buddhism and to Shinto, may perhaps account for the use of the prefix 'O' (honourable) before its name. 5 As many fine dolls really are. The superior class of O-Hina-San, such as figure in the beautiful displays of the O-Hina-no-Matsuri at rich homes, are heirlooms. Dolls are not given to children to break; and Japanese children seldom break them. I saw at a Doll's Festival in the house of the Governor of Izumo, dolls one hundred years old--charming figurines in ancient court costume. 6 Not to be confounded with Koshin, the God of Roads. 7 Celtis Wilidenowiana. Sometimes, but rarely, a pine or other tree is substituted for the enoki. 8 'Literally, 'The Dance of the Fruitful Year.' 9 First,--unto the Taisha-Sama of Izunio; Second,--to Irokami-Sama of Niigata; Third,--unto Kompira-Sama of Sanuki; Fourth,--unto Zenkoji-Sama of Shinano; Fifth,--to O-Yakushi-San of Ichibata; Sixth,--to O-Jizo-Sama of Rokkakudo; Seventh,--to O-Ebisu-Sama of Nana-ura; Eighth,--unto Hachiman-Sama of Yawata; Ninth,--unto everyholy shrine of Koya; Tenth,--to the Ujigami-Sama of our village.' Japanese readers will appreciate the ingenious manner in which the numeral at the beginning of each phrase is repeated in the name of the sacred place sung of. Notes for Chapter Twelve 1 This deity is seldom called by his full name, which has been shortened by common usage from Susano-o-no-mikoto. 2 A kichinyado is an inn at which the traveller is charged only the price of the wood used for fuel in cooking his rice. 3 The thick fine straw mats, fitted upon the floor of every Japanese room, are always six feet long by three feet broad. The largest room in the ordinary middle-class house is a room of eight mats. A room of one hundred mats is something worth seeing. 4 The kubi-oke was a lacquered tray with a high rim and a high cover. The name signifies 'head-box.' It was the ancient custom to place the head of a decapitated person upon a kubi-oke before conveying the ghastly trophy into the palace of the prince desirous of seeing it. Notes for Chapter Thirteen 1 Yama-no-mono ('mountain-folk,'--so called from their settlement on the hills above Tokoji),--a pariah-class whose special calling is the washing of the dead and the making of graves. 2 Joro: a courtesan. 3 Illicium religiosum 4 Literally: 'without shadow' or 'shadowless.' 5 Umi-yama-no-on. 6 Kusaba-no-kage 7 Or 'him.' This is a free rendering. The word 'nushi' simply refers to the owner of the house. Notes for Chapter Fourteen 1 "Eight clouds arise. The eightfold [or, manifold] fence of Idzumo makes an eightfold [or, manifold] fence for the spouses to retire within. Oh! that eightfold fence!" This is said to be the oldest song in the Japanese language. It has been differently translated by the great scholars and commentators. The above version and text are from Professor B. H. Chamberlain's translation of the Kojiki (pp.60-64). 2 Professor Chamberlain disputes this etymology for excellent reasons. But in Izumo itself the etymology is still accepted, and will be accepted, doubtless, until the results of foreign scholarship in the study of the archaic texts is more generally known. 3 Planeca Japonica. 4 So absolutely has Shinto in Izumo monopolised the Karashishi, or stone lions, of Buddhist origin, that it is rare in the province to find a pair before any Buddhist temple. There is even a Shinto myth about their introduction into Japan from India, by the Fox-God! 5 Such offerings are called Gwan-hodoki. Gwan wo hodoki, 'to make a vow.' 6 A pilgrim whose prayer has been heard usually plants a single nobori as a token. Sometimes you may see nobori of five colours (goshiki),--black, yellow, red, blue, and white--of which one hundred or one thousand have been planted by one person. But this is done only in pursuance of some very special vow. 7 'On being asked if there were any other love charm, the Newt replied, making a ring with two of his toes--"Only this." The sign signifies, "Money."' 8 There are no less than eleven principal kinds of Japanese names. The jitsumyo, or 'true name,' corresponds to our Christian name. On this intricate and interesting topic the reader should consult Professor B. H. Chamberlain's excellent little book, Things Japanese, pp. 250-5. 9 'That I may be wedded to Takaki-Toki, I humbly pray.--A youth of eighteen.' 10 The gengebana (also called renge-so, and in Izumo miakobana) is an herb planted only for fertilizing purposes. Its flowers are extremely small, but so numerous that in their blossoming season miles of fields are coloured by them a beautiful lilaceous blue. A gentleman who wished to marry a joro despite the advice of his friends, was gently chided by them with the above little verse, which, freely translated, signifies: 'Take it not into thy hand: the flowers of the gengebans are fair to view only when left all together in the field.' Notes for Chapter Fifteen 1 Toyo-uke-bime-no-Kami, or Uka-no-mi-tana (who has also eight other names), is a female divinity, according to the Kojiki and its commentators. Moreover, the greatest of all Shinto scholars, Hirata, as cited by Satow, says there is really no such god as Inari-San at all--that the very name is an error. But the common people have created the God Inari: therefore he must be presumed to exist--if only for folklorists; and I speak of him as a male deity because I see him so represented in pictures and carvings. As to his mythological existence, his great and wealthy temple at Kyoto is impressive testimony. 2 The white fox is a favourite subject with Japanese artists. Some very beautiful kakemono representing white foxes were on display at the Tokyo exhibition of 1890. Phosphorescent foxes often appear in the old coloured prints, now so rare and precious, made by artists whose names have become world-famous. Occasionally foxes are represented wandering about at night, with lambent tongues of dim fire--kitsune-bi--above their heads. The end of the fox's tail, both in sculpture and drawing, is ordinarily decorated with the symbolic jewel (tama) of old Buddhist art. I have in my possession one kakemono representing a white fox with a luminous jewel in its tail. I purchased it at the Matsue temple of Inari--'O-Shiroyama-no-Inari-Sama.' The art of the kakemono is clumsy; but the conception possesses curious interest. 3 The Japanese candle has a large hollow paper wick. It is usually placed upon an iron point which enters into the orifice of the wick at the flat end. 4 See Professor Chamberlain's Things Japanese, under the title 'Demoniacal Possession.' 5 Translated by Walter Dening. 6 The word shizoku is simply the Chinese for samurai. But the term now means little more than 'gentleman' in England. 7 The fox-messenger travels unseen. But if caught in a trap, or injured, his magic fails him, and he becomes visible. 8 The Will-o'-the-Wisp is called Kitsune-bi, or 'fox-fire.' 9 'Aburage' is a name given to fried bean-curds or tofu. 10 Azukimeshi is a preparation of red beans boiled with rice. 11 The Hoin or Yamabushi was a Buddhist exorciser, usually a priest. Strictly speaking, the Hoin was a Yamabushi of higher rank. The Yamabushi used to practise divination as well as exorcism. They were forbidden to exercise these professions by the present government; and most of the little temples formerly occupied by them have disappeared or fallen into ruin. But among the peasantry Buddhist exorcisers are still called to attend cases of fox-possession, and while acting as exorcisers are still spoken of as Yamabushi. 12 A most curious paper on the subject of Ten-gan, or Infinite Vision--being the translation of a Buddhist sermon by the priest Sata Kaiseki--appeared in vol. vii. of the Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan, from the pen of Mr. J. M. James. It contains an interesting consideration of the supernatural powers of the Fox. 13 All the portable lanterns used to light the way upon dark nights bear a mon or crest of the owner. 14 Cakes made of rice flour and often sweetened with sugar. 15 It is believed that foxes amuse themselves by causing people to eat horse-dung in the belief that they are eating mochi, or to enter a cesspool in the belief they are taking a bath. 16 'In Jigyobamachi, a name signifying 'earthwork-street.' It stands upon land reclaimed from swamp. 17 This seems to be the immemorial artistic law for the demeanour of all symbolic guardians of holy places, such as the Karashishi, and the Ascending and Descending Dragons carved upon panels, or pillars. At Kumano temple even the Suijin, or warrior-guardians, who frown behind the gratings of the chambers of the great gateway, are thus represented--one with mouth open, the other with closed lips. On inquiring about the origin of this distinction between the two symbolic figures, I was told by a young Buddhist scholar that the male figure in such representations is supposed to be pronouncing the sound 'A,' and the figure with closed lips the sound of nasal 'N'--corresponding to the Alpha and Omega of the Greek alphabet, and also emblematic of the Beginning and the End. In the Lotos of the Good Law, Buddha so reveals himself, as the cosmic Alpha and Omega, and the Father of the World,--like Krishna in the Bhagavad-Gita. 18 There is one exception to the general custom of giving the dolls of dead children, or the wrecks of dolls, to Kojin. Those images of the God of Calligraphy and Scholarship which are always presented as gifts to boys on the Boys' Festival are given, when broken, to Tenjin himself, not to Kojin; at least such is the custom in Matsue. 
8133	----	Glimpses of Unfamilar Japan Second Series by Lafcadio Hearn CONTENTS 1 IN A JAPANESE GARDEN 2 THE HOUSEHOLD SHRINE 3 OF WOMEN'S HAIR 4 FROM THE DIARY OF AN ENGLISH TEACHER 5 TWO STRANGE FESTIVALS 6 BY THE JAPANESE SEA 7 OF A DANCING-GIRL 8 FROM HOKI TO OKI 9 OF SOULS 10 OF GHOSTS AND GOBLINS 11 THE JAPANESE SMILE 12 SAYONARA! Chapter One In a Japanese Garden Sec. 1 MY little two-story house by the Ohashigawa, although dainty as a bird- cage, proved much too small for comfort at the approach of the hot season--the rooms being scarcely higher than steamship cabins, and so narrow that an ordinary mosquito-net could not be suspended in them. I was sorry to lose the beautiful lake view, but I found it necessary to remove to the northern quarter of the city, into a very quiet Street behind the mouldering castle. My new home is a katchiu-yashiki, the ancient residence of some samurai of high rank. It is shut off from the street, or rather roadway, skirting the castle moat by a long, high wall coped with tiles. One ascends to the gateway, which is almost as large as that of a temple court, by a low broad flight of stone steps; and projecting from the wall, to the right of the gate, is a look-out window, heavily barred, like a big wooden cage. Thence, in feudal days, armed retainers kept keen watch on all who passed by--invisible watch, for the bars are set so closely that a face behind them cannot be seen from the roadway. Inside the gate the approach to the dwelling is also walled in on both sides, so that the visitor, unless privileged, could see before him only the house entrance, always closed with white shoji. Like all samurai homes, the residence itself is but one story high, but there are fourteen rooms within, and these are lofty, spacious, and beautiful. There is, alas, no lake view nor any charming prospect. Part of the O-Shiroyama, with the castle on its summit, half concealed by a park of pines, may be seen above the coping of the front wall, but only a part; and scarcely a hundred yards behind the house rise densely wooded heights, cutting off not only the horizon, but a large slice of the sky as well. For this immurement, however, there exists fair compensation in the shape of a very pretty garden, or rather a series of garden spaces, which surround the dwelling on three sides. Broad verandas overlook these, and from a certain veranda angle I can enjoy the sight of two gardens at once. Screens of bamboos and woven rushes, with wide gateless openings in their midst, mark the boundaries of the three divisions of the pleasure-grounds. But these structures are not intended to serve as true fences; they are ornamental, and only indicate where one style of landscape gardening ends and another begins. Sec. 2 Now a few words upon Japanese gardens in general. After having learned--merely by seeing, for the practical knowledge of the art requires years of study and experience, besides a natural, instinctive sense of beauty--something about the Japanese manner of arranging flowers, one can thereafter consider European ideas of floral decoration only as vulgarities. This observation is not the result of any hasty enthusiasm, but a conviction settled by long residence in the interior. I have come to understand the unspeakable loveliness of a solitary spray of blossoms arranged as only a Japanese expert knows how to arrange it--not by simply poking the spray into a vase, but by perhaps one whole hour's labour of trimming and posing and daintiest manipulation--and therefore I cannot think now of what we Occidentals call a 'bouquet' as anything but a vulgar murdering of flowers, an outrage upon the colour-sense, a brutality, an abomination. Somewhat in the same way, and for similar reasons, after having learned what an old Japanese garden is, I can remember our costliest gardens at home only as ignorant displays of what wealth can accomplish in the creation of incongruities that violate nature. Now a Japanese garden is not a flower garden; neither is it made for the purpose of cultivating plants. In nine cases out of ten there is nothing in it resembling a flower-bed. Some gardens may contain scarcely a sprig of green; some have nothing green at all, and consist entirely of rocks and pebbles and sand, although these are exceptional. [1] As a rule, a Japanese garden is a landscape garden, yet its existence does not depend upon any fixed allowances of space. It may cover one acre or many acres. It may also be only ten feet square. It may, in extreme cases, be much less; for a certain kind of Japanese garden can be contrived small enough to put in a tokonoma. Such a garden, in a vessel no larger than a fruit-dish, is called koniwa or toko-niwa, and may occasionally be seen in the tokonoma of humble little dwellings so closely squeezed between other structures as to possess no ground in which to cultivate an outdoor garden. (I say 'an outdoor garden,' because there are indoor gardens, both upstairs and downstairs, in some large Japanese houses.) The toko-niwa is usually made in some curious bowl, or shallow carved box or quaintly shaped vessel impossible to describe by any English word. Therein are created minuscule hills with minuscule houses upon them, and microscopic ponds and rivulets spanned by tiny humped bridges; and queer wee plants do duty for trees, and curiously formed pebbles stand for rocks, and there are tiny toro perhaps a tiny torii as well-- in short, a charming and living model of a Japanese landscape. Another fact of prime importance to remember is that, in order to comprehend the beauty of a Japanese garden, it is necessary to understand--or at least to learn to understand--the beauty of stones. Not of stones quarried by the hand of man, but of stones shaped by nature only. Until you can feel, and keenly feel, that stones have character, that stones have tones and values, the whole artistic meaning of a Japanese garden cannot be revealed to you. In the foreigner, however aesthetic he may be, this feeling needs to be cultivated by study. It is inborn in the Japanese; the soul of the race comprehends Nature infinitely better than we do, at least in her visible forms. But although, being an Occidental, the true sense of the beauty of stones can be reached by you only through long familiarity with the Japanese use and choice of them, the characters of the lessons to be acquired exist everywhere about you, if your life be in the interior. You cannot walk through a street without observing tasks and problems in the aesthetics of stones for you to master. At the approaches to temples, by the side of roads, before holy groves, and in all parks and pleasure- grounds, as well as in all cemeteries, you will notice large, irregular, flat slabs of natural rock--mostly from the river-beds and water-worn-- sculptured with ideographs, but unhewn. These have been set up as votive tablets, as commemorative monuments, as tombstones, and are much more costly than the ordinary cut-stone columns and haka chiselled with the figures of divinities in relief. Again, you will see before most of the shrines, nay, even in the grounds of nearly all large homesteads, great irregular blocks of granite or other hard rock, worn by the action of torrents, and converted into water-basins (chodzubachi) by cutting a circular hollow in the top. Such are but common examples of the utilisation of stones even in the poorest villages; and if you have any natural artistic sentiment, you cannot fail to discover, sooner or later, how much more beautiful are these natural forms than any shapes from the hand of the stone-cutter. It is probable, too, that you will become so habituated at last to the sight of inscriptions cut upon rock surfaces, especially if you travel much through the country, that you will often find yourself involuntarily looking for texts or other chisellings where there are none, and could not possibly be, as if ideographs belonged by natural law to rock formation. And stones will begin, perhaps, to assume for you a certain individual or physiognomical aspect--to suggest moods and sensations, as they do to the Japanese. Indeed, Japan is particularly a land of suggestive shapes in stone, as high volcanic lands are apt to be; and such shapes doubtless addressed themselves to the imagination of the race at a time long prior to the date of that archaic text which tells of demons in Izumo 'who made rocks, and the roots of trees, and leaves, and the foam of the green waters to speak. As might be expected in a country where the suggestiveness of natural forms is thus recognised, there are in Japan many curious beliefs and superstitions concerning stones. In almost every province there are famous stones supposed to be sacred or haunted, or to possess miraculous powers, such as the Women's Stone at the temple of Hachiman at Kamakura, and the Sessho-seki, or Death Stone of Nasu, and the Wealth-giving Stone at Enoshima, to which pilgrims pay reverence. There are even legends of stones having manifested sensibility, like the tradition of the Nodding Stones which bowed down before the monk Daita when he preached unto them the word of Buddha; or the ancient story from the Kojiki, that the Emperor O-Jin, being augustly intoxicated, 'smote with his august staff a great stone in the middle of the Ohosaka road, whereupon the stone ran away!' [2] Now stones are valued for their beauty; and large stones selected for their shape may have an aesthetic worth of hundreds of dollars. And large stones form the skeleton, or framework, in the design of old Japanese gardens. Not only is every stone chosen with a view to its particular expressiveness of form, but every stone in the garden or about the premises has its separate and individual name, indicating its purpose or its decorative duty. But I can tell you only a little, a very little, of the folk-lore of a Japanese garden; and if you want to know more about stones and their names, and about the philosophy of gardens, read the unique essay of Mr. Conder on the Art of Landscape Gardening in Japan, [3] and his beautiful book on the Japanese Art of Floral Decoration; and also the brief but charming chapter on Gardens, in Morse's Japanese Homes. [4] Sec. 3 No effort to create an impossible or purely ideal landscape is made in the Japanese garden. Its artistic purpose is to copy faithfully the attractions of a veritable landscape, and to convey the real impression that a real landscape communicates. It is therefore at once a picture and a poem; perhaps even more a poem than a picture. For as nature's scenery, in its varying aspects, affects us with sensations of joy or of solemnity, of grimness or of sweetness, of force or of peace, so must the true reflection of it in the labour of the landscape gardener create not merely an impression of beauty, but a mood in the soul. The grand old landscape gardeners, those Buddhist monks who first introduced the art into Japan, and subsequently developed it into an almost occult science, carried their theory yet farther than this. They held it possible to express moral lessons in the design of a garden, and abstract ideas, such as Chastity, Faith, Piety, Content, Calm, and Connubial Bliss. Therefore were gardens contrived according to the character of the owner, whether poet, warrior, philosopher, or priest. In those ancient gardens (the art, alas, is passing away under the withering influence of the utterly commonplace Western taste) there were expressed both a mood of nature and some rare Oriental conception of a mood of man. I do not know what human sentiment the principal division of my garden was intended to reflect; and there is none to tell me. Those by whom it was made passed away long generations ago, in the eternal transmigration of souls. But as a poem of nature it requires no interpreter. It occupies the front portion of the grounds, facing south; and it also extends west to the verge of the northern division of the garden, from which it is partly separated by a curious screen-fence structure. There are large rocks in it, heavily mossed; and divers fantastic basins of stone for holding water; and stone lamps green with years; and a shachihoko, such as one sees at the peaked angles of castle roofs--a great stone fish, an idealised porpoise, with its nose in the ground and its tail in the air. [5] There are miniature hills, with old trees upon them; and there are long slopes of green, shadowed by flowering shrubs, like river banks; and there are green knolls like islets. All these verdant elevations rise from spaces of pale yellow sand, smooth as a surface of silk and miming the curves and meanderings of a river course. These sanded spaces are not to be trodden upon; they are much too beautiful for that. The least speck of dirt would mar their effect; and it requires the trained skill of an experienced native gardener--a delightful old man he is--to keep them in perfect form. But they are traversed in various directions by lines of flat unhewn rock slabs, placed at slightly irregular distances from one another, exactly like stepping-stones across a brook. The whole effect is that of the shores of a still stream in some lovely, lonesome, drowsy place. There is nothing to break the illusion, so secluded the garden is. High walls and fences shut out streets and contiguous things; and the shrubs and the trees, heightening and thickening toward the boundaries, conceal from view even the roofs of the neighbouring katchiu-yashiki. Softly beautiful are the tremulous shadows of leaves on the sunned sand; and the scent of flowers comes thinly sweet with every waft of tepid air; and there is a humming of bees. Sec. 4 By Buddhism all existences are divided into Hijo things without desire, such as stones and trees; and Ujo things having desire, such as men and animals. This division does not, so far as I know, find expression in the written philosophy of gardens; but it is a convenient one. The folk- lore of my little domain relates both to the inanimate and the animate. In natural order, the Hijo may be considered first, beginning with a singular shrub near the entrance of the yashiki, and close to the gate of the first garden. Within the front gateway of almost every old samurai house, and usually near the entrance of the dwelling itself, there is to be seen a small tree with large and peculiar leaves. The name of this tree in Izumo is tegashiwa, and there is one beside my door. What the scientific name of it is I do not know; nor am I quite sure of the etymology of the Japanese name. However, there is a word tegashi, meaning a bond for the hands; and the shape of the leaves of the tegashiwa somewhat resembles the shape of a hand. Now, in old days, when the samurai retainer was obliged to leave his home in order to accompany his daimyo to Yedo, it was customary, just before his departure, to set before him a baked tai [6] served up on a tegashiwa leaf. After this farewell repast the leaf upon which the tai had been served was hung up above the door as a charm to bring the departed knight safely back again. This pretty superstition about the leaves of the tegashiwa had its origin not only in their shape but in their movement. Stirred by a wind they seemed to beckon--not indeed after our Occidental manner, but in the way that a Japanese signs to his friend to come, by gently waving his hand up and down with the palm towards the ground. Another shrub to be found in most Japanese gardens is the nanten, [7] about which a very curious belief exists. If you have an evil dream, a dream which bodes ill luck, you should whisper it to the nanten early in the morning, and then it will never come true. [8] There are two varieties of this graceful plant: one which bears red berries, and one which bears white. The latter is rare. Both kinds grow in my garden. The common variety is placed close to the veranda (perhaps for the convenience of dreamers); the other occupies a little flower-bed in the middle of the garden, together with a small citron-tree. This most dainty citron-tree is called 'Buddha's fingers,' [9] because of the wonderful shape of its fragrant fruits. Near it stands a kind of laurel, with lanciform leaves glossy as bronze; it is called by the Japanese yuzuri-ha, [10] and is almost as common in the gardens of old samurai homes as the tegashiwa itself. It is held to be a tree of good omen, because no one of its old leaves ever falls off before a new one, growing behind it, has well developed. For thus the yuzuri-ha symbolises hope that the father will not pass away before his son has become a vigorous man, well able to succeed him as the head of the family. Therefore, on every New Year's Day, the leaves of the yuzuriha, mingled with fronds of fern, are attached to the shimenawa which is then suspended before every Izumo home. Sec. 5 The trees, like the shrubs, have their curious poetry and legends. Like the stones, each tree has its special landscape name according to its position and purpose in the composition. Just as rocks and stones form the skeleton of the ground-plan of a garden, so pines form the framework of its foliage design. They give body to the whole. In this garden there are five pines,--not pines tormented into fantasticalities, but pines made wondrously picturesque by long and tireless care and judicious trimming. The object of the gardener has been to develop to the utmost possible degree their natural tendency to rugged line and massings of foliage--that spiny sombre-green foliage which Japanese art is never weary of imitating in metal inlay or golden lacquer. The pine is a symbolic tree in this land of symbolism. Ever green, it is at once the emblem of unflinching purpose and of vigorous old age; and its needle- shaped leaves are credited with the power of driving demons away. There are two sakuranoki, [11] Japanese cherry-trees--those trees whose blossoms, as Professor Chamberlain so justly observes, are 'beyond comparison more lovely than anything Europe has to show.' Many varieties are cultivated and loved; those in my garden bear blossoms of the most ethereal pink, a flushed white. When, in spring, the trees flower, it is as though fleeciest masses of cloud faintly tinged by sunset had floated down from the highest sky to fold themselves about the branches. This comparison is no poetical exaggeration; neither is it original: it is an ancient Japanese description of the most marvellous floral exhibition which nature is capable of making. The reader who has never seen a cherry-tree blossoming in Japan cannot possibly imagine the delight of the spectacle. There are no green leaves; these come later: there is only one glorious burst of blossoms, veiling every twig and bough in their delicate mist; and the soil beneath each tree is covered deep out of sight by fallen petals as by a drift of pink snow. But these are cultivated cherry-trees. There are others which put forth their leaves before their blossoms, such as the yamazakura, or mountain cherry. [12] This, too, however, has its poetry of beauty and of symbolism. Sang the great Shinto writer and poet, Motowori: Shikishima no Yamato-gokoro wo Hito-towaba, Asa-hi ni niou Yamazakura bana. [13] Whether cultivated or uncultivated, the Japanese cherry-trees are emblems. Those planted in old samurai gardens were not cherished for their loveliness alone. Their spotless blossoms were regarded as symbolising that delicacy of sentiment and blamelessness of life belonging to high courtesy and true knightliness. 'As the cherry flower is first among flowers,' says an old proverb, 'so should the warrior be first among men'. Shadowing the western end of this garden, and projecting its smooth dark limbs above the awning of the veranda, is a superb umenoki, Japanese plum-tree, very old, and originally planted here, no doubt, as in other gardens, for the sake of the sight of its blossoming. The flowering of the umenoki, [14] in the earliest spring, is scarcely less astonishing than that of the cherry-tree, which does not bloom for a full month later; and the blossoming of both is celebrated by popular holidays. Nor are these, although the most famed, the only flowers thus loved. The wistaria, the convolvulus, the peony, each in its season, form displays of efflorescence lovely enough to draw whole populations out of the cities into the country to see them.. In Izumo, the blossoming of the peony is especially marvellous. The most famous place for this spectacle is the little island of Daikonshima, in the grand Naka-umi lagoon, about an hour's sail from Matsue. In May the whole island flames crimson with peonies; and even the boys and girls of the public schools are given a holiday, in order that they may enjoy the sight. Though the plum flower is certainly a rival in beauty of the sakura-no- hana, the Japanese compare woman's beauty--physical beauty--to the cherry flower, never to the plum flower. But womanly virtue and sweetness, on the other hand, are compared to the ume-no-hana, never to the cherry blossom. It is a great mistake to affirm, as some writers have done, that the Japanese never think of comparing a woman to trees and flowers. For grace, a maiden is likened to a slender willow; [15] for youthful charm, to the cherry-tree in flower; for sweetness of heart, to the blossoming plum-tree. Nay, the old Japanese poets have compared woman to all beautiful things. They have even sought similes from flowers for her various poses, for her movements, as in the verse, Tateba skakuyaku; [16] Suwareba botan; Aruku sugatawa Himeyuri [17] no hana. [18] Why, even the names of the humblest country girls are often those of beautiful trees or flowers prefixed by the honorific O: [19] O-Matsu (Pine), O-Take (Bamboo), O-Ume (Plum), O-Hana (Blossom), O-ine (Ear-of- Young-Rice), not to speak of the professional flower-names of dancing- girls and of joro. It has been argued with considerable force that the origin of certain tree-names borne by girls must be sought in the folk- conception of the tree as an emblem of longevity, or happiness, or good fortune, rather than in any popular idea of the beauty of the tree in itself. But however this may be, proverb, poem, song, and popular speech to-day yield ample proof that the Japanese comparisons of women to trees and flowers are in no-wise inferior to our own in aesthetic sentiment. Sec. 6 That trees, at least Japanese trees, have souls, cannot seem an unnatural fancy to one who has seen the blossoming of the umenoki and the sakuranoki. This is a popular belief in Izumo and elsewhere. It is not in accord with Buddhist philosophy, and yet in a certain sense it strikes one as being much closer to cosmic truth than the old Western orthodox notion of trees as 'things created for the use of man.' Furthermore, there exist several odd superstitions about particular trees, not unlike certain West Indian beliefs which have had a good influence in checking the destruction of valuable timber. Japan, like the tropical world, has its goblin trees. Of these, the enoki (Celtis Willdenowiana) and the yanagi (drooping willow) are deemed especially ghostly, and are rarely now to be found in old Japanese gardens. Both are believed to have the power of haunting. 'Enoki ga bakeru,' the izumo saying is. You will find in a Japanese dictionary the word 'bakeru' translated by such terms as 'to be transformed,' 'to be metamorphosed,' 'to be changed,' etc.; but the belief about these trees is very singular, and cannot be explained by any such rendering of the verb 'bakeru.' The tree itself does not change form or place, but a spectre called Ki-no o-bake disengages itself from the tree and walks about in various guises.' [20] Most often the shape assumed by the phantom is that of a beautiful woman. The tree spectre seldom speaks, and seldom ventures to go very far away from its tree. If approached, it immediately shrinks back into the trunk or the foliage. It is said that if either an old yanagi or a young enoki be cut blood will flow from the gash. When such trees are very young it is not believed that they have supernatural habits, but they become more dangerous the older they grow. There is a rather pretty legend--recalling the old Greek dream of dryads--about a willow-tree which grew in the garden of a samurai of Kyoto. Owing to its weird reputation, the tenant of the homestead desired to cut it down; but another samurai dissuaded him, saying: 'Rather sell it to me, that I may plant it in my garden. That tree has a soul; it were cruel to destroy its life.' Thus purchased and transplanted, the yanagi flourished well in its new home, and its spirit, out of gratitude, took the form of a beautiful woman, and became the wife of the samurai who had befriended it. A charming boy was the result of this union. A few years later, the daimyo to whom the ground belonged gave orders that the tree should be cut down. Then the wife wept bitterly, and for the first time revealed to her husband the whole story. 'And now,' she added, 'I know that I must die; but our child will live, and you will always love him. This thought is my only solace.' Vainly the astonished and terrified husband sought to retain her. Bidding him farewell for ever, she vanished into the tree. Needless to say that the samurai did everything in his power to persuade the daimyo to forgo his purpose. The prince wanted the tree for the reparation of a great Buddhist temple, the San-jiu-san-gen-do. [21]' The tree was felled, but, having fallen, it suddenly became so heavy that three hundred men could not move it. Then the child, taking a branch in his little hand, said, 'Come,' and the tree followed him, gliding along the ground to the court of the temple. Although said to be a bakemono-ki, the enoki sometimes receives highest religious honours; for the spirit of the god Kojin, to whom old dolls are dedicated, is supposed to dwell within certain very ancient enoki trees, and before these are placed shrines whereat people make prayers. Sec. 7 The second garden, on the north side, is my favourite, It contains no large growths. It is paved with blue pebbles, and its centre is occupied by a pondlet--a miniature lake fringed with rare plants, and containing a tiny island, with tiny mountains and dwarf peach-trees and pines and azaleas, some of which are perhaps more than a century old, though scarcely more than a foot high. Nevertheless, this work, seen as it was intended to be seen, does not appear to the eye in miniature at all. From a certain angle of the guest-room looking out upon it, the appearance is that of a real lake shore with a real island beyond it, a stone's throw away. So cunning the art of the ancient gardener who contrived all this, and who has been sleeping for a hundred years under the cedars of Gesshoji, that the illusion can be detected only from the zashiki by the presence of an ishidoro or stone lamp, upon the island. The size of the ishidoro betrays the false perspective, and I do not think it was placed there when the garden was made. Here and there at the edge of the pond, and almost level with the water, are placed large flat stones, on which one may either stand or squat, to watch the lacustrine population or to tend the water-plants. There are beautiful water-lilies, whose bright green leaf-disks float oilily upon the surface (Nuphar Japonica), and many lotus plants of two kinds, those which bear pink and those which bear pure white flowers. There are iris plants growing along the bank, whose blossoms are prismatic violet, and there are various ornamental grasses and ferns and mosses. But the pond is essentially a lotus pond; the lotus plants make its greatest charm. It is a delight to watch every phase of their marvellous growth, from the first unrolling of the leaf to the fall of the last flower. On rainy days, especially, the lotus plants are worth observing. Their great cup- shaped leaves, swaying high above the pond, catch the rain and hold it a while; but always after the water in the leaf reaches a certain level the stem bends, and empties the leaf with a loud plash, and then straightens again. Rain-water upon a lotus-leaf is a favourite subject with Japanese metal-workers, and metalwork only can reproduce the effect, for the motion and colour of water moving upon the green oleaginous surface are exactly those of quicksilver. Sec. 8 The third garden, which is very large, extends beyond the inclosure containing the lotus pond to the foot of the wooded hills which form the northern and north-eastern boundary of this old samurai quarter. Formerly all this broad level space was occupied by a bamboo grove; but it is now little more than a waste of grasses and wild flowers. In the north-east corner there is a magnificent well, from which ice-cold water is brought into the house through a most ingenious little aqueduct of bamboo pipes; and in the north-western end, veiled by tall weeds, there stands a very small stone shrine of Inari with two proportionately small stone foxes sitting before it. Shrine and images are chipped and broken, and thickly patched with dark green moss. But on the east side of the house one little square of soil belonging to this large division of the garden is still cultivated. It is devoted entirely to chrysanthemum plants, which are shielded from heavy rain and strong sun by slanting frames of light wood fashioned, like shoji with panes of white paper, and supported like awnings upon thin posts of bamboo. I can venture to add nothing to what has already been written about these marvellous products of Japanese floriculture considered in themselves; but there is a little story relating to chrysanthemums which I may presume to tell. There is one place in Japan where it is thought unlucky to cultivate chrysanthemums, for reasons which shall presently appear; and that place is in the pretty little city of Himeji, in the province of Harima. Himeji contains the ruins of a great castle of thirty turrets; and a daimyo used to dwell therein whose revenue was one hundred and fifty-six thousand koku of rice. Now, in the house of one of that daimyo's chief retainers there was a maid-servant, of good family, whose name was O- Kiku; and the name 'Kiku' signifies a chrysanthemum flower. Many precious things were intrusted to her charge, and among others ten costly dishes of gold. One of these was suddenly missed, and could not be found; and the girl, being responsible therefor, and knowing not how otherwise to prove her innocence, drowned herself in a well. But ever thereafter her ghost, returning nightly, could be heard counting the dishes slowly, with sobs: Ichi-mai, Yo-mai, Shichi-mai, Ni-mai, Go-mai, Hachi-mai, San-mai, Roku-mai, Ku-mai-- Then would be heard a despairing cry and a loud burst of weeping; and again the girl's voice counting the dishes plaintively: 'One--two-- three--four--five--six--seven--eight--nine--' Her spirit passed into the body of a strange little insect, whose head faintly resembles that of a ghost with long dishevelled hair; and it is called O-Kiku-mushi, or 'the fly of O-Kiku'; and it is found, they say, nowhere save in Himeji. A famous play was written about O-Kiku, which is still acted in all the popular theatres, entitled Banshu-O-Kiku-no-Sara- yashiki; or, The Manor of the Dish of O-Kiku of Banshu. Some declare that Banshu is only the corruption of the name of an ancient quarter of Tokyo (Yedo), where the story should have been laid. But the people of Himeji say that part of their city now called Go-Ken- Yashiki is identical with the site of the ancient manor. What is certainly true is that to cultivate chrysanthemum flowers in the part of Himeji called Go-KenYashiki is deemed unlucky, because the name of O- Kiku signifies 'Chrysanthemum.' Therefore, nobody, I am told, ever cultivates chrysanthemums there. Sec. 9 Now of the ujo or things having desire, which inhabit these gardens. There are four species of frogs: three that dwell in the lotus pond, and one that lives in the trees. The tree frog is a very pretty little creature, exquisitely green; it has a shrill cry, almost like the note of a semi; and it is called amagaeru, or 'the rain frog,' because, like its kindred in other countries, its croaking is an omen of rain. The pond frogs are called babagaeru, shinagaeru, and Tono-san-gaeru. Of these, the first-named variety is the largest and the ugliest: its colour is very disagreeable, and its full name ('babagaeru' being a decent abbreviation) is quite as offensive as its hue. The shinagaeru, or 'striped frog,' is not handsome, except by comparison with the previously mentioned creature. But the Tono-san-gaeru, so called after a famed daimyo who left behind him a memory of great splendour is beautiful: its colour is a fine bronze-red. Besides these varieties of frogs there lives in the garden a huge uncouth goggle-eyed thing which, although called here hikigaeru, I take to be a toad. 'Hikigaeru' is the term ordinarily used for a bullfrog. This creature enters the house almost daily to be fed, and seems to have no fear even of strangers. My people consider it a luck-bringing visitor; and it is credited with the power of drawing all the mosquitoes out of a room into its mouth by simply sucking its breath in. Much as it is cherished by gardeners and others, there is a legend about a goblin toad of old times, which, by thus sucking in its breath, drew into its mouth, not insects, but men. The pond is inhabited also by many small fish; imori, or newts, with bright red bellies; and multitudes of little water-beetles, called maimaimushi, which pass their whole time in gyrating upon the surface of the water so rapidly that it is almost impossible to distinguish their shape clearly. A man who runs about aimlessly to and fro, under the influence of excitement, is compared to a maimaimushi. And there are some beautiful snails, with yellow stripes on their shells. Japanese children have a charm-song which is supposed to have power to make the snail put out its horns: Daidaimushi, [22] daidaimushi, tsuno chitto dashare! Ame haze fuku kara tsuno chitto dashare! [23] The playground of the children of the better classes has always been the family garden, as that of the children of the poor is the temple court. It is in the garden that the little ones first learn something of the wonderful life of plants and the marvels of the insect world; and there, also, they are first taught those pretty legends and songs about birds and flowers which form so charming a part of Japanese folk-lore. As the home training of the child is left mostly to the mother, lessons of kindness to animals are early inculcated; and the results are strongly marked in after life It is true, Japanese children are not entirely free from that unconscious tendency to cruelty characteristic of children in all countries, as a survival of primitive instincts. But in this regard the great moral difference between the sexes is strongly marked from the earliest years. The tenderness of the woman-soul appears even in the child. Little Japanese girls who play with insects or small animals rarely hurt them, and generally set them free after they have afforded a reasonable amount of amusement. Little boys are not nearly so good, when out of sight of parents or guardians. But if seen doing anything cruel, a child is made to feel ashamed of the act, and hears the Buddhist warning, 'Thy future birth will be unhappy, if thou dost cruel things.' Somewhere among the rocks in the pond lives a small tortoise--left in the garden, probably, by the previous tenants of the house. It is very pretty, but manages to remain invisible for weeks at a time. In popular mythology, the tortoise is the servant of the divinity Kompira; [24] and if a pious fisherman finds a tortoise, he writes upon his back characters signifying 'Servant of the Deity Kompira,' and then gives it a drink of sake and sets it free. It is supposed to be very fond of sake. Some say that the land tortoise, or 'stone tortoise,' only, is the servant of Kompira, and the sea tortoise, or turtle, the servant of the Dragon Empire beneath the sea. The turtle is said to have the power to create, with its breath, a cloud, a fog, or a magnificent palace. It figures in the beautiful old folk-tale of Urashima. [25] All tortoises are supposed to live for a thousand years, wherefore one of the most frequent symbols of longevity in Japanese art is a tortoise. But the tortoise most commonly represented by native painters and metal-workers has a peculiar tail, or rather a multitude of small tails, extending behind it like the fringes of a straw rain-coat, mino, whence it is called minogame Now, some of the tortoises kept in the sacred tanks of Buddhist temples attain a prodigious age, and certain water--plants attach themselves to the creatures' shells and stream behind them when they walk. The myth of the minogame is supposed to have had its origin in old artistic efforts to represent the appearance of such tortoises with confervae fastened upon their shells. Sec. 10 Early in summer the frogs are surprisingly numerous, and, after dark, are noisy beyond description; but week by week their nightly clamour grows feebler, as their numbers diminish under the attacks of many enemies. A large family of snakes, some fully three feet long, make occasional inroads into the colony. The victims often utter piteous cries, which are promptly responded to, whenever possible, by some inmate of the house, and many a frog has been saved by my servant-girl, who, by a gentle tap with a bamboo rod, compels the snake to let its prey go. These snakes are beautiful swimmers. They make themselves quite free about the garden; but they come out only on hot days. None of my people would think of injuring or killing one of them. Indeed, in Izumo it is said that to kill a snake is unlucky. 'If you kill a snake without provocation,' a peasant assured me, 'you will afterwards find its head in the komebitsu [the box in which cooked rice is kept] 'when you take off the lid.' But the snakes devour comparatively few frogs. Impudent kites and crows are their most implacable destroyers; and there is a very pretty weasel which lives under the kura (godown) and which does not hesitate to take either fish or frogs out of the pond, even when the lord of the manor is watching. There is also a cat which poaches in my preserves, a gaunt outlaw, a master thief, which I have made sundry vain attempts to reclaim from vagabondage. Partly because of the immorality of this cat, and partly because it happens to have a long tail, it has the evil reputation of being a nekomata, or goblin cat. It is true that in Izumo some kittens are born with long tails; but it is very seldom that they are suffered to grow up with long tails. For the natural tendency of cats is to become goblins; and this tendency to metamorphosis can be checked only by cutting off their tails in kittenhood. Cats are magicians, tails or no tails, and have the power of making corpses dance. Cats are ungrateful 'Feed a dog for three days,' says a Japanese proverb, 'and he will remember your kindness for three years; feed a cat for three years and she will forget your kindness in three days.' Cats are mischievous: they tear the mattings, and make holes in the shoji, and sharpen their claws upon the pillars of tokonoma. Cats are under a curse: only the cat and the venomous serpent wept not at the death of Buddha and these shall never enter into the bliss of the Gokuraku For all these reasons, and others too numerous to relate, cats are not much loved in Izumo, and are compelled to pass the greater part of their lives out of doors. Sec. 11 Not less than eleven varieties of butterflies have visited the neighbourhood of the lotus pond within the past few days. The most common variety is snowy white. It is supposed to be especially attracted by the na, or rape-seed plant; and when little girls see it, they sing: Cho-cho cho-cho, na no ha ni tomare; Na no ha ga iyenara, te ni tomare. [26] But the most interesting insects are certainly the semi (cicadae). These Japanese tree crickets are much more extraordinary singers than even the wonderful cicadae of the tropics; and they are much less tiresome, for there is a different species of semi, with a totally different song, for almost every month during the whole warm season. There are, I believe, seven kinds; but I have become familiar with only four. The first to be heard in my trees is the natsuzemi, or summer semi: it makes a sound like the Japanese monosyllable ji, beginning wheezily, slowly swelling into a crescendo shrill as the blowing of steam, and dying away in another wheeze. This j-i-i-iiiiiiiiii is so deafening that when two or three natsuzemi come close to the window I am obliged to make them go away. Happily the natsuzemi is soon succeeded by the minminzemi, a much finer musician, whose name is derived from its wonderful note. It is said 'to chant like a Buddhist priest reciting the kyo'; and certainly, upon hearing it the first time, one can scarcely believe that one is listening to a mere cicada. The minminzemi is followed, early in autumn, by a beautiful green semi, the higurashi, which makes a singularly clear sound, like the rapid ringing of a small bell,--kana-kana-kan a-kana- kana. But the most astonishing visitor of all comes still later, the tsukiu-tsukiu-boshi. [27] I fancy this creature can have no rival in the whole world of cicadae its music is exactly like the song of a bird. Its name, like that of the minminzemi, is onomatopoetic; but in Izumo the sounds of its chant are given thus: Tsuku-tsuku uisu , [28] Tsuku-tsuku uisu, Tsuku-tsuku uisu; Ui-osu, Ui-osu, Ui-osu, Ui-os-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-su. However, the semi are not the only musicians of the garden. Two remarkable creatures aid their orchestra. The first is a beautiful bright green grasshopper, known to the Japanese by the curious name of hotoke-no-uma, or 'the horse of the dead.' This insect's head really bears some resemblance in shape to the head of a horse--hence the fancy. It is a queerly familiar creature, allowing itself to be taken in the hand without struggling, and generally making itself quite at home in the house, which it often enters. It makes a very thin sound, which the Japanese write as a repetition of the syllables jun-ta; and the name junta is sometimes given to the grasshopper itself. The other insect is also a green grasshopper, somewhat larger, and much shyer: it is called gisu, [29] on account of its chant: Chon, Gisu; Chon, Gisu; Chon, Gisu; Chon . . . (ad libitum). Several lovely species of dragon-flies (tombo) hover about the pondlet on hot bright days. One variety--the most beautiful creature of the kind I ever saw, gleaming with metallic colours indescribable, and spectrally slender--is called Tenshi-tombo, 'the Emperor's dragon-fly.' There is another, the largest of Japanese dragon-flies, but somewhat rare, which is much sought after by children as a plaything. Of this species it is said that there are many more males than females; and what I can vouch for as true is that, if you catch a female, the male can be almost immediately attracted by exposing the captive. Boys, accordingly, try to secure a female, and when one is captured they tie it with a thread to some branch, and sing a curious little song, of which these are the original words: Konna [30] dansho Korai o Adzuma no meto ni makete Nigeru Wa haji dewa naikai? Which signifies, 'Thou, the male, King of Korea, dost thou not feel shame to flee away from the Queen of the East?' (This taunt is an allusion to the story of the conquest of Korea by the Empress Jin-go.) And the male comes invariably, and is also caught. In Izumo the first seven words of the original song have been corrupted into 'konna unjo Korai abura no mito'; and the name of the male dragon-fly, unjo, and that of the female, mito, are derived from two words of the corrupted version. Sec. 12 Of warm nights all sorts of unbidden guests invade the house in multitudes. Two varieties of mosquitoes do their utmost to make life unpleasant, and these have learned the wisdom of not approaching a lamp too closely; but hosts of curious and harmless things cannot be prevented from seeking their death in the flame. The most numerous victims of all, which come thick as a shower of rain, are called Sanemori. At least they are so called in Izumo, where they do much damage to growing rice. Now the name Sanemori is an illustrious one, that of a famous warrior of old times belonging to the Genji clan. There is a legend that while he was fighting with an enemy on horseback his own steed slipped and fell in a rice-field, and he was consequently overpowered and slain by his antagonist. He became a rice-devouring insect, which is still respectfully called, by the peasantry of Izumo, Sanemori-San. They light fires, on certain summer nights, in the rice-fields, to attract the insect, and beat gongs and sound bamboo flutes, chanting the while, 'O- Sanemori, augustly deign to come hither!' A kannushi performs a religious rite, and a straw figure representing a horse and rider is then either burned or thrown into a neighbouring river or canal. By this ceremony it is believed that the fields are cleared of the insect. This tiny creature is almost exactly the size and colour of a rice-husk. The legend concerning it may have arisen from the fact that its body, together with the wings, bears some resemblance to the helmet of a Japanese warrior. [31] Next in number among the victims of fire are the moths, some of which are very strange and beautiful. The most remarkable is an enormous creature popularly called okorichocho or the 'ague moth,' because there is a superstitious belief that it brings intermittent fever into any house it enters. It has a body quite as heavy and almost as powerful as that of the largest humming-bird, and its struggles, when caught in the hand, surprise by their force. It makes a very loud whirring sound while flying. The wings of one which I examined measured, outspread, five inches from tip to tip, yet seemed small in proportion to the heavy body. They were richly mottled with dusky browns and silver greys of various tones. Many flying night-comers, however, avoid the lamp. Most fantastic of all visitors is the toro or kamakiri, called in Izumo kamakake, a bright green praying mantis, extremely feared by children for its capacity to bite. It is very large. I have seen specimens over six inches long. The eyes of the kamakake are a brilliant black at night, but by day they appear grass-coloured, like the rest of the body. The mantis is very intelligent and surprisingly aggressive. I saw one attacked by a vigorous frog easily put its enemy to flight. It fell a prey subsequently to other inhabitants of the pond, but, it required the combined efforts of several frogs to vanquish the monstrous insect, and even then the battle was decided only when the kamakake had been dragged into the water. Other visitors are beetles of divers colours, and a sort of small roach called goki-kaburi, signifying 'one whose head is covered with a bowl.' It is alleged that the goki-kaburi likes to eat human eyes, and is therefore the abhorred enemy of Ichibata-Sama--Yakushi-Nyorai of Ichibata,--by whom diseases of the eye are healed. To kill the goki- kaburi is consequently thought to be a meritorious act in the sight of this Buddha. Always welcome are the beautiful fireflies (hotaru), which enter quite noiselessly and at once seek the darkest place in the house, slow-glimmering, like sparks moved by a gentle wind. They are supposed to be very fond of water; wherefore children sing to them this little song: Hotaru koe midzu nomasho; Achi no midzu wa nigaizo; Kochi no midzu wa amaizo. [32] A pretty grey lizard, quite different from some which usually haunt the garden, also makes its appearance at night, and pursues its prey along the ceiling. Sometimes an extraordinarily large centipede attempts the same thing, but with less success, and has to be seized with a pair of fire-tongs and thrown into the exterior darkness. Very rarely, an enormous spider appears. This creature seems inoffensive. If captured, it will feign death until certain that it is not watched, when it will run away with surprising swiftness if it gets a chance. It is hairless, and very different from the tarantula, or fukurogumo. It is called miyamagumo, or mountain spider. There are four other kinds of spiders common in this neighbourhood: tenagakumo, or 'long-armed spider;' hiratakumo, or 'flat spider'; jikumo, or 'earth spider'; and totatekumo, or 'doorshutting spider.' Most spiders are considered evil beings. A spider seen anywhere at night, the people say, should be killed; for all spiders that show themselves after dark are goblins. While people are awake and watchful, such creatures make themselves small; but when everybody is fast asleep, then they assume their true goblin shape, and become monstrous. Sec. 13 The high wood of the hill behind the garden is full of bird life. There dwell wild uguisu, owls, wild doves, too many crows, and a queer bird that makes weird noises at night-long deep sounds of hoo, hoo. It is called awamakidori or the 'millet-sowing bird,' because when the farmers hear its cry they know that it is time to plant the millet. It is quite small and brown, extremely shy, and, so far as I can learn, altogether nocturnal in its habits. But rarely, very rarely, a far stranger cry is heard in those trees at night, a voice as of one crying in pain the syllables 'ho-to-to-gi-su.' The cry and the name of that which utters it are one and the same, hototogisu. It is a bird of which weird things are told; for they say it is not really a creature of this living world, but a night wanderer from the Land of Darkness. In the Meido its dwelling is among those sunless mountains of Shide over which all souls must pass to reach the place of judgment. Once in each year it comes; the time of its coming is the end of the fifth month, by the antique counting of moons; and the peasants, hearing its voice, say one to the other, 'Now must we sow the rice; for the Shide-no-taosa is with us.' The word taosa signifies the head man of a mura, or village, as villages were governed in the old days; but why the hototogisu is called the taosa of Shide I do not know. Perhaps it is deemed to be a soul from some shadowy hamlet of the Shide hills, whereat the ghosts are wont to rest on their weary way to the realm of Emma, the King of Death. Its cry has been interpreted in various ways. Some declare that the hototogisu does not really repeat its own name, but asks, 'Honzon kaketaka?' (Has the honzon [33] been suspended?) Others, resting their interpretation upon the wisdom of the Chinese, aver that the bird's speech signifies, 'Surely it is better to return home.' This, at least is true: that all who journey far from their native place, and hear the voice of the hototogisu in other distant provinces, are seized with the sickness of longing for home. Only at night, the people say, is its voice heard, and most often upon the nights of great moons; and it chants while hovering high out of sight, wherefore a poet has sung of it thus: Hito koe wa. Tsuki ga naitaka Hototogisu! [34] And another has written: Hototogisu Nakitsuru kata wo Nagamureba,-- Tada ariake no Tsuki zo nokoreru. [35] The dweller in cities may pass a lifetime without hearing the hototogisu. Caged, the little creature will remain silent and die. Poets often wait vainly in the dew, from sunset till dawn, to hear the strange cry which has inspired so many exquisite verses. But those who have heard found it so mournful that they have likened it to the cry of one wounded suddenly to death. Hototogisu Chi ni naku koe wa Ariake no Tsuki yori kokani Kiku hito mo nashi. [36] Concerning Izumo owls, I shall content myself with citing a composition by one of my Japanese students: 'The Owl is a hateful bird that sees in the dark. Little children who cry are frightened by the threat that the Owl will come to take them away; for the Owl cries, "Ho! ho! sorotto koka! sorotto koka!" which means, "Thou! must I enter slowly?" It also cries "Noritsuke hose! ho! ho!" which means, "Do thou make the starch to use in washing to-morrow" And when the women hear that cry, they know that to-morrow will be a fine day. It also cries, "Tototo," "The man dies," and "Kotokokko," "The boy dies." So people hate it. And crows hate it so much that it is used to catch crows. The Farmer puts an Owl in the rice-field; and all the crows come to kill it, and they get caught fast in the snares. This should teach us not to give way to our dislikes for other people.' The kites which hover over the city all day do not live in the neighbourhood. Their nests are far away upon the blue peaks; but they pass much of their time in catching fish, and in stealing from back- yards. They pay the wood and the garden swift and sudden piratical visits; and their sinister cry--pi-yoroyoro, pi-yoroyoro--sounds at intervals over the town from dawn till sundown. Most insolent of all feathered creatures they certainly are--more insolent than even their fellow-robbers, the crows. A kite will drop five miles to filch a tai out of a fish-seller's bucket, or a fried-cake out of a child's hand, and shoot back to the clouds before the victim of the theft has time to stoop for a stone. Hence the saying, 'to look as surprised as if one's aburage [37] had been snatched from one's hand by a kite.' There is, moreover, no telling what a kite may think proper to steal. For example, my neighbour's servant-girl went to the river the other day, wearing in her hair a string of small scarlet beads made of rice-grains prepared and dyed in a certain ingenious way. A kite lighted upon her head, and tore away and swallowed the string of beads. But it is great fun to feed these birds with dead rats or mice which have been caught in traps overnight and subsequently drowned. The instant a dead rat is exposed to view a kite pounces from the sky to bear it away. Sometimes a crow may get the start of the kite, but the crow must be able to get to the woods very swiftly indeed in order to keep his prize. The children sing this song: Tobi, tobi, maute mise! Ashita no ha ni Karasu ni kakushite Nezumi yaru. [38] The mention of dancing refers to the beautiful balancing motion of the kite's wings in flight. By suggestion this motion is poetically compared to the graceful swaying of a maiko, or dancing-girl, extending her arms and waving the long wide sleeves of her silken robe. Although there is a numerous sub-colony of crows in the wood behind my house, the headquarters of the corvine army are in the pine grove of the ancient castle grounds, visible from my front rooms. To see the crows all flying home at the same hour every evening is an interesting spectacle, and popular imagination has found an amusing comparison for it in the hurry-skurry of people running to a fire. This explains the meaning of a song which children sing to the crows returning to their nests: Ato no karasu saki ine, Ware ga iye ga yakeru ken, Hayo inde midzu kake, Midzu ga nakya yarozo, Amattara ko ni yare, Ko ga nakya modose. [39] Confucianism seems to have discovered virtue in the crow. There is a Japanese proverb, 'Karasu ni hampo no ko ari,' meaning that the crow performs the filial duty of hampo, or, more literally, 'the filial duty of hampo exists in the crow.' 'Hampo' means, literally, 'to return a feeding.' The young crow is said to requite its parents' care by feeding them when it becomes strong. Another example of filial piety has been furnished by the dove. 'Hato ni sanshi no rei ad'--the dove sits three branches below its parent; or, more literally, 'has the three-branch etiquette to perform.' The cry of the wild dove (yamabato), which I hear almost daily from the wood, is the most sweetly plaintive sound that ever reached my ears. The Izumo peasantry say that the bird utters these words, which it certainly seems to do if one listen to it after having learned the alleged syllables: Tete poppo, Kaka poppo Tete poppo, Kaka poppo, tete. . . (sudden pause). 'Tete' is the baby word for 'father,' and 'kaka' for 'mother'; and 'poppo' signifies, in infantile speech, 'the bosom.' [40] Wild uguisu also frequently sweeten my summer with their song, and sometimes come very near the house, being attracted, apparently, by the chant of my caged pet. The uguisu is very common in this province. It haunts all the woods and the sacred groves in the neighbourhood of the city, and I never made a journey in Izumo during the warm season without hearing its note from some shadowy place. But there are uguisu and uguisu. There are uguisu to be had for one or two yen, but the finely trained, cage-bred singer may command not less than a hundred. It was at a little village temple that I first heard one curious belief about this delicate creature. In Japan, the coffin in which a corpse is borne to burial is totally unlike an Occidental coffin. It is a surprisingly small square box, wherein the dead is placed in a sitting posture. How any adult corpse can be put into so small a space may well be an enigma to foreigners. In cases of pronounced rigor mortis the work of getting the body into the coffin is difficult even for the professional doshin-bozu. But the devout followers of Nichiren claim that after death their bodies will remain perfectly flexible; and the dead body of an uguisu, they affirm, likewise never stiffens, for this little bird is of their faith, and passes its life in singing praises unto the Sutra of the Lotus of the Good Law. Sec. 14 I have already become a little too fond of my dwelling-place. Each day, after returning from my college duties, and exchanging my teacher's uniform for the infinitely more comfortable Japanese robe, I find more than compensation for the weariness of five class-hours in the simple pleasure of squatting on the shaded veranda overlooking the gardens. Those antique garden walls, high-mossed below their ruined coping of tiles, seem to shut out even the murmur of the city's life. There are no sounds but the voices of birds, the shrilling of semi, or, at long, lazy intervals, the solitary plash of a diving frog. Nay, those walls seclude me from much more than city streets. Outside them hums the changed Japan of telegraphs and newspapers and steamships; within dwell the all- reposing peace of nature and the dreams of the sixteenth century. There is a charm of quaintness in the very air, a faint sense of something viewless and sweet all about one; perhaps the gentle haunting of dead ladies who looked like the ladies of the old picture-books, and who lived here when all this was new. Even in the summer light--touching the grey strange shapes of stone, thrilling through the foliage of the long- loved trees--there is the tenderness of a phantom caress. These are the gardens of the past. The future will know them only as dreams, creations of a forgotten art, whose charm no genius may reproduce. Of the human tenants here no creature seems to be afraid. The little frogs resting upon the lotus-leaves scarcely shrink from my touch; the lizards sun themselves within easy reach of my hand; the water-snakes glide across my shadow without fear; bands of semi establish their deafening orchestra on a plum branch just above my head, and a praying mantis insolently poses on my knee. Swallows and sparrows not only build their nests on my roof, but even enter my rooms without concern--one swallow has actually built its nest in the ceiling of the bathroom--and the weasel purloins fish under my very eyes without any scruples of conscience. A wild uguisu perches on a cedar by the window, and in a burst of savage sweetness challenges my caged pet to a contest in song; and always though the golden air, from the green twilight of the mountain pines, there purls to me the plaintive, caressing, delicious call of the yamabato: Tete poppo, Kaka poppo Tete poppo, Kaka poppo, tete. No European dove has such a cry. He who can hear, for the first time, the voice of the yamabato without feeling a new sensation at his heart little deserves to dwell in this happy world. Yet all this--the old katchiu-yashiki and its gardens--will doubtless have vanished for ever before many years. Already a multitude of gardens, more spacious and more beautiful than mine, have been converted into rice-fields or bamboo groves; and the quaint Izumo city, touched at last by some long-projected railway line--perhaps even within the present decade--will swell, and change, and grow commonplace, and demand these grounds for the building of factories and mills. Not from here alone, but from all the land the ancient peace and the ancient charm seem doomed to pass away. For impermanency is the nature of things, more particularly in Japan; and the changes and the changers shall also be changed until there is found no place for them--and regret is vanity. The dead art that made the beauty of this place was the art, also, of that faith to which belongs the all-consoling text, 'Verily, even plants and trees, rocks and stones, all shall enter into Nirvana.' Chapter Two The Household Shrine Sec. 1 IN Japan there are two forms of the Religion of the Dead--that which belongs to Shinto; and that which belongs to Buddhism. The first is the primitive cult, commonly called ancestor-worship. But the term ancestor- worship seems to me much too confined for the religion which pays reverence not only to those ancient gods believed to be the fathers of the Japanese race, but likewise to a host of deified sovereigns, heroes, princes, and illustrious men. Within comparatively recent times, the great Daimyo of Izumo, for example, were apotheosised; and the peasants of Shimane still pray before the shrines of the Matsudaira. Moreover Shinto, like the faiths of Hellas and of Rome, has its deities of the elements and special deities who preside over all the various affairs of life. Therefore ancestor-worship, though still a striking feature of Shinto, does not alone constitute the State Religion: neither does the term fully describe the Shinto cult of the dead--a cult which in Izumo retains its primitive character more than in other parts of Japan. And here I may presume, though no Sinologue, to say something about that State Religion of Japan--that ancient faith of Izumo--which, although even more deeply rooted in national life than Buddhism, is far less known to the Western world. Except in special works by such men of erudition as Chamberlain and Satow--works with which the Occidental reader, unless himself a specialist, is not likely to become familiar outside of Japan--little has been written in English about Shinto which gives the least idea of what Shinto is. Of its ancient traditions and rites much of rarest interest may be learned from the works of the philologists just mentioned; but, as Mr. Satow himself acknowledges, a definite answer to the question, 'What is the nature of Shinto?' is still difficult to give. How define the common element in the six kinds of Shinto which are known to exist, and some of which no foreign scholar has yet been able to examine for lack of time or of authorities or of opportunity? Even in its modern external forms, Shinto is sufficiently complex to task the united powers of the historian, philologist, and anthropologist, merely to trace out the multitudinous lines of its evolution, and to determine the sources of its various elements: primeval polytheisms and fetishisms, traditions of dubious origin, philosophical concepts from China, Korea, and elsewhere--all mingled with Buddhism, Taoism, and Confucianism. The so-called 'Revival of Pure Shinto'--an effort, aided by Government, to restore the cult to its archaic simplicity, by divesting it of foreign characteristics, and especially of every sign or token of Buddhist origin--resulted only, so far as the avowed purpose was concerned, in the destruction of priceless art, and in leaving the enigma of origins as complicated as before. Shinto had been too profoundly modified in the course of fifteen centuries of change to be thus remodelled by a fiat. For the like reason scholarly efforts to define its relation to national ethics by mere historical and philological analysis must fail: as well seek to define the ultimate secret of Life by the elements of the body which it animates. Yet when the result of such efforts shall have been closely combined with a deep knowledge of Japanese thought and feeling--the thought and sentiment, not of a special class, but of the people at large--then indeed all that Shinto was and is may be fully comprehended. And this may be accomplished, I fancy, through the united labour of European and Japanese scholars. Yet something of what Shinto signifies--in the simple poetry of its beliefs--in the home training of the child--in the worship of filial piety before the tablets of the ancestors--may be learned during a residence of some years among the people, by one who lives their life and adopts their manners and customs. With such experience he can at least claim the right to express his own conception of Shinto. Sec. 2 Those far-seeing rulers of the Meiji era, who disestablished Buddhism to strengthen Shinto, doubtless knew they were giving new force not only to a faith in perfect harmony with their own state policy, but likewise to one possessing in itself a far more profound vitality than the alien creed, which although omnipotent as an art-influence, had never found deep root in the intellectual soil of Japan. Buddhism was already in decrepitude, though transplanted from China scarcely more than thirteen centuries before; while Shinto, though doubtless older by many a thousand years, seems rather to have gained than to have lost force through all the periods of change. Eclectic like the genius of the race, it had appropriated and assimilated all forms of foreign thought which could aid its material manifestation or fortify its ethics. Buddhism had attempted to absorb its gods, even as it had adopted previously the ancient deities of Brahmanism; but Shinto, while seeming to yield, was really only borrowing strength from its rival. And this marvellous vitality of Shinto is due to the fact that in the course of its long development out of unrecorded beginnings, it became at a very ancient epoch, and below the surface still remains, a religion of the heart. Whatever be the origin of its rites and traditions, its ethical spirit has become identified with all the deepest and best emotions of the race. Hence, in Izumo especially, the attempt to create a Buddhist Shintoism resulted only in the formation of a Shinto-Buddhism. And the secret living force of Shinto to-day--that force which repels missionary efforts at proselytising--means something much more profound than tradition or worship or ceremonialism. Shinto may yet, without loss of real power, survive all these. Certainly the expansion of the popular mind through education, the influences of modern science, must compel modification or abandonment of many ancient Shinto conceptions; but the ethics of Shinto will surely endure. For Shinto signifies character in the higher sense--courage, courtesy, honour, and above all things, loyalty. The spirit of Shinto is the spirit of filial piety, the zest of duty, the readiness to surrender life for a principle without a thought of wherefore. It is the docility of the child; it is the sweetness of the Japanese woman. It is conservatism likewise; the wholesome check upon the national tendency to cast away the worth of the entire past in rash eagerness to assimilate too much of the foreign present. It is religion--but religion transformed into hereditary moral impulse-- religion transmuted into ethical instinct. It is the whole emotional life of the race--the Soul of Japan. The child is born Shinto. Home teaching and school training only give expression to what is innate: they do not plant new seed; they do but quicken the ethical sense transmitted as a trait ancestral. Even as a Japanese infant inherits such ability to handle a writing-brush as never can be acquired by Western fingers, so does it inherit ethical sympathies totally different from our own. Ask a class of Japanese students--young students of fourteen to sixteen--to tell their dearest wishes; and if they have confidence in the questioner, perhaps nine out of ten will answer: 'To die for His Majesty Our Emperor.' And the wish soars from the heart pure as any wish for martyrdom ever born. How much this sense of loyalty may or may not have been weakened in such great centres as Tokyo by the new agnosticism and by the rapid growth of other nineteenth-century ideas among the student class, I do not know; but in the country it remains as natural to boyhood as joy. Unreasoning it also is--unlike those loyal sentiments with us, the results of maturer knowledge and settled conviction. Never does the Japanese youth ask himself why; the beauty of self-sacrifice alone is the all-sufficing motive. Such ecstatic loyalty is a part of the national life; it is in the blood--inherent as the impulse of the ant to perish for its little republic--unconscious as the loyalty of bees to their queen. It is Shinto. That readiness to sacrifice one's own life for loyalty's sake, for the sake of a superior, for the sake of honour, which has distinguished the race in modern times, would seem also to have been a national characteristic from the earliest period of its independent existence. Long before the epoch of established feudalism, when honourable suicide became a matter of rigid etiquette, not for warriors only, but even for women and little children, the giving one's life for one's prince, even when the sacrifice could avail nothing, was held a sacred duty. Among various instances which might be cited from the ancient Kojiki, the following is not the least impressive: Prince Mayowa, at the age of only seven years, having killed his father's slayer, fled into the house of the Grandee (Omi) Tsubura. 'Then Prince Oho-hatsuse raised an army, and besieged that house. And the arrows that were shot were for multitude like the ears of the reeds. And the Grandee Tsubura came forth himself, and having taken off the weapons with which he was girded, did obeisance eight times, and said: "The maiden-princess Kara, my daughter whom thou deignedst anon to woo, is at thy service. Again I will present to thee five granaries. Though a vile slave of a Grandee exerting his utmost strength in the fight can scarcely hope to conquer, yet must he die rather than desert a prince who, trusting in him, has entered into his house." Having thus spoken, he again took his weapons, and went in once more to fight. Then, their strength being exhausted, and their arrows finished, he said to the Prince: "My hands are wounded, and our arrows are finished. We cannot now fight: what shall be done?" The Prince replied, saying: "There is nothing more to do. Do thou now slay me." So the Grandee Tsubura thrust the Prince to death with his sword, and forthwith killed himself by cutting off his own head.' Thousands of equally strong examples could easily be quoted from later Japanese history, including many which occurred even within the memory of the living. Nor was it for persons alone that to die might become a sacred duty: in certain contingencies conscience held it scarcely less a duty to die for a purely personal conviction; and he who held any opinion which he believed of paramount importance would, when other means failed, write his views in a letter of farewell, and then take his own life, in order to call attention to his beliefs and to prove their sincerity. Such an instance occurred only last year in Tokyo, [1] when the young lieutenant of militia, Ohara Takeyoshi, killed himself by harakiri in the cemetery of Saitokuji, leaving a letter stating as the reason for his act, his hope to force public recognition of the danger to Japanese independence from the growth of Russian power in the North Pacific. But a much more touching sacrifice in May of the same year--a sacrifice conceived in the purest and most innocent spirit of loyalty-- was that of the young girl Yoko Hatakeyama, who, after the attempt to assassinate the Czarevitch, travelled from Tokyo to Kyoto and there killed herself before the gate of the Kencho, merely as a vicarious atonement for the incident which had caused shame to Japan and grief to the Father of the people--His Sacred Majesty the Emperor. Sec. 3 As to its exterior forms, modern Shinto is indeed difficult to analyse; but through all the intricate texture of extraneous beliefs so thickly interwoven about it, indications of its earliest character are still easily discerned. In certain of its primitive rites, in its archaic prayers and texts and symbols, in the history of its shrines, and even in many of the artless ideas of its poorest worshippers, it is plainly revealed as the most ancient of all forms of worship--that which Herbert Spencer terms 'the root of all religions'--devotion to the dead. Indeed, it has been frequently so expounded by its own greatest scholars and theologians. Its divinities are ghosts; all the dead become deities. In the Tama-no-mihashira the great commentator Hirata says 'the spirits of the dead continue to exist in the unseen world which is everywhere about us, and they all become gods of varying character and degrees of influence. Some reside in temples built in their honour; others hover near their tombs; and they continue to render services to their prince, parents, wife, and children, as when in the body.' And they do more than this, for they control the lives and the doings of men. 'Every human action,' says Hirata, 'is the work of a god.' [3] And Motowori, scarcely less famous an exponent of pure Shinto doctrine, writes: 'All the moral ideas which a man requires are implanted in his bosom by the gods, and are of the same nature with those instincts which impel him to eat when he is hungry or to drink when he is thirsty.' [4] With this doctrine of Intuition no Decalogue is required, no fixed code of ethics; and the human conscience is declared to be the only necessary guide. Though every action be 'the work of a Kami.' yet each man has within him the power to discern the righteous impulse from the unrighteous, the influence of the good deity from that of the evil. No moral teacher is so infallible as one's own heart. 'To have learned that there is no way (michi),'[5] says Motowori, 'to be learned and practiced, is really to have learned the Way of the Gods.' [6] And Hirata writes: 'If you desire to practise true virtue, learn to stand in awe of the Unseen; and that will prevent you from doing wrong. Make a vow to the Gods who rule over the Unseen, and cultivate the conscience (ma-gokoro) implanted in you; and then you will never wander from the way.' How this spiritual self- culture may best be obtained, the same great expounder has stated with almost equal brevity: 'Devotion to the memory of ancestors is the mainspring of all virtues. No one who discharges his duty to them will ever be disrespectful to the Gods or to his living parents. Such a man will be faithful to his prince, loyal to his friends, and kind and gentle with his wife and children.' [7] How far are these antique beliefs removed from the ideas of the nineteenth century? Certainly not so far that we can afford to smile at them. The faith of the primitive man and the knowledge of the most profound psychologist may meet in strange harmony upon the threshold of the same ultimate truth, and the thought of a child may repeat the conclusions of a Spencer or a Schopenhauer. Are not our ancestors in very truth our Kami? Is not every action indeed the work of the Dead who dwell within us? Have not our impulses and tendencies, our capacities and weaknesses, our heroisms and timidities, been created by those vanished myriads from whom we received the all-mysterious bequest of Life? Do we still think of that infinitely complex Something which is each one of us, and which we call EGO, as 'I' or as 'They'? What is our pride or shame but the pride or shame of the Unseen in that which They have made?--and what our Conscience but the inherited sum of countless dead experiences with varying good and evil? Nor can we hastily reject the Shinto thought that all the dead become gods, while we respect the convictions of those strong souls of to-day who proclaim the divinity of man. Sec. 4 Shino ancestor-worship, no doubt, like all ancestor-worship, was developed out of funeral rites, according to that general law of religious evolution traced so fully by Herbert Spencer. And there is reason to believe that the early forms of Shinto public worship may have been evolved out of a yet older family worship--much after the manner in which M. Fustel de Coulanges, in his wonderful book, La Cite Antique, has shown the religious public institutions among the Greeks and Romans to have been developed from the religion of the hearth. Indeed, the word ujigami, now used to signify a Shinto parish temple, and also its deity, means 'family God,' and in its present form is a corruption or contraction of uchi-no-Kami, meaning the 'god of the interior' or 'the god of the house.' Shinto expounders have, it is true, attempted to interpret the term otherwise; and Hirata, as quoted by Mr. Ernest Satow, declared the name should be applied only to the common ancestor, or ancestors, or to one so entitled to the gratitude of a community as to merit equal honours. Such, undoubtedly, was the just use of the term in his time, and long before it; but the etymology of the word would certainly seem to indicate its origin in family worship, and to confirm modern scientific beliefs in regard to the evolution of religious institutions. Now just as among the Greeks and Latins the family cult always continued to exist through all the development and expansion of the public religion, so the Shinto family worship has continued concomitantly with the communal worship at the countless ujigami, with popular worship at the famed Ohoya-shiro of various provinces or districts, and with national worship at the great shrines of Ise and Kitzuki. Many objects connected with the family cult are certainly of alien or modern origin; but its simple rites and its unconscious poetry retain their archaic charm. And, to the student of Japanese life, by far the most interesting aspect of Shinto is offered in this home worship, which, like the home worship of the antique Occident, exists in a dual form. Sec. 5 In nearly all Izumo dwellings there is a kamidana, [8] or 'Shelf of the Gods.' On this is usually placed a small Shinto shrine (miya) containing tablets bearing the names of gods (one at least of which tablets is furnished by the neighbouring Shinto parish temple), and various ofuda, holy texts or charms which most often are written promises in the name of some Kami to protect his worshipper. If there be no miya, the tablets or ofuda are simply placed upon the shelf in a certain order, the most sacred having the middle place. Very rarely are images to be seen upon a kamidana: for primitive Shintoism excluded images rigidly as Jewish or Mohammedan law; and all Shinto iconography belongs to a comparatively modern era--especially to the period of Ryobu-Shinto--and must be considered of Buddhist origin. If there be any images, they will probably be such as have been made only within recent years at Kitauki: those small twin figures of Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami and of Koto-shiro- nushi-no-Kami, described in a former paper upon the Kitzuki-no-oho- yashiro. Shinto kakemono, which are also of latter-day origin, representing incidents from the Kojiki, are much more common than Shinto icons: these usually occupy the toko, or alcove, in the same room in which the kamidana is placed; but they will not be seen in the houses of the more cultivated classes. Ordinarily there will be found upon the kamidana nothing but the simple miya containing some ofuda: very, very seldom will a mirror [9] be seen, or gohei--except the gohei attached to the small shimenawa either hung just above the kamidana or suspended to the box-like frame in which the miya sometimes is placed. The shimenawa and the paper gohei are the true emblems of Shinto: even the ofuda and the mamori are quite modern. Not only before the household shrine, but also above the house-door of almost every home in Izumo, the shimenawa is suspended. It is ordinarily a thin rope of rice straw; but before the dwellings of high Shinto officials, such as the Taisha-Guji of Kitzuki, its size and weight are enormous. One of the first curious facts that the traveller in Izumo cannot fail to be impressed by is the universal presence of this symbolic rope of straw, which may sometimes even be seen round a rice-field. But the grand displays of the sacred symbol are upon the great festivals of the new year, the accession of Jimmu Tenno to the throne of Japan, and the Emperor's birthday. Then all the miles of streets are festooned with shimenawa thick as ship-cables. Sec. 6 A particular feature of Matsue are the miya-shops--establishments not, indeed, peculiar to the old Izumo town, but much more interesting than those to be found in larger cities of other provinces. There are miya of a hundred varieties and sizes, from the child's toy miya which sells for less than one sen, to the large shrine destined for some rich home, and costing perhaps ten yen or more. Besides these, the household shrines of Shinto, may occasionally be seen massive shrines of precious wood, lacquered and gilded, worth from three hundred even to fifteen hundred yen. These are not household shrines; but festival shrines, and are made only for rich merchants. They are displayed on Shinto holidays, and twice a year are borne through the streets in procession, to shouts of 'Chosaya! chosaya!' [10] Each temple parish also possesses a large portable miya which is paraded on these occasions with much chanting and beating of drums. The majority of household miya are cheap constructions. A very fine one can be purchased for about two yen; but those little shrines one sees in the houses of the common people cost, as a rule, considerably less than half a yen. And elaborate or costly household shrines are contrary to the spirit of pure Shinto The true miya should be made of spotless white hinoki [11] wood, and be put together without nails. Most of those I have seen in the shops had their several parts joined only with rice-paste; but the skill of the maker rendered this sufficient. Pure Shinto requires that a miya should be without gilding or ornamentation. The beautiful miniature temples in some rich homes may justly excite admiration by their artistic structure and decoration; but the ten or thirteen cent miya, in the house of a labourer or a kurumaya, of plain white wood, truly represents that spirit of simplicity characterising the primitive religion. Sec. 7 The kamidana or 'God-shelf,' upon which are placed the miya and other sacred objects of Shinto worship, is usually fastened at a height of about six or seven feet above the floor. As a rule it should not be placed higher than the hand can reach with ease; but in houses having lofty rooms the miya is sometimes put up at such a height that the sacred offerings cannot be made without the aid of a box or other object to stand upon. It is not commonly a part of the house structure, but a plain shelf attached with brackets either to the wall itself, at some angle of the apartment, or, as is much more usual, to the kamoi, or horizontal grooved beam, in which the screens of opaque paper (fusuma), which divide room from room, slide to and fro. Occasionally it is painted or lacquered. But the ordinary kamidana is of white wood, and is made larger or smaller in proportion to the size of the miya, or the number of the ofuda and other sacred objects to be placed upon it. In some houses, notably those of innkeepers and small merchants, the kamidana is made long enough to support a number of small shrines dedicated to different Shinto deities, particularly those believed to preside over wealth and commercial prosperity. In the houses of the poor it is nearly always placed in the room facing the street; and Matsue shopkeepers usually erect it in their shops--so that the passer-by or the customer can tell at a glance in what deities the occupant puts his trust. There are many regulations concerning it. It may be placed to face south or east, but should not face west, and under no possible circumstances should it be suffered to face north or north-west. One explanation of this is the influence upon Shinto of Chinese philosophy, according to which there is some fancied relation between South or East and the Male Principle, and between West or North and the Female Principle. But the popular notion on the subject is that because a dead person is buried with the head turned north, it would be very wrong to place a miya so as to face north--since everything relating to death is impure; and the regulation about the west is not strictly observed. Most kamidana in Izumo, however, face south or east. In the houses of the poorest--often consisting of but one apartment--there can be little choice as to rooms; but it is a rule, observed in the dwellings of the middle classes, that the kamidana must not be placed either in the guest room (zashiki) nor in the kitchen; and in shizoku houses its place is usually in one of the smaller family apartments. Respect must be shown it. One must not sleep, for example, or even lie down to rest, with his feet turned towards it. One must not pray before it, or even stand before it, while in a state of religious impurity--such as that entailed by having touched a corpse, or attended a Buddhist funeral, or even during the period of mourning for kindred buried according to the Buddhist rite. Should any member of the family be thus buried, then during fifty days [12] the kamidana must be entirely screened from view with pure white paper, and even the Shinto ofuda, or pious invocations fastened upon the house-door, must have white paper pasted over them. During the same mourning period the fire in the house is considered unclean; and at the close of the term all the ashes of the braziers and of the kitchen must be cast away, and new fire kindled with a flint and steel. Nor are funerals the only source of legal uncleanliness. Shinto, as the religion of purity and purification, has a Deuteronomy of quite an extensive kind. During certain periods women must not even pray before the miya, much less make offerings or touch the sacred vessels, or kindle the lights of the Kami. Sec. 8 Before the miya, or whatever holy object of Shinto worship be placed upon the kamidana, are set two quaintly shaped jars for the offerings of sake; two small vases, to contain sprays of the sacred plant sakaki, or offerings of flowers; and a small lamp, shaped like a tiny saucer, where a wick of rush-pith floats in rape-seed oil. Strictly speaking, all these utensils, except the flower-vases, should be made of unglazed red earthenware, such as we find described in the early chapters of the Kojiki: and still at Shinto festivals in Izumo, when sake is drunk in honour of the gods, it is drunk out of cups of red baked unglazed clay shaped like shallow round dishes. But of late years it has become the fashion to make all the utensils of a fine kamidana of brass or bronze-- even the hanaike, or flower-vases. Among the poor, the most archaic utensils are still used to a great extent, especially in the remoter country districts; the lamp being a simple saucer or kawarake of red clay; and the flower-vases most often bamboo cups, made by simply cutting a section of bamboo immediately below a joint and about five inches above it. The brazen lamp is a much more complicated object than the kawarake, which costs but one rin. The brass lamp costs about twenty-five sen, at least. It consists of two parts. The lower part, shaped like a very shallow, broad wineglass, with a very thick stem, has an interior as well as an exterior rim; and the bottom of a correspondingly broad and shallow brass cup, which is the upper part and contains the oil, fits exactly into this inner rim. This kind of lamp is always furnished with a small brass object in the shape of a flat ring, with a stem set at right angles to the surface of the ring. It is used for moving the floating wick and keeping it at any position required; and the little perpendicular stem is long enough to prevent the fingers from touching the oil. The most curious objects to be seen on any ordinary kamidana are the stoppers of the sake-vessels or o-mikidokkuri ('honourable sake-jars'). These stoppers--o-mikidokkuri-nokuchisashi--may be made of brass, or of fine thin slips of wood jointed and bent into the singular form required. Properly speaking, the thing is not a real stopper, in spite of its name; its lower part does not fill the mouth of the jar at all: it simply hangs in the orifice like a leaf put there stem downwards. I find it difficult to learn its history; but, though there are many designs of it--the finer ones being of brass--the shape of all seems to hint at a Buddhist origin. Possibly the shape was borrowed from a Buddhist symbol--the Hoshi-notama, that mystic gem whose lambent glow (iconographically suggested as a playing of flame) is the emblem of Pure Essence; and thus the object would be typical at once of the purity of the wine-offering and the purity of the heart of the giver. The little lamp may not be lighted every evening in all homes, since there are families too poor to afford even this infinitesimal nightly expenditure of oil. But upon the first, fifteenth, and twenty-eighth of each month the light is always kindled; for these are Shinto holidays of obligation, when offerings must be made to the gods, and when all uji- ko, or parishioners of a Shinto temple, are supposed to visit their ujigami. In every home on these days sake is poured as an offering into the o-mikidokkuri, and in the vases of the kamidana are placed sprays of the holy sakaki, or sprigs of pine, or fresh flowers. On the first day of the new year the kamidana is always decked with sakaki, moromoki (ferns), and pine-sprigs, and also with a shimenawa; and large double rice cakes are placed upon it as offerings to the gods. Sec. 9 But only the ancient gods of Shinto are worshipped before the kamidana. The family ancestors or family dead are worshipped either in a separate room (called the mitamaya or 'Spirit Chamber'), or, if worshipped according to the Buddhist rites, before the butsuma or butsudan. The Buddhist family worship coexists in the vast majority of Izumo homes with the Shinto family worship; and whether the dead be honoured in the mitamaya or before the butsudan altogether depends upon the religious traditions of the household. Moreover, there are families in Izumo-- particularly in Kitzuki--whose members do not profess Buddhism in any form, and a very few, belonging to the Shin-shu or Nichirenshu, [13] whose members do not practise Shinto. But the domestic cult of the dead is maintained, whether the family be Shinto or Buddhist. The ihai or tablets of the Buddhist family dead (Hotoke) are never placed in a special room or shrine, but in the Buddhist household shrine [14] along with the images or pictures of Buddhist divinities usually there inclosed--or, at least, this is always the case when the honours paid them are given according to the Buddhist instead of the Shinto rite. The form of the butsudan or butsuma, the character of its holy images, its ofuda, or its pictures, and even the prayers said before it, differ according to the fifteen different shu, or sects; and a very large volume would have to be written in order to treat the subject of the butsuma exhaustively. Therefore I must content myself with stating that there are Buddhist household shrines of all dimensions, prices, and degrees of magnificence; and that the butsudan of the Shin-shu, although to me the least interesting of all, is popularly considered to be the most beautiful in design and finish. The butsudan of a very poor household may be worth a few cents, but the rich devotee might purchase in Kyoto a shrine worth as many thousands of yen as he could pay. Though the forms of the butsuma and the character of its contents may greatly vary, the form of the ancestral or mortuary tablet is generally that represented in Fig. 4 of the illustrations of ihai given in this book. [15] There are some much more elaborate shapes, costly and rare, and simpler shapes of the cheapest and plainest descriptions; but the form thus illustrated is the common one in Izumo and the whole San-indo country. There are differences, however, of size; and the ihai of a man is larger than that of a woman, and has a headpiece also, which the tablet of a female has not; while a child's ihai is always very small. The average height of the ihai made for a male adult is a little more than a foot, and its thickness about an inch. It has a top, or headpiece, surmounted by the symbol I of the Hoshi-no-tama or Mystic Gem, and ordinarily decorated with a cloud-design of some kind, and the pedestal is a lotus-flower rising out of clouds. As a general rule all this is richly lacquered and gilded; the tablet itself being lacquered in black, and bearing the posthumous name, or kaimyo, in letters of gold--ken-mu-ji-sho-shin-ji, or other syllables indicating the supposed virtues of the departed. The poorest people, unable to afford such handsome tablets, have ihai made of plain wood; and the kaimyo is sometimes simply written on these in black characters; but more commonly it is written upon a strip of white paper, which is then pasted upon the ihai with rice-paste. The living name is perhaps inscribed upon the back of the tablet. Such tablets accumulate, of course, with the passing of generations; and in certain homes great numbers are preserved. A beautiful and touching custom still exists in Izumo, and perhaps throughout Japan, although much less common than it used to be. So far as I can learn, however, it was always confined to the cultivated classes. When a husband dies, two ihai are made, in case the wife resolves never to marry again. On one of these the kaimyo of the dead man is painted in characters of gold, and on the other that of the living widow; but, in the latter case, the first character of the kaimyo is painted in red, and the other characters in gold. These two tablets are then placed in the household butsuma. Two larger ones similarly inscribed, are placed in the parish temple; but no cup is set before that of the wife. The solitary crimson ideograph signifies a solemn pledge to remain faithful to the memory of the dead. Furthermore, the wife loses her living name among all her friends and relatives, and is thereafter addressed only by a fragment of her kaimyo--as, for example, 'Shin-toku-in-San,' an abbreviation of the much longer and more sonorous posthumous name, Shin-toku-in-den-joyo-teiso-daishi. [16] Thus to be called by one's kaimyo is at once an honour to the memory of the husband and the constancy of the bereaved wife. A precisely similar pledge is taken by a man after the loss of a wife to whom he was passionately attached; and one crimson letter upon his ihai registers the vow not only in the home but also in the place of public worship. But the widower is never called by his kaimyo, as is the widow. The first religious duty of the morning in a Buddhist household is to set before the tablets of the dead a little cup of tea, made with the first hot water prepared--O-Hotoke-San-nio-cha-to-ageru. [17] Daily offerings of boiled rice are also made; and fresh flowers are put in the shrine vases; and incense--although not allowed by Shinto--is burned before the tablets. At night, and also during the day upon certain festivals, both candles and a small oil-lamp are lighted in the butsuma--a lamp somewhat differently shaped from the lamp of the miya and called rinto On the day of each month corresponding to the date of death a little repast is served before the tablets, consisting of shojin-ryori only, the vegetarian food of the. Buddhists. But as Shinto family worship has its special annual festival, which endures from the first to the third day of the new year, so Buddhist ancestor-worship has its yearly Bonku, or Bommatsuri, lasting from the thirteenth to the sixteenth day of the seventh month. This is the Buddhist Feast of Souls. Then the butsuma is decorated to the utmost, special offerings of food and of flowers are made, and all the house is made beautiful to welcome the coming of the ghostly visitors. Now Shinto, like Buddhism, has its ihai; but these are of the simplest possible shape and material--mere slips of plain white wood. The average height is only about eight inches. These tablets are either placed in a special miya kept in a different room from that in which the shrine of the Kami is erected, or else simply arranged on a small shelf called by the people Mitama-San-no-tana,--'the Shelf of the August Spirits.' The shelf or the shrine of the ancestors and household dead is placed always at a considerable height in the mitamaya or soreisha (as the Spirit Chamber is sometimes called), just as is the miya of the Kami in the other apartment. Sometimes no tablets are used, the name being simply painted upon the woodwork of the Spirit Shrine. But Shinto has no kaimyo: the living name of the dead is written upon the ihai, with the sole addition of the word 'Mitama' (Spirit). And monthly upon the day corresponding to the menstrual date of death, offerings of fish, wine, and other food are made to the spirits, accompanied by special prayer. [18] The Mitama-San have also their particular lamps and flower-vases, and, though in lesser degree, are honoured with rites like those of the Kami. The prayers uttered before the ihai of either faith begin with the respective religious formulas of Shinto or of Buddhism. The Shintoist, clapping his hands thrice or four times, [19] first utters the sacramental Harai-tamai. The Buddhist, according to his sect, murmurs Namu-myo-ho-ren-ge-kyo, or Namu Amida Butsu, or some other holy words of prayer or of praise to the Buddha, ere commencing his prayer to the ancestors. The words said to them are seldom spoken aloud, either by Shintoist or Buddhist: they are either whispered very low under the breath, or shaped only within the heart. Sec. 10 At nightfall in Izumo homes the lamps of the gods and of the ancestors are kindled, either by a trusted servant or by some member of the family. Shinto orthodox regulations require that the lamps should be filled with pure vegetable oil only--tomoshiabura--and oil of rape-seed is customarily used. However, there is an evident inclination among the poorer classes to substitute a microscopic kerosene lamp for the ancient form of utensil. But by the strictly orthodox this is held to be very wrong, and even to light the lamps with a match is somewhat heretical. For it is not supposed that matches are always made with pure substances, and the lights of the Kami should be kindled only with purest fire--that holy natural fire which lies hidden within all things. Therefore in some little closet in the home of any strictly orthodox Shinto family there is always a small box containing the ancient instruments used for the lighting of' holy fire. These consist of the hi-uchi-ishi, or 'fire-strike-stone'; the hi-uchi-gane, or steel; the hokuchi, or tinder, made of dried moss; and the tsukegi, fine slivers of resinous pine. A little tinder is laid upon the flint and set smouldering with a few strokes of the steel, and blown upon until it flames. A slip of pine is then ignited at this flame, and with it the lamps of the ancestors and the gods are lighted. If several great deities are represented in the miya or upon the kamidana by several ofuda, then a separate lamp is sometimes lighted for each; and if there be a butsuma in the dwelling, its tapers or lamp are lighted at the same time. Although the use of the flint and steel for lighting the lamps of the gods will probably have become obsolete within another generation, it still prevails largely in Izumo, especially in the country districts. Even where the safety-match has entirely supplanted the orthodox utensils, the orthodox sentiment shows itself in the matter of the choice of matches to be used. Foreign matches are inadmissible: the native matchmaker quite successfully represented that foreign matches contained phosphorus 'made from the bones of dead animals,' and that to kindle the lights of the Kami with such unholy fire would be sacrilege. In other parts of Japan the matchmakers stamped upon their boxes the words: 'Saikyo go honzon yo' (Fit for the use of the August High Temple of Saikyo). [20] But Shinto sentiment in Izumo was too strong to be affected much by any such declaration: indeed, the recommendation of the matches as suitable for use in a Shin-shu temple was of itself sufficient to prejudice Shintoists against them. Accordingly special precautions had to be taken before safety-matches could be satisfactorily introduced into the Province of the Gods. Izumo match- boxes now bear the inscription: 'Pure, and fit to use for kindling the lamps of the Kami, or of the Hotoke!' The inevitable danger to all things in Japan is fire. It is the traditional rule that when a house takes fire, the first objects to be saved, if possible, are the household gods and the tablets of the ancestors. It is even said that if these are saved, most of the family valuables are certain to be saved, and that if these are lost, all is lost. Sec. 11 The terms soreisha and mitamaya, as used in Izumo, may, I am told, signify either the small miya in which the Shinto ihai (usually made of cherry-wood) is kept, or that part of the dwelling in which it is placed, and where the offerings are made. These, by all who can afford it, are served upon tables of plain white wood, and of the same high narrow form as the tables upon which offerings are made in the temples and at public funeral ceremonies. The most ordinary form of prayer addressed to the ancient ancestors in the household cult of Shinto is not uttered aloud. After pronouncing the initial formula of all popular Shinto prayer, 'Harai-tamai,' etc., the worshipper says, with his heart only--'Spirits august of our far-off ancestors, ye forefathers of the generations, and of our families and of our kindred, unto you, the founders of our homes, we this day utter the gladness of our thanks.' In the family cult of the Buddhists a distinction is made between the household Hotoke--the souls of those long dead--and the souls of those but recently deceased. These last are called Shin-botoke, 'new Buddhas,' or more strictly, 'the newly dead.' No direct request for any supernatural favour is made to a Shin-botoke; for, though respectfully called Hotoke, the freshly departed soul is not really deemed to have reached Buddhahood: it is only on the long road thither, and is in need itself, perhaps, of aid, rather than capable of giving aid. Indeed, among the deeply pious its condition is a matter of affectionate concern. And especially is this the case when a little child dies; for it is thought that the soul of an infant is feeble and exposed to many dangers. Wherefore a mother, speaking to the departed soul of her child, will advise it, admonish it, command it tenderly, as if addressing a living son or daughter. The ordinary words said in Izumo homes to any Shin-botoke take rather the form of adjuration or counsel than of prayer, such as these:-- 'Jobutsu seyo,' or 'Jobutsu shimasare.' [Do thou become a Buddha.] 'Mayo na yo.' [Go not astray; or, Be never deluded.] 'Miren-wo nokorazu.' [Suffer no regret (for this world) to linger with thee.] These prayers are never uttered aloud. Much more in accordance with the Occidental idea of prayer is the following, uttered by Shin-shu believers on behalf of a Shin-botoke: 'O-mukai kudasare Amida-Sama.' [Vouchsafe, O Lord Amida, augustly to welcome (this soul).] Needless to say that ancestor-worship, although adopted in China and Japan into Buddhism, is not of Buddhist origin. Needless also to say that Buddhism discountenances suicide. Yet in Japan, anxiety about the condition of the soul of the departed often caused suicide--or at least justified it on the part of those who, though accepting Buddhist dogma, might adhere to primitive custom. Retainers killed themselves in the belief that by dying they might give to the soul of their lord or lady, counsel, aid, and service. Thus in the novel Hogen-nomono-gatari, a retainer is made to say after the death of his young master:--'Over the mountain of Shide, over the ghostly River of Sanzu, who will conduct him? If he be afraid, will he not call my name, as he was wont to do? Surely better that, by slaying myself, I go to serve him as of old, than to linger here, and mourn for him in vain.' In Buddhist household worship, the prayers addressed to the family Hotoke proper, the souls of those long dead, are very different from the addresses made to the Shin-botoke. The following are a few examples: they are always said under the breath: 'Kanai anzen.' [(Vouchsafe) that our family may be preserved.] 'Enmei sakusai.' [That we may enjoy long life without sorrow.] 'Shobai hanjo.' [That our business may prosper.] [Said only by merchants and tradesmen.] 'Shison chokin.' [That the perpetuity of our descent may be assured.] 'Onteki taisan.' [That our enemies be scattered.] 'Yakubyo shometsu.' [That pestilence may not come nigh us.] Some of the above are used also by Shinto worshippers. The old samurai still repeat the special prayers of their caste:-- 'Tenka taihei.' [That long peace may prevail throughout the world.] 'Bu-un chokyu.' [That we may have eternal good-fortune in war.] 'Ka-ei-manzoku.' [That our house (family) may for ever remain fortunate.] But besides these silent formulae, any prayers prompted by the heart, whether of supplication or of gratitude, may, of course, be repeated. Such prayers are said, or rather thought, in the speech of daily life. The following little prayer uttered by an Izumo mother to the ancestral spirit, besought on behalf of a sick child, is an example:-- 'O-kage ni kodomo no byoki mo zenkwai itashimashite, arigato- gozarimasu!' [By thine august influence the illness of my child has passed away;--I thank thee.] 'O-kage ni' literally signifies 'in the august shadow of.' There is a ghostly beauty in the original phrase that neither a free nor yet a precise translation can preserve. Sec. 12 Thus, in this home-worship of the Far East, by love the dead are made divine; and the foreknowledge of this tender apotheosis must temper with consolation the natural melancholy of age. Never in Japan are the dead so quickly forgotten as with us: by simple faith they are deemed still to dwell among their beloved; and their place within the home remains ever holy. And the aged patriarch about to pass away knows that loving lips will nightly murmur to the memory of him before the household shrine; that faithful hearts will beseech him in their pain and bless him in their joy; that gentle hands will place before his ihai pure offerings of fruits and flowers, and dainty repasts of the things which he was wont to like; and will pour out for him, into the little cup of ghosts and gods, the fragrant tea of guests or the amber rice-wine. Strange changes are coming upon the land: old customs are vanishing; old beliefs are weakening; the thoughts of today will not be the thoughts of another age--but of all this he knows happily nothing in his own quaint, simple, beautiful Izumo. He dreams that for him, as for his fathers, the little lamp will burn on through the generations; he sees, in softest fancy, the yet unborn--the children of his children's children--clapping their tiny hands in Shinto prayer, and making filial obeisance before the little dusty tablet that bears his unforgotten name. Chapter Three Of Women's Hair Sec. 1 THE hair of the younger daughter of the family is very long; and it is a spectacle of no small interest to see it dressed. It is dressed once in every three days; and the operation, which costs four sen, is acknowledged to require one hour. As a matter of fact it requires nearly two. The hairdresser (kamiyui) first sends her maiden apprentice, who cleans the hair, washes it, perfumes it, and combs it with extraordinary combs of at least five different kinds. So thoroughly is the hair cleansed that it remains for three days, or even four, immaculate beyond our Occidental conception of things. In the morning, during the dusting time, it is carefully covered with a handkerchief or a little blue towel; and the curious Japanese wooden pillow, which supports the neck, not the head, renders it possible to sleep at ease without disarranging the marvellous structure. [1] After the apprentice has finished her part of the work, the hairdresser herself appears, and begins to build the coiffure. For this task she uses, besides the extraordinary variety of combs, fine loops of gilt thread or coloured paper twine, dainty bits of deliciously tinted crape- silk, delicate steel springs, and curious little basket-shaped things over which the hair is moulded into the required forms before being fixed in place. The kamiyui also brings razors with her; for the Japanese girl is shaved--cheeks, ears, brows, chin, even nose! What is here to shave? Only that peachy floss which is the velvet of the finest human skin, but which Japanese taste removes. There is, however, another use for the razor. All maidens bear the signs of their maidenhood in the form of a little round spot, about an inch in diameter, shaven clean upon the very top of the head. This is only partially concealed by a band of hair brought back from the forehead across it, and fastened to the back hair. The girl-baby's head is totally shaved. When a few years old the little creature's hair is allowed to grow except at the top of the head, where a large tonsure is maintained. But the size of the tonsure diminishes year by year, until it shrinks after childhood to the small spot above described; and this, too, vanishes after marriage, when a still more complicated fashion of wearing the hair is adopted. Sec. 2 Such absolutely straight dark hair as that of most Japanese women might seem, to Occidental ideas at least, ill-suited to the highest possibilities of the art of the coiffeuse. [2] But the skill of the kamiyui has made it tractable to every aesthetic whim. Ringlets, indeed, are unknown, and curling irons. But what wonderful and beautiful shapes the hair of the girl is made to assume: volutes, jets, whirls, eddyings, foliations, each passing into the other blandly as a linking of brush- strokes in the writing of a Chinese master! Far beyond the skill of the Parisian coiffeuse is the art of the kamiyui. From the mythical era [3] of the race, Japanese ingenuity has exhausted itself in the invention and the improvement of pretty devices for the dressing of woman's hair; and probably there have never been so many beautiful fashions of wearing it in any other country as there have been in Japan. These have changed through the centuries; sometimes becoming wondrously intricate of design, sometimes exquisitely simple--as in that gracious custom, recorded for us in so many quaint drawings, of allowing the long black tresses to flow unconfined below the waist. [4] But every mode of which we have any pictorial record had its own striking charm. Indian, Chinese, Malayan, Korean ideas of beauty found their way to the Land of the Gods, and were appropriated and transfigured by the finer native conceptions of comeliness. Buddhism, too, which so profoundly influenced all Japanese art and thought, may possibly have influenced fashions of wearing the hair; for its female divinities appear with the most beautiful coiffures. Notice the hair of a Kwannon or a Benten, and the tresses of the Tennin--those angel-maidens who float in azure upon the ceilings of the great temples. Sec. 3 The particular attractiveness of the modern styles is the way in which the hair is made to serve as an elaborate nimbus for the features, giving delightful relief to whatever of fairness or sweetness the young face may possess. Then behind this charming black aureole is a riddle of graceful loopings and weavings whereof neither the beginning nor the ending can possibly be discerned. Only the kantiyui knows the key to that riddle. And the whole is held in place with curious ornamental combs, and shot through with long fine pins of gold, silver, nacre, transparent tortoise-shell, or lacquered wood, with cunningly carven heads. [5] Sec. 4 Not less than fourteen different ways of dressing the hair are practised by the coiffeuses of Izumo; but doubtless in the capital, and in some of the larger cities of eastern Japan, the art is much more elaborately developed. The hairdressers (kamiyui) go from house to house to exercise their calling, visiting their clients upon fixed days at certain regular hours. The hair of little girls from seven to eight years old is in Matsue dressed usually after the style called O-tabako-bon, unless it be simply 'banged.' In the O-tabako-bon ('honourable smoking-box' style) the hair is cut to the length of about four inches all round except above the forehead, where it is clipped a little shorter; and on the summit of the head it is allowed to grow longer and is gathered up into a peculiarly shaped knot, which justifies the curious name of the coiffure. As soon as the girl becomes old enough to go to a female public day-school, her hair is dressed in the pretty, simple style called katsurashita, or perhaps in the new, ugly, semi-foreign 'bundle- style' called sokuhatsu, which has become the regulation fashion in boarding-schools. For the daughters of the poor, and even for most of those of the middle classes, the public-school period is rather brief; their studies usually cease a few years before they are marriageable, and girls marry very early in Japan. The maiden's first elaborate coiffure is arranged for her when she reaches the age of fourteen or fifteen, at earliest. From twelve to fourteen her hair is dressed in the fashion called Omoyedzuki; then the style is changed to the beautiful coiffure called jorowage. There are various forms of this style, more or less complex. A couple of years later, the jorowage yields in the turn to the shinjocho [6] '('new-butterfly' style), or the shimada, also called takawage. The shimjocho style is common, is worn by women of various ages, and is not considered very genteel. The shimada, exquisitely elaborate, is; but the more respectable the family, the smaller the form of this coiffure; geisha and joro wear a larger and loftier variety of it, which properly answers to the name takawage, or 'high coiffure.' Between eighteen and twenty years of age the maiden again exchanges this style for another termed Tenjin-gaeshi; between twenty and twenty-four years of age she adopts the fashion called mitsuwage, or the 'triple coiffure' of three loops; and a somewhat similar but still more complicated coiffure, called mitsuwakudzushi, is worn by young women of from twenty-five to twenty-eight. Up to that age every change in the fashion of wearing the hair has been in the direction of elaborateness and complexity. But after twenty-eight a Japanese woman is no longer considered young, and there is only one more coiffure for her--the mochiriwage or bobai, tine simple and rather ugly style adopted by old women. But the girl who marries wears her hair in a fashion quite different from any of the preceding. The most beautiful, the most elaborate, and the most costly of all modes is the bride's coiffure, called hanayome; a word literally signifying 'flower-wife.' The structure is dainty as its name, and must be seen to be artistically appreciated. Afterwards the wife wears her hair in the styles called kumesa or maruwage, another name for which is katsuyama. The kumesa style is not genteel, and is the coiffure of the poor; the maruwage or katsuyama is refined. In former times the samurai women wore their hair in two particular styles: the maiden's coiffure was ichogaeshi, and that of the married folk katahajishi. It is still possible to see in Matsue a few katahajishi coiffures. Sec. 5 The family kamiyui, O-Koto-San, the most skilful of her craft in Izumo, is a little woman of about thirty, still quite attractive. About her neck there are three soft pretty lines, forming what connoisseurs of beauty term 'the necklace of Venus.' This is a rare charm; but it once nearly proved the ruin of Koto. The story is a curious one. Koto had a rival at the beginning of her professional career--a woman of considerable skill as a coiffeuse, but of malignant disposition, named Jin. Jin gradually lost all her respectable custom, and little Koto became the fashionable hairdresser. But her old rival, filled with jealous hate, invented a wicked story about Koto, and the story found root in the rich soil of old Izumo superstition, and grew fantastically. The idea of it had been suggested to Jin's cunning mind by those three soft lines about Koto's neck. She declared that Koto had a NUKE-KUBI. What is a nuke-kubi? 'Kubi' signifies either the neck or head. 'Nukeru' means to creep, to skulk, to prowl, to slip away stealthily. To have a nuke-kubi is to have a head that detaches itself from the body, and prowls about at night--by itself. Koto has been twice married, and her second match was a happy one. But her first husband caused her much trouble, and ran away from her at last, in company with some worthless woman. Nothing was ever heard of him afterward--so that Jin thought it quite safe to invent a nightmare- story to account for his disappearance. She said that he abandoned Koto because, on awaking one night, he saw his young wife's head rise from the pillow, and her neck lengthen like a great white serpent, while the rest of her body remained motionless. He saw the head, supported by the ever-lengthening neck, enter the farther apartment and drink all the oil in the lamps, and then return to the pillow slowly--the neck simultaneously contracting. 'Then he rose up and fled away from the house in great fear,' said Jin. As one story begets another, all sorts of queer rumours soon began to circulate about poor Koto. There was a tale that some police-officer, late at night, saw a woman's head without a body, nibbling fruit from a tree overhanging some garden-wall; and that, knowing it to be a nuke- kubi, he struck it with the flat of his sword. It shrank away as swiftly as a bat flies, but not before he had been able to recognize the face of the kamiyui. 'Oh! it is quite true!' declared Jin, the morning after the alleged occurrence; 'and if you don't believe it, send word to Koto that you want to see her. She can't go out: her face is all swelled up.' Now the last statement was fact--for Koto had a very severe toothache at that time--and the fact helped the falsehood. And the story found its way to the local newspaper, which published it--only as a strange example of popular credulity; and Jin said, 'Am I a teller of the truth? See, the paper has printed it!' Wherefore crowds of curious people gathered before Koto's little house, and made her life such a burden to her that her husband had to watch her constantly to keep her from killing herself. Fortunately she had good friends in the family of the Governor, where she had been employed for years as coiffeuse; and the Governor, hearing of the wickedness, wrote a public denunciation of it, and set his name to it, and printed it. Now the people of Matsue reverenced their old samurai Governor as if he were a god, and believed his least word; and seeing what he had written, they became ashamed, and also denounced the lie and the liar; and the little hairdresser soon became more prosperous than before through popular sympathy. Some of the most extraordinary beliefs of old days are kept alive in Izumo and elsewhere by what are called in America travelling side- shows'; and the inexperienced foreigner could never imagine the possibilities of a Japanese side-show. On certain great holidays the showmen make their appearance, put up their ephemeral theatres of rush- matting and bamboos in some temple court, surfeit expectation by the most incredible surprises, and then vanish as suddenly as they came. The Skeleton of a Devil, the Claws of a Goblin, and 'a Rat as large as a sheep,' were some of the least extraordinary displays which I saw. The Goblin's Claws were remarkably fine shark's teeth; the Devil's Skeleton had belonged to an orang-outang--all except the horns ingeniously attached to the skull; and the wondrous Rat I discovered to be a tame kangaroo. What I could not fully understand was the exhibition of a nuke-kubi, in which a young woman stretched her neck, apparently, to a length of about two feet, making ghastly faces during the performance. Sec. 6 There are also some strange old superstitions about women's hair. The myth of Medusa has many a counterpart in Japanese folk-lore: the subject of such tales being always some wondrously beautiful girl, whose hair turns to snakes only at night; and who is discovered at last to be either a dragon or a dragon's daughter. But in ancient times it was believed that the hair of any young woman might, under certain trying circumstances, change into serpents. For instance: under the influence of long-repressed jealousy. There were many men of wealth who, in the days of Old Japan, kept their concubines (mekake or aisho) under the same roof with their legitimate wives (okusama). And it is told that, although the severest patriarchal discipline might compel the mekake and the okusama to live together in perfect seeming harmony by day, their secret hate would reveal itself by night in the transformation of their hair. The long black tresses of each would uncoil and hiss and strive to devour those of the other--and even the mirrors of the sleepers would dash themselves together--for, saith an ancient proverb, kagami onna-no tamashii--'a Mirror is the Soul of a Woman.' [7] And there is a famous tradition of one Kato Sayemon Shigenji, who beheld in the night the hair of his wife and the hair of his concubine, changed into vipers, writhing together and hissing and biting. Then Kato Sayemon grieved much for that secret bitterness of hatred which thus existed through his fault; and he shaved his head and became a priest in the great Buddhist monastery of Koya-San, where he dwelt until the day of his death under the name of Karukaya. Sec. 7 The hair of dead women is arranged in the manner called tabanegami, somewhat resembling the shimada extremely simplified, and without ornaments of any kind. The name tabanegami signifies hair tied into a bunch, like a sheaf of rice. This style must also be worn by women during the period of mourning. Ghosts, nevertheless, are represented with hair loose and long, falling weirdly over the face. And no doubt because of the melancholy suggestiveness of its drooping branches, the willow is believed to be the favourite tree of ghosts. Thereunder, 'tis said, they mourn in the night, mingling their shadowy hair with the long dishevelled tresses of the tree. Tradition says that Okyo Maruyama was the first Japanese artist who drew a ghost. The Shogun, having invited him to his palace, said: 'Make a picture of a ghost for me.' Okyo promised to do so; but he was puzzled how to execute the order satisfactorily. A few days later, hearing that one of his aunts was very ill, he visited her. She was so emaciated that she looked like one already long dead. As he watched by her bedside, a ghastly inspiration came to him: he drew the fleshless face and long dishevelled hair, and created from that hasty sketch a ghost that surpassed all the Shogun's expectations. Afterwards Okyo became very famous as a painter of ghosts. Japanese ghosts are always represented as diaphanous, and preternaturally tall--only the upper part of the figure being distinctly outlined, and the lower part fading utterly away. As the Japanese say, 'a ghost has no feet': its appearance is like an exhalation, which becomes visible only at a certain distance above the ground; and it wavers arid lengthens and undulates in the conceptions of artists, like a vapour moved by wind. Occasionally phantom women figure in picture.- books in the likeness of living women; but these are riot true ghosts. They are fox-women or other goblins; and their supernatural character is suggested by a peculiar expression of the eyes arid a certain impossible elfish grace. Little children in Japan, like little children in all countries keenly enjoy the pleasure of fear; and they have many games in which such pleasure forms the chief attraction. Among these is 0-bake-goto, or Ghost-play. Some nurse-girl or elder sister loosens her hair in front, so as to let it fall over her face, and pursues the little folk with moans and weird gestures, miming all the attitudes of the ghosts of the picture-books. Sec. 8 As the hair of the Japanese woman is her richest ornament, it is of all her possessions that which she would most suffer to lose; and in other days the man too manly to kill an erring wife deemed it vengeance enough to turn her away with all her hair shorn off. Only the greatest faith or the deepest love can prompt a woman to the voluntary sacrifice of her entire chevelure, though partial sacrifices, offerings of one or two long thick cuttings, may be seen suspended before many an Izumo shrine. What faith can do in the way of such sacrifice, he best knows who has seen the great cables, woven of women's hair, that hang in the vast Hongwanji temple at Kyoto. And love is stronger than faith, though much less demonstrative. According to ancient custom a wife bereaved sacrifices a portion of her hair to be placed in the coffin of her husband, and buried with him. The quantity is not fixed: in the majority of cases it is very small, so that the appearance of the coiffure is thereby nowise affected. But she who resolves to remain for ever loyal to the memory of the lost yields up all. With her own hand she cuts off her hair, and lays the whole glossy sacrifice--emblem of her youth and beauty--upon the knees of the dead. It is never suffered to grow again. Chapter Four From the Diary of an English Teacher Sec. 1 MATSUE, September 2, 1890. I AM under contract to serve as English teacher in the Jinjo Chugakko, or Ordinary Middle School, and also in the ShihanGakko, or Normal School, of Matsue, Izumo, for the term of one year. The Jinjo Chugakko is an immense two-story wooden building in European style, painted a dark grey-blue. It has accommodations for nearly three hundred day scholars. It is situated in one corner of a great square of ground, bounded on two sides by canals, and on the other two by very quiet streets. This site is very near the ancient castle. The Normal School is a much larger building occupying the opposite angle of the square. It is also much handsomer, is painted snowy white, and has a little cupola upon its summit. There are only about one hundred and fifty students in the Shihan-Gakko, but they are boarders. Between these two schools are other educational buildings, which I shall learn more about later. It is my first day at the schools. Nishida Sentaro, the Japanese teacher of English, has taken me through the buildings, introduced me to the Directors, and to all my future colleagues, given me all necessary instructions about hours and about textbooks, and furnished my desk with all things necessary. Before teaching begins, however, I must be introduced to the Governor of the Province, Koteda Yasusada, with whom my contract has been made, through the medium of his secretary. So Nishida leads the way to the Kencho, or Prefectural office, situated in another foreign-looking edifice across the street. We enter it, ascend a wide stairway, and enter a spacious .room carpeted in European fashion--a room with bay windows and cushioned chairs. One person is seated at a small round table, and about him are standing half a dozen others: all are in full Japanese costume, ceremonial costume-- splendid silken hakama, or Chinese trousers, silken robes, silken haori or overdress, marked with their mon or family crests: rich and dignified attire which makes me ashamed of my commonplace Western garb. These are officials of the Kencho, and teachers: the person seated is the Governor. He rises to greet me, gives me the hand-grasp of a giant: and as I look into his eyes, I feel I shall love that man to the day of my death. A face fresh and frank as a boy's, expressing much placid force and large-hearted kindness--all the calm of a Buddha. Beside him, the other officials look very small: indeed the first impression of him is that of a man of another race. While I am wondering whether the old Japanese heroes were cast in a similar mould, he signs to me to take a seat, and questions my guide in a mellow basso. There is a charm in the fluent depth of the voice pleasantly confirming the idea suggested by the face. An attendant brings tea. 'The Governor asks,' interprets Nishida, 'if you know the old history of Izumo.' I reply that I have read the Kojiki, translated by Professor Chamberlain, and have therefore some knowledge of the story of Japan's most ancient province. Some converse in Japanese follows. Nishida tells the Governor that I came to Japan to study the ancient religion and customs, and that I am particularly interested in Shinto and the traditions of Izumo. The Governor suggests that I make visits to the celebrated shrines of Kitzuki, Yaegaki, and Kumano, and then asks: 'Does he know the tradition of the origin of the clapping of hands before a Shinto shrine?' I reply in the negative; and the Governor says the tradition is given in a commentary upon the Kojiki. 'It is in the thirty-second section of the fourteenth volume, where it is written that Ya-he-Koto-Shiro-nushi-no-Kami clapped his hands.' I thank the Governor for his kind suggestions and his citation. After a brief silence I am graciously dismissed with another genuine hand-grasp; and we return to the school. Sec. 2 I have been teaching for three hours in the Middle School, and teaching Japanese boys turns out to be a much more agreeable task than I had imagined. Each class has been so well prepared for me beforehand by Nishida that my utter ignorance of Japanese makes no difficulty in regard to teaching: moreover, although the lads cannot understand my words always when I speak, they can understand whatever I write upon the blackboard with chalk. Most of them have already been studying English from childhood, with Japanese teachers. All are wonderfully docile' and patient. According to old custom, when the teacher enters, the whole class rises and bows to him. He returns the bow, and calls the roll. Nishida is only too kind. He helps me in every way he possibly can, and is constantly regretting that he cannot help me more. There are, of course, some difficulties to overcome. For instance, it will take me a very, very long time to learn the names of the boys--most of which names I cannot even pronounce, with the class-roll before me. And although the names of the different classes have been painted upon the doors of their respective rooms in English letters, for the benefit of the foreign teacher, it will take me some weeks at least to become quite familiar with them. For the time being Nishida always guides me to the rooms. He also shows me the way, through long corridors, to the Normal School, and introduces me to the teacher Nakayama who is to act there as my guide. I have been engaged to teach only four times a week at the Normal School; but I am furnished there also with a handsome desk in the teachers' apartment, and am made to feel at home almost immediately. Nakayama shows me everything of interest in the building before introducing me to my future pupils. The introduction is pleasant and novel as a school experience. I am conducted along a corridor, and ushered into a large luminous whitewashed room full of young men in dark blue military uniform. Each sits at a very small desk, sup-ported by a single leg, with three feet. At the end of the room is a platform with a high desk and a chair for the teacher. As I take my place at the desk, a voice rings out in English: 'Stand up!' And all rise with a springy movement as if moved by machinery. 'Bow down!' the same voice again commands--the voice of a young student wearing a captain's stripes upon his sleeve; and all salute me. I bow in return; we take our seats; and the lesson begins. All teachers at the Normal School are saluted in the same military fashion before each class-hour--only the command is given in Japanese. For my sake only, it is given in English. Sec. 3 September 22, 1890. The Normal School is a State institution. Students are admitted upon examination and production of testimony as to good character; but the number is, of course, limited. The young men pay no fees, no boarding money, nothing even for books, college-outfits, or wearing apparel. They are lodged, clothed, fed, and educated by the State; but they are required in return, after their graduation, to serve the State as teachers for the space of five years. Admission, however, by no means assures graduation. There are three or four examinations each year; and the students who fail to obtain a certain high average of examination marks must leave the school, however exemplary their conduct or earnest their study. No leniency can be shown where the educational needs of the State are concerned, and these call for natural ability and a high standard of its proof. The discipline is military and severe. Indeed, it is so thorough that the graduate of a Normal School is exempted by military law from more than a year's service in the army: he leaves college a trained soldier. Deportment is also a requisite: special marks are given for it; and however gawky a freshman may prove at the time of his admission, he cannot remain so. A spirit of manliness is cultivated, which excludes roughness but develops self-reliance and self-control. The student is required, when speaking, to look his teacher in the face, and to utter his words not only distinctly, but sonorously. Demeanour in class is partly enforced by the class-room fittings themselves. The tiny tables are too narrow to allow of being used as supports for the elbows; the seats have no backs against which to lean, and the student must hold himself rigidly erect as he studies. He must also keep himself faultlessly neat and clean. Whenever and wherever he encounters one of his teachers he must halt, bring his feet together, draw himself erect, and give the military salute. And this is done with a swift grace difficult to describe. The demeanour of a class during study hours is if anything too faultless. Never a whisper is heard; never is a head raised from the book without permission. But when the teacher addresses a student by name, the youth rises instantly, and replies in a tone of such vigour as would seem to unaccustomed ears almost startling by contrast with the stillness and self-repression of the others. The female department of the Normal School, where about fifty young women are being trained as teachers, is a separate two-story quadrangle of buildings, large, airy, and so situated, together with its gardens, as to be totally isolated from all other buildings and invisible from the street. The girls are not only taught European science by the most advanced methods, but are trained as well in Japanese arts--the arts of embroidery, of decoration, of painting, and of arranging flowers. European drawing is also taught, and beautifully taught, not only here, but in all the schools. It is taught, however, in combination with Japanese methods; and the results of this blending may certainly be expected to have some charming influence upon future art-production. The average capacity of the Japanese student in drawing is, I think, at least fifty per cent, higher than that of European students. The soul of the race is essentially artistic; and the extremely difficult art of learning to write the Chinese characters, in which all are trained from early childhood, has already disciplined the hand and the eye to a marvellous degree--a degree undreamed of in the Occident--long before the drawing-master begins his lessons of perspective. Attached to the great Normal School, and connected by a corridor with the Jinjo Chugakko likewise, is a large elementary school for little boys and girls: its teachers are male and female students of the graduating classes, who are thus practically trained for their profession before entering the service of the State. Nothing could be more interesting as an educational spectacle to any sympathetic foreigner than some of this elementary teaching. In the first room which I visit a class of very little girls and boys--some as quaintly pretty as their own dolls--are bending at their desks over sheets of coal-black paper which you would think they were trying to make still blacker by energetic use of writing-brushes and what we call Indian-ink. They are really learning to write Chinese and Japanese characters, stroke by stroke. Until one stroke has been well learned, they are not suffered to attempt another--much less a combination. Long before the first lesson is thoroughly mastered, the white paper has become all evenly black under the multitude of tyro brush-strokes. But the same sheet is still used; for the wet ink makes a yet blacker mark upon the dry, so that it can easily be seen. In a room adjoining, I see another child-class learning to use scissors --Japanese scissors, which, being formed in one piece, shaped something like the letter U, are much less easy to manage than ours. The little folk are being taught to cut out patterns, and shapes of special objects or symbols to be studied. Flower-forms are the most ordinary patterns; sometimes certain ideographs are given as subjects. And in another room a third small class is learning to sing; the teacher writing the music notes (do, re, mi) with chalk upon a blackboard, and accompanying the song with an accordion. The little ones have learned the Japanese national anthem (Kimi ga yo wa) and two native songs set to Scotch airs--one of which calls back to me, even in this remote corner of the Orient, many a charming memory: Auld Lang Syne. No uniform is worn in this elementary school: all are in Japanese dress --the boys in dark blue kimono, the little girls in robes of all tints, radiant as butterflies. But in addition to their robes, the girls wear hakama, [1] and these are of a vivid, warm sky-blue. Between the hours of teaching, ten minutes are allowed for play or rest. The little boys play at Demon-Shadows or at blind-man's-buff or at some other funny game: they laugh, leap, shout, race, and wrestle, but, unlike European children, never quarrel or fight. As for the little girls, they get by themselves, and either play at hand-ball, or form into circles to play at some round game, accompanied by song. Indescribably soft and sweet the chorus of those little voices in the round: Kango-kango sho-ya, Naka yoni sho-ya, Don-don to kunde Jizo-San no midzu wo Matsuba no midzu irete, Makkuri kadso. [2] I notice that the young men, as well as the young women, who teach these little folk, are extremely tender to their charges. A child whose kimono is out of order, or dirtied by play, is taken aside and brushed and arranged as carefully as by an elder brother. Besides being trained for their future profession by teaching the children of the elementary school, the girl students of the Shihan-Gakko are also trained to teach in the neighbouring kindergarten. A delightful kindergarten it is, with big cheerful sunny rooms, where stocks of the most ingenious educational toys are piled upon shelves for daily use. Since the above was written I have had two years' experience as a teacher in various large Japanese schools; and I have never had personal knowledge of any serious quarrel between students, and have never even heard of a fight among my pupils. And I have taught some eight hundred boys and young men. Sec. 4 October 1 1890. Nevertheless I am destined to see little of the Normal School. Strictly speaking, I do not belong to its staff: my services being only lent by the Middle School, to which I give most of my time. I see the Normal School students in their class-rooms only, for they are not allowed to go out to visit their teachers' homes in the town. So I can never hope to become as familiar with them as with the students of the Chugakko, who are beginning to call me 'Teacher' instead of 'Sir,' and to treat me as a sort of elder brother. (I objected to the word 'master,' for in Japan the teacher has no need of being masterful.) And I feel less at home in the large, bright, comfortable apartments of the Normal School teachers than in our dingy, chilly teachers' room at the Chugakko, where my desk is next to that of Nishida. On the walls there are maps, crowded with Japanese ideographs; a few large charts representing zoological facts in the light of evolutional science; and an immense frame filled with little black lacquered wooden tablets, so neatly fitted together that the entire surface is uniform as that of a blackboard. On these are written, or rather painted, in white, names of teachers, subjects, classes, and order of teaching hours; and by the ingenious tablet arrangement any change of hours can be represented by simply changing the places of the tablets. As all this is written in Chinese and Japanese characters, it remains to me a mystery, except in so far as the general plan and purpose are concerned. I have learned only to recognize the letters of my own name, and the simpler form of numerals. On every teacher's desk there is a small hibachi of glazed blue-and- white ware, containing a few lumps of glowing charcoal in a bed of ashes. During the brief intervals between classes each teacher smokes his tiny Japanese pipe of brass, iron, or silver. The hibachi and a cup of hot tea are our consolations for the fatigues of the class-room. Nishida and one or two other teachers know a good deal of English, and we chat together sometimes between classes. But more often no one speaks. All are tired after the teaching hour, and prefer to smoke in silence. At such times the only sounds within the room are the ticking of the clock, and the sharp clang of the little pipes being rapped upon the edges of the hibachi to empty out the ashes. Sec. 5 October 15, 1890. To-day I witnessed the annual athletic contests (undo- kwai) of all the schools in Shimane Ken. These games were celebrated in the broad castle grounds of Ninomaru. Yesterday a circular race-track had been staked off, hurdles erected for leaping, thousands of wooden seats prepared for invited or privileged spectators, and a grand lodge built for the Governor, all before sunset. The place looked like a vast circus, with its tiers of plank seats rising one above the other, and the Governor's lodge magnificent with wreaths and flags. School children from all the villages and towns within twenty-five miles had arrived in surprising multitude. Nearly six thousand boys and girls were entered to take part in the contests. Their parents and relatives and teachers made an imposing assembly upon the benches and within the gates. And on the ramparts overlooking the huge inclosure a much larger crowd had gathered, representing perhaps one-third of the population of the city. The signal to begin or to end a contest was a pistol-shot. Four different kinds of games were performed in different parts of the grounds at the same time, as there was room enough for an army; and prizes were awarded to the winners of each contest by the hand of the Governor himself. There were races between the best runners in each class of the different schools; and the best runner of all proved to be Sakane, of our own fifth class, who came in first by nearly forty yards without seeming even to make an effort. He is our champion athlete, and as good as he is strong--so that it made me very happy to see him with his arms full of prize books. He won also a fencing contest decided by the breaking of a little earthenware saucer tied to the left arm of each combatant. And he also won a leaping match between our older boys. But many hundreds of other winners there were too, and many hundreds of prizes were given away. There were races in which the runners were tied together in pairs, the left leg of one to the right leg of the other. There were equally funny races, the winning of which depended on the runner's ability not only to run, but to crawl, to climb, to vault, and to jump alternately. There were races also for the little girls--pretty as butterflies they seemed in their sky-blue hakama and many coloured robes--races in which the contestants had each to pick up as they ran three balls of three different colours out of a number scattered over the turf. Besides this, the little girls had what is called a flag-race, and a contest with battledores and shuttlecocks. Then came the tug-of-war. A magnificent tug-of-war, too--one hundred students at one end of a rope, and another hundred at the other. But the most wonderful spectacles of the day were the dumb-bell exercises. Six thousand boys and girls, massed in ranks about five hundred deep; six thousand pairs of arms rising and falling exactly together; six thousand pairs of sandalled feet advancing or retreating together, at the signal of the masters of gymnastics, directing all from the tops of various little wooden towers; six thousand voices chanting at once the 'one, two, three,' of the dumb-bell drill: 'Ichi, ni,--san, shi,--go, roku,-- shichi, hachi.' Last came the curious game called 'Taking the Castle.' Two models of Japanese towers, about fifteen feet high, made with paper stretched over a framework of bamboo, were set up, one at each end of the field. Inside the castles an inflammable liquid had been placed in open vessels, so that if the vessels were overturned the whole fabric would take fire. The boys, divided into two parties, bombarded the castles with wooden balls, which passed easily through the paper walls; and in a short time both models were making a glorious blaze. Of course the party whose castle was the first to blaze lost the game. The games began at eight o'clock in the morning, and at five in the evening came to an end. Then at a signal fully ten thousand voices pealed out the superb national anthem, 'Kimi ga yo, and concluded it with three cheers for their Imperial Majesties, the Emperor and Empress of Japan. The Japanese do not shout or roar as we do when we cheer. They chant. Each long cry is like the opening tone of an immense musical chorus: A-a-a-a-a-a-a-a..a! Sec. 6 It is no small surprise to observe how botany, geology, and other sciences are daily taught even in this remotest part of Old Japan. Plant physiology and the nature of vegetable tissues are studied under excellent microscopes, and in their relations to chemistry; and at regular intervals the instructor leads his classes into the country to illustrate the lessons of the term by examples taken from the flora of their native place. Agriculture, taught by a graduate of the famous Agricultural School at Sapporo, is practically illustrated upon farms purchased and maintained by the schools for purely educational ends. Each series of lessons in geology is supplemented by visits to the mountains about the lake, or to the tremendous cliffs of the coast, where the students are taught to familiarize themselves with forms of stratification and the visible history of rocks. The basin of the lake, and the country about Matsue, is physiographically studied, after the plans of instruction laid down in Huxley's excellent manual. Natural History, too, is taught according to the latest and best methods, and with the help of the microscope. The results of such teaching are sometimes surprising. I know of one student, a lad of only sixteen, who voluntarily collected and classified more than two hundred varieties of marine plants for a Tokyo professor. Another, a youth of seventeen, wrote down for me in my notebook, without a work of reference at hand, and, as I afterwards discovered, almost without an omission or error, a scientific list of all the butterflies to be found in the neighbourhood of the city. Sec. 7 Through the Minister of Public Instruction, His Imperial Majesty has sent to all the great public schools of the Empire a letter bearing date of the thirteenth day of the tenth month of the twenty-third year of Meiji. And the students and teachers of the various schools assemble to hear the reading of the Imperial Words on Education. At eight o'clock we of the Middle School are all waiting in our own assembly hall for the coming of the Governor, who will read the Emperor's letter in the various schools. We wait but a little while. Then the Governor comes with all the officers of the Kencho and the chief men of the city. We rise to salute him: then the national anthem is sung. Then the Governor, ascending the platform, produces the Imperial Missive--a scroll of Chinese manuscript sheathed in silk. He withdraws it slowly from its woven envelope, lifts it reverentially to his forehead, unrolls it, lifts it again to his forehead, and after a moment's dignified pause begins in that clear deep voice of his to read the melodious syllables after the ancient way, which is like a chant: 'CHO-KU-G U. Chin omommiru ni waga koso koso kuni wo.... 'We consider that the Founder of Our Empire and the ancestors of Our Imperial House placed the foundation of the country on a grand and permanent basis, and established their authority on the principles of profound humanity and benevolence. 'That Our subjects have throughout ages deserved well of the State by their loyalty and piety and by their harmonious co-operation is in accordance with the essential character of Our nation; and on these very same principles Our education has been founded. 'You, Our subjects, be therefore filial to your parents; be affectionate to your brothers; be harmonious as husbands and wives; and be faithful to your friends; conduct yourselves with propriety and carefulness; extend generosity and benevolence towards your neighbours; attend to your studies and follow your pursuits; cultivate your intellects and elevate your morals; advance public benefits and promote social interests; be always found in the good observance of the laws and constitution of the land; display your personal courage and public spirit for the sake of the country whenever required; and thus support the Imperial prerogative, which is coexistent with the Heavens and the Earth. 'Such conduct on your part will not only strengthen the character of Our good and loyal subjects, but conduce also to the maintenance of the fame of your worthy forefathers. 'This is the instruction bequeathed by Our ancestors and to be followed by Our subjects; for it is the truth which has guided and guides them in their own affairs and in their dealings towards aliens. 'We hope, therefore, We and Our subjects will regard these sacred precepts with one and the same heart in order to attain the same ends.' [3] Then the Governor and the Head-master speak a few words--dwelling upon the full significance of His Imperial Majesty's august commands, and exhorting all to remember and to obey them to the uttermost. After which the students have a holiday, to enable them the better to recollect what they have heard. Sec. 8 All teaching in the modern Japanese system of education is conducted with the utmost kindness and gentleness. The teacher is a teacher only: he is not, in the English sense of mastery, a master. He stands to his pupils in the relation of an elder brother. He never tries to impose his will upon them: he never scolds, he seldom criticizes, he scarcely ever punishes. No Japanese teacher ever strikes a pupil: such an act would cost him his post at once. He never loses his temper: to do so would disgrace him in the eyes of his boys and in the judgment of his colleagues. Practically speaking, there is no punishment in Japanese schools. Sometimes very mischievous lads are kept in the schoolhouse during recreation time; yet even this light penalty is not inflicted directly by the teacher, but by the director of the school on complaint of the teacher. The purpose in such cases is not to inflict pain by deprivation of enjoyment, but to give public illustration of a fault; and in the great majority of instances, consciousness of the fault thus brought home to a lad before his comrades is quite enough to prevent its repetition. No such cruel punition as that of forcing a dull pupil to learn an additional task, or of sentencing him to strain his eyes copying four or five hundred lines, is ever dreamed of. Nor would such forms of punishment, in the present state of things, be long tolerated by the pupils themselves. The general policy of the educational authorities everywhere throughout the empire is to get rid of students who cannot be perfectly well managed without punishment; and expulsions, nevertheless, are rare. I often see a pretty spectacle on my way home from the school, when I take the short cut through the castle grounds. A class of about thirty little boys, in kimono and sandals, bareheaded, being taught to march and to sing by a handsome young teacher, also in Japanese dress. While they sing, they are drawn up in line; and keep time with their little bare feet. The teacher has a pleasant high clear tenor: he stands at one end of the rank and sings a single line of the song. Then all the children sing it after him. Then he sings a second line, and they repeat it. If any mistakes are made, they have to sing the verse again. It is the Song of Kusunoki Masashige, noblest of Japanese heroes and patriots. Sec. 9 I have said that severity on the part of teachers would scarcely be tolerated by the students themselves--a fact which may sound strange to English or American ears. Tom Brown's school does not exist in Japan; the ordinary public school much more resembles the ideal Italian institution so charmingly painted for us in the Cuore of De Amicis. Japanese students furthermore claim and enjoy an independence contrary to all Occidental ideas of disciplinary necessity. In the Occident the master expels the pupil. In Japan it happens quite as often that the pupil expels the master. Each public school is an earnest, spirited little republic, to which director and teachers stand only in the relation of president and cabinet. They are indeed appointed by the prefectural government upon recommendation by the Educational Bureau at the capital; but in actual practice they maintain their positions by virtue of their capacity and personal character as estimated by their students, and are likely to be deposed by a revolutionary movement whenever found wanting. It has been alleged that the students frequently abuse their power. But this allegation has been made by European residents, strongly prejudiced in favour of masterful English ways of discipline. (I recollect that an English Yokohama paper, in this connection, advocated the introduction of the birch.) My own observations have convinced me, as larger experience has convinced some others, that in most instances of pupils rebelling against a teacher, reason is upon their side. They will rarely insult a teacher whom they dislike, or cause any disturbance in his class: they will simply refuse to attend school until he be removed. Personal feeling may often be a secondary, but it is seldom, so far as I have been able to learn, the primary cause for such a demand. A teacher whose manners are unsympathetic, or even positively disagreeable, will be nevertheless obeyed and revered while his students remain persuaded of his capacity as a teacher, and his sense of justice; and they are as keen to discern ability as they are to detect partiality. And, on the other hand, an amiable disposition alone will never atone with them either for want of knowledge or for want of skill to impart it. I knew one case, in a neighbouring public school, of a demand by the students for the removal of their professor of chemistry. In making their complaint, they frankly declared: 'We like him. He is kind to all of us; he does the best he can. But he does not know enough to teach us as we wish to be taught. lie cannot answer our questions. He cannot explain the experiments which he shows us. Our former teacher could do all these things. We must have another teacher.' Investigation proved that the lads were quite right. The young teacher had graduated at the university; he had come well recommended: but he had no thorough knowledge of the science which he undertook to impart, and no experience as a teacher. The instructor's success in Japan is not guaranteed by a degree, but by his practical knowledge and his capacity to communicate it simply and thoroughly. Sec. 10 November 3, 1890 To-day is the birthday of His Majesty the Emperor. It is a public holiday throughout Japan; and there will be no teaching this morning. But at eight o'clock all the students and instructors enter the great assembly hall of the Jinjo Chugakko to honour the anniversary of His Majesty's august birth. On the platform of the assembly hall a table, covered with dark silk, has been placed; and upon this table the portraits of Their Imperial Majesties, the Emperor and the Empress of Japan, stand side by side upright, framed in gold. The alcove above the platform has been decorated with flags and wreaths. Presently the Governor enters, looking like a French general in his gold-embroidered uniform of office, and followed by the Mayor of the city, the Chief Military Officer, the Chief of Police, and all the officials of the provincial government. These take their places in silence to left and right of the plat form. Then the school organ suddenly rolls out the slow, solemn, beautiful national anthem; and all present chant those ancient syllables, made sacred by the reverential love of a century of generations: Ki-mi ga-a yo-o wa Chi-yo ni-i-i ya-chi-yo ni sa-za-red I-shi-no I-wa o to na-ri-te Ko-ke no Mu-u su-u ma-a-a-de [4] The anthem ceases. The Governor advances with a slow dignified step from the right side of the apartment to the centre of the open space before the platform and the portraits of Their Majesties, turns his face to them, and bows profoundly. Then he takes three steps forward toward the platform, and halts, and bows again. Then he takes three more steps forward, and bows still more profoundly. Then he retires, walking backward six steps, and bows once more. Then he returns to his place. After this the teachers, by parties of six, perform the same beautiful ceremony. When all have saluted the portrait of His Imperial Majesty, the Governor ascends the platform and makes a few eloquent remarks to the students about their duty to their Emperor, to their country, and to their teachers. Then the anthem is sung again; and all disperse to amuse themselves for the rest of the day. Sec. 11 March 1 1891. The majority of the students of the Jinjo Chugakko are day-scholars only (externes, as we would say in France): they go to school in the morning, take their noon meal at home, and return at one o'clock to attend the brief afternoon classes. All the city students live with their own families; but there are many boys from remote country districts who have no city relatives, and for such the school furnishes boarding-houses, where a wholesome moral discipline is maintained by special masters. They are free, however, if they have sufficient means, to choose another boarding-house (provided it be a respectable one), or to find quarters in some good family; but few adopt either course. I doubt whether in any other country the cost of education--education of the most excellent and advanced kind--is so little as in Japan. The Izumo student is able to live at a figure so far below the Occidental idea of necessary expenditure that the mere statement of it can scarcely fail to surprise the reader. A sum equal in American money to about twenty dollars supplies him with board and lodging for one year. The whole of his expenses, including school fees, are about seven dollars a month. For his room and three ample meals a day he pays every four weeks only one yen eighty-five sen--not much more than a dollar and a half in American currency. If very, very poor, he will not be obliged to wear a uniform; but nearly all students of the higher classes do wear uniforms, as the cost of a complete uniform, including cap and shoes of leather, is only about three and a half yen for the cheaper quality. Those who do not wear leather shoes, however, are required, while in the school, to exchange their noisy wooden geta for zori or light straw sandals. Sec. 12 But the mental education so admirably imparted in an ordinary middle school is not, after all, so cheaply acquired by the student as might be imagined from the cost of living and the low rate of school fees. For Nature exacts a heavier school fee, and rigidly collects her debt--in human life. To understand why, one should remember that the modern knowledge which the modern Izumo student must acquire upon a diet of boiled rice and bean-curd was discovered, developed, and synthetised by minds strengthened upon a costly diet of flesh. National underfeeding offers the most cruel problem which the educators of Japan must solve in order that she may become fully able to assimilate the civilization we have thrust upon her. As Herbert Spencer has pointed out, the degree of human energy, physical or intellectual, must depend upon the nutritiveness of food; and history shows that the well-fed races have been the energetic and the dominant. Perhaps mind will rule in the future of nations; but mind is a mode of force, and must be fed--through the stomach. The thoughts that have shaken the world were never framed upon bread and water: they were created by beefsteak and mutton-chops, by ham and eggs, by pork and puddings, and were stimulated by generous wines, strong ales, and strong coffee. And science also teaches us that the growing child or youth requires an even more nutritious diet than the adult; and that the student especially needs strong nourishment to repair the physical waste involved by brain-exertion. And what is the waste entailed upon the Japanese schoolboy's system by study? It is certainly greater than that which the system of the European or American student must suffer at the same period of life. Seven years of study are required to give the Japanese youth merely the necessary knowledge of his own triple system of ideographs--or, in less accurate but plainer speech, the enormous alphabet of his native literature. That literature, also, he must study, and the art of two forms of his language--the written and the spoken: likewise, of course, he must learn native history and native morals. Besides these Oriental studies, his course includes foreign history, geography, arithmetic, astronomy, physics, geometry, natural history, agriculture, chemistry, drawing, and mathematics. Worst of all, he must learn English--a language of which the difficulty to the Japanese cannot be even faintly imagined by anyone unfamiliar with the construction of the native tongue--a language so different from his own that the very simplest Japanese phrase cannot be intelligibly rendered into English by a literal translation of the words or even the form of the thought. And he must learn all this upon a diet no English boy could live on; and always thinly clad in his poor cotton dress without even a fire in his schoolroom during the terrible winter, only a hibachi containing a few lumps of glowing charcoal in a bed of ashes. [5] Is it to be wondered at that even those Japanese students who pass successfully 'through all the educational courses the Empire can open to them can only in rare instances show results of their long training as large as those manifested by students of the West? Better conditions are coming; but at present, under the new strain, young bodies and young minds too often give way. And those who break down are not the dullards, but the pride of schools, the captains of classes. Sec. 13 Yet, so far as the finances of the schools allow, everything possible is done to make the students both healthy and happy--to furnish them with ample opportunities both for physical exercise and for mental enjoyment. Though the course of study is severe, the hours are not long: and one of the daily five is devoted to military drill--made more interesting to the lads by the use of real rifles and bayonets, furnished by Government. There is a fine gymnastic ground near the school, furnished with trapezes, parallel bars, vaulting horses, etc.; and there are two masters of gymnastics attached to the Middle School alone. There are row-boats, in which the boys can take their pleasure on the beautiful lake whenever the weather permits. There is an excellent fencing-school conducted by the Governor himself, who, although so heavy a man, is reckoned one of the best fencers of his own generation. The style taught is the old one, requiring the use of both hands to wield the sword; thrusting is little attempted, it is nearly all heavy slashing. The foils are made of long splinters of bamboo tied together so as to form something resembling elongated fasces: masks and wadded coats protect the head and body, for the blows given are heavy. This sort of fencing requires considerable agility, and gives more active exercise than our severer Western styles. Yet another form of healthy exercise consists of long journeys on foot to famous places. Special holidays are allowed for these. The students march out of town in military order, accompanied by some of their favourite teachers, and perhaps a servant to cook for them. Thus they may travel for a hundred, or even a hundred and fifty miles and back; but if the journey is to be a very long one, only the strong lads are allowed to go. They walk in waraji, the true straw sandal, closely tied to the naked foot, which it leaves perfectly supple and free, without blistering or producing corns. They sleep at night in Buddhist temples; and their cooking is done in the open fields, like that of soldiers in camp. For those little inclined to such sturdy exercise there is a school library which is growing every year. There is also a monthly school magazine, edited and published by the boys. And there is a Students' Society, at whose regular meetings debates are held upon all conceivable subjects of interest to students. Sec. 14 April 4, 1891. The students of the third, fourth, and fifth year classes write for me once a week brief English compositions upon easy themes which I select for them. As a rule the themes are Japanese. Considering the immense difficulty of the English language to Japanese students, the ability of some of my boys to express their thoughts in it is astonishing. Their compositions have also another interest for me as revelations, not of individual character, but of national sentiment, or of aggregate sentiment of some sort or other. What seems to me most surprising in the compositions of the average Japanese student is that they have no personal cachet at all. Even the handwriting of twenty English compositions will be found to have a curious family resemblance; and striking exceptions are too few to affect the rule. Here is one of the best compositions on my table, by a student at the head of his class. Only a few idiomatic errors have been corrected: THE MOON 'The Moon appears melancholy to those who are sad, and joyous to those who are happy. The Moon makes memories of home come to those who travel, and creates homesickness. So when the Emperor Godaigo, having been banished to Oki by the traitor Hojo, beheld the moonlight upon the seashore, he cried out, "The Moon is heartless!" 'The sight of the Moon makes an immeasurable feeling in our hearts when we look up at it through the clear air of a beauteous night. 'Our hearts ought to be pure and calm like the light of the Moon. 'Poets often compare the Moon to a Japanese [metal] mirror (kagami); and indeed its shape is the same when it is full. 'The refined man amuses himself with the Moon. He seeks some house looking out upon water, to watch the Moon, and to make verses about it. 'The best places from which to see the Moon are Tsukigashi, and the mountain Obasute. 'The light of the Moon shines alike upon foul and pure, upon high and low. That beautiful Lamp is neither yours nor mine, but everybody's. 'When we look at the Moon we should remember that its waxing and its waning are the signs of the truth that the culmination of all things is likewise the beginning of their decline.' Any person totally unfamiliar with Japanese educational methods might presume that the foregoing composition shows some original power of thought and imagination. But this is not the case. I found the same thoughts and comparisons in thirty other compositions upon the same subject. Indeed, the compositions of any number of middle-school students upon the same subject are certain to be very much alike in idea and sentiment--though they are none the less charming for that. As a rule the Japanese student shows little originality in the line of imagination. His imagination was made for him long centuries ago--partly in China, partly in his native land. From his childhood he is trained to see and to feel Nature exactly in the manner of those wondrous artists who, with a few swift brushstrokes, fling down upon a sheet of paper the colour-sensation of a chilly dawn, a fervid noon, an autumn evening. Through all his boyhood he is taught to commit to memory the most beautiful thoughts and comparisons to be found in his ancient native literature. Every boy has thus learned that the vision of Fuji against the blue resembles a white half-opened fan, hanging inverted in the sky. Every boy knows that cherry-trees in full blossom look as if the most delicate of flushed summer clouds were caught in their branches. Every boy knows the comparison between the falling of certain leaves on snow and the casting down of texts upon a sheet of white paper with a brush. Every boy and girl knows the verses comparing the print of cat's-feet on snow to plum-flowers, [6] and that comparing the impression of bokkuri on snow to the Japanese character for the number 'two.' These were thoughts of old, old poets; and it would be very hard to invent prettier ones. Artistic power in composition is chiefly shown by the correct memorising and clever combination of these old thoughts. And the students have been equally well trained to discover a moral in almost everything, animate or inanimate. I have tried them with a hundred subjects--Japanese subjects--for composition; I have never found them to fail in discovering a moral when the theme was a native one. If I suggested 'Fire-flies,' they at once approved the topic, and wrote for me the story of that Chinese student who, being too poor to pay for a lamp, imprisoned many fireflies in a paper lantern, and thus was able to obtain light enough to study after dark, and to become eventually a great scholar. If I said 'Frogs,' they wrote for me the legend of Ono- no-Tofu, who was persuaded to become a learned celebrity by witnessing the tireless perseverance of a frog trying to leap up to a willow- branch. I subjoin a few specimens of the moral ideas which I thus evoked. I have corrected some common mistakes in the originals, but have suffered a few singularities to stand: THE BOTAN 'The botan [Japanese peony] is large and beautiful to see; but it has a disagreeable smell. This should make us remember that what is only outwardly beautiful in human society should not attract us. To be attracted by beauty only may lead us into fearful and fatal misfortune. The best place to see the botan is the island of Daikonshima in the lake Nakaumi. There in the season of its flowering all the island is red with its blossoms. [7] THE DRAGON 'When the Dragon tries to ride the clouds and come into heaven there happens immediately a furious storm. When the Dragon dwells on the ground it is supposed to take the form of a stone or other object; but when it wants to rise it calls a cloud. Its body is composed of parts of many animals. It has the eyes of a tiger and the horns of a deer and the body of a crocodile and the claws of an eagle and two trunks like the trunk of an elephant. It has a moral. We should try to be like the dragon, and find out and adopt all the good qualities of others.' At the close of this essay on the dragon is a note to the teacher, saying: 'I believe not there is any Dragon. But there are many stories and curious pictures about Dragon.' MOSQUITOES 'On summer nights we hear the sound of faint voices; and little things come and sting our bodies very violently. We call .them ka--in English "mosquitoes." I think the sting is useful for us, because if we begin to sleep, the ka shall come and sting us, uttering a small voice; then we shall be bringed back to study by the sting.' The following, by a lad of sixteen, is submitted only as a characteristic expression of half-formed ideas about a less familiar subject: EUROPEAN AND JAPANESE CUSTOMS 'Europeans wear very narrow clothes and they wear shoes always in the house. Japanese wear clothes which are very lenient and they do not shoe except when they walk out-of-the-door. 'What we think very strange is that in Europe every wife loves her husband more than her parents. In Nippon there is no wife who more loves not her parents than her husband. 'And Europeans walk out in the road with their wives, which we utterly refuse to, except on the festival of Hachiman. 'The Japanese woman is treated by man as a servant, while the European woman is respected as a master. I think these customs are both bad. 'We think it is very much trouble to treat European ladies; and we do not know why ladies are so much respected by Europeans.' Conversation in the class-room about foreign subjects is often equally amusing and suggestive: 'Teacher, I have been told that if a European and his father and his wife were all to fall into the sea together, and that he only could swim, he would try to save his wife first. Would he really?' 'Probably,' I reply. 'But why?' 'One reason is that Europeans consider it a man's duty to help the weaker first--especially women and children.' 'And does a European love his wife more than his father and mother?' 'Not always--but generally, perhaps, he does.' 'Why, Teacher, according to our ideas that is very immoral.' 'Teacher, how do European women carry their babies?' 'In their arms.' 'Very tiring! And how far can a woman walk carrying a baby in her arms?' 'A strong woman can walk many miles with a child in her arms.' 'But she cannot use her hands while she is carrying a baby that way, can she?' 'Not very well.' 'Then it is a very bad way to carry babies,' etc. Sec. 15 May 1, 1891. My favourite students often visit me of afternoons. They first send me their cards, to announce their presence. On being told to come in they leave their footgear on the doorstep, enter my little study, prostrate themselves; and we all squat down together on the floor, which is in all Japanese houses like a soft mattress. The servant brings zabuton or small cushions to kneel upon, and cakes, and tea. To sit as the Japanese do requires practice; and some Europeans can never acquire the habit. To acquire it, indeed, one must become accustomed to wearing Japanese costume. But once the habit of thus sitting has been formed, one finds it the most natural and easy of positions, and assumes it by preference for eating, reading, smoking, or chatting. It is not to be recommended, perhaps, for writing with a European pen--as the motion in our Occidental style of writing is from the supported wrist; but it is the best posture for writing with the Japanese fude, in using which the whole arm is unsupported, and the motion from the elbow. After having become habituated to Japanese habits for more than a year, I must confess that I find it now somewhat irksome to use a chair. When we have all greeted each other, and taken our places upon the kneeling cushions, a little polite silence ensues, which I am the first to break. Some of the lads speak a good deal of English. They understand me well when I pronounce every word slowly and distinctly--using simple phrases, and avoiding idioms. When a word with which they are not familiar must be used, we refer to a good English-Japanese dictionary, which gives each vernacular meaning both in the kana and in the Chinese characters. Usually my young visitors stay a long time, and their stay is rarely tiresome. Their conversation and their thoughts are of the simplest and frankest. They do not come to learn: they know that to ask their teacher to teach out of school would be unjust. They speak chiefly of things which they think have some particular interest for me. Sometimes they scarcely speak at all, but appear to sink into a sort of happy reverie. What they come really for is the quiet pleasure of sympathy. Not an intellectual sympathy, but the sympathy of pure goodwill: the simple pleasure of being quite comfortable with a friend. They peep at my books and pictures; and sometimes they bring books and pictures to show me-- delightfully queer things--family heirlooms which I regret much that I cannot buy. They also like to look at my garden, and enjoy all that is in it even more than I. Often they bring me gifts of flowers. Never by any possible chance are they troublesome, impolite, curious, or even talkative. Courtesy in its utmost possible exquisiteness--an exquisiteness of which even the French have no conception--seems natural to the Izumo boy as the colour of his hair or the tint of his skin. Nor is he less kind than courteous. To contrive pleasurable surprises for me is one of the particular delights of my boys; and they either bring or cause to be brought to the house all sorts of strange things. Of all the strange or beautiful things which I am thus privileged to examine, none gives me so much pleasure as a certain wonderful kakemono of Amida Nyorai. It is rather large picture, and has been borrowed from a priest that I may see it. The Buddha stands in the attitude of exhortation, with one, hand uplifted. Behind his head a huge moon makes an aureole and across the face of that moon stream winding lines of thinnest cloud. Beneath his feet, like a rolling of smoke, curl heavier and darker clouds. Merely as a work of colour and design, the thing is a marvel. But the real wonder of it is not in colour or design at all. Minute examination reveals the astonishing fact that every shadow and clouding is formed by a fairy text of Chinese characters so minute that only a keen eye can discern them; and this text is the entire text of two famed sutras--the Kwammu-ryjo-kyo and the Amida-kyo--'text no larger than the limbs of fleas.' And all the strong dark lines of the figure, such as the seams of the Buddha's robe, are formed by the characters of the holy invocation of the Shin-shu sect, repeated thousands of times: 'Namu Amida Butsu!' Infinite patience, tireless silent labour of loving faith, in some dim temple, long ago. Another day one of my boys persuades his father to let him bring to my house a wonderful statue of Koshi (Confucius), made, I am told, in China, toward the close of the period of the Ming dynasty. I am also assured it is the first time the statue has ever been removed from the family residence to be shown to anyone. Previously, whoever desired to pay it reverence had to visit the house. It is truly a beautiful bronze. The figure of a smiling, bearded old man, with fingers uplifted and lips apart as if discoursing. He wears quaint Chinese shoes, and his flowing robes are adorned with the figure of the mystic phoenix. The microscopic finish of detail seems indeed to reveal the wonderful cunning of a Chinese hand: each tooth, each hair, looks as though it had been made the subject of a special study. Another student conducts me to the home of one of his relatives, that I may see a cat made of wood, said to have been chiselled by the famed Hidari Jingoro--a cat crouching and watching, and so life-like that real cats 'have been known to put up their backs and spit at it.' Sec. 16 Nevertheless I have a private conviction that some old artists even now living in Matsue could make a still more wonderful cat. Among these is the venerable Arakawa Junosuke, who wrought many rare things for the Daimyo of Izumo in the Tempo era, and whose acquaintance I have been enabled to make through my school-friends. One evening he brings to my house something very odd to show me, concealed in his sleeve. It is a doll: just a small carven and painted head without a body,--the body being represented by a tiny robe only, attached to the neck. Yet as Arakawa Junosuke manipulates it, it seems to become alive. The back of its head is like the back of a very old man's head; but its face is the face of an amused child, and there is scarcely any forehead nor any evidence of a thinking disposition. And whatever way the head is turned, it looks so funny that one cannot help laughing at it. It represents a kirakubo--what we might call in English 'a jolly old boy,'--one who is naturally too hearty and too innocent to feel trouble of any sort. It is not an original, but a model of a very famous original--whose history is recorded in a faded scroll which Arakawa takes out of his other sleeve, and which a friend translates for me. This little history throws a curious light upon the simple-hearted ways of Japanese life and thought in other centuries: 'Two hundred and sixty years ago this doll was made by a famous maker of No-masks in the city of Kyoto, for the Emperor Go-midzu-no-O. The Emperor used to have it placed beside his pillow each night before he slept, and was very fond of it. And he composed the following poem concerning it: Yo no naka wo Kiraku ni kurase Nani goto mo Omoeba omou Omowaneba koso. [8]' 'On the death of the Emperor this doll became the property of Prince Konoye, in whose family it is said to be still preserved. 'About one hundred and seven years ago, the then Ex-Empress, whose posthumous name is Sei-Kwa-Mon-Yin, borrowed the doll from Prince Konoye, and ordered a copy of it to be made. This copy she kept always beside her, and was very fond of it. 'After the death of the good Empress this doll was given to a lady of the court, whose family name is not recorded. Afterwards this lady, for reasons which are not known, cut off her hair and became a Buddhist nun --taking the name of Shingyo-in. 'And one who knew the Nun Shingyo-in--a man whose name was Kondo-ju- haku-in-Hokyo--had the honour of receiving the doll as a gift. 'Now I, who write this document, at one time fell sick; and my sickness was caused by despondency. And my friend Kondo-ju-haku-in-Hokyo, coming to see me, said: "I have in my house something which will make you well." And he went home and, presently returning, brought to me this doll, and lent it to me--putting it by my pillow that I might see it and laugh at it. 'Afterward, I myself, having called upon the Nun Shingyo-in, whom I now also have the honour to know, wrote down the history of the doll, and make a poem thereupon.' (Dated about ninety years ago: no signature.) Sec. 17 June 1, 1891 I find among the students a healthy tone of scepticism in regard to certain forms of popular belief. Scientific education is rapidly destroying credulity in old superstitions yet current among the unlettered, and especially among the peasantry--as, for instance, faith in mamori and ofuda. The outward forms of Buddhism--its images, its relics, its commoner practices--affect the average student very little. He is not, as a foreigner may be, interested in iconography, or religious folklore, or the comparative study of religions; and in nine cases out of ten he is rather ashamed of the signs and tokens of popular faith all around him. But the deeper religious sense, which underlies all symbolism, remains with him; and the Monistic Idea in Buddhism is being strengthened and expanded, rather than weakened, by the new education. What is true of the effect of the public schools upon the lower Buddhism is equally true of its effect upon the lower Shinto. Shinto the students all sincerely are, or very nearly all; yet not as fervent worshippers of certain Kami, but as rigid observers of what the higher Shinto signifies--loyalty, filial piety, obedience to parents, teachers, and superiors, and respect to ancestors. For Shinto means more than faith. When, for the first time, I stood before the shrine of the Great Deity of Kitzuki, as the first Occidental to whom that privilege had been accorded, not without a sense of awe there came to me the Sec. 'This is the Shrine of the Father of a Race; this is the symbolic centre of a nation's reverence for its past.' And I, too, paid reverence to the memory of the progenitor of this people. As I then felt, so feels the intelligent student of the Meiji era whom education has lifted above the common plane of popular creeds. And Shinto also means for him--whether he reasons upon the question or not-- all the ethics of the family, and all that spirit of loyalty which has become so innate that, at the call of duty, life itself ceases to have value save as an instrument for duty's accomplishment. As yet, this Orient little needs to reason about the origin of its loftier ethics. Imagine the musical sense in our own race so developed that a child could play a complicated instrument so soon as the little fingers gained sufficient force and flexibility to strike the notes. By some such comparison only can one obtain a just idea of what inherent religion and instinctive duty signify in Izumo. Of the rude and aggressive form of scepticism so common in the Occident, which is the natural reaction after sudden emancipation from superstitious belief, I find no trace among my students. But such sentiment may be found elsewhere--especially in Tokyo--among the university students, one of whom, upon hearing the tones of a magnificent temple bell, exclaimed to a friend of mine: 'Is it not a shame that in this nineteenth century we must still hear such a sound?' For the benefit of curious travellers, however, I may here take occasion to observe that to talk Buddhism to Japanese gentlemen of the new school is in just as bad taste as to talk Christianity at home to men of that class whom knowledge has placed above creeds and forms. There are, of course, Japanese scholars willing to aid researches of foreign scholars in religion or in folk-lore; but these specialists do not undertake to gratify idle curiosity of the 'globe-trotting' description. I may also say that the foreigner desirous to learn the religious ideas or superstitions of the common people must obtain them from the people themselves--not from the educated classes. Sec. 18 Among all my favourite students--two or three from each class--I cannot decide whom I like the best. Each has a particular merit of his own. But I think the names and faces of those of whom I am about to speak will longest remain vivid in my remembrance--Ishihara, Otani-Masanobu, Adzukizawa, Yokogi, Shida. Ishihara is a samurai a very influential lad in his class because of his uncommon force of character. Compared with others, he has a somewhat brusque, independent manner, pleasing, however, by its honest manliness. He says everything he thinks, and precisely in the tone that he thinks it, even to the degree of being a little embarrassing sometimes. He does not hesitate, for example, to find fault with a teacher's method of explanation, and to insist upon a more lucid one. He has criticized me more than once; but I never found that he was wrong. We like each other very much. He often brings me flowers. One day that he had brought two beautiful sprays of plum-blossoms, he said to me: 'I saw you bow before our Emperor's picture at the ceremony on the birthday of His Majesty. You are not like a former English teacher we had.' 'How?' 'He said we were savages.' 'Why?' 'He said there is nothing respectable except God--his God--and that only vulgar and ignorant people respect anything else.' 'Where did he come from?' 'He was a Christian clergyman, and said he was an English subject.' 'But if he was an English subject, he was bound to respect Her Majesty the Queen. He could not even enter the office of a British consul without removing his hat.' 'I don't know what he did in the country he came from. But that was what he said. Now we think we should love and honour our Emperor. We think it is a duty. We think it is a joy. We think it is happiness to be able to give our lives for our Emperor. [9] But he said we were only savages-- ignorant savages. What do you think of that?' 'I think, my dear lad, that he himself was a savage--a vulgar, ignorant, savage bigot. I think it is your highest social duty to honour your Emperor, to obey his laws, and to be ready to give your blood whenever he may require it of you for the sake of Japan. I think it is your duty to respect the gods of your fathers, the religion of your country--even if you yourself cannot believe all that others believe. And I think, also, that it is your duty, for your Emperor's sake and for your country's sake, to resent any such wicked and vulgar language as that you have told me of, no matter by whom uttered.' Masanobu visits me seldom and always comes alone. A slender, handsome lad, with rather feminine features, reserved and perfectly self- possessed in manner, refined. He is somewhat serious, does not often smile; and I never heard him laugh. He has risen to the head of his class, and appears to remain there without any extraordinary effort. Much of his leisure time he devotes to botany--collecting and classifying plants. He is a musician, like all the male members of his family. He plays a variety of instruments never seen or heard of in the West, including flutes of marble, flutes of ivory, flutes of bamboo of wonderful shapes and tones, and that shrill Chinese instrument called sho--a sort of mouth-organ consisting of seventeen tubes of different lengths fixed in a silver frame. He first explained to me the uses in temple music of the taiko and shoko, which are drums; of the flutes called fei or teki; of the flageolet termed hichiriki; and of the kakko, which is a little drum shaped like a spool with very narrow waist, On great Buddhist festivals, Masanobu and his father and his brothers are the musicians in the temple services, and they play the strange music called Ojo and Batto--music which at first no Western ear can feel pleasure in, but which, when often heard, becomes comprehensible, and is found to possess a weird charm of its own. When Masanobu comes to the house, it is usually in order to invite me to attend some Buddhist or Shinto festival (matsuri) which he knows will interest me. Adzukizawa bears so little resemblance to Masanobu that one might suppose the two belonged to totally different races. Adzukizawa is large, raw-boned, heavy-looking, with a face singularly like that of a North American Indian. His people are not rich; he can afford few pleasures which cost money, except one--buying books. Even to be able to do this he works in his leisure hours to earn money. He is a perfect bookworm, a natural-born researcher, a collector of curious documents, a haunter of all the queer second-hand stores in Teramachi and other streets where old manuscripts or prints are on sale as waste paper. He is an omnivorous reader, and a perpetual borrower of volumes, which he always returns in perfect condition after having copied what he deemed of most value to him. But his special delight is philosophy and the history of philosophers in all countries. He has read various epitomes of the history of philosophy in the Occident, and everything of modern philosophy which has been translated into Japanese--including Spencer's First Principles. I have been able to introduce him to Lewes and John Fiske--both of which he appreciates,--although the strain of studying philosophy in English is no small one. Happily he is so strong that no amount of study is likely to injure his health, and his nerves are tough as wire. He is quite an ascetic withal. As it is the Japanese custom to set cakes and tea before visitors, I always have both in readiness, and an especially fine quality of kwashi, made at Kitzuki, of which the students are very fond. Adzukizawa alone refuses to taste cakes or confectionery of any kind, saying: 'As I am the youngest brother, I must begin to earn my own living soon. I shall have to endure much hardship. And if I allow myself to like dainties now, I shall only suffer more later on.' Adzukizawa has seen much of human life and character. He is naturally observant; and he has managed in some extraordinary way to learn the history of everybody in Matsue. He has brought me old tattered prints to prove that the opinions now held by our director are diametrically opposed to the opinions he advocated fourteen years ago in a public address. I asked the director about it. He laughed and said, 'Of course that is Adzukizawa! But he is right: I was very young then.' And I wonder if Adzukizawa was ever young. Yokogi, Adzukizawa's dearest friend, is a very rare visitor; for he is always studying at home. He is always first in his class--the third year class--while Adzukizawa is fourth. Adzukizawa's account of the beginning of their acquaintance is this: 'I watched him when he came and saw that he spoke very little, walked very quickly, and looked straight into everybody's eyes. So I knew he had a particular character. I like to know people with a particular character.' Adzukizawa was perfectly right: under a very gentle exterior, Yokogi has an extremely strong character. He is the son of a carpenter; and his parents could not afford to send him to the Middle School. But he had shown such exceptional qualities while in the Elementary School that a wealthy man became interested in him, and offered to pay for his education. [10] He is now the pride of the school. He has a remarkably placid face, with peculiarly long eyes, and a delicious smile. In class he is always asking intelligent questions--questions so original that I am sometimes extremely puzzled how to answer them; and he never ceases to ask until the explanation is quite satisfactory to himself. He never cares about the opinion of his comrades if he thinks he is right. On one occasion when the whole class refused to attend the lectures of a new teacher of physics, Yokogi alone refused to act with them--arguing that although the teacher was not all that could be desired, there was no immediate possibility of his removal, and no just reason for making unhappy a man who, though unskilled, was sincerely doing his best. Adzukizawa finally stood by him. These two alone attended the lectures until the remainder of the students, two weeks later, found that Yokogi's views were rational. On another occasion when some vulgar proselytism was attempted by a Christian missionary, Yokogi went boldly to the proselytiser's house, argued with him on the morality of his effort, and reduced him to silence. Some of his comrades praised his cleverness in the argument. 'I am not clever,' he made answer: 'it does not require cleverness to argue against what is morally wrong; it requires only the knowledge that one is morally right.' At least such is about the translation of what he said as told me by Adzukizawa. Shida, another visitor, is a very delicate, sensitive boy, whose soul is full of art. He is very skilful at drawing and painting; and he has a wonderful set of picture-books by the Old Japanese masters. The last time he came he brought some prints to show me--rare ones--fairy maidens and ghosts. As I looked at his beautiful pale face and weirdly frail fingers, I could not help fearing for him,--fearing that he might soon become a little ghost. I have not seen him now for more than two months. He has been very, very ill; and his lungs are so weak that the doctor has forbidden him to converse. But Adzukizawa has been to visit him, and brings me this translation of a Japanese letter which the sick boy wrote and pasted upon the wall above his bed: 'Thou, my Lord-Soul, dost govern me. Thou knowest that I cannot now govern myself. Deign, I pray thee, to let me be cured speedily. Do not suffer me to speak much. Make me to obey in all things the command of the physician. 'This ninth day of the eleventh month of the twenty-fourth year of Meiji. 'From the sick body of Shida to his Soul.' Sec. 19 September 4, 1891. The long summer vacation is over; a new school year begins. There have been many changes. Some of the boys I taught are dead. Others have graduated and gone away from Matsue for ever. Some teachers, too, have left the school, and their places have been filled; and there is a new Director. And the dear good Governor has gone--been transferred to cold Niigata in the north-west. It was a promotion. But he had ruled Izumo for seven years, and everybody loved him, especially, perhaps, the students, who looked upon him as a father. All the population of the city crowded to the river to bid him farewell. The streets through which he passed on his way to take the steamer, the bridge, the wharves, even the roofs were thronged with multitudes eager to see his face for the last time. Thousands were weeping. And as the steamer glided from the wharf such a cry arose--'A-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a!' It was intended for a cheer, but it seemed to me the cry of a whole city sorrowing, and so plaintive that I hope never to hear such a cry again. The names and faces of the younger classes are all strange to me. Doubtless this was why the sensation of my first day's teaching in the school came back to me with extraordinary vividness when I entered the class-room of First Division A this morning. Strangely pleasant is the first sensation of a Japanese class, as you look over the ranges of young faces before you. There is nothing in them familiar to inexperienced Western eyes; yet there is an indescribable pleasant something common to all. Those traits have nothing incisive, nothing forcible: compared with Occidental faces they seem but 'half- sketched,' so soft their outlines are--indicating neither aggressiveness nor shyness, neither eccentricity nor sympathy, neither curiosity nor indifference. Some, although faces of youths well grown, have a childish freshness and frankness indescribable; some are as uninteresting as others are attractive; a few are beautifully feminine. But all are equally characterized by a singular placidity--expressing neither love nor hate nor anything save perfect repose and gentleness--like the dreamy placidity of Buddhist images. At a later day you will no longer recognise this aspect of passionless composure: with growing acquaintance each face will become more and more individualised for you by characteristics before imperceptible. But the recollection of that first impression will remain with you and the time will come when you will find, by many varied experiences, how strangely it foreshadowed something in Japanese character to be fully learned only after years of familiarity. You will recognize in the memory of that first impression one glimpse of the race-soul, with its impersonal lovableness and its impersonal weaknesses--one glimpse of the nature of a life in which the Occidental, dwelling alone, feels a psychic comfort comparable only to the nervous relief of suddenly emerging from some stifling atmospheric pressure into thin, clear, free living air. Sec. 20 Was it not the eccentric Fourier who wrote about the horrible faces of 'the _civilizés_'? Whoever it was, would have found seeming confirmation of his physiognomical theory could he have known the effect produced by the first sight of European faces in the most eastern East. What we are taught at home to consider handsome, interesting, or characteristic in physiognomy does not produce the same impression in China or Japan. Shades of facial expression familiar to us as letters of our own alphabet are not perceived at all in Western features by these Orientals at first acquaintance. What they discern at once is the race- characteristic, not the individuality. The evolutional meaning of the deep-set Western eye, protruding brow, accipitrine nose, ponderous jaw-- symbols of aggressive force and habit--was revealed to the gentler race by the same sort of intuition through which a tame animal immediately comprehends the dangerous nature of the first predatory enemy which it sees. To Europeans the smooth-featured, slender, low-statured Japanese seemed like boys; and 'boy' is the term by which the native attendant of a Yokohama merchant is still called. To Japanese the first red-haired, rowdy, drunken European sailors seemed fiends, shojo, demons of the sea; and by the Chinese the Occidentals are still called 'foreign devils.' The great stature and massive strength and fierce gait of foreigners in Japan enhanced the strange impression created by their faces. Children cried for fear on seeing them pass through the streets. And in remoter districts, Japanese children are still apt to cry at the first sight of a European or American face. A lady of Matsue related in my presence this curious souvenir of her childhood: 'When I was a very little girl,' she said, our daimyo hired a foreigner to teach the military art. My father and a great many samurai went to receive the foreigner; and all the people lined the streets to see--for no foreigner had ever come to Izumo before; and we all went to look. The foreigner came by ship: there were no steamboats here then. He was very tall, and walked quickly with long steps; and the children began to cry at the sight of him, because his face was not like the faces of the people of Nihon. My little brother cried out loud, and hid his face in mother's robe; and mother reproved him and said: "This foreigner is a very good man who has come here to serve our prince; and it is very disrespectful to cry at seeing him." But he still cried. I was not afraid; and I looked up at the foreigner's face as he came and smiled. He had a great beard; and I thought his face was good though it seemed to me a very strange face and stern. Then he stopped and smiled too, and put something in my hand, and touched my head and face very softly with his great fingers, and said something I could not understand, and went away. After he had gone I looked at what he put into my hand and found that it was a pretty little glass to look through. If you put a fly under that glass it looks quite big. At that time I thought the glass was a very wonderful thing. I have it still.' She took from a drawer in the room and placed before me a tiny, dainty pocket-microscope. The hero of this little incident was a French military officer. His services were necessarily dispensed with on the abolition of the feudal system. Memories of him still linger in Matsue; and old people remember a popular snatch about him--a sort of rapidly-vociferated rigmarole, supposed to be an imitation of his foreign speech: Tojin no negoto niwa kinkarakuri medagasho, Saiboji ga shimpeishite harishite keisan, Hanryo na Sacr-r-r-r-r-é-na-nom-da-Jiu. Sec. 21 November 2, 1891. Shida will never come to school again. He sleeps under the shadow of the cedars, in the old cemetery of Tokoji. Yokogi, at the memorial service, read a beautiful address (saibun) to the soul of his dead comrade. But Yokogi himself is down. And I am very much afraid for him. He is suffering from some affection of the brain, brought on, the doctor says, by studying a great deal too hard. Even if he gets well, he will always have to be careful. Some of us hope much; for the boy is vigorously built and so young. Strong Sakane burst a blood-vessel last month and is now well. So we trust that Yokogi may rally. Adzukizawa daily brings news of his friend. But the rally never comes. Some mysterious spring in the mechanism of the young life has been broken. The mind lives only in brief intervals between long hours of unconsciousness. Parents watch, and friends, for these living moments to whisper caressing things, or to ask: 'Is there anything thou dost wish?' And one night the answer comes: 'Yes: I want to go to the school; I want to see the school.' Then they wonder if the fine brain has not wholly given way, while they make answer: 'It is midnight past, and there is no moon. And the night is cold.' 'No; I can see by the stars--I want to see the school again.' They make kindliest protests in vain: the dying boy only repeats, with the plaintive persistence of a last--'I want to see the school again; I want to see it now.' So there is a murmured consultation in the neighbouring room; and tansu-drawers are unlocked, warm garments prepared. Then Fusaichi, the strong servant, enters with lantern lighted, and cries out in his kind rough voice: 'Master Tomi will go to the school upon my back: 'tis but a little way; he shall see the school again. Carefully they wrap up the lad in wadded robes; then he puts his arms about Fusaichi's shoulders like a child; and the strong servant bears him lightly through the wintry street; and the father hurries beside Fusaichi, bearing the lantern. And it is not far to the school, over the little bridge. The huge dark grey building looks almost black in the night; but Yokogi can see. He looks at the windows of his own classroom; at the roofed side-door where each morning for four happy years he used to exchange his getas for soundless sandals of straw; at the lodge of the slumbering Kodzukai; [11] at the silhouette of the bell hanging black in its little turret against the stars. Then he murmurs: 'I can remember all now. I had forgotten--so sick I was. I remember everything again: Oh, Fusaichi, you are very good. I am so glad to have seen the school again.' And they hasten back through the long void streets. Sec. 22 November 26 1891. Yokogi will be buried to-morrow evening beside his comrade Shida. When a poor person is about to die, friends and neighbours come to the house and do all they can to help the family. Some bear the tidings to distant relatives; others prepare all necessary things; others, when the death has been announced, summon the Buddhist priests. [12] It is said that the priests know always of a parishioner's death at night, before any messenger is sent to them; for the soul of the dead knocks heavily, once, upon the door of the family temple. Then the priests arise and robe themselves, and when the messenger comes make answer: 'We know: we are ready.' Meanwhile the body is carried out before the family butsudan, and laid upon the floor. No pillow is placed under the head. A naked sword is laid across the limbs to keep evil spirits away. The doors of the butsudan are opened; and tapers are lighted before the tablets of the ancestors; and incense is burned. All friends send gifts of incense. Wherefore a gift of incense, however rare and precious, given upon any other occasion, is held to be unlucky. But the Shinto household shrine must be hidden from view with white paper; and the Shinto ofuda fastened upon the house door must be covered up during all the period of mourning. [13] And in all that time no member of the family may approach a Shinto temple, or pray to the Kami, or even pass beneath a torii. A screen (biobu) is extended between the body and the principal entrance of the death chamber; and the kaimyo, inscribed upon a strip of white paper, is fastened upon the screen. If the dead be young the screen must be turned upside-down; but this is not done in the case of old people. Friends pray beside the corpse. There a little box is placed, containing one thousand peas, to be used for counting during the recital of those one thousand pious invocations, which, it is believed, will improve the condition of the soul on its unfamiliar journey. The priests come and recite the sutras; and then the body is prepared for burial. It is washed in warm water, and robed all in white. But the kimono of the dead is lapped over to the left side. Wherefore it is considered unlucky at any other time to fasten one's kimono thus, even by accident. When the body has been put into that strange square coffin which looks something like a wooden palanquin, each relative puts also into the coffin some of his or her hair or nail parings, symbolizing their blood. And six rin are also placed in the coffin, for the six Jizo who stand at the heads of the ways of the Six Shadowy Worlds. The funeral procession forms at the family residence. A priest leads it, ringing a little bell; a boy bears the ihai of the newly dead. The van of the procession is wholly composed of men--relatives and friends. Some carry hata, white symbolic bannerets; some bear flowers; all carry paper lanterns--for in Izumo the adult dead are buried after dark: only children are buried by day. Next comes the kwan or coffin, borne palanquin-wise upon the shoulders of men of that pariah caste whose office it is to dig graves and assist at funerals. Lastly come the women mourners. They are all white-hooded and white-robed from head to feet, like phantoms. [14] Nothing more ghostly than this sheeted train of an Izumo funeral procession, illuminated only by the glow of paper lanterns, can be imagined. It is a weirdness that, once seen, will often return in dreams. At the temple the kwan is laid upon the pavement before the entrance; and another service is performed, with plaintive music and recitation of sutras. Then the procession forms again, winds once round the temple court, and takes its way to the cemetery. But the body is not buried until twenty-four hours later, lest the supposed dead should awake in the grave. Corpses are seldom burned in Izumo. In this, as in other matters, the predominance of Shinto sentiment is manifest. Sec. 23 For the last time I see his face again, as he lies upon his bed of death--white-robed from neck to feet--white-girdled for his shadowy journey--but smiling with closed eyes in almost the same queer gentle way he was wont to smile at class on learning the explanation of some seeming riddle in our difficult English tongue. Only, methinks, the smile is sweeter now, as with sudden larger knowledge of more mysterious things. So smiles, through dusk of incense in the great temple of Tokoji, the golden face of Buddha. Sec. 24 December 23, 1891. The great bell of Tokoji is booming for the memorial service--for the tsuito-kwai of Yokogi--slowly and regularly as a minute-gun. Peal on peal of its rich bronze thunder shakes over the lake, surges over the roofs of the town, and breaks in deep sobs of sound against the green circle of the hills. It is a touching service, this tsuito-kwai, with quaint ceremonies which, although long since adopted into Japanese Buddhism, are of Chinese origin and are beautiful. It is also a costly ceremony; and the parents of Yokogi are very poor. But all the expenses have been paid by voluntary subscription of students and teachers. Priests from every great temple of the Zen sect in Izumo have assembled at Tokoji. All the teachers of the city and all the students have entered the hondo of the huge temple, and taken their places to the right and to the left of the high altar--kneeling on the matted floor, and leaving, on the long broad steps without, a thousand shoes and sandals. Before the main entrance, and facing the high shrine, a new butsudan has been placed, within whose open doors the ihai of the dead boy glimmers in lacquer and gilding. And upon a small stand before the butsudan have been placed an incense-vessel with bundles of senko-rods and offerings of fruits, confections, rice, and flowers. Tall and beautiful flower- vases on each side of the butsudan are filled with blossoming sprays, exquisitely arranged. Before the honzon tapers burn in massive candelabra whose stems of polished brass are writhing monsters--the Dragon Ascending and the Dragon Descending; and incense curls up from vessels shaped like the sacred deer, like the symbolic tortoise, like the meditative stork of Buddhist legend. And beyond these, in the twilight of the vast alcove, the Buddha smiles the smile of Perfect Rest. Between the butsudan and the honzon a little table has been placed; and on either side of it the priests kneel in ranks, facing each other: rows of polished heads, and splendours of vermilion silks and vestments gold- embroidered. The great bell ceases to peal; the Segaki prayer, which is the prayer uttered when offerings of food are made to the spirits of the dead, is recited; and a sudden sonorous measured tapping, accompanied by a plaintive chant, begins the musical service. The tapping is the tapping of the mokugyo--a huge wooden fish-head, lacquered and gilded, like the head of a dolphin grotesquely idealised--marking the time; and the chant is the chant of the Chapter of Kwannon in the Hokkekyo, with its magnificent invocation: 'O Thou whose eyes are clear, whose eyes are kind, whose eyes are full of pity and of sweetness--O Thou Lovely One, with thy beautiful face, with thy beautiful eye--O Thou Pure One, whose luminosity is without spot, whose knowledge is without shado--O Thou forever shining like that Sun whose glory no power may repel--Thou Sun-like in the course of Thy mercy, pourest Light upon the world!' And while the voices of the leaders chant clear and high in vibrant unison, the multitude of the priestly choir recite in profoundest undertone the mighty verses; and the sound of their recitation is like the muttering of surf. The mokugyo ceases its dull echoing, the impressive chant ends, and the leading officiants, one by one, high priests of famed temples, approach the ihai. Each bows low, ignites an incense-rod, and sets it upright in the little vase of bronze. Each at a time recites a holy verse of which the initial sound is the sound of a letter in the kaimyo of the dead boy; and these verses, uttered in the order of the characters upon the ihai, form the sacred Acrostic whose name is The Words of Perfume. Then the priests retire to their places; and after a little silence begins the reading of the saibun--the reading of the addresses to the soul of the dead. The students speak first--one from each class, chosen by election. The elected rises, approaches the little table before the high altar, bows to the honzon, draws from his bosom a paper and reads it in those melodious, chanting, and plaintive tones which belong to the reading of Chinese texts. So each one tells the affection of the living to the dead, in words of loving grief and loving hope. And last among the students a gentle girl rises--a pupil of the Normal School--to speak in tones soft as a bird's. As each saibun is finished, the reader lays the written paper upon the table before the honzon, and bows; and retires. It is now the turn of the teachers; and an old man takes his place at the little table--old Katayama, the teacher of Chinese, famed as a poet, adored as an instructor. And because the students all love him as a father, there is a strange intensity of silence as he begins-- Ko-Shimane-Ken-Jinjo-Chugakko-yo-nen-sei: 'Here upon the twenty-third day of the twelfth month of the twenty- fourth year of Meiji, I, Katayama Shokei, teacher of the Jinjo Chugakko of Shimane Ken, attending in great sorrow the holy service of the dead [tsui-fuku], do speak unto the soul of Yokogi Tomisaburo, my pupil. 'Having been, as thou knowest, for twice five years, at different periods, a teacher of the school, I have indeed met with not a few most excellent students. But very, very rarely in any school may the teacher find one such as thou--so patient and so earnest, so diligent and so careful in all things--so distinguished among thy comrades by thy blameless conduct, observing every precept, never breaking a rule. 'Of old in the land of Kihoku, famed for its horses, whenever a horse of rarest breed could not be obtained, men were wont to say: "There is no horse." Still there are many line lads among our students--many ryume, fine young steeds; but we have lost the best. 'To die at the age of seventeen--the best period of life for study--even when of the Ten Steps thou hadst already ascended six! Sad is the thought; but sadder still to know that thy last illness was caused only by thine own tireless zeal of study. Even yet more sad our conviction that with those rare gifts, and with that rare character of thine, thou wouldst surely, in that career to which thou wast destined, have achieved good and great things, honouring the names of thine ancestors, couldst thou have lived to manhood. 'I see thee lifting thy hand to ask some question; then bending above thy little desk to make note of all thy poor old teacher was able to tell thee. Again I see thee in the ranks--thy rifle upon thy shoulder-- so bravely erect during the military exercises. Even now thy face is before me, with its smile, as plainly as if thou wert present in the body--thy voice I think I hear distinctly as though thou hadst but this instant finished speaking; yet I know that, except in memory, these never will be seen and heard again. O Heaven, why didst thou take away that dawning life from the world, and leave such a one as I--old Shokei, feeble, decrepit, and of no more use? 'To thee my relation was indeed only that of teacher to pupil. Yet what is my distress! I have a son of twenty-four years; he is now far from me, in Yokohama. I know he is only a worthless youth; [15] yet never for so much as the space of one hour does the thought of him leave his old father's heart. Then how must the father and mother, the brothers and the sisters of this gentle and gifted youth feel now that he is gone! Only to think of it forces the tears from my eyes: I cannot speak --so full my heart is. 'Aa! aa!--thou hast gone from us; thou hast gone from us! Yet though thou hast died, thy earnestness, thy goodness, will long be honoured and told of as examples to the students of our school. 'Here, therefore, do we, thy teachers and thy schoolmates, hold this service in behalf of thy spirit,--with prayer and offerings. Deign thou, 0 gentle Soul, to honour our love by the acceptance of our humble gifts.' Then a sound of sobbing is suddenly whelmed by the resonant booming of the great fish's-head, as the high-pitched voices of the leaders of the chant begin the grand Nehan-gyo, the Sutra of Nirvana, the song of passage triumphant over the Sea of Death and Birth; and deep below those high tones and the hollow echoing of the mokugyo, the surging bass of a century of voices reciting the sonorous words, sounds like the breaking of a sea: 'Sho-gyo mu-jo, je-sho meppo.--Transient are all. They, being born, must die. And being born, are dead. And being dead, are glad to be at rest.' CHAPTER FIVE Two Strange Festivals THE outward signs of any Japanese matsuri are the most puzzling of enigmas to the stranger who sees them for the first time. They are many and varied; they are quite unlike anything in the way of holiday decoration ever seen in the Occident; they have each a meaning founded upon some belief or some tradition--a meaning known to every Japanese child; but that meaning is utterly impossible for any foreigner to guess. Yet whoever wishes to know something of Japanese popular life and feeling must learn the signification of at least the most common among festival symbols and tokens. Especially is such knowledge necessary to the student of Japanese art: without it, not only the delicate humour and charm of countless designs must escape him, but in many instances the designs themselves must remain incomprehensible to him. For hundreds of years the emblems of festivity have been utilised by the Japanese in graceful decorative ways: they figure in metalwork, on porcelain, on the red or black lacquer of the humblest household utensils, on little brass pipes, on the clasps of tobacco-pouches. It may even be said that the majority of common decorative design is emblematical. The very figures of which the meaning seems most obvious--those matchless studies [1] of animal or vegetable life with which the Western curio-buyer is most familiar--have usually some ethical signification which is not perceived at all. Or take the commonest design dashed with a brush upon the fusuma of a cheap hotel--a lobster, sprigs of pine, tortoises waddling in a curl of water, a pair of storks, a spray of bamboo. It is rarely that a foreign tourist thinks of asking why such designs are used instead of others, even when he has seen them repeated, with slight variation, at twenty different places along his route. They have become conventional simply because they are emblems of which the sense is known to all Japanese, however ignorant, but is never even remotely suspected by the stranger. The subject is one about which a whole encyclopaedia might be written, but about which I know very little--much too little for a special essay. But I may venture, by way of illustration, to speak of the curious objects exhibited during two antique festivals still observed in all parts of Japan. Sec. 2 The first is the Festival of the New Year, which lasts for three days. In Matsue its celebration is particularly interesting, as the old city still preserves many matsuri customs which have either become, or are rapidly becoming, obsolete elsewhere. The streets are then profusely decorated, and all shops are closed. Shimenawa or shimekazari--the straw ropes which have been sacred symbols of Shinto from the mythical age-- are festooned along the façades of the dwellings, and so inter-joined that you see to right or left what seems but a single mile-long shimenawa, with its straw pendents and white fluttering paper gohei, extending along either side of the street as far as the eye can reach. Japanese flags--bearing on a white ground the great crimson disk which is the emblem of the Land of the Rising Sun--flutter above the gateways; and the same national emblem glows upon countless paper lanterns strung in rows along the eaves or across the streets and temple avenues. And before every gate or doorway a kadomatsu ('gate pine-tree') has been erected. So that all the ways are lined with green, and full of bright colour. The kadomatsu is more than its name implies. It is a young pine, or part of a pine, conjoined with plum branches and bamboo cuttings. [2] Pine, plum, and bamboo are growths of emblematic significance. Anciently the pine alone was used; but from the era of O-ei, the bamboo was added; and within more recent times the plum-tree. The pine has many meanings. But the fortunate one most generally accepted is that of endurance and successful energy in time of misfortune. As the pine keeps its green leaves when other trees lose their foliage, so the true man keeps his courage and his strength in adversity. The pine is also, as I have said elsewhere, a symbol of vigorous old age. No European could possibly guess the riddle of the bamboo. It represents a sort of pun in symbolism. There are two Chinese characters both pronounced setsu--one signifying the node or joint of the bamboo, and the other virtue, fidelity, constancy. Therefore is the bamboo used as a felicitous sign. The name 'Setsu,' be it observed, is often given to Japanese maidens--just as the names 'Faith,' 'Fidelia,' and 'Constance' are given to English girls. The plum-tree--of whose emblematic meaning I said something in a former paper about Japanese gardens--is not invariably used, however; sometimes sakaki, the sacred plant of Shinto, is substituted for it; and sometimes only pine and bamboo form the kadomatsu. Every decoration used upon the New Year's festival has a meaning of a curious and unfamiliar kind; and the very cornmonest of all--the straw rope--possesses the most complicated symbolism. In the first place it is scarcely necessary to explain that its origin belongs to that most ancient legend of the Sun-Goddess being tempted to issue from the cavern into which she had retired, and being prevented from returning thereunto by a deity who stretched a rope of straw across the entrance--all of which is written in the Kojiki. Next observe that, although the shimenawa may be of any thickness, it must be twisted so that the direction of the twist is to the left; for in ancient Japanese philosophy the left is the 'pure' or fortunate side: owing perhaps to the old belief, common among the uneducated of Europe to this day, that the heart lies to the left. Thirdly, note that the pendent straws, which hang down from the rope at regular intervals, in tufts, like fringing, must be of different numbers according to the place of the tufts, beginning with the number three: so that the first tuft has three straws, the second live, the third seven, the fourth again three, the fifth five, and the sixth seven--and so on, the whole length of the rope. The origin of the pendent paper cuttings (gohei), which alternate with the straw tufts, is likewise to be sought in the legend of the Sun-Goddess; but the gohei also represent offerings of cloth anciently made to the gods according to a custom long obsolete. But besides the gohei, there are many other things attached to the shimenawa of which you could not imagine the signification. Among these are fern-leaves, bitter oranges, yuzuri-leaves, and little bundles of charcoal. Why fern-leaves (moromoki or urajiro)? Because the fern-leaf is the symbol of the hope of exuberant posterity: even as it branches and branches so may the happy family increase and multiply through the generations. Why bitter oranges (daidai)? Because there is a Chinese word daidai signifying 'from generation unto generation.' Wherefore the fruit called daidai has become a fruit of good omen. But why charcoal (sumi)? It signifies 'prosperous changelessness.' Here the idea is decidedly curious. Even as the colour of charcoal cannot be changed, so may the fortunes of those we love remain for ever unchanged In all that gives happiness! The signification of the yuzuri-leaf I explained in a former paper. Besides the great shimenawa in front of the house, shimenawa or shimekazari [3] are suspended above the toko, or alcoves, in each apartment; and over the back gate, or over the entrance to the gallery of the second story (if there be a second story), is hung a 'wajime, which is a very small shimekazari twisted into a sort of wreath, and decorated with fern-leaves, gohei, and yuzuri-leaves. But the great domestic display of the festival is the decoration of the kamidana--the shelf of the Gods. Before the household miya are placed great double rice cakes; and the shrine is beautiful with flowers, a tiny shimekazari, and sprays of sakaki. There also are placed a string of cash; kabu (turnips); daikon (radishes); a tai-fish, which is the 'king of fishes,' dried slices of salt cuttlefish; jinbaso, of 'the Seaweed of the horse of the God'; [4] also the seaweed kombu, which is a symbol of pleasure and of joy, because its name is deemed to be a homonym for gladness; and mochibana, artificial blossoms formed of rice flour and straw. The sambo is a curiously shaped little table on which offer-ings are made to the Shinto gods; and almost every well-to-do household in hzumo has its own sambo--such a family sambo being smaller, however, than sambo used in the temples. At the advent of the New Year's Festival, bitter oranges, rice, and rice-flour cakes, native sardines (iwashi), chikara-iwai ('strength-rice-bread'), black peas, dried chestnuts, and a fine lobster, are all tastefully arranged upon the family sambo. Before each visitor the sambo is set; and the visitor, by saluting it with a prostration, expresses not only his heartfelt wish that all the good- fortune symbolised by the objects upon the sambo may come to the family, but also his reverence for the household gods. The black peas (mame) signify bodily strength and health, because a word similarly pronounced, though written with a different ideograph, means 'robust.' But why a lobster? Here we have another curious conception. The lobster's body is bent double: the body of the man who lives to a very great old age is also bent. Thus the Lobster stands for a symbol of extreme old age; and in artistic design signifies the wish that our friends may live so long that they will become bent like lobsters--under the weight of years. And the dried chestnut (kachiguri) are emblems of success, because the first character of their name in Japanese is the homonym of kachi, which means 'victory,' 'conquest.' There are at least a hundred other singular customs and emblems belonging to the New Year's Festival which would require a large volume to describe. I have mentioned only a few which immediately appear to even casual observation. Sec. 3 The other festival I wish, to refer to is that of the Setsubun, which, according to the ancient Japanese calendar, corresponded with the beginning of the natural year--the period when winter first softens into spring. It is what we might term, according to Professor Chamberlain, 'a sort of movable feast'; and it is chiefly famous for the curious ceremony of the casting out of devils--Oni-yarai. On the eve of the Setsubun, a little after dark, the Yaku-otoshi, or caster-out of devils, wanders through the streets from house to house, rattling his shakujo, [5] and uttering his strange professional cry: 'Oni wa soto!--fuku wa uchi!' [Devils out! Good-fortune in!] For a trifling fee he performs his little exorcism in any house to which he is called. This simply consists in the recitation of certain parts of a Buddhist kyo, or sutra, and the rattling of the shakujo Afterwards dried peas (shiro-mame) are thrown about the house in four directions. For some mysterious reason, devils do not like dried peas--and flee therefrom. The peas thus scattered are afterward swept up and carefully preserved until the first clap of spring thunder is heard, when it is the custom to cook and eat some of them. But just why, I cannot find out; neither can I discover the origin of the dislike of devils for dried peas. On the subject of this dislike, however, I confess my sympathy with devils. After the devils have been properly cast out, a small charm is placed above all the entrances of the dwelling to keep them from coming back again. This consists of a little stick about the length and thickness of a skewer, a single holly-leaf, and the head of a dried iwashi--a fish resembling a sardine. The stick is stuck through the middle of the holly-leaf; and the fish's head is fastened into a split made in one end of the stick; the other end being slipped into some joint of the timber- work immediately above a door. But why the devils are afraid of the holly-leaf and the fish's head, nobody seems to know. Among the people the origin of all these curious customs appears to be quite forgotten; and the families of the upper classes who still maintain such customs believe in the superstitions relating to the festival just as little as Englishmen to-day believe in the magical virtues of mistletoe or ivy. This ancient and merry annual custom of casting out devils has been for generations a source of inspiration to Japanese artists. It is only after a fair acquaintance with popular customs and ideas that the foreigner can learn to appreciate the delicious humour of many art- creations which he may wish, indeed, to buy just because they are so oddly attractive in themselves, but which must really remain enigmas to him, so far as their inner meaning is concerned, unless he knows Japanese life. The other day a friend gave me a little card-case of perfumed leather. On one side was stamped in relief the face of a devil, through the orifice of whose yawning mouth could be seen--painted upon the silk lining of the interior--the laughing, chubby face of Otafuku, joyful Goddess of Good Luck. In itself the thing was very curious and pretty; but the real merit of its design was this comical symbolism of good wishes for the New Year: 'Oni wa soto!--fuku wa uchi!' Sec. 4 Since I have spoken of the custom of eating some of the Setsubun peas at the time of the first spring thunder, I may here take the opportunity to say a few words about superstitions in regard to thunder which have not yet ceased to prevail among the peasantry. When a thunder-storm comes, the big brown mosquito curtains are suspended, and the women and children--perhaps the whole family--squat down under the curtains till the storm is over. From ancient days it has been believed that lightning cannot kill anybody under a mosquito curtain. The Raiju, or Thunder-Animal, cannot pass through a mosquito- curtain. Only the other day, an old peasant who came to the house with vegetables to sell told us that he and his whole family, while crouching under their mosquito-netting during a thunderstorm, actually, saw the Lightning rushing up and down the pillar of the balcony opposite their apartment--furiously clawing the woodwork, but unable to enter because of the mosquito-netting. His house had been badly damaged by a flash; but he supposed the mischief to have been accomplished by the Claws of the Thunder-Animal. The Thunder-Animal springs from tree to tree during a storm, they say; wherefore to stand under trees in time of thunder and lightning is very dangerous: the Thunder-Animal might step on one's head or shoulders. The Thunder-Animal is also alleged to be fond of eating the human navel; for which reason people should be careful to keep their navels well covered during storms, and to lie down upon their stomachs if possible. Incense is always burned during storms, because the Thunder-Animal hates the smell of incense. A tree stricken by lightning is thought to have been torn and scarred by the claws of the Thunder-Animal; and fragments of its bark and wood are carefully collected and preserved by dwellers in the vicinity; for the wood of a blasted tree is alleged to have the singular virtue of curing toothache. There are many stories of the Raiju having been caught and caged. Once, it is said, the Thunder-Animal fell into a well, and got entangled in the ropes and buckets, and so was captured alive. And old Izumo folk say they remember that the Thunder-Animal was once exhibited in the court of the Temple of Tenjin in Matsue, inclosed in a cage of brass; and that people paid one sen each to look at it. It resembled a badger. When the weather was clear it would sleep contentedly in its, cage. But when there was thunder in the air, it would become excited, and seem to obtain great strength, and its eyes would flash dazzlingly. Sec. 5 There is one very evil spirit, however, who is not in the least afraid of dried peas, and who cannot be so easily got rid of as the common devils; and that is Bimbogami. But in Izumo people know a certain household charm whereby Bimbogami may sometimes be cast out. Before any cooking is done in a Japanese kitchen, the little charcoal fire is first blown to a bright red heat with that most useful and simple household utensil called a hifukidake. The hifukidake ('fire- blow-bamboo') is a bamboo tube usually about three feet long and about two inches in diameter. At one end--the end which is to be turned toward the fire--only a very small orifice is left; the woman who prepares the meal places the other end to her lips, and blows through the tube upon the kindled charcoal. Thus a quick fire may be obtained in a few minutes. In course of time the hifukidake becomes scorched and cracked and useless. A new 'fire-blow-tube' is then made; and the old one is used as a charm against Bimbogami. One little copper coin (rin) is put into it, some magical formula is uttered, and then the old utensil, with the rin inside of it, is either simply thrown out through the front gate into the street, or else flung into some neighbouring stream. This--I know not why--is deemed equivalent to pitching Bimbogami out of doors, and rendering it impossible for him to return during a considerable period. It may be asked how is the invisible presence of Bimbogami to be detected. The little insect which makes that weird ticking noise at night called in England the Death-watch has a Japanese relative named by the people Bimbomushi, or the 'Poverty-Insect.' It is said to be the servant of Bimbogami, the God of Poverty; and its ticking in a house is believed to signal the presence of that most unwelcome deity. Sec. 6 One more feature of the Setsubun festival is worthy of mention--the sale of the hitogata ('people-shapes'). These: are little figures, made of white paper, representing men, women, and children. They are cut out with a few clever scissors strokes; and the difference of sex is indicated by variations in the shape of the sleeves and the little paper obi. They are sold in the Shinto temples. The purchaser buys one for every member of the family--the priest writing upon each the age and sex of the person for whom it is intended. These hitogata are then taken home and distributed; and each person slightly rubs his body or her body with the paper, and says a little Shinto prayer. Next day the hitogata are returned to the kannushi, who, after having recited certain formulae over them, burns them with holy fire. [6] By this ceremony it is hoped that all physical misfortunes will be averted from the family during a year. Chapter Six By the Japanese Sea Sec. 1 IT is the fifteenth day of the seventh month--and I am in Hokii. The blanched road winds along a coast of low cliffs--the coast of the Japanese Sea. Always on the left, over a narrow strip of stony land, or a heaping of dunes, its vast expanse appears, blue-wrinkling to that pale horizon beyond which Korea lies, under the same white sun. Sometimes, through sudden gaps in the cliff's verge, there flashes to us the running of the surf. Always upon the right another sea--a silent sea of green, reaching to far misty ranges of wooded hills, with huge pale peaks behind them--a vast level of rice-fields, over whose surface soundless waves keep chasing each other under the same great breath that moves the blue to-day from Chosen to Japan. Though during a week the sky has remained unclouded, the sea has for several days been growing angrier; and now the muttering of its surf sounds far into the land. They say that it always roughens thus during the period of the Festival of the Dead--the three days of the Bon, which are the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth of the seventh month by the ancient calendar. And on the sixteenth day, after the shoryobune, which are the Ships of Souls, have been launched, no one dares to enter it: no boats can then be hired; all the fishermen remain at home. For on that day the sea is the highway of the dead, who must pass back over its waters to their mysterious home; and therefore upon that day is it called Hotoke-umi--the Buddha-Flood--the Tide of the Returning Ghosts. And ever upon the night of that sixteenth day--whether the sea be calm or tumultuous--all its surface shimmers with faint lights gliding out to the open,--the dim fires of the dead; and there is heard a murmuring of voices, like the murmur of a city far-off,--the indistinguishable speech of souls. Sec. 2 But it may happen that some vessel, belated in spite of desperate effort to reach port, may find herself far out at sea upon the night of the sixteenth day. Then will the dead rise tall about the ship, and reach long hands and murmur: 'Tago, tago o-kure!--tago o-kure!' [1] Never may they be refused; but, before the bucket is given, the bottom of it must be knocked out. Woe to all on board should an entire tago be suffered to fall even by accident into the sea!--for the dead would at once use it to fill and sink the ship. Nor are the dead the only powers invisible dreaded in the time of the Hotoke-umi. Then are the Ma most powerful, and the Kappa. [2] But in all times the swimmer fears the Kappa, the Ape of Waters, hideous and obscene, who reaches up from the deeps to draw men down, and to devour their entrails. Only their entrails. The corpse of him who has been seized by the Kappa may be cast on shore after many days. Unless long battered against the rocks by heavy surf, or nibbled by fishes, it will show no outward wound. But it will be light and hollow--empty like a long-dried gourd. Sec. 3 Betimes, as we journey on, the monotony of undulating blue on the left, or the monotony of billowing green upon the right, is broken by the grey apparition of a cemetery--a cemetery so long that our jinricksha men, at full run, take a full quarter of an hour to pass the huge congregation of its perpendicular stones. Such visions always indicate the approach of villages; but the villages prove to be as surprisingly small as the cemeteries are surprisingly large. By hundreds of thousands do the silent populations of the hakaba outnumber the folk of the hamlets to which they belong--tiny thatched settlements sprinkled along the leagues of coast, and sheltered from the wind only by ranks of sombre pines. Legions on legions of stones--a host of sinister witnesses of the cost of the present to the past--and old, old, old!--hundreds so long in place that they have been worn into shapelessness merely by the blowing of sand from the dunes, and their inscriptions utterly effaced. It is as if one were passing through the burial-ground of all who ever lived on this wind-blown shore since the being of the land. And in all these hakaba--for it is the Bon--there are new lanterns before the newer tombs--the white lanterns which are the lanterns of graves. To-night the cemeteries will be all aglow with lights like the fires of a city for multitude. But there are also unnumbered tombs before which no lanterns are--elder myriads, each the token of a family extinct, or of which the absent descendants have forgotten even the name. Dim generations whose ghosts have none to call them back, no local memories to love--so long ago obliterated were all things related to their lives. Sec. 4 Now many of these villages are only fishing settlements, and in them stand old thatched homes of men who sailed away on some eve of tempest, and never came back. Yet each drowned sailor has his tomb in the neighbouring hakaba, and beneath it something of him has been buried. What? Among these people of the west something is always preserved which in other lands is cast away without a thought--the hozo-no-o, the flower- stalk of a life, the navel-string of the newly-born. It is enwrapped carefully in many wrappings; and upon its outermost covering are written the names of the father, the mother, and the infant, together with the date and hour of birth,--and it is kept in the family o-'mamori-bukuro. The daughter, becoming a bride, bears it with her to her new home: for the son it is preserved by his parents. It is buried with the dead; and should one die in a foreign land, or perish at sea, it is entombed in lieu of the body. Sec. 5 Concerning them that go down into the sea in ships, and stay there, strange beliefs prevail on this far coast--beliefs more primitive, assuredly, than the gentle faith which hangs white lanterns before the tombs. Some hold that the drowned never journey to the Meido. They quiver for ever in the currents; they billow in the swaying of tides; they toil in the wake of the junks; they shout in the plunging of breakers. 'Tis their white hands that toss in the leap of the surf; their clutch that clatters the shingle, or seizes the swimmer's feet in the pull of the undertow. And the seamen speak euphemistically of the O-'bake, the honourable ghosts, and fear them with a great fear. Wherefore cats are kept on board! A cat, they aver, has power to keep the O-bake away. How or why, I have not yet found any to tell me. I know only that cats are deemed to have power over the dead. If a cat be left alone with a corpse, will not the corpse arise and dance? And of all cats a mike-neko, or cat of three colours, is most prized on this account by sailors. But if they cannot obtain one--and cats of three colours are rare--they will take another kind of cat; and nearly every trading junk has a cat; and when the junk comes into port, its cat may generally be seen--peeping through some little window in the vessel's side, or squatting in the opening where the great rudder works--that is, if the weather be fair and the sea still. Sec. 6 But these primitive and ghastly beliefs do not affect the beautiful practices of Buddhist faith in the time of the Bon; and from all these little villages the shoryobune are launched upon the sixteenth day. They are much more elaborately and expensively constructed on this coast than in some other parts of Japan; for though made of straw only, woven over a skeleton framework, they are charming models of junks, complete in every detail. Some are between three and four feet long. On the white paper sail is written the kaimyo or soul-name of the dead. There is a small water-vessel on board, filled with fresh water, and an incense- cup; and along the gunwales flutter little paper banners bearing the mystic manji, which is the Sanscrit swastika.[3] The form of the shoryobune and the customs in regard to the time and manner of launching them differ much in different provinces. In most places they are launched for the family dead in general, wherever buried; and they are in some places launched only at night, with small lanterns on board. And I am told also that it is the custom at certain sea-villages to launch the lanterns all by themselves, in lieu of the shoryobune proper--lanterns of a particular kind being manufactured for that purpose only. But on the Izumo coast, and elsewhere along this western shore, the soul-boats are launched only for those who have been drowned at sea, and the launching takes place in the morning instead of at night. Once every year, for ten years after death, a shoryobune is launched; in the eleventh year the ceremony ceases. Several shoryobune which I saw at Inasa were really beautiful, and must have cost a rather large sum for poor fisher-folk to pay. But the ship-carpenter who made them said that all the relatives of a drowned man contribute to purchase the little vessel, year after year. Sec. 7 Near a sleepy little village called Kanii-ichi I make a brief halt in order to visit a famous sacred tree. It is in a grove close to the public highway, but upon a low hill. Entering the grove I find myself in a sort of miniature glen surrounded on three sides by very low cliffs, above which enormous pines are growing, incalculably old. Their vast coiling roots have forced their way through the face of the cliffs, splitting rocks; and their mingling crests make a green twilight in the hollow. One pushes out three huge roots of a very singular shape; and the ends of these have been wrapped about with long white papers bearing written prayers, and with offerings of seaweed. The shape of these roots, rather than any tradition, would seem to have made the tree sacred in popular belief: it is the object of a special cult; and a little torii has been erected before it, bearing a votive annunciation of the most artless and curious kind. I cannot venture to offer a translation of it--though for the anthropologist and folk-lorist it certainly possesses peculiar interest. The worship of the tree, or at least of the Kami supposed to dwell therein, is one rare survival of a phallic cult probably common to most primitive races, and formerly widespread in Japan. Indeed it was suppressed by the Government scarcely more than a generation ago. On the opposite side of the little hollow, carefully posed upon a great loose rock, I see something equally artless and almost equally curious--a kitoja-no-mono, or ex-voto. Two straw figures joined together and reclining side by side: a straw man and a straw woman. The workmanship is childishly clumsy; but still, the woman can be distinguished from the man by .the ingenious attempt to imitate the female coiffure with a straw wisp. And as the man is represented with a queue--now worn only by aged survivors of the feudal era--I suspect that this kitoja-no-mono was made after some ancient and strictly conventional model. Now this queer ex-voto tells its own story. Two who loved each other were separated by the fault of the man; the charm of some joro, perhaps, having been the temptation to faithlessness. Then the wronged one came here and prayed the Kami to dispel the delusion of passion and touch the erring heart. The prayer has been heard; the pair have been reunited; and she has therefore made these two quaint effigies 'with her own hands, and brought them to the Kami of the pine--tokens of her innocent faith and her grateful heart. Sec. 8 Night falls as we reach the pretty hamlet of Hamamura, our last resting- place by the sea, for to-morrow our way lies inland. The inn at which we lodge is very small, but very clean and cosy; and there is a delightful bath of natural hot water; for the yadoya is situated close to a natural spring. This spring, so strangely close to the sea beach, also furnishes, I am told, the baths of all the houses in the village. The best room is placed at our disposal; but I linger awhile to examine a very fine shoryobune, waiting, upon a bench near the street entrance, to be launched to-morrow. It seems to have been finished but a short time ago; for fresh clippings of straw lie scattered around it, and the kaimyo has not yet been written upon its sail. I am surprised to hear that it belongs to a poor widow and her son, both of whom are employed by the hotel. I was hoping to see the Bon-odori at Hamamura, but I am disappointed. At all the villages the police have prohibited the dance. Fear of cholera has resulted in stringent sanitary regulations. In Hamamura the people have been ordered to use no water for drinking, cooking, or washing, except the hot water of their own volcanic springs. A little middle-aged woman, with a remarkably sweet voice, comes to wait upon us at supper-time. Her teeth are blackened and her eyebrows shaved after the fashion of married women twenty years ago; nevertheless her face is still a pleasant one, and in her youth she must have been uncommonly pretty. Though acting as a servant, it appears that she is related to the family owning the inn, and that she is treated with the consideration due to kindred. She tells us that the shoryobune is to be launched for her husband and brother--both fishermen of the village, who perished in sight of their own home eight years ago. The priest of the neighbouring Zen temple is to come in the morning to write the kaimyo upon the sail, as none of the household are skilled in writing the Chinese characters. I make her the customary little gift, and, through my attendant, ask her various questions about her history. She was married to a man much older than herself, with whom she lived very happily; and her brother, a youth of eighteen, dwelt with them. They had a good boat and a little piece of ground, and she was skilful at the loom; so they managed to live well. In summer the fishermen fish at night: when all the fleet is out, it is pretty to see the line of torch-fires in the offing, two or three miles away, like a string of stars. They do not go out when the weather is threatening; but in certain months the great storms (taifu) come so quickly that the boats are overtaken almost before they have time to hoist sail. Still as a temple pond the sea was on the night when her husband and brother last sailed away; the taifu rose before daybreak. What followed, she relates with a simple pathos that I cannot reproduce in our less artless tongue: 'All the boats had come back except my husband's; for' my husband and my brother had gone out farther than the others, so they were not able to return as quickly. And all the people were looking and waiting. And every minute the waves seemed to be growing higher and the wind more terrible; and the other boats had to be dragged far up on the shore to save them. Then suddenly we saw my husband's boat coming very, very quickly. We were so glad! It came quite near, so that I could see the face of my husband and the face of my brother. But suddenly a great wave struck it upon one side, and it turned down into the water and it did not come up again. And then we saw my husband and my brother swimming but we could see them only when the waves lifted them up. Tall like hills the waves were, and the head of my husband, and the head of my brother would go up, up, up, and then down, and each time they rose to the top of a wave so that we could see them they would cry out, "Tasukete! tasukete!" [4] But the strong men were afraid; the sea was too terrible; I was only a woman! Then my brother could not be seen any more. My husband was old, but very strong; and he swam a long time--so near that I could see his face was like the face of one in fear--and he called "Tasukete!" But none could help him; and he also went down at last. And yet I could see his face before he went down. 'And for a long time after, every night, I used to see his face as I saw it then, so that I could not rest, but only weep. And I prayed and prayed to the Buddhas and to the Kami-Sama that I might not dream that dream. Now it never comes; but I can still see his face, even while I speak. . . . In that time my son was only a little child.' Not without sobs can she conclude her simple recital. Then, suddenly bowing her head to the matting, and wiping away her tears with her sleeve, she humbly prays our pardon for this little exhibition of emotion, and laughs--the soft low laugh de rigueur of Japanese politeness. This, I must confess, touches me still more than the story itself. At a fitting moment my Japanese attendant delicately changes the theme, and begins a light chat about our journey, and the danna-sama's interest in the old customs and legends of the coast. And he succeeds in amusing her by some relation of our wanderings in Izumo. She asks whither we are going. My attendant answers probably as far as Tottori. 'Aa! Tottori! So degozarimasu ka? Now, there is an old story--the Story of the Futon of Tottori. But the danna-sama knows that story?' Indeed, the danna-sama does not, and begs earnestly to hear it. And the story is set down somewhat as I learn it through the lips of my interpreter. Sec. 9 Many years ago, a very small yadoya in Tottori town received its first guest, an itinerant merchant. He was received with more than common kindness, for the landlord desired to make a good name for his little inn. It was a new inn, but as its owner was poor, most of its dogu--furniture and utensils--had been purchased from the furuteya. [5] Nevertheless, everything was clean, comforting, and pretty. The guest ate heartily and drank plenty of good warm sake; after which his bed was prepared on the soft floor, and he laid himself down to sleep. [But here I must interrupt the story for a few moments, to say a word about Japanese beds. Never; unless some inmate happen to be sick, do you see a bed in any Japanese house by day, though you visit all the rooms and peep into all the corners. In fact, no bed exists, in the Occidental meaning of the word. That which the Japanese call bed has no bedstead, no spring, no mattress, no sheets, no blankets. It consists of thick quilts only, stuffed, or, rather, padded with cotton, which are called futon. A certain number of futon are laid down upon the tatami (the floor mats), and a certain number of others are used for coverings. The wealthy can lie upon five or six quilts, and cover themselves with as many as they please, while poor folk must content themselves with two or three. And of course there are many kinds, from the servants' cotton futon which is no larger than a Western hearthrug, and not much thicker, to the heavy and superb futon silk, eight feet long by seven broad, which only the kanemochi can afford. Besides these there is the yogi, a massive quilt made with wide sleeves like a kimono, in which you can find much comfort when the weather is extremely cold. All such things are neatly folded up and stowed out of sight by day in alcoves contrived in the wall and closed with fusuma--pretty sliding screen doors covered with opaque paper usually decorated with dainty designs. There also are kept those curious wooden pillows, invented to preserve the Japanese coiffure from becoming disarranged during sleep. The pillow has a certain sacredness; but the origin and the precise nature of the beliefs concerning it I have not been able to learn. Only this I know, that to touch it with the foot is considered very wrong; and that if it be kicked or moved thus even by accident, the clumsiness must be atoned for by lifting the pillow to the forehead with the hands, and replacing it in its original position respectfully, with the word 'go-men,' signifying, I pray to be excused.] Now, as a rule, one sleeps soundly after having drunk plenty of warm sake, especially if the night be cool and the bed very snug. But the guest, having slept but a very little while, was aroused by the sound of voices in his room--voices of children, always asking each other the same questions:--'Ani-San samukaro?' 'Omae samukaro?' The presence of children in his room might annoy the guest, but could not surprise him, for in these Japanese hotels there are no doors, but only papered sliding screens between room and room. So it seemed to him that some children must have wandered into his apartment, by mistake, in the dark. He uttered some gentle rebuke. For a moment only there was silence; then a sweet, thin, plaintive voice queried, close to his ear, 'Ani-San samukaro?' (Elder Brother probably is cold?), and another sweet voice made answer caressingly, 'Omae samukaro?' [Nay, thou probably art cold?] He arose and rekindled the candle in the andon, [6] and looked about the room. There was no one. The shoji were all closed. He examined the cupboards; they were empty. Wondering, he lay down again, leaving the light still burning; and immediately the voices spoke again, complainingly, close to his pillow: 'Ani-San samukaro?' 'Omae samukaro?' Then, for the first time, he felt a chill creep over him, which was not the chill of the night. Again and again he heard, and each time he became more afraid. For he knew that the voices were in the futon! It was the covering of the bed that cried out thus. He gathered hurriedly together the few articles belonging to him, and, descending the stairs, aroused the landlord and told what had passed. Then the host, much angered, made reply: 'That to make pleased the honourable guest everything has been done, the truth is; but the honourable guest too much august sake having drank, bad dreams has seen.' Nevertheless the guest insisted upon paying at once that which he owed, and seeking lodging elsewhere. Next evening there came another guest who asked for a room for the night. At a late hour the landlord was aroused by his lodger with the same story. And this lodger, strange to say, had not taken any sake. Suspecting some envious plot to ruin his business, the landlord answered passionately: 'Thee to please all things honourably have been done: nevertheless, ill-omened and vexatious words thou utterest. And that my inn my means-of-livelihood is--that also thou knowest. Wherefore that such things be spoken, right-there-is-none!' Then the guest, getting into a passion, loudly said things much more evil; and the two parted in hot anger. But after the guest was gone, the landlord, thinking all this very strange, ascended to the empty room to examine the futon. And while there, he heard the voices, and he discovered that the guests had said only the truth. It was one covering--only one--which cried out. The rest were silent. He took the covering into his own room, and for the remainder of the night lay down beneath it. And the voices continued until the hour of dawn: 'Ani-San samukaro?' 'Omae samukaro?' So that he could not sleep. But at break of day he rose up and went out to find the owner of the furuteya at which the futon had been purchased. The dlealer knew nothing. He had bought the futon from a smaller shop, and the keeper of that shop had purchased it from a still poorer dealer dwelling in the farthest suburb of the city. And the innkeeper went from one to the other, asking questions. Then at last it was found that the futon had belonged to a poor family, and had been bought from the landlord of a little house in which the family had lived, in the neighbourhood of the town. And the story of the futon was this:-- The rent of the little house was only sixty sen a month, but even this was a great deal for the poor folks to pay. The father could earn only two or three yen a month, and the mother was ill and could not work; and there were two children--a boy of six years and a boy of eight. And they were strangers in Tottori. One winter's day the father sickened; and after a week of suffering he died, and was buried. Then the long-sick mother followed him, and the children were left alone. They knew no one whom they could ask for aid; and in order to live they began to sell what there was to sell. That was not much: the clothes of the dead father and mother, and most of their own; some quilts of cotton, and a few poor household utensils-- hibachi, bowls, cups, and other trifles. Every day they sold something, until there was nothing left but one futon. And a day came when they had nothing to eat; and the rent was not paid. The terrible Dai-kan had arrived, the season of greatest cold; and the snow had drifted too high that day for them to wander far from the little house. So they could only lie down under their one futon, and shiver together, and compassionate each other in their own childish way --'Ani-San, samukaro?' 'Omae samukaro?' They had no fire, nor anything with which to make fire; and the darkness came; and the icy wind screamed into the little house. They were afraid of the wind, but they were more afraid of the house- owner, who roused them roughly to demand his rent. He was a hard man, with an evil face. And finding there was none to pay him, he turned the children into the snow, and took their one futon away from them, and locked up the house. They had but one thin blue kimono each, for all their other clothes had been sold to buy food; and they had nowhere to go. There was a temple of Kwannon not far away, but the snow was too high for them to reach it. So when the landlord was gone, they crept back behind the house. There the drowsiness of cold fell upon them, and they slept, embracing each other to keep warm. And while they slept, the gods covered them with a new futon--ghostly-white and very beautiful. And they did not feel cold any more. For many days they slept there; then somebody found them, and a bed was made for them in the hakaba of the Temple of Kwannon-of-the- Thousand-Arms. And the innkeeper, having heard these things, gave the futon to the priests of the temple, and caused the kyo to be recited for the little souls. And the futon ceased thereafter to speak. Sec. 10 One legend recalls another; and I hear to-night many strange ones. The most remarkable is a tale which my attendant suddenly remembers--a legend of Izumo. Once there lived in the Izumo village called Mochida-noura a peasant who was so poor that he was afraid to have children. And each time that his wife bore him a child he cast it into the river, and pretended that it had been born dead. Sometimes it was a son, sometimes a daughter; but always the infant was thrown into the river at night. Six were murdered thus. But, as the years passed, the peasant found himself more prosperous. He had been able to purchase land and to lay by money. And at last his wife bore him a seventh--a boy. Then the man said: 'Now we can support a child, and we shall need a son to aid us when we are old. And this boy is beautiful. So we will bring him up.' And the infant thrived; and each day the hard peasant wondered more at his own heart--for each day he knew that he loved his son more. One summer's night he walked out into his garden, carrying his child in his arms. The little one was five months old. And the night was so beautiful, with its great moon, that the peasant cried out--'Aa! kon ya med xurashii e yo da!' [Ah! to-night truly a wondrously beautiful night is!] Then the infant, looking up into his face and speaking the speech of a man, said--'Why, father! the LAST time you threw me away the night was just like this, and the moon looked just the same, did it not?' [7] And thereafter the child remained as other children of the same age, and spoke no word. The peasant became a monk. Sec. 11 After the supper and the bath, feeling too warm to sleep, I wander out alone to visit the village hakaba, a long cemetery upon a sandhill, or rather a prodigious dune, thinly covered at its summit with soil, but revealing through its crumbling flanks the story of its creation by ancient tides, mightier than tides of to-day. I wade to my knees in sand to reach the cemetery. It is a warm moonlight night, with a great breeze. There are many bon-lanterns (bondoro), but the sea-wind has blown out most of them; only a few here and there still shed a soft white glow--pretty shrine-shaped cases of wood, with apertures of symbolic outline, covered with white paper. Visitors beside myself there are none, for it is late. But much gentle work has been done here to-day, for all the bamboo vases have been furnished with fresh flowers or sprays, and the water basins filled with fresh water, and the monuments cleansed and beautified. And in the farthest nook of the cemetery I find, before one very humble tomb, a pretty zen or lacquered dining tray, covered with dishes and bowls containing a perfect dainty little Japanese repast. There is also a pair of new chopsticks, and a little cup of tea, and some of the dishes are still warm. A loving woman's work; the prints of her little sandals are fresh upon the path. Sec. 12 There is an Irish folk-saying that any dream may be remembered if the dreamer, after awakening, forbear to scratch his head in the effort to recall it. But should he forget this precaution, never can the dream be brought back to memory: as well try to re-form the curlings of a smoke- wreath blown away. Nine hundred and ninety-nine of a thousand dreams are indeed hopelessly evaporative. But certain rare dreams, which come when fancy has been strangely impressed by unfamiliar experiences--dreams particularly apt to occur in time of travel--remain in recollection, imaged with all the vividness of real events. Of such was the dream I dreamed at Hamamura, after having seen and heard those things previously written down. Some pale broad paved place--perhaps the thought of a temple court-- tinted by a faint sun; and before me a woman, neither young nor old, seated at the base of a great grey pedestal that supported I know not what, for I could look only at the woman's face. Awhile I thought that I remembered her--a woman of Izumo; then she seemed a weirdness. Her lips were moving, but her eyes remained closed, and I could not choose but look at her. And in a voice that seemed to come thin through distance of years she began a soft wailing chant; and, as I listened, vague memories came to me of a Celtic lullaby. And as she sang, she loosed with one hand her long black hair, till it fell coiling upon the stones. And, having fallen, it was no longer black, but blue--pale day-blue--and was moving sinuously, crawling with swift blue ripplings to and fro. And then, suddenly, I became aware that the ripplings were far, very far away, and that the woman was gone. There was only the sea, blue-billowing to the verge of heaven, with long slow flashings of soundless surf. And wakening, I heard in the night the muttering of the real sea--the vast husky speech of the Hotoke-umi--the Tide of the Returning Ghosts. CHAPTER SEVEN Of a Dancing-Girl NOTHING is more silent than the beginning of a Japanese banquet; and no one, except a native, who observes the opening scene could possibly imagine the tumultuous ending. The robed guests take their places, quite noiselessly and without speech, upon the kneeling-cushions. The lacquered services are laid upon the matting before them by maidens whose bare feet make no sound. For a while there is only smiling and flitting, as in dreams. You are not likely to hear any voices from without, as a banqueting-house is usually secluded from the street by spacious gardens. At last the master of ceremonies, host or provider, breaks the hush with the consecrated formula: 'O-somatsu degozarimasu gal--dozo o-hashi!' whereat all present bow silently, take up their hashi (chopsticks), and fall to. But hashi, deftly used, cannot be heard at all. The maidens pour warm sake into the cup of each guest without making the least sound; and it is not until several dishes have been emptied, and several cups of sake absorbed, that tongues are loosened. Then, all at once, with a little burst of laughter, a number of young girls enter, make the customary prostration of greeting, glide into the open space between the ranks of the guests, and begin to serve the wine with a grace and dexterity of which no common maid is capable. They are pretty; they are clad in very costly robes of silk; they are girdled like queens; and the beautifully dressed hair of each is decked with mock flowers, with wonderful combs and pins, and with curious ornaments of gold. They greet the stranger as if they had always known him; they jest, laugh, and utter funny little cries. These are the geisha, [1] or dancing-girls, hired for the banquet. Samisen [2] tinkle. The dancers withdraw to a clear space at the farther end of the banqueting-hall, always vast enough to admit of many more guests than ever assemble upon common occasions. Some form the orchestra, under the direction of a woman of uncertain age; there are several samisen, and a tiny drum played by a child. Others, singly or in pairs, perform the dance. It may be swift and merry, consisting wholly of graceful posturing--two girls dancing together with such coincidence of step and gesture as only years of training could render possible. But more frequently it is rather like acting than like what we Occidentals call dancing--acting accompanied with extraordinary waving of sleeves and fans, and with a play of eyes and features, sweet, subtle, subdued, wholly Oriental. There are more voluptuous dances known to geisha, but upon ordinary occasions and before refined audiences they portray beautiful old Japanese traditions, like the legend of the fisher Urashima, beloved by the Sea God's daughter; and at intervals they sing ancient Chinese poems, expressing a natural emotion with delicious vividness by a few exquisite words. And always they pour the wine--that warm, pale yellow, drowsy wine which fills the veins with soft contentment, making a faint sense of ecstasy, through which, as through some poppied sleep, the commonplace becomes wondrous and blissful, and the geisha Maids of Paradise, and the world much sweeter than, in the natural order of things, it could ever possibly be. The banquet, at first so silent, slowly changes to a merry tumult. The company break ranks, form groups; and from group to group the girls pass, laughing, prattling--still pouring sake into the cups which are being exchanged and emptied with low bows [3] Men begin to sing old samurai songs, old Chinese poems. One or two even dance. A geisha tucks her robe well up to her knees; and the samisen strike up the quick melody, 'Kompira fund-fund.' As the music plays, she begins to run lightly and swiftly in a figure of 8, and a young man, carrying a sake bottle and cup, also runs in the same figure of 8. If the two meet on a line, the one through whose error the meeting happens must drink a cup of sake. The music becomes quicker and quicker and the runners run faster and faster, for they must keep time to the melody; and the geisha wins. In another part of the room, guests and geisha are playing ken. They sing as they play, facing each other, and clap their hands, and fling out their fingers at intervals with little cries and the samisen keep time. Choito--don-don! Otagaidane; Choito--don-don! Oidemashitane; Choito--don-don! Shimaimashitane. Now, to play ken with a geisha requires a perfectly cool head, a quick eye, and much practice. Having been trained from childhood to play all kinds of ken--and there are many--she generally loses only for politeness, when she loses at all. The signs of the most common ken are a Man, a Fox, and a Gun. If the geisha make the sign of the Gun, you must instantly, and in exact time to the music, make the sign of the Fox, who cannot use the Gun. For if you make the sign of the Man, then she will answer with the sign of the Fox, who can deceive the Man, and you lose. And if she make the sign of the Fox first, then you should make the sign of the Gun, by which the Fox can be killed. But all the while you must watch her bright eyes and supple hands. These are pretty; and if you suffer yourself, just for one fraction of a second, to think how pretty they are, you are bewitched and vanquished. Notwithstanding all this apparent comradeship, a certain rigid decorum between guest and geisha is invariably preserved at a Japanese banquet. However flushed with wine a guest may have become, you will never see him attempt to caress a girl; he never forgets that she appears at the festivities only as a human flower, to be looked at, not to be touched. The familiarity which foreign tourists in Japan frequently permit themselves with geisha or with waiter-girls, though endured with smiling patience, is really much disliked, and considered by native observers an evidence of extreme vulgarity. For a time the merriment grows; but as midnight draws near, the guests begin to slip away, one by one, unnoticed. Then the din gradually dies down, the music stops; and at last the geisha, having escorted the latest of the feasters to the door, with laughing cries of Sayonara, can sit down alone to break their long fast in the deserted hall. Such is the geisha's rôle But what is the mystery of her? What are her thoughts, her emotions, her secret self? What is her veritable existence beyond the night circle of the banquet lights, far from the illusion formed around her by the mist of wine? Is she always as mischievous as she seems while her voice ripples out with mocking sweetness the words of the ancient song? Kimi to neyaru ka, go sengoku toruka? Nanno gosengoku kimi to neyo? [4] Or might we think her capable of keeping that passionate promise she utters so deliciously? Omae shindara tera ewa yaranu! Yaete konishite sake de nomu, [5] 'Why, as for that,' a friend tells me, 'there was O'-Kama of Osaka who realised the song only last year. For she, having collected from the funeral pile the ashes of her lover, mingled them with sake, and at a banquet drank them, in the presence of many guests.' In the presence of many guests! Alas for romance! Always in the dwelling which a band of geisha occupy there is a strange image placed in the alcove. Sometimes it is of clay, rarely of gold, most commonly of porcelain. It is reverenced: offerings are made to it, sweetmeats and rice bread and wine; incense smoulders in front of it, and a lamp is burned before it. It is the image of a kitten erect, one paw outstretched as if inviting--whence its name, 'the Beckoning Kitten.' [6] It is the genius loci: it brings good-fortune, the patronage of the rich, the favour of banquet-givers Now, they who know the soul of the geisha aver that the semblance of the image is the semblance of herself--playful and pretty, soft and young, lithe and caressing, and cruel as a devouring fire. Worse, also, than this they have said of her: that in her shadow treads the God of Poverty, and that the Fox-women are her sisters; that she is the ruin of youth, the waster of fortunes, the destroyer of families; that she knows love only as the source of the follies which are her gain, and grows rich upon the substance of men whose graves she has made; that she is the most consummate of pretty hypocrites, the most dangerous of schemers, the most insatiable of mercenaries, the most pitiless of mistresses. This cannot all be true. Yet thus much is true-- that, like the kitten, the geisha is by profession a creature of prey. There are many really lovable kittens. Even so there must be really delightful dancing-girls. The geisha is only what she has been made in answer to foolish human desire for the illusion of love mixed with youth and grace, but without regrets or responsibilities: wherefore she has been taught, besides ken, to play at hearts. Now, the eternal law is that people may play with impunity at any game in this unhappy world except three, which are called Life, Love, and Death. Those the gods have reserved to themselves, because nobody else can learn to play them without doing mischief. Therefore, to play with a geisha any game much more serious than ken, or at least go, is displeasing to the gods. The girl begins her career as a slave, a pretty child bought from miserably poor parents under a contract, according to which her services may be claimed by the purchasers for eighteen, twenty, or even twenty- five years. She is fed, clothed, and trained in a house occupied only by geisha; and she passes the rest of her childhood under severe discipline. She is taught etiquette, grace, polite speech; she has daily lessons in dancing; and she is obliged to learn by heart a multitude of songs with their airs. Also she must learn games, the service of banquets and weddings, the art of dressing and looking beautiful. Whatever physical gifts she may have are; carefully cultivated. Afterwards she is taught to handle musical instruments: first, the little drum (tsudzumi), which cannot be sounded at all without considerable practice; then she learns to play the samisen a little, with a plectrum of tortoise-shell or ivory. At eight or nine years of age she attends banquets, chiefly as a drum-player. She is then the most charming little creature imaginable, and already knows how to fill your wine-cup exactly full, with a single toss of the bottle and without spilling a drop, between two taps of her drum. Thereafter her discipline becomes more cruel. Her voice may be flexible enough, but lacks the requisite strength. In the iciest hours of winter nights, she must ascend to the roof of her dwelling-house, and there sing and play till the blood oozes from her fingers and the voice dies in her throat. The desired result is an atrocious cold. After a period of hoarse whispering, her voice changes its tone and strengthens. She is ready to become a public singer and dancer. In this capacity she usually makes her first appearance at the age of twelve or thirteen. If pretty and skilful, her services will be much in demand, and her time paid for at the rate of twenty to twenty-five sen per hour. Then only do her purchasers begin to reimburse themselves for the time, expense, and trouble of her training; and they are not apt to be generous. For many years more all that she earns must pass into their hands. She can own nothing, not even her clothes. At seventeen or eighteen she has made her artistic reputation. She has been at many hundreds of entertainments, and knows by sight all the important personages of her city, the character of each, the history of all. Her life has been chiefly a night life; rarely has she seen the sun rise since she became a dancer. She has learned to drink wine without ever losing her head, and to fast for seven or eight hours without ever feeling the worse. She has had many lovers. To a certain extent she is free to smile upon whom she pleases; but she has been well taught, above all else to use her power of charm for her own advantage. She hopes to find Somebody able and willing to buy her freedom--which Somebody would almost certainly thereafter discover many new and excellent meanings in those Buddhist texts that tell about the foolishness of love and the impermanency of all human relationships. At this point of her career we may leave the geisha: there-. after her story is apt to prove unpleasant, unless she die young. Should that happen, she will have the obsequies of her class, and her memory will be preserved by divers curious rites. Some time, perhaps, while wandering through Japanese streets at night, you hear sounds of music, a tinkling of samisen floating through the great gateway of a Buddhist temple together with shrill voices of singing-girls; which may seem to you a strange happening. And the deep court is thronged with people looking and listening. Then, making your way through the press to the temple steps, you see two geisha seated upon the matting within, playing and singing, and a third dancing before a little table. Upon the table is an ihai, or mortuary tablet; in front of the tablet burns a little lamp, and incense in a cup of bronze; a small repast has been placed there, fruits and dainties--such a repast as, upon festival occasions, it is the custom to offer to the dead. You learn that the kaimyo upon the tablet is that of a geisha; and that the comrades of the dead girl assemble in the temple on certain days to gladden her spirit with songs and dances. Then whosoever pleases may attend the ceremony free of charge. But the dancing-girls of ancient times were not as the geisha of to-day. Some of them were called shirabyoshi; and their hearts were not extremely hard. They were beautiful; they wore queerly shaped caps bedecked with gold; they were clad in splendid attire, and danced with swords in the dwellings of princes. And there is an old story about one of them which I think it worth while to tell. Sec. 1 It was formerly, and indeed still is, a custom with young Japanese artists to travel on foot through various parts of the empire, in order to see and sketch the most celebrated scenery as well as to study famous art objects preserved in Buddhist temples, many of which occupy sites of extraordinary picturesqueness. It is to such wanderings, chiefly, that we owe the existence of those beautiful books of landscape views and life studies which are now so curious and rare, and which teach better than aught else that only the Japanese can paint Japanese scenery. After you have become acquainted with their methods of interpreting their own nature, foreign attempts in the same line will seem to you strangely flat and soulless. The foreign artist will give you realistic reflections of what he sees; but he will give you nothing more. The Japanese artist gives you that which he feels--the mood of a season, the precise sensation of an hour and place; his work is qualified by a power of suggestiveness rarely found in the art of the West. The Occidental painter renders minute detail; he satisfies the imagination he evokes. But his Oriental brother either suppresses or idealises detail--steeps his distances in mist, bands his landscapes with cloud, makes of his experience a memory in which only the strange and the beautiful survive, with their sensations. He surpasses imagination, excites it, leaves it hungry with the hunger of charm perceived in glimpses only. Nevertheless, in such glimpses he is able to convey the feeling of a time, the character of a place, after a fashion that seems magical. He is a painter of recollections and of sensations rather than of clear-cut realities; and in this lies the secret of his amazing power--a power not to be appreciated by those who have never witnessed the scenes of his inspiration. He is above all things impersonal. His human figures are devoid of all individuality; yet they have inimitable merit as types embodying the characteristics of a class: the childish curiosity of the peasant, the shyness of the maiden, the fascination of the joro the self-consciousness of the samurai, the funny, placid prettiness of the child, the resigned gentleness of age. Travel and observation were the influences which developed this art; it was never a growth of studios. A great many years ago, a young art student was travelling on foot from Kyoto to Yedo, over the mountains The roads then were few and bad, and travel was so difficult compared to what it is now that a proverb was current, Kawai ko wa tabi wo sase (A pet child should be made to travel). But the land was what it is to-day. There were the same forests of cedar and of pine, the same groves of bamboo, the same peaked villages with roofs of thatch, the same terraced rice-fields dotted with the great yellow straw hats of peasants bending in the slime. From the wayside, the same statues of Jizo smiled upon the same pilgrim figures passing to the same temples; and then, as now, of summer days, one might see naked brown children laughing in all the shallow rivers, and all the rivers laughing to the sun. The young art student, however, was no kawai ko: he had already travelled a great deal, was inured to hard fare and rough lodging, and accustomed to make the best of every situation. But upon this journey he found himself, one evening after sunset, in a region where it seemed possible to obtain neither fare nor lodging of any sort--out of sight of cultivated land. While attempting a short cut over a range to reach some village, he had lost his way. There was no moon, and pine shadows made blackness all around him. The district into which he had wandered seemed utterly wild; there were no sounds but the humming of the wind in the pine-needles, and an infinite tinkling of bell-insects. He stumbled on, hoping to gain some river bank, which he could follow to a settlement. At last a stream abruptly crossed his way; but it proved to be a swift torrent pouring into a gorge between precipices. Obliged to retrace his steps, he resolved to climb to the nearest summit, whence he might be able to discern some sign of human life; but on reaching it he could see about him only a heaping of hills. He had almost resigned himself to passing the night under the stars, when he perceived, at some distance down the farther slope of the hill he had ascended, a single thin yellow ray of light, evidently issuing from some dwelling. He made his way towards it, and soon discerned a small cottage, apparently a peasant's home. The light he had seen still streamed from it, through a chink in the closed storm-doors. He hastened forward, and knocked at the entrance. Not until he had knocked and called several times did he hear any stir within; then a woman 's voice asked what was wanted. The voice was remarkably sweet, and the speech of the unseen questioner surprised him, for she spoke in the cultivated idiom of the capital. He responded that he was a student, who had lost his way in the mountains; that he wished, if possible, to obtain food and lodging for the night; and that if this could not be given, he would feel very grateful for information how to reach the nearest village--adding that he had means enough to pay for the services of a guide. The voice, in return, asked several other questions, indicating extreme surprise that anyone could have reached the dwelling from the direction he had taken. But his answers evidently allayed suspicion, for the inmate exclaimed: 'I will come in a moment. It would be difficult for you to reach any village to-night; and the path is dangerous.' After a brief delay the storm-doors were pushed open, and a woman appeared with a paper lantern, which she so held as to illuminate the stranger's face, while her own remained in shadow. She scrutinised him in silence, then said briefly, 'Wait; I will bring water.' She fetched a wash-basin, set it upon the doorstep, and offered the guest a towel. He removed his sandals, washed from his feet the dust of travel, and was shown into a neat room which appeared to occupy the whole interior, except a small boarded space at the rear, used as a kitchen. A cotton zabuton was laid for him to kneel upon, and a brazier set before him. It was only then that he had a good opportunity of observing his hostess, and he was startled by the delicacy and beauty of her features. She might have been three or four years older than he, but was still in the bloom of youth. Certainly she was not a peasant girl. In the same singularly sweet voice she said to him: 'I am now alone, and I never receive guests here. But I am sure it would be dangerous for you to travel farther tonight. There are some peasants in the neighbourhood, but you cannot find your way to them in the dark without a guide. So I can let you stay here until morning. You will not be comfortable, but I can give you a bed. And I suppose you are hungry. There is only some shojin-ryori, [7]--not at all good, but you are welcome to it.' The traveller was quite hungry, and only too glad of the offer. The young woman kindled a little fire, prepared a few dishes in silence-- stewed leaves of na, some aburage, some kampyo, and a bowl of coarse rice--and quickly set the meal before him, apologising for its quality. But during his repast she spoke scarcely at all, and her reserved manner embarrassed him. As she answered the few questions he ventured upon merely by a bow or by a solitary word, he soon refrained from attempting to press the conversation. Meanwhile he had observed that the small house was spotlessly clean, and the utensils in which his food was served were immaculate. The few cheap objects in the apartment were pretty. The fusuma of the oshiire and zendana [8] were of white paper only, but had been decorated with large Chinese characters exquisitely written, characters suggesting, according to the law of such decoration, the favourite themes of the poet and artist: Spring Flowers, Mountain and Sea, Summer Rain, Sky and Stars, Autumn Moon, River Water, Autumn Breeze. At one side of the apartment stood a kind of low altar, supporting a butsudan, whose tiny lacquered doors, left open, showed a mortuary tablet within, before which a lamp was burning between offerings of wild flowers. And above this household shrine hung a picture of more than common merit, representing the Goddess of Mercy, wearing the moon for her aureole. As the student ended his little meal the young woman observed: I cannot offer you a good bed, and there is only a paper mosquito-curtain The bed and the curtain are mine, but to-night I have many things to do, and shall have no time to sleep; therefore I beg you will try to rest, though I am not able to make you comfortable.' He then understood that she was, for some strange reason, entirely alone, and was voluntarily giving up her only bed to him upon a kindly pretext. He protested honestly against such an excess of hospitality, and assured her that he could sleep quite soundly anywhere on the floor, and did not care about the mosquitoes. But she replied, in the tone of an elder sister, that he must obey her wishes. She really had something to do, and she desired to be left by herself as soon as possible; therefore, understanding him to be a gentleman, she expected he would suffer her to arrange matters in her own way. To this he could offer no objection, as there was but one room. She spread the mattress on the floor, fetched a wooden pillow, suspended her paper mosquito-curtain, unfolded a large screen on the side of the bed toward the butsudan, and then bade him good-night in a manner that assured him she wished him to retire at once; which he did, not without some reluctance at the thought of all the trouble he had unintentionally caused her. Sec. 3 Unwilling as the young traveller felt to accept a kindness involving the sacrifice of another's repose, he found the bed more than comfortable. He was very tired, and had scarcely laid his head upon the wooden pillow before he forgot everything in sleep. Yet only a little while seemed to have passed when he was awakened by a singular sound. It was certainly the sound of feet, but not of feet walking softly. It seemed rather the sound of feet in rapid motion, as of excitement. Then it occurred to him that robbers might have entered the house. As for himself, he had little to fear because he had little to lose. His anxiety was chiefly for the kind person who had granted him hospitality. Into each side of the paper mosquito-curtain a small square of brown netting had been fitted, like a little window, and through one of these he tried to look; but the high screen stood between him and whatever was going on. He thought of calling, but this impulse was checked by the reflection that in case of real danger it would be both useless and imprudent to announce his presence before understanding the situation. The sounds which had made him uneasy continued, and were more and more mysterious. He resolved to prepare for the worst, and to risk his life, if necessary, in order to defend his young hostess. Hastily girding up his robes, he slipped noiselessly from under the paper curtain, crept to the edge of the screen, and peeped. What he saw astonished him extremely. Before her illuminated butsudan the young woman, magnificently attired, was dancing all alone. Her costume he recognised as that of a shirabyoshi, though much richer than any he had ever seen worn by a professional dancer. Marvellously enhanced by it, her beauty, in that lonely time and place, appeared almost supernatural; but what seemed to him even more wonderful was her dancing. For an instant he felt the tingling of a weird doubt. The superstitions of peasants, the legends of Fox-women, flashed before his imagination; but the sight of the Buddhist shrine, of the sacred picture, dissipated the fancy, and shamed him for the folly of it. At the same time he became conscious that he was watching something she had not wished him to see, and that it was his duty, as her guest, to return at once behind the screen; but the spectacle fascinated him. He felt, with not less pleasure than amazement, that he was looking upon the most accomplished dancer he had ever seen; and the more he watched, the more the witchery of her grace grew upon him. Suddenly she paused, panting, unfastened her girdle, turned in the act of doffing her upper robe, and started violently as her eyes encountered his own. He tried at once to excuse himself to her. He said he had been suddenly awakened by the sound of quick feet, which sound had caused him some uneasiness, chiefly for her sake, because of the lateness of the hour and the lonesomeness of the place. Then he confessed his surprise at what he had seen, and spoke of the manner in which it had attracted him. 'I beg you,' he continued, 'to forgive my curiosity, for I cannot help wondering who you are, and how you could have become so marvellous a dancer. All the dancers of Saikyo I have seen, yet I have never seen among the most celebrated of them a girl who could dance like you; and once I had begun to watch you, I could not take away my eyes.' At first she had seemed angry, but before he had ceased to speak her expression changed. She smiled, and seated herself before him.' 'No, I am not angry with you,' she said. 'I am only sorry that you should have watched me, for I am sure you must have thought me mad when you saw me dancing that way, all by myself; and now I must tell you the meaning of what you have seen.' So she related her story. Her name he remembered to have heard as a boy --her professional name, the name of the most famous of shirabyoshi, the darling of the capital, who, in the zenith of her fame and beauty, had suddenly vanished from public life, none knew whither or why. She had fled from wealth and fortune with a youth who loved her. He was poor, but between them they possessed enough means to live simply and happily in the country. They built a little house in the mountains, and there for a number of years they existed only for each other. He adored her. One of his greatest pleasures was to see her dance. Each evening he would play some favourite melody, and she would dance for him. But one long cold winter he fell sick, and, in spite of her tender nursing, died. Since then she had lived alone with the memory of him, performing all those small rites of love and homage with which the dead are honoured. Daily before his tablet she placed the customary offerings, and nightly danced to please him, as of old. And this was the explanation of what the young traveller had seen. It was indeed rude, she continued, to have awakened her tired guest; but she had waited until she thought him soundly sleeping, and then she had tried to dance very, very lightly. So she hoped he would pardon her for having unintentionally disturbed him. When she had told him all, she made ready a little tea, which they drank together; then she entreated him so plaintively to please her by trying to sleep again that he found himself obliged to go back, with many sincere apologies, under the paper mosquito-curtain. He slept well and long; the sun was high before he woke. On rising, he found prepared for him a meal as simple as that of the evening before, and he felt hungry. Nevertheless he ate sparingly, fearing the young woman might have stinted herself in thus providing for him; and then he made ready to depart. But when he wanted to pay her for what he had received, and for all the trouble he had given her, she refused to take anything from him, saying: 'What I had to give was not worth money, and what I did was done for kindness alone. So! pray that you will try to forget the discomfort you suffered here, and will remember only the good-will of one who had nothing to offer.' He still endeavoured to induce her to accept something; but at last, finding that his insistence only gave her pain, he took leave of her with such words as he could find to express his gratitude, and not without a secret regret, for her beauty and her gentleness had charmed him more than he would have liked to acknowledge to any but herself. She indicated to him the path to follow, and watched him descend the mountain until he had passed from sight. An hour later he found himself upon a highway with which he was familiar. Then a sudden remorse touched him: he had forgotten to tell her his name. For an instant he hesitated; then he said to himself, 'What matters it? I shall be always poor.' And he went on. Many years passed by, and many fashions with them; and the painter became old. But ere becoming old he had become famous. Princes, charmed by the wonder of his work, had vied with one another in giving him patronage; so that he grew rich, and possessed a beautiful dwelling of his own in the City of the Emperors. Young artists from many provinces were his pupils, and lived with him, serving him in all things while receiving his instruction; and his name was known throughout the land. Now, there came one day to his house an old woman, who asked to speak with him. The servants, seeing that she was meanly dressed and of miserable appearance, took her to be some common beggar, and questioned her roughly. But when she answered: 'I can tell to no one except your master why I have come,' they believed her mad, and deceived her, saying: 'He is not now in Saikyo, nor do we know how soon he will return.' But the old woman came again and again--day after day, and week after week--each time being told something that was not true: 'To-day he is ill,' or, 'To-day he is very busy,' or, 'To-day he has much company, and therefore cannot see you.' Nevertheless she continued to come, always at the same hour each day, and always carrying a bundle wrapped in a ragged covering; and the servants at last thought it were best to speak to their master about her. So they said to him: 'There is a very old woman, whom we take to be a beggar, at our lord's gate. More than fifty times she has come, asking to see our lord, and refusing to tell us why-- saying that she can tell her wishes only to our lord. And we have tried to discourage her, as she seemed to be mad; but she always comes. Therefore we have presumed to mention the matter to our lord, in order that we may learn what is to be done hereafter.' Then the Master answered sharply: 'Why did none of you tell me of this before?' and went out himself to the gate, and spoke very kindly to the woman, remembering how he also had been poor. And he asked her if she desired alms of him. But she answered that she had no need of money or of food, and only desired that he would paint for her a picture. He wondered at her wish, and bade her enter his house. So she entered into the vestibule, and, kneeling there, began to untie the knots of the bundle she had brought with her. When she had unwrapped it, the painter perceived curious rich quaint garments of silk broidered with designs in gold, yet much frayed and discoloured by wear and time--the wreck of a wonderful costume of other days, the attire of a shirabyoshi. While the old woman unfolded the garments one by one, and tried to smooth them with her trembling fingers, a memory stirred in the Master's brain, thrilled dimly there a little space, then suddenly lighted up. In that soft shock of recollection, he saw again the lonely mountain dwelling in which he had received unremunerated hospitality--the tiny room prepared for his rest, the paper mosquito-curtain, the faintly burning lamp before the Buddhist shrine, the strange beauty of one dancing there alone in the dead of the night. Then, to the astonishment of the aged visitor, he, the favoured of princes, bowed low before her, and said: 'Pardon my rudeness in having forgotten your face for a moment; but it is more than forty years since we last saw each other. Now I remember you well. You received me once at your house. You gave up to me the only bed you had. I saw you dance, and you told me all your story. You had been a shirabyoshi, and I have not forgotten your name.' He uttered it. She, astonished and confused, could not at first reply to him, for she was old and had suffered much, and her memory had begun to fail. But he spoke more and more kindly to her, and reminded her of many things which she had told him, and described to her the house in which she had lived alone, so that at last she also remembered; and she answered, with tears of pleasure: 'Surely the Divine One who looketh down above the sound of prayer has guided me. But when my unworthy home was honoured by the visit of the august Master, I was not as I now am. And it seems to me like a miracle of our Lord Buddha that the Master should remember me.' Then she related the rest of her simple story. In the course of years, she had become, through poverty, obliged to part with her little house; and in her old age she had returned alone to the great city, in which her name had long been forgotten. It had caused her much pain to lose her home; but it grieved her still more that, in becoming weak and old, she could no longer dance each evening before the butsudan, to please the spirit of the dead whom she had loved. Therefore she wanted to have a picture of herself painted, in the costume and the attitude of the dance, that she might suspend it before the butsudan. For this she had prayed earnestly to Kwannon. And she had sought out the Master because of his fame as a painter, since she desired, for the sake of the dead, no common work, but a picture painted with great skill; and she had brought her dancing attire, hoping that the Master might be willing to paint her therein. He listened to all with a kindly smile, and answered her: 'It will be only a pleasure for me to paint the picture which you want. This day I have something to finish which cannot be delayed. But if you will come here to-morrow, I will paint you exactly as you wish, and as well as I am able.' But she said: 'I have not yet told to the Master the thing which most troubles me. And it is this--that I can offer in return for so great a favour nothing except these dancer's clothes; and they are of no value in themselves, though they were costly once. Still, I hoped the Master might be willing to take them, seeing they have become curious; for there are no more shirabyoshi, and the maiko of these times wear no such robes.' 'Of that matter,' the good painter exclaimed, 'you must not think at all! No; I am glad to have this present chance of paying a small part of my old debt to you. So to-morrow I will paint you just as you wish.' She prostrated herself thrice before him, uttering thanks and then said, 'Let my lord pardon, though I have yet something more to say. For I do not wish that he should paint me as I now am, but only as I used to be when I was young, as my lord knew me.' He said: 'I remember well. You were very beautiful.' Her wrinkled features lighted up with pleasure, as she bowed her thanks to him for those words. And she exclaimed: 'Then indeed all that I hoped and prayed for may be done! Since he thus remembers my poor youth, I beseech my lord to paint me, not as I now am, but as he saw me when I was not old and, as it has pleased him generously to say, not uncomely. O Master, make me young again! Make me seem beautiful that I may seem beautiful to the soul of him for whose sake I, the unworthy, beseech this! He will see the Master's work: he will forgive me that I can no longer dance. Once more the Master bade her have no anxiety, and said: 'Come tomorrow, and I will paint you. I will make a picture of you just as you were when I saw you, a young and beautiful shirabyoshi, and I will paint it as carefully and as skilfully as if I were painting the picture of the richest person in the land. Never doubt, but come.' Sec. 5 So the aged dancer came at the appointed hour; and upon soft white silk the artist painted a picture of her. Yet not a picture of her as she seemed to the Master's pupils but the memory of her as she had been in the days of her youth, bright-eyed as a bird, lithe as a bamboo, dazzling as a tennin [9] in her raiment of silk and gold. Under the magic of the Master's brush, the vanished grace returned, the faded beauty bloomed again. When the kakemono had been finished, and stamped with his seal, he mounted it richly upon silken cloth, and fixed to it rollers of cedar with ivory weights, and a silken cord by which to hang it; and he placed it in a little box of white wood, and so gave it to the shirabyoshi. And he would also have presented her with a gift of money. But though he pressed her earnestly, he could not persuade her to accept his help. 'Nay,' she made answer, with tears, 'indeed I need nothing. The picture only I desired. For that I prayed; and now my prayer has been answered, and I know that I never can wish for anything more in this life, and that if I come to die thus desiring nothing, to enter upon the way of Buddha will not be difficult. One thought .alone causes me sorrow--that I have nothing to offer to the Master but this dancer's apparel, which is indeed of little worth, though I beseech him I to accept it; and I will pray each day that his future life may be a life of happiness, because of the wondrous kindness which I he has done me.' 'Nay,' protested the painter, smiling, 'what is it that I have done? Truly nothing. As for the dancer's garments, I will accept them, if that can make you more happy. They will bring back pleasant memories of the night I passed in your home, when you gave up all your comforts for my unworthy sake, and yet would not suffer me to pay for that which I used; and for that kindness I hold myself to be still in your debt. But now tell me where you live, so that I may see the picture in its place.' For he had resolved within himself to place her beyond the reach of want. But she excused herself with humble words, and would not tell him, saying that her dwelling-place was too mean to be looked upon by such as he; and then, with many prostrations, she thanked him again and again, and went away with her treasure, weeping for joy. Then the Master called to one of his pupils: 'Go quickly after that woman, but so that she does not know herself followed, and bring me word where she lives.' So the young man followed her, unperceived. He remained long away, and when he returned he laughed in the manner of one obliged to say something which it is not pleasant to hear, and he said: 'That woman, O Master, I followed out of the city to the dry bed of the river, near to the place where criminals are executed. There I saw a hut such as an Eta might dwell in, and that is where she lives. A forsaken and filthy place, O Master!' 'Nevertheless,' the painter replied, 'to-morrow you will take me to that forsaken and filthy place. What time I live she shall not suffer for food or clothing or comfort.' And as all wondered, he told them the story of the shirabyoshi, after which it did not seem to them that his words were strange. Sec. 6 On the morning of the day following, an hour after sun-rise, the Master and his pupil took their way to the dry bed of the river, beyond the verge of the city, to the place of outcasts. The entrance of the little dwelling they found closed by a single shutter, upon which the Master tapped many times without evoking a response. Then, finding the shutter unfastened from within, he pushed it slightly aside, and called through the aperture. None replied, and he decided to enter. Simultaneously, with extraordinary vividness, there thrilled back to him the sensation of the very instant when, as a tired. lad, he stood pleading for admission to the lonesome little cottage among the hills. Entering alone softly, he perceived that the woman was lying there, wrapped in a single thin and tattered futon, seemingly asleep. On a rude shelf he recognised the butsudan of' forty years before, with its tablet, and now, as then, a tiny lamp was burning in front of the kaimyo. The kakemono of the Goddess of Mercy with her lunar aureole was gone, but on the wall facing the shrine he beheld his own dainty gift suspended, and an ofuda beneath it--an ofuda of Hito-koto-Kwannon [10]-- that Kwannon unto whom it is unlawful to pray more than once, as she answers but a single prayer. There was little else in the desolate dwelling; only the garments of a female pilgrim, and a mendicant's staff and bowl. But the Master did not pause to look at these things, for he desired to awaken and to gladden the sleeper, and he called her name cheerily twice and thrice. Then suddenly he saw that she was dead, and he wondered while he gazed upon her face, for it seemed less old. A vague sweetness, like a ghost of youth, had returned to it; the lines of sorrow had been softened, the wrinkles strangely smoothed, by the touch of a phantom Master mightier than he. CHAPTER EIGHT From Hoki to Oki Sec. 1 I RESOLVED to go to Oki. Not even a missionary had ever been to Oki, and its shores had never been seen by European eyes, except on those rare occasions when men-of- war steamed by them, cruising about the Japanese Sea. This alone would have been a sufficient reason for going there; but a stronger one was furnished for me by the ignorance of the Japanese themselves about Oki. Excepting the far-away Riu-Kiu, or Loo-Choo Islands, inhabited by a somewhat different race with a different language, the least-known portion of the Japanese Empire is perhaps Oki. Since it belongs to the same prefectural district as Izumo, each new governor of Shimane-Ken is supposed to pay one visit to Oki after his inauguration; and the chief of police of the province sometimes goes there upon a tour of inspection. There are also some mercantile houses in Matsue and in other cities which send a commercial traveller to Oki once a year. Furthermore, there is quite a large trade with Oki--almost all carried on by small sailing-vessels. But such official and commercial communications have not been of a nature to make Oki much better known to-day than in the medieval period of Japanese history. There are still current among the common people of the west coast extraordinary stories of Oki much like those about that fabulous Isle of Women, which figures so largely in the imaginative literature of various Oriental races. According to these old legends, the moral notions of the people of Oki were extremely fantastic: the most rigid ascetic could not dwell there and maintain his indifference to earthly pleasures; and, however wealthy at his arrival, the visiting stranger must soon return to his native land naked and poor, because of the seductions of women. I had quite sufficient experiences of travel in queer countries to feel certain that all these marvellous stories signified nothing beyond the bare fact that Oki was a terra incognita; and I even felt inclined to believe that the average morals of the people of Oki--judging by those of the common folk of the western provinces--must be very much better than the morals of our ignorant classes at home. Which I subsequently ascertained to be the case. For some time I could find no one among my Japanese acquaintances to give me any information about Oki, beyond the fact that in ancient times it had been a place of banishment for the Emperors Go-Daigo and Go-Toba, dethroned by military usurpers, and this I already knew. But at last, quite unexpectedly, I found a friend--a former fellow-teacher--who had not only been to Oki, but was going there again within a few days about some business matter. We agreed to go together. His accounts of Oki differed very materially from those of the people who had never been there. The Oki folks, he said, were almost as much civilised as the Izumo folks: they, had nice towns and good public schools. They were very simple and honest beyond belief, and extremely kind to strangers. Their only boast was that of having kept their race unchanged since the time that the Japanese had first come to Japan; or, in more romantic phrase, since the Age of the Gods. They were all Shintoists, members of the Izumo Taisha faith, but Buddhism was also maintained among them, chiefly through the generous subscription of private individuals. And there were very comfortable hotels, so that I would feel quite at home. He also gave me a little book about Oki, printed for the use of the Oki schools, from which I obtained the following brief summary of facts: Sec. 2 Oki-no-Kuni, or the Land of Oki, consists of two groups of small islands in the Sea of Japan, about one hundred miles from the coast of Izumo. Dozen, as the nearer group is termed, comprises, besides various islets, three islands lying close together: Chiburishima, or the Island of Chiburi (sometimes called Higashinoshima, or Eastern Island); Nishinoshima, or the Western Island, and Nakanoshima, or the Middle Island. Much larger than any of these is the principal island, Dogo, which together with various islets, mostly uninhabited, form the remaining group. It is sometimes called Oki--though the name Oki is more generally used for the whole archipelago. [1] Officially, Oki is divided into four kori or counties. Chiburi and Nishinoshima together form Chiburigori; Nakanoshima, with an islet, makes Amagori, and Dogo is divided into Ochigori and Sukigori. All these islands are very mountainous, and only a small portion of their area has ever been cultivated. Their chief sources of revenue are their fisheries, in which nearly the whole population has always been engaged from the most ancient times. During the winter months the sea between Oki and the west coast is highly dangerous for small vessels, and in that season the islands hold little communication with the mainland. Only one passenger steamer runs to Oki from Sakai in Hoki In a direct line, the distance from Sakai in Hoki to Saigo, the chief port of Oki, is said to be thirty-nine ri; but the steamer touches at the other islands upon her way thither. There are quite a number of little towns, or rather villages, in Oki, of which forty-five belong to Dogo. The villages are nearly all situated upon the coast. There are large schools in the principal towns. The population of the islands is stated to be 30,196, but the respective populations of towns and villages are not given. Sec. 3 From Matsue in Izumo to Sakai in Hoki is a trip of barely two hours by steamer. Sakai is the chief seaport of Shimane-Ken. It is an ugly little town, full of unpleasant smells; it exists only as a port; it has no industries, scarcely any shops, and only one Shinto temple of small dimensions and smaller interest. Its principal buildings are warehouses, pleasure resorts for sailors, and a few large dingy hotels, which are always overcrowded with guests waiting for steamers to Osaka, to Bakkan, to Hamada, to Niigata, and various other ports. On this coast no steamers run regularly anywhere; their owners attach no business value whatever to punctuality, and guests have usually to wait for a much longer time than they could possibly have expected, and the hotels are glad. But the harbour is beautiful--a long frith between the high land of Izumo and the low coast of Hoki. It is perfectly sheltered from storms, and deep enough to admit all but the largest steamers. The ships can lie close to the houses, and the harbour is nearly always thronged with all sorts of craft, from junks to steam packets of the latest construction. My friend and I were lucky enough to secure back rooms at the best hotel. Back rooms are the best in nearly all Japanese buildings: at Sakai they have the additional advantage of overlooking the busy wharves and the whole luminous bay, beyond which the Izumo hills undulate in huge green billows against the sky. There was much to see and to be amused at. Steamers and sailing craft of all sorts were lying two and three deep before the hotel, and the naked dock labourers were loading and unloading in their own peculiar way. These men are recruited from among the strongest peasantry of Hoki and of Izumo, and some were really fine men, over whose brown backs the muscles rippled at every movement. They were assisted by boys of fifteen or sixteen apparently--apprentices learning the work, but not yet strong enough to bear heavy burdens. I noticed that nearly all had bands of blue cloth bound about their calves to keep the veins from bursting. And all sang as they worked. There was one curious alternate chorus, in which the men in the hold gave the signal by chanting 'dokoe, dokoel' (haul away!) and those at the hatch responded by improvisations on the appearance of each package as it ascended: Dokoe, dokoe! Onnago no ko da. Dokoe, dokoe! Oya dayo, oya dayo. Dokoe, dokoel Choi-choi da, choi-choi da. Dokoe, dokoe! Matsue da, Matsueda. Dokoe, dokoe! Koetsumo Yonago da, [20] etc. But this chant was for light quick work. A very different chant accompanied the more painful and slower labour of loading heavy sacks and barrels upon the shoulders of the stronger men:-- Yan-yui! Yan-yui! Yan-yui! Yan-yui! Yoi-ya-sa-a-a-no-do-koe-shi! [3] Three men always lifted the weight. At the first yan-yui all stooped; at the second all took hold; the third signified ready; at the fourth the weight rose from the ground; and with the long cry of yoiyasa no dokoeshi it was dropped on the brawny shoulder waiting to receive it. Among the workers was a naked laughing boy, with a fine contralto that rang out so merrily through all the din as to create something of a sensation in the hotel. A young woman, one of the guests, came out upon the balcony to look, and exclaimed: 'That boy's voice is RED'--whereat everybody smiled. Under the circumstances I thought the observation very expressive, although it recalled a certain famous story about scarlet and the sound of a trumpet, which does not seem nearly so funny now as it did at a time when we knew less about the nature of light and sound. The Oki steamer arrived the same afternoon, but she could not approach the wharf, and I could only obtain a momentary glimpse of her stern through a telescope, with which I read the name, in English letters of gold--OKI-SARGO. Before I could obtain any idea of her dimensions, a huge black steamer from Nagasaki glided between, and moored right in the way. I watched the loading and unloading, and listened to the song of the boy with the red voice, until sunset, when all quit work; and after that I watched the Nagasaki steamer. She had made her way to our wharf as the other vessels moved out, and lay directly under the balcony. The captain and crew did not appear to be in a hurry about anything. They all squatted down together on the foredeck, where a feast was spread for them by lantern-light. Dancing-girls climbed on board and feasted with them, and sang to the sound of the samisen, and played with them the game of ken. Late into the night the feasting and the fun continued; and although an alarming quantity of sake was consumed, there was no roughness or boisterousness. But sake is the most soporific of wines; and by midnight only three of the men remained on deck. One of these had not taken any sake at all, but still desired to eat. Happily for him there climbed on board a night-walking mochiya with a box of mochi, which are cakes of rice-flour sweetened with native sugar. The hungry one bought all, and reproached the mochiya because there were no more, and offered, nevertheless, to share the mochi with his comrades. Whereupon the first to whom the offer was made answered somewhat after this manner: 'I-your-servant mochi-for this-world-in no-use-have. Sake alone this- life-in if-there-be, nothing-beside-desirable-is. 'For me-your-servant,' spake the other, 'Woman this-fleeting-life-in the-supreme-thing is; mochi-or-sake-for earthly-use have-I-none.' But, having made all the mochi to disappear, he that had been hungry turned himself to the mochiya, and said:--'O Mochiya San, I-your-servant Woman-or-sake-for earthly-requirement have-none. Mochi-than things better this-life-of-sorrow-in existence-have-not !' Sec. 4 Early in the morning we were notified that the Oki-Saigo would start at precisely eight o'clock, and that we had better secure our tickets at once. The hotel-servant, according to Japanese custom, relieved us of all anxiety about baggage, etc., and bought our tickets: first-class fare, eighty sen. And after a hasty breakfast the hotel boat came under the window to take us away. Warned by experience of the discomforts of European dress on Shimane steamers, I adopted Japanese costume and exchanged my shoes for sandals. Our boatmen sculled swiftly through the confusion of shipping and junkery; and as we cleared it I saw, far out in midstream, the joki waiting for us. Joki is a Japanese name for steam-vessel. The word had not yet impressed me as being capable of a sinister interpretation. She seemed nearly as long as a harbour tug, though much more squabby; and she otherwise so much resembled the Lilliputian steamers of Lake Shinji, that I felt somewhat afraid of her, even for a trip of one hundred miles. But exterior inspection afforded no clue to the mystery of her inside. We reached her and climbed into her starboard through a small square hole. At once I found myself cramped in a heavily-roofed gangway, four feet high and two feet wide, and in the thick of a frightful squeeze--passengers stifling in the effort to pull baggage three feet in diameter through the two-foot orifice. It was impossible to advance or retreat; and behind me the engine-room gratings were pouring wonderful heat into this infernal corridor. I had to wait with the back of my head pressed against the roof until, in some unimaginable way, all baggage and passengers had squashed and squeezed through. Then, reaching a doorway, I fell over a heap of sandals and geta, into the first-class cabin. It was pretty, with its polished woodwork and mirrors; it was surrounded by divans five inches wide; and in the centre it was nearly six feet high. Such altitude would have been a cause for comparative happiness, but that from various polished bars of brass extended across the ceiling all kinds of small baggage, including two cages of singing-crickets (chongisu), had been carefully suspended. Furthermore the cabin was already extremely occupied: everybody, of course, on the floor, and nearly everybody lying at extreme length; and the heat struck me as being supernatural. Now they that go down to the sea in ships, out of Izumo and such places, for the purpose of doing business in great waters, are never supposed to stand up, but to squat in the ancient patient manner; and coast, or lake steamers are constructed with a view to render this attitude only possible. Observing an open door in the port side of the cabin, I picked my way over a tangle of bodies and limbs--among them a pair of fairy legs belonging to a dancing-girl--and found myself presently in another gangway, also roofed, and choked up to the roof with baskets of squirming eels. Exit there was none: so I climbed back over all the legs and tried the starboard gangway a second time. Even during that short interval, it had been half filled with baskets of unhappy chickens. But I made a reckless dash over them, in spite of frantic cacklings which hurt my soul, and succeeded in finding a way to the cabin-roof. It was entirely occupied by water-melons, except one corner, where there was a big coil of rope. I put melons inside of the rope, and sat upon them in the sun. It was not comfortable; but I thought that there I might have some chance for my life in case of a catastrophe, and I was sure that even the gods could give no help to those below. During the squeeze I had got separated from my companion, but I was afraid to make any attempt to find him. Forward I saw the roof of the second cabin crowded with third- class passengers squatting round a hibachi. To pass through them did not seem possible, and to retire would have involved the murder of either eels or chickens. Wherefore I sat upon the melons. And the boat started, with a stunning scream. In another moment her funnel began to rain soot upon me--for the so-called first-class cabin was well astern--and then came small cinders mixed with the soot, and the cinders were occasionally red-hot. But I sat burning upon the water- melons for some time longer, trying to imagine a way of changing my position without committing another assault upon the chickens. Finally, I made a desperate endeavour to get to leeward of the volcano, and it was then for the first time that I began to learn the peculiarities of the joki. What I tried to sit on turned upside down, and what I tried to hold by instantly gave way, and always in the direction of overboard. Things clamped or rigidly braced to outward seeming proved, upon cautious examination, to be dangerously mobile; and things that, according to Occidental ideas, ought to have been movable, were fixed like the roots of the perpetual hills. In whatever direction a rope or stay could possibly have been stretched so as to make somebody unhappy, it was there. In the midst of these trials the frightful little craft began to swing, and the water-melons began to rush heavily to and fro, and I came to the conclusion that this joki had been planned and constructed by demons. Which I stated to my friend. He had not only rejoined me quite unexpectedly, but had brought along with him one of the ship's boys to spread an awning above ourselves and the watermelons, so as to exclude cinders and sun. 'Oh, no!' he answered reproachfully 'She was designed and built at Hyogo, and really she might have been made much worse. . . ' 'I beg your pardon,' I interrupted; 'I don't agree with you at all.' 'Well, you will see for yourself,' he persisted. 'Her hull is good steel, and her little engine is wonderful; she can make her hundred miles in five hours. She is not very comfortable, but she is very swift and strong.' 'I would rather be in a sampan,' I protested, 'if there were rough weather.' 'But she never goes to sea in rough weather. If it only looks as if there might possibly be some rough weather, she stays in port. Sometimes she waits a whole month. She never runs any risks.' I could not feel sure of it. But I soon forgot all discomforts, even the discomfort of sitting upon water-melons, in the delight of the divine day and the magnificent view that opened wider and wider before us, as we rushed from the long frith into the Sea of Japan, following the Izumo coast. There was no fleck in the soft blue vastness above, not one flutter on the metallic smoothness of the all-reflecting sea; if our little steamer rocked, it was doubtless because she had been overloaded. To port, the Izumo hills were flying by, a long, wild procession of' broken shapes, sombre green, separating at intervals to form mysterious little bays, with fishing hamlets hiding in them. Leagues away to starboard, the Hoki shore receded into the naked white horizon, an ever- diminishing streak of warm blue edged with a thread-line of white, the gleam of a sand beach; and beyond it, in the centre, a vast shadowy pyramid loomed up into heaven--the ghostly peak of Daisen. My companion touched my arm to call my attention to a group of pine- trees on the summit of a peak to port, and laughed and sang a Japanese song. How swiftly we had been travelling I then for the first time understood, for I recognised the four famous pines of Mionoseki, on the windy heights above the shrine of Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami. There used to be five trees: one was uprooted by a storm, and some Izumo poet wrote about the remaining four the words which my friend had sung: Seki no gohon matsu Ippun kirya, shihon; Ato wa kirarenu Miyoto matsu. Which means: 'Of the five pines of Seki one has been cut, and four remain; and of these no one must now be cut--they are wedded pairs.' And in Mionoseki there are sold beautiful little sake cups and sake bottles, upon which are pictures of the four pines, and above the pictures, in spidery text of gold, the verses, 'Seki no gohon matsu.' These are for keepsakes, and there are many other curious and pretty souvenirs to buy in those pretty shops; porcelains bearing the picture of the Mionoseki temple, and metal clasps for tobacco pouches representing Koto-shiro- nushi-no-Kami trying to put a big tai-fish into a basket too small for it, and funny masks of glazed earthenware representing the laughing face of the god. For a jovial god is this Ebisu, or Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami, patron of honest labour and especially of fishers, though less of a laughter-lover than his father, the Great Deity of Kitzuki, about whom 'tis said: 'Whenever the happy laugh, the God rejoices.' We passed the Cape--the Miho of the Kojiki--and the harbour of Mionoseki opened before us, showing its islanded shrine of Benten in the midst, and the crescent of quaint houses with their feet in the water, and the great torii and granite lions of the far-famed temple. Immediately a number of passengers rose to their feet, and, turning their faces toward the torii began to clap their hands in Shinto prayer. I said to my friend: 'There are fifty baskets full of chickens in the gangway; and yet these people are praying to Koto-shiro-nushi-no-Kami that nothing horrible may happen to this boat.' 'More likely,' he answered, 'they are praying for good-fortune; though there is a saying: "The gods only laugh when men pray to them for wealth." But of the Great Deity of Mionoseki there is a good story told. Once there was a very lazy man who went to Mionoseki and prayed to become rich. And the same night he saw the god in a dream; and the god laughed, and took off one of his own divine sandals, and told him to examine it. And the man saw that it was made of solid brass, but had a big hole worn through the sole of it. Then said the god: "You want to have money without working for it. I am a god; but I am never lazy. See! my sandals are of brass: yet I have worked and walked so much that they are quite worn out."' Sec. 5 The beautiful bay of Mionoseki opens between two headlands: Cape Mio (or Miho, according to the archaic spelling) and the Cape of Jizo (Jizo- zaki), now most inappropriately called by the people 'The Nose of Jizo' (Jizo-no-hana). This Nose of Jizo is one of the most dangerous points of the coast in time of surf, and the great terror of small ships returning from Oki. There is nearly always a heavy swell there, even in fair weather. Yet as we passed the ragged promontory I was surprised to see the water still as glass. I felt suspicious of that noiseless sea: its soundlessness recalled the beautiful treacherous sleep of waves and winds which precedes a tropical hurricane. But my friend said: 'It may remain like this for weeks. In the sixth month and in the beginning of the seventh, it is usually very quiet; it is not likely to become dangerous before the Bon. But there was a little squall last week at Mionoseki; and the people said that it was caused by the anger of the god.' 'Eggs?' I queried. 'No: a Kudan.' 'What is a Kudan?' 'Is it possible you never heard of the Kudan? The Kudan has the face of a man, and the body of a bull. Sometimes it is born of a cow, and that is a Sign-of-things-going-to-happen. And the Kudan always tells the truth. Therefore in Japanese letters and documents it is customary to use the phrase, Kudanno-gotoshi--"like the Kudan"--or "on the truth of the Kudan."' [4] 'But why was the God of Mionoseki angry about the Kudan?' 'People said it was a stuffed Kudan. I did not see it, so I cannot tell you how it was made. There was some travelling showmen from Osaka at Sakai. They had a tiger and many curious animals and the stuffed Kudan; and they took the Izumo Maru for Mionoseki. As the steamer entered the port a sudden squall came; and the priests of the temple said the god was angry because things impure--bones and parts of dead animals--had been brought to the town. And the show people were not even allowed to land: they had to go back to Sakai on the same steamer. And as soon as they had gone away, the sky became clear again, and the wind stopped blowing: so that some people thought what the priests had said was true.' Sec. 6 Evidently there was much more moisture in the atmosphere than I had supposed. On really clear days Daisen can be distinctly seen even from Oki; but we had scarcely passed the Nose of Jizo when the huge peak began to wrap itself in vapour of the same colour as the horizon; and in a few minutes it vanished, as a spectre might vanish. The effect of this sudden disappearance was very extraordinary; for only the peak passed from sight, and that which had veiled it could not be any way distinguished from horizon and sky. Meanwhile the Oki-Saigo, having reached the farthest outlying point of the coast upon her route began to race in straight line across the Japanese Sea. The green hills of Izumi fled away and turned blue, and the spectral shores of Hoki began to melt into the horizon, like bands of cloud. Then was obliged to confess my surprise at the speed of the horrid little steamer. She moved, too, with scarcely any sound, smooth was the working of her wonderful little engine. But she began to swing heavily, with deep, slow swingings. To the eye, the sea looked level as oil; but there were long invisible swells--ocean-pulses--that made themselves felt beneath the surface. Hoki evaporated; the Izumo hills turned grey, a their grey steadily paled as I watched them. They grew more and more colourless--seemed to become transparent. And then they were not. Only blue sky and blue sea, welded together in the white horizon. It was just as lonesome as if we had been a thousand leagues from land. And in that weirdness we were told some very lonesome things by an ancient mariner who found leisure join us among the water-melons. He talked of the Hotoke-umi and the ill-luck of being at sea on the sixteenth day of the seventh month. He told us that even the great steamers never went to sea during the Bon: no crew would venture to take ship out then. And he related the following stories with such simple earnestness that I think he must have believed what said: 'The first time I was very young. From Hokkaido we had sailed, and the voyage was long, and the winds turned against us. And the night of the sixteenth day fell, as we were working on over this very sea. 'And all at once in the darkness we saw behind us a great junk--all white--that we had not noticed till she was quite close to us. It made us feel queer, because she seemed to have come from nowhere. She was so near us that we could hear voices; and her hull towered up high above us. She seemed to be sailing very fast; but she came no closer. We shouted to her; but we got no answer. And while we were watching her, all of us became afraid, because she did not move like a real ship. The sea was terrible, and we were lurching and plunging; but that great junk never rolled. Just at the same moment that we began to feel afraid she vanished so quickly that we could scarcely believe we had really seen her at all. 'That was the first time. But four years ago I saw something still more strange. We were bound for Oki, in a junk, and the wind again delayed us, so that we were at sea on the sixteenth day. It was in the morning, a little before midday; the sky was dark and the sea very ugly. All at once we saw a steamer running in our track, very quickly. She got so close to us that we could hear her engines--katakata katakata!--but we saw nobody on deck. Then she began to follow us, keeping exactly at the same distance, and whenever we tried to get out of her way she would turn after us and keep exactly in our wake. And then we suspected what she was. But we were not sure until she vanished. She vanished like a bubble, without making the least sound. None of us could say exactly when she disappeared. None of us saw her vanish. The strangest thing was that after she was gone we could still hear her engines working behind us--katakata, katakata, katakata! 'That is all I saw. But I know others, sailors like myself, who have seen more. Sometimes many ships will follow you--though never at the same time. One will come close and vanish, then another, and then another. As long as they come behind you, you need never be afraid. But if you see a ship of that sort running before you, against the wind, that is very bad! It means that all on board will be drowned.' Sec. 7 The luminous blankness circling us continued to remain unflecked for less than an hour. Then out of the horizon toward which we steamed, a small grey vagueness began to grow. It lengthened fast, and seemed a cloud. And a cloud it proved; but slowly, beneath it, blue filmy shapes began to define against the whiteness, and sharpened into a chain of mountains. They grew taller and bluer--a little sierra, with one paler shape towering in the middle to thrice the height of the rest, and filleted with cloud--Takuhizan, the sacred mountain of Oki, in the island Nishinoshima. Takuhizan has legends, which I learned from my friend. Upon its summit stands an ancient shrine of the deity Gongen-Sama. And it is said that upon the thirty-first night of the twelfth month three ghostly fires arise from the sea and ascend to the place of the shrine, and enter the stone lanterns which stand before it, and there remain, burning like lamps. These lights do not arise at once, but separately, from the sea, and rise to the top of the peak one by one. The people go out in boats to see the lights mount from the water. But only those whose hearts are pure can see them; those who have evil thoughts or desires look for the holy fires in vain. Before us, as we steamed on, the sea-surface appeared to become suddenly speckled with queer craft previously invisible--light, long fishing- boats, with immense square sails of a beautiful yellow colour. I could not help remarking to my comrade how pretty those sails were; he laughed, and told me they were made of old tatami. [5] I examined them through a telescope, and found that they were exactly what he had said-- woven straw coverings of old floor-mats. Nevertheless, that first tender yellow sprinkling of old sails over the soft blue water was a charming sight. They fleeted by, like a passing of yellow butterflies, and the sea was void again. Gradually, a little to port, a point in the approaching line of blue cliffs shaped itself and changed colour--dull green above, reddish grey below; it defined into a huge rock, with a dark patch on its face, but the rest of the land remained blue. The dark patch blackened as we came nearer--a great gap full of shadow. Then the blue cliffs beyond also turned green, and their bases reddish grey. We passed to the right of the huge rock, which proved to be a detached and uninhabited islet, Hakashima; and in another moment we were steaming into the archipelago of Oki, between the lofty islands Chiburishima and Nakashima. Sec. 8 The first impression was almost uncanny. Rising sheer from the flood on either hand, the tall green silent hills stretched away before us, changing tint through the summer vapour, to form a fantastic vista of blue cliffs and peaks and promontories. There was not one sign of human life. Above their pale bases of naked rock the mountains sloped up beneath a sombre wildness of dwarf vegetation. There was absolutely no sound, except the sound of the steamer's tiny engine--poum-poum, poum! poum-poum, poum! like the faint tapping of a geisha's drum. And this savage silence continued for miles: only the absence of lofty timber gave evidence that those peaked hills had ever been trodden by human foot. But all at once, to the left, in a mountain wrinkle, a little grey hamlet appeared; and the steamer screamed and stopped, while the hills repeated the scream seven times. This settlement was Chiburimura, of Chiburishima (Nakashima being the island to starboard)--evidently nothing more than a fishing station. First a wharf of uncemented stone rising from the cove like a wall; then great trees through which one caught sight of a torii before some Shinto shrine, and of a dozen houses climbing the hollow hill one behind another, roof beyond roof; and above these some terraced patches of tilled ground in the midst of desolation: that was all. The packet halted to deliver mail, and passed on. But then, contrary to expectation, the scenery became more beautiful. The shores on either side at once receded and heightened: we were traversing an inland sea bounded by three lofty islands. At first the way before us had seemed barred by vapoury hills; but as these, drawing nearer, turned green, there suddenly opened magnificent chasms between them on both sides--mountain-gates revealing league-long wondrous vistas of peaks and cliffs and capes of a hundred blues, ranging away from velvety indigo into far tones of exquisite and spectral delicacy. A tinted haze made dreamy all remotenesses, an veiled with illusions of colour the rugged nudities of rock. The beauty of the scenery of Western and Central Japan is not as the beauty of scenery in other lands; it has a peculiar character of its own. Occasionally the foreigner may find memories of former travel suddenly stirred to life by some view on a mountain road, or some stretch of beetling coast seen through a fog of spray. But this illusion of resemblance vanishes as swiftly as it comes; details immediately define into strangeness, and you become aware that the remembrance was evoked by form only, never by colour. Colours indeed there are which delight the eye, but not colours of mountain verdure, not colours of the land. Cultivated plains, expanses of growing rice, may offer some approach to warmth of green; but the whole general tone of this nature is dusky; the vast forests are sombre; the tints of grasses are harsh or dull. Fiery greens, such as burn in tropical scenery, do not exist; and blossom-bursts take a more exquisite radiance by contrast with the heavy tones of the vegetation out of which they flame. Outside of parks and gardens and cultivated fields, there is a singular absence of warmth and tenderness in the tints of verdure; and nowhere need you hope to find any such richness of green as that which makes the loveliness of an English lawn. Yet these Oriental landscapes possess charms of colour extraordinary, phantom-colour delicate, elfish, indescribable--created by the wonderful atmosphere. Vapours enchant the distances, bathing peaks in bewitchments of blue and grey of a hundred tones, transforming naked cliffs to amethyst, stretching spectral gauzes across the topazine morning, magnifying the splendour of noon by effacing the horizon, filling the evening with smoke of gold, bronzing the waters, banding the sundown with ghostly purple and green of nacre. Now, the Old Japanese artists who made those marvellous ehon--those picture-books which have now become so rare--tried to fix the sensation of these enchantments in colour, and they were successful in their backgrounds to a degree almost miraculous. For which very reason some of their foregrounds have been a puzzle to foreigners unacquainted with certain features of Japanese agriculture. You will see blazing saffron-yellow fields, faint purple plains, crimson and snow-white trees, in those old picture-books; and perhaps you will exclaim: 'How absurd!' But if you knew Japan you would cry out: 'How deliciously real!' For you would know those fields of burning yellow are fields of flowering rape, and the purple expanses are fields of blossoming miyako, and the snow-white or crimson trees are not fanciful, but represent faithfully certain phenomena of efflorescence peculiar to the plum-trees and the cherry-trees of the country. But these chromatic extravaganzas can be witnessed only during very brief periods of particular seasons: throughout the greater part of the year the foreground of an inland landscape is apt to be dull enough in the matter of colour. It is the mists that make the magic of the backgrounds; yet even without them there is a strange, wild, dark beauty in Japanese landscapes, a beauty not easily defined in words. The secret of it must be sought in the extraordinary lines of the mountains, in the strangely abrupt crumpling and jagging of the ranges; no two masses closely resembling each other, every one having a fantasticality of its own. Where the chains reach to any considerable height, softly swelling lines are rare: the general characteristic is abruptness, and the charm is the charm of Irregularity. Doubtless this weird Nature first inspired the Japanese with their unique sense of the value of irregularity in decoration--taught them that single secret of composition which distinguishes their art from all other art, and which Professor Chamberlain has said it is their special mission to teach to the Occident. [6] Certainly, whoever has once learned to feel the beauty and significance of the Old Japanese decorative art can find thereafter little pleasure in the corresponding art of the West. What he has really learned is that Nature's greatest charm is irregularity. And perhaps something of no small value might be written upon the question whether the highest charm of human life and work is not also irregularity. Sec. 9 From Chiburimura we made steam west for the port of Urago, which is in the island of Nishinoshima. As we approached it Takuhizan came into imposing view. Far away it had seemed a soft and beautiful shape; but as its blue tones evaporated its aspect became rough and even grim: an enormous jagged bulk all robed in sombre verdure, through which, as through tatters, there protruded here and there naked rock of the wildest shapes. One fragment, I remember, as it caught the slanting sun upon the irregularities of its summit, seemed an immense grey skull. At the base of this mountain, and facing the shore of Nakashima, rises a pyramidal mass of rock, covered with scraggy undergrowth, and several hundred feet in height--Mongakuzan. On its desolate summit stands a little shrine. 'Takuhizan' signifies The Fire-burning Mountain--a name due perhaps either to the legend of its ghostly fires, or to some ancient memory of its volcanic period. 'Mongakuzan' means The Mountain of Mongaku--Mongaku Shonin, the great monk. It is said that Mongaku Shonin fled to Oki, and that he dwelt alone upon the top of that mountain many years, doing penance for his deadly sin. Whether he really ever visited Oki, I am not able to say; there are traditions which declare the contrary. But the peaklet has borne his name for hundreds of years. Now this is the story of Mongaku Shonin: Many centuries ago, in the city of Kyoto, there was a captain of the garrison whose name was Endo Morito. He saw and loved the wife of a noble samurai; and when she refused to listen to his desires, he vowed that he would destroy her family unless she consented to the plan which he submitted to her. The plan was that upon a certain night she should suffer him to enter her house and to kill her husband; after which she was to become his wife. But she, pretending to consent, devised a noble stratagem to save her honour. For, after having persuaded her husband to absent himself from the city, she wrote to Endo a letter, bidding him come upon a certain night to the house. And on that night she clad herself in her husband's robes, and made her hair like the hair of a man, and laid herself down in her husband's place, and pretended to sleep. And Endo came in the dead of the night with his sword drawn, and smote off the head of the sleeper at a blow, and seized it by the hair and lifted it up and saw it was the head of the woman he had loved and wronged. Then a great remorse came upon him, and hastening to a neighbouring temple, he confessed his sin, and did penance and cut off his hair, and became a monk, taking the name of Mongaku. And in after years he attained to great holiness, so that folk still pray to him, and his memory is venerated throughout the land. Now at Asakusa in Tokyo, in one of the curious little streets which lead to the great temple of Kwannon the Merciful, there are always wonderful images to be seen--figures that seem alive, though made of wood only-- figures illustrating the ancient legends of Japan. And there you may see Endo standing: in his right hand the reeking sword; in his left the head of a beautiful woman. The face of the woman you may forget soon, because it is only beautiful. But the face of Endo you will not forget, because it is naked hell. Sec. 10 Urago is a queer little town, perhaps quite as large as Mionoseki, and built, like Mionoseki, on a narrow ledge at the base of a steep semicircle of hills. But it is much more primitive and colourless than Mionoseki; and its houses are still more closely cramped between cliffs and water, so that its streets, or rather alleys, are no wider than gangways. As we cast anchor, my attention was suddenly riveted by a strange spectacle--a white wilderness of long fluttering vague shapes, in a cemetery on the steep hillside, rising by terraces high above the roofs of the town. The cemetery was full of grey haka and images of divinities; and over every haka there was a curious white paper banner fastened to a thin bamboo pole. Through a glass one could see that these banners were inscribed with Buddhist texts--'Namur-myo-ho-renge-kyo'; 'Namu Amida Butsu'; 'Namu Daiji Dai-hi Kwan-ze-on Bosats,'--and other holy words. Upon inquiry I learned that it was an Urago custom to place these banners every year above the graves during one whole month preceding the Festival of the Dead, together with various other ornamental or symbolic things. The water was full of naked swimmers, who shouted laughing welcomes; and a host of light, swift boats, sculled by naked fishermen, darted out to look for passengers and freight. It was my first chance to observe the physique of Oki islanders; and I was much impressed by the vigorous appearance of both men and boys. The adults seemed to me of a taller and more powerful type than the men of the Izumo coast; and not a few of those brown backs and shoulders displayed, in the motion of sculling what is comparatively rare in Japan, even among men picked for heavy labour--a magnificent development of muscles. As the steamer stopped an hour at Urago, we had time to dine ashore in the chief hotel. It was a very clean and pretty hotel, and the fare infinitely superior to that of the hotel at Sakai. Yet the price charged was only seven sen; and the old landlord refused to accept the whole of the chadai-gift offered him, retaining less than half, and putting back the rest, with gentle force, into the sleeve of my yukata. Sec. 11 From Urago we proceeded to Hishi-ura, which is in Nakanoshima, and the scenery grew always more wonderful as we steamed between the islands. The channel was just wide enough to create the illusion of a grand river flowing with the stillness of vast depth between mountains of a hundred forms. The long lovely vision was everywhere walled in by peaks, bluing through sea-haze, and on either hand the ruddy grey cliffs, sheering up from profundity, sharply mirrored their least asperities in the flood with never a distortion, as in a sheet of steel. Not until we reached Hishi-ura did the horizon reappear; and even then it was visible only between two lofty headlands, as if seen through a river's mouth. Hishi-ura is far prettier than Urago, but it is much less populous, and has the aspect of a prosperous agricultural town, rather than of a fishing station. It bends round a bay formed by low hills which slope back gradually toward the mountainous interior, and which display a considerable extent of cultivated surface. The buildings are somewhat scattered and in many cases isolated by gardens; and those facing the water are quite handsome modern constructions. Urago boasts the best hotel in all Oki; and it has two new temples--one a Buddhist temple of the Zen sect, one a Shinto temple of the Izumo Taisha faith, each the gift of a single person. A rich widow, the owner of the hotel, built the Buddhist temple; and the wealthiest of the merchants contributed the other--one of the handsomest miya for its size that I ever saw. Sec. 12 Dogo, the main island of the Oki archipelago, sometimes itself called 'Oki,' lies at a distance of eight miles, north-east of the Dozen group, beyond a stretch of very dangerous sea. We made for it immediately after leaving Urago; passing to the open through a narrow and fantastic strait between Nakanoshima and Nishinoshima, where the cliffs take the form of enormous fortifications--bastions and ramparts, rising by tiers. Three colossal rocks, anciently forming but a single mass, which would seem to have been divided by some tremendous shock, rise from deep water near the mouth of the channel, like shattered towers. And the last promontory of Nishinoshima, which we pass to port, a huge red naked rock, turns to the horizon a point so strangely shaped that it has been called by a name signifying 'The Hat of the Shinto Priest.' As we glide out into the swell of the sea other extraordinary shapes appear, rising from great depths. Komori, 'The Bat,' a ragged silhouette against the horizon, has a great hole worn through it, which glares like an eye. Farther out two bulks, curved and pointed, and almost joined at the top, bear a grotesque resemblance to the uplifted pincers of a crab; and there is also visible a small dark mass which, until closely approached, seems the figure of a man sculling a boat. Beyond these are two islands: Matsushima, uninhabited and inaccessible, where there is always a swell to beware of; Omorishima, even loftier, which rises from the ocean in enormous ruddy precipices. There seemed to be some grim force in those sinister bulks; some occult power which made our steamer reel and shiver as she passed them. But I saw a marvellous effect of colour under those formidable cliffs of Omorishima. They were lighted by a slanting sun; and where the glow of the bright rock fell upon the water, each black-blue ripple flashed bronze: I thought of a sea of metallic violet ink. From Dozen the cliffs of Dogo can be clearly seen when the weather is not foul: they are streaked here and there with chalky white, which breaks through their blue, even in time of haze. Above them a vast bulk is visible--a point-de-repère for the mariners of Hoki--the mountain of Daimanji. Dogo, indeed, is one great cluster of mountains. Its cliffs rapidly turned green for us, and we followed them eastwardly for perhaps half an hour. Then they opened unexpectedly and widely, revealing a superb bay, widening far into the land, surrounded by hills, and full of shipping. Beyond a confusion of masts there crept into view a long grey line of house-fronts at the base of a crescent of cliffs-- the city of Saigo; and in a little while we touched a wharf of stone. There I bade farewell for a month to the Oki-Saigo. Sec. 13 Saigo was a great surprise. Instead of the big fishing village I had expected to see, I found a city much larger and handsomer and in all respects more modernised than Sakai; a city of long streets full of good shops; a city with excellent public buildings; a city of which the whole appearance indicated commercial prosperity. Most of the edifices were roomy two story dwellings of merchants, and everything had a bright, new look. The unpainted woodwork of the houses had not yet darkened into grey; the blue tints of the tiling were still fresh. I learned that this was because the town had been recently rebuilt, after a conflagration, and rebuilt upon a larger and handsomer plan. Saigo seems still larger than it really is. There are about one thousand houses, which number in any part of Western Japan means a population of at least five thousand, but must mean considerably more in Saigo. These form three long streets--Nishimachi, Nakamachi, and Higashimachi (names respectively signifying the Western, Middle, and Eastern Streets), bisected by numerous cross-streets and alleys. What makes the place seem disproportionately large is the queer way the streets twist about, following the irregularities of the shore, and even doubling upon themselves, so as to create from certain points of view an impression of depth which has no existence. For Saigo is peculiarly, although admirably situated. It fringes both banks of a river, the Yabigawa, near its mouth, and likewise extends round a large point within the splendid bay, besides stretching itself out upon various tongues of land. But though smaller than it looks, to walk through all its serpentine streets is a good afternoon's work. Besides being divided by the Yabigawa, the town is intersected by various water-ways, crossed by a number of bridges. On the hills behind it stand several large buildings, including a public school, with accommodation for three hundred students; a pretty Buddhist temple (quite new), the gift of a rich citizen; a prison; and a hospital, which deserves its reputation of being for its size the handsomest Japanese edifice not only in Oki, but in all Shimane-Ken; and there are several small but very pretty gardens. As for the harbour, you can count more than three hundred ships riding there of a summer's day. Grumblers, especially of the kind who still use wooden anchors, complain of the depth; but the men-of-war do not. Sec. 14 Never, in any part of Western Japan, have I been made more comfortable than at Saigo. My friend and myself were the only guests at the hotel to which we had been recommended. The broad and lofty rooms of the upper floor which we occupied overlooked the main street on one side, and on the other commanded a beautiful mountain landscape beyond the mouth of the Yabigawa, which flowed by our garden. The sea breeze never failed by day or by night, and rendered needless those pretty fans which it is the Japanese custom to present to guests during the hot season. The fare was astonishingly good and curiously varied; and I was told that I might order Seyoryori (Occidental cooking) if I wished--beefsteak with fried potatoes, roast chicken, and so forth. I did not avail myself of the offer, as I make it a rule while travelling to escape trouble by keeping to a purely Japanese diet; but it was no small surprise to be offered in Saigo what is almost impossible to obtain in any other Japanese town of five thousand inhabitants. From a romantic point of view, however, this discovery was a disappointment. Having made my way into the most primitive region of all Japan, I had imagined myself far beyond the range of all modernising influences; and the suggestion of beefsteak with fried potatoes was a disillusion. Nor was I entirely consoled by the subsequent discovery that there were no newspapers or telegraphs. But there was one serious hindrance to the enjoyment of these comforts: an omnipresent, frightful, heavy, all-penetrating smell, the smell of decomposing fish, used as a fertiliser. Tons and tons of cuttlefish entrails are used upon the fields beyond the Yabigawa, and the never- sleeping sea wind blows the stench into every dwelling. Vainly do they keep incense burning in most of the houses during the heated term. After having remained three or four days constantly in the city you become better able to endure this odour; but if you should leave town even for a few hours only, you will be astonished on returning to discover how much your nose had been numbed by habit and refreshed by absence. Sec. 15 On the morning of the day after my arrival at Saigo, a young physician called to see me, and requested me to dine with him at his house. He explained very frankly that as I was the first foreigner who had ever stopped in Saigo, it would afford much pleasure both to his family and to himself to have a good chance to see me; but the natural courtesy of the man overcame any scruple I might have felt to gratify the curiosity of strangers. I was not only treated charmingly at his beautiful home, but actually sent away loaded with presents, most of which I attempted to decline in vain. In one matter, however, I remained obstinate, even at the risk of offending--the gift of a wonderful specimen of bateiseki (a substance which I shall speak of hereafter). This I persisted in refusing to take, knowing it to be not only very costly, but very rare. My host at last yielded, but afterwards secretly sent to the hotel two smaller specimens, which Japanese etiquette rendered it impossible to return. Before leaving Saigo, I experienced many other unexpected kindnesses from the same gentleman. Not long after, one of the teachers of the Saigo public school paid me a visit. He had heard of my interest in Oki, and brought with him two fine maps of the islands made by himself, a little book about Saigo, and, as a gift, a collection of Oki butterflies and insects which he had made. It is only in Japan that one is likely to meet with these wonderful exhibitions of pure goodness on the part of perfect strangers. A third visitor, who had called to see my friend, performed an action equally characteristic, but which caused me not a little pain. We squatted down to smoke together. He drew from his girdle a remarkably beautiful tobacco-pouch and pipe-case, containing a little silver pipe, which he began to smoke. The pipe-case was made of a sort of black coral, curiously carved, and attached to the tabako-ire, or pouch, by a heavy cord of plaited silk of three colours, passed through a ball of transparent agate. Seeing me admire it, he suddenly drew a knife from his sleeve, and before I could prevent him, severed the pipe-case from the pouch, and presented it to me. I felt almost as if he had cut one of his own nerves asunder when he cut that wonderful cord; and, nevertheless, once this had been done, to refuse the gift would have been rude in the extreme. I made him accept a present in return; but after that experience I was careful never again while in Oki to admire anything in the presence of its owner. Sec. 16 Every province of Japan has its own peculiar dialect; and that of Oki, as might be expected in a country so isolated, is particularly distinct. In Saigo, however, the Izumo dialect is largely used. The townsfolk in their manners and customs much resemble Izumo country-folk; indeed, there are many Izumo people among them, most of the large businesses being in the hands of strangers. The women did not impress me as being so attractive as those of Izumo: I saw several very pretty girls, but these proved to be strangers. However, it is only in the country that one can properly study the physical characteristics of a population. Those of the Oki islanders may best be noted at the fishing villages many of which I visited. Everywhere I saw fine strong men and vigorous women; and it struck me that the extraordinary plenty and cheapness of nutritive food had quite as much to do with this robustness as climate and constant exercise. So easy, indeed, is it to live in Oki, that men of other coasts, who find existence difficult, emigrate to Oki if they can get a chance to work there, even at less remuneration. An interesting spectacle to me were the vast processions of fishing-vessels which always, weather permitting, began to shoot out to sea a couple of hours before sundown. The surprising swiftness with which those light craft were impelled by their sinewy scullers--many of whom were women--told of a skill acquired only through the patient experience of generations. Another matter that amazed me was the number of boats. One night in the offing I was able to count three hundred and five torch-fires in sight, each one signifying a crew; and I knew that from almost any of the forty-five coast villages I might see the same spectacle at the same time. The main part of the population, in fact, spends its summer nights at sea. It is also a revelation to travel from Izumo to Hamada by night upon a swift steamer during the fishing season. The horizon for a hundred miles is alight with torch-fires; the toil of a whole coast is revealed in that vast illumination. Although the human population appears to have gained rather than lost vigour upon this barren soil, the horses and cattle of the country seem to have degenerated. They are remarkably diminutive. I saw cows not much bigger than Izumo calves, with calves about the size of goats. The horses, or rather ponies, belong to a special breed of which Oki is rather proud--very small, but hardy. I was told that there were larger horses, but I saw none, and could not learn whether they were imported. It seemed to me a curious thing, when I saw Oki ponies for the first time, that Sasaki Takatsuna's battle-steed--not less famous in Japanese story than the horse Kyrat in the ballads of Kurroglou--is declared by the islanders to have been a native of Oki. And they have a tradition that it once swam from Oki to Mionoseki. Sec. 17 Almost every district and town in Japan has its meibutsu or its kembutsu. The meibutsu of any place are its special productions, whether natural or artificial. The kembutsu of a town or district are its sights--its places worth visiting for any reason--religious, traditional, historical, or pleasurable. Temples and gardens, remarkable trees and curious rocks, are kembutsu. So, likewise, are any situations from which beautiful scenery may be looked at, or any localities where one can enjoy such charming spectacles as the blossoming of cherry-trees in spring, the flickering of fireflies in summer nights, the flushing of maple-leaves in autumn, or even that long snaky motion of moonlight upon water to which Chinese poets have given the delightful name of Kinryo, 'the Golden Dragon.' The great meibutsu of Oki is the same as that of Hinomisaki--dried cuttlefish; an article of food much in demand both in China and Japan. The cuttlefish of Oki and Hinomisaki and Mionoseki are all termed ika (a kind of sepia); but those caught at Mionoseki are white and average fifteen inches in length, while those of Oki and Hinomisaki rarely exceed twelve inches and have a reddish tinge. The fisheries of Mionoseki and Hinomisaki are scarcely known; but the fisheries of Oki are famed not only throughout Japan, but also in Korea and China. It is only through the tilling of the sea that the islands have become prosperous and capable of supporting thirty thousand souls upon a coast of which but a very small portion can be cultivated at all. Enormous quantities of cuttlefish are shipped to the mainland; but I have been told that the Chinese are the best customers of Oki for this product. Should the supply ever fail, the result would be disastrous beyond conception; but at present it seems inexhaustible, though the fishing has been going on for thousands of years. Hundreds of tons of cuttlefish are caught, cured, and prepared for exportation month after month; and many hundreds of acres are fertilised with the entrails and other refuse. An officer of police told me several strange facts about this fishery. On the north-eastern coast of Saigo it is no uncommon thing for one fisherman to capture upwards of two thousand cuttlefish in a single night. Boats have been burst asunder by the weight of a few hauls, and caution has to be observed in loading. Besides the sepia, however, this coast swarms with another variety of cuttlefish which also furnishes a food-staple--the formidable tako, or true octopus. Tako weighing fifteen kwan each, or nearly one hundred and twenty-five pounds, are sometimes caught near the fishing settlement of Nakamura. I was surprised to learn that there was no record of any person having been injured by these monstrous creatures. Another meibutsu of Oki is much less known than it deserves to be--the beautiful jet-black stone called bateiseki, or 'horsehoof stone.' [7] It is found only in Dogo, and never in large masses. It is about as heavy as flint, and chips like flint; but the polish which it takes is like that of agate. There are no veins or specks in it; the intense black colour never varies. Artistic objects are made of bateiseki: ink- stones, wine-cups, little boxes, small dai, or stands for vases or statuettes; even jewellery, the material being worked in the same manner as the beautiful agates of Yumachi in Izumo. These articles are comparatively costly, even in the place of their manufacture. There is an odd legend about the origin of the bateiseki. It owes its name to some fancied resemblance to a horse's hoof, either in colour, or in the semicircular marks often seen upon the stone in its natural state, and caused by its tendency to split in curved lines. But the story goes that the bateiseki was formed by the touch of the hoofs of a sacred steed, the wonderful mare of the great Minamoto warrior, Sasaki Takatsuna. She had a foal, which fell into a deep lake in Dogo, and was drowned. She plunged into the lake herself, but could not find her foal, being deceived by the reflection of her own head in the water. For a long time she sought and mourned in vain; but even the hard rocks felt for her, and where her hoofs touched them beneath the water they became changed into bateiseki. [8] Scarcely less beautiful than bateiseki, and equally black, is another Oki meibutsu, a sort of coralline marine product called umi-matsu, or 'sea-pine.' Pipe-cases, brush-stands, and other small articles are manufactured from it; and these when polished seem to be covered with black lacquer. Objects of umimatsu are rare and dear. Nacre wares, however, are very cheap in Oki; and these form another variety of meibutsu. The shells of the awabi, or 'sea-ear,' which reaches a surprising size in these western waters, are converted by skilful polishing and cutting into wonderful dishes, bowls, cups, and other articles, over whose surfaces the play of iridescence is like a flickering of fire of a hundred colours. Sec. 18 According to a little book published at Matsue, the kembutsu of Oki-no- Kuni are divided among three of the four principal islands; Chiburishima only possessing nothing of special interest. For many generations the attractions of Dogo have been the shrine of Agonashi Jizo, at Tsubamezato; the waterfall (Dangyo-taki) at Yuenimura; the mighty cedar- tree (sugi) before the shrine of Tama-Wakusa-jinja at Shimomura, and the lakelet called Sai-no-ike where the bateiseki is said to be found. Nakanoshima possesses the tomb of the exiled Emperor Go-Toba, at Amamura, and the residence of the ancient Choja, Shikekuro, where he dwelt betimes, and where relics of him are kept even to this day. Nishinoshima possesses at Beppu a shrine in memory of the exiled Emperor Go-Daigo, and on the summit of Takuhizan that shrine of Gongen-Sama, from the place of which a wonderful view of the whole archipelago is said to be obtainable on cloudless days. Though Chiburishima has no kembutsu, her poor little village of Chiburi--the same Chiburimura at which the Oki steamer always touches on her way to Saigo--is the scene of perhaps the most interesting of all the traditions of the archipelago. Five hundred and sixty years ago, the exiled Emperor Go-Daigo managed to escape from the observation of his guards, and to flee from Nishinoshima to Chiburi. And the brown sailors of that little hamlet offered to serve him, even with their lives if need be. They were loading their boats with 'dried fish,' doubtless the same dried cuttlefish which their descendants still carry to Izumo and to Hoki. The emperor promised to remember them, should they succeed in landing him either in Hoki or in Izumo; and they put him in a boat. But when they had sailed only a little way they saw the pursuing vessels. Then they told the emperor to lie down, and they piled the dried fish high above him. The pursuers came on board and searched the boat, but they did not even think of touching the strong-smelling cuttlefish. And when the men of Chiburi were questioned they invented a story, and gave to the enemies of the emperor a false clue to follow. And so, by means of the cuttlefish, the good emperor was enabled to escape from banishment. Sec. 19 I found there were various difficulties in the way of becoming acquainted with some of the kembutsu. There are no roads, properly speaking, in all Oki, only mountain paths; and consequently there are no jinricksha, with the exception of one especially imported by the leading physician of Saigo, and available for use only in the streets. There are not even any kago, or palanquins, except one for the use of the same physician. The paths are terribly rough, according to the testimony of the strong peasants themselves; and the distances, particularly in the hottest period of the year, are disheartening. Ponies can be hired; but my experiences of a similar wild country in western Izumo persuaded me that neither pleasure nor profit was to be gained by a long and painful ride over pine-covered hills, through slippery gullies and along torrent-beds, merely to look at a waterfall. I abandoned the idea of visiting Dangyotaki, but resolved, if possible, to see Agonashi-Jizo. I had first heard in Matsue of Agonashi-Jizo, while suffering from one of those toothaches in which the pain appears to be several hundred miles in depth--one of those toothaches which disturb your ideas of space and time. And a friend who sympathised said: 'People who have toothache pray to Agonashi-Jizo. Agonashi-Jizo is in Oki, but Izumo people pray to him. When cured they go to Lake Shinji, to the river, to the sea, or to any running stream, and drop into the water twelve pears (nashi), one for each of the twelve months. And they believe the currents will carry all these to Oki across the sea. 'Now, Agonashi-Jizo means 'Jizo-who-has-no-jaw.' For it is said that in one of his former lives Jizo had such a toothache in his lower jaw that he tore off his jaw, and threw it away, and died. And he became a Bosatsu. And the people of Oki made a statue of him without a jaw; and all who suffer toothache pray to that Jizo of Oki.' This story interested me for more than once I had felt a strong desire to do like Agonashi-Jizo, though lacking the necessary courage and indifference to earthly consequences. Moreover, the tradition suggested so humane and profound a comprehension of toothache, and so large a sympathy with its victims, that I felt myself somewhat consoled. Nevertheless, I did not go to see Agonashi-Jizo, because I found out there was no longer any Agonashi-Jizo to see. The news was brought one evening by some friends, shizoku of Matsue, who had settled in Oki, a young police officer and his wife. They had walked right across the island to see us, starting before daylight, and crossing no less than thirty-two torrents on their way. The wife, only nineteen, was quite slender and pretty, and did not appear tired by that long rough journey. What we learned about the famous Jizo was this: The name Agonashi-Jizo was only a popular corruption of the true name, Agonaoshi-Jizo, or 'Jizo-the-Healer-of-jaws.' The little temple in which the statue stood had been burned, and the statue along with it, except a fragment of the lower part of the figure, now piously preserved by some old peasant woman. It was impossible to rebuild the temple, as the disestablishment of Buddhism had entirely destroyed the resources of that faith in Oki. But the peasantry of Tsubamezato had built a little Shinto miya on the sight of the temple, with a torii before it, and people still prayed there to Agonaoshi-Jizo. This last curious fact reminded me of the little torii I had seen erected before the images of Jizo in the Cave of the Children's Ghosts. Shinto, in these remote districts of the west, now appropriates the popular divinities of Buddhism, just as of old Buddhism used to absorb the divinities of Shinto in other parts of Japan. Sec. 20 I went to the Sai-no-ike, and to Tama-Wakasu-jinja, as these two kembutsu can be reached by boat. The Sai-no-ike, however, much disappointed me. It can only be visited in very calm weather, as the way to it lies along a frightfully dangerous coast, nearly all sheer precipice. But the sea is beautifully clear and the eye can distinguish forms at an immense depth below the surface. After following the cliffs for about an hour, the boat reaches a sort of cove, where the beach is entirely corn posed of small round boulders. They form a long ridge, the outer verge of which is always in motion, rolling to and fro with a crash like a volley of musketry at the rush and ebb of every wave. To climb over this ridge of moving stone balls is quite disagreeable; but after that one has only about twenty yards to walk, and the Sai-no-ike appears, surrounded on sides by wooded hills. It is little more than a large freshwater pool, perhaps fifty yards wide, not in any way wonderful You can see no rocks under the surface--only mud and pebbles That any part of it was ever deep enough to drown a foal is hard to believe. I wanted to swim across to the farther side to try the depth, but the mere proposal scandalised the boat men. The pool was sacred to the gods, and was guarded by invisible monsters; to enter it was impious and dangerous I felt obliged to respect the local ideas on the subject, and contented myself with inquiring where the bateiseki was found. They pointed to the hill on the western side of the water. This indication did not tally with the legend. I could discover no trace of any human labour on that savage hillside; there was certainly no habitation within miles of the place; it was the very abomination of desolation. [9] It is never wise for the traveller in Japan to expect much on the strength of the reputation of kembutsu. The interest attaching to the vast majority of kembutsu depends altogether upon the exercise of imagination; and the ability to exercise such imagination again depends upon one's acquaintance with the history and mythology of the country. Knolls, rocks, stumps of trees, have been for hundreds of years objects of reverence for the peasantry, solely because of local traditions relating to them. Broken iron kettles, bronze mirrors covered with verdigris, rusty pieces of sword blades, fragments of red earthenware, have drawn generations of pilgrims to the shrines in which they are preserved. At various small temples which I visited, the temple treasures consisted of trays full of small stones. The first time I saw those little stones I thought that the priests had been studying geology or mineralogy, each stone being labelled in Japanese characters. On examination, the stones proved to be absolutely worthless in themselves, even as specimens of neighbouring rocks. But the stories which the priests or acolytes could tell about each and every stone were more than interesting. The stones served as rude beads, in fact, for the recital of a litany of Buddhist legends. After the experience of the Sai-no-ike, I had little reason to expect to see anything extraordinary at Shimonishimura. But this time I was agreeably mistaken. Shimonishimura is a pretty fishing village within an hour's row from Saigo. The boat follows a wild but beautiful coast, passing one singular truncated hill, Oshiroyama, upon which a strong castle stood in ancient times. There is now only a small Shinto shrine there, surrounded by pines. From the hamlet of Shimonishimura to the Temple of Tama-Wakasu-jinja is a walk of twenty minutes, over very rough paths between rice-fields and vegetable gardens. But the situation of the temple, surrounded by its sacred grove, in the heart of a landscape framed in by mountain ranges of many colours, is charmingly impressive. The edifice seems to have once been a Buddhist temple; it is now the largest Shinto structure in Oki. Before its gate stands the famous cedar, not remarkable for height, but wonderful for girth. Two yards above the soil its circumference is forty-five feet. It has given its name to the holy place; the Oki peasantry scarcely ever speak of Tama- Wakasu-jinja, but only of 'O-Sugi,' the Great Cedar. Tradition avers that this tree was planted by a Buddhist nun more than eight hundred years ago. And it is alleged that whoever eats with chopsticks made from the wood of that tree will never have the toothache, and will live to become exceedingly old.[10] Sec. 21 The shrine dedicated to the spirit of the Emperor Go-Daigo is in Nishinoshima, at Beppu, a picturesque fishing village composed of one long street of thatched cottages fringing a bay at the foot of a demilune of hills. The simplicity of manners and the honest healthy poverty of the place are quite wonderful even for Oki. There is a kind of inn for strangers at which hot water is served instead of tea, and dried beans instead of kwashi, and millet instead of rice. The absence of tea, however, is much more significant than that of rice. But the people of Beppu do not suffer for lack of proper nourishment, as their robust appearance bears witness: there are plenty of vegetables, all raised in tiny gardens which the women and children till during the absence of the boats; and there is abundance of fish. There is no Buddhist temple, but there is an ujigami. The shrine of the emperor is at the top of a hill called Kurokizan, at one end of the bay. The hill is covered with tall pines, and the path is very steep, so that I thought it prudent to put on straw sandals, in which one never slips. I found the shrine to be a small wooden miya, scarcely three feet high, and black with age. There were remains of other miya, much older, lying in some bushes near by. Two large stones, unhewn and without inscriptions of any sort, have been placed before the shrine. I looked into it, and saw a crumbling metal-mirror, dingy paper gohei attached to splints of bamboo, two little o-mikidokkuri, or Shinto sake-vessels of red earthenware, and one rin. There was nothing else to see, except, indeed, certain delightful glimpses of coast and peak, visible in the bursts of warm blue light which penetrated the consecrated shadow, between the trunks of the great pines. Only this humble shrine commemorates the good emperor's sojourn among the peasantry of Oki. But there is now being erected by voluntary subscription, at the little village of Gosen-goku-mura, near Yonago in Tottori, quite a handsome monument of stone to the memory of his daughter, the princess Hinako-Nai-Shinno who died there while attempting to follow her august parent into exile. Near the place of her rest stands a famous chestnut-tree, of which this story is told: While the emperor's daughter was ill, she asked for chestnuts; and some were given to her. But she took only one, and bit it a little, and threw it away. It found root and became a grand tree. But all the chestnuts of that tree bear marks like the marks of little teeth; for in Japanese legend even the trees are loyal, and strive to show their loyalty in all sorts of tender dumb ways. And that tree is called Hagata-guri-no-ki, which signifies: 'The Tree-of-the-Tooth-marked-Chestnuts.' Sec. 22 Long before visiting Oki I had heard that such a crime as theft was unknown in the little archipelago; that it had never been found necessary there to lock things up; and that, whenever weather permitted, the people slept with their houses all open to the four winds of heaven. And after careful investigation, I found these surprising statements were, to a great extent, true. In the Dozen group, at least, there are no thieves, and practically no crime. Ten policemen are sufficient to control the whole of both Dozen and Dogo, with their population of thirty thousand one hundred and ninety-six souls. Each policeman has under his inspection a number of villages, which he visits on regular days; and his absence for any length of time from one of these seems never to be taken advantage of. His work is mostly confined to the enforcement of hygienic regulations, and to the writing of reports. It is very seldom that he finds it necessary to make an arrest, for the people scarcely ever quarrel. In the island of Dogo alone are there ever any petty thefts, and only in that part of Oki do the people take any precautions against thieves. Formerly there was no prison, and thefts were never heard of; and the people of Dogo still claim that the few persons arrested in their island for such offences are not natives of Oki, but strangers from the mainland. What appears to be quite true is that theft was unknown in Oki before the port of Saigo obtained its present importance. The whole trade of Western Japan has been increased by the rapid growth of steam communications with other parts of the empire; and the port of Saigo appears to have gained commercially, but to have lost morally, by the new conditions. Yet offences against the law are still surprisingly few, even in Saigo. Saigo has a prison; and there were people in it during my stay in the city; but the inmates had been convicted only of such misdemeanours as gambling (which is strictly prohibited in every form by Japanese law), or the violation of lesser ordinances. When a serious offence is committed, the offender is not punished in Oki, but is sent to the great prison at Matsue, in Izumo. The Dozen islands, however, perfectly maintain their ancient reputation for irreproachable honesty. There have been no thieves in those three islands within the memory of man; and there are no serious quarrels, no fighting, nothing to make life miserable for anybody. Wild and bleak as the land is, all can manage to live comfortably enough; food is cheap and plenty, and manners and customs have retained their primitive simplicity. Sec. 23 To foreign eyes the defences of even an Izumo dwelling against thieves seem ludicrous. Chevaux-de-frise of bamboo stakes are used extensively in eastern cities of the empire, but in Izumo these are not often to be seen, and do not protect the really weak points of the buildings upon which they are placed. As for outside walls and fences, they serve only for screens, or for ornamental boundaries; anyone can climb over them. Anyone can also cut his way into an ordinary Japanese house with a pocket-knife. The amado are thin sliding screens of soft wood, easy to break with a single blow; and in most Izumo homes there is not a lock which could resist one vigorous pull. Indeed, the Japanese themselves are so far aware of the futility of their wooden panels against burglars that all who can afford it build kura--small heavy fire-proof and (for Japan) almost burglar-proof structures, with very thick earthen walls, a narrow ponderous door fastened with a gigantic padlock, and one very small iron-barred window, high up, near the roof. The kura are whitewashed, and look very neat. They cannot be used for dwellings, however, as they are mouldy and dark; and they serve only as storehouses for valuables. It is not easy to rob a kura. But there is no trouble in 'burglariously' entering an Izumo dwelling unless there happen to be good watchdogs on the premises. The robber knows the only difficulties in the way of his enterprise are such as he is likely to encounter after having effected an entrance. In view of these difficulties, he usually carries a sword. Nevertheless, he does not wish to find himself in any predicament requiring the use of a sword; and to avoid such an unpleasant possibility he has recourse to magic. He looks about the premises for a tarai--a kind of tub. If he finds one, he performs a nameless operation in a certain part of the yard, and covers the spot with the tub, turned upside down. He believes if he can do this that a magical sleep will fall upon all the inmates of the house, and that he will thus be able to carry away whatever he pleases, without being heard or seen. But every Izumo household knows the counter-charm. Each evening, before retiring, the careful wife sees that a hocho, or kitchen knife, is laid upon the kitchen floor, and covered with a kanadarai, or brazen wash- basin, on the upturned bottom of which is placed a single straw sandal, of the noiseless sort called zori, also turned upside down. She believes this little bit of witchcraft will not only nullify the robber's spell, but also render it impossible for him--even should he succeed in entering the house without being seen or heard--to carry anything whatever away. But, unless very tired indeed, she will also see that the tarai is brought into the house before the amado are closed for the night. If through omission of these precautions (as the good wife might aver), or in despite of them, the dwelling be robbed while the family are asleep, search is made early in the morning for the footprints of the burglar; and a moxa [11] is set burning upon each footprint. By this operation it is hoped or believed that the burglar's feet will be made so sore that he cannot run far, and that the police may easily overtake him. Sec. 24 It was in Oki that I first heard of an extraordinary superstition about the cause of okori (ague, or intermittent fever), mild forms of which prevail in certain districts at certain seasons; but I have since learned that this quaint belief is an old one in Izumo and in many parts of the San-indo. It is a curious example of the manner in which Buddhism has been used to explain all mysteries. Okori is said to be caused by the Gaki-botoke, or hungry ghosts. Strictly speaking, the Gaki-botoke are the Pretas of Indian Buddhism, spirits condemned to sojourn in the Gakido, the sphere of the penance of perpetual hunger and thirst. But in Japanese Buddhism, the name Gaki is given also to those souls who have none among the living to remember them, and to prepare for them the customary offerings of food and tea. These suffer, and seek to obtain warmth and nutriment by entering into the bodies of the living. The person into whom a gaki enters at first feels intensely cold and shivers, because the gaki is cold. But the chill is followed by a feeling of intense heat, as the gaki becomes warm. Having warmed itself and absorbed some nourishment at the expense of its unwilling host, the gaki goes away, and the fever ceases for a time. But at exactly the same hour upon another day the gaki will return, and the victim must shiver and burn until the haunter has become warm and has satisfied its hunger. Some gaki visit their patients every day; others every alternate day, or even less often. In brief: the paroxysms of any form of intermittent fever are explained by the presence of the gaki, and the intervals between the paroxysms by its absence. Sec. 25 Of the word hotoke (which becomes botoke in such com-pounds as nure- botoke, [12] gaki-botoke) there is something curious to say. Hotoke signifies a Buddha. Hotoke signifies also the Souls of the Dead--since faith holds that these, after worthy life, either enter upon the way to Buddhahood, or become Buddhas. Hotoke, by euphemism, has likewise come to mean a corpse: hence the verb hotoke-zukuri, 'to look ghastly,' to have the semblance of one long dead. And Hotoke-San is the name of the Image of a Face seen in the pupil of the eye--Hotoke-San, 'the Lord Buddha.' Not the Supreme of the Hokkekyo, but that lesser Buddha who dwelleth in each one of us,--the Spirit. [13] Sang Rossetti: 'I looked and saw your heart in the shadow of your eyes.' Exactly converse is the Oriental thought. A Japanese lover would have said: 'I looked and saw my own Buddha in the shadow of your eyes. What is the psychical theory connected with so singular a belief? [14] I think it might be this: The Soul, within its own body, always remains viewless, yet may reflect itself in the eyes of another, as in the mirror of a necromancer. Vainly you gaze into the eyes of the beloved to discern her soul: you see there only your own soul's shadow, diaphanous; and beyond is mystery alone--reaching to the Infinite. But is not this true? The Ego, as Schopenhauer wonderfully said, is the dark spot in consciousness, even as the point whereat the nerve of sight enters the eye is blind. We see ourselves in others only; only through others do we dimly guess that which we are. And in the deepest love of another being do we not indeed love ourselves? What are the personalities, the individualities of us but countless vibrations in the Universal Being? Are we not all One in the unknowable Ultimate? One with the inconceivable past? One with the everlasting future? Sec. 26 In Oki, as in Izumo, the public school is slowly but surely destroying many of the old superstitions. Even the fishermen of the new generation laugh at things in which their fathers believed. I was rather surprised to receive from an intelligent young sailor, whom I had questioned through an interpreter about the ghostly fire of Takuhizan, this scornful answer: 'Oh, we used to believe those things when we were savages; but we are civilised now!' Nevertheless, he was somewhat in advance of his time. In the village to which he belonged I discovered that the Fox-.superstition prevails to a degree scarcely paralleled in any part of Izumo. The history of the village was quite curious. From time immemorial it had been reputed a settlement of Kitsune-mochi: in other words, all its inhabitants were commonly believed, and perhaps believed themselves, to be the owners of goblin-foxes. And being all alike kitsune-mochi, they could eat and drink together, and marry and give in marriage among themselves without affliction. They were feared with a ghostly fear by the neighbouring peasantry, who obeyed their demands both in matters reasonable and unreasonable. They prospered exceedingly. But some twenty years ago an Izumo stranger settled among them. He was energetic, intelligent, and possessed of some capital. He bought land, made various shrewd investments, and in a surprisingly short time became the wealthiest citizen in the place. He built a very pretty Shinto temple and presented it to the community. There was only one obstacle in the way of his becoming a really popular person: he was not a kitsune-mochi, and he had even said that he hated foxes. This singularity threatened to beget discords in the mura, especially as he married his children to strangers, and thus began in the midst of the kitsune-mochi to establish a sort of anti-Fox-holding colony. Wherefore, for a long time past, the Fox-holders have been trying to force their superfluous goblins upon him. Shadows glide about the gate of his dwelling on moonless nights, muttering: 'Kaere! kyo kara kokoye: kuruda!' [Be off now! from now hereafter it is here that ye must dwell: go!] Then are the upper shoji violently pushed apart; and the voice of the enraged house owner is heard: 'Koko Wa kiraida! modori!' [Detestable is that which ye do! get ye gone!] And the Shadows flee away.[15] Sec. 27 Because there were no cuttlefish at Hishi-ura, and no horrid smells, I enjoyed myself there more than I did anywhere else in Oki. But, in any event, Hishi-ura would have interested me more than Saigo. The life of the pretty little town is peculiarly old-fashioned; and the ancient domestic industries, which the introduction of machinery has almost destroyed in Izumo and elsewhere, still exist in Hishi-ura. It was pleasant to watch the rosy girls weaving robes of cotton and robes of silk, relieving each other whenever the work became fatiguing. All this quaint gentle life is open to inspection, and I loved to watch it. I had other pleasures also: the bay is a delightful place for swimming, and there were always boats ready to take me to any place of interest along the coast. At night the sea breeze made the rooms which I occupied deliciously cool; and from the balcony I could watch the bay-swell breaking in slow, cold fire on the steps of the wharves--a beautiful phosphorescence; and I could hear Oki mothers singing their babes to sleep with one of the oldest lullabys in the world: Nenneko, O-yama no Usagi. no ko, Naze mata O-mimi ga Nagai e yara? Okkasan no O-nak ni Oru toku ni, BiWa no ha, Sasa no ha, Tabeta sona; Sore de O-mimi ga Nagai e sona. [16] The air was singularly sweet and plaintive, quite different from that to which the same words are sung in Izumo, and in other parts of Japan. One morning I had hired a boat to take me to Beppu, and was on the point of leaving the hotel for the day, when the old landlady, touching my arm, exclaimed: 'Wait a little while; it is not good to cross a funeral.' I looked round the corner, and saw the procession coming along the shore. It was a Shinto funeral--a child's funeral. Young lads came first, carrying Shinto emblems--little white flags, and branches of the sacred sakaki; and after the coffin the mother walked, a young peasant, crying very loud, and wiping her eyes with the long sleeves of her coarse blue dress. Then the old woman at my side murmured: 'She sorrows; but she is very young: perhaps It will come back to her.' For she was a pious Buddhist, my good old landlady, and doubtless supposed the mother's belief like her own, although the funeral was conducted according to the Shinto rite. Sec. 28 There are in Buddhism certain weirdly beautiful consolations unknown to Western faith. The young mother who loses her first child may at least pray that it will come back to her out of the night of death--not in dreams only, but through reincarnation. And so praying, she writes within the hand of the little corpse the first ideograph of her lost darling's name. Months pass; she again becomes a mother. Eagerly she examines the flower-soft hand of the infant. And lo! the self-same ideograph is there--a rosy birth-mark on the tender palm; and the Soul returned looks out upon her through the eyes of the newly-born with the gaze of other days. Sec. 29 While on the subject of death I may speak of a primitive but touching custom which exists both in Oki and Izumo--that of calling the name of the dead immediately after death. For it is thought that the call may be heard by the fleeting soul, which might sometimes be thus induced to return. Therefore, when a mother dies, the children should first call her, and of all the children first the youngest (for she loved that one most); and then the husband and all those who loved the dead cry to her in turn. And it is also the custom to call loudly the name of one who faints, or becomes insensible from any cause; and there are curious beliefs underlying this custom. It is said that of those who swoon from pain or grief especially, many approach very nearly to death, and these always have the same experience. 'You feel,' said one to me in answer to my question about the belief, 'as if you were suddenly somewhere else, and quite happy-- only tired. And you know that you want to go to a Buddhist temple which is quite far away. At last you reach the gate of the temple court, and you see the temple inside, and it is wonderfully large and beautiful. And you pass the gate and enter the court to go to the temple. But suddenly you hear voices of friends far behind you calling your name-- very, very earnestly. So you turn back, and all at once you come to yourself again. At least it is so if your heart cares to live. But one who is really tired of living will not listen to the voices, and walks on to the temple. And what there happens no man knows, for they who enter that temple never return to their friends. 'That is why people call loudly into the ear of one who swoons. 'Now, it is said that all who die, before going to the Meido, make one pilgrimage to the great temple of Zenkoji, which is in the country of Shinano, in Nagano-Ken. And they say that whenever the priest of that temple preaches, he sees the Souls gather there in the hondo to hear him, all with white wrappings about their heads. So Zenkoji might be the temple which is seen by those who swoon. But I do not know.' Sec. 30 I went by boat from Hishi-ura to Amamura, in Nakanoshima, to visit the tomb of the exiled Emperor Go-Toba. The scenery along the way was beautiful, and of softer outline than I had seen on my first passage through the archipelago. Small rocks rising from the water were covered with sea-gulls and cormorants, which scarcely took any notice of the boat, even when we came almost within an oar's length. This fearlessness of wild creatures is one of the most charming impressions of travel in these remoter parts of Japan, yet unvisited by tourists with shotguns. The early European and American hunters in Japan seem to have found no difficulty and felt no compunction in exterminating what they considered 'game' over whole districts, destroying life merely for the wanton pleasure of destruction. Their example is being imitated now by 'Young Japan,' and the destruction of bird life is only imperfectly checked by game laws. Happily, the Government does interfere sometimes to check particular forms of the hunting vice. Some brutes who had observed the habits of swallows to make their nests in Japanese houses, last year offered to purchase some thousands of swallow-skins at a tempting price. The effect of the advertisement was cruel enough; but the police were promptly notified to stop the murdering, which they did. About the same time, in one of the Yokohama papers, there appeared a letter from some holy person announcing, as a triumph of Christian sentiment, that a 'converted' fisherman had been persuaded by foreign proselytisers to kill a turtle, which his Buddhist comrades had vainly begged him to spare. Amarnura, a very small village, lies in a narrow plain of rice-fields extending from the sea to a range of low hills. From the landing-place to the village is about a quarter of a mile. The narrow path leading to it passes round the base of a small hill, covered with pines, on the outskirts of the village. There is quite a handsome Shinto temple on the hill, small, but admirably constructed, approached by stone steps and a paved walk. There are the usual lions and lamps of stone, and the ordinary simple offerings of paper and women's hair before the shrine. But I saw among the ex-voto a number of curious things which I had never seen in Izumo-- tiny miniature buckets, well-buckets, with rope and pole complete, neatly fashioned out of bamboo. The boatman said that farmers bring these to the shrine when praying for rain. The deity was called Suwa- Dai-Myojin. It was at the neighbouring village, of which Suwa-Dai-Myojin seems to be the ujigami, that the Emperor Go-Toba is said to have dwelt, in the house of the Choja Shikekuro. The Shikekuro homestead remains, and still belongs to the Choja'sa descendants, but they have become very poor. I asked permission to see the cups from which the exiled emperor drank, and other relics of his stay said to be preserved by the family; but in consequence of illness in the house I could not be received. So I had only a glimpse of the garden, where there is a celebrated pond--a kembutsu. The pond is called Shikekuro's Pond,--Shikekuro-no-ike. And for seven hundred years, 'tis said, the frogs of that pond have never been heard to croak. For the Emperor Go-Toba, having one night been kept awake by the croaking of the frogs in that pond, arose and went out and commanded them, saying: 'Be silent!' Wherefore they have remained silent through all the centuries even unto this day. Near the pond there was in that time a great pine-tree, of which the rustling upon windy nights disturbed the emperor's rest. And he spoke to the pine-tree, and said to it: 'Be still!' And never thereafter was that tree heard to rustle, even in time of storms. But that tree has ceased to be. Nothing remains of it but a few fragments of its wood and hark, which are carefully preserved as relics by the ancients of Oki. Such a fragment was shown to me in the toko of the guest chamber of the dwelling of a physician of Saigo--the same gentleman whose kindness I have related elsewhere. The tomb of the emperor lies on the slope of a low hill, at a distance of about ten minutes' walk from the village. It is far less imposing than the least of the tombs of the Matsudaira at Matsue, in the grand old courts of Gesshoji; but it was perhaps the best which the poor little country of Oki could furnish. This is not, however, the original place of the tomb, which was moved by imperial order in the sixth year of Meiji to its present site. A lofty fence, or rather stockade of heavy wooden posts, painted black, incloses a piece of ground perhaps one hundred and fifty feet long, by about fifty broad, and graded into three levels, or low terraces. All the space within is shaded by pines. In the centre of the last and highest of the little terraces the tomb is placed: a single large slab of grey rock laid horizontally. A narrow paved walk leads from the gate to the tomb; ascending each terrace by three or four stone steps. A little within this gateway, which is opened to visitors only once a year, there is a torii facing the sepulchre; and before the highest terrace there are a pair of stone lamps. All this is severely simple, but effective in a certain touching way. The country stillness is broken only by the shrilling of the semi and the tintinnabulation of that strange little insect, the suzumushi, whose calling sounds just like the tinkling of the tiny bells which are shaken by the miko in her sacred dance. Sec. 31 I remained nearly eight days at Hishi-ura on the occasion of my second visit there, but only three at Urago. Urago proved a less pleasant place to stay in--not because its smells were any stronger than those of Saigo, but for other reasons which shall presently appear. More than one foreign man-of-war has touched at Saigo, and English and Russian officers of the navy have been seen in the streets. They were tall, fair-haired, stalwart men; and the people of Oki still imagine that all foreigners from the West have the same stature and complexion. I was the first foreigner who ever remained even a night in the town, and I stayed there two weeks; but being small and dark, and dressed like a Japanese, I excited little attention among the common people: it seemed to them that I was only a curious-looking Japanese from some remote part of the empire. At Hishi-ura the same impression prevailed for a time; and even after the fact of my being a foreigner had become generally known, the population caused me no annoyance whatever: they had already become accustomed to see me walking about the streets or swimming across the bay. But it was quite otherwise at Urago. The first time I landed there I had managed to escape notice, being in Japanese costume, and wearing a very large Izumo hat, which partly concealed my face. After I left for Saigo, the people must have found out that a foreigner--the very first ever seen in Dozen--had actually been in Urago without their knowledge; for my second visit made a sensation such as I had never been the cause of anywhere else, except at Kaka-ura. I had barely time to enter the hotel, before the street became entirely blockaded by an amazing crowd desirous to see. The hotel was unfortunately situated on a corner, so that it was soon besieged on two sides. I was shown to a large back room on the second floor; and I had no sooner squatted down on my mat, than the people began to come upstairs quite noiselessly, all leaving their sandals at the foot of the steps. They were too polite to enter the room; but four or five would put their heads through the doorway at once, and bow, and smile, and look, and retire to make way for those who filled the stairway behind them. It was no easy matter for the servant to bring me my dinner. Meanwhile, not only had the upper rooms of the houses across the way become packed with gazers, but all the roofs--north, east, and south-- which commanded a view of my apartment had been occupied by men and boys in multitude. Numbers of lads had also climbed (I never could imagine how) upon the narrow eaves over the galleries below my windows; and all the openings of my room, on three sides, were full of faces. Then tiles gave way, and boys fell, but nobody appeared to be hurt. And the queerest fact was that during the performance of these extraordinary gymnastics there was a silence of death: had I not seen the throng, I might have supposed there was not a soul in the street. The landlord began to scold; but, finding scolding of no avail, he summoned a policeman. The policeman begged me to excuse the people, who had never seen a foreigner before; and asked me if I wished him to clear the street. He could have done that by merely lifting his little finger; but as the scene amused me, I begged him not to order the people away, but only to tell the boys not to climb upon the awnings, some of which they had already damaged. He told them most effectually, speaking in a very low voice. During all the rest of the time I was in Urago, no one dared to go near the awnings. A Japanese policeman never speaks more than once about anything new, and always speaks to the purpose. The public curiosity, however, lasted without abate for three days, and would have lasted longer if I had not fled from Urago. Whenever I went out I drew the population after me with a pattering of geta like the sound of surf moving shingle. Yet, except for that particular sound, there was silence. No word was spoken. Whether this was because the whole mental faculty was so strained by the intensity of the desire to see that speech became impossible, I am not able to decide. But there was no roughness in all that curiosity; there was never anything approaching rudeness, except in the matter of ascending to my room without leave; and that was done so gently that I could not wish the intruders rebuked. Nevertheless, three days of such experience proved trying. Despite the heat, I had to close the doors and windows at night to prevent myself being watched while asleep. About my effects I had no anxiety at all: thefts are never committed in the island. But that perpetual silent crowding about me became at last more than embarrassing. It was innocent, but it was weird. It made me feel like a ghost--a new arrival in the Meido, surrounded by shapes without voice. Sec. 32 There is very little privacy of any sort in Japanese life. Among the people, indeed, what we term privacy in the Occident does not exist. There are only walls of paper dividing the lives of men; there are only sliding screens instead of doors; there are neither locks nor bolts to be used by day; and whenever weather permits, the fronts, and perhaps even the sides of the house are literally removed, and its interior widely opened to the air, the light, and the public gaze. Not even the rich man closes his front gate by day. Within a hotel or even a common dwelling-house, nobody knocks before entering your room: there is nothing to knock at except a shoji or fusuma, which cannot be knocked upon without being broken. And in this world of paper walls and sunshine, nobody is afraid or ashamed of fellow-men or fellow-women. Whatever is done, is done, after a fashion, in public. Your personal habits, your idiosyncrasies (if you have any), your foibles, your likes and dislikes, your loves or your hates, must be known to everybody. Neither vices nor virtues can be hidden: there is absolutely nowhere to hide them. And this condition has lasted from the most ancient time. There has never been, for the common millions at least, even the idea of living unobserved. Life can be comfortably and happily lived in Japan only upon the condition that all matters relating to it are open to the inspection of the community. Which implies exceptional moral conditions, such as have no being in the West. It is perfectly comprehensible only to those who know by experience the extraordinary charm of Japanese character, the infinite goodness of the common people, their instinctive politeness, and the absence among them of any tendencies to indulge in criticism, ridicule, irony, or sarcasm. No one endeavours to expand his own individuality by belittling his fellow; no one tries to make himself appear a superior being: any such attempt would be vain in a community where the weaknesses of each are known to all, where nothing can be concealed or disguised, and where affectation could only be regarded as a mild form of insanity. Sec. 33 Some of the old samurai of Matsue are living in the Oki Islands. When the great military caste was disestablished, a few shrewd men decided to try their fortunes in the little archipelago, where customs remained old-fashioned and lands were cheap. Several succeeded--probably because of the whole-souled honesty and simplicity of manners in the islands; for samurai have seldom elsewhere been able to succeed in business of any sort when obliged to compete with experienced traders, Others failed, but were able to adopt various humble occupations which gave them the means to live. Besides these aged survivors of the feudal period, I learned there were in Oki several children of once noble families--youths and maidens of illustrious extraction--bravely facing the new conditions of life in this remotest and poorest region of the empire. Daughters of men to whom the population of a town once bowed down were learning the bitter toil of the rice-fields. Youths, who might in another era have aspired to offices of State, had become the trusted servants of Oki heimin. Others, again, had entered the police, [17] and rightly deemed themselves fortunate. No doubt that change of civilisation forced upon Japan by Christian bayonets, for the holy motive of gain, may yet save the empire from perils greater than those of the late social disintegration; but it was cruelly sudden. To imagine the consequence of depriving the English landed gentry of their revenues would not enable one to realise exactly what a similar privation signified to the Japanese samurai. For the old warrior caste knew only the arts of courtesy and the arts of war. And hearing of these things, I could not help thinking about a strange pageant at the last great Izumo festival of Rakuzan-jinja. Sec. 34 The hamlet of Rakuzan, known only for its bright yellow pottery and its little Shinto temple, drowses at the foot of a wooded hill about one ri from Matsue, beyond a wilderness of rice-fields. And the deity of Rakuzan-jinja is Naomasa, grandson of Iyeyasu, and father of the Daimyo of Matsue. Some of the Matsudaira slumber in Buddhist ground, guarded by tortoises and lions of stone, in the marvellous old courts of Gesshoji. But Naomasa, the founder of their long line, is enshrined at Rakuzan; and the Izumo peasants still clap their hands in prayer before his miya, and implore his love and protection. Now formerly upon each annual matsuri, or festival, of Rakuzan-jinja, it was customary to carry the miya of Naomasa-San from the village temple to the castle of Matsue. In solemn procession it was borne to .those strange old family temples in the heart of the fortress-grounds--Go-jo- naiInari-Daimyojin, and Kusunoki-Matauhira-Inari-Daimyojin--whose mouldering courts, peopled with lions and foxes of stone, are shadowed by enormous trees. After certain Shinto rites had been performed at both temples, the miya was carried back in procession to Rakuzan. And this annual ceremony was called the miyuki or togyo--'the August Going,' or Visit, of the ancestor to the ancestral home. But the revolution changed all things. The daimyo passed away; the castles fell to ruin; the samurai caste was abolished and dispossessed. And the miya of Lord Naomasa made no August Visit to the home of the Mataudaira for more than thirty years. But it came to pass a little time ago, that certain old men of Matsue bethought them to revive once more the ancient customs of the Rakuzan matauri. And there was a miyuki. The miya of Lord Naomasa was placed within a barge, draped and decorated, and so conveyed by river and canal to the eastern end of the old Mataubara road, along whose pine-shaded way the daimyo formerly departed to Yedo on their annual visit, or returned therefrom. All those who rowed the barge were aged samurai who had been wont in their youth to row the barge of Matsudaira-Dewa-no-Kami, the last Lord of Izumo. They wore their ancient feudal costume; and they tried to sing their ancient boat-song--o-funa-uta. But more than a generation had passed since the last time they had sung it; and some of them had lost their teeth, so that they could not pronounce the words well; and all, being aged, lost breath easily in the exertion of wielding the oars. Nevertheless they rowed the barge to the place appointed. Thence the shrine was borne to a spot by the side of the Mataubara road, where anciently stood an August Tea-House, O-Chaya, at which the daimyo, returning from the Shogun's capital, were accustomed to rest and to receive their faithful retainers, who always came in procession to meet them. No tea-house stands there now; but, in accord with old custom, the shrine and its escort waited at the place among the wild flowers and the pines. And then was seen a strange sight. For there came to meet the ghost of the great lord a long procession of shapes that seemed ghosts also--shapes risen out of the dust of cemeteries: warriors in created helmets and masks of iron and breastplates of steel, girded with two swords; and spearmen wearing queues; and retainers in kamishimo; and bearers of hasami-bako. Yet ghosts these were not, but aged samurai of Matsue, who had borne arms in the service of the last of the daimyo. And among them appeared his surviving ministers, the venerable karo; and these, as the procession turned city-ward, took their old places of honour, and marched before the shrine valiantly, though bent with years. How that pageant might have impressed other strangers I do not know. For me, knowing something of the history of each of those aged men, the scene had a significance apart from its story of forgotten customs, apart from its interest as a feudal procession. To-day each and all of those old samurai are unspeakably poor. Their beautiful homes vanished long ago; their gardens have been turned into rice-fields; their household treasures were cruelly bargained for, and bought for almost nothing by curio-dealers to be resold at high prices to foreigners at the open ports. And yet what they could have obtained considerable money for, and what had ceased to be of any service to them, they clung to fondly through all their poverty and humiliation. Never could they be induced to part with their armour and their swords, even when pressed by direst want, under the new and harder conditions of existence. The river banks, the streets, the balconies, and blue-tiled roofs were thronged. There was a great quiet as the procession passed. Young people gazed in hushed wonder, feeling the rare worth of that chance to look upon what will belong in the future to picture-books only and to the quaint Japanese stage. And old men wept silently, remembering their youth. Well spake the ancient thinker: 'Everything is only for a day, both that which remembers, and that which is remembered.' Sec. 35 Once more, homeward bound, I sat upon the cabin-roof of the Oki-Saigo-- this time happily unencumbered by watermelons--and tried to explain to myself the feeling of melancholy with which I watched those wild island- coasts vanishing over the pale sea into the white horizon. No doubt it was inspired partly by the recollection of kindnesses received from many whom I shall never meet again; partly, also, by my familiarity with the ancient soil itself, and remembrance of shapes and places: the long blue visions down channels between islands--the faint grey fishing hamlets hiding in stony bays--the elfish oddity of narrow streets in little primitive towns--the forms and tints of peak and vale made lovable by daily intimacy--the crooked broken paths to shadowed shrines of gods with long mysterious names--the butterfly-drifting of yellow sails out of the glow of an unknown horizon. Yet I think it was due much more to a particular sensation in which every memory was steeped and toned, as a landscape is steeped in the light and toned in the colours of the morning: the sensation of conditions closer to Nature's heart, and farther from the monstrous machine-world of Western life than any into which I had ever entered north of the torrid zone. And then it seemed to me that I loved Oki--in spite of the cuttlefish--chiefly because of having felt there, as nowhere else in Japan, the full joy of escape from the far-reaching influences of high-pressure civilisation--the delight of knowing one's self, in Dozen at least, well beyond the range of everything artificial in human existence. Chapter Nine Of Souls Kinjuro, the ancient gardener, whose head shines like an ivory ball, sat him down a moment on the edge of the ita-no-ma outside my study to smoke his pipe at the hibachi always left there for him. And as he smoked he found occasion to reprove the boy who assists him. What the boy had been doing I did not exactly know; but I heard Kinjuro bid him try to comport himself like a creature having more than one Soul. And because those words interested me I went out and sat down by Kinjuro. 'O Kinjuro,' I said, 'whether I myself have one or more Souls I am not sure. But it would much please me to learn how many Souls have you.' 'I-the-Selfish-One have only four Souls,' made answer Kinjuro, with conviction imperturbable. 'Four? re-echoed I, feeling doubtful of having understood 'Four,' he repeated. 'But that boy I think can have only one Soul, so much is he wanting in patience.' 'And in what manner,' I asked, 'came you to learn that you have four Souls?' 'There are wise men,' made he answer, while knocking the ashes out of his little silver pipe, 'there are wise men who know these things. And there is an ancient book which discourses of them. According to the age of a man, and the time of his birth, and the stars of heaven, may the number of his Souls be divined. But this is the knowledge of old men: the young folk of these times who learn the things of the West do not believe.' 'And tell me, O Kinjuro, do there now exist people having more Souls than you?' 'Assuredly. Some have five, some six, some seven, some eight Souls. But no one is by the gods permitted to have more Souls than nine.' [Now this, as a universal statement, I could not believe, remembering a woman upon the other side of the world who possessed many generations of Souls, and knew how to use them all. She wore her Souls just as other women wear their dresses, and changed them several times a day; and the multitude of dresses in the wardrobe of Queen Elizabeth was as nothing to the multitude of this wonderful person's Souls. For which reason she never appeared the same upon two different occasions; and she changed her thought and her voice with her Souls. Sometimes she was of the South, and her eyes were brown; and again she was of the North, and her eyes were grey. Sometimes she was of the thirteenth, and sometimes of the eighteenth century; and people doubted their own senses when they saw these things; and they tried to find out the truth by begging photographs of her, and then comparing them. Now the photographers rejoiced to photograph her because she was more than fair; but presently they also were confounded by the discovery that she was never the same subject twice. So the men who most admired her could not presume to fall in love with her because that would have been absurd. She had altogether too many Souls. And some of you who read this I have written will bear witness to the verity thereof.] 'Concerning this Country of the Gods, O Kinjuro, that which you say may be true. But there are other countries having only gods made of gold; and in those countries matters are not so well arranged; and the inhabitants thereof are plagued with a plague of Souls. For while some have but half a Soul, or no Soul at all, others have Souls in multitude thrust upon them, for which neither nutriment nor employ can be found. And Souls thus situated torment exceedingly their owners. . . . .That is to say, Western Souls. . . . But tell me, I pray you, what is the use of having more than one or two Souls?' 'Master, if all had the same number and quality of Souls, all would surely be of one mind. But that people are different from each other is apparent; and the differences among them are because of the differences in the quality and the number of their Souls.' 'And it is better to have many Souls than a few?' 'It is better.' 'And the man having but one Soul is a being imperfect?' 'Very imperfect.' 'Yet a man very imperfect might have had an ancestor perfect?' 'That is true.' 'So that a man of to-day possessing but one Soul may have had an ancestor with nine Souls?' 'Yes.' 'Then what has become of those other eight Souls which the ancestor possessed, but which the descendant is without?' 'Ah! that is the work of the gods. The gods alone fix the number of Souls for each of us. To the worthy are many given; to the unworthy few.' 'Not from the parents, then, do the Souls descend?' 'Nay! Most ancient the Souls are: innumerable, the years of them.' 'And this I desire to know: Can a man separate his Souls? Can he, for instance, have one Soul in Kyoto and one in Tokyo and one in Matsue, all at the same time?' 'He cannot; they remain always together.' 'How? One within the other--like the little lacquered boxes of an inro?' 'Nay: that none but the gods know.' 'And the Souls are never separated?' 'Sometimes they may be separated. But if the Souls of a man be separated, that man becomes mad. Mad people are those who have lost one of their Souls.' 'But after death what becomes of the Souls?' 'They remain still together. . . . When a man dies his Souls ascend to the roof of the house. And they stay upon the roof for the space of nine and forty days.' 'On what part of the roof?' 'On the yane-no-mune--upon the Ridge of the Roof they stay.' 'Can they be seen?' 'Nay: they are like the air is. To and fro upon the Ridge of the Roof they move, like a little wind.' 'Why do they not stay upon the roof for fifty days instead of forty- nine?' 'Seven weeks is the time allotted them before they must depart: seven weeks make the measure of forty-nine days. But why this should be, I cannot tell.' I was not unaware of the ancient belief that the spirit of a dead man haunts for a time the roof of his dwelling, because it is referred to quite impressively in many Japanese dramas, among others in the play called Kagami-yama, which makes the people weep. But I had not before heard of triplex and quadruplex and other yet more highly complex Souls; and I questioned Kinjuro vainly in the hope of learning the authority for his beliefs. They were the beliefs of his fathers: that was all he knew. [1] Like most Izumo folk, Kinjuro was a Buddhist as well as a Shintoist. As the former he belonged to the Zen-shu, as the latter to the Izumo- Taisha. Yet his ontology seemed to me not of either. Buddhism does not teach the doctrine of compound-multiple Souls. There are old Shinto books inaccessible to the multitude which speak of a doctrine very remotely akin to Kinjuro's; but Kinjuro had never seen them. Those books say that each of us has two souls--the Ara-tama or Rough Soul, which is vindictive; and the Nigi-tama, or Gentle Soul, which is all-forgiving. Furthermore, we are all possessed by the spirit of Oho-maga-tsu-hi-no- Kami, the 'Wondrous Deity of Exceeding Great Evils'; also by the spirit of Oho-naho-bi-no-Kami, the 'Wondrous Great Rectifying Deity,' a counteracting influence. These were not exactly the ideas of Kinjuro. But I remembered something Hirata wrote which reminded me of Kinjuro's words about a possible separation of souls. Hirata's teaching was that the ara-tama of a man may leave his body, assume his shape, and without his knowledge destroy a hated enemy. So I asked Kinjuro about it. He said he had never heard of a nigi-tama or an ara-tama; but he told me this: 'Master, when a man has been discovered by his wife to be secretly enamoured of another, it sometimes happens that the guilty woman is seized with a sickness that no physician can cure. For one of the Souls of the wife, moved exceedingly by anger, passes into the body of that woman to destroy her. But the wife also sickens, or loses her mind awhile, because of the absence of her Soul. 'And there is another and more wonderful thing known to us of Nippon, which you, being of the West, may never have heard. By the power of the gods, for a righteous purpose, sometimes a Soul may be withdrawn a little while from its body, and be made to utter its most secret thought. But no suffering to the body is then caused. And the wonder is wrought in this wise: 'A man loves a beautiful girl whom he is at liberty to marry; but he doubts whether he can hope to make her love him in return. He seeks the kannushi of a certain Shinto temple, [2] and tells of his doubt, and asks the aid of the gods to solve it. Then the priests demand, not his name, but his age and the year and day and hour of his birth, which they write down for the gods to know; and they bid the man return to the temple after the space of seven days. 'And during those seven days the priests offer prayer to the gods that the doubt may be solved; and one of them each morning bathes all his body in cold, pure water, and at each repast eats only food prepared with holy fire. And on the eighth day the man returns to the temple, and enters an inner chamber where the priests receive him. 'A ceremony is performed, and certain prayers are said, after which all wait in silence. And then, the priest who has performed the rites of purification suddenly begins to tremble violently in all his body, like one trembling with a great fever. And this is because, by the power of the gods, the Soul of the girl whose love is doubted has entered, all fearfully, into the body of that priest. She does not know; for at that time, wherever she may be, she is in a deep sleep from which nothing can arouse her. But her Soul, having been summoned into the body of the priest, can speak nothing save the truth; and It is made to tell all Its thought. And the priest speaks not with his own voice, but with the voice of the Soul; and he speaks in the person of the Soul, saying: "I love," or "I hate," according as the truth may be, and in the language of women. If there be hate, then the reason of the hate is spoken; but if the answer be of love, there is little to say. And then the trembling of the priest stops, for the Soul passes from him; and he falls forward upon his face like one dead, and long so--remains. 'Tell me, Kinjuro,' I asked, after all these queer things had been related to me, 'have you yourself ever known of a Soul being removed by the power of the gods, and placed in the heart of a priest?' 'Yes: I myself have known it.' I remained silent and waited. The old man emptied his little pipe, threw it down beside the hibachi, folded his hands, and looked at the lotus- flowers for some time before he spoke again. Then he smiled and said: 'Master, I married when I was very young. For many years we had no children: then my wife at last gave me a son, and became a Buddha. But my son lived and grew up handsome and strong; and when the Revolution came, he joined the armies of the Son of Heaven; and he died the death of a man in the great war of the South, in Kyushu. I loved him; and I wept with joy when I heard that he had been able to die for our Sacred Emperor: since there is no more noble death for the son of a samurai. So they buried my boy far away from me in Kyushu, upon a hill near Kumamoto, which is a famous city with a strong garrison; and I went there to make his tomb beautiful. But his name is here also, in Ninomaru, graven on the monument to the men of Izumo who fell in the good fight for loyalty and honour in our emperor's holy cause; and when I see his name there, my heart laughs, and I speak to him, and then it seems as if he were walking beside me again, under the great pines. . . But all that is another matter. 'I sorrowed for my wife. All the years we had dwelt together no unkind word had ever been uttered between us. And when she died, I thought never to marry again. But after two more years had passed, my father and mother desired a daughter in the house, and they told me of their wish, and of a girl who was beautiful and of good family, though poor. The family were of our kindred, and the girl was their only support: she wove garments of silk and garments of cotton, and for this she received but little money. And because she was filial and comely, and our kindred not fortunate, my parents desired that I should marry her and help her people; for in those days we had a small income of rice. Then, being accustomed to obey my parents, I suffered them to do what they thought best. So the nakodo was summoned, and the arrangements for the wedding began. 'Twice I was able to see the girl in the house of her parents. And I thought myself fortunate the first time I looked upon her; for she was very comely and young. But the second time, I perceived she had been weeping, and that her eyes avoided mine. Then my heart sank; for I thought: She dislikes me; and they are forcing her to this thing. Then I resolved to question the gods; and I caused the marriage to be delayed; and I went to the temple of Yanagi-no-Inari-Sama, which is in the Street Zaimokucho. 'And when the trembling came upon him, the priest, speaking with the Soul of that maid, declared to me: "My heart hates you, and the sight of your face gives me sickness, because I love another, and because this marriage is forced upon me. Yet though my heart hates you, I must marry you because my parents are poor and old, and I alone cannot long continue to support them, for my work is killing me. But though I may strive to be a dutiful wife, there never will be gladness in your house because of me; for my heart hates you with a great and lasting hate; and the sound of your voice makes a sickness in my breast (koe kiite mo mune ga waruku naru); and only to see your face makes me wish that I were dead (kao miru to shinitaku naru)." 'Thus knowing the truth, I told it to my parents; and I wrote a letter of kind words to the maid, praying pardon for the pain I had unknowingly caused her; and I feigned long illness, that the marriage might be broken off without gossip; and we made a gift to that family; and the maid was glad. For she was enabled at a later time to marry the young man she loved. My parents never pressed me again to take a wife; and since their death I have lived alone. . . . O Master, look upon the extreme wickedness of that boy!' Taking advantage of our conversation, Kinjuro's young assistant had improvised a rod and line with a bamboo stick and a bit of string; and had fastened to the end of the string a pellet of tobacco stolen from the old man's pouch. With this bait he had been fishing in the lotus pond; and a frog had swallowed it, and was now suspended high above the pebbles, sprawling in rotary motion, kicking in frantic spasms of disgust and despair. 'Kaji!' shouted the gardener. The boy dropped his rod with a laugh, and ran to us unabashed; while the frog, having disgorged the tobacco, plopped back into the lotus pond. Evidently Kaji was not afraid of scoldings. 'Gosho ga waruil' declared the old man, shaking his ivory head. 'O Kaji, much I fear that your next birth will be bad! Do I buy tobacco for frogs? Master, said I not rightly this boy has but one Soul?' CHAPTER TEN Of Ghosts and Goblins Sec. 1 THERE was a Buddha, according to the Hokkekyo who 'even assumed the shape of a goblin to preach to such as were to be converted by a goblin.' And in the same Sutra may be found this promise of the Teacher: 'While he is dwelling lonely in the wilderness, I will send thither goblins in great number to keep him company.' The appalling character of this promise is indeed somewhat modified by the assurance that gods also are to be sent. But if ever I become a holy man, I shall take heed not to dwell in the wilderness, because I have seen Japanese goblins, and I do not like them. Kinjuro showed them to me last night. They had come to town for the matsuri of our own ujigami, or parish-temple; and, as there were many curious things to be seen at the night festival, we started for the temple after dark, Kinjuro carrying a paper lantern painted with my crest. It had snowed heavily in the morning; but now the sky and the sharp still air were clear as diamond; and the crisp snow made a pleasant crunching sound under our feet as we walked; and it occurred to me to say: 'O Kinjuro, is there a God of Snow?' 'I cannot tell,' replied Kinjuro. 'There be many gods I do not know; and there is not any man who knows the names of all the gods. But there is the Yuki-Onna, the Woman of the Snow.' 'And what is the Yuki-Onna?' 'She is the White One that makes the Faces in the snow. She does not any harm, only makes afraid. By day she lifts only her head, and frightens those who journey alone. But at night she rises up sometimes, taller than the trees, and looks about a little while, and then falls back in a shower of snow.' [1] 'What is her face like?' 'It is all white, white. It is an enormous face. And it is a lonesome face.' [The word Kinjuro used was samushii. Its common meaning is 'lonesome'; but he used it, I think, in the sense of 'weird.'] 'Did you ever see her, Kinjuro?' 'Master, I never saw her. But my father told me that once when he was a child, he wanted to go to a neighbour's house through the snow to play with another little boy; and that on the way he saw a great white Face rise up from the snow and look lonesomely about, so that he cried for fear and ran back. Then his people all went out and looked; but there was only snow; and then they knew that he had seen the Yuki-Onna.' 'And in these days, Kinjuro, do people ever see her?' 'Yes. Those who make the pilgrimage to Yabumura, in the period called Dai-Kan, which is the Time of the Greatest Cold, [2] they sometimes see her.' 'What is there at Yabumura, Kinjuro?' 'There is the Yabu-jinja, which is an ancient and famous temple of Yabu- no-Tenno-San--the God of Colds, Kaze-no-Kami. It is high upon a hill, nearly nine ri from Matsue. And the great matsuri of that temple is held upon the tenth and eleventh days of the Second Month. And on those days strange things may be seen. For one who gets a very bad cold prays to the deity of Yabu-jinja to cure it, and takes a vow to make a pilgrimage naked to the temple at the time of the matsuri.' 'Naked?' 'Yes: the pilgrims wear only waraji, and a little cloth round their loins. And a great many men and women go naked through the snow to the temple, though the snow is deep at that time. And each man carries a bunch of gohei and a naked sword as gifts to the temple; and each woman carries a metal mirror. And at the temple, the priests receive them, performing curious rites. For the priests then, according to ancient custom, attire themselves like sick men, and lie down and groan, and drink, potions made of herbs, prepared after the Chinese manner.' 'But do not some of the pilgrims die of cold, Kinjuro?' 'No: our Izumo peasants are hardy. Besides, they run swiftly, so that they reach the temple all warm. And before returning they put on thick warm robes. But sometimes, upon the way, they see the Yuki-Onna.' Sec. 2 Each side of the street leading to the miya was illuminated with a line of paper lanterns bearing holy symbols; and the immense court of the temple had been transformed into a town of booths, and shops, and temporary theatres. In spite of the cold, the crowd was prodigious. There seemed to be all the usual attractions of a matsuri, and a number of unusual ones. Among the familiar lures, I missed at this festival only the maiden wearing an obi of living snakes; probably it had become too cold for the snakes. There were several fortune-tellers and jugglers; there were acrobats and dancers; there was a man making pictures out of sand; and there was a menagerie containing an emu from Australia, and a couple of enormous bats from the Loo Choo Islands--bats trained to do several things. I did reverence to the gods, and bought some extraordinary toys; and then we went to look for the goblins. They were domiciled in a large permanent structure, rented to showmen on special occasions. Gigantic characters signifying 'IKI-NINGYO,' painted upon the signboard at the entrance, partly hinted the nature of the exhibition. Iki-ningyo ('living images') somewhat correspond to our Occidental 'wax figures'; but the equally realistic Japanese creations are made of much cheaper material. Having bought two wooden tickets for one sen each, we entered, and passed behind a curtain to find ourselves in a long corridor lined with booths, or rather matted compartments, about the size of small rooms. Each space, decorated with scenery appropriate to the subject, was occupied by a group of life-size figures. The group nearest the entrance, representing two men playing samisen and two geisha dancing, seemed to me without excuse for being, until Kinjuro had translated a little placard before it, announcing that one of the figures was a living person. We watched in vain for a wink or palpitation. Suddenly one of the musicians laughed aloud, shook his head, and began to play and sing. The deception was perfect. The remaining groups, twenty-four in number, were powerfully impressive in their peculiar way, representing mostly famous popular traditions or sacred myths. Feudal heroisms, the memory of which stirs every Japanese heart; legends of filial piety; Buddhist miracles, and stories of emperors were among the subjects. Sometimes, however, the realism was brutal, as in one scene representing the body of a woman lying in a pool of blood, with brains scattered by a sword stroke. Nor was this unpleasantness altogether atoned for by her miraculous resuscitation in the adjoining compartment, where she reappeared returning thanks in a Nichiren temple, and converting her slaughterer, who happened, by some extraordinary accident, to go there at the same time. At the termination of the corridor there hung a black curtain behind which screams could be heard. And above the black curtain was a placard inscribed with the promise of a gift to anybody able to traverse the mysteries beyond without being frightened. 'Master,' said Kinjuro, 'the goblins are inside.' We lifted the veil, and found ourselves in a sort of lane between hedges, and behind the hedges we saw tombs; we were in a graveyard. There were real weeds and trees, and sotoba and haka, and the effect was quite natural. Moreover, as the roof was very lofty, and kept invisible by a clever arrangement of lights, all seemed darkness only; and this gave one a sense of being out under the night, a feeling accentuated by the chill of the air. And here and there we could discern sinister shapes, mostly of superhuman stature, some seeming to wait in dim places, others floating above the graves. Quite near us, towering above the hedge on our right, was a Buddhist priest, with his back turned to us. 'A yamabushi, an exorciser?' I queried of Kinjuro. 'No,' said Kinjuro; 'see how tall he is. I think that must be a Tanuki- Bozu.' The Tanuki-Bozu is the priestly form assumed by the goblin-badger (tanuki) for the purpose of decoying belated travellers to destruction. We went on, and looked up into his face. It was a nightmare--his face. 'In truth a Tanuki-Bozu,' said Kinjuro. 'What does the Master honourably think concerning it?' Instead of replying, I jumped back; for the monstrous thing had suddenly reached over the hedge and clutched at me, with a moan. Then it fell back, swaying and creaking. It was moved by invisible strings. 'I think, Kinjuro, that it is a nasty, horrid thing. . . . But I shall not claim the present.' We laughed, and proceeded to consider a Three-Eyed Friar (Mitsu-me- Nyudo). The Three-Eyed Friar also watches for the unwary at night. His face is soft and smiling as the face of a Buddha, but he has a hideous eye in the summit of his shaven pate, which can only be seen when seeing it does no good. The Mitsu-me-Nyudo made a grab at Kinjuro, and startled him almost as much as the Tanuki-Bozu had startled me. Then we looked at the Yama-Uba--the 'Mountain Nurse.' She catches little children and nurses them for a while, and then devours them. In her face she has no mouth; but she has a mouth in the top of her head, under her hair. The YamaUba did not clutch at us, because her hands were occupied with a nice little boy, whom she was just going to eat. The child had been made wonderfully pretty to heighten the effect. Then I saw the spectre of a woman hovering in the air above a tomb at some distance, so that I felt safer in observing it. It had no eyes; its long hair hung loose; its white robe floated light as smoke. I thought of a statement in a composition by one of my pupils about ghosts: 'Their greatest Peculiarity is that They have no feet.' Then I jumped again, for the thing, quite soundlessly but very swiftly, made through the air at me. And the rest of our journey among the graves was little more than a succession of like experiences; but it was made amusing by the screams of women, and bursts of laughter from people who lingered only to watch the effect upon others of what had scared themselves. Sec. 3 Forsaking the goblins, we visited a little open-air theatre to see two girls dance. After they had danced awhile, one girl produced a sword and cut off the other girl's head, and put it upon a table, where it opened its mouth and began to sing. All this was very prettily done; but my mind was still haunted by the goblins. So I questioned Kinjuro: 'Kinjuro, those goblins of which we the ningyo have seen--do folk believe in the reality, thereof?' 'Not any more,' answered Kinjuro--'not at least among the people of the city. Perhaps in the country it may not be so. We believe in the Lord Buddha; we believe in the ancient gods; and there be many who believe the dead sometimes return to avenge a cruelty or to compel an act of justice. But we do not now believe all that was believed in ancient time. . . .Master,' he added, as we reached another queer exhibition, 'it is only one sen to go to hell, if the Master would like to go--'Very good, Kinjuro,' I made reply. 'Pay two sen that we may both go to hell.' Sec. 4 And we passed behind a curtain into a big room full of curious clicking and squeaking noises. These noises were made by unseen wheels and pulleys moving a multitude of ningyo upon a broad shelf about breast- high, which surrounded the apartment upon three sides. These ningyo were not ikiningyo, but very small images--puppets. They represented all things in the Under-World. The first I saw was Sozu-Baba, the Old Woman of the River of Ghosts, who takes away the garments of Souls. The garments were hanging upon a tree behind her. She was tall; she rolled her green eyes and gnashed her long teeth, while the shivering of the little white souls before her was as a trembling of butterflies. Farther on appeared Emma Dai-O, great King of Hell, nodding grimly. At his right hand, upon their tripod, the heads of Kaguhana and Mirume, the Witnesses, whirled as upon a wheel. At his left, a devil was busy sawing a Soul in two; and I noticed that he used his saw like a Japanese carpenter--pulling it towards him instead of pushing it. And then various exhibitions of the tortures of the damned. A liar bound to a post was having his tongue pulled out by a devil-- slowly, with artistic jerks; it was already longer than the owner's body. Another devil was pounding another Soul in a mortar so vigorously that the sound of the braying could be heard above all the din of the machinery. A little farther on was a man being eaten alive by two serpents having women's faces; one serpent was white, the other blue. The white had been his wife, the blue his concubine. All the tortures known to medieval Japan were being elsewhere deftly practised by swarms of devils. After reviewing them, we visited the Sai-no-Kawara, and saw Jizo with a child in his arms, and a circle of other children running swiftly around him, to escape from demons who brandished their clubs and ground their teeth. Hell proved, however, to be extremely cold; and while meditating on the partial inappropriateness of the atmosphere, it occurred to me that in the common Buddhist picture-books of the Jigoku I had never noticed any illustrations of torment by cold. Indian Buddhism, indeed, teaches the existence of cold hells. There is one, for instance, where people's lips are frozen so that they can say only 'Ah-ta-ta!'--wherefore that hell is called Atata. And there is the hell where tongues are frozen, and where people say only 'Ah-baba!' for which reason it is called Ababa. And there is the Pundarika, or Great White-Lotus hell, where the spectacle of the bones laid bare by the cold is 'like a blossoming of white lotus- flowers.' Kinjuro thinks there are cold hells according to Japanese Buddhism; but he is not sure. And I am not sure that the idea of cold could be made very terrible to the Japanese. They confess a general liking for cold, and compose Chinese poems about the loveliness of ice and snow. Sec. 5 Out of hell, we found our way to a magic-lantern show being given in a larger and even much colder structure. A Japanese magic-lantern show is nearly always interesting in more particulars than one, but perhaps especially as evidencing the native genius for adapting Western inventions to Eastern tastes. A Japanese magic-lantern show is essentially dramatic. It is a play of which the dialogue is uttered by invisible personages, the actors and the scenery being only luminous shadows. 'Wherefore it is peculiarly well suited to goblinries and weirdnesses of all kinds; and plays in which ghosts figure are the favourite subjects. As the hall was bitterly cold, I waited only long enough to see one performance--of which the following is an epitome: SCENE 1.--A beautiful peasant girl and her aged mother, squatting together at home. Mother weeps violently, gesticulates agonisingly. From her frantic speech, broken by wild sobs, we learn that the girl must be sent as a victim to the Kami-Sama of some lonesome temple in the mountains. That god is a bad god. Once a year he shoots an arrow into the thatch of some farmer's house as a sign that he wants a girl--to eat! Unless the girl be sent to him at once, he destroys the crops and the cows. Exit mother, weeping and shrieking, and pulling out her grey hair. Exit girl, with downcast head, and air of sweet resignation. SCENE II.--Before a wayside inn; cherry-trees in blossom. Enter coolies carrying, like a palanquin, a large box, in which the girl is supposed to be. Deposit box; enter to eat; tell story to loquacious landlord. Enter noble samurai, with two swords. Asks about box. Hears the story of the coolies repeated by loquacious landlord. Exhibits fierce indignation; vows that the Kami-Sama are good--do not eat girls. Declares that so-called Kami-Sama to be a devil. Observes that devils must be killed. Orders box opened. Sends girl home. Gets into box himself, and commands coolies under pain of death to bear him right quickly to that temple. SCENE III.--Enter coolies, approaching temple through forest at night. Coolies afraid. Drop box and run. Exeunt coolies. Box alone in the dark. Enter veiled figure, all white. Figure moans unpleasantly; utters horrid cries. Box remains impassive. Figure removes veil, showing Its face--a skull with phosphoric eyes. [Audience unanimously utter the sound 'Aaaaaa!'] Figure displays Its hands--monstrous and apish, with claws. [Audience utter a second 'Aaaaaa!'] Figure approaches the box, touches the box, opens the box! Up leaps noble samurai. A wrestle; drums sound the roll of battle. Noble samurai practises successfully noble art of ju-jutsu. Casts demon down, tramples upon him triumphantly, cuts off his head. Head suddenly enlarges, grows to the size of a house, tries to bite off head of samurai. Samurai slashes it with his sword. Head rolls backward, spitting fire, and vanishes. Finis. Exeunt omnes. Sec. 6 The vision of the samurai and the goblin reminded Kinjuro of a queer tale, which he began to tell me as soon as the shadow-play was over. Ghastly stories are apt to fall flat after such an exhibition; but Kinjuro's stories are always peculiar enough to justify the telling under almost any circumstances. Wherefore I listened eagerly, in spite of the cold: 'A long time ago, in the days when Fox-women and goblins haunted this land, there came to the capital with her parents a samurai girl, so beautiful that all men who saw her fell enamoured of her. And hundreds of young samurai desired and hoped to marry her, and made their desire known to her parents. For it has ever been the custom in Japan that marriages should be arranged by parents. But there are exceptions to all customs, and the case of this maiden was such an exception. Her parents declared that they intended to allow their daughter to choose her own husband, and that all who wished to win her would be free to woo her. 'Many men of high rank and of great wealth were admitted to the house as suitors; and each one courted her as he best knew how--with gifts, and with fair words, and with poems written in her honour, and with promises of eternal love. And to each one she spoke sweetly and hopefully; but she made strange conditions. For every suitor she obliged to bind himself by his word of honour as a samurai to submit to a test of his love for her, and never to divulge to living person what that test might be. And to this all agreed. 'But even the most confident suitors suddenly ceased their importunities after having been put to the test; and all of them appeared to have been greatly terrified by something. Indeed, not a few even fled away from the city, and could not be persuaded by their friends to return. But no one ever so much as hinted why. Therefore it was whispered by those who knew nothing of the mystery, that the beautiful girl must be either a Fox-woman or a goblin. 'Now, when all the wooers of high rank had abandoned their suit, there came a samurai who had no wealth but his sword. He was a good man and true, and of pleasing presence; and the girl seemed to like him. But she made him take the same pledge which the others had taken; and after he had taken it, she told him to return upon a certain evening. 'When that evening came, he was received at the house by none but the girl herself. With her own hands she set before him the repast of hospitality, and waited upon him, after which she told him that she wished him to go out with her at a late hour. To this he consented gladly, and inquired to what place she desired to go. But she replied nothing to his question, and all at once became very silent, and strange in her manner. And after a while she retired from the apartment, leaving him alone. 'Only long after midnight she returned, robed all in white--like a Soul --and, without uttering a word, signed to him to follow her. Out of the house they hastened while all the city slept. It was what is called an oborozuki-yo--'moon-clouded night.' Always upon such a night, 'tis said, do ghosts wander. She swiftly led the way; and the dogs howled as she flitted by; and she passed beyond the confines of the city to a place of knolls shadowed by enormous trees, where an ancient cemetery was. Into it she glided--a white shadow into blackness. He followed, wondering, his hand upon his sword. Then his eyes became accustomed to the gloom; and he saw. 'By a new-made grave she paused and signed to him to wait. The tools of the grave-maker were still lying there. Seizing one, she began to dig furiously, with strange haste and strength. At last her spade smote a coffin-lid and made it boom: another moment and the fresh white wood of the kwan was bare. She tore off the lid, revealing a corpse within--the corpse of a child. With goblin gestures she wrung an arm from the body, wrenched it in twain, and, squatting down, began to devour the upper half. Then, flinging to her lover the other half, she cried to him, "Eat, if thou lovest mel this is what I eat!" 'Not even for a single instant did he hesitate. He squatted down upon the other side of the grave, and ate the half of the arm, and said, "Kekko degozarimasu! mo sukoshi chodai." [3] For that arm was made of the best kwashi [4] that Saikyo could produce. 'Then the girl sprang to her feet with a burst of laughter, and cried: "You only, of all my brave suitors, did not run away! And I wanted a husband: who could not fear. I will marry you; I can love you: you are a man!"' Sec. 7 'O Kinjuro,' I said, as we took our way home, 'I have heard and I have read many Japanese stories of the returning of the dead. Likewise you yourself have told me it is still believed the dead return, and why. But according both to that which I have read and that which you have told me, the coming back of the dead is never a thing to be desired. They return because of hate, or because of envy, or because they cannot rest for sorrow. But of any who return for that which is not evil--where is it written? Surely the common history of them is like that which we have this night seen: much that is horrible and much that is wicked and nothing of that which is beautiful or true.' Now this I said that I might tempt him. And he made even the answer I desired, by uttering the story which is hereafter set down: 'Long ago, in the days of a daimyo whose name has been forgotten, there lived in this old city a young man and a maid who loved each other very much. Their names are not remembered, but their story remains. From infancy they had been betrothed; and as children they played together, for their parents were neighbours. And as they grew up, they became always fonder of each other. 'Before the youth had become a man, his parents died. But he was able to enter the service of a rich samurai, an officer of high rank, who had been a friend of his people. And his protector soon took him into great favour, seeing him to be courteous, intelligent, and apt at arms. So the young man hoped to find himself shortly in a position that would make it possible for him to marry his betrothed. But war broke out in the north and east; and he was summoned suddenly to follow his master to the field. Before departing, however, he was able to see the girl; and they exchanged pledges in the presence of her parents; and he promised, should he remain alive, to return within a year from that day to marry his betrothed. 'After his going much time passed without news of him, for there was no post in that time as now; and the girl grieved so much for thinking of the chances of war that she became all white and thin and weak. Then at last she heard of him through a messenger sent from the army to bear news to the daimyo and once again a letter was brought to her by another messenger. And thereafter there came no word. Long is a year to one who waits. And the year passed, and he did not return. 'Other seasons passed, and still he did not come; and she thought him dead; and she sickened and lay down, and died, and was buried. Then her old parents, who had no other child, grieved unspeakably, and came to hate their home for the lonesomeness of it. After a time they resolved to sell all they had, and to set out upon a sengaji--the great pilgrimage to the Thousand Temples of the Nichiren-Shu, which requires many years to perform. So they sold their small house with all that it contained, excepting the ancestral tablets, and the holy things which must never be sold, and the ihai of their buried daughter, which were placed, according to the custom of those about to leave their native place, in the family temple. Now the family was of the Nichiren-Shu; and their temple was Myokoji. 'They had been gone only four days when the young man who had been betrothed to their daughter returned to the city. He had attempted, with the permission of his master, to fulfil his promise. But the provinces upon his way were full of war, and the roads and passes were guarded by troops, and he had been long delayed by many difficulties. And when he heard of his misfortune he sickened for grief, and many days remained without knowledge of anything, like one about to die. 'But when he began to recover his strength, all the pain of memory came back again; and he regretted that he had not died. Then he resolved to kill himself upon the grave of his betrothed; and, as soon as he was able to go out unobserved, he took his sword and went to the cemetery where the girl was buried: it is a lonesome place--the cemetery of Myokoji. There he found her tomb, and knelt before it, and prayed and wept, and whispered to her that which he was about to do. And suddenly he heard her voice cry to him: "Anata!" and felt her hand upon his hand; and he turned, and saw her kneeling beside him, smiling, and beautiful as he remembered her, only a little pale. Then his heart leaped so that he could not speak for the wonder and the doubt and the joy of that moment. But she said: "Do not doubt: it is really I. I am not dead. It was all a mistake. I was buried, because my people thought me dead-- buried too soon. And my own parents thought me dead, and went upon a pilgrimage. Yet you see, I am not dead--not a ghost. It is I: do not doubt it! And I have seen your heart, and that was worth all the waiting, and the pain.. . But now let us go away at once to another city, so that people may not know this thing and trouble us; for all still believe me dead." 'And they went away, no one observing them. And they went even to the village of Minobu, which is in the province of Kai. For there is a famous temple of the Nichiren-Shu in that place; and the girl had said: "I know that in the course of their pilgrimage my parents will surely visit Minobu: so that if we dwell there, they will find us, and we shall be all again together." And when they came to Minobu, she said: "Let us open a little shop." And they opened a little food-shop, on the wide way leading to the holy place; and there they sold cakes for children, and toys, and food for pilgrims. For two years they so lived and prospered; and there was a son born to them. 'Now when the child was a year and two months old, the parents of the wife came in the course of their pilgrimage to Minobu; and they stopped at the little shop to buy food. And seeing their daughter's betrothed, they cried out and wept and asked questions. Then he made them enter, and bowed down before them, and astonished them, saying: "Truly as I speak it, your daughter is not dead; and she is my wife; and we have a son. And she is even now within the farther room, lying down with the child. I pray you go in at once and gladden her, for her heart longs for the moment of seeing you again." 'So while he busied himself in making all things ready for their comfort, they entered the inner, room very softly--the mother first. 'They found the child asleep; but the mother they did not find. She seemed to have gone out for a little while only: her pillow was still warm. They waited long for her: then they began to seek her. But never was she seen again. 'And they understood only when they found beneath the coverings which had covered the mother and child, something which they remembered having left years before in the temple of Myokoji--a little mortuary tablet, the ihai of their buried daughter.' I suppose I must have looked thoughtful after this tale; for the old man said: 'Perhaps the Master honourably thinks concerning the story that it is foolish?' 'Nay, Kinjuro, the story is in my heart.' CHAPTER ELEVEN The Japanese Smile Sec. 1 THOSE whose ideas of the world and its wonders have been formed chiefly by novels and romance still indulge a vague belief that the East is more serious than the West. Those who judge things from a higher standpoint argue, on the contrary, that, under present conditions, the West must be more serious than the East; and also that gravity, or even something resembling its converse, may exist only as a fashion. But the fact is that in this, as in all other questions, no rule susceptible of application to either half of humanity can be accurately framed. Scientifically, we can do no more just now than study certain contrasts in a general way, without hoping to explain satisfactorily the highly complex causes which produced them. One such contrast, of particular interest, is that afforded by the English and the Japanese. It is a commonplace to say that the English are a serious people--not superficially serious, but serious all the way down to the bed-rock of the race character. It is almost equally safe to say that the Japanese are not very serious, either above or below the surface, even as compared with races much less serious than our own. And in the same proportion, at least, that they are less serious, they are more happy: they still, perhaps, remain the happiest people in the civilised world. We serious folk of the West cannot call ourselves very happy. Indeed, we do not yet fully know how serious we are; and it would probably frighten us to learn how much more serious we are likely to become under the ever-swelling pressure of industrial life. It is, possibly, by long sojourn among a people less gravely disposed that we can best learn our own temperament. This conviction came to me very strongly when, after having lived for nearly three years in the interior of Japan, I returned to English life for a few days at the open port of Kobe. To hear English once more spoken by Englishmen touched me more than I could have believed possible; but this feeling lasted only for a moment. My object was to make some necessary purchases. Accompanying me was a Japanese friend, to whom all that foreign life was utterly new and wonderful, and who asked me this curious question: 'Why is it that the foreigners never smile? You smile and bow when you speak to them; but they never smile. Why?' The fact was, I had fallen altogether into Japanese habits and ways, and had got out of touch with Western life; and my companion's question first made me aware that I had been acting somewhat curiously. It also seemed to me a fair illustration of the difficulty of mutual comprehension between the two races--each quite naturally, though quite erroneously, estimating the manners and motives of the other by its own. If the Japanese are puzzled by English gravity, the English are, to say the least, equally puzzled by Japanese levity. The Japanese speak of the 'angry faces' of the foreigners. The foreigners speak with strong contempt of the Japanese smile: they suspect it to signify insincerity; indeed, some declare it cannot possibly signify anything else. Only a few of the more observant have recognised it as an enigma worth studying. One of my Yokohama friends--a thoroughly lovable man, who had passed more than half his life in the open ports of the East--said to me, just before my departure for the interior: 'Since you are going to study Japanese life, perhaps you will be able to find out something for me. I can't understand the Japanese smile. Let me tell you one experience out of many. One day, as I was driving down from the Bluff, I saw an empty kuruma coming up on the wrong side of the curve. I could not have pulled up in time if I had tried; but I didn't try, because I didn't think there was any particular danger. I only yelled to the man in Japanese to get to the other side of the road; instead of which he simply backed his kuruma against a wall on the lower side of the curve, with the shafts outwards. At the rate I was going, there wasn't room even to swerve; and the next minute one of the shafts of that kuruma was in my horse's shoulder. The man wasn't hurt at all. When I saw the way my horse was bleeding, I quite lost my temper, and struck the man over the head with the butt of my whip. He looked right into my face and smiled, and then bowed. I can see that smile now. I felt as if I had been knocked down. The smile utterly nonplussed me--killed all my anger instantly. Mind you, it was a polite smile. But what did it mean? Why the devil did the man smile? I can't understand it.' Neither, at that time, could I; but the meaning of much more mysterious smiles has since been revealed to me. A Japanese can smile in the teeth of death, and usually does. But he then smiles for the same reason that he smiles at other times. There is neither defiance nor hypocrisy in the smile; nor is it to be confounded with that smile of sickly resignation which we are apt to associate with weakness of character. It is an elaborate and long-cultivated etiquette. It is also a silent language. But any effort to interpret it according to Western notions of physiognomical expression would be just about as successful as an attempt to interpret Chinese ideographs by their real or fancied resemblance to shapes of familiar things. First impressions, being largely instinctive, are scientifically recognised as partly trustworthy; and the very first impression produced by the Japanese smile is not far from the truth The stranger cannot fail to notice the generally happy and smiling character of the native faces; and this first impression is, in most cases, wonderfully pleasant. The Japanese smile at first charms. It is only at a later day, when one has observed the same smile under extraordinary circumstances--in moments of pain, shame, disappointment--that one becomes suspicious of it. Its apparent inopportuneness may even, on certain occasions, cause violent anger. Indeed, many of the difficulties between foreign residents and their native servants have been due to the smile. Any man who believes in the British tradition that a good servant must be solemn is not likely to endure with patience the smile of his 'boy.' At present, however, this particular phase of Western eccentricity is becoming more fully recognised by the Japanese; they are beginning to learn that the average English-speaking foreigner hates smiling, and is apt to consider it insulting; wherefore Japanese employees at the open ports have generally ceased to smile, and have assumed an air of sullenness. At this moment there comes to me the recollection of a queer story told by a lady of Yokohama about one of her Japanese servants. 'My Japanese nurse came to me the other day, smiling as if something very pleasant had happened, and said that her husband was dead, and that she wanted permission to attend his funeral. I told her she could go. It seems they burned the man's body. Well, in the evening she returned, and showed me a vase containing some ashes of bones (I saw a tooth among them); and she said: "That is my husband." And she actually laughed as she said it! Did you ever hear of such disgusting creatures?' It would have been quite impossible to convince the narrator of this incident that the demeanour of her servant, instead of being heartless, might have been heroic, and capable of a very touching interpretation. Even one not a Philistine might be deceived in such a case by appearances. But quite a number of the foreign residents of the open ports are pure Philistines, and never try to look below the surface of the life around them, except as hostile critics. My Yokohama friend who told me the story about the kurumaya was quite differently disposed: he recognised the error of judging by appearances. Sec. 2 Miscomprehension of the Japanese smile has more than once led to extremely unpleasant results, as happened in the case of T--a Yokohama merchant of former days. T--had employed in some capacity (I think partly as a teacher of Japanese) a nice old samurai, who wore, according to the fashion of the era, a queue and two swords. The English and the Japanese do not understand each other very well now; but at the period in question they understood each other much less. The Japanese servants at first acted in foreign employ precisely as they would have acted in the service of distinguished Japanese; [1] and this innocent mistake provoked a good deal of abuse and cruelty. Finally the discovery was made that to treat Japanese like West Indian negroes might be very dangerous. A certain number of foreigners were killed, with good moral consequences. But I am digressing. T--was rather pleased with his old samurai, though quite unable to understand his Oriental politeness, his prostrations or the meaning of the small gifts which he presented occasionally, with an exquisite courtesy entirely wasted upon T--. One day he came to ask a favour. (I think it was the eve of the Japanese New Year, when everybody needs money, for reasons not here to be dwelt upon.) The favour was that T--would lend him a little money upon one of his swords, the long one. It was a very beautiful weapon, and the merchant saw that it was also very valuable, and lent the money without hesitation. Some weeks later the old man was able to redeem his sword. What caused the beginning of the subsequent unpleasantness nobody now remembers Perhaps T--'s nerves got out of order. At all events, one day he became very angry with the old man, who submitted to the expression of his wrath with bows and smiles. This made him still more angry, and he used some extremely bad language; but the old man still bowed and smiled; wherefore he was ordered to leave the house. But the old man continued to smile, at which T--losing all self-control struck him. And then T--suddenly became afraid, for the long sword instantly leaped from its sheath, and swirled above him; and the old man ceased to seem old. Now, in the grasp of anyone who knows how to use it, the razor-edged blade of a Japanese sword wielded with both hands can take a head off with extreme facility. But, to T--'s astonishment, the old samurai, almost in the same moment, returned the blade to its sheath with the skill of a practised swordsman, turned upon his heel, and withdrew. Then T-- wondered and sat down to think. He began to remember some nice things about the old man--the many kindnesses unasked and unpaid, the curious little gifts, the impeccable honesty. T-- began to feel ashamed. He tried to console himself with the thought: 'Well, it was his own fault; he had no right to laugh at me when he knew I was angry.' Indeed, T-- even resolved to make amends when an opportunity should offer. But no opportunity ever came, because on the same evening the old man performed hara-kiri, after the manner of a samurai. He left a very beautifully written letter explaining his reasons. For a samurai to receive an unjust blow without avenging it was a shame not to be borne, He had received such a blow. Under any other circumstances he might have avenged it. But the circumstances were, in this instance, of a very peculiar kind, His code of honour forbade him to use his sword upon the man to whom he had pledged it once for money, in an hour of need. And being thus unable to use his sword, there remained for him only the alternative of an honourable suicide. In order to render this story less disagreeable, the reader may suppose that T--was really very sorry, and behaved generously to the family of the old man. What he must not suppose is that T--was ever able to imagine why the old man had smiled the smile which led to the outrage and the tragedy. Sec. 3 To comprehend the Japanese smile, one must be able to enter a little into the ancient, natural, and popular life of Japan. From the modernised upper classes nothing is to be learned. The deeper signification of race differences is being daily more and more illustrated in the effects of the higher education. Instead of creating any community of feeling, it appears only to widen the distance between the Occidental and the Oriental. Some foreign observers have declared that it does this by enormously developing certain latent peculiarities --among others an inherent materialism little perceptible among fife common people. This explanation is one I cannot quite agree with; but it is at least undeniable that, the more highly he is cultivated, according to Western methods, the farther is the Japanese psychologically removed from us. Under the new education, his character seems to crystallise into something of singular hardness, and to Western observation, at least, of singular opacity. Emotionally, the Japanese child appears incomparably closer to us than the Japanese mathematician, the peasant than the statesman. Between the most elevated class of thoroughly modernised Japanese and the Western thinker anything akin to intellectual sympathy is non-existent: it is replaced on the native side by a cold and faultless politeness. Those influences which in other lands appear most potent to develop the higher emotions seem here to have the extraordinary effect of suppressing them. We are accustomed abroad to associate emotional sensibility with intellectual expansion: it would be a grievous error to apply this rule in Japan. Even the foreign teacher in an ordinary school can feel, year by year, his pupils drifting farther away from him, as they pass from class to class; in various higher educational institutions, the separation widens yet more rapidly, so that, prior to graduation, students may become to their professor little more than casual acquaintances. The enigma is perhaps, to some extent, a physiological one, requiring scientific explanation; but its solution must first be sought in ancestral habits of life and of imagination. It can be fully discussed only when its natural causes are understood; and these, we may be sure, are not simple. By some observers it is asserted that because the higher education in Japan has not yet had the effect of stimulating the higher emotions to the Occidental pitch, its developing power cannot have been exerted uniformly and wisely, but in special directions only, at the cost of character. Yet this theory involves the unwarrantable assumption that character can be created by education; and it ignores the fact that the best results are obtained by affording opportunity for the exercise of pre-existing inclination rather than by any system of teaching. The causes of the phenomenon must be looked for in the race character; and whatever the higher education may accomplish in the remote future, it can scarcely be expected to transform nature. But does it at present atrophy certain finer tendencies? I think that it unavoidably does, for the simple reason that, under existing conditions, the moral and mental powers are overtasked by its requirements. All that wonderful national spirit of duty, of patience, of self-sacrifice, anciently directed to social, moral, or religious idealism, must, under the discipline of the higher training, be concentrated upon an end which not only demands, but exhausts its fullest exercise. For that end, to be accomplished at all, must be accomplished in the face of difficulties that the Western student rarely encounters, and could scarcely be made even to understand. All those moral qualities which made the old Japanese character admirable are certainly the same which make the modern Japanese student the most indefatigable, the most docile, the most ambitious in the world. But they are also qualities which urge him to efforts in excess of his natural powers, with the frequent result of mental and moral enervation. The nation has entered upon a period of intellectual overstrain. Consciously or unconsciously, in obedience to sudden necessity, Japan has undertaken nothing less than the tremendous task of forcing mental expansion up to the highest existing standard; and this means forcing the development of the nervous system. For the desired intellectual change, to be accomplished within a few generations, must involve a physiological change never to be effected without terrible cost. In other words, Japan has attempted too much; yet under the circumstances she could not have attempted less. Happily, even among the poorest of her poor the educational policy of the Government is seconded with an astonishing zeal; the entire nation has plunged into study with a fervour of which it is utterly impossible to convey any adequate conception in this little essay. Yet I may cite a touching example. Immediately after the frightful earthquake of 1891, the children of the ruined cities of Gifu and Aichi, crouching among the ashes of their homes, cold and hungry and shelterless, surrounded by horror and misery unspeakable, still continued their small studies, using tiles of their own burnt dwellings in lieu of slates, and bits of lime for chalk, even while the earth still trembled beneath them. [2] What future miracles may justly be expected from the amazing power of purpose such a fact reveals! But it is true that as yet the results of the higher training have not been altogether happy. Among the Japanese of the old regime one encounters a courtesy, an unselfishness, a grace of pure goodness, impossible to overpraise. Among the modernised of the new generation these have almost disappeared. One meets a class of young men who ridicule the old times and the old ways without having been able to elevate themselves above the vulgarism of imitation and the commonplaces of shallow scepticism. What has become of the noble and charming qualities they must have inherited from their fathers? Is it not possible that the best of those qualities have been transmuted into mere effort,--an effort so excessive as to have exhausted character, leaving it without weight or balance? It is to the still fluid, mobile, natural existence of the common people that one must look for the meaning of some apparent differences in the race feeling and emotional expression of the West and the Far East. With those gentle, kindly, sweet-hearted folk, who smile at life, love, and death alike, it is possible to enjoy community of feeling in simple, natural things; and by familiarity and sympathy we can learn why they smile. The Japanese child is born with this happy tendency, which is fostered through all the period of home education. But it is cultivated with the same exquisiteness that is shown in the cultivation of the natural tendencies of a garden plant. The smile is taught like the bow; like the prostration; like that little sibilant sucking-in of the breath which follows, as a token of pleasure, the salutation to a superior; like all the elaborate and beautiful etiquette of the old courtesy. Laughter is not encouraged, for obvious reasons. But the smile is to be used upon all pleasant occasions, when speaking to a superior or to an equal, and even upon occasions which are not pleasant; it is a part of deportment. The most agreeable face is the smiling face; and to present always the most agreeable face possible to parents, relatives, teachers, friends, well-wishers, is a rule of life. And furthermore, it is a rule of life to turn constantly to the outer world a mien of happiness, to convey to others as far as possible a pleasant impression. Even though the heart is breaking, it is a social duty to smile bravely. On the other hand, to look serious or unhappy is rude, because this may cause anxiety or pain to those who love us; it is likewise foolish, since it may excite unkindly curiosity on the part of those who love us not. Cultivated from childhood as a duty, the smile soon becomes instinctive. In the mind of the poorest peasant lives the conviction that to exhibit the expression of one's personal sorrow or pain or anger is rarely useful, and always unkind. Hence, although natural grief must have, in Japan as elsewhere, its natural issue, an uncontrollable burst of tears in the presence of superiors or guests is an impoliteness; and the first words of even the most unlettered countrywoman, after the nerves give way in such a circumstance, are invariably: 'Pardon my selfishness in that I have been so rude!' The reasons for the smile, be it also observed, are not only moral; they are to some extent aesthetic they partly represent the same idea which regulated the expression of suffering in Greek art. But they are much more moral than aesthetic, as we shall presently observe. From this primary etiquette of the smile there has been developed a secondary etiquette, the observance of which has frequently impelled foreigners to form the most cruel misjudgements as to Japanese sensibility. It is the native custom that whenever a painful or shocking fact must be told, the announcement should be made, by the sufferer, with a smile. [3] The graver the subject, the more accentuated the smile; and when the matter is very unpleasant to the person speaking of it, the smile often changes to a low, soft laugh. However bitterly the mother who has lost her first-born may have wept at the funeral, it is probable that, if in your service, she will tell of her bereavement with a smile: like the Preacher, she holds that there is a time to weep and a time to laugh. It was long before I myself could understand how it was possible for those whom I believed to have loved a person recently dead to announce to me that death with a laugh. Yet the laugh was politeness carried to the utmost point of self-abnegation. It signified: 'This you might honourably think to be an unhappy event; pray do not suffer Your Superiority to feel concern about so inferior a matter, and pardon the necessity which causes us to outrage politeness by speaking about such an affair at all.'. The key to the mystery of the most unaccountable smiles is Japanese politeness. The servant sentenced to dismissal for a fault prostrates himself, and asks for pardon with a smile. That smile indicates the very reverse of callousness or insolence: 'Be assured that I am satisfied with the great justice of your honourable sentence, and that I am now aware of the gravity of my fault. Yet my sorrow and my necessity have caused me to indulge the unreasonable hope that I may be forgiven for my great rudeness in asking pardon.' The youth or girl beyond the age of childish tears, when punished for some error, receives the punishment with a smile which means: 'No evil feeling arises in my heart; much worse than this my fault has deserved.' And the kurumaya cut by the whip of my Yokohama friend smiled for a similar reason, as my friend must have intuitively felt, since the smile at once disarmed him: 'I was very wrong, and you are right to be angry: I deserve to be struck, and therefore feel no resentment.' But it should be understood that the poorest and humblest Japanese is rarely submissive under injustice. His apparent docility is due chiefly to his moral sense. The foreigner who strikes a native for sport may have reason to find that he has made a serious mistake. The Japanese are not to be trifled with; and brutal attempts to trifle with them have cost several worthless lives. Even after the foregoing explanations, the incident of the Japanese nurse may still seem incomprehensible; but this, I feel quite sure, is because the narrator either suppressed or overlooked certain facts in the case. In the first half of the story, all is perfectly clear. When announcing her husband's death, the young servant smiled, in accordance with the native formality already referred to. What is quite incredible is that, of her own accord, she should have invited the attention of her mistress to the contents of the vase, or funeral urn. If she knew enough of Japanese politeness to smile in announcing her husband's death, she must certainly have known enough to prevent her from perpetrating such an error. She could have shown the vase and its contents only in obedience to some real or fancied command; and when so doing, it is more than possible she may have uttered the low, soft laugh which accompanies either the unavoidable performance of a painful duty, or the enforced utterance of a painful statement. My own opinion is that she was obliged to gratify a wanton curiosity. Her smile or laugh would then have signified: 'Do not suffer your honourable feelings to be shocked upon my unworthy account; it is indeed very rude of me, even at your honourable request, to mention so contemptible a thing as my sorrow.' Sec. 4 But the Japanese smile must not be imagined as a kind of sourire figé, worn perpetually as a soul-mask. Like other matters of deportment, it is regulated by an etiquette which varies in different classes of society. As a rule, the old samurai were not given to smiling upon all occasions; they reserved their amiability for superiors and intimates, and would seem to have maintained toward inferiors an austere reserve. The dignity of the Shinto priesthood has become proverbial; and for centuries the gravity of the Confucian code was mirrored in the decorum of magistrates and officials. From ancient times the nobility affected a still loftier reserve; and the solemnity of rank deepened through all the hierarchies up to that awful state surrounding the Tenshi-Sama, upon whose face no living man might look. But in private life the demeanour of the highest had its amiable relaxation; and even to-day, with some hopelessly modernised exceptions, the noble, the judge, the high priest, the august minister, the military officer, will resume at home, in the intervals of duty, the charming habits of the antique courtesy. The smile which illuminates conversation is in itself but a small detail of that courtesy; but the sentiment which it symbolises certainly comprises the larger part. If you happen to have a cultivated Japanese friend who has remained in all things truly Japanese, whose character has remained untouched by the new egotism and by foreign influences, you will probably be able to study in him the particular social traits of the whole people--traits in his case exquisitely accentuated and polished. You will observe that, as a rule, he never speaks of himself, and that, in reply to searching personal questions, he will answer as vaguely and briefly as possible, with a polite bow of thanks. But, on the other hand, he will ask many questions about yourself: your opinions, your ideas, even trifling details of your daily life, appear to have deep interest for him; and you will probably have occasion to note that he never forgets anything which he has learned concerning you. Yet there are certain rigid limits to his kindly curiosity, and perhaps even to his observation: he will never refer to any disagreeable or painful matter, and he will seem to remain blind to eccentricities or small weaknesses, if you have any. To your face he will never praise you; but he will never laugh at you nor criticise you. Indeed, you will find that he never criticises persons, but only actions in their results. As a private adviser, he will not even directly criticise a plan of which he disapproves, but is apt to suggest a new one in some such guarded language as: 'Perhaps it might be more to your immediate interest to do thus and so.' When obliged to speak of others, he will refer to them in a curious indirect fashion, by citing and combining a number of incidents sufficiently characteristic to form a picture. But in that event the incidents narrated will almost certainly be of a nature to awaken interest, and to create a favourable impression. This indirect way of conveying information is essentially Confucian. 'Even when you have no doubts,' says the Li-Ki, 'do not let what you say appear as your own view.' And it is quite probable that you will notice many other traits in your friend requiring some knowledge of the Chinese classics to understand. But no such knowledge necessary to convince you of his exquisite consideration for others, and his studied suppression of self. Among no other civilised people is the secret of happy living so thoroughly comprehended as among the Japanese; by no other race is the truth so widely understood that our pleasure in life must depend upon the happiness of those about us, and consequently upon the cultivation in ourselves of unselfishness and of patience. For which reason, in Japanese society, sarcasm irony, cruel wit, are not indulged. I might almost say that they have no existence in refined life. A personal failing is not made the subject of ridicule or reproach; an eccentricity is not commented upon; an involuntary mistake excites no laughter. Stiffened somewhat by the Chinese conservatism of the old conditions, it is true that this ethical system was maintained the extreme of giving fixity to ideas, and at the cost of individuality. And yet, if regulated by a broader comprehension social requirements, if expanded by scientific understanding of the freedom essential to intellectual evolution, the very same moral policy is that through which the highest and happiest results may be obtained. But as actually practised it was not favourable to originality; it rather tended to enforce the amiable mediocrity of opinion and imagination which still prevails. Wherefore a foreign dweller in the interior cannot but long sometimes for the sharp, erratic inequalities Western life, with its larger joys and pains and its more comprehensive sympathies. But sometimes only, for the intellectual loss is really more than compensated by the social charm; and there can remain no doubt in the mind of one who even partly understands the Japanese, that they are still the best people in the world to live among. Sec. 5 As I pen these lines, there returns to me the vision of a Kyoto night. While passing through some wonderfully thronged and illuminated street, of which I cannot remember the name, I had turned aside to look at a statue of Jizo, before the entrance of a very small temple. The figure was that of a kozo, an acolyte--a beautiful boy; and its smile was a bit of divine realism. As I stood gazing, a young lad, perhaps ten years old, ran up beside me, joined his little hands before the image, bowed his head and prayed for a moment in silence. He had but just left some comrades, and the joy and glow of play were still upon his face; and his unconscious smile was so strangely like the smile of the child of stone that the boy seemed the twin brother of the god. And then I thought: 'The smile of bronze or stone is not a copy only; but that which the Buddhist sculptor symbolises thereby must be the explanation of the smile of the race.' That was long ago; but the idea which then suggested itself still seems to me true. However foreign to Japanese soil the origin of Buddhist art, yet the smile of the people signifies the same conception as the smile of the Bosatsu--the happiness that is born of self-control and self- suppression. 'If a man conquer in battle a thousand times a thousand and another conquer himself, he who conquers himself is the greatest of conquerors.' 'Not even a god can change into defeat the victory of the man who has vanquished himself.' [4] Such Buddhist texts as these--and they are many--assuredly express, though they cannot be assumed to have created, those moral tendencies which form the highest charm of the Japanese character. And the whole moral idealism of the race seems to me to have been imaged in that marvellous Buddha of Kamakura, whose countenance, 'calm like a deep, still water' [5] expresses, as perhaps no other work of human hands can have expressed, the eternal truth: 'There is no higher happiness than rest.' [6] It is toward that infinite calm that the aspirations of the Orient have been turned; and the ideal of the Supreme Self-Conquest it has made its own. Even now, though agitated at its surface by those new influences which must sooner or later move it even to its uttermost depths, the Japanese mind retains, as compared with the thought of the West, a wonderful placidity. It dwells but little, if at all, upon those ultimate abstract questions about which we most concern ourselves. Neither does it comprehend our interest in them as we desire to be comprehended. 'That you should not be indifferent to religious speculations,' a Japanese scholar once observed to me, 'is quite natural; but it is equally natural that we should never trouble ourselves about them. The philosophy of Buddhism has a profundity far exceeding that of your Western theology, and we have studied it. We have sounded the depths of speculation only to fluid that there are depths unfathomable below those depths; we have voyaged to the farthest limit that thought may sail, only to find that the horizon for ever recedes. And you, you have remained for many thousand years as children playing in a stream but ignorant of the sea. Only now you have reached its shore by another path than ours, and the vastness is for you a new wonder; and you would sail to Nowhere because you have seen the infinite over the sands of life.' Will Japan be able to assimilate Western civilisation, as she did Chinese more than ten centuries ago, and nevertheless preserve her own peculiar modes of thought and feeling? One striking fact is hopeful: that the Japanese admiration for Western material superiority is by no means extended to Western morals. Oriental thinkers do not commit the serious blunder of confounding mechanical with ethical progress, nor have any failed to perceive the moral weaknesses of our boasted civilisation. One Japanese writer has expressed his judgment of things Occidental after a fashion that deserves to be noticed by a larger circle of readers than that for which it was originally written: 'Order or disorder in a nation does not depend upon some-thing that falls from the sky or rises from the earth. It is determined by the disposition of the people. The pivot on which the public disposition turns towards order or disorder is the point where public and private motives separate. If the people be influenced chiefly by public considerations, order is assured; if by private, disorder is inevitable. Public considerations are those that prompt the proper observance of duties; their prevalence signifies peace and prosperity in the case alike of families, communities, and nations. Private considerations are those suggested by selfish motives: when they prevail, disturbance and disorder are unavoidable. As members of a family, our duty is to look after the welfare of that family; as units of a nation, our duty is to work for the good of the nation. To regard our family affairs with all the interest due to our family and our national affairs with all the interest due to our nation--this is to fitly discharge our duty, and to be guided by public considerations. On the other hand, to regard the affairs of the nation as if they were our own family affairs--this is to be influenced by private motives and to stray from the path of duty. ... 'Selfishness is born in every man; to indulge it freely is to become a beast. Therefore it is that sages preach the principles of duty and propriety, justice and morality, providing restraints for private aims and encouragements for public spirit.. . . . What we know of Western civilisation is that it struggled on through long centuries in a confused condition and finally attained a state of some order; but that even this order, not being based upon such principles as those of the natural and immutable distinctions between sovereign and subject, parent and child, with all their corresponding rights and duties, is liable to constant change according to the growth of human ambitions and human aims. Admirably suited to persons whose actions are controlled by selfish ambition, the adoption of this system in Japan is naturally sought by a certain class of politicians. From a superficial point of view, the Occidental form of society is very attractive, inasmuch as, being the outcome of a free development of human desires from ancient times, it represents the very extreme of luxury and extravagance. Briefly speaking, the state of things obtaining in the West is based upon the free play of human selfishness, and can only be reached by giving full sway to that quality. Social disturbances are little heeded in the Occident; yet they are at once the evidences and the factors of the present evil state of affairs. . . . Do Japanese enamoured of Western ways propose to have their nation's history written in similar terms? Do they seriously contemplate turning their country into a new field for experiments in Western civilisation? . . . 'In the Orient, from ancient times, national government has been based on benevolence, and directed to securing the welfare and happiness of the people. No political creed has ever held that intellectual strength should be cultivated for the purpose of exploiting inferiority and ignorance. . . . The inhabitants of this empire live, for the most part, by manual labour. Let them be never so industrious, they hardly earn enough to supply their daily wants. They earn on the average about twenty sen daily. There is no question with them of aspiring to wear fine clothes or to inhabit handsome houses. Neither can they hope to reach positions of fame and honour. What offence have these poor people committed that they, too, should not share the benefits of Western civilisation? . . . By some, indeed, their condition is explained on the hypothesis that their desires do not prompt them to better themselves. There is no truth in such a supposition. They have desires, but nature has limited their capacity to satisfy them; their duty as men limits it, and the amount of labour physically possible to a human being limits it. They achieve as much as their opportunities permit. The best and finest products of their labour they reserve for the wealthy; the worst and roughest they keep for their own use. Yet there is nothing in human society that does not owe its existence to labour. Now, to satisfy the desires of one luxurious man, the toil of a thousand is needed. Surely it is monstrous that those who owe to labour the pleasures suggested by their civilisation should forget what they owe to the labourer, and treat him as if he were not a fellow-being. But civilisation, according to the interpretation of the Occident, serves only to satisfy men of large desires. It is of no benefit to the masses, but is simply a system under which ambitions compete to accomplish their aims. . . . That the Occidental system is gravely disturbing to. the order and peace of a country is seen by men who have eyes, and heard by men who have ears. The future of Japan under such a system fills us with anxiety. A system based on the principle that ethics and religion are made to serve human ambition naturally accords with the wishes of selfish individuals; and such theories as those embodied in the modem formula of liberty and equality annihilate the established relations of society, and outrage decorum and propriety. . . . Absolute equality and absolute liberty being unattainable, the limits prescribed by right and duty are supposed to be set. But as each person seeks to have as much right and to be burdened with as little duty as possible, the results are endless disputes and legal contentions. The principles of liberty and equality may succeed in changing the organisation of nations, in overthrowing the lawful distinctions of social rank, in reducing all men to one nominal level; but they can never accomplish the equal distribution of wealth and property. Consider America. . . . It is plain that if the mutual rights of men and their status are made to depend on degrees of wealth, the majority of the people, being without wealth, must fail to establish their rights; whereas the minority who are wealthy will assert their rights, and, under society's sanction, will exact oppressive duties from the poor, neglecting the dictates of humanity and benevolence. The adoption of these principles of liberty and equality in Japan would vitiate the good and peaceful customs of our country, render the general disposition of the people harsh and unfeeling, and prove finally a source of calamity to the masses. . . 'Though at first sight Occidental civilisation presents an attractive appearance, adapted as it is to the gratification of selfish desires, yet, since its basis is the hypothesis that men' 's wishes constitute natural laws, it must ultimately end in disappointment and demoralisation. . . . Occidental nations have become what they are after passing through conflicts and vicissitudes of the most serious kind; and it is their fate to continue the struggle. Just now their motive elements are in partial equilibrium, and their social condition' is more or less ordered. But if this slight equilibrium happens to be disturbed, they will be thrown once more into confusion and change, until, after a period of renewed struggle and suffering, temporary stability is once more attained. The poor and powerless of the present may become the wealthy and strong of the future, and vice versa. Perpetual disturbance is their doom. Peaceful equality can never be attained until built up among the ruins of annihilated Western' states and the ashes of extinct Western peoples.' Surely, with perceptions like these, Japan may hope to avert some of the social perils which menace her. Yet it appears inevitable that her approaching transformation must be coincident with a moral decline. Forced into the vast industrial competition of nation's whose civilisations were never based on altruism, she must eventually develop those qualities of which the comparative absence made all the wonderful charm of her life. The national character must continue to harden, as it has begun to harden already. But it should never be forgotten that Old Japan was quite as much in advance of the nineteenth century morally as she was behind it materially. She had made morality instinctive, after having made it rational. She had realised, though within restricted limits, several among those social conditions which our ablest thinkers regard as the happiest and the highest. Throughout all the grades of her complex society she had cultivated both the comprehension and the practice of public and private duties after a manner for which it were vain to seek any Western parallel. Even her moral weakness was the result of an excess of that which all civilised religions have united in proclaiming virtue--the self-sacrifice of the individual for the sake of the family, of the community, and of the nation. It was the weakness indicated by Percival Lowell in his Soul of the Far East, a book of which the consummate genius cannot be justly estimated without some personal knowledge of the Far East. [8] The progress made by Japan in social morality, although greater than our own, was chiefly in the direction of mutual dependence. And it will be her coming duty to keep in view the teaching of that mighty thinker whose philosophy she has wisely accepted [9]--the teaching that 'the highest individuation must be joined with the greatest mutual dependence,' and that, however seemingly paradoxical the statement, 'the law of progress is at once toward complete separateness and complete union. Yet to that past which her younger generation now affect to despise Japan will certainly one day look back, even as we ourselves look back to the old Greek civilisation. She will learn to regret the forgotten capacity for simple pleasures, the lost sense of the pure joy of life, the old loving divine intimacy with nature, the marvellous dead art which reflected it. She will remember how much more luminous and beautiful the world then seemed. She will mourn for many things--the old-fashioned patience and self-sacrifice, the ancient courtesy, the deep human poetry of the ancient faith. She will wonder at many things; but she will regret. Perhaps she will wonder most of all at the faces of the ancient gods, because their smile was once the likeness of her own. CHAPTER TWELVE Sayonara! Sec. 1 I am going away--very far away. I have already resigned my post as teacher, and am waiting only for my passport. So many familiar faces have vanished that I feel now less regret at leaving than I should have felt six months ago. And nevertheless, the quaint old city has become so endeared to me by habit and association that the thought of never seeing it again is one I do not venture to dwell upon. I have been trying to persuade myself that some day I may return to this charming old house, in shadowy Kitaborimachi, though all the while painfully aware that in past experience such imaginations invariably preceded perpetual separation. The facts are that all things are impermanent in the Province of the Gods; that the winters are very severe; and that I have received a call from the great Government college in Kyushu far south, where snow rarely falls. Also I have been very sick; and the prospect of a milder climate had much influence in shaping my decision. But these few days of farewells have been full of charming surprises. To have the revelation of gratitude where you had no right to expect more than plain satisfaction with your performance of duty; to find affection where you supposed only good-will to exist: these are assuredly delicious experiences. The teachers of both schools have sent me a farewell gift--a superb pair of vases nearly three feet high, covered with designs representing birds, and flowering-trees overhanging a slope of beach where funny pink crabs are running about--vases made in the old feudal days at Rakuzan--rare souvenirs of Izumo. With the wonderful vases came a scroll bearing in Chinese text the names of the thirty-two donors; and three of these are names of ladies--the three lady-teachers of the Normal School. The students of the Jinjo-Chugakko have also sent me a present--the last contribution of two hundred and fifty-one pupils to my happiest memories of Matsue: a Japanese sword of the time of the daimyo. Silver karashishi with eyes of gold--in Izumo, the Lions of Shinto--swarm over the crimson lacquer of the sheath, and sprawl about the exquisite hilt. And the committee who brought the beautiful thing to my house requested me to accompany them forthwith to the college assembly-room, where the students were all waiting to bid me good-bye, after the old-time custom. So I went there. And the things which we said to each other are hereafter set down. Sec. 2 DEAR TEACHER:--You have been one of the best and most benevolent teachers we ever had. We thank you with all our heart for the knowledge we obtained through your kindest instruction. Every student in our school hoped you would stay with us at least three years. When we learned you had resolved to go to Kyushu, we all felt our hearts sink with sorrow. We entreated our Director to find some way to keep you, but we discovered that could not be done. We have no words to express our feeling at this moment of farewell. We sent you a Japanese sword as a memory of us. It was only a poor ugly thing; we merely thought you would care for it as a mark of our gratitude. We will never forget your kindest instruction; and we all wish that you may ever be healthy and happy. MASANABU OTANI, Representing all the Students of the Middle School of Shimane-Ken. MY DEAR BOYS:--I cannot tell you with what feelings I received your present; that beautiful sword with the silver karashishi ramping upon its sheath, or crawling through the silken cording of its wonderful hilt. At least I cannot tell you all. But there flashed to me, as I looked at your gift, the remembrance of your ancient proverb: 'The Sword is the Soul of the Samurai.' And then it seemed to me that in the very choice of that exquisite souvenir you had symbolised something of your own souls. For we English also have some famous sayings and proverbs about swords. Our poets call a good blade 'trusty' and 'true'; and of our best friend we say, 'He is true as steel'--signifying in the ancient sense the steel of a perfect sword--the steel to whose temper a warrior could trust his honour and his life. And so in your rare gift, which I shall keep and prize while I live, I find an emblem of your true-heartedness and affection. May you always keep fresh within your hearts those impulses of generosity and kindliness and loyalty which I have learned to know so well, and of which your gift will ever remain for me the graceful symbol! And a symbol not only of your affection and loyalty as students to teachers, but of that other beautiful sense of duty you expressed, when so many of you wrote down for me, as your dearest wish, the desire to die for His Imperial Majesty, your Emperor. That wish is holy: it means perhaps even more than you know, or can know, until you shall have become much older and wiser. This is an era of great and rapid change; and it is probable that many of you, as you grow up, will not be able to believe everything that your fathers believed before you--though I sincerely trust you will at least continue always to respect the faith, even as you still respect the memory, of your ancestors. But however much the life of New Japan may change about you, however much your own thoughts may change with the times, never suffer that noble wish you expressed to me to pass away from your souls. Keep it burning there, clear and pure as the flame of the little lamp that glows before your household shrine. Perhaps some of you may have that wish. Many of you must become soldiers. Some will become officers. Some will enter the Naval Academy to prepare for the grand service of protecting the empire by sea; and your Emperor and your country may even require your blood. But the greater number among you are destined to other careers, and may have no such chances of bodily self-sacrifice--except perhaps in the hour of some great national danger, which I trust Japan will never know. And there is another desire, not less noble, which may be your compass in civil life: to live for your country though you cannot die for it. Like the kindest and wisest of fathers, your Government has provided for you these splendid schools, with all opportunities for the best instruction this scientific century can give, at a far less cost than any other civilised country can offer the same advantages. And all this in order that each of you may help to make your country wiser and richer and stronger than it has ever been in the past. And whoever does his best, in any calling or profession, to ennoble and develop that calling or profession, gives his life to his emperor and to his country no less truly than the soldier or the seaman who dies for duty. I am not less sorry to leave you, I think, than you are to see me go. The more I have learned to know the hearts of Japanese students, the more I have learned to love their country. I think, however, that I shall see many of you again, though I never return to Matsue: some I am almost sure I shall meet elsewhere in future summers; some I may even hope to teach once more, in the Government college to which I am going. But whether we meet again or not, be sure that my life has been made happier by knowing you, and that I shall always love you. And, now, with renewed thanks for your beautiful gift, good-bye! Sec. 3 The students of the Normal School gave me a farewell banquet in their hall. I had been with them so little during the year--less even than the stipulated six hours a week--that I could not have supposed they would feel much attachment for their foreign teacher. But I have still much to learn about my Japanese students. The banquet was delightful. The captain of each class in turn read in English a brief farewell address which he had prepared; and more than one of those charming compositions, made beautiful with similes and sentiments drawn from the old Chinese and Japanese poets, will always remain in my memory. Then the students sang their college songs for me, and chanted the Japanese version of 'Auld Lang Syne' at the close of the banquet. And then all, in military procession, escorted me home, and cheered me farewell at my gate, with shouts of 'Manzai!' 'Good-bye!' 'We will march with you to the steamer when you go.' Sec. 4 But I shall not have the pleasure of seeing them again. They are all gone far away--some to another world. Yet it is only four days since I attended that farewell banquet at the Normal School! A cruel visitation has closed its gates and scattered its students through the province. Two nights ago, the Asiatic cholera, supposed to have been brought to Japan by Chinese vessels, broke out in different parts of the city, and, among other places, in the Normal School. Several students and teachers expired within a short while after having been attacked; others are even now lingering between life and death. The rest marched to the little healthy village of Tamatsukuri, famed for its hot springs. But there the cholera again broke out among them, and it was decided to dismiss the survivors at once to their several homes. There was no panic. The military discipline remained unbroken. Students and teachers fell at their posts. The great college building was taken charge of by the medical authorities, and the work of disinfection and sanitation is still going on. Only the convalescents and the fearless samurai president, Saito Kumataro, remain in it. Like the captain who scorns to leave his sinking ship till all souls are safe, the president stays in the centre of danger, nursing the sick boys, overlooking the work of sanitation, transacting all the business usually intrusted to several subordinates, whom he promptly sent away in the first hour of peril. He has had the joy of seeing two of his boys saved. Of another, who was buried last night, I hear this: Only a little while before his death, and in spite of kindliest protest, he found strength, on seeing his president approaching his bedside, to rise on his elbow and give the military salute. And with that brave greeting to a brave man, he passed into the Great Silence. Sec. 5 At last my passport has come. I must go. The Middle School and the adjacent elementary schools have been closed on account of the appearance of cholera, and I protested against any gathering of the pupils to bid me good-bye, fearing for them the risk of exposure to the chilly morning air by the shore of the infected river. But my protest was received only with a merry laugh. Last night the Director sent word to all the captains of classes. Wherefore, an hour after sunrise, some two hundred students, with their teachers, assemble before my gate to escort me to the wharf, near the long white bridge, where the little steamer is waiting. And we go. Other students are already assembled at the wharf. And with them wait a multitude of people known to me: friends or friendly acquaintances, parents and relatives of students, every one to whom I can remember having ever done the slightest favour, and many more from whom I have received favours which I never had the chance to return--persons who worked for me, merchants from whom I purchased little things, a host of kind faces, smiling salutation. The Governor sends his secretary with a courteous message; the President of the Normal School hurries down for a moment to shake hands. The Normal students have been sent to their homes, but not a few of their teachers are present. I most miss friend Nishida. He has been very sick for two long months, bleeding at the lungs but his father brings me the gentlest of farewell letters from him, penned in bed, and some pretty souvenirs. And now, as I look at all these pleasant faces about me, I cannot but ask myself the question: 'Could I have lived in the exercise of the same profession for the same length of time in any other country, and have enjoyed a similar unbroken experience of human goodness?' From each and all of these I have received only kindness and courtesy. Not one has ever, even through inadvertence, addressed to me a single ungenerous word. As a teacher of more than five hundred boys and men, I have never even had my patience tried. I wonder if such an experience is possible only in Japan. But the little steamer shrieks for her passengers. I shake many hands-- most heartily, perhaps, that of the brave, kind President of the Normal School--and climb on board. The Director of the Jinjo-Chugakko a few teachers of both schools, and one of my favourite pupils, follow; they are going to accompany me as far as the next port, whence my way will be over the mountains to Hiroshima. It is a lovely vapoury morning, sharp with the first chill of winter. From the tiny deck I take my last look at the quaint vista of the Ohashigawa, with its long white bridge--at the peaked host of queer dear old houses, crowding close to dip their feet in its glassy flood--at the sails of the junks, gold-coloured by the early sun--at the beautiful fantastic shapes of the ancient hills. Magical indeed the charm of this land, as of a land veritably haunted by gods: so lovely the spectral delicacy of its colours--so lovely the forms of its hills blending with the forms of its clouds--so lovely, above all, those long trailings and bandings of mists which make its altitudes appear to hang in air. A land where sky and earth so strangely intermingle that what is reality may not be distinguished from what is illusion--that all seems a mirage, about to vanish. For me, alas! it is about to vanish for ever. The little steamer shrieks again, puffs, backs into midstream, turns from the long white bridge. And as the grey wharves recede, a long Aaaaaaaaaa rises from the uniformed ranks, and all the caps wave, flashing their Chinese ideographs of brass. I clamber to the roof of the tiny deck cabin, wave my hat, and shout in English: 'Good-bye, good- bye!' And there floats back to me the cry: 'Manzai, manzai!' [Ten thousand years to you! ten thousand years!] But already it comes faintly from far away. The packet glides out of the river-mouth, shoots into the blue lake, turns a pine-shadowed point, and the faces, and the voices, and the wharves, and the long white bridge have become memories. Still for a little while looking back, as we pass into the silence of the great water, I can see, receding on the left, the crest of the ancient castle, over grand shaggy altitudes of pine--and the place of my home, with its delicious garden--and the long blue roofs of the schools. These, too, swiftly pass out of vision. Then only faint blue water, faint blue mists, faint blues and greens and greys of peaks looming through varying distance, and beyond all, towering ghost-white into the east, the glorious spectre of Daisen. And my heart sinks a moment under the rush of those vivid memories which always crowd upon one the instant after parting--memories of all that make attachment to places and to things. Remembered smiles; the morning gathering at the threshold of the old yashiki to wish the departing teacher a happy day; the evening gathering to welcome his return; the dog waiting by the gate at the accustomed hour; the garden with its lotus-flowers and its cooing of doves; the musical boom of the temple bell from the cedar groves; songs of children at play; afternoon shadows upon many-tinted streets; the long lines of lantern-fires upon festal nights; the dancing of the moon upon the lake; the clapping of hands by the river shore in salutation to the Izumo sun; the endless merry pattering of geta over the windy bridge: all these and a hundred other happy memories revive for me with almost painful vividness--while the far peaks, whose names are holy, slowly turn away their blue shoulders, and the little steamer bears me, more and more swiftly, ever farther and farther from the Province of the Gods. NOTES for Chapter One 1 Such as the garden attached to the abbots palace at Tokuwamonji, cited by Mr. Conder, which was made to commemorate the legend of stones which bowed themselves in assent to the doctrine of Buddha. At Togo-ike, in Tottori-ken, I saw a very large garden consisting almost entirely of stones and sand. The impression which the designer had intended to convey was that of approaching the sea over a verge of dunes, and the illusion was beautiful. 2 The Kojiki, translated by Professor B. H. Chamberlain, p. 254. 3 Since this paper was written, Mr. Conder has published a beautiful illustrated volume,-Landscape Gardening in Japan. By Josiah Conder, F.R.I.B.A. Tokyo 1893. A photographic supplement to the work gives views of the most famous gardens in the capital and elsewhere. 4 The observations of Dr. Rein on Japanese gardens are not to be recommended, in respect either to accuracy or to comprehension of the subject. Rein spent only two years in Japan, the larger part of which time he devoted to the study of the lacquer industry, the manufacture of silk and paper and other practical matters. On these subjects his work is justly valued. But his chapters on Japanese manners and customs, art, religion, and literature show extremely little acquaintance with those topics. 5 This attitude of the shachihoko is somewhat de rigueur, whence the common expression shachihoko dai, signifying to stand on ones head. 6 The magnificent perch called tai (Serranus marginalis), which is very common along the Izumo coast, is not only justly prized as the most delicate of Japanese fish, but is also held to be an emblem of good fortune. It is a ceremonial gift at weddings and on congratu-latory occasions. The Japanese call it also the king of fishes. 7 Nandina domestica. 8 The most lucky of all dreams, they say in Izumo, is a dream of Fuji, the Sacred Mountain. Next in order of good omen is dreaming of a falcon (taka). The third best subject for a dream is the eggplant (nasubi). To dream of the sun or of the moon is very lucky; but it is still more so to dream of stars. For a young wife it is most for tunate to dream of swallowing a star: this signifies that she will become the mother of a beautiful child. To dream of a cow is a good omen; to dream of a horse is lucky, but it signifies travelling. To dream of rain or fire is good. Some dreams are held in Japan, as in the West, to go by contraries. Therefore to dream of having ones house burned up, or of funerals, or of being dead, or of talking to the ghost of a dead person, is good. Some dreams which are good for women mean the reverse when dreamed by men; for example, it is good for a woman to dream that her nose bleeds, but for a man this is very bad. To dream of much money is a sign of loss to come. To dream of the koi, or of any freshwater fish, is the most unlucky of all. This is curious, for in other parts of Japan the koi is a symbol of good fortune. 9 Tebushukan: Citrus sarkodactilis. 10 Yuzuru signifies to resign in favour of another; ha signifies a leaf. The botanical name, as given in Hepburns dictionary, is Daphniphillum macropodum. 11 Cerasus pseudo-cerasus (Lindley). 12 About this mountain cherry there is a humorous saying which illustrates the Japanese love of puns. In order fully to appreciate it, the reader should know that Japanese nouns have no distinction of singular and plural. The word ha, as pronounced, may signify either leaves or teeth; and the word hana, either flowers or nose. The yamazakura puts forth its ha (leaves) before his hana (flowers). Wherefore a man whose ha (teeth) project in advance of his hana (nose) is called a yamazakura. Prognathism is not uncommon in Japan, especially among the lower classes. 13 If one should ask you concerning the heart of a true Japanese, point to the wild cherry flower glowing in the sun. 14 There are three noteworthy varieties: one bearing red, one pink and white, and one pure white flowers. 15 The expression yanagi-goshi, a willow-waist, is one of several in common use comparing slender beauty to the willow-tree. 16 Peonia albiflora, The name signifies the delicacy of beauty. The simile of the botan (the tree peony) can be fully appreciated only by one who is acquainted with the Japanese flower. 17 Some say kesbiyuri (poppy) instead of himeyuri. The latter is a graceful species of lily, Lilium callosum. 18 Standing, she is a shakuyaku; seated, she is a botan; and the charm of her figure in walking is the charm of a himeyuri. 19 In the higher classes of Japanese society to-day, the honorific O is not, as a rule, used before the names of girls, and showy appellations are not given to daughters. Even among the poor respectable classes, names resembling those of geisha, etc., are in disfavour. But those above cited are good, honest, everyday names. 20 Mr. Satow has found in Hirata a belief to which this seems to some extent akin--the curious Shinto doctrine according to which a divine being throws off portions of itself by a process of fissure, thus producing what are called waki-mi-tama--parted spirits, with separate functions. The great god of Izumo, Oho-kuni-nushi-no-Kami, is said by Hirata to have three such parted spirits: his rough spirit (ara-mi- tama) that punishes, his gentle spirit (nigi-mi-tama) that pardons, and his benedictory or beneficent spirit (saki-mi-tama) that blesses, There is a Shinto story that the rough spirit of this god once met the gentle spirit without recognising it, 21 Perhaps the most impressive of all the Buddhist temples in Kyoto. It is dedicated to Kwannon of the Thousand Hands, and is said to contain 33,333 of her images. 22 Daidaimushi in Izunio. The dictionary word is dedemushi. The snail is supposed to be very fond of wet weather; and one who goes out much in the rain is compared to a snail,--dedemushi no yona. 23 Snail, snail, put out your horns a little it rains and the wind is blowing, so put out your horns, just for a little while. 24 A Buddhist divinity, but within recent times identified by Shinto with the god Kotohira. 25 See Professor Chamberlains version of it in The Japanese Fairy Tale Series, with charming illustrations by a native artist. 26 Butterfly, little butterfly, light upon the na leaf. But if thou dost not like the na leaf, light, I pray thee, upon my hand. 27 Boshi means a hat; tsukeru, to put on. But this etymology is more than doubtful. 28 Some say Chokko-chokko-uisu. Uisu would be pronounced in English very much like weece, the final u being silent. Uiosu would be something like ' we-oce. 29 Pronounced almost as geece. 30 Contraction of kore noru. 31 A kindred legend attaches to the shiwan, a little yellow insect which preys upon cucumbers. The shiwan is said to have been once a physician, who, being detected in an amorous intrigue, had to fly for his life; but as he went his foot caught in a cucumber vine, so that he fell and was overtaken and killed, and his ghost became an insect, the destroyer of cucumber vines. In the zoological mythology and plant mythology of Japan there exist many legends offering a curious resemblance to the old Greek tales of metamorphoses. Some of the most remarkable bits of such folk- lore have originated, however, in comparatively modern time. The legend of the crab called heikegani, found at Nagato, is an example. The souls of the Taira warriors who perished in the great naval battle of Dan-no- ura (now Seto-Nakai), 1185, are supposed to have been transformed into heikegani. The shell of the heikegani is certainly surprising. It is wrinkled into the likeness of a grim face, or rather into exact semblance of one of those black iron visors, or masks, which feudal warriors wore in battle, and which were shaped like frowning visages. 32 Come, firefly, I will give you water to drink. The water of that. place is bitter; the water here is sweet. 33 By honzon is here meant the sacred kakemono, or picture, exposed to public view in the temples only upon the birthday of the Buddha, which is the eighth day of the old fourth month. Honzon also signifies the principal image in a Buddhist temple. 34 A solitary voice! Did the Moon cry? Twas but the hototogisu. 35 When I gaze towards the place where I heard the hototogisu cry, lol there is naught save the wan morning moon. 36 Save only the morning moon, none heard the hearts-blood cry of the hototogisu. 37 A sort of doughnut made of bean flour, or tofu. 38 Kite, kite, let me see you dance, and to-morrow evening, when the crows do not know, I will give you a rat. 39 O tardy crow, hasten forward! Your house is all on fire. Hurry to throw Water upon it. If there be no water, I will give you. If you have too much, give it to your child. If you have no child, then give it back to me. 40 The words papa and mamma exist in Japanese baby language, but their meaning is not at all what might be supposed. Mamma, or, with the usual honorific, O-mamma, means boiled rice. Papa means tobacco. Notes for Chapter Two 1 This was written early in 1892 2 Quoted from Mr. Satow's masterly essay, 'The Revival of Pure Shinto,' published in the Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan. By 'gods' are not necessarily meant beneficent Kami. Shinto has no devils; but it has its 'bad gods' as well as good deities. 3 Satow, 'The Revival of Pure Shinto.' 4 Ibid. 5 In the sense of Moral Path,--i.e. an ethical system. 6 Satow, 'The Revival of Pure Shinto.' The whole force of Motowori's words will not be fully understood unless the reader knows that the term 'Shinto' is of comparatively modern origin in Japan,--having been borrowed from the Chinese to distinguish the ancient faith from Buddhism; and that the old name for the primitive religion is Kami-no- michi, 'the Way of the Gods.' 7 Satow, 'The Revival of Pure Shinto.' 8 From Kami, 'the [Powers] Above,' or the Gods, and tana, 'a shelf.' The initial 't' of the latter word changes into 'd' in the compound,-- just as that of tokkuri, 'a jar' or 'bottle,' becomes dokkuri in the cornpound o-mi kidokkuri. 9 The mirror, as an emblem of female divinities, is kept in the secret innermost shrine of various Shinto temples. But the mirror of metal commonly placed before the public gaze in a Shinto shrine is not really of Shinto origin, but was introduced into Japan as a Buddhist symbol of the Shingon sect. As the mirror is the symbol in Shinto of female divinities, the sword is the emblem of male deities. The real symbols of the god or goddess are not, however, exposed to human gaze under any circumstances. 10 Anciently the two great Shinto festivals on which the miya were thus carried in procession were the Yoshigami-no-matsuri, or festival of the God of the New Year, and the anniversary of Jimmu Tenno to the throne. The second of these is still observed. The celebration of the Emperor's birthday is the only other occasion when the miya are paraded. On both days the streets are beautifully decorated with lanterns and shimenawa, the fringed ropes of rice straw which are the emblems of Shinto. Nobody now knows exactly what the words chanted on these days (chosaya! chosaya!) mean. One theory is that they are a corruption of Sagicho, the name of a great samurai military festival, which was celebrated nearly at the same time as the Yashigami-no-matsuri,--both holidays now being obsolete. 11 Thuya obtusa. 12 Such at least is the mourning period under such circumstances in certain samurai families. Others say twenty days is sufficient. The Buddhist code of mourning is extremely varied and complicated, and would require much space to dilate upon. 13 In spite of the supposed rigidity of the Nichiren sect in such matters, most followers of its doctrine in Izumo are equally fervent Shintoists. I have not been able to observe whether the same is true of Izumo Shin-shu families as a rule; but I know that some Shin-shu believers in Matsue worship at Shinto shrines. Adoring only that form of Buddha called Amida, the Shin sect might be termed a Buddhist 'Unitarianism.' It seems never to have been able to secure a strong footing in Izumo on account of its doctrinal hostility to Shinto. Elsewhere throughout Japan it is the most vigorous and prosperous of all Buddhist sects. 14 Mr. Morse, in his Japanese Homes, published on hearsay a very strange error when he stated: 'The Buddhist household shrines rest on the floor--at least so I was informed.' They never rest on the floor under any circumstances. In the better class of houses special architectural arrangements are made for the butsudan; an alcove, recess, or other contrivance, often so arranged as to be concealed from view by a sliding panel or a little door In smaller dwellings it may be put on a shelf, for want of a better place, and in the homes of the poor, on the top of the tansu, or clothes-chest. It is never placed so high as the kamidana, but seldom at a less height than three feet above the floor. In Mr. Morse's own illustration of a Buddhist household shrine (p. 226) it does not rest on the floor at all, but on the upper shelf of a cupboard, which must not be confounded with the butsudan--a very small one. The sketch in question seems to have been made during the Festival of the Dead, for the offerings in the picture are those of the Bommatauri. At that time the household butsudan is always exposed to view, and often moved from its usual place in order to obtain room for the offerings to be set before it. To place any holy object on the floor is considered by the Japanese very disrespectful. As for Shinto objects, to place even a mamori on the floor is deemed a sin. 15 Two ihai are always made for each Buddhist dead. One usually larger than that placed in the family shrine, is kept in the temple of which the deceased was a parishioner, together with a cup in which tea or water is daily poured out as an offering. In almost any large temple, thousands of such ihai may be seen, arranged in rows, tier above tier-- each with its cup before it--for even the souls of the dead are supposed to drink tea. Sometimes, I fear, the offering is forgotten, for I have seen rows of cups containing only dust, the fault, perhaps, of some lazy acolyte. 16 This is a fine example of a samurai kaimyo The kaimyo of kwazoku or samurai are different from those of humbler dead; and a Japanese, by a single glance at an ihai, can tell at once to what class of society the deceased belonged, by the Buddhist words used. 17 'Presenting the honourable tea to the august Buddhas'--for by Buddhist faith it is hoped, if not believed, that the dead become Buddhas and escape the sorrows of further transmigration. Thus the expression 'is dead' is often rendered in Japanese by the phrase 'is become a Buddha.' 18 The idea underlying this offering of food and drink to the dead or to the gods, is not so irrational as unthinking Critics have declared it to be. The dead are not supposed to consume any of the visible substance of the food set before them, for they are thought to be in an ethereal state requiring only the most vapoury kind of nutrition. The idea is that they absorb only the invisible essence of the food. And as fruits and other such offerings lose something of their flavour after having been exposed to the air for several hours, this slight change would have been taken in other days as evidence that the spirits had feasted upon them. Scientific education necessarily dissipates these consoling illusions, and with them a host of tender and beautiful fancies as to the relation between the living and the dead. 19 I find that the number of clappings differs in different provinces somewhat. In Kyushu the clapping is very long, especially before the prayer to the Rising Sun. 20 Another name for Kyoto, the Sacred City of Japanese Buddhism. Notes for Chapter Three 1 Formerly both sexes used the same pillow for the same reason. The long hair of a samurai youth, tied up in an elaborate knot, required much time to arrange. Since it has become the almost universal custom to wear the hair short, the men have adopted a pillow shaped like a small bolster. 2 It is an error to suppose that all Japanese have blue-black hair. There are two distinct racial types. In one the hair is a deep brown instead of a pure black, and is also softer and finer. Rarely, but very rarely, one may see a Japanese chevelure having a natural tendency to ripple. For curious reasons, which cannot be stated here, an Izumo woman is very much ashamed of having wavy hair--more ashamed than she would be of a natural deformity. 3 Even in the time of the writing of the Kojiki the art of arranging t hair must have been somewhat developed. See Professor Chainberlai 's introduction to translation, p. xxxi.; also vol. i. section ix.; vol. vii. section xii.; vol. ix. section xviii., et passim. 4 An art expert can decide the age of an unsigned kakemono or other work of art in which human figures appear, by the style of the coiffure of the female personages. 5 The principal and indispensable hair-pin (kanzashi), usually about seven inches long, is split, and its well-tempered double shaft can be used like a small pair of chopsticks for picking up small things. The head is terminated by a tiny spoon-shaped projection, which has a special purpose in the Japanese toilette. 6 The shinjocho is also called Ichogaeshi by old people, although the original Ichogaeshi was somewhat different. The samurai girls used to wear their hair in the true Ichogaeshi manner the name is derived from the icho-tree (Salisburia andiantifolia), whose leaves have a queer shape, almost like that of a duck's foot. Certain bands of the hair in this coiffure bore a resemblance in form to icho-leaves. 7 The old Japanese mirrors were made of metal, and were extremely beautiful. Kagamiga kumoru to tamashii ga kumoru ('When the Mirror is dim, the Soul is unclean') is another curious proverb relating to mirrors. Perhaps the most beautiful and touching story of a mirror, in any language is that called Matsuyama-no-kagami, which has been translated by Mrs. James. Notes for Chapter Four 1 There is a legend that the Sun-Goddess invented the first hakama by tying together the skirts of her robe. 2 'Let us play the game called kango-kango. Plenteously the water of Jizo-San quickly draw--and pour on the pine-leaves--and turn back again.' Many of the games of Japanese children, like many of their toys, have a Buddhist origin, or at least a Buddhist significance. 3 I take the above translation from a Tokyo educational journal, entitled The Museum. The original document, however, was impressive to a degree that perhaps no translation could give. The Chinese words by which the Emperor refers to himself and his will are far more impressive than our Western 'We' or 'Our;' and the words relating to duties, virtues, wisdom, and other matters are words that evoke in a Japanese mind ideas which only those who know Japanese life perfectly can appreciate, and which, though variant from our own, are neither less beautiful nor less sacred. 4 Kimi ga yo wa chiyo ni yachiyo ni sazare ishi no iwa o to narite oke no musu made. Freely translated: 'May Our Gracious Sovereign reign a thousand years--reign ten thousand thousand years--reign till the little stone grow into a mighty rock, thick-velveted with ancient moss!' 5 Stoves, however, are being introduced. In the higher Government schools, and in the Normal Schools, the students who are boarders obtain a better diet than most poor boys can get at home. Their rooms are also well warmed. 6 Hachi yuki ya Neko no ashi ato Ume no hana. 7 Ni no ji fumi dasu Bokkuri kana. 8 This little poem signifies that whoever in this world thinks much, must have care, and that not to think about things is to pass one's life in untroubled felicity. 9 Having asked in various classes for written answers to the question, 'What is your dearest wish?' I found about twenty per cent, of the replies expressed, with little variation of words, the simple desire to die 'for His Sacred Majesty, Our Beloved Emperor.' But a considerable proportion of the remainder contained the same aspiration less directly stated in the wish to emulate the glory of Nelson, or to make Japan first among nations by heroism and sacrifice. While this splendid spirit lives in the hearts of her youth, Japan should have little to fear for the future. 10 Beautiful generosities of this kind are not uncommon in Japan. 11 The college porter 12 Except in those comparatively rare instances where the family is exclusively Shinto in its faith, or, although belonging to both faiths, prefers to bury its dead according to Shinto rites. In Matsue, as a rule, high officials only have Shinto funeral. 13 Unless the dead be buried according to the Shinto rite. In Matsue the mourning period is usually fifty days. On the fifty-first day after the decease, all members of the family go to Enjoji-nada (the lake-shore at the foot of the hill on which the great temple of Enjoji stands) to perform the ceremony of purification. At Enjoji-nada, on the beach, stands a lofty stone statue of Jizo. Before it the mourners pray; then wash their mouths and hands with the water of the lake. Afterwards they go to a friend's house for breakfast, the purification being always performed at daybreak, if possible. During the mourning period, no member of the family can eat at a friend's house. But if the burial has been according to the Shinto rite, all these ceremonial observances may be dispensed with. 14 But at samurai funerals in the olden time the women were robed in black. Notes for Chapter Five 1 As it has become, among a certain sect of Western Philistines and self-constituted art critics, the fashion to sneer at any writer who becomes enthusiastic about the truth to nature of Japanese art, I may cite here the words of England's most celebrated living naturalist on this very subject. Mr. Wallace's authority will scarcely, I presume, be questioned, even by the Philistines referred to: 'Dr. Mohnike possesses a large collection of coloured sketches of the plants of Japan made by a Japanese lady, which are the most masterly things I have ever seen. Every stem, twig, and leaf is produced by single touches of the brush, the character and perspective of very complicated plants being admirably given, and the articulations of stem and leaves shown in a most scientific manner.' (Malay Archipelago, chap. xx.) Now this was written in 1857, before European methods of drawing had been introduced. The same art of painting leaves, etc., with single strokes of the brush is still common in Japan--even among the poorest class of decorators. 2 There is a Buddhist saying about the kadomatsu: Kadomatsu Meido no tabi no Ichi-ri-zuka. The meaning is that each kadomatsu is a milestone on the journey to the Meido; or, in other words, that each New Year's festival signal only the completion of another stage of the ceaseless journey to death. 3 The difference between the shimenawa and shimekazari is that the latter is a strictly decorative straw rope, to which many curious emblems are attached. 4 It belongs to the sargassum family, and is full of air sacs. Various kinds of edible seaweed form a considerable proportion of Japanese diet. 5 'This is a curiously shaped staff with which the divinity Jizo is commonly represented. It is still carried by Buddhist mendicants, and there are several sizes of it. That carried by the Yaku-otoshj is usually very short. There is a tradition that the shakujo was first invented as a means of giving warning to insects or other little creatures in the path of the Buddhist pilgrim, so that they might not be trodden upon unawares. 6 I may make mention here of another matter, in no way relating to the Setsubun. There lingers in Izumo a wholesome--and I doubt not formerly a most valuable--superstition about the sacredness of writing. Paper upon which anything has been written, or even printed, must not be crumpled up, or trodden upon, or dirtied, or put to any base use. If it be necessary to destroy a document, the paper should be burned. I have been gently reproached in a little hotel at which I stopped for tearing up and crumpling some paper covered with my own writing. NOtes for Chapter Six 1 'A bucket honourably condescend [to give]. 2 The Kappa is not properly a sea goblin, but a river goblin, and haunts the sea only in the neighbourhood of river mouths. About a mile and a half from Matsue, at the little village of Kawachi-mura, on the river called Kawachi, stands a little temple called Kawako-no-miya, or the Miya of the Kappa. (In Izumo, among the common people, the word 'Kappa' is not used, but the term Kawako, or 'The Child of the River.') In this little shrine is preserved a document said to have been signed by a Kappa. The story goes that in ancient times the Kappa dwelling in the Kawachi used to seize and destroy many of the inhabitanta of the village and many domestic animals. One day, however, while trying to seize a horse that had entered the river to drink, the Kappa got its head twisted in some way under the belly-band of the horse, and the terrified animal, rushing out of the water, dragged the Kappa into a field. There the owner of the horse and a number of peasants seized and bound the Kappa. All the villagers gathered to see the monster, which bowed its head to the ground, and audibly begged for mercy. The peasants desired to kill the goblin at once; but the owner of the horse, who happened to be the head-man of the mura, said: 'It is better to make it swear never again to touch any person or animal belonging to Kawachi- mura. A written form of oath was prepared and read to the Kappa. It said that It could not write, but that It would sign the paper by dipping Its hand in ink, and pressing the imprint thereof at the bottom of the document. This having been agreed to and done, the Kappa was set free. From that time forward no inhabitant or animal of Kawachi-mura was ever assaulted by the goblin. 3 The Buddhist symbol. [The small illustration cannot be presented here. The arms are bent in the opposite direction to the Nazi swastika. Preparator's note] 4 'Help! help!' 5 Furuteya, the estab!ishment of a dea!er in second-hand wares--furute. 6 Andon, a paper lantern of peculiar construction, used as a night light. Some forms of the andon are remarkably beautiful. 7 'Ototsan! washi wo shimai ni shitesashita toki mo, chodo kon ya no yona tsuki yo data-ne?'--Izumo dialect. Notes for Chapter Seven 1 The Kyoto word is maiko. 2 Guitars of three strings. 3 It is sometimes customary for guests to exchange cups, after duly rinsing them. It is always a compliment to ask for your friend's cup. 4 Once more to rest beside her, or keep five thousand koku? What care I for koku? Let me be with her!' There lived in ancient times a haramoto called Fuji-eda Geki, a vassal of the Shogun. He had an income of five thousand koku of rice--a great income in those days. But he fell in love with an inmate of the Yoshiwara, named Ayaginu, and wished to marry her. When his master bade the vassal choose between his fortune and his passion, the lovers fled secretly to a farmer's house, and there committed suicide together. And the above song was made about them. It is still sung. 5 'Dear, shouldst thou die, grave shall hold thee never! I thy body's ashes, mixed with wine, wit! drink.' 6 Maneki-Neko 7 Buddhist food, containing no animal substance. Some kinds of shojin- ryori are quite appetising. 8 The terms oshiire and zendana might be partly rendered by 'wardrobe' and 'cupboard.' The fusuma are sliding screens serving as doors. 9 Tennin, a 'Sky-Maiden,' a Buddhist angel. 10 Her shrine is at Nara--not far from the temple of the giant Buddha. Notes for Chapter Eight 1 The names Dozen or Tozen, and Dogo or Toga, signify 'the Before- Islands' and 'the Behind-Islands.' 2 'Dokoe, dokoel' 'This is only a woman's baby' (a very small package). 'Dokoe, dokoel' 'This is the daddy, this is the daddy' (a big package). 'Dokoe, dokoel' ''Tis very small, very small!' 'Dokoe, dokoel' 'This is for Matsue, this is for Matsue!' 'Dokoe, dokoel' 'This is for Koetsumo of Yonago,' etc. 3 These words seem to have no more meaning than our 'yo-heaveho.' Yan- yui is a cry used by all Izumo and Hoki sailors. 4 This curious meaning is not given in Japanese-English dictionaries, where the idiom is translated merely by the phrase 'as aforesaid.' 5 The floor of a Japanese dwelling might be compared to an immense but very shallow wooden tray, divided into compartments corresponding to the various rooms. These divisions are formed by grooved and polished woodwork, several inches above the level, and made for the accommodation of the fusurna, or sliding screens, separating room from room. The compartments are filled up level with the partitions with tatami, or mats about the thickness of light mattresses, covered with beautifully woven rice-straw. The squared edges of the mats fit exactly together, and as the mats are not made for the house, but the house for the mats, all tatami are exactly the same size. The fully finished floor of each roam is thus like a great soft bed. No shoes, of course, can be worn in a Japanese house. As soon as the mats become in the least soiled they are replaced by new ones. 6 See article on Art in his Things Japanese. 7 It seems to be a black, obsidian. 8 There are several other versions of this legend. In one, it is the mare, and not the foal, which was drowned. 9 There are two ponds not far from each other. The one I visited was called 0-ike, or 'The Male Pond,' and the other, Me-ike, or 'The Female Pond.' 10 Speaking of the supposed power of certain trees to cure toothache, I may mention a curious superstition about the yanagi, or willow-tree. Sufferers from toothache sometimes stick needles into the tree, believing that the pain caused to the tree-spirit will force it to exercise its power to cure. I could not, however, find any record of this practice in Oki. 11 Moxa, a corruption of the native name of the mugwort plant: moe- kusa, or mogusa, 'the burning weed.' Small cones of its fibre are used for cauterising, according to the old Chinese system of medicine--the little cones being placed upon the patient's skin, lighted, and left to smoulder until wholly consumed. The result is a profound scar. The moxa is not only used therapeutically, but also as a punishment for very naughty children. See the interesting note on this subject in Professor Chamberlain's Things Japanese. 12 Nure botoke, 'a wet god.' This term is applied to the statue of a deity left exposed to the open air. 13 According to popular legend, in each eye of the child of a god or a dragon two Buddhas are visible. The statement in some of the Japanese ballads, that the hero sung of had four Buddhas in his eyes, is equivalent to the declaration that each of his eyes had a double-pupil. 14 The idea of the Atman will perhaps occur to many readers. 15 In 1892 a Japanese newspaper, published in Tokyo stated upon the authority of a physician who had visited Shimane, that the people of Oki believe in ghostly dogs instead of ghostly foxes. This is a mistake caused by the literal rendering of a term often used in Shi-mane, especially in Iwami, namely, inu-gami-mochi. It is only a euphemism for kitsune-mochi; the inu-gami is only the hito-kitsune, which is supposed to make itself visible in various animal forms. 16 Which words signify something like this: 'Sleep, baby, sleep! Why are the honourable ears of the Child of the Hare of the honourable mountain so long? 'Tis because when he dwelt within her honoured womb, his mamma ate the leaves of the loquat, the leaves of the bamboo-grass, That is why his honourable ears are so long.' 17 The Japanese police are nearly all of the samurai class, now called shizoku. I think this force may be considered the most perfect police in the world; but whether it will retain those magnificent qualities which at present distinguish it, after the lapse of another generation, is doubtful. It is now the samurai blood that tells. Notes for Chapter Nine 1 Afterwards I found that the old man had expressed to me only one popular form of a belief which would require a large book to fully explain--a belief founded upon Chinese astrology, but possibly modified by Buddhist and by Shinto ideas. This notion of compound Souls cannot be explained at all without a prior knowledge of the astrological relation between the Chinese Zodiacal Signs and the Ten Celestial Stems. Some understanding of these may be obtained from the curious article 'Time,' in Professor Chamberlain's admirable little book, Things Japanese. The relation having been perceived, it is further necessary to know that under the Chinese astrological system each year is under the influence of one or other of the 'Five Elements'--Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water; and according to the day and year of one's birth, one's temperament is celestially decided. A Japanese mnemonic verse tells us the number of souls or natures corresponding to each of the Five Elemental Influences --namely, nine souls for Wood, three for Fire, one for Earth, seven for Metal, five for Water: Kiku karani Himitsu no yama ni Tsuchi hitotsu Nanatsu kane to zo Go suiryo are. Multiplied into ten by being each one divided into 'Elder' and 'Younger,' the Five Elements become the Ten Celestial Stems; and their influences are commingled with those of the Rat, Bull, Tiger, Hare, Dragon, Serpent, Horse, Goat, Ape, Cock, Dog, and Boar (the twelve Zodiacal Signs)--all of which have relations to time, place, life, luck, misfortune, etc. But even these hints give no idea whatever how enormously complicated the subject really is. The book the old gardener referred to--once as widely known in Japan as every fortune-telling book in any European country--was the San-re-so, copies of which may still be picked up. Contrary to Kinjuro's opinion, however, it is held, by those learned in such Chinese matters, just as bad to have too many souls as to have too few. To have nine souls is to be too 'many-minded'--without fixed purpose; to have only one soul is to lack quick intelligence. According to the Chinese astrological ideas, the word 'natures' or 'characters' would perhaps be more accurate than the word 'souls' in this case. There is a world of curious fancies, born out of these beliefs. For one example of hundreds, a person having a Fire-nature must not marry one having a Water-nature. Hence the proverbial saying about two who cannot agree--'They are like Fire and Water.' 2 Usually an Inari temple. Such things are never done at the great Shinto shrines. Notes for Chapter Ten 1 In other parts of Japan I have heard the Yuki-Onna described as a very beautiful phantom who lures young men to lonesome places for the purpose of sucking their blood. 2 In Izumo the Dai-Kan, or Period of Greatest Cold, falls in February. 3 'It is excellent: I pray you give me a little more.' 4 Kwashi: Japanese confectionery Notes for Chapter Eleven 1 The reader will find it well worth his while to consult the chapter entitled 'Domestic Service,' in Miss Bacon's Japanese Girls and Women, for an interesting and just presentation of the practical side of the subject, as relating to servants of both sexes. The poetical side, however, is not treated of--perhaps because intimately connected with religious beliefs which one writing from the Christian standpoint could not be expected to consider sympathetically. Domestic service in ancient Japan was both transfigured and regulated by religion; and the force of the religious sentiment concerning it may be divined from the Buddhist saying, still current: Oya-ko wa is-se, Fufu wa ni-se, Shuju wa san-se. The relation of parent and child endures for the space of one life only; that of husband and wife for the space of two lives; but the relation between msater and servant continues for the period of three existences. 2 The shocks continued, though with lessening frequency and violence, for more than six months after the cataclysm. 3 Of course the converse is the rule in condoling with the sufferer. 4 Dhammapada. 5 Dammikkasutta. 6 Dhammapada. 7 These extracts from a translation in the Japan Daily Mail, November 19, 20, 1890, of Viscount Torio's famous conservative essay do not give a fair idea of the force and logic of the whole. The essay is too long to quote entire; and any extracts from the Mail's admirable translation suffer by their isolation from the singular chains of ethical, religious, and philosophical reasoning which bind the Various parts of the composition together. The essay was furthermore remarkable as the production of a native scholar totally uninfluenced by Western thought. He correctly predicted those social and political disturbances which have occurred in Japan since the opening of the new parliament. Viscount Torio is also well known as a master of Buddhist philosophy. He holds a high rank in the Japanese army. 8 In expressing my earnest admiration of this wonderful book, I must, however, declare that several of its conclusions, and especially the final ones, represent the extreme reverse of my own beliefs on the subject. I do not think the Japanese without individuality; but their individuality is less superficially apparent, and reveals itself much less quickly, than that of Western people. I am also convinced that much of what we call 'personality' and 'force of character' in the West represents only the survival and recognition of primitive aggressive tendencies, more or less disguised by culture. What Mr. Spencer calls the highest individuation surely does not include extraordinary development of powers adapted to merely aggressive ends; and yet it is rather through these than through any others that Western individuality most commonly and readily manifests itself. Now there is, as yet, a remarkable scarcity in Japan, of domineering, brutal, aggressive, or morbid individuality. What does impress one as an apparent weakness in Japanese intellectual circles is the comparative absence of spontaneity, creative thought, original perceptivity of the highest order. Perhaps this seeming deficiency is racial: the peoples of the Far East seem to have been throughout their history receptive rather than creative. At all events I cannot believe Buddhism--originally the faith of an Aryan race--can be proven responsible. The total exclusion of Buddhist influence from public education would not seem to have been stimulating; for the masters of the old Buddhist philosophy still show a far higher capacity for thinking in relations than that of the average graduate of the Imperial University. Indeed, I am inclined to believe that an intellectual revival of Buddhism--a harmonising of its loftier truths with the best and broadest teachings of modern science--would have the most important results for Japan. 9 Herbert Spencer. A native scholar, Mr. Inouye Enryo, has actually founded at Tokyo with this noble object in view, a college of philosophy which seems likely, at the present writing, to become an influential institution. 
27604	----	available by Internet Archive (http://www.archive.org) Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See http://www.archive.org/details/historyofjapanes00briniala A HISTORY OF THE JAPANESE PEOPLE From the Earliest Times to the End of the Meiji Era by CAPT. F. BRINKLEY, R. A. Editor of the "Japan Mail" With the Collaboration of BARON KIKUCHI Former President of the Imperial University at Kyoto With 150 Illustrations Engraved on Wood by Japanese Artists; Half-Tone Plates, and Maps DEDICATED BY GRACIOUS PERMISSION TO HIS MAJESTY MEIJI TENNO, THE LATE EMPEROR OF JAPAN FOREWORD It is trite to remark that if you wish to know really any people, it is necessary to have a thorough knowledge of their history, including their mythology, legends and folk-lore: customs, habits and traits of character, which to a superficial observer of a different nationality or race may seem odd and strange, sometimes even utterly subversive of ordinary ideas of morality, but which can be explained and will appear quite reasonable when they are traced back to their origin. The sudden rise of the Japanese nation from an insignificant position to a foremost rank in the comity of nations has startled the world. Except in the case of very few who had studied us intimately, we were a people but little raised above barbarism trying to imitate Western civilisation without any capacity for really assimilating or adapting it. At first, it was supposed that we had somehow undergone a sudden transformation, but it was gradually perceived that such could not be and was not the case; and a crop of books on Japan and the Japanese, deep and superficial, serious and fantastic, interesting and otherwise, has been put forth for the benefit of those who were curious to know the reason of this strange phenomenon. But among so many books, there has not yet been, so far as I know, a history of Japan, although a study of its history was most essential for the proper understanding of many of the problems relating to the Japanese people, such as the relation of the Imperial dynasty to the people, the family system, the position of Buddhism, the influence of the Chinese philosophy, etc. A history of Japan of moderate size has indeed long been a desideratum; that it was not forthcoming was no doubt due to the want of a proper person to undertake such a work. Now just the right man has been found in the author of the present work, who, an Englishman by birth, is almost Japanese in his understanding of, and sympathy with, the Japanese people. It would indeed be difficult to find any one better fitted for the task--by no means an easy one--of presenting the general features of Japanese history to Western readers, in a compact and intelligible form, and at the same time in general harmony with the Japanese feeling. The Western public and Japan are alike to be congratulated on the production of the present work. I may say this without any fear of reproach for self-praise, for although my name is mentioned in the title-page, my share is very slight, consisting merely in general advice and in a few suggestions on some special points. DAIROKU KIKUCHI. KYOTO, 1912. AUTHOR'S PREFACE During the past three decades Japanese students have devoted much intelligent labour to collecting and collating the somewhat disjointed fragments of their country's history. The task would have been practically impossible for foreign historiographers alone, but now that the materials have been brought to light there is no insuperable difficulty in making them available for purposes of joint interpretation. That is all I have attempted to do in these pages, and I beg to solicit pardon for any defect they may be found to contain. F. BRINKLEY. TOKYO, 1912. CONTENTS CHAPTER I. The Historiographer's Art in Old Japan II. Japanese Mythology III. Japanese Mythology (Continued) IV. Rationalization V. Origin of the Japanese Nation: Historical Evidences VI. Origin of the Nation: Geographical and Archaeological Relics VII. Language and Physical Characteristics VIII. Manners and Customs in Remote Antiquity IX. The Prehistoric Sovereigns X. The Prehistoric Sovereigns (Continued) XI. The Prehistoric Sovereigns (Continued) XII. The Protohistoric Sovereigns XIII. The Protohistoric Sovereigns (Continued) XIV. From the 29th to the 35th Sovereign XV. The Daika Reforms XVI. The Daiho Laws and the Yoro Laws XVII. The Nara Epoch XVIII. The Heian Epoch XIX. The Heian Epoch (Continued) XX. The Heian Epoch (Continued) XXI. The Capital and the Provinces XXII. Recovery of Administrative Authority by the Throne XXIII. Manners and Customs of the Heian Epoch XXIV. The Epoch of the Gen (Minamoto) and the Hei (Taira) XXV. The Epoch of the Gen and the Hei (Continued) XXVI. The Kamakura Bakufu XXVII. The Hojo XXVIII. Art, Religion, Literature, Customs, and Commerce in the Kamakura Period XXIX. Fall of the Hojo and Rise of the Ashikaga XXX. The War of the Dynasties XXXI. The Fall of the Ashikaga XXXII. Foreign Intercourse, Literature, Art, Religion, Manners, and Customs in the Muromachi Epoch XXXIII. The Epoch of Wars (Sengoku Jidai) XXXIV. Nobunaga, Hideyoshi, and Ieyasu XXXV. The Invasion of Korea XXXVI. The Momo-Yama Epoch XXXVII. Christianity in Japan XXXVIII. The Tokugawa Shogunate XXXIX. First Period of the Tokugawa Bakufu; from the First Tokugawa Shogun, Ieyasu, to the Fourth, Ietsuna (1603-1680) XL. Middle Period of the Tokugawa Bakufu; from the Fifth Shogun, Tsunayoshi, to the Tenth Shogun, Ieharu (1680-1786) XLI. The Late Period of the Tokugawa Bakufu. The Eleventh Shogun,Ienari (1786-1838) XLII. Organization, Central and Local; Currency and the Laws of the Tokugawa Bakufu XLIII. Revival of the Shinto Cult XLIV. Foreign Relations and the Decline of the Tokugawa XLV. Foreign Relations and the Decline of the Tokugawa (Continued) XLVI. The Meiji Government XLVII. Wars with China and Russia APPENDIX 1. Constitution of Japan, 1889 2. Anglo-Japanese Agreement, 1905 3. Treaty of Portsmouth, 1905 INDEX HISTORICAL MAPS Japan about 1337: Northern and Southern Courts Japan in Era of Wars, 1577: Distribution of Fiefs Japan in 1615: Feudatories Japan, Korea and the Mainland of Asia FULL PAGE HALF-TONES Capt. F. Brinkley, R. A. The Emperor Jimmu The Shrine of Ise Prehistoric Remains: Plate A Prehistoric Remains: Plate B Prince Shotoku Kaigen Ceremony of the Nara Daibutsu Thirty-six Versifiers (Painting by Korin) Cherry-Viewing Festival at Mukojima Kamakura Daibutsu Kinkaku-ji (Golden Pavilion) Court Costumes Tokugawa Shrine at Nikko The Emperor Meiji (Mutsuhito) Sinking of the Russian Battleship Osliabya Admiral Togo WORKS CONSULTED ENGRAVING: MT. FUJI SEEN FROM THE FUJI-GAWA CHAPTER I THE HISTORIOGRAPHER'S ART IN OLD JAPAN MATERIALS FOR HISTORY IN the earliest eras of historic Japan there existed a hereditary corporation of raconteurs (Katari-be) who, from generation to generation, performed the function of reciting the exploits of the sovereigns and the deeds of heroes. They accompanied themselves on musical instruments, and naturally, as time went by, each set of raconteurs embellished the language of their predecessors, adding supernatural elements, and introducing details which belonged to the realm of romance rather than to that of ordinary history. These Katari-be would seem to have been the sole repository of their country's annals until the sixth century of the Christian era. Their repertories of recitation included records of the great families as well as of the sovereigns, and it is easy to conceive that the favour and patronage of these high personages were earned by ornamenting the traditions of their households and exalting their pedigrees. But when the art of writing was introduced towards the close of the fourth century, or at the beginning of the fifth, and it was seen that in China, then the centre of learning and civilization, the art had been applied to the compilation of a national history as well as of other volumes possessing great ethical value, the Japanese conceived the ambition of similarly utilizing their new attainment. For reasons which will be understood by and by, the application of the ideographic script to the language of Japan was a task of immense difficulty, and long years must have passed before the attainment of any degree of proficiency. Thus it was not until the time of the Empress Suiko (593-628) that the historical project took practical shape. Her Majesty, at the instance, doubtless, of Prince Shotoku, one of the greatest names in all Japan's annals, instructed the prince himself and her chief minister, Soga no Umako, to undertake the task of compiling historical documents, and there resulted a Record of the Emperors (Tennoki), a Record of the Country (Koki), and Original Records (Hongi) of the Free People (i.e., the Japanese proper as distinguished from aliens, captives, and aborigines), of the great families and of the 180 Hereditary Corporations (Be). This work was commenced in the year 620, but nothing is known as to the date of its completion. It represents the first Japanese history. A shortlived compilation it proved, for in the year 645, the Soga chiefs, custodians of the documents, threw them into the fire on the eve of their own execution for treason. One only, the Record of the Country, was plucked from the flames, and is believed to have been subsequently incorporated in the Kojiki '(Records of Ancient Things).' No immediate attempt seems to have been made to remedy the loss of these invaluable writings. Thirty-seven years later the Emperor Temmu took the matter in hand. One of his reasons for doing so has been historically transmitted. Learning that "the chronicles of the sovereigns and the original words in the possession of the various families deviated from the truth and were largely amplified with empty falsehoods," his Majesty conceived that unless speedy steps were taken to correct the confusion and eliminate the errors, an irremediable state of affairs would result. Such a preface prepares us to learn that a body of experts was appointed to distinguish the true and the false, and to set down the former alone. The Emperor did, in fact, commission a number of princes and officials to compile an authentic history, and we shall presently see how their labours resulted. But in the first place a special feature of the situation has to be noted. The Japanese language was then undergoing a transition. In order to fit it to the Chinese ideographs for literary purposes, it was being deprived of its mellifluous polysyllabic character and reduced to monosyllabic terseness. The older words were disappearing, and with them many of the old traditions. Temmu saw that if the work of compilation was abandoned solely to princely and official littérateurs, they would probably sacrifice on the altar of the ideograph much that was venerable and worthy to be preserved. He therefore himself undertook the collateral task of having the antique traditions collected and expurgated, and causing them to be memorized by a chamberlain, Hiyeda no Are, a man then in his twenty-eighth year, who was gifted with ability to repeat accurately everything heard once by him. Are's mind was soon stored with a mass of ancient facts and obsolescent phraseology, but before either the task of official compilation or that of private restoration had been carried to completion the Emperor died (686), and an interval of twenty-five years elapsed before the Empress Gemmyo, on the 18th of September, 711, ordered a scholar, Ono Yasumaro, to transcribe the records stored in Are's memory. Four months sufficed for the work, and on the 28th of January, 712, Yasumaro submitted to the Throne the Kojiki (Records of Ancient Things) which ranked as the first history of Japan, and which will be here referred to as the Records. THE NIHONGI AND THE NIHON SHOKI It is necessary to revert now to the unfinished work of the classical compilers, as they may be called, whom the Emperor Temmu nominated in 682, but whose labours had not been concluded when his Majesty died in 686. There is no evidence that their task was immediately continued in an organized form, but it is related that during the reign of Empress Jito (690-696) further steps were taken to collect historical materials, and that the Empress Gemmyo (708-715)--whom we have seen carrying out, in 712, her predecessor Temmu's plan with regard to Hiyeda no Are--added, in 714, two skilled littérateurs to Temmu's classical compilers, and thus enabled them to complete their task, which took the shape of a book called the Nihongi (Chronicle of Japan). This work, however, did not prove altogether satisfactory. It was written, for the most part, with a script called the Manyo syllabary; that is to say, with Chinese ideographs employed phonetically, and it did not at all attain the literary standard of its Chinese prototype. Therefore, the Empress entrusted to Prince Toneri and Ono Yasumaro the task of revising it, and their amended manuscript, concluded in 720, received the name of Nihon Shoki (Written Chronicles of Japan), the original being distinguished as Kana Nihongi, or Syllabic Chronicles. The Nihon Shoki consisted originally of thirty-one volumes, but of these one, containing the genealogies of the sovereigns, has been lost. It covers the whole of the prehistoric period and that part of the historic which extends from the accession of the Emperor Jimmu (660 B.C.) to the abdication of the Empress Jito (A.D. 697). The Kojiki extends back equally far, but terminates at the death of the Empress Suiko (A.D. 628). THE FUDOKI In the year 713, when the Empress Gemmyo was on the throne, all the provinces of the empire received orders to submit to the Court statements setting forth the natural features of the various localities, together with traditions and remarkable occurrences. These documents were called Fudoki (Records of Natural Features). Many of them have been lost, but a few survive, as those of Izumo, Harima, and Hitachi. CHARACTER OF THE RECORDS AND THE CHRONICLES The task of applying ideographic script to phonetic purposes is exceedingly difficult. In the ideographic script each character has a distinct sound and a complete meaning. Thus, in China shan signifies "mountain," and ming "light." But in Japanese "mountain" becomes yama and "light" akari. It is evident, then, that one of two things has to be done. Either the sounds of the Japanese words must be changed to those of the Chinese ideographs; or the sounds of the Chinese ideographs must alone be taken (irrespective of their meaning), and with them a phonetic syllabary must be formed. Both of these devices were employed by a Japanese scholar of early times. Sometimes disregarding the significance of the ideographs altogether, he used them simply as representing sounds, and with them built up pure Japanese words; at other times, he altered the sounds of Japanese words to those of their Chinese equivalents and then wrote them frankly with their ideographic symbols. In this way each Japanese word came to have two pronunciations: first, its own original sound for colloquial purposes; and second, its borrowed sound for purposes of writing. At the outset the spoken and the written languages were doubtless kept tolerably distinct. But by degrees, as respect for Chinese literature developed, it became a learned accomplishment to pronounce Japanese words after the Chinese manner, and the habit ultimately acquired such a vogue that the language of men--who wrote and spoke ideographically--grew to be different from the language of women--who wrote and spoke phonetically. When Hiyeda no Are was required to memorize the annals and traditions collected and revised at the Imperial Court, the language in which he committed them to heart was pure Japanese, and in that language he dictated them, twenty-nine years later, to the scribe Yasumaro. The latter, in setting down the products of Are's memory, wrote for the most part phonetically; but sometimes, finding that method too cumbersome, he had recourse to the ideographic language, with which he was familiar. At all events, adding nothing nor taking away anything, he produced a truthful record of the myths, traditions, and salient historical incidents credited by the Japanese of the seventh century. It may well be supposed, nevertheless, that Are's memory, however tenacious, failed in many respects, and that his historical details were comparatively meagre. An altogether different spirit presided at the work subsequently undertaken by this same Yasumaro, when, in conjunction with other scholars, he was required to collate the historical materials obtained abundantly from various sources since the vandalism of the Soga nobles. The prime object of these collaborators was to produce a Japanese history worthy to stand side by side with the classic models of China. Therefore, they used the Chinese language almost entirely, the chief exception being in the case of the old poems, a great number of which appear in the Records and the Chronicles alike. The actual words of these poems had to be preserved as well as the metre, and therefore it was necessary to indite them phonetically. For the rest, the Nihon Shoki, which resulted from the labours of these annalists and literati, was so Chinese that its authors did not hesitate to draw largely upon the cosmogonic myths of the Middle Kingdom, and to put into the mouths of Japanese monarchs, or into their decrees, quotations from Chinese literature. "As a repertory of ancient Japanese myth and legend there is little to choose between the Records and the Chronicles. The former is, on the whole, the fuller of the two, and contains legends which the latter passes over in silence; but the Chronicles, as we now have them, are enriched by variants of the early myths, the value of which, for purposes of comparison, is recognized by scientific inquirers. But there can be no comparison between the two works when viewed as history. Hiyeda no Are's memory cannot be expected to compete in fullness and accuracy with the abundant documentary literature accessible to the writers of the Chronicles, and an examination of the two works shows that, in respect to the record of actual events, the Chronicles are far the more useful authority".* *Aston's Nihongi. It will readily be supposed, too, that the authors of both works confused the present with the past, and, in describing the manners and customs of by-gone eras, unconsciously limned their pictures with colours taken from the palette of their own times, "when the national thought and institutions had become deeply modified by Chinese influences." Valuable as the two books are, therefore, they cannot be accepted without large limitations. The Nihon Shoki occupied a high place in national esteem from the outset. In the year following its compilation, the Empress Gensho summoned eminent scholars to the Court and caused them to deliver lectures on the contents of the book, a custom which was followed regularly by subsequent sovereigns and still finds a place among the New Year ceremonials. This book proved to be the precursor of five others with which it is commonly associated by Japanese scholars. They are the Zoku Nihongi (Supplementary Chronicles of Japan), in forty volumes, which covers the period from 697 to 791 and was finished in 798; the Nihon Koki (Later Chronicles of Japan), in forty volumes--ten only survive--which covers the period from 792 to 833; the Zoku Nihon Koki (Supplementary Later Chronicles), in twenty volumes, which covers the single reign of the Emperor Nimmyo (834-850) and was compiled in 869; the Montoku Jitsu-roku (True Annals of Montoku), in ten volumes, covering the reign of Montoku (851-858), and compiled in 879, and the Sandai Jitsu-roku (True Annals of Three Reigns) in fifty volumes, covering the period from 859 to 887 and compiled in 901. These five compilations together with the Nihon Shoki are honoured as the Six National Histories. It is noticeable that the writers were men of the highest rank, from prime ministers downwards. In such honour was the historiographer's art held in Japan in the eighth and ninth centuries. CHRONOLOGY Before beginning to read Japanese history it is necessary to know something of the chronology followed in its pages. There have been in Japan four systems for counting the passage of time. The first is by the reigns of the Emperors. That is to say, the first year of a sovereign's reign--reckoning from the New Year's day following his accession--became the 1 of the series, and the years were thenceforth numbered consecutively until his death or abdication. This method might be sufficiently accurate if the exact duration of each reign were known as well as the exact sequence of the reigns. But no such precision could be expected in the case of unwritten history, transmitted orally from generation to generation. Thus, while Japanese annalists, by accepting the aggregate duration of all the reigns known to them, arrive at the conclusion that the first Emperor, Jimmu, ascended the throne in the year 660 B.C., it is found on analysis that their figures assign to the first seventeen sovereigns an average age of 109 years. The second system was by means of periods deriving their name (nengo) from some remarkable incident. Thus, the discovery of copper in Japan was commemorated by calling the year Wado (Japanese copper), and the era so called lasted seven years. Such a plan was even more liable to error than the device of reckoning by reigns, and a specially confusing feature was that the first year of the period dated retrospectively from the previous New Year's day, so that events were often recorded as having occurred in the final year of one period and in the opening year of another. This system was originally imported from China in the year A.D. 645, and is at present in use, the year 1910 being the forty-third of the Meiji (Enlightenment and Peace) period. The third system was that of the sexagenary cycle. This was operated after the manner of a clock having two concentric dials, the circumference of the larger dial being divided into ten equal parts, each marked with one of the ten "celestial signs," and the circumference of the smaller dial being divided into twelve equal parts each marked with one of the twelve signs of the zodiac. The long hand of the clock, pointing to the larger dial, was supposed to make one revolution in ten years, and the shorter hand, pointing to the small dial, revolved once in twelve years. Thus, starting from the point where the marks on the two dials coincide, the long hand gained upon the short hand by one-sixtieth each year, and once in every sixty years the two hands were found at the point of conjunction. Years were indicated by naming the "celestial stem" and the zodiacal sign to which the imaginary hands happen to be pointing, just as clock-time is indicated by the minutes read from the long hand and the hours from the short. The sexagenary cycle came into use in China in 623 B.C. The exact date of its importation into Japan is unknown, but it was probably about the end of the fourth century A.D. It is a sufficiently accurate manner of counting so long as the tale of cycles is carefully kept, but any neglect in that respect exposes the calculator to an error of sixty years or some multiple of sixty. Keen scrutiny and collation of the histories of China, Korea, and Japan have exposed a mistake of at least 120 years connected with the earliest employment of the sexagenary cycle in Japan. The fourth method corresponds to that adopted in Europe where the number of a year is referred to the birth of Christ. In Japan, the accession of the Emperor Jimmu--660 B.C.--is taken for a basis, and thus the Occidental year 1910 becomes the 2570th year of the Japanese dynasty. With such methods of reckoning some collateral evidence is needed before accepting any of the dates given in Japanese annals. Kaempfer and even Rein were content to endorse the chronology of the Chronicles--the Records avoid dates altogether--but other Occidental scholars* have with justice been more sceptical, and their doubts have been confirmed by several eminent Japanese historians in recent times. Where, then, is collateral evidence to be found? *Notably Bramsen, Aston, Satow, and Chamberlain. In the pages of Chinese and Korean history. There is, of course, no inherent reason for attributing to Korean history accuracy superior to that of Japanese history. But in China the habit of continuously compiling written annals had been practised for many centuries before Japanese events began even to furnish materials for romantic recitations, and no serious errors have been proved against Chinese historiographers during the periods when comparison with Japanese annals is feasible. In Korea's case, too, verification is partially possible. Thus, during the first five centuries of the Christian era, Chinese annals contain sixteen notices of events in Korea. If Korean history be examined as to these events, it is found to agree in ten instances, to disagree in two, and to be silent in four.* This record tends strongly to confirm the accuracy of the Korean annals, and it is further to be remembered that the Korean peninsula was divided during many centuries into three principalities whose records serve as mutual checks. Finally, Korean historians do not make any such demand upon our credulity as the Japanese do in the matter of length of sovereigns' reigns. For example, while the number of successions to the throne of Japan during the first four centuries of the Christian era is set down as seven only, making fifty-six years the average duration of a reign, the corresponding numbers for the three Korean principalities are sixteen, seventeen, and sixteen, respectively, making the average length of a reign from twenty-four to twenty-five years. It is, indeed, a very remarkable fact that whereas the average age of the first seventeen Emperors of Japan, who are supposed to have reigned from 660 B.C. down to A.D. 399, was 109 years, this incredible habit of longevity ceased abruptly from the beginning of the fifth century, the average age of the next seventeen having been only sixty-one and a half years; and it is a most suggestive coincidence that the year A.D. 461 is the first date of the accepted Japanese chronology which is confirmed by Korean authorities. *Aston's essay on Early Japanese History In fact, the conclusion is almost compulsory that Japanese authentic history, so far as dates are concerned, begins from the fifth century. Chinese annals, it is true, furnish one noteworthy and much earlier confirmation of Japanese records. They show that Japan was ruled by a very renowned queen during the first half of the third century of the Christian era, and it was precisely at that epoch that the Empress Jingo is related by Japanese history to have made herself celebrated at home and abroad. Chinese historiographers, however, put Jingo's death in the year A.D. 247, whereas Japanese annalists give the date as 269. Indeed there is reason to think that just at this time--second half of the third century--some special causes operated to disturb historical coherence in Japan, for not only does Chinese history refer to several signal events in Japan which find no place in the latter's records, but also Korean history indicates that the Japanese dates of certain cardinal incidents err by exactly 120 years. Two cycles in the sexagenary system of reckoning constitute 120 years, and the explanation already given makes it easy to conceive the dropping of that length of time by recorders having only tradition to guide them. On the whole, whatever may be said as to the events of early Japanese history, its dates can not be considered trustworthy before the beginning of the fifth century. There is evidently one other point to be considered in this context; namely, the introduction of writing. Should it appear that the time when the Japanese first began to possess written records coincides with the time when, according to independent research, the dates given in their annals begin to synchronize with those of Chinese and Korean history, another very important landmark will be furnished. There, is such synchronism, but it is obtained at the cost of considerations which cannot be lightly dismissed. For, although it is pretty clearly established that an event which occured at the beginning of the fifth century preluded the general study of the Chinese language in Japan and may not unreasonably be supposed to have led to the use of the Chinese script in compiling historical records, still it is even more clearly established that from a much remoter era Japan had been on terms of some intimacy with her neighbours, China and Korea, and had exchanged written communications with them, so that the art of writing was assuredly known to her long before the fifth century of the Christian era, to whatever services she applied it. This subject will present itself again for examination in more convenient circumstances. ENGRAVING: YUKIMIDORO (Style of Stone Lantern used in Japanese Gardens) ENGRAVING: "YATSUHASHI" STYLE OF GARDEN BRIDGE CHAPTER II JAPANESE MYTHOLOGY KAMI THE mythological page of a country's history has an interest of its own apart from legendary relations; it affords indications of the people's creeds and furnishes traces of the nation's genesis. In Japan's mythology there is a special difficulty for the interpreter--a difficulty of nomenclature. It has been the constant habit of foreign writers of Japan's story to speak of an "Age of Gods" (Kami no yo). But the Japanese word Kami* does not necessarily convey any such meaning. It has no divine import. We shall presently find that of the hundreds of families into which Japanese society came to be divided, each had its Kami, and that he was nothing more than the head of the household. Fifty years ago, the Government was commonly spoken of as O Kami (the Honourable Head), and a feudatory frequently had the title of Kami of such and such a locality. Thus to translate Kami by "deity" or "god" is misleading, and as the English language furnishes no exact equivalent, the best plan is to adhere to the original expression. That plan is adopted in the following brief summary of Japanese mythology. *Much stress is laid upon the point by that most accurate scholar, Mr. B. H. Chamberlain. COSMOGONY Japanese mythology opens at the beginning of "the heaven and the earth." But it makes no attempt to account for the origin of things. It introduces us at once to a "plain of high heaven," the dwelling place of these invisible* Kami, one of whom is the great central being, and the other two derive their titles from their productive attributes. But as to what they produced or how they produced it, no special indication is given. Thereafter two more Kami are born from an elementary reedlike substance that sprouts on an inchoate earth. This is the first reference to organic matter. The two newly born Kami are invisible like their predecessors, and like them are not represented as taking any part in the creation. They are solitary, unseeable, and functionless, but the evident idea is that they have a more intimate connexion with cosmos than the Kami who came previously into existence, for one of them is named after the reed-shoot from which he emanated, and to the other is attributed the property of standing eternally in the heavens. *The expression here translated "invisible" has been interpreted in the sense that the Kami "hid their persons," i.e., died, but the true meaning seems to be that they were invisible. Up to this point there has not been any suggestion of measuring time. But now the record begins to speak of "generations." Two more solitary and invisible beings are born, one called the Kami who stands eternally on earth, the other the "abundant integrator." Each of these represents a generation, and it will be observed that up to this time no direct mention whatever is made of sex. Now, however, five generations ensue, each consisting of two Kami, a male and a female, and thus the epithet "solitary" as applied to the first seven Kami becomes intelligible. All these generations are represented as gradually approximating to the exercise of creative functions, for the names* become more and more suggestive of earthly relations. The last couple, forming the fifth generation, are Izanagi and Izanami, appellations signifying the male Kami of desire and the female Kami of desire. By all the other Kami these two are commissioned to "make, consolidate, and give birth to the drifting land," a jewelled spear being given to them as a token of authority, and a floating bridge being provided to carry them to earth. Izanagi and Izanami thrust the spear downwards and stir the "brine" beneath, with the result that it coagulates, and, dropping from the spear's point, forms the first of the Japanese islands, Onogoro. This island they take as the basis of their future operations, and here they beget, by ordinary human processes--which are described without any reservations--first, "a great number of islands, and next, a great number of Kami." It is related that the first effort of procreation was not successful, the outcome being a leechlike abortion and an island of foam, the former of which was sent adrift in a boat of reeds. The islands afterwards created form a large part of Japan, but between these islands and the Kami, begotten in succession to them, no connexion is traceable. In several cases the names of the Kami seem to be personifications of natural objects. Thus we have the Kami of the "wind's breath," of the sea, of the rivers, of the "water-gates" (estuaries and ports), of autumn, of "foam-calm," of "bubbling waves," of "water-divisions," of trees, of mountains, of moors, of valleys, etc. But with very rare exceptions, all these Kami have no subsequent share in the scheme of things and cannot be regarded as evidence that the Japanese were nature worshippers. *The Kami of mud-earth; the Kami of germ-integration; the Kami of the great place; the Kami of the perfect exterior, etc. A change of method is now noticeable. Hitherto the process of production has been creative; henceforth the method is transformation preceded by destruction. Izanami dies in giving birth to the Kami of fire, and her body is disintegrated into several beings, as the male and female Kami of metal mountains, the male and female Kami of viscid clay, the female Kami of abundant food, and the Kami of youth; while from the tears of Izanagi as he laments her decease is born the female Kami of lamentation. Izanagi then turns upon the child, the Kami of fire, which has cost Izanami her life, and cuts off its head; whereupon are born from the blood that stains his sword and spatters the rocks eight Kami, whose names are all suggestive of the violence that called them into existence. An equal number of Kami, all having sway over mountains, are born from the head and body of the slaughtered child. At this point an interesting episode is recorded. Izanagi visits the "land of night," with the hope of recovering his spouse.* He urges her to return, as the work in which they were engaged is not yet completed. She replies that, unhappily having already eaten within the portals of the land of night, she may not emerge without the permission of the Kami** of the underworld, and she conjures him, while she is seeking that permission, not to attempt to look on her face. He, however, weary of waiting, breaks off one of the large teeth of the comb that holds his hair*** and, lighting it, uses it as a torch. He finds Izanami's body in a state of putrefaction, and amid the decaying remains eight Kami of thunder have been born and are dwelling. Izanagi, horrified, turns and flees, but Izanami, enraged that she has been "put to shame," sends the "hideous hag of hades" to pursue him. He obtains respite twice; first by throwing down his head-dress, which is converted into grapes, and then casting away his comb, which is transformed into bamboo sprouts, and while the hag stops to eat these delicacies, he flees. Then Izanami sends in his pursuit the eight Kami of thunder with fifteen hundred warriors of the underworld.**** He holds them off for a time by brandishing his sword behind him, and finally, on reaching the pass from the nether to the upper world, he finds three peaches growing there with which he pelts his pursuers and drives them back. The peaches are rewarded with the title of "divine fruit," and entrusted with the duty of thereafter helping all living people***** in the central land of "reed plains"****** as they have helped Izanagi. *It is unnecessary to comment upon the identity of this incident with the legend of Orpheus and Eurydice. **It will be observed that we hear of these Kami now for the first time. ***This is an obvious example of a charge often preferred against the compilers of the Records that they inferred the manners and customs of remote antiquity from those of their own time. ****Again we have here evidence that the story of creation, as told in the Records, is not supposed to be complete. It says nothing as to how the denizens of the underworld came into existence. *****The first mention of human beings. ******This epithet is given to Japan. This curious legend does not end here. Finding that the hag of hades, the eight Kami of thunder, and the fifteen hundred warriors have all been repulsed, Izanami herself goes in pursuit. But her way is blocked by a huge rock which Izanagi places in the "even pass of hades," and from the confines of the two worlds the angry pair exchange messages of final separation, she threatening to kill a thousand folk daily in his land if he repeats his acts of violence, and he declaring that, in such event, he will retaliate by causing fifteen hundred to be born. In all this, no mention whatever is found of the manner in which human beings come into existence: they make their appearance upon the scene as though they were a primeval part of it. Izanagi, whose return to the upper world takes place in southwestern Japan,* now cleanses himself from the pollution he has incurred by contact with the dead, and thus inaugurates the rite of purification practised to this day in Japan. The Records describe minutely the process of his unrobing before entering a river, and we learn incidentally that he wore a girdle, a skirt, an upper garment, trousers, a hat, bracelets on each arm, and a necklace, but no mention is made of footgear. Twelve Kami are born from these various articles as he discards them, but without exception these additions to Japanese mythology seem to have nothing to do with the scheme of the universe: their titles appear to be wholly capricious, and apart from figuring once upon the pages of the Records they have no claim to notice. The same may be said of eleven among fourteen Kami thereafter born from the pollution which Izanagi washes off in a river. *At Himuka in Kyushu, then called Tsukushi. But the last three of these newly created beings act a prominent part in the sequel of the story. They are the "heaven-shining Kami" (Amaterasu-o-mi-Kami), commonly spoken of as the "goddess of the Sun;" the Kami of the Moon, and the Kami of force.* Izanagi expresses much satisfaction at the begetting of these three. He hands his necklace to the Kami of the Sun and commissions her to rule the "plain of heaven;" he confers upon the Kami of the Moon the dominion of night, and he appoints the Kami of force (Susanoo) to rule the sea-plain. The Kami of the Sun and the Kami of the Moon proceed at once to their appointed task, but the Kami of force, though of mature age and wearing a long beard, neglects his duty and falls to weeping, wailing, and fuming. Izanagi inquires the cause of his discontent, and the disobedient Kami replies that he prefers death to the office assigned him; whereupon he is forbidden to dwell in the same land with Izanagi and has to make his abode in Omi province. Then he forms the idea of visiting the "plain of high heaven" to bid farewell to his sister, the goddess of the Sun. *Mr. Chamberlain translates the title of this Kami "brave, swift, impetuous, male, augustness." But his journey is attended with such a shaking of mountains and seething of rivers that the goddess, informed of his recalcitrancy and distrusting his purpose, makes preparations to receive him in warlike guise, by dressing her hair in male fashion (i.e. binding it into knots), by tying up her skirt into the shape of trousers, by winding a string of five hundred curved jewels round her head and wrists, by slinging on her back two quivers containing a thousand arrows and five hundred arrows respectively, by drawing a guard on her left forearm, and by providing herself with a bow and a sword. The Records and the Chronicles agree in ascribing to her such an exercise of resolute force that she stamps her feet into the ground as though it had been soft snow and scatters the earth about. Susanoo, however, disavows all evil intentions, and agrees to prove his sincerity by taking an oath and engaging in a Kami-producing competition, the condition being that if his offspring be female, the fact shall bear condemnatory import, but if male, the verdict shall be in his favour. For the purpose of this trial, they stand on opposite sides of a river (the Milky Way). Susanoo hands his sword to Amaterasu-o-mi-Kami, who breaks it into three pieces, chews the fragments, and blowing them from her mouth, produces three female Kami. She then lends her string of five hundred jewels to Susanoo and, he, in turn, crunches them in his mouth and blows out the fragments which are transformed into five male Kami. The beings thus strangely produced have comparatively close connexions with the mundane scheme, for the three female Kami--euphoniously designated Kami of the torrent mist, Kami of the beautiful island, and Kami of the cascade--become tutelary goddesses of the shrines in Chikuzen province (or the sacred island Itsuku-shima), and two of the male Kami become ancestors of seven and twelve families, respectively, of hereditary nobles. On the "high plain of heaven," however, trouble is not allayed. The Sun goddess judges that since female Kami were produced from the fragments of Susanoo's sword and male Kami from her own string of jewels, the test which he himself proposed has resulted in his conviction; but he, repudiating that verdict, proceeds to break down the divisions of the rice-fields laid out by the goddess, to fill up the ditches, and to defile the palace--details which suggest either that, according to Japanese tradition, heaven has its agriculture and architecture just as earth has, or that the "plain of high heaven" was really the name of a place in the Far East. The Sun goddess makes various excuses for her brother's lawless conduct, but he is not to be placated. His next exploit is to flay a piebald horse and throw it through a hole which he breaks in the roof of the hall where the goddess is weaving garments for the Kami. In the alarm thus created, the goddess* is wounded by her shuttle, whereupon she retires into a cave and places a rock at the entrance, so that darkness falls upon the "plain of high heaven" and upon the islands of Japan,** to the consternation of the Kami of evil, whose voices are heard like the buzzing of swarms of flies. *According to the Records, it is the attendants of the goddess that suffer injury. **Referring to this episode, Aston writes in his Nihongi: "Amaterasu-o-mi-Kami is throughout the greater part of this narrative an anthropomorphic deity, with little that is specially characteristic of her solar functions. Here, however, it is plainly the sun itself which witholds its light and leaves the world to darkness. This inconsistency, which has greatly exercised the native theologians, is not peculiar to Japanese myth." Then follows a scene perhaps the most celebrated in all the mythological legends; a scene which was the origin of the sacred dance in Japan and which furnished to artists in later ages a frequent motive. The "eight hundred myriads" of Kami--so numerous have the denizens of the "plain of high heaven" unaccountably become--assemble in the bed of the "tranquil river"* to confer about a means of enticing the goddess from her retirement. They entrust the duty of forming a plan to the Kami of "thought combination," now heard of for the first time as a son of one of the two producing Kami, who, with the "great central" Kami, constituted the original trinity of heavenly denizens. This deity gathers together a number of barn-yard fowl to signal sunrise, places the Kami of the "strong arm" at the entrance of the cave into which the goddess has retired, obtains iron from the "mines of heaven" and causes it to be forged into an "eight-foot" mirror, appoints two Kami to procure from Mount Kagu a "five-hundred branched" sakaki tree (cleyera Japonica), from whose branches the mirror together with a "five-hundred beaded" string of curved jewels and blue and white streamers of hempen cloth and paper-mulberry cloth are suspended, and causes divination to be performed with the shoulder blade of a stag. *The Milky Way. Then, while a grand liturgy is recited, the "heaven-startling" Kami, having girdled herself with moss, crowned her head with a wreath of spindle-tree leaves and gathered a bouquet of bamboo grass, mounts upon a hollow wooden vessel and dances, stamping so that the wood resounds and reciting the ten numerals repeatedly. Then the "eight-hundred myriad" Kami laugh in unison, so that the "plain of high heaven" shakes with the sound, and the Sun goddess, surprised that such gaiety should prevail in her absence, looks out from the cave to ascertain the cause. She is taunted by the dancer, who tells her that a greater than she is present, and the mirror being thrust before her, she gradually comes forward, gazing into it with astonishment; whereupon the Kami of the "strong arm" grasps her hand and drags her out, while two other Kami* stretch behind her a rope made of straw, pulled up by the roots,** to prevent her return, and sunshine once more floods the "plain of high heaven." *These two are the ancestors of the Kami of the Nakatomi and the Imibe hereditary corporations, who may be described as the high priests of the indigenous cult of Japan. **This kind of rope called shime-nawa, an abbreviation of shiri-kume-nawa may be seen festooning the portals of any Shinto shrine. The details of this curious legend deserve attention for the sake of their close relation to the observances of the Shinto cult. Moreover, the mythology now takes a new departure. At the time of Izanagi's return from hades, vague reference is made to human beings, but after Susanoo's departure from the "plain of high heaven," he is represented as holding direct converse with them. There is an interlude which deals with the foodstuffs of mortals. Punished with a fine of a great number of tables* of votive offerings, his beard cut off, and the nails of his fingers and toes pulled out, Susanoo is sentenced to expulsion from heaven. He seeks sustenance from the Kami of food, and she responds by taking from the orifices of her body various kinds of viands which she offers to him. But he, deeming himself insulted, kills her, whereupon from her corpse are born rice, millet, small and large beans, and barley. These are taken by one of the two Kami of production, and by him they are caused to be used as seeds. *The offerings of food in religious services were always placed upon small, low tables. Thereafter Susanoo descends to a place at the headwaters of the river Hi (Izumo province). Seeing a chop-stick float down the stream, he infers the existence of people higher up the river, and going in search of them, finds an old man and an old woman lamenting over and caressing a girl. The old man says that he is an earthly Kami, son of the Kami of mountains, who was one of the thirty-five Kami borne by Izanami before her departure for hades. He explains that he had originally eight daughters, but that every year an eight-forked serpent has come from the country of Koshi and devoured one of the maidens, so that there remains only Lady Wonderful, whose time to share her sisters' fate is now at hand. It is a huge monster, extending over eight valleys and eight hills, its eyes red like winter cherries, its belly bloody and inflamed, and its back overgrown with moss and conifers. Susanoo, having announced himself as the brother of the Sun goddess, receives Lady Wonderful and at once transforms her into a comb which he places in his hair. He then instructs the old man and his wife to build a fence with eight gates, placing in every gate a vat of rice wine. Presently the serpent arrives, drinks the wine, and laying down its heads to sleep, is cut to pieces by Susanoo with his ten-span sabre. In the body of the serpent the hero finds a sword, "great and sharp," which he sends to the Sun goddess, at whose shrine in Ise it is subsequently found and given to the famous warrior, Yamato-dake, when he is setting out on his expedition against the Kumaso of the north. The sword is known as the "Herb-queller." Susanoo then builds for himself and Lady Wonderful a palace at Suga in Izumo, and composes a celebrated verse of Japanese poetry.* Sixth in descent from the offspring of this union is the "Kami of the great land," called also the "Great-Name Possessor," or the "Kami of the reed plains," or the "Kami of the eight thousand spears," or the "Kami of the great land of the living," the last name being antithetical to Susanoo's title of "Ruler of Hades." *"Many clouds arise, On all sides a manifold fence, To receive within it the spouse, They form a manifold fence Ah! that manifold fence." Several legends are attached to the name of this multinominal being--legends in part romantic, in part supernatural, and in part fabulous. His eighty brethren compel him to act as their servant when they go to seek the hand of Princess Yakami of Inaba. But on the way he succours a hare which they have treated brutally and the little animal promises that he, not they, shall win the princess, though he is only their baggage-bearer. Enraged at the favour she shows him, they seek in various ways to destroy him: first by rolling down on him from a mountain a heated rock; then by wedging him into the cleft of a tree, and finally by shooting him. But he is saved by his mother, and takes refuge in the province of Kii (the Land of Trees) at the palace of the "Kami of the great house."* Acting on the latter's advice, he visits his ancestor, Susanoo, who is now in hades, and seeks counsel as to some means of overcoming his eighty enemies. But instead of helping him, that unruly Kami endeavours to compass his death by thrusting him into a snake-house; by putting him into a nest of centipedes and wasps, and finally by shooting an arrow into a moor, sending him to seek it and then setting fire to the grass. He is saved from the first two perils through the agency of miraculous scarves given to him by Princess Forward, Susanoo's daughter, who has fallen in love with him; and from the last dilemma a mouse instructs him how to emerge. *A son of Susanoo. Under the name of Iso-Takeru he is recorded to have brought with him a quantity of seeds of trees and shrubs, which he planted, not in Korea, but in Tsukushi (Kyushu) and the eight islands of Japan. These words "not in Korea" are worthy of note, as will presently be appreciated. A curious episode concludes this recital: Susanoo requires that the parasites shall be removed from his head by his visitor. These parasites are centipedes, but the Great-Name Possessor, again acting under the instruction of Princess Forward, pretends to be removing the centipedes, whereas he is in reality spitting out a mixture of berries and red earth. Susanoo falls asleep during the process, and the Great-Name Possessor binds the sleeping Kami's hair to the rafters of the house, places a huge rock at the entrance, seizes Susanoo's life-preserving sword and life-preserving bow and arrows as also his sacred lute,* and taking Princess Forward on his back, flees. The lute brushes against a tree, and its sound rouses Susanoo. But before he can disentangle his hair from the rafters, the fugitives reach the confines of the underworld, and the enraged Kami, while execrating this visitor who has outwitted him, is constrained to direct him how to overcome his brethren and to establish his rule firmly. In all this he succeeds, and having married Princess Yakami, to whom he was previously engaged,** he resumes the work left unfinished by Izanagi and Izanami, the work of "making the land." *Sacred because divine revelations were supposed to be made through a lute-player. **In the story of this Kami, we find the first record of conjugal jealousy in Japan. Princess Forward strongly objects to her husband's excursions into novel fields. The exact import of this process, "making the land," is not discernible. In the hands of Izanagi and Izanami it resolves itself into begetting, first, a number of islands and, then, a number of Kami. At the outset it seems to have no more profound significance for the Great-Name Possessor. Several generations of Kami are begotten by him, but their names give no indication of the parts they are supposed to have taken in the "making of the land." They are all born in Japan, however, and it is perhaps significant that among them the one child--the Kami of wells--brought forth by Princess Yakami, is not included. Princess Forward has no children, a fact which doubtless augments her jealousy of her husband's amours; jealousy expressed in verses that show no mean poetic skill. Thus, the Great-Name Possessor on the eve of a journey from Izumo to Yamato, sings as he stands with one hand on his saddle and one foot in the stirrup:-- Though thou sayest thou willst not weep If like the flocking birds, I flock and depart, If like the led birds, I am led away and Depart; thou wilt hang down thine head like A single Eulalia upon the mountain and Thy weeping shall indeed rise as the mist of The morning shower. Then the Empress, taking a wine-cup, approaches and offers it to him, saying: Oh! Thine Augustness, the Deity-of-Eight-Thousand-Spears! Thou, my dear Master-of-the-Great-Land indeed, Being a man, probably hast on the various island headlands thou seest, And on every beach-headland that thou lookest on, A wife like the young herbs. But as for me, alas! Being a woman, I have no man except thee; I have no spouse except thee. Beneath the fluttering of the ornamented fence, Beneath the softness of the warm coverlet, Beneath the rustling of the cloth coverlet, Thine arms, white as rope of paper-mulberry bark softly patting my breast soft as the melting snow, And patting each other interlaced, stretching out and pillowing ourselves on each other's arms, True jewel arms, and with outstretched legs, will we sleep.* *B. H. Chamberlain. "Having thus sung, they at once pledged each other by the cup with their hands on each other's necks." It is, nevertheless, from among the children born on the occasion of the contest between the Sun goddess and Susanoo that the Great-Name Possessor first seeks a spouse--the Princess of the Torrent Mist--to lay the foundation of fifteen generations of Kami, whose birth seems to have been essential to the "making of the land," though their names afford no clue to the functions discharged by them. From over sea, seated in a gourd and wearing a robe of wren's feathers, there comes a pigmy, Sukuna Hikona, who proves to be one of fifteen hundred children begotten by the Kami of the original trinity. Skilled in the arts of healing sickness and averting calamities from men or animals, this pigmy renders invaluable aid to the Great-Name Possessor. But the useful little Kami does not wait to witness the conclusion of the work of "making and consolidating the country." Before its completion he takes his departure from Cape Kumano in Izumo to the "everlasting land"--a region commonly spoken of in ancient Japanese annals but not yet definitely located. He is replaced by a spirit whose coming is thus described by the Chronicles: After this (i.e. the departure of Sukuna), wherever there was in the land a part which was imperfect, the Great-Name Possessor visited it by himself and succeeded in repairing it. Coming at last to the province of Izumo, he spake and said: "This central land of reed plains had always been waste and wild. The very rocks, trees, and huts were all given to violence... But I have now reduced it to submission, and there is none that is not compliant." Therefore he said finally: "It is I, and I alone, who now govern this land. Is there, perchance, anyone who could join with me in governing the world?" Upon this a divine radiance illuminated the sea, and of a sudden there was something which floated towards him and said: "Were I not here, how couldst thou subdue this land? It is because I am here that thou hast been enabled to accomplish this mighty undertaking." Then the Great-Name Possessor inquired, saying, "Then who art thou?" It replied and said: "I am thy guardian spirit, the wonderous spirit." Then said the Great-Name Possessor: "True, I know therefore that thou art my guardian spirit, the wonderous spirit. Where dost thou now wish to dwell?" The spirit answered and said, "I wish to dwell on Mount Mimoro in the province of Yamato." Accordingly he built a shrine in that place and made the spirit go and dwell there. This is the Kami of Omiwa.* *Aston's Translation of the Nihongi. After the above incident, another begetting of Kami takes place on a large scale, but only a very few of them--such as the guardian of the kitchen, the protector of house-entrances, the Kami of agriculture, and so forth--have any intelligible place in the scheme of things. ENGRAVING: CRESTS CHAPTER III JAPANESE MYTHOLOGY (Continued) THE SUBJUGATION OF JAPAN THE dividing line between mythological tradition and historical legend is now reached. It will have been observed that, after the descent of Susanoo, the Kami on the "plain of high heaven" took no further part in "making" or "ruling" the "ever fruitful land of reed-covered moors, and luxuriant rice-fields," as Japan was called. Everything was left in the hands of Susanoo, the insubordinate Kami, who had been expelled from heaven for his destructive violence. His descendant in the sixth generation, the Great-Name Possessor, now held supreme sway over the islands, in conjunction with a number of his own relations, his seat of power being in the province of Izumo. At this juncture the goddess of the Sun decided that a sovereign should be sent down to govern the land of many islands, and she chose for this purpose the son of the eldest* of the five Kami born from her necklace during the procreation competition with Susanoo. In the first place, however, it was considered necessary to reduce the country to order, observation having shown it to be in a state of tumult. For that purpose the second of the five necklace Kami--considered "the most heroic" of all the beings on the "plain of high heaven"--was despatched. But he "curried favour" with the Great-Name Possessor and took up his abode in Japan. At the end of three years,** seeing that he had not returned, it was decided by the Kami in council to send another envoy, the Heavenly Young Prince. But he proved even more disloyal, for he married the daughter of the Great-Name Possessor, famous for her beauty,*** and planning to succeed his father-in-law as sovereign of the land, remained in Izumo for eight years. A third conclave of the Kami was now convened by the Sun goddess and her coadjutor, the Great-Producing Kami,* and they decided to despatch a pheasant to make observations. *This Kami married a daughter of one of the two Great-Producing Kami who belonged to the original trinity, and who co-operates with the Sun goddess throughout. **This is the first mention of a measure of time in the Records. ***She was called Princess Undershining, because her beauty shone through her raiment. The bird flew down and lit on a cassia tree at the gate of the Heavenly Young Prince's dwelling, whereupon the prince, at the instigation of a female spy, taking a bow given to him originally by the Great-Producing Kami, shot a shaft which pierced the bird's bosom, and, reaching the Milky Way where sat the Sun goddess and the Great-Producing Kami, was recognized by the latter, who threw it back to earth, decreeing that it should strike the prince were he guilty of treason, and leave him unharmed if the blood on the arrow was that of the earthly Kami whom he had been sent to quell. The shaft struck the prince and killed him. At this point the course of the history is interrupted by an unintelligible description of the resulting obsequies--held in heaven according to the Chronicles, on earth according to the Records. Wild geese, herons, kingfishers, sparrows, and pheasants were the principal officiators; the mourning rites, which included singing, and dancing,* continued for eight days and eight nights, and the proceedings were rudely interrupted by the prince's brother-in-law, who, coming to condole and being mistaken for the deceased, is so enraged by the error that he draws his sword, cuts down the mortuary house, and kicks away the pieces. *It has been conjectured, with much probability, that this singing and dancing was a ceremony in imitation of the rites performed to entice the Sun goddess from her cave. The motive was to resuscitate the dead. These two failures did not deter the Great-Producing Kami and the Sun goddess. They again took counsel with the other beings on the "plain of high heaven," and it was decided to have recourse to the Kami born from the blood that dropped from Izanagi's sword when he slew the Kami of fire. To one of these--the Kami of courage--the mission of subduing the land of many islands was entrusted, and associated with him in the work was the Kami of boats, a son of Izanagi and Izanami. The two descended to Izumo. They carried swords ten hand-breadths long, and having planted these upside down, they seated themselves on the points and delivered their message to the Great-Name Possessor, requiring him to declare whether or not he would abdicate in favour of the newly named sovereign. The Great-Name Possessor replied that he must consult his son, who was absent on a hunting expedition. Accordingly, the Kami of boats went to seek him, and, on being conducted into his father's presence, the latter declared his willingness to surrender, sealing the declaration by suicide.* There remained, then, only the second son of the Great-Name Possessor to be consulted. He did not submit so easily. Relying on his great strength, he challenged the Kami of courage to a trial of hand grasping. But when he touched the Kami's hand it turned first into an icicle and then into a sword-blade, whereas his own hand, when seized by the Kami, was crushed and thrown aside like a young reed. He fled away in terror, and was pursued by the Kami as far as the distant province of Shinano, when he saved his life by making formal submission and promising not to contravene the decision of his father and elder brother. *He stepped on the side of his boat so as to upset it, and with hands crossed behind his back sank into the sea. Then the Great-Name Possessor, having "lost his sons, on whom he relied," agreed to abdicate provided that a shrine were built in memory of him, "having its pillars made stout on the nethermost rock-bottom, and its cross-beams raised to the 'plain of high heaven.'"* He handed over the broad-bladed spear which had assisted him to pacify the land, and declaring that if he offered resistance, all the earthly Kami, too, would certainly resist, he "hid in the eighty road-windings." *This hyperbolical language illustrates the tone of the Records and the Chronicles. Applied to the comparatively humble buildings that served for residences in ancient Japan, the description in the text is curiously exaggerated. The phrase here quoted finds frequent reproduction in the Shinto rituals. Thus, already in the eighth century when the Records and the Chronicles were compiled, suicide after defeat in battle had become a recognized practice. The submission and self-inflicted death of the Great-Name Possessor did not, however, save his followers. All the rebellious Kami were put to the sword by the envoys from the "plain of high heaven." This chapter of the annals ends with an account of the shrine erected in memory of the Great-Name Possessor. It was placed under the care of a grandson of the Kami born to Izanagi and Izanami, who is represented as declaring that he "would continue drilling fire for the Kami's kitchen until the soot hung down eight hand-breadths from the roof of the shrine of the Great-Producing Kami and until the earth below was baked to its nethermost rocks; and that with the fire thus drilled he would cook for him the fish brought in by the fishermen, and present them to him in baskets woven of split bamboos which would bend beneath their weight." THE DESCENT UPON TSUKUSHI It had been originally intended that the dominion of Japan should be given to the senior of the five Kami born of the five-hundred-jewel string of the Sun goddess. But during the interval devoted to bringing the land to a state of submission, this Kami's spouse, the Princess of the Myriad Looms of the Luxuriant Dragon-fly Island,* had borne a son, Hikoho no Ninigi, (Rice-Ears of Ruddy Plenty), and this boy having now grown to man's estate, it was decided to send him as ruler of Japan. A number of Kami were attached to him as guards and assistants, among them being the Kami of "thought combination," who conceived the plan for enticing the Sun goddess from her cave and who occupied the position of chief councillor in the conclave of high heaven; the female Kami who danced before the cave; the female Kami who forged the mirror, and, in short, all the Kami who assisted in restoring light to the world. There were also entrusted to the new sovereign the curved-jewel chaplet of the Sun goddess, the mirror that had helped to entice her, and the sword (herb-queller) which Susanoo had taken from the body of the eight-headed serpent. *"Dragon-fly Island" was a name anciently given to Japan on account of the country's shape. These three objects thenceforth became the three sacred things of Japan. Strict injunction was given that the mirror was to be regarded and reverenced exactly as though it was the spirit of the Sun goddess, and it was ordered that the Kami of "thought combination" should administer the affairs of the new kingdom. The fact is also to be noted that among the Kami attached to Hikoho no Ninigi's person, five--three male and two female--are designated by the Records as ancestors and ancestresses of as many hereditary corporations, a distinctive feature of the early Japan's polity. As to the manner of Hikoho no Ninigi's journey to Japan, the Chronicles say that the Great-Producing Kami threw the coverlet of his couch over him and caused him to cleave his way downwards through the clouds; but the Records allege that he descended "shut up in the floating bridge of heaven." The point has some interest as furnishing a traditional trace of the nature of this so-called invasion of Japan, and as helping to confirm the theory that the "floating bridge of heaven," from which Izanagi thrust his spear downwards into the brine of chaos, was nothing more than a boat. It will naturally be supposed that as Hikoho no Ninigi's migration to Japan was in the sequel of a long campaign having its main field in the province of Izumo, his immediate destination would have been that province, where a throne was waiting to be occupied by him, and where he knew that a rich region existed. But the Records and the Chronicles agree in stating that he descended on Kirishimayama* in Tsukushi, which is the ancient name of the island of Kyushu. This is one of the first eight islands begotten by Izanagi and Izanami. Hence the alternative name for Japan, "Land of the Eight Great Islands." *Takachiho-dake is often spoken of as the mountain thus celebrated, but Takachiho is only the eastern, and lower, of the two peaks of Kirishima-yama. It was, moreover, to a river of Tsukushi that Izanagi repaired to cleanse himself from the pollution of hades. But between Kyushu (Tsukushi) and Izumo the interval is immense, and it is accentuated by observing that the mountain Kirishima, specially mentioned in the story, raises its twin peaks at the head of the Bay of Kagoshima in the extreme south of Kyushu. There is very great difficulty in conceiving that an army whose ultimate destination was Izumo should have deliberately embarked on the shore of Kagoshima. The landing of Ninigi--his full name need not be repeated--was made with all precautions, the van of his army (kume) being commanded by the ancestor of the men who thenceforth held the highest military rank (otomo) through many centuries, and the arms carried being bows, arrows, and swords.* *The swords are said to have been "mallet-headed," but the term still awaits explanation. All the annals agree in suggesting that the newcomers had no knowledge of the locality, but whereas one account makes Ninigi consult and obtain permission from an inhabitant of the place, another represents him as expressing satisfaction that the region lay opposite to Kara (Korea) and received the beams of the rising and the setting sun, qualifications which it is not easy to associate with any part of southern Kyushu. At all events he built for himself a palace in accordance with the orthodox formula--its pillars made stout on the nethermost rock-bottom and its cross-beams made high to the plain of heaven--and apparently abandoned all idea of proceeding to Izumo. Presently he encountered a beautiful girl. She gave her name as Brilliant Blossom, and described herself as the daughter of the Kami of mountains one of the thirty-five beings begotten by Izanagi and Izanami who would seem to have been then living in Tsukushi, and who gladly consented to give Brilliant Blossom. He sent with her a plentiful dower--many "tables"* of merchandise--but he sent also her elder sister, Enduring-as-Rock, a maiden so ill favoured that Ninigi dismissed her with disgust, thus provoking the curse of the Kami of mountains, who declared that had his elder daughter been welcomed, the lives of the heavenly sovereigns** would have been as long as her name suggested, but that since she had been treated with contumely, their span of existence would be comparatively short. Presently Brilliant Blossom became enceinte. Her lord, however, thinking that sufficient time had not elapsed for such a result, suspected her of infidelity with one of the earthly Kami,*** whereupon she challenged the ordeal of fire, and building a parturition hut, passed in, plastered up the entrance, and set fire to the building. She was delivered of three children without mishap, and their names were Hosuseri (Fire-climax), Hohodemi (Fire-shine), and Hoori (Fire-subside). *This expression has reference to the fact that offerings at religious ceremonials were always heaped on low tables for laying before the shrine. **The expression "heavenly sovereign" is here applied for the first time to the Emperors of Japan. ***The term "earthly" was applied to Kami born on earth, "heavenly" Kami being those born in heaven. THE CASTLE OF THE SEA DRAGON At this stage the annals digress to relate an episode which has only collateral interest Hosuseri and Hohodemi made fishing and hunting, respectively, their avocations. But Hohodemi conceived a fancy to exchange pursuits, and importuned Hosuseri to agree. When, however, the former tried his luck at angling, he not only failed to catch anything but also lost the hook which his brother had lent him. This became the cause of a quarrel. Hosuseri taunted Hohodemi on the foolishness of the original exchange and demanded the restoration of his hook, nor would he be placated though Hohodemi forged his sabre into five hundred hooks and then into a thousand. Wandering disconsolate,* by the seashore, Hohodemi met the Kami of salt, who, advising him to consult the daughter of the ocean Kami,** sent him to sea in a "stout little boat." *"Weeping and lamenting" are the words in the Records. **One of the Kami begotten by Izanagi and Izanami. After drifting for a time, he found himself at a palace beside which grew a many-branched cassia tree overhanging a well. He climbed into the tree and waited. Presently the handmaidens of Princess Rich Gem, daughter of the ocean Kami, came to draw water, and seeing a shadow in the well, they detected Hohodemi in the cassia tree. At his request they gave him water in a jewelled vessel, but instead of drinking, he dropped into the vessel a gem from his own necklace, and the handmaidens, unable to detach the gem, carried the vessel to their mistress. Then the princess went to look and, seeing a beautiful youth in the cassia tree, "exchanged glances" with him. The ocean Kami quickly recognized Hohodemi; led him in; seated him on a pile of many layers of sealskins* overlaid by many layers of silk rugs; made a banquet for him, and gave him for wife Princess Rich Gem. *Chamberlain translates this "sea-asses' skins," and conjectures that sea-lions or seals may be meant. Three years passed tranquilly without the bridegroom offering any explanation of his presence. At the end of that time, thoughts of the past visited him and he "sighed." Princess Rich Gem took note of this despondency and reported it to her father, who now, for the first time, inquired the cause of Hohodemi's coming. Thereafter all the fishes of the sea, great and small, were summoned, and being questioned about the lost hook, declared that the tai* had recently complained of something sticking in its throat and preventing it from eating. So the lost hook was recovered, and the ocean Kami instructed Hohodemi, when returning it to his brother, to warn the latter that it was a useless hook which would not serve its purpose, but would rather lead its possessor to ruin. He further instructed him to follow a method of rice culture the converse of that adopted by his brother, since he, the ocean Kami, would rule the waters so as to favour Hohodemi's labours, and he gave him two jewels having the property of making the tide ebb and flow, respectively. These jewels were to be used against Hosuseri, if necessary. *Pagrus major. Finally the Kami of the ocean instructed a crocodile to carry Hohodemi to his home. This was accomplished, and in token of his safe arrival, Hohodemi placed his stiletto on the crocodile's neck for conveyance to the ocean Kami. The programme prescribed by the latter was now faithfully pursued, so that Hosuseri grew constantly poorer, and finally organized a fierce attack upon his younger brother, who, using the tide-flowing jewel, overwhelmed his assailants until they begged for mercy, whereupon the power of the tide-ebbing jewel was invoked to save them. The result was that Hosuseri, on behalf of himself and his descendants for all time, promised to guard and respectfully serve his brother by day and by night. In this episode the hayabito had their origin. They were palace guards, who to their military functions added the duty of occasionally performing a dance which represented the struggles of their ancestor, Hosuseri, when he was in danger of drowning. BIRTH OF THE EMPEROR JIMMU After the composition of the quarrel described above, Princess Rich Gem arrived from the castle of the ocean Kami, and built a parturition hut on the seashore, she being about to bring forth a child. Before the thatch of cormorants' feathers could be completed, the pains of labour overtook her, and she entered the hut, conjuring her husband not to spy upon her privacy, since, in order to be safely delivered, she must assume a shape appropriate to her native land. He, however, suffered his curiosity to overcome him, and peeping in, saw her in the form of an eight-fathom crocodile. It resulted that having been thus put to shame, she left her child and returned to the ocean Kami's palace, declaring that there should be no longer any free passage between the dominions of the ocean Kami and the world of men. "Nevertheless afterwards, although angry at her husband's having wished to peep, she could not restrain her loving heart," and she sent her younger sister, Good Jewel, to nurse the baby and to be the bearer of a farewell song to Hohodemi. The Records state that the latter lived to the age of 580 years and that his mausoleum was built to the west of Mount Takachiho, on which his palace stood. Thus for the first time the duration of a life is stated in the antique annals of Japan. His son, called Fuki-ayezu (Unfinished Thatch), in memory of the strange incident attending his birth, married Princess Good Jewel, his own aunt, and by her had four sons. The first was named Itsuse (Five Reaches) and the youngest, Iware (a village in Yamato province). This latter ultimately became Emperor of Japan, and is known in history as Jimmu (Divine Valour), a posthumous name given to him many centuries after his death.* From the time of this sovereign dates and events are recorded with full semblance of accuracy in the Chronicles, but the compilers of the Records do not attempt to give more than a bald statement of the number of years each sovereign lived or reigned. *Posthumous names for the earthly Mikados were invented in the reign of Kwammu (A.D. 782-805), i.e., after the date of the compilation of the Records and the Chronicles. But they are in universal use by the Japanese, though to speak of a living sovereign by his posthumous name is a manifest anomaly. THE EXPEDITION TO YAMATO According to the Chronicles, the four sons of Fuki-ayezu engaged in a celebrated expedition from Tsukushi (Kyushu) to Yamato, but one alone, the youngest, survived. According to the Records, two only took part in the expedition, the other two having died before it set out. The former version seems more consistent with the facts, and with the manner of the two princes' deaths, as described in the Records. Looking from the east coast of the island of Kyushu, the province of Yamato lies to the northeast, at a distance of about 350 miles, and forms the centre of the Kii promontory. From what has preceded, a reader of Japanese history is prepared to find that the objective of the expedition was Izumo, not Yamato, since it was to prepare for the occupation of the former province that the Sun goddess and her coadjutors expended so much energy. No explanation whatever of this discrepancy is offered, but it cannot be supposed that Yamato was regarded as a halfway house to Izumo, seeing that they lie on opposite coasts of Japan and are two hundred miles distant. The Chronicles assign the genesis of the enterprise to Prince Iware, whom they throughout call Hohodemi, and into whose mouth they put an exhortation--obviously based on a Chinese model--speaking of a land in the east encircled by blue mountains and well situated, as the centre of administrative authority. To reach Yamato by sea from Kyushu two routes offer; one, the more direct, is by the Pacific Ocean straight to the south coast of the Kii promontory; the other is by the Inland Sea to the northwestern coast of the same promontory. The latter was chosen, doubtless because nautical knowledge and seagoing vessels were alike wanting. It is not possible, however, to speak with confidence as to the nature of the ships possessed by the Japanese in early times. The first mention of ships occurs in the story of Susanoo's arrival in Japan. He is said to have carried with him quantities of tree seeds which he planted in the Eight Island Country, the cryptomeria and the camphor being intended to serve as "floating riches," namely ships. This would suggest, as is indeed commonly believed, that the boats of that era were simply hollow trunks of trees. Five centuries later, however, without any intervening reference, we find the Emperor Sujin urging the construction of ships as of cardinal importance for purposes of coastwise transport--advice which is hardly consistent with the idea of log boats. Again, in A.D. 274, the people of Izu are recorded as having built and sent to the Court a vessel one hundred feet long; and, twenty-six years later, this ship having become old and unserviceable, was used as fuel for manufacturing salt, five hundred bags of which were distributed among the provinces with directions to construct as many ships. There is no mention in either the Chronicles or the Records of any marked change in the matter of marine architecture during all these years. The nature of the Kyushu expeditionary ships must therefore remain a matter of conjecture, but that they were propelled by oars, not sails, seems pretty certain. Setting out from some point in Kyushu probably the present Kagoshima Bay the expedition made its way up the east coast of the island, and reaching the Bungo Channel, where the tide is very rapid, obtained the services of a fisherman as pilot. Thence the fleet pushed on to Usa in the province of Buzen, at the north of Kyushu, when two local chieftains built for the entertainment and residence of the princes and their followers a "one pillared palace"--probably a tent. The next place of call was Oka (or Okada) in Chikuzen, where they passed a year before turning eastward into the Inland Sea, and pushing on to one of the many islands off the coast of Aki, they spent seven years before proceeding to another island (Takashima) in Kibi, as the present three provinces of Bingo, Bitchu, and Bizen were then called. There they delayed for eight years the Chronicles say three--in order to repair the oars of their vessels and to procure provisions. Up to this time there had been no fighting or any attempt to effect a lodgment on the mainland. But the expedition was now approaching the narrow westerly entrance to the present Osaka Bay, where an army might be encountered at any moment. The boats therefore sailed in line ahead, "the prow of each ship touching the stern of the other." Off the mouth of the river, now known as the Yodo, they encountered such a high sea that they called the place Nami-hana (Wave Flowers), a name subsequently abbreviated to Naniwa. Pushing on, the expeditionary force finally landed at a place--not now identifiable--in the province of Kawachi, which bounds Yamato on the west. The whole voyage had occupied four years according to the Chronicles, sixteen according to the Records. At Kusaka they fought their first battle against the army of Prince Nagasune and were repulsed, Prince Itsuse being wounded by an arrow which struck his elbow. It was therefore decided to change the direction of advance, so that instead of moving eastward in the face of the sun, a procedure unpleasing to the goddess of that orb, they should move westward with the sun behind them. This involved re-embarking and sailing southward round the Kii promontory so as to land on its eastern coast, but the dangerous operation of putting an army on board ship in the presence of a victorious enemy was successfully achieved by the aid of skilfully used shields. On the voyage round Kii, where stormy seas are frequent, the fleet encountered a heavy gale and the boats containing two of the princes were lost.* Prince Itsuse had already died of his wound, so of the four brothers there now remained only the youngest, Prince Iware. It is recorded that, at the age of fifteen, he had been made heir to the throne, the principle of primogeniture not being then recognized, and thus the deaths of his brothers did not affect that question. Landing ultimately at Kumano on the southeast of Kii, the expeditionary force was stricken by a pestilence, the prince himself not escaping. But at the behest of the Sun goddess, the Kami of thunder caused a sword of special virtue to come miraculously into the possession of an inhabitant of Kii, who carried it to the prince, and at once the sickness was stayed. When, however, the army attempted to advance into the interior, no roads were found and precipitous mountains barred the progress. In this dilemma the Sun goddess sent down the three-legged crow of the Sun** to act as guide. *In the Chronicles the two princes are represented as having deliberately entered the stormy sea, angered that such hardships should overtake the descendants of the ocean Kami. **The Yang-wu, or Sun-crow (Japanese Yata-garasu), is a creature of purely Chinese myth. It is supposed to be red in colour, to have three legs, and to inhabit the sun. Thus indiscriminately are the miraculous and the commonplace intermixed. Following this bird, the invading force pushed on into Yamato, receiving the allegiance of a body of men who fished with cormorants in the Yoshino River and who doubtless supplied the army with food, and the allegiance of fabulous beings with tails, who came out of wells or through cliffs. It is related that the invaders forced the elder of two brothers into a gyn which he had prepared for their destruction; and that on ascending a hill to reconnoitre, Prince Iware observed an army of women and a force of eighty "earth-hiders (Tsuchi-gumo) with tails," by which latter epithet is to be understood bandits or raiders who inhabited caves. How it fared with the amazons the annals do not say, but the eighty bandits were invited to a banquet and slaughtered in their cups. Still the expeditionary force encountered great opposition, the roads and passes being occupied by numerous hostile bands. An appeal was accordingly made for divine assistance by organizing a public festival of worship, the vessels employed--eighty platters and as many jars--being made by the hands of the prince himself with clay obtained from Mount Kagu in Yamato.* Several minor arrangements followed, and finally swords were crossed with the army of Nagasune, who had inflicted a defeat on the invaders on the occasion of their first landing at Kusaka, when Prince Itsuse received a mortal wound. A fierce battle ensued. Prince Iware burned to avenge his brother's death, but repeated attacks upon Nagasune's troops proved abortive until suddenly a golden-plumaged kite perched on the end of Prince Iware's bow, and its effulgence dazzled the enemy so that they could not fight stoutly.** *The Chronicles state that the prince made ame on the platters. Ame is confectioned from malted millet and is virtually the same as the malt extract of the Occident. **This tradition of the golden kite is cherished in Japan. The "Order of the Golden Kite" is the most coveted military distinction. From this incident the place where the battle occurred was called Tabi-no-mura, a name now corrupted into Tomi-no-mura. It does not appear, however, that anything like a decisive victory was gained by the aid of this miraculous intervention. Nagasune sought a conference with Prince Iware, and declared that the ruler of Yamato, whom he served, was a Kami who had formerly descended from heaven. He offered in proof of this statement an arrow and a quiver belonging to the Kami. But Prince Iware demonstrated their correspondence with those he himself carried. Nagasune, however, declining to abstain from resistance, was put to death by the Kami he served, who then made act of submission to Prince Iware. The interest of this last incident lies in the indication it seems to afford that a race identical with the invaders had already settled in Yamato. Prince Iware now caused a palace to be built on the plain of Kashiwa-bara (called Kashihara by some historians), to the southwest of Mount Unebi, and in it assumed the imperial dignity, on the first day of the first month of the year 660 B.C. It is scarcely necessary to say that this date must be received with all reserve, and that the epithet "palace" is not to be interpreted in the European sense of the term. The Chronicles, which alone attempt to fix the early dates with accuracy, indicate 667 B.C. as the year of the expedition's departure from Kyushu, and assign to Prince Iware an age of forty-five at the time. He was therefore fifty-two when crowned at Kashiwa-bara, and as the same authority makes him live to an age of 127, it might be supposed that much would be told of the last seventy-five years of his life. But whereas many pages are devoted to the story of his adventures before ascending the throne, a few paragraphs suffice for all that is subsequently related of him. While residing in Kyushu he married and had two sons, the elder of whom, Tagishi-mimi, accompanied him on his eastward expedition. In Yamato he married again and had three sons, the youngest of whom succeeded to the throne. The bestowing of titles and rewards naturally occupied much attention, and to religious observances scarcely less importance seems to have been attached. All references to these latter show that the offices of priest and king were united in the sovereign of these days. Thus it was by the Emperor that formulae of incantation to dissipate evil influences were dictated; that sacrifices were performed to the heavenly Kami so as to develop filial piety; and that shrines were consecrated for worshiping the Imperial ancestors. Jimmu was buried in a tumulus (misasagi) on the northeast of Mount Unebi. The site is officially recognized to this day, and on the 3rd of April every year it is visited by an Imperial envoy, who offers products of mountain, river, and sea. TRACES OF FOREIGN INFLUENCE What traces of Chinese or foreign influence are to be found in the legends and myths set down above? It is tolerably certain that communication existed between China and Japan from a date shortly prior to the Christian era, and we naturally expect to find that since China was at that time the author of Asiatic civilization, she contributed materially to the intellectual development of her island neighbour. Examining the cosmogonies of the two countries, we find at the outset a striking difference. The Chinese did not conceive any creator, ineffable, formless, living in space; whereas the Japanese imagined a great central Kami and two producing powers, invisible and working by occult processes. On the other hand, there is a marked similarity of thought. For, as on the death of Panku, the giant toiler of Chinese myth on whom devolved the task of chiselling out the universe, his left eye was transmitted into the orb of day and his right into the moon, so when the Japanese Kami returned from his visit to the underworld, the sun emerged from the washing of his left eye and the moon from the washing of his right. Japanese writers have sought to differentiate the two myths by pointing out that the sun is masculine in China and feminine in Japan, but such an objection is inadequate to impair the close resemblance. In truth "creation from fragments of a fabulous anthropomorphic being is common to Chaldeans, Iroquois, Egyptians, Greeks, Tinnehs, Mangaians, and Aryan Indians," and from that fact a connexion between ancient Japan and West Asia might be deduced by reference to the beings formed out of the parts: of the fire Kami's body when Izanagi put him to the sword. On the other hand, the tale of which the birth of the sun and the moon forms a part, namely, the visit of Izanagi to hades in search of Izanami, is an obvious reproduction of the Babylonian myth of Ishtar's journey to the underworld in search of Du'uzu, which formed the basis of the Grecian legend of Orpheus and Eurydice. Moreover, Izanami's objection to return, on the ground of having already eaten of the food of the underworld, is a feature of many ancient myths, among which may be mentioned the Indian story of Nachiketas, where the name Yama, the Indian god of the lower world, bears an obvious resemblance to the Japanese yomi (hades), as does, indeed, the whole Indian myth of Yami and Yama to that of Izanagi and Izanami. Is it not also more than a mere coincidence that as all the Semitic tribes worshipped the goddess Isis, so--the Japanese worshipped, for supreme being, the goddess of the Sun? Thus, here again there would seem to have been some path of communication other than that via China between Japan and the west of Asia. Further, the "river of heaven"--the Milky Way--which so often figures in Japanese mythology, is prominent in Chinese also, and is there associated with the Spinning Damsel, just as in the Japanese legend it serves the Kami for council-place after the injury done by Susanoo's violence to the Sun goddess and her spinning maidens. It has been remarked [Chamberlain] that the chop-stick which Susanoo found floating down a river in Izumo, and the sake (rice-wine) which he caused to be made for the purpose of intoxicating the eight-headed serpent, are obviously products of Chinese civilization, but as for the rescue of the maiden from the serpent, it is a plain replica of the legend of Perseus and Andromeda, which, if it came through China, left no mark in transit. Less palpable, but still sufficiently striking, is the resemblance between the story of Atalanta's golden apples and the casting down of Izanagi's head-dress and comb as grapes and bamboo sprouts to arrest the pursuit of the "hag of hades." But indeed this throwing of his comb behind him by Izanagi and its conversion into a thicket are common incidents of ancient folk-lore, while in the context of this Kami's ablutions on his return from hades, it may be noted that Ovid makes Juno undergo lustration after a visit to the lower regions and that Dante is washed in Lethe when he passes out of purgatory. Nor is there any great stretch of imagination needed to detect a likeness between the feathered messenger sent from the Ark and the three envoys--the last a bird--despatched from the "plain of high heaven" to report upon the condition of disturbed Japan. This comparison is partially vitiated, however, by the fact that there is no tradition of a deluge in Japanese annals, though such phenomena are like ly to occur occasionally in all lands and to produce a great impression on the national imagination. "Moreover, what is specially known to us as the deluge has been claimed as an ancient Altaic myth. Yet here we have the oldest of the undoubtedly Altaic nations without any legend of the kind." [Chamberlain.] It appears, further, from the account of the Great-Name Possessor's visit to the underworld, that one Japanese conception of hades corresponded exactly with that of the Chinese, namely, a place where people live and act just as they do on earth. But the religion out of which this belief grew in China had its origin at a date long subsequent to the supposed age of the Gods in Japan. The peaches with which Izanagi pelted and drove back the thunder Kami sent by Izanami to pursue him on his return from the underworld were evidently suggested by the fabulous female, Si Wang-mu, of Chinese legend, who possessed a peach tree, the fruit of which conferred immortality and repelled the demons of disease. So, too, the tale of the palace of the ocean Kami at the bottom of the sea, with its castle gate and cassia tree overhanging a well which serves as a mirror, forms a page of Chinese legendary lore, and, in a slightly altered form, is found in many ancient annals. The sea monster mentioned in this myth is written with a Chinese ideograph signifying "crocodile," but since the Japanese cannot have had any knowledge of crocodiles, and since the monster is usually represented pictorially as a dragon, there can be little doubt that we are here confronted by the Dragon King of Chinese and Korean folk-lore which had its palace in the depths of the ocean. In fact, the Japanese, in all ages, have spoken of this legendary edifice as Ryu no jo (the Dragon's castle). The eminent sinologue, Aston, has shrewdly pointed out that the term wani (crocodile) may be a corruption of the Korean word, wang-in (king), which the Japanese pronounced "wani." As for the "curved jewels," which appear on so many occasions, the mineral jade, or jadelike stone, of which many of them were made, has never been met with in Japan and must therefore have come from the continent of Asia. The reed boat in which the leech, first offspring of Izanagi and Izanami, was sent adrift, "recalls the Accadian legend of Sargon and his ark of rushes, the biblical story of Moses as an infant and many more," though it has no known counterpart in Chinese mythology. It is noticeable that in spite of the honour paid to the stars in the Chinese cosmogony, the only star specially alluded to in Japanese myth is Kagase, who is represented as the last of the rebellious Kami on the occasion of the subjugation of Izumo by order of the Sun goddess and the Great-Producing Kami. So far as the Records and the Chronicles are concerned, "the only stars mentioned are Venus, the Pleiades, and the Weaver," the last being connected with a Chinese legend, as shown above. Two other points remain to be noticed. One is that divination by cracks in a deer's roasted shoulder blade, a process referred to more than once in the Records and the Chronicles, was a practice of the Chinese, who seem to have borrowed it from the Mongolians; the other, that the sounding arrow (nari-kabura) was an invention of the Huns, and came to Japan through China. It had holes in the head, and the air passing through these produced a humming sound. As for the Chronicles, they are permeated by Chinese influence throughout. The adoption of the Chinese sexagenary cycle is not unnatural, but again and again speeches made by Chinese sovereigns and sages are put into the mouths of Japanese monarchs as original utterances, so that without the Records for purposes of reference and comparison, even the small measure of solid ground that can be constructed would be cut from under the student's feet. ENGRAVING: BUNDAI SUZURI BAKO (A WRITING SET) ENGRAVING: 'NO' MASKS CHAPTER IV RATIONALIZATION GEOGRAPHICAL FEATURES THE southwestern extremity of the main island of Japan is embraced by two large islands, Kyushu and Shikoku, the former lying on the west of the latter and being, in effect, the southern link of the island chain which constitutes the empire of Japan. Sweeping northward from Formosa and the Philippines is a strong current known as the Kuro-shio (Black Tide), a name derived from the deep indigo colour of the water. This tide, on reaching the vicinity of Kyushu, is deflected to the east, and passing along the southern coast of Kyushu and the Kii promontory, takes its way into the Pacific. Evidently boats carried on the bosom of the Kuro-shio would be likely to make the shore of Japan at one of three points, namely, the south, or southeast, of Kyushu, the south of Shikoku or the Kii promontory. Now, according to the Records, the first place "begotten" by Izanagi and Izanami was an island called Awa, supposed to be in the vicinity of Awaji. The latter is a long, narrow island stretching from the northeast of Shikoku towards the shore of the main island--which it approaches very closely at the Strait of Yura--and forming what may be called a gate, closing the eastern entrance to the Inland Sea. After the island of Awa, the producing couple gave birth to Awaji and subsequently to Shikoku, which is described as an island having four faces, namely, the provinces of Awa, Iyo, Tosa, and Sanuki. Rejecting the obviously allegorical phantasy of "procreation," we may reasonably suppose ourselves to be here in the presence of an emigration from the South Seas or from southern China, which debarks on the coast of Awaji and thence crosses to Shikoku. Thereafter, the immigrants touch at a triplet of small islands, described as "in the offing," and thence cross to Kyushu, known at the time as Tsukushi. This large island is described in the Records as having, like Shikoku, one body and four faces, and part of it was inhabited by Kumaso, of whom much is heard in Japanese history. From Kyushu the invaders pass to the islands of Iki and Tsushima, which lie between Kyushu and Korea, and thereafter they sail northward along the coast of the main island of Japan until they reach the island of Sado. All this--and the order of advance follows exactly the procreation sequence given in the Records--lends itself easily to the supposition of a party of immigrants coming originally from the south, voyaging in a tentative manner round the country described by them, and establishing themselves primarily on its outlying islands. The next step, according to the Records, was to Yamato. About this name, Yamato, there has been some dispute. Alike in ancient and in modern times the term has been applied, on the one hand, to the whole of the main island, and, on the other, to the single province of Yamato. The best authorities, however, interpret it in the latter sense for the purposes of the Izanagi-and-Izanami legend, and that interpretation is plainly consistent with the probabilities, for the immigrants would naturally have proceeded from Awaji to the Kii promontory, where the province of Yamato lies. Thereafter--on their "return," say the Records, and the expression is apposite--they explored several small islands not identifiable by their names but said to have been in Kibi, which was the term then applied to the provinces of Bingo, Bitchu, and Bizen, lying along the south coast of the Inland Sea and thus facing the sun, so that the descriptive epithet "sun-direction" applied to the region was manifestly appropriate. In brief, the whole narrative concerts well with the idea of a band of emigrants carried on the breast of the "Black Tide," who first make the circuit of the outlying fringe of islands, then enter the mainland at Yamato, and finally sail down the Inland Sea, using the small islands off its northern shore as points d'appui for expeditions inland. JAPANESE OPINION Japanese euhemerists, several of whom, in former times as well as in the present, have devoted much learned research to the elucidation of their country's mythology, insist that tradition never intended to make such a demand upon human credulity as to ask it to believe in the begetting of islands by normal process of procreation. They maintain that such descriptions must be read as allegories. It then becomes easy to interpret the doings of Izanagi and Izanami as simple acts of warlike aggression, and to suppose that they each commanded forces which were to have co-operated, but which, by failing at the outset to synchronize their movements, were temporarily unsuccessful. It will seem, as we follow the course of later history, that the leading of armies by females was common enough to be called a feature of early Japan, and thus the role assigned to Izanami need not cause any astonishment. At their first miscarriage the two Kami, by better organization, overran the island of Awaji and then pushed on to Shikoku, which they brought completely under their sway. But what meaning is to be assigned to the "plain of high heaven" (Takama-ga-hara)? Where was the place thus designated? By a majority of Japanese interpreters Takama-ga-hara is identified as the region of Taka-ichi in Yamato province. The word did not refer to anything supernatural but was used simply in an honorific sense. In later ages Court officials were called "lords of the moon" (gekhei) or "cloud-guests" (unkaku), while officials not permitted to attend the Court were known as "groundlings" (jige); the residence of the Emperor was designated "purple-clouds hall" (shishin-deri); to go from the Imperial capital to any other part of the country was to "descend," the converse proceeding being called to "ascend," and the palace received the names of "blue sky" and "above the clouds." To-day in Yamato province there is a hill called Takama-yama and a plain named Takama-no. The Records say that when the Sun goddess retired to a rock cave, a multitude of Kami met at Taka-ichi to concert measures for enticing her out, and this Taka-ichi is considered to be undoubtedly the place of the same name in Yamato. But some learned men hold that Takama-ga-hara was in a foreign country, and that the men who emigrated thence to Japan belonged to a race very superior to that then inhabiting the islands. When, however, the leader of the invaders had established his Court in Yamato the designation Takama-ga-hara came to be applied to the latter place. Whichever theory be correct--and the latter certainly commends itself as the more probable--it will be observed that both agree in assigning to Takama-ga-hara a terrestrial location; both agree in assigning the sense of "unsettled and turbulent" to the "floating, drifting" condition predicated of the country when the Kami first interested themselves in it, and both agree in interpreting as an insignium of military authority the "jewelled spear" given to Izanagi and Izanami--an interpretation borne out by the fact that, in subsequent eras of Japanese history, it was customary for a ruler to delegate authority in this manner. Applying the same process of reasoning to the socalled "birth" of Kami, that process resolves itself very simply into the creation of chieftains and administrators. RATIONALIZATION OF THE LEGEND OF THE VISIT TO HADES It would seem that from Yamato the invaders prosecuted their campaign into the interior, reaching Izumo on the west coast. The Records say that after Izanami's death in giving birth to the Kami of fire, she was buried at Mount Kagu on the confines of Izumo and Hoki. Now the land of Yomi generally interpreted "underworld"--which Izanagi visited in search of Izanami, was really identical with Yomi-shima, located between the provinces of Hoki and Izumo, and Ne-no-Kuni*--commonly taken to mean the "netherland"--subsequently the place of Susanoo's banishment, was in fact a designation of Izumo, or had the more extensive application of the modern Sanin-do and Sanyo-do (districts in the shadow of the hill and districts on the sunny side of the hill), that is to say, the western provinces and the south coast of the Inland Sea. *In the language of ancient Japan ne meant "mountain," and Ne-no-Kuni signified simply "Land of Mountains." What the allegory of the visit to hades would seem to signify, therefore, was that Izanami was defeated in a struggle with the local chieftains of Izumo or with a rebellious faction in that province; was compelled to make act of submission before Izanagi arrived to assist her--allegorically speaking she had eaten of the food of hades--and therefore the conference between her and Izanagi proved abortive. The hag who pursued Izanagi on his retreat from Yomi represents a band of amazons--a common feature in old Japan--and his assailant, the Kami of thunder, was a rebel leader. As for the idea of blocking the "even pass of hades" with rocks, it appears to mean nothing more than that a military force was posted at Hirasaka--now called Ifuyo-saka in Izumo--to hold the defile against the insurgent troops under Izanami, who finally took the field against Izanagi. It may be inferred that the struggle ended indecisively, although Izanagi killed the chieftain who had instigated the rebellion (the so-called "Kami of fire"), and that Izanami remained in Izumo, becoming ruler of that province, while Izanagi withdrew to the eastern part of Tsukushi (Kyushu), where he performed the ceremony of grand lustration. THE STORY OF SUSANOO The story of Susanoo lends itself with equal facility to rationalization. His desire to go to his "mother's land" instead of obeying his father and ruling the "sea-plain" (unabara)--an appellation believed by some learned commentators to apply to Korea--may easily be interpreted to mean that he threw in his lot with the rebellious chiefs in Izumo. Leading a force into Yamato, he laid waste the land so that the "green mountains were changed into withered mountains," and the commotion throughout the country was like the noise of "flies swarming in the fifth month." Finally he was driven out of Yamato, and retiring to Izumo, found that the local prefect was unable to resist the raids of a tribe from the north under the command of a chief whose name--Yachimata no Orochi--signified "eight-headed serpent." This tribe had invaded the province and taken possession of the hills and valleys in the upper reaches of the river Hi, whence tradition came to speak of the tribe as a monster spreading over hills and dales and having pine forests growing on its back. The tribute of females, demanded yearly by the tribe, indicates an exaction not uncommon in those days, and the sword said to have been found by Susanoo in the serpent's tail was the weapon worn by the last and the stoutest of Orochi's followers. There is another theory equally accordant with the annals and in some respects more satisfying. It is that Susanoo and his son, Iso-takeru, when they were expelled from Yamato, dwelt in the land of Shiragi--the eastern of the three kingdoms into which Korea was formerly divided--and that they subsequently built boats and rowed over to Izumo. This is distinctly stated in one version of the Chronicles, and another variant says that when Iso-takeru descended from Takama-ga-hara, he carried with him the seeds of trees in great quantities but did not plant them in "the land of Han" (Korea). Further, it is elsewhere stated that the sword found by Susanoo in the serpent's tail was called by him Orochi no Kara-suki (Orochi's Korean blade), an allusion which goes to strengthen the reading of the legend. THE DESCENT OF NINIGI Omitting other comparatively trivial legends connected with the age of Susanoo and his descendants, we come to what may be called the second great event in the early annals of Japan, namely, the descent of Ninigi on the southern coast of Tsukushi (Kyushu). The Records and the Chronicles explicitly state that this expedition was planned in the court at Takama-ga-hara (the "plain of high heaven"), and that, after sending forces to subdue the disturbed country and to obtain the submission of its ruler, the grandson (Ninigi) of the Sun goddess was commissioned to take possession of the land. It is also clearly shown that Izumo was the centre of disturbance and that virtually all the preliminary fighting took place there. Yet when Ninigi descends from Takama-ga-hara--a descent which is described in one account as having taken place in a closed boat, and in another, as having been effected by means of the coverlet of a couch--he is said to have landed, not in Izumo or in Yamato, but at a place in the far south, where he makes no recorded attempt to fulfil the purpose of his mission, nor does that purpose receive any practical recognition until the time of his grandson Iware. The latter pushes northward, encountering the greatest resistance in the very province (Yamato) where his grandfather's expedition was planned and where the Imperial Court was held. It is plain that these conditions cannot be reconciled except on one of two suppositions: either that the Takama-ga-hara of this section of the annals was in a foreign country, or that the descent of Ninigi in the south of Japan was in the sequel of a complete defeat involving the Court's flight from Yamato as well as from Izumo. Let us first consider the theory of a foreign country. Was it Korea or was it China? In favour of Korea there are only two arguments, one vague and the other improbable. The former is that one of Ninigi's alleged reasons for choosing Tsukushi as a landing-place was that it faced Korea. The latter, that Tsukushi was selected because it offered a convenient base for defending Japan against Korea. It will be observed that the two hypotheses are mutually conflicting, and that neither accounts for debarkation at a part of Tsukushi conspicuously remote from Korea. It is not wholly impossible, however, that Ninigi came from China, and that the Court which is said to have commissioned him was a Chinese Court. In the history of China a belief is recorded that the Japanese sovereigns are descended from a Chinese prince, Tai Peh, whose father wished to disinherit him in favour of a younger son. Tai Peh fled to Wu in the present Chekiang, and thence passed to Japan about 800 B.C. Another record alleges that the first sovereign of Japan was a son of Shao-kang of the Hsia dynasty (about 850 B.C.), who tattooed his body and cut off his hair for purposes of disguise and lived on the bank of the Yangtsze, occupying himself with fishing until at length he fled to Japan. That Ninigi may have been identical with one of these persons is not inconceivable, but such a hypothesis refuses to be reconciled with the story of the fighting in Izumo which preceded the descent to Tsukushi. The much more credible supposition is that the Yamato Court, confronted by a formidable rebellion having its centre in Izumo, retired to Tsukushi, and there, in the course of years, mustered all its followers for an expedition ultimately led by the grandson of the fugitive monarch to restore the sway of his house. This interpretation of the legend consists with the fact that when Jimmu reached Yamato, the original identity of his own race with that of the then ruler of the province was proved by a comparison of weapons. THE CASTLE OF THE OCEAN KAMI With regard to the legend of the ocean Kami, the rationalists conceive that the tribe inhabiting Tsukushi at the time of Ninigi's arrival there had originally immigrated from the south and had gradually spread inland. Those inhabiting the littoral districts were ultimately placed by Ninigi under the rule of Prince Hohodemi, and those inhabiting the mountain regions under the sway of Prince Hosuseri. The boats and hooks of the legend are symbolical of military and naval power respectively. The brothers having quarrelled about the limits of their jurisdictions, Hohodemi was worsted, and by the advice of a local elder he went to Korea to seek assistance. There he married the daughter of the Ocean King--so called because Korea lay beyond the sea from Japan--and, after some years' residence, was given a force of war-vessels (described in the legend as "crocodiles") together with minute instructions (the tide-ebbing and the tide-flowing jewels) as to their skilful management. These ships ultimately enabled him to gain a complete victory over his elder brother. WHAT THE JAPANESE BELIEVE These rationalizing processes will commend themselves in different degrees to different minds. One learned author has compared such analyses to estimating the historical residuum of the Cinderella legend by subtracting the pumpkin coach and the godmother. But we are constrained to acknowledge some background of truth in the annals of old Japan, and anything that tends to disclose that background is welcome. It has to be noted, however, that though many learned Japanese commentators have sought to rationalize the events described in the Records and the Chronicles, the great bulk of the nation believes in the literal accuracy of these works as profoundly as the great bulk of Anglo-Saxon people believes in the Bible, its cosmogony, and its miracles. The gist of the Japanese creed, as based on their ancient annals, may be briefly summarized. They hold that when the Sun goddess handed the three sacred objects to Ninigi--generally called Tenson, or "heavenly grandchild"--she ordained that the Imperial Throne should be coeval with heaven and earth. They hold that the instructions given with regard to these sacred objects comprised the whole code of administrative ethics. The mirror neither hides nor perverts; it reflects evil qualities as faithfully as good; it is the emblem of honesty and purity. The jewel illustrates the graces of gentleness, softness, amiability, and obedience, and is therefore emblematic of benevolence and virtue.* The sword indicates the virtues of strength, sharpness, and practical decision, and is thus associated with intelligence and knowledge. So long as all these qualities are exercised in the discharge of administrative functions, there can be no misrule. *It must be remembered that the jewel referred to was a piece of green or white jade. They further hold that when the Sun goddess detailed five Kami to form the suite of Ninigi, these Kami were entrusted with the ministerial duties originally discharged by them, and becoming the heads of five administrative departments, transmitted their offices to generation after generation of their descendants. Thus Koyane was the ancestor of the Nakatomi family who discharged the priestly duties of worship at the Court and recited the Purification Rituals; Futodama became the ancestor of the Imibe (or Imbe), a hereditary corporation whose members performed all offices connected with mourning and funerals; Usume became ancestress of the Sarume, whose duties were to perform dances in honour of the deities and to act as mediums of divine inspiration; Oshihi was the ancestor of the Otomo chief who led the Imperial troops, and Kume became the ancestor of the Kumebe, a hereditary corporation of palace guards. Further, they hold that whereas Ninigi and his five adjunct Kami all traced their lineage to the two producing Kami of the primal trinity, the special title of sovereignty conferred originally on the Sun goddess was transmitted by her to the Tenson (heavenly grandchild), Ninigi, the distinction of ruler and ruled being thus clearly defined. Finally they hold that Ninigi and these five adjunct Kami, though occupying different places in the national polity, had a common ancestor whom they jointly worshipped, thus forming an eternal union. ENGRAVING: ANCIENT CIVIL AND MILITARY HEAD-GEAR CHAPTER V ORIGIN OF THE JAPANESE NATION: HISTORICAL EVIDENCES IN considering the question of the origin of the Japanese nation four guides are available; namely, written annals, archaeological relics, physical features, and linguistic affinities. WRITTEN ANNALS The annals, that is to say, the Records and the Chronicles, speak of six peoples; namely, first, Izanagi and his fellow Kami, who, as shown above, may reasonably be identified with the original immigrants represented in the story of the so-called "birth" of the islands; secondly, Jimmu and his followers, who re-conquered the islands; thirdly, the Yemishi, who are identical with the modern Ainu; fourthly, the Kumaso; fifthly, the Sushen; and sixthly the Tsuchi-gumo (earth-spiders). By naming these six separately it is not intended to imply that they are necessarily different races: that remains to be decided. It will be convenient to begin with the Sushen. THE SUSHEN The Sushen were Tungusic ancestors of the Manchu. They are first mentioned in Japanese annals in A.D. 549, when a number of them arrived by boat on the north of Sado Island and settled there, living on fish caught during spring and summer and salted or dried for winter use. The people of Sado regarded them as demons and carefully avoided them, a reception which implies total absence of previous intercourse. Finally they withdrew, and nothing more is heard of their race for over a hundred years, when, in A.D. 658, Hirafu, omi of Abe and warden of Koshi (the northwestern provinces, Etchu, Echizen, and Echigo), went on an expedition against them. Nothing is recorded as to the origin or incidents of this campaign. One account says that Hirafu, on his return, presented two white bears to the Empress; that he fought with the Sushen and carried back forty-nine captives. It may be assumed, however, that the enterprise proved abortive, for, two years later (660), he was again sent against the Sushen with two hundred ships. En route for his destination he took on board his own vessel some of the inhabitants of Yezo (Yemishi) to act as guides, and the flotilla arrived presently in the vicinity of a long river, unnamed in the annals but supposed to have been the Ishikari, which debouches on the west coast of Yezo. There a body of over a thousand Yemishi in a camp facing the river sent messengers to report that the Sushen fleet had arrived in great force and that they were in imminent danger. The Sushen had over twenty vessels and were lying in a concealed port whence Hirafu in vain sent messengers to summon them. What ensued in thus told in the Chronicles: "Hirafu heaped up on the beach coloured silk stuffs, weapons, iron, etc.," to excite the cupidity of the Sushen, who thereupon drew up their fleet in order, approached "with equal oars, flying flags made of feathers tied to poles, and halted in a shallow place. Then from one of their ships they sent forth two old men who went round the coloured silk stuffs and other articles which had been piled up, examined them closely, whereafter they changed the single garments they had on, and each taking up a piece of cloth went on board their ship and departed." Meanwhile the Japanese had not made any attempt to molest them. Presently the two old men returned, took off the exchanged garments and, laying them down together with the cloth they had taken away, re-embarked and departed. Up to this Hirafu seems to have aimed at commercial intercourse. But his overtures having been rejected, he sent to summon the Sushen. They refused to come, and their prayer for peace having been unsuccessful, they retired to "their own palisades." There the Japanese attacked them, and the Sushen, seeing that defeat was inevitable, put to death their own wives and children. How they themselves fared is not recorded, nor do the Chronicles indicate where "their own palisades" were situated, but in Japan it has always been believed that the desperate engagement was fought in the Amur River, and its issue may be inferred from the fact that although the Japanese lost one general officer, Hirafu was able on his return to present to the Empress more than fifty "barbarians," presumably Sushen. Nevertheless, it is recorded that in the same year (A.D. 660), forty-seven men of Sushen were entertained at Court, and the inference is either that these were among the above "savages"--in which case Japan's treatment of her captured foes in ancient times would merit applause--or that the Sushen had previously established relations with Japan, and that Hirafu's campaign was merely to repel trespass. During the next sixteen years nothing more is heard of the Sushen, but, in A.D. 676, seven of them arrived in the train of an envoy from Sinra, the eastern of the three kingdoms into which Korea was then divided. This incident evokes no remark whatever from the compilers of the Chronicles, and they treat with equal indifference the statement that during the reign of the Empress Jito, in the year A.D. 696, presents of coats and trousers made of brocade, together with dark-red and deep-purple coarse silks, oxen, and other things were given to two men of Sushen. Nothing in this brief record suggests that any considerable intercourse existed in ancient times between the Japanese and the Tungusic Manchu, or that the latter settled in Japan in any appreciable numbers. THE YEMISHI The Yemishi are identified with the modern Ainu. It appears that the continental immigrants into Japan applied to the semi-savage races encountered by them the epithet "Yebisu" or "Yemishi," terms which may have been interchangeable onomatopes for "barbarian." The Yemishi are a moribund race. Only a remnant, numbering a few thousands, survives, now in the northern island of Yezo. Nevertheless it has been proved by Chamberlain's investigations into the origin of place-names, that in early times the Yemishi extended from the north down the eastern section of Japan as far as the region where the present capital (Tokyo) stands, and on the west to the province now called Echizen; and that, when the Nihongi was written, they still occupied a large part of the main island. We find the first mention of them in a poem attributed to the Emperor Jimmu. Conducting his campaign for the re-conquest of Japan, Jimmu, uncertain of the disposition of a band of inhabitants, ordered his general, Michi, to construct a spacious hut (muro) and invite the eighty doubtful characters to a banquet. An equal number of Jimmu's soldiers acted as hosts, and, at a given signal, when the guests were all drunk, they were slaughtered. Jimmu composed a couplet expressing his troops' delight at having disposed of a formidable foe so easily, and in this verselet he spoke of one Yemishi being reputed to be a match for a hundred men. Whether this couplet really belongs to its context, however, is questionable; the eighty warriors killed in the muro may not have been Yemishi at all. But the verse does certainly tend to show that the Yemishi had a high fighting reputation in ancient times, though it will presently be seen that such fame scarcely consists with the facts revealed by history. It is true that when next we hear of the Yemishi more than seven and a half centuries have passed, and during that long interval they may have been engaged in a fierce struggle for the right of existence. There is no evidence, however, that such was the case. On the contrary, it would seem that the Japanese invaders encountered no great resistance from the Yemishi in the south, and were for a long time content to leave them unmolested in the northern and eastern regions. In A.D. 95, however, Takenouchi-no-Sukune was commissioned by the Emperor Keiko to explore those regions. He devoted two years to the task, and, on his return in 97, he submitted to his sovereign this request: "In the eastern wilds there is a country called Hi-taka-mi (Sun-height). The people of this country, both men and women, tie up their hair in the form of a mallet and tattoo their bodies. They are of fierce temper and their general name is Yemishi. Moreover, the land is wide and fertile. We should attack it and take it." [Aston's translation.] It is observable that the principal motive of this advice is aggressive. The Yemishi had not molested the Japanese or shown any turbulence. They ought to be attacked because their conquest would be profitable: that was sufficient. Takenouchi's counsels could not be immediately followed. Other business of a cognate nature in the south occupied the Court's attention, and thirteen years elapsed before (A.D. 110) the celebrated hero, Prince Yamato-dake, led an expedition against the Yemishi of the east. In commanding him to undertake this task, the Emperor, according to the Chronicles, made a speech which, owing to its Chinese tone, has been called apocryphal, though some, at any rate, of the statements it embodies are attested by modern observation of Ainu manners and customs. He spoke of the Yemishi as being the most powerful among the "eastern savages;" said that their "men and women lived together promiscuously," that there was "no distinction of father and child;" that in winter "they dwelt in holes and in summer they lived in huts;" that their clothing consisted of furs and that they drank blood; that when they received a favour they forgot it, but if an injury was done them they never failed to avenge it, and that they kept arrows in their top-knots and carried swords within their clothing. How correct these attributes may have been at the time they were uttered, there are no means of judging, but the customs of the modern Ainu go far to attest the accuracy of the Emperor Keiko's remarks about their ancestors. Yamato-dake prefaced his campaign by worshipping at the shrine of Ise, where he received the sword "Herb-queller," which Susanoo had taken from the last chieftain of the Izumo tribesmen. Thence he sailed along the coast to Suruga, where he landed, and was nearly destroyed by the burning of a moor into which he had been persuaded to penetrate in search of game. Escaping with difficulty, and having taken a terrible vengeance upon the "brigands" who had sought to compass his destruction, he pushed on into Sagami, crossed the bay to Kazusa and, sailing north, reached the southern shore of Shimosa, which was the frontier of the Yemishi. The vessels of the latter assembled with the intention of offering resistance, but at the aspect of the Japanese fleet and the incomparably superior arms and arrows of the men it carried, they submitted unconditionally and became personal attendants on Yamato-dake. Three things are noticeable in this narrative. The first is that the "brigands of Suruga" were not Yemishi; the second, that the Yemishi offered no resistance, and the third, that the Yemishi chiefs are called in the Chronicles "Kami of the islands" and "Kami of the country"--titles which indicate that they were held in some respect by the Japanese. It is not explicitly recorded that Yamato-dake had any further encounter with the Yemishi, but figurative references show that he had much fighting. The Chronicles quote him as saying, after his return to Kii from an extended march through the northeastern provinces and after penetrating as far as Hi-taka-mi (modern Hitachi), the headquarters of the Yemishi, that the only Yemishi who remained unsubmissive were those of Shinano and Koshi (Echigo, Etchu, and Echizen). But although Yamato-dake subsequently entered Shinano, where he suffered much from the arduous nature of the ground, and though he sent a general to explore Koshi, he ultimately retired to Owari, where he died from the effects of fatigue and exposure according to some authorities, of a wound from a poisoned arrow according to others. His last act was to present as slaves to the shrine of Ise the Yemishi who had originally surrendered and who had subsequently attached themselves to his person. They proved so noisy, however, that the priestess of the shrine sent them to the Yamato Court, which assigned for them a settlement on Mount Mimoro. Here, too, their conduct was so turbulent that they received orders to divide and take up their abode at any place throughout the five provinces of Harima, Sanuki, Iyo, Aki, and Awa, where, in after ages, they constituted a hereditary corporation of Saeki (Saekibe). These details deserve to be recorded, for their sequel shows historically that there is an Yemishi element in the Japanese race. Thus, in later times we find the high rank of muraji borne by a member of the Saekibe. Fifteen years (A.D. 125) after the death of Yamato-dake, Prince Sajima was appointed governor-general of the fifteen provinces of Tosan-do (the Eastern Mountain circuit); that is to say, the provinces along the east coast. He died en route and his son, Prince Mimoro, succeeded to the office. During his tenure of power the Yemishi raised a disturbance, but no sooner was force employed against them than they made obeisance and threw themselves on the mercy of the Japanese, who pardoned all that submitted. This orderly condition remained uninterrupted until A.D. 367, when the Yemishi in Kazusa made one of the very few successful revolts on record. They killed Tamichi, a Japanese general sent against them, and they drove back his forces, who do not appear to have taken very effective measures of retaliation. In 482 we find the Yemishi rendering homage to the Emperor Kenso, a ceremony which was repeated on the accession of the Emperor Kimmei (540). But, though meek in the presence of peril, the Yemishi appear to have been of a brawling temperament. Thus, in 561, several thousands of them showed hostility on the frontier, yet no sooner were their chiefs threatened with death than they submitted. At that time all the provinces in the northeast and northwest--then included in Mutsu and Dewa--were in Yemishi possession. They rebelled again in 637, and at first gained a signal success, driving the Japanese general, Katana, into a fortress where he was deserted by his troops. His wife saved the situation. She upbraided her husband as he was scaling the palisades to escape by night, fortified him with wine, girded his sword on herself, and caused her female attendants--of whom there were "several tens"--to twang bowstrings. Katana, taking heart of grace, advanced single handed; the Yemishi, thinking that his troops had rallied, gave way, and the Japanese soldiers, returning to their duty, killed or captured all the insurgents. No other instance of equally determined resistance is recorded on the part of the Yemishi. In 642, several thousands made submission in Koshi. Four years later (646), we find Yemishi doing homage to the Emperor Kotoku. Yet in 645 it was deemed necessary to establish a barrier settlement against them in Echigo; and whereas, in 655, when the Empress Saimei ascended the throne, her Court at Naniwa entertained ninety-nine of the northern Yemishi and forty-five of the eastern, conferring cups of honour on fifteen, while at the same time another numerous body came to render homage and offer gifts, barely three years had elapsed when, in 655, a Japanese squadron of 180 vessels, under the command of Hirafu, omi of Abe, was engaged attacking the Yemishi at Akita on the northwest coast of the main island. All this shows plainly that many districts were still peopled by Yemishi and that their docility varied in different localities. In the Akita campaign the usual surrender was rehearsed. The Yemishi declared that their bows and arrows were for hunting, not for fighting, and the affair ended in a great feast given by Hirafu, the sequel being that two hundred Yemishi proceeded to Court, carrying presents, and were appointed to various offices in the localities represented, receiving also gifts of arms, armour, drums, and flags.* *It is related that these flags had tops shaped like cuttlefish. An interesting episode is recorded of this visit. One of the Yemishi, having been appointed to a high post, was instructed to investigate the Yemishi population and the captive population. Who were these captives? They seem to have been Sushen, for at the feast given by Hirafu his Yemishi guests came accompanied by thirty-five captives, and it is incredible that Japanese prisoners would have been thus humiliated in the sight of their armed countrymen. There will be occasion to recur to this point presently. Here we have to note that in spite of frequent contact, friendly or hostile, and in spite of so many years of intercourse, the Yemishi seem to have been still regarded by the Japanese as objects of curiosity. For, in the year 654, envoys from Yamato to the Tang Emperor of China took with them a Yemishi man and woman to show to his Majesty. The Chinese sovereign was much struck by the unwonted appearance of these people. He asked several questions, which are recorded verbatim in the Chronicles; and the envoys informed him that there were three tribes of Yemishi; namely, the Tsugaru* Yemishi, who were the most distant; next, the Ara Yemishi (rough or only partially subdued), and lastly, the Nigi Yemishi (quiet or docile); that they sustained life by eating, not cereals, but flesh, and that they dispensed with houses, preferring to live under trees and in the recesses of mountains. The Chinese Emperor finally remarked, "When we look at the unusual bodily appearance of these Yemishi, it is strange in the extreme." *The Story of Korea, by Longford. Evidently whatever the original provenance of the Yemishi, they had never been among the numerous peoples who observed the custom of paying visits of ceremony to the Chinese capital. They were apparently not included in the family of Far Eastern nations. From the second half of the seventh century they are constantly found carrying tribute to the Japanese Court and receiving presents or being entertained in return. But these evidences of docility and friendship were not indicative of the universal mood. The Yemishi located in the northeastern section of the main island continued to give trouble up to the beginning of the ninth century, and throughout this region as well as along the west coast from the thirty-eighth parallel of latitude northward the Japanese were obliged to build six castles and ten barrier posts between A.D. 647 and 800. These facts, however, have no concern with the immediate purpose of this historical reference further than to show that from the earliest times the Yamato immigrants found no opponents in the northern half of the island except the Yemishi and the Sushen. One more episode, however, is germane. In the time (682) of the Emperor Temmu, the Yemishi of Koshi, who had by that time become quite docile, asked for and received seven thousand families of captives to found a district. A Japanese writing alleges that these captives were subjects of the Crown who had been seized and enslaved by the savages. But that is inconsistent with all probabilities. The Yamato might sentence these people to serfdom among men of their own race, but they never would have condemned Japanese to such a position among the Yemishi. Evidently these "captives" were prisoners taken by the Yamato from the Koreans, the Sushen, or some other hostile nation. THE KUMASO There has been some dispute about the appellation "Kumaso." One high authority thinks that Kuma and So were the names of two tribes inhabiting the extreme south of Japan; that is to say, the provinces now called Hyuga, Osumi, and Satsuma. Others regard the term as denoting one tribe only. The question is not very material. Among all the theories formed about the Kumaso, the most plausible is that they belonged to the Sow race of Borneo and that they found their way to Japan on the breast of the "Black Tide." Many similarities of custom have been traced between the two peoples. Both resorted freely to ornamental tattooing; both used shields decorated with hair; both were skilled in making articles of bamboo, especially hats; both were fond of dancing with accompaniment of singing and hand-clapping; and both dressed their hair alike. Japanese annals use the word "Kumaso" for the first time in connexion with the annexation of Tsukushi (Kyushu) by the Izanagi expedition, when one of the four faces of the island is called the "land of Kumaso." Plainly if this nomenclature may be taken as evidence, the Kumaso must have arrived in Japan at a date prior to the advent of the immigrants represented by Izanagi and Izanami; and it would further follow that they did not penetrate far into the interior, but remained in the vicinity of the place of landing, which may be supposed to have been some point on the southern coast of Kyushu. Nor does there appear to have been any collision between the two tides of immigrants, for the first appearance of the Kumaso in a truculent role was in A.D. 81 when they are said to have rebelled. The incident, though remote from the capital, was sufficiently formidable to induce the Emperor Keiko to lead a force against them in person from Yamato. En route he had to deal with "brigands" infesting Suwo and Buzen, provinces separated by the Inland Sea and situated respectively on the south of the main island and the north of Kyushu. These provinces were ruled by chieftainesses, who declared themselves loyal to the Imperial cause, and gave information about the haunts and habits of the "brigands," who in Suwo had no special appellation but in Buzen were known as Tsuchi-gumo, a name to be spoken of presently. They were disposed of partly by stratagem and partly by open warfare. But when the Yamato troops arrived in Hyuga within striking distance of the Kumaso, the Emperor hesitated. He deemed it wise not to touch the spear-points of these puissant foes. Ultimately he overcame them by enticing the two daughters of the principal leaders and making a show of affection for one of them. She conducted Japanese soldiers to her father's residence, and having plied him with strong drink, cut his bow-string while he slept so that the soldiers could kill him with impunity. It is recorded that Keiko put the girl to death for her unfilial conduct, but the assassination of her father helped the Japanese materially in their campaign against the Kumaso, whom they succeeded in subduing and in whose land the Emperor remained six years. The Kumaso were not quelled, however. Scarcely eight years had elapsed from the time of Keiko's return to Yamato when they rebelled again, "making ceaseless raids upon the frontier districts;" and he sent against them his son, Yamato-dake; with a band of skilled archers. This youth, one of the most heroic figures in ancient Japanese history, was only sixteen. He disguised himself as a girl and thus gained access to a banquet given by the principal Kumaso leader to celebrate the opening of a new residence. Attracted by the beauty of the supposed girl, the Kumaso chieftain placed her beside him, and when he had drunk heavily, Yamato-dake stabbed him to the heart,* subsequently serving all his band in the same way. After this, the Kumaso remained quiet for nearly a century, but in the year 193,** during the reign of the Emperor Chuai, they once more rebelled, and the Emperor organized an expedition against them. He failed in the struggle and was killed by the Kumaso's arrows. Thenceforth history is silent about them. *The Chronicles relate that when the Kumaso was struck down he asked for a moment's respite to learn the name of his slayer, whose prowess astounded him. On receiving an answer he sought the prince's permission to give him a title, and declared that instead of being called Yamato Oguna, the name hitherto borne by him, he should be termed Yamato-dake (Champion of Japan) because he had conquered the hitherto unconquerable. The prince accepted the name, and then gave the Kumaso his coup de grace. **It should be understood that these dates, being prehistoric, are not wholly reliable. Who, then, were they? It is related in the Chronicles that, after breaking the power of the Kumaso, the Emperor Keiko made a tour of inspection in Tsukushi (Kyushu), and arriving at the district of Kuma, summoned two brothers, princes of Kuma, to pay homage. One obeyed, but the other refused, and soldiers were therefore sent to put him to death. Now Kuma was the name of the three kingdoms into which the Korean peninsula was divided in ancient times, and it has been suggested [Aston] that the land of Kuma in Korea was the parent country of Kuma in Japan, Kom in the Korean language having the same meaning (bear) as Kuma in the Japanese. This, of course, involves the conclusion that the Kumaso were originally Korean emigrants; a theory somewhat difficult to reconcile with their location in the extreme south of Kyushu. The apparent silence of the annals about the subsequent career of the tribe is accounted for by supposing that the Kumaso were identical with the Hayato (falcon men), who make their first appearance upon the scene in prehistoric days as followers of Hosuseri in his contest with his younger brother, Hohodemi, the hero of the legend about the palace of the sea god. Hohodemi according to the rationalized version of the legend having obtained assistance in the shape of ships and mariners from an oversea monarch (supposed to have reigned in Korea), returned to Tsukushi to fight his brother, and being victorious, spared Hosuseri's life on condition that the descendants of the vanquished through eighty generations should serve the victor's descendants as mimes. "On that account," says the Chronicles, "the various Hayato, descended from Hosuseri to the present time, do not leave the vicinity of the Imperial palace enclosure and render service instead of watch-dogs." The first mention of the name Hayato after the prehistoric battle in Kyushu, occurs in the year 399, when Sashihire, one of the tribe, was induced to assassinate his master, an Imperial prince. This incident goes to show that individual members of the tribe were then employed at Court; an inference confirmed fifty-one years later, when, on the death of Emperor Yuryaku, "the Hayato lamented night and day beside the misasagi (tomb) and refused the food offered to them, until at the end of seven days they died." It can scarcely be doubted that we have here a reversion to the old custom which compelled slaves to follow their lords to the grave. The Hayato serving in the Court at that epoch held the status generally assigned in ancient days to vanquished people, the status of serfs or slaves. Six times during the next 214 years we find the Hayato repairing to the Court to pay homage, in the performance of which function they are usually bracketted with the Yemishi. Once (682) a wrestling match took place in the Imperial presence between the Hayato of Osumi and those of Satsuma, and once (694) the viceroy of Tsukushi (Kyushu) presented 174 Hayato to the Court. THE TSUCHI-GUMO In ancient Japan there was a class of men to whom the epithet "Tsuchi" (earth-spiders) was applied. Their identity has been a subject of much controversy. The first mention made of them in Japanese annals occurs in connexion with the slaughter of eighty braves invited to a banquet by the Emperor Jimmu's general in a pit-dwelling at Osaka.* The Records apply to these men the epithet "Tsuchi-gumo," whereas the Chronicles represent the Emperor as celebrating the incident in a couplet which speaks of them as Yemishi. It will be seen presently that the apparent confusion of epithet probably conveys a truth. *This incident has been already referred to under the heading "Yemishi." It is to be observed that the "Osaka" here mentioned is not the modern city of Osaka. The next allusion to Tsuchi-gumo occurs in the annals of the year (662 B.C.) following the above event, according to the chronology of the Chronicles. The Emperor, having commanded his generals to exercise the troops, Tsuchi-gumo were found in three places, and as they declined to submit, a detachment was sent against them. Concerning a fourth band of these defiant folk, the Chronicles say: "They had short bodies and long legs and arms. They were of the same class as the pigmies. The Imperial troops wove nets of dolichos, which they flung over them and then slew them." There are four comments to be made on this. The first is that the scene of the fighting was in Yamato. The second, that the chiefs of the Tsuchi-gumo had Japanese names--names identical, in two cases, with those of a kind of Shinto priest (hafuri), and therefore most unlikely to have been borne by men not of Japanese origin. The third, that the presence of Tsuchi-gumo in Yamato preceded the arrival of Jimmu's expedition. And the fourth, that the Records are silent about the whole episode. As for the things told in the Chronicles about short bodies, long limbs, pigmies, and nets of dolichos, they may be dismissed as mere fancies suggested by the name Tsuchi-gumo, which was commonly supposed to mean "earth-spiders." If any inference may be drawn from the Chronicles' story, it is that there were Japanese in Yamato before Jimmu's time, and that Tsuchi-gumo were simply bands of Japanese raiders. ENGRAVING: AINUS (INHABITANTS OF HOKKAIDO, THE NORTHERN ISLAND) They are heard of next in the province of Bungo (on the northeast of Kyushu) where (A.D. 82) the Emperor Keiko led an army to attack the Kumaso. Two bands of Tsuchi-gumo are mentioned as living there, and the Imperial forces had no little difficulty in subduing them. Their chiefs are described as "mighty of frame and having numerous followers." In dealing with the first band, Keiko caused his bravest soldiers to carry mallets made from camellia trees, though why such weapons should have been preferred to the trenchant swords used by the Japanese there is nothing to show. (Another account says "mallet-headed swords," which is much more credible). In dealing with the second, he was driven back once by their rain of arrows, and when he attacked from another quarter, the Tsuchi-gumo, their submission having been refused, flung themselves into a ravine and perished. Here again certain points have to be noticed: that there were Tsuchi-gumo in Kyushu as well as in Yamato; that if one account describes them as pigmies, another depicts them as "mighty of frame," and that in Kyushu, as in Yamato, the Tsuchi-gumo had Japanese names. Only once again do the annals refer to Tsuchi-gumo. They relate curtly that on his return from quelling the Kumaso the Emperor Keiko killed a Tsuchi-gumo in the province of Hizen. The truth seems to be that factitious import has been attached to the Tsuchi-gumo. Mainly because they were pit-dwellers, it was assumed for a tune that they represented a race which had immigrated to Japan at some date prior to the arrival of the Yemishi (modern Ainu). This theory was founded on the supposed discovery of relics of pit-dwellers in the islands of Yezo and Itorop, and their hasty identification as Kuro-pok-guru--the Ainu term for underground dwellers--whose modern representatives are seen among the Kurilsky or their neighbours in Kamchatka and Saghalien. But closer examination of the Yezo and Itorop pits showed that there was complete absence of any mark of antiquity--such as the presence of large trees or even deep-rooted brushwood;--that they were arranged in regular order, suggesting a military encampment rather than the abode of savages; that they were of uniform size, with few exceptions; that on excavation they yielded fragments of hard wood, unglazed pottery, and a Japanese dirk, and, finally, that their site corresponded with that of military encampments established in Yezo and the Kuriles by the Japanese Government in the early part of the nineteenth century as a defence against Russian aggression. Evidently the men who constructed and used these pit-dwellings were not prehistoric savages but modern Japanese soldiers. Further very conclusive testimony has been collected by the Rev. John Batchelor, who has devoted profound study to the Ainu. He found that the inhabitants of Shikotan, who had long been supposed to be a remnant of pre-Ainu immigrants, were brought thither from an island called Shimushir in the Kurile group in 1885 by order of the Japanese Government; that they declared themselves to be descended from men of Saghalien; that they spoke nothing but the Ainu language, and that they inhabited pits in winter, as do also the Ainu now living in Saghalien. If any further proof were needed, it might be drawn from the fact that no excavation has brought to light any relics whatever of a race preceding and distinct from the Yemishi (Ainu), all the pits and graves hitherto searched having yielded Yamato or Yemishi skulls. Neither has there been found any trace of pigmies. An Ainu myth is responsible for the belief in the existence of such beings: "In very ancient times, a race of people who dwelt in pits lived among us. They were so very tiny that ten of them could easily take shelter beneath one burdock leaf. When they went to catch herrings they used to make boats by sewing the leaves together, and always fished with a hook. If a single herring was caught, it took all the strength of the men of five boats, or ten sometimes, to hold it and drag it ashore, while whole crowds were required to kill it with their clubs and spears. Yet, strange to say, these divine little men used even to kill great whales. Surely these pit-dwellers were gods."* *"The Ainu and their Folk-lore," by Batchelor. Evidently if such legends are to be credited, the existence of fairies must no longer be denied in Europe. Side by side with the total absence of all tangible relics may be set the fact that, whereas numerous place-names in the main island of Japan have been identified as Ainu words, none has been traced to any alien tongue such as might be associated with earlier inhabitants. Thus, the theory of a special race of immigrants anterior to the Yemishi has to be abandoned so far as the evidence of pit-dwelling is concerned. The fact is that the use of partially underground residences cannot be regarded as specially characteristic of any race or as differentiating one section of the people of Japan from another. To this day the poorer classes in Korea depend for shelter upon pits covered with thatch or strong oil-paper. They call these dwellings um or um-mak, a term corresponding to the Japanese muro. Pit-dwellers are mentioned in old Chinese literature, and the references to the muro in the Records and Chronicles show that the muro of those days had a character similar to that of the modern Korean um-mak [Aston]. We read of a muro being dug; of steps down to it; and we read of a muro big enough to hold 160 persons at one time. The muro was not always simply a hole roofed over: it sometimes contained a house having a wooden frame lashed together with vine-tendrils, the walls lined with sedges and reeds and plastered with a mixture of grass and clay. The roof was thatched with reeds; there was a door opening inwards, and a raised platform served for sleeping purposes. A dwelling closely resembling this description was actually unearthed near Akita in O-U, in 1807. Muro were used in ancient times by the highest as Well as the poorest classes. Susanoo is said by the Izumo Fudoki to have made for himself a muro; Jimmu's sort is represented as sleeping in a great muro, and the Emperor Keiko, when (A.D.82) prosecuting his campaign in Kyushu, is said to have constructed a muro for a temporary palace. "In fact, pit-dwelling in northern climates affords no indication of race." CONCLUSION FROM HISTORICAL EVIDENCE Thus the conclusion suggested by historical evidence is that the Japanese nation is composed of four elements: the Yamato; the Yemishi (modern Ainu); the Kumaso (or Hayato), and the Sushen. As to the last of these, there is no conclusive indication that they ever immigrated in appreciable numbers. It does not follow, of course, that the historical evidence is exhaustive, especially Japanese historical evidence; for the annalists of Japan do not appear to have paid any special attention to racial questions. ENGRAVING: ANCIENT HANGING BELLS ENGRAVING: FUTAMI-GA-URA (The Husband and Wife Rocks) CHAPTER VI ORIGIN OF THE NATION: GEOGRAPHICAL AND ARCHAEOLOGICAL RELICS JAPAN'S CONNEXION WITH THE ASIATIC CONTINENT THE group of islands forming Japan may be said to have routes of communication with the continent of Asia at six places: two in the north; two in the southwest, and two in the south. The principal connexion in the north is across the narrow strait of Soya from the northwest point of Yezo to Saghalien and thence to the Amur region of Manchuria. The secondary connexion is from the north-east point of Yezo via the long chain of the Kuriles to Kamchatka. The first of the southwestern routes is from the northwest of Kyushu via the islands of Iki and Tsushima to the southeast of Korea; and the second is from the south of the Izumo promontory in Japan, by the aid of the current which sets up the two southern routes. One of these is from the southwest of Kyushu via the Goto Islands to southeastern China; the other is from the south of Kyushu via the Ryukyu Islands, Formosa, and the Philippines to Malaysia and Polynesia. It has also been proved geologically* that the islands now forming Japan must at one time have been a part of the Asiatic continent. Evidently these various avenues may have given access to immigrants from Siberia, from China, from Malaysia, and from Polynesia. *There have been found in the gravel Tertiary mammals including elephas primigenius, elephas Namadicus, stegodon Clifti, and unnamed varieties of bear, deer, bison, ox, horse, rhinoceros, and whale. (Outlines of the Geology of Japan; Imperial Geological Survey). CULTURE Archaeological research indicates the existence of two distinct cultures in Japan together with traces of a third. One of these cultures has left its relics chiefly in shell-heaps or embedded in the soil, while the remains of another are found mainly in sepulchral chambers or in caves. The relics themselves are palpably distinct except when they show transitional approach to each other. The older culture is attested by more than four thousand residential sites and shell-heaps. Its most distinctive features are the absence of all metallic objects and the presence of pottery not turned on the wheel. Polished, finely chipped, and roughly hewn implements and weapons of stone are found, as are implements of bone and horn. It was, in short, a neolithic culture. The vestiges of the other culture do not include weapons of stone. There are imitations of sheath-knives, swords, and arrow-heads, and there are some models of stone articles. But the alien features are iron weapons and hard pottery always moulded on the wheel. Copper is present mainly in connexion with the work of the goldsmith and the silversmith, and arrow-heads, jingle-bells, mirrors, etc., are also present. The former culture is identified as that of the aboriginal inhabitants, the Yemishi; the latter belongs to the Yamato race, or Japanese proper. Finally, "there are indications that a bronze culture intervened in the south between the stone and the iron phases."* *Munro's Prehistoric Japan. PRIMITIVE CULTURE The neolithic sites occur much more frequently in the northern than in the southern half of Japan. They are, indeed, six times as numerous on the north as on the south of a line drawn across the main island from the coast of Ise through Orai. The neighbourhood of the sea, at heights of from thirty to three hundred feet, and the alluvial plains are their favourite positions. So far as the technical skill shown by the relics--especially the pottery--is concerned, it grows higher with the latitude. The inference is that the settlements of the aborigines in the south were made at an earlier period than those in the north; which may be interpreted to mean that whereas the stone-using inhabitants were driven back in the south at an early date, they held their ground in the north to a comparatively modern era. That is precisely what Japanese history indicates. Jimmu's conquests, which took place several centuries before the Christian era, carried him as far as the Ise-Omi line, but Yamato-dake's expedition against the Yemishi north of that line was not planned until the second century after Christ. Apart from the rough evidence furnished by the quality of the relics, calculations have been made of the age of an important shell-heap by assuming that it originally stood at the seaside, and by estimating the number of years required to separate it by the present interval from the coast at a fixed annual rate of silting. The result is from five thousand to ten thousand years. A book (the Hitachi Fudoki), published in A.D. 715, speaks of these kaizuka (shell-heaps) as existing already at that remote period, and attributes their formation to a giant living on a hill who stretched out his hand to pick up shell-fish. This myth remained current until the eighteenth century, and stone axes exhumed from the heaps were called thunder-axes (rai-fu) just as similar relics in Europe were called elf-bolts or thunder-stones. There is great diversity of size among the shell-heaps, some being of insignificant dimensions and others extending to five hundred square yards. They are most numerous in the eight provinces forming the Kwanto. In fact, in these ancient times, the Yamato race and the aborigines had their headquarters in the same localities, respectively, as the Imperial and Feudal governments had in mediaeval and modern times. But there are no distinct traces of palaeolithic culture; the neolithic alone can be said to be represented. Its relics are numerous--axes, knives, arrow-heads, arrow-necks, bow-tips, spear-heads, batons, swords, maces, sling-stones, needles, drill-bows, drill and spindle weights, mortars and pestles, paddles, boats, sinkers, fishing-hooks, gaffs, harpoons, mallets, chisels, scrapers, hoes, sickles, whetstones, hammers, and drills. It must be premised that though so many kinds of implements are here enumerated, the nomenclature cannot be accepted as universally accurate. The so-called "hoe," for example, is an object of disputed identity, especially as agriculture has not been proved to have been practised among the primitive people of Japan, nor have any traces of grain been found in the neolithic sites. On the other hand, the modern Ainu, who are believed to represent the ancient population, include in their religious observances the worship of the first cakes made from the season's millet, and unless that rite be supposed to have been borrowed from the Yamato, it goes to indicate agricultural pursuits. There is, indeed, one great obstacle to any confident differentiation of the customs and creeds prevalent in Japan. That obstacle consists in the great length of the period covered by the annals. It may reasonably be assumed that the neolithic aborigines were in more or less intimate contact with the invading Yamato for something like twenty-five centuries, an interval quite sufficient to have produced many interactions and to have given birth to many new traditions. An illustration is furnished by the mental attitude of the uneducated classes in Japan towards the neolithic implements. So completely has all memory of the human uses of these implements faded, that they are regarded as relics of supernatural beings and called by such names as raifu (thunder-axe), raitsui (thunder-club), kitsune no kuwa (fox-hoe), raiko (thunder-pestle), and tengu no meshigai (rice-spoon of the goblins). Many of the neolithic relics show that the people who used them had reached a tolerably high level of civilization. This is specially seen in the matter of ceramics. It is true that the wheel was not employed, and that the firing was imperfect, but the variety of vessels was considerable,* and the shapes and decorations were often very praiseworthy. Thus, among the braziers are found shapes obviously the originals of the Japanese choji-buro (clove-censer) and the graceful rice-bowl, while community of conception with Chinese potters would seem to be suggested by some of the forms of these ancient vases. Particularly interesting are earthenware images obtained from these neolithic sites. Many of them have been conventionalized into mere anthropomorphs and are rudely moulded. But they afford valuable indications of the clothing and personal adornments of the aborigines. *Cooking-pots and pans, jars and vases, bowls and dishes, cups, bottles, nipple pots, lamps, braziers, ewers, strainers, spindles or drill weights, stamps, ornaments, images, and plaques (Munro's Prehistoric Japan). What end these effigies were intended to serve remains an unsettled question. Some suggest that they were used as substitutes for human sacrifices, and that they point to a time when wives and slaves were required to follow their husbands and masters to the grave. They may also have been suggested by the example of the Yamato, who, at a very remote time, began to substitute clay images for human followers of the dead; or they may have been designed to serve as mere mementoes. This last theory derives some force from the fact that the images are found, not in graves or tombs, but at residential sites. No data have been obtained, however, for identifying burying-places: sepulture may have been carried out in the house of the deceased. Whichever explanation be correct, the fact confronts us that these clay effigies have no place in the cult of the modern Ainu. History teaches, however, that degeneration may become so complete as to deprive a nation of all traces of its original civilization. Such seems to have been the case with the Ainu. INTERMEDIATE CULTURE Traces of a culture occupying a place intermediate between the primitive culture and that of the Yamato are not conclusive. They are seen in pottery which, like the ware of the neolithic sites, is not turned on the wheel, and, like the Yamato ware, is decorated in a very subdued and sober fashion. It is found from end to end of the main island and even in Yezo, and in pits, shell-heaps, and independent sites as well as in tombs, burial caves, and cairns of the Yamato. Thus, there does not seem to be sufficient warrant for associating it with a special race. It was possibly supplied to order of the Yamato by the aboriginal craftsmen, who naturally sought to copy the salient features of the conquering immigrants' ware. BRONZE VESTIGES There are also some bronze vestiges to which considerable interest attaches, for evidently people using bronze weapons could not have stood against men carrying iron arms, and therefore the people to whom the bronze implements belonged must have obtained a footing in Japan prior to the Yamato, unless they came at the latter's invitation or as their allies. Moreover, these bronze relics--with the exception of arrow-heads--though found in the soil of western and southern Japan, do not occur in the Yamato sepulchres, which feature constitutes another means of differentiation. Daggers, swords, halberds, and possibly spear-heads constitute the hand-weapons. The daggers have a certain resemblance to the Malay kris, and the swords and halberds are generally leaf-shaped. But some features, as overshort tangs and unpierced loops, suggest that they were manufactured, not for service in battle but for ceremonial purposes, being thus mere survivals from an era when their originals were in actual use, and possibly those originals may have been of iron. Some straight-edged specimens have been classed as spear-heads, but they closely resemble certain ancient bronze swords of China. As for bronze arrow-heads, they occur alike in Yamato sepulchres and in the soil, so that no special inference is warranted in their case. The bronze hand-weapons have been found in twelve provinces of southern and western Japan: namely, five provinces of northwest Kyushu; three on the Inland Sea; one facing Korea and China, and the rest on the islands of Iki and Tsushima. These localities and the fact that similar swords have been met with in Shantung, suggest that the bronze culture came from central and eastern Asia, which hypothesis receives confirmation from the complete absence of bronze vestiges in the southern provinces of Kyushu, namely, Osumi and Satsuma. Bronze bells, of which there are many, belong to a separate page of archaeology. Though they have been found in no less than twenty-four provinces, there is no instance of their presence in the same sites with hand-weapons of bronze. In Kyushu, Higo is the only province where they have been seen, whereas in the main island they extend as far east as Totomi, and are conspicuously numerous in that province and its neighbour, Mikawa, while in Omi they are most abundant of all. They vary in height from about one foot four inches to four and a half feet, and are of highly specialized shape, the only cognate type being bells used in China during the Chou dynasty (1122-225 B.C.) for the purpose of giving military signals. A Chinese origin is still more clearly indicated by the decorative designs, which show a combination of the circle, the triangle, and the spiral, obviously identical with the decorative motive* on Chinese drums of the Han dynasty (202 B.C.-A.D. 220). The circle and the triangle occur also in the sepulchral pottery of the Yamato sites, and considering the fact together with the abundance of the bells in districts where the Yamato were most strongly established, there seems to be warrant for attributing these curious relics to the Yamato culture. *This resemblance has been pointed out by a Japanese archaeologist, Mr. Teraishi. Dr. Munro states that the same elements are combined in an Egyptian decorative design. To this inference it has been objected that no bells have been found in the tombs of the Yamato. The same is true, however, of several other objects known to have belonged to that people. If, then, the bells be classed as adjuncts of the Yamato culture, shall we be justified in assigning the bronze weapon to a different race? On the whole, the most reasonable conclusion seems to be that all the bronze relics, weapons, and bells alike, are "vestiges of the Yamato procession at a time anterior to the formation of the great dolmens and other tombs" [Munro]. A corollary would be that the Yamato migrated from China in the days of the Chou dynasty (1122-225 B.C.), and that, having landed in the province of Higo, they conquered the greater part of Tsukushi (Kyushu), and subsequently passed up the Inland Sea to Yamato; which hypothesis would invest with some accuracy the date assigned by the Chronicles to Jimmu's expedition and would constitute a general confirmation of the Japanese account of his line of advance. YAMATO CULTURE The ancient Yamato are known chiefly through the medium of relics found in their sepulchres. Residential sites exist in comparatively small numbers, so far as research ha hitherto shown, and such sites yield nothing except more or less scattered potsherds and low walls enclosing spaces of considerable area. Occasionally Yamato pottery and other relics are discovered in pits, and these evidences, combined with historical references, go to show that the Yamato themselves sometimes used pit-dwellings. The tombs yield much more suggestive relics of metal, stone, and pottery. Some four thousand of such sepulchres have been officially catalogued, but it is believed that fully ten times that number exist. The most characteristic is a tomb of larger dimensions enclosing a dolmen which contains a coffin hollowed out from the trunk of a tree, or a sarcophagus of stone,* the latter being much more commonly found, as might be expected from its greater durability. Burial-jars were occasionally used, as were also sarcophagi of clay or terracotta,** the latter chiefly in the provinces of Bizen and Mimasaka, probably because suitable materials existed there in special abundance. Moreover, not a few tombs belonged to the category of cists; that is to say, excavations in rock, with a single-slabbed or many-slabbed cover; or receptacles formed with stone clubs, cobbles, or boulders. *The stone sarcophagus was of considerable size and various shapes, forming an oblong box with a lid of a boatlike form. **The terracotta sarcophagi were generally parallel, oblong or elongated oval in shape, with an arched or angular covering and several feet. One has been found with doors moving on hinges. There is great difficulty in arriving at any confident estimate of age amid such variety. Dolmens of a most primitive kind "exist side by side with stone chambers of highly finished masonry in circumstances which suggest contemporaneous construction" so that "the type evidently furnishes little or no criterion of age," and, moreover, local facilities must have largely influenced the method of building. The dolmen is regarded by archaeologists as the most characteristic feature of the Yamato tombs. It was a chamber formed by setting up large slabs of stone, inclined slightly towards each other, which served as supports for another slab forming the roof. Seen in plan, the dolmens presented many shapes: a simple chamber or gallery; a chamber with a gallery, or a series of chambers with a gallery. Above the dolmen a mound was built, sometimes of huge dimensions (as, for example, the misasagi* of the Emperor Tenchi--d. A.D. 671--which with its embankments, measured 5040 feet square), and within the dolmen were deposited many articles dedicated to the service of the deceased. Further, around the covering-mound there are generally found, embedded in the earth, terracotta cylinders (haniwa), sometimes surmounted with figures or heads of persons or animals. *By this name all the Imperial tombs were called. According to the Chronicles, incidents so shocking occurred in connexion with the sacrifice of the personal attendants* of Prince Yamato at his burial (A.D. 2) that the custom of making such sacrifices was thenceforth abandoned, clay images being substituted for human beings. The Records speak of a "hedge of men set up round a tumulus," and it would therefore seem that these terracotta figures usually found encircling the principal misasagi, represented that hedge and served originally as pedestals for images. Within the dolmen, also, clay effigies are often found, which appear to have been substitutes for retainers of high rank. Had the ancient custom been effectually abolished in the year A.D. 3, when the Emperor Suinin is recorded to have issued orders in that sense, a simple and conclusive means would be at hand for fixing the approximate date of a dolmen, since all tombs containing clay effigies or encircled by terracotta haniwa would necessarily be subsequent to that date, and all tombs containing skeletons other than the occupants of the sarcophagi would be referable to an earlier era. But although compulsory sacrifices appear to have ceased from about the first century of the Christian era, it is certain that voluntary sacrifices continued through many subsequent ages. This clue is therefore illusory. Neither does the custom itself serve to connect the Yamato with any special race, for it is a wide-spread rite of animistic religion, and it was practised from time immemorial by the Chinese, the Manchu Tatars, and many other nations of northeastern Asia. *They are said to have been buried upright in the precincts of the misasagi. "For several days they died not, but wept and wailed day and night. At last they died and rotted. Dogs and crows gathered and ate them." (Chronicles. Aston's translation.) The substitution of images for living beings, however, appears to have been a direct outcome of contact with China, for the device was known there as early as the seventh century before Christ. It would seem, too, from the researches of a learned Japanese archaeologist (Professor Miyake), that the resemblance between Japanese and Chinese burial customs was not limited to this substitution. The dolmen also existed in China in very early times, but had been replaced by a chamber of finished masonry not later than the ninth century B.C. In the Korean peninsula the dolmen with a megalithic roof is not uncommon, and the sepulchral pottery bears a close resemblance to that of the Yamato tombs. It was at one time supposed that the highly specialized form of dolmen found in Japan had no counterpart anywhere on the continent of Asia, but that supposition has proved erroneous. The contents of the sepulchres, however, are more distinctive. They consist of "noble weapons and armour, splendid horse-trappings, vessels for food and drink, and various objects de luxe," though articles of wood and textile fabrics have naturally perished. Iron swords are the commonest relics. They are found in all tombs of all ages, and they bear emphatic testimony to the warlike habits of the Yamato, as well as to their belief that in the existence beyond the grave weapons were not less essential than in life. Arrow-heads are also frequently found and spear-heads sometimes.* The swords are all of iron. There is no positive evidence showing that bronze swords were in use, though grounds exist for supposing, as has been already noted, that they were employed at a period not much anterior to the commencement of dolmen building, which seems to have been about the sixth or seventh century before Christ. The iron swords themselves appear to attest this, for although the great majority are single-edged and of a shape essentially suited to iron, about ten per cent, are double-edged with a central ridge distinctly reminiscent of casting in fact, a hammered-iron survival of a bronze leaf-shaped weapon.** Occasionally these swords have, at the end of the tang, a disc with a perforated design of two dragons holding a ball, a decorative motive which already betrays Chinese origin. Other swords have pommels surmounted by a bulb set at an angle to the tang,*** and have been suspected to be Turanian origin. *The most comprehensive list of these objects is that given in Munro's Prehistoric Japan: "Objects of iron--(1), Swords and daggers; (2), Hilt-guards and pommels; (3), Arrow-heads; (4), Spear-heads and halberd-heads; (5) Armour and helmets; (6), Stirrups and bridle-bits; (7), Ornamental trappings for horses; (8), Axes, hoes, or chisels; (9), Hoes or spades; (10), Chains; (11), Rings; (12), Buckles; (13), Smith's tongs or pincers; (14), Nails; (15), Caskets, handles, hinges, and other fittings. Objects of copper and bronze--(1), Arrow-heads; (2), Spear-heads; (3), Hilt-guards and pommels; (4), Scabbard-covers and pieces of sheet-copper for ornamental uses; (5), Helmets; (6), Arm-and-leg guards; (7), Shoes; (8), Horse-trappings; (9), Belts; (10), Mirrors; (11), Bracelets and rings; (12), Various fittings. Silver and gold were employed chiefly in plating, but fine chains and pendants as well as rings of pure gold and silver have been met with. "The stone objects may be divided into two classes, viz: "A. Articles of use or ornaments--(1), Head-rest; (2), Mortar and pestle; (3), Caskets and vessels; (4), Cups and other vessels; (5), Bracelets; (6), Magatama; (7), Other ornaments; (8), Plumb-line pendant; (9), Spindle-weight; (10), Objects of unascertained function. "B. Sepulchral substitutes--(1), Swords and daggers; (2), Sheath-knife; (3), Arrow-head; (4), Spear-head; (5), Shield; (6); Armour; (7), Wooden dogs; (8), Mirror; (9), Comb; (10), Magatama; (11), Cooking-knife; (12), Sickle or scythe-blade; (13), Hoe or chisel; (14), Head of chisel or spear; (15), Bowl; (16), Table; (17), Sword-pommel; (18), Nondescript objects." The above list does not include pottery. **The leaf-shaped bronze sword is found over all Europe from the Mediterranean to Lapland, but generally without a central ridge. ***Mr. Takahashi, a Japanese archaeologist, suggests that these weapons were the so called "mallet-headed swords" said to have been used by Keiko's soldiers (A.D. 82) against the Tsuchi-gumo. The name, kabutsuchi, supports this theory, kabu being the term for "turnip," which is also found in kabuya, a humming arrow having a turnip-shaped head perforated with holes. Yet another form--found mostly in the Kwanto provinces and to the north of them, from which fact its comparatively recent use may be inferred--was known in western Asia and especially in Persia, whence it is supposed to have been exported to the Orient in connexion with the flourishing trade carried on between China and Persia from the seventh to the tenth century. That a similar type is not known to exist in China proves nothing conclusive, for China's attitude towards foreign innovations was always more conservative than Japan's. Scabbards, having been mostly of wood, have not survived, but occasionally one is found having a sheeting of copper thickly plated with gold. Arrow-heads are very numerous. Those of bronze have, for the most part, the leaf shape of the bronze sword, but those of iron show many forms, the most remarkable being the chisel-headed, a type used in Persia. Spear-heads are not specially suggestive as to provenance, with the exception of a kind having a cross-arm like the halberd commonly used in China from the seventh century before Christ. Yamato armour affords little assistance to the archaeologist: it bears no particularly close resemblance to any type familiar elsewhere. There was a corset made of sheet iron, well rivetted. It fastened in front and was much higher behind than before, additioned protection for the back being provided by a lattice-guard which depended from the helmet and was made by fastening strips of sheet iron to leather or cloth. The helmet was usually of rivetted iron, but occasionally of bronze, with or without a peak in front. There were also guards of copper or iron for the legs, and there were shoulder-curtains constructed in the same manner as the back-curtain pendant from the helmet. Shoes of copper complete the panoply. The workmanship of these weapons and armour is excellent: it shows an advanced stage of manufacturing skill. This characteristic is even more remarkable in the case of horse-trappings. The saddle and stirrups, the bridle and bit, are practically the same as those that were used in modern times, even a protective toe-piece for the stirrup being present. A close resemblance is observable between the ring stirrups of old Japan and those of mediaeval Europe, and a much closer affinity is shown by the bits, which had cheek-pieces and were usually jointed in the centre precisely like a variety common in Europe; metal pendants, garnished with silver and gold and carrying globular jingle-bells in their embossed edges, served for horse decoration. These facts are learned, not from independent relics alone, but also from terracotta steeds found in the tumuli and moulded so as to show all their trappings. Other kinds of expert iron-work have also survived; as chains, rings and, buckles, which differ little from corresponding objects in Europe at the present day; and the same is true of nails, handles, hinges, and other fittings. Tools used in working metal are rarely found, a fact easily accounted for when we remember that such objects would naturally be excluded from sepulchres. There is another important relic which shows that the Yamato were "indebted to China for the best specimens of their decorative art." This is a round bronze mirror, of which much is heard in early Japanese annals from the time of Izanagi downwards. In China the art of working in bronze was known and practised during twenty centuries prior to the Christian era; but although Japan seems to have possessed the knowledge at the outset of the dolmen epoch, (circ. 600 B.C.), she had no copper mine of her own until thirteen centuries later, and was obliged to rely on Korea for occasional supplies. This must have injuriously affected her progress in the art of bronze casting. Nevertheless, in almost all the dolmens and later tombs mirrors of bronze were placed. This custom came into vogue in China at an early date, the mirror being regarded as an amulet against decay or a symbol of virtue. That Japan borrowed the idea from her neighbour can scarcely be doubted. She certainly procured many Chinese mirrors, which are easily distinguished by finely executed and beautiful decorative designs in low relief on their backs; whereas her own mirrors--occasionally of iron--did not show equal skill of technique or ornamentation. Comparative roughness distinguished them, and they had often a garniture of jingle-bells (suzu) cast around the rim, a feature not found in Chinese mirrors. They were, in fact, an inferior copy of a Chinese prototype, the kinship of the two being further attested by the common use of the dragon as a decorative motive. Bronze vases and bowls, simple or covered, are occasionally found in the Yamato sepulchres. Sometimes they are gilt, and in no case do their shapes differentiate them from Chinese or modern Japanese models. It might be supposed that in the field of personal ornament some special features peculiar to the Yamato civilization should present themselves. There is none. Bronze or copper bracelets,* closed or open and generally gilt, recall the Chinese bangle precisely, except when they are cast with a garniture of suzu. In fact, the suzu (jingle-bell) seems to be one of the few objects purely of Yamato origin. It was usually globular, having its surface divided into eight parts, and it served not only as part of a bangle and as a pendant for horse-trappings but also as a post-bell (ekirei), which, when carried by nobles and officials, indicated their right to requisition horses for travelling purposes. *Jasper also was employed for making bracelets, and there is some evidence that shells were similarly used. To another object interest attaches because of its wide use in western Asia and among the Celtic peoples of Europe. This is the penannular (or open) ring. In Europe, it was usually of solid gold or silver, but in Japan, where these metals were very scarce in early days, copper, plated with beaten gold or silver, was the material generally employed. Sometimes these rings were hollow and sometimes, but very rarely, flattened. The smaller ones seem to have served as earrings, worn either plain or with pendants. Prominent among personal ornaments were magatama (curved jewels) and kudatama (cylindrical jewels). It is generally supposed that the magatama represented a tiger's claw, which is known to have been regarded by the Koreans as an amulet. But the ornament may also have taken its comma-like shape from the Yo and the Yin, the positive and the negative principles which by Chinese cosmographists were accounted the great primordial factors, and which occupy a prominent place in Japanese decorative art as the tomoye.* The cylindrical jewels evidently owed their shape to facility for stringing into necklaces or chaplets. The Chronicles and the Records alike show that these jewels, especially the magatama, acted an important part in some remarkable scenes in the mythological age.** Moreover, a sword, a mirror, and a magatama, may be called the regalia of Japan. But these jewels afford little aid in identifying the Yamato. Some of them--those of jade, chrysoprase, and nephrite***--must have been imported, these minerals never having been found in Japan. But the latter fact, though it may be held to confirm the continental origin of the Yamato, gives no indication as to the part of Asia whence they emigrated. *Professor Takashima has found magatama among the relics of the primitive culture, but that is probably the result of imitation. **The goddess of the Sun, when awaiting the encounter with Susanoo, twisted a complete string, eight feet long, with five hundred magatama. Lesser Kami were created by manipulating the jewels. When Amaterasu retired into a cave, magatama were hung from the branches of a sakaki tree to assist in enticing her out. Several other reverential allusions are made to the jewels in later times. ***The jewels were of jasper, agate, chalcedony, serpentine, nephrite, steatite, quartz, crystal, glass, jade (white and green), and chrysoprase. Mention is also made of rakan, but the meaning of the term is obscure. Probably it was a variety of jade. YAMATO POTTERY The pottery found in the Yamato tombs is somewhat more instructive than the personal ornaments. It seems to have been specially manufactured, or at any rate selected, for purposes of sepulture, and it evidently retained its shape and character from very remote if not from prehistoric times. Known in Japan as iwaibe (sacred utensils), it resembles the pottery of Korea so closely that identity has been affirmed by some archaeologists and imitation by others. It has comparatively fine paste--taking the primitive pottery as standard--is hard, uniformly baked, has a metallic ring, varies in colour from dark brown to light gray, is always turned on the wheel, has only accidental glaze, and is decorated in a simple, restrained manner with conventionalized designs. The shapes of the various vessels present no marked deviation from Chinese or Korean models, except that, the tazzas and occasionally other utensils are sometimes pierced in triangular, quadrilateral, and circular patterns, to which various meanings more or less fanciful have been assigned. There is, however, one curious form of iwaibe which does not appear to have any counterpart in China or Korea. It is a large jar, or tazza, having several small jars moulded around its shoulder,* these small jars being sometimes interspersed with, and sometimes wholly replaced by, figures of animals.** It is necessary to go to the Etruscan "black ware" to find a parallel to this most inartistic kind of ornamentation. *This style of ornamentation was called komochi (child-bearing), the small jars being regarded as children of the large. **Mr. Wakabayashi, a Japanese archaeologist, has enumerated seven varieties of figures thus formed on vases: horses, deer, wild boars, dogs, birds, tortoises; and human beings. With regard to the general decorative methods of the iwaibe potters, it is noticeable, first, that apparent impressions of textiles are found (they are seldom actual imprints, being usually imitations of such), and, secondly, that simple line decoration replaces the rude pictorial representations of a primitive culture and suggests propagation from a centre of more ancient and stable civilization than that of the Yamato hordes: from China, perhaps from Korea--who knows? As for the terracotta figures of human beings and sometimes of animals found in connexion with Yamato sepulchres, they convey little information about the racial problem.* The idea of substituting such figures for the human beings originally obliged to follow the dead to the grave seems to have come from China, and thus constitutes another evidence of intercourse, at least, between the two countries from very ancient times. *Chinese archaic wine-pots of bronze sometimes have on the lid figures of human beings and animals, but these served a useful purpose. It has been remarked that "the faces seen on these images by no means present a typical Mongolian type; on the contrary, they might easily pass for European faces, and they prompt the query whether the Yamato were not allied to the Caucasian race." Further, "the national vestiges of the Yamato convey an impression of kinship to the civilization which we are accustomed to regard as our own, for their intimate familiarity with the uses of swords, armour, horse-gear, and so forth brings us into sympathetic relation to their civilization." [Munro.] SUMMARY It will be seen from the above that archaeology, while it discloses to us the manners and customs of the ancient inhabitants of Japan, does not afford material for clearly differentiating more than three cultures: namely, the neolithic culture of the Yemishi; the iron culture of the Yamato, and the intermediate bronze culture of a race not yet identified. There are no archaeological traces of the existence of the Kumaso or the Tsuchi-gumo, and however probable it may seem, in view of the accessibility of Japan from the mainland, not only while she formed part of the latter but even after the two had become separate, that several races co-existed with the Yemishi and that a very mixed population carried on the neolithic culture, there is no tangible evidence that such was the case. Further, the indications furnished by mythology that the Yamato were intellectually in touch with central, if not with western Asia, are re-enforced by archaeological suggestions of a civilization and even of physical traits cognate with the Caucasian. ENGRAVING: DRUM AND MASK ENGRAVING: "NO" MASKS CHAPTER VII LANGUAGE AND PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS LANGUAGE HOWEVER numerous may have been the races that contributed originally to people Japan, the languages now spoken there are two only, Ainu and Japanese. They are altogether independent tongues. The former undoubtedly was the language of the Yemishi; the latter, that of the Yamato. From north to south all sections of the Japanese nation--the Ainu of course excepted--use practically the same speech. Varieties of local dialects exist, but they show no traits of survival from different languages. On the contrary, in few countries of Japan's magnitude does corresponding uniformity of speech prevail from end to end of the realm. It cannot reasonably be assumed that, during a period of some twenty-five centuries and in the face of steady extermination, the Yemishi preserved their language quite distinct from that of their conquerors, whereas the various languages spoken by the other races peopling the island were fused into a whole so homogeneous as to defy all attempts at differentiation. The more credible alternative is that from time immemorial the main elements of the Japanese nation belonged to the same race, and whatever they received from abroad by way of immigration became completely absorbed and assimilated in the course of centuries. No diligent attempt has yet been made to trace the connexion--if any exist--between the Ainu tongue and the languages of northeastern Asia, but geology, history, and archaeology suffice to indicate that the Yemishi reached Japan at the outset from Siberia. The testimony of these three sources is by no means so explicit in the case of the Yamato, and we have to consider whether the language itself does not furnish some better guide. "Excepting the twin sister tongue spoken in the Ryukyu Islands," writes Professor Chamberlain, "the Japanese language has no kindred, and its classification under any of the recognized linguistic families remains doubtful. In structure, though not to any appreciable extent in vocabulary, it closely resembles Korean, and both it and Korean may possibly be related to Mongol and to Manchu, and might therefore lay claim to be included in the so-called 'Altaic group' In any case, Japanese is what philologists call an agglutinative tongue; that is to say, it builds up its words and grammatical forms by means of suffixes loosely soldered to the root or stem, which is invariable." This, written in 1905, has been supplemented by the ampler researches of Professor S. Kanazawa, who adduces such striking evidences of similarity between the languages of Japan and Korea that one is almost compelled to admit the original identity of the two. There are no such affinities between Japanese and Chinese. Japan has borrowed largely, very largely, from China. It could scarcely have been otherwise. For whereas the Japanese language in its original form--a form which differs almost as much from its modern offspring as does Italian from Latin--has little capacity for expansion, Chinese has the most potential of all known tongues in that respect. Chinese may be said to consist of a vast number of monosyllables, each expressed by a different ideograph, each having a distinct significance, and each capable of combination and permutation with one or more of the others, by which combinations and permutations disyllabic and trisyllabic words are obtained representing every conceivable shade of meaning. It is owing to this wonderful elasticity that Japan, when suddenly confronted by foreign arts and sciences, soon succeeded in building up for herself a vocabulary containing all the new terms, and containing them in self-explaining forms. Thus "railway" is expressed by tetsu-do, which consists of the two monosyllables tetsu (iron) and do (way); "chemistry" by kagaku, or the learning (gaku) of changes (ka); "torpedo" by suirai, or water (sui) thunder (rai); and each of the component monosylables being written with an ideograph which conveys its own meaning, the student has a term not only appropriate but also instructive. Hundreds of such words have been manufactured in Japan during the past half-century to equip men for the study of Western learning, and the same process, though on a very much smaller scale, had been going on continuously for many centuries, so that the Japanese language has come to embody a very large number of Chinese words, though they are not pronounced as the Chinese pronounce the corresponding ideographs. Yet in spite of this intimate relation, re-enforced as it is by a common script, the two languages remain radically distinct; whereas between Japanese and Korean the resemblance of structure and accidence amounts almost to identity. Japanese philologists allege that no affinity can be traced between their language and the tongues of the Malay, the South Sea islanders, the natives of America and Africa, or the Eskimo, whereas they do find that their language bears a distinct resemblance to Manchu, Persian, and Turkish. Some go so far as to assert that Latin, Greek, and Sanskrit are nearer to Japanese than they are to any European language. These questions await fuller investigation. PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS OF RACES The Japanese are of distinctly small stature. The average height of the man is 160 centimetres (5 feet 3.5 inches) and that of the woman 147 centimetres (4 feet 10 inches). They are thus smaller than any European race, the only Occidentals over whom they possess an advantage in this respect being the inhabitants of two Italian provinces. [Baelz.] Their neighbours, the Chinese and the Koreans, are taller, the average height of the northern Chinese being 168 centimetres (5 feet 7 inches), and that of the Koreans 164 centimetres (5 feet 5.5 inches). Nevertheless, Professor Dr. Baelz, the most eminent authority on this subject, avers that "the three great nations of eastern Asia are essentially of the same race," and that observers who consider them to be distinct "have been misled by external appearances." He adds: "Having made a special study of the race question in eastern Asia, I can assert that comity of race in general is clearly proved by the anatomical qualities of the body. In any case the difference between them is much smaller than that between the inhabitants of northern and southern Europe." The marked differences in height, noted above, do not invalidate this dictum: they show merely that the Asiatic yellow race has several subdivisions. Among these subdivisions the more important are the Manchu-Korean type, the Mongol proper, the Malay, and the Ainu. To the first, namely the Manchu-Korean, which predominates in north China and in Korea, Baelz assigns the higher classes in Japan; that is to say, the men regarded as descendants of the Yamato. They have "slender, elegant and often tall figures, elongated faces with not very prominent cheek-bones, more or less slanting eyes, aquiline noses, large upper teeth, receding chins, long slender necks, narrow chests, long trunks, thin limbs, and often long fingers, while the hair on the face and body is scarce." Dr. Munro, however, another eminent authority, holds that, "judging from the Caucasian and often Semitic physiognomy seen in the aristocratic type of Japanese, the Yamato were mainly of Caucasic, perhaps Iranian, origin. These were the warriors, the conquerors of Japan, and afterwards the aristocracy, modified to some extent by mingling with a Mongoloid rank and file, and by a considerable addition of Ainu." He remarks that a white skin was the ideal of the Yamato, as is proved by their ancient poetry. As for the Mongol-proper type, which is seen in the lower classes and even then not very frequently, its representative is squarely built, and has prominent cheek-bones, oblique eyes, a more or less flat nose with a large mouth. The Malay type is much commoner. Its characteristics are small stature, good and sometimes square build, a face round or angular, prominent cheek-bones, large horizontal eyes, a weak chin, a short neck, broad well-developed chest, short legs, and small delicate hands. As for the Ainu type, Dr. Baelz finds it astonishing that they have left so little trace in the Japanese nation. "Yet those who have studied the pure Ainu closely will observe, particularly in the northern provinces, a not insignificant number of individuals bearing the marks of Ainu blood. The most important marks are: a short, thickly set body; prominent bones with bushy hair, round deep-set eyes with long divergent lashes, a straight nose, and a large quantity of hair on the face and body all qualities which bring the Ainu much nearer to the European than to the Japanese proper." GENERAL PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS In addition to physical characteristics which indicate distinctions of race among the inhabitants of Japan, there are peculiarities common to a majority of the nation at large. One of these is an abnormally large head. In the typical European the height of the head is less than one-seventh of the stature and in Englishmen it is often one-eighth. In the Japanese is it appreciably more than one-seventh. Something of this may be attributed to smallness of stature, but such an explanation is only partial. Shortness of legs in relation to the trunk is another marked feature. "Long or short legs are mainly racial in origin. Thus, in Europe, the northern, or Teutonic race--namely Anglo-Saxons, North Germans, Swedes, and Danes--are tail; long-legged, and small-headed, while the Alpine, or central European race are short of stature, have short legs and large heads with short necks, thus resembling the Mongolian race in general, with which it was probably originally connected." [Baelz.] In the Japanese face, too, there are some striking points. The first is in the osseous cavity of the eyeball and in the skin round the eye. "The socket of the Japanese eye is comparatively small and shallow, and the osseous ridges at the brows being little marked, the eye is less deeply set than in the European. Seen in profile, forehead and upper lid often form one unbroken line." Then "the shape of the eye proper, as modelled by the lids, shows a most striking difference between the European and the Mongolian races; the open eye being almost invariably horizontal in the former but very often oblique in the latter on account of the higher level of the outer corner. But even apart from obliqueness the shape of the corner is peculiar in the Mongolian eye. The inner corner is partly or entirely covered by a fold of the upper lid continuing more or less into the lower lid. This fold, which has been called the Mongolian fold, often also covers the whole free rim of the upper lid, so that the insertion of the eyelashes is hidden. When the fold takes an upward direction towards the outer corner, the latter is a good deal higher than the inner corner, and the result is the obliqueness mentioned above. The eyelashes are shorter and sparser than in the European, and whereas in the European the lashes of the upper and the lower lid diverge, so that their free ends are farther distant than their roots, in the Japanese eye they converge, the free ends being nearer together than the insertions. Then again in the lower class the cheek-bones are large and prominent, making the face look flat and broad, while in the higher classes narrow and elongated faces are quite common. Finally, the Japanese is less hairy than the European, and the hair of the beard is usually straight." [Baelz.] VIEWS OF JAPANESE ETHNOLOGISTS It may well be supposed that the problem of their nation's origin has occupied much attention among the Japanese, and that their ethnologists have arrived at more or less definite conclusions. The outlines of their ideas are that one of the great waves of emigration which, in a remote age, emerged from the cradle of the human race in central Asia, made its way eastward with a constantly expanding front, and, sweeping up the Tarim basin, emerged in the region of the Yellow River and in Manchuria. These wanderers, being an agricultural, not a maritime, race, did not contribute much to the peopling of the oversea islands of Japan. But in a later--or an earlier--era, another exodus took place from the interior of Asia. It turned in a southerly direction through India, and coasting along the southern seaboard, reached the southeastern region of China; whence, using as stepping-stones the chain of islands that festoon eastern Asia, it made its way ultimately to Korea and Japan. Anterior to both of these movements another race, the neolithic Yemishi of the shell-heaps, had pushed down from the northeastern regions of Korea or from the Amur valley, and peopled the northern half of Japan. The Korean peninsula, known in Chinese records as Han, appears in the form of three kingdoms at the earliest date of its historical mention: they were Sin-Han and Pyon-Han on the east and Ma-Han on the West. The northeastern portion, from the present Won-san to Vladivostok, bore the name of Yoso, which is supposed to have been the original of Yezo, the Yoso region thus constituting the cradle of the Yemishi race. Japanese ethnologists interpret the ancient annals as pointing to very close intercourse between Japan and Korea in early days,* and regard this as confirming the theory stated above as to the provenance of the Yamato race. Connexion with the colonists of northern China was soon established via Manchuria, and this fact may account for some of the similarities between the civilization as well as the legends of the Yamato and those of Europe, since there is evidence that the Greeks and Romans had some hazy knowledge of China, and that the Chinese had a similarly vague knowledge of the Roman Empire,** possibly through commercial relations in the second century B.C. *The annals state of Princes Mikeno and Inahi, elder brothers of Prince Iware (afterwards Jimmu Tenno). that the former "crossed over to the Eternal Land" (Tokoyo-no-kuni) and the latter went down to the sea plain, it being his deceased mother's land. Japanese archaeologists identify "mother's land" as Shiragi in Korea, and Tokoyo-no-kuni as the western country where the sun sets, namely China. They further point out that Susanoo with his son, Itakeru, went to Shiragi and lived at Soshi-mori, for which reason Susanoo's posthumous title was Gozu Tenno, gozu being the Japanese equivalent for the Korean soshi-mori (ox head). Susanoo is also quoted as saying, "there are gold and silver in Koma and it were well that there should be a floating treasury;"* so he built a vessel of pine and camphor-wood to export these treasures to Japan. The "Korea" here spoken of is the present Kimhai in Kyongsan-do. It is further recorded that Susanoo lived for a time at Kumanari-mine, which is the present Kongju. Again, a Japanese book, compiled in the tenth century A.D., enumerates six shrines in the province of Izumo which were called Kara-kuni Itate Jinja, or shrine of Itakeru of Korea. A much abler work, Izuma Fudoki, speaks of Cape Kitsuki in Izumo as a place where cotton-stuffs were imported from Shiragi by Omitsu, son of Susanoo. There are other evidences to the same effect, and taken in conjunction with the remarkable similarity of the Korean and Japanese languages, these facts are held to warrant the conclusion that the most important element of the Japanese nation came via Korea, its Far Eastern colony being the ultima thule of its long wanderings from central Asia. **See Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th Edition, Vol. 6, p. 189 b. The first mention of Japan in Chinese records is contained in a book called Shan-hai-ching, which states that "the northern and southern Wo* were subject to the kingdom of Yen." Yen was in the modern province of Pechili. It existed as an independent kingdom from 1 122 to 265 B.C. That the inhabitants of Japan were at any time subject to Yen is highly improbable, but that they were tributaries is not unlikely. In other words, intercourse between Japan and northern China was established in remote times via the Korean peninsula, and people from Japan, travelling by this route, carried presents to the Court of Yen, a procedure which, in Chinese eyes constituted an acknowledgement of suzerainty. The "northern and southern Wo" were probably the kingdom of Yamato and that set up in Kyushu by Ninigi, a supposition which lends approximate confirmation to the date assigned by Japanese historians for the expedition of Jimmu Tenno. It is also recorded in the Chronicles of the Eastern Barbarians, a work of the Han dynasty (A.D. 25-221), that Sin-Han, one of the three Korean kingdoms, produced iron, and that Wo and Ma-Han, the western of these Korean kingdoms, traded in it and used it as currency. It is very possible that this was the iron used for manufacturing the ancient double-edged swords (tsurugi) and halberds of the Yamato, a hypothesis strengthened by the fact that the sword of Susanoo was called Orochi no Kara-suki, Kara being a Japanese name for Korea. *This word was originally pronounced Wa, and is written with the ideograph signifying "dwarf." It was applied to the Japanese by Chinese writers in earliest times, but on what ground such an epithet was chosen there is no evidence. ENGRAVING: JAPANESE SADDLE, BRIDLE, AND STIRRUPS CHAPTER VIII MANNERS AND CUSTOMS IN REMOTE ANTIQUITY If it be insisted that no credence attaches to traditions unsupported by written annals, then what the Records and the Chronicles, compiled in the eighth century, tell of the manners and customs of Japan twelve or thirteen hundred years previously, must be dismissed as romance. A view so extreme is scarcely justified. There must be a foundation of truth in works which, for the most part, have received the imprimatur of all subsequent generations of Japanese. Especially does that hold as to indications of manners, customs, and institutions. These, at least, are likely to be mirrored with a certain measure of accuracy, though they may often reflect an age later than that to which they are referred, and may even have been partially moulded to suit the ideas of their narrators. In briefly epitomizing this page of history, the plan here pursued is to adhere as far as possible to Japanese interpretations, since these must of necessity be most intelligent. THE SOCIAL STRUCTURE At the basis of the social structure stand the trinity of Kami, mythologically called the Central Master (Naka-Nushi) and the two Constructive Chiefs (Musubi no Kami). The Central Master was the progenitor of the Imperial family; the Constructive Chiefs were the nobility, the official class. What was originally involved in the conception of official functions, we learn from incidents prefatory to the expedition conducted by Ninigi for the subjugation of Japan. Amaterasu (the Sun goddess) attached to the person of her grandson four chiefs and one chieftainess. To two of the former (Koyane and Futodama) she entrusted all matters relating to religious rites, and they became respectively the ancestors of the Nakatomi and the Imibe families. To the female Kami (Usume) was entrusted the making of sacred music and she founded the Sarume family. Finally, all military functions were committed to the chiefs, Oshihi and Kume, whose descendants constituted the Otomo and Kume families. In every case these offices were hereditary for all time, and the families of their holders constitute the aristocracy of the nation, marrying among themselves and filling the highest offices from generation to generation. Their members bore the title of hiko (son of the Sun) and hime (daughter of the Sun), and those that governed towns and villages were called tomo no miyatsuko, while those that held provincial domains were entitled kuni no miyatsuko. This was the origin of the Japanese polity. The descendants of Amaterasu, herself a descendant of the Central Master, occupied the throne in unbroken succession, and the descendants of the two Constructive Chiefs served as councillors, ministers, and generals. But the lineage of all being traceable to three chiefs who originally occupied places of almost equal elevation, they were united by a bond of the most durable nature. At the same time it appears that this equality had its disadvantage; it disposed the members of the aristocratic families to usurp the administrative power while recognizing its source, the Throne, and it encouraged factional dissensions, which sometimes resulted disastrously. As to the middle and lower classes, no evidence bearing on their exact composition is forthcoming. It is plain, however, that they accepted a subordinate position without active protest, for nothing like a revolt on their part is alluded to, directly or indirectly, in the Records or the Chronicles. The term for all subjects was tomobe. DWELLING-HOUSES The palace of the sovereign--called miya or odono--corresponded in appearance and construction with the shrines of the deities. It was built by erecting central pillars--originally merely sunk in the ground but in later times having a stone foundation--from which rafters sloped to corner posts, similarly erected, the sides being clapboarded. Nails were used, but the heavy timbers were tied together with ropes made by twisting the fibrous stems of climbing plants. A conspicuous feature was that the upper ends of the rafters projected across each other, and in the V-shaped receptacle thus formed, a ridge-pole was laid with a number of short logs crossing it at right angles. This disposition of timbers was evidently devised to facilitate tying and to impart stability to the thatch, which was laid to a considerable thickness. It is not certain whether in the earliest times floors were fully boarded, or whether boarding was confined to a dais running round the sides, the rest of the interior being of beaten mud. Subsequently, however, the whole floor was boarded. Chimneys were not provided; charcoal being the principal fuel, its smoke did not incommode, and when firewood was employed, the fumes escaped through openings in the gable. For windows there were holes closed by shutters which, like the doors, swung upon hooks and staples. Rugs of skin or of rush matting served to spread on the boarded floor, and in rare cases silk cushions were employed. The areas on which buildings stood were generally surrounded by palisades, and for a long time no other kind of defence save these palings seems to have been devised. Indeed, no mention of castles occurs until the first century B.C., when the strange term "rice-castle" (ina-ki) is found; the reference being apparently to a palisade fortified with rice-bags, or to a rice-granary used as a fortress. The palace of the sovereign towered so high by comparison that it was termed Asahi-no-tada-sasu-miya (miya on which the morning sun shines direct), or Yuhi-no-hiteru-miya (miya illumined by the evening sun), or some other figurative epithet, and to the Emperor himself was applied the title 0-mikado (great august Gate). The dwellings occupied by the nobility were similarly built, though on a less pretentious scale, and those of the inferior classes appear to have been little better than huts, not a few of them being partially sunk in the ground, as is attested by the fact that the term "enter" took the form of "creep in" (hairu). ADMINISTRATION AND WORSHIP In the instruction said to have been given by Amaterasu to her grandson Ninigi, on the eve of his expedition to Japan, the words are recorded: "My child, regard this mirror as you regard me. Keep it in the same house with yourself, and make it the mirror of purity." Accordingly the insignia--the mirror, the jewel, and the sword--were always kept in the main hall of the palace under the care of the Nakatomi and the Imibe families. An ancient volume (Kogo-shui) records that when the palace of Kashihara was reached by Jimmu's army, the grandson of the founder of the Imibe family--cutting timber with a consecrated axe (imi-ono) and digging foundations with a consecrated spade (imi-suki)--constructed a palace in which he placed the mirror, the jewel, and the sword, setting out offerings and reciting prayers to celebrate the completion of the building and the installation of the insignia. "At that time the sovereign was still very close to the Kami, and the articles and utensils for the latter were little distinguished from those for the former. Within the palace there stood a store house (imi-kura), the Imibe family discharging daily and nightly the duties relating to it." Thus it is seen that in remote antiquity religious rites and administrative functions were not distinguished. The sovereign's residence was the shrine of the Kami, and the term for "worship" (matsuri) was synonymous with that for "government." RELIGIOUS RITES The ceremony spoken of above--the Odono matsuri, or consecration of the palace--is the earliest religious rite mentioned. Next in importance was the "harvest festival." In the records of the mythological age it is related that Amaterasu obtained seeds of the "five cereals," and, recognizing their value as food, caused them to be cultivated, offering a part to the Kami when they were ripe and eating some herself. This became a yearly custom, and when Ninigi set out to conquer Japan, his grandmother gave rice seed to the ancestors of the Nakatomi and the Imibe families, who thenceforth conducted the harvest festival (nii-name, literally "tasting the new rice") every autumn, the sovereign himself taking part, and the head of the Nakatomi reciting a prayer for the eternity of the Imperial line and the longevity of the Emperor. Other important rites were the "great purification" (Oharai) performed twice a year, on the last day of the sixth month and the last day of the twelfth month; the "fire-subduing fete," the "spirit-tranquillizing fete," etc. Of all these rites the principal features were the recitation of rituals and the offering of various objects, edible or otherwise useful. The rituals (norito) being, in several cases, set formulas, lent themselves with special facility to oral transmission from generation to generation. It is certain that they were familiar to the compilers of the Records and the Chronicles, and they contain expressions dating from such a remote era as to have become incomprehensible before history began to be written in Japan. In the year A.D. 927, seventy-five of the norito were transcribed into a book (Yengi-shiki, or Ceremonial Law) which contains, in addition to these rituals, particulars as to the practice of the Shinto religion; as to the organization of the priesthood--which included ten virgin princesses of the Imperial family, one each for the two great temples of Watarai in Ise and Kamo in Yamashiro--and as to the Shinto shrines qualified to receive State support. These shrines totalled 3132, among which number 737 were maintained at the Emperor's charges. Considering that the nation at that time (tenth century) did not comprise more than a very few millions, the familiar criticism that the Japanese are indifferent to religion is certainly not proved by any lack of places of worship. The language of the rituals is occasionally poetic, often figurative and generally solemn,* but they are largely devoted to enumeration of Kami, to formulae of praise for past favours, to petitions for renewed assistance, and to recapitulations of the offerings made in support of these requests. As for the offerings, they comprise woven stuffs, and their raw materials, models of swords, arrows, shields, stags' antlers, hoes, fish (dried and fresh), salt, sake, and, in some cases, a horse, a cock, and a pig. In short, the things offered were essentially objects serviceable to living beings. *The Norito of the Great Purification Service has been translated by Mr. W. G. Aston in his Japanese Literature. THE KAMI The Kami may be broadly divided into two groups, namely, those originally regarded as superior beings and those elevated to that rank in consideration of illustrious deeds performed during life. Of the former group the multitudinous and somewhat heterogenous components have been supposed to suggest the amalgamation of two or more religious systems in consequence of a blending of races alien to one another. But such features may be due to survivals incidental to the highest form of nature religion, namely, anthropomorphic polytheism. There were the numerous Kami, more or less abstract beings without any distinguishing functions, who preceded the progenitors of the Yamato race, and there was the goddess of the Sun, pre-eminent and supreme, together with deities of the Moon, of the stars, of the winds, of the rain, of fire, of water, of mountains, of mines, of fields, of the sea, of the trees, and of the grass--the last a female divinity (Kaya-no-hime). The second group those deified for illustrious services during life--furnished the tutelary divinities (uji-gami or ubusuna-Kami) of the localities where their families lived and where their labours had been performed. Their protection was specially solicited by the inhabitants of the regions where their shrines stood, while the nation at large worshipped the Kami of the first group. Out of this apotheosis of distinguished mortals there grew, in logical sequence, the practice of ancestor worship. It was merely a question of degrees of tutelary power. If the blessings of prosperity and deliverance could be bestowed on the denizens of a region by the deity enshrined there, the same benefits in a smaller and more circumscribed measure might be conferred by the deceased head of a family. As for the sovereign, standing to the whole nation in the relation of priest and intercessor with the deities, he was himself regarded as a sacred being, the direct descendant of the heavenly ancestor (Tenson). THERIANTHROPIC ELEMENTS That the religion of ancient Japan--known as Shinto, or "the way of the gods"--had not fully emerged from therianthropic polytheism is proved by the fact that, though the deities were generally represented in human shape, they were frequently conceived as spiritual beings, embodying themselves in all kinds of things, especially in animals, reptiles, or insects. Thus, tradition relates that the Kami of Mimoro Mountain appeared to the Emperor Yuryaku (A.D. 457-459) in the form of a snake; that during the reign of the Emperor Keitai (A.D. 507-531), a local deity in the guise of a serpent interfered with agricultural operations and could not be placated until a shrine was built in its honour; that in the time of the Emperor Kogyoku, the people of the eastern provinces devoted themselves to the worship of an insect resembling a silkworm, which they regarded as a manifestation of the Kami of the Moon; that the Emperor Keiko (A.D. 71-130) declared a huge tree to be sacred; that in the days of the Empress Suiko (A.D. 593-628), religious rites were performed before cutting down a tree supposed to be an incarnation of the thunder Kami; that on the mountain Kannabi, in Izumo, there stood a rock embodying the spirit of the Kami whose expulsion from Yamato constituted the objective of Ninigi's expedition, and that prayer to it was efficacious in terminating drought, that the deity Koto-shiro-nushi became transformed into a crocodile, and that "the hero Yamato-dake emerged from his tomb in the shape of a white swan." Many other cognate instances might be quoted. A belief in amulets and charms, in revelations by dreams and in the efficacy of ordeal, belongs to this category of superstitions. The usual form of ordeal was by thrusting the hand into boiling water. It has been alleged that the Shinto religion took no account of a soul or made any scrutiny into a life beyond the grave. Certainly no ideas as to places of future reward or punishment seem to have engrossed attention, but there is evidence that not only was the spirit (tama) recognized as surviving the body, but also that the spirit itself was believed to consist of a rough element (am) and a gentle element (nigi), either of which predominated according to the nature of the functions to be performed; as when a nigi-tama was believed to have attached itself to the person of the Empress Jingo at the time of her expedition to Korea, while an ara-tama formed the vanguard of her forces. Some Japanese philosophers, however--notably the renowned Motoori--have maintained that this alleged duality had reference solely to the nature of the influence exercised by a spirit on particular occasions. Shinto has no sacred canon like the Bible, the Koran, or the Sutras. Neither has it any code of morals or body of dogma. Cleanliness may be called its most prominent feature. Izanagi's lustrations to remove the pollution contracted during his visit to the nether world became the prototype of a rite of purification (misogi) which always prefaced acts of worship. A cognate ceremony was the harai (atonement). By the misogi the body was cleansed; by the harai all offences were expiated; the origin of the latter rite having been the exaction of certain penalties from Susanoo for his violent conduct towards the Sun goddess.* The two ceremonies, physical cleansing and moral cleansing, prepared a worshipper to approach the shrine of the Kami. In later times both rites were compounded into one, the misogi-harai, or simply the harai. When a calamity threatened the country or befell it, a grand harai (o-harai) was performed in atonement for the sins supposed to have invited the catastrophe. This principle of cleanliness found expression in the architecture of Shinto shrines; plain white wood was everywhere employed and ornamentation of every kind eschewed. In view of the paramount importance thus attached to purity, a celebrated couplet of ancient times is often quoted as the unique and complete canon of Shinto morality, *His nails were extracted and his beard was plucked out. "Unsought in prayer, "The gods will guard "The pure of heart."* *Kokoro dani Makoto no michi ni Kanai naba Inorazu tote mo Kami ya mamoran. It is plain, however, that Shinto cannot be included in the category of ethical religions; it belongs essentially to the family of nature religions. CRIMES The acts which constituted crimes in ancient Japan were divided into two classes: namely, sins against heaven and sins against the State. At the head of the former list stood injuries to agricultural pursuits, as breaking down the ridges of rice-fields, filling up drains, destroying aqueducts, sowing seeds twice in the same place, putting spits in rice-fields, flaying an animal alive or against the grain, etc. The crimes against the State were cutting and wounding (whether the living or the dead), defilement on account of leprosy or cognate diseases, unnatural offences, evil acts on the part of children towards parents or of parents towards children, etc. Methods of expiating crime were recognized, but, as was the universal custom in remote times, very cruel punishments were employed against evil-doers and enemies. Death was inflicted for comparatively trivial offences, and such tortures were resorted to as cutting the sinews, extracting the nails and the hair, burying alive, roasting, etc. Branding or tattooing seems to have been occasionally practised, but essentially as a penalty or a mark of ignominy. DIVINATION As is usually the case in a nation where a nature religion is followed, divination and augury were practised largely in ancient Japan. The earliest method of divination was by roasting the shoulder-blade of a stag and comparing the cracks with a set of diagrams. The Records and the Chronicles alike represent Izanagi and Izanami as resorting to this method of presaging the future, and the practice derives interest from the fact that a precisely similar custom has prevailed in Mongolia from time immemorial. Subsequently this device was abandoned in favour of the Chinese method, heating a tortoise-shell; and ultimately the latter, in turn, gave way to the Eight Trigrams of Fuhi. The use of auguries seems to have come at a later date. They were obtained by playing a stringed instrument called koto, by standing at a cross-street and watching the passers, by manipulating stones, and by counting footsteps. MILITARY FORCES It has been related that when the "heavenly grandson" undertook his expedition to Japan, the military duties were entrusted to two mikoto* who became the ancestors of the Otomo and the Kume families. There is some confusion about the subsequent differentiation of these families, but it is sufficient to know that, together with the Mononobe family, they, were the hereditary repositories of military authority. They wore armour, carried swords, spears and bows, and not only mounted guard at the palace but also asserted the Imperial authority throughout the provinces. No exact particulars of the organization of these forces are on record, but it would seem that the unit was a battalion divided into twenty-five companies, each company consisting of five sections of five men per section, a company being under the command of an officer whose rank was miyatsuko. *"August being," a term of respect applied to the descendants of the Kami. FINANCE AND ADMINISTRATION No mention is made of such a thing as currency in prehistoric Japan. Commerce appears to have been conducted by barter only. In order to procure funds for administrative and religious purposes, officers in command of forces were despatched to various regions, and the inhabitants were required to contribute certain quantities of local produce. Steps were also taken to cultivate useful plants and cereals and to promote manufactures. The Kogo-shui states that a certain mikoto inaugurated the fashioning of gems in Izumo, and that his descendants continued the work from generation to generation, sending annual tribute of articles to the Court every year. Another mikoto was sent to plant paper-mulberry and hemp in the province of Awa (awa signifies "hemp"), and a similar record is found in the same book with regard to the provinces of Kazusa and Shimosa, which were then comprised in a region named Fusa-kuni. Other places owed their names to similar causes. It is plain that, whatever may have been the case at the outset, this assignment of whole regions to the control of officials whose responsibility was limited to the collection of taxes for the uses of the Court, could not but tend to create a provincial nobility and thus lay the foundations of a feudal system. The mythological accounts of meetings of the Kami for purposes of consultation suggest a kind of commonwealth, and recall "the village assemblies of primitive times in many parts of the world, where the cleverness of one and the general willingness to follow his suggestions fill the place of the more definite organization of later times."* But though that may be true of the Yamato race in the region of its origin, the conditions found by it in Japan were not consistent with such a system, for Chinese history shows that at about the beginning of the Christian era the Island Empire was in a very uncentralized state and that the sway of the Yamato was still far from receiving general recognition. A great Japanese scholar** has contended that the centralization which prevailed in later ages was wholly an imitation of Chinese bureaucracy, and that organized feudalism was the original form of government in Japan. The annals appear to support that view to a limited extent, but the subject will presently be discussed at greater length. *B. H. Chamberlain. **Hirata Atsutane. RAIMENT In the use of clothing and the specialization of garments the early Japanese had reached a high level. We read in the ancient legends of upper garments, skirts, trousers, anklets, and head-ornaments of stones considered precious.* The principal material of wearing apparel was cloth woven from threads of hemp and mulberry bark. According to the annals, the arts of spinning, weaving, and dyeing were known and practised from the earliest age. The Sun goddess herself is depicted as seated in the hall of the sacred loom, reeling silk from cocoons held in her mouth, and at the ceremony of enticing her from her retirement, the weaving of blue-and-white stuffs constituted an important adjunct. Terms are used (akarurtae and teru-tae) which show that colour and lustre were esteemed as much as quality. Ara-tae and nigi-tae were the names used to designate coarse and fine cloth respectively; striped stuff was called shidori, and the name of a princess, Taku-hata-chiji, goes to show that corrugated cloth was woven from the bark of the taku. Silken fabrics were manufactured, but the device of boiling the cocoons had not yet been invented. They were held in the mouth for spinning purposes, and the threads thus obtained being coarse and uneven, the loom could not produce good results. Silk stuffs therefore did not find much favour: they were employed chiefly for making cushions, cloth woven from cotton, hemp, or mulberry bark being preferred for raiment. Pure white was the favourite colour; red, blue, and black being placed in a lower rank in that order. It has been conjectured that furs and skins were worn, but there is no explicit mention of anything of the kind. It would seem that their use was limited to making rugs and covering utensils.** Sewing is not explicitly referred to, but the needle is; and in spite of an assertion to the contrary made by the Chinese author of the Shan-hai-ching (written in the fourth century A.D.) there is no valid reason to doubt that the process of sewing was familiar. *B. H. Chamberlain. **In China the case was different. There, garments made of skins or covered with feathers were worn in remote antiquity before the art of weaving had become known. The Records recount that in the age of the Kami "there came" (to Japan) "riding on the crest of the waves, a kami dressed in skins of geese," and this passage has been quoted as showing that skins were used for garments in Japan. But it is pointed out by Japanese commentators that this Kami Sukuna-bikona is explicitly stated to have come from a foreign country, and that if the passage warrants any inference, it is that the visitor's place of departure had been China. As to the form of the garments worn, the principal were the hakama and the koromo. The hakama was a species of divided skirt, used by men and women alike. It has preserved its shape from age to age, and is to-day worn by school-girls throughout Japan. The koromo was a tunic having tight sleeves reaching nearly to the knees. It was folded across the breast from right to left and secured by a belt of cloth or silk tied round the loins. Veils also were used by both sexes, one kind (the katsugi) having been voluminous enough to cover the whole body. "Combs are mentioned, and it is evident that much attention was devoted to the dressing of the hair."* Men divided theirs in the middle and bound it up in two bunches, one over each ear. Youths tied theirs into a top-knot; girls wore their locks hanging down the back but bound together at the neck, and married ladies "dressed theirs after a fashion which apparently combined the last two methods." Decoration of the head was carried far on ceremonial occasions, gems, veils, and even coronets being used for the purpose. "There is no mention in any of the old books of cutting the hair or beard except in token of disgrace; neither do we gather that the sexes, but for this matter of head-dress, were distinguished by a diversity of apparel or ornamentation."* *B. H. Chamberlain. FOOD AND DRINK Rice was the great staple of diet in ancient, as it is in modern, times. The importance attaching to it is shown by the fact that the Sun goddess herself is represented as engaging in its cultivation and that injuring a rice-field was among the greatest offences. Barley, millet, wheat, and beans are mentioned, but the evidence that they were grown largely in remote antiquity is not conclusive. The flesh of animals and birds was eaten, venison and wild boar being particularly esteemed. Indeed, so extensively was the hunting of deer practised that bows and arrows were often called kago-yumi and kago-ya (kago signifies "deer"). Fish, however, constituted a much more important staple of diet than flesh, and fishing in the abundantly stocked seas that surround the Japanese islands was largely engaged in. Horses and cattle were not killed for food. It is recorded in the Kogo-shui that the butchering of oxen to furnish meat for workers in a rice-field roused the resentment of a Kami called Mitoshi. There does not appear to have been any religious or superstitious scruple connected with this abstention: the animals were spared simply because of their usefulness. Vegetables occupied a large space in the list of articles of food. There were the radish, the cabbage, the lotus, the melon, and the wild garlic, as well as as several kinds of seaweed. Salt was used for seasoning, the process of its manufacture having been familiar from the earliest times. Only one kind of intoxicating liquor was ever known in Japan until the opening of intercourse with the Occident. It was a kind of beer brewed* from rice and called sake. The process is said to have been taught by Sukuna, who, as shown above, came to Japan from a foreign country--probably China--when the Kami, Okuni-nushi, was establishing order in the Japanese islands. *The term for "brew" being kamu or kamosu, the former of which is homonymous with the equivalent for "to chew," some commentators have supposed that sake was manufactured in early times by grinding rice with the teeth. This is at once disproved by the term for "yeast," namely, kabi-tachi (fermenting). COOKING AND TABLE EQUIPAGE From time immemorial there were among the officials at the Imperial Court men called kashiwa-de, or oak-leaf hands. They had charge of the food and drink, and their appellation was derived from the fact that rice and other edibles were usually served on oak leaves. Earthenware utensils were used, but their surface, not being glazed, was not allowed to come into direct contact with the viands placed on them. In this practice another example is seen of the love of cleanliness that has always characterized and distinguished the Japanese nation. Edibles having been thus served, the vessels containing them were ranged on a table, one for each person, and chop-sticks were used. Everything was cooked, with the exception of certain vegetables and a few varieties of fish. Friction of wood upon wood provided fire, a fact attested by the name of the tree chiefly used for the purpose, hi-no-ki, or fire-tree. To this day the same method of obtaining a spark is practised at the principal religious ceremonials. Striking metal upon stone was another device for the same purpose, and there is no record in Japan, as there is in China, of any age when food was not cooked. Various vessels of unglazed pottery are mentioned in the Records, as bowls, plates, jars, and wine-holders, the last being often made of metal. These were all included in the term suemono, which may be translated "table-utensils." ARMS, ARMOUR, AND GEMS It has already been stated that archaeological research shows the Yamato race to have been in possession of iron swords and spears, as well as metal armour and shields, from a very early period, probably the date of these colonists' first coming to Japan. They also used saddles, stirrups, bridles, and bits for horses, so that a Yamato warrior in full mail and with complete equipment was perhaps as formidable a fighting man as any contemporary nation could produce. Bows and arrows were also in use. The latter, tipped with iron or stone and feathered, were carried in a quiver. The swords employed by men were originally double-edged. Their names* show that they were used alike for cutting and thrusting, and that they varied in length from ten "hands" to five. There was also a small single-edged sword** carried by women and fastened inside the robe. The value attached to the sword is attested by numerous appellations given to blades of special quality. In later times the two-edged sword virtually fell out of use, being replaced by the single-edged. *Tsurugi (to pierce) and tachi (to cut). **This was originally called himo-kala-ha, which literally means "cord single edge." subsequently kala-ha became katana, by which term all Japanese swords are now known. Sometimes a spear was decorated with gems. It is curious that gems should have been profusely used for personal adornment in ancient times by people who subsequently eschewed the custom well-nigh altogether, as the Japanese did. The subject has already been referred to in the archaeological section, but it may be added here that there were guilds of gem-makers (Tama-tsukuri-be) in several provinces, and that, apart from imported minerals, the materials with which they worked were coral, quartz, amber, gold, silver, and certain pebbles found in Izumo. AGRICULTURE AND INDUSTRY It appears that when the Yamato immigrants reached Japan, the coast lands were overgrown with reeds and the greater part of the island was covered with primeval forests. Fabulous accounts are given of monster trees. Thus, in the Tsukushi Fudoki we read of an oak in Chikugo which towered to a height of 9700 feet, its branches shading the peaks of Hizen in the morning and the mountains of Higo in the evening. The Konjaku Monogatari tells of another oak with a stem measuring 3000 feet in circumference and casting its shadow over Tamba at dawn and on Ise at sunset. In the Fudoki of other provinces reference is made to forest giants in Harima, Bungo, Hitachi, etc., and when full allowance has been made for the exaggerations of tradition, there remains enough to indicate that the aboriginal inhabitants did not attempt any work of reclamation. Over regions measuring scores of miles perpetual darkness reigned, and large districts were often submerged by the overflow of rivers. There is no mention, however, of a deluge, and Professor Chamberlain has called attention to the remarkable fact that a so-called "Altaic myth" finds no place in the traditions of "the oldest of the undoubtedly Altaic nations." The annals are eloquent in their accounts of the peopling of the forests by wild and fierce animals and the infesting of the vallies by noxious reptiles. The Nihongi, several of the Fudoki, the Konjaku Monogatari, etc., speak of an eight-headed snake in Izumo, of a horned serpent in Hitachi, and of big snakes in Yamato, Mimasaka, Bungo, and other provinces; while the Nihon Bummei Shiryaku tells of wolves, bears, monkeys, monster centipedes, whales, etc., in Harima, Hida, Izumo, Oki, Tajima, and Kaga. In some cases these gigantic serpents were probably bandit chiefs transfigured into reptiles by tradition, but of the broad fact that the country was, for the most part, in a state of natural wilderness there can be little doubt. Under the sway of the Yamato, however, a great change was gradually effected. Frequent allusions are made to the encouragement of agriculture and even its direct pursuit by the Kami. The Sun goddess is represented as having obtained seeds of the five cereals from the female Kami, Ukemochi,* and as having appointed a village chief to superintend their culture. She had three regions of her own specially devoted to rice growing, and her unruly brother, Susanoo, had a similar number, but the latter proved barren. The same goddess inaugurated sericulture, and entrusted the care of it to a princess, who caused mulberry trees to be planted and was able to present silk fabrics to Amaterasu. In the reign of Jimmu, hemp is said to have been cultivated, and Susanoo, after his reformation, became the guardian of forests, one of his functions being to fix the uses of the various trees, as pine and hinoki (ground-cypress) for house building, maki (podocarpus Chinensis) for coffin making, and camphor-wood for constructing boats. He also planted various kinds of fruit-trees. Thenceforth successive sovereigns encouraged agriculture, so that the face of the country was materially changed. *The Sun goddess, Amaterasu, and the goddess of Food (Ukemochi no Kami) are the two deities now worshipped at the great shrine of Ise. In the matter of farming implements, however, neither archaeology nor history indicates anything more than iron spades, wooden hoes shod with bronze or iron, hand-ploughs, and axes. As to manufacturing industries, there were spinners and weavers of cotton and silk, makers of kitchen utensils, polishers of gems, workers in gold, silver, copper, and iron, forgers of arms and armour, potters of ornamental vessels, and dressers of leather. In later eras the persons skilled in these various enterprises formed themselves into guilds (be), each of which carried on its own industry from generation to generation. The fact that there must have been an exchange of goods between these various groups is almost the only indication furnished by the annals as to trade or commerce. In the name of a daughter of Susa (Princess Kamu-o-ichi) we find a suggestion that markets (ichi) existed, and according to the Wei Records (A.D. 211-265) there were, at that time, "in each province of Japan markets where the people exchanged their superfluous produce for articles of which they were in need." But Japanese history is silent on this subject. About the be, however, a great deal is heard. It may be described as a corporated association having for purpose the securing of efficiency by specialization. Its members seem to have been at the outset men who independently pursued some branch of industry. These being ultimately formed into a guild, carried on the same pursuit from generation to generation under a chief officially appointed. "Potters, makers of stone coffins, of shields, of arrows, of swords, of mirrors, saddlers, painters, weavers, seamstresses, local recorders, scribes, farmers, fleshers, horse-keepers, bird-feeders, the mibu who provided wet-nurses for Imperial princes, palace attendants, and reciters (katari) were organized into be under special chiefs who were probably responsible for their efficient services. It would appear, however, that 'chief of be' was sometimes a title bestowed for exceptional service and that it was occasionally posthumous."* *Munro. Be were also organized for the purpose of commemorating a name quite irrespective of industrial pursuits. "The religious be were for general or special purposes. For instance, there was a be of sun-worshippers, while the Imibe, a body of abstainers, were obliged to avoid ritual contamination or impurity. They carried out a technique of spiritual aseptics, both in their persons and through the utensils which they employed, much as a modern surgeon guards against infection of his patient. Thus they were prepared to perform sacred functions."* *Munro. NAVIGATION AND FISHING No information is obtainable as to the nature of the boats used in very early times, but it may reasonably be inferred that the Yamato and other immigrant races possessed craft of some capacity. Several names of boats are incidentally mentioned. They evidently refer to the speed of the craft--as bird-boat (tori-fune), pigeon-boat (hato-fune)--or to the material employed, as "rock-camphor boat" (iwa-kusu-bune). "The presence of neolithic remains on the islands around Japan proves that the boats of the primitive people were large enough to traverse fifty miles, or more, of open sea."* Only one distinct reference to sailing occurs, however, in the ancient annals. On the occasion of the alleged expedition to Korea (A.D. 200) under the Empress Jingo, the Chronicles say, "Sail was set from the harbour of Wani." At a date nearly three centuries earlier, there appears to have been a marked deficiency of coasting vessels, for the Chronicles quote an Imperial decree issued B.C. 81, which says: "Ships are of cardinal importance to the Empire. At present the people of the coast, not having ships, suffer grievously by land transport. Therefore let every province be caused to have ships built;"* and it is related that, a few months later, the building of ships was begun. Again, in A.D. 274, a vessel (the Karano) one hundred feet in length, was constructed in the province of Izu, and twenty-six years later, according to the Chronicles, the Emperor issued this order: "The Government ship named Karano was sent as tribute by the Lord of Izu. It is rotten and unfit for use. It has, however, been in the Government use for a long time, and its services should not be forgotten. Shall we not keep the name of that ship from being lost and hand it down to after ages?" The Karano was then broken and her timbers being employed as firewood for roasting salt, the latter was given to the various provinces, which, in return, were caused to build ships for the State, the result being a fleet of five hundred vessels. *Aston's Nihongi. It would seem that there was always an abundance of fishing-boats, for fishing by traps, hooks, and nets was industriously carried on. A passage in the Records speaks of a thousand-fathom rope of paper-mulberry which was used to draw the net in perch fishing. Spearing was also practised by fishermen, and in the rivers cormorants were used just as they are to-day. MARRIAGE It does not appear that the marriage tie possessed any grave significance in ancient Japan, or that any wedding ceremony was performed; unless, indeed, the three circuits made by Izanagi and Izanami prior to cohabitation round a "heavenly august pillar" be interpreted as the circumambulatory rite observed in certain primitive societies. Pouring water over a bride seems, however, to have been practised and is still customary in some provinces, though as to its antiquity nothing can be said. An exchange of presents is the only fact made clear by the annals. There did not exist in Japan, as in China, a veto on marriages between people of the same tribe, but this difference does not signify any reproach to Japan: the interdict was purely political in China's case, and corresponding conditions did not exist in Japan. On the other hand, the Japanese system permitted a degree of licence which in the Occident is called incest: brothers and sisters might intermarry provided that they had not been brought up together. To understand this condition it is necessary to observe that a bride generally continued to live in her family dwelling where she received her husband's visits, and since there was nothing to prevent a husband from contracting many such alliances, it was possible for him to have several groups of children, the members of each group being altogether unknown to the members of all the rest. In a later, but not definitely ascertained era, it became customary for a husband to take his wife to his own home, and thereafter the veto upon such unions soon became imperative, so that a Prince Imperial in the fifth century who cohabited with his sister forfeited the succession and had to commit suicide, his conduct being described in the Chronicles as "a barbarous outrage." In all eras sisters might marry the same man, and polygamy was common. A Chinese book, compiled in the early years of the Christian epoch, speaks of women being so numerous in Japan that nobles had four or five wives and commoners two or three. Of course, the reason assigned for this custom is incorrect: not plenitude of females but desire of abundant progeny was primarily the cause. It is notable that although the line between nobles and commoners was strictly drawn and rigidly observed, it did not extend to marriage in one sense: a nobleman could always take a wife or a concubine from the family of an inferior. In fact, orders were commonly issued to this or that province to furnish so many ladies-in-waiting (uneme)--a term having deeper significance than it suggests--and several instances are recorded of sovereigns summoning to court girls famed for beauty. That no distinction was made between wives and concubines has been alleged, but is not confirmed by the annals. Differentiation by rank appears to have been always practised, and the offspring was certainly thus distinguished. BIRTH AND EDUCATION A child in ancient Japan was born under considerable difficulties: its mother had to segregate herself in a parturition hut (ubuya), whence even light was excluded and where she was cut off from all attendance. This strange custom was an outcome of the Shinto canon of purity. Soon after birth, a child received from its mother a name generally containing some appropriate personal reference. In the most ancient times each person (so far as we can judge) bore one name, or rather one string of words compounded together into a sort of personal designation. But already at the dawn of the historical epoch we are met by the mention of surnames and of "gentile names bestowed by the sovereign as a recompense for some noteworthy deed."* These names constantly occur. The principal of them are suzerain (atae), departmental suzerain (agata-no-atae), departmental lord (agata-no-nushi), Court noble (ason), territorial lord (inaki), lord (iratsuko), lady (iratsume), duke (kimi), ruler (miyatsuko), chief (muraji), grandee (omi), noble (sukune), and lord (wake). In the case of the Emperors there are also canonical names, which were applied at a comparatively late date in imitation of Chinese usages, and which may be said to have completely replaced the names borne during life. Thus, the Emperor known to posterity as Jimmu was called Iware in life, the Emperor named Homuda while he sat on the throne is now designated Ojin, and the Emperor who ruled as Osazaki is remembered as Nintoku. In the Imperial family, and doubtless in the households of the nobility, wet-nurses were employed, if necessary, as also were bathing-women, washing-women, and rice-chewers.** *B.H. Chamberlain. **"Rice, which is mainly carbohydrate, is transformed into grape-sugar by the action of the saliva. This practice is still common in China and used to be so in Japan where it is now rarely met with. It was employed only until dentition was complete." (Munro.) "To what we should call education, whether mental or physical, there is absolutely no reference made in the histories. All that can be inferred is that, when old enough to do so; the boys began to follow one of the callings of hunter or fisherman, while the girls stayed at home weaving the garments of the family. There was a great deal of fighting, generally of a treacherous kind, in the intervals of which the warriors occupied themselves in cultivating patches of ground."* *B.H. Chamberlain. BURIAL OF THE DEAD Burial rites were important ceremonials. The house hitherto tenanted by the deceased was abandoned--a custom exemplified in the removal of the capital to a new site at the commencement of each reign--and the body was transferred to a specially erected mourning-hut draped inside with fine, white cloth. The relatives and friends then assembled, and for several days performed a ceremony which resembled an Irish wake, food and sake being offered to the spirit of the dead, prayers put up, and the intervals devoted to weird singing and solemn dancing. Wooden coffins appear to have been used until the beginning of the Christian era, when stone is said to have come into vogue. At the obsequies of nobles there was considerable organization. Men (mike-hito) were duly told off to take charge of the offerings of food and liquor; others (kisari-mochi) were appointed to carry the viands; others (hahaki-mochi) carried brooms to sweep the cemetery; there were females (usu-me) who pounded rice, and females (naki-me) who sung dirges interspersed with eulogies of the deceased. The Records mention that at the burial of Prince Waka a number of birds were used instead of these female threnodists. It appears, further, that those following a funeral walked round the coffin waving blue-and-red banners, carrying lighted torches, and playing music. In the sepulchres the arms, utensils, and ornaments used daily by the deceased were interred, and it was customary to bury alive around the tombs of Imperial personages and great nobles a number of the deceased's principal retainers. The latter inhuman habit was nominally abandoned at the close of the last century before Christ, images of baked clay being substituted for human sacrifices, but the spirit which informed the habit survived, and even down to modern times there were instances of men and women committing suicide for the purpose of rejoining the deceased beyond the grave. As to the nature of the tombs raised over the dead, the main facts have been stated in Chapter VI. TEETH BLACKENING AND FACE PAINTING The habit of blackening the teeth has long prevailed among married women in Japan, but the Yamato tombs have thus far furnished only one example of the practice, and no mention occurs in the ancient annals. Face painting, however, would seem to have been indulged in by both sexes. Several of the pottery images (haniwa) taken from the tombs indicate that red pigment was freely and invariably used for that purpose. It was applied in broad streaks or large patches, the former encircling the face or forming bands across it; the latter, covering the eyes or triangulating the cheeks. It is probable that this bizarre decoration was used only on ceremonial occasions and that it appears in a greatly accentuated form on the haniwa. AMUSEMENTS As to amusements in prehistoric times little information is furnished. Hunting the boar and the stag was the principal pastime, and hawking is described as having been practised in the fourth century of the Christian era. Music and dancing seem to have been in vogue from time immemorial, but there is nothing to tell what kind of musical instruments were in the hands of the early Yamato. The koto, a kind of horizontal lute, and the flute are spoken of in the Chronicles, but the date of their introduction is not indicated. Wrestling, cockfighting (with metal spurs), picnics, a kind of drafts, gambling with dice, and football are all referred to, and were probably indulged in from a very early date. SLAVERY The institution of slavery existed among the Yamato. It will be presently spoken of. POSITION OF WOMEN There is evidence to show that in the prehistoric age a high position was accorded to women and that their rights received large recognition. The facts that the first place in the Japanese pantheon was assigned to a goddess; that the throne was frequently occupied by Empresses; that females were chiefs of tribes and led armies on campaign; that jealous wives turned their backs upon faithless husbands; that mothers chose names for their children and often had complete charge of their upbringing--all these things go to show that the self-effacing rank taken by Japanese women in later ages was a radical departure from the original canon of society. It is not to be inferred, however, that fidelity to the nuptial tie imposed any check on extra-marital relations in the case of men: it had no such effect. ENGRAVING: "IKEBANA" FLOWER ARRANGEMENT ENGRAVING: ENTRANCE TO THE TOMB OF THE EMPEROR JIMMU IN UNEBI-YAMA CHAPTER IX THE PREHISTORIC SOVEREIGNS JIMMU IT is held by eminent Japanese historians that the Emperor Jimmu, when he set out for Yamato, did not contemplate an armed campaign but merely intended to change his capital from the extreme south to the centre of the country. This theory is based on the words of the address he made to his elder brothers and his sons when inviting them to accompany him on the expedition "Why should we not proceed to Yamato and make it the capital?"--and on the fact that, on arriving in the Kibi district, namely, the region now divided into the three provinces of Bizen, Bitchu, and Bingo, he made a stay of three years for the purpose of amassing an army and provisioning it, the perception that he would have to fight having been realized for the first time. Subsequently he encountered strongest resistance at the hands of Prince Nagasune, whose title of Hiko (Child of the Sun) showed that he belonged to the Yamato race, and who exercised military control under the authority of Nigihayahi, elder brother of Jimmu's father. This Nigihayahi had been despatched from the continental realm of the Yamato--wherever that may have been--at a date prior to the despatch of his younger brother, Ninigi, for the purpose of subjugating the "land of fair rice-ears and fertile reed plains," but of the incidents of his expedition history takes no notice: it merely shows him as ruling in Yamato at the time of Jimmu's arrival there, and describes how Nigihayahi, having been convinced by a comparison of weapons of war that Jimmu was of his own lineage, surrendered the authority to him and caused, Prince Nagasune to be put to death. From a chronological point of view it is difficult to imagine the co-existence of Jimmu and his great-granduncle, but the story may perhaps be accepted in so far as it confirms the tradition that, in prosecuting his Yamato campaign, Jimmu received the submission of several chieftains (Kami) belonging to the same race as himself. Reference to these facts is essential to an understanding of the class distinctions found in the Japanese social system. All the chieftains who led the expedition from Kyushu were subsequently designated Tenshin--a term which may be conveniently rendered "Kami of the descent"--and all those who, like Nigihayahi, had previously been in occupation of the country, were styled kum-tsu-Kami, or "territorial Kami." Another method of distinguishing was to include the former in the Kwobetsu and the latter in the Shimbetsu--distinctions which will be more fully explained hereafter--and after apotheosis the members of these two classes became respectively "deities of heaven" and "deities of earth," a distinction possessing historical rather than qualificatory force. As for subdivisions, the head of a Kwobetsu family had the title of omi (grandee) and the head of a Shimbetsu family that of muraji (chief). Thus, the organization of the State depended primarily on the principle of ancestor worship. The sceptre descended by divine right without any regard to its holder's competence, while the administrative posts were filled by men of the same race with a similar hereditary title. Aliens like the Yezo, the Tsuchi-gumo, and the Kumaso were either exterminated or made slaves (nuhi). THE TERM "YAMATO" As to the term "Yamato," it appears that, in the earliest times, the whole country now called Japan was known as Yamato, and that subsequently the designation became restricted to the province which became the seat of government. The Chinese, when they first took cognizance of the islands lying on their east, seem to have applied the name Wado--pronounced "Yamato" by the Japanese--to the tribes inhabiting the western shores of Japan, namely, the Kumaso or the Tsuchi-gumo, and in writing the word they used ideographs conveying a sense of contempt. The Japanese, not unnaturally, changed these ideographs to others having the same sounds but signifying "great peace." At a later time the Chinese or the Koreans began to designate these eastern islands, Jih-pen, or "Sunrise Island," a term which, in the fifteenth century, was perverted by the Dutch into Japan. THE FIRST NINE EMPERORS In attempting to construct coherent annals out of the somewhat fragmentary Japanese histories of remote ages, the student is immediately confronted by chronological difficulties. Apart from the broad fact that the average age of the first seventeen Emperors from Jimmu downwards is 109 years, while the average age of the next seventeen is only sixty-one and a half years, there are irreconcilable discrepancies in some of the dates themselves. Thus, according to the Records, the eighth Emperor, Kogen, died at fifty-seven, but according to the Chronicles he ascended the throne at fifty-nine and reigned fifty-six years. Again, whereas the ninth sovereign, Kaikwa, is by the Records given a life of only sixty-three years, the Chronicles make him assume the sceptre at fifty-one and wield it for fifty-nine years. Such conflicts of evidence are fatal to confidence. Nor do they disappear wholly until the beginning of the fifth century, at which time, moreover, the incidents of Japanese history receive their first confirmation from the history of China and Korea. It is therefore not extravagant to conclude that the first ten and a half centuries covered by Japanese annals must be regarded as prehistoric. On the other hand, the incidents attributed to this long interval are not by any means of such a nature as to suggest deliberate fabrication. An annalist who was also a courtier, applying himself to construct the story of his sovereign's ancestors, would naturally be disposed to embellish his pages with narratives of great exploits and brilliant achievements. Neither the Records nor the Chronicles can be said to display such a propensity in any marked degree. The Chronicles do, indeed, draw upon the resources of Chinese history to construct ethical codes and scholarly diction for their Imperial figures, but the Records show no traces of adventitious colour nor make an attempt to minimize the evil and magnify the good. Thus, while it is evident that to consolidate Jimmu's conquest and to establish order among the heterogeneous elements of his empire he must have been followed by rulers of character and prowess, the annals show nothing of the kind. On the contrary, the reigns of his eight immediate successors are barren of all striking incident. The closing chapter of Jimmu himself is devoted chiefly to his amours, and the opening page in the life of his immediate successor, Suisei, shows that the latter reached the throne by assassinating his elder brother. For the rest, the annals of the eight sovereigns who reigned during the interval between 561 and 98 B.C. recount mainly the polygamous habits of these rulers and give long genealogies of the noble families founded by their offspring--a dearth of romance which bears strong witness to the self-restraint of the compilers. We learn incidentally that on his accession each sovereign changed the site of his palace, seldom passing, however, beyond the limits of the province of Yamato, and we learn, also, that the principle of primogeniture, though generally observed, was often violated. HSU FUH A Japanese tradition assigns to the seventy-second year of the reign of Korei the advent of a Chinese Taoist, by name Hsu Fuh. Korei, seventh in descent from Jimmu, held the sceptre from 290 to 215 B.C., and the seventy-second year of his reign fell, therefore, in 219 B.C. Now, to the east of the town of Shingu in Kii province, at a place on the seashore in the vicinity of the site of an ancient castle, there stands a tomb bearing the inscription "Grave of Hsu Fuh from China," and near it are seven tumuli said to be the burial-places of Hsu's companions. Chinese history states that Hsu Fuh was a learned man who served the first Emperor of the Chin dynasty (255-206 B.C.), and that he obtained his sovereign's permission to sail to the islands of the east in search of the elixir of life. Setting out from Yentai (the present Chefoo) in his native province of Shantung, Hsu landed at Kumano in the Kii promontory, and failing to find the elixir, preferred to pass his life in Japan rather than to return unsuccessful to the Court of the tyranical Chin sovereign, burner of the books and builder of the Great Wall. A poem composed in the Sung dynasty (A.D. 960-1280) says that when Hsu Fuh set out, the books had not been burned, and that a hundred volumes thus survived in his keeping. Of course, the date assigned by Japanese tradition to the coming of Hsu may have been adapted to Chinese history, and it therefore furnishes no evidence as to the accuracy of the Chronicles' chronology. But the existence of the tomb may be regarded as proving that some communication took place between China and Japan at that remote epoch.* *The route taken by Hsu Fuh namely, from Chefoo down the China Sea and round the south of Japan is difficult to understand. THE TENTH EMPEROR, SUJIN The reign of this sovereign (97-30 B.C.) is the first eventful period since the death of Jimmu. It is memorable for the reorganization of religious rites; for the extension of the effective sway of the Throne, and for the encouragement of agriculture. When the first Emperor installed the sacred insignia in the palace where he himself dwelt, the instinct of filial piety and the principle of ancestor worship were scarcely distinguishable. But as time passed and as the age of the Kami became more remote, a feeling of awe began to pervade the rites more strongly than a sense of family affection, and the idea of residing and worshipping in the same place assumed a character of sacrilege. This may have been directly suggested by a pestilence which, decimating the nation, was interpreted as implying the need of greater purity. A replica of the sacred mirror was manufactured, and the grandson of the great worker in metal Mahitotsu, the "One-eyed" was ordered to forge an imitation of the sacred sword. These imitations, together with the sacred jewel, were kept in the palace, but the originals were transferred to Kasanui in Yamato, where a shrine for the worship of the Sun goddess had been built. But though the pestilence was stayed, it brought an aftermath of lawlessness and produced much unrest in the regions remote from Yamato. Sujin therefore organized a great military movement, the campaign of the Shido shogun, or "Generalissimo of the four Circuits."* *The term "do" indicates a group of provinces. The leaders chosen for this task were all members of the Imperial family--a great-uncle, an uncle, a younger brother, and a first cousin of the Emperor--and the fields of operation assigned to them were: first, to the west along the northern shore of the Inland Sea; secondly, to the northwest into Tamba, Tango, and Tajima; thirdly, to the north along the sea of Japan, and finally to the east along the route now known as the Tokaido. No attempt is made by the writers of either the Records or the Chronicles to describe the preparations for this extensive campaign. Tradition seems to have preserved the bare fact only. One interesting interlude is described, however. Before the first body of troops had passed beyond range of easy communication with Mizugaki in Yamato, where the Court resided, the prince in command heard a girl singing by the wayside, and the burden of her song seemed to imply that, while foes at home menaced the capital, foes abroad should not be attacked. The prince, halting his forces, returned to Mizugaki to take counsel, and the Emperor's aunt interpreted the song to signify that his Majesty's half-brother, Haniyasu, who governed the adjacent province of Yamato, was plotting treason. Then all the troops having been recalled, preparations to guard the capital were made, and soon afterwards, news came that Haniyasu, at the head of an army, was advancing from the direction of Yamashiro, while his wife, Ata, was leading another force from Osaka, the plan being to unite the two armies for the attack on Yamato. The Emperor's generals at once assumed the offensive. They moved first against Princess Ata, killed her and exterminated her forces; after which they dealt similarly with Haniyasu. This chapter of history illustrates the important part taken by women in affairs of State at that epoch, and incidentally confirms the fact that armour was worn by men in battle. The four Imperial generals were now able to resume their temporarily interrupted campaigns. According to the Chronicles they completed the tasks assigned to them and returned to the capital within six months. But such chronology cannot be reconciled with facts. For it is related that the generals sent northward by the western seaboard and the eastern seaboard, respectively, came together at Aizu,* one reaching that place via Hitachi, the other via Echigo. Thus, it would result that Yamato armies at that remote epoch marched hundreds of miles through country in the face of an enemy within a few months. Further, to bring the aboriginal tribes into subjugation, an isolated campaign would have been quite inadequate. Some kind of permanent control was essential, and there is collateral evidence that the descendants of the four princely generals, during many generations, occupied the position of provincial magnates and exercised virtually despotic sway within the localities under their jurisdiction. Thus in the provinces of Omi, of Suruga, of Mutsu, of Iwashiro, of Iwaki, of Echigo, of Etchu, of Echizen, of Bizen, of Bitchu, of Bingo, of Harima, of Tamba, and elsewhere, there are found in later ages noble families all tracing their descent to one or another of the Shido shoguns despatched on the task of pacifying the country in the days of the Emperor Sujin. The genealogies which fill pages of the Records from the days of Jimmu downwards point clearly to the growth of a powerful feudal aristocracy, for the younger sons born to successive sovereigns bear, for the most part, names indicative of territorial lordship; but it seems justifiable to conclude that the first great impetus to that kind of decentralization was given by Sujin's despatch of the Shido shoguns. *Hence the term "Aizu," form, signifies "to meet." AGRICULTURE AND TAXATION The digging of reservoirs and tunnels for irrigating rice-fields received unprecedented attention in the reign of this Emperor, and mention is for the first time made of taxes--tributes of "bow-notches and of finger-tips," in other words, the produce of the chase and the products of the loom. A census was taken for taxation purposes, but unhappily the results are nowhere recorded. The Court gave itself some concern about maritime transport also. A rescript ordered that ships should be built by every province, but nothing is stated as to their dimensions or nature. In this rescript it is mentioned that "the people of the coast not having ships, suffer grievously by land transport." What they suffered may be inferred from a description in the Chronicles where we read that at the building of the tomb of a princess, "the people, standing close to each other, passed the stones from hand to hand, and thus transported them from Osaka to Yamato." FOREIGN INTERCOURSE Korea, when Japanese history is first explicitly concerned with it, was peopled by a number of semi-independent tribes, and the part of the peninsula lying southward of the Han River--that is to say, southward of the present Seoul--comprised three kingdoms. Of these Ma-Han occupied the whole of the western half of the peninsula along the coast of the Yellow Sea; while Sin-Han and Pyong-Han formed the eastern half, lying along the shore of the Sea of Japan. The three were collectively spoken of as Sam-Han (the three Han). But Japan's relations with the peninsula did not always involve these major divisions. Her annals speak of Shiragi (or Sinra), Kara, Kudara, and Koma. Shiragi and Kara were principalities carved respectively out of the southeast and south of Pyong-Han. Thus, they lay nearest to Japan, the Korea Strait alone intervening, and the Korea Strait was almost bridged by islands. Kudara constituted the modern Seoul and its vicinity; Koma, (called also Korai and in Korea, Kokuli), the modern Pyong-yang and its district. These two places were rendered specially accessible by the rivers Han and Tadong which flowed through them to the Yellow Sea; but of course in this respect they could not compare with Shiragi (Sinra) and Kara, of which latter place the Japanese usually spoke as Mimana. There can scarcely be any doubt that the Korean peninsula was largely permeated with Chinese influences from a very early date, but the processes which produced that result need not be detailed here. It has been also shown above that, in the era prior to Jimmu, indications are found of intercourse between Japan and Korea, and even that Susanoo and his son held sway in Shiragi. But the first direct reference made by Japanese annals to Korea occurs in the reign of Sujin, 33 B.C. when an envoy from Kara arrived at the Mizugaki Court, praying that a Japanese general might be sent to compose a quarrel which had long raged between Kara and Shiragi, and to take the former under Japan's protection. It appears that this envoy had travelled by a very circuitous route. He originally made the port of Anato (modern Nagato), but Prince Itsutsu, who ruled there, claimed to be the sole monarch of Japan and refused to allow the envoy to proceed, so that the latter had to travel north and enter Japan via Kehi-no-ura (now Tsuruga.) Incidentally this narrative corroborates a statement made in Chinese history (compiled in the Later Han era, A.D. 25-220) to the effect that many Japanese provinces claimed to be under hereditary rulers who exercised sovereign rights. Such, doubtless, was the attitude assumed by several of the Imperial descendants who had obtained provincial estates. The Emperor Sujin received the envoy courteously and seemed disposed to grant his request, but his Majesty's death (30 B.C.) intervened, and not until two years later was the envoy able to return. His mission had proved abortive, but the Emperor Suinin, Sujin's successor, gave him some red-silk fabrics to carry home and conferred on his country the name Mimana, in memory of Sujin, whose appellation during life had been Mimaki. These details furnish an index to the relations that existed in that era between the neighbouring states of the Far East. The special interest of the incident lies, however, in the fact that it furnishes the first opportunity of comparing Japanese history with Korean. The latter has two claims to credence. The first is that it assigns no incredible ages to the sovereigns whose reigns it records. According to Japanese annals there were only seven accessions to the throne of Yamato during the first four centuries of the Christian era. According to Korean annals, the three peninsular principalities had sixteen, seventeen, and sixteen accessions, respectively, in the same interval. The second claim is that, during the same four centuries, the histories of China and Korea agree in ten dates and differ in two only.* On the whole, therefore, Korean annals deserve to be credited. But whereas Japanese history represents warfare as existing between Kara and Shiragi in 33 B.C., Korean history represents the conflict as having broken out in A.D. 77. There is a difference of just 110 years, and the strong probability of accuracy is on the Korean side. *For a masterly analysis of this subject see a paper on Early Japanese History by Mr. W. G. Aston in Vol. XVI of the "Translations of the Asiatic Society of Japan." THE ELEVENTH SOVEREIGN, SUININ (29 B.C.--A.D. 70) Suinin, second son of his predecessor, obtained the throne by a process which frankly ignored the principle of primogeniture. For Sujin, having an equal affection for his two sons, confessed himself unable to choose which of them should be his successor and was therefore guided by a comparison of their dreams, the result being that the younger was declared Prince Imperial, and the elder became duke of the provinces of Kamitsuke (now Kotsuke) and Shimotsuke. Suinin, like all the monarchs of that age, had many consorts: nine are catalogued in the Records and their offspring numbered sixteen, many of whom received local titles and had estates conferred in the provinces. In fact, this process of ramifying the Imperial family went on continuously from reign to reign. There are in the story of this sovereign some very pathetic elements. Prince Saho, elder brother of the Empress, plotted to usurp the throne. Having cajoled his sister into an admission that her brother was dearer than her husband, he bade her prove it by killing the Emperor in his sleep. But when an opportunity offered to perpetrate the deed as the sovereign lay sleeping with her knees as pillow, her heart melted, and her tears, falling on the Emperor's face, disturbed his slumber. He sought the cause of her distress, and learning it, sent a force to seize the rebel. Remorse drove the Empress to die with Prince Saho. Carrying her little son, she entered the fort where her brother with his followers had taken refuge. The Imperial troops set fire to the fort--which is described as having been built with rice-bags piled up--and the Empress emerged with the child in her arms; but having thus provided for its safety, she fled again to the fort and perished with her brother. This terrible scene appears to have given the child such a shock that he lost the use of speech, and the Records devote large space to describing the means employed for the amusement of the child, the long chase and final capture of a swan whose cry, as it flew overhead, had first moved the youth to speech, and the cure ultimately effected by building a shrine for the worship of the deity of Izumo, who, in a previous age, had been compelled to abdicate the sovereignty of the country in favour of a later descendant of the Sun goddess, and whose resentment was thereafter often responsible for calamities overtaking the Court or the people of Japan. THE ISE SHRINE AND THE PRACTICE OF JUNSHI Two events specially memorable in this reign were the transfer of the shrine of the Sun goddess to Ise, where it has remained ever since, and the abolition of the custom of junshi, or following in death. The latter shocking usage, a common rite of animistic religion, was in part voluntary, in part compulsory. In its latter aspect it came vividly under the notice of the Emperor Suinin when the tomb of his younger brother, Yamato, having been built within earshot of the palace, the cries of his personal attendants, buried alive around his grave, were heard, day and night, until death brought silence. In the following year (A.D. 3), the Empress having died, a courtier, Nomi-no-Sukune, advised the substitution of clay figures for the victims hitherto sacrificed. Nominally, the practice of compulsory junshi ceased from that date,* but voluntary junshi continued to find occasional observance until modern times. *Of course it is to be remembered that the dates given by Japanese historians prior to the fifth century A.D. are very apocryphal. WRESTLING The name of Nomi-no-Sukune is associated with the first mention of wrestling in Japanese history. By the Chronicles a brief account is given of a match between Nomi and Taema-no-Kuehaya. The latter was represented to be so strong that he could break horns and straighten hooks. His frequently expressed desire was to find a worthy competitor. Nomi-no-Sukune, summoned from Izumo by the Emperor, met Kuehaya in the lists of the palace of Tamaki and kicked him to death. Wrestling thereafter became a national pastime, but its methods underwent radical change, kicking being abolished altogether. FOREIGN INTERCOURSE It is believed by Japanese historians that during the reign of Suinin a local government station (chinju-fu) was established in Anra province of Mimana, and that this station, subsequently known as Nippon-fu, was transferred to Tsukushi (Kyushu) and named Dazai-fu when Japan's influence in Mimana waned. The first general (shoguri) of the chinju-fu was Prince Shihotari, and the term kishi--which in Korea signified headman--was thenceforth incorporated into his family name. To the members of that family in later generations was entrusted the conduct of the Empire's foreign affairs. But it does not appear that the Imperial Court in Yamato paid much attention to oversea countries in early eras. Intercourse with these was conducted, for the most part, by the local magnates who held sway in the western regions of Japan. It was during the reign of Suinin, if Japanese chronology be accepted, that notices of Japan began to appear in Chinese history--a history which justly claims to be reliable from 145 B.C. Under the Later Han dynasty (A.D. 25-220), great progress was made in literature and art by the people of the Middle Kingdom, and this progress naturally extended, not only to Korea, which had been conquered by the Chinese sovereign, Wu-Ti, in the second century before Christ and was still partly under the rule of Chinese governors, but also to the maritime regions of Japan, whence the shores of Korea were almost within sight. China in those ages was incomparably the greatest and most enlightened country in the Orient, and it had become the custom with adjacent States to send emissaries to her Court, bearing gifts which she handsomely requited; so that while, from one point of view, the envoys might be regarded as tribute-carriers, from another, the ceremony presented the character of a mere interchange of neighbourly civilities. In Japan, again, administrative centralization was still imperfect. Some of the local magnates had not yet been brought fully under the sway of the Yamato invaders, and some, as scions of the Imperial family, arrogated a considerable measure of independence. Thus it resulted that several of these provincial dukes--or "kings," as not a few of them were called--maintained relations with Korea, and through her despatched tribute missions to the Chinese Court from time to time. In these circumstances it is not surprising to find the Chinese historians of the first century A.D. writing: "The Wa (Japanese) dwell southeast of Han* (Korea) on a mountainous island in midocean. Their country is divided into more than one hundred provinces. Since the time when Wu-Ti (140-86 B.C.) overthrew Korea, they (the Japanese) have communicated with the Han (Korean) authorities by means of a postal service. There are thirty-two provinces which do so, all of which style their rulers 'kings' who are hereditary. The sovereign of Great Wa resides in Yamato, distant 12,000 li (4000 miles) from the frontier of the province of Yolang (the modern Pyong-yang in Korea). In the second year of Chung-yuan (A.D. 57), in the reign of Kwang-wu, the Ito** country sent an envoy with tribute, who styled himself Ta-fu. He came from the most western part of the Wa country. Kwang-wu presented him with a seal and ribbon." [Aston's translation.] *It is necessary to distinguish carefully between the Han dynasty of China and the term "Han" as a designation of Korea. **The ideographs composing this word were pronounced "I-to" at the time when they were written by the Hou-Han historians, but they subsequently received the sound of "Wo-nu" or "wa-do." These passages have provoked much discussion, but Japanese annalists are for the most part agreed that "Ito" should be read "I-no-na," which corresponds with the ancient Na-no-Agata, the present Naka-gori in Chikuzen, an identification consistent with etymology and supported by the fact that, in 1764, a gold seal supposed to be the original of the one mentioned above, was dug out of the ground in that region. In short, Na-no-Agata is identical with the ancient Watazumi-no-Kuni, which was one of the countries of Japan's intercourse. Further, the Yamato of the Hou-Han historians is not to be regarded as the province of that name in central Japan, but as one of the western districts, whether Yamato in Higo, or Yamato in Chikugo. It has been shrewdly suggested* that the example of Korea had much influence in inducing the local rulers in the western and southern provinces to obtain the Chinese Court's recognition of their administrative status, but, whatever may have been the dominant motive, it seems certain that frequent intercourse took place between Japan and China via Korea immediately before and after the beginning of the Christian era. Again, that Koreans came freely to Japan and settled there is attested by the case of a son of the King of Shiragi who, coming to the Tajima region, took a Japanese wife and established himself there, founding a distinguished family. The closing episode of the Emperor Suinin's life was the despatch of Tajima Mori, this immigrant's descendant, to the country of Tokoyo, nominally for the purpose of obtaining orange-seeds, but probably with the ulterior motive of exploration. *By Dr. Ariga, an eminent Japanese authority. The reader is already familiar with this Tokoyo-no-Kuni (Eternal Land). We hear of it first as the home of "long-singing birds" summoned to take part in enticing the Sun goddess from her cave. Then it figures as the final retreat of Sukuna-hikona, the Aescalapius of the mythological age. Then we find one of Jimmu's elder brothers treading on the waves to reach it. Then we hear of it as the birthplace of the billows that make Ise their bourne, and now it is described by Tajima Mori in his death-song as the "mysterious realm of gods and genii," so distant that ten years were needed to reach it and return. It appears in fact to have been an epithet for China in general, and the destination of Tajima Mori is believed to have been Shantung, to reach which place by sea from Japan was a great feat of navigation in those primitive days. Tajima Mori returned to find the Emperor dead, and in despair he committed suicide. AGRICULTURE AND ADMINISTRATION The reclamation of land for purposes of rice cultivation went on vigorously during Suinin's reign. More than eight hundred ponds and aqueducts are said to have been constructed by order of the sovereign for irrigation uses throughout the provinces. It would seem, too, that the practice of formally consulting Court officials about administrative problems had its origin at this time. No definite organization for the purpose was yet created, but it became customary to convene distinguished scions of the Imperial line and heads of great subject-families to discuss and report upon affairs of State. Another innovation referred to in this era was the offering of weapons of war at the shrines. We read of as many as a thousand swords being forged to form part of the sacred treasures at the shrine of Ise-no-Kami, and the occasion was seized to organize a number of hereditary corporations (be) of arm-makers and armourers. These were placed under the control of Prince Inishiki, another of the captains of the Imperial life-guards (mononobe-no-Obito). It is thus evident that something more than a religious rite was involved in these measures. THE TWELFTH EMPEROR, KEIKO (A.D. 71--130) According to the Records, Keiko was ten feet two inches high, and his shank measured four feet one inch. His nomination as Prince Imperial was an even more arbitrary violation of the right of primogeniture than the case of his predecessor had been, for he was chosen in preference to his elder brother merely because, when the two youths were casually questioned as to what they wished for, the elder said, "a bow and arrows," and the younger, "the empire." The delusive nature of the Nihongi's chronology in these prehistoric epochs is exemplified in the annals of this sovereign, for he is represented as having been in his eighty-third year when he ascended the throne, yet, in the third year of his reign, he took a consort who bore him thirteen children, and altogether his progeny numbered eighty sons and daughters by seven wives. His plan of providing for these numerous scions constituted the first systematization of a custom which had been observed in a fitful manner by several of his predecessors. They had given to their sons local titles and estates but had not required them to leave the capital. Keiko, however, appointed his sons, with three exceptions, to the position of provincial or district viceroy, preserving their Imperial connexion by calling them wake, or branch families. This subject will present itself for further notice during the reign of Keiko's successor. One of the most memorable events in this epoch was the Emperor's military expedition in person to quell the rebellious Kumaso (q.v.) in Kyushu. There had not been any instance of the sovereign taking the field in person since Jimmu's time, and the importance attaching to the insurrection is thus shown. Allowance has to be made, however, for the fact that the territory held by these Kumaso in the south of Kyushu was protected by a natural rampart of stupendous mountain ranges which rendered military access arduous, and which, in after ages, enabled a great feudatory to defy the Central Government for centuries. In connexion with this expedition a noteworthy fact is that female chieftains were found ruling in the provinces of Suwo and Bingo. They were not aliens, but belonged to the Yamato race, and their existence goes far to account for the appellation, "Queens' Country," applied by Chinese historians to the only part of Japan with which the people of the Middle Kingdom were familiar, namely, Kyushu and the west-coast provinces. Keiko's reign is remarkable chiefly for this expedition to the south, which involved a residence of six years in Hyuga, and for the campaigns of one of the greatest of Japan's heroes, Prince Yamato-dake. The military prowess of the sovereign, the fighting genius of Yamato-dake, and the administrative ability of Takenouchi-no-Sukune, the first "prime minister" mentioned in Japanese history, combined to give signal eclat to the reign of Keiko. Arriving at this stage of the annals, we are able to perceive what an influence was exercised on the fortunes of the country by its topographical features. The southwestern sections of the islands are comparatively accessible from the centre (Chogoku or Kinai), whether by sea or by land, but the northeastern are guarded by mountain chains which can be crossed only by arduous and easily defended passes. It was, therefore, in these northeastern provinces that the Yemishi maintained their independence until their strength was broken by the splendid campaign of Yamato-dake; it was in these northeastern provinces that the bushi, noblest product of Japanese civilization, was nurtured; it was in the same provinces that the Taira family made its brilliant debut, and it was by abandoning these provinces for the sweets of Kyoto that the Taira fell; it was in the north-eastern provinces that Minamoto Yoritomo, the father of military feudalism, established himself, to be followed in succession by the Hojo, the Ashikaga, and the Tokugawa, and it is in the northeastern provinces that the Meiji Government has its seat of power. We can not wonder, therefore, that modern historiographers have devoted much labour to tracing the route followed by Yamato-dake's troops and rationalizing the figurative or miraculous features of the narratives told in the Kojiki and the Nihongi. It is enough to know, however, that he overran the whole region stretching from the provinces along the Eastern Sea as far as Iwaki; crossed westward through Iwashiro to Echigo on the west coast, and turning southward, made his way through Shinano and Mino to Owari, whence, suffering from a wound caused by a poisoned arrow, he struggled on to Ise and died there. This campaign seems to have occupied ten years, and Yamato-dake was only thirty at the time of his death. He had marched against the Kumaso in the south at the age of sixteen. The Chronicles relate that when crossing the Usui Pass and looking down on the sea where his loved consort had cast herself into the waves to quell their fury, the great warrior sighed thrice and exclaimed, "My wife, my wife, my wife!" (Ago, tsuma haya), whereafter the provinces east of the mountain were designated Azuma. It was imagined until quite recent times that the pass referred to was the well-known Usui Toge on the Nakasendo road; but Dr. Kume has shown that such a supposition is inconsistent with any rational itinerary of Yamato-dake's march, and that the sea in question cannot be seen from that defile. The pass mentioned in the Chronicles is another of the same name not far from the Hakone region, and the term "Azuma" "had always been used to designate the Eastern Provinces." Throughout the Records and the Chronicles frequent instances occur of attempts to derive place-names from appropriate legends, but probably in many cases the legend was suggested by the name. In connexion with Yamato-dake's career, a circumstance is recorded which indirectly points to the absence of history at that period. In order to immortalize the memory of the hero, hereditary corporations (be) called after him were created. These Take-be gave their names to the districts where they lived, in Ise, Izumo, Mimasaka, and Bizen. FEMALE HOSTAGES Another custom inaugurated by this sovereign was to require that the rulers of provinces should send to the Yamato Court female hostages. The first example of this practice took place on the occasion of an Imperial visit to the regions overrun by Yamato-dake's forces. Each of twelve kuni-yatsuko (provincial rulers) was required to send one damsel for the purpose of serving in the culinary department of the palace. They were called makura-ko (pillow-child) and they seem to have been ultimately drafted into the ranks of the uneme (ladies-in-waiting). Japanese historians hold that the makura-ko were daughters of the local magnates by whom they were sent, though the fact of that relationship is not clearly stated in either the Records or the Chronicles. TABE AND MIYAKE In the annals of Suinin's reign brief reference is made to granaries (miyake) erected by order of the Court. The number of these was increased in Keiko's time, and it is further mentioned that a hereditary corporation of rice-field cultivators (tabe) were organized for service on the Imperial estates. The miyake were at once storehouse and offices for administering agricultural affairs. THE THIRTEENTH EMPEROR, SEIMU (A.D. 131--190) The thirteenth Emperor, Seimu, occupied the throne for fifty-nine years, according to the Chronicles, but the only noteworthy feature of his reign was the organization of local government, and the details of his system are so vaguely stated as to be incomprehensible without much reference and some hypotheses. Speaking broadly, the facts are these: Imperial princes who had distinguished themselves by evidences of ability or courage were despatched to places of special importance in the provinces, under the name of wake, a term conveying the signification of "branch of the Imperial family." There is reason to think that these appointments were designed to extend the prestige of the Court rather than to facilitate the administration of provincial affairs. The latter duty was entrusted to officials called kuni-no-miyatsuko and agata-nushi, which may be translated "provincial governor" and "district headman." The word miyatsuko literally signifies "honourable (mi) servant (yatsuko or yakko)." In the most ancient times all subjects were yakko, but subsequently those holding office at Court were distinguished as omi (grandee). Persons eligible for the post of provincial governor seem to have been chosen from among men of merit, or Imperial princes, or chiefs of aboriginal tribes. There was little exclusiveness in this respect. The rate of expansion of the area under Imperial sway may be inferred from the fact that whereas there were nine provinces (kuni) in Jimmu's time, one was added by Kaikwa, eleven by Sujin, seven by Keiko, and sixty-three by Seimu, making a total of ninety-one. Yet, though by the time of the last named sovereign almost the whole of the southern and central regions were included in the administrative circle, the northern provinces, some of the western, and certain regions in the south (Kyushu) were not yet fully wrested from the Yemishi and the Kumaso. In subsequent reigns the rate of growth was as follows: Chuai (A.D. 192-200), two provinces; Ojin (270-310), twenty-one; Nintoku (313-399), seven; Hansho (406-411) and Inkyo (412-453), one each; Yuryaku (457-459), three; Keitai (507-531), one; and eight others at untraceable periods, the total being one hundred thirty-five. The agata was a division smaller than a province (kuni). It corresponded to the modern kori or gun, and its nearest English equivalent is "district." A distinction must be made, however, between agata and mi-agata. The latter were Imperial domains whence the Court derived its resources, and their dimensions varied greatly. A smaller administrative district than the agata was the inagi.* This we learn from a Chinese book--the Japanese annals being silent on the subject--consisted of eighty houses, and ten inagi constituted a kuni. The terra inagi was also applied to the chief local official of the region, who may be designated "Mayor." *Supposed to be derived from ine (rice) and oki (store). THE FOURTEENTH EMPEROR, CHUAI (A.D. 192--200) AND THE EMPRESS JINGO (A.D. 201--269) Were the Records our sole guide, the early incidents of Chuai's reign would be wrapped in obscurity. For when we first meet him in the pages of the Kojiki, he is in a palace on the northern shores of the Shimonoseki Strait, whence he soon crosses to the Kashii palace in Kyushu. His predecessors, while invariably changing their residences on mounting the throne, had always chosen a site for the new palace in Yamato or a neighbouring province, but the Records, without any explanation, carry Chuai to the far south after his accession. The Chronicles are more explicit. From them we gather that Chuai--who was the second son of Yamato-dake and is described as having been ten feet high with "a countenance of perfect beauty"--was a remarkably active sovereign. He commenced his reign by a progress to Tsuruga (then called Tsunuga) on the west coast of the mainland, and, a month later, he made an expedition to Kii on the opposite shore. While in the latter province he received news of a revolt of the Kumaso, and at once taking ship, he went by sea to Shimonoseki, whither he summoned the Empress from Tsuruga. An expedition against the Kumaso was then organized and partially carried out, but the Emperor's force was beaten and he himself received a fatal arrow-wound. Both the Records and the Chronicles relate that, on the eve of this disastrous move against the Kumaso, the Empress had a revelation urging the Emperor to turn his arms against Korea as the Kumaso were not worthy of his steel. But Chuai rejected the advice with scorn, and the Kojiki alleges that the outraged deities punished him with death, though doubtless a Kumaso arrow was the instrument. His demise was carefully concealed, and the Empress, mustering the troops, took vengeance upon the Kumaso. Thereafter her Majesty became the central figure in a page of history--or romance--which has provoked more controversy than any incident in Japanese annals. A descendant of the Korean prince, Ama-no-Hihoko, who settled in the province of Tajima during the reign of the Emperor Suinin, she must have possessed traditional knowledge of Shiragi, whence her ancestor had emigrated. She was the third consort of Chuai. His first had borne him two sons who were of adult age when, in the second year of his reign, he married Jingo,* a lady "intelligent, shrewd, and with a countenance of such blooming loveliness that her father wondered at it." To this appreciation of her character must be added the attributes of boundless ambition and brave resourcefulness. The annals represent her as bent from the outset on the conquest of Korea and as receiving the support and encouragement of Takenouchi-no-Sukune, who had served her husband and his predecessor as prime minister. A military expedition oversea led by a sovereign in person had not been heard of since the days of Jimmu, and to reconcile officials and troops to such an undertaking the element of divine revelation had to be introduced. At every stage signs and portents were vouchsafed by the guardian deities. By their intervention the Empress was shown to be possessed of miraculous prowess, and at their instance troops and ships assembled spontaneously. The armada sailed under divine guidance, a gentle spirit protecting the Empress, and a warlike spirit leading the van of her forces. The god of the wind sent a strong breeze; the god of the sea ruled the waves favourably; all the great fishes accompanied the squadron, and an unprecendented tide bore the ships far inland. Fighting became unnecessary. The King of Shiragi did homage at once and promised tribute and allegiance forever, and the other monarchs of the peninsula followed his example. In short, Korea was conquered and incorporated with the dominions of Japan. *It should be clearly understood that the names by which the sovereigns are called in these pages, are the posthumous appellations given to them in later times when Chinese ideographs came into use and Chinese customs began to be followed in such matters. The posthumous was compiled with reference to the character or achievements of the sovereign, Thus Jingo signifies "divine merit," on account of her conquests; "Chuai" means "lamentable second son," with reference to his evil fate, and "Keiko" implies "great deeds." These three sovereigns were called during life, Okinaga-Tarashi, Tarashi-Nakatsu, and 0-Tarashi, respectively. CRITICISM OF THE ALLEGED CONQUEST OF KOREA By some learned historiographers the whole of the above account is pronounced a fiction. There was no such invasion of Korea, they say, nor does the narrative deserve more credit than the legend of the Argonauts or the tale of Troy. But that is probably too drastic a view. There can indeed be little doubt that the compilers of the Nihongi embellished the bald tradition with imaginary details; used names which did not exist until centuries after the epoch referred to; drew upon the resources of Chinese history for the utterances they ascribe to the Empress and for the weapons they assign to her soldiers, and were guilty of at least two serious anachronisms. But none of these faults disfigures the story as told in the pages of the Kojiki, which was written before the Nihongi. It has always to be remembered that the compilers of the latter essayed the impossible task of adjusting a new chronology to events extending over many centuries, and that the resulting discrepancies of dates does not necessarily discredit the events themselves. It has also to be remembered that the same compilers were required to robe their facts in Chinese costume and that the consequent ill-fits and artificialities do not of necessity vitiate the facts. In the particular case under consideration did the Kojiki stand alone, little doubt would ever have been entertained about the reality of an armed expedition to Korea, under the Empress Jingo. The sober and unexaggerated narrative of that history would have been accepted, less only the miraculous portents which accompany it. As to the date of the invasion, however, it must have remained obscure: the Kojiki's narrative furnishes one clue. According to Korean history, an apparently unimportant descent upon Sinra (Shiragi) took place in A.D. 219; a more serious one in 233, when the Japanese ships were burned and their crews massacred, and a still more formidable one in 249, when a Sinra statesman who had brought on the invasion by using insulting language towards the sovereign of Japan in presence of a Japanese ambassador, gave himself up to the Japanese in the hope of appeasing their anger. They burnt him, and proceeded to besiege Keumsyong, the Sinra capital, but were ultimately beaten off. "No less than twenty-five descents by Japanese on the Sinra coast are mentioned in Korean history in the first five centuries of the Christian era, but it is impossible to identify any one of them with Jingo's expedition." [Aston.] Nevertheless, modern Japanese historians are disposed to assign the Jingo invasion to the year 364, when Nai-mul ruled Shiragi, from which monarch's era tribute seems to have been regularly sent to Yamato. Indeed the pages of the Nihongi which deal with the last sixty years of Jingo's reign are devoted almost entirely to descriptions of incidents connected with the receipt of tribute and the advent or despatch of envoys. The chronology is certainly erroneous. In no less than four several cases events obviously the same are attributed by the Korean annals to dates differing from those of the Nihongi by exactly two cycles; and in one important instance the Japanese work assigns to A.D. 205 an occurrence which the Tongkan* puts in the year 418. *Korean history. Its full title is Tong-kuk-lhong-kan. Whichever annals be correct--and the balance sways in favour of the Korean so far as those protohistoric eras are concerned--"there can be no doubt that Japan, at an early period, formed an alliance with Paikche" (spoken of in Japan as "Kudara," namely, the regions surrounding the modern Seoul), "and laid the foundation of a controlling power over the territory known as Imna (or Mimana), which lasted for several centuries." [Aston.] One evidence of this control is furnished in the establishment of an office called uchi-tsu-miyake in addition to the chinju-fu already spoken of. From early times it had been customary in Japan that whenever any lands were acquired, a portion of them was included in the Imperial domain, the produce being thenceforth stored and the affairs of the estate managed at a miyake presided over by a mikoto-mochi. Thus, on the inclusion of certain Korean districts in Japan's dominions, this usage was observed, and the new miyake had the syllables uchi-tsu ("of the interior") prefixed to distinguish it as a part of Japan. It is on record that a mikoto-mochi was stationed in Shiragi, and in the days of Jingo's son (Ojin) the great statesman, Takenouchi-no-Sukune, took up his residence for a time in Tsukushi to assist this mikoto-mochi and the chinju-fu, should occasion arise. Modern Japanese historians describe this era as the first period of Japanese national development, for an almost immediate result of the oversea relations thus established was that silk and cotton fabrics of greatly improved quality, gold, silver, iron, implements, arts, and literature were imported in increasing quantities to the great benefit of civilization. SHIFTING OF POLITICAL INFLUENCE An important change dates from the reign of Jingo. It has been shown above that, from a period prior to the death of Suinin, the power and influence of the Imperial princes and nobles was a constantly growing quantity. But the political situation developed a new phase when the Sukune family appeared upon the scene. The first evidence of this was manifested in a striking incident. When the Emperor Chuai died, his consort, Jingo, was enceinte* But the Emperor left two sons by a previous marriage, and clearly one of them should have succeeded to the throne. Nevertheless, the prime minister, Takenouchi-no-Sukune, contrived to have the unborn child recognized as Prince Imperial.** Naturally the deceased Emperor's two elder sons refused to be arbitrarily set aside in favour of a baby step-brother. The principle of primogeniture did not possess binding force in those days, but it had never previously been violated except by the deliberate and ostensibly reasonable choice of an Emperor. The two princes, therefore, called their partisans to arms and prepared to resist the return of Jingo to Yamato. Here again Takenouchi-no-Sukune acted a great part. He carried the child by the outer sea to a place of safety in Kii, while the forces of the Empress sailed up the Inland Sea to meet the brothers at Naniwa (modern Osaka). Moreover, when the final combat took place, this same Takenouchi devised a strategy which won the day, and in every great event during the reign of the Empress his figure stands prominent. Finally, his granddaughter became the consort of the Emperor Nintoku (313-399), an alliance which opened a channel for exercising direct influence upon the Throne and also furnished a precedent adopted freely in subsequent times by other noble families harbouring similarly ambitious aims. In short, from the accession of the Empress Jingo a large part of the sovereign power began to pass into the hands of the prime minister. *As illustrating the confused chronology of the Nihongi, it may be noted that, calculated by the incident of Chuai's career, he must have been fully one hundred years old when he begot this child. That is marvellous enough, but to add to the perplexity the Nihongi says that Chuai died at fifty-two. **The legend says of this child that its birth was artificially delayed until the return of the empress from the Korean expedition, but the fact seems to be that the Emperor died at the end of June and the Empress' accouchement took place in the following April. ENGRAVING: DEVIL WITH DRAGON HEAD (Sculptured Wood Figure in the Museum at Kyoto) ENGRAVING: HORSE RACE IN OLD JAPAN CHAPTER X THE PREHISTORIC SOVEREIGNS (Continued) THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION AT the beginning of the previous chapter brief reference was made to the three great divisions of the inhabitants of Japan; namely, the Shimbetsu (Kami class) the Kwobetsu (Imperial class) and the Bambetsu (aboriginal class). The Shimbetsu comprised three sub-classes; namely, first, the Tenjin, a term used to designate the descendants of the great primeval trinity and of the other Kami prior to the Sun goddess; secondly, the Tenson, or descendants of the Sun goddess to Jimmu's father (Ugaya-fukiaezu), and thirdly, the Chigi, an appellation applied to the chiefs found in Izumo by the envoys of the Sun goddess and in Yamato by Jimmu--chiefs who, though deprived of power, were recognized to be of the same lineage as their conquerors. It is plain that few genealogical trees could be actually traced further back than the Chigi. Hence, for all practical purposes, the Shimbetsu consisted of the descendants of vanquished chiefs, and the fact was tacitly acknowledged by assigning to this class the second place in the social scale, though the inclusion of the Tenjin and the Tenson should have assured its precedence. The Kwobetsu comprised all Emperors and Imperial princes from Jimmu downwards. This was the premier class. The heads of all its families possessed as a birthright the title of omi (grandee), while the head of a Shimbetsu family was a muraji (group-chief). The Bambetsu ranked incomparably below either the Kwobetsu or the Shimbetsu. It consisted of foreigners who had immigrated from China or Korea and of aboriginal tribes alien to the Yamato race. Members of the Ban class were designated yakko (or yatsuko), a term signifying "subject" or "servant." THE UJI In addition to the above three-class distribution, the whole Yamato nation was divided into uji, or families. An uji founded by one of the Tenson took precedence of all others, the next in rank being one with an Imperial prince for ancestor, and after the latter came the families of the Tenjin and Chigi. All that could not thus trace their genealogy were attached to the various uji in a subordinate capacity. It is not to be supposed that one of these families consisted simply of a husband and wife, children, and servants. There were great uji and small uji, the former comprising many of the latter, and the small uji including several households. In fact, the small uji (ko-uji) may be described as a congeries of from fifty to ninety blood relations. In the uji the principle of primogeniture was paramount. A successor to the headship of an uji must be the eldest son of an eldest son. Thus qualified, he became the master of the household, ruled the whole family, and controlled its entire property. The chief of an ordinary uji (uji no Kami) governed all the households constituting it, and the chief of a great uji (o-uji no Kami) controlled all the small uji of which it was composed. In addition to the members of a family, each uji, small and great alike, had a number of dependants (kakibe or tomobe). In colloquial language, an o-uji was the original family; a ko-uji, a branch family. For example, if the Abe family be considered, Abe-uji is a great uji (o-uji), while such names as Abe no Shii, Abe no Osada, Abe no Mutsu, etc., designate small uji (ko-uji). If a great uji was threatened with extinction through lack of heir, the proper Kami of a small uji succeeded to the vacant place. As for the kakibe or tomobe, they were spoken of as "so and so of such and such an uji:" they had no uji of their own. All complications of minor importance were dealt with by the Kami* of the uji in which they occurred, consultation being held with the Kami of the appropriate o-uji in great cases. Reference was not made to the Imperial Court except in serious matters. On the other hand, commands from the sovereign were conveyed through the head of an o-uji, so that the chain of responsibility was well defined. An interesting feature of this ancient organization was that nearly every uji had a fixed occupation which was hereditary, the name of the occupation being prefixed to that of the uji. Thus, the uji of gem-polishers was designated Tamatsukuri-uji, and that of boat builders, Fune-uji. *An uji no Kami was called uji no choja in later ages. There were also uji whose members, from generation to generation, acted as governors of provinces (kuni no miyatsuko) or headmen of districts (agata-nushi). In these cases the name of the region was prefixed to the uji; as Munakata-uji, Izumo-uji, etc. Finally, there were uji that carried designations given by the sovereign in recognition of meritorious deeds. These designations took the form of titles. Thus the captor of a crane, at sight of which a dumb prince recovered his speech, was called Totori no Miyatsuko (the bird-catching governor), and Nomi-no-Sukune, who devised the substitution of clay figures (haniwa) for human sacrifices at Imperial obsequies, was designated as Hashi no Omi (the Pottery Grandee). THE TOMOBE The tomobe (attendants)--called also mure (the herd) or kakibe (domestics)--constituted an important element of the people. They were, in fact, serfs. We find them first spoken of in an active role as being sent to the provinces to provide foodstuffs for the Imperial household, and in that capacity they went by the name of provincial Imibe. Perhaps the most intelligible description of them is that they constituted the peasant and artisan class, and that they were attached to the uji in subordinate positions for purposes of manual labour. By degrees, when various kinds of productive operations came to be engaged in as hereditary pursuits, the tomobe were grouped according to the specialty of the uji to which they wore attached, and we hear of Kanuchibe, or the corporation of blacksmiths; Yumibe, or the corporation of bow-makers; Oribe, or the corporation of weavers, and so on. It is not to be supposed, however, that all the tomobe were thus organized as special classes. Such was the case only when the uji to which they belonged pursued some definite branch of productive work. Moreover, there were corporations instituted for purposes quite independent of industry; namely, to perpetuate the memory of an Imperial or princely personage who had died without issue or without attaining ancestral rank. Such tomobe were collectively known as nashiro (namesakes) or koshiro (child substitutes). For example, when Prince Itoshi, son of the Emperor Suinin, died without leaving a son to perpetuate his name, the Itoshibe was established for that purpose; and when Prince Yamato-dake perished without ascending the throne, the Takebe was formed to preserve the memory of his achievements. A be thus organized on behalf of an Emperor had the title of toneri (chamberlain) suffixed. Thus, for the Emperor Ohatsuse (known in history as Yuryaku) the Hatsuse-be-no-toneri was formed; and for the Emperor Shiraga (Seinei), the Shiraga-be-no-toneri. There can be little doubt that underlying the creation of these nashiro was the aim of extending the Imperial estates, as well as the number of subjects over whom the control of the Throne could be exercised without the intervention of an uji no Kami. For it is to be observed that the sovereign himself was an o-uji no Kami, and all tomobe created for nashiro purposes or to discharge some other functions in connexion with the Court were attached to the Imperial uji. TAMIBE Another kind of be consisted of aliens who had been naturalized in Japan or presented to the Japanese Throne by foreign potentates. These were formed into tamibe (corporations of people). They became directly dependent upon the Court, and they devoted themselves to manufacturing articles for the use of the Imperial household. These naturalized persons were distinguished, in many cases, by technical skill or literary attainments. Hence they received treatment different from that given to ordinary tomobe, some of them being allowed to assume the title and enjoy the privilege of uji, distinguished, however, as uji of the Bambetsu. Thus, the descendants of the seamstresses, E-hime and Oto-hime, and of the weavers, Kure-hatori and Ana-hatori, who were presented to the Yamato Court by an Emperor of the Wu dynasty in China, were allowed to organize themselves into Kinu-nui-uji (uji of Silk-robe makers); and that a Hata-uji (Weavers' uji) was similarly organized is proved by a passage in the records of the Emperor Ojin (A.D. 284) which relates that the members of the Hata-uji had become scattered about the country and were carrying on their manufacturing work in various jurisdictions. This fact having been related to the Throne, steps were taken to bring together all these weavers into the Hata-uji, and to make them settle at villages to which the name of Kachibe was given in commemoration of the weavers' ancestor, Kachi. The records show that during the first four centuries of the Christian era the people presented to the Yamato Court by the sovereigns of the Wu dynasty and of Korea must have been very numerous, for no less than 710 uji were formed by them in consideration of their skill in the arts and crafts. SLAVES The institution of slavery (nuhi) existed in ancient Japan as in so many other countries. The slaves consisted of prisoners taken in war and of persons who, having committed some serious offence, were handed over to be the property of those that they had injured. The first recorded instance of the former practice was when Yamato-dake presented to the Ise shrine the Yemishi chiefs who had surrendered to him in the sequel of his invasion of the eastern provinces. The same fate seems to have befallen numerous captives made in the campaign against the Kumaso, and doubtless wholesale acts of self-destruction committed by Tsuchi-gumo and Kumaso when overtaken by defeat were prompted by preference of death to slavery. The story of Japan's relations with Korea includes many references to Korean prisoners who became the property of their captors, and that a victorious general's spoils should comprise some slaves may be described as a recognized custom. Of slavery as a consequence of crime there is also frequent mention, and it would appear that even men of rank might be overtaken by that fate, for when (A.D. 278) Takenouchi-no-Sukune's younger brother was convicted of slandering him, the culprit's punishment took the form of degradation and assignment to a life of slavery. The whole family of such an offender shared his fate. There is no evidence, however, that the treatment of the nuhi was inhuman or even harsh: they appear to have fared much as did the tomobe in general. THE LAND There are two kinds of territorial rights, and these, though now clearly differentiated, were more or less confounded in ancient Japan. One is the ruler's right--that is to say, competence to impose taxes; to enact rules governing possession; to appropriate private lands for public purposes, and to treat as crown estates land not privately owned. The second is the right of possession; namely, the right to occupy definite areas of land and to apply them to one's own ends. At present those two rights are distinct. A landowner has no competence to issue public orders with regard to it, and a lessee of land has to discharge certain responsibilities towards the lessor. It was not so in old Japan. As the Emperor's right to rule the people was not exercised over an individual direct but through the uji no Kami who controlled that individual, so the sovereign's right over the land was exercised through the territorial owner, who was usually the uji no Kami. The latter, being the owner of the land, leased a part of it to the members of the uji, collected a percentage of the produce, and presented a portion to the Court when occasion demanded. Hence, so long as the sovereign's influence was powerful, the uji no Kami and other territorial magnates, respecting his orders, refrained from levying taxes and duly paid their appointed contributions to the Court. But in later times, when the Throne's means of enforcing its orders ceased to bear any sensible ratio to the puissance of the uji no Kami and other local lords, the Imperial authority received scanty recognition, and the tillers of the soil were required to pay heavy taxes to their landlords. It is a fallacy to suppose that the Emperor in ancient times not only ruled the land but also owned it. The only land held in direct possession by the Throne was that constituting the Imperial household's estates and that belonging to members of the Imperial family. The private lands of the Imperial family were called mi-agata.* The province of Yamato contained six of these estates, and their produce was wholly devoted to the support of the Court. Lands cultivated for purposes of State revenue were called miyake.** They existed in several provinces, the custom being that when land was newly acquired, a miyake was at once established and the remainder was assigned to princes or Court nobles (asomi or asori). The cultivators of miyake were designated ta-be (rustic corporation); the overseers were termed ta-zukasa (or mi-ta no tsukasa), and the officials in charge of the stores were mi-agata no obito. *The prefix mi (honourable) was and is still used for purposes of courtesy. **In ancient Japan, officials and their offices were often designated alike. Thus, miyake signified a public estate or the store for keeping the produce, just as tsukasa was applied alike to an overseer and to his place of transacting business. As far back as 3 B.C., according to Japanese chronology, we read of the establishment of a miyake, and doubtless that was not the first. Thenceforth there are numerous examples of a similar measure. Confiscated lands also formed a not unimportant part of the Court's estates. Comparatively trifling offences were sometimes thus expiated. Thus, in A.D. 350, Aganoko, suzerain of the Saegi, being convicted of purloining jewels from the person of a princess whom he had been ordered to execute, escaped capital punishment only by surrendering all his lands; and, in A.D. 534, a provincial ruler who, being in mortal terror, had intruded into the ladies' apartments in the palace, had to present his landed property for the use of the Empress. These facts show incidentally that the land of the country, though governed by the sovereign, was not owned by him. Lands in a conquered country were naturally regarded as State property, but sufficient allusion has already been made to that custom. THE SPHERE OF THE SOVEREIGN'S RULE It is related in the Records that, in prehistoric days, the last of the chieftains sent by Amaterasu to wrest Japan from its then holders addressed the leaders of the latter in these terms, "The central land of reed plains owned (ushi-haku) by you is the country to be governed (shirasu) by my son." Japanese historiographers attach importance to the different words here used. Ushi-haku signifies "to hold in intimate lordship"--as one wears a garment--whereas shirasu means "to exercise public rights as head of a State." A Japanese Emperor occupied both positions towards mi-nashiro (q.v.), toward naturalized or conquered folks, towards mi-agata, miyake, and confiscated estates, but his functions with regard to the people and the land in general were limited to governing (shirasu). If the ancient prerogatives of the sovereign be tabulated, they stand thus: (1) to conduct the worship of the national deities as general head of all the uji; (2) to declare war against foreign countries and to make peace with them, as representative of the uji, and (3) to establish or abolish uji, to nominate uji no Kami, and to adjudicate disputes between them. The first of these prerogatives remains unaltered to the present day. The second was partly delegated in medieval times to the military class, but has now been restored to the Throne. As for the third, its exercise is to-day limited to the office of the hereditary nobility, the Constitution having replaced the Crown in other respects. Two thousand years have seen no change in the Emperor's function of officiating as the high priest of the nation. It was the sovereign who made offerings to the deities of heaven and earth at the great religious festivals. It was the sovereign who prayed for the aid of the gods when the country was confronted by any emergency or when the people suffered from pestilence. In short, though the powers of the Emperor over the land and the people were limited by the intervention of the uji, the whole nation was directly subservient to the Throne in matters relating to religion. From the earliest eras, too, war might not be declared without an Imperial rescript, and to the Emperor was reserved the duty of giving audience to foreign envoys and receiving tribute. By foreign countries, China and Korea were generally understood, but the Kumaso, the Yemishi, and the Sushen were also included in the category of aliens. It would seem that the obligation of serving the country in arms was universal, for in the reign of Sujin, when an oversea expedition was contemplated, the people were numbered according to their ages, and the routine of service was laid down. Contributions, too, had to be made, as is proved by the fact that a command of the same sovereign required the various districts to manufacture arms and store them in the shrines. THE THRONE AND THE UJI The sovereign's competence to adjudicate questions relating to the uji is illustrated by a notable incident referred to the year A.D. 415, during the reign of Inkyo. Centuries had then passed since the inauguration of the uji, and families originally small with clearly defined genealogies had multiplied to the dimensions of large clans, so that much confusion of lineage existed, and there was a wide-spread disposition to assert claims to spurious rank. It was therefore commanded by the Emperor that, on a fixed day, all the uji no Kami should assemble, and having performed the rite of purification, should submit to the ordeal of boiling water (kuga-dachi). Numerous cauldrons were erected for the purpose, and it was solemnly proclaimed that only the guilty would be scalded by the test. At the last moment, those whose claims were willingly false absconded, and the genealogies were finally rectified. Instances of uji created by the sovereign to reward merit, or abolished to punish offences, are numerously recorded. Thus, when (A.D. 413) the future consort of the Emperor Inkyo was walking in the garden with her mother, a provincial ruler (miyatsuko), riding by, peremptorily called to her for a branch of orchid. She asked what he needed the orchid for and he answered, "To beat away mosquitoes when I travel mountain roads." "Oh, honourable sir, I shall not forget," said the lady. When she became Empress, she caused the nobleman to be sought for, and had him deprived of his rank in lieu of execution. There is also an instance of the killing of all the members of an uji to expiate the offence of the uji no Kami. This happened in A.D. 463, when Yuryaku sat on the throne. It was reported to the Court that Sakitsuya, Kami of the Shimotsumichi-uji, indulged in pastimes deliberately contrived to insult the occupant of the throne. Thus he would match a little girl to combat against a grown woman, calling the girl the Emperor and killing her if she won; or would set a little cock with clipped wings and plucked feathers to represent the sovereign in a fight with a big, lusty cock, which he likened to himself, and if the small bird won, he would slaughter it with his own sword. The Emperor sent a company of soldiers, and Sakitsuya with all the seventy members of his uji were put to death. ADMINISTRATIVE ORGANIZATION The administrative organization in ancient Japan was simply a combination of the uji. It was purely Japanese. Not until the seventh century of the Christian era were any foreign elements introduced. From ministers and generals of the highest class down to petty functionaries, all offices were discharged by uji no Kami, and as the latter had the general name of kabane root of the uji the system was similarly termed. In effect, the kabane was an order of nobility. Offices were hereditary and equal. The first distribution of posts took place when five chiefs, attached to the person of the Tenson at the time of his descent upon Japan, were ordered to discharge at his Court the same duties as those which had devolved on them in the country of their origin. The uji they formed were those of the Shimbetsu,* the official title of the Kami being muraji (group chief) in the case of an ordinary uji, and o-muraji (great muraji) in the case of an o-uji, as already stated. These were the men who rendered most assistance originally in the organization of the State, but as they were merely adherents of the Tenson, the latter's direct descendants counted themselves superior and sought always to assert that superiority. *The distinction of Shimbetsu and Kwobetsu was not nominally recognized until the fourth century, but it undoubtedly existed in practice at an early date. Thus, the title omi (grandee) held by the Kami of a Kwobetsu-uji was deemed higher than that of muraji (chief) held by the Kami of a Shimbetsu-uji. The blood relations of sovereigns either assisted at Court in the administration of State affairs or went to the provinces in the capacity of governors. They received various titles in addition to that of omi, for example sukune (noble), ason or asomi (Court noble), kimi (duke), wake (lord), etc. History gives no evidence of a fixed official organization in ancient times. The method pursued by the sovereign was to summon such omi and muraji as were notably influential or competent, and to entrust to them the duty of discharging functions or dealing with a special situation. Those so summoned were termed mae-isu-gimi (dukes of the Presence). The highest honour bestowed on a subject in those days fell to the noble, Takenouchi, who, in consideration of his services, was named O-mae-tsu-gimi (great duke of the Presence) by the Emperor Seimu (A.D. 133). Among the omi and muraji, those conspicuously powerful were charged with the superintendence of several uji, and were distinguished as o-omi and o-muraji. It became customary to appoint an o-omi and an o-muraji at the Court, just as in later days there was a sa-daijin (minister of the Left) and an u-daijin (minister of the Right). The o-omi supervised all members of the Kwobetsu-uji occupying administrative posts at Court, and the o-muraji discharged a similar function in the case of members of Shimbetsu-uji. Outside the capital local affairs were administered by kuni-no-miyatsuko or tomo-no-miyatsuko* Among the former, the heads of Kwobetsu-uji predominated among the latter, those of Shimbetsu-uji. *Tomo is an abbreviation of tomo-be. VALUE OF LINEAGE It will be seen from the above that in old Japan lineage counted above everything, alike officially and socially. The offices, the honours and the lands were all in the hands of the lineal descendants of the original Yamato chiefs. Nevertheless the omi and the muraji stood higher in national esteem than the kuni-no-miyatsuko or the tomo-no-miyatsuko; the o-omi and the o-muraji, still higher; and the sovereign, at the apex of all. That much deference was paid to functions. Things remained unaltered in this respect until the sixth century when the force of foreign example began to make itself felt. ENGRAVING: FISHERMAN'S BOAT AND NET CHAPTER XI THE PREHISTORIC SOVEREIGNS (Continued) THE FIFTEENTH SOVEREIGN, OJIN (A.D. 270-310) The fifteenth Sovereign, Ojin, came to the throne at the age of seventy, according to the Chronicles, and occupied it for forty years. Like a majority of the sovereigns in that epoch he had many consorts and many children--three of the former (including two younger sisters of the Emperor) and twenty of the latter. Comparison with Korean history goes to indicate that the reign is antedated by just 120 years, or two of the sexagenary cycles, but of course such a correction cannot be applied to every incident of the era. MARITIME AFFAIRS One of the interesting features of Ojin's reign is that maritime affairs receive notice for the first time. It is stated that the fishermen of various places raised a commotion, refused to obey the Imperial commands, and were not quieted until a noble, Ohama, was sent to deal with them. Nothing is stated as to the cause of this complication, but it is doubtless connected with requisitions of fish for the Court, and probably the fishing folk of Japan had already developed the fine physique and stalwart disposition that distinguish their modern representatives. Two years later, instructions were issued that hereditary corporations (be) of fishermen should be established in the provinces, and, shortly afterwards, the duty of constructing a boat one hundred feet in length was imposed upon the people of Izu, a peninsular province so remote from Yamato that its choice for such a purpose is difficult to explain. There was no question of recompensing the builders of this boat: the product of their labour was regarded as "tribute." Twenty-six years later the Karano, as this vessel was called, having become unserviceable, the Emperor ordered a new Karano to be built, so as to perpetuate her name. A curious procedure is then recorded, illustrating the arbitrary methods of government in those days. The timbers of the superannuated ship were used as fuel for roasting salt, five hundred baskets of which were sent throughout the maritime provinces, with orders that by each body of recipients a ship should be constructed. Five hundred Karanos thus came into existence, and there was assembled at Hyogo such a fleet as had never previously been seen in Japanese waters. A number of these new vessels were destroyed almost immediately by a conflagration which broke out in the lodgings of Korean envoys from Sinra (Shiragi), and the envoys being held responsible, their sovereign hastened to send a body of skilled shipmakers by way of atonement, who were thereafter organized into a hereditary guild of marine architects, and we thus learn incidentally that the Koreans had already developed the shipbuilding skill destined to save their country in later ages. IDEALISM OF THE THIRD CENTURY In connexion with the Karano incident, Japanese historians record a tale which materially helps our appreciation of the men of that remote age. A portion of the Karano's timber having emerged unscathed from the salt-pans, its indestructibility seemed curious enough to warrant special treatment. It was accordingly made into a lute (koto),* and it justified that use by developing "a ringing note that could be heard from afar off." The Emperor composed a song on the subject: "The ship Karano "Was burned for salt: "Of the remainder "A koto was made. "When it is placed on "One hears the saya-saya "Of the summer trees, "Brushing against, as they stand, "The rocks of the mid-harbour, "The harbour of Yura." [Aston.] *The Japanese lute, otherwise called the Azuma koto, was an instrument five or six feet long and having six strings. History first alludes to it in the reign of Jingo, and such as it was then, such it has remained until to-day. LAW, INDUSTRY, LOYALTY Five facts are already deducible from the annals of this epoch: the first, that there was no written law, unless the prohibitions in the Rituals may be so regarded; the second, that there was no form of judicial trial, unless ordeal or torture may be so regarded; the third, that the death penalty might be inflicted on purely ex-parte evidence; the fourth, that a man's whole family had to suffer the penalty of his crimes, and the fifth, that already in those remote times the code of splendid loyalty which has distinguished the Japanese race through all ages had begun to find disciples. An incident of Ojin's reign illustrates all these things. Takenouchi, the sukune (noble) who had served Ojin's mother so ably, and who had saved Ojin's life in the latter's childhood, was despatched to Tsukushi (Kyushu) on State business. During his absence his younger brother accused him of designs upon the Emperor. At once, without further inquiry, Ojin sent men to kill the illustrious minister. But Maneko, suzerain (atae) of Iki, who bore a strong resemblance to Takenouchi, personified him, and committing suicide, deceived the soldiers who would have taken the sukune's life, so that the latter was enabled to return to Yamato. Arriving at Court, he protested his innocence and the ordeal of boiling water was employed. It took place on the bank of the Shiki River. Takenouchi proving victorious; his brother with all his family were condemned to become tomo-be of the suzerain of Kii. THE GRACE OF LIFE Side by side with these primitive conditions stands a romantic story of Ojin's self-denial in ceding to his son, Osazaki, a beautiful girl whom the sovereign has destined to be his own consort. Discovering that the prince loved her, Ojin invited him to a banquet in the palace, and, summoning the girl, made known by the aid of poetry his intention of surrendering her to his son, who, in turn, expressed his gratitude in verse. It is true that the character of this act of renunciation is marred when we observe that Ojin was eighty years old at the time; nevertheless the graces of life were evidently not wanting in old-time Japan, nor did her historians deem them unworthy of prominent place in their pages. If at one moment they tell us of slanders and cruelty, at another they describe how a favourite consort of Ojin, gazing with him at a fair landscape from a high tower, was moved to tears by the memory of her parents whom she had not seen for years, and how the Emperor, sympathizing with her filial affection, made provision for her return home and took leave of her in verse: "Thou Island of Awaji "With thy double ranges; "Thou Island of Azuki "With thy double ranges "Ye good islands, "Ye have seen face to face "My spouse of Kibi." FOREIGN INTERCOURSE The most important feature of the Ojin era was the intercourse then inaugurated with China. It may be that after the establishment of the Yamato race in Japan, emigrants from the neighbouring continent settled, from early times, in islands so favoured by nature. If so, they probably belonged to the lowest orders, for it was not until the third and fourth centuries that men of erudition and skilled artisans began to arrive. Modern Japanese historians seem disposed to attribute this movement to the benign administration of the Emperor Ojin and to the repute thus earned by Japan abroad. Without altogether questioning that theory, it may be pointed out that much probably depended on the conditions existing in China herself. Liu Fang, founder of the Han dynasty (202 B.C.), inaugurated the system of competitive examinations for civil appointments, and his successors, Wen-Ti, Wu-Ti, and Kwang-wu, "developed literature, commerce, arts, and good government to a degree unknown before anywhere in Asia." It was Wu-Ti (140-86 B.C.) who conquered Korea, and unquestionably the Koreans then received many object lessons in civilization. The Han dynasty fell in A.D. 190, and there ensued one of the most troubled periods of Chinese history. Many fugitives from the evils of that epoch probably made their way to Korea and even to Japan. Then followed the after-Han dynasty (A.D. 211-265) when China was divided into three principalities; one of which, since it ruled the littoral regions directly opposite to Japan, represented China in Japanese eyes, and its name, Wu, came to be synonymous with China in Japanese years. It was, however, in the days of the Tsin dynasty (A.D. 265-317) and in those of the Eastern Tsin (A.D. 317-420) that under the pressure of the Hun inroads and of domestic commotions, numbers of emigrants found their way from China to Korea and thence to Japan. The Eastern Tsin occupied virtually the same regions as those held by the Wu dynasty: they, too, had their capital at Nanking, having moved thither from Loh-yang, and thus the name Wu was perpetuated for the Japanese. In the year A.D. 283, according to Japanese chronology, Koreans and Chinese skilled in useful arts began to immigrate to Japan. The first to come was a girl called Maketsu. She is said to have been sent by the monarch of Kudara, the region corresponding to the metropolitan province of modern Korea. It may be inferred that she was Chinese, but as to her nationality history is silent. She settled permanently in Japan, and her descendants were known as the kinu-nui (silk-clothiers) of Kume in Yamato. In the same year (A.D. 283), Yuzu (called Yutsuki by some authorities), a Chinese Imperial prince, came from Korea and memorialized the Yamato Throne in the sense that he was a descendant of the first Tsin sovereign and that, having migrated to Korea at the head of the inhabitants of 120 districts, he had desired to conduct them to Japan, but was unable to accomplish his purpose owing to obstruction offered by the people of Sinra (Shiragi). Ojin sent two embassies--the second accompanied by troops--to procure the release of these people, and in A.D. 285 they reached Japan, where they received a hearty welcome, and for the sake of their skill in sericulture and silk weaving, they were honoured by organization into an uji--Hata-uji (hata in modern Japanese signifies "loom," but in ancient days it designated silk fabrics of all kinds). An idea of the dimensions of this Chinese addition to the population of Japan is furnished by the fact that, 175 years later, the Hata-uji having been dispersed and reduced to ninety-two groups, steps were taken to reassemble and reorganize them, with the result that 18,670 persons were brought together. Again, in A.D. 289, a sometime subject of the after-Han dynasty, accompanied by his son, emigrated to Japan. The names of these Chinese are given as Achi and Tsuka, and the former is described as a great-grandson of the Emperor Ling of the after-Han dynasty, who reigned from A.D. 168 to 190. Like Yuzu he had escaped to Korea during the troublous time at the close of the Han sway, and, like Yuzu, he had been followed to the peninsula by a large body of Chinese, who, at his request, were subsequently escorted by Japanese envoys to Japan. These immigrants also were allowed to assume the status of an uji, and in the fifth century the title of Aya no atae (suzerain of Aya) was given to Achi's descendants in consideration of the skill of their followers in designing and manufacturing figured fabrics (for which the general term was aya). When Achi had resided seventeen years in Japan, he and his son were sent to Wu (China) for the purpose of engaging women versed in making dress materials. The title of omi (chief ambassador) seems to have been then conferred on the two men, as envoys sent abroad were habitually so designated. They did not attempt to go by sea. The state of navigation was still such that ocean-going voyages were not seriously thought of. Achi and his son proceeded in the first instance to Koma (the modern Pyong-yang) and there obtained guides for the overland journey round the shore of the Gulf of Pechili. They are said to have made their way to Loh-yang where the Tsin sovereigns then had their capital (A.D. 306). Four women were given to them, whom they carried back to Japan, there to become the ancestresses of an uji known as Kure no kinu-nui and Kaya no kinu-nui (clothiers of Kure and of Kaya), appellations which imply Korean origin, but were probably suggested by the fact that Korea had been the last continental station on their route. The journey to and from Loh-yang occupied four years. This page of history shows not only the beginning of Japan's useful intercourse with foreign countries, but also her readiness to learn what they had to teach and her liberal treatment of alien settlers. THE ART OF WRITING It is not infrequently stated that a knowledge of Chinese ideographs was acquired by the Japanese for the first time during the reign of Ojin. The basis of this belief are that, in A.D. 284, according to the Japanese chronology--a date to which must be added two sexagenary cycles, bringing it to A.D. 404--the King of Kudara sent two fine horses to the Yamato sovereign, and the man who accompanied them, Atogi by name, showed himself a competent reader of the Chinese classics and was appointed tutor to the Prince Imperial. By Atogi's advice a still abler scholar, Wani (Wang-in), was subsequently invited from Kudara to take Atogi's place, and it is added that the latter received the title of fumi-bito (scribe), which he transmitted to his descendants in Japan. But close scrutiny does not support the inference that Chinese script had remained unknown to Japan until the above incidents. What is proved is merely that the Chinese classics then for the first time became an open book in Japan. As for the ideographs themselves, they must have been long familiar, though doubtless to a very limited circle. Chinese history affords conclusive evidence. Thus, in the records of the later Han (A.D. 25-220) we read that from the time when Wu-Ti (140-86 B.C.) overthrew Korea, the Japanese of thirty-two provinces communicated with the Chinese authorities in the peninsula by means of a postal service. The Wei annals (A.D. 220-265) state that in A.D. 238, the Chinese sovereign sent a written reply to a communication from the "Queen of Japan"--Jingo was then on the throne. In the same year, the Japanese Court addressed a written answer to a Chinese rescript forwarded to Yamato by the governor of Thepang--the modern Namwon in Chollado--and in A.D. 247, a despatch was sent by the Chinese authorities admonishing the Japanese to desist from internecine quarrels. These references indicate that the use of the ideographs was known in Japan long before the reign of Ojin, whether we take the Japanese or the corrected date for the latter. It will probably be just to assume, however, that the study of the ideographs had scarcely any vogue in Japan until the coming of Atogi and Wani, nor does it appear to have attracted much attention outside Court circles even subsequently to that date, for the records show that, in the reign of the Emperor Bidatsu (A.D. 572-585), a memorial sent by Korea to the Yamato Court was illegible to all the officials except one man, by name Wang-sin-i, who seems to have been a descendant of the Paikche emigrant, Wan-i. Buddhism, introduced into Japan in A.D. 552, doubtless supplied the chief incentive to the acquisition of knowledge. But had the Japanese a script of their own at any period of their history? The two oldest manuscripts which contain a reference to this subject are the Kogo-shui, compiled by Hironari in A.D. 808, and a memorial (kammori) presented to the Throne in A.D. 901 by Miyoshi Kiyotsura. Both explicitly state that in remote antiquity there were no letters, and that all events or discourses had to be transmitted orally. Not until the thirteenth century does the theory of a purely Japanese script seem to have been conceived, and its author* had no basis for the hypothesis other than the idea that, as divination was practised in the age of the Kami, letters of some kind must have been in use. Since then the matter has been much discussed. Caves used in ancient times as habitations or sepulchres and old shrines occasionally offer evidence in the form of symbols which, since they bear some resemblance to the letters of the Korean alphabet (onmuri), have been imagined to be at once the origin of the latter and the script of the Kami-no-yo (Age of the Kami). But such fancies are no longer seriously entertained. It is agreed that the so-called "letters" are nothing more than copies of marks produced by the action of fire upon bones used in divination. The Japanese cleverly adapted the Chinese ideographs to syllabic purposes, but they never devised a script of their own. *Kanekata, who wrote the Shaku Nihongi in the era 1264--1274. ETHICAL EFFECTS OF THE INTRODUCTION OF CHINESE LITERATURE A generally accepted belief is that the study of the Chinese classics exercised a marked ethical influence upon the Japanese nation. That is a conclusion which may be profitably contrasted with the views of Japan's most distinguished historians. Mr. Abe Kozo says: "Acquaintance with the Chinese classics may be supposed to have produced a considerable moral effect on the people of Japan. Nothing of the kind seems to have been the case. The practical civilization of China was accepted, but not her ethical code. For any palpable moral influence the arrival of Buddhism had to be awaited. Already the principles of loyalty and obedience, propriety, and righteousness were recognized in Japan though not embodied in any written code." Dr. Ariga writes: "Our countrymen did not acquire anything specially new in the way of moral tenets. They must have been surprised to find that in China men did not respect the occupants of the throne. A subject might murder his sovereign and succeed him without incurring the odium of the people." Rai Sanyo says: "Moral principles are like the sun and the moon; they cannot be monopolized by any one country. In every land there are parents and children, rulers and ruled, husbands and wives. Where these relations exist, there also filial piety and affection, loyalty and righteousness may naturally be found. In our country we lack the precise terminology of the classics, but it does not follow that we lack the principles expressed. What the Japanese acquired from the classics was the method of formulating the thought, not the thought itself." THE SIXTEENTH SOVEREIGN, NINTOKU (A.D. 313-399) This sovereign is represented by the Chronicles as having reigned eighty-six years, and by the Records as having died at the age of eighty-three. The same Chronicles make him the lover of a girl whom his father, also her lover, generously ceded to him. This event happened in A.D. 282. Assuming that Nintoku was then sixteen, he cannot have been less than 133 at the time of his death. It is thus seen that the chronology of this period, also, is untrustworthy. Nintoku's reign is remembered chiefly on account of the strange circumstances in which he came to the throne, his benevolent charity, and the slights he suffered at the hands of a jealous consort. His father, Ojin, by an exercise of caprice not uncommon on the part of Japan's ancient sovereigns, had nominated a younger son, Waka-iratsuko, to be his heir. But this prince showed invincible reluctance to assume the sceptre after Ojin's death. He asserted himself stoutly by killing one of his elder brothers who conspired against him, though he resolutely declined to take precedence of the other brother, and the latter, proving equally diffident, the throne remained unoccupied for three years when Waka-iratsuko solved the problem by committing suicide. Such are the simplest outlines of the story. But its details, when filled in by critical Japanese historians of later ages, suggest a different impression. When Ojin died his eldest two sons were living respectively in Naniwa (Osaka) and Yamato, and the Crown Prince, Waka-iratsuko, was at Uji. They were thus excellently situated for setting up independent claims. From the time of Nintoku's birth, the prime minister, head of the great Takenouchi family, had taken a special interest in the child, and when the lad grew up he married this Takenouchi's granddaughter, who became the mother of three Emperors. Presently the representatives of all branches of the Takenouchi family came into possession of influential positions at Court, among others that of o-omi, so that in this reign were laid the foundations of the controlling power subsequently vested in the hands of the Heguri, Katsuragi, and Soga houses. In short, this epoch saw the beginning of a state of affairs destined to leave its mark permanently on Japanese history, the relegation of the sovereign to the place of a fainéant and the usurpation of the administrative authority by a group of great nobles. Nintoku had the active support of the Takenouchi magnates, and although the Crown Prince may have desired to assert the title conferred on him by his father, he found himself helpless in the face of obstructions offered by the prime minister and his numerous partisans. These suffered him to deal effectively with that one of his elder brothers who did not find a place in their ambitious designs, but they created for Waka-iratsuko a situation so intolerable that suicide became his only resource. Nintoku's first act on ascending the throne explains the ideographs chosen for his posthumous name by the authors of the Chronicles, since nin signifies "benevolence" and toku, "virtue." He made Naniwa (Osaka) his capital, but instead of levying taxes and requisitioning forced labour to build his palace of Takatsu, he remitted all such burdens for three years on observing from a tower that no smoke ascended from the roofs of the houses and construing this to indicate a state of poverty. During those three years the palace fell into a condition of practical ruin, and tradition describes its inmates as being compelled to move from room to room to avoid the leaking rain.* *Doubts have been thrown on the reality of this incident because a poem, attributed to Nintoku on the occasion, is couched in obviously anachronistic language. But the poem does not appear in either the Records or the Chronicles: it was evidently an invention of later ages. Under Nintoku's sway riparian works and irrigation improvements took place on a large scale, and thus the eminent historian, Rai Sanyo, may not be without warrant for attributing to this ruler the sentiment quoted in the Chronicles: "A sovereign lives for his people. Their prosperity is his enrichment; their poverty, his loss." Yet it is in connexion with Nintoku's repairs of the Manda river-bank that we find the first mention of a heinous custom occasionally practised in subsequent ages--the custom of sacrificing human life to expedite the progress or secure the success of some public work. At the same time, that habits indicating a higher civilization had already begun to gain ground is proved by an incident which occurred to one of the Imperial princes during a hunting expedition. Looking down over a moor from a mountain, he observed a pit, and, on inquiry, was informed by the local headman that it was an "ice-pit." The prince, asking how the ice was stored and for what it was used, received this answer: "The ground is excavated to a depth of over ten feet. The top is then covered with a roof of thatch. A thick layer of reed-grass is then spread, upon which the ice is laid. The months of summer have passed and yet it is not melted. As to its use--when the hot months come it is placed in water or sake and thus used." [Aston's Nihongi.] Thenceforth the custom of storing ice was adopted at the Court. It was in Nintoku's era that the pastime of hawking, afterward widely practised, became known for the first time in Japan. Korea was the place of origin, and it is recorded that the falcon had a soft leather strap fastened to one leg and a small bell to the tail. Pheasants were the quarry of the first hawk flown on the moor of Mozu. Light is also thrown in Nintoku's annals on the method of boatbuilding practised by the Japanese in the fourth century. They used dug-outs. The provincial governor* of Totomi is represented as reporting that a huge tree had floated down the river Oi and had stopped at a bend. It was a single stem forked at one end, and the suzerain of Yamato was ordered to make a boat of it. The craft was then brought round by sea to Naniwa, "where it was enrolled among the Imperial vessels." Evidently from the days of Ojin and the Karano a fleet formed part of the Imperial possessions. This two-forked boat figures in the reign of Nintoku's successor, Richu, when the latter and his concubine went on board and feasted separately, each in one fork. *This term, "provincial governor," appears now for the first time written with the ideographs "kokushi." Hitherto it has been written "kuni-no-miyatsuko." Much is heard of the koushi in later times. They are the embryo of the daimyo, the central figures of military feudalism. THE FAMILY OF TAKENOUCHI-NO-SUKUNE For the better understanding of Japanese history at this stage, a word must be said about a family of nobles (sukune) who, from the days of Nintoku, exercised potent sway in the councils of State. It will have been observed that, in the annals of the Emperor Keiko's reign, prominence is given to an official designated Takenouchi-no-Sukune, who thereafter seems to have served sovereign after sovereign until his death in the year 368, when he must have been from two hundred to three hundred years old. This chronological difficulty has provoked much scepticism. Dr. Kume, an eminent Japanese historian, explains, however, that Takenouchi was the name not of a person but of a family, and that it was borne by different scions in succeeding reigns. The first was a grandson of the Emperor Kogen (B.C. 214-158), and the representatives of the family in Nintoku's era had seven sons, all possessing the title sukune. They were Hata no Yashiro, Koze no Ogara, Soga no Ishikawa, Heguri no Tsuku, Ki no Tsunu, Katsuragi no Sotsu, and Wakugo. From these were descended the five uji of Koze, Soga, Heguri, Ki, and Katsuragi. Although its founder was an Emperor's grandson and therefore entitled to be called "Imperial Prince" (O), the family connexion with the Throne naturally became more remote as time passed, and from the reign of Ojin we find its members classed among subjects. Nevertheless, the Empress Iwa, whose jealousy harrassed Nintoku so greatly, was a daughter of Katsuragi no Sotsu, and, as with the sole exception of the Emperor Shomu, every occupant of the throne had taken for his Empress a lady of Imperial blood, it may be assumed that the relationship between the Imperial and the Takenouchi families was recognized at that time. The roles which the five uji mentioned above acted in subsequent history deserve to be studied, and will therefore be briefly set down here. THE KOZE-UJI This uji had for founder Koze no Ogara. The representative of the fourth generation, Koze no Ohito, held the post of o-omi during the reign of the Emperor Keitai (A.D. 507-531), and his great-grandson was minister of the Left under Kotoku (A.D. 545-654). Thereafter, the heads of the uji occupied prominent positions under successive sovereigns. THE SOGA-UJI Soga no Ishikawa founded this uji. His son, Machi, shared the administrative power with Heguri no Tsuku in the reign of Richu (A.D. 400-405), and Machi's great-grandson, Iname, immortalized himself by promoting the introduction of Buddhism in the reign of Kimmei (A.D. 540-571). Iname's son, Umako, and the latter's son, Yemishi, will be much heard of hereafter. No family, indeed, affected the course of Japanese history in early days more than did the Soga-uji. THE HEGURI-UJI During the reign of the Emperor Richu (A.D. 400-405), Heguri no Tsuku, founder of this uji, shared in the administration with Soga no Machi. His son, Heguri no Matori, was minister under Yuryaku (A.D. 457-459), and the fate which he and his son, Shibi, brought upon their family is one of the salient incidents of Japanese history. THE KI-UJI The representatives of this uji, from the days of its founder, Ki no Tsunu, took a prominent share in the empire's foreign affairs, but served also in the capacity of provincial governor and commander-in-chief. THE KATSURAGI-UJI Nintoku's Empress, Iwa, was a daughter of the ancestor of this uji, Katsuragi no Sotsu, and the latter's great-granddaughter, Hae, was the mother of two sovereigns, Kenso (A.D. 485-487) and Ninken (A.D. 488-498). ENGRAVING: TOBACCO PIPE AND POUCH ENGRAVING: HINOMI YAGURA (FIRE WATCH TOWER) CHAPTER XII THE PROTOHISTORIC SOVEREIGNS The 17th Sovereign, Richu A.D. 400-405 " 18th " Hansho " 406-411 " 19th " Inkyo " 412-453 " 20th " Anko " 454-456 " 21st " Yuryaku " 457-479 RICHU'S REIGN THE prehistoric era may be said to terminate with the accession of Richu. Thenceforth the lives and reigns of successive sovereigns cease to extend to incredible lengths, and though the chronology adopted by the writers of the Nihongi may not yet be implicitly accepted, its general accuracy is not open to dispute. The era of the five sovereigns standing at the head of this chapter--an era of fifty-nine years--inherited as legacies from the immediate past: a well-furnished treasury, a nation in the enjoyment of peace, a firmly established throne, and a satisfactory state of foreign relations. These comfortable conditions seem to have exercised demoralizing influence. The bonds of discipline grew slack; fierce quarrels on account of women involved fratricide among the princes of the blood, and finally the life of an Emperor was sacrificed--the only instance of such a catastrophe in Japanese history. Immediately after Nintoku's death this evil state of affairs was inaugurated by Prince Nakatsu, younger brother of the heir to the throne, who had not yet assumed the sceptre. Sent by the Crown Prince (Richu) to make arrangements for the latter's nuptials with the lady Kuro, a daughter of the Takenouchi family, Nakatsu personified Richu, debauched the girl, and to avoid the consequences of the act, sought to take the life of the man he had betrayed. It does not redound to the credit of the era that the debaucher found support and was enabled to hold his own for a time, though his treachery ultimately met with its merited fate. At this crisis of his life, Richu received loyal assistance from a younger brother, and his gratitude induced him to confer on the latter the title of Crown Prince. In thus acting, Richu may have been influenced by the fact that the alternative was to bequeath the throne to a baby, but none the less he stands responsible for an innovation which greatly impaired the stability of the succession. It should be noted, as illustrating the influence of the Takenouchi family that, in spite of the shame she had suffered, the lady Kuro became the Emperor's concubine. In fact, among the four nobles who administered the affairs of the empire during Richu's reign, not the least powerful were Heguri no Tsuku and Soga no Machi. Moreover, Richu, as has been stated already, was a son of Iwa, a lady of the same great family, and his two successors, Hansho and Inkyo, were his brothers by the same mother. MANNERS AND CUSTOMS The annals of Richu's reign confirm a principle which received its first illustration when the Emperor Keiko put to death for parricide the daughter of a Kumaso chief, though she had betrayed her father in the interest of Keiko himself. Similar deference to the spirit of loyalty led to the execution of Sashihire in the time of Richu. A retainer of the rebellious Prince Nakatsu, Sashihire, assassinated that prince at the instance of Prince Mizuha, who promised large reward. But after the deed had been accomplished, Heguri no Tsuku advised his nephew, Mizuha, saying, "Sashihire has killed his own lord for the sake of another, and although for us he has done a great service, yet towards his own lord his conduct has been heartless in the extreme." Sashihire was therefore put to death. That this principle was always observed in Japan cannot be asserted, but that it was always respected is certain. In Richu's reign there is found the first clear proof that tattooing was not practised in Japan for ornamental purposes. Tattooing is first mentioned as a custom of the Yemishi when their country was inspected by Takenouchi at Keiko's orders. But in Richu's time it was employed to punish the muraji of Atsumi, who had joined the rebellion of Prince Nakatsu. He was "inked" on the face. It appears also that the same practice had hitherto been employed to distinguish horse-keepers, but the custom was finally abandoned in deference to an alleged revelation from Izanagi, the deity of Awaji, on the occasion of a visit by Richu to that island. In the context of this revelation it is noticeable that belief in the malign influence of offended deities was gaining ground. Thus, on the occasion of the sudden death of Princess Kuro, the voice of the wind was heard to utter mysterious words in the "great void" immediately before the coming of a messenger to announce the event, and the Emperor attributed the calamity to the misconduct of an official who had removed certain persons from serving at a shrine. The annals of this reign are noteworthy as containing the earliest reference to the compilation of books. It is stated that in the year A.D. 403 "local recorders were appointed for the first time in the various provinces, who noted down statements and communicated the writings of the four quarters." An eminent critic--Mr. W. G. Aston--regards this as an anachronism, since the coming of the Korean scholar, Wani (vide sup.), did not take place until the year 405, which date probably preceded by many years the appointment of recorders. But it has been shown above that the innovation due to Wani was, not the art of writing, but, in all probability, a knowledge of the Chinese classics. Another institution established during this era was a treasury (A.D. 405), and the two learned Koreans who had come from Paikche (Kudara) were appointed to keep the accounts. A work of later date than the Chronicles or Records--the Shokuin-rei--says that in this treasury were stored "gold and silver, jewels, precious utensils, brocade and satin, saicenet, rugs and mattresses, and the rare objects sent as tribute by the various barbarians." HANSHO The Emperor Hansho's short reign of five years is not remarkable for anything except an indirect evidence that Chinese customs were beginning to be adopted at the Japanese Court. In the earliest eras, the ladies who enjoyed the sovereign's favour were classed simply as "Empress" or "consort." But from the days of Hansho we find three ranks of concubines. INKYO Inkyo was a younger brother of his predecessor, Hansho, as the latter had been of Richu. No formal nomination of Inkyo as Prince Imperial had taken place, and thus for the first time the sceptre was found without any legalized heir or any son of the deceased sovereign to take it. In these circumstances, the ministers held a council and agreed to offer the throne to Inkyo, the elder of two surviving sons of Nintoku. Inkyo was suffering from a disease supposed to be incurable, and, distrusting his own competence, he persistently refused to accept the responsibility. The incident responsible for his ultimate consent was the intervention of a concubine, Onakatsu, afterwards Empress. Under pretext of carrying water for the prince she entered his chamber, and when he turned his back on her entreaty that he would comply with the ministers' desire, she remained standing in the bitter cold of a stormy day of January, until the water, which she had spilled over her arm, became frozen and she fell in a faint. Then the prince yielded. A year later envoys were sent to seek medical assistance in Korea, which was evidently regarded as the home of the healing science as well as of many other arts borrowed from China. A physician arrived from Sinra, and Inkyo's malady was cured. In this reign took place a celebrated incident, already referred to, when the lineage of the nobles was corrected by recourse to the ordeal of boiling water. But a much larger space in the annals is occupied with the story of an affair, important only as illustrating the manners and customs of the time. From an early period it had been usual that Japanese ladies on festive occasions should go through the graceful performance of "woven paces and waving hands," which constituted dancing, and, in the era now occupying our attention, there prevailed in the highest circles a custom that the danseuse should offer a maiden to the most honoured among the guests. One winter's day, at the opening of a new palace, the Empress Onakatsu danced to the music of the Emperor's lute. Onakatsu had a younger sister, Oto, of extraordinary beauty, and the Emperor, fain to possess the girl but fearful of offending the Empress, had planned this dance so that Onakatsu, in compliance with the recognized usage, might be constrained to place her sister at his disposal. It fell out as Inkyo wished, but there then ensued a chapter of incidents in which the dignity of the Crown fared ill. Again and again the beautiful Oto refused to obey her sovereign's summons, and when at length, by an unworthy ruse, she was induced to repair to the palace, it was found impossible to make her an inmate of it in defiance of the Empress' jealousy. She had to be housed elsewhere, and still the Imperial lover was baffled, for he dared not brave the elder sister's resentment by visiting the younger. Finally he took advantage of the Empress' confinement to pay the long-deferred visit, but, on learning of the event, the outraged wife set fire to the parturition house and attempted to commit suicide. "Many years have passed," she is recorded to have said to the Emperor, "since I first bound up my hair and became thy companion in the inner palace. It is too cruel of thee, O Emperor! Wherefore just on this night when I am in childbirth and hanging between life and death, must thou go to Fujiwara?" Inkyo had the grace to be "greatly shocked" and to "soothe the mind of the Empress with explanations," but he did not mend his infidelity. At Oto's request he built a residence for her at Chinu in the neighbouring province of Kawachi, and thereafter the compilers of the Chronicles, with fine irony, confine their record of three consecutive years' events to a repetition of the single phrase, "the Emperor made a progress to Chinu." It is not, perhaps, extravagant to surmise that the publicity attending this sovereign's amours and the atmosphere of loose morality thus created were in part responsible for a crime committed by his elder son, the Crown Prince Karu. Marriage between children of the same father had always been permitted in Japan provided the mother was different, but marriage between children of the same mother was incest. Prince Karu was guilty of this offence with his sister, Oiratsume, and so severely did the nation judge him that he was driven into exile and finally obliged to commit suicide. With such records is the reign of Inkyo associated. It is perplexing that the posthumous name chosen for him by historians should signify "sincerely courteous." Incidentally, four facts present themselves--that men wore wristbands and garters to which grelots were attached; that a high value was set on pearls; that metal was used for the construction of great men's gates, and that the first earthquake is said to have been experienced in A.D. 416. ANKO The records of this sovereign's reign make a discreditable page of Japanese history. Anko, having ascended the throne after an armed contest with his elder brother, which ended in the latter's suicide, desired to arrange a marriage between his younger brother, Ohatsuse, and a sister of his uncle, Okusaka. He despatched Ne no Omi, a trusted envoy, to confer with the latter, who gladly consented, and, in token of approval, handed to Ne no Omi a richly jewelled coronet for conveyance to the Emperor. But Ne no Omi, covetous of the gems, secreted the coronet, and told the Emperor that Okusaka had rejected the proposal with scorn. Anko took no steps to investigate the truth of this statement. It has been already seen that such investigations were not customary in those days. Soldiers were at once sent to slaughter Okusaka; his wife, Nakashi, was taken to be the Emperor's consort, and his sister, Hatahi, was married to Prince Ohatsuse. Now, at the time of his death, Okusaka had a son, Mayuwa, seven years old. One day, the Emperor, having drunk heavily, confessed to the Empress, Nakashi, that he entertained some apprehension lest this boy might one day seek to avenge his father's execution. The child overheard this remark, and creeping to the side of his step-father, who lay asleep with his head in Nakashi's lap, killed him with his own sword. Such is the tale narrated in the Chronicles and the Records. But its incredible features are salient. A deed of the kind would never have been conceived or committed by a child, and the Empress must have been a conniving party. To what quarter, then, is the instigation to be traced? An answer seems to be furnished by the conduct of Prince Ohatsuse. Between this prince and the throne five lives intervened; those of the Emperor Anko, of the latter's two brothers, Yatsuri no Shiro and Sakai no Kuro, both older than Ohatsuse, and of two sons of the late Emperor Richu, Ichinobe no Oshiwa and Mima. Every one of these was removed from the scene in the space of a few days. Immediately after Anko's assassination, Ohatsuse, simulating suspicion of his two elder brothers, killed the o-omi, who refused to give them up. Ohatsuse then turned his attention to his grand-uncles, the two sons of Richu. He sent a military force to destroy one of them without any pretence of cause; the other he invited to a hunting expedition and treacherously shot. If Ohatsuse did not contrive the murder of Anko, as he contrived the deaths of all others standing between himself and the throne, a great injustice has been done to his memory. LOYALTY These shocking incidents are not without a relieving feature. They furnished opportunities for the display of fine devotion. When Prince Okusaka died for a crime of which he was wholly innocent, two of his retainers, Naniwa no Hikaga, father and son, committed suicide in vindication of his memory. When Prince Sakai no Kuro and Mayuwa took refuge in the house of the o-omi Tsubura, the latter deliberately chose death rather than surrender the fugitives. When Prince Kuro perished, Nie-no-Sukune took the corpse in his arms and was burned with it. When Prince Ichinobe no Oshiwa fell under the treacherous arrow of Prince Ohatsuse, one of the former's servants embraced the dead body and fell into such a paroxysm of grief that Ohatsuse ordered him to be despatched. And during this reign of Yuryaku, when Lord Otomo was killed in a fatal engagement with the Sinra troops, his henchman, Tsumaro, crying, "My master has fallen; what avails that I alone should remain unhurt?" threw himself into the ranks of the enemy and perished. Loyalty to the death characterized the Japanese in every age. YURYAKU This sovereign was the Ohatsuse of whose unscrupulous ambition so much has just been heard. Some historians have described him as an austere man, but few readers of his annals will be disposed to endorse such a lenient verdict. He ordered that a girl, whose only fault was misplaced affection, should have her four limbs stretched on a tree and be roasted to death; he slew one of his stewards at a hunt, because the man did not understand how to cut up the meat of an animal; he removed a high official--Tasa, omi of Kibi--to a distant post in order to possess himself of the man's wife (Waka), and he arbitrarily and capriciously killed so many men and women that the people called him the "Emperor of great wickedness." One act of justice stands to his credit. The slanderer, Ne no Omi, who for the sake of a jewelled coronet had caused the death of Prince Okusaka, as related above, had the temerity to wear the coronet, sixteen years subsequently, when he presided at a banquet given in honour of envoys from China; and the beauty of the bauble having thus been noised abroad, Ne no Omi was required to show it at the palace. It was immediately recognized by the Empress, sister of the ill-starred prince, and Ne no Omi, having confessed his crime, was put to death, all the members of his uji being reduced to the rank of serfs. One moiety of them was formed into a hereditary corporation which was organized under the name of Okusakabe, in memory of Prince Okusaka. ARTS AND CRAFTS The reign of Yuryaku is partially saved from the reproach of selfish despotism by the encouragement given to the arts and crafts. It has already been related that the members of the Hata-uji, which had been constituted originally with artisans from China, gradually became dispersed throughout the provinces and were suffering some hardships when Yuryaku issued orders for their reassembly and reorganization. Subsequently the sovereign gave much encouragement to sericulture, and, inspired doubtless by the legend of the Sun goddess, inaugurated a custom which thereafter prevailed in Japan through all ages, the cultivation of silkworms by the Empress herself. At a later date, learning from a Korean handicraftsman (tebito)--whose name has been handed down as Kwan-in Chiri--that Korea abounded in experts of superior skill, Yuryaku commissioned this man to carry to the King of Kudara (Paikche) an autograph letter asking for the services of several of these experts. This request was complied with, and the newcomers were assigned dwellings at the village of Tsuno in Yamato;* but as the place proved unhealthy, they were afterwards distributed among several localities. *There were potters, saddlers, brocade-weavers, and interpreters. It is also recorded that, about this time, there came from China a man called An Kiko, a descendant of one of the Wu sovereigns. He settled in Japan, and his son, Ryu afterwards--named Shinki--is reputed to have been the first exponent of Chinese pictorial art in Japan. In the year A.D. 470, there was another arrival of artisans, this time from Wu (China), including weavers and clothiers. They landed in the province of Settsu, and to commemorate their coming a road called the "Kure-saka" (Wu acclivity) was constructed from that port to the Shihatsu highway. The descendants of these immigrants were organized into two hereditary corporations (be) of silk-clothiers, the Asuka no Kinu-nui-be and the Ise no Kinu-nui-be. Two years later (472), orders were issued for the cultivation of mulberry trees in all suitable provinces, and at the same time the previously reassembled members of the Hata-uji were once more distributed to various localities with the object of widening their sphere of instruction. In the year 473 a very interesting event is recorded. The muraji of the Hanishi was ordered to furnish craftsmen to manufacture "pure utensils" for serving viands daily in the palace. These Hanishi are first spoken of as having been employed at the suggestion of Nomi-no-Sukune, in the days of the Emperor Suinin (A.D. 3), to make clay substitutes for the human beings thitherto inhumed at the sepulchres of notables. In response to this order the muraji summoned his own tami-be (private hereditary corporation) then located at seven villages in the provinces of Settsu, Yamashiro, Ise, Tamba, Tajima, and Inaba. They were organized into the Nie no Hanishibe, or hereditary corporation of potters of table-utensils. Ceramists had previously come from Kudara (Paikche), and there can be no doubt that some progress was made in the art from the fifth century onwards. But there does not appear to be sufficient ground for a conclusion formed by some historians that the "pure utensils" mentioned above were of glazed pottery. The art of applying glaze to ceramic manufactures was not discovered until a much later period. RELATIONS WITH KOREA When Yuryaku ascended the throne, Japan still enjoyed her original friendship with Paikche (Kudara), whence ladies-in-waiting were sent periodically to the Yamato Court. She also retained her military post at Mimana (Imna) and kept a governor there, but her relations with Shiragi (Sinra) were somewhat strained, owing to harsh treatment of the latter's special envoys who had come to convey their sovereign's condolences on the death of the Emperor Inkyo (453). From the time of Yuryaku's accession, Shiragi ceased altogether to send the usual gifts to the Emperor of Japan. In the year 463, Yuryaku, desiring to possess himself of the wife of a high official, Tasa, sent him to be governor of Mimana, and in his absence debauched the lady. Tasa, learning how he had been dishonoured, raised the standard of revolt and sought aid of the Shiragi people. Then Yuryaku, with characteristic refinement of cruelty, ordered Tasa's son, Oto, to lead a force against his father. Oto seemingly complied, but, on reaching the peninsula, opened communication with his father, and it was agreed that while Tasa should hold Imna, breaking off all relations with Japan, Oto should adopt a similar course with regard to Paikche. This plot was frustrated by Oto's wife, Kusu, a woman too patriotic to connive at treason in any circumstances. She killed her husband, and the Court of Yamato was informed of these events. From that time, however, Japan's hold upon the peninsula was shaken. Yuryaku sent four expeditions thither, but they accomplished nothing permanent. The power of Koma in the north increased steadily, and it had the support of China. Yuryaku's attempts to establish close relations with the latter--the Sung were then on the throne--seem to have been inspired by a desire to isolate Korea. He failed, and ultimately Kudara was overrun by Koma, as will be seen by and by. It is scarcely too much to say that Japan lost her paramount status in Korea because of Yuryaku's illicit passion for the wife of one of his subjects. CHRONOLOGY The first absolute agreement between the dates given in Japanese history and those given in Korean occurs in this reign, namely, the year A.D. 475. The severest critics therefore consent to admit the trustworthiness of the Japanese annals from the third quarter of the fifth century. TREASURIES In the record of Richu's reign, brief mention has been made of the establishment of a Government treasury. In early days, when religious rites and administrative functions were not differentiated, articles needed for both purposes were kept in the same store, under the charge of the Imibe-uji. But as the Court grew richer, owing to receipt of domestic taxes and foreign "tribute," the necessity of establishing separate treasuries, was felt and a "domestic store" (Uchi-kura) was formed during Richu's reign, the Koreans, Achi and Wani, being appointed to keep the accounts. In Yuryaku's time a third treasury had to be added, owing to greatly increased production of textile fabrics and other manufactures. This was called the Okura, a term still applied to the Imperial treasury, and there were thus three stores, Okura, Uchi-kura, and Imi-kura. Soga no Machi was placed in supreme charge of all three, and the power of the Soga family grew proportionately. MANNERS AND CUSTOMS It is observable that at this epoch the sovereigns of Japan had not yet begun to affect the sacred seclusion which, in later ages, became characteristic of them. It is true that, after ascending the throne, they no longer led their troops in war, though they did so as Imperial princes. But in other respects they lived the lives of ordinary men--joining in the chase, taking part in banquets, and mixing freely with the people. As illustrating this last fact a strange incident may be cited. One day the Emperor Yuryaku visited the place where some carpenters were at work and observed that one of them, Mane, in shaping timber with an axe, used a stone for ruler but never touched it with the axe. "Dost thou never make a mistake and strike the stone?" asked the monarch. "I never make a mistake," replied the carpenter. Then, to disturb the man's sang-froid, Yuryaku caused the ladies-in-waiting (uneme) to dance, wearing only waist-cloths. Mane watched the spectacle for a while, and on resuming his work, his accuracy of aim was momentarily at fault. The Emperor rebuked him for having made an unwarranted boast and handed him over to the monono-be for execution. After the unfortunate man had been led away, one of his comrades chanted an impromptu couplet lamenting his fate, whereat the Emperor, relenting, bade a messenger gallop off on "a black horse of Kai" to stay the execution. The mandate of mercy arrived just in time, and when Mane's bonds were loosed, he, too, improvised a verse: "Black as the night "Was the horse of Kai. "Had they waited to "Saddle him, my life were lost "O, horse of Kai!" The whole incident is full of instruction. A sovereign concerning himself about trivialities as petty as this pretext on which he sends a man to death; the shameful indignity put upon the ladies-in-waiting to minister to a momentary whim; the composition of poetry by common carpenters, and the ride for life on a horse which there is not time to saddle. It is an instructive picture of the ways of Yuryaku's Court. In truth, this couplet-composing proclivity is one of the strangest features of the Yamato race as portrayed in the pages of the Records and the Chronicles. From the time when the fierce Kami, Susanoo, put his thoughts into verse as he sought for a place to celebrate his marriage, great crises and little crises in the careers of men and women respectively inspire couplets. We find an Emperor addressing an ode to a dragon-fly which avenges him on a gad-fly; we find a prince reciting impromptu stanzas while he lays siege to the place whither his brother has fled for refuge; we find a heartbroken lady singing a verselet as for the last time she ties the garters of her lord going to his death, and we find a sovereign corresponding in verse with his consort whose consent to his own dishonour he seeks to win. Yet in the lives of all these men and women of old, there are not many other traces of corresponding refinement or romance. We are constrained to conjecture that many of the verses quoted in the Records and the Chronicles were fitted in after ages to the events they commemorate. Another striking feature in the lives of these early sovereigns is that while on the one hand their residences are spoken of as muro, a term generally applied to dwellings partially underground, on the other, we find more than one reference to high towers. Thus Yuryaku is shown as "ordering commissioners to erect a lofty pavilion in which he assumes the Imperial dignity," and the Emperor Nintoku is represented as "ascending a lofty tower and looking far and wide" on the occasion of his celebrated sympathy with the people's poverty. ENGRAVING: ANCIENT ACROBATIC PERFORMANCE ENGRAVING: DAIRISAMA (KINO) AND OKUSAMA (QUEEN) OF THE FEAST OF THE DOLLS CHAPTER XIII THE PROTOHISTORIC SOVEREIGNS (Continued) The 22nd Sovereign, Seinei A.D. 480-484 " 23rd " Kenso " 485-487 " 24th " Ninken " 488-498 " 25th " Muretsu " 499-506 " 26th " Keitai " 507-531 " 27th " Ankan " 534-535 " 28th " Senkwa " 536-539 DISPUTE ABOUT THE SUCCESSION THE Emperor Yuryaku's evil act in robbing Tasa of his wife, Waka, entailed serious consequences. He selected to succeed to the throne his son Seinei, by Princess Kara, who belonged to the Katsuragi branch of the great Takenouchi family. But Princess Waka conspired to secure the dignity for the younger of her own two sons, Iwaki and Hoshikawa, who were both older than Seinei. She urged Hoshikawa to assert his claim by seizing the Imperial treasury, and she herself with Prince Iwaki and others accompanied him thither. They underestimated the power of the Katsuragi family. Siege was laid to the treasury and all its inmates were burned, with the exception of one minor official to whom mercy was extended and who, in token of gratitude, presented twenty-five acres of rice-land to the o-muraji, Lord Otomo, commander of the investing force. THE FUGITIVE PRINCES The Emperor Seinei had no offspring, and for a time it seemed that the succession in the direct line would be interrupted. For this lack of heirs the responsibility ultimately rested with Yuryaku. In his fierce ambition to sweep away every obstacle, actual or potential, that barred his ascent to the throne, he inveigled Prince Oshiwa, eldest son of the Emperor Richu, to accompany him on a hunting expedition, and slew him mercilessly on the moor of Kaya. Oshiwa had two sons, Oke and Woke, mere children at the time of their father's murder. They fled, under the care of Omi, a muraji, who, with his son, Adahiko, secreted them in the remote province of Inaba. Omi ultimately committed suicide in order to avoid the risk of capture and interrogation under torture, and the two little princes, still accompanied by Adahiko, calling themselves "the urchins of Tamba," became menials in the service of the obito of the Shijimi granaries in the province of Harima. Twenty-four years had been passed in that seclusion when it chanced that Odate, governor of the province, visited the obito on an occasion when the latter was holding a revel to celebrate the building of a new house, it fell to the lot of the two princes to act as torch-bearers, the lowest role that could be assigned to them, and the younger counselled his brother that the time had come to declare themselves, for death was preferable to such a life. Tradition says that, being invited to dance "when the night had become profound, when the revel was at its height and when every one else had danced in turn," the Prince Woke, accompanying his movements with verses extemporized for the occasion, danced so gracefully that the governor twice asked him to continue, and at length he announced the rank and lineage of his brother and himself. The governor, astonished, "made repeated obeisance to the youths, built a palace for their temporary accommodation, and going up to the capital, disclosed the whole affair to the Emperor, who expressed profound satisfaction." Oke, the elder of the two, was made Prince Imperial, and should have ascended the throne on the death of Seinei, a few months later. Arguing, however, that to his younger brother, Woke it was entirely due that they had emerged from a state of abject misery, Oke announced his determination to cede the honour to Woke, who, in turn, declined to take precedence of his elder brother. This dispute of mutual deference continued for a whole year, during a part of which time the administration was carried on by Princess Awo, elder sister of Woke. At length the latter yielded and assumed the sceptre. His first care was to collect the bones of his father, Prince Oshiwa, who had been murdered and buried unceremoniously on the moor of Kaya in Omi province. It was long before the place of interment could be discovered, but at length an old woman served as guide, and the bones of the prince were found mingled in inextricable confusion with those of his loyal vassal, Nakachiko, who had shared his fate. The ethics of that remote age are illustrated vividly in this page of the record. A double sepulchre was erected in memory of the murdered prince and his faithful follower and the old woman who had pointed out the place of their unhonoured grave was given a house in the vicinity of the palace, a rope with a bell attached being stretched between the two residences to serve as a support for her infirm feet and as a means of announcing her coming when she visited the palace. But the same benevolent sovereign who directed these gracious doings was with difficulty dissuaded from demolishing the tomb and scattering to the winds of heaven the bones of the Emperor Yuryaku, under whose hand Prince Oshiwa had fallen. THE VENDETTA In connexion with this, the introduction of the principle of the vendetta has to be noted. Its first practical application is generally referred to the act of the boy-prince, Mayuwa, who stabbed his father's slayer, the Emperor Anko (A.D. 456). But the details of Anko's fate are involved in some mystery, and it is not until the time (A.D. 486) of Kenso that we find a definite enunciation of the Confucian doctrine, afterwards rigidly obeyed in Japan, "A man should not live under the same heaven with his father's enemy." History alleges that, by his brother's counsels, the Emperor Kenso was induced to abandon his intention of desecrating Yuryaku's tomb, but the condition of the tomb to-day suggests that these counsels were not entirely effective. BANQUETS The annals of this epoch refer more than once to banquets at the palace. Towards the close of Seinei's reign we read of "a national drinking-festival which lasted five days," and when Kenso ascended the throne he "went to the park, where he held revel by the winding streams," the high officials in great numbers being his guests. On this latter occasion the ministers are said to have "uttered reiterated cries of 'banzai'"*, which has come into vogue once more in modern times as the equivalent of "hurrah." *Banzai means literally "ten thousand years," and thus corresponds to viva. THE EMPEROR NINKEN The twenty-fourth sovereign, Ninken, was the elder of the two brothers, Oke and Woke, whose escape from the murderous ambition of the Emperor Yuryaku and their ultimate restoration to princely rank have been already described. He succeeded to the throne after the death of his younger brother, and occupied it for ten years of a most uneventful reign. Apart from the fact that tanners were invited from Korea to improve the process followed in Japan, the records contain nothing worthy of attention. One incident, however, deserves to be noted as showing the paramount importance attached in those early days to all the formalities of etiquette. The Empress dowager committed suicide, dreading lest she should be put to death for a breach of politeness committed towards Ninken during the life of his predecessor, Kenso. At a banquet in the palace she had twice neglected to kneel when presenting, first, a knife and, secondly, a cup of wine to Ninken, then Prince Imperial. It has already been related that the Empress Onakatsu, consort of Inkyo, was disposed to inflict the death penalty on a high official who had slighted her unwittingly prior to her husband's accession. There can be no doubt that differences of rank received most rigid recognition in early Japan. THE EMPEROR MURETSU This sovereign was the eldest son of his predecessor, Ninken. According to the Chronicles, his reign opened with a rebellion by the great Heguri family, whose representative, Matori, attempted to usurp the Imperial dignity while his son, Shibi, defiantly wooed and won for himself the object of the Emperor's affections. Matori had been Yuryaku's minister, and his power as well as his family influence were very great, but the military nobles adhered to the sovereign's cause and the Heguri were annihilated. In the Records this event is attributed to the reign of Seinei in a much abbreviated form, but the account given in the Chronicles commands the greater credence. The Chronicles, however, represent Muretsu as a monster of cruelty, the Nero of Japanese history, who plucked out men's nails and made them dig up yams with their mutilated fingers; who pulled out people's hair; who made them ascend trees which were then cut down, and who perpetrated other hideous excesses. Here again the Records, as well as other ancient authorities are absolutely silent, and the story in the Chronicles has attracted keen analyses by modern historiographers. Their almost unanimous conclusion is that the annals of King Multa of Kudara have been confused with those of the Emperor Muretsu. This Korean sovereign, contemporary with Muretsu, committed all kinds of atrocities and was finally deposed by his people. There are evidences that the compilers of the Chronicles drew largely on the pages of Korean writers, and it is not difficult to imagine accidental intermixing such as that suggested by the critics in this case. KEITAI The death of the Emperor Muretsu left the throne without any successor in the direct line of descent, and for the first time since the foundation of the Empire, it became necessary for the great officials to make a selection among the scions of the remote Imperial families. Their choice fell primarily on the representative of the fifth generation of the Emperor Chuai's descendants. But as their method of announcing their decision was to despatch a strong force of armed troops to the provincial residence of the chosen man, he naturally misinterpreted the demonstration and sought safety in flight. Then the o-omi and the o-muraji turned to Prince Odo, fifth in descent from the Emperor Ojin on his father's side and eighth in descent from the Emperor Suinin on his mother's. Arako, head of the horse-keepers, had secretly informed the prince of the ministers' intentions, and thus the sudden apparition of a military force inspired no alarm in Odo's bosom. He did, indeed, show seemly hesitation, but finally he accepted the insignia and ascended the throne, confirming all the high dignitaries of State in their previous offices. From the point of view of domestic affairs his reign was uneventful, but the empire's relations with Korea continued to be much disturbed, as will be presently explained. ANKAN The Emperor Keitai had a large family, but only one son was by the Empress, and as he was too young to ascend the throne immediately after his father's death, he was preceded by his two brothers, Ankan and Senkwa, sons of the senior concubine. This complication seems to have caused some difficulty, for whereas Keitai died in 531, Ankan's reign did not commence until 534. The most noteworthy feature of his era was the establishment of State granaries in great numbers, a proof that the Imperial power found large extension throughout the provinces. In connexion with this, the o-muraji, Kanamura, is quoted as having laid down, by command of the Emperor, the following important doctrine, "Of the entire surface of the soil, there is no part which is not a royal grant in fee; under the wide heavens there is no place which is not royal territory." The annals show, also, that the custom of accepting tracts of land or other property in expiation of offences was obtaining increased vogue. SENKWA Senkwa was the younger brother of Ankan. He reigned only three years and the period of his sway was uneventful, if we except the growth of complications with Korea, and the storing of large quantities of grain in Tsukushi, as a "provision against extraordinary occasions," and "for the cordial entertainment of our good guests" from "the countries beyond the sea." RELATIONS WITH KOREA With whatever scepticism the details of the Empress Jingo's expedition be regarded, it appears to be certain that at a very early date, Japan effected lodgement on the south coast of Korea at Mimana, and established there a permanent station (chinju-fu) which was governed by one of her own officials. It is also apparent that, during several centuries, the eminent military strength of Yamato received practical recognition from the principalities into which the peninsula was divided; that they sent to the Court of Japan annual presents which partook of the nature of tribute, and that they treated her suggestions, for the most part, with deferential attention. This state of affairs received a rude shock in the days of Yuryaku, when that sovereign, in order to possess himself of the wife of a high official named Tasa, sent the latter to distant Mimana as governor, and seized the lady in his absence. Tasa revolted, and from that time Japan's position in the peninsula was compromised. The Koreans perceived that her strength might be paralyzed by the sins of her sovereigns and the disaffection of her soldiers. Shiragi (Sinra), whose frontier was conterminous with that of the Japanese settlement on the north, had always been restive in the proximity of a foreign aggressor. From the time of Yuryaku's accession she ceased to convey the usual tokens of respect to the Yamato Court, and, on the other hand, she cultivated the friendship of Koma as an ally in the day of retribution. It may be broadly stated that Korea was then divided into three principalities: Shiragi in the south and east; Kudara in the centre and west, with its capital at the modern Seoul, and Koma in the north, having Pyong-yang for chief city. This last had recently pushed its frontier into Manchuria as far as the Liao River, and was already beginning to project its shadow over the southern regions of the peninsula, destined ultimately to fall altogether under its sway. In response to Shiragi's overtures, the King of Koma sent a body of troops to assist in protecting that principality against any retaliatory essay on the part of the Japanese in Mimana. But the men of Shiragi, betrayed into imagining that these soldiers were destined to be the van of an invading army, massacred them, and besought Japanese succour against Koma's vengeance. The Japanese acceded, and Shiragi was saved for a time, but at the cost of incurring, for herself and for Japan alike, the lasting enmity of Koma. Shiragi appears to have concluded, however, that she had more to fear from Koma than from Japan, for she still withheld her tribute to the latter, and invaded the territory of Kudara, which had always maintained most friendly relations with Yamato. The Emperor Yuryaku sent two expeditions to punish this contumacy, but the result being inconclusive, he resolved to take the exceptional step of personally leading an army to the peninsula. This design, which, had it matured, might have radically changed the history of the Far East, was checked by an oracle, and Yuryaku appointed three of his powerful nobles to go in his stead. The Shiragi men fought with desperate tenacity. One wing of their army was broken, but the other held its ground, and two of the Japanese generals fell in essaying to dislodge it. Neither side could claim a decisive victory, but both were too much exhausted to renew the combat. This was not the limit of Japan's misfortunes. A feud broke out among the leaders of the expedition, and one of them, Oiwa, shot his comrade as they were en route for the Court of the Kudara monarch, who had invited them in the hope of composing their dissensions, since the existence of his own kingdom depended on Japan's intervention between Koma and Shiragi. Owing to this feud among her generals, Japan's hold on Mimana became more precarious than ever while her prestige in the peninsula declined perceptibly. Nevertheless her great military name still retained much of its potency. Thus, ten years later (A.D. 477), when the King of Koma invaded Kudara and held the land at his mercy, he declined to follow his generals' counsels of extermination in deference to Kudara's long friendship with Yamato. It is related that, after this disaster, the Japanese Emperor gave the town of Ung-chhon (Japanese, Kumanari) to the remnant of the Kudara people, and the latter's capital was then transferred from its old site in the centre of the peninsula--a place no longer tenable--to the neighbourhood of Mimana. Thenceforth Yuryaku aided Kudara zealously. He not only despatched a force of five hundred men to guard the palace of the King, but also sent (480) a flotilla of war-vessels to attack Koma from the west coast. The issue of this attempt is not recorded, and the silence of the annals may be construed as indicating failure. Koma maintained at that epoch relations of intimate friendship with the powerful Chinese dynasty of the Eastern Wei, and Yuryaku's essays against such a combination were futile, though he prosecuted them with considerable vigour. After his death the efficiency of Japan's operations in Korea was greatly impaired by factors hitherto happily unknown in her foreign affairs--treason and corruption. Lord Oiwa, whose shooting of his fellow general, Karako, has already been noted, retained his post as governor of Mimana for twenty-one years, and then (487), ambitious of wider sway, opened relations with Koma for the joint invasion of Kudara, in order that he himself might ascend the throne of the latter. A desperate struggle ensued. Several battles were fought, in all of which the victory is historically assigned to Oiwa, but if he really did achieve any success, it was purely ephemeral, for he ultimately abandoned the campaign and returned to Japan, giving another shock to his country's waning reputation in the peninsula. If the Yamato Court took any steps to punish this act of lawless ambition, there is no record in that sense. The event occurred in the last year of Kenso's reign, and neither that monarch nor his successor, Ninken, seems to have devoted any special attention to Korean affairs. Nothing notable took place until 509, when Keitai was on the throne. In that year, a section of the Kudara people, who, in 477, had been driven from their country by the Koma invaders and had taken refuge within the Japanese dominion of Mimana, were restored to their homes with Japanese co-operation and with renewal of the friendly relations which had long existed between the Courts of Yamato and Kudara. Three years later (512), Kudara preferred a singular request. She asked that four regions, forming an integral part of the Yamato domain of Mimana, should be handed over to her, apparently as an act of pure benevolence. Japan consented. There is no explanation of her complaisance except that she deemed it wise policy to strengthen Kudara against the growing might of Shiragi, Yamato's perennial foe. The two officials by whose advice the throne made this sacrifice were the o-muraji, Kanamura, and the governor of Mimana, an omi called Oshiyama. They went down in the pages of history as corrupt statesmen who, in consideration of bribes from the Kudara Court, surrendered territory which Japan had won by force of arms and held for five centuries. In the following year (513) the Kudara Court again utilized the services of Oshiyama to procure possession of another district, Imun (Japanese, Komom), which lay on the northeast frontier of Mimana. Kudara falsely represented that this region had been wrested from her by Habe, one of the petty principalities in the peninsula, and the Yamato Court, acting at the counsels of the same o-muraji (Kanamura) who had previously espoused Kudara's cause, credited Kudara's story. This proved an ill-judged policy. It is true that Japan's prestige in the peninsula received signal recognition on the occasion of promulgating the Imperial decree which sanctioned the transfer of the disputed territory. All the parties to the dispute, Kudara, Shiragi, and Habe, were required to send envoys to the Yamato Court for the purpose of hearing the rescript read, and thus Japan's pre-eminence was constructively acknowledged. But her order provoked keen resentment in Shiragi and Habe. The general whom she sent with five hundred warships to escort the Kudara envoys was ignominiously defeated by the men of Habe, while Shiragi seized the opportunity to invade Mimana and to occupy a large area of its territory. For several years the Yamato Court made no attempt to re-assert itself, but in 527 an expedition of unprecedented magnitude was organized. It consisted of sixty thousand soldiers under the command of Keno no Omi, and its object was to chastise Shiragi and to re-establish Mimana in its original integrity. But here an unforeseeable obstacle presented itself. For all communication with the Korean peninsula, Tsukushi (Kyushu) was an indispensable basis, and it happened that, just at this time, Kyushu had for ruler (miyatsuko) a nobleman called Iwai, who is said to have long entertained treasonable designs. A knowledge of his mood was conveyed to Shiragi, and tempting proposals were made to him from that place conditionally on his frustrating the expedition under Keno no Omi. Iwai thereupon occupied the four provinces of Higo, Hizen, Bungo, and Buzen, thus effectually placing his hand on the neck of the communications with Korea and preventing the embarkation of Keno no Omi's army. He established a pseudo-Court in Tsukushi and there gave audience to tribute-bearing envoys from Koma, Kudara and Shiragi. For the space of a twelvemonth this rebel remained master of the situation, but, in A.D. 528, the o-muraji, Arakahi, crushed him after a desperate conflict in the province of Chikugo.* Iwai effected his escape to Buzen and died by his own hand in a secluded valley. Although, however, this formidable rebellion was thus successfully quelled, the great expedition did not mature. Keno, its intended leader, did indeed proceed to Mimana and assume there the duties of governor, but he proved at once arrogant and incompetent, employing to an extravagant degree the ordeal of boiling water, so that many innocent people suffered fatally, and putting to death children of mixed Korean and Japanese parentage instead of encouraging unions which would have tended to bring the two countries closer together. *In the Chikugo Fudoki a minute description is given of Iwai's sepulchre, built during his lifetime but presumably never occupied by his body. The remarkable feature of the tomb was a number of stone images, several representing grave-guards, and one group being apparently designed to represent the judicial trial of a poacher. In all her relations with Korea at this epoch, Japan showed more loyalty than sagacity. She was invariably ready to accede to proposals from her old friend, Kudara, and the latter, taking astute advantage of this mood, secured her endorsement of territorial transfers which brought to the Yamato Court nothing but the enmity of Kudara's rivals. By these errors of statesmanship and by the misgovernment of officials like Keno, conditions were created which, as will be seen hereafter, proved ultimately fatal to Japan's sway in the peninsula. Meanwhile, every student of Japanese ancient annals cannot but be struck by the large space devoted to recording her relations with Korea. As the eminent historian, Rai Sanyo, said in later times, her soldiers were wearied by constant campaigns oversea, and her agriculturists were exhausted by frequent requisitions for supplies. During the epoch of Jingo and Ojin, Japan was palpably inferior to her peninsular neighbour in civilization, in wealth, and in population. But in one respect the superiority was largely on her side; namely, in the quality of her soldiers. Therefore, she utilized her military strength for campaigns which cost comparatively little and produced much. The peninsula, at that time, verified the term commonly applied to it, Uchi-tsurmiyake, or the "Granary of the Home-land." But as the material development of Japan and her civilization progressed, she stood constantly to lose more and gain less by despatching expeditions to a land which squandered much of its resources on internecine quarrels and was deteriorating by comparison. The task of maintaining Mimana and succouring Kudara then became an obligation of prestige which gradually ceased to interest the nation. FINANCE In the period now under consideration no system of land taxation had yet come into existence. The requirements of the Court were met by the produce of the mi-agata (Imperial domains), and rice for public use was grown in the miyake districts, being there stored and devoted to the administrative needs of the region. Occasionally the contents of several miyake were collected into one district, as, for example, when (A.D. 536) the Emperor Senkwa ordered a concentration of foodstuffs in Tsukushi. The miyake were the property of the Crown, as were also a number of hereditary corporations (be), whose members discharged duties, from building and repairing palaces--no light task, seeing that the site of the palace was changed with each change of occupant--to sericulture, weaving, tailoring, cooking, and arts and handicrafts of all descriptions, each be exercising its own function from generation to generation, and being superintended by its own head-man (obito or atae). Any insufficiency in the supplies furnished by the sovereign's own people was made good by levying on the tomo-no-miyatsuko. It will be seen that there was no annual tax regularly imposed on the people in general, though universal requisitions were occasionally made to meet the requirements of public works, festivals or military operations. Hence when it is said that the Emperor Nintoku remitted all taxes for the space of three years until the people's burdens were lightened, reference is made only to the be and tomobe belonging to the Throne itself. Doubtless this special feature of Yamato finance was due in part to the fact that all the land and all the people, except those appertaining to the Crown, were in the possession of the uji, without whose co-operation no general fiscal measure could be adopted. When recourse to the nation at large was necessitated to meet some exceptional purpose, orders had to be given, first, to the o-omi and o-muraji; next, by these to the Kami of the several o-uji; then, by the latter to the Kami of the various ko-uji, and, finally, by these last to every household. The machinery was thorough, but to set it in motion required an effort which constituted an automatic obstacle to extortion. The lands and people of the uji were governed by the Emperor but were not directly controlled by him. On the other hand, to refuse a requisition made by the Throne was counted contumelious and liable to punishment. Thus when (A.D. 534) the Emperor Ankan desired to include a certain area of arable land in a miyake established for the purpose of commemorating the name of the Empress, and when Ajihari, suzerain (atae) of the region, sought to evade the requisition by misrepresenting the quality of the land, he was reprimanded and had to make atonement by surrendering a portion of his private property. There can be no doubt, however, that as the population increased and as uncultivated areas grew less frequent, the arbitrary establishment of koshiro or of nashiro became more and more irksome, and the pages of history indicate that from the time of Keitai (A.D. 507-531) this practice was gradually abandoned. CRIMINAL LAW Although the use of the ideographic script became well known from the fifth century, everything goes to show that no written law existed at that time, or, indeed, for many years afterwards. Neither are there any traces of Korean or Chinese influence in this realm. Custom prescribed punishments, and the solemnity of a judicial trial found no better representative than the boiling-water ordeal. If a man took oath to the deities of his innocence and was prepared to thrust his arm into boiling mud or water, or to lay a red-hot axe on the palm of his hand, he was held to have complied with all the requirements. The familiar Occidental doctrine, "the King can do no wrong," received imperative recognition in Japan, and seems to have been extended to the Crown Prince also. There were no other exemptions. If a man committed a crime, punishment extended to every member of his family. On the other hand, offences might generally be expiated by presenting lands or other valuables to the Throne. As for the duty of executing sentences, it devolved on the mononobe, who may be described as the military corporation. Death or exile were common forms of punishment, but degradation was still more frequent. It often meant that a family, noble and opulent to-day, saw all its members handed over to-morrow to be the serfs or slaves of some uji in whose be they were enrolled to serve thenceforth, themselves and their children, through all generations in some menial position,--it might be as sepulchre-guards, it might be as scullions. Tattooing on the face was another form of penalty. The first mention of it occurs in A.D. 400 when Richu condemned the muraji, Hamako, to be thus branded, but whether the practice originated then or dated from an earlier period, the annals do not show. It was variously called hitae-kizamu (slicing the brow), me-saku (splitting the eyes), and so on, but these terms signified nothing worse than tattooing on the forehead or round the eyes. The Emperor Richu deemed that such notoriety was sufficient penalty for high treason, but Yuryaku inflicted tattooing on a man whose dog had killed one of his Majesty's fowls. Death at the stake appears to have been very uncommon. This terrible form of punishment seems to have been revived by Yuryaku. He caused it to be inflicted on one of the ladies-in-waiting and her paramour, who had forestalled him in the girl's affections. The first instance is mentioned in the annals of the Empress Jingo, but the victim was a Korean and the incident happened in war. To Yuryaku was reserved the infamy of employing such a penalty in the case of a woman. Highly placed personages were often allowed to expiate an offence by performing the religious rite of harai (purification), the offender defraying all expenses. ARCHITECTURE As Chinese literature became familiar and as the arts of the Middle Kingdom and Korea were imported into Japan, the latter's customs naturally underwent some changes. This was noticeable in the case of architecture. Lofty buildings, as has been already stated, began to take the place of the partially subterranean muro. The annals make no special reference to the authors of this innovation, but it is mentioned that among the descendants of the Chinese, Achi, and the Korean, Tsuka, there were men who practised carpentry. Apparently the fashion of high buildings was established in the reign of Anko when (A.D. 456) the term ro or takadono (lofty edifice) is, for the first time, applied to the palace of Anko in Yamato. A few years later (468), we find mention of two carpenters,* Tsuguno and Mita, who, especially the latter, were famous experts in Korean architecture, and who received orders from Yuryaku to erect high buildings. It appears further that silk curtains (tsumugi-kaki) came into use in this age for partitioning rooms, and that a species of straw mat (tatsu-gomo) served for carpet when people were hunting, travelling, or campaigning. *It should be remembered that as all Japanese edifices were made of timber, the carpenter and the architect were one and the same. SHIPS Occasional references have been made already to the art of shipbuilding in Japan, and the facts elicited may be summed up very briefly. They are that the first instance of naming a ship is recorded in the year A.D. 274, when the Karano (one hundred feet long) was built to order of the Emperor Ojin by the carpenters of Izu promontory, which place was famed for skill in this respect; that the general method of building was to hollow out tree-trunks,* and that the arrival of naval architects from Shiragi (A.D. 300) inaugurated a superior method of construction, differing little from that employed in later ages. *Such dug-outs were named maruki-bune, a distinguishing term which proves that some other method of building was also employed. VEHICLES A palanquin (koshi) used by the Emperor Ojin (A.D. 270-310) was preserved in the Kyoto palace until the year 1219, when a conflagration consumed it. The records give no description of it, but they say that Yuryaku and his Empress returned from a hunting expedition on a cart (kuruma), and tradition relates that a man named Isa, a descendant in the eighth generation of the Emperor Sujin, built a covered cart which was the very one used by Yuryaku. It is, indeed, more than probable that a vehicle which had been in use in China for a long time must have become familiar to the Japanese at an early epoch. MEDICAL ART For relief in sickness supplication to the gods and the performance of religious rites were chiefly relied on. But it is alleged* that medicines for internal and external use were in existence and that recourse to thermal springs was commonly practised from remote times. *By the Nihon Bummei Shiryaku. PICTORIAL ART While Yuryaku was on the throne, Korea and China sent pictorial experts to Japan. The Korean was named Isuraka, and the Chinese, Shinki. The latter is said to have been a descendant of the Emperor Wen of the Wei dynasty. His work attracted much attention in the reign of Muretsu, who bestowed on him the uji title of Ooka no Obito. His descendants practised their art with success in Japan, and from the time of the Emperor Tenchi (668-671) they were distinguished as Yamato no eshi (painters of Yamato). POETRY If we credit the annals, the composition of poetry commenced in the earliest ages and was developed independently of foreign influences. From the sovereign down to the lowest subject, everyone composed verses. These were not rhymed; the structure of the Japanese language does not lend itself to rhyme. Their differentiation from prose consisted solely in the numerical regularity of the syllables in consecutive lines; the alternation of phrases of five and seven syllables each. A tanka (short song) consisted of thirty-one syllables arranged thus, 5, 7, 5, 7, and 7; and a naga-uta (long song) consisted of an unlimited number of lines, all fulfilling the same conditions as to number of syllables and alternation of phrases. No parallel to this kind of versification has been found yet in the literature of any other nation. The Chronicles and the Records abound with tanka and naga-uta, many of which have been ascribed by skeptics to an age not very remote from the time when those books were compiled. But the Japanese themselves think differently. They connect the poems directly with the events that inspired them. Further reference to the subject will be made hereafter. Here it will suffice to note that the composing of such verselets was a feature of every age in Japan. UTA-GAKI A favourite pastime during the early historic period was known as uta-gaki or uta-kai. In cities, in the country, in fields, and on hills, youths and maidens assembled in springtime or in autumn and enjoyed themselves by singing and dancing. Promises of marriage were exchanged, the man sending some gifts as a token, and the woman, if her father or elder brother approved, despatching her head-ornament (oshiki no tamakatsura) to her lover. On the wedding day it was customary for the bride to present "table-articles" (tsukue-shiro) to the bridegroom in the form of food and drink. There were places specially associated in the public mind with uta-gaki--Tsukuba Mountain in Hitachi, Kijima-yama in Hizen, and Utagaki-yama in Settsu. Sometimes men of noble birth took part in this pastime, but it was usually confined to the lower middle classes. The great festival of bon-odori, which will be spoken of by and by, is said to be an outgrowth of the uta-gaki. SUPERSTITIONS No influences of alien character affected the religious beliefs of the Japanese during the period we are now considering (fourth, fifth, and sixth centuries). The most characteristic feature of the time was a belief in the supernatural power of reptiles and animals. This credulity was not limited to the uneducated masses. The Throne itself shared it. Yuryaku, having expressed a desire to see the incarnated form of the Kami of Mimoro Mountain, was shown a serpent seventy feet long. In the same year a group of snakes harrassed a man who was reclaiming a marsh, so that he had to take arms against them and enter into a compact of limitations and of shrine building. Other records of maleficent deities in serpent shape were current, and monkeys and dragons inspired similar terror. Of this superstition there was born an evil custom, the sacrifice of human beings to appease the hostile spirits. The Kami of Chusan in Mimasaka province was believed to be a giant ape, and the Kami of Koya, a big reptile. The people of these two districts took it in turn to offer a girl at the shrines of those Kami, and in the province of Hida another colossal monkey was similarly appeased. There were further cases of extravagant superstition. ARTS AND CRAFTS Of the development of sericulture and of the arts of weaving and ceramics in this era enough has already been written; but, as showing the growth of refinement, it may be noted that among the articles ordered by the Emperor Yuryaku were a silk hat and a sashiha, or round fan with a long handle. The colour of the fan was purple, and it is said to have been hung up as an ornament in the palace. FORM OF GOVERNMENT The original form of government under the Yamato seems to have been feudal. The heads of uji were practically feudal chiefs. Even orders from the Throne had to pass through the uji no Kami in order to reach the people. But from the time of Nintoku (313-349) to that of Yuryaku (457-479), the Court wielded much power, and the greatest among the uji chiefs found no opportunity to interfere with the exercise of the sovereign's rights. Gradually, however, and mainly owing to the intrusion of love affairs or of lust, the Imperial household fell into disorder, which prompted the revolt of Heguri, the o-omi of the Kwobetsu (Imperial families); a revolt subdued by the loyalty of the o-muraji of the Shimbetsu (Kami families). From the days of the Emperor Muretsu (499-506), direct heirs to succeed to the sceptre were wanting in more than one instance, and a unique opportunity thus offered for traitrous essays. There was none. Men's minds were still deeply imbued with the conviction that by the Tenjin alone might the Throne be occupied. But with the introduction of Buddhism (A.D. 552), that conviction received a shock. That the Buddha directed and controlled man's destiny was a doctrine inconsistent with the traditional faith in the divine authority of the "son of heaven." Hence from the sixth century the prestige of the Crown began to decline, and the puissance of the great uji grew to exceed that of the sovereign. During a short period (645-670) the authority of the Throne was reasserted, owing to the adoption of the Tang systems of China; but thereafter the great Fujiwara-uji became paramount and practically administered the empire. For the sake, therefore, of an intelligent sequence of conception, there is evidently much importance in determining whether, in remote antiquity, the prevailing system was feudal, or prefectural, or a mixture of both. Unfortunately the materials for accurate differentiation are wanting. Much depends on a knowledge of the functions discharged by the kuni-no-miyatsuko, who were hereditary officials, and the kuni-no-tsukasa (or kokushi) who were appointed by the Throne. The closest research fails to elucidate these things with absolute clearness. It is not known even at what date the office of kokushi was established. The first mention of these officials is made in the year A.D. 374, during the reign of Nintoku, but there can be little doubt that they had existed from an earlier date. They were, however, few in number, whereas the miyatsuko were numerous, and this comparison probably furnishes a tolerably just basis for estimating the respective prevalence of the prefectural and the feudal systems. In short, the method of government inaugurated at the foundation of the empire appears to have been essentially feudal in practice, though theoretically no such term was recognized; and at a later period--apparently about the time of Nintoku--when the power of the hereditary miyatsuko threatened to grow inconveniently formidable, the device of reasserting the Throne's authority by appointing temporary provincial governors was resorted to, so that the prefectural organization came into existence side by side with the feudal, and the administration preserved this dual form until the middle of the seventh century. There will be occasion to refer to the matter again at a later date. ANNALS OF THE UJI It is essential to an intelligent appreciation of Japanese history that some knowledge should be acquired of the annals of the great uji. From the time of Nintoku (A.D. 313-399) until the introduction of Buddhism (A.D. 552), there were four uji whose chiefs participated conspicuously in the government of the country. The first was that of Heguri. It belonged to the Imperial class (Kwobetsu) and was descended from the celebrated Takenouchi-no-Sukune. In the days of the Emperor Muretsu (499-506), the chief of this uji attempted to usurp the throne and was crushed. The second was the Otomo. This uji belonged to the Kami class (Shimbetsu) and had for ancestor Michi no Omi, the most distinguished general in the service of the first Emperor Jimmu. The chiefs of the Otomo-uji filled the post of general from age to age, and its members guarded the palace gates. During the reign of Yuryaku the office of o-muraji was bestowed upon Moroya, then chief of this uji, and the influence he wielded may be inferred from the language of an Imperial rescript where it is said that "the tami-be of the o-muraji fill the country." His son, Kanamura, succeeded him. By his sword the rebellion of Heguri no Matori was quelled, and by his advice Keitai was called to the Throne. He served also under Ankan, Senkwa, and Kimmei, but the miscarriage of Japan's relations with Korea was attributed to him, and the title of o-muraji was not conferred on any of his descendants. The uji of Mononobe next calls for notice. "Monono-be" literally signifies, when expanded, a group (be) of soldiers (tsuwamono). In later times a warrior in Japan was called mono-no-fu (or bushi), which is written with the ideographs mono-be. This uji also belonged to the Kami class, and its progenitor was Umashimade, who surrendered Yamato to Jimmu on the ground of consanguinity. Thenceforth the members of the uji formed the Imperial guards (uchi-tsu-mononobe) and its chiefs commanded them. Among all the uji of the Kami class the Mononobe and the Otomo ranked first, and after the latter's failure in connexion with Korea, the Mononobe stood alone. During the reign of Yuryaku, the uji's chief became o-muraji, as did his grandson, Okoshi, and the latter's son, Moriya, was destroyed by the o-omi, Soga no Umako, in the tumult on the accession of Sushun (A.D. 588). The fourth of the great uji was the Soga, descended from Takenouchi-no-Sukune. After the ruin of the Heguri, this uji stood at the head of all the Imperial class. In the reign of Senkwa (536-539), Iname, chief of the Soga, was appointed o-omi, and his son, Umako, who held the same rank, occupies an important place in connexion with the introduction of Buddhism. It will be observed that among these four uji, Heguri and Soga served as civil officials and Otomo and Mononobe as military. There are also three other uji which figure prominently on the stage of Japanese history. They are the Nakotomi, the Imibe, and the Kume. The Nakatomi discharged the functions of religious supplication and divination, standing, for those purposes, between (Naka) the Throne and the deities. The Imibe had charge of everything relating to religious festivals; an office which required that they should abstain (imi suru) from all things unclean. The Kume were descended from Amatsu Kume no Mikoto, and their duties were to act as chamberlains and as guards of the Court. Finally, there was the Oga-uji, descended from Okuninushi, which makes the eighth of the great uji. From the time of the Emperor Jimmu to that of the Empress Suiko (A.D. 593-628), the nobles who served in ministerial capacities numbered forty and of that total the Mononobe furnished sixteen; the Otomo, six; the o-omi houses (i.e. the Kwobetsu), nine; the Imibe, one; the Nakatomi, six; and the Oga, two. Thus, the military uji of Mononobe and Otomo gave to the State twenty-two ministers out of forty during a space of some twelve centuries. ENGRAVING: PROFESSIONAL STORY-TELLER ENGRAVING: SHIGURETEI AND KASA-NO-CHAYA IN THE KODAIJI (Examples of Ancient Tea Houses) CHAPTER XIV FROM THE 29TH TO THE 35TH SOVEREIGN The 29th Sovereign, Kimmei A.D. 540-571 " 30th " Bidatsu " 572-585 " 31st " Yomei " 586-587 " 32nd " Sushun " 588-592 " 33rd " Suiko " 593-628 " 34th " Jomei " 629-641 " 35th " Kogyoku " 642-645 THE seven reigns five Emperors and two Empresses commencing with the Emperor Kimmei and ending with the Empress Kogyoku, covered a period of 105 years, from 540 to 645, and are memorable on three accounts: the introduction of Buddhism; the usurpation of the great uji, and the loss of Japan's possessions in Korea. THE INTRODUCTION OF BUDDHISM During the reign of the Emperor Ming of the Hou-Han dynasty, in the year AD. 65, a mission was sent from China to procure the Buddhist Sutras as well as some teachers of the Indian faith. More than three centuries elapsed before, in the year 372, the creed obtained a footing in Korea; and not for another century and a half did it find its way (522) to Japan. It encountered no obstacles in Korea. The animistic belief of the early Koreans has never been clearly studied, but whatever its exact nature may have been, it certainly evinced no bigotry in the presence of the foreign faith, for within three years of the arrival of the first image of Sakiya Muni in Koma, two large monasteries had been built, and the King and his Court were all converts. No such reception awaited Buddhism in Japan when, in 522, a Chinese bonze, Shiba Tachito, arrived, erected a temple on the Sakata plain in Yamato, enshrined an image, of Buddha there, and endeavoured to propagate the faith. At that time, Wu, the first Emperor of the Liang dynasty in China, was employing all his influence to popularize the Indian creed. Tradition says that Shiba Tachito came from Liang, and in all probability he took the overland route via the Korean peninsula, but the facts are obscure. No sensible impression seems to have been produced in Japan by this essay. Buddhism was made known to a few, but the Japanese showed no disposition to worship a foreign god. Twenty-three years later (545), the subject attracted attention again. Song Wang Myong, King of Kudara, menaced by a crushing attack on the part of Koma and Shiragi in co-operation, made an image of the Buddha, sixteen feet high, and petitioned the Court of Yamato in the sense that as all good things were promised in the sequel of such an effort, protection should be extended to him by Japan. Tradition says that although Buddhism had not yet secured a footing in Yamato, this image must be regarded as the pioneer of many similar objects subsequently set up in Japanese temples. Nevertheless, A.D. 552 is usually spoken of as the date of Buddhism's introduction into Japan. In that year the same King of Kudara presented direct to the Yamato Court a copper image of Buddha plated with gold; several canopies (tengai), and some volumes of the sacred books, by the hands of Tori Shichi (Korean pronunciation, Nori Sachhi) and others. The envoys carried also a memorial which said: "This doctrine is, among all, most excellent. But it is difficult to explain and difficult to understand. Even the Duke Chou and Confucius did not attain to comprehension. It can produce fortune and retribution, immeasurable, illimitable. It can transform a man into a Bodhi. Imagine a treasure capable of satisfying all desires in proportion as it is used. Such a treasure is this wonderful doctrine. Every earnest supplication is fulfilled and nothing is wanting. Moreover, from farthest India to the three Han, all have embraced the doctrine, and there is none that does not receive it with reverence wherever it is preached. Therefore thy servant, Myong, in all sincerity, sends his retainer, Nori Sachhi, to transmit it to the Imperial country, that it may be diffused abroad throughout the home provinces,* so as to fulfil the recorded saying of the Buddha, 'My law shall spread to the East.'"** It is highly probable that in the effort to win the Yamato Court to Buddhism, King Myong was influenced as much by political as by moral motives. He sought to use the foreign faith as a link to bind Japan to his country, so that he might count on his oversea neighbour's powerful aid against the attacks of Koma and Shiragi. *That is to say, the Kinai, or five provinces, of which Yamato is the centre. **The memorial is held by some critics to be of doubtful authenticity, though the compilers of the Chronicles may have inserted it in good faith. A more interesting question, however, is the aspect under which the new faith presented itself to the Japanese when it first arrived among them as a rival of Shinto and Confucianism. There can be no doubt that the form in which it became known at the outset was the Hinayana, or Exoteric, as distinguished from the Mahayana, or Esoteric. But how did the Japanese converts reconcile its acceptance with their allegiance to the traditional faith, Shinto? The clearest available answer to this question is contained in a book called Taishiden Hochu, where, in reply to a query from his father, Yomei, who professed inability to believe foreign doctrines at variance with those handed down from the age of the Kami, Prince Shotoku is recorded to have replied: "Your Majesty has considered only one aspect of the matter. I am young and ignorant, but I have carefully studied the teachings of Confucius and the doctrine of the Kami. I find that there is a plain distinction. Shinto, since its roots spring from the Kami, came into existence simultaneously with the heaven and the earth, and thus expounds the origin of human beings. Confucianism, being a system of moral principles, is coeval with the people and deals with the middle stage of humanity. Buddhism, the fruit of principles, arose when the human intellect matured. It explains the last stage of man. To like or dislike Buddhism without any reason is simply an individual prejudice. Heaven commands us to obey reason. The individual cannot contend against heaven. Recognizing that impossibility, nevertheless to rely on the individual is not the act of a wise man or an intelligent. Whether the Emperor desire to encourage this creed is a matter within his own will. Should he desire to reject it, let him do so; it will arise one generation later. Should he desire to adopt it, let him do so; it will arise one generation earlier. A generation is as one moment in heaven's eyes. Heaven is eternal. The Emperor's reign is limited to a generation; heaven is boundless and illimitable. How can the Emperor struggle against heaven? How can heaven be concerned about a loss of time?" The eminent modern Japanese historiographer, Dr. Ariga, is disposed to regard the above as the composition of some one of later date than the illustrious Shotoku, but he considers that it rightly represents the relation assigned to the three doctrines by the Japanese of the sixth and seventh centuries. "Shinto teaches about the origin of the country but does not deal with the present or the future. Confucianism discusses the present and has no concern with the past or the future. Buddhism, alone, preaches about the future. That life ends with the present cannot be believed by all. Many men think of the future, and it was therefore inevitable that many should embrace Buddhism." But at the moment when the memorial of King Myong was presented to the Emperor Kimmei, the latter was unprepared to make a definite reply. The image, indeed, he found to be full of dignity, but he left his ministers to decide whether it should be worshipped or not. A division of opinion resulted. The o-omi, Iname, of the Soga family, advised that, as Buddhism had won worship from all the nations on the West, Japan should not be singular. But the o-muraji, Okoshi, of the Mononobe-uji, and Kamako, muraji of the Nakatomi-uji, counselled that to bow down to foreign deities would be to incur the anger of the national gods. In a word, the civil officials advocated the adoption of the Indian creed; the military and ecclesiastical officials opposed it. That the head of the Mononobe-uji should have adopted this attitude was natural: it is always the disposition of soldiers to be conservative, and that is notably true of the Japanese soldier (bushi). In the case of the Nakatomi, also, we have to remember that they were, in a sense, the guardians of the Shinto ceremonials: thus, their aversion to the acceptance of a strange faith is explained. What is to be said, however, of the apparently radical policy of the Soga chief? Why should he have advocated so readily the introduction of a foreign creed? There are two apparent reasons. One is that the Hata and Aya groups of Korean and Chinese artisans were under the control of the Soga-uji, and that the latter were therefore disposed to welcome all innovations coming from the Asiatic continent. The other is that between the o-muraji of the Kami class (Shimbetsu) and the o-omi of the Imperial class (Kwobetsu) there had existed for some time a political rivalry which began to be acute at about the period of the coming of Buddhism, and which was destined to culminate, forty years later, in a great catastrophe. The Emperor himself steered a middle course. He neither opposed nor approved but entrusted the image to the keeping of the Soga noble. Probably his Majesty was not unwilling to submit the experiment to a practical test vicariously, for it is to be noted that, in those days, the influence of the Kami for good or for evil was believed to be freely exercised in human affairs. This last consideration does not seem to have influenced Soga no Iname at all. He must have been singularly free from the superstitions of his age, for he not only received the image with pleasure but also enshrined it with all solemnity in his Mukuhara residence, which he converted wholly into a temple. Very shortly afterwards, however, the country was visited by a pestilence, and the calamity being regarded as an expression of the Kami's resentment, the o-muraji of the Mononobe and the muraji of the Nakatomi urged the Emperor to cast out the emblems of a foreign faith. Accordingly, the statue of the Buddha was thrown into the Naniwa canal and the temple was burned to the ground. Necessarily these events sharply accentuated the enmity between the Soga and the Mononobe. Twenty-five years passed, however, without any attempt to restore the worship of the Buddha. Iname, the o-omi of the Soga, died; Okoshi, the o-muraji of the Mononobe, died, and they were succeeded in these high offices by their sons, Umako and Moriya, respectively. When the Emperor Bidatsu ascended the throne in A.D. 572, the political stage was practically occupied by these two ministers only; they had no competitors of equal rank. In 577, the King of Kudara made a second attempt to introduce Buddhism into Japan. He sent to the Yamato Court two hundred volumes of sacred books; an ascetic; a yogi (meditative monk); a nun; a reciter of mantras (magic spells); a maker of images, and a temple architect. If any excitement was caused by this event, the annals say nothing of the fact. It is briefly related that ultimately a temple was built for the new-comers in Naniwa (modern Osaka). Two years later, Shiragi also sent a Buddhist eidolon, and in 584--just sixty-two years after the coming of Shiba Tachito from Liang and thirty-two years after Soga no Iname's attempt to popularize the Indian faith--two Japanese high officials returned from Korea, carrying with them a bronze image of Buddha and a stone image of Miroku.* These two images were handed over, at his request, to the o-omi, Umako, who had inherited his father's ideas about Buddhism. He invited Shiba Tachito, then a village mayor, to accompany one Hida on a search throughout the provinces for Buddhist devotees. They found a man called Eben, a Korean who had originally been a priest, and he, having resumed the stole, consecrated the twelve-year-old daughter of Shiba Tachito, together with two other girls, as nuns. The o-omi now built a temple, where the image of Miroku was enshrined, and a pagoda on the top of whose central pillar was deposited a Buddhist relic which had shown miraculous powers. *The Sanskrit Maitreya, the expected Messiah of the Buddhist. Thus, once more the creed of Sakiya Muni seemed to have found a footing in Japan. But again the old superstitions prevailed. The plague of small-pox broke out once more. This fell disease had been carried from Cochin China by the troops of General Ma Yuan during the Han dynasty, and it reached Japan almost simultaneously with the importation of Buddhism. The physicians of the East had no skill in treating it, and its ravages were terrible, those that escaped with their lives having generally to lament the loss of their eyes. So soon as the malady made its second appearance in the immediate sequel of the new honours paid to Buddhism, men began to cry out that the Kami were punishing the nation's apostacy, and the o-muraji, Moriya, urged the Emperor (Bidatsu) to authorize the suppression of the alien religion. Bidatsu, who at heart had always been hostile to the innovation, consented readily, and the o-muraji, taking upon himself the duty of directing the work of iconoclasm, caused the pagoda and the temple to be razed and burned, threw the image into the canal, and flogged the nuns. But the pestilence was not stayed. Its ravages grew more unsparing. The Emperor himself, as well as the o-omi, Umako, were attacked, and now the popular outcry took another tone: men ascribed the plague to the wrath of Buddha. Umako, in turn, pleaded with the Emperor, and was permitted to rebuild the temple and reinstate the nuns, on condition that no efforts were made to proselytize. Thus Buddhism recovered its footing, but the enmity between the o-muraji and the o-omi grew more implacable than ever. They insulted each other, even at the obsequies of the sovereign, and an occasion alone was needed to convert their anger into an appeal to arms. DISPUTES ABOUT THE ACCESSION When the Emperor Bidatsu died (A.D. 585) no nomination of a Prince Imperial had taken place, and the feud known to exist between the o-omi and the o-muraji increased the danger of the situation. The following genealogical table will serve to elucidate the relation in which the Soga-uji stood to the Imperial Family, as well as the relation between the members of the latter: \ | Prince Shotoku****** / Emperor Yomei** > (married to a daughter / \ | (originally Prince Oe)| of Soga no Umako) |Princess Kitashi| | / |(consort of >< Empress Suiko***** |Emperor Kimmei* | | (originally consort | / | of Emperor Bidatsu*** Soga | \ no < Iname | \ / |Oane-kimi | | Prince Anahobe******* |(consort of >< |Emperor Kimmei) | | Emperor Sushun**** | / \ | |Omako-Emishi-Iruka \ *The Emperor Kimmei was the elder brother-in-law of Soga no Umako. **The Emperor Yomei was the nephew of Soga no Umako. ***The Emperor Bidatsu was a nephew of Umako. ****The Emperor Sushun was a nephew of Umako. *****The Empress Suiko was a niece of Umako. ******Prince Shotoku was son-in-law of Umako. *******Prince Anahobe was a nephew of Umako. It is thus seen that the great uji of Soga was closely related to all the Imperial personages who figured prominently on the stage at this period of Japanese history. THE EMPEROR YOMEI The Emperor Yomei was the fourth son of the Emperor Kimmei and a nephew of the o-omi, Umako. The Chronicles say that he "believed in the law of Buddha and reverenced Shinto" which term now makes its first appearance on the page of Japanese history, the Kami alone having been spoken of hitherto. Yomei's accession was opposed by his younger brother, Prince Anahobe (vide above genealogical table), who had the support of the o-muraji, Moriya; but the Soga influence was exerted in Yomei's behalf. Anahobe did not suffer his discomfiture patiently. He attempted to procure admission to the mourning chamber of the deceased Emperor for some unexplained purpose, and being resisted by Miwa Sako, who commanded the palace guards, he laid a formal complaint before the o-omi and the o-muraji. In the sequel Sako was killed by the troops of the o-muraji, though he merited rather the latter's protection as a brave soldier who had merely done his duty, who opposed Buddhism, and who enjoyed the confidence of the Empress Dowager. To Umako, predicting that this deed of undeserved violence would prove the beginning of serious trouble, Moriya insultingly retorted that small-minded men did not understand such matters. Moriya's mind was of the rough military type. He did not fathom the subtle unscrupulous intellect of an adversary like Umako, and was destined to learn the truth by a bitter process. SHOTOKU TAISHI Umayado, eldest son of the Emperor Yomei, is one of the most distinguished figures in the annals of Japan. He has been well called "the Constantine of Buddhism." In proof of his extraordinary sagacity, the Chronicles relate that in a lawsuit he could hear the evidence of ten men without confusing them. From his earliest youth he evinced a remarkable disposition for study. A learned man was invited from China to teach him the classics, and priests were brought from Koma to expound the doctrine of Buddhism, in which faith he ultimately became a profound believer. In fact, to his influence, more than to any other single factor, may be ascribed the final adoption of the Indian creed by Japan. He never actually ascended the throne, but as regent under the Empress Suiko he wielded Imperial authority. In history he is known as Shotoku Taishi (Prince Shotoku). FINAL STRUGGLE BETWEEN THE MONONOBE AND THE SOGA In the second year of his reign, the Emperor Yomei was seized with the malady which had killed his father. In his extremity he desired to be received into the Buddhist faith to which he had always inclined, and he ordered the leading officials to consider the matter. A council was held. Moriya, o-muraji of the Mononobe, and Katsumi, muraji of the Nakatomi, objected resolutely. They asked why the Kami of the country should be abandoned in a moment of crisis. But Umako, o-omi of the Soga, said: "It is our duty to obey the Imperial commands and to give relief to his Majesty. Who will dare to suggest contumely?" Buddhist priests were then summoned to the palace. It was a moment of extreme tension. Prince Umayado (Shotoku) grasped the hands of the o-omi and exclaimed, "If the minister had not believed in Buddhism, who would have ventured to give such counsel?" Umako's answer is said to have been: "Your Imperial Highness will work for the propagation of the faith. I, a humble subject, will maintain it to the death." Moriya, the o-muraji, made no attempt to hide his resentment, but recognizing that his adherents in the palace were comparatively few, he withdrew to a safe place and there concentrated his forces, endeavouring, at the same time, to enlist by magic rites the assistance of the Kami against the disciples of the foreign faith. Meanwhile the Emperor's malady ended fatally. His reign had lasted only one year. At the point of death he was comforted by an assurance that the son of Shiba Tachito would renounce the world to revere his Majesty's memory and would make an image of the Buddha sixteen feet high. Buddhism had now gained a firm footing at the Yamato Court, but its opponents were still active. Their leader, the o-muraji, thought that his best chance of success was to contrive the accession of Prince Anahobe, whose attempt to take precedence of his elder brother, the Emperor Yomei, has been already noted. The conspiracy was discovered, and the Soga forces, acting under the nominal authority of the deceased Emperor's consort, Umako's niece, moved against Anahobe and Moriya, who had not been able to combine their strength. The destruction of Prince Anahobe was easily effected, but the work of dealing with the o-muraji taxed the resources of the Soga to the utmost. Moriya himself ascended a tree and by skill of archery held his assailants long at bay. Archery had been practised assiduously by the Yamato warrior from time immemorial, and arrows possessing remarkable power of penetration had been devised. During the reign of Nintoku, when envoys from Koma presented to the Court iron shields and iron targets, a Japanese archer, Tatebito, was able to pierce them; and in the time of Yuryaku, a rebel named Iratsuko shot a shaft which, passing through his adversary's shield and twofold armour, entered the flesh of his body to the depth of an inch. There was an archery hall within the enclosure of the palace; whenever envoys or functionaries from foreign countries visited Yamato they were invited to shoot there; frequent trials of skill took place, and when oversea sovereigns applied for military aid, it was not unusual to send some bundles of arrows in lieu of soldiers. Thus, the general of the Mononobe, perched among the branches of a tree, with an unlimited supply of shafts and with highly trained skill as a bowman, was a formidable adversary. Moriya and his large following of born soldiers drove back the Soga forces three times. Success seemed to be in sight for the champion of the Kami. At this desperate stage Prince Shotoku--then a lad of sixteen--fastened to his helmet images of the "Four Guardian Kings of Heaven"* and vowed to build a temple in their honour if victory was vouchsafed to his arms. At the same time, the o-omi, Umako, took oath to dedicate temples and propagate Buddhism. The combat had now assumed a distinctly religious character. Shotoku and Umako advanced again to the attack; Moriya was shot down; his family and followers fled, were put to the sword or sent into slavery, and all his property was confiscated. *The "Four Guardian Kings" (Shi-Tenno) are the warriors who guard the world against the attacks of demons. An incident of this campaign illustrates the character of the Japanese soldier as revealed in the pages of subsequent history: a character whose prominent traits were dauntless courage and romantic sympathy. Yorozu, a dependent of the o-muraji, was reduced to the last straits after a desperate fight. The Chronicles say: "Then he took the sword which he wore, cut his bow into three pieces, and bending his sword, flung it into the river. With a dagger which he had besides, he stabbed himself in the throat and died. The governor of Kawachi having reported the circumstances of Yorozu's death to the Court, the latter gave an order by a stamp* that his body should be cut into eight pieces and distributed among the eight provinces."** In accordance with this order the governor was about to dismember the corpse when thunder pealed and a great rain fell. "Now there was a white dog which had been kept by Yorozu. Looking up and looking down, it went round, howling beside the body, and at last, taking up the head in its mouth, it placed it on an ancient mound, lay down close by, and starved to death. When this was reported to the Court, the latter, moved by profound pity, issued an order that the dog's conduct should be handed down to after ages, and that the kindred of Yorozu should be allowed to construct a tomb and bury his remains." *A stamp in red or black on the palm of the hand. **This custom of dismembering and distributing the remains was practised in Korea until the time, at the close of the nineteenth century, when the peninsula came under Japanese protection. It was never customary in Japan. BUILDING OF TEMPLES After order had been restored, Prince Shotoku fulfilled his vow by building in the province of Settsu a temple dedicated to the Four Guardian Kings of Heaven (Shitenno-ji), and by way of endowment there were handed over to it one-half of the servants of the o-muraji, together with his house and a quantity of other property. The o-omi, Umako, also erected a temple called Hoko-ji in Asuka near Kara. It has been shown above that Soga no Iname converted one of his houses into a temple to receive the Buddhist image sent by Myong in 552, and that his son, Umako, erected a temple on the east of his residence to enshrine a stone image of Miroku, in 584. But these two edifices partook largely of the nature of private worship. The first public temples for the service of Buddhism were Shotoku's Shitenno-ji and Umako's Hoko-ji erected in 587. AMOUNT OF THE O-MURAJI'S PROPERTY In the Annals of Prince Shotoku (Taishi-deri) it is recorded that the parts of the o-muraji's estate with which the temple of the Four Kings was endowed were 273 members of his family and household; his three houses and movable property, together with his domain measuring 186,890 shiro, and consisting of two areas of 128,640 shiro and 58,250 shiro in Kawachi and Settsu, respectively. The shiro is variously reckoned at from 5% to 7.12 tsubo (1 tsubo = 36 square feet). Taking the shiro as 6 tsubo, the above three areas total 1000 acres approximately. That this represented a part only of the o-muraji's property is held by historians, who point to the fact that the o-omi's wife, a younger sister of the o-muraji, incited her husband to destroy Moriya for the sake of getting possession of his wealth. THE EMPEROR SUSHUN The deaths of Prince Anahobe and Moriya left the Government completely in the hands of Soga no Umako. There was no o-muraji; the o-omi was supreme. At his instance the crown was placed upon the head of his youngest nephew, Sushun. But Sushun entertained no friendship for Umako nor any feeling of gratitude for the latter's action in contriving his succession to the throne. Active, daring, and astute, he judged the o-omi to be swayed solely by personal ambition, and he placed no faith in the sincerity of the great official's Buddhist propaganda. Meanwhile, the fortunes of the new faith prospered. When the dying Emperor, Yomei, asked to be qualified for Nirvana, priests were summoned from Kudara. They came in 588, the first year of Sushun's reign, carrying relics (sarira), and they were accompanied by ascetics, temple-architects, metal-founders, potters, and a pictorial artist. The Indian creed now began to present itself to the Japanese people, not merely as a vehicle for securing insensibility to suffering in this life and happiness in the next, but also as a great protagonist of refined progress, gorgeous in paraphernalia, impressive in rites, eminently practical in teachings, and substituting a vivid rainbow of positive hope for the negative pallor of Shinto. Men began to adopt the stole; women to take the veil, and people to visit the hills in search of timbers suited for the frames of massive temples. Soga no Umako, the ostensible leader of this great movement, grew more and more arrogant and arbitrary. The youthful Emperor unbosomed himself to Prince Shotoku, avowing his aversion to the o-omi and his uncontrollable desire to be freed from the incubus of such a minister. Shotoku counselled patience, but Sushun's impetuosity could not brook delay, nor did he reflect that he was surrounded by partisans of the Soga. A Court lady betrayed his designs to the o-omi, and the latter decided that the Emperor must be destroyed. An assassin was found in the person of Koma, a naturalized Chinese, suzerain of the Aya uji, and, being introduced into the palace by the o-omi under pretence of offering textile fabrics from the eastern provinces, he killed the Emperor. So omnipotent was the Soga chief that his murderous envoy was not even questioned. He received open thanks from his employer and might have risen to high office had he not debauched a daughter of the o-omi. Then Umako caused him to be hung from a tree and made a target of his body, charging him with having taken the Emperor's life. "I knew only that there was an o-omi," retorted the man. "I did not know there was an Emperor." Many others shared Koma's comparative ignorance when the Soga were in power. At the Emperor Yomei's death, only one person honoured his memory by entering the Buddhist priesthood. When Soga no Umako died, a thousand men received the tonsure. The unfortunate Sushun was interred on the day of his murder, an extreme indignity, yet no one ventured to protest; and even Prince Shotoku, while predicting that the assassin would ultimately suffer retribution, justified the assassination on the ground that previous misdeeds had deserved it. Shotoku's conduct on this occasion has inspired much censure and surprise when contrasted with his conspicuous respect for virtue in all other cases. But the history of the time requires intelligent expansion. Cursory reading suggests that Umako's resolve to kill Sushun was taken suddenly in consequence of discovering the latter's angry mood. The truth seems to be that Sushun was doomed from the moment of his accession. His elder brother had perished at the hands of Umako's troops, and if he himself did not meet the same fate, absence of plausible pretext alone saved him. To suffer him to reign, harbouring, as he must have harboured, bitter resentment against his brother's slayer, would have been a weakness inconsistent with Umako's character. Sushun was placed on the throne as a concession to appearance, but, at the same time, he was surrounded with creatures of the o-omi, so that the latter had constant cognizance of the sovereign's every word and act. When the o-omi judged the time fitting, he proposed to the Emperor that an expedition should be despatched to recover Mimana, which had been lost to Japan some time previously. An army of twenty thousand men, commanded by a majority of the omi and muraji, was sent to Tsukushi, and all potential opponents of the Soga chief having been thus removed, he proceeded to carry out his design against the Emperor's life. The very indignity done to Sushun's remains testifies the thoroughness of the Soga plot. It has been shown that in early days the erection of a tomb for an Imperial personage was a heavy task, involving much time and labour. Pending the completion of the work, the corpse was put into a coffin and guarded day and night, for which purpose a separate palace was* erected. When the sepulchre had been fully prepared, the remains were transferred thither with elaborate ceremonials,** and the tomb was thenceforth under the care of guardians (rioko). *Called Araki-no-miya, or the "rough palace." The interval during which time the coffin remained there was termed kari-mo-gari, or "temporary mourning." **Known as kakushi-matsuri, or the "rite of hiding." It would seem that the term of one year's mourning prescribed in the case of a parent had its origin in the above arrangement. All these observances were dispensed with in the case of the Emperor Sushun. His remains did not receive even the measure of respect that would have been paid to the corpse of the commonest among his subjects. Nothing could indicate more vividly the omnipotence of the o-omi; everything had been prepared so that his partisans could bury the body almost before it was cold. Had Prince Shotoku protested, he would have been guilty of the futility described by a Chinese proverb as "spitting at the sky." Besides, Shotoku and Umako were allies otherwise. The Soga minister, in his struggle with the military party, had needed the assistance of Shotoku, and had secured it by community of allegiance to Buddhism. The prince, in his projected struggle against the uji system, needed the assistance of Buddhist disciples in general, and in his effort to reach the throne, needed the assistance of Umako in particular. In short, he was building the edifice of a great reform, and to have pitted himself, at the age of nineteen, against the mature strength of the o-omi would have been to perish on the threshold of his purpose. THE EMPRESS SUIKO By the contrivance of Umako, the consort of the Emperor Bidatsu was now placed on the throne, Prince Shotoku being nominated Prince Imperial and regent. The Soga-uji held absolute power in every department of State affairs. THE CONSTITUTION OF SHOTOKU One of the most remarkable documents in Japanese annals is the Jushichi Kempo, or Seventeen-Article Constitution, compiled by Shotoku Taishi in A.D. 604. It is commonly spoken of as the first written law of Japan. But it is not a body of laws in the proper sense of the term. There are no penal provisions, nor is there any evidence of promulgation with Imperial sanction. The seventeen articles are simply moral maxims, based on the teachings of Buddhism and Confucianism, and appealing to the sanctions of conscience. Prince Shotoku, in his capacity of regent, compiled them and issued them to officials in the guise of "instructions." I. Harmony is to be valued, and the avoidance of wanton opposition honoured. All men are swayed by class feeling and few are intelligent. Hence some disobey their lords and fathers or maintain feuds with neighbouring villages. But when the high are harmonious and the low friendly, and when there is concord in the discussion of affairs, right views spontaneously find acceptance. What is there that cannot be then accomplished? II. Reverence sincerely the Three Treasures--Buddha, the Law, and the Priesthood--for these are the final refuge of the Four Generated Beings* and the supreme objects of faith in all countries. What man in what age can fail to revere this law? Few are utterly bad: they may be taught to follow it. But if they turn not to the Three Treasures, wherewithal shall their crookedness be made straight? *Beings produced in transmigration by the four processes of being born from eggs, from a womb, from fermentation, or from metamorphosis. III. When you receive the Imperial Commands fail not to obey scrupulously. The lord is Heaven; the vassal, Earth. Heaven overspreads; Earth upbears. When this is so, the four seasons follow their due course, and the powers of Nature develop their efficiency. If the Earth attempt to overspread, Heaven falls in ruin. Hence when the lord speaks, the vassal hearkens; when the superior acts, the inferior yields compliance. When, therefore, you receive an Imperial Command, fail not to carry it out scrupulously. If there be want or care in this respect, a catastrophe naturally ensues. IV. Ministers and functionaries should make decorous behavior their guiding principle, for decorous behavior is the main factor in governing the people. If superiors do not behave with decorum, inferiors are disorderly; if inferiors are wanting in proper behaviour, offences are inevitable. Thus it is that when lord and vassal behave with propriety, the distinctions of rank are not confused; and when the people behave with propriety, the government of the State proceeds of itself. V. Refraining from gluttony and abandoning covetous desires, deal impartially with the suits brought before you. Of complaints preferred by the people there are a thousand in one day: how many, then, will there be in a series of years? Should he that decides suits at law make gain his ordinary motive and hear causes with a view to receiving bribes, then will the suits of the rich man be like a stone flung into water,* while the plaints of the poor will resemble water cast on a stone. In such circumstances, the poor man will not know whither to betake himself, and the duty of a minister will not be discharged. *That is to say, they will encounter no opposition. VI. Chastise that which is evil and encourage that which is good. This was the excellent rule of antiquity. Conceal not, therefore, the good qualities of others, and fail not to correct that which is wrong when you see it. Flatterers and deceivers are a sharp weapon for the overthrow of the State, and a pointed sword for the destruction of the people. Sycophants are also fond, when they meet, of dilating to their superiors on the errors of their inferiors; to their inferiors, they censure the faults of their superiors. Men of this kind are all wanting in fidelity to their lord, and in benevolence towards the people. From such an origin great civil disturbances arise. VII. Let every man have his own charge, and let not the spheres of duty be confused. When wise men are entrusted with office, the sound of praise arises. If unprincipled men hold office, disasters and tumults are multiplied. In this world, few are born with knowledge: wisdom is the product of earnest meditation. In all things, whether great or small, find the right man, and they will surely be well managed: on all occasions, be they urgent or the reverse, meet with but a wise man and they will of themselves be amenable. In this way will the State be eternal and the Temples of the Earth and of Grain* will be free from danger. Therefore did the wise sovereigns of antiquity seek the man to fill the office, and not the office for the sake of the man. *A Chinese expression for the Imperial house. VIII. Let the ministers and functionaries attend the Court early in the morning, and retire late. The business of the State does not admit of remissness, and the whole day is hardly enough for its accomplishment. If, therefore, the attendance at Court is late, emergencies cannot be met: if officials retire soon, the work cannot be completed. IX. Good faith is the foundation of right. In everything let there be good faith, for in it there surely consists the good and the bad, success and failure. If the lord and the vassal observe good faith one with another, what is there which cannot be accomplished? If the lord and the vassal do not observe good faith towards one another, everything without exception ends in failure. X. Let us cease from wrath, and refrain from angry looks. Nor let us be resentful when others differ from us. For all men have hearts, and each heart has its own leanings. Their right is our wrong, and our right is their wrong. We are not unquestionably sages nor are they unquestionably fools. Both of us are simply ordinary men. How can anyone lay down a rule by which to distinguish right from wrong? For we are all, one with another, wise and foolish like a ring which has no end. Therefore, although others give way to anger, let us, on the contrary, dread our own faults, and though we alone may be in the right, let us follow the multitude and act like them. XI. Give clear appreciation to merit and demerit, and deal out to each its sure reward or punishment. In these days, reward does not attend upon merit, nor punishment upon crime. Ye high functionaries who have charge of public affairs, let it be your task to make clear rewards and punishments. XII. Let not the provincial authorities or the kuni no miyatsuko levy exactions on the people. In a country there are not two lords; the people have not two masters. The sovereign is the master of the people of the whole country. The officials to whom he gives charge are all his vassals. How can they, as well as the Government, presume to levy taxes on the people? XIII. Let all persons entrusted with office attend equally to their functions. Owing to illness or despatch on missions their work may sometimes be neglected. But whenever they are able to attend to business, let them be as accommodating as though they had cognizance of it from before, and let them not hinder public affairs on the score of not having had to do with them. XIV. Ministers and functionaries, be not envious. If we envy others, they, in turn, will envy us. The evils of envy know no limit. If others excel us in intelligence, it gives us no pleasure; if they surpass us in ability, we are envious. Therefore it is not until after the lapse of five hundred years that we at last meet with a wise man, and even in a thousand years we hardly obtain one sage. But if wise men and sages be not found, how shall the country be governed? XV. To turn away from that which is private and to set one's face towards that which is public this is the path of a minister. If a man is influenced by private motives, he will assuredly feel resentment; if he is influenced by resentment, he will assuredly fail to act harmoniously with others; if he fails to act harmoniously with others, he will assuredly sacrifice the public interest to his private feelings. When resentment arises, it interferes with order and is subversive of law. Therefore, in the first clause it was said that superiors and inferiors should agree together. The purport is the same as this. XVI. Let the employment of the people in forced labour be at seasonable times. This is an ancient and excellent rule. Let them be employed, therefore, in the winter months when they have leisure. But from spring to autumn, when they are engaged in agriculture or with the mulberry trees, the people should not be employed. For if they do not attend to agriculture, what will they have to eat? If they do not attend to the mulberry trees, what will they do for clothing? XVII. Decisions on important matters should not be rendered by one person alone: they should be discussed by many. But small matters being of less consequence, need not be consulted about by a number of people. It is only in the discussion of weighty affairs, when there is an apprehension of miscarriage, that matters should be arranged in concert with others so as to arrive at the right conclusion.* *The above is taken almost verbatim from Aston's translation of the Nihongi. For a document compiled at the beginning of the seventh century these seventeen ethical precepts merit much approbation. With the exception of the doctrine of expediency, enunciated at the close of the tenth article, the code of Shotoku might be taken for guide by any community in any age. But the prince as a moral reformer* cannot be credited with originality; his merit consists in having studied Confucianism and Buddhism intelligently. The political purport of his code is more remarkable. In the whole seventeen articles there is nothing to inculcate worship of the Kami or observance of Shinto rites. Again, whereas, according to the Japanese creed, the sovereign power is derived from the Imperial ancestor, the latter is nowhere alluded to. The seventh article makes the eternity of the State and the security of the Imperial house depend upon wise administration by well-selected officials, but says nothing of hereditary rights. How is such a vital omission to be interpreted, except on the supposition that Shotoku, who had witnessed the worst abuses incidental to the hereditary system of the uji, intended by this code to enter a solemn protest against that system? *It is a curious fact that tradition represents this prince as having been born at the door of a stable. Hence his original name, Umayado (Stable-door). Further, the importance attached to the people* is a very prominent feature of the code. Thus, in Article IV, it is stated that "when the people behave with propriety the government of the State proceeds of itself;" Article V speaks of "complaints preferred by the people;" Article VI refers to "the overthrow of the State" and "the destruction of the people;" Article VII emphasises "the eternity of the State;" that "the sovereign is the master of the people of the whole country;" that "the officials to whom he gives charge are all his vassals," and that these officials, whether miyatsuko or provincial authorities, must not "presume, as well as the Government, to levy taxes on the people." All those expressions amount to a distinct condemnation of the uji system, under which the only people directly subject to the sovereign were those of the minashiro, and those who had been naturalized or otherwise specially assigned, all the rest being practically the property of the uji, and the only lands paying direct taxes to the Throne were the domains of the miyake. *The word used is hyakusho, which ultimately came to be applied to farmers only. Forty-two years later (A.D. 646), the abolition of private property in persons and lands was destined to become the policy of the State, but its foundations seem to have been laid in Shotoku's time. It would be an error to suppose that the neglect of Shinto suggested by the above code was by any means a distinct feature of the era, or even a practice of the prince himself. Thus, an Imperial edict, published in the year 607, enjoined that there must be no remissness in the worship of the Kami, and that they should be sincerely reverenced by all officials, In the sequel of this edict Prince Shotoku himself, the o-omi, and a number of functionaries worshipped the Kami of heaven and of earth. In fact, Shotoku, for all his enthusiasm in the cause of Buddhism, seems to have shrunk from anything like bigoted exclusiveness. He is quoted* as saying: "The management of State affairs cannot be achieved unless it is based on knowledge, and the sources of knowledge are Confucianism, Buddhism, and Shinto."** He who inclines to one of these three, must study the other two also; for what one knows seems reasonable, but that of which one is ignorant appears unreasonable. Therefore an administrator of public affairs should make himself acquainted with all three and should not affect one only, for such partiality signifies maladministration. *In the Sankyo-ron. **The order of this enumeration is significant. DEATH OF SHOTOKU TAISHI Prince Shotoku died in the year 621. The Records do not relate anything of his illness: they say merely that he foresaw the day and hour of his own death, and they say also that when the Buddhist priest, Hyecha of Koma, who had instructed the prince in the "inner doctrine," learned of his decease, he also announced his determination to die on the same day of the same month in the following year so as "to meet the prince in the Pure Land and, together with him, pass through the metempsychosis of all living creatures." The last months of Shotoku's life were devoted to compiling, in concert with the o-omi Umako, "a history of the Emperors; a history of the country, and the original record of the omi, the muraji, the tomo no miyatsuko, the kuni no miyatsuko, the 180 be, and the free subjects." This, the first Japanese historical work, was completed in the year 620. It was known afterwards as the Kujihongi, and twenty-five years later (645) when--as will presently be seen--the execution of the Soga chief took place, the book was partially consumed by fire. Yet that it had not suffered beyond the possibility of reconstruction, and that it survived in the Ko-jiki was never doubted until the days (1730-1801) of "the prince of Japanese literati," Motoori Norinaga. The question of authenticity is still unsettled. Shotoku's name is further connected with calendar making, though no particulars of his work in that line are on record. Japanese historians speak of him as the father of his country's civilization. They say that he breathed life into the nation; that he raised the status of the Empire; that he laid the foundations of Japanese learning; that he fixed the laws of decorum; that he imparted a new character to foreign relations, and that he was an incarnation of the Buddha, specially sent to convert Japan. The Chronicles say that at his death nobles and commoners alike, "the old, as if they had lost a dear child, the young, as if they had lost a beloved parent, filled the ways with the sound of their lamenting." THE SPREAD OF BUDDHISM AND THE CONTROL OF ITS PRIESTS The roots of Japanese Buddhism were watered with blood, as have been the roots of so many religions in so many countries. From the day of the destruction of the military party under the o-muraji Moriya, the foreign faith flourished. Then--as has been shown--were built the first two great temples, and then, for the first time, a Buddhist place of worship was endowed* with rich estates and an ample number of serfs to till them. Thenceforth the annals abound with references to the advent of Buddhist priests from Korea, bearing relics or images. The omi and the muraji vied with each other in erecting shrines, and in 605, we find the Empress Suiko commanding all high dignitaries of State to make 16-foot images of copper** and of embroidery. Buddhist festivals were instituted in 606, and their magnificence, as compared with the extreme simplicity of the Shinto rites, must have deeply impressed the people. In a few decades Buddhism became a great social power, and since its priests and nuns were outside the sphere of ordinary administration, the question of their control soon presented itself. It became pressing in 623 when a priest killed his grandfather with an axe. The Empress Suiko, who was then on the throne, would have subjected the whole body of priests and nuns to judicial examination, a terrible ordeal in those days of torture; but at the instance of a Korean priest, officials corresponding to bishops (sojo), high priests (sozu) and abbots (hotto) were appointed from the ranks of Buddhism, and the duty of prescribing law and order was entrusted to them. This involved registration of all the priesthood, and it was thus found (623) that the temples numbered 46; the priests 816, and the nuns 569. *The endowment of religious edifices was not new in Japan. A conspicuous instance was in A.D. 487, when rice-fields were dedicated to the Moon god and to the ancestor of the Sun goddess. **The metal employed was of gold and copper; in the proportion of one part of the former to 430 of the latter. It is related that when these images were completed, the temple door proved too low to admit them, and the artisan--Tori the Saddle-maker--whose ingenuity overcame the difficulty without pulling down the door, received large honour and reward. INTERCOURSE WITH CHINA That not a few Chinese migrated to Japan in remote times is clear. The Records show that in the year A.D. 540, during the reign of Kimmei, immigrants from Tsin and Han were assembled and registered, when their number was found to be 7053 households. The terms "Tsin" and "Han" refer to Chinese dynasties of those names, whose sway covered the period between 255 B.C. and A.D. 419. Hence the expression is too vague to suggest any definite idea of the advent of those settlers; but the story of some, who came through Korea, has already been traced. It was in A.D. 552, during the reign of this same Kimmei, that Buddhism may be said to have found a home in Japan. China was then under the sceptre of the Liang dynasty, whose first sovereign, Wu, had been such an enthusiastic Buddhist that he abandoned the throne for a monastery.. Yet China took no direct part in introducing the Indian faith to Japan, nor does it appear that from the fourth century A.D. down to the days of Shotoku Taishi, Japan thought seriously of having recourse to China as the fountain-head of the arts, the crafts, the literature, and the moral codes which she borrowed during the period from Korea. Something of this want of enterprise may have been attributable to the unsettled state of China's domestic politics; something to the well-nigh perpetual troubles between Japan and Korea--troubles which not only taxed Japan's resources but also blocked the sole route by which China was then accessible, namely, the route through Korea. But when the Sui dynasty (A.D. 589-619) came to the Chinese throne, its founder, the Emperor Wen, on the one hand, devoted himself to encouraging literature and commerce; and on the other, threw Korea and Japan into a ferment by invading the former country at the head of a huge army.* This happened when Shotoku Taishi was in his sixteenth year, and though the great expedition proved abortive for aggressive purposes, it brought China into vivid prominence, and when news reached Japan of extensions of the Middle Kingdom's territories under Wen's successor, the Japanese Crown Prince determined to open direct intercourse with the Sui Court; not only for literary and religious purposes, but also to study the form of civilization which the whole Orient then revered. This resolve found practical expression in the year 607, when the omi Imoko was sent as envoy to the Sui Court, a Chinese of the Saddlers' Corporation, by name Fukuri, being attached to him in the capacity of interpreter. China received these men hospitably and sent an envoy of her own, with a suite of twelve persons, to the Yamato sovereign in the following year. *Reputed to have mustered 300,000 strong. The annals contain an instructive description of the ceremony connected with the reception of this envoy in Japan. He was met in Tsukushi (Kyushu) by commissioners of welcome, and was conducted thence by sea to Naniwa (now Osaka), where, at the mouth of the river, thirty "gaily-decked" boats awaited him, and he and his suite were conducted to a residence newly built for the occasion. Six weeks later they entered the capital, after a message of welcome had been delivered to them by a muraji. Seventy-five fully caparisoned horses were placed at their disposal, and after a further rest of nine days, the envoy's official audience took place. He did not see the Empress' face. Her Majesty was secluded in the hall of audience to which only the principal ministers were admitted. Hence the ceremony may be said to have taken place in the court-yard. There the gifts brought by the envoy were ranged, and the envoy himself, introduced by two high officials, advanced to the front of the court, made obeisance twice, and, kneeling, declared the purport of his mission. The despatch carried by him ran as follows: The Emperor greets the sovereign of Wa.* Your envoy and his suite have arrived and have given us full information. We, by the grace of heaven, rule over the universe. It is Our desire to diffuse abroad our civilizing influence so as to cover all living things, and Our sentiment of loving nurture knows no distinction of distance. Now We learn that Your Majesty, dwelling separately beyond the sea, bestows the blessings of peace on Your subjects; that there is tranquillity within Your borders, and that the customs and manners are mild. With the most profound loyalty You have sent Us tribute from afar, and We are delighted at this admirable token of Your sincerity. Our health is as usual, notwithstanding the increasing heat of the weather. Therefore We have sent Pei Shieh-ching, Official Entertainer of the Department charged with the Ceremonial for the Reception of Foreign Ambassadors, and his suite, to notify to you the preceding. We also transmit to you the products of which a list is given separately.** *It has already been stated that Japan was generally known in China and Korea by the term "Wa," which, being written with an ideograph signifying "dwarf" or "subservient," was disliked by the Japanese. The envoy sent from Yamato in 607 was instructed to ask for the substitution of Nippon (Place of Sunrise), but the Sui sovereign declined to make the change and Japan did not receive the designation "Nippon" in China until the period Wu Teh (A.D. 618-626) of the Tang dynasty. It is not certain at what time exactly the Japanese themselves adopted this nomenclature, but it certainly was before the seventh century. **Translated by Aston in the Nihongi. When the reading of the document was concluded, a high noble stepped forward, took it from the envoy's hands and advanced with it towards the audience-hall, from which another noble came out to meet him, received the letter, deposited it on a table before the chief entrance, and then reported the facts to the Empress. This ended the ceremony. The haughty condescension of the Chinese despatch does not appear to have offended the Japanese, nor did they cavil at the omission of one important ideograph from the title applied to their Empress. China's greatness seems to have been fully recognized. When, a month later, the envoy took his departure, the same Imoko was deputed to accompany him, bearing a despatch* in which, to China's simple "greeting," Japan returned a "respectful address;" to China's expression of ineffable superiority Japan replied that the coming of the embassy had "dissolved her long-harboured cares;" and to China's grandiloquent prolixity Japan made answer with half a dozen brief lines. Imoko was now accompanied by eight students four of literature and four of religion. Thus was established, and for long afterwards maintained, a bridge over which the literature, arts, ethics, and philosophies of China were copiously imported into Japan. *In this despatch Japan called herself "the place where the sun comes forth," and designated China as "the place where the sun sets." The idea, doubtless, was merely to distinguish between east and west, but the Sui sovereign resented the diction of this "barbarian letter." RANKS It will be recognized by considering the uji system that while many titles existed in Japan, there was practically no promotion. A man might be raised to uji rank. Several instances of that kind have been noted, especially in the case of foreign artists or artisans migrating to the island from Korea or China. But nothing higher was within reach, and for the hereditary Kami of an uji no reward offered except a gift of land, whatever services he might render to the State. Such a system could not but tend to perfunctoriness in the discharge of duty. Perception of this defect induced the regent, Shotoku, to import from China (A.D. 603) the method of official promotion in vogue under the Sui dynasty and to employ caps as insignia of rank.* Twelve of such grades were instituted, and the terminology applied to them was based on the names of six moral qualities--virtue, benevolence, propriety, faith, justice, and knowledge--each comprising two degrees, "greater" and "lesser." The caps were made of sarcenet, a distinctive colour for each grade, the cap being gathered upon the crown in the shape of a bag with a border attached. The three highest ranks of all were not included in this category. *In China to-day the distinguishing mark is a button of varying material fastened on the top of the cap. THE EMPEROR JOMEI AND THE EMPRESS KOGYOKU In the year 626, the omnipotent Soga chief, the o-omi Umako, died. His brief eulogy in the Chronicles is that he had "a talent for military tactics," was "gifted with eloquence," and deeply reverenced "the Three Precious Things" (Buddha, Dharma, and Samgha). In the court-yard of his residence a pond was dug with a miniature island in the centre, and so much attention did this innovation attract that the great minister was popularly called Shima (island) no o-omi. His office of o-omi was conferred on his son, Emishi, who behaved with even greater arrogance and arbitrariness than his father had shown. The Empress Suiko died in 628, and the question of the accession at once became acute. Two princes were eligible; Tamura, grandson of the Emperor Bidatsu, and Yamashiro, son of Shotoku Taishi. Prince Yamashiro was a calm, virtuous, and faithful man. He stated explicitly that the Empress, on the eve of her demise, had nominated him to be her successor. But Prince Tamura had the support of the o-omi, Emishi, whose daughter he admired. No one ventured to oppose the will of the Soga chieftain except Sakaibe no Marise, and he with his son were ruthlessly slain by the orders of the o-omi. Prince Tamura then (629) ascended the throne--he is known in history as Jomei--but Soga no Emishi virtually ruled the empire. Jomei died in 641, after a reign of twelve years, and by the contrivance of Emishi the sceptre was placed in the hands of an Empress, Kogyoku, a great-granddaughter of the Emperor Bidatsu, the claims of the son of Shotoku Taishi being again ignored. One of the first acts of the new sovereign was to raise Emishi to the rank held by his father, the rank of o-omi, and there then came into prominence Emishi's son, Iruka, who soon wielded power greater than even that possessed by his father. Iruka's administration, however, does not appear to have been altogether unwholesome. The Chronicles say that "thieves and robbers were in dread of him, and that things dropped on the highway were not picked up." But Emishi rendered himself conspicuous chiefly by aping Imperial state. He erected an ancestral temple; organized performances of a Chinese dance (yatsura) which was essentially an Imperial pageant; levied imposts on the people at large for the construction of tombs--one for himself, another for his son, Iruka--which were openly designated misasagi (Imperial sepulchres); called his private residence mikado (sacred gate); conferred on his children the title of miko (august child), and exacted forced labour from all the people of the Kamutsumiya estate, which belonged to the Shotoku family. This last outrage provoked a remonstrance from Shotoku Taishi's daughter, and she was thenceforth reckoned among the enemies of the Soga. One year later (643), this feud ended in bloodshed. Emishi's usurpation of Imperial authority was carried so far that he did not hesitate to confer the rank of o-omi on his son, Iruka, and upon the latter's younger brother also. Iruka now conceived the design of placing upon the throne Prince Furubito, a son of the Emperor Jomei. It will be remembered that the Soga chief, Emishi, had lent his omnipotent influence to secure the sceptre for Jomei, because of the latter's affection for Emishi's daughter. This lady, having become one of Jomei's consorts, had borne to him Prince Furubito, who was consequently Iruka's uncle. Iruka determined that the prince should succeed the Empress Kogyoku. To that end it was necessary to remove the Shotoku family, against which, as shown above, the Soga had also a special grudge. Not even the form of devising a protest was observed. Orders were simply issued to a military force that the Shotoku house should be extirpated. Its representative was Prince Yamashiro, the same who had effaced himself so magnanimously at the time of Jomei's accession. He behaved with ever greater nobility on this occasion. Having by a ruse escaped from the Soga troops, he was urged by his followers to flee to the eastern provinces, and there raising an army, to march back to the attack of the Soga. There is reason to think that this policy would have succeeded. But the prince replied: "I do not wish it to be said by after generations that, for my sake, anyone has mourned the loss of a father or a mother. Is it only when one has conquered in battle that one is to be called a hero? Is he not also a hero who has made firm his country at the expense of his own life?" He then returned to the temple at Ikaruga, which his father had built, and being presently besieged there by the Soga forces, he and the members of his family, twenty-three in all, committed suicide. This tragedy shocked even Emishi. He warned Iruka against the peril of such extreme measures. ENGRAVING: FUJIWARA KAMATAKI There now appears a statesman destined to leave his name indelibly written on the pages of Japanese history, Kamatari, muraji of the Nakatomi-uji. The Nakatomi's functions were specially connected with Shinto rites, and Kamatari must be supposed to have entertained little good-will towards the Soga, who were the leaders of the Buddhist faction, and whose feud with the military party sixty-seven years previously had involved the violent death of Katsumi, then (587) muraji of the Nakatomi. Moreover, Kamatari makes his first appearance in the annals as chief Shinto official. Nevertheless, it is not apparent that religious zeal or personal resentment was primarily responsible for Kamatari's determination to compass the ruin of the Soga. Essentially an upright man and a loyal subject, he seems to have been inspired by a frank resolve to protect the Throne against schemes of lawless ambitions, unconscious that his own family, the Fujiwara, were destined to repeat on a still larger scale the same abuses. The succession may be said to have had three aspirants at that time: first, Prince Karu, younger brother of the Empress Kogyoku; secondly, Prince Naka, her son, and thirdly, Prince Furubito, uncle of Soga no Iruka. The last was, of course, excluded from Kamatari's calculations, and as between the first two he judged it wiser that Prince Karu should have precedence in the succession, Prince Naka not being old enough. The conspiracy that ensued presents no specially remarkable feature. Kamatari and Prince Naka became acquainted through an incident at the game of football, when the prince, having accidently kicked off his shoe, Kamatari picked it up and restored it to him on bended knee. The two men, in order to find secret opportunities for maturing their plans, became fellow students of the doctrines of Chow and Confucius under the priest Shoan, who had been among the eight students that accompanied the Sui envoy on his return to China in the year 608. Intimate relations were cemented with a section of the Soga through Kurayamada, whose daughter Prince Naka married, and trustworthy followers having been attached to the prince, the conspirators watched for an occasion. It was not easy to find one. The Soga mansion, on the eastern slope of Mount Unebi, was a species of fortress, surrounded by a moat and provided with an armoury having ample supply of bows and arrows. Emishi, the o-omi, always had a guard of fifty soldiers when he went abroad, and Iruka, his son, wore a sword "day and night." Nothing offered except to convert the palace itself into a place of execution. On the twelfth day of the sixth month, 645, the Empress held a Court in the great hall of audience to receive memorials and tribute from the three kingdoms of Korea. All present, except her Majesty and Iruka, were privy to the plot. Iruka having been beguiled into laying aside his sword, the reading of the memorials was commenced by Kurayamada, and Prince Naka ordered the twelve gates to be closed simultaneously. At that signal, two swordsmen should have advanced and fallen upon Iruka; but they showed themselves so timorous that Prince Naka himself had to lead them to the attack. Iruka, severely wounded, struggled to the throne and implored for succour and justice; but when her Majesty in terror asked what was meant, Prince Naka charged Iruka with attempting to usurp the sovereignty. The Empress, seeing that her own son led the assassins, withdrew at once, and the work of slaughtering Iruka was completed, his corpse being thrown into the court-yard, where it lay covered with straw matting. Prince Naka and Karaatari had not been so incautious as to take a wide circle of persons into their confidence. But they were immediately joined by practically all the nobility and high officials, and the o-omi's troops having dispersed without striking a blow, Emishi and his people were all executed. The Empress Kogyoku at once abdicated in favour of her brother, Prince Kara, her son, Prince Naka, being nominated Prince Imperial. Her Majesty had worn the purple for only three years. All this was in accord with Kamatari's carefully devised plans. They were epoch making. RELATIONS WITH KOREA DURING THE SEVEN REIGNS FROM KIMMEI TO KOGYOKU (A.D. 540-645) The story of Japan's relations with Korea throughout the period of over a century, from the accession of Kimmei (540) to the abdication of Kogyoku (645), is a series of monotonously similar chapters, the result for Japan being that she finally lost her position at Mimana. There was almost perpetual fighting between the petty kingdoms which struggled for mastery in the peninsula, and Kudara, always nominally friendly to Japan, never hesitated to seek the latter's assistance against Shiragi and Koma. To these appeals the Yamato Court lent a not-unready ear, partly because they pleased the nation's vanity, but mainly because Kudara craftily suggested danger to Mimana unless Japan asserted herself with arms. But when it came to actually rendering material aid, Japan did nothing commensurate with her gracious demeanour. She seems to have been getting weary of expensive interference, and possibly it may also have occurred to her that no very profound sympathy was merited by a sovereign who, like the King of Kudara, preferred to rely on armed aid from abroad rather than risk the loss of his principality to his own countrymen. At all events, in answer to often iterated entreaties from Kudara, the Yamato Court did not make any practical response until the year 551, when it sent five thousand koku of barley-seed (?), followed, two years later, by two horses, two ships, fifty bows with arrows, and--a promise. Kudara was then ruled by a very enterprising prince (Yo-chang). Resolving to strike separately at his enemies, Koma and Shiragi, he threw himself with all his forces against Koma and gained a signal victory (553). Then, at length, Japan was induced to assist. An omi was despatched (554) to the peninsula with a thousand soldiers, as many horses and forty ships. Shiragi became at once the objective of the united forces of Kudara and Japan. A disastrous defeat resulted for the assailants. The Kudara army suffered almost complete extermination, losing nearly thirty thousand men, and history is silent as to the fate of the omi's contingent. Nevertheless the fear of Japanese vengeance induced Shiragi to hold its hand, and, in the year 561, an attempt was made twice to renew friendly relations with the Yamato Court by means of tribute-bearing envoys. Japan did not repel these overtures, but she treated the envoy of the victorious Shiragi with less respect than that extended to the envoy of the vanquished Kudara. In the spring of the following year (562), Shiragi invaded Mimana, destroyed the Japanese station there and overran the whole region (ten provinces). No warning had reached Japan. She was taken entirely unawares, and she regarded it as an act of treachery on Shiragi's part to have transformed itself suddenly from a tribute-bearing friend into an active enemy. Strangely enough, the King of Shiragi does not appear to have considered that his act precluded a continuance of friendly relations with the Yamato Court. Six months after his invasion of Mimana he renewed the despatch of envoys to Japan, and it was not until their arrival in Yamato that they learned Japan's mood. Much to the credit of the Yamato Court, it did not wreak vengeance on these untimely envoys, but immediately afterwards an armed expedition was despatched to call Shiragi to account. The forces were divided into two corps, one being ordered to march under Ki no Omaro northwest from Mimana and effect a junction with Kudara; the other, under Kawabe no Nie, was to move eastward against Shiragi. This scheme became known to the Shiragi generals owing to the seizure of a despatch intended for Kudara. They attempted to intercept Omaro's corps, but were signally defeated. The movement under Kawabe no Nie fared differently. Japanese annals attempt to palliate his discomfiture by a story about the abuse of a flag of truce, but the fact seems to have been that Kawabe no Nie was an incompetent and pusillanimous captain. He and his men were all killed or taken prisoners, the only redeeming feature being the intrepidity of a Japanese officer, Tsugi no Ikina, who, with his wife and son, endured to be tortured and killed rather than utter an insult against their country. It is difficult to interpret the sequence of events after this catastrophe. Japan immediately despatched a strong army--from thirty to forty thousand men--but instead of directing it against Shiragi, sent it to the attack of Koma, under advice of the King of Kudara. Possibly the idea may have been to crush Koma, and having thus isolated Shiragi, to deal with the latter subsequently. If so, the plan never matured. Koma, indeed, suffered a signal defeat at the hands of the Japanese, Satehiko, muraji of the Otomo, but Shiragi remained unmolested, and nothing accrued to Japan except some attractive spoils--curtains of seven-fold woof, an iron house, two suits of armour, two gold-mounted swords, three copper belts with chasings, two variously coloured flags, and two beautiful women. Even as to the ultimate movements of Satehiko and his army the annals are silent. Things remained thus for nine years. Tribute-bearing envoys arrived at intervals from Koma, but with Shiragi there was no communication. At last, in 571, an official was sent to demand from Shiragi an explanation of the reasons for the destruction of Mimana. The intention may have been to follow up this formality with the despatch of an effective force, but within a month the Emperor Kimmei died. On his death-bed he is said to have taken the Prince Imperial--Bidatsu--by the hand and said: "That which comes after devolves on thee. Thou must make war on Shiragi and establish Mimana as a feudal dependency, renewing a relationship like that of husband and wife, just as it was in former days. If this be done, in my grave I shall rest content." Twelve years passed before Bidatsu took any step to comply with this dying injunction. During that long interval there were repeated envoys from Koma, now a comparatively feeble principality, and Shiragi made three unsuccessful overtures to renew amicable relations. At length, in 583, the Emperor announced his intention of carrying out the last testament of his predecessor. To that end his Majesty desired to consult with a Japanese, Nichira, who had served for many years at the Kudara Court and was thoroughly familiar with the conditions existing in Korea. Nichira came to Japan, but the annals indicate that his counsels were directed wholly against Kudara, which was ostensibly on the friendliest terms with Japan, and not at all against Shiragi, whose punishment was alone in question. Besides, instead of advising an appeal to arms, he urged the necessity of developing Japan's material resources, so that her neighbours might learn to count her formidable and her people might acquire ardour in her cause. Whether the wisdom of this advice appealed to Bidatsu, or whether the disputes consequent upon the introduction of Buddhism paralyzed his capacity for oversea enterprise, he made no further attempt to resolve the Korean problem. In the year 591, the ill-fated Emperor Sushun conceived the idea of sending a large army to re-establish his country's prestige in the peninsula, but his own assassination intervened, and for the space of nine years the subject was not publicly revived. Then, in 600, the Empress Suiko being on the throne, a unique opportunity presented itself. War broke out between Shiragi and Mimana. The Yamato Court at once despatched a force of ten thousand men to Mimana's aid, and Shiragi, having suffered a signal defeat, made act of abject submission, restoring to Mimana six of its original provinces and promising solemnly to abstain from future hostilities. The Japanese committed the error of crediting Shiragi's sincerity. They withdrew their forces, but no sooner had their ships passed below the horizon than Shiragi once more invaded Mimana. It seemed at this juncture as though the stars in their courses fought against Japan. Something, indeed, must be ascribed to her own methods of warfare which appear to have been overmerciful for the age. Thus, with the bitter experience of Shiragi's treachery fresh in her recollection, she did not execute a Shiragi spy seized in Tsushima, but merely banished him to the province of Kozuke. Still, she must be said to have been the victim of special ill-fortune when an army of twenty-five thousand men, assembled in Tsukushi for the invasion of Shiragi, was twice prevented from sailing by unforseeable causes, one being the death of Prince Kume, its commander-in-chief; the other, the death of the consort of his successor, Prince Taema.* *Early Japanese history furnishes several examples showing that wives often accompanied their husbands on campaigns. These things happened in the year 603, and for the next five years all relations with Korea seem to have been severed. Then (608) a brief paragraph in the Chronicles records that "many persons from Shiragi came to settle in Japan." It is certainly eloquent of the Yamato Court's magnanimity that it should have welcomed immigrants from a country with which it was virtually at war. Two years later (610), Shiragi and Mimana, acting in concert, sent envoys who were received with all the pomp and ceremony prescribed by Shotoku Taishi's code of decorum. Apparently this embassy was allowed to serve as a renewal of friendly relations, but it is not on record that the subject of former dispute was alluded to in any way, nor was the old-time habit of annual tribute-bearing envoys revived. Visitors from Korea were, indeed, few and far-between, as when, in 616, Shiragi sent a golden image of Buddha, two feet high, whose effulgence worked wonders; or in 618, when an envoy from Korea conveyed the important tidings that the invasion of the peninsula by the Sui sovereign, Yang, at the head of three hundred thousand men, had been beaten back. This envoy carried to Yamato presents in the form of two captive Chinese, a camel, and a number of flutes, cross-bows, and catapults (of which instruments of war mention is thus made for the first time in Japanese history). The Yamato Court had evidently now abandoned all idea of punishing Shiragi or restoring the station at Mimana; while Shiragi, on her side, was inclined to maintain friendly relations though she did not seek frequent intercourse. After an interval of five years' aloofness, she presented (621) a memorial on an unrecorded subject, and in the following year, she presented, once more, a gold image of Buddha, a gold pagoda, and a number of baptismal flags.* But Shiragi was nothing if not treacherous, and, even while making these valuable presents to the Yamato Court, and while despatching envoys in company with those from Mimana, she was planning another invasion of the latter. It took place that very year (622). When the news reached Japan, the Empress Suiko would have sent an envoy against Shiragi, but it was deemed wiser to employ diplomacy in the first place, for the principalities of Korea were now in close relations with the great Tang dynasty of China and might even count on the latter's protection in case of emergency. *"The Buddhist baptism consists in washing the top of the head with perfumed water. The baptismal flags were so called because they had the same efficiency, raising those who passed under them, first, to the rank of Tchakra Radja, and, ultimately, to that of a Buddha." (Aston.) Two plenipotentiaries were therefore sent from Japan. Their mission proved very simple. Shiragi acquiesced in all their proposals and pledged herself once for all to recognize Mimana as a dependency of Japan. But after the despatch of these plenipotentiaries, the war-party in Japan had gained the ascendancy, and just as the plenipotentiaries, accompanied by tribute-bearing envoys from Shiragi and Mimana, were about to embark for Japan, they were astounded by the apparition of a great flotilla carrying thousands of armed men. The exact dimensions of this force are not on record: it is merely described as having consisted of "several tens of thousands of men," but as it was commanded by two generals of the first rank and seven of the second, it must have been a very formidable army, and nothing is more remarkable about it than that it was assembled and embarked in the space of a few weeks. Shiragi did not attempt to resist. The King tendered his submission and it was accepted without a blow having been struck. But there were no tangible results. Japan did not attempt to re-establish her miyake in Mimana, and Shiragi refrained from sending envoys to Yamato except on special occasions. Friendly, though not intimate, relations were still maintained with the three kingdoms of Korea, mainly because the peninsula long continued to be the avenue by which the literature, arts, and crafts of China under, the Tang dynasty found their way to Japan. Since, however, the office in Mimana no longer existed to transact business connected with this intercourse, and since Yamato was too distant from the port of departure and arrival--Anato, now Nagato--a new office was established in Tsukushi (Kyushu) under the name of the Dazai-fu. LESSONS TAUGHT BY THE INTERCOURSE BETWEEN JAPAN AND KOREA The record of Japan's relations with Korea, so far as it has been carried above--namely, to the close of the Empress Kogyoku's reign (A.D. 645)--discloses in the Korean people a race prone to self-seeking feuds, never reluctant to import foreign aid into domestic quarrels, and careless of the obligations of good faith. In the Japanese we see a nation magnanimous and trustful but of aggressive tendencies. IMPORTATION OF CHINESE CIVILIZATION Although Japan's military influence on the neighbouring continent waned perceptibly from the reign of Kimmei (540-571) onwards, a stream of Chinese civilization flowed steadily into the Island Empire from the west, partly coming direct from the fountain head; partly filtering, in a more or less impure form, through Korean channels. Many of the propagandists of this civilization remained permanently in Japan, where they received a courteous welcome, being promoted to positions of trust and admitted to the ranks of the nobility. Thus a book (the Seishi-roku), published in 814, which has been aptly termed the "peerage of Japan," shows that, at that time, nearly one-third of the Japanese nobility traced their descent to Chinese or Korean ancestors in something like equal proportions. The numbers are, China, 162 families; Kudara, 104; Koma, 50; Mimana, 9; Shiragi, 9; doubtful, 47. Total, 381 Chinese and Korean families out of a grand aggregate of 1177. But many of the visitors returned home after having sojourned for a time as teachers of literature, art, or industrial science. This system of brief residence for purposes of instruction seems to have been inaugurated during the reign of Keitai, in the year 513, when Tan Yang-i, a Chinese expounder of the five classics, was brought to Yamato by envoys from Kudara as a gift valued enough to purchase political intervention for the restoration of lost territory; and when, three years later, a second embassy from the same place, coming to render thanks for effective assistance in the matter of the territory, asked that Tan might be allowed to return in exchange for another Chinese pundit, Ko An-mu. The incident suggests how great was the value attached to erudition even in those remote days. Yet this promising precedent was not followed for nearly forty years, partly owing to the unsettled nature of Japan's relations. with Korea. After the advent of Buddhism (552), however, Chinese culture found new expansion eastward. In 554, there arrived from Kudara another Chinese literatus, and, by desire of the Emperor, Kimmei, a party of experts followed shortly afterwards, including a man learned in the calendar, a professor of divination, a physician, two herbalists, and four musicians. The record says that these men, who, with the exception of the Chinese doctor of literature, were all Koreans, took the place of an equal number of their countrymen who had resided in Japan for some years. Thenceforth such incidents were frequent. Yet, at first, a thorough knowledge of the ideographic script seems to have spread very slowly in Japan, for in 572, when the Emperor Bidatsu sought an interpretation of a memorial presented by the Koma sovereign, only one man among all the scribes (fumi-bito), and he (Wang Sin-i) of Chinese origin, was found capable of reading the document. But from the accession of the Empress Suiko (593), the influence of Shotoku Taishi made itself felt in every branch of learning, and thenceforth China and Japan may be said to have stood towards each other in the relation of teacher and pupil. Literature, the ideographic script,* calendar compiling, astronomy, geography, divination, magic, painting, sculpture, architecture, tile-making, ceramics, the casting of metal, and other crafts were all cultivated assiduously under Chinese and Korean instruction. In architecture, all substantial progress must be attributed to Buddhism, for it was by building temples and pagodas that Japanese ideas of dwelling-houses were finally raised above the semi-subterranean type, and to the same influence must be attributed signal and rapid progress in the art of interior decoration. The style of architecture adopted in temples was a mixture of the Chinese and the Indian. Indeed, it is characteristic of this early epoch that traces of the architectural and glyptic fashions of the land where Buddhism was born showed themselves much more conspicuously than they did in later eras; a fact which illustrates Japan's constant tendency to break away from originals by modifying them in accordance with her own ideals. *The oldest ideographic inscription extant in Japan is carved on a stone in Iyo province dating from A.D. 596. Next in point of antiquity is an inscription on the back of an image of Yakushi which stands in the temple Horyu-ji. It is ascribed to the year A.D. 607. ENGRAVING: THE KONDO, HALL or THE HORYU-JI TEMPLE (Ji means temple) None of the religious edifices then constructed has survived in its integrity to the present day. One, however,--the Horyu-ji, at Nara--since all its restorations have been in strict accord with their originals, is believed to be a true representative of the most ancient type. It was founded by Shotoku Taishi and completed in 607. At the time of its construction, this Horyu-ji was the chief academy of Buddhist teaching, and it therefore received the name of Gakumon-ji (Temple of Learning). Among its treasures is an image of copper and gold which was cast by the Korean artist, Tori--commonly called Tori Busshi, or Tori the image-maker--to order of Shotoku; and there is mural decoration from the brush of a Korean priest, Doncho. This building shows that already in the seventh century an imposing type of wooden edifice had been elaborated--an edifice differing from those of later epochs in only a few features; as, slight inequality in the scantling of its massive pillars; comparatively gentle pitch of roof; abnormally overhanging eaves, and shortness of distance between each storey of the pagoda. These sacred buildings were roofed with tiles, and were therefore called kawara-ya (tiled house) by way of distinction, for all private dwellings, the Imperial palace not excepted, continued to have thatched roofs in the period now under consideration,* or at best roofs covered with boards. The annals show that when the Empress Kogyoku built the Asuka palace, timber was obtained from several provinces; labour was requisitioned throughout a district extending from Omi in the east to Aki in the west; the floor of the "great hall"** was paved with tiles; there were twelve gates, three on each of the four sides, and the whole was in the architectural style of the Tang dynasty. Yet for the roofs, boards alone were used. *Down to A.D. 645.1 **It was here that the assassination of Soga no Iruka took place. PAINTING Little is recorded about the progress of painting in this epoch. It has been shown above that during Yuryaku's reign pictorial experts crossed to Japan from Korea and from China. The Chronicles add that, in A.D. 604, when the Empress Suiko occupied the throne, two schools of painters were established, namely, the Kibumi and the Yamashiro. It is elsewhere explained that the business of those artists was to paint Buddhist pictures, the special task of the Kibumi men being to illuminate scrolls of the Sutras. We read also that, in 603, on the occasion of the dedication of the temple of Hachioka, Prince Shotoku painted banners as offerings. These had probably the same designs as those spoken of a century later (710) when, at a ceremony in the great hall of the palace, there were set up flags emblazoned with a crow,* the sun, an azure dragon, a red bird, and the moon, all which designs were of Chinese origin. Shotoku Taishi himself is traditionally reported to have been a skilled painter and sculptor, and several of his alleged masterpieces are preserved to this day, but their authenticity is disputed. *The three-legged crow of the sun. AGRICULTURE In the field of agriculture this epoch offers nothing more remarkable than the construction of nine reservoirs for irrigation purposes and the digging of a large canal in Yamashiro province. It is also thought worthy of historical notice that a Korean prince unsuccessfully attempted to domesticate bees on a Japanese mountain. COMMERCE Considerable progress seems to have been made in tradal matters. Markets were opened at several places in the interior, and coastwise commerce developed so much that, in A.D. 553, it was found expedient to appoint an official for the purpose of numbering and registering the vessels thus employed. The Chinese settler, Wang Sin-i, who has already been spoken of as the only person able to decipher a Korean memorial, was given the office of fune no osa (chief of the shipping bureau) and granted the title of fune no fubito (registrar of vessels). Subsequently, during the reign of Jomei (629-641), an akinai-osa (chief of trade) was appointed in the person of Munemaro, whose father, Kuhi, had brought scales and weights from China during the reign of Sushun (558-592), and this system was formally adopted in the days of Jomei (629-641). There had not apparently been any officially recognized weights and measures in remote antiquity. The width of the hand (ta or tsuka) and the spread of the arms (hiro) were the only dimensions employed. By and by the Korean shaku (foot), which corresponds to 1.17 shaku of the present day, came into use. In Kenso's time (485-487) there is mention of a measure of rice being sold for a piece of silver, and the Emperor Kimmei (540-571) is recorded to have given 1000 koku of seed-barley to the King of Kudara. But it is supposed that the writer of the Chronicles, in making these entries, projected the terminology of his own time into the previous centuries. There were neither coins nor koku in those eras. COSTUME AND COIFFURE Up to the time (A.D. 603) of the institution of caps as marks of rank, men were in the habit of dividing their hair in the centre and tying it above the ears in a style called mizura. But such a fashion did not accord with the wearing of caps which were gathered up on the crown in the shape of a bag. Hence men of rank took to binding the hair in a queue on the top of the head. The old style was continued, however, by men having no rank and by youths. A child's hair was looped on the temples in imitation of the flower of a gourd--hence called hisago-bana--and women wore their tresses hanging free. The institution of caps interfered also with the use of hairpins, which were often made of gold and very elaborate. These now came to be thrust, not directly into the hair, but through the cord employed to tie the cap above. It is recorded that, in the year 611, when the Empress Suiko and her Court went on a picnic, the colour of the ministers' garments agreed with that of their official caps, and that each wore hair-ornaments which, in the case of the two highest functionaries, were made of gold; in the case of the next two, of leopards' tails; and in the case of lower ranks, of birds' tails. On a more ceremonious occasion, namely, the reception of the Chinese envoys from the Sui Court, the Chronicles state that Japanese princes and ministers "all wore gold hair-ornaments,* and their garments were of brocade, purple, and embroidery, with thin silk stuffs of various colours and patterns." Costume had become thus gorgeous after the institution of Buddhism and the establishment of intercourse direct with the Sui, and, subsequently, the Tang dynasty. Even in the manner of folding the garments over the breast--not from right to left but from left to right--the imported fashion was followed. Wadded garments are incidently mentioned in the year A.D. 643. *These were called usu. They were, in fact, hairpins, generally shaped like a flower. MUSIC AND AMUSEMENTS It has already been recorded that, in the middle of the sixth century, musicians were sent from the Kudara Court to the Yamato, and since these are said to have taken the place of others then sojourning in Japan, the fact is established that such a visit was not then without precedent. Music, indeed, may be said to have benefitted largely by the advent of Buddhism, for the services of the latter required a special kind of music. The first foreign teacher of the art was a Korean, Mimashi, who went to Japan in A.D. 612, after having studied both music and dancing for some years in China. A dwelling was assigned to him at Sakurai (in Yamato) and he trained pupils. At the instance of Prince Shotoku and for the better performance of Buddhist services, various privileges were granted to the professors of the art. They were exempted from the discharge of official duties and their occupation became hereditary. Several ancient Japanese books contain reference to music and dancing, and in one work* illustrations are given of the wooden masks worn by dancers and the instruments used by musicians of the Wu (Chinese) school. These masks were introduced by Mimashi and are still preserved in the temple Horyu-ji. *The Horyu-ji Shizai-cho, composed in A.D. 747. In the matter of pastimes, a favourite practice, first mentioned in the reign of the Empress Suiko, was a species of picnic called "medicine hunting" (kusuri-kari). It took place on the fifth day of the fifth month. The Empress, her ladies, and the high functionaries, all donned gala costumes and went to hunt stags, for the purpose of procuring the young antlers, and to search for "deer-fungus" (shika-take), the horns and the vegetables being supposed to have medical properties. All the amusements mentioned in previous sections continued to be followed in this era, and football is spoken of as having inaugurated the afterwards epoch-making friendship between Prince Naka and Kamatari. It was not played in the Occidental manner, however. The game consisted in kicking a ball from player to player without letting it fall. This was apparently a Chinese innovation. Here, also, mention may be made of thermal springs. Their sanitary properties were recognized, and visits were paid to them by invalids. The most noted were those of Dogo, in Iyo, and Arima, in Settsu. The Emperor Jomei spent several months at each of these, and Prince Shotoku caused to be erected at Dogo a stone monument bearing an inscription to attest the curative virtues of the water. CONDITION OF THE PEOPLE That Buddhism obtained a firm footing among the upper classes during the first century after its introduction must be attributed in no small measure to the fact that the throne was twice occupied by Empresses in that interval. The highly decorative aspects of the creed appealing to the emotional side of woman's nature, these Imperial ladies encouraged Buddhist propagandism with earnest munificence. But the mass of the people remained, for the most part, outside the pale. They continued to believe in the Kami and to worship them. Thus, when a terribly destructive earthquake* occured in 599, it was to the Kami of earthquakes that prayers were offered at his seven shrines in the seven home provinces (Kinai), and not to the Merciful Buddha, though the saving grace of the latter had then been preached for nearly a cycle. The first appeal to the foreign deity in connexion with natural calamity was in the opening year (642) of the Empress Kogyoku's reign when, in the presence of a devastating drought, sacrifices of horses and cattle to the Shinto Kami, changes of the market-places,** and prayers to the river gods having all failed to bring relief, an imposing Buddhist service was held in the south court of the Great Temple. "The images of Buddha, of the bosatsu, and of the Four Heavenly Kings were magnificently adorned; a multitude of priests read the Mahayana Sutra, and the o-omi, Soga no Emishi, held a censer, burned incense, and prayed." But there was no success; and not until the Empress herself had made a progress to the source of a river and worshipped towards the four quarters, did abundant rain fall. *Only three earthquakes are recorded up to the year A.D. 645, and the second alone (A.D. 599) is described as destructive. **This was a Chinese custom, as was also the sacrificial rite mentioned in the same context. Such an incident cannot have contributed to popularize the Indian creed. The people at large adhered to their traditional cult and were easily swayed by superstitions. The first half of the seventh century was marked by abnormal occurrences well calculated to disturb men's minds. There were comets (twice); there was a meteor of large dimensions; there were eclipses of the sun and moon; there were occultations of Venus; there was snow in July and hail "as large as peaches" in May, and there was a famine (621) when old people ate roots of herbs and died by the wayside, when infants at the breast perished with their mothers, and when thieves and robbers defied authority. It is not, perhaps, surprising in such circumstances, and when witches and wizards abounded, that people fell into strange moods, and were persuaded to regard a caterpillar as the "insect of the everlasting world," to worship it, and to throw away their valuables in the belief that riches and perpetual youth would be thus won. A miyatsuko, by name Kawakatsu, had the courage to kill the designing preacher of this extravagance, and the moral epidemic was thus stayed. ENGRAVING: ONE OF THE STATUES OF "SHITENNO" IN THE KAIDAN-IN, TODAIJI (Tembyo Sculpture, Eighth Century) ENGRAVING: UTENSILS USED IN THE TEA CEREMONY (CHA-NO-YU) CHAPTER XV THE DAIKA REFORMS THE THIRTY-SIXTH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR KOTOKU (A.D. 645-654) AFTER the fall of the Soga and the abdication of the Empress Kogyoku, her son, Prince Naka, would have been the natural successor, and such was her own expressed wish. But the prince's procedure was largely regulated by Kamatari, who, alike in the prelude and in the sequel of this crisis, proved himself one of the greatest statesmen Japan ever produced. He saw that the Soga influence, though broken, was not wholly shattered, and he understood that the great administrative reform which he contemplated might be imperilled were the throne immediately occupied by a prince on whose hands the blood of the Soga chief was still warm. Therefore he advised Prince Naka to stand aside in favour of his maternal uncle, Prince Karu, who could be trusted to co-operate loyally in the work of reform and whose connexion with the Soga overthrow had been less conspicuous. But to reach Prince Karu it was necessary to pass over the head of another prince, Furubito, Naka's half-brother, who had the full sympathy of the remnant of the Soga clan, his mother having been a daughter of the great Umako. The throne was therefore offered to him. But since the offer followed, instead of preceding the Empress' approval of Prince Karu, Furubito recognized the farce, and knowing that, though he might rule in defiance of the Kamatari faction, he could not hope to rule with its consent, he threw away his sword and declared his intention of entering religion. Very soon the Buddhist monastery at Yoshino, where he received the tonsure, became a rallying point for the Soga partisans, and a war for the succession seemed imminent. Naka, however, now Prince Imperial, was not a man to dally with such obstacles. He promptly sent to Yoshino a force of soldiers who killed Furubito with his children and permitted his consorts to strangle themselves. Prince Naka's name must go down to all generations as that of a great reformer, but it is also associated with a terrible injustice. Too readily crediting a slanderous charge brought against his father-in-law, Kurayamada, who had stood at his right hand in the great coup d'etat of 645, he despatched a force to seize the alleged traitor. Kurayamada fled to a temple, and there, declaring that he would "leave the world, still cherishing fidelity in his bosom," he committed suicide, his wife and seven children sharing his fate. Subsequent examination of his effects established his innocence, and his daughter, consort of Prince Naka, died of grief. THE DAIKA, OR "GREAT CHANGE" Not for these things, however, but for sweeping reforms in the administration of the empire is the reign of Kotoku memorable. Prince Naka and Kamatari, during the long period of their intimate intercourse prior to the deed of blood in the great hall of audience, had fully matured their estimates of the Sui and Tang civilization as revealed in documents and information carried to Japan by priests, literati, and students, who, since the establishment of Buddhism, had paid many visits to China. They appreciated that the system prevailing in their own country from time immemorial had developed abuses which were sapping the strength of the nation, and in sweeping the Soga from the path to the throne, their ambition had been to gain an eminence from which the new civilization might be authoritatively proclaimed. Speaking broadly, their main objects were to abolish the system of hereditary office-holders; to differentiate aristocratic titles from official ranks; to bring the whole mass of the people into direct subjection to the Throne, and to establish the Imperial right of ownership in all the land throughout the empire. What these changes signified and with what tact and wisdom the reformers proceeded, will be clearly understood as the story unfolds itself. Spectacular effect was enlisted as the first ally. A coronation ceremony of unprecedented magnificence took place. High officials, girt with golden quivers, stood on either side of the dais forming the throne, and all the great functionaries--omi, muraji, and miyatsuko--together with representatives of the 180 hereditary corporations (be) filed past, making obeisance. The title of "Empress Dowager" was conferred for the first time on Kogyoku, who had abdicated; Prince Naka was made Prince Imperial; the head of the great uji of Abe was nominated minister of the Left (sa-daijiri); Kurayamada, of the Soga-uji, who had shared the dangers of the conspiracy against Emishi and Iruka, became minister of the Right (u-daijiri), and Kamatari himself received the post of minister of the Interior (nai-daijin), being invested with the right to be consulted on all matters whether of statecraft or of official personnel. These designations, "minister of the Left"*, "minister of the Right," and "minister of the Interior," were new in Japan.** Hitherto, there had been o-omi and o-muraji, who stood between the Throne and the two great classes of uji, the o-omi and the o-muraji receiving instructions direct from the sovereign, and the two classes of uji acknowledging no control except that of the o-omi and the o-muraji. But whereas the personal status of Kurayamada was only omi (not o-omi), and the personal status of Kamatari, only muraji (not o-muraji), neither was required, in his new capacity, to take instructions from any save the Emperor, nor did any one of the three high dignitaries nominally represent this or that congeries of uji. A simultaneous innovation was the appointment of a Buddhist priest, Bin, and a literatus, Kuromaro, to be "national doctors." These men had spent some years at the Tang Court and were well versed in Chinese systems. *The left takes precedence of the right in Japan. **The offices were borrowed from the Tang system of China a remark which applies to nearly all the innovations of the epoch. The next step taken was to assemble the ministers under a patriarchal tree, and, in the presence of the Emperor, the Empress Dowager, and the Prince Imperial, to pronounce, in the names of the Kami of heaven and the Kami of earth--the Tenshin and the Chigi--a solemn imprecation on rulers who attempted double-hearted methods of government, and on vassals guilty of treachery in the service of their sovereign. This amounted to a formal denunciation of the Soga as well as a pledge on the part of the new Emperor. The Chinese method of reckoning time by year-periods was then adopted, and the year A.D. 645 became the first of the Daika era. But before proceeding to really radical innovations, two further precautions were taken. In order to display reverence for the foundations of the State, the sovereign publicly declared that "the empire should be ruled by following the footsteps of the Emperors of antiquity," and in order to win the sympathy of the lower orders, his Majesty directed that inquiry should be made as to the best method of alleviating the hardships of forced labour. Further, a solemn ceremony of Shinto worship was held by way of preface. Then the reformers commenced their work in earnest. Governors (kokushi) were appointed to all the eastern provinces. These officials were not a wholly novel institution. It has been shown that they existed previously to the Daika era, but in a fitful and uncertain way, whereas, under the system now adopted, they became an integral part of the administrative machinery. That meant that the government of the provinces, instead of being administered by hereditary officials, altogether irrespective of their competence, was entrusted for a fixed term to men chosen on account of special aptitude. The eastern provinces were selected for inaugurating this experiment, because their distance from the capital rendered the change less conspicuous. Moreover, the appointments were given, as far as possible, to the former miyatsuko or mikotomochi. An ordinance was now issued for placing a petition-box in the Court and hanging a bell near it. The box was intended to serve as a receptacle for complaints and representations. Anyone had a right to present such documents. They were to be collected and conveyed to the Emperor every morning, and if a reply was tardy, the bell was to be struck. Side by side with these measures for bettering the people's lot, precautions against any danger of disturbance were adopted by taking all weapons of war out of the hands of private individuals and storing them in arsenals specially constructed on waste lands. Then followed a measure which seems to have been greatly needed. It has been already explained that a not inconsiderable element of the population was composed of slaves, and that these consisted of two main classes, namely, aborigines or Koreans taken prisoners in war, and members of an uji whose Kami had been implicated in crime. As time passed, there resulted from intercourse between these slaves and their owners a number of persons whose status was confused, parents asserting the manumission of their children and masters insisting on the permanence of the bond. To correct these complications the whole nation was now divided into freemen (ryomin) and bondmen (senmin), and a law was enacted that, since among slaves no marriage tie was officially recognized, a child of mixed parentage must always be regarded as a bondman. On that basis a census was ordered to be taken, and in it were included not only the people of all classes, but also the area of cultivated and throughout the empire. At the same time stringent regulations were enacted for the control and guidance of the provincial governors. They were to take counsel with the people in dividing the profits of agriculture. They were not to act as judges in criminal cases or to accept bribes from suitors in civil ones; their staff, when visiting the capital, was strictly limited, and the use of public-service horses* as well as the consumption of State provisions was vetoed unless they were travelling on public business. Finally, they were enjoined to investigate carefully all claims to titles and all alleged rights of land tenure. The next step was the most drastic and far-reaching of all. Hereditary corporations were entirely abolished, alike those established to commemorate the name of a sovereign or a prince and those employed by the nobles to cultivate their estates. The estates themselves were escheated. Thus, at one stroke, the lands and titles of the hereditary aristocracy were annulled, just as was destined to be the case in the Meiji era, twelve centuries later. *Everyone having a right to use public-service horses was required to carry a token of his right in the shape of a small bronze bell, or group of bells, indicating by their shape and number how many horses the bearer was entitled to. This reform involved a radical change in the system and method of taxation, but the consideration of that phase of the question is deferred for a moment in order to explain the nature and the amount of the new fiscal burdens. Two kinds of taxes were thenceforth imposed, namely, ordinary taxes and commuted taxes. The ordinary consisted of twenty sheaves of rice per cho* (equivalent to about eight sheaves per acre), and the commuted tax--in lieu of forced labour--was fixed at a piece of silk fabric forty feet in length by two and a half feet in breadth per cho, being approximately a length of sixteen feet per acre. The dimensions of the fabric were doubled in the case of coarse silk, and quadrupled in the case of cloth woven from hemp or from the fibre of the inner bark of the paper-mulberry. A commuted tax was levied on houses also, namely, a twelve-foot length of the above cloth per house. No currency existed in that age. All payments were made in kind. There is, therefore, no method of calculating accurately the monetary equivalent of a sheaf of rice. But in the case of fabrics we have some guide. Thus, in addition to the above imposts, every two townships--a township was a group of fifty houses--had to contribute one horse of medium quality (or one of superior quality per two hundred houses) for public service; and since a horse was regarded as the equivalent of a total of twelve feet of cloth per house, it would follow, estimating a horse of medium quality at £5, ($25.), that the commuted tax in the case of land was above 5s.4d., ($1.30) per acre. Finally, each homestead was required to provide one labourer as well as rations for his support; and every two homesteads had to furnish one palace waiting-woman (uneme), who must be good-looking, the daughter or sister of a district official of high rank, and must have one male and two female servants to attend on her--these also being supported by the two homesteads. In every homestead there was an alderman who kept the register, directed agricultural operations, enforced taxes, and took measures to prevent crime as well as to judge it. *The cho was two and a half acres approximately. Thus it is seen that a regular system of national taxation was introduced and that the land throughout the whole empire was considered to be the property of the Crown. As for the nobles who were deprived of their estates, sustenance gifts were given to them, but there is no record of the bases upon which these gifts were assessed. With regard to the people's share in the land, the plan pursued was that for every male or female over five years of age two tan (about half an acre) should be given to the former and one-third less to the latter, these grants being made for a period of six years, at the end of which time a general restoration was to be effected. A very striking evidence of the people's condition is that every adult male had to contribute a sword, armour, a bow and arrows, and a drum. This impost may well have outweighed all the others. SEPULCHRES Another important reform regulated the dimensions of burial mounds. The construction of these on the grand scale adopted for many sovereigns, princes, and nobles had long harrassed the people, who were compelled to give their toil gratis for such a purpose. What such exactions had entailed may be gathered from Kotoku's edict, which said, "Of late the poverty of our people is absolutely due to the construction of tombs." Nevertheless, he did not undertake to limit the size of Imperial tombs. The rescript dealt only with those from princes downwards. Of these, the greatest tumulus permitted was a square mound with a side of forty-five feet at the base and a height of twenty-five feet, measured along the slope, a further restriction being that the work must not occupy more than one thousand men for seven days. The maximum dimensions were similarly prescribed in every case, down to a minor official, whose grave must not give employment to more than fifty men for one day. When ordinary people died, it was directed that they should be buried in the ground without a day's delay, and, except in the case of an Emperor or an Empress, the custom of temporary interment was strictly vetoed. Cemeteries were ordered to be constructed for the first time, and peremptory injunctions were issued against self-destruction to accompany the dead; against strangling men or women by way of sacrifice; against killing the deceased's horse, and against cutting the hair or stabbing the thighs by way of showing grief. It must be assumed that all these customs existed. ABUSES Other evil practices are incidentally referred to in the context of the Daika reforms. Thus it appears that slaves occasionally left their lawful owners owing to the latter's poverty and entered the service of rich men, who thereafter refused to give them up; that when a divorced wife or concubine married into another family, her former husband, after the lapse of years, often preferred claims against her new husband's property; that men, relying on their power, demanded people's daughters in marriage, and in the event of the girl entering another house, levied heavy toll on both families; that when a widow, of ten or twenty years' standing, married again, or when a girl entered into wedlock, the people of the vicinity insisted on the newly wedded couple performing the Shinto rite of harai (purgation), which was perverted into a device for compelling offerings of goods and wine; that the compulsory performance of this ceremony had become so onerous as to make poor men shrink from giving burial to even their own brothers who had died at a distance from home, or hesitate to extend aid to them in mortal peril, and that when a forced labourer cooked his food by the roadside or borrowed a pot to boil his rice, he was often obliged to perform expensive purgation. OFFICIAL ORGANIZATION At the head of all officials were the sa-daijin (minister of the Left), the u-daijin (minister of the Right) and the nai-daijin (minister of the Interior), and after them came the heads of departments, of which eight were established, after the model of the Tang Court in China. They were the Central Department (Nakatsukasa-sho); the Department of Ceremonies (Shikibu-sho); the Department of Civil Government (Jibu-sho); the Department of Civil Affairs (Mimbu-sho); the Department of War (Hyobu-sho); the Department of Justice (Gyobu-sho); the Treasury (Okura-sho), and the Household Department (Kunai-sho). These departments comprised a number of bureaux. All officials of high rank had to assemble at the south gate of the palace in time to enter at sunrise, and they remained there until some time between 11 A.M. and 1 P.M. In a province the senior official was the governor, and under him were heads of districts, aldermen of homesteads (fifty houses), elders of five households--all the houses being divided into groups of five for purposes of protection--and market commissioners who superintended the currency (in kind), commerce, the genuineness of wares, the justness of weights and measures, the prices of commodities, and the observance of prohibitions. Since to all official posts men of merit were appointed without regard to lineage, the cap-ranks inaugurated by Prince Shotoku were abolished, inasmuch as they designated personal status by inherited right only, and they were replaced by new cap-grades, nineteen in all, which were distinguished partly by their borders, partly by their colours, and partly by their materials and embroidery. Hair-ornaments were also a mark of rank. They were cicada-shaped, of gold and silver for the highest grades, of silver for the medium grades, and of copper for the low grades. The caps indicated official status without any reference to hereditary titles. RATIONALE OF THE NEW SYSTEM The radical changes outlined above were all effected in the short space of eight years. If it be asked what motive inspired the reformers, the obvious answer is that experience, culminating in the usurpations of the Soga, had fully displayed the abuses incidental to the old system. Nothing more memorable than this flood of reforms has left its mark upon Japan's ancient history. During the first thirteen centuries of the empire's existence--if we accept the traditional chronology--the family was the basis of the State's organization. Each unit of the population either was a member of an uji or belonged to the tomobe of an uji, and each uji was governed by its own omi or muraji, while all the uji of the Kwobetsu class were under the o-omi and all those of the Shimbetsu class, under the o-muraji. Finally, it was through the o-omi and the o-muraji alone that the Emperor communicated his will. In other words, the Japanese at large were not recognized as public people, the only section that bore that character being the units of the hereditary corporations instituted in memory of some Imperial personage and the folk that cultivated the miyake (State domains). All these facts, though already familiar to the reader, find a fitting place in the context of the great political development of the Daika era. For the main features of that development were that the entire nation became the public people of the realm and the whole of the land became the property of the Crown, the hereditary nobles being relegated to the rank of State pensioners. This metamorphosis entailed taking an accurate census of the population; making a survey of the land; fixing the boundaries of provinces, districts, and villages; appointing officials to administer the affairs of these local divisions, and organizing the central government with boards and bureaux. The system of taxation also had to be changed, and the land had to be apportioned to the people. In former days, the only charges levied by the State on the produce of the land were those connected with religious observances and military operations, and even in imposing these the intervention of the heads of uji had to be employed. But by the Daika reforms the interest of the hereditary nobility in the taxes Avas limited to realizing their sustenance allowances; while as for the land, it was removed entirely beyond their control and partitioned among the people, in the proportion already noted, on leases terminable at the end of six years. Of course, whatever political exigency may have dictated this short-tenure system, it was economically unsound and could not remain long in practice. The measures adopted to soften the aspect of these wholesale changes in the eyes of the hereditary nobility whom they so greatly affected, have been partly noted above. It may here be added, however, that not only was the office of district governor--who ranked next to the provincial governor (kokushi)--filled as far as possible by former kuni no miyatsuko, but also these latter were entrusted with the duty of observing and reporting upon the conduct of the new officials as to assiduity and integrity, to which duty there were also nominated special officials called choshu-shi. By the aid of these and other tactful devices, the operation of the new system was guaranteed against disturbance. Nothing was deemed too trivial to assist in promoting that end. Even such a petty incident as the appearance of a white pheasant was magnified into a special indication of heaven's approval, and a grand Court ceremony having been held in honour of the bird, the Emperor proclaimed a general amnesty and ordered that the name of the period should be changed to Haku-chi (White Pheasant). Something of this may be set down frankly to the superstitious spirit of the time. But much is evidently attributable to the statecraft of the Emperor's advisers, who sought to persuade the nation that this breaking away from all its venerable old traditions had supernatural approval. There was, indeed, one defect in the theory of the new system. From time immemorial the polity of the empire had been based on the family relation. The sovereign reigned in virtue of his lineage, and the hereditary nobles owed their high positions and administrative competence equally to descent. To discredit the title of the nobles was to disturb the foundation of the Throne itself, and to affirm that want of virtue constituted a valid reason for depriving the scions of the gods of their inherited functions, was to declare constructively that the descendant of Amaterasu also held his title by right of personal worthiness. That was the Chinese theory. Their history shows plainly that they recognized the right of men like Tang or Wu to overturn tyrants like Chieh of the Hsia dynasty, and Chou of the Yen dynasty. The two Japanese Emperors, Kotoku and Tenchi (668-671), seem to have partially endorsed a cognate principle. But nothing could be at greater variance with the cardinal tenet of the Japanese polity, which holds that "the King can do no wrong" and that the Imperial line must remain unbroken to all eternity. ENVOYS TO CHINA The importance attached to intercourse with China during the reign of Kotoku was illustrated by the dimensions of the embassies sent to the Tang Court and by the quality of the envoys. Two embassies were sent in 653, one consisting of 121 persons and the other of 120.* The former included seventeen student-priests, and among them was the eldest son of Kamatari himself. Another embassy was despatched in 654, and the records show incidently that the sea route was taken, for after a voyage lasting some months and therefore presumably of a coasting character, the envoys landed at Laichou in Shantung. They finally reached Changan, the Tang capital, and were most hospitably received by the Emperor Kao-sung. The hardships of the journey are attested by the fact that three of the student-priests died at sea. One remained in China for thirty-six years, and Joye, Kamatari's son, did not return to Japan for twelve years. *The ship carrying the embassy was wrecked off the south coast of Japan, and out of 120 persons only five escaped. In short, when these students left their country in search of literary, religious, and political lore, they had no assurance of ever thereafter finding an opportunity to see their homes again. The overland journey was almost impossible without guides and guards, and communication by sea seems to have been fitful and uncertain. The last of the above three embassies was led by no less a person than the renowned scholar, Kuromaro, who had been associated with the priest, Bin, in modelling the new administrative system of Japan. Kuromaro never returned from China; he died there. A few months before the despatch of Kuromaro as envoy, his illustrious coadjutor, Bin, expired in the temple of Azumi. The Emperor repaired in person to the sick priest's chamber, and said, "If you die to-day, I will follow you to-morrow." So great was the reverence showed towards learning and piety in that era. Thus, hazardous and wearisome as was the voyage to China over stormy waters in a rude sailing boat, its successful accomplishment established a title to official preferment and high honour. It will be seen by and by that similar treatment was extended in the nineteenth century to men who visited Europe and America in the pursuit of knowledge. THE THIRTY-SEVENTH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPRESS SAIMEI (A.D. 655-661) On the demise of Kotoku, in 654, his natural successor would have been Prince Naka, who, ten years previously, had chosen to reform the empire rather than to rule it. But the prince deemed that the course of progress still claimed his undivided attention, and therefore the Empress Kogyoku was again raised to the throne under the name of* Saimei--the first instance of a second accession in Japanese history. She reigned nearly seven years, and the era is remarkable chiefly for expeditions against the Yemishi and for complications with Korea. To the former chapter of history sufficient reference had already been made, but the latter claims a moment's attention. *It is scarcely necessary to remind the reader that all the names given in these pages to Japanese sovereigns are posthumous. Thus Saimei, during her lifetime, was called Ame-toyo-takara-ikashi-hi-tarashi-hime. RELATIONS WITH KOREA It has been shown how, in A.D. 562, the Japanese settlement in Mimana was exterminated; how the Emperor Kimmei's dying behest to his successor was that this disgrace must be removed; how subsequent attempts to carry out his testament ended in failure, owing largely to Japan's weak habit of trusting the promises of Shiragi, and how, in 618, the Sui Emperor, Yang, at the head of a great army, failed to make any impression on Korea. Thereafter, intercourse between Japan and the peninsula was of a fitful character unmarked by any noteworthy event until, in the second year (651) of the "White Pheasant" era, the Yamato Court essayed to assert itself in a futile fashion by refusing to give audience to Shiragi envoys because they wore costumes after the Tang fashion without offering any excuse for such a caprice. Kotoku was then upon the Japanese throne, and Japan herself was busily occupied importing and assimilating Tang institutions. That she should have taken umbrage at similar imitation on Shiragi's part seems capricious. Shiragi sent no more envoys, and presently (655), finding herself seriously menaced by a coalition between Koma and Kudara, she applied to the Tang Court for assistance. The application produced no practical response, but Shiragi, who for some time had been able to defy the other two principalities, now saw and seized an opportunity offered by the debauchery and misrule of the King of Kudara. She collected an army to attack her neighbour and once more supplicated Tang's aid. This was in the year 660. The second appeal produced a powerful response. Kao-sung, then the Tang Emperor, despatched a general, Su Ting-fang, at the head of an army of two hundred thousand men. There was now no long and tedious overland march round the littoral of the Gulf of Pechili and across Liaotung. Su embarked his forces at Chengshan, on the east of the Shantung promontory, and crossed direct to Mishi-no-tsu--the modern Chemulpo--thus attacking Kudara from the west while Shiragi moved against it from the east. Kudara was crushed. It lost ten thousand men, and all its prominent personages, from the debauched King downwards, were sent as prisoners to Tang. But one great captain, Pok-sin, saved the situation. Collecting the fugitive troops of Kudara he fell suddenly on Shiragi and drove her back, thereafter appealing for Japanese aid. At the Yamato Court Shiragi was now regarded as a traditional enemy. It had played fast and loose again and again about Mimana, and in the year 657 it had refused safe conduct for a Japanese embassy to the Tang Court. The Empress Saimei decided that Kudara must be succoured. Living in Japan at that time was Phung-chang,* a younger brother of the deposed King of Kudara. It was resolved that he should be sent to the peninsula accompanied by a sufficient force to place him on the throne. But Saimei died before the necessary preparations were completed, and the task of carrying out a design which had already received his endorsement devolved upon Prince Naka, the great reformer. A fleet of 170 ships carrying an army of thirty-seven thousand men escorted Phung-chang from Tsukushi, and the kingdom of Kudara was restored. But the conclusive battle had still to be fought. It took place in September, 662, at Paik-chhon-ku (Ung-jin), between the Chinese under Liu Jen-kuei, a Tang general, and the Japanese under Atsumi no Hirafu. The forces were about equal on each side, and it was the first signal trial of strength between Chinese and Japanese. No particulars have been handed down by history. Nothing is known except that the Japanese squadron drove straight ahead, and that the Chinese attacked from both flanks. The result was a crushing defeat for the Japanese. They were shattered beyond the power of rallying, and only a remnant found its way back to Tsukushi. Kudara and Koma fell, and Japan lost her last footing in a region where her prestige had stood so high for centuries. *He was a hostage. The constant residence of Korean hostages in Japan speaks eloquently of the relations existing between the two countries. There were no Japanese hostages in Korea. Shiragi continued during more than a hundred years to maintain a semblance of deferential intercourse, but her conduct became ultimately so unruly that, in the reign of Nimmyo (834-850), her people were prohibited from visiting Japan. From Kudara, however, after its overthrow by China, there migrated almost continuously for some time a number of inhabitants who became naturalized in Japan. They were distributed chiefly in the provinces of Omi and Musashi, Son-Kwang, a brother of the former King of Kudara, being required to live in Naniwa (Osaka) for the purpose of controlling them. Koma, also, when it fell into Chinese hands, sent many settlers to Japan, and during the reign of the Empress Gemmyo (708-715), they were transferred from the six provinces of Suruga, Kai, Sagami, Kazusa, Shimosa, and Hitachi to Musashi, where the district inhabited by them was thenceforth called Koma-gori. Thus, Japan extended her hospitality to the men whose independence she had not been able to assert. Her relations with her peninsular neighbour ended humanely though not gloriously. They had cost her heavily in life and treasure, but she had been repaid fully with the civilization which Korea helped her to import. THE THIRTY-EIGHTH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR TENCHI (A.D. 668-671) It will be observed that although the thirty-seventh sovereign, the Empress Saimei, died in the year 661, the reign of her successor, Tenchi, did not commence historically until 668. There thus appears to have been an interregnum of seven years. The explanation is that the Crown Prince, Naka, while taking the sceptre, did not actually wield it. He entrusted the administrative functions to his younger brother, Oama, and continued to devote himself to the great work of reform. He had stood aside in favour of Kotoku sixteen years previously and in favour of the Empress Saimei six years previously, and now, for seven years longer, he refrained from identifying himself with the Throne until the fate of his innovations was known. Having assumed the task of eradicating abuses which, for a thousand years, had been growing unchecked, he shrank from associating the Crown directly with risks of failure. But in the year 668, judging that his reforms had been sufficiently assimilated to warrant confidence, he formally ascended the throne and is known in history as Tenchi (Heavenly Intelligence). Only four years of life remained to him, and almost immediately after his accession he lost his great coadjutor, Kamatari. Of the four men who had worked out the "Daika restoration," Kuromaro, the student, died in China a year (654) after the demise of the illustrious priest, Bin; Kamatari barely survived until success came in sight, and Prince Naka (Tenchi) was taken two years later (671). It is related that in the days when the prince and Kamatari planned the outlines of their great scheme, they were accustomed to meet for purposes of conference in a remote valley on the east of the capital, where an aged wistaria happened to be in bloom at the most critical of their consultations. Kamatari therefore desired to change his uji name from Nakatomi to Fujiwara (wistaria), and the prince, on ascending the throne, gave effect to this request. There thus came into existence a family, the most famous in Japanese history. The secluded valley where the momentous meetings took place received the name of Tamu* no Mine, and a shrine stands there now in memory of Kamatari. The Emperor would fain have attended Kamatari's obsequies in person, but his ministers dissuaded him on the ground that such a course would be unprecedented. His Majesty confined himself therefore to conferring on the deceased statesman posthumous official rank, the first instance of a practice destined to became habitual in Japan. *"Tamu" signifies to converse about military affairs. THE OMI STATUES AND THE CENSUS REGISTER During the reign of Tenchi no rescript embodying signal administrative changes was issued, though the reforms previously inaugurated seem to have made steady progress. But by a legislative office specially organized for the purpose there was enacted a body of twenty-two laws called the Omi Ritsu-ryo (the Omi Statutes), Omi, on the shore of Lake Biwa, being then the seat of the Imperial Court. Shotoku Taishi's Jushichi Kempo, though often spoken of as a legislative ordinance, was really an ethical code, but the Omi Ritsu-ryo had the character of genuine laws, the first of their kind in Japan. Unfortunately this valuable document did not survive. Our knowledge of it is confined to a statement in the Memoirs of Kamatari that it was compiled in the year 667. Two years later--that is to say, in the year after Tenchi's actual accession--the census register, which had formed an important feature of the Daika reforms, became an accomplished fact. Thenceforth there was no further occasion to appeal to the barbarous ordeal of boiling water (kuga-dachi) when questions of lineage had to be determined. THE THIRTY-NINTH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR KOBUN (A.D. 672-672) Among four "palace ladies" (uneme) upon whom the Emperor Tenchi looked with favour, one, Yaka of Iga province, bore him a son known in his boyhood days as Prince Iga but afterwards called Prince Otomo. For this lad his father conceived a strong affection, and would doubtless have named him heir apparent had he not been deterred by the consideration that during his own abstention from actually occupying the throne, administrative duties would have to be entrusted mainly to the hands of a Prince Imperial, and Otomo, being only thirteen years of age, could not undertake such a task. Thus, on Tenchi's younger brother, Oama, the dignity of Crown Prince was conferred, and he became the Emperor's locum tenens, in which position he won universal applause by sagacity and energy. But during these seven years of nominal interregnum, the fame of Prince Otomo also grew upon men's lips. An ancient book speaks of him as "wise and intelligent; an able administrator alike of civil and of military affairs; commanding respect and esteem; sage of speech, and rich in learning." When the Emperor actually ascended the throne, Otomo had reached his twentieth year, and four years later (671) the sovereign appointed him prime minister (dajo daijin), an office then created for the first time. Thenceforth the question of Tenchi's successor began to be disquieting. The technical right was on Oama's side, but the paternal sympathy was with Otomo. Tradition has handed down a tale about a certain Princess Nukata, who, having bestowed her affections originally on Prince Oama, was afterwards constrained to yield to the addresses of the Emperor Tenchi, and thus the two brothers became enemies. But that story does not accord with facts. It is also related that during a banquet at the palace on the occasion of Tenchi's accession, Prince Oama thrust a spear through the floor from below, and the Emperor would have punished the outrage with death had not Kamatari interceded for the prince. These narratives are cited to prove that the Emperor Tenchi's purpose was to leave the throne to Otomo, not Oama. There is, however, no valid reason to infer any such intention. What actually occurred was that when, within a few months of Otomo's appointment as dajo daijin, the sovereign found himself mortally sick, he summoned Oama and named him to succeed But Oama, having been warned of a powerful conspiracy to place Otomo on the throne, and not unsuspicious that it had the Emperor's sympathy, declined the honour and announced his intention of entering religion, which he did by retiring to the monastery at Yoshino. The conspirators, at whose head were the minister of the Left, Soga no Akae, and the minister of the Right, Nakatomi no Kane, aimed at reverting to the times when, by placing on the throne a prince of their own choice, one or two great uji had grasped the whole political power. The prime mover was Kane, muraji of the Nakatomi. Immediately after Tenchi's death, which took place at the close of 671, and after the accession of Prince Otomo--known in history as the Emperor Kobun--the conspirators began to concert measures for the destruction of Prince Oama, whom they regarded as a fatal obstacle to the achievement of their purpose. But the Emperor Kobun's consort, Toichi, was a daughter of Prince Oama, and two sons of the latter, Takaichi and Otsu, were also in the Court at Omi. By these three persons Yoshino was kept fully informed of everything happening at Omi. Oama fled precipitately. He did not even wait for a palanquin or a horse. His course was shaped eastward, for two reasons: the first, that his domains as Prince Imperial had been in Ise and Mino; the second, that since in the eastern provinces the Daika reforms had been first put into operation, in the eastern provinces, also, conservatism might be expected to rebel with least reluctance. The struggle that ensued was the fiercest Japan had witnessed since the foundation of the empire. For twenty days there was almost continuous fighting. The prince's first measure was to block the passes on the eastward high-roads, so that the Omi forces could not reach him till he was fully ready to receive them. Thousands flocked to his standard, and he was soon able to assume the offensive. On the other hand, those whom the Omi Court summoned to arms declined for the most part to respond. The nation evidently regarded Prince Oama as the champion of the old against the new. The crowning contest took place at the Long Bridge of Seta, which spans the waters of Lake Biwa at the place where they narrow to form the Seta River. Deserted by men who had sworn to support him, his army shattered, and he himself a fugitive, the Emperor fled to Yamazaki and there committed suicide. His principal instigator, muraji of the Nakatomi and minister of the Right, with eight other high officials, suffered the extreme penalty; Akae, omi of the Soga and minister of the Left, had to go into exile, but the rest of Kobun's followers were pardoned. Not because of its magnitude alone but because its sequel was the dethronement and suicide of a legitimate Emperor, this struggle presents a shocking aspect to Japanese eyes. It is known in history as the "Jinshin disturbance," so called after the cyclical designation of the year (672) when it occurred. THE FORTIETH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR TEMMU (A.D. 673-686) Prince Oama succeeded to the throne and is known in history as the fortieth Sovereign, Temmu. During the fourteen years of his reign he completed the administrative systems of the Daika era, and asserted the dignity and authority of the Court to an unprecedented degree. Among the men who espoused his cause in the Jinshin struggle there are found many names of aristocrats who boasted high titles and owned hereditary estates. Whatever hopes these conservatives entertained of a reversion to the old-time-order of things, they were signally disappointed. The Daika reformers had invariably contrived that conciliation should march hand in hand with innovation. Temmu relied on coercion. He himself administered State affairs with little recourse to ministerial aid but always with military assistance in the background. He was especially careful not to sow the seeds of the abuses which his immediate predecessors had worked to eradicate. Thus, while he did not fail to recognize the services of those that had stood by him in the Jinshin tumult, he studiously refrained from rewarding them with official posts, and confined himself to bestowing titles of a purely personal character together with posthumous rank in special cases. It has been shown that in the so-called "code" of Shotoku Taishi prominent attention was directed to the obligations of decorum. This principle received much elaboration in Temmu's reign. A law, comprising no less than ninety-two articles, was enacted for guidance in Court ceremonials, the demeanour and salutation of each grade of officials being explicitly set forth. It is worthy of note that a veto was imposed on the former custom of kneeling to make obeisance and advancing or retreating in the presence of a superior on the knees and hands; all salutations were ordered to be made standing. Further, the clear differentiation of official functions, which had been commenced under the sway of Tenchi, was completed in this reign. But, though relying on military force in the last resort, Temmu did not neglect appeals to religion and devices to win popularity. On the one hand, we find him establishing a War-Office (Heisei-kan) and making it second in grade and importance to the Privy Council (Dajo-kwan) alone; on the other, he is seen endowing shrines, erecting temples, and organizing religious fetes on a sumptuous scale. If, again, all persons in official position were required to support armed men; if the provincials were ordered to practise military exercises, and if arms were distributed to the people in the home provinces (Kinai), at the same time taxes were freely remitted, and amnesties were readily granted. Further, if much attention was paid to archery, and if drastic measures were adopted to crush the partisans of the Omi Court who still occasionally raised the standard of revolt, the sovereign devoted not less care to the discharge of the administrative functions, and his legislation extended even to the realm of fishery, where stake-nets and other methods of an injurious nature were strictly interdicted. The eating of flesh was prohibited, but whether this veto was issued in deference to Buddhism or from motives of economy, there is no evidence to show. One very noteworthy feature of Temmu's administration was that he never appointed to posts in the Government men who did not give promise of competence. All those who possessed a claim on his gratitude were nominated chamberlains (toneri), and having been thus brought under observation, were subsequently entrusted with official functions commensurate with their proved ability. The same plan was pursued in the case of females. With regard to the titles conferred by this sovereign in recognition of meritorious services, they were designed to replace the old-time kabane (or sei), in that whereas the kabane had always been hereditary, and was generally associated with an office, the new sei was obtained by special grant, and, though it thereafter became hereditary, it was never an indication of office bearing. Eight of these new titles were instituted by Temmu, namely, mahito, asomi, sukune, imiki, michi-no-shi, omi, muraji, and inagi, and their nearest English equivalents are, perhaps, duke, marquis, count, lord, viscount, baron, and baronet. It is unnecessary to give any etymological analysis of these terms; their order alone is important. But two points have to be noted. The first is that the title imiki was generally that chosen for bestowal on naturalized foreigners; the second, that a conspicuously low place in the list is given to the revered old titles, ami and muraji. This latter feature is significant. The new peerage was, in fact, designed not only to supplant, but also to discredit, the old. Thus, in the first place, the system was abolished under which all uji having the title of omi were controlled by the o-omi, and all having the title of muraji by the o-muraji; and in the second, though the above eight sei were established, not every uji was necessarily granted a title. Only the most important received that distinction, and even these found themselves relegated to a comparatively low place on the list. All the rest, however, were permitted to use their old, but now depreciated kabane, and no change was made in the traditional custom of entrusting the management of each uji's affairs to its own Kami. But, in order to guard against the abuses of the hereditary right, an uji no Kami ceased in certain cases to succeed by birthright and became elective, the election requiring Imperial endorsement. The effect of these measures was almost revolutionary. They changed the whole fabric of the Japanese polity. But in spite of all Temmu's precautions to accomplish the centralization of power, success was menaced by a factor which could scarcely have been controlled. The arable lands in the home provinces at that time probably did not exceed 130,000 acres, and the food stuffs produced cannot have sufficed for more than a million persons. As for the forests, their capacities were ill developed, and thus it fell out that the sustenance fiefs granted to omi and muraji of the lower grades did not exceed a few acres. Gradually, as families multiplied, the conditions of life became too straightened in such circumstances, and relief began to be sought in provincial appointments, which furnished opportunities for getting possession of land. It was in this way that local magnates had their origin and the seeds of genuine feudalism were sown. Another direction in which success fell short of purpose was in the matter of the hereditary guilds (be). The Daika reforms had aimed at converting everyone in the empire into a veritable unit of the nation, not a mere member of an uji or a tomobe. But it proved impossible to carry out this system in the case of the tomobe (called also kakibe), or labouring element of the uji, and the yakabe, or domestic servants of a family. To these their old status had to be left. THE FORTY-FIRST SOVEREIGN, THE EMPRESS JITO (A.D. 690-697) The Emperor Temmu died in 686, and the throne remained nominally unoccupied until 690. A similar interregnum had separated the accession of Tenchi from the death of his predecessor, the Empress Saimei, and both events were due to a cognate cause. Tenchi did not wish that his reforms should be directly associated with the Throne until their success was assured; Temmu desired that the additions made by him to the Daika system should be consolidated by the genius of his wife before the sceptre passed finally into the hands of his son. Jito had stood by her husband's side when, as Prince Oama, he had barely escaped the menaces of the Omi Court, and there is reason to think that she had subsequently shared his administrative confidence as she had assisted at his military councils. The heir to the throne, Prince Kusakabe, was then in his twenty-fifth year, but he quietly endorsed the paternal behest that his mother should direct State affairs. The arrangement was doubtless intended to be temporary, but Kusakabe died three years later, and yielding to the solicitations of her ministers, Jito then (690) finally ascended the throne. Her reign, however, was not entirely free from the family strife which too often accompanied a change of sovereigns in Japan's early days. In addition to his legitimate offspring, Kusakabe, the Emperor Temmu left several sons by secondary consorts, and the eldest survivor of these, Prince Otsu, listening to the counsels of the Omi Court's partisans and prompted by his own well-deserved popularity and military prowess, intrigued to seize the throne. He was executed in his house, and his fate is memorable for two reasons: the first, that his young wife, Princess Yamanobe, "hastened thither with her hair dishevelled and her feet bare and joined him in death;" the second, that all his followers, over thirty in number, were pardoned--rare clemency in those days. Prince Otsu is said to have inaugurated a pastime which afterwards became very popular--the composition of Chinese verses. SLAVES The most important legislation of the Empress Jito's reign related to slaves.* In the year of her accession (690), she issued an edict ordering that interest on all debts contracted prior to, or during the year (685) prior to Temmu's death should be cancelled. Temmu himself had created the precedent for this. When stricken by mortal illness, he had proclaimed remission of all obligations, "whether in rice or in valuables," incurred on or before the last day of the preceding year. But Jito's edict had a special feature. It provided that anyone already in servitude on account of a debt should be relieved from serving any longer on account of the interest. Thus it is seen that the practice of pledging the service of one's body in discharge of debt was in vogue at that epoch, and that it received official recognition with the proviso that the obligation must not extend to interest. Debts, therefore, had become instruments for swelling the ranks of the slave class. *The senmin, or slave class, was divided into two groups, namely, public slaves (kwanko ryoko, and ko-nuhi), and private slaves (kenin and shi-nuhi). But while sanctioning this evil custom, the tendency of the law was to minimize its results. In another edict of the same reign it was laid down that, when a younger brother of the common people (hyakusei) was sold by his elder brother, the former should still be classed as a freeman (ryomin), but a child sold by its father became a serf (senmin); that service rendered to one of the senmin class by a freeman in payment of a debt must not affect the status of the freeman, and that the children of freemen so serving, even though born of a union with a slave, should be reckoned as freemen. It has been shown already that degradation to slavery was a common punishment or expiation of a crime, and the annals of the period under consideration indicate that men and women of the slave class were bought and sold like any other chattels. Documents certainly not of more recent date than the ninth century, show particulars of some of these transactions. One runs as follows: Men (nu) 3 Women (hi) 3 -- Total 6 2 at 10000 bundles of rice each 2 at 800 bundles of rice each. 1 at 700 bundles of rice. 1 at 600 bundles of rice. ----- Total 4900 bundles 1 man (nu) named Kokatsu; age 34; with a mole under the left eye Price 1000 bundles of rice. The above are slaves of Kannawo Oba of Okambe in Yamagata district. Comparison of several similar vouchers indicates that the usual price of an able-bodied slave was one thousand bundles of rice, and as one bundle gave five sho of unhulled rice, one thousand bundles represented fifty koku, which, in the modern market, would sell for about six hundred yen. It is not to be inferred, however, that the sale of freemen into slavery was sanctioned by law. During the reign of the Emperor Temmu, a farmer of Shimotsuke province wished to sell his child on account of a bad harvest, but his application for permission was refused, though forwarded by the provincial governor. In fact, sales or purchases of the junior members of a family by the seniors were not publicly permitted, although such transactions evidently took place. Even the manumission of a slave required official sanction. Thus it is recorded that, in the reign of the Empress Jito, Komaro, an asomi, asked and obtained the Court's permission to grant their freedom to six hundred slaves in his possession. Another rule enacted in Jito's time was that the slaves of an uji, when once manumitted, could not be again placed on the slaves' register at the request of a subsequent uji no Kami. Finally this same sovereign enacted that yellow-coloured garments should be worn by freemen and black by slaves. History shows that the sale and purchase of human beings in Japan, subject to the above limitations, was not finally forbidden until the year 1699. THE MILITARY SYSTEM It has been seen that the Emperors Kotoku and Temmu attached much importance to the development of military efficiency and that they issued orders with reference to the training of provincials, the armed equipment of the people, the storage of weapons of war, and the maintenance of men-at-arms by officials. Compulsory service, however, does not appear to have been inaugurated until the reign of the Empress Jito, when (689) her Majesty instructed the local governors that one-fourth of the able-bodied men in each province should be trained every year in warlike exercises. This was the beginning of the conscription system in Japan. THE ORDER OF SUCCESSION OF THE THRONE That the throne should be occupied by members of the Imperial family only had been a recognized principle of the Japanese polity from remotest epochs. But there had been an early departure from the rule of primogeniture, and since the time of Nintoku the eligibility of brothers also had been acknowledged in practice. To this latitude of choice many disturbances were attributable, notably the fell Jinshin struggle, and the terrors of that year were still fresh in men's minds when, during Jito's reign, the deaths of two Crown Princes in succession brought up the dangerous problem again for solution. The princes were Kusakabe and Takaichi. The former had been nominated by his father, Temmu, but was instructed to leave the reins of power in the hands of his mother, Jito, for a time. He died in the year 689, while Jito was still regent, and Takaichi, another of Temmu's sons, who had distinguished himself as commander of a division of troops in the Jinshin campaign, was made Prince Imperial. But he too died in 696, and it thus fell out that the only surviving and legitimate offspring of an Emperor who had actually reigned was Prince Kuzuno, son of Kobun. To his accession, however, there was this great objection that his father, though wielding the sceptre for a few months, had borne arms in the Jinshin disturbance against Temmu and Jito, and was held to have forfeited his title by defeat and suicide. His assumption of the sceptre would have created a most embarrassing situation, and his enforced disqualification might have led to trouble. In this dilemma, the Empress convened a State council, Prince Kuzuno also being present, and submitted the question for their decision. But none replied until Kuzuno himself, coming forward, declared that unless the principle of primogeniture were strictly followed, endless complications would be inevitable. This involved the sacrifice of his own claim and the recognition of Karu, eldest son of the late Kusakabe. The 14th of March, 696, when this patriotic declaration was made, is memorable in Japanese history as the date when the principle of primogeniture first received official approval. Six months afterwards, the Empress abdicated in favour of Prince Karu, known in history as forty-second sovereign, Mommu. She herself was honoured by her successor with the title of Dajo-Tenno (Great Superior). ENGRAVING: ONE OF THE ORNAMENTAL GATES USED IN JAPANESE GARDENS ENGRAVING: SWORDS CHAPTER XVI THE DAIHO LAWS AND THE YORO LAWS THE FORTY-SECOND SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR MOMMU (A.D. 697-707) THE Emperor Mommu took for consort a daughter of Fuhito, representative of the Fujiwara family and son of the great Kamatari. She did not receive the title of Empress, that distinction having been hitherto strictly confined to spouses chosen from a Kwobetsu family, whereas the Fujiwara belonged to the Shimbetsu. But this union proved the first step towards a practice which soon became habitual and which produced a marked effect on the history of Japan, the practice of supplying Imperial consorts from the Fujiwara family. THE DAIHO LEGISLATION On Mommu's accession the year-period took his name, that being then the custom unless some special reason suggested a different epithet. Such a reason was the discovery of gold in Tsushima in 701, and in consequence the year-name was altered to Daiho (Great Treasure). It is a period memorable for legislative activity. The reader is aware that, during the reign of Tenchi, a body of statutes in twenty-two volumes was compiled under the name of Omi Ritsu-ryo, or the "Code and Penal Law of Omi," so called because the Court then resided at Shiga in Omi. History further relates that these statutes were revised by the Emperor Mommu, who commenced the task in 681 and that, eleven years later, when the Empress Jito occupied the throne, this revised code was promulgated. But neither in its original nor in its revised form has it survived, and the inference is that in practice it was found in need of a second revision, which took place in the years 700 and 701 under instructions from the Emperor Mommu, the revisers being a committee of ten, headed by Fuhito of the Fujiwara family, and by Mahito (Duke) Awada. There resulted eleven volumes of the Code (ryo) and six of the Penal Law (ritsu), and these were at once promulgated, expert jurists being despatched, at the same time, to various quarters to expound the new legislation. Yet again, seventeen years later (718), by order of the Empress Gensho, revision was carried out by another committee headed by the same Fujiwara Fuhito, now prime minister, and the amended volumes, ten of the Code and ten of the Law, were known thenceforth as the "New Statutes," or the "Code and Law of the Yoro Period." They were supplemented by a body of official rules (kyaku) and operative regulations (shiki), the whole forming a very elaborate assemblage of laws. The nature and scope of the code will be sufficiently understood from the titles of its various sections: (1) Official Titles; (2) Duties of Officials; (3) Duties of Officials of the Empress' Household; (4) Duties of Officials in the Household of the Heir Apparent; (5) Duties of Officials in the Households of Officers of High Rank; (6) Services to the Gods; (7) Buddhist Priests; (8) the Family; (9) the Land; (10) Taxation; (11) Learning; (12) Official Ranks and Titles; (13) The Descent of the Crown and Dignities of Imperial Persons; (14) Meritorious Discharge of Official Duties; (15) Salaries; (16) Court Guards; (17) Army and Frontier Defences; (18) Ceremonies; (19) Official Costumes; (20) Public Works; (21) Mode of addressing Persons of Rank; (22) Stores of Rice and other Grain; (23) Stables and Fodder; (24) Duties of Medical Officers attached to the Court; (25) Official Vacations; (26) Funerals and Mourning; (27) Watch and Ward and Markets; (28) Arrest of Criminals; (29) Jails, and (30) Miscellaneous, including Bailment, Finding of Lost Goods, etc.* This "Code and the Penal Law" accompanying it went into full operation from the Daiho era and remained in force thereafter, subject to the revisions above indicated. There is no reason to doubt that the highly artificial organization of society which such statutes indicate, existed, in outline at all events, from the reign of Kotoku, but its plainly legalized reality dates, so far as history is concerned, from the Daiho era. As for the rules (kyaku) and regulations (shiki), they were re-drafted: first, in the Konin era (810-824) by a commission under the direction of the grand councillor,* Fujiwara Fuyutsugu; next, in the Jokwan era (859-877) by Fujiwara Ujimune and others, and finally in the Engi era (901-923) by a committee with Fujiwara Tadahira for president. These three sets of provisions were spoken of in subsequent ages as the "Rules and Regulations of the Three Generations" (Sandai-kyaku-shiki). It will be observed that just as this remarkable body of enactments owed its inception in Japan to Kamatari, the great founder of the Fujiwara family, so every subsequent revision was presided over by one of his descendants. The thirty sections of the code comprise 949 articles, which are all extant, but of the penal laws in twelve sections there remain only 322 articles. *Tarring, in the "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan." It may be broadly stated that the Daika reformation, which formed the basis of this legislation, was a transition from the Japanese system of heredity to the Chinese system of morality. The penal law (ritsu), although its Chinese original has not survived for purposes of comparison, was undoubtedly copied from the work of the Tang legislators, the only modification being in degrees of punishment; but the code, though it, too, was partially exotic in character, evidently underwent sweeping alterations so as to bring it into conformity with Japanese customs and traditions. Each of the revisions recorded above must be assumed to have extended this adaptation. The basic principle of the Daiho code was that the people at large, without regard to rank or pedigree, owed equal duty to the State; that only those having special claims on public benevolence were entitled to fixed exemptions, and that not noble birth but intellectual capacity and attainments constituted a qualification for office. Nevertheless Japanese legislators did not find it possible to apply fully these excellent principles. Habits of a millennium's growth could not be so lightly eradicated. Traces of the old obtrude themselves plainly from between the lines of the new. Thus the "Law of Descent" (Keishi-ryo), which formed the thirteenth section of the code, was a special embodiment of Japanese social institutions, having no parallel in the Tang statutes, and further, while declaring erudition and intelligence to be the unique qualifications for office, no adequate steps were taken to establish schools for imparting the former or developing the latter. In short, the nobles still retained a large part of their old power, and the senmin (slave) class still continued to labour under various disabilities. That several important provisions of the Land Code (Den-ryo) should have fallen quickly into disuse will be easily comprehended when we come presently to examine that system in detail, but for the neglect of portions of the Military Code (Gumbo-ryo), of the Code of Official Ranks and Titles, and of the Code relating to the Meritorious Discharge of Official Duties, it is necessary to lay the responsibility on the shoulders of the hereditary nobles, whose influence out-weighed the force of laws. It may indeed be broadly stated that the potency of the Daiho code varied in the direct ratio of the centralization of administrative authority. Whenever feudalism prevailed, the code lost its binding force. In the realm of criminal law it is only consistent with the teaching of all experience to find that mitigation of penalties was provided according to the rank of the culprit. There were eight major crimes (hachi-gyaku), all in the nature of offences against the State, the Court, and the family, and the order of their gravity was: (1) high treason (against the State); (2) high treason (against the Crown); (3) treason; (4) parricide, fratricide, etc.; (5) offences against humanity; (6) lése majesté; (7) unfilial conduct, and (8) crimes against society. But there were also six mitigations (roku-gi), all enacted with the object of lightening punishments according to the rank, official position, or public services of an offender. As for slaves, being merely a part of their proprietor's property like any other goods and chattels, the law took no cognizance of them. OFFICIAL ORGANIZATION Under the Daiho code a more elaborate system of administrative organization was effected than that conceived by the Daika reformers. In the Central Government there were two boards, eight departments, and one office, namely: (1). The Jingi-kwan, or Board of Religion (Shinto). This stood at the head of all, in recognition of the divine origin of the Imperial family. A Japanese work (Nihon Kodaiho Shakugi) explains the fundamental tenet of the nation's creed thus: "If a State has its origin in military prowess, which is essentially human, then by human agencies also a State may be overthrown. To be secure against such vicissitudes a throne must be based upon something superior to man's potentialities. Divine authority alone fulfils that definition, and it is because the throne of Japan had a superhuman foundation that its existence is perennial. Therefore the Jingi-kwan stands above all others in the State." In another, book (Jingi-ryo) we find it stated: "All the deities* of heaven and earth are worshipped in the Jingi-kwan. On the day of the coronation the Nakatomi performs service to the deities of heaven and the Imibe makes offerings of three kinds of sacred articles." *The eight Kami specially worshipped in the Jingi-kwan were Taka-mi-musubi, Kammi-musubi, Tamatsume-musubi, Iku-musubi, Taru-musubi, Omiya no me, Miketsu, and Koto-shiro-nushi. Thus, though the models for the Daiho system were taken from China, they were adapted to Japanese customs and traditions, as is proved by the premier place given to the Jingi-kwan. Worship and religious ceremonial have always taken precedence of secular business in the Court of Japan. Not only at the central seat of government did the year commence with worship, but in the provinces, also, the first thing recorded by a newly appointed governor was his visit to the Shinto shrines, and on the opening day of each month he repaired thither to offer the gohei.* Religious rites, in short, were the prime function of government, and therefore, whereas the office charged with these duties ranked low in the Tang system, it was placed at the head of all in Japan. *Angular bunches of white paper stripes, representing the cloth offerings originally tied to branches of the sacred cleyera tree at festival time. (2). The Daijo-kwan (called also Dajo-kwari), or Board of Privy Council. This office ranked next to the Board of Religion and had the duty of superintending the eight State departments. Its personnel consisted of the prime minister (daijo-daijin or dajo-daijin), the minister of the Left (sa-daijiri), and the minister of the Right (u-daijiri). (3). The Nakatsukasa-sho, or Central Department of State (literally, "Intermediate Transacting Department"), which was not an executive office, its chief duties being to transmit the sovereign's decrees to the authorities concerned and the memorials of the latter to the former, as well as to discharge consultative functions. (4). The Shikibu-sho, or Department of Ceremonies. This office had to consider and determine the promotion and degradation of officials according to their competence and character. (5). The Jibu-sho, or Department of Civil Government, which examined and determined everything concerning the position of noblemen, and administered affairs relating to priests, nuns, and members of the Bambetsu,* that is to say, men of foreign nationality residing in Japan. *The reader is already familiar with the terms "Kwobetsu" and "Shimbetsu." All aliens were classed as Bambetsu. (6). The Mimbu-sho, or Department of Civil Affairs. An office which managed affairs relating to the land and the people, to taxes and to forced services. (7). The Gyobu-sho, or Department of Justice. (8). The Okura-sho, or Department of Finance. (9). The Kunai-sho, or Imperial Household Department. (10). The Hyobu-sho, or Department of War. (11). The Danjo-dai, or Office of Censorship, This office had the duty of correcting civil customs and punishing and conduct on the part of officials. In the year 799, Kwammu being then on the throne, a law was enacted for the Danjo-dai. It consisted of eighty-three articles, and it had the effect of greatly augmenting the powers of the office. But in the period 810-829, it was found necessary to organize a special bureau of kebiishi, or executive police, to which the functions of the Danjo-dai subsequently passed, as did also those of the Gyobu-sho in great part. These two boards, eight departments, and one office all had their locations within the palace enclosure, so that the Imperial Court and the Administration were not differentiated. LOCAL ADMINISTRATIVE MACHINERY For administrative purposes the capital was divided into two sections, the Eastern and the Western, which were controlled by a Left Metropolitan Office and a Right Metropolitan Office, respectively. In Naniwa (Osaka) also, which ranked as a city of special importance, there was an executive office called the Settsu-shoku--Settsu being the name of the province in which the town stood--and in Chikuzen province there was the Dazai-fu (Great Administrative Office), which had charge of foreign relations in addition to being the seat of the governor-generalship of the whole island of Kyushu. In spite of its importance as an administrative post, the Dazai-fu, owing to its distance from the capital, came to be regarded as a place of exile for high officials who had fallen out of Imperial favour. The empire was divided into provinces (kuni) of four classes--great, superior, medium, and inferior,--and each province was subdivided into districts (kori) of five classes--great, superior, medium, inferior, and small. The term "province" had existed from remote antiquity, but it represented at the outset a comparatively small area, for in the time of the Emperor Keitai (A.D. 507-531), there were 144 kuni. This number was largely reduced in the sequel of surveys and re-adjustments of boundaries during the Daika era (645-650), and after the Daiho reforms (701-704) it stood at fifty-eight, but subsequently, at an uncertain date, it grew to sixty-six and remained permanently thus. The kori (district) of the Daika and Daiho reforms had originally been called agata (literally "arable land"), and had been subdivided into inaki (granary) and mura (village). A miyatsuko had administered the affairs of the kuni, holding the office by hereditary right, and the agata of which there were about 590, a frequently changing total as well as the inaki and the mura had been under officials called nushi. But according to the Daika and Daiho systems, each kuni was placed under a governor (kokushi), chosen on account of competence and appointed for a term of four years; each district (kori) was administered by a cho (chief). MILITARY INSTITUTIONS In the capital there were three bodies of guards; namely, the emon-fu (gate guards); the sa-eji-fu and the u-eji-fu (Left and Right watches). There was also the sa-ma-ryo and the u-ma-ryo (cavalry of the Left and of the Right), and the sa-hyogo-ryo and the u-hyogo-ryo (Left and Right Departments of Supply). These divisions into "left" and "right," and the precedence given to the left, were derived from China, but it has to be observed in Japan's case that the metropolis itself was similarly divided into left and right quarters. Outside the capital each province had an army corps (gundan), and one-third of all the able-bodied men (seitei), from the age of twenty to that of sixty, were required to serve with the colours of an army corps for a fixed period each year. From these provincial troops drafts were taken every year for a twelve-month's duty as palace guards (eji) in the metropolis, and others were detached for three-years' service as frontier guards (saki-mori) in the provinces lying along the western sea board. The army corps differed numerically according to the extent of the province where they had their headquarters, but for each thousand men there were one colonel (taiki) and two lieutenant-colonels (shoki); for every five hundred men, one major (gunki); for every two hundred, one captain (koi); for every one hundred, a lieutenant (ryosui), and for every fifty, a sergeant-major (taisei). As for the privates, they were organized in groups of five (go); ten (kwa), and fifty (tai). Those who could draw a bow and manage a horse were enrolled in the cavalry, the rest being infantry. From each tai two specially robust men were selected as archers, and for each kwa there were six pack-horses. The equipment of a soldier on campaign included a large sword (tachi) and a small sword (katana or sashi-zoe) together with a quiver (yanagui or ebira); but in time of peace these were kept in store, the daily exercises being confined to the use of the spear, the catapult (ishi-yumi) and the bow, and to the practice of horsemanship. When several army corps were massed to the number of ten thousand or more, their staff consisted of a general (shogun), two lieutenant-generals (fuku-shogun), two army-inspectors (gunkan), four secretaries (rokuji), and four sergeants (gunso). If more than one such force took the field, the whole was commanded by a general-in-chief. APPOINTMENT AND PROMOTION The law provided that appointment to office and promotion should depend, not upon rank, but upon knowledge and capacity. Youths who had graduated at the university were divided into three categories: namely, those of eminent talent (shusai); those having extensive knowledge of the Chinese classics (meikei), and those advanced in knowledge (shinshi). Official vacancies were filled from these three classes in the order here set down, and promotion subsequently depended on proficiency. But though thus apparently independent of inherited rank, the law was not so liberal in reality. For admission to the portals of the university was barred to all except nobles or the sons and grandsons of literati. Scions of noble families down to the fifth rank had the right of entry, and scions of nobles of the sixth, seventh, and eighth ranks were admitted by nomination. OFFICIAL EMOLUMENT Remuneration to officials took the form of revenue derived from lands and houses, but this subject can be treated more intelligently when we come to speak of the land. THE PEOPLE According to the Daiho laws one family constituted a household. But the number of a family was not limited: it included brothers and their wives and children, as well as male and female servants, so that it might comprise as many as one hundred persons. The eldest legitimate son was the head of the household, and its representative in the eyes of the law. A very minute census was kept. Children up to three years of age were classed as "yellow" (kwo); those between three and sixteen, as "little" (sho); those members of the household between sixteen and twenty, as "middling" (chu); those between twenty and sixty, as "able-bodied" (tei), and those above sixty as "old" or "invalids," so as to secure their exemption from forced labour (kayaku or buyaku). The census was revised every six years, two copies of the revised document being sent to the privy council (Daijo-kwan) and one kept in the district concerned. It was customary, however, to preserve permanently the census of every thirtieth year* for purposes of record, and moreover the census taken in the ninth year of Tenchi's reign (670)** was also kept as a reference for personal names. To facilitate the preservation of good order and morality, each group of five households was formed into an "association of five" (goho or gonin-gumi) with a recognized head (hocho); and fifty households constituted a village (sato or mura), which was the smallest administrative unit. The village had a mayor (richo), whose functions were to keep a record of the number of persons in each household; to encourage diligence in agriculture and sericulture; to reprove, and, if necessary, to report all evil conduct, and to stimulate the discharge of public service. Thus the district chief (guncho or gunryo) had practically little to do beyond superintending the richo. *This was called gohi-seki; i.e., comparative record for a period of five times six years. **It was designated the Kogoanen-seki, from the cyclical name of the year. THE LAND The land laws of the Daiho era, like those of the Daika, were based on the hypothesis that all land throughout the country was the property of the Crown, and that upon the latter devolved the responsibility of equitable distribution among the people. Rice being the chief staple of diet and also the standard of exchange, rice-lands--that is to say, irrigated fields--were regarded as most important. The law--already referred to in connexion with the Daika era but here cited again for the sake of clearness--enacted that all persons, on attaining the age of five, became entitled to two tan of such land, females receiving two-thirds of that amount. Land thus allotted was called kubun-den, or "sustenance land" (literally, "mouth-share land"). The tan was taken for unit, because it represented 360 bu (or ho), and as the rice produced on one bu constituted one day's ration for an adult male, a tan yielded enough for one year (the year being 360 days).* *The bu in early times represented 5 shaku square, or 25 square shaku (1 seki = 1 foot very nearly); but as the shaku (10 sun) then measured 2 sun (1 sun = 1.2 inch) more than the shaku of later ages, the modern bu (or tsubo) is a square of 6 shaku side, or 36 square shaku, though in actual dimensions the ancient and the modern are equal. The theory of distribution was that the produce of one tan served for food, while with the produce of the second tan the cost of clothes and so forth was defrayed. The Daika and Daiho legislators alike laid down the principle that rice-fields thus allotted should be held for a period of six years only, after which they were to revert to the Crown for redistribution, and various detailed regulations were compiled to meet contingencies that might arise in carrying out the system. But, of course, it proved quite unpracticable, and though that lesson obviously remained unlearned during the cycle that separated the Daika and the Daiho periods, there is good reason to think that these particular provisions of the land law (Den-ryo) soon became a dead letter. A different method was pursued, however, in the case of uplands (as distinguished from wet fields). These--called onchi*--were parcelled out among the families residing in a district, without distinction of age or sex, and were held in perpetuity, never reverting to the Crown unless a family became extinct. Such land might be bought or sold--except to a Buddhist temple--but its tenure was conditional upon planting from one hundred to three hundred mulberry trees (for purposes of sericulture) and from forty to one hundred lacquer trees, according to the grade of the tenant family. Ownership of building-land (takuchi) was equally in perpetuity, though its transfer required official approval, but dwellings or warehouses--which in Japan have always been regarded as distinct from the land on which they stand--might be disposed of at pleasure. It is not to be inferred from the above that all the land throughout the Empire was divided among the people. Considerable tracts were reserved for special purposes. Thus, in five home provinces (Go-Kinai) two tracts of seventy-five acres each were kept for the Court in Yamato and Settsu, and two tracts of thirty acres each in Kawachi and Yamashiro, such land being known as kwanden (official fields), and being under the direct control of the Imperial Household Department. *Called also yenchi--These uplands were regarded as of little value compared with rice-fields. There were also three other kinds of special estates, namely, iden, or lands granted to mark official ranks; shokubunden, or lands given as salary to office-holders; and koden, or lands bestowed in recognition of merit. As to the iden, persons of the four Imperial ranks received from one hundred to two hundred acres, and persons belonging to any of the five official grades--in each of which there were two classes--were given from twenty to two hundred, females receiving two-thirds of a male's allotment. Coming to salary lands, we find a distinction between officials serving in the capital (zaikyo) and those serving in the provinces (zaige). Among the former, the principal were the prime minister (one hundred acres), the ministers of the Left and Right (seventy-five acres each) and the great councillor (fifty acres). As for provincial officials, the highest, namely, the governor of Kyushu (who had his seat at the Dazai-fu), received twenty-five acres, and the lowest, one and a half acres. Governors of provinces--which were divided into four classes (great, superior, medium, and inferior)--received from four acres to six and a half acres; an official (dai-hanji), corresponding to a chief-justice, had five acres; a puisne justice (sho-hanji), four acres; an officer in command of an army corps, four acres, and a literary professor (hakushi), four acres. Grants of land as salaries for official duties were made even to post-towns for the purpose of defraying the expense of coolies and horses for official use. Finally, there were koden, or lands bestowed in recognition of distinguished public services. Of such services four grades were differentiated: namely, "great merit" (taiko), for which the grant was made in perpetuity; "superior merit" (joko), which was rewarded with land held for three generations; "medium merit" (chuko), in which case the land-title had validity to the second generation only, and "inferior merit" (geko), where the land did not descend beyond a son or a daughter. It is worthy of note that in determining the order of eligibility for grants of sustenance land (kubunden), preference was given to the poor above the rich, and that the officials in a province were allowed to cultivate unoccupied land for their own profit. TAXATION There were three kinds of imposts; namely, tax (so), forced service (yo or kayaku) and tribute (cho). The tax was three per cent, of the gross produce of the land--namely, three sheaves of rice out of every hundred in the case of a male, and two out of sixty-six in the case of a female. The tribute was much more important, for it meant that every able-bodied male had to pay a fixed quantity of silk-fabric, pongee, raw-silk, raw-cotton, indigo (675 grains troy), rouge (the same quantity), copper (two and a quarter lbs.), and, if in an Imperial domain, an additional piece of cotton cloth, thirteen feet long. Finally, the forced service meant thirty days' labour annually for each able-bodied male and fifteen days for a minor. Sometimes this compulsory service might be commuted at the rate of two and a half feet of cotton cloth for each day's work. Exemption from forced labour was granted to persons of and above the grade of official rank and to their families through three generations; to persons of and above the fifth grade and to their families for two generations; to men of the Imperial blood; to the sick, the infirm, the deformed, females, and slaves. Forced labourers were allowed to rest from noon to 4 P.M. in July and August. They were not required to work at night. If they fell sick so as to be unable to labour out of doors, they were allowed only half rations. If they were taken ill on their way to their place of work, they were left to the care of the local authorities and fed at public charge. If they died, a coffin was furnished out of the public funds, and the corpse, unless claimed, was cremated, the ashes being buried by the wayside and a mark set up. Precise rules as to inheritance were laid down. A mother and a step-mother ranked equally with the eldest son for that purpose, each receiving two parts; younger sons received one part, and concubines and female children received one-half of a part. There were also strict rules as to the measure of relief from taxation granted in the event of crop-failure. IMPORTANCE OF DAIHO LAWS What has been set down above constitutes only a petty fraction of the Daiho legislation, but it will suffice to furnish an idea of Japanese civilization in the eighth century of the Christian era a civilization which shared with that of China the credit of being the most advanced in the world at that time. ENGRAVING: HATSUNE-NO-TANA (A Gold-lacquered Stand or Cabinet) ENGRAVING: STATUES OF SHAKA AND TWO BOSATSUS IN THE KONDO OF THE HORYU-JI CHAPTER XVII THE NARA EPOCH THE FORTY-THIRD SOVEREIGN, THE EMPRESS GEMMYO (A.D. 708-715) THE Empress Gemmyo, fourth daughter of the Emperor Tenchi and consort of Prince Kusakabe, was the mother of the Emperor Mommu, whose accession had been the occasion of the first formal declaration of the right of primogeniture (vide Chapter XV). Mommu, dying, willed that the throne should be occupied by his mother in trust for his infant son--afterwards Emperor Shomu. REMOVAL OF THE CAPITAL TO NARA In ancient times it was customary to change the locality of the Imperial capital with each change of sovereign. This custom, dictated by the Shinto conception of impurity attaching to sickness and death, exercised a baleful influence on architectural development, and constituted a heavy burden upon the people, whose forced labour was largely requisitioned for the building of the new palace. Kotoku, when he promulgated his system of centralized administration, conceived the idea of a fixed capital and selected Naniwa. But the Emperor Tenchi moved to Omi, Temmu to Asuka (in Yamato) and the Empress Jito to Fujiwara (in Yamato). Mommu remained at the latter place until the closing year (707) of his reign, when, finding the site inconvenient, he gave orders for the selection of another. But his death interrupted the project, and it was not until the second year of the Empress Gemmyo's reign that the Court finally removed to Nara, where it remained for seventy-five years, throughout the reigns of seven sovereigns. Nara, in the province of Yamato, lies nearly due south of Kyoto at a distance of twenty-six miles from the latter. History does not say why it was selected, nor have any details of its plan been transmitted. To-day it is celebrated for scenic beauties--a spacious park with noble trees and softly contoured hills, sloping down to a fair expanse of lake, and enshrining in their dales ancient temples, wherein are preserved many fine specimens of Japanese art, glyptic and pictorial, of the seventh and eighth centuries. Nothing remains of the palace where the Court resided throughout a cycle and a half, nearly twelve hundred years ago, but one building, a storehouse called Shoso-in, survives in its primitive form and constitutes a landmark in the annals of Japanese civilization, for it contains specimens of all the articles that were in daily use by the sovereigns of the Nara epoch. JAPANESE COINS There is obscurity about the production of the precious metals in old Japan. That gold, silver, and copper were known and used is certain, for in the dolmens,--which ceased to be built from about the close of the sixth century (A.D.)--copper ear-rings plated with gold are found, and gold-copper images of Buddha were made in the reign of the Empress Suiko (605), while history says that silver was discovered in the island of Tsushima in the second year of the Emperor Temmu's reign (674). From the same island, gold also is recorded to have come in 701, but in the case of the yellow and the white metal alike, the supply obtained was insignificant, and indeed modern historians are disposed to doubt whether the alleged Tsushima gold was not in reality brought from Korea via that island. On the whole, the evidence tends to show that, during the first seven centuries of the Christian era, Japan relied on Korea mainly, and on China partially, for her supply of the precious metals. Yet neither gold, silver, nor copper coins seem to have been in anything like general use until the Wado era (708-715). Coined money had already been a feature of Chinese civilization since the fourth century before Christ, and when Japan began to take models from her great neighbour during the Sui and Tang dynasties, she cannot have failed to appreciate the advantages of artificial media of exchange. The annals allege that in A.D. 677 the first mint was established, and that in 683 an ordinance prescribed that the silver coins struck there should be superseded by copper. But this rule did not remain long in force, nor have there survived any coins, whether of silver or of copper, certainly identifiable as antecedent to the Wado era. It was in the year of the Empress Gemmyo's accession (708) that deposits of copper were found in the Chichibu district of Musashi province, and the event seemed sufficiently important to call for a change of year-name to Wado (refined copper). Thenceforth, coins of copper--or more correctly, bronze--were regularly minted and gradually took the place of rice or cotton cloth as units of value. It would seem that, from the close of the seventh century, a wave of mining industry swept over Japan. Silver was procured from the provinces of Iyo and Kii; copper from Inaba and Suo, and tin from Ise, Tamba, and Iyo. All this happened between the years 690 and 708, but the discovery of copper in the latter year in Chichibu was on comparatively the largest scale, and may be said to have given the first really substantial impetus to coining. For some unrecorded reason silver pieces were struck first and were followed by copper a few months later. Both were of precisely the same form--round with a square hole in the middle to facilitate threading on a string--both were of the same denomination (one won), and both bore the same superscription (Wado Kaiho, or "opening treasure of refined copper"), the shape, the denomination, and the legend being taken from a coin of the Tang dynasty struck eighty-eight years previously. It was ordered that in using these pieces silver should be paid in the case of sums of or above four mon, and copper in the case of sums of or below three won, the value of the silver coin being four times that of the copper. But the silver tokens soon ceased to be current and copper mainly occupied the field, a position which it held for 250 years, from 708 to 958. During that interval, twelve forms of sen* were struck. They deteriorated steadily in quality, owing to growing scarcity of the supply of copper; and, partly to compensate for the increased cost of the metal, partly to minister to official greed, the new issues were declared, on several occasions, to have a value ten times as great as their immediate predecessors. Concerning that value, the annals state that in 711 the purchasing power of the mon (i.e., of the one-sen token) was sixty go of rice, and as the daily ration for a full-grown man is five go, it follows that one sen originally sufficed for twelve days' sustenance.** *The ideograph sen signified originally a "fountain," and its employment to designate a coin seems to have been suggested by an idea analogous to that underlying the English word "currency." **"At the present time the wages of a carpenter are almost a yen a day. Now the yen is equal to 1000 mon of the smaller sen and to 500 mon of the larger ones, so that he could have provided himself with rice, if we count only 500 mon to the yen, for sixteen years on the wages which he receives for one day's labour in 1900." (Munro's Coins of Japan.) Much difficulty was experienced in weaning the people from their old custom of barter and inducing them to use coins. The Government seems to have recognized that there could not be any effective spirit of economy so long as perishable goods represented the standard of value, and in order to popularize the use of the new tokens as well as to encourage thrift, it was decreed that grades of rank would be bestowed upon men who had saved certain sums in coin. At that time (711), official salaries had already been fixed in terms of the Wado sen. The highest received thirty pieces of cloth, one hundred hanks of silk and two thousand mon, while in the case of an eighth-class official the corresponding figures were one piece of cloth and twenty mon.* The edict for promoting economy embodied a schedule according to which, broadly speaking, two steps of executive rank could be gained by amassing twenty thousand mon and one step by saving five thousand. *These figures sound ludicrously small if translated into present-day money, for 1000 mon go to the yen, and the latter being the equivalent of two shillings, 20 mon represents less then a half-penny. But of course the true calculation is that 20 mon represented 240 days' rations of rice in the Wado schedule of values. Observing that the fundamental principle of a sound token of exchange was wholly disregarded in these Wado sen, since their intrinsic value bore no appreciable ratio to their purchasing power, and considering also the crudeness of their manufacture, it is not surprising to find that within a few months of their appearance they were extensively forged. What is much more notable is that the Wado sen remained in circulation for fifty years. The extraordinary ratio, however, by which copper and silver were linked together originally, namely, 4 to 1, did not survive; in 721 it was changed to 25 to 10, and in the following year to 50 to 10. Altogether, as was not unnatural, the early treatment of this coinage question by Japanese statesmen showed no trace of scientific perception. The practice, pursued almost invariably, of multiplying by ten the purchasing power of each new issue of sen, proved, of course, enormously profitable to the issuers, but could not fail to distress the people and to render unpopular such arbitrarily varying tokens. The Government spared no effort to correct the latter result, and some of the devices employed were genuinely progressive. In that epoch travellers had to carry their own provisions, and not uncommonly the supply ran short before they reached their destination, the result sometimes being death from starvation on the roadside. It was therefore ordered that in every district (korf) a certain portion of rice should be stored at a convenient place for sale to wayfarers, and these were advised to provide themselves with a few sen before setting out. It is evident that, since one of the Wado coins sufficed to buy rice for twelve days' rations, a traveller was not obliged to burden himself with many of these tokens. Wealthy persons in the provinces were also admonished to set up roadside shops for the sale of rice, and anyone who thus disposed of one hundred koku in a year was to be reported to the Court for special reward. Moreover, no district governor (gunryo), however competent, was counted eligible for promotion unless he had saved six thousand sen, and it was enacted that all taxes might be paid in copper coin. In spite of all this, however, the use of metallic media was limited for a long time to the upper classes and to the inhabitants of the five home provinces. Elsewhere the old habit of barter continued. THE FORTY-FOURTH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPRESS GENSHO (A.D. 715-723) In the year 715, the Empress Gemmyo, after a reign of seven years, abdicated in favour of her daughter, Gensho. This is the only instance in Japanese history of an Empress succeeding an Empress. HISTORICAL COMPILATION The reigns of these two Empresses are memorable for the compilation of the two oldest Japanese histories which have been handed down to the present epoch, the Kojiki and the Nihongi; but as the circumstances in which these works, as well as the Fudoki (Records of Natural Features), were written have been sufficiently described already (vide Chapter I), it remains only to refer to a custom inaugurated by Gemmyo in the year (721) after the compilation of the Nihongi, the custom of summoning to Court learned men (hakase) and requiring them to deliver lectures on that work. Subsequent generations of sovereigns followed this example, and to this day one of the features of the New Year's observances is a historical discourse in the palace. The writing of history became thenceforth an imperially patronized occupation. Six works, covering the period from 697 to 887, appeared in succession and were known through all ages as the Six National Histories. It is noticeable that in the compilation of all these a leading part was taken by one or another of the great Fujiwara ministers, and that the fifth numbered among its authors the illustrious Sugawara Michizane. THE FORTY-FIFTH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR SHOMU (A.D. 724-748) When the Emperor Mommu died (707), his son, the Prince Imperial, was too young to succeed. Therefore the sceptre came into the hands of Mommu's mother, who, after a reign of seven years, abdicated in favour of her daughter, the Empress Gensho, and, eight years later, the latter in turn abdicated in favour of her nephew, Shomu, who had now reached man's estate. Shomu's mother, Higami, was a daughter of Fujiwara Fuhito, and as the Fujiwara family did not belong to the Kwobetsu class, she had not attained the rank of Empress, but had remained simply Mommu's consort (fujiri). Her son, the Emperor Shomu, married another daughter of the same Fujiwara Fuhito by a different mother; that is to say, he took for consort his own mother's half-sister, Asuka. This lady, Asuka, laboured under the same disadvantage of lineage and could not properly be recognized as Empress. It is necessary to note these details for they constitute the preface to a remarkable page of Japanese history. Of Fujiwara Fuhito's two daughters, one, Higami, was the mother of the reigning Emperor, Shomu, and the other, Asuka, was his consort. The blood relationship of the Fujiwara family to the Court could scarcely have been more marked, but its public recognition was impeded by the defect in the family's lineage. THE FUJIWARA CONSPIRACY Immediately after Shomu's accession, his mother, Higami, received the title of Kwo-taifujin (Imperial Great Lady). But the ambition of her family was to have her named Kwo-taiko (Empress Dowager). The Emperor also desired to raise his consort, Asuka, to the position of Empress. Consulting his ministers on the subject, he encountered opposition from Prince Nagaya, minister of the Left. This prince, a great-grandson of the Emperor Temmu, enjoyed high reputation as a scholar, was looked up to as a statesman of great wisdom, and possessed much influence owing to his exalted official position. He urged that neither precedent nor law sanctioned nomination of a lady of the Shimbetsu class to the rank of Empress. The Daiho code was indeed very explicit on the subject. In China, whither the drafters of the code went for models, no restrictions were imposed on a sovereign's choice of wife. But the Japanese legislators clearly enacted that an Empress must be taken from among Imperial princesses. Prince Nagaya, in his position as minister of the Left, opposed any departure from that law and thus thwarted the designs of the Fujiwara. The lady Asuka bore a son to the Emperor three years after his accession. His Majesty was profoundly pleased. He caused a general amnesty to be proclaimed, presented gratuities to officials, and granted gifts to all children born on the same day. When only two months old, the child was created Prince Imperial, but in his eleventh month he fell ill. Buddhist images were cast; Buddhist Sutras were copied; offerings were made to the Kami, and an amnesty was proclaimed. Nothing availed. The child died, and the Emperor was distraught with grief. In this incident the partisans of the Fujiwara saw their opportunity. They caused it to be laid to Prince Nagaya's charge that he had compassed the death of the infant prince by charms and incantations. Two of the Fujiwara nobles were appointed to investigate the accusation, and they condemned the prince to die by his own hand. He committed suicide, and his wife and children died with him. The travesty of justice was carefully acted throughout. A proclamation was issued promising capital punishment to any one, of whatever rank or position, who compassed the death or injury of another by spells or incantations, and, six months later, the lady Asuka was formally proclaimed Empress. In one respect the Fujiwara conspirators showed themselves clumsy. The rescript justified Asuka's elevation by reference to the case of Iwa, a daughter of the Takenouchi, whom the Emperor Nintoku had made his Empress. But the Takenouchi family belonged to the Kwobetsu class, and the publication of a special edict in justification could be read as self-condemnation only. Nevertheless, the Fujiwara had compassed their purpose. Thenceforth they wielded the power of the State through the agency of their daughters. They furnished Empresses and consorts to the reigning sovereigns, and took their own wives from the Minamoto family, itself of Imperial lineage. To such an extent was the former practice followed that on two occasions three Fujiwara ladies served simultaneously in the palace. This happened when Go-Reizei (1222-1232) had a Fujiwara Empress, Kwanko, and two Fujiwara consorts, Fumi and Hiro. At one moment it had seemed as though fate would interfere to thwart these astute plans. An epidemic of small-pox, originating (735) in Kyushu, spread over the whole country, and carried off the four sons of Fuhito--Muchimaro, Fusazaki, Umakai, and Maro--leaving the family's fortunes in the hands of juniors, who occupied only minor official positions. But the Fujiwara genius rose superior to all vicissitudes. The elevation of the lady Asuka to be Empress Komyo marks an epoch in Japanese history. COMMUNICATIONS WITH CHINA In spite of the length and perils of a voyage from Japan to China in the seventh and eighth centuries--one embassy which sailed from Naniwa in the late summer of 659 did not reach China for 107 days--the journey was frequently made by Japanese students of religion and literature, just as the Chinese, on their side, travelled often to India in search of Buddhist enlightenment. This access to the refinement and civilization of the Tang Court contributed largely to Japan's progress, both material and moral, and is frankly acknowledged by her historians as a main factor in her advance. When Shomu reigned at Nara, the Court in Changan had entered the phase of luxury and epicurism which usually preludes the ruin of a State. Famous literati thronged its portals; great poets and painters enjoyed its patronage, and annalists descanted on its magnificence. Some of the works of these famous men were carried to Japan and remained with her as models and treasures. She herself showed that she had competence to win some laurels even amid such a galaxy. In the year 716, Nakamaro, a member of the great Abe family, accompanied the Japanese ambassador to Tang and remained in China until his death in 770. He was known in China as Chao Heng, and the great poet, Li Pai, composed a poem in his memory, while the Tang sovereign conferred on him the posthumous title of "viceroy of Luchou." Not less celebrated was Makibi,* who went to China at the same time as Nakamaro, and after twenty years' close study of Confucius, returned in 735, having earned such a reputation for profound knowledge of history, the five classics, jurisprudence, mathematics, philosophy, calendar making, and other sciences that the Chinese parted with him reluctantly. In Japan he was raised to the high rank of asomi, and ultimately became minister of the Right during the reign of Shotoku. *Generally spoken of as "Kibi no Mabi," and credited by tradition with the invention of the katakana syllabary. Such incidents speak eloquently of the respect paid in Japan to mental attainments and of the enlightened hospitality of China. In the realm of Buddhism perhaps even more than in that of secular science, this close intercourse made its influence felt. Priests went from Japan to study in China, and priests came from China to preach in Japan. During the Nara era, three of these men attained to special eminence. They were Doji, Gembo, and Kanshin. Doji was the great propagandist of the Sanron sect, whose tenets he had studied in China for sixteen years (701-717). From plans prepared by him and taken from the monastery of Hsi-ming in China, the temple Daian-ji was built under the auspices of the Emperor Shomu, and having been richly endowed, was placed in Doji's charge as lord-abbot. Gembo, during a sojourn of two years at the Tang Court, studied the tenets of the Hosso sect, which, like the Sanron, constituted one of the five sects originally introduced into Japan. Returning in 736, he presented to the Emperor Shomu five thousand volumes of the Sutras, together with a number of Buddhist images, and he was appointed abbot of the celebrated temple, Kofuku-ji. The third of the above three religious celebrities was a Chinese missionary named Kanshin. He went to Japan accompanied by fourteen priests, three nuns, and twenty-four laymen, and the mission carried with it many Buddhist relics, images, and Sutras. Summoned to Nara in 754, he was treated with profound reverence, and on a platform specially erected before the temple Todai-ji, where stood the colossal image of Buddha--to be presently spoken of--the sovereign and many illustrious personages performed the most solemn rite of Buddhism under the ministration of Kanshin. He established a further claim on the gratitude of the Empress by curing her of an obstinate malady, and her Majesty would fain have raised him to the highest rank (dai-sojo) of the Buddhist priesthood. But he declined the honour. Subsequently, the former palace of Prince Nittabe was given to him as a residence and he built there the temple of Shodai-ji, which still exists. RELIGION AND POLITICS The great Confucianist, Makibi, and the Buddhist prelate, Gembo, met with misfortune and became the victims of an unjust accusation because they attempted to assert the Imperial authority as superior to the growing influence of the Fujiwara. Makibi held the post of chamberlain of the Empress' household, and Gembo officiated at the "Interior monastery" (Nai-dojo) where the members of the Imperial family worshipped Buddha. The Emperor's mother, Higami, who on her son's accession had received the title of "Imperial Great Lady" (vide sup.), fell into a state of melancholia and invited Gembo to prescribe for her, which he did successfully. Thus, his influence in the palace became very great, and was augmented by the piety of the Empress, who frequently listened to discourses by the learned prelate. Makibi naturally worked in union with Gembo in consideration of their similar antecedents. Fujiwara Hirotsugu was then governor of Yamato. Witnessing this state of affairs with uneasiness, he impeached Gembo. But the Emperor credited the priest's assertions, and removed Hirotsugu to the remote post of Dazai-fu in Chikuzen. There he raised the standard of revolt and was with some difficulty captured and executed. The Fujiwara did not tamely endure this check. They exerted their influence to procure the removal of Makibi and Gembo from the capital, both being sent to Tsukushi (Kyushu), Makibi in the capacity of governor, and Gembo to build the temple Kwannon-ji. Gembo died a year later, and it was commonly reported that the spirit of Hirotsugu had compassed his destruction, while more than one book, professing to be historical, alleged that his prime offence was immoral relations with the "Imperial Great Lady," who was then some sixty years of age! There can be little doubt that the two illustrious scholars suffered for their fame rather than for their faults, and that their chief offences were overshadowing renown and independence of Fujiwara patronage. BUDDHISM IN THE NARA EPOCH From what has been related above of the priests Kanshin and Gembo, it will have been observed that the Emperor Shomu was an earnest disciple of Buddhism. The heritage of administrative reforms bequeathed to him by Tenchi and Temmu should have engrossed his attention, but he subserved everything to religion, and thus the great national work, begun in the Daika era and carried nearly to completion in the Daiho, suffered its first check. Some annalists have pleaded in Shomu's behalf that he trusted religious influence to consolidate the system introduced by his predecessors. However that may be, history records as the most memorable event of his reign his abdication of the throne in order to enter religion, thus inaugurating a practice which was followed by several subsequent sovereigns and which materially helped the Fujiwara family to usurp the reality of administrative power. Shomu, on receiving the tonsure, changed his name to Shoman, and thenceforth took no part in secular affairs. In all this, however, his procedure marked a climax rather than a departure. In fact, never did any foreign creed receive a warmer welcome than that accorded to Buddhism by the Japanese after its first struggle for tolerance. Emperor after Emperor worshipped the Buddha. Even Tenchi, who profoundly admired the Confucian philosophy and whose experience of the Soga nobles' treason might well have prejudiced him against the faith they championed; and even Temmu, whose ideals took the forms of frugality and militarism, were lavish in their offerings at Buddhist ceremonials. The Emperor Mommu enacted a law for the better control of priests and nuns, yet he erected the temple Kwannon-ji. The great Fujiwara statesmen, as Kamatari, Fuhito, and the rest, though they belonged to a family (the Nakatomi) closely associated with Shinto worship, were reverent followers of the Indian faith. Kamatari approved of his eldest son, Joye, entering the priesthood, and sent him to China to study the Sutras. He also gave up his residence at Yamashina for conversion into a monastery. Fujiwara Fuhito built the Kofuku-ji, and his son, Muchimaro, when governor of Omi, repaired temples in the provinces, protected their domains, and erected the Jingu-ji. That among the occupants of the throne during 165 years, from 593 to 758, no less than seven were females could not but contribute to the spread of a religion which owed so much to spectacular effect. Every one of these sovereigns lent earnest aid to the propagation of Buddhism, and the tendency of the age culminated in the fanaticism of Shomu, re-enforced as it was by the devotion of his consort, Komyo. Tradition has woven into a beautiful legend the nation's impression of this lady's piety. In an access of humility she vowed to wash the bodies of a thousand beggars. Nine hundred and ninety-nine had been completed when the last presented himself in the form of a loathsome leper. Without a sign of repugnance the Empress continued her task, and no sooner was the ablution concluded than the mendicant ascended heavenwards, a glory of light radiating from his body. It is also told of her that, having received in a dream a miniature golden image of the goddess of Mercy (Kwannon) holding a baby in her arms, she conceived a daughter who ultimately reigned as the Empress Koken.* *The resemblance between the legend and the Buddhist account of the Incarnation is plain. It has to be remembered that Nestorians had carried Christianity to the Tang Court long before the days of Komyo. In spite, however, of all this zeal for Buddhism, the nation did not entirely abandon its traditional faith. The original cult had been ancestor worship. Each great family had its uji no Kami, to whom it made offerings and presented supplications. These deities were now supplemented, not supplanted. They were grafted upon a Buddhist stem, and shrines of the uji no Kami became uji-tera, or "uji temples."* Thenceforth the temple (tera) took precedence of the shrine (yashiro). When spoken of together they became ji-sha. This was the beginning of Ryobu Shinto, or mixed Shinto, which found full expression when Buddhist teachers, obedient to a spirit of toleration born of their belief in the doctrines of metempsychosis and universal perfectibility, asserted the creed that the Shinto Kami were avatars (incarnations) of the numerous Buddhas. *Thus, Kofukuji, built by Kamatari and Fuhito was called O-Nakatomi no uji-tera; Onjo-ji, erected by Otomo Suguri, was known as Otomo no uji-tera, and so forth. The Nara epoch has not bequeathed to posterity many relics of the great religious edifices that came into existence under Imperial patronage during its seventy-five years. Built almost wholly of wood, these temples were gradually destroyed by fire. One object, however, defied the agent of destruction. It is a bronze Buddha of huge proportions, known now to all the world as the "Nara Daibutsu." On the fifteenth day of the tenth month of the fifteenth year of Tembyo--7th of November, 743--the Emperor Shomu proclaimed his intention of undertaking this work. The rescript making the announcement is extant. It sets out by declaring that "through the influence and authority of Buddha the country enjoys tranquillity," and while warning the provincial and district governors against in any way constraining the people to take part in the project, it promises that every contributor shall be welcome, even though he bring no more than a twig to feed the furnace or a handful of clay for the mould. The actual work of casting began in 747 and was completed in three years, after seven failures. The image was not cast in its entirety; it was built up with bronze plates soldered together. A sitting presentment of the Buddha, it had a height of fifty-three and a half feet and the face was sixteen feet long, while on either side was an attendant bosatsu standing thirty feet high. For the image, 986,030,000 lbs. of copper were needed, and on the gilding of its surface 870 lbs. of refined gold were used. These figures represented a vast fortune in the eighth century. Indeed it seemed likely that a sufficiency of gold would not be procurable, but fortunately in the year 749 the yellow metal was found in the province of Mutsu, and people regarded the timely discovery as a special dispensation of Buddha. The great hall in which the image stood had a height of 120 feet and a width of 290 feet from east to west, and beside it two pagodas rose to a height of 230 feet each. Throughout the ten years occupied in the task of collecting materials and casting this Daibutsu, the Emperor solemnly worshipped Rushana Buddha three times daily, and on its completion he took the tonsure. It was not until the year 752, however, that the final ceremony of unveiling took place technically called "opening the eyes" (kaigan). On that occasion the Empress Koken, attended by all the great civil and military dignitaries, held a magnificent fete, and in the following year the temple--Todai-ji--was endowed with the taxes of five thousand households and the revenue from twenty-five thousand acres of rice-fields. PROVINCIAL TEMPLES While all this religious fervour was finding costly expression among the aristocrats in Nara, the propagandists and patrons of Buddhism did not neglect the masses. In the year 741, provincial temples were officially declared essential to the State's well-being. These edifices had their origin at an earlier date. During the reign of Temmu (673-686) an Imperial rescript ordered that throughout the whole country every household should provide itself with a Buddhist shrine and place therein a sacred image. When the pious Empress Jito occupied the throne (690-696), the first proselytizing mission was despatched to the Ezo, among whom many converts were won; and, later in the same reign, another rescript directed that a certain Sutra--the Konkwo myo-kyo, or Sutra of Golden Effulgence--should be read during the first month of every year in each province, the fees of the officiating priests and other expenses being defrayed out of the local official exchequers. ENGRAVING: PAGODA OF YAKUSHI-JI, NARA During Mommu's time (697-707), Buddhist hierarchs (kokushi) were appointed to the provinces. Their chief functions were to expound the Sutra and to offer prayers. The devout Shomu not only distributed numerous copies of the Sutras, but also carried his zeal to the length of commanding that every province should erect a sixteen-foot image of Shaka with attendant bosatsu (Bodhisattva), and, a few years later, he issued another command that each province must provide itself with a pagoda seven storeys high. By this last rescript the provincial temples (kokubun-ji) were called into official existence, and presently their number was increased to two in each province, one for priests and one for nuns. The kokushi attached to these temples laboured in the cause of propagandism and religious education side by side with the provincial pundits (kunihakase), whose duty was to instruct the people in law and literature; but it is on record that the results of the former's labours were much more conspicuous than those of the latter. GYOGI It is said to have been mainly at the instance of the Empress Komyo that the great image of Todai-ji was constructed and the provincial temples were established. But undoubtedly the original impulse came from a priest, Gyogi. He was one of those men who seem to have been specially designed by fate for the work they undertake. Gyogi, said to have been of Korean extraction, had no learning like that which won respect for Kanshin and Gembo. But he was amply gifted with the personal magnetism which has always distinguished notably successful propagandists of religion. Wherever he preached and prayed, thousands of priests and laymen flocked to hear him, and so supreme was his influence that under his direction the people gladly undertook extensive works of bridge building and road making. Like Shotoku Taishi, his name is associated by tradition with achievements not properly assignable to him, as the invention of the potter's wheel--though it had been in use for centuries before his time--and the production of various works of art which can scarcely have occupied the attention of a religious zealot. By order of the Empress Gensho, Gyogi was thrown into prison for a time, such a disturbing effect did his propagandism produce on men's pursuit of ordinary bread winning; but he soon emerged from durance and was taken into reverent favour by the Emperor Shomu, who attached four hundred priests as his disciples and conferred on him the titles of Dai-Sojo (Great Hierarch) and Dai-Bosatsu (Great Bodhisattva). The enigma of the people's patience under the stupendous burdens imposed on them by the fanatic piety of Shomu and his consort, Komyo, finds a solution in the co-operation of Gyogi, whose speech and presence exercised more influence than a hundred Imperial edicts. It is recorded that, by way of corollary to the task of reconciling the nation to the Nara Court's pious extravagance, Gyogi compassed the erection of no less than forty-nine temples. But perhaps the most memorable event in his career was the part he took in reconciling the indigenous faith and the imported. However fervent Shomu's belief in Buddhism, the country he ruled was the country of the Kami, and on descent from the Kami his own title to the throne rested. Thus, qualms of conscience may well have visited him when he remembered the comparatively neglected shrine of the Sun goddess at Ise. Gyogi undertook to consult the will of the goddess, and carried back a revelation which he interpreted in the sense that Amaterasu should be regarded as an incarnation of the Buddha. The Emperor then despatched to Ise a minister of State who obtained an oracle capable of similar interpretation, and, on the night after receipt of this utterance, the goddess, appearing to his Majesty in a vision, told him that the sun was Birushana (Vairotchana Tathagata); or Dainishi (Great Sun) Nyorai. Thus was originated a theory which enabled Buddhism and Shinto to walk hand in hand for a thousand years, the theory that the Shinto Kami are avatars of the Buddha. Some historians contend that this idea must have been evolved and accepted before the maturity of the project for casting the colossal image at Nara, and that the credit probably belongs to Gembo; others attribute it to the immortal priest Kukai (Kobo Daishi), who is said to have elaborated the doctrine in the early years of the ninth century. Both seem wrong. SUPERSTITIONS Side by side with the vigorous Buddhism of the Nara epoch, strange superstitions obtained currency and credence. Two may be mentioned as illustrating the mood of the age. One related to an ascetic, En no Ubasoku, who was worshipped by the people of Kinai under the name of En no Gyoja (En the anchorite). He lived in a cave on Katsuragi Mount for forty years, wore garments made of wistaria bark, and ate only pine leaves steeped in spring water. During the night he compelled demons to draw water and gather firewood, and during the day he rode upon clouds of five colours. The Kami Hitokotonushi, having been threatened by him for neglecting his orders, inspired a man to accuse him of treasonable designs, and the Emperor Mommu sent soldiers to arrest him. But as he was able to evade them by recourse to his art of flying, they apprehended his mother in his stead, whereupon he at once gave himself up. In consideration of his filial piety his punishment was commuted to exile on an island off the Izu coast, and in deference to the Imperial orders he remained there quietly throughout the day, but devoted the night to flying to the summit of Mount Fuji or gliding over the sea. This En no Gyoja was the founder of a sect of priests calling themselves Yamabushi. The second superstition relates to one of the genii named Kume. By the practice of asceticism he obtained supernatural power, and while riding one day upon a cloud, he passed above a beautiful girl washing clothes in a river, and became so enamoured of her that he lost his superhuman capacities and fell at her feet. She became his wife. Years afterwards it chanced that he was called out for forced labour, and, being taunted by the officials as a pseudo-genius, he fasted and prayed for seven days and seven nights. On the eighth morning a thunder-storm visited the scene, and after it, a quantity of heavy timber was found to have been moved, without any human effort, from the forest to the site of the projected building. The Emperor, hearing of this, granted him forty-five acres, on which he built the temple of Kume-dera. Such tales found credence in the Nara epoch, and indeed all through the annals of early Japan there runs a well-marked thread of superstition which owed something of its obtrusiveness to intercourse with Korea and China, whence came professors of the arts of invisibility and magic. A thunder deity making his occasional abode in lofty trees is gravely spoken of in the context of a campaign, and if at one moment a river is inhabited by a semi-human monster, at another a fish formed like a child is caught in the sea. There is, of course, an herb of longevity--"a plant resembling coral in shape, with clustering leaves and branches; some red, others purple, others black, others golden coloured, and some changing their colours in the four seasons." In the reign of the Empress Kogyoku, witches and wizards betray the people into all sorts of extravagances; and a Korean acolyte has for friend a tiger which teaches him all manner of wonderful arts, among others that of healing any disease with a magic needle. Later on, these and cognate creations of credulity take their appropriate places in the realm of folk-lore, but they rank with sober history in the ancient annals. In this respect Japan did not differ from other early peoples. THE FORTY-SIXTH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPRESS KOKEN (A.D. 749-758) In July, 749, the Emperor Shomu abdicated in favour of his daughter, Princess Abe, known in history as Koken. Her mother was the celebrated Princess Asuka, who, in spite of the Shimbetsu lineage of her Fujiwara family, had been made Shomu's Empress, and whose name had been changed to Komyo (Refulgence) in token of her illustrious piety. The daughter inherited all the mother's romance, but in her case it often degenerated into a passion more elementary than religious ecstasy. Shomu, having no son, made his daughter heir to the throne. Japanese history furnished no precedent for such a step. The custom had always been that a reign ceased on the death of a sovereign unless the Crown Prince had not yet reached maturity, in which event his mother, or some other nearly related princess, occupied the throne until he came of age and then surrendered the reigns of government to his hands. Such had been the practice in the case of the Empresses Jito, Gemmyo, and Gensho. Shomu, however, not only bequeathed the throne to a princess, but while himself still in the prime of life, abdicated in her favour. Thereafter, at the recognized instance of the all-powerful Fujiwara family, Emperors often surrendered the sceptre to their heirs, themselves retiring into religious life with the secular title of Da-joko (Great ex-Emperor) and the ecclesiastical designation of Ho-o (pontiff). Shomu was the originator of this practice, but the annals are silent as to the motive that inspired him. It will be presently seen that under the skilful manipulation of the Fujiwara nobles, this device of abdication became a potent aid to their usurpation of administrative power, and from that point of view the obvious inference is that Shomu's unprecedented step was taken at their suggestion. But the Buddhist propagandists, also, were profoundly interested. That the sovereign himself should take the tonsure could not fail to confer marked prestige on the Church. It is probable, therefore, that Shomu was swayed by both influences--that of the Buddhists, who worked frankly in the cause of their creed, and that of the Fujiwara, who desired to see a lady of their own lineage upon the throne. KOKEN AND NAKAMARO The fanaticism of the Emperor Shomu and his consort, Komyo, bore fruit during the reign of Koken. In the third year after Shomu's abdication, a decree was issued prohibiting the taking of life in any form. This imposed upon the State the responsibility of making donations of rice to support the fishermen, whose source of livelihood was cut off by the decree. Further, at the ceremony of opening the public worship of the great image of Buddha, the Empress in person led the vast procession of military, civil, and religious dignitaries to the temple Todai-ji. It was a fete of unparalleled dimensions. All officials of the fifth grade and upwards wore full uniform, and all of lesser grades wore robes of the colour appropriate to their rank. Ten thousand Buddhist priests officiated, and the Imperial musicians were re-enforced by those from all the temples throughout the home provinces. Buddhism in Japan had never previously received such splendid homage. In the evening, the Empress visited the residence of the grand councillor, Fujiwara no Nakamaro. Fourteen hundred years had elapsed, according to Japanese history, since the first of the Yamato sovereigns set up his Court, and never had the Imperial house incurred such disgrace as now befell it. Fujiwara no Nakamaro was a grandson of the great Kamatari. He held the rank of dainagon and was at once a learned man and an able administrator. From the time of that visit to the Tamura-no-tei (Tamura mansion), as his residence was called, the Empress repaired thither frequently, and finally made it a detached palace under the name of Tamura-no-miya. Those that tried to put an end to the liaison were themselves driven from office, and Nakamaro's influence became daily stronger. THE FORTY-SEVENTH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR JUNNIN (758-764 A.D.) In August, 758, the Empress, after a reign of four years, nominally abdicated in favour of the Crown Prince, Junnin, but continued to discharge all the functions of government herself. Her infatuation for Nakamaro seemed to increase daily. She bestowed on him titles of admiration and endearment under the guise of homonymous ideographs, and she also bestowed on him in perpetuity the revenue from 3000 households and 250 acres of land. But Koken's caprice took a new turn. She became a nun and transferred her affection to a priest, Yuge no Dokyo. Nakamaro did not tamely endure to be thus discarded. He raised the standard of revolt and found that the nun could be as relentless as the Empress had been gracious. The rebellion--known by irony of fate as that of Oshikatsu (the Conqueror), which was one of the names bestowed on him by Koken in the season of her favour--proved a brief struggle. Nakamaro fell in battle and his head, together with those of his wife, his children, and his devoted followers to the number of thirty-four, was despatched to Nara. The tumult had a more serious sequel. It was mainly through Nakamaro's influence that Junnin had been crowned six years previously, and his Majesty naturally made no secret of his aversion for the new favourite. The Dowager Empress--so Koken had called herself--did not hesitate a moment. In the very month following Nakamaro's destruction, she charged that the Emperor was in collusion with the rebel; despatched a force of troops to surround the palace; dethroned Junnin; degraded him to the rank of a prince, and sent him and his mother into exile, where the conditions of confinement were made so intolerable that the ex-Emperor attempted to escape, was captured and killed. ENGRAVING: THE KASUGA JINJA SHRINE AT KARA THE FORTY-EIGHTH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPRESS SHOTOKU (765-770 A.D.) The nun Koken now abandoned the veil and re-ascended the throne under the name of Shotoku. Her affection for Dokyo had been augmented by his constant ministrations during her illness while on a visit to the "detatched palace" at Omi, and she conferred on him a priestly title which made him rank equally with the prime minister. All the civil and military magnates had to pay homage to him at the festival of the New Year in his exalted capacity. Yet her Majesty was not satisfied. Another step of promotion was possible. In the year after her second ascent of the throne she named him Ho-o (pontiff), a title never previously borne by any save her father, the ex-Emperor Shomu. Dokyo rose fully to the level of the occasion. He modelled his life in every respect on that of a sovereign and assumed complete control of the administration of the empire. He not only fared sumptuously but also built many temples, and as the Empress was not less extravagant, the burden of taxation became painfully heavy. But the priestly favourite, who seems to have now conceived the ambition of ascending the throne, abated nothing of his pomp. Whether at his instigation or because his favour had become of paramount importance to all men of ambition, Asomaro, governor of the Dazai-fu, informed the Empress that, according to an oracle delivered by the god of War (Hachiman) at Usa, the nation would enjoy tranquillity and prosperity if Dokyo were its ruler. The Empress had profound reverence for Hachiman, as, indeed, was well known to Asomaro and to Dokyo. Yet she hesitated to take this extreme step without fuller assurance. She ordered Wake no Kiyomaro to proceed to Usa and consult the deity once more. Kiyomaro was a fearless patriot. That Shotoku's choice fell on him at this juncture might well have been regarded by his countrymen as an intervention of heaven. Before setting out he had unequivocal evidence of what was to be expected at Dokyo's hands by the bearer of a favourable revelation from Hachiman. Yet the answer carried back by him from the Usa shrine was explicitly fatal to Dokyo's hope. "Since the establishment of the State the distinction of sovereign and subject has been observed. There is no instance of a subject becoming sovereign. The successor of the throne must be of the Imperial family and a usurper is to be rejected." Dokyo's wrath was extreme. He ordered that Kiyomaro's name should be changed to Kegaremaro, which was equivalent to substituting "foul" for "fair;" he banished him to Osumi in the extreme south of Kyushu, and he sent emissaries whose attempt to assassinate him was balked by a thunder-storm. But before he could bring any fresh design to maturity, the Empress died. Dokyo and Asomaro were banished, and Kiyomaro was recalled from exile. Historians have been much perplexed to account for the strangely apathetic demeanour of the high dignitaries of State in the presence of such disgraceful doings as those of the Empress and her favourite. They specially blame Kibi no Makibi, the great scholar. He had recovered from his temporary eclipse in connexion with the revolt of Fujiwara Hirotsugu, and he held the office of minister of the Right during a great part of Koken's reign. Yet it is not on record that he offered any remonstrance. The same criticism, however, seems to apply with not less justice to his immediate predecessors in the post of ministers of the Right, Tachibana no Moroe and Fujiwara no Toyonari; to the minister of the Left, Fujiwara no Nagate; to the second councillor, Fujiwara no Matate, and to the privy councillors, Fujiwara no Yoshitsugu, Fujiwara no Momokawa, and Fujiwara no Uwona. It was with the Fujiwara families that the responsibility rested chiefly, and the general conduct of the Fujiwara at that period of history forbids us to construe their apparent indifference in a wholly bad sense. Probably the simplest explanation is the true one: Koken herself was a Fujiwara. STATE OF THE PROVINCES In the days of Shomu and Koken administrative abuses were not limited to the capital, they extended to the provinces also. Among the Daika and Daiho laws, the first that proved to be a failure was that relating to provincial governors. At the outset men of ability were chosen for these important posts, and their term of service was limited to four years. Soon, however, they began to petition for reappointment, and under the sway of the Empress Koken a via media was found by extending the period of office to six years. Moreover, whereas at first a newly appointed governor was supposed to live in the official residence of his predecessor, it quickly became the custom to build a new mansion for the incoming dignitary and leave the outgoing undisturbed. What that involved is plain when we observe that such edifices were all constructed by forced labour. These governors usually possessed large domains, acquired during their period of office. The Court endeavoured to check them by despatching inspectors (ansatsu-shi) to examine and report on current conditions; but that device availed little. Moreover, the provincial governors exercised the power of appointing and dismissing the district governors (gunshi) in their provinces, although this evil system had been prohibited in the time of Gemmyo. In connexion, too, with the rice collected for public purposes, there were abuses. This rice, so long as it lay in the official storehouses, represented so much idle capital. The provincial governors utilized it by lending the grain to the farmers in the spring, partly for seed purposes and partly for food, on condition that it should be paid back in the autumn with fifty per cent, increment. Subsequently this exorbitant figure was reduced to thirty per cent. But the result was ruin for many farmers. They had to hand over their fields and houses or sell themselves into bondage. Thus, outlaws, living by plunder, became a common feature of the time, and there arose a need for guards more capable than those supplied by the system of partial conscription. Hence, in the reign of Shomu, the sons and brothers of district governors (gunshi) proficient in archery and equestrianism were summoned from Omi, Ise, Mino, and Echizen, and to them was assigned the duty of guarding the public storehouses in the provinces. At the same time many men of prominence and influence began to organize guards for their private protection. This was contrary to law, but the condition of the time seemed to warrant it, and the authorities were powerless to prevent it. The ultimate supremacy of the military class had its origin in these circumstances. The Government itself was constrained to organize special corps for dealing with the brigands and pirates who infested the country and the coasts. It has been well said by a Japanese historian that the fortunes of the Yamato were at their zenith during the reigns of the three Emperors Jimmu, Temmu, and Mommu. From the beginning of the eighth century they began to decline. For that decline, Buddhism was largely responsible. Buddhism gave to Japan a noble creed in the place of a colourless cult; gave to her art and refinement, but gave to her also something like financial ruin. The Indian faith spread with wonderful rapidity among all classes and betrayed them into fanatical extravagance. Anyone who did not erect or contribute largely to the erection of a temple or a pagoda was not admitted to the ranks of humanity. Men readily sacrificed their estates to form temple domains or to purchase serfs (tera-yakko) to till them. The sublimity of these edifices; the solemn grandeur of the images enshrined there; the dazzling and exquisite art lavished on their decoration; the strange splendour of the whole display might well suggest to the Japanese the work of some supernatural agencies. In the Nara epoch, the Government spent fully one-half of its total income on works of piety. No country except in time of war ever devoted so much to unproductive expenditures. The enormous quantities of copper used for casting images not only exhausted the produce of the mines but also made large inroads upon the currency, hundreds of thousands of cash being thrown into the melting-pot. In 760 it was found that the volume of privately coined cash exceeded one-half of the State income, and under pretext that to suspend the circulation of such a quantity would embarrass the people, the Government struck a new coin--the mannen tsuho--which, while not differing appreciably from the old cash in intrinsic value, was arbitrarily invested with ten times the latter's purchasing power. The profit to the treasury was enormous; the disturbance of values and the dislocation of trade were proportionately great. Twelve years later (772), another rescript ordered that the new coin should circulate at par with the old. Such unstable legislation implies a very crude conception of financial requirements. RECLAIMED UPLANDS It has been shown that the Daika reforms regarded all "wet fields" as the property of the Crown, while imposing no restriction on the ownership of uplands, these being counted as belonging to their reclaimers. Thus, large estates began to fall into private possession; conspicuously in the case of provincial and district governors, who were in a position to employ forced labour, and who frequently abused their powers in defiance of the Daika code and decrees, where it was enacted that all profits from reclaimed lands must be shared with the farmers.* So flagrant did these practices become that, in 767, reclamation was declared to constitute thereafter no title of ownership. Apparently, however, this veto proved unpractical, for five years later (772), it was rescinded, the only condition now attached being that the farmers must not be distressed. Yet again, in 784, another change of policy has to be recorded. A decree declared that governors must confine their agricultural enterprise to public lands, on penalty of being punished criminally. If the language of this decree be read literally, a very evil state of affairs would seem to have existed, for the governors are denounced as wholly indifferent to public rights or interests, and as neglecting no means of exploiting the farmers. Finally, in 806, the pursuit of productive enterprise by governors in the provinces was once more sanctioned. *The term "farmers," as used in the times now under consideration, must not be interpreted strictly in the modern sense of the word. It meant, rather, the untitled and the unofficial classes in the provinces. Thus, between 650 and 806, no less than five radical changes of policy are recorded. It resulted that this vascillating legislation received very little practical attention. Great landed estates (shoen) accumulated in private hands throughout the empire, some owned by nobles, some by temples; and in order to protect their titles against the interference of the Central Government, the holders of these estates formed alliances with the great Court nobles in the capital, so that, in the course of time, a large part of the land throughout the provinces fell under the control of a few dominant families. In the capital (Nara), on the other hand, the enormous sums squandered upon the building of temples, the casting or carving of images, and the performance of costly religious ceremonials gradually produced such a state of impecuniosity that, in 775, a decree was issued ordering that twenty-five per cent, of the revenues of the public lands (kugaideri) should be appropriated to increase the emoluments of the metropolitan officials. This decree spoke of the latter officials as not having sufficient to stave off cold or hunger, whereas their provincial confreres were living in opulence, and added that even men of high rank were not ashamed to apply for removal to provincial posts. As illustrating the straits to which the metropolitans were reduced and the price they had to pay for relief, it is instructive to examine a note found among the contents of the Shoso-in at Nara. STATEMENT OF MON (COPPER CASH) LENT Total, 1700 Mon. Monthly interest, 15 per hundred. Debtors Sums lent Amounts to be returned Tata no Mushimaro 500 mon 605 mon, on the 6th of the 11th month; namely, original debt, 500 mon, and interest for 1 month and 12 days, 105 mon Ayabe no Samimaro 700 mon 840 mon, on the 6th of the 11th month; namely, original debt, 700 mon, and interest for 1 month and 10 days, 140 mon Kiyono no Hitotari 500 mon 605 mon, on the 6th of the 11th month; namely, original debt, 500 mon, and interest for 1 month and 12 days, 105 mon The above to be paid back when the debtors receive their salaries. Dated the 22nd of the 9th month of the 4th year of the Hoki era. (October 13, 773.) Another note shows a loan of 1000 mon carrying interest at the rate of 130 mon monthly. The price of accommodation being so onerous, it is not difficult to infer the costliness of the necessaries of life. When the Daika reforms were undertaken, the metropolitan magnates looked down upon their provincial brethren as an inferior order of beings, but in the closing days of the Nara epoch the situations were reversed, and the ultimate transfer of administrative power from the Court to the provincials began to be foreshadowed. THE FUJIWARA FAMILY The religious fanaticism of the Emperor Shomu and his consort, Komyo, brought disorder into the affairs of the Imperial Court, and gave rise to an abuse not previously recorded, namely, favouritism with its natural outcome, treasonable ambition. It began to be doubtful whether the personal administration of the sovereign might not be productive of danger to the State. Thus, patriotic politicians conceived a desire not to transfer the sceptre to outside hands but to find among the scions of the Imperial family some one competent to save the situation, even though the selection involved violation of the principle of primogeniture. The death of the Empress Shotoku without issue and the consequent extinction of the Emperor Temmu's line furnished an opportunity to these loyal statesmen, and they availed themselves of it to set Konin upon the throne, as will be presently described. In this crisis of the empire's fortunes, the Fujiwara family acted a leading part. Fuhito, son of the illustrious Kamatari, having assisted in the compilation of the Daika code and laws, and having served throughout four reigns--Jito, Mommu, Gemmyo, and Gensho--died at sixty-two in the post of minister of the Right, and left four sons, Muchimaro, Fusazaki, Umakai, and Maro. These, establishing themselves independently, founded the "four houses" of the Fujiwara. Muchimaro's home, being in the south (nan) of the capital, was called Nan-ke; Fusazaki's, being in the north (hoku), was termed Hoku-ke; Umakai's was spoken of as Shiki-ke, since he presided over the Department of Ceremonies (Shiki), and Maro's went by the name of Kyo-ke, this term also having reference to his office. The descendants of the four houses are shown in the following table: / / | Toyonari--Tsugunawa | Muchimaro < Nakamaro (Emi no Oshikatsu) | (Nan-ke) | Otomaro--Korekimi | \ | | / / | | Nagate | Nagayoshi (Mototsune) | Fusazaki < Matate--Uchimaro--Fuyutsugu < adopted | (Hoku-ke) | Kiyokawa | Yoshifusa--Mototsune-+ | \ \ | | | | / | | | Hirotsugu | | Umakai < Yoshitsugu--Tanetsugu-- / Nakanari | | (Shiki-ke) | --Kiyonari \ Kusuko | | | Momokawa--Otsugu | Kamatari- | \ | Fuhito < | | +-----------------------------------------------------+ | Maro | | (Kyo-ke) | Tokihira / | Miyako | Nakahira / | Koretada | (Consort | | Saneyori | Kanemichi | of Mommu) | Tadahira < Morosuke-- < Kaneiye ----+ | | | Morotada | Tamemitsu | | \ \ | Kinsuye | | \ | | Asuka | | (Empress | | of Shomu) | \ | | +----------------------------------------------------+ | | / Korechika | Michitaka < | \ Takaiye | Michikane | / Yorimichi--Morozane--Moromichi -------+ | Michinaga < | \ \ Norimichi | | | +----------------------------------------------------+ | | / Tadamichi | Tadazane < | \ Yorinaga \ It has already been related how the four heads of these families all died in one year (736) during an epidemic of small-pox, but it may be doubted whether this apparent calamity did not ultimately prove fortunate, for had these men lived, they would have occupied commanding positions during the scandalous reign of the Empress Koken (afterwards Shotoku), and might have supported the ruinous disloyalty of Nakamaro or the impetuous patriotism of Hirotsugu. However that may be, the Fujiwara subsequently took the lead in contriving the selection and enthronement of a monarch competent to stem the evil tendency of the time, and when the story of the Fujiwara usurpations comes to be written, we should always remember that it had a long preface of loyal service, a preface extending to four generations. THE FORTY-NINTH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR KONIN (A.D. 770-781) When the Empress Shotoku died, no successor had been designated, and it seemed not unlikely that the country would be thrown into a state of civil war. The ablest among the princes of the blood was Shirakabe, grandson of the Emperor Tenchi. He was in his sixty-second year, had held the post of nagon, and unquestionably possessed erudition and administrative competence. Fujiwara Momokawa warmly espoused his cause, but for unrecorded reason Kibi no Makibi offered opposition. Makibi being then minister of the Right and Momokawa only a councillor, the former's views must have prevailed had not Momokawa enlisted the aid of his brother, Yoshitsugu, and of his cousin, Fujiwara Nagate, minister of the Left. By their united efforts Prince Shirakabe was proclaimed and became the Emperor Konin, his youngest son, Osabe, being appointed Prince Imperial. Konin justified the zeal of his supporters, but his benevolent and upright reign has been sullied by historical romanticists, who represent him as party to an unnatural intrigue based on the alleged licentiousness and shamelessness of his consort, Princess Inokami, a lady then in her fifty-sixth year with a hitherto blameless record. Much space has been given to this strange tale by certain annalists, but its only apparent basis of fact would seem to be that Momokawa, wishing to secure the succession to Prince Yamabe--afterwards Emperor Kwammu--compassed the deaths of the Empress Inokami and her son, Osabe, the heir apparent. They were probably poisoned on the same day, and stories injurious to the lady's reputation--stories going so far as to accuse her of attempting the life of the Emperor by incantation--were circulated in justification of the murder. Certain it is, however, that to Momokawa's exertions the Emperor Kwammu owed his accession, as had his father, Konin. Kwammu, known in his days of priesthood as Yamabe, was Konin's eldest son, and would have been named Prince Imperial on his father's ascent of the throne had not his mother, Takano, been deficient in qualifications of lineage. He had held the posts of president of the University and minister of the Central Department, and his career, alike in office and on the throne, bore witness to the wisdom of his supporters. As illustrating the religious faith of the age, it is noteworthy that Momokawa, by way of promoting Prince Yamabe's interests, caused a statue to be made in his likeness, and, enshrining it in the temple Bonshaku-ji, ordered the priests to offer supplications in its behalf. The chronicle further relates that after the deaths of the Empress (Inokami) and her son (Osabe), Momokawa and Emperor Konin were much troubled by the spirits of the deceased. That kind of belief in the maleficent as well as in the beneficent powers of the dead became very prevalent in later times. Momokawa died before the accession of Kwammu, but to him was largely due the great influence subsequently wielded by the Fujiwara at Court. It is on record that Kwammu, speaking in after years to Momokawa's son, Otsugu, recalled his father's memory with tears, and said that but for Momokawa he would never have reigned over the empire. The fact is that the Fujiwara were a natural outcome of the situation. The Tang systems, which Kamatari, the great founder of the family, had been chiefly instrumental in introducing, placed in the hands of the sovereign powers much too extensive to be safely entrusted to a monarch qualified only by heredity. Comprehending the logic of their organization, the Chinese made their monarchs' tenure of authority depend upon the verdict of the nation. But in Japan the title to the crown being divinely bequeathed, there could be no question of appeal to a popular tribunal. So long as men like Kotoku, Tenchi, and Temmu occupied the throne, the Tang polity showed no flagrant defects. But when the exercise of almost unlimited authority fell into the hands of a religious fanatic like Shomu, or a licentious lady like Koken, it became necessary either that the principle of heredity should be set aside altogether, or that some method of limited selection should be employed. It was then that the Fujiwara became a species of electoral college, not possessing, indeed, any recognized mandate from the nation, yet acting in the nation's behalf to secure worthy occupants for the throne. For a time this system worked satisfactorily, but ultimately it inosculated itself with the views it was designed to nullify, and the Fujiwara became flagrant abusers of the power handed down to them. Momokawa's immediate followers were worthy to wear his mantle. Tanetsugu, Korekimi, Tsugunawa--these are names that deserve to be printed in letters of gold on the pages of Japan's annals. They either prompted or presided over the reforms and retrenchments that marked Kwammu's reign, and personal ambition was never allowed to interfere with their duty to the State. IMPERIAL PRINCES Contemporaneously with the rise of the Fujiwara to the highest places within reach of a subject, an important alteration took place in the status of Imperial princes. There was no relation of cause and effect between the two things, but in subsequent times events connected them intimately. According to the Daika legislation, not only sons of sovereigns but also their descendants to the fifth generation were classed as members of the Imperial family and inherited the title of "Prince" (0). Ranks (hon-i) were granted to them and they often participated in the management of State affairs. But no salaries were given to them; they had to support themselves with the proceeds of sustenance fiefs. The Emperor Kwammu was the first to break away from this time-honoured usage. He reduced two of his own sons, born of a non-Imperial lady, from the Kwobetsu class to the Shimbetsu, conferring on them the uji names of Nagaoka and Yoshimine, and he followed the same course with several of the Imperial grandsons, giving them the name of Taira. Thenceforth, whenever a sovereign's offspring was numerous, it became customary to group them with the subject class under a family name. A prince thus reduced received the sixth official rank (roku-i), and was appointed to a corresponding office in the capital or a province, promotion following according to his ability and on successfully passing the examination prescribed for Court officials. Nevertheless, to be divested of the title of "Prince" did not mean less of princely prestige. Such nobles were always primi inter pares. The principal uji thus created were Nagaoka, Yoshimine, Ariwara, Taira, and Minamoto. THE TAIRA FAMILY Prince Katsurabara was the fifth son of the Emperor Kwammu. Intelligent, reserved, and a keen student, he is said to have understood the warnings of history as clearly as its incentives. He petitioned the Throne that the title of should be exchanged in his children's case for that of Taira no Asomi (Marquis of Taira). This request, though several times repeated, was not granted until the time (889) of his grandson, Takamochi, who became the first Taira no Asomi and governor of Kazusa province. He was the grandfather of Masakado and great-grandfather of Tadamori, names celebrated in Japanese history. For generations the Taira asomi were appointed generals of the Imperial guards conjointly with the Minamoto, to be presently spoken of. The name of Taira was conferred also on three other sons of Kwammu, the Princes Mamta, Kaya, and Nakano, so that there were four Tairahouses just as there were four Fujiwara. THE MINAMOTO FAMILY The Emperor Saga (810) had fifty children. From the sixth son downwards they were grouped under the uji of Minamoto. All received appointments to important offices. This precedent was even more drastically followed in the days of the Emperor Seiwa (859-876). To all his Majesty's sons, except the Crown Prince, the uji of Minamoto was given. The best known among these early Minamoto was Tsunemoto, commonly called Prince Rokuson. He was a grandson of the Emperor Seiwa, celebrated for two very dissimilar attainments, which, nevertheless, were often combined in Japan--the art of composing couplets and the science of commanding troops. Appointed in the Shohyo era (931-937) to be governor of Musashi, the metropolitan province of modern Japan, his descendants constituted the principal among fourteen Minamoto houses. They were called the Seiwa Genji, and next in importance came the Saga Genji and the Murakami Genji.* *That is to say, descended from the Emperor Murakami (947-967). Gen is the Chinese sound of Minamoto and ji (jshi) represents uji. The Minamoto are alluded to in history as either the Genji or the Minamoto. Similarly, hei being the Chinese pronunciation of Taira, the latter are indiscriminately spoken of Taira or Heike (ke = house). Both names are often combined into Gen-pei. UJI NO CHOJA AND GAKU-IN NO BETTO The imperially descended uji spoken of above, each consisting of several houses, were grouped according to their names, and each group was under the supervision of a chief, called uji no choja or uji no cho. Usually, as has been already stated, the corresponding position in an ordinary uji was called uji no Kami and belonged to the first-born of the principal house, irrespective of his official rank. But in the case of the imperially descended uji, the chief was selected and nominated by the sovereign with regard to his administrative post. With the appointment was generally combined that of Gaku-in no betto, or commissioner of the academies established for the youths of the uji. The principal of these academies was the Kwangaku-in of the Fujiwara. Founded by Fujiwara Fuyutsugu, minister of the Left, in the year 821, and endowed with a substantial part of his estate in order to afford educational advantages for the poorer members of the great family, this institution rivalled even the Imperial University, to be presently spoken of. It was under the superintendence of a special commissioner (benkwari). Next in importance was the Shogaku-in of the Minamoto, established by Ariwara Yukihira in the year 881. Ariwara being a grandson of the Emperor Saga, a member of the Saga Genji received the nomination of chief commissioner; but in the year 1140, the minister of the Right, Masasada, a member of the Murakami Genji, was appointed to the office, and thenceforth it remained in the hands of that house. Two other educational institutions were the Junna-in of the O-uji and the Gakukwan-in of the Tachibana-iyt, the former dating from the year 834 and the latter from 820. It is not on record that there existed any special school under Taira auspices. AGRICULTURE One of the principal duties of local governors from the time of the Daika reforms was to encourage agriculture. A rescript issued by the Empress Gensho in the year 715 declared that to enrich the people was to make the country prosperous, and went on to condemn the practice of devoting attention to rice culture only and neglecting upland crops, so that, in the event of a failure of the former, the latter did not constitute a substitute. It was therefore ordered that barley and millet should be assiduously grown, and each farmer was required to lay down two tan (2/3 acre) annually of these upland cereals. Repeated proclamations during the eighth century bear witness to official solicitude in this matter, and in 723 there is recorded a distribution of two koku (nearly ten bushels) of seeds, ten feet of cotton cloth, and a hoe (kuwa) to each agriculturist throughout the empire. Such largesse suggests a colossal operation, but, in fact, it meant little more than the remission of about a year's taxes. Necessarily, as the population increased, corresponding extension of the cultivated area became desirable, and already, in the year 722, a work of reclamation on a grand scale was officially undertaken by organizing a body of peasants and sending them to bring under culture a million cho (two and a half million acres) of new land. This interesting measure is recorded without any details whatever. Private initiative was also liberally encouraged. An Imperial rescript promised that any farmer harvesting three thousand koku (fifteen thousand bushels) of cereals from land reclaimed by himself should receive the sixth class order of merit (kun roku-to), while a crop of over a thousand koku and less than three thousand would carry lifelong exemption from forced labour. The Daika principle that the land was wholly the property of the Crown had thus to yield partially to the urgency of the situation, and during the third decade of the eighth century it was enacted that, if a man reclaimed land by utilizing aqueducts and reservoirs already in existence, the land should belong to him for his lifetime, while if the reservoirs and aqueducts were of his own construction, the right of property should be valid for three generations.* From the operation of this law the provincial governors were excepted; the usufruct of lands reclaimed by them was limited to the term of their tenure of office, though, as related already, legislation in their case varied greatly from time to time. *This system was called Sansei-isshin no ho. It is, perhaps, advisable to note that the Daika system of dividing the land for sustenance purposes applied only to land already under cultivation. For a certain period the system of "three generations, or one life" worked smoothly enough; but subsequently it was found that as the limit of time approached, farmers neglected to till the land and suffered it to lie waste. Therefore, in the year 743, the Government enacted that all reclaimed land should be counted the perpetual property of the reclaimer, with one proviso, namely, that three years of neglect to cultivate should involve confiscation. The recognition of private ownership was not unlimited. An area of five hundred cho (1250 acres) was fixed as the superior limit, applicable only to the case of a "First Class" prince, the quantities being thereafter on a sliding scale down to ten cho (twenty-five acres). Any excess resulting from previous accretions was to revert to the State. Evidently the effective operation of such a system predicated accurate surveys and strict supervision. Neither of these conditions existed in Japan at that remote period. The prime purpose of the legislators was achieved, since the people devoted themselves assiduously to land reclamation; but by free recourse to their power of commanding labour, the great families acquired estates largely in excess of the legal limit. A feature of the Nara epoch was the endowment of the Buddhist temples with land by men of all classes, and the sho-en, or temple domain, thus came into existence. STOCK FARMING Information on the subject of stock farming is scanty and indirect, but in the year 713 we find a rescript ordering the provincials of Yamashiro to provide and maintain fifty milch-cows, and in 734, permission was given that all the districts in the Tokai-do, the Tosan-do, and the Sanin-do might trade freely in cattle and horses. Seven years later (741), when Shomu occupied the throne, and when Buddhism spread its protecting mantle over all forms of life, an edict appeared condemning anyone who killed a horse or an ox to be flogged with a hundred strokes and to be fined heavily. Only one other reference to stock farming appears in the annals of the Nara epoch: the abolition of the two pastures at Osumi and Himeshima in the province of Settsu was decreed in 771, but no reason is recorded. SERICULTURE From the remotest times sericulture was assiduously practised in Japan, the ladies of the Imperial Court, from the Empress downwards, taking an active part in the pursuit. The wave of Buddhist zeal which swept over Japan in the eighth century gave a marked impulse to this branch of industry, for the rich robes of the priests constituted a special market. ORANGES It is recorded in the Chronicles that Tajimamori, a Korean emigrant of royal descent, was sent to the "Eternal Land" by the Emperor Suinin, in the year A.D. 61, to obtain "the fragrant fruit that grows out of season;" that, after a year's absence, he returned, and finding the Emperor dead, committed suicide at his tomb. The "fragrant fruit" is understood to have been the orange, then called tachibana (Citrus nobilis). If the orange really reached Japan at that remote date, it does not appear to have been cultivated there, for the importation of orange trees from China is specially mentioned as an incident of the early Nara epoch. INDUSTRIES One of the unequivocal benefits bestowed on Japan by Buddhism was a strong industrial and artistic impulse. Architecture made notable progress owing to the construction of numerous massive and magnificent temples and pagodas. One of the latter, erected during the reign of Temmu, had a height of thirteen storeys. The arts of casting and of sculpture, both in metal and in wood, received great development, as did also the lacquer industry. Vermilion lacquer was invented in the time of Temmu, and soon five different colours could be produced, while to the Nara artisans belongs the inception of lacquer strewn with makie. Lacquer inlaid with mother-of-pearl was another beautiful concept of the Nara epoch. A special tint of red was obtained with powdered coral, and gold and silver were freely used in leaf or in plates. As yet, history does not find any Japanese painter worthy of record. Chinese and Korean masters remained supreme in that branch of art. TRADE Commerce with China and Korea was specially active throughout the eighth century, and domestic trade also nourished. In the capital there were two markets where people assembled at noon and dispersed at sunset. Men and women occupied different sections, and it would seem that transactions were subject to strict surveillance. Thus, if any articles of defective quality or adulterated were offered for sale, they were liable to be confiscated officially, and if a buyer found that short measure had been given, he was entitled to return his purchase. Market-rates had to be conformed with, and purchasers were required to pay promptly. It appears that trees were planted to serve as shelter or ornament, for we read of "trees in the Market of the East" and "orange trees in the market of Kaika." HABITATIONS The Buddhist temple, lofty, spacious, with towering tiled roof, massive pillars and rich decoration of sculpture and painting, could not fail to impart an impetus to Japanese domestic architecture, especially as this impressive apparition was not evolved gradually under the eyes of the nation but was presented to them suddenly in its complete magnificence. Thus it is recorded that towards the close of the seventh century, tiled roofs and greater solidity of structure began to distinguish official buildings, as has been already noted. But habitations in general remained insignificant and simple. A poem composed by the Dowager Empress Gensho (724) with reference to the dwelling of Prince Nagaya is instructive: "Hata susuki" (Thatched with miscanthus) "Obana sakafuki" (And eularia) "Kuro-ki mochi" (Of ebon timbers built, a house) "Tsukureru yado wa" (Will live a myriad years.) "Yorozu yo made ni." This picture of a nobleman's dwelling in the eighth century is not imposing. In the very same year the Emperor Shomu, responding to an appeal from the council of State, issued an edict that officials of the fifth rank and upwards and wealthy commoners should build residences with tiled roofs and walls plastered in red. This injunction was only partly obeyed: tiles came into more general use, but red walls offended the artistic instinct of the Japanese. Nearly fifty years later, when (767-769) the shrine of Kasuga was erected at Nara in memory of Kamatari, founder of the Fujiwara family, its pillars were painted in vermilion, and the fashion inaugurated found frequent imitation in later years. Of furniture the houses had very little as compared with Western customs. Neither chairs nor bedsteads existed; people sat and slept on the floor, separated from it only by mats made of rice-straw, by cushions or by woollen carpets, and in aristocratic houses there was a kind of stool to support the arm of the sitter, a lectern, and a dais for sitting on. Viands were served on tables a few inches high, and people sat while eating. From the middle of the seventh century a clepsydra of Chinese origin was used to mark the hours. The first of these instruments is recorded to have been made in A.D. 660, and tradition does not tell what device had previously served the purpose. When temple bells came into existence, the hours were struck on them for public information, and there is collateral evidence that some similar system of marking time had been resorted to from early eras. But the whole story is vague. It seems, however, that the method of counting the hours was influenced by the manner of striking them. Whether bronze bell or wooden clapper was used, three preliminary strokes were given by way of warning, and it therefore became inexpedient to designate any of the hours "one," "two," or "three." Accordingly the initial number was four, and the day being divided into six hours, instead of twelve, the highest number became nine, which corresponded to the Occidental twelve.* *There were no subdivisions into minutes and seconds in old Japan. The only fraction of an hour was one-half. BELLS Concerning the bells here mentioned, they are one of the unexplained achievements of Japanese casters. In Europe the method of producing a really fine-toned bell was evolved by "ages of empirical trials," but in Japan bells of huge size and exquisite note were cast in apparent defiance of all the rules elaborated with so much difficulty in the West. One of the most remarkable hangs in the belfry of Todai-ji at Nara. It was cast in the year 732 when Shomu occupied the throne; it is 12 feet 9 inches high; 8 feet 10 inches in diameter; 10 inches thick, and weighs 49 tons. There are great bells also in the temples at Osaka and Kyoto, and it is to be noted that early Japanese bronze work was largely tributary and subsidiary to temple worship. Temple bells, vases, gongs, mirrors and lanterns are the principal items in this class of metal-working, until a much later period with its smaller ornaments. Very few references to road making are found in the ancient annals, but the reign of the Empress Gensho (715-723) is distinguished as the time when the Nakasen-do, or Central Mountain road, was constructed. It runs from Nara to Kyoto and thence to the modern Tokyo, traversing six provinces en route. Neither history nor tradition tells whether it was wholly made in the days of Gensho or whether, as seems more probable, it was only commenced then and carried to completion in the reign of Shomu (724-748), when a large force of troops had to be sent northward against the rebellious Yemishi. Doubtless the custom of changing the capital on the accession of each sovereign had the effect of calling many roads into existence, but these were of insignificant length compared with a great trunk highway like the Nakasen-do. Along these roads the lower classes travelled on foot; the higher on horseback, and the highest in carts drawn by bullocks. For equestrians who carried official permits, relays of horses could always be obtained at posting stations. Among the ox-carts which served for carriages, there was a curious type, distinguished by the fact that between the shafts immediately in front of the dashboard stood a figure whose outstretched arm perpetually pointed south. This compass-cart, known as the "south-pointing chariot," was introduced from China in the year 658. There was also a "cloud-chariot," but this served for war purposes only, being a movable erection for overlooking an enemy's defensive work, corresponding to the turris of Roman warfare. Borrowed also from China was a battering engine which moved on four wheels, and, like the cloud-chariot, dated from 661, when a Tang army invaded Korea. HABILIMENTS A reader of the Chronicles is struck by the fact that from the close of the seventh century much official attention seems to have been bestowed on the subject of costume. Thus, during the last five years of the Emperor Temmu's reign--namely, from 681--we find no less than nine sumptuary regulations issued. The first was an edict, containing ninety-two articles, of which the prologue alone survives, "The costumes of all, from the princes of the Blood down to the common people, and the wearing of gold and silver, pearls and jewels, purple, brocade, embroidery, fine silks, together with woollen carpets, head-dresses, and girdles, as well as all kinds of coloured stuffs, are regulated according to a scale, the details of which are given in the written edict." In the next year (682), another edict forbids the wearing of caps of rank, aprons, broad girdles, and leggings by princes or public functionaries, as well as the use of shoulder-straps or mantillas by palace stewards or ladies-in-waiting. The shoulder-strap was a mark of manual labour, and its use in the presence of a superior has always been counted as rude in Japan. A few days later, this meticulous monarch is found commanding men and women to tie up their hair, eight months being granted to make the change, and, at the same time, the practice of women riding astride on horseback came into vogue, showing that female costume had much in common with male. Caps of varnished gauze, after the Chinese type, began to be worn by both sexes simultaneously with the tying-up of the hair. Two years later, women of forty years or upwards were given the option of tying up their hair or letting it hang loose, and of riding astride or side-saddle as they pleased. At the same time, to both sexes, except on State occasions, liberty of choice was accorded in the matter of wearing sleeveless jackets fastened in front with silk cords and tassels, though in the matter of trousers, men had to gather theirs in at the bottom with a lace. By and by, the tying up of the hair by women was forbidden in its turn; the wearing of leggings was sanctioned, and the colours of Court costumes were strictly determined according to the rank of the wearer red, deep purple, light purple, dark green, light green, deep grape-colour and light grape-colour being the order from above downwards. All this attention to costume is suggestive of much refinement. From the eighth century even greater care was devoted to the subject. We find three kinds of habiliments prescribed--full dress (reifuku), Court dress (chofuku) and uniform (seifuku)--with many minor distinctions according to the rank of the wearer. Broadly speaking, the principal garments were a paletot, trousers, and a narrow girdle tied in front. The sleeves of the paletot were studiously regulated. A nobleman wore them long enough to cover his hands, and their width--which in after ages became remarkable--was limited in the Nara epoch to one foot. The manner of folding the paletot over the breast seems to have perplexed the legislators for a time. At first they prescribed that the right should be folded over the left (hidarimae), but subsequently (719) an Imperial decree ordered that the left should be laid across the right (migimae), and since that day, nearly twelve hundred years ago, there has not been any departure from the latter rule. Court officials carried a baton (shaku), that, too, being a habit borrowed from China. FOOD When the influence of Buddhism became supreme in Court circles, all taking of life for purposes of food was interdicted. The first prohibitory decree in that sense was issued by Temmu (673-686), and the veto was renewed in more peremptory terms by Shomu (724-748), while the Empress Shotoku (765-770) went so far as to forbid the keeping of dogs, falcons, or cormorants for hunting or fishing at Shinto ceremonials. But such vetoes were never effectually enforced. The great staple of diet was rice, steamed or boiled, and next in importance came millet, barley, fish of various kinds (fresh or salted), seaweed, vegetables, fruit (pears, chestnuts, etc.), and the flesh of fowl, deer, and wild boar. Salt, bean-sauce, and vinegar were used for seasoning. There were many kinds of dishes; among the commonest being soup (atsumono) and a preparation of raw fish in vinegar (namasu). In the reign of Kotoku (645-654), a Korean named Zena presented a milch cow to the Court, and from that time milk was recognized as specially hygienic diet. Thus, when the Daiho laws were published at the beginning of the eighth century, dairies were attached to the medical department, and certain provinces received orders to present butter (gyuraku) for the Court's use. MARRIAGES AND FUNERALS Very little is known of the marriage ceremony in old Japan. That there was a nuptial hut is attested by very early annals, and from the time of the Emperor Richu (400-405) wedding presents are recorded. But for the rest, history is silent, and it is impossible to fix the epoch when a set ceremonial began to be observed. As to funerals, there is fuller but not complete information. That a mortuary chamber was provided for the corpse pending the preparation of the tomb is shown by the earliest annals, and from an account, partly allegorical, contained in the records of the prehistoric age, we learn that dirges were sung for eight days and eight nights, and that in the burial procession were marshalled bearers of viands to be offered at the grave, bearers of brooms to sweep the path, women who prepared the viands, and a body of hired mourners. But the Kojiki, describing the same ceremony, speaks of "making merry" with the object of recalling the dead to life, as the Sun goddess had been enticed from her cave. From the days of the Emperor Bidatsu (572-585), we find the first mention of funeral orations, and although the contents of tombs bear witness to the fact that articles other than food were offered to the deceased, it is not until the burial of the Emperor's consort, Katachi, (612) that explicit mention is made of such a custom. On that occasion Tori, omi of the Abe-uji, offered to the spirit of the dead "sacred utensils and sacred garments, fifteen thousand kinds in all." Fifty years later, white is mentioned as the mourning colour, but when next (683) we hear of funerals, it is evident that their realm had been invaded by Chinese customs, for it is recorded that "officials of the third rank were allowed at their funerals one hearse, forty drums, twenty great horns, forty little horns, two hundred flags, one metal gong, and one hand-bell, with lamentation for one day." At Temmu's obsequies (687) mention is made of an "ornamented chaplet," the first reference to the use of flowers, which constitute such a prominent feature of Buddhist obsequies. But there is no evidence that Buddhist rites were employed at funerals until the death of the retired Emperor Shomu (756). Thereafter, the practice became common. It was also to a Buddhist priest, Dosho, that Japan owed the inception of cremation. Dying in the year 700, Dosho ordered his disciples to cremate his body at Kurihara, and, two years later, the Dowager Empress Jito willed that her corpse should be similarly disposed of. From the megalithic tombs of old Japan to the little urn that holds the handful of ashes representing a cremated body, the transition is immense. It has been shown that one of the signal reforms of the Daika era was the setting of limits to the size of sepulchres, a measure which afforded to the lower classes much relief from forced labour. But an edict issued in 706 shows that the tendance of the resting place of the dead was still regarded as a sacred duty, for the edict ordered that, alike at the ancestral tombs of the uji and in the residential quarter of the common people, trees should be planted. Not yet, however, does the custom of erecting monuments with inscriptions seem to have come into vogue. The Empress Gemmyo (d. 721) appears to have inaugurated that feature, for she willed not only that evergreens should be planted at her grave but also that a tablet should be set up there. Some historians hold that the donning of special garments by way of mourning had its origin at that time, and that it was borrowed from the Tang code of etiquette. But the Chronicles state that in the year A.D. 312, when the Prince Imperial committed suicide rather than occupy the throne, his brother, Osasagi, "put on plain unbleached garments and began mourning for him." White ultimately became the mourning colour, but in the eighth century it was dark,* and mourning habiliments were called fuji-koromo, because they were made from the bark of the wisteria (fuji). Among the Daiho statutes was one providing that periods of mourning should be of five grades, the longest being one year and the shortest seven days. *"On the death of the Emperor Inkyo (A.D. 453), the Korean Court sent eighty musicians robed in black, who marched in procession to the Yamato palace, playing and singing a dirge as they went." PASTIMES Foremost among the pastimes of the Japanese people in all epochs was dancing. We hear of it in the prehistoric age when the "monkey female" (Sarume) performed a pantominic dance before the rock cave of the Sun goddess; we hear of it in protohistoric times when Inkyo's consort was betrayed into an offer that wrecked her happiness, and we hear of it in the historic epoch when the future Emperor Kenso danced in the disguise of a horse-boy. But as the discussion of this subject belongs more intelligently to the era following the Nara, we confine ourselves here to noting that even the religious fanatic Shomu is recorded as having repaired to the Shujaku gate of the palace to witness a performance of song and dance (utagaki) in which 240 persons, men and women, took part; and that, in the same year (734), 230 members of six great uji performed similarly, all robed in blue garments fastened in front with long red cords and tassels. The tendency of the Japanese has always been to accompany their feasting and merry-making with music, versifying, and dancing. At the time now under consideration there was the "winding-water fete" (kyoku-sui no en), when princes, high officials, courtiers, and noble ladies seated themselves by the banks of a rivulet meandering gently through some fair park, and launched tiny cups of mulled wine upon the current, each composing a stanza as the little messenger reached him, or drinking its contents by way of penalty for lack of poetic inspiration. There were also the flower festivals--that for the plum blossoms, that for the iris, and that for the lotus, all of which were instituted in this same Nara epoch--when the composition of couplets was quite as important as the viewing of the flowers. There was, further, the grand New Year's banquet in the Hall of Tranquillity at the Court, when all officials from the sixth grade downwards sang a stanza of loyal gratitude, accompanying themselves on the lute (koto). It was an era of refined effeminate amusements. Wrestling had now become the pursuit of professionals. Aristocrats engaged in no rougher pastime than equestrian archery, a species of football, hawking, and hunting. Everybody gambled. It was in vain that edicts were issued against dicing (chobo and sugoroku). The vice defied official restraint. LITERATURE AND POETRY Having no books of her own, Japan naturally borrowed freely from the rich mine of Chinese literature. By the tutors of the Imperial family, at the colleges of the capital, and in the provincial schools the classics constituted virtually the whole curriculum. The advantages of education were, however, enjoyed by a comparatively small element of the population. During the Nara epoch, it does not appear that there were more than five thousand students attending the schools and colleges at one time. The aim of instruction was to prepare men for official posts rather than to impart general culture or to encourage scientific research. Students were therefore selected from the aristocrats or the official classes only. There were no printed books; everything had to be laboriously copied by hand, and thus the difficulties of learning were much enhanced. To be able to adapt the Chinese ideographs skilfully to the purposes of written Japanese was a feat achieved by comparatively few. What the task involved has been roughly described in the opening chapter of this volume, and with what measure of success it was achieved may be estimated from the preface to the Records (Kojiki), written by Ono Yasumaro, from the Chronicles (Nihon Shoki) and from the Daiho Ritsu-ryo, which three works may be called the sole surviving prose essays of the epoch. Much richer, however, is the realm of poetry. It was during the Nara epoch that the first Japanese anthology, the Manyo-shu (Collection of a Myriad Leaves), was compiled. It remains to this day a revered classic and "a whole mountain of commentary has been devoted to the elucidation of its obscurities." [Chamberlain.] In the Myriad Leaves are to be found poems dating nominally from the reigns of Yuryaku and Nintoku, as well as from the days of Shotoku Taishi, but much more numerous are those of Jomei's era (629-641) and especially those of the Nara epoch. The compiler's name is not known certainly; he is believed to have been either Tachibana no Moroe or Otomo no Yakamochi. Old manuscripts and popular memory were the sources, and the verselets total 4496, in twenty volumes. Some make love their theme; some deal with sorrow; some are allegorical; some draw their inspiration from nature's beauties, and some have miscellaneous motives. Hitomaru, who flourished during the reign of the Empress Jito (690-697), and several of whose verses are to be found in the Myriad Leaves, has been counted by all generations the greatest of Japanese poets. Not far below him in fame is Akahito, who wrote in the days of Shomu (724-749). To the same century--the eighth--as the Manyo-shu, belongs the Kiraifu-so, & volume containing 120 poems in Chinese style, composed by sixty-four poets during the reigns of Temmu, Jito, and Mommu, that is to say, between 673 and 707. Here again the compiler's name is unknown, but the date of compilation is clear, November, 751. From the fact that, while bequeathing to posterity only two national histories and a few provincial records (the Fudo-ki), the Nara epoch has left two anthologies, it will be inferred readily that the writing of poetry was a favourite pursuit in that age. Such, indeed, was the case. The taste developed almost into a mania. Guests bidden to a banquet were furnished with writing materials and invited to spend hours composing versicles on themes set by their hosts. But skill in writing verse was not merely a social gift; it came near to being a test of fitness for office. "In their poetry above everything the Japanese have remained impervious to alien influences. It owes this conservation to its prosody. Without rhyme, without variety of metre, without elasticity of dimensions, it is also without known counterpart. To alter it in any way would be to deprive it of all distinguishing characteristics. At some remote date a Japanese maker of songs seems to have discovered that a peculiar and very fascinating rhythm is produced by lines containing 5 syllables and 7 syllables alternately. That is Japanese poetry (uta or tanka). There are generally five lines: the first and third consisting of 5 syllables, the second, fourth and fifth of 7, making a total of 31 in all. The number of lines is not compulsory: sometimes they may reach to thirty, forty or even more, but the alternation of 5 and 7 syllables is compulsory. The most attenuated form of all is the hokku (or haikai) which consists of only three lines, namely, 17 syllables. Necessarily the ideas embodied in such a narrow vehicle must be fragmentary. Thus it results that Japanese poems are, for the most part, impressionist; they suggest a great deal more than they actually express. Here is an example: Momiji-ha wo Kaze ni makasete Miru yori mo Hakanaki mono wa Inochi nari keri This may be translated: More fleeting than the glint of withered leaf wind-blown, the thing called life."* *See Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th Edition, article "Japan." The sketchy nature of Japanese poetry, especially in this five-line stanza, may be illustrated further by two poems quoted by Prof. B. H. Chamberlain in his "Things Japanese" (pp. 375-376), The first: Hototogisu Nakitsuru kata wo Nagamureba-- Tada ari-ake no Tsuki zo nokoreru is literally translated by Professor Chamberlain as follows: "When I gaze towards the place where the cuckoo has been singing, nought remains but the moon in the early dawn." And the conventional and pictorial character of the literary form is illustrated again in the lines: Shira-kumo ni Hane uchi-kawashi Tobu kari no Kazu sae miyuru Aki no yo no tsuki! which the same eminent scholar translates: "The moon on an autumn night making visible the very number of the wild-geese that fly past with wings intercrossed in the white clouds." It is to be noted that this last is, to Occidental notions, a mere poetic phrase and not a unit. Of course, the very exigencies of the case make the three-line stanza (or hokku), containing only 17 syllables, even more sketchy--hardly more indeed than a tour de force composed of a limited number of brush strokes! The Western critic, with his totally different literary conventions, has difficulty in bringing himself to regard Japanese verse as a literary form or in thinking of it otherwise than as an exercise in ingenuity, an Oriental puzzle; and this notion is heightened by the prevalence of the couplet-composing contests, which did much to heighten the artificiality of the genre. RELATIONS BETWEEN THE SEXES There was probably no more shocking sexual vice or irregularity in the Nara epoch than there had been before nor than there was afterwards. The only evidence adduced to prove that there was anything of the sort is the fact that laws were promulgated looking to the restraint of illicit intercourse. These laws seem to have accomplished little or nothing and the existence of the laws argues rather a growing sense of the seriousness of the evil than any sudden increase in the prevalence of the evil itself. There can be no question, however, of the wide diffusion of concubinage in this period. Not morals nor repute nor public opinion, but the wealth and wishes of each man limited him in his amours of this sort. The essential of a virtuous woman was that she be faithful to her husband or lover; no such faithfulness was expected of him. And neither in the case of man nor woman did the conventions of the period depend at all on the nature of the relationship between the two. Wives no longer lived in their fathers' homes after marriage, but the newly-wedded husband built new rooms for his wife's especial use, so that, by a fiction such as the Oriental delights in and Occidental law is not entirely ignorant of, her home was still not his. Before betrothal, girls were not allowed to call themselves by a family name. At the betrothal her affianced first bound up in a fillet the hair that she had formerly worn loose around her face. Even more symbolical was the custom upon lovers' parting of tying to the woman's undergarment a string from the man's; this knot was to be unloosed only when they met again. THE SHOSO-IN At Nara, in Yamato province, near the temple of Todai-ji, a store house built of wood and called the Shoso-in was constructed in the Nara epoch, and it still stands housing a remarkable collection of furniture and ornaments from the Imperial palace. There is some question whether this collection is truly typical of the period, or even of the palace of the period; but the presence of many utensils from China, some from India (often with traces of Greek influence), and a few from Persia certainly shows the degree of cosmopolitan culture and elegance there was in the palace at Nara. At the present day, strangers may visit the collection only by special permission and only on two days each year; and the museum has always had a mingled imperial and sacred character. When the power of the shogunate was at its height, the Shoso-in was never opened except by orders of the Emperor. Among the contents of this museum are: polished mirrors with repousse backs, kept in cases lined with brocaded silk; bronze vases; bronze censers; hicense-boxes made of Paulownia wood or of Chinese ware; two-edged swords, which were tied to the girdle, instead of being thrust through it; narrow leather belts with silver or jade decoration; bamboo flutes; lacquer writing-cases, etc. ENGRAVING: OUTLINE SKETCH OF THE SHOSO-IN AT NARA REFORM OF LOCAL ADMINISTRATIONS To the Emperor Konin belongs the credit of correcting some flagrant abuses in provincial administration. There was an inconvenient outcome of the religious mania which pervaded the upper classes during the reigns of Shomu and Koken. To meet the expense of building temples and casting images, men of substance in the provinces were urged to make contributions of money, cereals, or land, and in return for this liberality they were granted official posts. It resulted that no less than thirty-one supernumerary provincial governors were borne on the roll at one time, and since all these regarded office as a means of recouping the cost of nomination, taxpayers and persons liable to the corvée fared ill. In 774, Koken issued an edict that provincial governors who had held office for five years or upwards should be dismissed at once, those of shorter terms being allowed to complete five years and then removed. Another evil, inaugurated during the reign of Shomu, when faith in the potency of supernatural influences obsessed men's minds, was severely dealt with by Konin. Office-seekers resorted to the device of contriving conflagrations of official property, rewarding the incendiaries with the plunder, and circulating rumours that these calamities were visitations of heaven to punish the malpractices of the provincial governors in whose jurisdictions they occurred. It is on record that, in several cases, these stories led to the dismissal of governors and their replacement by their traducers. Konin decreed that such crimes should be punished by the death of all concerned. These reforms, supplemented by the removal of many superfluous officials, earned for Konin such popularity that for the first time in Japan's history, the sovereign's birthday became a festival*, thereafter celebrated through all ages. *Called Tenchosetsu. THE MILITARY SYSTEM It has been shown that compulsory military service was introduced in 689, during the reign of the Empress Jito, one-fourth of all the able-bodied men in each province being required to serve a fixed time with the colours. It has also been noted that under the Daiho legislation the number was increased to one-third. This meant that no distinction existed between soldier and peasant. The plan worked ill. No sufficient provision of officers being made, the troops remained without training, and it frequently happened that, instead of military exercises, they were required to labour for the enrichment of a provincial governor. The system, being thus discredited, fell into abeyance in the year 739, but that it was not abolished is shown by the fact that, in 780, we find the privy council memorializing the Throne in a sense unfavourable to the drafting of peasants into the ranks. The memorial alleged that the men lacked training; that they were physically unfit; that they busied themselves devising pretexts for evasion; that their chief function was to perform fatigue-duty for local governors, and that to send such men into the field of battle would be to throw away their lives fruitlessly. The council recommended that indiscriminate conscription of peasants should be replaced by a system of selection, the choice being limited to men with some previous training; that the number taken should be in proportion to the size of the province, and that those not physically robust should be left to till the land. These recommendations were approved. They constituted the first step towards complete abolishment of compulsory service and towards the glorifying of the profession of arms above that of agriculture. Experience quickly proved, however, that some more efficient management was necessary in the maritime provinces, and in 792, Kwammu being then on the throne, an edict abolished the provincial troops in all regions except those which, by their proximity to the continent of Asia, were exposed to danger, namely, Dazai-fu in Kyushu, and in Mutsu, Dewa, and Sado in the north. Some specially organized force was needed also for extraordinary service and for guarding official storehouses, offices, and places where post-bells (suzu) were kept. To that end the system previously practised during the reign of Shomu (724-749) was reverted to; that is to say, the most robust among the sons and younger brothers of provincial governors and local officials were enrolled in corps of strength varying with the duties to be performed. These were called kondei or kenji. We learn from the edict that the abuse of employing soldiers as labourers was still practised, but of course this did not apply to the kondei. The tendency of the time was against imposing military service on the lower classes. During the period 810-820, the forces under the Dazai-fu jurisdiction, that is to say, in the six provinces of Chikuzen, Chikugo, Hizen, Higo, Buzen, and Bungo, were reduced from 17,100 to 9000. Dazai-fu and Mutsu being littoral regions, the conscription system still existed there, but in Mutsu there were not only heishi, that is to say, local militiamen of the ordinary type and kenji or kondei, but also chimpei, or guards who were required to serve at a distance from home. Small farmers, upon whom this duty devolved, had no choice but to take their wives and children with them, the family subsisting on the pittance given as rations eked out by money realized from sales of chattels and garments. Thus, on the expiration of their service they returned to their native place in a wholly destitute condition, and sometimes perished of hunger on the way. In consideration of the hardships of such a system, it was abolished, and thus the distinction between the soldier and the peasant received further accentuation. There is no record as to the exact dimensions of Japan's standing army in the ninth century, but if we observe that troops were raised in the eight littoral provinces only--six in the south and two in the north--and in the island of Sado, and that the total number in the six southern provinces was only nine thousand, it would seem reasonable to conclude that the aggregate did not exceed thirty thousand. There were also the kondei (or kenji), but these, since they served solely as guards or for special purposes, can scarcely be counted a part of the standing army. The inference is that whatever the Yamato race may have been when it set out upon its original career of conquest, or when, in later eras, it sent great armies to the Asiatic continent, the close of the fifth cycle after the coming of Buddhism found the country reduced to a condition of comparative military weakness. As to that, however, clearer judgment may be formed in the context of the campaign--to be now spoken of--conducted by the Yamato against the Yemishi tribes throughout a great part of the eighth century and the early years of the ninth. REVOLT OF THE YEMISHI It has been shown that the close of the third decade of the eighth century saw the capital established at Nara amid conditions of great refinement, and saw the Court and the aristocracy absorbed in religious observances, while the provincial governments were, in many cases, corrupt and inefficient. In the year 724, Nara received news of an event which illustrated the danger of such a state of affairs. The Yemishi of the east had risen in arms and killed Koyamaro, warden of Mutsu. At that time the term "Mutsu" represented a much wider area than the modern region of the same name: it comprised the five provinces now distinguished as Iwaki, Iwashiro, Rikuzen, Rikuchu, and Mutsu--in other words, the whole of the northeastern and northern littoral of the main island. Similarly, the provinces now called Ugo and Uzen, which form the northwestern littoral, were comprised in the single term "Dewa." Nature has separated these two regions, Mutsu and Dewa, by a formidable chain of mountains, constituting the backbone of northern Japan. Within Dewa, Mutsu, and the island of Yezo, the aboriginal Yemishi had been held since Yamato-dake's signal campaign in the second century A.D., and though not so effectually quelled as to preclude all danger of insurrection, their potentialities caused little uneasiness to the Central Government. But there was no paltering with the situation which arose in 724. Recourse was immediately had to the Fujiwara, whose position at the Imperial Court was paramount, and Umakai, grandson of the renowned Kamatari, set out at the head of thirty thousand men, levied from the eight Bands provinces, by which term Sagami, Musashi, Awa, Kazusa, Shimosa, Hitachi, Kotsuke, and Shimotsuke were designated. The expanded system of conscription established under the Daiho code was then in force, and thus a large body of troops could easily be assembled. Umakai's army did not experience any serious resistance. But neither did it achieve anything signal. Marching by two routes, it converged on the castle of Taga, a fortress just constructed by Ono Azumahito, the lord warden of the Eastern Marches. The plan pursued by the Yamato commanders was to build castles and barriers along the course of rivers giving access to the interior, as well as along the coast line. Taga Castle was the first of such works, and, by the year 767, the programme had been carried in Mutsu as far as the upper reaches of the Kitakami River,* and in Dewa as far as Akita. *A monument still stands on the site of the old Taga Castle. It was put up in A.D. 762, and it records that the castle stood fifty miles from the island of Yezo. History has nothing further to tell about the Yemishi until the year 774, when they again took up arms, captured one (Mono) of the Japanese forts and drove out its garrison. Again the eight Bando provinces were ordered to send levies, and at the head of the army thus raised a Japanese general penetrated far into Mutsu and destroyed the Yemishi's chief stronghold. This success was followed by an aggressive policy on the part of the lord-warden, Ki no Hirozumi. He extended the chain of forts to Kabe in Dewa, and to Isawa in Mutsu. This was in 780. But there ensued a strong movement of reprisal on the part of the Yemishi. Led by Iharu no Atamaro, they overwhelmed Hirozumi's army, killed the lord-warden himself, and pushed on to Taga Castle, which they burned, destroying vast stores of arms and provisions. It was precisely at this time that the State council, as related above, memorialized the Throne, denouncing the incompetency of the provincial conscripts and complaining that the provincial authorities, instead of training the soldiers, used them for forced labour. The overthrow of the army in Mutsu and the destruction of Taga Castle justified this memorial. The Court appointed Fujiwara Tsugunawa to take command of a punitive expedition, and once again Bando levies converged on the site of the dismantled castle of Taga. But beyond that point no advance was essayed, in spite of bitter reproaches from Nara. "In summer," wrote the Emperor (Konin), "you plead that the grass is too dry; in winter you allege that bran is too scant. You discourse adroitly but you get no nearer to the foe." Konin's death followed shortly afterwards, but his successor, Kwammu, zealously undertook the pursuit of the campaign. Notice was sent (783) to the provincial authorities directing them to make preparations and to instruct the people that an armed expedition was inevitable. News had just been received of fresh outrages in Dewa. The Yemishi had completely dispersed and despoiled the inhabitants of two districts, so that it was found necessary to allot lands to them elsewhere and to erect houses for their shelter. The Emperor said in his decree that the barbarian tribes, when pursued, fled like birds; when unmolested, gathered like ants; that the conscripts from the Bando provinces were reported to be weak and unfit for campaigning, and that those skilled in archery and physically robust stood aloof from military service, forgetting that they all owed a common duty to their country and their sovereign. Therefore, his Majesty directed that the sons and younger brothers of all local officials or provincial magnates should be examined with a view to the selection of those suited for military service, who should be enrolled and drilled, to the number of not less than five hundred and not more than two thousand per province according to its size. Thus, the eight Bando provinces must have furnished a force of from four to sixteen thousand men, all belonging to the aristocratic class. These formed the nucleus of the army. They were supplemented by 52,800 men, infantry and cavalry, collected from the provinces along the Eastern Sea (Tokai) and the Eastern Mountains (Tosan). so that the total force must have aggregated sixty thousand. The command in chief was conferred on Ki no Kosami, thirteenth in descent from the renowned Takenouchi-no-Sukune, who had been second in command of the Fujiwara Tsugunawa expedition nine years previously. A sword was conferred on him by the Emperor, and he received authority to act on his own discretion without seeking instructions from the Throne. Meanwhile, the province of Mutsu had been ordered to send 35,000 koku (175,000 bushels) of hulled rice to Taga Castle, and the other provinces adjacent were required to store 23,000 koku (115,000 bushels) of hoshi-i (rice boiled and dried) and salt at the same place. The troops were to be massed at Taga, and all the provisions and munitions were collected there by April, 789. These figures are suggestive of the light in which the Government regarded the affair. Kosami moved out of Taga at the appointed time and pushed northward. But with every forward movement the difficulties multiplied. Snow in those regions lies many feet deep until the end of May, and the thaw ensuing brings down from the mountains heavy floods which convert the rivers into raging torrents and the roads into quagmires. On reaching the bank of the Koromo River, forty-five miles north of Taga, the troops halted. Their delay provoked much censure in the capital where the climatic conditions do not appear to have been fully understood or the transport difficulties appreciated. Urged by the Court to push on rapidly, Kosami resumed his march in June; failed to preserve efficient connexion between the parts of his army; had his van ambushed; fled precipitately himself, and suffered a heavy defeat, though only 2500 of his big army had come into action. His casualties were 25 killed, 245 wounded, and 1036 drowned. A truce was effected and the forces withdrew to Taga, while, as for Kosami, though he attempted to deceive the Court by a bombastic despatch, he was recalled and degraded together with all the senior officers of his army. It would seem as though this disaster to one comparatively small section of a force aggregating from fifty to sixty thousand men need not have finally interrupted the campaign, especially when the enemy consisted of semi-civilized aborigines. The Government thought differently, however. There was no idea of abandoning the struggle, but the programme for its renewal assumed large dimensions, and events in the capital were not propitious for immediate action. The training of picked soldiers commenced at once, and the provision of arms and horses. Kosami's discomfiture took place in 789, and during the next two years orders were issued for the manufacture of 2000 suits of leather armour and 3000 of iron armour; the making of 34,500 arms, and the preparation of 1 10,000 bushels of hoshi-i. To the command-in-chief the Emperor (Kwammu) appointed Saka-no-ye no Tamuramaro. This selection illustrates a conclusion already proved by the annals, namely, that racial prejudice had no weight in ancient Japan. For Tamuramaro was a direct descendant of that Achi no Omi who, as already related, crossed from China during the Han dynasty and became naturalized in Japan. His father, Karitamaro, distinguished himself by reporting the Dokyo intrigue, in the year 770, and received the post of chief of the palace guards, in which corps his son, Tamuramaro, thereafter served. Tradition has assigned supernatural capacities to Tamuramaro, and certainly in respect of personal prowess no less than strategical talent he was highly gifted. In June, 794, he invaded Mutsu at the head of a great army and, by a series of rapidly delivered blows, effectually crushed the aborigines, taking 457 heads, 100 prisoners, and 85 horses, and destroying the strongholds of 75 tribes. Thereafter, until the year of his death (811), he effectually held in check the spirit of revolt, crushing two other insurrections--in 801 and 804--and virtually annihilating the insurgents. He transferred the garrison headquarters from Taga to Isawa, where he erected a castle, organizing a body of four thousand militia (tonden-hei) to guard it; and in the following year (803), he built the castle of Shiba at a point still further north. NATIONALITY OF THE INSURGENTS Annals of historical repute are confined to the above account. There is, however, one unexplained feature, which reveals itself to even a casual reader. In their early opposition to Yamato aggression, the Yemishi--or Ainu, or Yezo, by whatever name they be called--displayed no fighting qualities that could be called formidable. Yet now, in the eighth century, they suddenly show themselves men of such prowess that the task of subduing them taxes the resources of the Yamato to the fullest. Some annalists are disposed to seek an explanation of this discrepancy in climatic and topographical difficulties. Kosami, in his despatch referring to the Koromo-gawa campaign, explains that 12,440 men had to be constantly employed in transporting provisions and that the quantity carried by them in twenty-four days did not exceed eleven days' rations for the troops. The hardship of campaigning in a country where means of communication were so defective is easily conjectured, and it has also to be noted that during only a brief period in summer did the climate of Mutsu permit taking the field. But these conditions existed equally in the eras of Yamato-dake and Hirafu. Whatever obstacles they presented in the eighth century must have been equally potent in the second and in the seventh. Two explanations are offered. They are more or less conjectural. One is that the Yemishi of Mutsu were led by chieftains of Yamato origin, men who had migrated to the northeast in search of fortune or impelled by disaffection. It seems scarcely credible, however, that a fact so special would have eluded historical reference, whereas only one passing allusion is made to it and that, too, in a book not fully credible. The other explanation is that the Yemishi were in league with hordes of Tatars who had crossed from the mainland of Asia, or travelled south by the islands of Saghalien and Yezo. The main evidence in support of this theory is furnished by the names of the insurgent leaders Akuro-o, Akagashira, and Akahige. Ideographists point out that the character aku is frequently pronounced o, and with that reading the name "Akuro-o" becomes "Oro-o," which was the term used for "Russian." As for "Akagashira" and "Akahige," they frankly signify "red head" and "red beard," common Japanese names for foreigners. In a shrine at Suzuka-yama in Ise, to which point the insurgents pushed southward before Tamuramaro took the field, there used to be preserved a box, obviously of foreign construction, said to have been left there by the "Eastern Barbarians;" and in the Tsugaru district of the modern Mutsu province, relics exist of an extensive fortress presenting features not Japanese, which is conjectured to have been the basis of the Tatar invaders. But all these inferences rest on little more than hypothesis. RISE OF MILITARY HOUSES What is certain, however, is that a collateral result of these disturbances was to discredit the great Court nobles--the Otomo, the Tachibana, the Ki, and the Fujiwara--as leaders of armies, and to lay the foundation of the military houses (buke) which were destined to become feudal rulers of Japan in after ages. Ki no Hirozumi, Ki no Kosami, Otomo Yakamochi, Fujiwara Umakai, and Fujiwara Tsugunawa having all failed, the Court was compelled to have recourse to the representatives of a Chinese immigrant family, the Saka-no-ye. By those who trace the ringer of fate in earthly happenings, it has been called a dispensation that, at this particular juncture, a descendant of Achi no Omi should have been a warrior with a height of six feet nine inches,* eyes of a falcon, a beard like plaited gold-wire, a frown that terrified wild animals, and a smile that attracted children. For such is the traditional description of Tamuramaro. Another incidental issue of the situation was that conspicuous credit for fighting qualities attached to the troops specially organized in the Bando (Kwanto) provinces with the sons and younger brothers of local officials. These became the nucleus of a military class which ultimately monopolized the profession of arms. *The height recorded is five feet eight inches, but as that would be a normal stature, there can be little doubt that "great" (dai) measure is referred to and that the figures indicate six feet nine inches. RELATIONS WITH KOREA During the eighth century relations of friendship were once more established with Koma. A Manchurian tribe, migrating from the valley of the Sungali River (then called the Sumo), settled on the east of the modern province of Shengking, and was there joined by a remnant of the Koma subjects after the fall of the latter kingdom. Ultimately receiving investiture at the hands of the Tang Court, the sovereign of the colony took the name of Tsuying, King of Pohai, and his son, Wu-i, sent an envoy to Japan in 727, when Shomu was on the throne. Where the embassy embarked there is no record, but, being blown out of their course, the boats finally made the coast of Dewa, where several of the envoy's suite were killed by the Yemishi. The envoy himself reached Nara safely, and, representing his sovereign as the successor of the Koma dynasty, was hospitably received, the usual interchange of gifts taking place. Twenty-five years later (752), another envoy arrived. The Empress Koken then reigned at Nara, and her ministers insisted that, in the document presented by the ambassador, Pohai must distinctly occupy towards Japan the relation of vassal to suzerain, such having been the invariable custom observed by Koma in former times. The difficulty seems to have been met by substituting the name "Koma" for "Pohai," thus, by implication, admitting that the new kingdom held towards Japan the same status as that formerly held by Koma. Throughout the whole of her subsequent intercourse with the Pohai kingdom, intercourse which, though exceedingly fitful, lasted for nearly a century and a half, Japan uniformly insisted upon the maintenance of that attitude. ENGRAVING: EMPEROR KWAMMU CHAPTER XVIII THE HEIAN EPOCH THE FIFTIETH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR KWAMMU (A.D. 782-805) JAPANESE history divides itself readily into epochs, and among them not the least sharply defined is the period of 398 years separating the transfer of the Imperial palace from Nara to Kyoto (794) and the establishment of an administrative capital at Kamakura (1192). It is called the Heian epoch, the term "Heian-jo" (Castle of Peace) having been given to Kyoto soon after that city became the residence of the Mikado. The first ruler in the epoch was Kwammu. This monarch, as already shown, was specially selected by his father, Konin, at the instance of Fujiwara Momokawa, who observed in the young prince qualities essential to a ruler of men. Whether Kwammu's career as Emperor reached the full standard of his promise as prince, historians are not agreed. Konin receives a larger meed of praise. His reforms of local abuses showed at once courage and zeal But he did not reach the root of the evil, nor did his son Kwammu, though in the matter of intention and ardour there was nothing to choose between the two. The basic trouble was arbitrary and unjust oppression of the lower classes by the upper. These latter, probably educated in part by the be system, which tended to reduce the worker with his hands to a position of marked subservience, had learned to regard their own hereditary privileges as practically unlimited, and to conclude that well nigh any measure of forced labour was due to them from their inferiors. Konin could not correct this conception, and neither could Kwammu. Indeed, in the latter's case, the Throne was specially disqualified as a source of remonstrance, for the sovereign himself had to make extravagant demands upon the working classes on account of the transfer of the capital from Nara to Kyoto. Thus, although Kwammu's warnings and exhortations were earnest, and his dismissals and degradations of provincial officials frequent, he failed to achieve anything radical. TRANSFER OF THE CAPITAL TO KYOTO The reign of Kwammu is remarkable for two things: the conquest of the eastern Yemishi by Tamuramaro and the transfer of the capital from Nara to Kyoto. Nara is in the province of Yamato; Kyoto, in the neighbouring province of Yamashiro,* and the two places lie twenty miles apart as the crow flies. It has been stated that to change the site of the capital on the accession of a sovereign was a common custom in Japan prior to the eighth century. In those early days the term "miyako," though used in the sense of "metropolis," bore chiefly the meaning "Imperial residence," and to alter its locality did not originally suggest a national effort. But when Kwammu ascended the throne, Nara had been the capital during eight reigns, covering a period of seventy-five years, and had grown into a great city, a centre alike of religion and of trade. To transfer it involved a correspondingly signal sacrifice. What was Kwammu's motive? Some have conjectured a desire to shake off the priestly influences which permeated the atmosphere of Nara; others, that he found the Yamato city too small to satisfy his ambitious views or to suit the quickly developing dimensions and prosperity of the nation. Probably both explanations are correct. Looking back only a few years, a ruler of Kwammu's sagacity must have appreciated that religious fanaticism, as practised at Nara, threatened to overshadow even the Imperial Court, and that the influence of the foreign creed tended to undermine the Shinto cult, which constituted the main bulwark of the Throne. *Previously to becoming the metropolitan province, Yamashiro was written with ideographs signifying "behind the mountain" (yama no ushiro), but these were afterwards changed to "mountain castle" (yamashiro). We shall presently see how this latter danger was averted at Kyoto, and it certainly does not appear extravagant to credit Kwammu with having promoted that result. At all events, he was not tempted by the superior advantages of any other site in particular. In 784, when he adopted the resolve to found a new capital, it was necessary to determine the place by sending out a search party under his most trusted minister, Fujiwara Tanetsugu. The choice of Tanetsugu fell, not upon Kyoto, but upon Nagaoka in the same province. There was no hesitation. The Emperor trusted Tanetsugu implicitly and appointed him chief commissioner of the building, which was commenced at once, a decree being issued that all taxes for the year should be paid at Nagaoka where also forced labourers were required to assemble and materials were collected. The Records state that the area of the site for the new palace measured 152 acres, for which the owners received compensation amounting to the equivalent of £2580 ($12,550); or an average of £17 ($82) per acre. The number of people employed is put at 314,000,* and the fund appropriated, at 680,000 sheaves of rice, having a value of about £40,800 ($200,000) according to modern prices. *This does not mean that 314,000 persons were employed simultaneously, but only that the number of workmen multiplied by the number of days of work equalled 314,000. The palace was never finished. While it was still uncompleted, the Emperor took up his abode there, in the fall of 784, and efforts to hasten the work were redoubled. But a shocking incident occurred. The Crown Prince, Sagara, procured the elevation of a member of the Saeki family to the high post of State councillor (sangi), and having been impeached for this unprecedented act by Fujiwara Tanetsugu, was deprived of his title to the throne. Shortly afterwards, the Emperor repaired to Nara, and during the absence of the Court from Nagaoka, Prince Sagara compassed the assassination of Tanetsugu. Kwammu exacted stern vengeance for his favourite minister. He disgraced the prince and sent him into exile in the island of Awaji, which place he did not reach alive, as was perhaps designed. ENGRAVING: COURTYARD OF THE IMPERIAL PALACE, AT KYOTO These occurrences moved the Emperor so profoundly that Nagaoka became intolerable to him. Gradually the work of building was abandoned, and, in 792, a new site was selected by Wake no Kiyomaro at Uda in the same province. So many attractions were claimed for this village that failure to choose it originally becomes difficult to understand. Imperial decrees eulogized its mountains and rivers, and people recalled a prediction uttered 170 years previously by Prince Shotoku that the place would ultimately be selected for the perpetual capital of the empire. The Tang metropolis, Changan, was taken for model. Commenced in April, 794, the new metropolis was finished in December, 805. The city was laid out with mathematical exactness in the form of a rectangle, nearly three and one-half miles long, from north to south, and about three miles wide, from east to west. In each direction were nine principal thoroughfares, those running east and west crossing the north and south streets at right angles. The east and west streets were numbered from 1 to 9, and, although the regularity of structure and plan of the city has been altered by fire and other causes in eleven hundred years, traces of this early system of nomenclature are still found in the streets of Kyoto.* Running north from the centre of the south side was a great avenue, two hundred and eighty feet wide, which divided the city into two parts, the eastern, called "the left metropolis" (later Tokyo, "eastern capital"), and "the right metropolis" (or Saikyo, "western capital"),--the left, as always in Japan, having precedence over the right, and the direction being taken not from the southern entrance gate but from the Imperial palace, to which this great avenue led and which was on the northern limits of the city and, as the reader will see, at the very centre of the north wall. Grouped around the palace were government buildings of the different administrative departments and assembly and audience halls. *The Kyoto of today is only a remnant of the ancient city; it was almost wholly destroyed by fire in the Onin war of 1467. The main streets, which have already been mentioned as connecting the gates in opposite walls, varied in width from 80 feet to 170 feet. They divided the city into nine districts, all of the same area except the ones immediately east of the palace. The subdivisions were as formal and precise. Each of the nine districts contained four divisions. Each division was made up of four streets. A street was made up of four rows, each row containing eight "house-units." The house-unit was 50 by 100 feet. The main streets in either direction were crossed at regular intervals by lanes or minor streets, all meeting at right angles. The Imperial citadel in the north central part of the city was 4600 feet long (from north to south) and 3840 feet wide, and was surrounded by a fence roofed with tiles and pierced with three gates on either side. The palace was roofed with green tiles of Chinese manufacture and a few private dwellings had roofs made of slate-coloured tiles, but most of them were shingled. In the earlier period, it is to be remembered, tiles were used almost exclusively for temple roofs. The architecture of the new city was in general very simple and unpretentious. The old canons of Shinto temple architecture had some influence even in this city built on a Chinese model. Whatever display or ornament there was, appeared not on the exterior but in inner rooms, especially those giving on inner court yards. That these resources were severely taxed, however, cannot be doubted, especially when we remember that the campaign against the Yemishi was simultaneously conducted. History relates that three-fifths of the national revenues were appropriated for the building. INTERCOURSE WITH CHINA AND BUDDHIST PROPAGANDISM The fact that the metropolis at Changan was taken for model in building Kyoto prepares us to find that intercourse with the Middle Kingdom was frequent and intimate. But although China under the Tang dynasty in the ninth century presented many industrial, artistic, and social features of an inspiring and attractive nature, her administrative methods had begun to fall into disorder, which discredited them in Japanese eyes. We find, therefore, that although renowned religionists went from Japan during the reign of Kwammu and familiarized themselves thoroughly with the Tang civilization, they did not, on their return, attempt to popularize the political system of China, but praised only her art, her literature, and certain forms and conceptions of Buddhism which they found at Changan. ENGRAVING: PRIEST SAICHO, AFTERWARD KNOWN AS DENGYO DAISHI The most celebrated of these religionists were Saicho and Kukai--immortalized under their posthumous names of Dengyo Daishi and Kobo Daishi, respectively. The former went to Changan in the train of the ambassador, Sugawara Kiyokimi, in 802, and the latter accompanied Fujiwara Kuzunomaro, two years later. Saicho was specially sent to China by his sovereign to study Buddhism, in order that, on his return, he might become lord-abbot of a monastery which his Majesty had caused to be built on Hie-no-yama--subsequently known as Hiei-zan--a hill on the northeast of the new palace in Kyoto. A Japanese superstition regarded the northeast as the "Demon's Gate," where a barrier must be erected against the ingress of evil influences. Saicho also brought from China many religious books. Down to that time the Buddhist doctrine preached in Japan had been of a very dispiriting nature. It taught that salvation could not be reached except by efforts continued through three immeasurable periods of time. But Saicho acquired a new doctrine in China. From the monastery of Tientai (Japanese, Tendai) he carried back to Hiei-zan a creed founded on the "Lotus of the Good Law"--a creed that salvation is at once attainable by a knowledge of the Buddha nature, and that such knowledge may be acquired by meditation and wisdom. That was the basic conception, but it underwent some modification at Japanese hands. It became "a system of Japanese eclecticism, fitting the disciplinary and meditative methods of the Chinese sage to the pre-existing foundations of earlier sects."* This is not the place to discuss details of religious doctrine, but the introduction of the Tendai belief has historical importance. In the first place, it illustrates a fact which may be read between the lines of all Japanese annals, namely, that the Japanese are never blind borrowers from foreign systems: their habit is "to adapt what they borrow so as to fit it to what they possess." In the second place, the Tendai system became the parent of nearly all the great sects subsequently born in Japan. In the third place, the Buddhas of Contemplation, by whose aid the meditation of absolute truth is rendered possible, suggested the idea that they had frequently been incarnated for the welfare of mankind, and from that theory it was but a short step to the conviction that "the ancient gods whom the Japanese worshipped are but manifestations of these same mystical beings, and that the Buddhist faith had come, not to destroy the native Shinto, but to embody It into a higher and more universal system. From that moment the triumph of Buddhism was secured."** It is thus seen that the visit of Saicho (Dengyo Daishi) to China at the beginning of the ninth century and the introduction of the Tendai creed into Japan constitute landmarks in Japanese history. *Developments of Japanese Buddhism, by the Rev. A. Lloyd. M. A. **The doctrines that the Shinto deities were incarnations of the Buddhas of Contemplation (Dhyani) had already been enunciated by Gyogi but its general acceptance dates from the days of Dengyo Daishi. The doctrine was called honchi-suishaku. ENGRAVING: PRIEST KOKAI, AFTERWARD KNOWN AS KOBO DAISHI KOBO DAISHI Contemporary with and even greater in the eyes of his countrymen than Dengyo Daishi, was Kobo Daishi (known as Kukai during his lifetime). He, too, visited China as a student of Buddhism, especially to learn the interpretation of a Sutra which had fallen into his hands in Japan, and on his return he founded the system of the True Word (Shingori), which has been practically identified with the Gnosticism of early Christian days. Kobo Daishi is the most famous of all Japanese Buddhist teachers; famous alike as a saint, as an artist, and as a calligraphist. His influence on the intellectual history of his country was marked, for he not only founded a religious system which to this day has a multitude of disciples, but he is also said to have invented, or at any rate to have materially improved, the Japanese syllabary (hira-gana). THE SUBSERVIENCE OF SHINTO That the disciples of the Shinto cult so readily endorsed a doctrine which relegated their creed to a subordinate place has suggested various explanations, but the simplest is the most convincing, namely, that Shinto possessed no intrinsic power to assert itself in the presence of a religion like Buddhism. At no period has Shinto produced a great propagandist. No Japanese sovereign ever thought of exchanging the tumultuous life of the Throne for the quiet of a Shinto shrine, nor did Shinto ever become a vehicle for the transmission of useful knowledge. ENGRAVING: OKUNO-IN (Kobo Daishi's shrine) AT MT. KOYASAN With Buddhism, the record is very different. Many of its followers were inspired by the prospect of using it as a stepping-stone to preferment rather than as a route to Nirvana. Official posts being practically monopolized by the aristocratic classes, those born in lowlier families found little opportunity to win honour and emoluments. But by embracing a religious career, a man might aspire to become an abbot or even a tutor to a prince or sovereign. Thus, learned and clever youths flocked to the portals of the priesthood, and the Emperor Saga is said to have lamented that the Court nobility possessed few great and able men, whereas the cloisters abounded in them. On the other hand, it has been observed with much reason that as troublers of the people the Buddhist priests were not far behind the provincial governors. In fact, it fared with Buddhism as it commonly fares with all human institutions--success begot abuses. The example of Dokyo exercised a demoralizing influence. The tonsure became a means of escaping official exactions in the shape of taxes or forced labour, and the building of temples a device to acquire property and wealth as well as to evade fiscal burdens. Sometimes the Buddhist priests lent themselves to the deception of becoming nominal owners of large estates in order to enable the real owners to escape taxation. Buddhism in Japan ultimately became a great militant power, ready at all times to appeal to force. THE FIFTY-FIRST SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR HEIJO (A.D. 806-809) Heijo, the fifty-first sovereign, was the eldest son of Kwammu. The latter, warned by the distress that his own great expenditures on account of the new capital had produced, and fully sensible of the abuses practised by the provincial officials, urged upon the Crown Prince the imperative necessity of retrenchment, and Heijo, on ascending the throne, showed much resolution in discharging superfluous officials, curtailing all unneeded outlays, and simplifying administrative procedure. But physical weakness--he was a confirmed invalid--and the influence of an ambitious woman wrecked his career. While still Crown Prince, he fixed his affections on Kusu, daughter of Fujiwara Tanetsugu, who had been assassinated by Prince Sagara during Kwammu's reign, and when Heijo ascended the throne, this lady's influence made itself felt within and without the palace, while her brother, Nakanari, a haughty, headstrong man, trading on his relationship to her, usurped almost Imperial authority. Heijo's ill-health, however, compelled him to abdicate after a reign of only three years. He retired to the old palace at Nara, entrusting the sceptre to his brother, Saga. This step was profoundly disappointing to Kusu and her brother. The former aimed at becoming Empress--she possessed only the title of consort--and Fujiwara Nakanari looked for the post of prime minister. They persuaded the ex-Emperor to intimate a desire of reascending the throne. Saga acquiesced and would have handed over the sceptre, but at the eleventh hour, Heijo's conscientious scruples, or his prudence, caused a delay, whereupon Kusu and her brother, becoming desperate, publicly proclaimed that Heijo wished to transfer the capital to Nara. Before they could consummate this programme, however, Saga secured the assistance of Tamuramaro, famous as the conqueror of the Yemishi, and by his aid Fujiwara Nakanari was seized and thrown into prison, the lady Kusu being deprived of her rank as consort and condemned to be banished from Court. Heijo might have bowed to Nakanari's fate, but Kusu's sentence of degradation and exile overtaxed his patience. He raised an army and attempted to move to the eastern provinces. In Mino, his route was intercepted by a force under Tamuramaro, and the ex-Emperor's troops being shattered, no recourse offered except to retreat to Nara. Then the Jo-o (Heijo) took the tonsure, and his consort Kusu committed suicide. Those who had rallied to the ex-Emperor's standard were banished. THE FIRST JAPANESE THAT ENTERED INDIA When Heijo ceded the throne to Saga, the former's son, Takaoka, was nominated Crown Prince, though Saga had sons of his own. Evidently that step was taken for the purpose of averting precisely such incidents as those subsequently precipitated by the conspiracy to restore Heijo. Therefore on the day following Heijo's adoption of the tonsure, Takaoka was deprived of his rank.* Entering the priesthood, he called himself Shinnyo, retired to Higashi-dera and studied the doctrine of the True Word (Shingori). In 836, he proceeded to China to prosecute his religious researches, and ultimately made his way to India (in his eighty-first year), where he was killed by a tiger in the district now known as the Laos States of Siam. This prince is believed to have been the first Japanese that travelled to India. His father, the ex-Emperor Heijo, was a student of the same Buddhist doctrine (Shingon) and received instruction in it from Kukai. Heijo died in 824, at the age of fifty-one. *His family was struck off the roll of princes and given the uji of Ariwara Asomi. THE FIFTY-SECOND SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR SAGA (A.D. 810-823) It is memorable in the history of the ninth century that three brothers occupied the throne in succession, Heijo, Saga, and Junna. Heijo's abdication was certainly due in part to weak health, but his subsequent career proves that this reason was not imperative. Saga, after a most useful reign of thirteen years, stepped down frankly in favour of his younger brother. There is no valid reason to endorse the view of some historians that these acts of self-effacement were inspired by an indolent distaste for the cares of kingship. Neither Heijo nor Saga shrank from duty in any form. During his brief tenure of power the former unflinchingly effected reforms of the most distasteful kind, as the dismissal of superfluous officials and the curtailing of expenses; and the latter's reign was distinguished by much useful legislation and organization. Heijo's abdication seems to have been due to genuine solicitude for the good of the State, and Saga's to a sense of reluctance to be outdone in magnanimity. Reciprocity of moral obligation (giri) has been a canon of Japanese conduct in all ages. SANGI AND KURANDO One of the earliest acts of Saga's reign was to establish the office of Court councillor (sangi) definitely and to determine the number of these officials at eight. The post of sangi had been instituted more than a century previously, but its occupants had neither fixed function, rank, nor number: they merely gave fortuitous advice about political affairs. Another office, dating from the same time (810), was that of kurando (called also kurodo). This seems to have been mainly a product of the political situation. At the palace of the retired Emperor in Nara--the Inchu, as it was called--the ambitious Fujiwara Nakanari and the Imperial consort, Kusu, were arrogating a large share of administrative and judicial business, and were flagrantly abusing their usurped authority. Saga did not know whom to trust. He feared that the council of State (Dajo-kwan) might include some traitors to his cause, and he therefore instituted a special office to be the depository of all secret documents, to adjudicate suits at law, to promulgate Imperial rescripts and decrees, to act as a kind of palace cabinet, and to have charge of all supplies for the Court. Ultimately this last function became the most important of the kurando's duties. KEBIISHI AND TSUIHOSHI It has already been explained that the Daiho legislators, at the beginning of the eighth century, having enacted a code (ryo) and a penal law (ritsu), supplemented these with a body of official rules (kyaku) and operative regulations (shiki). The necessity of revising these rules and regulations was appreciated by the Emperor Kwammu, but he did not live to witness the completion of the work, which he had entrusted to the sa-daijin, Fujiwara Uchimaro, and others. The task was therefore re-approached by a committee of which the dainagon, Fujiwara Fuyutsugu, was president, under orders from the Emperor Saga. Ten volumes of the rules and forty of the regulations were issued in 819, the former being a collection of all rescripts and decrees issued since the first year of Daiho (701), and the latter a synopsis of instructions given by various high officials and proved by practice since the same date. Here, then, was a sufficiently precise and comprehensive body of administrative guides. But men competent to utilize them were not readily forthcoming. The provincial governors and even the metropolitan officials, chosen from among men whose qualifications were generally limited to literary ability or aristocratic influence, showed themselves incapable of dealing with the lawless conditions existing in their districts. This state of affairs had been noticeable ever since the reign of Shomu (724-749), but not until the time of Saga was a remedy devised. It took the form of organizing a body of men called kebiishi, upon whom devolved the duty of pursuing and arresting lawbreakers. At first this measure was on a small scale and of a tentative character. But its results proved so satisfactory that the system was extended from the capital to the provinces, and, in 830, a Kebiishi-cho (Board of Kebiishi) was duly formed, the number and duties of its staff being definitely fixed four years later. The importance attaching to the post of chief of this board is attested by the fact that only the emon no Kami or the hyoye no Kami* was eligible originally, the bushi (military men) in the hereditary service of these high dignitaries being entrusted--under the name of tsuiho-shi--with the duty of enforcing the law against all violators. Ultimately the judicial functions hitherto discharged by the Efu (Guard Office), the Danjo-dai (Police Board) and the Gyobu-sho (Department of Justice) were all transferred to the Kebiishi-cho, and the latter's orders ranked next to Imperial decrees. *Three corps of military guards formed part of the organization. The senior corps were the Imperial guards (konoe): then came the military guards (hyoye) and then the gate-guards (yemon). Each was divided into two battalions; a battalion of the Left and a battalion of the Right. Then there were the sa-konye and the u-konye, the sa-hyoye and the u-hyoye, the sa-yemon and the u-yemon. These six offices were known as roku-yefu, and the officer in chief command of each corps was a kami. These kebiishi and tsuiho-shi have historical importance. They represent the unequivocal beginning of the military class which was destined ultimately to impose its sway over the whole of Japan. Their institution was also a distinct step towards transferring the conduct of affairs, both military and civil, from the direct control of the sovereign to the hands of officialdom. The Emperor's power now began to cease to be initiative and to be limited to sanction or veto. The Kurando-dokoro was the precursor of the kwampaku; the Kebiishi-cho, of the so-tsuihoshi. FUJIWARA FUYUTSUGU Fujiwara Fuyutsugu, who, as mentioned above, took such an important part in the legislation of his era, may be adduced as illustrating the error of the too common assertion that because the Fujiwara nobles abused their opportunities in the later centuries of the Heian epoch, the great family's services to its country were small. Fujiwara Fuyutsugu was at once a statesman, a legislator, an historian, and a soldier. Serving the State loyally and assiduously, he reached the rank of first minister (sa-daijiri) though he died at the early age of fifty-two, and it is beyond question that to his ability must be attributed a large measure of the success achieved by his Imperial master, Saga. The story of his private life may be gathered from the fact that he established and richly endowed an asylum for the relief of his indigent relatives; a college (the Kwangaku-iri) for the education of Fujiwara youths, and an uji-tera (Nanyen-do) at Nara for soliciting heaven's blessing on all that bore his name. THE JAPANESE PEERAGE An interesting episode of Saga's reign was the compilation of a record of all the uji (family names). Originally the right to use a family name had been guarded as carefully as is a title of nobility in Europe. The uji was, in truth, a hereditary title. But, as has been occasionally noted in these pages, an uji was from time to time bestowed on families of aliens, and thus, in the course of ages, confusion gradually arose. From the middle of the eighth century, efforts to compile a trustworthy record were made, and in Kwammu's reign a genealogical bureau (kankei-jo) was actually organized, its labours resulting in a catalogue of titles (seishi mokuroku). This proved defective, however, as did a subsequent effort in Heijo's time. Finally, the Emperor Saga entrusted the task to Prince Mamta, who, with a large staff of assistants, laboured for ten years, and, in 814, produced the Seishi-roku (Record of Uji) in thirty volumes. Though not absolutely exhaustive, this great work remained a classic down to modern times. It divided into three classes the whole body of uji--1182--enrolled in its pages: namely, Kwobetsu, or those of Imperial lineage; Shimbetsu, or those descended from the Kami, and Bambetsu, or those of alien origin (Chinese or Korean). A few who could not be clearly traced were placed in a "miscellaneous list." This paragraph of history suggests the quality of Japanese civilization in the ninth century. ENGRAVING: HYO-NO-MA ROOM IN THE KOHOAN OF DAITOKU-JI, AT KYOTO THE FIFTY-THIRD SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR JUNNA (A.D. 824-833) Junna was Kwammu's third son. He ascended the throne on the abdication of his elder brother, Saga, and he himself abdicated in favour of the latter's son, Nimmyo, nine years later. Junna's reign is not remarkable for any achievement. No special legislation was inaugurated nor any campaign against abuses undertaken. The three brothers, Heijo, Saga, and Junna, may be said to have devoted paramount attention to the study of Chinese literature. History refuses, however, to connect this industry with a desire for ethical instruction. Their efforts are said to have been limited to the tracing of ideographs and the composition of verselets. A perfectly formed ideograph possesses in Japanese eyes many of the qualities that commend a pictorial masterpiece to Western appreciation. Saga achieved the distinction of being reckoned among the "Three Penmen" of his era,* and he carried his enthusiasm so far as to require that all the scions of the aristocracy should be instructed in the Chinese classics. Junna had less ability, but his admiration was not less profound for a fine specimen of script or a deftly turned couplet. It is, nevertheless, difficult to believe that these enthusiasts confined themselves to the superficialities of Chinese learning. The illustrations of altruism which they furnished by abdicating in one another's favour may well have been inspired by perusing the writings of Confucius.** However that may be, the reign of Junna, though not subjectively distinguished, forms a landmark in Japanese history as the period which closed the independent exercise of sovereign authority. When Junna laid down the sceptre, it may be said, as we shall presently see, to have been taken up by the Fujiwara. *The other two were Kobo Daishi, and Tachibana Hayanari. **Vide the remarks of the Chinese sage on Tai-pei, Chou-kung, Wen-wang, and Wu-wang. ENGRAVING: "SHAKUHACHI," FLUTES MADE OF BAMBOO ENGRAVING: "KARAMON" GATE OF NISHI HONGWAN-JI TEMPLE, AT KYOTO CHAPTER XIX THE HEIAN EPOCH (Continued) 54th Sovereign, Nimmyo A.D. 834-850 55th " Montoku 851-858 56th " Seiwa 859-876 57th " Yozei 877-884 58th " Koko 885-887 59th " Uda 888-897 60th " Daigo 898-930 BEGINNING OF FUJIWARA SUPREMACY THE events that now occurred require to be prefaced by a table: / | Heijo | | Saga--Nimmyo (m. Jun, / Prince Michiyasu | daughter of < (Emperor Montoku) Kwammu < Fujiwara Fuyutsugu) \ | | / | Junna (m. Masa, < Prince Tsunesada | daughter of Saga) \ \ In the year 834, Junna abdicated in favour of his elder brother Saga's second son, who is known in history as Emperor Nimmyo. The latter was married to Jun, daughter of Fujiwara Fuyutsugu, and had a son, Prince Michiyasu. But, in consideration of the fact that Junna had handed over the sceptre to Nimmyo, Nimmyo, in turn, set aside the claim of his own son, Michiyasu, and conferred the dignity of Prince Imperial on Prince Tsunesada, Junna's son. A double debt of gratitude was thus paid, for Tsunesada was not only Junna's son but also Saga's grandson, and thus the abdications of Saga and Junna were both compensated. The new Prince Imperial, however, being a man of much sagacity, foresaw trouble if he consented to supplant Nimmyo's son. He struggled to avoid the nomination, but finally yielded to the wishes of his father and his grandfather. While these two ex-Emperors lived, things moved smoothly, to all appearances. On their demise trouble arose immediately. The Fujiwara family perceived its opportunity and decided to profit by it. Fujiwara Fuyutsugu had died, and it chanced that his son Yoshifusa was a man of boundless ambition. By him and his partisans a slander was framed to the effect that the Crown Prince, Tsunesada, harboured rebellious designs, and the Emperor, believing the story--having, it is said, a disposition to believe it--pronounced sentence of exile against Prince Tsunesada, as well as his friends, the celebrated scholar, Tachibana no Hayanari, and the able statesman, Tomo no Kowamine, together with a number of others. It is recorded that the sympathy of the people was with the exiles. These things happened in the year 843. The Fujiwara sought a precedent in the action of their renowned ancestor, Momokawa, who, in 772, contrived the degradation and death of the Crown Prince Osabe on a charge of sorcery But Momokawa acted from motives of pure patriotism, whereas Yoshifusa worked in the Fujiwara interests only. This, in fact, was the first step towards the transfer of administrative power from the Throne to the Fujiwara. FRESH COMPLICATIONS ABOUT THE SUCCESSION Another table may be consulted with advantage: \ Emperor Heijo--Prince Aho--Ariwara no Narihira | > / | | Aritsune--a daughter | | / Ki no Natora < \ | Shizu--a daughter | \ | > Prince Koretaka Emperor Montoku | / \ Emperor Montoku | | \ > Prince Korehito Fujiwara Yoshifusa | | (Emperor Seiwa) Princess Kiyo > Aki (Empress Somedono) | (daughter of Saga) | / / In the year 851, the Emperor Montoku ascended the throne, and Fujiwara Yoshifusa was appointed minister of the Right. Yoshifusa married Princess Kiyo, daughter of the Emperor Saga. She had been given the uji of Minamoto in order to legalize this union, and she bore to Yoshifusa a daughter who became Montoku's Empress under the name of Somedono. By her, Montoku had a son, Prince Korehito, whose chance of succeeding to the crown should have been very slender since he had three half-brothers, the oldest of whom, Prince Koretaka, had already attained his fourth year at the time of Korehito's birth, and was his father's favourite. In fact, Montoku would certainly have nominated Koretaka to be Prince Imperial had he not feared to offend the Fujiwara. These let it be seen very plainly what they designed. The baby, Korehito, was taken from the palace into Yoshifusa's mansion, and when only nine months old was nominated Crown Prince. The event enriched Japanese literature. For Montoku's first born, Prince Koretaka, seeing himself deprived of his birthright, went into seclusion in Ono at the foot of Mount Hiei, and there, in the shadow of the great Tendai monastery, devoted his days to composing verselets. In that pastime he was frequently joined by Ariwara no Narihira, who, as a grandson of the Emperor Heijo, possessed a title to the succession more valid than even that of the disappointed Koretaka. In the celebrated Japanese anthology, the Kokin-shu, compiled at the beginning of the tenth century, there are found several couplets from the pens of Koretaka and Narihira. THE FUJIWARA REGENCY It was in the days of Fujiwara Yoshifusa that the descendants of Kamatari first assumed the role of kingmakers. Yoshifusa obtained the position of minister of the Right on the accession of Montoku (851), and, six years later, he was appointed chancellor of the empire (dajo daijin) in the sequel of the intrigues which had procured for his own grandson (Korehito) the nomination of Prince Imperial. The latter, known in history as the Emperor Seiwa, ascended the throne in the year 859. He was then a child of nine, and naturally the whole duty of administration devolved upon the chancellor. This situation fell short of the Fujiwara leader's ideal in nomenclature only. There had been many "chancellors" but few "regents" (sessho). In fact, the office of regent had always been practically confined to princes of the Blood, and the qualifications for holding it were prescribed in very high terms by the Daiho statutes. Yoshifusa did not possess any of the qualifications, but he wielded power sufficient to dispense with them, and, in the year 866, he celebrated the Emperor's attainment of his majority by having himself named sessho. The appointment carried with it a sustenance fief of three thousand houses; the privilege of being constantly attended by squadrons of the Right and Left Imperial guards, and the honour of receiving the allowances and the treatment of the Sangu, that is to say, of an Empress, a Dowager Empress, or a Grand Dowager Empress. Husband of an Empress, father of an Empress Dowager, grandfather of a reigning Emperor, chancellor of the empire, and a regent--a subject could climb no higher. Yoshifusa died in 872 at the age of sixty-eight. Having no son of his own, he adopted his nephew, Mototsune, son of Fujiwara Nagara. SEIWA'S EMPRESS Seiwa abdicated in 876, at the age of twenty-seven. Some historians ascribe his abdication to a sentiment of remorse. He had ascended the throne in despite of the superior claims of his elder brother, Koretaka, and the usurpation weighed heavily on his conscience. It is at least credible that since, in taking the sceptre he obeyed the dictates of the Fujiwara, so in laying it down he followed the same guidance. We cannot be sure as to the exact date when the great family's policy of boy-sovereigns first took definite shape, but the annals seem to show that Yoshifusa conceived the programme and that his adopted son, Mototsune, carried it out. A halo rests on Seiwa's head for the sake of his memorable descendants, the Minamoto chiefs, Yoritomo, Takauji, and Ieyasu. Heaven is supposed to have compensated the brevity of his own tenure of power by the overwhelming share that his posterity enjoyed in the administration of the empire. But Seiwa was undoubtedly a good man as well as a zealous sovereign. One episode in his career deserves attention as illustrating the customs of the era. Mention has already been made of Ariwara no Narihira, a grandson of the Emperor Heijo and one of the most renowned among Japanese poets. He was a man of singular beauty, and his literary attainments, combined with the melancholy that marked his life of ignored rights, made him a specially interesting figure. He won the love of Taka, younger sister of Fujiwara Mototsune and niece of Yoshifusa. Their liaison was not hidden. But Yoshifusa, in default of a child of his own, was just then seeking some Fujiwara maiden suitable to be the consort of the young Emperor, Seiwa, in pursuance of the newly conceived policy of building the Fujiwara power on the influence of the ladies' apartments in the palace. Taka possessed all the necessary qualifications. In another age the obstacle of her blemished purity must have proved fatal. Yoshifusa's audacity, however, was as limitless as his authority. He ordered the poet prince to cut his hair and go eastward in expiation of the crime of seeking to win Taka's affections, and having thus officially rehabilitated her reputation, he introduced her into the household of the Empress Dowager, his own daughter, through whose connivance the lady soon found her way to the young Emperor's chamber and became the mother of his successor, Yozei. Nor was this all. Though only a Fujiwara, and a soiled Fujiwara at that, Taka was subsequently raised to the rank of Empress. Ultimately, when Empress Dowager, her name was coupled with that of the priest Zenyu of Toko-ji, as the Empress Koken's had been with that of Dokyo, a hundred years previously, and she suffered deprivation of Imperial rank. As for Narihira, after a few years he was allowed to return from exile, but finding that all his hopes of preferment were vain, he abandoned himself to a life of indolence and debauchery. His name, however, will always stand next to those of Hitomaro and Akahito on the roll of Japanese poets. ENGRAVING: FUJIWARA SEIWA YOZEI, UDA, AND THE KWAMPAKU The fifty-seventh sovereign was Yozei, offspring of the Emperor Seiwa's union with the lady Taka. He ascended the throne in the year 877, at the age of ten, and Fujiwara Mototsune--Yoshifusa had died five years previously--became regent (sessho), holding also the post of chancellor (dajo-daijin). When Yozei was approaching his seventeenth year he was overtaken by an illness which left him a lunatic. It is related that he behaved in an extraordinary manner. He set dogs and monkeys to fight and then slaughtered them; he fed toads to snakes, and finally compelling a man lo ascend a tree, he stabbed him among the branches. The regent decided that he must be dethroned, and a council of State was convened to consider the matter. There had never been an example of an act so sacrilegious as the deposition of an Emperor at the dictate of his subjects. The ministers hesitated. Then one of the Fujiwara magnates (Morokuzu) loudly proclaimed that anyone dissenting from the chancellor's proposal would have to answer for his contumacy. Thereafter, no one hesitated--so overshadowing was the power of the Fujiwara. When carried to a special palace--thenceforth called Yozei-in--and informed that he had been dethroned for killing a man, the young Emperor burst into a flood of tears. No hesitation was shown in appointing Yozei's successor. Prince Tokiyasu, son of the Emperor Nimmyo, satisfied all the requirements. His mother, a daughter of Fujiwara Tsugunawa, was Mototsune's maternal aunt, and the Prince himself, already in his fifty-fifth year, had a son, Sadami, who was married to the daughter of Fujiwara Takafuji, a close relation to Mototsune. There can be no doubt that the latter had the whole programme in view when he proposed the dethronement of Yozei. Shortly after his accession, Prince Tokiyasu--known in history as the Emperor Koko--fell ill, and at Mototsune's instance the sovereign's third son (Sadami) was nominated Prince Imperial. He succeeded to the throne as Emperor Uda on the death of his father, which occurred (887) after a reign of two years. This event saw fresh extension of the Fujiwara's power. Uda was twenty-two years of age when he received the sceptre, but recognizing that he owed his elevation to Mototsune's influence and that his prospects of a peaceful reign depended upon retaining the Fujiwara's favour, his first act was to decree that the administration should be carried on wholly by the chancellor, the latter merely reporting to the Throne. This involved the exercise of power hitherto unprecedented. To meet the situation a new office had to be created, namely, that of kwampaku. The actual duties of this post were those of regent to a sovereign who had attained his majority, whereas sessho signified regent to a minor. Hence the kwampaku was obviously the more honourable office, since its incumbent officiated in lieu of an Emperor of mature years. Accordingly, the kwampaku--or mayor of the palace, as the term is usually translated--took precedence of all other officials. A subject could rise no higher without ceasing to yield allegiance. As Mototsune was the first kwampaku, he has been called the most ambitious and the least scrupulous of the Fujiwara. But Mototsune merely stood at the pinnacle of an edifice, to the building of which many had contributed, and among those builders not a few fully deserved all they achieved. The names of such members of the Fujiwara family as Mimori, Otsugu, Yoshino, Sadanushi, Nagara, Yoshisuke, and Yasunori, who wrought and ruled in the period from Heijo and Saga to Montoku and Seiwa, might justly stand high in any record.* *The office of Kwampaku was continued from the time of its creation, 882, to 1868. THE AKO INCIDENT The Emperor Uda, as already stated, owed everything to the Fujiwara. He himself did not possess even the claim of primogeniture, since he was the third among several sons, and he had stepped out of the ranks of the Imperial princes by accepting a family name. His decree conferring administrative autocracy on Mototsune was thus a natural expression of gratitude. Yet this very document proved a source of serious trouble. It was drafted by Tachibana Hiromi, a ripe scholar, whose family stood as high on the aristocratic roll as did that of the Fujiwara themselves. At that time literary attainments conferred immense prestige in Kyoto. To be skilled in calligraphy; to be well versed in the classics; to be capable of composing a sonorous decree or devising a graceful couplet--such accomplishments constituted a passport not only to high office but even to the love of women. Tachibana Hiromi was one of the leading literati of his era. He rendered into most academical terms the Emperor's intentions towards Mototsune. From time immemorial it has always been a canon of Japanese etiquette not to receive anything with avidity. Mototsune declined the rescript; the Emperor directed Hiromi to re-write it. Thus far the procedure had been normal. But Hiromi's second draft ran thus: "You have toiled for the welfare of the country. You have aided me in accordance with the late sovereign's will. You are the chief servant of the empire, not my vassal. You will henceforth discharge the duties of ako." This term "ako" occurs in Chinese history. It signifies "reliance on equity," a name given by an early Emperor to the administration of the sage, I Yin. Hiromi inserted it solely to impart a classical flavour to the decree and in all good faith. But Fujiwara Sukeyo, a rival literatus who possessed the confidence of Mototsune, persuaded the latter that the epithet "ako" could not apply to the discharge of active duties. What followed was characteristic. Mototsune caused a number of horses to be let loose in the city, his explanation being that, as he had no official functions to discharge, neither had he any need of horses. Naturally a number of horses running wild in the streets of the capital caused confusion which soon came to the notice of the palace. The Emperor at once convoked a meeting of literati to discuss the matter, but these hesitated so long between their scholarly convictions and their political apprehensions that, for several months, a state of administrative anarchy prevailed, and the Emperor recorded in his diary a lament over the corruption of the age. At last, by the advice of the minister of the Left, Minamoto Toru, his Majesty sacrificed Hiromi. A third decree was drafted, laying the blame on Hiromi's shoulders, and Mototsune graciously consented to resume the duties of the first subject in the empire. Just forty-five years previously, Hayanari, another illustrious scholar of the Tachibana family, had been among the victims of the false charge preferred against the Crown Prince, Tsunesada, by the Fujiwara partisans. Mototsune may well have been desirous of removing from the immediate neighbourhood of the throne the representative of a family having such a cause of umbrage against the Fujiwara. At the same time, it is only just to note that he found ready coadjutors among the jealous schoolmen of the time. Rival colleges, rival academies, and rival literati quarrelled with all the rancour of medieval Europe. The great luminaries of the era were Sugawara Michizane, Ki no Haseo, Koze no Fumio, Miyoshi Kiyotsura, and Tachibana Hiromi. There was little mutual recognition of talent. Kiyotsura abused Haseo as a pundit inferior to any of his predecessors. Michizane ridiculed Fumio's panegyric of Kiyotsura, The pupils of these men endorsed their teachers' verdicts. Ajnong them all, Tachibana Hiromi occupied the most important position until the day of his downfall. He practically managed the affairs of the Court under Yozei, Koko, and Uda. Fujiwara Sukeyo, a greatly inferior scholar, served as his subordinate, and was the willing tool in contriving his degradation. It did not cause the Fujiwara any serious concern that in compassing the ruin of Hiromi, they effectually alienated the sympathies of the sovereign. CESSATION OF EMBASSIES TO CHINA It may be supposed that in an era when Chinese literati attracted so much attention, visits to the Middle Kingdom were frequent. But from the closing years of the eighth century, the great Tang dynasty began to fall into disorder, and the embassies sent from Japan reported a discouraging state of affairs. The last of these embassies (kento-shi) was in the year 838. It had long ceased to take the overland route via Liaoyang; the envoys' vessels were obliged to go by long sea, and the dangers were so great that to be named for this duty was regarded with consternation. In Uda's reign a project was formed to appoint Sugawara Michizane as kento-shi, and Ki no Haseo as his lieutenant. There is reason to think that this suggestion came from Michizane's enemies who wished to remove him from a scene where his presence threatened to become embarrassing. The course Michizane adopted at this crisis showed moral courage, whatever may be thought of its expediency. He memorialized the Throne in the sense that the dangers of the journey were not compensated by its results. The memorial was approved. Since the days of the Empress Suiko, when the first kento-shi was despatched by Prince Shotoku, 294 years had elapsed, and by some critics the abandonment of the custom has been condemned. But it is certain that China in the ninth century had little to teach Japan in the matter of either material or moral civilization. THE AFFAIR OF THE ENGI ERA The Emperor Uda not only possessed great literary knowledge but was also deeply sensible of the abuse that had grown out of the virtual usurpation of administrative authority by one family. As illustrating his desire to extend the circle of the Throne's servants and to enlist erudite men into the service of the State, it is recorded that he caused the interior of the palace to be decorated* with portraits of renowned statesmen and literati from the annals of China. Fate seemed disposed to assist his design, for, in the year 891, the all-powerful Fujiwara Mototsune died, leaving three sons, Tokihira, Nakahira, and Tadahira, the eldest of whom was only twenty-one. During the life of Mototsune, to whom the Emperor owed everything, it would not have been politically or morally possible to contrive any radical change of system, and even after his death, the Fujiwara family's claim to the Throne's gratitude precluded any direct attempt on Uda's part to supplant them. Therefore, he formed the plan of abdicating in favour of his son, as soon as the latter should attain a suitable age--a plan inspired in some degree by his own feeble health and by a keen desire to pass the closing years of his life in comparative retirement. He carried out this design in the year 897, and was thenceforth known as Uda-in.** *It is on this occasion that we hear of Koze no Kanaoka, the first Japanese artist of great repute. **The suffix in was now first used for the names of retired Emperors. His son, Daigo, who now ascended the throne, was thirteen years old, but no Fujiwara regent was appointed, Tokihira, the one person eligible in respect of lineage, being precluded by youth. Therefore the office of minister of the Left was conferred on Tokihira, and Sugawara Michizane (called also Kwanko) became minister of the Right. It was to this Michizane that the ex-Emperor looked for material assistance in the prosecution of his design. The Sugawara family traced its descent to Nomi no Sukune, the champion wrestler of the last century before Christ and the originator of clay substitutes for human sacrifices at burials, though the name "Sugawara" did not belong to the family until eight hundred years later, when the Emperor Konin bestowed it on the then representative in recognition of his great scholarship. Thenceforth, the name was borne by a succession of renowned literati, the most erudite and the most famous of all being Michizane. The ex-Emperor, on the accession of his thirteen-year-old son, Daigo, handed to the latter an autograph document known in history as the Counsels of the Kwampei Era. Its gist was: "Be just. Do not be swayed by love or hate. Study to think impartially. Control your emotion and never let it be externally visible. The sa-daijin, Fujiwara Tokihira, is the descendant of meritorious servants of the Crown. Though still young, he is already well versed in the administration of State affairs. Some years ago, he sinned with a woman,* but I have no longer any memory of the event. You will consult him and be guided by his counsels. The u-daijin, Sugawara Michizane, is a man of profound literary knowledge. He is also acquainted with politics. Frequently I have profited by his admonitions. When I was elected Crown Prince I had but Michizane to advise me. Not only has he been a loyal servant to me, but he will be a loyal servant to my successor also." Plainly the intention of the document was to place Michizane on a footing at least equal to that of Tokihira. Michizane understood the perils of such preferment. He knew that the scion of a comparatively obscure family would not be tolerated as a rival by the Fujiwara. Three times he declined the high post offered to him. In his second refusal he compared himself to a man walking on thin ice, and in the third he said: "If I myself am astounded at my promotion, how must others regard it? The end will come like a flash of lightning." But the Emperor and the ex-Emperor had laid their plans, and Michizane was an indispensable factor. *A liaison with his uncle's wife. Events moved rapidly. Two years later (900), the Emperor, in concert with the cloistered sovereign, proposed to raise Michizane to the post of chancellor and to entrust the whole administration to him. This was the signal for the Fujiwara to take action. One opportunity for slandering Michizane offered; his daughter had been married to Prince Tokiyo, the Emperor's younger brother. A rumour was busily circulated that this meant a plot for the dethronement of Daigo in favour of Tokiyo. Miyoshi Kiyotsura, an eminent scholar, acting subtly at the instance of the Fujiwara, addressed a seemingly friendly letter to Michizane, warning him that his career had become dangerously rapid and explaining that the stars presaged a revolution in the following year. At the same time, Minamoto Hikaru, son of the Emperor Nimmyo; Fujiwara Sadakuni, father-in-law of Daigo, and several others who were jealous of Michizane's preferment or of his scholarship, separately or jointly memorialized the Throne, impeaching Michizane as a traitor who plotted against his sovereign. ENGRAVING: SUGAWARA MICHIZANE Supplemented by Miyoshi's "friendly" notice of a star-predicated cataclysm, this cumulative evidence convinced, and doubtless the number and rank of the accusers alarmed the Emperor, then only in his seventeenth year. Michizane was not invited to defend himself. In the first year (901) of the Engi era, a decree went out stripping him of all his high offices, and banishing him to Dazai-fu in Kyushu as vice-governor. Many other officials were degraded as his partisans. The ex-Emperor, to whose pity he pleaded in a plaintive couplet, made a resolute attempt to aid him. His Majesty repaired to the palace for the purpose of remonstrating with his son, Daigo. Had a meeting taken place, Michizane's innocence would doubtless have been established. But the Fujiwara had provided against such an obvious miscarriage of their design. The palace guards refused to admit the ex-Emperor, and, after waiting throughout a winter's day seated on a straw mat before the gate, Uda went away in the evening, sorehearted and profoundly humiliated. Michizane's twenty-three children were banished to five places, and he himself, having only a nominal post, did not receive emoluments sufficient to support him in comfort. Even oil for a night-lamp was often unprocurable, and after spending twenty-five months in voluntary confinement with only the society of his sorrows, he expired (903) at the age of fifty-eight, and was buried in the temple Anraku-ji in Chikuzen. ENGRAVING: SHRINE OF SUGAWARA MICHIZANE AT KITANO, KYOTO No figure in Japanese history has received such an abundant share of national sympathy. His unjust fate and the idea that he suffered for his sovereign appealed powerfully to popular imagination. Moreover, lightning struck the palace in Kyoto, and the three principal contrivers of Michizane's disgrace, Fujiwara Tokihira, Fujiwara Sugane, and Minamoto Hikaru, all expired within a few years' interval. At that epoch a wide-spread belief existed in the powers of disembodied spirits for evil or for good. Such a creed grew logically out of the cult of ancestor worship. It began to be whispered abroad that Michizane's spirit was taking vengeance upon his enemies. The Emperor was the first to act upon this superstition. He restored Michizane's titles, raised him to the first grade of the second rank, and caused all the documents relating to his exile to be burned. Retribution did not stop there. Forty-five years after Michizane's death, the people of Kyoto erected to his memory the shrine of Temman Tenjin,* and in the year 1004, the Emperor Ichijo not only conferred on him the posthumous office of chancellor with the unprecedented honour of first grade of the first rank, but also repaired in person to worship at the shrine. In later times, memorial shrines were built in various places, and to this day he is fervently worshipped as the deity of calligraphy, so high was he elevated by the Fujiwara's attempt to drag him down. *Michizane was apotheosized under the name of Tenjin. He is known also as Kan Shojo, and Temmangu. ENGRAVING: SAMISEN (A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT) ENGRAVING: SANJU-SANGEN-DO TEMPLE AT KYOTO CHAPTER XX THE HEIAN EPOCH (Continued) 60th Sovereign, Daigo (Continued) 61st " Emperor Shujaku A.D. 931-946 THE ENGI ERA (A.D. 901-923) In the year 909, Fujiwara Tokihira died and was followed to the grave, in 913, by Minamoto Hikaru. For an interval of some years no minister of State was nominated; the Emperor Daigo himself administered affairs. For this interregnum in the sway of the Fujiwara, the Engi era is memorable. It is memorable for other things also; notably for the compilation of documents which throw much light on the conditions then existing in Japan. The Emperor, in 914, called upon the Court officials to submit memorials which should supply materials for administrative reforms. The great scholar, Miyoshi Kiyotsura, responded with ability so conspicuous that posterity has been disposed to question the justice of the charges against him in connexion with Michizane's fate. He set out by stating that, in the early times, the national sentiment had been kind and simple; the people loyal to the Throne and obedient to parents; the taxes moderate. But, thereafter, customs had gradually deteriorated. Laws and regulations were promulgated with bewildering rapidity. Taxes and forced labour grew heavier day by day. Cultivated lands were suffered to lie fallow. Buddhism established such a hold upon men's minds that people of all classes impoverished themselves to build places of worship and to cast images. Upon the erection of the provincial temples (Kokubun-ji) five-tenths of the national taxes were expended; and in connexion with the removal of the capital to Kyoto and the building of new palaces, a further sum of three-tenths was paid out. Again, the Emperor Nimmyo's (834-850) love of luxury and display led to architectural extravagance entirely unprecedented, and involved the squandering of yet another tenth of the remaining income of the State. Thereafter, in the Jokwan era (859-876), frequent conflagrations destroyed the Imperial edifice, and its restoration cost a tenth of the remaining revenue, so that only one-twentieth was ultimately available for general expenses. As illustrating the state of the rural regions, the memorialist instanced the case of Bitchu, a province on the Inland Sea, where he held an official appointment in the year 893. The local records (Fudoki) showed that a levy made there about the middle of the seventh century had produced twenty thousand able-bodied soldiers,* whereas a century later, there were found only nineteen hundred; yet another century afterwards, only seventy; at the close of the ninth century, nine, and in the year 911, not one. To such a state of desolation had the district been reduced in the space of 250 years, and its story might be taken as typical. *The district was consequently named Nima, an abbreviation of ni (two) man (ten thousand). Passing to the question of religion, the memorialist declared that the Shinto ceremonials to secure good harvests had lost all sincerity. The officials behaved as though there were no such thing as deities. They used the offerings for their own private purposes, sold the sacred horses, and recited the rituals without the least show of reverence. As for Buddhist priests, before asking them to pray for the welfare of their parishioners, they must be asked to purge themselves of their own sins. The priests who ministered at the provincial temples had lost all sense of shame. They had wives, built houses, cultivated lands, and engaged in trade. Was it to be supposed that heaven would hearken to the intervention of such sinners? Meanwhile, luxury and extravagance had reached an extreme degree. On one suit of clothes a patrimony was expended, and sometimes a year's income barely sufficed for a single banquet. At funeral services all classes launched into flagrant excesses. Feasts were prepared on such a scale that the trays of viands covered the entire floor of a temple. Thousands of pieces of gold were paid to the officiating priests, and a ceremony, begun in mourning, ended in revelry. Corresponding disorder existed with regard to the land. The original distribution into kubunden, as we saw, had been partly for purposes of taxation. But now these allotments were illegally appropriated, so that they neither paid imposts nor furnished labourers; and while governors held worthless regions, wealthy magnates annexed great tracts of fertile land. Another abuse, prevalent according to Miyoshi Kiyotsura's testimony, was that accusations were falsely preferred by officials against their seniors. Provincial governors were said to have frequently indulged in this treacherous practice and to have been themselves at times the victims of similar attacks. The Court, on receipt of such charges, seldom scrutinized them closely, but at once despatched officers to deal with the incriminated persons, and in the sequel, men occupying exalted positions were obliged to plead on an equal footing with officials of low grade or even common people. Self-respecting persons chose to stand aside altogether from official life rather than to encounter such risks. This was an almost inevitable result of the exceptional facilities given to petitioners under the Daika and Daiho systems. Miyoshi Kiyotsura urged that all petitioning and all resulting inquiries by specially appointed officials should be interdicted, except in matters relating to political crime, and that all offenders should be handed over to the duly constituted administrators of justice. As to these latter, he spoke very plainly. The kebiishi, he wrote, who, being appointed to the various provinces, have to preserve law and order within their jurisdictions, should be men specially versed in law, whereas a majority of those serving in that capacity are ignorant and incompetent persons who have purchased their offices. To illustrate further the want of discrimination shown in selecting officials, he refers to the experts appointed in the maritime provinces for manufacturing catapults, and declares that many of these so-called "experts" had never seen a catapult. ENGRAVING: FAMILY LIFE OF NOBLES, HEIAN EPOCH, A.D. 782-1192 It is against the Buddhist priests and the soldiers of the six guards that he inveighs most vehemently, however. He calls them "vicious and ferocious," Those who take the tonsure, he says, number from two to three thousand yearly, and about one-half of that total are wicked men--low fellows who, desiring to evade taxation and forced labour, have shaved their heads and donned priests vestments, aggregate two-thirds of the population. They marry, eat animal food, practise robbery, and carry on coining operations without any fear of punishment. If a provincial governor attempts to restrain them, they flock together and have recourse to violence. It was by bandits under the command of wicked priests that Fujiwara Tokiyoshi, governor of Aki, and Tachibana Kinkado, governor of Kii, were waylaid and plundered. As for the soldiers of the guards, instead of taking their monthly term of duty at the palace, they are scattered over the country, and being strong and audacious, they treat the people violently and the provincial governors with contumacy, sometimes even forming leagues to rob the latter and escaping to the capital when they are hard pressed. (These guardsmen had arms and horses of their own and called themselves bushi, a term destined to have wide vogue in Japan.) It is interesting to note that they make their historical debut thus unfavourably introduced. Miyoshi Kiyotsura says that instead of being "metropolitan tigers" to guard the palace, they were "rural wolves" to despoil the provinces. APPRECIATIONS OF THE MIYOSHI MEMORIAL This celebrated document consisted of twelve articles and contained five thousand ideographs, so that nothing was wanting in the matter of voluminousness. The writer did not confine himself to enumerating abuses: he also suggested remedies. Thus he urged that no man, having become an equerry (toneri) of the six corps of guards, should be allowed to return to his province during his term of service; that the spurious priests should be all unfrocked and punished; that the office of kebiishi should be restricted to men having legal knowledge; that the upper classes should set an example of economy in costumes and observances; that the ranks of the Buddhist priesthood should be purged of open violators of the laws of their creed, and so forth. Historians have justly eulogized the courage of a memorialist who thus openly attacked wide-spread and powerful abuses. But they have also noted that the document shows some reservations. For generations the Fujiwara family had virtually usurped the governing power; had dethroned Emperors and chosen Empresses; had consulted their own will alone in the administrations of justice and in the appointment and removal of officials. Yet of these things Miyoshi Kiyotsura says nothing whatever. The sole hope of their redress lay in Michizane; but instead of supporting that ill-starred statesman, Miyoshi had contributed to his downfall. Could a reformer with such a record be regarded as altogether sincere? ADMINISTRATION OF THE EMPEROR DAIGO The Emperor Daigo, who ruled thirty-two years--from 898 to 930--is brought very close to us by the statement of a contemporary historian that he was "wise, intelligent, and kind-hearted," and that he always wore a smiling face, his own explanation of the latter habit being that he found it much easier to converse with men familiarly than solemnly. A celebrated incident of his career is that one winter's night he took off his wadded silk garment to evince sympathy with the poor who possessed no such protection against the cold. Partly because of his debonair manner and charitable impulses he is popularly remembered as "the wise Emperor of the Engi era." But close readers of the annals do not fully endorse that tribute. They note that Daigo's treatment of his father, Uda, on the celebrated occasion of the latter's visit to the palace to intercede for Michizane, was markedly unfilial; that his Majesty believed and acted upon slanders which touched the honour of his father no less than that of his well-proved servant, and that he made no resolute effort to correct the abuses of his time, even when they had been clearly pointed out by Miyoshi Kiyotsura. The usurpations of the Fujiwara; the prostitution of Buddhism to evil ends; the growth of luxurious and dissipated habits, and the subordination of practical ability to pedantic scholarship--these four malignant growths upon the national life found no healing treatment at Daigo's hands. THE CLASSICAL AGE OF LITERATURE The Engi era and the intervals of three or four decades before and after it may be regarded as the classical age of literature in Japan. Prose composition of a certain class was wholly in Chinese. All works of a historical, scientific, legal, or theological nature were in that language, and it cannot be said that they reached a very high level. Yet their authors had much honour. During the reigns of Uda and Daigo (888-930), Sugawara Michizane, Miyoshi Kiyotsura, Ki no Haseo, and Koze no Fumio, formed a quartet of famous masters of Chinese literature. From one point of view, Michizane's overthrow by Fujiwara Tokihira may be regarded as a collision between the Confucian doctrines which informed the polity of the Daika epoch and the power of aristocratic heredity. Kibi no Makibi and Sugawara no Michizane were the only two Japanese subjects that attained to be ministers of State solely in recognition of their learning, but several littérateurs reached high office, as chief chamberlain, councillor of State, minister of Education, and so forth. Miyoshi Kiyotsura ranks next to Michizane among the scholars of that age. He was profoundly versed in jurisprudence, mathematics (such as they were at the time), the Chinese classics, and history. But whereas Michizane bequeathed to posterity ten volumes of poems and two hundred volumes of a valuable historical work, no production of Kiyotsura's pen has survived except his celebrated memorial referred to above. He received the post of minister of the Household in 917 and died in the following year. It must be understood that the work of these scholars appealed to only a very limited number of their countrymen. The ako incident (pp. 239-240) illustrates this; the rescript penned by Tachibana no Hiromi was not clearly comprehended outside a narrow circle of scholars. Official notices and enactments were intelligible by few men of the trading classes and by no women. But a different record is found in the realm of high literature. Here there is much wealth. The Nara epoch gave to Japan the famous Manyo-shu (Myriad Leaves), and the Engi era gave her the scarcely less celebrated Kokin-shu, an anthology of over eleven hundred poems, ancient and modern. As between the two books, the advantage is with the former, though not by any means in a marked degree, but in the abundance and excellence of its prose writings--pure Japanese writings apart from the Chinese works referred to above--"the Heian epoch leaves the Nara far behind. The language had now attained to its full development. With its rich system of terminations and particles it was a pliant instrument in the writer's hands, and the vocabulary was varied and copious to a degree which is astonishing when we remember that it was drawn almost exclusively from native sources. The few words of Chinese origin which it contains seem to have found their way in through the spoken language and are not taken straight from Chinese books, as at a later stage when Japanese authors loaded their periods with alien vocables." This Heian literature "reflects the pleasure-loving and effeminate, but cultured and refined, character of the class of Japanese who produced it. It has no serious masculine qualities and may be described in one word as belles-lettres--poetry, fiction, diaries, and essays of a desultory kind. The lower classes of the people had no share in the literary activity of the time. Culture had not as yet penetrated beyond a very narrow circle. Both writers and readers belonged exclusively to the official caste. It is remarkable that a very large and important part of the best literature which Japan has produced was written by women. A good share of the Nara poetry is of feminine authorship, and, in the Heian period, women took a still more conspicuous part in maintaining the honour of the native literature. The two greatest works which have come down from Heian time are both by women.* This was no doubt partly due to the absorption of the masculine intellect in Chinese studies. But there was a still more effective cause. The position of women in ancient Japan was very different from what it afterwards became when Chinese ideals were in the ascendant. The Japanese of this early period did not share the feeling common to most Eastern countries that women should be kept in subjection and as far as possible in seclusion. Though the morality which the Heian literature reveals is anything but strait-laced, the language is uniformly refined and decent, in this respect resembling the best literature of China."** *The Genji Monogatari by Murasaki Shikibu, and the Makura Soshi by Sei Shonagon. **Japanese Literature, by W. G. Aston. With the Heian epoch is connected the wide use of the phonetic script known as kana, which may be described as a syllabary of forty-seven symbols formed from abbreviated Chinese ideographs. There are two varieties of the kana--the kata-kana and the hiragana* The former is said to have been devised by Makibi, the latter by Kobo Daishi (Kukai), but doubts have been cast on the accuracy of that record, and nothing can be certainly affirmed except that both were known before the close of the ninth century, though they do not seem to have been largely used until the Heian epoch, and even then almost entirely by women. *Katakana means "side kana" because its symbols are fragments (sides) of Chinese forms of whole ideographs. ENGRAVING: MURASAKI SHIKIBU (COURT LADY AND POETESS) "Much of the poetry of this time was the outcome of poetical tournaments at which themes were proposed to the competitors by judges who examined each phrase and word with the minutest critical care before pronouncing their verdict. As might be expected, the poetry produced in those circumstances is of a more or less artificial type, and is wanting in the spontaneous vigour of the earlier essays of the Japanese muse. Conceits, acrostics, and untranslatable word-plays hold much too prominent a place, but for perfection of form the poems of this time are unrivalled. It is no doubt to this quality that the great popularity of the Kokin-shu is due. Sei Shonagon, writing in the early years of the eleventh century, sums up a young lady's education as consisting of writing, music, and the twenty volumes of the Kokin-shu."* *Japanese Literature, by W. G. Aston. The first notable specimen of prose in Japanese style (wabun) was the preface to the Kokin-shu, written by Ki no Tsurayuki, who contended, and his own composition proved, that the introduction of Chinese words might well be dispensed with in writing Japanese. But what may be called the classical form of Japanese prose was fixed by the Taketori Monogatari,* an anonymous work which appeared at the beginning of the Engi era (901),** and was quickly followed by others. Still, the honour in which the ideograph was held never diminished. When Tsurayuki composed the Tosa Nikki (Tosa Diary), he gave it out as the work of a woman, so reluctant was he to identify himself with a book written in the kana syllabary; and the Emperor Saga, Kobo Daishi, and Tachibana Hayanari will be remembered forever in Japan as the "Three Calligraphists" (Sampitsu). *The expression "monogatari" finds its nearest English equivalent in "narrative." **An excellent translation of this has been made by Mr. F. V. Dickins in the "Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society," Jan., 1887. In short, an extraordinary love of literature and of all that pertained to it swayed the minds of Japan throughout the Nara and the Heian epochs. The ninth and tenth centuries produced such poets as Ariwara no Yukihira and his younger brother, Narihira; Otomo no Kuronushi, Ochikochi no Mitsune, Sojo Henjo, and the poetess Ono no Komachi; gave us three anthologies (Sandai-shu), the Kokin-shu, the Gosen-shu, and the Shui-shu, as well as five of the Six National Histories (Roku Kokushi), the Zoku Nihonki, the Nihon Koki, the Zoku Nihon Koki, the Montoku Jitsuroku, and the Sandai Jitsuroku; and saw a bureau of poetry (W aka-dokoro) established in Kyoto. Fine art also was cultivated, and it is significant that calligraphy and painting were coupled together in the current expression (shogwa) for products of pictorial art. Kudara no Kawanari and Koze no Kanaoka, the first Japanese painters to achieve great renown, flourished in the ninth and tenth centuries, as did also a famous architect, Hida no Takumi. INTERVAL BETWEEN THE CAPITAL AND THE PROVINCES Thus, in the capital, Kyoto, where the Fujiwara family constituted the power behind the Throne, refinements and luxury were constantly developed, and men as well as women amused themselves composing Chinese and Japanese poems, playing on musical instruments, dancing, and making picnics to view the blossoms of the four seasons. But in the provincial districts very different conditions existed. There, men, being virtually without any knowledge of the ideographic script, found the literature and the laws of the capital a sealed book to them, and as for paying periodical visits to Kyoto, what that involved may be gathered from the fact that the poet Tsurayuki's return to the capital from the province of Tosa, where he had served as acting governor, occupied one hundred days, as shown in his Tosa Nikki (Diary of a Journey from Tosa), and that thirteen days were needed to get from the mouth of the Yodo to the city. The pageant of metropolitan civilization and magnificence never presented itself to provincial eyes. ORIGIN OF THE SHOEN Much has already been said on the subject of land tenure; but as this problem is responsible for some cardinal phases of Japanese history, a brief resume will be useful here. There were four chief causes for the existence of shoen, or manors. The first was reclamation. In the year 723, it was decreed that persons who reclaimed land should acquire a de facto title of tenure for three generations, and, twenty years later, the tenure of title was made perpetual, limits of area being fixed, however--1250 acres for princes and nobles of the first rank, and thereafter by various gradations, to twenty-five acres for a commoner. But these limits were not enforced, and in the year 767 it became necessary to issue a decree prohibiting further reclamation, which was followed, seventeen years later, by a rescript forbidding provincial governors to exact forced labour for tilling their manors. That this did not check the evil is proved by an official record, compiled in 797, from which it appears that princes and influential nobles possessed manors of great extent; that they appointed intendants to manage them; that these intendants themselves engaged in operations of reclamation; that they abused their power by despoiling the peasants, and that dishonest farmers made a practice of evading taxes and tribute by settling within the bounds of a manor. These abuses reached their acme during the reigns of Uda and Daigo (888-930), when people living in the vicinity of a manor were ruthlessly robbed and plundered by the intendant and his servants, and when it became habitual to elude the payment of taxes by making spurious assignments of lands to influential officials in the capital. In vain was the ownership of lands by powerful nobles interdicted, and in vain its purchase by provincial governors: the metropolis had no power to enforce its vetoes in the provinces, and the provincials ignored them. Thus the shoen grew in number and extent. The second factor which contributed to the extension of manors was the bestowal of estates in perpetuity on persons of conspicuous ability, and afterwards on men who enjoyed Imperial favour. Land thus granted was called shiden and enjoyed immunity from taxation. Then there were tracts given in recognition of public merit. These koden were originally of limited tenure, but that condition soon ceased to be observed, and the koden fell into the same category with manors (shoen). Finally we have the jiden, or temple lands. These, too, were at the outset granted for fixed terms, but when Buddhism became powerful the limitation ceased to be operative, and moreover, in defiance of the law, private persons presented tracts, large or small, to the temples where the mortuary tablets of their families were preserved, and the temples, oh their own account, acquired estates by purchase or by reclamation. The jiden, like the other three kinds of land enumerated above, were exempt from taxation. Owned by powerful nobles or influential families, the shoen were largely cultivated by forced labour, and as in many cases it paid the farmers better to rent such land; and thus escape all fiscal obligations, than to till their own fields, the latter were deserted pan passu with the development of the manor system, and thus the State revenues suffered dual reduction. During the last quarter of the tenth century peremptory edicts were issued to check this state of affairs, but the power of the Court to exact obedience had then dwindled almost to cipher. History records that during the Ho-en era (1135-1140), the regent Fujiwara Tadamichi's manor of Shimazu comprised one-fourth of the province of Osumi. On these great manors, alike of nobles and of temples, armed forces soon began to be maintained for purposes nominally of police protection but ultimately of military aggression. This was especially the case on the shoen of the puissant families of Taira and Minamoto. Thus, Minamoto Yoshitomo came to own fifteen of the eastern provinces, and in the tumult of the Heiji era (1159-1160), he lost all these to Taira no Kiyomori, who, supplementing them with his own already large manors and with the shoen of many other nobles and temples, became owner of five hundred districts comprising about one-half of the empire. Subsequently, when the Minamoto crushed the Taira (1185), the whole of the latter's estates were distributed by the former among the nobles who had fought under the Minamoto standard. In that age the holders of manors were variously called ryoshu, ryoke, shoya, or honjo, and the intendants were termed shocho, shoji, kengyo, betto, or yoryudo, a diversity of nomenclature that is often very perplexing. In many cases reclaimed lands went by the name of the person who had reclaimed them. Such manors were spoken of as myoden (name-land), and those owning large tracts were designated daimyo (great name), while smaller holders were termed shomyo. Yet another term for the intendants of these lands was nanushi-shoku. It will be readily seen that in the presence of such a system the lands paying taxes to the Central Government became steadily less and less. Thus, in the reign of the Emperor Toba (1108-1123), the State domains administered by the provincial governors are recorded to have been only one per cent, of the area of the provinces. In these circumstances, the governors deemed it unnecessary to proceed themselves to their posts; they remained in Kyoto and despatched deputies to the provinces, a course which conspired to reduce the authority of the Crown. For the sake of intelligent sequence of ideas, the above synopsis makes some departure from the chronological order of these pages. Returning to the early part of the tenth century, the historian may affirm that the salient features of the era were virtual abrogation of the Daiho laws imposing restrictions upon the area and period of land-ownership; rapid growth of tax-free manors and consequent impoverishment of the Court in Kyoto; the appearance of provincial magnates who yielded scant obedience to the Crown, and the organization of military classes which acknowledged the authority of their own leaders only. REVOLT OF TAIRA NO MASAKADO The above state of affairs soon bore practical fruit. In the year 930, the Emperor Daigo died and was succeeded by his son Shujaku, a child of eight, whose mother was a daughter of Fujiwara Mototsune. In accordance with the system now fully established, Fujiwara Tadahira became regent. History depicts this Tadahira as an effeminate dilettante, one of whose foibles was to have a cuckoo painted on his fan and to imitate the cry of the bird whenever he opened it. But as representative of the chief aristocratic family in an age when to be a Fujiwara was to possess a title superior to that conferred by ability in any form and however conspicuous, his right to administer the government in the capacity of regent obtained universal recognition. It had become the custom at that time for the provincial magnates to send their sons to Kyoto, where they served in the corps of guards, became acquainted with refined life, and established relations of friendship with the Taira and the Minamoto, the former descended from the Emperor Kwammu, the latter from the Emperor Seiwa. Thus, at the time of Daigo's death, a scion of the Taira, by name Masakado, was serving under Tadahira in the capital. Believing himself endowed with high military capacity, Masakado aspired to be appointed kebiishi of his native province, Shimosa. But his archery, his horsemanship, and his fencing elicited no applause in Kyoto, whereas a relative, Sadabumi, attracted admiration by a licentious life. Masakado finally retired to Shimosa in an angry mood. At first, however, the idea of revolt does not seem to have occurred to him. On the contrary, the evidence is against such a hypothesis. For his military career began with family feuds, and after he had killed one of his uncles on account of a dispute about the boundaries of a manor, and sacked the residence of another in consequence of a trouble about a woman, he did not hesitate to obey a summons to Kyoto to answer for his acts of violence. Such quarrels were indeed of not uncommon occurrence in the provinces, as is shown by the memorial of Miyoshi Kiyotsura, and the capital appears to have left them severely alone, so far as practical interference was concerned, though the pretence of jurisdiction might be preserved. Thus, Masakado was acquitted after the formality of investigation had been satisfied. Naturally this judgment did not prove a deterrent; on the contrary, it amounted to a mandate. On his return to Kwanto, Masakado was soon found once more in the arena. The details of his campaign have little interest except as indicating that the provincial officials followed the example of Kyoto in suffering local disturbances to settle themselves, and that the abuses catalogued in the Miyoshi memorial were true to fact. A raid that Masakado made into Musashi province is memorable as the occasion of the first collision between the Taira and the Minamoto,* which great families were destined ultimately to convert all Japan into a battlefield. Finally, Masakado carried his raids so far that he allowed himself to be persuaded of the hopelessness of pardon. It was then that he resolved to revolt. Overrunning the whole eight provinces of the Kwanto, he appointed his own partisans to all posts of importance and set up a court after the Kyoto model. A letter written by him at this time to the regent Tadahira affords an interesting guide to the ethics of the era: "The genealogy of my house shows that I am the fifth in descent from the Emperor Kwammu. Therefore, though I hold one-half of a province, that cannot be attributed to mere good fortune. In the history of ancient times there are occasions where a whole country was appropriated by force of arms. Nature has endowed me with military talent. None, I presume, excels me in that respect. You, however, had no praise to bestow on me. Rather was I frequently reprimanded when I served in the capital, so that my shame was unendurable, whereas your sympathy would have delighted me. While Masakado was still a youth he served Tadahira, the prime minister, for tens of years, and when Tadahira became regent, Masakado never entertained his present project. I have no words to express my regret. Though I have conspired to revolt, I will not forget my old master, and I hope that he will make allowances for the circumstances in which I am placed." *The vice-governor of Musashi, Minamoto Tsunemoto, was at feud with the governor, Prince Okiyo, and Masakado espoused the latter's cause. Had it rested with Kyoto to subdue this revolt, Masakado might have attained his goal. But chance and the curious spirit of the time fought for the Court. A trifling breach of etiquette on the part of Masakado--not pausing to bind up his hair before receiving a visitor--forfeited the co-operation of a great soldier, Fujiwara Hidesato, (afterwards known as Tawara Toda), and the latter, joining forces with Taira Sadamori, whose father Masakado had killed, attacked the rebels in a moment of elated carelessness, shattered them completely, and sent Masakado's head to the capital. The whole affair teaches that the Fujiwara aristocrats, ruling in Kyoto, had neither power nor inclination to meddle with provincial administration, and that the districts distant from the metropolis wore practically under the sway of military magnates in whose eyes might constituted right. This was especially notable in the case of the Kwanto, that is to say the eight provinces surrounding the present Tokyo Bay, extending north to the Nikko Mountains. Musashi, indeed, was so infested with law-breakers that, from the days of the Emperor Seiwa (859-876), it became customary to appoint one kebiishi in each of its districts, whereas elsewhere the establishment was one to each province. The kebiishi represented the really puissant arm of the law, the provincial governors, originally so powerful, having now degenerated into weaklings. THE REVOLT OF FUJIWARA SUMITOMO Another event, characteristic of the time, occurred in Nankai-do (the four provinces of the island of Shikoku) contemporaneously with the revolt of Masakado. During the Shohei era (931-937) the ravages of pirates became so frequent in those waters that Fujiwara no Sumitomo was specially despatched from Kyoto to restrain them. This he effected without difficulty. But instead of returning to the capital, he collected a number of armed men together with a squadron of vessels, and conducted a campaign of spoliation and outrage in the waters of the Inland Sea as well as the channels of Kii and Bungo. Masakado's death, in 939, relieved the Court from the pressure in the east, and an expedition was despatched against Sumitomo under the command of Ono no Yoshifuru, general of the guards. Yoshifuru mustered only two hundred ships whereas Sumitomo had fifteen hundred. The issue might have been foretold had not the pirate chief's lieutenant gone over to the Imperial forces. Sumitomo, after an obstinate resistance and after one signal success, was finally routed and killed. Some historians* have contended that Masakado and Sumitomo, when they were together in Kyoto, conspired a simultaneous revolt in the east and the south; but such a conclusion is inconsistent with the established fact that Masakado's treason was not premeditated. *Notably the authors of the Okagami and the Nihon Gwaishi. That the two events synchronized is attributable wholly to the conditions of the time. We have seen what was the state of affairs in Kwanto, and that of Kyushu and Shikoku is clearly set forth in a memorial presented (946) by Ono Yoshifuru on his return from the Sumitomo campaign. In that document he says: "My information is that those who pursue irregular courses are not necessarily sons of provincial governors alone. Many others make lawless use of power and authority; form confederacies; engage daily in military exercises; collect and maintain men and horses under pretext of hunting game; menace the district governors; plunder the common people; violate their wives and daughters, and steal their beasts of burden and employ them for their own purposes, thus interrupting agricultural operations. Yesterday, they were outcasts, with barely sufficient clothes to cover their nakedness; to-day, they ride on horseback and don rich raiment. Meanwhile the country falls into a state of decay, and the homesteads are desolate. My appeal is that, with the exception of provincial governors' envoys, any who enter a province at the head of parties carrying bows and arrows, intimidate the inhabitants, and rob them of their property, shall be recognized as common bandits and thrown into prison on apprehension." In a word, the aristocratic officialdom in Kyoto, headed by the Fujiwara, though holding all the high administrative posts, wielded no real power outside the capital, nor were they competent to preserve order even within its precincts, for the palace itself was not secure against incendiarism and depredation. When the heads of the Minamoto and the Taira families were appointed provincial governors in the Kwanto, they trained their servants in the use of arms, calling them iye-no-ko (house-boys) or rodo (retainers), and other local magnates purchased freedom from molestation by doing homage and obeying their behests. Taira Masakado, Minamoto Tsunemoto, Fujiwara Hidesato, and Taira Sadamori, who figure in the above narrative, were all alike provincial chiefs, possessing private estates and keeping armed retinues which they used for protection or for plunder. The Imperial Court, when confronted with any crisis, was constrained to borrow the aid of these magnates, and thus there came into existence the buke, or military houses, as distinguished from the kuge, or Court houses. ENGRAVING: UMBRELLAS ENGRAVING: KINKAKU-JI, AT KYOTO CHAPTER XXI THE CAPITAL AND THE PROVINCES RELATIONS BETWEEN THE COURT AND THE FUJIWARA We now arrive at a period of Japanese history in which the relations of the Fujiwara family to the Throne are so complicated as greatly to perplex even the most careful reader. But as it is not possible to construct a genealogical table of a really helpful character, the facts will be set down here in their simplest form. THE SIXTY-SECOND SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR MURAKAMI (A.D. 947-967) Murakami, son of Daigo by the daughter of the regent, Fujiwara Mototsune, ascended the throne in succession to Shujaku, and Fujiwara Tadahira held the post of regent, as he had done in Shujaku's time, his three sons, Saneyori, Morosuke, and Morotada, giving their daughters; one, Morosuke's offspring, to be Empress, the other two to be consorts of the sovereign. Moreover, Morosuke's second daughter was married to the Emperor's younger brother, Prince Takaaki, who afterwards descended from princely rank to take the family name of Minamoto. Saneyori, Morosuke, and Takaaki took a prominent part in the administration of State affairs, and thus indirectly by female influence at Court, or by their own direct activity, the Fujiwara held a supreme place. Murakami has a high position among Japan's model sovereigns. He showed keen and intelligent interest in politics; he sought to employ able officials; he endeavoured to check luxury, and he solicited frank guidance from his elders. Thus later generations learned to indicate Engi (901-923), when Daigo reigned, and Tenryaku (947-957), when Murakami reigned, as essentially eras of benevolent administration. But whatever may have been the personal qualities of Murakami, however conspicuous his poetical ability and however sincere his solicitude for the welfare of his subjects, he failed signally to correct the effeminate tendency of Kyoto society or to protect the lives and property of his people. Bandits raided the capital, broke into the palace itself, set fire to it, and committed frequent depredations unrestrained. An age when the machinery for preserving law and order was practically paralyzed scarcely deserves the eulogies of posterity. THE SUCCESSION The lady with whom Murakami first consorted was a daughter of Fujiwara Motokata, who represented a comparatively obscure branch of the great family, and had attained the office of chief councillor of State (dainagori) only. She bore to his Majesty a son, Hirohira, and the boy's grandfather confidently looked to see him named Prince Imperial. But presently the daughter of Fujiwara Morosuke, minister of the Right, entered the palace, and although her Court rank was not at first superior to that of the dainagon's daughter, her child had barely reached its third month when, through Morosuke's irresistible influence, it was nominated heir to the throne. Motokata's disappointment proved so keen that his health became impaired and he finally died--of chagrin, the people said. In those days men believed in the power of disembodied spirits for evil or for good. The spirit of the ill-fated Sugawara Michizane was appeased by building shrines to his memory, and a similar resource exorcised the angry ghost of the rebel, Masakado; but no such prevention having been adopted in the case of Motokata, his spirit was supposed to have compassed the early deaths of his grandson's supplanter, Reizei, and of the latter's successors, Kwazan and Sanjo, whose three united reigns totalled only five years. A more substantial calamity resulted, however, from the habit of ignoring the right of primogeniture in favour of arbitrary selection. Murakami, seeing that the Crown Prince (Reizei) had an exceedingly feeble physique, deemed it expedient to transfer the succession to his younger brother, Tamehira. But the latter, having married into the Minamoto family, had thus become ineligible for the throne in Fujiwara eyes. The Emperor hesitated, therefore, to give open expression to his views, and while he waited, he himself fell mortally ill. On his death-bed he issued the necessary instruction, but the Fujiwara deliberately ignored it, being determined that a consort of their own blood must be the leading lady in every Imperial household. Then the indignation of the other great families, the Minamoto and the Taira, blazed out. Mitsunaka, representing the former, and Shigenobu the latter, entered into a conspiracy to collect an army in the Kwanto and march against Kyoto with the sole object of compelling obedience to Murakami's dying behest. The plot was divulged by Minamoto Mitsunaka in the sequel of a quarrel with Taira no Shigenobu; the plotters were all exiled, and Takaaki, youngest son of the Emperor Daigo, though wholly ignorant of the conspiracy, was falsely accused to the Throne by Fujiwara Morotada, deprived of his post of minister of the Left, to which his accuser was nominated, and sent to that retreat for disgraced officials, the Dazai-fu. Another instance is here furnished of the readiness with which political rivals slandered one another in old Japan, and another instance, also, of the sway exercised over the sovereign by his Fujiwara ministers. THE SIXTY-THIRD SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR REIZEI (A.D. 968-969) THE SIXTY-FOURTH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR ENYU (A.D. 970-984) The reigns of Reizei and Enyu are remarkable for quarrels among the members of the Fujiwara family--quarrels which, to be followed intelligently, require frequent reference to the genealogical table (page 203). Fujiwara Morosuke had five sons, Koretada, Kanemichi, Kaneiye, Tamemitsu, and Kinsuye. Two of these, Koretada and Kaneiye, presented one each of their daughters to the Emperor Reizei, and Koretada's daughter gave birth to Prince Morosada, who afterwards reigned as Kwazan, while Kaneiye's daughter bore Okisada, subsequently the Emperor Sanjo. After one year's reign, Reizei, who suffered from brain disease, abdicated in favour of his younger brother, Enyu, then only in his eleventh year. Fujiwara Saneyori acted as regent, but, dying shortly afterwards, was succeeded in that office by his nephew, Koretada, who also had to resign on account of illness. Between this latter's two brothers, Kanemichi and Kaneiye, keen competition for the regency now sprang up. Kanemichi's eldest daughter was the Empress of Enyu, but his Majesty favoured Kaneiye, who thus attained much higher rank than his elder brother. Kanemichi, however, had another source of influence. His sister was Murakami's Empress and mother of the reigning sovereign, Enyu. This Imperial lady, writing to his Majesty Enyu at Kanemichi's dictation, conjured the Emperor to be guided by primogeniture in appointing a regent, and Enyu, though he bitterly disliked Kanemichi, could not gainsay his mother. Thus Kanemichi became chancellor and acting regent. The struggle was not concluded, however. It ended in the palace itself, whither the two brothers repaired almost simultaneously, Kanemichi rising from his sick-bed for the purpose. In the presence of the boy Emperor, Kanemichi arbitrarily transferred his own office of kwampaku to Fujiwara Yoritada and degraded his brother, Kaneiye, to a comparatively insignificant post. The sovereign acquiesced; he had no choice. A few months later, this dictator died. It is related of him that his residence was more gorgeous than the palace and his manner of life more sumptuous than the sovereign's. The men of his time were wont to say, "A tiger's mouth is less fatal than the frown of the regent, Kanemichi." THE SIXTY-FIFTH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR KWAZAN (A.D. 985-986) THE SIXTY-SIXTH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR ICHIJO (A.D. 987-1011) Eldest son of the Emperor Reizei, Kwazan ascended the throne in 985. His mother was a daughter of Fujiwara Koretada, and Yoritada, whose appointment as regent has just been described, continued to act in that capacity. Kaneiye's opportunity had now come. Kwazan having succeeded Enyu, nominated the latter's son to be Crown Prince, instead of conferring the position on his own brother, Prince Okisada (afterwards Sanjo). Now the Crown Prince was the son of Kaneiye's daughter, and that ambitious noble determined to compass the sovereign's abdication without delay. Kwazan, originally a fickle lover, had ultimately conceived an absorbing passion for the lady Tsuneko. He could not be induced to part with her even at the time of her pregnancy, and as there was no proper provision in the palace for such an event, Tsuneko died in labour. Kwazan, distraught with grief, was approached by Kaneiye's son, Michikane, who urged him to retire from the world and seek in Buddhism the perfect peace thus alone attainable. Michikane declared his own intention of entering the "path," and on a moonlight night the two men, leaving the palace, repaired to the temple Gwangyo-ji to take the tonsure. There, Michikane, pretending he wished to bid final farewell to his family, departed to return no more, and the Emperor understood that he had been deceived. Retreat was now impossible, however. He abdicated in favour of Ichijo, a child of seven, and Kaneiye became regent and chancellor. He emulated the magnificence of his deceased brother and rival, Kanemichi, and his residence at Higashi-Sanjo in Kyoto was built after the model of the "hall of freshness" in the palace. He had five sons, the most remarkable of whom were Michitaka, Michikane, and Michinaga. It will be presently seen that in the hands of the last the power of the Fujiwara reached its zenith. On the death of Kaneiye the office of kwampaku fell to his eldest son, Michitaka, and, in 993, the latter being seriously ill, his son, Korechika, looked to be his successor. But the honour fell to Michitaka's brother, Michikane. Seven days after his nomination, Michikane died, and, as a matter of course, men said that he had been done to death by the incantations of his ambitious nephew. Again, however, the latter was disappointed. Kaneiye's third son, Michinaga, succeeded to the regency. Almost immediately, the new regent seems to have determined that his daughter should be Empress. But the daughter of his elder brother, the late Michitaka, already held that position. This, however, constituted no sort of obstacle in the eyes of the omnipotent Michinaga. He induced--"required" would probably be a more accurate expression--the Empress to abandon the world, shave her head, and remove to a secluded palace, (the Kokideri); where-after he caused his own daughter to become the Imperial consort under the title of chugu,* her residence being fixed in the Fujitsubo, which was the recognized palace of the Empress. *A lady on introduction to the palace received the title of jokwan. If the daughter of a minister of State, she was called nyogo. Chugu was a still higher title devised specially for Michinaga's purpose, and naturally it became a precedent. It is not to be imagined that with such a despotic regent, the Emperor himself exercised any real authority. The annals show that Ichijo was of benevolent disposition; that he sympathized with his people; that he excelled in prose composition and possessed much skill in music. Further, during his reign of twenty-four years many able men graced the era. But neither their capacity nor his own found opportunity for exercise in the presence of Michinaga's proteges, and, while profoundly disliking the Fujiwara autocrat, Ichijo was constrained to suffer him. THE SIXTY-SEVENTH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR SANJO (A.D. 1012-1017) THE SIXTY-EIGHTH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR GO-ICHIJO (A.D. 1017-1036) Prince Okisada, younger brother of the Emperor Kwazan, ascended the throne at the age of thirty-six, on the abdication of Ichijo, and is known in history as Sanjo. Before his accession he had married the daughter of Fujiwara Naritoki, to whom he was much attached, but with the crown he had to accept the second daughter of Michinaga as chugu, his former consort becoming Empress. His Majesty had to acquiesce in another arbitrary arrangement also. It has been shown above that Michinaga's eldest daughter had been given the title of chugu in the palace of Ichijo, to whom she bore two sons, Atsunari and Atsunaga. Neither of these had any right to be nominated Crown Prince in preference to Sanjo's offspring. Michinaga, however, caused Atsunari to be appointed Prince Imperial, ignoring Sanjo's son, since his mother belonged to an inferior branch of the Fujiwara. Further, it did not suit the regent's convenience that a ruler of mature age should occupy the throne. An eye disease from which Sanjo suffered became the pretext for pressing him to abdicate, and, in 1017, Atsunari, then in his ninth year, took the sceptre as Emperor Go-Ichijo, or Ichijo II. Michinaga continued to act as regent, holding, at the same time, the office of minister of the Left, but he subsequently handed over the regency to his son, Yorimichi, becoming himself chancellor. Go-Ichijo was constrained to endure at Michinaga's hands the same despotic treatment as that previously meted out to Sanjo. The legitimate claim of his offspring to the throne was ignored in favour of his brother, Atsunaga, who received for consort the fourth daughter of Michinaga. Thus, this imperious noble had controlled the administration for thirty years; had given his daughters to three Emperors; had appointed his son to be regent in his place, and had the Crown Prince for grandson. Truly, as his historians say, he held the empire in the hollow of his hand. His estates far exceeded those of the Crown; the presents offered to him by all ranks reached an enormous total; he built for himself a splendid mansion (Jotomon) with forced labour requisitioned from the provinces, and for his wife a scarcely less magnificent residence (Kyogoku) was erected at the charges of the Emperor Go-Ichijo. At the approach of illness he took refuge in Buddhism, but even here the gorgeous ostentation of his life was not abated. He planned the building of a monastery which should prove a worthy retreat for his declining years, and it is on record that his order to the provincial governor was, "though you neglect your official duties, do not neglect to furnish materials and labour for the building of Hojo-ji." Even from the palace itself stones were taken for this monastery, and the sums lavished upon it were so enormous that they dwarfed Michinaga's previous extravagances. Michinaga retired there to die, and on his death-bed he received a visit from the Emperor, who ordered three months' Court mourning on his decease. There is a celebrated work entitled Eigwa Monogatari (Tales of Splendour), wherein is depicted the fortunes and the foibles of the Fujiwara family from the days (889) of the Emperor Uda to those (1092) of the Emperor Horikawa. Specially minute is the chronicle when it treats of the Mido kwampaku, as Michinaga was called after he set himself to build the monastery Hojo-ji. Loyal Japanese historians shrink from describing this era, when the occupants of the throne were virtually puppets in the hands of the Fujiwara. There was, however, one redeeming feature: amid this luxury and refinement literature flourished vigorously, so that the era of Tenryaku (947-957) lives in the memory of the nation as vividly as that of Engi (901-923). Oye Tomotsuna, Sugawara Fumitoki, Minamoto Shitago--these were famous littérateurs, and Minamoto Hiromasa, grandson of the Emperor Uda, attained celebrity as a musical genius. Coming to the reigns of Kwazan, Enyu, and Ichijo (985-1011), we find the immortal group of female writers, Murasaki Shikibu, Izumi Shikibu, Sei Shonagon, and Akazome Emon; we find also in the Imperial family, Princes Kaneakira and Tomohira; we find three famous scribes, Fujiwara Yukinari, Fujiwara Sari, and Ono no Tofu, and, finally the "Four Nagon" (Shi-nagori), Fujiwara Yukinari, Fujiwara Kinto. Minamoto Narinobu, and Minamoto Toshikata. It is observable that in this necessarily brief summary the name "Minamoto" occurs several times, as does that of "Fujiwara" also. But that the scions of either family confined themselves to the arts of peace, is not to be inferred. There were Fujiwara among the military magnates in the provinces, and we shall presently see the Minamoto taking the lead in the science of war. Already, indeed, the Fujiwara in the capital were beginning to recognize the power of the Minamoto. It has been related above that one of the rebel Masakado's earliest opponents was a Minamoto, vice-governor of Musashi. His son, Mitsunaka, a redoubtable warrior, assisted the Fujiwara in Kyoto, and Mitsunaka's sons, Yorimitsu and Yorinobu, contributed materially to the autocracy of the regent Michinaga. Yorimitsu was appointed by the regent to command the cavalry of the guard, and he is said to have brought that corps to a state of great efficiency. There was, indeed, much need of a strong hand. One had only to emerge from the palace gates to find oneself among the haunts of bandits. The names of such robber chiefs as Hakamadare no Yasusuke, Kidomaru, Oeyama Shutendoji, and Ibaraki-doji have been handed down as the heroes in many a strange adventure and the perpetrators of many heinous crimes. Even the Fujiwara residences were not secure against the torches of these plunderers, and during the reign of Ichijo the palace itself was frequently fired by them. In Go-Ichijo's tune, an edict was issued forbidding men to carry bows and arrows in the streets, but had there been power to enforce such a veto, its enactment would not have been necessary. Its immediate sequel was that the bandits broke into Government offices and murdered officials there. THE INVASION OF JAPAN BY THE TOI In the spring of 1019, when Go-Ichijo occupied the throne, a large host of invaders suddenly poured into the island of Tsushima. There had not been any warning. Tsushima lies half-way between the south of Korea and the northeast of Kyushu, distant about sixty miles from either coast. Since the earliest times, its fine harbours had served as a military station for ships plying between Japan and Korea, but such intercourse had long been interrupted when this invasion took place. The invaders were the Toi, originally called Sushen or Moho, under the former of which names they make their appearance in Japanese history in the middle of the sixth century. They inhabited that part of the Asiatic continent which lies opposite to the island of Ezo, but there is nothing to show what impulse they obeyed in making this sudden descent upon Japan. Their fleet comprised some fifty vessels only, each from forty to sixty feet long and propelled by thirty or forty oars, but of how many fighting men the whole force consisted, no record has been preserved. As to arms, they carried swords, bows, spears, and shields, and in their tactical formation spearmen occupied the front rank, then came swordsmen, and finally bowmen. Every man had a shield. Their arrows were short, measuring little over a foot, but their bows were powerful, and they seem to have fought with fierce courage. At first they carried everything before them. The governor of Tsushima, being without any means of defence, fled to the Dazai-fu in Kyushu, and the inhabitants were left to the mercy of the invaders, who then pushed on to the island of Iki. There the governor, Fujiwara Masatada, made a desperate resistance, losing his own life in the battle. It is said that of all the inhabitants, one only, a Buddhist priest, escaped to tell the story. Ten days after their first appearance off Tsushima, the Toi effected a landing in Chikuzen and marched towards Hakata, plundering, burning, massacring old folks and children, making prisoners of adults, and slaughtering cattle and horses for food. It happened, fortunately, that Takaiye, younger brother of Fujiwara Korechika, was in command at the Dazai-fu, whither he had repaired partly out of pique, partly to undergo treatment for eye disease at the hands of a Chinese doctor. He met the crisis with the utmost coolness, and made such skilful dispositions for defence that, after three days' fighting, in which the Japanese lost heavily, Hakata remained uncaptured. High winds and rough seas now held the invaders at bay, and in that interval the coast defences were repaired and garrisoned, and a fleet of thirty-eight boats having been assembled, the Japanese assumed the offensive, ultimately driving the Toi to put to sea. A final attempt was made to effect a landing at Matsuura in the neighbouring province of Hizen, but, after fierce fighting, the invaders had to withdraw altogether. The whole affair had lasted sixteen days, and the Japanese losses were 382 killed and 1280 taken prisoners. Two hundred and eighty of the latter--60 men and 220 women--were subsequently returned. They were brought over from Koma six months later by a Koma envoy, Chong Cha-ryang, to whom the Court presented three hundred pieces of gold. Kyoto's attitude towards this incident was most instructive. When the first tidings of the invasion reached the capital, the protection of heaven was at once invoked by services at Ise and ten other shrines. But when, on receipt of news that the danger had been averted, the question of rewarding the victors came up for discussion, a majority of the leading statesmen contended that, as the affair had been settled before the arrival of an Imperial mandate at the Dazai-fu, no official cognizance could be taken of it. This view was ultimately overruled since the peril had been national, but the rewards subsequently given were insignificant, and the event clearly illustrates the policy of the Central Government--a policy already noted in connexion with the revolt of Masakado--namely, that any emergency dealt with prior to the receipt of an Imperial rescript must be regarded as private, whatever its nature, and therefore beyond the purview of the law. A more effective method of decentralization could not have been devised. It was inevitable that, under such a system, the provincial magnates should settle matters to their own liking without reference to Kyoto, and that, the better to enforce their will, they should equip themselves with armed retinues. In truth, it is not too much to say that, from the tenth century, Japan outside the capital became an arena of excursions and alarms, the preservation of peace being wholly dependent on the ambitions of local magnates. A history of all these happenings would be intolerably long and tedious. Therefore only those that have a national bearing will be here set down. Prominent among such is the struggle between the Taira and the Minamoto in the Kwanto. The origin of these two families has already been recounted. Some historians have sought to differentiate the metropolitan section of the Minamoto from the provincial section--that is to say, the men of luxury and literature who frequented the capital, from the men of sword and bow who ruled in the provinces. Such differentiation is of little practical value. Similar lines of demarcation might be drawn in the case of the Taira and Fujiwara themselves. If there were great captains in each of these famous families, there were also great courtiers. To the former category belonged Taira Tadatsune. For generations his family had ruled in the province of Shimosa and had commanded the allegiance of all the bushi of the region. Tadatsune held at one time the post of vice-governor of the neighbouring province of Kazusa, where he acquired large manors (shoen). In the year 1028, he seized the chief town of the latter province, and pushing on into Awa, killed the governor and obtained complete control of the province.* The Court, on receiving news of these events, ordered Minamoto Yorinobu, governor of Kai, and several other provincial governors to attack the Taira chief. *Murdoch, in his History of Japan, says that in three years Tadatsune's aggressions "reduced the Kwanto to a tangled wilderness. Thus, in the province of Shimosa, in 1027, there had been as much as 58,000 acres under cultivation; but in 1031 this had shrunk to forty-five acres." Yorinobu did not wait for his associates. Setting out with his son, Yoriyoshi, in 1031, he moved at once against Tadatsune's castle, which stood on the seashore of Shimosa, protected by moats and palisades, and supposed to be unapproachable from the sea except by boats, of which Tadatsune had taken care that there should not be any supply available. But the Minamoto general learned that the shore sloped very slowly on the castle front, and marching his men boldly through the water, he delivered a crushing attack. For this exploit, which won loud plaudits, he was appointed commandant of the local government office, a post held by his grandfather, Tsunemoto, whom we have seen as vice-governor of Musashi in the days of Masakado; by his father, Mitsunaka, one of the pillars of the Minamoto family, and by his elder brother, Yorimitsu, who commanded the cavalry of the guards in Kyoto. The same post was subsequently bestowed on Yorinobu's son, Yoriyoshi, and on the latter's son, Yoshiiye, known by posterity as "Hachiman Taro," Japan's most renowned archer, to whom the pre-eminence of the Minamoto family was mainly due. Tadatsune had another son, Tsunemasa, who was appointed vice-governor of Shimosa and who is generally spoken of as Chiba-no-suke. The chief importance of these events is that they laid the foundation of the Minamoto family's supremacy in the Kwanto, and thus permanently influenced the course of Japanese history. THE CAMPAIGN OF ZEN-KUNEN It is advisable at this stage to make closer acquaintance with the Japanese bushi (soldier), who has been cursorily alluded to more than once in these pages, and who, from the tenth century, acts a prominent role on the Japanese stage. History is silent as to the exact date when the term "bushi" came into use, but from a very early era its Japanese equivalent, "monono-fu," was applied to the guards of the sovereign's palace, and when great provincial magnates began, about the tenth century, to support a number of armed retainers, these gradually came to be distinguished as bushi. In modern times the ethics of the bushi have been analysed under the name "bushido" (the way of the warrior), but of course no such term or any such complete code existed in ancient days. The conduct most appropriate to a bushi was never embodied in a written code. It derived its sanctions from the practice of recognized models, and only by observing those models can we reach a clear conception of the thing itself. ENGRAVING: HALL OF BYODOIN TEMPLE (1052), AT UJI To that end, brief study may be given to the principal campaigns of the eleventh century, namely, the century immediately preceding the establishment of military feudalism. It must be premised, however, that although the bushi figured mainly on the provincial stage, he acted an important part in the capital also. There, the Throne and its Fujiwara entourage were constrained to enlist the co-operation of the military nobles for the purpose of controlling the lawless elements of the population. The Minamoto family were conspicuous in that respect. Minamoto Mitsunaka--called also Manchu--served at the Court of four consecutive sovereigns from Murakami downwards, was appointed governor of several provinces, and finally became commandant of the local Government office. Yorimitsu, his son, a still greater strategist, was a prominent figure at five Courts, from the days of Enyu, and his brothers, Yorichika and Yorinobu, rendered material assistance in securing the supremacy of the great Fujiwara chief, Michinaga. Indeed, the Minamoto were commonly spoken of as the "claws" of the Fujiwara. It was this Yorinobu who won such fame by escalading the castle of Taira Tadatsune and who established his family's footing in the Kwanto. His uncle, Yoshimitsu, had a large estate at Tada in Settsu, and this branch of the family was known as Tada Genji.* Then there were: The Yamato Genji descended from Yorichika " Suruga " " " Mitsumasa " Shinano " " " Mitsunaka " Uda " of Omi, called also the Sasaki family " Saga " of Settsu " " " Watanabe " Hizen " of Hizen " " " Matsuura The Taira family became famous from the time of Sadamori, who quelled the insurrection of Masakado. Of this clan, there were these branches: The Daijo-uji of Hitachi, so called because for generations they held the office of daijo in Hitachi. The Ise-Heishi of Ise, descended from Korehira, son of Sadamori. " Shiro-uji of Mutsu, Dewa, Shinano, and Echigo, descended from Shigemori and Koremochi " Nishina-uji " " " " " " " " " Iwaki-uji " " " " " " " " " Miura-no-suke of Musashi, Kazusa, and Shimosa, descendants of Taira no Yoshibumi " Chiba-no-suke " " " " " " Chichibu-uji " " " " " Soma family, who succeeded to the domains of Masakado. *"Gen" is the alternative pronunciation of "Minamoto" as "Hei" is of "Taira." The two great families who occupy such a large space in the pages of Japanese history are spoken of together as "Gen-Pei," and independently as "Genji" and "Heishi," or "Minamoto" and The Fujiwara also had many provincial representatives, descended mainly from Hidesato, (called also Tawara Toda), who distinguished himself in the Masakado crisis. There were the Sano-uji of Shimotsuke, Mutsu, and Dewa; and there were the Kondo, the Muto, the Koyama, and the Yuki, all in different parts of the Kwanto. In fact, the empire outside the capital was practically divided between the Minamoto, the Taira, and the Fujiwara families, so that anything like a feud could scarcely fail to have wide ramifications. The eleventh century may be said to have been the beginning of such tumults. Not long after the affair of Taira Tadatsune, there occurred the much larger campaign known as Zen-kunen no Sodo, or the "Prior Nine Years' Commotion." The scene of this struggle was the vast province of Mutsu in the extreme north of the main island. For several generations the Abe family had exercised sway there, and its representative in the middle of the eleventh century extended his rule over six districts and defied the authority of the provincial governors. The Court deputed Minamoto Yoriyoshi to restore order. The Abe magnate was killed by a stray arrow at an early stage of the campaign, but his son, Sadato, made a splendid resistance. In December, 1057, Yoriyoshi, at the head of eighteen hundred men, led a desperate assault on the castle of Kawasaki, garrisoned by Sadato with four thousand picked soldiers. The attack was delivered during a heavy snow-storm, and in its sequel the Minamoto general found his force reduced to six men. Among these six, however, was his eldest son, Yoshiiye, one of the most skilful bowmen Japan ever produced. Yoshiiye's mother was a Taira. When she became enceinte her husband dreamed that the sacred sword of the war deity, Hachiman, had been given to him, and the boy came to be called Hachiman Taro. This name grew to be a terror to the enemy, and it was mainly through his prowess that his father and their scanty remnant of troops escaped over roads where the snow lay several feet deep. On a subsequent occasion in the same campaign, Yoshiiye had Sadato at his mercy and, while fixing an arrow to shoot him, composed the first line of a couplet, "The surcoat's warp at last is torn." Sadato, without a moment's hesitation, capped the line, "The threads at last are frayed and worn,"* and Yoshiiye, charmed by such a display of ready wit, lowered his bow. Nine years were needed to finish the campaign, and, in its sequel, Yoriyoshi was appointed governor of Iyo, and Yoshiiye, governor of Mutsu, while Kiyowara Takenori, without whose timely aid Sadato could scarcely have been subdued, received the high post of chinju-fu shogun (commandant of the local Government office). Yoshiiye's magnanimity towards Sadato at the fortress of Koromo-gawa has always been held worthy of a true bushi. *The point of this couplet is altogether lost in English. It turns upon the fact that the word tate used by Yoshiiye means either a fortress or the vertical threads in woven stuff, and that koromo was the name of the fortress where the encounter took place and had also the significance of "surcoat." Sadato was ultimately killed, but his younger brother Muneto had the affection and full confidence of Yoshiiye. Muneto, however, remembered his brother's fate and cherished a desire to take vengeance on Yoshiiye, which mood also was recognized as becoming to a model bushi. One night, the two men went out together, and Muneto decided that the opportunity for vengeance had come. Drawing his sword, he looked into the ox-carriage containing Yoshiiye and found him sound asleep. The idea of behaving treacherously in the face of such trust was unendurable, and thereafter Muneto served Yoshiiye with faith and friendship. The confidence that the Minamoto hero reposed in the brother of his old enemy and the way it was requited--these, too, are claimed as traits of the bushi. Yet another canon is furnished by Yoshiiye's career--the canon of humility. Oye no Masafusa was overheard remarking that Yoshiiye had some high qualities but was unfortunately ignorant of strategy. This being repeated to Yoshiiye, he showed no resentment but begged to become Masafusa's pupil. Yet he was already conqueror of the Abe and governor of Dewa. THE GO-SANNEN CAMPAIGN Thereafter the provinces of Mutsu and Dewa were again the scene of another fierce struggle which, since it began in the third year (1089) of the Kwanji era and ended in the fifth year (1091), was called the "After Three-years War." With regard to the nature of this commotion, no enumeration of names is necessary. It was a family quarrel between the scions of Kiyowara Takenori, a magnate of Mutsu who had rendered conclusive assistance to Yoshiiye in the Nine-years' War; and as a great landowner of Dewa, Kimiko Hidetake, took part, the whole north of Japan may be said to have been involved. It fell to Yoshiiye, as governor of Mutsu, to quell the disturbance, and very difficult the task proved, so difficult that the issue might have been different had not Fujiwara Kiyohira--who will be presently spoken of--espoused the Minamoto cause. When news of the struggle reached Kyoto, Yoshiiye's younger brother, Yoshimitsu, who held the much coveted post of kebiishi, applied for permission to proceed at once to his brother's assistance. The Court refused his application, whereupon he resigned his office and, like a true bushi, hastened to the war. Yoshimitsu was a skilled performer upon a musical instrument called the sho. He had studied under a celebrated master, Toyohara Tokimoto, now no more, and, on setting out for the field of battle in the far north, he became apprehensive lest the secrets imparted to him by his teacher should die with him. He therefore invited Tokimoto's son, Tokiaki, to bear him company during the first part of his journey, and to him he conveyed all the knowledge he possessed. The spectacle of this renowned soldier giving instruction in the art of music to the son of his deceased teacher on moonlit nights as he travelled towards the battlefield, has always appealed strongly to Japanese conception of a perfect samurai, and has been the motive of many a picture. This Go-sannen struggle furnished also another topic for frequent pictorial representation. When about to attack the fortress of Kanazawa, to which the approaches were very difficult, Yoshiiye observed a flock of geese rising in confusion, and rightly inferred an ambuscade of the enemy. His comment was, "Had not Oye Masafusa taught me strategy, many brave men had been killed to-night." Yet one more typical bushi may be mentioned in connexion with this war. Kamakura Gongoro, a youth of sixteen, always fought in the van of Yoshiiye's forces and did great execution. A general on the enemy's side succeeded in discharging a shaft which entered the boy's eye. Gongoro, breaking the arrow, rode straight at the archer and cut him down. A shrine in Kamakura was erected to the memory of this intrepid lad. When Yoshiiye reported to the Throne the issue of this sanguinary struggle, Kyoto replied that the war had been a private feud and that no reward or distinctions would be conferred. Yoshiiye therefore devoted the greater part of his own manors to recompensing those that had followed his standard. He thus won universal respect throughout the Kwanto. Men competed to place their sons and younger brothers as kenin (retainers) in his service and the name of Hachiman-ko was on all lips. But Yoshiiye died (1108) in a comparatively low rank. It is easy to comprehend that in the Kwanto it became a common saying, "Better serve the Minamoto than the sovereign." THE FUJIWARA OF THE NORTH Fujiwara Kiyohira, who is mentioned above as having espoused the cause of the Minamoto in the Go-sannen, was descended from Hidesato, the conqueror of Masakado. After the Go-sannen outbreak he succeeded to the six districts of Mutsu which had been held by the insurgent chiefs. This vast domain descended to his son Motohira, and to the latter's son, Hidehira, whose name we shall presently find in large letters on a page of Japanese history. The Mutsu branch of the Fujiwara wielded paramount sway in the north for several generations. Near Hiraizumi, in the province of Rikuchu, may still be seen four buildings forming the monastery Chuson-ji. In one of these edifices repose the remains of Kiyohira, Motohira, and Hidehira. The ceiling, floor and four walls of this Konjiki-do (golden hall) were originally covered with powdered gold, and its interior pillars are inlaid with mother-of-pearl on which are traced the outlines of twelve Arhats. In the days of Kiyohira the monastery consisted of forty buildings and was inhabited by three hundred priests. ENGRAVING: A CONJUROR ENGRAVING: SIDE VIEW OF THE "KOHO-AN" OF DAITOKU-JI, AT KYOTO CHAPTER XXII RECOVERY OF ADMINISTRATIVE AUTHORITY BY THE THRONE The 69th Sovereign, the Emperor Go-Shujaku A.D. 1037-1045 70th " " Go-Reizei 1046-1068 71st " " Go-Sanjo 1069-1072 72nd " " Shirakawa 1073-1086 73rd " " Horikawa 1087-1107 74th " " Toba 1108-1123 75th " " Sutoku 1124-1141 76th " " Konoe 1142-1155 77th " " Go-Shirakawa 1156-1158 DECADENCE OF FUJIWARA AUTOCRACY During two centuries the administrative power remained in the hands of the Fujiwara. They lost it by their own timidity rather than through the machinations of their enemies. When the Emperor Go-Shujaku was mortally ill, he appointed his eldest son, Go-Reizei, to be his successor, and signified his desire that the latter's half-brother, Takahito, should be nominated Crown Prince. Fujiwara Yorimichi was then regent (kwampaku). To him, also, the dying sovereign made known his wishes. Now Takahito had not been born of a Fujiwara mother. The regent, therefore, while complying at once in Go-Reizei's case, said that the matter of the Crown Prince might be deferred, his purpose being to wait until a Fujiwara lady should bear a son to Go-Reizei. In thus acting, Yorimichi obeyed the policy from which his family had never swerved through many generations, and which had now become an unwritten law of the State. But his brother, Yoshinobu, read the signs of the times in a sinister light. He argued that the real power had passed to the military magnates, and that by attempting to stem the current the Fujiwara might be swept away altogether. He therefore repaired to the palace, and simulating ignorance of what had passed between the late sovereign and the kwampaku, inquired whether it was intended that Prince Takahito should enter a monastery. Go-Reizei replied emphatically in the negative and related the facts, whereupon Yoshinobu declared that the prince should be nominated forthwith. It was done, and thus for the first time in a long series of years a successor to the throne was proclaimed who had not the qualification of a Fujiwara mother. There remained to the kwampaku only one way of expressing his dissent. During many years it had been customary that the Prince Imperial, on his nomination, should receive from the Fujiwara regent a famous sword called Tsubo-kiri (Jar-cutter). Yorimichi declined to make the presentation in the case of Prince Takahito on the ground that he was not of Fujiwara lineage. The prince--afterwards Go-Sanjo--had the courage to deride this omission. "Of what service is the sword to me?" he said. "I have no need of it." Such an attitude was very significant of the changing times. During more than twenty years of probation as Crown Prince, this sovereign, Go-Sanjo, had ample opportunity of observing the arbitrary conduct of the Fujiwara, and when he held the sceptre he neglected no means of asserting the authority of the Crown, one conspicuous step being to take a daughter of Go-Ichijo into the palace as chugu, a position created for a Fujiwara and never previously occupied by any save a Fujiwara. Altogether, Go-Sanjo stands an imposing figure in the annals of his country. Erudition he possessed in no small degree, and it was supplemented by diligence, high moral courage and a sincere love of justice. He also set to his people an example of frugality. It is related that, observing as he passed through the streets one day, an ox-carriage with gold mountings, he stopped his cortege and caused the gold to be stripped off. Side by side with this record may be placed his solicitude about the system of measures, which had fallen into disorder. With his own hands he fashioned a standard which was known to later generations as the senshi-masu of the Enkyu era (1069-1074). The question of tax-free manors (shoen) also received much attention. During the reign of Go-Shujaku, decrees were frequently issued forbidding the creation of these estates. The Fujiwara shoen were conspicuous. Michinaga possessed wide manors everywhere, and Yorimichi, his son, was not less insatiable. Neither Go-Shujaku nor Go-Reizei could check the abuse. But Go-Sanjo resorted to a really practical measure. He established a legislative office where all titles to shoen had to be examined and recorded, the Daiho system of State ownership being restored, so that all rights of private property required official sanction, the Court also becoming the judge in all disputes as to validity of tenure. These orders came like a clap of thunder in a blue sky. Many great personages had acquired vast manorial tracts by processes that could not endure the scrutiny of the Kiroku-jo (registrar's office). Yorimichi, the kwampaku, was a conspicuous example. On receipt of the order to register, he could only reply that he had succeeded to his estates as they stood and that no documentary evidence was available. Nevertheless, he frankly added that, if his titles were found invalid, he was prepared to surrender his estates, since the position he occupied required him to be an administrator of law, not an obstacle to its administration. This was the same noble who had refused to present the sword, Tsubo-kiri, to Go-Sanjo when the latter was nominated Crown Prince. The Emperor might now have exacted heavy reparation. But his Majesty shrank from anything like spoliation. A special decree was issued exempting from proof of title all manors held by chancellors, regents, or their descendants. SALE OF OFFICES AND RANKS Another abuse with which Go-Sanjo sought to deal drastically was the sale of offices and ranks. This was an evil of old standing. Whenever special funds were required for temple building or palace construction, it had become customary to invite contributions from local magnates, who, in return, received, or were renewed in their tenure of, the post of provincial governor. Official ranks were similarly disposed of. At what time this practice had its origin the records do not show, but during the reign of Kwammu (782-805,) the bestowal of rank in return for a money payment was interdicted, and Miyoshi Kiyotsura, in his celebrated memorial to Daigo (898-930), urged that the important office of kebiishi should never be conferred in consideration of money. But in the days of Ichijo, the acquisition of tax-free manors increased rapidly and the treasury's income diminished correspondingly, so that it became inevitable, in times of State need, that recourse should be had to private contributions, the contributors being held to have shown "merit" entitling them to rank or office or both. Go-Sanjo strictly interdicted all such transactions. But this action brought him into sharp collision with the then kwampaku, Fujiwara Norimichi. The latter built within the enclosure of Kofuku-ji at Nara an octagonal edifice containing two colossal images of Kwannon. On this nanen-do the regent spent a large sum, part of which was contributed by the governor of the province. Norimichi therefore applied to the Emperor for an extension of the governor's term of office. Go-Sanjo refused his assent. But Norimichi insisted. Finally the Emperor, growing indignant, declared that the kwampaku's sole title to respect being derived from his maternal relationship to the sovereign, he deserved no consideration at the hands of an Emperor whose mother was not a Fujiwara. It was a supreme moment in the fortunes of the Fujiwara. Norimichi angrily swept out of the presence, crying aloud: "The divine influence of Kasuga Daimyojin* ceases from to-day. Let every Fujiwara official follow me." Thereat all the Fujiwara courtiers flocked out of the palace, and the Emperor had no choice but to yield. Victory rested with the Fujiwara, but it was purchased at the loss of some prestige. *Titulary deity of the Fujiwara-uji. CAMERA SOVEREIGNTY Their obviously selfish device of seating a minor on the throne and replacing him as soon as he reached years of discretion, had been gradually invested by the Fujiwara with an element of spurious altruism. They had suggested the principle that the tenure of sovereign power should not be exercised exclusively. Go-Sanjo held, however, that such a system not only impaired the Imperial authority but also was unnatural. No father, he argued, could be content to divest himself of all practical interest in the affairs of his family, and to condemn the occupant of the throne to sit with folded hands was to reduce him to the rank of a puppet. Therefore, even though a sovereign abdicated, he should continue to take an active part in the administration of State affairs. This was, in short, Go-Sanjo's plan for rendering the regent a superfluity. He proposed to substitute camera government (Insei) for control by a kwampaku. But fate willed that he should not carry his project into practice. He abdicated, owing to ill health, in 1073, and died the following year. SHIRAKAWA Go-Sanjo was succeeded by his eldest son, Shirakawa. He had taken for consort the daughter of Fujiwara Yorimichi. This lady, Kenko, had been adopted into the family of Fujiwara Morozane, and it is recorded that Yorimichi and Morozane shed tears of delight when they heard of her selection by the Crown Prince--so greatly had the influence of the Fujiwara declined. Shirakawa modelled himself on his father. He personally administered affairs of State, displaying assiduity and ability but not justice. Unlike his father he allowed himself to be swayed by favour and affection, arbitrarily ignored time-honoured rules, and was guilty of great extravagance in matters of religion. But he carried into full effect the camera (or cloistered) system of government, thereafter known as Insei. For, in 1086, after thirteen years' reign, he resigned the sceptre to an eight-year-old boy, Horikawa, his son by the chugu, Kenko. The untimely death of the latter, for whom he entertained a strong affection, was the proximate cause of Shirakawa's abdication, but there can be little doubt that he had always contemplated such a step. He took the tonsure and the religious title of Ho-o (pontiff), but in the Toba palace, his new residence, he organized an administrative machine on the exact lines of that of the Court. ENGRAVING: KO-NO-MA (ROOM) NISHI (WEST) HONGWAN-JI TEMPLE, AT KYOTO (An example of "Shoinzukuri" building) Thenceforth the functions of Imperialism were limited to matters of etiquette and ceremony, all important State business being transacted by the Ho-o and his camera entourage. If the decrees of the Court clashed with those of the cloister, as was occasionally inevitable, the former had to give way. Thus, it can scarcely be said that there was any division of authority. But neither was there any progress. The earnest efforts made by Go-Sanjo to check the abuse of sales of rank and office as well as the alienation of State lands into private manors, were rendered wholly abortive under the sway of Shirakawa. The cloistered Emperor was a slave of superstition. He caused no less than six temples* to be built of special grandeur, and to the principal of these (Hosho-ji) he made frequent visits in state, on which occasions gorgeous ceremonies were performed. He erected the Temple of the 33,333 Images of Kwannon (the Sanjusangen-do) in Kyoto; he made four progresses to the monastery at Koya and eight to that at Kumano; he commissioned artists to paint 5470 Buddhist pictures, sculptors to cast 127 statues each sixteen feet high; 3150 life-size, and 2930 of three feet or less, and he raised twenty-one large pagodas and 446,630 small ones. *These were designated Roku-sho-ji, or "six excellent temples." His respect for Buddhism was so extreme that he strictly interdicted the taking of life in any form, a veto which involved the destruction of eight thousand fishing nets and the loss of their means of sustenance to innumerable fishermen, as well as the release of all falcons kept for hawking. It has even been suggested that Shirakawa's piety amounted to a species of insanity, for, on one occasion, when rain prevented a contemplated progress to Hosho-ji, he sentenced the rain to imprisonment and caused a quantity to be confined in a vessel.* To the nation, however, all this meant something very much more than a mere freak. It meant that the treasury was depleted and that revenue had to be obtained by recourse to the abuses which Go-Sanjo had struggled so earnestly to check, the sale of offices and ranks, even in perpetuity, and the inclusion of great tracts of State land in private manors. *This silliness was spoken of by the people as ame-kingoku (the incarceration of the rain). TOBA Horikawa died in 1107, after a reign of twenty years, and was succeeded by his son Toba, a child of five. Affairs of State continued to be directed by the cloistered sovereign, and he chose for his grandson's consort Taiken-mon-in, who bore to him a son, the future Emperor Sutoku. Toba abdicated, after a reign of fifteen years, on the very day of Sutoku's nomination as heir apparent, and, six years later, Shirakawa died (1128), having administered the empire from the cloister during a space of forty-three years. As a device to wrest the governing power from the grasp of the Fujiwara, Go-Sanjo's plan was certainly successful, and had he lived to put it into operation himself, the results must have been different. But in the greatly inferior hands of Shirakawa this new division of Imperial authority and the segregation of its source undoubtedly conspired to prepare the path for military feudalism and for curtained Emperors. Toba, with the title of Ho-o, took the tonsure and administered from the cloister after Shirakawa's death. One of his first acts after abdication was to take another consort, a daughter of Fujiwara Tadazane, whom he made Empress under the name of Kaya-no-in; but as she bore him no offspring, he placed in the Toba palace a second Fujiwara lady, Bifuku-mon-in, daughter of Nagazane. By her he had (1139) a son whom he caused to be adopted by the Empress, preparatory to placing him on the throne as Emperor Konoe, at the age of three. Thus, the cloistered sovereigns followed faithfully in the footsteps of the Fujiwara. SOLDIER-PRIESTS A phenomenon which became conspicuous during the reign of Shirakawa was recourse to violence by Buddhist priests. This abuse had its origin in the acquisition of large manors by temples and the consequent employment of soldiers to act as guards. Ultimately, great monasteries like Kofuku-ji, Onjo-ji, and Enryaku-ji came to possess thousands of these armed men, and consequently wielded temporal power. Shirakawa's absorbing belief in Buddhism created opportunities for the exercise of this influence. Keenly anxious that a son should be born of his union with Kenko, the daughter of Fujiwara Yorimichi, his Majesty bespoke the prayers of Raigo, lord-abbot of Onjo-ji. It happened that unsuccessful application had frequently been made by the Onjo-ji monks for an important religious privilege. Raigo informed the Emperor that, if this favour were promised, the prayer for a prince would certainly be heard. Shirakawa made the promise, and Kenko gave birth to Prince Atsubumi. But when the Emperor would have fulfilled his pledge, the priests of Enryaku-ji (Hiei-zan), jealous that a privilege which they alone possessed should be granted to priests of another monastery, repaired to the Court en masse to protest. Shirakuwu yielded to this representation and despatched Oye no Masafusa to placate Raigo. But the abbot refused to listen. He starved himself to death, passing day and night in devotion, and shortly after his demise the little prince, born in answer to his prayers, died of small-pox. In an age when superstition prevailed widely the death of the child was, of course, attributed to the incantations of the abbot. From that time a fierce feud raged between Onjo-ji and Enryaku-ji. In the year 1081, the priest-soldiers of the latter set the torch to the former, and, flocking to Kyoto in thousands, threw the capital into disorder. Order was with difficulty restored through the exertions of the kebiishi and the two Minamoto magnates, Yoshiiye and Yoshitsuna, but it was deemed expedient to guard the palace and the person of the Emperor with bushi. Twelve years later (1093), thousands of cenobites, carrying the sacred tree of the Kasuga shrine, marched from Nara to Kyoto, clamouring for vengeance on the governor of Omi, whom they charged with arresting and killing the officials of the shrine. This became a precedent. Thereafter, whenever the priests had a grievance, they flocked to the palace carrying the sacred tree of some temple or shrine. The soldier cenobites of Enryaku-ji--yama-hoshi, as they were called--showed themselves notably turbulent. They inaugurated the device of replacing the sacred tree with the "divine car," against which none dare raise a hand or shoot an arrow. If their petition were rejected, they would abandon the car in the streets of the capital, thus placing the city under a curse. A notable instance occurred, in 1095, when these yama-hoshi of Hiyoshi preferred a charge of blood-guiltiness against Minamoto Yoshitsuna, governor of Mino. They flocked to the palace in a truculent mob, but the bushi on duty, being under the command of a Minamoto, did not hesitate to use their bows. Thereupon the yama-hoshi discarded the divine car, hastened back to the temple, and assembling all the priests, held a solemn service invoking the wrath of heaven on the State. In an age of profound superstition such action threw the Court into consternation, and infinite pains were taken to persuade Shinto officials of an independent shrine to carry the divine car back to Hiei-zan. Instances of such turbulence were not infrequent, and they account in part for the reckless prodigality shown by Shirakawa in building and furnishing temples. The cenobites did not confine themselves to demonstrations at the palace; they had their own quarrels also. Kofuku-ji's hand was against Kimbusen and Todai-ji, and not a few priests doffed the stole and cassock to engage in temporary brigandage. The great Taira leader, Tadamori, and his son, Kiyomori--one of the most prominent figures on the stage of medieval Japan--dealt strongly with the Shinto communities at Hiyoshi and Gion, and drove the Kofuku-ji priests out of the streets of Kyoto, the result being that this great military family became an object of execration at Kofuku-ji and Enryaku-ji alike. With difficulty the Court kept peace between them. It is related of Shirakawa Ho-o that the three things which he declared to defy his control were the waters of the Kamo River, the fall of the dice, and the yama-hoshi. ENGRAVING: PLAYING BATTLEDORE AND SHUTTLECOCK (From a painting) CHAPTER XXIII MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF THE HEIAN EPOCH GENERAL SUMMARY THE period we are considering is a long one which owes its unity to the sole fact that the capitol was at Kyoto. It is, therefore, unsafe to generalize on its manners and customs. But we may say with a degree of accuracy that the epoch was marked by an increasing luxury and artificiality, due largely to the adoption of Chinese customs. The capital city was built on a Chinese pattern and the salient characteristics of the Court during the period named from the new capital are on the Chinese pattern too. The Chinese idea of a civil service in which worth was tested by examinations was carried to a pedantic extreme both in administration and in society. In these examinations the important paper was in Chinese prose composition, which was much as if Latin prose were the main subject to prove the fitness of a candidate for an English or American administrative post! And the tests of social standing and the means of gaining fame at Court were skill in verse-writing, in music and dancing, in calligraphy and other forms of drawing, and in taste in landscape gardening. Ichijo was famed as a musician and a prose writer, and Saga as a calligraphist. The Ako incident (see p. 240) illustrates the lengths to which pedantry was carried in matters of administration. And the story of the ill-success at the capital of the young soldier Taira Masakado, contrasted with the popularity of his showily vicious kinsman Sadabumi (see p. 253), illustrate what Murdoch means when he says that the early emperors of the Heian epoch had an "unbalanced craze for Chinese fashions, for Chinese manners, and above all for Chinese literature." Remarkable though the power of the Japanese people always seems to have been to assimilate foreign culture in large doses and speedily, it is hardly to be expected that at this period, any more than at a later one when there came in a sudden flood of European civilization, the nation should not have suffered somewhat--that it should not have had the defects of its qualities. LUXURY OF THE COURT Of Nimmyo's luxury and architectural extravagance we have already spoken, and of the arraignment of prodigality in dress, banquets, and funerals in the famous report of Miyoshi Kiyotsura (see p. 246). Indeed, we might almost cite the madness of the Emperor Yozei as being a typical, though extreme, case of the hysteria of the young and affected court nobles. Two of the Fujiwara have been pilloried in native records for ostentation: one for carrying inside his clothes hot rice-dumplings to keep himself warm, and, more important, to fling them away one after another as they got cold; and the other for carrying a fan decorated with a painting of a cuckoo and for imitating the cuckoo's cry whenever he opened the fan. CONVENTION AND MORALITY If the men of the period were effeminate and emotional, the women seem to have sunk to a lower stage of morals than in any other era, and sexual morality and wifely fidelity to have been abnormally bad and lightly esteemed. The story of Ariwara Narihira, prince, poet, painter and Don Juan, and of Taka and her rise to power (see p. 238) has already been told; and it is to be noted that the Fujiwara working for the control of the Throne through Imperial consorts induced, even forced, the Emperors to set a bad example in such matters. But over all this vice there was a veneer of elaborate etiquette. Even in the field a breach of etiquette was a deadly insult: as we have seen (p. 254) Taira Masakado lost the aid of a great lieutenant in his revolt because he forgot to bind up his hair properly before he received a visitor. At Court, etiquette and ceremony became the only functions of the nominal monarch after the camera government of the cloistered ex-Emperors had begun. And aristocratic women, though they might be notoriously unfaithful, kept up a show of modesty, covering their faces in public, refusing to speak to a stranger, going abroad in closed carriages or heavily veiled with hoods, and talking to men with their faces hid by a fan, a screen, or a sliding door, these degrees of intimacy being nicely adjusted to the rank and station of the person addressed. Love-making and wooing were governed by strict and conventional etiquette, and an interchange of letters of a very literary and artificial type and of poems usually took the place of personal meetings. Indeed, literary skill and appreciation of Chinese poetry and art were the main things sought for in a wife. ENGRAVING: ARIWARA NARIHARA (Poet and Painter) AMUSEMENTS The pastimes of Court society in these years differed not so much in kind as in degree from those of the Nara epoch. In amusement, as in all else, there was extravagance and elaboration. What has already been said of the passion for literature would lead us to expect to find in the period an extreme development of the couplet-tournament (uta awase) which had had a certain vogue in the Nara epoch and was now a furore at Court. The Emperor Koko and other Emperors in the first half of the Heian epoch gave splendid verse-making parties, when the palace was richly decorated, often with beautiful flowers. In this earlier part of the period the gentlemen and ladies of the Court were separated, sitting on opposite sides of the room in which the party was held. Later in the Heian epoch the composition of love letters was a favorite competitive amusement, and although canons of elegant phraseology were implicitly followed, the actual contents of these fictitious letters were frankly indecent. Other literary pastimes were: "incense-comparing," a combination of poetical dilletantism and skill in recognizing the fragrance of different kinds of incense burned separately or in different combinations; supplying famous stanzas of which only a word or so was given; making riddles in verse; writing verse or drawing pictures on fans,--testing literary and artistic skill; and making up lists of related ideographs. The love of flowers was carried to extravagant lengths. The camera Court in particular organized magnificent picnics to see the cherry-trees of Hosho-ji and the snowy forest at Koya. There were spring festivals of sunrise at Sagano and autumn moonlight excursions to the Oi River. The taste of the time was typified in such vagaries as covering trees with artificial flowers in winter and in piling up snow so that some traces of snowy landscapes might still be seen in spring or summer. Such excess reminds the student of decadent Rome as portrayed by the great Latin satirists. Other favorite amusements at Court were: gathering sweet-flag in summer and comparing the length of its roots, hawking, fan-lotteries, a kind of backgammon called sugoroku, and different forms of gambling. Football was played, a Chinese game in which the winner was he who kicked the ball highest and kept it longest from touching the ground. Another rage was keeping animals as pets, especially cats and dogs, which received human names and official titles and, when they died, elaborate funerals. Kittens born at the palace at the close of the tenth century were treated with consideration comparable to that bestowed on Imperial infants. To the cat-mother the courtiers sent the ceremonial presents after childbirth, and one of the ladies-in-waiting was honoured by an appointment as guardian to the young kittens. ENGRAVING: SKETCH OF "SHINDENZUKUBI" (Style of Dwelling House of Nobles in the Heian Epoch) MUSIC AND DANCING With the growth of luxury in the Heian epoch and the increase of extravagant entertainment and amusement, there was a remarkable development of music and the dance. Besides the six-stringed harp or wagon, much more complex harps or lutes of thirteen or twenty-five strings were used, and in general there was a great increase in the number and variety of instruments. Indeed, we may list as many as twenty kinds of musical instruments and three or four times as many varieties of dance in the Heian epoch. Most of the dances were foreign in their origin, some being Hindu, more Korean, and still more Chinese, according to the usual classification. But imported dances, adaptations of foreign dances, and the older native styles were all more or less pantomimic. ARCHITECTURE AND LANDSCAPE GARDENING Except in the new capital city with its formal plan there were no great innovations in architecture. Parks around large houses and willows and cherry-trees planted along the streets of Kyoto relieved this stiffness of the great city. Landscape-gardening became an art. Gardens were laid out in front of the row of buildings that made up the home of each noble or Court official. Convention was nearly as rigid here as it was in Court etiquette. In the centre of this formal garden was a miniature lake with bridges leading to an island; there was a waterfall feeding the lake, usually at its southern end; and at the eastern and western limits of the garden, respectively, a grotto for angling and a "hermitage of spring water"--a sort of picnic ground frequented on summer evenings. The great artist, Kanaoka, of the end of the ninth century worked at laying out these rockeries and tiny parks. A native school of architects, or more correctly carpenters, had arisen in the province of Hida. There was less temple building than in the Nara epoch and more attention was given to the construction of elegant palaces for court officials and nobles. But these were built of wood and were far from being massive or imposing. As in other periods of Japanese architecture, the exterior was sacrificed to the interior where there were choice woodworking and joinery in beautiful woods, and occasionally screen-or wall-painting as decoration. There was still little house-furnishing. Mats (tatami), fitted together so as to cover the floor evenly, were not used until the very close of the period; and then, too, sliding doors began to be used as partitions. The coverings of these doors, silk or paper, were the "walls" for Japanese mural paintings of the period. As the tatami came into more general use, the bedstead of the earlier period, which was itself a low dais covered with mats and with posts on which curtains and nets might be hung, went out of use, being replaced by silken quilts spread on the floor-mats. Cushions and arm-rests were the only other important pieces of furniture. COSTUME In the Heian epoch, Court costume was marked by the two characteristics that we have seen elsewhere in the period--extravagance and convention. Indeed, it may be said that Chinese dress and etiquette, introduced after the time of Kwammu were the main source of the luxury of the period. Costume was extreme, not alone in being rich and costly, but in amount of material used. Princely and military head-dresses were costly, jewelled, and enormously tall, and women wore their hair, if possible, so that it trailed below their elaborate skirts. Men's sleeves and trousers were cut absurdly large and full; and women's dress was not merely baggy but voluminous. At a palace fete in 1117 the extreme of elegance was reached by ladies each wearing a score or so of different coloured robes. In this period the use of costly and gorgeous brocades and silks with beautiful patterns and splendid embroideries began. Women at Court, and the Court dandies who imitated them, painted artificial eye-brows high on the forehead, shaving or plucking out the real brows, powdered and rouged their faces and stained their teeth black. ART Ceramics did not advance in the Heian epoch, but in all other branches of art there were rapid strides forward. The development of interior decoration in temples, monasteries, and palaces was due to progress on the part of lacquerers and painters. Gold lacquer, lacquer with a gold-dust surface (called nashi-ji), and lacquer inlaid with mother-of-pearl were increasingly used. Thanks in part to the painters' bureau (E-dokoro) in the palace, Japanese painters began to be ranked with their Chinese teachers. Koze Kanaoka was the first to be thus honored, and it is on record that he was engaged to paint figures of arhats on the sliding doors of the palace. The epoch also boasted Fujiwara Tameuji, founder of the Takuma family of artists, and Fujiwara Motomitsu, founder of the Tosa academy. The sculpture of the time showed greater skill, but less grandeur of conception, than the work of the Nara masters. Sculpture in wood was important, dating especially from the 11th century. Jocho, possibly the greatest of the workers in this medium, followed Chinese models, and carved a famous Buddha for Michinaga's temple of Hosho-ji (1022). Jocho's descendant Unkei was the ancestor of many busshi or sculptors of Buddhist statues; and Kwaikei, a pupil of Unkei's brother Jokaku, is supposed to have collaborated with Unkei on the great gate-guardians of the Todai-ji temple. It is important to note that, especially in the latter half of the Heian epoch, painters and sculptors were usually men of good family. Art had become fashionable. Two minor forms of sculpture call for special attention. The decoration of armour reached a high pitch of elaboration; and the beautiful armour of Minamoto Yoshitsune is still preserved at Kasuga, Nara. And masks to be used in mimetic dances, such as the No, received attention from many great glyptic artists. ENGRAVING: RAKAN (BUDDHIST DISCIPLE) (Carving in Stone at Horiuji) AGRICULTURE In the year 799, cotton-seed, carried by an Indian junk which drifted to the coast of Mikawa, was sown in the provinces of Nankai-do and Saikai-do, and fifteen years later, when Saga reigned, tea plants were brought from overseas and were set out in several provinces. The Emperor Nimmyo (834-850) had buckwheat sown in the home provinces (Kinai), and the same sovereign encouraged the cultivation of sorghum, panic-grass, barley, wheat, large white beans, small red beans, and sesame. It was at this time that the ina-hata (paddy-loom) was devised for drying sheaves of rice before winnowing. Although it was a very simple implement, it nevertheless proved of such great value that an Imperial command was issued urging its wide use. In short, in the early years of the Heian epoch, the Throne took an active part in promoting agriculture, but this wholesome interest gradually declined in proportion to the extension of tax-free manors (shoen). TRADE The story of trade resembled that of agriculture prosperous development at the beginning of the era, followed by stagnation and decline. Under Kwummu (782-805) and his immediate successors, canals and roads were opened, irrigation works were undertaken, and coins were frequently cast. But coins were slow in finding their way into circulation, and taxes were generally paid in kind. Nevertheless, for purposes of trade, prices of staples were fixed in terms of coin. Thus in the year 996, a koku (about 5 bushels) of rice was the equivalent of 1000 cash (ik-kan-mon); a koku of barley was valued at 2500 cash, and a hiki (25 yards) of silk at 2000 cash. Yet in actual practice, commodities were often assessed in terms of silk or rice. Goods were packed in stores (kura) or disposed on shelves in shops (machi-ya), and at ports where merchantmen assembled there were houses called tsuya (afterwards toiya) where wholesale transactions were conducted on the commission system. The city of Kyoto was divided into two parts, an eastern capital (Tokyo) and a western capital (Saikyo). During the first half of every month all commercial transactions were conducted in the eastern capital, where fifty-one kinds of commodities were sold in fifty-one shops; and during the second half the western capital alone was frequented, with its thirty-three shops and thirty-three classes of goods. After the abolition of embassies to China, at the close of the ninth century, oversea trade declined for a time. But the inhabitants of Tsukushi and Naniwa, which were favourably located for voyages, continued to visit China and Korea, whence they are reported to have obtained articles of value. Other ports frequented by foreign-going ships were Kanzaki, Eguchi, Kaya, Otsu, and Hakata. SUPERSTITION Turning to the inner life of the people in the Heian epoch, we may say with little fear of exaggeration that the most notable thing was the increase of superstition. This was due in part at least to the growth in Japan of the power of Buddhism, and, be it understood, of Buddhism of a degraded and debased form. The effort to combine Buddhism and Shinto probably robbed the latter of any power it might otherwise have had to withstand superstition. Although men of the greatest ability went into the Buddhist monasteries, including many Imperial princes, their eminence did not make them better leaders and guides of the people, but rather aided them in misleading and befooling the laity. Murdoch in speaking of the beginning of the 12th century says: "At this date, Buddhism in Japan from a moral point of view was in not a whit better case than was the Church of Rome between the death of Sylvester II and the election of Leo IX." An interesting parallel might be drawn between Japanese and European superstition, as each was consequent on the low standards of the clergy of the times. The famous report of Miyoshi Kiyotsura, to which we have so often alluded, spoke in no measured terms of the greed and vice of the Buddhist priests. And the character of these hireling shepherds goes far to explain the gross superstition of the tune. We have told (p. 274) the story of the abbot Raigo and how the Court was forced to purchase from him intercessory prayers for the birth of an heir,--and of the death of the heir in apparent consequence of Raigo's displeasure. Near the end of the ninth century one Emperor made a gift of 500,000 yen for prayers that seemed to have saved the life of a favourite minister. Prayers for rain, for prolonged life, for victory over an enemy, were implicitly believed to be efficient, and priests received large bribes to make these prayers. Or they received other rewards: the privilege of coming to Court in a carriage was granted to one priest for bringing rain after a long drought and to another for saving the life of a sick prince in 981. As men got along in years they had masses said for the prolongation of their lives,--with an increase in the premium each year for such life insurance. Thus, at forty, a man had masses said in forty shrines, but ten years later at fifty shrines in all. In this matter, as in others, the influence of the Fujiwara was great. They were in a close alliance with the priests, and they controlled the Throne through consorts and kept the people in check through priests and superstitions. With the widespread belief in the power of priestly prayer there was prevalent a fear of spirits and demons. Oda received a promise in a dream that he would become Emperor. In the next generation the Emperor Daigo exiled Sugawara Michizane to Kyusml, where the exile died in two years. Soon afterwards the Emperor fell sick; and this, the disaster of 930 when a thunderstorm killed many nobles in the Imperial palace, and the sudden death of Michizane's accusers and of the Crown Prince were explained as due to the ill-will of the injured man's spirit. His titles were restored and everything possible was done to placate the ghost (see p. 244). To an earlier period belongs the similar story of Kwammu and his efforts to placate the spirit of his younger brother whom he had exiled and killed. Kwammu, fearing that death was coming upon him, built a temple to the shade of this brother. A cloud over the palace of another Emperor was interpreted as a portentous monster, half monkey and half snake, and one of the Minamoto warriors won fame for his daring in shooting an arrow at the cloud, which then vanished. Equally foolhardy and marvellous was the deed of Fujiwara Michinaga, who alone of a band of courtiers in the palace dared one dark night to go unattended and without lights from one end of the palace to the other. When the new city of Kyoto was built, a Buddhist temple was put near the northeast gate to protect the capital from demons, since the northeast quarter of the sky belonged to the demons; and on a hill a clay statue was erected, eight feet high and armed with bow, arrows and cuirass, to guard the city. So implicit was the belief in the power of this colossal charm that it was said that it moved and shouted to warn the city of danger. ENGRAVING: EARTHEN-WARE HOUSE FOR ORNAMENT EDUCATION There was, of course, no organized system of schools in this period, but education was not neglected. A university was established in the newly built capital, and there were five family schools or academies for the youth of the separate uji. A school and hospital, founded by Fujiwara Fuyutsugu in 825, received an Imperial endowment. At almost exactly the same time (823) the Bunsho-in was founded by Sugawara. The Sogaku-in was founded in 831 by Arihara Yukihara. In 850 the consort of the emperor Saga built the Gakkwan-in for the Tachibana family; and in 841 the palace of Junna became a school. And there was one quasi-public school, opened in 828, in the Toji monastery south of the capital, which was not limited to any family and was open to commoners. ENGRAVING: NETSUKE (Hand-carvings in Ivory) ENGRAVING: ARCHERY IN OLD JAPAN CHAPTER XXIV THE EPOCH OF THE GEN (MINAMOTO) AND THE HEI (TAIRA) SUPREMACY OF THE MILITARY CLASS DESCRIBED superficially, the salient distinction between the epochs of the Fujiwara and the Gen-pei was that during the former the administrative power lay in the hands of the Court nobles in Kyoto, whereas, during the latter, it lay in the hands of the military magnates in the provinces. The processes by which this change was evolved have already been explained in part and will be further elucidated as we advance. Here, however, it is advisable to note that this transfer of authority was, in one sense, a substitution of native civilization for foreign, and, in another, a reversion to the conditions that had existed at the time of the Yamato conquest. It was a substitution of native civilization for foreign, because the exotic culture imported from China and Korea had found its chief field of growth in the capital and had never extended largely to the provinces; and it was a reversion to the conditions existing at the time of the Yamato conquest, because at that time the sword and the sceptre had been one. The Mononobe and the Otomo families constituted the pillars of the State under the early Emperors. Their respective ancestors were Umashimade no Mikoto and Michi no Omi no Mikoto. The Japanese term monobe (or mononofu) was expressed by Chinese ideographs having the sound, bushi. Thus, though it is not possible to fix the exact date when the expression, bushi, came into general use, it is possible to be sure that the thing itself existed from time immemorial. When the Yamato sovereign undertook his eastward expedition, Umashimade with his monobe subdued the central districts, and Michi no Omi with his otomo and Okume-be consolidated these conquests. Thereafter the monobe were organized into the konoe-fu (palace guards) and the otomo into the emon-fu (gate guards). Not military matters alone, but also criminal jurisdiction, belonged to the functions of these two. THE BUSHI The earliest type of the Yamato race having thus been military, it becomes important to inquire what tenets constituted the soldier's code in old Japan. Our first guide is the celebrated anthology, Manyo-shu, compiled in the ninth century and containing some poems that date from the sixth. From this we learn that the Yamato monono-fu believed himself to have inherited the duty of dying for his sovereign if occasion required. In that cause he must be prepared at all times to find a grave, whether upon the desolate moor or in the stormy sea. The dictates of filial piety ranked next in the ethical scale. The soldier was required to remember that his body had been given to him by his parents, and that he must never bring disgrace upon his family name or ever disregard the dictates of honour. Loyalty to the Throne, however, took precedence among moral obligations. Parent, wife, and child must all be abandoned at the call of patriotism. Such, as revealed in the pages of the Myriad Leaves, were the simple ethics of the early Japanese soldier. And it was largely from the Mononobe and Otomo families that high officials and responsible administrators were chosen at the outset. When Buddhism arrived in the sixth century, we have seen that it encountered resolute opposition at the hands of Moriya, the o-muraji of the Mononobe family. That was natural. The elevation of an alien deity to a pedestal above the head of the ancestral Kami seemed specially shocking to the soldier class. But the tendency of the time was against conservatism. The Mononobe and the Otomo forfeited their position, and the Soga stepped into their place, only to be succeeded in turn by the Fujiwara. These last, earnest disciples of Chinese civilization, looked down on the soldier, and delegated to him alone the use of brute force and control of the criminal classes, reserving for themselves the management of civil government and the pursuit of literature, and even leaving politics and law in the hands of the schoolmen. In these circumstances the military families of Minamoto (Gen) and Taira (Hei), performing the duties of guards and of police, gradually acquired influence; were trusted by the Court on all occasions demanding an appeal to force, and spared no pains to develop the qualities that distinguished them--the qualities of the bushi. Thus, as we turn the pages of history, we find the ethics of the soldier developing into a recognized code. His sword becomes an object of profound veneration from the days of Minamoto Mitsunaka, who summons a skilled swordsmith to the capital and entrusts to him the task of forging two blades, which, after seven days of fasting and prayer and sixty days of tempering, emerge so trenchant that they are thereafter handed down from generation to generation of the Minamoto as treasured heirlooms.* *The swords were named "Knee-cutter" and "Beard-cutter," because when tested for decapitating criminals, they severed not only the necks but also the beard and the knees. That the bushi's word must be sacred and irrevocable is established by the conduct of Minamoto Yorinobu who, having promised to save the life of a bandit if the latter restore a child taken as a hostage, refuses subsequently to inflict any punishment whatever on the robber. That a bushi must prefer death to surrender is a principle observed in thousands of cases, and that his family name must be carefully guarded against every shadow of reproach is proved by his habit of prefacing a duel on the battle-field with a recitation of the titles and deeds of his ancestors. To hold to his purpose in spite of evil report; to rise superior to poverty and hardship; not to rest until vengeance is exacted for wrong done to a benefactor or a relation; never to draw his sword except in deadly earnest--these are all familiar features of the bushi's practice, though the order and times of their evolution cannot be precisely traced. Even more characteristic is the quality called fudoshin, or immobility of heart. That this existed in practice from an early era cannot be doubted, but its cultivation by a recognized system of training dates from the beginning of the thirteenth century, when the introspective tenet (kwanshin-ho) of the Zen sect of Buddhism taught believers to divest themselves wholly of passion and emotion and to educate a mind unmoved by its environment, so that, in the storm and stress of battle, the bushi remains as calm and as self-possessed as in the quietude of the council chamber or the sacred stillness of the cloister. The crown of all his qualities was self-respect. He rated himself too high to descend to petty quarrels, or to make the acquisition of rank his purpose, or to have any regard for money. THE MILITARY ART As for tactics, individual prowess was the beginning and the end of all contests, and strategy consisted mainly of deceptions, surprises, and ambushes. There were, indeed, certain recognized principles derived from treatises compiled by Sung and 'Ng,* two Chinese generals of the third century A.D. These laid down that troops for offensive operations in the field must be twice as numerous as the enemy; those for investing a fortress should be to the garrison as ten to one, and those for escalade as five to one. Outflanking methods were always to be pursued against an adversary holding high ground, and the aim should be to sever the communications of an army having a mountain or a river on its rear. When the enemy selected a position involving victory or death, he was to be held, not attacked, and when it was possible to surround a foe, one avenue of escape should always be left to him, since desperate men fight fiercely. In crossing a river, much space should separate the van from the rear of the crossing army, and an enemy crossing was not to be attacked until his forces had become well engaged in the operation. Birds soaring in alarm should suggest an ambush, and beasts breaking cover, an approaching attack. There was much spying. A soldier who could win the trust of the enemy, sojourn in his midst, and create dissensions in his camp, was called a hero. *See Captain Calthrop's The Book of War. Judged by this code of precepts, the old-time soldier of the East has been denounced by some critics as representing the lowest type of military ethics. But such a criticism is romantic. The secret-intelligence department of a twentieth-century army employs and creates opportunities just as zealously as did the disciples of Sung and 'Ng. It is not here that the defects in the bushi's ethics must be sought. The most prominent of those defects was indifference to the rights of the individual. Bushido taught a vassal to sacrifice his own interest and his own life on the altar of loyalty, but it did not teach a ruler to recognize and respect the rights of the ruled. It taught a wife to efface herself for her husband's sake, but it did not teach a husband any corresponding obligation towards a wife. In a word, it expounded the relation of the whole to its parts, but left unexpounded the relation of the parts to one another. A correlated fault was excessive reverence for rank and rigid exclusiveness of class. There was practically no ladder for the commoner,--the farmer, the artisan, and the merchant--to ascend into the circle of the samurai. It resulted that, in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, gifted men of the despised grades sought in the cloister an arena for the exercise of their talents, and thus, while the bushi received no recruits, the commoners lost their better elements, and Buddhism became a stage for secular ambition. It can not be doubted that by closing the door of rank in the face of merit, bushido checked the development of the nation. Another defect in the bushido was indifference to intellectual investigation. The schoolmen of Kyoto, who alone received honour for their moral attainments, were not investigators but imitators, not scientists but classicists. Had not Chinese conservatism been imported into Japan and had it not received the homage of the bushi, independent development of original Japanese thought and of intellectual investigation might have distinguished the Yamato race. By a learned Japanese philosopher (Dr. Inouye Tetsujiro) the ethics of the bushi are charged with inculcating the principles of private morality only and ignoring those of public morality. MILITARY FAMILES AND THEIR RETAINERS It has been noticed that the disposition of the Central Government was to leave the provincial nobles severely alone, treating their feuds and conflicts as wholly private affairs. Thus, these nobles being cast upon their own resources for the protection of their lives and properties, retained the services of bushi, arming them well and drilling them assiduously, to serve as guards in time of peace and as soldiers in war. One result of this demand for military material was that the helots of former days were relieved from the badge of slavery and became hereditary retainers of provincial nobles, nothing of their old bondage remaining except that their lives were at the mercy of their masters. FIEFS AND TERRITORIAL NAMES As the provincial families grew in numbers and influence they naturally extended their estates, so that the landed property of a great sept sometimes stretched over parts, or even the whole, of several provinces. In these circumstances it became convenient to distinguish branches of a sept by the names of their respective localities and thus, in addition to the sept name (uji or sei), there came into existence a territorial name (myoji or shi). For example, when the descendants of Minamoto no Yoshiiye acquired great properties at Nitta and Ashikaga in the provinces of Kotsuke and Shimotsuke, they took the territorial names of Nitta and Ashikaga, remaining always Minamoto; and when the descendants of Yoshimitsu, younger brother of Yoshiiye, acquired estates in the province of Kai, they began to call themselves Takeda. It is unnecessary to pursue the subject further than to note that, while the names of the great septs (uji) were few, the territorial cognomens were very numerous; and that while the use of myoji (or shi) was common in the case of the Fujiwara, the Taira, and the Minamoto septs, the uji alone was employed by the Abe, the Ono, the Takahashi, the Kusakabe, the Ban, the Hata, and certain others. It will readily be conceived that although the territorial sections of the same sept sometimes quarrelled among themselves, the general practice was that all claiming common descent supported each other in war. The Minamoto (Gen) bushi recognized as the principal family line that of Tsunemoto from whom were descended the following illustrious chiefs: Minamoto (Gen) no Tsunemoto, commander-in-chief of local Governments | Mitsunaka | +---------+--------+ | | Yorimitsu Yorinobu | Yoriyoshi | Yoshiiye | +----------+------------+-----+-----+-----------+-----------+ | | | | | | Yoshimune Yoshichika Yoshikuni Yoshitada Yoshitoki Yoshitaka | Tameyoshi | +----------+------------+-----------+ | | | | Yoshitomo Yoshikata Tametomo Twenty others | | | Yoshinaka | (of Kiso) | +----------+---------+-----------+------------+ | | | | Yoritomo Noriyori Yoshitsune Six others A similar table for the Taira (Hei) runs thus: Taira (Hei) no Sadamori (quelled the Masakado revolt). | Korehira (of Ise province) | ------- | ------- | Masamori (governed Ise, Inaba, Sanuki, etc.; | quelled the rebellion of Minamoto +----------+ Yoshichika). | | Tadamasa Tadamori (served the Emperors Shirakawa, | Horikawa, and Toba;* subdued the | pirates of Sanyo-do and Nankai-do) | Kiyomori (crushed the Minamoto and temporarily | established the supremacy of the Taira). | Shigemori In its attitude towards these two families the Court showed short-sighted shrewdness. It pitted one against the other; If the Taira showed turbulence, the aid of the Minamoto was enlisted; and when a Minamoto rebelled, a Taira received a commission to deal with him. Thus, the Throne purchased peace for a time at the cost of sowing, between the two great military clans, seeds of discord destined to shake even the Crown. In the capital the bushi served as palace guards; in the provinces they were practically independent. Such was the state of affairs on the eve of a fierce struggle known in history as the tumult of the Hogen and Heiji eras (1150-1160). *It is of this noble that history records an incident illustrative of the superstitions of the eleventh century. The cloistered Emperor Shirakawa kept Tadamori constantly by his side. One night, Shirakawa, accompanied by Tadamori, went to visit a lady favourite in a detached palace near the shrine of Gion. Suddenly the two men saw an apparition of a demon covered with wirelike hair and having a luminous body. The Emperor ordered Tadamori to use his bow. But Tadamori advanced boldly and, seizing the demon, found that it was an old man wearing straw headgear as a protection against the rain, and carrying a lamp to kindle the light at the shrine. This valiant deed on Tadamori's part elicited universal applause, as indeed it might in an era of such faith in the supernatural. THE HOGEN INSURRECTION It has been related in Chapter XXII that Taiken-mon-in, consort of the Emperor Toba, was chosen for the latter by his grandfather, the cloistered Emperor Shirakawa, and that she bore to Toba a son who ultimately ascended the throne as Sutoku. But, rightly or wrongly, Toba learned to suspect that before she became his wife, the lady's relations with Shirakawa had been over-intimate and that Sutoku was illegitimate. Therefore, immediately after Shirakawa's demise, Toba took to himself an Empress, Kaya-no-in, daughter of Fujiwara Tadazane; and failing offspring by her, chose another Fujiwara lady, Bifuku-mon-in, daughter of Nagazane. For this, his third consort, he conceived a strong affection, and when she bore to him a prince, Toba placed the latter on the throne at the age of three, compelling Sutoku to resign. This happened in the year 1141, and there were thenceforth two cloistered Emperors, Toba and Sutoku, standing to each other in the relation of grandfather and grandson. The baby sovereign was called Konoe, and Fujiwara Tadamichi, brother of Bifu-ku-mon-in, became kwampaku. Between this Tadamichi and his younger brother, Yorinaga, who held the post of sa-daijin, there existed acute rivalry. The kwampaku had the knack of composing a deft couplet and tracing a graceful ideograph. The sa-daijin, a profound scholar and an able economist, ridiculed penmanship and poetry as mere ornament. Their father's sympathies were wholly with Yorinaga, and he ultimately went so far as to depose Tadamichi from his hereditary position as o-uji of the Fujiwara. Thus, the enmity between Tadamichi and Yorinaga needed only an opportunity to burst into flame, and that opportunity was soon furnished. The Emperor Konoe died (1155) at the early age of seventeen, and the cloistered sovereign, Sutoku, sought to secure the throne for his son Shigehito, whom Toba's suspicions had disqualified. But Bifuku-mon-in, believing, or pretending to believe, that the premature death of her son had been caused by Sutoku's incantations, persuaded the cloistered Emperor, Toba, in that sense, and having secured the co-operation of the kwampaku, Tadamichi, she set upon the throne Toba's fourth son, under the name of Go-Shirakawa (1156-1158), the latter's son, Morihito, being nominated Crown Prince, to the complete exclusion of Sutoku's offspring. So long as Toba lived the arrangement remained undisturbed, but on his death in the following year (1156), Sutoku, supported by the sa-daijin, Yorinaga, planned to ascend the throne again, and there ensued a desperate struggle. Stated thus briefly, the complication suggests merely a quarrel for the succession, but, regarded more closely, it is seen to derive rancour chiefly from the jealousies of the Fujiwara brothers, Yorinaga and Tadamichi, and importance from the association of the Minamoto and the Taira families. For when Sutoku appealed to arms against the Go-Shirakawa faction, he was incited by Fujiwara Yorinaga and his father Tadazane, and supported by Taira Tadamasa as well as by jthe two Minamoto, Tameyoshi and Tametomo; while Go-Shirakawa's cause was espoused by Fujiwara Tadamichi, by Taira no Kiyomori, and by Minamoto Yoshitomo. Among this group of notables the most memorable in a historical sense are Minamoto Tametomo and Taira Kiyomori. Of the latter there will presently be occasion to speak again. The former was one of those born warriors illustrated by Yamato-dake, Saka-no-ye no Tamura-maro, and Minamoto no Yoshiiye. Eighth son of Minamoto Tameyoshi, he showed himself so masterful, physically and morally, that his father deemed it wise to provide a distant field for the exercise of his energies and to that end sent him to Bungo in the island of Kyushu. Tametomo was then only thirteen. In two years he had established his sway over nearly the whole island, and the ceaseless excursions and alarms caused by his doings having attracted the attention of the Court, orders for his chastisement were issued to the Dazai-fu, in Chikuzen--futile orders illustrating only Kyoto's ignorance. Tameyoshi, his father, was then removed from office as a punishment for his son's contumacy, and thereupon Tametomo, esteeming filial piety as one of the bushi's first obligations, hastened to the capital, taking with him only twenty-five of his principal retainers. His age was then seventeen; his height seven feet; his muscular development enormous, and he could draw a bow eight feet nine inches in length. His intention was to purchase his father's pardon by his own surrender, but on reaching Kyoto he found the Hogen tumult just breaking out, and, of course, he joined his father's party. The relationship of the opposing nobles deserves to be studied, as this was probably one of the most unnatural struggles on record. CLOISTERED EMPEROR'S SIDE REIGNING EMPEROR'S SIDE Sutoku (the Jo-o) Go-Shirakawa, younger brother of Sutoku. Fujiwara Yorinaga Fujiwara Tadamichi, son of Tadazane and brother of Yorinaga. Fujiwara Tadazane Minamoto Tameyoshi Minamoto Yoshitomo, son of Tameyoshi and brother of Tametomo. Minamoto Tametomo Taira no Tadamasa Taira no Kiyomori, nephew of Tadamasa Sutoku's party occupied the Shirakawa palace. Unfortunately for the ex-Emperor the conduct of the struggle was entrusted to Fujiwara Yorinaga, and he, in defiance of Tametomo's advice, decided to remain on the defensive; an evil choice, since it entailed the tenure of wooden buildings highly inflammable. Yoshitomo and Kiyomori took full advantage of this strategical error. They forced the Shirakawa palace, and after a desperate struggle,* the defenders took to flight. Thus far, except for the important issues involved and the unnatural division of the forces engaged, this Hogen tumult would not have differed materially from many previous conflicts. But its sequel acquired terrible notoriety from the cruel conduct of the victors. Sutoku was exiled to Sanuki, and there, during three years, he applied himself continuously to copying a Buddhist Sutra, using his own blood for ink. The doctrine of the Zen sect had not yet prevailed in Japan, and to obtain compensation in future happiness for the pains he had suffered in life, it was essential that the exile's laboriously traced Sutra should be solemnly offered to the Buddha. He sent it to Kyoto, praying that the necessary step should be taken. But by the orders of his own brother, the Emperor, the request was refused, and the manuscript returned. Superstition ultimately succeeded where natural affection had failed; for the ex-Emperor, having inscribed maledictions on each of the five volumes of the Sutra with blood obtained by biting his tongue, and having hastened his demise by self-inflicted privations,--he died (1164) eight years after being sent into exile--the evils of the time were attributed to his unquiet spirit and a shrine was built to his memory. *One incident of the fight has been admiringly handed down to posterity. The duty of holding the west gate of the Shirakawa palace fell to Tametomo and his handful of followers. The duty of attacking it happened to devolve on his brother, Yoshitomo. To avert such an unnatural conflict, Tametomo, having proclaimed his identity, as was usual among bushi, drew his bow with such unerring aim that the arrow shore off an ornament from Yoshitomo's helmet without injuring him in any way. Yoshitomo withdrew, and the Taira took up the attack. Not less heartless was the treatment of the vanquished nobles. The Fujiwara alone escaped. Yorinaga had the good fortune to fall on the field of battle, and his father, Tadazane, was saved by the intercession of his elder son, Tadamichi, of whose dislike he had long been a victim. But this was the sole spot of light on the sombre page. By the Emperor's orders, the Taira chief, Kiyomori, executed his uncle, Tadamasa; by the Emperor's orders, though not without protest, the Minamoto chief, Yoshitomo, put to death his father, Tameyoshi; by the Emperor's orders all the relatives of Yorinaga were sent into exile; by the Emperor's orders his nephew, Prince Shigehito, was compelled to take the tonsure, and by the Emperor's orders the sinews of Tametomo's bow-arm were cut and he was banished to the Izu island.* In justice it has to be noted that Go-Shirakawa did not himself conceive these merciless measures. He was prompted thereto by Fujiwara Michinori, commonly known as Shinzei, whose counsels were all-powerful at the Court in those days. *The celebrated littérateur, Bakin, adduced many proofs that Tametomo ultimately made his way to Ryukyu and that his descendants ruled the island. The great soldier himself died ultimately by his own hand in the sequel of an unsuccessful engagement with the forces of the vice-governor of Izu. GO-SHIRAKAWA Go-Shirakawa, the seventy-seventh sovereign, occupied the throne during two years only (1156-1158), but he made his influence felt from the cloister throughout the long period of thirty-four years (1158 to 1192), directing the administration from his "camera palace" (Inchu) during the reigns of five Emperors. Ambition impelled him to tread in the footsteps of Go-Sanjo. He re-opened the Office of Records (Kiroku-jo), which that great sovereign had established for the purpose of centralizing the powers of the State, and he sought to recover for the Throne its administrative functions. But his independence was purely nominal, for in everything he took counsel of Fujiwara Michinori (Shinzei) and obeyed that statesman's guidance. Michinori's character is not to be implicitly inferred from the cruel courses suggested by him after the Hogen tumult. He was a man of keen intelligence and profound learning, as learning went in those days: that is to say, he knew the classics by heart, had an intimate acquaintance with Buddhism and astrology, and was able to act as interpreter of the Chinese language. With his name is associated the origin of the shirabyoshi, or "white measure-markers"--girls clad in white, who, by posture and gesture, beat time to music, and, in after ages, became the celebrated geisha of Japan. To the practice of such arts and accomplishments Michinori devoted a great part of his life, and when, in 1140, that is to say, sixteen years before the Hogen disturbance, he received the tonsure, all prospect of an official career seemed to be closed to him. But the accession of Go-Shirakawa gave him an opportunity. The Emperor trusted him, and he abused the trust to the further unhappiness of the nation. THE HEIJI TUMULT Go-Shirakawa's son, Morihito, ascended the throne in 1159 and is known in history as Nijo, the seventy-eighth sovereign of Japan. From the very outset he resented the ex-Emperor's attempt to interfere in the administration of affairs, and the two Courts fell into a state of discord, Fujiwara Shinzei inciting the cloistered Emperor to assert himself, and two other Fujiwara nobles, Tsunemune and Korekata, prompting Nijo to resist. These two, observing that another noble of their clan, Fujiwara Nobuyori; was on bad terms with Shinzei, approached Nobuyori and proposed a union against their common enemy. Shinzei had committed one great error; he had alienated the Minamoto family. In the Hogen struggle, Yoshitomo, the Minamoto chief, an able captain and a brave soldier, had suggested the strategy which secured victory for Go-Shirakawa's forces. But in the subsequent distribution of rewards, Yoshitomo's claims received scant consideration, his merits being underrated by Shinzei. This had been followed by a still more painful slight. To Yoshitomo's formal proposal of a marriage between his daughter and Shinzei's son, not only had a refusal been given, but also the nuptials of the youth with the daughter of the Taira chief, Kiyomori, had been subsequently celebrated with much eclat. In short, Shinzei chose between the two great military clans, and though such discrimination was neither inconsistent with the previous practice of the Fujiwara nor ill-judged so far as the relative strength of the Minamoto and the Taira was concerned for the moment, it erred egregiously in failing to recognize that the day had passed when the military clans could be thus employed as Fujiwara tools. Approached by Nobuyori, Yoshitomo joined hands with the plotters, and the Minamoto troops, forcing their way into the Sanjo palace, set fire to the edifice and killed Shinzei (1159). The Taira chief, Kiyomori, happened to be then absent in Kumano, and Yoshitomo's plan was to attack him on his way back to Kyoto before the Taira forces had mustered. But just as Fujiwara Yorinaga had wrecked his cause in the Hogen tumult by ignoring Minamoto Tametomo's advice, so in the Heiji disturbance, Fujiwara Nobuyori courted defeat by rejecting Minamoto Yoshitomo's strategy. The Taira, thus accorded leisure to assemble their troops, won such a signal victory that during many years the Minamoto disappeared almost completely from the political stage, and the Taira held the empire in the hollow of their hands. Japanese historians regard Fujiwara Shinzei as chiefly responsible for these untoward events. Shinzei's record shows him to have been cruel, jealous, and self-seeking, but it has to be admitted that the conditions of the time were calculated to educate men of his type, as is shown by the story of the Hogen insurrection. For when Sutoku's partisans assembled at the palace of Shirakawa, Minamoto Tametomo addressed them thus: "I fought twenty battles and two hundred minor engagements to win Kyushu, and I say that when an enemy is outnumbered, its best plan is a night attack. If we fire the Takamatsu palace on three sides to-night and assault it from the fourth, the foe will surely be broken. I see on the other side only one man worthy to be called an enemy. It is my brother Yoshitomo, and with a single arrow I can lay him low. As for Taira Kiyomori, he will fall if I do but shake the sleeve of my armour. Before dawn we shall be victors." Fujiwara Yorinaga's reply to this counsel was: "Tametomo's method of fighting is rustic. There are here two Emperors competing for the throne, and the combat must be conducted in a fair and dignified manner." To such silliness the Minamoto hero made apt answer. "War," he said, "is not an affair of official ceremony and decorum. Its management were better left to the bushi whose business it is. My brother Yoshitomo has eyes to see an opportunity. To-night, he will attack us.". It is true that Tametomo afterwards refrained from taking his brother's life, but the above proves that he would not have exercised any such forbearance had victory been attainable by ruthlessness. History does not often repeat itself so exactly as it did in these Hogen and Heiji struggles. Fujiwara Yorinaga's refusal to follow Tametomo's advice and Fujiwara Nobuyori's rejection of Yoshitomo's counsels were wholly responsible for the disasters that ensued, and were also illustrative of the contempt in which the Fujiwara held the military magnates, who, in turn, were well aware of the impotence of the Court nobles on the battle-field. The manner of Yoshitomo's death, too, reveals something of the ethics of the bushi in the twelfth century. Accompanied by Kamada Masaie and a few others, the Minamoto chief escaped from the fight and took refuge in the house of his concubine, Enju, at Awobaka in Owari. There they were surrounded and attacked by the Taira partisans. The end seemed inevitable. Respite was obtained, however, by one of those heroic acts of self-sacrifice that stand so numerously to the credit of the Japanese samurai. Minamoto Shigenari, proclaiming himself to be Yoshitomo, fought with desperate valour, killing ten of the enemy. Finally, hacking his own face so that it became unrecognizable, he committed suicide. Meanwhile, Yoshitomo had ridden away to the house of Osada Tadamune, father of his comrade Masaie's wife. There he found a hospitable reception. But when he would have pushed on at once to the east, where the Minamoto had many partisans, Tadamune, pointing out that it was New Year's eve, persuaded him to remain until the 3d of the first month. Whether this was done of fell purpose or out of hospitality is not on record, but it is certain that Tadamune and his son, Kagemune, soon determined to kill Yoshitomo, thus avoiding a charge of complicity and earning favour at Court. Their plan was to conceal three men in a bathroom, whither Yoshitomo should be led after he had been plied with sake at a banquet. The scheme succeeded in part, but as Yoshitomo's squire, Konno, a noted swordsman, accompanied his chief to the bath, the assassins dared not attack. Presently, however, Konno went to seek a bath-robe, and thereupon the three men leaped out. Yoshitomo hurled one assailant from the room, but was stabbed to death by the other two, who, in their turn, were slaughtered by the squire. Meanwhile, Masaie was sitting, unsuspicious, at the wine-party in a distant chamber. Hearing the tumult he sprang to his feet, but was immediately cut down by Tadamune and Kagemune. At this juncture Masaie's wife ran in, and crying, "I am not faithless and evil like my father and my brother; my death shall show my sincerity," seized her husband's sword and committed suicide, at which sight the dying man smiled contentedly. As for Konno, after a futile attempt to lay hands on Tadamune and Kagemune, he cut his way through their retainers and rode off safely. The heads of Yoshitomo and Masaie were carried to Kyoto by Tadamune and Kagemune, but they made so much of their exploit and clamoured for such high reward that Kiyomori threatened to punish them for the murder of a close connexion--Kiyomori, be it observed, on whose hands the blood of his uncle was still wet. Yoshitomo had many sons* but only four of them escaped from the Heiji tumult. The eldest of these was Yoritomo, then only fourteen. After killing two men who attempted to intercept his flight, he fell into the hands of Taira Munekiyo, who, pitying his youth, induced Kiyomori's step-mother to intercede for his life, and he was finally banished to Izu, whence, a few years later, he emerged to the destruction of the Taira. A still younger son, Yoshitsune, was destined to prove the most renowned warrior Japan ever produced. His mother, Tokiwa, one of Yoshitomo's mistresses, a woman of rare beauty, fled from the Minamoto mansion during a snow-storm after the Heiji disaster, and, with her three children, succeeded in reaching a village in Yamato, where she might have lain concealed had not her mother fallen into the hands of Kiyomori's agents. Tokiwa was then required to choose between giving herself up and suffering her mother to be executed. Her beauty saved the situation. Kiyomori had no sooner seen her face than he offered to have mercy if she entered his household and if she consented to have her three sons educated for the priesthood. Thus, Yoshitsune survived, and in after ages people were wont to say of Kiyomori's passion and its result that his blissful dream of one night had brought ruin on his house. *One of these sons, Tomonaga, fell by his father's hand. Accompanying Yoshitomo's retreat, he had been severely wounded, and he asked his father to kill him rather than leave him at Awobake to fall into the hands of the Taira. Yoshitomo consented, though the lad was only fifteen years of age. THE TAIRA AND THE FUJIWARA In human affairs many events ascribed by onlookers to design are really the outcome of accident or unforseen opportunity. Historians, tracing the career of Taira no Kiyomori, ascribe to him singular astuteness in creating occasions and marked promptness in utilizing them. But Kiyomori was not a man of original or brilliant conceptions. He had not even the imperturbability essential to military leadership. The most prominent features of his character were unbridled ambition, intolerance of opposition, and unscrupulous pursuit of visible ends. He did not initiate anything but was content to follow in the footsteps of the Fujiwara. It has been recorded that in 1158--after the Hogen tumult, but before that of Heiji--he married his daughter to a son of Fujiwara Shinzoi. In that transaction, however, Shinzei's will dominated. Two years later, the Minamoto's power having been shattered, Kiyomori gave another of his daughters to be the mistress of the kwampaku, Fujiwara Motozane. There was no offspring of this union, and when, in 1166, Motozane died, he left a five-year-old son, Motomichi, born of his wife, a Fujiwara lady. This boy was too young to succeed to the office of regent, and therefore had no title to any of the property accruing to the holder of that post, who had always been recognized as de jure head of the Fujiwara family. Nevertheless, Kiyomori, having contrived that the child should be entrusted to his daughter's care, asserted its claims so strenuously that many of the Fujiwara manors and all the heirlooms were handed over to it, the result being a visible weakening of the great family's influence.* *See Murdoch's History of Japan. RESULTS OF THE HOGEN AND HEIJI INSURRECTIONS The most signal result of the Hogen and Heiji insurrections was to transfer the administrative power from the Court nobles to the military chiefs. In no country were class distinctions more scrupulously observed than in Japan. All officials of the fifth rank and upwards must belong to the families of the Court nobility, and no office carrying with it rank higher than the sixth might be occupied by a military man. In all the history of the empire down to the twelfth century there had been only one departure from this rule, and that was in the case of the illustrious General Saka-no-ye no Tamura-maro, who had been raised to the third rank and made dainagon. The social positions of the two groups were even more rigidly differentiated; those of the fifth rank and upwards being termed tenjo-bito, or men having the privilege of entree to the palace and to the Imperial presence; while the lower group (from the sixth downwards) had no such privilege and were consequently termed chige-bito, or groundlings. The three highest offices (spoken of as san-ko) could not be held by any save members of the Fujiwara or Kuga families; and for offices carrying fifth rank upwards (designated taifu) the range of eligible families extended to only four others, the Ariwara, the Ki, the Oye, and the Kiyowara. All this was changed after the Heiji commotion. The Fujiwara had used the military leaders for their own ends; Kiyomori supplemented his military strength with Fujiwara methods. He caused himself to be appointed sangi (councillor of State) and to be raised to the first grade of the third rank, and he procured for his friends and relations posts as provincial governors, so that they were able to organize throughout the empire military forces devoted to the Taira cause. These steps were mere preludes to his ambitious programme. He married his wife's elder sister to the ex-Emperor, Go-Shirakawa, and the fruit of this union was a prince who subsequently ascended the throne as Takakura. The Emperor Nijo had died in 1166, after five years of effort, only partially successful, to restrain his father, Go-Shirakawa's, interference in the administration. Nijo was succeeded by his son, Rokujo, a baby of two years; and, a few months later, Takakura, then in his seventh year, was proclaimed Prince Imperial. Rokujo (the seventy-ninth sovereign) was not given time to learn the meaning of the title "Emperor." In three years he was deposed by Go-Shirakawa with Kiyomori's co-operation, and Takakura (eightieth sovereign) ascended the throne in 1169, occupying it until 1180. Thus, Kiyomori found himself uncle of an Emperor only ten years of age. Whatever may have been the Taira leader's defects, failure to make the most of an opportunity was not among them. The influence he exercised in the palace through his sister-in-law was far more exacting and imperious than that exercised by Go-Shirakawa himself, and the latter, while bitterly resenting this state of affairs, found himself powerless to correct it. Finally, to evince his discontent, he entered the priesthood, a demonstration which afforded Kiyomori more pleasure than pain. On the nomination of Takakura to be Crown Prince the Taira leader was appointed--appointed himself would be a more accurate form of speech--to the office of nai-daijin, and within a very brief period he ascended to the chancellorship, overleaping the two intervening posts of u-daijin and sa-daijin. This was in the fiftieth year of his life. At fifty-one, he fell seriously ill and took the tonsure by way of soliciting heaven's aid. People spoke of him as Dajo Nyudo, or the "lay-priest chancellor." Recovering, he developed a mood of increased arrogance. His residence at Rokuhara was a magnificent pile of building, as architecture then went, standing in a park of great extent and beauty. There he administered State affairs with all the pomp and circumstance of an Imperial court. He introduced his daughter, Toku, into the Household and very soon she was made Empress, under the name of Kenrei-mon-in. Thus completely were the Fujiwara beaten at their own game and the traditions of centuries set at naught. A majority of the highest posts were filled by Kiyomori's kinsmen. Fifteen of his family were of, or above, the third rank, and thirty were tenjo-bito. "Akitsushima (Japan) was divided into sixty-six provinces. Of these thirty were governed by Taira partisans. Their manors were to be found in five hundred places, and their fields were innumerable. Their mansions were full of splendid garments and rich robes like flowers, and the spaces before their portals were so thronged with ox-carriages and horses that markets were often held there. Not to be a Taira was not to be a man."* *Gen-pei Seisuiki (Records of the Vicissitudes of the Minamoto and the Taira). It is necessary to note, too, with regard to these manors, that many of them were tax-free lands (koderi) granted in perpetuity. Such grants, as has been already shown, were not infrequent. But they had been made, for the most part, to civilian officials, by whose serfs they were farmed, the proceeds being forwarded to Kyoto for the support of their owners; whereas the koden bestowed on Taira officers were, in effect, military fiefs. It is true that similar fiefs existed in the north and in the south, but their number was so greatly increased in the days of Taira ascendancy as almost to constitute a new departure. Kiyomori was, in truth, one of the most despotic rulers that ever held sway in Japan. He organized a band of three hundred youths whose business was to go about Kyoto and listen to the citizens' talk. If anyone was reported by these spies as having spoken ill of the Taira, he was seized and punished. One day Kiyomori's grandson, Sukemori, met the regent, Fujiwara Motofusa, and failing to alight from his carriage, as etiquette required, was compelled by the regent's retinue to do so. On learning of this incident, Kiyomori ordered three hundred men to lie in wait for the regent, drag him from his car and cut off his cue. PLOTS AGAINST THE TAIRA: KIYOMORI'S LAST YEARS All these arbitrary acts provoked indignation among every class of the people. A conspiracy known in history as the "Shishi-ga-tani plot," from the name of the place where the conspirators met to consult, was organized in 1177, having for object a general uprising against the Taira. At the Court of the cloistered Emperor the post of gon-dainagon was filled by Fujiwara Narichika, who harboured resentment against Kiyomori's two sons, Shigemori and Munemori, inasmuch as they held positions for which he had striven in vain, the Left and Right generals of the guards. There was also a bonze, Saiko, who enjoyed the full confidence of Go-Shirakawa. In those days any cause was legitimized if its advocates could show an Imperial edict or point to the presence of the sovereign in their midst. Thus, in the Heiji insurrection, the Minamoto received their severest blow when Fujiwara Korekata contrived that, under cover of darkness, the Emperor, disguised as a maid-of-honour in the household of the Empress, should be transported in her Majesty's suite, from the Kurodo palace to the Taira mansion at Rokuhara. The Minamoto were thus transformed into rebels, and the Taira became the representatives of Imperial authority. Therefore, in the Shishi-ga-tani plot the part assigned to the priest Saiko was to induce Go-Shirakawa to take active interest in the conspiracy and to issue a mandate to the Minamoto bushi throughout the country. No such mandate was issued, nor does it appear that the ex-Emperor attended any of the meetings in Shishi-ga-tani, but there can be no doubt that he had full cognizance of, and sympathized with, what was in progress. The conspiracy never matured. It was betrayed by Minamoto Yukitsuna. Saiko and his two sons were beheaded; Narichika was exiled and subsequently put to death, and all the rest were banished. The great question was, how to deal with Go-Shirakawa. Kiyomori was for leading troops to arrest his Majesty, and to escort him as a prisoner to the Toba palace or the Taira mansion. None of the despot's kinsmen or adherents ventured to gainsay this purpose until Kiyomori's eldest son, Shigemori, appeared upon the scene. Shigemori had contributed much to the signal success of the Taira. Dowered with all the strategical skill and political sagacity which his father lacked, he had won victories for the family arms, and again and again had restrained the rash exercise of Kiyomori's impetuous arrogance. The Taira chief had learned to stand in awe of his son's reproaches, and when Shigemori declared that he would not survive any violence done to Go-Shirakawa, Kiyomori left the council chamber, bidding Shigemori to manage the matter as he thought fit.* Thus, Go-Shirakawa escaped all the consequences of his association with the conspirators. But Kiyomori took care that a copy of the bonze Saiko's confession, extracted under torture and fully incriminating his Majesty, should come into the Imperial hands. *It is recorded that, on this occasion, Kiyomori, learning of his son's approach, attempted unsuccessfully to conceal under priestly robes the armour he had donned to go to the arrest of Go-Shirakawa. A final rupture between the ex-Emperor and the Taira leader became daily imminent. Two events contributed to precipitate it. One was that in the year following the Shishi-ga-tani conspiracy, Kiyomori's daughter, Toku, bore to Takakura a prince--the future Emperor Antoku (eighty-first sovereign). The Taira chief thus found himself grandfather of an heir to the throne, a fact which did not tend to abate his arrogance. The second was the death of Shigemori, which took place in 1179. Shigemori's record shows him to have been at once a statesman and a general. He never hesitated to check his father's extravagances, and it has to be recorded in Kiyomori's favour that, however, intolerant of advice or opposition he habitually showed himself, his eldest son's remonstrances were seldom ignored. Yet, though many untoward issues were thus averted, there was no sign that growing responsibility brought to Kiyomori any access of circumspection. From first to last he remained the same short-sighted, passion-driven, impetuous despot and finally the evil possibilities of the situation weighed so heavily on Shigemori's nerves that he publicly repaired to a temple to pray for release from life. As though in answer to his prayer he was attacked by a disease which carried him off at the age of forty-two. There is a tradition that he installed forty-eight images of Buddha in his mansion, and for their services employed many beautiful women, so that sensual excesses contributed to the semi-hysterical condition into which he eventually fell. That is not impossible, but certainly a sense of impotence to save his father and his family from the calamities he clearly saw approaching was the proximate cause of his breakdown. ENGRAVING: KIYOMIZU-DEKA TEMPLE, AT KYOTO Results soon became apparent. The ex-Emperor, who had truly estimated Shigemori's value as a pillar of Taira power, judged that an opportunity for revolt had now arrived, and the Taira chief, deprived of his son's restraining influence, became less competent than ever to manage the great machine which fortune had entrusted to his direction. The first challenge came from the ex-Emperor's side. It has been related above that one of Kiyomori's politic acts after the Heiji insurrection was to give his daughter to the regent; that, on the latter's death, his child, Motomichi, by a Fujiwara, was entrusted to the care of the Taira lady; that a large part of the Fujiwara estates were diverted from the regent and settled upon Motomichi, and that the latter was taken into a Taira mansion. The regent who suffered by this arbitrary procedure was Fujiwara Motofusa, the same noble whom, a few years later, Kiyomori caused to be dragged from his car and docked of his queue because Motofusa had insisted on due observance of etiquette by Kiyomori's grandson. Naturally, Motofusa was ready to join hands with Go-Shirakawa in any anti-Taira procedure. Therefore, in 1179, on the death of Kiyomori's daughter, to whose care Motomichi had been entrusted in his childhood, the ex-Emperor, at the instance of Motofusa, appropriated all her manors and those of Motomichi. Moreover, on the death of Shigemori shortly afterwards, the same course was pursued with his landed property, and further, Motomichi, though lawful head of the Fujiwara family, son-in-law of Kiyomori, and of full age, had been refused the post of chunagon, the claim of a twelve year-old son of Motofusa being preferred.* The significance of these doings was unmistakable. Kiyomori saw that the gauntlet had been thrown in his face. Hastening from his villa of Fukuhara, in Settsu, at the head of a large force of troops, he placed the ex-Emperor in strict confinement in the Toba palace, segregating him completely from the official world and depriving him of all administrative functions; he banished the kwampaku, Motofusa, and the chancellor, Fujiwara Moronaga; he degraded and deprived of their posts thirty-nine high officials who had formed the entourage of Go-Shirakawa; he raised Motomichi to the office of kwampaku, and he conferred on his son, Munemori, the function of guarding Kyoto, strong bodies of soldiers being posted in the two Taira mansions of Rokuhara on the north and south of the capital. *See Murdoch's History of Japan. THE YORIMASA CONSPIRACY In 1180, at the instance of Kiyomori and partly, no doubt, because of the difficult position in which he found himself placed with regard to his imprisoned father, the Emperor Takakura, then in his twentieth year, resigned the throne in favour of Kiyomori's grandson, Antoku (eighty-first sovereign), a child of three. This was the culmination of the Taira's fortunes. There was at that time among the Kyoto officials a Minamoto named Yorimasa, sixth in descent from Minamoto Mitsunaka, who flourished in the tenth century and by whose order the heirloom swords, Hige-kiri and Hiza-kiri, were forged. This Yorimasa was an expert bowman, a skilled soldier, and an adept versifier, accomplishments not infrequently combined in one person during the Heian epoch. Go-Shirakawa, appreciating Yorimasa's abilities, nominated him director of the Imperial Estates Bureau (Kurando) and afterwards made him governor of Hyogo. But it was not until he had reached the age of seventy-five that, on Kiyomori's recommendation, he received promotion, in 1178, to the second grade of the third rank (ju-sammi), thus for the first time obtaining the privilege of access to the Imperial presence. The explanation of this tardy recognition is, perhaps, to be sought in Yorimasa's preference of prudence to loyalty. In the year of Heiji, he held his little band of bushi in the leash until the issue of the battle could be clearly forseen, and then he threw in his lot with the Taira. Such shallow fealty seldom wins its way to high place. Men did not forget Yorimasa's record. His belated admission to the ranks of the tenjo-bito provoked some derision and he was commonly spoken of as Gen-sammi (the Minamoto third rank). But even for one constitutionally so cautious, the pretensions of the Taira became intolerable. Yorimasa determined to strike a blow for the Minamoto cause, and looking round for a figure-head, he fixed upon Prince Mochihito, elder brother of Takakura. This prince, being the son of a concubine, had never reached Imperial rank, though he was thirty years of age, but he possessed some capacity, and a noted physiognomist had recognized in him a future Emperor. In 1170, at Yorimasa's instance, Prince Mochihito secretly sent to all the Minamoto families throughout the empire, especially to Yoritomo at his place of exile in Izu, a document impeaching the conduct of the Taira and exhorting the Minamoto to muster and attack them. Yorimasa's story shows that he would not have embarked upon this enterprise had he not seen solid hope of success. But one of the aids he counted on proved unsound. That aid was the Buddhist priesthood. Kiyomori had offended the great monasteries by bestowing special favour on the insignificant shrine of Itsukushima-Myojin. A revelation received in a dream having persuaded him that his fortunes were intimately connected with this shrine, he not only rebuilt it on a scale of much magnificence, but also persuaded Go-Shirakawa to make three solemn progresses thither. This partiality reached its acme at the time of Takakura's abdication (1180), for instead of complying with the custom hitherto observed on such occasions--the custom of worshipping at one or more shrines of the three great monasteries--Enryaku (Hiei-zan), Kofuku (Nara), or Onjo (Miidera)--Takakura, prompted by Kiyomori, proceeded to Itsukushima.* *See Murdoch's History of Japan. A monster demonstration on the part of the offended monasteries was temporarily quieted, but deep umbrage rankled in the bosoms of the priests, and Yorimasa counted on their co-operation with his insurrection. He forgot, however, that no bond could be trusted to hold them permanently together in the face of their habitual rivalry, and it was here that his scheme ultimately broke down. At an early stage, some vague news of the plot reached Kiyomori's ears and he hastened from his Fukuhara villa to Kyoto. But it soon became evident that his information was incomplete. He knew, indeed, that Prince Mochihito was involved, but he suspected Go-Shirakawa also, and he entertained no conception of Yorimasa's complicity. Thus, while removing Go-Shirakawa to Rokuhara and despatching a force to seize Mochihito, he entrusted the direction of the latter measure to Yorimasa's son, Kanetsuna, who, it need scarcely be said, failed to apprehend the prince or to elicit any information from his followers. Presently Kiyomori learned that the prince had escaped to Onjo-ji (Miidera). Thereupon secret negotiations were opened between Rokuhara and Enryaku-ji (Hiei-zan), not that the Taira chief suspected the latter, but because he appreciated that if Hiei-zan joined Miidera, the situation would become formidable. Meanwhile, his trust in Yorimasa remaining still unshaken, he sent him to attack Onjo-ji, which mission the old Minamoto warrior fulfilled by entering the monastery and joining forces with the prince. Yorimasa took this step in the belief that immediate aid would be furnished from Hiei-zan. But before his appeal reached the latter, Kiyomori's overtures had been accepted. Nothing now remained for Yorimasa and Mochihito except to make a desperate rush on Kyoto or to ride away south to Nara, where temporary refuge offered. The latter course was chosen, in spite of Yorimasa's advice. On the banks of the Uji River in a dense fog they were overtaken by the Taira force, the latter numbering twenty thousand, the fugitives three or four hundred. The Minamoto made a gallant and skilful resistance, and finally Yorimasa rode off with a handful of followers, hoping to carry Mochihito to a place of safety. Before they passed out of range an arrow struck the old warrior. Struggling back to Byodo-in, where the fight was still in progress, he seated himself on his iron war-fan and, having calmly composed his death-song, committed suicide. CHANGE OF CAPITAL AND DEATH OF KIYOMORI These things happened in May, 1180, and in the following month Kiyomori carried out a design entertained by him for some time. He transferred the capital from Kyoto to Fukuhara, in Settsu, where the modern town of Kobe stands. Originally the Taira mansions were at the two Fukuhara, one on the north of Kyoto, the other on the south, the city being dominated from these positions. But Kiyomori seems to have thought that as the centres of Taira strength lay in the south and west of the empire, the province of Settsu would be a more convenient citadel than Kyoto. Hence he built at Fukuhara a spacious villa and took various steps to improve the harbour--then called Muko--as well as to provide maritime facilities, among which may be mentioned the opening of the strait, Ondo no Seto. But Fukuhara is fifty miles from Kyoto, and to reach the latter quickly from the former in an emergency was a serious task in the twelfth century. Moreover, Kyoto was devastated in 1177 by a conflagration which reduced one-third of the city to ashes, and in April of 1180 by a tornado of most destructive force, so that superstitious folk, who abounded in that age, began to speak ominously of the city's doom. What weighed most with the Taira leader, however, was the propinquity of the three great monasteries; Hiei-zan on the north, Miidera on the east, and Nara on the south. In fact, the city lay at the mercy of the soldier-priests. At any moment they might combine, descend upon the capital, and burn it before adequate succour could be marshalled. That such a peril should have been dreaded from such a source seems strange; but the Buddhist priests had shown a very dangerous temper more than once, and from Kiyomori's point of view the possibility of their rising to restore the fortunes of the Fujiwara was never remote. Kiyomori carried with him to Fukuhara the boy-Emperor (Antoku), the ex-Emperor (Takakura), the cloistered Emperor (Go-Shirakawa), the kwampaku (Motomichi), and all the high Court officials with rare exceptions. The work of construction at Fukuhara not being yet complete, Go-Shirakawa had to be lodged in a building thirty feet square, to which men gave the name of the "jail palace." Kyoto, of course, was thrown into a state of consternation. Remonstrances, petitions, and complaints poured into the Fukuhara mansion. Meanwhile the Minamoto rose. In August of 1180, their white flag was hoisted, and though it looked very insignificant on the wide horizon of Taira power, Kiyomori did not underrate its meaning. At the close of the year, he decided to abandon the Fukuhara scheme and carry the Court back to Kyoto. On the eve of his return he found an opportunity of dealing a heavy blow to the monasteries of Miidera and Nara. For, it having been discovered that they were in collusion with the newly risen Minamoto, Kiyomori sent his sons, Tomomori and Shigehira, at the head of a force which sacked and burned Onjo-ji, Todai-ji, and Kofuku-ji. Thereafter a terrible time ensued for Kyoto, for the home provinces (Kinai), and for the west of the empire. During the greater part of three years, from 1180 to 1182 inclusive, the people suffered, first from famine and afterwards from pestilence. Pitiful accounts are given by contemporary writers. Men were reduced to the direst straits. Hundreds perished of starvation in the streets of Kyoto, and as, in many cases, the corpses lay unburied, pestilence of course ensued. It is stated that in Kyoto alone during two months there were forty-two thousand deaths. The eastern and western regions, however, enjoyed comparative immunity. By the priests and the political enemies of the Taira these cruel calamities were attributed to the evil deeds of Kiyomori and his fellow clansmen, so that the once omnipotent family gradually became an object of popular execration. Kiyomori, however, did not live to witness the ruin of his house. He expired at the age of sixty in March, 1181, just three months after the restoration of Kyoto to metropolitan rank. Since August of the preceding year, the Minamoto had shown signs of troublesome activity, but as yet it seemed hardly possible that their puny onsets should shake, still less pull down, the imposing edifice of power raised by the Taira during twenty years of unprecedented success. Nevertheless, Kiyomori, impatient of all reverses, bitterly upbraided his sons and his officers for incompetence, and when, after seven days' sickness, he saw the end approaching, his last commission was that neither tomb nor temple should be raised to his memory until Yoritomo's head had been placed on his grave. ENGRAVING: ARTIST'S SEAL ENGRAVING: SWORD-GUARDS (Tsuba) HAND-CARVED IN BRONZE CHAPTER XXV THE EPOCH OF THE GEN AND THE HEI (Continued) OPENING OF THE CONFLICT WHEN, after the great struggle of 1160, Yoritomo, the eldest of Yoshitomo's surviving sons, fell into the hands of Taira Munekiyo and was carried by the latter to Kyoto, for execution, as all supposed, and as would have been in strict accord with the canons of the time, the lad, then in his fourteenth year, won the sympathy of Munekiyo by his nobly calm demeanour in the presence of death, and still more by answering, when asked whether he did not wish to live, "Yes, since I alone remain to pray for the memories of my father and my elder brothers." Munekiyo then determined to save the boy if possible, and he succeeded through the co-operation of Kiyomori's step-mother, whom he persuaded that her own son, lost in his infancy, would have grown up to resemble closely Yoritomo. It was much to the credit of Kiyomori's heart but little to that of his head that he listened to such a plea, and historians have further censured his want of sagacity in choosing Izu for Yoritomo's place of exile, seeing that the eastern regions were infested by Minamoto kinsmen and partisans. But Kiyomori did not act blindly. He placed Yoritomo in the keeping of two trusted wardens whose manors were practically conterminous in the valley of the Kano stream on the immediate west of Hakone Pass. These wardens were a Fujiwara, Ito Sukechika, and a Taira, who, taking the name Hojo from the locality of his manor, called himself Hojo Tokimasa. The dispositions of these two men did not agree with the suggestions of their lineage. Sukechika might have been expected to sympathize with his ward in consideration of the sufferings of the Fujiwara at Kiyomori's hands. Tokimasa, as a Taira, should have been wholly antipathetic. Yet had Tokimasa shared Sukechika's mood, the Minamoto's sun would never have risen over the Kwanto. The explanation is that Tokimasa belonged to a large group of provincial Taira who were at once discontented because their claims to promotion had been ignored, and deeply resentful of indignities and ridicule to which their rustic manners and customs had exposed them at the hands of their upstart kinsmen in Kyoto. Moreover, it is not extravagant to suppose, in view of the extraordinary abilities subsequently shown by Tokimasa, that he presaged the instability of the Taira edifice long before any ominous symptoms became outwardly visible. At any rate, while remaining Yoritomo's ostensible warden, he became his confidant and abettor. This did not happen immediately, however. Yoritomo was placed originally under Sukechika's care, and during the latter's absence in Kyoto a liaison was established between his daughter and the Minamoto captive, with the result that a son was born. Sukechika, on his return, caused the child to be thrown into a cataract, married its mother to Ema Kotaro, and swore to have the life of his ward. But Yoritomo, warned of what was pending, effected his escape to Tokimasa's manor. It is recorded that on the way thither he prayed at the shrine of Hachiman, the tutelary deity of his family: "Grant me to become sei-i-shogun and to guard the Imperial Court. Or, if I may not achieve so much, grant me to become governor of Izu, so that I may be revenged on Sukechika. Or, if that may not be, grant me death." With Tokimasa he found security. But here again, though now a man over thirty, he established relations with Masa, his warden's eldest daughter. In all Yoritomo's career there is not one instance of a sacrifice of expediency or ambition on the altar of sentiment or affection. He was a cold, calculating man. No cruelty shocked him nor did he shrink from any severity dictated by policy. It is in the last degree improbable that he risked his political hopes for the sake of a trivial amour. At any rate the event suggests crafty deliberation rather than a passing passion. For though Tokimasa simulated ignorance of the liaison and publicly proceeded with his previous engagement to wed Masa to Taira Kanetaka, lieutenant-governor of Izu, he privately connived at her flight and subsequent concealment. This incident is said to have determined Yoritomo. He disclosed all his ambitions to Hojo Tokimasa, and found in him an able coadjutor. Yoritomo now began to open secret communications with several of the military families in Izu and the neighbouring provinces. In making these selections and approaches, the Minamoto exile was guided and assisted by Tokimasa. Confidences were not by any means confined to men of Minamoto lineage. The kith and kin of the Fujiwara, and even of the Taira themselves, were drawn into the conspiracy, and although the struggle finally resolved itself into a duel à l'outrance between the Taira and the Minamoto, it had no such exclusive character at the outset. In May, or June, 1180, the mandate of Prince Mochihito reached Yoritomo, carried by his uncle, Minamoto Yukiiye, whose figure thenceforth appears frequently upon the scene. Yoritomo showed the mandate to Tokimasa, and the two men were taking measures to obey when they received intelligence of the deaths of Mochihito and Yorimasa and of the fatal battle on the banks of the Uji. Yoritomo would probably have deferred conclusive action in such circumstances had there not reached him from Miyoshi Yasunobu in Kyoto a warning that the Taira were planning to exterminate the remnant of the Minamoto and that Yoritomo's name stood first on the black-list. Moreover, the advisability of taking the field at once was strongly and incessantly urged by a priest, Mongaku, who, after a brief acquaintance, had impressed Yoritomo favourably. This bonze had been the leading figure in an extraordinary romance of real life. Originally Endo Morito, an officer of the guards in Kyoto, he fell in love with his cousin, Kesa,* the wife of a comrade called Minamoto Wataru. His addresses being resolutely rejected, he swore that if Kesa remained obdurate, he would kill her mother. From this dilemma the brave woman determined that self-sacrifice offered the only effective exit. She promised to marry Morito after he had killed her husband, Wataru; to which end she engaged to ply Wataru with wine until he fell asleep. She would then wet his head, so that Morito, entering by an unfastened door and feeling for the damp hair, might consummate his purpose surely. Morito readily agreed, but Kesa, having dressed her own hair in male fashion and wet her head, lay down in her husband's place. *Generally spoken of as "Kesa Gozen," but the latter word signifies "lady." When Morito found that he had killed the object of his passionate affection, he hastened to confess his crime and invited Wataru to slay him. But Wataru, sympathizing with his remorse, proposed that they should both enter religion and pray for the rest of Kesa's spirit. It is related that one of the acts of penance performed by Mongaku--the monastic name taken by Morito--was to stand for twenty-one days under a waterfall in the depth of winter. Subsequently he devoted himself to collecting funds for reconstructing the temple of Takao, but his zeal having betrayed him into a breach of etiquette at the palace of Go-Shirakawa, he was banished to Izu, where he obtained access to Yoritomo and counselled him to put his fortune to the test.* *Tradition says that among the means employed by Mongaku to move Yoritomo was the exhibition of Yoshitomo's bones. THE FIRST STAGE OF THE STRUGGLE The campaign was opened by Hojo Tokimasa on the 8th of September, 1180. He attacked the residence of the lieutenant-governor of Izu, Taira Kanetaka, burned the mansion, and killed Kanetaka, whose abortive nuptials with the lady Masa had been celebrated a few months previously. Yoritomo himself at the head of a force of three hundred men, crossed the Hakone Pass three days later en route for Sagami, and encamped at Ishibashi-yama. This first essay of the Minamoto showed no military caution whatever. It was a march into space. Yoritomo left in his rear Ito Sukechika, who had slain his infant son and sworn his own destruction, and he had in his front a Taira force of three thousand under Oba Kagechika. It is true that many Taira magnates of the Kwanto were pledged to draw the sword in the Minamoto cause. They had found the selfish tyranny of Kiyomori not at all to their taste or their profit. It is also true that the Oba brothers had fought staunchly on the side of Yoritomo's father, Yoshitomo, in the Heiji war. Yoritomo may possibly have entertained some hope that the Oba army would not prove a serious menace. Whatever the explanation may be, the little Minamoto band were attacked in front and rear simultaneously during a stormy night. They suffered a crushing defeat. It seemed as though the white flag* was to be lowered permanently, ere it had been fully shaken out to the wind. The remnants of the Minamoto sought shelter in a cryptomeria grove, where Yoritomo proved himself a powerful bowman. But when he had tune to take stock of his followers, he found them reduced to six men. These, at the suggestion of Doi Sanehira, he ordered to scatter and seek safety in flight, while he himself with Sanehira hid in a hollow tree. Their hiding-place was discovered by Kajiwara Kagetoki, a member of the Oba family, whose sympathies were with the Minamoto. He placed himself before the tree and signalled that the fugitives had taken another direction. Presently, Oba Kagechika, riding up, thrust his bow into the hollow tree, and as two pigeons flew out, he concluded that there was no human being within. *The Taira flew a red ensign; the Minamoto, a white. ENGRAVING: MINAMOTO YORITOMO From the time of this hairbreadth escape, Yoritomo's fortunes rose rapidly. After some days of concealment among the Hakone mountains, he reached the shore of Yedo Bay, and crossing from Izu to Awa, was joined by Tokimasa and others. Manifestoes were then despatched in all directions, and sympathizers began to flock in. Entering Kazusa, the Minamoto leader secured the cooperation of Taira Hirotsune and Chiba Tsunetane, while Tokimasa went to canvass in Kai. In short, eight provinces of the Kwanto responded like an echo to Yoritomo's call, and, by the time he had made his circuit of Yedo Bay, some twenty-five thousand men were marshalled under his standard. Kamakura, on the seacoast a few miles south of the present Yokohama, was chosen for headquarters, and one of the first steps taken was to establish there, on the hill of Tsurugaoka, a grand shrine to Hachiman, the god of War and tutelary deity of the Minamoto. Meanwhile, Tokimasa had secured the allegiance of the Takeda family of Kai, and was about to send a strong force to join Yoritomo's army. But by this time the Taira were in motion. Kiyomori had despatched a body of fifty thousand men under Koremori, and Yoritomo had decided to meet this army on the banks of the Fuji river. It became necessary, therefore, to remove all potential foes from the Minamoto rear, and accordingly Hojo Tokimasa received orders to overrun Suruga and then to direct his movements with a view to concentration on the Fuji. Thither Yoritomo marched from Kamakura, and by the beginning of November, 1180, fifty thousand Taira troops were encamped on the south bank of the river and twenty-seven thousand Minamoto on the north. A decisive battle must be fought in the space of a few days. In fact, the 13th of November had been indicated as the probable date. But the battle was never fought. The officer in command of the Taira van, Fujiwara no Tadakiyo, laboured under the disadvantage of being a coward, and the Taira generals, Koremori and Tadamori, grandson and youngest brother, respectively, of Kiyomori, seem to have been thrown into a state of nervous prostration by the unexpected magnitude of the Minamoto's uprising. They were debating, and had nearly recognized the propriety of falling back without challenging a combat or venturing their heads further into the tiger's mouth, when something--a flight of water-birds, a reconnaissance in force, a rumour, or what not--produced a panic, and before a blow had been struck, the Taira army was in full retreat for Kyoto. YOSHITSUNE In the Minamoto camp there was some talk of pursuing the fugitive Taira, and possibly the most rapid results would thus have been attained. But it was ultimately decided that the allegiance of the whole Kwanto must be definitely secured before denuding it of troops for the purpose of a western campaign. This attitude of caution pointed specially to the provinces of Hitachi and Shimotsuke, where the powerful Minamoto families of Satake and Nitta, respectively, looked coldly upon the cause of their kinsman, Yoritomo. Therefore the army was withdrawn to a more convenient position on the Kiso River, and steps, ultimately successful, were taken to win over the Nitta and the Satake. It was at this time that there arrived in Yoritomo's camp a youth of twenty-one with about a score of followers. Of medium stature and of frame more remarkable for grace than for thews, he attracted attention chiefly by his piercing eyes and by the dignified intelligence of his countenance. This was Yoshitsune, the youngest son of Yoshitomo. His life, as already stated, had been saved in the Heiji disturbance, first, by the intrepidity of his mother, Tokiwa, and, afterwards, by the impression her dazzling beauty produced upon the Taira leader. Placed in the monastery of Kurama, as stipulated by Kiyomori, Yoshitsune had no sooner learned to think than he became inspired with an absorbing desire to restore the fortunes of his family. Tradition has surrounded the early days of this, the future Bayard of Japan, with many romantic legends, among which it is difficult to distinguish the true from the false. What is certain, however, is that at the age of fifteen he managed to effect his escape to the north of Japan. The agent of his flight was an iron-merchant who habitually visited the monastery on matters of business, and whose dealings took him occasionally to Mutsu. At the time of Yoshitsune's novitiate in the Kurama temple, the political power in Japan may be said to have been divided between the Taira, the provincial Minamoto, the Buddhist priests, and the Fujiwara, and of the last the only branch that had suffered no eclipse during the storms of Hogen and Heiji had been the Fujiwara of Mutsu. It has been shown in the story of the Three Years' War, and specially in the paragraph entitled "The Fujiwara of the North," that the troops of Fujiwara Kiyohira and Minamoto Yoshiiye had fought side by side, and that, after the war, Kiyohira succeeded to the six districts of Mutsu, which constituted the largest estate in the hands of any one Japanese noble. That estate was in the possession of Hidehira, grandson of Kiyohira, at the time when the Minamoto family suffered its heavy reverses. Yoshitsune expected, therefore, that at least an asylum would be assured, could he find his way to Mutsu. He was not mistaken. Hidehira received him with all hospitality, and as Mutsu was practically beyond the control of Kyoto, the Minamoto fugitive could lead there the life of a bushi, and openly study everything pertaining to military art. He made such excellent use of these opportunities that, by the time the Minamoto standard was raised anew in Izu, Yoshitsune had earned the reputation of being the best swordsman in the whole of northern Japan. This was the stripling who rode into Yoritomo's camp on a November day in the year 1180. The brothers had never previously seen each other's faces, and their meeting in such circumstances was a dramatic event. Among Yoshitsune's score of followers there were several who subsequently earned undying fame, but one deserves special mention here. Benkei, the giant halberdier, had turned his back upon the priesthood, and, becoming a free lance, conceived the ambition of forcibly collecting a thousand swords from their wearers. He wielded the halberd with extraordinary skill, and such a huge weapon in the hand of a man with seven feet of stalwart stature constituted a menace before which a solitary wayfarer did not hesitate to surrender his sword. One evening, Benkei observed an armed acolyte approaching the Gojo bridge in Kyoto. The acolyte was Yoshitsune, and the time, the eve of his departure for Mutsu. Benkei made light of disarming a lad of tender years and seemingly slender strength. But already in his acolyte days Yoshitsune had studied swordsmanship, and he supplemented his knowledge by activity almost supernatural. The giant Benkei soon found himself praying for life and swearing allegiance to his boy conqueror, an oath which he kept so faithfully as to become the type of soldierly fidelity for all subsequent generations of his countrymen. KISO YOSHINAKA Looking at the map of central Japan, it is seen that the seven provinces of Suruga, Izu, Awa, Kai, Sagami, Musashi, and Kazusa are grouped approximately in the shape of a Japanese fan (uchiwa), having Izu for the handle. Along the Pacific coast, eastward of this fan, lie the provinces of Shimosa and Hitachi, where the Nitta and the Satake, respectively, gave employment for some time to the diplomatic and military resources of the Minamoto. Running inland from the circumference of the fan are Shinano and Kotsuke, in which two provinces, also, a powerful Minamoto resurrection synchronized with, but was independent of, the Yoritomo movement. The hero of the Shinano-Kotsuke drama was Minamoto no Yoshinaka, commonly called Kiso Yoshinaka, because his youth was passed among the mountains where the Kiso River has its source. In the year 1155, Yoshitomo's eldest son, Yoshihira,* was sent to Musashi to fight against his uncle, Yoshikata. The latter fell, and his son, Yoshinaka, a baby of two, was handed to Saito Sanemori to be executed; but the latter sent the child to Shinano, where it was brought up by Nakahara Kaneto, the husband of its nurse. Yoshinaka attained an immense stature as well as signal skill in archery and horsemanship. Like Yoritomo and Yoshitsune, he brooded much on the evil fortunes of the Minamoto, and paid frequent visits to Kyoto to observe the course of events. In the year 1180, the mandate of Prince Mochihito reached him, and learning that Yoritomo had taken the field, he gathered a force in Shinano. Between the two leaders there could be no final forgetfulness of the fact that Yoritomo's brother had killed Yoshinaka's father, and had ordered the slaying of Yoshinaka himself. But this evil memory did not obtrude itself at the outset. They worked independently. Yoshinaka gained a signal victory over the Taira forces marshalled against him by the governor of Shinano, and pushing thence eastward into Kotsuke, obtained the allegiance of the Ashikaga of Shimotsuke and of the Takeda of Kai. Thus, the year 1180 closed upon a disastrous state of affairs for the Taira, no less than ten provinces in the east having fallen practically under Minamoto sway. *This Yoshihira was a giant in stature. He shares with Tametomo the fame of having exhibited the greatest prowess in the Hogen and Heiji struggles. It was he who offered to attack Kyoto from Kumano a measure which, in all probability, would have reversed the result of the Heiji war. CONTINUATION OF THE CAMPAIGN Kiyomori expired in March, 1181, as already related. His last behest, that the head of Yoritomo should be laid on his grave, nerved his successors to fresh efforts. But the stars in their courses seemed to be fighting against the Taira. Kiyomori's son, Munemori, upon whom devolved the direction of the great clan's affairs, was wholly incompetent for such a trust. One gleam of sunshine, however, illumined the fortunes of the Heike. Two months after Kiyomori's death, a Taira army under Shigehira attacked Yukiiye, Yoritomo's uncle, who had pushed westward as far as Owari. This Yukiiye never showed any qualities of generalship. He was repeatedly defeated, the only redeeming feature of his campaigns being that he himself always escaped destruction. On this occasion he was driven out of Owari and forced to retire within the confines of the Kwanto. But now the home provinces and the west fell into the horrors of famine and pestilence, as described above; and in such circumstances to place armies in the field and to maintain them there became impossible. The Taira had to desist from all warlike enterprises until the summer of 1182, when a great effort was made to crush the rapidly growing power of the Minamoto. Commissions of provincial governor were sent to Jo no Nagashige, a puissant Taira magnate of Echigo; to Taira no Chikafusa, of Etchu, and to Fujiwara Hidehira, of Mutsu, who were all ordered to attack Yoritomo and Yoshinaka. Hidehira made no response, but Nagashige set in motion against Yoshinaka a strong force, swelled by a contingent from Kyoto under Michimori. The results were signal defeat for the Taira and the carrying of the white flag by Yoshinaka into Echigo, Etchu, Noto, and Kaga. DISSENSIONS AMONG THE MINAMOTO Meanwhile discord had declared itself between Yoritomo and Yoshinaka. It has been shown that the records of the two families afforded no basis of mutual confidence, and it has also been shown that the Takeda clan of Kai province were among the earliest adherents of the Minamoto cause. In view of Yoshinaka's brilliant successes, Takeda Nobumitsu proposed a marriage between his daughter and Yoshinaka's son, Yoshitaka. This union was declined by Yoshinaka, whereupon Nobumitsu suggested to Yoritomo that Yoshinaka's real purpose was to ally his house with the Taira by marriage. Whether Nobumitsu believed this, or whether his idea had its origin in pique, history does not indicate. But there can be no hesitation in concluding that a rupture between the two Minamoto chiefs was presaged by Yoritomo's entourage, who judged that two Richmonds could not remain permanently in the field. Things gradually shaped themselves in accordance with that forecast. The malcontents in Yoritomo's camp or his discomfited opponents began to transfer their allegiance to Yoshinaka; a tendency which culminated when Yoritomo's uncle, Yukiiye, taking umbrage because a provincial governorship was not given to him, rode off at the head of a thousand cavalry to join Yoshinaka. The reception given by Yoshinaka to these deserters was in itself sufficient to suggest doubts of his motives. Early in the year 1183, Yoritomo sent a force into Shinano with orders to exterminate Yoshinaka. But the latter declined the combat. Quoting a popular saying that the worst enemies of the Minamoto were their own dissensions, he directed his troops to withdraw into Echigo, leaving to Yoritomo a free hand in Shinano. When this was reported to Yoritomo, he recalled his troops from Shinano, and asked Yoshinaka to send a hostage. Yoshinaka replied by sending his son Yoshitaka, the same youth to whom Takeda Nobumitsu had proposed to marry his daughter. He was now wedded to Yoritomo's daughter, and the two Minamoto chiefs seemed to have been effectually reconciled. ADVANCE OF YOSHINAKA ON KYOTO Yoshinaka's desire to avoid conflict with Yoritomo had been partly due to the fact that the Taira leaders were known to be just then straining every nerve to beat back the westward-rolling tide of Minamoto conquest. They had massed all their available forces in Echizen, and at that supreme moment Yoritomo's active hostility would have completely marred Yoshinaka's great opportunity. In May, 1183, this decisive phase of the contest was opened; Koremori, Tamemori, and Tomonori being in supreme command of the Taira troops, which are said to have mustered one hundred thousand strong. At first, things fared badly with the Minamoto. They lost an important fortress at Hiuchi-yama, and Yukiiye was driven from Kaga into Noto. But when the main army of the Minamoto came into action, the complexion of affairs changed at once. In a great battle fought at Tonami-yama in Echizen, Yoshinaka won a signal victory by the manoeuvre of launching at the Taira a herd of oxen having torches fastened to their horns. Thousands of the Taira perished, including many leaders. Other victories at Kurikara and Shinowara opened the road to Kyoto. Yoshinaka pushed on and, in August, reached Hiei-zan; while Yukiiye, the pressure on whose front in Noto had been relieved, moved towards Yamato; Minamoto no Yukitsuna occupied Settsu and Kawachi, and Ashikaga Yoshikiyo advanced to Tamba. Thus, the capital lay at the mercy of Yoshinaka's armies. The latter stages of the Minamoto march had been unopposed. Munemori, after a vain attempt to secure the alliance of the Hiei-zan monks, had recalled his generals and decided to retire westward, abandoning Kyoto. He would have taken with him the cloistered Emperor, but Go-Shirakawa secretly made his way to Hiei-zan and placed himself under the protection of Yoshinaka, rejoicing at the opportunity to shake off the Taira yoke. RETREAT OF THE TAIRA On August 14, 1183, the evacuation of Kyoto took place. Munemori, refusing to listen to the counsels of the more resolute among his officers, applied the torch to the Taira mansions at northern and southern Rokuhara, and, taking with him the Emperor Antoku, then in his sixth year, his Majesty's younger brother, and their mother, together with the regalia--the mirror, the sword, and the gem--retired westward, followed by the whole remnant of his clan. Arrived at Fukuhara, they devoted a night to praying, making sacred music, and reading Sutras at Kiyomori's tomb, whereafter they set fire to all the Taira palaces, mansions, and official buildings, and embarked for the Dazai-fu in Chikuzen. They reckoned on the allegiance of the whole of Kyushu and of at least one-half of Shikoku. EIGHTY-SECOND SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR GO-TOBA (A.D. 1184-1198) The Taira leaders having carried off the Emperor Antoku, there was no actually reigning sovereign in Kyoto, whither the cloistered Emperor now returned, an imposing guard of honour being furnished by Yoshinaka. Go-Shirakawa therefore resumed the administration of State affairs, Yoshinaka being given the privilege of access to the Presence and entrusted with the duty of guarding the capital. The distribution of rewards occupied attention in the first place. Out of the five hundred manors of the Taira, one hundred and fifty were given to Yoshinaka and Yukiiye, and over two hundred prominent Taira officials were stripped of their posts and their Court ranks. Yoritomo received more gracious treatment than Yoshinaka, although the Kamakura chief could not yet venture to absent himself from the Kwanto for the purpose of paying his respects at Court. For the rest, in spite of Yoshinaka's brilliant success, he was granted only the fifth official rank and the governorship of the province of Iyo. These things could not fail to engender some discontent, and presently a much graver cause for dissatisfaction presented itself. Fujiwara Kanezane, minister of the Right, memorialized the Court in the sense that, as Antoku had left the capital, another occupant to the throne should be appointed, in spite of the absence of the regalia. He pointed out that a precedent for dispensing with these tokens of Imperialism had been furnished in the case of the Emperor Keitai (507-531). No valid reason existed for such a precipitate step. Antoku had not abdicated. His will had not been consulted at all by the Taira when they carried him off; nor would the will of a child of six have possessed any validity in such a matter. It is plain that the proposal made by the minister of the Right had for motive the convenience of the Minamoto, whose cause lacked legitimacy so long as the sovereign and the regalia were in the camp of the Taira. But the minister's advice had a disastrous sequel. Yoshinaka was resolutely bent on securing the succession for the son of Prince Mochihito, who had been killed in the Yorimasa emeute. It was practically to Mochihito that the Court owed its rescue from the Taira tyranny, and his son--now a youth of seventeen, known as Prince Hokuriku, because he had founded an asylum at a monastery in Hokuriku-do after his father's death--had been conducted to Kyoto by Yoshinaka, under a promise to secure the succession for him. But Go-Shirakawa would not pay any attention to these representations. He held that Prince Hokuriku was ineligible, since his father had been born out of wedlock, and since the prince himself had taken the tonsure; the truth being that the ex-Emperor had determined to obtain the crown for one of his own grandsons, younger brothers of Antoku. It is said that his Majesty's manner of choosing between the two lads was most capricious. He had them brought into his presence, whereupon the elder began to cry, the younger to laugh, and Go-Shirakawa at once selected the latter, who thenceforth became the Emperor Go-Toba. FALL OF YOSHINAKA Yoshinaka's fortunes began to ebb from the time of his failure to obtain the nomination of Prince Hokuriku. A force despatched to Bitchu with the object of arresting the abduction of Antoku and recovering possession of the regalia, had the misfortune to be confronted by Taira no Noritsune, one of the stoutest warriors on the side of the Heike. Ashikaga Yoshikiyo, who commanded the pursuers, was killed, and his men were driven back pele-mele. This event impaired the prestige of Yoshinaka's troops, while he himself and his officers found that their rustic ways and illiterate education exposed them constantly to the thinly veiled sneers of the dilettanti and pundits who gave the tone to metropolitan society. The soldiers resented these insults with increasing roughness and recourse to violence, so that the coming of Yoritomo began to be much desired. Go-Shirakawa sent two messages at a brief interval to invite the Kamakura chief's presence in the capital. Yoritomo replied with a memorial which won for him golden opinions, but he showed no sign of visiting Kyoto. His absorbing purpose was to consolidate his base in the east, and he had already begun to appreciate that the military and the Imperial capitals should be distinct. Naturally, when the fact of these pressing invitations to Yoritomo reached Yoshinaka's ears, he felt some resentment, and this was reflected in the demeanour of his soldiers, outrages against the lives and properties of the citizens becoming more and more frequent. Even the private domains of the cloistered Emperor himself, to say nothing of the manors of the courtiers, were freely entered and plundered, so that public indignation reached a high pitch. The umbrage thus engendered was accentuated by treachery. Driven from Kyushu, the Taira chiefs had obtained a footing in Shikoku and had built fortifications at Yashima in Sanuki, which became thenceforth their headquarters. They had also collected on the opposite coast of the Inland Sea a following which seemed likely to grow in dimensions, and, with the idea of checking that result, it was proposed to send troops to the Sanyo-do under Minamoto Yukiiye, who had been named governor of Bizen. Taught, however, by experience that disaster was likely to be the outcome of Yukiiye's generalship, Yoshinaka interfered to prevent his appointment, and Yukiiye, resenting this slight, became thenceforth a secret foe of Yoshinaka. In analyzing the factors that go to the making of this complicated chapter of Japanese history, a place must be given to Yukiiye. He seems to have been an unscrupulous schemer. Serving originally under Yoritomo, who quickly took his measure, he concluded that nothing substantial was to be gained in that quarter. Therefore, he passed over to Yoshinaka, who welcomed him, not as an enemy of Yoritomo, but as a Minamoto. Thenceforth Yukiiye's aim was to cause a collision between the two cousins and to raise his own house on the ruins of both. He contributed materially to the former result, but as to the latter, the sixth year of his appearance upon the stage as Prince Mochihito's mandate-bearer saw his own head pilloried in Kyoto. Yoshinaka, however, had too frank a disposition to be suspicious. He believed until the end that Yukiiye's heart was in the Minamoto cause. Then, when it became necessary to choose, between taking stupendous risks in the west or making a timely withdrawal to the east, he took Yukiiye into his confidence. That was the traitor's opportunity. He secretly informed the ex-Emperor that Yoshinaka had planned a retreat to the east, carrying his Majesty with him, and this information, at a time when the excesses committed by Yoshinaka's troops had provoked much indignation, induced Go-Shirakawa to obtain from Hiei-zan and Miidera armed monks to form a palace-guard under the command of the kebiishi, Taira Tomoyasu, a declared enemy of Yoshinaka. At once Yoshinaka took a decisive step. He despatched a force to the palace; seized the persons of Go-Shirakawa and Go-Toba; removed Motomichi from the regency, appointing Moroie, a boy of twelve, in his place, and dismissed a number of Court officials. In this strait, Go-Shirakawa, whose record is one long series of undignified manoeuvres to keep his own head above water, applied himself to placate Yoshinaka while privately relying on Yoritomo. His Majesty granted to the former the control of all the domains previously held by the Taira; appointed him to the high office of sei-i tai-shogun (barbarian-subduing generalissimo), and commissioned him to attack Yoritomo while, at the same time, the latter was secretly encouraged to destroy his cousin. At that moment (February, 1184), Yoritomo's two younger brothers, Yoshitsune and Noriyori, were en route for Kyoto, where they had been ordered to convey the Kwanto taxes. They had a force of five hundred men only, but these were quickly transformed into the van of an army of fifty or sixty thousand, which Yoritomo, with extraordinary expedition, sent from Kamakura to attack Yoshinaka. The "Morning Sun shogun" (Asahi-shogun), as Yoshinaka was commonly called with reference to his brilliant career, now at last saw himself confronted by the peril which had long disturbed his thoughts. At a distance of three hundred miles from his own base, with powerful foes on either flank and in a city whose population was hostile to him, his situation seemed almost desperate. He took a step dictated by dire necessity--made overtures to the Taira, asking that a daughter of the house of Kiyomori be given him for wife. Munemori refused. The fortunes of the Taira at that moment appeared to be again in the ascendant. They were once more supreme in Kyushu; the west of the main island from coast to coast was in their hands; they had re-established themselves in Fukuhara, and at any moment they might move against Kyoto. They could afford, therefore, to await the issue of the conflict pending between the Minamoto cousins, sure that it must end in disaster for one side and temporary weakness for the other. In fact, the situation was almost hopeless for Yoshinaka. There had not been time to recall the main body of his troops which were confronting the Taira. All that he could do was to arrest momentarily the tide of onset by planting handfuls of men to guard the chief avenues at Uji and Seta where, four years previously, Yorimasa had died for the Minamoto cause, and Seta, where a long bridge spans the waters of Lake Biwa as they narrow to form the Setagawa. To the Uji bridge, Nenoi Yukichika was sent with three hundred men; to the Seta bridge, Imai Kanehira with five hundred. The names of these men and of their brothers, Higuchi Kanemitsu and Tate Chikatada, are immortal in Japanese history. They were the four sons of Nakahara Kaneto, by whom Yoshinaka had been reared, and their constant attendance on his person, their splendid devotion to him, and their military prowess caused people to speak of them as Yoshinaka's Shi-tenno--the four guardian deities of Buddhist temples. Their sister, Tomoe, is even more famous. Strong and brave as she was beautiful, she became the consort of Yoshinaka, with whom she had been brought up, and she accompanied him in all his campaigns, fighting by his side and leading a body of troops in all his battles. She was with him when he made his final retreat and she killed a gigantic warrior, Uchida Ieyoshi, who attempted to seize her on that occasion. Yoshinaka compelled her to leave him at the supreme moment, being unwilling that she should fall into the enemy's hands; and after his death she became a nun, devoting the rest of her days to prayers for his spirit. But it is not to be supposed that Yoshinaka repaid this noble devotion with equal sincerity. On the contrary, the closing scene of his career was disfigured by passion for another woman, daughter of the kwampaku, Fujiwara Motofusa. Attracted by rumours of her beauty after his arrival in Kyoto, he compelled her to enter his household, and when news came that the armies of Yoshitsune and Noriyori were approaching the capital, this great captain, for such he certainly was, instead of marshalling his forces and making dispositions for defence, went to bid farewell to the beautiful girl who resided in his Gojo mansion. Hours of invaluable time passed, and still Asahi shogun remained by the lady's side. Finally, two of his faithful comrades, Echigo Chuta and Tsuwata Saburo, seated themselves in front of the mansion and committed suicide to recall their leader to his senses. Yoshinaka emerged, but it was too late. He could not muster more than three hundred men, and in a short time Yoshitsune rode into the city at the head of a large body of cavalry. Yoshitsune had approached by way of Uji. He was not at all deterred by the fact that the enemy had destroyed the bridge. His mounted bowmen dashed into the river* and crossed it with little loss. A few hours brought them to Kyoto, where they made small account of the feeble resistance that Yoshinaka was able to offer. Wounded and with little more than half a score of followers, Yoshinaka rode off, and reaching the plain Of Awazu, met Imai Kanehira with the remnant of his five hundred men who had gallantly resisted Noriyori's army of thirty thousand. Imai counselled instant flight eastward. In Shinano, Yoshinaka would find safety and a dominion, while to cover his retreat, Imai would sacrifice his own life. Such noble deeds were the normal duty of every true bushi. Yoshinaka galloped away, but, riding into a marsh, disabled his horse and was shot down. Meanwhile Imai, in whose quiver there remained only eight arrows, had killed as many of the pursuing horsemen, and then placing the point of his sword in his mouth, had thrown himself headlong from his horse. One incident, shocking but not inconsistent with the canons of the time, remains to be included in this chapter of Japanese history. It has been related that Yoshinaka's son, Yoshitaka, was sent by his father to Kamakura as a hostage, and was married to Yoritomo's daughter. After the events above related Yoshitaka was put to death at Kamakura, apparently without Yoritomo's orders, and his widow, when pressed by her brother to marry again, committed suicide. *Japanese tradition loves to tell of a contest between Sasaki Takatsuna and Kajiwara Kagesue as to which should cross the river first. Kagesue was the son of that Kajiwara who had saved. Yoritomo's life in the episode of the hollow tree. BATTLE OF ICHI-NO-TANI The victory of the armies led by Noriyori and Yoshitsune brought Kamakura and Fukuhara into direct conflict, and it was speedily decided that these armies should at once move westward to attack the Taira. A notable feature of the military operations of that era was celerity. Less than a month sufficed to mobilize an army of fifty thousand men and to march it from Kamakura to Kyoto, a distance of three hundred miles, and within ten days of the death of Yoshinaka this same army, augmented to seventy-six thousand, began to move westward from Kyoto (March 19, 1184). The explanation of this rapidity is furnished, in part, by simplicity of commisariat, and by the fact that neither artillery nor heavy munitions of war had to be transported. Every man carried with him a supply of cooked rice, specially prepared so as to occupy little space while sufficing for several days' food, and this supply was constantly replenished by requisitions levied upon the districts traversed. Moreover, every man carried his own implements of war--bow and arrows, sword, spear, or halberd--and the footgear consisted of straw sandals which never hurt the feet, and in which a man could easily march twenty miles a day continuously. These remarks apply to all the fighting men of whatever part of Japan, but as to the Kwanto bushi, their special characteristics are thus described by a writer of the twelfth century: "Their ponderous bows require three men or five to bend them. Their quivers, which match these bows, hold fourteen or fifteen bundles of arrows. They are very quick in releasing their shafts, and each arrow kills or wounds two or three foemen, the impact being powerful enough to pierce two or three thicknesses of armour at a time, and they never fail to hit the mark. Every daimyo (owner of a great estate) has at least twenty or thirty of such mounted archers, and even the owner of a small barren estate has two or three. Their horses are very excellent, for they are carefully selected, while as yet in pasture, and then trained after their own peculiar fashion. With five or ten such excellent mounts each, they go out hunting deer or foxes and gallop up and down mountains and forests. Trained in these wild methods, they are all splendid horsemen who know how to ride but never how to fall. It is the habit of the Kwanto bushi that if in the field of battle a father be killed, the son will not retreat, or if a son be slain the father will not yield, but stepping over the dead, they will fight to the death."* *Murdoch's History of Japan. The Taira, as noted above, had by this time largely recovered from the disasters suffered in their first encounters with Yoshinaka's forces. In the western provinces of the main island, in Shikoku, and in Kyushu, scions of the clan had served as governors in former times, so that ties of close intimacy had been established with the inhabitants. Since the first flight to Kyushu in August, 1183, their generals, Shigehira, Michimori, Noritsune, and others had defeated the forces of Yoshinaka at Mizushima and those of Yukiiye at Muroyama, so that no less than fourteen provinces of the Sanyo-do and the Nankai-do owned Taira sway, and by the beginning of 1184 they had re-occupied the Fukuhara district, establishing themselves at a position of great natural strength called Ichi-no-tani in the province of Harima. Their lines extended several miles, over which space one hundred thousand men were distributed. They lay within a semi-circle of mountains supposed to be inaccessible from the north; their camp was washed on the south by the sea where a thousand war-vessels were assembled; the east flank rested on a forest, and the west was strongly fortified. On March 21, 1184, the Kamakura armies delivered their assault on this position; Noriyori with fifty-six thousand men against the east flank at Ikuta; Yoshitsune's lieutenants with twenty thousand men against the west at Suma. Little progress was made. Defence and attack were equally obstinate, and the advantage of position as well as of numbers was with the former. But Yoshitsune himself had foreseen this and had determined that the best, if not the only, hope of victory lay in delivering an assault by descending the northern rampart of mountains at Hiyodori Pass. Access from that side being counted impracticable, no dispositions had been made by the Taira to guard the defile. Yoshitsune selected for the venture seventy-five men, among them being Benkei, Hatakeyama Shigetada, and others of his most trusted comrades. They succeeded in riding down the steep declivity, and they rushed at the Taira position, setting fire to everything inflammable. What ensued is soon told. Taken completely by surprise, the Taira weakened, and the Minamoto, pouring in at either flank, completed the rout which had already commenced. Munemori was among the first of the fugitives. He embarked with the Emperor Antoku and the regalia, and steered for Yashima, whither he was quickly followed by the remnants of his force. Shigehira, Kiyomori's fifth son, was taken prisoner. Michimori, Tadanori, and Atsumori were killed. Several illustrative incidents marked this great fight. Michimori's wife threw herself into the sea when she heard of her husband's death. Tomoakira, the seventeen-year-old son of Tomomori, deliberately sacrificed himself to save his father, and the latter, describing the incident subsequently to his brother, Munemori, said with tears: "A son died to save his father; a father fled, leaving his son to die. Were it done by another man, I should spit in his face. But I have done it myself. What will the world call me?" This same Tomomori afterwards proved himself the greatest general on the Taira side. Okabe Tadazumi, a Minamoto captain, took the head of Tadanori but could not identify it. In the lining of the helmet, however, was found a roll of poems and among them one signed "Tadanori:" Twilight upon my path, And for mine inn to-night The shadow of a tree, And for mine host, a flower. This little gem of thought has gleamed on Tadanori's memory through all the centuries and has brought vicarious fame even to his slayer, Tadazumi. Still more profoundly is Japanese sympathy moved by the episode of Taira no Atsumori and Kumagaye Naozane. Atsumori, a stripling of fifteen, was seized by Naozane, a stalwart warrior on the Minamoto side. When Naozane tore off the boy's helmet, preparatory to beheading him, and saw a young face vividly recalling his own son who had perished early in the fight, he was moved with compassion and would fain have stayed his hand. To have done so, however, would merely have been to reserve Atsumori for a crueller death. He explained his scruples and his sorrows to the boy, who submitted to his fate with calm courage. But Naozane vowed never to wield weapon again. He sent Atsumori's head and a flute found on his person to the youth's father, Tsunemori, and he himself entered the priesthood, devoting the remaining years of his life to prayers for the soul of the ill-fated lad. Such incidents do not find a usual place in the pages of history, but they contribute to the interpretation of a nation's character. BATTLE OF YASHIMA The battle of Ichi-no-tani was not by any means conclusive. It drove the Taira out of Harima and the four provinces on the immediate west of the latter, but it did not disturb them in Shikoku or Kyushu, nor did it in any way cripple the great fleet which gave them a signal advantage. In these newly won provinces Yoritomo placed military governors and nominated to these posts Doi Sanehira and Kajiwara Kagetoki, heroes, respectively, of the cryptomeria forest and the hollow tree. But this contributed little to the solution of the vital problem, how to get at the Taira in Shikoku and in Kyushu. Noriyori returned to Kamakura to consult Yoritomo, but the latter and his military advisers could not plan anything except the obvious course of marching an army from Harima westward to the Strait of Shimonoseki, and thereafter collecting boats to carry it across to Kyushu. That, however, was plainly defective strategy. It left the flank of the westward-marching troops constantly exposed to attack from the coast where the Taira fleet had full command of the sea; it invited enterprises against the rear of the troops from the enemy's position at Yashima in Shikoku, and it assumed the possibility of crossing the Strait of Shimonoseki in the presence of a greatly superior naval force. Yet no other plan of operations suggested itself to the Kamakura strategists. Yoshitsune was not consulted. He remained in Kyoto instead of repairing to Kamakura, and he thereby roused the suspicion of Yoritomo, who began to see in him a second Yoshinaka. Hence, in presenting a list of names for reward in connexion with the campaign against the "Morning Sun shogun," Yoritomo made no mention of Yoshitsune, and the brilliant soldier would have remained entirely without recognition had not the cloistered Emperor specially appointed him to the post of kebiishi. Thus, when the largely augmented Minamoto force began to move westward from Harima in October, 1184, under the command of Noriyori, no part was assigned to Yoshitsune. He remained unemployed in Kyoto. Noriyori pushed westward steadily, but not without difficulty. He halted for a time in the province of Suwo, and finally, in March, 1185, five months after moving out of Harima, he contrived to transfer the main part of his force across Shimonoseki Strait and to marshall them in Bungo in the north of Kyushu. The position then was this: first, a Taira army strongly posted at Yashima in Sanuki (Shikoku), due east of Noriyori's van in Bungo, and threatening his line of communications throughout its entire length from Harima to the Strait of Shimonoseki; secondly, another Taira army strongly posted on Hikoshima, an island west of Shimonoseki Strait, which army menaced the communications between Noriyori's van across the water in Bungo and his advanced base in Suwo, and thirdly, the command of the whole Inland Sea in the hands of the Taira. Evidently, in such conditions, no advance into Kyushu could be made by Noriyori without inviting capital risks. The key of the situation for the Minamoto was to wrest the command of the sea from the Taira and to drive them from Shikoku preparatory to the final assault upon Kyushu. This was recognized after a time, and Kajiwara Kagetoki received orders to collect or construct a fleet with all possible expedition, which orders he applied himself to carry out at Watanabe, in Settsu, near the eastern entrance to the Inland Sea. In justice to Yoritomo's strategy it must be noted that these orders were given almost simultaneously with the departure of the Minamoto army westward from Harima, so that by the time of Noriyori's arrival in Bungo, the military governor, Kagetoki, had got together some four hundred vessels at Watanabe. Meanwhile, Yoshitsune had been chafing in Kyoto. To a man of his temperament enforced passivity on the eve of such epoch-making events must have been intolerable. He saw plainly that to drive the Taira from Shikoku was an essential preliminary to their ultimate defeat, and he saw, too, that for such an enterprise a larger measure of resolution and daring was needed than Kajiwara Kagetoki seemed disposed to employ. He therefore obtained from the cloistered Emperor the commission of tai-shogun (great general) and hastened to Settsu to take command. Complications ensued at once. Kagetoki objected to be relegated to a secondary place, and Go-Shirakawa was induced to recall Yoshitsune. But the latter refused to return to Kyoto, and, of course, his relations with Kagetoki were not cordial. The situation was complicated by an unpleasant incident. Kagetoki wished to equip the war-junks with sakaro. Yoshitsune asked what that meant, and being informed that sakaro signified oars at the bow of a boat for use in the event of going astern, he said that such a provision could tend only to suggest a movement fatal to success. "Do you contemplate retiring?" he asked Kagetoki. "So far as I am concerned, I desire only to be equipped for advancing." Kagetoki indignantly replied: "A skilful general advances at the right moment and retires at the right moment. You know only the tactics of a wild boar." Yoshitsune angrily retorted, "I know not whether I am a boar or whether I am a deer, but I do know that I take pleasure in crushing a foe by attacking him." From that moment the relations between the two generals were distinctly strained, and it will presently be seen that the consequences of their estrangement became historical. The 21st of March, 1185, was a day of tempest. Yoshitsune saw his opportunity. He proposed to run over to the opposite coast and attack Yashima under cover of the storm. Kagetoki objected that no vessel could live in such weather. Yoshitsune then called for volunteers. About one hundred and fifty daring spirits responded. They embarked in five war-junks, some of the sailors being ordered to choose between manning the vessels or dying by the sword. Sweeping over the Harima Nada with the storm astern, Yoshitsune and his little band of heroic men landed safely on the Awa coast, and dashed at once to the assault of the Taira, who were taken wholly by surprise, never imagining that any forces could have essayed such an enterprise in such a tempest. Some fought resolutely, but ultimately all that had not perished under the swords of the Minamoto obeyed Munemori's orders to embark, and the evening of the 23rd of March saw the Taira fleet congregated in Shido Bay and crowded with fugitives. There they were attacked at dawn on the 24th by Yoshitsune, to whom there had arrived on the previous evening a re-enforcement of thirty war-junks, sent, not by Kagetoki, but by a Minamoto supporter who had been driven from the province of Iyo some time previously by the Taira. As usual, the impetuosity of Yoshitsune's onset carried everything before it. Soon the Taira fleet was flying down the Inland Sea, and when Kajiwara Kagetoki, having at length completed his preparations, arrived off Yashima on the 25th of March with some four hundred war-vessels, he found only the ashes of the Taira palaces and palisades. Munemori, with the boy Emperor and all the survivors of the Taira, had fled by sea to join Tomomori at Hikoshima. This enterprise was even more brilliant and much more conclusive than that of Ichi-no-tani. During three consecutive days, with a mere handful of one hundred and fifty followers, Yoshitsune had engaged a powerful Taira army on shore, and on the fourth day he had attacked and routed them at sea, where the disparity of force must have been evident and where no adventitious natural aids were available. When every allowance is made for the incompetence of the Taira commander, Munemori, and for the crippling necessity of securing the safety of the child-sovereign, Antoku, the battle of Yashima still remains one of the most extraordinary military feats on record. Among the incidents of the battle, it is recorded that Yoshitsune himself was in imminent peril at one time, and the details illustrate the manner of fighting in that era. He dropped his bow into the sea during the naval engagement, and when he essayed to pick it up, some Taira soldiers hooked his armour with a grapnel. Yoshitsune severed the haft of the grapnel with his sword and deliberately picked up the bow. Asked why he had imperilled his person for a mere bow, he replied, "Had it been a bow such as my uncle Tametomo bent, its falling into the enemy's possession would not matter; but a weak bow like mine would give them something to laugh at." Observing this incident, Noritsune, one of the best fighters and most skilled archers among the Taira, made Yoshitsune the target of his shafts. But Sato Tsuginobu, member of the band of trusted comrades who had accompanied the Minamoto hero from Mutsu, interposed his body and received the arrow destined for Yoshitsune. Kikuo, Noritsune's squire, leaped from his boat to decapitate the wounded Tsuginobu, but was shot down by the latter's younger brother. Yoshitsune pillowed Tsuginobu's head on his knees and asked the dying man whether he had any last message. The answer was: "To die for my lord is not death. I have longed for such an end ever since we took the field. My only regret is that I cannot live to see the annihilation of the Taira." Yoshitsune, weeping, said, "To annihilate the Taira is a mere matter of days, but all time would not suffice to repay your devotion." BATTLE OF DAN-NO-URA The fight at Yashima was followed by a month's interval of comparatively minor operations, undertaken for the purpose of bringing Shikoku completely under Minamoto sway. During that time the two clans prepared for final action. The Taira would have withdrawn altogether into Kyushu, but such a course must have been preceded by the dislodging of Noriyori, with his army of thirty thousand men, from Bungo province, which they had occupied since the beginning of March. It is true that Noriyori himself was unable to make any further incursion into Kyushu so long as his maritime communications with his advanced base in Suwo remained at the mercy of the Taira fleet. But it is equally true that the Taira generals dared not enter Kyushu so long as a strong Minamoto force was planted on the left flank of their route. Thus, a peculiar situation existed at the beginning of April, 1185. Of the two provinces at the extreme south of the main island, one, the eastern (Suwo), was in Minamoto occupation; the other, the western (Nagato), was mainly held by the Taira; and of the three provinces forming the northern littoral of Kyushu, two, the western (Chikuzen and Buzen), were in Taira hands, and the third, the eastern (Bungo), was the camp of Noriyori with his thirty thousand men. Finally, the Strait of Shimonoseki between Chikuzen and Buzen was in Taira possession. Evidently the aim of the Taira must be to eliminate Noriyori from the battle now pending, and to that end they selected for arena Dan-no-ura, that is to say, the littoral of Nagato province immediately east of the Shimonoseki Strait. We have seen that ever since the Ichi-no-tani fight, the Minamoto generals, especially Kajiwara Kagetoki, had been actively engaged in building, or otherwise acquiring, war-junks. By April, 1185, they had brought together a squadron of seven to eight hundred; whereas, in the sequel of Yashima and minor engagements, the Taira fleet had been reduced to some five hundred. The war-junk of those days was not a complicated machine. Propelled by oars, it had no fighting capacities of its own, its main purpose being to carry its occupants within bow-range or sword-reach of their adversaries. Naval tactics consisted solely in getting the wind-gage for archery purposes. By the 22nd of April, 1185, the whole of the Minamoto fleet had assembled at Oshima, an island lying off the southeast of Suwo, the Taira vessels, with the exception of the Hikoshima contingent, being anchored at Dan-no-ura. On that day, a strong squadron, sent out by Yoshitsune for reconnoitring purposes, marshalled itself at a distance of about two miles from the Taira array, and this fact having been signalled to the Taira general, Tomomori, at Hikoshima, he at once passed the strait and joined forces with the main fleet at Dan-no-ura. Yoshitsune's design had been to deliver a general attack immediately after the despatch of the reconnoitring squadron, but this was prevented by a deluge of blinding rain which lasted until the night of the 24th. Thus, it was not until the 25th that the battle took place. It commenced with an inconclusive archery duel at long range, whereafter the two fleets closed up and a desperate hand-to-hand struggle ensued. Neither side could claim any decisive advantage until Taguchi Shigeyoshi deserted from the Taira and passed over with all his ships to the Minamoto. This Taguchi had been originally an influential magnate of Iyo in Shikoku, whence he had accompanied the Taira retreat to Nagato, leaving his son with three thousand men to defend the family manors in Iyo. The son was so generously treated by the Minamoto that he threw in his lot with them and sent letters urging his father to adopt the same cause. Taguchi not only followed his son's advice but also chose the moment most disastrous for the Taira. His defection was followed quickly by the complete rout of the Heike. A resolute attempt was made to defend the ship containing the young Emperor, his mother, his grandmother, and several other Taira ladies; but the vessel finally passed into Minamoto possession. Not before she had been the scene of a terrible tragedy, however. Kiyomori's widow, the Ni-i-no-ama, grandmother of Antoku, took the six-year old child in her arms and jumped into the sea, followed by Antoku's mother, the Empress Dowager (Kenrei-mon-in), carrying the regalia, and by other court ladies. The Empress Dowager was rescued, as were also the sacred mirror and the gem, but the sword was irrevocably lost. The Taira leader, Munemori, and his son, Kiyomune, were taken prisoner, but Tomomori, Noritsune, and seven other Taira generals were drowned. Noritsune distinguished himself conspicuously. He singled out Yoshitsune for the object of his attack, but being unable to reach him, he seized two Minamoto bushi and sprang into the sea with them. Tomomori, Munemori's brother, who had proved himself a most able general, leaped overboard carrying an anchor. Yoshitsune spoke in strongly laudatory terms of Noritsune and ascribed to him much of the power hitherto wielded by the Taira. Munemori and his son were executed finally at Omi. Shigehira, in response to a petition from the Nara priests whose fanes he had destroyed by Kiyomori's orders, was handed over to the monks and put to death by them at Narasaka. But Kiyomori's brother, who had interceded for the life of Yoritomo after the Heiji emeule, was pardoned, his rank and property being restored to him; and Taira no Munekiyo, who also had acted an important part in saving Yoritomo at that time, was invited to visit Kamakura where he would have been received with honour; but he declined the invitation, declaring that a change of allegiance at such a moment would be unworthy of a bushi. It may here be noted that, although several of the Taira leaders who took the field against the Minamoto were killed in the campaign or executed or exiled after it, the punitory measures adopted by Yoritomo were not by any means wholesale. To be a Taira did not necessarily involve Kamakura's enmity. On the contrary, not only was clemency extended to several prominent members of Kiyomori's kith and kin, but also many local magnates of Taira origin whose estates lay in the Kwanto were from first to last staunch supporters and friends of the Minamoto. After Dan-no-ura, the Heike's sun permanently ceased to dominate the political firmament, but not a few Heike stars rose subsequently from time to time above the horizon. MUNEMORI AND ANTOKU The record of Munemori, whose leadership proved fatal to the Taira cause, stamps him as something very rare among Japanese bushi--a coward. He was the first to fly from every battle-field, and at Dan-no-ura he preferred surrender to death. Tradition alleges that in this final fight Munemori's reputed mother, Ni-i-no-ama, before throwing herself into the sea with the Emperor in her arms, confessed that Munemori was not her son. After she had borne Shigemori she became enceinte and her husband, Kiyomori, looked eagerly for the birth of another boy. But a girl was born. Just at that time the wife of a man who combined the occupations of bonze and umbrella-maker, bore a son, and the two children were surreptitiously exchanged. This story does not rest upon infallible testimony. Nor does another narrative, with regard to the motives which induced Kiyomori's widow to drown the young Emperor. Those motives are said to have been two. One was to fix upon the Minamoto the heinous crime of having done a sovereign to death, so that some avenger might rise in future years; the other was to hide the fact that Antoku was in reality a girl whose sex had been concealed in the interest of the child's maternal grandfather, Kiyomori. YOSHITSUNE'S FATE Yoshitsune's signal victories were at Ichi-no-tani and at Yashima. The fight at Dan-no-ura could not have made him famous, for its issue was determined by defection in the enemy's ranks, not by any strategical device or opportune coup on the side of the victors. Yet Japan accords to Yoshitsune the first place among her great captains. Undoubtedly this estimate is influenced by sympathy. Pursued by the relentless anger of his own brother, whose cause he had so splendidly championed, he was forced to fly for refuge to the north, and was ultimately done to death. This most cruel return for glorious deeds has invested his memory with a mist of tears tending to obscure the true outlines of events, so that while Yoritomo is execrated as an inhuman, selfish tyrant, Yoshitsune is worshipped as a faultless hero. Yet, when examined closely, the situation undergoes some modifications. Yoritomo's keen insight discerned in his half-brother's attitude something more than mere rivalry. He discovered the possible establishment of special relations between the Imperial Court and a section of the Minamoto. Yoshitsune's failure to repair to Kamakura after the battle of Ichi-no-tani inspired Yoritomo's first doubts. Japanese annals offer no explanation of Yoshitsune's procedure on that occasion. It would have been in the reasonable sequence of events that the military genius which planned and carried out the great coup at Ichi-no-tani should have been available at the subsequent council of strategists in Kamakura, and it would have been natural that the younger brother should have repaired, as did his elder brother, Noriyori, to the headquarters of the clan's chief. Yet Yoshitsune remained at Kyoto, and that by so doing he should have suggested some suspicions to Yoritomo was unavoidable. The secret of the Court nobles' ability to exclude the military magnates from any share in State administration was no secret in Yoritomo's eyes. He saw clearly that this differentiation had been effected by playing off one military party against the other, or by dividing the same party against itself; and he saw clearly that opportunities for such measures had been furnished by subjecting the military leaders to constant contact with the Court nobility. Therefore, he determined to keep two aims always in view. One was to establish a military and executive capital entirely apart from, and independent of, the Imperial and administrative metropolis; the other, to preserve the unity of the Minamoto clan in all circumstances. Both of these aims seemed to be threatened with failure when Yoshitsune preferred the Court in Kyoto to the camp in Kamakura; still more so when he accepted from Go-Shirakawa rank and office for which Yoritomo had not recommended him, and yet further when he obtained from the ex-Emperor a commission to lead the Minamoto armies westward without any reference to, and in despite of, the obvious intention of the Minamoto chief at Kamakura. All these acts could scarcely fail to be interpreted by Yoritomo as preluding the very results which he particularly desired to avert, namely, a house of Minamoto divided against itself and the re-establishment of Court influence over a strong military party in Kyoto. His apprehensions received confirmation from reports furnished by Kajiwara Kagetoki. Yoritomo trusted this man implicitly. Never forgetting that Kajiwara had saved his life in the affair of the hollow tree, he appointed him to the post of military governor and to the command of the army destined to drive the Taira from Shikoku after the battle of Ichi-no-tani. In that command Kajiwara had been superseded by Yoshitsune, and had moreover been brought into ridicule in connexion not only with the shipbuilding incident but also, and in a far more flagrant manner, with the great fight at Yashima. He seems from the first to have entertained doubts of Yoshitsune's loyalty to Yoritomo, and his own bitter experiences may well have helped to convert those doubts into certainties. He warned Kamakura in very strong terms against the brilliant young general who was then the idol of Kyoto, and thus, when Yoshitsune, in June, 1185, repaired to Kamakura to hand over the prisoners taken in the battle of Dan-no-ura and to pay his respects to Yoritomo, he was met at Koshigoe, a village in the vicinity, by Hojo Tokimasa, who conveyed to him Yoritomo's veto against his entry to Kamakura. A letter addressed by Yoshitsune to his brother on that occasion ran, in part, as follows: Here am I, weeping crimson tears in vain at thy displeasure. Well was it said that good medicine tastes bitter in the mouth, and true words ring harsh in the ear. This is why the slanders that men speak of me remain unproved, why I am kept out of Kamakura unable to lay bare my heart. These many days 1 have lain here and could not gaze upon my brother's face. The bond of our blood-brotherhood is sundered. But a short season after I was born, my honoured sire passed to another world, and I was left fatherless. Clasped in my mother's bosom, I was carried down to Yamato, and since that day I have not known a moment free from care and danger. Though it was but to drag out a useless life, we wandered round the capital suffering hardship, hid in all manner of rustic spots, dwelt in remote and distant provinces, whose rough inhabitants did treat us with contumely. But at last I was summoned to assist in overthrowing the Taira house, and in this conflict I first laid Kiso Yoshinaka low. Then, so that I might demolish the Taira men, I spurred my steed on frowning precipices. Careless of death in the face of the foe, I braved the dangers of wind and wave, not recking that my body might sink to the bottom of the sea, and be devoured by monsters of the deep. My pillow was my harness, arms my trade. [Translated by W. G. Aston.] This letter breathes the spirit of sincerity. But its perusal did not soften Yoritomo, if it ever reached his eyes. He steadily refused to cancel his veto, and after an abortive sojourn of twenty days at Koshigoe, Yoshitsune returned to Kyoto where his conduct won for him increasing popularity. Three months later, Yoritomo appointed him governor of Iyo. It is possible that had not the situation been complicated by a new factor, the feud between the brothers might have ended there. But Minamoto Yukiiye, learning of these strained relations, emerged from hiding and applied himself to win the friendship of Yoshitsune, who received his advances graciously. Yoritomo, much incensed at this development, sent the son of Kajiwara Kagetoki to Yoshitsune with a mandate for Yukiiye's execution. Such a choice of messenger was ill calculated to promote concord. Yoshitsune, pleading illness, declined to receive the envoy, and it was determined at Kamakura that extreme measures must be employed. Volunteers were called for to make away with Yoshitsune, and, in response, a Nara bonze, Tosabo Shoshun, whose physical endowments had brought him into prominence at Kamakura, undertook the task on condition that a substantial reward be given him beforehand. Shoshun did not waste any time. On the eighth night after his departure from Kamakura, he, with sixty followers, attacked Yoshitsune's mansion at Horikawa in Kyoto. By wholesale oaths, sworn in the most solemn manner, he had endeavoured to disarm the suspicions of his intended victim, and he so far succeeded that, when the attack was delivered, Yoshitsune had only seven men to hold the mansion against sixty. But these seven were the trusty and stalwart comrades who had accompanied Yoshitsune from Mutsu and had shared all the vicissitudes of his career. They held their assailants at bay until Yukiiye, roused by the tumult, came to the rescue, and the issue of Shoshun's essay was that his own head appeared on the pillory in Kyoto. Yoshitsune was awakened and hastily armed on this occasion by his beautiful mistress, Shizuka, who, originally a danseuse of Kyoto, followed him for love's sake in weal and in woe. Tokiwa, Tomoe, Kesa, and Shizuka--these four heroines will always occupy a prominent place in Japanese history of the twelfth century. After this event there could be no concealments between the two brothers. With difficulty and not without some menaces, Yoshitsune obtained from Go-Shirakawa a formal commission to proceed against Yoritomo by force of arms. Matters now moved with great rapidity. Yoritomo, always prescient, had fully foreseen the course of events. Shoshun's abortive attack on the Horikawa mansion took place on November 10, 1185, and before the close of the month three strong columns of Kamakura troops were converging on Kyoto. In that interval, Yoshitsune, failing to muster any considerable force in the capital or its environs, had decided to turn his back on Kyoto and proceed westward; he himself to Kyushu, and Yukiiye to Shikoku. They embarked on November 29th, but scarcely had they put to sea when they encountered a gale which shattered their squadron. Yoshitsune and Yukiiye both landed on the Izumi coast, each ignorant of the other's fate. The latter was captured and beheaded a few months later, but the former made his way to Yamato and found hiding-places among the valleys and mountains of Yoshino. The hero of Ichi-no-tani and Yashima was now a proscribed fugitive. Go-Shirakawa, whose fate was always to obey circumstances rather than to control them, had issued a new mandate on the arrival of Yoritomo's forces at Kyoto, and Kamakura was now authorized to exterminate Yoshitsune with all his partisans, wherever they could be found. Almost simultaneously with the capture of Yukiiye, whose fate excites no pity, the fair girl, Shizuka, was apprehended and brought before Hojo Tokimasa, who governed Kyoto as Yoritomo's lieutenant. Little more than a year had elapsed since she first met Yoshitsune after his return from Dan-no-ura, and her separation from him now had been insisted on by him as the only means of saving her life. Indifferent to her own fate, she quickly fell into the hands of Tokimasa's emissaries and was by them subjected to a fruitless examination, repeated with equally abortive results on her arrival at Kamakura. There, in spite of her vehement resistance, she was constrained to dance before Yoritomo and his wife, Masa, but instead of confining herself to stereotyped formulae, she utilized the occasion to chant to the accompaniment of her dance a stanza of sorrow for separation from her lover. It is related that Yoritomo's wrath would have involved serious consequences for Shizuka had not the lady Masa intervened. The beautiful danseuse, being enceinte at the time, was kept in prison until her confinement. She had the misfortune to give birth to a son, and the child was killed by Yoritomo's order, the mother being released. The slaughter of an innocent baby sounds very shocking in modern ears, but it is just to remember that the Kamakura chief and his three younger brothers would all have been executed by Kiyomori had not their escape been contrived by special agencies. The Confucian doctrine, which had passed into the bushi's code, forbade a man to live under the same sky with his father's slayer. Deeds like the killing of Yoshitsune's son were the natural consequence of that doctrine. Meanwhile, Yoshitsune had been passing from one place of concealment to another in the three contiguous provinces of Izumi, Yamato, and Kii. He escaped deadly peril in the Yoshino region through the devotion of Sato Tadanobu, whose brother, Tsuginobu, had died to save Yoshitsune's life in the battle of Yashima. Attacked by the monks of Zo-o-do in overwhelming force, Yoshitsune had prepared to meet death when Tadanobu offered to personify him and hold the position while Yoshitsune escaped. With much difficulty Yoshitsune was induced to consent. Tadanobu not only succeeded in covering the retreat of his chief, but also managed himself to escape to Kyoto where, being discovered, he died by his own hand. Finally, in the spring of 1187, Yoshitsune and his followers, disguised as mendicant friars, made their way up the west coast, and, after hairbreadth escapes, found asylum in the domain of Fujiwara Hidehira, who had protected Yoshitsune in his youth. Hidehira owned and administered the whole of the two provinces of Mutsu and Dewa, which in those days covered some thirty thousand square miles and could easily furnish an army of a hundred thousand men. The attitude of this great fief had always been an object of keen solicitude to Yoritomo. At one time there were rumours that Hidehira intended to throw in his lot with Yoshinaka; at another, that he was about to join hands with the Taira. Yoritomo could never be certain that if the Kwanto were denuded of troops for some westward expedition, an overwhelming attack might not be delivered against Kamakura from the north. Thus, when he learned that Yoshitsune had escaped to Mutsu, all his apprehensions were roused. By that time Hidehira had died, in his ninety-first year, but he had committed to his son, Yasuhira, the duty of guarding Yoshitsune. Hence, when, in the spring of 1188, Kamakura became aware of Yoshitsune's presence in Mutsu, two consecutive messages were sent thither, one from Yoritomo, the other from the Court, ordering Yoshitsune's execution. Yasuhira paid no attention, and Go-Shirakawa commissioned Yoritomo to punish the northern chief's contumacy. Yasuhira now became alarmed. He sent a large force to attack Yoshitsune at Koromo-gawa. Benkei and the little band of comrades who had followed Yoshitsune's fortunes continuously during eight years, died to a man fighting for him, and Yoshitsune, having killed his wife and children, committed suicide. His head was sent to Kamakura. But this did not satisfy Yoritomo. He wanted something more than Yoshitsune's head; he wanted the great northern fief, and he had no idea of losing his opportunity. Three armies soon marched northward. They are said to have aggregated 284,000 of all arms. One moved up the western littoral; another up the eastern, and the third, under Yoritomo himself, marched by the inland route. The men of Mutsu fought stoutly, but after a campaign of some two months, Yasuhira, finding himself in a hopeless position, opened negotiations for surrender. His overtures being incontinently rejected, he appreciated the truth, namely, that Yoritomo was bent upon exterminating the Fujiwara of the north and taking possession of their vast estates. Then Yasuhira fled to Ezo, where, shortly afterwards, one of his own soldiers assassinated him and carried his head to Yoritomo, who, instead of rewarding the man, beheaded him for treachery. Thus, from 1189, Yoritomo's sway may be said to have extended throughout the length and breadth of Japan. In the storehouses of the Fujiwara, who, since the days of Kiyohira had ruled for a hundred years in the north, there were found piles of gold, silver, and precious stuffs with which Yoritomo recompensed his troops. YORITOMO'S SYSTEM The system of government established by Yeritomo towards the close of the twelfth century and kept in continuous operation thereafter until the middle of the nineteenth, was known as the Bakufu, a word literally signifying "camp office," and intended to convey the fact that the affairs of the empire were in the hands of the military. None of the great Japanese captains prior to Yoritomo recognized that if their authority was to be permanent, it must be exercised independently of the Court and must be derived from some source outside the Court. The Taira chief, in the zenith of his career, had sufficient strength to do as Yoritomo did, and at one moment, that is to say, when he established his headquarters at Fukuhara, he appears to have had a partial inspiration. But he never recognized that whatever share he obtained in the administration of State affairs was derived solely from the nature of the office conferred on him by the Court, and could never exceed the functions of that office or survive its loss. The Fujiwara were astuter politicians. By their plan of hereditary offices and by their device of supplying maidens of their own blood to be Imperial consorts, they created a system having some elements of permanency and some measure of independence. ENGRAVING: HACHIMAN SHRINE AT KAMAKURA But it was reserved for Yoritomo to appreciate the problem in all its bearings and to solve it radically. The selection of Kamakura for capital was the first step towards solution. Kamakura certainly has topographical advantages. It is surrounded by mountains except on one face, which is washed by the sea. But this feature does not seem to have counted so much in Yoritomo's eyes as the fact that his father, Yoshitomo, had chosen Kamakura as a place of residence when he exercised military sway in the Kwanto, and Yoritomo wished to preserve the tradition of Minamoto power. He wished, also, to select a site so far from Kyoto that the debilitating and demoralizing influence of the Imperial metropolitan society might be powerless to reach the military capital. Kamakura was then only a fishing hamlet, but at the zenith of its prosperity it had grown to be a city of at least a quarter of a million of inhabitants. During a period of one hundred and fifty years it remained the centre of military society and the focus of a civilization radically different from that of Kyoto. The Taira had invited their own ruin by assimilating the ways of the Fujiwara and of the courtiers; the Minamoto aimed at preserving and developing at Kamakura the special characteristics of the buke. POLICY TOWARDS RELIGION Yoritomo seems to have believed that the Taira had owed their downfall largely to divine wrath, in that they had warred against the monasteries and confiscated manors belonging to shrines and temples. He himself adopted the policy of extending the utmost consideration to religion, whether Shinto or Buddhism, and to its devotees and their possessions. At Kamakura, though it has well-nigh reverted to its original rank as a fishing hamlet, there exist to-day eloquent evidences of the Minamoto chief's reverent mood; among them being the temple of Hachiman; a colossal bronze image of Buddha which, in majesty of conception and execution, is not surpassed by any idol in the world;* a temple of Kwannon, and several other religious edifices, though the tomb of Yoritomo himself is "a modest little monument covered with creepers." *This image was not actually erected by Yoritomo, but the project is attributed to him. YORITOMO'S MEMORIAL It has been stated above that, after the retreat of the Taira from Fukuhara, in 1183, Go-Shirakawa sent an envoy to Kamakura inviting Yoritomo's presence in Kyoto. Restrained, however, by a sense of insecurity,* the Minamoto chief declined to leave Kamakura, and sent in his stead a memorial to the Throne. This document commenced with a statement that the ruin of the Taira had been due not to human prowess but to divine anger against the plunderers of sacred lands. Therefore, all manors thus improperly acquired should be at once restored to their original owners. Passing on to the case of estates taken by the Taira from princes, Court nobles, officials, and private individuals, Yoritomo urged that only by full restitution of this property could a sense of security be imparted to the people. "If any of these manors be now granted to us, the indignation roused by the Taira's doings will be transferred simultaneously with the estates. To change men's misery to happiness is to remove their resentment and repining. Finally," the memorial continued, "if there be any Taira partisans who desire to submit, they should be liberally treated even though their offences deserve capital punishment. I myself was formerly an offender,** but having had the good fortune to be pardoned, I have been enabled to subdue the insurgents. Thus, even men who have been disloyal on the present occasion may serve a loyal purpose at some future time." *Kamakura was always exposed to pressure from the north. It had long been proverbial that white the eight provinces of the Kwanto could defy the whole empire, 0-U (Oshu and Ushu-Mutsu and Dewa) could defy the eight provinces. **In allusion to the fact that owing to the Emperor's presence in the camp of the Taira during the emeule, the Minamoto occupied the position of rebels. On receipt of this memorial, Go-Shirakawa ordered that the manors held by the Taira in the Tokai-do and Tosan-do should all be restored to their original owners, the duty of adjudicating in each case being delegated to Yoritomo. How much of this admirably conceived document was inspired by political acumen we may not venture to judge, but it is proper to note that the principles enunciated in the memorial found expression in the practice of Yoritomo himself. He always extended clemency to a defeated enemy if he deemed the latter's submission to be sincere, and throughout his whole career he showed a strong respect for justice. The men of his time ultimately gave him credit for sincerity, and his memorial won universal approval and popularity. POLITY OF THE KAMAKURA BAKUFU Under the Dadka (A.D. 645) system, various administrative organs were created in accordance with Tang models, and a polity at once imposing and elaborate came into existence. But when the capital was overtaken by an era of literary effeminacy and luxurious abandonment, the Imperial exchequer fell into such a state of exhaustion that administrative posts began to be treated as State assets and bought and sold like commercial chattels, the discharge of the functions connected with them becoming illusory, and the constant tendency being in the direction of multiplication of offices with a corresponding increase of red tape. Yoritomo and his councillors appreciated the evils of such a system and were careful not to imitate it at Kamakura. They took brevity and simplicity for guiding principles, and constructed a polity in marked contrast with that of Kyoto. At the head of the whole stood the shogun, or commander-in-chief of the entire body of bushi, and then followed three sections. They were, first, the Samurai-dokoro, which term, according to its literal rendering, signified "samurai place" and may be appropriately designated "Central Staff Office." Established in 1180, its functions were to promote or degrade military men; to form a council of war; to direct police duties so far as they concerned bushi', to punish crime, and to select men for guards and escorts. The president (betto) obviously occupied a post of prime importance, as he practically controlled all the retainers (keniri) of the Minamoto clan and its allied houses. Its first occupant was Wada Yoshimori, representative of a famous family in the Kwanto, who had greatly distinguished himself in the Gen-Hei War. He held the post until the year 1213, when, taking up arms against Hojo Yoshitoki, he was defeated and killed. Thereafter, it being deemed inadvisable that the functions of such an important office should be delegated independently, they were made supplementary to those of the military regent (shikken), to be presently spoken of. MAN-DOKORO The second of the three great sections of the Bakufu polity was the Mandokoro (literally, "place of administration"), which, at the time of its establishment in 1184, was designated Kumon-jo, the change of name to Man-dokoro being made after Yoritomo's first visit to Kyoto (1190), when he was nominated gon-dainagon as well as general of the Right division of the guards (u-kon-e taisho). In fact, the office Man-dokoro had long existed in the establishment of the civil regent (kwampaku) at the Imperial capital, and a concession to Kyoto usages in the matter of nomenclature appealed to Yoritomo's taste for simplicity. The Man-dokoro had to discharge the duties and general business of the Bakufu. Its president was called betto; its vice-president, rei; there were secretaries, a manager (shitsuji), whose functions were mainly financial, and certain minor officials. Oye no Hiromoto was the first president, and the office of shitsuji became hereditary in the Nikaido family. It will be seen that the betto of the Man-dokoro corresponded to the regent in the Kyoto polity, the only difference being that the former officiated in military government, the latter in civil. The betto of the Man-dokoro was, in fact, designated by the alternative name of shikken (literally, "holder of authority") Thus there were two regents, one in Kyoto, one in Kamakura. In succession to Oye no Hiromoto, the military regency fell to Hojo Tokimasa, and subsequently to his son Yoshitoki, who, as shown above, held the post of betto of the Samurai-dokoro. In short, both offices became hereditary in the Hojo family, who thus acquired virtually all the power of the Bakufu. The shikken, standing at the head of the Samurai-dokoro and the Man-dokoro simultaneously, came to wield such authority that even the appointment of the shogun depended upon his will, and though a subject of the Emperor, he administered functions far exceeding those of the Imperial Court. In the year 1225, a reorganization of the Man-dokoro was effected. An administrative council was added (Hyojoshu), the councillors, fifteen or sixteen in number, being composed, in about equal parts, of men of science and members of the great clans. The regent (shikken) presided ex-officio. MONJU-DOKORO The third of the Bakufu offices was the Monju-dokoro, or "place for recording judicial inquiries;" in other words, a high court of justice and State legislature. Suits at law were heard there and were either decided finally or transferred to other offices for approval. This office was established in 1184. Its president was called shitsuji (manager), indicating that he ranked equally with the Man-dokoro official having the same appellation. The first occupant of the post was Miyoshi Yasunobu. He not only presided over the Monju-dokoro in a judicial capacity but also attended the meetings of the Man-dokoro council (Hyojoshu) ex-officio. This Miyoshi Yasunobu,* as well as the representative of the Nikaido who occupied the post of shitsuji in the Man-dokoro; the Oye family, who furnished the president of the latter, and the Nakahara, who served as the secretaries, were all men of erudition whom Yoritomo invited from Kyoto to fill posts in his administrative system at Kamakura. In these unquiet and aristocratically exclusive times, official promotion in the Imperial capital had largely ceased to be within reach of scholastic attainments, and Yoritomo saw an opportunity to attract to Kamakura men of learning and of competence. He offered to them careers which were not open in Kyoto, and their ready response to his invitations was a principal cause of the success and efficacy that attended the operation of the Bakufu system in the early days. *Miyoshi Yasunobu held the office of chugu no sakan in Kyoto. He was personally known to Yoritomo, and he was instrumental in securing the services of the astute Oye no Hiromoto, whose younger brother, Chikayoshi, was governor of Aki at the time of receiving Yoritomo's invitation. His descendants received the uji of Nagai and Mori; those of Yasunobu, the uji of Ota and Machine, and those of Chikayoshi, the uji of Settsu and Otomo. HIGH CONSTABLES AND LAND-STEWARDS The most far-reaching change effected by Yoritomo was prompted by Oye no Hiromoto, at the close of 1185, when, Yoshitsune and Yukiiye having gone westward from Kyoto, the Kamakura chief entertained an apprehension that they might succeed in raising a revolt in the Sanyo-do, in Shikoku, and in Kyushu. He sought advice from the high officials of the Bakufu as to the best preventive measures, and Oye no Hiromoto presented a memorial urging that the Emperor's sanction be obtained for appointing in each province a high constable (shugo) and a land-steward (jito), these officials being nominated from Kamakura, while Yoritomo himself became chief land-steward (so-jito) and subsequently lord high constable (so-tsuihoshi) for the sixty-six provinces. The object of these appointments was to insure that the control of local affairs should be everywhere in the hands of the Bakufu, whose nominees would thus be in a position to check all hostile movements or preparations. Yoritomo recognized the important bearings of this project. He at once sent Hojo Tokimasa to guard Kyoto and to submit to the Court a statement that it would be far more effective and economical to prevent acts of insurrection than to deal with them after their full development, and that, to the former end, trustworthy local officials should be appointed, the necessary funds being obtained by levying from the twenty-six provinces of the Go-Kinai, Sanin, Sanyo, Nankai, and Saikai a tax of five sho of rice per tan (two bushels per acre). Go-Shirakawa seems to have perceived the radical character of the proposed measure. He evinced much reluctance to sanction it. But Yoritomo was too strong to be defied. The Court agreed, and from that moment military feudalism may be said to have been established in Japan. It has been shown that the land system fixed by the Daiho-ryo had fallen into confusion. Private manors existed everywhere, yielding incomes to all classes from princes to soldiers. In the days of the Fujiwara and the Taira more than one-half of the arable land throughout the empire was absorbed into such estates, which paid no taxes to anyone except their direct owners. The provincial governor appointed by the Court gradually ceased to exercise control over the shoen in his district, unless he happened to be a military man with a sufficient force of armed retainers (kenin) to assert his authority. Hence it became customary for provincial governors not to proceed in person to the place of their function. They appointed deputies (mokudai), and these limited their duties to the collection of taxes from manors. Lands constituting the domains of great families were under the complete control of their holders, and there being no one responsible for the preservation of general peace and order, bandits and other lawbreakers abounded. This state of affairs was remedied by the appointment of high constables and land-stewards. The high constable had to arrest insurgents, assassins, and robbers wherever he found them, and to muster the soldiers for service in the Kyoto guards. The land-steward was to collect taxes from all private manors. Soon, however, these functions were extended, so that the high constables exercised judicial and administrative powers, and the land-stewards not only collected taxes, and, after deducting their own salaries, handed the remainder to those entitled to receive it, but also were responsible for the maintenance of peace and order within the manors entrusted to their charge. High constables and land-stewards alike were responsible to Kamakura alone; they were beyond the jurisdiction of the Imperial Court. Thus, the sway of the Minamoto extended throughout the whole country. It may be stated at once here that the landsteward system did not work altogether satisfactorily. The acts of these officials created friction in several quarters, and they were soon withdrawn from all manors other than those owned or administered by Taira. The high constables remained, however, and were in full control of local military affairs, the Kamakura chief controlling the whole in his capacity of lord high constable. EXEMPTION OF SHRINES AND TEMPLES FROM THE SHUGO SYSTEM In pursuance of his policy of special benevolence towards religious institutions, Yoritomo exempted the manors of temples and shrines from the jurisdiction of high constables. Thus military men were not permitted to make an arrest within the enclosure of a fane, or to trespass in any way on its domains, these being tax-free. REFORM OF THE COURT Yoritomo did not confine himself to re-casting the system of provincial administration. He extended his reforms to the Court, also. Thrice within the short space of five years he had been proscribed as a rebel by Imperial decree once at the instance of the Taira; once at the instance of Yoshinaka, and once at the instance of Yoshitsune. In short, the Court, being entirely without military power of its own, was constrained to bow to any display of force from without. As a means of correcting this state of affairs, Hojo Tokimasa was despatched to the Imperial capital at the close of 1185, to officiate there as high constable and representative of the Bakufu. A strong force of troops was placed at his disposal, and efficient means of speedy communications between the east and the west were organized. Moreover, a new office, that of scrutator (nairari), was instituted, and to him were transferred some of the powers hitherto wielded by the regent (kwampaku). Fujiwara Kanezane was the first occupant of this post. Further, a body of twelve councillors (giso), headed by Kanezane, were organized in the cloistered Emperor's Court (Inchu), and to this council was entrusted the duty of discussing and deciding all State affairs. These important steps were taken early in 1186. Simultaneously, a number of Court officials, including all that had been connected with Yoshitsune and Yukiie, lost their posts, and, shortly afterwards, Kanezane, becoming regent (kwampaku) in place of Fujiwara Motomichi, co-operated with Oye no Hiromoto in effecting many important changes, the latter operating at Kamakura, the former at Kyoto. It may be noted here that Kanezane's descendants received the name of Kujo, those of Motomichi being called Konoe, and the custom of appointing the kwampaku alternately from these two families came into vogue from that time. All the above reforms having been effected during the year 1186, the Bakufu recalled Hojo Tokimasa and appointed Nakahara Chikayoshi to succeed him. But, as the latter was not a scion of a military family, the Court desired to have a Hojo appointed, and Yoritomo acceded by sending Hojo Tokisada. PALACES AND FANES Yoritomo maintained from first to last a reverential attitude towards the Throne and towards religion. It has already been shown how generously he legislated in the matter of estates belonging to temples and shrines, and we may add that his munificence in that respect was stimulated by a terrible earthquake which visited Kyoto in the autumn of 1185. While the city trembled under repeated shocks, the citizens told each other that this was the work of vengeful spirits of the Taira who, having fallen in the great sea-fight, were still without full rites of sepulture. The Kamakura chief seems to have accepted that view, for he not only gave substantial encouragement to the burning of incense and intoning of memorial Sutras, but he also desisted largely from his pursuit of the Taira survivors. Two years later (1187), he sent Oye no Hiromoto to the Imperial capital with authority and ample competence to repair the palaces there. The city was then infested with bandits, a not unnatural product of the warlike era. Chiba Tsunetane, specially despatched from Kamakura, dealt drastically with this nuisance, and good order was finally restored. YORITOMO VISITS KYOTO During the early years of his signal triumphs Yoritomo was invited to Kyoto on several occasions. Various considerations deterred him. He wished, in the first place, to dispel the popular illusion that the Imperial capital was the centre of all dignity and power. People must be taught to recognize that, although Kyoto might be the ultimate source of authority, Kamakura was its place of practical exercise. He wished, in the second place, not to absent himself from Kamakura until he could be absolutely assured that his absence would not afford an opportunity to his enemies; which sense of security was not fully reached until the death of Yoshitsune and Fujiwara no Yasuhira, and the complete subjugation of the great northern fief of Oshti in the year 1189. Finally, he wished to appear in Kyoto, not merely as the representative of military power, but also as a benefactor who had rebuilt the fanes and restored the palaces. On the 2nd of November, in the year 1190, he set out from Kamakura and reached Kyoto on December 5th. His armies had shown that, for the purpose of a campaign, the distance would be traversed in little more than half of that time. But Yoritomo's journey was a kind of Imperial progress. Attended by a retinue designed to surprise even the citizens of the Imperial metropolis, he travelled at a leisurely pace and made a pause of some duration in Owari to worship at his father's tomb. The Court received him with all consideration. He had already been honoured with the first grade of the second rank, so that he enjoyed the right of access to the Presence, and the cloistered Emperor held with him long conversations, sometimes lasting a whole day. But Yoritomo did not achieve his purpose. It is true that he received the appointments of gon-dainagon and general of the Right division of the guards. These posts, however, were more objectionable on account of their limitations than acceptable as marks of honour. Their bestowal was a mere formality, and Yoritomo resigned them in a few days, preferring to be nominated so-tsuihoshi. What he really desired, however, was the office of sei-i tai-shogun (barbarian-subduing great general). This high title had been conferred more than once previously, but only for the purpose of some finite and clearly indicated purpose, on the attainment of which the office had to be surrendered. The Kamakura chief's plan was to remove these limitations, and to make the appointment not only for life but also general in the scope of its functions and hereditary in his own family, reserving to the sovereign the formal right of investiture alone. Go-Shirakawa, however, appreciated the far-reaching effects of such an arrangement and refused to sanction it. Thus, Yoritomo had to content himself with the post of lord high constable of the empire (so-tsuihoshi), an office of immense importance, but differing radically from that of sei-i tai-shogun in that, whereas the latter had competence to adopt every measure he pleased without reference to any superior authority, the former was required to consult the Imperial Court before taking any step of a serious nature. The Minamoto chief returned quietly to Kamakura, but he left many powerful friends to promote his interests in Kyoto, and when Go-Shirakawa died, in 1192, his grandson and successor, Go-Toba, a boy of thirteen, had not occupied the throne more than three months before the commission of sei-i tai-shogun was conveyed to Yoritomo by special envoys. Thereafter it became the unwritten law of the empire that the holder of this high post must be either the head of the principal Minamoto family or an Imperial prince. Never before had there been such encroachment upon the prerogatives of the Crown. We have seen that, in the centuries antecedent to the Daika (A.D. 645) reforms, the sovereign's contact with his subjects had been solely through the medium of the o-omi or the o-muraji. By these, the Imperial commands were transmitted and enforced, with such modifications as circumstances might suggest, nor did the prerogative of nominating the o-omi or the o-muraji belong practically to the Throne. The Daika reforms, copying the Tang polity called into existence a cabinet and a body of officials appointable or removable by the sovereign at will, each entrusted with definite functions. But almost before that centralized system had time to take root, the Fujiwara grafted on it a modification which, in effect, substituted their own family for the o-omi and the o-muraji of previous times. And now, finally, came the Minamoto with their separate capital and their sei-i tai-shogun, who exercised the military and administrative powers of the empire with practically no reference to the Emperor. Yoritomo himself was always willing and even careful to envelop his own personality in a shadow of profound reverence towards the occupant of the throne, but he was equally careful to preserve for Kamakura the substance of power. DEATH OF YORITOMO Yoritomo lived only seven years after he had reached the summit of his ambition. He received the commission of sei-i tai-shogun in the spring of 1192, and, early in 1199, he was thrown from his horse and killed, at the age of fifty-three. He had proceeded to the pageant of opening a new bridge over the Sagami River, and it was popularly rumoured that he had fallen from his horse in a swoon caused by the apparition of Yoshitsune and Yukiiye on the Yamato plain and that of the Emperor Antoku at Inamura promontory. Just twenty years had elapsed since he raised the Minamoto standard in Sagami. His career was short but meteoric, and he ranks among the three greatest statesmen Japan has ever produced, his compeers being Hideyoshi and Ieyasu. YORITOMO's CHARACTER Japanese historians have written much about this illustrious man. Their views may be condensed into the following: Yoritomo was short in stature with a disproportionately large head. He had a ringing voice, gentle manners, an intrepid and magnanimous heart, profound insight, and extraordinary caution. The power of imposing his will upon others was one of his notable characteristics, as was also munificence to those that served him. Retainers of the Taira or of the Minamoto--he made no distinction. All that swore fealty to him were frankly regarded as go-kenin of the Bakufu. Estates were given to them, whether restored or newly bestowed, and they were treated much as were the hatamoto of the Yedo shogunate in later times. He spared no pains to preserve Kamakura against the taint of Kyoto's demoralizing influences. The bushi of the Kwanto were made the centre of society; were encouraged to observe the canons of their caste--frugality, loyalty, truth, valour, and generosity--canons daily becoming crystallized into inflexible laws. When Toshikane, lord of Chikugo, appeared at the Kamakura Court in a magnificent costume, Yoritomo evinced his displeasure by slashing the sleeves of the nobleman's surcoat. Skill in archery or equestrianism was so much valued that it brought quick preferment and even secured pardon for a criminal. On the other hand, neglect of these arts, or conduct unbecoming a samurai, was mercilessly punished. When Hayama Muneyori retired to his province without accompanying the army sent to attack O-U, he was severely censured and deprived of his estates. Cognate instances might be multiplied. In the year 1193, the first case of the vendetta occurred in Japan. Yoritomo organized a grand hunting party on the moors at the southern base of Fuji-yama. Among those that accompanied him was Kudo Suketsune, who had done to death Soga no Sukeyasu. The latter's sons, Sukenari (commonly called Juro) and Tokimune (Goro), having sworn to avenge their father, broke into Yoritomo's camp and took the head of their enemy. The elder was killed in the enterprise; the younger, captured and beheaded. Yoritomo would fain have saved Goro's life, though the youth declared his resolve not to survive his brother. But the Kamakura chief was constrained to yield to the demands of Suketsune's son. He, however, marked his appreciation of Juro and Goro's filial piety by carefully observing their last testament, and by exonerating the Soga estate from the duty of paying taxes in order that funds might be available for religious rites on account of the spirits of the brothers. This encouragement of fidelity may well have been dictated by selfish policy rather than by moral conviction. Yet that Yoritomo took every conspicuous opportunity of asserting the principle must be recorded. Thus, he publicly declared Yasuhira a traitor for having done to death his guest, Yoshitsune, though in so doing Yasuhira obeyed the orders of Yoritomo himself; he executed the disloyal retainer who took Yasuhira's head, though the latter was then a fugitive from the pursuit of the Kamakura armies, and he pardoned Yuri Hachiro, one of Yasuhira's officers, because he defended Yasuhira's reputation in defiance of Yoritomo's anger. Gratitude Yoritomo never failed to practise within the limit of policy. Rumour said that he had fallen in his first battle at Ishibashi-yama. Thereupon, Miura Yoshiaki, a man of eighty-nine, sent out all his sons to search for Yoritomo's body, and closing his castle in the face of the Taira forces, fell fighting. Yoritomo repaid this loyal service by appointing Yoshiaki's son, Wada Yoshimori, to be betto of the Samurai-dokoro, one of the very highest posts in the gift of the Kamakura Government. Again, it will be remembered that when, as a boy of fourteen, Yoritomo had been condemned to death by Kiyomori, the lad's life was saved through the intercession of Kiyomori's step-mother, Ike, who had been prompted by Taira no Munekiyo. After the fall of the Taira, Yoritomo prayed the Court to release Ike's son, Yorimori, and to restore his rank and estates, while in Munekiyo's case he made similar offers but they were rejected. Towards his own kith and kin, however, he showed himself implacable. In Yoshitsune's case it has been indicated that there was much to awaken Yoritomo's suspicions. But his brother Noriyori had no qualities at all likely to be dangerously exercised. A commonplace, simple-hearted man, he was living quietly on his estate in Izu when false news came that Yoritomo had perished under the sword of the Soga brothers. Yoritomo's wife being prostrated by the intelligence, Noriyori bade her be reassured since he, Noriyori, survived. When this came to Yoritomo's ears, doubtless in a very exaggerated form, he sent a band of assassins who killed Noriyori. Assassination was a device from which the Kamakura chief did not shrink at all. It has been shown how he sent Tosabo Shoshun to make away with Yoshitsune in Kyoto, and we now see him employing a similar instrument against Noriyori, as he did also against his half-brother, Zensei. It would seem to have been his deliberate policy to remove every potential obstacle to the accession of his own sons. Many historians agree in ascribing these cruelties to jealousy. But though Yoritomo might have been jealous of Yoshitsune, he could not possibly have experienced any access of such a sentiment with regard to Noriyori or Zensei. Towards religion, it would seem that his attitude was sincere. Not in Kyoto and Kamakura alone did he adopt drastic measures for the restoration or erection of temples and shrines, but also throughout the provinces he exerted his all-powerful influence in the same cause. He himself contributed large sums for the purpose, and at his instance the Courts of the Emperor and of the Bakufu granted special rights and privileges to bonzes who went about the country collecting subscriptions. Thus encouraged, the priests worked with conspicuous zeal, and by men like Mongaku, Jugen, Eisai, and their comrades not only were many imposing fanes erected and many images cast, but also roads were opened, harbours constructed, and bridges built. Yoritomo knew what an important part religion had contributed in past ages to the country's national development, and he did not neglect to utilize its services in the interests, first, of the nation's prosperity and, secondly, of the Bakufu's popularity. Incidentally all this building of fanes and restoration of palaces promoted in no small degree the development of art, pure and applied. Experts in every line made their appearance, and many masterpieces of architecture and sculpture enriched the era. These reflected the change which the spirit of the nation was undergoing in its passage from the delicacy and weakness of the Fujiwara type to the strength, directness, and dignity of the bushi's code. ENGRAVING: CANDLE-STICKS ENGRAVING: SAMURAI'S RESIDENCE IN THE KAMAKURA PERIOD CHAPTER XXVI THE KAMAKURA BAKUFU ABDICATION OF GO-TOBA IN the year 1198, the Emperor Go-Toba abdicated the throne in favour of his son, who reigned during twelve years (1199-1210) under the name of Tsuchi-mikado, eighty-third sovereign. Of Go-Toba much will be said by and by. It will suffice to note here, however, that his abdication was altogether voluntary. Ascending the throne in 1184, at the age of four, he had passed the next eight years as a mere puppet manipulated by his grandfather, Go-Shirakawa, the cloistered Emperor, and on the latter's death in 1192, Go-Toba fell into many of the faults of youth. But at eighteen he became ambitious of governing in fact as well as in name, and as he judged that this could be accomplished better from the Inchu (retired palace) than from the throne, he abdicated without consulting the Kamakura Bakufu. It is more than probable that Yoritomo would have made his influence felt on this occasion had any irregularity furnished a pretext. But the advisers of the Kyoto Court were careful that everything should be in order, and the Kamakura chief saw no reason to depart from his habitually reverent attitude towards the Throne. YORIIYE, THE LADY MASA, AND HOJO TOKIMASA On the demise of Yoritomo (1199), his eldest son, Yoriiye, succeeded to the compound office of lord high constable and chief land-steward (so-shugo-jito), his investiture as shogun being deferred until Kyoto's sanction could be obtained. Yoriiye was then in his eighteenth year, and he had for chief adviser Hatakeyama Shigetada, appointed to the post by Yoritomo's will. He inherited nothing of his father's sagacity. On the contrary, he did not possess even average ability, and his thoughts were occupied almost uniquely with physical pleasures. His mother, Masa, astute, crafty, resourceful, and heroic, well understood the deficiency of his moral endowments, but as her second son, Sanetomo, was only seven years old, Yoriiye's accession presented itself in the light of a necessity. She therefore determined to give him every possible aid. Even during her husband's life she had wielded immense influence, and this was now greatly augmented by the situation. She shaved her head--after the manner of the cloistered Emperors--and taking the name of Ni-i-no-ama, virtually assumed charge of the Bakufu administration in association with her father, Hojo Tokimasa. Exactly what part this remarkable man acted in the episodes of Yoritomo's career, can never be known. He exerted his influence so secretly that contemporary historians took little note of him; and while, in view of his final record, some see in him the spirit that prompted Yoritomo's merciless extirpation of his own relatives, others decline to credit him with such far-seeing cruelty, and hold that his ultimately attempted usurpations were inspired solely by fortuitous opportunity which owed nothing to his contrivance. Wherever the truth may lie as between these views, it is certain that after Yoritomo's death, Hojo Tokimasa conspired to remove the Minamoto from the scene and to replace them with the Hojo. THE DELIBERATIVE COUNCIL The whole coterie of illustrious men--legislators, administrators, and generals--whom Yoritomo had assembled at Kamakura, was formed into a council of thirteen members to discuss the affairs of the Bakufu after his death. This body of councillors included Tokimasa and his son, Yoshitoki; Oye no Hiromoto, Miyoshi Yasunobu; Nakahara Chikayoshi, Miura Yoshizumi, Wada Yoshimori, Hiki Yoshikazu, and five others. But though they deliberated, they did not decide. All final decision required the endorsement of the lady Masa and her father, Hojo Tokimasa. DEATH OF YORIIYE Yoriiye had been at the head of the Bakufu for three years before his commission of shogun came from Kyoto, and in the following year (1203), he was attacked by a malady which threatened to end fatally. The question of the succession thus acquired immediate importance. Yoriiye's eldest son, Ichiman, the natural heir, was only three years old, and Yoritomo's second son, Sanetomo, was in his eleventh year. In this balance of claims, Hojo Tokimasa saw his opportunity. He would divide the Minamoto power by way of preliminary to supplanting it. Marshalling arguments based chiefly on the advisability of averting an armed struggle, he persuaded the lady Masa to endorse a compromise, namely, that to Sanetomo should be given the office of land-steward in thirty-eight provinces of the Kwansai; while to Ichiman should be secured the title of shogun and the offices of lord high constable and land-steward in twenty-eight provinces of the Kwanto. Now the maternal grandfather of Ichiman was Hiki Yoshikazu, a captain who had won high renown in the days of Yoritomo. Learning of the projected partition and appreciating the grave effect it must produce on the fortunes of his grandson, Hiki commissioned his daughter to relate the whole story to Yoriiye, and applied himself to organize a plot for the destruction of the Hojo. But the facts came to the lady Masa's ears, and she lost no time in communicating them to Tokimasa, who, with characteristic promptitude, invited Hiki to a conference and had him assassinated. Thereupon, Hiki's son, Munetomo, assembled all his retainers and entrenched himself in Ichiman's mansion, where, being presently besieged by an overwhelming force of Tokimasa's partisans, he set fire to the house and perished with the child, Ichiman, and with many brave soldiers. The death of his son, of his father-in-law, and of his brother-in-law profoundly affected Yoriiye. He attempted to take vengeance upon his grandfather, Tokimasa, but his emissaries suffered a signal defeat, and he himself, being now completely discredited, was constrained to follow his mother, Masa's, advice, namely, to take the tonsure and retire to the monastery Shuzen-ji in Izu. There he was followed and murdered by Tokimasa's agents. It is apparent that throughout these intrigues the lady Masa made no resolute attempt to support her first-born. She recognized in him a source of weakness rather than of strength to the Minamoto. SANETOMO After Yoriiye's retirement, in 1204, to the monastery in Izu, Masa, with the concurrence of her father, Tokimasa, decided on the accession of her second son, Sanetomo, then in his twelfth year, and application for his appointment to the office of shogun having been duly made, a favourable and speedy reply was received from Kyoto. The most important feature of the arrangement was that Hojo Tokimasa became shikken, or military regent, and thus wielded greater powers than ever--powers which he quickly proceeded to abuse for revolutionary purposes. His policy was to remove from his path, by any and every measure, all potential obstacles to the consummation of his ambition. Among these obstacles were the lady Masa and the new shogun, Sanetomo. So long as these two lived, the Yoritomo family could count on the allegiance of the Kwanto, and so long as that allegiance remained intact, the elevation of the Hojo to the seats of supreme authority could not be compassed. Further, the substitution of Hojo for Minamoto must be gradual. Nothing abrupt would be tolerable. Now the Hojo chief's second wife, Maki, had borne to him a daughter who married Minamoto Tomomasa, governor of Musashi and lord constable of Kyoto, in which city he was serving when history first takes prominent notice of him. This lady Maki seems to have been of the same type as her step-daughter, Masa. Both possessed high courage and intellectual endowments of an extraordinary order, and both were profoundly ambitious. Maki saw no reason why her husband, Hojo Tokimasa, should lend all his great influence to support the degenerate scions of one of his family in preference to the able and distinguished representative of the other branch. Tomomasa was both able and distinguished. By a prompt and vigorous exercise of military talent he had crushed a Heike rising in Ise, which had threatened for a time to become perilously formidable. His mother may well have believed herself justified in representing to Hojo Tokimasa that such a man would make a much better Minamoto shogun than the half-witted libertine, Yoriiye, or the untried boy, Sanetomo. It has been inferred that her pleading was in Tokimasa's ears when he sent a band of assassins to murder Yoriiye in the Shuzen-ji monastery. However that may be, there can be little doubt that the Hojo chief, in the closing episodes of his career, favoured the progeny of his second wife, Maki, in preference to that of his daughter, Masa. Having "removed" Yoriiye, he extended the same fate to Hatakeyama Shigetada, one of the most loyal and trusted servants of Yoritomo. Shigetada would never have connived at any measure inimical to the interests of his deceased master. Therefore, he was put out of the way. Then the conspirators fixed their eyes upon Sanetomo. The twelve-year-old boy was to be invited to Minamoto Tomomasa's mansion and there destroyed. This was the lady Maki's plan. The lady Masa discovered it, and hastened to secure Sanetomo's safety by carrying him to the house of her brother, Yoshitoki. The political career of Hojo Tokimasa ended here. He had to take the tonsure, surrender his post of regent and go into exile in Izu, where he died, in 1215, after a decade of obscurity. As for Minamoto Tomomasa, he was killed in Kyoto by troops despatched for the purpose. This conflict in 1205, though Hojo Tokimasa and Minamoto Tomomasa figured so largely in it, is by some historians regarded as simply a conflict between the ladies Maki and Masa. These two women certainly occupied a prominent place on the stage of events, but the figure behind the scenes was the white-haired intriguer, Tokimasa. Had the lady Maki's son-in-law succeeded Sanetomo, the former would have been the next victim of Tokimasa's ambition, whereafter the field would have been open for the grand climacteric, the supremacy of the Hojo. HOJO YOSHITOKI Crafty and astute as was Hojo Tokimasa, his son Yoshitoki excelled him in both of those attributes as well as in prescience. It was to the mansion of Yoshitoki that Sanetomo was carried for safety when his life was menaced by the wiles of Tokimasa. Yet in thus espousing the cause of his sister, Masa, and his nephew, Sanetomo, against his father, Tokimasa, and his brother-in-law, Tomomasa, it is not to be supposed that Yoshitoki's motive was loyalty to the house of Yoritomo. On the contrary, everything goes to show that he would have associated himself with his father's conspiracy had he not deemed the time premature and the method clumsy. He waited patiently, and when the occasion arrived, he "covered his tracks" with infinite skill while marching always towards the goal of Tokimasa's ambition. The first to be "removed" was Wada Yoshimori, whom Yoritomo had gratefully appointed betto of the Samurai-dokoro. Yoritomo's eldest son, Yoriiye, had left two sons, Kugyo and Senju-maru. The former had taken the tonsure after his father's and elder brother's deaths, in 1204, but the cause of the latter was espoused with arms by a Shinano magnate, Izumi Chikahira, in 1213. On Wada Yoshimori, as betto of the Samurai-dokoro, devolved the duty of quelling this revolt. He did so effectually, but in the disposition of the insurgents' property, the shikken, Yoshitoki, contrived to drive Wada to open rebellion. He attacked the mansion of the shogun and the shikken, captured and burned the former, chiefly through the prowess of his giant son, Asahina Saburo; but was defeated and ultimately killed, Senju-maru, though only thirteen years old, being condemned to death on the pretext that his name had been used to foment the insurrection! After this convenient episode, Yoshitoki supplemented his office of shikken with that of betto of the Samurai-dokoro, thus becoming supreme in military and civil affairs alike. DEATH OF SANETOMO How far Sanetomo appreciated the situation thus created there is much difficulty in determining. The sentiment of pity evoked by his tragic fate has been projected too strongly upon the pages of his annals to leave them quite legible. He had seen his elder brother and two of the latter's three sons done to death. He had seen the "removal" of several of his father's most trusted lieutenants. He had seen the gradual upbuilding of the Hojo power on this hecatomb of victims. That he perceived something of his own danger would seem to be a natural inference. Yet if he entertained such apprehensions, he never communicated them to his mother, Masa, who, from her place of high prestige and commanding intellect, could have reshaped the issue. The fact would appear to be that Hojo Yoshitoki's intrigues were too subtle for the perception of Sanetomo or even of the lady Masa. Yoshitoki had learned all the lessons of craft and cunning that his father could teach and had supplemented them from the resources of his own marvellously fertile mind. His uniformly successful practice was to sacrifice the agents of his crimes in order to hide his own connexion with them, and never to seize an opportunity until its possibilities were fully developed. Tokimasa had feigned ignorance of his daughter's liaison with Yoritomo, but had made it the occasion to raise an army which could be directed either against Yoritomo or in his support, as events ordered. There are strong reasons to think that the vendetta of the Soga brothers was instigated by Tokimasa and Yoshitoki, and that Yoritomo was intended to be the ultimate victim. This was the beginning of a long series of intrigues which led to the deaths of Yoriiye and two of his sons, of Hatakeyama Shigetada, of Minamoto Tomomasa, of Wada Yoshimori, and of many a minor partisan of the Yoritomo family. In the pursuit of his sinister design, there came a time when Yoshitoki had to choose between his father and his sister. He sacrificed the former unhesitatingly, and it is very probable that such a choice helped materially to hide from the lady Masa the true purport of his doings. For that it did remain hidden from her till the end is proved by her failure to guard the life of Sanetomo, her own son, and by her subsequent co-operation with his slayer, Yoshitoki, her brother. A mother's heart would never wittingly have prompted such a course. There is a tradition that Sanetomo provoked the resentment of Masa and Yoshitoki by accepting high offices conferred on him by Kyoto--chunagon, and general of the Left division of the guards--in defiance of Yoritomo's motto, "Wield power in fact but never in name," and contrary to remonstrances addressed to him through the agency of Oye no Hiromoto. There is also a tradition that, under pretense of visiting China in the company of a Chinese bonze, Chen Hosiang, he planned escape to the Kinai or Chugoku (central Japan), there to organize armed resistance to the Hojo designs. But it is very doubtful whether these pages of history, especially the latter, should not be regarded in the main as fiction. Sanetomo was too much of a littérateur to be an astute politician, and what eluded the observation of his lynx-eyed mother might well escape his perception. In 1217, Yoshitoki invited Kugyo from Kyoto and appointed him to be betto of the shrine of Hachiman (the god of War) which stood on the hill of Tsurugaoka overlooking the town of Kamakura. Kugyo was the second and only remaining legitimate son of Yoriiye. He had seen his father and his two brothers done to death, and he himself had been obliged to enter religion, all of which misfortunes he had been taught by Yoshitoki's agents to ascribe to the partisans of his uncle, Sanetomo. Longing for revenge, the young friar waited. His opportunity came early in 1219. Sanetomo, having been nominated minister of the Left by the Kyoto Court, had to repair to the Tsurugaoka shrine to render thanks to the patron deity of his family. The time was fixed for ten o 'clock on the night of February 12th. Oye no Hiromoto, who had cognizance of the plot, hid his guilty knowledge by offering counsels of caution. He advised that the function should be deferred until daylight, or, at any rate, that the shogun should wear armour. Minamoto Nakaakira combatted both proposals and they were rejected. Sanetomo had a vague presentiment of peril. He gave a lock of his hair to one of his squires and composed a couplet: Though I am forth and gone, And tenantless my home; Forget not thou the Spring, Oh! plum tree by the eaves. Then he set out, escorted by a thousand troopers, his sword of State borne by the regent, Yoshitoki. But at the entrance to the shrine Yoshitoki turned back, pretending to be sick and giving the sword to Nakaakira. Nothing untoward occurred until, the ceremony being concluded, Sanetomo had begun to descend a broad flight of stone steps that led from the summit of the hill. Then suddenly Kugyo sprang out, killed Sanetomo and Nakaakira, carrying off the head of the former, and, having announced himself as his father's avenger, succeeded in effecting his escape. But he had been the agent of Yoshitoki's crime, and his survival would have been inconvenient. Therefore, when he appealed to the Miura mansion for aid, emissaries were sent by the regent's order to welcome and to slay him. Sanetomo perished in his twenty-eighth year. All accounts agree that he was not a mere poet--though his skill in that line was remarkable--but that he also possessed administrative talent; that he strove earnestly to live up, and make his officers live up, to the ideals of his father, Yoritomo, and that he never wittingly committed an injustice. ESTABLISHMENT OF THE HOJO REGENCY Thus, after three generations occupying a period of only forty years, the Minamoto family was ruined, and the reins of power were effectually transferred to Hojo hands. It would seem natural, in the sequence of events, that the office of shogun should now descend to the Hojo. But Yoshitoki understood that such a measure would convict him of having contrived the downfall of Yoritomo's progeny in Hojo interests. Therefore a step was taken, worthy of the sagacity of the lady Masa and her brother, the regent. The Bakufu petitioned the Kyoto Court to appoint an Imperial prince to the post of shogun. That would have invested the Kamakura Government with new dignity in the eyes of the nation. But the ex-Emperor, Go-Toba, upon whom it devolved to decide the fate of this petition, rejected it incontinently. His Majesty, as will presently be seen, was seeking to contrive the downfall of the Bakufu, and the idea of associating one of his own sons with its fortunes must have revolted him. In the face of this rebuff, nothing remained for the Bakufu except recourse to the descendants of the Minamoto in the female line. Yoritomo's elder sister had married into the Fujiwara family, and her greatgrandson, Yoritsune, a child of two, was carried to Kamakura and installed as the head of the Minamoto. Not until 1226, however, was he invested with the title of shogun, and in that interval of seven years a momentous chapter was added to the history of Japan. THE SHOKYU STRUGGLE The Shokyu era (1219-1222) gave its name to a memorable conflict between Kyoto and Kamakura. Affairs in the Imperial capital were ruled at that time by the ex-Emperor, Go-Toba. We have seen how, in 1198, he abdicated in favour of his eldest son, Tsuchimikado. It is not impossible that the idea of rebelling, sooner or later, against the Bakufu had begun to germinate in the mind of Go-Toba at that date, but the probability is that, in laying aside the sceptre, his dominant aim was to enjoy the sweets of power without its responsibilities, and to obtain leisure for pursuing polite accomplishments in which he excelled. His procedure, however, constituted a slight to the Bakufu, for the change of sovereign was accomplished without any reference whatever to Kamakura. Tsuchimikado was a baby of three at the time of his accession. He had been chosen by lot from among three sons of Go-Toba, but the choice displeased the latter, and in 1210, Tsuchimikado, then in his fifteenth year, was compelled to abdicate in favour of his younger brother, Juntoku, aged thirteen, the eighty-fourth occupant of the throne. Again, Kamakura was not consulted; but the neglect evoked no remonstrance, for Sanetomo held the post of shogun at the time, and Sanetomo always maintained an attitude of deference towards the Imperial Court which had nominated him to high office. Juntoku held the sceptre eleven years, and then (1221) he, too, abdicated at his father's request. Very different considerations, however, were operative on this occasion. Go-Toba had now definitely resolved to try armed conclusions with the Bakufu, and he desired to have the assistance of his favourite son, Juntoku. Thus three cloistered Emperors had their palaces in Kyoto simultaneously. They were distinguished as Hon-in (Go-Toba), Chu-in (Tsuchimikado) and Shin-in* (Juntoku). As for the occupant of the throne, Chukyo (eighty-fifth sovereign) he was a boy of two, the son of Juntoku. Much has been written about Go-Toba by romanticists and little by sober historians. The pathos of his fate tends to obscure his true character. That he was gifted with exceptional versatility is scarcely questionable; but that he lacked all the qualities making for greatness appears equally certain. That his instincts were so cruel as to make him derive pleasure from scenes of human suffering, such as the torture of a prisoner, may have been due to a neurotic condition induced by early excesses, but it must always stand to his discredit that he had neither judgment to estimate opportunities nor ability to create them. *Shin-in signifies the "original recluse;" Chu-in, the "middle recluse;" and Shin-in "the new recluse." Briefly summarized, the conditions which contributed mainly to the Shokyu struggle had their origin in the system of land supervision instituted by Yoritomo at the instance of Oye no Hiromoto. The constables and the stewards despatched by the Bakufu to the provinces interfered irksomely with private rights of property, and thus there was gradually engendered a sentiment of discontent, especially among those who owed their estates to Imperial benevolence. A well-known record (Tai-hei-ki) says: "In early morn the stars that linger in the firmament gradually lose their brilliancy, even though the sun has not yet appeared above the horizon. The military families did not wantonly show contempt towards the Court. But in some districts the stewards were more powerful than the owners of the estates, and the constables were more respected than the provincial governors. Thus insensibly the influence of the Court waned day by day and that of the military waxed." There were other causes also at work. They are thus summarized by the Kamakura Jidaishi: "The conditions of the time called two parties into existence: the Kyoto party and the military party. To the former belonged not only many officials of Shinto shrines, priests of Buddhist temples, and managers of private manors, but also a few nominal retainers of the Bakufu. These last included men who, having occupied posts in the Imperial capital for a long time, had learned to regard the Court with gratitude; others who had special grievances against the Bakufu, and yet others who, having lost their estates, were ready to adopt any means of recovering them. The family system of the time paid no heed to primogeniture. Parents fixed the succession by favouritism, and made such divisions as seemed expedient in their eyes. During a parent's lifetime there could be no appeal nor any remonstrance. But no sooner was a father's tombstone about to be erected, than his children engaged in disputes or appealed to the courts. Therefore the Bakufu, seeking to correct this evil state of affairs, issued an order that the members of a family should be subservient to the directions of the eldest son; which order was followed, in 1202, by a law providing that disputes between brothers must be compromised, and by another, in 1214, ruling that applications for official posts must have the approval of the members of the applicants' family in conclave instead of being submitted direct, as theretofore. Under such a system of family autocracy it frequently happened that men were ousted from all share in their paternal estates, and these men, carrying their genealogical tables constantly in their pockets, were ready to join in any enterprise that might better their circumstances. Hence the Shokyu struggle may be said to have been, politically, a collision between the Imperial Court and the Bakufu, and, socially, a protest against family autocracy." The murder of Sanetomo inspired the Court with strong hope that a suicidal feud had commenced at Kamakura, and when the Fujiwara baby, Yoritsune, was sent thither, peace-loving politicians entertained an idea that the civil and the military administration would soon be found co-operating. But neither event made any change in the situation. The lady Masa and her brother remained as powerful as ever and as careless of the Court's dignity. Two events now occurred which materially hastened a rupture. One was connected with an estate, in the province of Settsu, conferred by Go-Toba on a favourite--a shirabyoshi, "white measure-marker," as a danseuse of those days was called. The land-steward of this estate treated its new owner, Kamegiku, with contumely, and Go-Toba was sufficiently infatuated to lodge a protest, which elicited from Kamakura an unceremonious negative. One of the flagrant abuses of the time was the sale of offices to Court ladies, and the Bakufu's attitude in the affair of the Settsu estates amounted to an indirect condemnation of such evil practices. But Go-Toba, profoundly incensed, applied himself from that day to mustering soldiers and practising military tactics. The second incident which precipitated an appeal to arms was the confiscation of a manor owned by a bushi named Nishina Morito, who, though a retainer (keriin) of the Bakufu, had taken service at the Imperial Court. Go-Toba asked that the estate should be restored, but Yoshitoki flatly refused. It was then (1221) that Go-Toba contrived the abdication of his son, Juntoku, a young man of twenty-four, possessing, apparently, all the qualities that make for success in war, and thereafter an Imperial decree deprived Yoshitoki of his offices and declared him a rebel. The die was now cast. Troops were summoned from all parts of the Empire to attack Kamakura, and a motley crowd mustered in Kyoto. STEPS TAKEN BY THE BAKUFU It was on June 6, 1221, that the Imperial decree outlawing Hojo Yoshitoki appeared, and three days later Kamakura was informed of the event. The lady Masa at once summoned the leading generals of the Bakufu to her presence and addressed them thus: "To-day the time of parting has come. You know well what kind of work the late shogun, my husband, accomplished. But slanderers have misled the sovereign and are seeking to destroy the Kwanto institutions. If you have not forgotten the favours of the deceased shogun, you will join hearts and hands to punish the traducers and to preserve the old order. But if any of you wish to proceed to the west, you are free to do so." This astute appeal is said to have moved the generals greatly. There was not one instance of disaffection; a sufficiently notable fact when we remember that the choice lay between the Throne and the Bakufu. A military council was at once convened by Yoshitoki to discuss a plan of campaign, and the view held by the great majority was that a defensive attitude should be adopted by guarding the Ashigara and Hakone passes. Alone, Oye no Hiromoto opposed that programme. Regarding the situation from a political, not a strategical, standpoint, he saw that every day they remained unmolested must bring an access of strength to the Imperial forces, and he strenuously urged that a dash should be made for Kyoto at once. Even the lady Masa did not rise to Hiromoto's height of discernment; she advocated a delay until the arrival of the Musashi contingent. Another council was convened, but Hiromoto remained inflexible. He went so far as to urge that the Musashi chief--Yoshitoki's eldest son, Yasutoki--ought to advance alone, trusting his troops to follow. Then the lady Masa summoned Miyoshi Yasunobu and asked his opinion. He said: "The fate of the Kwanto is at stake. Strike at once." Thereupon Hojo Yoshitoki ordered Yasutoki, his son, to set out forthwith from Kamakura, though his following consisted of only eighteen troopers. Thereafter, other forces mustered in rapid succession. They are said to have totalled 190,000. Tokifusa, younger brother of Yasutoki, was adjutant-general, and the army moved by three routes, the Tokai-do, the Tosan-do, and the Hokuriku-do, all converging upon the Imperial capital. On the night of his departure from Kamakura, Yasutoki galloped back all alone and, hastening to his father's presence, said: "I have my orders for the disposition of the forces and for their destination. But if the Emperor in person commands the western army, I have no orders to guide me." Hojo Yoshitoki reflected for a time and then answered: "The sovereign cannot be opposed. If his Majesty be in personal command, then strip off your armour, cut your bow-strings, and assume the mien of low officials. But if the Emperor be not in command, then fight to the death. Should you be defeated I will never see your face again." THE STRUGGLE When they learned that a great army was advancing from the Kwanto, the courtiers in Kyoto lost heart at once. There was no talk of Go-Toba or of Juntoku taking the field. Defensive measures were alone thought of. The Imperialist forces moved out to Mino, Owari, and Etchu. Their plan was to shatter the Bakufu columns separately, or, if that might not be, to fall back and cover the capital. It was a most unequal contest. The Kyoto troops were a mere mob without intelligence or coherence. They broke everywhere under the onset of the Kwanto veterans. At the river Uji, where their last stand was made, they fought gallantly and obstinately. But their efforts only deferred the result by a few hours. On the twenty-fifth day (July 6, 1221) after he had marched out of Kamakura, Yasutoki entered Kyoto. The Throne had no hesitation as to the course to be pursued in such circumstances. From the palace of the Shin-in a decree was issued restoring the official titles of the Hojo chief, and cancelling the edict for his destruction, while, through an envoy sent to meet him, he was informed that the campaign against the Bakufu had been the work of irresponsible subjects; that the sovereign did not sanction it, and that any request preferred by Kamakura would be favourably considered. Yasutoki received these gracious overtures with a silent obeisance, and taking up his quarters at Rokuhara, proceeded to arrest the leaders of the anti-Bakufu enterprise; to execute or exile the courtiers that had participated in it, and to confiscate all their estates. In thus acting, Yasutoki obeyed instructions from his implacable father in Kamakura. He himself evinced a disposition to be merciful, especially in the case of the Court nobles. These he sent eastward to the Bakufu capital, which place, however, very few of them reached alive, their deaths being variously compassed on the way. To the Imperial family no pity was shown. Even the baby Emperor* was dethroned, and his place given to Go-Horikawa (1221-1232), the eighty-sixth sovereign, then a boy of ten, son of Morisada, Go-Toba's elder brother. Go-Toba, himself was banished to the island of Oki, and Juntoku to Sado, while Tsuchimikado, who had essayed to check the movement against the Bakufu, might have remained in Kyoto had not the exile of his father and brother rendered the city intolerable. At his own request he was transferred, first, to Tosa, and then, to Awa. The three ex-Emperors died in exile. Go-Toba seems to have suffered specially from his reverse of fortunes. He lived in a thatched hut barely impervious to rain, and his lot is said to have been pitiful, even from the point of view of the lower orders. *To this child, Kanenari, who lived a virtual prisoner in Kyoto for thirteen years subsequently, the Bakufu declined to give the title of Emperor. Not until the Meiji Restoration (1870) was he enrolled in the list of sovereigns under the name of Chukyo. YASUTOKI'S EXPLANATION There had not been any previous instance of such treatment of the Imperial family by a subject, and public opinion was not unnaturally somewhat shocked. No little interest attaches, therefore, to an explanation given by Yasutoki himself and recorded in the Biography of Saint Myoe (Myoe Shonin-deri). Visiting the temple after his victory, Yasutoki was thus addressed by Myoe: The ancients used to say, "When men are in multitude they may overcome heaven for a moment, but heaven in the end triumphs." Though a country be subdued by military force, calamities will soon overtake it unless it be virtuously governed. From time immemorial in both Japan and China sway founded on force has never been permanent. In this country, since the Age of Deities down to the present reign, the Imperial line has been unbroken through ninety generations. No prince of alien blood has ascended the throne. Everything in the realm is the property of the Crown. Whatever the Throne may appropriate, the subject must acquiesce. Even life must be sacrificed if the cause of good government demands it. But you have broken an Imperial army; destroyed Imperial palaces; seized the persons of sovereigns; banished them to remote regions, and exiled Empresses and princes of the Blood. Such acts are contrary to propriety. Heaven will inflict punishment. These words are said to have profoundly moved Yasutoki. He replied: I desire to express my sincere views. The late shogun (Yoritomo) broke the power of the Heike; restored peace of mind to the Court; removed the sufferings of the people, and rendered loyal service to the sovereign. Among those that served the shogun there was none that did not reverence the Emperor. It seems that his Majesty recognized these meritorious deeds, for he bestowed ranks and titles. Yoritomo was not only appointed dainagon and taisho, but also given the post of so-tsuihoshi with powers extending to all parts of the empire. Whenever such honours were offered, he firmly declined to be their recipient, his contention being that not for personal reward but for the sake of the Throne he had striven to subdue the insurgents and to govern the people mercifully. Pressed again and again, however, he had been constrained finally to accede, and thus his relatives also had benefitted, as my grandfather, Tokimasa, and my father, Yoshitoki, who owed their prosperity to the beneficence of the cloistered Emperor. But after the demise of his Majesty and of the shogun, the Court's administration degenerated. The loyal and the faithful were not recognized and often the innocent were punished. When it was reported that an Imperial army numbering tens of thousands was advancing against the Kwanto, my father, Yoshitoki, asked my views as to dealing with it. I replied: "The Kwanto has been loyal and has erred in nothing. Yet we are now to be punished. Surely the Court is in error? Still the whole country belongs to the sovereign. What is now threatened must take its course. There is nothing for us but to bow our heads, fold our hands, and supplicate for mercy. If, nevertheless, death be our portion, it will be lighter than to live disloyal. If we be pardoned, we can end our lives in mountain forests." My father, after reflecting for a space, answered: "What you say may be right, but it applies only when the sovereign has properly administered the country. During the present reign, however, the provinces under Imperial sway are in confusion; the peace is disturbed, and the people are in misery; whereas those under the Bakufu are peaceful and prosperous. If the administration of the Court be extended to all the land, misrule and unhappiness will be universal. I do not resist the mandate for selfish reasons. I resist it in the cause of the people. For them I sacrifice my life if heaven be not propitious. There are precedents. Wu of Chou and Kao-tsu of Han acted similarly, but, when victorious, they themselves ascended the throne, whereas if we succeed, we shall merely set up another prince of the same dynasty. Amaterasu and Hachiman will not reproach us. We will punish only the evil councillors who have led the Throne astray. You will set out with all expedition." Thus instructed, I took the road to Kyoto. But before departing, I went to worship at the shrine of Hachiman. There I prayed that if my taking the field was improper, I might be struck dead forthwith; but that if my enterprise could in any wise aid the country, bring peace to the people, and contribute to the prosperity of the shrines and temples, then might I receive the pity and sympathy of heaven. I took oath before the shrine of Mishima Myojin, also, that my purpose was free from all selfish ambition. Thus, having placed my life in the hand of heaven, I awaited my fate. If to this day I have survived all peril, may I not regard it as an answer to my prayer? A difference will be detected between the views here attributed to Yoshitoki and his previously narrated instructions to his son, Yasutoki. There can be little doubt that the record in the Myoe Shonin-den is the correct version. Yoshitoki obeyed the Chinese political ethics; he held that a sovereign had to answer for his deeds at the bar of public opinion. Yasutoki's loyalty was of a much more whole-hearted type: he recognized the occupant of the throne as altogether sacrosanct. If he obeyed his father's instructions in dealing with the Court, he condemned himself to the constant companionship of regret, which was reflected in the excellence of his subsequent administration. ADMINISTRATIVE CHANGES By the Shokyu war the camera system of administration (Insei) at the Court was destroyed, and a great change took place in the relations of the Throne to the Bakufu. For, whereas the latter's authority in Kyoto had hitherto been largely nominal, it now became a supreme reality. Kamakura had been represented in the Imperial capital by a high constable only, whereas two special officials, called "inquisitors" (tandai) were now appointed, and the importance attaching to the office becomes apparent when we observe that the first tandai were Yasutoki himself and his uncle, Tokifusa. They presided over administrative machinery at the two Rokuhara--in the northern and southern suburbs of the city--organized exactly on the lines of the Kamakura polity; namely, a Samurai-dokoro, a Man-dokoro, and a Monju-dokoro. Further, in spite of imposing arrangements in Kyoto, no question was finally decided without previous reference to Kamakura, which thus became, in very truth, the administrative metropolis of the empire. THE SHIMPO-JITO When Yoritomo appointed retainers of his own to be land-stewards in the various manors, these officials did not own the estates where they were stationed; they merely collected the taxes and exercised general supervision. After the Shokyu struggle, however, some three thousand manors, hitherto owned by courtiers hostile to the Bakufu, were confiscated by the latter and distributed among the Minamoto, the Hojo, and their partisans. The recipients of these estates were appointed also to be their land-stewards, and thus there came into existence a new class of manor-holders, who were at once owners and jito, and who were designated shimpo-jito, or "newly appointed land-stewards," to distinguish them from the hompo-jito, or "originally appointed." These shimpo-jito, in whom were vested at once the rights of ownership and of management, were the first genuine feudal chiefs in Japan--prototypes of the future daimyo and shomyo. It should be here noted that, in the distribution of these confiscated estates, the Kamakura regent, Yoshitoki, did not benefit to the smallest extent; and that the grants made to the two tandai in Kyoto barely sufficed to defray the charges of their administrative posts. Yoshitoki is, in truth, one of the rare figures to whom history can assign the credit of coveting neither wealth nor station. Out of the three thousand manors that came into his hands as spolia opima of the Shokyu war, he might have transferred as many as he pleased to his own name; and wielding absolute authority in Kyoto, he could have obtained any title he desired. Yet he did not take a rood of land, and his official status at the time of his death was no higher than the fourth rank. THE BUILDERS OF THE BAKUFU The great statesmen, legislators, and judges who contributed so much to the creation of the Bakufu did not long survive the Shokyu struggle. Miyoshi Yasunobu, who presided over the Department of Justice (Monju-dokoro) from the time of its establishment, had been attacked by mortal sickness before the Imperial army commenced its march eastward. His last advice was given to the lady Masa when he counselled an immediate advance against Kyoto. Soon afterwards he died at the age of eighty-two. The great Oye no Hiromoto, who contributed more than any other man to the conception and organization of the Kamakura system, and of whom history says that without him the Minamoto had never risen to fame, survived his colleague by only four years, dying, in 1225, at the age of seventy-eight. The lady Masa, one of the world's heroines, expired in the same year, and 1224 had seen the sudden demise of the regent, Hojo Yoshitoki. Fortunately for the Bakufu, the regent's son, Yasutoki, proved himself a ruler of the highest ability, and his immediate successors were not less worthy of the exalted office they filled. ENGRAVING: SILK TASSEL ENGRAVING: ITSUKUSHIMA JINJA (SHRINE), AT MIYAJIMA CHAPTER XXVII THE HOJO THE HOJO IN KYOTO THERE was nothing perfunctory in the administration of the "Two Rokuhara" (Ryo-Rokuhara) in Kyoto. The northern and the southern offices were presided over by the most prominent members of the Hojo family, men destined to fill the post of regent (shikkeri) subsequently in Kamakura. Thus, when Hojo Yoshitoki died suddenly, in 1224, his son, Yasutoki, returned at once to Kamakura to succeed to the regency, transferring to his son, Tokiuji, the charge of northern Rokuhara, and a short time afterwards the control of southern Rokuhara was similarly transferred from Yoshitoki is brother, Tokifusa, to the latter's son, Tokimori. Nominally, the jurisdiction of the two Rokuhara was confined to military affairs, but in reality their influence extended to every sphere within Kyoto and to the Kinai and the Saikai-do without. THE HYOJOSHU So long as the lady Masa lived, the administrative machinery at Kamakura suggested no sense of deficiency. That great woman accepted all the responsibility herself. But in the year (1225) of her death, Yasutoki, who had just succeeded to the regency, made an important reform. He organized within the Man-dokoro a council of fifteen or sixteen members, which was called the Hyojo-shu, and which virtually constituted the Bakufu cabinet. The Samurai-dokoro and the Monju-dokoro remained unchanged, but the political administration passed from the Monju-dokoro to the Hyojoshu, and the betto of the former became in effect the finance minister of the shogun. THE GOOD ADMINISTRATION OF THE HOJO Commencing with Yasutoki (1225), down to the close of the thirteenth century, Japan was admirably ruled by a succession of Hojo regents. Among them, Yasutoki deserves the highest credit, for he established a standard with the aid of very few guiding precedents. When he came into power he found the people suffering grievously from the extortions of manorial chiefs. It was not an uncommon practice for the owner of an estate to hold in custody the wives and daughters of defaulting tenants until the latter paid their rents, however exorbitant, and seldom indeed did the holder of a manor recognize any duty of succouring the peasants in time of distress. The former cruel practice was strictly forbidden by Yasutoki, and, to correct the latter defect, he adopted the plan of setting a fine example himself. It is recorded that in the Kwanki era (1229-1232), when certain places were suffering from crop failure, the regent distributed nine thousand koku of rice (45,000 bushels approximately) among the inhabitants and remitted all taxes throughout more than one thousand districts. In the Azuma Kagami, a contemporaneous history generally trustworthy, we find various anecdotes illustrative at once of the men and the ethics of the time. Thus, it is related that the farmers of a village called Hojo being in an embarrassed condition, seed-rice was lent to them in the spring by the regent's order, they undertaking to repay it in the autumn. But a storm having devastated their fields, they were unable to keep their pledge. Nothing seemed to offer except flight. When they were on the eve of decamping, however, they received from Yasutoki an invitation to a feast at which their bonds were burned in their presence and every debtor was given half a bushel of rice. Elsewhere, we read that the regent himself lived in a house so unpretentious that the interior was visible from the highroad, owing to the rude nature of the surrounding fence. Urged to make the fence solid, if only as a protection against fire, his reply was: "However economically a new wall and fence be constructed, the outlay would be at the cost of the people. As for me, if I do my duty to the State, my life and my house will be safe. If I fail, the strongest fence will not avail." In estimating what his bountiful assistance to the farmers meant, it is necessary to remember that he was very poor, The greater part of the comparatively small estates bequeathed to him by his father he divided among his half-brothers by a Fujiwara mother, reserving to himself only a little, for, said he: "I am the regent. What more do I desire?" One day, while attending a meeting of the Hyojoshu, he received news that the house of his brother, Tomotoki, was attacked. Immediately he hastened to the rescue with a small band of followers. Subsequently, one of his principal retainers remonstrated with him for risking his life in an affair so insignificant. Yasutoki answered: "How can you call an incident insignificant when my brother's safety was concerned? To me it seemed as important as the Shokyu struggle. If I had lost my brother, what consolation would my rank have furnished?" Yasutoki never made his rank a pretext for avoiding military service; he kept his watch in turn with the other guards, remaining up all night and attending to all his duties. When he periodically visited the temple of Yoritomo, he always worshipped without ascending to the aisle, his reason being that, were the shogun, Yoritomo, alive, the regent would not venture to sit on the dais by his side. Thrifty and eminently practical, he ridiculed a priest who proposed to tranquillize the nation by building fanes. "How can peace be brought to the people," he asked, "by tormenting them to subscribe for such a purpose?" He revered learning, regarded administration as a literary art rather than a military, and set no store whatever by his own ability or competence. THE JOEI CODE The most memorable achievement during Yasutoki's regency was the compilation of a code of law called the Joei Shikimoku* after the name of the era (Joei, 1232-1233) when it was promulgated. What rendered this legislation essentially necessary was that the Daiho code of the eighth century and all the laws founded on it were inspired primarily by the purpose of centralizing the administrative power and establishing the Throne's title of ownership in all the land throughout the realm, a system diametrically opposed to the spirit of feudalism. This incongruity had made itself felt in Yoritomo's time, and had suggested the compilation of certain "Rules for Decisions" (Hanketsu-rei), which became the basis of the Joei code in Yasutoki's days. Another objection to the Daiho code and its correlated enactments was that, being written with Chinese ideographs solely, they were unintelligible to the bulk of those they concerned. Confucius laid down as a fundamental maxim of government that men should be taught to obey, not to understand, and that principle was adopted by the Tokugawa in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. But in the thirteenth, the aim of Yasutoki and his fellow legislators was to render the laws intelligible to all, and with that object they were indited mostly in the kana syllabary. *Called also the Kwanto Goseibai Shikimoku. The actual work of compilation was done by Hokkyo Enzen (a renowned bonze), but the idea originated with Hojo Yasutoki and Miyoshi Yasutsura, and every provision was carefully scanned and debated by the Bakufu's State council (Hyojoshu). There was no intention of suppressing the Daiho code. The latter was to remain operative in all regions to which the sway of the Kyoto Court extended direct. But in proportion as the influence of the Bakufu grew, the Joei laws received new adherents and finally became universally effective. A great modern authority, Dr. Ariga, has opined that the motive of the Bakufu legislation was not solely right for right's sake. He thinks that political expediency figured in the business, the Kamakura rulers being shrewd enough to foresee that a reputation for administering justice would prove a potent factor in extending their influence. If so, the scheme was admirably worked out, for every member of the council had to sign a pledge, inserted at the end of the Shikimoku, invoking* the vengeance of heaven on his head if he departed from the laws or violated their spirit in rendering judgment. Nothing, indeed, stands more signally to the credit of the Bakufu rulers from the days of Yoritomo and his wife, Masa, downwards, than their constant endeavour to do justice between man and man. *"This oath indicates, among other things, the deep sense of the importance of unanimity, of a united front, of the individual sharing fully in the collective responsibility, that was cherished by the Bakufu councillors. This was, indeed, one of the chief secrets of the wonderful stability and efficiency of the machine." (Murdoch.) NATURE OF THE CODE The Joei Shikimoku is not a voluminous document: it contains only fifty-one brief articles, which the poet Basho compares to the luminosity of the full moon. It has been excellently translated and annotated by Mr. Consul-General J. C. Hall in the "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan" (Vol. XXXIV, Part I), and Mr. J. Murdoch, in his admirable History of Japan, summarizes its provisions lucidly. We learn that slavery still existed in the thirteenth century in Japan; but the farmer was guarded against cruel processes of tax-collecting and enjoyed freedom of domicile when his dues were paid. Fiefs might not be sold, but a peasant might dispose of his holding. "Village headmen, while held to a strict discharge of their duties and severely punished for various malpractices, were safeguarded against all aggression or undue interference on the part of the jito. The law of property was almost entirely synonymous with that of fiefs. These, if originally conferred for public services rendered by the grantee, could not be sold. On the death of the holder it was not necessarily the eldest son--even though legitimate--that succeeded. The only provision affecting the father's complete liberty of bequest or gift to his widow--or concubine, in one article--or children, was that a thoroughly deserving eldest son, whether of wife or concubine, could claim one-fifth of the estate. "Not only could women be dowered with, or inherit, fiefs, and transmit a legal title to them to their own children, but a childless woman was even fully empowered to adopt an heir. Yoritomo had been the first to sanction this broadminded and liberal principle. In Kamakura, an adulterer was stripped of half of his fief if he held one; and if he had none, he was banished. For an adulteress the punishment was no severer, except that if she possessed a fief, the whole of it was confiscated. A good many sections of the code deal with legal procedure and the conduct and duty of magistrates, the great objects being to make the administration of justice simple, prompt, and pure, while repressing everything in the shape of pettifogging or factious litigation. "The penalties were neither cruel nor ferocious. Death for the worst offences--among which theft is specially mentioned--confiscation of fief, and banishment, these exhaust the list. The only other punishment mentioned is that of branding on the face, inflicted on a commoner for the crime of forgery, a bushi's punishment in this case being banishment, or simply confiscation of his fief, if possessed of one. "Bakufu vassals were strictly forbidden directly to solicit the Imperial Court for rank or office; they must be provided with a special recommendation from Kamakura. But once invested with Court rank, they might be promoted in grade without any further recommendation, while they were free to accept the position of hebiishi. Analogous restrictions were placed on the Kwanto clergy, who were to be summarily removed from their benefices if found appealing to Kyoto for promotion, the only exception being in favour of Zen-shu priests. In their case the erring brother guilty of such an offence got off comparatively lightly--'an influential member of the same sect will be directed to administer a gentle admonition.' The clergy within the Bakufu domains were to be kept strictly in hand; if they squandered the revenues of their incumbency and neglected the fabric and the established services therein, they were to be displaced. As regards the monasteries and priests outside the Bakufu domain, the case was entirely different; they were virtually independent, and Kamakura interfered there only when instructed to do so by Imperial decree."* *Murdoch's History of Japan. FURTHER LEGISLATION It is not to be supposed that the Joei Shikimoku represents the whole outcome of Kamakura legislation. Many additions were made to the code during the fourteenth century, but they were all in the nature of amplifications or modifications. Kyoto also was busy with enactments in those times--busier, indeed, than Kamakura, but with smaller practical results. FALL OF THE MIURA Yasutoki died in 1242, having held the regency (shikken) for eighteen years. His two sons had preceded him to the grave, and therefore his grandson, Tsune-toki, became shikken. Tsunetoki resembled his grandfather in many respects, but, as he died in 1246, he had little opportunity of distinguishing himself. Nevertheless, during his brief tenure of power, he took a step which had momentous consequences. It will be remembered that after the murder of Minamoto Sanetomo by his nephew Kugyo, in 1219, some difficulty was experienced in persuading the Imperial Court to appoint a successor to the shogunate, and finally the choice fell upon Fujiwara Yoritsune, then a child of two, who was not actually nominated shogun until 1226. This noble, when (1244) in the twenty-seventh year of his age and the eighteenth of his shogunate, was induced by the regent, Tsunetoki, to resign, the alleged reason being portents in the sky, and a successor was found for him in his son, Yoritsugu. Now, for many years past the Miura family had ranked next to the Hojo in power and above it in wealth, but the two had always been loyal friends. Some umbrage was given to the Miura at this time, however, owing to the favours enjoyed at the regency by the Adachi family, one of whose ladies was the mother of the two shikken, Tsunetoki and Tokiyori. The situation thus created had its issue in a plot to kill Tokiyori, and to replace him by an uncle unconnected with the Adachi. Whether the Miura family were really involved in this plot, history gives no definite indication; but certainly the ex-shogun, Yoritsune, was involved, and his very marked friendship with Miura Mitsumura could scarcely fail to bring the latter under suspicion. In the end, the Miura mansion was suddenly invested by a Hojo force. Mitsumura and his elder brother, Yasumura, escaped to a temple where, after a stubborn resistance, they and 270 of their vassals committed suicide. No mercy was shown. The Miura were hunted and slaughtered everywhere, their wide, landed estates being confiscated and divided among the Bakufu, the fanes, and the courtiers at Kyoto. The terribly drastic sequel of this affair illustrates the vast power wielded by the Hojo throughout the empire in the thirteenth century. Yoritomo's system of high constables and land-stewards brought almost every part of the country under the effective sway of Kamakura. It is not to be supposed, however, that these high constables and land-stewards were suffered to subject the people within their jurisdiction to arbitrary or extortionate treatment. Not only could complaints of any such abuses count on a fair hearing and prompt redress at the hands of the Bakufu, but also inspectors were despatched, periodically or at uncertain dates, to scrutinize with the utmost vigilance the conduct of the shugo and jito, who, in their turn, had a staff of specially trained men to examine the land survey and adjust the assessment and incidence of taxation. ENGRAVING: HOJO TOKIYORI HOJO TOKIYORI Tokiyori, younger brother of Tsunetoki, held the post of shikken at the time of the Miura tragedy. He had succeeded to the position, in 1246, on the death of Tsunetoki, and he nominally abdicated in 1256, when, in the sequel of a severe illness, he took the tonsure. A zealous believer, from his youth upwards, in the doctrines of the Zen sect of Buddhism, he built a temple called Saimyo-ji among the hills of Kamakura, and retired thither to tend his health--entrusting the office of shikken to a relative, Nagatoki, as his own son, Tokimune, was still of tender age--but continuing himself to administer military and judicial affairs, especially when any criminal or civil case of a complicated or difficult nature occurred. Thus, there was a cloistered regent at Kamakura, just as there had so often been a cloistered Emperor in Kyoto. Tradition has busied itself much with Tokiyori's life. He carried to extreme lengths the virtue of economy so greatly extolled by his grandfather, Yasutoki. Such was the frugality of his mode of life that we read of him searching for fragments of food among the remnants of a meal, so that he might serve them to a friend, and we read, also, of his mother repairing with her own hands the paper covering of a shoji in expectation of a visit from him. He is further said to have disguised himself as an itinerent bonze and to have travelled about the provinces, observing the state of the people and learning their complaints. His experiences, on this pilgrimage read like a romance. Lodging at one time with an aged widow, he learns that she has been robbed of her estate and reduced to painful poverty, a wrong which Tokiyori hastens to redress; at another time his host is an old samurai whose loyal record comes thus to the knowledge of the shikken and is subsequently recognized. But it must be confessed that these tales rest on very slender evidence. Better attested is the story of Aoto Fujitsuna, which illustrates at once the character of Tokiyori and the customs of the time. This Fujitsuna was a man of humble origin but considerable learning. One year, the country being visited by drought, Tokiyori gave rice and money to priests for religious services, and himself worshipped at the shrine of Mishima. These measures were vehemently criticized by Fujitsuna, who described them as enriching the wealthy to help the impoverished. When informed of this, Tokiyori, instead of resenting it, sent for Fujitsuna and nominated him a member of the Court of Recorders,* where he earned the reputation of being one of Japan's greatest judges.** It is related of him that he devoted his whole fortune to objects of charity, and that when Tokiyori, claiming a revelation from heaven, proposed to increase his endowments, his answer was, "Supposing heaven revealed to you that you should put me to death, would you obey?" *** *The Hikitsuke-shii, a body of men who kept the archives of the Man-dokoro and conducted preliminary judicial investigations. It was organized in Tokiyori's, time and from its members the Hyojoshu was recruited. **The other was Ooka Tadasuke of the Tokugawa period. ***It is related of this Aoto Fujitsuna that, having dropped a few cash into the Namera River at night, he expended many times the amount in paying torch-bearers to recover the lost coins, his argument being that the money thus expended was merely put into circulation, whereas the dropped money would have been irrevocably lost. Tokiyori, as already related, though he nominally resigned and entered religion in 1256, really held the reins of power until his death, in 1263. Thus the Insei (camera administration) came into being in Kamakura, as it had done previously in Kyoto. There were altogether nine of the Hojo regents, as shown below: (1) Tokimasa 1203-1205 (2) Yoshitoki 1205-1224 (3) Yasutoki 1224-1242 (4) Tsunetoki 1242-1246 (5) Tokiyori 1246-1256 Retired in 1256, but ruled in camera till 1263 (6) Tokimune 1256-1284 (7) Sadatoki 1284-1301 Retired in 1301, but ruled in camera till 1311 (8) Morotoki 1301-1311 (9) Takatoki 1311-1333 The first six of these were men of genius, but neither Tokimasa nor Yoshitoki can be called really great administrators, if in the science of administration its moral aspects be included. The next four, however, from Yasutoki down to Tokimune, are distinctly entitled to a high place in the pages of history. Throughout the sixty years of their sway (1224-1284), the Japanese nation was governed with justice* and clemency rarely found in the records of any medieval State, and it is a strange fact that Japan's debt to these Hojo rulers remained unrecognized until modern times. *It is recorded that the first half of every month in Kamakura was devoted to judicial proceedings, and that at the gate of the Record Office there was hung a bell, by striking which a suitor or petitioner could count on immediate attention. THE SHOGUNS IN KAMAKURA In the Minamoto's original scheme of government the office of shogun was an administrative reality. Its purpose was to invest the Bakufu chief with permanent authority to command all the military and naval forces throughout the empire for the defence and tranquillization of the country. In that light the shogunate was regarded while it remained in the hands of Yoritomo and his two sons, Yoriie and Sanetomo. But with the death of Sanetomo, in 1219, and the political extinction of the Minamoto family, the shogunate assumed a different character in the eyes of the Minamoto's successors, the Hojo. These latter, not qualified to hold the office themselves, regarded it as a link between Kamakura and Kyoto, and even as a source from which might be derived lawful sanction for opposing the Throne should occasion arise. Therefore they asked the Emperor Go-Toba to nominate one of his younger sons, and on receiving a refusal, they were fain to be content with a member of the Fujiwara family, who had long held the Court in the hollow of their hands. This nomination was never intended to carry with it any real authority. The shoguns were mere puppets. During the interval of 114 years between the death of Sanetomo (1219) and the fall of the Hojo (1333), there were six of these fainéant officials: Age at Age at Appn't Depos'n Fujiwara Yoritsune, 1219-1244 2 27 Yoritsugu 1244-1252 5 13 Prince Munetaka, 1252-1266 10 24 elder brother of Go-Fukakusa Prince Koreyasu, son of Munetaka 1266-1289 3 26 Prince Hisaakira, son of Go-Fukakusa 1289-1308 13 32 Prince Morikuni, son of Hisaakira 1308-1333 7 32 The record shows that all these officials were appointed at an age when independent thought had not yet become possible, and that they were removed as soon as they began to think for themselves. It will be observed that there is a palpable break in the uniformity of the list. Yoritsugu alone was stripped of office while still in his teens. That was because his father, the ex-shogun, engaged in a plot to overthrow the Hojo. But the incident was also opportune. It occurred just at the time when other circumstances combined to promote the ambition of the Hojo in the matter of obtaining an Imperial prince for shogun. The throne was then occupied by Go-Fukakusa (the eighty-ninth sovereign), a son of Go-Saga (the eighty-eighth sovereign), who, as we shall see, owed his elevation to the influence exercised by Hojo Yasutoki after the Shokyu war. Now it happened that, in 1252, a conspiracy against Go-Saga was found to have been fomented by the head of that branch of the Fujiwara family from which the Kamakura shoguns were taken. The conspiracy was a thing of the past and so were its principal fomenters, but it served as a conclusive reason for not creating another Fujiwara shogun. Prince Munetaka, an elder brother of the reigning Emperor, was chosen, and thus the last four Bakufu shoguns were all of Imperial blood. Their lineage, however, did not avail much as against Bakufu arbitrariness. The Hojo adopted towards the shoguns the same policy as that previously pursued by the Fujiwara towards the sovereigns--appointment during the years of childhood and removal on reaching full manhood.* But the shoguns were not unavenged. *It is related that when the regent, Sadatoki, in 1289, removed Prince Koreyasu from the office of shogun, he ordered that the bamboo palanquin in which the prince journeyed to Kyoto should be carried with the back in front. The people said that the prince was banished to Kyoto. It was owing to the social influence exercised by their entourage that the frugal and industrious habits of the bushi at Kamakura were gradually replaced by the effeminate pastimes and enervating accomplishments of the Imperial capital. For the personnel and equipage of a shogun's palace at Kamakura differed essentially from those of Hojo regents (shikken) like Yasutoki and his three immediate successors. In the former were seen a multitude of highly paid officials whose duties did not extend to anything more serious than the conservation of forms of etiquette; the custody of gates, doors, and shutters; the care of pavilions and villas; the practice and teaching of polite accomplishments, such as music and versification; dancing, handball, and football; the cultivation of refined archery and equestrianism, and the guarding of the shogun's person.* *The officials of the shogun's court were collectively called banshu. At the regency, on the other hand, functions of the most arduous character were continuously discharged by a small staff of earnest, unpretentious men, strangers to luxury or leisure and solicitous, primarily, to promote the cause of justice and to satisfy the canons of efficiency. The contrast could not but be demoralizing. Not rapidly or without a struggle, but slowly and inevitably, the poison of bad example permeated Kamakura society, and the sinecures in the shogun's household came to be coveted by the veterans of the Bakufu, who, throughout the peaceful times secured by Hojo rule, found no means of gaining honours or riches in the field, and who saw themselves obliged to mortgage their estates in order to meet the cost of living, augmented by extravagant banquets, fine buildings, and rich garments. Eight times between 1252 and 1330, edicts were issued by the Bakufu fixing the prices of commodities, vetoing costly residences, prohibiting expensive garments, censuring neglect of military arts, and ordering resumption of the old-time sports and exercises. These attempts to check the evil had only very partial success. The vices spread, and "in the complex of factors that led to the downfall of the Bakufu, the ultimate ascendancy of Kyoto's social standards in Kamakura must probably be regarded as the most important."* *Murdoch's History of Japan. THE TWO LINES OF EMPERORS It is necessary now to turn for a moment to the story of the Imperial city, which, since the appearance of the Bakufu upon the scene, has occupied a very subordinate place in these pages, as it did in fact. Not that there was any outward or visible sign of diminishing importance. All the old administrative machinery remained operative, the old codes of etiquette continued to claim strict observance, and the old functions of government were discharged. But only the shadow of authority existed at Kyoto; the substance had passed effectually to Kamakura. As for the throne, its chiefly remarkable feature was the brevity of its occupation by successive sovereigns: Order of Succession Name Date 77th Sovereign Go-Shirakawa 1156-1158 78th " Nijo 1159-1166 79th " Rokuju 1166-1168 80th " Takakura 1169-1180 81st " Antoku 1181-1183 82nd " Go-Toba 1184-1198 83rd " Tsuchimikado 1199-1210 84th " Juntoku 1211-1221 85th " Chukyo 1221 86th " Go-Horikawa 1221-1232 87th " Shijo 1233-1242 88th " Go-Saga 1243-1246 Here are seen twelve consecutive Emperors whose united reigns covered a period of ninety-one years, being an average of seven and one-half years, approximately. It has been shown that Go-Horikawa received the purple practically from the hands of the Hojo in the sequel of the Shokyu disturbance, and the same is true of Go-Saga, he having been nominated from Kamakura in preference to a son of Juntoku, whose complicity in that disturbance had been notorious. Hence Go-Saga's attitude towards Kamakura was always one of deference, increased by the fact that his eldest son, Munetaka, went to Kamakura as shogun, in 1252. Vacating the throne in 1246, he named his second son, Go-Fukakusa, to succeed; and his third, Kameyama, to be Prince Imperial. The former was only three years old when (1246) he became nominal sovereign, and, after a reign of thirteen years, he was compelled (1259) to make way for his father's favourite, Kameyama, who reigned from 1259 to 1274. To understand what followed, a short genealogical table will assist: 88th Sovereign, Go-Saga (1243-1246) | +--------------+-------------+ | | 89th, Go-Fukakusa (1246-1259) 90th, Kameyama (1259-1274) | | 92nd, Fushimi (1287-1298) 91st, Go-Uda (1274-1287) | | +-----+----+ +-----+-----+ | | | | 93rd, 95th, 94th, 96th, Go-Fushimi Hanazono Go-Nijo Go-Daigo (1298-1301) (1307-1318) (1301-1307) (1318-1339) | | | | +-----+----+ +-----+-----+ | | Jimyo-in family Daikagu-ji Family (called afterwards Hoku-cho, (called afterwards Nan-cho, or the Northern Court) or the Southern Court) The cloistered Emperor, Go-Saga, abdicating after a reign of four years, conducted the administration according to the camera system during twenty-six years. It will be observed from the above table that he essayed to hold the balance equally between the families of his two sons, the occupant of the throne being chosen from each alternately. But everything goes to show that he favoured the Kameyama branch. Like Go-Toba, he cherished the hope of seeing the Imperial Court released from the Bakufu shackles, and to that end the alert, enterprising Kameyama seemed better suited than the dull, resourceless Takakura, just as in Go-Toba's eyes Juntoku had appeared preferable to Tsuchimikado. Dying in 1272, Go-Saga left a will with injunctions that it should be opened in fifty days. It contained provisions destined to have disastrous consequences. One clause entrusted to the Bakufu the duty of deciding whether the administrative power should be placed in the hands of the cloistered Emperor, Go-Fukakusa, or in those of the reigning sovereign, Kameyama. Another provided that a very large property, known as the Chokodo estates, should be inherited by the monarch thus deposed from authority; while a comparatively small bequest went to the depository of power. In framing this curious instrument, Go-Saga doubtless designed to gild the pill of permanent exclusion from the seats of power, believing confidently that the Imperial succession would be secured to Kameyama and his direct descendants. This anticipation proved correct. The Bakufu had recourse to a Court lady to determine the trend of the deceased sovereign's wishes, and the result was that Kameyama triumphed. In the normal order of things the cloistered Emperor Go-Fukakusa would have succeeded to the administrative place occupied by Go-Saga, and a large body of courtiers, whose chances of promotion and emolument depended upon that arrangement, bitterly resented the innovation. The palace became divided into two parties, the Naiho (interior section) and the Inho (camera section), a division which grew more accentuated when Kameyama's son ascended the throne as Go-Uda, in 1274. Go-Fukakusa declared that he would leave his palace and enter a monastery were such a wrong done to his children. Thereupon Kameyama--now cloistered Emperor--submitted the matter to the Bakufu, who, after grave deliberation, decided that Go-Fukakusa's son should be named Crown Prince and should reign in succession to Go-Uda. This ruler is known in history as Fushimi. Shortly after his accession a sensational event occurred. A bandit made his way during the night into the palace and seizing one of the court ladies, ordered her to disclose the Emperor's whereabouts. The sagacious woman misdirected him, and then hastened to inform the sovereign, who disguised himself as a female and escaped. Arrested by the guards, the bandit committed suicide with a sword which proved to be a precious heirloom of the Sanjo family. Sanjo Sanemori, a former councillor of State, was arrested on suspicion, but his examination disclosed nothing. Then a grand councillor (dainagori) charged the cloistered Emperor, Kameyama, with being privy to the attempt, and Fushimi showed a disposition to credit the charge. Kameyama, however, conveyed to the Bakufu a solemn oath of innocence, with which Fushimi was fain to be ostensibly content. But his Majesty remained unconvinced at heart. He sent to Kamakura a secret envoy with instructions to attribute to Kameyama an abiding desire to avenge the wrongs of Go-Toba and wipe out the Shokyu humiliation. This vengeful mood might find practical expression at anytime, and Fushimi, warned the Bakufu to be on their guard. "As for me," he concluded, "I leave my descendants entirely in the hands of the Hojo. With Kamakura we stand or fall." How much of this was sincere, how much diplomatic, it is not possible to determine. In Kamakura, however, it found credence. Sadatoki, then regent (shikken), took prompt measures to have Fushimi's son proclaimed Prince Imperial, and, in 1298, he was enthroned as Go-Fushimi. This evoked an indignant protest from the then cloistered Emperor, Go-Uda, and after some consideration the Kamakura regent, Sadatoki, suggested--"directed" would perhaps be a more correct form of speech--that thenceforth the succession to the throne should alternate between the two families descended from Go-Fukakusa and Kameyama, the length of a reign being limited to ten years. Nominally, this arrangement was a mark of deference to the testament of Go-Saga, but in reality it was an astute device to weaken the authority of the Court by dividing it into rival factions. Kamakura's fiat received peaceful acquiescence at first. Go-Uda's eldest son took the sceptre in 1301, under the name of Go-Nijo, and, after seven years, he was succeeded by Fushimi's son, Hanazono, who, in twelve years, made way for Go-Uda's second son, Go-Daigo. The descendants of Kameyama were called the "Daigaku-ji family," and the descendants of Go-Fukakusa received the name of the "Jimyo-in family." When a member of the latter occupied the throne, the Court enjoyed opulence, owing to its possession of the extensive Chokodo estates; but when the sovereign was of the Daigaku-ji line comparative penury was experienced. There can be little doubt that, throughout the complications antecedent to this dual system, the Fushimi princes acted practically as spies for the Bakufu. After all, the two Imperial families were descended from a common ancestor and should have shrunk from the disgrace of publishing their rivalries. It is true, as we shall presently see, that the resulting complications involved the destruction of the Hojo; but it is also true that they plunged the nation into a fifty years' war. THE FIVE REGENT FAMILIES It has already been related how, by Yoritomo's contrivance, the post of family--descended from Fujiwara Kanezane--and scions of the Konoe family--descended from Fujiwara Motomichi. This system was subsequently extended at the instance of the Hojo. The second and third sons of Michiiye, grandson of Kanezane, founded the houses of Nijo and Ichijo, respectively; while Kanehira, the second of two grandsons of Motomichi, established the house of Takatsukasa. These five families--Konoe, Kujo, Nijo, Ichijo, and Takatsukasa--were collectively called Go-sekke (the Five Regent Houses) in recognition of the fact that the regent in Kyoto was supposed to be taken from them in succession. The arrangement led to frequent strife with resulting weakness, thus excellently achieving the purpose of its contrivers, the Hojo. THE FIRST MONGOL INVASION The rule of the Hojo synchronized with two events of prime importance the invasion of Japan by a Mongolian army, first in 1274, and subsequently in 1281. Early in the twelfth century, the Emperor of China, which was then under the sway of the Sung dynasty, invited the Golden Tatars to deal with the Khitan Tatars, who held Manchuria, and who, in spite of heavy tribute paid annually by the Sung Court, continually raided northeastern China. The Golden Tatars responded to the invitation by not only expelling the Khitans but also taking their place in Manchuria and subsequently overrunning China, where they established a dynasty of their own from 1115 to 1234. These struggles and dynastic changes did not sensibly affect Japan. Her intercourse with the Asiatic continent in those ages was confined mainly to an interchange of visits by Buddhist priests, to industrial enterprise, and to a fitful exchange of commodities. It does not appear that any branch of the Tatars concerned themselves practically about Japan or the Japanese. Ultimately, however, in the first part of the thirteenth century, the Mongols began to sweep down on the Middle Kingdom under the leadership of Jenghiz Khan. They crushed the Golden Tatars, transferred (1264) the Mongol capital from central Asia to Peking (Cambaluc), and, in 1279, under Kublai, completely conquered China. Nearly thirty years before the transfer of the capital to Peking, the Mongols invaded the Korean peninsula, and brought it completely under their sway in 1263, receiving the final submission of the kingdom of Koma, which alone had offered any stubborn resistance. It is probable that Kublai's ambition, whetted by extensive conquests, would have turned in the direction of Japan sooner or later, but tradition indicates that the idea of obtaining the homage of the Island Empire was suggested to the great Khan by a Korean traveller in 1265. Kublai immediately acted on the suggestion. He sent an embassy by way of Korea, ordering the Koma sovereign to make arrangements for the transport of the envoys and to re-enforce them with a Korean colleague. A tempest interrupted this essay, and it was not repeated until 1268, when the Khan's messengers, accompanied by a Korean suite, crossed safely to Chikuzen and delivered to the Dazai-fu a letter from Kublai with a covering despatch from the Korean King. The Korean sovereign's despatch was plainly inspired by a desire to avert responsibility from himself. He explained that in transporting the embassy he acted unavoidably, but that, in sending it, the Khan was not actuated by any hostile feeling, his sole purpose being to include Japan in the circle of his friendly tributaries. In short, the Koma prince--he no longer could properly be called a monarch--would have been only too pleased to see Japan pass under the Mongol yoke as his own kingdom had already done. Kublai's letter, however, though not deliberately arrogant, could not be construed in any sense except as a summons to send tribute-bearing envoys to Peking. He called himself "Emperor" and addressed the Japanese ruler as "King;" instanced, for fitting example, the relation between China and Korea, which he described at once as that of lord and vassal and that of parent and child, and predicated that refusal of intercourse would "lead to war." The Japanese interpreted this to be an offer of suzerainty or subjugation. Two courses were advocated; one by Kyoto, the other by Kamakura. The former favoured a policy of conciliation and delay; the latter, an attitude of contemptuous silence. Kamakura, of course, triumphed. After six months' retention the envoys were sent away without so much as a written acknowledgment. The records contain nothing to show whether this bold course on the part of the Bakufu had its origin in ignorance of the Mongol's might or in a conviction of the bushi's fighting superiority. Probably both factors were operative; for Japan's knowledge of Jenghiz and his resources reached her chiefly through religious channels, and the fact that Koreans were associated with Mongols in the mission must have tended to lower the affair in her estimation. Further, the Japanese had been taught by experience the immense difficulties of conducting oversea campaigns, and if they understood anything about the Mongols, it should have been the essentially non-maritime character of the mid-Asian conquerors. By Kublai himself that defect was well appreciated. He saw that to carry a body of troops to Japan, the seagoing resources of the Koreans must be requisitioned, and on the bootless return of his first embassy, he immediately issued orders to the Koma King to build one thousand ships and mobilize forty thousand troops. In vain the recipient of these orders pleaded inability to execute them. The Khan insisted, and supplemented his first command with instructions that agricultural operations should be undertaken on a large scale in the peninsula to supply food for the projected army of invasion. Meanwhile he despatched embassy after embassy to Japan, evidently being desirous of carrying his point by persuasion rather than by force. The envoys invariably returned re infecta. On one occasion (1269), a Korean vessel carried off two Japanese from Tsushima and sent them to Peking. There, Kublai treated them kindly, showed them his palace as well as a parade of his troops, and sent them home to tell what they had seen. But the Japanese remained obdurate, and finally the Khan sent an ultimatum, to which Tokimune, the Hojo regent, replied by dismissing the envoys forthwith. War was now inevitable. Kublai massed 25,000 Mongol braves in Korea, supplemented them with 15,000 Korean troops, and embarking them in a flotilla of 900 vessels manned by 8000 Koreans, launched this paltry army against Japan in November, 1274. The armada began by attacking Tsushima and Iki, islands lying in the strait that separates the Korean peninsula from Japan. In Tsushima, the governor, So Sukekuni,* could not muster more than two hundred bushi. But these two hundred fought to the death, as did also the still smaller garrison of Iki. Before the passage of the narrow strait was achieved, the invaders must have lost something of their faith in the whole enterprise. On November 20th, they landed at Hako-zaki Gulf in the province of Chikuzen There they were immediately assailed by the troops of five Kyushu chieftains. What force the latter represented there is no record, but they were certainly less numerous than the enemy. Moreover, the Yuan army possessed a greatly superior tactical system. By a Japanese bushi the battle-field was regarded as an arena for the display of individual prowess, not of combined force. The Mongols, on the contrary, fought in solid co-operation, their movements directed by sound of drum from some eminence where the commander-in-chief watched the progress of the fight. If a Japanese approached to defy one of them to single combat, they enveloped and slew him. Further, at close quarters they used light arms dipped in poison, and for long-range purposes they had powerful crossbows, which quite outclassed the Japanese weapons. They were equipped also with explosives which they fired from metal tubes, inflicting heavy loss on the Japanese, who were demoralized by such an unwonted weapon. Finally, they were incomparable horsemen, and in the early encounters they put the Japanese cavalry out of action by raising with drums and gongs a din that terrified the latter's horses. But, in spite of all these disadvantages, the Japanese fought stubbornly. Whenever they got within striking distance of the foe, they struck desperately, and towards evening they were able to retire in good order into cover "behind the primitive fortifications of Mizuki raised for Tenchi Tenno by Korean engineers six centuries before." *Grandson of Taira no Tomomori, admiral of the Hei fleet in the battle of Dan-no-ura. ENGRAVING: REPULSE OF THE MONGOL INVADERS (From a scroll painting in possession of the Imperial Household) That night the west coast of Kyushu was menaced by one of those fierce gales that rage from time to time in sub-tropical zones. The Korean pilots knew that their ships could find safety in the open sea only. But what was to be done with the troops which had debarked? Had their commanders seen any certain hope of victory, they would not have hesitated to part temporarily from the ships. The day's fighting, however, appears to have inspired a new estimate of the bushi's combatant qualities. It was decided to embark the Yuan forces and start out to sea. For the purpose of covering this movement, the Hakozaki shrine and some adjacent hamlets were fired, and when morning dawned the invaders' flotilla was seen beating out of the bay. One of their vessels ran aground on Shiga spit at the north of the haven and several others foundered at sea, so that when a tally was finally called, 13,200 men did not answer to their names. As to what the Japanese casualties were, there is no information. THE SECOND MONGOL INVASION Of course Kublai did not acknowledge this as a defeat at the hands of the Japanese. On the contrary, he seems to have imagined that the fight had struck terror into the hearts of the islanders by disclosing their faulty tactics and inferior weapons. He therefore sent another embassy, which was charged to summon the King of Japan to Peking, there to do obeisance to the Yuan Emperor. Kamakura's answer was to decapitate the five leaders of the mission and to pillory their heads outside the city. Nothing, indeed, is more remarkable than the calm confidence shown at this crisis by the Bakufu regent, Tokimune. His country's annalists ascribe that mood to faith in the doctrines of the Zen sect of Buddhism; faith which he shared with his father, Tokiyori, during the latter's life. The Zen priests taught an introspective philosophy. They preached that life springs from not-living, indestructibility from destruction, and that existence and non-existence are one in reality. No creed could better inspire a soldier. It has been suggested that Tokimune was not guided in this matter solely by religious instincts: he used the Zen-shu bonzes as a channel for obtaining information about China. Some plausibility is given to that theory by the fact that he sat, first, at the feet of Doryu, originally a Chinese priest named Tao Lung, and that on Doryu's death he invited (1278) from China a famous bonze, Chu Yuan (Japanese, Sogen), for whose ministrations the afterwards celebrated temple Yengaku-ji was erected. Sogen himself, when officiating at the temple of Nengjen, in Wenchow, had barely escaped massacre at the hands of the Mongols, and he may not have been averse to acting as a medium of information between China and Kamakura. Tokimune's religious fervour, however, did not interfere with his secular preparations. In 1280, he issued an injunction exhorting local officials and vassals (go-kenin) to compose all their dissensions and work in unison. There could be no greater crime, the document declared, then to sacrifice the country's interests on the altar of personal enmities at a time of national crisis. Loyal obedience on the part of vassals, and strict impartiality on the side of high constables--these were the virtues which the safety of the State demanded, and any neglect to practise them should be punished with the utmost severity. This injunction was issued in 1280, and already steps had been taken to construct defensive works at all places where the Mongols might effect a landing--at Hakozaki Bay in Kyushu; at Nagato, on the northern side of the Shimonoseki Strait; at Harima, on the southern shore of the Inland Sea; and at Tsuruga, on the northwest of the main island. Among these places, Hakozaki and Nagato were judged to be the most menaced, and special offices, after the nature of the Kyoto tandai, were established there. ENGRAVING: HOJO TOKIMUNE Seven years separated the first invasion from the second. It was not of deliberate choice that Kublai allowed so long an interval to elapse. The subjugation of the last supporters of the Sung dynasty in southern China had engrossed his attention, and with their fall he acquired new competence to prosecute this expedition to Japan, because while the Mongolian boats were fit only for plying on inland waters, the ships of the southern Chinese were large, ocean-going craft. It was arranged that an army of 100,000 Chinese and Mongols should embark at a port in Fuhkien opposite the island of Formosa, and should ultimately form a junction in Tsushima Strait with an armada of 1000 Korean ships, carrying, in addition to their crews, a force of 50,000 Mongols and 20,000 Koreans. But before launching this formidable host, Kublai made a final effort to compass his end without fighting. In 1280, he sent another embassy to Japan, announcing the complete overthrow of the Sung dynasty, and summoning the Island Empire to enter into friendly relations. Kamakura's answer was to order the execution of the envoys at the place where they had landed, Hakata in Chikuzen. Nothing now remained except an appeal to force. A weak point in the Yuan strategy was that the two armadas were not operated in unison. The Korean fleet sailed nearly a month before that from China. It would seem that the tardiness of the latter was not due wholly to its larger dimensions, but must be attributed in part to its composition. A great portion of the troops transported from China were not Mongols, but Chinese, who had been recently fighting against the Yuan, and whose despatch on a foreign campaign in the service of their victors suggested itself as a politic measure. These men were probably not averse to delay and certainly cannot have been very enthusiastic. In May, 1281, the flotilla from Korea appeared off Tsushima. Unfortunately, the annals of medieval Japan are singularly reticent as to the details of battles. There are no materials for constructing a story of the events that occurred on the Tsushima shores, more than six centuries ago. We do not even know what force the defenders of the island mustered. But that they were much more numerous than on the previous occasion, seven years before, is certain. Already, in 1280, Tokimune had obtained from Buddhist sources information of the Mongol preparations--preparations so extensive that the felling of timber to make ships inspired a Chinese poem in which the green hills were depicted as mourning for their trees--and he would not have failed to garrison strongly a position so cardinal as the midchannel island of Tsushima. It was not reduced. The enemy were able to effect a lodgement, but could not overrun the island or put its defenders to the sword, as had been done in 1274. The Korean ships remained at Tsushima awaiting the arrival of the Chinese flotilla. They lost three thousand men from sickness during this interval, and were talking of retreat when the van of the southern armada hove in sight. A junction was effected off the coast of Iki island, and the garrison of this little place having been destroyed on June 10th, the combined forces stood over towards Kyushu and landed at various places along the coast of Chikuzen, making Hakozaki Bay their base. Such a choice of locality was bad, for it was precisely along the shores of this bay that the Japanese had erected fortifications. They were not very formidable fortifications, it is true. The bushi of these days knew nothing about bastions, curtains, glacis, or cognate refinements of military engineering. They simply built a stone wall to block the foe's advance, and did not even adopt the precaution of protecting their flanks. But neither did they fall into the error of acting entirely on the defensive. On the contrary, they attacked alike on shore and at sea. Their boats were much smaller than those of the invaders, but the advantage in dash and daring was all on the side of the Japanese. So furious were their onsets, and so deadly was the execution they wrought with their trenchant swords at close quarters, that the enemy were fain to lash their ships together and lay planks between them for purposes of speedy concentration. It is most improbable that either the Korean or the Chinese elements of the invading army had any heart for the work, whereas on the side of the defenders there are records of whole families volunteering to serve at the front. During fifty-three days the campaign continued; that is to say, from June 23rd, when the first landing was effected, until August 14th, when a tornado swept off the face of the sea the main part of the Yuan armada. No account has been preserved, either traditionally or historically, of the incidents or phases of the long fight. We know that the invaders occupied the island of Hirado and landed in Hizen a strong force intended to turn the flank of the Hakozaki Bay parapet. We know, inferentially, that they never succeeded in turning it. We know that, after nearly two months of incessant combat, the Yuan armies had made no sensible impression on the Japanese resistance or established any footing upon Japanese soil. We know that, on August the 14th and 15th, there burst on the shores of Kyushu a tempest which shattered nearly the whole of the Chinese flotilla. And we know that the brunt of the loss fell on the Chinese contingent, some twelve thousand of whom were made slaves. But no such momentous chapter of history has ever been traced in rougher outlines. The annalist is compelled to confine himself to marshalling general results. It was certainly a stupendous disaster for the Yuan arms. Yet Kublai was not content; he would have essayed the task again had not trouble nearer home diverted his attention from Japan. The Island Empire had thus the honour of being practically the only state in the Orient that did not present tribute to the all-conquering Mongols. But, by a strangely wayward fate, these victories over a foreign invader brought embarrassment to the Hojo rulers rather than renown. In the first place, there could not be any relaxation of the extraordinary preparations which such incidents dictated. Kublai's successor, Timur, lost no time in countermanding all measures for a renewed attack on Japan, and even adopted the plan of commissioning Buddhist priests to persuade the Bakufu of China's pacific intentions. One of these emissaries, Nei-issan (Chinese pronunciation, Ning I-shan), settled permanently in Japan, and his holy ministrations as a Zen-shu propagandist won universal respect. But the Bakufu did not relax their precautions, and for more than a score of years a heavy burden of expense had to be borne on this account. Further, when the wave of invasion broke on the shores of Kyushu, the Court in Kyoto set the example of appealing to the assistance of heaven. Prayers were offered, liturgies were chanted, and incense was burned at many temples and shrines throughout the empire. Several of the priests did not hesitate to assert that their supplications had elicited signs and portents indicating supernatural aid. Rich rewards were bestowed in recognition of these services, whereas, on the contrary, the recompense given to the soldiers who had fought so gallantly and doggedly to beat off a foreign foe was comparatively petty. Means of recompensing them were scant. When Yoritomo overthrew the Taira, the estates of the latter were divided among his followers and co-operators. After the Shokyu disturbance, the property of the Court nobles served a similar purpose. But the repulse of the Mongols brought no access of wealth to the victors, and for the first time military merit had to go unrequited while substantial grants were made to the servants of religion. The Bakufu, fully conscious of this dangerous discrepancy, saw no resource except to order that strict surveys should be made of many of the great estates, with a view to their delimitation and reduction, if possible. This, however, was a slow progress, and the umbrage that it caused was more than commensurate with the results that accrued. Thus, to the Bakufu the consequences of a war which should have strengthened allegiance and gratitude were, on the contrary, injurious and weakening. ENGRAVING: FIVE STRING BIWA (JAPANESE MANDOLIN) ENGRAVING: KOTO, 13-STRINGED HORIZONTAL HARP CHAPTER XXVIII ART, RELIGION, LITERATURE, CUSTOMS, AND COMMERCE IN THE KAMAKURA PERIOD ART From the establishment of the Bakufu, Japanese art separated into two schools, that of Kamakura and that of Kyoto. The latter centered in the Imperial Court, the former in the Court of the Hojo. Taken originally from Chinese masters of the Sui and Tang dynasties, the Kyoto art ultimately developed into the Japanese national school, whereas the Kamakura art, borrowed from the academies of Sung and Yuan, became the favourite of the literary classes and preserved its Chinese traditions. Speaking broadly, the art of Kyoto showed a decorative tendency, whereas that of Kamakura took landscape and seascape chiefly for motives, and, delighting in the melancholy aspects of nature, appealed most to the student and the cenobite. This distinction could be traced in calligraphy, painting, architecture, and horticulture. Hitherto penmanship in Kyoto had taken for models the style of Kobo Daishi and Ono no Tofu. This was called o-ie-fu (domestic fashion), and had a graceful and cursive character. But the Kamakura calligraphists followed the pure Chinese mode (karayo), as exemplified by the Buddhist priests, Sogen (Chu Yuan) and Ichinei (I Ning). In Kyoto, painting was represented by the schools of Koze, Kasuga, Sumiyoshi, and Tosa; in Kamakura, its masters were Ma Yuan, Hsia Kwei, and Mu Hsi, who represented the pure Southern Academy of China, and who were followed by Sesshu, Kao, and Shubun. So, too, the art of horticulture, though there the change was a transition from the stiff and comparatively artificial fashion of the no-niwa (moor garden) to the pure landscape park, ultimately developed into a Japanese specialty. Tradition ascribes to a Chinese bonze, who called himself Nei-issan (or Ichinei), the planning of the first landscape garden, properly so designated in Japan. He arrived in Kyushu, under the name of I Ning, as a delegate from Kublai Khan in the days of Hojo Sadatoki, and was banished, at first, to the province of Izu. Subsequently, however, the Bakufu invited him to Kamakura and assigned the temple Kencho-ji for his residence and place of ministrations. It was there that he designed the first landscape garden, furnishing suggestions which are still regarded as models. LITERATURE The conservatism of the Imperial city is conspicuously illustrated in the realm of literature. Careful perusal of the well-known work, Masukagami, shows that from year's end to year's end the same pastimes were enjoyed, the same studies pursued The composition of poetry took precedence of everything. Eminent among the poetasters of the twelfth century was the Emperor Go-Toba. The littérateurs of his era looked up to him as the arbiter elegantiarum, especially in the domain of Japanese versification. Even more renown attached to Fujiwara no Toshinari, whose nom de plume was Shunzei, and who earned the title of the "Matchless Master." His son, Sadaiye, was well-nigh equally famous under the name of Teika. After the Shokyu disturbance (1221), the empire enjoyed a long spell of peace under the able and upright sway of the Hojo, and during that time it became the custom to compile anthologies. The first to essay that task was Teika. Grieving that the poets of his time had begun to prefer affectation and elegance to sincerity and simplicity, he withdrew to a secluded villa on Mount Ogura, and there selected, a hundred poems by as many of the ancient authors. These he gave to the world, calling the collection Hyakunin-isshu, and succeeding generations endorsed his choice so that the book remains a classic to this day. Teika's son, Tameiye, won such favour in the eyes of the Kamakura shogun, Sanetomo, that the latter conferred on him the manor of Hosokawa, in Harima. Dying, Tameiye bequeathed this property to his son, Tamesuke, but he, being robbed of it by his step-brother, fell into a state of miserable poverty which was shared by his mother, herself well known as an authoress under the name of Abutsu-ni. This intrepid lady, leaving her five sons in Kyoto, repaired to Kamakura to bring suit against the usurper, and the journal she kept en route--the Izayoi-nikki--is still regarded as a model of style and sentiment. It bears witness to the fact that students of poetry in that era fell into two classes: one adhering to the pure Japanese style of the Heian epoch; the others borrowing freely from Chinese literature. Meanwhile, at Kamakura, the Bakufu regents, Yasutoki, Tokiyori and Tokimune, earnest disciples of Buddhism, were building temples and assigning them to Chinese priests of the Sung and Yuan eras who reached Japan as official envoys or as frank propagandists. Five great temples thus came into existence in the Bakufu capital, and as the Chinese bonzes planned and superintended their construction, these buildings and their surroundings reflected the art-canons at once of China, of Japan, and of the priests themselves. The same foreign influence made itself felt in the region of literature. But we should probably be wrong in assuming that either religion or art or literature for their own sakes constituted the sole motive of the Hojo regents in thus acting. It has already been shown that they welcomed the foreign priests as channels for obtaining information about the neighbouring empire's politics, and there is reason to think that their astute programme included a desire to endow Kamakura with an artistic and literary atmosphere of its own, wholly independent of Kyoto and purged of the enervating elements that permeated the latter. This separation of the civilizations of the east (Kwanto) and the west (Kyoto) resulted ultimately in producing asceticism and religious reform. The former, because men of really noble instincts were insensible to the ambition which alone absorbed a Kyoto littérateur--the ambition of figuring prominently in an approved anthology--and had, at the same time, no inclination to follow the purely military creed of Kamakura. Such recluses as Kamo Chomei, Saigyo Hoshi and Yoshida Kenko were an outcome of these conditions. Chomei has been called the "Wordsworth of Japan." He is immortalized by a little book of thirty pages, called Hojoki (Annals of a Cell.) It is a volume of reflections suggested by life in a hut measuring ten feet square and seven feet high, built in a valley remote from the stir of life. The style is pellucid and absolutely unaffected; the ideas are instinct with humanity and love of nature. Such a work, so widely admired, reveals an author and an audience instinct with graceful thoughts. In the career of Saigyo--"the reverend," as his title "hoshi" signifies--there were episodes vividly illustrating the manners and customs of the tune. Originally an officer of the guards in Kyoto, he attained considerable skill in military science and archery, but his poetic heart rebelling against such pursuits, he resigned office, took the tonsure, and turning his back upon his wife and children, became a wandering bard. Yoritomo encountered him one day, and was so struck by his venerable appearance that he invited him to his mansion and would have had him remain there permanently. But Saigyo declined. On parting, the Minamoto chief gave him as souvenir a cat chiselled in silver, which the old ascetic held in such light esteem that he bestowed it on the first child he met. Yoshida Kenko, who became a recluse in 1324, is counted among the "four kings" of Japanese poetry--Ton-a, Joben, Keiun, and Kenko. He has been called the "Horace of Japan." In his celebrated prose work, Weeds of Tedium (Tsure-zure-gusa), he seems to reveal a lurking love for the vices he satirizes. These three authors were all pessimistic. They reflected the tendency of the time. RELIGION The earliest Buddhist sect established in Japan was the Hosso. It crossed from China in A.D. 653, and its principal place of worship was the temple Kofuku-ji at Nara. Then (736) followed the Kegon sect, having its headquarters in the Todai-ji, where stands the colossal Daibutsu of Nara, Next in order was the Tendai, introduced from China by Dengyo in 805, and established at Hiei-zan in the temple Enryaku-ji; while fourth and last in the early group of important sects came the Shingon, brought from China in 809 by Kukai, and having its principal metropolitan place of worship at Gokoku-ji (or To-ji) in Kyoto, and its principal provincial at Kongobo-ji on Koya-san. These four sects and some smaller ones were all introduced during a period of 156 years. Thereafter, for a space of 387 years, there was no addition to the number: things remained stationary until 1196, when Honen began to preach the doctrines of the Jodo sect, and in the space of fifty-six years, between 1196 and 1252, three other sects were established, namely, the Zen, the Shin, and the Nichiren. THE TWO GROUPS OF SECTS In what did the teachings of the early groups of sects differ from those of the later groups, and why did such a long interval separate the two? Evidently the answers to these questions must have an important bearing on Japanese moral culture. From the time of its first introduction (A.D. 522) into Japan until the days of Shotoku Taishi (572-621), Japanese Buddhism followed the lines indicated in the land of its provenance, Korea. Prince Shotoku was the first to appreciate China as the true source of religious learning, and by him priests were sent across the sea to study. But the first sect of any importance--the Hosso--that resulted from this movement does not seem to have risen above the level of idolatry and polytheism. It was a "system built up on the worship of certain perfected human beings converted into personal gods; it affirmed the eternal permanence of such beings in some state or other, and it gave them divine attributes."* Some of these were companions and disciples of Shaka (Sakiya Muni); others, pure creations of fancy, or borrowed from the mythological systems of India. It is unnecessary here to enter into any enumeration of these deities further than to say that, as helpers of persons in trouble, as patrons of little children, as healers of the sick, and as dispensers of mercy, they acted an important part in the life of the people. But they did little or nothing to improve men's moral and spiritual condition, and the same is true of a multitude of arhats, devas, and other supernatural beings that go to make up a numerous pantheon. *Lloyd's Developments of Japanese Buddhism, "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan," Vol. XXII; and Shinran and His Work, by the same author. It was not until the end of the eighth century that Japanese Buddhism rose to a higher level, and the agent of its elevation was Dengyo Daishi, whom the Emperor Kwammu sent to China to study the later developments of the Indian faith. Dengyo and his companions in 802 found their way to the monastery of Tientai (Japanese, Tendai), and acquired there a perception of the true road to Saving Knowledge, a middle route "which includes all and rejects none, and in which alone the soul can be satisfied." Meditation and wisdom were declared to be the stepping-stones to this route, and to reach them various rules had to be followed, namely, "the accomplishment of external means"--such as observing the precepts, regulating raiment and food, freedom from all worldly concerns and influences, promotion of all virtuous desires, and so forth; "chiding of evil desires"--such as the lust after beauty, the lust of sound, of perfumes, of taste, and of touch; "casting away hindrances;" "harmonizing the faculties," and "meditating upon absolute truth." Now first we meet with the Buddhas of Contemplation, and with a creed which seems to embody a Father, a Son, and a Holy Spirit. Such, in briefest outline, was the doctrine taught at the close of the sixth century by a Chinese bonze at the monastery of Tientai, and carried thence to Japan two hundred years later by Dengyo, who established the Tendai sect on Mount Hiei near Kyoto. Dengyo did not borrow blindly; he adapted, and thus the Tendai creed, as taught at Hiei-zan, became in reality "a system of Japanese education, fitting the disciplinary and meditative methods of the Chinese propagandist on the pre-existing foundations of earlier sects." "The comprehensiveness of the Tendai system caused it to be the parent of many schisms. Out of it came all the large sects, with the exception of the Shingon," to be presently spoken of. "On the other hand, this comprehensiveness ensured the success of the Tendai sect. With the conception of the Buddhas of Contemplation came the idea that these personages had frequently been incarnated for the welfare of mankind; that the ancient gods whom the Japanese worshipped were but manifestations of these same mystical beings, and that the Buddhist faith had come, not to destroy the native Shinto, but to embody it into a higher and more universal system."* *"The Buddhists recognized that the Shinto gods were incarnations of some of the many Buddhas and Bodhisattvas brought from India and China, and then the two faiths amalgamated and for centuries comfortably shared the same places of worship."--Every-Day Japan, by Lloyd. THE SHINGON SECT It was not to Dengyo, however, that Japan owed her most mysterious form of Buddhism, but to his contemporary, Kukai, remembered by posterity as Kobo Daishi. The traditions that have been handed down with reference to this great teacher's life and personality reveal one of those saints whose preaching and ministration have bestowed a perpetual blessing on humanity. Here, it must suffice to say that he found no peace of mind until a visit to China brought comprehension of a Sutra which he had vainly studied in Japan. On his return, in 806, he appeared before the emperor and many bonzes, and astonished all by his eloquence and his knowledge. There are three "vehicles" in Buddhism, but only two of them need be mentioned here--the Hina-yana, or Small Vehicle, and the Maha-yana, or Great Vehicle. The term "vehicle" signifies a body of doctrine on which "a believer may ride to the perfect consummation of his humanity." The difference between these two requires many words to explain fully, whereas only a few can be devoted to the purpose here. "The Hina-yana Sutra is intended for beginners; the Maha-yana for those more advanced in the path of the law." The teaching in the former is negative; in the latter, positive. In the Hina-yana the perfect path is to abstain from four things--women, palaces, beautiful objects, and riches. In the Maha-yana perfect virtue is the presence of four things--the spirit of wisdom, the love of virtue, patience and firmness, and the retired life. By the "spirit of wisdom" is meant the constant desire for the truth; by the "love of virtue" is signified the abhorrence of evil; by "patience and firmness" are indicated perfect manliness as exhibited towards the weak; by "the retired life" is designated humility and self-effacement. "There is nothing in the world like the Chinese scriptures of the Maha-yana. The canon in China is seven hundred times the amount of the New Testament," and, of course, this vast extent means that there is a correspondingly wide field for eclecticism. "The Hina-yana did not trouble itself with metaphysical speculation; that was reserved for the Maha-yana, and Kukai was the greatest Japanese teacher of the arcana of Buddhism. How much of his system he owed to studies conducted in China, how much to his own inspiration, research has not yet determined. An essentially esoteric system, it conceived a world of ideas," grouped logically and systematically according to genera and species, forming a planetary cosmos, the members of which, with their satellites, revolved not only on their own axes but also round a central sun. This was the "world of golden effulgence"--a world permeated by the light of truth. The sect was called the Shingon (True Word); and the central body was Dainichi (Great Sun), the Spirit of Truth, anterior to Shaka and greater than him. "To reach the realization of the Truth that Dainichi is omnipresent and that everything exists only in him, a disciple must ascend by a double ladder, each half of which has ten steps, namely, the intellectual ladder and the moral ladder." These ladders constitute, in fact, a series of precepts, warnings, and exhortations; some easily comprehensible, others demanding profound thought, and the whole calculated to educate an absorbing aspiration for the "transcendental virtues," to possess which is to attain to perfect Buddhahood. Unquestionably the offspring of a great mind, this Shingon system, with its mysterious possibilities and its lofty morality, appealed strongly to the educated and leisured classes in Kyoto during the peaceful Heian epoch, while for the illiterate and the lower orders the simpler canons of the Tendai had to suffice. THE JODO SECT It has been shown, however, that the preachers of these sects, one and all, were readily prone to resort to violence and bloodshed in pursuit of worldly interests, not even the exponents of the exalted "True Word" creed being exempt from the reproach. Teachers of a doctrine having for cardinal tenet the sacredness of life, the inmates of the great monasteries nevertheless did not hesitate to appeal to arms, at any time, in defence of their temporal privileges or in pursuit of their ambitious designs. Yet the discredit attaching to such a flagrant discrepancy between precept and practice might not have produced very signal result had not the twelfth century brought the Gen-Hei struggle, which plunged the empire into a state of turbulence and reduced the lower orders to a condition of pitiable misery. For this distress neither the Tendai doctrines nor the Shingon conceptions were sufficiently simple to supply a remedy. Something more tangible and less recondite was needed, and it came (1196), in the sequel of twenty-five years' meditation and study, to Genku--posthumously called Honen Shonin--a priest of the Tendai sect. The leading characteristics of the Jodo (pure land) system introduced by him are easily stated. "Salvation is by faith, but it is a faith ritually expressed. The virtue that saves comes, not from imitation of, and conformity to, the person and character of the saviour, Amida, but from blind trust in his efforts and from ceaseless repetition of pious formulae. It does not necessitate any conversion or change of heart. It is really a religion of despair rather than of hope. It says to the believer: 'The world is so very evil that you can not possibly reach to Buddha-ship here. Your best plan, therefore, is to give up all such hope and simply set your mind upon being born in Amida's paradise after death.'"* *Lloyd's Development of Japanese Buddhism and Shinran and His Work. THE SHIN SECT An immediate offspring of the Jodo, though not directly following it in the chronological sequence of sects, was the Shin, established (1224) under the name of Jodo Shin-shu* (True Sect of Jodo), and owing its inception to Shinran, a pupil of Genku. It was even simpler and less exacting than its parent, the Jodo-shu, for it logically argued that if faith alone was necessary to salvation, the believer need not trouble himself about metaphysical subtleties and profound speculations; nor need he perform acts of religion and devotion; nor need he keep a multitude of commandments; nor need he leave his home, renounce matrimony, or live by rule. Only he must not worship any save Amida, or pray for anything that does not concern his salvation. As for the time of attaining salvation, the Jodo sect taught that if the mercy of Amida be called to remembrance, he would meet the believer at the hour of death and conduct him to paradise; whereas Shin-shu preaches that the coming of Amida was present and immediate; in other words, that "Buddha dwelt in the heart now by faith." *It is called also the Monto-shu. THE ZEN SECT In the Jodo and the Shin sects an ample spiritual rest was provided for the weary in mind or body, for the illiterate, and for the oppressed. But there was for a time no creed which appealed specially to the military men; no body of doctrine which, while strengthening him for the fight, could bring to him peace of mind. The Zen-shu ultimately satisfied that want. Zen is the Japanese equivalent of the Indian term dhyana, which signifies "meditation." In fact, the Zen is a contemplative sect. Its disciples believe that, "knowledge can be transmitted from heart to heart without the intervention of words." But though purely a contemplative rite at the time of its introduction into Japan, 1168, it was subsequently modified--from 1223--by two teachers, in whose hands it took the form known as the Soto sect. This "joined scholarship and research to contemplation," and taught that, when the highest wisdom and most perfect enlightenment are attained, all the elements of phenomenal existence are seen to be empty, vain, and unreal. "Form does not differ from space or space from form; all things surrounding us are stripped of their qualities, so that in this highest state of enlightenment, there can be no longer birth or death, defilement or purity, addition or destruction. There is, therefore, no such thing as ignorance, and therefore none of the miseries that result from it. If there is no misery, decay, or death, there is no such thing as wisdom, and no such thing as attaining to happiness or rest. Hence, to arrive at perfect emancipation we must grasp the fact of utter and entire void." Such a creed effectually fortified the heart of a soldier. Death ceased to have any terrors for him or the grave any reality. ENGRAVING: NICHIREN PREACHING IN THE STREET THE NICHIREN SECT This is the only one among Japanese sects of Buddhism that derives its name from that of its founder. And justly so, for Nichiren's personality pervades it. The son of a fisherman, from youth he applied himself to the study of Buddhism, became a bonze of the Shingon sect, and took the name of Nichiren (lotus of the sun). He, too, studied originally at Hiei-zan under Tendai tutors, but he ultimately followed an eclectic path of his own, which led him to the "Scripture of the Lotus of Good Law," and he taught that salvation could be attained merely by chaunting the formula, "namu myo ho renge kyo" ("hail to the Scripture of the Lotus of Good Law") with sufficient fervour and iteration. In fact, Nichiren's methods partook of those of the modern Salvation Army. He was distinguished, also, by the fanatical character of his propagandism. Up to his time, Japanese Buddhism had been nothing if not tolerant. The friars were quick to take up arms for temporal purposes, but sectarian aggressiveness was virtually unknown until Nichiren undertook to denounce everyone differing from his views.* His favourite formula for denouncing other sects was, "nembutsu mugen, Zen temma, Shingon bokoku, Ritsu kokuzoku" ("incantations are phantasms; the Zen is a demon; the Shingon, national ruin; and the Ritsu, a rebel"). Nichiren gained great credit for predicting, on the eve of the Mongol invasion, that a heavy calamity was about to fall upon the country, but owing to an accusation of political intrigues, he was first condemned to be beheaded, and then was banished to the island of Sado. His sentence was soon revoked, however, by the regent Tokimune, who granted him written permission to propagate his doctrines. Thereafter the spread of his sect was very rapid. *Out of some 72,000 temples in Japan to-day, 20,000, approximately, belong to the Shin sect; an equal number to the Zen; 13.000 to the Shingon; 8000 to the Jodo; and smaller numbers to the rest. THE PEOPLE With the decentralization of the administrative power there was a corresponding growth of the vassal class. Of course the Court nobles had vassals in their households, but the power exercised over these vassals had legal limits, whereas the vassals of the provincial chiefs were liable to imprisonment or even death by order of their chiefs. One result was that the provinces came gradually into possession of a large body of men skilled in arms and in administration. Moreover, among these provincial vassals, men originally of humble origin, found themselves raised to the level of honoured subjects, and a man's status came to be determined by his occupation rather than by his lineage. The lines of this new discrimination were fourfold, namely, shi, no, ko, sho--that is to say, military, agricultural, industrial, and commercial. The tradesman stood at the bottom of the scale, and the farmer, as the principal taxpayer, ranked next to the military man. It will be observed that this classification does not include any persons whose occupation involved pollution. This was a result of religious prejudice. Degradation attended every profession that required contact with the sick, the dead, or offal of any kind. Persons practising such callings were designated eta (men of many impurities). All belonging to the class inferior to tradesmen were originally regarded as outlaws, but subsequently, when society was reorganized on a military basis, an official was specially entrusted with absolute control over persons excluded from the quadruple classification of soldier, farmer, mechanic, and merchant. Beggars constituted an important section of the outcasts (hiniri). Next to them were professional caterers for amusement, from dog-trainers, snake-charmers, riddle-readers, acrobats, and trainers of animals, to brothel-keepers and executioners. DWELLING-HOUSES During the two centuries from the middle of the twelfth, aristocratic dwellings in the capital underwent little change. Military residences, however, developed some special features, though, in general, their architecture was of the simplest character. They had two enclosures, each surrounded by a boarded fence, and the whole was encircled by a fosse crossed by outer and inner gates. There were ranges for archery and there were watch-towers, but the dwelling itself was small and plain. It consisted mainly of a hall, having a dais with a lacquered chair for important visitors; an apartment for women; a servants' room, and a kitchen, heat being obtained from a hearth sunk in the floor. Austere simplicity was everywhere aimed at, and it is related that great provincial chiefs did not think the veranda too lowly for a sleeping-place. The use of the tatami was greatly extended after the twelfth century. No longer laid on the dais only, these mats were used to cover the whole of the floors, and presently they were supplemented by cushions made of silk crepe stuffed with cotton-wool. In the great majority of cases, roofs were covered with boards. Only in the houses of magnates was recourse had to tiles imported from China or slates of copper-bronze. In the better class of house, the roof-boards were held in place by girders, but humble folks used logs of timber, or stones, to prevent wind-stripping, and these weights imparted an untidy, rude appearance to the structure. COSTUME A notable feature of costume in this era was that the skirt of an official's outer garment had to be long in proportion to his rank. But military men did not observe this rule. It was followed only by the comparatively effeminate Court nobles and civil officials, who shaved their eyebrows, painted their cheeks, and blackened their teeth, as women did. While the soldiers of the Kamakura period wore their hair short and shaved the top of the head,--possibly for greater comfort when they were accoutred in heavy helmets,--the Court noble and the exquisite of the day wore their hair long and gathered in a queue which was bound with paper. As for women, long hair was counted a beauty, and when a lady of rank left the house, her tresses were gathered in a box carried by an attendant who walked behind; and when she seated herself, this attendant's duty was to spread the hair symmetrically on the ground like a skirt. Girls in their teens had a pretty fashion of wearing their hair in three clearly distinguished lengths--a short fringe over the forehead, two cascades falling below the shoulders, and a long lock behind. Women's hairdressing was simple in one respect: they wore no ornaments in the hair. Aristocratic ladies continued to wear loose trousers, but robes with skirts began to form a part of the costume of the lower classes and of unmarried girls. The girdle, so characteristic of Japanese habiliments in later days, had not yet come into use. Its predecessor was a narrow belt of silk encircling the waist and knotted in front, the outer garment being a long flowing robe, reaching from the neck to the heels and having voluminous sleeves. Female headgear was various. A woman walking abroad wore a large hat like an inverted bowl, and when she rode on horseback, she suspended from the rim of this hat a curtain from three to four feet long. There were other fashions, but only one of them need be mentioned, namely, a hood to envelop the face so that the eyes alone remained visible. In the city streets women of the town wore a distinctive costume as courtesans did in certain parts of Europe in the Middle Ages. The badge in Japan was a spirally twisted pyramidal cap of linen, about a foot and a half high. The materials of which clothing were made varied from rich Chinese brocade to coarse homespun, but, in general, the use of brocade was forbidden except to persons who had received it as a gift from the Court in Kyoto or Kamakura. Historical mention is first made of badges during the war of the Minamoto and the Taira. Their use was originally confined to purposes of distinction, and ultimately they came to be employed as a family crest by military men. A chrysanthemum flower with sixteen petals and a bunch of Paulownia leaves and buds constituted the Imperial badges, the use of which was interdicted to all subjects. It is not to be supposed, however, that badges were necessarily a mark of aristocracy: they might be woven or dyed on the garments of tradespeople or manufacturers. Footgear, also, offered opportunities for embellishment. Common people wore brown-leather socks, but those of position used blue leather having decorative designs embroidered in white thread. BRAZIERS, ETC. Braziers now came into general use, and quickly became objects of ornament as well as of utility. Manufactured of brass or bronze, and sometimes even of silver, they had decorative designs repousse or chiselled, and sometimes they took the shape of a metal receptacle inserted in a case of finely grained or richly lacquered wood. Another important warming utensil was the kotatsu, a latticed wooden frame enclosing a brazier and covered by a quilt. Lanterns were also employed. They consisted of a candle fixed in a skeleton frame on which an envelope of thin paper was stretched. Their introduction was quickly followed by that of a kind of match which took the form of a thin piece of wood tipped with sulphur. DIET The military class did not allow themselves to be influenced by any religious scruples in their choice of viands. They ate everything except the flesh of oxen or horses. In serving meals, tables of Chinese form ceased altogether to be used, edibles being placed on a tray which stood about four inches high. These trays and cups, and the bowls and plates ranged on them, showed great refinement, rich lacquer, silver, and gold being freely used in aristocratic dwellings. AGRICULTURE AND INDUSTRY Agriculture was, of course, greatly interrupted by the long continuance of military campaigns; but, on the other hand, it received every encouragement from the Minamoto and the Hojo. The most important incident of the era in this context was the introduction of the tea-shrub from China in 1191. As for industrial pursuits, signal progress took place in the art of tempering steel. The Japanese swordsmith forged the most trenchant weapon ever produced by any nation. The ceramic industry, also, underwent great development from the thirteenth century onwards. It may be said to have owed its artistic beginning to Kato Shirozaemon Kagemasa, who visited China at that time, and "learned the art of applying glaze to pottery biscuit, a feat not previously achieved in Japan." Another profession carried to high excellence was the sculpturing of Buddhist images. This reached its acme in a celebrated bronze Buddha which was set up at Kamakura, in 1252, and which remains to this day "one of the most majestic creations of art in any country." SUMPTUARY EDICTS The laws enacted by the Hojo regents bear ample testimony to their desire of enforcing frugality. In the middle of the thirteenth century, they went so far as to interdict the brewing of sake throughout the empire, and another ordinance vetoed the serving of cakes at meals. Such interdicts could not possibly be strictly enforced, but they undoubtedly exercised much influence, so that the samurai limited themselves to two meals a day and partook only of the coarsest fare. ENGRAVING: WRESTLERS ENGRAVING: DAIMYO'S GATE CHAPTER XXIX FALL OF THE HOJO AND RISE OF THE ASHIKAGA THE DAYS OF SADATOKI WITH the accession (1284) of the seventh Hojo regent, Sadatoki, the prosperous era of the Bakufu came to an end. Sadatoki himself seems to have been a man of much ability and fine impulses. He succeeded his father, Tokimune, at the age of fourteen, and during nine years he remained under the tutelage of the prime minister, Taira no Yoritsuna, thereafter taking the reins of government into his own hands. The annals are unfortunately defective at this, period. They fail to explain the reason for Sadatoki's retirement and adoption of religion, in 1301, after eight years of active rule. It may be that the troubles of the time disgusted him. For alike politically and financially an evil state of affairs prevailed. In 1286, the Adachi clan, falling under suspicion of aiming at the shogunate, was extirpated. A few years later, the same fate overtook Taira no Yoritsuna, who had been the chief accuser of the Adachi, and who, being now charged by his own first-born with coveting the regency (shikken), was put to death with his second son and all his retainers. Yet again, three years subsequently to this latter tragedy, Yoshimi, a scion of Yoritomo's brother, the unfortunate Yoshinori, fell a victim to accusations of treachery, and it needed no great insight to appreciate that the Bakufu was becoming a house divided against itself. It was at this time, also, that the military families of the Kwanto in general and of Kamakura in particular began to find their incomes distressingly inadequate to meet the greatly increased and constantly increasing outlays that resulted from following the costly customs of Kyoto as reflected at the shogun's palace. Advantage was taken of this condition by professional money-lenders, by ambitious nobles, and even by wealthy farmers, who, supplying funds at exorbitant rates of interest, obtained possession of valuable estates. The Bakufu made several futile legislative essays to amend this state of affairs, and finally, in the year 1297, they resorted to a ruinous device called tokusei, or the "benevolent policy." This consisted in enacting a law which vetoed all suits for the recovery of interest, cancelled all mortgages, and interdicted the pledging of military men's property. Of course, such legislation proved disastrous. Whatever temporary relief it afforded to indigent and improvident debtors, was far outweighed by the blow given to credit generally, and by the indignation excited among creditors. The Bakufu owed much of the stability of their influence to the frugality of their lives and to their unsullied administration of justice. But now the Kwanto bushi rivalled the Kyoto gallants in extravagance; the Kamakura tribunals forfeited the confidence of the people, and the needy samurai began to wish for the return of troublous times, when fortunes could be won with the sword. Amid such conditions Sadatoki took the tonsure in 1300, and was succeeded nominally by his cousin Morotoki, who, however, administered affairs in consultation with the retired regent. In 1303, a son was born to Sadatoki, and the latter, dying in 1311, bequeathed the office of regent to this boy when he should reach years of discretion, entrusting him, meanwhile, to the guardianship of two officials, the more active of whom was a lay priest, Nagasaki Enki. An idea of the confusion existing at that time in Kamakura may be gathered from the fact that, during the five years between the death of Sadatoki and the accession of his son Takatoki (1316), no less than four members of the Hojo family held the regency in succession. Takatoki was destined to be the last of the Hojo regents. Coming into power at the age of thirteen, his natural giddiness of character is said to have been deliberately encouraged by his guardian, Nagasaki, but even had he been a stronger man it is doubtful whether he could have saved the situation. Corruption had eaten deeply into the heart of the Bakufu. In 1323, a question concerning right of succession to the Ando estate was carried to Kamakura for adjudication, and the chief judge, Nagasaki Takasuke, son of the old lay priest mentioned above, having taken bribes from both of the litigants, delivered an inscrutable opinion. Save for its sequel, this incident would merely have to be catalogued with many cognate injustices which disfigured the epoch. But the Ando family being one of the most powerful in northern Japan, its rival representatives appealed to arms in support of their respective claims, and the province of Oshu was thrown into such confusion that a force had to be sent from Kamakura to restore order. This expedition failed, and with its failure the prestige of the Hojo fell in a region where hitherto it had been untarnished--the arena of arms. The great Japanese historian, Rai Sanyo, compared the Bakufu of that time to a tree beautiful outwardly but worm-eaten at the core, and in the classical work, Taiheiki, the state of affairs is thus described: The Dengaku mime was then in vogue among all classes in Kyoto. Takatoki, hearing of this, summoned two rival troupes of Dengaku players to Kamakura and witnessed their performances without regard to the passage of time. He distributed the members of the troupes among the noble families related to the Hojo, and made these nobles compete to furnish the performers with magnificent costumes. At a banquet when a Dengaku mime was acted, the regent and his guests vied with one another in pulling off their robes and throwing them into a heap, to be redeemed afterwards for heavy sums which were given to the actors. The custom thus inaugurated became perpetual. One day, a number of dogs gathered in the garden of Takatoki's mansion and had a fight. This so amused the regent that orders were despatched to collect dogs by way of taxes, the result being that many people in the provinces took steps to breed dogs and presented them by tens or scores to Kamakura, where they were fed on fish and fowl, kept in kennels having gold and silver ornaments, and carried in palanquins to take the air. When these distinguished animals were borne along the public thoroughfares, people hastening hither and thither on business had to dismount and kneel in obeisance, and farmers, instead of cultivating the fields, had to act as bearers of the dogs' sedan-chairs. Thus, the city of Kamakura presented the curious spectacle of a town filled with well-fed dogs, clothed in tinsel and brocades, and totalling from four to five thousand. Twelve days in every month used to be devoted to dog-fights, and on these occasions, the regent, the nobles, and the people inside and outside the mansion used to assemble as spectators, sitting on the verandas or the ground. THE COURT IN KYOTO All these things were watched with keen interest in Kyoto. It has been shown in Chapter XXVI that the Imperial family had been divided into two branches ever since the days of Go-Saga (1242-1246), one descended from his elder son, Go-Fukakusa, the other from his younger, Kameyama. These two branches may be conveniently distinguished as the senior and the junior, respectively. It has also been shown that the princes of the senior branch uniformly relied on Kamakura and kept the Bakufu informed of all intrigues devised in Kyoto, whereas those of the junior branch constantly cherished the hope of reasserting the independence of the throne. A representative of the junior branch, Go-Daigo (1318-1339), happened to be on the throne when Takatoki, holding the regency at Kamakura, scandalized the nation by his excesses and discredited the Hojo by his incompetence. Go-Daigo was an able sovereign. He dispensed justice scrupulously and made the good of the country his prime aim. It appeared to him that the time had come for Kyoto to shake off the fetters of Kamakura. With that object he took into his confidence two Fujiwara nobles, Suketomo, a councillor of State, and Toshimoto, minister of Finance. These he despatched on a secret tour of inspection through the provinces, instructing them at the same time to canvass for adherents among the local samurai. They met with considerable success. Among the provincial families there were some of Taira origin who cherished traditional hatred towards the Minamoto; there were some of Minamoto blood who chafed at the supremacy of the Hojo, and there were some who, independently of lineage, longed for a struggle and its contingent possibilities. Leading representatives of these classes began to hold conclaves in Kyoto. The meetings were marked by complete absence of ceremony, their object being to promote free interchange of ideas. Presently, suspicions were suggested to Kamakura. The regent, Takatoki, who, though a careless libertine in his habits, living in the society of his thirty concubines, his troops of dancing mimes, and his packs of fighting dogs, was capable of stern resolution on occasions, threatened to dethrone the Emperor. In this sore strait, Go-Daigo did not hesitate to make solemn avowal of the innocence of his purpose, and Kamakura refrained from any harsh action towards the Throne. But it fared ill with the sovereign's chief confidant, Fujiwara no Suketomo. He was exiled to Sado Island and there killed by Takatoki's instructions. This happened in 1325. Connected with it was an incident which illustrates the temper of the bushi. In spite of his mother's tearful remonstrances, Kunimitsu, the thirteen-year-old son of the exiled noble, set out from Kyoto for Sado to bid his father farewell. The governor of the island was much moved by the boy's affection, but, fearful of Kamakura, he refused to sanction a meeting and commissioned one Homma Saburo, a member of his family, to kill the prisoner. Kunimitsu determined to avenge his father, even at the expense of his own life. During a stormy night, he effected an entry into the governor's mansion, and, penetrating to Saburo's chamber, killed him. The child then turned his weapon against his own bosom. But, reflecting that he had his mother to care for, his sovereign to serve, and his father's will to carry out, he determined to escape if possible. The mansion was surrounded by a deep moat which he could not cross. But a bamboo grew on the margin, and climbing up this, he found that it bent with his weight so as to form a bridge. He reached Kyoto in safety and ultimately attained the high post (chunagon) which his father had held. THE SUCCESSION TO THE THRONE The year 1326 witnessed the decease of the Crown Prince, Kuninaga, who represented the senior branch of the Imperial family. Thereupon, Go-Daigo conceived the project of appointing his own son, Morinaga, to be Prince Imperial. That would have given the sceptre twice in succession to the junior branch, and the Bakufu regent, insisting that the rule of alternate succession must be followed, proposed to nominate Prince Kazuhito, a son of the cloistered Emperor, Go-Fushimi, who belonged to the senior branch. The question was vehemently discussed at Kamakura, Go-Daigo being represented by Fujiwara no Fujifusa, and Go-Fushimi by another noble. The former contended that never since the days of Jimmu had any subject dared to impose his will on the Imperial family. Go-Saga's testament had clearly provided the order of succession to the throne, yet the Bakufu had ventured to set that testament aside and had dictated the system of alternate succession. Thus, the princes of the elder branch not only became eligible for the throne, but also enjoyed great revenues from the Ghokodo estate, though it had been bequeathed as a solatium for exclusion from the succession; whereas the princes of the junior branch, when not occupying the throne, were without a foot of land or the smallest source of income. Fujifusa was instructed to claim that the usufruct of the Chokodo estate should alternate in the same manner as the succession, or that the latter should be perpetually vested in the junior branch. To this just demand the regent, Takatoki, refused to accede. Kazuhito was named Prince Imperial, and thus the seeds of a sanguinary struggle were sown. CONSPIRACY IN KYOTO Go-Daigo now conspired actively for the overthrow of the Hojo. He took Prince Morinaga into his confidence, and, under the name Oto no Miya, made him lord-abbot of the great monastery of Hiei-zan, thus securing at once a large force of soldier cenobites. To the same end other religious establishments were successfully approached. During the space of five years this plot escaped Kamakura's attention. But, in 1331, the Bakufu, becoming suspicious, laid hands on several of the plotters and, subjecting them to judicial examination after the merciless fashion of the age, soon elicited a part, at any rate, of the truth. Yet Kamakura does not appear to have appreciated the situation until, Go-Daigo having summoned the Enryaku monks to his assistance, the cloistered Emperor of the senior branch, Go-Fushimi, despatched an urgent message to the Bakufu, declaring that unless prompt action were taken the situation would elude control. Hasty council was now held in Kamakura. Nagasaki Takasuke, the corrupt kwanryo, advised that Go-Daigo should be dethroned and sent into exile, together with Oto no Miya, and that all implicated in the plot should be severely punished. This violent course was opposed by Nikaido Sadafusa, who pleaded eloquently for the respect due to the Throne, and contended that without the sovereign's favour the Bakufu could not exist. But Takasuke's advice prevailed, re-enforced as it was by reference to the Shokyu disturbance when vigorous daring had won the day. With all possible expedition an army under the command of Sadafusa marched from Kamakura for Kyoto. Advised of these doings, Prince Morinaga persuaded the Emperor to change costumes with Fujiwara Morokata; whereafter the latter, riding in the Imperial palanquin, took ostensible refuge at Hiei-zan, and the sovereign, travelling in a Court lady's ox-car, made his way, first, to Nara and thence to Kasagi in Yamato, guarded by the troops of Fujiwara Fujifusa. Rokuhara was then under the command of Hojo Nakatoki, and upon him devolved the duty of seizing the Emperor's person. He directed an army against Hiei-zan, where Go-Daigo was believed to have found asylum. But Fujiwara Morokata, who personified the sovereign, managed to escape, as did also Prince Morinaga (Oto no Miya). Go-Daigo then sent to Kusunoki Masashige a mandate to raise troops and move against the "rebels," for to that category the Hojo now belonged in the absence of an Imperial commission. This Kusunoki Masashige (called Nanko) is one of Japan's ideal types of loyalty and courage. He and Nitta Yoshisada are the central figures in the long campaign upon which Japan now entered. Masashige belonged to the Tachibana family, which stood second among the four great septs of Japan--the Fujiwara, the Tachibana, the Minamoto, and the Taira--and Yoshisada claimed kinship with the Minamoto. Receiving Go-Daigo's order, Kusunoki Masashige quickly collected a troop of local bushi and constructed entrenchments at Akasaka, a naturally strong position in his native province of Kawachi. Takatoki now caused Prince Kazuhito to be proclaimed sovereign under the name of Kogon. But this monarch was not destined to find a place among the recognized occupants of the throne. For a time, indeed, fortune smiled on the Hojo. Within a few days after Kogon's assumption of the sceptre, Go-Daigo's retreat at Kasagi became untenable, and he fled, still escorted by the faithful Fujiwara Fujifusa. It must be recognized that, whatever the Fujiwara family's usurpations in the past, their loyalty to the Throne throughout this era of cruel vicissitudes redeems a multitude of sins. During his flight from Kasagi, the Emperor was without food for three days, and had to sleep with a rock for pillow. Overtaken by the Rokuhara troops, his Majesty was placed in a bamboo palanquin and carried to the temple Byodoin, where, after the battle of the Uji Bridge, the aged statesman and general, Yorimasa, had fallen by his own hand, a century and a half previously. Here Go-Daigo received a peremptory order to surrender the Imperial insignia to the Hojo nominee, Kogon. He refused. The mirror and gem, he alleged, had been lost, and there remained only the sacred sword, which he kept to defend himself against the traitors when they fell upon him. The high courage of this answer would have been finer had Go-Daigo's statement been true; but in reality the three insignia were intact. It was then announced to his Majesty that he should be removed to Rokuhara where he would be entirely in the power of the Hojo. Nevertheless, he maintained his lofty bearing, and refused to make the journey unless all appropriate forms of etiquette were observed. At Rokuhara the demand for the insignia was repeated and the Emperor handed over duplicates, secretly retaining the genuine articles himself. Takatoki now issued orders for Go-Daigo to be removed to the island of Oki, sent all the members of his family into exile elsewhere, and banished or killed his principal supporters. RAISING OF A LOYAL ARMY Kusunoki Masashige had but five hundred men under his command when he entrenched himself at Akasaka. There for twenty days he held out against the attacks of the greatly superior Hojo forces, until finally, no help arriving and his provisions being exhausted, he would have committed suicide had he not realized that his life belonged to the Imperial cause. He contrived to escape through the enemy's lines, and thus the only organized loyal force that remained in the field was that operating in Bingo under the command of Sakurayama Koretoshi. Thither a false rumour of Masashige's death having been carried, Koretoshi's troops dispersed and he himself committed suicide. Kojima Takanori, too, commonly known as Bingo no Saburo, was about to raise the banner of loyalty when the false news of Masashige's death reached him. This Takanori is the hero of an incident which appeals strongly to the Japanese love of the romantic. Learning that the Emperor was being transported into exile in the island of Oki, and having essayed to rescue him en route, he made his way during the night into the enclosure of the inn where the Imperial party had halted, and having scraped off part of the bark of a cherry tree, he inscribed on the trunk the couplet: Heaven destroy not Kou Chien, He is not without a Fan Li. This alluded to an old-time Chinese king (Kou Chien) who, after twenty years of exile, was restored to power by the efforts of a vassal (Fan Li). The Emperor's guards, being too illiterate to comprehend the reference, showed the writing to Go-Daigo, who thus learned that friends were at hand. But Takanori could not accomplish anything more, and for a season the fortunes of the Throne were at a very low ebb, while at Kamakura the regent resumed his life of debauchery. Neither Prince Morinaga nor Masashige was idle, however. By skilful co-operation they recovered the entrenchments at Akasaka and overran the two provinces of Izumi and Kawachi, gaining many adherents. The fall of 1332 saw Masashige strongly posted at the Chihaya fortress on Kongo Mountain; his lieutenants holding Akasaka; Prince Morinaga in possession of Yoshino Castle, and Akamatsu Norimura of Harima blocking the two highways called the Sanindo and the Sanyodo. In other words, the Imperialists held the group of provinces forming the northern littoral of the Inland Sea and commanded the approaches from the south. But now again Kamakura put forth its strength. At the close of February, 1333, a numerous force under the Hojo banners attacked Yoshino and its fall became inevitable. Prince Morinaga, wounded in several places, had resolved to make the castle his "death-pillow," when he was saved by one of those acts of heroic devotion so frequently recorded in the annals of the Japanese bushi. Murakami Yoshiteru insisted on donning the prince's armour and personating him so as to cover his retreat. At the supreme moment, Yoshiteru ascended the tower of the entrenchments and loudly proclaiming himself the prince, committed suicide. His son would fain have shared his fate, but Yoshiteru bade him live for further service. Subsequently, he fell fighting against Morinaga's pursuers, but the prince escaped safely to the great monastery of Koya in Kishu.* The victorious Hojo then turned their arms against Akasaka, and having carried that position, attacked Chihaya where Masashige commanded in person. But the great soldier held his foes successfully at bay and inflicted heavy losses on them. Thus, the early months of 1333 witnessed a brighter state of affairs for the Imperial cause. It was supported by Kusunoki Masashige, in Yamato, with Chihaya for headquarters; Prince Morinaga, at Koya-san in Kishu; Akamatsu Norimura, in Harima and Settsu, whence his fortress of Maya menaced Rokuhara, and by Doi Michiharu and Tokuno Michikoto, in Iyo, whence, crossing to Nagato, they had attacked and defeated Hojo Tokinao, the tandai of the province. *Yoshiteru's loyal sacrifice received official recognition, in 1908, on the occasion of military manoeuvres in the neighbourhood of the scene of the tragedy. The Emperor honoured his memory by bestowing on him high posthumous rank. ESCAPE OF THE EMPEROR FROM OKI The Oki group of islands lie in the Sea of Japan forty miles from the coast of the provinces Izumo and Hoki. Beppu, in Nishi-no-shima, one of the smallest of the group, was Go-Daigo's place of exile. By employing the services of a fishing-boat, Prince Morinaga succeeded in conveying to his Majesty some intelligence of the efforts that were being made in the Imperial cause. This was early in 1333, and when the news spread among the guards at Beppu, they began to talk of the duties of loyalty. Narita Kosaburo and the Nawa brothers, Yasunaga and Nagataka--the name of the last was afterwards changed by the Emperor to Nagatoshi--thus became associated in a scheme for assisting the exile to recover his freedom. To remove him from Nishi-no-Shima was not difficult to contrive, but to traverse the provinces of Izumo or Hoki en route for a safe asylum seemed at first impossible, for in Izumo not only the governor but also the chief official of the great Shinto shrine were hostile, and in Hoki the strictest watchfulness had been enjoined from Rokuhara. Nevertheless, it became necessary to make the attempt at once or refrain altogether. On the 8th of April, 1333, the guards at Beppu were given a quantity of sake on the plea that the accouchement of a Court lady was imminent. Custom prescribed that in such a case the lady should be removed to a different house, and therefore when the guards had well drunk, a palanquin was carried out, bearing ostensibly this lady only, but in reality freighted with the sovereign also. The night was passed in the village, and at daybreak the little party, leaving the lady behind, set out on foot for the nearest seaport, Chiba. The Emperor could scarcely walk, but happily a man was encountered leading a pack-horse, and on this Go-Daigo rode. The next three days were devoted to seeking a safe landing in Izumo and endeavouring to procure provisions. On one occasion, being pursued by servants of the great shrine, they had to re-embark and put out to sea, the Emperor and his sole attendant, Tadaaki, lying hid in the bottom of the boat beneath a quantity of seaweed and under the feet of the sailors. Finally, on the 13th of April, they made Katami port in the province of Hoki, and, being cordially welcomed by Nawa Nagataka, Go-Daigo was ultimately taken to a mountain called Funanoe, which offered excellent defensive facilities. It is recorded that on the first stage of this journey from Nagataka's residence to the mountain, the Emperor had to be carried on the back of Nagataka's brother, Nagashige, no palanquin being available. Very soon many bushi flocked to the Imperial standard and Funanoe was strongly entrenched. It was on this occasion that Go-Daigo changed Nagataka's name to Nagatoshi, and conferred on him the title of "captain of the Left guards" (saemon-no-jo). DOWNFALL OF THE HOJO When the Emperor's escape from Oki became known, loyal samurai in great numbers espoused the Imperial cause, and a heavy blow was given to the prestige of the Hojo by Akamatsu Norimura who, after several successful engagements with the Rokuhara army in Settsu, pushed northward from the fortress of Maya, where his forces were almost within sight of Kyoto. Takatoki, appreciating that a crisis had now arisen in the fortunes of the Hojo, ordered Ashikaga Takauji to lead a powerful army westward. Takauji represented a junior branch of the Minamoto family. He was descended from the great Yoshiiye, and when Yoritomo rose against the Taira, in 1180, he had been immediately joined by the then Ashikaga chieftain, who was his brother-in-law. Takau ji, therefore, had ambitions of his own, and his mood towards the Hojo had been embittered by two recent events; the first, that, though in mourning for the death of his father, he had been required to join the attack on Masashige's fortress at Kasagi; the second, that his own illness after returning from that campaign had not availed to save him from frequent summonses to conference with Takatoki. ENGRAVING: ASHIKAGA TAKAUJI Thus, this second order to take the field found him disposed to join in the overthrow of the Hojo rather than in their support. Learning something of this mood, Takatoki demanded that the Ashikaga chief, before commencing his march, should hand in a written oath of loyalty, and further, should leave his wife, his children, and his brother-in-law as hostages in Kamakura. Takauji, who shrunk from no sacrifice on the altar of his ambition, complied readily, and the confidence of the Bakufu having thus been restored, a parting banquet was given in his honour, at which the Hojo representative presented him with a steed, a suit of armour, a gold-mounted sword, and a white flag, this last being an heirloom from the time of Hachiman (Yoshiiye), transmitted through the hands of Yoritomo's spouse, Masa. All these things did not turn Takauji by a hair's-breadth from his purpose. His army had not marched many miles westward before he despatched a message to the entrenchments in Hoki offering his services to the Emperor, who welcomed this signal accession of strength and commissioned Takauji to attack the Bakufu forces. Entirely ignorant of these things, Hojo Takaiye, who commanded at Rokuhara, made dispositions to move against the Hoki fortress in co-operation with Takauji. The plan of campaign was that Takaiye's army should march southward through Settsu, and, having crushed Akamatsu Norimura, who occupied that province, should advance through Harima and Mimasaka into Hoki; while Takauji, moving northward at first by the Tamba highway, should ultimately turn westward and reach Hoki by the littoral road of the Japan Sea. In addition to these two armies, the Hojo had a powerful force engaged in beleaguering the fortress of Chihaya, in Yamato, where Kusunoki Masashige commanded in person. It will thus be seen that, at this time (May, 1333), the Imperialists were everywhere standing on the defensive, and the Bakufu armies were attacking on the southeast, south, and north of Kyoto. Nothing seemed less probable than that the Imperial capital itself should become the object of an assault by the partisans of Go-Daigo. But the unexpected took place. Hojo Takaiye was killed and his force shattered in the first collision with Norimura, who immediately set his troops in motion towards Kyoto, intending to take advantage of Rokuhara's denuded condition. Meanwhile, Takauji, whose march into Tamba had been very deliberate, learned the course events had taken in Settsu, and immediately proclaiming his allegiance to the Imperial cause, countermarched for Kyoto, his army receiving constant accessions of strength as it approached the city. Rokuhara, though taken by surprise, fought stoutly. Attacked simultaneously from three directions by the armies of Norimura, Takauji, and Minamoto Tadaaki, and in spite of the death of their commandant, Hojo Tokimasu, they held out until the evening, when Hojo Nakatoki escaped under cover of darkness, escorting the titular sovereign, Kogon, and the two ex-Emperors. Their idea was to flee to Kamakura, but taking an escort too large for rapid movement, they were overtaken; the three leaders together with four hundred men killed, and Kogon together with the two ex-Emperors seized and carried back to Kyoto. THE FALL OF KAMAKURA These things happened at the close of June, 1333, and immediately after the fall of Rokuhara, Nitta Yoshisada raised the Imperial standard in the province of Kotsuke. Yoshisada represented the tenth generation of the great Yoshiiye's family. Like Ashikaga Takauji he was of pure Minamoto blood, though Takauji belonged to a junior branch. The Nitta estates were in the district of that name in the province of Kotsuke; that is to say, in the very heart of the Kwanto. Hitherto, the whole of the eastern region had remained loyal to the Hojo; but the people were growing weary of the heavy taxes and requisitions entailed by this three-years' struggle, and when Nitta Yoshisada declared against the Hojo, his ranks soon swelled to formidable dimensions. It has been stated by some historians that Yoshisada's resolve was first taken on receipt of news that Rokuhara was lost to the Hojo. But there can be no doubt that, like others of his sept, he had long resented the comparatively subordinate position occupied by Yoritomo's descendants, and the most trustworthy annals show that already while engaged in besieging Masashige in Chihaya fortress, he conceived the idea of deserting the Hojo's cause. Through one of his officers, Funada Yoshimasa, he obtained a mandate from Prince Morinaga, and then, feigning sickness, he left the camp in Yamato and returned to Kotsuke, where he lost no time in making preparations for revolt. This actual declaration did not come, however, until the arrival of an officer from Kamakura, carrying a requisition for a great quantity of provisions to victual an army which the Hojo were hastily equipping to recover Rokuhara. The officer was put to death, and Yoshisada with his brother, Yoshisuke, set their forces in motion for Kamakura. Menaced thus closely, the Hojo made a supreme effort. They put into the field an army said to have numbered one hundred thousand of all arms. But their ranks were perpetually reduced by defections, whereas those of the Imperialists received constant accessions. The campaign lasted only a fortnight. For the final attack Yoshisada divided his army into three corps and advanced against Kamakura from the north, the east, and the west. The eastern column was repulsed and its general slain, but the western onset, commanded by Yoshisada himself, succeeded. Taking advantage of a low tide, he led his men over the sands and round the base of a steep cliff,* and carried the city by storm, setting fire to the buildings everywhere. The Hojo troops were shattered and slaughtered relentlessly. Takatoki retreated to his ancestral cemetery at the temple Tosho-ji, and there committed suicide with all the members of his family and some eight hundred officers and men of his army. Thus, Kamakura fell on the 5th of July, 1333, a century and a half after the establishment of the Bakufu by Yoritomo. Many heroic incidents marked the catastrophe and showed the spirit animating the bushi of that epoch. A few of them will find a fitting place here. *This cliff--Inamura-ga-saki--may be seen at Kamakura to-day. Tradition says that Yoshisada threw his sword into the waves, supplicating the god of the Sea to roll back the water and open a path for the loyal army. At dawn on the following day the tide was found to have receded sufficiently. HEROIC DEATHS It has been related above that, when Ashikaga Takauji marched westward from Kamakura, he left his family and his brother-in-law as hostages in the hands of the Bakufu. Subsequently, on the occasion of the assault by Nitta Yoshisada, this brother-in-law (Akabashi Moritoki) resisted stoutly but was defeated at the pass of Kobukoro. He committed suicide, remarking calmly, "It is better to die trusted than to live doubted." Osaragi Sadanao, one of the Hojo generals, was in danger of defeat by Odate Muneuji at the defence of Kamakura, when Homma Saemon, a retainer of the former, who was under arrest for an offence, broke his arrest and galloping into the field, restored the situation by killing the enemy's general, Odate Muneuji. Carrying the head of Muneuji, Saemon presented it to his chief and then disembowelled himself in expiation of his disobedience. Sadanao, crying that his faithful follower should not go unaccompanied to the grave, dashed into the enemy's ranks and fell, covered with wounds. Ando Shoshu, returning from the successful defence of the eastern approaches to Kamakura on the 5th of July, 1333, found the Government buildings a mass of charred ruins, and being ignorant of the multitude of suicides that had taken place in the cemetery at Tosho-ji, cried out: "The end of a hundred years! How is it that none was found to die the death of fidelity?" Dismounting he prepared to take his own life when a messenger arrived carrying a letter from his niece, the wife of Nitta Yoshisada. This letter counselled surrender. Shoshu exclaimed furiously: "My niece is a samurai's daughter. How could she venture to insult me with words so shameless? And how was it that Yoshisada allowed her to do such a thing?" Then, wrapping the letter round the hilt of his sword, he disembowelled himself. THE LAST SCENE The last act of the Hojo tragedy, which took place in the cemetery of the temple Tosho-ji, showed the fidelity of the samurai character at its best. Among the Kamakura warriors was one Takashige, son of that Nagasaki Takasuke who had made himself notorious by corrupt administration of justice. Takashige, a skilled soldier of enormous physical power, returned from the battle when all hope of beating back Nitta Yoshisada's army had disappeared, and having warned the regent, Takatoki, that the bushi's last resource alone remained, asked for a few moments' respite to strike a final stroke. Followed by a hundred desperate men, he plunged into the thick of the fight and had almost come within reach of Yoshisada when he was forced back. Galloping to Tosho-ji, he found Takatoki and his comrades drinking their farewell cup of sake. Takatoki handed the cup to Takashige, and he, after draining it thrice, as was the samurai's wont, passed it to Settsu Dojun, disembowelled himself, and tore out his intestines. "That gives a fine relish to the wine," cried Dojun, following Takashige's example. Takatoki, being of highest rank, was the last to kill himself. Eight hundred suicides bore witness to the strength of the creed held by the Kamakura bushi. An eminent Japanese author* writes: "Yoritomo, convinced by observation and experience that the beautiful and the splendid appeal most to human nature, made it his aim to inculcate frugality, to promote military exercises, to encourage loyalty, and to dignify simplicity. Moral education he set before physical. The precepts of bushido he engraved on the heart of the nation and gave to them the honour of a precious heirloom. The Hojo, by exalting bushido, followed the invaluable teaching of the Genji, and supplemented it with the doctrines of Shinto, Confucianism, and Buddhism. Thus every bushi came to believe that the country's fate depended on the spirit of the samurai." Another and more renowned annalist** wrote: "The Hojo, rising from a subordinate position, flourished for nine generations. Their success was due to observing frugality, treating the people with kindness, meting out strict justice, and faithfully obeying the ancestral behest to abstain from seeking high titles." They took the substance and discarded the shadow. The bushido that they developed became a model in later ages, especially in the sixteenth century. *Yamada Tesshu (modern). **Rai Sanyo (1780-1832). LAST HOJO ARMY When Kamakura fell the only Hojo force remaining in the field was that which had been engaged for months in the siege of Chihaya, where Kusunoki Masashige held his own stoutly. This army had retired to Nara on receipt of the news of Rokuhara's capture, and when Kamakura met with the same fate, the leaders of the last Hojo force surrendered at the summons of Ashikaga Takauji's emissaries. Subsequently, fifteen of these leaders were led out at midnight and beheaded. THE RESTORATION OF THE KEMMU ERA The conditions that now resulted are spoken of in Japanese history as "the Restoration of the Kemmu era" (1334-1336). It will be presently seen that the term is partly misleading. After his escape from Oki, Go-Daigo remained for some time in the fortress of Funanoe, in Hoki. Kamakura fell on the 5th of July, and his Majesty entered Kyoto on the 17th of that month. While in Hoki he issued various rescripts having special significance. They may be summarized as follows: From bushi down to priests, any man who performs meritorious deeds in battle will be duly recompensed, in addition to being confirmed in the possession of his previously held domain, and that possession will be continued in perpetuity to his descendants. In the case of persons killed in fight, suitable successors to their domains will be selected from their kith and kin. With regard to Court officials and bushi down to temple priests and functionaries of Shinto shrines, any that come immediately to join the Imperial forces will be rewarded, in addition to being confirmed in the tenure of their original estates. Similar consideration will be shown to all who, though unable to come in person, supply provisions or military necessaries, submit suggestions with loyal intent, or otherwise work in the interests of the Imperial army. Men surrendering in battle will be pardoned for their previous offences, and will be rewarded for services subsequently rendered. The fate of the eastern outlaws (i.e. the Hojo) being sealed, their destruction is imminent. They have slain many innocent people; plundered the property of all classes, despoiled temples, burned houses, and conducted themselves with extreme wickedness. Unless they be punished, public peace cannot be restored. Our army has to remove those evils, and therefore all in its ranks, while uniting to attack the rebels, will be careful not to inflict any suffering on the people or to plunder them and will treat them with all benevolence. If prisoners be common soldiers, they shall be released at once, and if officers, they shall be held in custody pending Imperial instructions. They shall not be punished without judgment. No buildings except the enemy's fortresses and castles shall be burned, unless the conditions of a battle dictate such a course, and it is strictly forbidden to set fire to shrines and temples. When the Imperial forces enter a city and have to be quartered in private houses, the owners of the latter shall be duly recompensed. If these injunctions be obeyed, the deities of heaven and earth and the ancestral Kami will protect the virtuous army in its assault upon the wicked traitors. These edicts make it clear that in one most important respect, namely, the terms of land tenure, there was no idea of reverting to the old-time system which recognized the right of property to be vested in the Throne and limited the period of occupation to the sovereign's will. THE NEW GOVERNMENT When Go-Daigo entered Kyoto on the 17th of July, 1333, it was suggested by some of his advisers that a ceremony of coronation should be again held. But the sa-daijin, Nijo Michihira, opposed that course. He argued that although his Majesty had not resided in the capital for some time, the sacred insignia had been always in his possession, and that his re-entering the capital should be treated as returning from a journey. This counsel was adopted. It involved the exclusion of Kogon from the roll of sovereigns, though the title of "retired Emperor" was accorded to him. There were thus three ex-Emperors at the same time. Go-Daigo assigned the Chokodo estates for their support, retaining for himself only the provincial taxes of Harima. The Bakufu no longer having any official existence, the machinery of the Government in Kyoto was organized on the hypothesis of genuine administrative efficiency. There was no chancellor (dajo daijiri) or any regent (kwampaku). These were dispensed with, in deference to the "Restoration" theory, namely, that the Emperor himself should rule, as he had done in the eras of Engi and Tenryaku (901-957). But for the rest, the old offices were resuscitated and filled with men who had deserved well in the recent crisis or who possessed hereditary claims. Prince Morinaga, the sometime lord-abbot of Hiei-zan, was nominated commander-in-chief (tai-shoguri), and for the sake of historical lucidity hereafter the following appointments should be noted: Prince Narinaga to be governor-general (kwanryo) of the Kwanto, with his headquarters at Kamakura, and with Ashikaga Tadayoshi (brother of Takauji) for second in command. Prince Yoshinaga to be governor-general of O-U (Mutsu and Dewa), assisted by Kitabatake Chikafusa (an able statesman and a historian), and the latter's son, Akiiye, as well as by the renowned warrior, Yuki Munehiro. Nijo Michihira to be sa-daijin. Kuga Nagamichi to be u-daijin. Doin Kinkata to be nai-daijin. It is observable that the occupants of all these great offices were Court nobles. The creed of the Kemmu era was that the usurping buke (military families) had been crushed and that the kuge (Court nobility) had come to their own again. As for the provinces, the main purpose kept in view by the new Government was to efface the traces of the shugo system. Apparently the simplest method of achieving that end would have been to appoint civilian governors (kokushi) everywhere. But in many cases civilian governors would have been powerless in the face of the conditions that had arisen under military rule, and thus the newly nominated governors included Ashikaga Takauji, governor of Musashi, Hitachi, and Shimosa. Ashikaga Tadayoshi (brother of Takauji), governor of Totomi. Kusunoki Masashige, governor of Settsu, Kawachi, and Izumi. Nawa Nagatoshi, governor of Inaba and Hoki. Nitta Yoshisada, governor of Kotsuke and Harima. Nitta Yoshiaki (son of Yoshisada), governor of Echigo. Wakiya Yoshisuke (brother of Yoshisada), governor of Suruga. One name left out of this list was that of Akamatsu Norimura, who had taken the leading part in driving the Hojo from Rokuhara, and who had been faithful to the Imperial cause throughout. He now became as implacable an enemy as he had previously been a loyal friend. The fact is significant. Money as money was despised by the bushi of the Kamakura epoch. He was educated to despise it, and his nature prepared him to receive such education. But of power he was supremely ambitious--power represented by a formidable army of fully equipped followers, by fortified castles, and by widely recognized authority. The prime essential of all these things was an ample landed estate To command the allegiance of the great military families without placing them under an obligation by the grant of extensive manors would have been futile. On the other hand, to grant such manors in perpetuity meant the creation of practically independent feudal chiefs. The trouble with the restored Government of Go-Daigo was that it halted between these two alternatives. Appreciating that its return to power had been due to the efforts of certain military magnates, it rewarded these in a measure; but imagining that its own administrative authority had been replaced on the ancient basis, it allowed itself to be guided, at the same time, by capricious favouritism. Even in recognizing the services of the military leaders, justice was not observed. The records clearly show that on the roll of merit the first place, after Prince Morinaga, should have been given to Kusunoki Masashige's name. When Kasagi fell and when the Emperor was exiled, Masashige, alone among the feudatories of sixty provinces, continued to fight stoutly at the head of a small force, thus setting an example of steadfast loyalty which ultimately produced many imitators. Nitta Yoshisada ought to have stood next in order; then Akamatsu Norimura; then Nawa Nagatoshi, and finally Ashikaga Takauji.* In the case of Takauji, there was comparatively little merit. He had taken up arms against the Imperial cause at the outset, and even in the assault on Rokuhara he had been of little service. Yet to him the Crown allotted the greatest honour and the richest rewards. Some excuse may be found in Takauji's lineage, but in that respect he was inferior to Nitta Yoshisada. *Arai Hakuseki (1656-1725). Still more flagrant partiality was displayed in other directions. Relying on the promises of the Funanoe edicts epitomized above, thousands of military officers thronged the Court in Kyoto, clamouring for recognition of their services. Judges were appointed to examine their pleas, but that proved a tedious task, and in the meanwhile all the best lands had been given away by favour or affection. Go-Daigo himself appropriated the manors of Hojo Takatoki; those of Hojo Yasuie were assigned to Prince Morinaga; those of Osaragi Sadanao went to the Imperial consort, Renko. The immediate attendants of the sovereign, priests, nuns, musicians, littérateurs--all obtained broad acres by the Imperial fiat, and when, in the tardy sequel of judicial procedure, awards were made to military men, no spoil remained to be divided. Soon a cry went up, and gained constantly in volume and vehemence, a cry for the restoration of the military regime. As for Go-Daigo, whatever ability he had shown in misfortune seemed to desert him in prosperity. He neglected his administrative duties, became luxurious and arrogant, and fell more and more under the influence of the lady Ren. Of Fujiwara lineage, this lady had shared the Emperor's exile and assisted his escape from Oki. It had long been her ambition to have her son, Tsunenaga, nominated Crown Prince, but as Prince Morinaga was older and had established a paramount title by his merits, his removal must precede the accomplishment of her purpose. Fate furnished a powerful ally. Prince Morinaga, detecting that Ashikaga Takauji concealed a treacherous purpose under a smooth demeanour, solicited the Emperor's mandate to deal with him. Go-Daigo refused, and thereafter the lady Ren and the Ashikaga chief, whose influence increased daily, entered into a league for the overthrow of Prince Morinaga. It was at this time, when symptoms of disorder were growing more and more apparent, that Fujiwara Fujifusa, a high dignitary of the Court and one of the great statesmen of his era, addressed a solemn warning to Go-Daigo. The immediate occasion was curious. There had been presented to the Court by the governor of Izumo a horse of extraordinary endurance, capable of travelling from Tomita, in that province, to Kyoto, a distance of one hundred and sixty miles, between dawn and darkness. The courtiers welcomed the appearance of this horse as an omen of peace and prosperity, but Fujiwara Fujifusa interpreted it as indicating that occasion to solicit speedy aid from remote provinces would soon arise. He plainly told the Emperor that the officials were steeped in debauchery; that whereas, in the early days of the restoration, the palace gates had been thronged with warriors, to-day none could be seen, thousands upon thousands having left the capital disgusted and indignant to see Court favourites enriched with the rewards which should have fallen to the military; that the already distressed people were subjected to further heavy exactions for building or beautifying Imperial palaces; that grave injustice had been done to Akamatsu Norimura, and that unless the sovereign refrained from self-indulgence and sought to govern benevolently, a catastrophe could not be averted. But Go-Daigo was not moved, and finally, after repeating his admonition on several occasions, Fujifusa left the Court and took the tonsure. It says much for the nobility of the Emperor's disposition that he commissioned Nobufusa, father of Fujifusa, to seek out the persistent critic and offer him a greatly higher office if he would consent to return, and it says much for Fujifusa's sincerity that, hoping to give weight to his counsels, he embraced the life of a recluse and was never seen in public again. DEATH OF PRINCE MORINAGA Things now went from bad to worse in Kyoto, while in the provinces the remnants of the Hojo's partisans began to raise their heads. The ever-loyal Kusunoki Masashige and Nawa Nagatoshi entered the capital to secure it against surprise; Ashikaga Takauji, ostensibly for the same purpose, summoned large forces from the provinces, and Prince Morinaga occupied Nawa with a strong army. Takauji saw that the time had come to remove the prince, in whom he recognized the great obstacle to the consummation of his ambitious designs. Securing the co-operation of the lady Ren by a promise that her son, Narinaga, should be named Crown Prince and commander-in-chief (shoguri) in succession to Morinaga, he informed the Emperor that Prince Morinaga was plotting Go-Daigo's deposition and the elevation of his own son to the throne. The Emperor credited the accusation, summoned the usurping Morinaga to the palace, and caused him to be arrested. This happened in November, 1334. Morinaga vehemently declared his innocence. In a memorial to the Throne he recounted the loyal service he had rendered to his sovereign and father, and concluded with these words: In spite of all this I have unwittingly offended. I would appeal to heaven, but the sun and moon have no favour for an unfilial son. I would bow my head and cry to the earth for help, but the mountains and the rivers do not harbour a disloyal subject. The tie between father and son is severed, and I am cast away. I have no longer anything to hope in the world. If I may be pardoned, stripped of my rank, and permitted to enter religion, there will be no cause for regret. In my deep sorrow I cannot say more. Had this piteous appeal reached Go-Daigo, he might have relented. But just as the memorial addressed by Yoshitsune to his brother, Yoritomo, was suppressed by Hiromoto, so the chamberlain to whom Prince Morinaga entrusted his protest feared to carry it to the sovereign. Before the close of the year, the prince was exiled to Kamakura, and there placed in charge of Takauji's brother, Tadayoshi, who confined him in a cave dug for the purpose. He never emerged alive. Seven months later, Tadayoshi, on the eve of evacuating Kamakura before the attack of Hojo Tokiyuki, sent an emissary to assassinate Morinaga in the cave. The unfortunate prince was in his twenty-eighth year. His name must be added to the long list of noble men who fell victims to slander in Japan. A Japanese annalist* contends that Morinaga owed his fate as much to his own tactlessness as to the wiles of his enemies, and claims that in accusing Takauji to the throne, the prince forgot the Emperor's helplessness against such a military magnate as the Ashikaga chief. However that may have been, subsequent events clearly justified the prince's suspicions of Takauji's disloyalty. It must also be concluded that Go-Daigo deliberately contemplated his son's death when he placed him in charge of Takauji's brother. *Raj Sanyo. ASHIKAGA TAKAUJI OCCUPIES KAMAKURA The course of events has been somewhat anticipated above in order to relate the end of Prince Morinaga's career. It is necessary, now, to revert to the incident which precipitated his fate, namely, the capture of Kamakura by Hojo Tokiyuki. This Tokiyuki was a son of Takatoki. He escaped to Shinano province at the time of the Hojo downfall, and being joined there by many of his family's vassals, he found himself strong enough to take the field openly in July, 1335, and sweeping away all opposition, he entered Kamakura in August. Ashikaga Takauji's brother was then in command at Kamakura. It seemed, indeed, as though the Emperor deliberately contemplated the restoration of the old administrative machinery in the Kwanto, changing only the personnel; for his Majesty appointed his tenth son, Prince Narinaga, a boy of ten, to be shogun at Kamakura, and placed Ashikaga Tadayoshi in a position amounting, in fact though not in name, to that of regent (shikken). Probably these measures were merely intended to placate the Kwanto. Before there had been time to test their efficacy, the Hojo swept down on Kamakura, and Tadayoshi and the young shogun found themselves fugitives. Meanwhile, Ashikaga Takauji in Kyoto had been secretly fanning the discontent of the unrecompensed bushi, and had assured himself that a reversion to the military system would be widely welcomed. He now applied for a commission to quell the Hojo insurrection, and on the eve of setting out for that purpose, he asked to be nominated shogun, which request being rejected, he left the capital without paying final respects to the Throne, an omission astutely calculated to attract partisans. The Hojo's resistance was feeble, and in a few weeks the Ashikaga banners were waving again over Kamakura. The question of returning to Kyoto had now to be considered. Takauji's brother, Tadayoshi, strongly opposed such a step. He compared it to putting one's head into a tiger's mouth, and in fact information had already reached Kamakura in the sense that the enemies of the Ashikaga were busily slandering the victorious general. It may fairly be assumed, however, that Takauji had never intended to return to Kyoto except as dictator. He assumed the title of shogun; established his mansion on the site of Yoritomo's old yashiki; undertook control of the whole Kwanto; confiscated manors of his enemies; recompensed meritorious deeds liberally, and granted pardons readily. In fact, he presented to public gaze precisely the figure he desired to present, the strong ruler who would unravel the perplexities of a distraught age. From all quarters the malcontent bushi flocked to his flag. TAKAUJI AND YOSHISADA A serious obstacle to the achievement of the Ashikaga chief's purpose was Nitta Yoshisada. Both men were of the Minamoto family, but Yoshisada's kinship was the closer and his connexion with the Hojo had always been less intimate. Further, he had never borne arms against Go-Daigo's cause, as Takauji had done, and his unswerving loyalty made him an inconvenient rival. Therefore, the Ashikaga leader took an extreme step. He seized the domains of the Nitta family in the Kwanto and distributed them among his own followers; he caused his brother, Tadayoshi, to send letters inviting the adherence of many bushi; he addressed to the Throne a memorial impeaching Yoshisada on the ground that, whereas the latter's military successes had been the outcome entirely of opportunities furnished by the prowess of the Ashikaga, he did not hesitate to slander Takauji to the sovereign, and he asked for an Imperial commission to destroy the Nitta leader, whom he dubbed a "national thief." Yoshisada, when he learned of the presentation of this memorial, seized the Ashikaga manors within his jurisdiction and addressed to the Throne a countermemorial in which he conclusively proved the falsehood of Takauji's assertion with reference to military affairs; charged him with usurping the titles of governor-general of the Kwanto, and shogun; declared that Prince Morinaga, the mainstay of the restoration, had become the victim of Takauji's slanders, and asked for an Imperial mandate to punish Takauji and his brother, Tadayoshi. It is significant that the leal and gallant Yoshisada did not hesitate thus openly to assert the innocence and merits of Prince Morinaga, though only a few months had elapsed since the Emperor himself had credited his most unhappy son's guilt. While Go-Daigo hesitated, news from various provinces disclosed the fact that Takauji had been tampering with the bushi in his own interests. This settled the question. Takauji and Tadayoshi were proclaimed rebels, and to Nitta Yoshisada was entrusted the task of chastising them under the nominal leadership of Prince Takanaga, the Emperor's second son, to whom the title of shogun was granted. TAKAUJI ENTERS KYOTO In the beginning of November, 1335, the Imperial force moved eastward. It was divided into two armies. One, under Yoshisada's direct orders, marched by the Tokaido, or eastern littoral road; the other, under Yoshisada's brother, Wakiya Yoshisuke, with Prince Takanaga for titular general, advanced along the Nakasen-do, or inland mountain-road. The littoral army, carrying everything before it, pushed on to the capital of Izu, and had it forced its attack home at once, might have captured Kamakura. But the Nitta chief decided to await the arrival of the Nakasen-do army, and the respite thus afforded enabled the Ashikaga forces to rally. Tadayoshi reached the Hakone Pass and posted his troops on its western slopes in a position of immense natural vantage, while Takauji himself occupied the routes on the north, his van being at Takenoshita. The Imperialists attacked both positions simultaneously. Takauji not only held his ground, but also, being joined by a large contingent of the Kyoto men who, under the leadership of Enya Takasada, had deserted in the thick of the fight, he shattered his opponents, and when this news reached Hakone on the following morning, a panic seized Yoshisada's troops so that they either fled or surrendered. The Nitta chieftain himself retired rapidly to Kyoto with a mere remnant of his army, and effected a union with the forces of the ever-loyal Kusunoki Masashige and Nawa Nagatoshi, who had given asylum to Go-Daigo at the time of the escape from Oki. The cenobites of Hiei-zan also took the field in the Imperial cause. Meanwhile, Takauji and Tadayoshi, utilizing their victories, pushed rapidly towards Kyoto. The heart of the samurai was with them, and they constantly received large accessions of strength. Fierce fighting now took place on the south and east of the capital. It lasted for several days and, though the advantage was with the Ashikaga, their victory was not decisive. An unlooked-for event turned the scale. It has been related above that, in the struggle which ended in the restoration of Go-Daigo, Akamatsu Norimura was chiefly instrumental in driving the Hojo from Rokuhara; and it has also been related that, in the subsequent distribution of rewards, his name was omitted for the slight reason that he had, at one period, entered religion. He now moved up from Harima at the head of a strong force and, attacking from the south, effected an entry into Kyoto, just as he had done three years previously. Go-Daigo fled to Hiei, carrying the sacred insignia with him, and on the 24th of February, 1336, the Ashikaga armies marched into the Imperial capital. TAKAUJI RETIRES TO KYUSHU At this stage succour arrived for the Imperialists from the extreme north. In the arrangement of the local administration after Go-Daigo re-occupied the throne, the two northern provinces of Mutsu and Dewa had been separated from the Kwanto and placed under the control of Prince Yoshinaga, with Kitabatake Akiiye for lieutenant. The latter, a son of the renowned Chikafusa, was in his nineteenth year when the Ashikaga revolted. He quickly organized a powerful army with the intention of joining Yoshisada's attack upon Kamakura, but not being in time to carry out that programme, he changed the direction of his march and hastened towards Kyoto. He arrived there when the Ashikaga troops were laying siege to Hiei-zan, and effecting a union with the Imperialists, he succeeded in raising the siege and recovering the city. It is unnecessary to follow in detail the vicissitudes that ensued. Stratagems were frequent. At one time we find a number of Yoshisada's men, officers and privates alike, disguising themselves, mingling with the Ashikaga army, and turning their arms against the latter at a critical moment. At another, Kusunoki Masashige spreads a rumour of Yoshisada's death in battle, and having thus induced Takauji to detach large forces in pursuit of the deceased's troops, falls on him, and drives him to Hyogo, where, after a heavy defeat, he has to flee to Bingo. Now, for a second time, the Ashikaga cause seemed hopeless when Akamatsu Norimura again played a most important role. He provided an asylum for Takauji and Tadayoshi; counselled them to go to the west for the purpose of mustering and equipping their numerous partisans; advised them to obtain secretly a mandate from the senior branch of the Imperial family so that they too, as well as their opponents, might be entitled to fly the brocade banner, and having furnished them with means to effect their escape, returned to Harima and occupied the fortress of Shirahata with the object of checking pursuit. At this point there is a break in the unrelenting continuity of the operations. It should obviously have been the aim of the Imperialists to strike a conclusive blow before the Ashikaga leaders had time to assemble and organize their multitudinous supporters in Shikoku, Kyushu, and the provinces on the north of the Inland Sea. This must have been fully apparent to Kusunoki Masashige, an able strategist. Yet a delay of some weeks occurred. A quasi-historical record, the Taiheiki, ascribes this to Yoshinaga's infatuated reluctance to quit the company of a Court beauty whom the Emperor had bestowed on him. Probably the truth is that the Imperialists were seriously in want of rest and that Yoshisada fell ill with fever. Something must also be attributed to a clever ruse on the part of Akamatsu Norimura. He sent to Yoshisada's headquarters a message promising to give his support to the Imperialists if he was appointed high constable of Harima. Ten days were needed to obtain the commission from Kyoto, and Norimura utilized the interval to place the defenses of Shirahata fortress in a thoroughly secure condition. Thus, when his patent of high constable arrived, he rejected it with disdain, saying that he had already received a patent from the shogun, Takauji, and was in no need of an Imperial grant which "could be altered as easily as turning one's hand." Yoshisada, enraged at having been duped, laid siege to Shirahata but found it almost invulnerable. It was on March 11, 1336, that Takauji went westward from Bingo; it was on the 2nd of April that Yoshisada invested Shirahata, and it was on the 3rd of July that the siege was raised. The Ashikaga brothers had enjoyed a respite of more than three months, and had utilized it vigorously. They were at the Dazai-fu in Chikuzen in June when a message reached them that Shirahata could not hold out much longer. Immediately they set their forces in motion, advancing by land and water with an army said to have numbered twenty thousand and a fleet of transports and war-junks totalling seven thousand. At the island, Itsukushima, they were met by a Buddhist priest, Kenshun, bearer of a mandate signed by the ex-Emperor Kogon of the senior branch, and thus, in his final advance, the Ashikaga chief was able to fly the brocade banner. In the face of this formidable force the Imperialists fell back to Hyogo--the present Kobe--and it became necessary to determine a line of strategy. DEATH OF MASASHIGE Go-Daigo, in Kyoto, summoned Kusunoki Masashige to a conference. That able general spoke in definite tones. He declared it hopeless for the Imperialists with their comparatively petty force of worn-out warriors to make head against the great Ashikuga host of fresh fighters. The only wise course was to suffer the enemy to enter Kyoto, and then, while the sovereign took refuge at Hiei-zan, to muster his Majesty's partisans in the home provinces for an unceasing war upon the Ashikaga's long line of communications--a war culminating in an attack from the front and the rear simultaneously. Thus, out of temporary defeat, final victory would be wrested. All present at the conference, with one exception, endorsed Masashige's view as that of a proved strategist. The exception was a councillor, Fujiwara Kiyotada. He showed himself a veritable example of "those whom the gods wish to destroy." Declaring that all previous successes had been achieved by divine aid, which took no count of numerical disparity, he urged that if the sovereign quitted the capital before his troops had struck a blow, officers and men alike would be disheartened; and if refuge was again taken at Hiei-zan, the Imperial prestige would suffer. To these light words the Emperor hearkened. Masashige uttered no remonstrance. The time for controversy had passed. He hastened to the camp and bid farewell to his son, Masatsura: "I do not think that I shall see you again in life. If I fall to-day, the country will pass under the sway of the Ashikaga. It will be for you to judge in which direction your real welfare lies. Do not sully your father's loyalty by forgetting the right and remembering only the expedient. So long as a single member of our family remains alive, or so much as one of our retainers, you will defend the old castle of Kongo-zan and give your life for your native land." ENGRAVING: THE PARTING OF KUSONOKI MASASHIGE AND HIS SON MASATSURA He then handed to his son a sword which he himself had received from the Emperor. Passing thence to Hyogo, Masashige joined Nitta Yoshisada, and the two leaders devoted the night to a farewell banquet. The issue of the next day's combat was a foregone conclusion. Masashige had but seven hundred men under his command. He posted this little band at Minato-gawa, near the modern Kobe, and with desperate courage attacked the van of the Ashikaga army. Gradually he was enveloped, and being wounded in ten places he, with his brother and sixty followers, entered the precincts of a temple and died by their own hands.* Takauji and his captains, lamenting the brave bushi's death, sent his head to his family; and history recognizes that his example exercised an ennobling influence not only on the men of his era but also on subsequent generations. After Masashige's fall a similar fate must have overtaken Yoshisada, had not one of those sacrifices familiar on a Japanese field of battle been made for his sake. Oyamada Takaiye gave his horse to the Nitta general and fell fighting in his stead, while Yoshisada rode away. At first sight these sacrifices seem to debase the saved as much as they exalt the saver. But, according to Japanese ethics, an institution was always more precious than the person of its representative, and a principle than the life of its exponent. Men sacrificed themselves in battle not so much to save the life of a commanding officer, as to avert the loss his cause would suffer by his death. Parity of reasoning dictated acceptance of the sacrifice. *Kusunoki Masashige is the Japanese type of a loyal and true soldier. He was forty-three at the time of his death. Three hundred and fifty-six years later (1692), Minamoto Mitsukuni, feudal chief of Mito, caused a monument to be erected to his memory at the place of his last fight. It bore the simple epitaph "The Tomb of Kusunoki, a loyal subject." ENGRAVING: OSONAE (New Year Offering to Family Tutelary Deity) ENGRAVING: PALANQUINS (Used in Old Japan Only by the Nobility) CHAPTER XXX THE WAR OF THE DYNASTIES OCCUPATION OF KYOTO BY ASHIKAGA IN July, 1336, Takauji entered Kyoto and established his headquarters at the temple Higashi-dera. Go-Daigo had previously taken refuge at the Hiei-zan monastery, the ex-Emperors, Hanazono and Kogon, remaining in the capital where they looked for the restoration of their branch of the Imperial family. The Ashikaga leader lost no time in despatching a force to attack Hiei-zan, but the Imperialists, supported by the cenobites, resisted stoutly, and no impression was made on the defences for a considerable time. In one of the engagements, however, Nawa Nagatoshi, who had harboured Go-Daigo after the flight from Oki, met his death, and the Imperialist forces gradually dwindled. Towards the close of August, Takauji caused Prince Yutahito (or Toyohito, according to gome authorities), younger brother of Kogon, to be proclaimed Emperor, and he is known as Komyo. Characteristic of the people's political ignorance at that time is the fact that men spoke of the prince's good fortune since, without any special merit of his own, he had been granted the rank of sovereign by the shogun. Meanwhile, the investment of the Hiei monastery made little progress, and Takauji had recourse to treachery. At the close of October he opened secret communications with Go-Daigo; assured him that the Ashikaga did not entertain any disloyal purpose; declared that their seemingly hostile attitude had been inspired by the enmity of the Nitta brothers; begged Go-Daigo to return to Kyoto, and promised not only that should all ideas of revenge be foregone, but also that the administration should be handed over to the Court, and all their ranks and estates restored to the Emperor's followers. Go-Daigo ought surely to have distrusted these professions. He must have learned from Takauji's original impeachment of Yoshisada how unscrupulous the Ashikaga leader could be on occasion, and he should have well understood the impossibility of peace between these two men. Yet his Majesty relied on Takauji's assurances. It was in vain that Horiguchi Sadamitsu recounted Yoshisada's services, detailed the immense sacrifices he had made in the Imperial cause, and declared that if the Emperor were determined to place himself in Takauji's hands, he should prepare his departure from Hiei-zan by summoning to his presence Yoshisada with the other Nitta leaders and sentencing them to death. Go-Daigo was not to be moved from his purpose. He gave Yoshisada fair words indeed: "I profoundly praise your loyal services. My wish is to pacify the country by the assistance of your family, but heaven has not yet vouchsafed its aid. Our troops are worn out and the hour is unpropitious. Therefore, I make peace for the moment and bide my time. Do you repair to Echizen and use your best endeavours to promote the cause of the restoration. Lest you be called a rebel after my return to Kyoto, I order the Crown Prince to accompany you." Thus Go-Daigo, truly faithful neither to the one side nor to the other, set out for the capital. That night, Yoshisada prayed at the shrine of Hiyoshi: "Look down on my loyalty and help me to perform my journey safely so that I may raise an army to destroy the insurgents. If that is not to be, let one of my descendants achieve my aim." Two hundred and six years later, there was born in Mikawa of the stock of Yoshisada one of the greatest generals and altogether the greatest ruler that Japan has ever produced, Minamoto Ieyasu. Heaven answered Yoshisada's prayer tardily but signally. TAKAUJI'S FAITH Not one of Takauji's promises did he respect. He imprisoned Go-Daigo; he stripped all the courtiers of their ranks and titles; he placed in confinement all the generals and officers of the Imperial forces, and he ordered the transfer of the insignia to the sovereign of his own nomination, Komyo. Tradition has it that Go-Daigo, victim of so many treacheries, practised one successful deception himself: he reserved the original of the sacred sword and seal and handed counterfeits to Komyo. This took place on November 12, 1336. Some two months later, January 23, 1337, Go-Daigo, disguised as a woman for the second time in his career, fled from his place of detention through a broken fence, and reached Yoshino in Yamato, where he was received by Masatsura, son of Kusunoki Masashige, and by Kitabatake Chikafusa. Yoshino now became the rendez-vous of Imperialists from the home provinces, and Go-Daigo sent a rescript to Yoshisada in Echizen, authorizing him to work for the restoration. Thus commenced the War of the Dynasties, known in history as the Conflict of the Northern and Southern Courts, terms borrowed from the fact that Yoshino, where Go-Daigo had his headquarters, lay to the south of Kyoto. Hereafter, then, the junior branch of the Imperial Family will be designated the Southern Court and the senior branch will be spoken of as the Northern Court. The struggle lasted from 1337 to 1392, a period of fifty-five years. Much has been written and said about the relative legitimacy of the two Courts. It does not appear that there is any substantial material for doubt. Go-Daigo never abdicated voluntarily, or ever surrendered the regalia. Before his time many occupants of the throne had stepped down at the suggestion of a Fujiwara or a Hojo. But always the semblance of free-will had been preserved. Moreover, the transfer of the true regalia constituted the very essence of legitimate succession. But these remained always in Go-Daigo's possession. Therefore, although in the matter of lineage no distinction could be justly set up between the Northern and the Southern Courts, the collaterals of legitimacy were all with the latter. Of course each complied with all the forms of Imperialism. Thus, whereas the Southern Court used the year-name Engen for 1336-1339, the North kept the year-name Kemmu for two years, and as there were different nengo names for half a century, a new element of confusion was added to the already perplexing chronology of Japan. In administrative methods there was a difference. The Northern Court adhered to the camera system: that is to say, the actual occupant of the throne was a mere figurehead, the practical functions of Government being discharged by the cloistered sovereign. In the Southern Court the Emperor himself, nominally at all events, directed the business of administration. Further, the office of shogun in the Southern Court was held generally by an Imperial Prince, whereas in the Northern Court its holder was an Ashikaga. In brief, the supporters of the Northern Court followed the military polity of the Bakufu while the Southern adopted Imperialism. NATURE OF THE WAR As the question at issue lay solely between two claimants to the succession, readers of history naturally expect to find the war resolve itself into a campaign, or a succession of campaigns, between two armies. Such was by no means the case. Virtually the whole empire was drawn into the turmoil, and independent fighting went on at several places simultaneously. The two Courts perpetually made Kyoto their objective. Regardless of its strategical disadvantages, they deemed its possession cardinal. Takauji had been more highly lauded and more generously rewarded than Yoshisada, because the former had recovered Kyoto whereas the latter had only destroyed Kamakura. Thus, while Go-Daigo constantly struggled to capture Kyoto, Komyo's absorbing aim was to retain it. This obsession in favour of the Imperial metropolis left its mark upon many campaigns; as when, in the spring operations of 1336, Yoshisada, instead of being allowed to pursue and annihilate Takauji, was recalled to guard Kyoto, and when, in July of the same year, Kusunoki Masashige was sent to his death rather than temporarily vacate the capital. It must have been fully apparent to the great captains of the fourteenth century that Kyoto was easy to take and hard to hold. Lake Biwa and the river Yodo are natural bulwarks of Yamato, not of Yamashiro. Hiei-zan looks down on the lake, and Kyoto lies on the great plain at the foot of the hill. If, during thirteen generations, the Ashikaga family struggled for Kyoto, they maintained, the while, their ultimate base and rallying-place at Kamakura, and thus, even when shattered in the west, they could recuperate in the east. The Southern Court had no such depot and recruiting-ground. They had, indeed, a tolerable place of arms in the province of Kawachi, but in the end they succumbed to topographical disadvantages. DEATHS OF YOSHISADA AND AKIIYE In the fact that he possessed a number of sons, Go-Daigo had an advantage over his fourteen-year-old rival, Komyo, for these Imperial princes were sent out to various districts to stimulate the loyal efforts of local bushi. With Yoshisada to Echizen went the Crown Prince and his brother Takanaga. They entrenched themselves at Kana-ga-saki, on the seacoast, whence Yoshisada's eldest son, Yoshiaki, was despatched to Echigo to collect troops, and a younger brother, Yoshisuke, to Soma-yama on a similar errand. Almost immediately, Ashikaga Takatsune with an army of twenty thousand men laid siege to Kanaga-saki. But Yoshiaki and Yoshisuke turned in their tracks and delivered a rear attack which scattered the besiegers. This success, however, proved only temporary. The Ashikaga leader's deep resentment against Yoshisada inspired a supreme effort to crush him, and the Kana-ga-saki fortress was soon invested by an overwhelming force on sea and on shore. Famine necessitated surrender. Yoshiaki and Prince Takanaga committed suicide, the latter following the former's example and using his blood-stained sword. The Crown Prince was made prisoner and subsequently poisoned by Takauji's orders. Yoshisada and his brother Yoshisuke escaped to Soma-yama and rallied their partisans to the number of three thousand. The fall of Kana-ga-saki occurred in April, 1338, and, two months later, Go-Daigo took the very exceptional course of sending an autograph letter to Yoshisada. The events which prompted his Majesty were of prime moment to the cause of the Southern Court. Kitabatake Akiiye, the youthful governor of Mutsu and son of the celebrated Chikafusa, marched southward at the close of 1337, his daring project being the capture, first, of Kamakura, and next, of Kyoto The nature of this gallant enterprise may be appreciated by observing that Mutsu lies at the extreme north of the main island, is distant some five hundred miles from Kyoto, and is separated from the latter by several regions hostile to the cause which Akiiye represented. Nevertheless, the brilliant captain, then in his twenty-first year, seized Kamakura in January, 1338, and marched thence in February for Yoshino. He gained three victories on the way, and had nearly reached his objective when, at Ishizu, he encountered a great army of Ashikaga troops under an able leader, Ko no Moronao, and after a fierce engagement the Southern forces were shattered, Akiiye himself falling in the fight. This disaster occurred on June 11, 1338. A brave rally was made by Akiiye's younger brother, Akinobu. He gathered the remnants of the Mutsu army and occupied Otokoyama, which commands Kyoto. It was at this stage of the campaign that Go-Daigo resorted to the exceptional measure of sending an autograph letter to Yoshisada, then entrenched at Somayama, in Echizen. His Majesty conjured the Nitta leader to march to the assistance of Akinobu at Otoko-yama. Yoshisada responded at once. He despatched his brother, Yoshisuke, with twenty thousand men, remaining himself to cover the rear of the expedition. But Otoko-yama surrendered before this succour reached it, and the Nitta brothers then combined their forces to operate against the Ashikaga. Nothing decisive resulted, and in September, 1338, Yoshisada fell in an insignificant combat near the fortress of Fujishima in Echizen. He caused a comrade to behead him and carry off the head, but the enemy identified him by means of the Imperial letter found on his person. Yoshisada was only thirty-eight at the time of his death (September, 1338). Rai Sanyo (1780-1832), the great Japanese historian, says: "I saw a letter written by Yoshisada with his own hand for the purpose of admonishing the members of his family. In it he wrote: 'An officer in command of an army should respect the sovereign; treat his subordinates with clemency but decision; leave his fate in heaven's hands, and not blame others.' Yoshisada is open to criticism for not pursuing the Ashikaga when they fled westward from Kyoto; yet it must be remembered that he had no firm base, being hurried from one quarter to another. The strategy he used was not his own free choice nor were the battles he fought contrived by himself. But his devotion to the Imperial cause, his unfailing loyalty, and his indifference to self-interest have kept his memory fresh and will always keep it fresh. If, two hundred years after his death, a chieftain was born of his blood to carry the Minamoto name to the pinnacle of glory, who shall say that heaven did not thus answer the prayer put up by Yoshisada at the shrine of Hiyoshi?" DEATH OF GO-DAIGO During these events, Go-Daigo sojourned at Yoshino, which was protected by Kusunoki Masatsura, Wada Masatomo, and others. At the close of August, 1339, his Majesty falling ill, and feeling that his end was near, resigned the throne to his twelve-year-old son, the Crown Prince Yoshinaga, whose historical name is Go-Murakami. Go-Daigo's will declared that his only regret in leaving the world was his failure to effect the restoration, and that though his body was buried at Yoshino, his spirit would always yearn for Kyoto. Tradition says that he expired holding a sword in his right hand, the Hokke-kyo-sutra in his left, and that Kitabatake Chikafusa spoke of the event as a dream within a dream. It is recorded to Ashikaga Takauji's credit that, when the news reached Kyoto, he ordered five days' mourning; that he himself undertook to transcribe a sacred volume by way of supplication for the repose of Go-Daigo's spirit, and that he caused a temple to be built for the same purpose. Of course, these events cast a cloud over the fortunes of the Southern Court, but its adherents did not abate their activities. Everywhere they mustered in greater or less force. The clearest conception of their strength may be obtained by tabulating the names of their families and of the latter's localities: FAMILIES PROVINCES Kitabatake Mutsu and Ise Nitta Musashi, Shimotsuke, Echizen Kusunoki Kawachi Kojima, Sakurayama, Arii, Yoshikawa Sanyo-do Nawa and Misumi Sanin-do Kikuchi, Matsura, Kusano Saikai-do Doi, Tokuno, Yuasa, Yamamoto Nankai-do Ii Totomi Neo Mino Shinto officials Atsuta This table suggests that partisans of the Southern Court existed in almost every part of the empire. So, in truth, they did. But friends of the Northern Court existed also, and thus it resulted that at no time throughout the fifty-five years of the struggle were the provinces free from strife. It resulted also that frequent changes of allegiance took place, for a family had often to choose between total ruin, on the one hand, and comparative prosperity at the sacrifice of constancy, on the other. Some historians have adduced the incidents of this era as illustrating the shallowness of Japanese loyalty. But it can scarcely be said that loyalty was ever seriously at stake. In point of legitimacy there was nothing to choose between the rival branches of the Imperial family. A samurai might-pass from the service of the one to that of the other without doing any violence to his reverence for the Throne. What was certainly born of the troubled era, however, was a sentiment of contempt for central authority and a disposition to rely on one's own right arm. It could not have been otherwise. In several provinces official nominees of both Courts administered simultaneously, and men were requisitioned for aid, to-day, to the Northern cause, to-morrow, to the Southern. To be strong enough to resist one or the other was the only way to avoid ruinous exactions. From that to asserting one's strength at the expense of a neighbour who followed a different flag was a short step, if not a duty, and thus purely selfish considerations dictated a fierce quarrel and inspired many an act of unscrupulous spoliation. A few cases are on record of families which resorted to the device of dividing themselves into two branches, each declaring for a different cause and each warring nominally with the other. Thus the sept as a whole preserved its possessions, in part at any rate, whichever Court triumphed. But such double-faced schemes were very rare. A much commoner outcome of the situation was the growth of powerful families which regulated their affairs by means of a council of leading members without reference to Kamakura, Kyoto, or Yoshino. At the same time, minor septs in the neighbourhood saw the advantage of subscribing to the decisions of these councils and deferring to their judgments. "This was an important step in the development of the feudal system. Another was the abolition of feudal fiefs, as well as of the succession of women to real estate, and a curtailment of the inheritance, not so much of younger sons, as of all sons except the one selected as lord of the clan."* The shugo (high constables) also became a salient element of feudalism. Originally liable to frequent transfers of locality, some of them subsequently came to hold their office hereditarily, and these, together with the great majority of their confreres who had been appointed by the Bakufu, espoused the Ashikaga cause; a choice which impelled many of the military families in their jurisdiction to declare for the Southern Court. The Ashikaga shugo ultimately became leading magnates, for they wielded twofold authority, namely, that derived from their power as owners of broad estates, and that derived from their commission as shogun's delegates entitled to levy taxes locally. The provincial governors, at the outset purely civil officials, occasionally developed military capacity and rivalled the hereditary shugo in armed influence, but such instances were rare. *Murdoch's History of Japan. THE COURSE OF THE WAR After the death of Kusunoki Masashige, of Nitta Yoshisada, and of Kitabatake Akiiye, the strategical direction of the war devolved mainly upon Kitabatake Chikafusa, so far as the Southern Court was concerned. The greater part of the nation may be said to have been in arms, but only a small section took actual part in the main campaign, the troops in the distant provinces being occupied with local struggles. Chikafusa's general plan was to menace Kyoto and Kamakura simultaneously. Just as the eight provinces of the Kwanto formed the base of the Ashikaga armies, so the eight provinces constituting the Kii peninsula--Yamato, Kawachi, Izumi, Ise, Iga, Shima, Kii (in part), and Omi (in part)--served as bases for the partisans of the South. To strike at Kyoto from this base required the previous subjugation of Settsu, and, on the other hand, a strong army in Settsu menaced Yoshino. Chikafusa's plan, then, was to marshal in Kawachi force sufficient to threaten, if not to overrun, Settsu, and then to push on into the metropolitan province from Omi and Iga, the Ashikaga having been previously induced to uncover Kyoto by the necessity of guarding Kamakura. From the Kii peninsula the obvious route to the Kwanto is by sea. Therefore, the Southerners established a naval base at Shingu, on the east coast of the peninsula, and used it for the purpose not only of despatching a force northward, but also of maintaining communications with Shikoku and Kyushu, where they had many partisans. Chikafusa himself led the oversea expedition to the Kwanto, but the flotilla was wrecked by a storm, and he reached Yedo Bay with only a small following. Nevertheless, he established himself at Oda, in Hitachi, and being there joined by many of the Ashikaga's enemies, he managed, not indeed to seriously menace Kamakura, but at all events to give occupation to a large force of the Northerners. Driven out at last (1343), after more than four years' operations, he returned to Yoshino, where he found Kusunoki Masatsura, son of Masashige, carrying on from Kawachi a vigorous campaign against the Ashikaga in Settsu. After many minor engagements, in all of which he was successful, Masatsura inflicted such a severe defeat on his opponents at Sumiyoshi that the Bakufu became alarmed, and mustering an army of sixty thousand men, sent it under Ko Moronao and his brother, Moroyasu, to attack Masatsura. This was in December, 1347. Then Masatsura and his younger brother, Masatoki, together with Wada Katahide and other bushi, to the number of 140, made oath to conquer in fight or to die. They repaired to Yoshino, and having taken leave of the Emperor, Go-Murakami, they worshipped at the shrine of the late sovereign, Go-Daigo, inscribed their names upon the wall, and wrote under them: We that our bows here Swear nevermore to slacken Till in the land of life we Cease to be counted, Our names now record. It was in February, 1348, that the battle took place at Shijo-nawate in Kawachi. Moronao had sixty thousand men at his disposal; Masatsura only three thousand. The combat raged during six hours, the Kusunoki brothers leading thirty charges, until finally they were both covered with wounds, and only fifty men remained out of the sworn band. Then this remnant committed suicide. Moronao, following up his victory, marched into Yamato, and set fire to the palace there. Go-Murakami escaped to Kanao, and presently the Nitta family in the east and the Kitabatake in the west showed such activity that the Southern cause recovered its vitality, a turn of events largely promoted by dissensions in the Northern camp and by the consequent return of Moronao's forces to Kyoto. It is necessary, therefore, to direct our eyes for a moment to the course of affairs on the side of the Ashikaga. THE ASHIKAGA POLITY Ashikaga Takauji's original idea was to follow the system of Yoritomo in everything. Kamakura was to be his capital and he assumed the title of shogun. This was in 1335. Three years later he received the shogunate in due form from the Northern sovereign, Komyo. But he now discovered that Kyoto must be his headquarters so long as the War of the Dynasties lasted, and he therefore established the Bakufu at Muromachi in that city, modelling it on the lines of Yoritomo's institution, but dispensing with a regent (shikkeri) and substituting for him a second shitsuji. The first two shitsuji at Muromachi were Ko Moronao, the great general, and Uesugi Tomosada, a connexion of Takauji. Kamakura was not neglected, however. It became a secondary basis, Takauji's eight-year-old son, Yoshiakira, being installed there as governor-general (kwanryo) of the Kwanto under the guardianship of Uesugi Noriaki as shitsuji, and the old administrative machinery of the Hojo was revived in the main. Takauji's brother, Tadayoshi, became chief of the general staff in Kyoto, and "several Kamakura literati--descendants of Oye, Nakahara, Miyoshi, and others--were brought up to fill positions on the various boards, the services of some of the ablest priests of the time being enlisted in the work of drafting laws and regulations."* *Murdoch's History of Japan. To these priests and literati was entrusted the task of compiling a code based on the Joei Shikimoku of the Hojo regents, and there resulted the Kemmu Shikimoku, promulgated in 1337.* This was not a law, properly so called, but rather a body of precepts contained in seventeen articles. They have much interest as embodying the ethics of the time in political circles. "Economy must be universally practised. Drinking parties and wanton frolics must be suppressed. Crimes of violence and outrage must be quelled. The practice of entering the private dwellings of the people and making inquisitions into their affairs must be given up." Then follow two articles dealing with the ownership of vacant plots and rebuilding of houses and fireproof godowns in the devastated sections of the capital. The subsequent paragraphs provide that men of special ability for government work should be chosen for the office of shugo; that a stop must be put to the practice of influential nobles and women of all sorts and Buddhist ecclesiastics making interested recommendations (to the sovereign); that persons holding public posts must be liable to reprimand for negligence and idleness; that bribery must be firmly put down; that presents made from all quarters to those attached to the palace, whether of the inside or outside service, must be sent back; that those who are to be in personal attendance on the rulers must be selected for that duty; that ceremonial etiquette should be the predominant principle; that men noted for probity and adherence to high principle should be rewarded by more than ordinary distinction; that the petitions and complaints of the poor and lowly should be heard and redress granted; that the petitions of temples and shrines should be dealt with on their merits, and that certain fixed days should be appointed for the rendering of decisions and the issue of government orders.** *Kemmu was the Northern Court's name of the year-period 1334 to 1338: see p. 398. **The Kemmu Shikimoku by Mr. Consul-General Hall, in the "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan;" epitomized by Murdoch. THE JINNO SHOTOKI Before proceeding with the history of this troubled era, it is advisable to speak of a great political brochure which was compiled by Kitabatake Chikafusa during the period (1340-1343) of his attempt to harass the Ashikaga from the direction of Hitachi. This was a work designed to establish the divine claim of the sovereign of the Southern Court. Hence the title of the treatise, Correct Genealogy (Shotoki) of the Divine Emperor (Jinno). The reader knows that when, in the eighth century, Japan went to Chinese sources for jurisprudential inspiration, she had to eliminate the Confucian and Mencian doctrine that the sceptre may not be wielded by anyone whose virtues do not qualify him for the task in the eyes of the nation. This same doctrine permeated by construction the commentaries that accompanied the articles of the Kemmu Shikimoku as quoted above, and in that fact Chikafusa saw an opportunity of winning adherents for the Southern Court by proclaiming its heaven-conferred rights. "Great Yamato," Kitabatake wrote, "is a divine country. It is only our land whose foundations were first laid by the divine ancestor. It alone has been transmitted by the Sun goddess to a long line of her descendants. There is nothing of this kind in foreign countries. Therefore it is called the divine land. . . It is only our country which from the time when the heaven and earth were first unfolded, has preserved the succession to the throne intact in one single family. Even when, as sometimes naturally happened, it descended to a lateral branch, it was held according to just principles. This shows that the oath of the gods (to preserve the succession) is ever renewed in a way which distinguishes Japan from all other countries. . . . It is the duty of every man born on the Imperial soil to yield devoted loyalty to his sovereign, even to the sacrifice of his own life. Let no one suppose for a moment that there is any credit due to him for doing so. Nevertheless, in order to stimulate the zeal of those who came after, and in loving memory of the dead, it is the business of the ruler to grant rewards in such cases (to the children). Those who are in an inferior position should not enter into rivalry with them. Still more should those who have done no specially meritorious service abstain from inordinate ambitions. I have already touched on the principles of statesmanship. They are based on justice and mercy, in the dispensing of which firm action is requisite. Such is the clear instruction vouchsafed to us by the Sun goddess."* *Aston's Japanese Literature. It is not to be supposed that these doctrines produced any wide-spread influence on public opinion at the time of their promulgation. In the first place they were not generally accessible; for not until the year 1649 was Kitabatake's brochure printed. That it remained in manuscript during three centuries after its compilation is not attributable to technical difficulties. The art of blockprinting came to Japan from China in very early times, and it is on record that, in 770, the Empress Shotoku caused a million Buddhist amulets to be printed. But the Jinno Shotoki did not fall on fruitful soil. Either its teaching was superfluous or men were too much engrossed with fighting to listen to academical disquisitions. Chikafusa's work was destined to produce great and lasting effects in future ages, but, for the moment, it accomplished little. DISCORD IN THE CAMP OF THE ASHIKAGA A prominent feature of the Ashikaga family's annals was continuity of internecine strife. The Hojo's era had been conspicuously free from any such blemish; the Ashikaga's was markedly disfigured by it, so much so that by the debilitating effects of this discord the supremacy of the sept was long deferred. The first outward indications of the trouble were seen in 1348, when the able general, Ko Moronao, instead of following up his victory over the Southern Court after the death of Kusunoki Masatsura, turned suddenly northward from Yamato and hastened back to Kyoto. His own safety dictated that step. For during his absence from the capital on campaign, a plot to effect his overthrow had matured under the leadership of Ashikaga Tadayoshi and Uesugi Shigeyoshi. The latter held the office of shitsuji, and was therefore Moronao's comrade, while Tadayoshi, as already stated, had the title of commander-in-chief of the general staff and virtually directed administrative affairs, subject, of course, to Takauji's approval. Moronao undoubtedly possessed high strategical ability, and being assisted by his almost equally competent brother, Moroyasu, rendered sterling military service to the Ashikaga cause. But the two brothers were arrogant, dissipated, and passionate. It is recorded of Moronao that he abducted the wife of Enya Takasada, and of Moroyasu that he desecrated the grave of Sugawara in order to enclose its site within his mansion, both outrages being condoned by the shogun, Takauji, In truth, even in the days of Taira overlordship, Kyoto was never so completely under the heel of the military as it was in early Ashikaga times. Rokuhara did not by any means arrogate such universal authority as did Muromachi. The Court nobles in the middle of the fourteenth century had no functions except those of a ceremonial nature and were frankly despised by the haughty bushi. It is on record that Doki Yorito, meeting the cortege of the retired Emperor Kogon, pretended to mistake the escorts' cry of "In" (camera sovereign) for "inu" (dog), and actually discharged an arrow at the Imperial vehicle. Yorito suffered capital punishment, but the incident illustrates the demeanour of the military class. The two Ko brothers were conspicuously masterful and made many enemies. But the proximate cause of the plot alluded to above was jealousy on the part of Ashikaga Tadayoshi and Uesugi Shigeyoshi, who resented the trust reposed by Takauji in Moronao and Moroyasu. The conspirators underestimated Moronao's character. Reaching Kyoto by forced marches from Yamato, he laid siege to Tadayoshi's mansion, and presently Tadayoshi had to save himself by taking the tonsure, while Shigeyoshi was exiled to Echizen, whither Moronao sent an assassin to make away with him. The Ashikaga chief, whose trust in Moronao was not at all shaken by these events, summoned from Kamakura his eldest son, Yoshiakira, and entrusted to him the functions hitherto discharged by his uncle, Tadayoshi, replacing him in Kamakura by a younger son, Motouji. Yoshiakira was not Takauji's eldest son; he was his eldest legitimate son. An illegitimate son, four years older, had been left in Kamakura as a priest, but was recognized as the possessor of such abilities that, although his father refused to meet him, his uncle, Tadayoshi, summoned him to Kyoto and procured for him the high office of tandai of the west. This Tadafuyu was discharging his military duties in Bingo when news reached him of Moronao's coup d'etat in Kyoto and of his own patron, Tadayoshi's discomfiture. At once Tadafuyu crossed the sea to Higo in Kyushu, where a large number of discontented samurai rallied to his banner, and Shoni, the Ashikaga tandai of Kyushu, soon found himself vigorously attacked. The struggle presently assumed such importance that Kyoto's attention was attracted. The normal course would have been for Moronao to take the field against Tadafuyu. But Moronao was looking always for an opportunity to compass the death of his enemy, Tadayoshi, and thinking that his chance had now come, he persuaded Takauji to take personal command of the expedition to Kyushu, the idea being to finally dispose of Tadayoshi during the absence of the Ashikaga shogun from Kyoto. Tadayoshi, however, obtained timely information of this design and escaping to Yamato, offered to surrender to the Southern Court. This was in January, 1350. The advisers of the Emperor Go-Murakami differed radically in their counsels, but it was finally decided that every effort should be made to widen the rift in the Ashikaga lute, and the Court commissioned Tadayoshi to attack Takauji and recover Kyoto. Thus was presented the spectacle of a father (Takauji) fighting against his son (Tadafuyu), and a brother (Tadayoshi) fighting against a brother (Takauji). Tadayoshi was joined by many men of note and puissance whom the arrogance of the two Ko, Moronao and Moroyasu, had offended. A desperate struggle ensued, and the Ko generals had to retreat to Harima, where they joined with Takauji, the latter having abandoned his expedition to Kyushu. Meanwhile, Yoshiakira, Takauji's eldest son, had escaped from Kyoto and entered his father's camp. After a time negotiations for peace were concluded (1351), one of the conditions being that Moronao and Moroyasu should lay down their offices and enter the priesthood. But the blood of the shitsuji, Uesugi Shigeyoshi, was still fresh on Moronao's hands. Shigeyoshi's son, Akiyoshi, waylaid the two Ko on their route to Kyoto to take the tonsure, and Moronao and Moroyasu were both killed. YEAR-PERIODS AND COURTS Three years before the death of Moronao, that is to say, in 1348, the sovereign of the Northern Court, Komyo, abdicated in favour of Suko. Ever since 1332 there had been a dual year-period, outcome of the divided Imperialism, and history was thus not a little complicated. It will be convenient here to tabulate, side by side, the lines of the two dynasties: SOUTHERN COURT NORTHERN COURT 96th Sovereign, Go-Daigo 1318-1339 Kogon 1332-1335 97th " Go-Murakami 1339-1368 Komyo 1335-1348 98th " Chokei 1368-1372 Suko 1348-1352 99th " Go-Kameyama 1372-1392 Go-Kogon 1352-1371 Go-Enyu 1371-1382 100th " Go-Komatsu 1392-1412 Go-Komatsu 1382-1412 It is observable that the average duration of a Southern sovereign's reign was eighteen years, whereas that of a Northern sovereign was only thirteen years. DEATH OF TADAYOSHI The peace concluded between the Ashikaga chief and his brother, Tadayoshi, was of brief duration; their respective partisans distrusted one another too much. The Nikki, the Hosokawa, the Doki, and the Sasaki, all followed Takauji, but the Ishido, the Uesugi, and the Momonoi adhered to Tadayoshi. At last the situation became so strained that Tadayoshi withdrew to Echizen and from thence made his way to Kamakura. In these circumstances, Takauji desired to take the field himself, but since to do so would have exposed Kyoto to danger from the south, he attempted to delude the Court at Yoshino into crediting his loyalty and his willingness to dethrone Suko by way of preliminary to welcoming the return of Go-Murakami to Kyoto. Takauji's professions were now appraised at their true value, however. The Court at Yoshino commissioned him to punish his rebellious brother, but took steps, as will presently be seen, to turn the resulting situation to its own advantage. Takauji now placed himself at the head of a strong army, and moving eastward, marched to Kamakura practically unopposed. Tadayoshi escaped to Izu, where he took poison, or was given it. Takauji remained in the Kwanto during the greater part of two years (1352-1353). The task of restoring order and re-establishing the Ashikaga supremacy demanded all his ability and resources. "In the Kwanto alone, during these two years, more battles were fought--some of considerable magnitude--than during the thirty years between 1455 and 1485 in England."* *Murdoch's History of Japan. THE SOUTHERN COURT IN KYOTO In this state of affairs the Southern Court found its opportunity. In accepting Takauji's overtures, Kitabatake Chikafusa, who directed the politics and strategy of the Southern Court, had designed to dethrone Suko, to adopt the year name, Shohei, solely, and to establish an administrative council in Kyoto under his own presidency. He knew well that Takauji's surrender had not been sincere, but he counted on an access of strength from the partisans of Tadayoshi, and he looked for some occasion capable of being turned to advantage. Yoshiakira, who ruled Kyoto in the absence of his father, Takauji, made no difficulty about dethroning Suko and requesting the return of the Southern sovereign, Go-Murakami. Neither did he hesitate to hand over the false insignia which had been given by Go-Daigo to the Northern Court. In February, 1352, Go-Murakami paid a visit to Otoko-yama on the southeast of Kyoto, and ordered a number of officials, under Kitabatake Chikafusa and Kusunoki Masanori, to enter the capital and conduct affairs. But his Majesty did not trust his own person into the city. He waited until his plans were mature, and then a strong force of Southern troops was launched against Kyoto, while a powerful army of Kwanto bushi, led by the Nitta brothers, Yoshioki and Yoshimune, as well as by Wakiya Yoshiharu, marched into Musashi and defeated Takauji on the Kotesashi moor. The invaders actually got possession of Kamakura, but the superior strategy of the Ashikaga chief ultimately reversed the situation. Yoshimune had to fly to Echigo with a petty remnant of followers, and Yoshioki and Yoshiharu, evacuating Kamakura, took refuge in the Kawamura fortress. Meanwhile, in Kyoto, things had fared in a somewhat similar manner. The Southern generals carried everything before them at the outset, and Yoshiakira had to fly to Omi. But, after a brief period of quiet, the Northern troops rallied and expelled the Southern. Yoshiakira found himself again supreme. A strange dilemma presented itself, however. There was no sovereign. The retired sovereigns, Kogon, Komyo, and Suko, had all been carried to a place well within the Southern lines, and even the false regalia were not available. Nevertheless, Yoshiakira, regardless of forms, raised to the throne the younger brother of Suko, who is known in history as Go-Kogon. Thenceforth, on the accession of a Northern sovereign a merely nominal ceremony of transferring the sacred regalia sufficed. As for the ex-Emperors Kogon and Komyo, they turned their backs finally on the world and became priests of the Zen sect of Buddhism. CAPTURE AND RE-CAPTURE OF KYOTO In 1353, the Southern court received a signal accession of strength in the allegiance of the Yamana family and of Tadafuyu. The latter has already been spoken of as an illegitimate son of Takauji, who, through the influence of his uncle, Tadayoshi, was appointed tandai of the western provinces. The death of his patron inclined this able captain to join the Southern Court, and his inclination was translated into action early in 1353, owing to need of support against the partisans of the Ashikaga in the island of Kyushu and the western provinces. As for the Yamana, they were of Minamoto lineage; their influence was supreme in Hoki and Inaba, and they faithfully espoused the Ashikaga cause until an unfulfilled promise of a manor alienated their good-will. For to such considerations of self-interest men not infrequently sacrificed their duty of allegiance in the troublous times of the fourteenth century. Thus re-enforced, the Southern troops, under the supreme command of Tadafuyu, marched against Kyoto in July, 1353, and captured the city. Yoshiakira, guarding the young sovereign, Go-Kogon, effected his escape, and the Southern Emperor, Go-Murakami, issued a decree depriving of their official ranks and possessions all Court nobles who had assisted at the ceremony of the fugitive monarch's coronation. But the supremacy of the South did not last long. In August, Yoshiakira was strong enough to countermarch against the capital and to drive out Tadafuyu. Moreover, Takauji himself now found it safe to leave the Kwanto. Placing his son Motouji in charge at Kamakura, he returned to Kyoto accompanying the Emperor Go-Kogon, and thenceforth during nearly two years the supremacy of the North was practically undisputed. DEATH OF CHIKAFUSA Fate willed that while his enemies were thus triumphant, death should overtake the great statesman, strategist, and historian, Kitabatake Chikafusa. He died in 1354, at the age of sixty-two. Japanese annalists say of Chikafusa: "It was through his ability that the Southern forces were co-ordinated and kept active in all parts of the empire. It was due to his clever strategy that Kyoto lay under constant menace from the south. If the first great protagonists in the struggle between the Northern and the Southern Courts were Prince Morinaga and Takauji, and those of the next were Nitta Yoshisada and Takauji, the third couple was Kitabatake Chikafusa and Takauji." Chikafusa was of wide erudition; he had a wonderful memory, and his perpetual guides were justice and righteousness. After his death the Southern Court fell into a state of division against itself; and its spirit sensibly declined. DEATH OF TAKAUJI Takauji survived Chikafusa by only four years; he expired in 1358. Undoubtedly his figure is projected in very imposing dimensions on the pages of his country's history, and as the high mountain in the Chinese proverb is gilded by the sunbeams and beaten by the storm, so condemnation and eulogy have been poured upon his head by posterity. An annalist of his time says: "Yoritomo was impartial in bestowing rewards, but so severe in meting out punishments as to seem almost inhuman. Takauji, however, in addition to being humane and just, is strong-minded, for no peril ever summons terror to his eye or banishes the smile from his lip; merciful, for he knows no hatred and treats his foes as his sons; magnanimous, for he counts gold and silver as stones or sand, and generous, for he never compares the gift with the recipient, but gives away everything as it comes to hand. It is the custom for people to carry many presents to the shogun on the first day of the eighth month, but so freely are those things given away that nothing remains by the evening, I am told." A later historian, Rai Sanyo (1780-1832), wrote: "There were as brave men and as clever in the days of the Minamoto as in the days of the Ashikaga. Why, then, did the former never dare to take up arms against the Bakufu, whereas the latter never ceased to assault the Ashikaga? It was because the Minamoto and the Hojo understood the expediency of not entrusting too much power to potential rivals, whereas the Ashikaga gave away lands so rashly that some families--as the Akamatsu, the Hosokawa, and the Hatakeyama--came into the possession of three or four provinces, and in an extreme case one family--that of Yamana--controlled ten provinces, or one-sixth of the whole empire. These septs, finding themselves so powerful, became unmanageable. Then the division of the Ashikaga into the Muromachi magnates and the Kamakura chiefs brought two sets of rulers upon the same stage, and naturally intrigue and distrust were born, so that, in the end, Muromachi was shaken by Hosokawa, and Kamakura was overthrown by Uesugi. An animal with too ponderous a tail cannot wag it, and a stick too heavy at one end is apt to break. The Ashikaga angled with such valuable bait that they ultimately lost both fish and bait. During the thirteen generations of their sway there was no respite from struggle between family and family or between chief and vassal." Takauji's record plainly shows that deception was one of his weapons. He was absolutely unscrupulous. He knew also how to entice men with gain, but he forgot that those who came for gain will go also for gain. It would seem, too, that he sacrificed justice to the fear of alienating his supporters. Not otherwise can we account for his leniency towards the Ko brothers, who were guilty of such violations of propriety. THE SECOND ASHIKAGA SHOGUN Takauji was succeeded in the shogunate by his eldest son, Yoshiakira, of whom so much has already been heard. The fortunes of the Southern Court were now at low ebb. During the year (1359) after Takauji's death, Kamakura contributed materially to the support of the Ashikaga cause. The Kwanto was then under the sway of Takauji's fourth son, Motouji, one of the ablest men of his time. He had just succeeded in quelling the defection of the Nitta family, and his military power was so great that his captains conceived the ambition of marching to Kyoto and supplanting Yoshiakira by Motouji. But the latter, instead of adopting this disloyal counsel, despatched a large army under Hatakeyama Kunikiyo to attack the Southern Court. Marching by the two highways of Settsu and Kawachi, this army attacked Yoshino and gained some important successes. But the fruits of these victories were not gathered. The Hatakeyama chief developed ambitions of his own, and, on returning to the Kwanto, was crushed by Motouji and deprived of his office of shitsuji, that post being given again to Uesugi Noriaki, "who had been in exile since the death of Tadayoshi in 1352. At, or shortly after, this time, Kai and Izu and, later on, Mutsu, were put under Kamakura jurisdiction, and their peaceful and orderly condition formed a marked contrast to the general state of the rest of the empire."* *Murdoch's History of Japan. The next event of cardinal importance in this much disturbed period was the defection of Hosokawa Kiyouji, one of the shitsuji in Kyoto. This powerful chief, disappointed in his expectations of reward, went over to the Southern Court in 1361, and the result was that the Ashikaga shogun had to flee from Kyoto, escorting Go-Kogon. The situation soon changed however. Hosokawa Kiyouji, returning to his native province, Awa, essayed to bring the whole of Shikoku into allegiance to the Southern Court, but was signally worsted by his cousin, Hosokawa Yoriyuki--afterwards very famous,--and scarcely a month had elapsed before Yoshiakira was back in the capital. In the same year (1362), the Northerners received a marked increase of strength by the accession of the Yamana family, which was at that time supreme in the five central provinces of eastern Japan--namely, Tamba, Inaba, Bizen, Bitchu, and Mimasaka. During ten years this family had supported the Southern Court, but its chief, Tokiuji, now yielded to the persuasion of Yoshiakira's emissaries, and espoused the Ashikaga cause on condition that he, Tokiuji, should be named high constable of the above five provinces. Meanwhile, the partisans of the late Tadayoshi--the Kira, the Ishido, the Momonoi, the Nikki, and others--constituted a source of perpetual menace, and even among the Ashikaga themselves there was a rebel (Takatsune). Yoshiakira became weary of the unceasing strife. He addressed overtures to the Southern Court and they were accepted on condition that he made formal act of surrender. This the shogun refused to do, but he treated Go-Murakami's envoy with every mark of respect, and though the pourparlers proved finally abortive, they had continued for five months, an evidence that both sides were anxious to find a path to peace. Yoshiakira died in the same year, 1367. THE SOUTHERN COURT Previously to this event, a new trouble had occurred in the Southern Court. The Emperor Go-Murakami signified his desire to abdicate, and thereupon the Court nobles who had followed the three ex-Emperors into the Southern lines in 1352 fell into two cliques, each advocating the nomination of a different successor. This discord exercised a debilitating influence, and when Go-Murakami died (1368), the Southerners found themselves in a parlous condition. For his son and successor, Chokei, failing to appreciate the situation, immediately planned an extensive campaign against Kyoto from the east and the south simultaneously. Then Kusunoki Masanori passed into the Northern camp. Few events have received wider historical comment in Japan. The Kusunoki family stood for everything loyal and devoted in the bushi's record, and Masanori was a worthy chief of the sept. So conspicuous were his virtues and so attractive was his personality that a samurai of the Akamatsu family, who had planned a vendetta against him, committed suicide himself rather than raise his hand to slay such a hero. How, then, are we to account for Masanori's infidelity to the cause he had embraced? The answer of his country's most credible annalists is that his motive was to save the Southern Court. He saw that if the young Emperor. Chokei, persisted in his design of a general campaign against Kyoto, a crushing defeat must be the outcome, and since the sovereign would not pay heed to his remonstrances, he concluded that the only way to arrest the mad enterprise was his own defection, which would weaken the South too much to permit offensive action. Ashikaga Yoshimitsu was then shogun at Muromachi. He had succeeded to that office in 1367, at the age of nine, and his father, then within a year of death, had entrusted him to the care of Hosokawa Yoriyuki, one of the ablest men of his own or any generation. There are strong reasons for thinking that between this statesman and Masanori an understanding existed. So long as Yoriyuki remained in power there was nothing worthy of the name of war between the two Courts, and when, after his retirement in 1379, the struggle re-opened under the direction of his successor (a Yamana chief), Masanori returned to his old allegiance and took the field once more in the Southern cause. His action in temporarily changing his allegiance had given ten years' respite to the Southerners. PEACE BETWEEN THE TWO COURTS The Southern Emperor, Chokei, coming to the throne in 1368, abdicated in 1372 in favour of his brother, known in history as Go-Kameyama. During his brief tenure of power Chokei's extensive plans for the capture of Kyoto did not mature, but he had the satisfaction of seeing the whole island of Kyushu wrested from Ashikaga hands. It is true that under the able administration of Imagawa Sadayo (Ryoshun), a tandai appointed by the Ashikaga, this state of affairs was largely remedied during the next ten years, but as the last substantial triumph of the Yoshino arms the record of Chokei's reign is memorable. It was, in truth, the final success. The decade of comparative quiet that ensued on the main island proved to be the calm before the storm. The most prominent figures in the closing chapter of the great dynastic struggle are Hosokawa Yoriyuki and Yamana Mitsuyuki. When the second Ashikaga shogun, Yoshiakira, recognized that his days were numbered, he summoned his trusted councillor, Hosokawa Yoriyuki, and his son Yoshimitsu, and said to the latter, "I give you a father," and to the former, "I give you a son." Yoriyuki faithfully discharged the trust thus reposed in him. He surrounded his youthful charge with literary and military experts, and secured to him every advantage that education could confer. Moreover, this astute statesman seems to have apprehended that if the cause of the Southern Court were not actually opposed, it would die of inanition, and he therefore employed all his influence to preserve peace. He endeavoured also to enforce strict obedience to the economical precepts of the Kemmu code, and altogether the ethics he favoured were out of harmony with the social conditions of Kyoto at the time and with the natural proclivities of the young shogun himself. In fine, he had to leave the capital, too full of his enemies, and to retire to his native province, Awa. During ten years he remained in seclusion. But, in 1389, a journey made by the shogun to Miya-jima revealed so many evidences of Yoriyuki's loyalty that he was invited to return to Kyoto, and with his assistance the organization of the Ashikaga forces at Muromachi was brought to a high state of efficiency, partly because the astute Yoriyuki foresaw trouble with the Yamana family, which was then supreme in no less than ten provinces, or nearly one-sixth of all Japan. In 1391 Yamana Ujikiyo and his kinsman Mitsuyuki took the field against Kyoto under the standard of the Southern Court. He commanded a great army, and there resulted a desperate struggle known in history as the Meitoku War, after the name of the year-period when it occurred. The Yamana leader was killed and his army completely routed. In the following year, the great Hosokawa Yoriyuki died. He had lived to see the ten provinces recovered from Yamana rule and partitioned among the Muromachi generals. But he expired just before the final triumph to which his genius had so materially contributed. For within a few months of his demise the War of the Dynasties came at last to a close. The proximate cause was the fall of the Kusunoki stronghold, which had been built by Masashige, and during sixty years had remained unconquered. With its reduction, preceded as it had been by the annihilation of the Yamana, the fortunes of the Southern Court had become hopeless, and overtures carried from Kyoto by one of the most distinguished of the Muromachi generals, Ouchi Yoshihiro, were accepted. Go-Komatsu then occupied the Northern throne. He had succeeded Go-Enyu, in 1382, and the latter, had succeeded Go-Kogon, in 1371. Go-Komatsu, having been only six years of age at the time of his accession, was in his sixteenth year when the two Courts came to an agreement. For a time the terms proved very difficult of adjustment, but ultimately it was decided that the Southern sovereign, Go-Kameyama, should abdicate in favour of the Northern, the former being thenceforth treated as the latter's father. This compact having been concluded, the sacred insignia were transported from Yoshino to Kyoto with all solemnity. Six Court nobles accompanied them from the South; twenty went out from the North to receive them, and a numerous body of troops formed the escort. The retiring Emperor spent ten days at the palace in Kyoto, throughout which time a magnificent banquet was held to celebrate the conclusion of the fifty-five years' war. Yoshino and other districts were assigned for the support of the ex-Emperor, and pensions or domains were conferred on the Court nobles of the South, some of whom, however, declining to compromise their sense of honour by accepting favours from the North, withdrew to the provinces; and their exile was shared by several of the military leaders who had remained true to the South throughout. There can be little doubt that among these apparent implacables were some of a selfishly calculating disposition, who, anticipating a reversion to the system of alternate succession, as instituted by the Hojo interpreters of Go-Saga's testament, looked for greater personal advantage when the Crown should come to the Southern branch than anything that could be hoped for by submitting to the Northern. They were mistaken. That testament, which had done so much mischief in its time, was ignored from the close of the War of the Dynasties. It did not fall into total abeyance, however, without some further bloodshed, and the facts may be interpolated here so as to dispose finally of the subject. In 1412, the abdication of Go-Komatsu should have been followed by the accession of a Southern prince had the principle of alternation been pursued. It was not so followed. On the contrary, the sceptre fell to Shoko--101st sovereign--son of Go-Komatsu. Hence, in 1413, Date Yasumune, in Mutsu, and, in 1414, Kitabatake Mitsumasa, in Ise, made armed protests, gallant but ineffective. Again, in 1428, on the childless death of Shoko, the claims of the Southern line were tacitly ignored in favour of Go-Hanazono, grandson of the third Northern Emperor, Suko. The same Mitsumasa now took the field, aided this time by Masahide, head of the ever loyal house of Kusunoki, but signal failure ensued. The last struggle in behalf of the Southern line took place in 1443, when "a band of determined men under Kusunoki Jiro and the Court noble, Hino Arimitsu, suddenly assailed the palace from two directions; all but succeeded in killing or capturing the Emperor, and actually got possession of the regalia. They were soon driven out, however, and in their flight to Hiei-zan, where one body of them entrenched themselves, the mirror and the sword were dropped and recovered by the pursuers. The other body made good their escape to the wilds of Odai-ga-hara, carrying with them the seal; and it was not till a year later that it found its way back to Kyoto, when the rebels had been destroyed."* *Murdoch's History of Japan. ENGRAVING: KOZUKA AND MENUKI (SWORD FURNITURE) CHAPTER XXXI THE FALL OF THE ASHIKAGA TWO BRANCHES OF THE ASHIKAGA THE Ashikaga family was divided into two main branches, both descended from Takauji. The representatives of one, the senior, branch had their headquarters at Muromachi in Kyoto and held the office of shogun as a hereditary right. There were fifteen generations: Name Born Succeeded Abdicated Died (1) Takauji 1305 1338 .... 1358 (2) Yoshiakira 1330 1358 1367 1368 (3) Yoshimitsu 1358 1367 1395 1408 (4) Yoshimochi 1386 1395 1423 1428 (5) Yoshikazu 1407 1423 .... 1425 (6) Yoshinori 1394 1428 .... 1441 (7) Yoshikatsu 1433 1441 .... 1443 (8) Yoshimasa 1435 1443 1474 1490 (9) Yoshihisa 1465 1474 .... 1489 (10) Yoshitane (#1) 1465 1490 1493 .... (11) Yoshizumi 1478 1493 1508 1511 Yoshitane (#2) .... 1508 1521 1522 (12) Yoshiharu 1510 1521 1545 1550 (13) Yoshiteru 1535 1545 .... 1565 (14) Yoshihide 1565 1565 .... 1568 (15) Yoshiaki 1537 1568 1573 1597 The apparent clashing of dates in the case of the fourth and fifth shoguns, Yoshimochi and Yoshikazu, is due to the fact that on the death of the latter, in 1425, the former resumed the office and held it until his own death, in 1428. THE KAMAKURA KWANRYO AND KUBO Born Died (1) Motouji 1340 1367 (2) Ujimitsu 1357 1398 (3) Mitsukane 1376 1409 (4) Mochiuji 1398 1439 (5) Shigeuji 1434 1497 (6) Masatomo .... 1491 (7) Takamoto .... .... (8) Haruuji .... 1560 (9) Yoshiuji .... .... The title "kwanryo," as already stated, signifies "governor-general," and the region governed was the eight provinces of the Kwanto, together with Izu and Kai. The first of the Ashikaga kwanryo, Motouji, was Takauji's youngest son, and the following eight names on the above list were direct descendants. But not all had the title of kwanryo or wielded the extensive power attached to that office. Only the first four were thus fortunate. From the days of the fifth, Shigeuji, evil times overtook the family. Driven out of Kamakura by the Uesugi, who had hitherto served as manager (shitsuji), they were obliged to change their domicile to Koga in Shimosa; their sphere of jurisdiction was reduced to four provinces, namely, Shimosa, Shimotsuke, Kazusa, and Awa; their official title was altered to gosho or kubo, and their former title of kwanryo passed to the Uesugi family who also replaced them at Kamakura. These things fell out in 1439, when Mochiuji died. To avoid confusion it is necessary to note that the chief official in the shogun's court at Muromachi in Kyoto was also called kwanryo. He had originally been termed "manager" (shitsuji), but, in 1367, this was changed to "governor-general," and the corresponding functions were practically those discharged by the regent (shikken) in the polity of the old Bakufu. The first Muromachi kwanryo was Shiba Yoshimasa, and it became the ultimate custom to give the post to a member of one of three families, the Shiba, the Hosokawa, and the Hatakeyama. STATE OF THE PROVINCES When swords were sheathed after the long and wasting War of the Dynasties, the Ashikaga found themselves in a strong position. Having full control of the Court, they could treat as a rebel anyone opposing them by force of arms, and their partisans were so numerous in Kyoto and its vicinity that they could impose their will upon all. In the east, the Kwanto was effectually ruled by a branch of their own family, and in the north as well as in the south they were represented by tandai, who governed stoutly and loyally. But trouble began very soon. In Kyushu the office of tandai was held by Imagawa Ryoshun, a man ever memorable in Japanese history as the author of the precept that military prowess without education is worse than useless. Ryoshun had been selected for service in Kyushu by the great shitsuji of Muromachi, Hosokawa Yoriyuki, who saw that only by the strongest hands could the turbulent families of the southern island be reduced to order--the Shimazu, the Otomo, the Shoni, and the Kikuchi. Everything went to show that Imagawa would have succeeded had not that familiar weapon, slander, been utilized for his overthrow. The Otomo chief persuaded Ouchi Yoshihiro to traduce Ryoshun, and since the Ouchi sept exercised great influence in the central provinces and had taken a prominent part in composing the War of the Dynasties, the shogun, Yoshimitsu, could not choose but listen to charges coming from such a source. Imagawa Ryoshun was recalled (1396), and thenceforth Kyushu became the scene of almost perpetual warfare which the Muromachi authorities were powerless to check. THE OUCHI FAMILY It was to the same Ouchi family that the Muromachi shogun owed his first serious trouble after the close of the War of the Dynasties. The ancestor of the family had been a Korean prince who migrated to Japan early in the seventh century, and whose descendants, five and a half centuries later, were admitted to the ranks of the samurai. The outbreak of the War of the Dynasties had found the Ouchi ranged on the Southern side, but presently they espoused the Ashikaga cause, and distinguished themselves conspicuously against the Kikuchi in Kyushu and, above all, in promoting the conclusion of the dynastic struggle. These eminent services were recognized by Ouchi Yoshihiro's appointment to administer no less than six provinces--Nagato, Suwo, Aki, Buzen, Kii, and Izumi. In fact he guarded the western and eastern entrances of the Inland Sea, and held the overlordship of western Japan. At his castle in Sakai, near Osaka, he amassed wealth by foreign trade, and there he received and harboured representatives of the Kusunoki and Kikuchi families, while at the same time he carried on friendly communications with the Doki, the Ikeda, and the Yamana. In short, he grew too powerful to receive mandates from Muromachi, especially when they came through a kwanryo of the Hatakeyama family who had just risen to that distinction. Suddenly, in November, 1399, the Ouchi chief appeared in Izumi at the head of a force of twenty-three thousand men, a force which received rapid and numerous accessions. His grounds of disaffection were that he suspected the shogun of a design to deprive him of the two provinces of Kii and Izumi, which were far remote from the other five provinces in his jurisdiction and which placed him within arm's length of Kyoto, and, further, that no sufficient reward had been given to the family of his younger brother, who fell in battle. There were minor grievances, but evidently all were pretexts: the real object was to overthrow Muromachi. The shogun, Yoshimitsu, acted with great promptitude. He placed Hatakeyama Mitsuiye at the head of a powerful army, and on January 18, 1400, Sakai fell and Yoshihiro committed suicide. Thereafter the province of Kii was placed under the jurisdiction of the Hatakeyama family, and Izumi under that of Hosokawa, while the Shiba ruled in Echizen, Owari, and Totomi. In short, these three families became the bulwarks of the Ashikaga. KAMAKURA AND MUROMACHI An important episode of the Ouchi struggle was that Mitsukane, the third Kamakura kwanryo of the Ashikaga line, moved an army into Musashi to render indirect assistance to the Ouchi cause. In truth, from an early period of Kamakura's tenure by an Ashikaga governor-general of the Kwanto, there had been an ambition to transfer the office of shogun from the Kyoto to the Kamakura branch of the family. The matter was not mooted during Takauji's lifetime, but when, on his demise, the comparatively incompetent Yoshiakira came into power at Muromachi, certain military magnates of the eastern provinces urged the Kamakura kwanryo, Motouji, to usurp his brother's position. Motouji, essentially as loyal as he was astute, spurned the proposition. But it was not so with his son and successor, Ujimitsu. To him the ambition of winning the shogunate presented itself strongly, and was only abandoned when Uesugi Noriharu committed suicide to add weight to a protest against such an essay. Japanese annals contain many records of lives thus sacrificed on the altar of devotion and loyalty. From the outset the Uesugi family were the pillars of the Ashikaga kwanryo in Kamakura. Uesugi Noriaki served as shitsuji in the time of the first kwanryo, and the same service was rendered by Noriaki's son, Yoshinori, and by the latter's nephew, Tomomune, in the time of the second kwanryo, Ujimitsu. Confusing as are the multitude of names that confront the foreign student of Japanese history, it is necessary to note that from the time of their appointment as shitsuji at Kamakura, Yoshinori took the family name of Yamanouchi, and Tomomune that of Ogigayatsu. Balked in his design against Kyoto, Ujimitsu turned his hand against the Nitta, old enemies of his family, and crushing them, placed the Ashikaga power on a very firm basis in the Kwanto. His son, Mitsukane, had the gift of handling troops with great skill, and in his time the prestige of the Kamakura kwanryo reached its highest point. In the eyes of the military men of the eastern provinces, the shogun in distant Kyoto counted for little compared with the governor-general in adjacent Kamakura. The latter's mansion was called gosho (palace); its occupant was termed kubo, an epithet hitherto applied to the shogun only, and the elder and younger branches of the Uesugi family, in which the office of kwanryo of Muromachi was hereditary, were designated Ryo Uesugi (the Two Uesugi). Mitsukane, when he abetted the Ouchi's attempt to overthrow the Kyoto shogun, persuaded himself that he was only carrying out his father's unachieved purpose, and the shogun, Yoshimitsu, took no step to punish him, preferring to accept his overtures--made through Uesugi Tomomune. THE EXTRAVAGANCE OF YOSHIMITSU There is little question that whatever applause history can extend to the administration of the third Ashikaga shogun, Yoshimitsu, was won for him by his profoundly sagacious guardian and chief minister, Hosokawa Yoriyuki. After the latter's death, in 1392, many abuses and few meritorious acts appear in the shogun's record. Alike, the wise self-effacement and the admirable frugality which distinguished the Hojo rule were wholly foreign to the mood of Yoshimitsu. He insisted on being raised to the post of chancellor of the empire, and he openly spoke of himself as "king," designating as Go-sekke (Five Regent Houses) the families of Shiba, Hosokawa, Hatakeyama, Rokkaku, and Yumana. At the ceremony of his investiture as chancellor (dajo daijiri) he presented to the Throne a sword forged by Kunimitsu; one hundred pieces of white silk; one thousand silver coins; ten tigers' skins, and fifty pounds of dyed silk. To the ex-Emperor he gave a thousand silver coins; fifty pieces of white silk, and a sword, and among the Imperial princes and Court nobles he distributed ten thousand pieces of silver. Such was his parade of opulence. ENGRAVING: ASHIKAGA YOSHIMITSU The chief obstacle to conferring on him the title of chancellor had been that the records contained only one instance of a military man's appointment to that exalted post. That instance was Taira no Kiyomori, whose example should have been deterrent to a Minamoto. Yoshimitsu overcame the difficulty by nominally transferring his military functions to his son Yoshimochi (1423), and constituting himself the patron of literature. It was now that his love of luxury and splendour assumed its full dimensions. He had already beautified his Muromachi mansion by constructing there a park so spacious and so brilliant at all seasons that it went by the name of Hana no Gosho (Palace of Flowers). This he now assigned as a residence for his son and successor, Yoshimochi, transferring his own place of abode to the site occupied by the Saionji family, to whom was given in exchange an extensive manor in Kawachi. Here the Ashikaga chancellor built a palace of such dimensions that sixteen superintendents and twenty assistant superintendents were required to oversee the work. Most conspicuous was the Kinkaku-ji, or golden pavilion shrine, so called because its interior was gilt, the gold foil being thickly superposed on lacquer varnish. On this edifice, on the adjacent palace, and on a park where deer roamed and noble pine trees hung over their own shadows in a picturesque lake, immense sums were expended. Works of art were collected from all quarters to enhance the charm of a palace concerning which the bonze Sekkei declared that it could not be exchanged for paradise. Yoshimitsu prayed the Emperor to visit this unprecedentedly beautiful retreat and Go-Komatsu complied. During twenty days a perpetual round of pastimes was devised for the entertainment of the sovereign and the Court nobles--couplet composing, music, football, boating, dancing, and feasting. All this was typical of the life Yoshimitsu led after his resignation of the shogun's office. Pleasure trips engrossed his attention--trips to Ise, to Yamato, to Hyogo, to Wakasa, and so forth. He set the example of luxury, and it found followers on the part of all who aimed at being counted fashionable, with the inevitable result that the producing classes were taxed beyond endurance. It has to be noted, too, that although Yoshimitsu lived in nominal retirement at his Kita-yama palace, he really continued to administer the affairs of the empire. INTERNATIONAL HUMILIATION It is not for arrogance, or yet for extravagance, that Japanese historians chiefly reproach Yoshimitsu. His unpardonable sin in their eyes is that he humiliated his country. From the accession of the Ming dynasty (1368) China made friendly overtures to Japan, especially desiring the latter to check the raids of her corsairs who, as in the days of the Hojo after the repulse of the Mongol armada, so also in the times of the Ashikaga, were a constant menace to the coastwise population of the neighbouring continent. Upon the attitude of the shogun towards these remonstrances and overtures depended the prosecution of commerce with the Middle Kingdom, and the profits accruing from that commerce were too considerable to be neglected by a ruler like Yoshimitsu, whose extravagance required constant accessions of revenue. Moreover, the Muromachi shogun was a disciple and patron of the Zen sect of Buddhism, and the priests of that sect always advocated peaceful intercourse with China, the source of philosophic and literary learning. All these considerations induced the Ashikaga chief not only to issue orders for the restraint of the corsairs, but also to receive from the Chinese Court despatches in which he was plainly designated the king of a country tributary to China, and to make answer in language unequivocally endorsing the propriety of such terminology. In one despatch, dated February, 1403, Yoshimitsu described himself as a "subject of Ming" and, "prostrate, begged to present twenty horses, ten thousand catties of sulphur, thirty-two pieces of agate, three gold-foil folding screens, one thousand lances, one hundred swords, a suit of armour, and an ink-stone." It is recorded that he even humbled himself so far as to ask for supplies of Chinese coins, and certainly these comparatively pure copper tokens remained largely in circulation in Japan down to Tokugawa times, under the name of Eiraku-tsuho, Eiraku being the Japanese sound of the Chinese year-period, Yunglo (1403-1422). DEATH OF YOSHIMITSU Yoshimitsu died in 1408. He was accorded by the Court the posthumous rank of Dajo Tenno (ex-Emperor), a proof of the extraordinary confusion of etiquette caused by his arrogant pretensions. The Chinese sovereign, Yunglo, sent a message of sympathy to the Japanese potentate's son, Yoshimochi, in which the deceased was designated "Prince Kung-hsien," but Yoshimochi, though not distinguished for ability, had sufficient wisdom ultimately to adopt the advice of the kwanryo, Shiba Yoshimasa, and to decline the rank of Dajo Tenno, as well as to break off relations with the Ming ruler. Yoshimochi also handed over the magnificent edifice at Kita-yama to the Buddhist priesthood. THE EMPEROR SHOKO In 1412, the Emperor Go-Komatsu abdicated in favour of his son Shoko (101st sovereign), then twelve years old. This sovereign abandoned himself to the profligacy of the era. It is doubtful whether his reason was not unhinged. Some accounts say that he fell into a state of lunacy; others, that he practised magic arts. At all events he died childless in 1428, and was succeeded by a grandson of the Emperor Suko, Go-Hanazono, then in his tenth year. Thus, the claims of the Southern dynasty were ignored twice consecutively, and its partisans made armed protests in the provinces, as has been already noted. But these struggles proved abortive, and thereafter history is no more troubled with such episodes. The Daikagu-ji line disappears altogether from view, and the throne is occupied solely by representatives of the Jimyo-in. There can be very little doubt that the former was the legitimate branch; but fortune was against it. YOSHIMOCHI, YOSHIKAZU, AND YOSHINORI Yoshimochi, son of Yoshimitsu, became shogun (1395) at the age of nine, and the administration was conducted by Hosokawa Mitsumoto, Shiba Yoshishige, and Hatakeyama Mitsuiye. Twenty-eight years later, that is to say, in 1423, he abdicated in favour of his son, Yoshikazu. The cause of that step deserves notice. Yoshimitsu had intended to pass over Yoshimochi, his first-born, in favour of his second son, Yoshitsugu, but death prevented the consummation of that design. Yoshimochi, however, knew that it had been entertained. Therefore, after the death of their father, he seized Yoshitsugu, threw him into prison, and ultimately caused him to be killed. With the blood of his younger brother on his hands he abdicated in favour of his own sixteen-year-old son, Yoshikazu. But the latter died--some historians say that dissipation destroyed him--in two years, and having no second son to succeed, Yoshimochi himself resumed the office of shogun, holding it until his death, in 1428. During his thirty-three years' tenure of power this ruler seems to have aimed solely at enjoying the sweets of ease and tranquillity. He left the provinces severely alone and thought only of the peace of the metropolis. Turbulent displays on the part of self-appointed partisans of the Southern Court; intrigues in the Kwanto; revolts among his own immediate followers--all these things were treated by Yoshimochi with gloved hands so long as the atmosphere of Kyoto was not troubled. In 1428, he fell sick, and, the end being in sight, he ordered his advisers to consult about his successor. Some advocated the appointment of his kinsman, Mochiuji, governor-general of the Kwanto, and Mochiuji himself prayed that it should be so. But the choice ultimately fell on Yoshimochi's younger brother, Gien, who had embraced religion and was then serving as abbot of the temple Shoren-in. This man, then in his thirty-fourth year, hesitated to accept the nomination, but was induced to do so. He changed his name to Yoshinori, and assuming the office in 1428, showed high talents and great intrepidity. He was, in truth, a ruler as efficient as his predecessor had been perfunctory. One of the most important events of his time was the ruin of the Ashikaga Bakufu at Kamakura. Between Kamakura and Muromachi there had been friction from an early date. We have seen the second and third governors-general of the Kwanto, Ujimitsu and Mitsukane, plotting to supplant the elder branch of their family in Kyoto, and we have seen how the accession of the priest, Yoshinori, had disappointed the ambition of the fourth governor-general, Mochiuji, who, if unable to become shogun himself, would fain have obtained that high office for his son, Yoshihisa. Several years previously, namely, in 1417, there had occurred a feud between the Yamanouchi and the Ogigayatsu branches of the Uesugi family in the Kwanto, the former represented by Norimoto, the latter by Ujinori. The Uesugi stood next to the Ashikaga at Kamakura, the important office of manager (shitsuji) being invariably held by the head of the former house. It would have been well-nigh impossible therefore for the governor-general to view such a feud with indifference. Mochiuji, then in his twentieth year, sympathized with Norimoto, and in the sequel, Ujinori, with whom was allied Mochiuji's younger brother, Mochinaka, took the field at the head of such a force that the governor-general must have succumbed had not the shogun, Yoshimochi, rendered aid. This should have placed Kamakura under a heavy debt of gratitude to Muromachi. But Mochiuji was not subject to such emotions. He rebelled vehemently against the lenient treatment accorded to Ujinori's son after their father's death, and the shogun had difficulty in placating him. So long, however, as Yoshimochi ruled in Kyoto, the Kamakura kwanrya abstained from further intrigues; but on the accession of the sometime bonze, Yoshinori, to the shogunate, all sense of restraint was removed. The governor-general now made no attempt to conceal his hostility to the Muromachi shogun. Certain family rights imperatively demanding reference to the shogun were not so referred, and Mochiuji not only spurned the remonstrances of the manager (shitsuji), Uesugi Norimoto, but even attempted to kill the latter's son, Norizane. All efforts to reconcile the Kwanto and the shitsuji proved futile, and Norizane had to flee to Kotsuke. No sooner did these things come to the ears of the shogun, Yoshinori, than he obtained an Imperial commission to quell the insurgents, and placing an army under the orders of Mochifusa, a son of Ujinori, directed him to march against Kamakura. At first it seemed as if the Kamakura men would emerge victorious. At the easily defended passes of Hakone they inflicted several successive though not signal defeats upon Mochifusa's army. But the appearance of Norizane in the field quickly changed the complexion of the campaign. Very soon the Kamakura force was shattered, and Mochiuji himself fled to the temple Shomyo-ji in Kanazawa, where he begged to be allowed to retire from the world. But the shogun declined to pardon him and remained obdurate in spite of earnest and repeated petitions from Norizane, praying that Mochiuji should be forgiven and allowed to retire in favour of his son, Yoshihisa. In the end, Mochiuji, his son, his uncle, and many others all died by their own hands. These things happened in 1439. The redeeming feature of the sombre family feud was the fine loyalty of Norizane. Though it had been against him chiefly that Mochiuji raged, and though his death was certain had he fallen under the power of the Kamakura kwanryo, Mochiuji's fate caused him such remorse that he attempted to commit suicide and finally became a priest. Thenceforth, the title of governor-general of the Kwanto passed to the Uesugi, two of whom were appointed to act simultaneously. As for the Kamakura Ashikaga, the three remaining sons of Mochiuji fled to Koga in Shimosa, where two of them were subsequently killed by a Kamakura army, and the third, Shigeuji, fared as has already been described. ASSASSINATION OF THE SHOGUN It has been shown that Akamatsu Norimura was among the captains who contributed most to the triumph of the Ashikaga cause. In recognition of his distinguished services the offices of high constable in the five provinces of Settsu, Inaba, Harima, Mimasaka, and Bizen were given to his three sons. Mitsusuke, grandson of the eldest of these, administered three of the above provinces in the days of the fourth Ashikaga shogun, Yoshimochi. A puny man of contemptible presence, Mitsusuke received little consideration at Muromachi, and the shogun was induced to promise his office of high constable to a handsome kinsman, Mochisada. Enraged at such partiality, Mitsusuke set fire to his mansion in Kyoto and withdrew to his castle at Shirahata in Harima. When, however, the shogun would have sent an army against him, none was found to take command, Mochisada having given universal offence by his haughty arrogance. In the sequel, Mitsusuke had to be pardoned and Mochisada ordered to kill himself. After the death of the shogun, Yoshimochi, Mitsusuke fell into fresh trouble. The new shogun, Yoshinori, belonged to a very different category of men from his immediate predecessors. He conquered the Kitabatake family in Ise; repressed the remnants of the Southern Court league; crushed the military monks by capturing Nara and Hiei-zan; put an end finally to Kamakura's intrigues; obtained control of the west, and quelled his enemies in all directions. It now became his task to bend to his will the overstrong and over-presumptuous among the concerted families of the Ashikaga. Foremost of these were the Akamatsu, their chief, a man whose personality invited contumely. The shogun disliked Mitsusuke, and found it an agreeable occupation to slight him. Gradually the Akamatsu leader became bitterly estranged. Moreover, he saw his younger sister executed for disobedience though she was the shogun's mistress; he saw the nephew of his old enemy, Mochisada, treated with marked favour by the Muromachi potentate, and he learned, truly or untruly, that his own office of high constable was destined to be bestowed on this favourite. It was now the time when Kamakura's mischievous potentialities had been finally destroyed, and to commemorate the event, entertainments in the shogun's honour were organized by the heads of the great military families. On the 6th of August, 1441, it fell to Akamatsu Mitsusuke to act as his host. So soon as the shogun and his personal attendants had passed the portals of the Akamatsu mansion, the horses in the stables were set free as though by accident; the gates were closed to prevent the escape of the animals; Yoshinori with his small retinue, being thus caught in a trap, were butchered; the mansion was fired, and Mitsusuke with seven hundred followers rode off in broad daylight to his castle in Harima, whence, assisted by the monk, Gison, he sent circulars in all directions inciting to revolt. Thus miserably perished a ruler whose strong hand, active brain, and fearless measures, had he been spared a few years longer, might have saved his country from some of the terrible suffering she was destined to undergo in the century and a half subsequent to his death. He did not live long enough to reach a high place in history. But all his measures were designed to make for the eradication of immorality and corruption, and for the restoration of law and order throughout the country. His fault seems to have been precipitancy. So many suffered by his reforms, and in such quick succession, that the hatred he provoked could scarcely have been kept within control. In the matter of finance, too, he resorted, as will be presently seen, to devices quite irreconcilable with just administration. YOSHIKATSU AND YOSHIMASA The murder of Yoshinori left the shogun's office without any designate occupant, but the heads of the great military families lost no time in electing Yoshikatsu*, the eight-year-old son of Yoshinori, and at the latter's nominal instance the Emperor ordered him to attack his father's assassin. The three Yamana chiefs, Mochitoyo (called also Sozen, or the "Red Monk," one of the ablest captains of his country), Noriyuki, and Norikiyo; the Hosokawa chief, Mochitsune; and Sadamura, representing the Akamatsu family, all joined forces for the expedition, and presently an army of fifty thousand men sat down before Shirahata Castle. In October, 1441, the stronghold fell. Mitsusuke perished, and the three provinces he had administered were transferred to the Yamana--Harima to Mochitoyo, Mimasaka to Norikiyo, and Bizen to Noriyuki. *To be distinguished from Yoshikazu (shogun 1423-1425), son of Yoshimochi. We have seen how, in 1392, the Yamana family was shattered in a revolt against the authority of the shogun, Yoshimitsu. We now see the fortunes of the family thoroughly rehabilitated. The young shogun, however, did not long survive the punishment of his father's murderers. He died in 1443, at the age of ten, and was succeeded by his brother Yoshimasa, then in his eighth year. During the latter's minority, the administration fell into the hands of Hatakeyama Mochikuni and Hosokawa Katsumoto, who held the office of Muromachi kwanryo alternately. The country now began to experience the consequences of Yoshinori's death before his plans to limit the power of the great military septs had matured. Disorder became the normal condition in the provinces. The island of Kyushu took the lead. There the Shoni, the Kikuchi, the Otomo, and the Shiba had always defied a central authority, and now Norishige, a younger brother of the assassin, Akamatsu Mitsusuke; found among them supporters of a scheme to restore the fortunes of his house. In the Kwanto partisans of the late kwanryo, Mochiuji, raised their heads. In the home provinces the warrior-priests of Nara sought to avenge the chastisement they had suffered at Yoshinori's hands, and among the immediate entourage of Muromachi, the Hosokawa, the Hatakeyama, the Shiba, and others engaged in desperate struggles about questions of succession. ENGRAVING: ASHIKAGA YOSHIMASA THE TOKUSEI Even when he reached man's estate, Yoshimasa proved wholly incompetent to deal with these complications. He abandoned himself to dissipation and left everything, great or small, to be managed by his wife, Fujiwara Tomiko, and by his consort, Kasuga no Tsubone. Bribery and corruption were the motive forces of the time. The innocent were punished; the unworthy rewarded. The shogun remained indifferent even when his mandates were neglected or contravened. The building of splendid residences, the laying out of spacious parks, the gratification of luxurious tastes, and the procuring of funds to defray the cost of his vast extravagance--these things occupied his entire attention. Associated with the Ashikaga shogunate is a financial device known in history as tokusei, a term signifying "virtuous administration." Originally imported from China, the tokusei meant nothing more than a temporary remission of taxes in times of distress. But during the financial straits to which the country was reduced after the Mongol invasion, the Hojo deemed it necessary to afford relief to landowners who had mortgaged their property, and thus, in 1297, a law--tokusei-rei--was enacted, providing that eviction for debt must not be enforced. Under the Ashikaga, the tokusei received a still wider import. It was interpreted as including all debts and pecuniary obligations of any kind. In other words, the promulgation of a tokusei ordinance meant that all debtors, then and there, obtained complete relief. The law was not construed exactly alike everywhere. Thus, in Nara a debtor must discharge one-third of his obligation before claiming exemption, and elsewhere a nominal sum had to be paid for release. Naturally, legislation so opposed to the fundamental principles of integrity led to flagrant abuses. Forced by riotous mobs, or constrained by his own needs, the Muromachi shogun issued tokusei edicts again and again, incurring the hot indignation of the creditor class and disturbing the whole economic basis of society. Yoshimasa was conspicuously reckless; he put the tokusei system into force thirteen times. EXTRAVAGANCE AND INCOMPETENCE OF YOSHIMASA It is stated in the records of the Onin era (1467-1469) that Yoshimasa subordinated his duties altogether to his pleasures, and that his thoughts seemed to turn wholly on banquets and fetes. His favourites, especially females, had the control of affairs and were the final arbiters in all important matters. Thus, a domain which had been in the undisputed possession of a family for generations might be alienated in favour of any claimant sufficiently unscrupulous and sufficiently rich to "commend" his title, and a judgment delivered by a court of law in the morning was liable to be reversed in the evening by the fiat of the ladies in the Muromachi "palace." Stability of policy had no existence. In a period of twenty-four years (1444-1468), three sentences each of punishment and pardon were pronounced in the case of the Hatakeyama family, and in twenty years, Yoshikado and Yoshitoshi of the Shiba sept were each punished and pardoned three times. In Kyoto it became a current saying that loyal acts, not evil deeds, were penalized, and the truth of the comment found confirmation in the case of an official, Kumagaya, who was dismissed from his post and deprived of his property for venturing to memorialize the shogun in a critical manner. These same records of the Onin year-period also make clear that one of the factors chiefly responsible for the disturbance was Yoshimasa's curious lack of sympathy with the burdens of the people. Even one grand ceremony in the course of from five to six years sufficed to empty the citizens' pockets. But in Yoshimasa's time there Were nine of such fetes in five years, and four of them had no warrant whatever except pleasure seeking--as a performance of the Sarugaku mime on an immense scale; a flower-viewing party; an al-fresco entertainment, and a visit to the cherry blossoms. On each of these occasions the court officials and the military men had to pawn their estates and sell their heirlooms in order to supply themselves with sufficiently gorgeous robes, and the sequel was the imposition of house taxes and land taxes so heavy that the provincial farmers often found vagrancy more lucrative than agricultural industry. Pawnshops were mercilessly mulcted. In the days of Yoshimitsu, they were taxed at each of the four seasons; in Yoshinori's time the same imposts were levied once a month, and under Yoshimasa's rule the pawnbrokers had to pay nine times in November, 1466, and eight times in December of the same year. Even after full allowance has been made for exaggeration, natural in the presence of such extravagance, there remains enough to convict Yoshimasa of something like a mania for luxury. He built for himself a residence so splendid that it went by the name of the Palace of Flowers (Hana no Gosho) and of materials so costly that the outlay totalled six hundred thousand strings of cash;* and he built for his mother, Shigeko, a mansion concerning which it is recorded that two of the sliding doors for the interior cost twenty thousand strings.** Yet at times this same Yoshimasa was reduced to such straits for money that we read of him borrowing five hundred "strings" on the security of his armour, to pay for a parturition chamber. *£4,500,000--$22,000,000. **£150,000--$7,300,000. The Palace of Flowers came into existence in 1459, just on the eve of a period of natural calamities which culminated in famine and pestilence. In 1462, these conditions were at their worst. From various, provinces people flocked to the capital seeking food, and deaths from starvation became frequent in the city. A Buddhist priest, Gwana, constructed grass huts to which the famished sufferers were carried on bamboo stretchers to be fed with soft, boiled millet. It is recorded that, during the first two months of 1462, the number of persons thus relieved totalled eighty-two thousand. Another Buddhist priest erected a monument to the dead found in the bed of the river below the bridge, Gojo. They aggregated twelve hundred. Scores of corpses received no burial, and the atmosphere of the city was pervaded with a shocking effluvium. But even the presence of these horrors does not seem to have sobered the Muromachi profligate. The costly edifices were pushed on and the people's resources continued to be squandered. Even the Emperor, Go-Hanazono, was sufficiently shocked to compose a couplet indirectly censuring Yoshimasa, and a momentary sense of shame visited the sybarite. But only momentary. We find him presently constructing in the mansion of his favourite retainer, Ise Sadachika, a bath-house which was the wonder of the time, a bath-house where the bathers were expected to come robed in the most magnificent costumes. One of the edifices that formed part of his palace after his retirement from active life, in 1474, was a "Silver Pavilion" intended to rival the "Golden Pavilion" of his ancestor, Yoshimitsu. During the last sixteen years of his life--he died in 1490--he patronized art with a degree of liberality that atones for much of his previous profligacy. In the halls of the Jisho-ji monastery, constructed on a grand scale as his retreat in old age, he collected chefs d'oeuvre of China and Japan, so that the district Higashi-yama where the building stood became to all ages a synonym for choice specimens, and there, too, he instituted the tea ceremonial whose votaries were thenceforth recognized as the nation's arbitri elegantiarum. Landscape gardens also occupied his attention. Wherever, in province or in capital, in shrine, in temple, in private house, or in official residence, any quaintly shaped rock or picturesque tree was found, it was immediately requisitioned for the park of Higashi-yama-dono, as men then called Yoshimasa, and under the direction of a trio of great artists, So-ami, Gei-ami, and No-ami, there grew up a plaisance of unprecedented beauty, concerning which a poet of the time wrote that "every breeze coming thence wafted the perfume of tea." The pastimes of "listening to incense," of floral arrangement, of the dramatic mime, and of the parlour farce were all practised with a zest which provoked the astonishment even of contemporary annalists. ENGRAVING: A PICNIC DURING THE FLOWER SEASON IN THE ASHIKAGA PERIOD All this contributed materially to educate the nation's artistic faculties, but the cost was enormous and the burden of taxation correspondingly heavy. It was under this financial pressure that Yoshimasa approached the Ming emperor seeking pecuniary aid. Thrice the shogun's applications were successful, and the amounts thus obtained are said to have totalled three hundred thousand strings of cash (equivalent of £450,000, or $2,200,000). His requests are said to have assumed the guise of appeals in behalf of famine-stricken people, but there is no evidence that any of the presents were devoted to that purpose. Partial apologists for Yoshimasa's infatuation are not wanting. Thus, it is alleged that he was weary of failure to reform the administration; that the corruption and confusion of society induced him to seek consolation in art; that outside the precincts of his palace he was restrained by the provincial magnates, and inside he had to obey the dictation of his wife, Tomi, of her brother, Katsumitsu, and of his own favourite page, Ise Sadachika, so that only in his tea reunions and his private theatricals could a semblance of independence be obtained; that his orders were not obeyed or his injunctions respected by any save the artists he had gathered around him, and that in gratifying his luxurious tastes, he followed the example of his grandfather, Yoshimitsu. But such exculpations amount to saying that he was an essentially weak man, the slave of his surroundings. THE KWANTO TUMULT The lawlessness of the time and the indifference with which the shogun's mandates were treated find illustration in the story of the Kwanto. When (1439) Mochiuji perished, the only member of his family that survived was his five-year-old son, Shigeuji. This child placed himself under the protection of Muromachi. It will be remembered that Uesugi Norizane, lamenting his unwilling share in Mochiuji's destruction, had entered religion. His son, Noritada, was then appointed to act as manager (shitsuji) to Shigeuji, his colleague being Uesugi Akifusa (Ogigayatsu Uesugi). But the Yuki family, who had given shelter to two sons of Mochiuji, objected to bow their heads to the Uesugi, and persuaded Shigeuji to have Noritada killed. Therefore, the partisans of the murdered man placed themselves under the banner of his brother, Fusaaki, and having received a commission from Muromachi as well as a powerful contingent of troops under Imagawa Noritada, they marched in great force against Kamakura from Kotsuke, Kazusa, and Echigo. Kamakurawas well-nigh reduced to ruins, but Shigeuji retired to the fortress of Koga in Shimosa, and his cause against the Uesugi was espoused by the eight families of Chiba, Koyama, Satomi, Satake, Oda, Yuki, Utsunomiya, and Nasu, thenceforth known as the "eight generals" of the Kwanto. Against such a league it was difficult to operate successfully. Masatomo, a younger brother of Yoshimasa, built for himself a fortress at Horigoe, in Izu, which was thereafter known as Horigoe Gosho (the Horigoe Palace), Shigeuji in his castle of Koga being designated Koga Kuba (the Koga shogun). Castle building acquired from this time greatly increased vogue. Uesugi Mochitomo fortified Kawagoe in Musashi; Ota Sukenaga (called also Dokan), a vassal of the Ogigayatsu Uesugi, built at Yedo a fort destined to have world-wide celebrity, and his father, Sukekiyo, entrenched Iwatsuki in the same province of Musashi. Thus the Kwanto became the arena of warring factions. PREFACE TO THE ONIN WAR We now arrive at a chapter of Japanese history infinitely perplexing to the reader. It is generally called the Onin War because the struggle described commenced in the year-period of that name, but whereas the Onin period lasted only two years (1467-1469), the Onin War continued for eleven years and caused shocking destruction of life and property. When war is spoken of, the mind naturally conjectures a struggle between two or perhaps three powers for a cause that is respectable from some points of view. But in the Onin War a score of combatants were engaged, and the motive was invariably personal ambition. It has been described above that when the Ashikaga chief, Takauji, undertook to re-establish the Minamoto Bakufu, he essayed to overcome opposition by persuasion rather than by force. Pursuing that policy, he bestowed immense estates upon those that yielded to him, so that in time there came into existence holders of lands more extensive than those belonging to the shogun himself. Thus, while the landed estates of the Muromachi shogun measured only 15,798 cho* there were no less than eight daimyo more richly endowed. They were: *A cho at that time represented 3 acres. It is now 2.5 acres. Daimyo Area of Estates in cho (3 acres) (1) Yanada Takasuke 32,083 (2) Uesugi Akisada 27,239 (3) Ouchi Mochiyo 25,435 (4) Hosokawa Katsumoto 24,465 (5) Shiba Mochitane 23,576 (6) Sasaki Takayori 16,872 (7) Hatakeyama Yoshmari 16,801 (8) Sasaki Mochikiyo 16,725 If we examine the list still more minutely, we find no less than twenty-two families, each of whose estates was equal to, or larger than, one-half of the Muromachi manors. Some families consisted of several branches whose aggregate properties represented an immense area. This was notably the case of the Yamana; their five branches held lands totalling 45,788 cho. The owners of such estates must not be confounded with the high constables (shugo). Thus Yamana Sozen, as the high constable of Harima province, held administrative authority in fourteen districts covering an area of 10,414 cho, and if to this be added the expanse of his fief, namely, 8016 cho, we get a total nearly equal to the manors of Hosokawa Katsumoto. Again, Shiba Yoshitoshi, in addition to owning 10,816 cho, officiated as tandai of Kyushu, which gave him jurisdiction over another extent of 106,553 cho, though it is true that his authority was defied in the provinces of Satsuma and Osumi. The military owner of one of these great estates levied a revenue on a scale which will be presently discussed, but the high constable was nominally empowered to collect and transmit only such taxes as were payable to the Bakufu, namely, the "military dues" (buke-yaku) and the "farmers' dues" (hyakusho-yaku), whereof the former were originally assessed at two per cent., and subsequently raised to five per cent., of a family income; and the latter varied from one to two per cent, of a homestead's earnings. So long as a high constable or a tandai was loyal to the Bakufu, the latter received the appointed quota of imposts; but in times of insurrection, the shugo or tandai appropriated to his own purposes the proceeds alike of the buke-yaku and the hyakusho-yaku. Not merely inequalities of wealth operated to produce political unrest. It has also to be noted that each great military family supported a body of armed retainers whose services were at all times available; further, we must remember that the long War of the Dynasties had educated a wide-spread spirit of fighting, which the debility of the Ashikaga Bakufu encouraged to action. The Onin disturbance had its origin in disputes about inheritance. It has been recorded that the high post of kwanryo (governor-general) in the Muromachi polity was filled by a member of one of three families, the Hosokawa, the Hatakeyama, and the Shiba. The Hosokawa were the most powerful, and had for representative in the middle of the fifteenth century an administrator, Katsumoto, who to extensive erudition and a profound knowledge of medicine added very exceptional gifts of statecraft and organizing ability. The Hatakeyama had for head Mochikuni, called also Tokuhon, a man of parts; and it happened that the rival family of Yamana was led by Mochitoyo, or Sozen, who, on account of his powerful physique, shaved head, and peculiar complexion, sometimes received the name of the "Red Monk" (Aka-nyudo). Tokuhon being without a legitimate son, adopted his nephew, Masanaga, but subsequently desired to secure the succession to Yoshinari, a son borne to him by a concubine. This change was not viewed with equanimity by all the vassals of Tokuhon, and to solve the problem the latter appealed to the shogun, Yoshimasa, who authorized the death of Masanaga. Tokuhon, in his capacity of kwanryo, naturally had much weight with the shogun, but Yoshimasa's conduct on that occasion must be attributed mainly to a laisser-aller mood which he had then developed, and which impelled him to follow the example set by the Imperial Court in earlier times by leaving the military families in the provinces to fight their own battles. Masanaga sought succour from Hosokawa Katsumoto, and that magnate, welcoming the opportunity of avenging an old injury at the hands of the Hatakeyama, laid siege to the mansion of Tokuhon, who barely escaped with his life, his son, Yoshinari, fleeing to the fortress of Wakae, in Kawachi, whence he was presently driven by the forces of Katsumoto and Sozen, then acting in conjunction but destined afterwards to become bitter enemies. The shogun, true to his complacent policy, now recognized Masanaga as head of the house of Hatakeyama, Tokuhon having just died (1455). But Yoshinari did not acquiesce. In 1456, he marched with a Kawachi army against Masanaga, and a deadly struggle was barely prevented by the intervention of the shogun. Thenceforth, the Hatakeyama became divided into two families, Masanaga's branch being the more powerful, but Yoshinari obtaining favour at Muromachi and being nominated kwanryo. Owing, however, to some petty causes, the shogun's good-will was subsequently estranged, and Yoshinari had to flee from Kyoto, pursued by Masanaga, who now held a commission from Muromachi to kill him. A seven-years' fight (1460-1467) ensued in Kawachi and Yamato. Yoshinari displayed greatly superior skill as a strategist, and finally Yamana Sozen, who had always entertained a good opinion of him even while opposing his succession at the outset, openly espoused Yoshinari's cause. The immediate result was that Masanaga, who had been named kwanryo in 1464, had to give way to SOzen's nominee, Shiba Yoshikado, and found himself in deadly peril. It is necessary here to recall the murder of the shogun Yoshinori, in 1441. That crime had resulted in the fall of the Akamatsu family, the direct agent of its overthrow being the united forces of Hosokawa, Takeda, and Yamana. There were no bonds of genuine friendship between the Hosokawa chief, Katsumoto, and Yamana Sozen. Their union was primarily due to Katsumoto's ambition. He desired to break the power of Hatakeyama Tokuhon, and with that ultimate object he courted the alliance of Sozen, giving his own daughter to the latter in marriage and himself adopting Sozen's son, Koretoyo. Thus, the two chiefs were subsequently found acting together against Tokuhon's attempt to substitute his son, albeit illegitimate, for his nephew, as heir to the Hatakeyama estates. Neither Katsumoto nor Sozen cared anything about the succession itself. Their object was simply to crush the Hatakeyama; and Sozen, who never relied on argument where force was applicable, lost no time in attacking Tokuhon and driving him from his burning mansion, as has been already stated. From the legal consequences of that violence, Sozen was saved by Katsumoto's intercession at Muromachi, and the alliance (1454) between the Hosokawa and the Yamana seemed stronger than ever. But Sozen did not greatly trust his crafty ally, with whose gifts of political strategy he was well acquainted. He suspected Katsumoto of a design to restore the fortunes of the once powerful Akamatsu family, and he began to muster forces for the great struggle which he anticipated. Therefore it was that, in 1467, as shown above, he not only espoused the cause of Hatakeyama Yoshinari, in whom he recognized an able captain, but also championed Shiba Yoshikado. With regard to this latter, it is necessary to recognize that he also figured in a succession dispute. The great family of Shiba being without a direct heir, a relative was appointed to the headship in 1452. This successor, Yoshitoshi, attempting to enforce the acquiescence of one of his vassals, was defeated and became a fugitive, a successor, Yoshikado, being nominated by the Shiba vassals. But a sister of the fugitive subsequently married the shogun's favourite, Ise Sadachika, and through her influence the shogun was induced (1466) to recall Yoshitoshi and to declare him rightful head of the Shiba family. Yamana Sozen, who had given his daughter in marriage to Yoshitoshi's rival, Yoshikado, immediately set a powerful army in motion for Kyoto, and the alarmed shogun (Yoshimasa) not only recognized Yoshikado and drove out Yoshitoshi, but also nominated the former to be kwanryo. From this grievously complicated story the facts which emerge essentially and conspicuously are: first, that Yamana Sozen now occupied the position of champion to representatives of the two great families of Hatakeyama and Shiba; secondly, that the rival successors of these families looked to Hosokawa Katsumoto for aid; thirdly, that the relations between Sozen and Katsumoto had become very strained, and fourthly, that the issue at stake in every case was never more lofty than personal ambition.. The succession to the shogunate also was in dispute. Yoshimasa, being childless, desired to adopt as his heir his younger brother who had entered religion under the name of Gijin. The latter declined the honour until Yoshimasa swore that were a son subsequently born to him, it should be made a priest but never a shogun. Gijin then took the name of Yoshimi, and was for a time recognized as heir-apparent, Hosokawa Katsumoto being appointed manager (shitsuji). Presently, however, the shogun's consort, Tomi, gave birth to a boy, Yoshihisa, and the mother persuaded Yoshimasa to contrive that her son should supplant the sometime priest. Of necessity, the aid of Sozen was sought to accomplish this scheme, Katsumoto being already officially attached to Yoshimi. The Yamana chief readily assented, and thus the situation received its final element, a claimant whose right rested on a deliberately violated oath. THE ONIN WAR By the close of 1466, the two great protagonists, Katsumoto and Sozen, had quietly collected in Kyoto armies estimated at 160,000 and 110,000 men, respectively. The shogun attempted to limit the area of disturbance by ordering that the various rival inheritors should be left to fight their own battles, and by announcing that whoever struck the first blow in their behalf would be proclaimed a rebel. Such injunctions were powerless, however, to restrain men like Sozen. In February, 1467, his followers attacked the former kwanryo, Hatakeyama Masanaga, and drove him from the capital. Katsumoto made no move, however; he remained on the watch, confident that thus the legitimacy of his cause would obtain recognition. In fact, the shogun was actually under guard of the Hosokawa troops, who, being encamped on the east and north of Muromachi, received the name of the Eastern Army; the Yamana forces, which were massed on the west and south, being distinguished as the Western Army. It was evident that if either side retreated, the other would perforce be acknowledged by the Bakufu, and both were reluctant to put their fortunes to the final test. At length, early in July, 1467, a petty skirmish precipitated a general engagement. It was inconclusive, and the attitude of mutual observation was resumed. Two months later re-enforcements reached the Western Army, and thereafter, for nearly two years, victory rested with the Yamana. But Katsumoto clung desperately to his position. Kyoto was reduced almost completely to ruins, the Imperial palace, Buddhist temples, and other mansions being laid in ashes, countless rare works of art being destroyed, and the Court nobles and other civil officials being compelled to flee to the provinces for shelter. A celebrated poet of the time said that the evening lark soared over moors where formerly there had been palaces, and in the Onin Records it is stated that the metropolis became a den for foxes and wolves, and that Imperial mandates and religious doctrines were alike unheeded. At one time things looked as though the ultimate triumph must be with Sozen. But what Katsumoto lacked in military ability he more than compensated in statecraft. From the outset he took care to legalize his cause by inducing the Emperor and the ex-Emperor to remove to Muromachi, where they were guarded by the Hosokawa troops, and the defections to which this must ultimately expose Sozen's ranks were supplemented by fomenting in the domains of the Yamana and their allies intrigues which necessitated a diversion of strength from the Kyoto campaign. Curious and intricate was the attitude of the Hosokawa towards the rival aspirants to the shogunate. Sozen's aid, as related above, had originally been invoked and exercised in behalf of Yoshimasa, the shogun's son by the lady Tomi. Hence, it is not surprising to find the Yamana leader turning his back upon the sometime bonze, Yoshimi, in October, 1469. But it is surprising to see him openly espouse this same Yoshimi's cause two months later. The fact was that Sozen might not choose. He had been outmanoeuvered by his astute opponent, who now held complete control of the shogun, and who not only obtained an Imperial decree depriving Yoshimi of his offices, but also contrived that, early in 1469, the lady Tomi's four-year-old son, Yoshihisa, should be officially declared heir to the shogunate. In this matter, Katsumoto's volte-face had been nearly as signal as Sozen's, for the former was Yoshimi's champion at the beginning. Henceforth the war assumed the character of a struggle for the succession to the shogunate. The crude diplomacy of the Yamana leader was unable to devise any effective reply to the spectacular pageant of two sovereigns, a shogun, and a duly-elected heir to the shogunate all marshalled on the Hosokawa side. Nothing better was conceived than a revival of the Southern dynasty, which had ceased to be an active factor seventy-eight years previously. But this farce did little service to the cause of the Yamana. By degrees the hostile forces withdrew from the capital, of which the western half (called Saikyo) alone remained intact, and the strategy of the hostile leaders became concerned chiefly about preserving their own commissariat or depriving the enemy of his. In 1472, a new feature was introduced: Hatakeyama joined the Eastern Army by order of the shogun, Yoshimasa. This was not merely a great accession of numerical strength, it also opened the road to the north where the Hatakeyama estates lay, and thus the Eastern Army found a solution of the problem which dominated the situation at Kyoto--the problem of provisions. The scale of success now swung in the direction of Hosokawa and his allies. But still no crushing victory was won, and meanwhile the war had continued seven years, with immense loss of life and treasure. There is evidence that alike Katsumoto and Sozen were fain to sheathe the sword in 1472, but during the long struggle conditions had developed which rendered peace difficult. In May, 1473, Sozen died and was followed to the grave in less than a month by Katsumoto. Still the struggle went on in a desultory way until December, 1477, when the Yamana forces burned their cantonments and withdrew, Yoshimi coming to terms with Muromachi and retiring to Mino. Peace at length dawned for Kyoto. But not yet for the provinces. There the sword was not immediately sheathed. In Echizen, Owari, and Totomi the great Shiba family was subjected to weakening onsets by the Asakura, the Oda, and the Imagawa. In Kaga, the Togashi house was divided against itself. In Kyushu there were bitter struggles between the Shimazu and the Ito, the Sagara and the Nawa, and the Otomo, the Shoni, and the Ouchi. Finally, Shinano, Suruga, and Mikawa were all more or less convulsed. YOSHIHISA In 1474, Yoshimasa retired from office and, at the close of the year, his nine-year-old son, Yoshihisa, succeeded him as shogun, the kwanryo being that Hatakeyama Yoshinari whose appearance in the field practically terminated the Onin War. The shogun Yoshimasa was in his thirty-ninth year at the time of this abdication, and he survived for sixteen years, not the least dissipated of his life, in which he instituted costly art reunions and carried self-indulgence to its extreme. During these years Tomi and her younger brother, Ise Sadachika, acquired such influence as to interfere in the administration, and under the pretext of procuring funds to rebuild the palace destroyed during the Onin War, they restored the toll-gates which had previously stood at the seven chief entrances to Kyoto, appropriating all the proceeds. The young Yoshihisa could scarcely fail to be tainted by such an environment. Much to his credit, however, he showed sagacity and diligence, eschewing his father's luxurious habits, studying literature and military art, and taking lessons in statecraft from the ex-regent, Ichijo Kaneyoshi. Very early he became familiar with scenes of violence, for, goaded to madness by the taxes exacted at the seven toll-gates, a mob of the metropolitan citizens rose in arms, beat off the troops sent to quell them and threatened to sack the city, when, they were appeased by the issue of a tokusei ordinance, which, as already explained, meant the remission of all debts and the cancellation of all financial obligations. Socialism in such a genial form appealed not only to the masses but also to bushi who had pledged their property as security for loans to meet warlike outlays or the demands of luxurious extravagance. Alike in the home provinces and in distant Kaga, Noto, Etchu, and the south, tokusei riots took place. Notably incompatible with any efficient exercise of Muromachi authority was the independence which the provincial magnates had now learned to display. They levied what taxes they pleased; employed the proceeds as seemed good to them; enacted and administered their own laws; made war or peace as they wished, and granted estates or revenues to their vassals at will. In short, the bushi had gradually constructed for themselves a full suit of feudal garments, and to bring them once again under the effective control of the sovereign or the shogun was almost a hopeless task. Yoshihisa might perhaps have refrained from attempting it had the empire been at peace. But, in truth, the empire was on the threshold of a century-long struggle compared with which the Onin War proved a bagatelle. The mutterings of the coming storm made themselves very audible during the years of Yoshihisa's early manhood. The Uesugi septs, and the Hojo and the Satomi, were fighting in the Kwanto; the western provinces, the central provinces, and Kyushu were the scenes of constant conflicts, and no prospect of tranquillity presented itself. Yoshihisa determined to undertake the work of subjugating the whole country as Yoritomo had done effectually and as Takauji had done partially. But he died in his twenty-fifth year when engaged in conducting a campaign against the Rokkaku branch of the Sasaki family, in Omi province; a campaign which but for his death would certainly have been successful. YOSHITANE Yoshihisa, whose death took place in 1489, left no son, and his father, the ex-shogun Yoshimasa, made tardy atonement to his brother, Yoshimi, the sometime priest, by obtaining the high office of shogun for the latter's son, Yoshitane, a youth of twenty-five. In the following year Yoshimasa died, and, two years later (1492), Yoshitane placed himself at the head of an army to resume the Omi campaign which Yoshihisa's death had interrupted. His opponent was of Minamoto lineage, head of the Rokkaku branch of the Sasaki family, whose representative in the days of the Kamakura Bakufu had been high constable of four provinces, Omi, Izumo, Aki, and Iwami. That the shogun, Yoshihisa, and his successor, Yoshitane, turned their weapons so resolutely against this magnate was due to a cause illustrative of the abuses of the era. From the outset the Ashikaga sway over the provinces had been a vanishing quantity, and had disappeared almost entirely during the Onin War. Not alone did the writ of the sovereign or the shogun cease to run in regions outside Kyoto and its immediate vicinity, but also the taxes, though duly collected, did not find their way to the coffers of either Muromachi or the Court. Shugo there still existed, and jito and kokushi; but neither high constable nor land-steward nor civil governor acted as practical representative of any Central Government: each functioned for his own hand, swallowing up for his own use, or for inclusion in some local fief, the manors which had once been the property of the State or of the Court nobility. It was evidently of prime necessity from the Muromachi point of view that a state of affairs which crippled the shogun by impoverishing him should be remedied. Sasaki Takayori, head of the Rokkaku house, was a conspicuous product of his time. He had seized the manors of nearly fifty landowners in the province of Omi, and to punish his aggressions signally would furnish a useful object lesson. That was done effectually by Yoshitane's generals, and Sasaki had to flee from Omi. But the young shogun's triumph was short lived. He allowed himself to be drawn by Hatakeyama Masanaga into a private feud. We have already seen this Masanaga engaged with Yoshinari in a struggle for the Hatakeyama succession on the eve of the Onin War. Yoshinari was no longer alive, but he had bequeathed to his son, Yoshitoyo, a heritage of resentment against Masanaga, and the latter, who now held the post of kwanryo for the fourth time, induced the shogun to order an attack upon Yoshitoyo in the provinces of Kii and Kawachi. But Yoshitoyo managed to enlist the aid of the recently discomfited Sasaki, of the soldier-monks of Kofuku-ji, and, above all, of Hosokawa Masamoto, son of Hatakeyama Masanaga's old opponent, Hosokawa Katsumoto. With these co-operated the Yamana, the Isshiki, and other septs, so that Yoshitane found himself between two powerful armies, one in Kyoto, the other in Kii. In the sequel, Masanaga committed suicide, and the shogun, Yoshitane, escaped to Suwo. YOSHIZUMI AND YOSHIHARU Hosokawa Masamoto was now master of the situation in Kyoto. It was for him to nominate a new shogun in lieu of the fugitive Yoshitane. He went to the Kwanto for a candidate. In 1461, Masatomo, brother of Yoshimasa, had been nominated governor-general (kwanryo) of the eight eastern provinces. His son, Yoshizumi, was chosen by Hosokawa to rule at Muromachi, and Hosokawa himself became kwanryo. The new shogun held office in name only; all administrative power was usurped by the kwanryo and his nominees. Now, as Hosokawa Masamoto practised asceticism for the better pursuit of necromancy, in which he was a believer, he had no offspring. Therefore he adopted three sons: the first, Sumiyuki, being the child of the regent, Fujiwara Masamoto; the second and third, Sumimoto and Takakuni, being kinsmen of his own. The first of these three was entrusted to Kasai Motochika; the last two were placed in the care of Miyoshi Nagateru. These guardians were Hosokawa's principal vassals in Shikoku, where they presently became deadly rivals. Motochika, believing that Hosokawa's ultimate intention was to elevate Sumimoto to the shogunate, in which event the latter's guardian, Nagateru, would obtain a large access of power, compassed the murder of Hosokawa, the kwanryo, and proclaimed Sumiyuki head of the Hosokawa house. Thereupon Miyoshi Nagateru moved up from Shikoku at the head of a strong army, and, after a fierce conflict, Motochika and Sumiyuki were killed, and Sumimoto, then in his eleventh year, became chief of the Hosokawa family, receiving also the office of kwanryo. The Motochika faction, however, though defeated, were not destroyed. They conceived the plan of reinstating the shogun, Yoshitane, then a fugitive in the province of Suwo, and of securing the office of kwanryo for Takakuni, third son (by adoption) of the late Hosokawa Masamoto. The powerful Ouchi sept, which had its manors in Suwo, espoused the conspiracy, and escorted Yoshitane to Kyoto with a great army, the result being that the shogun, Yoshizumi, had to flee to Omi; that Yoshitane took his place, and that Ouchi Yoshioki became deputy kwanryo. These things happened in 1508. Thenceforth, the great protagonists in the Kyoto arena were the two factions of the Hosokawa house, led by Sumimoto and Takakuni, respectively; the former championing the cause of the shogun, Yoshizumi, and in alliance with the Miyoshi; the latter supporting the shogun, Yoshitane, and aided by the Ouchi. One reverse befell the Yoshitane-Ouchi combination, but they quickly recovered from it, and from 1508 until 1518 a gleam of peace and prosperity shone once more in Kyoto under the administration of Ouchi Yoshioki, who governed with skill and impartiality, and whose influence seemed likely to restore the best days of the Bakufu. But, in 1518, he was recalled to his province by an attack from the shugo of Izumo, and by financial embarrassment resulting from his own generosity in supplying funds to the Crown and the shogun. Hosokawa Takakuni now became kwanryo, exercising his authority with a high hand. Then the Sumimoto branch of the Hosokawa, taking advantage of Ouchi's absence, mustered a force in Shikoku and moved against Kyoto. Takakuni found himself in a difficult position. In the capital his overbearing conduct had alienated the shogun, Yoshitane, and from the south a hostile army was approaching. He chose Hyogo for battle-field, and, after a stout fight, was discomfited and fled to Omi, the position of kwanryo being bestowed on his rival, Sumimoto, by the shogun. In a few months, however, Takakuni, in alliance with the Rokkaku branch of the Sasaki family under Sadayori, marched into Kyoto in overwhelming force. Miyoshi Nagateru retired to Chion-in, where he committed suicide; Sumimoto fled to Awa, dying there a few months later, and Yoshitane, after brief refuge in the island of Awaji, died in Awa, in 1523. Thus, Hosokawa Takakuni found himself supreme in Kyoto, and he proceeded to appoint a shogun, without awaiting the demise of Yoshitane. Yoshizumi, the eleventh shogun, who, as related above, fled from Kyoto in 1508, dying three years later in exile, left two sons: Yoshiharu, whom he committed to the charge of Akamatsu Yoshimura, and Yoshikore, whom he entrusted to Hosokawa Sumimoto. In 1521, Takakuni invited Yoshiharu, then eleven years old, to the capital and procured his nomination to the shogunate. ANARCHY From this time forward the confusion grows worse confounded. The Miyoshi of Awa are found in co-operation with Yanamoto Kataharu espousing the cause of the shogun's younger brother, Yoshikore, and of Harumoto, a son of Hosokawa Sumimoto. We see this combination expelling Yoshiharu and Takakuni from Kyoto, and we see the fugitives vainly essaying to reverse the situation. Thereafter, during several years, there is practically no government in the capital. Riot and insurrection are daily features, and brigandage prevails unchecked. Kataharu, though not holding the office of kwanryo, usurps its functions so ostentatiously that the assassin's dagger is turned against him. Again the two Hosokawa chiefs, Takakuni and Harumoto, fight for power, and, in 1531, Takakuni is killed, Harumoto becoming supreme. Soon the Miyoshi brothers, Motonaga and Masanaga, engage in a fierce quarrel about their inheritance, and the former, with Yoshikore as candidate for the shogunate and Hatakeyama as auxiliary, raises the standard against Harumoto, who, aided by the soldier-priests of Hongwan-ji, kills both Yoshitaka and Motonaga and takes Yoshikore prisoner. Thereafter, Harumoto quarrels with the Hongwan-ji bonzes, and being attacked by them, obtains the aid of Rokkaku Sadayori and the Nichiren priests, with the result that the splendid fane of Hongwan-ji is reduced to ashes. A reconciliation is then effected between Harumoto and the shogun, Yoshiharu, while Miyoshi Masanaga is appointed to high office. Yet once more the untiring Takakuni, aided by Miyoshi Norinaga, Motonaga's son, called also Chokei, drives Yoshiharu and Harumoto from the metropolis, and presently a reconciliation is effected by the good offices of Rokkaku Sadayori, the real power of the kwanryo being thenceforth exercised by the Miyoshi family. Japanese historians have well called it an age of anarchy. YOSHITERU In 1545, the shogun, Yoshiharu, resigned in favour of his son, Yoshiteru. Two years of quiet ensued in Kyoto, and then the old feud broke out once more. The Hosokawa, represented by Harumoto, and the Miyoshi, by Chokei, fought for supremacy. Victory rested with the Miyoshi. The Hosokawa's power was shattered, and Chokei ruled in Kyoto through his vassal, Matsunaga Hisahide. The era is memorable for the assassination of a shogun. Yoshiteru had become reconciled with Chokei and was suffered to live quietly at Muromachi. But after Chokei's death (he was poisoned by Hisahide), Yoshiteru's cousin, Yoshihide, a son of Yoshikore, sought to be nominated successor to the shogunate through the aid of Masanaga and Hisahide. In 1565, this plot matured. Hisahide suddenly sent a force which attacked Yoshiteru's palace and killed the shogun. Yoshihide replaced the murdered potentate, and the Matsunaga family succeeded to the power previously wielded by the Miyoshi. Yoshiteru's younger brother, Yoshiaki, fled to Omi, but afterwards made his way to Owari, where Oda Nobunaga took him by the hand and ultimately placed him in the shogun's seat at Kyoto. REVIEW OF THE ASHIKAGA Among the fifteen representatives of the Ashikaga, two were slain by their own vassals, five died in exile, and one had to commit suicide. From the accession of Takauji, in 1338, to the death of Yoshiaki, in 1597, a period of 259 years, there was not so much as one decade of signal success and efficient government. With justice the story of the time has been summed up in the epithet "ge-koku-jo," or the overthrow of the upper by the lower. The appreciation of the eminent historian, Rai Sanyo, is most faithful. Every great conflict throughout the era was marked by similar features. It is a weary record of broken promises, violated allegiances, and family feuds. If the Hatakeyama, the Hosokawa, and the Miyoshi set their own interests above those of the shogun, the Ashikaga, in turn, sacrificed the interests of the Throne on the altar of their own ambition. A river cannot be purer than its source. If the Miyoshi vassals plotted against their chiefs, so did the latter against the Hosokawa; so did the Hosokawa against the Ashikaga; so did the Ashikaga against the Imperial family, and so did one branch of the Imperial family against another. Everywhere there was lack of loyalty. The loyalty wanting among masters was equally deficient among servants. There is no more treacherous episode in the Middle Ages than Matsunaga Hisahide's poisoning of his liege lord to compass the downfall of the Miyoshi family and slaying the shogun, Yoshiteru, to overthrow the Ashikaga, though he enjoyed the confidence of both. The Dai Nihon-rekishi (History of Great Japan) observes that the ethical primers, with which a literary education had formerly familiarized the nation, lost their influence in this military era. There was no inordinate desire for landed property until the Gen-Hei epoch, when a manor became the principal reward of a successful soldier. Thereafter, greed for domains acquired strength every year. Again, when Yoritomo became so-tsuihoshi (commander-in-chief) and so-jito (general steward) of the whole country, and his meritorious vassals were appointed shugo and jito in each province, local authority passed from the Throne to the military families, and when, after the Shokyu struggle, the shugo and the jito came into actual possession of the estates they had previously administered, military feudalism was practically established. The Hojo, by their just administration and astute measures, brought this system into esteem, but under the Ashikaga regime the reality of landed possession grew to be the unique aim of existence, and, to achieve it, sons forgot their paternal relation and vassals lost sight of fealty. The nation engaged in an armed scramble; individualism became paramount, and social obligations were ignored. This is the more noteworthy because loyalty is so typical a Japanese virtue. THE ADMINISTRATION OF THE ASHIKAGA The common saying that the Kamakura Bakufu brought the entire country under one administrative control requires modification. It was not until Tokugawa days in the seventeenth century that the whole sixty provinces passed under one feudal ruler. Still as between the Kamakura Bakufu and the Muromachi, the latter, though its military supremacy was less complete, may be said to have extended its influence theoretically over the whole of the lands throughout the empire except the Chokodo estates. In another respect, also, the advantage lay with the Muromachi shogunate. During the Kamakura era, the Court magnates continued to despise the Bakufu adherents, and the distance between the capital and Kamakura imparted to the latter an element of rusticity. But with the establishment of the Muromachi shogunate a change took place. The Bakufu, the visible repository of power, stood side by side with the Court, and opportunities for close relations existed constantly. Moreover, the Court nobles, notably antagonistic to the military regime, followed the fortunes of the Southern dynasty, those alone remaining in the capital who were on more or less intimate terms with the military. Such were the Nijo, the Saionji, the Hino, and so forth. These observed the behests of the Bakufu, sought to acquire the latter's confidence, and always paid respect to the Hana no Gosho, as the shogun was called. So close were the relations that for ceremonial purposes at the Bakufu, it was customary to employ Court officials, and witty writers of the time discourse amusingly on the often clumsy efforts made by the courtiers to ape the customs and acquire the dialects of the provincial soldiers. THE ORGANIZATION OF THE CENTRAL BAKUFU The administrative power having been transferred from the Court to the Bakufu, it may be said that the sei-i tai-shogun exercised supreme authority throughout the empire. But the shogun himself did not actually discharge administrative duties. That was done by the kwanryo with the shogun's consent. Originally this official was called shitsuji (manager), and his functions were to look after the affairs of a provincial magnate's establishment. During the Kamakura era, the Ashikaga family occupied a high place. Of Minamoto origin, it was connected with the Hojo by marriage, and for generations its shitsuji had been a member of the Ko family. Ashikaga Takauji made Ko no Moronao his shitsuji, and a highly competent captain he proved himself. Subsequently, in 1362, Shiba Yoshimasa was appointed shitsuji, but soon his title was changed to kwanryo (governor-general), and it thenceforth became customary for the latter position to be occupied by a member of one of the three families, Shiba, Hosokawa, and Hatakeyama, in succession. Speaking broadly, the kwanryo corresponded to the skikken (regent) of Kamakura days. But whereas, the Kamakura shikken exercised virtually autocratic authority, the shogun being a minor, the Muromachi kwanryo, nominally, at all events, was under the control of an adult shogun. In fact, the kwanryo in the Muromachi polity resembled the betto of the Man-dokoro in Yoritomo's time. For the rest, the Muromachi Bakufu was organized on practically the same lines as its Kamakura prototype. There was a Man-dokoro, a Monju-dokoro, and a Samurai-dokoro, and the staff of these offices was taken originally, as far as possible, from the families of men who had distinguished themselves as legislators and administrators at Kamakura. There were also officials called bugyo (commissioners) who directed the enforcement of laws and ordinances. These commissioners numbered thirty-six, and each had his own sphere of duties: as the shonin bugyo, who controlled judicial affairs; the tosen bugyo, who dealt with affairs of foreign trade; the jisha bugyo, who superintended temples and shrines; the onsho bugyo, who had to do with official rewards, etc. ORGANIZATION OF PROVINCIAL GOVERNMENTS At Kamakura, also, there was a kwanryo to guard the eastern provinces (Kwanto). In Takauji's time, his second son, Motouji, was appointed to this office, and it was thenceforth inherited for some generations, the Uesugi family furnishing a shitsuji. Ultimately the Kamakura kwanryo became a powerful military satrap, hostile to the Muromachi shogun. The holder of the office then received the title of kubo, and the hitherto shitsuji became kwanryo. In other respects the Kamakura polity retained the form it had under Yoritomo: a Hyojo-shu (Council), a Hikitsuke-shu, a Monju-dokoro, a Samurai-dokoro, and various bugyo. In Kyushu and Dewa, the principal officer was called shugo, that post being of special importance; while in the other provinces shugo and jito (high constables and land-stewards) continued to officiate as before. The jurisdiction of these high constables--great military magnates or relatives of the shogun--extended to two or more provinces, and the shugo were then called kuni-mochi-shu (province-holder). A daimyo (great name, i.e. feudal lord), in communicating with Muromachi, had to make a kuni-mochi his medium. For the Kwanto and Shikoku, the Hosokawa house was the kunimochi; for Shinano, Etchu, Echigo, and Kaga, the Hatakeyama; for Ise, Kai, and Suruga, the Yamana; and for Kyushu, the tandai. After the power of the tandai had declined, the Ouchi family took its place. In the days of Yoshinori's shogunate, there were twenty-two shugo in the country, and seven of them administered three provinces or more, each. The provincial governors appointed by the Southern Court disappeared, for the most part, during the War of the Dynasties, and on the restoration of peace the only one of these high officials that remained was Kitabatake of Ise. SHUGO AND JITO Originally appointed for administrative and fiscal purposes only, the shugo said jito acquired titles of land-ownership from the beginning of the Ashikaga era. To plunder and annex a neighbouring province became thenceforth a common feat on the part of these officials. In 1390, tracts of land measuring from one-half of a province to two or three provinces are found to have been converted from the shugo's jurisdictional areas into military domains. Such magnates as Yamana Tokiuji held from five to eleven provinces. These puissant captains had castles and armies of their own. At first, they respected the requisitions of the Bakufu. Thus, in 1463, when an elaborate Buddhist ceremony had to be performed on the decease of Yoshimasa's mother, a tax in the form of cotton cloth was levied from the shugo, a ruler of three provinces contributing ten thousand pieces; a ruler of two provinces, five thousand, and so on.* *A "piece" was 40 feet, approximately. When the castle of Edo was built in Tokugawa days--seventeenth century--each daimyo had to contribute "aid" (otetsudai), after the Ashikaga custom. But after the Onin War (1467-1469), military magnates resided wholly on their own domains and paid no attention to requisitions from the Bakufu. Further, these magnates compelled all jito and go-kenin within their jurisdiction to serve as their vassals. Previously to the Onin era the shugo had resided, for the most part, in Kyoto, delegating the discharge of their provincial functions to deputies (shugo-dai), chosen by the shugo and approved by the Bakufu. Presently, the process of selection was dispensed with, and the office became hereditary. Thus, Yusa of the Hatakeyama, Oda of the Shiba, Uragami of the Akamatsu, and so forth are examples of deputies who resided permanently in the provinces concerned and acquired influence there superior even to that of their principals. The deputies, in turn, had their vice-deputies (ko-shugo-dai), to whom the name daikwan (another term for "deputy") was often given. These daikwan were selected from among the members or vassals of a shugo's family to act provisionally as shugo-dai. As for the jito, from the middle of the Kamakura epoch their posts became mere sinecures, the emoluments going to support their families, or being paid over to a temple or shrine. Occasionally the office was sold or pawned. The comparatively small areas of land within which the jito officiated soon came to be recognized as their private domains, but after the Onin commotion this system underwent a change, the jito becoming vassals of the shugo. Many, however, held their original position until the middle of the sixteenth century. In the days of Toyotomi Hideyoshi and Oda Nobunaga--namely, the second half of the sixteenth century--the name jito was given to the headman of a village or district, who served as the immediate representative of authority. FINANCE Cultivated land (koden) was the great source of official revenue. The area under rice--the principal staple of production--in the middle of the fifteenth century was about a million of cho,* or two and a half million acres; and this was owned by the Court, the Court nobles, the military magnates, the temples, and the shrines. From an uncertain date, but probably the close of the Kamakura Bakufu, the area of a domain ceased to be calculated in terms of cho and tan and was expressed in kwan (one thousand cash, or mori). The use of the kwanior this purpose had reference to the military service leviable upon the land. Thus, when land of one hundred kwan-mon was mentioned, an area capable of supporting military service valued at one hundred kwan-mon was understood. The calculation was very simple: one tsubo corresponded to one mon, so that one kwan-mon represented one thousand tsubo for the purposes of this assessment.** *The cho was equal to 10 tan, and the tan comprised 360 tsubo, the tsubo being a square of 6 feet side. At present the area under cultivation is some 3 millions of cho (7.5 millions of acres). **In the Ashikaga era the unit of currency may be said to have been the copper cash of China--called Eiraku-sen after the name (Chinese, Yunglo) of the Chinese year period when it was issued. Gold and silver coins were also in use; namely, the gold ryo, which was equivalent to 10 silver ryo; but their circulation was comparatively small. The gold ryo was equal to 2000 mon of copper coins, and as 100 mon purchased 1 to (one-tenth part of a koku) of rice, it follows that the gold ryo represented 2 koku, or 30 yen of modern currency, the silver ryo representing 3 yen (1 yen=2 shillings-50 cents). It follows also that 10 strings of cash (one kwan) were worth a koku of rice, or 15 yen. As for silk piece-goods, 1 roll (hiki = 48 yards) of the best kind was worth 45 yen, and the second and third-class kinds ranged from 33 to 22.5 yen. Finally, in the year 1498, the records show that the daily wage of a labourer was some 16 sen of modern money (about 4 pence or 8 cents). From various documents it appears that the three grades of land--best, medium, and inferior--were taxed at the rate of sixty, forty, and thirty per cent., respectively, of the yield. In other words, the average land-tax was forty per cent, of the yield--called shi-ko roku-min--or four parts to the Government and six to the farmer. If we consider the rates between the current price of land and the tax, there is a record, dated 1418, which shows that the tax levied by a temple--Myoko-ji--was twenty per cent, of the market price of the land. But it would seem that the ratio in the case of Government taxation was much smaller, being only one and a half per cent, of the market value. There were, however, other imposts, which, though not accurately stated, must have brought the land-tax to much more than forty per cent, of the yield. Turning to the Imperial Court, we find it supported by domains hereditarily held; by contributions from the seizei (expediency taxes, that is to say, taxes set aside for extraordinary State requirements); by occasional presents, and by revenues from kugoden (private Imperial land). The Court nobles had their own domains, usually small. All these estates, those of the Crown, of princes, and of Court nobles, were subject to a system called hansai. That is to say, one-half of their revenues were leviable for military purposes. Originally this impost was understood to be a loan to the Bakufu, but ultimately it came to be regarded as a normal levy, though its practical effect was to reduce the revenue from such domains by one-half. Moreover, as the arrogance of the military magnates in the provinces grew more insistent, and as the Bakufu's ability to oppose them became less effective, the domain of the Court nobles suffered frequent encroachments. REVENUES OF THE BAKUFU One source of revenue for the Bakufu was its domains in various places; another was the buke-yaku, or military-house dues. These were at first two per cent, of the land-tax of the house concerned, but afterwards they increased to five per cent. Thus an estate paying one hundred koku in the form of land-tax, had to pay a further five koku as buke-yaku, the latter proceeds being sent to Kyoto for the use of the shogun's household. Another important levy was the tansen, which, as its name implies, was a land-rate levied at so much per tan (one-quarter of an acre), the proceeds being devoted to special purposes, as, for example, to defray the cost of grand ceremonials or of new edifices. The records show one payment of tansen which works out at fifty mon per tan. Another document indicates that the monthly expenses of the Man-dokoro were some sixty kwanmon and that they were defrayed by levying taxes upon pawnbrokers and sake-dealers in Kyoto and in Omi province. The latter tax (shuko-zei) is shown to have been, on one occasion, two kwan eight hundred mon per house. The Bakufu collected dues on foreign commerce, also, and miscellaneous imposts of an irregular character made no small addition to its income. REVENUE OF SHRINES AND TEMPLES Temples and shrines derived part of their income from port-dues and barrier-tolls. Thus, the Hachiman temple of Iwashimizu received tolls from all traffic passing the Yamazaki barrier; Kofuku-ji levied duties on vessels entering Hyogo port, and Engaku-ji of Kamakura collected tolls at the Hakone barrier (sekisho). Such taxes proving very prolific and easy to levy, the number of barriers increased rapidly, to the no small obstruction of trade and travel. Further, the priests were constantly enriched with donations of land and money, in addition to the rents and taxes obtained from their own domains, and thus it resulted that several of the great monasteries possessed much wealth. To that fact is to be attributed the numerous establishments of soldier-priests maintained at Enryaku-ji, on Hiei-zan, and at Kofuku-ji, in Nara. To that also is to be ascribed in part the signal development of literature among the friars, and the influence wielded by the Shinto officials of Kitano and the betto of Hachiman. REVENUE OF JITO A special tax levied by the jito was the hyakusho-yaku, or farmers' dues. These were one per cent, of the land-tax originally, but the rate was subsequently doubled. Other heavy imposts were frequently and arbitrarily enacted, and there can be no doubt that financial disorder contributed materially to bringing about the terrible calamities of the Battle era (Sengoku Jidai), as the period of eleven decades ending in 1600 is called. For, if the fiscal system was thus defective during the comparatively prosperous age of the Ashikaga, it fell into measureless confusion at a later date. It has been stated above that the area under rice cultivation at the middle of the fifteenth century was about one million did; at the close of that century the figure was found to have decreased by more than fifty thousands of cho. From such a result, opposed as it is to all records of normal development, the unhappy plight of the agricultural classes may be inferred. TOKENS OF CURRENCY Minting operations also were discontinued under the Ashikaga. Cotton cloth and rice served as principal media of exchange. Fortunately, commerce with China in the days of the Ming rulers, and Yoshimasa's undignified though practical requests, brought a large supply of Yunglo (Japanese, Eiraku) copper cash, which, with other Chinese coins of the Tang and Sung dynasties, served the Japanese as media. This fortuitous element was conspicuous in all the domain of finance, especially after the Onin War, when the territorial magnates fixed the taxes at their own convenience and without any thought of uniformity. One of the only sincere and statesmanlike efforts of reform was made, in 1491, by Hojo Soun. He reduced the rate then ruling, namely, equal parts to the tax-collector and to the taxpayer, and made it forty per cent, to the former and sixty to the latter, and he ordained that any jito collecting so much as a mon in excess of the official figure, should be severely punished. How the people fared elsewhere it is not possible to say accurately, but the records show that extraordinary imposts were levied frequently, and that the tansen was exacted again and again, as also were taxes on trades. As for the Imperial household, such was its condition that it barely subsisted on presents made by certain military magnates, so complete was the decentralization of the empire in this period. ATTITUDE OF THE ASHIKAGA TOWARDS THE THRONE The policy of the Ashikaga towards the Daikagu-ji line (the Southern Court) of the Imperial house was evidently one of complete elimination at the outset. But the impossibility of achieving such a programme soon came to be recognized and reconciliation was substituted. Thenceforth, in appearance at all events, the representatives of the Daikagu-ji line received due consideration and were sufficiently provided with incomes, as witness the treatment of the ex-Emperor Go-Kameyama by Yoshimitsu. But subsequent and repeated neglect of the claims of the Southern branch in regard to the vital matter of the succession betrayed the insincerity of the Ashikaga, and provoked frequent appeals to arms. The situation may be said to have been saved by the habit inaugurated at the close of the Heian epoch. From that time princes and nobles who saw no prospect of secular distinction began to take the tonsure, and this retirement to the cloister was assiduously encouraged by the Muromachi shoguns. A similar policy commended itself in the case of princes of the Jimyo-in branch (the Northern Court). It is true that, from the first, the representatives of this line had relied on the Bakufu, whether of Kamakura or of Muromachi. But in their hearts they deeply resented the usurpation of the shogunate, and the latter, fully cognisant of that sentiment, guarded against its effective display by providing only meagre allowances for the support of the Imperial household (Kinri) and the ex-Emperor's household (Sendo), and by contriving that only young and delicate princes should succeed to the throne. Thus, of seven sovereigns who reigned between 1336 and 1464, the oldest was only sixteen at the time of his succession and the youngest was six. When an Emperor reached maturity, it was usual that he should abdicate and administer thenceforth from the Inchu. Thus the influence of the Court was divided between the Kinri and the Sendo--the reigning sovereign and the retired. But the real depository of power was the shikken (regent) of the Inchu, to which office a member of the Hino family, maternal relatives of the Bakufu, was habitually appointed. When Yoshinori was shogun, he himself acted as shikken of the Inchu. As for the Court officials properly so called, from the kwampaku downwards, they were mere figureheads. Holding their posts, indeed, as of old, they constituted, not administrative actors, but an audience. YOSHIMITSU AND THE THRONE The shogun Yoshimitsu instituted the custom of inviting the sovereign to his mansion, and thenceforth such visits became a recognized feature of the relations between the Imperial and the Muromachi Courts. Yoshimitsu himself frequently repaired to the Kinri and the Sendo, and frequently accompanied the Empresses and their ladies on social visits or pleasure excursions. He is said to have gone in and out at the Imperial palaces without the slightest reserve, and on more than one occasion history accuses him of flagrantly transgressing the limits of decency in his intercourse with Suken-mon-in, mother of the Emperor Go-Enyu. As a subverter of public morals, however, the palm belongs, not to Yoshimitsu, but to his immediate successor, Yoshimochi. He is said to have visited the Kinri and the Sendo six or seven times every month, and to have there indulged in all kinds of licence. History says, indeed, that he was often unable to appear at Court owing to illness resulting from intoxication. PRINCES AND PRIESTS As to the fact that, from the close of the Heian epoch, the cloister often proved a prison for Imperial princes whose ambition might have been troublesome had they remained at large, the following figures are eloquent: Number entering religion Of 8 sons born to Emperor Fushimi (1287-1298) 7 9 " " " Emperor Go-Fushimi (1298-1301) 9 4 " " " Emperor Hanazono (1307-1318) 4 2 " " " Emperor Suko (1348-1352) 2 9 " " " Prince Sadatsune, 8 grandson of the Emperor Suko 14 " " " Emperor Go-Kogon (1352-1371) 14 Absolute accuracy is not claimed for these figures, but they are certainly close approximations. In fact, under the Muromachi Bakufu, every son of a sovereign, except the Prince Imperial, was expected to become a monk. The Ashikaga adopted a similar system and applied it ruthlessly in their own families. In truth, the Ashikaga epoch was notorious for neglect of the obligations of consanguinity. Father is found pitted against son, uncle against nephew, and brother against brother. ENGRAVING: TILES OF THE DAIBUTSUDEN OF TODAI-JI ENGRAVING: DECORATION OF TOKONOMA (AN ALCOVE IN A JAPANESE PARLOUR)--Muromachi Period CHAPTER XXXII FOREIGN INTERCOURSE, LITERATURE, ART, RELIGION, MANNERS, AND CUSTOMS IN THE MUROMACHI EPOCH FOREIGN INTERCOURSE AFTER the Mongol invasion of Kyushu, Japan held no intercourse with the outer world for several decades, nor does her friendship seem to have been sought by any oversea nation. In the closing year of the thirteenth century, merchantmen flying the Yuan flag are reported to have arrived, but the record is nebulous, and the same may be said of a passing reference that, in 1341, Japanese vessels were sent to China to procure articles manufactured there. We reach more solid ground a year later (1342), when the Ashikaga chief, Takauji, being engaged in building the temple Tenryu-ji, opened trade with China for the purpose of obtaining apparatus, vestments, and works of art. The number of vessels was limited to two annually, and the trade must not exceed five hundred kwan-mon (£750, or $3700). Some of the objects then carried to Japan survive to this day in the form of celadon vases known in Japan as Tenryuji-seiji.* Meanwhile, not a few Buddhist priests crossed the sea from China to preach their faith, and it is certain that during the War of the Dynasties in Japan, when the south of the country was in a state of anarchy, privateering in Korean waters was freely resorted to by Japanese adventurers. A Korean envoy arrived at Fukuhara, in Settsu, in 1367, bearer of a strong protest against this marauding, and declaring that for a decade past assassination and plunder had been freely practised by Japanese subjects on the inhabitants of the Korean littoral. China and Korea were then in a troubled condition. *The merchantmen received the name of Tenryuji-bune (bune signifies "ship") In the year (1368) after the arrival of this envoy, the Yuan dynasty went down in China before the Ming, and in Korea the kingdom of Koma was overthrown, the Yi dynasty rising on its ruins and calling the peninsula Chosen. The Ming sovereign immediately attempted to establish tradal intercourse with Japan, but the negotiations failed, and not until 1392 is there any record of oversea relations. Then, at length, Korea's protest elicited a reply from Japan. The shogun, Yoshimitsu, sent to Chosen a despatch, signifying that piracy had been interdicted, that all captives would be returned, and that he desired to establish friendly relations. It appears that at that time China also suffered from the depredations of Japanese corsairs, for the annals say that she repeatedly remonstrated, and that, in 1401, Yoshimitsu despatched to China an envoy carrying presents and escorting some Chinese subjects who had been cast away on the Japanese coast or carried captive thither. Another record suggests that the Chinese Emperor was perplexed between the two warring Courts in Japan. At the time of his accession, a body of Mongol fugitives established themselves in Shantung, where they received assistance from some Japanese adventurers. The Ming sovereign opened communications on the subject with Prince Kanenaga, who held Kyushu in the interests of the Southern Court, but the tone of the Chinese monarch was so arrogant that Prince Kanenaga made no reply. Then Taitsu employed a Buddhist priest, but the character of this bonze having been detected, he was thrown into prison. These things happened in 1380. In the following year Taitsu despatched a duly credited envoy who used menacing language and was sent back with a defiance from Prince Kanenaga. The priest, however, was set free in 1382, and having learned while in Japan that two Courts were disputing the title to the Crown, he informed the Chinese sovereign in that sense, and the latter subsequently addressed himself to Kyoto, with the result noted above, namely, that Yoshimitsu opened friendly relations (1401). It was to the Ouchi family of Suwo that the management of intercourse with Chosen was entrusted, the latter sending its envoys to Yamaguchi. Subsequently, after Ouchi Yoshihiro's disaffection and disaster, a Buddhist priest and well-known artist, Soami, acted as Muromachi's envoy to the Ming Court, being accompanied by a merchant, Koetomi, who is described as thoroughly conversant with Chinese conditions. By these two the first commercial treaty was negotiated. It provided that an envoy should be sent by each of the contracting parties in every period of ten years, the suite of this envoy to be limited to two hundred, and any ship carrying arms to be regarded as a pirate. The first envoy from the Ming Court under this treaty was met by Yoshimitsu himself at Hyogo, and being escorted to Kyoto, was hospitably lodged in a hotel there. Instructions were also issued from Muromachi to the officials in Kyushu, peremptorily interdicting piracy and ordering the arrest of any that contravened the veto. Further, the high constables in several provinces were enjoined to encourage trade with China by sending the best products of their localities. In fact, Yoshimitsu showed himself thoroughly earnest in promoting oversea commerce, and a considerable measure of success attended his efforts. Unfortunately, an interruption was caused in 1419, when some seventeen thousand Koreans, Mongolians, and "southern barbarians"--a name given promiscuously to aliens--in 227 ships, bore down on Tsushima one midsummer day and were not driven off until the great families of Kyushu--the Otomo, the Shoni, the Kikuchi, and the Shiba--had joined forces to attack the invaders. The origin of this incident is wrapped in mystery, but probably the prohibition of Japanese pirates was not enforced for the protection of Chosen, and the assault on Tsushima was a desperate attempt at retaliation. Yoshimochi, however, who was then shogun, seems to have associated China with the invasion, for a Ming envoy, arriving just at the time of the contest, was indignantly refused audience. Thereafter, the tandai appointed from Muroinachi to administer the affairs of Kyushu was driven out by the Shoni family, and the shogun's policy of checking piracy ceased to be enforced, so that the coasts of China and Chosen were much harried, all legitimate commerce being suspended. When Yoshinori became shogun, however, this was one of the directions in which he turned his reforming hand. A Buddhist priest, Doen, proceeded to the Ming Court as Muromachi's delegate, and the Chinese sovereign agreed to restore the old relations, transmitting for that purpose a hundred tallies to be carried by the merchantmen. These tallies were distributed to several high constables, to five great temples, and to merchants in Hyogo and Sakai, the corresponding tallies* being entrusted to the Ouchi family, which, having now recovered its power, was charged with the duty of superintending the trade with China. Meanwhile, So Sadamori of Tsushima had established commercial relations with Chosen, and received from thence a yearly consignment of two hundred koku of soy beans, the vessel that carried the staple being guarded by boats known as Tsushima-bune. *The tallies were cards on which a line of ideographs were inscribed. The card was then cut along the line, and a moiety was given to the trader, the corresponding moiety being kept by the superintendent. Thus, it fell out that the right of supervising the trade with China and Korea came into the exclusive possession of the Ouchi and the So, respectively, and being liberally encouraged, brought great wealth to them as well as to other territorial magnates of the central and southern provinces. The records show that large profits were realized. Four or five hundred per cent, is spoken of, and, further, the Ming sovereign, in Yoshimasa's time, responded generously, as has been already shown, to the shogun's appeal for supplies of copper cash. One Japanese fan could be exchanged for a copy of a valuable book, and a sword costing one kwan-mon in Japan fetched five kwan-mon in China. Such prices were paid, however, for rare goods only, notably for Japanese raw silk, fifty catties (sixty-seven lbs.) of which sold for ten kwan-mon (£15, or $75, approximately). Gold, too, was much more valuable in China than in Japan. Ten ryo of the yellow metal could be obtained in Japan for from twenty to thirty kwan-mon and sold in China for 130. Sealskins, swords, spears, pepper, sulphur, fans, lacquer, raw silk, etc. were the chief staples of exports; and velvet, musk, silk fabrics, porcelains, etc., constituted the bulk of the imports. The metropolis being Kyoto, with its population of some 900,000, Hyogo was the most important harbour for the trade, and after it came Hakata,* in Chikuzen; Bonotsu, in Satsuma; Obi, in Hyuga, and Anotsu, in Ise. The customs duties at Hyogo alone are said to have amounted to the equivalent of £15,000, or $75,000, annually. *Hakata's place was subsequently taken by Hirado. In China, Ningpo was the chief port. It had a mercantile-marine office and an inn for foreign guests. The tribute levied on the trade was sent thence to Nanking. In size the vessels employed were from 50 to 130 tons, greater dimensions being eschewed through fear of loss. An invoice shows that the goods carried by a ship in 1458 were: sulphur (410,750 lbs.); copper (206,000 lbs.); spears (11); fans (1250); swords (9500); lacquered wares (634 packages), and sapan-wood (141,333 lbs.). During the days of Yoshimasa's shogunate such profits were realized that overtrading took place, and there resulted a temporary cessation. Fifty years later, when Yoshiharu ruled at Muromachi (1529), a Buddhist priest, Zuisa, sent by the shogun to China, and an envoy, Sosetsu, despatched by the Ouchi family, came into collision at Ningpo. It was a mere question of precedence, but in the sequel Zuisa was seized, Ningpo was sacked, and its governor was murdered. The arm of the shogun at that time could not reach the Ouchi family, and a demand for the surrender of Sosetsu was in vain preferred at Muromachi through the medium of the King of Ryukyu. Yoshiharu could only keep silence. The Ming sovereign subsequently (1531) attempted to exact redress by sending a squadron to Tsushima, but the deputy high constable of the Ouchi compelled these ships to fly, defeated, and thereafter all friendly intercourse between Japan and China was interrupted, piratical raids by the Japanese taking its place. This estrangement continued for seventeen years, until (1548) Ouchi Yoshitaka re-established friendly relations with Chosen and, at the same time, made overtures to China, which, being seconded by the despatch of an envoy--a Buddhist priest--Shuryo from Muromachi, evoked a favourable response. Once more tallies were issued, but the number of vessels being limited to three and their crews to three hundred, the resulting commerce was comparatively small. Just at this epoch, too, Occidental merchantmen arrived in China, and the complexion of the latter's oversea trade underwent alteration. Thereafter, the Ashikaga fell, and their successor, Oda Nobunaga, made no attempt to re-open commerce with China, while his successor, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, planned the invasion of the Middle Kingdom, so that the sword was more in evidence than the soroban. JAPANESE PIRACY It is difficult to trace the beginnings of Japanese piracy in Far Eastern waters, but certainly it dated from a remote past and reached its extreme in the middle of the sixteenth century. The records show that Murakami Yoshihiro, of Iyo province, obtained control of all the corsairs in neighbouring seas and developed great puissance. Nor did any measure of opprobrium attach to his acts, for on his death he was succeeded by Morokiyo, a scion of the illustrious Kitabatake family. Numbers flocked to his standard during the disordered era of the War of the Dynasties, and from Korea in the north to Formosa and Amoy in the south the whole littoral was raided by them. For purposes of protection the Ming rulers divided the coast into five sections, Pehchihli, Shantung, Chekiang, Fuhkien, and Liangkwang, appointing a governor to each, building fortresses and enrolling soldiers. All this proving inefficacious, the Emperor Taitsu, as already stated, addressed to Ashikaga Yoshimitsu a remonstrance which moved the shogun to issue a strict injunction against the marauders. It was a mere formality. Chinese annals show that under its provisions some twenty pirates were handed over by the Japanese and were executed by boiling in kettles. No such international refinement as extra-territorial jurisdiction existed in those days, and the Japanese shogun felt no shame in delivering his countrymen to be punished by an alien State. It is not wonderful that when Yoshimitsu died, the Chinese Emperor bestowed on him the posthumous title Kung-hsien-wang, or "the faithful and obedient king." But boiling a score of the Wokou* in copper kettles did not at all intimidate the corsairs. On nearly all the main islands of the Inland Sea and in the Kyushu waters they had their quarters. In fact, the governors of islands and a majority of the military magnates having littoral estates, took part in the profitable pursuit. No less than fourteen illustrious families were so engaged, and four of them openly bore the title of kaizoku tai-shogun (commander-in-chief of pirates). Moreover, they all obeyed the orders of the Ouchi family. It is on record that Ouchi Masahiro led them in an incursion into Chollado, the southern province of Korea, and exacted from the sovereign of Chosen a promise of yearly tribute to the Ouchi. This was only one of several profitable raids. The goods appropriated in Korea were sometimes carried to China for sale, the pirates assuming, now the character of peaceful traders, now that of ruthless plunderers. The apparition of these Pahan** ships seems to have inspired the Chinese with consternation. They do not appear to have made any effective resistance. The decade between 1553 and 1563 was evidently their time of greatest suffering; and their annals of that era repay perusal, not only for their direct interest but also for their collateral bearing on the story of the invasion of Korea at the close of the century. "On the 23d of the fifth month of 1553, twenty-seven Japanese vessels arrived at Lungwangtang. They looked like so many hills and their white sails were as clouds in the sky. On the fifth day of the fourth month of 1554, there appeared on the horizon a large ship which presently reached Lungwang-tang. Her crew numbered 562. They blew conches after the manner of trumpets, marshalled themselves in battle array, and surrounding the castle with flying banners, attacked it. On the fourth day of the ninth month of 1555, a two-masted ship carrying a crew of some hundreds came to Kinshan-hai, and on the next day she was followed by eight five-masted vessels with crews totalling some thousands. They all went on shore and looted in succession. On the 23d of the second month of 1556, pirate ships arrived at the entrance to Kinshan-hai. Their masts were like a dense forest of bamboo." *Yamato enemies. **Chinese pronunciation of the ideographs read by the Japanese "Hachiman" (god of War). The pirates inscribed on their sails the legend Hachiman Dai-bosatsu. Further records show that in 1556 the pirates entered Yang-chou, looted and burned the city; that in 1559 they attacked Chekiang; that in 1560, they made their way to Taitsang, and thence pushed on towards Shanghai, Sungteh, etc., looting towns almost daily. There was no effective resistance. We find also the following appreciation of Japanese ships: "The largest of the Japanese vessels can carry about three hundred men; the medium-sized, from one to two hundred, and the smallest from fifty to eighty. They are constructed low and narrow. Thus, when they meet a big ship they have to look up to attack her. The sails are not rigged like those of our ships which can be navigated in any wind. But wicked people on the coast of Fuhkien sold their ships to the foreigners; and the buyers, having fitted them with double bottoms and keels shaped so as to cleave the waves, came to our shores in them." Evidently the Chinese were better skilled in the art of shipbuilding than the Japanese. As for the defensive measures of the Chinese the following is recorded: "The Government troops on sea and on land made every effort to keep off the pirates. They flew banners at morn and eve and fired guns seaward, so that the enemy, understanding by the flash and the detonation that we were prepared to resist, abstained from landing. But when the pirates handled their swords skilfully, their attack was fearful. Our countrymen when they saw these swordsmen, trembled and fled. Their fear of the Japanese was fear of the swords. The pirates' firearms were only guns such as men use in pursuit of game. They did not range over one hundred paces. But their skill in using their guns was such that they never missed. We could not defeat them. They rise early in the morning and take their breakfast kneeling down. Afterwards their chief ascends an eminence and they gather below to hear his orders. He tells them off in detachments not exceeding thirty men, and attaching them to officers, sends them to loot places. The detachments operate at distances of from five hundred to a thousand yards, but unite at the sound of a conch. "To re-enforce a detachment in case of emergency, small sections of three or four swordsmen move about. At the sight of them our men flee. Towards dark the detachments return to headquarters and hand in their loot, never making any concealment. It is then distributed. They always abduct women, and at night they indulge in drinking and debauchery. They always advance in single rank at a slow pace, and thus their extension is miles long. For tens of days they can run without showing fatigue. In camping, they divide into many companies, and thus they can make a siege effective. Against our positions they begin by sending a few men who by swift and deceptive movements cause our troops to exhaust all their projectiles fruitlessly, and then the assault is delivered. They are clever in using ambushes, and often when they seem to be worsted, their hidden forces spring up in our rear and throw our army into a panic." There is no reason to doubt the truth of these records, naive as are some of the descriptions. Unquestionably the Wokou were a terrible scourge to the Chinese on the eastern littoral. INTERCOURSE WITH RYUKYU Japanese annals say that the royal family of Ryukyu was descended from the hero Minamoto Tametomo who was banished to the island in 1156, and certainly the inhabitants of the archipelago are a race closely allied to the Japanese. But in 1373, the then ruler, Chuzan, sent an envoy to the Ming Court and became a tributary of the latter. In 1416, however, an ambassador from the islands presented himself at the Muromachi shogunate, and twenty-five years later (1441), the shogun Yoshinori, just before his death, bestowed Ryukyu on Shimazu Tadakuni, lord of Satsuma, in recognition of meritorious services. Subsequently (1471) the shogun Yoshimasa, in compliance with a request from the Shimazu family, forbade the sailing of any vessel to Ryukyu without a Shimazu permit, and when, a few years later, Miyake Kunihide attempted to invade Ryukyu, the Shimazu received Muromachi's (Yoshitane's) commission to punish him. Historically, therefore, Ryukyu formed part of Japan, but its rulers maintained a tributary attitude towards China until recent times, as will presently be seen. LITERATURE DURING THE MUROMACHI PERIOD Throughout the Muromachi period of two and a half centuries a group of military men held the administration and reaped all rewards and emoluments of office so that literary pursuits ranked in comparatively small esteem. Some education was necessary, indeed, for men of position, but eminent scholars were exceptional. Noteworthy among the latter were Nijo Yoshimoto, Ichijo Fuyuyoshi, Doin Kinsada, Sanjonishi Sanetaka, and Kiyowara Naritada. Most renowned was Ichijo Kaneyoshi. Equally versed in the classics of China and Japan, as well as in Buddhism and Confucianism, he composed several works of high merit. A feature of the period was the erudition of the priests. Gen-e, a bonze of the temple Hiei-zan, adopted the commentaries of the Sung savants, Chengtzu and Chutsu, rejecting those of the earlier Han and Tang writers. In other words, he adopted the eclectic system of Buddhism and Confucianism as compounded by the scholars of the Sung and the Yuan epochs, in preference to the system of earlier pundits. The Emperor Go-Daigo invited Gen-e to Court and directed him to expound the Sutras. Thereafter, the Sung philosophy obtained wide allegiance, being preached by the priests of the Five Great Temples in Kyoto, and by all their provincial branches. On the other hand, the hereditary schools of Oye and Sugawara, adhering to their old dogmas, fell behind the times and declined in influence. The feature of the age in point of learning was that scholarship became a priestly specialty. From the Five Temples (Go-zari) students constantly flocked to China, where they received instructions in the exoterics and esoterics of Buddhism, as modified by the creed of Confucius, laying the foundations of systems upon which philosophers of later ages, as Kazan and Seiga, built fair edifices. These priests of the Five Temples were more than religious propagandists: they were ministers of State, as Tenkai and Soden were in after times under the Tokugawa, and they practically commanded the shoguns. One reason operating to produce this result was that, in an age when lineage or military prowess was the sole secular step to fortune, men of civil talent but humble birth had to choose between remaining in hopeless insignificance or entering the priesthood where knowledge and virtue were sure passports to distinction. It was thus that in nearly every monastery there were found men of superior intellect and erudition. The fact was recognized. When Ashikaga Takauji desired to take counsel of Muso Kokushi, he repaired to that renowned priest's temple and treated him as a respected parent; and Yoshimitsu, the third of the Ashikaga shoguns, showed equal respect towards Gido, Zekkai and Jorin, whose advice he constantly sought. It was strange, indeed, that in an age when the sword was the paramount tribunal, the highest dignitaries in the land revered the exponents of ethics and literature. Takauji and his younger brother, Tadayoshi, sat at the feet of Gen-e as their preceptor. Yoshimitsu appointed Sugawara Hidenaga to be Court lecturer. Ujimitsu, the Kamakura kwanryo, took Sugawara Toyonaga for preacher. Yoshimasa's love of poetry impelled him to publish the Kinshudan.* Above all, Yoshihisa was an earnest scholar. He had a thorough knowledge of Chinese and Japanese classics; he was himself a poetaster of no mean ability; he read canonical books even as he sat in his palanquin; under his patronage Ichijo Kaneyoshi wrote the Shodan-chiyo and** the Bummei Ittoki; Fujiwara Noritane compiled the Teio-keizu; Otsuki Masabumi lectured on the analects and Urabe Kanetomo expounded the standard literature of the East. *The Embroidered Brocade Discourse. **Rustic Ideals of Government. Yet, side by side with these patrons of learning stood a general public too ignorant to write its own name. Military men, who formed the bulk of the nation, were engrossed with the art of war and the science of intrigue to the exclusion of all erudition. The priests were always available to supply any need, and the priests utilized the occasion. Nevertheless, it stands to the credit of these bonzes that they made no attempt to monopolize erudition. Their aim was to popularize it. They opened temple-seminaries (tera-koya) and exercise halls (dojo) where youths of all classes could obtain instruction and where an excellent series of text-books was used, the Iroha-uta* the Doji-kyo, the Teikin-orai** and the Goseibai-shikimoku.*** The Doji-kyo has been translated by Professor Chamberlain (in Vol. VIII of the "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan"). A few extracts will serve to show the nature of the ethical teaching given to Japanese children in medieval days: *A syllabary of moral precepts like the ethical copy-books of Occidentals. **A model letter-writer. ***The criminal laws of Hojo Yasutoki. All these text-books remained in use until the Meiji era. Let nothing lead thee into breaking faith with thy friend, and depart not from thy word. It is the tongue that is the root of misfortunes; if the mouth were made like unto the nose, a man would have no trouble till his life's end. In the house where virtue is accumulated there will surely be superabundant joy. No man is worthy of honour from his birth; 'tis the garnering-up of virtue that bringeth him wisdom and virtue; the rich man may not be worthy of honour. In thin raiment on a winter's night, brave the cold and be reading the whole night through; with scanty fare on a summer's day, repel hunger and be learning the whole day long. . . . A father's loving kindness is higher than the mountains; a mother's bounty is deeper than the sea. . . . He that receiveth benefits and is not grateful is like unto the birds that despoil the branches of the trees they perch on. . . . Above all things, men must practise charity; it is by almsgiving that wisdom is fed; less than all things, men must grudge money; it is by riches that wisdom is hindered. . . . The merit of an alms given with a compassionate heart to one poor man is like unto the ocean; the recompense of alms given to a multitude for their own sake is like unto a grain of poppy-seed. This text-book, the Doji-kyo, was compiled by a priest, Annen, who lived in the second half of the ninth century. Its origin belongs, therefore, to a much more remote era than that of the Muromachi shoguns, but, in common with the other text-books enumerated above, its extensive use is first mentioned in the Ashikaga epoch. The Five Temples of Kyoto--to be spoken of presently--were seats of learning; and many names of the littérateurs that flourished there have been handed down. Not the least celebrated were Gido and Zekkai, who paid several visits to China, the fountain-head of ideographic lore. But these conditions were not permanent. The Onin War created a serious interruption. Kyoto was laid in ruins, and rare books lay on the roadside, no one caring to pick them up. PRIVATE SCHOOLS AND LIBRARIES Throughout the Ashikaga period the Kyoto university existed in name only, and students of Japanese literature in the provinces disappeared. A few courtiers, as Nakahara, Dye, Sugawara, Miyoshi, etc., still kept up the form of lecturing but they did not receive students at large. Nevertheless, a few military magnates, retaining some appreciation of the value of erudition, established schools and libraries. Among these, the Kanazawa-bunko and the Ashikaga-gakko were the most famous. The former had its origin in the closing years of the Kamakura Bakufu. It was founded during the reign of Kameyama (1260-1274) by Sanetoki, grandson of Hojo Yoshitoki. A large collection of Chinese and Japanese works filled its shelves, and all desirous of studying had free access. Akitoki, son of Sanetoki, adopted Kanazawa as his family name and added largely to the library. He caused the ideographs Kanazawa-bunko to be stamped in black on all Confucian works, and in red on Buddhist. It is recorded in the Hojo Kudaiki that men of all classes, laymen and priests alike, were shut up daily in this library where they studied gratis, and that Akitoki's son, Sadaaki, was as ardent a student as his father, so that men spoke of him as well fitted to be regent (shikken), thus showing that literary skill was counted a qualification for high office. Fire, the destroyer of so many fine relics of Japanese civilization, visited this library more than once, but during the reign of Go-Hanazono (1429-1464) it was restored and extended by the Uesugi family, who also rebuilt and endowed schools for the study of Japanese literature in the province of Kotsuke. Among these schools was the Ashikaga-gakko, under the presidency of a priest, Kaigen, in the day of whose ninth successor, Kyuka, the pupils attending the schools totalled three thousand. A few great families patronized literature without recourse to priests. This was notably the case with the Ouchi, whose tradal connexions gave them special access to Chinese books. Ouchi Yoshitaka, in particular, distinguished himself as an author. He established a library which remained for many generations; he sent officials to China to procure rare volumes, and it is incidentally mentioned that he had several manuscripts printed in the Middle Kingdom, although the art of block-printing had been practised in Japan since the close of the eighth century. A composition which had its origin at this epoch was the yokyoku, a special kind of libretto for mimetic dances. Books on art also were inspired by the Higashiyama craze for choice specimens of painting, porcelain, and lacquer. Commentaries, too, made their appearance, as did some histories, romances, and anthologies. PICTORIAL ART As Japan during the Ashikaga period sat at the feet of the Sung masters in philosophy and literature, so it was in the realm of art. There is, indeed, a much closer relation between literature and pictorial art in China than in any Occidental country, for the two pursuits have a common starting-point--calligraphy. The ideograph is a picture, and to trace it in such a manner as to satisfy the highest canons is a veritably artistic achievement. It has been shown above that in the Muromachi era the priests of Buddha were the channels through which the literature and the philosophy of Sung reached Japan, and it will presently be seen that the particular priests who imported and interpreted this culture were those of the Zen sect. There is natural sequence, therefore, in the facts that these same priests excelled in calligraphy and introduced Japan to the pictorial art of the immortal Sung painters. There were in China, at the time of the Ashikaga, two schools of painters: a Northern and a Southern. The term is misleading, for the distinction was really not one of geography but one of method. What distinguished the Southern school was delicacy of conception, directness of execution, and lightness of tone. To produce a maximum of effect with a minimum of effort; to suggest as much as to depict, and to avoid all recourse to heavy colours--these were the cardinal tenets of the Southern school. They were revealed to Japan by a priest named Kao, who, during the reign of Go-Daigo (1318-1339), passed ten years in China, and returning to Kyoto, opened a studio in the temple Kennin-ji, where he taught the methods of Li Lungmin of the Sung dynasty and Yen Hui of the Yuan. He revolutionized Japanese art. After him Mincho is eminent. Under the name of Cho Densu--the Abbot Cho--he acquired perpetual fame by his paintings of Buddhist saints. But Mincho's religious pictures did not help to introduce the Sung academy to Japan. That task was reserved for Josetsu--a priest of Chinese or Japanese origin--who, during the second half of the fourteenth century, became the teacher of many students at the temple Shokoku-ji, in Kyoto. Among his pupils was Shubun, and the latter's followers included such illustrious names as Sotan, Sesshu, Shinno; Masanbbu, and Motonobu. It is to this day a question whether Japan ever produced greater artists than Sesshu and Motonobu. To the same galaxy belongs Tosa no Mitsunobu, the founder of the Tosa school as Motonobu was of the Kano. That official patronage was extended to these great men is proved by the fact that Mitsunobu was named president of the E-dokoro, or Court Academy of Painting; and Motonobu received the priestly rank of hogen. APPLIED ART Industries in general suffered from the continual wars of the Ashikaga epoch, but the art of forging swords flourished beyond all precedent. Already Awadaguchi, Bizen, Osafune, and others had attained celebrity, but for Okazaki Masamune, of Kamakura, who worked during the reign of Go-Daigo (1318-1339) was reserved the renown of peerlessness. His long travels to investigate the methods of other masters so as to assimilate their best features, are historically recorded, and at the head of the great trinity of Japanese swordsmiths his name is placed by universal acclaim, his companions being Go no Yoshihiro and Fujiwara Yoshimitsu.* In Muromachi days so much depended on the sword that military men thought it worthy of all honour. A present of a fine blade was counted more munificent than a gift of a choice steed, and on the decoration of the scabbard, the guard, and the hilt extraordinary skill was expended. Towards the close of the fifteenth century, a wonderful expert in metals, Goto Yujo, devoted himself to the production of these ornaments, and his descendants perpetuated his fame down to the middle of the nineteenth century. The Gotos, however, constitute but a small section of the host of masters who will always be remembered in this branch of art. In the Muromachi period alone we have such names as Aoki Kaneiye, Myochin Nobuiye, Umetada Akihisa and others.** Armour making also was carried to a point of high achievement during the epoch, especially by Nobuiye.*** *Chamberlain in Things Japanese says: "Japanese swords excel even the vaunted products of Damascus and Toledo. To cut through a pile of copper coins without nicking the blade is, or was, a common feat. History, tradition, and romance alike re-echo with the exploits of this wonderful weapon." **For an exhaustive analysis see Brinkley's China and Japan. ***See Conder's History of Japanese Costume; Vol. IX. of the "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan." LACQUER It is generally conceded that the Japanese surpass all nations in the art of making lacquer. They not only developed the processes to a degree unknown to their original teacher, China, but they also introduced artistic features of great beauty. Unfortunately, history transmits the names of Jew masters in this line. We can only say that in the days of Yoshimasa's shogunate, that is, during the second half of the fifteenth century, several choice varieties began to be manufactured, as the nashiji, the togidashi, the negoro-nuri, the konrinji-nuri, the shunkei-nuri, the tsuishu, and the tsuikoku. Choice specimens received from later generations the general epithet Higashiyama-mono, in reference to the fact that they owed so much to the patronage of Yoshimasa in his mansion at Higashi-yama. PORCELAIN AND FAIENCE To the Muromachi epoch belongs also the first manufacture of faience, as distinguished from unglazed pottery, and of porcelain, as distinguished from earthenware. The former innovation is ascribed--as already noted--to Kato Shirozaemon, a native of Owari, who visited China in 1223 and studied under the Sung ceramists; the latter, to Shonzui, who also repaired to China in 1510, and, on his return, set up a kiln at Arita, in Hizen, where he produced a small quantity of porcelain, using materials obtained from China, as the existence of Japanese supplies was not yet known. The faience industry found many followers, but its products all bore the somewhat sombre impress of the cha-no-yu (tea ceremonial) canons. ARCHITECTURE The architectural feature of the time was the erection of tea-parlours according to the severe type of the cha-no-yu cult. Such edifices were remarkable for simplicity and narrow dimensions. They partook of the nature of toys rather than of practical residences, being, in fact, nothing more than little chambers, entirely undecorated, where a few devotees of the tea ceremonial could meet and forget the world. As for grand structures like the "Silver Pavilion" of Yoshimasa and the "Golden Pavilion" of Yoshimitsu, they showed distinct traces of Ming influence, but with the exception of elaborate interior decoration they do not call for special comment. A large part of the work of the Japanese architect consisted in selecting rare woods and uniquely grown timber, in exquisite joinery, and in fine plastering. Display and ornament in dwelling-houses were not exterior but interior; and beginning with the twelfth century, interior decoration became an art which occupied the attention of the great schools of Japanese painters. The peculiar nature of Japanese interior division of the house with screens or light partitions instead of walls lent itself to a style of decoration which was quite as different in its exigencies and character from Occidental mural decorations as was Japanese architecture from Gothic or Renaissance. The first native school of decorative artists was the Yamato-ryu, founded in the eleventh century by Fujiwara Motomitsu and reaching the height of its powers in the twelfth century. In the thirteenth century Fujiwara Tsunetaka, a great painter of this school, took the title of Tosa. Under him the Tosa-ryu became the successor of the Yamato-ryu and carried on its work with more richness and charm. The Tosa school was to a degree replaced after the fifteenth century in interior painting by the schools of Sesshu and Kano. RELIGION As one of Yoritomo's first acts when he organized the Kamakura Bakufu had been to establish at Tsurugaoka a shrine to Hachiman (the god of War), patron deity of the Minamotos' great ancestor, Yoshiiye, so when Takauji, himself a Minamoto, organized the Muromachi Bakufu, he worshipped at the Iwashimizu shrine of Hachiman, and all his successors in the shogunate followed his example. Of this shrine Tanaka Harukiyo was named superintendent (betto), and with the Ashikaga leader's assistance, he rebuilt the shrine on a sumptuous scale, departing conspicuously from the austere fashion of pure Shinto.* It may, indeed, be affirmed that Shinto had never been regarded as a religion in Japan until, in the days of the Nara Court, it was amalgamated with Buddhism to form what was called Ryobu-shinto. It derived a further character of religion from the theory of Kitabatake Chikafusa, who contended that Shinto, Buddhism, and Confucianism were all capable of being welded into one whole. Moreover, in the Muromachi period, the eminent scholar, Ichijo Kaneyoshi (1402-81), wrote a thesis which gave some support to the views of Chikafusa. *The shrine covered a space of 400 square yards and had a golden gutter, 80 feet long, 13 feet wide, and over 1 inch thick. But, during the reign of Go-Tsuchimikado (1465-1500), Urabe Kanetomo, professing to interpret his ancestor, Kanenobu, enunciated the doctrine of Yuiitsu-shinto (unique Shinto), namely, that as between three creeds, Shinto was the root; Confucianism, the branches, and Buddhism, the fruit. This was the first explicit differentiation of Shinto. It found favour, and its propounder's son, Yoshida, asserted the principles still more strenuously. The fact is notable in the history of religion in Japan. Yoshida was the forerunner of Motoori, Hirata, and other comparatively modern philosophers who contended for the revival of "Pure Shinto." Many Japanese annalists allege that Shinto owes its religious character solely to the suggestions of Buddhism, and point to the fact that the Shinto cult has never been able to inspire a great exponent. ENGRAVING: BELL TOWER OF TODAI-JI BUDDHISM The attitude of the Ashikaga towards Buddhism was even more reverential. They honoured the Zen sect almost exclusively. Takauji built the temple Tenryu-ji, in Kyoto, and planned to establish a group of provincial temples under the name of Ankoku-ji. There can be little doubt that his animating purpose in thus acting was to create a counterpoise to the overwhelming strength of the monasteries of Nara and Hiei-zan. The latter comprised three thousand buildings--temples and seminaries--and housed a host of soldier-monks who held Kyoto at their mercy and who had often terrorized the city and the palace. In the eighth century, when the great temple, Todai-ji, was established at Nara, affiliated temples were built throughout the provinces, under the name of Kokubun-ji. It was in emulation of this system that Takauji erected the Tenryu-ji and planned a provincial net-work of Ankoku-ji. His zeal in the matter assumed striking dimensions. On the one hand, he levied heavy imposts to procure funds; on the other, he sent to China ships--hence called Tenryuji-bune--to obtain furniture and fittings. Thus, in the space of five years, the great edifice was completed (1345), and there remained a substantial sum in the Muromachi treasury. The monks of Enryaku-ji (Hiei-zan) fathomed Takauji's purpose. They flocked down to the capital, halberd in hand and sacred car on shoulder, and truculently demanded of the Emperor that Soseki, high priest of the new monastery, should be exiled and the edifice destroyed. But the Ashikaga leader stood firm. He announced that if the soldier-monks persisted, their lord-abbot should be banished and their property confiscated; before which evidently earnest menaces the mob of friars turned their faces homeward. Thereafter, Takauji, and his brother Tadayoshi celebrated with great pomp the ceremony of opening the new temple, and the Ashikaga leader addressed to the priest, Soseki, a document pledging his own reverence and the reverence of all his successors at Muromachi. But that part of his programme which related to the provincial branch temples was left incomplete. At no time, indeed, were the provinces sufficiently peaceful and sufficiently subservient for the carrying out of such a plan by the Ashikaga. GREAT PRIESTS The priest Soseki--otherwise called "Muso Kokushi," or "Muso, the national teacher"--was one of the great bonzes in an age when many monasteries were repositories of literature and statesmanship. His pupils, Myoo and Chushin, enjoyed almost equal renown in the days of the third Ashikaga shogun, Yoshimitsu, whose piety rivalled that of Takauji. He assigned to them a residence in the Rokuon-ji, his own family temple, and there he visited them to hear discourses on Buddhist doctrine and to consult about administrative affairs. A still more illustrious bonze was Ryoken, of Nanzen-ji. It is related of him that he repaired, on one occasion, to the Kita-yama palace of the shogun Yosh mitsu, wearing a ragged garment. Yoshimitsu at once changed his own brocade surcoat for the abbot's torn vestment, and subsequently, when conducting his visitor on a boating excursion, the shogun carried the priest's footgear. It is not possible for a Japanese to perform a lowlier act of obeisance towards another than to be the bearer of the latter's sandals. Yoshimitsu was in a position to dictate to the Emperor, yet he voluntarily performed a menial office for a friar. These four priests, Soseki, Myoo, Chushin, and Ryoken, all belonged to the Zen sect. The doctrines of that sect were absolutely paramount in Muromachi days, as they had been in the times of the Kamakura Bakufu. A galaxy of distinguished names confronts us on the pages of history--Myocho of Daitoku-ji; Gen-e of Myoshin-ji; Ikkyu Zenji of Daitoku-ji, a descendant of the Emperor Go-Komatsu; Tokuso of Nanzen-ji; Shiren of Tofuku-ji; Shushin of Nanzen-ji; Juo of Myoshin-ji; Tetsuo of Daitoku-ji, and Gazan of Soji-ji. All these were propagandists of Zen-shu doctrine. It has been well said that the torch of religion burns brightest among dark surroundings. In circumstances of tumultuous disorder and sanguinary ambition, these great divines preached a creed which taught that all worldly things are vain and valueless. Moreover, the priests themselves did not practise the virtues they inculcated. They openly disregarded their vow of chastity; bequeathed their temples and manors to their children; employed hosts of stoled soldiers; engaged freely in the fights of the era, and waxed rich on the spoils of their arms. It is recorded of Kenju (called also Rennyo Shoniri), eighth successor of Shinran, that his eloquence brought him not only a crowd of disciples but also wealth comparable with that of a great territorial magnate; that he employed a large force of armed men, and that by dispensing with prohibitions he made his doctrine popular. This was at the close of the fifteenth century when Yoshimasa practised dilettanteism at Higashi-yama. It became in that age a common habit that a man should shave his head and wear priest's vestments while still taking part in worldly affairs. The distinction between bonze and layman disappeared. Some administrative officials became monks; some daimyo fought wearing sacerdotal vestments over their armour, and some priests led troops into battle. If a bonze earned a reputation for eloquence or piety, he often became the target of jealous violence at the hands of rival sectarians and had to fly for his life from the ruins of a burning temple. Not until the advent of Christianity, in the middle of the sixteenth century, did these outrages cease. THE FIVE TEMPLES OF KYOTO The Zen sect had been almost equally popular during the epoch of the Hojo. They built for it five great temples in Kamakura, and that example was followed by the Ashikaga in Kyoto. The five fanes in the capital were called collectively, Go-zan. They were Kennin-ji, Tofuku-ji, Nanzen-ji, Tenryu-ji, and Shokoku-ji. After the conclusion of peace between the Northern and Southern Courts the temple Shokoku-ji was destroyed by fire and it remained in ashes until the time of Yoshimasa, when the priest, Chushin, persuaded the shogun to undertake the work of reconstruction. A heavy imposition of land-tax in the form of tansen, and extensive requisitions for timber and stones brought funds and materials sufficient not only to restore the edifice and to erect a pagoda 360 feet high, but also to replenish the empty treasury of the shogun. Thus, temple-building enterprises on the part of Japanese rulers were not prompted wholly by religious motives. MANNERS AND CUSTOMS The frugal austerity of life under the rule of the Hojo was changed to lavish extravagance under the Ashikaga. Yet things should have been otherwise, for in Takauji's time there was enacted and promulgated the code of regulations already referred to as the Kemmu Shikimoku, wherein were strictly forbidden basara, debauchery, gambling, reunions for tea drinking and couplet composing, lotteries, and other excesses. Basara is a Sanskrit term for costly luxuries of every description, and the compilers of the code were doubtless sincere in their desire to popularize frugality. But the Ashikaga rulers themselves did not confirm their precepts by example. They seemed, indeed, to live principally for sensuous indulgence. A Japanese writer of the fifteenth century, in a rhapsodical account of the Kyoto of his day, dwells on the wonderful majesty of the "sky-piercing roofs" and "cloud-topping balconies" of the Imperial palace. And he points with evident pride to the fact that this splendor--a splendor only a little less--was to be found besides in many other elegant residences which displayed their owners' taste and wealth. The chronicler notes that even those who were not noble, including some who had made their money by fortune-telling or by the practice of medicine, were sometimes able to make such display, to live in pretentious houses and have many servants. So could the provincial nobles, who it seems did not in other periods make much of a showing at the capital. The dwellers in these mansions lived up to their environment. The degree of their refinement may be inferred from the fact that cooking became a science; they had two principal academies and numerous rules to determine the sizes and shapes of every implement and utensil, as well as the exact manner of manipulating them. The nomenclature was not less elaborate. In short, to become a master of polite accomplishments and the cuisine in the military era of Japan demanded patient and industrious study. MODE OF TRAVELLING The fashions of the Heian epoch in the manner of travelling underwent little change during the military age. The principal conveyance continued to be an ox-carriage or a palanquin. The only notable addition made was the kago, a kind of palanquin slung on a single pole instead of on two shafts. The kago accommodated one person and was carried by two. Great pomp and elaborate organization attended the outgoing of a nobleman, and to interrupt a procession was counted a deadly crime, while all persons of lowly degree were required to kneel with their hands on the ground and their heads resting on them as a nobleman and his retinue passed. LANDSCAPE GARDENING Great progress was made in the art of landscape gardening during the Muromachi epoch, but this is a subject requiring a volume to itself. Here it will suffice to note that, although still trammelled by its Chinese origin, the art received signal extension, and was converted into something like an exact science, the pervading aim being to produce landscapes and water-scapes within the limits of a comparatively small park without conveying any sense of undue restriction. Buddhist monks developed signal skill in this branch of esthetics, and nothing could exceed the delightful harmony which they achieved between nature and art. It may be mentioned that the first treatise on the art of landscape gardening appeared from the pen of Gokyogoku Yoshitsune in the beginning of the thirteenth century. It has been well said that the chief difference between the parks of Japan and the parks of Europe is that, whereas the latter are planned solely with reference to a geometrical scale of comeliness or in pure and faithful obedience to nature's indications, the former are intended to appeal to some particular mood or to evoke special emotion, while, at the same time, preserving a likeness to the landscapes and water-scapes of the world about us. MINIATURE LANDSCAPE GARDENING By observing the principles and practical rules of landscape gardening while reducing the scale of construction so that a landscape or a water-scape, complete in all details and perfectly balanced as to its parts, is produced within an area of two or three square feet, the Japanese obtained a charming development of the gardener's art. Admirable, however, as are these miniature reproductions of natural scenery and consummate as is the skill displayed in bringing all their parts into exact proportion with the scale of the design, they are usually marred by a suggestion of triviality. In this respect, greater beauty is achieved on an even smaller scale by dwarfing trees and shrubs so that, in every respect except in dimensions, they shall be an accurate facsimile of what they would have been had they grown for cycles unrestrained in the forest. The Japanese gardener "dwarfs trees so that they remain measurable only by inches after their age has reached scores, even hundreds, of years, and the proportions of leaf, branch and stem are preserved with fidelity. The pots in which these wonders of patient skill are grown have to be themselves fine specimens of the keramist's craft, and as much as £200 is sometimes paid for a notably well-trained tree."* *Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th Edition, article "Japan," Brinkley. TEA CEREMONIAL The tea ceremonial (cha-no-yu) is essentially Japanese in its developments though its origin came from China. It has been well described as "a mirror in which the extraordinary elaborations of Japanese social etiquette may be seen vividly reflected." In fact, the use of tea as a beverage had very little to do with the refined amusement to which it was ultimately elevated. The term "tasting" would apply more accurately to the pastime than "drinking." But even the two combined convey no idea of the labyrinth of observances which constituted the ceremonial. The development of the cha-no-yu is mainly due to Shuko, a priest of the Zen sect of Buddhism, who seems to have conceived that tea drinking might be utilized to promote the moral conditions which he associated with its practice. Prof. H. B. Chamberlain notes that "It is still considered proper for tea enthusiasts to join the Zen sect of Buddhism, and it is from the abbot of Daitokuji at Kyoto that diplomas of proficiency are obtained." The bases of Shuko's system were the four virtues--urbanity, purity, courtesy, and imperturbability--and little as such a cult seemed adapted to the practices of military men, it nevertheless received its full elaboration under the feudal system. But although this general description is easy enough to formulate, the etiquette and the canons of the cha-no-yu would require a whole volume for an exhaustive description. INCENSE COMPARING The Muromachi epoch contributed to aristocratic pastimes the growth of another amusement known as ko-awase, "comparing of incense," a contest which tested both the player's ability to recognize from their odour different varieties of incense and his knowledge of ancient literature. As early as the seventh century the use of incense had attained a wide vogue in Japan. But it was not until the beginning of the sixteenth century that Shino Soshin converted the pastime into something like a philosophy. From his days no less than sixty-six distinct kinds of incense were recognized and distinguished by names derived from literary allusions. This pastime is not so elaborate as the cha-no-yu, nor does it furnish, like the latter, a series of criteria of art-objects. But it shows abundant evidence of the elaborate care bestowed upon it by generation after generation of Japanese dilettanti. IKE-BANA The English language furnishes no accurate equivalent for what the Japanese call ike-bana. The literal meaning of the term is "living flower," and this name well explains the fundamental principle of the art, namely, the arrangement of flowers so as to suggest natural life. In fact, the blossoms must look as though they were actually growing and not as though they were cut from the stems. It is here that the fundamental difference between the Occidental and the Japanese method of flower arrangement becomes apparent; the former appeals solely to the sense of colour, whereas the latter holds that the beauty of a plant is not derived from the colour of its blossoms more than from the manner of their growth. In fact, harmony of colour rather than symmetry of outline was the thing desired in a Japanese floral composition. It might be said that Western art, in general, and more particularly the decorative art of India, Persia and Greece--the last coming to Japan through India and with certain Hindu modifications--all aim at symmetry of poise; but that Japanese floral arrangement and decorative art in general have for their fundamental aim a symmetry by suggestion,--a balance, but a balance of inequalities. The ike-bana as conceived and practised in Japan is a science to which ladies, and gentlemen also, devote absorbing attention. OTHER PASTIMES It will be understood that to the pastimes mentioned above as originating in military times must be added others bequeathed from previous eras. Principal among these was "flower viewing" at all seasons; couplet composing; chess; draughts; football; mushroom picking, and maple-gathering parties, as well as other minor pursuits. Gambling, also, prevailed widely during the Muromachi epoch and was carried sometimes to great excesses, so that samurai actually staked their arms and armour on a cast of the dice. It is said that this vice had the effect of encouraging robbery, for a gambler staked things not in his possession, pledging himself to steal the articles if the dice went against him. SINGING AND DANCING One of the chief contributions of the military era to the art of singing was a musical recitative performed by blind men using the four-stringed Chinese lute, the libretto being based on some episode of military history. The performers were known as biwa-bozu, the name "bozu" (Buddhist priest) being derived from the fact that they shaved their heads after the manner of bonzes. These musicians developed remarkable skill of elocution, and simulated passion so that in succeeding ages they never lost their popularity. Sharing the vogue of the biwa-bozu, but differing from it in the nature of the story recited as well as in that of the instrument employed, was the joruri, which derived its name from the fact that it was originally founded on the tragedy of Yoshitsune's favourite mistress, Joruri. In this the performer was generally a woman, and the instrument on which she accompanied herself was the samisen. These two dances may be called pre-eminently the martial music of Japan, both by reason of the subject and the nature of the musical movement. The most aristocratic performance of all, however, was the yokyoku, which ultimately grew into the no. This was largely of dramatic character and it owed its gravity and softness of tone to priestly influence, for the monopoly of learning possessed in those ages by the Buddhist friars necessarily made them pre-eminent in all literary accomplishments. The no, which is held in just as high esteem to-day as it was in medieval times, was performed on a stage in the open air and its theme was largely historical. At the back of the stage was seated a row of musicians who served as chorus, accompanying the performance with various instruments, chiefly the flute and the drum, and from time to time intoning the words of the drama. An adjunct of the no was the kyogen. The no was solemn and stately; the kyogen comic and sprightly. In fact, the latter was designed to relieve the heaviness of the former, just as on modern stages the drama is often relieved by the farce. It is a fact of sober history that the shogun Yoshimasa officially invested the no dance with the character of a ceremonious accomplishment of military men and that Hideyoshi himself often joined the dancers on the stage. ENGRAVING: FLOWER POTS AND DWARF TREE ENGRAVING: SWORDS PRESERVED AT SHOSO-IN TEMPLE, AT NARA CHAPTER XXXIII THE EPOCH OF WARS (Sengoku Jidai) LIST OF EMPERORS Order of Succession Name Date 97th Sovereign Go-Murakami A.D. 1339-1368 98th Chokei 1368-1372 99th Go-Kameyama 1372-1392 100th Go-Komatsu 1392-1412 101st Shoko 1412-1428 102d Go-Hanazono 1428-1465 103d Go-Tsuchimikado 1465-1500 104th Go-Kashiwabara 1500-1526 105th Go-Nara 1526-1557 106th Okimachi 1557-1586 107th Go-Yozei 1586-1611 THE sovereigns of the Northern Court, not being recognized as legitimate by Japanese annalists, are excluded from the above list. Go-Komatsu, however, is made an exception. He reigned from 1382 to 1392 as representing the Northern Court, and thereafter, the two Courts having ceased their rivalry, he reigned undisputed until 1412. It has further to be noted that many histories make the number of sovereigns greater by two than the figures recorded in the lists of this volume. That is because the histories in question count as two the Empresses Kogyoku (642-645) and Saimei (655-661), although they represent the same sovereign under different names, and because they adopt a similar method of reckoning in the case of the Empresses Koken (749-758) and Shotoku (765-770), whereas in this volume the actual number of sovereigns is alone recorded. THE COURT The interval between the close of the fifteenth century and the end of the sixteenth is set apart by Japanese annalists as the most disturbed period of the country's history and is distinguished by the term Sengoku Jidai, or the Epoch of Wars. It would be more accurate to date the beginning of that evil time from the Onin year-period (1467-1469); for in the Onin era practical recognition was extended to the principle that the right of succession to a family estate justifies appeal to arms, and that such combats are beyond the purview of the central authority. There ensued disturbances constantly increasing in area and intensity, and not only involving finally the ruin of the Ashikaga shogunate but also subverting all law, order, and morality. Sons turned their hand against fathers, brothers against brothers, and vassals against chiefs. Nevertheless, amid this subversion of ethics and supremacy of the sword, there remained always some who reverenced the Throne and supported the institutions of the State; a noteworthy feature in the context of the fact that, except during brief intervals, the wielder of the sceptre in Japan never possessed competence to enforce his mandates but was always dependent in that respect on the voluntary co-operation of influential subjects. In the Sengoku period the fortunes of the Imperial Court fell to their lowest ebb. The Crown lands lay in the provinces of Noto, Kaga, Echizen, Tamba, Mino, and so forth, and when the wave of warfare spread over the country, these estates passed into the hands of military magnates who absorbed the taxes into their own treasuries, and the collectors sent by the Court could not obtain more than a small percentage of the proper amount. The exchequer of the Muromachi Bakufu suffered from a similar cause, and was further depleted by extravagance, so that no aid could be obtained from that source. Even worse was the case with the provincial manors of the Court nobles, who were ultimately driven to leave the capital and establish direct connexion with their properties. Thus, the Ichijo family went to Tosa; the Ane-no-koji to Hida, and when Ouchi Yoshioki retired to Suwo on resigning his office (kwanryo), many Court magnates who had benefitted by his generosity in Kyoto followed him southward. So impoverished was the Imperial exchequer that, in the year 1500, when the Emperor Go-Tsuchimikado died, the corpse lay for forty days in a darkened room of the palace, funds to conduct the funeral rites not being available. Money was finally provided by Sasaki Takayori, and in recognition of his munificence he was authorized to use the Imperial crest (chrysanthemum and Paulownia); was granted the right of entree to the palace, and received an autographic volume from the pen of the Emperor Go-Kogon. If there was no money to bury Go-Tsuchimikado, neither were any funds available to perform the coronation of his successor, Go-Kashiwabara. Muromachi made a futile attempt to levy contributions from the daimyo, and the kwanryo, Hosokawa Masamoto, is recorded to have brusquely said, in effect, that the country could be administered without crowning any sovereign. Twenty years passed before the ceremony could be performed, and means were ultimately (1520) furnished by the Buddhist priest Koken--son of the celebrated Rennyo Shonin, prelate of the Shin sect--who, out of the abundant gifts of his disciples, placed at the disposal of the Court a sum of ten thousand gold ryo,* being moved to that munificence by the urging of Fujiwara Sanetaka, a former nai-daijin. In recognition of this service, Koken was raised to high ecclesiastical rank. *£30,000--$145,000. It will be remembered that, early in this sixteenth century, Yoshioki, deputy kwanryo and head of the great Ouchi house, had contributed large sums to the Muromachi treasury; had contrived the restoration of several of the Court nobles' domains to their impoverished owners, and had assisted with open hand to relieve the penury of the throne. The task exhausted his resources, and when recalled to his province by local troubles in 1518, the temporary alleviation his generosity had brought was succeeded by hopeless penury. From time immemorial it had been the universal rule to rebuild the two great shrines at Ise every twentieth year, but nothing of the kind had been possible in the case of the Naigu (inner shrine) since 1462, and in the case of the Gegu (outer shrine) since 1434. Such neglect insulted the sanctity of the Throne; yet appeals to the Bakufu produced no result. In 1526, the Emperor Go-Kashiwabara died. It is on record that his ashes were carried from the crematorium in a box slung from the neck of a general officer, and that the funeral train consisted of only twenty-six officials. For the purposes of the coronation ceremony of this sovereign's successor, subscriptions had to be solicited from the provincial magnates, and it was not until 1536 that the repairs of the palace could be undertaken, so that the Emperor Go-Nara was able to write in his diary, "All that I desired to have done has been accomplished, and I am much gratified." On this occasion the Ouchi family again showed its generosity and its loyalty to the Throne. The extremity of distress was reached during the Kyoroku era (1528-1531), when the struggle between the two branches of the Hosokawa family converted Kyoto once more into a battle-field and reduced a large part of the city to ashes. The Court nobles, with their wives and children, had to seek shelter and refuge within the Imperial palace, the fences of which were broken down and the buildings sadly dilapidated. A contemporary record tells with much detail the story of the decay of the capital and the pitiful plight of the Throne. The Emperor Go-Nara (1527-1557) was reduced to earning his own living. This he did by his skill as a calligrapher--at least one instance of something useful resulting from the penchant of the Court for the niceties of Chinese art and letters. Any one might leave at the palace a few coins for payment and order a fair copy of this or that excerpt from a famous classic. The palace was overrun, the chronicler says. Its garden became a resort for tea-drinking among the lower classes and children made it a play-ground. It was no longer walled in, but merely fenced with bamboo. The whole city was in a similar desolation, things having become worse and worse beginning with the Onin disturbance of 1467 and the general exodus of the samurai from the capital at that time. At this time the military nobles came to the city only to fight, and the city's population melted away. All was disorder. The city was flooded and the dike which was built to check the flooded rivers came to be thought a fine residence place in comparison with lower parts of the town. It was at this time that men might be observed begging for rice in the streets of the capital. They carried bags to receive contributions which were designated kwampaku-ryo (regent's money). Some of the bags thus used are preserved by the noble family of Nijo to this day. Another record says that the stewardess of the Imperial household service during this reign (Go-Nara), on being asked how summer garments were to be supplied for the ladies-in-waiting, replied that winter robes with their wadded linings removed should be used. The annals go so far as to allege that deaths from cold and starvation occurred among the courtiers. An important fact is that one of the provincial magnates who contributed to the succour of the Court at this period was Oda Nobuhide of Owari, father of the celebrated Oda Nobunaga. ENGRAVING: SHINRAN SHONIN BUDDHIST VIOLENCE The decline of the Muromachi Bakufu's authority encouraged the monks as well as the samurai to become a law to themselves. Incidental references have already been made to this subject, but the religious commotions of the Sengoku period invite special attention. The Buddhists of the Shin sect, founded by Shinran Shonin (1184-1268), which had for headquarters the great temple Hongwan-ji in Kyoto, were from the outset hostile to the monks of Enryaku-ji. Religious doctrine was not so much concerned in this feud as rivalry. Shinran had been educated in the Tendai tenets at Enryaku-ji. Therefore, from the latter's point of view he was a renegade, and while vehemently attacking the creed of his youth, he had acquired power and influence that placed the Hongwan-ji almost on a level with the great Hiei-zan. In the days of Kenju, popularly called Rennyo Shonin (1415-1479), seventh in descent from the founder, Shinran, the Ikko--by which name the Shin sect was known--developed conspicuous strength. Kenju possessed extraordinary eloquence. Extracts from his sermons were printed on an amulet and distributed among worshippers, who grew so numerous and so zealous that the wealth of the sect became enormous, and its leaders did not hesitate to provide themselves with an armed following. Finally the monks of Hiei-zan swept down on Hongwan-ji, applied the torch to the great temple, and compelled the abbot, Kenju, to fly for his life. It is significant of the time that this outrage received no punishment. Kenju escaped through Omi to Echizen, where the high constable, an Asakura, combining with the high constable, a Togashi, of the neighbouring province of Kaga, erected a temple for the fugitive abbot, whose favour was well worth courting. The Ikko-shu, however, had its own internal dissensions. In the province of Kaga, a sub-sect, the Takata, endeavoured to oust the Hongwan disciples, and rising in their might, attacked (1488) the high constable; compelled him to flee; drove out their Takata rivals; invaded Etchu; raided Noto, routing the forces of the high constable, Hatakeyama Yoshizumi; seized the three provinces--Kaga, Noto, and Etchu--and attempted to take possession of Echizen. This wholesale campaign was spoken of as the Ikko-ikki (revolt of Ikko). A few years later, the Shin believers in Echizen joined these revolters, and marched through the province, looting and burning wherever they passed. No measure of secular warfare had been more ruthless than were the ways of these monks. The high constable, Asakura Norikage, now took the field, and after fierce fighting, drove back the fanatics, destroyed their temples, and expelled their priests. This was only one of several similar commotions. So turbulent did the monks show themselves under the influence of Shin-shu teachers that the Uesugi of Echigo, the Hojo of Izu, and other great daimyo interdicted the propagandism of that form of Buddhism altogether. The most presumptuous insurrection of all stands to the credit of the Osaka priests. A great temple had been erected there to replace the Hongwan-ji of Kyoto, and in, 1529, its lord-abbot, Kokyo, entered Kaga, calling himself the "son of heaven" (Emperor) and assigning to his steward, Shimoma Yorihide, the title of shogun. This was called the "great revolt" (dai-ikki), and the movement of opposition provoked by it was termed the "small revolt" (sho-ikki). Again recourse was had to the most cruel methods. Men's houses were robbed and burned simply because their inmates stood aloof from the insurrection. Just at that time the septs of Hosokawa and Miyoshi were engaged in a fierce struggle for supremacy. Kokyo threw in his lot with Hosokawa Harumoto, and, at the head of fifty thousand troops, attacked and killed Miyoshi Motonaga. Very soon, however, the Hosokawa chief fell out with his cassocked allies. But he did not venture to take the field against them single handed. The priests of the twenty-one Nichiren temples in Kyoto, old enemies of the Ikko, were incited to attack the Hongwan-ji in Osaka. This is known in history as the Hokke-ikki, Hokke-shu being the name of the Nichiren sect. Hiei-zan was involved in the attack, but the warlike monks of Enryaku-ji replied by pouring down into the capital, burning the twenty-one temples of the Nichiren and butchering three thousand of their priests. Such were the ways of the Buddhists in the Sengoku period. THE KWANTO During the Sengoku period (1490-1600) the Japanese empire may be compared to a seething cauldron, the bubbles that unceasingly rose to the surface disappearing almost as soon as they emerged, or uniting into groups with more or less semblance of permanence. To follow in detail these superficial changes would be a task equally interminable and fruitless. They will therefore be traced here in the merest outline, except in cases where large results or national effects are concerned. The group of eight provinces called collectively Kwanto first claims attention as the region where all the great captains and statesmen of the age had their origin and found their chief sphere of action. It has been seen that the fifth Ashikaga kwanryo, Shigeuji, driven out of Kamakura, took refuge at Koga in Shimotsuke; that he was thenceforth known as Koga Kubo; that the Muromachi shogun, Yoshimasa, then sent his younger brother, Masatomo, to rule in the Kwanto; that he established his headquarters at Horigoe in Izu, and that he was officially termed Horigoe Gosho. His chief retainers were the two Uesugi families--distinguished as Ogigayatsu Uesugi and Yamanouchi Uesugi, after the names of the palaces where their mansions were situated--both of whom held the office of kwanryo hereditarily. These Uesugi families soon engaged in hostile rivalry, and the Ogigayatsu branch, being allied with Ota Dokwan, the founder of Yedo Castle, gained the upper hand, until the assassination of Dokwan, when the Yamanouchi became powerful. It was at this time--close of the fifteenth century--that there occurred in the Horigoe house one of those succession quarrels so common since the Onin era. Ashikaga Masatomo, seeking to disinherit his eldest son, Chachamaru, in favour of his second son, Yoshimichi, was killed by the former, the latter taking refuge with the Imagawa family in Suruga, by whom he was escorted to the capital, where he became the Muromachi shogun under the name of Yoshizumi. Parricides and fratricides were too common in that disturbed age for Chachamaru's crime to cause any moral commotion. But it chanced that among the rear vassals of the Imagawa there was one, Nagauji, who, during many years, had harboured designs of large ambition. Seizing the occasion offered by Chachamaru's crime, he constituted himself Masatomo's avenger, and marching into Izu, destroyed the Horigoe mansion, and killed Chachamaru. Then (1491) Nagauji quietly took possession of the province of Izu, building for himself a castle at Hojo. He had no legal authority of any kind for the act, neither command from the Throne nor commission from the shogun. ENGRAVING: HOJO SOUN It was an act of unqualified usurpation. Yet its perpetrator showed that he had carefully studied all the essentials of stable government--careful selection of official instruments; strict administration of justice; benevolent treatment of the people, and the practice of frugality. Being descended from the Taira of Ise and having occupied the domains long held by the Hojo, he adopted the uji name of "Hojo," and having extended his conquests to Sagami province, built a strong castle at Odawara. He is often spoken of as Soun, the name he adopted in taking the tonsure, which step did not in any degree interfere with his secular activities. A profoundly skilled tactician, he never met with a military reverse, and his fame attracted adherents from many provinces. His instructions to his son Ujitsuna were characteristic. Side by side with an injunction to hold himself in perpetual readiness for establishing the Hojo sway over the whole of the Kwanto, as soon as the growing debility of the Uesugi family offered favourable opportunity, stood a series of rules elementary almost to affectation: to believe in the Kami; to rise early in the morning; to go to bed while the night is still young, and other counsels of cognate simplicity formed the ethical thesaurus of a philosopher wise enough to formulate the astute maxim that a ruler, in choosing his instruments, must remember that they, too, choose him. Ujitsuna proved himself a worthy son of Soun, but much had still to be accomplished before the Kwanto was fully won. Among the eight provinces, two, Awa and Kazusa, which looked across the sea to Odawara, were under the firm sway of the Satomi family--one of the "eight generals" of the Kwanto--and not until 1538 could the Hojo chief find an opportunity to crush this strong sept. The fruits of his victory had hardly been gathered when death overtook him, in 1543. His sword descended, however, to a still greater leader, his son Ujiyasu, who pushed westward into Suruga; stood opposed to Kai in the north, and threatened the Uesugi in the east. The two branches of the Uesugi had joined hands in the presence of the Hojo menace, and a powerful league including the Imagawa and the Ashikaga of Koga, had been formed to attack the Hojo. So long did they hesitate in view of the might of Odawara, that the expression "Odawara-hyogi" passed into the language as a synonym for reluctance; and when at length they moved to the attack with eighty thousand men, Hojo Ujiyasu, at the head of a mere fraction of that number, inflicted a defeat which settled the supremacy of the Kwanto. The name of Hojo Ujiyasu is enshrined in the hearts of Japanese bushi. He combined in an extraordinary degree gentleness and bravery, magnanimity and resolution, learning and martial spirit. It was commonly said that from the age of sixteen he had scarcely doffed his armour; had never once showed his back to a foe, and had received nine wounds all in front.* Before he died (1570) he had the satisfaction of establishing a double link between the Hojo and the house of the great warrior, Takeda Shingen, a son and a daughter from each family marrying a daughter and a son of the other.** *Thus a frontal wound came to be designated by his name. **The present Viscount Hojo is a descendant of Ujiyasu. THE TAKEDA AND THE UESUGI Descended (sixteenth generation) from Minamoto Yoshimitsu, Takeda Harunobu (1521-1573) took the field against his father, who had planned to disinherit him in favour of his younger brother. Gaining the victory, Harunobu came into control of the province of Kai, which had long been the seat of the Takeda family. This daimyo, commonly spoken of as Takeda Shingen, the latter being the name he took on receiving the tonsure, ranks among Japan's six great captains of the sixteenth century, the roll reading thus: Takeda Shingen (1521-1573) Uesugi Kenshin (1530-1578) Hojo Ujimasa (1538-1590) Oda Nobunaga (1534-1582) Toyotomi Hideyoshi (1536-1598) Tokugawa Ieyasu (1542-1616) The second of the above, Uesugi Kenshin, was not member of the great Uesugi family which took such an important part in the affairs of the Kwanto. He belonged to the Nagao, which originally stood in a relation of vassalage to the Yamanouchi branch of the Uesugi in Echigo, and his father attained an independent position. Kagetora, as Kenshin was called in his youth, found himself engaged in his twenty-first year in a contest with his elder brother, whom he killed, and, by way of penance for the fratricide, he took the tonsure under the name of Kenshin and would have retired from the world had not his generals insisted on his remaining in command. It was at this time that Kenshin became a member of the Uesugi sept. In 1505, the two branches of the Kwanto Uesugi joined hands against their common enemy, Hojo Soun, and from that time the contest was continued until 1551, when Ujiyasu, grandson of Soun, drove Uesugi Norimasa from his castle of Hirai in Kotsuke. The vanquished general fled to Echigo to seek succour from his family's old-time vassal, Nagao Kagetora, already renowned under the name of Kenshin. Norimasa bestowed the office of kwanryo as well as the uji of Uesugi on Kenshin, who thenceforth became known as Uesugi Kenshin, and who thus constituted himself the foe of the Hojo. At a somewhat earlier date, Kenshin had been similarly supplicated by Murakami Yoshikiyo, whose castle was at Kuzuo in Shinano, whence he had been driven by Takeda Shingen. ENGRAVING: UESUGI KENSHIN It thus fell out that Uesugi Kenshin had for enemies the two captains of highest renown in his era, Hojo Ujimasa and Takeda Shingen. This order of antagonism had far-reaching effects. For Kenshin's ambition was to become master of the whole Kwanto, under pretence of re-establishing the original Uesugi, but his expansion southward from Echigo was barred by Shingen in Shinano and Kai, and his expansion eastward by the Hojo in Sagami and Musashi. The place of the struggle between Shingen-and Kenshin was Kawanaka-jima, an arena often pictured by artists of later generations and viewed to-day by pilgrims to the venerable temple, Zenko-ji. There the two generals, recognized as the two greatest strategists of that epoch, met four times in fierce strife, and though a Japanese historian compares the struggle to the eruption of volcanoes or the blowing of gales of blood, victory never rested on either standard. ENGRAVING: TAKEDA SHINGEN Peace having been at length restored for a moment, in 1558, Kenshin visited Kyoto in the following year. There he was received with distinction. The Emperor--Okimachi--bestowed on him a sword, and the shogun, Yoshiteru, entitled him to incorporate the ideograph "teru" in his name, which was thus changed from Kagetora to Terutora. He was also granted the office of kwanryo. On his return to Echigo, Kenshin proceeded to assert his new title. Mustering an army said to have been 110,000 strong, he attacked the Hojo in Odawara. But Ujiyasu would not be tempted into the open. He remained always behind the ramparts, and, in the meanwhile incited Shingen to invade Echigo, so that Kenshin had to raise the siege of Odawara and hasten to the defence of his home province. There followed another indecisive battle at Kawanaka-jima, and thereafter renewed attacks upon the Hojo, whose expulsion from the Kwanto devolved on Kenshin as kwanryo. But the results were always vague: the Hojo refrained from final resistance, and Shingen created a diversion. The chief sufferers were the provinces of the Kwanto, a scene of perpetual battle. In the end, after Etchu and Kotsuke had been brought under Kenshin's sway, peace was concluded between him and the Hojo, and he turned his full strength against his perennial foe, Shingen. But at this stage the situation was entirely changed by the appearance of Oda Nobunaga on the scene, as will be presently narrated. It is recorded that, on the eve of his death, Shingen advised his son to place himself and his domains in Kenshin's keeping, for, said he, "Kenshin now stands unrivalled, and Kenshin will never break faith with you;" and it is recorded of Kenshin that when he heard of Shingen's death, he shed tears and exclaimed, "Would that the country had such another hero!"* *The present Count Uesugi is descended from Kenshin. THE IMAGAWA, THE KITABATAKE, THE SAITO, AND THE ODA FAMILIES The Imagawa, a branch of the Ashikaga, served as the latter's bulwark in Suruga province during many generations. In the middle of the sixteenth century the head of the family was Yoshimoto. His sway extended over the three provinces of Suruga, Totomi, and Mikawa, which formed the littoral between Owari Bay and the Izu promontory. On the opposite side of Owari Bay lay Ise province, the site of the principal Shinto shrine and the original domain of the Taira family, where, too, the remnants of the Southern Court had their home. Its hereditary governor was a Kitabatake, and even after the union of the two Courts that great family, descendants of the immortal historian and philosopher, Chikafusa, continued to exercise sway. But, in 1560, discord among the chief retainers of the sept furnished a pretext for the armed intervention of Oda Nobunaga, who invested his son, Nobukatsu, with the rights of government. On the northern littoral of Owari Bay, and therefore separating Ise and Mikawa, was situated the province of Owari, which, in turn, opened on the north into Mino. In this latter province the Doki family was destroyed by the Saito, and these in turn were crushed by the Oda, in 1561, who, from their headquarters in Owari, shattered the Imagawa of Mikawa and the Saito in Mino, thereafter sweeping over Ise. THE ROKKAKU, THE ASAI, THE ASAKURA, AND THE HATAKEYAMA FAMILIES The province of Omi had special importance as commanding the approaches to Kyoto from the east. Hence it became the scene of much disturbance, in which the Hosokawa, the Kyogoku, the Rokkaku, and the Asai families all took part. Finally, in the middle of the sixteenth century, the Asai gained the ascendancy by obtaining the assistance of the Asakura of Echizen. This latter province, conterminous with the north of Omi, was originally under the control of the Shiba family, but the Asakura subsequently obtained the office of high constable, and acquired a great access of power at the time of the Ikko revolt by driving the turbulent priests from the province. At that era, or a little later, the provinces of Kii, Kawachi, Izumi, and Yamato were all the scenes of fierce fighting, but the pages of history need not be burdened with details of the clash of purely private ambitions. THE MORI AND THE AMAKO FAMILIES The Ouchi family was very powerfully situated. Descended from a Korean Crown Prince who migrated to Japan early in the seventh century, its representative, Yoshioki (1477-1528), controlled the southern provinces of the main island--Iwami, Aki, Suwo, and Nagato--as well as the two northern provinces of Kyushu--Chikuzen and Buzen. This was the chieftain who, in 1508, marched to Kyoto at the head of a great army, and restored the Ashikaga shogun Yoshitane, himself receiving the office of kwanryo. Eleven years later, on his return to the south, he was followed by many nobles from Kyoto, and his chief provincial town, Yamaguchi, on the Shimonoseki Strait, prospered greatly. But his son Yoshitaka proved a weakling, and being defeated by his vassal, Suye Harukata--called also Zenkyo--he committed suicide, having conjured another vassal, Mori Motonari, to avenge him. ENGRAVING: MORI MOTONARI The Mori family* had for ancestor the great statesman and legislator of Yoritomo's time, Oye Hiromoto, and its representative, Motonari (1497-1571), had two sons scarcely inferior to himself in strategical ability, Kikkawa Motoharu and Kohayakawa Takakage. A commission having been obtained from Kyoto, Motonari took the field in 1555, and with only three thousand men succeeded, by a daring feat, in shattering Harukata with twenty thousand. Thus far, Mori Motonari had obeyed the behest of his late chief. But thereafter he made no attempt to restore the Ouchi family. On the contrary, he relentlessly prosecuted the campaign against Suye Harukata, with whom was associated Ouchi Yoshinaga, representing the Ouchi house by adoption, until ultimately Yoshinaga committed suicide and, the Ouchi family becoming extinct, Motonari succeeded to all its domains. *Now represented by Prince Mori. At that time the province of Izumo, which is conterminous with Iwami along its western frontier, was under the control of the high constable, Amako Tsunehisa (1458-1540), who, profiting by the fall of the great Yamana sept, had obtained possession of the provinces Bingo and Hoki as well as of the Oki Islands. This daimyo was a puissant rival of the Ouchi family, and on the downfall of the latter he soon came into collision with Mori Motonari. Tsunehisa's grandson, Yoshihisa (1545-1610), inherited this feud, which ended with the extinction of the Amako family and the absorption of its domains by the Mori, the latter thus becoming supreme in no less than thirteen provinces of the Sanyo-do and the Sanin-do. THE MIYOSHI, THE ICHIJO, THE CHOSOKABE, AND THE KONO FAMILIES With the island of Shikoku (four provinces) are connected the names of the Hosokawa, the Miyoshi, the Ichijo, the Chosokabe, and the Kono families. Early in the fourteenth century, the celebrated Hosokawa Yoriyuki was banished to Sanuki, and in the middle of the fifteenth century we find nearly the whole of the island under the sway of Hosokawa Katsumoto. Then, in the Daiei era (1521-1528), the Miyoshi, vassals of the Hosokawa, came upon the scene in Awa. From 1470 to 1573, the province of Tosa was governed by the Ichijo, but, in the latter year, Motochika, head of the Chosokabe, one of the seven vassal families of the Ichijo, usurped the province, and then received orders from Oda Nobunaga to conquer the other three provinces of the island in the interests of Nobunaga's son. Motochika obeyed, but on the death of Nobunaga and his son he constituted himself master of Shikoku until Hideyoshi deprived him of all save Tosa. From 1156 to 1581 the Kono family held the province of Iyo, but there is nothing of historical interest in their career. THE DAIMYO IN KYUSHU Connected with Kyushu are the families of Shoni, Otomo, Ryuzoji, Kikuchi and Shimazu. The term "shoni" originally signified vice-governor. Its first bearer was Muto Sukeyori (Fujiwara), who received the commission of Dazai no shoni from Minamoto Yoritomo. Subsequently it became a family name, and the Shoni are found fighting against the Mongol invaders; stoutly supporting the Southern Court; passing over to the side of the Ashikaga, and losing their places in history after the suicide of Tokihisa (1559), who had suffered repeated defeats at the hands of the Ryuzoji. The Otomo family was a branch of the Fujiwara. One of its members, Nakahara Chikayoshi, received from Minamoto Yoritomo the office of high constable of the Dazai-fu, and to his son, Yoshinao, was given the uji of Otomo, which, as the reader knows, belonged originally to Michi no Omi, a general of the Emperor Jimmu. In Kyushu, the Otomo espoused the cause of the Northern Court, and made themselves masters of Buzen, Bungo, Chikuzen, Chikugo, Hizen, and Higo. In 1396, the head of the family--Chikayo--held the office of tandai of Kyushu. Yoshishige, commonly called Sorin (1530-1587), fought successfully with the Kikuchi and the Akizuki, and the closing years of his life were devoted to a futile struggle against the Shimazu, the Ryuzoji, and the Akizuki. He escaped disaster by obtaining succour from Hideyoshi, but the Otomo domain was reduced to the single province of Bungo. The Ryuzoji first appear in history as vassals of the Shoni, under whose banner they fought against the Otomo, in 1506. Subsequently they became independent and established a stronghold in Hizen, which province was granted to them in fief by Hideyoshi. The Kikuchi, a branch of the Fujiwara, held office in Kyushu from the tenth century. They are chiefly noteworthy for their gallant defence of the cause of the Southern Court. After many vicissitudes the family disappeared from history in the middle of the sixteenth century. The ancestor of the Shimazu family was Tadahisa, an illegitimate son of Minamoto Yoritomo. His mother, to escape the resentment of Yoritomo's wife, Masa, fled to Kyushu, and Tadahisa, having been named governor of Satsuma, proceeded thither, in 1196, and by conquest added to it the two provinces, Hyuga and Osumi. The Shimazu family emerged victorious from all campaigns until Hideyoshi in person took the field against them, as will be presently related.* *The family is now represented by Prince Shimazu. THE O-U REGION The 0-U region (Mutsu-Dewa) was the home of many septs which fought among themselves for supremacy. Of these the most influential were the Mogami of Yamagata, the Date of Yonezawa, and the Ashina of Aizu. In the extreme north were the Nambu who, however, lived too remote from the political centres to occupy historical attention. The Date maintained friendly relations with the Ashikaga, and Harumune was nominated tandai of Oshu by the shogun Yoshiharu, of whose name one ideograph (haru) was given to the Date chief. The family attained its greater distinction in the time of Masamune (1566-1636), and was fortunate in being able to stand aloof from some of the internecine strife of the sixteenth century. Nevertheless, the region was sufficiently disturbed. Thus, the Tsugaru and the Nambu struggled in the north, while the Date, further north, shattered the power of the Nikaido, the Nihonmatsu, the Ashina, and the Tamura, or fought less decisively against the Satake (of Hitachi), and in Ushu (Dewa) the Mogami were confronted by the Uesugi of Echigo. DATE MASAMUNE The most renowned of the Date family was Masamune, who to great military skill added artistic instincts and considerable poetic ability. Tradition has handed down some incidents which illustrate the ethics of that time as well as the character of the man. It is stated that Masamune came into possession of a scroll on which were inscribed a hundred selected poems copied by the celebrated Fujiwara Ietaka. Of this anthology Masamune was much enamoured, for the sake alike of its contents and of its calligraphy. But learning accidentally that the scroll had been pawned to the merchant from whom he had obtained it, he instituted inquiries as to its owner, and ultimately restored the scroll to him with the addition of five gold ryo. The owner was a knight-errant (ronin) named Imagawa Motome, who thereafter entered Masamune's service and ultimately rose to be a general of infantry (ashigaru). The sympathy which taught Masamune to estimate the pain with which the owner of the scroll must have parted with it was a fine trait of character. Another incident in this remarkable man's career happened at an entertainment where he accidentally trod on the robe of one Kanematsu, a vassal of the Tokugawa. Enraged by an act of carelessness which amounted almost to a deliberate insult, Kanematsu struck Masamune, A commotion at once arose, the probable outcome being that Masamune would return the blow with his sword. But he remained pertly cool, making no remark except that he had been paid for his want of care, and that, at any rate, Kanematsu was not an adversary worthy of his resentment. THE FIVE CENTRES Among the welter of warring regions glanced at above, five sections detach themselves as centres of disturbance. The first is the Court in Kyoto and the Muromachi Bakufu, where the Hosokawa, the Miyoshi, and the Matsunaga deluged the streets with blood and reduced the city to ashes. The second is the Hojo of Odawara, who compassed the destruction of the kubo at Koga and of the two original Uesugi families. The third is Takeda of Kai, who struggled on one side with the Uesugi of Echigo and on the other with the Imagawa of Suruga. The fourth is Oda Nobunaga, who escorted the shogun to the capital. And the fifth is the great Mori family, who, after crushing the Ouchi and the Amako, finally came into collision with the armies of Oda under the leadership of Hideyoshi. ENGRAVING: "EMA" (Pictures Painted on Wood, Especially of Horses, Hung up in the Temple as Motive Offerings) ENGRAVING: ODA NOBUNAGA CHAPTER XXXIV NOBUNAGA, HIDEYOSHI, AND IEYASU ODA NOBUNAGA WHEN the Taira sept was shattered finally at Dan-no-ura, a baby grandson of Kiyomori was carried by its mother to the hamlet of Tsuda, in Omi province. Subsequently this child, Chikazane, was adopted by a Shinto official of Oda, in Echizen, and thus acquired the name of Oda. For generations the family served uneventfully at the shrine in Omi, but in the disturbed days of the Ashikaga shoguns, the representative of the eighth generation from Chikazane emerged from the obscurity of Shinto services and was appointed steward (karo) of the Shiba family, which appointment involved removal of his residence to Owari. From that time the fortunes of the family became brighter. Nobuhide, its representative at the beginning of the sixteenth century, acquired sufficient power to dispute the Imagawa's sway over the province of Mikawa, and sufficient wealth to contribute funds to the exhausted coffers of the Court in Kyoto. This man's son was Nobunaga. Born in 1534, and destined to bequeath to his country a name that will never die, Nobunaga, as a boy, showed much of the eccentricity of genius. He totally despised the canons of the time as to costume and etiquette. One of his peculiarities was a love of long swords, and it is related that on a visit to Kyoto in his youth he carried in his girdle a sword which trailed on the ground as he walked. Rough and careless, without any apparent dignity, he caused so much solicitude to his tutor and guardian, Hirate Masahide, and showed so much indifference to the latter's remonstrances, that finally Masahide had recourse to the faithful vassal's last expedient--he committed suicide, leaving a letter in which the explanation of his act was accompanied by a stirring appeal to the better instincts of his pupil and ward. This proved the turning-point in Nobunaga's career. He became as circumspect as he had previously been careless, and he subsequently erected to the memory of his brave monitor a temple which may be seen to this day by visitors to Nagoya. It is frequently said of Nobunaga that his indifference to detail and his lack of patience were glaring defects in his moral endowment. But that accusation can scarcely be reconciled with facts. Thus, when still a young man, it is related of him that he summoned one of his vassals to his presence but, giving no order, allowed the man to retire. This was repeated with two others, when the third, believing that there must be something in need of care, looked about attentively before retiring, and observing a piece of torn paper on the mats, took it up and carried it away. Nobunaga recalled him, eulogized his intelligence, and declared that men who waited scrupulously for instructions would never accomplish much. The faculties of observation and initiation were not more valued by Nobunaga than those of honesty and modesty. It is recorded that on one occasion he summoned all the officers of his staff, and showing them a sword by a famous maker, promised to bestow it upon the man who should guess most correctly the number of threads in the silk frapping of the hilt. All the officers wrote down their guesses with one exception, that of Mori Rammaru. Asked for the reason of his abstention, Mori replied that he happened to know the exact number of threads, having counted them on a previous occasion when admiring the sword. Nubunaga at once placed the weapon in his hands, thus recognizing his honesty. Again, after the construction of the famous castle at Azuchi, to which reference will be made hereafter, Nobunaga, desiring to have a record compiled in commemoration of the event, asked a celebrated priest, Sakugen, to undertake the composition and penning of the document. Sakugen declared the task to be beyond his literary ability, and recommended that it should be entrusted to his rival, Nankwa. Nobunaga had no recourse but to adopt this counsel, and Nankwa performed the task admirably, as the document, which is still in existence, shows. In recognition of this success, Nobunaga gave the compiler one hundred pieces of silver, but at the same time bestowed two hundred on Sakugen for his magnanimity in recommending a rival. Nobunaga unquestionably had the gift of endearing himself to his retainers, though there are records which show that he was subject to outbursts of fierce anger. Even his most trusted generals were not exempt from bitter words or even blows, and we shall presently see that to this fault in his character was approximately due his tragic end. Nevertheless, he did not lack the faculty of pity. On the occasion of a dispute between two of his vassals about the boundaries of a manor, the defeated litigant bribed one of Nobunaga's principal staff-officers to appeal for reversal of the judgment. This officer adduced reasons of a sufficiently specious character, but Nobunaga detected their fallacy, and appeared about to take some precipitate action when he happened to observe the wrinkles which time had written on the suppliant's face. He recovered his sang-froid and contented himself with sending the officer from his presence and subsequently causing to be handed to him a couplet setting forth the evils of bribery and corruption. He forgave the guilty man in consideration of his advanced age, and the incident is said to have closed with the suicide of the old officer. Frugality was another trait of Nobunaga's character. But he did not save money for money's sake. He spent with lavish hand when the occasion called for munificence; as when he contributed a great sum for the rebuilding of the Ise shrines. Perhaps nothing constitutes a better clue to his disposition than the verses he habitually quoted: Life is short; the world is a mere dream to the idle. Only the fool fears death, for what is there of life that does Not die once, sooner or later? Man has to die once and once only; He should make his death glorious. It is recorded that Nobunaga's demeanour in battle truly reflected the spirit of these verses. ENGRAVING: TOYOTOMI HIDEYOSHI HIDEYOSHI Nobunaga certainly deserved the success he achieved, but that he achieved it must be attributed in part to accident. That accident was his association with Hideyoshi.* It has been sometimes said that circumstances beget the men to deal with them. Fallacious as such a doctrine is, it almost compels belief when we observe that the second half of the sixteenth century in Japan produced three of the greatest men the world has ever seen, and that they joined hands to accomplish the stupendous task of restoring peace and order to an empire which had been almost continuously torn by war throughout five consecutive centuries. These three men were born within an interval of eight years: Nobunaga, in 1534; Hideyoshi, in 1536, and Ieyasu, in 1542. *To avoid needless difficulty the name "Hideyoshi" is used solely throughout this history. But, as a matter of fact, the great statesman and general was called in his childhood Nakamura Hiyoshi; his adult name was Tokichi; afterwards he changed this to Hashiba and ultimately, he was known as Toyotomi Hideyoshi. There are many stories about Hideyoshi's early days, but the details are obscured by a record called the Taikoki, which undoubtedly makes many excursions into the region of romance. The plain facts appear to be that Hideyoshi was the son of a humble farmer named Kinoshita Yaemon, who lived in the Aichi district of Owari province, and who preferred the life of a foot-soldier (ashigaru) to the pursuit of agriculture. Yaemon served the Oda family, and died when Hideyoshi was still a youth. In Owari province, at a homestead called Icho-mura from the name of the tree (maiden-hair tree) that flourishes there in abundance, there stands a temple built in the year 1616 on the site of the house where Hideyoshi was born. This temple is known as Taiko-zan--"Taiko" having been the title of Hideyoshi in the latter years of his life--and in the grounds of the temple may be seen the well from which water was drawn to wash the newly born baby. The child grew up to be a youth of dimunitive stature, monkey-like face, extraordinary precocity, and boundless ambition. Everything was against him--personal appearance, obscurity of lineage, and absence of scholarship. Yet he never seems to have doubted that a great future lay before him. Many curious legends are grouped about his childhood. They are for the most part clumsily constructed and unconvincing, though probably we shall be justified in accepting the evidence they bear of a mind singularly well ordered and resourceful. At the age of sixteen he was employed by a Buddhist priest to assist in distributing amulets, and by the agency of this priest he obtained an introduction to Matsushita Yukitsuna, commandant of the castle of Kuno at Hamamatsu, in Totomi province. This Matsushita was a vassal of Imagawa Yoshimoto. He controlled the provinces of Mikawa, Totomi, and Suruga, which lie along the coast eastward of Owari, and he represented one of the most powerful families in the country. Hideyoshi served in the castle of Kuno for a period variously reckoned at from one year to five. Tradition says that he abused the trust placed in him by his employer, and absconded with the sum of six ryo wherewith he had been commissioned to purchase a new kind of armour which had recently come into vogue in Owari province. But though this alleged theft becomes in certain annals the basis of a picturesque story as to Hideyoshi repaying Matsushita a thousandfold in later years, the unadorned truth seems to be that Hideyoshi was obliged to leave Kuno on account of the jealousy of his fellow retainers, who slandered him to Yukitsuna and procured his dismissal. Returning to Owari, he obtained admission to the ranks of Oda Nobunaga in the humble capacity of sandal-bearer. He deliberately chose Nobunaga through faith in the greatness of his destiny, and again the reader of Japanese history is confronted by ingenious tales as to Hideyoshi's devices for obtaining admission to Nobunaga's house. But the most credible explanation is, at the same time, the simplest, namely, that Hideyoshi's father, having been borne on the military roll of Nobunaga's father, little difficulty offered in obtaining a similar favour for Hideyoshi. Nobunaga was then on the threshold of his brilliant career. In those days of perpetual war and tumult, the supreme ambition of each great territorial baron in Japan was to fight his way to the capital, there to obtain from the sovereign and the Muromachi Bakufu a commission to subdue the whole country and to administer it as their lieutenant. Nobunaga seems to have cherished that hope from his early years, though several much more powerful military magnates would surely oppose anything like his pre-eminence. Moreover, in addition to comparative weakness, he was hampered by local inconvenience. The province of Owari was guarded on the south by sea, but on the east it was menaced directly by the Imagawa family and indirectly by the celebrated Takeda Shingen, while on the north it was threatened by the Saito and on the west by the Asai, the Sasaki, and the Kitabatake. Any one of these puissant feudatories would have been more than a match for the Owari chieftain, and that Imagawa Yoshimoto harboured designs against Owari was well known to Nobunaga, for in those days spying, slander, forgery, and deceit of every kind had the approval of the Chinese writers on military ethics whose books were regarded as classics by the Japanese. Hideyoshi himself figures at this very time as the instigator and director of a series of acts of extreme treachery, by which the death of one of the principal Imagawa vassals was compassed; and the same Hideyoshi was the means of discovering a plot by Imagawa emissaries to delay the repair of the castle of Kiyosu, Nobunaga's headquarters, where a heavy fall of rain had caused a landslide. Nobunaga did not venture to assume the offensive against the Imagawa chief. He chose as a matter of necessity to stand on the defensive, and when it became certain that Imagawa Yoshimoto had taken the field, a general impression prevailed that the destruction of the Oda family was unavoidable. BATTLE OF OKEHAZAMA In the month of June, 1560, Imagawa Yoshimoto crossed the border into Owari at the head of a force stated by the annals to have been forty-six thousand strong. Just two years had elapsed since Hideyoshi's admission to the service of the Owari baron in the office of sandal-bearer. Nevertheless, some generally credible records do not hesitate to represent Hideyoshi as taking a prominent part in the great battle against the Imagawa, and as openly advising Nobunaga with regard to the strategy best adapted to the situation. It is incredible that a private soldier, and a mere youth of twenty-two at that, should have risen in such a short time to occupy a place of equality with the great generals of Nobunaga's army. But that Hideyoshi contributed more or less to the result of the fight may be confidently asserted. The battle itself, though the forces engaged were not large, must be counted one of the great combats of the world, for had not Nobunaga emerged victorious the whole course of Japanese history might have been changed. At the outset, no definite programme seems to have been conceived on Nobunaga's side. He had no allies, and the numerical inferiority of his troops was overwhelming. The latter defect was remedied in a very partial degree by the resourcefulness of Hideyoshi. In his boyhood he had served for some time under a celebrated chief of freebooters, by name Hachisuka Koroku,* and he persuaded that chieftain with his fifteen hundred followers to march to the aid of the Owari army, armour and weapons having been furnished by Sasaki Shotei, of Omi province. Sasaki regarded Nobunaga's plight as too hopeless to warrant direct aid, but he was willing to equip Hachisuka's men for the purpose, although the addition of fifteen hundred soldiers could make very little difference in the face of such a disparity as existed between the combatants. *Ancestor of the present Marquis Hachisuka. Shortly before these events, Owari had been invaded from the west by the Kitabatake baron, whose domain lay in Ise, and the invaders had been beaten back by a bold offensive movement on Nobunaga's part. The ultimate result had not been conclusive, as Nobunaga advisedly refrained from carrying the war into Ise and thus leaving his own territory unguarded. But the affair had taught the superiority of offensive tactics, and thus Nobunaga's impulse was to attack the army of Imagawa, instead of waiting to be crushed by preponderate force. His most trusted generals, Shibata Katsuiye, Sakuma Nobumori, and Hayashi Mitsukatsu, strenuously opposed this plan. They saw no prospect whatever of success in assuming the offensive against strength so superior, and they urged the advisability of yielding temporarily and awaiting an opportunity to recover independence. Here, Hideyoshi is reputed to have shown conspicuous wisdom at the council-table. He pointed out that there could be no such thing as temporary surrender. The Imagawa would certainly insist on hostages sufficiently valuable to insure permanent good faith, and he further declared that it was a mistake to credit the Imagawa with possessing the good-will of any of the other great feudatories, since they were all equally jealous of one another. Finally, it was resolved that seven forts should be built and garrisoned, and that five of them should be allowed to fall into the enemy's hands if resistance proved hopeless. In the remaining two forts the garrisons were to be composed of the best troops in the Owari army, and over these strongholds were to be flown the flags of Nobunaga himself and of his chief general. It was hoped that by their success in five of the forts the Imagawa army would be at once physically wearied and morally encouraged to concentrate their entire strength and attention on the capture of the last two fortresses. Meanwhile, Nobunaga himself, with a select body of troops, was to march by mountain roads to the rear of the invading forces and deliver a furious attack when such a manoeuvre was least expected. The brave men who engaged in this perilous enterprise were strengthened by worshipping at the shrine of Hachiman in the village of Atsuta, and their prayers evoked appearances which were interpreted as manifestations of divine assistance. Most fortunately for the Owari troops, their movements were shrouded by a heavy rainfall, and they succeeded in inflicting serious loss on the invading army, driving it pele-mele across the border and killing its chief, Yoshimoto. No attempt was made to pursue the fugitives into Mikawa. Nobunaga was prudently content with his signal victory. It raised him at once to a level with the greatest provincial barons in the empire, and placed him in the foremost rank of the aspirants for an Imperial commission. ENGRAVING: TOKUGAWA IEYASU TOKUGAWA IEYASU The battle of Okehazama led to another incident of prime importance in Japanese history. It brought about an alliance between Oda Nobunaga and Tokugawa Ieyasu. Among the small barons subject to the Imagawa there was one called Matsudaira Motoyasu. He had taken the name, Motoyasu, by adopting one of the ideographs of Yoshimoto's appellation. His family, long in alliance with the Imagawa, were at a variance with the Oda, and in the battle of Okehazama this Motoyasu had captured one of the Owari forts. But on the defeat and death of Yoshimoto, the Matsudaira chieftain retired at once to his own castle of Okazaki, in the province of Mikawa. He had then to consider his position, for by the death of Yoshimoto, the headship of the Imagawa family had fallen to his eldest son, Ujizane, a man altogether inferior in intellect to his gifted father. Nobunaga himself appreciated the character of the new ruler, and saw that the wisest plan would be to cement a union with Matsudaira Motoyasu. Accordingly he despatched an envoy to Okazaki Castle to consult the wishes of Motoyasu. The latter agreed to the Owari chief's proposals, and in February, 1562, proceeded to the castle of Kiyosu, where he contracted with Oda Nobunaga an alliance which endured throughout the latter's lifetime. In the following year, Motoyasu changed his name to Ieyasu, and subsequently he took the uji of Tokugawa. The alliance was strengthened by intermarriage, Nobuyasu, the eldest son of Ieyasu, being betrothed to a daughter of Nobunaga. NOBUNAGA'S POSITION It was at this time, according to Japanese annalists, that Nobunaga seriously conceived the ambition of making Kyoto his goal. The situation offered inducements. In the presence of a practically acknowledged conviction that no territorial baron of that era might venture to engage in an enterprise which denuded his territory of a protecting army, it was necessary to look around carefully before embarking upon the Kyoto project. Nobunaga had crushed the Imagawa, for though his victory had not been conclusive from a military point of view, it had placed the Imagawa under incompetent leadership and had thus freed Owari from all menace from the littoral provinces on the east. Again, in the direction of Echigo and Shinano, the great captain, Uesugi Kenshin, dared not strike at Nobunaga's province without exposing himself to attack from Takeda Shingen. But Shingen was not reciprocally hampered. His potentialities were always an unknown quality. He was universally recognized as the greatest strategist of his time, and if Nobunaga ventured to move westward, the Kai baron would probably seize the occasion to lay hands upon Owari. It is true that the alliance with Tokugawa Ieyasu constituted some protection. But Ieyasu was no match for Shingen in the field. Some other check must be devised, and Nobunaga found it in the marriage of his adopted daughter to Shingen's son, Katsuyori. THE COURT APPEALS TO NOBUNAGA In Kyoto, at this time, a state of great confusion existed. The Emperor Okimachi had ascended the throne in 1557. But in the presence of the violent usurpations of the Miyoshi and others, neither the sovereign nor the shogun could exercise any authority, and, as has been shown already, the Throne was constantly in pecuniarily embarassed circumstances. Nobunaga's father, Nobuhide, had distinguished himself by subscribing liberally to aid the Court financially, and this fact being now recalled in the context of Nobunaga's rapidly rising power, the Emperor, in the year 1562, despatched Tachiri Munetsugu nominally to worship at the shrine of Atsuta, but in reality to convey to Nobunaga an Imperial message directing him to restore order in the capital. The Owari baron received this envoy with marked respect. It is recorded that he solemnly performed the ceremony of lustration and clothed himself in hitherto unworn garments on the occasion of his interview with the envoy. It was not in his power, however, to make any definite arrangement as to time. He could only profess his humble determination to obey the Imperial behest, and promise the utmost expedition. But there can be no doubt that the arrival of this envoy decided the question of a march to Kyoto, though some years were destined to elapse before the project could be carried out. Two things were necessary, however, namely, a feasible route and a plausible pretext. Even in those times, when wars were often undertaken merely for the purpose of deciding personal supremacy, there remained sufficient public morality to condemn any baron who suffered himself to be guided openly by ambition alone. Some reasonably decent cause had to be found. Now the Emperor, though, as above stated, communicating his will verbally to Nobunaga, had not sent him any written commission. The necessary pretext was furnished, however, by the relations between the members of the Saito family of Mino province, which lay upon the immediate north of Owari, and constituted the most convenient road to Kyoto. Hidetatsu, the head of that family, had fought against Nobunaga's father, Nobuhide, and one of the conditions of peace had been that the daughter of Hidetatsu should become the wife of Nobunaga. Subsequently, the Saito household was disturbed by one of the family feuds so common during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries in Japan. Hidetatsu, desiring to disinherit his eldest son, Yoshitatsu, had been attacked and killed by the latter, and Nobunaga announced his intention of avenging the death of his father-in-law. But before this intention could be carried out, Yoshitatsu died (1561), and his son, Tatsuoki, a man of little resource or ability, had to bear the onset from Owari. Nobunaga, at the head of a large force, crossed the Kiso River into Mino. But he found that, even under the leadership of Tatsuoki, the Mino men were too strong for him, and he was ultimately compelled to adopt the device of erecting on the Mino side of the river a fortress which should serve at once as a basis of military operations and as a place for establishing relations with the minor families in the province. The building of this fort proved a very difficult task, but it was finally accomplished by a clever device on the part of Hideyoshi, who, a master of intrigue as well as of military strategy, subsequently won over to Nobunaga's cause many of the principal vassals of the Saito family, among them being Takenaka Shigeharu, who afterwards proved a most capable lieutenant to Hideyoshi. These preliminaries arranged, Nobunaga once more crossed the Kiso (1564) at the head of a large army, and after many days of severe fighting, captured the castle of Inaba-yama, which had been strongly fortified by Yoshitatsu, and was deemed impregnable. Nobunaga established his headquarters at this castle, changing its name to Gifu, and thus extending his dominion over the province of Mino as well as Owari. He had now to consider whether he would push on at once into the province of Omi, which alone lay between him and Kyoto, or whether he would first provide against the danger of a possible attack on the western littoral of Owari from the direction of Ise. He chose the latter course, and invaded Ise at the head of a considerable force. But he here met with a repulse at the hands of Kusunoki Masatomo, who to the courage and loyalty of his immortal ancestor, Masashige, added no small measure of strategical ability. He succeeded in defending his castle of Yada against Nobunaga's attacks, and finally the Owari general, deceived by a rumour to the effect that Takeda Shingen had reached the neighbourhood of Gifu with a strong army, retired hurriedly from Ise. It may here be mentioned that three years later, in 1568, Hideyoshi succeeded in inducing all the territorial nobles of northern Ise, except Kusunoki Masatomo, to place themselves peacefully under Nobunaga's sway. Hideyoshi's history shows him to have been a constant believer in the theory that a conquered foe generally remains an enemy, whereas a conciliated enemy often becomes a friend. Acting on this conviction and aided by an extraordinary gift of persuasive eloquence, he often won great victories without any bloodshed. Thus he succeeded in convincing the Ise barons that Nobunaga was not swayed by personal ambition, but that his ruling desire was to put an end to the wars which had devastated Japan continuously for more than a century. It is right to record that the failures made by Nobunaga himself in his Ise campaign were in the sequel of measures taken in opposition to Hideyoshi's advice, and indeed the annals show that this was true of nearly all the disasters that overtook Nobunaga throughout his career, whereas his many and brilliant successes were generally the outcome of Hideyoshi's counsels. ANOTHER SUMMONS FROM THE EMPEROR In November, 1567, the Emperor again sent Tachiri Munetsugu to invite Nobunaga's presence in Kyoto. His Majesty still refrained from the dangerous step of giving a written commission to Nobunaga, but he instructed Munetsugu to carry to the Owari chieftain a suit of armour and a sword. Two years previously to this event, the tumult in Kyoto had culminated in an attack on the palace of the shogun Yoshiteru, the conflagration of the building, and the suicide of the shogun amid the blazing ruins. Yoshiteru's younger brother, Yoshiaki, effected his escape from the capital, and wandered about the country during three years, supplicating one baron after another to take up his cause. This was in 1568, just nine months after the Emperor's second message to Nobunaga, and the latter, acting upon Hideyoshi's advice, determined to become Yoshiaki's champion, since by so doing he would represent not only the sovereign but also the shogun in the eyes of the nation. Meanwhile--and this step also was undertaken under Hideyoshi's advice--a friendly contract had been concluded with Asai Nagamasa, the most powerful baron in Omi, and the agreement had been cemented by the marriage of Nobunaga's sister to Nagamasa. NOBUNAGA PROCEEDS TO KYOTO In October, 1568, Nobunaga set out for Kyoto at the head of an army said to have numbered thirty thousand. He did not encounter any serious resistance on the way, but the coming of his troops threw the city into consternation, the general apprehension being that the advent of these provincial warriors would preface a series of depredations such as the people were only too well accustomed to. But Nobunaga lost no time in issuing reassuring proclamations, which, in the sequel, his officers proved themselves thoroughly capable of enforcing, and before the year closed peace and order were restored in the capital, Yoshiaki being nominated shogun and all the ceremonies of Court life being restored. Subsequently, the forces of the Miyoshi sept made armed attempts to recover the control of the city, and the shogun asked Nobunaga to appoint one of his most trusted generals and ablest administrators to maintain peace. It was fully expected that Nobunaga would respond to this appeal by nominating Shibata, Sakuma, or Niwa, who had served under his banners from the outset, and in whose eyes Hideyoshi was a mere upstart. But Nobunaga selected Hideyoshi, and the result justified his choice, for during Hideyoshi's sway Kyoto enjoyed such tranquillity as it had not known for a century. Nobunaga omitted nothing that could make for the dignity and comfort of the new shogun. He caused a palace to be erected for him on the site of the former Nijo Castle, contributions being levied for the purpose on the five provinces of the Kinai as well as on six others; and Nobunaga himself personally supervised the work, which was completed in May, 1569. But it may fairly be doubted whether Nobunaga acted in all this matter with sincerity. At the outset his attitude towards the shogun was so respectful and so considerate that Yoshiaki learned to regard and speak of him as a father. But presently Nobunaga presented a memorial, charging the shogun with faults which were set forth in seventeen articles. In this impeachment, Yoshiaki was accused of neglecting his duties at Court; of failing to propitiate the territorial nobles; of partiality in meting out rewards and punishments; of arbitrarily confiscating private property; of squandering money on needless enterprises; of listening to flatterers; of going abroad in the disguise of a private person, and so forth. It is claimed by some of Nobunaga's biographers that he was perfectly honest in presenting this memorial, but others, whose judgment appears to be more perspicacious, consider that his chief object was to discredit Yoshiaki and thus make room for his own subsequent succession to the shogunate. At all events Yoshiaki interpreted the memorial in that sense. He became openly hostile to Nobunaga, and ultimately took up arms. Nobunaga made many attempts to conciliate him. He even sent Hideyoshi to solicit Yoshiaki's return to Kyoto from Kawachi whither the shogun had fled. But Yoshiaki, declining to be placated, placed himself under the protection of the Mori family, and thus from the year 1573, Nobunaga became actual wielder of the shogun's authority. Ten years later, Yoshiaki returned to the capital, took the tonsure and changed his name to Shozan. At the suggestion of Hideyoshi a title and a yearly income of ten thousand koku were conferred on him. He died in Osaka and thus ended the Ashikaga shogunate. SAKAI One of the incidents connected with Hideyoshi's administration in Kyoto illustrates the customs of his time. Within eight miles of the city of Osaka lies Sakai, a great manufacturing mart. This latter town, though originally forming part of the Ashikaga domain, nevertheless assisted the Miyoshi in their attack upon the shogunate. Nobunaga, much enraged at such action, proposed to sack the town, but Hideyoshi asked to have the matter left in his hands. This request being granted, he sent messengers to Sakai, who informed the citizens that Nobunaga contemplated the destruction of the town by fire. Thereupon the citizens, preferring to die sword in hand rather than to be cremated, built forts and made preparations for resistance. This was just what Hideyoshi designed. Disguising himself, he repaired to Sakai and asked to be informed as to the object of these military preparations. Learning the apprehensions of the people, he ridiculed their fears; declared that Nobunaga had for prime object the safety and peace of the realm, and that by giving ear to such wild rumours and assuming a defiant attitude, they had committed a fault not to be lightly condoned. Delegates were then sent from Sakai at Hideyoshi's suggestion to explain the facts to Nobunaga, who acted his part in the drama by ordering the deputies to be thrown into prison and promising to execute them as well as their fellow townsmen. In this strait the people of Sakai appealed to a celebrated Buddhist priest named Kennyo, and through his intercession Hideyoshi agreed to ransom the town for a payment of twenty thousand ryo. The funds thus obtained were devoted to the repair of the palaces of the Emperor and the shogun, a measure which won for Nobunaga the applause of the whole of Kyoto. NOBUNAGA'S SITUATION Oda Nobunaga was now in fact shogun. So far as concerned legalized power he had no equal in the empire, but his military strength was by no means proportionate. In the north, in the east, in the west, and in the south, there were great territorial nobles who could put into the field armies much larger than all the Owari chief's troops. Takeda Shingen, in the Kwanto, was the most formidable of these opponents. In the year 1570, when the events now to be related occurred, the Hojo sept was under the rule of Ujimasa, and with him Shingen had concluded an alliance which rendered the latter secure against attack on the rear in the event of movement against Kyoto. The better to ensure himself against Hojo designs, Shingen joined hands with the Satomi family in Awa, and the Satake family in Hitachi; while to provide against irruptions by the Uesugi family he enlisted the co-operation of the priests in Kaga, Echizen, and Noto. Shingen further established relations of friendship with Matsunaga Hisahide in the far west. It was this baron that had attacked the palace of Nijo when Yoshiteru, the shogun, had to commit suicide, and Shingen's object in approaching him was to sow seeds of discord between the shogunate and Nobunaga. Most imminent of all perils, however, was the menace of the Asai family in Omi, and the Asakura family in Echizen. A glance at the map shows that the Asai were in a position to sever Nobunaga's communications with his base in Mino, and that the Asakura were in a position to cut off his communications with Kyoto. In this perilous situation Nobunaga's sole resource lay in Tokugawa Ieyasu and in the latter's alliance with the Uesugi, which compact the Owari chief spared no pains to solidify. But from a military point of view Ieyasu was incomparably weaker than Shingen. THE STRUGGLE WITH THE ASAKURA AND THE ASAI In 1570, Nobunaga determined to put his fortunes to a final test. Having concentrated a large body of troops in Kyoto, he declared war against Asakura Yoshikage, who had refused to recognize the new shogun. Success crowned the early efforts of the Owari forces in this war, but the whole situation was changed by Asai Nagamasa, who suddenly marched out of Omi and threatened to attack Nobunaga's rear. It is true that before setting out for Kyoto originally, Nobunaga had given his sister in marriage to Nagamasa, and had thus invited the latter's friendship. But Nagamasa had always been on terms of close amity with Yoshikage, and, indeed, had stipulated from the outset that Nobunaga should not make war against the latter. It cannot be said, therefore, that Nagamasa's move constituted a surprise. Nobunaga should have been well prepared for such contingencies. He was not prepared, however, and the result was that he found himself menaced by Yoshikage's army in front and by Nagamasa's in rear. Tokugawa Ieyasu, who had associated himself by invitation with this expedition into Echizen, advised Nobunaga to countermarch with all rapidity for Kyoto, and it was so determined. Hideyoshi was left with three thousand men to hold Yoshikage's forces in some degree of check. The situation at that moment was well-nigh desperate. There seemed to be no hope for either Nobunaga or Hideyoshi. But Nobunaga was saved by the slowness of Nagamasa, who, had he moved with any rapidity, must have reached Kyoto in advance of Nobunaga's forces; and Hideyoshi was saved by an exercise of the wonderful resourcefulness which peril always awoke in this great man. Calculating that Yoshikage's army would reach Kanagasaki Castle at nightfall, Hideyoshi, by means of thousands of lanterns and banners gave to a few scores of men a semblance of a numerous army. Yoshikage, who believed that Nobunaga had retired, was visited by doubts at the aspect of this great array, and instead of advancing to attack at once, he decided to await the morning. Meanwhile, Hideyoshi with his little band of troops, moved round Yoshikage's flank, and delivering a fierce attack at midnight, completely defeated the Echizen forces.* *See A New Life of Toyolomi Hideyoshi, by W. Dening. This episode was, of course, not conclusive. It merely showed that so long as Nagamasa and Yoshikage worked in combination, Nobunaga's position in Kyoto and his communications with his base in Mino must remain insecure. He himself would have directed his forces at once against Nagamasa, but Hideyoshi contended that the wiser plan would be to endeavour to win over some of the minor barons whose strongholds lay on the confines of Omi and Mino. This was gradually accomplished, and after an unsuccessful attempt upon the part of Sasaki Shotei of Omi to capture a castle (Choko-ji) which was under the command of Nobunaga's chief general, Katsuiye, the Owari forces were put in motion against Nagamasa's principal strongholds, Otani and Yoko-yama. The former was attacked first, Nobunaga being assisted by a contingent of five thousand men under the command of Ieyasu. Three days of repeated assaults failed to reduce the castle, and during that interval Nagamasa and Yoshikage were able to enter the field at the head of a force which greatly outnumbered the Owari army. In midsummer, 1570, there was fought, on the banks of the Ane-gawa, one of the great battles of Japanese history. It resulted in the complete discomfiture of the Echizen chieftains. The records say that three thousand of their followers were killed and that among them were ten general officers. The castle of Otani, however, remained in Nagamasa's hands. Nobunaga now retired to his headquarters in Gifu to rest his forces. But he was quickly summoned again to the field by a revolt on the part of the Buddhist priests in the province of Settsu, under the banner of Miyoshi Yoshitsugu and Saito Tatsuoki. Nobunaga's attempt to quell this insurrection was unsuccessful, and immediately Nagamasa and Yoshikage seized the occasion to march upon Kyoto. The priests of Hiei-zan received them with open arms, and they occupied on the monastery's commanding site, a position well-nigh impregnable, from which they constantly menaced the capital. It was now the commencement of winter. For the invading troops to hold their own upon Hiei-zan throughout the winter would have been even more difficult than for Nobunaga's army to cut off their avenues of retreat and supply. In these circumstances peace presented itself to both sides as the most feasible plan, and the forces of Nagamasa and Yoshikage were allowed to march away unmolested to Omi and Echizen, respectively. This result was intensely mortifying to Hideyoshi, who had devoted his whole energies to the destruction of these dangerous enemies. But the final issue was only postponed. By contrivances, which need not be related in detail, Nagamasa was again induced to take the field, and, in 1573, the Owari forces found themselves once more confronted by the allied armies of Echizen and Omi. By clever strategy the Echizen baron was induced to take the fatal step of separating himself from his Omi colleague, and at Tone-yama he sustained a crushing defeat, leaving two thousand of his men and twenty-three of his captains dead upon the field. He himself fled and for a time remained concealed, but ultimately, being closely menaced with capture, he committed suicide. Meanwhile, Nagamasa had withdrawn to his stronghold of Otani, where he was besieged by Nobunaga. The castle ultimately fell, Nagamasa and his son dying by their own hands. This year witnessed also the death of Takeda Shingen, and thus Nobunaga not only established his sway over the whole of the provinces of Omi and Echizen but also was relieved from the constant menace of a formidable attack by a captain to whom public opinion justly attributed the leading place among Japanese strategists. The whole of Nagamasa's estates, yielding an annual return of 180,000 koku, was given to Hideyoshi, and he was ordered to assume the command of Otani Castle, whence, however, he moved shortly afterwards to Nagahama. HIEI-ZAN It was now possible for Nobunaga to devote his entire attention to the soldier-priests who had allied themselves with his enemies. It has been shown that the monastery of Hiei-zan had afforded shelter and sustenance to the forces of Echizen and Omi during the winter of 1570-1571, and it has been shown also that Nobunaga, underrating the strength of the priests in the province of Settsu, sustained defeat at their hands. He now (1574) sent an army to hold the soldier-monks of Settsu in check while he himself dealt with Hiei-zan. This great monastery, as already shown, was erected in the ninth century in obedience to the Buddhist superstition that the northeastern quarter of the heavens is the "Demon's Gate," and that a temple must be erected there to afford security against evil influences. The temple on Hiei-zan had received the munificent patronage of monarch after monarch, and had grown to be a huge monastery, containing some three thousand priests. This miniature city completely commanded Kyoto, and was guarded in front by a great lake. But, above all, it was sanctified by the superstition of the people, and when Nobunaga invested it, he found the greatest reluctance on the part of his generals to proceed to extremities. Nevertheless, he overcame these scruples, and drawing a cordon of troops round the great monastery, he applied the torch to the buildings, burnt to death nearly all its inmates, including women, confiscated its estates, and built, for purposes of future prevention, a castle at Sakamoto, which was placed under the command of Akechi Mitsuhide. When, in after years, this same Mitsuhide treacherously compassed Nobunaga's death, men said that the opening of the Demon's Gate had entailed its due penalty. OTHER PRIESTLY DISTURBANCES It was not in Settsu and at Hiei-zan only that the Buddhist soldiers turned their weapons against Nobunaga. The Asai sept received assistance from no less than ten temples in Omi; the Asakura family had the ranks of its soldiers recruited from monasteries in Echizen and Kaga; the Saito clan received aid from the bonzes in Izumi and Iga, and the priests of the great temple Hongwan-ji in Osaka were in friendly communication with the Mori sept in the west, with the Takeda in Kai, and with the Hojo in Sagami. In fact, the difficulties encountered by Nobunaga in his attempts to bring the whole empire under the affective sway of the Throne were incalculably accentuated by the hostility of the great Shin sect of Buddhism. He dealt effectually with all except the monastery at Ishi-yama in Osaka. The immense natural strength of the position and the strategical ability of its lord-abbot, Kosa, enabled it to defy all the assaults of the Owari chief, and it was not until 1588--six years after Nobunaga's death--that, through the intervention of the Emperor, peace was finally restored. After eleven years of almost incessant struggle, his Majesty's envoy, Konoe Sakihisa, succeeded in inducing the Ikko priests to lay down their arms. It will be presently seen that the inveterate hostility shown by the Buddhists to Nobunaga was largely responsible for his favourable attitude towards Christianity. THE CASTLE OF AZUCHI The lightness and flimsiness of construction in Japanese houses has been noted already several times. Even though there was continual warfare in the provinces of family against family, the character of the fighting and of the weapons used was such that there was little need for the building of elaborate defenses, and there was practically nothing worthy the name of a castle. Watch-towers had been built and roofs and walls were sometimes protected by putting nails in the building points outward,--a sort of chevaux de frise. But a system of outlying defenses, ditch, earthen wall and wooden palisade, was all that was used so long as fighting was either hand-to-hand or with missiles no more penetrating than arrows. But when fire-arms were introduced in 1542, massively constructed castles began to be built. These were in general patterned after Western models, but with many minor modifications. The first of these fortresses was built at Azuchi, in Omi, under the auspices of Oda Nobunaga. Commenced in 1576, the work was completed in 1579. In the centre of the castle rose a tower ninety feet high, standing on a massive stone basement seventy-two feet in height, the whole forming a structure absolutely without precedent in Japan. The tower was of wood, and had, therefore, no capacity for resisting cannon. But, as a matter of fact, artillery can scarcely be said to have been used in Japan until modern days. Nobunaga's castle is stated by some historians to have been partially attributable to Christianity, but this theory seems to rest solely upon the fact that the central tower was known as Tenshu-kaku, or the "tower of the lord of Heaven." There were more numerous indications that the spirit of Buddhism influenced the architect, for in one of the highest storeys of the tower, the four "guardian kings" were placed, and in the lower chamber stood an effigy of Tamon (Ananda). The cost of constructing this colossal edifice was very heavy, and funds had to be collected from the whole of the eleven provinces then under Nobunaga's sway. NOBUNAGA AND IEYASU It has already been noted that Ieyasu was Nobunaga's sole ally in the east of Japan at the time of the fall of the Imagawa clan. It has also been noted that Ujizane, the son of Imagawa Yoshimoto, was a negligible quantity. During many years, however, Ieyasu had to stand constantly on the defensive against Takeda Shingen. But, in 1572, Shingen and Ieyasu made a compact against the Imagawa, and this was followed by a successful campaign on the part of the Tokugawa leader against Ujizane. The agreement between Shingen and Ieyasu lasted only a short time. In November, 1572, Shingen led a large force and seized two of the Tokugawa castles, menacing the third and most important at Hamamatsu, where Ieyasu himself was in command. Nobunaga thereupon despatched an army to succour his ally, and in January, 1573, a series of bloody engagements took place outside Hamamatsu. One of Nobunaga's generals fled; another died in battle, and Ieyasu barely escaped into the castle, which he saved by a desperate device--leaving the gates open and thus suggesting to the enemy that they would be ambushed if they entered. This battle, known in history as the War of Mikata-ga-hara, was the greatest calamity that ever befell Ieyasu, and that he would have suffered worse things at the hands of Takeda Shingen cannot be doubted, had not Shingen's death taken place in May, 1573. Various traditions have been handed down about the demise of this celebrated captain, undoubtedly one of the greatest strategists Japan ever possessed. Some say that he was shot by a soldier of Ieyasu; others that he was hit by a stray bullet, but the best authorities agree that he died of illness. His son, Katsuyori, inherited none of his father's great qualities except his bravery. Immediately on coming into power, he moved a large army against the castle of Nagashino in the province of Mikawa, one of Ieyasu's strongholds. This was in June, 1575, and on the news reaching Nobunaga, the latter lost no time in setting out to succour his ally. On the way a samurai named Torii Suneemon arrived from the garrison of Nagashino with news that unless succour were speedily given the fortress could not hold out. This message reached Ieyasu, who was awaiting the arrival of Nobunaga before marching to the relief of the beleagured fortress. Ieyasu assured the messenger that help would come on the morrow, and urged Suneemon not to essay to re-enter the fortress. But the man declared that he must carry the tidings to his hard-set comrades. He was taken prisoner by the enemy and led into the presence of Katsuyori, who assured him that his life would be spared if he informed the inmates of the castle that no aid could be hoped for. Suneemon simulated consent. Despatched under escort to the neighbourhood of the fort, he was permitted to address the garrison, and in a loud voice he shouted to his comrades that within a short time they might look for succour. He was immediately killed by his escort. This dramatic episode became a household tradition in Japan. Side by side with it may be set the fact that Hideyoshi, who accompanied Nobunaga in this campaign, employed successfully against the enemy one of the devices recommended by the Chinese strategists, whose books on the method of conducting warfare were closely studied in those days by the Japanese. Sakuma Nobumori, one of Nobunaga's captains, was openly, and of set purpose, insulted and beaten by orders of his general, and thereafter he escaped to the camp of the Takeda army, pretending that the evil treatment he had undergone was too much for his loyalty. Katsuyori, the Takeda commander, received the fugitive with open arms, and acting in accordance with his advice, disposed his troops in such a manner as to forfeit all the advantages of the position. The battle that ensued is memorable as the first historical instance of the use of firearms on any considerable scale in a Japanese campaign. Nobunaga's men took shelter themselves behind palisades and fusilladed the enemy so hotly that the old-fashioned hand-to-hand fighting became almost impossible. The losses of the Takeda men were enormous, and it may be said that the tactics of the era underwent radical alteration from that time, so that the fight at Takinosawa is memorable in Japanese history. Hideyoshi urged the advisability of pushing on at once to Katsuyori's capital, but Nobunaga hesitated to make such a call upon the energies of his troops, and the final overthrow of the Takeda chief was postponed. MILITARY TACTICS The Mongol invasion should have taught to the Japanese the great advantages of co-operating military units, but individual prowess continued to be the guiding factor of field tactics in Japan down to the second half of the sixteenth century, when the introduction of firearms inspired new methods. Japanese historians have not much to say upon this subject. Indeed Rai Sanyo, in the Nihon-gwaishi, may almost be said to be the sole authority. He writes as follows: "The generalship of Takeda Shingen and Uesugi Kenshin was something quite new in the country at their time. Prior to their day the art of manoeuvring troops had been little studied. Armies met, but each individual that composed them relied on his personal prowess and strength for victory. These two barons, however, made a special study of strategy and military tactics, with the result that they became authorities on the various methods of handling troops. In reference to the employment of cavalry, the Genji warriors and the first of the Ashikaga shoguns made use of horses largely, but in later days the Ashikaga did not move away from Kyoto and had no use for horses. Nobunaga, being near Kyoto, and most of the wars in which he engaged involving no very long marches, relied almost solely on infantry. Both Takeda and Uesugi were well supplied with mounted troops, but owing to the hilly nature of their territories, they made no special study of cavalry exercises and, almost invariably, the soldiers employed their horses solely for rapid movement from one place to another; when a battle commenced they alighted and fought on foot. It is therefore correct to say that at this time cavalry had gone out of use. Bows and arrows were, of course, superseded when firearms came into use. "Thenceforth, the gun and the long spear were the chief weapons relied on. Peasants did not rank as soldiers, but their services were variously utilized in time of war. They were trained in the use of muskets, and of bows and arrows on hunting expeditions, and thus, when hostilities broke out, they were able to render considerable assistance in the defense of their houses. Highwaymen were frequently employed as spies and scouts. Both Takeda and Uesugi sanctioned this practice. These two generals also agreed in approving the following tactical arrangement: the van-guard, consisting of musketeers, artillerymen, and archers, was followed by companies of infantry armed with long spears. Then came the cavalry, and after them the main body, attached to which were drummers and conch-blowers. The whole army was divided into right and left wings, and a body of men was kept in reserve. At the opening of the battle, the horsemen dismounted and advanced on foot. This order was occasionally modified to suit altered circumstances, but as a rule, it was strictly followed."* *Quoted by W. Dening in A New Life of Hideyoshi. The artillery mentioned in the above quotation must be taken in a strictly limited sense. Indeed, it would be more correct to speak of heavy muskets, for cannon, properly so called, may scarcely be said to have formed any part of the equipment of a Japanese army until modern times. When the Portuguese discovered Japan, in 1542, they introduced the musket to the Japanese, and the weapon was long known as Tanegashima, that being the name of the island where the Portuguese ship first touched. Thenceforth, the manufacture of firearms was carried on with more or less success at various places, especially Sakai in Izumi and Negoro in Kii. "Small guns" (kozutsu) and "large guns" (ozutsu) are mentioned in the annals of the time, but by ozutsuwe must understand muskets of large calibre rather than cannon. INVASION OF CHUGOKU. At this time nearly the whole of central Japan (Chugoku) was under the sway of Mori Terumoto, who succeeded his grandfather, Motonari, head of the great Mori family and ancestor of the present Prince Mori. One of these central provinces, namely, Harima, had just been the scene of a revolt which Hideyoshi crushed by his wonted combination of cajolery and conquest. The ease with which this feat was accomplished and the expediency of maintaining the sequence of successes induced Hideyoshi to propose that the subjugation of the whole of central Japan should be entrusted to him and that he should be allowed to adopt Nobunaga's second son, Hidekatsu, to whom the rule of Chugoku should be entrusted, Hideyoshi keeping for himself only the outlying portions. Nobunaga readily agreed, and, in 1577, Hideyoshi set out on this important expedition, with a force of some ten thousand men, all fully equipped and highly trained. It is noteworthy that, before leaving Azuchi, Hideyoshi declared to Nobunaga his intention of conquering Kyushu after the reduction of Chugoku, and thereafter he announced his purpose of crossing to Korea and making that country the basis of a campaign against China. "When that is effected," Hideyoshi is quoted as saying, "the three countries, China, Korea, and Japan, will be one. I shall do it all as easily as a man rolls up a piece of matting and carries it under his arm." It is evident from these words that the project of invading Korea and China was entertained by Hideyoshi nearly twenty years before--as will presently be seen--he attempted to carry it into practice. Hideyoshi marched in the first place to Harima, where his operations were so vigorous and so successful that Ukita Naoiye, who held the neighbouring provinces of Bizen and Mimasaka under the suzerainty of Mori Terumoto, espoused Nobunaga's cause without fighting. It is unnecessary to follow the details of the campaign that ensued. It lasted for five years, and ended in the subjection of as many provinces, namely, Harima, Tamba, Tango, Tajima, and Inaba. Hideyoshi then returned to Azuchi and presented to Nobunaga an immense quantity of spolia opima which are said to have exceeded five thousand in number and to have covered all the ground around the castle. DESTRUCTION OF THE TAKEDA Shortly before Hideyoshi's triumphant return from his first brilliant campaign in the central provinces, a memorable event occurred in Kai. Nobunaga's eldest son, Nobutada, uniting his forces with those of Ieyasu, completely destroyed the army of Takeda Katsuyori at Temmoku-zan, in the province of Kai. So thorough was the victory that Katsuyori and his son both committed suicide. Nobunaga then gave the province of Suruga to Ieyasu, and divided Shinano and Kotsuke into manors, which were distributed among the Owari generals as rewards. Takigawa Kazumasu was nominated kwanryo of the Kwanto, chiefly in order to watch and restrain the movements of the Hojo family, now the only formidable enemy of Nobunaga in the east. RESUMPTION OF THE CHUGOKU CAMPAIGN After a brief rest, Hideyoshi again left Kyoto for the central provinces. He commenced operations on this second occasion by invading the island of Awaji, and having reduced it, he passed on to Bitchu, where he invested the important castle of Takamatsu, then under the command of Shimizu Muneharu. This stronghold was so well planned and had such great natural advantages that Hideyoshi abstained from any attempt to carry it by assault, and had recourse to the device of damming and banking a river so as to flood the fortress. About two miles and a half of embankment had to be made, and during the progress of the work, Mori Terumoto, who had been conducting a campaign elsewhere, found time to march a strong army to the relief of Takamatsu. But Terumoto, acting on the advice of his best generals, refrained from attacking Hideyoshi's army. He sought rather to invite an onset from Hideyoshi, so that, during the progress of the combat, the garrison might find an opportunity to destroy the embankment. Hideyoshi, however, was much too astute to be tempted by such tactics. He saw that the fate of the castle must be sealed in a few days, and he refrained from any offensive movement. But, in order to gratify Nobunaga by simulating need of his assistance, a despatch was sent to Azuchi begging him to come and personally direct the capture of the fort and the shattering of Terumoto's army. ASSASSINATION OF NOBUNAGA Among Nobunaga's vassal barons at that time was Akechi Mitsuhide. A scion of the illustrious family of Seiwa Genji, Mitsuhide had served under several suzerains prior to 1566, when he repaired to Gifu and offered his sword to Nobunaga. Five years afterwards he received a fief of one hundred thousand koku and the title of Hyuga no Kami. This rapid promotion made him Nobunaga's debtor, but a shocking event, which occurred in 1577, seems to have inspired him with the deepest resentment against his patron. Mitsuhide, besieging the castle of Yakami in Tamba province, promised quarter to the brothers Hatano, who commanded its defence, and gave his own mother as hostage. But Nobunaga, disregarding this promise, put the Hatano brothers to the sword, and the latter's adherents avenged themselves by slaughtering Mitsuhide's mother. The best informed belief is that this incident converted Mitsuhide into Nobunaga's bitter enemy, and that the spirit of revenge was fostered by insults to which Nobunaga, always passionate and rough, publicly subjected Mitsuhide. At all events, when, as stated above, Hideyoshi's message of invitation reached Nobunaga at Azuchi, the latter gave orders for the despatch of a strong force to Takamatsu, one body, consisting of some thirty thousand men, being placed under the command of Mitsuhide. Nobunaga himself repaired to Kyoto and took up his quarters at the temple Honno-ji, whence he intended to follow his armies to the central provinces. Mitsuhide concluded that his opportunity had now come. He determined to kill Nobunaga, and then to join hands with Mori Terumoto. He made known his design to a few of his retainers, and these attempted fruitlessly to dissuade him, but, seeing that his resolution was irrevocable, they agreed to assist him. The troops were duly assembled and put in motion, but instead of taking the road westward, they received an unexpected intimation, "The enemy is in Honno-ji," and their route was altered accordingly. Nobunaga defended himself valiantly. But being at last severely wounded and recognizing the hopelessness of resistance, he set fire to the temple and committed suicide, his fourteen-year-old son, Katsunaga, perishing with him. His eldest son, Nobutada, who had just returned from the campaign in the east, followed his father to Kyoto, and was sojourning in the temple Myogaku-ji when news reached him of Mitsuhide's treachery. He attempted to succour his father, but arrived too late. Then he repaired to the Nijo palace and, having entrusted his infant son to the care of Maeda Gen-i with instructions to carry him to Kiyosu, he made preparation for defence against Mitsuhide. Finally, overwhelmed by numbers, he killed himself, and his example was followed by ninety of his retainers. Mitsuhide then proceeded to Azuchi and having pillaged the castle, returned to Kyoto, where he was received in audience by the Emperor, and he then took the title of shogun. AFTER THE ASSASSINATION Nobunaga was assassinated on the second day of the sixth month, according to Japanese reckoning. News of the event reached the camp of the besiegers of Takamatsu almost immediately, but a messenger sent by Mitsuhide to convey the intelligence to Mori and to solicit his alliance was intercepted by Hideyoshi's men. A great deal of historical confusion envelops immediately subsequent events, but the facts seem simple enough. Hideyoshi found himself in a position of great difficulty. His presence in Kyoto was almost a necessity, yet he could not withdraw from Takamatsu without sacrificing all the fruits of the campaign in the west and exposing himself to a probably disastrous attack by Mori's army. In this emergency he acted with his usual talent. Summoning a famous priest, Ekei, of a temple in Aki, who enjoyed the confidence of all parties, he despatched him to Mori's camp with proposals for peace and for the delimitation of the frontiers of Mori and Nobunaga, on condition that the castle of Takamatsu should be surrendered and the head of its commander, Shimizu Muneharu, presented to his conquerer. Mori was acting entirely by the advice of his two uncles, Kikkawa and Kohayakawa, both men of profound insight. They fully admitted the desirability of peace, since Hideyoshi's army effectually commanded the communications between the eastern and western parts of Chugoku, but they resolutely rejected the notion of sacrificing the life of Shimizu on the altar of any compact. When the priest carried this answer to Hideyoshi, the latter suggested, as the only recourse, that Shimizu himself should be consulted. Ekei accordingly repaired to the castle and explained the situation to its commandant. Shimizu had not a moment's hesitation. He declared himself more than willing to die for the sake of his liege-lord and his comrades, and he asked only that fish and wine, to give the garrison the rare treat of a good meal, should be furnished. On the 5th of the sixth month this agreement was carried into effect. Shimizu committed suicide, the compact between Mori and Hideyoshi was signed, and the latter, striking his camp, prepared to set out for Kyoto. It was then for the first time that Mori and his generals learned of the death of Nobunaga. Immediately there was an outcry in favour of disregarding the compact and falling upon the enemy in his retreat; but Kikkawa and Kohayakawa stubbornly opposed anything of the kind. They declared that such a course would disgrace the house of Mori, whereas, by keeping faith, the friendship of Hideyoshi and his fellow barons would be secured. Accordingly the withdrawal was allowed to take place unmolested. IEYASU The life of the Tokugawa chieftain was placed in great jeopardy by the Mitsuhide incident. After being brilliantly received by Nobunaga at Azuchi, Ieyasu, at his host's suggestion, had made a sightseeing excursion to Kyoto, whence he prolonged his journey to Osaka and finally to Sakai. The news of the catastrophe reached him at the last-named place, and his immediate impulse was to be avenged upon the assassin. But it was pointed out to him that his following was much too small for such an enterprise, and he therefore decided to set out for the east immediately. Mitsuhide, well aware of the Tokugawa baron's unfriendliness, made strenuous efforts to waylay Ieyasu on the way, and with great difficulty the journey eastward was accomplished by avoiding all the highroads. NOBUNAGA Nobunaga perished at the age of forty-nine. The great faults of his character seem to have been want of discrimination in the treatment of his allies and his retainers, and want of patience in the conduct of affairs. In his eyes, a baron of high rank deserved no more consideration than a humble retainer, and he often gave offence which disturbed the achievement of his plans. As for his impetuousness, his character has been well depicted side by side with that of Hideyoshi and Ieyasu in three couplets familiar to all Japanese. These couplets represent Nobunaga as saying: Nakaneba korosu Hototogisu. (I'll kill the cuckoo If if it won't sing) By Hideyoshi the same idea is conveyed thus:-- Nakashite miyo Hototogisu. (I'll try to make the cuckoo sing.) Whereas, Ieyasu puts the matter thus:-- Nakumade mato Hototogisu. (I'll wait till the cuckoo does sing.) Nevertheless, whatever Nobunaga may have lost by these defects, the fact remains that in the three decades of his military career he brought under his sway thirty-three provinces, or one-half of the whole country, and at the time of his death he contemplated the further conquest of Shikoku, Chugoku, and Kyushu. To that end he had appointed Hideyoshi to be Chikuzen no Kami; Kawajiri Shigeyoshi to be Hizen no Kami, while his own son, Nobutaka, with Niwa Nagahide for chief of staff, had been sent to subdue Shikoku. Even admitting that his ambition was self-aggrandizement in the first place, it is undeniable that he made the peace of the realm, the welfare of the people, and the stability of the throne his second purposes, and that he pursued them with ardour. Thus, one of his earliest acts when he obtained the control in Kyoto was to appoint officials for impartially administering justice, to reduce the citizens' taxes; to succour widows and orphans, and to extend to all the blessings of security and tranquillity. In 1572, we find him sending messengers to the provinces with instructions to put in hand the making of roads having a width of from twenty-one to twelve feet; to set up milestones and plant trees along these roads; to build bridges; to remove barriers, and generally to facilitate communications. Towards the Throne he adopted a demeanour emphatically loyal. In this respect, he followed the example of his father, Nobuhide, and departed radically from that of his predecessors, whether Fujiwara, Taira, or Ashikaga. As concrete examples may be cited the facts that he restored the shrines of Ise, and reinstituted the custom of renovating them every twenty years; that, in the year following his entry into the capital, he undertook extensive repairs of the palace; that he granted considerable estates for the support of the Imperial household, and that he organized a commission to repurchase all the properties which had been alienated from the Court. Finally, it is on record that when, in recognition of all this, the sovereign proposed to confer on him the rank of minister of the Left, he declined the honour, and suggested that titles of lower grade should be given to those of his subordinates who had shown conspicuous merit. DEATH OF MITSUHIDE It was plainly in Hideyoshi's interests that he should figure publicly as the avenger of Nobunaga's murder, and to this end his speedy arrival in Kyoto was essential. He therefore set out at once, after the fall of Takamatsu, with only a small number of immediate followers. Mitsuhide attempted to destroy him on the way, and the details of this attempt have been magnified by tradition to incredible dimensions. All that can be said with certainty is that Hideyoshi was, for a moment, in extreme danger but that he escaped scathless. Immediately on arriving in Kyoto, he issued an appeal to all Nobunaga's vassal-barons, inviting them to join in exterminating Mitsuhide, whose heinous crime "provoked both heaven and earth." But it was no part of Hideyoshi's policy to await the arrival of these barons. He had already at his command an army of some thirty thousand men, and with this he moved out, challenging Mitsuhide to fight on the plains of Yamazaki. Mitsuhide did not hesitate to put his fortunes to the supreme test. He accepted Hideyoshi's challenge, and, on the 12th of June, a great battle was fought, the issue of which was decided by two things; first, the defection of Tsutsui Junkei, who refrained from striking until the superior strength of Hideyoshi had been manifested, and secondly, the able strategy of Hideyoshi, who anticipated Mitsuhide's attempt to occupy the position of Tenno-zan, which commanded the field. From the carnage that ensued Mitsuhide himself escaped, but while passing through a wood he received from a bamboo spear in the hands of a peasant a thrust which disabled him, and he presently committed suicide. Thus, on the thirteenth day after Nobunaga's death, the head of his assassin was exposed in Kyoto in front of the temple of Honno-ji where the murder had taken place, and Mitsuhide's name went down in history as the "Three days' shogun" (Mikkakubo). CONFERENCE AT KIYOSU By this time the principal of Nobunaga's vassal-barons were on their way at the head of contingents to attack Mitsuhide. On learning of the assassin's death, these barons all directed their march to Kiyosu, and in the castle from which Nobunaga had moved to his early conquests thirty years previously, a momentous council was held for the purpose of determining his successor. The choice would have fallen naturally on Samboshi, eldest son of Nobunaga's first-born, Nobutada, who, as already described, met his death in the Mitsuhide affair. But Hideyoshi was well understood to favour Samboshi's succession, and this sufficed to array in opposition several of the barons habitually hostile to Hideyoshi. Thus, in spite of the fact that both were illegitimate and had already been adopted into other families, Nobunaga's two sons, Nobukatsu and Nobutaka, were put forward as proper candidates, the former supported by Ikeda Nobuteru and Gamo Katahide; the latter, by Shibata Katsuiye and Takigawa Kazumasu. At one moment it seemed as though this question would be solved by an appeal to violence, but ultimately, at the suggestion of Tsutsui Junkei, it was agreed that Samboshi should be nominated Nobunaga's successor; that Nobukatsu and Nobutaka should be appointed his guardians, and that the administrative duties should be entrusted to a council consisting of Shibata Katsuiye, Niwa Nagahide, Ikeda Nobuteru, and Hideyoshi, each taking it in turn to discharge these functions and each residing for that purpose in Kyoto three months during the year. An income of one hundred thousand koku in the province of Omi was assigned to Samboshi pending the attainment of his majority, when he should be placed in possession of much larger estates, which were to be entrusted in the meanwhile to the keeping of one of the four barons mentioned above. Nobukatsu received the province of Owari, and Nobutaka that of Mino, the remainder of Nobunaga's dominions being apportioned to his generals, with the exception of Hideyoshi, to whom were assigned the provinces recently overrun by him in the midlands--Tajima, Harima, Inaba, and Tamba. Such an arrangement had no elements of stability. The four councillors could not possibly be expected to work in harmony, and it was certain that Katsuiye, Sakuma Morimasa, and Takigawa Kazumasu would lose no opportunity of quarrelling with Hideyoshi. Indeed, that result was averted solely by Hideyoshi's tact and long suffering, for when, a few days later, the barons again met at Kiyosu for the purpose of discussing territorial questions, every possible effort was made to find a pretext for killing him. But Hideyoshi's astuteness and patience led him successfully through this maze of intrigues and complications. He even went so far as to hand over his castle of Nagahama to Katsuiye, and to endure insults which in ordinary circumstances must have been resented with the sword. Tradition describes a grand memorial ceremony organized in Kyoto by Hideyoshi in honour of Nobunaga, and, on that occasion, incidents are said to have occurred which bear the impress of romance. It is, at all events, certain that the immediate issue of this dangerous time was a large increase of Hideyoshi's authority, and his nomination by the Court to the second grade of the fourth rank as well as to the position of major-general. Moreover, the three barons who had been appointed with Hideyoshi to administer affairs in Kyoto in turn, saw that Hideyoshi's power was too great to permit the peaceful working of such a programme. They therefore abandoned their functions, and Hideyoshi remained in sole charge of the Imperial Court and of the administration in the capital. DEATH OF SHIBATA KATSUIYE It has been already stated that Nobunaga's sons, Nobutaka and Nobukatsu, were bitter enemies and that Nobutaka had the support of Takigawa Kazumasu as well as of Shibata Katsuiye. Thus, Hideyoshi was virtually compelled to espouse the cause of Nobukatsu. In January, 1583, he took the field at the head of seventy-five thousand men, and marched into Ise to attack Kazumasu, whom he besieged in his castle at Kuwana. The castle fell, but Kazumasu managed to effect his escape, and in the mean while Katsuiye entered Omi in command of a great body of troops, said to number sixty-five thousand. At the last moment, however, he had failed to secure the co-operation of Maeda Toshiiye, an important ally, and his campaign therefore assumed a defensive character. Hideyoshi himself, on reconnoitring the position, concluded that he had neither numerical preponderance nor strategical superiority sufficient to warrant immediate assumption of the offensive along the whole front. He therefore distributed his army on a line of thirteen redoubts, keeping a reserve of fifteen thousand men under his own direct command, his object being to hold the enemy's forces in check while he attacked Gifu, which place he assaulted with such vigour that the garrison made urgent appeals to Katsuiye for succour. In this situation it was imperative that some attempt should be made to break the line of redoubts, but it was equally imperative that this attempt should not furnish to the enemy a point of concentration. Accordingly, having ascertained that the weakest point in the line was at Shizugatake, where only fifteen hundred men were posted, Katsuiye instructed his principal general, Sakuma Morimasa, to lead the reserve force of fifteen thousand men against that position, but instructed him at the same time to be content with any success, however partial, and not to be betrayed into pushing an advantage, since by so doing he would certainly furnish a fatal opportunity to the enemy. Morimasa neglected this caution. Having successfully surprised the detachment at Shizugatake, and having inflicted heavy carnage on the defenders of the redoubt, who lost virtually all their officers, he not only sat down to besiege the redoubt, whose decimated garrison held out bravely, but he also allowed his movements to be hampered by a small body of only two score men under Niwa Nagahide, who took up a position in the immediate neighbourhood, and displaying their leader's flag, deceived Morimasa into imagining that they had a powerful backing. These things happened during the night of April 19, 1583. Katsuiye, on receipt of the intelligence, sent repeated orders to Morimasa requiring him to withdraw forthwith; but Morimasa, elated by his partial victory, neglected these orders. On the following day, the facts were communicated to Hideyoshi, at Ogaki, distant about thirty miles from Shizugatake, who immediately appreciated the opportunity thus furnished. He set out at the head of his reserves, and in less than twenty-four hours his men crossed swords with Morimasa's force. The result was the practical extermination of the latter, including three thousand men under Katsuiye's adopted son, Gonroku. The latter had been sent to insist strenuously on Morimasa's retreat, but learning that Morimasa had determined to die fighting, Gonroku announced a similar intention on his own part. This incident was characteristic of samurai canons. Hideyoshi's victory cost the enemy five thousand men, and demoralized Katsuiye's army so completely that he subsequently found himself able to muster a total force of three thousand only. Nothing remained but flight, and in order to withdraw from the field, Katsuiye was obliged to allow his chief retainer, Menju Shosuke, to impersonate him, a feat which, of course, cost Shosuke's life. Katsuiye's end is one of the most dramatic incidents in Japanese history. He decided to retire to his castle of Kitano-sho, and, on the way thither, he visited his old friend, Maeda Toshiiye, at the latter's castle of Fuchu, in Echizen. Thanking Toshiiye for all the assistance he had rendered, and urging him to cultivate friendship with Hideyoshi, he obtained a remount from Toshiiye's stable, and, followed by about a hundred samurai, pushed on to Kitano-sho. Arrived there, he sent away all who might be suspected of sympathizing with Hideyoshi, and would also have sent away his wife and her three daughters. This lady was a sister of Nobunaga. She had been given, as already stated, to Asai Nagamasa, and to him she bore three children. But after Nagamasa's destruction she was married to Katsuiye, and was living at the latter's castle of Kitano-sho when the above incidents occurred. She declined to entertain the idea of leaving the castle, declaring that, as a samurai's daughter, she should have shared her first husband's fate, and that nothing would induce her to repeat that error. Her three daughters were accordingly sent away, and she herself joined in the night-long feast which Katsuiye and his principal retainers held while Hideyoshi's forces were marching to the attack. When the sun rose, the whole party, including the ladies, committed suicide, having first set fire to the castle. YODOGOMI One of the three daughters of Asai Nagamasa afterwards became the concubine of Hideyoshi and bore to him a son, Hideyori, who, by her advice, subsequently acted in defiance of Ieyasu, thus involving the fall of the house of Hideyoshi and unconsciously avenging the fate of Nobunaga. NOBUTAKA Nobunaga's son, Nobutaka, who had been allied with Katsuiye, escaped, at first, to Owari on the latter's downfall, but ultimately followed Katsuiye's example by committing suicide. As for Samboshi, Nobunaga's grandson and nominal heir, he attained his majority at this time, but proving to be a man of marked incompetence, the eminent position for which he had been destined was withheld. He took the name of Oda Hidenobu, and with an income of three hundred thousand koku settled down contentedly as Hideyoshi's vassal. OSAKA CASTLE Hideyoshi left behind him a striking monument of his greatness of thought and power of execution. At Osaka where in 1532 the priests of the Hongwan-ji temple had built a castle which Nobunaga captured in 1580 only after a long and severe siege, Hideyoshi built what is called The Castle of Osaka. It is a colossal fortress, which is still used as military headquarters for garrison and arsenal, and the dimensions of which are still a wonder, though only a portion of the building survives. Materials for the work were requisitioned from thirty provinces, their principal components being immense granite rocks, many of which measured fourteen feet in length and breadth, and some were forty feet long and ten feet wide. These huge stones had to be carried by water from a distance of several miles. The outlying protection of this great castle consisted of triple moats and escarpments. The moats were twenty feet deep, with six to ten feet of water. The total enclosed space was about one hundred acres, but only one-eighth of this was the hominaru, or keep, inside the third moat. It will be seen that the plan of the castle was to have it divided into spaces separately defensible, so that an enemy had to establish his footing by a series of repeated efforts. And the second respect in which it was a novelty in Japanese defensive warfare was that the castle donjon was heavily built and armoured after a fashion. The three-storey donjon was framed in huge timbers, quite unlike the flimsy structure of most Japanese buildings, and the timbers were protected against fire by a heavy coat of plaster. Roof and gates were covered with a sort of armor-plate, for there was a copper covering to the roof and the gates were faced with iron sheets and studs. In earlier "castles" there had been a thin covering of plaster which a musket ball could easily penetrate; and stone had been used only in building foundations. THE KOMAKI WAR After the suicide of his brother, Nobutaka, and when he saw that his nephew, Samboshi (Hidenobu), was relegated to the place of a vassal of Hideyoshi, Nobukatsu seems to have concluded that the time had come to strike a final blow in assertion of the administrative supremacy of the Oda family. He began, therefore, to plot with that object. Hideyoshi, who was well served by spies, soon learned of these plots, and thinking to persuade Nobukatsu of their hopelessness, he established close relations with the latter's three most trusted retainers. No sooner did this come to the cognizance of Nobukatsu than he caused these three retainers to be assassinated, and applied to Ieyasu for assistance, Ieyasu consented. This action on the part of the Tokugawa baron has been much commented on and variously interpreted by historians, but it has always to be remembered that Ieyasu had been Oda Nobunaga's ally; that the two had fought more than once side by side, and that had the Tokugawa leader rejected Nobukatsu's appeal, he would not only have suffered in public estimation, but would also have virtually accepted a position inferior to that evidently claimed by Hideyoshi. The course of subsequent events seems to prove that Ieyasu, in taking the field on this occasion, aimed simply at asserting his own potentiality and had no thought of plunging the empire into a new civil war. In March, 1584, he set out from Hamamatsu and joined Nobukatsu at Kiyosu, in Owari. The scheme of campaign was extensive. Ieyasu placed himself in communication with Sasa Narimasa, in Echizen; with Chosokabe Motochika, in Shikoku, and with the military monks in the province of Kii. The programme was that Narimasa should raise his standard in Echizen and Kaga, and that Motochika, with the monks of Kii, should move to the attack of Osaka, so that Hideyoshi would be compelled to carry on three wars at the same time. Hideyoshi met this combination with his usual astuteness. He commissioned Uesugi Kagekatsu to attack the Sasa troops in rear while Maeda Toshiiye menaced them from the front; he told off Hachisuka to oppose the soldier-monks of Kii; he posted Sengoku Hidehisa in Awaji to hold in check the forces of Chosokabe Motochika, and he stationed Ukita Hideiye at Okayama to provide against the contingency of hostility on the part of the Mori family. Fighting commenced in the province of Ise, and success at the outset crowned the arms of Hideyoshi's generals. They captured two castles, and Ieyasu thereupon pushed his van to an isolated hill called Komaki-yama, nearly equidistant from the castles of Inu-yama and Kiyosu, in Owari, which he entrenched strongly, and there awaited the onset of the Osaka army. The war thus came to be known as that of Komaki. Hideyoshi himself would have set out for the field on the 19th of March, but he was obliged to postpone his departure for some days, until Kuroda and Hachisuka had broken the offensive strength of the monks of Kii. It thus fell out that he did not reach the province of Owari until the 27th of March. His army is said to have numbered one hundred and twenty thousand men. It is commonly alleged that this was the only war between Ieyasu and Hideyoshi, and that the latter suffered defeat at the hands of the former. But the fact is that two of Hideyoshi's generals, Ikeda Nobuteru and Mori Nagayoshi, acted in direct contravention of his orders, and thus precipitated a catastrophe for which Hideyoshi cannot justly be held responsible. These two captains argued that as Ieyasu had massed a large force at Komaki and at the Obata entrenchments in the same district, he had probably left his base in Mikawa comparatively undefended. They proposed, therefore, to lead a force against Mikawa. Hideyoshi showed great reluctance to sanction this movement, but he allowed himself to be at last persuaded, with the explicit reservation that no success obtained in Mikawa province should be followed up, and that whatever the achievement of Nobukatsu's troops, they should at once rejoin the main army in Owari. Unquestionably Hideyoshi had in vivid recollection the disaster which had overtaken Katsuiye at Shizugatake. Ieyasu, fully cognizant of the situation through the medium of a spy, knew the limitations set by Hideyoshi. On April the 7th, Nobuteru attacked the fortress of Iwasaki, in Mikawa, killed its commandant, and captured the castle. But elated by this victory, he neglected Hideyoshi's caution, and the generals of Ieyasu, closing in on him, inflicted a crushing defeat at a place called Nagakude. It is thus evident that Hideyoshi's share in the disaster was of a most indirect character. He immediately hastened to Nagakude, but only to find that Ieyasu had retired to Obata, and subsequently, when Hideyoshi returned to his headquarters, Ieyasu placed a still longer interval between the two armies by marching back to Komaki. The war thenceforth may be said to have consisted of a series of menaces and evasions. Each general sought to entice his opponent out of an entrenched position, and each general showed an equal determination not to be so enticed. At last, Hideyoshi pushed a force into Mino and captured several castles in that province. But even this failed to change Ieyasu's attitude. The Tokugawa leader entered the fortress of Kiyosu, and Nobukatsu repaired to that of Nagashima, in Ise. After eight months of this comparatively fruitless manoeuvring, a treaty was concluded, on December the 11th, between Hideyoshi and Nobukatsu, and subsequently between Hideyoshi and Ieyasu, the latter giving his son Ogimaru to be adopted by Hideyoshi. The boy was eleven years of age at the time. His name was changed to Hashiba Hideyasu, and he received the appointment of governor of Mikawa province. The circumstances in which this treaty was concluded have provoked much historical discussion. Did the overtures come originally from Hideyoshi, or did they emanate from Ieyasu and Nobukatsu? Some annalists have endeavoured to prove that Hideyoshi assumed the attitude of a suppliant, while others have attributed that demeanour to the Tokugawa chieftain. The situation, however, presents one feature which is very significant. It was not until the month of November, 1584, that Chosokabe Motochika effectually brought the island of Shikoku under his sway, and thus became free to lead a strong army, including the monks of Kii province, against Osaka. This formidable danger could not but influence Hideyoshi in the direction of clasping hands with his eastern foes, and it is therefore more than probable that a statesman who had never previously allowed considerations of personal dignity to interfere with the prosecution of a vital policy, did not hesitate to bow his head to Nobukatsu, in order to recover the free use of the great army assembled in Owari, Mino, and Ise. Most fortunate was it for Japan that events took this turn, for, had Ieyasu and Hideyoshi remained mutually hostile, the country would probably have been plunged into a repetition of the terrible struggle from which nothing enabled it to emerge except the combined labours of Nobunaga, Hideyoshi, and Ieyasu. It was not, however, until the early summer of 1586 that Hideyoshi and Ieyasu established genuinely friendly relations. During a year and a half subsequent to the conclusion of the treaty which ended the Komaki War, Ieyasu held severely aloof and refrained from visiting Kyoto. Finally, Hideyoshi despatched Asano Nagamasa to propose that Ieyasu should take into his household Hideyoshi's younger sister, and that Hideyoshi should send his mother as a hostage to Okazaki, to remain there during a visit by Ieyasu to Kyoto. Four months were needed by Ieyasu to consider this proposal, and in September, 1586, he repaired to Osaka and thence accompanied Hideyoshi to Kyoto. HIDEYOSHI BECOMES REGENT In May, 1583, after the downfall of Katsuiye, the Emperor appointed Hideyoshi to be a councillor of State, and conferred on him the fourth order of rank. In November of the following year, he received another step of rank and was nominated gon-dainagon. The Emperor Okimachi at that time contemplated abdication, but the palace which he would have occupied as ex-Emperor had fallen into such a state of disrepair as to be virtually uninhabitable. Hideyoshi signalized his loyalty on this occasion by spending a large sum on the renovation of the palace, and in recognition of his services the Emperor raised him to the high post of nai-daijin. It was confidently expected that he would then become sa-daijin, but, owing to complications which need not be related here, the outcome of the matter was that he received the still higher post of kwampaku (regent). There can be no doubt that he himself had contemplated becoming shogun. In fact, it is on record that he made proposals in that sense to Yoshiaki, the last of the Ashikaga shoguns. But it had come by that time to be recognized that only a scion of the Minamoto family could be eligible for the post of shogun, and thus Yoshiaki declined Hideyoshi's overtures, though to accept them would have materially altered the fallen fortunes of the Ashikaga sept. Hideyoshi ultimately became prime minister of State (dajo daijiri) and took the family name of Toyotomi. It is stated, but the evidence is not conclusive, that in order to reach these high posts, he had to be adopted into the house of a Fujiwara noble. He had been a Taira when he served under Nobunaga, and to become a Fujiwara for courtly purposes was not likely to cause him much compunction. THE MONKS, SHIKOKU, AND ETCHU Immediately on the termination of the Komaki War, Hideyoshi took steps to deal effectually with the three enemies by whom his movements had been so much hampered, namely, the Buddhist priests of Kii, the Chosokabe clan in Shikoku, and the Sasa in Etchu. It has already been stated that the priests of Kii had their headquarters at Negoro, where there stood the great monastery of Dai-Dembo-In, belonging to the Shingon sect and enjoying almost the repute of Koya-san. Scarcely less important was the monastery of Sawaga in the same province. These two centres of religion had long been in possession of large bodies of trained soldiers whose ranks were from time to time swelled by the accession of wandering samurai (ronin). The army despatched from Osaka in the spring of 1585 to deal with these warlike monks speedily captured the two monasteries, and, for purposes of intimidation, crucified a number of the leaders. For a time, Koya-san itself was in danger, several of the fugitive monks having taken refuge there. But finally Koya-san was spared in consideration of surrendering estates yielding twenty-one thousand koku of rice, which properties had been violently seized by the monasteries in former years. Three months later, Hideyoshi turned his arms against the Chosokabe sept in Shikoku. This being an enterprise of large dimensions, he entrusted its conduct to five of his most competent generals, namely, Ukita Hideiye, Hachisuka Iemasa, Kuroda Nagamasa, Kikkawa Motoharu, and Kohayakawa Takakage. Hideyoshi himself would have assumed the direct command, and had actually set out for that purpose from Osaka, when couriers met him with intelligence that less than one month's fighting had brought the whole of the Island of the Four Provinces into subjection. He therefore turned eastward, and entering Etchu, directed the operations, in progress there under the command of Maeda Toshiiye against Sasa Narimasa. This campaign lasted seven days, and ended in the surrender of Narimasa, to whom Hideyoshi showed remarkable clemency, inasmuch as he suffered him to remain in possession of considerable estates in Etchu. THE UESUGI At this time Hideyoshi cemented relations of friendship with the Uesugi family of Echigo, whose potentialities had always been a subject of apprehension to Nobunaga. The powerful sept was then ruled by Kagekatsu, nephew of the celebrated Kenshin. This daimyo had given evidence of good-will towards Hideyoshi during the Komaki War, but it was naturally a matter of great importance to establish really cordial relations with so powerful a baron. History relates that, on this occasion, Hideyoshi adopted a course which might well have involved him in serious peril. He entered Echigo with a mere handful of followers, and placed himself practically at the mercy of Kagekatsu, judging justly that such trustful fearlessness would win the heart of the gallant Kagekatsu. Hideyoshi's insight was justified by the sequel. Several of the principal retainers of Kagekatsu advised that advantage should be taken of Hideyoshi's rashness, and that his victorious career should be finally terminated in Echigo. But this vindictive counsel was rejected by the Uesugi baron, and relations of a warmly friendly character were established between the two great captains. INVASION OF KYUSHU There now remained only three really formidable enemies of Hideyoshi. These were Hojo Ujimasa, in the Kwanto; Date Masamime, in Dewa and Mutsu, and Shimazu Yoshihisa, in Kyushu. Of these, the Shimazu sept was probably the most powerful, and Hideyoshi determined that Kyushu should be the scene of his next warlike enterprise. The Island of the Nine Provinces was then under the rule of three great clans; the Shimazu, in the south; the Otomo, in Bungo, and the Ryuzoji, in Hizen. The most puissant of these had at one time been Ryuzoji Takanobu, but his cruel methods had alienated the sympathy of many of his vassals, among them being Arima Yoshizumi, who threw off his allegiance to Takanobu and joined hands with Shimazu Yoshihisa. Takanobu sent an army against Yoshizumi, but the Satsuma baron despatched Shimazu Masahisa to Yoshizumi's aid, and a sanguinary engagement at Shimabara in 1585 resulted in the rout of Takanobu's forces and his own death. Takanobu's son and successor, who was named Masaiye, being still a boy, advantage was taken of the fact by Otomo Yoshishige, who invaded Hizen, so that Masaiye had to apply to the Shimazu family for succour. The Satsuma chieftain suggested that the matter might be settled by mutual withdrawal of forces, but Yoshishige declined this overture, and the result was a battle in which the Otomo troops were completely defeated. Otomo Yoshishige then (1586) had recourse to Hideyoshi for assistance, thus furnishing the opportunity of which Osaka was in search. Orders were immediately issued to Mori, Kikkawa, Kohayakawa, and Chosokabe Motochika to assemble their forces for an oversea expedition, and in the mean while, Sengoku Hidehisa was despatched to Kyushu bearing a letter in which Hideyoshi, writing over his title of kwampaku, censured the Shimazu baron for having failed to pay his respects to the Imperial Court in Kyoto, and called upon him to do so without delay. This mandate was treated with contempt. Shimazu Yoshihisa threw the document on the ground, declaring that his family had ruled in Satsuma for fourteen generations; that only one man in Japan, namely Prince Konoe, had competence to issue such an injunction, and that the head of the house of Shimazu would never kneel to a monkey-faced upstart. Hideyoshi had foreseen something of this kind, and had warned Sengoku Hidehisa in the sense that whatever might be the action of the Satsuma baron, no warlike measures were to be precipitately commenced. Hidehisa neglected this warning. Yielding to the anger of the moment, he directed the Otomo troops to attack the Satsuma forces, and the result was disastrous. When the fighting ended, the Satsuma baron had pushed into Bungo and taken sixteen forts there, so that fully one-half of Kyushu was now under the sway of the Shimazu. Hideyoshi, on receiving news of these disasters, confiscated the estates of Sengoku Hidehisa, and issued orders to thirty-seven provinces to provide commissariat for three hundred thousand men and twenty thousand horses for a period of one year. Soon an army of one hundred and fifty thousand men assembled at Osaka, and the van, numbering sixty thousand, embarked there on the 7th of January, 1587, and landed at Yunoshima in Bungo on the 19th of the same month--dates which convey some idea of the very defective system of maritime transport then existing. In Bungo, the invading army was swelled by thirty thousand men under the leadership of Kohayakawa and Kikkawa, and the whole force, under the command-in-chief of Hidenaga, Hideyoshi's brother, moved to invest the castle of Takashiro. It is unnecessary to follow the fighting in all its details. The salient facts are that Hideyoshi left Osaka with the main army of one hundred and thirty thousand men on the 22d of January, 1587, and, travelling by land, reached the Strait of Akamagasaki--now called Shimonoseki--on the 17th of February. He marched through Chikuzen, making friends of the local chieftains by forbearance and diplomacy, and fighting the first great battle of the campaign at Oguchi on the Sendai-gawa. The Satsuma baron's younger brother, Iehisa, after a gallant resistance, surrendered to Hideyoshi, and was employed by the latter to communicate direct with his chief, Yoshihisa. It was generally supposed that Iehisa would never return from this mission, but would remain in the camp of Shimazu. He did return, however, his word of honour being of more importance in his estimation than the opportunity of recovering his liberty. History states that Hideyoshi thereafter treated this noble man with the greatest consideration, but it is difficult to reconcile that account with the fact that Hideyoshi subsequently pressed Iehisa to guide the Osaka army through the mountains and rivers which constituted natural defences for the fief of Satsuma. Iehisa, of course, refused, and to Hideyoshi's credit it stands on record that he did not press the matter with any violence. This difficulty of invading an unknown country without any maps or any guides, a country celebrated for its topographical perplexities, was ultimately overcome by sending Buddhist priests to act as spies in the dominions of Shimazu. These spies were led by the abbot, Kennyo, with whose name the reader is already familiar, and as the Shimazu family were sincere believers in Buddhism, no obstacles were placed in the way of the treacherous monks. They were able ultimately to guide the Osaka army through the forests and mountains on the north of Kagoshima, and Hideyoshi adopted the same strategy as that pursued in a similar case three hundred years later, namely, sending a force of fifty thousand men by sea with orders to advance against Kagoshima from the south. The Satsuma troops were completely defeated, and only the castle of Kagoshima remained in their hands. At this stage of the campaign Hideyoshi behaved with remarkable magnanimity and foresight. Contrary to the advice of some of his principal retainers, he refused to proceed to extremities against the Shimazu clan, and agreed to make peace, on the basis that the clan should be left in possession of the provinces of Satsuma, Osumi, and Hyuga, the only further stipulation being that the then head of the house, Yoshihisa, should abdicate in favour of his younger brother, Yoshihiro. As for the Buddhist priests who had sacrificed their honour to their interests, those that had acted as guides to the invading army were subsequently crucified by order of the Satsuma baron, and the Shin sect, to which they belonged, was interdicted throughout the whole of the Shimazu fief. Yoshihiro was summoned to Kyoto by Hideyoshi to answer for this action, but he pleaded that such treachery amply deserved such punishment, and that he was prepared to bow to Hideyoshi's judgment in the matter. The defence was admitted by Hideyoshi, but the abbot Kennyo received such large rewards that he was able to erect the great temple Nishi Hongwan-ji, "which became the wonder of after-generations of men and which has often been erroneously referred to by foreign writers as a proof of the deep religious feelings of Buddhist converts three hundred years ago."* *A New Life of Hideyoshi, by W. Dening. THE HOJO From end to end of Japan there were now only two powerful barons whose allegiance had not been formally rendered to Hideyoshi and to the Emperor under the new regime. These were Date Masamune and Hojo Ujimasa. The origin and eminence of the Hojo family from the days of its founder, Nagauji, have already been described in these pages, and it need only be added here that Ujimasa enjoyed a reputation second to none of his predecessors. That he should stand aloof from all his brother barons seemed to the latter an intolerable evidence of pride, and they urged Hideyoshi to resort at once to extreme measures. There can be no doubt that this was the intention of Hideyoshi himself, but with characteristic prudence he had recourse at the outset to pacific devices. He therefore sent an envoy to the Hojo's stronghold at Odawara, urging Ujimasa to lose no time in paying his respects to the Court at Kyoto. The Hojo chief's reply was that Sanada Masayuki had encroached upon the Hojo estates in Numata, and that if this encroachment were rectified, the desired obeisance to the Throne would be made. Thereupon, Hideyoshi caused the restoration of Numata, but the Hojo baron, instead of carrying out his part of the agreement, made this restoration the pretext for an unwarrantable act of aggression. Whatever sympathy might have been felt in Kyoto with the Hojo family was forfeited by this procedure, and in March, 1590, an army of over two hundred thousand men was set in motion for the Kwanto. Hideyoshi's troops moved in three columns. One, commanded by Ieyasu, marched by the seacoast road, the Tokaido; another, under Uesugi Kagekatsu and Maeda Toshiiye, marched by the mountain road, the Tosando, and the third attacked from the sea. None of these armies encountered any very serious resistance. The first approached Odawara by the Hakone range and the second by way of the Usui pass. The castle at Odawara, however, was so strongly built and so stoutly held that its capture by storm seemed impossible, and Hideyoshi's forces were obliged to have recourse to a regular siege which lasted nearly four months. During the latter part of that time, Hideyoshi encouraged his soldiers to indulge in all sorts of amusements, and thus the camp of the besiegers constantly echoed the notes of musical performances and the shouts of dancers and sake drinkers. Finally, in July, 1590, the great fortress surrendered, and the Hojo baron, Ujimasa, was put to death, his head being sent to Kyoto for exposure, but the life of his son, Ujinao, was spared on condition that he enter a monastery. HOJO UJINORI One incident of this struggle is very characteristic of the ethics of the era. During the interchange of messages that preceded recourse to arms, the Hojo baron sent his brother, Ujinori, to Kyoto as an envoy to discuss the situation with Hideyoshi. The latter received Ujinori with all courtesy and endeavoured to impress upon him the imperative necessity of his chief's acquiescence. Ujinori promised to contribute to that end as far as lay in his power, but history describes him as adding: "Should my brother fail to comply with your commands, and should it be necessary for you to send an army against the Kwanto, it must be clearly understood that this visit of mine to your Excellency shall not in any way prejudice my loyalty to my brother. On the contrary, if the peace be broken, I shall probably have to command the van of my brother's forces, and in that event I may have to offer to your Excellency a flight of my rusty arrows." Hideyoshi is narrated to have laughingly replied that the peace was in no danger of being broken and that he trusted Ujinori to use his best endeavours to avert war. On his return to the Kwanto, Ujinori was ordered to defend the castle of Nira-yama with seven thousand men, and he soon found himself attacked by fifty thousand under seven of Hideyoshi's generals. Ujinori reminded his comrades that Nira-yama had been the birthplace of the founder of the Hojo family, and therefore it would be an eternal shame if even one of the entrenchments were lost. Not one was lost. Again and again assaults were delivered, but they were unsuccessful, and throughout the whole of the Kwanto, Nira-yama alone remained flying the Hojo flag to the end. Ujinori surrendered in obedience to Ujimasa's instructions after the fall of Odawara, but Hideyoshi, instead of punishing him for the heavy losses he had inflicted on the Osaka army, lauded his fidelity and bravery, and presented him with an estate of ten thousand koku. DATE MASAMUNE When news reached Date Masamune of the fall of all the Hojo's outlying forts and of the final investment of Odawara, he recognized, from his place in Mutsu and Dewa, that an attitude of aloofness could no longer be maintained with safety. Accordingly, braving considerable danger, he made his way with a small retinue to Odawara and signified his willingness to comply with any terms imposed by Hideyoshi. Thus, for the first time since the middle of the fifteenth century, the whole of the empire was pacified. YEDO It is historically related that, during the siege of Odawara, Hideyoshi invited Ieyasu to the former's headquarters on Ishigaki Hill, whence an uninterrupted view of the interior of the castle could be had. The Tokugawa baron was then asked whether, if the eight provinces of the Kwanto were handed over to him, he would choose Odawara for central stronghold. He replied in the affirmative. Hideyoshi pointed out the superior advantages of Yedo from a strategical and commercial point of view, and ultimately when he conferred the Kwanto on Ieyasu, he chose Yedo for the latter's capital, the accompanying revenue being about two and a half million koku. Hideyoshi further proposed to appoint Oda Nobukatsu to the lordship of the five provinces which had hitherto constituted the domain of Ieyasu, namely, Suruga, Totomi, Mikawa, Kai, and Shinano. Nobukatsu, however, alleging that he did not desire any large domain, asked to be allowed to retain his old estates in Owari and Ise. This attitude angered Hideyoshi for reasons which will presently be apparent. He assigned to Nobukatsu a comparatively insignificant fief at Akita, in the remote province of Dewa, and gave the estates in Owari and Ise to Hidetsugu, the nephew and adopted successor of Hideyoshi, while the five provinces hitherto under the sway of Ieyasu were divided among Hideyoshi's generals and retainers. In September, 1590, Ieyasu entered Yedo, and subdivided his extensive domain among his followers in order of merit, thus establishing the Tokugawa system of hereditary daimyo and founding a new Bakufu. All this was very significant. In such matters, Hideyoshi had repeatedly shown himself to be a man of great magnanimity, and had allowed even his enemies to retain possession of lands which would certainly have been taken from them by other conquerors. Thus, in the case of the Mori sept, fully half of the midland counties was left in their occupation, and, in the case of the Shimazu family, they were suffered to retain two and a half provinces. With regard to Ieyasu, however, Hideyoshi behaved with marked caution. By granting to the Tokugawa chieftain the whole of the Kwanto, Hideyoshi made it appear as though he were conferring a signal favour; but in reality his object was to remove Ieyasu out of the zone of potential danger to Kyoto. Ieyasu fully recognized this manoeuvre, but bowed to it as the less of two evils. As a further measure of precaution, Hideyoshi interposed one of his own family, Hidetsugu, between the Kwanto and Kyoto, and with the object of menacing the rear of Ieyasu and restraining the movements of the Date, he placed Gamo Ujisato at Aizu in Oshu. He further posted Ishida Katsushige at Sawa-yama (now called Hikone) in the province of Omi, to cover the principal route to Kyoto, and for similar reasons with regard to the Yamato and Tamba roads he assigned to his brother, Hidenaga, the castle of Kori-yama, which commanded Izumi and Kii, and to his adopted son, Hidekatsu, the castle at Fukuchi-yama in Tamba. This plan of distributing their domains, so that the daimyo should be mutually repressive, was followed with still greater care by Ieyasu when he, in turn, became supreme. HIDEYOSHI AND BUDDHISM There are evidences that, from his childhood, Hideyoshi had little reverence for the Buddhist faith. When only twelve years of age he is said to have beaten and smashed an image of Amida because it remained always insensible to the offerings of food placed daily before it. Again, when on his way to Kyoto to avenge the assassination of Nobunaga, he saw an idol floating on a stream, and seizing the effigy he cut it into two pieces, saying that the deity Daikoku, having competence to succour one thousand persons only, could be of little use to him at such a crisis as he was now required to meet. Finally, on the occasion of his expedition against the Hojo of Odawara, when the sailors of Mishima, in Sagami, objected to carrying war-horses in their boats on the plea that the god of the sea, Ryujin, hated everything equine, Hideyoshi did not hesitate to remove these scruples by addressing a despatch to the deity with orders to watch over the safety of the steeds. Yet this same Hideyoshi evidently recognized that the Buddhist faith had great potentialities in Japan, and that its encouragement made for the peace and progress of the country. Buddhism suffered terribly at the hands of Nobunaga. The great monastery of Enryaku-ji was a mass of blackened ruins at the time of the Oda baron's death, and it has been shown that the monasteries of Kii and Osaka fared almost equally badly at the hands of Hideyoshi. Nevertheless the latter had no sooner grasped the supreme administrative power than he showed himself a protector and promotor of Buddhism. Scattered throughout the empire and apparently crippled for all time, the monks of Hiei-zan very soon gave evidence of the vitality of their faith by commencing a vigorous propaganda for the restoration of the great monastery. Many renowned priests, as Zenso, Gosei, and others, headed this movement; Prince Takatomo, adopted son of the Emperor Okimachi, agreed to become lord-abbot of the sect (Tendai), and the Imperial Court issued a proclamation exhorting the people to subscribe for the pious purpose. Hideyoshi, Ieyasu, and other great barons addressed their vassals in a similar sense, and in Hideyoshi's proclamation the imperative necessity of Enryaku-ji as a barrier at the "Demon's Gate" was distinctly stated. Under such auspices the monastery quickly rose from its ashes, though in point of size and magnificence it was inferior to its predecessor. At the same time Hideyoshi steadily pursued the policy of checking the military tendencies of the monks, and it may be said that, from his era, the soldier-priest ceased to be a factor in the political situation. THE KYOTO DAIBUTSU The erection of a colossal image of the Buddha at Nara, in the eighth century, and at Kamakura, in the thirteenth century, marked the consummation of great political programmes in which religious influence acted a strong part. Hideyoshi determined to set up a still more imposing effigy in Kyoto, and, in 1586, the work was commenced under the superintendence of Maeda Gen-i. All the principal idol-makers were summoned to the capital, and among them were said to have been some Chinese experts. Hideyoshi declared that whereas the Nara Daibutsu had taken twenty-seven years to build, the Kyoto image should be finished in five. He kept his word. No less than twenty-one provinces were placed under requisition for labour and materials. The enclosure of the temple containing the image measured 260 yards by 274, and the great hall had dimensions of 110 yards by 74. The original intention had been to make the idol of copper; but as the statue was to have a height of 160 feet, the quantity of metal required could not have been obtained within the time fixed, and lacquered wood was therefore substituted for copper. It is related that timbers of sufficient scantling could not be found anywhere except in the forests at the base of Fuji-yama, and Ieyasu employed fifty thousand labourers at a cost of a one thousand ryo in gold, for the purpose of felling the trees and transporting them to Kyoto. The operations furnished evidence of the curiously arbitrary methods practised officially in that age. Thus, when the building was interrupted owing to a lack of large stones for constructing the pedestal, messengers were sent to appropriate rocks standing in private gardens, without consulting the convenience of the owners, and many beautiful parks were thus deprived of their most picturesque elements. Moreover, on the plea of obtaining iron to make nails, clamps, and so forth, a proclamation was issued calling upon the civilian section of the population at large to throw their swords, their spears, their muskets, and their armour into the melting-pot. This proclamation, though couched in terms of simulated benevolence, amounted in reality to a peremptory order. The people were told that they only wasted their substance and were impeded in the payment of their taxes by spending money upon weapons of war, whereas by giving these for a religious purpose, they would invoke the blessings of heaven and promote their own prosperity. But, at the foot of these specious arguments, there was placed a brief command that the weapons must be surrendered and that those concerned should take due note of their duty in the matter. The import of such an injunction was not lost on the people, and general disarming of the agricultural and the artisan classes marked the success of Hideyoshi's policy. It is on record that he himself actually joined in the manual labour of dragging stones and timbers into position, and that, clad in hempen garments, he led the labourers' chorus of "Kiyari." THE JURAKU-TEI In the year 1586, the Emperor Okimachi resigned the throne to his grandson, Go-Yozei. Like Nobunaga, Hideyoshi was essentially loyal to the Imperial Court. He not only provided for the renovation of the shrines of Ise, but also built a palace for the retiring Emperor's use. On the 11th of the seventh month of 1585, he was appointed regant (kwampaku), and on the 13th of the same month he proceeded to the Court to render thanks. He himself, however, was without a residence in the capital, and to remedy that deficiency he built a palace called Juraku-tei (Mansion of Pleasure) which, according to the accounts transmitted by historians, was an edifice of exceptional magnificence. Thus, the Taikoki (Annals of the Taiko) speak of "gates guarded by iron pillars and copper doors; of high towers which shone like stars in the sky; of roof-tiles which roared in the wind, and of golden dragons which sang songs among the clouds." Nothing now remains of all this grandeur except some of the gates and other decorative parts of the structure, which were given to the builders of the temples of Hongwan-ji after the destruction of the Juraku-tei when Hidetsugu and his whole family died under the sword as traitors. There can be no doubt, however, that the edifice represented every possible feature of magnificence and refinement characteristic of the era. Hideyoshi took up his abode there in 1587, and at the ensuing New Year's festival he prayed to be honoured by a visit from the Emperor. This request was complied with during the month of May in the same year. All the details of the ceremony were ordered in conformity with precedents set in the times of the Ashikaga shoguns, Yoshimitsu and Yoshimasa, but the greatly superior resources of Hideyoshi were enlisted to give eclat to the fete. The ceremonies were spread over five days. They included singing, dancing, couplet composing, and present giving. The last was on a scale of unprecedented dimensions. The presents to the Imperial household and to the Court Nobles Varied from three hundred koku of rice to 5530 ryo of silver, and in the case of the Court ladies, the lowest was fifty koku and the highest three hundred. The occasion was utilized by Hideyoshi for an important ceremony, which amounted to a public recognition of his own supremacy. A written oath was signed and sealed by six great barons, of whom the first four represented the Toyotomi (Hideyoshi's) family and the last two were Ieyasu and Nobukatsu. The signatories of this oath solemnly bound themselves to respect eternally the estates and possessions of the members of the Imperial house, of the Court nobles, and of the Imperial princes, and further to obey faithfully all commands issued by the regent. This obligation was guaranteed by invoking the curse of all the guardian deities of the empire on the head of anyone violating the engagement. A similar solemn pledge in writing was signed by twenty-two of the great military barons. THE KITANO FETE The esoterics of the tea ceremonial and the vogue it obtained in the days of the shogun Yoshimasa, have already been described. But note must be taken here of the extraordinary zeal displayed by Hideyoshi in this matter. Some claim that his motive was mainly political; others that he was influenced by purely esthetic sentiments, and others, again, that both feelings were responsible in an equal degree. There is no material for an exact analysis. He doubtless appreciated the point of view of the historian who wrote that "between flogging a war-steed along the way to death and discussing esthetic canons over a cup of tea in a little chamber nine feet square, there was a radical difference." But it must also have appealed keenly to his fancy that he, a veritable upstart, by birth a plebeian and by habit a soldier, should ultimately set the lead in artistic fashions to the greatest aristocrats in the empire in a cult essentially pacific. However these things may have been, the fact remains that on the 1st of November, 1587, there was organized by his orders on the Pine Plain (Matsubara) of Kitano a cha-no-yu fete of unprecedented magnitude. The date of the fete was placarded in Kyoto, Nara, Osaka, Sakai, and other towns of importance more than a month in advance; all lovers of the tea cult were invited, whether plebeian or patrician, whether rich or poor; frugality was enjoined, and the proclamations promised that the choicest among the objects of art collected by Hideyoshi during many decades should be exhibited. It is recorded that over 360 persons attended the fete. Some erected simple edifices under the pine trees; some set up a monster umbrella for a roof, and some brought portable pavilions. These various edifices are said to have occupied a space of six square miles. Three pavilions were devoted to Hideyoshi's art-objects, and he himself served tea and exhibited his esthetic treasures to Ieyasu, Nobukatsu, Toshiiye, and other distinguished personages. HIDEYOSHI'S LARGESSE Hideyoshi's love of ostentation when political ends could be served thereby was strikingly illustrated by a colossal distribution of gold and silver. One morning in June, 1589, the space within the main gate of the Juraku palace was seen to be occupied throughout a length of nearly three hundred yards with gold and silver coins heaped up on trays each containing one hundred and fifty pieces. Immediately within the gate sat Hideyoshi, and beside him was the Emperor's younger brother, Prince Roku. The mass of glittering treasure was guarded by officials under the superintendence of Maeda Gen-i, and presently the names of the personages who were to be recipients of Hideyoshi's largesse were read aloud, whereupon each of those indicated advanced and received a varying number of the precious trays. The members of Hideyoshi's family were specially favoured in this distribution. His mother received 3000 ryo of gold and 10,000 ryo of silver; his brother, Hidenaga, 3000 ryo of gold and 20,000 of silver; and his nephew, Hidetsugu, 3000 of gold and 10,000 of silver. To Nobukatsu, to Ieyasu, to Mori Terumoto, to Uesugi Kagekatsu, and to Maeda Toshiiye, great sums were given, varying from 3000 ryo of gold and 10,000 of silver to 1000 of gold and 10,000 of silver. It is said that the total of the coins thus bestowed amounted to 365,000 ryo, a vast sum in that era. A history of the time observes that the chief recipients of Hideyoshi's generosity were the members of his own family, and that he would have shown better taste had he made these donations privately. Perhaps the deepest impression produced by this grand display was a sense of the vast treasure amassed by Hideyoshi; and possibly he contemplated something of the kind. ENGRAVING: SNOW IMAGE OF DHARMA ENGRAVING: A FENCING OUTFIT CHAPTER XXXV THE INVASION OF KOREA CAUSES HAVING brought the whole of Japan under his control, Hideyoshi conceived the project of conquering China. That appears to be the simplest explanation of his action. His motive, however, has been variously interpreted. Some historians maintain that his prime purpose was to find occupation for the vast host of soldiers who had been called into existence in Japan by four centuries of almost continuous warfare. Others do not hesitate to allege that this oversea campaign was designed for the purpose of assisting to exterminate the Christian converts. Others, again, attempt to prove that personal ambition was Hideyoshi's sole incentive. It does not seem necessary to estimate the relative truth of these analyses, especially as the evidence adduced by their several supporters is more or less conjectural. As to the idea that Hideyoshi was influenced by anti-Christian sentiment, it is sufficient to observe that out of nearly a quarter of a million of Japanese soldiers who landed in Korea during the course of the campaign, not so much as ten per cent, were Christians, and with regard to the question of personal ambition, it may be conceded at once that if Hideyoshi's character lays him open to such a charge, his well-proven statecraft exonerates him from any suspicion of having acted without thought for his country's good. One fact which does not seem to have been sufficiently considered by annalists is that during the sixteenth century the taste for foreign adventure had grown largely in Japan. Many persons had gone abroad in quest of fortune and had found it. It is on record that emigrants from the province of Hizen had established themselves in considerable numbers in China, and that their success induced their feudal lord, Nabeshima, to seek the Central Government's permission for returning his province to the latter and taking, in lieu, the district near Ningpo, where his vassals had settled. Hideyoshi doubtless shared the general belief that in oversea countries Japanese enterprise could find many profitable opportunities, and it is easy to believe that the weakened condition of China towards the close of the Ming dynasty led him to form a not very flattering estimate of that country's power of resistance. The conquest of Korea had not in itself any special temptation. He regarded the peninsula simply as a basis for an attack upon China, and he made it quite clear to the Korean sovereign that, if the latter suffered his territories to be converted into a stepping-stone for that purpose, friendship with Japan might be confidently anticipated. Korea, at that time, was under the sway of a single ruler, whose dynasty enjoyed the protection of the Chinese Court, and between the two sovereigns embassies were regularly exchanged. It has already been stated in these pages that towards the middle of the fifteenth century Japanese settlers in Korea had been assigned three places of residence, but owing to the exactions suffered at the hands of the local authorities, these settlers had risen in revolt and had finally been expelled from Korea until the year 1572, when a concession was once more set apart for Japanese use at Fusan. No longer, however, were envoys sent from Korea to Japan, and evidence of the outrages committed from time to time by Japanese pirates is furnished by a decree of the Korean Government that a Japanese subject landing anywhere except at Fusan would be treated as a corsair. Such were the existing conditions when, in 1587, Hideyoshi called upon the Korean monarch to explain the cessation of the old-time custom of exchanging envoys. To this the King of Korea replied that he would willingly renew the ancient relations provided that the Japanese authorities seized and handed over a number of Korean renegades, who had been acting as guides to Japanese pirates in descents on the Korean coast. This stipulation having been complied with, a Korean embassy was duly despatched by Kyoto, and after some delay its members were received by Hideyoshi in the hall of audience. What happened on this occasion is described in Korean annals, translated as follows by Mr. Aston*: *Hideyoshi's Invasion of Korea, by Aston. "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan," Vol. VI. The ambassadors were allowed to enter the palace gate borne in their palanquins. They were preceded the whole way by a band of music. They ascended into the hall, where they performed their obeisances. Hideyoshi is a mean and ignoble-looking man; his complexion is dark, and his features are wanting in distinction. But his eyeballs send out fire in flashes--enough to pierce one through. He sat upon a threefold cushion with his face to the south. He wore a gauze hat and a dark-coloured robe of State. His officers were ranged round him, each in his proper place. When the ambassadors were introduced and had taken their seats, the refreshments offered them were of the most frugal description. A tray was set before each, on which was one dish containing steamed mochi (rice-cake), and sake of an inferior quality was handed round a few times in earthenware cups and in a very unceremonious way. The civility of drinking to one another was not observed. After a short interval, Hideyoshi retired behind a curtain, but all his officers remained in their places. Soon after, a man came out dressed in ordinary clothes, with a baby in his arms, and strolled about the hall. This was no other than Hideyoshi himself, and everyone present bowed down his head to the ground. Looking out between the pillars of the hall, Hideyoshi espied the Korean musicians. He commanded them to strike up all together as loud as they could, and was listening to their music when he was reminded that babies could despise ceremonies as much as princes, and laughingly called one of his attendants to take the child and bring him a change of clothing. He seemed to do exactly as he pleased, and was as unconcerned as if nobody else were present. The ambassadors, having made their obeisance, retired, and this audience was the only occasion on which they were admitted to Hideyoshi's presence. After long delay Hideyoshi replied to the letter carried by the above envoys, and his language is important as clearly indicating the part which he designed for Korea in the pending war. The document is thus translated by Mr. Aston: This empire has of late years been brought to ruin by internal dissensions which allowed no opportunity for laying aside armour. This state of things roused me to indignation, and in a few years I restored peace to the country. I am the only remaining scion of a humble stock, but my mother once had a dream in which she saw the sun enter her bosom, after which she gave birth to me. There was then a soothsayer who said: "Wherever the sun shines, there will be no place which shall not be subject to him. It may not be doubted that one day his power will overspread the empire." It has therefore been my boast to lose no favourable opportunity, and taking wings like a dragon, I have subdued the east, chastised the west, punished the south, and smitten the north. Speedy and great success has attended my career, which has been like the rising sun illuminating the whole earth. When I reflect that the life of man is less than one hundred years, why should I spend my days in sorrow for one thing only? I will assemble a mighty host, and, invading the country of the great Ming, I will fill with the hoar-frost from my sword the whole sky over the four hundred provinces. Should I carry out this purpose, I hope that Korea will be my vanguard. Let her not fail to do so, for my friendship with your honourable country depends solely on your conduct when I lead my army against China. The Korean envoys entrusted with the delivery of the above despatch were accompanied by one of the chief vassals of the Tsushima baron, and a monk, named Genso, who acted in the capacity of interpreter. By these two Japanese the Korean Government was clearly informed that nothing was required of Korea beyond throwing open the roads to China, and that she would not be asked to give any other assistance whatever in the war against her northern neighbour. In the context of this explanation, the Seoul Government was reminded that, three centuries previously, Korea had permitted her territory to be made a basis of Mongolian operations against Japan, and therefore the peninsula might well allow itself to be now used as a basis of Japanese operations against China. From Korean annals we learn that the following despatch was ultimately sent by the Korean sovereign to Hideyoshi*: *Hulbert's History of Korea. Two letters have already passed between us, and the matter has been sufficiently discussed. What talk is this of our joining you against China? From the earliest times we have followed law and right. From within and from without all lands are subject to China. If you have desired to send your envoys to China, how much more should we? When we have been unfortunate she has helped us. The relations which subsist between us are those of parent and child. This you know well. Can we desert both Emperor and parent and join with you? You doubtless will be angry at this, and it is because you have not been admitted to the Court of China. Why is it that you are not willing to admit the suzerainty of the Emperor, instead of harbouring such hostile intents against him? This truly passes our comprehension. The bitterness of this language was intensified by a comment made to the Japanese envoys when handing them the above despatch. His Majesty said that Japan's programme of conquering China resembled an attempt to bail out the ocean with a cockle-shell. From Korea's point of view her attitude was perfectly justifiable. The dynasty by which the peninsula was then ruled owed its very existence to China's aid, and during two centuries the peninsula had enjoyed peace and a certain measure of prosperity under that dynasty. On the other hand, Korea was not in a position to think of resisting Japan on the battle-field. The only army which the former could boast of possessing consisted of men who were too indigent to purchase exemption from service with the colours, and thus she may be said to have been practically without any efficient military organization. Moreover, her troops were not equipped with either artillery or match-locks. The only advantage which she possessed may be said to have been exceedingly difficult topographical features, which were practically unknown to the Japanese. Japan had not at that time even the elements of the organization which she was ultimately destined to carry to such a high point of perfection. She had no secret-service agents or any cartographers to furnish her generals with information essential to the success of an invasion, and from the moment that her troops landed in Korea, their environment would be absolutely strange. JAPAN'S PREPARATIONS These considerations did not, however, deter Hideyoshi. Immediately on receipt of the above despatch from the Korean Court, preparations were commenced for an oversea expedition on a colossal scale. Nagoya, in the province of Hizen, was chosen for the home-basis of operations. It has been observed by several critics that if Hideyoshi, instead of moving by Korea, had struck at China direct oversea, he would in all probability have seen his flag waving over Peking in a few months, and the whole history of the Orient would have been altered. That may possibly be true. But we have to remember that the Korean peninsula lies almost within sight of the shores of Japan, whereas to reach China direct by water involves a voyage of several hundred miles over seas proverbially tempestuous and dangerous. Even in modern times, when maritime transport has been so greatly developed, a general might well hesitate between the choice of the Korean and the ocean routes to China from Japan, were he required to make a choice. In the face of the certainty of Korean hostility, however, Hideyoshi's selection was certainly open to criticism. Nevertheless, the event showed that he did not err in his calculations so far as the operations on shore were concerned. He himself remained in Japan throughout the whole war. He went to Nagoya towards the close of 1592 and stayed there until the beginning of 1594, and it was generally understood that he intended ultimately to assume direct command of the oversea armies. In fact, at a council held to consider this matter, he proposed to cross the water at the head of one hundred and fifty thousand men, handing over the administration of affairs in Japan to Ieyasu. On that occasion, one of his most trusted followers, Asano Nagamasa, provoked a violent outburst of temper on Hideyoshi's part by declaring that such a scheme would be an act of lunacy, since Hideyoshi's presence alone secured the empire against recurrence of domestic strife. The annals are not very clear at this point, but everything seems to indicate that Hideyoshi's purpose of leading the armies in person would have been carried into practice had it not become certain that the invasion of China would have to be abandoned. The time and the manner in which this failure became clear will be seen as we proceed. CONDITIONS FROM THE INVADER'S POINT OF VIEW The sea which separates Japan from the Korean peninsula narrows on the south to a strait divided by the island of Tsushima into two channels of nearly equal width. Tsushima had, for centuries, been the Japanese outpost in this part of the empire. To reach the island from the Japanese side was always an easy and safe task, but in the fifty-six-mile channel that separates Tsushima from the peninsula of Korea an invading flotilla had to run the risk of an attack by Korean warships.* The army assembled at Nagoya totalled over three hundred thousand men, whereof some seventy thousand constituted the first fighting line and eighty-seven thousand the second, the remainder forming a reserve to meet contingencies. The question of maritime transport presented some difficulty, but was solved by the expedient of ordering each maritime feudatory to furnish two large ships for every hundred thousand koku of the fief's assessment, and their crews were obtained by compelling each fishing village to furnish ten sailors for every hundred houses it contained. These were not fighting vessels but mere transports. Fighting men to the number of ninety-two hundred were, however, distributed among the ships, and were armed with match-locks, bows, and swords. The problem of commissariat was very formidable. This part of the enterprise was entrusted solely to Asano Nagamasa, minister of Justice, one of the five bugyo,--that is to say, five officials called administrators, in whose intelligence and competence Hideyoshi placed signal reliance. In the records of the Asano family it is stated that an immense quantity of rice was shipped at the outset, but that on landing in Korea the army found ample supplies of grain in every castle throughout the peninsula. Nevertheless, the problem of provisions ultimately became exceedingly difficult, as might well have been predicted. *See the Encyclopedia Britannica, 11th edition; article "Japan," by Brinkley. PLAN OF CAMPAIGN As for the plan of campaign, it was precisely in accord with the principles of modern strategy. The van, consisting of three army corps, was to cross rapidly to Fusan on the south coast of the peninsula, whence a movement northward, towards the capital, Seoul, was to be immediately commenced, one corps marching by the eastern coast-road, one by the central route, and one by the western. "Thereafter the other four corps, which formed the first fighting line, together with the corps under the direct orders of the commander-in-chief, Ukita Hideiye, were to cross for the purpose of effectually subduing the regions through which the van had passed; and, finally, the two remaining corps of the second line were to be transported by sea up the west coast of the peninsula, to form a junction with the van which, by that time, should be preparing to pass into China over the northern boundary of Korea, namely, the Yalu River. For the landing-place of these re-enforcements the town of Pyong-yang was adopted, being easily accessible by the Tadong River from the coast. In later ages, Japanese armies were destined to move twice over these same regions, once to the invasion of China [in 1894], once to the attack of Russia [in 1904], and they adopted almost the same strategical plan as that mapped out by Hideyoshi in the year 1592. The forecast was that the Koreans would offer their chief resistance, first, at the capital, Seoul; next at Pyong-yang, and finally at the Yalu, as the approaches to all these places constituted positions capable of being utilized to great advantage for defensive purposes."* *Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th edition; article "Japan," by Brinkley. THE MARCH TO SEOUL On the 24th of May, 1592, the first army corps (18,700 men), under the command of Konishi Yukinaga, crossed unmolested to the peninsula. So little did the Koreans anticipate an invasion that the earliest intelligence they had of the advent of the invaders was furnished by the commandant of Fusan, who happened that day to be hunting on Deer Island at the entrance to the harbour, and who sighted the approach of the hostile flotilla. On the 25th, Konishi's troops carried the castle of Fusan by storm, after a brave resistance by the garrison, and, on the 27th, the same fate befell another and stronger fortress lying three miles inland and garrisoned by twenty thousand picked soldiers. Four days after the landing of Konishi's army, the second corps (20,800 strong), under Kato Kiyomasa, reached Fusan, and immediately took the east-coast road, according to the programme of campaign. Thenceforth, however, it was really a race between the two armies as to which should form the van. At the pass of Cho-ryung a reunion was effected. This position offered exceptional facilities for defence, but owing to some unexplained reason no attempt was made by the Koreans to hold it. A few miles further north stood a castle reckoned the strongest fortress in the peninsula. Konishi and Kato continued the combination of their forces as they approached this position, but, contrary to expectation, the Koreans fought in the open and the castle fell without difficulty. Thereafter, the two corps separated, Kato taking the westerly road and Konishi the direct route to Seoul. In short, although the two generals have been accused of crippling themselves by jealous competition, the facts indicate that they co-operated effectively as far as the river Imjin, where a strenuous effort to check them was expected to be made by the Koreans. From the landing place at Fusan to the gates of Seoul the distance is 267 miles. Konishi's corps covered that interval in nineteen days, storming two forts, carrying two positions, and fighting one pitched battle on the way. Kato's corps, travelling by a circuitous and more arduous road but not meeting with so much resistance, traversed the distance between Fusan and the capital in four days less. At Seoul, with its thirty thousand battlements and three times as many embrasures, requiring a garrison ninety thousand strong, only seven thousand were available, and nothing offered except flight, a course which the Royal Court adopted without hesitation, leaving the city to be looted and partially destroyed, not by the Japanese invaders but by the Korean inhabitants themselves. The King did not halt until he had placed the Imjin River between himself and the enemy. Moreover, as soon as he there received news of the sack of the city, he renewed his flight northward and took up his quarters at Pyong-yang. It was on the 12th of June that the Korean capital fell, and by the 16th four army corps had assembled there, while four others had effected a landing at Fusan. After a rest of fifteen days, the northern advance was resumed from Seoul, with the expectation that a great struggle would take place on the banks of the Imjin. The conditions were eminently favourable for defence, inasmuch as the approach to the river from the south was only by one narrow gulch, whereas, on the northern side, lay a long, sandy stretch where troops could easily be deployed. Moreover the Japanese had no boats wherewith to negotiate a broad and swiftly flowing river. During ten days the invaders remained helpless on the southern bank. Then the Koreans allowed themselves to be betrayed by the common device of a simulated retreat. They crossed in exultant pursuit, only to find that they had been trapped into an ambush. Konishi and Kato now again separated, the former continuing the direct advance northward, and the latter taking the northeastern route, which he ultimately followed along the whole of the coast as far as Kyong-sang, whence he turned inland and finally reached Hai-ryong, a place destined to acquire much importance in modern times as the point of junction of the Kilin-Korean railways. The distance from Seoul to Pyong-yang on the Tadong is 130 miles, and it was traversed by the Japanese in eighteen days, ten of which had been occupied in forcing the passage of the Imjin. On the southern bank of the Tadong, the invaders found themselves in a position even more difficult than that which had confronted them at the Imjin. They had to pass a wide rapid river with a walled city of great strength on its northern bank and with all the boats in the possession of the Korean garrison, which was believed to be very numerous. Some parleying took place, and the issue of the situation seemed very doubtful when the Koreans lost patience and crossed the river, hoping to destroy the Japanese by a night attack. They miscalculated the time required for this operation, and daylight compelled them to abandon the enterprise when its only result had been to disclose to the invaders the whereabouts of the fords. Then ensued a disorderly retreat on the part of the Koreans, and there being no time for the latter to fire the town, storehouses full of grain fell into the hands of the invaders. The Korean Court resumed its flight as far as Wi-ju, a few miles south of the Yalu River, whence messengers were sent to China to solicit succour. THE COMMAND OF THE SEA Thus far, everything had marched in perfect accord with the Japanese programme. A force of nearly two hundred thousand men had been carried over the sea and had overrun practically the whole of Korea. "At this point, however, the invasion suffered a check owing to a cause which in modern times has received much attention, though in Hideyoshi's days it had been little considered; the Japanese lost the command of the sea. The Japanese idea of sea fighting in those times was to use open boats propelled chiefly by oars. They closed as quickly as possible with the enemy and then fell on with the trenchant swords which they used so skilfully. Now, during the fifteenth century and part of the sixteenth, the Chinese had been so harassed by Japanese piratical raids that their inventive genius, quickened by suffering, suggested a device for coping with these formidable adversaries. Once allow the Japanese swordsman to come to close quarters and he carried all before him. To keep him at a distance, then, was the great desideratum, and the Chinese compassed this in maritime warfare by completely covering their boats with roofs of solid timber, so that those within were protected against missiles or other weapons, while loop-holes and ports enabled them to pour bullets and arrows on a foe. "The Koreans learned this device from the Chinese and were the first to employ it in actual warfare. Their own history alleges that they improved upon the Chinese model by nailing sheet iron over the roofs and sides of the 'turtle-shell' craft and studding the whole surface with chevaux de frise, but Japanese annals indicate that in the great majority of cases timber alone was used. It seems strange that the Japanese should have been without any clear perception of the immense fighting superiority possessed by such protected war-vessels over small open boats. But certainly they were either ignorant or indifferent. The fleet which they provided to hold the command of Korean waters did not include one vessel of any magnitude; it consisted simply of some hundreds of row-boats manned by seven thousand men. Hideyoshi himself was perhaps not without misgivings. Six years previously, he had endeavoured to obtain two war-galleons from the Portuguese, and had he succeeded, the history of the Far East might have been radically different. Evidently, however, he committed a blunder which his countrymen in modern times have conspicuously avoided; he drew the sword without having fully investigated his adversary's resources. "Just about the time when the van of the Japanese army was entering Seoul, the Korean admiral, Yi Sun-sin, at the head of a fleet of eighty vessels, attacked the Japanese squadron which lay at anchor near the entrance to Fusan harbour, set twenty-six of the vessels on fire, and dispersed the rest. Four other engagements ensued in rapid succession. The last and most important took place shortly after the Japanese troops had seized Pyong-yang. It resulted in the sinking of over seventy Japanese vessels, transports and fighting ships combined, which formed the main part of a flotilla carrying reinforcements by sea to the van of the invading army. This despatch of troops and supplies by water had been a leading feature of Hideyoshi's plan of campaign, and the destruction of the flotilla to which the duty was entrusted may be said to have sealed the fate of the war by isolating the army in Korea from its home base. "It is true that Konishi Yukinaga, who commanded the first division, desired to continue his northward march from Pyong-yang without delay. He argued that China was wholly unprepared, and that the best hope of ultimate victory lay in not giving her time to collect her forces. But the commander-in-chief, Ukita Hideiye, refused to endorse this plan. He took the view that since the Korean provinces were still offering desperate resistance, supplies could not be drawn from them, neither could the troops engaged in subjugating them be freed for service at the front. Therefore it was essential to await the consummation of the second phase of Hideyoshi's plan, namely, the despatch of re-enforcements and munitions by water to Pyong-yang. The reader has seen how that second phase fared. The Japanese commander at Pyong-yang never received any accession of strength. His force suffered constant diminution from casualties, and the question of commissariat became daily more difficult. . . . Japanese historians themselves admit the fact that no wise effort was made to conciliate the Korean people. They were treated so harshly that even the humble peasant took up arms, and thus the peninsula, instead of serving as a basis of supplies, had to be garrisoned perpetually by a strong army."* Korean historians give long and minute accounts of the development and exploits of guerilla bands, which, though they did not obtain any signal victory over the invaders, harassed the latter perpetually, and compelled them to devote a large part of their force to guarding the lines of communication. *Encyclopedia Britannica, 11th edition; article "Japan," by Brinkley. CHINESE INTERFERENCE Having suffered for their loyalty to China, the Koreans naturally looked to her for succour. Peking should have understood the situation thoroughly. Even without any direct communication from Japan, the Peking Court had cognizance of Hideyoshi's intentions. A letter addressed by him in the year 1591 to the King of Ryukyu stated clearly his intention of extending Japanese sovereignty throughout the whole Orient, and the ruler of Ryukyu had lost no time in making this fact known to Peking.* Yet it does not appear that the Chinese had any just appreciation of the situation. Their first response to Korea's appeal was to mobilize a force of five thousand men in the Liaotung peninsula, which force crossed the Yalu and moved against Pyong-yang, where the Japanese van had been lying idle for over two months. This occurred early in October, 1592. The incident illustrated China's confidence in her own superiority. "The whole of the Korean forces had been driven northward throughout the entire length of the peninsula by Japanese armies, yet Peking considered that five thousand Chinese braves would suffice to roll back this tide of invasion." *There is still extant a letter addressed by Hideypshi in June, 1592, to Hidetsugu, his nephew, and then nominal successor. In this document it is distinctly stated that the attention of the Emperor of Japan should be directed to the Chinese capital, inasmuch as the Japanese Court would pay a visit to Peking in 1594, on which occasion the ten provinces surrounding the Chinese capital would be presented to his Majesty, and out of this territory the Court nobles would receive estates. The result was a foregone conclusion. Three thousand of the Chinese were killed, and the rest fled pele-mele across the Yalu. China now began to be seriously alarmed. She despatched to Pyong-yang an envoy named Chen Weiching--known in Japanese history as Chin Ikei--who was instructed not to conclude peace but only to make such overtures as might induce the Japanese to agree to an armistice, thus enabling the Chinese authorities to mobilize a sufficient force. Konishi Yukinaga fell into this trap. He agreed to an armistice of fifty days, during which the Japanese pledged themselves not to advance more than three miles northward of Pyong-yang while Chen proceeded to Peking to arrange terms of peace. It is very evident that had the Japanese seen any certain prospect of proceeding to the invasion of China, they would not have agreed to such an arrangement as this--an arrangement which guaranteed nothing except leisure for the mobilization of a strong Chinese army. It had, indeed, become plain to the Japanese commanders, after six months of operations in the peninsula, that the wisest course for them was to arrange a satisfactory peace. The second force put in the field by China is estimated by the Jesuits and the Japanese at 200,000 men and at 51,000 by Korean history. Probably the truth lies midway between the two extremes. This powerful army moved across Manchuria in the dead of winter and hurled itself against Pyong-yang during the first week of February, 1593. The Japanese garrison at that place cannot have greatly exceeded twenty thousand men, for nearly one-half of its original number had been detached to hold a line of forts guarding the communications with Seoul. Neither Chinese nor Japanese history comments on the instructive fact that the arrival of this army under the walls of Pyong-yang was China's answer to her envoy's promise of a satisfactory peace, nor does it appear that any discredit attached to Chen Weiching for the deception he had practised; his competence as a negotiator was subsequently admitted without cavil. The Chinese, though their swords were much inferior to the Japanese weapon, possessed great superiority in field artillery and cavalry, as well as in the fact that their troopers wore iron mail which defied the keenest blade. Thus, after a severe fight which cost the Japanese twenty-three hundred men, they had to evacuate Pyong-yang and retreat towards Seoul, the army under Kato Kiyomasa retiring at the same time from the northeast and fighting its way back to the central route. Orders were then issued by the commander-in-chief, Ukita, for the whole of the Japanese forces in the north of the peninsula to concentrate in Seoul, but Kohayakawa, one of Hideyoshi's most trusted generals, whose name has occurred more than once in these annals, conducted a splendid covering movement at a place a few miles northward of Seoul, the result of which was that the Chinese fled in haste over the Injin, losing ten thousand men in their retreat. But, though the Japanese had thus shaken off the pursuit, it was impossible for them to continue in occupation of Seoul. The conditions existing there were shocking. Widespread famine menaced, with its usual concomitant, pestilence. According to Korean history, the streets of the city and the roads in the suburbs were piled with corpses to a height of ten feet above the wall. The Japanese, therefore, made proposals of peace, and the Chinese agreed, on condition that the Japanese gave up two Korean princes held captive by them, and retired to the south coast of the peninsula. These terms were accepted, and on May 9, 1593, that is to say, 360 days after the landing of the invaders' van at Fusan, the evacuation of the Korean capital took place. The Chinese commanders showed great lack of enterprise. They failed to utilize the situation, and in October of the same year they withdrew from the peninsula all their troops except ten thousand men. Negotiations for permanent peace now commenced between the Governments of Japan and China, but while the pourparlers were in progress the most sanguinary incident of the whole war took place. During the early part of the campaign a Japanese attack had been beaten back from Chinju, which was reckoned the strongest fortress in Korea. Hideyoshi now ordered that the Japanese troops, before sailing for home, should rehabilitate their reputation by capturing this place, where the Koreans had mustered a strong army. The order was obeyed. Continuous assaults were delivered against the fortress during the space of nine days, and when it passed into Japanese possession the Koreans are said to have lost between sixty and seventy thousand men and the casualties on the Japanese side must have been almost as numerous. THE NEGOTIATIONS After the fall of Chinju, all the Japanese troops, with the exception of Konishi's corps, were withdrawn from Korea, and the Japanese confined their operations to holding a cordon of twelve fortified camps along the southern coast of the peninsula. These camps were nothing more than bluffs overlooking the sea on the south, and protected on the land side by moats and earthworks. The action at Chinju had created some suspicion as to the integrity of Japan's designs, but mainly through the persistence and tact of the Chinese envoy, Chen Weiching, terms were agreed upon, and on October 21, 1596, a Chinese mission reached Japan and proceeded to Osaka. The island had just then been visited by a series of uniquely disastrous earthquakes, which had either overthrown or rendered uninhabitable all the great edifices in and around Kyoto. One corner of Osaka Castle alone remained intact, and there the mission was received. Hideyoshi refused to give audience to the Korean members of the mission, and welcomed the Chinese members only, from whom he expected to receive a document placing him on a royal pinnacle at least as high as that occupied by the Emperor of China. The document actually transmitted to him was of a very different significance as the following extract shows: The Emperor, who respects and obeys heaven and is favoured by Providence, commands that he be honoured and loved wherever the heavens overhang and the earth upbears. The Imperial command is universal; even as far as the bounds of ocean where the sun rises, there are none who do not obey it. In ancient times our Imperial ancestors bestowed their favours on many lands: the Tortoise Knots and the Dragon Writing were sent to the limits of far Japan; the pure alabaster and the great-seal character were granted to the monarchs of the submissive country. Thereafter came billowy times when communications were interrupted, but an auspicious opportunity has now arrived when it has pleased us again to address you. You, Toyotomi Taira Hideyoshi, having established an Island kingdom and knowing the reverence due to the Central Land, sent to the west an envoy, and with gladness and affection offered your allegiance. On the north you knocked at the barrier of ten thousand li, and earnestly requested to be admitted within our dominions. Your mind is already confirmed in reverent submissiveness. How can we grudge our favour to so great meekness? We do, therefore, specially invest you with the dignity of "King of Japan," and to that intent issue this our commission. Treasure it carefully. As a mark of our special favour towards you, we send you over the sea a robe and crown contained in a costly case, so that you may follow our ancient custom as respects dress. Faithfully defend the frontier of our empire; let it be your study to act worthily of your position as our minister; practice moderation and self-restraint; cherish gratitude for the Imperial favour so bountifully bestowed upon you; change not your fidelity; be humbly guided by our admonitions; continue always to follow our instructions.* *Quoted by W. Dening in A New Life of Hideyoshi. Hideyoshi had already donned the robe and crown mentioned in the above despatch, his belief being that they represented his investiture as sovereign of Ming. On learning the truth, he tore off the insignia and flung them on the ground in a fit of ungovernable wrath at the arrogance of the Chinese Emperor's tone. It had never been distinctly explained how this extraordinary misunderstanding arose, but the most credible solution of the problem is that Naito, baron of Tamba, who had proceeded to Peking for the purpose of negotiating peace, was so overawed by the majesty and magnificence of the Chinese Court that, instead of demanding Hideyoshi's investiture as monarch of China, he stated that nothing was needed except China's formal acknowledgement of the kwampaku's real rank. Hideyoshi, in his natural anger, ordered the Chinese ambassadors to be dismissed without any written answer and without any of the gifts usual on such occasions according to the diplomatic custom of the Orient. He was, however, induced not to prosecute his quarrel with the Middle Kingdom, and he turned his anger entirely against Korea. Accordingly, on March 19, 1597, nine fresh corps were mobilized for oversea service, and these being thrown into Korea, brought the Japanese forces in that country to a total of 141,000 men. But the campaign was not at first resumed with activity proportionate to this great army. The Japanese commanders seem to have waited for some practical assurances that the command of the sea would not be again wrested from them; a natural precaution seeing that, after five years' war, Korea herself was no longer in a position to make any contributions to the commissariat of the invaders. It is a very interesting fact that, on this occasion, the Japanese victories at sea were as signal as their defeats had been in 1592. The Korean navy comprised the same vessels which were supposed to have proved so formidable five years previously, but the Japanese naval architects had risen to the level of the occasion, and the Korean fleet was well-nigh annihilated. Meanwhile, the Chinese had sent a powerful army to southern Korea, and against these fresh forces the Japanese attacks were directed. Everywhere the invaders were victorious, and very soon the three southern provinces of the peninsula had been captured. No actual reverse was met with throughout, but an indecisive victory near Chiksan, in the north of the metropolitan province, rendered it impossible for the Japanese to establish themselves in Seoul before the advent of winter, and they therefore judged it advisable to retire to their seaboard chain of entrenched camps. Early in 1598, a fresh army of forty thousand men reached Seoul from China, and for a moment the situation seemed to threaten disaster for the Japanese. Their strategy and desperate valour proved invincible, however, and the Kagoshima samurai won, on October 30, 1598, a victory so signal that the ears and noses of thirty-seven thousand Chinese heads were sent to Japan and buried under a tumulus near the temple of Daibutsu in Kyoto, where this terrible record, called Mimizuka (Mound of Ears), may be seen to-day. Just about this time, intelligence of the death of Hideyoshi reached the Japanese commanders in Korea, and immediately an armistice was arranged. The withdrawal of the invading forces followed, not without some serious difficulties, and thus the six years' campaign terminated without any direct results except an immense loss of life and treasure and the reduction of the Korean peninsula to a state of desolation. It has been repeatedly pleaded for the wholly unprogressive state into which Korea thenceforth fell. But to conclude that a nation could be reduced by a six-years' war to three centuries of hopelessness and helplessness is to credit that nation with a very small measure of resilient capacity. INDIRECT RESULTS The war was not altogether without indirect results of some value to Japan. Among these may be cited the fact that, a few decades later, when the Tsing dynasty destroyed the Ming in China, subjugated Korea, and assumed a position analogous to that previously held by the Yuan, no attempt was made to defy Japan. The memory of her soldiers' achievements on the Korean battle-fields sufficed to protect her against foreign aggression. Another material result was that, in compliance with Hideyoshi's orders, the returning Japanese generals brought back many Korean art-artisans who contributed largely to the development of the ceramic industry. On no less than seven different kinds of now well-known porcelain and pottery in Japan did these experts exercise marked influence, and their efforts were specially timely in view of the great vogue then enjoyed by all utensils used in connexion with the tea ceremonial. It is not to be supposed, however, that these Korean artisans showed any superiority to the Japanese as artists. The improvements they introduced were almost entirely of a technical character. Another benefit derived by Japan from her contact with Korea at this time was the introduction of movable type. Up to this time the art of printing had been in a very primitive condition in Japan, and the first book printed with movable type made its appearance in the Bunroku era (1592-1595). ENGRAVING: SIGNATURE OF TAKEDA SHINGEN ENGRAVING: NAGOYA CASTLE CHAPTER XXXVI THE MOMO-YAMA EPOCH MOMO-YAMA THE epochs of Japanese history from the eighth century until the fall of the Ashikaga shogunate are generally divided into the Nara, the Heian, the Kamakura, the Muromachi, and the Higashi-yama. To these has now to be added the Momo-yama (Peach Hill), a term derived from the name of a palatial residence built by Hideyoshi in the Fushimi suburb of Kyoto. The project was conceived in 1593, that is to say, during the course of the Korean campaign, and the business of collecting materials was managed on such a colossal scale that the foundations could be laid by September in the same year. Two months sufficed not only to construct a mansion of extraordinary magnificence and most elaborate interior decoration, but also to surround it with a spacious park presenting all the choicest features of Japanese landscape gardens. The annals state that fifty thousand men were engaged on the work, and the assertion ceases to seem extravagant when we consider the nature of the task and the singularly brief period devoted to its completion. It was Hideyoshi's foible to surpass all his predecessors and contemporaries alike in the magnitude of his designs and in the celerity of their achievement. Even his pastimes were conceived on the same stupendous scale. Thus, in 1594, at the very time when his armies in Korea were conducting an oversea campaign of unprecedented magnitude, he planned a flower-viewing fete which will live in the pages of history as more sumptuous and more magnificent than the hitherto unrivalled festivities of Yoshimasa. The places visited were the cherry-clad hills of Yoshino and the venerable monastery of Koya, and some idea of the scale of the fete may be gathered from the fact that to a shrine on Koya-san, dedicated to the memory of his mother, Hideyoshi presented a sum equivalent to £14,000 or $68,000. Still more lavish was a party organized four years later to visit the cherry blossoms at Daigo in the suburbs of Kyoto. This involved the rebuilding of a large Buddhist temple (Sambo-in) to accommodate Hideyoshi and his party as a temporary resting-place, and involved also the complete enclosing of the roads from Momo-yama to Daigo, as well as of a wide space surrounding the slopes of the cherry-clad hills, with fences festooned in silk curtains. Numerous tea pavilions were erected, and Hideyoshi, having sent home all his male guests and attendants, remained himself among a multitude of gorgeously apparelled ladies, and passed from pavilion to pavilion, listening to music, witnessing dancing, and viewing works of art. HIDEYOSHI'S FAMILY A conspicuous figure at the Daigo fete was Hideyori, the five-year-old son of Hideyoshi. Fate treated Hideyoshi harshly in the matter of a successor. His younger brother, Hidenaga, perished on the threshold of a career that promised to be illustrious; his infant son, Tsurumatsu, passed away in September, 1591, and Hideyoshi, being then in his fifty-fourth year, saw little prospect of becoming again a father. He therefore adopted his nephew, Hidetsugu, ceding to him the office of regent (kwampaku), and thus himself taking the title of Taiko, which by usage attached to an ex-regent.* Hidetsugu, then in his twenty-fourth year, had literary gifts and polite accomplishments much above the average. But traditions--of somewhat doubtful veracity, it must be admitted--attributed to him an inhuman love of taking life, and tell of the indulgence of that mood in shocking ways. On the other hand, if credence be due to these tales, it seems strange that they were not included in the accusations preferred finally against Hidetsugu by the Taiko, when the former's overthrow became advisable in the latter's eyes. For it did so become. Within less than two years of Hidetsugu's elevation to the post of regent, another son was born to Hideyoshi by the same lady, Yodo, the demise of whose child, Tsurumatsu, had caused Hideyoshi to despair of being succeeded by an heir of his own lineage. A niece of Oda Nobunaga, this lady was the eldest of three daughters whose mother shared the suicide of her husband, the great general, Shibata Katsuiye. Hideyoshi placed her among his consorts, bestowing upon her the castle of Yodo, hence her name, Yodogimi. Her rare beauty captivated the veteran statesman and soldier, and won for her suggestions a measure of deference which they did not intrinsically deserve. Soon the court became divided into two cliques, distinguished as the "civil" and the "military." At the head of the latter stood Hideyoshi's wife, Yae, a lady gifted with large discernment, who had shared all the vicissitudes of her husband's fortunes, and acted as his shrewd and loyal adviser on many occasions. With her were Kato Kiyomasa and other generals and nobles of distinction. The civil party espoused the cause of the lady Yodo, and among its followers was Ishida Katsushige, to whom chiefly the ultimate catastrophe is attributed by history. *It is by this title, "Taiko," that Hideyoshi is most frequently spoken of in History. The birth of Hideyori on August 29, 1593, immediately actuated the dissensions among these two cliques. Ishida Katsushige, acting in Hideyori's interests, set himself to convince the Taiko that Hidetsugu harboured treacherous designs, and Hideyoshi, too readily allowing himself to credit tales which promised to remove the one obstacle to his son's succession, ordered Hidetsugu to commit suicide, and at the same time (August 8, 1595), sentenced his concubines to be executed in the dry bed of the river Sanjo. Their heads, together with that of Hidetsugu himself, were buried in the same grave, over which was set a tablet bearing the inscription, "Tomb of the Traitor, Hidetsugu." To this day, historians remain uncertain as to Hidetsugu's guilt. If the evidence sufficed to convict him, it does not appear to have been transmitted to posterity. The Taiko was not by nature a cruel man. Occasionally fits of passion betrayed him to deeds of great violence. Thus, on one occasion he ordered the crucifixion of twenty youths whose sole offence consisted in scribbling on the gate-posts of the Juraku palace. But in cold blood he always showed himself forebearing, and letters written by his own hand to his mother, his wife, and others disclose an affectionate and sympathetic disposition. It would be unjust to assume that without full testimony such a man sentenced a whole family of his own relatives to be executed. ENGRAVING: MAEDA TOSHIIYE HIDEYOSHI'S DEATH A few months after the Daigo fete, Hideyoshi was overtaken by mortal sickness. His last days were tormented by the thought that all his skill as an organizer and all his power as a ruler were incompetent to devise a system such as would secure the succession to his child. In June, 1596, he had procured the investiture of Hideyori, then three years old, with the title of regent, and when, just two years later, his own sickness began to develop alarming features, he resolved to place all his trust in Ieyasu. After much thought three boards were ordered to be formed: one consisted of five senior ministers (dairo), its personnel being Tokugawa Ieyasu, Mori Terumoto, Ukita Hideiye, Maeda Toshiiye, and Uesugi Kagekatsu. By these five statesmen the great affairs of the empire were to be managed. The second board was formed with three nobles of lesser note. They were designated the "middle ministers" (churo), whose duty was to arbitrate between the board of senior ministers and the third board, namely that of five "administrators" (bugyo). This third board had been originally organized by Hideyoshi in 1585, but it had not, of course, been associated with the other two boards which came into existence after Hideyoshi's death, though its personnel and its functions remained throughout the same as they had been originally. Again and again, with almost pitiable iteration, the Taiko conjured the thirteen nobles forming these boards to protect Hideyori and to ensure to him the heirship of his father's great fortunes. Each was required to subscribe a written oath of eight articles: (1) That they would serve Hideyori with the same single-minded loyalty they had shown to his father. (2) That the rules of Hideyoshi's house were not to be altered; and that if, in the administration of public affairs, the five bugyo were unable to determine a course of action, they should consult Hideyori through Ieyasu and Toshiie; or, if necessary before taking action, the Emperor was to be consulted. (3) That there were to be no factions among them, personal considerations and partiality of every kind being excluded from their councils. (4) That they must endeavour to work together in the discharge of their duties, suppressing all petty jealousies and differences. (5) That, in settling matters, the opinion of the majority was usually to be followed, but, at the same time, if the opinion of the minority showed no sign of being dictated by personal interests, it should be duly considered. That without permission from Hideyori no administrator should dispose of any of his (the administrator's) territory to another person. (6) That all accounts were to be kept in a manner above suspicion; that there were to be no irregularities and no pursuing of personal interests; that no questions concerning landed estates should be dealt with during the minority of Hideyori; that no petitions should be presented to him, and that Ieyasu himself would neither ask for changes to be made in the matter of land-ownership nor accept any gift of land from Hideyori during the latter's minority. (7) That whatever Hideyori desired to have kept secret, whether connected with his private life or with the Government, must on no account be allowed to leak out. (8) That if any of the administrators or their subordinates found that they had unwittingly acted contrary to orders, they should at once report the fact to their superiors, who would then deal leniently with them. The above document was solemnly endorsed, the gods being called upon to punish any one violating its provisions. It was further ordered that Hidetada, son of Ieyasu, should give his daughter in marriage to Hideyori; that Ieyasu, residing in the Fushimi palace, should act as regent until Hideyori reached the age of fifteen, and that Maeda Toshiiye, governing the castle of Osaka, should act as guardian of Hideyori. It is recorded by some historians that the taiko conferred on Ieyasu discretionary power in the matter of Hideyori's succession, authorizing the Tokugawa baron to be guided by his own estimate of Hideyori's character as to whether the latter might be safely trusted to discharge the high duties that would devolve on him when he reached his majority. But the truth of this allegation is open to doubt. It may well have been invented, subsequently, by apologists for the line adopted by Ieyasu. Hideyoshi died on September 18, 1598. His last thoughts were directed to the troops in Korea. He is said to have addressed to Asano Nagamasa and Ishida Katsushige orders to go in person to the peninsula, and to provide that "the spirits of one hundred thousand Japanese soldiers serving there should not become disembodied in a foreign land." For a time the death of the great statesman was kept secret, but within three months the newly created boards found themselves strong enough to cope with the situation, and the remains of Hideyoshi were publicly interred at the shrine of Amida-ga-mine, near Kyoto. HIDEYOSHI'S CHARACTER In modern times many distinguished Japanese historians have undertaken to analyze Hideyoshi's character and attainments. They are divided in their estimate of his literary capacity. Some point to his letters, which, while they display a not inconsiderable familiarity with Chinese ideographs, show also some flagrant neglect of the uses of that script. Others refer to his alleged fondness for composing Japanese poems and adduce a verselet said to have been written by him on his death-bed: Ah! as the dew I fall, As the dew I vanish. Even Osaka fortress Is a dream within a dream. It is not certain, however, that Hideyoshi composed this couplet, and probably the truth is that his labours as a soldier and a statesman prevented him from paying more than transitory attention to literature. But there can be no question that he possessed an almost marvellous power of reading character, and that in devising the best exit from serious dilemmas and the wisest means of utilizing great occasions, he has had few equals in the history of the world. He knew well, also, how to employ pomp and circumstance and when to dispense with all formalities. Above all, in his choice of agents he never allowed himself to be trammelled by questions of birth or lineage, but chose his officers solely for the sake of their ability and attainments, and neither tradition nor convention had any influence on the appointments he made. He was passionate but not resentful, and he possessed the noble quality of not shrinking from confession of error. As for his military genius and his statecraft, it is only necessary to consider his achievements. They entitle him to stand in the very front of the world's greatest men. Turning to his legislation, we find much that illustrates the ethics of the time. It was in 1585 that he organized the board of five administrators, and the gist of the regulations issued in the following year for their guidance was as follows: (1) No subordinate shall leave his liege lord without the latter's permission, nor shall anyone give employment to a violator of this rule. (2) Farmers must remain on the land assigned to them and must never leave it untilled. On the other hand, landowners should visit their tenants and should investigate in company with the latter the actual amount of the harvest reaped. One-third of this should be left to the farmer and two-thirds should go to the owner of the land. (3) If owing to natural calamity the harvest be less than two bushels per acre, the whole of the yield shall go to the farmer. But if the harvest exceed that figure, it shall be divided in the proportions indicated in (2). (4) No farmer shall move away from his holding to avoid the land-tax or to escape forced labour. Anyone harbouring a violator of this rule shall expose to punishment not only himself but also the inhabitants of the entire village where he resides. (5) The lord of a fief must issue such instructions as shall guarantee his agricultural vassals against trouble or annoyance, and shall himself investigate local affairs instead of entrusting that duty to a substitute. Landowners who issue unreasonable orders to farmers shall be punished. (6) In calculating cubic contents, the regulated unit of measure shall be used, and two per cent, shall be the maximum allowance for shortage. (7) Embankments injured by floods and other mischief wrought by natural calamities must be repaired during the first month of the year when agriculturists are at leisure. In the case, however, of damage which exceeds the farmers' capacity to repair, the facts should be reported to the taiko who will grant necessary assistance. There follow various sumptuary regulations. We have next a series of interesting instructions known as "wall-writings" of the castle of Osaka: (1) Intermarriages between daimyo's families require the previous consent of the Taiko. (2) Neither daimyo nor shomyo is permitted to enter into secret engagements or to exchange written oaths, or to give or take hostages. (3) In a quarrel the one who forebears shall be recognized as having reason. (4) No man, whatever his income, should keep a large number of concubines. (5) The amount of sake imbibed should be limited to one's capacity. (6) The use of sedan-chairs shall be confined to Ieyasu, Toshiie, Kagekatsu, Terumoto, Takakage, the court nobles, and high priests. Even a daimyo, when young, should ride on horseback. Those over fifty years of age may use a sedan-chair when they have to travel a distance of over one ri (two and a half miles). Priests are exempted from this veto. Very interesting, too, is the Taiko Shikimoku, consisting of seventy-three articles, of which thirteen are translated as follows: (1) Free yourself from the thraldom of passion. (2) Avoid heavy drinking. (3) Be on your guard against women. (4) Be not contentious or disputatious. (5) Rise early. (6) Beware of practical jokes. (7) Think of your own future. (8) Do not tire of things. (9) Beware of thoughtless people. (10) Beware of fire. (11) Stand in awe of the law. (12) Set up fences in your hearts against wandering or extravagant thoughts. (13) Hold nobody in contempt. The sumptuary rules referred to above were that, so far as a man's means permitted, all garments except those worn in winter should be lined with silk, and that this exception did not apply to the members of the Toyotomi family a strange provision showing that Hideyoshi did not expect his own kith and kin to set an example of economy, however desirable that virtue might be in the case of society at large. Further, it was provided that no wadded garment should be worn after the 1st of April--corresponding to about the 1st of May in the Gregorian calendar; that pantaloons and socks must not be lined; that men of inferior position must not wear leather socks, and that samurai must use only half-foot sandals, a specially inexpensive kind of footgear. Finally, no one was permitted to employ a crest composed with the chrysanthemum and the Paulownia imperialis unless specially permitted by the Taiko, who used this design himself, though originally it was limited to the members of the Imperial family. So strict was this injunction that even in the case of renovating a garment which carried the kiku-kiri crest by permission, the badge might not be repeated on the restored garment. Supplementary regulations enjoined members of the priesthood, whether Buddhist or Shinto, to devote themselves to the study of literature and science, and to practise what they preached. Moreover, men of small means were urged not to keep more than one concubine, and to assign for even this one a separate house. It was strictly forbidden that anyone should go about with face concealed, a custom which had prevailed largely in previous eras. MOTIVES OF LEGISLATION The 7th of August, 1595, was the day of the Hidetsugu tragedy, and the above regulations and instructions were promulgated for the most part early in September of the same year. It is not difficult to trace a connexion. The provision against secret alliances and unsanctioned marriages between great families; the veto against passing from the service of one feudal chief to that of another without special permission, and the injunction against keeping many concubines were obviously inspired with the purpose of averting a repetition of the Hidetsugu catastrophe. Indirectly, the spirit of such legislation suggests that the signatories of these laws--Takakage, Terumoto, Toshiiye, Hideiye, and Ieyasu--attached some measure of credence to the indictment of treason preferred against Hidetsugu. AGRARIAN LAWS The agrarian legislation of Hideyoshi is worthy of special attention. It shows a marked departure from the days when the unit of rice measurement was a "handful" and when thirty-six handfuls made a "sheaf," the latter being the tenth part of the produce of a tan. In Hideyoshi's system, all cubic measurements were made by means of a box of accurately fixed capacity--10 go, which was the tenth part of a koku (5.13 bushels)--the allowance for short measure was limited to two per cent., and the rule of 360 tsubo to the tan (a quarter of an acre) was changed to 300 tsubo. At the same time (1583), land surveyors (kendenshi) were appointed to compile a map of the entire country. A similar step had been taken by the Ashikaga shogun, Yoshiteru, in 1553, but the processes adopted on that occasion were not by any means so accurate or scientific as those prescribed by the Taiko. The latter entrusted the work of survey to Nazuka Masaiye, with whom was associated the best mathematician of the era, Zejobo, and it is recorded that owing to the minute measures pursued by these surveyors and to the system of taking two-thirds of the produce for the landlord instead of one-half or even less, and owing, finally, to estimating the tan at 300 tsubo instead of at 360 without altering its taxable liability, the official revenue derived from the land throughout the empire showed a total increase of eight million koku, equivalent to about £11,000,000 or $54,000,000. Hideyoshi has been charged with extortion on account of these innovations. Certainly, there is a striking contrast between the system of Tenchi and that of Toyotomi. The former, genuinely socialistic, divided the whole of the land throughout the empire in equal portions among the units of the nation, and imposed a land-tax not in any case exceeding five per cent, of the gross produce. The latter, frankly feudalistic, parcelled out the land into great estates held by feudal chiefs, who allotted it in small areas to farmers on condition that the latter paid sixty-six per cent, of the crops to the lord of the soil. But in justice to Hideyoshi, it must be owned that he did not devise this system. He was not even the originator of its new methods, namely, the abbreviation of the tan and the expansion of the rate. Both had already been put into practice by other daimyo. It must further be noted that Hideyoshi's era was essentially one of war. The outlays that he was obliged to make were enormous and perpetual. He became accustomed, as did his contemporary barons, to look lightly at vast expenditure. Not otherwise can we account for the fact that, within the brief period of eleven years, he undertook and completed five great works involving enormous cost. These works were the Osaka Castle, in 1583; a palace for the retiring Emperor Okimachi, in 1586; the palace of Juraku, in 1587; the Kyoto Daibutsu, in 1586, and the Momo-yama Palace, in 1594. What sum these outlays aggregated no attempt has been made to calculate accurately, but the figure must have been immense. In fact, when Hideyoshi's financial measures are considered, it should always be in the context of his achievements and his necessities. COINS Another important feature of Hideyoshi's era was the use of coins. During the time of the Ashikaga shogunate, two kinds of gold coins were minted, and both were called after the name of the era when they first went into circulation; they were known as the Shocho koban (1428-1429) and the Tembun koban (1532-1555). But these coins were so rare that they can scarcely be said to have been current. As tokens of exchange, copper coins were imported from China, and were known in Japan as Eiraku-sen, Eiraku being the Japanese pronunciation of the Chinese era, Yunglo. These were of pure metal, and side by side with them were circulated an essentially inferior iron coin struck in Japan and known as bita-sen. Oda Nobunaga, appreciating the disastrous effects produced by such currency confusion, had planned remedial measures when death overtook him, and the task thus devolved upon Hideyoshi. Fortunately, the production of gold and silver in Japan increased greatly at this epoch, owing to the introduction of scientific metallurgical methods from Europe. The gold mines of Sado and the silver mines of Ikuno quadrupled or quintupled their output, and Hideyoshi caused an unprecedented quantity of gold and silver coins to be struck; the former known as the Tensho koban and the Tensho oban,* and the latter as the silver bu (ichibu-giri) and the silver half-bu (nishu-gin.) *The oban was an oval plate measuring 7 inches by 4, and weighing 53 ounces. It contained 63.84 per cent, of gold and 20 per cent, of silver. The koban was one-tenth of the value of the oban. Gold and silver thenceforth became the standards of value, and as the mines at Sado and Ikuno belonged to the Government, that is to say, to Hideyoshi, his wealth suddenly received a conspicuous increase. That he did possess great riches is proved by the fact that when, in September, 1596, a terrible earthquake overthrew Momo-yama Castle and wrecked all the great structures referred to above, involving for Hideyoshi a loss of "three million pieces of gold," he is described as having treated the incident with the utmost indifference, merely directing that works of reparation should be taken in hand forthwith. The records say that Osaka Castle, which had suffered seriously and been rendered quite uninhabitable, was put in order and sumptuously fitted up within the short space of six weeks. Of course, much of the resulting expense had to be borne by the great feudatories, but the share of Hideyoshi himself cannot have been inconsiderable. LITERATURE, ART, AND COMMERCE It has already been shown that in spite of the disorder and unrest which marked the military era, that era saw the birth of a great art movement under the Ashikaga shogun, Yoshimasa. It has now to be noted that this movement was rapidly developed under the Taiko. "The latter it was whose practical genius did most to popularize art. Although his early training and the occupations of his life until a late period were not calculated to educate esthetic taste, he devoted to the cause of art a considerable portion of the sovereign power that his great gifts as a military leader and a politician had brought him." His earnest patronage of the tea ceremonial involved the cultivation of literature, and although he himself did not excel in that line, he did much to promote the taste for it in others. In the field of industrial art, however, his influence was much more marked. Not only did he bestow munificent allowances on skilled artists and art artisans, but also he conferred on them distinctions which proved stronger incentives than any pecuniary remuneration, and when he built the celebrated mansions of Juraku and Momo-yama, so vast were the sums that he lavished on their decoration, and such a certain passport to his favour did artistic merit confer, that the little town of Fushimi quickly became the art capital of the empire, and many of the most skilful painters, lacquerers, metal-workers, and wood-carvers within the Four Seas congregated there. Historians speak with profound regret of the dismantling and destruction of these splendid edifices a few years after the Taiko's death; but it is more than probable that the permanent possession of even such monuments of applied art could not have benefited the country nearly as much as did their destruction. For the immediate result was an exodus of all the experts who, settling at Fushimi, had become famous for the sake of their Momo-yama work. They scattered among the fiefs of the most powerful provincial nobles, who received them hospitably and granted them liberal revenues. From that time, namely, the close of the sixteenth century, there sprang up an inter-fief rivalry of artistic production which materially promoted the development of every branch of art and encouraged refinement of life and manners. Not less noteworthy in the history of this military epoch is the improvement that took place in the social status of the merchant during the sixteenth century. Much was due to the liberal views of the Taiko. He encouraged commercial voyages by his countrymen to Macao and to Cambodia, to Annam, and to other places. Nine ships engaged in this trade every year. They carried licences bearing the Taiko's vermilion stamp, and the ports of departure were Nagasaki, Osaka, and Sakai. ENGRAVING: SIGNATURE OF TOKUGAWA IEYASU ENGRAVING: MOUNTAIN "KAGO" CHAPTER XXXVII CHRISTIANITY IN JAPAN DISCOVERY OF JAPAN BY EUROPEANS THE Portuguese discovered Japan in 1542 or 1543--the precise date is not known. Three of them, travelling by junk from Spain to Macao, were driven from their course and landed at Tanegashima, a small island off the south of Kyushu. The strangers were hospitably received by the Japanese, and great interest was excited by their arquebuses, the first firearms ever seen in Japan. It was, of course, out of the question to hold any oral direct conversation, but a Chinese member of the junk's crew, by tracing ideographs upon the sand, explained the circumstances of the case. Ultimately, the junk was piloted to a convenient port, and very soon the armourers of the local feudatory were busily engaged manufacturing arquebuses. News of the discovery of Japan circulated quickly, and several expeditions were fitted out by Portuguese settlements in the Orient to exploit the new market. All steered for Kyushu, and thus the Island of the Nine Provinces became the principal stage for European intercourse during the second half of the sixteenth century. THE JESUITS There were, at that time, not a few Jesuits at Macao, Goa, and other outposts of Western commerce in the Far East. But not until 1549 was any attempt made to proselytize Japan. On August 15th of that year, Francis Xavier, a Jesuit priest, landed at Kagoshima. Before his coming, the Portuguese traders had penetrated as far as Kyoto, which they reported to be a city of some ninety-six thousand houses, and their experience of the people had been very favourable, especially with regard to receptivity of instruction. Xavier was weary of attempting to convert the Indians, whom he had found "barbarous, vicious, and without inclination to virtue," and his mind had been turned towards Japan by a message from a Japanese daimyo (whose identity and reasons for inviting him have never been explained), and by a personal appeal from a Japanese, whose name appears in Portuguese annals as "Anjiro," and who, having committed a serious crime in Japan, had taken refuge in a Portuguese vessel, whose master advised him to repair to Malacca and confess his sins to Xavier. This man, Anjiro, already possessed some knowledge of the Portuguese language, and he soon became sufficiently proficient in it to act as interpreter, thus constituting a valuable aid to the Portuguese propagandists. Xavier, with two fellow countrymen and Anjiro, repaired to Kagoshima, where the Satsuma baron gave them unqualified permission to preach their doctrine. Not that he had any sympathy with Christianity, about which he knew nothing, but solely because he wished to secure a share in the oversea commerce which had brought so much wealth to his fellow barons on the main island. He thought, in short, that the Jesuits would be followed by merchant ships, and when Portuguese trading vessels did actually appear in the Satsuma waters, but, instead of making any stay there, passed on to the comparatively petty principality of Hirado, Xavier and his comrades were quickly ordered to leave Kagoshima. It seems, also, that Xavier's zeal had outrun his discretion. The Buddhist priests in Kagoshima were ready at first to listen respectfully to his doctrines, but were quickly alienated by his aggressive intolerance. They urged upon the Satsuma baron the dangers that attended such propagandism, and he, already smarting from commercial disappointment, issued an edict, in 1550, declaring it a capital offence to embrace Christianity. The edict was not retrospective. About one hundred and fifty converts whom Xavier, aided by Anjiro, had won during his two years' sojourn, were not molested, but Xavier himself passed on to the island of Hirado, where he was received by salvos of artillery from Portuguese vessels lying in harbour. Matsuura, the Hirado baron, had already been captivated by the commerce of the newcomers, and seeing the marked reverence extended by them to Xavier, the baron issued orders that respectful attention should be paid to the teaching of the foreign propagandist. Doubtless owing in large part to these orders, one hundred converts were made during the first ten days of Xavier's residence in Hirado. It was, in fact, evident that the attitude of the official classes towards the new-comers was mainly influenced by the prospect of trade, and that the attitude of the non-official classes towards the foreign religion depended largely on the mood of their superiors. Xavier argued that "if the favour of such a small prince was so potent for the conversion of his subjects, it would be quite another thing if he (Xavier) could have the protection of the Emperor." He therefore, resolved to visit Kyoto. His journey took him in the first place to Yamaguchi, capital of the Choshu fief. This town lay on the northern shore of Shimonoseki Strait, and had long been the principal emporium of trade with China and Korea. But the ruler of the fief, though courteous to the new-comers, evinced no disposition to show any special cordiality towards humble missionaries unconnected with commerce. Therefore, finding that their preaching produced little effect, Xavier and his companion, Fernandez, continued their journey to Kyoto, which they reached after travelling for nearly two months on foot in the depth of winter. It happened, however, that the capital was then suffering sharply from the effects of internecine strife, and the two missionaries failed to obtain access to either the sovereign or the shogun. Nothing remained, therefore, but recourse to street preaching, and for this they were ill equipped, for Xavier, constitutionally a bad linguist, knew very little of the Japanese language, and his companion, Fernandez, even less, while as for Anjiro, he had remained in Kagoshima. After devoting a few days to this unproductive task, Xavier returned to Yamaguchi. He had not made any converts in Kyoto, but he had learned a useful lesson, namely, that religious propagandism, to be successful in Japan, must be countenanced by the ruling classes. He therefore caused his canonicals to be sent to him from Hirado, together with his credentials from the viceroy of India, the governor of Malacca, and the bishop of Goa. These documents he submitted to the Choshu baron, accompanying them with certain rare objects of European manufacture, including a clock and a harpsicord. A permit to preach Christianity was now obtained without difficulty, and the Yamaguchi officials went so far as to issue a proclamation expressing approval of the Western religion and granting entire liberty to embrace it. An empty Buddhist monastery was assigned as a residence for Xavier and his companions, and the fact is certainly an eloquent testimony to the magnanimity of the Buddhist priests. Many converts were now made, and fresh proof was obtained that the road to success lay in associating propagandism with commerce. It was nearly a decade since the Portuguese had effected their first landing on Tanegashima, and throughout that interval trade had flourished in their hands. They had not sought any new markets on the main island; first, because their ignorance of the coasts rendered navigation risky; and, secondly, because internecine war raged throughout almost the whole of the main island, whereas Kyushu enjoyed comparative tranquillity. Xavier now took advantage of a Portuguese vessel which called at Yamaguchi en route for Bungo, a province on the eastern littoral of Kyushu. His intention was to return for a time to the Indies, but on reaching Bungo he learned that its ruler, Otomo, wielded exceptional power and showed a disposition to welcome the Jesuit father. This Otomo was destined ultimately to act a leading part on the stage of Christianity in Japan. Xavier now had recourse to methods suggested by his recent experiences. On a visit to Otomo he caused himself to be escorted by a large number of the Portuguese crew, who wore rich garments, carried arms, and flaunted banners. This procedure seems to have weighed cogently with Otomo, who was keenly desirous of attracting foreign traders and obtaining from them not only wealth but also novel and effective weapons of war. Seeing that Xavier was almost deified by the Portuguese, Otomo naturally applied himself to win the good-will of the Jesuits, and for that purpose not only accorded to them entire liberty to teach and to preach, but also despatched a messenger to his younger brother (who had just succeeded to the lordship of Yamaguchi), advising him to protect the two Jesuits then residing there, namely, Torres and Fernandez. Xavier remained four months in Bungo and then set sail for Goa in February, 1552. He died in December of the same year, and thus his intention of returning to Japan was defeated. His stay in Japan had lasted twenty-seven months, and in that interval he and his comrades had won some 760 converts. RESULTS OF PROPAGANDISM It is worth while to recapitulate here the main events during this first epoch of Christian propagandism in Japan. It has been shown that in more than a year's labours in Kagoshima, Xavier, with the assistance of Anjiro as an interpreter, obtained 150 believers. Now, "no language lends itself with greater difficulty than Japanese to the discussion of theological questions. The terms necessary for such a purpose are not current among laymen, and only by special study, which, it need scarcely be said, must be preluded by accurate acquaintance with the tongue itself, can a man hope to become duly equipped for the task of exposition and dissertation. It is open to grave doubt whether any foreigner has ever attained the requisite proficiency. Leaving Anjiro in Kagoshima, to care for the converts made there, Xavier pushed on to Hirado, where he baptized a hundred Japanese in a few days. Now, we have it on the authority of Xavier himself that, in this Hirado campaign, 'none of us knew Japanese.' How, then, did they proceed? 'By reciting a semi-japanese volume' (a translation made by Anjiro of a treatise from Xavier's pen) 'and by delivering sermons, we brought several over to the Christian cult.' "Sermons preached in Portuguese or Latin to a Japanese audience on the island of Hirado in the year 1550 can scarcely have attracted intelligent interest. On his first visit to Yamaguchi, Xavier's means of access to the understanding of his hearers was confined to the rudimentary knowledge of Japanese which Fernandez had been able to acquire in fourteen months, a period of study which, in modern times with all the aids now procurable, would not suffice to carry a student beyond the margin of the colloquial. No converts were won. The people of Yamaguchi probably admired the splendid faith and devotion of these over-sea philosophers, but as for their doctrine, it was unintelligible. In Kyoto, the same experience was repeated with an addition of much physical hardship. But, when the Jesuits returned to Yamaguchi in the early autumn of 1551, they baptized five hundred persons, including several members of the military class. Still Fernandez with his broken Japanese was the only medium for communicating the profound doctrines of Christianity. It must be concluded that the teachings of the missionaries produced much less effect than the attitude of the local chieftain."* *Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th edition; article "Japan," by Brinkley. But the Jesuits have not left any misgivings on record. They relate that during Xavier's sojourn in Bungo he had numerous public debates--one continuing for five days--with Buddhist priests, but even Fernandez not being available as an interpreter, these debates must have been either farcical or imaginary, though brilliant results are claimed for them by the Church historians. That Xavier himself was not satisfied is proved by his determination to transfer his ministrations to China, for he said, "if the Chinese adopt the Christian religion, the Japanese also will abandon the religions they have introduced from China." SECOND PERIOD OF PROPAGANDISM Torres and Fernandez remained in Japan after Xavier's departure and were there joined soon afterwards by three others. The new-comers landed at Kagoshima and found that the Satsuma baron was as keen as ever in welcoming foreign trade, although his attitude towards the alien religion continued antipathetic. Bungo now became the headquarters of the Jesuits in Japan. Local disturbances had compelled them to leave Yamaguchi, where their disputes with Buddhist priests had become so violent that an official proscription of the Western religion was pronounced. In Funai, the capital of the province of Bungo, they built their first church in Japan and also a hospital. From that place, too, they began to send yearly reports known as the Annual Letters to their generals in Rome, and these Letters give an interesting insight into the conditions then existing in Japan. The writers "describe a state of abject poverty among the lower orders--poverty so cruel that the destruction of children by their famishing parents was an every-day occurrence." This terrible state of affairs was due to the civil wars which had entered their most violent phase in the Onin era (1467-1468), and had continued without intermission ever since. The trade carried on by the Portuguese did not, however, suffer any interruption. Their vessels repaired to Hirado as well as to Funai, and the masters and seamen of the ships appear to have treated the missionaries with such scrupulous respect that the Japanese formed an almost exaggerated conception of the civil influence wielded by the religionists. It further appears that in those early days the Portuguese seamen refrained from the riotous excesses which had already won for them a most unenviable reputation in China. In fact, their good conduct constituted an object lesson in the interests of Christianity. We learn, incidentally that, in 1557, two of the fathers, visiting Hirado at the instance of some Portuguese sailors who felt in want of religious ministrations, organized a kind of propagandism which anticipated the methods of the Salvation Army. They "sent brothers to parade the streets, ringing bells, and chaunting litanies; they organized bands of boys for the same purpose; they caused the converts, and even children, to flagellate themselves at a model of Mount Calvary, and they worked miracles, healing the sick by contact with scourges or with a booklet in which Xavier had written litanies and prayers. It may well be imagined that such doings attracted surprised attention in Japan. They were supplemented by even more striking practices. For a sub-feudatory of the Hirado chief, having been converted, showed his zeal by destroying Buddhist temples and throwing down the idols, thus inaugurating a campaign of violence destined to mark the progress of Christianity throughout the greater part of its history in Japan. There followed the overthrowing of a cross in the Christian cemetery, the burning of a temple in the town of Hirado, and a street riot, the sequel being that the Jesuit fathers were compelled to return once more to Bungo."* *Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th edition; article "Japan," by Brinkley. All this conveys an idea of the guise under which Christianity was presented originally to the Japanese. Meanwhile, the Portuguese traders did not allow their commerce to be interrupted by any misfortunes which overtook the Jesuits. Hirado continued to be frequented by Portuguese merchantmen, and news of the value of their trade induced Sumitada, feudatory of Omura, to invite the Jesuits in Bungo to his fief, offering them a free port for ten years, an extensive tract of land, a residence for the missionaries, and other privileges. This induced the Hirado feudatory to revoke the edict which he had issued against the Jesuits, and they were preparing to take advantage of his renewed hospitality when a Portuguese merchantman entered Hirado. Its appearance convinced the local chieftain that trade could be had without the accompaniment of religion, towards which he renewed his hostility. When, however, this change of demeanour was communicated to Funai, the Jesuit leader, Torres, hastened thence to Hirado, and induced the master of the merchantman to leave the port on the ground that he could not remain in a country where they maltreated those who professed the same religion as himself. Thereafter, for some years, Hirado remained outside the pale of foreign trade. But ultimately three merchant vessels appeared in the offing and announced their willingness to put in provided that the anti-Christian ban was removed. This remonstrance proved effective. A parallel case occurred a few years later in the island of Amakusa. There a petty baron, avowedly for the purpose of attracting foreign trade, embraced Christianity and required all his vassals to follow his example. But when no Portuguese ship arrived, he apostatized; ordered his vassals to return to their old faith, and expelled the missionaries. "In fact, the competition for the patronage of Portuguese traders was so keen that the Hirado feudatory attempted to burn several of their vessels because they frequented the territorial waters of his neighbour and rival, Sumitada. The latter became a most stalwart Christian when his wish was gratified. He set himself to eradicate idolatry throughout his fief with the strong arm, and his fierce intolerance provoked revolts which ended in the destruction of the Christian town at the newly opened free port. Sumitada, however, quickly reasserted his authority, and five years later (1567), he took a step which had far-reaching consequences, namely, the building of a church at Nagasaki, in order that Portuguese commerce might have a centre and the Christians an assured asylum. Nagasaki was then a little fishing village. In five years it grew to be a town of thirty thousand inhabitants, and Sumitada became one of the richest of the Kyushu feudatories."* *Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th edition; article "Japan," by Brinkley. This baron appears to have been sincere in his adoption of the foreign religion. "When in 1573, successful conflicts with neighbouring fiefs brought him an access of territory, he declared that he owed these victories to the influence of the Christian God, and shortly afterwards he proclaimed banishment for all who would not accept the foreign faith. There were then no Jesuits by his side, but immediately two hastened to join him, and 'these accompanied by a strong guard, but yet not without danger of their lives, went round causing the churches of the Gentiles, with their idols, to be thrown down to the ground, while three Japanese Christians went preaching the law of God everywhere.'" They further record that three fathers who were in the neighbouring fief "all withdrew therefrom to work in this abundant harvest, and in the space of seven months twenty thousand persons were baptized, including the bonzes of about sixty monasteries."* The Jesuit vice-provincial (Francis Cabral), relating these events, speaks with marked satisfaction of the abasement of the Buddhist priests, and adds, "That these should now come to such a humility that they throw themselves on the ground before two ragged members of the Company is one of the miracles worked by the Divine Majesty." *Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th edition; article "Japan," by Brinkley. In Funai things were by no means so satisfactory. The Jesuits, as stated above, had a hospital there, which had been built at the charges of a devout Portuguese. But Francis Cabral, writing from Bungo, in 1576, said: "Down to this hour the Christians have been so abject and vile that they have shown no desire to acknowledge themselves, partly from being few in the midst of so many Gentiles, partly because the said Christianity began in the hospital where we cure the people of low condition and those suffering from contagious diseases, like the French evil and such others. Whence the Gospel came to be of such little reputation that no man of position would dare to accept it (although it seemed good and true to him) merely lest he should be confounded with this rabble (con quella plebe). And although we gave much edification with such works, the thing nevertheless was a great obstacle to the spread of the holy faith. And thus, during the twenty years we have had a residence in Funai, one gentleman became a Christian, and this after having been cured of the said evil in his house; but as soon as he was cured he afterwards thought it shame to acknowledge his Christianity in the presence of others." This most disheartening record underwent a complete change in 1576, when the son of the Bungo feudatory, a youth of some sixteen years, and, two years later, the feudatory himself, Otomo, embraced the Christian faith. In the first Annual Letter sent to Rome after these events a striking admission is made: "It is Otomo, next to God, whom the Jesuits have to thank for their success in Japan." This appreciation looks somewhat exaggerated when placed side by side with the incidents that occurred in Sumitada's fief, as related above. Nevertheless, Otomo certainly did render powerful aid, not within his own fief alone but also through his influence elsewhere. Thus, he did not hesitate to have recourse to arms in order to obtain for the Jesuits access to the island of Amakusa, where one of the local barons, tempted originally by tradal prospects and afterwards urged by his wife, called upon his vassals to choose between conversion or exile, and issued an order that any Buddhist priests refusing to accept Christianity would have their property confiscated and their persons banished. Practically the whole population became converts under the pressure of these edicts, and it is thus seen that Christianity owed much of its success in Kyushu to methods which recall Islam and the Inquisition. Another illustration of this is furnished by the Arima fief, which adjoined that of Omura where Sumitada ruled. The heads of these two fiefs were brothers, and thus when Sumitada embraced Christianity the Jesuits received an invitation to visit Arima at the ports of Kuchinotsu and Shimabara, where from that time Portuguese ships repaired frequently. In 1576, the Arima baron, seeing the prosperity and power which had followed the conversion of his brother Sumitada, accepted baptism and became the "Prince Andrew" of missionary records. In those records we read that "the first thing Prince Andrew did after his baptism was to convert the chief temple of his capital into a church, its revenues being assigned for the maintenance of the building and the support of the missionaries. He then took measures to have the same thing done in the other towns of his fief, and he seconded the preachers of the Gospel so well in everything else that he could flatter himself that he soon would not have one single idolater in his states." This fanatical "Prince Andrew" survived his baptism by two years only, but during that time twenty thousand converts were made in Arima. His successor, however, was a believer in Buddhism. He caused the Christian churches to be destroyed and the crosses to be thrown down; he ordered the Jesuits to quit his dominions, and he required the converts to return to Buddhism. Under this pressure about one-half of the converts apostatized, but the rest threatened to leave Kuchinotsu en masse. However this would have meant the loss of foreign trade, and as a result of this circumstance the anti-Christian edicts were radically modified. Just at that time, also, a fortunate incident occurred. It had become the custom for a large vessel from Macao to visit Japan every year, and the advent of this ship had great importance from a commercial point of view. It chanced that she made the port of Kuchinotsu her place of call in 1578, and her presence suggested such a pleasing outcome that the feudatory embraced Christianity and allowed his vassals to do the same. By this "great ship from Macao" the Jesuit vice-general, Valegnani was a passenger. A statesman as well as a preacher, this astute politician made such a clever use of the opportunity that, in 1580, "all the city was made Christian, and the people burned their idols and destroyed forty temples, reserving some materials to build churches." RESULTS OF THE FIRST THREE DECADES OF PROPAGANDISM The record achieved by the Christian propagandists up to this time was distinctly satisfactory. In the Annual Letter of 1582 we find it stated that, at the close of 1581, that is to say, thirty-two years after Xavier's landing in Japan there were about 150,000 converts. Of these some 125,000 were in Kyushu; the remainder in Yamaguchi, Kyoto, and the vicinity of the latter city. As for the Jesuits in Japan, they then numbered seventy-five, but down to the year 1563 there had never been more than nine. "The harvest was certainly great in proportion to the number of sowers. But it was a harvest mainly of artificial growth, forced by despotic insistence of feudal chiefs who possessed the power of life and death over their vassals, and were influenced by a desire to attract foreign trade." BUDDHISM AND CHRISTIANITY "To the Buddhist priests this movement of Christian propagandism had brought an experience hitherto almost unknown in Japan--persecution solely on account of creed. They had suffered for interfering in politics, but the cruel vehemence of the Christian fanatic may be said to have now become known for the first time to men themselves usually conspicuous for tolerance of heresy and for receptivity of instruction. They had had little previous experience of humanity in the garb of an Otomo of Bungo, who, in the words of Crasset, Svent to the chase of the bonzes as to that of wild beasts, and made it his singular pleasure to exterminate them from his states.'"* *Encyclopedia Britannica, 11th edition; article "Japan," by Brinkley. JAPANESE EMBASSY TO EUROPE Another important result of the coming of Valegnani to Japan was that, in 1582, an embassy sailed from Nagasaki for Europe. It consisted of four young men, representing the fiefs of Arima, Omura, and Bungo, and it is related that at Lisbon, Madrid, and Rome they were received with an elaborate show of dazzling magnificence, so that they carried back to their island home a vivid impression of the might and wealth of Western countries. KYOTO AND CHRISTIANITY It has already been shown that the visit to Kyoto by Xavier and Fernandez was wholly unsuccessful. Such was not the case, however, when another visit was made to the same city by Vilela, in the year 1559. This eminent missionary had been invited to Kyoto by the abbot of the celebrated Buddhist monastery of Hiei-zan, who desired to investigate the Christian doctrine. It is to be noted that, at this time, Christian propagandism in Kyushu had not yet begun to be disfigured by acts of violence. Vilela carried letters of introduction from the Bungo feudatory, but before he reached the capital the Buddhist abbot of Hiei-zan had died, and his successor did not show the same liberal spirit of inquiry. Still, Vilela was permitted to expound his doctrines in the presence of a gathering of priests in the great monastery, and afterwards the good offices of one of these bonzes, supplemented by the letter of the Bungo feudatory, procured for the Jesuit father the honour of being received by the shogun, Yoshiteru, who treated him with much consideration and assigned a house for his residence. Vilela does not seem to have allowed himself to be influenced in any degree by the aid that he received on this occasion from his Buddhist friend, who is described as "one of the most respected men in the city." The Jesuit father seized the first opportunity to denounce Buddhism and its followers in unmeasured terms, and soon the bonzes began to intrigue with corresponding vehemence for the expulsion of the foreign propagandists. But the shogun extended his protection to Vilela, by issuing a decree which made it a capital punishment to injure the missionaries or obstruct their work. The times, however, were very troublous, so that Vilela and his fellow workers had to encounter much difficulty and no little danger. Nothing, however, damped their ardour, and five years after their arrival in Kyoto they had not only obtained many converts but had organized churches in five towns within a radius of fifty miles from the capital. Two incidents may be specially mentioned illustrating the loyal spirit with which the Japanese of that time approached controversy. Among Vilela's converts were two Buddhist priests who had been nominated officially to investigate and report upon the novel doctrines, and who, in the sequel of their investigation, openly embraced Christianity though they had originally been vehemently opposed to it. The second incident was the conversion of a petty feudatory, Takayama, whose fief lay at Takatsuki in the vicinity of the capital. He challenged Vilela to a public discussion of the merits of the two creeds, and being vanquished, he frankly acknowledged his defeat, adopted Christianity, and invited his vassals as well as his family to follow his example. His son, Yusho, became one of the most loyal supporters of Christianity in all Japan. He is the "Don Justo Ukondono" of the Jesuits' annals. NOBUNAGA AND CHRISTIANITY At the time of Vilela's visit to Kyoto civil war was raging. It led to the death of the shogun, Yoshiteru, and to the issue of an Imperial decree proscribing Christianity, Vilela and his two comrades were obliged to take refuge in the town of Sakai, and they remained there during three years, when they were invited to an interview with Oda Nobunaga, who, at this time, had risen almost to the pinnacle of his immense power. Had Nobunaga shown himself hostile to Christianity, the latter's fate in Japan would have been quickly sealed; but not only was he a man of wide and liberal views, but also he harboured a strong antipathy against the Buddhists, whose armed interference in politics had caused him much embarrassment. He welcomed Christianity largely as an opponent of Buddhism, and when Takayama conducted Froez from Sakai to Nobunaga's presence, the Jesuit received a cordial welcome. Thenceforth, during the fourteen remaining years of his life, Nobunaga steadily befriended the missionaries in particular and foreign visitors to Japan in general. He stood between the Jesuits and the Throne when, in reply to an appeal from Buddhist priests, the Emperor Okimachi, for the second time, issued an anti-Christian decree (1568); he granted a site for a church and a residence at Azuchi on Lake Biwa, where his new castle stood; he addressed to various powerful feudatories letters signifying a desire for the spread of Christianity; he frequently made handsome presents to the fathers, and whenever they visited him he showed himself accessible and gracious. The Jesuits said of him: "This man seems to have been chosen by God to open and prepare the way for our faith. In proportion to the intensity of his enmity to the bonzes and their sects is his good-will towards our fathers who preach the law of God, whence he has shown them so many favours that his subjects are amazed and unable to divine what he is aiming at in this. I will only say that, humanly speaking, what has above all given great credit and reputation to the fathers is the great favour Nobunaga has shown for the Company." It is not to be supposed, however, that Nobunaga's attitude towards the Jesuits signified any belief in their doctrines. In 1579, he took a step which showed plainly that policy as a statesman ranked much higher in his estimation than duty towards religion. For, in order to ensure the armed assistance of a certain feudatory, a professing Christian, Nobunaga seized the Jesuits in Kyoto, and threatened to ban their religion altogether unless they persuaded the feudatory to adopt Nobunaga's side. Nevertheless, that Christianity benefited much by his patronage there can be no dissentient opinion. HIDEYOSHI AND CHRISTIANITY After Nobunaga's death, in 1582, the supreme power fell into the hands of Hideyoshi, and had he chosen to exercise it, he could have easily undone the whole work hitherto achieved by the Jesuits at the cost of much effort and devotion. But, at first, Hideyoshi followed Nobunaga's example. He not only accorded a friendly audience to Father Organtino, as representative of the fathers, but also he went in person to assign to the Company a site for a church and a residence in Osaka. At this time, "many Christian converts were serving in high positions, and in 1584, the Jesuits placed it on record that 'Hideyoshi was not only not opposed to the things of God, but he even showed that he made much account of them (the fathers) and preferred them to all the sects of the bonzes. . . He is entrusting to Christians his treasures, his secrets, and his fortresses of most importance, and he shows himself well pleased that the sons of the great lords about him should adopt our customs and our law.' Two years later in Osaka he received with every mark of cordiality and favour a Jesuit mission which had come from Nagasaki seeking audience, and on that occasion his visitors recorded that he spoke of an intention of christianizing one half of Japan." Nor did he confine himself to licensing the missionaries to preach throughout all Japan: he exempted not only churches from the billeting of soldiers but also the priests themselves from local burdens. "This was in 1586, on the eve of his great military enterprise, the invasion of Kyushu. . . He carried that difficult campaign to completion by the middle of 1587, and throughout its course he maintained a uniformly friendly demeanour toward the Jesuits. But suddenly, when on the return journey he reached Hakata in the north of the island, his policy underwent a radical metamorphosis. Five questions were by his orders propounded to the vice-provincial of the Jesuits: 'Why and by what authority he and his fellow propagandists had constrained Japanese subjects to become Christians? Why they had induced their disciples and their sectaries to overthrow temples? Why they persecuted the bonzes? Why they and other Portuguese ate animals useful to men, such as oxen and cows? Why the vice-provincial allowed merchants of his nation to buy Japanese and make slaves of them in the Indies?' To these queries Coelho, the vice-provincial, made answer that the missionaries had never themselves resorted, or incited, to violence in their propagandism, or persecuted bonzes; that if their eating of beef was considered inadvisable, they would give up the practice, and that they were powerless to prevent or restrain the outrages perpetrated by their countrymen. Hideyoshi read the vice-provincial's reply and, without comment, sent him word to retire to Hirado, assemble all his followers there, and quit the country within six months. On the next day (July 25, 1587) the following edict was published: 'Having learned from our faithful councillors that foreign priests have come into our estates, where they preach a law contrary to that of Japan, and that they have even had the audacity to destroy temples dedicated to our Kami and Hotoke; although the outrage merits the most extreme punishment, wishing nevertheless to show them mercy, we order them under pain of death to quit Japan within twenty days. During that space no harm or hurt will be done, to them. But at the expiration of that term, we order that if any of them be found in our estates, they should be seized and punished as the greatest criminals. As for the Portuguese merchants, we permit them to enter our ports, there to continue their accustomed trade, and to remain in our estates provided our affairs need this. But we forbid them to bring any foreign priests into the country, under the penalty of the confiscation of their ships and goods.'"* *Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th edition; article "Japan," by Brinkley. How are we to account for this seemingly rapid change of mood on Hideyoshi's part? A comparison of dates furnishes some assistance in replying to that question. The Kyushu campaign took place in 1587, and it was in 1586 that Hideyoshi commenced the construction of the colossal image of Buddha in Kyoto. The Taiko was by no means a religious man. That is amply shown by the stories told in the previous pages. But his political sagacity taught him that to continue Nobunaga's crusade against Buddhism would not be wise statesmanship, and that if the bonzes could be disarmed and diverted from military pursuits, they would become useful agents of intellectual and moral progress. His idea of setting up a gigantic idol in the capital marked his final substitution of a conciliatory programme for the fiercely destructive methods of Nobunaga. Of necessity he had, then, to reconsider his demeanour towards Christianity, and it is on record that before leaving Osaka for Kyushu he publicly stated, "I fear much that all the virtue of the European priests is merely a mask of hypocrisy and serves only to conceal pernicious designs against the empire." Then, in Kyushu, two things influenced him strongly. One was that he now saw with his own eyes what militant Christianity really meant--ruined temples, overthrown idols, and coerced converts. Such excesses had not disgraced Christian propagandism in Kyoto or in the metropolitan provinces, but in Kyushu the unsightly story was forced upon Hideyoshi's attention. The second special feature of the situation in Kyushu was that relations of an altogether exceptional character were established between Hideyoshi and Kennyo, abbot of the Shin sect. By the contrivance of that prelate, Hideyoshi's troops were enabled to follow a secret road to the stronghold of the Satsuma baron, and in return for such valuable services Hideyoshi may well have been persuaded to proscribe Christianity. Some importance, though probably of a less degree, attaches also to the last of the five questions propounded by Hideyoshi to the vice-provincial--why the priests allowed merchants of their nation to buy Japanese subjects and carry them into slavery in the Indies. It was in Kyushu only that these abuses were perpetrated. With respect to this matter the following passage appears in the archives of the Academy of History at Madrid: "Even the Lascars and scullions of the Portuguese purchase and carry slaves away. Hence it happens that many of them die on the voyage, because they are heaped up one upon the other, and if their master fall sick (these masters are sometimes Kaffirs and the negroes of the Portuguese), the slaves are not cared for. It even often happens that the Kaffirs cannot procure the necessary food for them. I here omit the excesses committed in the lands of pagans where the Portuguese spread themselves to recruit youth and girls, and where they live in such a fashion that the pagans themselves are stupefied at it." Nevertheless, the fact that the Taiko specially exempted the Portuguese merchants from his decree of banishment indicates that he did not attach cardinal importance to their evil doings in the matter of slaves. It seems rather to have been against the Jesuits that his resentment was directed, for he did not fail to perceive that, whereas they could and did exact the utmost deference from their country's sailors and traders when the ends of Christian propagandism were served thereby, they professed themselves powerless to dissuade these same traders and sailors from outrages which would have disgraced any religion. He cannot but have concluded that if these Portuguese merchants and seamen were to be regarded as specimens of the products of Christianity, then, indeed, that creed had not much to recommend it. All these things seem amply sufficient to account for the change that manifested itself in Hideyoshi's attitude towards Christianity at the close of the Kyushu campaign. SEQUEL OF THE EDICT OF BANISHMENT The Jesuits, of whom it must be said that they never consulted their own safety when the cause of their faith could be advanced by self-sacrifice, paid no attention to the Taiko's edict. They did indeed assemble at Hirado to the number of 120, but when they received orders to embark at once, they decided that only those needed for service in China should leave Japan. The rest remained and continued to perform their religious duties as usual, under the protection of the converted feudatories. The latter also appear to have concluded that it was not necessary to follow Hideyoshi's injunctions strictly concerning the expulsion of the priests. It seemed, at first, as though nothing short of extermination was contemplated by the Taiko. He caused all the churches in Kyoto, Osaka, and Sakai to be pulled down, and he sent troops to raze the Christian places of worship in Kyushu. But the troops accepted gifts offered to them by the feudatories and left the churches standing, while Hideyoshi not only failed to enforce his edict, but also allowed himself in the following year, 1588, to be convinced by a Portuguese envoy that unless the missionaries were suffered to remain, oversea trade could not possibly be carried on in a peaceful and orderly manner. For the sake of that trade, Hideyoshi agreed to tolerate the Christian propagandists, and, for a time, the foreign faith continued to flourish in Kyushu and found a favourable field even in Kyoto. At this time, in response to a message from the Jesuits, the viceroy of the Indies sent an ambassador to thank Hideyoshi for the favours he had hitherto bestowed upon the missionaries, and in the train of this nominally secular embassy came a number of fresh Jesuits to labour in the Japanese field. The ambassador was Valegnani, a man of profound tact. Acting upon the Taiko's unequivocal hints, Valegnani caused the missionaries to divest their work of all ostentatious features and to comport themselves with the utmost circumspection, so that official attention should not be attracted by any salient evidences of Christian propagandism. Indeed, at this very time, as stated above, Hideyoshi took a step which plainly showed that he valued the continuance of trade much more highly than the extirpation of Christianity. "Being assured that Portuguese merchants could not frequent Japan unless they found Christian priests there, he consented to sanction the presence of a limited number of Jesuits," though he was far too shrewd to imagine that their services could be limited to men of their own nationality, and too clever to forget that these very Portuguese, who professed to attach so much importance to religious ministrations, were the same men whose flagrant outrages the fathers declared themselves powerless to check. If any further evidence were needed of Hideyoshi's discrimination between trade and religion, it is furnished by his despatches to the viceroy of the Indies written in 1591:-- The fathers of the Company, as they are called, have come to these islands to teach another religion here; but as that of the Kami is too surely founded to be abolished, this new law can serve only to introduce into Japan a diversity of cults prejudicial to the welfare of the State. It is for this reason that, by Imperial edict, I have forbidden these foreign doctors to continue to preach their doctrine. I have even ordered them to quit Japan, and I am resolved no longer to allow any one of them to come here to spread new opinions. I nevertheless desire that trade between you and us should always be on the same footing [as before]. I shall have every care that the ways are free by sea and land: I have freed them from all pirates and brigands. The Portuguese will be able to traffic with my subjects, and I will in no wise suffer any one to do them the least wrong. The statistics of 1595 showed that there were then in Japan 137 Jesuit fathers with 300,000 native converts, including seventeen feudal chiefs and not a few bonzes. HIDEYOSHI'S FINAL ATTITUDE TOWARDS CHRISTIANITY For ten years after the issue of his anti-Christian decree at Hakata, Hideyoshi maintained a tolerant demeanour. But in 1597, his forbearance was changed to a mood of uncompromising severity. Various explanations have been given of this change, but the reasons are obscure. "Up to 1593 the Portuguese had possessed a monopoly of religious propagandism and oversea commerce in Japan. The privilege was secured to them by agreement between Spain and Portugal and by a papal bull. But the Spaniards in Manila had long looked with somewhat jealous eyes on this Jesuit reservation, and when news of the anti-Christian decree of 1587 reached the Philippines, the Dominicans and Franciscans residing there were fired with zeal to enter an arena where the crown of martyrdom seemed to be the least reward within reach. The papal bull, however, demanded obedience, and to overcome that difficulty a ruse was necessary: the governor of Manila agreed to send a party of Franciscans as ambassadors to Hideyoshi. In that guise, the friars, being neither traders nor propagandists, considered that they did not violate either the treaty or the bull. It was a technical subterfuge very unworthy of the object contemplated, and the friars supplemented it by swearing to Hideyoshi that the Philippines would submit to his sway. Thus they obtained permission to visit Kyoto, Osaka, and Fushimi, but with the explicit proviso that they must not preach."* *Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th edition; article "Japan," by Brinkley. How far they observed the terms and the spirit of this arrangement may be gathered from the facts that "very soon they had built a church in Kyoto, consecrated it with the utmost pomp, and were preaching sermons and chaunting litanies there in flagrant defiance of Hideyoshi's veto. Presently, their number received an access of three friars who came bearing gifts from the governor of Manila, and now they not only established a convent in Osaka, but also seized a Jesuit church in Nagasaki and converted the circumspect worship hitherto conducted there by the fathers into services of the most public character. Officially checked in Nagasaki, they charged the Jesuits in Kyoto with having intrigued to impede them, and they further vaunted the courageous openness of their own ministrations as compared with the clandestine timidity of the methods which wise prudence had induced the Jesuits to adopt. Retribution would have followed quickly had not Hideyoshi's attention been engrossed by an attempt to invade China through Korea. At this stage, however, a memorable incident occurred. Driven out of her course by a storm, a great and richly laden Spanish galleon, bound for Acapulco from Manila, drifted to the coast of Tosa province, and running--or being purposely run--on a sand-bank as she was towed into port by Japanese boats, broke her back. She carried goods to the value of some six hundred thousand crowns, and certain officials urged Hideyoshi to confiscate her as derelict, conveying to him, at the same time, a detailed account of the doings of the Franciscans and their open flouting of his orders. Hideyoshi, much incensed, commanded the arrest of the Franciscans and despatched officers to Tosa to confiscate the San Felipe. The pilot of the galleon sought to intimidate these officers by showing them, on a map of the world, the vast extent of Spain's dominions, and being asked how one country had acquired such wide sway, replied,* 'Our kings begin by sending into the countries they wish to conquer missionaries who induce the people to embrace our religion, and when they have made considerable progress, troops are sent who combine with the new Christians, and then our kings have not much trouble in accomplishing the rest.'"** *Charlevoix, referring to this incident, says, "This unfortunate statement inflicted a wound on religion which is bleeding still after a century and a half." **Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th edition; article "Japan," by Brinkley. THE FIRST CHRISTIAN MARTYRS IN JAPAN The words of the San Felipe's master were immediately reported to Hideyoshi. They roused him to hot anger. He is reported to have cried: "What! my States are filled with traitors, and their numbers increase every day. I have proscribed the foreign doctors, but out of compassion for the age and infirmity of some among them, I have allowed their remaining in Japan. I shut my eyes to the presence of several others because I fancied them to be quiet and incapable of forming bad designs, and they are serpents I have been cherishing in my bosom. The traitors are entirely employed in making me enemies among my own subjects and perhaps in my own family. But they will learn what it is to play with me... I am not anxious for myself. So long as the breath of life remains, I defy all the powers of the earth to attack me. But I am perhaps to leave the empire to a child, and how can he maintain himself against so many foes, domestic and foreign, if I do not provide for everything incessantly?" Then, finally, the Franciscans were arrested and condemned to have their noses and ears cut off;* to be promenaded through Kyoto, Osaka, and Sakai, and to be crucified at Nagasaki. "I have ordered these foreigners to be treated thus," Hideyoshi is recorded to have stated, "because they have come from the Philippines to Japan, calling themselves ambassadors, although they were not so; because they have remained here for long without my permission; because in defiance of my prohibition they have built churches, preached their religion, and caused disorders." These men were the first martyrs in Japan. *The mutilation was confined to the lobe of one ear. They numbered twenty-six, namely, six Franciscans, three Jesuits, and seventeen native Christians who were chiefly domestic servants of the Franciscans. They met their fate with noble fortitude. Hideyoshi did not stop there. He took measures to have his edict of 1587 converted into a stern reality. The governor of Nagasaki received orders to send away all the Jesuits, permitting only two or three to remain for the service of Portuguese merchants. The Jesuits, however, were not to be deterred by personal peril. There were 125 of them in Japan at that time, and of these only eleven left Nagasaki by sea in October, 1597, though the same vessel carried a number of pretended Jesuits who were, in reality, disguised sailors. This deception was necessarily known to the local authorities; but their sympathies being with the Jesuits, they kept silence until early the following year, when, owing to a rumour that Hideyoshi himself contemplated a visit to Kyushu, they took really efficient measures to expel all the fathers. No less than 137 churches throughout Kyushu were thrown down, as well as several seminaries and residences of the fathers, and, at Nagasaki, all the Jesuits in Japan were assembled for deportation to Macao in the following year when the "great ship" was expected to visit that port. But before her arrival Hideyoshi died, and a respite was thus gained for the Jesuits. FOREIGN POLICY OF THE TOKUGAWA FAMILY It has been confidently stated that Tokugawa Ieyasu regarded Christian nations and Christian propagandists with distrust not less profound than that harboured by Hideyoshi. But facts are opposed to that view. Within less than three months of the Taiko's death, the Tokugawa chief had his first interview with a Christian priest. The man was a Franciscan, by name Jerome de Jesus. He had been a member of the fictitious embassy from Manila, and his story illustrates the zeal and courage that inspired the Christian fathers in those days. "Barely escaping the doom of crucifixion which overtook his companions, he had been deported from Japan to Manila at a time when death seem to be the certain penalty of remaining. But no sooner had he been landed in Manila than he took passage in a Chinese junk, and, returning to Nagasaki, made his way secretly from the far south of Japan to the province of Kii. There arrested, he was brought into the presence of Ieyasu, and his own record of what ensued is given in a letter subsequently sent to Manila: "'When the Prince saw me he asked how I managed to escape the previous persecution. I answered him that at that date God had delivered me in order that I might go to Manila and bring back new colleagues from there--preachers of the divine law--and that I had returned from Manila to encourage the Christians, cherishing the desire to die on the cross in order to go to enjoy eternal glory like my former colleagues. On hearing these words the Emperor began to smile, whether in his quality of a pagan of the sect of Shaka which teaches that there is no future life, or whether from the thought that I was frightened at having to be put to death. Then, looking at me kindly, he said, "Be no longer afraid and no longer conceal yourself and no longer change your habit, for I wish you well; and as for the Christians who every year pass within sight of Kwanto where my domains are, when they go to Mexico with their ships, I have a keen desire for them to visit the harbours of this island, to refresh themselves there, and to take what they wish, to trade with my vassals, and to teach them how to develop silver mines; and that my intentions may be accomplished before my death, I wish you to indicate to me the means to take to realize them." "'I answered that it was necessary that Spanish pilots should take the soundings of his harbours, so that ships might not be lost in future as the San Felipe had been, and that he should solicit this service from the governor of the Philippines. The Prince approved of my advice, and accordingly he has sent a Japanese gentleman, a native of Sakai, the bearer of this message.... It is essential to oppose no obstacle to the complete liberty offered by the Emperor to the Spaniards and to our holy order, for the preaching of the holy gospel. ... The same Prince (who is about to visit the Kwanto) invites me to accompany him to make choice of a house, and to visit the harbour which he promises to open to us; his desires in this respect are keener than I can express.'"* *Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th edition; article "Japan," by Brinkley. Subsequent events confirm the accuracy of the above story. Father Jerome was allowed to build the first Christian church in Yedo and to officiate there. Moreover, Ieyasu sent "three embassies in succession to the Philippines, proposing reciprocal freedom of commerce, offering to open ports in the Kwanto, and asking for competent naval architects." These architects never came, and the trade that resulted from the Tokugawa chief's overtures was paltry in comparison with the number of friars that accompanied it to Japan. It has been suggested that Ieyasu designed these Spanish monks to serve as a counterpoise to the influence of the Jesuits. For he must have known that the Franciscans opened their mission in Yedo by "declaiming with violence against the fathers of the Company of Jesus," and he must have understood that the Spanish monks assumed towards the Jesuits in Japan the same intolerent and abusive tone that the Jesuits themselves had previously assumed towards Buddhism. ENGRAVING: ANJIN-ZUKA, NEAR YOKOSUKA, THE TOMB OF WILL ADAMS WILL ADAMS At about this time a Dutch merchant ship named the Liefde arrived in Japan. In 1598, a squadron of five ships sailed from Holland to exploit the sources of Portuguese commerce in the Orient, and of the five vessels only one, the Liefde, was ever heard of again. She reached Japan in the spring of 1600, with only four and twenty survivors of her original crew, numbering 110. Towed into the harbour of Funai, she was visited by Jesuits, who, on discovering her nationality, denounced her to the local authorities as a pirate. On board the Liefde, serving in the capacity of pilot major was an Englishman, Will Adams, of Gillingham in Kent. Ieyasu summoned him to Osaka, and between the rough English sailor and the Tokugawa chief there commenced a curiously friendly intercourse which was not interrupted until the death of Adams, twenty years later. "The Englishman became master-shipbuilder to the Yedo Government; was employed as diplomatic agent when other traders from his own country and from Holland arrived in Japan, received in perpetual gift a substantial estate, and from first to last possessed the implicit confidence of the shogun. Ieyasu quickly discerned the man's honesty; perceived that whatever benefits foreign commerce might confer would be increased by encouraging competition among the foreigners, and realized that English and Dutch trade presented the wholesome feature of complete dissociation from religious propagandism. On the other hand, he showed no intolerance to either Spaniards or Portuguese. He issued (1601) two official patents sanctioning the residence of the fathers in Kyoto, Osaka, and Nagasaki; he employed Father Rodriguez as interpreter at the Court in Yedo, and, in 1603 he gave munificent succour to the Jesuits who were reduced to dire straits owing to the capture of the great ship from Macao by the Dutch and the consequent loss of several years' supplies for the mission in Japan."* *Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th edition; article "Japan," by Brinkley. ULTIMATE ATTITUDE OF IEYASU TOWARDS CHRISTIANITY AND FOREIGN INTERCOURSE From what has been written above it will have been evident that each of Japan's great trio of sixteenth century statesmen--Nobunaga, Hideyoshi, and Ieyasu--adopted originally a tolerant demeanour towards Christianity, and an emphatically favourable attitude towards foreign commerce. The causes of Hideyoshi's change of mood are tolerably clear, but it is not possible to analyse the case of Ieyasu with certainty. That the Tokugawa baron strongly patronized Buddhism might be regarded as a sufficient explanation of his ultimate hostility to the foreign faith, but cannot be reconciled with his amicable attitude at the outset. The more credible explanation is that he was guided by intelligence obtained direct from Europe. He sent thither at the end of the sixteenth century an emissary whose instructions were to observe closely the social and political conditions in the home of Christianity. The better to accomplish his purpose this envoy embraced the Christian faith, and was thus enabled to carry on his observations from within as well as from without. It may be easily conceived that the state of affairs in Europe at that time, when recounted to Ieyasu, could scarcely fail to shock and astonish the ruler of a country where freedom of conscience may be said to have always existed. The Inquisition and the stake; wholesale aggressions in the name of the Cross; a head of the Church whose authority extended to confiscation of the realms of heretical sovereigns; religious wars, and profound fanaticism--these were the elements of the story told to Ieyasu by his returned envoy. The details could not fail to produce an evil impression. Already his own observation had disclosed to the Tokugawa chief abundant evidence of the spirit of strife engendered by Christian dogma in those times. No sooner had the Franciscans and the Dominicans arrived in Japan than a fierce quarrel broke out between them and the Jesuits--a quarrel which even community of suffering could not compose. "Not less repellent was an attempt on the part of the Spaniards to dictate to Ieyasu the expulsion of all Hollanders from Japan, and an attempt on the part of the Jesuits to dictate the expulsion of the Spaniards. The former proposal, couched almost in the form of a demand, was twice formulated, and accompanied on the second occasion by a scarcely less insulting offer, namely, that Spanish men-of-war would be sent to Japan to burn all Dutch ships found in the ports of the empire. If in the face of proposals so contumelious of his authority Ieyasu preserved a calm and dignified mein, merely replying that his country was open to all comers, and that, if other nations had quarrels among themselves, they must not take Japan for battle-ground, it is nevertheless unimaginable that he did not strongly resent such interference with his own independent foreign policy, and that he did not interpret it as foreshadowing a disturbance of the realm's peace by sectarian quarrels among Christians."* *Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th edition; article "Japan," by Brinkley. The repellent aspects under which Christianity thus presented itself to Ieyasu were supplemented by an act of fraud and forgery perpetrated in the interest of a Christian feudatory by a trusted official, himself a Christian. This experience persuaded the Tokugawa ruler that it was unsafe to employ Christians at his Court. He not only dismissed all those so employed, but also banished them from Yedo and forbade any feudal chief to harbour them. Another incident, not without influence, was connected with the survey of the Japanese coast by a Spanish mariner and a Franciscan friar. An envoy from New Spain (Mexico) had obtained permission for this survey, but "when the mariner (Sebastian) and the friar (Sotelo) hastened to carry out the project, Ieyasu asked Will Adams to explain this display of industry. The Englishman replied that such a proceeding would be regarded in Europe as an act of hostility, especially on the part of the Spaniards or Portuguese, whose aggressions were notorious. He added, in reply to further questions, that 'the Roman priesthood had been expelled from many parts of Germany, from Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Holland, and England, and that, although his own country preserved the pure form of the Christian faith from which Spain and Portugal had deviated, yet neither English nor Dutch considered that that fact afforded them any reason to war with, or to annex, States which were not Christian solely for the reason that they were non-Christian.'"* Hearing these things from Will Adams, Ieyasu is said to have remarked, "If the sovereigns of Europe do not tolerate these priests, I do them no wrong if I refuse to tolerate them." *Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th edition; article "Japan," by Brinkley. Another incident, too complicated to describe in detail, may be summed up by saying that some Japanese Christians were discovered to have conspired for the overthrow of the Tokugawa Government by the aid of foreign troops. It was not an extensive plot, but it helped to demonstrate that the sympathy of the priests and their converts was plainly with the enemies of Tokugawa's supremacy. Ieyasu, however, abstained from extreme measures in the case of any of the foreign priests, and he might have been equally tolerant towards native Christians, also, had not the Tokugawa authority been openly defied in Yedo itself by a Franciscan father--the Sotelo mentioned above. "Then (1613) the first execution of Japanese converts took place, though the monk himself was released after a short incarceration. At that time... insignificant differences of custom sometimes induced serious misconceptions. A Christian who had violated a secular law was crucified in Nagasaki. Many of his fellow-believers kneeled around his cross and prayed for the peace of his soul. A party of converts were afterwards burnt to death in the same place for refusing to apostatize, and their Christian friends crowded to carry off portions of their bodies as holy relics. When these things were reported to Ieyasu, he said, 'Without doubt that must be a diabolic faith which persuades people not only to worship criminals condemned to death for their crimes, but also to honour those who have been burned or cut to pieces by the order of their lord.'"* *Encyclopedia Britannica, 11th edition; article "Japan," by Brinkley. SUPPRESSION OF CHRISTIANITY The first prohibition of Christianity was issued by Ieyasu in September, 1612, and was followed by another in April, 1613; but both bore the character of warnings rather than of punitive regulations. It was on the 27th of January, 1614--that is to say, fifty-four years and five months after the landing of Xavier at Kagoshima--that an edict appeared ordering that all the foreign priests should be collected in Nagasaki preparatory to removal from Japan; that all churches should be pulled down, and that all converts should be compelled to abjure Christianity. There were then in Japan 156 ministers of Christianity, namely, 122 Jesuits, 14 Franciscans, 9 Dominicans, 4 Augustinians, and 7 secular priests. It is virtually certain that if these men had obeyed the orders of the Japanese Government by leaving the country finally, not so much as one foreigner would have suffered for his faith in Japan, except the six Franciscans executed on the "Martyrs' Mount" at Nagasaki by Hideyoshi's order, in 1597. But the missionaries did not obey. Suffering or even death counted for nothing with these men as against the possibility of saving souls. "Forty-seven of them evaded the edict, some by concealing themselves at the time of its issue, the rest by leaving their ships when the latter had passed out of sight of the shore of Japan, and returning by boats to the scene of their former labours. Moreover, in a few months, those that had actually crossed the sea re-crossed it in various disguises."* The Japanese Government had then to consider whether it would suffer its authority to be thus defied by foreign visitors or whether it would resort to extreme measures. *Encyclopedia Britannica, 11th edition; article "Japan," by Brinkley. PERIOD SUBSEQUENT TO 1613 Throughout a period of two years immediately following the issue of the anti-Christian edict of 1614, the attention of Ieyasu, and indeed of the whole Japanese nation, was concentrated on the struggle which took place between the adherents of the Tokugawa and the supporters of Hideyori. That struggle culminated in an assault on the castle of Osaka, and fresh fuel was added to the fire of anti-Christian resentment inasmuch as many Christian converts espoused Hideyori's cause, and in one part of the field the troops of Ieyasu had to fight against a foe whose banners were emblazoned with a cross and with images of Christ and of St. James, the patron saint of Spain. Nevertheless, the Christian converts possessed the sympathy of so many of the feudal chiefs that much reluctance was shown to inflict the extreme penalty of the law on men and women whose only crime was the adoption of an alien religion. Some of the feudal chiefs, even at the risk of losing their estates, gave asylum to the converts; others falsely reported a complete absence of Christians in their dominions, and some endeavoured earnestly to protect the fanatics; while, as to the people at large, their liberal spirit is shown in the fact that five priests who were in Osaka Castle at the time of its capture were able to make their way to distant refuges without any risk of betrayal. ENGRAVING: GREEN-ROOM OF A THEATRE (In the Middle of the Tokugawa Period) On the other hand, there were not wanting feudatories who, judging that zeal in obeying the edict would prove a passport to official reward, acted on that conviction. Notably was this true of Hasegawa, who received the fief of Arima by way of recompense for barbarous cruelty towards the Christians. Yet it is on record that when this baron sent out a mixed force of Hizen and Satsuma troops to harry the converts, these samurai warned the Christians to flee and then reported that they were not to be found anywhere. During these events the death of Ieyasu took place (June 1, 1616), and pending the dedication of his mausoleum the anti-Christian crusade was virtually suspended. ENGLISH AND DUTCH INTRIGUES AGAINST SPANIARDS AND PORTUGUESE It has been frequently alleged that if the Spaniards and the Portuguese endeavoured to bring the Hollanders into bad odour, the English and the Dutch intrigued equally against the Portuguese and the Spaniards. The accusation cannot be rebutted. Cocks, the factor of the English commercial mission to Japan, has himself left it on record that, being at the Yedo Court in the fall of 1616, "I enformed the two secretaries that yf they lookt out well about these two Spanish shipps in Xaxama [Satsuma] full of men and treasure, they would fynd that they were sent off purpose by the king of Spaine, having knowledge of the death of the ould Emperour [Ieyasu], thinking som papisticall tono [daimyo] might rise and rebell and so draw all the papists to flock to them and take part, by which means they might on a sudden seaz upon som strong place and keepe it till more succors came, they not wanting money nor men for thackomplishing such a strattgin." The two vessels in question were "greate shipps arrived out of New Spaine, bound, as they said, for the Philippines, but driven into that place per contrary wynd, both shipps being full of souldiers, with great store of treasure, as it is said, above five millions of pezos." It is true that a Spanish captain sent from these vessels to pay respects to the Court in Yedo "gave it out that our shipps and the Hollanders which were at Firando [Hirado] had taken and robbed all the China junks, which was the occasion that very few or non came into Japan this yeare," and therefore Cocks was somewhat justified in saying "so in this sort I cried quittance with the Spaniards." It appears, however, that the Spaniards were not believed, whereas the Englishman could boast, "which speeches of myne wrought so far that the Emperour sent to stay them, and had not the greate shipp cut her cable in the hawse so as to escape, she had been arrested." It was this same Cocks who told a Japanese "admirall" that "My opinion was he might doe better to put it into the Emperour's mynd to make a conquest of the Manillas, and drive those small crew of Spaniards from thence." In fact, none of the four Occidental nationalities then in Japan had any monopoly of slandering its rivals. The accusation preferred by Cocks, however, must have possessed special significance, confirming, as it did, what the pilot of the San Felipe had said twenty years previously as to the political uses to which the propagandists of Christianity were put by the King of Spain, and what Will Adams had said four years earlier as to the Imperial doctrine of Spain and Portugal that the annexation of a non-Christian country was always justifiable. The "greate shipps out of New Spaine," laden with soldiers and treasure and under orders to combine with any Christian converts willing to revolt against the Yedo Government, were concrete evidence of the truth of the Spanish sailor's revelation and of the English exile's charge. It has always to be remembered, too, that Kyushu, the headquarters of Christianity in Japan, did not owe to the Tokugawa shoguns the same degree of allegiance that it had been forced to render to Hideyoshi. A colossal campaign such as the latter had conducted against the southern island, in 1587, never commended itself to the ambition of Ieyasu or to that of his comparatively feeble successor, Hidetada. Hence, the presence of Spanish or Portuguese ships in Satsuma suggested danger of an exceptional degree. In the very month (September, 1616) when Cocks "cried quittance with the Spaniards," a new anti-Christian edict was promulgated by Hidetada, son and successor of Ieyasu. It pronounced sentence of exile against all Christian priests, not excluding even those whose presence had been sanctioned for the purpose of ministering to the Portuguese merchants; it forbade the Japanese, under penalty of being burned alive and having all their property confiscated, to connect themselves in any way with the Christian propagandists or with their co-operators or servants, and above all, to show them any hospitality. The same penalties were extended to women and children, and to the five neighbours on both sides of a convert's abode, unless these became informers. Every feudal chief was forbidden to keep Christians in his service, and the edict was promulgated with more than usual severity, although its enforcement was deferred until the next year on account of the obsequies of Ieyasu. This edict of 1616 differed from that issued by Ieyasu in 1614, since the latter did not explicitly prescribe the death-penalty for converts refusing to apostatize. But both agreed in indicating expulsion as the sole manner of dealing with the foreign priests. It, is also noteworthy that, just as the edict of Ieyasu was immediately preceded by statements from Will Adams about the claim of Spain and Portugal to absorb all non-Christian countries, so the edict of Hidetada had for preface Cock's attribution of aggressive designs to the Spanish ships at Kagoshima in conjunction with Christian converts. Not without justice, therefore, have the English been charged with some share of responsibility for the terrible things that ultimately befell the propagandists and the professors of Christianity in Japan. As for the shogun, Hidetada, and his advisers, it is probable that they did not foresee much occasion for actual recourse to violence. They knew that a great majority of the converts had joined the Christian Church at the instance, or by the command, of their local rulers, and nothing can have seemed less likely than that a creed thus lightly embraced would be adhered to in defiance of torture and death. The foreign propagandists also might have escaped all peril by obeying the official edict and leaving Japan. They suffered because they defied the laws of the land. Some fifty of them happened to be in Nagasaki at the time of Hidetada's edict. Several of these were apprehended and deported, but a number returned almost immediately. This happened under the jurisdiction of Omura, who had been specially charged with the duty of sending away the bateren (padres). He seems to have concluded that a striking example must be furnished, and he therefore ordered the seizure and decapitation of two fathers, De l'Assumpcion and Machado. The result completely falsified his calculations, for so far from proving a deterrent, the fate of the two fathers appealed widely to the people's sense of heroism. Multitudes flocked to the grave in which the two coffins were buried. The sick were carried thither to be restored to health, and the Christian converts derived new courage from the example of these martyrs. Numerous conversions and numerous returns of apostates took place everywhere. While this enthusiasm was at its height, Navarette, vice-provincial of the Dominicans, and Ayala, vice-provincial of the Augustins, emerged from hiding, and robed in their full canonicals, commenced an open propaganda, heralding their approach by a letter addressed to Omura and couched in the most defiant terms. Thus challenged, Omura was obliged to act promptly, especially as Navarette declared that he (Navarette) did not recognize the Emperor of Japan but only the Emperor of Heaven. The two fanatics were seized, conveyed secretly to the island of Takashima, and there decapitated; their coffins being weighted with big stones and sunk in the sea, so as to prevent a repetition of the scenes witnessed at the tomb of the fathers mentioned above. Thereupon, the newly elected superior of the Dominicans at once sent three of his priests to preach in Omura's territories, and two of them, having been seized, were cast into prison where they remained for five years. Even more directly defiant was the attitude of the next martyred priest, an old Franciscan monk, Juan de Santa Martha. He had for three years suffered all the horrors of a medieval Japanese prison, yet when it was proposed to release him and deport him to New Spain, his answer was that, if released, he would stay in Japan and preach there. He laid his head on the block in August, 1618. Throughout the next four years, however, no other foreign missionary was capitally punished in Japan, though many arrived and continued their propagandism. During that interval, also, there occurred another incident calculated to fix upon the Christians still deeper suspicion of political designs. In a Portuguese ship, captured by the Dutch, a letter was found instigating Japanese converts to revolt, and promising that, when the number of disaffected became sufficient, men-of-war would be sent from Portugal to aid them. Another factor tending to invest the converts with political potentialities was the writing of pamphlets by apostates, attributing the zeal of foreign propagandists solely to traitorous motives. Further, the Spanish and Portuguese propagandists were indicted in a despatch addressed to the second Tokugawa shogun, in 1620, by the admiral in command of the British and Dutch fleet of defence, then cruising in Oriental waters. The admiral unreservedly charged the friars with treacherous machinations, and warned the shogun against the aggressive designs of Philip of Spain. This cumulative evidence dispelled the last doubts of the Japanese, and a time of sharp suffering ensued for the fathers and their converts. There were many shocking episodes. Among them may be mentioned the case of Zufliga, son of the marquis of Villamanrica. He visited Japan as a Dominican in 1618, but the governor of Nagasaki persuaded him to withdraw. Yielding for the moment, he returned two years later, accompanied by Father Flores. They travelled in a vessel commanded by a Japanese Christian, and off Formosa she was overhauled by an English warship, which took off the two priests and handed them over to the Dutch at Hirado. There they were tortured and held in prison for sixteen months, when an armed attempt made by some Japanese Christians to rescue them precipitated their fate. By order from Yedo, Zuniga, Flores, and the Japanese master of the vessel which had carried them, were roasted to death in Nagasaki on August 19, 1622. Thus the measures adopted against the missionaries are seen to have gradually increased in severity. The first two fathers put to death, De l'Assumpcion and Machado, were beheaded in 1617, not by the common executioner but by one of the principal officers of the daimyo. The next two, Navarette and Ayala, were decapitated by the executioner. Then, in 1618, Juan de Santa Martha was executed like a common criminal, his body being dismembered and his head exposed. Finally, in 1622, Zuniga and Flores were burned alive. The same year was marked by the "great martyrdom" at Nagasaki, when nine foreign priests went to the stake together with nineteen Japanese converts. Apprehension of a foreign invasion seems to have greatly troubled the shogun at this time. He had sent an envoy to Europe who, after seven years abroad, returned on the eve of the "great martyrdom," and made a report thoroughly unfavourable to Christianity. Hidetada therefore refused to give audience to the Philippine embassy in 1624, and ordered that all Spaniards should be deported from Japan. It was further decreed that no Japanese Christians should thenceforth be allowed to go to sea in search of commerce, and that although non-Christians or men who had apostatized might travel freely, they must not visit the Philippines. Thus ended all intercourse between Japan and Spain. The two countries had been on friendly terms for thirty-two years, and during that time a widespread conviction that Christianity was an instrument of Spanish aggression had been engendered. Iemitsu, son of Hidetada, now ruled in Yedo, though Hidetada himself remained "the power behind the throne." The year (1623) of the former's accession to the shogunate had seen the re-issue of anti-Christian decrees and the martyrdom of some five hundred Christians within the Tokugawa domains, whither the tide of persecution now flowed for the first time. From that period onwards official attempts to eradicate Christianity in Japan were unceasing. Conspicuously active in this cause were two governors of Nagasaki, by name Mizuno and Takenaka, and the feudal chief of Shimabara, by name Matsukura. To this last is to be credited the terrible device of throwing converts into the solfataras at Unzen, and under him, also, the punishment of the "fosse" was resorted to. It consisted in suspension by the feet, head downwards in a pit until death ensued. By many this latter torture was heroically endured to the end, but in the case of a few the pains proved unendurable. It is on record that the menace of a Spanish invasion seemed so imminent to Matsukura and Takenaka that they proposed an attack on the Philippines so as to deprive the Spaniards of their base in the East. This bold measure failed to obtain approval in Yedo. In proportion as the Christian converts proved invincible, the severity of the repressive measures increased. There are no accurate statistics showing the number of victims. Some annalists allege that two hundred and eighty thousand perished up to the year 1635, but that figure is probably exaggerated, for the converts do not seem to have aggregated more than three hundred thousand at any time, and it is probable that a majority of these, having embraced the alien creed for light reasons, discarded it readily under menace of destruction. "Every opportunity was given for apostatizing and for escaping death. Immunity could be secured by pointing out a fellow convert, and when it is observed that among the seven or eight feudatories who embraced Christianity only two or three died in that faith, we must conclude that not a few cases of recanting occurred among the vassals. Remarkable fortitude, however, is said to have been displayed." Caron, one of the Dutch traders of Hirado, writing in 1636, says: At first the believers in Christ were only beheaded and afterwards attached to a cross, which was considered as a sufficiently heavy punishment. But when many of them were seen to die with emotions of joy and pleasure, some even to go singing to the place of execution; and when although thirty and sometimes one hundred were put to death at a time, and it was found that their numbers did not appear to diminish, it was then determined to use every exertion to change their joy into grief and their songs into tears and groans of misery. To effect this they were tied to stakes and burned alive; were broiled on wooden gridirons, and thousands were thus wretchedly destroyed. But as the number of Christians was not perceptibly lessened by these cruel punishments, they became tired of putting them to death, and attempts were then made to make the Christians abandon their faith by the infliction of the most dreadful torments which the most diabolical invention could suggest. The Japanese Christians, however, endured these persecutions with a great deal of steadiness and courage; very few, in comparison with those who remained steadfast in the faith, were the number of those who fainted under the trials and abjured their religion. It is true that these people possess, on such occasions, a stoicism and an intrepidity of which no examples are to be met with in the bulk of other nations. Neither men nor women are afraid of death. Yet an uncommon steadfastness in the faith must, at the same time, be requisite to continue in these trying circumstances. The intrepidity of the native converts was rivalled by the courage of their foreign teachers. Again and again these latter defied the Japanese authorities by visiting Japan--not for the first time but occasionally even after having been deported. Contrary to the orders of the governors of Macao and Manila, nay of the King of Spain himself, the priests arrived, year after year, with the certainty of being apprehended and sent to the stake after brief periods of propagandism. In 1626, when the campaign of persecution was at its height, more than three thousand converts were baptized by these brave priests, of whom none is known to have escaped death except those that apostatized under torture, and they were very few, although not only could life be saved by abandoning the faith but also ample allowances of money could be obtained from the authorities. Anyone denouncing a propagandist received large reward, and the people were required to prove their orthodoxy by trampling upon a picture of Christ. CONTINUATION OF THE FEUDS BETWEEN THE DUTCH AND THE PORTUGUESE While the above events were in progress, the disputes between the Dutch, the Portuguese, and the Spaniards went on without cessation. In 1636, the Dutch discovered in a captured Portuguese vessel a report written by the governor of Macao, describing a festival which had just been held there in honour of Vieyra, who had been martyred in Japan. The Dutch transmitted this document to the Japanese "in order that his Majesty may see more clearly what great honour the Portuguese pay to those he had forbidden his realm as traitors to the State and to his crown." It does not appear that this accusation added much to the resentment and distrust against the Portuguese. At any rate, the Bakufu in Yedo took no step distinctly hostile to Portuguese laymen until the following year (1637), when an edict was issued forbidding "any foreigners to travel in the empire lest Portuguese with passports bearing Dutch names might enter." THE SHIMABARA REVOLT At the close of 1637, there occurred a rebellion, historically known as the "Christian Revolt of Shimabara," which put an end to Japan's foreign intercourse for over two hundred years. The Gulf of Nagasaki is bounded on the west by the island of Amakusa and by the promontory of Shimabara. In the early years of Jesuit propagandism in Japan, Shimabara and Amakusa had been the two most thoroughly Christianized regions, and in later days they were naturally the scene of the severest persecutions. Nevertheless, the people might have suffered in silence, as did their fellow believers elsewhere, had they not been taxed beyond endurance to supply funds for an extravagant feudatory. Japanese annalists, however, relegate the taxation grievance to an altogether secondary place, and attribute the revolt solely to the instigation of five samurai who led a roving life to avoid persecution for their adherence to Christianity. Whichever version be correct, it is certain that the outbreak attracted all the Christians from the surrounding regions, and was officially regarded as a Christian rising. The Amakusa insurgents passed over from that island to Shimabara, and on the 27th of January, 1638, the whole body--numbering, according to some authorities, twenty thousand fighting men with thirteen thousand women and children; according to others, little more than one-half of these figures--took possession of the dilapidated castle of Kara, which stood on a plateau with three sides descending one hundred feet perpendicularly to the sea and with a swamp on the fourth side. The insurgents fought under flags inscribed with red crosses and their battle cries were "Jesus," "Maria," and "St. Iago." They defended the castle successfully against repeated assaults until the 12th of April, when, their provisions and their ammunition alike being exhausted, they were overwhelmed and put to the sword, with the exception of 105 prisoners. During this siege the Dutch gave practical proof of their enmity to the Christianity of the Spaniards and Portuguese. For, the guns in the possession of the besiegers being too light to accomplish anything effective, application was made to Koeckebacker, the Dutch factor at Hirado, to lend ships carrying heavier metal. He complied by despatching the De Ryp, and her twenty guns threw 426 shots into the castle in fifteen days. There has been handed down a letter carried by an arrow from the castle to the besiegers. It was not an appeal for mercy but a simple enumeration of reasons:-- "For the sake of our people we have now resorted to this castle. You will no doubt think that we have done this with the hope of taking lands and houses. Such is by no means the case. It is simply because Christianity is not tolerated as a distinct sect, which is well known to you. Frequent prohibitions have been published by the shogun, to our great distress. Some among us there are who consider the hope of future life as of the highest importance. For these there is no escape. Because they will not change their religion they incur various kinds of severe punishments, being inhumanly subjected to shame and extensive suffering, till at last for their devotion to the Lord of Heaven, they are tortured to death. Others, even men of resolution, solicitous for the sensitive body and dreading the torture, have, while hiding their grief, obeyed the royal will and recanted. Things continuing in this state, all the people have united in an uprising in an unaccountable and miraculous manner. Should we continue to live as heretofore and the above laws not be repealed, we must incur all sorts of punishments hard to be endured; we must, our bodies being weak and sensitive, sin against the infinite Lord of Heaven and from solicitude for our brief lives incur the loss of what we highly esteem. These things fill us with grief beyond endurance. Hence we are in our present condition. It is not the result of a corrupt doctrine." It seems probable that of the remaining Japanese Christians the great bulk perished at the massacre of Kara. Thenceforth there were few martyrs, and though Christianity was not entirely extirpated in Japan, it survived only in remote places and by stealth. ENGRAVING: NANBAN BELL ENGRAVING: THE "KAIYO KWAN," THE FIRST WARSHIP OF JAPAN (Built in Holland for the Tokugawa Feudal Government) CHAPTER XXXVIII THE TOKUGAWA SHOGUNATE THE Tokugawa family traced its descent from Nitta Yoshishige of the Minamoto sept (the Seiwa Genji) who flourished at the beginning of the thirteenth century. His son's place of residence was at the village of Tokugawa in Kotsuke province: hence the name, Tokugawa. After a few generations, Chikauji, the then representative of the family, had to fly to the village of Matsudaira in Mikawa province, taking the name of Matsudaira. Gradually the family acquired possession of about one-half of Mikawa province, and in the seventh generation from Chikauji, the head of the house, Hirotada, crossing swords with Oda Nobuhide, father of Nobunaga, sought succour from the Imagawa family, to which he sent his son, Ieyasu, with fifty other young samurai as hostages. This was in 1547, Ieyasu being then in his fifth year. On the way from Okazaki, which was the stronghold of Hirotada, the party fell into the hands of Nobuhide's officers, and Ieyasu was confined in a temple where he remained until 1559, when he obtained permission to return to Okazaki, being then a vassal of the Imagawa family. But when (1569) the Imagawa suffered defeat in the battle of Okehazama, at the hands of Oda Nobunaga, Ieyasu allied himself with the latter. In 1570, he removed to Hamamatsu, having subjugated the provinces of Mikawa and Totomi. He was forty years old at the time of Nobunaga's murder, and it has been shown above that he espoused the cause of the Oda family in the campaign of Komak-yama. At forty-nine he became master of the Kwanto and was in his fifty-sixth year when Hideyoshi died. Ieyasu had nine sons: (1) Nobuyasu; (2) Hideyasu (daimyo of Echizen); (3) Hidetada (second shoguri); (4) Tadayoshi (daimyo of Kiyosu); (5) Nobuyoshi (daimyo of Mito); (6) Tadateru (daimyo of Echigo); (7) Yoshinao (daimyo of Owari); (8) Yorinobu (daimyo of Kii), and (9) Yorifusa (daimyo of Mito). He had also three daughters; the first married to Okudaira Masanobu; the second to Ikeda Terumasa, and the third to Asano Nagaakira. EVENTS IMMEDIATELY PRIOR TO THE BATTLE OF SEKIGAHARA The political complications that followed the death of the Taiko are extremely difficult to unravel, and the result is not commensurate with the trouble. Several annalists have sought to prove that Ieyasu strenuously endeavoured to observe faithfully the oath of loyalty made by him to Hideyoshi on the latter's death-bed. They claim for him that until his hands were forced he steadfastly and faithfully worked in the interests of Hideyoshi. But his acts do not lend themselves to any such interpretation. The best that can be said of him is that he believed himself to have been entrusted by the Taiko with discretionary power to determine the expediency of Hideyori's succession, and that he exercised that power in the interests of the Tokugawa family, not of the Toyotomi. Circumstances helped him as they do generally help great men. From the time of the birth of the lady Yodo's second son, the official world in Kyoto had been divided into two factions. The Hidetsugu catastrophe accentuated the lines of division, and the Korean campaign had a similar effect by affording a field for bitter rivalry between the forces of Konishi Yukinaga, who belonged to the Yodo faction, and Kato Kiyomasa, who was a protege of Hideyoshi's wife, Yae. Further fuel was added to this fire of antagonism when the order went forth that the army should leave Korea, for the Kato faction protested against surrendering all the fruits of the campaign without any tangible recompense, and the Konishi party insisted that the Taiko's dying words must be obeyed implicitly. In this dispute, Ishida Katsushige, the chief actor in the Hidetsugu tragedy, took a prominent part. For, when in their capacity as belonging to the Board of Five Administrators, Ishida and Asano Nagamasa were sent to Kyushu to superintend the evacuation of the Korean peninsula, they, too, fell into a controversy on the same subject. Ieyasu stood aloof from both parties. His policy was to let the feud develop and to step in himself at the supreme moment. On the other hand, it was the aim of Ishida Katsushige to involve the Tokugawa chief, thus compassing his downfall and opening an avenue for the ascension of Ishida himself to the place of dictator. Allied with Ishida in this plot was his colleague on the Board of Five Administrators, Masuda Nagamori. Their method was to create enmity between Ieyasu and Maeda Toshiiye, to whom the Taiko had entrusted the guardianship of Hideyori and of the Osaka Castle. This design was barely thwarted by the intervention of Hosokawa Tadaoki (ancestor of the present Marquis Hosokawa). Ieyasu was well informed as to Ishida's schemes on two other occasions; the first immediately before, the second just after, the death of the Taiko. In each case rumours of an armed outbreak were suddenly circulated in Fushimi for the purpose of creating confusion such as might furnish an opportunity to strike suddenly at Ieyasu. These essays failed in both instances, and the Tokugawa chief, instead of retaliating by direct impeachment of Ishida, applied himself to cementing close relations with certain great daimyo by matrimonial alliances. Such unions had been implicitly interdicted by the Taiko, and the procedure of Ieyasu elicited a written protest from the boards of the Five Senior Ministers and the Five Administrators. They threatened Ieyasu with dismissal from the former board unless he furnished a satisfactory explanation. This he declined to do and for some time a very strained situation existed in Kyoto, an armed struggle being ultimately averted by the good offices of the Three Middle Ministers. It was evident, however, that the circumstances had become critical, and it was further evident that, as long as Ishida Katsushige's intrigues continued, a catastrophe might at any moment be precipitated. Sensible of these things, a party of loyal men, spoken of in history as the "seven generals"--Ikeda Terumasa (ancestor of the present Marquis Ikeda); Kato Kiyomasa; Kuroda Nagamasa (son of Kuroda Yoshitaka, and ancestor of the present Marquis Kuroda); Fukushima Masanori, Asano Yukinaga (son of Asano Nagamasa and ancestor of the present Marquis Asano); Hosokawa Tadaoki, and Kato Yoshiaki (ancestor of the present Viscount Kato)--vowed to take Ishida's life, while he was still in Osaka Castle, whither he had gone (1599) to attend the death-bed of his friend, Maeda Toshiiye. Ishida, finding himself powerless to resist such a combination after the death of Maeda, took an extraordinary step; he appealed to the protection of Ieyasu--that is to say, to the protection of the very man against whom all his plots had been directed. And Ieyasu protected him. We are here confronted by a riddle which has never been clearly interpreted. Why did Ishida seek asylum from Ieyasu whom he had persistently intrigued to overthrow, and why did Ieyasu, having full knowledge of these intrigues, grant asylum? Possibly an answer to the former question can be furnished by the fact that Ishida was in sore straits. Attending Maeda Toshiiye's death-bed, he had seen the partisans of the deceased baron transfer their allegiance to Ieyasu through the intervention of Hosokawa Tadaoki, and he had learned that his own life was immediately threatened by the seven generals. Even if he succeeded (which was very problematical) in escaping from Osaka to his own castle of Sawa-yama, in Omi province, the respite could have been but brief and such a step would have been equivalent to abandoning the political arena. Only a very strong arm could save him, and with consummate insight he may have appreciated the Tokugawa chief's unreadiness to precipitate a crucial struggle by consenting to his death. But what is to be said of Ieyasu? Unwilling to admit that his astuteness could ever have been at fault, some historians allege that the Tokugawa chief saved Ishida's life with the deliberate purpose of letting him discredit himself and his partisans by continued intrigues. These annalists allege, in fact, that Ieyasu, acting on the advice of Honda Masanobu, by whose profound shrewdness he was largely guided, saved the life of Ishida in order that the latter's subsequent intrigues might furnish a pretext for destroying Hideyori. That, however, is scarcely conceivable, for Ishida had many powerful confederates, and the direct outcome of the leniency shown by Ieyasu on that occasion was an armed struggle from which he barely emerged victorious. The truth seems to be that, for all his profound wisdom, Ieyasu erred in this instance. Ishida Kotsushige outwitted him. For, during the very days of his asylum in Fushimi, under the protection of Ieyasu, Ishida opened secret communication with Uesugi Kagekatsu and invited him to strike at the Tokugawa. Uesugi consented. It must be observed that the character of Ishida has been portrayed for posterity mainly by historians who were under Tokugawa influence. Modern and impartial annalists are by no means so condemnatory in their judgment of the man. In whatever arts of deception Ishida excelled, Ieyasu was at least his equal; while in the matter of loyalty to the Toyotomi family, Ishida's conduct compares favourably with that of the Tokugawa leader; and if we look at the men who attached themselves to Ishida's cause and fought by his side, we are obliged to admit that he must have been highly esteemed by his contemporaries, or, at any rate, that they recognized in him the champion of Hideyori, at whose father's hands they had received such benefits. ORGANIZATION OF THE JAPANESE EMPIRE AT THE CLOSE OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY The realm of Japan was then held by 214 feudatories, each having an annual income of at least 10,000 koku (omitting minor landowners). These 214 estates yielded to their holders a total income of nearly nineteen million koku, and of that aggregate the domains of the five noblemen forming the Board of Senior Statesmen constituted one-third. Tokugawa Ieyasu was the wealthiest. His domains in the eight provinces forming the Kwanto yielded an income of 2,557,000 koku. Next on the list came Mori Terumoto with 2,205,000 koku, and Uesugi Kagekatsu with 1,200,000 koku. The latter two were partisans of Ishida. But direct communication between their forces was difficult, for while the Mori domains covered the nine provinces on the extreme west of the main island, Uesugi's lay on the north of the Kwanto, whence they stretched to the shore of the Japan Sea. Fourth and fifth on the Board of Senior Statesmen were Maeda Toshiiye, whose fief (835,000 koku) occupied Kaga and Etchu; and Ukita Hideiye (574,000 koku), whose castle stood at Oka-yama, in Bizen. All these, except Maeda embraced the anti-Tokugawa cause of Ishida Katsushige, and it thus becomes easy to understand the desire of Ishida to win over Maeda Toshinaga, son of Toshiiye, to his camp. On the side of Ieyasu's foes were also marshalled Shimazu Yoshihisa, feudal chief of Satsuma (700,000 koku); Satake Yoshinobu of Hitachi province (545,700 koku); Konishi Yukinaga in Higo (200,000 koku), who was counted one of the greatest captains of the era, and, nominally, Kohayakawa Hideaki in Chikuzen (522,500 koku). With Ieyasu were the powerful daimyo: Date Masamune of Sendai (580,000 koku); Kato Kiyomasa of Kumamoto (250,000 koku); Hosokawa Tadaoki of Tango (230,000 koku); Ikeda Terumasa of Mikawa (152,000 koku), and Kuroda Nagamasa of Chikuzen (250,000 koku). This analysis omits minor names. BATTLE OF SEKIGAHARA The plan of campaign formed by Ishida and his confederates was that Uesugi and Satake should attack the Kwanto from the north and the east simultaneously, while Mori and Ukita should move against Fushimi and occupy Kyoto. In May, 1600, Ieyasu went through the form of requiring Uesugi to repair to Kyoto and explain his obviously disaffected preparations. The reply sent by Uesugi was defiant. Therefore, the Tokugawa chief proceeded to mobilize his own and his allies' forces. He seems to have clearly foreseen that if he himself moved eastward to Yedo, Momo-yama would be assaulted in his absence. But it being necessary to simulate trust in Mori and Ukita, then nominally his supporters, he placed in Momo-yama Castle a garrison of only two thousand men under his old and staunch friend, Torii Mototada. Ieyasu planned that Uesugi should be attacked simultaneously from five directions; namely from Sendai by Date; from Kaga by Maeda; from Dewa by Mogami; from Echigo by Hori, and from Hitachi by Satake. But among these five armies that of Satake declared for Ishida, while those of Maeda and Hori were constrained to adopt a defensive attitude by the menace of hostile barons in their vicinity, and thus it fell out that Date and Mogami alone operated effectively in the cause of Ieyasu. The Tokugawa chief himself lost no time in putting his troops in motion for Yedo, where, at the head of some sixty thousand men, he arrived in August, 1600, his second in command being his third son, Hidetada. Thence he pushed rapidly northward with the intention of attacking Uesugi. But at Oyama in Shimotsuke news reached him that Ishida and his partisans had drawn the sword in the west, and had seized Osaka, together with the wives and families of several of the captains who were with Ieyasu's army. A council was immediately held and these captains were given the option of continuing to serve under Ieyasu or retiring to join the western army and thus ensuring the safety of their own families. They chose the former, and the council further decided that, leaving Date and Mogami to deal with Uesugi and Satake, and posting for the same purpose at Utsunomiya, Hideyasu, second son of Ieyasu, the main army should countermarch to meet the western forces at some point remote from Yedo. The Tokugawa battalions, following two routes--the Tokaido and the Nakasendo--made rapid progress westward, and on September 21st, the van of the division under Fukushima and Ikeda reached Kiyosu. But the Nakasendo column of thirty-eight thousand men under Hidetada encountered such desperate resistance before the castle of Ueda, at the hands of Sanada Masayuki, that it did not reach Sekigahara until the great battle was over. Meanwhile, the western army had pushed steadily eastward. Its first exploit was to capture and burn the Momo-yama castle, which was splendidly defended by the veteran Torii Mototada, then in his sixty-second year. With a garrison of only two thousand men he held at bay during eleven days an investing force of forty thousand. The torch was set to the castle on the 8th of September by traitors in the garrison, and Mototada committed suicide. Thereafter, the van of the western army advanced to Gifu along the Nakasendo, and the main body, making a detour through Ise, ultimately pushed forward into Mino. With this army were no less than forty-three generals of renown, and the number of feudal barons, great and small, who sent troops to swell its ranks was thirty-one. Undoubtedly these barons were partially influenced by the conception generally prevalent that the fortunes of the two great families of Toyotomi and Tokugawa depended on the issue of this struggle. But it must also be admitted that had Ishida Katsushige been as black as the Tokugawa historians paint him, he could never have served for the central figure of such an array. He is seen inciting the besiegers of Momo-yama Castle to their supreme and successful effort. He is seen winning over to the Toyotomi cause baron after baron. He is seen leading the advance of the western army's van. And he is seen fighting to the end in the great battle which closed the campaign. Some heroic qualities must have accompanied his gift of statesmanship. The nominal leader of the western army, which mustered 128,000 strong, was Mori Terumoto, and under him were ranged Ukita Hideiye, Mori Hidemoto, Shimazu Yoshihiro, Konishi Yukinaga, and many other captains of repute. Under the Tokugawa banners there marched 75,000 men, their van led by Ii Naomasa and Honda Tadakatsu. On October 21, 1600, the great battle of Sekigahara was fought. The strategy on the side of the western forces was excellent. Their units were disposed along a crescent-shaped line recessed from the enemy, so that an attacking army, unless its numerical strength was greatly superior, had to incur the risk of being enveloped from both flanks--a risk much accentuated by the fact that these flanking troops occupied high ground. But on the side of the western army there was a feature of weakness which no strategy could remove: all the battalions constituting the right wing were pledged to espouse the cause of Ieyasu at the crisis of the struggle. There were six of these battalions, large or small, and they were commanded by Akakura, Ogawa, Kuchiki, Wakizaka, Kohayakawa, and Kikkawa. Thus, not only were the eastern troops able to deliver their attack in full force against the centre and left of their foes, but also the latter were exposed to the most demoralizing of all eventualities, treachery. After a fierce fight the western army was completely defeated. Some accounts put its losses at 35,000 men; others, with greater probability, estimating that only 100,000 men were actually engaged on both sides--namely, 60,000 on the Tokugawa side, and 40,000 on the Toyotomi--conclude that the losses were 6000 and 9000, respectively. Shimazu of Satsuma, at the head of a handful of samurai, cut his way through the lines of Ieyasu, and reaching Osaka, embarked hastily for Kyushu. Ishida Katsushige lay concealed in a cave for a few days, but was ultimately seized and beheaded, in company with Konishi Yukinaga and Ankokuji Ekei, at the execution ground in Kyoto. This one battle ended the struggle: there was no rally. Punishment followed quickly for the feudatories who had fought against the Tokugawa. Thus Mori Terumoto's domain, originally covering eight provinces and yielding a revenue of 1,205,000 koku, was reduced to the two provinces of Suwo and Nagato, yielding 300,000 koku. The three provinces of Ukita Hideiye were entirely forfeited, and he himself was banished to the island Hachijoshima. Oda Hidenobu, grandson of Nobunaga, Masuda Nagamori, and Sanada Masayuki, with his son, were ordered to take the tonsure and retire to the monastery of Koya-san. The fief of Uesugi Kagekatsu was reduced from 1,200,000 koku in Aizu to 300,000 koku in Yonezawa; and the 800,000 koku of the Satake family in Hitachi were exchanged for 200,000 koku in Akita. Only the Shimazu family of Satsuma remained without loss. Secured by inaccessibility, it continued to hold the provinces of Satsuma, Osumi, and Hyuga, with a revenue of 700,000 koku. REDISTRIBUTION OF THE FIEFS These measures represented only a fraction of the readjustments then effected. Ieyasu, following the example, set on a small scale by the Taiko, parcelled out the country in such a manner as to provide security against future trouble. Dividing the feudatories into hereditary vassals (fudai no kerai) and exterior nobles (tozama), he assigned to the former small but greatly increased estates situated so as to command the main highways as well as the great cities of central Japan, and he located the exterior nobles--many of them with largely reduced domains--in districts remote not only from Yedo and Kyoto but also from each other, wherever such method of distribution was possible. Moreover, in the most important places--as Osaka, Fushimi, Sakai, Nagasaki, Yamada (in Ise), and Sado (the gold mines), there were appointed administrators (bugyo), direct nominees of the Tokugawa; while Kyoto was put under the sway of a deputy of the shogun (shoshidai). Again, although the tozama daimyo received tolerably munificent treatment in the matter of estates, their resources were seriously crippled by the imposition of costly public works. These works consisted mainly of restoring dilapidated castles or building new ones on a scale so colossal as to be exceeded by only the stronghold at Osaka. It is recorded that when Fukushima Masanori, lord of Kiyosu in Owari, complained of the crippling effects of these severe requisitions, Kato Kiyomasa told him that there was no alternative except to retire to his castle and defy Yedo. The most costly of the edifices that came into existence in these circumstances was the castle of Nagoya, which is still one of the wonders of Japan. Twenty great barons took part in erecting it; the leading artists of the time were engaged in its interior decoration, and the roof of its donjon was crowned with, two gold dolphins, measuring nearly nine feet in height. IEYASU BECOMES SHOGUN On the 28th of March, 1603, the Emperor nominated Ieyasu to be minister of the Right and sei-i tai-shogun, presenting to him at the same time the conventional ox-chariot and military baton. Nine days later, the Tokugawa chief repaired to the palace to return thanks for these honours. The Emperor with his own hands gave him the drinking-cup and expressed profound gratification that through his military skill the wars which had convulsed the nation were ended, and the foundations of the empire's peace securely laid. Ieyasu was then in his sixty-second year. In the following May, Hideyori was made nai-daijin, and in the same month a marriage was contracted between him, then in his eleventh year, and Tenju-in, the seven-year-old daughter of Hidetada, son and successor of Ieyasu. YEDO AND KYOTO Ieyasu now took up his residence at Momo-yama Castle and Hidetada was ordered to live in Yedo. But the former made it a custom to go eastward every autumn on the pretext of enjoying the sport of falconry, and to remain in Yedo until the next spring. In February, 1605, the Tokugawa chief's return to Kyoto from the Kwanto capital was made the occasion of a great military display. Both Ieyasu and Hidetada travelled at the same time with a following of 170,000 soldiers, who were encamped outside the city whence they marched in, ten thousand daily, during seventeen consecutive days. This martial parade is said to have produced a great effect upon the nobles of the Kinai and the western provinces. But Ieyasu did not long retain the office of shogun. In 1605, he conveyed to the Imperial Court his desire to be relieved of military functions, in favour of his son Hidetada, and the Emperor at once consented, so that Hidetada succeeded to all the offices of his father, and Ieyasu retired to the castle of Sumpu, the capital of Suruga. His income was thenceforth reduced to 120,000 koku annually, derived from estates in the provinces of Mino, Ise, and Omi. But this retirement was in form rather than in fact. All administrative affairs, great or small, were managed in Sumpu, the shogun in Yedo exercising merely the power of sanction. Ieyasu made, frequent journeys to Yedo under the pretext of hawking but in reality for government purposes. THE YEDO BAKUFU It was on the 30th of August, 1590, that Ieyasu made his first formal entry into Yedo from Sumpu. Yedo Castle had previously been occupied by an agent of the Hojo clan. It was very small, and its surroundings consisted of barren plains and a few fishing villages. On the northwest was the moor of Musashi, and on the southeast a forest of reeds marked the littoral of Yedo Bay. The first task that devolved upon Ieyasu was the reclamation of land for building purposes. Some substantial work was done, yet the place did not suggest any fitness for the purpose of an administrative centre, and not until the battle of Sekigahara placed him in command of immense resources, did Ieyasu decide to make Yedo his capital. He then had large recourse to labour requisitioned from the feudatories. By these means hills were levelled, swamps reclaimed, and embankments built, so that the whole aspect of the region was changed, and sites were provided for the residences of various barons and for the establishment of shops and stores whose owners flocked to the new city from Osaka, Kyoto, and other towns. Thereafter, a castle of colossal dimensions, exceeding even the Osaka fortress in magnitude and magnificence, was rapidly constructed, the feudatories being required to supply labour and materials in a measure which almost overtaxed their resources. Historians differ as to the exact date of the establishment of the Yedo Bakufu, but the best authorities are agreed that the event should be reckoned from the battle of Sekigahara, since then, for the first time, the administrative power came into the hand of the Tokugawa baron, he having previously been simply the head of a board instituted by the Taiko. There can be no doubt, that in choosing Yedo for his capital, Ieyasu was largely guided by the example of Yoritomo and by the experience of the Ashikaga. Kamakura had been a success as signal as Muromachi had been a failure. In the former, Ieyasu had much to imitate; in the latter, much to avoid. We have seen that he distributed the estates of the feudatories so as to create a system automatically unfavourable to disturbance, in which contrivance he borrowed and extended the ideas of Nobunaga and Hideyoshi. It remains to note that what Hojo Tokimasa and Oye Hiromoto were to Minamoto Yoritomo as advisers and organizers, and what Ashikaga Tadayoshi and Kono Moronao were to Ashikaga Takauji in the same roles, such, also, were Honda Masanobu and Honda Masazumi to Tokugawa Ieyasu. HIDEYORI AND IEYASU In May, 1605, Hideyori was nominated u-daijin. At that time the nation was divided pretty evenly into two factors; one obedient to the Tokugawa, the other disposed to await Hideyori's coming of age, which event was expected to restore the authority of the Toyotomi family. Fukushima Masanori and Kato Kiyomasa were the most enthusiastic believers in the latter forecast. Up to that time Ieyasu had not given any definite indication of the attitude he intended to assume towards the Taiko's heir. It was not till the year 1611 that he found an opportunity of forming a first-hand estimate of Hideyori's character. He then had a meeting with the latter at Nijo Castle, and is said to have been much struck with the bearing and intelligence of Hideyori. In fact, whereas common report had spoken in very disparaging terms of the young man's capacities--Hideyori was then seventeen years old--the Tokugawa chief found a dignified and alert lad whose aspect suggested that if he was suffered to remain in possession of Osaka a few years longer, Yedo would run the risk of being relegated to a secondary place. Ieyasu after that interview is said to have felt like "a man who, having still a long distance to travel, finds himself enveloped in darkness." He saw that the time for considering justice and humanity had passed, and he summoned Honda Masanobu to whom he said: "I see that Hideyori is grown up to be a son worthy of his father. By and by it will be difficult for such a man to remain subservient to another." Masanobu, whom history describes as the "Tokugawa's storehouse of wisdom," is recorded to have replied: "So I, too, think, but there is no cause for anxiety. I have an idea." What this idea was events soon disclosed. Summoning one of the officials in the service of Hideyori's wife--Hidetada's daughter--Masanobu spoke as follows: "Hideyori is the only son of the late Taiko and it is the desire of the O-gosho" (the title given to Ieyasu after his retirement from the shogunate) "that he, Hideyori, should have a numerous and thriving family. Therefore, if any woman takes his fancy, she must be enrolled among his attendants to whatever class she may belong. Moreover, if there be among these ladies any who show jealousies or make disturbances, no complaint need be preferred to the O-gosho. I will undertake to settle the matter." From that time Hideyori lived among women. A word may here be said about the marriage between Hideyori and the granddaughter of Ieyasu, the bride and the bridegroom alike being mere children. According to a recognized historical authority, writing in the Tokugawa Jidaishi, such marriages were inspired by one or more of the following motives: (1) that the bride or bridegroom should serve as a hostage; (2) that the wedding should contribute to cement an alliance between the families of the bride and the bridegroom; (3) that the wedding should become a means of spying into the affairs of one of the families; (4) that it should be an instrument for sowing seeds of enmity between the two families. The objects of Ieyasu in wedding his granddaughter at seven years of age to Hideyori at eleven were doubtless of the nature indicated in the third and fourth of the above definitions. On the one hand, he seemed to the Osaka party to be conforming to the will of the Taiko; on the other, he was able to introduce into the household of Hideyori an unlimited number of spies among the retinue of his granddaughter. KATAGIRI KATSUMOTO Just before his death, Hideyoshi specially conjured Koide Hidemasa and Katagiri Katsumoto to labour for the safety of the Toyotomi family. Hidemasa soon followed his patron to the grave, and the duty of managing the affairs of the family devolved entirely upon Katsumoto in his capacity of administrator (bugyo). He devoted himself to the task with the utmost sincerity and earnestness, and he made it the basic principle of his policy to preserve harmony between the Tokugawa and the Toyotomi. His belief was that Ieyasu had not many years more to live, and that on his demise the administrative power would revert wholly to Hideyori as a natural consequence. Hence the wisest course was to avoid any collision in the meanwhile. THE OATH OF FEALTY On the 14th of May, 1601, that is to say, shortly after the battle of Sekigahara, all the feudatories were invited to subscribe a written oath of loyalty to the Tokugawa. This oath consisted of three articles. The first was a promise to observe strictly all instructions issued by the Bakufu in Yedo. The second was an engagement not to harbour or protect any person who had either violated or opposed the will of the shogun. The third was a pledge not to give employment to any samurai reported to be a traitor or an assassin. By these stipulations the signatories swore to abide strictly, and declared that any violation of the provisions of the oath would render the violator liable to severe punishment. Among the signatories there were not found any members of the Osaka party. These put forward the last will of the Taiko as a reason for refusing to sign, and from that time it became evident that the situation must terminate in an armed struggle. ONO HARUNAGA Among the Osaka partisans was one called Ono Harunaga, the son of the lady Yodo's nurse. This youth led a life of great profligacy, and although not wanting in any of the attributes of the samurai, he altogether lacked political insight. Thus, his relations with Katsumoto were strained, and Harunaga constantly essayed to undermine Katsumoto's influence. Hideyori himself did not want for ability, but acting by the advice of his mother, Yodo, and of his friend, Harunaga, he adopted a false policy of opposition to Ieyasu. STATE OF OSAKA The fact that the feudatories who called themselves friends of the Osaka party had refused to sign the oath of fealty, and the fact that the lady Yodo and Harunaga threw their influence into the anti-Tokugawa scale, had the effect of isolating Osaka so far as the laws of the Bakufu were concerned. Men who had broken those laws or otherwise offended against the shogun took refuge in Osaka. Such was the case with the son of Hosokawa Tadaoki; with Goto Matabei, chief vassal of Kuroda Nagamasa, and with Nambu Saemon, principal retainer of Nambu Nobunao. These three and many others repaired to the castle of Osaka, and being there secure against any unarmed attempt of the Tokugawa to arrest them, they virtually defied Ieyasu's control. By degrees a constant stream of ronin, or free-lances, flowed into that city, and a conspicuous element among its inhabitants consisted of Christian feudatories, who, regardless of the edicts of the Bakufu, openly preached their faith and were in no wise checked by the Toyotomi rulers. Even the Buddhist and Shinto priests in Osaka and its territories were independent of the Bakufu authority, and there were cases of boundary disputes in which the Tokugawa officials declined to give judgment since they were not in a position to enforce it. It may well be supposed that this state of affairs grew steadily more obnoxious to the Tokugawa. Ieyasu only awaited a pretext to assert the supremacy of his authority. INSCRIPTION ON THE BELL It has already been stated that, in the year 1586, a colossal image of Buddha was erected by Hideyoshi at the Hoko-ji in Kyoto. This idol was made of wood, and the great earthquake of 1596 destroyed it. Subsequently, Ieyasu advised Hideyori to replace the wooden idol with a bronze one. Ono Harunaga stood opposed to this idea, but Katagiri Katsumoto, constant to his policy of placating Ieyasu, threw his influence into the other scale. It is impossible to tell whether, in making this proposal, Ieyasu had already conceived the extraordinary scheme which he ultimately carried out. It would appear more probable, however, that his original policy was merely to impoverish the Toyotomi family by imposing upon it the heavy outlay necessary for constructing a huge bronze Buddha. Many thousands of ryo had to be spent, and the money was obtained by converting into coin a number of gold ingots in the form of horses, which Hideyoshi had stored in the treasury of the Osaka castle as a war fund. Five years later, that is to say, in 1614, the great image was completed and an imposing ceremony of dedication was organized. A thousand priests were to take part, and all the people in the capital, as well as many from the surrounding provinces, assembled to witness the magnificent fete. Suddenly an order was issued in the name of Ieyasu, interdicting the consummation of the ceremony on the ground that the inscription carried by the bell for the idol's temple was designedly treasonable to the Tokugawa. This inscription had been composed and written by a high Buddhist prelate, Seikan, reputed to be one of the greatest scholars and most skilful calligraphists of his time. It was inconceivable that such a man should err flagrantly in the use of the ideographic script. Ieyasu, however, despatched to Kyoto two rival prelates, Soden and Tengai, with instructions to convoke a meeting of the priests of the Five Temples and invite them to express an opinion about the inscription. Soden held the post of administrator of temples. This placed him officially at the head of all the other priests, and thus the opinions he expressed at the instance of Ieyasu possessed special weight. It was in vain that Seikan repudiated all intention of disrespect and pointed out that the inscription did not for a moment lend itself to the interpretation read into it by the Tokugawa chief. Only one priest, Kaizan of Myoshin-ji, had sufficient courage to oppose Soden's view, and the cause of the Tokugawa chief triumphed. Without a full knowledge of the Chinese ideographic script it is impossible to clearly understand either the charges preferred by the Tokugawa or the arguments employed in rebuttal. Western readers may, however, confidently accept the unanimous verdict of all modern scholars, that the interpretation assigned to the inscription in the first place by the Tokugawa officials, and in the second by Hayashi Doshun, representing the Confucianists, and Soden and Tengai, representing the Buddhists, was grossly unreasonable. That many experts should be found to range themselves on the side of a ruler so powerful as Ieyasu was not wonderful, but it says little for the moral independence of the men of the time that only one Buddhist priest among many thousand had the courage to withhold his consent to a judgment which outraged truth and justice. Naturally the news of the decision threw Osaka into a state of great excitement. Lady Yodo hastened to despatch to Sumpu her principal lady-in-waiting, Okura-no-Tsubone, accompanied by another dame of the chamber. These two were received by Acha-no-Tsubone at the court of Ieyasu, and through her they conveyed fervent apologies to the Tokugawa chief. Ieyasu treated the whole matter lightly. He granted an interview to the two ladies from Osaka and sent them on to Yedo to visit the wife of Hidetada, the lady Yodo's younger sister. The Osaka deputies naturally drew favourable inferences from this courteous mood, and taking an opportunity to refer to the affair of the inscription on the bell, elicited from Ieyasu an assurance that the matter need not be regarded with concern. Not for a moment suspecting any deception, Okura-no-Tsubone and her companion took their way to Osaka. On the other hand, Honda Masanobu and the priest, Tengai, were instructed to inform Katsumoto that the umbrage of Ieyasu was deeply roused, and that some very strong measure would be necessary to restore the Bakufu's confidence in Hideyori. Katsumoto vainly sought some definite statement as to the nature of the reparation required. He was merely told to answer the question himself. He accordingly proposed one of three courses, namely, that the lady Yodo should be sent to Yedo as a hostage; that Hideyori should leave Osaka and settle at some other castle; or, finally, that he should acknowledge himself a vassal of the Tokugawa. To these proposals the only reply that could be elicited from Ieyasu was that Yodo and her son should choose whichever course they pleased, and, bearing that answer, the disquieting import of which he well understood, Katsumoto set out from Sumpu for Osaka. Travelling rapidly, he soon overtook Okwra-no-Tsubone and explained to her the events and their import. But the lady was incredulous. She was more ready to suspect Katsumoto's sincerity than to believe that Ieyasu had meant to deceive her. Had Katsumoto been free to continue his journey to Osaka, reaching it in advance of Okura-no-Tsubone's party, the result might have been different. But Ieyasu did not contemplate any such sequence of events. He instructed Itakura Katsushige to invite Katsumoto to call at Kyoto on the way to Osaka with the object of discussing an important affair. Katsumoto had no choice but to delay his journey, and Katsushige took care that the delay should be long enough to afford time for Okura-no-Tsubone's party to reach Osaka, and to present their report, together with their suspicions of Katsumoto's disloyalty. Lady Yodo was incensed when she learned the terms that Katsumoto had offered. "I am Hideyori's mother," she is reported to have cried. "I will never bend my knee to the Kwanto. Rather will I and my son make this castle our death-pillow." Then, with Ono Harunaga, she formed a plot to kill Katsumoto and to draw the sword against the Tokugawa. Subsequently, when Katsumoto returned to Osaka and reported the result of his mission, he stated his conviction that the only exit from the dilemma was one of the three courses indicated above. Yodogimi, on being informed of this opinion, intimated her desire to see Katsumoto. But when the day named for the meeting came and Katsumoto was on the point of leaving his residence for the purpose of repairing to the conference, he received information that the intention was to kill him en route. He therefore fled to his domain in the remote province of Ibaraki. It is recorded that Katsumoto's plan was to offer to send Yodo as a hostage to Yedo. Then the question would arise as to a place of residence for her in the eastern capital, and the processes of preparing a site and building a house were to be supplemented by accidental conflagrations, so that the septuagenarian, Ieyasu, might easily pass away before the actual transfer of the hostage took place. Such was Katsumoto's device, but he had to flee from Osaka before he could carry it into effect. THE SIEGE OF OSAKA CASTLE In the year 1614, Ieyasu issued orders for the attack of Osaka Castle, on the ground that Katsumoto's promise had not been fulfilled. The Tokugawa chief set out from Sumpu and his son, Hidetada, from Yedo. Their armies, combined with the forces of several of the feudatories, are said to have aggregated one hundred and fifty thousand men. In Osaka, also, a great host was assembled, and among its leaders were several renowned warriors, including Sanada Yukimura, Goto Matabei, Hanawa Naotsugu, and others, who, although not originally vassals of the Toyotomi, supported Hideyori loyally. As for the castle, its enormous strength rendered it well-nigh impregnable, and after weeks of effort the Tokugawa forces had nothing to show for their repeated attacks except a long list of casualties. Ieyasu now had recourse to intrigue. The mother of Kyogoku Takatsugu, daimyo of Obama, in Wakasa, was the younger sister of the lady Yodo. Ieyasu induced her to open communications with Yodo, and to represent to the latter the advisability of concluding peace with the Tokugawa instead of remaining perpetually beleaguered in a fortress, thus merely postponing an end which could not be finally averted. A council was convened in the castle to consider this advice. Opinions were divided. Some held that Ieyasu could not be believed, and that if the struggle were maintained for a few years, the face of affairs might change radically. Others urged that the loyalty of the garrison was not above suspicion, and that if the fight went on much longer, treachery might be practised, to which risk a speedy peace, even at some cost, would be preferable. Ono Harunaga was among the advocates of surrender, but Hideyori himself showed that his character had not been mistaken by Ieyasu. He indignantly reminded Harunaga and the latter's fellow thinkers that arms had been taken up by their advice and in opposition to the loyal efforts of Katsumoto in the cause of peace. Lady Yodo, however, threw her influence into the scale with Ono Harunaga, and finally peace was concluded on terms highly favourable to the Toyotomi. It was agreed that Hideyori should remain in the possession of the castle and of all his domains, and that the garrison, as well as the unattached samurai who formed part of it, should not be punished but should be provided for subsequently. It might have occurred to the leaders of the Osaka party that these lenient conditions covered some occult designs; nothing was less likely than that a statesman like Ieyasu would be content with so signal a failure. But a short-sighted sentiment of confidence seems to have obscured the judgment of the Osaka folks. They actually gave heed to Ieyasu's complaint that he, the o-gosho, and his son, the shogun, must not be allowed to have taken so much trouble for nothing; that it was customary to give hostages to an army which agreed to raise a siege, and that at least a portion of the castle's defences should be destroyed. As to the last point, the Tokugawa chief was kind enough to say that the work of demolition should not cost the garrison anything, since labour would be supplied gratis by the shoguni. After considerable correspondence it was agreed that Harunaga's son should go to Yedo as a hostage, and that a portion of the outer moat of Osaka Castle should be filled up. Ieyasu did not lose a moment in giving effect to this latter provision. He ordered some of the fudai daimyo of the Kwanto to proceed to Osaka with several thousands of men, who should go to work forthwith to tear down the parapets and fill up the moats of the castle. These orders were implicitly obeyed, and as Ieyasu had omitted to indicate any limit for the work of destruction, it went on without check, and presently the second line of parapets began to follow the first. The Osaka leaders protested and essayed to stay the destruction. But the officers who were in command of the operation said that without a direct message from Honda Masazumi, who represented Ieyasu, they could not suspend their task. Efforts were then made to approach Honda, but he was conveniently absent "on account of his health," and the ensuing correspondence occupied several days, during which the pulling-down and filling-up went on by day and by night. More than one-half of the second moat had disappeared before Masazumi could be found. His answer was that he had been merely told to fill up the moat. Possibly he had mistaken the scope of his instructions and he would refer the matter to Ieyasu. This involved further delay and more filling, until, finally, Masazumi acknowledged that he had made a mistake, declared himself prepared to undergo punishment, and withdrew his men to Fushimi. Ieyasu supplied the sequel of the farce. When complaint was made against Masazumi, the Tokugawa leader simulated astonishment, expressed much regret, and said that he would condemn Masazumi to commit suicide were it permissible to mar this happy occasion by any capital sentence. "Peace," declared the astute old statesman, "has now been fortunately concluded. Let us not talk any more about the castle's moats or parapets." Against such an attitude the Osaka men could not enter any protest, and the farce ended there. Had the Osaka leaders possessed any measure of the wisdom that marked all the doings of Ieyasu, they would not have suffered matters to rest at such a stage. But they foolishly imagined that some retaliation might be effected by calling upon the Tokugawa to supplement that part of the peace provisions which related to allowances for the samurai who had fought on the side of the garrison. A demand in that sense was preferred to Ieyasu. But he had now laid aside his transient suavity. The Osaka people were brusquely informed that they must look to the Toyotomi family for recompense, and that as for rewarding unattached samurai who had drawn the sword against the shogun, the Osaka people, were they obedient to the dictates of loyalty, would of their own account peremptorily reject such an unwarranted proposition, even though Ieyasu himself were disposed to consent to it. Of course this answer profoundly enraged the Osaka party. They appreciated for the first time that they had been deceived throughout, and that by a series of adroit manoeuvres they had been removed from an almost impregnable position to a practically helpless plight. Not a few turned their backs on the castle, but a great majority determined to renew the conflict and to die at their posts. The circumstances, however, had now undergone a radical change. The castle had been converted from the strongest fortress in Japan into a mere semblance of strength, and no garrison, however brave and however resolute, could have defended it successfully against the forces that the Tokugawa were able to marshal. As for Ieyasu, he knew that his task had been immensely lightened. On the 3rd of May, 1615, he started from Sumpu for Osaka at the head of an army numbering scarcely one-third of the force previously led against the castle. Nevertheless, one contingency presented itself in a dangerous light. It was always possible that Hideyori himself should make a sortie from the fortress, and, in that event, the prestige attaching to the memory of his father, Hideyoshi, might have demoralized a large section of the Tokugawa troops. To avert this danger, Ieyasu had recourse to his wonted methods of deception. It has been shown that he held Harunaga's son, as a hostage. This youth was required to write a letter to his father stating that collusion existed between parties within and without the fortress, and that the traitors had plotted to induce Hideyori to make a sortie, whereupon the castle would be given up and Hideyori would be delivered into the hands of his enemies. Harunaga does not appear to have entertained any doubt as to the trustworthiness of this letter. He carried it hastily to Hideyori, who was in the act of preparing to sally out of the castle and throw himself upon the beleaguering forces. The receipt of the letter naturally led to a change of plan, and although desperate fighting subsequently took place, the castle was finally set on fire by traitors and its fate was seen to be hopeless. Hideyori's wife, granddaughter of Ieyasu, repaired to the Tokugawa headquarters to plead for the life of her husband and his mother. But Ieyasu was inexorable. He granted asylum to his granddaughter, but replied to her prayer by ordering a renewal of the attack upon the castle. On June 4th, Hideyori committed suicide, and his mother, Yodo, was killed by one of his retainers. Some thirty men and women killed themselves at the same time. Men spoke of the first fruitless assault upon the castle as the "Winter Campaign," and of the second and successful assault as the "Summer Campaign." But the two operations were radically different in their character. For, whereas in the first assault the garrison--numbering something like one hundred and eighty thousand men--stood strictly on the defensive, wisely relying on the immense strength of the fortress, on the second occasion most of the fighting took place outside the walls, the garrison preferring to rely upon strategy and courage rather than on ruined parapets and half-filled moats. Thus, the details of the second campaign occupy a large space in Japanese histories, but these tedious features of strategy and tactics are abbreviated here. There can be no doubt that Ieyasu, so far from seeking to save Hideyori's life, deliberately planned his destruction. Moreover, when it became known that an illegitimate son of Hideyori, called Kunimatsu, had been carried from the castle by some common soldiers and secreted at a farmhouse in Fushimi, Ieyasu caused this child of six to be seized and beheaded by a common executioner at Sanjo-kawara in Kyoto. This episode reflects no credit whatever on the Tokugawa leader. That he should extirpate every scion of the Toyotomi family was not inconsistent with the canons of the tune or with the interests of his own security. But death at the hands of a common executioner ought never to have been decreed for the son of the u-daijin, and the cruelty of the order finds no excuse. No tenet of bushido can be reconciled with such inhumanity. To this chapter of history belongs the attitude of Ieyasu towards the memory of his old friend and benefactor, Hideyoshi. He caused to be levelled with the ground the temple of Toyokuni Daimyo-jin, where the spirit of Hideyoshi was worshipped, and he ordered the removal of the tomb of the Taiko from Amidagamine to a remote corner of the Daibutsu enclosure. Finally, he sought and obtained the Emperor's sanction to revoke the sacred title conferred posthumously on Hideyoshi. One looks in vain for any fragment of magnanimity among such acts. Ieyasu is reported to have avowedly adopted for guidance the precept, "Before taking any step propound to your heart the query, how about justice?" He certainly did not put any such query to his own conscience in connexion with the castle of Osaka or its inmates. THE GENNA YEAR-PERIOD (1615-1623) The battle of Sekigahara is often spoken of as the last great internecine campaign in Japanese history, but this is hardly borne out by the facts. Indeed, from what has been said above, it will be seen that Sekigahara was merely a prelude to Osaka, and that the former stood to the latter almost in the relation of a preliminary skirmish. It is from August, 1615, that we must date the commencement of the long period of peace with which Japan was blessed under Tokugawa rule. The year-name was then changed to Genna. DEATH OF IEYASU In February, 1616, Ieyasu fell sick, and in April the Emperor sent an envoy to confer on him the title of dajo daijin. He expired a few days afterwards at the age of seventy-five and was apotheosized as Tosho Dai-Gongen (Light of the East and Great Incarnation). He was buried on the summit of Mount Kuno in Suruga, and ultimately his ashes were carried to Nikko for interment. It is recorded, though not on independent authority, that when his end was drawing near he spoke to those at his side in the folio whig terms: "My death is now in sight, but happily the country is at peace, and Hidetada has already discharged the duties of shogun for several years. I have, therefore, no cause for anxiety. If, after I am gone, Hidetada should make any failure in his administration of public affairs, or if he should lose control of the people, any one of you to whom the Imperial order may be addressed, should assume the functions of shogun, for, as you well know, that post is not the property of this or that person in particular, nor will my rest in the grave be disturbed though such an event occurs." Another record, however, represents Ieyasu as following the example of the Taiko and conjuring his most trusted retainers to devote their strength to the support of the Tokugawa family. To Hidetada he is said to have suggested the advisability of compelling the daimyo to remain in Yedo for three full years after his (Ieyasu's) demise, in order to test thoroughly their attitude. Hidetada replied that while most unwilling to reject his father's advice, his intention was to allow the feudatories to leave Yedo at once, and if any one of them evinced hostile feeling by shutting himself up in his castle, he, Hidetada, would follow him thither and level his parapets with the ground. Such an object lesson was, in his opinion, the best stepping-stone to supremacy. Ieyasu is reported to have received this answer with profound satisfaction, and to have declared that he was now assured of the permanence of peace. He then had all his sons called to his side and enjoined upon them the duty of serving the shogun faithfully. To his grandson, Iemitsu, he specially addressed himself, saying: "It will fall to your lot, some day, to govern the country. On that day remember that benevolence should be the first principle of a ruler." CHARACTER OF IEYASU Frugality is one of the virtues which Ieyasu certainly possessed. Striking example of its display is connected with Yedo Castle. This fortress, as built originally by Ota Dokwan, was not of imposing dimensions even as a military stronghold, and the dwelling-house in the keep presented most homely features, having a thatched roof and a porch of rough boat-planks. Yet Ieyasu was content to make this edifice his palace, and while he devoted much care to strengthening the fortifications, he bestowed none on the enlargement and adornment of the dwelling. The system he adopted to populate the city may be said to have been colonial. He encouraged his vassals to settle there, giving them lands to cultivate and breeding-grounds for horses, so that within a brief time the city obtained numerous inhabitants and developed a prosperous condition. It was in planning the details of all enterprises that he particularly excelled. To everything he brought an almost infinite capacity of patient study and minute examination; his principle being that to achieve success the first desideratum is to avoid mistakes. Doubtless he owed this faculty of profound painstaking to the vicissitudes of his early life. The years that he passed under the control of the Imagawa and afterwards under that of Oda taught him patience and self-restraint, and made the study of literature obligatory for him, at the same time begetting in his mind a feeling of reverence for the Buddhist faith. Japanese historians generally credit him with the virtues of humanity, magnanimity, justice, and affability. That he was always pleased to receive advice from others and that he set an example of courtesy and zeal, there can be no doubt. Neither will anyone deny that his resourcefulness amounted to genius. On the other hand, his record shows that he was unscrupulous in utilizing opportunities, whether created by himself or made accessible by fortune, and from the same record we are compelled to infer that he could be cruel and implacable on occasion. His favourite sayings afford perhaps the best index that we possess to his disposition:-- Man's life is like a long journey toiling under a heavy burden. Never be in a hurry. He that regards destitution as his habitual lot will never feel the pressure of want. When the spirit of ambition arises in your bosom, recall the days of your distress. To forbear is the source of harmlessness and the road to success. Regard anger as an enemy. He that knows how to win only and does not know how to lose, will achieve nothing useful. Blame yourself and acquit others. To fall short is better than to exceed. ENGRAVING: SIGNATURE OF ASHIKAGA TAKAUJI ENGRAVING: THEATRICAL PLAY OF OLD JAPAN CHAPTER XXXIX FIRST PERIOD OF THE TOKUGAWA BAKUFU; FROM THE FIRST TOKUGAWA SHOGUN, IEYASU, TO THE FOURTH, IETSUNA (1603-1680) LEGISLATION THE Tokugawa family having brought the whole empire under its sway, Ieyasu applied himself to legislative work with a degree of thoroughness and earnestness that far exceeded anything in the history of his predecessors. The terms of the oath of allegiance that he dictated to the feudatories after the battle of Sekigahara have been already referred to. Ten years later, that is to say, in 1611, he required all the provincial governors to subscribe this same oath, and, in 1613, he enacted a law for the Court nobles (kugeshu-hatto), to which the Imperial assent was obtained. This was the first instance of a military man legislating for the nobles of the capital; but it must be noted that the latter by their own misconduct furnished an opportunity for such interference. A Court scandal assumed such dimensions, in 1607, that the Emperor ordered the Bakufu to investigate the matter and to inflict suitable punishment. Ieyasu summoned a number of the offenders to Sumpu, where he subjected fourteen of them to severe examination. Ultimately some were sentenced to exile and others were deprived of their ranks, while the principal malefactor, Inokuma, general of the Left, was condemned to death. This affair demonstrated that the effective power was in the hands of the military, and throughout the Tokugawa rule they never failed to exercise it. In September of the year that witnessed the fall of Osaka Castle, Ieyasu and Hidetada summoned all the provincial governors to Momo-yama, and handed to them a body of rules entitled the "Laws of the Military Houses." These laws ran as follows:-* *The translation of these laws is taken from a paper read by Mr. Consul-General J. C. Hall and recorded in the "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan" for 1911. "(1) Literature, arms, archery, and horsemanship are, systematically, to be the favourite pursuits. "Literature first, and arms next was the rule of the ancients. They must both be cultivated concurrently. Archery and horsemanship are the more essential for the military houses. Weapons of warfare are ill-omened words to utter; the use of them, however, is an unavoidable necessity. In times of peace and good order we must not forget that disturbance may arise. Dare we omit to practise our warlike exercise and drill?" Although this provision ostensibly encouraged the pursuit of literary and military arts, those who read the law too implicitly and devoted themselves too earnestly to the pursuit of arms quickly found that they were not in touch with the time or with the intention of the legislators. In fact, the purpose of the latter was to bracket literature and the art of war together, giving no preference to either. "(2) Drinking parties and gaming amusements must be kept within due bounds. "In our Instructions it is laid down that strict moderation in these respects is to be observed. To be addicted to venery and to make a pursuit of gambling is the first step towards the loss of one's domain." This rule may be said to define what is known in Europe as "conduct unbecoming an officer." Not to know how to order one's tongue was as grave an offence as debauchery, according to the canons of the samurai. "(3) Offenders against the law are not to be harboured in feudal domains. "Law is the very foundation of ceremonial decorum and of social order. To infringe the law in the name of reason is as bad as to outrage reason in the name of law. To disregard the law (laid down by us) is an offence which will not be treated with leniency." This provision was directly suggested by the Government's desire to suppress Christianity. "(4) Throughout the domains whether of the greater or lesser barons (daimyo and shomyo) or of the holders of minor benefits, if any of the gentry or soldiers (shi and sotsu) in their service be guilty of rebellion or murder, such offenders must be at once expelled from their domain. "Fellows of savage disposition (being retainers) are an apt weapon for overthrowing the domain or the family employing them, and a deadly instrument for cutting off the common people. How can such be tolerated?" In the early days of the Yedo Bakufu it was not uncommon for a feudatory to enrol among his vassals refugee samurai who had blood on their hands. These would often be pursued into the fiefs where they had taken refuge, and much disorder resulted. The above provision removed these murderers from the protection of the feudatory in whose service they had enlisted. "(5) Henceforth no social intercourse is to be permitted outside of one's own domain with the people (gentry and commoners) of another domain. "In general, the customs of the various domains are all different from one another, each having its own peculiarities. To divulge the secrets of one's own domain is a sure indication of an intent to curry favour." It has been shown that by the Chinese masters of strategy whose works were studied in Japan the art of espionage was placed on a high pinnacle. This teaching appears to have produced such evil results that the Tokugawa legislated against it. "(6) The residential castles in the domains may be repaired; but the matter must invariably be reported. Still more imperative is it that the planning of structural innovations of any kind must be absolutely avoided. "A castle with a parapet exceeding three thousand feet by ten is a bane to a domain. Crenelated walls and deep moats (of castles) are causes of anarchy." This provision was important as a means of enfeebling the barons. They were not at liberty to repair even a fence of the most insignificant character or to dredge a moat, much more to erect a parapet, without previous sanction from the Bakufu. "(7) If, in a neighbouring domain, innovations are being hatched or cliques being formed, the fact is to be reported without delay. "Men are always forming groups; whilst, on the other hand, few ever come to anything. On this account, they fail to follow their lords or fathers, and soon come into collision with those of neighbouring villages. If the ancient prohibitions are not maintained, somehow or other innovating schemes will be formed." Everything in the form of combination, whether nominally for good or for evil, was regarded with suspicion by the Bakufu, and all unions were therefore interdicted. Of course, the most important incident which the law was intended to prevent took the form of alliances between barons of adjacent provinces. "(8) Marriages must not be contracted at private convenience. "Now, the marriage union is a result of the harmonious blending of the In and Yo (i.e. the Yin and Yang of Chinese metaphysics, the female and male principles of nature). It is therefore not a matter to be lightly undertaken. It is said in the 'Scowling' passage of the (Chow) Book of Changes, 'Not being enemies they unite in marriage.' Whilst (the elders are) thinking of making advances to the opponent (family), the proper time (for the marriage of the young couple) is allowed to slip by. In the 'Peach Young' poem of the Book of Odes it is said, 'If the man and woman, duly observing what is correct, marry at the proper time of life, there will be no widows in the land.' To form cliques (political parties) by means of matrimonial connexions is a source of pernicious stratagems." This provision was, in fact, a codification of the veto pronounced by Hideyoshi on his death-bed against marriages between the families of different daimyo. Ieyasu himself had been the first to violate the veto, and he was the first to place it subsequently on the statute book. The third Tokugawa shogun, Iemitsu, extended the restriction by ordering that even families having estates of only three thousand koku should not intermarry without Yedo's previous consent. "(9) As to the rule that the daimyo shall come (to the shogun's court at Yedo) to do service:-- "In the Shoku Nihongi (The Continuation of the Chronicles of Japan) it is recorded amongst the enactments, "'Except when entrusted with some official duty to assemble, no one (dignitary) is allowed at his own pleasure to assemble his tribe within the limits of the capital, no one is to go about attended by more than twenty horsemen, etc.' "Hence it is not permissible to lead about a large force of soldiers. For daimyo whose revenues range from 1,000,000 koko down to 200,000 koku, the number of twenty horsemen is not to be exceeded. For those whose revenues are 100,000 koku and under, the number is to be in the same proportion. "On occasions of official service, however (i.e. in time of warfare), the number of followers is to be in proportion to the social standing of each daimyo." The above rule of repairing to the capital to pay respects (go-sankin) was an old fashion, and barons were accustomed to go with large retinues. Thus, it often happened that collisions occurred between the corteges of hostile feudatories, and it was to prevent these sanguinary encounters that the Tokugawa set strict limits to the number of samurai accompanying a military chief. "(10) There must be no confusion in respect of dress uniforms, as regards the materials thereof. "The distinction between lord and vassal, between superior and inferior, must be clearly marked by the apparel. Retainers may not, except in rare cases by special favour of their lords, indiscriminately wear silk stuffs, such as shiro-aya (undyed silk with woven patterns), shiro-kosode (white wadded silk coats), murasaki-awase (purple silk coats, lined), murasaki-ura (silk coats lined with purple); nori (white gloss silk), mumon (silk coat without the wearer's badge dyed on it), kosode (a coloured silk-wadded coat). In recent times, retainers and henchmen (soldiers) have taken to wearing rich damasks and silk brocade. This elaborate display was not allowed by the ancient laws and it must be severely kept within bounds." "(11) Miscellaneous persons are not at their pleasure to ride in palanquins. "There are families who for special reasons from of old have (inherited) the privilege of riding in palanquins without permission from the authorities: and there are others who by permission of the authorities exercise that privilege. But, latterly, even sub-vassals and henchmen of no rank have taken to so riding. This is a flagrant impertinence. Henceforward the daimyo of the provinces, and such of their kinsfolk as are men of distinction subordinate to them, may ride without applying for Government permission. Besides those, the following have permission, viz., vassals and retainers of high position about their lords; doctors and astrologers; persons of over sixty years of age, and sick persons and invalids. If ordinary retainers, or inferior henchmen (sotsu) are allowed to ride in palanquins, it will be considered to be the fault of their lords. "This proviso, however, does not apply to Court nobles, abbots, or ecclesiastics in general. "(12) The samurai throughout the provinces are to practise frugality. "Those who are rich like to make a display, whilst those who are poor are ashamed of not being on a par with the others. There is no other influence so pernicious to social observances as this; and it must be strictly kept in check." Frugality always occupied a prominent place in the Bakufu's list of essentials. Frequent and strenuous efforts were made by successive shoguns to encourage people in this virtue, but with the long peace enjoyed by the country under Tokugawa rule, a tendency to increasing luxury constantly prevailed, and the Government's aims in this respect were not realized except for brief periods. During the administration of the first three Tokugawa shoguns, and under the eighth shogun (Yoshimune), some success attended official injunctions of economy, but on the whole a steady growth of extravagance characterized the era. "(13) The lords of domain (kokushu, masters of provinces) must select men of capacity for office. "The way to govern is to get hold of the proper men. The merits and demerits (of retainers) should be closely scanned, and reward or reproof unflinchingly distributed accordingly. If there be capable men in the administration, that domain is sure to flourish; if there be not capable men, then the domain is sure to go to ruin. This is an admonition which the wise ones of antiquity all agree in giving forth." "The tenor of the foregoing rules must be obeyed. "Keicho, 20th year, 7th month (September 23, 1615)." The above body of laws may be regarded as the Tokugawa Constitution. They were re-enacted by each shogun in succession on assuming office. The custom was to summon all the daimyo to Yedo, and to require their attendance at the Tokugawa palace, where, in the presence of the incoming shogun, they listened with faces bowed on the mats to the reading of the laws. Modifications and additions were, of course, made on each occasion, but the provisions quoted above remained unaltered in their essentials. Up to the time of the third shogun (Iemitsu), the duty of reading aloud the laws at the solemn ceremonial of the new shogun's investiture devolved on a high Buddhist priest, but it was thereafter transferred to the representative of the Hayashi family (to be presently spoken of). Any infraction of the laws was punished mercilessly, and as their occasionally loose phraseology left room for arbitrary interpretation, the provisions were sometimes utilized in the interest of the shogun and at the expense of his enemies. RULES FOR THE IMPERIAL COURT AND COURT NOBLES In the same month of the same year there was promulgated a body of laws called the "Rules of the Imperial Court, and the Court Nobles" (Kinchu narabi ni Kugeshu Sho-hatto). This enactment bore the signatures of the kwampaku and the shogun and had the Imperial sanction. It consisted of seventeen articles, but only five of them had any special importance: "(1) Learning is the most essential of all accomplishments. Not to study is to be ignorant of the doctrines of the ancient sages, and an ignorant ruler has never governed a nation peacefully." This specious precept was not intended to be literally obeyed. The shoguns had no desire for an erudite Emperor. Their conception of learning on the part of the sovereign was limited to the composition of Japanese verselets. A close study of the doctrines of the ancient Chinese sages might have exposed the illegitimacy of the Bakufu administration. Therefore, Yedo would have been content that the Mikado should think only of spring flowers and autumn moonlight, and should not torment his mind by too close attention to the classics. "(2) A man lacking in ability must not be appointed to the post of regent or minister of State even though he belong to the Go-sekke (Five Designated Families), and it is needless to say that none but a member of those families may serve in such a position." "(3) A man of ability, even though he be old, shall not be allowed to resign the post of regent or minister of State in favour of another. If he attempts to resign, his resignation should be refused again and again." The above two provisions practically conferred on the Bakufu the power of not only appointing the regent and ministers of State but also of keeping them in office. For, as the law had been framed in Yedo, in Yedo also was vested competence to judge the ability or disability of a candidate. Hence, when the Emperor proposed to appoint a regent or a minister, the Bakufu had merely to intimate want of confidence in the nominee's ability; and similarly, if the sovereign desired to dismiss one of those high officials, the shogun could interfere effectually by reference to the letter of the law. Thus, the power of appointing and dismissing the great officials in Kyoto, which is one of the important prerogatives of the crown, was practically usurped by the shogun. "(4) An adopted son shall always be chosen from the family of his adopter; and a female shall never be adopted to be the head of a family, no such custom having existed in Japan at any time." This provision had two main objects. The first was to avert adoptions having the effect of combinations; the second, to prevent adoption of Imperial princes into other families. The Bakufu sought, as far as possible, to bring about the taking of the tonsure by all princes of the Blood who were not in the direct line of the succession, and to keep these princes from attaining to the posts of regents or ministers of State. "(5) All reports shall be submitted to the Emperor by the regent, the denso, or an administrator (bugyo). Any other person who, in disregard of this rule, attempts to address the Throne direct, shall be sent into exile, whatever his rank." The denso mentioned in this provision was an official appointed by the Bakufu for that special purpose. The whole arrangement as to communication with the Throne constituted a powerful buttress of Bakufu influence. Generally, the latter could contrive, as has been shown above, to control the appointment and continuance in office of a regent or a minister, while as for the administrators (bugyo), they were nominees of Yedo. It thus resulted that the Throne was approachable through the channel of the Bakufu only. LAWS WITH REFERENCE TO BUDDHISM The above laws remained unchanged throughout the Tokugawa era. A special law was also enacted with reference to Buddhist sects and the principal Buddhist temples. Ieyasu secured to these temples the possession of their manors by granting title-deeds bearing what was called the "go-shuinji," or "vermilion signature." The term was not really applicable in the case of Ieyasu. It is true that Hideyoshi, doubtless in imitation of Chinese custom, stamped a vermilion seal upon documents of this character; but the Tokugawa shoguns employed a black signature written with a pen. Nevertheless, the term "go-shuinji" continued to be used from the time of the Taiko downwards. It was an outcome of Ieyasu's astuteness that the great Hongwan temple was divided into two branches, eastern and western, by which process its influence was prevented from becoming excessive. During the administration of the third shogun, every daimyo was required to adhere to a definite sect of Buddhism, and to the Buddhist and Shinto temples was entrusted the duty of keeping an accurate census of their parishioners. The direct purpose of these latter laws was to facilitate the extermination of Christianity. Anyone whose name was not enrolled on one of the above lists fell under suspicion of embracing the foreign faith. A JAPANESE HISTORIAN'S OPINION Referring to the above laws the Tokugawa Jidaishi says: "The above laws and regulations were the Constitution of the Tokugawa Bakufu. By the aid of their provisions the influence of Yedo was extended to every part of the nation from the Imperial Court to the world of religion. No such codes had ever previously existed in Japan. Any unit of the nation, whether a Court noble, a great feudatory, a priest, or a common samurai, had to yield implicit obedience or to suffer condign punishment. Thus, it fell out that everybody being anxious to conform with the rules, the universal tendency was to share in preserving the peace. From the point of view of this system, Ieyasu was eminently above all modern and ancient heroes. Hideyoshi won brilliant victories in war, but he saw no better method of maintaining peace at home than to send the country's armies to fight abroad. He seems to have conceived a hope that his generals would find goals for their ambition in Korea or China, and would exhaust their strength in endeavouring to realize their dreams. But his plan brought about the contrary result; for the generals formed fresh enmities among themselves, and thus the harvest that was subsequently reaped at Sekigahara found hands to sow it. "Ieyasu, however, prized literature above militarism. He himself became a pioneer of learning, and employed many scholars to assist in constructing a solid framework of peace. The territorial nobles had to follow his example. Even Kato Kiyomasa, Asano Yukinaga, and Kuroda Nagamasa, each of whom during his lifetime was counted a divinely inspired general, found themselves constrained to study the Chinese classics under the guidance of Funabashi Hidekata and Fujiwara Seigwa. How much more cogent, then, was the similar necessity under which lesser men laboured. Thus, Ieyasu's love of literature may be regarded as a cause of the peace that prevailed under the Tokugawa for 260 years." REVIVAL OF LEARNING Ieyasu employed four instruments for educational purposes--the establishment of schools, the engagement of professors, the collection of ancient literary works, and the printing of books. In accordance with his last will his son Yoshinao, daimyo of Owari, built, in 1636, the Daiseiden College beside the temple of Kiyomizu in Ueno Park, near the villa of Hayashi Kazan, the celebrated Confucian scholar; but, in 1691, the college was moved to the slope called Shohei-zaka, where a bridge--Shohei-bashi--was thrown across the river. "Shohei" is the Japanese pronunciation of "Changping," Confucius's birthplace, and the school was known as the Shohei-ko. It received uniform patronage at the hands of the Tokugawa, whose kinsmen and vassals were required to study there, their proficiency, as determined by its examinations, being counted a passport to office. Yoshinao laid the foundation of a great library at the school and the number of volumes was constantly increased. During the lifetime of Ieyasu, one of the most noted scholars was Fujiwara Seigwa. By the invitation of the Tokugawa chief he lectured on the classics in Kyoto, and it is recorded that Ieyasu, who had just (1600) arrived in that city, attended one of these lectures, wearing his ordinary garments. Seigwa is related to have fixed his eyes on Ieyasu and addressed him as follows: "The greatest work of Confucius teaches that to order oneself is the most essential of achievements. How shall a man who does not order himself be able to order his country? I am lecturing on ethics to one who behaves in a disorderly and discourteous manner. I believe that I preach in vain." Ieyasu immediately changed his costume, and the event contributed materially to the reputation alike of the intrepid teacher and of the magnanimous student, as well as to the popularity of Seigwa's doctrines. Hayashi Kazan was a disciple of Seigwa whose reputation as a scholar he rivalled. Ieyasu employed him extensively in drafting laws; and many of his disciples subsequently served as teachers of the Chinese classics. The scripture of Hayashi's school of ethics was Chu Hi's commentary on the "Great Learning" of Confucius. In this system, ethics become a branch of natural philosophy. "Corresponding to the regular change of the seasons in nature is right action in man (who is the crown of nature), in the relation of sovereign and subject, parent and child, elder brother and younger brother, husband and wife, friend and friend. To his sovereign, or lord, he is bound to be faithful; to his parents, dutiful, and to his elder brother, respectful. Affection should characterize the relations of husband and wife and trust those of friend with friend." A moment's consideration of this ethical system shows that it cannot be reconciled with such a form of administration as that existing under the Bakufu. Genuine loyalty to the sovereign found no place in the practical code of Tokugawa. Whether Ieyasu appreciated that fact or whether he ignored it in consideration of the civilizing and tranquillizing influences of Confucianism, there is nothing to show. Ultimately, however, it was to the ethics of the Chinese sage that the Tokugawa downfall became indirectly attributable. Ieyasu showed much earnestness in searching for and collecting ancient books. Before and after the war of Osaka, he ordered priests to copy old books and records preserved in Buddhist temples and noblemen's houses. Subsequently, during the Kwanei era--1621-1643--there was built within the castle of Yedo a library called Momijiyama Bunko where the books were stored. He was also instrumental in causing the compilation and publication of many volumes whose contents contribute materially to our historical knowledge. The writing of history in the Imperial Court had been abandoned for many years, and the scholars employed by Ieyasu had recourse to private diaries for materials. Hayashi Kazan (Doshuri) was entrusted with the duty of distinguishing between the true and the false in using these records, and there resulted two memorable works. The second of these consisted in the main of genealogical tables. It extended to 372 volumes and subsequently became the Kwanei Shoke Keizu-den. The first, a national history, was originally called the Honcho Hennen-roku. Before its compilation Kazan (Doshun) died, and the book was concluded by his son, Harukatsu, in the year 1635. It consisted of three hundred volumes in all, and covered the period from the age of the Gods to the year 1610. It is now known as the Honcho Tsugan. The two works having been published to the order and under the patronage of the Bakufu, their contents were by no means free from the stain of favour and affection, but they nevertheless possess inestimable historical value. THE SECOND TOKUGAWA SHOGUN, HIDETADA Hidetada, third son of Ieyasu, was born in 1579; succeeded to the shogunate in 1605; abdicated in 1622, and died in 1632. His appearance on the historical stage was not very glorious, for, as already shown, when marching to join his father's army before the battle of Sekigahara, he allowed himself to be detained so long at the siege of Ueda Castle that he failed to be present at the great combat, and Ieyasu, as a mark of displeasure, refused to meet him until Honda Masazumi pleaded Hidetada's cause. During the first eleven years of his shogunate he exercised little real authority, the administration being conducted by Ieyasu himself from his nominal place of retirement in Sumpu. Thus, the period of Hidetada's independent sway extended over six years only. But during the ten subsequent years he continued to exercise much camera influence over the Government, though his power was inferior to that which had been wielded by Ieyasu in nominal retirement. Honda Masazumi, who had befriended him at the critical time mentioned above, occupied the highest post in the administration, the second place being assigned to Sakai Tadayo, while in Kyoto the Tokugawa interests were guarded by Itakura Katsushige and Matsudaira Masatsuna. The era of Hidetada was essentially one of organization, and by the exercise of sincerity and justice he contributed much to the stability of the Tokugawa rule. Not the least memorable step taken by him related to the fortress of Yedo. In the year following his succession, he ordered the feudatories of the east to construct the castle which remains to this day one of the marvels of the world. "Around it stretched a triple line of moats, the outermost measuring nine and a half miles in length, the innermost one and a half, their scarps constructed with blocks of granite nearly as colossal as those of the Osaka stronghold, though in the case of the Yedo fortification every stone had to be carried hundreds of miles over the sea. The gates were proportionately as huge as those at Osaka, well-nigh the most stupendous works ever undertaken, not excepting even the Pyramids of Egypt. There is not to be found elsewhere a more striking monument of military power, nor can anyone considering such a work, as well as its immediate predecessor, the Taiko's stronghold at Osaka, and its numerous contemporaries of lesser but still striking proportions in the principal fiefs, refuse to credit the Japanese with capacity for large conceptions and competence to carry them into practice." CONJUGAL RELATIONS BETWEEN THE IMPERIAL FAMILY AND THE TOKUGAWA It had been one of the most cherished wishes of Ieyasu to follow the Fujiwara precedent by establishing conjugal relations between the Imperial family and the Tokugawa. But the ex-Emperor, Go-Yozei, turned a deaf ear to this proposal on the ground that a lady born in a military house had never been chosen consort of a sovereign. Ieyasu, however, did not abandon his purpose. He entrusted its prosecution to Todo Takatora, and in 1616, the year of Ieyasu's death, Todo induced Konoe Nobuhiro, minister of the Right, to promote this undertaking. Nobuhiro, being the Emperor's younger brother, was able to exert much influence, and finally the ex-Emperor gave his consent. In June, 1620, Kazuko, daughter of Hidetada, became first lady-in-waiting, and ultimately Empress under the name of Tofuku-mon-in. It is recorded that 1180 chests were required to carry her trousseau from Yedo, and that the costs of her outfit and of her journey to Kyoto aggregated more than a million sterling. She gave birth to two princes and five princesses, and the house of Konoe, which had been instrumental in procuring her summons to the Court, became the leader of the Go-sekke. DEATH OF HIDETADA AND HIS CHARACTER After resigning the shogunate in 1622, Hidetada retired to the inner castle (Nishi Maru) in Yedo and there continued to direct affairs. He died ten years later, at the age of fifty-eight, and was interred at the temple Zojo-ji, in the Shiba district of the eastern capital. Japanese historians agree that Hidetada's character was adapted for the work of consolidation that fell to his lot. He resembled his father, Ieyasu, in decision and perseverance; he never dealt lightly with any affair, and while outwardly gentle and considerate, he was at heart subtle and uncompromising. An interesting illustration of the administrative canons of the time is afforded in the advice said to have been given by Hosokawa Tadaoki when consulted by Hidetada. "There is an old proverb," Tadaoki replied, "that if a round lid be put on a square vessel, those within will have ease; but if a square lid be used to cover a square vessel, there will result a feeling of distress." Asked for a standard by which to judge qualifications for success, the same nobleman answered that an oyster shell found on the Akashi shore is the best type of a man qualified to succeed, for the shell has been deprived of all its angles by the beating of the waves. Of Hidetada himself there is told an anecdote which shows him to have been remarkably free from superstition. A comet made its appearance and was regarded with anxiety by the astrologists of Kyoto, who associated its advent with certain misfortune. Hidetada ridiculed these fears. "What can we tell," he said, "about the situation of a solitary star in the wide universe, and how can we know that it has anything to do with this little world?" THE THIRD SHOGUN, IEMITSU Iemitsu, son of Hidetada, was born in 1603; succeeded to the shogunate in 1622, and held that post until his death, in 1651. His principal ministers were Ii Naotaka (who had occupied the post of premier since the days of Ieyasu), Matsudaira Nobutsuna, and Abe Tadaaki, one of the ablest officers that served the Tokugawa. He devoted himself to consolidating the system founded by his grandfather, Ieyasu, and he achieved remarkable success by the exercise of exceptional sagacity and determination. In 1626, he proceeded to Kyoto at the head of a large army, simply for the purpose of conveying to the feudal nobles a significant intimation that he intended to enforce his authority without hesitation. Up to that, time the feudal chiefs were not officially required to reside in Yedo for any fixed time or at any fixed interval. But now it was clearly enacted that the feudatories of the east and those of the west should repair to the Bakufu capital, at different seasons in the year; should remain there a twelvemonth,--in the case of feudal lords from the Kwanto only six months--and should leave their wives and families as hostages during the alternate period of their own absence from the shogun's city, which they spent in the provinces. This system was technically called sankin kotai, that is "alternate residence in capital." From the point of view of the Tokugawa the plan was eminently wise, for it bound the feudal chiefs closer to the shogun, keeping them under his eye half the time and giving hostages for their good behaviour the other half; and it helped the growth of Yedo both in financial and political power, by bringing money into it and by making it more than before an administrative headquarters. On the other hand there was a corresponding drain on the provinces, all the greater since the standard of living at Yedo was higher than in rural districts and country nobles thus learned extravagance. To prevent other families from growing too rich and powerful seems to have been a part of Ieyasu's definite plan for holding in check possible rivals of the Tokugawa, so that it is not impossible that he foresaw this very result. At any rate it is known that in the instructions for government which he handed down to his successors he urged them to keep strict surveillance over their feudal lords and if any one of them seemed to be growing rich to impose upon him such a burden of public works as would cripple him. In 1632, Iemitsu made another military demonstration at Kyoto, and on this occasion the Emperor would have conferred on him the post of prime minister (dajo daijiri). But he refused to accept it. This refusal was subsequently explained as a hint to the feudal chiefs that inordinate ambition should be banished from their bosoms; but in reality Iemitsu was influenced by the traditional principle that the Throne had no higher gift to bestow on a subject than the shogunate. PROMINENT FEATURES OF THE ADMINISTRATION OF IEMITSU The prominent feature of this able ruler's administration was that he thoroughly consolidated the systems introduced by his grandfather and confirmed by his father. From the time of Iemitsu downwards, cardinal forms were never changed, alterations being confined to non-essentials. On his death-bed he desired that his prime minister, Hotta Masamori, and several other notables should accompany him to the tomb, and on the night of the 10th of June, 1651, Hotta Masamori (aged forty-six), Abe Shigetsugu (aged fifty-two), Uchida Masanobu (aged thirty-three), Masamori's mother (aged sixty-three), Saegusa Moriyoshi, and Okuyama Yasushige all committed suicide. Their tombs stand to this day in Nikko. THE NIKKO SHRINE AND THE KWANEI TEMPLE It has been related how largely Ieysau was aided against the Osaka party by Tengai, abbot of Enryaku-ji. This priest it was that devised the singular accusation connected with the inscription on a bell at Hoko-ji. He received from Ieyasu the diocese of Nikko in Shimotsuke province, where he built a temple which ultimately served as the shrine of Ieyasu. But the first Tokugawa shogun, faithful to his frugal habits, willed that the shrine should be simple and inexpensive, and when Hidetada died, his mausoleum (mitamaya) at the temple Zojo-ji in Yedo presented by its magnificence such a contrast to the unpretending tomb at Nikko, that Iemitsu ordered Akimoto Yasutomo to rebuild the latter, and issued instructions to various feudal chiefs to furnish labour and materials. The assistance of even Korea, Ryukyu, and Holland was requisitioned, and the Bakufu treasury presented 700,000 ryo of gold. The shrine was finished in 1636 on a scale of grandeur and artistic beauty almost unsurpassed in any other country. The same priest, Tengai, was instrumental in building the temple known as Kwanei-ji, and at his suggestion, Hidetada asked the Imperial Court to appoint a prince to the post of abbot (monsu). This system already existed in the case of Enryaku-ji on Hiei-zan in Kyoto, and it was Tengai's ambition that his sect, the Tendai, should possess in Yedo a temple qualified to compete with the great monastery of the Imperial capital. Thus, Ueno hill on which the Yedo structure stood was designated "Toei-zan," as the site of the Kyoto monastery was designated "Hiei-zan," and just as the temple on the latter received the name of "Enryaku-ji," after the era of its construction (Enryaku), so that in Yedo was named "Kwanei-ji," the name of the year period of its foundation being Kwanei. Finally, the Kwanei-ji was intended to guard the "Demon's Gate" of the Bakufu city as the Enryaku-ji guarded the Imperial capital. Doubtless, in furthering this plan, Iemitsu had for ultimate motive the association of an Imperial prince with the Tokugawa family, so that in no circumstances could the latter be stigmatized as "rebels." Not until the day of the Tokugawa's downfall did this intention receive practical application, when the priest-prince of Ueno (Prince Kitashirakawa) was set up as their leader by the remnants of the Bakufu army. ISE AND NIKKO Through many centuries it had been the custom of the Imperial Court to worship at the great shrine of Ise and to offer suitable gifts. This ceremony was long suspended, however, on account of continuous wars as well as the impecunious condition of the Court. Under the sway of the Oda and the Toyotomi, fitful efforts were made to renew the custom, but it was left for the Tokugawa to re-establish it. The third shogun, Iemitsu, petitioned the Court in that sense, and assigned an estate in Yamashiro as a means of defraying the necessary expenses, the Fujinami family being appointed to perform the ceremony hereditarily. At the same time Iemitsu petitioned that the Court should send an envoy to worship at Nikko every year on the anniversary of the death of Ieyasu, and this request having been granted, Nikko thenceforth became to the Tokugawa what Ise was to the Imperial Court. BUDDHISM AND CHRISTIANITY It has been shown that the Shimabara revolt finally induced the Bakufu Government to adopt the policy of international seclusion and to extirpate Christianity. In carrying out the latter purpose, extensive recourse was had to the aid of Buddhism. The chief temple of each sect of that religion was officially fixed, as were also the branch temples forming the parish of the sect; every unit of the nation was required to register his name in the archives of a temple, and the Government ordered that the priests should keep accurate lists of births and deaths. Anyone whose name did not appear on these lists was assumed to belong to the alien faith. This organization was completed in the time of Iemitsu. THE FOURTH SHOGUN, IETSUNA Ietsuna, the fourth Tokugawa shogun, eldest son of Iemitsu, was born in 1642 and succeeded to the office in 1651, holding it until his death in 1680. In bequeathing the administrative power to a youth in his tenth year, Iemitsu clearly foresaw that trouble was likely to arise. He therefore instructed his younger brother, Hoshina Masayuki, baron of Aizu, to render every assistance to his nephew, and he appointed Ii Naotaka to be prime minister, associating with him Sakai Tadakatsu, Matsudaira Nobutsuna, Abe Tadaaki, and other statesmen of proved ability. These precautions were soon seen to be necessary, for the partisans of the Toyotomi seized the occasion to attempt a coup. The country at that time swarmed with ronin (wave-men); that is to say, samurai who were, for various reasons, roving free-lances. There seems to have been a large admixture of something very like European chivalry in the make up of these ronin, for some of them seem to have wandered about merely to right wrongs and defend the helpless. Others sought adventure for adventure's sake and for glory's, challenging the best swordsman in each place to which they came. Many seem to have taken up the lives of wanderers out of a notion of loyalty; the feudal lords to whom they had owed allegiance had been crushed by the Tokugawa and they refused to enter the service of the shogun. The last-named reason seems to have been what prompted the revolt of 1651, when Ietsuna, aged ten, had just succeeded in the shogunate his father Iemitsu who had exalted the power of the Tokugawa at the expense of their military houses. The ronin headed by Yui Shosetsu and Marubashi Chuya plotted to set fire to the city of Yedo and take the shogun's castle. The plot was discovered. Shosetsu committed suicide, and Chuya was crucified. In the following year (1652) another intrigue was formed under the leadership of Bekki Shoetnon, also a ronin. On this occasion the plan was to murder Ii Naotaka, the first minister of State, as well as his colleagues, and then to set fire to the temple Zojo-ji on the occasion of a religious ceremony. But this plot, also, was discovered before it matured, and it proved to be the last attempt that was made to overthrow the Bakufu by force until more than two hundred years had passed. THE LEGISLATION OF IEMITSU AND IETSUNA On the 5th of August, 1635, a body of laws was issued by Iemitsu under the title of Buke Sho-hatto, and these laws were again promulgated on June 28, 1665, by the fourth shogun, Ietsuna, with a few alterations. The gist of the code of Iemitsu was as follows: That literature and arms were to be the chief object of cultivation; that the great and small barons were to do service by turns in Yedo, strict limits being set to the number of their retainers; that all work on new castles was strictly interdicted, and that all repairs of existing castles must not be undertaken without sanction from the Yedo administration; that in the event of any unwonted occurrence, all barons present at the scene must remain and await the shogun's orders; that no person other than the officials in charge might be present at an execution; that there must be no scheming innovations, forming of parties, or taking of oaths; that private quarrels were strictly interdicted, and that all matters difficult of arrangement must be reported to the Yedo administration; that barons having an income of ten thousand koku or more, and their chief officials, must not form matrimonial alliances without the shogun's permission; that greater simplicity and economy must be obeyed in social observances, such as visits of ceremony, giving and receiving presents, celebrating marriages, entertaining at banquets, building residences, and general striving after elegance; that there must be no indiscriminate intermingling (of ranks); that, as regards the materials of dress, undyed silk with woven patterns (shiro aya) must be worn only by Court nobles (kuge) and others of the highest ranks; that wadded coats of undyed silk might be worn by daimyo and others of higher rank; that lined coats of purple silk, silk coats with the lining of purple, white gloss silk, and coloured silk coats without the badge were not to be worn at random; that coming down to retainers, henchmen, and men-at-arms, the wearing by such persons of ornamental dresses such as silks, damask, brocade, or embroideries was quite unknown to the ancient laws, and a stop must be put to it; that all the old restrictions as to riding in palanquins must be observed; that retainers who had a disagreement with their original lord were not to be taken into employment by other daimyo; that if any such was reported as having been guilty of rebellion or homicide, he was to be sent back (to his former lord); that any who manifests a refractory disposition must either be sent back or expelled; that where the hostages given by sub-vassals to their mesne lords had committed an offence requiring punishment by banishment or death, a report in writing of the circumstances must be made to the administrators' office and their decision awaited; that in case the circumstances were such as to necessitate or justify the instant cutting-down of the offender, a personal account of the matter must be given to the administrator; that lesser feudatories must honestly discharge the duties of their position and refrain from giving unlawful or arbitrary orders (to the people of their fiefs); that they must take care not to impair the resources or well-being of the province or district in which they are; that roads, relays of post-horses, boats, ferries, and bridges must be carefully attended to, so as to ensure that there should be no delays or impediments to quick communication; that no private toll-bars might be erected or any existing ferry discontinued; that no vessels of over five hundred koku burden were to be built; that the glebe lands of shrines and temples scattered throughout the provinces, having been attached to them from ancient times to the present day, were not to be taken from them; that the Christian sect was to be strictly prohibited in all the provinces and in all places; that in case of any unfilial conduct the offender should be dealt with under the penal law; that in all matters the example set by the laws of Yedo was to be followed in all the provinces and places. As has been noted above, this same body of laws was re-enacted under the authority of Ietsuna, with the following slight alterations, namely, that the veto was removed from the wearing of costly ornamented dresses by retainers, henchmen, and men-at-arms, and that the restriction as to size should not apply to a cargo vessel. At the same time a prohibition of junshi (following in death) was issued in these terms: "That the custom of following a master in death is wrong and unprofitable is a caution which has been at times given from of old; but owing to the fact that it has not actually been prohibited, the number of those who cut their belly to follow their lord on his decease has become very great. For the future, to those retainers who may be animated by such an idea, their respective lords should intimate, constantly and in very strong terms, their disapproval of the custom. If, notwithstanding this warning, any instance of the practice should occur, it will be deemed that the deceased lord was to blame for unreadiness. Henceforward, moreover, his son and successor will be held blameworthy for incompetence, as not having prevented the suicides."* *From a paper read by Mr. Consul-General J. C. Hall and recorded in the "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan" for 1911. RELEASE OF HOSTAGES Another memorable step was taken during the administrative period of Ietsuna. It had been the custom to require that all the great nobles should send a number of their chief retainers or the latter's fathers, brothers, and sons to Yedo, where they were held as hostages for the peaceful conduct of their feudal chiefs. But when the system of sankin kotai had been in operation for some time, and when the power of the Tokugawa Bakufu had been fully consolidated, this practice of exacting hostages became superfluous and vexatious. It was therefore abandoned in the year 1665 and the hostages were all suffered to leave Yedo. THE MING DYNASTY The fall of the Ming dynasty in China took place in the thirteenth year of Ietsuna's succession, and for a moment it seemed that Japan might possibly take the field against the conquering Tatars. A Chinese immigrant who had settled in the island of Hirado, in Hizen, married the daughter of a Japanese farmer, and had a son by her. The immigrant's name was Cheng Chi-lung, and when the partisans of the Ming dynasty made their last stand at Foochaw, they chose Cheng for general, through him soliciting aid from the Yedo Bakufu. Their request was earnestly discussed in Yedo, and it is possible that had the Ming officers held out a little longer, Japan might have sent an expedition across the sea. Cheng Chi-lung's son, Cheng Cheng-kung, resisted to the last, and when he fell fighting at Macao, his Japanese mother committed suicide. Other fugitives from China, notably an able scholar named Chu Chi-yu, settled in Japan at this time, and contributed not a little to the promotion of art and literature. YEDO The influence of the sankin kotai system upon the prosperity of Yedo, as well as upon the efficiency of the Tokugawa administration, has already been noticed. Indeed, Yedo in the middle of the seventeenth century was one of the most populous and prosperous cities in the world. But very little intelligence had been exercised in planning it. The streets were narrow and there were no bridges across the main river. Thus, in 1657, a fire broke out which, being fanned by a violent wind, burned for two days, destroying the greater part of the city together with the residences of nearly all the daimyo. The calamity occurred in the month of February and was accompanied by a violent snowstorm, which greatly increased the sufferings of the citizens. Tradition says that 108,000 persons lost their lives, but that number is probably an exaggeration. In the following year, another similar catastrophe occurred on almost the same scale, and it seemed as though Yedo could never rise from its ashes. Yet the result of these calamities was salutary. The Bakufu selected suitable situations for the residences of the daimyo, and issued a law requiring that the main thoroughfares must have a width of sixty feet and even the by-streets must not be narrower than from thirty to thirty-six feet. Moreover, three bridges, namely, the Ryogoku, the Eitai, and the Shin-o, were thrown across the Sumida. This river, which formed the eastern boundary of the city, had hitherto been left unbridged for military reasons, and the result was that on the occasion of the great conflagration thousands of people, caught between the flames and the river bank, had to choose death by burning or by drowning. Nevertheless, some officials opposed the building of bridges, and were only silenced by the astute remark of Sakai Tadakatsu that if Yedo was ever to be a great city, the convenience of its inhabitants must be first consulted, for, after all, the people themselves constituted the best stronghold. This may be regarded as an evidence of the deference that was beginning then to be paid to the non-military classes by the samurai. It was at this time (1658), also, that the city of Yedo obtained its first supply of good water. There was already an aquaduct from Inokashira Lake to the Kanda district of the city, but it carried only a very small volume of water, and the idea of harnessing the Tama-gawa to supply the town was due to two citizens, Shoemon and Seiemon, who subsequently received the family name of Tamagawa. The Bakufu granted a sum of 7500 ryo towards the expense, and on the completion of the work within two years, gifts of 300 ryo were made to the two projectors. The water had to be carried through a distance of over thirty miles, and the enterprise did high credit to the engineering skill of the men of the time. DECADENCE OF THE BAKUFU ADMINISTRATION The era of this fourth Tokugawa shogun, Ietsuna, was remarkable for things other than the lawlessness of the "wave-men." From that time the Tokugawa began to fare as nearly all great families of previous ages had fared: the substance of the administrative power passed into the hands of a minister, its shadow alone remaining to the shogun. Sakai Tadakiyo was the chief author of this change. Secluded from contact with the outer world, Ietsuna saw and heard mainly through the eyes and ears of the ladies of his household. But Tadakiyo caused an order to be issued forbidding all access to the Court ladies except by ministerial permit, and thenceforth the shogun became practically deaf and dumb so far as events outside the castle were concerned. Some Japanese historians describe this event as an access of "weariness" on the shogun's part towards the duties of administration. This is a euphemism which can be interpreted by what has been set down above. From 1666, when he became prime minister in Yedo, Sakai Tadakiyo seems to have deliberately planned the relegation of his master to the position of a fainéant and the succession of the shogun's son to supreme power. Tadakiyo's lust of authority was equalled only by his cupidity. Everything went to the highest bidder. It had gradually become the fashion that the daimyo should invite to their Yedo residences all the leading administrators of the Bakufu. On these entertainments great sums were squandered and valuable presents were a feature of the fetes. It also became fashionable to pay constant visits at the mansions of the chief officials and these visits were always accompanied with costly gifts. It is recorded that the mansion of Tadakiyo was invariably so crowded by persons waiting to pay their respects that a man repairing thither at daybreak could scarcely count on obtaining access by evening-fall. The depraved state of affairs brought the administration of the Tokugawa into wide disrepute, and loyal vassals of the family sadly contrasted the evil time with the days of Ieyasu, seventy years previously. THE COURTS OF KYOTO AND OF YEDO The great financial straits to which the Imperial Court was reduced during the time of the Muromachi shoguns have been already described. Both Oda Nobunaga and Toyotomi Hideyoshi made some endeavours to correct this evil state of affairs, and when Tokugawa Ieyasu came into power he adopted still more liberal methods. In 1604, he increased the revenue of the Court by 10,000 koku annually, and in the course of the next few years he caused the palace to be rebuilt on a scale of considerable grandeur. The same policy was pursued by the second shogun, Hidetada, who assigned to the ex-Emperor an income of 3000 koku and made various allowances to princes and other members of the Imperial family. The recipients of these allowances totalled 140, and it is on record that, in the year 1706, the revenues of the Imperial Court aggregated 29,000 koku; those of the ex-Emperor 15,000; those of the princes and Court nobles, 44,000; those of the Monzeki* temples, 19,000; those of the Court ladies and Imperial nuns, 7500, and those of the Court officials 2300, the whole making a total of about 120,000 koku. The income of the retired shogun alone equalled that amount, and it was enormously surpassed by the revenues of many of the daimyo. It must be noted, however, that although the rice provided for the above purposes was made a charge upon the Kinai provinces as well as upon Tamba and Omi, neither to the Emperor nor to the Imperial princes nor to the Court nobles were estates granted directly. These incomes were collected and transmitted by officials of the Bakufu, but not a tsubo of land was under the control of either sovereign or prince. *Temples governed by Imperial princes. Military affairs, civil administration, financial management, including the casting of coins, judicial and legislative affairs, the superintendence of temples, and so forth, were all in the hands of the Bakufu in Yedo or of provincial officials nominated by the shogun. Nothing could have been more complete than the exclusion of the Kyoto Court from the whole realm of practical government; nor could any system have contrasted more flagrantly with the theory of the Daika reforms, according to which every acre of land throughout the length and breadth of the empire was the property of the sovereign. It might have been expected that the Tokugawa shoguns would at least have endeavoured to soften this administrative effacement by pecuniary generosity; but so little of that quality did they display that the Emperor and the ex-Emperor were perpetually in a state of financial embarrassment. As for the Court nobles, their incomes did not always suffice even for the needs of every-day life, and they were obliged to have recourse to various devices, such as marrying their daughters to provincial governors or selling professional diplomas, the right of conferring which was vested in their families. THE SEKKE, DENSO, AND SHOSHIDAI The sole functions left to the Imperial Court were those of appointing the shogun--which of course was only formal--conferring ranks, fixing the name of year-periods, ordering the calendar, taking part in ceremonials, nominating priests and officials, and sanctioning the building of temples. Thus, the regent (kwampaku) was the sovereign's appointee. He had to be chosen in succession from one of the five families--Konoe, Takatsukasa, Kujo, Nijo, and Ichijo, to which the general name Go-sekke (the Five Regent Families) was given. But the regent was practically without power of any kind. Very different was the case of the denso, who had direct access to the Throne. Appointed by the shogun from one of seventeen families closely related to the Tokugawa, a denso, before entering upon the duties of his office, was obliged to swear that he would minutely and unreservedly report to the Bakufu everything coming to his knowledge. His principal duty was to communicate direct with the Throne. There was also another Bakufu nominee called the giso, who administered the affairs of the Imperial Court, and who held, in addition, the post of dai-nagon, chu-nagon, or sho-nagon, which offices were reserved for members of the Tokugawa family. Yet another official representing the Bakufu was the shoshidai, who managed all matters connected with the guarding of the Imperial Court and the Court nobles, at the same time transacting financial business. In the event of any disturbance occurring in Court circles in Kyoto, it was reported, first, to the shoshidai and, then, by him, to the senior officials in Yedo, while any disturbance occurring in Yedo was equally reported, first to the shoshidai and afterwards by the latter to the sovereign. The shoshidai was in fact a governor-general, with powers far superior to those of any Court noble, and his sway extended to the eight provinces in the neighbourhood of Kyoto. By means of the shoshidai all circumstances of the Imperial Court were fully conveyed to the Bakufu in Yedo and complete control was exercised over the Imperial capital and its environs. The Bakufu were careful to choose for this post a man whose loyalty and ability stood beyond question. Finally, reference may be made to the administrator of the reigning sovereign's Court (Kinri-zuki bugyo) and the administrator of the ex-Emperor's court (Sendo-zuki bugyo), both of whom were Bakufu nominees. THE 107TH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR GO-YOZEI (A.D. 1586-1611) This Emperor held the sceptre throughout the memorable epoch from the death of Nobunaga till that of Ieyasu, and he continued to exercise power during six years after his abdication. It was he that conferred the post of shogun on Ieyasu and gave him his posthumous title of Tosho Gongen. His Majesty was the eldest son of the Emperor Okimachi. He surrendered the throne to his third son in 1611, dying at the age of forty-seven in 1617. THE 108TH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR GO-MIZU-NO-O (A.D. 1611-1629) This sovereign had for consort a daughter of the shogun Hidetada, as already described. The wedding took place in the year 1620, and its magnificence offered a theme for enthusiastic comment by contemporary historians. The shogun was careful to surround the Imperial bride with officials of his own choosing, and these, joining hands with the shoshidai and the denso, constituted an entourage which ordered everything at Kyoto in strict accordance with the interests of the Tokugawa. The new Empress was dowered with an estate much larger than that of the Emperor himself, although the latter's allowance was increased by ten thousand koku. It is related that his Majesty's impecuniosity compelled the curtailment of various ceremonies and prevented the giving of presents in the ordinary routine of social conventions, so that it became necessary to replenish the Imperial purse by lending rice and money to the citizens at high rates of interest. A serious collision occurred during Go-Mizu-no-o's reign between the Courts of Kyoto and Yedo. The Emperor, who inclined to literature and religion, conceived a profound reverence for two Buddhist prelates of great learning and conspicuously holy lives. To these priests, Takuan and Gyokushitsu, his Majesty presented purple robes, a mark of the highest distinction, in apparently unwitting violation of the ecclesiastical laws promulgated by Ieyasu, which forbade the giving of such robes to any bonzes except those of Kennin-ji. On learning of the incident, the Bakufu summoned these prelates to Yedo, deprived them of the robes, and sent them into banishment. The Emperor, naturally much offended, declared that he would no longer occupy the throne, and in 1629, the year of the two priests' transportation, he carried out his threat, abdicating in favour of the Imperial princess, Oki, his eldest daughter by the Tokugawa Empress. THE 109TH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPRESS MYOSHO (A.D. 1629-1643) The Princess Oki, eldest daughter of Tokufu-mon-in and the Emperor Go-Mizu-no-o, was only seven years of age when thus called on to occupy the throne. During eight hundred years no female had wielded the sceptre of Japan, and the princess was not without a brother older than herself, though born of a different mother. Thus, the announcement of the Emperor's intention created profound astonishment in the Imperial Court. The partisans of the Bakufu supported the project, but the friends of the Imperial family denounced it strenuously. Nothing moved the Emperor, however. His Majesty appears to have thought that to bestow the princess' hand on a subject and to elevate her elder brother to the throne would surely be productive of serious mischief, since the husband of the princess, supported by the Bakufu, would prove an invincible power in the State. As for the Tokugawa statesmen, some accounts allege that they objected to the Emperor's project, but others say that when the matter was reported in Yedo, the shogun signified that his Majesty might consult his own judgment. What is certain is that the Bakufu sent to Kyoto the prime minister, Sakai Tadakiyo, with three other representatives, and that shortly after their arrival in the Imperial capital, arrangements were completed for the proposed change. The Imperial consort, Tofuku-mon-in, was declared ex-Empress with a revenue of 10,000 koku, and the little princess, who is known in history as Myosho, received an income of 20,000 koku; while to the ex-Emperor, Go-Mizu-no-o, only 3000 koku were allotted. Not until 1634, on the occasion of a visit made by Iemitsu, was this glaring contrast corrected: the shogun then increased the ex-Emperor's allowance to 7000 koku, and his Majesty continued to administer public affairs from his place of retirement until 1680, when he died hi his eighty-fifth year. THE 110TH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR GO-KOMYO (A.D. 1643-1654) This sovereign was a brother of the Empress Myosho but of a different mother. He was brought up by Tofuku-mon-in as though he were her real child, until he succeeded to the throne at the age of eleven, occupying it for eleven years. Form his earliest youth he showed sagacity, magnanimity, and benevolence. His love of literature was absorbing, and he studied earnestly, taking the priests of the Five Temples as his teachers. He is said to have arrived at the conclusion that a sovereign should never study any useless branch of learning, and as he failed to see the utility of Buddhism, he turned to Confucianism in preference. Moreover, dissatisfied with the old commentaries of the Han and Tang dynasties, he chose in their stead the new classics composed by Chengtsz and Chutsz; and as for Japanese literature, he condemned as grossly misleading works like the Genji Monogatari and the Ise Monogatari. There can be no doubt that this sovereign conceived the ambition of recovering the administrative authority. His reign extended from the twenty-second year of Iemitsu's sway to the fifth of Ietsuna's, and in the troubles of that period he thought that he saw his opportunity. It is related that he devoted much attention to sword exercise, and the shoshidai Itakura Shigemune warned him that the study of military matters did not become the Imperial Court and would probably provoke a remonstrance from Yedo should the fact become known there. The Emperor taking no notice of this suggestion, Shigemune went so far as to declare his intention of committing suicide unless the fencing lessons were discontinued. Thereupon the young Emperor calmly observed: "I have never seen a military man kill himself, and the spectacle will be interesting. You had better have a platform erected in the palace grounds so that your exploit may be clearly witnessed." When this incident was reported by the shoshidai to Yedo, the Bakufu concluded that some decisive measure must be taken, but before their resolve had materialized and before the sovereign's plans had matured, he died of small-pox, in 1654, at the age of twenty-two, having accomplished nothing except the restoration and improvement of certain Court ceremonials, the enactment of a few sumptuary laws, and the abandonment of cremation in the case of Imperial personages. THE 111TH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR GO-SAIEN (A.D. 1654-1663) AND THE 112TH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR REIGEN (A.D. 1663-1686) Go-Saien was the sixth son of the Emperor Go-Mizu-no-o. His reign is remarkable in connexion with the attitude of the Yedo Bakufu towards the Throne. In 1657, as already related, Yedo was visited by a terrible conflagration, and another of scarcely less destructive violence occurred in the same city the following year, while, in 1661, the Imperial palace itself was burned to the ground, the same fate overtaking the principal Shinto shrine in Ise, and nearly every province suffering more or less from a similar cause. Moreover, in 1662, a series of earthquakes disturbed the country throughout a whole month, and the nation became almost demoralized in the face of these numerous calamities. Then the Bakufu took an extraordinary step. They declared that such visitations must be referred to the sovereign's want of virtue and that the only remedy lay in his abdication. The shogun, Ietsuna, was now ruling in Yedo. He sent envoys to Kyoto conveying an order for the dethronement of the Emperor, and although his Majesty was ostensibly allowed to abdicate of his own will, there could be no doubt as to the real circumstances of the case. His brother, Reigen, succeeded him, and after holding the sceptre for twenty-four years, continued to administer affairs from his place of retirement until his death, in 1732. SANKE AND SANKYO When Ieyasu, after the battle of Sekigahara, distributed the fiefs throughout the Empire, he gave four important estates to his own sons, namely, Echizen to Hideyasu; Owari to Tadayoshi; Mito to Nobuyoshi, and Echigo to Tadateru. Subsequently, after the deaths of Tadayoshi and Nobuyoshi, he assigned Owari to his sixth son, Yoshinao, and appointed his seventh son, Yorinobu, to the Kii fief, while to his eighth son, Yorifusa, Mito was given. These last three were called the Sanke (the Three Families). From them the successor to the shogunate was chosen in the event of failure of issue in the direct line. Afterwards this system was extended by the addition of three branch-families (Sankyo), namely those of Tayasu and Hitotsubashi by Munetake and Munetada, respectively, sons of the shogun Yoshimune, and that of Shimizu by Shigeyoshi, son of the shogun Ieshige. It was enacted that if no suitable heir to the shogunate was furnished by the Sanke, the privilege of supplying one should devolve on the Sankyo, always, however, in default of an heir in the direct line. The representatives of the Sanke had their estates and castles, but no fiefs were assigned to the Sankyo; they resided in Yedo close to the shogun's palace, and received each an annual allowance from the Bakufu treasury. THE FEUDAL SYSTEM OF THE TOKUGAWA It has been shown that in distributing the fiefs Ieyasu aimed at paralyzing the power of the tozama daimyo and vitalizing that of the fudai barons. This he effected, as far as concerned the tozama feudatories, by isolating them from each other, or by placing those of equal strength in juxtaposition, so that they might become rivals; while in the case of fudai barons, he established an effective system of communications between them, so that co-operation and concentration of forces were facilitated. Broadly speaking, this method had for result the planting of the tozama daimyo in the west and of the fudai barons in the east, as well as along the main roads between the two capitals. The plan worked admirably during 270 years, but at the Restoration, in 1867, the western daimyo combined to overthrow the shogunate. Very noticeable were the steps taken to provide facilities for communication between Yedo and Kyoto. No less than fifty-three posting stations were established along the road from the Bakufu capital to the Imperial city, and at several places barriers were set up. Among these latter, Hakone was considered specially important. The duty of guarding the barrier there was assigned to the Okubo family, who enjoyed the full confidence of the Tokugawa and who had their castle in Odawara. No one could pass this barrier without a permit. Women were examined with signal strictness, they being regarded as part of the system which required that the wives of the daimyo should live in Yedo as hostages. Thus, whereas a man was granted ingress or egress if he carried a passport signed by his own feudal chief and addressed to the guards at the barrier, a woman might not pass unless she was provided with an order signed by a Bakufu official. Moreover, female searchers were constantly on duty whose business it was to subject women travellers to a scrutiny of the strictest character, involving, even, the loosening of the coiffure. All these precautions formed part of the sankin kotai system, which proved one of the strongest buttresses of Tokugawa power. But, from the days of Ietsuna, the wives and children of the daimyo were allowed to return to their provinces, and under the eighth shogun, Yoshimune, the system of sankin kotai ceased to be binding. This was because the Tokugawa found themselves sufficiently powerful to dispense with such artificial aids. THE FIEFS There were certain general divisions of the feudatories. Everyone possessing a fief of 10,000 koku or upwards was called a daimyo. The title included the Sanke, the Sankyo, the gokemon (governor of Echizen), the fudai (hereditary vassals), and the tozama. These were again subdivided into three classes according to the sizes of their fiefs. In the first class stood the kokushu (called also kuni-mochi, or provincial barons) who possessed revenues of at least 300,000 koku. The second class consisted of the joshu (called also shiro-mochi, or castle-owning barons) whose incomes ranged between 100,000 and 300,000 koku. Finally, the third class was composed of the ryoshu (sometimes known as shiro-nashi, or castleless barons), whose revenues ranged from 10,000 to 100,000 koku. These feudatories might be recommended by the shogun for Court rank in Kyoto, but the highest office thus conferred was that of dainagon (great councillor), from which fact the attitude of the feudatories towards imperially conferred distinctions can be easily appreciated. Nevertheless, the rules of etiquette were strictly observed by provincial magnates attending Court functions. They had to conform carefully to the order of their precedence and with the sumptuary rules as to colour and quality of garments, and any departure from these conventions was severely punished. SUCCESSION If a feudatory committed some crime or died childless, the law required that he should be transferred to another province, or that his successor should suffer a considerable reduction of revenue. Experience showed, however, that as many of the feudatories died childless, there were numerous losses of fiefs, and ultimately it was enacted that a baron might adopt a successor by way of precaution, unless he deferred that step until he lay dying or sought permission to take it before he reached the age of seventeen. This meant that if any feudal chief died before reaching his seventeenth year, his estate was lost to his family. By way of correcting such a hardship, the adoption of an heir was afterwards sanctioned without reference to the age of the adopter, and it was further decided that a man of fifty or upwards might adopt a son even on his death-bed. Finally, in the year 1704, all these restrictions were virtually abolished, and especially the rule that an adopted son must necessarily belong to the family of his adopter. SEVERITY OF THE TOKUGAWA TOWARDS THE FEUDATORIES Although Ieyasu and his successors in the shogunate did not fail to provide large estates for their own kith and kin, they never showed any leniency in dealing with the latter's offences. Ieyasu professed to believe in the potency of justice above all administrative instruments, and certainly he himself as well as his successors obeyed that doctrine unswervingly in so far as the treatment of their own families was concerned. They did not hesitate to confiscate fiefs, to pronounce sentence of exile, or even to condemn to death. Thus, in the year of Ieyasu's decease, his sixth son, Matsudaira Tadateru, was deprived of his fief--610,000 koku--and removed from Echigo to Asama, in Ise. Tadateru's offence was that he had unjustly done a vassal of the shogun to death, and had not moved to the assistance of the Tokugawa in the Osaka War. Moreover, when his elder brother, the shogun Hidetada, repaired to the Imperial palace, Tadateru had pretended to be too ill to accompany him, though in reality he was engaged in a hunting expedition. This was the first instance of the Bakufu punishing one of their own relatives. Another example was furnished in 1623 when Matsudaira Tadanao, lord of Echizen, was sentenced to confinement in his own house and was ordered to hand over his fief of 750,000 koku to his heir. This Tadanao was a grandson of Ieyasu, and had shown himself a strong soldier in the Osaka War. But subsequently he fell into habits of violence and lawlessness, culminating in neglect of the sankin kotai system. His uncle, the shogun Hidetada, sentenced him as above described. Under the administration of Iemitsu this unflinching attitude towards wrongdoers was maintained more relentlessly than ever. The dai nagon, Tadanaga, lord of Suruga and younger brother of Iemitsu by the same mother, received (1618) in Kai province a fief of 180,000 koku, and, seven years later, this was increased by Suruga and Totomi, bringing the whole estate up to 500,000 koku. He resided in the castle of Sumpu and led an evil life, paying no attention whatever to the remonstrances of his vassals. In 1632, Iemitsu confiscated his fief and exiled him to Takasaki in Kotsuke, where he was compelled to undergo confinement in the Yashiki of Ando Shigenaga. Fourteen months later, sentence of death was pronounced against him at the early age of twenty-eight. Other instances might be quoted showing how little mercy the Tokugawa shoguns extended to wrongdoers among their own relatives. It need hardly be said that outside clans fared no better. Anyone who gave trouble was promptly punished. Thus, in 1614, Okubo Tadachika, who had rendered good service to the Bakufu in early days, and who enjoyed the full confidence of the shogun, was deprived of his castle at Odawara and sentenced to confinement for the comparatively trifling offence of contracting a private marriage. Again, in 1622, the prime minister, Honda Masazumi, lord of Utsunomiya, lost his fief of 150,000 koku and was exiled to Dawe for the sin of rebuilding his castle without due permission, and killing a soldier of the Bakufu. To persons criticising this latter sentence as too severe, Doi Toshikatsu is recorded to have replied that any weakness shown at this early stage of the Tokugawa rule must ultimately prove fatal to the permanence of the Bakufu, and he expressed the conviction that none would approve the punishment more readily than Masazumi's dead father, Masanobu, were he still living to pass judgment. Doubtless political expediency, not the dictates of justice, largely inspired the conduct of the Bakufu in these matters, for in proportion as the material influence of the Tokugawa increased, that of the Toyotomi diminished. In 1632, when the second shogun, Hidetada, died, it is related that the feudal barons observed the conduct of his successor, Iemitsu, with close attention, and that a feeling of some uneasiness prevailed. Iemitsu, whether obeying his own instinct or in deference to the advice of his ministers, Sakai Tadakatsu and Matsudaira Nobutsuna, summoned the feudal chiefs to his castle in Yedo and addressed them as follows: "My father and my grandfather, with your assistance and after much hardship, achieved their great enterprise to which I, who have followed the profession of arms since my childhood, now succeed. It is my purpose to treat you all without distinction as my hereditary vassals. If any of you object to be so treated, let him return to his province and take the consequences." Date Masamune assumed the duty of replying to that very explicit statement. "There is none here," he said, "that is not grateful for the benevolence he has received at the hands of the Tokugawa. If there be such a thankless and disloyal person, and if he conceive treacherous designs, I, Masamune, will be the first to attack him and strike him down. The shogun need not move so much as one soldier." With this spirited reply all the assembled daimyo expressed their concurrence, and Iemitsu proceeded to distribute his father's legacies to the various barons and their vassals. Very soon after his accession he had to order the execution of his own brother, Tadanaga, and the banishment of Kato Tadahiro, son of the celebrated Kato Kiyomasa. The latter was punished on the ground that he sent away his family from Yedo during the time of mourning for the late shogun, Hidetada. He was deprived of his estate at Kumamoto in Higo and was exiled to Dewa province. The punishment of these two barons is said to have been in the sequel of a device planned by Iemitsu and carried out by Doi Toshikatsu. The latter, being accused of a simulated crime, was sentenced to confinement in his mansion. Thence he addressed to all the daimyo a secret circular, urging them to revolt and undertaking to make Tadanaga shogun instead of Iemitsu. With two exceptions every baron to whose hands this circular came forwarded it to the Bakufu in Yedo. The exceptions were Tadanaga and Tadahiro, who consequently fell under the shogun's suspicion. Thereafter, it is related that some of the barons set themselves to deceive the Bakufu by various wiles. Thus, Maeda Toshinaga had recourse to the manoeuvre of allowing the hair in his nostrils to grow long, a practice which speedily earned for him the reputation of insanity, and Date Masamune conceived the device of carrying a sword with a wooden blade. The apprehensions of which such acts were indicative cannot be considered surprising in view of the severe discipline exercised by the Bakufu. Thus, during the shogunate of Hidetada, no less than forty changes are recorded to have been made among the feudatories, and in the time of Iemitsu there were thirty-five of such incidents. History relates that to be transferred from one fief to another, even without nominal loss of revenue, was regarded as a calamity of ten years' duration. All this was partly prompted by the Bakufu's policy of weakening the feudatories. To the same motive must be assigned constant orders for carrying out some costly public work. ENGRAVING: FANS ENGRAVING: "THE BUGAKU," ANCIENT DANCING AND MUSIC CHAPTER XL MIDDLE PERIOD OF THE TOKUGAWA BAKUFU; FROM THE FIFTH SHOGUN, TSUNAYOSHI, TO THE TENTH SHOGUN, IEHARU (1680-1786) ACCESSION OF TSUNAYOSHI IN 1680, the fourth shogun, Ietsuna, fell dangerously ill, and a council of the chief Bakufu officials was held to decide upon his successor. The Bakufu prime minister, Sakai Tadakiyo, proposed that the example of Kamakura should be followed, and that an Imperial prince should be invited to assume the office of shogun. Thereupon Hotta Masatoshi, one of the junior ministers, vehemently remonstrated. "Is the prime minister jesting?" he is reported to have asked. "There is no question whatever as to the succession. That dignity falls to Tsunayoshi and to Tsunayoshi alone. He is the legitimate son of the late shogun, Iemitsu, and the only brother of the present shogun, Ietsuna. If the minister is not jesting, his proposition is inexplicable." This bold utterance was received with profound silence, and after a few moments Sakai Tadakiyo retired from the council chamber. It has to be remembered in connexion with this incident, that Tadakiyo exercised almost complete sway in the Bakufu Court at that time, and the fact that he yielded quietly to Hotta Masatoshi's remonstrance goes far to acquit him of any sinister design such as securing the whole administrative power for himself by setting up an Imperial prince as a mere figurehead. The more probable explanation is that as one of the consorts of the shogun Ietsuna was enceinte at that time, the Bakufu prime minister desired to postpone any family decision until the birth of her child, since to dispense with an Imperial prince would be as easy to procure one, whereas if one of the shogun's lineage were nominated, he would be difficult to displace. There had been born to Iemitsu five sons, of whom the eldest, Ietsuna, had succeeded to the shogunate, and three others had died, the only one remaining alive being Tsunayoshi, who, having been born in 1646, was now (1680) in his thirty-fourth year. HOTTA MASATOSHI On Tsunayoshi's accession the prime minister, Sakai Tadakiyo, was released from office, and Hotta Masatoshi became his successor. Naturally, as Masatoshi had been instrumental in obtaining the succession for Tsunayoshi, his influence with the latter was very great. But there can be no question that he deserves to rank as one of Japan's leading statesmen in any age, and that he devoted his signal abilities to the cause of progress and administrative purity. The result of his strenuous services was to check the corruption which had come to pervade every department of State in the closing years of the fourth shogun's sway, and to infuse the duties of government with an atmosphere of diligence and uprightness. THE ECHIGO COMPLICATION For several years prior to the accession of Tsunayoshi, the province of Echigo had been disturbed by an intrigue in the family of Matsudaira Mitsunaga. It is unnecessary to enter into further details. The incident was typical of the conditions existing in many of the barons' households, and the history of Japan furnishes numerous parallel cases. But connected with this particular example is the remarkable fact that the shogun himself finally undertook in the hall of justice to decide the issue, and that the rendering of justice by the chief of the Bakufu became thenceforth a not infrequently practised habit. Instructed by his prime minister, the shogun swept aside all the obstacles placed in the path of justice by corruption and prejudice; sentenced the principal intriguer to death; confiscated the Mitsunaga family's estate of 250,000 koku on the ground of its chief's incompetence, and severely punished all the Bakufu officials who had been parties to the plot. THE ATAKA MARU Another act of Tsunayoshi stands to the credit of his acumen. Although the third shogun, Iemitsu, had vetoed the building of any vessels exceeding five hundred koku capacity, his object being to prevent oversea enterprise, he caused to be constructed for the use of the Bakufu a great ship called the Ataka Maru, which required a crew several hundred strong and involved a yearly outlay figuring in the official accounts at one hundred thousand koku. One of Tsunayoshi's first orders was that this huge vessel should be broken up, and when his ministers remonstrated on the ground that she would be invaluable in case of emergency, he replied that if an insurrection could not be suppressed without such extraordinary instruments, the Bakufu might step down at once from the seats of power. "As for me," he added, "I have no desire to preserve such an evidence of constant apprehension and at such a charge on the coffers of the State." ENCOURAGEMENT OF VIRTUE Tsunayoshi also instructed his officials to search throughout the empire for persons of conspicuous filial piety and women of noted chastity. To these he caused to be distributed presents of money or pensions, and he directed the littérateurs of the Hayashi family to write the biographies of the recipients of such rewards. In fact, the early years of the shogun's administration constitute one of the brightest periods in the history of the Tokugawa Bakufu. ASSASSINATION OF HOTTA MASATOSHI On the 8th of October, 1684, the Bakufu prime minister, Hotta Masatoshi, was assassinated in the shogun's palace by one of the junior ministers, Inaba Masayasu, who met his death immediately at the hands of the bystanders. This extraordinary affair remains shrouded in mystery until the present day. Hotta Masatoshi was the third son of Masamori, who died by his own hand to follow his master, Iemitsu, to the grave. Masatoshi, inheriting a part of his father's domain, received the title of Bitchu no Kami, and resided in the castle of Koga, ultimately (1680) becoming prime minister (dairo) with an annual revenue of 130,000 koku. His high qualities are recorded above, but everything goes to show that he had more than the ordinary reformer's stubbornness, and that tolerance of a subordinate's errors was wholly foreign to his disposition. Even to the shogun himself he never yielded in the smallest degree, and by the majority of those under him he was cordially detested. The records say that on one occasion, when remonstrated with by his friend, the daimyo of Hirado, who warned him that his hardness and severity might involve him in trouble, Masatoshi replied, "I thank you for your advice, but so long as I am endeavouring to reform the country, I have no time to think of myself." It is easy to understand that a man of such methods had enemies sufficiently numerous and sufficiently resolute to compass his death. On the other hand, Masayasu, his assassin, was related to him by marriage, and possessed an estate of 25,000 koku, as well as holding the position of junior minister of State. It is extremely unlikely that a man in such a position would have resorted to such a desperate act without great provocation or ample sanction. The question is, was the shogun himself privy to the deed? It is recorded that there was found on Masayasu's person a document expressing deep gratitude for the favours he had received at the hands of the shogun, and declaring that only by taking the life of Masatoshi could any adequate return be made. It is further recorded that the steward of the Bakufu, addressing the corpse of Masayasu, declared that the deceased had shown unparallelled loyalty. Again, history says that Mitsukuni, daimyo of Mito, repaired to the Inaba mansion after the incident, and expressed to Masayasu's mother his condolences and his applause. Finally, after Masatoshi's death, his son was degraded in rank and removed to a greatly reduced estate. All these things are difficult to explain except on the supposition that the shogun himself was privy to the assassination. ENCOURAGEMENT OF CONFUCIANISM The third shogun, Iemitsu, addressing the mother of his son, Tsimayoshi, is said to have expressed profound regret that his own education had been confined to military science. "That is to me," he is reported to have said, "a source of perpetual sorrow, and care should be taken that Tsunayoshi, who seems to be a clever lad, should receive full instruction in literature." In compliance with this advice, steps were taken to interest Tsunayoshi in letters, and he became so attached to this class of study that even when sick he found solace in his books. The doctrines of Confucius attracted him above all other systems of ethics. He fell into the habit of delivering lectures on the classics, and to show his reverence for the Chinese sages, he made it a rule to wear full dress on these occasions, and to worship after the manner of all Confucianists. It has already been related that a shrine of Confucius was built in Ueno Park by the Tokugawa daimyo of Owari, and that the third shogun, Iemitsu, visited this shrine in 1633 to offer prayer. Fifty years later, the fifth shogun, Tsunayoshi, followed that example, and also listened to lectures on the classics by Hayashi Nobuatsu. Subsequently (1691), a new shrine was erected at Yushima in the Kongo district of Yedo, and was endowed with an estate of one thousand koku to meet the expenses of the spring and autumn festivals. Further, the daimyo were required to contribute for the erection of a school in the vicinity of the shrine. At this school youths of ability, selected from among the sons of the Bakufu officials and of the daimyo, were educated, the doctrines of Confucius being thus rendered more and more popular. Under Tsunayoshi's auspices, also, many books were published which remain to this day standard works of their kind. Another step taken by the shogun was to obtain from the Court in Kyoto the rank of junior fifth class for Hayashi Nobuatsu, the great Confucian scholar, who was also nominated minister of Education and chief instructor at Kongo College. Up to that time it had been the habit of Confucianists and of medical men to shave their heads and use titles corresponding to those of Buddhist priests. In these circumstances neither Confucianists nor physicians could be treated as samurai, and they were thus excluded from all State honours. The distinction conferred upon Hayashi Nobuatsu by the Imperial Court effectually changed these conditions. The Confucianists ceased to shave their heads and became eligible for official posts. Thereafter, ten of Hayashi's disciples were nominated among the shogun's retainers, and were required to deliver lectures periodically at the court of the Bakufu. In short, in whatever related to learning, Tsunayoshi stands easily at the head of all the Tokugawa shoguns. CHANGE OF CALENDAR A noteworthy incident of Tsunayoshi's administration was a change of calendar, effected in the year 1683. The credit of this achievement belongs to a mathematician called Shibukawa Shunkai. A profound student, his researches had convinced him that the Hsuan-ming calendar, borrowed originally from China and used in Japan ever since the year A.D. 861, was defective. He pointed out some of its errors in a memorial addressed to the Bakufu under the sway of the fourth shogun, but the then prime minister, Sakai Tadakiyo, paid no attention to the document. Shunkai, however, did not desist. In 1683, an eclipse of the moon took place, and he demonstrated that it was erroneously calculated in the Chinese calendar. The fifth shogun, Tsunayoshi, was then in power, and the era of his reforming spirit had not yet passed away. He adopted Shunkai's suggestion and obtained the Imperial sanction for a change of calendar so that the Husan-ming system went out of force after 822 years of use in Japan. JAPANESE LITERATURE Tsunayoshi did not confine his patronage to Chinese literature; he devoted much energy to the encouragement of Japanese classical studies, also. Thus, in 1689, he invited to Yedo Kitamura Kigin and his son Shuncho and bestowed upon the former the title of Hoin together with a revenue of five hundred koku. This marked the commencement of a vigorous revival of Japanese literature in the Bakufu capital. Moreover, in Osaka a scholar named Keichu Ajari published striking annotations of the celebrated anthologies, the Manyo-shu and the Kokin-shu, which attracted the admiration of Tokugawa Mitsukuni, baron of Mito. He invited Keichu to his castle and treated him with marked consideration. These littérateurs were the predecessors of the celebrated Kamo and Motoori, of whom there will be occasion to speak by and by. FINE ARTS Tsunayoshi's patronage extended also to the field of the fine arts. The Tokugawa Bakufu had hitherto encouraged the Kano School only whereas the Tosa Academy was patronized by the Court at Kyoto. This partiality was corrected by Tsunayoshi., He invited Sumiyoshi Gukei--also called Hirozumi--the most distinguished pupil of Tosa Mitsuoki, bestowed on him a revenue of two hundred koku, and gave him the official position of chief artist of the Tosa-ryu, placing him on an equal footing with the chief of the Kano-ryu. It was at this time also that the ukiyoe (genre picture) may be said to have won popular favour. Contemporaneously there appeared some dramatic authors of high ability, and as the ukiyoe and the drama appealed mainly to the middle and lower classes, the domain of literature and the fine arts received wide extension. Thus, Chikamatsu Monzaemon, of Osaka, the greatest dramatist that his country ever possessed, composed plays which have earned for him the title of the "Shakespeare of Japan;" and as for the light literature of the era, though it was disfigured by erotic features, it faithfully reflected in other respects the social conditions and sentiments of the time. THE MERCANTILE CLASS From the commencement of Japanese history down to the second half of the seventeenth century, the canons and customs were dictated solely by the upper class, and neither merchants nor artisans were recognized as possessing any social or literary influence whatever. But in the middle period of the Tokugawa Bakufu--the Genroku period, as it is commonly called--the tradesman became a comparatively conspicuous figure. For example, in the realm of poetry, hitherto strictly reserved for the upper classes, the classic verse called renga (linked song) was considered to be sullied by the introduction of any common or every-day word, and therefore could be composed only by highly educated persons. This now found a substitute in the haikai, which admitted language taken from purely Japanese sources and could thus be produced without any exercise of special scholarship. Afterwards, by the addition of the hokku, an abbreviation of the already brief renga and haikai, which adapted itself to the capacities of anyone possessing a nimble wit or a sparkling thought, without any preparation of literary study, the range of poetry was still further extended. Matsuo Basho Was the father of the haikai and the hokku, and his mantle descended upon Kikaku, Ransetsu, Kyoriku, and other celebrities. They travelled round the country popularizing their art and immensely expanding the field of literature. The craft of penmanship flourished equally, and was graced by such masters as Hosoi Kotaku and Kitamura Sessan. Yedo, the metropolis of wealth and fashion, became also the capital of literature and the fine arts, and a characteristic of the era was the disappearance of charlatans, whether laymen or bonzes, who professed to teach the arcana of special accomplishments. In short, every branch of study passed out of the exclusive control of one or two masters and became common property, to the great advantage of original developments. REMOVAL OF THE ROJU What has thus far been written depicts the bright side of Tsunayoshi's administration. It is necessary now to look at the reverse of the picture. There we are first confronted by an important change of procedure. It had been the custom ever since the days of Ieyasu to conduct the debates of the council of ministers (Roju) in a chamber adjoining the shogun's sitting-room, so that he could hear every word of the discussion, and thus keep himself au courant of political issues. After the assassination of Hotta Masatoshi this arrangement was changed. The council chamber was removed to a distance, and guards were placed in the room where it had originally assembled, special officials being appointed for the purpose of maintaining communications between the shogun and the Roju. This innovation was nominally prompted by solicitude for the shogun's safety, but as its obvious result was to narrow his sources of information and to bring him under the direct influence of the newly appointed officials, there is strong reason to believe that the measure was a reversion to the evil schemes of Sakai Tadakiyo, who plotted to usurp the shogun's authority. YANAGISAWA YASUAKI Tsunayoshi had at that time a favourite attendant on whom he conferred the rank of Dewa no Kami with an estate at Kawagoe which yielded 100,000 koku annually. The friendship of the shogun for this most corrupt official had its origin in community of literary taste. Tsunayoshi lectured upon the "Doctrine of the Mean," and Yasuaki on the Confucian "Analects," and after these learned discourses a Sarugaku play, or some other form of light entertainment, was organized. The shogun was a misogynist, and Yasuaki understood well that men who profess to hate women become the slave of the fair sex when their alleged repugnance is overcome. He therefore set himself to lead the shogun into licentious habits, and the lecture-meetings ultimately changed their complexion. Tsunayoshi, giving an ideograph from his name to Yasuaki, called him Yoshiyasu, and authorized him to assume the family name of Matsudaira, conferring upon him at the same time a new domain in the province of Kai yielding 150,000 koku. Thenceforth, the administration fell entirely into the hands of this schemer. No prime minister (dairo) was appointed after the assassination of Hotta Masatoshi; the council of ministers became a mere echo of Yoahiyasu's will and the affairs of the Bakufu were managed by one man alone. DOG MANIA Tsunayoshi lost his only son in childhood and no other being born to him, he invited a high Buddhist priest to pray for an heir to the shogunate. This priest, Ryuko by name, informed Tsunayoshi that his childless condition was a punishment for taking animal life in a previous state of existence, and that if he wished to be relieved of the curse, he must show mercy, particularly to dogs, as he had been born in the year whose zodiacal sign was that of the "Dog." It seems strange that such an earnest believer in the Confucian doctrine should have had recourse to Buddhism in this matter. But here also the influence of Yoshiyasu is discernible. At his suggestion the shogun built in Yedo two large temples, Gokoku-ji and Goji-in, and Ryuko was the prelate of the former. An order was accordingly issued against slaughtering dogs or taking life in any form, the result being that all wild animals multiplied enormously and wrought great damage to crops. Thereupon the Bakufu issued a further notice to the effect that in case wild animals committed ravages, they might be driven away by noise, or even by firing blank cartridges, provided that an oath were made not to kill them. Should these means prove defective, instructions must be sought from the judicial department. Moreover, if any animal's life was taken under proper sanction, the carcass must be buried without removing any part of its flesh or skin. Violations of this order were to be severely punished, and it was enacted that an accurate register must be kept of all dogs owned by the people, strict investigations being made in the event of the disappearance of a registered dog, and the officials were specially warned against permitting one animal to be substituted for another. Strange dogs were to be well fed, and any person neglecting this obligation was to be reported to the authorities. At first these orders were not very seriously regarded, but by and by, when many persons had been banished to Hachijo-jima for killing dogs; when several others had been reproved publicly for not giving food to homeless animals, and when officials of the supreme court were condemned to confinement for having taken no steps to prevent dog-fights, the citizens began to appreciate that the shogun was in grim earnest. A huge kennel was then constructed in the Nakano suburb of Yedo as a shelter for homeless dogs. It covered an area of about 138 acres, furnished accommodation for a thousand dogs, and was under the management of duly appointed officials, while the citizens had to contribute to a dog-fund, concerning which it was said that a dog's ration for a day would suffice a man for a day and a half. Tsunayoshi came to be spoken of as Inu-kubo (Dog-shogun), but all his measures did not bring him a son; neither did their failure shake his superstitious credulity. Solemn prayers were offered again and again with stately pomp and profuse circumstance, and temple after temple was built or endowed at enormous cost, while the laws against taking animal life continued in force more vigorously than ever. Birds and even shell-fish were included in the provisions, and thus not only were the nation's foodstuffs diminished, but also its crops lay at the mercy of destructive animals and birds. It is recorded that a peasant was exiled for throwing a stone at a pigeon, and that one man was put to death for catching fish with hook and line, while another met the same fate for injuring a dog, the head of the criminal being exposed on the public execution ground and a neighbour who had reported the offence being rewarded with thirty ryo. We read, also, of officials sentenced to transportation for clipping a horse or furnishing bad provender. The annals relate a curious story connected with these legislative excesses. The Tokugawa baron of Mito, known in history as Komon Mitsukuni, on receiving evidence as to the monstrous severity with which the law protecting animals was administered, collected a large number of men and organized a hunting expedition on a grand scale. Out of the animals killed, twenty dogs of remarkable size were selected, and their skins having been dressed, were packed in a case for transmission to Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu, whom people regarded as chiefly responsible for the shogun's delirium. The messengers to whom the box was entrusted were ordered to travel with all speed, and, on arriving in Yedo, to repair forthwith to the Yanagisawa mansion, there handing over the skins with a written statement that the Mito baron, having found such articles useful in the cold season, availed himself of this opportunity to submit his experience together with a parcel of dressed hides to the shogun through Yoshiyasu. It is said that the recipient of this sarcastic gift conceived a suspicion of the Mito baron's sanity and sent a special envoy to examine his condition. FINANCE In the sequel of this corrupt administration, this constant building of temples, and this profusion of costly ceremonials, the shogun's Government found itself seriously embarrassed for money. Ieyasu had always made frugality and economy his leading principles. He had escaped the heavy outlays to which his fellow barons were condemned in connexion with the Korean campaign, since his share in the affair did not extend beyond collecting a force in the province of Hizen. Throughout his life he devoted much attention to amassing a reserve fund, and it is said that when he resigned the shogunate to his son, he left 150,000 gold oban (one and a half million ryo), and nearly two million ounces (troy) of silver in the treasury. Further, during his retirement at Sumpu, he saved a sum of one million ryo. The same economy was practised by the second shogun, although he was compelled to spend large sums in connexion with his daughter's promotion to be the Emperor's consort, as well as on the repairs of Yedo Castle and on his several progresses to Kyoto. On the occasion of these progresses, Hidetada is said to have distributed a total of 4.217,400 ryo of gold and 182,000 ryo of silver among the barons throughout the empire. The third shogun, Iemitsu, was open handed. We find him making frequent donations of 5000 kwamme of silver to the citizens of Kyoto and Yedo; constructing the inner castle at Yedo twice; building a huge warship; entertaining the Korean ambassadors with much pomp; disbursing 400,000 ryo on account of the Shimabara insurrection, and devoting a million ryo to the construction and embellishment of the mausolea at Nikko. Nevertheless, on the whole Iemitsu must be regarded as an economical ruler. As for his successor, Ietsuna, he had to deal with several calamitous occurrences. After the great fire in Yedo, he contributed 160,000 ryo for the relief of the sufferers; he rebuilt Yedo Castle, and he reconstructed the Imperial palace of Kyoto twice. In the Empo era (1673-1680), the country was visited by repeated famines, which had the effect of reducing the yield of the taxes and calling for large measures of relief. In these circumstances, a proposal was formally submitted recommending the debasement of the gold coinage, but it failed to obtain official consent. It may be mentioned that, in the year 1659, the treasury was reduced to ashes, and a quantity of gold coin contained therein was melted. With this bullion a number of gold pieces not intended for ordinary circulation were cast, and stamped upon them were the words, "To be used only in cases of national emergency." The metal thus reserved is said to have amounted to 160,000 ryo. The register shows that when the fifth shogun succeeded to power, there were 3,850,000 gold ryo in the treasury. But this enormous sum did not long survive the extravagance of Tsunayoshi. After the assassination of Hotta Masatoshi, the administrative power fell entirely into the hands of Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu, and the example set by him for those under his guidance, and by his master, the shogun, soon found followers among all classes of the people. As an instance of ludicrous luxury it may be mentioned that the timbers intended for the repair of the castle in Yedo were wrapped in wadded quilts when transported to the city from the forest. Finally, the treasury became so empty that, when the shogun desired to repair to the mausolea at Nikko, which would have involved a journey of ten days at the most, he was compelled to abandon the idea, as the officials of the treasury declared themselves unable to find the necessary funds. That sum was calculated at 100,000 ryo, or about as many pounds sterling, which fact is alone sufficient to convey an idea of the extravagance practised in everything connected with the Government. The immediate outcome of this incident was the summoning of a council to discuss the financial situation, and after much thought the suggestion of Hagiwara Shigehide, chief of the Treasury, was accepted, namely, wholesale debasement of the gold, silver, and copper coins. The old pieces, distinguished as "Keicho coins," that being the name of the year period (1596-1614) when they were minted, were replaced by greatly inferior "Genroku coins" (1688-1703), with the natural results--appreciation of commodities and much forging of counterfeit coins. Presently the Government is found levying a tax upon 27,200 sake brewers within the Kwanto, and, in 1703, fresh expedients became necessary to meet outlays incurred owing to a great earthquake and conflagration which destroyed a large part of Yedo Castle and of the daimyo's mansions. Further debasement of the currency was resorted to, the new coins being distinguished by the term "Hoei," after the name of the year-period when they were minted. About this time several of the feudatories found themselves in such straits that they began to issue paper currency within their dominions, and this practice having been interdicted by the Bakufu, the daimyo fell back upon the expedient of levying forced loans from wealthy merchants in Osaka. Meanwhile, the crime of forgery became so prevalent that, in the interval between 1688 and 1715, no less than 541 counterfeiters were crucified within the districts under the direct control of the Bakufu., The feudatory of Satsuma is credited with having justly remarked that the victims of this cruel fate suffered for their social status rather than for their offence against the law, the real counterfeiters being Yanagisawa and Hagiwara, who were engaged continuously in uttering debased coins. It must be admitted in behalf of the financiers of that era that their difficulties were much accentuated by natural calamities. The destructive earthquake of 1703 was followed, in 1707, by an eruption of Fuji, with the result that in the three provinces of Musashi, Sagami, and Suruga, considerable districts were buried in ashes to the depth of ten feet, so that three years and a heavy expenditure of, money were required to restore normal conditions. Thenceforth the state of the Bakufu treasury went from bad to worse. Once again Hagiwara Shigehide had recourse to adulteration of the coinage. This time he tampered mainly with the copper tokens, but owing to the unwieldy and impure character of these coins, very great difficulty was experienced in putting them into circulation, and the Bakufu financiers finally were obliged to fall back upon the reserve of gold kept in the treasury for special contingencies. There can be no doubt that Japan's foreign trade contributed materially to her financial embarrassment, but this subject will be subsequently dealt with. TSUNAYOSHI'S FAVOURITE When Tsunayoshi became shogun, Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu occupied the position of a low-class squire in the shogun's household and was in receipt of a salary of three hundred koku yearly. Four years later, he received the title of Dewa no Kami and his revenue was increased to 100,000 koku. Finally, in 1703, he was appointed daimyo of Kai province and came into the enjoyment of a total income of 150,000 koku. This was the more remarkable inasmuch as, owing to the strategical importance of Kai, it had been reserved as a fief for one of the Tokugawa family, and its bestowal on a complete outsider was equivalent to the admission of the latter into the Tokugawa circle. This remarkable promotion in rank and income shows how completely the shogun had fallen under the influence of his favourite, Yoshiyasu, who exhibited wonderful skill in appealing at once to the passions and to the intellect of his master. Some historians of the time relate that the shogun's infatuation betrayed him into promising to raise Yoshiyasu's revenue to a million koku, and to nominate as successor to the shogunate a son borne by Yoshiyasu's wife to Tsunayoshi; but according to tradition, these crowning extravagances were averted on the very night preceding the day of their intended consummation, the shogun being stabbed to death by his wife, who immediately committed suicide. This tale, however, has been shown to be an invention with no stronger foundation than the fact that Tsunayoshi's death took place very suddenly at a highly critical time. It is not to be doubted that many of the excesses and administrative blunders committed by the fifth Tokugawa shogun were due to the pernicious influence of Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu. DECLINE OF THE SAMURAI SPIRIT The no dance was among the indulgences which Tsunayoshi affected and among the accomplishments in which he himself excelled. He took into his service a number of skilled dancers of the no, and treated them as hereditary vassals, setting aside the chamber of the Paulownia for their use. These performers, whatever their origin, received the treatment of samurai, and their dainty posturing in the dance became a model for the lords of the Bakufu Court, so that the simple demeanour of military canons was replaced by a mincing and meretricious mien. Another favourite dance in Yedo Castle was the furyu. A book of the period describes the latter performance in these terms: "Sixteen youths made their appearance; they all wore wide-sleeved robes and purple figured silk with embroidery of oak leaves in gold and silver threads. They carried two swords with gold mountings and scarlet tassels, so that when they danced in harmony with the flutes and drums the spectacle presented was one of dazzling brilliancy." Thenceforth this "Genroku dance," as it came to be called, obtained wide vogue. The same is true of the joruri, which is one of the most emotional forms of chant. Hitherto the samisen had been regarded as a vulgar instrument, and its use had never received the sanction of aristocratic circles. But it now came into favour with all classes of women from the highest to the lowest, and the singing of the joruri was counted a far more important accomplishment than any kind of domestic education. Such an appeal to the emotional side of human nature could not fail to undermine the stoicism of the samurai and the morality of society in general. The practice of the military arts went out of fashion, and it became an object with the bushi not only to have his sword highly ornamented, but also to adapt its dimensions to the fashion of the moment, thus sacrificing utility to elegance. In short, the Genroku era (1688-1703) was essentially a time of luxury and extravagance, its literature abounding in theatrical plays, songs, verses, and joruri, and its ideals involving the sacrifice of the noble to the elegant. Men were promoted in rank not merely because they could dance gracefully, but also because they made themselves conspicuous for kindness to dogs, in obedience to the shogun's foible, and as many of these men had not learned to ride on horseback they petitioned for permission to use palanquins. This marked a signal departure from the severe rules of former days. Street palanquins (machi-kago) ultimately came into use by all who could afford the luxury. In short, the ancient order of educational precedence was reversed, and polite accomplishments took the place of military science. ENGRAVING: FORTY-SEVEN RONIN THE AKO VENDETTA Nevertheless, this degenerate era produced one of the most remarkable acts of self-sacrificing loyalty that stand to the credit of Japanese samurai. On the 7th of February, 1703, forty-seven bushi, under the leadership of Oishi Yoshio, forced their way into the mansion of Kira Yoshihide; killed him in order to avenge the death of their feudal chief, Asano Naganori, daimyo of Ako; and then surrendered themselves to justice. Under the title of The Forty-seven Ronins, this story has been told in history, on the stage, and in all forms of literature, so that its details need not be repeated here. It will suffice to say that, under great provocation, the Ako feudatory drew his sword in the precincts of Yedo Castle and cut down Kira Yoshihide, for which breach of court etiquette rather than for the deed of violence, the Ako baron was condemned to commit suicide and his estates were confiscated. Thereupon, forty-seven of his principal vassals pledged themselves to wreak vengeance, and, after nearly two years of planning and watching, they finally succeeded in achieving their purpose. Degenerate as was the spirit of the time, this bold deed aroused universal admiration. The vendetta was not illegal in Japan. It had been practised from medieval times and often with direct sanction of the authorities. But in no circumstances was it officially permissible within the cities of Kyoto, Yedo, Osaka, and Sumpu, or in the vicinity of the shogun's shrines. The forty-seven ronins had therefore committed a capital crime. Yet they had only obeyed the doctrine of Confucius, and the shogun therefore endeavoured to save their lives. More than a year was spent discussing the issue, and it is recorded that Tsunayoshi appealed to the prince-abbot of Ueno in order to secure his intervention in the cause of leniency. The day was ultimately carried by the advocates of stern justice, and the forty-seven ronins were ordered to commit suicide. They obeyed without a murmur. One of them, Terasaka Kichiemon by name, had been sent to carry the news to Ako immediately after the perpetration of the deed of vengeance. He returned when his comrades were condemned and gave himself up to the authorities, but they declined to punish him on the ground that the case had already been disposed of. The eminent Confucian scholar, Hayashi Nobuatsu, petitioned for the pardon of the ronins, and the scarcely less celebrated Muro Kyuso compiled a book describing the incident; but, for some reason never fully explained, the noteworthy scholar, Ogyu Sorai, took the opposite side. One act of the authorities is eloquent as to the sentiment prevailing at the time. They condemned Yoshihide's son, Yoshikata, to be deprived of his ancestral domain for not having died in company with his father. As for the feeling of the nation at large, it was abundantly manifested by many of the great feudatories, who vied with one another in conferring offices and revenues on the sons and grandsons of the "Forty-seven." YAMAGA SOKO The affair of the forty-seven ronins helped to bring into eminence the name of Yamaga Soko, a firm believer in Confucianism and an ardent follower of military science. Amid an environment of unfavourable conditions Soko preached the cult of bushido, and was the first to embody that philosophy in a written system. His books--the Shi-do (Way of the Warrior) and Bukyo Shogaku (Military Primer)--contain minute instructions as to the practice and the morale of the samurai. Soko rejected the Chutsz interpretation, then in vogue, of the Chinese classics, and insisted on the pure doctrine of the ancient sages, so that he found himself out of touch with the educational spirit of the time. Thus, falling under the displeasure of the Bakufu, he was charged with propagating heterodox views and was sent to Ako to be kept in custody by Asano Naganori, who treated him throughout with courtesy and respect. In return, Soko devoted his whole energy during nineteen years to the education of the Ako vassals, and the most prominent of the Forty-seven Ronins was among his pupils. THE SIXTH SHOGUN, IENOBU Tsunayoshi died of small-pox in 1709, after a brief illness. He had no son, and: five years previously, his nephew Ienobu (third son of his deceased elder brother, Tsunashige) had been declared heir to the shogunate. Having been born in 1662, Ienobu was in his forty-seventh year when he succeeded to the office of shogun. His first act was to abolish Tsunayoshi's legislation for the protection of animals. He is said to have offered the following explanation at the tomb of the deceased shogun: "You desired to protect living animals and strictly interdicted the slaughter of any such. You willed that even after your death the prohibition should be observed. But hundreds of thousands of human beings are suffering from the operation of your law. To repeal it is the only way of bringing peace to the nation." ARAI HAKUSEKI Ienobu gave evidence of his sagacity by dismissing Yanagisawa Yoshiyasu, the corrupt favourite of the late shogun; by appointing in his stead Manabe Norifusa to the office of personal assistant (soba yoniri), and by reposing full confidence in Arai Hakuseki. This last is recognized by posterity as the most distinguished among Japanese Confucianists. He studied the literature of both the Tang and the Sung dynasties, and he laboured to apply the precepts of Chinese philosophy to the practical needs of his own country. Moreover, he devoted exceptional attention to the conditions existing in Occidental States, and he embodied his thoughts and researches on the latter subject in a book called Sairan Igen, the first treatise of its kind published in Japan. A practical illustration of his knowledge was furnished in connexion with the reception of Korean envoys. It had been customary to convey to these officials an imposing conception of Japanese magnificence by treating them with lavish hospitality. Hakuseki was able to detect that the conduct of the envoys violated in many respects the rules of Chinese etiquette, and having obtained the shogun's nomination to receive the envoy, Cho, he convinced the latter that there must be no more neglect of due formalities. He then memorialized the shogun in the sense that these Korean ambassadors were merely Chinese spies, and that instead of receiving a lavish welcome, they should be required to limit their journey to the island of Tsushima, where only a very restricted ceremonial should be performed in their honour. This shrewd, though somewhat conservative, suggestion elicited general approval, but was not carried into effect until the time of the eleventh shogun. ENGRAVING: ARAI HAKUSEKI ADJUSTMENT OF THE FINANCES It has been shown above that the fifth shogun bequeathed to his successor a much embarrassed treasury. In this realm, also, the advice of Arai Hakuseki proved invaluable. In his volume of reminiscences there is an interesting statement connected with finance. It quotes Hagiwara Shigehide, commissioner of the Treasury, as saying that the shogun's estate at that time yielded four million koku annually, in addition to which there accrued from 760,000 ryo to 770,000 ryo in money, representing the proceeds of dues and taxes. In this latter sum was included 40,000 ryo, customs duties collected at Nagasaki, and 6000 ryo yielded by a tax on sake. The same report mentions that a sum of 160,000 ryo had been expended in clearing away the volcanic ashes which fell in the three provinces of Musashi, Sagami, and Suruga after the great eruption of Fujisan. Arai Hakuseki was able to prove the erroneous character of this report, but his demonstration did not impugn any of the above figures. Incidentally it is mentioned in Arai's comments that 700,000 ryo were allotted for building an addition to Yedo Castle, and 200,000 ryo for the construction of the deceased shogun's mausoleum, out of which total Hakuseki explicitly charges the officials, high and low alike, with diverting large sums to their own pockets in collusion with the contractors and tradesmen employed on the works. Another interesting investigation made by Arai Hakuseki is in connexion with the country's foreign trade. He showed that the amount of coins exported from Nagasaki alone, during one year, totalled 6,192,800 ryo of gold; 1,122,687 kwamme of silver and 228,000,000 kin of copper.* He alleged that the greater part of this large outflow of specie produced nothing except luxuries with which the nation could very well dispense, and he therefore advised that the foreign trade of Nagasaki should be limited to thirteen Chinese junks and two Dutch vessels annually, while stringent measures should be adopted to prevent smuggling. *One kin equals 1.25 lbs. The ordinance based upon this advice consisted of two hundred articles, and is known in history as the "New Nagasaki Trade Rules of the Shotoku Era" (1711-1715). One portion of the document ran as follows: "During the Jokyo era (1684-1687), the trade with Chinese merchants was limited to 6000 kwamme of silver, and that with Dutch traders to 50,000 ryo of gold, while the number of Chinese vessels was not allowed to exceed seventy per annum. After a few years, however, copper coins came into use as media of exchange in addition to silver, and moreover there was much smuggling of foreign goods. Thus, it resulted that gold, silver, and copper flowed out of the country in great quantities. Comparing the aggregate thus exported during the 107 years since the Keicho era with the amount coined in Japan during the same interval, it is found that one-quarter of the gold coins and three-quarters of the silver left the country. If that state of affairs continue, it is obvious that after a hundred years from the present time one-half of the empire's gold will be carried away and there will be no silver at all left. As for copper, the sum remaining in the country is insufficient, not only for purposes of trade but also for the needs of everyday life. It is most regrettable that the nation's treasure should thus be squandered upon foreign luxuries. The amount of currency needed at home and the amount produced by the mines should be investigated so as to obtain a basis for limiting the foreign trade at the open ports of Nagasaki, Tsushima, and Satsuma, and for fixing the maximum number of foreign vessels visiting those places." IMPEACHMENT OF HAGIWARA SHIGEHIDE In connexion with Arai Hakuseki's impeachment of the Treasury commissioner, Hagiwara Shigehide, it was insisted that an auditor's office must be re-established, and it was pointed out that the yield of rice from the shogun's estates had fallen to 28.9 per cent, of the total produce instead of being forty per cent., as fixed by law. Nevertheless, the condition of the farmers was by no means improved, and the inevitable inference was that the difference went into the pockets of the local officials. Similarly, enormous expenses were incurred for the repair of river banks without any corresponding diminution of floods, and hundreds of thousands of bags of rice went nominally to the bottom of the sea without ever having been shipped. During the year that followed the reconstruction of the auditor's office, the yield of the estates increased by 433,400 bags of rice, and the cost of riparian works decreased by 38,000 ryo of gold, while, at the same time, the item of shipwrecked cereals disappeared almost completely from the ledgers. In consequence of these charges the commissioner, Shigehide, was dismissed. History says that although his regular salary was only 3000 koku annually, he embezzled 260,000 ryo of gold by his debasement of the currency, and that ultimately he starved himself to death in token of repentance. Ienobu and his able adviser, Hakuseki, desired to restore the currency to the system pursued in the Keicho era (1596-1614), but their purpose was thwarted by insufficiency of the precious metals. They were obliged to be content with improving the quality of the coins while decreasing their weight by one half. These new tokens were called kenji-kin, as they bore on the reverse the ideograph ken, signifying "great original." The issue of the new coins took place in the year 1710, and at the same time the daimyo were strictly forbidden to issue paper currency, which veto also was imposed at the suggestion of Arai Hakuseki. THE SEVENTH SHOGUN, IETSUGU The seventh Tokugawa shogun, Ietsugu, son of his predecessor, Ienobu, was born in 1709, succeeded to the shogunate in April, 1713, and died in 1716. His father, Ienobu, died on the 13th of November, 1712, so that there was an interval of five months between the demise of the sixth shogun and the accession of the seventh. Of course, a child of four years who held the office of shogun for the brief period of three years could not take any part in the administration or have any voice in the appointment or dismissal of officials. Thus, Arai Hakuseki's tenure of office depended upon his relations with the other ministers, and as all of these did not approve his drastic reforms, he was obliged to retire, but Manabe Norifusa remained in office. ENGRAVING: TOKUGAWA YOSHIMUNE THE EIGHTH SHOGUN, YOSHIMUNE By the death of Ietsugu, in 1716, the Hidetada line of the Tokugawa family became extinct, and a successor to the shogunate had to be sought from the Tokugawa of Kii province in the person of Yoshimune, grandson of Yorinobu and great-grandson of Ieyasu. Born in 1677, Yoshimune, the eighth Tokugawa shogun, succeeded to office in 1716, at the age of thirty-nine. The son of a concubine, he had been obliged to subsist on the proceeds of a very small estate, and he therefore well understood the uses of economy and the condition of the people. His habits were simple and plain, and he attached as much importance as Ieyasu himself had done to military arts and literary pursuits. It had become a custom on the occasion of each shogun's succession to issue a decree confirming, expanding, or altering the systems of the previous potentate. Yoshimune's first decree placed special emphasis on the necessity of diligence in the discharge of administrative functions and the eschewing of extravagance. Always he made it his unflagging aim to restore the martial spirit which had begun to fade from the samurai's bosom, and in the forefront of important reforms he placed frugality. The Bakufu had fallen into the habit of modelling their systems and their procedure after Kyoto examples. In fact, they aimed at converting Yedo into a replica of the Imperial capital. This, Yoshimune recognized as disadvantageous to the Bakufu themselves and an obstacle to the resuscitation of bushido. Therefore, he set himself to restore all the manners and customs of former days, and it became his habit to preface decrees and ordinances with the phrase "In pursuance of the methods, fixed by Gongen" (Ieyasu). His idea was that only the decadence of bushido could result from imitating the habits of the Imperial Court, and as Manabe Norifusa did not endorse that view with sufficient zeal, the shogun relieved him of his office of minister of the Treasury. One of Yoshimune's measures was to remodel the female department of the palace on the lines of simplicity and economy. All the ladies-in-waiting were required to furnish a written oath against extravagance and irregular conduct of every kind, and in the sixth year after his accession the shogun ordered that a list should be furnished setting forth the names and ages of such of these ladies as were, conspicuously beautiful. Fifty were deemed worthy of inscription, and quite a tremor of joyful excitement was caused, the measure being regarded as prefacing the shogun's choice of consorts. But Yoshimune's purpose was very different. He discharged all these fair-faced ladies and kept only the ill-favoured ones, his assigned reason being that as ugly females find a difficulty in getting husbands, it would be only charitable to retain their services. He revived the sport of hawking, after the manner of Ieyasu, for he counted it particularly suitable to soldiers; and he pursued the pastime so ardently that men gave him the name of the Taka-shogun (Falcon shogun). He also inaugurated a new game called uma-gari (horse-hunting); and it is on record that he required the samurai to practise swimming in the sea. By way of giving point to his ordinances inculcating frugality, he himself made a habit of wearing cotton garments in winter and hempen in summer--a custom habitually practised by the lower orders only. The very detailed nature of his economical measures is illustrated by an incident which has independent interest. Observing that the fences erected on the scarp of Yedo Castle were virtually useless for purposes of defence and very costly to keep in repair, he caused them all to be pulled down and replaced by pine trees. This happened in 1721, and the result was that the battlements of this great castle were soon overhung by noble trees, which softened and beautified the military aspect of the colossal fortress. To the same shogun Yedo owes the cherry and plum groves of Asuka-yama, of the Sumida-gawa, and of Koganei. The saplings of these trees were taken from the Fukiage park, which remains to-day one of the most attractive landscape gardens in the world. ENGRAVING: VARIOUS OCCUPATIONS OF WOMEN, KYOHO ERA OTHER MEASURES For the purpose of acquiring accurate information about the condition of the people, Yoshimune appointed officials who went by the name of niwa-ban (garden watchmen). They moved about among the lower orders and reported everything constituting knowledge useful for administrative purposes. Moreover, to facilitate the ends of justice, the shogun revived the ancient device of petition-boxes (meyasu-bako), which were suspended in front of the courthouse in order that men might lodge there a written statement of all complaints. It was by Yoshimune, also, that the celebrated Ooka Tadasuke, the "Solomon of Japan," was invited from Yamada and appointed chief justice in Yedo. The judgments delivered by him in that capacity will be famous as long as Japan exists. It has to be noted, however, that the progressive spirit awakened by Yoshimune's administration was not without untoward results. Extremists fell into the error of believing that everything pertaining to the canons of the immediate past must be abandoned, and they carried this conception into the realm of foreign trade, so that the restrictions imposed in the Shotoku era (1711-1715) were neglected. It became necessary to issue a special decree ordering the enforcement of these regulations, although, as will presently be seen, Yoshimune's disposition towards the civilization of the Occident was essentially liberal. CODES OF LAW By this time the miscarriages of justice liable to occur when the law is administered with regard to precedent only or mainly, began to be plainly observable, and the shogun, appreciating the necessity for written codes, appointed a commission to collect and collate the laws in operation from ancient times; to embody them in codes, and to illustrate them by precedents. Matsudaira Norimura, one of the ministers of State, was appointed chief commissioner, and there resulted, after four years of labour, the first genuine Japanese code (Oshioki Ojomoku). This body of laws was subsequently revised by Matsudaira Sadanobu, and under the name of Osadame Hyakkajo ("Hundred Articles of Law"), it remained long in practice. LITERATURE Yoshimune was not behind any of his ancestors in appreciation of learning. In 1721, when his administrative reforms were still in their infancy, he invited to Yedo Kinoshita Torasuke (son of the celebrated Kinoshita Junan), Muro Nawokiyo, and other eminent men of letters, and appointed them to give periodical lectures. Nawokiyo was named "adviser to the shogun," who consulted him about administrative affairs, just as Arai Hakuseki had been consulted by Ienobu. In fact, it was by the advice of Arai Hakuseki that Nawokiyo (whose literary name was Kyuso), entered the service of Yoshimune. Contemporaneous with these littérateurs was the renowned Ogyu Sorai, whose profound knowledge of finance and of administrative affairs in general made him of great value to the Bakufu. He compiled a book called Seidan (Talks on Government) which, immediately became a classic. Special favour was shown to the renowned Confucianist, Hayashi Nobuatsu. He and his son were asked to deliver regular lectures at the Shohei College, and these lectures were the occasion of a most important innovation, namely, the admission of all classes of people, whereas previously the audience at such discourses had been strictly limited to military men. It is to be observed that in the days of Yoshimune's shogunate the philosophy of Chutsz (Shu-shi) was preferred to all others. It received the official imprimatur, the philosophy of Wang Yang-ming (O Yo-mei) being set aside. One consequence of this selection was that the Hayashi family came to be regarded as the sole depositories of true Confucianism. Yoshimune himself, however, was not disposed to set any dogmatic limits to the usefulness of men of learning. He assumed an absolutely impartial attitude towards all schools; adopting the good wherever it was found, and employing talent to whatever school it belonged. Thus when Kwanno Chqkuyo established a place of education in Yedo, and Nakai Seishi did the same in Osaka, liberal grants of land were made by the Bakufu to both men. Another step taken by the shogun was to institute a search for old books throughout the country, and to collect manuscripts which had been kept in various families for generations. By causing these to be copied or printed, many works which would otherwise have been destroyed or forgotten were preserved. It is notable that all this admirable industry had one untoward result: Japanese literature came into vogue in the Imperial capital, and was accompanied by the development of a theory that loyalty to the sovereign was inconsistent with the administration of the Bakufu. The far-reaching consequences of this conception will be dealt with in a later chapter. Here, it is sufficient to say that one of the greatest and most truly patriotic of the Tokugawa shoguns himself unwittingly sowed the seeds of disaffection destined to prove fatal to his own family. ADOPTION OF WESTERN LEARNING Yoshimune was fond of astronomy. He erected a telescope in the observatory at Kanda, a sun-dial in the palace park, and a rain-gauge at the same place. By his orders a mathematician named Nakane Genkei translated the Gregorian calendar into Japanese, and Yoshimune, convinced of the superior accuracy of the foreign system, would have substituted it for the Chinese then used in Japan, had not his purpose excited such opposition that he judged it prudent to desist. It was at this time that the well-informed Nishikawa Masayasu and Shibukawa Noriyasu were appointed Government astronomers. Previously the only sources of information about foreign affairs had been the masters of the Dutch ships, the Dutch merchants, and the Japanese interpreters at Nagasaki. The importation of books from the Occident having been strictly forbidden by the third shogun, Iemitsu, Yoshimune appreciated the disadvantage of such a restriction, and being convinced of the benefits to be derived from the study of foreign science and art, he rescinded the veto except in the case of books relating to Christianity. Thus, for the first time, Japanese students were brought into direct contact with the products of Western intelligence. In 1744, Aoki Konyo received official orders to proceed to Nagasaki for the purpose of seeking instruction in Dutch from Dutch teachers. Shibukawa and Aoki are regarded as the pioneers of Occidental learning in Japan, and, in the year 1907, posthumous honours were conferred on them by the reigning Emperor of their country. THE SANKIN KOTAI It has already been stated that the financial embarrassment of the Bakufu in Yoshimune's time was as serious as it had been in his predecessor's days. Moreover, in 1718, the country was swept by a terrible tornado, and in 1720 and 1721, conflagrations reduced large sections of Yedo to ashes. Funds to succour the distressed people being imperatively needed, the shogun called upon all the feudatories to subscribe one hundred koku of rice for every ten thousand koku of their estates. By way of compensation for this levy he reduced to half a year the time that each feudal chief had to reside in Yedo. This meant, of course, a substantial lessening of the great expenses entailed upon the feudatories by the sankin kotai system, and the relief thus afforded proved most welcome to the daimyo and the shomyo alike. Yoshimune intended to extend this indulgence ultimately by releasing the barons from the necessity of coming to Yedo more than once in from three to five years, and, in return, he contemplated a corresponding increase of the special levy of rice. But his ministers opposed the project on the ground that it would dangerously loosen the ties between the feudatories and the Bakufu, and inasmuch as events proved that this result threatened to accrue from even the moderate indulgence granted by the shogun, not only was no extension made but also, in 1731, the system of sankin kotai was restored to its original form. The experiment, indeed proved far from satisfactory. The feudatories did not confine themselves to assertions of independence; they also followed the example of the Bakufu by remitting some of the duties devolving on their retainers and requiring the latter to show their gratitude for the remissions by monetary payments. Nominally, these payments took the form of loans, but in reality the amount was deducted from the salaries of vassals. This pernicious habit remained in vogue among a section of the feudatories, even after the sankin kotai had been restored to its original form. OFFICIAL SALARIES From ancient times it had been the habit of the Bakufu to assign important offices to men who were in enjoyment of large hereditary incomes. This was mainly for financial reasons. Salaries were paid in the form of additions to the hereditary estates in other words, the emoluments of office became permanent, and the charge upon the Bakufu being correspondingly increased, it was obviously expedient to fill high administrative posts with men already in possession of ample incomes. This system was radically changed by Yoshimune. He enacted that a clear distinction should be made between temporary salary and hereditary income. Thenceforth, salary was to be received only during the tenure of office and was to cease on laying down official functions. This reform had the effect not only of lightening the burden upon the Bakufu income, but also of opening high offices to able men without regard to their private fortunes. ENGRAVING: VARIOUS OCCUPATIONS OF WOMEN, KYOHO EHA THE CURRENCY From the first day of assuming administrative power, Yoshimune gave earnest thought to reform of the currency. His ambition was to restore the gold and silver coins to the quality and sizes existing in the Keicho era. This he effected, though not on a sufficiently large scale. Each of the new coins was equal in intrinsic value to two of the corresponding kenji coins, and the circulation of the latter was suspended, the new coins being called Kyoho-kin after the year-name of the era (1716-1735) when they made their appearance. It was a thoroughly wholesome measure, but the quality of the precious metals available did not suffice. Thus, whereas the gold coins struck during ten years of the Kyoho era totalled only 8,290,000 ryo, a census taken in 1732 showed a total population of 26,921,816. Therefore, the old coins could not be wholly withdrawn from circulation, and people developed a tendency to hoard the new and more valuable tokens. Other untoward effects also were produced. The shogun paid much attention to promoting agriculture and encouraging land reclamation, so that the yield of rice increased appreciably. But this proved by no means an unmixed blessing. Side by side with an increase in the quantity of rice appearing in the market, the operation of the new currency tended to depreciate prices, until a measure of grain which could not have been bought at one time for less than two ryo became purchasable for one. In fact, the records show that a producer considered himself fortunate if he obtained half a ryo of gold for a koku of rice. This meant an almost intolerable state of affairs for the samurai who received his salary in grain and for the petty farmer. Thus, a man whose income was three rations of rice annually, and who consequently had to live on 5.4 koku for a whole year, found that when he set aside from three to four koku for food, there remained little more than one ryo of assets to pay for salt, fuel, clothes, and all the other necessaries of life. So acute was the suffering of the samurai that a rice-exchange was established at Dojima, in Osaka, for the purpose of imparting some measure of stability to the price of the cereal. Just at this time (1732), the central and western provinces were visited by a famine which caused seventeen thousand deaths and reduced multitudes to the verge of starvation. The Bakufu rendered aid on a munificent scale, but the price of rice naturally appreciated, and although this brought relief to the military class, it was misconstrued by the lower orders as a result of speculation on 'Change. Riots resulted, and rice-merchants fearing to make purchases, the market price of the cereal fell again, so that farmers and samurai alike were plunged into their old difficulties. Ultimately, in 1735, the Bakufu inaugurated a system of officially fixed prices (osadame-soba), according to which 1.4 koku of rice had to be exchanged for one ryo of gold in Yedo, the Osaka rate being fixed at forty-two momme of silver for the same quantity of the cereal. Anyone violating this rule was fined ten momme of silver for each koku of rice purchased or sold by him. It is related that the osadame-soba was operative in name only, and that the merchants secretly dealt in the cereal at much lower prices than those officially fixed. The Yedo financiers now concluded that the quantity of currency in circulation was insufficient and its quality too good. Accordingly, the gold and silver coins were once more reminted, smaller and less pure tokens being issued under the name of bunji-kin with reference to the Genbun era (1736-1740) of their issue. Thus, the reform of the currency, achieved with so much difficulty in the early years of Yoshimune's administration, had to be abandoned, and things reverted to their old plight. If this difficulty operated so acutely under a ruler of Yoshimune's talent, the confusion and disorder experienced when he withdrew his able hand from the helm of State may be imagined. The feudatories were constantly distressed to find funds for supporting their Yedo mansions, as well as for carrying out the public works imposed on them from time to time, and for providing the costly presents which had become a recognized feature of ordinary and extraordinary intercourse. As an example of the luxury of the age, it may be mentioned that when the fifth shogun visited the Kaga baron, the latter had to find a sum of a million ryo to cover the expenses incidental to receiving such a guest. In these circumstances, there arose among the feudatories a habit of levying monetary contributions from wealthy persons in their fiefs, the accommodation thus afforded being repaid by permission to carry swords or by promotion in rank. The poorer classes of samurai being increasingly distressed, they, too, borrowed money at high rates of interest from merchants and wealthy farmers, which loans they were generally unable to repay. Ultimately, the Bakufu solved the situation partially by decreeing that no lawsuit for the recovery of borrowed money should be entertained--a reversion to the tokusei system of the Ashikaga shoguns. Of course, credit was completely undermined by the issue of this decree. It is strange that such conditions should have existed under such a ruler as Yoshimune. But even his strenuous influence did not suffice to stem the current of the time. The mercantile instinct pervaded all the transactions of every-day life. If a man desired to adopt a son, he attached much less importance to the latter's social status or personality than to the dimensions of his fortune, and thus it came about that the family names of petty feudatories were freely bought and sold. Yoshimune strictly interdicted this practice, but his veto had no efficiency; wealthy farmers or merchants freely purchased their way into titled families. From this abuse to extortion of money by threats the interval was not long, and the outcome, where farmers were victims, took the form of agrarian riots. It was to the merchants, who stood between the farmers and the samurai, that fortune offered conspicuously favourable opportunities in these circumstances. The tradesmen of the era became the centre of extravagance and luxury, so that in a certain sense the history of the Yedo Bakufu may be said to be the history of mercantile development. INDUSTRIAL PROGRESS Yoshimune devoted much attention to the encouragement of industrial progress. Deeming that a large import of drugs and sugar caused a ruinous drain of specie, he sent experts hither and thither through the country to encourage the domestic production of these staples as well as of vegetable wax. The feudatories, in compliance with his suggestion, took similar steps, and from this time tobacco growing in Sagami and Satsuma; the weaving industry in Kotsuke and Shimotsuke; sericulture in Kotsuke, Shinano, Mutsu, and Dewa; indigo cultivation in Awa; orange growing in Kii, and the curing of bonito in Tosa and Satsuma--all these began to flourish. Another feature of the time was the cultivation of the sweet potato at the suggestion of Aoki Konyo, who saw in this vegetable a unique provision against famine. Irrigation and drainage works also received official attention, as did the reclamation of rice-growing areas and the storing of cereals. THE NINTH SHOGUN, IESHIGE In 1745, Yoshimune resigned his office to his son, Ieshige, who, having been born in 1702, was now in his forty-third year. Yoshimune had three sons, Ieshige, Munetake, and Munetada. Of these the most promising was the second, Munetake, whose taste for literature and military art almost equalled his father's. Matsudaira Norimura, prime minister, recognizing that Ieshige, who was weak, passionate, and self-willed, would not be able to fill worthily the high office of shogun, suggested to Yoshimune the advisability of nominating Munetake. But Yoshimune had his own programme. Ieshige's son, Ieharu, was a very gifted youth, and Yoshimune reckoned on himself retaining the direction of affairs for some years, so that Ieshige's functions would be merely nominal until Ieharu became old enough to succeed to the shogunate. Meanwhile, to prevent complications and avert dangerous rivalry, Yoshimune assigned to Munetake and Munetada residences within the Tayasu and Hitotsubashi gates of the castle, respectively, gave the names of these gates as family titles, and bestowed on each a revenue of one hundred thousand koku, together with the privilege of supplying an heir to the shogunate in the event of failure of issue in the principal house of Tokugawa or in one of the "Three Families." The shogun, Ieshige, followed the same plan with his son, Yoshishige, and as the latter's residence was fixed within the Shimizu gate, there came into existence "Three Branch Families" called the Sankyo, in supplement of the already existing Sanke.* *The present Princes Tokugawa are the representatives of the main line of the shogun; the Marquises Tokugawa, representatives of the Sanke, and the Counts Tokugawa, of the Sankyo. Of course, the addition of the Shimizu family had the approval of Yoshimune. In fact, the whole arrangement as to the Sankyo was an illustration of his faithful imitation of the institutions of Ieyasu. The latter had created the Sanke, and Yoshimune created the Sankyo; Ieyasu had resigned in favour of his son and had continued to administer affairs from Sumpu, calling himself 0-gosho; Yoshimune followed his great ancestor's example in all these respects except that he substituted the western part of Yedo Castle for Sumpu. Ieshige's most salient characteristic was a passionate disposition. Men called him the "short-tempered shogun" (kanshaku kubo). He gave himself up to debauchery, and being of delicate physique, his self-indulgence quickly undermined his constitution. So long as Yoshimune lived, his strong hand held things straight, but after his death, in 1751, the incompetence of his son became very marked. He allowed himself to fall completely under the sway of his immediate attendants, and, among these, Tanuma Okitsugu succeeded in monopolizing the evil opportunity thus offered. During nearly ten years the reforms effected by Yoshimune steadily ceased to be operative, and when Ieshige resigned in 1760, the country had fallen into many of the bad customs of the Genroku era. THE TENTH SHOGUN, IEHARU After his abdication in 1760, Ieshige survived only fourteen months, dying, in 1761, at the age of fifty-one. He was succeeded, in 1760, by his son, Ieharu, who, having been born in 1737, was twenty-three years old when he began to administer the country's affairs. One of his first acts was to appoint Tanuma Okitsugu to be prime minister, bestowing on him a fief of fifty-seven thousand koku in the province of Totomi, and ordering him to construct a fortress there. At the same time Okitsugu's son, Okitomo, received the rank of Yamato no Kami and the office of junior minister. These two men became thenceforth the central figures in an era of maladministration and corruption. So powerful and all-reaching was their influence that people were wont to say, "Even a bird on the wing could not escape the Tanuma." The shogun was not morally incapable, but his intelligence was completely overshadowed by the devices of Okitsugu, who took care that Ieharu should remain entirely ignorant of popular sentiment. Anyone attempting to let light into this state of darkness was immediately dismissed. It is related of a vassal of Okitsugu that he was found one day with three high officials of the shogun's court busily engaged in applying a moxa to his foot. The three officials knew that their places depended on currying favour with this vassal; how much more, then, with his master, Okitsugu! Everything went by bribery. Justice and injustice were openly bought and sold. Tanuma Okitsugu was wont to say that human life was not so precious as gold and silver; that by the liberality of a man's gifts his sincerity might truly be gauged, and that the best solace for the trouble of conducting State affairs was for their administrator to find his house always full of presents. Ieharu, however, knew nothing of all this, or anything of the natural calamities that befell the country under his sway--the eruption of the Mihara volcano, in 1779, when twenty feet of ashes were piled over the adjacent country through an area of several miles; the volcanic disturbance at Sakura-jima, in Osumi, which took place about the same time and ended in the creation of several new islands; the outbreak of the Asama crater, in 1783, when half the provinces of the Kwanto were covered with ashes; and the loss of forty thousand lives by a flood in the Tone-gawa. Of all these visitations the shogun remained uninformed, and, in spite of them, luxury and extravagance marked the lives of the upper classes. Many, however, were constrained to seek loans from wealthy merchants in Osaka, and these tradesmen, admonished by past incidents, refused to lend anything. At last the intolerable situation culminated in a deed of violence. In April, 1784, Sano Masakoto, a hereditary vassal of the shogun, drew his sword upon Okitsugu within the precincts of the castle in Yedo and wounded him severely. Masakoto was seized and sentenced to commit suicide, but the justice of his attempt being recognized, the influence of Okitsugu and his son began to decline. Two years later (1786), there appeared a decree in the name of the Bakufu, ordering that the temples in all the provinces, the farmers, the artisans, and the merchants should send their gold and silver every spring to the Central Government, to the end that the latter might lend this treasure to the feudatories, who would pledge themselves to pay it back after five years.* *The funds thus obtained were called yuzu-kin (accommodation money). There is reason to believe that the shogun himself knew nothing of this ordinance until a multitude of complaints and remonstrances found their way, in part, to his ears. At all events, the extraordinary decree proved to be the last act of Okitsugu's official life. He was dismissed from office, though whether the credit of that step belongs to the Sanke and the elder officials or to the shogun, is not certain, for Ieharu is said to have died just before the final disgrace of the corrupt statesman was consummated. The Yedo upon which he closed his eyes in October, 1786, presented features of demoralization unsurpassed in any previous era. In fact, during the period of forty-one years between the accession of the ninth shogun, Ieshige, in 1745, and the death of the tenth, Ieharu, in 1786, the manners and customs of the citizens developed along very evil lines. It was in this time that the city Phryne (machi-geisha) made her appearance; it was in this time that the theatre, which had hitherto been closed to the better classes, began to be frequented by them; it was in this time that gambling became universal; it was in this time that parents learned to think it an honour to see their daughters winning favour as dancing girls, and it was in this time that the samurai's noble contempt for money gave place to the omnipotence of gold in military and civil circles alike. THE IMPERIAL COURT. THE 113TH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR HIGASHIYAMA (A.D. 1687-1710) In 1687, the Emperor Reigen abdicated in favour of Higashiyama, then a boy of thirteen, Reigen continuing to administer affairs from behind the curtain as was usual. Tsunayoshi was then the shogun in Yedo. He showed great consideration for the interests of the Imperial Court. Thus, he increased his Majesty's allowance by ten thousand koku of rice annually, and he granted an income of three thousand koku to the ex-Emperor. Moreover, all the Court ceremonies, which had been interrupted for want of funds, were resumed, and steps were taken to repair or rebuild the sepulchres of the sovereigns throughout the empire. RELATIONS BETWEEN THE FEUDATORIES AND THE COURT NOBLES According to a rule made in the beginning of the Tokugawa dynasty, a lady of Tokugawa lineage was forbidden to marry a Court noble, but the shogun himself was expected to take a consort from one of the noble houses in the Imperial capital. From the days of Iemitsu this latter custom was steadily maintained, and gradually the feudatories came to follow the shogun's example, so that marriages between military magnates and noble ladies of Kyoto Were frequent. To these unions the Court nobles were impelled by financial reasons and the military men by ambition. The result was the gradual formation of an Imperial party and of a Bakufu party in Kyoto, and at times there ensued sharp rivalry between the two cliques. In the days of the seventh shogun, Ietsugu, the Emperor Reigen would have given his daughter Yaso to be the shogun's consort for the purpose of restoring real friendship between the two Courts, but the death of the shogun in his boyhood interrupted the project. THE 114TH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR NAKANOMIKADO (A.D. 1710-1735) Higashiyama abdicated (1710) in favour of Nakanomikado, who reigned for twenty-five years. This reign is remarkable for a change in the system hitherto uniformly pursued, namely, that all Imperial princes with the exception of the direct heir should become Buddhist priests (ho-shinnd), and all princesses except those chosen as consorts of the shoguns, should become Buddhist nuns (bikuni-gosho). It has already been shown that this custom found many followers in the days of Ashikaga administration, and it was observed with almost equal strictness under the Tokugawa, who certainly aimed at the gradual weakening of the Imperial household's influence. Arai Hakuseki remonstrated with the shogun, Ienobu, on the subject. He contended that however humble a man's lot may be, his natural desire is to see his children prosper, whereas in the case of Imperial princes, they were condemned to the ascetic career of Buddhist priests. He denounced such a system as opposed to the instincts of humanity, and he advised not only that certain princes should be allowed to form families of their own, but also that Imperial princesses should marry into branches of the Tokugawa. Ienobu is said to have acknowledged the wisdom of this advice, and its immediate result was the establishment of the princely house of Kanin, which, with the houses of Fushimi, Kyogoku (afterwards Katsura), and Arisugawa, became the four Shinnoke. Among other privileges these were designated to furnish an heir to the throne in the event of the failure of direct issue. When Yoshimune succeeded to the headship of the Bakufu, and after Arai Hakuseki was no longer in office, this far-seeing policy was gradually abandoned, and all the relations between the Imperial Court and the Bakufu became somewhat strained. THE 115TH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR SAKURAMACHI (A. D, 1732-1735), AND THE 116TH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR MOMOZONO (A.D. 1735-1762) After the death of the ex-Emperor Reigen (1732), the Emperor Nakanomikado administered affairs himself during three years, and then abdicated in 1735 in favour of Sakuramachi, who was sixteen years of age, and who reigned until 1747, when he abdicated in favour of Momozono, then seven years of age. It was in this reign that there appeared an eminent scholar, Yamazaki Ansai, who, with his scarcely less famous pupil, Takenouchi Shikibu, expounded the Chinese classics according to the interpretation of Chutsz. They sought to combine the cults of Confucianism and Shinto, and to demonstrate that the Mikados were descendants of gods; that everything possessed by a subject belonged primarily to the sovereign, and that anyone opposing his Majesty's will must be killed, though his brothers or his parents were his slayers. The obvious effect of such doctrines was to discredit the Bakufu shoguns, and information having ultimately been lodged in Yedo through an enemy of Takenouchi, seventeen Court nobles together with others were arrested and punished, some capitally and some by exile. Among those executed the most remarkable was Yamagata Daini, a master of military science, who, having endured the torture without confession, was finally put to death on the ground that in teaching the method of attacking a fortress he used drawings of Yedo Castle. This incident is remarkable as indicating the first potent appearance of a doctrine to the prevalence of which the fall of the Tokugawa Bakufu was ultimately referable. THE 117TH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPRESS GO-SAKURAMACHI (A.D. 1762-1770), AND THE 118TH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR GO-MOMOZONO (A.D. 1770-1780) The Emperor Momozono died in 1762 after having administered the Government for sixteen years. His eldest son, Prince Hidehito, being a mere baby, it was decided that Princess Tomo, Momozono's elder sister, should occupy the throne, Prince Hidehito becoming the Crown Prince. Her Majesty is known in history as Go-Sakuramachi. Her reign lasted only eight years, and in 1770 she abdicated in favour of her nephew, Hidehito, who ascended the throne as the Emperor Go-Momozono and died after a reign of nine years. This exhausted the lineal descendants of the Emperor Nakanomikado. THE 119TH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR KOKAKU (A.D. 1780-1816) In default of a direct heir it became necessary to have recourse to one of the "Four Princely Families," and the choice fell upon Prince Tomohito, representing the Kanin house. He succeeded as Kokaku, and a Japanese historian remarks with regard to the event and to the growth of the spirit fostered by Yamazaki Ansai, Takenouchi Shikibu, and Yamagata Daini, that "the first string of the Meiji Restoration lyre vibrated at this time in Japan." Kokaku's reign will be referred to again later on. ENGRAVING: (Keyari) SPEAR CARRIER (One of a Daimyo's Procession) ENGRAVING: PICKING TEA LEAVES IN UJI, A CELEBRATED TEA DISTRICT CHAPTER XLI THE LATE PERIOD OF THE TOKUGAWA BAKUFU. THE ELEVENTH SHOGUN, IENARI. (1786-1838) NATURAL CALAMITIES THE misgovernment of Tanuma and his son was not the only calamity that befell the country during the closing years of the tenth shogun, Ieharu's, administration. The land was also visited by famine and pestilence of unparallelled dimensions. The evil period began in 1783 and lasted almost without intermission for four years. It is recorded that when the famine was at its height, rice could not be obtained in some parts of the country for less than forty ryo a koku. Sanguinary riots took place in Yedo, Kyoto, Osaka, and elsewhere. The stores of rice-merchants and the residences of wealthy folks were plundered and, in many cases, destroyed. To such extremities were people driven that cakes made from pine-tree bark served as almost the sole means of subsistence in some districts, and the Government is found gravely proclaiming that cakes made of straw were more nutritious. There are records of men deserting their families, wandering into other provinces in search of food and dying by thousands on the way. An official who had been sent to Matsumae, in the province of Mutsu, to observe the state of affairs, reported that the villages to the east of Nambu had been practically depopulated and the once fertile fields converted into barren plains. "Although farmhouses stood in the hamlets, not a solitary person was to be seen on the road; not a human voice was to be heard. Looking through a window, one saw dead bodies lying without anyone to bury them, and sometimes skeletons covered with quilts reposed on the mats, while among the weeds countless corpses were scattered." THE ELEVENTH SHOGUN, IENARI Among these terrible conditions the tenth shogun, Ieharu died, in 1786, and was succeeded by Ienari, a son of Hitotsubashi Harunari and a great-grandson of Yoshimune. Ienari was in his fifteenth year, and, of course, at such a tender age he could not possibly deal with the financial, economic, and administrative problems that presented themselves at this, the darkest period of Tokugawa sway. Fortunately a man of genius was found to grapple with the situation. Matsudaira Sadanobu, son of Tayasu Munetake and grandson of Yoshimune, proved himself one of the most capable administrators Japan had hitherto produced. In 1788, he was appointed prime minister, assisted by a council of State comprising the heads of the three Tokugawa families of Mito, Kii, and Owari. Sadanobu was in his thirtieth year, a man of boundless energy, great insight, and unflinching courage. His first step was to exorcise the spectre of famine by which the nation was obsessed. For that purpose he issued rules with regard to the storing of grain, and as fairly good harvests were reaped during the next few years, confidence was in a measure restored. The men who served the Bakufu during its middle period in the capacity of ministers had been taken almost entirely from the families of Ii, Sakai, and Hotta, but none of them had shown any marked ability; they had allowed their functions to be usurped by the personal attendants of the shogun. This abuse was remedied by the appointment of the heads of the three Tokugawa families to the post of ministers, and for a time Sadanobu received loyal and efficient support from his colleagues. CONFLAGRATION IN KYOTO The series of calamities which commenced with the tempests, floods, and famines of 1788 culminated in a fire such as never previously had swept Kyoto. It reduced to ashes the Imperial palace, Nijo Castle, 220 Shinto shrines, 128 Buddhist temples, and 183,000 houses. The loss of life (2600) was not by any means as severe as that in the great fire of Yedo, but the Imperial city was practically destroyed. Ishikawa Jinshiro, who commanded at Nijo Castle, immediately distributed a thousand koku of rice from the Government's store to relieve the distressed citizens. He acted in this matter without waiting to seek sanction from the Bakufu, and his discretion was rewarded by appointment to the high office of inspector-general of police (o-metsuke). The problem of restoring the palace presented much difficulty in the impoverished state of the country, but the Bakufu did not hesitate to take the task in hand, and to issue the necessary requisitions to the feudatories of the home provinces. Sadanobu himself repaired to Kyoto to superintend the work, and took the opportunity to travel throughout a large part of the country. During his tour all that had any grievances were invited to present petitions, and munificent rewards were bestowed on persons who had distinguished themselves by acts of filial piety or by lives of chastity. Such administrative measures presented a vivid contrast with the corrupt oppression practised by the Tanuma family, and it is recorded that men and women kneeled on the road as Sadanobu passed and blessed him with tears. ENGRAVING: SANNO FESTIVAL OF TOKYO IN EARLY DAYS SUMPTUARY REGULATIONS Convinced that the most important step towards economic improvement was the practice of frugality, Sadanobu caused rules to be compiled and issued which dealt with almost every form of expenditure. He himself made a practice of attending at the castle wearing garments of the coarsest possible materials, and the minute character of his ordinances against extravagance almost taxes credulity. Thus, he forbade the custom of exchanging presents between official colleagues; ordered that everyone possessing an income of less than ten thousand koku should refrain from purchasing anything new, whether clothing, utensils, or furniture; interdicted the wearing of white robes except on occasions of ceremony; ordained that wedding presents should henceforth be reduced by one-half, advised that dried lobsters should be substituted for fresh fish in making presents; prohibited the wearing of brocade or embroidered silk by ladies not of the highest class; enjoined simplicity in costumes for the no dance, in children's toys, in women's pipes, or tobacco-pouches, and in ladies' hairpins or hairdress; forbade gold lacquer in any form except to delineate family crests; limited the size of dolls; vetoed banquets, musical entertainments, and all idle pleasures except such as were justified by social status, and actually went to the length of ordering women to dress their own hair, dispensing entirely with professional Hairdressers, who were bade to change their occupation for tailoring or laundry work. This remarkable statesman laboured for the ethical improvement of his countrymen as well as for their frugality of life. In 1789, we find him legislating against the multiplication of brothels, and, two years later, he vetoed mixed bathing of men and women. One of the fashions of the time was that vassals left in charge of their lords' mansions in Yedo used to organize mutual entertainments by way of promoting good-fellowship, but in reality for purposes of dissipation. These gatherings were strictly interdicted. Simultaneously with the issue of this mass of negative legislation, Sadanobu took care to bestow rewards and publish eulogies. Whoever distinguished himself by diligent service, by chastity, by filial piety, or by loyalty, could count on honourable notice. THE KWANSEI VAGABONDS During the Kwansei era (1789-1800), Yedo was infested by vagabonds, who, having been deprived of their livelihood by the famine during the years immediately previous, made a habit of going about the town in groups of from three to five men committing deeds of theft or incendiarism. Sadanobu, acting on the advice of the judicial officials, dealt with this evil by establishing a house of correction on Ishikawa Island. There homeless vagrants were detained and provided with work, those ignorant of any handicraft being employed as labourers. The inmates were fed and clothed by the Government, and set free after three years, their savings being handed to them to serve as capital for some occupation. The institution was placed under the care of Hasegawa Heizo, five hundred bags of rice and five hundred ryo being granted annually by the Bakufu for its support. ADOPTION It has been stated above that one of the abuses which came into large practice from the middle period of the Tokugawa Bakufu was the adoption of children of ignoble birth into samurai families in consideration of monetary payments by their parents. This mercenary custom was strictly interdicted by the Matsudaira regent, who justly saw in it a danger to the solidity of the military class. But it does not appear that his veto received full observance. EDUCATION Since the shogun Tsunayoshi (1680-1709) appointed Hayashi Nobuatsu as chief of Education in Yedo, and entrusted to him the conduct of the college called Seido, Hayashi's descendants succeeded to that post by hereditary right. They steadily followed the principles of Confucianism as interpreted by Chutsz, a Chinese philosopher who died in the year 1200, but in accordance with the inevitable fate of all hereditary offices, the lapse of generations brought inferiority of zeal and talent. During the first half of the seventeenth century, there appeared in the field of Japanese philosophy Nakaye Toju, who adopted the interpretation of Confucianism given by a later Chinese philosopher, Wang Yang-ming (1472-1529). At a subsequent date Yamaga Soko, Ito Jinsai, and Ogyu Sorai (called also Butsu Sorai) asserted the superiority of the ancient Chinese teaching; and finally Kinoshita Junan preached the rule of adopting whatever was good, without distinction of Tang or Sung. These four schools engaged in vehement controversy, and showed such passion in their statements and such intolerance in their contradictions, that they seemed to have altogether forgotten the ethical principles underlying their own doctrines. In the last quarter of the eighteenth century, other schools came into being, one calling itself the "eclectic school," another the "inductive school," and so forth, so that in the end one and the same passage of the Confucian Analects received some twenty different interpretations, all advanced with more or less abuse and injury to the spirit of politeness. In these circumstances the educational chief in Yedo lost control of the situation. Even among his own students there were some who rejected the teachings of Chutsz, and Confucianism threatened to become a stumbling-block rather than an aid to ethics. The prime minister, Sadanobu, now appointed four philosophers of note to assist the Hayashi family, and these famous teachers attended in turn at the Seido to lecture, commoners as well as samurai being allowed to attend. Sadanobu further directed that the heads of Government departments should send in a list of those best educated among their subordinates, and the men thus recommended were promoted after examination. Moreover, the prime minister himself, attended by his colleagues and the administrators, made a habit of inspecting personally, from time to time, the manner of teaching at the college, and finally, in 1795, the Seido was definitely invested with the character of a Government college, a yearly grant of 1130 koku being apportioned to meet the expenses, and an income of 1500 koku being bestowed upon the Hayashi family. In the same year, it was decreed that no one should be eligible for a post in the civil service unless he was an avowed follower of the Chutsz philosophy. This bigoted measure, spoken of as the "prohibition of heterodoxy," did not produce the desired effect. It tended rather to accentuate the differences between the various schools, and a petition was presented to the Bakufu urging that the invidious veto should be rescinded. The petitioners contended that although the schools differed from each other, their differences were not material, since all stood on common foundations, namely, the doctrines of Confucius and Mencius, and all agreed in inculcating the virtues of filial piety, brotherly love, loyalty, humanity, righteousness, politeness, and general tranquillity. THE PHILOSOPHIES OF CHUTSZ AND WANG YANG-MING It will be interesting to pause here a moment in order to inquire briefly the nature of the philosophies which occupied Japanese thought throughout the seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries. We need not go beyond the schools of Chutsz and Wang Yang-ming, for the third, or "ancient," school adopted the teachings of Confucius and Mencius in their purity, rejecting all subsequent deductions from the actual words used by these sages. These two schools have been well distinguished as follows by a modern philosopher, Dr. Inouye Tetsujiro: "(1) Chutsz maintained that it is necessary to make an extensive investigation of the world and its laws before determining what is the moral law. Wang held that man's knowledge of moral law precedes all study and that a man's knowledge of himself is the very highest kind of learning. Chutsz's method may be said to be inductive; Wang's, deductive. "(2) The cosmogony of Chutsz was dualistic. All nature owed its existence to the Ri and Ki, the determining principle and the vital force of primordial aura that produces and modifies motion. Wang held that these two were inseparable. His teaching was therefore monistic. "(3) Chutsz taught that the primary principle, Ri, and the mind of man were quite separate, and that the latter was attached to the Ki. Wang held that the mind of man and the principle of the universe were one and the same, and argued that no study of external nature was required in order to find out nature's laws. To discover these, man had only to look within his own heart. He that understands his own heart understands nature, says Wang. "(4) Chutsz's system makes experience necessary in order to understand the laws of the universe, but Wang's idealism dispenses with it altogether as a teacher. "(5) Chutsz taught that knowledge must come first and right conduct after. Wang contended that knowledge and conduct cannot be separated. One is part of the other. Chutsz may be said to exalt learned theories and principles, and Wang to extol practice. "The moral results of the systems briefly stated were as follows: Chutsz 'a teaching produced many learned men in this country, but not infrequently these men were inferior, being narrow-minded, prejudiced, and behind the age. Wang's doctrines, on the other hand, while they cannot escape the charge of shallowness on all occasions, serve the moral purpose for which they were propagated better than those of the rival school. Though in the ranks of the Japanese followers of Chutsz there were numbers of insignificant, bigoted traditionalists, the same cannot be said of those who adopted Wang's views. They were as a class fine specimens of humanity, abreast, if not ahead, of the age in which they lived. No system of teaching has produced anything approaching such a number of remarkable men. If a tree is to be judged by its fruit, Wang's philosophy in Japan must be pronounced one of the greatest benefits that she received from the neighbouring continent, though not a little of its power in this country is to be traced to the personality of the man who was the first to make it thoroughly known to his fellow countrymen, Nakaye Toju."* *See Professor Walter Dening's brochure on Confucian Philosophy in Japan. Dr. Inouye adds: "By exclusive attention to the dictates of conscience and by sheer force of will the Wang school of philosophers succeeded in reaching a standard of attainment that served to make them models for posterity. The integrity of heart preached by his followers in Japan has become a national heritage of which all Japanese are proud. In the West, ethics has become too exclusively a subject of intellectual inquiry, a question as to which of rival theories is the most logical. By the Japanese, practical virtue has been exalted to the pedestal of the highest honour." The same authority, discussing the merits of the Chutsz school, says: "To the question which has so often been asked during the past few years, whence comes the Japanese fine ethical standard, the answer is that it undoubtedly originated with the teaching of Chutsz as explained, modified, and carried into practice in Japan. The moral philosophy of the Chutsz school in Japan compared with that of the other two schools was moderate in tone, free from eccentricities, and practical in a rare degree. In the enormous importance it attached to self-culture and what is known in modern terminology as self-realization, the teaching of the Chutsz school of Japanese moralists differed in no material respects from the doctrines of the New Kantians in England." RETIREMENT OF SADANOBU After six years of most enlightened service, Matsudaira Sadanobu resigned office in 1793 to the surprise and consternation of all truly patriotic Japanese. History is uncertain as to the exact cause of his retirement, but the explanation seems to be, first, that his uncompromising zeal of reform had earned him many enemies who watched constantly for an opportunity to attack him, and found it during his absence on a visit to inspect the coasts of the empire with a view to enforcing the veto against foreign trade; and secondly, that a question of prime importance having arisen between the Courts of Kyoto and Yedo, Sadanobu's influence was exercised in a manner deeply resented by the sovereign as well as by the loyalists throughout the empire. This important incident will be presently referred to in detail. Here it will suffice to state that Sadanobu did not retire in disgrace. He was promoted to the rank of general of the Left, which honour was supplemented by an invitation to attend at the castle on State occasions. He chose, however, to live in retirement, devoting himself to the administration of his own domain and to literary pursuits. The author of several well-known books, he is remembered by his pen-name, Rakuo, almost as constantly as by his historical, Sadanobu. He died in 1829, at the age of seventy-two. HITOTSUBASHI HARUNARI After Sadanobu's resignation of the post of prime minister, the shogun's father, Hitotsubashi Harunari, moved into the western citadel of Yedo Castle, and thenceforth the great reforms which Sadanobu had effected by the force of genius and unflagging assiduity, were quickly replaced by an age of retrogression, so that posterity learned to speak of the prodigality of the Bunka and Bunsei eras (1804-1829), instead of the frugality of the Kwansei (1789-1800). As for the shogun, Ienari, he received from the Throne the highest rank attainable by a subject, together with the office of daijo-daijin. Such honour was without precedent since the time of Ieyasu. Ienari had more than fifty daughters, all born of different mothers, from which fact the dimensions of his harem may be inferred. THE 119TH SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR KOKAKU (A.D. 1780-1816) The Emperor Kokaku ascended the throne in 1780 and abdicated in 1816. He was undoubtedly a wise sovereign and as a classical scholar he won considerable renown. After reigning for thirty-six years, he administered State affairs from the Palace of Retirement during twenty-four, and throughout that long interval of sixty years, the country enjoyed profound peace. The period of Sadanobu's service as prime minister of the Bakufu coincided with the middle of Kokaku's reign, and in those days of happiness and prosperity men were wont to say that with a wise sovereign in the west a wise subject had appeared in the east. Up to that time the relations between Kyoto and Yedo were excellent, but Sadanobu's resignation and the cause that led to it produced between the two Courts a breach which contributed materially, though indirectly, to the ultimate fall of the Tokugawa. REBUILDING OF THE IMPERIAL PALACE It has already been noted that after the great fire of 1788, the Bakufu, acting, of course, at the instance of their prime minister, ordered Sadanobu to supervise the work of reconstructing the Imperial palace. Since the days of Oda and Toyotomi, the palace had been rebuilt or extensively repaired on several occasions, but always the plans had been too small for the requirements of the orthodox ceremonials. Sadanobu determined to correct this fault. He called for plans and elevations upon the bases of those of the tenth century, and from the gates to the roofs he took care that everything should be modelled on the old lines. The edifices are said to have been at once chaste and magnificent, the internal decorations being from the brushes of the best artists of the Tosa and Sumiyoshi Academies. Sealed estimates had been required from several leading architects, and Sadanobu surprised his colleagues by awarding the work to the highest bidder, on the ground that cheapness could not consist with true merit in such a case, and that any thought of cost would evince a want of reverence towards the Imperial Court. The buildings were finished in two years, and the two Emperors, the reigning and the retired, took up their residence there. His Majesty Kokaku rewarded the shogun with an autograph letter of thanks as well as a verse of poetry composed by himself, and on Sadanobu he conferred a sword and an album of poems. The shogun Ienari is said to have been profoundly gratified by this mark of Imperial favour. He openly attributed it to Sadanobu's exertions, and he presented to the latter a facsimile of the autograph letter. THE TITLE TROUBLE In the very year (1791) following the Emperor's entry into the new palace, a most untoward incident occurred. Up to that time the relations between the Courts of Kyoto and Yedo had left nothing to be desired, but now a permanent breach of amity took place. The sovereign was the son of Prince Tsunehito, head of the Kanin family. This prince, in spite of his high title, was required by Court etiquette to sit below the ministers of State on ceremonial occasions in the palace. Such an order of precedence offended the sovereign, and his Majesty proposed that the rank of dajo tenno should be given to his father, thus placing him in the position of a retired Emperor. Of course it was within the prerogative of the Emperor to confer titles. The normal procedure would have been to give the desired rank to Prince Tsunehito, and then to inform the Bakufu of the accomplished fact. But, in consideration of the very friendly relations existing between the two Courts, the sovereign seems to have been unwilling to act on his own initiative in a matter of such importance. Yedo was consulted, and to the surprise of Kyoto, the Bakufu prime minister assumed an attitude hostile to the Court's desire. The explanation of this singular act on Sadanobu's part was that a precisely analogous problem perplexed Yedo simultaneously. When Ienari was nominated shogun, his father, Hitotsubashi Harunari, fully expected to be appointed guardian of the new potentate, and being disappointed in that hope, he expressed his desire to receive the title of o-gosho (retired shogun), so that he might enter the western citadel of Yedo Castle and thence administer affairs as had been done by ex-Emperors in Kyoto for hundreds of years, and by ex-shoguns on several occasions under the Tokugawa. Disappointed in this aspiration, Harunari, after some hesitation, invited the attention of the shogun to the fact that filial piety is the basis of all moral virtues, and that, whereas the shogun's duty required him to set a good example to the people, he subjected his own father to unbecoming humiliation, Ienari referred the matter to the State council, but the councillors hesitated to establish the precedent of conferring the rank of o-gosho on the head of one of the Sankyo families--Tayasu, Shimizu, and Hitotsubashi--who had never discharged the duties of shogun. The prime minister, Sadanobu, however, had not a moment's hesitation in opposing Harunari's project. He did, indeed, order a well-known Confucian scholar to search the annals in order to find whether any precedent existed for the proposed procedure, either in Japan or in China, but he himself declared that if such an example were set in the shogun's family, it might be the cause of grave inconvenience among the people. In other words, a man whose son had been adopted into another family might claim to be regarded as the head of that family in the event of the death of the foster-father. It is certain, however, that other and stronger reasons influenced the Bakufu prime minister. Hitotsubashi Harunari was generally known as Wagamama Irikyo (the Wayward Recluse*). His most intimate friends were the shogun's father-in-law, Shimazu Ei-O, and Ikeda Isshinsai. The latter two were also inkyo and shared the tastes and foibles of Harunari. One of their greatest pleasures was to startle society. Thus, when Sadanobu was legislating with infinite care against prodigality of any kind, the above three old gentlemen loved to organize parties on an ostentatiously extravagant scale, and Sadanobu naturally shrank from seeing the title of o-gosho conferred on such a character, thus investing him with competence to interfere arbitrarily in the conduct of State affairs. *It has always been a common custom in Japan for the head of a family to retire nominally from active life after he attains his fiftieth year. He is thenceforth known as inkyo (or recluse). The same is true of women. Just at this time, the Court in Kyoto preferred its application, and Sadanobu at once appreciated that if the rank of dajo tenno were conferred on Prince Tsunehito, it would be impossible to withhold that of o-gosho from Harunari. Consequently the Bakufu prime minister wrote privately to the Kyoto prime minister, Takatsukasa Sukehira, pointing out the inadvisability of the proposed step. This letter, though not actually an official communication, had the effect of shelving the matter for a time, but, in 1791, the Emperor re-opened the question, and summoned a council in the palace to discuss it. The result was that sixty-five officials, headed by the prime minister and the minister of the Right, supported the sovereign's views, but the ex-premier, Takatsukasa Sukehira, and his son, the minister of the Left, with a few others, opposed them. The proceedings of this council with an autograph covering-letter from the sovereign were sent to the Bakufu, in 1792, but for a long time no answer was given. Meanwhile Prince Tsunehito, already an old man, showed signs of declining health, and the Imperial Court pressed Yedo to reply. Ultimately the Bakufu officially disapproved the project. No statement of reasons accompanied the refusal, but it was softened by a suggestion that an increase of revenue might be conferred on the sovereign's father. This already sufficiently contumelious act was supplemented by a request from the Bakufu that the Imperial Court should send to Yedo the high secretary and the chief of the Household. Unwillingly the Court complied, and after hearing the arguments advanced by these two officials, Sadanobu sentenced them to be placed in confinement for a hundred days, and fifty days, respectively, which sentence was carried out at the temple Seisho-ji in Yedo, and the two high officials were thereafter sent back to Kyoto under police escort. Ultimately they were both dismissed from office, and all the Court dignitaries who had supported the sovereign's wishes were cautioned not to associate themselves again with such "rash and unbecoming acts." It can scarcely be denied that Sadanobu exercised his power in an extreme and unwise manner on this occasion. A little recourse to tact might have settled the matter with equal facility and without open disrespect to the Throne. But the Bakufu prime minister behaved after the manner of the deer-stalker of the Japanese proverb who does not see the mountain, and he thus placed in the hands of the Imperialist party a weapon which contributed materially to the overthrow of the Bakufu seventy years later. ENGRAVING: YO-MEI-MON GATE, AT NIKKO CHAPTER XLII ORGANIZATION, CENTRAL AND LOCAL; CURRENCY AND THE LAWS OF THE TOKUGAWA BAKAFU THE ORGANIZATION OF THE TOKUGAWA BAKUFU THE organization of the Tokugawa Bakufu cannot be referred to any earlier period than that of the third shogun, Iemitsu. The foundations indeed were laid after the battle of Sekigahara, when the administrative functions came into the hands of Ieyasu. By him a shoshidai (governor) was established in Kyoto together with municipal administrators (machi bugyo). But it was reserved for Iemitsu to develop these initial creations into a competent and consistent whole. There was, first, what may be regarded as a cabinet, though the name of its members (roju, or seniors) does not suggest the functions generally discharged by ministers of State. One of the roju was appointed to the post of dairo (great senior). He corresponded to the prime minister in a Western Cabinet, and the other roju may be counted as ministers. Then there were junior ministers, and after them came administrators of accounts, inspectors, administrators of shrines and temples, and municipal administrators. The place where State business was discharged went by the name of Go-Yo-beya. There, the senior and junior ministers assembled to transact affairs, and the chamber being situated in the immediate vicinity of the shogun's sitting-room, he was able to keep himself au courant of important administrative affairs. During the time of the fifth shogun, however, as already related, this useful arrangement underwent radical alteration. As for judicial business, there did not originally exist any special place for its transaction. A chamber in the official residence was temporarily assigned for the purpose, but at a later date a court of justice (Hyojo-sho) was established at Tatsunokuchi in Yedo. This organization, though carried within sight of completion in the days of the third shogun, required to be supplemented by the eighth, and was not actually perfected until the time of the eleventh. THE DAIRO The duties of the dairo--sometimes called karo or o-doshiyori--were to preside over the roju and to handle important administrative affairs. In many respects his functions resembled those discharged by the regent (shikken) of the Kamakura Bakufu. To the office of dairo a specially distinguished member of the roju was appointed, and if no one possessing the necessary qualifications was available, that post had to be left vacant. Generally the Ii, the Hotta, or the Sakai family supplied candidates for the office. THE ROJU The roju or senior ministers--called also toshiyori--discharged the administration. They resembled the kwanryo of the Muromachi Government. There were five of these ministers and they exercised control over all matters relating to the Imperial palace, the palace of the ex-Emperor (Sendo), the Imperial princes, the princely abbots (monzeki) and all the daimyo. It was customary to choose the roju from among officials who had previously served as governors of Osaka or Kyoto or as soshaban, who will be presently spoken of at greater length. THE WAKA-DOSHIYORI There were five junior ministers (waka-doshiyori) whose principal functions were to exercise jurisdiction over the hatamoto and the kenin. These latter names have already been alluded to, but for the sake of clearness it may be well to explain that whereas the fudai daimyo consisted of the one hundred and seventy-six barons who joined the standard of Ieyasu before the battle of Sekigahara, the hatamoto (bannerets), while equally direct vassals of the shogun, were lower than the daimyo though higher than the go-kenin, who comprised the bulk of the Tokugawa samurai. Members of the waka-doshiyori might at any time be promoted to the post of roju. Their functions were wide as well as numerous, and resembled those performed by the Hyojo-shu and the hikitsuke-shu of the Kamakura and Muromachi Governments. A junior minister must previously have occupied the post of administrator of temples and shrines (jisha-bugyo) or that of chamberlain (o-soba-shu) or that of chief guard (o-ban). The offices of minister and junior minister were necessarily filled by daimyo who were hereditary vassals of the shogun. SECRETARIES There were two secretariats, the oku-yuhitsu (domestic secretariat) and the omote-yuhitsu (external secretariat). They discharged, on account of the senior ministers, the duties of scribes, and were presided over by a todori, who, in later days, wielded large influence. THE JISHA-BUGYO The jisha-bugyo, as their name suggests, supervised all affairs relating to shrines, temples, Shinto officials, bonzes, and nuns as well as persons residing within the domains of shrines and temples. They also discharged judicial functions in the case of these various classes. The number of these administrators of shrines and temples was originally three, but afterwards it was increased to four, who transacted business for a month at a time in succession. The soshaban, who were entitled to make direct reports to the shogun, had to fill the office of jisha-bugyo in addition to their other functions, which were connected with the management of matters relating to ceremony and etiquette. At first there were only two of these soshaban, but subsequently their number was increased to twenty-four, and it became customary for one of them to keep watch in the castle at night. They were generally ex-governors of Osaka and Fushimi, and they were necessarily daimyo who had the qualification of direct vassalage to the shogun. The jisha-bugyo performed their judicial functions in their own residences, each administrator employing his own vassals for subordinate purposes, and these vassals, when so employed, were distinguished as jisha-yaku or toritsugi. Further, officiating in conjunction with the jisha-bugyo f were chief inspectors (daikenshi), and assistant inspectors (shokenshi) whose duties require no description. The classes of people to whom the jisha-bugyo's jurisdiction extended were numerous: they embraced the cemetery-keepers at Momiji-yama, the bonzes, the fire-watchmen, the musicians, the Shinto officials, the poets, the players at go or chess, and so forth. THE MACHI-BUGYO The municipal administrator (machi-bugyo) controlled affairs relating to the citizens in general. This was among the oldest institutions of the Tokugawa, and existed also in the Toyotomi organization. At first there were three machi-bugyo, but when the Tokugawa moved to Yedo, the number was decreased to one, and subsequently increased again to two in the days of Iemitsu. Judicial business occupied the major part of the machi-bugyo's time. His law-court was in his own residence, and under his direction constables (yoriki or doshiri) patrolled the city. He also transacted business relating to prisons and the municipal elders of Yedo (machi-doshiyori) referred to him all questions of a difficult or serious nature. THE KANJO-BUGYO The financial administrator (kanjo-bugyo) received also the appellation of kitchen administrator (daidokoro-bugyo), and his duties embraced everything relating to the finance of the Bakufu, including, of course, their estates and the persons residing on those estates. The eight provinces of the Kwanto were under the direct control of this bugyo, but other districts were administered by a daikwan (deputy). There were two kinds of kanjo-bugyo, namely, the kuji-kata and the katte-kata (public and private), the latter of whom had to adjudicate all financial questions directly affecting the Bakufu, and the former had to perform a similar function in cases where outsiders were concerned. Various officials served as subordinates of these important bugyo, who were usually taken from the roju or the waka-doshiyori, and, in the days of the sixth shogun, it was found necessary to appoint an auditor of accounts (kanjo-gimmiyaku), who, although nominally of the same rank as the kanjo-bugyo, really acted in a supervisory capacity. The Bakufu court of law was the Hyojo-sho. Suits involving issues that lay entirely within the jurisdiction of one bugyo were tried by him in his own residence, but where wider interests were concerned the three bugyo had to conduct the case at the Hyojo-sho, where they formed a collegiate court. On such occasions the presence of the censors was compulsory. Sometimes, also, the three bugyo met at the Hyojo-sho merely for purposes of consultation. THE CENSORS An important figure in the Tokugawa organization was the censor (metsuke), especially the great censor (o-metsuke). The holder of the latter office served as the eyes and ears of the roju and supervised the feudal barons. There were four or five great censors. One of them held the additional office of administrator of roads (dochu-bugyo), and had to oversee matters relating to the villages, the towns, and the postal stations along the five principal highways. Another had to inspect matters relating to religious sects and firearms--a strange combination. Under the great censors were placed administrators of confiscated estates. The ordinary censors had to exercise surveillance over the samurai of the hatamoto and were under the jurisdiction of the waka-doshiyori. There were altogether sixty metsuke, and they travelled constantly throughout the empire obtaining materials for reports which were submitted to the waka-doshiyori. Among them are found censors who performed the duties of coroners.* *The employment of censors by the Bakufu has been severely criticized as indicating a system of espionage. It scarcely seems necessary to observe that the same criticism applies to all highly organized Occidental Governments with their secret services, their detectives and their inquiry agencies. THE CHAMBERLAINS Even more important than the censors were the chamberlains (soba yonin) who had to communicate to the shogun all reports submitted by the roju, and to offer advice as to the manner of dealing with them. They also noted the shogun's decisions and appended them to documents. The exercise of these functions afforded opportunities for interfering in administrative affairs, and such opportunities were fully utilized, to the great detriment of public interest. There were also pages (kosho); castle accountants (nando); literati to the shogun (oku-jusha), and physicians (oku-isha). MASTERS OF CEREMONIES The duty of transmitting messages from the shogun to the Emperor and of regulating all matters of ceremony connected with the castle was discharged by fifteen masters of ceremonies (koke) presided over by four chiefs (the office of chief being hereditary in such families as the Osawa and the Kira) who, although their fiefs were comparatively small, possessed influence not inferior to that of the daimyo. A koke was usually on watch in the castle by day. These masters of ceremonies are not to be confounded with the chamberlains (soshaban) already spoken of. The latter numbered twenty-four. They regulated affairs connected with ceremonies in which all Government officials were concerned, and they kept watch at the castle by night. Subordinate to the koke and the chamberlains were various officials who conveyed presents from the feudal lords to the shogun; directed matters of decoration and furniture; had charge of miscellaneous works in the castle, and supervised all persons, male or female, entering or leaving the shogun's harem. Officials of this last class were under the command of a functionary called o-rusui who had general charge of the business of the harem; directed the issue of passports to men and women of the samurai class or to commoners, and had the care of all military stores in the castle. The name rusui signifies a person in charge during the absence of his master, and was applied in this case since the o-rusui had to guard the castle when the shogun was not present. The multifarious duties entrusted to officials over whom the o-rusui presided required a large number and a great variety of persons to discharge them, but these need not be enumerated in detail here. THE TAMARIZUME Characteristic of the elaborate etiquette observed at the shogun's castle was the existence of semi-officials called tamarizume, whose chief duty in ordinary times was to repair to the castle once every five days, and to inquire through the roju as to the state of the shogun's health. On occasions of emergency they participated in the administration, taking precedence of the roju and the other feudatories. The Matsudaira of Aizu, Takamatsu, and Matsuyama; the Ii of Hikone, and the Sakai of Himeji--these were the families which performed the functions of tamarizume as a hereditary right. It is unnecessary to describe the organization and duties of the military guards to whom the safety of the castle was entrusted, but the fact has to be noted that both men and officers were invariably taken from the hatamoto class. THE WOMEN'S APARTMENTS In the o-oku, or innermost buildings of the shogun's castle, the harem was situated. Its chief official was a woman called the o-toshiyori (great elder), under whom were a number of ladies-in-waiting, namely, the toshiyori, the rojo, the churo, the kojoro, and others. There were also ladies who attended solely to visitors; others who kept the keys; others who carried messages to public officers, and others who acted as secretaries. All this part of the organization would take pages to describe in detail,* and is necessarily abbreviated here. We may add, however, that there were official falconers, sailors, grooms, gardeners, and every kind of artist or mechanician. *For fuller particulars of the manner of daily life at the shogun's court, see Chapter 1. Vol. IV, of Brinkley's "Oriental Series." THE LOCAL GOVERNMENT SYSTEM In organizing a system of local government the Tokugawa Bakufu began by appointing a shoshidai in Kyoto to guard the Imperial palace, to supervise Court officials, and to oversee financial measures as well as to hear suits-at-law, and to have control over temples and shrines. The shoshidai enjoyed a high measure of respect. He had to visit Yedo once in every five or six years for the purpose of making a report to the shogun in person. The municipal administrator of Kyoto and the administrators of Nara and Fushimi, the Kyoto deputy (daikwan), and all the officials of the Nijo palace were under the jurisdiction of the shoshidai. To qualify for this high office a man must have served as governor of Osaka. In the Imperial city the municipal administrator heard suits-at-law presented by citizens, managed the affairs of temples and shrines, and was responsible for collecting the taxes in the home provinces. There were two of these officials in Kyoto and, like their namesakes in Yedo, they had a force of constables (yoriki) and policemen (doshin) under their command. THE JODAI Regarded with scarcely less importance than that attaching to the shoshidai was an official called the jodai of Osaka, on whom devolved the responsibility of guarding the Kwansei. For this office a hereditary daimyo of the Tokugawa family was selected, and he must previously have occupied the offices of soshaban and jisha-bugyo. The routine of promotion was from the jodai of Osaka to the shoshidai of Kyoto and from thence to the roju. Originally there were six jodai but their number was ultimately reduced to one. Sumpu also had a jodai, who discharged duties similar to those devolving on his Osaka namesake. In Nagasaki, Sado, Hakodate, Niigata, and other important localities, bugyo were stationed, and in districts under the direct control of the Bakufu the chief official was the daikwan. ADMINISTRATION IN FIEFS The governmental system in the fiefs closely resembled the system of the Bakufu. The daimyo exercised almost unlimited power, and the business of their fiefs was transacted by factors (karo). Twenty-one provinces consisted entirely of fiefs, and in the remaining provinces public and private estates were intermixed. LOCAL AUTONOMY Both the Bakufu and the feudatories were careful to allow a maximum of autonomy to the lower classes. Thus the farmers elected a village chief--called nanushi or shoya--who held his post for life or for one year, and who exercised powers scarcely inferior to those of a governor. There were also heads of guilds (kumi-gashira) and representatives of farmers (hyakushodai) who participated in administering the affairs of a village. Cities and towns had municipal elders (machi-doshiyori), under whom also nanushi officiated. The guilds constituted a most important feature of this local autonomic system. They consisted of five householders each, being therefore called gonin-gumi, and their main functions were to render mutual aid in all times of distress, and to see that there were no evasions of the taxes or violations of the law. In fact, the Bakufu interfered as little as possible in the administrative systems of the agricultural, manufacturing, and commercial classes, and the feudatories followed the same rule. FINANCE The subject of finance in the Bakufu days is exceedingly complicated, and a very bare outline will suffice. It has already been noted that the unit of land-measurement varied from time to time and was never uniform throughout the empire. That topic need not be further discussed. Rice-fields were divided into five classes, in accordance with which division the rates of taxation were fixed. Further, in determining the amount of the land-tax, two methods were followed; one by inspection, the other by average. In the case of the former, the daikwan repaired in the fall of each year to the locality concerned, and having ascertained the nature of the crop harvested, proceeded to determine the rate of tax. This arrangement lent itself so readily to abuse that the system of averages was substituted as far as possible. That is to say, the average yield of crops for the preceding ten or twenty years served as a standard. The miscellaneous taxes were numerous. Thus, there were taxes on business; taxes for post-horses and post-carriers; taxes in the form of labour, which were generally fixed at the rate of fifty men per hundred koku, the object in view being work on river banks, roads, and other public institutions; taxes to meet the cost of collecting taxes, and taxes to cover defalcations. Sometimes the above taxes were levied in kind or in actual labour, and sometimes they were collected in money. To facilitate collection in cities, merchants were required to form guilds according to their respective businesses, and the head of each guild had to collect the tax payable by the members. Thus, upon a guild of sake-brewers a tax of a thousand gold ryo was imposed, and a guild of wholesale dealers in cotton had to pay five hundred ryo. There was a house-tax which was assessed by measuring the area of the land on which a building stood, and there was a tax on expert labour such as that of carpenters and matmakers. In order to facilitate the levy of this last-named tax the citizens were required to locate themselves according to the nature of their employment, and thus such names were found as "Carpenter's street," "Matmaker's street," and so forth. Originally these imposts were defrayed by actual labour, but afterwards money came to be substituted. An important feature of the taxation system was the imposition of buke-yaku, (military dues). For these the feudatories were liable, and as the amount was arbitrarily fixed by the Bakufu, though always with due regard to the value of the fief, such dues were often very onerous. The same is true in an even more marked degree as to taxes in labour, materials, or money, which were levied upon the feudatories for the purposes of any great work projected by the Bakufu. These imposts were called aids (otetsudai). MANNER OF PAYING TAXES The manner of paying taxes varied accordingly to localities. Thus, in the Kwanto, payment was generally made in rice for wet fields and in money for uplands, at the rate of one gold ryo per two and a half koku of rice. In the Kinai and western provinces as well as in the Nankai-do, on the other hand, the total tax on wet fields and uplands was divided into three parts, two of which were paid with rice and one with money, the value of a koku of rice being fixed at forty-eight mon of silver (four-fifths of a gold ryo). As a general rule, taxes imposed on estates under the direct control of the Bakufu were levied in rice, which was handed over to the daikwan of each province, and by him transported to Yedo, Kyoto, or Osaka, where it was placed in stores under the control of store-administrators (kura-bugyo). In the case of cash payments the money was transported to the castle of Yedo or Osaka, where it came under the care of the finance administrator (kane-bugyo). Finally, the accounts connected with such receipts of cash were compiled and rendered by the administrator of accounts (kane-bugyo), and were subsequently audited by officials named katte-kata, over which office a member of the roju or waka-doshiyori presided. Statistics compiled in 1836 show that the revenue annually collected from the Tokugawa estates in rice and money amounted to 807,068 koku and 93,961 gold ryo respectively. As for the rate of the land-tax, it varied in different parts of the provinces, from seventy per cent, for the landlord and thirty for the tenant to thirty for the landlord and seventy for the tenant. CURRENCY It has been shown above that, from the time of the fifth shogun, debasement of the coins of the realm took place frequently. Indeed it may be said that whenever the State fell into financial difficulty, debasement of the current coins was regarded as a legitimate device. Much confusion was caused among the people by repeated changes in the quality of the coins. Thus, in the days of the eighth shogun, no less than four varieties of a single silver token were in circulation. When the country renewed its foreign intercourse in the middle of the nineteenth century, there were no less than eight kinds of gold coin in circulation, nine of silver, and four of copper or iron. The limits within which the intrinsic value of gold coins varied will be understood when we say that whereas the gold oban of the Keicho era (1596-1614) contained, approximately, 29.5 parts of gold to 13 of silver and was worth about seventy-five yen. The corresponding coin of the Man-en era (1860) contained 10.33 parts of pure gold to 19.25 of silver, and was worth only twenty-eight yen. PAPER CURRENCY The earliest existing record of the use of paper currency dates from 1661, when the feudal chief of Echizen obtained permission from the Bakufu to employ this medium of exchange, provided that its circulation was limited to the fief where the issue took place. These paper tokens were called hansatsu (fief notes), and one result of their issue was that moneys accruing from the sale of cereals and other products of a fief were preserved within that fief. The example of Echizen in this matter found several followers, but the system never became universal. JUDICIAL PROCEDURE The administration of justice in the Tokugawa days was based solely on ethical principles. Laws were not promulgated for prospective application. They were compiled whenever an occasion arose, and in their drafting the prime aim was always to make their provisions consonant with the dictates of humanity. Once, indeed, during the time of the second shogun, Hidetada, a municipal administrator, Shimada Yuya, having held the office for more than twenty years, and having come to be regarded as conspicuously expert in rendering justice, it was proposed to the shogun that the judgments delivered by this administrator should be recorded for the guidance of future judges. Hidetada, however, objected that human affairs change so radically as to render it impossible to establish universally recognizable precedents, and that if the judgments delivered in any particular era were transmitted as guides for future generations, the result would probably be slavish sacrifice of ethical principles on the altar of stereotyped practice. In 1631, when the third shogun, Iemitsu, ruled in Yedo, a public courthouse (Hyojo-sho) was for the first time established. Up to that time the shogun himself had served as a court of appeal in important cases. These were first brought before a bugyo, and subsequently, if specially vital issues were at stake, the shogun personally sat as judge, the duty of executing his judgments being entrusted to the bugyo and other officials. Thenceforth, the custom came to be this: Where comparatively minor interests were involved and where the matter lay wholly within the jurisdiction of one administrator, that official sat as judge in a chamber of his own mansion; but in graver cases and where the interests concerned were not limited to one jurisdiction, the Hyojo-sho became the judicial court, and the three administrators, the roju, together with the censors, formed a collegiate tribunal. There were fixed days each month for holding this collegiate court, and there were also days when the three administrators alone met at one of their residences for purposes of private conference. The hearing by the shogun was the last recourse, and before submission to him the facts had to be investigated by the chamberlains (sobashu), who thus exercised great influence. A lawsuit instituted by a plebeian had to be submitted to the feudatory of the region, or to the administrator, or to the deputy (daikwari), but might never be made the subject of a direct petition to the shogun. If the feudatory or the deputy Were held to be acting contrary to the dictates of integrity and reason, the suitor might change his domicile for the purpose of submitting a petition to the authorities in Yedo; and the law provided that no obstruction should be placed in the way of such change. LAW As stated above, the original principle of the Bakufu was to avoid compiling any written criminal code. But from the days of the sixth and the seventh shoguns, Ienobu and Ietsugu, such provisions of criminal law as related to ordinary offences came to be written in the most intelligible style and placarded throughout the city of Yedo and provincial towns or villages. On such a placard (kosatsu) posted up, in the year 1711, at seven places in Yedo, it was enjoined on parents, sons, daughters, brothers, husbands, wives, and other relatives that they must maintain intimate and friendly relations among themselves; and that, whereas servants must be faithful and industrious, their masters should have compassion and should obey the dictates of right in dealing with them; that everyone should be hard working and painstaking; that people should not transgress the limits of their social status; that all deceptions should be carefully avoided; that everyone should make it a rule of life to avoid doing injury or causing loss to others; that gambling should be eschewed; that quarrels and disputes of every kind should be avoided; that asylum should not be given to wounded persons; that firearms should not be used without cause; that no one should conceal an offender; that the sale or purchase of human being, should be strictly prohibited except in cases where men or women offered their services for a fixed term of years or as apprentices, or in cases of hereditary servitude; finally, that, though hereditary servants went to other places and changed their domicile, it should not be lawful to compel their return. In the days of the eighth shogun, Yoshimune, it being held that crimes were often due to ignorance of law, the feudatories and deputies were directed to make arrangements for conveying to the people tinder their jurisdiction some knowledge of the nature of the statutes; and the result was that the mayors (nanushi) of provincial towns and villages had to read the laws once a month at a meeting of citizens or villagers convened for the purpose. Previously to this time, namely, in the days of the fourth shogun, Ietsugu, the office of recorder (tome-yaku) was instituted in the Hyojo-sho for the purpose of committing to writing all judgments given in lawsuits. But in the days of Yoshimune, the rules and regulations issued by the Bakufu from the time of Ieyasu downwards were found to have fallen into such confusion that the difficulty of following them was practically insuperable. Therefore, in 1742, Matsudaira Norimura, one of the roju, together with the three administrators, was commissioned to compile a body of laws, and the result was a fifteen volume book called the Hatto-gaki (Prohibitory Writings). The shogun himself evinced keen interest in this undertaking. He frequently consulted with the veteran officials of his court, and during a period of several years he revised "The Rules for Judicial Procedure." Associated with him in this work were Kada Arimaro, Ogyu Sorai, and the celebrated judge, Ooka Tadasuke, and not only the Ming laws of China, but also the ancient Japanese Daiho-ritsu were consulted. This valuable legislation, which showed a great advance in the matter of leniency, except in the case of disloyal or unfilial conduct, was followed, in 1767, by reforms under the shoqun, Ieharu, when all the laws and regulations placarded or otherwise promulgated since the days of Ieyasu were collected and collated to form a prefatory vol-ume to the above-mentioned "Rules for Judicial Procedure," the two being thenceforth regarded as a single enactment under the title of Kajo-ruiten. "The Rules for Judicial Procedure" originally comprised 103 articles, but, in 1790, Matsudaira Sadanobu revised this code, reducing the number of articles to one hundred, and calling it Tokugawa Hyakkajd, or "One Hundred Laws and Regulations of the Tokugawa." This completed the legislative work of the Yedo Bakufu. But it must not be supposed that these laws were disclosed to the general public. They served simply for purposes of official reference. The Tokugawa in this respect strictly followed the Confucian maxim, "Make the people obey but do not make them know.": ENGRAVING: MATSUDAIRA SADANORU CRIMES AND PUNISHMENTS In Tokugawa days the principal punishments were; six: namely, reprimand (shikari), confinement (oshikome), flogging (tataki), banishment (tsuiho), exile to an island (ento), and death (shikei). The last named was divided into five kinds, namely, deprivation of life (shizai), exposing the head after decapitation (gokumon), burning at the stake (hiaburi), crucifixion (haritsuke), and sawing to death (nokogiri-biki). There were also subsidiary penalties, such as public exposure (sarashi), tattooing (irezumi)--which was resorted to not less for purposes of subsequent identification than as a disgrace--confiscation of an estate (kessho), and degradation to a status below the hinin (hininteshita). The above penalties were applicable to common folk. In the case of samurai the chief punishments were detention (hissoku), confinement (heimon or chikkyo), deprivation of status (kaieki), placing in the custody of a feudatory (azuke), suicide (seppuku), and decapitation (zanzai). Among these, seppuku was counted the most honourable. As a rule only samurai of the fifth official rank and upwards were permitted thus to expiate a crime, and the procedure was spoken of as "granting death" (shi wo tamau). The plebeian classes, that is to say, the farmers, the artisans, and the tradesmen, were generally punished by fines, by confinement, or by handcuffing (tegusari). Priests were sentenced to exposure (sarashi), to expulsion from a temple (tsui-iri), or to exile (kamai). For women the worst punishment was to be handed over as servants (yakko) or condemned to shave their heads (teihatsu). Criminals who had no fixed domicile and who repeated their evil acts after expiration of a first sentence, were carried to the island of Tsukuda, in Yedo Bay, or to Sado, where they were employed in various ways. Blind men or beggars who offended against the law were handed over to the chiefs of their guilds, namely, the soroku in the case of the blind, and the eta-gashira in the case of beggars.* Some of the above punishments were subdivided, but these details are unimportant. *For fuller information about these degraded classes see Brinkley's "Oriental Series," Vol. II. PRISONS In Yedo, the buildings employed as prisons were erected at Demmacho under the hereditary superintendence of the Ishide family. The governor of prisons was known as the roya-bugyo. Each prison was divided into five parts where people were confined according to their social status. The part called the agari-zashiki was reserved for samurai who had the privilege of admission to the shogun's presence; and in the part called the agariya common, samurai and Buddhist priests were incarcerated. The oro and the hyakusho-ro were reserved for plebeians, and in the onna-ro women were confined. Each section consisted of ten rooms and was capable of accommodating seven hundred persons. Sick prisoners were carried to the tamari, which were situated at Asakusa and Shinagawa, and were under the superintendence of the hinin-gashira. All arrangements as to the food, clothing, and medical treatment of prisoners were carefully thought out, but it is not to be supposed that these Bakufu prisons presented many of the features on which modern criminology insists. On the contrary, a prisoner was exposed to serious suffering from heat and cold, while the coarseness of the fare provided for him often caused disease and sometimes death. Nevertheless, the Japanese prisons in Tokugawa days were little, if anything, inferior to the corresponding institutions in Anglo-Saxon countries at the same period. LOYALTY AND FILIAL PIETY In the eyes of the Tokugawa legislators the cardinal virtues were loyalty and filial piety, and in the inculcation of these, even justice was relegated to an inferior place. Thus, it was provided that if a son preferred any public charge against his father, or if a servant opened a lawsuit against his master, the guilt of the son or of the servant must be assumed at the outset as an ethical principle. To such a length was this ethical principle carried that in regulations issued by Itakura Suo no Kami for the use of the Kyoto citizens, we find the following provision: "In a suit-at-law between parent and son judgment should be given for the parent without regard to the pleading of the son. Even though a parent act with extreme injustice, it is a gross breach of filial duty that a son should institute a suit-at-law against a parent. There can be no greater immorality, and penalty of death should be meted out to the son unless the parent petitions for his life." In an action between uncle and nephew a similar principle applied. Further, we find that in nearly every body of law promulgated throughout the whole of the Tokugawa period, loyalty and filial piety are placed at the head of ethical virtues; the practice of etiquette, propriety, and military and literary accomplishments standing next, while justice and deference for tradition occupy lower places in the schedule. A kosatsu (placard) set up in 1682, has the following inscription: "Strive to be always loyal and filial. Preserve affection between husbands and wives, brothers, and all relatives; extend sympathy and compassion to servants." Further, in a street notice posted in Yedo during the year 1656, we find it ordained that should any disobey a parent's directions, or reject advice given by a municipal elder or by the head of a five-households guild, such a person must be brought before the administrator, who, in the first place, will imprison him; whereafter, should the malefactor not amend his conduct, he shall be banished forever; while for anyone showing malice against his father, arrest and capital punishment should follow immediately. In these various regulations very little allusion is made to the subject of female rights. But there is one significant provision, namely, that a divorced woman is entitled to have immediately restored to her all her gold and silver ornaments as well as her dresses; and at the same time husbands are warned that they must not fail to make due provision for a former wife. The impression conveyed by careful perusal of all Tokugawa edicts is that their compilers obeyed, from first to last, a high code of ethical principles. ENGRAVING: "INRO," LACQUERED MEDICINE CASE CARRIED CHIEFLY BY SAMURAI ENGRAVING: TOKUGAWA MITSUKUNI CHAPTER XLIII REVIVAL OF THE SHINTO CULT RYOBU SHINTO THE reader is aware that early in the ninth century the celebrated Buddhist priest, Kukai (Kobo Daishi), compounded out of Buddhism and Shinto a system of doctrine called Ryobu Shinto. The salient feature of this mixed creed was the theory that the Shinto deities were transmigrations of Buddhist divinities. Thereafter, Buddhism became the national religion, which position it held until the days of the Tokugawa shoguns, when it was supplanted among educated Japanese by the moral philosophy of Confucius, as interpreted by Chutsz, Wang Yang-ming, and others. REVIVAL OF PURE SHINTO The enthusiasm and the intolerance showed by the disciples of Chinese philosophy produced a reaction in Japan, and this culminated in the revival of Shinto, during which process the anomalous position occupied by the shogun towards the sovereign was clearly demonstrated, and the fact contributed materially to the downfall of the Tokugawa. It was by Ieyasu himself that national thought was turned into the new channel, though it need scarcely be said that the founder of the Tokugawa shogunate had no premonition of any results injurious to the sway of his own house. After the battle of Sekigahara had established his administrative supremacy, and after he had retired from the shogunate in favour of Hidetada, Ieyasu applied himself during his residence at Sumpu to collecting old manuscripts, and shortly before his death he directed that the Japanese section of the library thus formed should be handed over to his eighth son, the baron of Owari, and the Chinese portion to his ninth son, the baron of Kii. Another great library was subsequently brought together by a grandson of Ieyasu, the celebrated Mitsukuni (1628-1700), baron of Mito, who, from his youthful days, devoted attention to Japanese learning, and, assembling a number of eminent scholars, composed the Dai Nihon-shi (History of Great Japan), which consisted of 240 volumes and became thenceforth the standard history of the country. It is stated that the expenditures involved in producing this history, together with a five-hundred-volume work on the ceremonies of the Imperial Court, amounted to one-third of the Mito revenues, a sum of about 700,000 ryo. There can be little doubt that Mitsukuni's proximate purpose in undertaking the colossal work was to controvert a theory advanced by Hayashi Razan that the Emperor of Japan was descended from the Chinese prince, Tai Peh, of Wu, of the Yin dynasty. Chiefly concerned in the compilation of the Dai Nihon-shi were Asaka Kaku, Kuriyama Gen, and Miyake Atsuaki. They excluded the Empress Jingo from the successive dynasties; they included the Emperor Kobun in the history proper, and they declared the legitimacy of the Southern Court as against the Northern. But in the volume devoted to enumeration of the constituents of the empire, they omitted the islands of Ezo and Ryukyu. This profound study of ancient history could not fail to expose the fact that the shogunate usurped powers which properly belonged to the sovereign and to the sovereign alone. But Mitsukuni and his collaborators did not give prominence to this feature. They confined themselves rather to historical details. ENGRAVING: KAMO MABUCHI ENGRAVING: MOTOORI NOBINAGA It was reserved for four other men to lay bare the facts of the Mikado's divine right and to rehabilitate the Shinto cult. These men were Kada Azumamaro (1668-1736), Kamo Mabuchi (1697-1769), Motoori Norinaga (1730-1801), and Hirata Atsutane (1776-1834). Associated with them were other scholars of less note, but these are overshadowed by the four great masters. Kada, indeed, did not achieve much more than the restoration of pure Japanese literature to the pedestal upon which it deserved to stand. That in itself was no insignificant task, for during the five centuries that separated the Gen-Hei struggle from the establishment of the Tokugawa family, Japanese books had shared the destruction that overtook everything in this period of wasting warfare, and the Japanese language itself had undergone such change that to read and understand ancient books, like the Kojiki and the Manyo-shu, demanded a special course of study. To make that study and to prepare the path for others was Kada's task, and he performed it so conscientiously that his successors were at once able to obtain access to the treasures of ancient literature. It was reserved for Mabuchi to take the lead in championing Japanese ethical systems as against Chinese. By his writings we are taught the nature of the struggle waged throughout the Tokugawa period between Chinese philosophy and Japanese ethics, and we are enabled, also, to reach a lucid understanding of the Shinto cult as understood by the Japanese themselves. The simplest route to that understanding is to let the four masters speak briefly, each for himself: "Learning is a matter in which the highest interests of the empire are involved, and no man ought to be vain enough to imagine that he is able by himself to develop it thoroughly. Nor should the student blindly adhere to the opinions of his teacher. Anyone who desires to study Japanese literature should first acquire a good knowledge of Chinese, and then pass over to the Manyo-shu, from which he may discover the ancient principles of the divine age. If he resolve bravely to love and admire antiquity, there is no reason why he should fail to acquire the ancient style in poetry as well as in other things. In ancient times, as the poet expressed only the genuine sentiments of his heart, his style was naturally direct, but since the practice of writing upon subjects chosen by lot came into vogue, the language of poetry has become ornate and the ideas forced. The expression of fictitious sentiment about the relations of the sexes and miscellaneous subjects is not genuine poetry. [Kada Azumamaro.] "Wherein lies the value of a rule of conduct? In its conducing to the good order of the State. The Chinese for ages past have had a succession of different dynasties to rule over them, but Japan has been faithful to one uninterrupted line of sovereigns. Every Chinese dynasty was founded upon rebellion and parricide. Sometimes, a powerful ruler was able to transmit his authority to his son and grandson, but they, in their turn, were inevitably deposed and murdered, and the country was in a perpetual state of civil war. A philosophy which produces such effects must be founded on a false system. When Confucianism was first introduced into Japan, the simple-minded people, deceived by its plausible appearance, accepted it with eagerness and allowed it to spread its influence everywhere. The consequence was the civil war which broke out immediately after the death of Tenji Tenno, in A.D. 671, between that Emperor's brother and son, which only came to an end in 672 by the suicide of the latter. "In the eighth century, the Chinese costume and etiquette were adopted by the Court. This foreign pomp and splendour covered the rapid depravation of men's hearts, and created a wide gulf between the Mikado and his people. So long as the sovereign maintains a simple style of living, the subjects are contented with their own hard lot. Their wants are few and they are easily ruled. But if a sovereign has a magnificent palace, gorgeous clothing, and crowds of finely dressed women to wait on him, the sight of these things must cause in others a desire to possess themselves of the same luxuries; and if they are not strong enough to take them by force, their envy is excited. Had the Mikado continued to live in a house roofed with shingles and having walls of mud, to carry his sword in a scabbard wound round with the tendrils of some creeping plant, and to go to the chase carrying his bow and arrows, as was the ancient custom, the present state of things would never have come about. But since the introduction of Chinese manners, the sovereign, while occupying a highly dignified place, has been degraded to the intellectual level of a woman. The power fell into the hands of servants, and although they never actually assumed the title, they were sovereigns in fact, while the Mikado became an utter nullity. . . "In ancient times, when men's dispositions were straightforward, a complicated system of morals was unnecessary. It would naturally happen that bad acts might occasionally be committed, but the integrity of men's dispositions would prevent the evil from being concealed and growing in extent. In these days, therefore, it was unnecessary to have a doctrine of right and wrong. But the Chinese, being bad at heart, were only good externally, in spite of the teaching they received, and their evil acts became of such magnitude that society was thrown into disorder. The Japanese, being straightforward, could do without teaching. It has been alleged that, as the Japanese had no names for 'benevolence,' 'righteousness,' 'propriety,' 'sagacity,' and 'truth' they must have been without these principles. But these things exist in every country, in the same way as the four seasons which make their annual rounds. In the spring, the weather does not become mild all at once, or in the summer, hot. Nature proceeds by gradual steps. According to the view of the Chinese, it is not summer or spring unless it becomes hot or mild all of a sudden. Their principles sound very plausible but are unpractical. [Kamo Mabuchi.] "Japan is the country which gave birth to the goddess of the Sun, which fact proves its superiority over all other countries that also enjoy her favours. The goddess having endowed her grandson with the Three Sacred Treasures, proclaimed him sovereign of Japan for ever and ever. His descendants shall continue to rule it as long as the heavens and earth endure. Being invested with this complete authority, all the gods under heaven and all mankind submitted to him, with the exception of a few wretches who were quickly subdued. To the end of time each Mikado is the son of the goddess. His mind is in perfect harmony of thought and feeling with hers. He does not seek out new inventions but rules in accordance with precedents which date from the Age of the Gods, and if he is ever in doubt, he has recourse to divination, which reveals to him the mind of the great goddess. In this way the Age of the Gods and the present age are not two ages, but one, for not only the Mikado but also his ministers and people act up to the tradition of the divine age. Hence, in ancient times, the idea of michi, or way, (ethics) was applied to ordinary thoroughfares only, and its application to systems of philosophy, government, morals, religion, and so forth is a foreign notion. "As foreign countries (China and India, particularly the former) are not the special domain of the Sun goddess, they have no permanent rulers, and evil spirits, finding a field of action there, have corrupted mankind. In those countries, any bad man who could manage to seize the power became a sovereign. Those who had the upper hand were constantly scheming to maintain their positions, while their inferiors were as constantly on the watch for opportunities to oust them. The most powerful and cunning of these rulers succeeded in taming their subjects, and having secured their position, became an example for others to imitate. In China the name of 'holy men' has been given to these persons. But it is an error to count these 'holy men' as in themselves supernatural and good beings, superior to the rest of the world as are the gods. The principles they established are called michi (ethics), and may be reduced to two simple rules, namely, to take other people's territory and to keep fast hold of it. "The Chinese 'holy men' also invented the Book of Changes, by which they pretended to discover the workings of the universe; a vain attempt, since it is impossible for man with his limited intelligence to discover the principles which govern the acts of the gods. In imitation of them, the Chinese nation has since given itself up to philosophizing, to which are to be attributed its constant internal dissensions. When things go right of themselves, it is best to leave them alone. In ancient times, although there was no prosy system in Japan, there, were no popular disturbances, and the empire was peacefully ruled. It is because the Japanese were truly moral in their practice that they required no theory of morals, and the fuss made by the Chinese about theoretical morals is owing to their laxity in practice. It is not wonderful that students of Chinese literature should despise their own country for being without a system of morals, but that the Japanese, who were acquainted with their own ancient literature, should pretend that Japan too had such a system, simply out of a feeling of envy, is ridiculous. "When Chinese literature was imported into Japan, the people adopted many Chinese ideas, laws, customs, and practices, which they so mixed up with their own that it became necessary to adopt a special name for the ancient native customs, which were in consequence called Kami no michi or Shinto, the word 'michi' being applied in the same sense as the Chinese Tao, and Kami because of their divine origin. These native customs survived only in ceremonies with which the native gods are worshipped. Every event in the universe is the act of the gods. They direct the changes of the seasons, the wind and the rain, the good and bad fortune of States and individuals. Some of the gods are good, others bad, and their acts partake of their own natures. Buddhists attribute events to 'retribution' (Inga), while the Chinese ascribe them to be the 'decree of heaven' (Tien ming). This latter is a phrase invented by the so-called 'holy men' to justify murdering sovereigns and seizing their dominions. As neither heaven nor earth has a mind, they cannot issue decrees. If heaven really could issue decrees, it would certainly protect the good rulers and take care to prevent bad men from seizing the power, and, in general, while the good would prosper, the bad would suffer misfortune. But in reality we find many instances of the reverse. Whenever anything goes wrong in the world, it is to be attributed to the action of the evil gods called 'gods of crookedness,' whose power is so great that the Sun goddess and the Creator-gods are sometimes unable to restrain them; much less are human beings able to resist their influence. The prosperity of the wicked and the misfortunes of the good, which seem opposed to ordinary justice, are their doing. The Chinese, not possessing the traditions of the Divine Age, were ignorant of this truth, and were driven to invent the theory of heaven's decrees. "The eternal endurance of the dynasty of the Mikado is a complete proof that the 'way,' called Kami no michi or Shinto, infinitely surpasses the systems of all other countries. The 'holy men' of China were merely unsuccessful rebels. The Mikado is the sovereign appointed by the pair of deities, Izanagi and Izanami, who created this country. The Sun goddess never said, 'Disobey the Mikado if he be bad,' and therefore, whether he be good or bad, no one attempts to deprive him of his authority. He is the Immovable Ruler who must endure to the end of time, as long as the sun and moon continue to shine. In ancient language the Mikado was called a god, and that is his real character. Duty, therefore, consists in obeying him implicitly without questioning his acts. During the Middle Ages, such men as Hojo Yoshitoki, Hojo Yasutoki, Ashikaga Takauji, and others, violated this duty (michi) and look up arms against him. Their disobedience to the Mikado is attributable to the influence of the Chinese learning. This 'way' was established by Izanagi and Izanami and delivered by them to the Sun goddess, who handed it down, and this is why it is called the 'way of the gods.' "The nature of this 'way' is to be learned by studying the Kojiki and ancient writings, but mankind has been turned aside from it, by the spirits of crookedness, to Buddhism and Chinese philosophy. The various doctrines taught under the name of Shinto are without authority, Human beings, having been produced by the spirit of the two creative deities, are naturally endowed with the knowledge of what they ought to do, and what they ought to refrain from doing. It is unnecessary for them to trouble their heads with systems of morality. If a system of morals were necessary, men would be inferior to animals, all of whom are endowed with the knowledge of what they ought to do, only in an inferior degree to man. If what the Chinese call benevolence, modesty, filial piety, propriety, love, fidelity, and truth really constituted the duty of man, they would be so recognized and practised without any teaching; but since they were invented by the so-called 'holy men' as instruments for ruling a viciously inclined population, it became necessary to insist on more than the actual duty of man. Consequently, although plenty of men profess these doctrines, the number of those that practise them is very small. Violations of this teaching were attributed to human lusts. As human lusts are a part of man's nature, they must be a part of the harmony of the universe, and cannot be wrong according to the Chinese theory. It was the vicious nature of the Chinese that necessitated such strict rules, as, for instance, that persons descended from a common ancestor, no matter how distantly related, should not intermarry. These rules, not being founded on the harmony of the universe, were not in accordance with human feelings and were therefore seldom obeyed. "In ancient times, Japanese refrained from intermarriage among children of the same mother, but the distance between the noble and the mean was duly preserved. Thus, the country was spontaneously well governed, in accordance with the 'way' established by the gods. Just as the Mikado worshipped the gods in heaven and earth, so his people pray to the good gods in order to obtain blessings, and perform rites in honour of the bad gods in order to avert their displeasure. If they committed crimes or denied themselves, they employed the usual methods of purification taught them by their own hearts. Since there are bad as well as good gods, it is necessary to propitiate them with offerings of agreeable food, playing the lute, blowing the flute, singing and dancing, and whatever else is likely to put them in good humour. "It has been asked whether the Kami no michi is not the same as the Taoism of Laotzu. Laotzu hated the vain conceits of the Chinese scholars, and honoured naturalness, from which a resemblance may be argued; but as he was born in a dirty country not under special protection of the Sun goddess, he had heard only the theories of the succession of so-called 'holy men,' and what he believed to be naturalness was simply what they called natural. He did not know that the gods are the authors of every human action, and this ignorance constituted a cause of radical difference. To have acquired the knowledge that there is no michi (ethics) to be learned and practised is really to have learned to practise the 'way of the gods.' . . . Many miracles occurred in the Age of the Gods, the truth of which was not disputed until men were taught by the Chinese philosophy to analyse the acts of the gods by the aid of their own feeble intelligence. The reason assigned for disbelieving in miracles is that they cannot be explained; but in fact, although the Age of the Gods has passed away, wondrous miracles surround us on all sides. For instance, is the earth suspended in space or does it rest upon something else? If it be said that the earth rests upon something else, then what is it that supports that something else? According to one Chinese theory, the earth is a globe suspended in space with the heavens revolving round it. But even if we suppose the heavens to be full of air, no ordinary principles will account for the land and sea being suspended in space without moving. The explanation offered is as miraculous as the supposition previously made. It seems plausible enough to say that the heavens are merely air and are without any definite form. If this be true, there is nothing but air outside the earth, and this air must be infinite or finite in extent. If it is infinite in extent, we cannot fix any point as its centre, so that it is impossible to understand why the earth should be at rest; for if it be not in the centre it cannot be at rest. If it be finite, what causes the air to condense in one particular spot, and what position shall we assign to it? "In any case all these things are miraculous and strange. How absurd to take these miracles for granted, and at the same time to disbelieve in the wonders of the Divine Age! Think again of the human body. Seeing with the eyes, hearing With the ears, speaking with the mouth, walking on the feet, and performing all manner of acts with the hands are strange things; so also the flight of birds and insects through the air, the blossoming of plants and trees, the ripening of their fruits and seeds are strange; and the strangest of all is the transformation of the fox and the badger into human form. If rats, weasels, and certain birds see in the dark, why should not the gods have been endowed with a similar faculty?.... The facts that many of the gods are invisible now and have never been visible furnish no argument against their existence. Existence can be made known to us by other senses than those of sight, such as odour or sound, while the wind, which is neither seen, heard, nor smelt is recognized by the impression which it makes upon our bodies. [Motoori Norinaga]. "Although numbers of Japanese cannot state with any certainty from what gods they are descended, all of them have tribal names (kabane) which were originally bestowed by the Mikado, and those who make it their province to study genealogies can tell from a man's ordinary surname who his remotest ancestor must have been. From the fact of the divine descent of the Japanese people proceeds their immeasurable superiority to the natives of other countries in courage and intelligence.* *Although Hirata claims the superiority for his own countrymen, he frankly acknowledges the achievements of the Dutch in natural science. ". . . The accounts given in other countries, whether by Buddhism or by Chinese philosophy, of the form of the heavens and earth and the manner in which they came into existence, are all inventions of men who exercised all their ingenuity over the problem, and inferred that such things must actually be the case. As for the Indian account, it is nonsense fit only to deceive women and children, and I do not think it worthy of reflection. The Chinese theories, on the other hand, are based upon profound philosophical speculations and sound extremely plausible, but what they call the absolute and the finite, the positive and negative essences, the eight diagrams, and the five elements, are not real existences, but are fictitious names invented by the philosophers and freely applied in every direction. They say that the whole universe was produced by agencies, and that nothing exists which is independent of them. But all these statements are nonsense. The principles which animate the universe are beyond the power of analysis, nor can they be fathomed by human intelligence, and all statements founded upon pretended explanations of them are to be rejected. All that man can think and know is limited by the powers of sight, feeling, and calculation, and what goes beyond these powers, cannot be known by any amount of thinking. . . . "The Chinese accounts sound as if based upon profound principles, and one fancies that they must be right, while the Japanese accounts sound shallow and utterly unfounded in reason. But the former are lies while the latter are the truth, so that as time goes on and thought attains greater accuracy, the erroneous nature of these falsehoods becomes even more apparent whale the true tradition remains intact. In modern times, men from countries lying far off in the West have voyaged all round the seas as their inclinations prompted them, and have ascertained the actual shape of the earth. They have discovered that the earth is round and that the sun and the moon revolve round it in a vertical direction, and it may thus be conjectured how full of errors are all the ancient Chinese accounts, and how impossible it is to believe anything that professes to be determined a priori. But when we come to compare our ancient traditions as to the origin of a thing in the midst of space and its subsequent development, with what has been ascertained to be the actual shape of the earth, we find that there is not the slightest error, and this result confirms the truth of our ancient traditions. But although accurate discoveries made by the men of the Far West as to the actual shape of the earth and its position in space infinitely surpass the theories of the Chinese, still that is only a matter of calculation. There are many other things actually known to exist which cannot be solved by that means; and still less is it possible to solve the question of how the earth, sun, and moon came to assume their form. Probably those countries possess theories of their own, but whatever they may be, they can but be guesses after the event, and probably resemble the Indian and the Chinese theories. "The most fearful crimes which a man commits go unpunished by society so long as they are undiscovered, but they draw down on him the hatred of the invisible gods. The attainment of happiness by performing good acts is regulated by the same law. Even if the gods do not punish secret sins by the usual penalties of law, they inflict diseases, misfortunes, short life, and extermination of the race. Never mind the praise or blame of fellow men, but act so that you need not be ashamed before the gods of the Unseen. If you desire to practise true virtue, learn to stand in awe of the Unseen, and that will prevent you from doing wrong. Make a vow to the god who rules over the Unseen and cultivate the conscience implanted in you, and then you will never wander from the way. You cannot hope to live more than one hundred years in the most favourable circumstances, but as you will go to the unseen realm of Okuninushi after death and be subject to his rule, learn betimes to bow down before heaven. The spirits of the dead continue to exist in the unseen world which is everywhere about us, and they all become gods of varying character and degrees of influence. Some reside in temples built in their honour; others hover near their tombs, and they continue to render service to their princes, parents, wives, and children as when in their body. [Hirata Atsutane.]"* *The above extracts are all taken from Sir Ernest Satow's Revival of Pure Shinto in the appendix to Vol. III. of the "Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan." The great loyalist of the eleventh century, Kitabatake Chikafusa, had fully demonstrated the divine title of the sovereigns of Japan, but his work reached only a narrow circle of readers, and his arguments were not re-enforced by the sentiment of the era. Very different was the case in the days of the four literati quoted above. The arrogant and intolerant demeanour of Japanese students of Chinese philosophy who elevated the Middle Kingdom on a pedestal far above the head of their own country, gradually provoked bitter resentment among patriotic Japanese, thus lending collateral strength to the movement which took place in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries in favour of reversion to the customs and canons of old times. As soon as attention was intelligently concentrated on the history of the past, it was clearly perceived that, in remote antiquity, the empire had always been administered from the Throne, and, further, that the functions arrogated to themselves by the Hojo, the Oda, the Toyotomi, and the Tokugawa were pure usurpations, which deprived the Imperial Court of the place properly belonging to it in the State polity. Just when this reaction was developing strength, the dispute about the title of the ex-Emperor occurred in Kyoto, and furnished an object lesson more eloquent than any written thesis. The situation was complicated by the question of foreign intercourse, but this will be treated separately. ENGRAVING: MITSUGUMI-NO-SAKAZUKI (Sake Cups used only on Happy Occasions such as Weddings and New Year Days) ENGRAVING: DIFFERENT STYLES OF COIFFURE CHAPTER XLIV FOREIGN RELATIONS AND THE DECLINE OF THE TOKUGAWA FOREIGN TRADE IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY FROM what has been stated in previous chapters, it is clearly understood that Nobunaga, Hideyoshi, and Ieyasu were all well disposed towards foreign intercourse and trade, and that the Tokugawa chief made even more earnest endeavours than Hideyoshi to differentiate between Christianity and commerce, so that the fate of the former might not overtake the latter. Ieyasu, indeed, seems to have kept three objects steadfastly in view, namely, the development of oversea trade, the acquisition of a mercantile marine, and the prosecution of mining enterprise. To the Spaniards, to the Portuguese, to the English, and to the Dutch, he offered a site for a settlement in a suburb of Yedo, and had the offer been accepted, Japan might never have been closed to foreign intercourse. At that time the policy of the empire was free trade. There were no customs dues, though it was expected that the foreign merchants would make liberal presents to the feudatory into whose port they carried their wares. The Tokugawa baron gave plain evidence that he regarded commerce with the outer world as a source of wealth, and that he wished to attract it to his own domains. On more than one occasion he sent an envoy to Manila to urge the opening of trade with the regions in the vicinity of Yedo, and to ask the Spaniards for expert naval architects. His attitude is well shown by a law enacted in 1602: "If any foreign vessel by stress of weather is obliged to touch at any principality or to put into any harbour of Japan, we order that, whoever these foreigners may be, absolutely nothing whatever that belongs to them, or that they may have brought in their ship, shall be taken from them. Likewise, we rigorously prohibit the use of any violence in the purchase or sale of any of the commodities brought by their ship, and if it is not convenient for the merchants of the ship to remain in the port they have entered, they may pass to any other port that may suit them, and therein buy and sell in full freedom. Likewise, we order, in a general manner, that foreigners may freely reside in any part of Japan they choose, but we rigorously forbid them to propagate their faith." In the year 1605, the Tokugawa chief granted a permit to the Dutch for trade in Japan, his expectation being that the ships which they undertook to send every year would make Uraga, or some other place near Yedo, their port of entry. In this he was disappointed. The first Hollanders that set foot in Japan were eighteen survivors of the crew of the wrecked Liefde. These men were at first placed in confinement, and during their detention they were approached by emissaries from the feudatory of Hirado, who engaged some of them to instruct his vassals in the art of gun casting and the science of artillery, and who also made such tempting promises with regard to Hirado that the Dutch decided to choose that place for headquarters, although it was then, and always subsequently remained, an insignificant little fishing village. The Dutch possessed one great advantage over their rivals from Manila and Macao: they were prepared to carry on commerce while eschewing religious propagandism. It was this element of the situation that the Hirado feudatory shrewdly appreciated when he enticed the Dutchmen to make Hirado their port of entry. With regard to the desire of Ieyasu to exploit the mining resources of his country, the fact is demonstrated by an incident which occurred at the time. The governor--general of the Philippines (Rodrigo Yivero y Velasco), whose ship had been cast away on the coast of Japan while en route for Acapulco, had an interview with Ieyasu, and in response to the latter's application for fifty mining experts, the Spaniards made a proposal, to the terms of which, onerous as they were, Ieyasu agreed; namely that one half of the produce, of the mines should go to the miners; that the other half should be divided equally between Ieyasu and the King of Spain; that the latter might send officials to Japan to protect his mining interests, and that these officials might be accompanied by priests, who would have the right to erect public churches, and to hold religious services there.* These things happened in 1609. Previous to that time, the Tokugawa chief had repeatedly imposed a strict veto on Christian propagandism; yet we now find him removing that veto partially, for the sake of obtaining foreign expert assistance. Like Hideyoshi, Ieyasu had full confidence in himself and in his countrymen. He did not doubt his ability to deal with emergencies if they arose, and he made no sacrifice to timidity. But his courageous policy died with him, and the miners never came. Moreover, the Spaniards seemed incapable of any successful effort to establish trade with Japan. Fitful visits were paid by their vessels at Uraga, but the Portuguese continued to monopolize the commerce. *It is to be understood, of course, that these ministrations were intended to be limited to Spaniards resident in Japan. ENGRAVING: OLD SPANISH CLOCK PRESERVED IN KUNOZAN. That commerce, however, was not without rude interruptions. One, especially memorable, occurred at the very time when Rodrigo's vessel was cast away. "In a quarrel at Macao some Japanese sailors lost their lives, and their comrades were compelled by the commandant, Pessoa, to sign a declaration exonerating the Portuguese. The signatories, however, told a different tale when they returned to Japan, and their feudal chief, the daimyo of Arima, was much incensed, as also was Ieyasu In the following year (1609), this same Pessoa arrived at Nagasaki in command of the Madre de Dios, carrying twelve Jesuits and a cargo worth a million crowns. Ieyasu ordered the Arima feudatory to seize her. Surrounded by an attacking force of twelve hundred men in boats, Pessoa fought his ship for three days, and then, exploding her magazine, sent her to the bottom with her crew, her passenger-priests, and her cargo." Fifty-eight years before the date of this occurrence, Xavier had conveyed to Charles V a warning that if ships from New Spain "attempted to conquer the Japanese by force of arms, they would have to do with a people no less covetous than warlike, who seem likely to capture any hostile fleet, however strong." It was a just appreciation. The Portuguese naturally sought to obtain satisfaction for the fate of Pessoa, but Ieyasu would not even reply to their demands, though he made no attempt to prevent the resumption of trade with Macao. OPENING OF ENGLISH AND DUTCH TRADE In the year 1609, Ieyasu had reason to expect that the Spaniards and the Dutch would both open trade with Japan. His expectation was disappointed in the case of the Spaniards, but, two years later, the Dutch flag was seen in Japanese waters. It was flown by the Brack, a merchantman which, sailing from Patani, reached Hirado with a cargo of pepper, cloth, ivory, silk, and lead. Two envoys were on board the vessel, and her arrival in Japan nearly synchronized with the coming of the Spanish embassy from Manila, which had been despatched expressly for the purpose of "settling the matter regarding the Hollanders." Nevertheless, the Dutch obtained a liberal patent from Ieyasu. Twelve years previously, the merchants of London, stimulated by a spirit of rivalry with the Dutch, had organized the East India Company, which at once began to send ships eastward. As soon as news came that the Dutch were about to establish a trading station in Japan, the East India Company issued orders that the Clove, commanded by Saris, should proceed to the Far Eastern islands. The Clove reached Hirado on the 11th of June, 1613. Her master, Saris, soon proved that he did not possess the capacity essential to success. He was self-opinionated, suspicious, and of shallow judgment. Though strongly urged by Will Adams to make Uraga the seat of the new trade; though convinced of the excellence of the harbour there, and though instructed as to the great advantage of proximity to the shogun's capital, he appears to have harboured some distrust of Adams, for he finally selected Hirado in preference to Uraga, "which was much as though a German going to England to open trade should prefer to establish himself at Dover or Folkestone rather than in the vicinity of London." Nevertheless he received from Ieyasu a charter so liberal that it plainly displayed the mood of the Tokugawa shogun towards foreign trade: "(1) The ship that has now come for the first time from England over the sea to Japan may carry on trade of all kinds without hindrance. With regard to future visits (of English ships), permission will be given in regard to all matters. "(2) With regard to the cargoes of ships, requisition will be made by list according to the requirements of the shogunate. "(3) English ships are free to visit any port in Japan. If disabled by storms they may put into any harbour. "(4) Ground in Yedo in the place which they may desire shall be given to the English, and they may erect houses and reside and trade there. They shall be at liberty to return to their country whenever they wish to do so, and to dispose as they like of the houses they have erected. "(5) If an Englishman dies in Japan of disease or any other cause, his effects shall be handed over without fail. "(6) Forced sales of cargo and violence shall not take place. "(7) If one of the English should commit an offence, he should be sentenced by the English general according to the gravity of his offence."* *In this article, Ieyasu recognizes the principle of extra-territorial jurisdiction. The terms of the above show that Saris was expected to make Yedo his headquarters. Had he done so he would have been practically free from competition; would have had the eastern capital of the empire for market, and would have avoided many expenses and inconveniences connected with residence elsewhere. But he did not rise to the occasion, and the result of his mistaken choice as well as of bad management was that, ten years later (1623), the English factory at Hirado had to be closed, the losses incurred there having aggregated £2000--$10,000. It has to be noted that, a few months after the death of Ieyasu, the above charter underwent a radical modification. The original document threw open to the English every port in Japan; the revised document limited them to Hirado. But this restriction may be indirectly traced to the blunder of not accepting a settlement in Yedo and a port at Uraga. For the foreign policy of the Tokugawa was largely swayed by an apprehension that the Kyushu feudatories, many of whom were not over-well disposed to the rule of the Bakufu, might derive from the assistance of foreign trade such a fleet and such an armament as would ultimately enable them to overthrow the Tokugawa. Therefore, the precaution was adopted of confining the English and the Dutch to Hirado, the domain of a feudatory too petty to become formidable, and to Nagasaki, which was one of the four Imperial cities, the other three being Yedo, Kyoto, and Osaka. ENGRAVING: THE "ATAKA MARU" (Shogun's Barge) It is easy to see that an English factory in Yedo and English ships at Uraga would have strengthened the Tokugawa ruler's hand instead of supplying engines of war to his political foes; and it must further be noted that the question of locality had another injurious outcome. For alike at Hirado and at Nagasaki, the foreign traders "were exposed to a crippling competition at the hands of rich Osaka monopolists, who, as representing an Imperial city and therefore being pledged to the Tokugawa interests, enjoyed special indulgences from the Bakufu. These shrewd traders who were then, as they are now, the merchant-princes of Japan, not only drew a ring around Hirado, but also sent vessels on their own account to Cochin China, Siam, Tonkin, Cambodia, and other foreign lands with which the English and the Dutch carried on trade." One can scarcely be surprised that Cocks, the successor of Saris, wrote, in 1620, "which maketh me altogether aweary of Japan." It is, however, certain that the closure of the English factory at Hirado was voluntary; from the beginning to the end no serious friction had occurred between the English and the Japanese. When, the former withdrew from the Japanese trade, their houses and stores at Hirado were not sold, but were left in the safe-keeping of the local feudatory, who promised to restore them to their original owners should the English company desire to re-open business in Japan. The company did think of doing so on more than one occasion, but the idea did not mature until the year 1673, when a merchantman, the Return, was sent to obtain permission. "The Japanese authorities, after mature reflection, made answer that as the king of England was married to a Portuguese princess, British subjects could not be permitted to visit Japan. That this reply was suggested by the Dutch is very probable; that it truly reflected the feeling of the Japanese Government towards Roman Catholics is certain."* *Encyclopaedia Britannica (11th Edition)'; article "Japan," by Brinkley. END OF THE PORTUGUESE TRADE WITH JAPAN In the year 1624, the expulsion of the Spaniards from Japan took place, and in 1638 the Portuguese met the same fate. Two years prior to the latter event, the Yedo Bakufu adopted a measure which effectually terminated foreign intercourse. They ruled that to leave the country, or to attempt to do so, should constitute a capital crime; that any Japanese subject residing abroad should be executed if he returned; that the entire kith and kin of the Spaniards in Japan should be expelled, and that no ships of ocean-going dimensions should be built in Japan. This meant not only the driving out of all professing Christians, but also the imprisonment of the entire nation within the limits of the Japanese islands, as well as an effectual veto on the growth of the mercantile marine. It is worth noting that no act of spoliation was practised against these tabooed people. Thus, when those indicated by the edict--to the number of 287--left the country for Macao, they were allowed to carry away with them their whole fortunes. The expulsion of the Spaniards did not leave the Portuguese in an improved condition. Humiliating restrictions continued to be imposed upon them. If a foreign priest were found upon any galleon bound for Japan, such priest and the whole of the crew of the galleon were liable to be executed, and many other irksome conditions were instituted for the control of the trade. Nor had the aliens even the satisfaction of an open market, for all the goods carried in their galleons had to be sold at a fixed price to a ring of licensed Japanese merchants from Osaka. In spite of all these deterrents, however, the Portuguese continued to send galleons to Nagasaki until the year 1637, when their alleged connexion with the Shimabara rebellion induced the Japanese to issue the final edict that henceforth any Portuguese ship coming to Japan should be burned, together with her cargo, and everyone on board should be executed. This law was not enforced with any undue haste; ample time was given for compliance with its provisions. Possibly misled by this procrastination, the Portuguese at Macao continued to strive for the re-establishment of commercial relations until 1640, when a very sad event put an end finally to all intercourse. Four aged men, selected from among the most respected citizens of Macao, were sent to Nagasaki as ambassadors. Their ships carried rich presents and an earnest petition for the renewal of commercial intercourse. They were at once imprisoned, and having declined to save their lives by abjuring the Christian faith, the four old men and fifty-seven of their companions were decapitated, thirteen only being left alive for the purpose of conveying the facts to Macao. To these thirteen there was handed at their departure a document setting forth that, "So long as the sun warms the earth, any Christian bold enough to come to Japan, even if he be King Philip himself or the God of the Christians, shall pay for it with his head." One more effort to restore the old intimacy was made by the Portuguese in 1647, but it failed signally, and would certainly have entailed sanguinary results had not the two Portuguese vessels beat a timely retreat. THE DUTCH AT DESHIMA In 1609, the Dutch made their appearance in Japan, and received an excellent welcome. Ieyasu gave them a written promise that "no man should do them any wrong and that they should be maintained and defended as his own vassals." He also granted them a charter that wherever their ships entered, they should be shown "all manner of help, favour, and assistance." Left free to choose their own trading port, they made the mistake of selecting Hirado, which was eminently unsuited to be a permanent emporium of interstate commerce. Nevertheless, owing partly to their shrewdness, partly to their exclusive possession of the Spice Islands, and partly to their belligerent co-operation with the English against the Spaniards, they succeeded in faring prosperously for a time. The day came, however, when, being deprived of freedom of trade and limited to dealings with a guild of Nagasaki and Osaka merchants, they found their gains seriously affected. Other vicissitudes overtook them, and finally the Japanese concluded that the safest course was to confine the Dutch to some position where, in a moment of emergency, they could easily be brought under Japanese control. Nagasaki was chosen as suitable, and there a Dutch factory was established which, for a time, flourished satisfactorily. From seven to ten Dutch vessels used to enter the port annually--their cargoes valued at some eighty thousand pounds (avdp.) of silver, and the chief staples of import being silk and piece-goods. Customs duties amounting to five per cent, were levied; 495 pounds of silver had to be paid annually as a rent for the little island of Deshima, and every year a mission had to proceed to Yedo from the factory, carrying presents for the chief Bakufu officials, which presents are said to have aggregated some 550 pounds of silver on each occasion. The Dutch traders, nevertheless, found their business profitable owing to purchases of gold and copper, which metals could be procured in Japan at much lower rates than they commanded in Europe. Thus, the now familiar question of an outflow of specie was forced upon Japanese attention at that early date, and, by way of remedy, the Government adopted, in 1790, the policy of restricting to one vessel annually the Dutch ships entering Nagasaki, and forbidding that vessel to carry away more than 350 tons of copper. EFFECTS PRODUCED UPON JAPAN BY THE POLICY OF EXCLUSION Whatever losses Japan's policy of seclusion caused to the nations which were its victims, there can be no doubt that she herself was the chief sufferer. During two and a half centuries she remained without breathing the atmosphere of international competition, or deriving inspiration from an exchange of ideas with other countries. While the world moved steadily forward, Japan stood practically unchanging, and when ultimately she emerged into contact with the Occident, she found herself separated by an immense interval from the material civilization it had developed. The contrast between the Japan of the middle of the sixteenth and that of the middle of the seventeenth century has often been made by the historian of foreign influence. In 1541 the country was open to foreign trade, foreign civilization and foreign ideas and these were welcomed eagerly and, in accordance with the remarkable natural aptitude of the Japanese for adaptation, were readily assimilated. Not only were foreign traders allowed to come to Japan, but Japanese were allowed to go abroad. And all this was in the line of a long-continued Japanese policy--the policy thanks to which Chinese influence had made itself so strongly felt in Japan, and which had brought in Buddhism and Confucianism, not to speak of arts and letters of foreign provenance. At the close of the hundred years, in 1641, all was changed. Japan was absolutely isolated. Foreigners were forbidden to enter, except the Dutch traders who were confined to the little island of Deshima. And natives were forbidden to go out, or to accept at home the religious teachings of foreigners. Only ships suited for the coastwise trade might be built. The nation's intercourse with Occidental civilization was shut off, and its natural power of change and growth through foreign influences was thus held in check. The wonder is that it was not destroyed by this inhibition. The whole story of foreign intercourse as it has so far been told makes it plain that the reason why it was prohibited was in the nature of foreign propaganda and not in any unreadiness of the Japanese for western civilization. SECOND ERA OF FOREIGN TRADE Japan's seclusion was maintained unflinchingly. But, though her goods found a market in China, only during her period of self-effacement, the reputation of her people for military prowess was such that no outside nation thought of forcing her to open her ports. A British seaman, Sir Edward Michelborne, in the sequel of a fight between his two ships and a Japanese junk near Singapore, left a record that "The Japanese are not allowed to land in any part of India with weapons, being a people so desperate and daring that they are feared in all places where they come." Nevertheless, Russian subjects, their shores being contiguous with those of Japan, occasionally found their way as sailors or colonists into the waters of Saghalien, the Kuriles, and Yezo. The Japanese did not then exercise effective control over Yezo, although the island was nominally under their jurisdiction. Its government changed from one hand to another in the centuries that separated the Kamakura epoch from the Tokugawa, and in the latter epoch we find the Matsumae daimyo ruling all the islands northward of the Tsugaru Straits. But the Matsumae administration contented itself with imposing taxes and left the people severely alone. Thus, when in 1778, a small party of Russians appeared at Nemuro seeking trade, no preparations existed to impose the local government's will on the strangers. They were simply promised an answer in the following year, and that answer proved to be that all Japan's oversea trade must by law be confined to Nagasaki. The Russians did not attempt to dispute this ruling. They retired quietly. But their two visits had shown them that Yezo was capable of much development, and they gradually began to flock thither as colonists. Officials sent from Japan proper to make an investigation reported that Kamchatka, hitherto a dependency of Japan, had been taken possession of by Russians, who had established themselves in the island of Urup and at other places. The report added that the situation would be altogether lost unless resolute steps were taken to restore it. Unfortunately, the death of the tenth shogun having just then occurred, the Yedo Court found it inconvenient to take action in remote Yezo. Thus, Russian immigration and Japanese inaction continued for some time, and not until 1792 were commissions again despatched from Yedo to inquire and report. They made an exhaustive investigation, and just as it reached the hands of the Bakufu, a large Russian vessel arrived off Nemuro, carrying some ship-wrecked Japanese sailors whom her commander offered to restore to their country, accompanying this offer with an application for the opening of trade between Russia and Japan. Negotiations ensued, the result being that Nagasaki was again referred to as the only port where foreign trade might be lawfully conducted, and the Russians, therefore, declared their intention of proceeding thither, a passport being handed to them for the purpose. It does not appear, however, that they availed themselves of this permit, and in the mean while the Yedo commissioners pursued their journey northward, and pulled up a number of boundary posts which had been erected by the Russians in Urup. The Bakufu now began to appreciate the situation more fully. They took under their own immediate control the eastern half of Yezo, entrusting the western half to Matsumae. The next incident of note was a survey of the northern islands, made in 1800 by the famous mathematician, Ino Tadayoshi, and the despatch of another party of Bakufu investigators. Nothing practical was done, however, and, in 1804, a Russian ship arrived at Nagasaki carrying a number of Japanese castaways and again applying for permission to trade. But it soon appeared that the Bakufu were playing fast and loose with their visitors and that they had no intention of sanctioning general foreign commerce, even at Nagasaki. Incensed by such treatment, the Russians, in 1806, invaded Saghalien, carried away several Japanese soldiers, and partially raided Etorop and other places. They threatened further violence in the following year unless international trade was sanctioned. The Bakufu had now a serious problem to solve, and their ideas of its solution were almost comical. Thus, one statesman recommended the organization of a special force recruited from the ranks of vagrants and criminals and stationed permanently in the northern islands, A more practical programme was the formation of a local militia. But neither of these suggestions obtained approval, nor was anything done beyond removing the Matsumae feudatory and placing the whole of the islands under the direct sway of the Bakufu. For a period of five years after these events the Russians made no further attempt to establish relations with Japan, and their next essay, namely, the despatch of a warship--the Diana--to survey the Yezo coasts, was unceremoniously interrupted by the Japanese. Another vessel flying the Russian flag visited Kunajiri, in 1814. On that occasion the Japanese managed to seize some members of the Russian crew, who were ultimately saved by the shrewdness of one of their officers. These events imparted fresh vigour to Japan's prejudices against foreign intercourse, but, as for the Russians, not a few of them found their way to Saghalien and settled there without any resolute attempt on the part of the Bakufu to expel them. COAST DEFENCE One effect of the events related above was to direct Japanese attention to the necessity of coast defence, a subject which derived much importance from information filtering through the Dutch door at Nagasaki. Under the latter influence a remarkable book (Kai-koku Hei-dan) was compiled by Hayashi Shibei, who had associated for some time with the Dutch at Deshima. He urged frankly that Japan must remain helpless for naval purposes if her people were forbidden to build ocean-going vessels while foreigners sailed the high seas, and he further urged that attention should be paid to coast defence, so that the country might not be wholly at the mercy of foreign adventurers. The brave author was thrown into prison and the printing-blocks of his book were destroyed, but his enlightenment bore some fruit, for immediately afterwards the Bakufu prime minister made a journey along the coasts of the empire to select points for the erection of fortifications, and to encourage the feudatories to take steps for guarding these important positions. FOREIGN LITERATURE It has already been stated that in the days of the shogun Yoshimune (1716-1745) the veto against studying foreign books was removed. But for some time this liberal measure produced no practical effect, since there did not exist even a Dutch-Japanese vocabulary to open the pages of foreign literature for Japanese study. Indeed, very few books were procurable from the Dutch at Deshima. The most accessible were treatises on medicine and anatomy, and the illustrations in these volumes served as a guide for interpreting their contents. Earnestness well-nigh incredible was shown by Japanese students in deciphering the strange terms, and presently the country was placed in possession of The History of Russia, Notes on the Northern Islands, Universal Geography, A Compendium of Dutch Literature, Treatises on the Art of Translation, a Dutch-Japanese Dictionary and so forth, the immediate result being a nascent public conviction of the necessity of opening the country,--a conviction which, though not widely held, contributed materially to the ultimate fall of the Bakufu. The Yedo Court, however, clung tenaciously to its hereditary conservatism. Thus, in 1825, the Bakufu issued a general order that any foreign vessel coming within range of the coast batteries should at once be fired upon, and not until 1842 was this harsh command modified in the sense that a ship driven into a Japanese port by stress of weather might be given food, water, and provisions, but should be warned to resume her voyage immediately. Meanwhile, strenuous efforts were made to strengthen the littoral defences, and a very active revival of the study of the military art took place throughout the empire, though, at the same time, the number of patriots sufficiently brave and clear-sighted to condemn the policy of seclusion grew steadily. ENGRAVING: "OHARAME" (A FEMALE LABOURER IN THE SUBURBS OF KYOTO) ENGRAVING: TWO DRUMS AND TSUZUMI--A and D are Drums; B and C are Tsuzumi. CHAPTER XLV FOREIGN RELATIONS AND THE DECLINE OF THE TOKUGAWA: (Continued) THE TWELFTH SHOGUN, IEYOSHI (1838-1853) FROM the period of this shogun the strength of the Bakufu began to wane steadily, and the restoration of the administrative power to the sovereign came to be discussed, with bated breath at first, but gradually with increased freedom. It is undeniable, however, that the decline of the Tokugawa was due as much to an empty treasury as to the complications of foreign intercourse. The financial situation in the first half of the nineteenth century may be briefly described as one of expenditures constantly exceeding income, and of repeated recourse by the Bakufu to the fatal expedient of debasing the currency. Public respect was steadily undermined by these displays of impecuniosity, and the feudatories in the west of the empire--that is to say, the tozama daimyo, whose loyalty to the Bakufu was weak at the best--found an opportunity to assert themselves against the Yedo administration, while the appreciation of commodities rendered the burden of living constantly more severe and thus helped to alienate the people. SUMPTUARY LAWS While with one hand scattering abroad debased tokens of exchange, the Bakufu legislators laboured strenuously with the other to check luxury and extravagance. Conspicuous among the statesmen who sought to restore the economical habit of former days was Mizuno Echizen no Kami, who, in 1826 and the immediately subsequent years, promulgated decree after decree vetoing everything in the nature of needless expenditures. It fared with his attempt as it always does with such legislation. People admired the vetoes in theory but paid little attention to them in practice. FAMINE IN THE TEMPO ERA (1830-1844) From 1836 onward, through successive years, one bad harvest followed another until the prices of rice and other cereals rose to unprecedented figures. The Bakufu were not remiss in their measures to relieve distress. Free grants of grain were made in the most afflicted regions; houses of refuge were constructed where the indigent might be fed and lodged during a maximum period of 210 days, each inmate receiving in addition a daily allowance of money which was handed to him on leaving the refuge, and this example of charity was obeyed widely by the feudatories. It is on record that twenty thousand persons availed themselves of these charitable institutions in Yedo alone. One particularly sad episode marks the story. Driven to desperation by the sight of the people's pain and by his own failure to obtain from wealthy folks a sufficient measure of aid, although he sold everything he himself possessed by way of example, a police official, Oshio Heihachiro, raised the flag of revolt and became the instrument of starting a tumult in which eighteen thousand buildings were destroyed in Osaka. In a manifesto issued before committing suicide in company with his son, Heihachiro charged the whole body of officials with corrupt motives, and declared that the sovereign was treated as a recluse without any practical authority; that the people did not know where to make complaint; that the displeasure of heaven was evinced by a succession of natural calamities, and that the men in power paid no attention to these warnings. The eleventh shogun, Ienari, after fifty-one years of office, resigned in favour of his son, Ieyoshi, who ruled from 1838 to 1853. Ienari survived his resignation by four years, during which he resided in the western castle, and, under the title of o-gosho, continued to take part in the administration. As for Ieyoshi, his tenure of power is chiefly notable for the strenuous efforts made by his prime minister, Mizuno Echizen no Kami, to substitute economy for the costly luxury that prevailed. Reference has already been made to this eminent official's policy, and it will suffice here to add that his aim was to restore the austere fashions of former times. The schedule of reforms was practically endless. Expensive costumes were seized and burned; theatres were relegated to a remote suburb of the city; actors were ostracized; a censorship of publications checked under severe penalties the compilation of all anti-foreign or immoral literature, and even children's toys were legislated for. At first these laws alarmed people, but it was soon found that competence to enforce was not commensurate with ability to compile, and the only result achieved was that splendour and extravagance were more or less concealed. Yet the Bakufu officials did not hesitate to resort to force. It is recorded that storehouses and residences were sealed and their inmates banished; that no less than 570 restaurants were removed from the most populous part of the city, and that the maidservants employed in them were all degraded to the class of "licensed prostitutes." This drastic effort went down in the pages of history as the "Tempo Reformation." It ended in the resignation of its author and the complete defeat of its purpose. TOKUGAWA NARIAKI Contemporaneous with the wholesale reformer, Mizuno, was Tokugawa Nariaki (1800-1860), daimyo of Mito, who opposed the conciliatory foreign policy, soon to be described, of Ii Naosuke (Kamon no Kami). Nariaki inherited the literary tastes of his ancestor, Mitsukuni, and at his court a number of earnest students and loyal soldiers assembled. Among them were Fujita Toko (1806-1855) and Toda Tadanori, who are not less remarkable as scholars and historians than as administrators. RELATIONS WITH THE UNITED STATES Japan now began to make the acquaintance of American citizens, who, pursuing the whaling industry in the seas off Alaska and China, passed frequently in their ships within easy sight of the island of Yezo. Occasionally, one of these schooners was cast away on Japan's shores, and as a rule, her people were treated with consideration and sent to Deshima for shipment to Batavia. Japanese sailors, also, were occasionally swept by hurricanes and currents to the Aleutian Islands, to Oregon, or to California, and in several cases these mariners were sent back to Japan by American vessels. It was on such an errand of mercy that the sailing ship Morrison entered Yedo Bay, in 1837, and being required to repair to Kagoshima, was driven from the latter place by cannon shot. It was on such an errand, also, that the Manhattan reached Uraga and lay there four days before she was compelled to take her departure. It would seem that the experiences collected by Cooper, master of the latter vessel, and published after his return to the United States, induced the Washington Government to essay the opening of Japan. A ninety-gun ship of the line and a sloop, sent on this errand, anchored off Uraga in 1846, and their commander, Commodore Biddle, applied for the sanction of trade. He received a positive refusal, and in pursuance of his instructions to abstain from any act calculated to excite hostility or distrust, he weighed anchor and sailed away. GREAT BRITAIN AND OTHER POWERS In this same year, 1846, a French ship touched at the Ryukyu archipelago, and attempted to persuade the islanders that if they wished for security against British aggression, they must place themselves under the protection of France. England, indeed, was now much in evidence in the seas of southern China, and the Dutch at Deshima, obeying the instincts of commercial rivalry, warned Japan that she must be prepared for a visit from an English squadron at any moment. The King of Holland now (1847) intervened. He sent to Yedo a number of books together with a map of the world and a despatch urging Japan to open her ports. This was not done for Japan's sake. The apparent explanation is that the trade at Deshima having ceased to be worth pursuing, the Dutch East India Company had surrendered its monopoly to the Netherlands Government, so that the latter's advice to Japan is explained. But his Majesty's efforts had no immediate result, though they doubtless augmented Japan's feeling of anxiety. Twelve months later, the Preble, an American brig under Commander Glynn, anchored off Nagasaki and threatened to bombard the town unless immediate delivery was made of fifteen foreign seamen held by the Japanese for shipment to Batavia. The castaways were surrendered, and Commander Glynn found evidence to prove that Japan was by no means ignorant of American doings in Mexico, and that she was beginning to comprehend how close the world was approaching her shores. Once again in the following year (1849), the King of Holland wrote, telling the Japanese to expect an American fleet in their waters twelve months later, and to look for war unless they agreed to international commerce. This was no empty threat. The Washington Government had actually addressed to European nations a memorandum justifying an expedition to Japan on the ground that it would inure to the advantage of all, and the King of Holland appended to his letter a draft of the treaty which would be presented in Yedo. "All these things render it obvious that in the matter of renewing their relations with the outer world, the Japanese were not required to make any sudden decision under stress of unexpected menace; they had ample notice of the course events were taking." THE 121ST SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR KOMEI (A.D. 1846-1867) The Emperor Ninko died in 1846 and was succeeded by his son, Komei, the 121st sovereign. The country's foreign relations soon became a source of profound concern to the new ruler. Among the Court nobles there had developed in Ninko's reign a strong desire to make their influence felt in the administration of the empire, and thus to emerge from the insignificant position to which the Bakufu system condemned them. In obedience to their suggestions, the Emperor Ninko established a special college for the education of Court nobles, from the age of fifteen to that of forty. This step does not seem to have caused any concern to the Bakufu officials. The college was duly organized under the name of Gakushu-jo (afterwards changed to Gakushu-iri). The Yedo treasury went so far as to contribute a substantial sum to the support of the institution, and early in the reign of Komei the nobles began to look at life with eyes changed by the teaching thus afforded. Instructors at the college were chosen among the descendants of the immortal scholars, Abe no Seimei, Sugawara no Michizane, and others scarcely less renowned. The Emperor Ninko had left instructions that four precepts should be inscribed conspicuously in the halls of the college, namely: Walk in the paths trodden by the feet of the great sages. Revere the righteous canons of the empire. He that has not learned the sacred doctrines, how can he govern himself? He that is ignorant of the classics, how can he regulate his own conduct? A manifest sign of the times, the portals of this college were soon thronged by Court nobles, and the Imperial capital began to awake from its sleep of centuries. The Emperor himself evinced his solicitude about foreign relations by fasting and by praying at the shrines of the national deities, his Majesty's constant formula of worship being a supplication that his life might be accepted as a substitute for the safety of his country. The fact was that the overthrow of the Yedo Bakufu had begun to constitute an absorbing object with many of the high officials in Kyoto. It had hitherto been an invariable rule that any policy contemplated in Yedo became an accomplished fact before a report was presented in the Imperial capital. But very soon after his coronation, the Emperor Komei departed from this time-honoured sequence of procedure and formally instructed the Bakufu that the traditional policy of the empire in foreign affairs must be strictly maintained. The early Tokugawa shoguns would have strongly resented such interference, but times had changed, and Ieyoshi bowed his head quietly to the new order. Thenceforth the Bakufu submitted all questions of foreign policy to the Imperial Court before final decision. COMMODORE PERRY In the year 1853, Commodore Perry of the United States Navy appeared in Uraga Bay with a squadron of four warships and 560 men. The advent of such a force created much perturbation in Yedo. Instead of dealing with the affair on their own absolute authority, the Bakufu summoned a council of the feudatories to discuss the necessary steps. Meanwhile, the shogun, who had been ill for some time, died, and his decease was pleaded as a pretext for postponing discussion with the Americans. Perry being without authority to resort to force, did not press his point. He transmitted the President's letter to the sovereign of Japan, and steamed away on the 17th of July, declaring his intention to return in the following year. This letter was circulated among the feudatories, who were invited to express their opinions on the document. Their replies are worthy of perusal as presenting a clear idea of Japanese views at that time with regard to foreign intercourse. The gist of the replies may be summarized as follows: -The ultimate purpose of foreigners in visiting Japan is to reconnoitre the country. This is proved by the action of the Russians in the north. What has been done by Western States in India and China would doubtless be done in Japan also if opportunity offered. Even the Dutch are not free from suspicion of acting the part of spies. -Foreign trade, so far from benefitting the nation, cannot fail to impoverish it, inasmuch as oversea commerce simply means that, whereas Japan receives a number of unnecessary luxuries, she has to give in exchange quantities of precious metals. -To permit foreign intercourse would be to revoke the law of exclusion which has been enforced for centuries, and which was the outcome of practical experience. These opinions were subscribed by a great majority of the feudatories. A few, however, had sufficient foresight and courage to advocate foreign intercourse. The leaders of this small minority were, Ii Naosuke, baron of Hikone, historically remembered as Ii Kamon no Kami; Toda Izu no Kami, bugyo of Uraga; Takashima Kihei (called also Shirodayu, or Shuhan); Egawa Tarozaemon, bugyo of Nirayama; and Otsuki Heiji, a vassal of the baron of Sendai. The views of these statesmen may be briefly summarized as follows: -It is not to be denied that many illustrious and patriotic men, anticipating injury to the country's fortunes and perversion of the nation's moral canons, are implacably opposed to foreign intercourse. But the circumstances of the time render it impossible to maintain the integrity of the empire side by side with the policy of seclusion. The coasts are virtually unprotected. The country is practically without a navy. Throughout a period of nearly two and a half centuries the building of any ship having a capacity of over one hundred koku has been forbidden, and in the absence of war-vessels there is no means of defence except coast batteries, which are practically non-existent. -When inaugurating the policy of seclusion, the Bakufu Government took care to leave China and Holland as a bridge between Japan and the rest of the world. It will be wise to utilize that bridge for dealing with foreign States, so as to gain time for preparations of defence, instead of rushing blindly into battle without any supply of effective weapons. If the Americans have need of coal, there is an abundant supply in Kyushu. If they require provisions and water, their needs can easily be satisfied. As for returning distressed foreign seamen, that has hitherto been done voluntarily, and an arrangement on this subject can be made through the medium of the Dutch. As for foreign trade, the times have changed radically since a veto was imposed on all commercial transactions, and it by no means follows that what was wise then is expedient now. Japan must have ocean-going vessels, and these cannot be procured in a moment. Her best way is to avail herself of the services of the Dutch as middlemen in trade, and to lose no time in furnishing herself with powerful men-of-war and with sailors and gunners capable of navigating and fighting these vessels. -In short, the wisest plan is to make a show of commerce and intercourse, and thus gain time to equip the country with a knowledge of naval architecture and warfare. The two things most essential are that Christianity should not be admitted in the train of foreign trade, and that the strictest economy should be exercised by all classes of the people so as to provide funds for the building of a navy and the fortification of the coasts. The question alluded to at the close of the above, namely, the question of finance, was a paramount difficulty for the Bakufu. In the very year of Perry's coming, a member of the Cabinet in Yedo wrote as follows to Fujita Toko, chief adviser of the Mito feudatory: "Unless I tell you frankly about the condition of the treasury you cannot appreciate the situation. If you saw the accounts you would be startled, and would learn at a glance the hopelessness of going to war. The country could not hold out even for a twelvemonth, and there is nothing for it except that everyone should join in saving money for purposes of equipment. If we keep the peace now and toil unremittingly for ten years, we may hope to restore the situation." In truth, the Bakufu had practically no choice. "On one hand, thousands of publicists, who believed themselves patriotic, clamoured for the policy of seclusion, even at the cost of war; on the other, the Yedo Government knew that to fight must be to incur crushing defeat." The Bakufu then issued the following temporizing decree: "With regard to the despatch from the United States Government, the views of competent men have been taken and have been carefully considered by the shogun. The views expressed are variously worded but they advocate either peace or war. Everyone has pointed out that we are without a navy and that our coasts are undefended. Meanwhile, the Americans will be here again next year. Our policy shall be to evade any definite answer to their request, while at the same time maintaining a peaceful demeanour. It may be, however, that they will have recourse to violence. For that contingency we must be prepared lest the country suffer disgrace. Therefore every possible effort will be made to prepare means of defence. Above all it is imperative that everyone should practise patience, refrain from anger, and carefully observe the conduct of the foreigners. Should they open hostilities, all must at once take up arms and fight strenuously for the country." A less vertebrate policy could scarcely have been formulated, but the conduct of the Bakufu statesmen was more stalwart than their language. Under the guidance of Abe Masahiro, one of the ablest statesmen that Yedo ever possessed, batteries were built at Shinagawa to guard the approaches to Yedo; defensive preparations were made along the coasts of Musashi, Sagami, Awa, and Kazusa; the veto against the construction of ocean-going ships was rescinded, and the feudatories were invited to build and arm large vessels; a commission was given to the Dutch at Deshima to procure from Europe a library of useful books; cannon were cast; troops were drilled, and everyone who had acquired expert knowledge through the medium of the Dutch was taken into official favour. But all these efforts tended only to expose their own feebleness, and on the 2nd of November, 1853, instructions were issued that if the Americans returned, they were to be dealt with peacefully. "In short, the sight of Perry's steam-propelled ships, their powerful armament, and the specimens they carried of Western wonders had practically broken down the barriers of Japan's isolation without any need of treaties or conventions." Thus, when the American commodore returned in the following February with ten ships and crews numbering two thousand, he easily obtained a treaty by which Japan promised kind treatment to shipwrecked sailors; permission to foreign vessels to obtain stores and provisions within her territory, and an engagement that American vessels might anchor in the ports of Shimoda and Hakata. Much has been written about Perry's judicious display of force and about his sagacious tact in dealing with the Japanese, but it may be doubted whether the consequences of his exploit did not invest its methods with extravagant lustre. TREATIES OF COMMERCE Russia, Holland, and England speedily obtained treaties similar to that concluded by Commodore Perry in 1854. These, however, were not commercial conventions. It was reserved for Mr. Townsend Harris, American consul-general in Japan, to open the country to trade. Arriving in August, 1856, he concluded in March, 1857, a treaty securing to United States citizens the right of permanent residence at Shimoda and Hakodate, as well as that of carrying on trade at Nagasaki and establishing consular jurisdiction. Nevertheless, nothing worthy to be called commercial intercourse was allowed by the Bakufu, and it was not until Mr. Harris, with infinite patience and tact, had gone to Yedo alter ten months' delay that he secured the opening of ports other than Nagasaki to international commerce. In this achievement he was assisted by Hotta Masamutsu, successor to the great Masahiro, and, like most of his colleagues, a sincere advocate of opening the country. Japan has been much blamed for her reluctance in this matter, but when we recall the danger to which the Yedo administration was exposed by its own weakness, and when we observe that a strong sentiment was growing up in favour of abolishing the dual form of government, we can easily appreciate that to sanction commercial relations might well have shaken the Bakufu to their foundations. It was possible to construe the Perry convention and the first Harris convention as mere acts of benevolence towards strangers, but a commercial treaty would not have lent itself to any such construction. We cannot wonder that the shogun's ministers hesitated to take an apparently suicidal step. They again consulted the feudatories and again received an almost unanimously unfavourable answer. In fact, history has preserved only one unequivocal expression of consent. It was formulated by Matsudaira Yoshinaga, baron of Echizen. He had been among the most ardent exclusionists in the first council of feudatories; but his views had subsequently undergone a radical change, owing to the arguments of one of his vassals, Hashimoto Sanae--elder brother of Viscount Hashimoto Tsunatsune, president of the Red Cross Hospital, who died in 1909. "Not only did this remarkable man frankly advocate foreign trade for its own sake and as a means of enriching the nation, thus developing its capacity for independence, but he also recommended the fostering of industries, the purchase of ships and firearms, the study of foreign arts and sciences, and the despatch of students and publicists to Western countries for purposes of instruction. Finally, he laid down the principle that probity is essential to commercial success." Such doctrines were then much in advance of the time. Nevertheless, Harris achieved his purpose. He had audience of the shogun in November, 1857, and, on the 29th of the following July, a treaty was concluded opening Yokohama, from the 1st of July, 1858, to commerce between the United States and Japan. This treaty was concluded in spite of the failure of two attempts to obtain the sanction of the Throne. Plainly the Bakufu shrank from openly adopting a policy which, while recognizing its necessity, they distrusted their own ability to force upon the nation. They had, however, promised Mr. Harris that the treaty should be signed, and they kept their word at a risk, of whose magnitude the American consul-general had no conception. Mr. Harris had brought to this conference exceptional diplomatic skill and winning tact, but it cannot be denied that he derived assistance from contemporaneous events in China, where the Peiho forts had just been captured and the Chinese forced to sign a treaty. He was thus able to warn the Japanese that the British and the French fleets might be expected at any moment to enter Yedo Bay, and that the best way to avert irksome demands at the hands of the British was to establish a comparatively moderate precedent by yielding to the American proposals. THE THIRTEENTH SHOGUN, IESADA (1853-1858) Between the conclusion of the Harris commercial treaty and its signature, the Bakufu prime minister visited Kyoto, for the purpose of persuading the Imperial Court to abandon its anti-foreign attitude. His mission was quite unsuccessful, the utmost concession obtained by him being that the problem of the treaty should be submitted to the feudatories. Another question raised on this occasion in Kyoto was the succession to the shogunate. The twelfth shogun, Ieyoshi, had died in 1853, and was succeeded by Iesada, a physically incompetent ruler. Iesada had been married to the daughter of the Satsuma feudatory, as planned by the former Bakufu premier, Abe, who hoped thus to cement friendly relations with the great southern baron, a hereditary enemy of the Tokugawa. There was no issue of the marriage, and it being certain that there could be no issue, two candidates for the shogunate were proposed. They were Keiki, son of Nariaki of Mito a man of matured intellect and high capacities, and Iemochi, son of Nariyuki of Kii, a boy of thirteen. Public opinion supported the former, and his connexion with the house of Mito seemed to assure an anti-foreign bias. Chiefly for the latter reason, the Court in Kyoto favoured his nomination. But Keiki was not really an advocate of national seclusion. Had the succession been given to him then, he would doubtless have adopted a liberal policy. On the other hand, his appointment would have been equivalent to the abdication of Iesada, and in order to avert that catastrophe, the shogun's entourage contrived to obtain the appointment of Ii Kamon no Kami to the post of prime minister in Yedo. This baron was not less capable than courageous. He immediately caused the young daimyo of Kii to be nominated successor to the shogunate, and he signed the Harris treaty. A vehement outcry ensued. It was claimed that the will of the Imperial Court had been set at nought by signing the treaty without the sovereign's sanction, and that unconditional yielding to foreign demands was intolerable. The Mito baron headed this opposition. But it is observable that even he did not insist upon the maintenance of absolute seclusion. All that he and his followers demanded was that a delay should be imposed in order to obtain time for definite preparation, whereas the premier, Ii, was for the immediate opening of the country. THE FOURTEENTH SHOGUN, IEMOCHI (1858-1866) Iesada died in 1858, and the reluctance of the Imperial Court to sanction the succession of Iemochi was evidenced by a long delay in the transmission of the necessary Imperial document. During that interval, the feudatories of Mito and Echizen had a memorable interview with the premier, Ii, whose life seemed at that time to hang by a thread, but who, nevertheless, advanced unflinchingly towards his goal. The three feudatories offered to compromise; in other words, they declared their willingness to subscribe the commercial convention provided that Keiki was appointed shogun; the important fact being thus established that domestic politics had taken precedence of foreign. Ii not only declined this offer, but also did not hesitate to punish the leaders of the opposition by confinement and by temporary exclusion from the Court. FOREIGN MILITARY SCIENCE It was during the days of the thirteenth shogun that Japan may be said to have commenced her practical study of foreign military science. Instructors were imported from Holland, and a college was established at Nagasaki. Among its graduates were several historical characters, notably Katsu Rintaro, after-wards Count Katsu, minister of Marine in the Meiji Government. A naval college (Gunkan Kyojujo) also was organized at Tsukiji, in Yedo, while at Akunoura, in Nagasaki, an iron-foundry was erected. There, the first attempt at shipbuilding on foreign lines was made, and there, also, is now situated the premier private dockyard in Japan, namely, that of the Mitsubishi Company. Already, in 1854, the Dutch Government had presented to Japan her first steamship, the Kanko Maru. FOREIGN REPRESENTATIVES AND THE BAKUFU An indirect consequence of these disputes between the Throne and the Court nobles, on one side, and the Bakufu officials, on the other, was to perplex the foreign representatives who were now residing in Yedo. These representatives learned to believe that the shogun's ministers were determined either to avoid making treaties or to evade them when made. However natural this suspicion may have been, it lacked solid foundation. That is proved by a memorial which the Yedo statesmen addressed to the Throne after the negotiation of the Harris treaty. They made it quite plain that they were acting in perfect good faith, the only doubtful point in the memorial being that, after the organization of a competent army and navy, the problem of peace or war might be decided. "If peaceful relations be maintained by ratifying the treaty," they wrote, "the avaricious aliens will definitely see that there is not much wealth in the country, and thus, abandoning the idea of gain, they will approach us with friendly feelings only and ultimately will pass under our Emperor's grace. They may then be induced to make grateful offerings to his Majesty, and it will no longer be a question of trade but of tribute." Something of sinister intention seems to present itself between the lines of this document. But we have to remember that it was addressed ultimately to the Kyoto nobles, whose resentment would have been at once excited by the use of friendly or self-effacing language. There is also on record correspondence that passed between the Bakufu premier, Ii, and certain friends of his in the Imperial capital. From these letters it appears that Yedo was advised by the far-seeing section of the Kyoto statesmen to simulate the policy of bringing aliens under Japanese influence, and of using for purposes of military and naval development the wealth that would accrue from oversea trade. In a word, the Bakufu had to disguise their policy in terms such as might placate the Kyoto conservatives, and this deception was once carried so far that an envoy sent to Kyoto from Yedo represented the shogun as hostile at heart to foreigners, though tolerating them temporarily as a matter of prudence. It cannot be wondered at that the foreign representatives found much to perplex them in these conditions, or that at the legations in Yedo, as well as among the peoples of Europe and America, an uneasy feeling grew up that Japan waited only for an opportunity to repudiate her treaty engagements. INTRIGUES IN KYOTO About this time there began to assemble in the Imperial capital a number of men who, though without social or official status, were at once talented; patriotic, and conservative. At their head stood Umeda Genjiro, who practised as a physician and wrote political brochures under the nom de plume of Umpin. He soon became the centre of a circle of loyalists whose motto was Son-0 Jo-I (Revere the sovereign, expel the barbarians), and associated with him were Rai Miki, a son of Rai Sanyo; Yanagawa Seigan; Yoshida Shoin; Saigo Kichinosuke--better known as Saigo Takamori, the leader of the Satsuma rebellion of 1877,--Hashimoto Sanae, and others who have been not unjustly described as the real motive force that brought about the Restoration of 1867. These men soon came to exercise great influence over the Court nobles--especially Konoe, Takatsukasa, Ichijo, Nijo, and Sanjo--and were consequently able to suggest subjects for the sovereign's rescripts. Thus his Majesty was induced to issue an edict which conveyed a reprimand to the shogun for concluding a treaty without previously referring it to the feudatories, and which suggested that the Mito and Owari feudatories should be released from the sentence of confinement passed on them by Ii Kamon no Kami. This edict startled the Bakufu. They at once sent from Yedo envoys to remonstrate with the conservatives, and after a controversy lasting four months, a compromise was effected by which the sovereign postponed any action for the expulsion of foreigners and the shogun declared that his tolerance of international commerce was only temporary. This was regarded as a victory for the shogunate. But the Yedo envoys, during their stay in Kyoto, discovered evidences of a plot to overthrow the Bakufu. Great severity was shown in dealing with this conspiracy. The leaders were beheaded, banished, or ordered to commit suicide; the Mito feudatory being sentenced to perpetual confinement in his fief; the daimyo of Owari, to permanent retirement; and Keiki, former candidate for the succession to the shogunate, being deprived of office and directed to live in seclusion. Many other notable men were subjected to various penalties, and this "Great Judgment of Ansei"--the name of the era--caused a profound sensation throughout the empire. The nation mourned for many sincere patriots who had been sentenced on the flimsiest evidence, and the whole incident tended to accentuate the unpopularity of foreign intercourse. ENGRAVING: II NAOSUKE THE SECRET EDICT The compromise mentioned above as having been effected between Yedo and Kyoto had the effect of stultifying the previously drafted edict which condemned the shogun for concluding a treaty without consulting the feudatories. The edict had not been publicly promulgated, but it had come into the possession of the Mito feudatory, and by his orders had been enclosed in the family tomb, where it was guarded night and day by a strong troop of samurai. The Bakufu insisted that to convey such a document direct from the Throne to a feudatory was a plain trespass upon the shogun's authority. Mito, however, refused to surrender it. The most uncompromising conservatives of the fief issued a manifesto justifying their refusal, and, as evidence of their sincerity, committed suicide. ASSASSINATION OF II Nariaki, the Mito baron, now instructed his vassals to surrender the edict. He may have shared the views of his retainers, but he was not prepared to assert them by taking up arms against his own family. In the face of this instruction the conservative samurai had no choice but to disperse or commit suicide. Some twenty of them, however, made their way to Yedo bent upon killing Ii Kamon no Kami, whom they regarded as the head and front of the evils of the time. The deed was consummated on the morning of the 24th of March, 1860, as Ii was on his way to the shogun's castle. All the assassins lost their lives or committed suicide. ATTITUDE OF THE JAPANESE SAMURAI The slaying of Ii was followed by several similar acts, a few against foreigners and several against Japanese leaders of progress. Many evil things have been said of the men by whom these deeds of blood were perpetrated. But we have always to remember, that in their own eyes they obeyed the teachings of hereditary conviction and the dictates of patriotism towards their country as well as loyalty towards their sovereign. It has been abundantly shown in these pages that the original attitude of the Japanese towards foreigners was hospitable and liberal. It has also been shown how, in the presence of unwelcome facts, this mood was changed for one of distrust and dislike. Every Japanese patriot believed when he refused to admit foreigners to his country in the nineteenth century that he was obeying the injunctions handed down from the lips of his most illustrious countrymen, Hideyoshi, Ieyasu, and Iemitsu--believed, in short, that to re-admit aliens would be to expose the realm to extreme peril and to connive at its loss of independence. He was prepared to obey this conviction at the cost of his own life, and that sacrifice seemed a sufficient guarantee of his sincerity. THE FIRST FOREIGNERS It must be conceded, too, that the nineteenth-century foreigner did not present himself to Japan in a very lovable light. His demeanour was marked by all the arrogance habitually shown by the Occidental towards the Oriental, and though the general average of the oversea comers reached a high standard, they approached the solution of all Japanese problems with a degree of suspicion which could not fail to be intensely irksome to a proud nation. Even the foreign representatives made it their habit to seek for trickery or abuse in all Japanese doings, official or private, and though they doubtless had much warrant for this mood, its display did not tend to conciliate the Japanese. Many instances might be cited from the pages of official records and from the columns of local newspapers, but they need not be detailed here. Moreover, there were difficulties connected with trade. The framers of the treaties had found it necessary to deal with the currency question, and their manner of dealing with it was to stipulate that foreign coins should be exchangeable with Japanese, weight for weight. This stipulation did not take into any account the ratio between the precious metals, and as that ratio was fifteen to one in Europe and five to one in Japan, it is obvious that, by the mere process of exchange, a foreign merchant could reap a rich harvest. Of course this was never intended by the framers of the treaty, and when the Japanese saw the yellow metal flowing away rapidly from the realm, they adopted the obvious expedient of changing the relative weights of the gold and silver coins. It may be doubted whether any state would have hesitated to apply that remedy. Yet by the foreigner it was censured as a "gross violation of treaty right" and as "a deliberate attempt on the part of the Japanese authorities to raise all the prices of the native produce two hundred per cent, against the foreign purchaser." The British representative, Sir Rutherford Alcock, in a despatch written to his Government, at the close of 1859, penned some very caustic comments on the conduct of his countrymen, and did not hesitate to declare that "in estimating the difficulties to be overcome in any attempt to improve the aspect of affairs, if the ill-disguised enmity of the governing classes and the indisposition of the Executive Government to give partial effect to the treaties be classed among the first and principal of these, the unscrupulous character and dealings of foreigners who frequent the ports for purposes of trade are only second and scarcely inferior in importance, from the sinister character of the influence they exercise." It is only just, however, to note the other side of the picture, and to observe that the foreign merchant had many causes of legitimate dissatisfaction; that his business was constantly hampered and interrupted by Japanese official interference; that the ready recourse which Japanese samurai had to deeds of blood against peaceful strangers seemed revoltingly cruel; that he appeared to be surrounded by an atmosphere of perplexity and double dealing, and that the large majority of the Anglo-Saxon tradesmen visiting Japan in the early days of her renewed intercourse had nothing whatever in common with the men described in the above despatch. KYOTO In order to follow the sequence of events, it is necessary to revert to Kyoto, which, as the reader will have perceived, was the centre of national politics in this troublous era. An incident apparently of the greatest importance to the Bakufu occurred in 1861. The shogun received the Emperor's sister in marriage. But the auspicious event had to be heavily paid for, since the Bakufu officials were obliged to pledge themselves to expel foreigners within ten years. This inspired new efforts on the part of the conservatives. A number of samurai visited Yokohama, and promised death to any Japanese merchant entering into transactions with the aliens. These conservatives further announced the doctrine that the shogun's title of sei-i (barbarian-expelling) indicated explicitly that to expel foreigners was his duty, and the shogun's principal officials were so craven that they advised him to apologize for failing to discharge that duty instead of wholly repudiating the extravagant interpretation of the anti-foreign party. Encouraged by these successes, the extremists in Kyoto induced the sovereign to issue an edict in which, after speaking of the "insufferable and contumelious behaviour of foreigners," of "the loss of prestige and of honour constantly menacing the country," and of the sovereign's "profound solicitude," his Majesty openly cited the shogun's engagement to drive out the aliens within ten years, and explicitly affirmed that the grant of an Imperial princess' hand to the shogun had been intended to secure the unity required for that achievement. Such an edict was in effect an exhortation to every Japanese subject to organize an anti-foreign crusade, and it "publicly committed the Bakufu Court to a policy which the latter had neither the power to carry out nor any intention of attempting to carry out." But at this juncture something like a reaction took place in the Imperial capital. A party of able men, led by Princes Konoe and Iwakura, had the courage to denounce the unwisdom of the extremists, at whose head stood Princes Arisugawa and Sanjo. At that time the most powerful fiefs in Japan were Satsuma and Choshu. Both were hereditarily hostile to the Tokugawa, but were mutually separated by a difference of opinion in the matter of foreign policy, so that when the above two cabals were organized in Kyoto, the Choshu men attached themselves to the extremists, the Satsuma to the moderates. The latter contrived to have an Imperial rescript sent to Yedo by the hands of the Satsuma feudatory, Shimazu Hisamitsu. This rescript indicated three courses, one of which the shogun was asked to choose: namely, first, that he himself should proceed to Kyoto for the purpose of there conferring with the principal feudatories as to the best means of tranquillizing the nation; secondly, that the five principal littoral fiefs should be ordered to prepare coast defences, and, thirdly, that Keiki of Mito and the feudatory of Echizen should be appointed to high office in the Bakufu administration. To obey this rescript was to violate the fundamental law of the Bakufu, namely, that all interference in administrative affairs was forbidden to the Kyoto Court. The only dignified course for the shogun to take was to refuse compliance or to resign, and probably had he done so he would have recovered the power of which he had gradually been deprived by the interference of Kyoto. But his advisers lacked courage to recommend such a course. At their suggestion the shogun signified his willingness to comply with the first and the third of the conditions embodied in the edict. The Satsuma feudatory strongly counselled that the shogun should decline to proceed to Kyoto and should reject all proposals for the expulsion of foreigners, but the Bakufu ignored his advice. THE NAMAMUGI INCIDENT At this time there occurred an incident which had the most far-reaching consequences. A party of British subjects, three gentlemen and a lady, met, at Namamugi on the Tokaido, the cortege of the Satsuma feudatory as he was returning from Yedo. Unacquainted with the strict etiquette enforced in Japan in such situations, the foreigners attempted to ride through the procession, the result being that one, Mr. Richardson, was killed, and two of the others were wounded. The upshot of this affair was that the British Government, having demanded the surrender of the samurai implicated in the murder, and having been refused, sent a naval squadron to bombard Kagoshima, the capital of the Satsuma baron. In this engagement, the Satsuma men learned for the first time the utter helplessness of their old weapons and old manner of fighting, and their conversion to progressive ideas was thoroughly effected. CONTINUED INTRIGUES IN KYOTO The submissive attitude of the Bakufu towards the Imperial Court encouraged the extremists in Kyoto to prefer fresh demands. Instead of waiting for the shogun to repair to Kyoto, as he had pledged himself to do in compliance with the edict mentioned above, they contrived the issue of another rescript, requiring the Bakufu to proclaim openly the adoption of the alien-expelling policy, and to fix a date for its practical inception. Again the Bakufu yielded. They did not, indeed, actually take the steps indicated in the rescript, but they promised to consider its contents as soon as the shogun arrived in Kyoto. The extremists, however, could not reconcile themselves to even that delay. In the spring of 1863, they constrained Keiki, who had been appointed guardian to the shogun and who was then in Kyoto, to give an engagement that on the shogun's return to Yedo decisive measures to put an end to foreign intercourse should be begun. This engagement the shogun found awaiting him on his arrival in the Imperial capital, and at the same time messages daily reached him from Yedo, declaring that unless he returned at once to Yedo to settle the Namamugi affair, war with Great Britain would be inevitable. But the conservatives would not allow him to return. They procured the issue of yet another Imperial decree directing that "if the English barbarians wanted a conference, they should repair to Osaka Harbour and receive a point-blank refusal; that the shogun should remain in Kyoto to direct defensive operations, and that he should accompany the Emperor to the shrine of the god of War where a 'barbarian-quelling sword' would be handed to him." Illness saved the shogun from some of his perplexities and, in his absence, the Yedo statesmen paid the indemnity required by Great Britain for the Namamugi outrage and left her to exact whatever further redress she desired. Accordingly, in July, 1863, a British squadron proceeded to Kagoshima and bombarded it as already described. THE SHIMONOSEKI COMPLICATION If the Satsuma men thus received a conclusive lesson as to the superiority of Western armaments, the Choshu fief was destined to be similarly instructed not long afterwards. It will have been perceived that at this epoch the Imperial Court was very prolific in anti-foreign edicts. One of these actually appointed the 11th of May, 1863, as the date for commencing the barbarian-expelling campaign, and copies of the edict were sent direct to the feudatories without previous reference to the shogun. The Choshu daimyo found the edict so congenial that, without waiting for the appointed day, he opened fire on American, French, and Dutch merchantmen passing the Strait of Shimonoseki, which his batteries commanded. The ships suffered no injury, but, of course, such an act could not be condoned, and the Bakufu Government being unwilling or unable to give full reparation, the three powers whose vessels had been fired on joined hands with England for the purpose of despatching a squadron to destroy the Choshu forts, which result was attained with the greatest ease. This "Shimonoseki Expedition," as it was called, enormously strengthened the conviction which the bombardment of Kagoshima had established. The nation thoroughly appreciated its own belligerent incapacity when foreign powers entered the lists, and patriotic men began to say unhesitatingly that their country was fatally weakened by the dual system of government. CHANGE OF OPINION IN KYOTO The sway exercised by the extremists in Kyoto now received a check owing to their excessive zeal. They procured the drafting of an Imperial edict which declared the Emperor's resolve to drive out the foreigners, and announced a visit by his Majesty to the great shrines to pray for success. This edict never received the Imperial seal. The extremists appear to have overrated their influence at Court. They counted erroneously on his Majesty's post facto compliance, and they thus created an opportunity of which the moderates took immediate advantage. At the instance of the latter and in consideration of the fictitious edict, Mori Motonori of Choshu, leader of the extremists, was ordered to leave the capital with all the nobles who shared his opinions. Doubtless the bombardment of Kagoshima contributed not a little to this measure, but the ostensible cause was the irregularity of the edict. There was no open disavowal of conservatism, but, on the other hand, there was no attempt to enforce it. The situation for the extremists was further impaired by an appeal to force on the part of the Choshu samurai. They essayed to enter Kyoto under arms, for the ostensible purpose of presenting a petition to the Throne but really to make away with the moderate leaders. This political coup failed signally, and from that time the ardent advocates of the anti-foreign policy began to be regarded as rebels. Just at this time the Shimonoseki expedition gave an object lesson to the nation, and helped to deprive the barbarian-expelling agitation of any semblance of Imperial sanction. CHOSHU AND THE BAKUFU When the Choshu feudatory attempted to close the Shimonoseki Strait by means of cannon, the Bakufu sent a commissioner to remonstrate. But the Choshu samurai insisted that they had merely obeyed the sovereign's order, and the better to demonstrate their resolution, they put the commissioner to death. Thus directly challenged, the Bakufu mustered a powerful force and launched it against Choshu. But by this time the two great southern clans, having learned the madness of appealing to force for the purpose of keeping the country closed, had agreed to work together in the interests of the State. Thus, when the Bakufu army, comprising contingents from thirty-six feudatories, reached Choshu, the latter appealed to the clemency of the invading generals, among whom the Satsuma baron was the most powerful, and the appeal resulted in the withdrawal of the punitory expedition without the imposition of any conditions. The Bakufu were naturally much incensed. Another formidable force was organized to attack Choshu, but it halted at Osaka and sent envoys to announce the punishment of the rebellious fief, to which announcements the fief paid not the least attention. THE HYOGO DEMONSTRATION While things were at this stage, Sir Harry Parkes, representative of Great Britain, arrived upon the scene in the Far East. A man of remarkably luminous judgment and military methods, this distinguished diplomatist appreciated almost immediately that the ratification of the treaties by the sovereign was essential to their validity, and that by investing the ratification with all possible formality, the Emperor's recovery of administrative power might be accelerated. He therefore conceived the idea of repairing to Hyogo with a powerful naval squadron for the purpose of seeking, first, the ratification of the treaty; secondly, the reduction of the import tariff from an average of fifteen per cent, ad valorem (at which figure it had been fixed by the original treaty) to five per cent., and, thirdly, the opening of the ports of Hyogo and Osaka at once, instead of nearly two years hence, as previously agreed. Among the penalties imposed upon Choshu by the four powers which combined to destroy the forts at Shimonoseki was a fine of three million dollars, and the Bakufu, being unable to collect this money from Choshu, had taken upon themselves the duty of paying it and had already paid one million. Sir Harry Parkes's plan was to remit the remaining two millions in consideration of the Government endorsing the three demands formulated above. It need hardly be said that the appearance of a powerful squadron of foreign warships at the very portals of the Imperial palace threw the nation into a ferment. The eight vessels cast anchor off Hyogo in November, 1866, and it seemed to the nation that the problem of foreign intercourse had been revived in an aggravated form. Once again the anti-foreign agitators recovered their influence, and inveighed against the Bakufu's incompetence to avert such trespasses even from the sacred city. Under the pressure brought to bear by these conservatives, the Emperor dismissed from office or otherwise punished the ministers appointed by the shogun to negotiate with the foreign representatives, and in the face of this humiliating disavowal of Bakufu authority, the shogun had no alternative except to resign. He did so. But the Imperial Court hesitated to accept the responsibilities that would have resulted from sanctioning his resignation. The Bakufu were informed that the Emperor sanctioned the treaties and that the shogun was authorized to deal with them, but that steps must be taken to revise them in consultation with the feudatories, and that Hyogo and Osaka must not be opened, though the proposed change of tariff-rate would be permitted. Nothing definite was said about remitting the two million dollars remaining from the Choshu fine, and Sir Harry Parkes was able to say triumphantly that he had obtained two out of three concessions demanded by him without having given any quid pro whatever. THE LAST OF THE TOKUGAWA SHOGUNS The measures against Choshu were now recommenced, but with complete unsuccess, and thus a final blow was given to the prestige of the Yedo Government. It was at this time (1866) that the fourteenth shogun, Iemochi, passed away and was succeeded by Yoshinobu, better known, as Keiki. Whatever the political views of this nobleman may have been when he was put forward by the conservatives, in 1857, as a candidate for succession to the shogunate, he no sooner attained that dignity, in 1866, than he became an ardent advocate of progress. French experts were engaged to remodel the army, and English officers to organize the navy; the shogun's brother was sent to the Paris Exposition, and Occidental fashions were introduced at the ceremonies of the Bakufu Court. SATSUMA AND CHOSHU When Keiki assumed office he had to deal speedily with two problems; that is to say, the complication with Choshu, and the opening of Hyogo. The Emperor's reluctant consent to the latter was obtained for the beginning of 1868, and an edict was also issued for the punishment of Choshu. The result was two-fold: fresh life was imparted to the anti-foreign agitation, and the Satsuma and Choshu feudatories were induced to join hands against the Tokugawa. Alike in Satsuma and in Choshu, there were a number of clever men who had long laboured to combine the forces of the two fiefs in order to unite the whole empire under the sway of the Kyoto Court. Saigo and Okubo on the Satsuma side, Kido and Sanjo on the Choshu became leading figures on the stage of their country's new career. Through their influence, aided by that of Ito, afterwards prince, and Inouye, afterwards marquis, the two great clans were brought into alliance, and when, in 1867, the shogun, Keiki, sought and obtained Imperial sanction for the punishment of Choshu, Satsuma agreed to enter the lists on the latter's side. TOSA MEMORIAL An incident of a most striking and unexpected nature now occurred. Yodo, the Tosa feudatory, addressed to the shogun a memorial exposing the helpless condition of the Bakufu and strongly urging that the administration should be restored to the Emperor in order that the nation might be united to face the dangers of its new career. It is necessary to note here that, although the feudatories have been frequently referred to in these pages as prominent figures in this or that public drama, the feudal chiefs themselves exercised, in Tokugawa days, very little influence on the current of events. A modern historian speaks justly when he says: "In this respect the descendants of the great Tokugawa statesman found themselves reduced to a position precisely analogous to that of the emperor in Kyoto. Sovereign and shogun were alike mere abstractions so far as the practical work of the government was concerned. With the great mass of the feudal chiefs things fared similarly. These men who, in the days of Nobunaga, Hideyoshi and Ieyasu, had directed the policies of their fiefs and led their armies in the field, were gradually transformed, during the lone peace of the Tokugawa era, into voluptuous fainéants or, at best, thoughtless dilettanti, willing to abandon the direction of their affairs to seneschals and mayors, who, while on the whole their administration was able and loyal, found their account in contriving and perpetuating the effacement of their chiefs. Thus, in effect, the government of the country, taken out of the hands of the shogun and the feudatories, fell into those of their vassals. There were exceptions, of course, but so rare as to be mere accidental. . . The revolution which involved the fall of the shogunate, and ultimately of feudalism, may be called democratic with regard to the personnel of those who planned and directed it. They were, for the most part, men without either rank or social standing."* *Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th Edition; article "Japan," by Brinkley. Keiki himself, although the memorial was directed against him, may fairly be reckoned among these longsighted patriots. The Tosa memorial appealed so forcibly to the convictions he entertained that he at once summoned a council of all feudatories and high officials then in Kyoto; informed them of his resolve to adopt the advice of the memorialist, and, on the following day, handed in his resignation to the Emperor. This memorable event took place on the 14th of October, 1867; and the answer of the Emperor before the assembly of December 15th marked the end of the shogunate. THE 122ND SOVEREIGN, THE EMPEROR MUTSUHITO (A.D. 1867-1912) The throne was occupied at this time by Mutsuhito, who had succeeded on the 13th of February, 1867, at the death of his father, Komei, and who himself died on the 29th day of July 1912. At the time of his accession, the new monarch was in his fifteenth year, having been born on the 3rd of November, 1852. IMMEDIATE CONSEQUENCE OF THE RESIGNATION Undoubtedly Keiki's resignation was presented in all good faith. It deserves to rank among the most memorable incidents of the world's history, for such a sacrifice has seldom been made by any ruler in the interests of his nation. But by the Satsuma and Choshu feudatories, the sincerity of the shogun was not recognized. Through their influence the youthful Emperor was induced to issue an edict calling Keiki a traitor, accusing him of arrogance and disloyalty, declaring that he had not hesitated to violate the commands of the late Emperor, and directing that he should be destroyed. In obedience to this rescript the Tokugawa officials were treated with such harshness that Keiki found it impossible to calm their indignation; it culminated in an abortive attack upon Kyoto. Thereupon, Keiki retired to Yedo, which city he subsequently surrendered unconditionally. But all his former adherents did not show themselves equally placable. An attempt was made to set up a rival candidate for the throne in the person of the Imperial lord-abbot of the Ueno monastery in Yedo; the Aizu clan made a gallant and unsuccessful resistance in the northern provinces, and the shogun's admiral, Yenomoto (afterwards viscount), essayed to establish a republic in Yezo, whither he had retired with the Tokugawa warships. But these petty incidents were altogether insignificant compared with the great event of which they were a sequel. THE MEIJI GOVERNMENT AND FOREIGN INTERCOURSE The year-name was now changed to Meiji (Enlightened Government), from January 1, 1868, a term fully justified by events. One of the earliest acts of the new Government was to invite the foreign representatives to the Imperial city, where the Emperor himself received them in audience, an act of extreme condescension according to Japanese canons of etiquette. Thereafter, an Imperial decree announced the sovereign's determination to cement amicable relations with foreign nations, and declared that any Japanese subject guilty of violence to a foreigner would be acting in contravention of his sovereign's commands, as well as injuriously to the dignity and good faith of the country in the eyes of the powers with which his Majesty had pledged himself to maintain friendship. So signal was the change that had taken place in the demeanour of the nation's leaders towards foreign intercourse! Only two years earlier, the advent of a squadron of foreign war-vessels at Hyogo had created almost a panic and had caused men to cry out that the precincts of the sacred city of Kyoto were in danger of desecration by barbarian feet. But now the Emperor invited the once hated aliens to his presence, treated them with the utmost courtesy, and publicly greeted them as welcome guests. Such a metamorphosis has greatly perplexed some students of Japanese history. Yet the explanation is simple. The Kagoshima and Shimonoseki expeditions had taught Japan that she was powerless in the face of Western armaments; she had learned that national effacement must be the sequel of seclusion, and, above all, she had come to an understanding that her divided form of government paralyzed her for purposes of resistance to aggression from abroad. ENGRAVING: STONE AND WOODEN LANTERNS ERECTED IN FRONT OF SHRINES CHAPTER XLVI THE MEIJI GOVERNMENT THE LEADERS OF REFORM IN describing the events that culminated in the fall of the Tokugawa, frequent references have been made to the feudatories. But it should be clearly understood that the feudal chiefs themselves had very little to do with the consummation of this great change. "The men that conceived and achieved the Revolution of 1867, were chiefly samurai of inferior grade." They numbered fifty-five in all, and of these only thirteen were aristocrats, namely, five feudal barons and eight court nobles. The average age of these fifty-five did not exceed thirty years. THE EMPEROR'S OATH The great clans which took part in bringing about this restoration of the administrative power to the Emperor did not altogether trust one another. Hitherto, all political commotions had been planned for the sake of some prominent family or eminent leader, and had resulted merely in altering the personnel of those occupying the seats of power. It was not unnatural that history should have been expected to repeat itself in 1867, especially since the clan mainly responsible, Satsuma, overshadowed all its associates with one exception. Therefore, to many onlookers it seemed that the Tokugawa Government had been overthrown to make room for the all-powerful southern feudatory. In order to provide a safeguard against such a danger, the young Emperor was asked to make oath that a broadly based deliberative assembly should be convened for the purpose of conducting State affairs in conformity with public opinion. This "coronation oath," as it was subsequently called, came to occupy an important place in political appreciation, and to be interpreted as a promise of a national assembly. But most assuredly it was not originally intended to carry any such meaning. Its framers never contemplated a parliament in the Occidental sense of the term. Their sole object was to place a barrier in the path of their own selfish ambitions. ABOLITION OF FEUDALISM It is more than doubtful whether the abolition of the feudal system found a place in the original plan of the leaders of progress. Looking back to remote centuries, they may well have imagined that the unification of the empire under one supreme ruler, administering as well as governing, was not incompatible with the existence of the fiefs. But when they examined the problem more closely, they recognized that a universally operative system of laws, a central treasury, and the supreme command of the nation's armaments were essential to the end they had in view, namely, strength derived from unity. Hitherto, each feudatory had assessed and collected taxes within his fief according to his own free-will, had exercised the right of legislation, and had held the command of all troops within his territories. The continuance of such conditions would have defeated the purpose of the reformers. This they recognized. But how were these prescriptive privileges to be abolished? An Imperial mandate might indeed have been issued, but even an Imperial mandate without the means of enforcing it would probably have proved futile. In fact, compulsion in any form could not be employed: the only resource was persuasion. The feudatories of Satsuma, Choshu, Tosa, and Hizen were the four most puissant in the empire. They were persuaded to surrender their fiefs to the Throne and to ask for reorganization under a uniform system of law. This example found many imitators. Out of the whole 276 feudatories only seventeen failed to make a similar surrender. It was a wonderful display of patriotic altruism in the case of some, at any rate, of the daimyo. But, at the same time, many undoubtedly obeyed the suggestions of their chief vassals without fully appreciating the cost of obedience. It had long been their habit to abandon the management of their affairs to seneschals (karo), and they followed the custom on this occasion without profound reflection. With the samurai at large, however, the case was different. For them, the preservation of the fief had always been the prime object of interest and fealty. To uphold it concerned their honour; to preserve it, their means of livelihood. Nothing could have been more remarkable than that these men should have quietly acquiesced in the surrender of legislative and financial autonomy by their chiefs. The most credible explanation is that on this great occasion the samurai obeyed their habitual custom of associating some form of self-immolation with every signal deed. THE NEW ORGANIZATION The total abolition of feudalism may be said to have now come in sight, but the leading progressists adopted all precautions to consummate their programme without disturbance. They resolved to preserve, at the outset, the semblance of the old system, and to that end the ex-feudatories were nominated to the post of governor in the districts where they had formerly exercised autonomic power. The samurai, however, were left in possession of their incomes and official positions. It was enacted that each governor should receive yearly one-tenth of the revenue of his former fief; that the emoluments of the samurai should be taken in full from the same source, and that the surplus, if any, should go to the Central Government. The latter was organized with seven departments, namely, Religion, Home Affairs, Foreign Affairs, Army and Navy, Finance, Justice, and Law. This Cabinet was presided over by a premier--necessarily an Imperial prince--and by a vice-premier. Moreover, it was assisted by a body of eighteen councillors, who comprised the leaders of reform. Evidently, however, all this was only partial. It is true that the fiefs (hari) had been converted into prefectures (ken), and it is also true that the daimyo had become mere governors. But, on the other hand, the local revenues continued to pass through the hands of the governors, and in the same hands remained the control of the samurai and the right of appointing and dismissing prefectural officials. A substantial beginning had been made, however, and presently another appeal being addressed to the ex-daimyo, they were induced to petition for the surrender of their local autonomy. The same plan was pursued in the case of the samurai. It was essential that these should cease to be hereditary soldiers and officials and should be reabsorbed into the mass of the people from whom they had sprung originally. Following the course which had proved so successful with the feudatories, a number of samurai were induced to memorialize for permission to lay aside their swords and revert to agriculture. But neither in the case of the feudatories nor in that of the samurai were these self-sacrificing petitions carried into immediate practice. They merely served as models. CLAN REPRESENTATION It may well be supposed that the ambitions of the great clans by which this revolution has been effected proved somewhat difficult to reconcile. The Satsuma feudatory was the first to take umbrage. He contended that, in selecting the high officials of the new organization, sufficient account had not been taken of the services of his fief. With considerable difficulty he was satisfied by his own appointment to an office second only to that of prime minister. This incident led, however, to an agreement under which each of the great clans, Satsuma, Choshu, Hizen, and Tosa, should be equally represented in the Government. Thus, the "principle of clan-representation received practical recognition in the organization of the Government. It continued to be recognized for many years, and ultimately became the chief target of attack by party-politicians." It was further arranged, at this time, that each of the above four clans should furnish a contingent of troops to guard the sovereign's person and to form the nucleus of a national army. ABOLITION OF LOCAL AUTONOMY It being now considered safe to advance to the next stage of the mediatization of the fiefs, the Emperor issued an edict abolishing local autonomy; removing the sometime daimyo from their post of prefectural governor; providing that the local revenues should thereafter be sent into the central treasury; declaring the appointment and dismissal of officials to be among the prerogatives of the Imperial Government; directing that the ex-feudatories should continue to receive one-tenth of their former incomes but that they should make Tokyo* their place of permanent residence, and ordaining that the samurai should be left in continued and undisturbed possession of all their hereditary pensions and allowances. *Yedo was now called Tokyo, or "Eastern Capital;" and Kyoto was named Saikyo, or "Western Capital." These changes were not so momentous as might be supposed at first sight. It is true that the ex-feudatories were reduced to the position of private gentlemen without even a patent of nobility. But, as a matter of fact, the substance of administrative power had never been possessed by them: it had been left in most cases to their seneschals. Thus, the loss of what they had never fully enjoyed did not greatly distress them. Moreover, they were left in possession of the accumulated funds of their former fiefs, and, at the same time, an income of one-tenth of their feudal revenues was guaranteed to them--a sum which generally exceeded their former incomes when from the latter had been deducted all charges on account of the maintenance of the fiefs. Therefore, the sacrifice they were required to make was not so bitter after all, but that it was a very substantial sacrifice there can be no question. THE SAMURAI'S POSITION The above edict was promulgated on August 29, 1871; that is to say, nearly four years after the fall of the Tokugawa. The samurai, however, remained to be dealt with. Feudalism could not be said to have been abolished so long as the samurai continued to be a class apart. These men numbered four hundred thousand and with their families represented a total of about two million souls. They were the empire's soldiers, and in return for devoting their lives to military service they held incomes, some for life, others hereditary, and these emoluments aggregated two millions sterling annually. No reformer, however radical, would have suggested the sudden disestablishment of the samurai system or advocated the wholesale deprivation of incomes won by their forefathers as a reward for loyal service to the State or to the fiefs. The Government dealt with this problem much as it had done with the problem of the feudatories. In 1873, an Imperial decree announced that the treasury was ready to commute the samurai's incomes on the basis of six-years' purchase in the place of hereditary pensions and four years for life-pensions, half of the money to be paid in cash and the remainder in bonds carrying eight per cent, interest. This measure was in no sense compulsory; the samurai were free to accept or reject it. Not a few chose the former course, but a large majority continued to wear their swords and draw their pensions as of old. The Government, however, felt that there could be no paltering with the situation. Shortly after the issue of the above edict a conscription law was enacted, by which every adult male became liable for military service, whatever his social status. Naturally, this law shocked the samurai. The heavy diminution of their incomes hurt them less, perhaps, than the necessity of laying aside their swords and of giving up their traditional title to represent their country in arms. They had imagined that service in the army and navy would be reserved exclusively for them and their sons, whereas by the conscription law the commonest unit of the people became equally eligible. ENGRAVING: KIDO KOIN FRICTION AMONG THE LEADERS OF REFORM It could not have: been expected that this manner of treating the samurai would obtain universal approval. Already, too, the strain of constructive statesmanship had developed friction among the progressist leaders who had easily marched abreast for destructive purposes. They differed about the subject of a national assembly, some being inclined to attach more practical importance than others to the Emperor's coronation oath that a broadly based deliberative assembly should be convened. A small number of zealous reformers wished to regard this as a promise of a national assembly, but the great majority of the progressist leaders interpreted it merely as a guarantee against the undue preponderance of any one clan. In fact, according to the view of the latter party the broadly based deliberative assembly was regarded solely as an instrument for eliciting the views of the samurai, and entirely without legislative power. Such an assembly was actually convened in the early years of the Meiji era, but its second session proved it to be nothing more than a debating club and it was suffered to lapse out of existence. A more perplexing problem now (1873) presented itself, however. The Korean Court deliberately abandoned the custom followed by it since the time of Hideyoshi's invasion--the custom of sending a present-bearing embassy to felicitate the accession of each shogun. Moreover, this step was accompanied by an offensive despatch announcing a determination to cease all relations with a renegade from the civilization of the Orient. It may well be imagined how indignantly this attitude of the neighbouring kingdom was resented by Japan. The prominent leaders of national reform at that time were Sanjo and Iwakura, originally Court nobles;* Saigo and Okubo, samurai of Satsuma, and Kido, a samurai of Choshu. In the second rank were several men destined afterwards to attain great celebrity--the late Prince Ito, Marquis Inouye, Count Okuma, Count Itagaki--often spoken of as the "Rousseau of Japan"--and several others. *The distinction between Court nobles and territorial nobles had been abolished in 1871. ENGRAVING: SANJO SANETOMI The first five, however, were pre-eminent at the moment when Korea sent her offensive message. They were not, however, absolutely united as to policy. Saigo Takamori held some conservative opinions, the chief of which was that he wished to preserve the military class in their old position of the empire's only soldiers. He had, therefore, greatly resented the conscription law, and while his discontent was still fresh, the Korean problem presented itself for solution. In Saigo's eyes an oversea war offered the only chance of saving the samurai, since the conscription law had not yet produced any trustworthy soldiers. He therefore voted to draw the sword at once, and in this he obtained the support of several influential men who burned to avenge the nation's disgrace. On the other hand, those in favour of peace insisted that the country must not venture to engage in a foreign war during the era of radical transition. The discussion was carried to the Emperor's presence; the peace-party prevailed, and Saigo with three other Cabinet ministers resigned. One of the seceders, Eto Shimpei, had recourse to arms, but was speedily crushed. Another, Itagaki Taisuke, from that moment stood forth as the champion of representative institutions. The third, the most prominent of all, Saigo Takamori, retired to Satsuma and devoted himself to organizing and equipping a strong body of samurai. It is not by any means clear that, in thus acting, Saigo had any revolutionary intention. Posterity agrees in thinking that he sought to exercise control rather than to inspire revolt. He had the support of Shimazu Saburo (Hisamitsu), former feudatory of Satsuma, who, although a reformer, resented a wholesale abandonment of Japanese customs in favour of foreign. The province of Satsuma thus became a seed-plot of conservative influences, where "Saigo and his constantly augmenting band of samurai found a congenial environment." On the one hand, the Central Government steadily proceeded with the organization of a conscript army, teaching it foreign tactics and equipping it with foreign arms. On the other, the southern clan cherished its band of samurai, arming them with the rifle and drilling them in the manner of Europe, but leaving them always in possession of the samurai's sword. ENGRAVING: IWAKURA TOMOYOSHI THE FORMOSAN EXPEDITION Before these curious conditions bore any practical fruit, Japan found it necessary to send a military expedition to Formosa. That island was claimed as part of China's domains, but it was not administered by her effectively, and its inhabitants showed great barbarity in their treatment of castaways from the Ryukyu, or Loochoo, Islands. The Chinese Government's plain function was to punish these acts of cruelty, but as the Peking statesmen showed no disposition to discharge their duty in that respect, Japan took the law into her own hands. A double purpose was thus served. For the expedition to Formosa furnished employment for the Satsuma samurai, and, at the same time, assured the Ryukyu islanders that Japan was prepared to protect them. The campaign in Formosa proved a very tame affair. It amounted to the shooting-down of a few semi-savages. No attempt was made to penetrate into the ulterior of the island, where, as modern experience shows, many great difficulties would have had to be overcome. Peking took serious umbrage on account of Japan's high-handed conduct--for such it seemed to Chinese eyes. In the first place, the statesmen of the Middle Kingdom contended that the Ryukyu Islands could not properly be regarded as an integral part of the Japanese empire; and in the second place, they claimed that, in attacking Formosa, Japan had invaded Chinese territory. After a long interchange of despatches the Tokyo Government sent an ambassador to Peking, and a peaceful solution was found in the payment by China of a small indemnity, and the recognition of Formosa as a part of the Middle Kingdom.* *The indemnity amounted to 500,000 dollars (Mexican). THE KOREAN QUESTION AGAIN The Formosan expedition took place in 1874, and, in the fall of 1875, a Korean fort opened fire on a Japanese warship which was engaged in surveying the coast. Such an insult could not be tamely endured. Japan marshalled an imposing number of warships and transports, but, following the example set in her own case by Commodore Perry, she employed this flotilla to intimidate Korea into signing a treaty of amity and commerce and opening certain ports to foreign trade. Thus, Korea was drawn from her hereditary isolation, and to Japan fell the credit of having become an instrument for extending the principle of universal intercourse which she had herself so stoutly opposed during two and a half centuries. It was a clever coup, but it earned little credit with the samurai. They regarded such a settlement as derogatory to their country. ABOLITION OF THE SAMURAI It was at this stage that the Tokyo Government felt itself strong enough to resort to conclusive measures in the cases of the samurai. Three years had now passed since the wearing of swords had been declared optional and since a scheme for the voluntary commutation of the samurai's pensions had been elaborated. The leaders of progress felt that the time had now come to make these measures compulsory, and, accordingly, two edicts were issued in that sense. The edicts, especially their financial provisions, imposed a heavy sacrifice. But it is very noticeable that the momentary question evoked no protests. It was to the loss of their swords that a number of samurai objected strenuously. Some scores of them, wearing old-fashioned armour and equipped with hereditary weapons, attacked a castle, killed or wounded three hundred of the garrison, and then died by their own hands. Here and there throughout the empire a few equally vain protests were raised, and finally the Satsuma samurai took the field. THE SATSUMA REBELLION This insurrection in the south severely taxed the resources of the Central Government. The Satsuma samurai were led by Saigo Takamori, but it has always been claimed for him that he undertook the command, not for the purpose of overthrowing the Meiji Government, but in the hope of restraining his followers. Ultimately, however, he seems to have been swept away by the tide of their enthusiasm. The insurgents numbered some forty thousand; they all belonged to the samurai class, were fully trained in Occidental tactics, and were equipped with rifles and field-guns. Their avowed purpose was to restore the military class to its old position, and to insure to it all the posts in the army and the navy. Fighting began on January 29, 1877, and ended on September 24th of the same year. All the rebel leaders fell in battle or died by their own hands. During these eight months of warfare, the Government put sixty-six thousand men into the field, and the casualties on both sides totalled thirty-five thousand, or thirty-three per cent, of the whole. Apart from the great issue directly at stake, namely, whether Japan should have a permanent military class, a secondary problem of much interest found a solution in the result. It was the problem whether an army of conscripts, supposed to be lacking in the fighting instinct and believed to be incapable of standing up to do battle with the samurai, could hold its own against the flower of the bushi, as the Satsuma men undoubtedly were. There really never was any substantial reason for doubt about such a subject. The samurai were not racially distinct from the bulk of the nation. They had originally been mere farmers, possessing no special military aptitude. Nevertheless, among all the reforms introduced during the Meiji era, none was counted so hazardous as the substitution of a conscript army for the nation's traditional soldiers. The Satsuma rebellion disposed finally of the question. ENGRAVING: SAIGO TAKAMORI EDUCATION OF THE NATION Meanwhile the Government had been strenuously seeking to equip the people with the products of Western civilization. It has been shown that the men who sat in the seats of power during the first decade of the Meiji era owed their exalted position to their own intellectual superiority and far-seeing statesmanship. That such men should become the nation's teachers would have been natural anywhere. But in Japan there was a special reason for the people's need of official guidance. It had become a traditional habit of the Japanese to look to officialdom for example and direction in everything, and this habit naturally asserted itself with special force when there was question of assimilating a foreign civilization which for nearly three centuries had been an object of national repugnance. The Government, in short, had to inspire the reform movement and, at the same time, to furnish models of its working. The task was approached with wholesale energy by those in power. In general the direction of the work was divided among foreigners of different nations. Frenchmen were employed in revising the criminal code and in teaching strategy and tactics to the Japanese army. The building of railways, the installation of telegraphs and of lighthouses, and the new navy were turned over to English engineers and sailors. Americans were employed in the formation of a postal service, in agricultural reforms, and in planning colonization and an educational system. In an attempt to introduce Occidental ideas of art Italian sculptors and painters were brought to Japan. And German experts were asked to develop a system of local government, to train Japanese physicians, and to educate army officers. Great misgivings were expressed by foreign onlookers at this juncture. They found it impossible to believe that such wholesale adoption of an alien civilization could not be attended with due eclecticism, and they constantly predicted a violent reaction. But all these pessimistic views were contradicted by results. There was no reaction, and the memory of the apprehensions then freely uttered finds nothing but ridicule to-day. FINANCE One of the chief difficulties with which the Meiji statesmen had to contend was finance. When they took over the treasury from the Bakufu there were absolutely no funds in hand, and for some years, as has been shown above, all the revenues of the former fiefs were locally expended, no part of them, except a doubtful surplus, finding its way to the Imperial treasury. The only resource was an issue of paper money. Such tokens of exchange had been freely employed since the middle of the seventeenth century, and at the time of the mediatization of the fiefs, 1694 kinds of notes were in circulation. The first business of the Government should have been to replace these unsecured tokens with uniform and sound media of exchange. But instead of performing that duty the Meiji statesmen saw themselves compelled to follow the evil example set by the fiefs in past times. Government notes were issued. They fell at the outset to a discount of fifty per cent, and various devices, more or less despotic, were employed to compel their circulation at par. By degrees, however, the Government's credit improved, and thus, though the issues of inconvertible notes aggregated sixty million yen at the close of the first five years of the Meiji era, they passed freely from hand to hand without discount. But, of course, the need for funds in connexion with the wholesale reforms and numerous enterprises inaugurated officially became more and more pressing, so that in the fourteenth year (1881) after the Restoration, the face value of the notes in circulation aggregated 180 million yen, and they stood at a heavy discount. The Government, after various tentative and futile efforts to correct this state of depreciation, set themselves to deal radically with the problem. Chiefly by buying exporters' bills and further by reducing administrative expenditures as well as by taxing alcohol, a substantial specie reserve was gradually accumulated, and, by 1885, the volume of fiduciary notes having been reduced to 119 millions, whereas the treasury vaults contained forty-five millions of precious metals, the resumption of specie payments was announced. As for the national debt, it had its origin in the commutation of the feudatories' incomes and the samurai's pensions. A small fraction of these outlays was defrayed with ready money, but the great part took the form of public loan-bonds. These bonds constituted the bulk of the State's liabilities during the first half-cycle of the Meiji era, and when we add the debts of the fiefs, which the Central Government took over; two small foreign loans; the cost of quelling the Satsuma rebellion, and various debts incurred on account of public works, naval construction, and minor purposes, we arrive at the broad fact that the entire national debt of Japan did not exceed 305 million yen at the close of the twenty-eighth year of her new era. A war with China in 1894-1895--to be presently spoken of--and a war with Russia in 1904-1905, together with the price paid for the nationalization of railways and for various undertakings, brought the whole debt of the nation to 2300 million yen in 1907, which is now being paid off at the rate of fifty million yen annually. It remains to be noted that, in 1897, Japan took the momentous step of adopting gold monometallism. The indemnity which she obtained from China after the war of 1894-1895 brought to her treasury a stock of gold sufficient to form a substantial specie reserve. Moreover, gold had appreciated so that its value in terms of silver had exactly doubled during the first thirty years of the Meiji era. There was consequently no arithmetical complication connected with the adoption of the single gold standard. It was only necessary to double the denomination, leaving the silver subsidiary coins unchanged. EDUCATION In the field of education the Meiji statesmen effected speedy reforms. Comparatively little attention had been directed to this subject by the rulers of medieval Japan, and the fact that the Meiji leaders appreciated the necessity of studying the arts and sciences of the new civilization simultaneously with the adoption of its products, bears strong testimony to the insight of these remarkable men. Very shortly after the abolition of feudalism, an extensive system of public schools was organized and education was made compulsory. There were schools, colleges, and universities, all modelled on foreign lines with such alterations as the special customs of the nation dictated. These institutions grew steadily in public favour, and to-day over ninety per cent, of boys and girls who have attained the school age receive education in the common elementary schools, the average annual cost per child being about 8s. 6d. ($2.00), to which the parents contribute 1.75d. (3.5 cents) per month. Youths receiving education enjoy certain exemption from conscription, but as this is in strict accordance with the Western system, it need not be dwelt upon here. LOCAL ADMINISTRATION For purposes of local administration the empire is divided into prefectures (ken), counties (gun), towns (shi), and districts (cho or son). The three metropolitan prefectures of Tokyo, Osaka, and Kyoto are called fu, and their districts are distinguished as "urban" (cho) and "rural" (son), according to the number of houses they contain. The prefectures derive their names from their chief towns. The principle of popular representation is strictly adhered to, every prefecture, every county, every town, and every district having its own local assembly, wherein the number of members is fixed in proportion to the population. These bodies are all elected. The enjoyment of the franchise depends upon a property qualification which, in the case of prefectural and county assemblies, is an annual payment of direct national taxes to the amount of three yen (6s., $1.50); in the case of town and district assemblies two yen; and in the case of prefectural assemblies, ten yen. There are other arrangements to secure the due representation of property, the electors being divided into classes according to their aggregate payment to the national treasury. Three such classes exist, and each elects one-third of an assembly's members. There is no payment for the members of an assembly, but all salaried officials, ministers of religion, and contractors for public works, as well as persons unable to write their own names and the names of the candidates for whom they vote, are denied the franchise. A prefectural assembly holds one session of thirty days annually; and a county assembly, one session of not more than fourteen days; while the town and district assemblies are summoned by the mayor or the headman whenever recourse to their deliberation appears expedient. Each prefecture has a prefect (governor) and each county assembly has a headman. Both are appointed by the Central Administration, but an assembly has competence to appeal to the minister of Home Affairs from the prefect's decisions. In the districts, also, there are headmen, but their post is always elective and generally non-salaried. Other details of the local-government system are here omitted. It suffices to say that the system has been in operation for over thirty years and has been found satisfactory in practice. Moreover, these assemblies constitute excellent schools for the political education of the people. THE CONSTITUTION It has already been shown that the sovereign's so-called coronation oath did not contemplate a national assembly in the Western sense of the term. The first assembly convened in obedience to the oath consisted of nobles and samurai only, and was found to be a virtually useless body. Not till 1873, when Itagaki Taisuke, seceding from the Cabinet on account of the Korean complication, became a warm advocate of appealing national questions to an elective assembly, did the people at large come to understand what was involved in such an institution. Thenceforth Itagaki became the centre of a more or less enthusiastic group of men advocating a parliamentary system, some from sincere motives, and others from a conviction that their failure to obtain posts was in a manner due to the oligarchical form of their country's polity. When the Satsuma rebellion broke out, four years later, this band of Tosa agitators memorialized the Government, charging it with administering affairs in despite of public opinion; with ignoring popular rights, and with levelling down instead of up, since the samurai had been reduced to the class of commoners, whereas the latter should have been educated to the standard of the former. But the statesmen in power insisted that the nation was not yet ready to enjoy constitutional privileges. They did not, indeed, labour under any delusion as to the ultimate direction in which their reforms tended, but they were determined to move gradually, not precipitately. They had already (1874) arranged for the convention of an annual assembly of prefects who should act as channels of communication between the central authorities and the people in the provinces. This was designed to be the embryo of representative institutions, though obviously it bore that character in a very limited degree only. In the following year (1875), the second step was taken by organizing a Senate (Genro-in), which consisted of official nominees and was charged with the duty of discussing and revising laws and ordinances prior to their promulgation. But it had no power of initiative, and its credit in the eyes of the nation was more or less injured by the fact that its members consisted for the most part of men for whom no posts could be found in the administration and who, without some steadying influence, might have been drawn into the current of discontent. At this stage, an event occurred which probably moved the Government to greater expedition. In the spring of 1878, the great statesman, Okubo Toshimitsu, who had acted such a prominent part on the stage of the reformation drama, was assassinated. His slayers were avowedly sympathizers of Saigo, but in their statement of motives they assigned as their principal incentive the Government's failure to establish representative institutions. They belonged to a province far removed from Satsuma, and their explanation of the murder showed that they had little knowledge of Saigo's real sentiments. But the nation saw in them champions of a constitutional form of government, and the authorities appreciated the necessity of greater expedition. Thus, two months after Okubo's death, the establishment of elective assemblies in the prefectures and cities was proclaimed. ENGRAVING: OKUBO TOSHIMITSU Reference has already been made to these and it will suffice here to note that their principal functions were to determine the amount and object of local taxes; to audit the accounts for the previous year; and to petition the Central Government, should that seem expedient. These assemblies represented the foundations of genuinely representative institutions, for although they lacked legislative power, they discharged parliamentary functions in other respects. In fact, they served as excellent training schools for the future Diet. But this did not at all satisfy Itagaki and his followers. They had now persuaded themselves that without a national assembly it would be impossible to oust the clique of clansmen who monopolized the prizes of power. Accordingly, Itagaki organized an association called Jiyu-to (Liberals), the first political party in Japan. Between the men in office and these visionary agitators a time of friction, more or less severe, ensued. The Government withheld from the people the privileges of free speech and public meeting, so that the press and the platform found themselves in frequent collision with the police. Thus, little by little, the Liberals came to be regarded as victims of official tyranny, so that they constantly obtained fresh adherents. Three years subsequently (1881), another political crisis occurred. Okuma Shigenobu resigned his portfolio, and was followed into private life by many able politicians and administrators. These organized themselves into a party ultimately called Progressists (Shimpo-to), who, although they professed the same doctrine as the Liberals, were careful to maintain an independent attitude; thus showing that "Japan's first political parties were grouped, not about principles, but about persons."* *Encyclopaedia Britannica (11th edition); article "Japan," by Brinkley. It must not be supposed for a moment that the Progressists were conservative. There was no such thing as real conservatism in Japan at that time. The whole nation exhaled the breath of progress. Okuma's secession was followed quickly by an edict promising the convention of a national assembly in ten years. Confronted by this engagement, the political parties might have been expected to lay down their arms. But a great majority of them aimed at ousting the clan-statesmen rather than at setting up a national assembly. Thus, having obtained a promise of a parliament, they applied themselves to exciting anti-official sentiments in the future electorates; and as the Government made no attempt to controvert the prejudices thus excited, it was evident that when the promised parliament came into existence, it would become an arena for vehement attacks upon the Cabinet. Of course, as might have been expected, the ten years of agitated waiting, between 1881 and 1891, were often disfigured by recourse to violence. Plots to assassinate ministers; attempts to employ dynamite; schemes to bring about an insurrection in Korea--such things were not infrequent. There were also repeated dispersions of political meetings by order of police inspectors, as well as suspensions or suppressions of newspapers by the fiat of the Home minister. Ultimately it became necessary to enact a law empowering the police to banish persons of doubtful character from Tokyo without legal trial, and even to arrest and detain such persons on suspicion. In 1887, the Progressist leader, Okuma, rejoined the Cabinet for a time as minister of Foreign Affairs, but after a few months of office his leg was shattered by a bomb and he retired into private life and founded the Waseda University in Tokyo. It may indeed be asserted that during the decade immediately prior to the opening of the national assembly, "an anti-Government propaganda was incessantly preached from the platform and in the press." The Tokyo statesmen, however, were not at all discouraged. They proceeded with their reforms unflinchingly. In 1885, the ministry was recast, Ito Hirobumi--the same Prince Ito who afterwards fell in Manchuria under the pistol of an assassin--being appointed premier and the departments of State being reorganized on European lines. Then a nobility was created, with five orders, prince, marquis, count, viscount, and baron. The civil and penal laws were codified. The finances were placed on a sound footing. A national bank with a network of subordinate institutions was established. Railway construction was pushed on steadily. Postal and telegraph services were extended. The foundations of a strong mercantile marine were laid. A system of postal savings-banks was instituted. Extensive schemes of harbour improvement, roads, and riparian works were planned and put into operation. The portals of the civil service were made accessible solely by competitive examination. A legion of students was sent westward to complete their education, and the country's foreign affairs were managed with comparative skill. PROMULGATION OF THE CONSTITUTION On the 11th of February, 1889, the Constitution was promulgated amid signs of universal rejoicing. The day was signalized, however, by a terrible deed. Viscount Mori, one of Japan's most enlightened statesmen, was stabbed to death by Nishino Buntaro, a mere stripling, the motive being to avenge what the murderer regarded as a sacrilegious act, namely, that the viscount, when visiting the shrine at Ise in the previous year, had partially raised one of the curtains with his cane. The explanation given of this extraordinary act by a modern historian is that "Japan was suffering at the time from an attack of hysterical loyalty, and the shrine at Ise being dedicated to the progenitrix of the country's sovereigns, it seemed to Nishino Buntaro that when high officials began to touch the sacred paraphernalia with walking-sticks, the foundations of Imperialism were menaced." An interesting light is thrown upon the Japanese character in the sequel of this crime. During many subsequent years the tomb of Nishino received the homage of men and women who "worshipped achievement without regard to the nature of the thing achieved." There was a similar furore of enthusiasm over the would-be assassin of Okuma. PROVISIONS OF THE CONSTITUTION The framers of the Constitution, chief among whom was Prince Ito, naturally took care not to make its provisions too liberal. The minimum age for electors and elected was fixed at twenty-five and the property qualification at payment of direct taxes aggregating not less than fifteen yen (30s. $7.20) annually. A bicameral system was adopted. The House of Peers was in part hereditary, in part elective (one representative of the highest tax-payers in each prefecture), and in part nominated by the sovereign (from among men of signal attainments), while the House of Representatives consisted of three hundred elected members. In the eyes of party politicians this property qualification was much too high; it restricted the number of franchise-holders to 460,000 in a nation of nearly fifty millions. A struggle for the extension of the franchise commenced immediately, and, after nearly ten years, the Government framed a bill lowering the qualification to ten yen for electors; dispensing with it altogether in the case of candidates; inaugurating secret ballots; extending the limits of the electorates so as to include the whole of a prefecture, and increasing the members of the lower house to 363. By this change of qualification the number of franchise holders was nearly doubled. ENGRAVING: THE LATE PRINCE ITO As for the provisions of the Constitution, they differed in no respect from those of the most advanced Western standard. One exception to this statement must be noted, however. The wording of the document lent itself to the interpretation that a ministry's tenure of office depended solely on the sovereign's will. In other words, a Cabinet received its mandate from the Throne, not from the Diet. This reservation immediately became an object of attack by party politicians. They did not venture to protest against the arrangement as an Imperial prerogative. The people would not have endured such a protest. The only course open for the party politicians was to prove practically that a ministry not responsible to the legislature is virtually impotent for legislation. Success has not attended this essay. The Throne continues, nominally at all events, to appoint and dismiss ministers. As for the proceedings of the diet, the most salient feature was that, from the very outset, the party politicians in the lower chamber engaged in successive attacks upon the holders of power. This had been fully anticipated; for during the whole period of probation antecedent to the meeting of the first Diet, the party politicians had been suffered to discredit the Cabinet by all possible means, whereas the Cabinet had made no effort to win for themselves partisans in the electorates. They relied wholly upon the sovereign's prerogative, and stood aloof from alliances of any kind, apparently indifferent to everything but their duty to their country. Fortunately, the House of Peers ranged itself steadfastly on the side of the Cabinet throughout this struggle, and thus the situation was often saved from apparently pressing danger. The war with China (1894-1895) greatly enhanced the Diet's reputation; for all the political parties, laying aside their differences, without a dissenting voice voted funds for the prosecution of the campaign. POLITICAL PARTIES During several years the House of Representatives continued to be divided into two great parties with nearly equally balanced power--the Liberals and the Progressists, together with a few minor coteries. But, in 1898, the Liberals and Progressists joined hands, thus coming to wield a large majority in the lower house. Forthwith, the Emperor, on the advice of Prince Ito, invited Counts Okuma and Itagaki to form a Cabinet. An opportunity was thus given to the parties to prove the practical possibility of the system they had so long lauded in theory. The united parties called themselves Constitutionists (Kensei-to). Their union lasted barely six months, and then "the new links snapped under the tension of the old enmities." A strange thing now happened. The Liberals invited Prince Ito to be their leader, and he agreed on condition that his followers should obey him implicitly. A new and powerful party was thus formed under the designation of Friends of the Constitution (Rikken Seiyukai). Thus, the Liberals not only enlisted under the statesmen whose overthrow they had for nearly twenty years sought to effect, but also they practically expunged from their platform an essential article of faith--parliamentary cabinets. Another proof was here furnished that political combinations in Japan were based rather on persons than on principles. As for the new party, even Prince Ito's wonderful talents and unequalled prestige failed to hold successfully the reins of the heterogeneous team which he had now undertaken to drive. The House of Peers opposed him on account of his association with political parties, and he at once resigned the premiership. The party he had formed did not, however, dissolve. Prince Ito, indeed, stepped out of its ranks, but he was succeeded by his intimate friend, Marquis Saionji, one of Japan's blue-blooded aristocrats, and to him the Constitutionists have yielded implicit obedience ever since. For the rest, it is impossible to foresee what the outcome of the parliamentary system will be in Japan. Up to the present the principal lesson learned by politicians seems to have been the value of patience. The Constitutionists have shown that they are quite ready to support a Cabinet entirely independent of parties, where its measures seem conducive to the nation's good. Such a Cabinet was that of Prince Katsura, who, in turn, after three years' tenure of office, stepped down quietly in August, 1911, to make way for the Constitutionists, under Marquis Saionji. In a word, the nation seems to have arrived at the conclusion that these parliamentary problems cannot be safely solved except by long and deliberate experiment.* *For minute information about party politics and parliamentary procedure see the "Oriental Series," Vol. IV. AGRICULTURE AND INDUSTRY The growth of agricultural and industrial enterprise is one of the most remarkable features of modern Japan. Up to the beginning of the Meiji era, agriculture almost monopolized attention, manufacturing industry being altogether of a domestic character. Speaking broadly, the gross area of land in Japan, exclusive of Saghalien, Korea, and Formosa is seventy-five million acres, and of this only some seventeen millions are arable. It may well be supposed that as rice is the principal staple of foodstuff, and as the area over which it can be produced is so limited, the farmers have learned to apply very intensive methods of cultivation. Thus it is estimated that they spend annually twelve millions sterling--$60,000,000--on fertilizers. By unflinching industry and skilled processes, the total yield of rice has been raised to an annual average of about fifty million koku; that is to say, two hundred and fifty million bushels. But the day cannot be far distant when the growth of the population will outstrip that of this essential staple, and unless the assistance of Korea and Formosa can be successfully enlisted, a problem of extreme difficulty may present itself. Meanwhile, manufacturing industry has increased by leaps and bounds. Thus, whereas at the opening of the Meiji era, every manufacture was of a domestic character, and such a thing as a joint-stock company did not exist, there are now fully 11,000 factories giving employment to 700,000 operatives, and the number of joint-stock companies aggregates 9000. Evidently, Japan threatens to become a keen competitor of Europe and America in all the markets of the Orient, for she possesses the advantage of propinquity, and as well an abundance of easily trained labour. But there are two important conditions that offset these advantages. In the first place Japanese wages have increased so rapidly that in the last fifteen years they have nearly doubled, and, secondly, it must be remembered that Japanese labour is not so efficient as that of Europe and America. ENGRAVING: SEAL OF MUTSUHITO, THE LATE EMPEROR RAILWAYS The work of railway construction, which may be said to have commenced with the Meiji era, has not advanced as rapidly as some other undertakings. The country has now only 5770 miles of lines open to traffic and 1079 miles under construction. All these railways may be said to have been built with domestic capital. Nearly the whole was nationalized in 1907, so that the State has paid out altogether sixty-six million pounds sterling--$325,000,000--on account of railways, an investment which yields a net return of about three and a half millions sterling--$17,000,000--annually. THE MERCANTILE MARINE Another direction in which Japanese progress has been very marked is in the development of a mercantile marine. At an early period of the country's modern history, her statesmen recognized that transports are as necessary to the safety of a State as are soldiers, and, in fact, that the latter cannot be utilized without the former. The Government, therefore, encouraged with liberal subsidies and grants-in-aid the purchase or construction of ships, the result being that whereas, in 1871, Japan's mercantile marine comprised only forty-six ships with a total tonnage of 17,948, the corresponding figures in 1910 were 6436 and 1,564,443 respectively. In the war with China in 1894-1895, as well as in that with Russia in 1904-1905, Japan was able to carry large armies to the Asiatic continent in her own vessels, thus demonstrating the wisdom of the policy pursued by the Government, although it had been habitually denounced by the enemies of subsidies in any circumstances. Shipbuilding yards had also been called into existence, and there are now four of them where vessels aggregating 87,495 tons have been built. THE ARMY It has been seen that the Satsuma rebellion of 1877 severely taxed the military resources of the empire. In fact, the organization of special brigades to supplement the conscripts was found necessary. Therefore, two years later, the conscription law was revised, the total term of service being increased from seven years to ten, with the result that the number of trained soldiers who could be called out in case of war became larger by fully one-half. Further, in 1882, another expansion of armaments was effected in obedience to an Imperial decree, so that when war with China broke out in 1894, Japan possessed an available force of seven divisions (including the guards), and these, raised to a war-footing, represented about 150,000 men. She had already learned that, however civilized the Occident might claim to be, all the great States of the West depended mainly on military and naval force, and that only by a demonstration of that force could international respect be won. Of course, this creed was not publicly proclaimed. Firmly as Japanese statesmen believed it, they could not confess their conviction openly in the Diet, and therefore much difficulty was experienced in inducing the two houses to endorse the Government's scheme of increased armaments. Indeed, the subject came to be a frequent topic of discussion between the Cabinet and the House of Representatives, and in the end Japan was obliged to go into war against China without a single line-of-battle ship, though her adversary possessed two. Nevertheless, the Island Empire emerged signally victorious. It might have been supposed that she would then rest content with the assurance of safety her prowess had won. But, in the immediate sequel of the war, three of the great European powers, Russia, Germany, and France, joined hands to deprive Japan of the fruits of her victory by calling upon her to vacate the southern littoral of Manchuria from the mouth of the Yalu to the Liaotung peninsula. Japan thus acquired the conviction that her successes against China were not estimated by Western States as any great evidence of belligerent power, and that it would be necessary for her to fight again if she hoped to win any considerable measure of international respect. Prince Ito, then prime minister, keenly appreciated this necessity. He invited the Diet to vote for a substantial increment of land and sea forces, and after much opposition in the House of Representatives, funds were obtained for raising the army to thirteen divisions and for an increase of the navy which will be by and by spoken of. The wisdom of these measures found full justification, in 1904, when swords had to be crossed with Russia. After that war, which raised Japan to a leading place among the nations, the old problem came up again for solution. Once more the Elder Statesmen--as the Meiji leaders were called--asked the Diet to maintain the organization of the army at the point to which it had been carried during the war, and once more the lower house of the Diet proved very difficult to persuade. Ultimately, however, the law of military service was revised so that the fixed establishment became nineteen divisions, together with various special corps. It is not possible to speak with absolute accuracy of the force that Japan is now capable of mobilizing, but when the new system is in full working order, she will be able to put something like a million and a half of men into the fighting line. Her military budget amounts to only seven millions sterling--$35,000,000--a wonderfully small sum considering the results obtained. THE NAVY It has been shown how, in the year 1636, the Bakufu Government strictly interdicted the building of all vessels of ocean-going capacity. The veto naturally precluded enterprise in the direction of naval expansion, and when Commodore Perry, at the head of a powerful squadron, arrived in Uraga Bay, two centuries afterwards, the Japanese were suddenly and vividly instructed in the enormous power of a nation wielding such weapons of war. This object lesson having been most practically inculcated by the bombardments of Kagoshima and Shimonoseki, Japan saw that she must not lose one moment in equipping herself with a naval force. At first, she had to purchase all her ships from foreign countries, and so difficult was it to obtain parliamentary support for these acquisitions that, as already stated, when war with the neighbouring empire broke out in 1894, she did not possess a single ironclad, her strongest vessels being four second-class cruisers, which, according to modern ideas, would not be worthy of a place in the fighting line. During the next ten years the teachings of experience took deeper root, and when the great combat with Russia commenced, the Japanese navy included four ironclads and six armoured cruisers. The signal victories obtained by her in that war did not induce any sentiment of self-complacency. She has gone on ever since increasing her navy, and the present programme of her statesmen is that by the end of 1921, she will possess twenty-five units of the first fighting line; that figure being based on the principle that she should be competent to encounter the greatest force which any foreign State, England excluded, will be able to mass in Far Eastern waters ten years hence. Her annual expenditure on account of the up-keep of her navy is at present three and one-quarter million pounds sterling $17,000,000. No feature is more remarkable than the fact that Japan can now build and equip in her own yards and arsenals warships of the largest size. She is no longer dependent on foreign countries for these essentials of safety. ENGRAVING: NIJU-BASHI (DOUBLE BRIDGE) (Entrance to the present Imperial Palace, at Tokyo) CHAPTER XLVII WARS WITH CHINA AND RUSSIA THE SAGHALIEN COMPLICATION ONE of the problems which invited the attention of the new Government early in the Meiji era had been handed down from the days of feudalism. In those days, neither Yezo nor Saghalien nor the Kurile Islands were under effective Japanese administration. The feudatory of Matsumae had his castle at the extreme south of Yezo, but the jurisdiction he exercised was only nominal. Yet the earliest explorers of Saghalien were certainly Japanese. As far back as 1620, some vassals of the Matsumae feudatory landed on the island and remained there throughout a winter. The supposition then was that Saghalien formed part of the Asiatic mainland. But, in 1806, Mamiya Rinzo, a Japanese traveller, voyaged up and down the Amur, and, crossing to Saghalien, discovered that a narrow strait separated it from the continent. There still exists in Europe a theory that Saghalien's insular character was discovered first by a Russian, Captain Nevelskoy, in 1849, but in Japan the fact had already been known. Saghalien commands the estuary of the Amur, and Muravieff, the distinguished Russian commander in East Asia, appreciated the necessity of acquiring the island for his country. In 1858, he visited Japan with a squadron and demanded that the Strait of La Pérouse, which separates Saghalien from Yezo, should be regarded as the Russo-Japanese frontier. Japan naturally refused a proposal which would have given the whole of Saghalien to Russia, and Muravieff then resorted to the policy of sending emigrants to settle on the island. Two futile attempts to prevent this process of gradual absorption were made by the Japanese Government; they first proposed a division of the island, and afterwards they offered to purchase the Russian portion for a sum of about £400,000--$2,000,000. St. Petersburg seemed inclined to acquiesce, but the bargain provoked opposition in Tokyo, and not until 1875 was a final settlement reached, the conditions being that Japan should recognize Russia's title to the whole of Saghalien and Russia should recognize Japan's title to the Kuriles. These latter islands had always been regarded as Japanese property, and therefore the arrangement now effected amounted to the purchase of an area of Japanese territory by Russia, who paid for it with a part of Japan's belongings. An interesting sequel to this chapter of history is that, thirty years later, Saghalien became the scene of a Japanese invasion and was ultimately divided between the two nations along the fiftieth parallel, which was precisely what the Bakufu statesmen had originally proposed. THE FORMOSAN EXPEDITION The expedition of Formosa in 1874 has already been spoken of. Insignificant in itself, the incident derived vicarious interest from its effect upon the relations between Japan and China in connexion with the ownership of the Ryukyu Islands. Lying a little south of Japan, these islands had for some centuries been regarded as an appanage of the Satsuma fief, and the language spoken by their inhabitants showed unmistakable traces of affinity with the Japanese tongue. Therefore when, in 1873, the crew of a wrecked Ryukyuan junk was barbarously treated by the Formosan aborigines, the Yedo Government at once sought redress from Peking. But the Chinese paid no attention to this demand until a force of Japanese troops had made a punitory visit to Formosa, and China, recognizing that her territory had been invaded, lodged a protest which would probably have involved the two empires in a war had not the British minister in Peking intervened. The arrangement made was that China should indemnify Japan to the extent of the expenses incurred by the latter in punishing the aborigines. THE RYUKYU COMPLICATION A fact collaterally established by the Formosan affair was that the Ryukyu Islands belonged to Japan, and, in 1876, the system of local government already inaugurated in Japan proper was extended to Ryukyu, the ruler of the latter being pensioned. China now formulated a protest. She claimed that Ryukyu had always been a tributary of her empire. But China's interpretation of "tribute" was essentially unpractical. "So long as her own advantage could be promoted, she regarded as a token of vassalage the presents periodically carried to her Court from neighbouring States, but so soon as there arose any question of discharging a suzerain's duties, she classed these offerings as an insignificant interchange of neighbourly courtesy." Undoubtedly Ryukyu, from time to time, had followed the custom of despatching gift-bearing envoys to Peking, just as Japan herself had done. But it was on clear record that Ryukyu had been subdued by Satsuma without any attempt whatever on China's part to save the islands from that fate; that thereafter, during two centuries, they had been included in the Satsuma fief, and that China, in the settlement of the Formosan complication, had constructively acknowledged Japan's title to the group. Each empire asserted its claims with equal assurance, and things remained thus until 1880, when General Grant, who visited Japan in the course of a tour round the world, suggested a peaceful compromise. A conference met in Peking, and it was agreed that the islands should be divided, Japan taking the northern part and China the southern. But at the moment of signing the convention, China drew back, and the discussion ended in Japan retaining the islands, China's protests being pigeonholed. KOREAN COMPLICATION Sufficient reference has already been made in these pages to the series of events that terminated in 1875, when Japan, by a display of partly fictitious force, drew Korea out of international isolation and signed with the Peninsular Kingdom a treaty acknowledging the latter's independence. WAR WITH CHINA During the centuries when China occupied the undisputed position of first in might and first in civilization on the Asiatic continent, her habit was to use as buffer states the small countries lying immediately beyond her borders. But she always took care to avoid any responsibilities that might grow out of this arrangement. In a word, the tide of foreign aggression was to be checked by an understanding that these little countries shared the inviolability of great China, but it was understood, at the same time, that the consequences of their own acts must rest upon their own heads. Such a system, having no bases except sentiment and prestige, soon proved futile in the face of Occidental practicality. Burma, Siam, Annam, and Tonking, one by one, ceased to be dependent on China and independent towards all other nations. In Korea's case, however, the fiction proved more tenacious, since the peninsula furnished easy access to Manchuria, the cradle of the Manchu dynasty. But while seeking to maintain the old-time relations with Korea, Chinese statesmen clung uniformly to traditional methods. They refrained from declaring Korea a dependency of China, yet they sought to keep up "the romance of ultimate dependency and intermediate sovereignty." It was thus that, in 1876, Korea was allowed to conclude with Japan a treaty describing the former as "an independent State enjoying the same rights as Japan," nor did the Peking Government make any protest when the United States, Great Britain, and other powers concluded similar treaties. To exercise independence in practice, however, was not permitted to Korea. A Chinese resident was stationed in Seoul, the Korean capital, and he quickly became an imperium in imperio. Thenceforth Japan, in all her dealings with the Peninsular Kingdom, found the latter behaving as a Chinese dependency, obeying the Chinese resident in everything. Again and again, Japanese patience was tried by these anomalous conditions, and although nothing occurred of sufficient magnitude to warrant official protest, the Tokyo Government became sensible of perpetual rebuffs and humiliating interferences at China's hands. Korea herself suffered seriously from this state of national irresponsibility. There was no security of life and property, or any effective desire to develop the country's resources. If the victims of oppression appealed to force, China readily lent military assistance to suppress them, and thus the royal family of Korea learned to regard its tenure of power as dependent on ability to conciliate China. On Japan's side, also, the Korean question caused much anxiety. It was impossible for the Tokyo statesmen to ignore the fact that their country's safety depended largely on preserving Korea from the grasp of a Western power. They saw plainly that such a result might at any moment be expected if Korea was suffered to drift into a state of administrative incompetence. Once, in 1882, and again, in 1884, when Chinese soldiers were employed to suppress reform movements which would have impaired the interests of the Korean monarch, the latter's people, counting Japan to be the source of progressive tendencies in the East, destroyed her legation in Seoul, driving its inmates out of the city. Japan was not yet prepared to assert herself forcibly in redress of such outrages, but in the ensuing negotiations she acquired titles that "touched the core of China's alleged Suzerainty." Thus, in 1882, Japan obtained recognition of her right to protect her legation with troops; and, in 1885, a convention, signed at Tientsin, pledged each of the contracting parties not to send a military force to Korea without notifying the other. In spite of these agreements China's arbitrary and unfriendly interference in Korean affairs continued to be demonstrated to Japan. Efforts to obtain redress proved futile, and even provoked threats of Chinese armed intervention. Finally, in the spring of 1894, an insurrection of some magnitude broke out in Korea, and in response to an appeal from the Royal family, China sent twenty-five hundred troops, who went into camp at Asan, on the southwest coast of the peninsula. Notice was duly given to the Tokyo Government, which now decided that Japan's vital interests as well as the cause of civilization in the East required that an end must be put to Korea's dangerous misrule and to China's arbitrary interference. Japan did not claim for herself anything that she was not willing to accord to China. But the Tokyo statesmen were sensible that to ask their conservative neighbour to promote in the Peninsular Kingdom a progressive programme which she had always steadily rejected and despised in her own case, must prove a chimerical attempt, if ordinary diplomatic methods alone were used. Accordingly, on receipt of Peking's notice as to the sending of troops to the peninsula, Japan gave corresponding notice on her own part, and thus July, 1894, saw a Chinese force encamped at Asan and a Japanese force in the vicinity of Seoul. In having recourse to military aid, China's nominal purpose was to quell the Tonghak insurrection, and Japan's motive was to obtain a position such as would strengthen her demand for drastic treatment of Korea's malady. In giving notice of the despatch of troops, China described Korea as her "tributary State," thus emphasizing a contention which at once created an impossible situation. During nearly twenty years Japan had treated Korea as her own equal, in accordance with the terms of the treaty of 1876, and she could not now agree that the Peninsular Kingdom should be officially classed as a tributary of China. Her protests, however, were contemptuously ignored, and Chinese statesmen continued to apply the offensive appellation to Korea, while at the same time they asserted the right of limiting the number of troops sent by Japan to the peninsula as well as the manner of their employment. Still desirous of preserving the peace, Japan proposed a union between herself and China for the purpose of restoring order in Korea and amending that country's administration. China refused. She even expressed supercilious surprise that Japan, while asserting Korea's independence, should suggest the idea of peremptorily reforming its administration. The Tokyo Cabinet now announced that the Japanese troops should not be withdrawn without "some understanding that would guarantee the future peace, order, and good government of Korea," and as China still refused to come to such an understanding, Japan undertook the work single-handed. The Tonghak rebellion, which Chinese troops were originally sent to quell, had died of inanition before they landed. The troops, therefore, had been withdrawn. But China kept them in Korea, her avowed reason being the presence of the Japanese military force near Seoul. In these circumstances, Peking was notified that a despatch of re-enforcements on China's side must be construed as an act of hostility. Notwithstanding this notice, China not only sent a further body of troops by sea to encamp at Asan, but also despatched an army overland across the Yalu. These proceedings precipitated hostilities. Three Chinese warships, convoying a transport with twelve hundred soldiers on board, met and opened fire on two Japanese cruisers. The result was signal. One of the Chinese warships was captured, another was so riddled with shot that she had to be beached and abandoned; the third escaped in a dilapidated condition, and the transport, refusing to surrender, was sent to the bottom. These things happened on the 25th of July, 1894, and war was declared by each empire six days subsequently. The Japanese took the initiative. They despatched from Seoul a column of troops and routed the Chinese entrenched at Asan, many of whom fled northward to Pyong-yang, a town on the Tadong River, memorable as the scene of a battle between a Chinese and a Japanese army in 1592. Pyong-yang offered great facilities for defence. The Chinese massed there a force of seventeen thousand men, and made preparations for a decisive contest, building parapets, mounting guns, and strengthening the position by every device of modern warfare. Their infantry had the advantage of being armed with repeating rifles, and the configuration of the ground offered little cover for an attacking army. Against this strong position the Japanese moved in two columns; one marching northward from Seoul, the other striking westward from Yuensan. Forty days elapsed before the Japanese forces came into action, and one day's fighting sufficed to carry all the Chinese positions, the attacking armies having only seven hundred casualties and the defenders, six thousand. The next day, September 17th, Japan achieved an equally conspicuous success at sea. Fourteen Chinese warships and six torpedo-boats, steering homeward after convoying a fleet of transports to the mouth of the Yalu River, fell in with eleven Japanese war-vessels cruising in the Yellow Sea. The Chinese squadron was not seeking an encounter. Their commanding officer did not appear to appreciate the value of sea-power. His fleet included two armoured battle-ships of over seven thousand tons' displacement, whereas the Japanese had nothing stronger than belted cruisers of four thousand. Therefore a little enterprise on China's part might have severed Japan's maritime communications and compelled her to evacuate Korea. The Chinese, however, used their war-vessels as convoys only, keeping them carefully in port when no such duty was to be performed. It is evident that, as a matter of choice, they would have avoided the battle of the Yalu, though when compelled to fight they fought stoutly. After a sharp engagement, four of their vessels were sunk, and the remainder steamed into Weihaiwei, their retreat being covered by torpedo-boats. By this victory the maritime route to China lay open to Japan. She could now attack Talien, Port Arthur, and Weihaiwei, naval stations on the Liaotung and Shantung peninsulas, where strong permanent fortifications had been built under the direction of European experts. These forts fell one by one before the assaults of the Japanese troops as easily as the castle of Pyong-yang had fallen. Only by the remains of the Chinese fleet at Weihaiwei was a stubborn resistance made, under the command of Admiral Ting. But, after the entire squadron of torpedo craft had been captured, and after three of the largest Chinese ships had been sent to the bottom by Japanese torpedoes, and one had met the same fate by gunfire, the remainder surrendered, and their gallant commander, Admiral Ting, rejecting all overtures from the Japanese, committed suicide. The fall of Weihaiwei ended the war. It had lasted seven and a half months, and during that time the Japanese had operated with five columns aggregating 120,000 men. "One of these columns marched northward from Seoul, won the battle of Pyong-yang, advanced to the Yalu, forced its way into Manchuria, and moved towards Mukden by Feng-hwang, fighting several minor engagements, and conducting the greater part of its operations amid deep snow in midwinter. The second column diverged westward from the Yalu, and, marching through southern Manchuria, reached Haicheng, whence it advanced to the capture of Niuchwang. The third landed on the Liaotung peninsula, and, turning southward, carried Talien and Port Arthur by assault. The fourth moved up the Liaotung peninsula, and, having seized Kaiping, advanced against Niuchwang, where it joined hands with the second column. The fifth crossed from Port Arthur to Weihaiwei, which it captured." In all these operations the Japanese casualties totalled 1005 killed and 4922 wounded; the deaths from disease aggregated 16,866, and the monetary expenditure amounted to twenty millions sterling, about $100,000,000. It had been almost universally believed that, although Japan might have some success at the outset, she would ultimately be shattered by impact with the enormous mass and the overwhelming resources of China. Never was forecast more signally contradicted by events. CONCLUSION OF PEACE Li Hung-chang, viceroy of Pehchili, whose troops had been chiefly engaged during the war, and who had been mainly responsible for the diplomacy that had led up to it, was sent by China as plenipotentiary to discuss terms of peace. The conference took place at Shimonoseki, Japan being represented by Marquis (afterwards Prince) Ito, and on the 17th of April, 1895, the treaty was signed. It recognized the independence of Korea; ceded to Japan the littoral of Manchuria lying south of a line drawn from the mouth of the river Anping to the estuary of the Liao, together with the islands of Formosa and the Pescadores; pledged China to pay an indemnity of two hundred million taels; provided for the occupation of Weihaiwei by Japan pending payment of that sum; secured the opening of four new places to foreign trade and the right of foreigners to engage in manufacturing enterprises in China, and provided for a treaty of commerce and amity between the two empires, based on the lines of China's treaty with Occidental powers. FOREIGN INTERFERENCE Scarcely was the ink dry upon this agreement when Russia, Germany, and France presented a joint note to the Tokyo Government, urging that the permanent occupation of the Manchurian littoral by Japan would endanger peace. Japan had no choice but to bow to this mandate. The Chinese campaign had exhausted her treasury as well as her supplies of war material, and it would have been hopeless to oppose a coalition of three great European powers. She showed no sign of hesitation. On the very day of the ratified treaty's publication, the Emperor of Japan issued a rescript, in which, after avowing his devotion to the cause of peace, he "yielded to the dictates of magnanimity, and accepted the advice of the three powers." But although the Tokyo Government sought to soften the situation by the grace of speedy acquiescence, the effect produced upon the nation was profound. There was no difficulty in appreciating the motives of Russia and France. It was natural that the former should object to the propinquity of a warlike people like the Japanese, and it was natural that France should remain true to her ally. But Germany's case defied interpretation. She had no interest in the ownership of Manchuria, and she professed herself a warm friend of Japan. It seemed, therefore, that she had joined in snatching from the lips of the Japanese the fruits of their victory simply for the sake of establishing some shadowy title to Russia's good-will. THE CHINESE CRISIS OF 1900 In the second half of the year 1900 an anti-foreign outbreak, known as the "Boxer Rebellion," broke out in the province of Shantung, and, spreading thence to Pehchili, produced a situation of imminent peril for the foreign communities of Peking and Tientsin. No Western power could intervene with sufficient promptness. Japan alone was within easy reach of the commotion. But Japan held back. She had fully fathomed the distrust with which the growth of her military strength had inspired some European nations, and she appreciated the wisdom of not seeming to grasp at an opportunity for armed display. In fact, she awaited a clear mandate from Europe and America, and, on receiving it, she rapidly sent a division (20,000 men) to Pehchili. Tientsin was relieved first, and then a column of troops provided by several powers, the Japanese in the van, marched to the succour of Peking. In this campaign the Japanese greatly enhanced their belligerent reputation as they fought under the eyes of competent military critics. Moreover, after the relief of the legations in Peking, they withdrew one-half of their forces, and they subsequently cooperated heartily with Western powers in negotiating peace terms, thus disarming the suspicions with which they had been regarded at first. WAR WITH RUSSIA From the time (1895) when the three-power mandate dictated to Japan a cardinal alteration of the Shimonoseki treaty, Japanese statesmen concluded that their country must one day cross swords with Russia. Not a few Occidental publicists shared that view, but the great majority, arguing that the little Island Empire of the Far East would never risk annihilation by such an encounter, believed that forbearance sufficient to avert serious trouble would always be forthcoming on Japan's side. Yet neither geographical nor historical conditions warranted that confidence. The Sea of Japan, which, on the east, washes the shores of the Japanese islands and on the west those of Russia and Korea, has virtually only two routes communicating with the Pacific Ocean. One is in the north, namely, the Tsugaru Strait; the other is in the south, namely, the channel between the Korean peninsula and the Japanese island of Kyushu. Tsugaru Strait is practically under Japan's complete control; she can close it at any moment with mines. But the channel between the Korean peninsula and Kyushu has a width of 102 miles, and would therefore be a fine open seaway were it free from islands. Midway in this channel, however, lie the twin islands of Tsushima, and the space that separates them from Japan is narrowed by another island, Iki. Tsushima and Iki have belonged to Japan from time immemorial, and thus the avenues from the Pacific Ocean to the Sea of Japan are controlled by the Japanese empire. In other words, access to the Pacific from Korea's eastern and southern coasts, and access to the Pacific from Russia's Maritime Province depend upon Japan's good-will. These geographical conditions had no great concern for Korea in former days. But with Russia the case was different. Vladivostok, the principal port in the Far East, lay at the southern extremity of the Maritime Province. Freedom of passage by the Tsushima Strait was therefore a matter of vital importance, and to secure it one of two things was essential, namely, that she herself should possess a fortified port on the Korean side, or that Japan should be restrained from acquiring such a port. Here, then, was a strong inducement for Russian aggression in Korea. When the eastward movement of the great northern power brought it to the mouth of the Amur, the acquisition of Nikolaievsk for a naval basis was the immediate reward. But Nikolaievsk, lying in an inhospitable region, far away from all the main routes of the world's commerce, offered itself only as a stepping-stone to further acquisitions. To push southward from this new port became an immediate object. There lay an obstacle in the way. The long strip of seacoast from the mouth of the Amur to the Korean frontier--an area then called the Usuri region because that river forms part of its western boundary--belonged to China, and she, having conceded much to Russia in the way of the Amur, showed no inclination to make further concessions in the matter of the Usuri. She was persuaded to agree, however, that the region should be regarded as common property, pending a convenient opportunity for clear delimitation. That opportunity soon came. Seizing the moment (1860) when China had been beaten to her knees by England and France, Russia secured the final cession of the Usuri region, which then became the Maritime Province of Siberia. Then Russia shifted her naval basis in the Pacific to a point ten degrees south from Nikolaievsk, namely, Vladivostok. Immediately after this transfer an attempt was made to obtain possession of Tsushima. A Russian man-of-war proceeded thither, and quietly began to establish a settlement which would soon have constituted a title of ownership had not Great Britain interfered. The same instinct that led Russia from the mouth of the Amur to Vladivostok prompted the acquisition of Saghalien also, which, as already related, was accomplished in 1875. But all this effort did not procure for Russia an unobstructed avenue from Vladivostok to the Pacific or an ice-free port in the Far East. In Korea seemed to lie a facile hope of saving the maritime results of Russia's great trans-Asian march from Lake Baikal to the Maritime Province and to Saghalien. Korea seemed to offer every facility for such an enterprise. Her people were unprogressive; her resources undeveloped; her self-defensive capacities insignificant; her government corrupt. On the other hand, it could not be expected that Japan and China would acquiesce in any aggressions against their neighbour, Korea, and it became necessary that Russia should seek some other line of communication supplementing the Amur waterway and the long ocean route. Therefore she set about the construction of a railway across Asia. This railway had to be carried along the northern bank of the Amur where engineering and economic difficulties abound. Moreover, the river makes a huge semicircular sweep northward, and a railway following its northern bank to Vladivostok must make the same detour. If, on the contrary, the road could be carried south of the river along the diameter of the semicircle, it would be a straight, and therefore a shorter, line, technically easier and economically better. To follow this diameter, however, would involve passing through Chinese territory, namely, Manchuria, and an excuse for soliciting China's permission was not in sight. In 1894, however, war broke out between Japan and China, and in its sequel Japan passed into possession of the southern littoral of Manchuria, which meant that Russia could never get nearer to the Pacific than Vladivostok, unless she swept Japan from her path. It is here, doubtless, that we must find Russia's true motive in inducing Germany and France to unite with her for the purpose of ousting Japan from Manchuria. The "notice to quit" gave for reasons that the tenure of the Manchurian littoral by Japan would menace the security of the Chinese capital, would render the independence of Korea illusory, and would constitute an obstacle to the peace of the Orient. Only one saving clause offered for Japan--to obtain from China a guarantee that no portion of Manchuria should thereafter be leased or ceded to a foreign State. But France warned the Tokyo Government that to press for such a guarantee would offend Russia, and Russia declared that, for her part, she entertained no design of trespassing in Manchuria. Thus, Japan had no choice but to surrender quietly the main fruits of her victory. She did so, and proceeded to double her army and treble her navy. RUSSIA'S AND GERMANY'S REWARDS As a recompense for the assistance nominally rendered to China in the above matter, Russia obtained permission in Peking to divert her trans-Asian railway from the huge bend of the Amur to the straight line through Manchuria. Neither Germany nor France received any immediate compensation. But three years later, by way of indemnity for the murder of two missionaries by a Chinese mob, Germany seized a portion of the province of Shantung, and forthwith Russia obtained a lease of the Liaotung peninsula, from which she had driven Japan in 1895. This act she followed by extorting from China permission to construct a branch of the trans-Asian railway from north to south, that is to say from Harbin through Mukden to Talien and Port Arthur. Russia's maritime aspirations had now assumed a radically altered phase. Hitherto her programme had been to push southward from Vladivostok along the coast of Korea, but she had now suddenly leaped Korea and found access to the Pacific by the Liaotung peninsula. Nothing was wanting to establish her as practical mistress of Manchuria except a plausible excuse for garrisoning the place. Such an excuse was furnished by the Boxer rising, in 1900. The conclusion of that complication found her in practical occupation of the whole region. But here her diplomacy fell somewhat from its usually high standard. Imagining that the Chinese could be persuaded, or intimidated, to any concession, she proposed a convention virtually recognizing her title to Manchuria. JAPAN'S ATTITUDE Japan watched all these things with profound anxiety. If there were any reality in the dangers which Russia, Germany, and France had declared to be incidental to Japanese occupation of a part of Manchuria, the same dangers must be doubly incidental to Russian occupation of the whole of Manchuria. There were other considerations, also. The reasons already adduced show that the independence of Korea was an object of supreme solicitude to Japan. It was to establish that independence that she fought with China, in 1894, and the same motive led her after the war to annex the Manchurian littoral adjacent to Korea's northern frontier. If Russia came into possession of all Manchuria, her subsequent absorption of Korea would be almost inevitable. Manchuria is larger than France and the United Kingdom put together. The addition of such an immense area to Russia's East Asiatic dominions, together with its littoral on the Gulf of Pehchili and the Yellow Sea, would necessitate a corresponding expansion of her naval force in the Far East. With the exception of Port Arthur and Talien, however, the Manchurian coast does not offer any convenient naval base. It is only in the harbours of southern Korea that such bases can be found. In short, without Korea, Russia's East Asian extension would have been economically incomplete and strategically defective. If it be asked why, apart from history and national sentiment, Japan should object to Russia in Korea, the answer is, first, because there would thus be planted almost within cannon-shot of her shores a power of enormous strength and traditional ambition; secondly, because whatever voice in Manchuria's destiny Russia derived from her railway, the same voice in Korea's destiny was possessed by Japan, as the sole owner of the railways in the Korean peninsula; thirdly, that whereas Russia had an altogether insignificant share in the foreign commerce of Korea and scarcely ten bona fide settlers, Japan did the greater part of the oversea trade and had tens of thousands of settlers; fourthly, that if Russia's dominions stretched uninterruptedly from the sea of Okhotsk to the Gulf of Pehchili, her ultimate absorption of northern China would be inevitable, and fifthly, that such domination and such absorption would involve the practical closure of all that immense region to the commerce and industry of every Western nation except Russia. This last proposition did not rest solely on the fact that in opposing artificial barriers to free competition lies Russia's sole hope of utilizing, to her own benefit, any commercial opportunities brought within her reach. It rested, also, on the fact that Russia had objected to foreign settlement at the Manchurian marts recently opened, by Japan's treaty with China, to American and Japanese subjects. Without settlements, trade at those marts would be impossible, and thus Russia had constructively announced that there should be no trade but the Russian, if she could prevent it. Against such dangers Japan would have been justified in adopting any measure of self-protection. She had foreseen them for six years and had been strengthening herself to avert them. But she wanted peace. She wanted to develop her material resources and to accumulate some measure of wealth without which she must remain insignificant among the nations. Two pacific programmes offered and she adopted them both. Russia, instead of trusting time to consolidate her tenure of Manchuria, had made the mistake of pragmatically importuning China for a conventional title. If, then, Peking could be strengthened to resist this demand, some arrangement of a distinctly terminable nature might be made. The United States, Great Britain, and Japan, joining hands for that purpose, did succeed in so far stiffening China's backbone that her show of resolution finally induced Russia to sign a treaty pledging herself to withdraw her troops from Manchuria in three installments, each step of evacuation to be accomplished by a fixed date. That was one of the pacific programmes. The other suggested itself in connexion with the new commercial treaties which China had agreed to negotiate in the sequel of the Boxer troubles. These documents contained clauses providing for the opening of three places in Manchuria to foreign trade. It seemed a reasonable hope that the powers, having secured commercial access to Manchuria by covenant with its sovereign, would not allow Russia to restrict arbitrarily their privileges. Both of these hopes were disappointed. When the time came for evacuation, Russia behaved as though no promise had been given. She proposed new conditions which would have strengthened her grasp of Manchuria instead of loosening it. NEGOTIATION BETWEEN RUSSIA AND JAPAN China being powerless to offer any practical protest, and Japan's interest ranking next in order of importance, the Tokyo Government approached Russia direct. They did not ask for anything that could hurt her pride or impair her position. Appreciating fully the economical status she had acquired in Manchuria by large outlays of capital, they offered to recognize that status, provided that Russia would extend similar recognition to Japan's status in Korea; would promise, in common with Japan, to respect the sovereignty and the territorial integrity of China and Korea, and would be a party to a mutual engagement that all nations should have equal commercial and industrial opportunities in Manchuria and in the Korean peninsula. In a word, they invited Russia to subscribe the policy originally enunciated by the United States and Great Britain, the policy of the open door and of the integrity of the Chinese and Korean empires. Thus commenced negotiations which lasted five and a half months. Japan gradually reduced her demands to a minimum. Russia never made any appreciable reduction of hers. She refused to listen to Japan for one moment about Manchuria. Eight years previously, Japan had been in military possession of the littoral of Manchuria when Russia, with the assistance of Germany and France, had expelled her for reasons which concerned Japan much more than they concerned any of these three powers. Now, Russia had the assurance to declare that none of these things concerned Japan at all. The utmost she would admit was Japan's partial right to be heard about Korea. At the same time, she herself commenced a series of aggressions in northern Korea. That was not all. While she studiously deferred her answers to Japan's proposals, and while she protracted the negotiations to an extent visibly contemptuous, she hastened to make substantial additions to her fleet and her army in far-eastern Asia. It was impossible to mistake her purpose. She intended to yield nothing, but to prepare such a parade of force that her obduracy would command submission. The only alternatives for Japan were war or permanent effacement in Asia. She chose war. EXTRATERRITORIAL JURISDICTION Before passing to the story of this war, it is necessary to refer to two incidents of Japan's foreign relations, both of which preceded her struggle with Russia. The first was the restoration of her judicial autonomy. It has always been regarded as axiomatic that the subjects or citizens of Western countries, when they travel or reside in Oriental territories, should be exempted from the penalties and processes of the latter's criminal laws. In other words, there is reserved to a Christian the privilege, when within the territories of a pagan State, of being tried for penal offences by Christian judges. In civil cases the jurisdiction is divided, the question at issue being adjudicated by a tribunal of the defendant's nationality; but in criminal cases jurisdiction is wholly reserved. Therefore powers making treaties with Oriental nations establish within the latter's borders consular courts which exercise what is called "extraterritorial jurisdiction." This system was, of course, pursued in Japan's case. It involved the confinement of the foreign residents to settlements grouped around the sites of their consular courts; for it would plainly have been imprudent that such residents should have free access to provincial districts remote from the only tribunals competent to control them. This provision, though inserted without difficulty in the early treaties with Japan, provoked much indignation among the conservative statesmen in Kyoto. Accordingly, no sooner had the Meiji Restoration been effected than an embassy was despatched to the Occident to negotiate for a revision of the treaties so as to remove the clause about consular jurisdiction, and to restore the customs tariff to the figure at which it had stood prior to Sir Harry Parkes' naval demonstration at Hyogo. The Japanese Government was entitled to raise this question in 1871, for the treaties were textually subject to revision in that year. No time was lost in despatching the embassy. But its failure was a foregone conclusion. The conditions originally necessitating extraterritorial jurisdiction had not, by 1871 undergone any change justifying its abolition. It is not to be denied, on the other hand, that the consular courts themselves invited criticism. Some of the great Western powers had organized competent tribunals with expert judicial officials, but others, whose trade with Japan was comparatively insignificant, were content to entrust consular duties to merchants, who not only lacked legal training but were also themselves engaged in the commercial transactions upon which they might, at any moment, be required to adjudicate magisterially. ENGRAVING: DANJURO, A FAMOUS ACTOR, AS BENKEI IN KANJINCHO (A PLAY) It cannot be contended that this obviously imperfect system was disfigured by many abuses. On the whole, it worked passably well, and if its organic faults helped to discredit it, there is no denying that it saved the Japanese from complications which would inevitably have arisen had they been entrusted with jurisdiction which they were not prepared to exercise satisfactorily. Moreover, the system had vicarious usefulness; for the ardent desire of Japanese patriots to recover the judicial autonomy, which is a fundamental attribute of every sovereign State, impelled them to recast their laws and reorganize their law courts with a degree of diligence which would otherwise have probably been less conspicuous. Twelve years of this work, carried on with the aid of thoroughly competent foreign jurists, placed Japan in possession of codes of criminal and civil law in which the best features of European jurisprudence were applied to the conditions and usages of Japan. Then, in 1883, Japan renewed her proposal for the abolition of consular jurisdiction, and by way of compensation she promised to throw the country completely open and to remove all restrictions hitherto imposed on foreign trade, travel, and residence within her realm. But this was a problem against whose liberal solution the international prejudice of the West was strongly enlisted. No Oriental State had ever previously sought such recognition, and the Occident, without exception, was extremely reluctant to entrust the lives and properties of its subjects and citizens to the keeping of a "pagan" people. Not unnaturally the foreigners resident in Japan, who would have been directly affected by the change, protested against it with great vehemence. Many of them, though not averse to trusting Japan, saw that her reforms had been consummated with celerity amounting to haste, and a great majority fought simply for consular jurisdiction as a privilege of inestimable value, not to be surrendered without the utmost deliberation. The struggle that ensued between foreign distrust and Japanese aspirations often developed painful phases, and did much to intensify the feeling of antagonism which had existed between the Japanese and the foreign residents at the outset and which even to-day has not wholly disappeared. The Government and citizens of the United States of America never failed to show sympathy with Japanese aspirations in this matter, and, as a general rule, "foreign tourists and publicists discussed the problem liberally and fairly, perhaps because, unlike the foreign communities resident in Japan, they had no direct interest in its solution." The end was not reached until 1894. Then Great Britain agreed that from July, 1899, jurisdiction over all British subjects within the confines of Japan should be entrusted to Japanese tribunals, provided that the new Japanese codes of law should have been in operation during at least one year before the surrender of jurisdiction. Japan, on her side, promised to throw the whole country open from the same date, removing all limitations upon trade, travel, and residence of foreigners. Tariff autonomy had been an almost equal object of Japanese ambition, and it was arranged that she should recover it after a period of twelve years, an increased scale of import duties being applied in the interval. It will be observed that Great Britain took the lead in abandoning the old system. It was meet that she should do so; for, in consequence of her preponderating commercial interests, she had stood at the head of the combination of powers by which the irksome conditions were originally imposed upon Japan. The other Occidental States followed her example with more or less celerity, and the foreign residents, now that nothing was to be gained by continuing the struggle, showed clearly that they intended to bow gracefully to the inevitable. The Japanese also took some conspicuous steps. "An Imperial rescript declared in unequivocal terms that it was the sovereign's policy and desire to abolish all distinctions between natives and foreigners, and that, by fully carrying out the friendly purpose of the treaties, his people would best consult his wishes, maintain the character of the nation, and promote its prestige. The premier and other ministers of State issued instructions to the effect that the responsibility now devolved on the Government, and the duty on the people, of enabling foreigners to reside confidently and contentedly in every part of the country. Even the chief Buddhist prelates addressed to the priests and parishioners of their dioceses injunctions pointing out that freedom of conscience being now guaranteed by the Constitution, men professing alien creeds must be treated as courteously as the disciples of Buddhism and must enjoy the same privileges."* *Brinkley, article "Japan," Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th Edition. It may here be stated once for all that Japan's recovery of her judicial autonomy has not been attended by any of the disastrous results freely predicted at one time. Her laws are excellent, and her judiciary is competent and just. FIRST ANGLO-JAPANESE ALLIANCE The second of the two incidents alluded to above was an alliance between England and Japan, signed on January 30, 1902. The preamble of this agreement--the first of its kind ever concluded between England and an Oriental power--affirmed that the contracting parties were solely actuated by a desire to preserve the status quo and the general peace of the Far East; that they were both specially interested in maintaining the independence and territorial integrity of the empires of China and Korea, and in securing equal opportunities in these countries for all nations; that they mutually recognized it as admissible for either of the contracting parties to take such measures as might be indispensable to safeguard these interests against a threat of aggressive action by any other power, or against disturbances in China or Korea, and that, if one of the contracting parties became involved in war in defence of these interests, the other should maintain strict neutrality and endeavour to prevent any third power from joining in hostilities against its ally. Finally, should a third power join in such hostilities, then the other contracting party promised to come to the assistance of its ally, to conduct the war in common, and to make peace by mutual agreement only. The alliance was to hold good for five years from the date of signature, but if either ally was engaged in war at such time, the alliance was to continue until the conclusion of peace. It is unnecessary to dwell upon the influence exerted by this compact on the Russo-Japanese war. It kept the field clear for Japan and guaranteed her against a repetition of such a combination as that which must be regarded as the remote cause of the struggle. THE EARLY PHASES OF THE WAR Japan's great problem in crossing swords with Russia was to obtain a safe avenue for her troops over the sea. Russia might at once have gained an overwhelming advantage had she seized and controlled the lines of communication between the Japanese islands and the continent of Asia. Her strategists can scarcely have failed to appreciate that fact, and would doubtless have acted accordingly had they obtained a few months' leisure to mass an overwhelmingly strong fleet in the seas of China and Japan. They had such a fleet actually in esse; for, at the moment when war broke out, the Russian squadrons assembled in the East, or en route thither, comprised no less than fifty-nine fighting ships, mounting 1350 guns and manned by 18,000 men. But these figures included the Mediterranean squadron which, surprised by the outbreak of hostilities, abandoned its journey to the Pacific. Obviously, Japan's wisest course was to anticipate the combination of Russia's sea forces, and consciousness of that fact operated to hasten the current of events. Port Arthur, where the bulk of the Russian Pacific squadron lay, is somewhat difficult of ingress and egress. On January 31, 1904, the operation of extracting the ships and parading them outside was commenced, being brought to a conclusion on February 3rd, whereafter the squadron steamed out to sea, and, having made a short cruise off the coast of the Shantung promontory, returned to its position on the following day. The fleet taking part in this manoeuvre consisted of twenty-six ships, and the whole Russian naval force then in eastern Asia comprised seven battle-ships, four armoured cruisers, seven protected cruisers, four gunboats, six sloops, twenty-five destroyers, two mining transports, and fourteen first-class torpedo-boats. The Japanese, on their side, had six battle-ships, eight armoured cruisers, thirteen protected cruisers, fourteen small cruisers, nineteen destroyers, and eighty-five torpedo-boats. This enumeration shows a numerical superiority on the Japanese side, but in fighting capacity the two fleets were nearly equal. For, though the Russians possessed seven battle-ships to six Japanese, the latter had better gun-protection and greater weight of broadside fire than the former; and though Japan could muster eight armoured cruisers against Russia's four, the latter were supplemented by five protected cruisers which ranked far above anything of the same class on the Japanese side. THE FIRST NAVAL OPERATION When the Russian ships returned on the 4th of February from their cruise off the Shantung promontory, they took up their stations outside Port Arthur, all the harbour lights and beacons being left in position, and no special precaution being taken except that a patrol of three torpedo-boats was sent out. Yet the Russians should have appreciated the presence of danger. For, on the 6th of February, Japan had broken off the negotiations in St. Petersburg, and had given official information of her intention to take measures for protecting her menaced interests. That signified war and nothing but war, and the "Official Messenger" of the same evening published the intimation, which was immediately communicated to Admiral Alexieff at Port Arthur. The Russian fleet was then divided into three squadrons. The largest body lay off Port Arthur, and two very much smaller squadrons were posted, one at Chemulpo on the west coast of Korea, and another at Vladivostok. It is obvious that such division of the fleet on the eve of hostilities should have been carefully avoided. The ships should all have been held together with an extensive network of scouts so as to enable them swiftly and strongly to fall upon any Japanese transports carrying troops to the mainland, or to meet effectually and crush any attempt of the Japanese squadrons to obtain command of the sea. On the night of February 8th-9th, three Japanese squadrons of destroyers, aggregating ten vessels, steamed across a calm, moonlit sea and delivered a torpedo attack on the Russian squadron at Port Arthur, the result being that the battle-ships Retvisan and Tsarevitch together with the cruiser Pallada were holed. These battle-ships were the most powerful vessels in the Russian squadron, and the Pallada was a first-class protected cruiser of 6630 tons' displacement. The Japanese destroyers had left Sasebo on the 6th of February and they returned thither uninjured, having materially weakened the Russian fleet. On the day following this surprise, Admiral Togo, the Japanese commander-in-chief, engaged the remains of the Russian squadron with the heavy guns of his battle-ships at a range of eight thousand yards, and succeeded in inflicting some injury on the battle-ship Poltava, the protected cruisers Diana and Askold, and a second-class cruiser Novik. The Russians ultimately retreated towards the harbour with the intention of drawing the Japanese under closer fire of the land batteries, but the Japanese fleet declined to follow after them, and, instead, steamed away. Three days later (February 11th) another disaster overtook the Russians. The Yenisei, one of the two mining-transports included in their fleet, struck a mine and sank so rapidly in Talien Bay that ninety-six of her crew perished. The Japanese had no part at all in this catastrophe. It was purely accidental. THE CHEMULPO AFFAIR While these things were happening at Port Arthur, a squadron of the Japanese navy, under Admiral Uryu, escorted a number of transports to Chemulpo, the port of the Korean capital, Seoul. There the Russian protected cruiser Variag (6500 tons) together with the gunboat Korietz and the transport Sungari were lying. It does not appear that Admiral Uryu's prime object was to engage these Russian ships. But Chemulpo having been chosen as the principal landing-place of the Japanese army corps which was to operate in Korea, it was, of course, imperative that the harbour should be cleared of Russian war-vessels. On February 8th, the Russians at Chemulpo were surprised by a summons from Admiral Uryu to leave the port or undergo bombardment at their anchorage. The vessels stood out bravely to sea, and after an engagement lasting thirty-five minutes at ranges varying from five to ten thousand yards, they were so badly injured that they returned to the port and were sunk by their own crews, together with the transport Sungari. The moral effect of the destruction of these vessels was incalculable. DECLARATION OF WAR On the 10th of February, the Czar and the Mikado respectively issued declarations of war. The former laid stress upon Russia's pacific intentions in proposing revision of the agreements already existing between the two empires with regard to Korean affairs, and accused the Japanese of making a sudden attack on the Russian squadron at Port Arthur "without previously notifying that the rupture of diplomatic relations implied the beginning of warlike action." The Japanese declaration insisted that the integrity of Korea was a matter of the gravest concern to Japan, inasmuch as the separate existence of the former was essential to the safety of the latter, and charged that "Russia, in disrespect of her solemn treaty pledges to China and of her repeated assurances to other powers, was still in occupation of Manchuria, had consolidated and strengthened her hold upon those provinces, and was bent upon their final annexation." With regard to Russia's accusation against Japan of drawing the sword without due notice, a distinguished British publicist made the following comment in the columns of The Times (London): "Far from thinking the Japanese attack on the night of February 8th, two full days after the announcement of the intention to take action, was an exception to, or a deviation from, tradition and precedent, we should rather count ourselves fortunate if our enemy, in the next naval war we have to wage, does not strike two days before blazoning forth his intention, instead of two days after. The tremendous and decisive results of success for the national cause are enough to break down all the restraining influences of the code of international law and Christian morality." THE FIRST MILITARY OPERATIONS From the moment when war became inevitable, the problem of absorbing interest was to determine Russia's strategy, and it was ultimately seen that the two main groups of her forces were to be posted at Port Arthur and on the Yalu; the latter to resist an advance from Korea, and the former to defend the Liaotung peninsula, which constituted the key of the Russian position. Between the mouth of the Yalu and the Liaotung peninsula, a distance of 120 miles, there were many points where raiding parties might have been landed to cut the Russian railway. Against this danger, flying squadrons of Cossacks were employed. After the destruction of the three Russian vessels in Chemulpo and the crippling of the Port Arthur squadron, Japanese transports entered the former port and quietly landed some three thousand troops, which advanced immediately upon Seoul and took possession of it. From that time there could be no doubt that the intention of the Japanese was to make their first attack upon the enemy by marching up the Korean peninsula, and that the capital of Korea was chosen for a base of operations because of climatic considerations. Chemulpo, however, was not the only landing-place. Fusan also served for that purpose, as subsequently did also Chinnampo, an inlet on the west coast of the peninsula. The distance from the port of Fusan to the Yalu River is four hundred miles, in round numbers, and the roads are very bad throughout the whole country. Hence the advance of the Japanese, which was made in a leisurely manner with the utmost circumspection and attention to detail, involved so much time that April had drawn to its close before the troops deployed on the banks of the Yalu. They consisted of three divisions constituting an army corps, and each division had a ration-strength of 19,000 men with a combatant strength of 14,000 sabres and rifles and thirty-six field-guns. It may be assumed, therefore, that when the Japanese First Army under General (afterwards Count) Kuroki reached the Yalu, it had a fighting-strength of between forty and fifty thousand men. There had practically been no collision during the interval of the advance from the southern extremity of the peninsula to its northern boundary. It is true that, on March 28th, a squadron of Cossacks attempted to surprise the Japanese cavalry at Chong-ju, but the essay proved a failure, and the Cossacks were driven back upon Wiju, which they evacuated without any further struggle. The Russian plan of operations did not originally contemplate a serious stand at the Yalu. The idea was to retire gradually, drawing the Japanese into Manchuria towards the railway, and engaging them in the exceedingly difficult country crowned by the Motien Mountains. But at the last moment General Kuropatkin, Russian commander-in-chief in Manchuria, issued orders to General Sassulitch, commander of the Second Siberian Army Corps, to hold the line of the Yalu with all his strength. Sassulitch could muster for this purpose only five regiments and one battalion of infantry; forty field-guns; eight machine-guns, and some Cossacks--twenty thousand combatants, approximately. Kuroki disposed his troops so that their front extended some twenty miles along the Yalu, the centre being at Kiuliencheng, a walled town standing about 180 feet above the river. From this point southward, the right, or Manchurian, bank has a considerable command over the left, and at Kiuliencheng a tributary stream, called the Ai, joins the main river, "which thenceforth widens from 4000 to 7000 yards and runs in three channels between the islands and the mainland. The central channel is navigable by small craft, and the other channels are fordable waist-deep. The Ai River is also fordable in many places during the spring." On the right bank of the Yalu, at the point of its junction with the Ai, the ground rises so as to command the position taken by the Russians. The plan of the Japanese commander was to threaten an attack on the lower radius of the river; to throw two divisions against Kiuliencheng, and to use the remaining division in a wide flanking movement, crossing the river higher up. The battle took place on Sunday, the 1st of May. During the preceding nights, the Japanese placed a strong force of artillery in cleverly masked batteries, and under cover of these guns, threw seven bridges across the river, the highest upstream being thirteen miles above Kiuliencheng and the lower two being directed to the centre of the Russian position. General Kuroki then telegraphed to Tokyo that he proposed to attack at dawn on Sunday, his plan being to march one division across the fords of the Ai River, and to employ the other two, one in crumpling up the Russian left, the other in attacking Antung, where a large Russian force was in position. This programme was accurately carried out. The Japanese infantry forded the Ai breast-deep, and, swarming up the heights, drove the Russians from these strong positions. Meanwhile, the Japanese guards' division had crossed on the left and directed its march upon Antung, while the remaining division had completely turned the Russian left flank. The fiercest struggle occurred at Homutang, where a Russian regiment and a battery of artillery made a splendid stand to save their comrades at Antung from being cut off. The casualties on the Japanese side were 318 killed, including five officers, and 783 wounded, including thirty-three officers. The Russian casualties numbered 1363 killed and 613 prisoners, but the detail of wounded was not published. The Japanese captured twenty-one quick-firing field-guns, eight machine-guns, 1021 rifles and a quantity of ammunition, etc. The moral result of this battle can hardly be overestimated. It had never been seriously believed in Europe that a Russian army could be conquered by a Japanese in a fair fight, and probably that incredulity influenced Kuropatkin when he ordered Sassulitch to defy strategical principles by attempting to hold a radically defective position against a greatly superior force. In a moment, the Japanese were crowned with military laurels and placed on a pedestal for the world to admire. But the Japanese themselves were not deceived. They saw clearly that the contest had been between six battalions of Russians and two divisions of Japanese, a disparity of strength amply sufficient to account for the result in any circumstances. NAVAL OPERATIONS During the period of eleven weeks immediately subsequent to the battle of the Yalu, there were no military operations of a striking character. Japan was preparing to despatch a second army to Manchuria, and pending its shipment the chief duty to be discharged devolved upon the fleet, namely, the further crippling of the Port Arthur squadron in order to secure the transports against its enterprises. The object was promoted on the 13th of April by the loss of the Russian battle-ship Petropavlovsk. She struck one of the mines laid by the Japanese and sank in a few minutes, carrying the Russian admiral, Makaroff, together with about six hundred sailors, to the bottom. This event, although it materially weakened the Port Arthur squadron, had nothing to do with the fixed programme of Admiral Togo, which programme was to block the narrow channel forming the entrance of Port Arthur by sinking merchant vessels in the fairway. Three attempts to accomplish this were made. The first was on February 24th; the second, on March 2nd-3rd. In the first essay, five steamers were employed, their crews consisting of seventy-seven volunteers. They failed. On the second occasion four steamers of at least two thousand tons each were sent in under the orders of Commander Hirose. On this occasion, again, the steamers failed to reach vital points in the channel, and their experience alone remained to compensate the loss of many lives. These two attempts were watched by the public with keen interest and high admiration. The courage and coolness displayed by officers and men alike elicited universal applause. But it was generally believed that the successful prosecution of such a design was impossible and that no further essay would be made. The Japanese, however, are not easily deterred. On the night of May 2nd, eight steamers, aggregating some 17,000 tons, were driven into the channel in the face of mines, batteries, and torpedoes, and five of them reached their allotted positions, so that the blocking of the harbour for the passage of large vessels was accomplished. The list of casualties proved very heavy. Out of 159 persons only eight officers and thirty-six men returned unhurt. The whole of the remainder, including twenty officers, were killed, wounded, or missing. LANDING OF THE SECOND ARMY On the very night after the accomplishment of this third blocking operation, a second Japanese army commenced to land at Pitszewo, eastward of the Liaotung peninsula. This was precisely the point chosen for a similar purpose by the Japanese in the war with China, ten years previously, and such close adherence to the former programme was condemned by some critics, especially as transports cannot get close to the shore at Pitszewo, but have to lie four miles distant, the intervening space consisting, for the most part, of mud flats. But the Japanese were perfectly familiar with every inch of the coast from the mouth of the Yalu to Port Arthur, and had the Russian commanders possessed equally accurate knowledge, they would have recognized that Pitszewo was designated by natural features as the best available landing-place, and knowing that, they might have made effective dispositions to oppose the Japanese there, whereas ten thousand men had been put on shore before any suspicion seems to have been roused in the Russian camp. BATTLE OF KINCHOU After its landing at Pitszewo, on May 5th and the following days, the Second Japanese Army, consisting of three divisions under General (afterwards Count) Oku, pushed westward, driving away the Russian detachments in the vicinity and securing the control of the Port Arthur railway. Then, at Kinchou, on the 26th of May, a great battle was fought. A little south of Kinchou lies a narrow neck of land connecting the Kwangtung promontory with the mainland. It is a neck only a mile and three-quarters broad, having Kinchou Bay on the northwest and Hand Bay on the southeast. On each side the ground near the sea is low, but along the centre of the neck a ridge rises, which culminates in a point about 350 feet above the sea. This point is known as Nanshan, and its commanding position is such that an army holding it blocks all access to the Kwangtung peninsula. The problem for the Japanese was to obtain possession of this neck as the sole road of access to Port Arthur; while General Stossel, who commanded the Russian troops, knew that if the neck fell into Japanese hands, Port Arthur would become unapproachable by land. "The Nanshan position offered unusual advantages for defence, and had been diligently prepared for permanent occupation during many weeks. Ten forts of semi-permanent character had been built, and their armament showed that, on this occasion, the Russian artillery was vastly superior, both in calibre and in range, to the Japanese guns. Forts, trenches, and rifle-pits, covered by mines and wire entanglements, were constructed on every point of vantage and in separate tiers. Searchlights were also employed, and every advantage was taken of the proximity of a great fortress and its ample plant."* *The War in the Far East, by the Military Correspondent of "The Times." It will occur to the reader that war-vessels might have been advantageously used for the attack and defence of such a position, and, as a matter of fact, Russian gunboats manoeuvred in Hand Bay on the southeastern shore of the neck. But, on the western side, the shoal waters of Kinchou Bay prevented access by Japanese vessels in the face of the heavy batteries erected by the Russians on dominating sites. This splendid position was held by a Russian army mustering ten thousand strong with fifty siege-guns and sixteen quick-firers. A frontal attack seemed suicidal but was deliberately chosen. At daybreak the battle commenced, and, after sixteen hours of incessant fighting, a Japanese infantry force turned the left flank of the Russian line and the day was won. Over seven hundred Russian dead were buried by the Japanese, and into the latter's hands fell sixty-eight cannon of all calibres with ten machine-guns. The Japanese casualties totalled 4912. This battle finally solved the problem as to whether Japanese infantry could hold its own against Russian. "With almost everything in its favour, a strong, fresh, and confident Russian army, solidly entrenched behind almost inaccessible fortifications and supported by a formidable and superior artillery, was, in a single day, fairly swept out of its trenches."* The victorious Japanese pressed forward rapidly, and on the 30th of May obtained possession of Dalny, a base presenting incalculable advantages for the prosecution of an attack upon Port Arthur, which fortress it was now evident that the Japanese had determined to capture. *The War in the Far East, by the Military Correspondent of "The Times." THE BATTLE OF TELISSU To have left the Japanese in undisturbed possession of the neck of the Liaotung peninsula would have been to abandon Port Arthur to its fate. On the other hand, the Russians ought not to have entertained any hope of their own ability to carry such a position by assault after they had signally failed to hold it in the face of attack. Nevertheless, finding it intolerable, alike to their prestige and to their sense of camaraderie, to take no measure in behalf of the great fortress and its thirty thousand defenders, they determined to march at once to its assistance. To that end celerity was all important, and on June 14th, that is to say, only eighteen days after the battle of Kinchou, a Russian army of some thirty-five thousand combatants, under the command of General Baron Stackelberg, moving down the railway to recover Kinchou and Nanshan, came into collision with the Japanese and fought the battle of Telissu. The Russian general, clinging always to the railway, advanced with such a restricted front that the Japanese, under General Oku, outflanked him, and he was driven back with a loss of about ten thousand, killed and wounded, fourteen guns, and four hundred prisoners. NAVAL INCIDENTS On June 15th, the very day after the Telissu victory, the Japanese met their only naval catastrophe. While their fleet was watching the enemy off Port Arthur, the battleships Hatsuse and Yashima struck mines and sank immediately. Moreover, on the same day, the cruisers Kasuga and Yoshino collided in a dense fog, and the latter vessel was sent to the bottom. As the Japanese possessed only six battle-ships, the loss of two was a serious blow, and might have emboldened the Russians to despatch a squadron from the Baltic to take the earliest possible advantage of this incident. Foreseeing this, the Japanese took care to conceal the loss of the Hatsuse and Yashima, and the fact did not become known until after the battle of Tsushima, a year later, when the Russian fleet had been practically annihilated. Meanwhile, the Russian squadron at Vladivostok had accomplished little. This squadron consisted originally of three armoured cruisers, Gromovoi, Rossia, and Rurik, with one protected cruiser, Bogatyr. But the last-named ship ran on a rock near Vladivostok and became a total wreck in the middle of May, a month marked by many heavy losses. These cruisers made several excursions into the Sea of Japan, sinking or capturing a few Japanese merchantmen, and cleverly evading a Japanese squadron under Admiral Kamimura, detailed to watch them. But their only achievement of practical importance was the destruction of two large Japanese transports, the Hitachi Maru and the Sado Maru. In achieving this feat the Russians appeared off Tsushima in the Straits of Korea, on June 15th, and the transports which they sunk or disabled carried heavy guns for the bombardment of Port Arthur. Of course, nothing was publicly known about the cargo of the Hitachi and her consort, but there could be no question that, in timing their attack with such remarkable accuracy, the Russians must have obtained secret information as to the movements of the transports and the nature of their cargo. Considerable criticism was uttered against Admiral Kamimura for failure to get into touch with the Vladivostok vessels during such a long interval. But much of the censure was superficial. Kamimura redeemed his reputation on the 14th of August when, in a running fight between Fusan and Vladivostok, the Rurik was sunk and the Gromovoi and Rossia were so seriously damaged as to be unable to take any further part in the war. On this occasion six hundred Russians were rescued by the Japanese from the sinking Rurik, and it was noted at the time that the Russians had made no attempt to save Japanese life at the sinking of the Hitachi Maru. THE JAPANESE FORCES Immediately after the landing of the army corps under General Oku and the capture of Dalny in the sequel of the battle of Kinchou, the Japanese began to pour troops into Dalny, and soon they had there three divisions under the command of General (afterwards Count) Nogi. This force was henceforth known as the Third Army, that of General Kuroki being the First, and that under General Oku, the Second. The next operation was to land another army at Takushan, which lies on the south coast of Manchuria, between Pitszewo and the estuary of the Yalu. This army was under the command of General (afterwards Count) Nozu, and its purpose was to fill the gap between the First Army and the Second. Nozu's corps thus became the Fourth Army. In fact, the Japanese repeated, in every respect, the plan of campaign pursued by them ten years previously in the war with China. There was one ultimate difference, however. In the latter war, the force which captured Port Arthur was subsequently carried oversea to the Shantung province, where it assaulted and took the great Chinese naval port at Weihaiwei. But the army sent against Port Arthur, in 1904, was intended to march up the Liaotung peninsula after the capture of the fortress, so, as to fall into line with the other three armies and to manoeuvre on their left flank during the general advance northward. Thus considered, the plan of campaign suggests that General Nogi and his three divisions were expected to capture Port Arthur without much delay, and indeed their early operations against the fortress were conducted on that hypothesis. But, as a matter of fact, in spite of heroic efforts and unlimited bravery on the Japanese side, Port Arthur, with its garrison of thirty thousand men, its splendid fortifications, and its powerful artillery, backed by the indomitable resolution and stubborn resistance of Russian soldiers, did not fall until the last day of 1904, and Nogi's army was unable to take part in the great field-battles which marked the advance of the three other Japanese armies from the seacoast to the capital of Manchuria. Step by step, however, though at heavy sacrifice of life, the Japanese fought their way through the outer lines of the Russian defences, and the end of July saw the besiegers in such a position that they were able to mount guns partly commanding the anchorage within the port. An intolerable situation being thus created for the Russian squadron, it determined to put to sea, and on August 10th this was attempted. Without entering into details of the fight that ensued, it will suffice to state briefly that the result of the sortie was to deprive the Russian squadron of the services of one battle-ship, three cruisers, and five torpedo craft, leaving to Rear-Admiral Prince Ukhtonsky, who commanded the vessels in Port Arthur, only five battle-ships, two cruisers (of which one was injured), and three destroyers. On August 18th, a gunboat; on August 23d, another battle-ship, and on August 24th another destroyer were sunk or disabled by striking Japanese mines, and it may be said briefly that the Russian squadron thenceforth ceased to be a menace to the Japanese, and that only the land forces had to be counted with. FIELD OPERATIONS PRIOR TO BATTLE OF LIAOYANG By the close of June the three Japanese armies under Generals Kuroki, Nozu, and Oku were fully deployed and ready to advance in unison. The task before them was to clear the Russians from the littoral of the Korean Sea and force them through the mountains of Manchuria into the valley of the Liao River. In these operations the Japanese acted uniformly on the offensive, whereas the Russians occupied positions carefully chosen and strictly fortified, where they stood always on the defensive. Five heavy engagements, beginning with Fenshuiling on the 26th of June and ending with Yangtzuling on July 31st, were fought in these circumstances, and in every instance the Japanese emerged victorious. From the commencement of the land campaign until the end of July the invading army's casualties were 12,000, while the Russian losses, exclusive of those at Port Arthur, aggregated 28,000 killed and wounded, and 113 light siege-and field-guns, together with eighteen machine-guns, captured. THE BATTLE OF LIAOYANG The first great phase of the field-operations may be said to have terminated with the battle of Liaoyang, which commenced on August 25th and continued almost without interruption for nine days, terminating on the 3rd of September. In this historic contest the Russians had 220,000 men engaged. They were deployed over a front of about forty miles, every part of which had been entrenched and fortified with the utmost care and ingenuity. In fact, the position seemed impregnable, and as the Japanese could muster only some 200,000 men for the attack, their chances of success appeared very small. Desperate fighting ensued, but no sensible impression could be made on the Russian lines, and finally, as a last resource, a strong force of Kuroki's army was sent across the Taitsz River to turn the enemy's left flank. The Russian general, Kuropatkin, rightly estimated that the troops detached by General Kuroki for this purpose were not commensurate with the task assigned to them, whereas the Russians could meet this flanking movement with overwhelming strength. Therefore, Kuropatkin sent three army corps across the river, and by September 1st, the Japanese flanking forces were confronted by a powerful body. Strategists are agreed that, had Kuropatkin's plans found competent agents to execute them, the Japanese advance would have been at least checked at Liaoyang. In fact, the Japanese, in drafting their original programme, had always expected that Nogi's army would be in a position on the left flank in the field long before there was any question of fighting at Liaoyang. It was thus due to the splendid defence made by the garrison of the great fortress that Kuropatkin found himself in such a favourable position at the end of August. But unfortunately for the Russians, one of their generals, Orloff, who had thirteen battalions under his command, showed incompetence, and falling into an ambuscade in the course of the counter-flanking operation, suffered defeat with heavy losses. The Japanese took full advantage of this error, and Kuropatkin, with perhaps excessive caution, decided to abandon his counter-movement and withdraw from Liaoyang. He effected his retreat in a manner that bore testimony to the excellence of his generalship. The casualties in this great battle were very heavy. From August 25th, when the preliminary operations may be said to have commenced, to September 3rd, when the field remained in the possession of the Japanese, their losses were 17,539, namely, 4866 in the First Army, 4992 in the Fourth, and 7681 in the Second, while the Russian casualties were estimated at 25,000. BATTLES OF SHAHO AND OF HEIKAUTAI On the 2nd of October, General Kuropatkin issued from his headquarters in Mukden an order declaring that the "moment for the attack, ardently desired by the army, had at last arrived, and that the Japanese were now to be compelled to do Russia's will." Barely a month had elapsed since the great battle at Liaoyang, and it still remains uncertain what had happened in that interval to justify the issue of such an order. But the most probable explanation is that Kuropatkin had received re-enforcements, so that he could marshal 250,000 to 260,000 troops for the proposed offensive, and that his news from Port Arthur suggested the necessity of immediate and strenuous efforts to relieve the fortress. His plan was to throw forward his right so as to outflank the Japanese, recover possession of Liaoyang, and obtain command of the railway. He set his troops in motion on the 9th of October, but he was driven back after more than a week's fighting. No less than 13,333 Russian dead were left on the field, and at the lowest calculation, Kuropatkin's casualties must have exceeded 60,000 men exclusive of prisoners. There can be no doubt whatever that the Russian army had suffered one of the most overwhelming defeats in its history, and that after a fortnight's hard marching and nine days' hard fighting, with little food or sleep, it had been reduced by terrible losses and depressing fatigues to a condition bordering on extermination. Such was the result of Kuropatkin's first attempt to assume the offensive. Thereafter, fully three months of complete inaction ensued, and the onlooking world occupied itself with conjectures as to the explanation of this apparent loss of time. Yet the chief reason was very simple. The weather in central Manchuria at the close of the year is such as to render military manoeuvres almost impossible on a large scale, and this difficulty is greatly accentuated by the almost complete absence of roads. In fact, the reasons which induced Kuropatkin to defy these obstacles, and renew his outflanking attempts after the beginning of the cold weather, have never been fully explained. The most probable theory is that held by Japanese strategists, namely, that he desired to find some opening for the vigorous campaign which he intended to pursue in the spring, and that his attention was naturally directed to the region between the Hun and the Liao rivers, a region unoccupied by either army and yet within striking distance of the bases of both. Moreover, he had received nearly three whole divisions from Europe, and he looked to these fresh troops with much confidence. He set his forces in motion on the 25th of January, 1905. Seven Russian divisions were engaged, and the brunt of the fighting was borne by two Japanese divisions and a brigade of cavalry. Two other divisions were engaged, but the part they acted in the fight was so subordinate that it need scarcely be taken into account. The Russians were finally driven back with a loss of some twenty thousand killed, wounded, or prisoners. This battle of Heikautai was the last engagement that took place before the final encounter. PORT ARTHUR The relief of Port Arthur had ceased to be an important objective of Kuropatkin before he planned his Heikautai attack. The great fortress fell on the last day of 1904. It was not until the middle of May that the Kinchou isthmus and Dalny came into Japanese hands, nor was the siege army under General Nogi marshalled until the close of June. During that interval, General Stossel, who commanded, on the Russian side, availed himself of all possible means of defence, and the investing force had to fight for every inch of ground. The attack on the outlying positions occupied fully a month, and not till the end of July had the Japanese advanced close enough to attempt a coup de main. There can be no doubt that they had contemplated success by that method of procedure, but they met with such a severe repulse, during August, that they recognized the necessity of recourse to the comparatively slow arts of the engineer. Thereafter, the story of the siege followed stereotyped lines except that the colossal nature of the fortifications entailed unprecedented sacrifice of life on the besiegers' part. The crucial point of the siege-operations was the capture of a position called 203-Metre Hill. This took place on November 30th after several days of the most terrible fighting ever witnessed, fighting which cost the Japanese ten thousand casualties. The importance of the hill was that it furnished a post of observation whence indications could be given to guide the heavy Japanese artillery in its cannonade of the remaining Russian ships in the harbour. Nothing then remained for the Russians except to sink the ships, and this they did, so that Russia lost a squadron which, all told, represented an outlay of over thirty millions sterling--$150,000,000. In a telegram despatched to his own Government on January 1st, General Stossel said: "Great Sovereign, forgive! We have done all that was humanly possible. Judge us; but be merciful. Eleven months have exhausted our strength. A quarter only of the defenders, and one-half of them invalids, occupy twenty-seven versts of fortifications without supports and without intervals for even the briefest repose. The men are reduced to shadows!" On the previous day Stossel had written to General Nogi, declaring that further resistance would merely entail useless loss of life considering the conditions within the fortress. The total number of prisoners who surrendered at the fall of the fortress was 878 officers and 23,491 men, and the captured material included 546 guns; 35,252 rifles; 60 torpedoes; 30,000 kilograms of powder; 82,670 rounds of gun-ammunition; two and a quarter million rounds of small-arm ammunition; a number of wagons; 1,920 horses; four battle-ships; two cruisers; fourteen gunboats and torpedo-craft; ten steamers; thirty-three steam launches, and various other vessels. These figures are worthy of study, as one of General Stossel's alleged reasons for surrendering was scarcity of ammunition. MISHCHENKO'S RAID The capture of Port Arthur meant something more than the fall of a fortress which had been counted impregnable and which had dominated the strategical situation for fully seven months. It meant, also, that General Nogi's army would now be free to join their comrades beyond the Liao River, and that Kuropatkin would find his opponents' strength increased by four divisions. It became, therefore, important to ascertain how soon this transfer was likely to be effected, and, if possible, to interrupt it by tearing up the railway. Accordingly, on January 8th, General Mishchenko's division of Cossacks, Caucasians, and Dragoons, mustering six thousand sabres, with six batteries of light artillery, crossed the Hun River and marched south on a five-mile front. Throughout the war the Cossacks, of whom a very large force was with the Russian army, had hitherto failed to demonstrate their usefulness, and this raid in force was regarded with much curiosity. It accomplished very little. Its leading squadrons penetrated as far south as Old Niuchwang, and five hundred metres of the railway north of Haicheng were destroyed, a bridge also being blown up. But this damage was speedily restored, and as for the reconnoitring results of the raid, they seem to have been very trifling. THE BATTLE OF MUKDEN After the battle of Heikautai, which cost the Russians twenty thousand casualties and exposed the troops to terrible hardships, Kuropatkin's army did not number more than 260,000 effectives. On the other hand, he could rely upon a constant stream of re-enforcements from Europe, as the efficiency of the railway service had been enormously increased by the genius and energy of Prince Khilkoff, Russian minister of Ways and Communications. In fact, when all the forces under orders for Manchuria had reached their destination, Kuropatkin would have under his command twelve army corps, six rifle-brigades, and nine divisions of mounted troops, a total of something like half a million men. Evidently the Japanese would not have acted wisely in patiently awaiting the coming of these troops. Moreover, since the break-up of winter would soon render temporarily impossible all operations in the field, to have deferred any forward movement beyond the month of March would have merely facilitated the massing of Russian re-enforcements in the lines on the Shaho, where the enemy had taken up his position after his defeat at Heikautai. These considerations induced Marshal Oyama to deliver an attack with his whole force during the second half of February, and there resulted a conflict which, under the name of the "battle of Mukden," will go down in the pages of history as the greatest fight on record. It has been claimed by the Russians that Kuropatkin was thinking of assuming the offensive when the Japanese forced his hand; but however that may be, the fact is that he fought on the defensive as he had done throughout the whole war with two exceptions. Nevertheless, we may confidently assert that at no previous period had the Russians been so confident and so strong. According to the Japanese estimate, the accuracy of which may be trusted, Kuropatkin had 376 battalions, 171 batteries, and 178 squadrons; representing 300,000 rifles, 26,000 sabres and 1368 guns, while the defences behind which these troops were sheltered were of the most elaborate character, superior to anything that the Japanese had encountered during the previous battles of the field-campaign. On the other hand, the Japanese also were in unprecedented strength. Up to the battle of Heikautai, Kuropatkin had been confronted by only three armies, namely, the First, Second, and Fourth, under Generals Kuroki, Oku, and Nozu, respectively. In the middle of February, these numbered three, four, and two divisions, respectively. But there had now been added a considerable number of reserve brigades, bringing up the average strength of most of the divisions to from 22,000 to 25,000 men. Further, in addition to these armies, two others were in the field, namely, the Third, under General Nogi, and the Fifth, under General Kawamura. General Nogi's force had marched up from Port Arthur, but General Kawamura's was a new army formed of special reservists and now put in the field for the first time. The Russians occupied a front forty-four miles in extent and from five to six miles in depth. They did not know, apparently, that General Kawamura's army had joined Oyama's forces, nor did they know where Nogi's army was operating. The Japanese programme was to hold the Russian centre; to attack their left flank with Kawamura's army, and to sweep round their right flank with Nogi's forces. The latter were therefore kept in the rear until Kawamura's attack had developed fully on the east and until the two centres were hotly engaged. Then "under cover of the smoke and heat generated by the conflict of the other armies on an immense front, and specially screened by the violent activity of the Second Army, Nogi marched in echelon of columns from the west on a wide, circling movement; swept up the Liao valley, and bending thence eastward, descended on Mukden from the west and northwest, giving the finishing blow of this gigantic encounter; severing the enemy's main line of retreat, and forcing him to choose between surrender and flight. To launch, direct, and support four hundred thousand men engaged at such a season over a front one hundred miles in length was one of the most remarkable tasks ever undertaken on the field of battle by a modern staff." Of course, all these events did not move exactly as planned, but the main feature of the great fight was that Kuropatkin, deceived by Kawamura's movement, detached a large force to oppose him, and then recalled these troops too late for the purpose of checking General Nogi's flanking operation. The fighting was continuous for almost two weeks, and on the morning of March 16th, the Russians had been driven out of Mukden and forced northward beyond Tiehling. In fact, they did not pause until March 20th, when Linievitch, who had succeeded Kuropatkin in the chief command, was able to order a halt at Supingchieh, seventy miles to the north of Mukden. "The Russian losses in this most disastrous battle included, according to Marshal Oyama's reports, 27,700 killed and 110,000 wounded," while an immense quantity of war material fell into the hands of the victors. The Japanese losses, up to the morning of March 12th, were estimated at 41,222. THE BATTLE OF TSUSHIMA From the outset, both sides had appreciated the enormous preponderance that would be conferred by command of the sea. It was in obedience to this conviction that the Russian authorities were in the act of taking steps to increase largely their Pacific squadron when the outbreak of war compelled them to suspend the despatch of re-enforcements. They did not, however, relinquish their preparations. Evidently, any vessels sent to the scene of combat after fighting had begun must be competent to defend themselves against attack, which condition entailed strength to form an independent squadron. The preparations to acquire this competence involved a long delay, and it was not until the 16th of October, 1904, that Admiral Rozhdestvensky left Libau with some forty ships. The world watched this adventure with astonished eyes. Thitherto Great Britain, equipped as she is with coaling-stations all round the globe, had been the only power thought capable of sending a large fleet on an ocean voyage. Rozhdestvensky's squadron consumed over three thousand tons of coal daily when steaming at a reduced speed, and how this supply was to be kept up in the absence of ports of call, no one was able to conjecture. The difficulty was ultimately overcome by the very benevolent character which the neutrality of certain powers assumed, and in May, 1905, the Baltic squadron, as the vessels under Rozhdestvensky were called, made its appearance in Far Eastern waters. It had been supposed that the Russians would seek to envelop their movements in obscurity, but they seem to have appreciated, from the outset, the absurdity of endeavouring to conceal the traces of a fleet of forty vessels steaming along the routes of the world's commerce. They therefore proceeded boldly on their way, slowly but indomitably overcoming all obstacles. It will be observed that the date of their departure from Libau was just two months after the last attempt of the Port Arthur squadron to escape to Vladivostok. Doubtless, this sortie, which ended so disastrously for the Russians, was prompted in part by anticipation of the Baltic fleet's approaching departure, and had the Port Arthur squadron, or any considerable portion of it, reached Vladivostok before Rozhdestvensky's coming, Admiral Togo might have been caught between two fires. The result of the sortie, however, dispelled that hope. Long before Rozhdestvensky reached the Far East, he fell into touch with Japanese scouts, and every movement of his ships was flashed to the enemy. That Vladivostok was his objective and that he would try to reach that place if possible without fighting, were unquestionable facts. But by what avenue would he enter the Sea of Japan? The query occupied attention in all the capitals of the world during several days, and conjectures were as numerous as they were conflicting. But Admiral Togo had no moment of hesitation. He knew that only two routes were possible, and that one of them, the Tsugaru Strait, could be strewn with mines at very brief notice. The Russians dare not take that risk. Therefore Togo waited quietly at his base in the Korean Strait and on the 27th of May his scouts reported by wireless telegraphy at 5 A.M., "Enemy's fleet sighted in 203 section. He seems to be steering for the east channel." In the historic action which ensued, Rozhdestvensky had under his command eight battle-ships, nine cruisers, three coast-defence ships, nine destroyers, an auxiliary cruiser, six special-service steamers, and two hospital ships. Togo's fleet consisted of five battle-ships (one of them practically valueless), one coast-defence vessel, eight armoured cruisers, ten protected cruisers, twenty destroyers, and sixty-seven torpedo-boats. Numerically, the advantage was on the Japanese side, although in first-class fighting material the disparity was not remarkable. As for the result, it can only be called annihilation for the Russian squadron. Out of the thirty-eight ships composing it, twenty were sunk; six captured; two went to the bottom or were shattered while escaping; six were disarmed and interned in neutral ports to which they had fled; one was released after capture, and of one the fate is unknown. Only two escaped out of the whole squadron. This wonderful result justifies the comment of a competent authority: "We can recognize that Togo is great--great in the patience he exercised in the face of much provocation to enter upon the fight under conditions less favourable to the success of his cause; great in his determination to give decisive battle despite advice offered to him to resort to methods of evasion, subterfuge, and finesse; great in his use of not one but every means in his power to crush his enemy, and great, greatest perhaps of all, in his moderation after victory unparalleled in the annals of modern naval war. "The attitude of the Japanese people in the presence of this epoch-making triumph is a sight for men and gods. They have the grand manner of the ancients, and their invariable attitude throughout the war, whether in the hour of victory or in that of disappointment, has been worthy of a great people. No noisy and vulgar clamour, no self-laudation, no triumph over a fallen enemy, but deep thankfulness, calm satisfaction, and reference of the cause of victory to the illustrious virtue of their Emperor."* *The War in the Far East, by the Military Correspondent of "The Times." The Japanese losses in the two-days' fighting were three torpedo-boats, and they had 116 killed and 538 wounded. PEACE RESTORED After the battles of Mukden and Tsushima, which were great enough to terminate the greatest war, the Russians and the Japanese alike found themselves in a position which must either prelude another stupendous effort on both sides or be utilized to negotiate peace. Here the President of the United States of America intervened, and, on the 9th of June, 1905, the American minister in Tokyo and the ambassador in St. Petersburg, instructed from Washington, handed an identical note to the Japanese and the Russian Governments respectively, urging the two countries to approach each other direct. On the following day, Japan intimated her frank acquiescence, and Russia lost no time in taking a similar step. Two months nevertheless elapsed before the plenipotentiaries of the two powers met, on August 10th, at Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Russia sent M. (afterwards Count) de Witte and Baron Rosen; Japan, Baron (afterwards Marquis) Komura, who had held the portfolio of Foreign Affairs throughout the war, and Mr. (afterwards Baron) Takahira. The Japanese statesmen well understood that much of the credit accruing to them for their successful conduct of the war must be forfeited in the sequel of the negotiations. For the people of Japan had accustomed themselves to expect that Russia would recoup a great part, if not the whole, of the expenses incurred by their country in the contest, whereas the ministry in Tokyo knew that to look for payment of indemnity by a great State whose territory has not been invaded effectively or its existence menaced must be futile. Nevertheless, diplomacy required that this conviction should be concealed, and thus Russia carried to the conference a belief that the financial phase of the discussion would be crucial. Baron Komura's mandate was, however, that the only radically essential terms were those formulated by Japan prior to the war. She must insist on securing the ends for which she had fought, since she believed them to be indispensable to the peace of the Far East, but beyond that she would not go. The Japanese plenipotentiaries, therefore, judged it wise to submit their terms in the order of the real importance, leaving their Russian colleagues to imagine, as they probably would, that the converse method had been adopted, and that everything prefatory to questions of finance and territory was of minor consequence. The negotiations, commencing on the 10th of August, were not concluded until the 5th of September, when a treaty of peace was signed. There had been a moment when the onlooking world believed that unless Russia agreed to ransom the island of Saghalien by paying to Japan a sum of 120 millions sterling,--$580,000,000, the conference would be broken off. Nor did such an exchange seem unreasonable, for were Russia expelled from the northern part of Saghalien, which commands the estuary of the Amur, her position in Siberia would have been compromised. But Japan's statesmen were not disposed to make any display of territorial aggression. The southern half of Saghalien had originally belonged to Japan and had passed into Russia's possession by an arrangement which the Japanese nation strongly resented. To recover that portion of the island seemed, therefore, a legitimate ambition. Japan did not contemplate any larger demand, nor did she seriously insist on an indemnity. Thus, the negotiations were never in real danger of failure. The Treaty of Portsmouth recognized Japan's "paramount political, military, and economic interests" in Korea; provided for the simultaneous evacuation of Manchuria by the contracting parties; transferred to Japan the lease of the Liaotung peninsula, held by Russia from China, together with that of the Russian railways south of Kwanchengtsz and all collateral mining or other privileges; ceded to Japan the southern half of Saghalien, the fiftieth parallel of latitude to be the boundary between the two parties; secured fishing-rights for Japanese subjects along the coasts of the seas of Japan, Okhotsk, and Bering; laid down that the expense incurred by the Japanese for the maintenance of the Russian prisoners during the war should be reimbursed by Russia, less the outlays made by the latter on account of Japanese prisoners, by which arrangement Japan obtained a payment of some four million sterling $20,000,000, and provided that the contracting parties, while withdrawing their military force from Manchuria, might maintain guards to protect their respective railways, the number of such guards not to exceed fifteen per kilometre of line. There were other important restrictions: first, the contracting parties were to abstain from taking, on the Russo-Korean frontier, any military measures which might menace the security of Russian or Korean territory; secondly, the two powers pledged themselves not to exploit the Manchurian railways for strategic purposes, and thirdly, they promised not to build on Saghalien or its adjacent islands any fortifications or other similar works, or to take any military measures which might impede the free navigation of the Strait of La Pérouse and the Gulf of Tatary. The above provisions concerned the two contracting parties only. But China's interests also were considered. Thus, it was agreed to "restore entirely and completely to her exclusive administration" all portions of Manchuria then in the occupation, or under the control, of Japanese or Russian troops, except the leased territory; that her consent must be obtained for the transfer to Japan of the leases and concessions held by the Russians in Manchuria; that the Russian Government should disavow the possession of "any territorial advantages or preferential or exclusive concessions in impairment of Chinese sovereignty or inconsistent with the principle of equal opportunity in Manchuria," and that Japan and Russia "engaged reciprocally not to obstruct any general measures common to all countries which China might take for the development of the commerce and industry of Manchuria." This distinction between the special interests of the contracting parties and the interests of China herself, as well as of foreign nations generally, is essential to clear understanding of a situation which subsequently attracted much attention. From the time of the Opium War (1857) to the Boxer rising (1900), each of the great Western powers struggled for its own hand in China, and each sought to gain for itself exclusive concessions and privileges with comparatively little regard for the interests of others and with no regard whatsoever for China's sovereign rights. The fruits of this period were permanently ceded territories (Hongkong and Macao); leases temporarily establishing foreign sovereignty in various districts (Kiao-chou, Weihaiwei, and Kwang-chow); railway and mining concessions, and the establishment of settlements at open ports where foreign jurisdiction was supreme. But when, in 1900, the Boxer rising forced all the powers into a common camp, they awoke to full appreciation of a principle which had been growing current for the past two or three years, namely, that concerted action on the lines of maintaining China's integrity and securing to all alike equality of opportunity and a similarly open door, was the only feasible method of preventing the partition of the Chinese empire and averting a clash of rival interests which might have disastrous results. This, of course, did not mean that there was to be any abandonment of special privileges already acquired or any surrender of existing concessions. The arrangement was not to be retrospective in any sense. Vested interests were to be strictly guarded until the lapse of the periods for which they had been granted, or until the maturity of China's competence to be really autonomous. A curious situation was thus created. International professions of respect for China's sovereignty, for the integrity of her empire, and for the enforcement of the open door and equal opportunity co-existed with legacies from an entirely different past. Russia endorsed this new policy, but not unnaturally declined to abate any of the advantages previously enjoyed by her in Manchuria. Those advantages were very substantial. They included a twenty-five-year lease--with provision for renewal--of the Liaotung peninsula, within which area of 1220 square miles Chinese troops might not penetrate, whereas Russia would not only exercise full administrative authority, but also take military and naval action of any kind; they included the creation of a neutral territory on the immediate north of the former and still more extensive, which remained under Chinese administration, and where neither Chinese nor Russian troops might enter, nor might China, without Russia's consent, cede land, open trading marts, or grant concessions to any third nationality; and they included the right to build some sixteen hundred miles of railway (which China would have the opportunity of purchasing at cost price in the year 1938, and would be entitled to receive gratis in 1982), as well as the right to hold extensive zones on either side of the railway, to administer these zones in the fullest sense, and to work all mines lying along the lines. Under the Portsmouth treaty these advantages were transferred to Japan by Russia, the railway, however, being divided so that only the portion (521.5 miles) to the south of Kwanchengtsz fell to Japan's share, while the portion (1077 miles) to the north of that place remained in Russia's hands. China's consent to the above transfers and assignments was obtained in a treaty signed at Peking on the 22nd of December, 1905. Thus, Japan came to hold in Manchuria a position somewhat contradictory. On the one hand, she figured as the champion of the Chinese empire's integrity and as an exponent of the new principle of equal opportunity and the open door. On the other, she appeared as the legatee of many privileges more or less inconsistent with that principle. But, at the same time, nearly all the great powers of Europe were similarly circumstanced. In their cases, also, the same incongruity was observed between the newly professed policy and the aftermath of the old practice. It was scarcely to be expected that Japan alone should make a large sacrifice on the altar of a theory to which no other State thought of yielding any retrospective obedience whatever. She did, indeed, furnish a clear proof of deference to the open-door doctrine, for instead of reserving the railway zones to her own exclusive use, as she was fully entitled to do, she sought and obtained from China a pledge to open to foreign trade sixteen places within these zones. For the rest, however, the inconsistency between the past and the present, though existing throughout the whole of China, was nowhere so conspicuous as in the three eastern provinces (Manchuria); not because there was any real difference of degree, but because Manchuria had been the scene of the greatest war of modern times; because that war had been fought by Japan in the cause of the new policy, and because the principles of the equally open door and of China's integrity had been the main bases of the Portsmouth treaty, of the Anglo-Japanese alliance, and of the subsequently concluded ententes with France and Russia. In short, the world's eyes were fixed on Manchuria and diverted from China proper, so that every act of Japan was subjected to an exceptionally rigorous scrutiny, and the nations behaved as though they expected her to live up to a standard of almost ideal altitude. China's mood, too, greatly complicated the situation. She had the choice between two moderate and natural courses; either to wait quietly until the various concessions granted by her to foreign powers in the evil past should lapse by maturity, or to qualify herself by earnest reforms and industrious developments for their earlier recovery. Nominally she adopted the latter course, but in reality she fell into a mood of much impatience. Under the name of a "rights-recovery campaign" her people began to protest vehemently against the continuance of any conditions which impaired her sovereignty, and as this temper coloured her attitude towards the various questions which inevitably grew out of the situation in Manchuria, her relations with Japan became somewhat strained in the early part of 1909. JAPAN IN KOREA AFTER THE WAR WITH RUSSIA Having waged two wars on account of Korea, Japan emerged from the second conflict with the conviction that the policy of maintaining the independence of that country must be modified, and that since the identity of Korean and Japanese interests in the Far East and the paramount character of Japanese interests in Korea would not permit Japan to leave Korea to the care of any third power, she must assume the charge herself. Europe and America also recognized that view of the situation, and consented to withdraw their legations from Seoul, thus leaving the control of Korean foreign affairs entirely in the hands of Japan, who further undertook to assume military direction in the event of aggression from without or disturbance from within. But in the matter of internal administration, she continued to limit herself to advisory supervision. Thus, though a Japanese resident-general in Seoul, with subordinate residents throughout the provinces, assumed the functions hitherto discharged by foreign ministers and consuls, the Korean Government was merely asked to employ Japanese experts in the position of counsellors, the right to accept or reject their counsels being left to their employers. Once again, however, the futility of looking for any real reforms under this optional system was demonstrated. Japan sent her most renowned statesman, Prince Ito, to discharge the duties of resident-general; but even he, in spite of patience and tact, found that some less optional methods must be resorted to. Hence, on the 24th of July, 1907, a new agreement was signed, by which the resident-general acquired initiative as well as consultative competence to enact and enforce laws and ordinances; to appoint and remove Korean officials, and to place capable Japanese subjects in the ranks of the administration. That this constituted a heavy blow to Korea's independence could not be gainsaid. That it was inevitable seemed to be equally obvious. For there existed in Korea nearly all the worst abuses of medieval systems. The administration of justice depended solely on favour or interest. The police contributed by corruption and incompetence to the insecurity of life and property. The troops were a body of useless mercenaries. Offices being allotted by sale, thousands of incapables thronged the ranks of the executive. The Emperor's Court was crowded by diviners and plotters of all kinds, male and female. The finances of the Throne and those of the State were hopelessly confused. There was nothing like an organized judiciary. A witness was in many cases considered particeps criminis; torture was commonly employed to obtain evidence, and defendants in civil cases were placed under arrest. Imprisonment meant death or permanent disablement for a man of means. Flogging so severe as to cripple, if not to kill, was a common punishment; every major offence from robbery upwards was capital, and female criminals were frequently executed by administering shockingly painful poisons. The currency was in a state of the utmost confusion. Extreme corruption and extortion were practised in connexion with taxation. Finally, while nothing showed that the average Korean lacked the elementary virtue of patriotism, there had been repeated proofs that the safety and independence of the empire counted for little with political intriguers. Japan must step out of Korea altogether or effect drastic reforms there. She necessarily chose the latter alternative, and the things which she accomplished between the beginning of 1906 and the close of 1908 may be briefly described as the elaboration of a proper system of taxation; the organization of a staff to administer annual budgets; the re-assessment of taxable property; the floating of public loans for productive enterprises; the reform of the currency; the establishment of banks of various kinds, including agricultural and commercial; the creation of associations for putting bank-notes into circulation; the introduction of a warehousing system to supply capital to farmers; the lighting and buoying of the coasts; the provision of posts, telegraphs, roads, and railways; the erection of public buildings; the starting of various industrial enterprises (such as printing, brick making, forestry and coal mining); the laying out of model farms; the beginning of cotton cultivation; the building and equipping of an industrial training school; the inauguration of sanitary works; the opening of hospitals and medical schools; the organization of an excellent educational system; the construction of waterworks in several towns; the complete remodelling of the Central Government; the differentiation of the Court and the executive, as well as of the administrative and the judiciary; the formation of an efficient body of police; the organization of law-courts with a majority of Japanese jurists on the bench; the enactment of a new penal code, and drastic reforms in the taxation system. In the summer of 1907, the resident-general advised the Throne to disband the standing army as an unserviceable and expensive force. The measure was, doubtless desirable, but the docility of the troops had been overrated. Some of them resisted vehemently, and many became the nucleus of an insurrection which lasted in a desultory manner for nearly two years; cost the lives of 21,000 insurgents and 1300 Japanese, and entailed upon Japan an outlay of nearly a million sterling. Altogether, what with building 642 miles of railway, making loans to Korea, providing funds for useful purposes and quelling the insurrection, Japan was fifteen millions sterling $72,000,000 out of pocket on Korea's account by the end of 1909. She had also lost the veteran statesman, Prince Ito, who was assassinated at Harbin by a Korean fanatic on the 26th of October, 1909.* *Encylopaedia Britannica, (11th Edition); article "Japan," by Brinkley. ANNEXATION OF KOREA Japan finally resolved that nothing short of annexation would suit the situation, and that step was taken on August 22, 1910. At what precise moment this conviction forced itself upon Japan's judgment it is impossible to say, She knows how to keep her counsel. But it was certainly with great reluctance that she, hitherto the exponent and champion of Korean independence, accepted the role of annexation. The explanation given by her own Government is as follows: -"In its solicitude to put an end to disturbing conditions, the Japanese Government made an arrangement, in 1905, for establishing a protectorate over Korea and they have ever since been assiduously engaged in works of reform, looking forward to the consummation of the desired end. But they have failed to find in the regime of a protectorate sufficient hope for a realization of the object which they had in view, and a condition of unrest and disquietude still prevails throughout the whole peninsula. In these circumstances, the necessity of introducing fundamental changes in the system of government in Korea has become entirely manifest, and an earnest and careful examination of the Korean problem has convinced the Japanese Government that the regime of a protectorate cannot be made to adapt itself to the actual condition of affairs in Korea, and that the responsibilities devolving upon Japan for the due administration of the country cannot be justly fulfilled without the complete annexation of Korea to the Empire." "Thus the dynasty of sovereigns, which had continued in an unbroken line from 1392, came to an end with the independence of this country, whose national traditions and history had extended over four thousand years, whose foundation as a kingdom was coeval with that of the Assyrian empire; and the two last living representatives of the dynasty exchanged their positions as Imperial dignitaries for those of princes and pensioners of Japan."* Since that drastic step was taken, events seem to have fully justified it. Under the able management of Count Terauchi, the evil conditions inimical to the prosperity and happiness of the people are fast disappearing. Comparative peace and order reign; and there appears to be no reason why the fruits of progressive civilization should not ultimately be gathered in Japan's new province as plentifully as they are in Japan herself. *The Story of Korea, by Longford. SITUATION IN 1911 The unstable element of the East Asian situation to-day is the position occupied by Japan and Russia in Manchuria. Both powers possess privileges there which will not be easily surrendered, and which are likely, sooner or later, to prove incompatible with China's autonomy. It was apprehended at the outset that Russia would not long consent to occupy the place assigned to her by the Treaty of Portsmouth, and that she would quickly prepare for a war of revenge. Her statesmen, however, showed as much magnanimity as wisdom. On July 30, 1906, they signed with Japan a convention pledging the contracting parties to respect all the rights accruing to one or the other under the Portsmouth Treaty. If international promises can be trusted, continuous peace is assured between the two powers. Russia, however, is not only doubling the track of her Siberian Railway, but is also building a second line along the Amur; while Japan will soon command access to central Manchuria by three lines; one from Dalny to Kwanchengtsz; another from Fusan via Wiju to Mukden, and a third from the northeastern coast of Korea via Hoiryong, on the Tumen, to Kilin. These developments do not suggest that when the lease of Liaotung and the charter of the railways mature--in twenty-five years and thirty years, respectively, from the date of their signature--either Japan or Russia will be found ready to surrender these properties. Meanwhile, the United States of America is gradually constituting itself the guardian of China's integrity in Manchuria, and the citizens of the Pacific slope, under the influence of the labour question, are writing and speaking as though war between the great republic and the Far Eastern empire were an inevitable outcome of the future. This chimera is unthinkable by anyone really familiar with the trend of Japanese sentiment, but it may encourage in China a dangerous mood, and it helps always to foster an unquiet feeling. On the whole, when we add the chaotic condition into which China is apparently falling, it has to be admitted that the second decade of the twentieth century does not open a peaceful vista in the Far East. STEADY-POINTS There are, however, two steady-points upon the horizon. One is the Anglo-Japanese treaty: not the treaty of 1902, spoken of already above, but a treaty which replaced it and which was concluded on August 12, 1905. The latter document goes much further than the former. For, whereas the treaty of 1902 merely pledged each of the contracting parties to observe neutrality in the event of the other being engaged in defence of its interests, and to come to that other's assistance in the event of any third power intervening belligerently, the treaty of 1905 provides that: "Whenever in the opinion of either Japan or Great Britain, any of the rights and interests referred to in the preamble of this agreement are in jeopardy, the two Governments will communicate with one another fully and frankly, and will consider in common the measures which should be taken to safeguard those menaced rights or interests." "If, by reason of unprovoked attack or aggressive action, wherever arising, on the part of any other power or powers, either contracting party should be involved in war in defence of its territorial rights or special interests mentioned in the preamble of this agreement, the other contracting party will at once come to the assistance of its ally, and will conduct the war in common, and make peace in mutual agreement with it." The "rights and interests" here referred to are defined as follows in the preamble: "The consolidation and maintenance of the general peace in the regions of eastern Asia and of India." "The preservation of the common interests of all powers in China by insuring the independence and integrity of the Chinese empire and the principle of equal opportunities for the commerce and industry of all nations in China." "The maintenance of the territorial rights of the high contracting parties in the regions of eastern Asia and of India, and the defence of their special interests in the said regions." This remarkable agreement came into force from the date of its signature, and its period of duration was fixed at ten years. During its existence the two powers, England and Japan, are pledged to use all endeavours for maintaining not only peace in the East, but also the independence and integrity of China. The significance of such a pledge is appreciated when we recall the dimensions of the British navy supplemented by the Japanese, and when we further recall that Japan, with her base of operations within easy reach of the Asiatic continent, can place half a million of men in the field at any moment. The second steady-point is China's financial condition. She is the debtor of several Western nations, and they may be trusted to avert from her any vicissitude that would impair her credit as a borrower. Prominent among such vicissitudes is the dismemberment of the country. ENGRAVING: SEAL OF SESSHO, THE PAINTER APPENDIX 1. CONSTITUTION OF THE EMPIRE OF JAPAN TOKYO, FEBRUARY 11, 1889 CHAPTER I. THE EMPEROR Article I. The Empire of Japan shall be ruled over by Emperors of the dynasty, which has reigned in an unbroken line of descent for ages past. Article II. The succession to the throne shall devolve upon male descendants of the Imperial House, according to the provisions of the Imperial House Law. Article III. The person of the Emperor is sacred and inviolable. Article IV. The Emperor being the Head of the Empire the rights of sovereignty are invested in him, and he exercises them in accordance with the provisions of the present Constitution. Article V. The Emperor exercises the legislative power with the consent of the Imperial Diet. Article VI. The Emperor gives sanction to laws, and orders them to be promulgated and put into force. Article VII. The Emperor convokes the Imperial Diet, opens, closes, and prorogues it, and dissolves the House of Representatives. Article VIII. In case of urgent necessity, when the Imperial Diet is not sitting, the Emperor, in order to maintain the public safety or to avert a public danger, has the power to issue Imperial Ordinances, which shall take the place of laws. Such Imperial Ordinances shall, however, be laid before the Imperial Diet at its next session, and should the Diet disapprove of the said Ordinances, the Government shall declare them to be henceforth invalid. Article IX. The Emperor issues, or causes to be issued, the ordinances necessary for the carrying out of the laws, or for the maintenance of public peace and order, and for the promotion of the welfare of his subjects. But no Ordinance shall in any way alter any of the existing laws. Article X. The Emperor determines the organisation of the different branches of the Administration; he fixes the salaries of all civil and military officers, and appoints and dismisses the same. Exceptions specially provided for in the present Constitution or in other laws shall be in accordance with the respective provisions bearing thereon. Article XI. The Emperor has the supreme command of the army and navy. Article XII. The Emperor determines the organisation and peace standing of the army and navy. Article XIII. The Emperor declares war, makes peace, and concludes treaties. Article XIV. The Emperor proclaims the law of siege. The conditions and operation of the law of siege shall be determined by law. Article XV. The Emperor confers titles of nobility, rank, orders, and other marks of honour. Article XVI. The Emperor orders amnesty, pardon, commutation of punishments, and rehabilitation. Article XVII. The institution of a Regency shall take place in conformity with the provisions of the Imperial House Law.* The Regent shall exercise the supreme powers which belong to the Emperor in his name. *Law of succession, coronation, ascension, majority, style of address, regency, imperial governor, imperial family, hereditary estates, imperial expenditures, etc., of Feb. 11, 1889. CHAPTER II. RIGHTS AND DUTIES OF SUBJECTS Article XVIII. The conditions necessary for being a Japanese subject shall be determined by law. Article XIX. Japanese subjects shall all equally be eligible for civil and military appointments, and any other public offices, subject only to the conditions prescribed and Laws and Ordinances. Article XX. Japanese subjects are amenable to service in the army or navy, according to the provisions of law. Article XXI. Japanese subjects are amenable to the duty of paying taxes, according to the provisions of law. Article XXII. Subject to the limitations imposed by law, Japanese subjects shall enjoy full liberty in regard to residence and change of abode. Article XXIII. No Japanese subject shall be arrested, detained, tried or punished, except according to law. Article XXIV. No Japanese subject shall be deprived of his right of being tried by judges determined by law. Article XXV. Except in the cases provided for in the law, the house of no Japanese subject shall be entered or searched without his permission. Article XXVI. Except in cases provided for in the law, the secrecy of the letters of Japanese subjects shall not be violated. Article XXVII. The rights of property of Japanese subjects shall not be violated. Such measures, however, as may be rendered necessary in the interests of the public welfare shall be taken in accordance with the provisions of the law. Article XXVIII. Japanese subjects shall, within limits not prejudicial to peace and order, and not antagonistic to their duties as subjects, enjoy freedom of religious belief. Article XXIX. Japanese subjects shall, within the limits of the law, enjoy liberty in regard to speech, writing, publication, public meetings, and associations. Article XXX. Japanese subjects may present petitions, provided that they observe the proper form of respect, and comply with the rules specially provided for such matters. Article XXXI. The provisions contained in the present chapter shall not interfere with the exercise, in times of war or in case of national emergency, of the supreme powers which belong to the Emperor. Article XXXII. Each and every one of the provisions contained in the preceding articles of the present chapter shall, in so far as they do not conflict with the laws or the rules and discipline of the army and navy, apply to the officers and men of the army and of the navy. CHAPTER III. THE IMPERIAL DIET Article XXXIII. The Imperial Diet shall consist of two Houses: the House of Peers and the House of Representatives. Article XXXIV. The House of Peers shall, in accordance with the Ordinance concerning the House of Peers, be composed of members of the Imperial Family, of Nobles, and of Deputies who have been nominated by the Emperor. Article XXXV. The House of Representatives shall be composed of members elected by the people, according to the provisions of the Law of Election. Article XXXVI. No one can at one and the same time be a member of both Houses. Article XXXVII. Every law requires the consent of the Imperial Diet. Article XXXVIII. Both Houses shall vote upon projects of law brought forward by the Government, and may respectively bring forward projects of law. Article XXXIX. A bill which has been rejected by either of the Houses shall not be again brought in during the same session. Article XL. Both Houses can make recommendations to the Government in regard to laws, or upon any other subject. When, however, such recommendations are not adopted, they cannot be made a second time during the same session. Article XLI. The Imperial Diet shall be convoked every year. Article XLII. A session of the Imperial Diet shall last during three months. In case of necessity, a duration of a session may be prolonged by Imperial order. Article XLIII. When urgent necessity arises, an extraordinary session may be convoked, in addition to the ordinary one. The duration of an extraordinary session shall be determined by Imperial order. Article XLIV. With regard to the opening, closing, and prorogation of the Imperial Diet, and the prolongation of its sessions, these shall take place simultaneously in both Houses. Should the House of Representatives be ordered to dissolve, the House of Peers shall at the same time be prorogued. Article XLV. When the House of Representatives has been ordered to dissolve, the election of new members shall be ordered by Imperial decree, and the new House shall be convoked within five months from the day of dissolution. Article XLVI. No debate can be opened and no vote can be taken in either House of the Imperial Diet unless not less than one-third of the whole number of the members thereof is present. Article XLVII. Votes shall be taken in both Houses by absolute majority. In the case of a tie vote, the President shall have the casting vote. Article XLVIII. The deliberation of both Houses shall be held in public. The deliberations may, however, upon demand of the Government or by resolution of the House, be held in secret sitting. Article XLIX. Both Houses of the Imperial Diet may respectively present addresses to the Emperor. Article L. Both Houses may receive petitions presented by subjects. Article LI. Both Houses may enact, besides what is provided for in the present constitution and in the law of the Houses, rules necessary for the management of their internal affairs. Article LII. No member of either House shall be held responsible outside the respective Houses for any opinion uttered or for any vote given by him in the House. When, however, a member himself has given publicity to his opinions, by public speech, by documents in print, or in writing, or by any other means, he shall, as regards such actions, be amenable to the general law. Article LIII. The members of both Houses shall, during the session, be free from arrest, unless with the permission of the House, except in cases of flagrant delicts, or of offences connected with civil war or foreign troubles. Article LIV. The Ministers of State, and persons deputed for that purpose by the Government, may at any time take seats and speak in either House. CHAPTER IV. THE MINISTERS OF STATE AND THE PRIVY COUNCIL Article LV. The respective Ministers of State shall give their advice to the Emperor, and be responsible for it. All laws, public ordinances, and imperial rescripts, of whatever kind, that relate to the affairs of the state, require the counter-signature of a Minister of State. Article LVI. The Privy Council shall, in accordance with the provisions for the organisation of the Privy Council, deliberate upon the important matters of State, when they have been consulted by the Emperor. CHAPTER V. THE JUDICATURE Article LVII. Judicial powers shall be exercised by the courts of law, according to law, in the name of the Emperor. The organisation of the courts of law shall be determined by law. Article LVIII. The judges shall be appointed from among those who possess the proper qualifications determined by law. No judge shall be dismissed from his post except on the ground of sentence having been passed upon him for a criminal act, or by reason of his having been subjected to punishment for disciplinary offence. Rules for disciplinary punishment shall be determined by law. Article LIX. Trials shall be conducted and judgments rendered publicly. When, however, there exists any fear that such publicity may be prejudicial to peace and order, or to the maintenance of public morality, the public trial may be suspended, either in accordance with the law bearing on the subject or by the decision of the court concerned. Article LX. Matters which fall within the competency of the special courts shall be specially determined by law. Article LXI. The courts of law shall not take cognizance of any suits which arise out of the allegations that rights have been infringed by illegal action on the part of the executive authorities, and which fall within the competency of the court of administrative litigation, specially established by law. CHAPTER VI. FINANCE Article LXII. The imposition of a new tax or the modification of the rates (of an existing one) shall be determined by law. However, all such administrative fees or other revenue as are in the nature of compensation for services rendered shall not fall within the category of the above clause. The raising of national loans and the contracting of other liabilities to the charge of the National Treasury, except those that are provided in the Budget, shall require the consent of the Imperial Diet. Article LXIII. Existing taxes shall, in so far as they are not altered by new laws, continue to be collected as heretofore. Article LXIV. The annual expenditure and revenue of the State shall, in the form of an annual Budget, receive the consent of the Imperial Diet. Any expenditure which exceeds the appropriations set forth under the various heads of the Budget, or those not provided for in the Budget, shall be referred subsequently to the Imperial Diet for its approval. Article LXV. The Budget shall be first laid before the House of Representatives. Article LXVI. The expenditure in respect of the Imperial House shall be defrayed every year out of the National Treasury, according to the present fixed amount for the same, and shall not hereafter require the consent thereto of the Imperial Diet, except in case an increase thereof is found necessary. Article LXVII. The fixed expenditure based upon the supreme powers of the Emperor and set forth in this Constitution, and such expenditure as may have arisen by the effect of law, or as appertains to the legal obligations of the Government, shall be neither rejected nor reduced by the Imperial Diet, without the concurrence of the Government. Article LXVIII. In order to meet special requirements the Government may ask the consent of the Imperial Diet to a certain amount as a continuing expenditure fund, for a previously fixed number of years. Article LXIX. In order to supply unavoidable deficits in the Budget, and to meet requirements unprovided for in the same, a reserve fund shall be established. Article LXX. When there is urgent need for the adoption of measures for the maintenance of the public safety, and when in consequence of the state either of the domestic affairs or of the foreign relations, the Imperial Diet cannot be convoked, the necessary financial measures may be taken by means of an Imperial Ordinance. In such cases as those mentioned in the preceding clause the matter shall be submitted to the Imperial Diet at its next session for its approval. Article LXXI. When the Imperial Diet has not voted on the Budget, or when the Budget has not been brought into actual existence, the Government shall carry out the Budget of the preceding year. Article LXXII. The final account of the expenditure and revenue of the State shall be verified and confirmed by the Board of Audit, and it shall be submitted by the Government to the Imperial Diet, together with the report of verification of the said Board. The organisation and competency of the Board of Audit shall be determined by law separately. CHAPTER VII SUPPLEMENTARY RULES Article LXXIII. Should, hereafter, the necessity arise for the amendment of the provisions of the present Constitution, A project to that effect shall be submitted for the deliberation of the Imperial Diet by Imperial Order. In the above case, neither House can open a debate, unless not less than two-thirds of the whole number of members are present; and no amendment can be passed unless a majority of not less than two-thirds of the members present is obtained. Article LXXIV. No modification of the Imperial House Law shall be required to be submitted for the deliberation of the Imperial Diet. No provision of the present Constitution can be modified by the Imperial House Law. Article LXXV. No modification can be introduced into the Constitution, or into the Imperial House Law, during the time of a Regency. Article LXXVI. Existing legal enactments, such as laws, regulations, and ordinances, and all other such enactments, by whatever names they may be called, which do not conflict with the present constitution, shall continue in force. All existing contracts or orders which entail obligations upon the Government, and which are connected with the expenditure, shall come within the scope of Article LXVII. 2. AGREEMENT BETWEEN JAPAN AND THE UNITED KINGDOM, SIGNED AT LONDON, AUGUST 12, 1905 Preamble. The Governments of Japan and Great Britain, being desirous of replacing the agreement concluded between them on the 30th January, 1902, by fresh stipulations, have agreed upon the following articles, which have for their object: (a) The consolidation and maintenance of the general peace in the regions of Eastern Asia and of India; (b) The preservation of the common interests of all Powers in China by insuring the independence and integrity of the Chinese Empire and the principle of equal opportunities for the commerce and industry of all nations in China; (c) The maintenance of the territorial rights of the High Contracting Parties in the regions of Eastern Asia and of India, and the defence of their special interests in the said regions: Article I. It is agreed that whenever, in the opinion of either Great Britain or Japan, any of the rights and interests referred to in the preamble of this Agreement are in jeopardy, the two Governments will communicate with one another fully and frankly, and will consider in common the measures which should be taken to safeguard those menaced rights or interests. (671) Article II. If by reason of unprovoked attack or aggressive action, wherever arising, on the part of any other Power or Powers either Contracting Party should be involved in war in defence of its territorial rights or special interests mentioned in the preamble of this Agreement, the other Contracting Party will at once come to the assistance of its ally, and will conduct the war in common, and make peace in mutual agreement with it. (672) Article III. Japan possessing paramount political, military, and economic interests in Corea, Great Britain recognizes the right of Japan to take such measures of guidance, control, and protection in Corea as she may deem proper and necessary to safeguard and advance those interests, provided always that such measures are not contrary to the principle of equal opportunities for the commerce and industry of all nations. (672) Article IV. Great Britain having a special interest in all that concerns the security of the Indian frontier, Japan recognizes her right to take such measures in the proximity of that frontier as she may find necessary for safeguarding her Indian possessions. (672) Article V. The High Contracting Parties agree that neither of them will, without consulting the other, enter into separate arrangements with another Power to the prejudice of the objects described in the preamble of this Agreement. (672) Article VI. As regards the present war between Japan and Russia, Great Britain will continue to maintain strict neutrality unless some other Power or Powers should join in hostilities against Japan, in which case Great Britain will come to the assistance of Japan, and will conduct the war in common, and make peace in mutual agreement with Japan. (672) Article VII. The conditions under which armed assistance shall be afforded by either Power to the other in the circumstances mentioned in the present Agreement, and the means by which such assistance is to be made available, will be arranged by the Naval and Military authorities of the Contracting Parties, who will from time to time consult one another fully and freely upon all questions of mutual interest. (673) Article VIII. The present Agreement shall, subject to the provisions of Article VI, come into effect immediately after the date of its signature, and remain in force for ten years from that date. In case neither of the High Contracting Parties should have notified twelve months before the expiration of the said ten years the intention of terminating it, it shall remain binding until the expiration of one year from the day on which either of the High Contracting Parties shall have denounced it. But, if when the date fixed for its expiration arrives, either ally is actually engaged in war, the alliance shall, ipso facto, continue until peace is concluded. (673) In faith whereof the Undersigned, duly authorized by their respective Governments, have signed this Agreement and have affixed thereto their Seals. Done in duplicate at London, the 12th day of August, 1905. (L.S.) TADASU HAYASHI Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary of His Majesty the Emperor of Japan at the Court of St. James. (L.S.) LANSDOWNE His Britannic Majesty's Principal Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. 3. TREATY OF PEACE BETWEEN JAPAN AND RUSSIA SIGNED AT PORTSMOUTH, SEPTEMBER 5, 1905 Article I. There shall henceforth be peace and amity between Their Majesties the Emperor of Japan and the Emperor of all the Russias and between Their respective States and subjects. (783) Article II. The Imperial Russian Government, acknowledging that Japan possesses in Corea paramount political, military and economical interests, engage neither to obstruct nor interfere with the measures of guidance, protection and control which the Imperial Government of Japan may find it necessary to take in Corea. It is understood that Russian subjects in Corea shall be treated exactly in the same manner as the subjects or citizens of other foreign Powers, that is to say, they shall be placed on the same footing as the subjects or citizens of the most favoured nation. It is also agreed that, in order to avoid all cause of misunderstanding, the two High Contracting Parties will abstain, on the Russo-Corean frontier, from taking any military measure which may menace the security of Russian or Corean territory. (783) Article III. Japan and Russia mutually engage: 1. To evacuate completely and simultaneously Manchuria except the territory affected by the lease of the Liao-tung Peninsula, in conformity with the provisions of additional Article I, annexed to this Treaty: and 2. To restore entirely and completely to the exclusive administration of China all portions of Manchuria now in the occupation or under the control of the Japanese or Russian troops, with the exception of the territory above mentioned. The Imperial Government of Russia declare that they have not in Manchuria any territorial advantages or preferential or exclusive concessions in impairment of Chinese sovereignty or inconsistent with the principle of equal opportunity. (784) Article IV. Japan and Russia reciprocally engage not to obstruct any general measures common to all countries, which China may take for the development of the commerce and industry of Manchuria. (784) Article V. The Imperial Russian Government transfer and assign to the Imperial Government of Japan, with the consent of the Government of China, the lease of Port Arthur, Talien and adjacent territory, and territorial waters and all rights, privileges and concessions connected with or forming part of such lease and they also transfer and assign to the Imperial Government of Japan all public works and properties in the territory affected by the above mentioned lease. The two High Contracting Parties mutually engage to obtain the consent of the Chinese Government mentioned in the foregoing stipulation. The Imperial Government of Japan on their part undertake that the proprietary rights of Russian subjects in the territory above referred to shall be perfectly respected. (784) Article VI. The Imperial Russian Government engage to transfer and assign to the Imperial Government of Japan, without compensation and with the consent of the Chinese Government, the railway between Chang-chun (Kuan-cheng-tzu) and Port Arthur and all its branches, together with all rights, privileges and properties appertaining thereto in that region, as well as all coal mines in the said region belonging to or worked for the benefit of the railway. The two High Contracting Parties mutually engage to obtain the consent of the Government of China mentioned in the foregoing stipulation. (785) Article VII. Japan and Russia engage to exploit their respective railways in Manchuria exclusively for commercial and industrial purposes and in no wise for strategic purposes. It is understood that that restriction does not apply to the railway in the territory affected by the lease of the Liao-tung Peninsula. (785) Article VIII. The Imperial Governments of Japan and Russia, with a view to promote and facilitate intercourse and traffic, will, as soon as possible, conclude a separate convention for the regulation of their connecting railway services in Manchuria. (785) Article IX. The Imperial Russian Government cede to the Imperial Government of Japan in perpetuity and full sovereignty, the southern portion of the Island of Saghalien and all islands adjacent thereto, and all public works and properties thereon. The fiftieth degree of north latitude is adopted as the northern boundary of the ceded territory. The exact alignment of such territory shall be determined in accordance with the provisions of additional Article II, annexed to this Treaty. Japan and Russia mutually agree not to construct in their respective possessions on the Island of Saghalien or the adjacent islands, any fortifications or other similar military works. They also respectively engage not to take any military measures which may impede the free navigation of the Straits of La Pérouse and Tartary. (785) Article X. It is reserved to the Russian subjects, inhabitants of the territory ceded to Japan, to sell their real property and retire to their country; but, if they prefer to remain in the ceded territory, they will be maintained and protected in the full exercise of their industries and rights of property, on condition of submitting to Japanese laws and jurisdiction. Japan shall have full liberty to withdraw the right of residence in, or to deport from, such territory, any inhabitants who labour under political or administrative disability. She engages, however, that the proprietary rights of such individuals shall be fully respected. (786) Article XL. Russia engages to arrange with Japan for granting to Japanese subjects rights of fishery along the coasts of the Russian possessions in the Japan, Okhotsk and Behring Seas. It is agreed that the foregoing engagement shall not affect rights already belonging to Russian or foreign subjects in those regions. (786) Article XII. The Treaty of Commerce and Navigation between Japan and Russia having been annulled by the war, the Imperial Governments of Japan and Russia engage to adopt as the basis of their commercial relations, pending the conclusion of a new treaty of commerce and navigation on the basis of the Treaty which was in force previous to the present war, the system of reciprocal treatment on the footing of the most favoured nation, in which are included import and export duties, customs formalities, transit and tonnage dues, and the admission and treatment of the agents, subjects and vessels of one country in the territories of the other. (786) Article XIII. As soon as possible after the present Treaty comes into force, all prisoners of war shall be reciprocally restored. The Imperial Governments of Japan and Russia shall each appoint a special Commissioner to take charge of prisoners. All prisoners in the hands of the Government shall be delivered to and received by the Commissioner of the other Government or by his duly authorized representative, in such convenient numbers and at such convenient ports of the delivering State as such delivering State shall notify in advance to the Commissioner of the receiving State. The Governments of Japan and Russia shall present to each other, as soon as possible after the delivery of prisoners has been completed, a statement of the direct expenditures respectively incurred by them for the care and maintainance of prisoners from the date of capture or surrender up to the time of death or delivery. Russia engages to repay Japan, as soon as possible after the exchange of the statements as above provided, the difference between the actual amount so expended by Japan and the actual amount similarly disbursed by Russia. (787) Article XIV. The present Treaty shall be ratified by Their Majesties the Emperor of Japan and the Emperor of all the Russias. Such ratification shall, with as little delay as possible and in any case not later than fifty days from the date of the signature of the Treaty, be announced to the Imperial Governments of Japan and Russia respectively through the French Minister in Tokio and the Ambassador of the United States in Saint Petersburg and from the date of the later of such announcements this Treaty shall in all its parts come into full force. The formal exchange of the ratification shall take place at Washington as soon as possible. (787) Article XV. The present Treaty shall be signed in duplicate in both the English and French languages. The texts are in absolute conformity, but in case of discrepancy in interpretation, the French text shall prevail. In witness whereof, the respective Plenipotentiaries have signed and affixed their seals to the present Treaty of Peace. (788) Done at Portsmouth (New Hampshire) this fifth day of the ninth month of the thirty-eighth year of Meiji, corresponding to the twenty-third day of August (fifth September), one thousand nine hundred and five. (Signed) JUTARO KOMURA (L.S.) (Signed) K. TAKAHIRA (L.S.) (Signed) SERGE WITTE (L.S.) (Signed) ROSEN (L.S.) In conformity with the provisions of Articles III and IX of the Treaty of Peace between Japan and Russia of this date, the undersigned Plenipotentiaries have concluded the following additional Articles: I. To Article III. The Imperial Governments of Japan and Russia mutually engage to commence the withdrawal of their military forces from the territory of Manchuria simultaneously and immediately after the Treaty of Peace comes into operation, and within a period of eighteen months from that date, the Armies of the two countries shall be completely withdrawn from Manchuria, except from the leased territory of the Liaotung Peninsula. The forces of the two countries occupying the front positions shall be first withdrawn. The High Contracting Parties reserve to themselves the right to maintain guards to protect their respective railway lines in Manchuria. The number of such guards shall not exceed fifteen per kilometre and within that maximum number, the commanders of the Japanese and Russian Armies shall, by common accord, fix the number of such guards to be employed, as small as possible having in view the actual requirements. The Commanders of the Japanese and Russian forces in Manchuria shall agree upon the details of the evacuation in conformity with the above principles and shall take by common accord the measures necessary to carry out the evacuation as soon as possible and in any case not later than the period of eighteen months. (789) II. To Article IX. As soon as possible after the present Treaty comes into force, a Commission of Delimitation, composed of an equal number of members to be appointed respectively by the two High Contracting Parties, shall on the spot mark in a permanent manner the exact boundary between the Japanese and Russian possessions on the Island of Saghalien. The Commissions shall be bound, so far as topographical considerations permit, to follow the fiftieth parallel of north latitude as the boundary line, and in case any deflections from that line at any points are found to be necessary, compensation will be made by correlative deflections at other points. It shall also be the duty of the said Commission to prepare a list and description of the adjacent islands included in the cession and finally the Commission shall prepare and sign maps showing the boundaries of the ceded territory. The work of the Commission shall be subject to the approval of the High Contracting Parties. The foregoing additional Articles are to be considered as ratified with the ratification of the Treaty of Peace to which they are annexed. (789) Portsmouth the 5th day, 9th month, 38th year of Meiji corresponding to the 23rd August, 5th September, 1905. (Signed) JUTARO KOMURA (L.S.) (Signed) K. TAKAHIRA (L.S.) (Signed) SERGE WITTE (L.S.) (Signed) ROSEN (L.S.) INDEX Abdication, Shomu; Fujiwara policy Abe, Princess, becomes Empress Koken Abe family and Nine Years' Commotion; Minister of the Left --Kozo, on moral influence of Chinese classics --Masahiro, policy in 1853; attempts to strengthen Tokugawa --Muneto, brother of Sadato, war in Mutsu --Nakamaro (701-70), studies in China --Sadato (1019-1062), in Nine Years' Commotion --Seimei, astronomer, his descendants in Gakashujo --Shigetsugu (1600-51) --Tadaaki (1583-1644), minister of Iemitsu Abutsu-ni (d. 1283), author of Izayoi-nikki Academies for youth of uji, Gaku-in; temple-schools, iera-koya; established by Yoshinao; the Honga school; schools in Yedo and Osaka; for court nobles Acha-no-Tsubone Achi, Chinese prince, migrates to Japan (289 A.D.) with weavers; carpenters; and Saka-no-ye no Tamuramaro Adachi family, connexion with Hojo, Miura plot against; crushed (1286) Adahiko, son of Omi, befriends Oke and Woke Adams, Will (d. 1520), English pilot on Liefde, adviser of Ieyasu; Saris distrusts; tomb (ill.) Adoption, law of, in Court Laws; in Tokugawa fiefs; laws of After-Han dynasty (211-65) of China Aganoko, lands confiscated Agglutinative language Agriculture, early development of; and religion; encouraged by Sujin; in reign of Suinin; on state revenue lands; in years 540-640; in Nara epoch; in Heian; in Kamakura period; under Yoshimune; Americans in remodelling methods of; growth in 19th century Ai river, fighting on Ainu, nature-worship of; language; subdivision of yellow race; ill. Aizu, meeting-plan of armies in Shido shogun campaign; clan loyal to shogun at Restoration Akabashi Moritoki Akagashira, "red head," Akahige, "red beard," Yemishi leader in 8th century Akahito see Yamabe Akahito Akakura at Sekigahara Akamatsu, large land-holdings of; Ashikaga Yoshinori plots against --Mitsusuke (1381-1441), rebels against Yoshimochl; defeated --Norimura (1277-1350), defender of Go-Daigo; turns against Crown; captures Kyoto (1336); and Ashikaga --Norishige, revolts in Kyushu --Sadamura, among generals attacking Mitsusuke --Yoshimura, guardian of Ashikaga Yoshiharu Aka-Nyudo, "Red Monk,"; see Yamana Mochitoyo Akasaka taken by Hojo Akazome Emon, authoress of Eigwa Monogatari Akechi Mitsuhide (1526-82), soldier under Nobunaga; goes over to the Mori; shogun; tries to kill Ieyasu; death Aki, province Aki, daughter of Kiyo and Fujiwara Yoshifusa, Montoku's empress Akimoto Yasutomo (1580-1642) rebuilds Ieyasu's shrine Akitoki see Kanazawa Akitoki Akizuki of Kyushu, defeated by Otomo Ako, "reliance on equity," quibble over word Ako, vendetta of Akunoura, foundry Akuro-o, Yemishi leader in 8th century wars, possibly Oro-o, i.e. Russian Alcock, Sir Rutherford (1809-97), on aliens in Japan Alderman, over homestead of 50 houses Alexieff, E. I. (b. 1843), Russian admiral, in command at Port Arthur Aliens, in prehistoric ban or bambetsu; naturalized, skilled artisans, the tamibe; see Extraterritorial Jurisdiction Altaic myth; group of languages Amako family crushed in Izumo by the Mori --Tsunehisa (1458-1540), rivalry with Ouchi --Yoshihisa (1545-1610), defeated by Mori --Amakusa, Portuguese trade and Christianity in; Shimabara revolt Ama-no-Hihoko, prince of Shiragi, Korea, settles in Tajima Amaterasu-o-mi-Kami, Sungoddess Amida, the Saviour; Amida-ga-mine, shrine, near Kyoto, tomb of Hideyoshi Amur river, battle on, (660 A.D.) with Sushen; Russia's position on Amusements, prehistoric; in early historic times; in Heian epoch; at Kamakura; in Muromachi epoch; (ills.) Anahobe, Prince, rival of Yomei for throne; to succeed Yomei Anato now Nagato Ancestor-worship, apotheosis of distinguished mortals; grafted on Buddhism Ando family revolt --Shoshu, suicide (1333) Andrew, Prince, Arima Yoshisada Ane-gawa, battle (1570) Ane-no-koji family Animals, killing, forbidden in reign (741) of Koken; earlier; in time of Tsunayoshi; result in stock farming; worship of; mythical and terrible beasts in early records; pets Anjin-Zuka, tomb of Will Adams, (ill.) "Anjiro," Japanese interpreter of Xavier Ankan, 27th Emperor (534-535) Anko, 20th Emperor (454-456), 111-12; palace Ankokuji Ekei see Ekei Annam, trade with Annen, priest, compiles Doji-kyo Annual Letter of Jesuits Anotsu, Ise, China trade Anra, province Mimana Ansatsu-shi, inspectors of provincial government Anthology, first Japanese, "Myriad Leaves,"; of poems in Chinese style, Kwaifu-so; the Kokin-shu, 10th century; the three, of the Ho-en epoch; the Hyakunin-isshu of Teika; in the Kyoto school Antoku, 81st Emperor (1181-1183); drowned at Dan-no-ura; perhaps a girl Antung, on Yalu, Russians defeated Aoki Kaneiye, metal-worker of Muromachi period Konyo, scholar, studies Dutch (1744); introduces sweet potato Aoto Fujitsuna criticizes Hojo Tokiyori Ape, worship of Apotheosis, one class of Kami formed by Aqueducts in irrigation Arai Hakuseki (1656-1726), Confucianist, author of Sotran I gen (ill.); retired; opposes forcing Imperial princes into priesthood Arakahi, defeats Iwai in Chikugo (528 A.D.) Archaeological relics Archery, early development of; in reign of Temmu; equestrian, in Nara epoch; (ill.) Architecture, in proto-historic times; influenced by Buddhism; in Heian epoch; Kamakura period; Muromachi Are see Hiyeda Are Ariga, Dr., on Korean influence on early relations with China; on supposed moral influence of Chinese classics; on false attribution to Shotoku of estimate of Buddhism; on Joei code Arii, adherents of Southern Court in Sanyo-do Arima, in Settsu, thermal spring; Jesuits and Buddhists in; represented in embassy to Europe Arima Yostosada (d. 1577), brother of Omura Sumitada, baptized as Andrew --Yoshizumi rebels Arisugawa, one of four princely houses --Prince (1835-95), leader of anti-foreign party Arita, porcelain manufacture Ariwara, uji of princely descent; Takaoka's family in; academy; eligible to high office --Narihira (825-882), poet; (ill.) --Yukihira (818-893), poet; founds academy, (881) Armour, Yamato, in sepulchral remains; in Muromachi epoch; early arms and armour; after Daiho; in Heian epoch Army see Military Affairs Army and Navy, Department in Meiji government Army inspector Arrow-heads Artillery, early use Artisans, in prehistoric tamibe; Korean and Chinese immigrants Arts and Crafts, promoted by Yuryaku; Chinese and Korean influence; in Kamakura period; in Heian epoch; patronized by Yoshimasa; first books on; in Muromachi epoch; in time of Hideyoshi; patronized by Tsunayoshi Asahina Saburo (or Yoshihide) son of Wada Yoshimori Asai family control Omi province; Nobunaga's struggle with; helped by Buddhists --Nagamasa (1545-73), won over to Nobunaga; joins Asakura, defeated Asaka Kaku, contributor to Dai Nihon-shi Asakura family in Echizen; struggle with Nobunaga; helped by Buddhist priests --Yoshikage (1533-73), defeated by Hideyoshi Asama, eruption (1783) Asan, Korea, occupied by Chinese (1894) Asano Nagamasa (1546-1610); in charge of commissariat; sent to Korea (1598) --Naganori, daimyo of Ako, exile, suicide, avenged by "47 Ronins," --Yukinaga (1576-1613), against Ishida Ashikaga family favour Yoritomo; revolt of; shogun of Northern court; government; internal quarrels; estimate by Rai Sanyo; fall of; government; scholarship; school; Buddhism; against Hojo; end of shogunate of --Chachamaru, kills his father Masatomo --gakko, great school, under patronage of Uesugi --Haruuji (d. 1560), kubo --Masatomo (1436-91), kubo; builds fort at Horigoe; succession --Mitsukane (1376-1409), kwanryo; assists the Ouchi --Mochinaka, brother of Mochiuji, sides with Ogigayatsu --Mochisada, intrigue to make him high constable --Mochiuji (1398-1439), kwanryo; sides with Yamanouchi branch of Uesugi; suicide --Motouji (1340-67), son of Takauji; kwanryo; urged to become shogun --Shigeuji (1434-97), kubo Ashikaga Tadafuyu (1326-1400), son of Takauji, rebels in Kyushu; joins Southern party in 1353; takes and loses Kyoto --Tadayoshi (1307-52), assistant governor-general of Kwanto; governor of Totomi; kills Morinaga; practically regent; in Ashikaga revolt; chief of general staff; plots against the Ko brothers, defeated, joins Southern party; suicide --Takamoto, kubo --Takauji (1305-58), joins Go-Daigo; provincial governor; plots against Morinaga; declares himself shogun; captures Kyoto; changes plans; crushes Tadayoshi; defeated; death, estimate; shogun (1338-58); distributes estates; letters; shrine of Hachiman; Buddhist temples; signature (ill.) --Ujimitsu (1357-98), kwanryo; wishes to be shogun; strengthens family in Kwanto; literature --Yoshiaki (1537-97), shogun; turns to Mori, defeated; Hideyoshi intrigues with --Yoshiakira (1330-67), kwanryo of Kwanto; succeeds Tadayoshi; de-thrones Suko; defeats Tadafuyu; shogun; surrender and death; plot against --Yoshiharu (1510-50), shogun (1521-45) --Yoshihide (1565-8), shogun --Yoshihisa (1465-89), shogun (1474-89); Onin war; declared heir; administration; scholarship --Yoshikatsu (1433-43), shogun --Yoshikazu (1407-25) shogun (1423-5) --Yoshikiyo, advances on Tamba; killed --Yoshikore --Yoshimasa (1435-90), shogun; succession; retires; fosters letters --Yoshimi (1439-91), called Gijin, heir of Yoshimasa; deserted by Yamana (1469); retires (1477) --Yoshimichi see Ashikaga Yoshizumi Ashikaga Yoshimitsu (1358-1408), shogun at Muromachi (1367-95); extravagant administration; foreign policy; dies, receives rank of ex-Emperor; treatment of Crown; and piracy; favours Zen priests --Yoshimochi (1386-1428), shogun; succeeds his father Yoshimitsu in military offices; rebellion against; excesses --Yoshinori (1394-41), shogun (1428-41); abbot, called Gien; rule; killed; relations with China; grants Ryukyu to Shimazu --Yoshitane (1465-1523), shogun; rule; defeated by Hatakeyama Yoshitoyo; death --Yoshiteru (1535-65), shogun, (1545-65); suicide; receives Vilela --Yoshitsugu, killed by his brother Yoshimochi --Yoshiuji, last kubo --Yoshizumi, originally Yoshimichi (1478-1511), shogun; nominal rule; death Ashina of Aizu Asiatic yellow race Askold, Russian protected cruiser at Port Arthur Asbmaro, governor of Dazaifu, wins favor of Dokyo Assumption, De l', martyrdom (1617) Aston, W. G., on dates in "Chronicles,"; Korean origin of Kumaso; purification service; neolithic boats; chronology; invasions of Korea; Japanese authority in Korea; local records; 17-Article Constitution; women in Heian epoch; Yoshitsune's letter; invasion of Korea Asuka, Empress Komyo Asuka, capital moved to; palace built by Kogyoku Asuka-yama, groves Asukara Norikige, high constable, crushes revolt Asylum established by Fujiwara Fuyutsugu Ata rebels against Sujin Ataka Maru, great ship of Bakufu, broken up by Tsunayoshi Atalanta Izanagi Atogi, Korean scribe Atsumi Hirafu, defeated by Chinese in Korea (662) Atsunaga, brother of Atsvnari; see Go-Shujaku Atsunari, Prince, son of Ichijo; see Go-Ichijo Atsuta, Hachiman's shrine Auditor of accounts Auguries Augustins in Japan Avatars of Buddha, Kami Awa, mythical first island; culture of mulberry and hemp in; overrun by Taira Tadatsune; invaded by Yoritomo; won from Satomi by Hojo Ujitsuna; Miyoshi in; indigo growing Awada, Mahito, on committee for Daiho laws (701) Awadaguchi, swordsmith Awaji, island, in early myth; Izanagi goddess of; Sagara exiled to; reduced by Hideyoshi Awo, Princess, sister of Woke, rules in interregnum Axe, in fire ordeal Ayala (d. 1617), Augustin vice-provincial, executed Azuchi, in Omi, fort built by Nobunaga; church and residence for priests Azuke, placing in custody of feudatory Azuma, eastern provinces, origin of name --Kagami, 13th century history, on Hojo Yasutoki Azumi, temple of Babylonian myth Backgammon or sugoroku Badges; and crests Baelz, Dr. E., on stature and race of Japanese; on shape of eye Bakin, on last years of Minamoto Tametomo Bakufu, camp government, military control, Yoritomo's system of shogunate; three divisions; entrusted with choice of emperor (1272 & 1274); power weakened by Mongol invasion; and rapidly fails; Go-Fushimi appeals to; re-created at Kyoto by Takauji; in Muromachi period; at Yedo; oath of loyalty, to; Tokugawa B.; appointing power, and other powers; exiles Yamaga Soko for heterodoxy; power lessened by Chinese learning; B. party in Kyoto; relations with Court; organization; decline of power; Court nobles and Emperor begin to oppose; puts through Harris commercial treaty; and foreign representatives; pledged (1861) to drive out foreigners in 10 years; further interference of Crown and Court party; power ended Baltic squadron, Russian, defeated by Togo Bambelsu or Ban, aboriginal class Bandits commanded by Buddhist priests in 10th century; their outrages Bando or Kwanto provinces, army raised in, during 8th century; see Kwanto Banishment; edict of 1587, against Christians Banzai, "10,000 years," viva Baptismal flags Barley, cultivation of, urged as substitute for rice Basho see Matsuo Basho Batchelor, Rev. John, on pit-dwellers Battering-engine Battle Era, Sengoku Jidai, 1490-1600 Be, guilds or corporations; hereditary, not changed by Daika; property of Crown; of armourers; fishermen Bekki Shoemon, in plot of 1652 Bell, of Hoko-ji, "treasonable" inscription on; on public-service horses; bronze bells; Nanban (ill.); bell-tower (ill.); suzu Benkei, halberdier Betto superintendent of uji schools; president of samurai-dokoro; regent, shikken, head of man-dokoro, office hereditary in Hojo family; head of monju-dokoro, becomes finance minister of shogun (1225) Bidatsu, 30th Emperor (572-85) Biddle, James. (1783-1848), Commodore, U.S.N., in Japan (1846) Bifuku-mon-in, consort of Toba, mother of Konoe Bin, Buddhist priest, "national doctor"; death Bingo, woman ruler, in Bingo, Saburo, see Kojima Takanori Birth customs Bison, fossil remains Bita-sen, copper coins Bitchu, province, Yoshinaka's force defeated in; invaded by Hideyoshi Biwa, 4-stringed lute; biwabozu, players; (ill.) Biwa, Lake Bizen, swordsmith Bizen transferred from Akamatsu to Yamana family Black, early colour of mourning Black Current see Kuro-shio Boards of Religion and Privy Council under Daiho code Bogatyr, Russian protected cruiser wrecked Bondmen and Freemen, division by Daika; by Jito's edict Bonita, curing, industry Bonotsu, Satsuma Borneo, possible source of Kumaso Boxer Rebellion, Japanese troops in China during Brack, Dutch ship Bramsen, William, on early dates in "Chronicles" Branding Braziers Brewing Bribery and sale of office, attempts to abolish Bridges, (ill.) Brine in cosmogony Brinkley, Capt. Frank (1841-1912), article in Encyclopaedia Britannica quoted; Oriental Series referred to Bronze culture in South; traces before the Yamato; bells; mirrors, bowls, vases in Yamato tombs; great statue of Buddha Buddha, early images of; copper images ordered in 605; golden image of, from Shiragi (616 and 621); great bronze Nara image (750 A.D.); Kami incarnations of, theory of Mixed Shinto; bronze image (1252) at Karnakura; great image at Kyoto; replaced by bronze Buddhism introduced 552 A.D.; use of writing; early politics; rapid spread; priests above law; architecture; music; Empresses; disasters and signs check spread; in Xara epoch; abdications; decline of Yamato; industry; funeral of Shomu; time of Kwammu; official advancement; vices of priests; superstition; in Heian epoch; in Yorimasa uprising; Hojo regents: sects; Korean and Chinese; three Vehicles; soldier priests; crushed by Yoshinori; amulets; Chinese priests; combined with Confucianism and Shinto; Ashikaga; wars of monks; revolt in Settsu; oppose Nobunaga; in Komaki war; spies in Kyushu; Hideyoshi; priests of Kagoshima; in Choshu; in Yamaguchi; persecuted in Hirado by Christians; priests converted by Vilela; Ieyasu's laws; gains by suppression of Christianity Bugyo, commissioners of Muromachi; 5 administrators under Hideyoshi; special appointees to rich fiefs; under Babufu; in Emperor's and ex-Emperor's court Building-land, tenure Buke, see Military houses. Bukyo Shogaku, "Military Primer," by Yamaga Soko Bummei Ittpki, work of Ichijo Kaneyoshi Bungo, Tsuchi-gumo in; Xavier in; Jesuit headquarters; Christian success among nobles; in embassy of 1582 Bunji-kin, debased coins of 1736-40 Bunka, period, 1804-17 Bunroku, period, 1592-5 Bunsei, period, 1818-29 Bureaux, under Daika Burial, jars of Yamato; primitive methods; coffins; honour of tombs; mounds, limited in size; funeral customs Bushi; originated in N.E. Japan; name first used of guards; virtues of, typified in leaders of Nine Years' Commotion; general description; of Kwanto described; fighting against Mongols; outrages in provinces Bushido, way of the warrior; cult developed by Yamaga Soko; and by Yoshimune Butsu Sorai see Ogyu Sorai Butter, tribute to Court Buzen, Tsuehi-gumo in Byodo-in, Tendai temple; prison of Go-Daigo Cabinet under Restoration rule; crisis over Korea (1873); of 1885; dependent on Crown Cabral; Francis (1529-1609), Jesuit Vice-provincial, on early missions, hospitals, Buddhists Calendar, Prince Shotoku; revision of 1683; further revision planned by Yoshimune Calligraphy Calthrop, Capt., on Oriental tactics Cambodia, trade with Camera government, insei, proposed by Go-Sanjo; under Shirakawa; Go-Shirakawa; Yoritomo establishes giso at the Inchu; the three recluses; system destroyed by Shokyu war; in Kamakura regency; camera party at court; in Northern court Canals Canonical names of emperors Capital changed at beginning of reign; Jimmu's change to Yamato; Chuai's to far south; to Nara (709) and previous changes; changes helped road building; change from Nara to Kyoto (792); from Kyoto to Fukuhara Capital Punishment Caps, official, as insignia of rank; effect of, on hair dressing; cap rank replaced by cap grade after Daika; varnished gauze Car, of Enryaku-ji Caron, Francis, Dutch trader, on Japanese martyrs Cart, hunting, 126; "compass cart"; Heian epoch Casting in Nara epoch Castles Catapult Caterpillar, worship, of Cats, pets in Heian epoch Cattle, not used for food in early Japan, killing forbidden; Christians accused of eating Cavalry, in capital; in war Censor; in Tokugawa organization; as judge Census, reign of Sujin; time of Daika, (645 A.D.); classifications, under Daiho; by Buddhist and Shinto priests Central Department, under Daika; under Daiho Centralization of government Ceramics, primitive; Yamato; Korean; Gyogi; Heian; Kamakura; Muromachi Cereals, five; premiums for large crops Ceremonies, Department of, under Daika; under Daiho; 15 masters of, Koke; law (927) Chamberlain, Basil Hall, on dates in early "Chronicles"; meaning of Kami; classification of language; village communities; ancient dress; Altaic myth; names; education; Doji-kyo; swords Chamberlain; pass on cases referred to shogun Chancellor, dajo daijin; abolished; Ashikaga Yoshimitsu Changan, Tang metropolis, Kyoto patterned after Chao Heng, Chinese name for Abe Nakamaro Charlevoix, quoted on Spanish galleon incident Chekiang, attacked by pirates (1559) Chemulpo, Russians in, attacked and defeated by Uryu; landing-place for Japanese attack Cheng Cheng-kung Cheng Chi-lung, general of Ming dynasty Chengtsz, Confucian commentaries of Chen Hosiang, bonze Chen Weiching (Chin Ikei), Chinese envoy to Japanese in Korea; and negotiations for peace Cherry-trees, groves; festivals Chiba, branch of Taira; one of "8 Generals of Kwanto" Chiba Tsunetane (1118-1201), favours Yoritomo; sent to Kyoto Chichibu, copper in, (708) Chichibu branch of Taira Chihaya in Hojo war Chikamatsu Monzaemon (1653-1724), dramatist, Chikauji see Tokugawa Chikauji Chikayoshi see Nakahira Chikayoshi Chiksan, battle, (1597), 519 Chikuzen province, Dazai-fu in; Toi attack; Mongol landing China, "High Plain of Heaven"; "Eternal Land"; architecture; bronze bells; bronze mirrors; Buddhism; calendar; ceramics; chronology; clay effigies; coinage; Crown; divination; government; literature; morality; myth; nobility; painting; promotion of officials; relations and early intercourse; scholars in Japan; Hideyoshi's plan to conquer; interference in Korea; Ming dynasty; trade; Formosa; China-Japan war; Boxer rebellion; Russia; Treaty of Portsmouth; of Peking; finances Chin Ikei see Chen Weiching Chinju, fort in Korea, taken by Japanese Chinju-fu, local government station in Korea Chinnampo, landing-place for Japanese (1904) Cho, Korean envoy Cho Densu see Mineho Chokei, 98th Emperor (1368-72) Chokei see Miyoshi Norinaga Chokodo estates Choko-ji, castle in Omi Chollado, southern Korea, attacked by pirates Chomei see Kamo Chomeii Chong-ju, Korea, Cossacks defeated at Cho-ryung, pass in Korea Chosen, name of Korea, first use Choshu, Xavier in; feudatory of, opposes Tokugawa and joins extremists; Shimonoseki complication; revolt of samurai; joins Satsuma against Tokugawa; fiefs surrender to Crown; clan representation Chosokabe family in Shikoku punished by Hideyoshi --Motochika (1539-99), masters Tosa and all Shikoku; in Komaki war; in invasion of Kyushu Christianity, Nestorian in China; Azuchi castle; invasion of Korea; in Japan; Imperial edict against; aid given by Nobunaga; Hideyoshi's attitude towards; his edict of 1587; Ieyasu's treatment and his edicts; Christians side with Hideyori; Hideteda's edict (1616), (1624); teaching in Osaka after edicts; and Buddhist and Shinto census; laws against (1635, 1665); Ieyasu distinguishes between commerce and; Dutch not propagandists; opposition in 1853 "Chronicles," Early Japanese, Nihongi, general; character; superior to Records; accuracy of chronology; contradicts Records; Chinese colour in; conquest of Korea; stories from Korean history Chronology; inaccuracy; invasion of Korea; reign of Nintoku Chrysanthemum, Imperial badge Chu Chi-yu, Chinese scholar --Hi, Hayashi follows Chuai, 14th Emperor (192-200) Chugoku, central Japan, invaded by Hideyoshi Chukyo, 85th Emperor (1221) Chusan, Mimasaka, Kami of Chushin, Zen priest, pupil of Soseki Choson-ji, monastery, with graves of the Fujiwara of the North Chutsz (Shu-shi), Confucian commentaries of; rejected by Yamaga Soko; officially adopted; expounded by Japanese scholars; contrasted with Wang Yang-ming Chu Yuan see Sogen Chozan, ruler of Ryukyu (1373) Cicada-shaped hair ornaments City administration; municipal rulers; administrators; elders Civil affairs and Civil Government, departments Clan representation under Meiji government Clay Effigies, haniwa, from neolithic sites; substituted for human sacrifice at tomb Clepsyora, Chinese Clocks Cloistered monarchs; and set Camera "Cloud chariot," war tower Clove, English ship Cock-fighting Cocks, Richard, English factor, warns Yedo Court against Spain; apparent cause of edict of 1616; successor of Saris Code, ryo, of Daiho (701 A.D.) and Yoro (718 A.D.); of 1742; of 1790 Coelho, Gaspard (d. 1590), vice-provincial of Jesuits, ordered (1587) from Japan Coinage, Wado era (708-715); Nara epoch; of Heian epoch; Chinese; Hideyoshi's time; plan to debase (1673-80); Genroku debased coin; exports of metal from Nagasaki; attempt to restore (1710); again debased; foreign trade Colours of Court costume, grades; indicating social status Combs, ancient Commerce, early; after Daika; Nara epoch; Heian; Muromachi; under Hideyoshi; Portuguese; motive for permission to preach; Dutch; trade rules; commercial spirit in Yedo; in Tokugawa period; exclusion; coinage and European trade Commercial class Conception, miraculous Concubinage; classes at court Conder, J., on armour Confiscation of lands as punishment, or as expiation of offence; escheat at Daika; punishment under Tokugawa Confucianism, Shotoku on; modifying Buddhism; in Tokugawa period; favoured by Ko-Komyo, and Tsunayoshi; Confucianists eligible for civil posts; Yamaga Soko; combined with Shinto; Japanese schools of; hold on educated class; vendetta Conscription, first (689 A.D.) in Japan; partial abolition of (780, 792) Constable, High, and lord high constable, in Yoritomo's land reform; city constables Constitution, of Shotoku (604 A.D.), text and comment; after Restoration (1889) Constitutionist party Consular courts Cooking in ancient Japan; in Muromachi epoch Cooper, master, of Manhattan Copper in Japan; use for images of Buddha, exhausts currency; Chinese coins; in 15th century trade, debased Japanese coin; exports of Nagasaki Coronation Oath of 1867 Cosmogony Cost of living Costume, prehistoric; in Inkyo's reign; Chinese and Buddhist influence; Nara epoch; Heian; Kamakura period; laws of Military Houses; Sadanobu's laws Cotton first planted in Japan (799); cloth, tax; cloth as currency Council, Administrative, of Man-dokoro --of Twelve, at camera Court Councillor, Sangi, establishment of office Couplet Composing, ula awase; court amusement; at "winding-water fete" and other festivals; mania for; tournaments; in Heian epoch; Kamakura; Tokugawa Court, costume, colours and kinds; ceremonial; for Imperial power see Crown Court houses or families, kuge; come into power again at restoration; in Muromachi period; driven to provinces; Ieyasu's laws for; intermarriage with military; college for, established by Ninko; influenced by anti-foreign party; in Restoration; distinction between territorial and court nobles abolished (1871) Court of justice, hyojo-sho; first, (1631) Court, Northern and Southern; and see Dynasties Crasset on Christian persecution of Buddhists Creation, story of Cremation, introduced Crimes in ancient Japan; classified in Daiho code; see Penal Law Crocodile myth Crown, property of; shifts in power of; divine right; Ashikaga; in Sengoku period; Nobunaga; Ieyasu's Court Laws; Tokugawa; Chinese classics strengthen; Tsunayoshi; loyalty; American commercial treaty; rescript to shogun; turns against extremists; Restoration of 1867; growth of power; Cabinet dependent on Crown Prince, in proto-historic period, above the law Crucifixion, haritsuke Currency in Ashikaga period; see Coinage Customs tariff Daian-ji temple Dai-Dembo-In, monastery of Shingon sect in Kii Daiei, year-period, 1521-8 Daigo, 60th Emperor (898-930) Daigo, suburb of Kyoto Daiho (Taiho), year-period, legislation of; revision Daijo-uji of Hitachi, branch of Taira Daika or Taikwa "Great Change," 645 A.D.; name of first nengo or year-period; reforms Daikagu-ji family, afterwards Nan-cho, the Southern Court, descendants of Kameyama; passed over; treatment by Ashikaga Daikwan, deputy or vice-deputy; tax assessor; judge Daimyo, "great name," holder of large estate; holdings; Buddhism; 10,000 koku or more; powers Dai Nihon-shi, "History of Great Japan,"; on military era Dairies under Daiho laws Dairo, 5 senior ministers; prime minister Daiseiden College, or Shoheiko, founded by Tokugawa Daitoku-ji, Zen temple in Kyoto Dajo (Daijo) daijin, chancellor, prime minister, 671 A.D.; Privy Council Board; office abolished Dajo Kwan, Privy Council Dalny occupied by Japanese Dance masks Dancing at funerals; court; music, Korean influence; pantomimic, of monkey Sarume in myth; music and poetry; development in Heian epoch; white posture dance, shirabyoshi; mimetic dance, libretto for, develops into no; no and furyu Dan-no-ura, defeat of Taira at Date family of Yonezawa in 16th century wars --Harumune --Masamune (1566-1636); surrenders to Hideyoshi; favours Ieyasu; against Uesugi; loyal to Iemitsu --Yasumune rebels (1413) in Mutsu Dazai-fu, government station in Mimana (Kara, Korea) transferred to Kyushu Debt, slavery for, cancellation of interest; legislation (tokusei) of 1297 in favour of military families, and under Ashikaga Decoration, Interior Defilement in Shinto code Degradation in rank Deluge myth Demmacho, prison at Demon's gate, N.E. entrance; guarded by Hieizan, and at Yedo by Toei-zan; belief in demons; dragon-headed devil Dengaku mime Dengyo Daishi, posthumous name of Saicho (q.v.) Dening, W. Life of Toyotomi Hideyoshi; on Confucian philosophy Departments, under Daika; under Daiho Deputy De Ryp, Dutch ship, cannonades Kara castle "Descent" upon Kyushu Descent, Law of in Daiho legislation Deshima, island, Dutch factory on Dewa, Yemishi in; Go-Sannen campaign; (U-shu) part of O-U; 16th century wars; silk growing De Witte, Serge Julievitch, Count (b. 1849), Russian peace commissioner at Portsmouth Diana, Russian ship, sent to survey Yezo; Russian protected cruiser at Port Arthur Dickins, F. V., translation of Taketori Monogatari Diet, Coronation oath promising; reform leaders differ about; development of; Constitution promulgated; bi-cameral system Dirges at funerals District, gun or kori (originally agata), Daika subdivision, smaller than province; classification under Daiho; chief of, guncho; governors, gunshi; district governors and title to uplands; in Meiji administration, cho, or son Divination Doctors, national Doen, Buddhist priest, envoy to China Dogo, Iyo, thermal spring Dogs as pets; dog fights; Tsunayoshi's mania for Doi support Southern Court in Nankai-do Sanehira (d. 1220), Yoritomo's lieutenant; military governor Michiharu (d. 1337), defender of Go-Daigo Toshikatsu (1573-1644), enforces feudal laws Doin Kinkata (1291-1360), minister of Go-Daigo Kinsada (1340-99), scholar Doji, Sanron Buddhist, abbot of Daian-ji Dojima, in Osaka, rice-exchange Dojo, exercise halls Doki (Toki) family favour Takauji; beaten by Saito Yorito (d. 1342), insults Kogon Dokyo see Yuge Dokyo Dolmen in Yamato sepulture; compared with Chinese and Korean; precious metals in Dominicans, Ayala and other marytrs Doryo (Tao Lung) Chinese priest, teacher of Fujiwara Tokimune Dosho, Buddhist priest, introduces cremation Double entendre Drafts, game, prehistoric Dragon, early superstition Dragon-Fly Island, old name of Japan Drama; yokyoku, mimetic dance; no; kyogen; time of Tsunayoshi; theatre in Yedo; illustrations Drums Dualism of Shinto Dug-outs, maruki-bune Duke, kimi; mahito Dukes of the Presence, early official organization Dutch, trade in Japan, beginning 1600, Spanish intrigues against; Dutch and English intrigues against Portuguese and Spaniards; aid in reduction of Christian revolt in Shimabara; trade at Nagasaki restricted; Western learning; refuse grant in Yedo; choose Hirado as headquarters; the Brack; at Deshima; literature; in 19th century; teachers of military science; give steamship; at Shimonoseki Dwarf trees and miniature gardens Dwelling-Houses, primitive; abandoned on death of owner; general character in Nara epoch; in Heian epoch; Kamakura; Muromachii Dyeing Dynasties, War of the (1337-92); table Ears of enemy as spoil Earthquake, 416 A.D.; 599 A.D. drives people to appeal to Earthquake Kami; in Kyoto (1185), and (1596); of 1662 charged to Emperor's lack of virtue; of 1703 Eastern Army, Hosokawa Onin War Eastern Tsin dynasty (317-420) Chinese migration East India Company Eben, Buddhist priest Ebisu, variant of Yemishi Echigo, barrier settlement (645) against Yemishi; and Matsudaira --Chuta, suicide Echizen, paper money in Education, in ancient Japan; in Nara epoch, in Heian; temple schools; military foundations; at Yedo; in Meiji epoch; see Academies Egawa Tarozaemon advocates foreign intercourse Eight Generals of Kwanto Eigwa Monogatari, "Tales of Splendour," story of the Fujiwara, by Akazome Emon Eiraku, or Yunglo, Chinese year-period, 1403-22, E. tsuho, Chinese coins Eisai (1141-1215), priest Eitai, bridge in Yedo Ekei (d. 1600), priest, of Aki Elder Statesmen Elder, official over five households, under Daika Elephant, fossil Elixir, Hsa Fuh's quest Emishi see Soga Emishi Emperors, long reigns of early; see also Crown Court, Posthumous Names, Camera government Empo, period, 1673-80 Empress, Koken first, to receive Crown except in trust Empress Dowager, Kwo-taiko, title given only to Kwobetsu until Shomu's reign Encyclopedia Britannica, quoted Endo Morito see Mongaku Engaku-ji, temple Engen, period, 1336-9 Engi, period; revision of Rules and Regulations; overthrow of Sugawara Michizane English intrigue against Spanish and Portuguese; refuse grant in Yedo; go to Hirado rather than Uraga; early trade; end of trade; fleet expected (1858); Namamugi incident and bombardment of Kagoshima; the Hyogo demonstration; employed in railway, telegraph and navy; treaty of 1894 abolishes consular jurisdiction after 1899; Anglo-Japanese alliance, (text) Enkyo, period, 1069-74 En no Ubasoku (Shokaku; Gyoja, the anchorite), founder of Yamabushi priests Enomoto see Yenomoto Enryaku-ji, Tandai monastery on Hiei-zan; its armed men, yuma-hoshi; jealous of Onjo-ji monks; in Yorimasa conspiracy; in Kyoto conspiracy; quarrel with Takauji; feud with Hongwan-ji; destroyed by Nobunaga; rebuilt; named from year-period Envoys, Three, in early myth Enya Takasada (d. 1338), Ko Moronao abducts wife of Enyu, 64th Emperor (970-84) Eshi, Yamato no, painters, descendants of Shinki Esoteric and Exoteric Buddhism Etchu, province "Eternal Land" Ethnologists, Japanese, on origins Etorop raided by Russians (1806) Eto Shimpei (1835-74), minister, revolts Euhemerist interpretation of myths Exoteric Buddhism Extraterritorial Jurisdiction Eye, obliquity, fold, etc. Eyebrows shaved Ezo, Buddhist mission to Face-painting Families, uji, rank in prehistoric times; basis of empire before Daika; family qualification for highest Court offices before Heiji tumult; names sold in Yoshimune's time Famine of 621 A.D., turns people against Buddhism; of 1180-1; of 1462; of 1673-80; of 1783-6; of 1836 Fans; (ill.); lotteries; verses on; trade Farmers; taxes; representatives Fenshuiling, Russians defeated at Fernandez, Joao (d. 1566), Portuguese Jesuit, companion of Xavier Festivals, ancient; Buddhist; flower; Heian epoch; Ashikaga; Hideyoshi; Sanno (ill.); dolls (ill.) Feudal system, beginnings; Sujin; land-holding; proto-historic; land grants; Daiho laws; 11th century wars; territorial names; Constables and land-stewards; Joei code; war of dynasties; 15th century; Hideyoshi's land system; fiefs (1600); hereditary vassals; laws of 1635 and 1651; under Tokugawa; sankin kotai; taxes; intermarriage with court nobles; government; tozama oppose Yedo; in Restoration; abolition, of Filial piety Finance and administration, ancient; in protohistoric tunes; in Nara epoch; in Muromachi epoch; under early Tokugawa; policy of Arai Hakuseki; "accommodation" system of 1786; under Tokugawa; in early Meiji period Finance or Treasury Department; in 19th century Financial administrator Firearms, first use; commissioners Fish as food Fishermen, revolt of Fishing in early times; laws regulating nets in reign of Temmu; keeping cormorants forbidden; equipment Five Regent Houses, see Go-Sekke Flesh-eating forbidden; defilement Flores, Luis, Flemish Dominican, burned (1622) Flowers, at funerals; festivals; in Heian pastimes; arrangement of; pots Flutes (ill.) Fo, dogs of Folding paletot Food and drink, ancient; in Nara-epoch; in Kamakura period; Sadanobu's sumptuary laws Football, prehistoric; in proto-historic period; in Heian epoch Forced labour Foreign Affairs, Department of; earliest foreign intercourse; Ashikaga; Muromachi epoch; foreign learning; Tokugawa; military science; Meiji era, 678; foreigners in making new Japan, 686-7; consular jurisdiction abolished; Anglo-Japanese alliance; and see Christianity, and names of countries Forests of early Japan Formosa, expedition against (1874); ceded by China (1895) Fortification, development; feudal castles built only by permission of Tokugawa; coast defence Fossil remains Franchise, extension of Franciscans, Spanish, enter Japan "-as ambassadors"; intrigue against Portuguese Jesuits; punished by Hideyoshi; favoured to offset Jesuit influence Freemen and bondmen French in Ryuku (1846); Harris plays off English and French to get his commercial treaty; at Shimonoseki; in work on criminal law and army training; in Manchuria note (1895) Froez, Luis (d. 1597), Portuguese Jesuit Fudoki, Local Records Fuhi, Eight Trigrams of Fuhito see Fujiwara Fuhito Fuhkieri, Kublai at Fuji river, battle on Fuji, Mt., eruption of, (1707); (ill.) Fujinami in Ise worship Fujita Toko (1806-55), adviser of Nariaki Fujitsuna see Aota Fujitsuna Fujiwara, in Yamato, capital moved to, by Jito Fujiwara, Shimbetsu family, influence after 670 A.D.; Imperial consorts; legislation; historiography; Asuka made Empress; oppose Makibi and Gembo; Buddhism; abdication; family tree; choose Emperors; academy of; increase of power; policy of abdication; depose Yozei; oppose Tachibana; plot against Michizane; interregnum; war of Taira and Minamoto; influence on Court; oppose Tamehira; family quarrels; literature; Minamoto, "claws" of; provincial branches; Mutsu; power wanes; Imperial consorts; anti-military; power weakened by Kiyomon; Yoritomo's followers get their estates; conspiracy of 1252; loyal to Throne (1331); Hideyoshi adopted by --Fuhito, son of Kamatari, Daiho and Yoro codes; builds Buddhist temple; death --Fujifusa, aids Go-Daigo (1326); retires --Fusazaki (682-736), son of Fuhito, founds northern family --Fuyutsugu (775-826); Konin revision of Rules and Regulations; minister founds academy --Hidehira (1096-1187), son of Motohira; aids Yoshitsune; provincial governor (1182); death --Hidesato (called Tawara Toda), sides with Taira; founder of provincial branches of Fujiwara --Hirotsugu (715-741), governor, impeaches Gembo --Ietaka (1158-1237), poet --Joye, Buddhist student in China (653-65) --Kamatari, muraji of Nakatomi, chief Shinto official, plots against Soga Iruka (645); Daika; in China; origin of uji name; Kasuga shrine; (ill.) --Kaneiye (929-99), rivalry with Kanemichi; plot against Kwazan; regent for Ichijo --Kanehira (1228-94), founds house of Takatsukasa --Kanemichi (925-77), father of Enyu's Empress --Kanezane (1147-1207), son of Tadamichi, minister of the Right; nairan and kwampaku; descendants called Kujo --Kinsuye (958-1029), son of Morosuke --Kinto (966-1041) poet, one of Shinagon --Kiyohira (d. 1126), founds Mutsu branch --Kiyotada opposes advice of Masashige --Korechika (974-1010), son of Michitaka --Korekata induces Nobuyori to join Heiji plot --Korekimi --Koretada (942-72), son of Morosuke, regent --Kunimutsu, avenges his father Suketomo --Maro (695-736), founder of Kyo-ke branch --Masatada, governor --Matate (716-67), second councillor under Koken --Michiiye (1192-1252), ancestor of Nijo and Ichijo families --Michikane (955-95), gets Kwazan to become monk; regent --Michinaga (966-1027), regent, his daughter Empress; power --Michinori (d. 1159), called Shinzei, Go-Shirakawa's adviser; killed --Michitaka (953-95), regent --Momokawa (722-79), privy councillor; favours succession of Shirakabe and Yamabe --Morokata aids Go-Daigo (1331) --Moronaga (1137-92), chancellor, banished by Taira Kiyomori --Morosuke (908-60), minister of Right; sons --Morotada, 257; accuses Takaaki of treason --Morozane (1042-1101) --Motofusa (1144-1230), regent; sides with Go-hirakawa, is banished; his daughter --Motohira (d. 1157), son and successor of Kiyohira --Motokata, father of Murakami's consort --Motomichi (1160-1233), advanced by Taira Kiyomori; kwampaku; ancestor of Konoe --Motomitsu, founder of Tosa academy of painters --Mototsune (836-91); sessho under Yozei, first kwampaku (882) under Uda --Motozane (1143-66), regent --Muchimaro (680-736), founds the southern (Nanke) family; Buddhist temples --Nagate (714-71), minister of the Left; favours accession of Konin --Nagazane, father of one of Toba's consorts --Nakamaro (710-64), grand councillor --Nakanari (d. 810), in conspiracy of Kusu --Narichika (1138-78), in Shishi-ga-tani plot --Naritoki, father of Sanjo's Empress --Nobuyori (1133-59), in Heiji tumult --Norimichi (996-1075), quarrels with Go-Sanjo --Noritane, compiler of Teiokeizu --Otsuga (773-843) --Sadaiye (1162-1241), or Teika, poet and anthologist --Sadakuni, father-in-law of Daigo --Sanetaka, minister --Saneyori (900-70), father of Murakami's consort; regent --Sari, scribe --Seigwa, or Seikwa, (1561-1619), Confucianist --Shinzei see Fujiwara Michinori --Sukeyo, scholar --Suketomo (d. 1325). Go-Daigo's minister, exile --Sumitomo (d. 941) turns pirate --Tadahira (880-949), regent; revision of Rules and Regulations --Tadakiyo, commands against Yoritomo --Tadamichi (1097-1164), regent for Konoe, in Hogen insurrection; saves his father; estates --Tadazane (1078-1162), father of Toba's consort; in Hogen tumult; saved by his son --Takaiye (979-1044), repels Toi invaders --Tameiye (1197-1275) --Tamemitsu --Tamesuke --Tameuji, artist --Tanetsugu (737-85); Kwammu's minister, assassinated; father of consort of Heijo --Tokihira (871-909), minister plots against Sugawara Michizane; death --Tomiko, wife of Ashikaga Yoshimasa --Toshimoto (d. 1330) --Toshinari (1114-1204), poet, called Shunzei --Toyonari (704-65), minister of Koken --Tsugunawa (727-96); sent against Yemishi --Tsunemune --Tsunetaka --Ujimune, Jokwan revision of Rules and Regulations --Umakai (694-736), founder of the Shiki-ki branch; against Yemishi (724) --Uwona (721-83), privy councillor of Koken --Yasuhira, (d. 1189) --Yorimichi (992-1074), son, of Michinaga, regent; in succession of Takahito; estates; father of Shirakawa's consort --Yorinaga (1120-56) in Hogen tumult --Yoritada (924-89), son of Saneyori, kwampaku --Yoritsugu (1239-56), shogun (1244) --Yoritsune (1218-56), head of Minamoto (1219) shogun (1226); resigns (1244); against Hojo and Adachi (1247) --Yoshifusa (804-72), minister; marries Kiyo; regent for Seiwa, (866); makes Taka Seiwa'a Empress --Yoshinobu, in Takahito's succession --Yoshitsugu (716-77), privy councillor under Koken; favours Konin Fujiwara, wistaria, origin of uji name Fuki-ayezu, Jimmu's father Fukuchi-yama, castle Fukuhara, now Kobe, villa of Taira Kiyomori in; capital (1180) Fukuri, Chinese saddler Fukushima Masanori (1561-1624), plot against Ishida Funabashi Hidekata (1555-1614), scholar Funada Yoshimasa, officer of Nitta Yoshisada Funai, in Bungo, Jesuit church and hospital Funanoe, mount in Hoki Furniture, house Furs Furubito, Prince, son of Jomei, candidate to succeed Kogyoku; death Furyu, dance Fusa-Kum-Kazusa Fusan, Korea, Japanese restricted to, (1572); captured (1592); landing-place for Japanese attack (1904); Kamimura wins battle near Fushimi, 92d Emperor (1287-98) Fushimi, princely house Fushimi, Hideyoshi's Momo-Yaina palace Futodama and Imibe Gaku-in, academies Gambling Gamo Katahide (1534-84) favours Nobukatsu --Ujisato (1557-96), vassal of Hideyoshi Garden bridge (ill.) gate (ill.) Gate guards, in capital; in kebiishi; origin Gates, (ill.) Gazan, priest Gei-ami, artist Geisha Gembo, Buddhist of Hosso sect; opposes Fujiwara Gemmyo, 43d Empress (708-15); historiography; monument Gems Genbun, year-period, 1736-40, coins of Gen-e (1269-1352), priest, author Genealogical bureau Genji Monogatari "narrative of Minamoto," work of Murasaki Shikibu Genji or Gen, Chinese pronunciation of Minamoto; divisions of family; epoch of Gen and Hei Genku see Honen Genna, period Genpei (Gempei) Minamoto and Taira; epoch; Genpei Seisuiki, Records of Minamoto and Taira Genre pictures, Ukiyoe, 600 Genroku, year period, 1688-1703 Gensho, (44th) Empress (715-23); inaugurates lectures (721) on Nihon Shoki Genso, priest, interpreter to Korean embassy Gentile names Geology and fossil remains Germans employed by Government Germany joins France and Russia in note on Manchuria (1895); seizes part of Shantung Gido, scholar, adviser of Yoshimitsu Gien see Ashikaga Yoshinori Gifu, Nobunaga's headquarters in Mino Gijin see Ashikaga Yoshimi Gion, temple in Kyoto Glazed pottery Glynn, J., Commander, U.S.N., in Nagasaki (1847) Go, game Go, prefix, "second," with Emperor's name Goa, Jesuits at Go-Daigo, 96th Emperor (1318-39); against Hojo; dethroned; escapes from Oki; re-enters Kyoto; his rescripts; after restoration; tricked by Ashikaga Takauji; death; scholarship Go-Enyu, Northern Emperor (1371-82) Go-Fukakusa, 89th Emperor (1246-59) Go-Fushimi, 93d Emperor (1298-1301), son of Fushimi; opposes Go-Daigo Go-Hanazono, 102nd Emperor (1428-65) Gohei, paper strips Go-Horikawa, 86th Emperor (1221-32) Go-Ichijo, 68th Emperor (1017-36) Goji-in, temple in Yedo Go-Kameyama, 99th Emperor (1372-92); abdicates Go-Kashiwabara, 104th Emperor, (1500-26) Go-Kogon, Northern Emperor (1352-71) Go-Komatsu, 100th Emperor (1392-1412), in Northern dynasty (1382-92) Go-Komyo, 110th Emperor (1643-54) Gokuki-ji or To-ji, Shingon temple in Kyoto; temple in Yedo Gokyogoku Yoshitsune, work on landscape gardening Gold in Japan; discovery in Mutsu, and used in great image of Buddha; exported; coins Gold lacquer Golden Pavilion (1397) Golden Tatars in China Go-Mizu-no-o, 108th Emperor (1611-29) Go-Momozono, 118th Emperor (1770-80) Go-Murakami, 97th Emperor (1339-68); escapes to Kanao; asked to return after Suko's removal; death Go-Nara, 105th Emperor (1526-57) Gongen see Tokugawa Ieyasu Go-Nijo, 94th Emperor (1301-7), son of Go-Uda Go-Reizei, 70th Emperor (1046-68) Goro see Tokimune Go-Saga, 88th Emperor (1243-46) Go-Saien, 111th Emperor (1654-63) Go-Sakuramachi, (117th) Empress (1762-70) Go-Sanjo, 71st Emperor (1069-72), Prince Takahito Go-Sannen, "After Three-Years War" (1089-91) Goseibai-shikimoku, criminal laws of Yasutoki Go-Sekke, "Five Regent Houses" Gosen-shu, anthology Go-Shirakawa, 77th Emperor (1156-8); camera government (1158-92); life threatened; confined in palace; sent to Rokuhara; under Yoshinaka's protection; opposes Yoshinaka; calls Yoritomo to Kyoto; sends Yoshitsune to front; relations with Yoritomo; death Go-Shu jaku, 69th Emperor (1037-45), Prince Atsunaga Go-Toba, 82nd Emperor (1184-98), refuses to appoint Imperial prince shogun; called "original recluse"; quarrels with Yoshitoki; exiled; Japanese verse Goto Matabei, defies Ieyasu; defends Osaka castle --Yujo (1435-1512), metal-worker Go-Tsuchimikado, 103d Emperor (1465-1500) Go-Uda, 91st Emperor (1274-87), son of Kameyama Government, primitive administration; connexion with worship; early finance; reign of Suinin; two-fold classification; uji; feudal and prefectural; under Daika; under Daiho; of Ashikaga; Hideyoshi's scheme; early Tokugawa; Tokugawa Bakufu; centralized after Restoration; local, in Meiji era Governor-general of 10 provinces, kwanryo; of 4, kubo Go Yoshihiro, swordsmith Go-Yozei, 107th Emperor (1586-1611) Gozu Tenno, "Emperor Ox-head," name of Susanoo Granaries, Imperial, miyake; in Korea; in reign of Ankan; of Senkwa Grant, U. S., suggests compromise over Ryukyu "Great Name Possessor" myth Great-Producing Kami Gromovoi, Russian cruiser at Vladivostok Guards, criticized by Miyoshi Kiyotsura; duties transferred to kebiishi Guilds, be, 71-2, 94; heads of kumi-gashira, in village rule Gunkan Kyojujo, naval college at Tsukiji Gwangyo-ji, temple where Kwazan took tonsure Gyogi, Korean Buddhist priest, propaganda and reconciliation of Buddhism and Shinto Gyokushitsu, priest, Emperor gives purple robes to Hachijoshima, island Hachiman, War God, at Usa, oracle of; tutelary of Minamoto; shrine of, in Kamakura on Tsurugaoka hill; revenue of temple; patron of pirates; shrine of Iwashimizu; shrine at Atsuta Hachiman Taro see Minamoto Yoshiiye Hachioka, temple of Hachisuka Iemasa (1558-1638) Hades, myth of Hae, mother of emperors Kenso and Ninken Hagiwara Shigehide, chief of Treasury, debases coinage; his report; impeached Haicheng in fighting of 1894 Hair, racial mark Hair-dressing and hair-cutting, ancient; dividing the hair (mizura) goes out when official caps come in; tied up in time of Temmu; girl's hair bound up by lover; in Heian epoch; in Kamakura period; in Sadanobu's laws Hair pins, as insignia; cicada-shaped, marks of grade after Daika Hai-ryong, Korea Hakamadare Yasusake, bandit Hakata, in Chikuzen, defended against Toi; port in Heian epoch; Mongol envoys executed at; China trade; American vessels allowed in port Hakodate, Americans in Hakone, tolls, at barrier; guarded by Okubo Hakozaki Gulf, Chikuzen, Mongol landing at; bay fortified (1280); base of second Mongol invasion Haku-chi, "White Pheasant," second nengo or year-period (650-4 A.D.) Hakuseki see Arai Hakuseki Hall, Consul-General J. C., translation of Joei code; Kemmu code; Laws of Military Houses Han, Chinese dynasty, later (25-220 A.D.); disorder after fall of Han, Land of, see Korea Hanawa Naotsugu in defence of Osaka castle Hanazono, 95th Emperor (1307-18) Hand Bay near Kinchou; Russian gunboats in Hanishi, potters Haniwa, clay effigies, buried instead of human sacrifices Haniyasu, half-brother of Sujin, rebels against him Hansho, 18th Emperor (406-11); loyal brother of Richu Hara, castle in Shimabara, occupied by Christians, captured Haranobu see Takeda Shingen Harbin, Russian railway Hare in myth Harem Harima, province, fortifications in, (1280); transferred from Akamatsu to Yamana (1441) Harris, Townsend (1803-78), U.S. consul-general, concludes commercial treaty (1857) Harumoto see Hosokawa Harumoto Harunari see Hitotsubashi Harunari Harvest Festival Hasegawa receive fief of Arima --Heizo in charge of Ishikawa house of correction Hashiba see Toyotomi Hideyoshi --Hidekatsu (1567-93), son of Nobunaga, adopted by Hideyoshi --Hidenaga (1540-91), brother of Hideyoshi --Hideyasu, Ogimaru, son of Ieyasu Hashimoto Sanae favours foreign trade; leader in Imperial movement --Tsunatsune, Viscount (d. 1909) Hatahi, sister of Okusaka, marries Ohatsuse Hatakeyama family, estates; Muromachi kwanryo; one of Five Regent Houses; in Onin disturbance; join Eastern Army (1472); "province holders" --Kunikiyo (d. 1364), general under Motouji, removed from office of shitsuji --Masanaga (d. 1493), succeeds Mochikuni; displaced, driven from capital; death --Mitsuiye (d. 1433) captures Sakai (1400); Yoshimochi's minister --Mochikuni (1397-1455), called Tokuhon, minister for Ashikaga Yoshimasa; succession --Shigetada (1164-1205), at Ichi-no-tani; adviser of Yoriiye; assassinated by Hojo Tokimasa --Yoshinari (d. 1493), large estate, succession; kwanryo --Yoshitoyo (d. 1499) Hatano, brothers killed by Nobunaga Hatsuse, Japanese battleship lost off Port Arthur Hallo-gaki, Prohibitory Writings, code, (1742) Hawking Hayabito or Hayato ("Falcon Men"), palace guard; possibly Kumaso Hayama Muneyori, punished for cowardice Hayashi family, function of reading military laws; true Confucianists; education at Yedo Doshun or Kazan (1583-1657), Confucianist, on bell-inscription; ethics and history; traces descent of Emperor from Chinese prince Harukatsu, son of Razan, historiographer Mitsukatsu, soldier of Nobunaga Nobuatsu, Confucianist; petitions for pardon of "47 Ronins"; lectures at Shohei College Razan see Hayashi Doshun Shibei (1754-93) urges coast defense Head, racial marks Heaven, Plain of High, myth "Heavenly Grandchild," tenson Heavenlv Young Prince Heguri, beginning of power of; descendants of Takenouchi; founder of family, Tsuku, in Richu's reign; revolt of suppressed Hei and Heike, Chinese name for Taira; Gen and Hei Heian epoch, capital at Kyoto, or Heian-jo (Castle of Peace), 794-1192 A.D. Height as sign of race Heihachiro see Oshio Heihachiro Heiji, year period, 1159-60; the tumult of the year; results Heijo, 51st Emperor (806-9), son of Kwammu Heikautai, battle of (1905) Hemp, cultivation of Herb of longevity Hereditary office and rank; in Shotoku's 17-Article Constitution; the Daika tries to abolish hereditary office holding Hi, river, in myth Hida, messenger in search for Buddhist devotees Hida Hida Takumi, architect Hidehito see Go-Momozono Hidekatsu see Hashiba Hidekatsu Hideiye see Ukita Hideiye Hidenaga see Hashiba Hidenaga Hidetada branch of Tokugawa, extinct with Ietsugu (1716) Hidetada see Tokugawa Hidetada Hidetsugu see Toyotomi Hidetsugu Hideyasu see Matsudaira Hideyasu Hideyori see Toyotomi Hideyori Hideyoshi see Toyotomi Hideyoshi Hie-no-yama, monastery later called Hiei-zan Hiei-zan, mountain N.E. of Kyoto, between Yamashiro and Omi, on which was Enryaku-ji monastery; power checked by Yoshinori; and Takauji; in Hokke-ikki; aids Yoshikage against Nobunaga; punished by Nobunaga; monastery rebuilt; abbot invites Vilela to Kyoto Higami, mother of Shomu, consort of Mommu Higashi-dera, temple in Kyoto, Takauji's headquarters Higashiyama, 113th Emperor (1687-1710) Higashi-yama, hill E. of Kyoto, site of Yoshimasa's palace; name used of craze for objets d'art, and of lacquer Higuchi Kanemitsu, Yoshinaka's body guard Hiki Munetomo (d. 1203) Yoshikazu, in Bakufu council, plots against Hojo and is assassinated Hikoho no Ninigi, his descent upon Kyushu; rationalization of myth; founder of empire Hinayana, exoteric Buddhism; the Small Vehicle Hino family, shikken in Camera palace Hirado, island, occupied by Mongols (1281); Chinese trade; Xavier in; Portuguese trade; rivalry with Omura; Dutch headquarters, and English; English factory closed (1623) Hirafu, warden of Koshi, campaigns against Sushen (658-660), and Yemishi (655) Hiragana, syllabary Hirai, castle Hirasaka, now Ifuyo-saka Hirata Atsutane (1776-1843) on Japanese government; Shinto revival; quoted Hirate Masahide, tutor of Nobunaga, suicide Hirohira, son of Murakami, set aside from succession Hirose, commander, attempts to bottle-up Port Arthur Hirotada see Tokugawa Hirotada Hirotsugu see Fujiwara Hirotsugu Hirozumi see Sumiyoshi Gukei Hisaakira, Prince (1276-1328), shogun (1289-1308) Historiography, early; the "Six National Histories" (697-887); compilations of Tokugawa period Hitachi; Taira in Fudoki, ancient record (715 A.D.) Maru, Japanese transport sunk by Russians Hitomaru see Kakinomoto Hitomaru Hitotsubashi, branch of Tokugawa eligible to shogunate, named from gate of Yedo; Ienari's descent from Harunari, father of fenari; reactionary policy; ambition opposed by Sadanobu Hiyeda Arc (647), chamberlain, historiography Hiyoshi, Shinto temple Hizen, Tsuchi-gumo in; Mongol invaders in (1281); natives of, settle in China; fiefs surrendered; clan representation --Genji, or Matsuura "Hoe" among early implements; distributed to farmers (723) Hoei, year-period (1704-10) debased coinage of Ho-en, year-period (1135-40) Hogen insurrection (1156; in year-period 1156-8); result Hohodemi, myth of; name applied to Iware in "Chronicles" Hojo, family holding office of shikken; power increased by Tokimasa; Hojo regency established; excellent rule; the nine regents; control of shogun; Oshu revolt; Go-Daigo overthrows; suicide of leaders; Go-Daigo's rescript; part of estates seized; rising in 1334; system imitated by the Ashikaga --of Odawara, fight Satomi in Kwanto; alliance with Takeda; their importance; last eastern enemy of Nobunaga; defeated by Hideyoshi Hojoki, Annals of a Cell Hojo Kudaiki, on Kanazawa-bunko library --Morotoki, regent (1301-11) --Nagatoki (1230-64), shikken (1256) --Nakatoki, fails to arrest Go-Daigo (1331); escapes from Rokuhara --Sadatoki (1270-1311), regent 1284-1301, and in camera to; succession to Fushimi --Sanetoki founds Kanazawa-bunko --Soun, or Nagauji (1432-1519), reduces taxes; seizes Izu province --Takaiye, commander against Go-Daigo --Takatoki (1303-33), last of Hojo regents, 1311-33; Go-Daigo's quarrel; suicide --Tokifusa, leader against Kyoto in Shokyu struggle; one of first tandai --Tokimasa (1138-1215), guardian of Yoritomo; kills lieutenant-governor of Izu; in Awa; in Suruga; messenger to Yoshitsune; governs Kyoto; military regent; constables and stewards; high constable at Court; gives power of Minamoto to Hojo; kills Yoriiye, becomes shikken; exiled --Tokimasu, death, (1333) Hojo Tokimori, in southern Rokuhara --Tokimune (1251-84), son of Tokiyori; regent (1256-84); Mongol invasion; Buddhism, and Buddhist temples; Nichiren --Tokisada succeeds Tokimasa as high constable at Kyoto (1186) --Tokiuji (1203-30) in northern Rokuhara --Tokiyori (1226-33), shikken (1246-66), Miura plot against; cloistered regent; Buddhist temples --Tokiyuki (d. 1353),captures Kamakura --Tsunetoki (1224-46), shikken --Ujimasa (1538-90), against Uesugi; ally of Shingen; defeated by Hideyoshi --Ujinao, son of Ujimasa --Ujinori, brother of Ujimasa --Ujitsuna (1487-1543), conquers Kwanto --Ujiyasu(1515-70), conquers Kwanto --Yasutoki (1183-1242) sent against Kyoto at outbreak of Shokyu war; captures the capital; explains treatment of ex-Emperors; one of first tandai; in regency; thrift and generosity; Joei code; death; Buddhist temples --Yoshitoki (1163-1224), military regent, defeats Wada Yoshimori; in council of Bakufu; in plot against Sanetomo; Go-Toba quarrels with; attitude toward Crown; restored; death Hokke, Hokke-shu, see Nichiren; Hokke-kyo-sutra, book of Nichiren doctrine; Hokke-ikki, war of the sect on Hongwan-ji Hokkyo Enzen, bonze, compiles Joei code Hoko-ji, Buddhist temple in Asuka (587 A.D.); image; inscription on bell Hoku-cho, Northern court Hokuriku, Prince Home Affairs, Department of, in Restoration government Homestead, 50 houses, under Daika Homma Saburo assassinates Hojo Suketomo --Saemon, Hojo soldier Homuda, life name of Emperor Ojin Homutang, Russian stand at Honcho Hennen-roku, or Honcho Tsugan, history Honda Masanobu (1539-1617) adviser of Ieyasu --Masazumi (1566-1637); Osaka castle; under Hidetada; punished for secret marriage --Tadakatsu (1548-1610), Ieyasu's general at Sekigahara Honen Shonin, or Genku, (1133-1212), preaches Jodo doctrine Hongi, Original Records of the Free People Hongo, Yedo, college at Hongwan-ji, Shin temple in Kyoto; monks in 16th century wars; feud with Enryaku-ji; aid Mori, Takeda and Hojo; divided by Ieyasu Honno-ji, temple Hori, general of Ieyasu Horigoe, Izu, fort Horikawa, 73rd Emperor (1087-1107) Horses, cavalry; "horse hunting"; wooden pictures, votive offerings; racing Horyu-ji, Buddhist temple at Nara (607); ideographic inscription in; dancers' masks and records; statues Hoshikawa, son of Kara, seizes treasury and plots for throne Hoshina Masayuki (1609-72), guardian of Ietsuna Hosho-ji, temple built by Shirakawa; cherry picnics; image Hosoi Kotaku, calligraphist Hosokawa, Harima, manor given to Fujiwara Tameiye; family favours Takauji; large estates; Muromachi kwanryo; one of Five Regent Houses; power in 15th century; Yamana family; Eastern army in Onin struggle; crushed by Miyoshi; "province holders"; in Sanuki --Harumoto (1519-63), son of Sunimoto, in civil war; joined by Kokyo --Katsumoto(1430-73), kwanryo; estates; feud with the Hatakeyama; quarrels with Yamana, shitsuji; death --Kiyouji (d. 1362), goes over to Southern Court; defeated --Masomoto (1466-1507) --Mitsumoto (1378-1426), minister to Ashikaga Yoshimochi --Sumimoto (1496-1520), kwanryo, (1507); exiled --Sumiyuki (d. 1507) --Tadaoki (1564-1645), discloses plot against Ieyasu; tries to kill Ishida; helps Ieyasu --Takakuni (d. 1531); driven out by Sumimoto's son; death --Yoriyuki (1329-92), guardian of Ashikaga Yoshimitsu; administration and death Hospitals, Jesuit Hosso, first Buddhist sect in Japan (653); Gembo studies tenets Hostages, women, "Pillow children"; of feudatories at Yedo Hosuseri, myth of Hotta family, Bakufu ministers from --Masamori (1606-51), minister of Iemitsu, suicide --Masamutsu (1810-64) aids Townsend Harris --Masatoshi (1631-84), on succession to shogunate; chief minister; assassinated Hotto, Buddhist abbots Household, unit of administration under Daiho Household Department, under Daika, and Daiho Hsia Kwei, Kamakura painter Hsuan-ming calendar revised (1683) Hsu Fuh, Chinese Taoist, search for elixir of life Hulbert, History of Korea quoted Human sacrifice, at funerals, replaced by use of effigies, abolished; in public works Hun river, Manchuria Hunting in prehistoric times; keeping dogs or falcons forbidden by Shotoku Hyakunin-isshu, "Poems of a Hundred Poets" Hyecha, Buddhist priest, instructor of Prince Shotoku Hyogo, now Kobe, in Ashikaga revolt; battle; trade with China; English demonstration (1866) against Hyuga, Kumaso in Ibaraki-doji, bandit Ice storage Ichijo, 66th Emperor (987-1011) --family, one of "Five Regent Houses"; leave Court for Tosa --Fuyuyoshi, scholar --Kaneyoshi (1402-81), regent, adviser of Ashikaga Yoshihisa; author; on religions Ichiman see Minamoto Ichiman Ichinei (I Ning, or Nei-issan), Buddhist priest Ichi-no-tani, near Hyogo, in Settsu, defeat of Taira at Icho-mura, birthplace of Hideyoshi Ideographs, Chinese, historical writing; and Japanese language; date of introduction; adapted for syllabic purposes; in early laws Ieharu see Tokugawa Ieharu Iehisa see Shimazu Iehisa Iemitsu see Tokugawa Iemitsu Iemochi see Tokugawa Iemochi Ienari see Tokugawa Ienari Ienobu see Tokugawa Ienobu Iesada see Tokugawa Iesada Ieshige see Tokugawa Ieshige Ietsugu see Tokugawa Ietsugu Ietsuna see Tokugawa Ietsuna Ieyasu see Tokugawa Ieyasu Ieyoshi see Tokugawa Ieyoshi Iga, Prince, see Otomo Iharu Atamaro, leader of Yemishi (780) Ii, adherents of Southern Court; Bakufu ministers from; tamarizume --Naomasa (1561-1602), general at Sekigahara --Naosuke, Kamon no Kami (1815-60), advocates foreign intercourse; prime minister at Yedo; Tokugawa Nariaki's opposition to; foreign policy; assassinated --Naotaka (1590-1659), minister of Iemitsu, 581, and of Ietsuna Ikeda Isshinsai, friend of Harunari --Nobuteru (1536-84), councillor after Nobunaga's death; defeated --Terumasa (1564-1613), in plot against Ishida; favours Ieyasu Iki, island, in early myth; attacked by Toi, by Mongols; held by Japan Ikki, "revolt" Ikko, Shin sect; Ikko-ikki, war of 1488 Ikkyu Zenji (1394-1481), priest of Daitoku-ji Ikuno, silver mines Imagawa, family, gives refuge to Ashikaga Yoshimichi; against Hojo; in Suruga and Mikawa; Ieyasu's relations with --Motome, general under Date Masamune --Sadayo (Ryoshun), tandai of Kyushu; recalled --Ujizane (1538-1614), son of Yoshimoto --Yoshimoto (1519-60) rules Suruga, Totomi and Mikawa; threatens Owari; defeated at Okehazama (1560) Imai Kanehira, one of Yoshinaka's four body-guards; sacrifices himself for his master Imibe, corporation or guild of mourners, descent; guard Imperial insignia; abstainers; commissary agents in provinces; in charge of Treasury Imjin River, Korea Immigration, shadowed in myths; from Siberia, China, Malaysia and Polynesia; Japanese ethnologists on; of Koreans and Chinese in 3rd & 4th centuries; and later; from Shiragi (608) Imna see Mimana Imoko (Ono Imoko), envoy to China (607 A.D.) Imperial lands Imprisonment Imun, Korea, secured by Kudara with Japan's help Inaba, Princess Yakami of Masayasu, assassin of Hotta Masatoshi Inaba-yama, castle of Saito Inahi, brother of Jimmu Iname see Soga Iname Inamura-ga-saki, cliff near Kamakura Incense fetes Incest India, first Japanese visitor to, Takaoka or Shinnyo Indian architecture, influence of, through Buddhism Indigo growing in Awa Industrial class, in Kamakura period Industry, early Japanese; impulse given by Buddhism in Nara epoch; development in time of Yoshimune; modern manufactures Infantry, use of Inheritance, law of, in Daiho legislation; in feudal system of Tokugawa I Ning see Ichinei Inishiki, Prince Inkyo (Ingyo), 19th Emperor (412-53) In-memoriam services, Shinto Inokami, consort of Konin Inokashira lake and Yedo water-supply Inokuma, general of the Left, executed Ino Tadayoshi, survey of Northern islands (1800) Inouye Kaoru, Marquis (b. 1835) --Tetsujiro, Dr., on Bushi ethics; on Chutsz and Wang Yang-ming Inquisitors, Bakufu officials at Court after Shokyu war Insei see Camera government Insignia, sacred Imperial, mirror, sword, jewel Inspectors of district officials, after Daika; of provincial government; in temple service Interest on loans Interior decoration, Yamato school "Interior," Granary of --Ministry of, created by Daika (645) "Invisible" Kami Iratsuko, rebel against Yuryaku, famous archer Iris festival Iroha-uta, text book Iron in Korea; foundry at Akunpura Irrigation, under Sujin; under Nintoku, in 6th and 7th centuries; rice land; in Nara epoch; in Heian epoch; under Yoshimune Iruka see Soga Iruka Isa, early carriage-builder Isawa, headquarters moved from Taga to Ise, shrine of Sun at; Yamatodake at shrine; swords offered; oracle calls Amaterasu an avatar of Buddha; Watarai shrine; revolt of 1414 in; rebuilding shrines; Oda seize; Mori insults the shrine Ise Heishi, branch of Taira Ise Monogatori --Sadachika (1417-73) page of Yoshimasa; marries Yoshitoshi's sister; influence of Ishida Katsushige, soldier of Hideyoshi; brings about Hidetsugu's death; ordered to Korea; plot against Ieyasu; takes Osaka; death Ishide family in charge of Yedo prison Ishido family favours Tadayoshi Ishikawa Island, house of correction on Ishikawa Jinshiro relieves suffering in Kyoto Ishi-yama, temple Ishizu, battle, Akiiye defeated (1338) by Ko Moronao Iso-takeru (Itakeru), son of Susanoo Isuraka, Korean artist Itagaki Taisuke, Count (b. 1837); resigns from cabinet and works for parliament; organizes Liberal party; invited into Cabinet Itakura Katsushige (1542-1624), in bell-inscription plot; in Kyoto --Shigemune (1587-1656), protests against Go-Komyo's activities Italians employed by Government in fine arts Ito Hirobumi, Prince (1841-1909); premier (1885); framer of constitution; head of Liberal party; treaty with China; assassinated --Jinsai (1627-1705), Confucianist, 626 --Sukechika (d. 1181), guardian of Minamoto Yoritomo; crushes Yoritomo's army Ito, or Wado, Chinese name for Japanese Itsukushima-Myojin, Buddhist shrine Itsutse, brother of Jimmu Iwa, consort of Nintoku, of Katsuragi family Iwai (Ihawi) ruler of Kyushu, blocks invasion of Korea (527) but is defeated by Arakaho (528) Iwaki, son of Kara, contests throne with Seinei Iwaki-uji, branch of Taira Iwakura Tomoyoshi, Prince (1825-83), leader of moderate party Iware, life-time name of Jimmu Iwasaka, fort in Mikawa Iwatsuki, in Musashi, fortified Iyo, province; oldest ideographic inscription (596 A.D.); held by Kono Izanagi and Izanami, male and female Kami, creators of Japanese islands Izayoi-nikki, journal of Abutsu-ni Izu, early ship-building in; Minamoto Tametomo exiled to; Yoritomo in; peaceful under Kamakura rule; seized by Hojo Soun (1491) Izumi province, rising of 1399 in --Chikahira revolts against Hojo --Shikibu, poetess of 11th century Izumo in early myth; revolt in causes withdrawal of court from Yamato; gems in; conquered by Mori Jade, "curved-jewel" Japan, name a Dutch (15th century) perversion of Jihpen; early names Jenghiz Khan Jerome, Father Jesuits in Japan; banished, but stay; order to leave checked by Hideyoshi's death; Ieyasu plays off Franciscans against; denounce Dutch ship as pirate; treated well by Ieyasu Jesus, Jerome de. (d. 1602), Franciscan, interview with Ieyasu Jewel, curved, chaplet, one of Imperial insignia Jih-pen, "Sunrise Island" name used by Chinese Jimmu, Emperor (660-585 B.C.); chronology dating from accession; ancestry; leader in expedition against Yamato; poem mentioning Yemishi; strategem against Tsuchigumo; successors; tomb Jimyo-in family, afterwards Hoku-cho or Northern Court, holding Chokodo estates; gets throne Jingirryo, quoted on Board of Religion Jingo, Empress (201-69); Chinese and Japanese chronology of reign; succession; excluded from dynasties by Dai Nihon-shi Jingu-ji, temple built by Fujiwara Muchimaro, 192 Jinno Shotdki, "Emperor's Genealogy" work on divine right by Kitabatake Chikafusa Jinshin, cyclical name for 672 A.D., civil war Jisho-ji, monastery in Higashiyama, art-gallery Jito, (41st) Empress (690-6), wife of Temmu; historiography; Sushen Jiyu-to, Liberal party organized by Itagaki Joben, one of "four kings" of poetry Jocho, wood-carver Jodo, Buddhist sect introduced (1196) by Honen; creed Joei, year-period, (1232-3); code of 1232; basis of Kemmu code Jokaku, sculptor Jokwan, year-period, revision of Rules and Regulations Jokyo, year-period (1684-7) trade limitations Jomei, 34th Emperor (629-41), Tamura Jo Nagashige, provincial governor, defeated Jorin, scholar, adviser of Yoshimitsu Josetsu (end of 14th century), bonze of Shokoku-ji, painter Joye see Fujiwara Joye Juko see Shuko Jun, mother of Michiyasu (Montoku) Junna, 54th Emperor (824-33) Junnin, 47th Emperor (758-64) Juntoku, 84th Emperor (1211-21), son of Go-Toba, abdicates, called Shin-in, "new recluse"; exiled Juraku-tei, "Mansion of Pleasure" Juro see Sukenari Justice, Department of, Gyobu-sho, under Daiha; under Daiho; in Meiji government Justice, court of Justices, land grants to Justo Ukondono see Takayama Kada Arimaro (1706-69) revises code --Azumamaro (1668-1736), scholar, restores Japanese literature; quoted Kaempfer, Engelbert (1651-1716), historian Kagoshima, in Satsume, landing-place (1549) of St. Francis Xavier; bombarded by English Kagu, Mt., in sun myth Kai, peaceful under Kamakura rule; won by Takeda Shingen; "black horse of" Kaigen, priest in charge of Ashikaga-gakko Kai-koku Hei-dan, book by Hayashi Shibei, urging coast defense Kaikwa, 9th Emperor (157-98 B.C.) Kaizan, priest of Myoshin-ji Kajiwara Kagetoki (d. 1200), fighting against Yoritomo, sympathizes with him; military governor; in command of fleet quarrels with Yoshitsune; warns Yoritomo against Yoshitsune Kakinomoto Hitomaru, poet, end of 7th century Kamada Masaie, companion of Yoshitomo, death Kamako see Nakatomi Kamako Kamakura, S. of present Yokohama, Yoritomo's headquarters; military centre for 150 years; shrines built by Yoritomo; school of art; growth of luxury; fall of city (1333); headquarters of Ashikaga family; Takauji removes to Kyoto, keeping Kamakura as secondary basis; Ashikaga driven out, Uesugi come in --Gongoro, soldier of Three Years' War --Jidaishi, quoted on parties in Shokyu struggle Kamatari; see Fujiwara Kamatari Kamegiku, dancer Kameyama, 90th Emperor (1259-74) Kami in Japanese mythology; "creation" of chiefs; used in "Chronicles" of Yemishi chiefs; trinity of; two classes; the Kami class or Shimbetsu; worship of, in early 7th century; uji no Kami elective in Temmu's time; Shinto K., Buddha's avatars Kamimura, Japanese admiral, crushes Vladivostok squadron Kamitsuke (now Kotsuke), early dukedom Kamo, Yamashiro, shrine in Kamo Chomei, author of Hojoki --Mabuchi (1697-1769), restores Japanese ethics; quoted Kana, syllabary Kana-ga-saki (Kanasaki), in Echizen, taken by Ashikaga Kanamura, o-muraji, advises cession (512 A.D.) of part of Mimana to Kudara; helps Kudara to get Imun (513 A.D.); puts down revolt of Heguri Matori Kanaoka see Koze Kanaoka Kanazawa, fortress, in Three Years' War Kanazawa, Prof. S., on Korean and Japanese languages --Akitoki, son of Hojo Sanetoki --bunko, school founded about 1270 by Hojo Sanetoki --Sadaaki, son of Akitoki, scholar Kane see Nakatomi Kane Kaneakira, Prince (914-87), son of Daigo, poet Kanenaga, Prince (1326-83), Mongol fugitives Kanenari, Life-name of Emperor Chukyo Kanin, princely house; Kokaku chosen from Kanko-Maru, steamship presented by Dutch government Kannabi, Mt., sacred rock Kano school of painting; patronized by Tokugawa --Masanobu see Masanobu --Motonobu see Motonobu Kanshin (687-763), Chinese Buddhist missionary, builds Shodai-ji temple Kanzaki, port in Heian epoch Kao, painter of Kamakura school Kara, Princess, wife of Yuryaku Kara, Korea; war with Shiragi Karako, Japanese general, killed in Korea by Oiwa Karano, 100-ft, ship (274 A.D.) Karu, Prince, son of Inkyo, suicide --Prince, brother of Empress Kogyoku, in Kamatari's plot; see Kotoku son of Kusakabe, succeeds to throne; see Mommu Kasagi, refuge of Go-Daigo Kasai Motochika (d. 1507) Kasanui, Shrine of Kashiwa-bara, palace at Kasuga, cruiser, sinks Yoshino --shrine at Nara (767-69) in honour of Fujiwara Kamatari; school of painting --Tsubone, mistress of Ashikaga Yoshimasa Katagiri Katsumoto, bugyo of Toyotomi; bronze Buddha; bell-inscription Katakana, fragments of characters, syllabary Katana, general, suppresses Yemishi revolt Katari-be, raconteurs Kato Kiyomasa (1562-1611), commands second corps in invasion of Korea; sides with Yae at court; in plot against Ishida; studies Chinese classics --Shirozaemon Kagemasa, potter --Tadahiro, son of Kiyomasa, banished --Yoshiaki (1563-1631), plots against Ishida Katsu, Count (Rintaro), minister of Marine Katsuiye see Shibata Katsuiye Katsumi; see Nakatomi Katsumi Katsumoto see Hosokawa Katsumoto and Katagiri Katsumoto Katsura, princely house --Taro, Prince (1849-1913), prime minister (1908-11) Katsurabara, Prince (786-853), ancestor of Taira Katsuragi, beginning of power of; descended from Takenouchi; Kara Katsuragi Mount Kawabe Nie, in Korea Kawagoe, in Musashi, fortifications Kawajiri Shigeyoshi, appointed to Hizen Kawakatsu kills preacher of caterpillar worship Kawamura at Mukden Kawanaka-jima, battlefield Kaya, moor of, Oshiwa murdered on; port Kaya-no-in, consort of Toba Kazuhito, Prince, son of Go-Fushimi; nominally Emperor (Kogon, 1332-35) Kazuko, daughter of Hidetada, first Tokugawa consort Kazumasu see Takigawa Kazumasu Kazusa, revolt of Yemishi in; Yoritomo enters Kebiishi, executive police (810-29) Kegon, sect of Buddhists (736 A.D.) Kehi-no-ura see Tsuruga Keicho, year-period, 1596-1614, coinage of Keicha Ajari (1640-1701), scholar Keiki see Tokugawa Yoshinobu Keiko, 12th Emperor (71-130); expeditions against Yemishi, against Kumaso, and Tsuchi-gumo in Bungo; tree-worship Keitai, Emperor (507-31); serpent worship; one province added; nashiro Keiun, poet Kemmu era (1334-6), restoration of; crushes military houses and puts court nobles in power; name applied by Northern court to years 1336-8 --Shikimoku, code of 1337 Kencho-ji, Zen temple in Kamakura Kenju, or Rennyo Shonin, (1415-99), Shin priest Kenko, daughter of Fujiwara Yorimichi, consort of Shirakawa, mother of Horikawa Kenko see Yoshida Kenko Kennin-ji, temple in Kyoto, Kao's studio in; one of the "Five"; priests alone could wear purple Kennyo (1543-92), priest, intervenes for Sakai; guides Hideyoshi in Kyushu; helps turn Hideyoshi against Christians Keno no Omi, in Korea Kenrei-mon-in, Takakura's consort, daughter of Taira Kiyomori; drowned at Dan-no-ura Kenshin see Uesugi Kenshin Kenso, 23rd Emperor (485-7), originally called Oke; Yemishi do homage to Kesa, mistress of Endo Morito (Mongaku) Keumsyong, capital of Sinra, Korea Khilkoff, Prince, Russian minister Khitan Tatars, in China Ki, family founded by Ki no Tsunu, descendant of Takenouchi; eligible to high office --Haseo (845-912), famous scholar; plot to send him with Michizane to China; prose --Hirozumi, leader against Yemishi, killed by them (780) --Kosami (733-97), general against Yemishi (789), is defeated and degraded; report of the campaign --Omaro, Japanese general in Korea, 6th century --Tsurayuki (883-946), prose preface to Kokin-shu; Tosa Nikki Kibi, old name for Bingo, Bitchu and Bizen provinces; Jimmu's stay in --no Mabi or Makibi (693-775), Japanese student in China, minister of the Right, inventor of syllabary; opposition to Fujiwara; minister of the Right under Koken; opposes succession of Shirakabe (Konin); as littérateur Kibumi, school of painters (604 A.D.) Kidomaru, famous bandit Kido Takamasa or Koin (1834-77), in alliance of Choshu and Satsuma Kii, mythical land of trees; in Yamato expedition; promontory; armed monks in Komaki war; punished by Hideyoshi (499-500); orange growing; Tokugawa of Kijima-yama, in Hizen, place for uta-gaki Kikaku, verse-writer Kikkawa in battle of Sekigahara Motoharu (1530-86), son of Mori Motonari; adviser of Mori Terumoto; general Kikuchi, adherents of Southern Court, in Saikai-do; make trouble in Kyushu; defeated by Otomo Kimbusen, temple Kimiko Hidetake in Three Years' War Kimmei, 29th Emperor (540-71); Yemishi do homage to; intercourse with China Kinai, five home provinces; rice grants Kinchou, 2d Army wins battle of (1904) Kinoshita Junan (1621-98), Confucianist, father of Torasuke --Torasuke, scholar, at Yedo --Yaemon, father of Hideyoshi Kinshudan, "Embroidered Brocade Discourse" Kira family, masters of ceremonies --Yoshihide killed by "47 Ronins" (1703) --Yoshinaka, son of Yoshihide Kiso river, boundary of Mino, crossed by Nobunaga (1561 and 1564) Kiso Yoshinaka see Minamoto Yoshinaka Kitabatake, adherents of Southern Court in Mutsu and Ise; put down by Yoshinori; rule in Ise --Akiiye (1317-38); raises siege of Kyoto; killed in battle --Akinobu --Chikafusa (1293-1354), historian and statesman, assistant governor of O-U; faithful to Go-Daigo; Main leader of Southern army; author of Jinno Shotoki; attempts to unite courts; death; combines Shinto, Buddhism and Confucianism; Shinto revival --Mitsumase, revolts of --Morokiyo, piracy Kitamura Kigin (1618-1705) author --Sessan, calligraphist --Shuncho, son of Kigin Kitano, Shinto officials of; tea fete Kitashirakawa, Prince, abbot of Kwanei-ji Kita-yama, Ashika Yoshimitsu's palace at; given to Buddhist priests Kite, Golden Kiuliencheng, on Yalu, centre of Kuroki's line Kiyo, Princess, daughter of Saga Kiyomaro see Wake Kiyomaro Kiyomizu, temple Kiyomori see Taira Kiyomori Kiyosu, castle in Owari, conference of Nobunaga's vassals --Naritada, scholar, 447 --Takenori, leader in Nine Years' Commotion, helps crush Abe Sadato (1062); family quarrel cause of Three Years' War Kiyowara, family eligible to high office Ko An-mu, Chinese scholar in Japan (516 A.D.) Ko Moronao (d. 1351), defeats Kitabatake Akiiye at Ishizu; defeats Masatsura; shitsuji in Muromachi; plot against; killed by Uesugi --Moroyasu (d. 1351); plot against; death Koban, coin Kobe, formerly Fukuhara, made capital by Kiyomori (1180); Hyogo, in Ashikaga revolt Koben see Myoe Kobo Daishi, posthumous name of Kukai (q.v.) Kobun, 39th Emperor (672), Prince Otomo (q.v.) succeeds Tenchi; included in Dai Nihon-shi Koeckebacker, Nicholas, Dutch factor, helps conquer castle of Kara Koetomi, merchant, envoy to China Kofuku-ji, Nara temple of Hosso sect; armed men of the monastery; their quarrels and their treatment by Taira; burnt by Taira (1180); revenue of temple Koga, in Shimosa, seat of Ashikaga after Kamakura; Shigeuji's castle Kogen, 8th Emperor (214-158 B.C.) Kogon, Northern Emperor (1332-5), Prince Kazuhito (q.v.), gives commission (1336) to the Ashikaga, and expects restoration to throne; becomes Zen priest Kogo-shui, ancient record quoted Kogyoku, (35th) Empress (642-5); abdicates, becomes Empress Dowager; again Empress see Saimei; Asuka palace; worship of silk-worm Kohayakawa Hideaki (1577-1602), nominally against Ieyasu, but goes over in battle of Sekigahara --Takakage (1532-96); adviser of Mori Terumoto; general of Hideyoshi; in Korean invasion; signs Hideyoshi's laws of 1595 Koide Hidemasa (1539-1604), guardian of Hideyori Ko-jiki, Records of Ancient Things; to 628 A.D.; on Chuai; contains the Kuji-hongi; preface Kojima, adherents of Southern Court --Takanori, defender of Go-Daigo Kokaku, 119th Emperor (1780-1816); his rank and his father's Koken, (46th) Empress (749-58), daughter of Shomu, known in life as Abe; abdicates but dethrones her successor; see Shotoku, son of Kenju Koki, Record of the Country Kokin-shu, 10th century anthology; Ki Tsurayuki's prose preface to; comments by Keichu Koko, 58th Emperor (885-7), Prince Tokiyasu; couplet tournaments Koku, coin, 438-9; unit of measure Kokubun-ji, official provincial temples; affiliated with Todai-ji; heavy expense of Kokuli, Korea Kokushi, provincial governor; appointed by Throne, first mentioned in 374 A.D.; after Daika (645); over kuni; Buddhist hierarchy Kokyo, Osaka abbot, leads great revolt (1529) Koma, Korea, now Pyong-yang; increase of power; attacked by Kudara and Japan; families in Japanese nobility; falls; migration; ruler of Pohai recognized as successor of dynasty of; envoys; Mongol invasion Koma, suzerain of Aya-uji, assassinates Sashun Koma-gori, in Musashi, settlement in Japan from Koma Komaki war (1583), named from Komaki-yama Komei, 121st Emperor (1846-67) Komon Mitsukuni Komura Jutaro, Marquis (1853-1911), minister of foreign affairs, peace commissioner at Portsmouth Komyo, Imperial name of Asuka, wife of Shomu and mother of Koken; story of miraculous conception Komyo, Emperor (1336-48) of Northern dynasty, brother of Kogon; abdicates and becomes Zen priest Kondo, branch of Fujiwara in Kwanto Kongobo-ji, Shingon temple on Koya-san Konin, 49th Emperor (770-81), formerly Prince Shirakabe; reforms local administration; festival of his birthday, Tenchosetsu Konin, year-period (810-24) and revision of Rules and Regulations Konishi Yukinaga (d. 1600), commands first division in Korean invasion (1592); entrapped by Chinese diplomacy; with last troops in Korea; opposes Kato; against Ieyasu; death Konno, swordsman Kono family in Iyo Konoe, 76th Emperor (1142-55) Konoe, Imperial guards; origin; name given to Fujiwara Motomichi's descendants, kwampaku alternately with Kujo; one of "Five Regent Houses" --Prince, leader of moderate party --Nobuhiro (1593-1643), minister of Right --Sakihisa (1536-1612), envoy to Shin monks Korai, or Koma, Korea Korea, alphabet; architecture; artisans; Buddhism; China, relations with; chronology; language; music; myth; pottery, sepulchral; scholars; treasury, Japanese; early intercourse with Japan; Jingo's conquest; granary; Japanese relations in 540-645; families in Japanese nobility; war between Japan and China for; precious metals; 8th century relations; Mongol invasion; Japanese piracy; Hideyoshi's invasion; Arai Hakusekai's policy toward envoys; break with (1873); treaty (1875); Chinese activity in, 699-700; independence recognized by 1895 treaty; Russian aggression; Japan's interests in, recognized by Treaty of Portsmouth; Japanese occupation and annexation Korehito, Prince, Emperor Seiwa Korei, 7th Emperor (290-215 B.C.) Korekimi see Fujiwara Korekimi Koretaka, Prince (844-97), Buddhist monk and poet Koreyasu, Prince, shogun, (1266-89) Korietz, Russian gunboat at Chemulpo Koriyama, in Yamato, castle commanding Izumi and Kii Koromo, tunic, and name of a fort Koromo-gawa, campaign on, against Yemishi Kosa, abbot of Ishi-yama monastery Koshi, Yemishi in Kotesashi moor, Takauji defeated at Koto, lute Kotoku, 36th Emperor (645-54); Yemishi do homage to (646) Kotsuke, early Kamitsuke, a dukedom; revolt of Yoshinaka in, (1180); won by Kenshin; silk growing in Koya, reptile Kami of; snow festival of Koyama, branch of Fujiwara in Kwanto; one of "8 Generals" of Kwanto Koyane (Ame-no-Koyane) ancestor of Nakatomi Koya-san, mountain in Kii, temple of Kongobo-ji; threatened after Komaki war; shrine; nobles enter Koyomaro, warden of Mutsu, killed by Yemisi (724) Koze (Kose); family descended from Takenouchi Koze Fumio, scholar; Chinese prose --Kanaoka (850-90), painter and landscape artist of Kyoto; school, Kublai Khan and the Mongol invasion Kubo, governor general of 4 provinces Kuchiki Mototsuna (1549-1632) at battle of Sekigahara Kuchinotsu, port, Jesuits invited to Kudara, Korea, now Seoul; Japanese alliance; weaver from; scribe; relations with Yuryaku; story of Multa; invaded by Koma; secures Imun; gains through friendship of Japan; Buddhism; wars with Shiragi and Koma; crushed by Shiragi and China; migration from Kudara Kawanari, painter Kudo Suketsune, killed in vendetta (1193) Kuga family, eligible for office of highest rank --Nagamichi, minister under Go-Daigo Kugeshu-hatto, Ieyasu's law for Court nobles Kugyo (1201-19), son of Yoriiye, assassinates Sanetomo Kuhi brings scales and weights from China Kujihongi, history Kujo, descendants of Fujiwara Kanezane, chosen Kwampaku alternately with Konoe; one of "Five Regent Houses" Kukai (posthumously, Kobo Daishi), (774-835) Buddhist priest, called by some inventor of mixed Shinto; founder (809) of Shingon (True Word) system, calligrapher, and inventor of hira-gana syllabary; portrait; shrine (ill.) Kuma, Southern tribe Kumagaye Naozane (d. 1208), kills Taira Atsumori Kumaso, early inhabitants of Kyushu; possibly of Korean origin; may be identical with Hayato; called Wado by Chinese; Keiko's expedition against; Chuai's expedition Kume, Dr., on Yamato-dake's route of march; on Takenouchi-no-Sukune --Prince, dies on expedition to Shiragi --Kami Kumebe, palace guards Kunajiri, Russians seized at (1814) Kuno, castle of, in Totomi Kurama, temple of, Yoshitsune escapes from Kurando or Kurodo, Imperial estates bureau, office established; K.-dokoro precursor of kwampaku; held by Minamoto Yorimasa Kurayamada, conspirator against Soga; suicide Kuriles, Russians in; Japanese title recognized Kuriyama Gen, contributor to Dai Nihon-shi Kuro, lady of Takenouchi family Kuroda Nagamasa (1568-1623) soldier of Hideyoshi; against Ishida; favours Ieyasu; studies Chinese classics Kurodo see Kurando Kuroki, Ibei, Count (b.1844), commands on Yalu; defeats Russians; head of 1st Army; attempts to turn Russian flank; at Mukden Kuromaro see Takamuku Kuromaro Kuropatkin, Alexei Nikolaievitch (b.1848), Russian commander-in-chief in Manchuria; plans before and after Liaoyang; succeeded by Linievitch Kusaka, defeat of Jimmu at Kusakabe, Prince, (d. 690) son of Temmu and Jito Kusano support Southern Court Kusu (Kusuriko), daughter of Fujiwara Tanetsugu, consort of Heijo Kusu, wife of Oto, kills him Kusunoki, adherents of Southern Court --Jiro, in attack on palace (1443) --Masahide rebels in 1428 --Masanori (d. 1390) minister; joins Northern party, returns to Southern --Masashige (1294-1336), called Nanko, defender of Go-Daigo; provincial governor; against Ashikaga; death, (ill.) --Masatoki, death --Masatomo defeats Nobunaga in Ise --Masatsura (132648), son of Masashige; receives Go-Daigo in Yoshimo; campaign in Settsu Kuwana, castle of Takigawa Kazumasu, in Ise Kuzuno, Prince, son of Kobun, sacrifices his claim to throne (696) Kuzuo, in Shinano, castle Kivaifu-so, anthology of poems (751) Kwaikei, sculptor Kwammu, 50th Emperor (782-805), formerly Yamabe; changes capital to Kyoto (792); posthumous names first used; sends Saicho to study Chinese Buddhism Kwampaku, regent for grown Emperor, mayor of palace, office established (882); decline of power under Go-Sanjo; foreshadowed by Kurando-dokoro; chosen alternately from Kujo and Konoe; office abolished after Kemmu restoration; unimportant after Tokugawa period Kwampei era (889-97), Counsels of, Uda's letter to Daigo Kwanei, year period, (1621-43); Kwanei Shake Keizu-den, genealogical record; Kwanei-ji, temple Kwangaku-in, uji academy, founded (821) Kwangtung peninsula, in battle of Kinchou Kwang-wu, Chinese emperor, Japanese envoy to Kwanji, period, (1087-94) Kwanki, period, (1229-32), crop failure and famine Kwanko see Sugawara Michizane Kwanno Chokuyo establishes school in Yedo Kwannon, Mercy, Buddhist goddess; Shirakawa's temple; temple at Kamakura Kwanryo, governor general; list of Kamakura k.; title passes from Ashikaga to Uesugi family; also given (1367) to shitsuji in shogun's court, and held by Shiba, Hosokawa and Hatakeyama families; compared with shikken and betto Kwansei, year-period, 1789-1800, vagabonds in Yedo during Kwanto, or Bando, many shell-heaps in; army raised in, against Yemishi; Taira and Minamoto fight in; Minamoto supreme in; Ashikaya supreme; Eight Generals of, combine against Uesugi; battle-ground; war between branches of Uesugi and Hojo and Satomi; in Battle Period Kwazan, 65th Emperor (985-6) Kwobetsu, families of chieftains of the conquest, Imperial class; pre-historic administration; classification in Seishwoku; revolt; rank of Empress Kyaku, "official rules" supplementing Yoro laws; revised; (819) Kyogen, comic play Kyogoku, one of four princely houses --Takatsugu (1560-1609) Kyoho, year-period, (1716-35); K.-kin, coins then minted Kyong-sang, Korea Kyoriku, verse-writer Kyoroku, year-period, (1528-31) Kyoto, capital 794 A.D.; two cities and two markets; capital momentarily moved to Fukuhafa (1180); evacuated by Taira (1183); school of art; culture; Go-Daigo's conspiracy; in war of dynasties; Takauji removes to; ravaged; Nobunaga restores order; under Hideyoshi; Portuguese; Xavier; Jesuits; Vilela; Franciscan church; patent to missionaries; shogun's deputy in; Ieyasu; Iemitsu's demonstration against; Court excluded from power; vendetta illegal in; great fire (1788); rebuilding; government; loyalist intrigues in: extremists driven from; foreign ministers invited to Kyuka, priest Kyushu, early myth; expedition against Yamato; situation; Kingdom called Wo by Chinese; government station; Keiko's expedition against Kumaso; granary; trade; Mongol invasion; revolt of 1349; taken from Ashikaga; disorder; piracy; great families; Hideyoshi's invasion; early European intercourse; Christians Lacquer, trees, planting of, required for tenure of uplands; development of art in Nara epoch; in Heian; ware exported; manufacture in time of Yoshimasa; (ill.) Ladies-in-waiting, uneme, at early court; dancers; Yoshimune's reforms Land and land-holding, pre-historic; royal fees; taxation; Daika reform; all land Crown property; 6-year lease; sustenance grants lead to feudalism; Daiho laws; reclaimed uplands; centralized holdings, 8th century; grants for reclamation; maximum holdings; abuses in system; large estates; Go-Sanjo's reforms; territorial name; constables and stewards; Shokyu tumult; new distribution; Joei laws; Go-Daigo's grants; estates under Ashikaga; military holdings; tax; Crown lands pass to military houses; Hideyoshi's laws; taxes Landscape-gardening, in the Heian epoch; in Kamakura period; patronized by Yoshimasa, in Muromachi epoch; at Momoyama Land steward, jito, and chief steward, so-jito, in Yorikomo's reform of land; shimpo-jito, land holders and stewards after the Shokyu war Language; in Heian epoch; difficulties for preaching Lanterns, (ill.) La Pérouse, Strait of, claimed as Russian boundary Law, in time of Ojin; criminal, protohistoric period; of Daiho; code of 1232 A.D.; Kemmu code; Hideyoshi's legislation; Laws of Military Houses; Laws for Court Nobles; of Iemitsu and Ietsuna; real code; in Tokugawa period; codified after Restoration; Department, in Meiji administration Leech, first offspring of Izanagi and Izanami Left Minister of, Sa-daijin, office created by Daika Legs, length, as racial mark Lése Majesté under Daiho code Liao River, Russians forced into valley of Liaotung peninsula, Chinese forces in, (1592), defeated by Japanese; fighting in 1894 in; Russian lease of Liaoyang, battle of Liberal party, Jiyu-to organized (1878) by Itagaki; unites with Progressists and forms Constitutionist party Library of Kanazawa-biwko; of Shohei-ko; of Momijiyama Bunko; and Shinto Liefde, Dutch ship Li Hung-chang (1823-1901), Chinese plenipotentiary for peace of 1895 Li Lungmin, artist Linievitch, Nikolai Petrovitch (b.1834), Russian general, succeeds Kuropatkin in command, defeated at Mukden Literature, in Nara epoch; in Heian epoch; in Tenryaku era, 261; in Kamakura epoch; in Muromachi period; under Hideyoshi; place of, in Military Houses' Laws; in Court Laws; Ieyasu's attitude; Tsunayoshi encourages Japanese and Chinese; favoured by Yoshimune; Japanese, restoration of; foreign; Chinese Liu-Jen-kuei, Chinese general, defeats Japanese in Korea (662 A.D.) Lloyd, Rev. A., on Buddhism, Tendai, Hosso; and Shinto Longevity, herb of Longford's Korea cited Loochoo see Ryukyu Islands Lotteries Lotus festival Loyalty, in early times; in Heian epoch; in Tokugawa period Lute, of Susanoo; the koto, made from the ship Karano; biya, 4-stringed Chinese lute Mabuchi see Kamo Mabuchi Macao, trade with; Jesuits there; annual vessel from; embassy of 1640 from Machado, Joao Baptista de (1581-1617), Jesuit, executed Machi-ya, shop Madre de Dios, Pessoa's ship Maeda Gen-i or Munehisa (1539-1602), guardian of Oda Nobutada's son Samboshi; in charge of Kyoto Buddha --Toshiiye (1538-99), fails to help Shibata Katsuiye; commands armies in Komaki war, and against Hojo; one of 6 senior ministers; attempt to make break between Ieyasu and; death --Toshinaga (1562-1614), son of Toshiiye, favours Ieyasu; simulates madness Magic and incantations, of Buddhist abbot Raigo; general belief in Mahayana, Great Vehicle, esoteric Buddhism Mahitotsu, metal worker Makaroff, Stephan Osipovitch (1848-1904), Russian admiral drowned with Petropavlovsk Maketsu, Chinese or Korean spinning woman, immigrant to Japan Maki, wife of Hojo Tokimasa, favours her son-in-law, Minamoto Tomomasa Makibi see Kibi no Mabi Makura Soshi, book by Sei Shonagon Mallets and "mallet-headed" swords Mamiya Rinzo (1781-1845) discovers (1826) that Saghalien is not part of continent Mamta, Prince, in charge of Record of Uji Manabe Norifusa, minister under Ienobu, and Ietsugu; removed from Treasury by Yoshimune Manchu-Korean subdivision of Asiatic yellow race Manchuria, in colonization from northern China; part ceded to Japan by treaty of 1895, but not occupied after Russian, German and French note; Russian designs upon; Russia's failure to evacuate, and negotiations over "open door"; Russo-Japanese war; evacuation of, provided for by treaty of Portsmouth; Japanese position in Man-dokoro, administration bureau, one of three sections of Bakufu, formerly called kumon-jo; in administration of Kyoto after Shokyu war; in Muromachi administration Maneko, atae of Iki, suicide Man-en, year-period, 1860, coinage of Manhattan, American ship, enters Uraga Mannen tsuho, coin Manners and customs, remote; in time of Yuryaku; in Muromachi period Manors, large estates, shoen; attempts to regulate; koden, tax free, granted to Taira after Heiji tumult; Yoritomo's memorial on; abuses of, remedied by appointment of constables and land stewards; distribution after restoration of Kemmu; gifts of Takauji Manumission of slaves Manyo-shu, "Myriad Leaves" first Japanese anthology; compared with Kokinshu; on character of soldier; comments on, by Keichu Map, official, begun under Hideyoshi Market Commissioners, after Daika Markets, ichi, in early Japan; in Nara epoch Marquis, asomi, title established by Temmu Marriage in early Japan; and the festival of utakai; none recognized among slaves by Daika; in Nara and earlier epochs; in laws of Military Houses; between military and court families; child marriage Marubashi Chuya, leader in revolt of 1651 Masa, daughter of Hojo Tokimasa, mistress of Minamoto Yoritomo; mother of Yoriiye and the power, with Tokimasa, in his administration; saves Sanetomo; plea to generals of Bakufu; death (1225) Masakado see Taira Masakado Masanobu (1453-90), painter Masanori see Kusunoki Masanori Masashige see Kusunoki Masashige Masatomo see Ashikaga Masatomo Masatoshi see Hotta Masatoshi Masayasu see Inaba Masayasu Masks for dances, sculptured; no masks Masses, Buddhist Masuda Nagamori (1545-1615), one of 5 administrators, plots with Ishida against Ieyasu; enters monastery after Sekigahara Masukagami, history of 1184-1333, on literature Mats, tatami, floor-coverings; tatsu-gomo Matsubara, Pine Plain Matsudaira, origin of family; of Aizu, etc. --Hideyasu (1574-1607), son of Ieyasu --Masatsuna (1567-1648), Tokugawa agent in Kyoto --Mitsunaga (1615-1717), punished by shogun --Motoyasu see Tokugawa Ieyasu --Nobutsuna (1596-1662), minister of Iemitsu, and of Ietsuna --Norimura, minister of Yoshimune, drafts code (1742); succession to Yoshimune --Sadanobu (1758-1829), revises code; minister under Ienari; sumptuary laws; educational reforms; retires; matter of rebuilding palace; rank of Tsunehito and Hitotsubashi Harunari; revises rules of procedure --Tadanao, punished by Tokugawa in 1623 --Tadatem (1593-1683), daimyo of Echigu; removed --Yoshinaga, baron of Echizen, advocates foreign trade; importance in new Japan Matsukura Shigemasa (1574-1630), persecutes Christians, urges conquest of Philippines Matsumae, ruling Northern islands, clash with Russians Matsuriaga Hisahide (1510-77), kills Norinaga and the shogun Yoshiteru; ally of Shingen Matsuo Basho (1644-94), verse writer Matsushita Yukitsuna, soldier under whom Hideyoshi served Matsuura, in Hizen, Toi attack unsuccessfully; branch of Minamoto; support Southern Court; attitude toward Xavier Mayor of the palace, kwampaku Ma Yuan, painter Mayuwa kills Anko Measures, early; standard (senshi-mashu) of Go-Sanjo; in Hideyoshi's laws Medicine Medicine-hunting, early court amusement Meiji, "Enlightened Government" year-period 1868-1912; posthumous name of Mutsuhito Meitoku, year-period, 1390-3, and the rising of 1391 Men, ideographic Japanese used by Menju Shosuke, impersonates Shibata Katsuiye and saves him Mercy, goddess, Kwannon Merit lands, Koden, granted for public services Mexico, Spanish ships from Michelborne, Sir Edward, on Japanese sailors (1604 or '5) Michi no Omi, ancestor of Otomo Michinaga see Fujiwara Michinaga Michiyasu, Prince; Emperor Montoku (q.v.) Michizane see Sugawara Michizane Mikado, origin of title; name appropriated for residence of Soga Emishi Mikata-ga-hara, war of, (1572-3) Mikawa, province, Oda defeat Imagawa in; fighting in Komaki war Mikena, brother of Jimmu Military Affairs, in ancient Japan; first conscription (689 A.D.); organization under Daiho; during Nara epoch; improvement in organization in 12th century; development of tactics; foreign military science; conscription laws and samurai; new army justified by Satsuma rebellion; modern army organization Military Art of Bushi --class, shi; in Kamakura period --code, Gumbo-ryo, of Daiho laws --dues, Buke-yaku --ethics, and Primer of Yamaga Soko Military houses, buke, rise in 8th century; 10th; 11th; power increased by Hogen and Heiji insurrections; Minamoto ideals; finances; crushed by Kemmu restoration; Northern Court follows system of; in Ashikaga times; Onin disorder; Muromachi period; land holdings; power in Tokugawa period; Laws of; intermarry with Court nobles; weakness Militia, kondei, in 8th century Milk Milky Way in myth Millet as substitute for rice Mimaki, life-time name of Emperor Sujin Mimana (Imna), Japanese name for Kara, Korea; Japanese influence there; Tasa leads revolt in; part ceded to Kudara; Keno in; pretended expedition against; Shiragi overpowers; Japan intervenes in war between Shiragi and; Shiragi invades (622); families from, in 9th century nobility Mimasaka, province, given to Yamana family (1441) Mimashi, Korean teacher of music (612 A.D.) Mime, Dengaku Mimoro, Prince Mimoro, Mt., in early myth; Kami of, a serpent Minamoto, princely family; Fujiwara take wives from; generals of Imperial guards; called Gen and Gen-ji; academy; manors and troops; win Taira estates; quarrel with Taira; revolt against Fujiwara; literature; military power in provinces, especially Kwanto; "claws" of Fujiwara; provincial branches; war with Taira; power taken by Hojo --Hikaru (845-913), son of Nimmyo, accuses Sugawara Michizane; death --Hiromasa (918-80), musician --Ichiman (1200-3), candidate for shogun, killed --Kanetsuna, in Yorimasa conspiracy --Kugyo see Kugyo --Mitsukune, erects monument to Kusunoki Masashige --Mitsumasa, founder of Suruga Genji Minamoto Mitsunaka (912-97), reveals conspiracy against Fujiwara (967); his influence; founder of Shinano Genji; the two swords --Nakaakira, killed with Sanetomo by Sugyo --Narinobu, poet --Noriyori (1156-93), sent against Yoshinaka; at Ichino-tani; commands force (1184-5); blocks Taira from withdrawing into Kyushu; assassinated --Sanetonio (1192-1219), rival of Ichiman; blocks Hojo designs; attempt to assassinate him; death; patron of Fujiwara Tameiye --Senju-maru (1201-14), revolt, execution --Shigenari, pretends to be Yoshitomo --Shitago (911-83), littérateur --Tadaaki, in capture of Rokuhara --Tametomo (1139-70), great warrior of Hogen tumult; exiled to Izu; advice not followed --Tameyoshi, in Hogen, tumult --Tomomasa, Maki's candidate for shogun, killed --Toru (822-95), minister of the Left under Uda --Toshikata (959-1027), poet, one of Shi-nagon --Tsunemoto (894-961), Prince Rokusoh, founder of Seiwa Genji; in beginning of hostilities with Taira --Wataru, husband of Kesa --Yorichika (d. 1117), ancestor of Suruga Genji --Yoriiye (1182-1204), succeeds (1199) as lord high constable and chief landsteward; as shogun (1202); killed by Tokimasa --Yorimasa (1106-80), sides with Taira, killed --Yorimitsu (944-1021), soldier; aids Michinaga; at Court --Yorinobu (968-1048); governor of Xai, drives back Taira Tadatsune; helps Michinaga --Yoritomo (1147-99), son of Yoshitomo; escapes after Heiji war; war of 1180; army crushed; gains; quarrels with Yoshinaka; called to Kyoto; sent against Yoshinaka; relations with Yoshitsune; Bakufu independent of Court; memorial on manors; becomes sei-i tai-shogun; death and character; patron of Saigyo Hoshi; system imitated by Takauji --Yoriyoshi (995-1048); in Nine Years' Commotion --Yoshichika (d. 1117) rebellion put down by Taira Masamori --Yoshihira, son of Yoshitomo --Yoshiiye (1041-1108); great archer; called Hachiman Taro, in Nine Year's Commotion and Three Year's war; helps put down disorder of Enryaku-ji monks --Yoshikata --Yoshimitsu (10567-1127), founder of Tada Genji; in Three Years' War --(Kiso) Yoshinaka (1154-84), revolts in Shinano-Kotsuke; quarrels with Yoritomo; defeats Taira at Tonami-yama; Go-Shirakawa joins; tries to get crown for Hokurika; death --Yoshitaka marries Yoritomo's daughter; death --Yoshitomo, supports Go-Shirakawa in Hogen tumult; joins in plot of Heiji; advice overruled by Nobuyori, killed; his sons; loses great land holdings --Yoshitsuna (d.1134), brother of Yoshiiye --Yoshitsune (1159-89), son of Yoshitomo, escapes after Heiji tumult; joins Yoritomo; sent against Yoshinaka; at Ichi-no-tani; wins battle of Yashima; relations to Yoritomo; attempted assassination; protected by Fujiwara Hidehira, suicide --Yukiiye (d. 1186); repeatedly defeated; joins Yoskinaka; Yoshinaka disapproves his choice to be governor of Bizen; summary criticism of him; turns to Yoshitsune, death --Yukitsuna betrays Shishi-ga-tani plot (1177), 296; occupies Settsu and Kawachi (1183) Mincho, called Cho Densu, (1352-1431), painter Ming, Chinese Emperor, mission for Buddhist Sutras; dynasty, its fall Mining, Ieyasu's efforts (1609) to develop Ministers, system of three, under Daika; members of Privy Council Board under Daiho; Hideyoshi's system; council of, separated from shogun; senior and junior ministers Mino, province, Oda defeat Saito in Miroku (Sanskrit Martreya), stone image of, brought to Japan (584 A.D.) Mirror, in myth of Sun-Goddess; one of Imperial insignia; bronze, in sepulchral remains Mishchenko, Russian general, leads cavalry raid after fall of Port Arthur Misumi, adherents of Southern Court, in Sanin-do Mita, Korean architect Mitigations (roku-gi) of penalty of Daiho code for rank, position and public service Mito, Tokugawa of Mitoshi, a Kami Mitsubishi Company, first private dockyard Mitsuhide see Akechi Mitsuhide Mitsukuni see Tokugawa Mitsukuni Mitsunobu (Tosa no M.), painter, founder of Tosa school of painting Miura branch of Taira; plot against Hojo Mitsuinura (d. 1247), suicide --Yasumara (1204-47), in war with Hojo --Yoshiaki --Yoshizumi (1127-1200), in Bakufu Miwa Sako, commander of palace guards Miyake Atsuaki, contributor to Dai Nilon-shi Miyoshi, scholars in Ashikaga administration; lecturers; in civil war of 1520-50; crush Hoshokawa; in Awa; attempt to take Kyoto --Kiyotsura (847-918); memorial (914), on writing; Chinese scholar --Masanaga, inheritance --Miyoshi Motonaga --Nagateru (d. 1520), guardian of Hosokawa Sumimoto and Takakuni; death --Norinaga, called Chokei (1523-64), in civil war --Yasunobu (1140-1221), son of Yoritomo's nurse; ancestor of Ota and Machino uji; in Bakufu council; advice at beginning of Shokyu struggle; death --Yasutsura, with Hojo Yasutoki plans Joei code --Yoshitsugu (d.1573), revolts in Settsu Mizugaki, Sujin's court at Mizuha, life time name of Emperor Hansho Mizuno, governor of Nagasaki, persecutes Christians --Echizen no Kami, prime minister of Ieyoshi, sumptuary laws and efforts at reform (1826) Mochifusa see Uesugi Mochifusa Mochihito, Prince, (1150-80), Yorimasa conspiracy Mogami of Yamagata --Yoshiakira (1546-1614), one of Ieyasu's generals Moho, variant name of Sushen or Toi Momijiyama Bunko, Tokugawa library at Yedo Mommu, 42nd Emperor (697-707), Prince Karu, accession; succession and plan to move capital Momokawa see Fujiwara Momokawa Momonoi family favours Tadayoshi Momo-yama, "Peach Hill," in Fushimi, Hideyoshi's palace; last epoch of Ashikaga shogunate; palace destroyed (1596); Ieyasu's castle taken (1600) Momozono, 116th Emperor (1735-62) Mon, coin Mongaku, priest, originally Endo Morito, aids Yoritomo Mongol, subdivision of yellow race; fold of eye; invasion Monju-dokoro, Bakufu department of justice; in administration of Kyoto after Shokyu war; power passes to Hyojoshu; in Muromachi administration Monkey, worship of; female divinity Mononobe, palace guard; uji of Kwami class, important especially in Yuryaku's reign; oppose Buddhism Moriya, o-muraji, killed by Soga; their rivalry; opposes Buddhism; supports Anahobe; final contest with Soga; property --Okoshi, o-muraji; opposes Buddhism Montoku, Emperor (851-58), chronicle of reign Montoku Jitsuroku, National History Monto-shu, Shin sect Moon, Kami of Moonlight festivals Mori Arinori, Viscount (1847-89), minister of public instruction, assassinated Mori family, rapid rise in power; Ashikaga Yoshiaki turns to --Hidemoto (1579-1650), in Ishida's army --Motonari (1497-1571), wins power of Ouchi --Motonori (1839-96), of Choshu, leader of extremists, expelled from Kyoto --Nagayoshi (1558-84), general of Hideyoshi --Rammaru, lieutenant of Nobunaga --Terumoto (1553-1625) loses central Japan to Hideyoshi; Akechi Mitsuhide joins; peace with Hideyoshi; senior minister; signs Hideyoshi's laws; favours Ishida, leads his army; loses estates Morihito, Emperor Nijo Morikuni, Prince (1301-33), shogun, (1308-33) Morimasa see Sakuma Morimasa Morinaga, Prince, (1308-35), called Oto no Miya, son of Go-Daigo, and his defender; commander-in-chief; death Moriya see Mononobe Moriya Morosada, Prince, see Kwazan Moroya, chief of Otomo, o-muraji Morrison, American ship in Yedo, 1837 Mother-of-pearl and lacquer "Mother's Land," Shiragi, Korea Motien Mountains, Russian campaign planned in Motonobu (1476-1559), painter, Kano school Motoori Norinaga (1730-1801), Shinto revival; quoted; on Shinto dualism Mourning colour, white, earlier, black; customs; periods of, varying with rank Moxa, medicinal herb, touch of, defilement Mu Hsi, painter Mukden, Russian railway through; battle of (1905) Muko, Fukuhara harbour Mukuhara, Buddhist temple at Mulberry, early culture; used with hemp to make cloth; order for cultivation (472 A.D.); planting of, condition of tenure of upland Multa, King of Kudara, stories of his cruelty told of Emperor Muretsu Munemara, chief of trade Munetada see Tokugawa Munetada Munetaka, Prince (1242-74), shogun in 1252-66 Munetake see Tokugawa Munetake Munro, N. G., on Japanese archaeology; imibe; rice-chewers; coins Muraji, "chief," title; applied to pre-conquest (Shimbetsu) rulers; o-muraji, head of o-uji; inferior title in Temmu's peerage Murakami, 62nd Emperor (947-67) Murakami Genji, branch of Minamoto --Yoshihiro, of Iyo province, pirate chief --Yoshikiyo (1501-73), driven from Kuzuo by Takeda Shingen --Yoshiteru impersonates Morinaga Murasaki Shikibu (d. 992), writer of Genji Monogatari Muravieff, Nikolai Nikolaievich (d. 1881), Russian commander in Far East, claims (1858) Saghalien Murdoch, J., quoted on Tadatsune's ravages of Kwanto; on Heian epoch; weakening of Fujiwara power; Bushi of Kwanto; Joei code; downfall of Bakufu; feudalism in war of dynasties; literati in Ashikaga administration; Kamakura rule in Kai, Izu and Mutsu; revolt of 1443 Muretsu (Buretsu), 25th Emperor (499-506) Muro Nawokiyo, or Kyuso, (1658-1734). Confucianist, historian of "47 Ronins"; adviser to shogun Muromachi, part of Kyoto, administrative headquarters of Ashikaga; Ashikaga shoguns at Musashi, immigrants from Koma settle in; war of Taira and Minamoto in; Hojo and Uesugi in Mushroom picking Music, Korean and Buddhist; and poetry; in Heian society; joruri Muso Kokushi, "National Teacher," or Soseki (1271-1346), scholar; head of Tenryuji Muto, branch of Fujiwara in Kwanto --Sukeyori, founder of Shoni family Mutsu, 5 provinces, in Nara epoch, N. E. and N. littoral; the Nine Years' Commotion (1056-64) in; Three Years' War (1089-1091) in; (O-shu) part of 0-U, 388; peaceful under Kamakura rule; revolt of 1413 in; in 16th century wars; silk growing; famine of 1783-6 in --branch of Fujiwara, descendants of Fujiwara Kiyohira; give Yoshitsune asylum; crushed by Yoritomo (1189) Mutsuhito, (posthumous name, Meiji), 122nd Emperor (1867-1912); seal Myochin Nobuiye, metalworker and armourer Myocho, Zen priest Myoe (or Koben), bonze, quotation from his biography on Yasutoki Myogaku-ji, temple Myong see Song Wang Myong Myoo, priest Myoshin-ji, Zen temple, W. of Kyoto Myosho, (109th) Empress (1629-43), Princess Oki, daughter of Go-mizu-no-o and Tokugawa consort Mythology; rationalistic explanation of, by Japanese Nabeshima Naoshige (1537-1619), invasion of Korea Nagahama, Omi, headquarters of Hideyoshi Nagakude, battle of Nagamasa see Asai Nagatnasa and Asano Nagamasa Nagamori see Masuda Nagamori Nagao Kagetora see Uesugi Kenshin Nagaoka, Yamashiro, capital --uji, of princely descent Nagasaki, port; church, trade, growth; Jesuit church seized by Francisans; missionaries receive patent; Martyrs' Mount; execution of De l'Assumption and Machado; "Great Martyrdom"; trade; Pessoa at; Dutch and English confined to; Dutch factory; Russians come to (1804); Glynn and the Preble; Americans allowed to trade; military college at --Enki, guardian of Hojo Takatoki --Takashige, suicide, 386 --Takasuke (d.1333), minister of Takatoki; dethrones Go-Daigo Nagashino, castle Nagasune, governor of Yamato Nagato, fortifications at, (1280) Nagatoshi, name given to Nawa Nagataka Nagauji see Hojo Soun Nagaya (684-729), minister of the Left Nagoya, in Hizen, base of operations against Korea; castle of Nai-mul, king of Shiragi (364), first sends tribute to Yamato Naka, Prince, son of Kogyoku; passed over, in succession; interregnum; Great Reform; expedition to Korea; Emperor Tenchi Nakachiko, Oshiwa's servant Nakahara family, scholars, secretaries in Bakufu; in Ashikaga administration; lecturers --Chikayoshi (1142-1207) in Yoritomo's Bakufu; nominated; high constable at Court, but not appointed; in Bakufu council; ancestor of Otomo family of Kyushu --Kaneto, rears Yoshinaka; his four sons, Yoshinaka's guards Nakai Seishi establishes school in Osaka Xakamaro see Abe Nakamoro and Fujiwara Nakamaro Nakamura Hiyoshi see Toyotomi Hideyoshi Nakane Genkei, mathematician, translates Gregorian calendar into Japanese Nakanomikado, 114th Emperor (1710-35) Nakano, suburb of Yedo, dog-kennel in Naka-Nushi, "Central Master" Nakasendo, Central Mountain road, completed early in 8th century Nakashi, wife of Okusaka Nakatomi family, court priests; descended from Koyane; guardians of 3 insignia, and of Shinto ceremonials; oppose Buddhism, and Soga --Kamako, muraji, opposes Buddhism --Kamatari see Fujiwara Kamatari --Kane, muraji, minister, in conspiracy against Oama (Temmu) --Katsumi, muraji, killed (587 A.D.) Nakatsu, Prince Nakaye Toju (1608-48), Confucianist, follower of Wang Yang-ming Namamugi incident Nambu family --Saemon opposes Ieyasu Names and naming, Japanese system; territorial Naniwa, now Osaka, capital of Emperor Nintoku; Buddhist temple, (579); immigrants from Kudara; administration, Settsu-shoku, under Daiho; removal of capital to, by Kotoku; trade in Heian epoch Nanko, see Kusunoki Masashige Nankwa (16th Cent.), scholar Na-no-Agata or Watazumi-no-Kuni, Japanese intercourse with Naiishan, commanding Port Arthur Nanzen-ji, Zen temple, 454; one of the "Five" Nara, Yamato province, removal of capital to (709 A.D.); the Nara epoch (709-84); the Nara image of Buddha; city officials, revenues from public lands appropriated for, 775 A.D.; Kusu and Fujiwara Nakanari attempt to make it capital again; power of armed monks controlled by Yoshinori; rebel against Yoshimasa; Takauji tries to check Nariaki see Tokugawa Nariaki Narimasa see Sasa Narimasa Narinaga, Prince (1325-38), kwanryo of Kwanto; shogun at Kamakura Narita Kosaburo assists Go-Daigo Nariyuki see Tokugawa Nariyuki Nasu family, one of "8 Generals of Kwanto" "National Histories, Six" covering years 697-887 A.D.; five composed in Heian epoch Nature Worship Navarrete, Alonso (1617), Spanish Dominican, executed by Omura Navigation; see Ships Navy, Japanese, in Mongol invasion; in invasion of Korea; naval College, Gunkan Kyojujo, at Tsukiji; modern organization; in war with China; in war with Russia Nawa, adherents of Southern Court, in Sanin-do Nagatoshi (d. 1336), helps Go-Daigo escape; provincial governor; commands against the Ashikaga; death Nazuka Masaiye, in charge of land-survey Needle, magic, as cure Negoro, in Kii, firearms made at; headquarters of priests of Kii Nei-issan see Ichinei Nemuro, Russian ship in (1792) Nengo, era or period, in chronology; different names in Northern and Southern courts Nenoi Yukichika, one of Yoshinaka's four guards Ne no Omi, messenger of Anko Neo support Southern Court in Mino Neolithic culture Nestorian Christianity in China Netsuke, (ill.) New Spain, Mexico, ships from New Year's celebration Ng, Chinese writer on war (3d Cent, A.D.) Nichira, Japanese at Kudara Court advises Bidatsu against Kudara Nichiren, Buddhist sect dating from 13th century; its founder; war with other monks Nigihayahi, uncle of Jimmu, overlord of Nagasune Nihon Bummei Shiryaku, on early medicine Nihon Kodaiho Shakugi, on Board of Religion Nihon Koki, Later Chronicles of Japan (792-833) Nihongi, Chronicle of Japan (720); on Chuai and Jingo; after 400 A.D. Nihonmatsu family Nihon Shoki, Written Chronicles of Japan to 697 A.D. (720), revision of; continuations Nijo, family founded by son of Fujiwara Michiiye, one of "Five Regent Houses" Nijo, 78th Emperor (1159-66) Castle, Kyoto, destroyed; officials of Michihira (1287-1335), Go-Daigo's minister Yoshimoto (1320-88), scholar and author Nikaido in office of shitsuji; defeated by Date Sadafusa opposes the regent (1331) Nikki favour Takauji Nikko, Shimotsuke province, shrine of Ieyasu and tombs in; annual worship at Nikolaievsk, strategic situation Nimmyo, Emperor (834-50); chronicle of his reign; luxury Nine Years' Commotion, Zenkunen (1056-64) Ningpo, trade with Japan; sacked by Japanese Ninigi see Hikoho Ninigi Ninken, 24th Emperor (488-98), Prince Woke Ninko, 120th Emperor (1817-46) Nintoku, 16th Emperor (313-99); 7 provinces added by; consort, Takenouchi's granddaughter; love story; remits taxes Nippon, "Sunrise Place" Nira-yama, Hojo castle Nishi Hongwan-ji, temple Nishikawa Masayasu, astronomer under Yoshimune Nishina-uji, branch of Taira family Nishina Morito (d. 1221), Bakufu retainer, in Shokyu war Nishino Buntaro, assassin (1889) of Viscount Mori Nisi-no-shima, islet in Oki group Nitta family, Yoritomo's attempt to win; adherents of Southern Court; crushed by Ashikaga Ujimitsu --Yoshiaki (d. 1338), son of Yoshisada and provincial governor; suicide --Yoshimune (1332-68), in defeat of Takauji --Yoshioki (d. 1358) --Yoshisada (1301-38) in Kyoto revolt; declares against Hojo, takes Kamakura; provincial governor; accuses Takauji of treason; commands army against Takauji; besieges Shirahata; escapes; faithful to Go-Daigo; death --Yoshishige (d. 1202), ancestor of Tokugawa Nittabe, Prince, residence of, site of Shodai-ji temple Niuchwang taken by Japanese (1894) Niwa Nagahide (1535-85), soldier of Nobunaga; councillor No, dance and drama; Sadanobu regulates costume; masks No-ami, artist, patronized by Yoshimasa Nobility, primitive; administrative; growth of power at expense of Emperor; Daika attempts to distinguish from official ranks; titles of hereditary aristocracy annulled by Daika and estates escheated; nobles state pensioners; new titles under Temmu; influence of hereditary nobles against Daiho laws; court society in Heian epoch; in Meiji era; see Court Houses, Military Houses Nobukatsu see Oda Nobukatsu Nobunaga see Oda Nobunaga Nobuteru see Ikeda Nobuteru Nobuyoshi see Tokugawa Nobuyoshi Nogi, Kiten, Count (1849-1912), commanding 3d Army, at Dalny; receives surrender of Port Arthur; at Mukden Nomi-no-Sukune, suggests clay effigies instead of human funeral sacrifices; wrestler; ancestor of Sugawara family No-niwa, moor-garden Norimura see Akamatsu Norimura Nori Sachhi see Tori Shichi Norito, ancient rituals Northeastern Japan, political importance of North-east gate, the Demon's gate Northern and Southern Dynasties; table; Northern in control Northern Japan, more primitive culture of Novik, Russian 2d-class cruiser at Port Arthur Nozu, Michitsura, Count (1840-1908), commanding 4th Army; at Mukden Nuns, Buddhist, Imperial princesses become Nurses, provided for the Court by Mibu Oama, younger brother of Naka (Emperor Tenchi), administrator during 7-year interregnum (661-668); appointed Tenchi's successor, declines in face of conspiracy; becomes Emperor Temmu Oba Kagechika (d. 1182), hems in Yoritomo and crushes his army Oban, coin Obi, in Hyuga, Chinese trade Occupations, hereditary among prehistoric uji or families Oda family, one of "8 Generals of Kwanto"; origin of family --Hidenobu (1581-1602), grandson of Nobunaga --Katsunaga (1568-82), death --Nobuhide (d. 1549) aids Crown --Nobukatsu, son of Nobunaga, in Ise; succession; Komaki war; peace with Hideyoshi; Hideyoshi's treatment; signs oath of loyalty --Nobunaga (1534-82); seizes Ise; career; Hideyoshi serves under; wins Okehazama; alliance with Ieyasu and Shingen; Court appeals to; attitude toward Yoshiaki; practically shogun; makes peace; friendly to Christians; aids Ieyasu; death; character; currency reform --Nobutada (1557-82), with Ieyasu destroys army of Takeda Katsuyori; death; succession --Nobutaka (1558-83) --Samboshi called Hidenobu (1581-1602), son of Nobutada, his successor Odate, governor of Harima, and Oke and Woke Odate Muneuji, killed in attack on Kamakura Odawara, fortress of Hojo; Odawara-hyogi proverb of reluctance; attacked by Kenshin; surrenders (1590) Oeyama Shutendoji, bandit Office and official called by same name; and rank, family qualifications for, before Heiji commotion Official or Court lands, kwanden, under Daiho laws --rank and aristocratic titles distinguished by the Daika --rules (kyaku) supplementing Yoro laws Oga, eighth of the great uji, descended from Okuninushi Ogawa, at Sekigahara Ogigayatsu, family name taken by Uesugi Tomomune; feud with Yamanouchi; against Hojo Ogimaru see Hashiba Hidekatsu Oguchi, battle of, Hideyoshi defeats Shimazu Iehisa Ogura, Mount, home of Fujiwara Sadaiye Ogyu (or Butsu) Sorai (1666-1728), Confucianist, writes on "47 Ronin", and on government; revises code Ohama, nobleman, placates fishermen Ohatsuse, brother of Anko; apparently instigates murder of all between him and crown; succeeds as Yuryaku Oiratsume, incestuous sister of Karu Oishi Yoshiyo (1659-1703), leader of "47 Ronin" (1703) Oiwa, general in Korea, tries to get throne of Kudara Ojin, 15th Emperor (270-310); 21 provinces added in his reign; ship building; palanquin Okabe Tadazumi kills Taira Tadanori at Ichi-no-tani Okagami, historical work Oka-yama, castle in Bizen Okazaki, in Mikawa, Ieyasu's castle in Okazaki Masamune (1264-1344), swordsmith of Kamakura Oke, Prince, see Kenso Okehazama, battle (1560) victory of Nobunaga Oki, Princess, see Myosho Okimachi, 106th Emperor (1557-86); honours Kenshin, summons Nobunaga to Kyoto; Hideyoshi; decrees against Christianity Okisada, see Sanjo Okitsugu, see Tanuma Okitsugu Okiyo, Prince, governor of Musashi Okoshi, see Mononobe Okoshi Oku Hokyo, Count (b. 1844) commanding 2d Army wins battle of Kinchou; and of Telissu; at Mukden Okubo family, guards of Hakone barrier --Tadachika (1553-1628) punished for disobedience to Military Law --Toshimitsu (1832-78) of Satsuma, in alliance with Choshu; and Korean question; assassinated Okuma Shigenobu, Count (b. 1838); organizes Progressist party; attack upon, retirement; invited into Cabinet Okuni-nushi, Kami, "Great Name Possessor"; ancestor of Oga-uji Okura-no-Tsubone, Yodo's lady-in-waiting Okusaka, uncle of Anko, accused of treason; Okusakabe formed in his honour Okuyama Yasushige (d. 1651) Omi, muraji, befriends Oke and Woke Omi, "grandee", title, applied to chiefs of conquest, and to subjects holding court office; higher than muraji; inferior title in Temmu's peerage Omi, immigrants from Kudara settle in; seat of court and place of issue of Omi statutes; capital moved to; Asai control; Buddhists help Asai in; rice grants Omitsu, son of Susanoo, imports cotton from Korea Omiwa, Kami of Omura, fief in Hizen, represented in embassy to Europe of 1582 --Sumitada (1532-87) invites Jesuits to Omura in Hizen; a Christian, persecutes Omura Sumiyori (d. 1619), persecutes Christians O-muraji, head of o-uji or preeminent grandee; office held by Otomo and then Mononobe; political rivalry with o-omi; opposing Buddhism; property of, unimportant after the Daika; not in Temmu's scheme of titles Onakatsu, consort of Inkyo Onchi, or Yenchi, uplands, distinguished from irrigated rice land in Daiho code Ondo no Seto, strait near Kobe Onin, period, 1467-9, its records; civil war of; beginning of Sengoku Jidai Onjo-ji, in Omi, temple of Jimon branch, of Tendai sect, built by Otomo Suguri; its armed men; its abbot Raigo; part played by monastery in Yorimasa conspiracy; burnt by Taira (1180) Ono Tofu, scribe Ono Azumahito (d. 742), lord of eastern marches, builds castle of Taga --Harunaga (d. 1615), son of Yodo's nurse, adviser of Hideyori; plots against Katagiri and Tokugawa; advises surrender of Osaka --Imoko, Japanese envoy to China (607 A.D.) --Yasumaro (d. 723), scribe; preface to Ko-jiki --Yoshifuru, general of guards, crushes revolt of Fujiwara Sumitomo Onogoro, mythic island in story of cosmogony Ooka Tadasuke (1677-1751), chief-justice in Yedo; revises code O-oku, harem O-omi, pre-eminent ami, head of Kwobetsu-uji; rivalry with o-muraji; favour Buddhism; pre-eminent after death of Mononobe Moriya; title given by Soga Emishi to his sons; no longer important after Daika (645) Operative regulations, Shiki, supplementing Yoro laws Oracle, of Sun Goddess at Ise; War God at Usa Orange (tachibana) seeds brought from China (61 A.D.); trees introduced Ordeal; of fire; of boiling water, kugadachi; used in Korea by Keno; in questions of lineage Organtino (1530-1609), Jesuit, Hideyoshi's treatment Orloff, Russian general, ambuscaded at Liaoyang Orpheus-Eurydice legend, Japanese parallel Osabe, Prince Imperial, son of Konin, poisoned (772) Osada Tadamune and his son Kagemune kill Minamoto Yoshitomo Osadame Hyakkajo, Hundred Articles of Law Osafune, swordsmith Osaka, campaign from, against Sujin; Hideyoshi's castle; Chinese envoys; Franciscan convent; missionaries' residence; castle attacked; taken by Ishida; party of, refuse oath of loyalty to Tokugawa; castle partly destroyed; taken; vendetta illegal in; Nakai Seishi's school; rice exchange; jodai; traders crush English and Dutch competition; opened by Hyogo demonstration (1866) Osaragi Sadanao, Hojo general, suicide (1333) Osawa family, masters of ceremonies Osazaki, life name of Emperor Nintoku Oshihi, ancestor of Otomo chiefs Oshikatsu, Rebellion of Oshioki Ojomoku, code Oshio Heihachiro (1792-1837) leads revolt after famine of 1836-7 Oshiwa, son of Richu, killed by Yuryaku Oshiyama, governor of Mimana, recommends cession of part of Mimana to Kudara; territorial dispute of Oshu, or Mutsu subjugated (1189); revolt of Ando Ota Sukekiyo (1411-93), builds fort at Iwatsuki Dokwan or Sukenaga (1432-86), builds fort at Yedo; aids Ogigayatsu branch of Uesugi Otani, Nagamasa's castle Oto, sister of Onakatsu, concubine of Inkyo Oto, son of Tasa Oto Miya see Morinaga Otoko-yama, surrendered Otomo family, descent; gate-guards; in Kyushu; treatment of Xavier in Bungo; feudatory and son Christians; persecute Buddhists --general, defeats Iwaki and Hoshikawa --Prince, prime-minister (671); conspiracy against Oama, succession as Kobun --Chikayo, tandai of Kyushu (1396) --Satehiko, in Korea (562) --Yakamochi (d. 785), anthology --Yoshishige, called Sorin, (1530-87), in wars in Kyushu; defeated in Hizen, appeals to Hideyoshi Otsu, port Otsu, Prince, son of Temmu; rebels against Jito and is killed Otsuki Heiji advocates foreign intercourse O-U, O-shu (Mutsu) and U-shu (Dewa); in 16th century wars Ouchi family of Suwo, and the revolt of 1399; conspires in behalf of Hosokawa Yoshitane; tandai; in charge of relations with Korea, and China; quarrel with Shogun; superintend pirates; scholarship; gifts to Throne; power in 16th century, taken over by Mori Motonari --Masahiro, pirate leader --Mochiyo (1395-1442) --Yoshihiro (1355-1400), Muromachi general, negotiates with Southern Court; slanders Imagawa Ryoshun; suicide --Yoshinaga (d. 1557) --Yoshioki (1477-1528), deputy kwanryo to Hosokawa Yoshitane; removes to Suwo --Yoshitaka (1507-51), re-establishes (1548) trade with China; Chinese literature; defeated by Suye Harukata Owari, province, Nobunaga in; fighting in Komaki war; Tokugawa of Oyama, Iwao, Prince (b.1842), at Mukden Oyamada Takaiye, sacrifice saves Nitta Yoshisada Oye family could hold office above 5th rank; scholars; in Ashikaga administration --Hiramoto (1148-1225), first president of man-dokoro; reforms (1185); sent to Kyoto after earthquake of 1185; in council of Bakufu; remonstrates with Sanetomo; urges offensive at beginning of Shokyu struggle; death --Masafusa, general in Nine Years' Commotion; attempt to placate Raigo --Tomotsuna, littérateur O Yo-mei see Wang Yang-ming Paddy-loom, introduction Pagoda, 7-storey; 13-storey; many built by Shirakawa Pahan-Hachiman, of pirate ships Paikche, or Kudara, near Seoul, Japanese alliance with; artisans from Paik-chhon-ku (Ung-jin), Japanese and Kudara army defeated by Chinese A.D. Painting, Chinese, in Japan; and Korean; in years 540-640; in Nara epoch; in Heian epoch; in Kamakura period; in Muromachi period Palace, ancient; consecration; in Nintoku's reign; Asuka; temporary, in burial; Kyoto palace burned and rebuilt; guards; officials; Yoshimitsu's; Yoshimasa's; Hideyoshi's Palanquin, koshi, of 3rd century; one-pole, kago; legislation about; luxurious use of, in Genroku period Paletot Palisades, early defence Pattada, Russian cruiser at Port Arthur Paper currency Parkes, Sir Harry (1828-85), and Hyogo demonstration Parks in Heian epoch in Kyoto; in Kamakura period; in Muromachi; see Landscape gardening Parties, political, personal character of; opposition to cabinet; union of Liberals and Progressists Partitions in houses Parturition hut, ubuya Paulownia, Imperial badge Pavilion, Golden, of Yoshimitsu; Silver of Yoshimasa Pawnshops, heavy taxes on Peaches in myth of Izanagi and Izanami; Chinese origin of story Peach Hill, Momoyama, Hideyoshi's palace "Peerage," Japanese, Seishi-roku (814 A.D.) Pehchili, in Boxer Rebellion Peking, Japanese in march to, during Boxer Rebellion Penal law and penalties, ancient; proto-historic; ritsu of Daiho and Yoro; in Joei code; in Tokugawa period Perry, Matthew C. (1794-1858), Commodore, U.S.N., and treaty with Japan Persecution of Buddhists, by Christians, influence Hideyoshi; of Jesuits after edict of 1587; of Franciscans; of Dominicans (1622); of Japanese Christians (1613); (1616), (1622), in Iemitsu's time Perseus-Andromeda story, Japanese parallel Pescadores, ceded by China (1895) Pessoa, Andrea, blows up his ship at Nagasaki Pestilence in reign of Sujin; in 1182; in 1783-6; displeasure of gods at adoption of Buddhism Petition-box (meyasu-bako) and right of petition (645 A.D.); abuse of, pointed out in Miyoshi no Kiyotsura; petition bell in Kamakura; boxes re-introduced Petropavlovsk, Russian battle-ship, sunk Pets, cats and dogs Pheasant in myth of Heavenly Young Prince --White, Hakurchi, nengo or year-period, 650-4 A.D. Philippine Islands, promised to Hideyoshi by Franciscans; Ieyasu's embassies to; conquest of, urged by Cocks, and by Matsukura and Takenaka; Japanese forbidden to visit; governor-general of, in Japan Phung-chang, prince of Kudara Physical characteristics of Japanese Piece, 40 ft., unit of cloth measure Pine-bark for food Pine trees in Yedo castle Pirates in Shikoku, Fujiwara Sumitomo sent against; Japanese piracy in Muromachi epoch; and invasion of Korea Pit-dwellers see Tsuchi-gumo Pitszewo, landing-place of 2d Japanese army (1904) Plum tree groves, 612; blossom festival Poetry; Nara epoch; Heian; Chinese style; in battle; in Genroku era; bureau of; quoted; see Couplet Composing Pohai, Korean kingdom of 8th century recognized by Japan as successor of Koma Pok-ein, Kudara general, defeats Shiragi troops (660) Police, doshin --Board, Danjo-dai, duties taken over by kebiishi --executive, kebiishi, (810-29) Poltava, Russian cruiser at Port Arthur Polygamy in early Japan Polytheism of early Buddhism Pontiff, ho-o, title taken by abdicating Emperor Porcelain Port Arthur, taken from Chinese (1894); Russian railway; Russian fleet at, crippled by Japanese; Japanese attack on, was it warranted?; fleet further crippled; harbour entrance blocked; movements toward; captured (end of 1904) Portsmouth, Peace of, (text) Portuguese in Japan; introduce fire-arms; Spanish jealousy of; Dutch and English intrigue against; instigate Christian revolt; edict of 1637 against; refuse grant in Yedo; monopolize early trade; end of trade Post bells, suzu Posthumous names; official rank first conferred Posting stations Potato, sweet, introduced Powder, in costume Prayer, magic, etc. Preble, American brig, in Nagasaki (1847) Prefectural government as opposed to feudal; prefecture or ken Prices, official, (1735) Priesthood, Buddhist, attempt to bring under law; armed priests; princes enter, except Crown Prince; temporal power; scholarship --Catholic, Ieyasu's attitude; and see Jesuits, Franciscans, Dominicans, Augustins --Shinto, early rules Prime Minister, 85, development of political power; office first established (671) Primogeniture in early times, Imperial; in the family; Imperial, established 696 A.D. Princely Houses Princes, Imperial, change of status in Nara epoch; many become priests in Ashikaga epoch; abbots of Enryaku-ji and Kwanei-ji; all but Crown Prince enter priesthood; prince abbots, or monzeki Printing, Buddhist amulets (770); in China; from movable type, about 1592 Prisons Privy council, Daijo (dajo) kwan; Board of Progressist party, Shimpo-to, organized (1881) by Okuma; joins with Liberals Promotion, official, Chinese system introduced (603 A.D.); under Daiho Prose of Nara epoch; of Engi era wholly in Chinese; Ki no Tsurayuki's preface to Kokin-shu Prosody, Japanese; and see Poetry, Couplet Prostitution in Yedo; Sadanobu's legislation Provinces, kuni, in reign of Seimu; classification, and subdivision into kori, under Daiho; difference between capital and provinces in Heian epoch; lawlessness; power of provincial families; Bushi employed by provincial nobles; shugo system, abolished by Kemmu restoration; local autonomy abolished Provincial rulers, in early times; administration by imperial princes; early kuni-no-miyatsuko, later kokushi; kokushi under Daika; abuses under Shomu and Koken; use forced labour to reclaim uplands; term reduced to 5 years (774); administration criticized by Miyoshi no Kiyotsura; administration after Onin war; in Muromachi period; and Christianity --temples, kokubun-ji; expense --troops, abolished (792) except on frontiers Public land, Kugaiden Purchase value of money Purification, Great, Oharai; regular, harai; bodily, misogi; as punishment for persons of high rank Purple court costume; ecclesiastical robes Pyong-yang, Korea; in campaign of 1592; taken from Japanese by Chinese (1593); Chinese defeated at, (1894) Queen's Country, Chinese name for Kyushu and west-coast provinces because of female rulers Queue--wearing and official caps, (603) Quiver Race of Japanese Raconteurs or reciters, guild of, Kataribe, (ill) Raigo, abbot, influence Rai Miki (1825-59), in Imperial restoration movement Rai Sanyo (1780-1832) on ethical effects of Chinese classics; on Mintoku; on Bakufu; on the Hojo; on Morinaga; on Yoshisada; on development of tactics Railways, Englishmen employed in planning; modern building Rakuo, pen-name of Matsudaira Sadanobu Rank, hon-i; changed by Taira Kiyomori after Heiji commotion; and costume Ransetsu, verse-writer Ratio of copper and silver in coinage; of silver and gold Reclamation, of upland, in 8th century; and perpetual title; in Yoshimune's time Recluse Emperors, Three; and see Camera Government Recorder, of judgments Recorders, Court of Records, early Japanese; local Red court costume, mark of highest rank; colour of Taira ensign Red Monk, name given to Yamana Mochitoyo Red walls Reed, source of terrestrial life; boat in Japanese myth Reform, Great (645) Regent for grown Emperor, mayor of palace, kwampaku, office abolished after Kemmu restoration, in Tokugawa period; to minor, sessho; military, shikken Regent Houses, Five, Go-Sekke Registrar of Vessels Registration of land Reigen, 112th Emperor (1663-86); abdicates Rein, J. J., on chronology Reizei, 63rd Emperor (968-969), grandson of Fujiwara no Morosuke Relief in crop-failure or sickness, under Daiho laws; for debtors; for sufferers from fire and tornado; for famine Religion, early rites; rites reorganized; Emperor at head of; in protohistoric period; Board of; Miyoshi Kiyotsura's description; Yoritomo's attitude; in Muromachi period; Department of; and see Mythology, Shinto, Buddhism, Christianity Ren, lady of Go-Daigo, conspires against Morinaga, for her son Tsunenaga Rennyo Shonin see Kenju Restoration, of Kemmu era; of 1867 Return, English ship Retvisan, Russian battleship at Port Arthur Rhinoceros, fossil Rice, castle; diet; culture; chewers, nurses; corporation of cultivators; for public use; standard of exchange; store-houses, for sale to travelers; loaned to farmers; substitute crops urged; boiled and dried, ration; paddy-loom; area cultivated, 15th century, beginning of 16th century; currency; relief tax on feudatories; production increased; rice exchange; classification of fields; modern crops Richardson, English subject, killed in Namamugi "Rich Gem," Princess, in myth of Hosuseri and Hohodemi Richu, 17th Emperor (400-405 A.D.), first of "protohistoric" sovereigns Right, Minister of Rikken Seiyukai, "Friends of the Constitution" Riparian improvements under Nintoku Rituals, Ancient River of Heaven, Milky Way Rock, Sacred, on Kannabi mountains Rodriguez, Joao (1559-1633), Portuguese Jesuit, interpreter at Yedo Roju, seniors, cabinet; council of ministers, removed from proximity to shogun; and tax collecting; judges Rokkaku, one of Five Regent Houses; Yoshihisa's campaign against --Sadayori, see Sasaki Sadayori --Takayori, see Sasaki Takayori Rokuhara, n. and s. suburbs of Kyoto, offices of the Bakufu tandai; in Kyoto revolt Rokujo, 79th Emperor (1166-1168) Roku Kokushi, Six National Histories Rokuon-ji, family temple of Yoshimitsu Roku-sho-ji, Six Temples built by Shirakawa Roman Empire, early trade with China Ronin, free lances; revolt of; "47" Roofs Rope, straw, in myth; paper-mulberry, used in fishing Rosen, Roman Romanovitch, Baron, Russian peace commissioner at Portsmouth Rossia, Russian cruiser at Vladivostok Rouge, in costume Rozhdestvensky, Ziniry Petrovitch (b. 1848), commanding Baltic squadron, defeated by Togo Rules for Decisions; of Judicial Procedure --and Regulations of Three Generations, Saridai-Kyaku-shiki; revised (819) Rurik, Russian cruiser Russia, relations with, 18th and early 19th centuries; joins France and Germany in note protesting against Japanese occupation of Manchurian littoral; war with; peace, (text); situation in 1911 Russian, name Akuro-o may be read Oro-o and mean Ryobu Shinto, mixed Shinto, Kami being avatars of Buddhas Ryogoku, bridge in Yedo Ryoken, priest of Nanzen-ji Ryoshun see Imagawa Sadayo Ryu, Shinki, artist Ryuko, Buddhist priest, advises of Tsunayoshi Ryokyu Islands, language cognate to Japanese; King of, intervenes; Japanese intercourse with islands; king of, and Japanese invasion of mainland; French in, (1846); Formosa and; Chinese claims to, given up Ryuzoki, Kyushu family, defeat Shoni --Takanobu (1530-85), death Sacrifice, early; human; of weapons; at grave Sadami, Prince, Emperor Uda (q.v.) Sadanobu see Matsudaira Sadanobu Sadato see Abe Sadato Sadatoki see Hojo Sadatoki Sadatsune, Prince, sons Sadayori see Sasaki Sadayori Sado, island, in early myth; settlement; silver mines; penal establishment Sado Maru, Japanese transport sunk by Vladivostok squadron Saegusa Moriyoshi (d. 1651) Saeki family, member of, made state councillor Saga, 52nd Emperor (810-23); as calligrapher; his children and the Minamoto Genji, branch of Minamoto Sagami province conquered by Hojo Soun; Hojo and Uesugi; tobacco in Sagara (Sawara) Crown Prince under Kwammu Saghalien, Russians in (18th century); Russian and Japanese claims in; Russian title recognized (1875); Japan's claim to, after war with Russia; not to be fortified Saho plots against Suinin Saicho, posthumously Dengyo Daishi, 805 A.D. introduces Buddhist Tendai, (ill.) Saigo Takamori or Kichinosuke (1827-77), leader in anti-foreign movement; in alliance with Choshu; urges war with Korea and resigns from cabinet (1873); in Satsuma rebellion, (ill.) Saigyo Hoshi (1118-90), poet and ascetic Saiko, bonze Saikyo, western capital Saimei, Empress (655-61), the Empress Kogyoku succeeds Kotoku; Yemishi at coronation Saimyo-ji, Zen temple Saionji in Kawachi --Kimmochi, Marquis (b. 1849), head of Constitutionist (Liberal) party Sairan Igen, book by Arai Hakusekai Saito family in Ise defeated by Oda; feud in Mino; helped by Buddhist priests --Hidetatsu --Tatsuoki, defeated by Nobunaga; leads revolt in Settsu --Yoshitatsu (1527-61), son of Hidetatsu, kills him Sajima, Prince, (d. 125 A.D.) Sakai, near Osaka, Ouchi Yoshihiro's castle at; China trade; Nobunaga's quarrel with; firearms made at; port --family, Bakufu ministers from; tamarizume --Tadakatsu, minister of Tokugawa --Tadakiyo (1626-81) takes over most of Shogun's power; succession to Go-Mizu-no-o; succession to Ietsuna; displaced --Tadayo, minister under Hidetada Sakaibe Marise, uncle of Emishi Sakamoto, castle at Saka-no-ye Tamuramaro (758-811), against Yemishi; aids Saga --Karitamuro (728-86), chief of palace guards Sake, manufacture of, taught by Sukuna; dealers taxed Sakitsuya, killed for lése-majesté (463 A.D.) Sakugen, priest Sakuma Morimasa (1554-83), defeated --Nobumori (d. 1582), soldier of Nobunaga Sakura-jima, eruption Sakuramachi, 115th Emperor (1735-47) Sakurayama, adherents of Southern Court --Koretoshi, commands force loyal to Go-Daigo Salaries, official Salt, use of, in early Japan Sanbo-in, temple Samisen, 3-stringed guitar Samurai, soldier class, freelances; attitude of, toward foreigners; place of, in making New Japan; attitude of Crown to; abolition of; Satsuma rebellion Samurai-dokoro, Central Staff Office, (1180) in Yoritomo's Bakufu system; in administration of Kyoto after Shokyu war; in Muromachi administration Sanada Masayuki (1544-1608), accused of encroachment; blocks Tokugawa Hidetada's army --Yukimura (1570-1615), in defence of Osaka castle Sandai Jitsu-roku, True Annals of Three Reigns, (901) Sandai-Kyaku-shiki, Rules and Regulations of Three Generations Sanetomo see Minamoto Sanetomo San Felipe, Spanish galleon, wrecked in Tosa Sanjo, 67th Emperor (1012-16) Sanetomi, Prince (1837-91), leader of extremist party; in alliance of Choshu and Satsuma, (ill.) Sanjonishi Sanetaka, scholar Sankyo-ron, Shotoku quoted in, on management of state Sano, branch of Fujiwara Sano Masakoto attempts to assassinate Tanuma Okitsugu Sanron, Buddhist sect Santa-Martha, Juan de, Spanish Franciscan, executed (1618) Sanuki, province Sapan wood, trade Sarcophagus, stone, clay, and terra cotta, of Yamato Saris, John, agent of East India Company, settles at Hirado Sarume, "monkey female" dances before cave of Sun goddess Sasa Narimasa (1539-88), in Komaki war Sasaki family, branch of the Minamoto; favour Takauji --Mochikiyo, estates of --(Rokkaku) Sadayori (d. 1552) captures Kyoto; reconciles hostile parties; generosity to Crown --Shotei general in forces against Nobunaga --Takayori (d. 1520), great estates; campaign against Sasebo, Japanese sally from, on Port Arthur Sashihire, Hayato assassin (399) of Nakatsu; death Sassulitch, Russian general, on Yalu Satake family, Yoritomo's attempt to win; one of "8 Generals of Kwanto"; of Hitachi, allies of Shingen --Yoshinobu (1570-1633), opposes Ieyasu, taking army over to Ishida; fief reduced (1600) Satehiko see Otomo Satehiko Sato Tadanobu, impersonates Yoshitsune --Tsuginobu Satomi family, one of "8 Generals of Kwanto"; fight Hojo; defeated; allies of Shingen Satow, Sir Ernest, sceptical of dates in "Chronicles"; on revival of Shinto Satsuma, Xavier in; later preaching; foreign ships in, menace Tokugawa; trade; tobacco; bonita; moderate party; against Tokugawa; predominant; fiefs surrendered; clan representation; rebellion of 1877 Sawaga, monastery Sawing to death Scholars, Chinese and Korean, in Japan; sophists; in Bakufu; in Ashikaga system; literati at Court; Japanese sent to Europe and America Scholarship recommended in Court Laws; Ieyasu's attitude to; revival of learning; Tsunayoshi favours Chinese scholarship; Western "Scrutator," nairan, Bakufu official at court Sculpture in Nara epoch; in Heian; Kamakura period Sea-Dragon, Castle of, myth Sea, Command of, in 1592 campaign Seals; of Taiko; (ill.) Seal skins in early myth Seaweed as food Sebastian, Spanish sailor, undertakes coast survey Secretaries in Bakufu Seed distribution by Crown (723) Seidan, book on government by Ogyu Sorai Seido, or Shohei college Sei-i, "barbarian expelling," title of shogun; sei-i tai-shogun, hereditary title Seikan, priest Seimu, 13th Emperor (131-190 A.D.) Seinei, 22nd Emperor, (480-4) Seishi-roku, record of nobles (814 A.D.) Sei Shonagon, poetess Seiwa, 56th Emperor (859-76); (ill.); sons become Minamoto Seiwa Genji, branch of Minamoto Sekigahara, battle of (1600) Sen, Japanese coin Senate, Genro-in, organized (1875) Sengoku Hidehisa (1551-1614) soldier of Hideyoshi Senkwa, 28th Emperor (536-9), succeeds his brother Ankan Seoul, Korea; march upon (1592), Japanese forced to give up; Chinese resident in, blocks Japanese control; foreign legations removed, Japanese resident-general in Sepulchres of Yamato; contents Serpent, eight-forked killed by Susanoo; possibly the name of a local chief; early shrine; worship Sesshu (1420-1506), painter of Kamakura school; academy Seta, Long Bridge of Settsu Dojun, suicide Settsu, Buddhist temple in; Kiyomori moves capital to Fukuhara in; priests revolt Seven Generals plot against Ishida Sexagenary Cycle in Japanese chronology; accounts for error of 120 years; Chinese origin of Shaho, battle of Shaka, Sakiya Muni Shan-hai-ching, Chinese record (4th cent. A.D.) Shantung peninsula, fighting on, (1894); part of, seized by Germany Shao-kang, mythical Chinese ancestor of Japanese kings Shell-heaps Shiba, district of Tokyo, Castle of, built (803); temple with tomb of Hidetada --family, in office of Muromachi kwanryo; one of Five Regent Houses; make trouble in Kyushu; in Onin war; in Omi --Mochitane, estates of --Tachito, first Buddhist missionary --Takatsune, revolts against Ashikaga --Yoshihige, minister of Ashikaga Yoshimochi --Yoshikada, rival of Masanaga --Yoshimasa (d. 1410), shitsuji, first to be called kwanryo --Yoshitoshi (1430-90), estates; Onin war Shibata Gonroku --Katsuiye (1530-83), general under Nobunaga; councillor; death Shibukawa Noriyasu, government astronomer --Shunkai, revises calendar (1683) Shi-do, "Way of the Warrior" by Yamaga Soko Shido Shogun, Campaign of Shiga, in Omi Shigehide see Hagiwara Shigehide Shigehito, Prince Shigeko, mother of Ashikaga Yoshimasa Shigeyoshi see Tokugawa Shigeyoshi Shihotari, Prince, commands government station in Anra Shijo, 87th Emperor (1233-42) Shijo-nawate, in Kawachi, battle (1348) Shikken, military regent, in Yoritomo's system, head of the man-dokoro, great power of office held by Hojo family; Ashikaga substitute second shitsuji for; kwanryo later equivalent to; of Inchu, office held by Hino family Shikoku, early history; pirates in, (931-7); in 16th century wars Shikotan, inhabitants of, not pre-Ainu Shimabara, battle of, defeat of Ryozoki Takanobu (1585); Jesuits and trade at; the S. revolt (1637-8), puts end to Portuguese trade Shimada Yuya, judge Shimazu in Kyushu; defeated by Hideyoshi --Ei-O -Hisamitsu or Saburo (1820-87), feudatory of Satsuma, in Namamugi incident; in making of New Japan; with Saigo in Satsuma --Iehisa (d. 1587), defeated by Hideyoshi --Tadahisa (12th century) founder of family --Tadakuni, in Ryuku --Yoshihiro (1535-1619), successor of Yoshihisa --Yoshihisa (1536-1611), defeats Ryuzoki Takanobu, and is ousted by Hideyoshi; against Ieyasu; escapes after Sekigahara Shimbetsu, families of pre-conquest chieftains or Kami class; three sub-classes; early administration; help put down revolt of Heguri; and rank of Empress; classification of Seishi-roku Shimizu, branch of Tokugawa --Muneharu, suicide Shimoda, residence given to Americans Shimonosekij French, Dutch and Americans fired upon, attack; peace with China concluded at, (1895) Shimosa, Taira Masakado's revolt in; Taira Tadatsune's Shimpo-to, Progressist party, organized (1881) Shin, Buddhist sect (1224); Hongwan-ji feud with Enryaku-ji; internal quarrels; revolt of 1488, Ikko-ikki; oppose Nobunaga; interdicted in Shimazu Shinano, Yemishi in; revolt of Minamoto (Kiso) no Yoshinaka in; Takeda and Uesugi in; silk growing Genji, branch of Minamoto family Shingen see Takeda Shingen Shingon, "True Word," Buddhist sect founded by Kukai; Heijo and Shinnyo devoted to; esoteric character Shingu, Kii province, tomb of Hsu Fuh; naval base of Southern army Shinki, Chinese painter Shinno, painter Shinnyo, name in religion of Takaoka Shin-o, bridge in Yedo Shino Soshin and incense-comparing Shinran Shonin (1184-1268), founder of Shin sect, (ill.) Shinto, sun-myth; rules in Yengi-shiki; therianthropy; shrines; Board of Religion; first use of name (c. 586); relation to Buddhism; mixed, with Buddhism; overshadowed by Buddhism, and subservient; insincerity; in Heian epoch; priests support Southern Court; relations with Confucianism and Buddhism; Pure Shinto; combined with Confucianism; revival of Shinzei see Fujiwara Michinori Ships, early; building, as tribute; bureau of shipping; China trade; size limited; limitation removed; middle of 19th century; modern mercantile marine; illustrations; see Navy Shiragi, Korea, myth; annals; war with Kara; king settles in Japan; submits to Jingo; Japanese attacks on; Chinese immigration; revolt against Yuryaku; weakened; dispute over Imun; ship-builders; Buddhist image; defeats Kudara and Mimana; Japanese intervention; invasion; families in Japanese nobility; travel to Japan forbidden Shirahata, in Harima, fortress held by the Ashikaga; by the Akamatsu Shirakabe, Prince; see Konin Shirakawa, 72nd Emperor (1073-86) Shiren, priest Shiro-uji, branch of Taira family Shishi-ga-tani plot (1177) against Taira Shitenno-ji, temple to Four Guardian Kings of Heaven Shitsuji, manager, of mandokoro, office hereditary in Nikaido family; of monju-dokoro; second s. created in Takauji's system; and kwanryo Shizuka, mistress of Yoshitsune Shizugatake, battle of, (1583) Shoan, Student of Chow and Confucius, teacher of Naka and Kamatari Shocho koban, gold coins of 1428 Shodai-ji, temple Shodan-chiyo, work of Ichijo Kaneyoshi Shoen, great estates, manors; temple domains; attempts to check; effect on agriculture Shogun, "general"; head of Yoritomo's bakufu system; attempt to have Imperial prince appointed; unimportant under Hojo; Fujiwara, then Imperial princes, appointed; Ashikaga in Northern Court; powers transferred to kwanryo; under Tokugawa; minister gets power; separated from ministerial council; Chinese classics lessen power; court of last appeal; Imperial rescript to; power resigned to Crown Shohei, Japanese pronunciation of Changping, Confucius's birthplace; Shohei-bashi, bridge, Shohei-ko, college, near temple to Confucius; lectures there Shohei, period, (1346-69) Shohyo era Shokagu-in, academy of Minamoto (881) Shoko, 101st Emperor (1412-28), son of Go-Komatsu Shokoku-ji, Zen temple in Kyoto, art school of Josetsu; one of the "Five" Shokyu, year period 1219-22, and the struggle between the Court and the military Shomu, 45th Emperor (724-48) Shoni, independent family of Kyushu --Tokihisa (d. 1559), last of family Shonzui (16th century), manufacture of porcelain Shoren-in, temple in Kyoto Shoso-in, Nara (ill.) Shotoku, Empress (765-70), Koken returns to throne; orders amulets printed --Prince, or Taishi (572-621); history; on religions; defeats Mononebe Moriya; builds Buddhist temple; relations with Sushun; opposes uji system; his "Constitution"; death; China; official promotion system; a painter --period, 1711-15, trade rules of Shrines, yashiro, early Shinto; simple architecture of; in reign of Suinin; less important than temple after mixed Shinto; shrine and temple, ji-sha; immune from shugo Shubun, painter Shui-shu, anthology Shujaku, 61st Emperor (931-46) Shuko or Juko (1422-1502), Zen priest, code and tea-ceremonial Shunkai see Shibukawa Shunkai Shunzei, nom de plume of Fujiwara Toshinari Shuryo, Buddhist priest, envoy of Muromachi to China Shu-shi see Chutsz Shushin, Zen priest Silk in early times; culture, curtains for partition; mulberry trees on uplands; in Nara epoch advanced by need of rich robes for priests; exported; growing in Kotsuke, Shinano, etc.; "silk clothiers" Silkworm, worship of Silver and other precious metals Si Wang-mu, owner of miraculous peachtree "Six National Histories" Slave, value of Slaves and slavery, prehistoric; aliens become nuhi at conquest; prisoners of war and criminals; Daika; laws on slavery for debt; Daiho laws; provinces; Christians and slave-trade Sleeves, legal regulation of Small-pox interpreted as divine punishment Snow and snow festivals; image of Dharma, (ill.) So family and Korean trade So-ami, artist, patronized by Yoshimasa; envoy to Ming court --Sadamori (1385-1452) and Korean trade --Sukekuni (d. 1274), governor of Tsushima, killed in battle with Mongols Soden, inscription on Hoko-ji bell Soga, family, descendants of Takenouchi; power; favour Buddhism; relation to Imperial family; crushed by Fujiwara; usurpation causes Daika --Akae, minister of the Left, in conspiracy against Oama --Emishi, o-omi, successor of Umako; assumes Imperial titles; killed --Iname, o-omi, 130; recommends adoption of Buddhism; and Buddhist temple (552 A.D.) --Iruka, powerful under Kogyoku; quarrels with Yamashiro --Sukeyasu, death --Umako (d. 626), historiography; o-omi, kills Mononobe Moriya; power under Bidatsu; guardian of Buddhist images; relationship to Imperial family; final success over Mononebe Moriya; builds temple of Hoko-ji (587 A.D.); has Sushun assassinated; alliance with Shotoku against military system; death Sogen (Chu Yuan), Chinese priest; and Kamakura calligraphy Soji-ji, temple Soko see Yamaga Soko Solfataras of Unzen volcano, torture of Christians in Solitary Kami Soma, branch of Taira Somedono, Empress, wife of Montoku Song Wang Myohg, King of Kudara, and Buddhism Son-Kwang, Kudara prince, settles in Naniwa Son-O Jo-I, "Revere the Sovereign, expel the barbarians" motto Sorin see Otomo Yoshishige Soseki see Muso Kokushi Sosetsu, envoy to China of Ouchi family Soshi-Mori, Korea, myth Sotan, painter Sotelo Luis (1574-1624), Spanish Franciscan, attempts to survey Japanese coast Soto, sect, modification of Zen Soun see Hojo Soun (Nagauji) Southern Court, Daikagur-ji; war of dynasties; adherents; rulers; claims ignored in 1412 and 1428 Southwestern Japan, comparative accessibility of Sow race, Borneo, probable source of Kumaso Soya, strait of Sozen see Yamana Mochitoyo Spaniards, in Manila, jealous of Portuguese; in Tosa with "wrecked" galleon; intrigue against Dutch; Dutch and English intrigue against; Hidetada orders deported (1624); invasion by, feared, and conquest of Philippines urged; Spanish authorities forbid priests going to Japan; refuse grant in Yedo; trade unimportant; end of trade Spear, jewelled, token of authority of Kami; sign of military authority; heads of; export of; carrier (ill.) Spinning in myth; in early times Spirit, tama, survives body; belief in activity of Spying in Bushi system; civil; in Tokugawa Laws of Military Houses Stackelberg, Baron, Russian general defeated by Oku at Telissu Stag's shoulder blade, use in divination Stake, death at Stars in cosmogony State, Central Department of, Nakatsukasa-sho Stature of Japanese Steel for swords Stirrups among sepulchral remains; bridle, harness and (ill.) Store-house, imikura; kura, administrator of, kura-bugyo Stossel, Anatol Mikhailovitch, Russian general, surrenders Port Arthur Straw, famine food Straw mat, tatsu-gomo, for carpet Straw rope in sun-myth Sugar culture Sugawara family descended from Nomi no Sukune; scholars --Fumitoki, littérateur --Hidenaga, lecturer --Michizane (845-903), called Kwanko, schoolman; plot to send him on embassy to China; Fujiwara plot against, (ill.); one of authors of the fifth of "National Histories"; Chinese prose; shrine, (ill.); descendants --Toyonaga, patronized by Ujimitsu Suicide in early myth; some examples; at grave; in protest against policy; as punishment Suiko, 33d Empress (593-628), consort of Bidatsu; historiography; Chinese learning Suinin, 11th Emperor (29 B.C.--70 A.D.); attempts to abolish human sacrifice Suisei, 2nd Emperor (581-549 B.C.) Sujin, 10th Emperor (97-30 B.C.); and ship building Sukenari (or Juro) Suken-mon-in, mother of Go-Enyu, relations with Yoshimitsu Suko, Northern Emperor (1348-52) Sukuna Hikona, mythical pygmy healer; inventor of sake Sukune family, growth of its power; see also Takenouchi-no-Sukune Sulphur trade Sumida, river bridged Sumidu-gawa, groves Sumitada see Omura Sumitada Sumiyoshi, Kyoto school of painting; decorations for Imperial palace --battle, defeat of Ashikaga --Gukei, or Hirozumi (1634-1705) Summer Campaign Sumptuary laws in Nara epoch; in Kamakura period; of Hideyoshi; in military laws; of Sadanobu; in early 19th century Sumpu, in Suruga, Ieyasu retires to; vendetta illegal in; jodai of Sun, and titles of nobles Sun-crow, in Yamato expedition; on banners Sun goddess, withholds light, an incarnation of Buddha Sung, writer on war --philosophy, Gen-e introduces; painting, Josetsu introduces Sungari, Russian transport at Chemulpo Sunrise Island, Jih-pen, Chinese or Korean name for eastern islands Superstition, in 4th-6th centuries; in Nara epoch; in Heian Supply, Departments of, in capital, under Daiho Suruga, brigands of, crushed by Yamato-dake; province given to Ieyasu --Genji, branch of Minamoto family Survey for map under Hideyoshi; coastal begun by Spanish Susanoo, Kami of Force, contest with Amaterasu; expelled from heaven, kills great serpent; as tree-planter; rationalization of myth; its bearings on relations with China and Korea; purification of; as guardian of forests; ruler in Shiragi Sushen, Tungusic settlers on Sado Island (549 A.D.); expeditions of Hirafu against, (658 & 660); captives of Yemishi; later called Toi Sushun, 32nd Emperor (588-92) Su Ting-fang attacks Kudara (660 A.D.) Sutoku, 75th Emperor (1124-41); Hogen tumult Sutras, Buddhist; copying as atonement Suwo, brigands; woman ruler in; Ouchi family of Suye Harukata, called Zenkyo (d. 1555), crushed by Mori Motonari Suzuka-yama, apparent Tatar remains in shrine at Swan, Yamato-dake in form of; in cure of dumbness Sword, myth, Imperial insignia; sepulchral remains; single-and double-edged; offered at shrines; large and small; Minamoto heirlooms; swordsmiths; exported; hilts (ill.); samurai and sword-wearing; illustrations Syllabary, phonetic, development in Japanese away from Chinese ideograph; in Heian epoch, kata-kana and hiragana; used in Joei code Ta-be, rice-cultivators or rustic corporation Table and cookery in ancient Japan; in Kamakura period Tachibana family --Hayanari (d. 843), exiled with Tsunesada; calligrapher --Hiromi, scholar --Moroe (684-757), minister of the Right, acquiesces in rule of Koken-Shotoku; may have compiled anthology of "Myriad Leaves" Tachiri Munetsugu, Court envoy to summon Nobunaga to Kyoto Tactics, of Bushi; gradual change in Tada Genji, branch of Minamoto Tadahiro see Kato Tadahiro Tadakiyo see Sakai Tadakiyo Tadamori see Taira Tadamori Tadateru see Matsudaira Tadateru Tadayoshi see Ashikaga Tadayoshi and Tokugawa Tadayoshi Tadong River, Korea; in campaign of 1592 Taema, Prince, and expedition against Shiragi (603 A.D.) Taema-no-Kuehaya, wrestler Ta-fu, Japanese envoy to China (A.D. 57) Taga, Castle of; built in 724 to check Yemishi; head-quarters transferred to Isawa Taguchi Shigeyoshi, deserts with fleet to Minamoto in battle of Dan-no-ura Tai-hei-ki, historical work of 14th century, quoted on causes of Shokyu struggle; on Yoshinaga Taiho see Daiho Taiken-mon-in, consort of Toba; intimacy with Shirakawa Taiko, "great merit"; ex-regent, title of Hideyoshi; Taiko-zan, temple at his birthplace Taikoki, "Annals of the Taiko" quoted on Hideyoshi's palace Taikwa see Daika Tai Peh, Chinese prince, exile to Japan (800 B.C.); Imperial descent from Taira, family, descended from Prince Katsurabara, generals of Imperial guards; called Heike; manors and armed forces; lose estates; quarrel with Minamoto; revolt against Fujiwara; provincial branches; treatment of priests, the Gen-pei epoch, struggle with Minamoto; genealology; in Heiji tumult crush Minamoto; hold most important offices; Yorimasa conspiracy against; defeated by Minamoto --Atsumori (1169-84), killed at Ichi-no-tani --Chikafusa, provincial governor --Hirotsune, favours Yoritomo --Kanetaka, lieutenant governor of Izu; is killed by Tokimasa --Kiyomori (1118-81), wins manors; treatment of priests; crushes Minamoto; supports Go-Shirakawa; alliance with Shinzei; lessens power of Fujiwara; supreme; arbitrary rule; crushes Yorimasa conspiracy; death --Korehira, founder of Ise-Heishi --Koremochi, founder of branches of Taira --Koremori, commands army sent against Yorimoto Taira Masakado (d. 940), his revolt --Masamori, crushes rebellion of Minamoto Yoshichika --Michimori, killed in battle of Ichi-no-tani --Munekiyo helps save life of Yoritomo; relations with Minamoto --Munemori (1147-85), Shishi-ga-tani plot; abandons Kyoto; refuses Yoshinaka's request for an alliance; escapes after Ichi-no-tani; defeated at Yashima; executed; possibly a changeling --Noritsune (1160-85), defeats Ashikaga Yoshikiyo in Bitchu; at Yashima; drowned at Dan-no-ura-Sadamori defeats Taira Masakado --Shigehira (1158-85), sacks and burns three monasteries; in 1181 attacks Minamoto Yukiiye; taken prisoner at Ichi-no-tani; death --Shigemori (1138-79); Fujiwara Narichika's jealousy of; restrains Kiyomori; death --Shigenobu, in revolt against Fujiwara (967) --Tadamasa, favours Sutoku in Hogen tumult, executed by Kiyomori --Tadamori (1096-1153), body guard of Shirakawa; against Yoritomo; descent; treatment of priests --Tadanori (1144-84), killed at Ichi-no-tani --Tadatsune, defeated by Minamoto Yorinobu (1031) --Takamochi, first marquis (889) of Taira --Tomoakira, saves his father --Tomomori (1152-85) burns and sacks monasteries; saved by his son at Ichi-no-tani; drowned at Dan-no-ura --Tomoyasu, enemy of Yoshinaka, commands palace-guards --Tsunemasa --Yoritsuna, guardian of Sadatoki, crushes Adachi (1286), killed (1293) --Yoshibumi Taishiden Hochu, Shotoku in, on Buddhism; on property of Mononobe Moriya Taitsang, taken by pirates, 1560 Taitsu, Chinese Emperor, protests against piracy Tajima, king of Shiragi, settles in --Mori, sent for orange seeds Taka becomes empress Takaaki, younger brother of Murakami, banished Takachiho, Mt. in Hyuga (Saikaido) Takahashi, Mr., on "Mallet-headed" swords Takahira, Kogoro, Baron (b. 1864), peace commissioner at Portsmouth Takahito, Prince, son of Go-Shu jaku, attempt to have him passed over; see Go-Sanjo Takaichi, Prince; dies (696) Taka-ichi, Yamato province, possibly the "Plain of High Heaven" of myth Takakage see Kohayakawa Takakage Takakuni see Hosokawa Takakuni Takakura, 80th Emperor (1169-80) Takamatsu, castle in Bitchu besieged by Hideyoshi Takama-yama and Takama-no, Yamato Takamochi, first of the Taira family Takamuku Kuromaro, literatus, national doctor; leader of embassy to China (654, A.D.); dies there Takanaga, Prince (1311-38), commander against Ashikaga Takauji; in war of dynasties; suicide Takano, consort of Konin, mother of Kwammu Takanori see Kojima Takanori Takao, temple at Takaoka, monk, travels in India Takashima Kihei, called Shirodayu, or Shuhan, advocates foreign intercourse (1853) Takata, sect of Shin Takatomo, Pruice, adopted son of Okimachi Takatsukasa family founded by Fujiwara Kanehira, one of "Five Regent Houses" Takatsuki, fief of Takayama Takatsune see Shiba Takatsune Takauji see Ashikaga Takauji Takayama (d, 1596) feudatory of Takatsuki, converted by Vilela; his son Yusho, "Don Justo Ukondono" Takeda family of Kai favour Yoritomo; help in overthrow of Yoshinori; alliance with Hojo and war with Uesugi; his allies against Nobunaga --Katsuyori (1546-82), marries Nobunaga's daughter, but makes war on him; defeated --Nobumitsu stirs up Yoritomo against Yoshinaka --Shingen, or Haranobu (1521-73), war with Uesugi (ill.); alliance with Nobunaga, and with Ieyasu; death; military art; signature (ill.) Takenaka, of Nagasaki, persecutes Christians --Shigeharu, soldier of Hideyoshi Takenouchi-no-Sukune, several prominent officials 1st to 4th century; against Yemishi; prime minister; great duke of the Presence; in conquest of Korea; succession to Jingo; ordeal for treason; grand-daughter, marries Nintoku; descendants; the Heguri Takenouchi Shikibu(1716-71), teacher of Chinese classics; forerunner of Restoration Taketori Monogatari, "Bamboo gatherer's narrative" classic Takigawa Kazumasu, soldier of Nobunaga, kwanryo of Kwanto; favours Nobutaka; defeated by Hideyoshi Takinosawa, battle of, victory over Takeda Takuan (1573-1645), Emperor gives purple robe to Takuma artists Takuahan, Manchuria, 4th Army lands at Takutsakasa Sukehira, prime minister in Kyoto, opposes Kokaku Talien, taken from Chinese (1894); Russian railway Tallies used in trade with China Tamba, urchins of, the princes Oke and Woke; rice grants charged to province Tamehira, younger brother of Murakami Tamibe, naturalized aliens in pro-historic time Tamichi, general, killed by Yemishi, 367 A.D. Tamon, i.e. Ananda, statue in castle of Azuchi Tamu no Mine, valley, site of shrine to Kamatari Tamura, Prince, Emperor Jomei (629) Tamura family defeated by Date Tamuramaro see Saka-no-ye Tamuramaro Tan, land unit; tansen, area tax Tanaka Harukiyo, rebuilds shrine of Hachiman Tandai, inquisitors, two representing Bakufu at Court; the Ryo-Rokuhara; similar offices at Hakozaki and Nagato; in Muromachi period Tanegashima island where Portugese first landed; name used for muskets they introduced Tanetsugu see Fujiwara Tanetsugu Tang, Chinese systems, and power of Throne (645-70); most of features of Daika taken from; respects in which not adaptable to Japan; Kyoto modelled on Tang metropolis, Changan Tanners from Korea Tanuma Okitomo (Mototomo) (d. 1784), son of Okitsugu --Okitsugu (Mototsugu) (1719-88), favourite of Ieshige, prime minister of Ieharu Tan Yang-i, Chinese scholar Taoism and Shinto Tao Lung see Doryu Tasa, omi of Kibi, removed by Yuryaku; leads revolt in Mimana Tatars, possibly prominent in Yemishi revolts of 8th century; Golden and Khitan in China Tate, fortress or warp Tate Chikatada, one of Yoshinaka's four body guards Tatebito, famous archer Tatsunokuchi, in Yedo, site of court of justice Tattooing as penalty; as decoration first in proto-historic period, when penalty abandoned Tawara Toda see Fujiwara Hidesato Taxation, early; and land-holding; war tax; land not taxed; requisitions; in Shotoku's constitution; Daika; Daiho; Ashikaga period; toll-gates; tokusei riots; under Tokugawa Tayasu branch of Tokugawa, eligible to Shogunate; named from gate of Yedo Castle Munetake, or Tokugawa Munetake Tea, plants introduced (814); more generally (1191); picking, in Uji, (ill.); festivals; ceremonial (ill.), influence on ceramics, and architecture, tea-parlours (ill.); Hideyoshi's interest in Technical vocabulary, Japanese Teeth-blackening Teika see Fujiwara Sadaiye Teikin-orai, text book of letter-writing Teio-keizu, Imperial genealogy Telissu, battle of, Russians defeated by Oku Tembun koban, gold coins minted in 1532-55 Tembyo, period (729-48) Temman, Tenjin, shrine of Michizane Temmangu see Michizane Temmoku-zan, in Kai province, defeat of Takeda at Temmu, 40th Emperor (673-86), Prince Oama; historiography; sumptuary laws Temples, early Buddhist; mixed Shinto; provincial; estates; the "Six"; Nara epoch; at Kamakura; the "Five," schools and scholarship; revenue; commissioners; Ieyasu's legislation; under Imperial princes Tempo, period, 1830-44, famines; reformation of Tenchi, 38th Emperor (668-71); burial mound; painters; Daika; see Naka Tendai, monastery and doctrine of Saicho; temple Tengai, abbot of Enryaku-ji, in bell-inscription affair; temple at Nikko; Kwanei-ji Tenjin, descendants of primeval trinity, sub-class of Shimbetsu; name under which Michizane was apotheosized Tennoki, Record of the Emperors Tenno-zan, position in battle of Yamazaki Tenryaku, year-period (947-57) Tenryu-ji, temple at Saga, built by Takauji; T.-bune, merchantmen, sent to China for art objects; T.-seiji, celadon vases from China Tenshin, "kami of the descent," chieftains of expedition from Kyushu Tensho, year period, 1573-91, coins Tenson, "Heavenly grand-child" epithet of Hikoho Ninigi; sub-class of Shimbetsu, descendants of Sun goddess; superior position of Teraishi, Dr., on decoration of bronze bells Terasaka Kichiemon, one of "47 Ronin" Terumoto see Mori Terumoto Terutora see Uesugi Kenshin Tetsuo, priest of Daitoku-ji Text books Thatch on houses Thermal springs Thirty-year census Three Years' War, Go-Sannen (1089-91) Thunder, Kami of, in tree; axes Tientai, Japanese Tendai, Chinese monastery Tientsin relieved by Japanese troops in Boxer Rebellion Tiger, magic taught by Tiles, peculiar to temples; roofs of official buildings tiled in Nara epoch; slate-coloured and green in city of Kyoto; in Kamakura period; ill Timur gives up attack on Japan Ting, Chinese admiral, defeated at Weihaiwei Titles, or gentile names; new under Temmu Toba, 74th Emperor (1108-23); state domains; palace Tobacco growing; pipe and pouch, (ill.) Toda Izu no Kami, advocates foreign intercourse (1853) Tadanori, adviser of Nariaki Todai-ji, Kegon temple at Nara, bronze Buddha; procession in Koken's reign; great bell; bell-tower (ill.); statue (ill.); gate-guards; burnt by Taira Todo Takatora (1556-1630) helps Tokugawa Toei-zan, Ueno hill, temple of Kwanei-ji Tofuku-ji, Buddhist temple, S.E. of Kyoto Tofuku-mon-in, Kazuko, first Tokugawa consort; wife of Go-Mizu-no-o Togashi family splits in Onin war Togo Heihachiro, Count (b. 1857), Japanese admiral, attacks Russian fleet at Port Arthur; blocks entrance to harbour; defeats Russians at Tsushima Toi invade Japan (1019) Toichi, wife of Kobun Toin see Doin To-ji, Shingon temple (Goku-ku-ji) in Kyoto Tokaido, road from Kyoto to Tokyo Toki see Doki Tokichi see Toyotomi Hideyoshi Tokimasa see Hojo Tokimasa Tokimune (or Goro) avenges father's murder Tokiuji see Yamano Tokiuji Tokiwa, mistress of Yoshitomo Tokiyasu, Prince, see Koko Tokiyo, Prince, marries daughter of Sugawara Michizane Toku, empress Kenrei-mon-in; mother of Emperor Antoku Tokugawa, descent of family; hereditary system founded by Ieyasu; shogunate of family; oath of loyalty to; the T. Bakufu; "Constitution"; school, Shohei-ko; Imperial family, marries into; strengthened; attitude to feudatories; Hidetada line succeeded by Kii branch; families in ministry; decline of power; end of shogunate Chikauji (d. 1407?), ancestor of Matsudaira Hidetada (1579-1632), shogun (1605-22); anti-Christian edict (1616); orders Spaniards deported; in war with Uesugi; daughter weds Hideyori; attacks Osaka; Ieyasu's instructions to; rule, death, character; and Crown Tokugawa Hirotada (1526-49) --Hyakkajo, One Hundred Rules of Tokugawa --Ieharu (1737-86), shogun (1760-86) --Iemitsu (1603-51), shogun (1622-51); treatment of Christians; Ieyasu's instructions to; requires nobles to reside at Yedo; and feudal lords --Iemochi (1846-66), shogun (1858-66); marries Emperor's sister; resigns --Ienari (1773-1841), shogun (1786-1837); his father's rank; abdication --Ienobu (1662-1712), shogun (1709-12) --Iesada (1824-58), shogun (1853-8) --Ieshige (1702-61), shogun (1745-60); his son, Shigeyoshi, ancestor of Shimizu branch --Ietsugu (1709-16), shogun (1712-16) --Ietsuna (1642-80), 4th shogun (1651-80); power passes to minister; abdication of Go-Saien; death --Ieyasu (1542-1616) (ill.); in war on Asakura and Asai; alliance with Shingen; defeats Takeda; threatened; in Komaki war; peace with Hideyoshi; against Hojo; receives Kwanto; takes oath; in Hideyoshi's scheme; Christianity; Will Adams; death; family; succession to Hideyoshi; wealth; Sekigahara; distribution of fiefs; shogun; Hideyori; defied at Osaka; Hoko-ji bell; attacks Osaka castle; character; legislation; literature; Hidetada; shrine; patterned upon by Yoshimune; Shinto revival; foreign intercourse; signature (ill.) --Ieyoshi (1792-1853), shogun (1838-53) --Jidaishi, on Ieyasu's laws --Mitsukuni (1628-1700), sympathizes with Masayasu; interest in letters --Munetada (1721-64), founder of Hitotsubashi branch --Munetake (d. 1769) founder of Tayasii branch --Nariaki (1800-60), daimyo of Mito, anti-foreign policy of; attempts to make his son shogun; surrenders edict against shogun --(or Matsudaira) Nariyuki, feudatory of Kir --Nobuyasu (1559-79); marriage --Nobuyoshi (1583-1603), daimyo of Mito --Shigeyoshi (1745-95), founds Shimizu branch --Tadanaga (1605-33), brother of Iemitsu --Tadayoshi (1580-1607), daimyo of Kiyosu --Tsunayoshi (1646-1709), shogun (1686-1709); considerate for Crown --Yorifusa (1603-61), daimyo of Mito; one of Sanke --Yorinobu (1602-71), daimyo of Kii --Yoshimune (1677-1751), shogun (1716-45); camera rule; Tayasu and Hitotsubashi branches --Yoshinao (1600-50), daimyo of Owari; founds Shohei-ko school --Yoshinobu or Keiki (1837-97), son of Nariaki and his candidate for shogun; Crown urges his promotion; guardian of shogun; shogun (1866-8); resigns; surrenders Yedo Tokuhon see Hatakeyama Mochikuni Tokuno support Southern Court Tokuno Michlkoto, defender of Go-Daigo Tokusei, "benevolent policy", laws of 1297; extension of policy under Ashikaga; riots; for debtors Tokuso, priest Tokyo, formerly Yedo, eastern capital Tomi see Fujiwara Tomiko Tomoe, Yoshinaka's mistress Tomohira, Prince (963-1009), poet Tomohito, Prince, see Kokaku Tomo, Princess, see Go-Sakuramichi Tomo Kowamine, exiled (843) with Prince Tsunesada Ton-a (1301-84), poet Tonami-yami, Echizen, defeat of Taira at Tonegawa, flood in Tone-yama, battle (1573) Tonghak rebellion in Korea (1894), Chinese troops sent to quell Tongkan, Korean history, its chronology Tori Shichi (Korean Nori Sachhi), Buddhist Torii Mototada (1539-1600), dies in defense of Ieyasu's castle --Suneemon Tornado of 1718 Torres, Baltasar de (1563-1626), Jesuit, companion of Xavier Tortoise shell, divination Torture in ancient Japan Tosa, province; Ichijo family move to; seized by Chosokabe; bonita curing in; T memorial against Bakufu; surrender of fiefs; clan representation Tosa, Kyoto school of painting; patronized by Tsunayoshi; decorations of palace Mitsunobu see Mitsunobu Mitsuoki, teacher of Hirozumi Tosa Nikki, Tosa Diary Tosabo Shoshun, bonze Tosando, mountain road Toshiiye see Maeda Toshiiye Toshiyori-roju Tosho-ji, temple, suicides in its cemetery after defeat of Hojo Towers, royal; fire watch tower Toyohara Tokimoto, musician Toyohito see Kogon Toyokuni Daimyo-jin, temple of, sacred to Hideyoshi, destroyed by Ieyasu Toyonari see Fujiwara no Toyonari Toyotomi, family, revolt of ronin (1651); decline of influence Hidetsugu (1568-95), adopted successor of Hideyoshi; Hideyoshi's letter to; death Hideyori (1593-1615), son of Hideyoshi; regent; Christians join him against Ieyasu; Ishida favours; nai-daijin, marries Ieyasu's granddaughter; Ieyasu's estimate; opposes Ieyasu; refuses to surrender; suicide Toyotomi Hideyoshi( 1536-98); battle of Okehazama; in Ise and Kyoto; Sakai; war with Asakura and Asai; against Takeda Katsuyori; invades Chugoku; plans war on China; peace with Mori; Nobunaga; defeats Mitsuhide; councillor; crushes Takigawa Kazumasa and Shibuta Katsuiye; Yodogimi; Osaka castle; in Komaki war; peace with Ieyasu; regent; crushes remaining enemies; treatment of Ieyasu; Buddhism; palace; tea-festivals, wealth; invasion of Korea; death; family; kills Hidetsugu; character; legislation; Christianity; tomb --Kunimatsu, son of Hideyori, killed by Ieyasu "Trade, Chief of" Transportation, early; roads in Nara epoch; in Heian; in Muromachi; improved by Nobunaga; laws; Tokugawa improvements; road-commissioners; railway building Treason under Daiho code Treasury established 405 A.D.; three in Yuryaku's reign; burnt in 1659; see Finance Department Treaties with United States, Russia, Holland, England; commercial treaty with United States; with Korea; with China; with Russia (Portsmouth); with China (Peking) Tree, sacred, of Buddhist temples; tree worship; myths of tree planting; stories of huge trees Trigrams, in divination "True Word," Shingon Tsarevitch, Russian battleship at Port Arthur Tsin dynasty (265-317) and Chinese migration Tsuchi-gumo, "Earth-spiders" or "Pit dwellers"; called Wado by Chinese Tsuchi Mikado, 83d Emperor (1199-1210); abdicates; exile Tsugaru in 16th century wars; remains of Tatar fortress --strait, controlled by Japan Tsugunawa see Fujiwara Tsugunawa Tsuguno, architect Tsuka, Korean prince, migrates to Japan; carpenters Tsukiji, in Yedo, naval college at Tsukuda, island Tsukushi see Kyushu Tsunayoshi see Tokugawa Tsunayoshi Tsunehito, Prince, father of Kokaku, rank Tsuneko, consort of Kwazan Tsunenaga, Prince (1324-38), conspiracy to make him heir; poisoned by Takauji Tsunesada, Prince (823-84), exiled (843) Tsure-zure-gusa, "Weeds of Tedium" Tsuruga, ancient Kehi-no-ura; fortifications (1280) Tsurugaoka hill in Kamakura, shrine of Hachiman Tsushima, islands, in early myth; silver discovered (674) and gold (701); attacked by Toi (1019), by Mongols (1274), and (1281); attacked by Koreans in 1419; Korean trade; Chinese squadron attacks; outpost of Japan; Hakuseki wishes to limit Korean envoys to; commerce; commanding strait; Russian attempts upon; battle of, Russian fleet defeated by Togo Tsutsui Junkei (1549-84), deserts Akechi Mitsuhide in battle of Yamazaki; succession to Nobunaga Tsuwata Saburo, suicide Tsuying, king of Pohai, Korea 203-Metre Hill, Port Arthur, fighting at Uchida Ieyoshi, warrior Masanobu (1619-51), suicide Uda, 59th Emperor (888-97), Prince Sadami Uda Genji of Omi, branch of Minamoto Ueda castle Ueno park, Kiyomizu temple; hill called Toeizan; abbot of, candidate for throne in 1867 Uesugi, family, favours Tadayoshi; overthrows Ashikaga; kwanryo; two branches; quarrels; join against Hojo; shitsuji; governor-general of Kwanto; patronize schools; against Mogami; Hideyoshi makes peace with --Akifusa, shitsuji to Shigeuji --Akisada, estates --Akiyoshi, avenges his father --Fusaaki (1432-66) --Kagekatsu (1555-1623), lieutenant of Hideyoshi in Komaki war; against Hojo; senior minister; with Ishida Katsushiga plots against Ieyasu; open break with Ieyasu; fiefs reduced after Sekigahara --Kenshin, originally Nagao Kagetora. (1530-78), kwanryo, war with Hojo and Takeda, checked between Nobunaga and Shingen; military art --Mochifusa, sent against Kamakura by Ashikaga Yoshinori (1439) --Mochitomo (1416-67) fortifies Kawagoe --Noriaki (1306-68), shitsuji; exile --Noriharu (d. 1379), suicide --Norimasa (1522-79), driven from Hirai by Ujiyasu --Norimoto (1383-1418) --Noritada (1433-54), shitsuji to Shigeuji, death --Norizane (d. 1455), plot to kill; helps defeat Kamakura forces (1439) --Shigeyoshi (d. 1349), shitsuji, exiled --Tomomune, shitsuji --Tomosada, shitsuji --Ujinori --Yoshinori (d. 1378), shitsuji Uji, families, rank; government, established and abolished by Emperor; taxation; feudal chiefs; the Eight Great Uji; opposed by Shotoku; rank; government; Jinshin; Kami elective; princely families; academies; record; territorial names Uji river, Yamashiro province, battle at Uiyasu see Hojo Ujiyasu Ukhtonsky, Rear-Admiral Prince, commanding Russian squadron at Port Arthur Ukita Hideiye (d. 1662), soldier of Hideyoshi, against Chosokabe; commander-in-chief in Korea; one of 5 senior ministers; and Hideyoshi's laws; against Ieyasu; estates forfeited Naoiye (1530-82), turns from Mori to Nobunaga Umako see Soga Umako Umashimade, ancestor of Mononobe Umeda Genjiro, pen-name "Umpin" (1816-59), promotes Imperial restoration Umetada Akihisa, metal-worker Unclean, eta and hinin, in Kamakura classification Unebi, Mt., tomb of Jimmu; Soga mansion Ung-jin (Paik-chhon-ku), Japanese defeat at, (662) United States, Japanese relations with, 1837 '46, and '48; Perry; Townsend Harris; Shimonoseki affair; Americans in education, post-office, agriculture, etc.; intervention in Russo-Japanese war; threats of war Unkei, sculptor Unzen, volcano, Christians tortured in solfataras Upland, onchi Urabe Kanetomo (15th century), Shinto Yoshida, Shinto doctrine of Uraga, English refuse for headquarters; Manhattan enters; Perry in Urup, island, Russians in, (1792) Uryu Sotokichi (b. 1857), rear-admiral, destroys Russian cruisers at Chemulpo Usui Pass in Yamato-dake's march, identification of Usume, female Kami Usuri, won by Russia (1860) Utsonomiya family, one of "8 Generals of Kwanto" Valegnani, Alexander (1537-1606), Jesuit vice-general, visits Kuchinotsu in 1578; embassy Variag, Russian cruiser at Chemulpo Vehicles, proto-historic; in Nara epoch "Vehicles" of Buddhism Veil in ancient costume Vendetta, beginning of in Japan (486 A.D.); (1193); of Ako; illegal in Kyoto, Yedo, Osaka and Sumpu Vermilion pillars; stamp of Taiko Vilela, Gaspard (d. 1570), Portuguese Jesuit, in Kyoto Village, part of agata; assemblies; chief Vivero y Velasco, Rodrigo, governor of Philippines, agreement with Ieyasu (1609) Vladivostok, strategic situation; Russian squadron at, crushed by Kamimura; objective of Rozhdestvensky Volcanic eruptions Wa, "dwarf" or "subservient," early Chinese name for Japanese Wada Yoshimori (1147-1213) son of Yoritomo's benefactor in Bakufu council; betto defeated and killed by Hojo Yoshitoki Wadded garments, first mentioned, in 643 A.D.; use prescribed Wado, Chinese name of western tribe of Japan Wado, copper era (708-15) Wage, in 1498 Waka, wife of Tasa, taken from him by Yuryaku Waka-irutsako, younger son of Ojin Wake, funeral ceremony Wake, Prince, burial of Kiyomaro (733-99), banished; chooses site for new capital for Kwammu Wakiya Yoshiharu, son of Yoshisuke, in defeat of Takauji Yoshisuke (d. 1340), brother of Nitta Yoshisada and provincial governor; in command of Imperial army against the Ashikaga Wakizaka Yasuharu (1554-1626) at battle of Sekigahara Wang Yang-ming (1472-1529) philosophy of, officially displaced by Chutsz's; Nakaye Toju follows; summary of system Wani, Korean scribe in Japan; his descendant, Wang-sin-i War, Department of, Hyobusho War God, Hachiman, Oracle of War Office, Heisei-kan Waseda University, Tokyo, founded by Okuma Watanabe, fleet at, before battle of Yashima Watanabe family, branch of Minamoto Watarai, temple of, in Ise, princess priest of Watazumi-no-Kuni, Japanese intercourse with Watch, in capital Water-supply of Yedo Wave-men, ronin Wax, vegetable, industry Weaving in early times; early taxes paid by; development Weights and measures Weihaiwei, taken from Chinese (1894) Wei Records, A.D. 211-265, on Japanese markets Western Army, Yamana forces in Onin war Whale, fossil remains White, mourning colour; colour of Minamoto Wi-ju, Korea; Russians at, (1904) Winter Campaign Wistaria, fujiwara; bark used for mourning garments Witchcraft, in Nara epoch Wo (Japan), tributary to Chinese Kingdom of Yen Woke, see Ninken Women, use phonetic language; warriors; tribute to serpents and marauders; prehistoric status; rulers; hostages; morality; literature; property rights; in Tokugawa period; punishment of; shogun's harem; illustrations Wrestling in prehistoric times; first recorded match (23 B.C.); professional sport; (ill.) Wu, Chinese Emperor, and Buddhist propaganda Wu-Ti, Chinese emperor, conqueror of Korea Xavier, St. Francis (1506-52), Jesuit missionary, lands in Kagoshima (1549); in Hirado, Yamaguchi, Kyoto, and Bungo, death Yada castle in Ise Yae, wife of Hideyoshi, followed by military clique Yaka, mistress of Tenchi Yakami, Princess, of Inaba, marries Great-Name Possessor Yakami, castle in Tamba Yakushi, Buddhist god of wisdom, inscription on image of; y.-ji, temple, (ill.) Yalu River, Korea, in 1592 campaign; Chinese cross, (1894); Russians and Japanese on, (1904); Russians defeated Yama, Indian god Yamabe, Prince; see Kwammu -Akahito, poet Yamabushi, priests Yamada Tesshu, on Bushi Yamaga Soko (1622-85), philosopher of bushido; Chinese teaching Yamagata Daini (1725-67), executed; fore-runner of Restoration Yamaguchi, Korean envoys come to; Xavier in; Jesuits leave; Christians in Yamamoto support Southern Court Yamana, family, joins Southern party; controls ten provinces; turns to Northern Court; crushed; rehabilitated; one of Five Regent Houses; holdings; Hosokawa; forces in Onin war, Western Army; "province holders" --Mitsuyuki, in revolt against Northern Dynasty --Mochitoyo, called Sozen, "Red Monk" (1404-73), gets Harima; great estate; in war on Hatakeyama; forces choice of Shiba Yoshikado as kwanryo; deserts Yoshimi; death --Norikiyo receives province of Mimasaka --Noriyuki, captures Shirahita --Sozen see Yamana Mochitoyo --Tokiuji (d. 1372), joins Ashikaga --Ujikiyo rebels (1391) against the Ashikaga Yamanobe, Princess Yamanouchi, family name taken by Uesugi Yoshinori; feud with Ogigayatsu; join them against Hojo Yamashina, Kamatari's residence Yamashiro, Prince, candidate for throne in 629 and 641; suicide Yamashiro, early shrine; campaign from, against Sujin; canal; meaning of name; school of painters (604 A.D.) Yamato, expedition from Kyushu against; meaning of name, as used by Chinese; kindred race at time of conquest; retirement to Tsukushi; culture; physiognomy; relations with Caucasians; language; school of painting Yamato, Prince, human sacrifices at burial of (2 A.D.) Yamato-dake and Susanoo's sword; campaign against Yemishi; against Kumaso; a swan Yamato Genji, branch of Minamoto Oguna, earlier name of Yamato-dake Yamazaki, battle of, (1282) Ansai, follower of Chutsz; forerunner of Restoration Yanaida Takasuke, estates Yanagawa Seigan, Imperial restoration movement Yanagisawa Yasuaki, or Yoshiyasu, (1658-1714), favourite of Tsunayoshi; dismissed by Ienobu Yanamoto Kataharu in civil war of 1520 Yang-chou, taken by pirates (1556) Yangtzuling, Russian defeat at Yashima, battle, (1185) Yashima, Japanese battleship lost off Port Arthur Yaso, daughter of Emperor Reigen Yasumaro see Ono Yasumaro Year-period (Nengo), adoption of Chinese 645 A.D.; under two dynasties Yedo, fort built (1456); capital of Kwanto; Franciscan mission; Hidetada; Bakufu; castle; nobles must reside in; rebuilt after fire; art centre; vendetta forbidden; tree planting in; Kwanno Chokuyo's school; fires; degeneration, 18th century; vagabonds; prison; land offered to foreign traders; called Tokyo Yellow Sea, Japanese victory over Chinese (1894) Yemishi, early name of Ainu; Hirafu's expedition; description; Yamato-dake's expedition; captives called Saekibe; revolt in Kazusa; language, Siberian origin; migration; revolts Yen, Pechili Yengi-shiki, book of ceremonial law (927 A.D.) Yen Hui, Chinese painter Yenisei, Russian mining-transport, sunk by mine at Port Arthur Yenomoto Takeaki, Viscount (1839-1909), admiral to the shogun, tries to set up republic in Yezo Yezo, pit-dwellers' remains in; name related to Yoso; Yemishi in; Russians and Japanese clash in; Yenomoto's republic in Yi Sun-sin, Korean admiral, defeats Japanese fleet Yo-chang, prince of Kudara, defeats Koma (553), beaten by Shiragi Yodo (Yamanouchi Yodo) (1827-72), feudatory of Tosa, memorial to shogun Yodo, estate of Yodo or Yodogimi, daughter of Asai Nagamasa and mother of Toyotomi Hideyori; civil party sides with; against Ieyasu; Ieyasu promotes quarrel between Katagiri Katsumoto and; intrigue through her sister; death Yokohama, opened to American trade (1858) Yoko-yama, castle of Nagamasa Yolang, or Pyong-yang, Korea Yomei, 31st Emperor (586-7); Buddhism Yomi, hades, compared to Indian Yama; identified with Yomi-shima, between Hoki and Izumo Yorifusa see Tokugawa Yorifusa Yoriiye see Minamoto Yoriiye Yorimasa conspiracy (1180) Yorinobu see Tokugawa Yorinobu Yoritomo see Minamoto Yoritomo Yoritsune see Fujiwara Yoritsune Yoro, year-period, and legislation of Yorozu, story of Yoshida Kenko (1283-1350), recluse and poet, one of "four kings" Shoin (1831-60), leader of anti-foreign and Imperial movement Yoshifusa see Fujiwara Yoshifusa Yoshiiye see Minamoto Yoshiiye Yoshikage see Asakura Yoshikage Yoshikawa, adherents of Southern Court Yoshimasa see Ashikaga Yoshimasa Yoshimi see Ashikaga Yoshimi --nephew of Yoritomo Yoshimine, princely uji Yoshimitsu see Ashikaga Yoshimitsu Yoshimune see Tokugawa Yoshimune Yoshinaga (Norinaga), Prince, governor-general of O-U; in the Ashikaga revolt; see Go-Murakami Yoshinaka see Minamoto Yoshinaka Yoshinao see Tokugawa Yoshinao Yoshino, in Yamato, Buddhist monastery at, rallying place for Furubito's followers; Prince Oama takes refuge at; rendez-vous of Go-Daigo's followers; in war of dynasties Yoshino, cruiser lost off Port Arthur Yoshinobu see Tokugawa Yoshinobu Yoshisada see Nitta Yoshisada Yoshisuke see Wakiya Yoshisuke Yoshiteru see Murakami Yoshiteru Yoshitsune see Miriamoto no Yoshitsune Yoso, N. E. Korea, cradle of Yemishi Yozei, 57th Emperor (877-84) Yuasa support Southern Court Yuge no Dokyo, priest, Koken's love for Yui Shosetsu, leader in revolt of 1651 Yuki, branch of Fujiwara in Kwanto; persuade Shigenii to kill Noritada --Munehiro, administrator in O-U Yunglo, Chinese Emperor and year-period, 1403-22, called Eiraku in Japan Yura, Strait of Yuryaku, Emperor (457-79), cruelty of his reign; and Korea; death of Hayato at his tomb; serpent worship; 3 provinces added in his time; punishes Sakitsuya for lése-majesté, succession Yushima, Yedo, shrine Yusho see Takayama Yutahito see Kogon Yuzu or Yutsuki, Chinese imperial prince, and Chinese migration to Japan Zejobo, mathematician and surveyor Zekkai, scholar, adviser of Yoshimitsu Zen (dhyand, meditation), Buddhist sect of contemplation; and Hojo Tokimune; the soldier's creed; and intercourse with China; priests and literature and art; tea ceremonial; favoured by the Ashikaga; great priests; five temples in Kyoto Zenko-ji, temple in Nagano with battle paintings Zenkyo see Suye Harukata Zenyu, priest, liaison with Empress Taka Zojo-ji, temple of Shiba, Tokyo, tomb of Hidetada Zoku Nihongi (or Nihonki) Supplementary Chronicles of Japan (798) Nihon Koki, Supplementary Later Chronicles (869) Zuisa, Buddhist priest, envoy of shogun to China Zuniga, Pedro de (d. 1622), Spanish Dominican and martyr FULL PAGE HALF-TONES WOODEN STATUE OF THE EMPEROR JIMMU PREHISTORIC REMAINS PLATE A. I. A "Stone plate" or mortar for hut flour (suburb of Tokyo); B and C Stone sticks or batons, marks of rank (Rikuchu and Hitachi); D Stone club, probably religious (suburb of Tokyo). II. A Shell ring (Shimosa); B Bone nail (Rikuzen); C Bone spear-head (Rikuzen); D Stone spoon (Mutsu); E Stone chisel (Iwashiro); F and G Arrow heads (Uzen); H Magatama (Izumo); / Kazaridama, beads for ornament (Mutsu). III. A Vessel with handles, front rounded, back flat (Totomi); B Grayish earthenware dish, possibly for rice, with lathe marks (Mino); C Jar with spout on sides (Totomi); D Wine jar with hole in center to draw off sake with bamboo (Bizen); E Cup (Mino). IV. Brownish earthenware decorated by spatula and by fabric pressed on the moist clay. A From Hitachi; B Incense-burner shaped vessel (Ugo); C From Rikuzen; D Probably a drinking vessel (Mutsu). V. Wooden doll (Mutsu),--probably a charm. VI. Beads or gems (Rikuchu); the largest at the left, a marutama of plaster; next, a kodanta of a substance like glass. VII. A Spear-head with socket: B Sword; C Sword with ring. VIII. Cut gem of rock crystal (Bitchu). IX. Kudatama, jasper ornament (Bizen). X. Gold ring, copper core, ear decoration (Musashi). XI. Magatama, probably strung on necklace (Yamashiro). PREHISTORIC REMAINS PLATE B. Earthenware horse (MUSASHI); Haruwa or offering at the tomb Arrowhead and lance head (SHINANO); and bronze mirror (TAMBA). Haniwa, earthen ware images offered at the tomb. Female figure with elaborate coiffure and dress lapping left over right. Man with steel helmet and coat of mail. Broken piece of earthenware showing a human face. Stone axes and hatchets (MUTSUI OTARU, a polished Stone; Meguro, near TOKYO; and SHIMOSA). PRINCE SHOTOKU (572-621 A.D.) (From a painting in the collection of The Imperial Household) KAMAKURA DAIBUTSU, OR IMAGE OF BUDDHA (Cast in bronze. 1252 A.D.; height 47 feet) COSTUMES Samurai in Hunting Robe Imperial Court noble Samurai in Court Robe TOKUGAWA SHRINE AT NIKKO ADMIRAL TOGO